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Philip Bell

CONFRONTING
T heory
The Psychology of Cultural Studies
Confronting Theory
 In olden days a glimpse of theory
Was looked on as something dreary
Now, Heaven knows,
Anything goes!

Apologies to Cole Porter

Does it contain any experimental reasoning

concerning fact and existence?
No. Well, don’t commit it to the flames, all the same;
but be careful.

David Hume
 Confronting Theory
The Psychology of Cultural Studies

Philip Bell

intellect Bristol, UK / Chicago, USA

First published in the UK in 2010 by
Intellect, The Mill, Parnall Road, Fishponds, Bristol, BS16 3JG, UK

First published in the USA in 2010 by

Intellect, The University of Chicago Press, 1427 E. 60th Street,
Chicago, IL 60637, USA

Copyright © 2010 Intellect Ltd

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without written permission.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the

British Library.

Cover designer: Holly Rose

Copy-editor: Heather Owen
Typesetting: Mac Style, Beverley, E. Yorkshire

ISBN 978-1-84150-317-2 / EISBN 978-1-84150-381-3

Printed and bound by Gutenberg Press, Malta.

Contents

Preface 7

Chapter 1: Cultural Studies and Capital-T Theory 13

Chapter 2: What is Theory About? 29

Chapter 3: Different Things 41

Chapter 4: Theory, People and ‘Subjects’ 57

Chapter 5: ‘Post-Human’ Theory and Cultural Studies 71

Chapter 6: Affecting Ontologies 87

Chapter 7: Real experience, Un-real Science 105

Chapter 8: Theory and Education 123

References 141

Index 145
 

Preface

There is not a fixed and yet there is a common, human nature: without the latter there
would be no possibility of talking about human beings, or, indeed, of communication,
on which all thought depends – and not only thought, but feeling, imagination, action.
(Berlin [1986] 2004: 26)

I
n the twenty-plus years since Isaiah Berlin wrote this ‘letter on human nature’, a lot has
changed, including what it means to write a letter. More significantly, of course, the
idea that humans ‘have’ a nature, and that academic disciplines need to understand this
if they are to converse about communication, imagination and feelings, sounds quaintly
‘essentialist’ and indefensibly ‘humanist’ in today’s post-disciplinary academy.
The eight essays in this book address overlapping aspects of the theoretical assumption that
human experience, culture, communication, and ‘life’ itself can be meaningfully understood
without reference to ‘human nature’ (however flexible and non-essentialist that concept
may be). I present arguments against the idea that systematic empirical knowledge about
people, their biology and their psychology, is irrelevant to the domains of the humanities
[sic] and social sciences. I regard it as educationally imperative that students be taught that
it is possible to know objective things about why and how people behave and feel as they
do in particular cultural and social circumstances. I mount this thesis by examining key
concepts and assumptions in post-humanist capital-T Theory: is it epistemologically and
ontologically more tenable, more productive, more useful as the basis for conversing about
cultural life than the episteme that it overturns?
Darwin, Marx, Freud, even in their own different ways, Piaget, Skinner, Levi-Strauss and
Judith Butler – all describe dimensions of social and psychological life and assumed that
human beings were an animal species with certain qualities, capacities, dispositions and
physical limitations. Amongst other things they disagreed about what kinds of explanatory
(and that meant causal) accounts of different human lives needed to be postulated to
understand various human interactions, their biology, social histories, and multiple,
ever-changing cultures. But all these writers assumed that the different phenomena and
processes they were trying to understand were real: they made competing, but contestable
claims about what is the case. They adopted publicly defined terminologies, however novel

7
 Confronting Theory

they may have been at the time (e.g. Freud’s ‘cathexes’, Marx’s ‘surplus value’) and were not
immune to theoretical analysis – they were certainly not naïvely anti-theory, not naïve
‘positivists’ (Skinner, perhaps, excluded). For my purposes, however, the most important
methodological assumption that united all those who theorized about people and studied
them empirically within the social and biological sciences, was that they each understood
that they could have been in error, and if so, they could be shown to be in error.
From the1970s at least, European philosophical writings increasingly competed with
empirico-realist epistemologies in Anglo-American humanities and social science curricula.
Few methodological certainties remained by the end of the century as students learned to
question realism, reductionism, essentialism, and Western epistemological ‘foundationalism’.
New ‘-isms’ and ‘-ologies’ peppered academic discourse, questioning the assumed objectivity
of knowledge (‘scientific’ knowledge included). In fact, as will be discussed in this book,
humanities students today are very likely to leave university equipped with an armoury
of arguments against science’s claim to objectivity, whether or not they have attained even
rudimentary knowledge of any particular science during their own studies. (Ironically,
graduates from science faculties are unlikely to know anything at all about these ‘critical
paradigms’).
I believe that post-disciplinary education in what is now called ‘Cultural Studies’ has
not earned the right to such dismissive anti-realist complacency. Theory-inspired Cultural
Studies has shown too little regard for cogency, coherence, truth and evidence. In mounting
its attacks on the very possibility of knowing things about people, Cultural Studies writers
have often ignored the liberating demands of reason and objectivity. As a result they have
denied students the opportunity to converse with each other about common cultural,
political and social issues. If all knowledge is completely language-dependent (or ‘theory-
dependent’) in the strong sense of these terms – if novel realities can be invoked through
words alone – knowledge is quickly reduced to mere belief and high-sounding opinion.
Epistemological modesty in the face of recalcitrant reality and contingency is not encouraged
in such an educational environment.
I find it ironic to have written this book. I am at best a ‘lapsed psychologist’, having
taught in the media and cultural fields for almost four decades, the period of the ascent of
post-disciplinary studies. And I have a long history of critically analysing essentialism and
reductionism (for instance, in regard to representations of gender and ‘race’). I have been
consistently critical of the methodological and educational triviality of much of academic
psychology itself.1 I have maintained a consistently anti-reductionist and anti-positivist
position. In fact, forty years ago I wrote an undergraduate essay that argued against the
logical possibility of reducing psychological predicates to physiological descriptors. Mental
phenomena could not be understood nor explained only as physico-chemical phenomena,
but had to be defined relationally. Any coherent account of consciousness had to allow that
consciousness was always ‘of ’ some state of affairs that existed independently of the brain.
Fast forward to the new millennium – today I have been forced to restate these kinds of
arguments in the context of the saturation of what is now called Cultural Studies ‘discourse’

8
 Preface

by ad hoc psychological concepts and metaphysical postulates so abstract that only dogs
can hear them, as students often joke. As a university teacher, I have tried to comfort my
bemused and confused charges with counter arguments to the new-fangled idealisms and
metaphysical houses of cards that ‘Theory’-writers have constructed.
As I no longer have teaching responsibilities, nor carry the soul-destroying burden
of administering a large academic unit, I have taken the opportunity to confront several
aspects of ‘Theory’, asking that its proponents justify their methodological assumptions
and metaphysical excesses. I try to break out of the circular corral of textuality and the
question-begging defence of inter-textuality. Instead, I ask what the claims of particular
cultural Theory analyses of psychological issues imply – what could each mean, if anything,
empirically. I briefly outline the relevance of the analyses I canvass to psychological issues
(for example, to questions of human emotions, when I deal with ‘affect’), and sketch some
of the relevant historical contexts from which Theory and Anglo-American academic
psychology both developed.
I have tried to be fair to examples of writing that I admit I sometimes find pretentious and
affected, by taking their authors ‘at their word’, so to speak. I have laboured over many texts
that yielded very little enlightenment, but have done so in good faith, hoping to understand
them before offering my critique. In this I have acknowledged the respective writers’ own
advice that their analyses are not meant to be interpreted figuratively (e.g. metaphorically),
but are intended to be read literally. I have tried not to be dismissive, even though I judge many
analyses found in Cultural Studies to be philosophically naïve. This has meant that I have
included many lengthy quotations from works popular with Cultural Studies academics and
hence likely to be familiar to students. Although I have limited my technically philosophical
arguments, the educational issues that agitate my concern do demand some epistemological
sophistication of my readers at times. So where appropriate I have explained what is at stake
in technical terms, I hope clearly enough for undergraduate readers and their teachers alike
to understand. And I have resisted the temptation to satirize the examples I discuss (well,
mostly), although I have done so elsewhere in less formal contexts, I have to confess.2
It will be clear from the above that this is not a book about culture or cultures. It is
concerned with the psychological and philosophical assumptions woven into what is referred
to today as ‘Theory’. Theory both subtends and ornaments the otherwise prosaic, descriptive
and critical writing that in Anglo-American post-disciplinary education is usually labelled
‘Cultural Studies’.
Although the term ‘postmodernism’ is freely and pejoratively circulated in today’s academy,
I have tried to avoid it. ‘Postmodernity’ as a socio-cultural period, or as a label for computer-
age aesthetics (‘after’ modernism), is misleadingly vague when applied to educational/
philosophical paradigms, even though the examples I deal with have also flourished during
the past quarter of a century. I am interested in Cultural Studies’ complacent disregard of
any technically precise methodology from the fields it cannibalizes and rewrites.
The eight overlapping essays are my attempt to encourage methodological modesty and
to reinstate realist coherence as a ‘default’ position in the post-disciplinary humanities and

9
 Confronting Theory

social sciences, at least in regard to what most people would accept to be psychological
matters. By ‘psychological’ I mean pertaining to the mental, emotional and behavioural lives
of (human) beings, although I am aware that other species may offer comparative insights
about human psychology, and even about culture. In fact, one Cultural Studies luminary
discusses perception in relation to honeybees, so I consider this unexpected example in one
chapter.
Confronting Theory may be read as a series of independent analyses of constellations of
related concepts nowadays fashionable within Cultural Studies. Or it can be used as a set
of critical arguments in which the educational implications of Theory-speak and the plea
for a reinvigorated humanist realism in the humanities and social sciences are the linking
themes. So I have countenanced some repetitions to allow Chapters 2 to 7 each to be
read separately. My concerns are educational, and therefore necessarily methodological
or philosophical.
Thanks are due to many students (especially my chronically-confused Honours level
students from seminars dealing with methodological issues in Media/Cultural Studies), and
to those colleagues prepared to debate the assumptions ingrained in their own work (which
is not a lot, unsurprisingly). Dr Mark Milic and Dr Fiona Hibberd have been especially
encouraging and insightful. Fiona Hibberd’s rigorous and comprehensive Unfolding Social
Constructionism (2005) has become an invaluable resource for me during the preparation
of my book. It forensically dissects perennial debates about language, psychology and
epistemology, arguing for the necessity of realism against language-dependent relativisms.
These are issues I necessarily canvass as part of my analyses of Theory’s ambitious metaphysics,
but I have other, more recent debates to address, and I do not pretend to emulate Hibberd’s
philosophical sophistication.
My research has been supported by the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, at the
University of New South Wales, Sydney. Marie McKenzie’s diligence and professionalism
as my research assistant have been invaluable, and Dr John Golder has subjected my every
sentence to sophisticated editorial scrutiny (I now think I know when to use dashes rather
than parentheses, as a result). Of course, any errors of fact or limitations of argument are
mine, and I look forward to discussion of the issues I raise by those consoled, provoked or
offended by what I hope is a rigorous series of analyses. Above all, I hope that students who
have found themselves marooned on the island of Cultural Studies will use this book to
build a dwelling sturdy enough to withstand the tidal waves of idealist fashion. They might
even discover that the tsunami that intimidates them is no more than a sea mirage after all.

Note: neologisms, spelling and capitalization

Readers of Confronting Theory may be confounded by many of the novel terms that currently
circulate in Cultural Studies. Wherever possible I have implicitly (or explicitly) defined
these. I hope that I have conveyed the import of the various neologisms and novel uses

10
 Preface

of conventional English words by locating them as carefully as space allows in their post-
disciplinary contexts.
Where I refer to an established academic discipline, like Psychology or Biology, I have
capitalized its name. And, of course, I follow the post-disciplinary convention of calling the
kind of writing I discuss as capital-T Theory (‘Theory’ for short).
Australian spelling follows (generally) British conventions rather than North American.
However, I have not altered quotes, nor felt it necessary to note this in every case. I have tried
to resist the temptation to exclaim ‘sic’ (thus, or ‘as in the original’ text that I am considering,
however startling an excerpt or neologism) but I have had to include occasional warnings to
remind readers that I have not fabricated the texts I criticize.

Notes

1. Psychology is good: true/false, Australian Psychologist, 1978, 13(2), 211–218; P Bell and P Staines
Logical Psych: Reasoning, Explanation and writing in Psychology, 2001, Sydney, UNSW Press, 2001.
Published in UK and USA by Sage Publications, UK, as Evaluating, Doing and Writing Research in
Psychology, 2001, (with J Michell).
2. For example, What’s Left of Theory? Deleuzians of Grandeur (available from [email protected]).

11
Chapter 1

Cultural Studies and Capital-T Theory

The desire to understand the world is, they think, an outdated folly.
Bertrand Russell
The Problem of ‘Theory’

F
ive hundred years have elapsed since Erasmus complained that the writings of his
contemporaries were ‘[f]ull of big words, and newly invented terms … [a] wall of
imposing definitions, conclusions, corollaries, and explicit and implicit propositions
protects them’ (Erasmus [1509]2008). Clearly, a Renaissance scholar could not have
anticipated the rise of the empirical sciences, including social sciences such as Psychology.
On the other hand, Erasmus might not have been surprised to learn that obscure rhetoric
and opaque neologisms confound students in the twenty-first century as readily as they did
in the sixteenth.
Of the various strands of meta-theory in Anglophone interdisciplinary writing that melds
the humanities and the social sciences, anti-realist epistemology, arbitrary relativisms and,
most recently, the assumption of ‘new realities’ have re-emerged as the most dominant. Today,
students of Cultural Studies are asked to read and write about ‘infra-empirical’ phenomena,
about processes of such abstraction that they seem to refer to no material entities, such
as ‘affect’, ‘becomings’ and ‘intensities’. Sometimes these terms are referred to as ‘concepts’,
although they often lack precise definition. They sound like many terms found in the
vocabulary of academic psychology, but they are seldom used in psychologically realist ways
– or so I propose to argue in the pages that follow.
I want to begin with a paragraph of prose by a prominent Cultural Studies Theorist. I am
aware that I am presenting it out of context, and I shall return later to consider its source in
detail. For the moment it is meant only to illustrate the linguistic ecstasy that is common in
‘Theory’ writing – writing that purports to be about real psychological processes, situations
and events, and therefore to refer to actual phenomena. The author appears to be discussing
emotion and ‘affect’. And it is not unfair, I think, to say that he invokes psychological-
sounding terms to create a kind of incantatory effect. His field is perennial issues in academic
psychology: here he defines what, following the philosophers Spinoza and Deleuze, he calls
‘affect’. Now, please read on, but slowly:

Reserve the term ‘emotion’ for the personalized content, and affect for its continuation.
Emotion is contextual. Affect is situational: event fully ingressive into context. Serially
so: affect is trans-situational. As processional it is precessional, affect inhabits the passage
… It [affect] is pre- and post-contextual, pre- and post-personal, an excess of continuity
invested only in the ongoing: its own. Self-continuity across the gaps. Impersonal affect is

15
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
degree of contraction, either in a disyllabic thesis, or in the complete
coalescence of two syllables. The former takes place if the final
unaccented vowel of a polysyllable is run into the following
unaccented word consisting of, or beginning with, a vowel, e.g.:
For mány a mán | so hárd is óf his hérte.
Chauc. Prol. 229.
Nowhér so bísy a mán | as hé ther nás. ib. 321.
Wél coude she cárie a mórsel | ánd wel képe. ib. 130.
With múchel glórie | and grét solémpnitée. id. Kn. T. 12.
Oh! háppy are théy | that háve forgíveness gótt.
Wyatt 211.
My kíng, my cóuntry I séek, | for whóm I líve.
ib. 173.
Sórry am Í | to héar what Í have héard.
Shakesp. 2 Henry VI, II. i. 193.
In cases like these it cannot be supposed that there is actual elision
of a syllable, by which many a, busy a, carie a, glorie and, happy
are, country I, sorry am, would be reduced to regular disyllabic feet.
In several of the instances such an assumption is forbidden not only
by the indistinctness of pronunciation which it would involve, but
also by the caesura.
Further, we find both in Middle and in Modern English poetry many
examples of similar sequences in which there is neither elision nor
slurring, the syllable ending with a vowel forming the thesis, and the
following syllable beginning with a vowel forming the arsis. Hiatus of
this kind has always been perfectly admissible in English verse.
And yít he wás but ésy óf dispénse. Chaucer, Prol. 441.
Mówbray’s síns so héavy ín his bósom.
 Shakesp. Rich. II, I. ii. 50
§ 109. The second possibility, viz. complete amalgamation of two
syllables, may occur if a word with an initial vowel or h is preceded
by a monosyllabic word, standing in thesis, e.g. th’estat, th’array
Chauc. Prol. 716; th’ascendent ib. 117; t’allege (to allege) Kn. T.
2142; nys (ne ys) ib. 43. Even in Modern English poetry such
contractions occur rather frequently: Th’altar Sur. 118; t’assay Wyatt
157; N’other ib. 21; often also the words are written in full, although
the first vowel is metrically slurred or elided: the͡ ónly darling
Shakesp. All’s Well, II. i. 110. Yet in all such cases the entire loss of
the syllable must not be assumed unless the distinctness of the
pronunciation—which must be the only guide in such matters, not
the silent reading with the eyes—be sufficiently preserved.[137]
Accordingly words like the, to are not so often contracted with the
following word, as ne, the amalgamation of which, with the verb to
which it belongs, is in accordance with normal Middle English usage:
nas = ne was, nil = ne wil, nolde = ne wolde, noot = ne woot, niste
= ne wiste, e.g.:
There nas no dore that he nolde heve of harre.
Chauc. Prol. 550.
Neither in Middle English nor in Modern English poetry, however, is
there any compulsion to use such contractions for the purpose of
avoiding the hiatus, which never was prohibited. They merely serve
the momentary need of the poet. Forms like min and thin, it is true,
are regularly used by Middle English poets before vowels, and my
and thy before consonants, and Chaucer applies—according to ten
Brink—from, oon, noon, an, -lych, -lyche before vowels, and fro, a,
o, no, -ly before consonants. But many examples of epic caesura
show that ten Brink goes too far in maintaining that hiatus was
strictly avoided, e.g.: Whan théy were wónnë; | and ín the Gréete
sée Prol. 59. This is still more clearly shown by verses in which the
final -e forms a necessary thesis before a vowel, e.g.:
 Fro the senténcë | óf this trétis lýte.
Chauc. Prol. 550.Sir Thopas 2153.
Than hád yóur tálë | ál be tóld in váyn.
Chauc. Prol. 550.N. Pr. Prol. 3983
§ 110. Slurring or contraction is still more frequently the result of
indistinct pronunciation or entire elision of a vowel in the interior of a
word. This is especially the case with e (or another vowel) in the
sequence: conson. + e + r + vowel or h, where e is slurred over or
syncopated: e.g. And báthed év(e)ry véin Chauc. Prol. 3; Thy
sóv(e)rein témple wól I móst honóuren Kn. T. 1549; and év(e)ry trée
Sur. 9; the bóist(e)rous wínds Sur. 21; if ám(o)rous fáith Wyatt 15; a
dáng(e)rous cáse Sur. 4, &c. The full pronunciation is, of course,
here also possible: and dángeróus distréss Sur. 150. Slurring of a
vowel is also caused by this combination of sounds formed by two
successive words: a bétre envýned mán Chauc. Prol. 342; Forgétter
of páin Wyatt 33. Other words of the same kind are adder, after,
anger, beggar, chamber, silver, water, &c.[138] The same rule
applies to the group e + l + vowel or h (also l + e + vowel or h):
hire wýmpel͡ ipynched was Chauc. Prol. 151; At mány a nóble͡ arríve
ib. 60; nóble͡ and hígh Wyatt 55; the néedle his fínger prícks Shak.
Lucrece 319.
If a consonant takes the place of the vowel or h at the end of such a
group of sounds, we have a disyllabic thesis instead of slurring: With
hórrible féar as óne that gréatly dréadeth Wyatt 149; The cómmon
péople by númbers swárm to ús Shak. 3 Hen. VI, IV. ii. 2. Similar
slurrings are to be found—although more seldom and mainly in
Modern English poetry—with other groups of sounds, e.g.: én’mies
sword Sur. 137; théat’ner ib. 162; prís’ners ib. 12. The vowel i, also,
is sometimes slurred; Incónt(i)nent Wyatt, 110; dést(i)ny ib. 8, &c.
In all these cases we must of course recognize only slurring, not
syncopation of the vowel; and in general these words are used with
their full syllabic value in the rhythm of a verse.
Another kind of slurring—occurring almost exclusively in Modern
English poetry—is effected by contraction of a short vowel with a
preceding long one, so that a disyllabic word becomes monosyllabic,
e.g., flower, lower, power, tower, coward, prayer, jewel, cruel,
doing, going, being, seeing, dying, playing, praying, knowing, &c.:
Whose pówer divíne Sur. 118; prayer: prayr Wyatt 26; His crúel
despíte Sur. 7.
All these words are, of course, not less frequently used as disyllables
sometimes even when their usual pronunciation is monosyllabic,
e.g.:
How óft have Í, my déar and crúël foe. Wyatt 14.
I’ll práy a thóusand práyërs fór thy death.
Shak. Meas. III. i. 146.
There ís no pówer ín the tóngue of mán.
id. Merch. IV. i. 241
§ 111. Other groups of sounds which allow slurring are: vowel + r +
vowel, where the second vowel may be slurred, e.g., spirit, alarum,
warrant, nourish, flourish, &c.; My fáther’s spírit in árms! Shak.
Haml. I. ii. 255; flóurishing péopled tówns id. Gentl. V.iv. 3; I wárrant,
it wíll id. Haml. I. ii. 243. In the group vowel + v + e(i)+cons. the v
is slurred, if a consonant appears as the initial sound of the following
word, and e(i) if the following word begins with a vowel. Such words
are: heaven, seven, eleven, devil, even, ever, never, &c.; e.g., and
é’en the whóle Wyatt 80; had néver his fíll id. 108; disdáin they né’er
so múch Shak. 1 Hen. VI, V. iii. 98; and drível on péarls Wyatt 195.
These words have, of course, not less frequently their full syllabic
value: Of Héaven gátes Wyatt 222; Then sét this drível óut of dóor
Sur. 79. Also th between vowels may be subjected to slurring, as in
whether, whither, hither, thither, either, neither, rather, further, &c.;
e.g., go ásk him whíther he góes Shak. 1 Hen. VI, II. iii. 28; Good Sír,
say whéther you’ll ánswer mé or nót, id. Caes. V. iv. 30; Whether
óught to ús unknówn id. Haml. II. ii. 17.
When a syllabic inflexional ending forms one thesis with a following
syllable, as in The ímages of revólt Shak. Lear, II. iv. 91; I hád not
quóted him id. Haml. II. i. 112, &c., it is preferable to assume a
disyllabic thesis rather than a slurring. Sometimes, however, the -ed
of past participles (rarely of preterites) of verbs ending in t is
actually cut off, as torment instead of tormented Wyatt 137; deject
instead of dejected Shak. Haml. III. i. 163.
Contractions of another kind—partly to be explained by negligent
colloquial pronunciation—are: ta’en (=taken) Wyatt 182; I’ll (=I will)
Shak. Tempest, II. ii. 419; carry ’em (=carry them) id. 2 Hen. VI, I. iv.
76, &c.; Ma(d)am id. Gent. II. i. 6; in’s (=in his), doff (=do off), dout
(=do out), o’ the (=of the), w’us (=with us), let’s (=let us), thou’rt
(=thou art), &c., &c.
Finally, we have to mention the apocopation, for metrical reasons, of
unaccented prefixes, as ’bove (above), ’cause (because), ’longs
(belongs), &c., which on the whole cannot easily be
misunderstood.[139]
§ 112. A contrast to these various forms of shortening is presented
by the lengthening of words for metrical purposes, which we have
already in part discussed in the preceding chapter (see for examples
§ 87). Disyllabic words are made trisyllabic by inserting an e (or
rarely i) between mute and liquid, e.g., wond(e)rous, pilg(e)rim,
count(e)ry, breth(e)ren, ent(e)rance, child(e)ren, Eng(e)land,
troub(e)lous, light(e)ning, short(e)ly, jugg(e)ler, &c.[140]
Among the monosyllabic words or accented endings of words which
admit of a disyllabic pronunciation for the sake of metre we have
mainly to consider such as have a diphthong in their root, as our,
sour, devour, hour, desire, fire, ire, sire, hire, squire, inquire, &c., or
such as approach diphthongal pronunciation and therefore admit of
being treated as disyllables, e.g., dear, fear, hear, near, tear, clear,
year. The disyllabic use of words of the latter class is very rare,
though a striking example is afforded by the rhyme see her: clear
Mrs. Browning, iii, p. 57. Some other words, phonetically analogous
to these, but popularly apprehended as containing a simple long
vowel, as fair, fare, are, here, there, rare, sphere, were, more, door,
your, are added to the list by Abbott, but with doubtful correctness
(cf. Metrik, ii. 115–17).

CHAPTER VIII
WORD-ACCENT

§ 113. In discussing the English Word-accent and its relationship to

rhythmic accent it is necessary to consider the Middle English and
the Modern English periods separately, for two reasons. First,
because the inflexional endings which play an important part in
Middle English are almost entirely lost in Modern English, and
secondly, because the word-accent of the Romanic element of the
language differs considerably in the Middle English period from what
it became in Modern English. In the treatment of each period it will
be convenient to separate Germanic from Romanic words.

I. Word-accent in Middle English.

A. Germanic words. The general laws of Germanic accentuation of

words, as existing in Old English, have been mentioned above (cf. §§
18, 19). The same laws are binding also for Middle English and
Modern English.
The main law for all accentual versification is this, that verse-accent
must always coincide with word-accent. This holds good for all even-
beat kinds of verse, as well as for the alliterative line.
The language in all works of the same date and dialect, in whatever
kinds of verse they may be written, must obey the same laws of
accentuation. For this reason the results derived from the relation in
which the word-accent and the metrical value of syllables stand to
the verse-accent, with regard to the general laws of accentuation,
and especially those of inflexional syllables, must be the same for
the language of all even-beat kinds of verse as for that of the
contemporary alliterative line, or the verse of Layamon’s Brut and
other works written in a similar form of verse and derived from the
ancient native metre.
Now, when we wish to ascertain the state of accentuation of forms
of words no longer spoken the evidence supplied by the even-beat
rhythms is especially valuable. This is so, chiefly because it is much
more difficult to make the word-accent agree with the verse-accent
in this kind of rhythm, in which it is essential that accented and
unaccented syllables should alternate continuously, than in the
alliterative line, which allows greater freedom both in the relative
position of accented and unaccented syllables and in the numerical
proportion between the unaccented and the accented syllables.
In the alliterative line the position of the rhythmic accent depends on
the accent of the words which make up the verse. In the even-beat
metres on the other hand the regular succession of thesis and arsis
is the ruling principle of the versification, on which the rhythmic
accent depends, and it is the poet’s task to choose his words
according to that requirement. The difficulties to be surmounted in
order to bring the word-accent into conformity with the verse-accent
will frequently drive the poet using this kind of rhythm to do violence
to the accented and, more frequently still, to the unaccented
syllables of the word. He will be induced either to contract the
unaccented syllables with the accented ones, or to elide the former
altogether, or to leave it to the reader to make the word-accent
agree with the verse-accent by making use of level stress, or by
slurring over syllables, or by admitting disyllabic or even polysyllabic
theses in a verse. On the other hand, the poet who writes in the
native alliterative long line or in any of its descendants is allowed as
a rule to use the words required for his verse in their usual
accentuation or syllabic value, or at least in a way approximating
very closely to their ordinary treatment in prose. Hence those
unaccented syllables which, in even-beat rhythms, are found to be
subjected to the same treatment (i.e. to be equally liable to slurring,
elision, syncopation, or apocopation, according to the requirements
of the verse) must be presumed to have been at least approximately
equal in degree of accentual force.
Now when we examine the relation between word-accent and verse-
accent in certain poetical works of the first half of the thirteenth
century, viz. the Ormulum (which on account of its regularity of
rhythm is our best guide), the Pater Noster, the Moral Ode, the
Passion, and other poems, we arrive at the following results:—
§ 114. The difference in degree of stress among inflexional endings
containing an e (sometimes i or another vowel) which is alleged by
some scholars—viz. that such endings (in disyllabic words) have
secondary stress when the root-syllable is long, and are wholly
unaccented when it is short—has no existence: in both cases the
endings are to be regarded as alike unaccented. For we find that in
even-beat measures(especially in the Ormulum) these endings,
whether attached to a long or to a short root-syllable, are treated
precisely alike in the following important respects:—
1. Those inflexional endings which normally occur in the thesis, and
which are naturally suited for that position, are found in the arsis
only in an extremely small number of instances, which must
undoubtedly be imputed to lack of skill on the part of the poet, as
e.g. in hallȝhé Orm. 70, nemmnéd ib. 75, whereas this is very
frequent in those disyllabic compounds, the second part of which
really has a secondary accent, as e.g. larspéll ib. 51, mannkínn ib.
277.
2. It is no less remarkable, however, that such syllables as those last
mentioned, which undoubtedly bear a secondary accent, are never
used by Orm to form the catalectic end of the septenary verse,
evidently because they would in consequence of their specially
strong accent annul or at least injure the regular unaccented
feminine verse-ending. On the other hand, inflexional endings and
unaccented terminations containing an e are generally used for that
purpose, as on account of their lightness of sound they do not
endanger in any way the feminine ending of the catalectic section of
the verse. In any case, inflexional syllables following upon long root-
syllables cannot have the same degree of stress, and cannot be used
for the same rhythmic functions, as the end-syllables of disyllabic
compounds, which undoubtedly bear a secondary accent.
The regular rhythmic employment of the two last-mentioned groups
of syllables proves their characteristic difference of stress—the
former being wholly unaccented, the latter bearing a secondary
accent. Further inquiry into the irregular rhythmic employment of the
two similar classes of inflexional endings, those following upon long
root-syllables, and those following upon short ones, tends to prove
no less precisely that they do not differ in degree of stress, and so
that they are both unaccented. For it is easy to show that with
regard to syncope, apocope, elision, and slurring they are treated
quite in the same way.
Elision of the final -e before a vowel or an h takes place quite in the
same way in those inflexional syllables following upon long root-
syllables as it does in those less numerous syllables which follow
upon short ones, e.g. Annd ȝétt ter tákenn marẹ inóh Orm. 37; Wiþþ
állẹ swillc rímẹ alls hér iss sétt ib. 101; For áll þat ǽfrẹ onn érþẹ is
néd ib. 121; a wíntrẹ and éc a lóre Moral Ode 1; Wel lóngẹ ic hábbe
chíld ibíen ib. 3; Icc háfẹ itt dón forrþí þatt áll Orm. 115, &c. It is the
same with apocopation: Forr gluternésse wácneþþ áll Galnésses láþe
strénncþe, Annd állẹ þe flǽshess kággerleȝȝc Annd álle fúle lússtess
Orm. 11653–6; cf. also: þatt hé wass hófenn úpp to kíng ib. 8450,
and wass hófenn úpp to kínge ib. 8370; o fáderr hállf ib. 2269, and o
fáderr hállfe 2028, &c.; similarly with syncopation, cf. ȝiff þú seȝȝst
tátt ib. 5188, and annd séȝȝest swíllc ib. 1512; þet scúlen bén to
déaþe idémd Moral Ode 106; for bétere is án elmésse bifóren ib. 26,
&c.; and again with the slurring of syllables following upon long as
well as upon short root-syllables, as the following examples
occurring in the first acatalectic sections of septenary verse will show
sufficiently: Ál þet bétste þét we héfden Moral Ode 51; Gódes
wísdom ís wel míchel ib. 213, &c.
Now as a syllable bearing a secondary accent cannot become mute,
as an unaccented syllable does, if required, it is evident that those
inflexional syllables which follow upon long root-syllables and
frequently do become silent cannot bear that secondary accent
which has been ascribed to them by several scholars; on the
contrary, all syllables subject in the same way to elision, apocope,
syncope, and slurring must have the same degree of stress (i.e. they
must be alike unaccented) whether preceded by short or by long
root-syllables.
Other terminations of disyllabic words which, though not inflexional,
consist, like the inflexional endings, of e + consonant, are treated in
the same way, e.g. words like fader, moder, finger, heven, sadel,
giver, &c. Only those inflexional and derivational endings which are
of a somewhat fuller sound, as e.g., -ing, -ling, -ung, -and, -ish, and
now and then even the comparative and superlative endings -er, -
est, and the suffixes -lic, -lich, -ly, -y, may be looked upon as
bearing a secondary accent, as they may be used at will either in the
arsis of the verse or lowered to the state of unaccented syllables as
the thesis.
§ 115. In a trisyllabic simple word the root-syllable, of course, has
the primary accent, and of the two following syllables, that which
has the fuller sound, has the secondary accent, as in áskedèst,
wrítìnge, dággère, clénnèsse, híèste. If, however, the two last
syllables are equally destitute of word-accent, as e.g. in clepede,
lufede, they are both metrically unaccented; and, as mentioned
before (cf. § 96), may be shortened either to lufde, clepte, or to
lufed, cleped. If they are used, however, as trisyllables in the iambic
rhythm they naturally admit of the metrical accent on the last
syllable.
It is the same with compounds of nouns or adjectives. The first
syllable takes the chief accent, and of the two others that has the
secondary accent which is the root-syllable of the second part of the
compound, as in fréendshìpe, shírrève, but wódecràft, bóldelỳ.
In verbal compounds the primary accent, in conformity with the Old
English usage, generally rests on the root-syllable of the verb, while
the first and last syllable are mostly unaccented, as e.g. alihten,
bisechen, forgiven, ibidden, ofþunchen. In denominatives, which in
Old English have the primary accent on the first syllable, as e.g.
ándswarian, both kinds of accentuation are allowed: ánswere and
answére.
In disyllabic and trisyllabic compounds of nouns with certain
prefixes, partly accented in Old English, as e.g. al-, un-, for-, mis-,
y-, a-, bi-, the primary accent does not rest on these syllables, but
on the second syllable, this being the root-syllable of the word, e.g.
almíhti, forgétful, unhéele, bihéeste; the first syllable in this case
bears a secondary accent if it has a determinative signification, as
e.g. al-, mis-, un-, but it is unaccented if it is indifferent to the
meaning, as e.g. a-, y-, bi-
§ 116. A peculiar rhythmical position is held by those words which
we may call parathetic compounds.[141] To these belong certain
compound nouns formed by two words of almost the same weight
from a syntactical and metrical point of view, as e.g. goodman,
goodwyf, longswerd, and also by similar composite particles, as e.g.
elleswhere, also, into, unto. Although the regular colloquial
pronunciation was probably in the Middle English period, as it is in
Modern English, with the accent on the first syllable, they may be
pronounced with the accent on the second syllable, or at least with
level stress, as e.g. goodmán, alsó, intó, &c. To this class also belong
certain compounds of adverbs with prepositions, as e.g. herein,
therefore, thereof, the only difference being that the usual accent
rests here on the last syllable, but may be placed also on the first, as
in hereín and hérein, thereóf and théreof, &c.
§ 117. These gradations of sound in the different words regulate
their rhythmical treatment in the verse. In disyllabic words as a rule
the syllable with the primary accent is placed in the arsis of the
verse, the other syllable, whether it be an unaccented one, or have a
secondary accent, is placed in the thesis. Such words as those
described in the preceding section may much more easily be used
with level stress than others. In that case the rhythmical accent rests
on the syllable which has the secondary accent, while the syllable
which in ordinary speech has the chief accent is used as a thesis.
The ordinary as well as the abnormal use of one and the same word
will be illustrated by the following example:—
O mánnkinn swá þatt ítt mannkínn. Orm. 277.
With regard to the rhythmical treatment of trisyllables two classes of
such words are to be distinguished, namely, (1) those in which the
syllable bearing the primary accent is followed or (rarely) preceded
by a syllable bearing a secondary accent, as e.g. gódspèlles,
énglìshe, and (2) those in which the syllable bearing the primary
accent is preceded or followed by a syllable wholly unaccented, as
e.g. bigínnen, òvercóme, crístendòm, wéathercòck. In the latter case
level stress is hardly ever met with, as the natural word-accent
would be interfered with to an intolerable extent by accentuations
like cristéndom, weathércock, ovércome, bíginnén, fórgottén,
béhavióur, &c.
Words like these therefore can in regular iambic or trochaic verse be
used only with their natural accentuation, and hence those syllables
which either have the primary or the secondary accent are always
placed in the arsis, and the unaccented ones in the thesis, e.g.: To
wínnenn únnder Crísstenndóm Orm. Ded. 137; off þátt itt wáss
bigúnnenn ib. 88; Though the séas thréaten, théy are mércifúl
Shakesp. Temp. V. 178; Ónly compóund me wíth forgótten dúst id. 2
Hen. IV, IV. v. 116, &c. On the other hand, when primary and
secondary accent occur in two adjacent syllables level stress is very
common, in Middle English, especially between the first and the
second syllable, as godspélles hállȝhe láre Orm. 14, more rarely
between the second and the third syllable, as þa Góddspelléss neh
álle ib. 30; it also occurs in Chaucer’s poems, as For thóusandés his
hóndes máden dýe Troil. v. 1816; in the same way Modern English
words are treated to fit the rhythm, as e.g. mídsùmmer,
faíntheàrted, in Farewéll, fáint-héarted ánd degénerate kíng Shak. 3
Hen. VI. I. i. 138; And górgeous ás the sún at mídsummér 1 Hen. IV,
IV. i. 102. With the more recent poets this latter kind of rhythmical
accentuation becomes the more usual of the two, although the
nature and the meaning of the compound word always play an
important part in such cases.
With regard to their accentuation and metrical employment words of
four syllables also fall into three classes: 1. Inflected forms of words
belonging to the first group of trisyllables, like crístendómes, which
can be used in the rhythm of the verse only with their natural
accentuation; 2. words like fordémde (first and last syllable
unaccented, the second syllable having the chief accent) with a
determinative prefix, as e.g. únfordémde; these likewise are used in
the rhythm of the verse according to their natural accentuation; 3.
words of the third group with a prefix which either has the
secondary accent, or is unaccented, as ùnwíslìce or iwítnèsse; the
metrical usage of these is regulated according to the rules for the
trisyllabic words. The same is to be observed with regard to words of
five and six syllables like únderstándìnge, únimételiche, which,
however, are only of rare occurrence.
§ 118. B. Romanic words. It was not till the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries that Romanic words passed in considerable
numbers into the English language; and they were then
accommodated to the general laws of accentuation of English. The
transition, however, from Romanic to Germanic accentuation
certainly did not take place at once, but gradually, and earlier in
some districts and in some classes of society than in others; in
educated circles undoubtedly later than amongst the common
people. The accentuation of the newly introduced Romanic words
thus being in a vacillating state, we easily see how the poets writing
at that period in foreign even-beat rhythms, of whom Chaucer may
serve as a representative, could use those words with whichever
accentuation best suited their need at the moment, admitting the
Romanic accentuation chiefly in rhymes, where it afforded them
great facilities, and the usual Germanic accentuation mostly in the
interior of the line. A few examples will suffice to illustrate this well-
known fact. We arrange them in five classes according to the
number of syllables in the words; the principles of metrical
accentuation not being precisely identical in the several classes.
Disyllabic words. I. Words whose final syllable is accented in
French. They are used in even-beat rhythms (1) with the original
accentuation, e.g. prisóun: raunsóun Kn. T. 317–18; pítouslý : mercý
ib. 91–2; pitóus: móus Prol. 143–4; (2) with the accent on the first
syllable according to the accentuation which had already become
prevalent in ordinary English speech, e.g. This prísoun cáusede me
Kn. T. 237; With hérte pítous ib. 95; But wé beséken mércy ánd
socóur ib. 60.
II. Words having in French the accent on the first syllable, the last
syllable being unaccented. These words, partly substantives or
adjectives, as people, nombre, propre, partly verbs, as praye, suffre,
crie (in which case the accentuation of the sing. of the present tense
prevails), are always used in verse with the original accentuation,
the second unaccented syllable either (1) forming a full thesis of the
verse, as in the péple préseth thíderward Kn. T. 1672; bý his própre
gód Prol. 581, or (2) being elided or slurred and forming only part of
the thesis, as in the nómbre and éek the cáuse ib. 716; and crýe as
hé were wóod ib. 636.
As a rule also the original and usual accent is retained by disyllabic
words containing an unaccented prefix, as in accord, abet, desyr,
defence, &c. Only words composed with the prefix dis- occur with
either accentuation, as díscreet and discréet.
§ 119. Trisyllabic words. I. Words, the last syllable of which in
French has the chief accent, the first having a secondary accent. In
these words the two accents are transposed in English, so that the
first syllable bears the chief accent, the last the secondary accent,
and both of them as a rule receive the rhythmical accent: émperóur,
árgumént. But if two syllables of such a word form a disyllabic
thesis, generally the last syllable which has the secondary accent is
lowered to the unaccented grade: árgument, émperour.
II. Words which in French have the chief accent on the middle
syllable, the last being unaccented. These are sometimes used with
the original accentuation, mostly as feminine rhymes, e.g.: viságe:
uságe Prol. 109–10; chére: manére ib. 139–40; penánce: pitánce ib.
233–4; poráille: vitáille ib. 247–8; prudénce: senténce ib. 305–6;
offíce: áccomplíce Kn. T. 2005–6, &c.; more rarely in the interior of
the verse, where the last syllable may either form a thesis as in Ál
your plesánce férme and stáble I hólde Cl. T. 663, or part of it, being
elided or slurred, as in The sáme lúst was híre plesánce alsó ib. 717.
In other instances, mostly in the interior of the verse, they have the
accent on the first syllable, the last being always elided or slurred:
And sáugh his vísage was in anóther kýnde Kn. T. 543; He fél in
óffice wíth a chámberléyn ib. 561.
Verbs ending in -ice (-isse), -ishe, -ie, as e.g. chérisse, púnishe,
stúdie, cárrie, tárrie, nearly always have the accent on the first
syllable, the last syllable being elided or apocopated, except where it
is strengthened by a final consonant, as e.g. chérishëd, tárriëd. If
the first syllable of a trisyllabic word be formed by an unaccented
particle, the root-syllable of the word, in this case the middle one,
likewise retains the accent, as e.g. in despíse, remaíne.
§ 120. Four-syllable words of French origin when they are
substantives or adjectives frequently have disyllabic or trisyllabic
suffixes such as: -age, -iage, -ian, -iant, -aunce, -iance, -iaunce, -
ence, -ience, -ient, -ier, -ioun, -ious, -eous, -uous, -ial, -ual, -iat, -
iour, -ure, -ie (-ye). As most of these words already have a trochaic
or iambic rhythm, they are used without difficulty in even-beat
disyllabic verses, chiefly in rhymes, and then always with their full
syllabic value, as e.g.: pílgrimáge: coráge Prol. 11–12; hóstelrýe:
cómpanýe ib. 23–4; resóun: condícióun ib. 37–8; chývalrýe: cúrtesýe
ib. 45–6; chívachíe: Pícardíe ib. 185–6; cónsciénce: réverénce ib.
141–2; tóun: conféssióun ib. 217–18; curát: licénciát 219–20;
góvernáunce : chévysáunce ib. 291–2, &c. In the interior of a verse
also the words not ending in an unaccented e are always metrically
treated according to their full syllabic value, e.g.: That héeld
opínyóun that pléyn delýt Prol. 337; Of hís compléxióun he wás
sangwýn ib. 333. In those words, on the other hand, which end in
an unaccented e, this vowel is in the interior of the verse generally
elided or apocopated: no vílanýe is ít ib. 740; ín that óstelríe alíght
ib. 720; So móche of dáliáunce and fáir langáge ib. 211; And ál was
cónsciénce and téndre hérte ib. 150.
Further shortenings, however, which transform an originally four-
syllable word into a disyllabic one, as in the present pronunciation of
the word conscience, do not take lace in Middle English before the
transition to the Modern English period. In Lyndesay’s Monarchie we
meet with accentuations of this kind, as e.g.:
The quhílk gaif sápience tó king Sálomóne. 249.
Be tháy contént, mak réverence tó the rést. 36.
In a similar way adjectives ending in -able and verbs ending in -ice, -
ye adapt themselves to the disyllabic rhythm, and likewise verbs
ending in -ine (Old French -iner); only it must be noticed that in the
preterite and in the past participle verbs of the latter class tend to
throw the accents on the antepenultimate and last syllables, e.g.
enlúminéd, emprísonéd. Words of five syllables almost without
exception have an iambic rhythm of themselves and are used
accordingly in even-beat verses, as e.g. expériénce; the same is the
case with words which have Germanic endings, like -ing, -inge, -
nesse, e.g. discónfytýnge.
The rhythmic accentuation of foreign proper names both in
disyllables and in polysyllables varies. Thus we may notice the
accentuations Junó, Plató, Venús, and, on the other hand, Júno,
Pláto, Vénus; Arcíte, Athénes, and Árcíte, Áthenes; Antónie and
Ántoníe. Wherever in such cases level stress may help to smooth the
rhythm it certainly is to be assumed in reading.

II. Word-accent in Modern English

§ 121. Modern English accentuation deviates little from that of the

Old English and Middle English; the inflexional endings, however,
play a much less important part; further, in many cases the Romanic
accentuation of Middle English is still in existence, or at least has
influence, in words of French or Latin origin. This is evident from
many deviations in the rhythmic accentuation of such words from
the modern accentuation which we here regard as normal, though it
is to be noted that in the beginning of the Modern English epoch, i.e.
in the sixteenth century, the actual accentuation in many cases was
still in conformity with the earlier conditions.
Only these real and apparent anomalies are noticed here. We have
first to consider the Romanic endings -ace, -age, -ail, -el, -ain, -al,
-ance, -ence, -ant, -ent, -er, -ess (Old French -esse), -ice, -ile, -in, -
on, -or, -our, -une, -ure, -y(e) (in disyllabic words). As the final e
has become mute, all these endings are monosyllabic.
In the works of the earlier Modern English poets some words ending
in these syllables are only exceptionally used with the accent on the
last syllable according to the Old French or Middle English
accentuation, the Modern English accentuation being the usual one;
others are employed more frequently or even exclusively with the
earlier accentuation, e.g. paláce Sur. 174, bondáge Wyatt 224, traváil
Sur. 82, Wyatt 19, certáin ib. 179, mountáin Sur. 37, chieftáin ib.
112, cristál Wyatt 156, presénce ib. 81, grievánce ib. 55, penánce ib.
209, balánce ib. 173, pleasánt ib. 130, tormént (subst.) ib. 72, fevér,
fervóur ib. 210, mistréss ib. 109, richés ib. 209, justíce ib. 229,
servíce ib. 177, engíne Sur. 130, seasón ib. 149, honóur ib. 166,
armóur 148, colóur: therefóre Wyatt 6, terrór: succóur ib. 210, &c.,
fortúne: tune ib. 152, Sur. 115, measúre Wyatt 125, natúre: unsúre
ib. 144, glorý: mercý ib. 208.
In almost all these cases and in many other words with the same
endings this accentuation seems to be due to the requirements of
the rhythm, in which case level stress must be assumed.
§ 122. It is the same with many other disyllabic words, especially
those both syllables of which are almost of equal sound-value and
degree of stress, as in cases in which two different meanings of one
and the same word are indicated by different accentuation, a
distinction not unfrequently neglected in the metrical treatment of
these words.
So the following adjectives and participles are used by Shakespeare
and other poets with variable accentuation: complete, adverse,
benign, contrived, corrupt, despised, dispersed, distinct, distract,
diverse, eterne, exact, exhaled, exiled, expired, express, extreme,
famous, insane, invised, misplaced, misprised, obscure, perfect,
profane, profound, remiss, secure, severe, sincere, supreme,
terrene; and so are also the many adjectives and participles
compounded with the prefix un-, as e.g. unborn, unchaste, unkind,
&c. (cf. Alexander Schmidt, Shakespeare-Lexicon).
Substantives and verbs are treated in a similar way, e.g. comfórt
(subst.) Wyatt 14, recórd ib. 156, discórd Sur. 6, conflíct ib. 85,
purcháse ib. 58, mischíef Wyatt 78, safeguárd ib. 212, Madáme ib.
149, proméss ib. 25. So also in Shakespeare (cf. Alexander Schmidt,
l.c.): áccess, aspéct, commérce, consórt, contráct, compáct, edíct,
instínct, outráge, precépts, cément, cónduct (vb.), cónfine, púrsue,
rélapse (cf. Metrik, ii. § 62)
§ 123. Trisyllabic and polysyllabic words, too, of French or Latin
origin are still used frequently in the beginning of the Modern
English period with an accentuation contrary to present usage.
Words e.g. which now have the chief accent on the second syllable,
the first and third syllable being unaccented, are often used with the
rhythmical accents on these two syllables, e.g.: cónfessór Meas. IV.
iii. 133, cóntinúe Wyatt 189; départúre ib. 129; répentánce ib. 205,
éndeavóur ib. 232; détestáble John III. iv. 29, rhéumatíc Ven. 135,
&c. Likewise in words the first and third syllables of which are now
accented and the second unaccented, the rhythmical accent is
placed on this very syllable, e.g. charácter Lucr. 807, confíscate
Cymb. V. v. 323, contráry Wyatt 8, impórtune Ant. IV. xv. 19,
oppórtune Temp. IV. i. 26, perséver All’s Well IV. ii. 37, prescíence
Troil. I. iii. 199, siníster Troil. IV. v. 128. Certain verbs also in -ise, -ize
are used with fluctuating accentuation; Shakespeare e.g. always has
advértise Meas. i. 142, authórise Sonn. 35, canónize Troil. II. ii. 202;
sometimes also solémnize Temp. v. 309 (cf. Metrik, ii. §§ 64, 65).
Foreign proper names especially in many cases are subject, as in
earlier times, to variable accentuation, as e.g.: Ajáx Sur.129, Cæsár
Wyatt 191, Cató ib. 191, the more usual accentuation also occurring
in the writings of the same poets; similarly Átridés Sur. 129 and
Atríde ib. 116, Cárthages ib. 149 and Cartháge 175. Shakespeare
has always the unclassical Andrónicus, Hypérion, Cleopátra, but for
rhythmical reasons Nórthamptón Rich. III, II. iv. 1 instead of
Northámpton, and so in several other cases (cf. Metrik, ii. § 67)
§ 124. Amongst the Germanic vocables the parathetic
compounds chiefly call for notice, as their accentuation in common
speech also approaches level stress, and for this reason they may be
used with either accentuation. This group includes compounds like
moonlight, welfare, farewell, and some conjunctions, prepositions,
and pronouns, as therefore, wherefore, something, nothing,
sometimes, into, unto, towards, without, as e.g.: thérefore Wyatt 24,
&c., therefóre ib. 42, nóthing Rich. II, II. ii. 12, nothíng Rich. III, I. i.
236, únto Sur. 125, untó Sur. 117 (cf. Metrik, ii. § 58).
Greater arbitrariness in the treatment of word-accent, explained best
by the influence of Middle English usage, is shown in the rhythmical
accentuation of the final syllable -ing in words like endíng: thing
Wyatt 27; and of the suffixes -ness, -ly, -y, -ow, e.g. goodnéss:
excéss Wyatt 206, free: trulý 147; borrów: sorrów: overthrów ib.
227. Less admissible still are such accentuations with the endings -
er, -est, used on the whole only by the earlier Modern English poets,
e.g. earnést Wyatt 11, aftér ib. 207, and least of all with inflexional
endings, e.g. scornéd Sur. 170, causéth Wyatt 33 (cf. Metrik, ii. §§
59–61).
As a rule, however, such unnatural accentuations can be avoided by
assuming the omission of a thesis at the beginning or in the interior
of a line. With regard to trisyllabic and polysyllabic words the
remarks on pp. 176–7 are to be compared.

DIVISION II
Verse-forms Common to the Middle and
Modern English Periods
CHAPTER IX
LINES OF EIGHT FEET, FOUR FEET, TWO FEET,
AND ONE FOOT

§ 125. Among the metres introduced into Middle English poetry in

imitation of foreign models, perhaps the oldest is the four-foot verse,
rhyming in couplets. This metre may be regarded as having
originally arisen by halving the eight-foot line, although only an
isolated example of this, dating from about the middle of the
thirteenth century, quoted above (p. 127), is known in Middle
English poetry. This, however, serves with special clearness to
illustrate the resolution, by means of inserted rhyme, of the eight-
foot long-line couplet into four-foot lines rhyming alternately (cf. §
78).
In the manuscript the verses, though rhyming in long lines, are
written as short lines, with intermittent rhyme a b c b d b e b, just
as the example of Modern English eight-foot iambic verse, quoted
before (p. 127), is found printed with this arrangement, as is indeed
generally the case with most long-line forms of that type. This metre
calls for no other remarks on its rhythmical structure than will have
to be made with regard to the four-foot verse.
§ 126. The four-foot line, rhyming in couplets, first appears in a
paraphrase of the Pater Noster of the end of the twelfth century,[142]
doubtless in imitation of the Old French vers octosyllabe made
known in England by Anglo-Norman poets, such as Gaimar, Wace,
Benoit, &c.
This French metre consists of eight syllables when the ending is
monosyllabic, and nine when it is disyllabic.
The lines are always connected in couplets by rhyme, but masculine
and feminine rhymes need not alternate with one another.
It is exactly the same with the Middle English four-foot line, except
that the rising iambic rhythm comes out more clearly in it, and that,
instead of the Romanic principle of counting the syllables, that of the
equality of beats is perceptible, so that the equality of the number of
syllables in the verses is not so strictly observed. Hence, all the
deviations before mentioned from the strict formal structure of even-
beat verses occur even in this early poem, and quite regularly
constructed couplets are indeed but rare in it. Examples of this type
are the following:
Ah, láverd gód, her úre béne,
Of úre súnne máke us cléne,
Þet hé us ȝéue alswá he méi,
Þet ús bihóueð úlche déi. ll. 167–170.
The first ten lines of the poem give a sufficient idea of the structure
of the verse, and its characteristics:
 Ure féder þét in héouene ís,
Þet ís all sóþ fúl iwís!
Weo móten tó þeos wéordes iséon,
Þet to líue and to sáule góde béon,
Þet wéo beon swá his súnes ibórene,
Þet hé beo féder and wé him icórene,
Þet wé don álle hís ibéden
Ánd his wílle fór to réden.
Lóke weo ús wið hím misdón
Þurh béelzebúbes swíkedóm.
Here we find almost all the rhythmical licences to be found in even-
beat metres. Thus we have suppression of the anacrusis in line 8
and again in two consecutive lines, such as 15, 16:
Gíf we léornið gódes láre,
Þénne of-þúnceð hít him sáre;
and very often in the course of the poem, e.g. ll. 22, 29, 30, 37, &c.,
so that it acquires a loose, iambic-trochaic cadence; further, the
absence of an unaccented syllable in the middle of the line (line 2);
inversion of accent in line 9, and again in line 81, Láverd he ís of álle
scáfte; two unaccented syllables at the beginning and in the interior
of the verse in 4; light slurrings ll. 1, 3, 5; only ll. 7 and 10 are
regularly constructed throughout. The same proportion of regular to
irregular verses runs through the whole poem, in which, besides the
licences mentioned, that of level stress is also often to be met with,
especially in rhymes like wurþíng: héovenkíng 99–100; hatíng: king
193–4, 219–20; fóndúnge: swínkúnge 242–3.
§ 127. The treatment of the caesura in this metre also deserves,
special mention, for this, as has already been stated, is one of the
chief points in which the four-foot even-beat metre differs from the
four-stress metre, as represented either by the old alliterative long
line or by the later non-alliterating line. For there must be a caesura
in every four-beat verse, and it must always be found in one definite
place, viz. after the second beat next to any unaccented syllable or
syllables that follow the beat, the line being thus divided into two
rhythmically fairly equal halves. On the other hand, for the four-foot
verse, not only in this, its earliest appearance, but in the rest of
Middle and Modern English literature, the caesura is not obligatory,
and when it does occur it may, theoretically speaking, stand in any
place in the line, although it most frequently appears after the
second foot, particularly in the oldest period.
The caesura may (§ 80) be of three kinds:
(1) Monosyllabic or masculine caesura:
Ne képeð he nóht | þet wé beon súne. 18.
(2) Disyllabic or feminine caesura, two kinds of which are to be
distinguished, viz.
(a) Lyric caesura, within a foot:
And ȝéfe us míhte | þúrh his héld. 240.
(b) Epic caesura caused by a supernumerary unaccented syllable
before the pause:
Ure gúltes, láverd, | bon ús forȝéven. 173.
These three kinds of caesura, the last of which, it is true, we meet
here only sporadically, may thus in four-foot verse also occur after,
as well as in the other feet. Thus we find in the very first line, a
lyrical caesura after the first foot:
Ure féder | þét in héouene ís.
This, however, seldom happens in the oldest examples, in which
caesuras sharply dividing the line are rare, enjambement being only
seldom admitted. Examples of verses without caesuras are to be
found, among others, in the following: Þúrh béelzebúbes swíkedóm
10, Intó þe þósternésse héllen 104. As a rule, in the four-foot verse
as well as in French octosyllabics, a pause does not occur until the
end, on account of the shortness of this metre, which generally only
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