"Like to the Pontic Sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic and the Hellespont-- Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er turn back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up." Perhaps we can give an idea of the difference between Shakespeare and other poets, by a passage from "Lear." When Cordelia places her hand upon her father's head and speaks of the night and of the storm, an ordinary poet might have said: "On such a night, a dog Should have stood against my fire." A very great poet might have gone a step further and exclaimed: "On such a night, mine enemy's dog Should have stood against my fire." But Shakespeare said: "Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit me, Should have stood, that night, against my fire." Of all the poets--of all the writers--Shakespeare is the most original. He is as original as Nature. It may truthfully be said that "Nature wants stuff to vie strange forms with fancy, to make another." VIII. THERE is in the greatest poetry a kind of extravagance that touches the infinite, and in this Shakespeare exceeds all others. You will remember the description given of the voyage of Paris in search of Helen: "The seas and winds, old wranglers, made a truce, And did him service; he touched the ports desired, And for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive, He brought a Grecian queen whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo, and makes stale the morning." So, in Pericles, when the father finds his daughter, he cries out: "O Helicanus! strike me, honored sir; Give me a gash, put me to present pain, Lest this great sea of joys, rushing upon me, O'erbear the shores of my mortality." The greatest compliment that man has ever paid to the woman he adores is this line: "Eyes that do mislead the morn." Nothing can be conceived more perfectly poetic. In that marvelous play, the "Midsummer Night's Dream," is one of the most extravagant things in literature: "Thou rememberest Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath That the rude sea grew civil at her song, And certain stars shot madly from their spheres To hear the sea-maid's music." This is so marvelously told that it almost seems probable. So the description of Mark Antony: "For his bounty There was no winter in't--an autumn t'was That grew the more by reaping. His delights Were dolphin-like--they showed his back above The element they lived in." Think of the astronomical scope and amplitude of this: "Her bed is India--there she lies a pearl." Is there anything more intense than these words of Cleopatra?