whitely

From white +‎ -ly.

• (UK) IPA^(key): /ˈwʌɪtli/

whitely (comparative more whitely, superlative most whitely)

1. (now rare, Scotland) White; pale. [from 14th c.]
   • 15th c., Robert Henryson, The Testament of Cresseid, lines 213-214,^[1]

     The secund steid to name hecht Ethios,

     Quhitlie and paill […]

   • c. 1595–1596 (date written), William Shakespeare, “Loues Labour’s Lost”, in Mr. William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies […] (First Folio), London: […] Isaac Iaggard, and Ed[ward] Blount, published 1623, →OCLC, [Act III, scene i]:

     […] among three to loue the worst of all, / A whitly wanton, with a veluet brow, / With two pitch balles stucke in her face for eyes.

   • 1684, John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress. From This World to That which is to Come: The Second Part. […], London: […] Nathaniel Ponder […], →OCLC:

     I perceive you know him, and am apt to believe also, That you were related one to another; for you have his whitely Look, a Cast like his with your Eye, and your Speech is much alike.

whitely (comparative more whitely, superlative most whitely)

1. In a white manner. [from 14th c.]
   • 1886 May – 1887 April, Thomas Hardy, “chapter 2”, in The Woodlanders […], volume (please specify |volume=I to III), London; New York, N.Y.: Macmillan and Co., published 1887, →OCLC:

     […] she opened a door which disclosed a staircase so whitely scrubbed that the grain of the wood was wellnigh sodden away by such cleansing.

   • 1922, E. E. Cummings, “Songs, III”, in Tulips and Chimneys‎^[2], New York: Liveright, published 1976, page 12:

     it is the autumn of a year:
     When through the thin air stooped with fear,
     across the harvest whitely peer
     empty of surprise
     death’s faultless eyes

   • 1928, Edmund Blunden, Undertones of War, Penguin, published 2010, page 161:

     an enemy aeroplane flew part of the way with us, and bomb after bomb burst flaming in the fields alongside, until ‘wished morn’ whitely appeared.

   • 1928, Dorothy Parker, “Dilemma”, in Sunset Gun‎^[3], Garden City, NY: Sun Dial, published 1941, page 63:

     Were I to murmur “Yes,” and then
     “How true, my dear,” and “Yes,” again,
     And wear my eyes discreetly down,
     And tremble whitely at your frown,
     And keep my words unquestioning—
     My love, you’d run like anything!

• Whitley