SHAKESPEAREAN BLANK VERSE.

THE first thing to remember about Shakespearean blank verse is that there is no form of the measure which can be called specially or peculiarly Shakespearean, any more than there is a Shakespearean style. Nowhere is it truer that extremes meet than here. The very greatest poet has no style, just as the plainest of plain men has none. No one has ever succeeded in making an imitation of Shakespeare which will hold water even for an instant. We can all parody Gibbon or Dr. Johnson, or Pope or Dryden, or Beaumont and Fletcher, but no one would even know how to begin to parody Shake- speare. If one attempted it, all that one would do would be to find oneself parodying Heywood or Webster or some of those Elizabethans of whom Swinburne so finely said that they were tiny creeks or inlets of the ocean which is Shake- speare. The reason why it is impossible to imitate or parody Shakespeare is easily stated. Shakespeare has no special mould in which he runs his thoughts, because his language, his mood of mind, his tone and utterance, change with every shade of thought so as to fit it and clothe it exactly. His was no "reach-me-down" rhetoric which was crammed on over the head of the thought whether it fitted or not. Pope might break his theme on the Procrustean bed of the antithetical couplet, or Gibbon force his meaning to a pattern which was admirably contrived for a cynical aside, but very ill- suited to historical narrative. But such want of taste, for want of taste it is, would have horrified Shakespeare. You can never predict in what verbal clothes the thought will emerge from his mind, except that they will be absolutely appropriate. They will bear the colours of the rainbow or those of thunder and eclipse, according as the idea. laid up in the heaven of the poet's mind shall direct. Burke in prose and Wordsworth in poetry had something of this power of changing the apparel to suit the thought, of never employing the same mould twice. But though we are sure that this absence of a fixed mould marks the supreme genius, we are far from denying the charm of individual style. There is undoubtedly a certain fascination in the wearing of a uniform or livery. Where the artist is great his cleverness in dressing a pagan like a Christian, or a friar like a &men, may charm us by its skill and daring.

If Shakespeare, owing to his greatness, could have no style, and also no special metrical mould, to talk of Shakespearean blank verse must, as we have said, appear something of a con- tradiction in terms. Nevertheless, there are many forms of blank verse used by Shakespeare which may he usefully dis- cussed. No doubt they vary, as the phraseology varies, with their subject, but it is very interesting to watch Shakespeare trying his experiments in prosody, and exploring, partly for his own amusement, and partly also for the enlargement of his art, the spacious regions of unrhymed iambic harmony. To go through the whole of these experiments would be quite impossible in a newspaper article, but one or two capital examples may be considered. It is evident that Shakespeare at one time tried to see how far he could push colloquialism in blank verse—how far, that is, he could use absolutely non-poetical words and phrases, and yet keep

the sweetness and the fascination of the heroic decasyllabie iambic measure. The first lines of The Merchant of Venice are a good example of what we mean, and show the kind of experiment that Shakespeare was engaged in r- " In sooth, I know not why I am so sad; It wearies me; you say it wearies you."

The lines have only to be repeated aloud to show the charm and the artfulness of the prosody. Yet, if they are analysed, it will be seen that they are the purest colloquialism. They are as simple and as unpoetic in diction as Wordsworth's "Simon Lee." But, as we know from the rest of his work, it was natural to Shakespeare to let the jewelled words pour off his tongae in a

torrent. Here he has absolutely refrained, and endeavoured to show us that he could make true and harmonious blank verse out of the plainest of plain speech. Indeed, close to the lines we have quoted comes an excellent example of his non- colloquial, highly wrought verse—verse in which the instru- ment has been screwed to concert pitch. This is how Antonio's ships are described "tossing on the ocean" :—

" There, where your argosies with portly sail, Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, Do overpeer the petty traffickers,

That curtsy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings."

Take, again, as an example of Shakespeare's colloquialism the Doge's famous address to Shylock :- "Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too."

Surely it is not fanciful to hold that Shakespeare must hare been specially delighted with this line—granted, as we assert, that he was bent on showing how far he could push blank verse into the uttermost realm of the commonplace, and yet leave it blank verse. And here note that we are not merely talking about those essentially and necessarily pedestrian lines which are left plain because they would be ridiculous if subjected to ornament, as, for example :- " We all expect a gentle answer, sew."

The lines to which we refer are full of artifice, but artifice designed to give a sublimated colloquialism—lines which illustrate the French maxim, " Combien d'art ne faut-il pour rentrer dans la nature ? "

Another example of Shakespeare's experiments is to be found

in the famous lines of Hamlet in which, as Coleridge noted long

ago, Shakespeare tried his hand, and with amazing success, at epic blank verse. When he wrote no one had seriously endeavoured to use blank verse except for dramatic purposes.

It would seem, however, as if Shakespeare had at some time or other written an epic, or parts of an epic, on the siege of Troy in blank verse suited for narrative and not for the theatre,

and had "lifted" passages therefrom into Hamlet. Though the lines are so well known, who could refrain from so good

an opportunity of quoting from them ?—

" Pyrrhus at Priam drives : in rage strikes wide: But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo ! his sword, Which was declining on the milky head Of reverend Priam, seemed the air to stick: So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, And like a neutral to his will and matter Did nothing.

But, as we often see, against some storm, A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, The bold winds speechless and the orb below As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder Doth rend the region, so after Pyrrhus' pause Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work ; And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall On Mars' armour forged for proof eterne, With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding swell. Now falls on Priam.

Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune ! All you gods, In general synod, take away her power, Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven As low as to the fiends !"

This would never do for a play, but how nobly planned a measure for epic purposes ! Not Milton himself conceived a grander type of narrative verse. It is interesting to

note how Shakespeare directs our attention to the fact that the verse is not suitable for the drama. Polonius's expostula- tion, "This is too long !" cannot be gainsaid in regard to the Player's speech considered as a tirade in a drama. Hamlet shows us another conspicuous example of specialized blank verse. When the ghost speaks the measure entirely changes its character. Its cadences seem to emphasize the fact that we are rapt into another world.

Yet another example of Shakespeare's experiments is to be found to perfection in Coriolanus. Here, if we may manu- facture a Hibernianisni, he seems to have been engaged upon the experiment of trying to write like Robert Browning, or like the Robert Brownings of his day and all the days to come. The fault of Browning's style is a kind of inverted collo- quialism. The verse gives not the natural speech of man, but the unnatural thought of the scholar or philosopher before it has been properly clothed in words. Those who have subtle thoughts to express are apt to find them come out first in a kind of dreadful clesluzbilZe, as if roused from slumber by some shipwreck or midnight catastrophe. Wandering allusions, half- baked metaphors, and illustrations which are still in so cloudy a condition that it is difficult to know whether they are mists or mountains, men or trees that loom in them, tumble head- long from the brain. So fast, indeed, does one thought huddle upon another, and so rapidly is notion piled on notion, that the drum of the mind's ear is almost broken by the din. (Conf. "Sludge the Medium," "Red Cotton Nightcap Country," " Caliban on Setebos," "The Inn Album," "Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau.") Unquestionably Shakespeare tried his hand at this shirt-sleeve blank verse in Coriolanus :— ° Con : I'll give my reasons,

More worthier than their voices. They know the corn Was not our recompense, resting well assured That ne'er did service for 't; being pressed to the war, Even when the navel of the State was touched, They would not thread the gates. This kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis ; being i' the war, Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they showed Most valour, spoke not for them ; the accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the motive Of our so frank donation. Well, what then ?

How shall this bisson multitude digest The senate's courtesy ? Let deeds express What's like to be their words : We did request it I

We are the greater poll, and in true fear They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase

The nature of our seats, and make the rabble Call our cares fears ; which will in time Break ope the locks o' the senate, and bring in The crows to peck the eagles.

Mix: Come, enough. Ban: Enough, with over-measure.

Cos: No, take more : What may be sworn by, both divine and human, Seal what I end withal! This double worship, Where one part does disdain with cause, the other Insult without all reason ; where gentry, title, wisdom, Cannot conclude but by the yea and no Of general ignorance,—it must omit Real necessities, and give way the while To unstable slightness; purpose so barred, it follows,

Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you,—

You that will be less fearful than discreet; That love the fundamental part of state More than you doubt the change on 't ; that prefer A noble life before a long, and wish To jump a body with a dangerous physic That's sure of death without it,—at once pluck out The multitudinous tongue ; let them not lick The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state Of that integrity which should become 't ; Not having the power to do the good it would, For the ill which doth control 't.

We are not going to be so foolish as to attempt either to censure or defend Coriolanus's speech, or to let our explanations try to " thread the gates " of Shakespeare's mind. All we want to dwell upon now is the fact that he was here trying

blank verse suitable to the thoughts that smoke and burn with the terrible heat engendered by their compression in the mind of a man like Coriolanus.

But we are wandering, we shall be told, from the region of prosody into that of metaphysics. We will end with an example of a form of Shakespearean blank verse to which such criticism cannot be applied. Though, as far as we know, the professors of prosody have dwelt very little upon the fact, Shakespeare once tried to write in six-syllable iambic blank verse. Apparently be was not satisfied with the result, for he

did not return to his venture. Yet there. is the example staring us in the face in Richard III. :— " ANNE : I would I knew thy heart. ElLou : 'Tis figured in my tongue. ANNE: I fear me both are false. Citon: Then never man was true. ANNE: Well, well, put up your sword. GLou : Say, then, my peace is made. ANNE : That shall you know hereafter. GLou : But shall I live in hope ? ANNE: All men, I hope, live so. Gum : Vouchsafe to wear this ring. ANNE : To take is not to give."

But though it is clear that this six-syllable blank verse was far too staccato for the dignity of the Dramatic Muse, one cannot help wishing that Shakespeare had tried it, either as here, or else with the octosyllable, in some lyric piece. Undoubtedly there is a haunting charm in the short iambic cadence which, if properly developed, might have been made very pleasing to the ear. Milton, consciously or unconsciously, has tried it, or something very like it, in " Samson Agonistes," but the attempts are so fragmentary that nothing like a

settled metre emerges. The unrhymed verse in " Samson Agonistes," if left to itself, tends, as always in English, to become dactylic.

Possibly our readers may be able to point out some other example of six-syllable or octosyllabio blank verse in Shake- speare, or to some other metrical experiment of a special

character. No doubt every now and then there are lines of the Fletcher type—i.e., the Alexandrine type with a female

ending—which takes on the form of an English accentual Sapphic ; as, for example r-

" Cromwell, I charge thee, throw away ambition."

(" Needy knife-grinder ! whither art thou going ?")

But such lines, whether actually written by Fletcher, or by Shakespeare amusing himself by touching Fletcher's lute, are probably accidental. In any case, their occasional presence

illustrates once more the thought with which we began. Fletcher let his female endings and Sapphic rhythms run him into extravagances and a style so marked and so sugary that anyone can parody it. Shakespeare's perfect taste, perfect moderation, perfect mastery of his material, enabled him to use this particular line without being fascinated by it in the bad sense. He was never led by it into intellectual or rhetorical vulgarity. To adapt the lines in Gray's "Elegy "—

" Along the cool sequoster'd vale of verse

He kept the noiseless tenour of his way."