A prig (/ˈprɪɡ/), sometimes spelled prigg, is a person who shows an inordinately zealous approach to matters of form and propriety—especially where the prig has the ability to show superior knowledge to those who do not know the protocol in question. They see little need to consider the feelings or intentions of others, relying instead on established order and rigid rules to resolve all questions.
The prig approaches social interactions with a strong sense of self-righteousness.
The first edition of H.W. Fowler's Modern English Usage has the following definition:
The character of the prig was encapsulated in Charles Dickens' portrait of the day-nurse Betsy Prig—capable of a "rapid change from banter to ferocity" but always referred to by night-nurse Sairah Gamp as "the best of creeturs"—in his novel Martin Chuzzlewit:
A glimpse of Mrs Prig's nursing technique is afforded by the following exchange, as Sairah Gamp arrives to take over from Mrs Prig in the supervision of a patient:
More nightmares
Someone wake me when they're through
Stop my lover's ghost from trying to protrude
(You're burning, you're burning)
It's chaotic, but I've got it
You're letter scratched across my throat
Like some painter's ink, spilled the canvas soiling parts of me
Cover up, cover up, all the fusion's lost
I know this sucks but one day you'll meet up
I miss the softness of your sound
The taste of you left in my mouth
Is Mississippi done yet burning?
Sick sounds like stomach's stinging
I search out, but you cannot be found
A red horizon in the south
Is Mississippi done yet burning?
Most nights bleat every feeling
I must get back to you somehow
I must get back to you
Your shadow
Now lies against the moon
The skin I touched that once
Kissed has come unglued
(You're burning, you're burning)
It's chaotic, but I've got it
More screams than anyone should hear
The voice of you stabs in my chest
Forged and faithless
Cover up, cover up, all the fusion's lost
I know this sucks but one day you'll meet up
I miss the softness of your sound
The taste of you left in my mouth
Is Mississippi done yet burning?
Sick sounds like stomach's stinging
I search out, but you cannot be found
A red horizon in the south
Is Mississippi done yet burning?
Most nights bleat every feeling
I must get back to you somehow
I must get back to you
Darling boy
Lift your chin up for me now
For my face to see
And I am smiling looking down
I know you're out of breath
You're hit by the way I've left
Just hold me tried and true
For I'll be waiting
Waiting here for you
So dim these lights, I won't be found
This haunting stops right here and now
There's pain and in his eyes of fixed dreaming
I'm tired without you, so let it be
So dim these lights, I won't be found
This haunting stops right here and now
There's pain in his eyes of fixed dreaming
I'm tired without you, so let it be
Is Mississippi done yet burning?
Most nights bleat every feeling
I must get back to you somehow