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,