Where they're extended! which like an arch reverberates
The voice again, or like a gate of steel,
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
Its figure and its heat."

Patroclus gives the indolent warrior the same advice.

"Rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
And like a dew-drop from the lion's mane
Be shook to air."

Shakspeare's language and versification are like the rest of him. He has
a magic power over words: they come winged at his bidding; and seem to
know their places. They are struck out at a heat, on the spur of the
occasion, and have all the truth and vividness which arise from an
actual impression of the objects. His epithets and single phrases are
like sparkles, thrown off from an imagination, fired by the whirling
rapidity of its own motion. His language is hieroglypnical. It
translates thoughts into visible images. It abounds in sudden
transitions and elliptical expressions. This is the source of his mixed
metaphors, which are only abbreviated forms of speech. These, however,
give no pain from long custom. They have, in fact, become idioms in the
language. They are the building, and not the scaffolding to thought. We
take the meaning and effect of a well-known passage entire, and no more
stop to scan and spell out the particular words and phrases, than the
syllables of which they are composed. In trying to recollect any other
author, one sometimes stumbles, in case of failure, on a word as good.
In Shakspeare, any other word but the true one, is sure to be wrong. If
any body, for instance, could not recollect the words of the following