Hoisted...*

(Source)

So the other day, Juvat waxed eloquent on the "power" of The Chant. To wit, he had posted on a previous Monday as to the iniquities and inaccuracies of the construction zone signage in the Great State of Texas, whereby they proclaimed that one should "expect" delays from 8 AM to 5 PM.

Now our very own Juvat's point, in the first post, was to point out that delays could actually be expected from 7 AM to 7 PM. Now, having brought that matter to light, 'twas but a short time later that the signage was corrected to tell passers-by that delays could indeed be "expected" from 7 AM to 7 PM. Hence, Juvat proposes, TXDOT disposes.

A case of "be careful what you wish for"? Or, as our own survivor of L'Ancien Régime (Old NFO) put it "Hoist on your own petard eh?"

Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, yes, he was. (Hoist upon his own petard that is.)

Which put me in mind of a post. As comments often do.

Now I know what a petard is, I also know the original meaning of "being hoisted upon one's own petard," but what I didn't know was that the line originated with the Bard himself, to wit in Act 3, Scene 4 of Hamlet -

There's letters seal'd; and my two schoolfellows,
Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petar; and 't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines
And blow them at the moon. O, 'tis most sweet
When in one line two crafts directly meet.
This man shall set me packing:
I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.
Mother, good night. Indeed, this counsellor
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave,
Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
Good night, mother.

I like to think of The Chant as a bastion of education regarding all things, well, not trivial but certainly not extremely profound, so let us say "interesting." After all, we're not just a collection of aging pretty boys. (Well, Tuna and Juvat could be. As to moi, the best I've ever been called is "cute." And I think sarcasm might have been involved.)

Now a petard, (which some sources tell me comes from the French word péter, which means to "break wind" but in a perhaps less refined way) was a device used by old-timey medieval combat engineers to blow holes in doors, walls, aluminum siding, etc. No, they didn't actually have aluminum siding in the Middle Ages, I was being "cute." If they did, it no doubt would have been called "aluminium." Which is how the Britons say it...

Who?

The Britons.

(You should have seen that coming...)

Now, where was I?

Oh yes, "hoist upon one's own petard." Now a petard was full of explosives (well, black powder, a medieval explosive) and would go boom when fire was applied to the fuse and the fire finally reached the powder. Now in olden times there wasn't a lot of what we now call quality control. OSHA hadn't been invented yet and I also doubt the existence of a Bureau of Ordnance at that time.

And my point is?

Well, I have a certain amount of experience with 'splodey things and sometimes poorly made fuses will burn a Hell of a lot faster than you'd perhaps want them to.

Why yes, exactly like that.

When that happened the old-timey combat engineer would be caught in the explosion of his petard and perhaps be tossed skyward. Hoisted, as it were.

On their own petard.

As for me? I'd rather hoist one of these -

(Source)

But only when it's time to splice the mainbrace.

Like I said, cute.



*Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were unavailable for comment. As was the melancholy Dane...