September is
not altogether an English gentleman. “The more monosyllables that you use, the
truer Englishman you shall seeme, and the lesse you shall smell of the Inkhorne,”
extols Gascoigne (1575). Berryman thinks Shakespeare “very fond of
monosyllables,” that “about one-tenth” of lines in the sonnets are entirely
monosyllabic, a cause for “the poet’s blunt force.” We were taught the same at
the polysyllabic university, by inkhorn academics whose jargon could
outmanoeuvre entire oeuvres. We smiled at Rabelais’ monks conversing in
one-word dialogues, obedient to Our Lord’s command to say just yes or no.
Shakespeare worked with whatever words worked.
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