ary accent on a syllable, would destroy the 'style'
in an instant.

B. Choice of the fewest and simplest words that can be found in the
compass of the language, to express the thing meant: these few words
being also arranged in the most straightforward and intelligible way;
allowing inversion only when the subject can be made primary without
obscurity; thus, 'his present, and your pains, we thank you for' is
better than 'we thank you for his present and your pains,' because the
Dauphin's gift is by courtesy put before the Ambassador's pains; but
'when to these balls our rackets we have matched' would have spoiled the
style in a moment, because--I was going to have said, ball and racket
are of equal rank, and therefore only the natural order proper; but also
here the natural order is the desired one, the English racket to have
precedence of the French ball. In the fourth line the 'in France' comes
first, as announcing the most important resolution of action; the 'by
God's grace' next, as the only condition rendering resolution possible;
the detail of issue follows with the strictest limit in the final word.
The King does not say 'danger,' far less 'dishonour,' but 'hazard' only;
of _that_ he is, humanly speaking, sure.

C. Perfectly emphatic and clear utterance of the chosen words; slowly
in the degree of their importance, with omission however of every word
not absolutely required; and natural use of the familiar contractions of
final dissyllable. Thus, 'play a set shall strike' is better than 'play
a set _that_ shall strike,' and 'match'd' is kingly short--no necessity
could have excused 'matched' instead. On the contrary, the three first
words, 'We are glad,' would have been spoken by the king more slowly and
fully than any other syllables in the whole passage, first pronouncing
the kingly 'we' at its proudest, and then the 'are' as a continuous
state, and then the 'glad,' as the exact contrary of what the
ambassadors expected him to be.[190]

D. Absolute spontaneity in doing all this, easily and necessarily as the
heart beats. The king _cannot_ speak otherwise than he does--nor the
hero. The words not merely come to them, but are compelled to them. Even
lisping numbers 'come,' but mighty numbers are ordained, and inspired.

E. Melody in the words, changeable with their passion fitted to it
exactly and the utmost of which the language is capable--the melody in
prose being Eolian and variable--in verse, nobler by su