<GetPassage xmlns:tei="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0" xmlns="http://chs.harvard.edu/xmlns/cts">
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                <requestName>GetPassage</requestName>
                <requestUrn>urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2:8.6.62-8.6.76</requestUrn>
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            <reply>
                <urn>urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2:8.6.62-8.6.76</urn>
                <passage>
                    <TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><text xml:lang="eng"><body><div n="urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2" type="translation" xml:lang="eng"><div n="8" type="textpart" subtype="book"><div n="6" type="textpart" subtype="chapter"><div n="62" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Again, <hi rend="italic">hyperbaton,</hi> that is, the transposition of
                            a word, is often demanded by the structure of the sentence and the
                            claims of elegance, and is consequently counted among the ornaments of
                            style. For our language would often be harsh, rough, limp or disjointed,
                            if the words were always arranged in their natural order and attached
                            each to each just as they occur, despite the fact that there is no real
                            bond of union. Consequently some words require to be postponed, others
                            to be anticipated, each being set in its appropriate place. </p></div><div n="63" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> For we are like those who build a wall of unhewn stone: we cannot hew or
                            polish our words in order to make them fit more compactly, and so we
                            must take them as they are and choose suitable positions for them. </p></div><div n="64" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Further, it is impossible to make our prose rhythmical except by
                            artistic alterations in the order of words, and the reason why those
                            four words in which Plato <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"> At
                                the beginning of the <hi rend="italic">Repiblic.</hi>
                           <foreign xml:lang="grc">κατέβην χφὲς εἰς Πειραιᾶ.</foreign>
                        </note> in the
                            noblest of his works states that he had gone down to the Piraeus were
                            found written in a number of different orders upon his wax tablets, was
                            simply that he desired to make the rhythm as perfect as possible. </p></div><div n="65" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> When, however, the transposition is confined to two words only, it is
                            called <hi rend="italic">anastrophe,</hi> that is, a reversal of order.
                            This occurs in everyday <pb n="v7-9 p.339"/> speech in <hi rend="italic">mecum</hi> and <hi rend="italic">secure,</hi> while in orators and
                            historians we meet with it in the phrase <hi rend="italic">quibus de
                                rebus.</hi> It is the transposition of a word to some distance from
                            its original place, in order to secure an ornamental effect, that is
                            strictly called <hi rend="italic">hyperbaton:</hi> the following passage
                            will provide an example: animadverti, indices, omnem accusatoris
                            orationenm in duas <hi rend="italic">divisam esse partes.</hi>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Cic. pro
                                    Cluent.</hi> i. 1. </note> ( <quote>I noted, gentlemen, that the
                                speech of the accuser was divided into two parts.</quote> ) In this
                            case the strictly correct order would be <hi rend="italic">in duas
                                partes divisam esse,</hi> but this would have been harsh and ugly.
                        </p></div><div n="66" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> The poets even go so far as to secure this effect by the division of
                            words, as in the line: <quote rend="blockquote"><l part="N"> Hyperboreo
                                    septem subiecta trioni <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Georg.</hi> iii. 381. </note>
                           </l><l part="N"> ( <quote>Under the Hyperborean Wain</quote> ),
                                </l></quote> a licence wholly inadmissible in oratory. Still there
                            is good reason for calling such a transposition a <hi rend="italic">trope,</hi> since the meaning is not complete until the two words
                            have been put together. </p></div><div n="67" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> On the other hand, when the transposition makes no alteration in the
                            sense, and merely produces a variation in the structure, it is rather to
                            be called a <hi rend="italic">verbal figure,</hi> as indeed many
                            authorities have held. Of the faults resulting from long or confused <hi rend="italic">hyperbata</hi> have spoken in the appropriate place.
                                <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">VIII. ii. 14.</note> I
                            have kept <hi rend="italic">hyperbole</hi> to the last, on the ground of
                            its boldness. It means an elegant straining of the truth, and may be
                            employed indifferently for exaggeration or attenuation. It can be used
                            in various ways. </p></div><div n="68" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> We may say more than the actual facts, as when Cicero says, <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Phil.</hi> II.
                                xxv. 63. </note> "He vomited and filled his lap and the whole
                            tribunal with fragments of food, or when Virgil speaks of <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">win rocks that threaten heaven.</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> i. 162.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote>
                        <pb n="v7-9 p.341"/> Again, we may exalt our theme by
                            the use of simile, as in the phrase: <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">Thou wouldst have deemed</l><l part="N">That
                                            Cyclad isles uprooted swam the deep.</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> viii. 691.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote>
                     </p></div><div n="69" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Or we may produce the same result by introducing a comparison, as in the
                            phrase: <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">Swifter than the levin's wings;</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> v. 319.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote> or by the use of indications, as in the lines: <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">She would fly</l><l part="N">Even o'er the
                                            tops of the unsickled corn,</l><l part="N">Nor as she
                                            ran would bruise the tender ears.</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> vii. 808.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote> Or we may employ a metaphor, as the verb to <hi rend="italic">fly</hi> is employed in the passage just quoted. </p></div><div n="70" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Sometimes, again, one <hi rend="italic">hyperbole</hi> may be heightened
                            by the addition of another, as when Cicero in denouncing Antony says:
                                <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">
                                    Phil.</hi> II. xxvii. 67. </note>
                        <quote> What Charybdis was ever
                                so voracious? Charybdis, do I say? Nay, if Charybdis ever existed,
                                she was but a single monster. By heaven, even Ocean's self,
                                methinks, could scarce have engulfed so many things, so widely
                                scattered in such distant places, in such a twinkling of the eye.
                            </quote>
                     </p></div><div n="71" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> I think, too, that I am right in saying that I noted a brilliant example
                            of the same kind in the Hymns <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">A lost work.</note> of Pindar, the prince of lyric poets. For when
                            he describes the onslaught made by Hercules upon the Meropes, the
                            legendary inhabitants of the island of Cos, he speaks of the hero as
                            like not to fire, winds or sea, but to the thunderbolt, making the
                            latter the only true equivalent of his speed and power, the former being
                            treated as quite inadequate. </p></div><div n="72" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Cicero has imitated his method in the following <pb n="v7-9 p.343"/>
                            passage from the Verrines: <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">v.
                                vi. 145.</note>
                        <quote> After long lapse of years the Sicilians saw
                                dwelling in their midst, not a second Dionysius or Phalaris (for
                                that island has produced many a cruel tyrant in years gone by), but
                                a new monster with all the old ferocity once familiar to those
                                regions. For, to my thinking, neither Scylla nor Charybdis were ever
                                such foes as he to the ships that sailed those same narrow seas.
                            </quote>
                     </p></div><div n="73" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> The methods of hyperbole by attenuation are the same in number. Compare
                            the Virgilian <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Ecl.</hi> iii. 103. Describing a flock of starved
                                sheep. </note>
                        <quote rend="blockquote"><l part="N">Scarce cling they
                                    to their bones,</l></quote> or the lines from a humorous work
                                <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">Unknown.</note> of
                            Cicero's, <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="N">Fundum Vetto vocat
                                        quem possit mittere funda;</l><l part="M">Ni tamen
                                        exciderit, qua cava funda patet.</l></quote></quote>
                        <quote rend="blockquote"><quote> Vetto gives the name of farm to an estate
                                    which might easily be hurled from a sling, though it might well
                                    fall through the hole in the hollow sling, so small is it.
                                </quote></quote> But even here a certain proportion must be
                            observed. For although every <hi rend="italic">hyperbole</hi> involves
                            the incredible, it must not go too far in this direction, which provides
                            the easiest road to extravagant affectation. </p></div><div n="74" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> I shrink from recording the faults to which the lack of this sense of
                            proportion has given rise, more especially as they are so well known and
                            obvious. It is enough to say that <hi rend="italic">hyperbole</hi> lies,
                            though without any intention to deceive. We must therefore be all the
                            more careful to consider how far we may go in exaggerating facts which
                            our audience may refuse to believe. Again, <hi rend="italic">hyperbole</hi> will often cause a laugh. If that was what the
                            orator desired, <pb n="v7-9 p.345"/> we may give him credit for wit;
                            otherwise we can only call him a fool. </p></div><div n="75" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p><hi rend="italic">Hyperbole</hi> is employed even by peasants and
                            uneducated persons, for the good reason that everybody has an innate
                            passion for exaggeration or attenuation of actual facts, and no one is
                            ever contented with the simple truth. But such disregard of truth is
                            pardonable, for it does not involve the definite assertion of the thing
                            that is not. <hi rend="italic">Hyperbole</hi> is, moreover, a virtue,
                        </p></div><div n="76" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> when the subject on which we have to speak is abnormal. For we are
                            allowed to amplify, when the magnitude of the facts passes all words,
                            and in such circumstances our language will be more effective if it goes
                            beyond the truth than if it falls short of it. However, I have said
                            enough on this topic, since I have already dealt with it in my work on
                            the causes of the decline of oratory. </p></div></div></div></div></body></text></TEI>
                </passage>
            </reply>
            </GetPassage>