I. Whánne that | Apríle || wíth | his shóures sóte |

2. The drought of Márch || had pérced to | the róte, |
3. And bathed évery veíne || in swíche | licóur, |
4. Of which | vertú || engénd red ís | the flour; |
5. When Zéfirús || eke with his só te breath |
6. Enspired hád || in every hólt | and heáth
7. The tender cróp|pes, || and | the yón|ge súnne |
8. Háth in the Rám || his hálfe course | y-rúnne; |
9. And smále fóulles || máken mélodý, |
Io. That slépen áll | the night || with open éye ; |
II. So priketh hém | Natúre || in hér | coráges ; |
12. Then long en fólk || to gón | on pilgrimáges, |
13. And pálmeres || fór | to séken || strángle stróndes, |
14. To sérve hályles || coúth | in súndry lóndes;|
15. And spécially || from évery shíres énd
16. Of Engelónd || to Cánterbury | they wénd. |

It is plain that every line in this passage is constructed regularly on the iambic principle; but it is equally plain that many of the feet are formed by the aid of syllables which in later English have ceased to be sounded. We see, moreover, that if some of the words licóur (liquor), natúre, were pronounced in the modern manner, the regular iambic movement of the verse in which they occur would be destroyed. Lastly-and this point is of the greatest importance

we perceive by the ear that there is a cæsura or pause in the middle of every line, as well as at the end, and that this pause may be made after any syllable between the third and the seventh, though it is most frequently made after the fourth. In lines 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 12, 15, 16, the cæsura is after the fourth syllable; in lines 1, 7, 9, 14, after the fifth; in lines 3, 10, II, after the sixth; while in line 13 there is a double cæsura after the third and the seventh. In the last-named case the effect of the cæsura is to lighten the stress of the iambus, so that the voice passes rapidly over the unimportant word "for." 1

Now if this extremely harmonious and scientific versification be compared with the opening of Lydgate's Book of Thebes, we shall at once perceive how the natural development of the language tended to undermine the foundations of Chaucer's metrical system.

1 Compare vol. i. p. 74.

When bright Phoebus || passed was the Ram
Mid of April, || and unto the Bull cam,
And Saturn olde, || with his frosty face,
In Virgine || taken had his place,
Melancholick || and slow of motion,
And was also || in opposition

Of Lucina, || the mone moist and pale,

That many shoures || from heaven made availe;
When Aurora || was in the morwe red,
And Jupiter | in the crabbes head
Hath take his place || and his mansion,
The lusty time || and joly fresh season,

When that Flora || the noble and mighty queen
The soil had clad || in new and tender green,
With her flowres || craftily y-ment.

This is the work of a disciple and imitator of Chaucer, but of one who-as has been already urged-did not understand either the grammatical or the rhythmical principle on which his master wrote, and who, in dealing with a language that was rapidly undergoing transformation, was guided by no inborn sense of harmony.1 The lines frequently want the number of syllables required to maintain the iambic movement; the metrical accent is thrown on syllables which have no tonic accent; the cæsura is always monotonously made after the fourth syllable.

When we pass on to Barclay or Hawes, the ruin wrought by time in Chaucer's metrical system becomes still more apparent. For example, in the extract from his Eclogue, cited in the first volume in illustration of a different point :

Alas! Amynt(as), || nought bideth that is good,
No, not my cok(ers) || my tabert, nor my hood;
All is consum(ed) || all spent and worne be;
So is all good(nesse) || and welth of the cyté.
The temples pyll(ed) || doth bytterly complaine,
Poore people wayl(eth) || and cal for helpe in vayne ;
Poore wydows sor(owe), || and chyldren fatherles
In vayne bewayl(eth), || whan wolves them oppresse.
Syn hath no scourge || and vertu no rewarde;
Who lov(eth) wisdome || his fortune is but harde!

1 Compare vol. i. pp. 326-333.

Counceyll and cunn(yng) || now tumbles in the dust:
But what (is) the cause? || lawe turned is to lust:
Lust stand(eth) in stede || of lawe and of justyce:
Whereby good lyv(ynge) || subdued is by vyce.1

In order to compress these lines within the iambic movement it is clear that many syllables have to be swallowed up, especially before the cæsura, while the cæsura itself is invariably placed, in Lydgate's mechanical manner, after the fourth syllable.

Such was the metrical instrument which Wyatt had to use, when he endeavoured to reproduce in English the sweet and complicated harmony of the Italian sonnet. The final e, of which Chaucer had so judiciously availed himself, was no longer at his disposal; on the other hand the chaotic modes of accentuation, with which Wyatt's predecessors were content, had almost buried out of his sight the regularity of the principle on which the father of English verse had proceeded. A comparison of Petrarch's work with the first crude attempts of Wyatt to render the refinements of Italian thought into English will enable us to measure intelligibly the greatness of Surrey's achievement. The following is one of Petrarch's most ingenious sonnets in his worst manner :

Amor, che nel pensier mio vive e regna,

E'l suo seggio maggior nel mio cor tene,
Talor' armato nella fronte viene :

Ivi si loca, ed ivi pon sua insegna.
Quella ch' amare, e sofferir ne 'nsegna,

E vuol che 'l gran desio, l' accesa spene
Ragion, vergogna, e reverenza affrene,
Di nostro ardir fra sè stessa si sdegna.
Onde Amor paventoso fugge al core,
Lassando ogni sua impresa; e piange e trema:
Ivi s' asconde, e non appar più fore.

Che poss' io far, temendo il mio signore.
Se non star seco infin all' ora estrema ?
Che bel fin fa chi ben amando more.2

We have to exercise a considerable amount of thought here in order to understand the nature of the poet's

1 Compare vol. i. p. 390.

2 Petrarch, part i. sonnet 109.

metaphysical machinery. Three distinct persons have to be conceived, the Lover, his Mistress, and Love who is presented under the figure of the lover's liege lord, and who, as a rule, occupies his vassal's heart as his chief residence. The lady has taught her lover to keep in check all that tumultuary army of hopes and desires, together with looks, sighs, and the like, which give outward manifestations of the power of Love; but Love, says the poet, sometimes leaves his retired castle and encamps in the face and the forehead, where he displays his banner. This is displeasing to the lady, who exhibits her displeasure, and Love, being a coward, flees back to his fortress. The lover is left exposed to his mistress's anger, and asks what he is to do under the circumstances. His answer is framed in perfect accordance with the scholastic logic of the times; he must, as a loyal vassal, stand by his lord; that is to say, he must henceforth conceal his love, even though the effort to do so should cause his death. A conceit of such extreme subtlety could only be rendered tolerable by the beauty of the form in which it is embodied. Wyatt's translation is as follows:

The long love that in my thought doth harbour,
And in my heart doth keep his residence,
Into my face presseth with bold pretence,
And therein campeth, spreading his bannér.
She that me learns to love and suffér,

And wills that my trust, and love's negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence,
With his hardiness takes displeasure.
Wherewithal unto the heart's forest he fleéth,

Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,
And there him hideth, and not appearéth.
What may I do, when my master fearéth?

But in the field with him to live and die:
For good is the life ending faithfully.

This can only be called a barbarous piece of poetical architecture. The thought itself is not clearly presented, only a slight attempt being made to express the feudal relation between Love and the lover; there is neither selection nor arrangement in the language. The number of syllables in

each line is not equal, so that the movement of the whole is almost as halting as in Barclay's verse; the tonic accent is constantly thrown on weak syllables; the rhymes are harsh and imperfect; the marking of the cæsura is indistinct.

But beyond this, Wyatt, familiar only with the different types of stanza introduced by Chaucer, does not understand the structure of the Italian sonnet. For it will be observed that the form he employs is neither that sanctioned by Italian usage nor that adopted by Surrey. The Italian sonnet consists of two portions, one containing eight and the other six lines. The first portion is linked together by two sets of rhymes invariably disposed as follows-a bbaabba; the second containing six lines is harmonised by sequences of two, or more often three, sets of rhymes, variously distributed, but always in such a manner as to avoid the formation of a rhyming couplet in the last two lines.

Now the reason for the avoidance of the couplet in the second portion of the sonnet is, I think, plain. In the first eight lines the thought ascends to a climax; this part of the sonnet may be said to contain the premises of the poetical syllogism. In the last six lines the idea descends to a conclusion, and as the two divisions are of unequal length it is necessary that the lesser should be the more individualised. Hence while, in the first part, the expression of the thought is massed and condensed by reduplications of sound, and the general movement is limited by quatrains; in the second part the clauses are separated by the alternation of the rhymes, the movement is measured by tercets, and the whole weight of the rhetorical emphasis is thrown into the last line.

Wyatt was evidently unaware of the secret principle underlying the extremely complex structure of the Italian sonnet, which distinguished it as a metrical instrument from such a strophe, for example, as the stanza of ottava rima; and being unfortunately misled by his admiration for the Strambotti of Serafino, which sum up the conclusion in a couplet, he endeavoured to construct his sonnets on the same principle, thereby leading all English sonnet writers