XXII. Examples of the Development of Blank Verse
(a) Surrey (translation of Aeneid):
It was | the night; | the sound | and qui|et sleep
Had through | the earth | the wear|y bod|ies caught,
The woods, | the ra|ging seas, | were fallen |to rest,
When that | the stars | had half | their course | declined.
The fields | whist: beasts | and fowls | of di|vers hue,
And what | so that | in the | broad lakes | remained,
Or yet | among | the bush|y thicks | of briar,
Laid down | to sleep | by sil|ence of | the night,
'Gan swage | their cares, | mindless | of tra|vails past.
Not so | the spirit | of this | Phenic|ian.
Unhap|py she | that on | no sleep | could chance,
Nor yet | night's rest | enter | in eye | or breast.
Her cares | redoub|le: love | doth rise | and rage | again,
And ov|erflows | with swell|ing storms | of wrath.
(The interest of the new mode here is manifold. The lines are almost wholly "single-moulded," the author's anxiety to keep himself right without rhyme necessitating this. The cæsura at the fourth syllable is almost always kept, according to the tradition of the French line. Once (in the penultimate line) he has to overflow; but into an Alexandrine, not into the next line. Whether by intention or not—"sprite" being possible—he once discovers the enormous advantage of the trisyllabic foot.[39] Once he makes with "rest" and "breast" the oversight of a "Leonine" rhyme. But, on the whole, the success is remarkable for a beginning; and there are indications of what has to be done to secure the end.)
(b) First dramatic attempts—Gorboduc onwards:
Sackville and Norton.
Your won|ted true | regard | of faith|ful hearts
Makes me, | O king, | the bold|er to | resume,
To speak | what I | conceive | within | my breast:
Although | the same | do not | agree | at all
With that | which o|ther here | my lords | have said,
Nor which | yourself | have seem|èd best | to like.
(Gorboduc.)
Hughes and others.
What! shall | I stand | whiles Ar|thur sheds | my blood?
And must | I yield | my neck | unto | the axe?
Whom fates | constrain |let him | forego | his bliss.
But he | that need|less yields | unto | his bane
When he | may shun, | does well | deserve | to lose
The good | he can|not use. | Who would | sustain
A ba|ser life | that may | maintain | the best?
(Misfortunes of Arthur.)
Peele.
Were ev|ĕry̆ shīp | ten thou|sand on | the seas,
Manned with | the strength | of all | the eas|tern kings,
Convey|ing all | the mon|archs of | the world,
Tŏ ĭnvāde | the is|land where | her High|ness reigns—
'Twere all | in vain: | for heav|ĕns ănd dēs|tinies
Attend | and wait | upon | her Maj|esty!
(Battle of Alcazar.)
Greene.
Why thinks | King Hen|ry's son | that Mar|gărĕt's lōve
Hangs in | thĕ ŭncēr|tain bal|ance of | proud time?
That death | shall make | a dis|cord of | our thoughts?
No! stab | the earl: | and ere | the morn|ing sun
Shall vaunt | him thrice | over | the lof|ty east,
Mārgărĕt | will meet | her Lac|y in | the heavens!
(F. Bacon and F. Bungay.}
Marlowe.
Black is | the beau|ty of | the bright|est day!
The gol|den ball | of Heav|en's eter|nal fire,
That danced | with glo|ry on | the sil|ver waves,
Now wants | the glo|ry that | inflamed | his beams:
And all | for faint|ness and | for foul | disgrace,
He binds | his tem|ples with | a frown|ing cloud,
Ready | to dark|en earth | with end|less night.
(Tamburlaine.)
(An extreme stiffness and "single-mouldedness" in the lines; modified in Peele and Greene by trisyllabic feet, perhaps not intended as such ("heav'n" was pretty certainly regarded and generally spelt as a monosyllable, and the pronunciations "ev'ry" and "Margret" are old; while "t'invade" and "th'uncertain" would be likely), but virtually so, and inviting, especially in "Margaret," the full and beautiful value. The Gorboduc form, as is natural, is much the least accomplished. It is indeed what, by an almost incomprehensible inversion of sense and nature, some people call "blank verse according to the rules"—ten syllables only, five almost strictly iambic feet (="accent on the even places"); pause near the middle; stop, metrical, if not grammatical, at every end—in fact, the roughest and most rudimentary form possible.)
(c) Early non-dramatic blanks (Gascoigne):
And on | their backs | they bear | both land | and fee,
Castles | and towers, | reven|ues and | receipts,
Lordships | and ma|nors, fines,|—yea farms|—and all.
"What should | these be?" | (speak you, | my love|ly lord?)
They be | not men: | for why, | they have | no beards.
They be | no boys, | which wear | such side|long gowns.
They be | no gods, | for all | their gal|lant gloss.
They be | no devils, | I trow, | which seem | so saintish.
What be | they? wom|en? mask|ing in | men's weeds
With dutch|kin doub|lets and | with jerk|ins jagged?
With Span|ish spangs, | and ruffs | set out | of France,
With high | copt hats | and feath|ers flaunt-|a-flaunt?
They be, | so sure, | even woe | to men | indeed.
(It will be noticed that the "single-moulded" character is even more noticeable here than in drama, and is emphasised by the epanaphora. There is one redundance—"saintish" ("jagged" is probably "jagg'd"), and, as we know that the author thought the iamb the only English foot, we must not read "rĕvĕnue," but, with "tow'rs," "revènue"—which indeed was, by precisians, regarded as the correct pronunciation not so very long ago.)
(d) Perfected "single-mould":
Peele.
Come, gen|tle Ze|phyr, trick'd | with those | perfùmes
That erst | in E|den sweet|en'd Ad|am's love,
And stroke | my bos|om with |thy silk|en fan:
This shade, | sun-proof, | is yet | no proof | for thee;
Thy bo|dy, smooth|er than | this wave|less spring,
And pu|rer than | the sub|stance of | the same,
Can creep | through that | his lan|ces can|not pierce:
Thou, and | thy sis|ter, soft | and sa|cred Air,
Goddess | of life, | and gov|erness | of health,
Keep ev|ery fount|ain fresh | and ar|bour sweet;
No bra|zen gate | her pas|sage can | repulse,
Nor bush|y thick|et bar | thy sub|tle breath:
Then deck | thee with | thy loose | delight | some robes,
And on | thy wings | bring del|icate | perfumes,
To play | the wan|ton with | us through | the leaves.
(David and Bethsabe.)
Marlowe.
If all | the pens | that ev|er po|ets held
Had fed | the feel|ing of | their mas|ters' thoughts,
And ev|ery sweet|ness that | inspir'd | their hearts,
Their minds, | and mu|ses, on | admir|èd themes;
If all | the heav|enly quint|essence | they 'still
From their | immort|al flowers | of po|esy,
Wherein | as in | a mir|ror we | perceive
The high|est reach|es of | a hu|man wit;
If these | had made | one po|em's per|iod,
And all | combined | in beau|ty's worth|iness,
Yet should | there hov|er in | their rest|less heads
One thought, | one grace, | one won|der at | the least,
Which in|to words | no vir|tue can | digest.
(Tamburlaine.)
(These passages, despite their extreme poetical beauty, are still prosodically immature. Even when, as in the last, there are lines with no technical "stop" at the end, as at "held" and "heads," the grammatical incompleteness does not interfere with the rounding off of the prosodic period or sub-period. Marlowe (v. inf.) could enjamb couplet beautifully, but not blank verse. Note also that the lines are strictly decasyllabic, the only hints at trisyllabic feet being in words like "Heaven," then regularly a monosyllable, "every," and "flowers.")
(e) Shakespeare.
(1) Early single-moulded:
Upon | his blood|y fin|ger he | doth wear
A pre|cious ring, | that light|ens all | the hole,
Which, like | the ta|per in | some mon|ument,
Doth shine | upon | the dead | man's earth|y cheeks,
And shows | the rag|ged en|trails of | the pit.
(Titus Andronicus.)
(Same remarks applying as to the last citation.)
(2) Beginning of perfected stage:
Why art | thou yet | so fair? | shall I | believe
That un|substan|tial death | is am|orous,
And that | the lean | abhor|rèd mon|ster keeps
Thee here | in dark | to be | his par|amour?
For fear | of that, | I still | will stay | with thee:
And ne|ver from | this pal|ace of | dim night
Depart | again: | here, here | will I | remain
With worms | that are | thy cham|ber-maids; | O, here
Will I | set up | my ev|erlast|ing rest.
And shake | the yoke | of in|auspic|ious stars
From this | world-wear|ied flesh.
(Romeo and Juliet.)
(No trisyllabic feet yet, and no redundance: but, by shift of pause and completer juncture of lines, the paragraph effect solidly founded.)
(3) Further process in the same direction:
Nay, || but this dotage of our general's
O'erflows the measure: || those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files | and musters of the war
Have glowed like plated Mars, || now bend, | now turn,
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front: || his captain's heart,
Which | in the scuffles of great fights | hath burst
The buckles on his breast, || rene[a]ges all temper,
And is become | the bellows and the fan
To cool a gipsy's lust.
(Antony and Cleopatra.)
(Here the double division marks indicate stronger, and the single lighter, pauses—not, as usually in the latter case, feet. The variation of the pause for paragraph effect is here consummate; but the verse, as its conditions require, is of the severer type.)
(4) Perfection in passion:
Blow winds, | and crack | your cheeks! | rage! | blow!
You cat|aracts | and hur|rica|noes, spout
Till you | have drench'd | our stee|ples, drown'd | the cocks!
You sul|phurous and | thought-ex|ecut|ing fires,
Vaunt-cour|iers to | oak-cleav|ing thun|derbolts,
Singe my | white head! | And thou, | all-shak|ing thunder,
Smite flat | the thick | rotund|ity o' | the world!
Crack na|ture's moulds, | all ger|mens spill | at once,
That make | ingrate|ful man!
(King Lear.)
(Every extension taken. Monosyllabic feet either at the first "blow" and "winds," or the last, and "rage," perhaps at both (an Alexandrine). Trisyllabic at "-phŭrŏus ānd," "rĭĕrs tō," and "ĭty̆ ō̆'." Redundance at "-ing thun⋮der." Pause fully played upon as above: enjambment at "spout"; parenthetic enjambment at "fires.")
(5) Perfection in quiet:
Our rev|els now | are end|ed. These | our actors,
As I | foretold | you, were | all spir|its, and
Are melt|ed in|to air, | into | thin air:
And, like | the base|less fab|ric of | this vision,
The cloud-|capped towers, | the gor|geous pal|aces,
The sol|emn tem|ples, the | great globe | itself,
Yea, all | which it | inher|it, shall | dissolve
And, like | this in|substan|tial pa|geant faded,
Leave not | a rack | behind. | We are | such stuff
As dreams | are made | of, and | our lit|tle life
Is round|ed with | a sleep.
(The Tempest.)
(Not much trisyllabic—the dreaminess not requiring it. A good deal of redundance, and enjambment pushed nearly to the furthest by taking place at "and."[40])
(f) Redundance encroaching.
Beaumont and Fletcher:
"Oh | thou conqu[e]ror,
Thou glo|ry of | the world | once, now | the pity:
Thou awe | of na|tions, where|fore didst | thou fail us?
What poor | fate fol|lowed thee, | and plucked | thee on
To trust | thy sa|cred life | to an | Egyptian?
The life | and light | of Rome | to a | blind stranger,
That hon|oura|ble war | ne'er taught | a no|bleness
Nor wor|thy cir|cumstance | show'd what | a man was?
That ne|ver heard | thy name | sung but | in banquets
And loose | lasciv|ious pleas|ures? to | a boy
That had | no faith | to com|prehend | thy greatness,
No stud|y of | thy life | to know | thy goodness?...
Egyp|tians, dare | you think | your high | pyra|mides
Built to | out-dure | the sun, | as you | suppose,
Where your | unworth|y kings | lie rak'd | in ashes,
Are mon|uments fit | for him! | No, brood | of Nilus,
Nothing | can cov|er his | high fame | but heaven;
No pyr|amid | set off | his mem|ories,
But the | eter|nal sub|stance of | his greatness,
To which I leave him."
(The False One.)
(Here it will be seen there are two actual Alexandrines (three if we allow the full value to "con|queror|") and twelve redundant lines to four non-redundant! The fire of the poetry fuses this, but cannot always be counted on, as in the next.)
(2) If I | had swelled | the sol|dier, or | intended
An act | in per|son lean|ing to | dishonour,
As you | would fain | have forced | me, wit|ness Heaven,
Where clear|est und|erstand|ing of | all truth is
(For men | are spite|ful men, | and know | no pi[e]ty).
When O|lin came, | grim O|lin, when | his marches, etc., etc., etc.
(The Loyal Subject.)
(Which, with its repetition of stumbling amphibrachic ends, is rather hideous.)
(g) Spread of the infection, and complete decay of blank verse from various causes.
(1) Shirley:
I dare,
With conscience or my pure intent, try what
Rudeness you find upon my lip, 'tis chaste
As the desires that breathe upon my language.
I began, Felisarda, to affect thee
By seeing thee at prayers; thy virtue winged
Love's arrows first, and 'twere a sacrilege
To choose thee now for sin, that hast a power
To make | this place | a tem|ple by | thy in|nocence.
I know thy poverty, and came not to
Bribe it against thy chastity; if thou
Vouchsafe thy fair and honest love, it shall
Adorn my fortunes which shall stoop to serve it
In spite of friends or destiny.
(The Brothers.)
(Actual scansion quite correct, and therefore not marked throughout. Redundance not excessive ("innocence" may be taken as such, and not as making an Alexandrine, if liked); hardly any, and no misused, trisyllabic feet. But enjambment at "what," "to," "thou," and "shall" badly managed.)
(2) Suckling:
Softly, | as death | itself | comes on
When it | doth steal | away | the sick | man's breath,
And standers-by perceive it not,
Have I trod the way unto their lodgings.
How wisely do those powers
That give | us hap|piness or|der it!
(Aglaura.)
(A hopeless jumble. The 1st, as a fragment, and 2nd lines are all right, and the 6th could be completed properly. But 3, 4, and 5—though 3 and 5 could come in with other companions—upset any kind of continuous arrangement, and 4 would hardly be good anywhere.)
(3) Davenant:
Rhodolinda doth become her title
And her birth. Since deprived of popular
Homage, she hath been queen over her great self.
In this captivity ne'er passionate
But when she hears me name the king, and then
Her passions not of anger taste but love:
Love of her conqueror; he that in fierce
Battle (when the cannon's sulphurous breath
Clouded the day) her noble father slew.
(Albovine.)
(More hopeless still, and left unscanned for the student's edification.)
(h) The Miltonic Restoration.
Early dramatic experiment.
Comus is evidently written under three different influences, which may be said to be in the main those of Marlowe, Shakespeare, and Fletcher. The poet often uses Fletcher's heavy trisyllabic endings—
Bore a bright golden flower, but not | ĭn thĭ̄s sŏ̄il;
and has not infrequent Alexandrines, the most certain of which is—
As to | make this | rela|tion.
Care | and ut|most shifts.
But he makes the verse more and more free and original, as in the following extracts:
Yea, there | where ve|ry des|ola|tion dwells,
By grots | and ca|verns shagged | with hor|rid shades,
She may | pass on | with un|blenched maj|esty,
Be it | not done | in pride | or in | presump|tion.
Some say | no ev|il thing | that walks | by night,
In fog | or fire, | by lake | or moor|ish fen,
Blue mea|gre hag, | or stub|born un|laid ghost,
That breaks | his mag|ic chains | at cur|few time,
No gob|lin or |swart fa|ery of | the mine,
Hath hurt|ful power | o'er true | virgin|ity.
Do ye | believe | me yet, | or shall | I call
Anti|quity | from the | old schools | of Greece
To test|ify | the arms | of chas|tity?
Hence had | the hunt|ress Di|an her | dread bow,
Fair sil|ver-shaft|ed queen | for ev|er chaste,
Wherewith | she tamed | the brind|ed li|oness
And spot|ted moun|tain-pard, | but set | at nought
The fri|vŏlŏus bōlt | of Cu|pid; gods | and men
Feared her | stern frown, | and she | was queen | ŏ' thĕ wōods.
. . . . . . .
Methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-managed merriment,
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe
Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds,
When, for their teeming flocks and granges full,
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss.
(The full comments given on previous passages make it unnecessary to annotate this much. The last passage has the full paragraph combination.[41])
XXIII. Examples of Elizabethan Lyric
(a) Prae-Spenserian:
Not light | of love, la|dy,
Though fan|cy do prick | thee,
Let con|stancy | possess | thy heart:
Well wor|thy of blam|yng
They be | and defam|ing,
From plight|ed troth | which back | do start.
Dear dame!
Then fick|leness ban|ish
And fol|ly extin|guish,
Be skil|ful in guid|ing,
And stay | thee from slid|ing,
And stay | thee,
And stay | thee!
(Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions (1578).)
(Anapæstic substitution (if not definite anapæstic base) arising doubtless rather from tune than from deliberate prosodic purpose; but quite prosodically correct, and sure to propagate itself.)
(b) Post-Spenserian:
My bon|ny lass, | thine eye,
So sly
Hath made | me sor|row so—
Thy crim|son cheeks, | my dear,
So clear,
Have so | much wrought | my woe,
(Phœnix Nest (1593).)
(Pure iambics; effect produced by short "bob" rhymes.)
(c) Ben Jonson (strict common measure):
Drīnk tŏ | me on|ly with | thine eyes
And I | will pledge | with mine;
Or leave | a kiss | but in | the cup
And I'll | not look | for wine.
The thirst | that from | the soul | doth rise
Doth ask | a drink | divine;
But might | I of | Jōve's nēc|tar sip,
I would | not change | for thine.
(As mostly with Ben, strict iambics, save for the opening trochee, and something like a spondee in "Jove's nec-." The wonderful effect which he, or Donne, or the Spirit of the Age, taught to the next two generations is produced entirely by careful choice and fingering of the words and rhymes.)
(d) Ben Jonson (anapæstic measure):
See the cha|riot at hand | here of Love!
Wherein | my La|dy rid|eth.
Each that draws | is a swan | or a dove,
And well | the car | Love guid|eth.
As she goes, | all hearts | do du|ty
Unto | her beau|ty;
And enam|oured do wish, | so they might
But enjoy | such a sight,
That they still | were to run | by her side
Th[o]rough ponds, | th[o]rough seas, | whither she | would ride.
("Through," as often, is probably to be valued "thorough," and "chariot" was generally "chawyot" or "charret." It will be observed that although this is fine it is slightly laboured. The age was hardly at ease with the anapæst as yet.)
(e) Campion (selections):
(1) Classical
English anacreontic.
Fōllŏw, | fōllŏw,
Though with | mischief
Armed like | whirlwind
How she | flies still.
English elegiac.
Constant | to none, | but ev|er false | to me,
Traitor | still to | love through thy | false desires,
Not hope | of pit|y now, |nor vain | redress,
Turns my | grief to | tears and re|newed la|ments.
English iambic.
Rose-|cheeked Lau|ra, come;
Sing | thou smooth|ly with | thy beauty's
Sil|ent mu|sic, ei|ther other
Sweet|ly gracing.
(2) Natural
Fōllŏw thȳ făir sūn, ŭnhāppy̆ shādŏw!
Thŏugh thōu | bĕ blāck ăs nīght,
And she | made all | of light,
Yet fol|low thy | fair sun,| unhap|py shadow!
Break now,| my heart, | and die! | O no, | she may | relent—
Let my | despair | prevail! O stay, | hope is | not spent.
Should she | now fix | one smile | on thee, | where were | despair?
The loss | is but ea|sy which smiles | can repair;
A stran|ger would please | thee, if she | were as fair.
The student should require little assistance here, odd as some of the rhythms may seem. But "Rose-cheeked Laura" ought to be trochaically scanned, and will then be naturally "English." Nothing can make the "English elegiac" harmonious. Note that line 3 of "Break now" may be anapæstic like 4 and 5:
Shŏuld shĕ nōw | fĭx ŏne smīle, etc.[42]