"My very dear Friend,—I hear with wonder from Arabel of your repudiation of my word 'octosyllabic' for the two lines in your controversial poem. Certainly, if you count the syllables on your fingers, there are ten syllables in each line: of that I am perfectly aware; but the lines are none the less belonging to the species of versification called octosyllabic. Do you not observe, my dearest Mr. Boyd, that the final accent and rhyme fall on the eighth syllable instead of the tenth, and that that single circumstance determines the class of verse—that they are in fact octosyllabic verses with triple rhymes?
Hatching succession apostolical,
With other falsehoods diabolical.
With other falsehoods diabolical.
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow,
The rest is nought but leather and prunella.
The rest is nought but leather and prunella.
Compound for sins that we're inclined to,
By damning those we have no mind to.
('Hudibras.')By damning those we have no mind to.
Again, if there is a triple rhyme to an octosyllabic verse (precisely the present case) there must always be ten syllables in that verse, the final accent and rhyme falling on the eighth syllable; thus from 'Hudibras' again:
Then in their robes the penitentials
Are straight presented with credentials.
Remember how in arms and politics,
We still have worsted all your holy tricks.
Are straight presented with credentials.
Remember how in arms and politics,
We still have worsted all your holy tricks.
Hatching at ease succession apostolical,
With many other falsehoods diabolical.
With many other falsehoods diabolical.
Perhaps I was wrong in saying 'a pun.' But I thought I apprehended a double sense in your application of the term 'Apostolical succession' to Oxford's 'breeding' and 'hatching,' words which imply succession in a way unecclesiastical.
After all which quarrelling, I am delighted to have to talk of your coming nearer to me—within reach—almost within my reach. Now if I am able to go in a carriage at all this summer, it will be hard but that I manage to get across the park and serenade you in Greek under your window.
Your ever affectionate
ELIZABETH B. BARRETT."
Well, I don't know about you, but I certainly learned something. To use the modern parlance, she schooled Mr. Boyd on the true nature of his own clever rhymes. And her defense against the Lake-mist influences of Wordsworth was charming, ending well for Coleridge! I appreciate the fact that she stood up for herself and didn't back down or simply drop the matter. Woman liberated.
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