The Elizabethans were familiar with scenes in which stage blood was liberally used. The tradition was old. In Cambises (1560's), “Enter Cruelty and Murder with bloody hands.” They grasp their victim:

The list of doublets in the appendix of Skeat's Etymological Dictionary is the most complete collection so far published, the list in Maetzner's Englische Grammatik being hardly worthy of mention. Professor Skeat's definition of doublets, however, is so broad as to include cognates from the Aryan mother tongue—pairs referable to the same Aryan base, such as beef and cow. brother and friar, cell and hall, chief and head, cool and gelid, cone and hone, core and heart, corn (1) and grain, corn (2) and horn, fell and pell, foremost and prime, genus and kin, guest and host (2), name and noun, two and deuce, verb and word, the list of which might be extended. Professor Skeat would probably now exclude chief and head, for it is doubtful (see Brugmann), tho the consonants agree, whether Lat. caput and A.-S. hëafod are cognates. His definition of doublets is as follows: “Doublets are words which, tho apparently differing in form, are nevertheless, from an etymological point of view, one and the same, or only differ in some unimportant suffix.”

No other product of the Elizabethans' attempts to improve and heighten the style of their writings is quite so remarkable as the ornate and jingling prose which goes under the name of Euphuism. Its unique character and great popularity have caused many to discuss the problems of its origin, but no satisfactory specific source has so far been discovered. The old theories of Landmann and Feuillerat, who suggested, respectively, that the style was the result of the imitation of Guevara, and of the imitation of the classics, have now been abandoned. In their place the theory now generally accepted is the one put forward by Professor Croll, who said that Euphuism was merely one manifestation of the general medieval tradition, continued into the sixteenth century, of writing patterned prose. Professor Croll demonstrated completely and finally the ultimate origins of the style; but Euphuism is a unique and special variety of schematic prose, and the steps by which the simple and frequently varied patterns of medieval writings came to be elaborated into the stiff, formalistic structure of Euphuism, with all its wealth of learned similes and recondite allusions, has not been explained.

Although the lion plays a considerable rôle in Chrétien de Troyes' Chevalier au Lion, his function in the poem has traditionally attracted relatively little attention on the part of Arthurian scholars. Gaston Paris, in one of his notable articles on Chrétien, relegated the story of the noble beast to a footnote in which he said: “cette historiette … ne sert à rien dans le récit où Chrétien a jugé bon de l'insérer.”1Naturally enough, scholars who regard Yvain as a Celtic otherworld tale dressed up in French clothing, finding no close analog to the lion in Celtic lore, have paid little attention to him. And those who have con-cerned themselves with demonstrating that the source of the lion story was Latin or Greek have been interested more in the relation between Yvain's lion and that of Androcles (or some other one) than in his function in the poem. Those who have studied particularly the structure of the poem have attached more importance to the lion,2 but so far as I know no one has pointed out what seems to me to be his symbolic significance. Since Chrétien repeatedly said that he was concerned both with the “matière” and the “sens” of his romances,3 and as he called Yvain the roman du Chevalier au Lion,4 it seems reasonable to examine the poem in some detail and try to see if he attached more significance to the lion than modern scholarship has pointed out.

Christopher Marlowe's name appears on the title-pages of the early editions of the following plays:

1. Dido: ‘Written by Christopher Marlowe, and Thomas Nash. Gent.‘ (1594)

2. Edward the Second: ‘Written by Chri. Marlow Gent.‘ (1594)

3. The Massacre at Paris: ‘Written by Christopher Marlow.‘ (n. d. ca. 1600.)

4. Doctor Faustus: ‘Written by Ch. Marl.‘ (1604)

5. The Jew of Malta: ‘Written by CHRISTOPHER MARLO.‘ (1633)

6. Lust's Dominion: ‘Written by Christofer Marloe, Gent.‘ (1657)

This is unusual for me. I have given readings and not lectures. I have told people who ask for lectures that i have no lecture to give. And that is true. It might seem strange that a man who has dealt in words and emotions and ideas for nearly fifty years shouldn't have a few to spare, so to speak. But everything of value about me is in my books. Whatever extra there is in me at any given moment isn't fully formed. I amhardly aware of it; it awaits the next book. It will-with luck-come to me during the actual writing, and it will take me by surprise. That element of surprise is what I look for when I am writing. It is my way of judging what I amdoing-which is never an easy thing to do.

George Wither was first imprisoned in 1614 for his Abuses Stript and Whipt. But he had barely escaped a similar fate a few years before as a result of an earlier edition of the same work. While in prison in 1614, he expressed his gratitude to the Princess Elizabeth for her intervention in his behalf on that earlier occasion:

For once I stood accus'd for this before,
As I remember I so long agon,
Snng [sic] Thame, and Rhynes Epithalamion.
When SHE that from thy Royal selfe deriues,
Those gracious vertues that best Title giues.
........................................
Daign'd in her great-good nature to encline
Her gentle eare to such a cause as mine;
And which is more, vouchsaf't her word to cleare
Me from all dangers (if there any were).

Since late 1987 there has been an energetic, at times impassioned international debate about the relation between Heidegger's political activities and the substance of his works. Putting aside references to the fact or circumstances of Heidegger's involvement with National Socialism, I interpret his 1951 commentary on Heraclitus. This indirect approach sketches an avenue of reading the philosopher's works politically without recourse to historical documents, an avenue that seeks to demonstrate the inherent possibility of a nationalistic stance in Heidegger's text.

Emanations are the stock in trade of mediums, table-rappers, spiritists, and ghosts; they aid the reasoning of romantic poets and all those whose sensations outstrip their science and philosophy, providing a plausible, if undefined bridge between things apparently unconnected and making at least half-acceptable the inexplicable and the occult. Emanations are a metaphor—an old one. They have progressed through the whole biography of a metaphor from plain work-a-day description to science, to definition in philosophy, to the occult, and to poetry; indeed, they have lived that long biography at least twice in the memory of men. For the use of poetry, religion, and the mystical sciences emanations were discovered in the ancient world, lost, won again in renaissance times, and lost or temporarily abandoned by us.

If I were to choose a single image to represent the interest and challenge of working with visual materials, I think it would be the rather outlandish bit of kitsch in figure 1 and not a more attractive or impressive example. Part of the appeal for me, I would have to admit, is the visual humor of the situation, for this image of Oscar Wilde appears on a collectible cigar card, one that adult smokers were apparently meant to save, just as young baseball fans now save and cherish the cards of their heroes. In fact, this must have been one of the first such cards, which had only been in use for a few years when it appeared sometime around 1882. The novelty of the enterprise of collectible cards might explain Wilde's unexpected appearance here, where it is surprising to find a literary subject.

Until the publication of The Letters of Jonathan Swift to Charles Ford, literary scholars thought that Swift wrote Gulliver's Travels between 1715 and 1720, a period when he published almost nothing. His starting point was, they believed, sketches made up by the Scriblerus group—Pope, Swift, and others—in 1713 and 1714, and finally produced by Pope in 1741. Then D. Nichol Smith, in his edition of the Ford letters, proved that Swift wrote Part i of Gulliver in about 1721–22, Part ii around 1722–23, Part iv in 1723, and Part iii (after Pt. iv) in 1724–25. Swift continued to revise it, probably until it was published in the autumn of 1726.

In the year 1798 even an ardent Federalist could be vexed at the grossly inaccurate picture of America to be found in British periodicals. One young Federalist who was more annoyed than most was Elihu Hubbard Smith, a New York physician and literary man and erstwhile Hartford Wit. On his own initiative, Smith wrote a series of brief biographies of the Wits which he sent to John Aikin, editor of the Monthly Magazine and British Register. In an accompanying letter he pointed out to Aikin that his magazine not only ignorantly misrepresented America to the British public but also taught many young Americans to see their country in a false and unfavorable light. He offered the biographical sketches as a step toward correcting the situation and also proposed that he organize his friends into a corps of correspondents to ensure Mr. Aikin's progressive enlightenment. Of these friends he wrote:

Gottfried von Strassburg, in his Tristan, substitutes for a description of the knighting of his hero a digression on certain contemporary authors, both of romances and lyrics. This digression has often been called “Gottfried's literary criticism,” but in fact it is a discussion of the various means of literary expression which were available to him for telling the story of a hero whom he believed to be unique and hence set apart from the knights of courtly romance. Gottfried examines both the visual (romance) and aural (lyric) types in a very specific order and finds both wanting, although he sees more potential in musical than in purely verbal forms of poetry. He decide? that the romance, in spite of its deficiencies, is the best available type but only with the proviso that the reader look beneath the surface and not be deceived by the form into thinking that Tristan was a “normal” courtly hero. The literary digression thus proves to be no digression but an integral part of the work, since Gottfried regards it as impossible to think of any story without considering the means by which it is told.

The obvious and very necessary distinction between learned and popular loan words was first made by A. Pogatscher in his Zur Lautlehre der griechischen, lateinischen und romanischen Lehnworte im Altenglischen. E. Sievers made a further division, realizing that a distinction, recognized by Pogatscher (for example, on p. 31), but not stressed by him sufficiently for Sievers's purposes, should be made between two classes of learned borrowings. With an approach somewhat different from that of Pogatscher, he at first distinguishes two groups, loan words (Lehnwörter) and foreign words (Fremdwörter), designating by the former term such words as are a part of the vocabulary of living communication and bear a more or less native stamp; by the latter, such words as exist for the most part only in learned literature and are distinctly felt as foreign, such as proper names like Caesar and Suetonius. The loan words of his first division Sievers further subdivides into popular loan words, the earliest of all borrowings, and learned loan words, taken over later than the popular words and owing their adoption to more or less cultural influences such as, in the case of the Old English learned borrowings, the church. These last are to be distinguished, he points out, from foreign words in that they are part of a living vocabulary, even though their use is limited to a certain class of speakers. What Sievers has done simply amounts to extracting from Pogatscher's learned loan words those bookish words which are distinctly felt as foreign and making of them a third class, which he calls foreign words.

Gellert beendet den ersten Teil seines Romans mit der Rückkehr des totgeglaubten Grafen von G. aus sibirischer Gefangenschaft. Das zufällige und glückliche Wiedersehen des Grafen mit seiner Gemahlin ruft jedoch einige “Bestürzung” hervor, denn die Gräfin hatte sich inzwischen mit dem Herrn R., dem besten Freund des Grafen, vermählt. Herr R. fühlt sich deshalb genötigt, dem zurückgekehrten Freund folgendes Bekenntnis zu machen: “Ich habe Sie durch die unschuldigste Liebe so sehr beleidigt, als ob ich Ihr Feind gewesen wäre. Ich habe Ihnen Ihre Gemahlin entzogen … Ihre Gegenwart aber verdammt nunmehr das sonst so tugendhafte Band.” Die Gräfin von G., nicht weniger bekümmert und verstört, eröffnet den zweiten Teil ihrer Lebensgeschichte mit einer ähnlich selbstquälerischen Reflexion: “und eben zu der Zeit, da er mich so brünstig geliebt und alles für mich gefühlt hat, was nur sein Elend hat vergrößern können, habe ich in den Armen eines andern Gemahls der Freuden der Liebe und des Lebens genossen. Wie viel tausend Thränen hat mich dieser Gedanke schon gekostet, und wie oft bin ich vor meiner unschuldigen Liebe zu dem Herrn R. als vor einem Verbrechen erröthet” (iv, 256 f.).

Wordsworth is forcibly reminded in Wales of Alpine impressions dating back thirty-four years. The resulting sonnet is of interest because of its neartraumatic conflation of times and places, and because this kind of experience, associated with feelings of sublimity, is conveyed in a style alternating between the grand opening and such clichés as “in life’s mom.” Wordsworth questions the possibility of localizing the sublime by means of referential language (names or place names). “Devil’s Bridge” and “Viamala,” the conflated places, connect naming with speech-acts of blessing and cursing, while “How art thou named?” is ultimately addressed to a “luciferic” imagination that reveals “the sad incompetence of human speech.” Wordsworth’s later style is, correspondingly, sad and sublime, subdued yet charged.

Mary robinson's essay “present state of the manners, society, etc. etc. of the metropolis of England,” published in the reformist Monthly Magazine shortly before the author's death in 1800, makes a significant statement on the volatility of British print culture at the turn of the nineteenth century. Once again recognized as a major writer of the Romantic period, Robinson influenced and was influenced by contemporaries such as Southey, Wordsworth, and especially Coleridge, who called Robinson “a woman of undoubted genius” (Letter). “Metropolis” is an important document not only because of its engagement with the contemporary debate over the direction of print culture and the public sphere but also because of the alternative it offers to Wordsworth's Preface to the Lyrical Ballads. Moreover, it provides an important link between earlier eighteenth-century concepts of urban culture and cosmopolitan refinement and later nineteenth-century ideas of urban identity such as Poe's Man of the Crowd and Baudelaire's flâneur. Resolutely urban, democratic, and cosmopolitan, Robinson's essay amounts to a manifesto of metropolitan culture.

Paradoxically, the key to Marvell's “Nymph Complaining for the Death of Her Faun” is the controversy the poem has inspired. Each critical interpretation is both true and false: none can stand alone; each must be combined with all the others, no matter how seemingly antithetical, to form an overall pattern that is “traditional” in the broadest sense of the word. The “Complaint” is not solely for a fawn, nor is it a lament only for the passing of an old world order, pastoral simplicity, Christ, love, or innocence; it is an elegy for all things that must die and an accurate portrait of the mind's attempt to deal with the inevitability of pain and loss.

what surmounts the reach
Of human sense, I shall delineate so,
By lik'ning spiritual to corporal forms,
As may express them best, though what if Earth
Be but the shadow of Heav'n, and things therein
Each to other like, more than on Earth is thought?
—Paradise Lost, v. 571-576

In prefacing his account of the war in heaven with these words, Raphael is saying that it will be not allegorical or merely metaphoric, but analogical; that although he will have to use the language of accommodation in order to convey his meaning at all, still there may be (he puts the statement in a subordinate clause and in the interrogative mood) a relationship between earth and heaven, between the physical and the spiritual, which is inherent in the nature of things. After Raphael finishes his narrative, Adam denies that earth is the shadow of heaven:

Great things, and full of wonder in our ears,
Far differing from this World, thou hast revcal'd
Divine Interpreter… (VII. 70-72)

A rich critical literature explores the relation between Edmund Burke's theatrical style and his counterrevolutionary argument. Redirecting this line of inquiry, the essay treats Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790) as a histrionic literary performance, arguing that to appreciate its significance we must recover a neglected subtext: a preoccupation with boredom and restlessness. Burke's loyalties are divided: defending England, he counsels against extremes of torpor and excitement. He works to preserve England in a state of settled “repose,” yet his rhetoric reveals a baseline of boredom. Indulging in fantasies of reform and utopia and deploying strategies of tragic hyperbole and self-parody, he mobilizes conventional associations of boredom and revolution to negotiate a new position from which to exercise cultural authority. Textual histrionics do more than contain a revolutionary threat; they establish an alternative theater of boredom.