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working; he could do all these things at once and at the same time strike out universal truths which are worth considering in themselves. Such a line as this is utterly Shakespearean.

What Wolsey is saying, therefore, is an observation on language, the sense of it being as if he had put it - "that Am, that Have and that Will-be.” After catching this grammatical construction, it is only incumbent upon us to have sufficient insight to see the deep truth involved and its practical fitness here to plot, character and circumstance.

But, from what I know of the temper of Shakespearean criticism today, especially in America, this is a view which will not willingly be received. Shakespearean criticism in this country and England is nothing positive or constructive; it is simply a self-conscious protest against the so-called “metaphysical” efforts of German criticism. A certain attitude having become the fashion, critics carry this mere practical playwrighting view of Shakespeare to such an extreme that we would not allow him to have an idea of any kind. It is a mistake. The common-sense attitude toward Shakespeare's text is easy to assume; it explains nothing worth while and is simply another name for mediocrity.

But despite what I am aware of, I am willing to put the present view of Shakespeare's mind on paper and let it stand and bide its time. In the meantime, what are we to conclude about

the passage? What we will have to conclude, in the end, is that the line has this meaning or none at all. By no means of punctuation can this whole passage be made one sentence. It will remain a "crux” so long as this is attempted. It is destined never to have any grammar or any sense according to past and present methods of procedure. But as soon as we put a period after the first three lines we have a statement which is clear and grammatical and in all ways consistent. This, therefore, is what Shakespeare wrote and what he intended to have us understand.

In Tamburlaine we read (Act iii, Scene 3):

Well said, Theridamas! speak in that mood;
For will and shall best fitteth Tamburlaine.

Here we see Shakespeare's great contemporary, Marlowe, who was, more than

any

other poet, his model, using the auxiliaries as nouns for dramatic emphasis. The italics, which signalize the sense, are not my own. Mark, too, the play on the grammatical term "mood," which drives the sense home.

Shakespeare was doing the same thing. But he did it in a much greater way by making the words fit the character of the speaker and at the same time giving them organic relation to the plot - an ability which, more than any other, marks his great dramatic genius.

I have suggested that the words be capitalized — “that Am, Have, and Will-be." It

would probably be well for editors to print them also in italics. If the reader finds that he is not now able to catch the deep art in this way of saying “mine own,” let him re-read what I have said about the nature of the auxiliaries — or, for a fuller and more intimate exposition, he might refer to what is said about the poetry of the auxiliaries in my “Essays on the Spot.”

PIONED AND TWILLED BRIMS

Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease;
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep;
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
Which spongy April at thy hest betrims
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy brown groves,
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipp'd vineyard;
And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky hard,
Where thou thyself dost air.

(The Tempest, iv, 1, 64) “Pioned, adj., a very doubtful word, variously interpreted as, 'covered with the marsh marigold, or simply ‘dug.'”

(Globe ed.) “Twilled, adj., a word of which the meaning is unknown. It has variously been supposed to signify ‘covered with sedge or reeds,' or 'ridged,' or 'fringed with matted grass,' or 'smeared with mud'!”

(Globe ed.)

A cold (dispassionate) nymph is spoken of as being crowned in the spring. This crown is, of course, a wreath. In order to make a wreath we must weave together long stems of grass or reeds and stick the flowers in the crown thus formed. This is especially necessary when we are working with brittle stemmed or fragile flowers. Shakespeare covers the marge of the stream with pionies (formerly spelled so) and twills or reeds and sedge with this end in

view. As the object is to crown these nymphs, he is careful to furnish the raw material.

Let us take a more comprehensive view of what Shakespeare is doing here. He is taking account of every sort of soil which the country affords. In each case he considers, first, the nature of the crop, and, second, what that crop is used for.

He begins with the “rich leas." This is meadow land — not soggy or flat undrained meadow land but such soil as is necessary to the production of the grains.

Next he considers the “turfy” mountains. These produce short grass in patches, and this grass serves for the sheep because they can bite shorter than any other domestic animal and are natural climbers.

Next he speaks of the “flat meads.” A flat mead, undrained and low and unsuited for other purposes, produces a rank growth of grass, usually marsh grass, which lays over in one direction like a thatched roof. This makes hay which will serve “them to keep” it will support the sheep in winter when they cannot crop the mountainsides. The particular kind of stover he means is vividly indicated by its being “thatched.” This is the natural product of a flat unmown mead.

The groves, brown after harvest time, and the vineyard, do not need to be described with regard to their product, and so with the sterile sea-marge which produces nothing.

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