The interesting thing is Merriam-Webster defines plaster saint simply as:
a person without human failings.
I sifted through Google Books, and this is the meaning you find in book after book after book. When it is explained why someone is not a plaster saint, the reason is that the person is less than saintly, misbehaves, has passions, struggles with temptation, very much unlike the other-worldly, beatific, ideal represented by a plaster saint, or the lifeless object itself.
It’s not hard to imagine how plaster saint could come to mean hypocrite: real humans are flawed; if you look like a plaster saint you must be faking it. Sarcasm could have played a role here too. However Bernard Shaw’s quote is highly atypical. Annie Edwards’ A Plaster Saint (1899) is the only other instance I found of plaster saint used sarcastically in this way.
Plaster saint in the Merriam-Webster sense appears in scores of books though. Merriam-Webster says the first known use is in 1890. So it’s likely Kipling’s Tommy, quoted by the OP, and first published that year under the title The Queen’s Uniform (The Kipling Society). Here Kipling has the proverbial British soldier Tommy Atkins criticise the British public, who sees the common soldier sometimes as a hero, sometimes as a ruffian (my emphasis throughout):
[…] Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap.
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ Tommy, ’ow’s yer soul?
But it’s “Thin red line of ’eroes” when the drums begin to roll
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's “Thin red line of ’eroes,” when the drums begin to roll.
We aren’t no thin red ’eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints […]
Rudyard Kipling, Tommy aka The Queen’s Uniform (1890), (more info in Kipling Society) and full poem here
The following give a more explicit description of what a plaster saint is not:
Henry Morgan the Buccaneer was no “plaster saint”. His weaknesses, his follies, his errors are writ large on his record. He was rash, impulsive, reckless of speech, and oftentimes unscrupulous in action. He was a good hater and a firm friend.
The Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion, 1899, p. 41.
A study of his career will probably make us like him better, for we shall find that he was a man with very human virtues and failings, not a preposterous plaster saint.
William Alfred Hirst, Walks about London, Henry Holt, 1900, p. 80.
Sometimes the plaster saint is implicitly presented as something good:
“Look here, Elizabeth,” she said desperately, “have done with all this nonsense, for heaven's sake, and take your husband as you find him. He is no plaster saint, but neither are you, or any of us for that matter.”
Kate Horn, Ships of Desire, Cassel and Company, 1909, p. 317.
Sometimes people cultivate a plaster-saint image of important persons:
In short, she [Rose Parks] is on her way to becoming the secular version of a plaster saint. It is a fate that has already befallen Martin Luther King, who is so venerated it is politically incorrect even to acknowledge his human failings, like his womanising and his plagiarism.
“American trouble-makers,” The Economist Year Book, 1992 in Review, The Economist Books, 1993, p. 292.
the Trustees were aware of the existence of letters by Einstein, some of them since published, 15 others to be published later, that conflict with the “plaster saint” image they wished to preserve
John Stachel, Eistein from B to Z, Birkhäuser, 2002, p. 99.
Several strategies combine to defuse the image of Lincoln as a plaster saint. […] He may have contracted syphilis as a young man. […] Vidal’s very human Lincoln knows the art of the political deal.
Susan Baker, Curtis S. Gibson, Gore Vidal: A Critical Companion, Greenwood Press, 1997, p. 88.
Often we get the notion that a plaster saint is someone we wouldn’t like that much. In this case Ernie, a young girl, has a “mercurial temperament”, but is urged by her friends to beat another girl, this one perhaps a plaster saint by nature or conviction, at winning a prize for “the pupil whose general average in attendance, conduct, and scholarship should be the highest.” She says:
”All right,” promised Ernie, with a weary little sigh. “I don't mind the studying so much; but I must confess I'm tired of being a plaster saint!”
Alice Calhoun Haines, The Luck of the Dudley Grahams, Henry Holt, 1907, p. 173. (Full book available here.)
And even real saints are no plaster saints
Do not for one moment picture him [Saint John Bosco] as a little monster of perfection, with no personality, no reactions, anaemic as a plaster saint. The retiring, timid, peaceable, passive one was not John, but his brother Joseph—an intelligent, hardworking boy, marked from the beginning with mark of those who will never go above or below the level of a decent obscurity. But John was a different matter […]
Henry Ghéon, The Secret of Saint John Bosco, Tradibooks, 1944, p. 21.
As to whether plaster saint was borrowed from another language I found no evidence of. The literal equivalents plâtre saint or saint de plâtre in French, santo de yesso in Spanish, and santo de gesso in Portuguese, mean the object only. Petit saint (little saint) is used ironically to refer to a person hypocritically affecting virtue, and has been in use since the early 1800s. Ce n’est pas un (petit) saint (he/she is no (little) saint) sounds very much like the English phrase and has been around since the early 1800s too, but means they’re dishonest. My hunch, for all it’s worth, is that the phrase as used in the examples above is transparent and suggestive enough for English speakers to have coined it without outside help.
This is a history that perhaps should remain unwritten. If you're easily offended, you probably don't want to read it. And so I'll keep it brief. Bush may not appreciate the original source of the popularity of the phrase...which could not help but resonate for the many members of the British and US sub- and counter-cultures listening to him. And laughing.
The exact phrase "read my lips" first appears, in the documentation available to me, in the late 19th century. At that time, it was associated with teaching deaf children. So, this from an 1893 volume titled Summer Meetings: American Association to Promote Teaching of the Deaf is the first instance I could glean from Google Books:
He gave me three girls to teach for a week; one of them was born deaf and dumb. I taught them to say some sentences and to read my lips in learning them.
Isolated appearances with reference to teaching the deaf continue through the first six decades of the twentieth century, and beyond, in books, journals and newspapers.
Then comes the boom in popularity, partially sponsored by a counter-culture film called The Rocky Horror Picture Show, starring Tim Curry et al. A Wikipedia article calls it "the longest-running release in film history". Let's just say it was popular. Very popular among select groups. Lips, in a variety of guises, feature large in the film. For example, a description of the film intro from a transcription:
{ chant "Lips...lips...lips..." and cheer when they appear }
{ "A long long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away,
God said: 'Let there be lips,' (let's fuck) and there were.
And they were good. and the lips said 'thank you'. Sing!"
or "And on the eighth day God made lips.
And there were lips, and they were good lips,
and they gave good head"
....
(From the script archives at Zenin's Rocky Horror Picture Show Archive!!!.)
When, in 1978, the star of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Tim Curry, released his first solo album (an 'album' was at that time the medium for recorded music), he titled the album Read My Lips. The title traded heavily on the subtext arising from the artist's having been the star of the film. Its success among the sub- and counter-culture groups that made up the fan base of The Rocky Horror Picture Show was guaranteed. It remains a significant release for many fans, as an article at Why It Matters from September, 2013, testifies:
... Curry recorded some kickass albums for A&M Records.
Read My Lips was the first of the three, released in 1978 when Rocky Horror mania was at its peak. I was one of those Rocky Horror fans, which is why I’m writing this while wearing a corset and garter.
Be all that as it may, which it might or might not, because although William Saffire in a September, 1988 Washington Post article titled "ON LANGUAGE; Read My Lips", seems to contradict it by quoting Tim Curry, he also confirms the origin is "rooted in rock music":
Read my lips is rooted in rock music. In 1978, the actor-singer Tim Curry gave that name to an album of songs written by others (though it did not include a song with that title copyrighted in 1957 by Joe Greene).
Reached in Washington, where he is appearing in ''Me and My Girl,'' Mr. Curry recalled that he got the phrase from an Italian-American recording engineer: ''I would say to him, 'We got it that time,' and he would say, 'Read my lips - we didn't.' That phrase arrested me, and I thought it would make an arresting album title. Be a good name for Mick Jagger's autobiography, come to think of it.''
Saffire goes on to complete his clandestine apologetics--a transparent, but apparently successful effort at damage control--for Bush's use by tracing perhaps more direct and less compromising influences. Notice that Saffire chooses to characterize Bush's use as a "stern intensifier", rather than sarcastic:
- songwriters, including the pair that wrote the song recorded by Melba Moore;
- "sports figures snapped up the stern intensifier. The phrase appeared as a nickname suggesting emphasis in orders by a football coach -Mike (Read My Lips) Ditka" (op. cit.);
- the name of a race horse;
- a use by a heavyweight boxer in announcing how he would announce his retirement;
- a use by a White House aide insisting the hostages released by Iran be brought home in planes marked "United States of America";
- a 1987 use by Senator Albert Gore while questioning the Under Secretary of Defense about missile funding, during which Gore managed a surprising twist by putting the words into the mouth of the Under Secretary: '"You're saying, 'Read my lips, cut the money'." for the Midgetman, said Senator Gore. "Your message is clear."' (op. cit.).
Best Answer
‘... three too many’ (1678)
One of the earliest versions of “two is company, three is a crowd” was recorded in 1678 by John Ray, in his collection English Proverbs, p.471
Therefore, presumably, ‘two’ was then considered idyllic.
The Oxford Dictionary of Word Origins claims that the original proverb is from 1730s, and cites an English translation from The Spanish and English Dictionary by J. Stevens, printed in 1726.
John Collins provides this translation which resembles more closely the English proverb (1834)
‘... three is none’ (1840)
From The Facts on File Dictionary of Proverbs by Martin H. Manser (link), we learn the following:
Henry Downes Miles' Dick Turpin, printed in 1840, contains the following adage
Five years later, we have this detailed analysis in The Usurer. A Tale of Marseilles. written by Percy B. St. John.
‘... three is trumpery’ (1866)
Yet another variant appeared in the late 19th century containing the term, trumpery, i.e., something showy but worthless.
Wives and daughters, an Every-Day Story By Elizabeth Gaskell
‘... three's a crowd’ (1870)
As for the more modern version containing the term “three's a crowd” it appears to be American. The earliest instance I found is from Delaware Gazette. December 02, 1870, the article is titled Miss Althea's Rubbers
‘... three are a crowd’ (1872)
Courtesy of @Sven Yargs are the following two excerpts: “One of My Bygones,” in the Wichita [Kansas] City Eagle (November 21, 1872). It's also worth mentioning that the saying contains the plural verb:
And from an item titled "Proverbs" in the Juniata [Pennsylvania] Sentinel and Republican January 21, 1874. Here the verb is singular and in the simple past.
P.S Many thanks to Sven Yargs who provided the last two links.