es: and over and above these,
there are one hundred and fifteen which have in them only one word of
greater length; and yet there are few dull creepers among the lines of
Pope.

The early writers, the "pure wells of English undefiled," are full of
"small words."

Hall, in one of the most exquisite of his satires, speaking of the
vanity of "adding house to house, and field to field," has these most
beautiful lines,--

"Fond fool! six feet shall serve for all thy store,
And he that cares for most shall find no more!"

"What harmonious monosyllables!" says Mr. Gifford; and what critic will
refuse to echo his exclamation? The same writer is full of monosyllabic
lines, and he is among the most energetic {306} of satirists. By the
way, it is not a little curious, that in George Webster's _White Devil,
or Vittoria Corombona_, almost the same thought is also clothed in two
monosyllabic lines:--

"His wealth is summed, and this is all his store:
This poor men get, and great men get no more."

Was Young dull? Listen, for it is indeed a "solemn sound:"--

"The bell strikes one. We take no note of time
Save by its loss, to give it then a tongue
Was wise in man."

Was Milton tame? Hear the "lost archangel" calling upon Hell to receive
its new possessor:--

"One who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in _itself_
Can make a heav'n of hell,--a hell of heav'n.
What _matter_ where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be; all but less than he
Whom _thunder_ hath made _greater_? Here at least
We shall be free; the _Almighty_ hath not built
Here for his _envy_; will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign _secure_; and in my choice
To reign is worth _ambition_, though in hell:
_Better_ to reign in hell, than serve in heav'n!"

A great conjunction of little words! Are monosyllables passionless?
Listen to the widowed Constance:--

"Thou mayst, thou shalt! I will not go with thee!
I will _instruct_ my _sorrows_ to be proud;
For grief is proud, and makes his _owner_ stout;
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let kings _assemble_; for my grief's so great,
That no _supporter_ but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up: here I and _sorrow_ sit;
Here is my throne: bid kings come bow to it."

Six polysyllables only in eight lines!

The ingenuity of Pope's line is great, but the criticism false. We
applaud it only