2 Gent. No.

3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner, that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with countenance of such distraction, that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries, 'Oh, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter, with clipping her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by, like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it.

2 Gent. What, 'pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?

3 Gent. Like an old tale still; which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his innocence (which seems much) to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows.

I Gent. What became of his bark, and his followers?

3 Gent. Wracked the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child, were even then lost, when it was found. But, oh the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled: she lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of loosing.

1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted.

3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which

angled for mine eyes (caught the water, though not the fish), was, when at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,) how attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 'alas!' I would fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure, my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour: some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world could have seen 't, the woe had been universal.

Gent. Are they returned to the court?

3 Gent. No: the princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing, and now newly performed by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had he himself eternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer: thither, with all greediness of affection, are they gone; and there they intend to sup.

2 Gent. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing?

I Gent. Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? every wink of an eye, some new grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along.

[Exeunt Gentlemen."

THE LATIN AND THE ANGLO-SAXON ELEMENTS OF SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH, AND THE MONOSYLLABIC VOCABULARY,

IN THEIR RELATIONS TO THE INTELLECTUAL, THE EMOTIONAL, AND THE DRAMATIC.

HE peculiar domains of the Latin and the Anglo-Saxon elements of the English language have been sufficiently defined by numerous writers well qualified for the task. Thomas De Quincey has distinguished these domains, in his Essay on Wordsworth's Poetry, with his characteristic sagacity and rare faculty of discrimination: "The gamut of ideas," he says, “needs a corresponding gamut of expressions; the scale of the thinking, which ranges through every key, exacts, for the artist, an unlimited command over the entire scale of the instrument which he employs. Never, in fact, was there a more erroneous direction than that given by a modern rector of the Glasgow University to the students, viz., that they should cultivate the Saxon part of our language, at the cost of the Latin part. Nonsense! Both are indispensable; and, speaking generally without stopping to distinguish as to subjects, both are equally indispensable. Pathos, in situations which are homely, or at all connected with domestic affections, naturally moves by Saxon words. Lyrical emotion of every kind, which (to merit the name of lyrical) must be in the state of flux and reflux, or, generally, of agitation, also requires the Saxon element of our language. And why? Because the Saxon is the aboriginal element; the basis, and not the superstructure; consequently, it comprehends all the ideas which are natural to the heart of man, and to the elementary situations of life. And,

although the Latin often furnishes us with duplicates of these ideas, yet the Saxon or monosyllabic part has the advantage of precedency in our use and knowledge; for it is the language of the nursery, whether for rich or poor, in which great philological academy, no toleration is given to words in 'osity' or 'ation.' There is, therefore, a great advantage, as regards the consecration to our feelings, settled, by usage and custom, upon the Saxon strands, in the mixed yarn of our native tongue. And, universally, this may be remarked that, whenever the passion of a poem is of that sort, which uses, presumes, or postulates the ideas, without seeking to extend them, Saxon will be the 'cocoon' (to speak by the language applied to silkworms), which the poem spins for itself. But, on the other hand, when the motion of the feeling is by and through the ideas, where (as in religious or meditative poetry-Young's, for instance, or Cowper's) the pathos creeps and kindles underneath the very tissues of the thinking, there the Latin will predominate; and so much so, that, whilst the flesh, the blood, and the muscle, will be often almost exclusively Latin, the articulations only, or hinges of connections, will be Anglo-Saxon."

So unperverted were Shakespeare's instincts, so almost infallible, in the use of words, that the general vocabulary of a Play, or even the special vocabulary of a speech, is a quite reliable indication of the key in which it is pitched. Troilus and Cressida, for example, is the most intellectual of Shakespeare's Plays; — the wisdom with which it preëminently abounds, may be characterized as the wisdom of the intellect,* rather than the wisdom of the heart; and its intellectual character might be almost guessed by

* Dryden, who "corrected" the Troilus and Cressida, says of it in his Preface, “The Tragedy which I have undertaken to correct, was, in all probability, one of his [Shakespeare's] first endeavors on the stage"! Further on he says it was composed "in the Apprenticeship of his writing." On which Dr. John K. Ingram remarks, "How any person of moderate discernment could suppose that play, so full of knowledge of the world and all the fruits of ripe reflection, to have been the work of a very young man, I confess, passes my comprehension."

its Latin vocabulary alone. I have not taken the pains to estimate the percentage of its Latin vocabulary over that of other plays; but every reader of the Play must notice that this vocabulary is signally more extensive than in a play with so large an element of homely pathos, for example, as is in King Lear.

The Anglo-Saxon element of the English language is largely monosyllabic; and the part which monosyllabic words play in Shakespeare's diction, is one that it is important to take account of, in a study of his language-shaping as organically connected with thought and feeling.

(It will be found that deep feeling of every kind expresses itself through, and, indeed, attracts to itself, the monosyllabic words of the language; not only because such words are, for the most part, Anglo-Saxon, and therefore more consecrated to feeling than to thought, but because the staccato effect which can be secured through them rather than through dissyllabic and trisyllabic words, subserves well the natural movement of impassioned speech. Take, for example, this passage from the Song of Deborah and Barak, 5th chapter of Judges, 27th verse: "At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down at her feet he bowed, he fell where he bowed, there he fell down dead."

:

The three following lines from Juliet's speech to the Friar (Romeo and Juliet, IV. 1. 84-86), afford a good example of monosyllabic effect; and the extra end-syllable of the the third line, adds to the effect:

"Or bid me go into a new-made grave,

And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;

Things that to hear them told, have made me tremble;

And the following speeches :

66

Montague.

...

Hold me not, let me go.

Lady M. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe."

- R. and J. I. i. 72, 73.

When Juliet entreats to delay her marriage with Paris, her mother replies: