APPENDIX FOR ANAPHORA
Interestingly, as to anaphora, and its unique usage by Shakespeare, de Vere, and Ignoto—all being the same—it’s apparent everywhere the subject of the “style” of Shakespeare comes to us. Below, as the writer can see, I “broke the lines” not thinking at all about “anaphora” but just to give a “natural” Shakespeare feel to it. I did not change anything. Here is what I produced, before I was really even acquainted with the word “anaphora.”
APPENDIX
STYLE: According to Ignoto AEP
Versified by E.L.M. –
(only a few dashes have been added, along with line breaks)
(only a few dashes have been added, along with line breaks)
Showing That Text Written By The Author Of AEP Is So Inately Poetic That, By Merely Breaking The “Breathing” Line At The Right Place, It Begins To Sing --- The Prose Of A “Singer”
Chapter V – The Arte of English Posie, 1589
Style is constant—
continual phrase or tenour
of speaking and writing,
extending to the whole tale
of process of the poem or history—
and not properly to any piece
or member of a tale
but is of words, speeches,
and sentences together,
a certain contrived form and quality,
many times natural to the writer,
many times his peculiar by election and art,
and such as either he keepth by skill,
or holdeth on by ignorance,
and will—or peradventure cannot—
easily alter into any other.
So we say that Cicero’s style, and SalustsStyle is constant—
continual phrase or tenour
of speaking and writing,
extending to the whole tale
of process of the poem or history—
and not properly to any piece
or member of a tale
but is of words, speeches,
and sentences together,
a certain contrived form and quality,
many times natural to the writer,
many times his peculiar by election and art,
and such as either he keepth by skill,
or holdeth on by ignorance,
and will—or peradventure cannot—
easily alter into any other.
Were not one, nor Ceasars and Livies, nor Homers
And Hesiodus, nor Herodutus and Theucidides
Nor Euripides, Aristophanes nor Erasmus
and Bideis styles—
and because this continual course
and manner of writing speech sheweth
the matter and disposition of the writer’s mind,
more than one or a few words
or sentences can show,
therefore, there be that have called Style:
the image of man for a man is but his mind,
and as his mind is tempered and qualified
so are his speeches and language at large,
and in his inward conceits be the metal
of his mind
and the manner of his utterance,
the very warp and woof of his conceits—
more plain, or busy and intricate,
or otherwise affected after the rate.
Most men say that not any one point
In all Physiognomy is so certain, as to judgeMan’s manner by his eye; but more assuredly
In mine opinion, by his daily manner
Of speech and ordinary writing.
***************
More versified prose from “The Arte of English Poise”—showing that poetry was his, “style” his many times natural” self in speech and “ordinary writing” and his “language at large.”
Instruction To Performers
Excerpted From Arte of Englishe Poesie, 1589
To refresh the mind with the ear’s delight,
That is the art of excellent poetry.Therefore, before all else, let true concords,
Clear and audible, no less delight
Than the strained note in a musician mouth.
Therefore, be not impatient with thy speech;
Not by the dark, wrench’d by wrong writing
(As all they do who serve as meter-patchers)
Who follow not their art, neither rule
Reason nor rime; but this I’ll say
That every verse is as ‘twere a kind of clause
Unto itself—whatsoever the sense o’it.
This, then, above all, a natural eloquence
Not by gross use be toy’d indiscreetly,
Or overmuch affected (though all dissemble)
But, even as Nature’s own self working,
By proper virtue’s instinct and example,
So, be not as those other Poets are,
Or false orators upon the stage
Who would more be by more commanded,
All for the artificial.
(sources all from AEP, to be provided)
*********************
APPENDIX
See Oxford’s Letter to Cecil/Poetry of Shakespeare?
From volume 11, Ignoto: Complete Poems and Analytical Commentary
Upon Queen Elizabeth’s death, Lord Oxford was sad not only for the Queen but for himself. Certainly he knew, in the depth of his being, that he was Elizabeth’s true poet laureate. To himself alone he lived anonymously in that entitlement. Indeed, his own words ring loudly over the scene, words taken right from his own pen at the time of her death. In his letter to his brother-in-law at the time of the Queen’s death he wrote of himself under his own signature that he was an Robert Cecil’s “unfortunate brother-in-law.” In his own speech, in the speech that is, of Edward de Vere, and as preserved in his letter, he says that in the “common shipwreck” (of the Queen’s death) he ranks “above all the rest,” in that he was “least regarded though often comforted.”
Edward, he tells us, in his letter to Robert Cecil, below, had been left to fend for himself, with little help from the Queen herself. Certainly, those are circumstances enough to occasion his unhappy and unfortunate state. She had, in fact, and at last “left [me] to try my fortune among the alterations of time and chance, either without sail. Whereby to take advantage of any prosperous gale, or with anchor to ride till the storm be overpast.” Certainly a plaintiff note of his treatment by Queen Elizabeth is heard in his self-described “Ignoto” roles, Ignoto, Edward de Vere, and for singular relationship with the Queen. Above every one, he said, he was least regarded and more personally related to the Queen than anyone else. Who could that be other than Edward de Vere?
At the time of the death of Queen Elizabeth, Edward de Vere was so moved that he wrote to his brother-in-law, Robert Cecil as follows:
“I cannot but find a great grief in myself to remember the mistress which we have lost, under whom both you and myself from our greenest years have been in a manner brought up; and although it hath pleased God after an earthly kingdom to take her up into a more permanent and heavenly state (wherein I do not doubt she is crowned with glory) to give us a prince wise, learned, and enriched with all virtues, yet the long time which we spend in her service, we cannot look for so much time which we spent in her service we cannot look for so much left of our days as to bestow upon another. Neither the long acquaintances and kind familiarities wherewith she did use us, we are not ever to expect from another prince, as denied by the infirmity of age and common cause of reason. In this common shipwreck mine is above all the rest, who least regarded , though often comforted, of all her followers, she hath left me to try my fortune among the alterations of time and chance, either without sail whereby to take the advantage of any prosperous gale or, with anchor to ride till the storm be passed.
There is nothing therefore left to my comfort but the excellent virtues and deep wisdom wherewith God had endued our new Master and Sovereign Lord , who doth not come amongst us as a stranger but as a natural prince, succeeding by right of blood and inheritance , not as a conqueror but as the true Shepherd of Christ’s flock to cherish and comfort them.
Below is, in versified form, the near identical copy of Edward’s remarks,
with line breaks utilized by this writer.
with line breaks utilized by this writer.
Oxford:
I cannot but find but a great grief in myself
To remember the mistress which we have lost,
Under whom both you and myself have been,In a manner
From greenest years, been brought up.
And although it hath pleased God,
(After an earthly kingdom),
To take her up into a more permanent
And heavenly state
(Wherein I do not doubt she’s crowned with glory)
To give us a prince–wise, learned,
Enriched with all virtues).
Yet the long time which we spent in her service,
We cannot look for so much left of our days
As to bestow upon another.
Neither the long acquaintance
And kind familiarities.
Wherewith she did use us,
We are not ever to expect from another prince—
As denied by the infirmity of age
And common cause of reason.
In this common shipwreck,
Mine is above all the rest,
Who, least regarded, though often comforted
(Of all her followers),
She hath left to try my fortune
Among the alterations of time and chance—
Either without sail
Whereby to take the advantage
Of any prosperous gale,
Or with anchor, to ride till the storm be passed.
There is nothing therefore left to my comfort
But the excellent virtues and deep wisdom
Wherewith God had endued
Our new Master and Sovereign Lord,
Who doth not come amongst us as a stranger,
But as a natural prince,
Succeeding by right of blood and inheritance—
Not as a conqueror,
But as the true Shepherd of Christ’s flock
To cherish and comfort them.
finish
APPENDIX
Examples of the red of anaphora in
“In Prison Pent by “Anomos”
ODE 11.
he desires.
As soon may water Wipe me dry,
And fire my heat allay,As you with favor of your eye,
Make hot desire decay:
The more I have,
The more I crave;
The more I crave, the more desire,
As piles of wood increase the fire.
The greater favor you bestow,
The sweeter my delight;And by delight Desire doth grow,
And growing gathers might.
The less remains,
The more my pains,
To see my self so near the brink,
And yet my fill I cannot drink.
[76] Love the only price of Love
Such is the price my loving heart would pay,
Such is the pay thy Love doth claim as due.Thy due is Love, which I (poor I) assay,
In vain assay to quite with friendship true:
True is my love and true shall ever be,
And truest love is far too base for thee.
[Lord Oxford’s Motto above True. . .]
[79] PHALEVCIAKS. 1
What charms, what magical abuse’d Altars?
Wherefore wished I so oft that hour unhappy,
When with freedom I might recount my torments,
And plead for remedy by true lamenting?
Dumb, nay dead in a trance I stood amazed,
When those looks I beheld that late I longed for;
No speech, no memory, no life remained,
Now speech prateth apace, my grief betraying,
Now bootless memory my plaints remembereth,
Now life moves again, but all avails not.
Speech, life and memory die altogether,
With speech, life, memory, Love only dies not.
[80] Deadly Sweetness.
Sweet thoughts, the food on which I feeding sterve,
Sweet tears, the drink that more augments my thirstSweet eyes, the stars by which my course swerve
Sweet hope, my death, which wast my life at first.
Sweet thoughts, sweet tears, sweet hope, sweet eyes,
How chance that death in sweetness lies ?
[83] Loves Contrarieties.
I Smile sometimes amidst my greatest grief,
Not for delight, for that long since is fled,Despair did shut the gate against relief,
When love, at first, of death the sentence read.
But yet I smile sometimes in midst of pain,
To think what toys do toss my troubled head.
How most I wish, that most I should refrain,
And seek the thing that least I long to find,
And find the wound by which my heart is slain,
Yet want both skill and will to ease my mind.
Against my will I burn with free consent,
I live in pain, and in my pain delight,
I cry for death, yet am to live content,
I hate the day, yet never wish for night;
I freeze for cold, and yet refrain the fire;
I long to see, and yet I shun her sight,
I scald in sun, and yet no shade desire,
I live by death, and yet I wish to die,
I feel no hurt, and yet for help enquire,
I die by life, and yet my life desire.
Heu, cogor voti nescius esse mei.
[86]
Smooth are thy looks, so is the deepest stream:
Soft are thy lips, so is the swallowing Sand.Faire is thy light, but like unto a dream;
Sweet is thy promise, but it will not stand.
Smooth, soft, fair, sweet, to them that lightly touch,
Rough, hard, foul, fowre to them that take too much.
Thy look so smooth have drawn away my sight.
Who would have thought that hooks could so be hid ?
Thy lips so sort have fretted my delight,
Before I once suspected what they did.
Thy face so fair hath burnt me with desire)
Thy words so sweet were bellows for the fire.
And yet I love the looks that made me blind,
And like to kiss the lips that fret my life,
[90] That he is unchangeable.
The love of change hath change the world throughout
And nought is counted good, but what is strange;New things wax old, old new, all turn about,
And all things change except the love of change.
Yet feel I not this love of change in me,
But as I am, so will I always be.
Mine eyes confess they have their wished fight,
My heart affirms it feels the love it fought.
Mine inward thoughts are fed with true delight,
Which full conlent of con'ant joy hath wrought.
And full Content defters no Change to see,
Then, as I am, so will I always be.
Reft then (my Heart) and keep thine old delight,
Which like the Phoenix waOeth yong each day:Each hour prevents new pleasure to my fight,
More cause of joy increases every way.
What gained fair Cressid by her faithless change,
But loss of fame, of beauty, health, and life?Mark Jason’s hap, that ever loved to range,
That loft his children, and his princely wife.
Then Change farewell, thou art no Mate for me,
But, as I am, so will I always be.
Iamais aultre.
[94] ODE V.
Petition to have her leave to die.
When will the fountain of my Tears be dry?
When will my fights be spent?
When will Desire agree to let me die?
When will thy hart relent?
It is not for my life I plead,
Since death the way to reech doth lead,
But decay for thy consent, Leec thou be discontent.
[95]
The frozen Snake opprepr with heaped snow,
By struggling hard gets out her tender head:And spies far off from where she lies below,
The winter Sun that from the North is fled:
But all in vain she looks upon the light,
Where heat is wanting to restore her might.
And yet I feel the thing might yield relief,
And yet the fight doth breed my greater grief.
So this be saw her lover through the wall,
And law thereby, she wanted that she law:And so I flee, and fleeing want with all,
And wanting so, unto my death I draw:
And so my death were twenty times my friend,
If with this Verse my hated life might end.
[96] ODE VI.
If my decay be your increase,
If my decrease be your delight,If war me procure your peace,
If wrong to me, to you be right,
I would decay, decrease, war, wrong,
Might end the life that ends so long.
Yet, if by my decay you grow,
When I am spent your growth is pail:If from my grief your Joy do flow,
When my grief ends, your Joy flies fait:
Then for your sake, though to my pain,
I strive to live, to die full sane.
For if I die, my war must cease;
Then can I suffer wrong no more:
My war once done, farewell your peace,
My wrong, your right doth still restore:
Thus, for your right I suffer wrong.
And for your peace, my war prolong.
But since no thing can long endure,
That sometime hath not needful rest,What can my life your joy assure.
If still I wail with grief oppressed?
The strongest stomach faints at last,
For want of ease and due repast..
Let my Decay be your increase,
Let my distress be your delight:Let war in me procure your peace,
Let wrong in me to you be right;
That by my grief your joy may live,
Vouchfafe rome little repr to glue.
[99] A Paraphrapcicall translation of Petrarck’s Sonnet, beginning,
S'Amour non e, che dunque e quel ch’io fento.
If Love be nothing but an idle name,
A vain devise of foolish~ Poets skill:A fanned fire, devoid of smoke and flame;
Then what is that which me torments still?
If such a thing as Love indeed there be,
What kind of thing, or which, or where is be?
[I00]
Fayre is thy face, and that thou knowest too well,
Hard is thy Heart, and that thou wilt not know:Thou hearst and fmil'pr, when I thy prayles tell,
But Propst thine ears when I my grief would show:
Yet though in vain, needs mutt I speak,
Or else my swelling heart would break.
Alas, to what parte shall I then appeal?
Thy face so faire disdains to look on me:Thy tongue commands my heart his grief conceal,
Thy nimble feet from me do always flee:
Thine Eyes cast fire to burn my heart,
And thou rejoices in my smart.
Then, since thou sees the life I lead in pain,
And that for thee I suffer all this grief,O let my Heart this small request obtain,
That thou agree it pine without relief!
I ask not Love for my good will,
But leave, that I may love thee still.
Quid minus optari per mea vota potest.
[102] An Invective against Love.
All is not Gold that shineth bright in show,
Nor ev'ry flower so good, as fair, to fight,The deepest streams, above do calmeth flow,
And Strongeft Poyfons oft the taste delight,
The pleasant bait doth hide the harmful hook,
And false deceit can lend a friendly look.
Love is the stream, whole waves so calmly flow,
As might entice mens minds to wade therein:Love is the poison mixed with sugar so,
As might by outward sweetness liking win.
Love is the, bait whose taste the fith deceives,
And makes them swallow down the choking hook:Love is the face whole fairness Judgement reaves,
And makes thee truth a false and fained look:
But as the hook, the foolish fish doth kill,
So flattering looks, the Lovers life do spill.
Vsque adeo dulce puella malum est.
Upon an Herorical Poem which he had begun
(In imitation of Virgil,) of the first Inhabiting thisFamous ile by Brute, and the Troyans)
My wanton Muse that whilome wont to ting,
Fair beauties praise and senus sweet delight,Of late had changed the tenor of her string,
To higher tunes then serve for Cupids fight:
(Strong, Shril Trumpets found, sharp Swords & Lances
War, blood, and death, were matter of her song.
The God of Love by chance had heard thereof,
That I was prov’d a Rebel to his Crown,
Fit words for War, quoth he, with angry scoff,
A likely man to write of Mar’s frown:
Well are they spoed in whose praises he shall write,
Whose wanton Pen can nought but Love indite.
Then I that now perceived his needles fear,
With heavy smile began to plead my cause:In rayne (quoth I) this endless grief I bear,
In vain I ecrive to keep thy grievous Laws,
If after proof so often trusty found,
Vniuec Sufpec!c condemn me as unfound.
Is this the guerdon of my faithful heart?
Is this the hope on which my life is ecaide?Is this the ease of never‑ceasing smart?
Is this the price that for my pains is paid?
Yet better serve fierce Mars in bloody field,
Where death, or conquest, end or Joy doth yield.
Long have I feru'd: what is my pay but pain?
Oft have I fude: what gain I but delay ?My faithful love is quite with disdain,
My grief a game, my pen is made a play:
Yea, Love that doth in other favor find,
In me is counted madness out of kind.
[I l0]
Mine eyes have spent their tears, and now are dry,
My weary hand will guide my pen no more.My voice is hoarse, and can no longer cry,
My head hath left no new complaints in Prore.
My heart is overburdened so with pain,
That fence of grief doth none therein remain.
The tears you see diprilling from mine eyes,
My gentle Mule doth shed for this my grief.The plaints you hear are her inceffant cries,
By which she calls in vain for rome relief.
She never parted since my grief begun,
In her I live, the dead, my life were done.
Then (loving Mule) depart, and let me die,
Some braver youth will rue to thee for grace,That may advance thy glory to the sky,
And make thee scorn blind fortunes frowning face.
My heart and head that did thee entertain,
Desire and Fortune with despite have slain.
My Lady dares not lodge thee in her breast
For fear, uinwares she let in Love with thee.For well she thinks some part in thee must rest,
Of that which so posses each part of me
Then (good my Muse) fly back to heav’n again,
and let me die, to end this endless pain.
[111]
Break heavy heart, and rid me of this pain,
This pain that ecill increases day by day:By day with sighs I spend my self in vain,
In rayne by night with tears I waste away:
Away I waste with tears by night in vain,
Tears, sighs, by night, by day increase this pain.
Mine Eyes no Eyes, but fountains of my tears,
My tears no tears, but floods to moist my heart:
My heart no heart, but harbor of my fears,
My fears no fears, but feelings of my smart:
My smart, my fears, my heart, my tears, mine eyes
Are blind, dry despent, past, wasted with my cries.
And yet mine Eyes, though blind, see cause of grief:
And yet my tears, though dried, run down amame:And yet my heart, though spent, attends relief,
And yet my fears, though pace, increase my pain:
And yet I live, and living, feels more sroart,
And smarting, cry in vain, break heavy heart.
[119] ODE X111
Now have I learned with much ado at last,
by true disdain to kill desire:This was the mark at which I shot so fast,
Unto this height I did aspire:
Proud love, no do thy worst, and spare not,
For thee and all thy shafts I care not.
What haft thou left where with to move my mind,
What life to quicken dead desire?I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,
I feel no heat in all thy fire.
Go change thy bow and get a stronger,
Go break thy shafts and buy thee longer.
In vain thou baits thy hook with beauties blaze,
In vain they wanted eyes allure.These are but toys for them that love to gaze,
I know that harm thy looks procure:
Some strange conceit must be devised,
Or thou and all thy skill despised.
Scilicet afferui iam me, fugique catenas.
[124] Ode II.
The bull by nature hath his horns,
The horse his hooves to daunt their foes,The light-foot hare the hunter scorns,
The lions teeth his strength disclose.
The fish, by swimming, scales the weele,
The bird, by flight, the fowlers net,With wisdom man is armed as steel,
Poor women none of these can get.
What have they then? Fair beauties grace,
A two-edged sword, a trusty shield,
No force resists a lovely face,
Both fire and sword to beauty yield.
[126] Anacreons Second Ode, Otherwise
“Nature in her work doth giue,
To each thing that by her does live:“A proper gift whereby she may,
“Prevent in time her own decay.
The bull a horn, the horse a hoof,
The light-foot hare to run aloof:
The lion’s strength who may resist,
The birds aloft, fly where they lift.
The fish swims safe in waters deep,
“The silly worm at least can creep:
What is to come, men can forecast,
“And learn more witt, by that is past:
The woman’s gift what might it be,
“The same for which the Ladies three,
“Pallas, Iuno, Venus strave,
“When each desired it to have.
[128]
The lowest trees have tops, the Antehergall,
The fly her splene, the little sparks their heat:
The slender hairs cast shadows, though but small,
And bees have stings, although they be not great:
Seas have their course, and so have shallow springs,
And love is love, in beggars, as in kings.
Where rivers smoothest run, deep are the fiords ,
The Daill stirs, yet none perceives it move:The firmest faith is in the fewest words,
The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love:
True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak,
They hear, and see, and sigh, and then they break.
Incerto
[135] Others upon the same.
Whom can I first accuse? Whose fault account I the greatest?
Where kept the Muses, what countries haunted Apollo?Where loytred bloody Mars? Where lingered worthy Minerua?
What could three Sisters do more then nine in a combat?
[137] A Meditation upon the frailty of this Life.
O trifling toys that toss the brains,
While loathsome life doth last!O wished wealth, O sugred joys,
O life when death is past:
Who loaths exchange of loss with gain?
Yet loath we death as hell.
What woeful wight would wish his woe?
Yet wish we here to dwell.
O fancy frail that feeds on earth,
And stays on slippery oiyes:
O noble mind, O happy man,
That can contemn such toys.
APPENDIX:
De Vere"s "Love and Antagonism
Shakespeare’s Rape of Lucrece
STYLE: LORD OXFORD’S EARLY, 16 YRS OLD POEM IDENTIFIED
BY LOONEY & FEATURED BY STRITMATTER.
There Are So Many Anaphora in the below two poems, I won't take the time now to do it.BY LOONEY & FEATURED BY STRITMATTER.
** Featured by Looney/Stritmatter
(De Vere's "Love and Antagonism") [song lyrics]
17. The trickling tears that fall along my cheeks
The trickling tears that fall along my cheeks,The secret sighs that show my inward grief,The present pains perforce that Love aye seeks,
Bid me renew my cares without relief;
In woeful song, in dole display,
My pensive heart for to betray.
Betray thy grief, thy woeful heart with speed;
Resign thy voice to her that caused thee woe;
With irksome cries, bewail thy late done deed,
For she thou lov'st is sure thy mortal foe;
And help for thee there is none sure,
But still in pain thou must endure.The stricken deer hath help to heal his wound,The haggard hawk with toil is made full tame;The strongest tower, the cannon lays on ground,The wisest wit that ever had the fame,
Was thrall to Love by Cupid's slights;
Then weigh my cause with equal wights (weights).She is my joy, she is my care and woe;She is my pain she is my ease therefore;She is my death, she is my life also,She is my salve, she is my wounded sore:
In fine, she hath the hand and knife,
That may both save and end my life.And shall I live on earth to be her thrall?And shall I live and serve her all in vain?And kiss the steps that she lets fall,And shall I pray the Gods to keep the pain
From her that is so cruel still?
No, no, on her work all your will.And let her feel the power of all your might,And let her have her most desire with speed,And let her pine away both day and night,And let her moan, and none lament her need;And let all those that shall her see,
Despise her state and pity me.
Finis. E. O.
Bid me renew my cares without relief;
In woeful song, in dole display,
My pensive heart for to betray.
Betray thy grief, thy woeful heart with speed;
Resign thy voice to her that caused thee woe;
With irksome cries, bewail thy late done deed,
For she thou lov'st is sure thy mortal foe;
And help for thee there is none sure,
But still in pain thou must endure.The stricken deer hath help to heal his wound,The haggard hawk with toil is made full tame;The strongest tower, the cannon lays on ground,The wisest wit that ever had the fame,
Was thrall to Love by Cupid's slights;
Then weigh my cause with equal wights (weights).She is my joy, she is my care and woe;She is my pain she is my ease therefore;She is my death, she is my life also,She is my salve, she is my wounded sore:
In fine, she hath the hand and knife,
That may both save and end my life.And shall I live on earth to be her thrall?And shall I live and serve her all in vain?And kiss the steps that she lets fall,And shall I pray the Gods to keep the pain
From her that is so cruel still?
No, no, on her work all your will.And let her feel the power of all your might,And let her have her most desire with speed,And let her pine away both day and night,And let her moan, and none lament her need;And let all those that shall her see,
Despise her state and pity me.
Finis. E. O.
Sources: Fuller's #1 [A Lover rejected Complaineth]; JTL #12
Appeared also in Paradyse of Dainty Devices, 1576 and updated in 1596
Note: Another poem with specially interesting connections.
Appeared also in Paradyse of Dainty Devices, 1576 and updated in 1596
Note: Another poem with specially interesting connections.
Time's glory is to calm contending kings, 990
To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light,To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
To wake the morn and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right,
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 995
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers;
'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books and alter their contents,
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 1000
To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs,
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel,And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel;
'To show the beldam daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child, 1005
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,To mock the subtle in themselves beguiled,
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,
And waste huge stones with little water drops.
'Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou couldst return to make amends?One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends: 1015
O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,
I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack!'Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
Devise extremes beyond extremity, 1020
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night:
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.
'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 1025
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances,To make him moan; but pity not his moans:
Stone him with harden'd hearts harder than stones;
And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 1030
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.
'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,
Let him have time against himself to rave,Let him have time of Time's help to despair,
Let him have time to live a loathed slave, 1035
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave,
And time to see one that by alms doth live
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.
'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
And merry fools to mock at him resort; 1040
Let him have time to mark how slow time goe
In time of sorrow, and how swift and shortHis time of folly and his time of sport;
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time.
Anaphora Definition
In writing or speech, the deliberate repetition of the first part of the sentence in order to achieve an artistic effect is known as Anaphora.
Anaphora, possibly the oldest literary device, has its roots in Biblical Psalms used to emphasize certain words or phrases. Gradually, Elizabethan and Romantic writers brought this device into practice.
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