Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare Pragmatics & Beyond Editor Andreas H. Jucker University of Zu...

Author: Beatrix Busse

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Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare

Pragmatics & Beyond Editor Andreas H. Jucker University of Zurich, English Department Plattenstrasse 47, CH-8032 Zurich, Switzerland e-mail: [email protected]

Associate Editors Jacob L. Mey University of Southern Denmark

Herman Parret Belgian National Science Foundation, Universities of Louvain and Antwerp

Jef Verschueren Belgian National Science Foundation, University of Antwerp

Editorial Board Shoshana Blum-Kulka

Catherine Kerbrat-Orecchioni

Hebrew University of Jerusalem

University of Lyon 2

Jean Caron

Claudia de Lemos

Université de Poitiers

University of Campinas, Brazil

Robyn Carston

Marina Sbisà

University College London

University of Trieste

Bruce Fraser

Emanuel Schegloff

Boston University

University of California at Los Angeles

Thorstein Fretheim

Deborah Schiffrin

University of Trondheim

Georgetown University

John Heritage

Paul O. Takahara

University of California at Los Angeles

Kobe City University of Foreign Studies

Susan Herring

Sandra Thompson

University of Texas at Arlington

University of California at Santa Barbara

Masako K. Hiraga

Teun A. Van Dijk

St. Paul’s (Rikkyo) University

Pompeu Fabra, Barcelona

David Holdcroft

Richard J. Watts

University of Leeds

University of Berne

Sachiko Ide Japan Women’s University

Volume 150 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare by Beatrix Busse


Beatrix Busse Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam/Philadelphia

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TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Busse, Beatrix. Vocative constructions in the language of Shakespeare / Beatrix Busse. p. cm. (Pragmatics & Beyond, New Series, issn 0922-842X ; v. 150) “This study investigates the functions, meanings, and varieties of forms of address in Shakespeare’s dramatic work” – p. 4 of cover. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Shakespeare, William, 1564–1616--Language. 2. English language-Early modern, 1500–1700--Address, Forms of. 3. Forms of address in literature. I. Title. PR3081.B85 2006 822.3’3--dc22 isbn 90 272 5393 5 (Hb; alk. paper)

2006049870

© 2006 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

tam multa ut puta genera linguarum sunt in mundo et nihil sine voce est 1 Cor 14, 10.

Table of contents

List of illustrations Preface and acknowledgements List of abbreviations

xiii xv xvii

chapter 1 This study 1 1.1 Outline of this study 1 1.2 Existent linguistic accounts of the language of Shakespeare and of the use of forms of address 16 1.2.1 Shakespeare’s language 16 1.2.2 The concept of address – nominal forms of address and the second-person personal pronoun 17 1.3 A working definition of vocatives in Shakespeare 25 1.3.1 What has been excluded 25 1.3.2 What is the vocative? 26 1.4 Methodology 29 1.4.1 Selection of the corpus 29 1.4.2 Isolation of vocatives – a triadic hierarchical model of vocative analysis 37 1.4.2.1 General outline of the model 37 1.4.2.2 Presentation of the design of the model – vocatives analysed below the clause 40 1.4.2.3 Presentation of the design of the model – vocatives analysed in the clause 44 1.4.2.4 Presentation of the design of the model – vocatives analysed above the clause 47 1.5 Approaches 50 1.5.1 Literary critical approaches 50 1.5.2 Vocatives as social exchange – a typology 51 1.5.2.1 Linguistic Shakespeare studies, Shakespeare grammars, hypertexts, online material, and databases 51 1.5.2.2 Ethnomethodology, conversation analysis, sociolinguistic approaches, pragmatics 53 1.5.2.3 Structural-functional approaches: M.A.K. Halliday’s systemic functional grammar and critical discourse analysis 57 1.6 Significance of forms of address for Early Modern English and Early Modern England 61

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chapter 2 Theoretical framework: Shakespeare’s language as social semiotic 2.1 Preliminaries 67 2.2 “Language does not correspond. It construes.” Shakespeare’s language as interactive, social, and contextual 67 2.2.1 Preliminaries 67 2.2.2 M. A. K. Halliday’s systemic functional grammar 68 2.2.3 M. Bakhtin’s dialogism 73 2.2.4 U. Eco’s Opera Aperta 75 2.3 Vocatives in Shakespeare as a natural bridge from I to You 77 2.3.1 Identity and character 77 2.3.2 Habitus 83 2.4 Stylistics and the theory of foregrounding 84 2.4.1 British stylistics 84 2.4.2 The theory of foregrounding 88 2.5 Meaning inference and cognitive theories 91

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chapter 3 “What is the focative case, William?” – the grammar of vocatives in Shakespeare and systemic functional grammar 95 3.1 Shakespearean vocatives analysed below the clause 95 3.1.1 Shakespearean vocatives as nominal groups 95 3.1.2 The concept of amplification and the Shakespearean vocative 100 3.2 Shakespearean vocatives analysed in the clause 105 3.2.1 Introduction 105 3.2.2 Shakespearean vocatives as adjuncts 106 3.2.3 The interpersonal, textual, and experiential grammar of Shakespeare’s vocatives in the clause and their co-reference with other constituents 109 3.3 The Shakespearean vocative as grammatical metaphor 117 3.3.1 Introduction 117 3.3.2 Vocatives in Shakespeare as experiential grammatical metaphor 118 3.3.3 Vocatives in Shakespeare as interpersonal grammatical metaphor 125 chapter 4 What’s in a vocative ? – the experiential, interpersonal, and textual meanings of Shakespearean vocatives: a polyphony of voices 129 4.1 Shakespearean vocatives as experiential markers 129 4.1.1 Preliminaries 129 4.1.2 Network of vocatives in Shakespeare 131 4.1.3 Making use of the idiom: the world of Shakespearean vocatives – analogy and the Early Modern Chain of Being 138 4.1.4 The etymology of vocative heads 143 4.1.4.1 Preliminaries 143 4.1.4.2 Germanic and Romance vocabulary, vocative classes and generic observations 143

Table of contents

4.1.5 4.1.5.1 4.1.5.2 4.1.5.3 4.1.5.3.1 4.1.5.3.2 4.1.5.3.3 4.1.5.4 4.1.6 4.1.7 4.2 4.2.1 4.2.1.1 4.2.1.2 4.2.1.3 4.2.2 4.2.2.1 4.2.2.2 4.2.3 4.2.4 4.2.4.1 4.2.4.2 4.2.4.3 4.2.4.4 4.2.4.5 4.2.4.6 4.2.5 4.2.5.1 4.2.5.2 4.2.5.3 4.2.6 4.2.7 4.2.7.1 4.2.7.2 4.2.7.3

Shakespearean vocative clusters and quantitative observations: the foregrounded role of vocatives in Shakespeare 146 Preliminaries 146 General figures – absolute and relative frequencies of vocatives 146 Absolute and relative frequencies of vocatives computed in the different genres 151 The tragedies 151 The histories 161 The comedies 166 Absolute and relative frequencies of the respective vocative clusters 171 A case study: the representatives of the category conventional terms in a selected range of plays of the Shakespeare corpus 178 “You taught me language.” The role of vocatives in the construction and naturalisation of complex power structures 186 The interpersonal and textual dimensions of vocatives in Shakespeare 194 Vocatives as interpersonal markers in Ant. and Lr. 194 Introduction: what is the interpersonal? 194 Vocatives as creating identity in Ant. 196 Vocatives and their potential for social and cultural positioning in Lr. 205 Modification of vocative heads 210 Shakespearean vocatives and amplification: general observations 210 Modification of vocatives: the epithets good, sweet, and others 219 Shakespearean vocative collocations 226 Textual dimensions of vocatives in Shakespeare and their correlations with the interpersonal 232 Preliminaries 232 Initial position of vocatives 235 Medial position of vocatives 238 Final position of vocatives 239 Vocatives and cohesion 240 Vocatives as discourse markers indicating topic change 242 Characters’ use of vocatives in Shakespeare 243 R3 – a representative analysis of Richard of Gloucester 243 Characters’ use of vocatives in R3 and in the entire corpus 261 Generic and social differences as construed in vocatives in R3 and other plays 269 Vocatives of love and authority in Rom. 272 “Sweet Smoke of Rhetoric” – historicising the use of vocatives in Shakespeare revisited 278 Rhetoric and the Early Modern socio-linguistic context 278 Wilson’s ([1585] 1969) Arte of Rhetoric and vocative usage 282 Cicero’s Orator and its potential for interpreting vocatives in Shakespeare 286

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chapter 5 “Language most shows a man: speak, that I may see thee.” – Vocatives in context 291 5.1 Micro- and macro-analyses of vocative representatives of the different categories 291 5.1.1 Preliminaries 291 5.1.2 Conventional Terms as vocatives – “Titles of their glories”? 292 5.1.2.1 Gallants 292 5.1.2.2 Constable and neighbour 293 5.1.2.3 Patrician and signior 294 5.1.2.4 Thane 295 5.1.2.5 King 296 5.1.2.6 Queen, majesty and your grace 297 5.1.2.7 Dame, lady and mistress 299 5.1.2.8 Madam 303 5.1.2.9 Lord 305 5.1.2.10 Sir 310 5.1.3 Emotion / mind, thought and EPITHETs 314 5.1.3.1 Love and fury 314 5.1.3.2 Truepenny 315 5.1.3.3 Friends 316 5.1.3.4 Self-address 318 5.1.3.5 Goodman, fool, and caitiff 320 5.1.3.6 Barber-monger, zed, whoreson, and slanderer 321 5.1.3.7 Sirrah 323 5.1.3.8 Dissembler 324 5.1.3.9 Seeming, foul and fair 325 5.1.4 Generic terms as vocatives 327 5.1.4.1 Male generic terms: boy, man, lad, and knaves 327 5.1.4.2 Female generic terms: wench, girl(s), women, and maid 330 5.1.5 Natural phenomena as vocatives 332 5.1.5.1 Animal terms: dog and gull 332 5.1.5.2 Food, parts of the body, and nature: chewet, eyes, arms, lips, sinows, brains, heart, sides, wind, stones, night, and rose 333 5.1.6 Personal names as vocatives 336 5.1.6.1 Preliminaries 336 5.1.6.2 The vocative Margaret in R3 339 5.1.6.3 The vocative Lear in Lr. 340 5.1.6.4 The vocative Jephthah in Ham. 340 5.1.6.5 The vocative Charmian in Ant. 341 5.1.6.6 The vocative Caesar in Ant. 342 5.1.6.7 The vocative Andronicus in Tit. 343 5.1.7 Specialised fields as vocatives 344

Table of contents

5.1.7.1 5.1.7.2 5.1.7.3 5.1.7.4 5.1.8 5.1.8.1 5.1.8.2 5.1.8.3 5.1.8.4 5.1.8.5 5.2 5.2.1 5.2.2 5.2.2.1 5.2.2.2 5.2.2.3 5.2.3 5.2.3.1 5.2.3.2 5.2.3.3 5.2.4

5.2.4.1 5.2.4.2 5.2.4.3 5.2.4.4

Metaphysical terms: soul, hag, minister, god, priest, woe, smulkin, apparition, and wonder 344 Arts and leisure: art and music 350 Military terms: soldiers, defender, lieutenant, and wrack 351 Legal terms: allegiance, thief, traitor, and advocate 352 Terms of family relationship 353 Preliminaries 353 The vocative son 353 The vocative wife 357 The vocative husband 358 The vocatives nuncle and niece 359 Pairs’ use of vocatives in Shakespeare: positioning self, other and identity-construction 361 Preliminaries 361 Othello and Iago in Oth. 363 Quantitative findings of their vocative usage 363 Contextual analysis of vocatives exchanged between Iago and Othello in Oth.: Iago preparing a “voice potential” 366 Feign and farce: vocative usage in the temptation scene 372 Othello and Desdemona in Oth. – cultural tension and immaturity of love as construed by vocatives 383 Preliminaries 383 Quantitative findings of their vocative usage 383 The destruction of alter ego and of the inherent interactive function of the vocative 391 Prince Henry’s and Falstaff ’s mutual vocative usage – or “Whom do we Credit, Hal’s ‘Old White-Bearded Satan’ (1H4 2.4.462) or ‘Sweet Jack Falstaff, Kind Jack Falstaff, True Jack Falstaff, Valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack Falstaff ’”(1H4 2.4.475–77)? 396 Preliminaries 396 Quantitative findings of their vocative usage 396 Vocative change: from devotion and jesting mockery to princely ambivalence and destruction 399 Falling out: vocative usage creating a loveless ‘Hal-staff ’ 403

chapter 6 Vocatives in Shakespeare and the theatre 6.1 Going beyond speaker selection: quantitative, generic, diachronic and thematic results 413 6.2 Supplementing and triggering: vocatives as stage directions 423 6.3 Vocatives in Shakespeare and Bühler’s ([1934] 1999) concept of Ausdruck and Appell 425 6.4 Stirring up emotions: vocatives as addresses to the recipient 433

413

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chapter 7 Conclusions

445

Appendix

459

References

495

Index

523

List of illustrations

Table 1 Illustration 1 Illustration 2 Illustration 2a Illustration 2b Illustration 2c Illustration 3 Diagram 1 Table 2 Table 3 Diagram 2 Diagram 3 Diagram 4 Diagram 5 Diagram 6 Diagram 7 Diagram 8 Diagram 9 Diagram 10 Diagram 11 Diagram 12 Diagram 13 Diagram 14 Diagram 15 Table 4 Table 5 Table 6

Categories of vocatives in Shakespeare Scheme of analysis Levels of vocative analysis in Shakespeare Vocatives analysed below the clause Vocatives analysed in the clause Vocatives analysed above the clause Co-reference of vocatives with constituents in the clause Categories of vocatives in Shakespeare’s plays – a network of options Categories of vocatives in Shakespeare and their definitions Absolute numbers and relative frequencies of vocatives in Shakespeare Absolute numbers of vocatives (plays are arranged according to their genre) Relative frequencies of vocatives (plays are arranged according to their genre) Relative frequencies of vocatives (plays are arranged according to diachronic parameters) Share of plays in the different vocative clusters Relative frequencies of vocatives in the tragedies (plays are listed chronologically) Tragedies’ share in the different vocative clusters Relative frequencies of vocatives in the histories (plays are listed chronologically) Histories’ share in the different vocative clusters Relative frequencies of vocatives in the comedies (plays are listed chronologically) Comedies’ share in the different vocative clusters Share of plays in the subcategories of natural phenomena Occurrence of different subcategories of natural phenomena and the plays’ share Share of plays in the subcategories of specialised fields Occurrence of different subcategories of specialised fields and the plays’ share Characters in R3: relative frequencies of their general vocative usage and their share in the different categories Characters in R3 as addressees – absolute numbers Relative frequencies of characters’ general vocative usage and their share in the different categories

xiv Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare

Table 8 Photograph 1 Photograph 2 Table 7

Act – vocative distribution in the plays Titus Andronicus The Tempest Othello’s vocatives directed at Iago in Othello

Preface and acknowledgements

The present study is a revised and updated version of my doctoral Dissertation, which was presented to and accepted by the Philosophische Fakultät of the Westfälische WilhelmsUniversität Münster in the winter term 2003/04. This work would not have been completed without the involvement of a number of people to whom I would like to express my gratitude. First of all, I am highly indebted to Prof. Dr. H. Joachim Neuhaus for assuming the responsibility for the direction of my dissertation. I owe Prof. Neuhaus my sincere gratitude for his support at all times, for numerous inspiring discussions, and for letting me profit from his expertise in computational linguistics. Special thanks must also go to Prof. Dr. Gabriele Müller-Oberhäuser for co-directing my dissertation, for her admirable interdisciplinary flexibility as well as for her valuable and thought-provoking advice. I am always grateful to Dr. Marga Munkelt for her patient and humorous mentoring and for sharing her outstanding knowledge of Shakespeare with me. I owe thanks to Prof. Dr. Michael Toolan and Prof. Dr. Mick Short for many challenging and productive discussions about literary linguistics; to Prof. Dr. Oliver Grannis, who was the first to introduce me to the study of Shakespeare’s language; and to the DAAD (German Exchange Service) for funding my research stay as a visiting scholar at the University of Birmingham and at the Shakespeare Institute in Stratford. I am likewise most grateful to Prof. Dr. Andreas H. Jucker and the anonymous reviewers for accepting the manuscript for publication in the series Pragmatics & Beyond. My thanks also go to Rachel Rasing for proof-reading this book as well as to Dr. Ulrike Graßnick for constructive and amusing criticism on draft versions of this study. I would also like to thank Isja Conen, Patricia Leplae and the production team of John Benjamins Publishing Company for their manifold assistance. Family, friends and colleagues deserve an accolade for their friendship, help, interest and encouragement over the years. I would have liked to thank them all by name, but my fear of missing one in the rush of the moment is too great. And yet, a few people of my innermost circle must be named. Above all, I would like to warmly thank my partner, Udo Gerdelman, for his love, unfailing support, tolerance, sense of humour and his smile; for keeping me sane as well as for always reminding me of the importance of independence of mind: “Udo, Du bist ein Geschenk!” The gratitude I owe to “the people from Burgenhaus” – my family – is also almost beyond words: they have, with infinite patience, furthered my personality and my career. My thanks are due to my uncle, Dr. Anton Schepers: “Onkel Toni, vielen Dank für die Reisen in die Welt und überhaupt alles;” to my brother-in-law and my sister, Norbert und Ina Nowak: “Ina, ich danke Dir sehr, dass Du immer meine große Schwester für mich bist!” Finally, and most importantly, I lovingly thank my parents, Gisa and Franz Busse.

xvi Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare

With humility and pride I pay my tribute to them: “Mama und Papa, auch wenn ich aussehe wie … – na, Ihr wisst schon – so danke ich Euch beiden immer für Euer leises und stetes Für-mich-da-sein!“ Beatrix Busse

Münster April 2006

List of abbreviations

1.

Sigla used for reference to Shakespeare’s works (following the MLA conventions of citation)

Ado Ant. AWW AYL Cor. Cym. E3 Err. F1 Ham. 1H4 2H4 H5 1H6 2H6 3H6 H8 JC Jn. LLL Lr. Mac. MM MND MV Oth. R2 R3 Rom. Shr. Son. Tit. TGV Tmp. TN

Much Ado About Nothing Antony and Cleopatra All’s Well That Ends Well As you like it Coriolanus Cymbeline Edward III The Comedy of Errors First Folio (1623) Hamlet Henry IV, Part 1 Henry IV, Part 2 Henry V Henry VI, Part 1 King Henry VI, Part 2 King Henry VI, Part 3 Henry VIII Julius Caesar King John Love’s Labor’s Lost King Lear Macbeth Measure for Measure A Midsummer Night’s Dream The Merchant of Venice Othello Richard II Richard III Romeo and Juliet The Taming of the Shrew Sonnets Titus Andronicus The Two Gentlemen of Verona The Tempest Twelfth Night

xviii Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare

Tro. Wiv. WT

The History of Troilus and Cressida The Merry Wives of Windsor The Winter’s Tale

2. General Abbreviations abs. freq. CA CDA CP EMEDD EModE exp. expl. impl. ind. interp. interrog. Matt. ME MED ms. NG np o OE OED p phonol. pn PP rel. freq. sc. SDB sf SFL t RP rel. freq.

absolute frequency conversation analysis critical discourse analysis cooperative principle The Early Modern English Dictionaries Database Early Modern English experiential explicit implicit indirect interpersonal interrogative Matthew Middle English The Middle English Dictionary mild suggestion nominal group natural phenomena order Old English The Oxford English Dictionary promise phonologically marked personal names politeness principle relative frequency scene Shakespeare Database specialised fields systemic functional linguistics referring to Halliday (1994, 2004) threat Thomas Hoccleve’s ([1411-12] 1999) The Regiment of Princes relative frequency

3. Symbols /

end of verse line in citation from Shakespeare’s works

chapter 1

This study

1.1 Outline of this study This book focuses on the meanings of vocatives in Shakespeare’s dramatic work. It will be argued that an understanding of Shakespeare’s vocative usage advances our understanding of identity creation and positioning of identities in Shakespeare’s plays. Vocatives in Shakespeare also create and reflect the complex “rhetoric of verbal exchange” (Magnusson 1999: 1), social intervention, its interactive and contextual nature and Shakespeare’s as well as the experiential world of Early Modern England. This study deals with the meanings and functional potential of Shakespeare’s vocatives for construing1 – hence, reflecting and creating – the interpersonal, textual, and experiential (Halliday 1994, 20042) as interpersonal, textual, and experiential markers. Vocatives are crucial to an understanding of how interlocutors in Shakespeare construe their emotions, their relationships, their attitudes, their positions, their forms of habitus (Bourdieu 1977a, b and 1997a, b, 1998, 2001), and determine how and where they position one another as well as how they create textual information. The corpus of investigation, which has been selected according to editorial, thematic, generic, synchronic, and diachronic criteria and can therefore be seen as representative of Shakespeare’s dramatic work,3 consists of the following plays: A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1595–96), The Merchant of Venice (1596–97), Much Ado About Nothing (1598–99), Measure for Measure (1604), The Winter’s Tale (1610), Cymbeline (1609–10), The Tempest (1611), King Richard the Third (1592–93), The First Part of King Henry the Fourth (1596–97), King Henry the Eighth (1612–13), Titus Andronicus (1593–94), Romeo and Juliet (1595–96), Hamlet (1600–01), Othello (1604), King Lear

1. According to the Oxford English Dictionary (4.), the verb construe means to “give the sense or meaning of; to expound, explain, interpret [language].” Halliday (1992: 73) argues that “language does not correspond; it construes” and therewith alludes to its post-modern sense. The verb construe is used in the systemic-functional sense (Halliday 1994, 2004, Martin, Matthiessen, and Painter 1997: 100f.) where grammar and semantics both reflect and create experience. 2. The third edition of Halliday’s Introduction to Functional Grammar (co-authored with Christian Matthiessen and published in 2004) does not offer substantially new results in terms of systemic functional grammar and its impact on this study. Hence, recourse will be made to the second edition of 1994. 3.

For a detailed justification for the choice of these plays, see Chapter 1.4.1.

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(1605), Macbeth (1606), and Antony and Cleopatra (1606–07).4 On the assumption that Shakespeare’s language is seen as a constant social transfer and exchange, interdisciplinary work between linguistic, pragmatic, sociological, and cognitive methods and theories is needed in order to situate the vocatives in Shakespeare in a partly post-modern discourse of exchange and context, and to go beyond the existing status of studies on this topic. Generally, a vocative is seen as a direct form of address, immediately reminiscent of the Latin case system, in which it is morphologically marked by the inflectional suffix -e, as in “Marce, me filii!” or “Et tu, Brute.” As a participle-stem of Latin vocare – “to call” (OED5 A.1.) – the vocative is often said to indicate a calling out. Even though Early Modern English6 grammars as, for example, Lily’s ([1549] 1970), frequently compare the English vocative with the prestigious Latin form,7 strict morphological clues as to the EModE or Shakespearean vocative are hardly existent, because English developed from a synthetic language in its Old and Middle English8 stages to a more analytic language in EModE. Hence, the EModE vocative is in the nominative case. In addition, in EModE and in Shakespeare’s plays, the vocative is realised as a noun or a nominal group. Therefore, the speaker has both a freedom of choice and position in each sentence or speech move9 containing a vocative. From a morpho-syntactic point of view, modern English grammars no longer consider the vocative a case but rather an adverbial, a disjunct (Quirk et al. 1985: 773f.) or an adjunct (Halliday 1994: 54). The vocative is seen as somehow detached from the clause as such in that it has a scope that extends in its entirety over the sentence as a whole. Within the framework of specified investigations into Shakespeare’s language, the vocative has been rather marginally treated. According to the few existing studies of the use of vocatives in general or in Shakespeare’s plays in particular, vocatives are forms of address denoting the next speaker (Quirk et al. 1985: 776f.). Some also consider the network vocative unwieldy (Kopytko 1993a: 54) or a peripheral grammatical category (see Poynton 1996). Other studies (Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989) claim that vocatives in Shakespeare can only be investigated when they are compared to the Elizabethan social structure (see Böhm 1936, Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989, U. Busse 2002). Two studies on the use of 4. The chronological data that is given to define the plays’ dates of composition follow Evans’ chronology given in the first and second editions of The Riverside Shakespeare (see Evans ed. 1974: 54f. and ed. 1997: 77f.). The critical debates over the difficulties in defining exact dates of composition of Shakespeare’s plays will be elaborated on in Chapter 1.4.1. 5. The acronym OED refers to the second edition of The Oxford English Dictionary (1982). Whenever reference is made to the online edition (具http://www.oed.com典), this will be quoted separately. The abbreviation “sb.” will be omitted. 6. It can be argued that the Early Modern English period dates from 1500 to 1700 (Barber 1997: 1). Görlach (1994: 8f.) discusses contextual, cultural and linguistic reasons for other possible periodisations. Early Modern English will henceforth be abbreviated as EModE. 7. The bias towards Latin can be discerned in most EModE grammars. Furthermore, EModE grammars deal with morphology and semantics. Syntax is hardly mentioned (Watts 1995: 145). 8.

Old English will be abbreviated as OE. Middle English will be abbreviated as ME.

9. See Chapters 1.5.2.3 and 4.2.4. Here, a distinction will be made between the syntactic category of a sentence and its speech move(s).

Chapter 1. This study

forms of address and second-person personal pronouns, which have been pioneering in their focus on context but have also brought further developments on the use of forms of address to a standstill, are Brown and Ford’s (1961) and Brown and Gilman’s (1960) classic investigations. The application of their power- and solidarity-paradigm and other marked/ unmarked or norm/deviation systems to Shakespeare’s language somewhat oversimplifies the functional potential of Shakespearean vocatives as static, because these models only partly relate the vocatives to the various co(n)texts in which they may occur. Interactive features of Shakespeare’s language have also been neglected when the language of Shakespeare’s work is investigated in general. Often emphasis is on the traditional linguistic foci (lexicon, grammar) and, in contrast to the vast number of literary critical studies on Shakespeare’s work, there are much fewer linguistic studies.10 Despite the analyses by Kennedy (1983), Elam (1984), Culpeper (1998), Hesse (1998), Magnusson (1999) or Weidle (2002), dialogue has also often been considered to be speech rather than exchange. Furthermore, the strong interplay between the two dimensions of drama as printed text and as performance as well as the crucial role of language in plays, which simply consist of the linguistic framework in order to create performance, have not been emphasised. The features of dialogue have been difficult to place within the traditional fields of verbal-style investigation in Shakespeare. Even though the verse-prose distinction can be of considerable importance for the choice of vocatives, this intra-linguistic parameter of metre cannot be seen as the sole reason for vocative choice.11 Furthermore, even though the New Historicism together with other poststructuralist theories challenges the concept of close, non-contextual reading to a radical historicising, one result is also to move outward from the text to look at its relations to other cultural formations rather than to connect these with close verbal analysis. There are, however, existing common denominators between linguistic, literary and cultural studies. Linguists, literary critics and cultural historians all investigate texts and see texts as containing cultural expressions and realising a culturally formative role.12 Via recourse to various contexts, Foucault (1980), for example, has illustrated, in his concept of discursive formations, the interrelationship between power and agency as both a concrete and linguistic phenomenon. Public discourses not only reveal models of knowledge and experience, but also abstract, actively construe and impose them. Within this framework, the individual is created and creates this knowledge and can actively engage in discoursal formations. At the same time, the individual and his or her knowledge and experience are situated in a linguistically-mediated process of socialisation, institutions, conventions and norms, which, according to Sperber (1996), are those representations which, due to a frequent communication, will be transferred into a cultural good (“cultural representations”). However, structured social conditions nevertheless constitute the context for social interaction (Carter and Sealy 2000: 5), and it is the aim of the analyst to bring these

10. See Chapter 1.2 for an overview of existing studies. 11. Verse/prose distinctions will only qualitatively but not quantitatively be assessed (as U. Busse 2002 has done for you and thou). 12. Within eco-criticism this is also one of the groundbreaking assumptions (Mayer 2004: 7).

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structures to light. Cultural practice is ideologically based, but the individual is also able to modify the terms of that practice and to represent the world in different ways. In this interplay between mental and public representations (Sperber 1996: 73), linguistic constructivism – with its long history, e.g. visible in Cicero’s highly praised and much quoted emphasis on the function of rhetoric – is situated as one mode of presenting and creating reality. Through this concept we see language as a means of manifesting our representations, hence, our versions of reality and the world (Halliday 1994, 1998, 2004). It needs mentioning, however, that reality remains an unchangeable fact (Mayer 2004: 13), despite the inherent linguistic potential of human beings for creating ever new meanings. In addition, a contextual post-modern orientation does not aim at the notion of “anything goes,” since a text under investigation always needs to be seen as a corrective in Eco’s (1992) sense. Bakhtin’s (1981) internal dialogism echoes this framework because he considers words to refer to what has been said and also to point to something that will be said (Magnusson 1999: 2). Interaction is socially situated and discourse is produced within a framework of how one assumes experience and reality, how these are socially conditioned and how these will be received. The study of literature then sensitises us to the constructive nature of our world. It is well known that social relations, which function as power relations or ideology, work out their “violence in language use” (Magnusson 1999: 10). But even though tools and theories exist that not only emphasise the social and contextual nature of language but also allow the tackling of other questions concerning the vocative in Shakespeare than the rigidly social, there are no systematic and comprehensive studies that show how, for example, the contextual nature of language functions in specific discourses or in Shakespeare’s use of forms of address. What role does the vocative play in the general creation of social exchange, and in the construal of authority, intimacy, friendship, enmity or anger? If the vocative creates an alter ego and is the epitome of what Buber ([1962] 1994: 9) has called the I-You-relationship, then the performative framework of the vocative on stage in relation to actor and audience must not be neglected. In other words, a methodology and a theoretical framework for the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare are needed that rely on and describe language in cultural, experiential, linguistic, contextual, social and interactive terms. We need to get a better understanding of social interaction and the role of language in Shakespeare’s language, how dialogue can be shaped and is shaped by verbal interaction and which role the vocative plays within the already mentioned complex “rhetoric of social exchange” (Magnusson 1999: 1). Henry James’ idea in The Portrait of a Lady ([1881] 1975: 7) of the “artistic consciousness” that is needed to create a house of fiction represents an apt literary image to describe what is demanded here: a comprehensive interpretative framework which needs to contain many interrelated windows and voices (Spevack 2002). Not mere adjacency of approaches but integration, and an intelligent, intellectual and coherent interaction help understand the complex functional possibilities of Shakespeare’s vocatives. What is so exciting is that a fusion of these approaches has the potential for demonstrating how vocatives inscribe the complexities of identity, positions, social interaction and world creation on many different levels of message construction.


A particularly efficient way to further illustrate the need for a broader framework of vocative analysis and its complexity is to provide the reader with examples from the Shakespeare corpus. The selection of vocatives in Shakespeare gives evidence of their indefinite semantic and structural potential and of their relative autonomy in initial, medial, or final position. Vocatives in Shakespeare, for example, can be represented by such initially placed forms as master in “Masters, play here, I will content your pains” (Oth. 3.1.113), or My lord of Gloucester in “My lord of Gloucester, in those busy days / which here you urge to prove us enemies” (R3 1.3.144), or Ursula in “Now, Ursula, when Beatrice does come” (Ado 3.1.15), or Sir in “Sir, I shall study deserving” (Lr. 1.1.30), or madam in “Madam, you have bereft me of all words,” or by a finally positioned sweet in “You have heard on’t, sweet” (Ant. 3.7.23), or you whoreson cullionly barber-monger in “Draw, you whoreson cullionly barbermonger” (Lr. 2.2.32), or you whoreson caterpillars and bacon-fed knaves in “Ah, whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth!” (1H4 2.2.84), or my sweet creature of bombast and Jack in “How now, my sweet creature of bombast, how long is’t ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee” (1H4 2.4.326f.), or by the medial lord in “I can speak English, lord, as well as you” (1H4 3.1.119). The following passage from Tit. marks the multifaceted meanings of vocatives as personal names from a more qualitative point of view: Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own (Tit. 2.3.118f.). Here, the two vocatives Semiramis and barbarous Tamora are used by Lavinia in Tit. to express her deep moral and emotional indignation as well as disgust at Tamora’s megalomaniac character and the danger of her female sexuality. The complexity of these vocatives is extended by their positioning in the clause: the first form of address terminates the imperative come, which, in terms of speech function is immediately turned into a threat; the second vocative, barbarous Tamora, precedes the declarative, whose illocutionary force is also that of a threat. Even though the forms and positions of these vocatives could be explained via recourse to the parameters of verse or of impoliteness (Leech 1983, Brown and Gilman 1989, Culpeper 1998) or even via recourse to their correlations with the second-person personal pronoun thou, more subtle linguistic, interpersonal, and ideological factors are interdependently at work here. Lavinia places Tamora in an experiential and interpersonal position that is highly noteworthy and constructive in the context in which 13. Sigla used for reference to Shakespeare’s works follow the MLA-conventions. Quotations from the texts are all based on the second edition of The Riverside Shakespeare (Evans ed. 1997).

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it is uttered. Lavinia explicitly, yet somewhat surprisingly, withdraws the positioning of Tamora as the Assyrian queen “tamed for beauty and cruelty” (Bate ed. 2002: 160), Semiramis, in favour of the plainer and stylistically less poetic, but idiosyncratic and unique barbarous Tamora. According to Lavinia, Tamora’s personal name not only epitomises all the evil spirits of her personality, but it is also the only suitable linguistic signifier to describe Tamora’s entire identity. No other negative term may further extend her fiendish qualities. This address pattern renders the use of personal names as vocatives much more important than expected.14 She is created as a Tamora, becomes one, and is continuously vocatively referred to as such, before Lavinia is brutally bereft of her speech power. In addition, Tamora’s sexual love (amor) and its object (the Moor) may be heard in her personal name, which further correlates to another meaningful nuance that is added by means of the epithet barbarous: Florio’s EModE dictionary, for example, defines it as particularly cruel, detested, and hated (Florio 1598).15 When Titus addresses Tamora as mighty Tamora in the Revenge-and-Murder scene, one might ask whether he is echoing his daughter’s construal of Tamora as the evil spirit of female sexuality. Matters become even more complicated if we consider that most of Tamora’s address patterns for Titus are also personal name usages, such as “Andronicus” (Tit. 1.1.116) and “good Andronicus” (Tit. 5.2.111), which would lead one to argue in favour of Tamora’s feigning an “in-groupidentity.” Yet, following Saturninus’s ungrateful, disdaining, and arrogant condemnation of Lavinia’s female and chaste virtues with “No, Titus, no, the emperor needs her not” (Tit. 1.1.299), Titus, betrayed in his honour-obsessed pride, retorts: “These words are razors to my wounded heart” (Tit. 1.1.314). Thereby, he introduces not only the sharpest of the play’s many metaphors of violence, inscribed upon or within the body, but also seems to imply farcical character of conventional princely courtesy and, as such, also hints at the unfaithful and superficial identities. On the performative level, the audience, through the address terminology used between the actors, are further introduced to the verbal and physical violence of the play. The conjunction of different facets of vocative meaning and function will have significant impact on so-called titles of respect (see Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989, U. Busse 2002), such as lord, sir, lady, or madam. In 3H6 5.6.1–5, the following vocative exchange occurs: Richard:

Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?

King Henry: Ay, my good lord – my lord, I should say rather.

14. Kripke (1972: 272, 303) has clarified the question of whether proper names have no sense but only reference (see also Frege 1966) by introducing the concept of rigid designator and the fact that referents are “baptized” (Kripke 1972: 302, 303) with rigid designators (see also Allan 2001: 91). 15. All references that are made to the Early Modern English dictionaries refer to the EMEDD (the Early Modern English Dictionaries Database), which can be accessed via the internet. The URL is 具http://www.utoronto.chass.ca/english/emed/patterweb.html典. For further information, see Chapter 1.5.2.1. In the database itself, the lemma is given in connection with an at-sign and an eight-digit number, which signifies the text-order numbers for the strings in the database. These details will be omitted in this study.


‘Tis sin to flatter; ‘good’ was little better: ‘Good Gloucester’ and ‘good devil’ were alike, And both preposterous; therefore not ‘good lord.’ Richard Gloucester’s first use of my lord can be an indicator of respect and positive and negative politeness (following Brown and Gilman 1989) to comfort the arrested king in the tower, as lord can refer to Henry’s social status. According to the OED, lord is a “master” or “ruler” (OED I.) and also a “master of servants,” that is “the male head of a household” (OED I.1.). Lord can also denote someone who has “dominion over others as his subjects” or to whom “service and obedience are due,” “a chief,” or “prince” (OED 2.a.). Furthermore, lord can function as a designation of rank or of official dignity. In these applications, lord is not used vocatively, except in the form my lord and as a prefixed title (OED II.). In early use, lord was employed vaguely for “any man of exalted position in a kingdom or commonwealth,” and in a narrower sense applied to the “feudal tenants holding directly of the king by military or other honourable service” (OED 8.a.). Despite these clear allusions to social position and structure, matters become much more complicated and complex if we consider entries from one EMEDD dictionary in which lord co-occurs with the adjective proud (Palsgrave 1530). Even though at Palsgrave’s time the meanings of lord are much more strongly correlated with social position than in Shakespeare’s time (Williams 1992: 92), the interpersonal connotations of pride add additional and explicit Early Modern connotations to the use of lord in this example. Given the facts that the vocative my lord is most prominent in R3, of crucial importance in 3H6, and the most frequent form in the entire corpus, this vocative occurrence is rendered even more foregrounded. Henry is still the king, but Richard does not address him with any form of vocative that would refer to his kingly and social status, but almost patronizingly resorts to a superficially most non-committal form of vocative, and also treats Henry like a child in “What, at your book so hard” (3H6 5.6.1). Richard’s compliance with the norm (i.e. the most common form of vocative) is immediately turned into a foregrounded stylistic choice of parallelism in this context because of the degrading of Henry’s social and political position and habitus (Bourdieu 1997b). The choice of lord vocatives and other superficially upgrading forms of vocative constitute what is being described here as Richard’s fiendish, vicious, and Machiavellian rhetorical strategies. Things are not what they seem, as Henry indicates in his elaboration on the differences in meaning and force between the vocatives my good lord and my lord. At first, he seems to be willing to take up Richard’s ironic and thus evocative and provocative my lord when he extends it to my good lord, adding the epithet good, which, in co-occurrence with lord and the deictic my, can transfer an even more formulaic and sarcastic tone in Shakespeare. But then, as his following lines illustrate, he seems to be immediately reminded not only of the original meaning of good as “valuable,” “precious,” “honest” (OED 2b. and 2c.), but also of the flattering and almost negative potential of this epithet and the consequences it may have and has had for him. Henry realises that his trust in Gloucester and his constant construal of his socio-political position as good Gloucester later turns out to be equally devilish and preposterous. Hence, Henry’s uses of the vocative my lord activate or construe a context that contains emotive colourings which characterise the subtle meanings of the

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speaker’s evaluative state of mind, his feelings, his attitude, and his opinion. At the same time, context becomes relevant when it is related to the given linguistic use of vocatives as a resource on which both participants draw. In this respect, an analysis of the meanings of vocatives, as Henry himself mentions, has to include in the process of meaning inference the degree and manner of elaboration – or, as Poynton (1996) calls it, the extent of amplification of the vocative as a nominal group. Henry explicitly refrains from the use of the epithet and the alliterating good Gloucester for Richard. Interpreting the changing linguistic scene – for example, the form of the epithet, the position of this constituent in the vocative as NG, the use of a deictic or a qualifier – one can argue that all constituents have stylistic impact on meaning and context. Furthermore, the alliterating vocative is strikingly historically reminiscent of the cause of the ‘good Duke Humphrey’ of Gloucester (especially in the years 1450–1456; see Carpenter 1997: 117).16 On the intra-linguistic level, a vocative usually accompanies a specific clause, for example, a declarative, an imperative, or an interrogative. But, in context, the illocutionary and perlocutionary forces do not always coincide with the syntactic form of the sentence chosen, even though form and meaning certainly depend upon one another. Hence, we might enlarge the role of the vocative in this respect and ask whether it overrides or frames, as an interpersonal, textual, and experiential device, the force of the sentence it occupies. In other words, asking for the illocutionary and perlocutionary force of Richard’s alleged establishment of “phatic communion,” contextual quantitative and qualitative vocative features need to be taken into account. Clearly, Richard’s declarative greeting by far surpasses that of an inform (Toolan 2000). The emotive force of the vocative carries threatening speech functions, which seem to announce the worst to come.17 What is needed then in the attempt to explain and interpret Shakespeare’s vocatives comprehensively? Close reading? Yes. Contextual and language-oriented? Even more so; not in a New Critical sense but with an emphasis on some common ground between close reading and cultural poetics. One particularly effective way of tracing cultural, social, individual, functional meanings and routines in vocatives is to resort to advances in pragmatics, discourse analysis, sociolinguistics, and corpus linguistics. These have allowed us to cope much better with large amounts of natural language and textual data, to stress historical and social context, and function, and to emphasise the importance of co- and context. These tools, methods, and theoretical frameworks are suitable for the analysis of literary conversation and play-texts (Culpeper, Short and Verdonk 1998: 4). Consequently, historical pragmatics (Jacobs and Jucker 1995) – synchronic and diachronic pragmatics and pragmaphilology – carry a similar qualitative relevance and can be concisely interrelated with other contextual and social approaches to language and culture. In a constant interplay also with Early Modern theories of conversation and of language and in the awareness of how any historical understanding is mediated through linguistic, cultural and political frames of reception, the analyst is then able to create the historical text (Spiegel 1990: 75) and vocative meanings. If the creation of social interaction is as 16. For further information, see also Chapter 4.2.2. 17. The analysis of clauses accompanying vocatives will be pursued in terms of a qualitative case study.


conventional as it is idiosyncratic, Trudgill and Watts (2002b) are correct to argue that a diachronic point of view of the history of English must adopt an alternative stance and move away from the traditional linguistic fields of historical linguistics. Many of the histories of the English language are not only “sociolinguistically inadequate, anglocentric and […] based on Standard English” (Trudgill and Watts 2002b: 2), but also ignore the communicative and pragmatic aspects of language. Internal linguistics (Milroy 2002: 9) is no longer possible (Rissanen 1990: 366). Therefore, this study is a contribution not only to Shakespeare studies, and historical pragmatics, but also to historical linguistics. Following Neuhaus (1990b: 81), who suggests that applied informatics and quantitative stylistics may help appreciate Shakespeare’s language comprehensively,18 this study also uses quantitative analyses to investigate the corpus of vocatives systematically and meticulously. One might ask if statistical vocative data is something to be wished for when the object of study is an author’s individual production of literature, “a sphere where (normally) quality and context, aesthetic effects and suggestive overtones are of supreme importance” (Halliday 1971: 65). This study presents both qualitative and quantitative investigations and stresses the qualitative relevance of comprehensive and systematic quantitative research and its potential for theoretical and practical interdisciplinary interaction against the charge of nit-picking: “with the potential for quantitative research opened up by corpus linguists our understanding of language, and hence of semiotic systems in general, seems likely to undergo a qualitative change” (Halliday 1993: 24). For Shakespeare’s language this means that since the completion of Spevack’s (1968–80) concordances, we have been able to study phenomena or combinations not only against the background of Shakespeare’s usage but also against EModE sociolinguistic, socio-pragmatic, and historical linguistic contexts. There are as many as 3111 different types of vocatives in the seventeen plays19 under investigation.20 Each play contains 500 vocative tokens on average, which amount to a relative frequency of roughly 2.4 for each play. Compared to a high-frequency type such as a, which has a relative frequency of 2.5 (Spevack 1968–80), this enormous quantity becomes foregrounded.21 In view of the figures mentioned above, Brown and Gilman’s remark that “in the four tragedies, more than 100 different forms of address are used, aside from Christian names and pronouns” (Brown and Gilman 1989: 175), cannot be confirmed in this study. Likewise Kopytko’s (1993a: 93) pragmatic study of eight Shakespearean plays, 18. Rissanen (1990) and Stein (1987) also emphasise the fusion of historical linguistics and English philology. Furthermore, scientific exchange between linguistic and literary as well as cultural studies is possible, as, for example, studies in grammaticalisation have challenged the view of grammatical categories as discrete entities, embedded in fixed, and stable systems. Instead these studies point to a view of language as a process of organising cognitive and communicative content, of grammar as a set of strategies that are functional to the production of coherent communication (see Bertuccelli Papi 2000: 60). 19. For a detailed description of the choice of these plays, see Chapter 1.4.1. 20. List 2 in the Appendix contains all vocative collocations in this corpus and also mentions the respective categories they belong to. 21. Relative frequencies, if not computed individually, are taken from Spevack (1968–80).

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is unconvincing in its neglect of vocatives for reasons of senselessness and unwieldiness, and argues “that the topic of forms of address in Shakespeare’s plays is so vast that so far it has not received any exhaustive treatment” (Kopytko 1993a: 52). The quantity of semantic forms and their occurrences (tokens) in the plays alone encourage a scientific and systematised corpus-based application of the clearly foregrounded vocatives, without a separation of form and function. Accordingly, my project emphasises the congruence of vocatives within the overall meanings of act, scene, line, and it focuses particularly on character interaction and co(n)texts in the text and the context of its reception. As such, the quantitative analyses provide a basic corpus for these goals and are seen as dialectically informative on qualitative and micro-analytical aspects.22 A study that does not see language merely as a neutral medium for the transmission and reception of pre-existing knowledge but considers language as a social semiotic must also be qualitatively and micro-linguistically/contextually oriented. It should also broaden the usual inward-looking perspective of linguistics in favour of a more interdisciplinary and comprehensive approach, because, ultimately, it is a context that governs language usage, function, and meaning (Toolan 1996b) and it is a context that is construed by language. Even though quantitative analyses and corpus linguists aim at a systematic and objective investigation of a given phenomenon, to a major extent, literary relevance is also based on the perspective of the observer determining what the norm and deviations are. At the same time, however, we must generally question the extent to which an analyist of language is able to evaluate statistically a quantitative effect as stylistically relevant or meaningful. Pure statistical prominence alone sets up neither literary prominence and foregrounding nor marked or unmarked linguistic features (see Leech and Short 1981 and Halliday 1971) and congruent and incongruent phenomena (Halliday 1998). Undoubtedly, any model that is claimed to be highly sophisticated and theoretical is also the subjective model of the analyst as an individual language user (Tucker 1996: 544, Milroy 2002: 9). The adopted perspective of the analyst creates the object, which always evolves in relation to the norm. Consequently, the analyst has to be aware of the complexity of norm and deviation concepts in respect to the vocatives scrutinised. Both are interrelated and in constant flux. Stylistics (Leech and Short 1981, Fowler 1986, Short 1996, Douthwaite 2000), as connecting linguistic and literary criticism, and the theory of foregrounding as a theoretical and methodological base, can represent this systematic and detailed integration of a contextual view. In its social, functional, and pragmatic orientation, stylistics tries to explain how the reader gets from the word on the page to its meaning and its effects. Hence, despite the criticism that has been levelled at stylistics, the approaches used within stylistics have widened extensively to include psychological, pragmatic, cognitive, critical linguistic, corpus-linguistic approaches and methods. The stylistic orientation of this study is informed by Fowler (1981), Leech and Short (1981), Leech (1983), Short (1996), Toolan (1998b) and Douthwaite (2000).23 22. As an introduction to the relevance of quantitative linguistics and its usefulness, see Altmann and Köhler (2004). 23. See also Chapter 2.4.


Some further productive points of intersection are also suggested between a modified version of Halliday’s (1994, 2004) systemic functional grammar24 as well as the critical application of SFL to the language of Shakespeare.25 Halliday’s (1994, 2004) grammar is more suitable to this study than formalist approaches, deconstruction, Chomskyan grammar, or other available methods, because it provides both a theoretical framework that focuses on the social orientation of language as being interpersonal, textual, and experiential, and because it is also a grammatical system to analyse the intra-linguistic features and functions of the vocative below the clause, in the clause, and above the clause – that is in its co- and context. Furthermore, it is functional, pragmatic, semantic, as well as systemic. This study is a contribution to SFL as well, because it critically investigates the applicability of Halliday’s scheme of vocatives to Shakespeare and broadens the Hallidayean scope by a closer analysis of the structural and functional potential of the Shakespearean vocative as a NG, as experiential, textual, and interpersonal marker, and as grammatical metaphor.26 Hence, the concepts of foregroundedness (Douthwaite 2000) and congruence (Halliday 1994, 1998, 2004) are indispensable when seen from a statistical perspective but also from a contextual, interactive, and social and micro-linguistic point of view. There are, for example, generic, synchronic, or diachronic differences and similarities in the Shakespearean corpus of vocatives chosen for this study, and it is the vocative in Shakespeare that construes what is often described as a change in Shakespeare’s writing around and after 1600 and after.27 Within this framework of macro-linguistic results, one may therefore not only ask what vocative clusters and which representatives of these clusters are construed, but also in which relation these frequencies and the different forms occur in the address pattern of, for example, a particular character in a play. By critically drawing especially on Buber’s ([1962] 1994) idea of the Dialogic Principle, on Bakhtin’s (Bakhtin 1981 and Magnusson 1999: 184) quotation and anticipation of words, and on Bourdieu’s (1977a, b, 1991, 1997a, b) idea of habitus and language, the difficult task of approaching Shakespeare’s vocatives is interdisciplinary in methodology and in its theoretical orientation. Halliday’s (1961) vision of the interrelationship between grammatical and semantic criteria in a unified language system bodes well for interdisciplinarity and the dialectical interrelationship between quantitative and qualitative investigations. He stresses that lexis can be defined as “most delicate grammar” (Tucker 1998: 10), because in his “grammarian’s dream” (Halliday 1961: 267), he thinks of a uni24. Halliday’s (1994, 2004) Systemic Functional Grammar will henceforth be abbreviated as SFL. See footnote 2 in this chapter why reference will be made to the second edition of Halliday’s (1994, 2004) grammar. 25. Milroy (1992) and Romaine (1982) have provided the theoretical basis to transfer modern linguistic techniques and systems for explaining language variation and changes in the domain of historical linguistics. In this study, EModE features will be paid attention to. 26. Within this framework, the co-occurrence of nominal and pronominal address forms will play a role as well (see Mulholland 1967, Barber 1981). However, the co-occurrence of vocatives with the second-person pronoun will only qualitatively be mentioned. 27. See U. Busse (2002: 45) for quantitative and generic changes of the use of the second-person pronouns in Shakespeare.

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fied language system that provides a full meaning potential by including both syntax and lexis (Halliday 1961: 247, 267). For various reasons, which can be reread in Tucker (1996: 536–38, 1998: 10f.), the study of linguistic form has by and large favoured a separation between syntactic and lexical description (Tucker 1996: 533). Nevertheless, the semantic orientation of SFL (Halliday 1994, 1998, 2004) and the insistence of SFL on the primacy of choice create an analysis of Shakespearean vocatives that does not separate between syntactic and lexical description.28 This study also proposes a new definition of the Shakespearean vocative and novel clusters. Intra- and extra-linguistic reasons29 compel the analyst to question a terminological choice – that between forms of address, on the one hand, and vocatives, on the other – because it may often predetermine the analytical bias towards rigid social structure at Shakespeare’s time as an interpretation model alone (such as Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989, Blake 2002a: 272).30 Basically relying on the head of the vocative as a nominal group and following the working definition31 of vocatives given in Chapter 1.3. I have distributed Shakespeare’s vocatives into the clusters outlined in Table 1. The category conventional terms, which covers those fields that label Early Modern hierarchical society, consists of vocatives such as “Noble patricians” (Tit. 1.1.1f.), “dame” (Lr. 5.3.155), “lady” (Ham. 3.4.115), “dear madam” (Lr. 4.7.8), “my lord” (3H6 5.6.1–5), or “Sir” (Ham. 3.2.296). The cluster emotion / mind, thought, referring to an emotion or thought, contains vocatives such as “My dearest love” (Mac. 1.5.58f.), while the class EPITHET, which describes a kind of quality already inherent in the semantics of the lexeme used, contains vocatives such as “friend” (Ham. 2.2.184), “poor Caitiff ” (Oth. 4.1.108) or “Sirrah” (Ant. 5.2.229). Vocatives like “my boy” (Lr. 1.4.106) or “sweet wench” (Tit. 3.1.282) are subsumed under the heading generic terms because these terms are defined as terms that overtly belong to genus, male or female. Terms referring to natural phenomena (with the subclasses of sense, perception clothing, food, furniture, nature, parts of the body) are defined as terms referring to nature, and, more specifically, refer to the faculty of perception, to covering and dress, nourishments, furnishings, natural products and occurrences as well as to parts of the body. This category contains vocatives such as “O inhuman dog” (Oth. 5.1.62) or “stubborn knees” (Ham. 3.3.67). The category personal names contains the personal and proper names used as

28. In Chapter 4.1.2, the presentation of the network of Shakespearean vocative options illustrates the basic stylistic concept of choice and the fusion of lexis and grammar. 29. Kress (1989: 70), for example, argues that ideology is not a matter of mere surface content as expressed in the kinds of words chosen but it is everywhere entirely involved with the textual/syntactic aspects of a text.” 30. However, a notable exception should be mentioned here: Munkelt (1981). 31. See also Leech (1999: 113) for a distinction between a vocative and a form of address. A Shakespearean vocative is no longer defined as a case, as in the Early Modern English reference to the prestigious Latin case form [OED A.1., or Lily [1549] 1970]), but rather as a direct attitudinal adjunct-like (Halliday 1994: 54) form of address, which is realised as a nominal group or head alone, which is optional in form, which may be introduced in Shakespeare by the morphological marker O, and which may be positioned either initially, medially or terminally in the clause and speech move (extrapolated pronouns and interjections have been excluded).


vocatives. Personal names are, for example, “Fairest Cordelia” (Lr. 1.1.250) or “Margaret” (R3 1.3.233). Vocatives that belong to the class specialised fields (with the sub-classes arts/leisure, legal, medical, metaphysical, military) are defined as terms that describe the learned fields. These are, for example, “O limed soul” (Ham. 3.3.68) or “Fine apparition” (Tmp. 1.2.317). The class kinship terminology contains such vocatives as “O wonderful son” (Ham. 3.2.328) or “niece” (Ado 2.1.16). Table 1. Categories of vocatives in Shakespeare Vocative Category

Examples

conventional terms

“noble patricians” (Tit. 1.1.1f.), “dame” (Lr. 5.3.155), “lady” (Ham. 3.4.115), “dear madam” (Lr. 4.7.8), “my lord”

emotion / mind, thought

“my dearest love” (Mac. 1.5.58f.)

EPITHET

“friend” (Ham. 2.2.184), “poor Caitiff ” (Oth. 4.1.108) or “Sirrah” (Ant. 5.2.229)

generic terms

“my boy” (Lr. 1.4.106), “sweet wench” (Tit. 3.1.282)

terms referring to natural phenomena

“O inhuman dog” (Oth. 5.1.62), “stubborn knees” (Ham. 3.3.67)

personal names

“Semiramis” (Tit. 2.3.118), “barbarous Tamora” (Tit. 2.3.118), “fairest Cordelia” (Lr. 1.1.250), “Margaret” (R3 1.3.233)

terms referring to specialised fields

“O limed soul” (Ham. 3.3.68), “fine apparition” (Tmp. 1.2.317)

terms of family relationship

“O wonderful son” (Ham. 3.2.328), “niece” (Ado 2.1.16)

A comprehensive analysis of Shakespeare’s sonnets, his other non-dramatic work and of the work of his contemporaries – e.g. Marlowe or Jonson – would have presented a broader and more comparative basis. Furthermore, investigations of diachronic historical corpora, such as the Helsinki Corpus of English Texts, the Helsinki Corpus of Early English Correspondence, the Lampeter Corpus, the Archer Corpus,32 and the most recent one, the Corpus of English Dialogues, have provided further material for investigation.33 Despite its focus on Shakespeare’s plays alone, this study is no bardolotrous tribute to the “Chief poet,” as Keats ([1838] 1996: 832) both awesomely and disdainfully vocatively addressed Shakespeare in his poem “On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again (1838).” It is a contribution to Shakespeare studies, not least because of the vastness of the analysed material. The investigation in this study of seventeen plays bodes well for a literary and 32. For further information about these corpora, see Rissanen et al. (1993), Kytö (1996), Schmied (1994: 81–89), or Biber et al. (1994: 1–13). 33. See also U. Busse (2002: 11f.) for some recent trends in the fusion of English philology and historical linguistics.

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linguistic, hence stylistic appreciation of the plays, the genres, the characters, different themes, and the language. It contributes to a better understanding of Shakespeare’s use of nominal forms of address and of EModE vocatival address systems in general.34 The construed clusters of vocatives as well as the theoretical approach and methods chosen can serve as models for other investigations. As Blake (2002b) has illustrated for Ham., an analysis of the use of vocatives in different editions of the respective plays is necessary. Due to reasons of space, this study does not pursue a systematic comparison between vocative forms in the different editions. However, since quite a considerable number of variants may be textually stable, this study can be seen as a comprehensive and comparative model. In order to investigate vocatives in Shakespeare as functional, pragmatic, and social acts of communication between the addresser and the addressee and between the actors and the recipients,35 it is my intention to illustrate that principles of thoughts and ideologies underlie the use of vocatives, on a micro-and macro-analytical level and on intra- and inter-textual dimensions. In addition, a study of the use of vocatives in Shakespeare is also relevant to an understanding of how experience is reflected and verbally construed: the vocative in Shakespeare is responsible for the creation and structure of a message conveyed. Interdisciplinary work between linguistic, pragmatic, literary, historical, and social levels of analysis will be proposed and created in order to help transmit the materiality and the functional potential of vocatives in Shakespeare. This includes, for example, thematic, synchronic, diachronic, and generic factors, the contexts of production and reception, co(n)texts, 16th and 17th century statements, for example, on the use of forms of address, socio-political, sociohistorical and -linguistic considerations and so on.36 The two communicational dimensions of drama – drama as printed text (discourse, dialogue) and as performance – are crucial to this analysis. In addition, the emotive, conative, and experiential impact a vocative may have on performance and the audience will be investigated. After this outline the remainder of this first chapter introduces the main aims of this study and outlines the previous scholarship relevant to this topic. This chapter also provides the reader with an elaborate working definition of the vocative, and it illustrates the methodology adopted in this study in terms of choice of Shakespeare’s plays for the corpus, the collection of data as well as the use and design of a model to collect the data. Furthermore, this chapter proposes social and contextual approaches to vocatives in Shakespeare’s plays. Moreover, this chapter briefly re-construes the immediate sociolinguistic dimensions that are relevant to the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare.

34. With the introduction of electronic text retrieval facilities and other text-collecting techniques as well as the above mentioned diachronic corpora, a broader analytical vocative framework can be established. 35. In reference to Shakespeare’s plays, it is difficult to talk about reader and audience. The plays are composed to be performed (Evans ed. 1997: 55). Therefore, the more neutral term recipient will be chosen in order to refer to the addressee of the plays. 36. Within his framework of the cultural turn, Bruster (2003: 95–118) also emphasises the need for a similar comprehensive and multi-dimensional approach to props.


By drawing on Eco (1994a, b, c, d, [1990] 1992, [1962, 1967] 1996), Bakhtin (1981), Halliday (1961, 1967, 1971, 1972, 1988, 1994, 1998, 2004), Buber ([1962] 1994), Bühler ([1934] 1999), and stylistic approaches and cognitive theories, Chapter 2 chooses a dialogic, interactive, contextual, and social approach to the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare. Due to the central dialogical element inherent in vocatives, which creates sociological relationships of alter ego, dynamic, interactive, and procedural contests of experience, identities, and relations occur. Therefore the concepts of identity, character and habitus need to be defined. Furthermore, a pragmatic and social view on language presupposes an understanding of cognitive features and schemata relevant to the meaning-inference process. Chapter 3 moves further to the actual qualitative grammatical practice of vocatives in Shakespeare and critically applies Halliday’s (1994, 2004) SFL to Shakespearean vocatives. It is argued that a different categorisation of vocatives and the view that vocatives in Shakespeare construe so far neglected interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings also result from the grammar of vocatives as a nominal group below, in and above the clause and its status as grammatical metaphor. Chapter 4 further elaborates on the claim that Shakespearean vocatives construe a so-called polyphony of dialectically dependent meanings or voices: the interpersonal, experiential, and textual. For reasons of clarity, the three metafunctions are separately dealt with. The first part of Chapter 4, Chapter 4.1, newly situates the meanings of vocatives within the experiential. Hence, it suggests that vocatives function as experiential markers. Vocatives in Shakespeare not only create and mirror EModE contexts, but also that of act, scene, line, the play, corpus, genre, and characters. Moreover, this chapter develops new vocative clusters and structures them within a network of vocative options. Following this general overview and possible lines of interpretation is a description and analysis of the respective categories and their representatives. The quantitative analysis of diachronic, synchronic, generic, and thematic differences and similarities of vocatives in the different plays are then presented. Chapter 4.2 investigates the interpersonal and textual dimensions of vocatives in Shakespeare. By drawing on diverse concepts of Goffman’s (1967a, b) notion of face, and the I-You relationship suggested by Buber ([1962] 1994) and Bourdieu’s (1977 a, b, 1997 a, b) habitus theory, Chapter 4.2 demonstrates that vocatives are interpersonal markers. With examples from Lr. and Ant., Chapter 4.2.1 describes the way in which vocatives create and reflect identity and cultural as well as social positioning. Chapter 4.2.2 describes the interpersonal role of the epithet within the vocative as a nominal group. And Chapter 4.2.3 places existing vocative collocations within this interpersonal framework. Chapter 4.2.4 deals with textual functions of vocatives and their strong interconnections with the interpersonal role of vocatives. As such, the idea of speech moves is appropriated mainly from Toolan (2000) and the functions of vocatives are investigated in relation to the position they take in the clause: initial, medial, or final. Chapter 4.2.5 shows that vocatives are crucial for the construal of what is classically called “character-traits.” Richard of Gloucester’s use of vocative categories in R3 is illustrated as a representative example but also compared with other characters from the corpus. Main emphasis is also selectively placed on generic and social differences in vocative usage. Chapter 4.2.6 offers a revisited historical view on the fictional usage of vocatives

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in Shakespeare as it focuses on the interplay of Shakespearean vocatives and Renaissance reflections about rhetoric and Cicero’s Orator. Chapter 4.2.7 investigates the role of vocatives in the creation of the emotion “love” and “authority” in Rom. Chapter 5 is devoted to a contextual and qualitative analysis of vocative clusters. It selectively resorts to a large variety of representatives of the different categories and attempts to establish a comprehensive analysis of the interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings a vocative may construe. Furthermore, macro- and micro-analyses of the vocative address patterns of particular pairs in the corpus – Othello and Iago, Desdemona and Othello in Oth., and Hal and Falstaff in 1H4 – illustrate the vocatives’ crucial and interactive social potential for shaping the habitus (Bourdieu 1997a,b) of such experiential and interpersonal dimensions as power, affect, condescension, or love. Chapter 6 focuses on the dimension of performance and the Shakespearean vocatives’ theatrical and inherently dramatic role as a deictic element, as a supplement, as a segmentation unit, and as a highly emotive element. Chapter 7 concludes this study.

1.2 Existent linguistic accounts of the language of Shakespeare and of the use of forms of address 1.2.1 Shakespeare’s language Some of the observable scientific tendencies within the study of vocatives in Shakespeare are similar to general analyses of Shakespeare’s language; others result from views on Shakespeare’s use of language as a whole. In comparison with the high quantity of literary criticism devoted to Shakespeare that of linguistic criticism is scarcer, more biased, and, apart from a few important exceptions, not of very recent date. Despite the lack and special character of EModE sources (Görlach 1994: 2f.), many scholars equal Shakespeare’s language to that of his time (see Quirk 1971: 3) and plays are falsely considered to represent one variant of EModE spoken language. Thanks to Wales (1983), Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg (1995), Spevack (1993), and others this view has been refuted. Furthermore, rather than focussing on functions of particular linguistic items within the plays, scholars such as Blake (1990), for instance, compare Shakespeare’s language to that of Modern English and stress its deviations from the Modern English norm. Even though the knowledge of linguistic differences between EModE and Modern English is of vital importance, what should follow this purely descriptive approach are attempts to find solutions to questions such as how the analysis of dramatic language can contribute to the understanding of the play as a literary, artistic, and aesthetic piece of work. However, scholars like Abbot (1870 [1972]), Franz ([1939] 1986), Jespersen (1972), Ehrl (1957), and contemporary scholars such as Quirk (1971), Brook (1976), Barber (1981, 1997), U. Busse (2002), and Blake (2002a) have elaborated on fruitful and important studies with valuable pragmatic and sociolinguistic insights. And yet, some of these


studies, except for those dealing with aspects of Shakespeare’s lexicon,37 only investigate one or two plays. Within the field of Shakespeare’s studies, the interactive features of Shakespeare’s language have sometimes been neglected. Furthermore, they have considered speech as a character’s idiosyncratic usage and not as discourse evolving from the interaction among characters. These two observable developments have also led to an emphasis on Shakespeare’s private craftsmanship, a line of argumentation that has been questioned since the beginning of the 1980s by New Historicist approaches. And it is even until recently that especially the proponents of New Historicism and other post-modern theories criticised traditional New Criticism approaches, methodologies, and categories of text, author, character as well as have refuted the orientation of close reading and literary texts as autonomous objects. Recent cultural and linguistic studies emphasise the reciprocal character between linguistics and the social (Magnusson 1999: 6), even though scholars have been tardy in taking up the challenge. This also holds true for the interplay between computer studies and philology, as Spevack (2002) criticises. However, mention should also be made of some databases where this cooperation has been achieved, such as The Shakespeare Database Project,38 a database that is organised according to current relational models and provides a full lemmatisation of the Shakespeare corpus.39 The neglected fusion between linguistically oriented criticism and historicist criticism may not be entirely, or even primarily, a matter of ideological difference. It may be instead a matter of “uncoordinated resources among disciplines, of mismatches between concepts and analytical tools [...], and even of timing differences in how related ideas develop in different fields” (Magnusson 1999: 7). Magnusson suggests that Brown and Levinson’s (1987) theory of politeness and theoretical approaches to discourse enable the development of “a practical analysis of how social relationships are constructed in dramatic dialogue and in epistolary exchanges” (Magnusson 1999: 8). Although Magnusson’s theoretical approach has been influential for this study, her sole emphasis on politeness cannot, as outlined in Chapter 2, be of exclusive guidance to this study, especially because Brown and Levinson’s (1987) modifications of politeness theory and their application of it to Shakespeare’s four major tragedies are most rigid.

1.2.2 The concept of address – nominal forms of address and the second-person personal pronoun According to the few existing studies of the use of vocatives in general or in Shakespeare’s plays in particular, vocatives are forms of address denoting the next speaker (Quirk et 37. For example, there are diverse glossaries, such as Schmidt and Sarazzin ([1874] 1962), Onions (1986), Partridge ([1947] 1968), Rubinstein (1984), Spevack (1993), Williams (1997), and Crystal (2003) (although they do not work with the similar amounts of data). 38. The Arden-Online database has not been used for this study. Instead, as a member of the Shakespeare Database Project team, I have utilised my access to the Shakespeare Database Project. 39. See Feldmann (1997) for more information about “Multimedia Shakespeares.”

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al. 1985: 776f.) or they represent an unwieldy (Kopytko 1993a: 54) or a peripheral grammatical category (see Poynton 1996). Other studies (Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989) claim that vocatives in Shakespeare can only be investigated when they are compared to the Elizabethan social structure. Hence, they focus mainly on the use of titles, as vocatives such as my lord, lady, are often called (see Böhm (1936), Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989, U. Busse 2002) The grammatical characteristics of the system vocative, such as the freedom of choice, the freedom of placement and its grammatical optionality, and the quantity and quality of semantic forms may be seen as some of the reasons for these approaches. More particularly, titles seem to be easy to identify as well as to explain because forms such as my lord, my liege, or madam seem to be logical indications of the highly stratified society of Early Modern England, in which some scholars believe (Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989). Despite their very general overview of the social component of forms of address, these analyses are valuable because they have long been the sole works dealing with forms of address at all. However, Shakespeare’s language has to be differentiated from the language of his time (Quirk 1971: 3) to the extent that Shakespeare reflects and uses the usage. Strongly connected with the aspect of social structure is, as has been briefly indicated, the dominance and the exercising influence of the two sociolinguistic classics on the use of forms of address and second-person personal pronouns by Brown and Ford (1961) and Brown and Gilman (1960) – which can all be summarised under the general concept of address. Brown and Ford’s study (1961) represents pioneering research on nominal forms of address in American English using as corpora American plays, usage in a Boston business firm and use of forms of address by business executives. They employ the power and solidarity semantic to explain first name reciprocation or title plus last name reciprocation. Apart from the fact that they limit their analysis to the binary contrast between first names and titles, they apply the social factors of intimacy and distance on the horizontal line and of gender and status on the vertical line to their name paradigm. Brown and Ford’s (1961) study first hints at the social relevance of the linguistic phenomena address and personal pronouns. The study introduces the basic terminology, but their power and solidarity paradigm can possibly only explain why a nobleman feels free to address his servant with the sirrah of condescension but cannot account for various dramatic meanings or functions. Among studies that implicitly or explicitly follow Brown and Ford’s or Brown and Gilman’s paradigm are Replogle (1973), Breuer (1983), and Stoll (1989). Replogle (1973) uses the social structure of the time as well as contemporary sixteenth-century statements as evidence and as a means of explanation for Shakespeare’s usage of “salutations.” Even though she stresses that deviations from the norm prescribed in courtesy books, which may have been used by Shakespeare as devices to achieve dramatic effects, are possible, she unfortunately does not go into further detail of this observation. Breuer’s (1983) study of Shakespeare’s titles and forms of address is based on Laslett’s (1971) socio-historical study The World We Have Lost. Breuer (1983) considers social rank, age, and gender as much more important motives for title variation. Nevertheless, his detailed account of the social usage of forms of address is helpful, since he describes all possible titles for each class and mentions generalised titles, which are visible in Shakespeare as well.


Stoll’s (1989) socio-historical study attempts to assess and to structure all forms of address as well as to define the allegedly specific socio-cultural norms and rules of forms of address. Her study is an exception with regard to the quantitative analyses she gives. In her last chapter she offers interesting considerations about the functions of vocatives beyond that of a social orientation. The sociolinguistic approaches to Shakespeare’s language by Salmon (1967) and Grannis (1990) need mention, even though they do not exclusively elaborate on forms of address. In her analysis Vivian Salmon (1967) recognises that situational-contextual as well as attitudinal characteristics are vital for a precise interpretation of the functions of forms of address. Consequently, she not only categorises different forms of address used in Shakespeare’s Falstaff plays and explains their etymology as well as their sixteenth century meaning, but also accounts for their functions in different situational as well as attitudinal contexts. Furthermore, she considers different syntactic as well as semantic categories in which vocatives can occur. Grannis’ study (1990) takes grammatical features into consideration and tries to explain their function in the framework of sociolinguistic variables. He qualitatively investigates the placement of vocatives. Barber (1981) connects the use of the second-person pronoun and the use of nominal forms of address in R3. He observes a clear correlation between the vocative expression and the choice of pronoun (Barber 1981: 284). Mazzon (1995) has a similar topic. She investigates Lr., Ham., and Oth. for their usages of you and thou (and, marginally, forms of address) and claims that these functions as “markers of socio-affective relationships” (Mazzon 1995: 20). Culpeper (2001) defines vocatives as textual stimuli of characterisation. He acknowledges the importance of vocatives in the process of signalling social information and emotive force. His main focus is on the vertical social line of address behaviour, arguing that Elizabethans tried hard to emphasise the power status between interactants. In his study on Shakespeare’s grammar, Blake (2002a: 271–283) recognises the inherently dramatic feature of forms of address, he briefly mentions the relevance of the potential of forms of address for identifying character, and he has a few comments on the use of modifiers and qualifiers. Yet, most prominently he sees forms of address as reflections of social status. Even though he discusses the permeability of categories and emphasises the importance of situation, he only occasionally uses these parameters to explain the functional meanings of forms of address in full detail. Hence, he talks about more formal, more polite, more honorific etc. expressions. Blake (2002b) devotes his attention to forms of address in Ham. and compares the use of the three different versions, Quarto 1 Q1 (1604), Quarto 2 Q2 (1604 and 1605), and the First Folio (F1) (1623). He marks major differences between each quarto and F1 and he argues that the use of forms of address in Q1 and Q2 is not consistent with F1. Both quartos exhibit similar variations from F due to working procedures of both compositors and actors. There are also clear divisions in the various categories. David and Ben Crystal’s (2003) glossary of Shakespeare’s language, in which both use many of Spevack’s (1993) thesaurus categories without naming them, also contains two

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pages that deal with “address” (Crystal and Crystal 2003: 8) explicitly. Like Blake (2002a), they point out that the naming practice performs a variety of expressive functions, shading from courtesy through endearment into sarcasm and insult, and the exact nuance can be deduced only by taking careful note of who the personalities are and the context in which they are speaking (Crystal and Crystal 2003: 8).

Their glosses of a list of what they call “distinctive expressions” (Crystal and Crystal 2003: 8) laudably attempt to generalise “core meanings.” Yet, most meanings are again restricted to the polarities of power and solidarity, and, hence, politeness. To my knowledge, studies that focus on the meaning of vocatives in the performative context hardly exist, even though recently Shakespeare editors have paid more attention to the specific vocative occurrences and their performative meanings in the plays they annotate (for example, Kastan ed. 2002). This tendency goes hand in hand with the very recent general interest in Shakespeare’s use of vocatives (see Blake 2002a, b). Within the context of vocative and theatre, mention should be made of Munkelt’s (1981, 1987) studies, in which she interprets the relationship between address forms and stage directions. In the Helsinki project on EModE, a number of studies have been devoted to titles (cf. Nevalainen 1992) and social stratification in Tudor English (cf. Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg 1995, and Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg 1996). In these studies, forms of address are more predictable than Brown and Gilman (1989) claim them to be. Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brundberg (1995), for example, deal with constraints of politeness in the address of EModE letters. The results Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brundberg (1995) achieve are helpful to an investigation into vocatives, not only because they, despite the vast differences in genre, constitute a base of comparison but also because they have collected data of general EModE sources other than drama. Two studies, those by Brown and Gilman (1989) and Kopytko (1993a, b), mention forms of address within their individually modified versions of Brown and Levinson’s (1987) politeness theory and their application to Shakespeare’s plays. Under the revealing heading “names and titles” (Brown and Gilman 1989: 175), Brown and Gilman (1989) incorporate forms of address within the sub-strategies of negative politeness: give deference. Furthermore, they do not consider the forms of address as such as markers of politeness. Instead, by acknowledging the various forms of vocatives, they try to score points for forms of address that are adorned names and titles: “the greater the number of compatible outputs, the greater the politeness” (Brown and Gilman 1989: 176). Since their determining variables for politeness are power, distance, and ranked extremity, they rigidly assess the politeness-meanings of vocatives on a one-to-one basis, according to the social status of the speaker rather than according to context. Kopytko (1993a) likewise recognises the quality and quantity of forms of address. He also stresses that “the topic of Shakespeare’s forms of address is so vast that so far it has not received any exhaustive treatment” (Kopytko 1993a: 52). And yet, he does not treat forms of address pedantically because this analysis “would have to go into thousands of instances frequently contextually ambiguous and to some extent dependent on the selection of data (plays) from different periods of his authorship” (Kopytko 1993a: 53). Kopy-


tko (1993a.: 53) rightly emphasises the context-dependent interpretation of vocatives and also suggests that the vocative choice might be dependent upon the time in which they were written. Magnusson’s (1999) historically situated comparison of politeness in Early Modern letter writing and Shakespeare’s plays should be praised for its interdisciplinary approach that emphasises the social exchange in Shakespeare’s language. Within her analysis of politeness, she makes some provocative direct and indirect comments on the use of forms of address. Outside the Shakespeare canon and EModE, Poynton (1985, 1996) analyses Modern Australian vocatives and uses Halliday (1994, 2004) as a basis. Her modifications of the idea of tenor and her ideas of amplification (Poynton 1996) represent ways into the interpretation of vocatives used here. Leech (1999) uses a corpus-based approach to enhance a more focused treatment of what he calls a “neglected field” (Leech 1999: 107) within English grammar. He differentiates between vocatives and forms of address, and incorporates the former in a formal, functional, and semantic concept. Formally, Leech (1999: 107) focuses on the vocatives’ realisation pattern as a NG. Functionally, Leech (1999: 108) stresses that the vocative can be seen as a peripheral adverbial, or at the speech level, as an insert. Interestingly, he stresses, however, that it is much more appropriate to see the vocative as part of a speech or a communicative unit and that here it may have initial, medial or final position (Leech 1999: 108). The semantic functions of vocatives are to gain attention, to identify the addressee and to maintain a social relationship. The categories Leech (1999: 110–112) establishes range from the most familiar to the most distant. Functions of vocatives are explained in terms of the parameters of gender, degree of familiarity between interactants and social status. His results show a progressive familiarisation of addressing and naming habits, as first-name address occur most frequently. In addition, most vocatives by far occur in final position. Leech also says something about the function of vocative positions, for example, initial vocatives serve mostly to attract attention and identify the addressee; final positioning of vocatives serve to identify and to secure or establish social positions (Leech 1999: 113f.). Some studies of the use of the second-person personal pronoun also express a renewed interest in their functions and should be mentioned here because they are crucial for a general approach towards the concept of address. In his corpus-based analysis of the entire dramatic Shakespeare corpus, which theoretically relies on historical pragmatics and historical linguistics, U. Busse (2002) forms the previous studies on this topic into a “comprehensive, empirically grounded description and explanation of usage on the basis of a large corpus, that is the whole of Shakespeare’s dramatic work” (U. Busse 2002: 3). He is therewith able to draw more general conclusions that go beyond that resulting from the analysis of one or two plays; and he also devotes a comprehensive chapter to the quantitative analysis of second-person personal pronouns and their co-occurrence with nominal forms of address. Relying on Replogle’s (1973) categories of vocatives and Brown and Gilman’s (1989) power and solidarity paradigm, U. Busse randomly chooses a sample of forms of address representing these categories, conventionally explains their meanings via recourse to Early Modern social structure and sociolinguistic context, and computes and

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interprets their occurrences with the thou/you paradigm. He concludes that the co-occurrence of second-person personal pronouns can be handled in a fairly consistent numerical approach, and that there is a strong correlation between the two. The explanation model ranges along a scale of positive and negative politeness. These results are in accordance with Brown and Gilman (1989: 184), but he also draws attention to quite a number of exceptions that need to be investigated in a narrower micro-linguistic context. Some of his quantitative results will be compared to the quantitative results of vocative usage gained in this study. Apart from Mulholland (1967), there are few studies that try to explain thou/you occurrences from a strictly grammatical point of view. In her empirical analysis of Lr. and Ado, Mulholland (1967) chooses five syntactic categories with you/thou serving as subject or complement with closed-class or lexical verbs. Her results for comedy and tragedy differ considerably and therefore she revises some of the claims Abbot ([1870] 1972) makes in his grammar about the occurrence of thou/thee for example in imperatives. She also looks at the social usage, differentiating between status and sex without considering the situational context, and she stresses that you is the unmarked and thou the marked form. As a consequence of the difficulties in explaining the thou and you paradigm with grammatical attributes, many studies on the second-person pronoun also resort to the reoccurring assumption that Shakespeare’s language only mirrors that of his time and to Brown and Gilman (1960) likewise.40 Even though Brown and Gilman (1960) mention that there was freedom in English pronominal switching in EModE, they do not account for the disappearance of thou, and also offer a “comfortable implement with which to explain why a nobleman feels free to address his servant with the thou of power and why he is respectfully addressed by his servants with the you of deference” (Calvo 1992a: 7). Calvo (1992a: 7) considers this a reason for the unchallenged and dogma-like status of Brown and Gilman’s (1960) study and the constant reappearing focus on status and rank rather than on situational and attitudinal context. The study by McIntosh (1963a), in which the author studies the pronoun usage of the two heroines in AYL, Rosalind and Celia, not only recognises the irregularity among characters in their use of pronouns, but also hints at pronoun switching even where the speaker is addressing one and the same person. Moreover, many scholars endeavour to prove McIntosh’s view wrong that you is the marked form and thou the unmarked form. They defend the unmarked-marked dichotomy but consider it to be the other way round. Thereby, the difficulties in explaining the function of you and thou have become more problematic. Calvo’s (1992a) systemic-functional approach to personal pronouns in Shakespeare goes in the same direction but further enhances insights into Shakespeare’s pronoun usage and the general concept of address. Since she is concerned with pronoun shifts between two constant partners, she stresses the insufficiencies of the marked-unmarked system 40. See Wyld (1914), Baugh ([1953] 1993, 2002), Finkenstaedt (1963), Strang (1970), Barber (1981, 1997), Wales (1983) Leith (1984), Görlach (1994), as well as Abbot ([1871] 1972), and Franz ([1939] 1986) for some hints of communicative functions, and Quirk (1971), Mulholland (1967), Aers and Kress (1981: 204f.), Short (1981: 193), Hussey (1982: 120–23), as well as Blake (1996), and Barber (1997: 208).


and suggests a framework which underlines different functions besides the expressive or attitudinal overtones. This notion results from the fact that she broadens the scope of her analysis by relying on Halliday’s (1972) theory of meaning in which language is seen as a socio-semiotic system consisting of the three interrelated functional components. With the interpersonal meaning Calvo sees thou and you as social markers and the textual functions enable her to interpret thou and you as discourse markers. This study has been clearly guiding for the present investigation into vocatives. There are scholars who have looked for alternative sources to Shakespeare (Nevalainen 1992: 317). Accounts of EModE are helpful for an interpretation of literary texts, but also put a concise interpretation of Shakespeare’s usage at risk. While it may be assumed that the usage in drama reflects that which is customary in society, concessions must be made for literary selectivity, on the one hand, and artistic exaggeration, on the other (Finkenstaedt 1963: 159). Hope (1993: 96) stresses, for example, that thou seems to have become the marked form in actual speech much earlier than in literature.41 Taavitsainen and Jucker (2003) have edited a highly sophisticated collection of essays on address-term systems in individual European languages. Their orientation is both synchronic and diachronic and the impressive data under investigation ranges from analyses of address systems in later Middle English Literature, Chaucer’s work, Early Modern English data, Shakespeare’s plays, texts from Middle High German to Modern Standard German, text examples of Czech from the 14th to the 17th century, to examples of Finnish dialect of the 19th century. However, major emphasis in this collection is placed on English and on the pronominal address systems and the differences involved between what is often called the more familiar or intimate pronoun thou and the more distant or polite pronoun you. Sometimes the pronominal co-occurrence with nominal address forms is investigated, too. Taavitsainen and Jucker (2003: 1–25) themselves give a very valuable, comprehensive, and current overview of and introduction to the general issues that are involved when the complex linguistic and socio-pragmatic as well as pragma-linguistic phenomenon address is investigated. They differentiate not only between pronominal and nominal address terms as well as the most important underlying conventions for choosing an options (e.g. formality, social relationship, and politeness), but also talk about aspects of language contact, culture-dependence, and aspects of variation. Furthermore, they situate these considerations within the framework of methodological issues, issues of data collection and the existing classic studies in the field, such as Brown and Gilman’s (1960) power and solidarity paradigm, the use of historical pragmatics and corpus linguistics (Jacobs and Jucker 1995), Watts’ (1989: 135) notion of “politic behaviour,” the role of politeness, and the concepts of norm, deviation and markedness. For the purpose of this chapter, I would like to focus in more detail on the studies in this collection that explicitly deal with Shakespeare’s plays.

41. Finkensteadt’s (1963) analysis partly uses sociolinguistic variables to explain pronominal occurrences in colloquial speech, which he finds in Jest and Conduct Books, in ecclesiastical examinations as well as in court records. He goes beyond Brown and Gilman’s (1960) paradigm.

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Even though many of the articles in this collection emphasise the complexity and the variability of the respective address terms under scrutiny, Brown and Gilman’s paradigm (and the assumed accompanying general semantics of thou as intimate and you as distancing), on the one hand, as well as the presupposition of fixed social roles, on the other, often seem to be a starting point for meticulously pursued analyses. U. Busse (2003), for example, analyses the co-occurrence of pronominal and nominal forms and detects that most terms collocate with either (and the expected) pronoun even though there may also be exceptions to a normal paradigm. In her somewhat refined investigation of three Shakespeare tragedies (Lr., Oth. and Ham.), Mazzon (2003) uses allegedly established social patterns, for example, that between husband and wife or parent and child, and, on the basis of statistical data, establishes normative or conventional address patterns. She is also interested in pronoun switching and briefly mentions the co-occurrence of second-person pronoun and nominal forms of address. For her, the role of the second-person pronoun in Shakespeare is rightly described as a marker of socio-affective relationships. However, in her assumption of pre-existent social roles she does not illustrate her line of argumentation on both a micro- and a macro-contextual framework. Sometimes Mazzon’s use of the concept of markedness and unmarkedness as well as the immediate assumption of social roles hide very specific, finely-tuned and complex social and emotional nuances of pronoun usage. For example, when she (Mazzon 2003: 229) describes Gertrude’s and Hamlet’s use of thou and you in Ham., she does not pay attention to the fact that in general Gertrude uses more thou than you forms (see Spevack 1968–80) and that therefore her address to Hamlet has to take these observations into consideration. Instead she again resorts to the more general conclusion that pronoun switches and vocative usage must testify to the high emotional intensity of their interaction. How this happens by means of forms of address is not mentioned. In his comprehensive analysis of the address patterns in Lr. and AYL, Stein (2003) also defines the unmarked usage for each socially defined type of dyad but, in contrast to Mazzon (2003), he mostly interprets the patterns he discovers on a comprehensive quantitative base, and qualitatively, by means of the dramatic context. He correctly argues that the common denominator for deviations is the emotional involvement of the speaker, and that we need a flexible definition of the concept of markedness. Similarly to Busse (2002), he observes that although the use of thou-pronouns is no longer the commonly used form when Shakespeare writes his plays, Shakespeare exploits the potential of this form in order to depict complex social relationships. To sum up, while studies on the use of forms of address in Shakespeare are scarce and those on you and thou are higher in number, the interest in both the micro- and macrolinguistic factors of address formulae seems to have increased. Some of the existing studies are philosophically oriented (Abbot [1870] 1972), others are based on literary critical considerations, and still others fuse linguistic and literary considerations, even though they mostly do not focus on more than two plays. In addition, the enormous influence of Brown and Gilman (1960), Brown and Ford (1961), and the more theoretical studies (for example, by Brown and Gilman 1989) are evaluated ambivalently. Their effect on the interpretation of Shakespeare’s use of forms of address is positive, because their power and solidarity paradigm is indispensable for an analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare. Yet,


the paradigm is also somewhat one-dimensional, because the existent social structure at Shakespeare’s time cannot serve as a sole means of interpreting the use of vocatives in the plays. What is missing is an analysis that investigates vocatives in more than two plays on both a macro- and micro-analytical level. The interpretation of Shakespearean vocatives also needs to fuse methodologies and theories from literary, cultural, and linguistic criticism, such as historical pragmatics, historical socio-linguistics, corpus linguistics etc., and cultural studies on a quantitative and qualitative basis. Emphasis should also be placed on the social dimensions of Shakespeare’s vocatives and on the postmodern idea of language and meaning being construed by the analyst as well as the social and the contextual.

1.3 A working definition of vocatives in Shakespeare 1.3.1 What has been excluded Linguistic forms, such as, for example, interjections and imperatives with extrapolated pronouns, have address potential, but they are not included within a proper definition of vocatives in this study. Interjections are usually considered part of a lesser category of word-classes and are also regarded as grammatically peripheral, as “they do not enter into constructions with other word classes and are only loosely connected to sentences with which they may be orthographically or intonationally associated” (Quirk et al. 1985: 74f.). Interjections constitute a variant form of the vocative, for next to their function of exclaiming they may also address.42 However, for reasons of their primary function as interjections, and for reasons of space and number, they will be excluded from this analysis. Yet, their address potential will nevertheless be granted. Another syntactical vocative structure is you/thou preceding the vocative form, where the vocative does not serve as a neutralising appositive but as a direct form of address, as in “I take it much unkindly / That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse / As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this” (Oth. 1.1.1–3), where the vocative is further qualified by the relative clause. Another example is “And you, my sinows, grow not instant old” (Ham. 1.5.94). Furthermore, in imperatives with a subject, which Celia Milward has defined as marked forms containing an extrapolated pronoun (in Ostheeren 1990: 134), such as “look you there” (Ham. 3.4.136), the additional personal pronoun could be considered a vocative as well. As such, the pronouns of the indirect request markers pray you, prithee, or pray thee may be part of the Shakespearean vocative corpus, as, firstly, the personal 42. This also correlates with Halliday and Hasan’s (1976: 30) ideas of O being a cohesive conjunctive element. In Shakespeare’s plays, one can find a great variety of interjections, as the following examples from Hamlet will illustrate: “well” (Ham. 2.2.58), “Tush” (Ham. 1.1.30), “foh” (Ham. 2.2.587), “why” (Ham. 2.2.249), “marry” (Ham. 1.1.6), “pooh” (Ham. 1.2.101), “alas” (Ham. 3.4.106), “ho” (Ham. 1.5.117), “faith” (Ham. 2.2.234), “Ah” (Ham. 2.2.225), “hah” (Ham. 2.2.576), “God-a-mercy” (Ham. 2.2.172), “buzz” (Ham. 2.2.389), “swounds” (Ham. 2.2.576), “Fie upon’t” (Ham. 2.2.586), “hum” (Ham. 2.2.587), “What ho?” (Ham. 3.2.52), “perdie” (Ham. 3.2.287), “Ay me” (Ham. 2.4.51), “Yea” (Ham. 2.2.596), “Anon” (Ham. 5.1.281), and “Sblood” (Ham. 2.2.363).

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pronoun serves as a direct address, and, secondly, the personal pronouns you/thou are optional elements. Examples are “I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg” (Ham. 1.2.119) or “I pray you” (Ham. 3.2.353).43 Since it is not an obligatory element in the clause and serves as a direct address consisting of a personal pronoun alone, Ostheeren (1990: 134), for example, even defines a construction of the kind, “Come, my fair Cordelia” (Lr. 1.1.282), as an imperative that contains an extrapolated pronoun. Due to reasons of space and the fact that this study deals with the analysis of nominal forms of address, the analysis of imperatives containing extrapolated pronouns will not be further pursued. Relational clauses, such as “Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man / As e’er my conversation cop’d withal” (Ham. 3.2.54f.) will also be excluded. Even though the example could be considered a direct address, the element of the clause that may have served as a vocative is the attribute of this clause, and as such represents an obligatory and not an optional element.

1.3.2 What is the vocative? So far only few attempts have been made to define the Shakespearean vocatives from a morpho-syntactic point of view or to incorporate the vocative within a grammatical system that is broad enough to include various functional dimensions. A quotation from Wiv. 4.1. 50f., “What is the focative case, William?,” which the teacher Evans uses to question his student William, also exemplifies the (EModE) attitude to the importance of Latin and the Latin bias towards grammar.44 This quotation also allows us, however, to give reasons for the unique and foregrounded Shakespearean vocative usage of the author’s first name, William, in co-occurrence with “focative case” that go beyond purely grammatical considerations. These lines hint at the functional importance of the vocative system and the correlation of focative with case. William’s answer “O vocativo O” (Wiv. 4.1.52) also provides intra-textual parameters for the definition of the vocative in Shakespeare. William’s utterance could certainly be part of a typical didactic technique of memorising declensions that was prominent with teaching Latin grammar to young children (Bevington 2002: 32). Furthermore, the parson Evans wants to impress others with his teaching capacities. Yet, the vocative which Evans uses somehow exhibits a morphologically distinct form or, in other words, is partly expressed inflectionally, even though the EModE historical-linguistic perspective negates this claim, as, in the course of English in its OE and ME stages, the majority of inflectional endings for most English word-classes decay.45 Obviously, the teacher in the question cited above is asking for the Latin vocative case, as the previously posed question and his admonition, “Remember, William, focative 43. For a statistical analysis of the use of thou/you in co-occurrence with pray, I shall refer to U. Busse (2002). 44. Knowledge of the Latin language as well as of works by ancient authors indicated one’s belonging to the intellectual elite (Baugh and Cable 1993: 227, 2002: 203f.). See also Chapter 4.2.7. 45. In EModE the majority of nouns, for example, have three forms: a base form, a plural form, and a possessive form, with the possessive and the plural form being phonologically identical. In addition to this, with the exception of the genitive singular, the EModE case system is no longer marked by inflectional endings (Barber 1997: 143).


is caret” (Wiv. 4.1.52) indicate. But what language is William referring to in his answer, “O vocativo O” (Wiv. 4.1.53)? One could assume that the morphological ending –o in “vocativ-o” represents the grammatically correct form for the vocative case in Latin. However, in Latin the o-ending for the o-declension (of which vocativus is part) indicates either the dative or the ablative case, while the vocative case ends in –e. One might think then that William is simply a poor Latin student because he does not know the correct vocative ending or that he, for example uses the ablative and/or dative case on purpose in order to stress aspects that relate to the use of the vocative in the English language, something like “through, with, by the vocative” – meanings that emphasise the importance of the system in the English language. However, one might also refer his answer to the rather emphatic dative case, alluding to an interjection similar to that of “save the vocative.” This particular vocative contains a morphological criterion, which helps discriminate the Shakespearean vocative from other linguistic cases/forms. William seems to be mistaking the Latin case for the usage of the vocative that repeatedly occurs in the language of Shakespeare’s plays. The analysis of Shakespearean vocatives has revealed that interjections such as O and ah repeatedly introduce as well as point to the vocative (see also Traugott 1995: 453–58, Jucker 2002: 217). To name but a few examples, there are, “O thou weed” (Oth. 4.2.66), “O, you wonder” (Tmp. 1.2.427), “O my lord” (Ham. 3.2.348), “O Romeo” (Rom. 3.2. 33), or “Ah,” in “Ah, you kite” (Ant. 3.13.88). From a grammatical point of view, these interjections cannot be seen as explicit morphological indicators of the vocative, but they represent a first “morphological” criterion for a definition of vocatives. Even though this claim explicitly refrains from observing the functional dimensions of o and ah as “for example markers of sexual desire” or “markers of grief ” (Leimberg 1991: 79), from a purely grammatical point of view, o and ah have a compensatory effect for the non-existence of any clear morphological directive. Hence, as a first part of this working definition, it can be argued that O as a morphological marker may be part of the vocative. The Shakespearean vocatives introduced by the interjection O make up a high number of vocatives in Shakespeare, but there is a variety of other forms that do not contain any of these interjectional signs mentioned above. A sample of examples can be observed in the following: “dear Charmian” (Ant. 1.3.15), “Frailty, thy name is woman” (Ham. 1.2.146), “perturbed spirit” (Ham. 1.5.182), “Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts” (Lr. 3.2.5), “Detested kite” (Lr. 1.4.262), “my most sovereign lord” (R3 2.1.53), “Jailer” (MV 3.3.1), “Abhorred slave, / Which any print of goodness wilt not take, / Being capable of all ill” (Tmp. 1.2.351–53), “blasphemy / That swear’st grace o’erboard” (Tmp. 5.1.218f.). The range of semantic realisation of vocative forms is indefinite. However, at the same time, this semantic freedom of forms of vocatives serves as a second criterion that may define the vocative at NG as well as at clause rank likewise. A vocative may consist not only of personal names or what is often called titles, but, as the examples have illustrated, ideally, any semantic choice can be used vocatively. The semantic freedom of choice is, at least theoretically, also valid for the grammatical freedom of word-classes that can serve as vocatives. Following my findings concerning the vocatives,46 it can be stressed that, if 46. See List 2 in the Appendix for the great variety of vocative forms. There are 3111 different forms.

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the vocative forms appear as single nominal, at word-rank, they consist mostly of either nouns, adjectives, pronouns, articles, interjections or a combination of some of these elements. Despite the semantic freedom of choice, it can therefore be generally assumed that vocatives may be investigated within the structural potential of the NG (see also Chapter 3), which will also serve as a basis for the categorisation of the vocative. As to syntactic criteria of the vocative within the clause, a vocative may have initial, medial, or final position, and in most modern editions, a comma often sets off these positions.47 Initial position is that preceding any other clause element, as in “To all you three, / The senators alone of this great world, / Chief factors for the gods” (Ant. 2.6.8–10) or in “Madam, he’s well” (Ant. 2.5.46). Medial position can be most broadly described as that position between any elements of the clause, as in “Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails” (Ant. 2.6.24) or “I did not think, sir, to have met you here” (Ant. 2.6.49). End position is the position following all other elements in the clause, such as “What a treasure had he, my lord?” (Ham. 2.2.405) or “Thou hast done well, fine Ariel” (Tmp. 1.2.494). In Chapters 3.2 and 4.2.4, these positions will be further defined in terms of SFL’s focus on theme and rheme. The position of vocatives leads us to further clues of prosody. According to Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen (1997: 107), a vocative is pronounced as a separate tone unit in initial position, while a vocative as the tail or part of the tail of the clause does not receive prosodic prominence at all. This needs to be verified for the Shakespearean vocatives, because with regard to the English concept of end-weight and metrical considerations, Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen’s (1997: 107) claim is certainly valuable. Secondly, the vocative is seen as an optional element. Even though this very general statement is basically valid for all parts of a sentence except for the subject and the predicate, it has to be mentioned here, as it frequently represents a justification for the allegedly peripheral status of vocatives in Shakespeare. Due to the vocative’s optionality and freedom of position, Quirk et al. (1985: 773) stress that the Modern English vocative cannot be considered a case. It “is more like an adverbial or, more precisely, like a disjunct.” According to Quirk et al. (1985: 612), disjuncts “have a superior role as compared with the sentence elements. They are syntactically more detached and in some respect superordinate in that they seem to have a scope that extends over the sentence as a whole.” Even though their overall definition of the vocative is functionally revealing, at this point, it is necessary to quote Martin et al. (1997: 66), as he elaborates on the terminological and functional difference in SFL between adverbials and adjuncts. He emphasises that in order to avoid the ambiguous association of adverbial with the verb, the term adjunct is preferable, for it constitutes an independent functional group (rather than a dependent subgroup of adverbials) that can be associated with other components within the clause as well. Therefore, self-reference, such as “And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, / That suck’d the honey of his [music] vows” (Ham. 3.1.155f.) will be included. In this example, Ophelia’s self-reference, used appositively, is not neutralised, but, 47. A comma may mark off these positions in some modern editions. Yet, since punctuation cannot be considered a valuable criterion in all editions, especially in the different folio and quarto versions it is not part of the narrower defining of vocative features.


especially when spoken, serves as a vocative. Much more precisely than the definition of disjuncts allows, the meaning of vocatives within the clause will be illustrated in Chapter 3.2. At this point, it will suffice to re-stress the fact that the functional dimensions will be opened up if the vocative is explained with the help of Halliday’s SFL (1994, 2004). Finally, speakers also use the vocative to gain attention or to name the intended addressee (Quirk et al. 1985: 773f.). As such, this function of the vocative has a strong relationship with the etymology of the noun vocative, as it stems from Latin vocare, “to call” (OED 1). Phonological aspects may also be of importance with regard to a definition of vocatives, even though they are difficult to determine, as this study’s first basis is the text rather than a particular performance. The rhyme scheme, the metre, as well as other prosodic and phonological features, such as alliteration and assonance, may help analyse intonation patterns of vocatives. To sum up, vocatives are direct attitudinal adjunct-like forms of address. Realised as a nominal group or head alone, vocatives are optional in form, they may be introduced in Shakespeare by the morphological marker O, and their position may be either initial, middle or final in the clause. The grammatical working-definition of the vocative allows for morphological, but also syntactic criteria that so far have been used mainly as arguments either for the peripheral status of the vocative in Shakespeare or for the emphasis on EModE address behaviour in general.

1.4 Methodology 1.4.1 Selection of the corpus In order to acquire a comprehensive and representative quantitative and qualitative understanding of vocative style, function, meaning, and of vocative effects in Shakespeare’s dramatic work, it is necessary to cover the Shakespearean corpus in its whole complexity. In this study, the choice of an illustrative corpus of Shakespeare’s plays is guided by generic, synchronic, diachronic, and editorial considerations as well as by criteria of content. Although many of us have embarked on a relatively clear conception of such terms as synchronic and diachronic, the key selective criteria are to some extent untenable and in need of more modest modifications, some restrictions, and critical comments. For example, the alleged genre of a specific play is not always as clear as one wishes it to be. The often used and modern term “problem play” illustrates this. It may either refer to MM, Tro. and AWW (Evans ed. 1997: 77f.). As to generic categories, Evans (ed. 1997: 77f.), for example, in The Riverside Shakespeare edition, adopts the modern category of the Shakespearean corpus when he divides Shakespeare’s plays into tragedies, comedies, histories, and romances, although this modern generic distinction is by no means based on unanimous agreement. Hence, the term “problem play” and the other modern category, that of romances, have similarities in terms of the difficulties in defining the genres. In Spevack’s (1968–80) concordances to the works of Shakespeare the division of the plays’ genres fol-

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lows the First Folio and its threefold generic distinction: comedies, histories, and tragedies.48 This categorisation of F1 will be used for this study as well. In addition, dates of composition naturally differ from the first entering of the play in the Stationer’s Register or its first performance. Until now scholars have differed widely about various dates of production of the plays (Schabert 2000: 324–574). The selection of a corpus of Shakespeare’s plays compels the analyst to be critically aware of the long editorial history a play has undergone. Without resuming the debate over “Who wrote Shakespeare?” (Michell 1996), one may argue that the true or original Shakespearean text does not exist (Evans ed. 1997: 53, and Blake 2002a), because no substantive manuscripts, either authorial or scribal, have survived.49 20 plays (Blake 2002a: 3), for example, were published individually in quarto50 format before, in 1623, the First Folio, a first collected edition of 36 plays of Shakespeare’s dramatic work, was published.51 It is beyond the scope and the analytical orientation of this study to investigate the extent to which the number or quality of vocatives differs in respective “good” quartos, “bad” quartos (provided they exist of course) or the First Folio. This opens up a completely novice area of study, for which here only additional relevant data can be provided.52 However, in this study, attempts have been made to pay tribute to these problematic aspects: firstly, by a sensitive choice of a suitable modern edition, that is one edition that shows the editor’s use of Folio and Quarto editions of the respective plays, and, secondly, by a representative selection of plays that will mirror various strands of editorial problems. The Riverside Shakespeare edition by Blakemore Evans (ed. 1974, ed. 1997) is used as a textual basis,53 because a) this is the edition used by the majority of scholars, b) it represents an acceptable path through the controversies, and c) the concordances compiled by

48. Other sub-genres such as romance, Roman plays and late/problem plays have been proposed and partly rejected (Schabert 2000: 324–574). 49. We may ask for the implications of these corruptions for the general authority of a chosen text (ex. Ham.), especially if we consider that Dover Wilson et al. (quoted in Evans ed. 1997: 57) have established five categories of manuscripts that may or not have lead to what are then called Folio and Quarto edition (Evans ed. 1997: 57). 50. There is, for example, Tit. [1593/94] (good quarto 1594, F1, some unresolved problems surrounding the date of composition and authorship). Ham. illustrates a much more complicated textual situation. There are three copies: [1600–1] (Q1, 1603, bad quarto), (Q2,1604/5, good quartos), F1 1623 (Evans uses Q2) (Evans ed. 1997: 57f.). 51. It is a collection containing 36 plays published by William Jaggard and his son Isaac in association with other booksellers and publishers and with the advice and aid of Shakespeare’s company, The King’s Men, especially Hemminges and Condell, as well as with the help of another actor, William Burbage, and, above all, Ben Jonson. 52. As mentioned, Blake (2002b) has compared the use of forms of address in the three extant copies of Ham. He illustrates that what Shakespeare might have intended in his manuscripts is not necessarily passed on to following editions. 53. The Arden, Oxford, Cambridge and other editions, such as the New Variorum of Lr. and Ant., will be consulted selectively.


Marvin Spevack (1968–80) are based on The Riverside Shakespeare (Evans ed. 1974, 1997). The following plays constitute the corpus of plays under investigation in this study.54 Comedies MND [1595–96] Q1 1600, good quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses Q1 MV [1596–97] Q1 1600, good quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses Q1 Ado [1598–99] Q1 1600, good quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses Q1 MM [1604] F1 only 1623 WT [1610–11] F1 only 1623 Tmp. [1611] F1 only 1623 Histories R3 [1592–93] Q1 1597, bad quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses F1 1H4 [1596–97] Q1 1598, good quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses Q1 H8 [1612–13] F1-only 1623

54. For further and more detailed information about the editorial problems and particularities characterising the individual plays, see The Riverside Shakespeare edition (Evans ed. 1997). The chronological list follows the dates given in Evans (ed. 1997). See also Schabert (2000) and Suerbaum (2001a, b).

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Tragedies Tit. [1593/94] Q1 1594, good quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses Q1 as the basic text except for Act 3, Scene 2 Rom. [1595/96] Q1 1597, bad quarto Q2 1599, good quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses Q2, despite final uncertainties about the authority of Q2 Ham. [1600–1] Q1 1603, bad quarto Q2 1604/5, good quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses Q2 Oth. [1604] Q1 1622, good quarto F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses F1 Lr. [1605] Q1 1608, bad quarto Q2 1608, printed 1619 Q3 1655, printed from Q2 F1 1623 Evans (ed. 1974, 1997) uses F1 Mac. [1606] F1 only 1623 Ant. [1606–07] F1 only 1623 Cym. [1609–10] F1 only 1623 The list illustrates another textual guideline established in this study. Only those plays that are part of the First Folio have been chosen, and, more importantly, the basis or starting point for this analysis is the First Folio of 1623. The fact that the entry in the Stationer’s Register, the date of performance, the publishing of Folio and Quarto editions do not necessarily condition each other, but are certainly interlinked, allows one to argue that synchronic criteria are informed by stages of production or the mentioning in the Stationer’s Register. Hence, the corpus chosen here also enables the analyst to compare early,


middle, and late plays of similar or differing genres, and, at the same time, it also includes a problem play such as MM. It is vital to mention a few general aspects of the first, and most obvious distinctive criterion of Shakespeare’s dramatic works, that of genre. The corpus arranged for this study displays a selection of plays of all genres that are considered Shakespeare’s: comedy, tragedy, history, with a major emphasis on the tragedies. Thematic reasons also govern the choice of all genres in this study. The relationship between office and human limitation is a crucial aspect that re-occurs in all genres. In addition, the contemporary persistent interest in matters historical is another factor that informs all plays (Smallwood 1997: 147f.). History books both on foreign history and translations of modern European and classical historians have poured from the presses. In addition, the huge interest in theatre and theatrical activity created an unprecedented need for a wide range of plays so that dramatists also turned to history. This coincided with the English people’s general growth in self-awareness and in national identity and with the eagerness to be informed about their past. This aspect also has a linguistic component, as certainly literature in general provided its audience and recipientship with an aesthetic satisfaction in the word itself despite the theatrical manipulation of historical events on the one hand the language on the other (Barber 1997: 42f., and Smallwood 1997: 148). Comedies were equally popular at the time when Shakespeare wrote his plays, especially the urban comedy of manners and the comedy from the classical world (Daniell 1997: 103f.). Even though general theorising on comedies remains thin at the time, schoolmasters, who followed Erasmus, believed in the didactic and moral function of comedies, so that the use of address behaviour in this genre is not only literary and linguistically interesting to investigate but also in terms of a more contextual point of view. In this context, mention should be made of the specific focus in the comedies on Italy (Daniell 1997: 103) and its effects on vocative usage. Daniell (1997: 103) points out that “Italy gave drama a greater license, and at the same time allowed Shakespeare to connect to an exotic landscape of places, people, and fresh manners.” We know that many comedies are not set in England but in Italy and 16th century Italian comedy, which is rich in social and sexual intrigue, firmly city-based, with young men falling in love with more than interest in the inherited wealth of the beloved. In addition, we find a remarkable understanding of humanity, and of deepening love and how that leads to and matures in marriage. All this is peppered with a richness of music, dance, and songs in line with a steady movement forward. Yet, comedy is also part of other Shakespearean genres. There are more specific diachronic, synchronic, thematic and editorial play-related reasons that govern the choice of this corpus of plays. To begin with the histories, the histories that are chosen are, in chronological order, R3 (1593–93), 1H4 (1596/97), and H8 (1612/13). To represent the enormous synchronic dimension by means of one genre – from Shakespeare’s early period of writing (R3), to the middle period (1H4) and the late phase (H8) – is only possible with regard to this genre. With the exception of H8, H5 is the last of Shakespeare’s history plays (written in 1599, hence in the Elizabethan reign). Up to this point, the use of history as theatrical source material has produced nine plays, which intermix fictional characters and material from the chronicles and are usually grouped into two tetralogies (with Jn. as an isolated excursion into a much earlier reign). The first

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tetralogy is 1, 2, 3 H6 (written before R3) and R3 – the York tetralogy, the second is R2, 1, 2 H4, H5 – the Lancastrian tetralogy (Smallwood 1997: 143–62). Preposterously (and also strikingly) – to use a Shakespearean adjective that continuously occurs in the histories – Shakespeare first turned to the later period of history, before he examined that period leading up to the half-century establishing the conditions from which it grew, and perhaps also seeking its causes. The corpus of three plays chosen here contains one play of each tetralogy and the much later and perhaps collaborative H8. 1, 2, 3 H6 have not been chosen on a quantitative basis, because of the difficult textual situation, as, for example, part two and part three were published in one so-called “bad quarto.” R3 deals with the dynamisms and energies of Richard, who is confident in his act and in his ability to control the audience, and the inexorable pattern of historical progression. R3 exists as a bad quarto (1597), but, is also published in F1. The structure of the play is highly organised and formal, and as such shows its indebtedness to the Senecan model – which makes it possible to compare it to Tit. and Ham. But the play also uses a great debt to the Medieval Moralities. The historical dimensions of the reign of Henry IV do not seem to be particularly promising. However, 1H4 and 2H4 were successfully performed at Shakespeare’s time and beyond, probably due to the polyphony of almost all different genres that are part of it and, almost certainly, due to the counteracting characters of Sir John Falstaff and Prince Hal. Shakespeare concentrates on Prince Hal and his development through rebellion to kingship. He partly invents the character of Sir John Falstaff (there is Sir Johan Fastolf [1377–1459]). The apparently infinite comedy of Falstaff and the restrictive framework of the historical pattern to which Hal is doomed to yield reveal a poignancy that is also visible in Ham. or Ant. Hence, the choice of this play for the analysis of vocatives is also multidimensionally motivated. In addition, it represents the Lancastrian tetralogy. H8 is not only synchronically, but also editorially different from the other two plays. It can be seen as another – though not the most exciting – turn to history at the end of Shakespeare’s career, and it is also part of the category F1-only plays. Among the array of comedies chosen for this study are MND (1596), MV (1696), Ado (1598), and MM (1604). Mention has already been made of the fact that not all scholarly works on Shakespearean drama differentiate between comedies or tragedies and romance. Here, Cym., WT, and Tmp. will be treated as a separate temporal unit of plays, but generic differences in vocative usage will only be mentioned if they exist. That means that WT and Tmp. will be generally computed among the array of comedies while Cym. will be compared with the other tragedies. The choice of comedies does not start with what are usually considered Shakespeare’s first comedies (TGV, Shr., Err.), but with the middle comedies, as these are diachronically similar to the tragedies and comedies that are part of this corpus. In addition, the selection of comedies is crucial to Shakespeare’s achievement in Romantic Comedy. In terms of content, MND describes the clashes between the ducal and fairy world, and between love and authority (Daniell 1997: 101). In the sense as imagination, mechanisms of perception, and the human propensity to dote are crucial elements, an analysis of vocative constructions of the various interrelated worlds and of the people using it, is indispensable. MV was written at the same time as MND. It is different in terms of constellation presented, but the move towards indeterminacy, already foreshadowed in MND, has here become


even more obvious. Interwoven plots and stories from folklore come to us so minimally signalled that judgement is difficult. It may be enquired whether this is a matter of multicultural and multi-ethnic perspectives, which are also inherent in Tit. and Oth. In Ado, another Mediterranean comedy, language and wit are epitomised in the conflict between friendship and love of Beatrice and Benedick. Their process of continual discovery of love, their electric awareness that they might be at the height of their friendship peppered with their most vulnerable innocence (which is also visible in Dogberry) render the play very famous in modern terms, and stylistically speaking, indispensable for the analysis of vocatives. Correspondingly, however, the interconnected plots, for example Claudio’s wooing of Hero in the most formal and socially most proper kind, the world of male friendship, and the world of love, are interconnected to the predominant interest in the witty lover. MM represents the problem play (Daniell 1997: 114). In terms of editorial questions, MND, MV, and Ado are different from MM, as they were first published individually as so-called good quartos, while MM is an F1-only play. This draws the line to the three plays that are currently often defined as romances and are part of this corpus. All three are also F1-only plays. If one wishes to resort to the category “romances,” these are represented by Cym., WT, and Tmp. Due to their dates of composition, these three plays do not show a wide range of temporal space when treated as romances. Yet, if these plays are more flexibly regarded as “pseudo-comedies,” except for Cym., they enlarge the diachronic span for the vocative analysis of comedies. In Cym., the sophisticated way by which Shakespeare mixes ancient Rome, Britain, Renaissance Italian sexual intrigue, and Stuart court propaganda with, for example, a harsh faithfulness of Imogen further opens up enormous potential for vocative analysis. In contrast to that stands WT, as moral standards and the play’s imaginative spectrum construes their own imaginative world. Tmp. represents another advanced and fresh experiment with neoclassical unities of time, place, and action. Troilus and TNK were not chosen, because they are sometimes considered a history, sometimes a tragedy, and Evans subsumes them under the heading of comedy. The tragedies that are part of this corpus range from Elizabethan to Jacobean tragedy, and can be tentatively divided into the earlier, middle, and later tragedies: Tit. (1594-94), Rom. (1595–96), Ham. (1600–1601), Oth. (1604), Lr. (1605), Mac. (1606), and Ant. (1606). According to Bradley (1992) and his attitude towards what is a real Shakespearean tragedy exclusively, the corpus of Ham., Oth., Lr., and Mac. here selected represents the right choice, as Ham., Lr., Oth., Mac. show the real suffering, calamity, the death of the dominant figure of high social standing, and a figure intensely committed to his chosen course of action. Yet, as 20th-century literary criticism freed the idea of tragedy from its classical exemplars, it is vital to add two of the Roman tragedies, Ant. and Tit., to the corpus as well. This is especially so because the historical aspect of these plays is an inescapable part of Elizabethan inheritance. In addition, connotations of the noun “tragedy” are invariably linked with Roman and Greek sources. To outline thematic contingencies that have governed the selection of plays, Rom., which was composed earlier in Shakespeare’s career, deals with love as a central theme – an emotion uniquely variable in the judgements it evokes. In varying shades and nuances, love is also central in other plays of the corpus, such as Oth., Ant., Ham., Lr., although it should be stressed that Oth. and Rom., as domestic tragedies, are, in comparison,

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probably the least political. Love constitutes a natural trigger for tragic conflict, because social norms and external environment appear an inevitable prerequisite for the intense realisation of the self, while they seem to reject the claim for love, aesthetics and poetry likewise. In terms of vocative analysis one may ask how lovers try to establish their identities in terms of vocative usage if they are steadily undercut by the rhetoric of society and numerous other series of darkening (see Chapter 4.2.6). Hunter (1997: 136) is right to argue that in the four plays, the rhetoric of society receives increasing effect, as the lovers grow older. This observation provides an enormous potential for vocative analysis, as in Rom., for example, the passionate, but socially powerless children are imprisoned in the clashes between the representations of past and present (Hunter 1997: 137). As such, the pathos and helplessness of the lovers can be understood. In Oth., however, the lovers do not seem to be more maturely married, but seem to be more socially dominant. Their tragic destiny clearly derives both from their own deliberate choices and from pressures in their environment, although, predominantly they themselves are responsible moral agents. Ant. displays two lovers who are nearly at the end of their lifetime of infinite power and infinitely indulged eroticism. Public prominence and the need to comply with public roles are ubiquitous so that the rhetoric of faith and love hovers on the mere edge of rhetoric, game playing, and superficiality. A lip service to the images of public greatness which both of them want and need is indicative of the role and construing capacities the vocative entails (Hunter 1997: 138). As the nature of the tragic limits of love seem to carry different shades and nuances, Tit. is vital to discuss from a synchronic perspective, as public responsibility is identified with Rome, while the range of ambiguities and bi-focalities is also imposed on these traditional themes: “’Roman tragedy’ is thus likely to be a story of a public duty that is tragic because it frustrates the hunger of the heart for private satisfaction” (Hunter 1997: 133). Although this definition clearly bears resemblance to what is central in Tit. or Ant., matters are more complex, as the character of Titus impressively illustrates. He is the epitome of the Republican Roman, father, warrior, magistrate, and citizen, but the exercise of social virtue must be paid at the highest individual cost. The Roman tragedies keep a strong presence of history and politics, with their de-idealising practicalities (Hunter 1997: 136), as perpetual check on the tendency of the tragic hero to reshape the world around him in the image of his own desires is continuously present. In the revenge aspect, which is crucial to Oth., and in the idea of the great man’s fall into the barbarisms of human nature, Oth. and Tit. bear resemblance. There is another aspect that should be mentioned in this respect: the use of vocatives in relation to cultural differences as most obviously exemplified in Aaron for Tit. and Othello for Oth. Hunter calls the tragedies that Bradley would define as tragedies so-called “chronological tragedies” (Hunter 1997: 136). These do not escape from history and politics, but the history they deal with is so archaic that politics tends to be replaced by ritual and history by anthropology. In this sense, Lr. is probably its strongest proponent, and hence part of the corpus as well. In Lr., the potentially political events (the division of the kingdom, the exiling of the good counsellor and loyal heir, the banishment of the old king) are dealt with in enormous universal dimensions that the political elements in them almost seem redundant. One may then ask about the extent to which vocatives construe human actions stripped of their conventional explanatory surface, or to what extent they connect causes


with results or generalise events into examples. Lear’s madness can be seen as his last effort to signal towards meaning. It is in imagination, accident, and hallucination that identity occurs. In this sense, Ham. is similar, even though, initially, it is more attached to a specific purpose. Mac. is perhaps closer to history, but the hallucinatory visions of a world polarised between good and evil render mere historical focus biased. Ham. is indispensable to an analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare, as it is placed unambiguously in a modern age. A modernist son, who is forced by a Ghost of the past, not only to cry for revenge, but also to take over the ethic of the ancient idea of revenge into his modernist thinking, which is not shared by Mac. or Lr., renders Hamlet’s poetic imagination oppressive and alien to us. Yet, another interesting base of comparison for the analysis of vocatives is linked to the aspect of revenge. While Tit., as a Senecan revenge tragedy, realises many of the concepts aligned to it, revenge is certainly crucial to Ham., but, due to its modern context, not as strong and conform to the Senecan outlook anymore.

1.4.2 Isolation of vocatives – a triadic hierarchical model of vocative analysis 1.4.2.1 General outline of the model The variables pertinent to a concise development of vocative-clusters (that add to the semantic pre-categorisation) are presented as well as a model that is used to investigate vocatives in Shakespeare. Two different, though interdependent, visualisations of how the theoretical approach has been transferred into a practical scheme of analysis will be generally outlined before the following sections describe this scheme in detail. The collected corpus is available electronically. The first scheme – Illustration 1, an EXCEL-table in which all the relevant parameters further outlined in Illustrations 2a, 2b, and 2c are lineally collected – represents the actual format by which each individual vocative in Shakespeare has been investigated and computed. Following the definition of vocatives outlined in Chapter 1.3, each play has been scrutinised for its occurrence of vocatives. Every instance of vocative item is logged separately; regardless of the number of times it appeares.55 The other visualisation (and its elaborations) – Illustration 2 – is a hierarchical model which shows that the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare is based on the interdependent parameters of metafunctions and hierarchies.

55. Plural vocatives, such as gentlemen or girls, are scrutinized – if possible – as many times as addressers seem to be present. Certainly, sometimes the presence of characters on the stage is open to speculation. In these cases, the vocative is only computed once.

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Illustration 1. Scheme of analysis

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Illustration 2. Levels of vocative analysis in Shakespeare

Chapter 1. This study 39

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Illustration 2 shows that the general primary analytical dividing line of investigation is whether vocatives are investigated “below,” “in” or “above” the clause and within Halliday’s (1994, 2004) interpersonal, textual, and experiential metafunctions.56 Most of the parameters refer to interpersonal dimensions, as those are most crucial to the meaning construal of vocatives. However, this does not mean that experiential and textual considerations are of minor importance, as the three metafunctions are always operating simultaneously and interdependently when language is used. Illustration 2 also visualises that below the clause the semantics of vocatives in Shakespeare are investigated as well as their potential within the structural realisation of the nominal group. Illustration 2a further outlines attributes of this level of analysis. When the vocative is investigated in the clause, Illustration 2 describes that six parameters have to be observed, also within the experiential, interpersonal, and textual framework. These are: the co-text of the vocative, its position, the syntactic categories and speech moves accompanying a vocative, the process types which co-occur with a vocative, its phonological markedness, and the co-occurrence of one of the varieties of the second-person personal pronoun. These parameters are explained in more detail in Illustration 2b. Above the clause, Illustration 2 pictures the parameters of “who speaks?,” the reference details of the vocatives in the play, the taxonomies of vocatives, as well as a functional category of “other-attentiveness.” These parameters will be illustrated in more detail in Illustration 2c. 1.4.2.2 Presentation of the design of the model – vocatives analysed below the clause The structural organisation of a vocative as a NG is the grammatical and co-textual starting point for the pre-classification of vocatives (Illustration 2a and Columns 8–16 in Illustration 1).57 Because Halliday does not differentiate between the three metafunctions – interpersonal, textual, and experiential – this study follows Poynton (1996) who stresses that, despite major and minor difficulties, the analysis of the epithet should differentiate between experiential and interpersonal epithets. Hence, the two Columns “interpersonal” and “experiential” in the epithet section (Columns 11 and 12 in Illustration 1). In Illustration 2a, all three metafunctions are depicted as general heads of the structural parameters. Textual criteria are observed by means of incorporating within the NG analysis all Hallidayean NG-constituents: the deictic element, the numerative, the interpersonal and experiential epithets, the classifier, the thing, and the qualifier (see also Columns 8–16 in Illustration 1). A vocative may occur as thing, that is as head, only, as in, for example, villain, but it may also be more elaborated, as the vocative in “Good king that must approve the common saw” (Lr. 2.2.159).

56. See Chapter 1.5.2.3, Chapter 2.2.2, and Chapter 3. 57. In Chapter 3.1, the potential that can be opened up when Shakespearean vocatives are analysed within the structural potential of the NG as outlined by Halliday (1994: 180f.) will be extensively illustrated.

Illustration 2a. Vocatives analysed below the clause


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One modification in favour of Early Modern particularities has to be made: the twofold occurrence of the deictic element preceding the epithet and numerative, and following the epithet (Illustration 2a). This modification relates to the fact that in Shakespearean NGs in general and in vocatives in particular, the modern English principle of ordering does not always occur; hence, the difficulties in grammatically labelling the constituents of the EModE and Shakespearean nominal group in general (see Blake 1989: 56–80). For example, in “my dear Lady Disdain” (Ado 1.1.118), it is problematic to decide if Lady is the thing and Disdain the qualifier or Disdain the thing and Lady the epithet or if both terms should be treated as compound things. Chapters 3.1 and 3.2 will deal with the consequences of each alternative, not only for the categorisation of vocatives but also for their functional interpretation. With these adjustments made, the analyst is able to compute in detail not only all the vocative constituents, but also their exact ordering. And yet, although a change in the Modern English principle of ordering is initially textual, the structural organisation also works interdependently with interpersonal and experiential considerations, especially if it is reconnected to the following observation. Solid statements about the range of semantic material that occurs on the deictic-, on the epithet-, on the numerative-, and the thingand the qualifier-position can be systematically made and interpreted in the context of the line, the paragraph, the scene, the act, character usages, or the plays. The semantic range of the thing is the starting point for the pre-categorisation of vocatives. The structure of this scheme argues against the vocatives’ alleged unwieldiness, their limited semantic range, and the therewith-related functional restriction. The filter-function of Microsoft EXCEL, for example, helps discriminate the thing of the NG. The occurring various vocative heads will be isolated in a separate file. With the help of a concordance program (see bibliography), these heads are then sorted into alphabetical order (see Appendix Lists 1 and 2, and Chapter 4.2.3). Column 0 in Illustration 1 records the number of vocatives in each play, and Column 18 in Illustration 1 computes the different clusters. And yet, the detailed semantic pre-categorisation of vocatives based on the NG is only one component of the cluster-construal. A vocative classification also has to do justice to vocatives that contain more than the thing element, such as “O thou vile king” (Ham. 4.5.117) or “my precious queen” (Ant. 1.3.73), although the thing represents the semantic core and other NG-constituents are grammatically and lexically related to the centre. Therefore, the category “semantics of vocatives” contains the labels “positive” and “negative” with the sub-information “contextually” and “formally” (which are also visible in Illustration 2a). The broadness of the labels “positive” and “negative” is intentional. Both terms discriminate the vocative as NG – that is the semantic quality of their constituents – not only against the EModE cultural, social, political, economical, and literary context, provided it is possible to construe these contexts, but also against the experience of the recipient, the meaning framework of the whole corpus of vocatives, and dictionary knowledge. The language under investigation and the therewith diachronic and synchronic changes of EModE stages should also not be underestimated. Another reason for the inclusion of the labels “positive” and “negative” can be found in the sub-categorisation of the two terms into “formally,” and “contextually.” This sub-categorisation can be best explained via recourse to an example. In R3 1.3.62, Elizabeth uses


“Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter,” attacking Richard of turning the events in a sense that suits his own dishonest purpose. Following several dictionary-definitions of brother, one can argue that the term, when used vocatively, transfers general positive connotations of respect, charm, and politeness. This general positive outlook is corroborated by the investigation of the term used in the Shakespearean vocative corpus in general. Yet, in the context mentioned above an exception is construed. In Elizabeth’s address pattern for Richard, this vocative, which is accompanied by a declarative, in terms of speech moves, impressively purports negative functional import, which cannot necessarily be discerned only in cold print of the literary dialogue. The vocative brother of Gloucester highlights the genuine variability of uptake or interpretation that attends a situated utterance because it somehow reverberates Richard’s contempt of calling Elizabeth sister (R3 1.1.109). As such, it frames the utterance into a threat that is intensified by the initial position of the vocative. At the same time, it is supposed to remind Richard of his brotherly duties. Hence, the way of labelling whether a vocative is formally and/or contextually negative and/or positive also ensures that in examples like brother of Gloucester, the scheme computes both the “conventional” or “formal” meaning of a term and the contextual use of it. In addition, the label “formal” does not refer to meaning outside any contextual environment. The labels “congruent” and “incongruent” (Columns 23 and 24 in Illustration 1; see also Illustration 2a) stand in correlation with the epithets “positive” and “negative,” but also deviate from them. Ultimately, it is impossible to define categories, as people create meaning by exchanging symbols in shared contexts. For that purpose, the study introduces the distinction between “congruent” and “incongruent” in order to differentiate between socially and contextually normative or conventional vocative use, on the one hand, and deviations from it, on the other. Hence, it is at this point where the existing studies on EModE address behaviour will be tentatively used, as they may suggest some kind of general knowledge of how address terms were congruently used outside the literary domain. Finally, the vocative corpus as such also serves as a meaning construing factor. As is the case with many other conventional term vocatives, the vocative lord consists of different varieties, such as, for example, “dear my lord” (Ant. 4.15.22) and “my lord” (R3 3.2.1). In order to account for these differences in structure and meaning, it is not only necessary to investigate how these forms dear my lord and my lord relate to all lord varieties, but also to compute the frequencies of both forms. While even the out-of-context investigation of the semantic and structural potential of the two forms is immediately suggestive of their grammatical, structural, and functional differences, the investigation of both forms in context corroborates this insight. However, scrutinising dear my lord and my lord within the corpus of lord vocatives, we are also compelled to establish quantitative data in order to be able to discuss aspects of concruent and inconcruent vocative forms. The vocative form dear my lord is incongruent (or marked). While my lord is the form that is congruently realised and occurs most often within the number of lord vocatives, namely 731 times as vocatives in this corpus, dear my lord is only used three times. Furthermore, incongruent and congruent vocative choice is also scrutinised in relation to the speaker who uses the term and the hearer who is addressed with it in instances of vocative usage other than that under investigation. For this purpose, however, the Columns that follow those of “congruent” and “incongruent” in Illustration 1, and which are called “marked

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between interactants: yes, no” (Column 25 in Illustration 1), play an important role within this framework as well. This level of analysis also correlates with a comparison of address behaviour in other acts and scenes. In order to make legible to the analyst the constituent that is responsible for determining which element/s in context is/are responsible for labelling the vocative “incongruent,” “positive, or “negative” in context, the specific constituent is highlighted. Note that the responsible element does not exclusively have to be, for example, one constituent in the vocative as NG. The vocative’s position and the speech move that accompanies it (or even the speaker who utters it) construe one or the other meanings. The label “etymology” of the vocatives as a final sub-field of the semantics of vocatives has been included in order to differentiate, for example, between Romance and Germanic vocabulary of the vocatives used (see Chapter 4.1.4). 1.4.2.3 Presentation of the design of the model – vocatives analysed in the clause The investigation of vocatives within their immediate co-text, as shown in Illustration 2b, is a necessary prerequisite for both the quantitative and the qualitative analyses. Column 7 in Illustration 1 qualitatively computes the vocative (in bold type) in its specific co-text. As visible in Illustration 2b, the other parameters that are relevant to this level of analysis are the syntactic categories that co-occur with the vocatives and their functional potential, the position of vocatives within these syntactic categories or the co-occurrence of the second-person personal pronoun. For Halliday (1994, 2004) and Eggins (1994: 226), vocatives are not relevant to the experiential metafunction, because they do not contain any ideation and do not convey experience, but only select the next speaker. Chapter 3.2 will not only refute this idea, but also show that strictly correlating to this issue is the alleged role of the vocative on the interpersonal level. Halliday (1994: 106) suggests that vocatives do not work on individual constituents in the clause, but only on the clause as a whole, as adjuncts. Hence, they are not part of the mood/residue structure, but only work on it. In Chapter 3.2, this view will be extended.58

58. For example, questions that may be systematically computed are: with which participant is the vocative correlated? What are the functional consequences if they are not correlated? In order to account for these aspects, an additional column, “co-referential” (Column 48 in Illustration 1), is introduced. Furthermore, one might assume that a vocative is usually accompanied by a verbal process type, as a number of conventional definitions of vocatives only attribute the speaker-assigning function to a vocative. Therefore, it is important to verify if this kind of assumption can be sustained or if it has to be falsified.

Illustration 2b. Vocatives analysed in the clause


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In its widest sense, Fillmore’s (1985) elaborations on framing lead us to the textual dimensions that need to be analysed within this systematic scheme. These, however, also have a huge impact on the interpersonal and the experiential. The two systems that form part of the textual grammar of the clause are those of theme and information (Martin et al. 1997: 21). The theme system can be interpreted as a configuration of the functions theme and rheme. The theme system divides the elements of the clause into a pattern of movement from a point of departure, the theme, to a message, the rheme. According to most of the systemic functional description of theme/rheme analysis, a vocative may serve as a socalled interpersonal theme if it precedes the subject (Martin et al. 1997: 22). The clause as message, which consists of theme and rheme, is crucial to the analysis of the vocative, as it enables the analyst to interpret the organisational structure of the clause as well as to investigate marked and unmarked themes (see Chapter 4.2.4) and aspects of coherence. Columns 27 and 28 in Illustration 1 record the vocative’s position in the clause as a message. In order to specify the position of the vocative further, the variables “beginning,” “middle,” and “final” are part of the scheme as well (Columns 29–31 in Illustration 1, see Illustration 2b and see also Chapter 4.2.4). In this framework, it is also possible to discuss aspects of incongruent and congruent vocative positioning. When describing the interpersonal scheme of analysis, different levels of interpersonal investigation may be observed. The direct grammatical realisations of the interpersonal metafunction, that is speech moves and how these relate to the vocative’s role, are the immediate constituents that function on the interpersonal level. The four speech moves used are undertakings, informs, requests, and questions. These are computed in Columns 38–41 in Illustration 1 and can also be seen in their hierarchical position in Illustration 2b. In addition, the grammatical categories – imperative, declarative, and interrogative – are recorded likewise (Columns 32–37 in Illustration 1), since a grammatical structure may or may not coincide with the speech function it transfers. Either way, the investigation into these phenomena purports crucial information about the interpersonal identities of speaker and hearer. Furthermore, phonological markedness and the systems of intonation and stress are only indirectly represented in written (EModE) English, as it is difficult to immediately recognise patterns of intonation and rhythm or the pitch contour of speech (Halliday 1994: 264). Independent of a grammatical clause, these construct their own domain and vary freely with that of thematic movement. In the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare, the information system will only be qualitatively taken into account in its association with thematic movement. Yet, the Column “phonologically marked – marked, unmarked” deserves mentioning (under a textual heading), as it computes vocatives that, either as nominal groups (NGs) or in the clause, show striking phonological features. The category “process types” relates to Halliday’s (1994, 2004) experiential grammar and the notion of transitivity and ergativity. There are six process types with respective participant roles: material, mental, verbal, relational, behavioural, and existential processes. Some of these will be further explained in Chapter 3.2.59 Within this framework the Columns you, thou (Columns 42 and 43) have to be mentioned. It may be crucial to investigate under what circumstances a specific vocative clus59. However, results will only be qualitatively computed.


ter coincides with one of the two forms of the personal pronouns (see Mazzon 1995, 2003, U. Busse 2002). 1.4.2.4 Presentation of the design of the model – vocatives analysed above the clause Illustration 2c describes the levels of analysis that are relevant to the investigation of vocatives above the clause. When the vocative is investigated above the clause, tenor dimensions will be computed under the following headings: speaker, addresser-addressee, addressee-addresser, tenor, as static or dynamic.60 Together with the Column “reference,” which records the act, scene, and line in which the respective vocative occurs, these can also be said to summarise contextual aspects. In order to enable the analyst to systematically compute relevant participant relationships, it is important to record the speaker and addressee of the vocative. The first four columns in Illustration 1 attempt to realise these premises. While Column 1 notes the actual act, scene, and line of vocative occurrence, Columns 2–4 register the speaker and receiver of the vocative. The columns have been divided into those computing the individual speaker alone, addresser-addressee, and addressee-addresser (see also Illustration 2c). While the former category can display the character’s vocative usage in relation to all other dramatis personae he or she is addressing, the latter columns allow the analyst to investigate the address behaviour of dramatis personae in interaction with a particular character. The variables that represent tenor dimensions are broad in nature. For example, generally speaking, Poynton’s (1996) and Eggins and Slade’s (1997: 52) ideas on the register variable of tenor, such as status relations, frequency of contact or level of familiarity, degree of affective involvement, and orientation to affiliation are naturally put to work when the data are collected, analysed, and interpreted. Therefore, the computation of the act, scene, line in which a vocative occurs also automatically incorporates information about changing role relationships. This is also the goal of the Column “tenor – static, dynamic” in Illustration 1 and Illustration 2c, since it ensures that tenor dimensions are not always considered to be part of rigid social hierarchies, but prone to continuous change. In fact, ultimately, these may differ from one utterance to the other.

60. In his analysis of you- and thou-forms in AYL and Lr., Stein (2003: 275) also argues that it is important to differentiate who receives a form of address and who actually distributes it.

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Illustration 2c. Vocatives analysed above the clause

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The category “taxonomies” in Illustration 2c mentions the vocative categories established in this study (see Column 18 in Illustration 1). These will be explained in Chapter 4.1.2. The following interpersonal clusters further specify the general variables of “positive,” “negative,” “congruent,” and “incongruent” vocative characteristics. Within the interpersonal chart of other-attentiveness – with the sub-categorisations of involvement, establishment of social relationships, attitude, degree of intimacy, and so on – respective variables will be computed (see Illustration 1 and Illustration 2c). Generally speaking, these parameters describe not only the involvement a speaker can express by means of vocative use, but also the creation of social relationships that can be achieved and hence further specified. The relevance of “marked between interactants” (Column 25 in Illustration 1) builds a bridge between immediate social relations between interactants and wider contextual information that is needed to discriminate the meaning potential of the vocative against its meaning construal in context. The variable enables the analyst to investigate that vocative which occurs in a specific context and which is highlighted or incongruent between the characters who use it. In order to draw these conclusions, the analyst is dependent upon the following criteria. Among the range of specific entities that further define the social dimension of vocatives the epithets “positive and negative politeness” (Brown and Gilman 1989), “facethreatening,” “controlling,” “ingratiating,” “attitudinal,” “humorous,” “sexual innuendo,” “irony” and “banter,” and “intertextuality” are construed (Column 48 in Illustration 2c). Further interpersonal, textual, and contextual clues are scrutinised under the heading of “reciprocity,” and “targeting” (Column 49 in Illustration 1), of which the latter aspect is based on Eggins and Slade (1997: 144). In multiparty talk, Eggins and Slade (1997: 184) are initially correct to argue that interactants make an important distinction between “targeting” and “redundant” vocative use, as a “targeting” vocative is a vocative used by a current speaker to indicate the choice of preferred next speaker in situations where other contextual clues do not make that person the most likely next speaker. The restriction of vocatives to the textual aspect of speaker selection is conventional. Yet, while the textual concept of “targeting” will be maintained for this study, as it is one of the many functional imports a vocative may or may not purport in conversation, Eggins’ and Slade’s (1997: 146) idea of “redundancy” will be refuted due to the following reasons. For them, “a redundant vocative is one used when there is already sufficient contextual information available for the nominated person to be assumed next speaker” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 145). This line of functional interpretation of vocatives is restricted to textual considerations only, neglecting the fact that, although a vocative may not be textually or grammatically required, it may nevertheless be semantically desired. The concept of “reciprocity” computes not only whether a direct term of address, that is a vocative, is mutually responded to by another direct term of address, a vocative, but also lists the character of the following vocative in terms of positive or negative. Altogether, the elements of “targeting,” “redundant,” and “reciprocal” are also at the interface between the textual and the interpersonal meanings, because recording and interpreting if for example a positive vocative, such as my precious queen, is or is not responded to or has a bearing on the description and interpretation of the interpersonal relationship between the interactants.

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The description of the newly developed scheme of analysis shows the complexity and the variety of variables that are relevant to the systematic quantitative and qualitative analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare. As such, the scheme is a practical realisation of the theoretical framework outlined in Chapter 2.

1.5 Approaches 1.5.1 Literary critical approaches The challenge to take a broader view of dramatic dialogue as social and dialogic must anticipate some kind of crossing borders between academic disciplines as diverse as linguistic, literary, historical, and cultural criticism. The approaches are hospitable both to the theoretical concept of discourse as social and interactive and to conversation as an actual practice (see Chapter 2). To begin with, this study stresses that the meanings of vocatives in Shakespeare are also construed via recourse to historical and contextual dimensions. Given the primacy of dialogic social interaction of the language used in Shakespeare’s plays, it will be argued that one dimension of the analysis and interpretation of vocatives in Shakespeare should involve the attempt to read the use of vocatives within the historical context of verbal exchange in EModE context. Normative sources about the use of forms of address in Early Modern England will be seen as one but not the only factor in order to illustrate “that Shakespeare’s prized artistry partakes of the sophisticated social creativity [...]” (Magnusson 1999: 4). New Historicism, Cultural Poetics, and other Poststructuralist Theories reject the New Critical focus on the text as an independent entity and newly correlate literature with history by means of a radical “historicising” of literature. Greenblatt emphasises, for example, that the New Historicism replaces an objective reconstruction by the negotiations between texts. Consequently, the New Historicism is compelled to deny the idea of the genius Shakespeare, and sees the individual as pre-dispositioned by collective cultural practises. Furthermore, the idea of “historicising” literature also implicies that the borders between literature and society are permeable in the sense of a “blurring of genres” (Geertz 1980: 165–197 in Müller-Oberhäuser 1998: 225). In opposing his “poetics” of culture to interpretations attentive “to formal and linguistic design” (Greenblatt 1988: 4f.), Greenblatt believes that close textual analysis is not suggestive of “the social dimension of literature’s power.” However, Magnusson (1999: 7) is correct to stress that Greenblatt is not necessarily criticising close verbal analysis as such but an ideological practice characteristic of the New Criticism and formalistic approaches: the privileging of individual artistry over collective invention (despite the basis of stylistics in New Criticism as well). The emphasis of New Historicism on the dialogic relationship between the historical context and the


literary text can be integrated in this study.61 However, knowledge of major, let alone all, literary critical studies existing on Shakespeare’s plays, either as printed texts or performance, remains an insoluble enterprise. The choice of studies consulted will correspond to the theoretical aims postulated in this study.62 This also holds true for studies from the field of the semiotics of theatre (Krieger 1998: 70).63 A broader discursive view on vocatives also incorporates questions about aesthetic factors of vocatives: how can a vocative as part of the text and the performance give pleasure? It is beyond the scope of this project to indulge in aesthetic theories and discussions about what is literature and what is not. However, it will be illustrated that the aesthetic function of the vocative plays an enormous role, especially when considered in relation to vocatives in performance.

1.5.2 Vocatives as social exchange – a typology 1.5.2.1 Linguistic Shakespeare studies, Shakespeare grammars, hypertexts, online material, and databases This study makes use of the existing studies on the language of Shakespeare, those on vocabulary (e.g. the dictionaries Schmidt and Sarazzin [(1874/75) 1962], Onions 1986) including those on specialised language (such as Partridge [(1947) 1968, Rubinstein 1984, Williams 1997), Spevack’s (1986–1980) concordances, Spevack’s thesaurus (1993), the MED (1980–2001), and the OED. As regards grammar, prescriptive traditions following Shakespeare’s death (as early as Ben Jonson who notes Shakespeare’s use of double comparatives), which criticised, highlighted, and emended Shakespeare’s mistakes will be included, but also, those works in the nineteenth century, which saw the beginning of the systematic study of Shakespeare’s grammar, such as Abbot ([1870], 1972, now online) 61. Some factors, for which new historical approaches are frequently criticised, are worth mentioning at this point. Not only the close relationship of New Historicism with Marxism or its bias towards Elizabethan economic and political factors are among the array of frequently denounced aspects, but also the risk of detaching the interpretation from the text and instead to constantly focus on the context alone (Müller-Oberhäuser 1998: 227). 62. If one is eager to resort to an ardent and elitist proponent of New Critical approaches to Shakespeare, certainly Bloom’s (1998) Shakespeare – The Invention of the Human comes to mind. He puts forward that for Shakespeare’s plays the text, as the first communicative level, is to constitute the only and ultimate focus if Shakespearean drama is to be interpreted appropriately (Bloom 1998: 8). Bloom’s outspoken promotion of the primary status of the text results from his main thesis that Shakespeare’s plays invented the human. On the one hand, one can hardly believe that Bloom’s insistence on reading the plays is devoid of an awareness of the fact that each recipient is always situated in his or her own cultural and political context. On the other hand, what Bloom’s emphasis stresses is the extent to which he, like Eco ([1990] 1998), implies that the text of a literary opus constitutes the corrective entity in its interplay with the recipient and other contextual factors. Yet, it is no question anymore whether Shakespeare is most fully realised on the page or the stage. 63. Chapter 1.4.1 mentions the problematic aspects that have to do with the Shakespearean texts and the way they have come down to us. Furthermore, it comes natural that dramatic theory and performance studies will, if need be, be the centre of attention. Notably Elam (1984), Pfister (1997a), Fielitz (1999), and Suerbaum (2001a, b) will be brought to the fore.

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and Wilhelm Franz ([1939] 1986, 1924, in its third edition as Shakespeare-Grammatik).64 Both grammars compare the English of their time with Shakespeare’s English, but Franz ([1939] 1986) includes not only systematic and full analyses of morphology and syntax, but also phonology and word-formation. The grammars that have appeared since then are slimmer volumes, but play a role here as well, such as Brook (1976), Schäfer (1973), and Scheler (1982). It is only with Blake’s (2002a) A Grammar of Shakespeare’s Language that the attempt to resume a historical study of Shakespeare’s language has been fulfilled. In addition, there is Hope’s (2003) revised and restructured edition of Abbot’s ([1870], 1972) grammar.65 Apart from the fact that this study shall also recourse to studies about the development of EModE (for example, Görlach 1994, Barber 1997, and Lass 1999) as well as on the general development of for example English syntax. Furthermore, any vocative meaning, which, for example Evans (ed. 1974, ed. 1997) as textual editor of The Riverside Shakespeare and various Arden-editors, have identified, has been included in the meaning inference process. Despite their indubitable value, it is not always easy to impose the definitions of various entries in some of those dictionaries on the Shakespearean vocabulary used in vocatives (Spevack 1985, Schäfer 1989, Lancashire 1999). Spevack (1993: X) mentions “the tendency of such lexica towards extensive and imprecise synonymy.” Like Modern English today, EModE and, hence, the language that was at Shakespeare’s disposal, was not a monolithic entity, neither synchronically nor diachronically. Varieties, for example, ranged within time, region, social group, field of discourse, and context of situation (Lipka 1992: 11f., Görlach 1994). From a diachronic point of view, we know that language is in constant change and flux. For example, the changes in meanings of EModE sir, which include the generalisation and specialisation of the term (Williams 1992: 92), the overlapping fields of reference as in queen, meaning the spouse of a king (Cotgrave 1611), but also a spelling and phonetic variant of quean (OED 1), the gain and loss of meanings as exemplified in secure, naughty, courteous – to randomly name but a few – represent logical linguistic processes of the general growth of the EModE vocabulary. To these traps must be added the difficulties of recognition and classification, and homographic snares. Also semantic shifts resulting from changes of word class or morphological structure, and coined compounds. Therefore, it is vital to include the lexicographical tradition of EModE within the process of inferring the meaning of words in Shakespeare even though most of the EModE dictionaries consist of so-called lists of hard words or are bilingual. However, they are written at the time when Shakespeare composed his plays. Lancashire (1997, 1999) has collected many of the relevant EModE dictionaries in the most important online collec64. The use of Early Modern grammars for this study is limited. Relying on Latin models, these grammars are word grammars, which deal with letters, syllables and words, hence, morphology and phonology, and, in most cases, do not mention any linguistic unit larger than the word (see, for example, Barber 1997: 80f., Görlach 1994: 2f., Watts 1995: 146f.). This observation is, however, not intended to devalue their status. Analysing the more prescriptive grammars of the 18th century is beyond the scope of this study. 65. Hope’s (2003) grammar mainly deals with verb and noun phrases and describes the different structures that may appear in Shakespeare. It also gives an account of the structures’ literary and stylistic effects.


tion of EModE dictionaries, the Early Modern English Dictionaries Database (EMEDD).66 Finally, Blake (Blake 2002a: xii) is ultimately correct to concede “it is undoubtedly true that there could be much to link studies of Shakespeare’s grammar with whatever future grammar this project produces.” 1.5.2.2 Ethnomethodology, conversation analysis, sociolinguistic approaches, pragmatics A study that emphasises language as situated in the social must turn its attention to approaches that emphasise the social nature of language, but also to those that investigate discourse and dialogue, be it on a micro- or macro-level of language. Despite Bertuccelli Papi’s (2000) scepticism of the possibility of, for example, diachronic speech act theory, generally, it should be stressed that modern theories of discourse can be applied to Shakespeare provided that EModE, contextual clues, generic features and the like are observed.67 Yet, studies of dramatic dialogue as discourse, on the one hand, are still scarce because spoken conversation has for many centuries been seen as a debased and unstable form of language (Culpeper 1998: 3), even though since as early as the late 1970s and 1980s discourse analysis, conversation analysis, and pragmatics have provided different tools to analyse the meanings of utterances in fictional dialogue. In addition, arguing that drama lacks “possibilities for emotional eloquence in conversation, since conversation operates under social constraints” (Herman 1995: 4), and, therefore, excluding it from dialogic and interactive analysis is somewhat ironic.68 66. “By combining full texts of early dictionaries written over 160 years by lexicographers with varying purpose, the EModE Dictionaries Database (EMEDD) is a reference work for English of the Renaissance period” (Lancashire 1999: 1). It offers the tools of an electronic corpus (see also Schäfer 1989). It comprises the following works: – Six bilingual dictionaries: John Palsgrave (1530; English-French), William Thomas (1550; Italian-English), Thomas Thomas (1587; Latin-English), John Florio (1598, Italian-English), John Minsheu (1599, Spanish-English), and Randle Cotgrave (1611; French-English). – Five English hard-word dictionaries: Edmund Coote (1596), Robert Cawdrey (1604, based on the transcription of Raymond Siemens; and 1617), John Bullokar (1616), and Henry Cockeram (1623). – The first full English-only dictionary by Thomas Blount (1656). – Three specialized lexicons; B. Traheron’s translation of Vigon (1543), William Turner on herbal names (1548), and John Garfield on scientific terms in J. Renou’s Dispensatory (1657). – The first full English word-list by Richard Mulcaster in his The first part of the Elementarie (1582). The EMEDD is available via the University of Toronto at 具http://www.chass.utoronto/ca典(Lancashire 1999: 3, Lancashire 1997, Catt 1997). As it is certain that electronic databases are still prone to faulty data retrieval, the book versions of the respective dictionaries have been consulted as well. 67. Rissanen (1990) and Stein (1987) also emphasise the fusion of historical linguistics and English philology. Milroy (1992) and Romaine (1982) have provided the theoretical basis for the transfer modern linguistic techniques and systems for explaining language variation and changes in the domain of historical linguistics. 68. In their study Analysing Casual Conversation, Eggins and Slade (1997: 23) argue that conversation in general has also only recently received major attention from a variety of perspectives, notably from sociology, philosophy, linguistic, and critical semiotic approaches.

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Poynton (1996: 121) points out those commonly pursued ideological factors that privilege rationality at the expense of the realm of feeling and emotion, and written at the expense of spoken language. According to Poynton (1996: 121), the ideologies that led to the dominance of the experiential function may also serve as a reason for the peripheral status of the vocative system. The vocative system has, among other purposes, clear attitudinal functions and is said to represent a characteristic feature of spoken language (or sometimes more informal language).69 Important insights into the micro-structures of conversation are provided by conversation analysis,70 a branch of ethnomethodology (Hymes 1972, Schlegloff and Sacks 1974, Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 19).71 Central to the dynamics of interaction is the concept of the turn, “which can be glossed, informally, as the enactment of a speaker’s right to speak by taking an opportunity to speak in a speech event or situation” (Herman 1998: 19). In seeing conversation as a turn-taking activity and therewith incorporating an underlying abstract structure, a system for talk regulation is proposed. This contains a) a turn-allocational component, which regulates the changeover of turns, and b) a turnconstructional component, which regulates variables like the size or length or linguistic texture of a turn (Sacks 1978, Levinson 1983: 296–303). A vocative is marginally considered part of the turn-allocational component. According to Eggins and Slade (1997: 144), for example, “[v]ocatives thus constitute attempts to control the turn-taking system, by indicating who the current speaker would prefer to see or (hear) as the next speaker.”72 The label “Interactional Sociolinguistics” summarises approaches that developed out of ideas by the anthropologist Gumperz (1982a, b) and the sociologist Goffman (1967a, b, 1974, 1981). Gumperz further elaborated on the importance of context in the production and in-

69. As the language in the dramatic works of Shakespeare has also a lot in common with the spoken language of today (Blake 2002a: xii), it is only recently that attempts have been made to work out a grammar for modern spoken English. Carter and his colleagues are developing the Cambridge and Nottingham Corpus of Discourse in English, but the results may not appear for some time yet. Eggins and Slade’s (1997) work on the language of casual conversation should also be mentioned. 70. For the drawbacks of this theory see Eggins and Slade (1997: 32). The most contested notion within this is that of context and its focus on the individual consciously choosing conversational strategies (Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 21). 71. Within this scheme, the central idea is preference. At certain points in conversation, certain types of conversational structure will be more favoured. 72. In addition, conversation analysis (CA) and discourse analysis has proliferated in providing a vast number of analyses of authentic dialogue. However, Krieger (1998: 71) argues that its applicability to drama is limited, because drama is more structured than everyday conversation. This conclusion is erroneous, since one of CA’s main findings is that even everyday conversation is a highly structured affair. In addition, Krieger (1998: 71) also considers the drama’s twofold communicative levels as a stumbling block for CA’s use for drama, since this peculiar interaction is not reflected in everyday conversation. Hence, CA can only deal with the communicative situations between the dramatis personae in the text, and not in relation to the audience.


terpretation of discourse. With regard to the social and cultural contexts, Tannen’s (1990, 1993) and Schiffrin’s (1985, 1987, 1994) applications of Gumperz’ insights need mention.73 Contributions to pragmatic approaches are high in number and many of them make important claims that are relevant to this study. In A Discourse Reader, Coupland and Jaworski (1999: 14) stress that pragmatics concerns itself with the meanings of utterances in use and context. Austin (1962), Searle (1969, 1976), Grice (1975), Levinson (1983), Leech (1983), and Mey (1994) give slightly different definitions of pragmatics, and Jacobs and Jucker’s (1995) approach to historical pragmatics represents a diachronic view on it.74 From speech act theory, Austin’s (1962) and Searle’s (1969, 1976) insight is chosen that the basic unit of conversation analysis must be functionally motivated, rather than formally defined. However, Bertuccelli Papi (2000), Coupland and Jaworski (1999) and particularly Toolan (2000) criticise the assumption that, on a rigid taxonomical basis, the illocutionary force of an utterance is directly derivable from the linguistic form. The recognition of the tension between discourse function and grammatical expression is relevant to this analysis: a vocative’s lexical and structural outline is hardly ever congruent on a one-to-one-basis with the discourse functions it construes, even though they influence one another (see also Krieger 1998: 72 and Toolan 2000).75 Grice’s (1975) language-philosophical concept of cooperation proposes “the collaborative efforts of rational participants in directing conversation towards attaining a common goal” (Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 19). He assumes a co-operative endeavour and conversants to have goals and purposes when they communicate information.76 Furthermore, conversants also often fail to observe the Cooperative Principle CCP because meaning is implied rather than expressed overtly. Grice calls this way of generating meaning an implicature (Grice 1975), either conventional implicature, which follows from the conventional meanings of words in utterances, or conversational implicatures, which result from the non-observance of one or more of the conversational maxims. Grice explains 73. Tannen’s (1990, 1993) work on conversation does not focus on the micro-sequential organisation of discourse, but much more on its overall characteristics. She provides recognition criteria for sub-cultural groups. These criteria also help one to highlight significant cultural, personal or political differences (Bakhtin 1981). The cultural dimensions that describe culture are notably gender, race, ethnicity, and social class. In her popular work on male and female conversational behaviour, Tannen (1990) impressively illustrates the extent to which gender may be related to different modes of speech behaviour. Schiffrin’s (1985a, 1987, 1994) sociolinguistic analyses are microanalyses of discourse (Schiffrin 1985a, 1987). In relation to vocatives, one might ask if a vocative in general can also serve as a discourse marker within this textual metafunction, managing information, marking boundaries, giving speaker and hearer information, signalling special sequential relatedness in talk. Here I follow Calvo (1992a, b). 74. In order to compensate for the lack of space, the definition of pragmatics pursued here will be a very broad one in the sense of Coupland and Jaworski (1999). 75. See also the outline of Halliday’s SFL (See Chapters 1.5.2.3 and 2.2.2) in which it will be argued that, in terms of speech moves, I follow Halliday (1994, 2004) and Toolan (2000). 76. Grice states this assumption, which he calls the co-operative principle, as an imperative. Participants observe a number of specific maxims: be informative, be truthful, be relevant, and be clear, but they do not rule conversation in any sense (Grice 1975, see also Levinson 1983, Yule 1996).

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how we draw inferences from conversation. This study considers Grice’s maxims of manner, quality, quantity, and relevance (Yule 1996) only as an intermediate, rather than comprehensive, means of interpreting vocatives in Shakespeare.77 In Leech’s (1983) Principles of Pragmatics, a somewhat similar modular and categorical view of conversation becomes apparent. Leech (1983: 144) also formulates conversational behaviour in terms of general principles. However, Leech (1983: 144f.) differentiates between “higher-order” and “lower-order” principles, and he sees the cooperative and the politeness principle as belonging to the former category, while irony, banter, and hyperbole are part of the latter. The view of conversation as a cooperating, autonomous activity is mostly contested when appropriating theories of linguistic politeness for the analysis of vocatives. Concepts of politeness are frequently cited hand-in-hand with Grice’s CP and Goffman’s notion of face (1967a, b, 1974, 1981). Due to the relation of politeness with Grice’s CP, the general criticism that has been elaborated on concerning CP is also valid for politeness theories. Basically, all theories of politeness (e.g. Leech 1983, Brown and Levinson 1987, Brown and Gilmann 1989, Kopytko 1993a, b) not only theoretically build upon the notion that the basic goal of conversation is to maintain social equilibrium and friendly relations to secure co-operation between interlocutors. The studies’ tools and methods of analysis, especially those by Brown and Gilman (1989), are also partly categorical, essentialist, and modular (Kopytko 1993a). Hence, Fairclough (1995: 64), to a certain extent, is echoed by Culpeper’s (1998) insightful observation about the necessity to introduce a theory of impoliteness. Culpeper (1998: 87) argues that so far particular politeness theories have tended to concentrate on how communicative strategies maintain and promote social harmony. Therefore, a theory of impoliteness should account for the fact that conflict and power struggles in interaction are equally characteristic of social life. The idea of politeness in general represents a useful “heuristic technique” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 42) that gives helpful insights into the ways in which conversants in drama achieve sociability and disharmony in face-to-face interaction and in their interactive work with the audience. And yet, studies need to succeed in showing more sensitivity to social, cultural, and dramatic co(n)texts in their analyses. Innately, politeness is also a psychological theory that cannot be tested with the speakers’ words alone, so that one needs to infer unspoken thoughts, gain and gain information of the cultural, political, and social contexts of production and reception.78

77. See Fairclough’s criticism in Chapter 1.5.2.3. 78. Any attempt to expand contextual variables runs immediately into the problem of what is the correct expansion of context. Therefore, this study refrains from focussing on specific aspects of contexts, even though it is considered laudable that studies like that by Kopytko (1993a) realise the need to broaden the contextual dimension. In the discussion of Halliday’s (1994, 2004) contextual dimension of register, this attitude will be further elaborated on.


1.5.2.3 Structural-functional approaches: M.A.K. Halliday’s systemic functional grammar and critical discourse analysis The important major linguistic and functional influence on this study and model of analysis is that of systemic functional linguistics, developed by Halliday (1972, 1992, 1994, 2004)79 – a model that sees “language as a social semiotic.” Various SFL applications have investigated authentic products of social interaction in relation to the cultural and social context in which they are negotiated. In comparison to this, the number of applications of SFL to literary texts has been less frequent, yet remarkable (for example, Halliday 1971, Toolan 1998b, 2000, Noergaard 2003). SFL’s four main theoretical claims of language being functional, semantic, semiotic, and contextual (Eggins 1994) constitute the difference in orientation and further corroborate the system’s suitability to this study.80 SFL does not have one but three sets of functional labels to describe clause structure in order to reveal how the clause is a simultaneous realisation of experiential,81 interpersonal, and textual meanings. Although we separate the three perspectives first, we bring them together again. The system of mood belongs to the interpersonal metafunction of language and is the grammatical resource for realising an interactive move in dialogue. It is built upon a semantic understanding of dialogue, because it gives us two notions of a) the role taken on by an interactant in the exchange, b) the nature of the commodity being exchanged. The interpersonal scheme of four basic speech moves that is put to work in the discourse analysis of vocatives’ immediate co-text in this study is indebted to speech act theory as well as to Halliday (1994: 69f.) and Toolan’s (1998b, 2000) expansions and modifications

79. See footnote 2, Chapter 1.1, for why reference will be made to the second edition of Halliday’s (1994, 2004) grammar and not to the third. 80. Major theoretical underpinnings of Halliday’s SFL are given in Chapter 2.2.2. 81. See Chapter 2.2.2 for a justification why emphasis is placed on the experiential.

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of Halliday’s ideas (informs, questions, requests, and undertakings).82 Halliday assigns the clause an interpersonal function structure: He identifies an overall organisation of the clause into mood and residue and moodtag.83 In his provisional, though suitable presentation of a speech move system, Toolan (2000) addresses this basic aspect from a slightly different angle. He is correct to argue that “a water-tight act taxonomy” (Toolan 2000: 177) that clearly specifies and defines the formal criteria or conditions for producing a promise or a compliment is impossible. It would run counter to the theoretical assumption made here. In addition, it would also run counter to the difficulties we have in (re-)construing EModE speech behaviour. Yet, there is also a considerable number of studies in support of the claim that “spoken discourse is marked by routines of interaction, normative patterns of discourse, pressures variously characterised as prospection, predictability, the expected, the normative schemes of dialogue and the codifying practices of individuals (whose speech and acts are partially standardised because they are not unanchored or unhinged, but very specifically socially situated)” (Toolan 2000: 178). In other words, while there is no single grammar of spoken interaction, our ways of speaking can nevertheless be related to broad contrasts of interactional and transactional choice. And this can also be tacitly assumed for Shakespeare, even though the difficulties in reconstructing EModE dialogue are enormous. However,

82. Halliday’s (1994: 69f.) and Toolan’s (2000) analysis of dialogue sets out to describe exhaustively all moves in casual talk, and to allow for variation in the degree of delicacy with which move clauses are identified. This comprehensive treatment of all speech moves stands in contrast to conversation analysis accounts and speech act theory (e.g. Austin 1962), as they only deal with certain visible types of acts. Furthermore, Halliday (1994: 69f.) links the discourse structure to both context (what is going on in the dialogic situation) and to grammar (the clause system of mood). However, “while Halliday identified the move as the unit which expressed speech functions, he did not discuss the identification of moves in any detail [...]” (Toolan 2000: 179). Therefore, in Toolan’s scheme, major attention is brought to the fact that ongoing sequential language use is mostly goal-directed, and hence functional, whereas speech act theory analysis is only conceptual. Furthermore, due to Toolan’s theoretical position, an integrational linguistic one, his scheme does not suggest itself as rigid and void of grey areas (Toolan 2000: 181). Furthermore, Toolan (2000: 185) stresses that the basis of his scheme is notional and functional, rather than formal or grammatical (Toolan 2000: 185, Aijmer 1996: 131). He is correct to point to and to question the complexities within interaction that might probably be disguised by the epithet “speech” in “speech move.” More importantly, the system amounts to a hybrid development of speech act theory and Hallidayean accounts. These major advantages also erase some of the drawbacks, such as its simplicity, and the near total neglect of other analytical approaches. 83. It is beyond the scope of this study to explore the structure of the mood and residue element in full detail. With reference to the vocative, which is marginally treated within this metafunction, this will be done in Chapter 3.


the study of speech moves and vocatives cannot be separated from the study of grammar organisation and processes of EModE and Shakespeare’s English.84 Halliday (1994: 68) stresses that when people talk to each other they exchange acts. What Halliday (1994: 68) sees as an engagement in some kind of doing, Toolan replaces first by the term “transfer” (1996a), then rightly by the term “exchange” (Toolan 2000). Halliday stresses that the exchanged phenomena can be thought of either as mental or physical. Both types are reflected by the grammar: “[i]f the enacted exchange is chiefly mental, the conversational contribution amounts to a giving of information or a seeking of information; if the exchange is chiefly physical, the contribution amounts to a giving or seeking of goods and services” (Toolan 2000: 179). Undertakings and requests concern future proposed actions by one interactant and are hence summarised under the heading proposals.85 The proposed future action is normally physical or non-verbal. Informs and questions provide or seek information and are called proposition. The information sought or given in response to a proposition is normally verbal. The crucial role of the context has been emphasised as the determining guide for the proposed speech function. However, the reference to formal and grammatical evidence can serve to undermine the contextually bound functional interpretation (Toolan 2000: 181). The experiential metafunction in Halliday (1994, 2004) recognises language as a means of talking about or representing our experience of the world in language. It is used to describe events and states and the entities involved. The system of transitivity belongs to the experiential metafunction and is the overall grammatical resource for construing goings on.86 According to Halliday, the transitive interpretation to the experiential grammar of English is not the only perspective through which experience can be construed: “the other perspective is the ergative one, in which a happening is conceived of as involving a process and some central entity” (Martin et al. 1997: 111). While, from a transitive perspective, we are interested in whether the action carries over to affect an additional participant or not, the ergative perspective focuses on who or what brought the happening about. Halliday (1994, 2004) and Eggins (1994) exclude the vocatives from the experiential metafunction, 84. Following the emergence of speech act theory and pragmatics generally, a number of discourse analysts and stylisticians have investigated dialogue in plays and novels. Attempting to identify and apply a reliable taxonomy of speech acts, few scholars have only recently characterised particular dialogues and genres of multiparty talk or have hinted at the difficulties and advantages of developing a systematic or discourse-grammatical analysis of a flow of literary talk. Among these are Burton (1980), Herman (1995), Bennison (1998), Leech (1992), Short (1989, 1996, 1998), Culpeper et al. (1998), Tannen (1990), Toolan (1992, 1996, 1998a,b, 2000), and Eggins and Slade (1997). The origins of the scarcity of studies, the theoretical divergences, the mismatches between concepts and analytical tools are manifold. Strictly related to this aspect is the discussion about the grammatical structure of a clause versus its illocutionary force. The relationship is evident, although philosophers, in contrast to linguists, have not been greatly concerned with grammatical relations. 85. For the respective patterns that will, for example, distinguish a request from an inform, see Toolan (2000: 181f.). 86. Due to reasons of space, it is impossible to explain the different process types in their whole complexity. For a full outline of them, the reader may consult Halliday (1994), Eggins (1994), Thompson (1996), and Martin et al. (1997). See also Chapter 2.2.2.

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because the vocative cannot function as a participant within the clause – probably because of its role as an adjunct in the interpersonal metafunction.87 The textual metafunction and the functional realisation of theme and rheme enable the speaker to indicate how various parts of the message relate to others. Halliday’s (1994: 21) definition of theme describes the theme as the element that “serves at the point of departure,” the starting point for the message. The identification of the theme is based on order, as the theme is the element that comes first in the clause. The remaining part of the clause constitutes the rheme, where the clause moves after the departure.88 Fairclough (1989, 1995) and Fowler’s (1996) elaborations within Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) are invariably connected with Halliday’s grammar. They take a critical perspective to language, “investigating verbal interaction with an eye to their determination by, and their effects on, social structures” (Fairclough 1995: 48). Fairclough’s (1995) criticism of cooperative conversational behaviour that is ultimately oriented towards the maintenance of social equilibrium is also rightly launched against approaches as diverse as conversation analysis, Coulthard’s (1996) discourse analysis or pragmatics. Next to the critical aspects that have been mentioned above, Fairclough (1995: 48f.) argues that they all perpetuate the view of conversation as the speech events of conscious, independent social actors, co-operatively achieving social goals through homogeneous interactions. Fairclough’s (1995) political oriented point of view “offers a means of exposing or deconstructing the social practices which constitute ‘social structure’ and what we might call the conventional meaning structures of social life” (Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 6). Therefore, he focuses on Halliday’s SFL. Fairclough’s (1995) approach should not be underestimated in the attempt to construe vocative meaning in Shakespeare. Aspects of power and ideology and a concern about social inequality, the perpetuation of power relationships, either between individuals and social groups, are essential to a functional orientation towards vocatives (Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 34). As such, this also includes an interest in vocative practice that produces apparent objectivity, normality, and faculty. CDA’s critical language awareness considers naturalisation and denaturalisation as dynamic processes, which imply a continuing struggle over social arrangements and acts of imposition and resistance. Within this framework, the orientation to social change is pursued in two different senses. First is the understanding of social changes in the ideological use of language, and second are the attempts to resist social changes held to curtail liberty. It cannot be denied that human beings are social creatures. Certainly, many theories deny that most interactants participate in micro-encounters while being completely unaware of their ideological macro-structural implications. Successful ideologies naturalise themselves, effectively making awareness of the social determinations of our actions virtually impossible. This study shall argue for critical goals in discourse analysis and investigate if there are ideologies of vocatives in particular plays, whose underlying ideological role can be naturalised. Yet, this study shall also not underestimate a sense of individuality when analysing vocatives in Shakespeare. Furthermore, the texts that are being dealt with 87. This aspect will be critically discussed in detail in Chapter 3.2. 88. The role of the vocative, which is restricted to that of interpersonal theme only, will be further elaborated on in Chapter 3.2 and Chapter 4.2.4.


are indubitably afflicted with the phenomenon of literature, fiction, and aesthetics. While, on the one hand, the texts represent constructed dialogue, on the other, dynamic factors of context and recipient are indicative of the meanings of vocatives as well.89 To conclude, the outline of approaches relevant to this study illustrates that in order to account for the theoretical claim that language is always situated in the social, the perspectives that are drawn on range from sociological over literary, philosophical, and linguistic to critical semiotic approaches, with a main emphasis on Halliday’s SFL.

1.6 Significance of forms of address for Early Modern English and Early Modern England Analyses of forms of address in Shakespeare’s plays or in other EModE text genres90 contain elaborate description of the highly rank-conscious social demography at Shakespeare’s time, of socio-cultural and historical developments, and of what Laurence Stone has called “the century of social mobility” between 1540 and 1640, in which “English society experienced a seismic upheaval of unprecedented magnitude” (Stone 1966: 19). It is often argued that there is a strong interdependence between Elizabethan social demography, between the changes it undergoes at the time when Shakespeare composes his plays and the way this finds linguistic expression in the use of nominal forms of address and the second-person personal pronouns you, ye, and thou and their morphological variants.91 Due to the abundance of studies and material that is available on Early Modern England’s social structure,92 a description of Early Modern social demography will not be repeated in this study in all detail. In addition, also only slightly more emphasis will be

89. Attention will occasionally be turned to the work of the Birmingham School, characterised as a structuralist-functionalist approach to conversation for insight into the structure of conversational exchange. Initially attempting to provide a destructive model of discourse organisation, the Birmingham School, established through the work of Sinclair (1982) and Coulthard (1996) now relates the description of conversational structure to that of other units, levels and structures of language. As such, it also connects micro- and macro-functional aspects, by trying to offer functional interpretations of discourse structure as the expression of the social and cultural context, a technique that has not been proposed by CA. In his application of the system to some excerpts from Shakespeare’s Oth., Coulthard (1996) has illustrated that his theory is valuable for the analysis of dramatic dialogue and is therefore crucial to the analysis of vocatives as well. 90. See Böhm (1936), Replogle (1973), Laslett (1971), Barber (1981), Breuer (1983), Stoll (1989), Brown and Gilman (1989), Nevalainen (1992), Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg (1995), Blake (2002a), and U. Busse (2002). 91. See, for example, Breuer (1983). 92. For detailed information the reader is referred to Böhm (1936), Stone (1966), Laslett (1971), Replogle (1973), Barber (1981), Breuer (1983), Whigham (1984), Stoll (1989), Brown and Gilman (1989), Wrightson (1991), Williams (1992), Nevalainen (1992), Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg (1995), Blake (2002a), and U. Busse (2002).

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placed on some of the EModE normative sources that seem to prescribe the use of those address forms. The linguistic and social developments of the use of the second-person personal pronouns and the conventions on how to use them, depicted in normative sources, such as courtesy books and other critical accounts, explicitly, almost topically reflect how language is meant to be governed to become a linguistic expression of class. These sources show many of the same important changes that occur for the use of titles realised as nominals. For example, the higher ranks fear the homus novi and try to establish fixed rules of how to address people of different ranks. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, English personal pronoun usage93 appears to have been much more complex than in medieval England because you, as a fairly consistent formal singular, exists clearly only in the courtly literature of the fourteenth century (Wales 1983: 109). Brown and Gilman (1960) explain the complex use of you and thou by means of a correspondence between the power and solidarity semantic. But Wales (1983: 109) stresses that by the end of the fourteenth century thou is already used not necessarily implying social condescension but also emotions and intimacy, and by 1600 the thou of power is in the process of being abandoned. Thou is used to address social inferiors, though the difference in rank by Shakespeare’s time has to be great enough to invoke an acceptable downward thou (Barber 1997: 176). You, and not ye, turns out to be the most often used form. Franz ([1939] 1986: 257) as well as Görlach (1994: 69) give phonetic reasons for the gradual disappearance of ye (see also Strang 1970: 140, Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg 1996: 312). This disappearance has to be considered within the context of the general disappearance of the case contrast between subject and object forms of nouns in general. Nevertheless, it has been agreed upon that the diffusion of you into the subjective case at the expense of ye did not fully take place

93. For the historical-linguistic development of you and thou see also Barber (1976: 208), Finkenstaedt (1963: 92), Wales (1983: 108), Jespersen (1972: 22), Mühlhäusler and Harré (1990: 152), Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg (1996), or U. Busse (2002).


until the sixteenth century. Ye continued to be employed in archaic usage (Strang 1970: 149, Barber 1976: 204, OED (2.), Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg 1996: 312).94 EModE forms of address serve as another public signal and thus a possible device of control over social decorum. Due to the Elizabethan social structure and the developments between 1540 and 1640, it is easy to understand that Elizabethan English is extremely rich in terms of address. This notion is further intensified by the abandonment of the tight system of pronominal use (Hook 1984: 184) described above. Elizabethans are establishing a preference for a system of forms of address which is characterised by its open-endedness (Leith 1997: 70). Replogle (1973: 102) points at the social dimensions of address forms which go beyond that of social class, “[there is] abundant evidence about the exactness of Elizabethans in their use of titles and forms of address to strangers, friends, and even members of their families, in private as well as in public life.” Forms of address are, of course, thought to be determined by both the specific rank of the person and his or her position relative to the person with whom s/he is dealing, but also by his/her political position. Fulwood’s advice that whenever superiors are addressed the most honorific of the appropriate forms should be used together with an honorific adjective or two is of course normative and carries topos-like qualities: if we speak or write of or to our superiors, we must do it with all honour, humilitie & reverence using to their personages superlative and comparative terms: as most high, most mighty, right honorable, most redouted, most loyall, most worthy, most renowned, altogether according to the qualitie of their personages. And it is to be noted that of superlative, comparative, positive or diminutive termes, we must use but three at once at the most (Fulwood in Replogle [1973: 102]).

94. Brown and Gilman (1960) suggest that it was the towns and cities that eroded the traditional power-coded use of thou, especially among the status-conscious groups in the occupational hierarchies of the city of London (Leith 1984: 69). Due to possibilities of moving up the social scale, a middle-class awareness emerged. You forms spread down the social scale when the lower classes consciously or unconsciously imitate the habits of their superiors. Wales (1983: 119) presumes that this new middle-class strongly promoted the use of thou, and she suggests that the fashion of you may have been made popular especially by the women of this class. Due to the sanctuary laws on dress, it was more difficult for the upper class to acknowledge the distinction of rank or status. So the you-form was then generalised as well and the extension of you was motivated not by an egalitarian sentiment, as Partridge ([1947] 1968: 25) proposes, but by insecurity of status among a rising, and eventually dominant social class. Furthermore, Blake (1996) and others have shown that in the drama of the sixteenth century ridiculous characters spoke in dialects which normally consisted of thou forms. Numerous episodes involving the insulting sense of thou appears in drama and in historical anecdotes (Williams 1992: 91). An example is the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh in 1603, where the prosecutor seeks to insult Raleigh with, “I thou thee thou traitor!” (quoted in Finkenstaedt 1963: 148). Thou therefore partly remains the reciprocal pronoun of the lower classes. The non-reciprocal thou/you-pattern does not die out completely. By 1600, it seems that in certain kinds of interaction a new kind of pronominal distinction emerged: marked versus unmarked rather than power versus solidarity. In a wide range of contexts, thou had become the marked form. Thou turns out to be a special status form associated with heightened emotions, indicating either intimacy, familiarity, passion or reverence, and it turns out to be a marker of religious and political nonconformity.

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The same holds true for an advice that relates to the address of person of noble status. The speaker is asked to repeat certain titles of his honour or worship, but when addressing an equal, the speaker may select a more shortened version: “we must speak with a certain familiar reverence, using positive and comparative termes, and very few superlatives, as wise, sage, honorable, worshipfull, dicrete, renowned” (Fulwood quoted in Replogle [1973: 103]). Salutations vary in length and elaboration from a simple sir or Christian name to lengthy forms. It is felt that “salutation is the first point of curtesie” (Fulwood quoted in Replogle [1973: 103]) so that developed forms and etiquette concerning their use are learned in childhood and known by virtually all. The noble titles are lord and lady, those of the upper gentry sir and dame. Titles for the lower gentry are master and mistress. A person who lives like a gentleman should be called “Master [,] for this is the title that men give to esquires and other gentlemen and shall be taken for a gentleman” (Smith 1565 quoted in Williams 1992: 84). Yeomen are to be called differently: “[Yeoman] be not called master for that […] pertaineth to gentlemen only: But to their surnames, men adde goodman” (Smith [1565], quoted in Williams 1992: 84). The better citizens would be entitled to a Master or Mister whilst artificers were called by their bare name. Lady is originally used with reference to the lesser nobility of Tudor and Stuart England (Nevalainen 1992: 319). Wives of esquires or plain gentlemen have the title mistress. Hence, we can see that these sources emphasise the role of context, but only in terms of social parameters. The changes in Elizabethan social structure also have an effect on the use of titles and forms of address. In fact, the first instance of sustained condemnation of any specific point of English usage concern not word choice, pronunciation, or grammar but how Elizabethans use titles of address (Williams 1992: 85). Those who see God’s plan in the traditional social order, consider inappropriate greeting as threatening as inappropriate dress. Some critics claim that social upstarts not only dress above their station but expect to be addressed above it as well (Williams 1992: 85). As a consequence, titles in EModE are generalised partly due to reasons of courtesy and prestige and partly by increased social mobility (Barber 1976: 151f.). According to Nevalainen (1992: 319), “the most thoroughgoing changes affected the status names of ‘lady’ and ‘gentleman’ and the titles of ‘master’ and ‘mistress’. ” Well before the end of the sixteenth century master has generalised not only to the better artificers but to those below them (Nevalainen 1992: 321). Sir, a title of respect once reserved for gentlemen, has generalised as well by the end of the sixteenth century (Breuer 1983: 57): “[i]f thou be ignorant of the titles or dignities of each estate, know that Lords are honorable, knights and chiefe gentlemen, worshipfull; and use to any man which seemeth to be of any account this title, Sir” (quoted after Williams 1992: 85, my emphasis). Similarly the status name Lady is also spreading to the lower ranks (Barber 1976: 152). Shakespeare’s linguistic environment, especially with regard to nominal and pronominal forms of address, may be described as status-marked in Ervin-Tripp’s (1972) sense. She compares status-marked situations in American English to “settings such as the courtroom, the large faculty meeting, where status is clearly specified, speech style is rigidly prescribed, and the form of address of each person is derived from his social identity […]” (ErvinTripp 1972: 227). Yet, the topoi that are transferred in the normative sources (and courtesy literature) do not necessarily reflect the real and fine social nuances of address terms.


The development just described has lead to the fact that Early Modern society and its changes are often used as an explanation model for the use of what is often called titles of respect and titles of courtesy in Shakespeare (Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989). This study does not deny the relevance of these socio-historical and socio-linguistic parameters, but a few critical comments must be made. Ultimately, it is context alone that establishes meaning and, in turn, it is language in general and vocatives in particular that create complex social meanings, even though general rules and conventionalised behaviour may nevertheless be established. It is therefore questionable whether specific functions of forms of address can be immediately presupposed and whether it is useful to consider politeness as the primary and initial trigger95 for the choice of forms of address. In his investigation of the co-occurrence of nominal and pronominal forms of address, U. Busse (2002), following Nevala (2003) and Mazzon (1995), also presupposes Brown and Gilman’s (1989) power and solidarity paradigm and hence verifies on an impressive empirical basis that the politeness potential of the address form triggers the use of the you-pronoun, while as “at the far end of positive politeness, the terms of endearment [exist] as the most ‘thouful’ ones” (U. Busse 2002: 183). Even though he also stresses that there is an important number of contradicting examples and that context is important, there is always an overlap and a clash in meanings, social factors, attitudes and feelings that are transferred, and this is also possible within the range of nominal forms of address, especially if we consider the generalisation of titles (Williams 1992: 92), or the different positions of vocatives. Hence, a micro-linguistic analysis needs to be fused with and stands in a dialectical relationship with the corpus observations, the contexts of the line, act, play, genre, contexts of the play, the historical context, and the context of reception at large. Ultimately, these factors are the most important ones.

95. Leech (1983) also describes politeness as a first order principle, see Brown and Gilman (1989) and Kopytko (1993a).

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chapter 2

Theoretical framework: Shakespeare’s language as social semiotic

2.1 Preliminaries As one key strategy, this project’s theoretical post-modern approach places its accent on language as being dialogic, contextual, interactive, and social, and moves away from purely formalist (and de-contextualised) approaches to language in Shakespeare. Mainly drawing on Buber, Halliday, Bakhtin, Eco, and Bourdieu’s social semiotic approach to language and social structure as well as on British stylistics, the theory of foregrounding, and cognitive theories of inference, this study will argue that the functions of vocatives and their style are neither fully inherent in the text nor in the recipient’s mind, but are unmechanistically construed in the interaction between text and recipient (Weber 1996b: 3), on the one hand, and theoretical underpinnings and corresponding methodologies, on the other, and various contexts, such as the socio-historical, cultural, intertextual or the immediate context, and also the contexts of production and reception and the like.1

2.2 “Language does not correspond. It construes.”2 Shakespeare’s language as interactive, social, and contextual 2.2.1 Preliminaries Common ground between views on language expressed by critics at first glance as diverse as Buber ([1962] 1994), Halliday (1971, 1992, 1994, 1998, 1999, 2004), Bakhtin (1981), and Eco (1983, 1994 a, b, c, [1962] 1996, [1990] 1992, [1990] 1998), will be seen as a basis 1. Here the term “context” needs to be differentiated from “co-text” (Allan 2001: 20–23). Context will be understood as the wider concept of field, mode, and tenor in Halliday’s sense (context of situation) (Halliday 1994, 2004, Eggins 1994: 49f.), but also context of culture or genre (Halliday 1994, 2004 and Eggins 1994: 25). It implies also the wider linguistic context (Allan 2001: 20). For further elaborations, see Martin (1992), Poynton (1985, 1996), Eggins and Slade (1997), and Allan (2001: 20). Verdonk (2002) differentiates between linguistic and non-linguistic context. Co-text is the immediate linguistic surrounding (Lipka 1992: 24) or, in Allan’s words, “the text that precedes and succeeds a given language expression” (Allan 2001: 23). If reference is made to “co(n)text” the immediate and wider linguistic contexts are included as well as the various non-linguistic contexts that may play a role in the meaning inference process. 2.

Halliday ([1992] 2001: 185).

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for the dialogic and socio-semiotic approach to language in Shakespeare in general and the functional quality of vocatives in particular. They share an emphasis on the social usage of language. Halliday’s model appears to be particularly suitable for this study due to its emphasis on paradigmatic relations, semantics, pragmatics and context. Similarly, to use Threadgold’s phrase (1986: 107), it “seems especially important to situate [...] Bakhtin’s work within the framework of current linguistics and semiotic theory [...].” Eco’s comments on language as literature and the aesthetic in his works3 constitute indispensable theoretical statements about (literary) language and about the process of interpretation. Furthermore, in contrast to, for example, Foucault, whose theories represent an enormously productive concept for socio-historical reading, Bakhtin’s (1981), Eco’s ([1962] 1996, [1990] 1998), and Halliday’s (1971, [1990] 1992, 1994, 1998) emphases are more linguistically oriented. All three deal with language (and aesthetics) in general, as well as with the actual words exchanged between speakers. Foucault’s (1970) comments on power and knowledge will be taken up in Chapter 4.1.7.

2.2.2 M. A. K. Halliday’s systemic functional grammar Halliday’s (1994, 2004) systemic functional grammar (SFL)4 provides both a systemic functional theory of language and a corresponding grammar. It connects the gap between linguistics, literary criticism and sociological theories. As a contextual rather than abstract theory focussing on competence, it sees language as purposeful and meaningful behaviour. SFL pursues the principles of meaning-construction in context. The symbolic relationship between language and social structure works consistently as a three-level coding system, with language being built upon the following factors: semantics, lexico-grammar, and phonology. Hence, on the highest level, the semantic system realises the social semiotic, discourse semantics, and the three of Halliday’s (1994, 2004) metafunctions, which are then projected onto the lexico-grammar and the phonology of language. In its investigation of how meaning is constructed, SFL especially emphasises the paradigmatic relations of language. Halliday (1994: xvii, following Saussure) sees language as a semiotic system. There exists an arbitrary and conventional relationship between the word and the world. The concept of choice – the fact that we can differentiate a word from another word and establish its meaning by means of paradigmatic oppositions – is crucial. Each choice of linguistic means acquires its meanings only against the background of other choices and thus simultaneously contributes to the message as a whole. In other words, language has various specific realisations in the grammar which each speaker has at his or her disposal. A change in wording reflects a change in meaning. Each choice is meaningful and hence “stylistic” (Leech and Short 1981: 36); we always interpret choices against the paradigm of what could have been said.

3. For example, there are Opera Aperta ([1962] 1996 transl. by G. Memmert), and Lector in Fabula ([1990] 1998 transl. by H. G. Held), I limiti dell’ interpretazione ([1990] 1995 transl. by G. Memmert). 4.

See footnote 2, Chapter 1.1, on Halliday’s editions.

Chapter 2. Theorectical framework: Shakespeare’s language as social semiotic

In Tit., for example, in which the two rival brothers, Saturninus and Bassianus, take up confrontational positions in order to recommend themselves as heirs to their father’s throne, Saturninus uses the following address patterns: “Noble patricians, patrons of my right, / Defend the justice of my cause with arms; / And countrymen, my loving followers, / Plead my successive title with your swords” (Tit. 1.1.1–4). Bassianus addresses his audience with different vocatives: “Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right, / If ever Bassianus, Caesar’s son, / were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome / Keep then this passage to the Capitol” (Tit. 1.1.9–12). It is important to stress, however, that Halliday deviates from Saussure when he explains a level of language higher than words and abstract concepts: the level of lexicogrammar of language where wordings display lexical and grammatical features. Halliday ([1992] 2001: 185) argues for a non-arbitrariness of the relation between wording and meaning in his claim that “language does not correspond, it construes.”5 This linguistic constructivism6 implies the idea that grammar, in the sense of lexico-grammar, shapes human experience, transforms our perceptions into meanings, and enacts our cultural being. The ultimate expression of linguistic constructivism – something commonly known as the Sapir-Whorf-hypothesis7 – leads Jameson (1972) to call language a “prison-house” and, more specifically, causes Halliday ([1992] 2001: 185f.) to criticise the English language system for creating, among other things, sexism, growthism, and classism. Jung ([1996] 2001: 278f.) is right to cast doubt on the manipulative power of all language. However, texts impose patterns on the world and give versions of reality. Halliday’s claim stresses the force of any language not only to create reality, but also to construe and mirror relationships, power structures, and ideologies. Context not only governs the choice of language in a particular situation, but, at the same time, is in turn shaped by the use of language. In the example from Tit., the chronology of targets and the number as well as form of the vocatives create different meanings. Saturninus refers to the patricians (to the senate as their representative institution), the principle of primogeniture and his father’s honour and implicitly omits the tribunes before he addresses the whole of Rome. Bassianus’s address is asymmetrical to this, as he initiates his speech with vocatives directed at addressees in his favour rather than at the proponents of Rome’s highest social rank: the whole of Rome and the virtues of justice, freedom, and restraint. Due to the fact that language is one semiotic mode among various others that construes reality, a more problematic and ideologically highly relevant complex emerges: Shakespeare’s vocatives are not only a part of reality, shapers of reality, and metaphors for reality but they may, due to their structural realisation as a nominal group,8 also serve as means of not only creating experience and identity but also destructing both. Othello’s 5. See footnote 1, Chapter 1.1. There are other semiotic modes, e.g. the visual, to represent and create reality. 6.

One of the important “tensional arch[es]” (Fill 2002: 16) relevant to ecolinguistics.

7. The claim is that a language, its grammatical structure and its lexis, set up a series of categories. Therefore, a language categorises experience for the speaker. The Sapir-Whorf-hypothesis is also known as the doctrine of cultural relativism (Malmkjaer 1995: 306). 8.

See Chapter 3.

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arrival in Cyprus and the vocatives Othello and Desdemona exchange then are different from Othello’s address pattern for Desdemona at the end of the play, when he is convinced of her adultery. In the welcome-scene they address one another with “O my fair warrior!” for Desdemona – one of the most emotional vocatives in the play – and “My dear Othello!” (Oth. 2.1.182f.) for Othello. Even though, for Othello, love is obviously war – to use Lakoff and Johnson’s (1980: 9) phrasing – beginning from Act 3 onwards, Othello resorts to non-committal and reserved, to say the least, lady vocatives alone.9 Note that both their vocatives are uttered in the presence of others. The level of emotionality is therefore foregrounded. To consider the entire system of possible choices and see and understand them when one investigates a text or, more specifically, a vocative in Shakespeare also includes SFL’s pervasive interest in the functional aspect of these choices. The forms of address from Oth. quoted above do not only concern the expression of interpersonal relations and degrees of politeness between the interlocutors. How we use language in communication and context, that is the functional communication between sender and recipient often more generally referred to as the pragmatic dimension, is crucial to Halliday’s model. For Shakespeare’s use of vocatives, this is relevant to two communicative levels of drama – printed text and performance. Therefore, another of the powerful aspects of Halliday’s (1994, 2004) approach is that language is seen as a semantic resource for making meanings; not just one meaning at a time, but several strands of meaning simultaneously. Halliday (1994, 2004) develops an integrated, systematic, and comprehensive model of language, which, theoretically and practically, enables conversational patterns to be identified in linguistic units of all sizes and to different degrees of detail and level. This broad and complex concept of semantics operates by a generalised grouping of meaning types, which systemic functional linguists label as metafunctions of language: the experiential,10 the interpersonal and the textual. Halliday argues that in every utterance (Martin, Matthiessen and Painter 1997: 1–20) we use language to represent experience – experiential meanings – to get things done or to interact and to establish relations between interlocutors – interpersonal meanings – as well as to organise our messages and texts – textual meanings. Each kind of meaning is realised by a different grammatical system: the systems of transitivity, mood, and theme.11 Noergaard (2003: 14) succinctly summarises how a text makes the three kinds of meanings: In short, the analysis of the Transitivity structures of a text makes clear who is doing what to whom, where, when, why, and with what. The analysis of Mood structures 9. See Chapter 5.2.3 for a detailed interpretation of Othello’s and Desdemona’s address behaviour. 10. In Halliday’s (1994, 2004) model, the experiential function together with the logical metafunction, which describes logical relations between e.g. clause complexes or nominal groups, represent two sub-categories of the ideational metafunction. In practice, these subcategorical metafunctions are often treated separately. This study follows Eggins (1994) and mostly focuses on the experiential, the interpersonal, and the textual metafunction. Logical relations will be mentioned when relevant. 11. Halliday’s (1994: 53–54, 85, 95, 2004) treatment of vocatives in general is not that extensive. See Chapter 3 for a critical discussion and modifications of Halliday’s (1994: 90) view on vocatives.


tells us what the speaker uses language to do in relation to other interlocutors. And the analysis of Theme structures throws light on the way information has been organised in the text and reveals the various foci of the speaker.

This functional diversity of the utterance as representation, interaction, and message and as goal-oriented social activity symbolises the character of human interaction in society. For Halliday (1978: 191), the relationship is metaphorical, as “language becomes a metaphor of reality, so by the same process reality becomes a metaphor of language.” At the same time, Halliday describes the simultaneous realisation of the three metafunctions as a polyphony and therewith comes back to Eco’s concept of the “openness of the semiotic process” (Eco [1962] 1996). According to Threadgold (1986: 112), “the elements of the semantic system are differentiated so as to reflect the social function of the utterance as representation, interaction, and message.” The semantic complexity of experiential, textual, and interpersonal meanings is characteristic because language is a semiotic system. A simultaneous network of options, mapped onto one another in the course of their lexicogrammatical realisation, embodies all these types of meanings. Since language construes (meanings), Halliday’s (1992, 1994, 1998, 2004) position also implies a contextual and social view on language and does not see sentences in isolation. As a consequence, this analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare defies a neat limitation of interpretative parameters to the rigidly social. The parameters of power and solidarity cannot explain, for example, Falstaff ’s “God save thy grace – Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none” (1H4 1.2.16–18) as a cynical and serious attack on how Hal gained power. Nor do they provide sufficient material to illuminate Cleopatra’s “Courteous lord, one word” (Ant. 1.3.86) as a highly marked conventional term that, in context, is more allusive of her rhetorical strategies towards Antony rather than of a sincere declaration of subservience on her side. Halliday’s model of the structure of language also encodes the contexts of the situations in which we use language. The concepts of the larger contexts of culture, ideology and genre, and the contexts of the immediate social situation, labelled register, form the theoretical base of these contextual explorations. The analysis of the more immediate social context through the concept of register comes natural to Halliday’s language thesis and is indisputable for an analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare. The three variables of field (activity or topic focus), mode (extent and type of possible feedback), and tenor (alluding to roles and relationship between roles) “are proposed to describe the major dimensions of any situations which have systematically predictable linguistic consequences” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 51). The three register variables are realised through different grammatical patterns in the respective metafunction. The experiential metafunction realises the field of a situation. The interpersonal metafunction is realised through the tenor, and mode is realised through the textual metafunction. Poynton (1985) has rightly suggested that the aspect of tenor can be further divided into affective involvement, and frequency of contact and power between the interactants (Eggins 1994: 64f.). Register and ideology are all socio-cultural factors, which need to be transferred to the EModE context. Eggins and Martin (1997: 22) define genre as a “theory of the unfolding structure texts work through to achieve their social purposes.” They claim that genres are enacted in texts and that texts have different purposes in the culture which they

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present. We can recognise the stages of a text as having particular functions because of the patterning of language in each stage. Sinclair’s (1982: 70f.) ideas about planes of discourse and his differentiation between intra- and inter-levels of communication and context in drama are generated in this enumeration. In conclusion, using SFL and Halliday’s theoretical assumptions as a model for the analysis of Shakespeare’s vocatives is reasoned by its centrality of pragmatics, semantics, context, and paradigmatic relations. Furthermore, this model makes possible a firm investigation of vocatives that is text-based. It allows a contextual approach to text, considering the text in its entire complexity, and does not feature the sentence as the governing unit. This focus, therefore, does not only suggest an investigation of vocatives within the scene, act, and in relation to the dramatis personae, but also within the corpus of Shakespeare’s dramatic works. In a coherent and systematic way, we may be able to broaden the approach to vocatives in Shakespeare and to substantiate grammatically, semantically, functionally, pragmatically, and contextually what is often – if at all – only felt intuitively. In this respect, reality has to be seen as always determined by contexts, by the interpreter, and by the writer or historian (Berger and Luckmann 2000: 1–3, 24, 63f., and 124f.). As such, a meticulous reconstruction of reality is impossible. On the contrary, as analysts we are only able to (re-)construe/construct meanings and a historical reality, as Spiegel argues: (1990) since the historical text is not given but must be constructed, the historian of the text is a writer in his or her function of constituting the historical narrative, but a reader of the already materially extant text (Spiegel 1990: 75).

However, Noergaard (2003: 16) is right to argue that “many systemic functional analyses seem surprisingly unconcerned with possible problems involved in the application of the model for the purpose of literary analysis.”12 For vocatives, it must be asked whether the application of SFL to literary analysis and vocatives needs to be enhanced by other models, and whether it must take into account that literary artefacts communicate between author and recipient and that this communication may also create interpersonal, experiential, and textual meanings. Especially, with regard to the performative level of drama, this so far neglected extension of SFL’s point of view is indisputable. In addition, the reaction of the recipient is important. This holds true for a literary artefact that is 400 years old and that has been heavily influenced by textual transmission, even though, admittedly, the risk of uncontextual or “modern” reactions to an older phase of the English language always exists. Therefore, concepts of defamiliarisation or foregrouding, as outlined in Chapter 2.4.2, always need to be levelled against various norms.

12. There are numerous and highly fruitful applications of SFL to literary texts (e.g. Noergaard 2003). In addition, the use of SFL in other fields, such as semiotics, design, visual art, and others has shown its potential for interdisciplinarity. See, for example, Kress and van Leeuwen (1996), Halliday and Martin (1993), and Hasan ([1985] 1989).


2.2.3 M. Bakhtin’s dialogism Bakhtin’s view on dialogism can explain the sociality of his concept, which, in turn, can be transferred to the analysis of drama. His view is based on the idea that all language is caught up in the “internal dialogism of the world” (Dentith 1995: 12), in the I-You relationship that constitutes our interaction and turns our interaction into a social phenomenon. Understanding discourse as inherently social means that an utterance can only have meanings when discourse is considered within its communicative situation. This point of view includes not only the immediate situation each individual is constantly part of, but certainly also notions as diverse as historical, institutional, and relational contexts, and the contexts of the recipient etc. (Bakhtin 1981: 280f.). Bakhtin’s (1981: 275f.) postulate of the social situatedness and dialogism of every utterance, which also anticipates the theoretical and methodological basis of pragmatic theories, offers space for a critical or ideological point of view, which pragmatic theories often lack. Certainly, dialogic has the most common meaning of the term: it describes verbal exchange – the analysis of language in use (often referred to as discourse analysis). Primarily, however, the gist of Bakhtin’s (1981: 282) view on dialogic comprises a broader concept and global layers of discourse. Therefore, the idea of dialogism surpasses the face-to-face interaction and comprises all forms of communication. It “links to an epistemology that grapples with the interconnections between mind, language, culture, and history” (Herman 1995: 2) and argues for relatedness and for a necessary multiplicity in human perception. The striking feature of this concept is that for Bakhtin there are two ways in which the word is oriented towards “alien words” (Bakhtin 1981: 282). One is that discourse is always oriented towards the already uttered word: the word is shaped in dialogic interaction with an alien word that is already in the object (Bakhtin 1981: 273f.). The other way of how language is oriented towards alien words is that words are also anticipatory and directed at the listener: “[t]he word in living conversation is directly, blatantly oriented toward a future answer-word: it provokes an answer, anticipates it and structures itself in the answer-direction” (Bakhtin 1981: 280). These two ideas constitute the pillars of Bakhtin’s notion of dialogism. Discourse always encounters other discourses: “[t]he style is at least two persons” (Bakhtin 1981: 280), as language is social because it is dialogic. The idea that words are situated not only in their contexts, and cannot be seen as pure inventions of the individual’s genius or creativity, implies that the word comes to its user already marked by its history (Dentith 1995: 37), so that the speaker becomes a language user who quotes what has already been uttered: “words are somebody else’s words – discourse is invariably quotation and hence appropriation – and such an encounter of the word with others’ words is an integral part of what makes discourse social” (Magnusson 1999: 9). Certainly, Shakespeare’s language abounds in intertextual references to, for example, the Bible or EModE, classical, historical, or other sources. However, if also the expected response guides the structure, semantics, and discourse function of words, phrases, clauses, and utterances, it is necessary for the forward-looking perspective of vocatives usage as influenced by various contexts to be highlighted. It is possible at this stage to question if actual conversation can always be seen as exchange (see Toolan 2000), because,

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despite Grice’s concept of co-operation (Grice 1975), reciprocity and mutual exchange are rather ideal views when one deals with verbal interaction. For Bakhtin (1981), dialogue is a mode of speech exchange among participants, “speech in relation to another’s speech and not merely the verbal expression of one character or actor’s part” (Herman 1995: 1). Without the involvement of at least two persons, the I- and the You-dialogue that form the We cannot take place. Therefore, similar to the ultimate focus of integrational linguists (Toolan 1996) on context in the meaning-inference process, it is justified to anticipate from Bakhtin’s work major emphasis on contexts and their construing as well as mirroring potential. Titus’ first vocative in Tit. is abstract, because it addresses Rome as a concept (Tit. 1.1.69). He then proceeds with another abstract or highly metaphysical vocative when he addresses Jupiter as “Thou great defender of this Capitol” (Tit. 1.1.77). Only then does he refer to the people around him. Titus’ address pattern is especially meaningful and foregrounded when it is seen in dialogue with the address formulae that Bassianus and Saturninus use. Titus’ vocatives create him as honour-obsessed as well as deeply loyal and faithful to the city and court of Rome and to Rome’s social order. Bakhtin (1981: 276) stresses the social quality of language that manifests itself in ideologies and systems of belief. He talks about the social languages that form and create language users who are socially marked in the language they use. His dynamic account of language sometimes sees it pulled in opposite directions. Therefore, language is stratified and plural (Magnusson 1999: 9f.). According to Bakhtin, no language is neutral and the world can only be alluded to by means of a socially marked language. Bakhtin develops the idea of different speech genres. Since language also fulfils many functions, a text can be voiced in many different ways and realised in various modes of expression. For Bakhtin(1981: 282), every discourse is multi-voiced and heteroglossic. These dynamic discourses define verbal behaviour appropriate to particular situations and relations (Magnusson 1999: 154) and are conventionalised by the society that uses it. Voices can then also be seen as discourses – positions, ideologies, and stances that speakers and listeners take in particular situations.13 Bakhtin thereby points out that particular social groups, particular generations, are characterised by special speech genres. Furthermore, there are certain patterns of language that are socially sanctioned, for example, complimenting, or greeting. Therefore, “the utterance not only answers the requirements of its own language as an individualised embodiment of a speech act, but it answers the requirements of heteroglossia as well” (Dentith 1995: 36). However, next to the conforming tendencies within social language production, Bakhtin (1981: 277) also emphasises constant change in language and aspects of creativity. These are especially prevalent when one investigates the contradictions that exist between the various elements of heteroglossia. If the world is always oriented towards encounters with other discourses, one is “to imagine a multi-languaged world, a plenitude of colliding and overlapping discourses” (Magnusson 1999: 23). These discourses can be associated with a huge range of human actions specific to any time and place. Discourses are therefore always migratory, hybridizing, shape-shifting, and continuously changing. 13. These ideas will be further elaborated on below.


2.2.4 U. Eco’s Opera Aperta Eco, who “writes within a general theory of semiotics, which he calls a philosophy” (Threadgold 1986: 108), places major emphasis on the nature of codes and sign-processes, both linguistic and non-linguistic. Due to his background in European structuralist thinking and linguistics, Eco sees culture as a construct of systems of signification, and language as a system of signs that both encodes and transmits culture (Threadgold 1986: 109f.). The dialogic notion of language and culture and their mutual dependence becomes obvious in Eco’s idea that language is in constant interaction with other systems. It is also evident in his emphasis on the relationship between systems (codes) and processes (communication, dialogue, interaction). While Halliday (1994, 2004) and Eco (1983, 1994 a, b, c) share this functional orientation of semiotic systems in general and of language in particular, Eco broadly deals with culture, and less with the social system, the upper level of semiosis. Yet, language nevertheless performs the role of an interpreter of the social system, which, in turn, embraces social structure, culture, and language. Therefore, although Eco does not emphasise the specifically verbal realisation as much as Halliday (1992, 1994, 1998, 2004), the notion of choice, the fact that every aspect of culture may become a semantic unit, is prevalent in both. Each element of language is a semantic choice construed in a particular functional context, which also becomes the context selection for the next choice in meaning. Communication gives rise to changes in the semantic system. Eco describes change less in social terms than in terms of the nature of the sign-function and the transience of relation between the sign-functions. For Halliday, the direct link between the semantic system and the material culture is less important than trying to understand change with reference to changing patterns of social interaction. Therefore, Halliday’s system network starts from context and works towards expression. As a linguist, he is concerned to show how semantic units are actually realised in the expression continuum through lexicogrammar and phonological structures, and how the context creates these structures and is reflected in them. Eco is concerned with what the text communicates in terms of the meaning made pertinent by the culture (Eco [1990] 1992: 51f.). The production and interpretation of text has a general semiotic orientation, “elaborating a typology of production of sign-functions which will emphasise the transient and processural nature of the relationship between content and expression” (Threadgold 1986: 131). Therefore, to a certain extent, the two theories are complementary or dialogic to one another, or as Threadgold (1986: 131) puts it, they “inform one another.” In his theoretical accounts of the methods of interpretation, Eco (1967, 1994d, [1990] 1992) emphasises the need for placing the text in its dialectical relationship with its contexts and with the recipient – a theory that can also be transferred to the interpretation process of dramatic works.14 For Eco, interpretation and meaning inference, as part of the process of interpretation, realises a deconstruction and construction of the text (and different worlds). While interpretation always takes place between the interpretational triangle of intentio operis, intentio lectoris, and intentio auctoris (Eco [1990] 1992: 49f.), Eco’s 14. Systemic-functional linguists often neglect to include the recipient within an explanation of experiential, textual and interpersonal meanings in texts.

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concept of text interpretation succinctly uncovers a conclusive strategy that primarily is to evoke a model-recipient (Eco [1990] 1992: 143f.), even though post-modern theories of literature no longer consider the author’s intention, because the author, while writing, loses his/her status as an empirical person as he/she advances to the text or is in the text. At the same time, Eco does not subscribe to the overemphasis of the recipient. Intentio operis consciously includes the model-recipient or “ideal recipient.” In order to understand this dialectical relationship between text and recipient, we have to refer to Eco’s statements about the literary opus as “opera aperta” – the open piece of art. On the one hand, the recipient may refer to his or her frames of knowledge in the meaning inference process. These frames comprise linguistic subcodes15 or expectations deriving from knowledge of, for example, conventional performance types. Cultural knowledge also includes general textual competence, conventions of address, conceptional organisation of the world, encyclopaedic knowledge, aesthetic principles16 (Allan 2001: Chapter 2). Furthermore, general ethical standards,17 behavioural codes, socio-economic order, political principles, psychological and psychoanalytic decoding principles, knowledge of historical events, and notions regarding period, character (Elam 1980: 57–62) also flow into the interpretation process. The direct co(n)texts constitute the meaning-determining factor. This is followed by the knowledge of the communicative situation (situational context and its factors, tenor dimensions). Furthermore, the episodic knowledge of the interpreter plays an important role as well (knowledge of action prior to the communicative situation) as does his world-knowledge. For Heringer (1984 a, b), the different levels of knowledge are built up hierarchically, while the knowledge of co(n)text constitutes the most immediate, the most certain, and the most important source to deduce meaning. The meaning of vocative constituents in Shakespeare is hence inferred from the co-text, the line, the sentence, the scene, the act, the play, and the whole Shakespeare corpus. However, Eco’s conclusion of the dialectical relationship between the text and the recipient is important, as he stresses that the text, as a corrective, limits the multiplicity of possible interpretations. In that sense, it will be illustrated that clues from the text in Ant. defy a limitation of Antony’s vocative “I’ll leave you, lady” (Ant. 1.3. 85) to negative politeness (Brown and Levinson 1987). Eco is correct to refute Derrida’s idea of the eternal deconstruction of the text. In that sense, postmodernists’ legitimised ultimate pluralism, whose most radical use carries the possibility of destroying modern literary and linguistic theory, is thus valued as an uncomfortable consequence. Instead, he advises the recipient to use formal reasoning that is based on Popper’s theory of falsification (Müller-Oberhäuser 1998: 220). The openness of the text and the creation of meaning through the recipient is also limited by the text and the language used. Closeness and openness of the 15. These are, for example, syntactic, semantic, phonological, pragmatic, rhetoric, paralinguistic, dialectical, and ideolectal. 16. These may, for example, be conventions regarding signal-information, preferences regarding performance structures, acting, mode, expectations concerning kinds of dramatic information and their ordering 17. Also ethical norms on the performer-recipient relationships and judgement of character should be included.


interpretation thus depend upon one another and constitute a constant conglomerate of production and change (Eco’s network and overinterpretation). This moderate application of ways of interpretation, which is based on hermeneutics and on ancient gnostic thinking, productively realises the model-recipient.18 Eco’s (Nöth 2000: 430) system of the aesthetic code may also help understand the plurality of meanings, although Eco explicitly applies his system to modern literature. For Eco, the aesthetic code, which is based on his findings about the code as a system of rules produced by a culture, is a product of a dialectical relationship of the existing cultural conventions with the innovative messages produced by the author-model (or discursive practises).19

2.3 Vocatives in Shakespeare as a natural bridge from I to You 2.3.1 Identity and character Given the fact that language is seen as a resource for creating interpersonal, experiential, and textual meanings, the process of characterisation, notions of character, identity and habitus are immediately apparent. They also result from a focus on the dynamics of interaction, a communicative view of context20 and from the specific discourse structure of drama. Short (1989: 149) stresses that: […] the important thing to notice is the general embedded nature of drama, because features which, for example, mark social relations between two people at the character level become messages about the character at the level of discourse which pertains between author and reader/audience.

The construction of identity and character is both an aspect of meaning construction and a communicative process,21 which includes speaker and hearer, the context of utterance (physical, social, linguistic) and the meaning potential of an utterance (Thomas 1995: 22). Even though it is possible to attribute particular significance to the words or actions of a character because they have been selected for particular reasons, the concept of character is terminologically problematic because it may mean the people who inhabit a fictional world 18. “Sein geheimer Code [der des Werkes] besteht in seinem verborgenen Willen [...] jenen Leser hervorzubringen, der die Freiheit hat, alle Interpretationen zu wagen, nach denen ihm der Sinn steht, aber gezwungen ist nachzugeben, wenn der Text seine lustvoll-riskantesten Interpretationen nicht bestätigt” (Eco [1990] 1992: 51, transl. G. Memmert). Bate’s (1997: 52f.) statements in his Shakespeare biography about the performative aspects of Shakespeare’s plays and language correlate with Eco’s general observations. 19. Eco differentiates a code from a system. Each code has two correlating systems of paradigmatic character: the system of content structure and that of expression structure (Nöth 2000: 430). 20. Including EModE norms and schemata. 21. See Culpeper (2001: 23) for the extent to which a communicative and contextual approach to language and identity construction has been neglected, for example, in language-attitude research or sociolinguistics.

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and the features and qualities that emerge to form a person’s personality (Culpeper 2001: 2). For that reason, Culpeper (2001: 3) is right to use the term “characteristics” for the qualities of a person. An approach to character and character formation that combines both the textual and the cognitive structures and inferential mechanisms is particularly helpful.22 It cannot be denied that we interpret character with the structures and processes which we use to interpret our real life. However, one should not assume the “humanising view” that the characteristics of real people are inferred in exactly the same way as those of literary texts (Culpeper 2001: 17). And yet, the life experience and past knowledge, that is “top-down” or “conceptually-driven” processes (Culpeper 2001: 28), play an important role. The inference of character in fictional texts is also a cognitive affair, as the recipient recourses to possible cognitive sources of information – external stimuli and prior knowledge – prototypes (Rosch et al. 1976), schemata (Bartlett [1932] 1995), or social categories to make inferences.23 Simpson (1998: 41) goes as far as to say that drama dialogue can only be accessed though its relationship to the social context outside the play-text […] the norms, values, and modes of conduct which regulate how ‘real’ people organise their linguistic behaviour form the basis for interpreting the speech and actions of the fictional characters in the world of a play.

At the same time, character is also inherent in the text; the “dehumanising approach” (Culpeper 2001: 7f.) to character denies that characters are human as they have only a purely textual existence. Especially within structural approaches, the emphasis is on the text-base to capture character within specific propositions of which the most commonly known is probably the distinction between flat and round characters.24 Van Peer (1989: 9) convincingly argues for the role of the text in the creation of character and also stresses the necessity for a detailed analysis of linguistic forms: Character, it can hardly be denied, is what readers infer from words, sentences, paragraphs and textual composition depicting, describing or suggesting actions, thoughts, utterances or feelings of a protagonist. Thus the linguistic organisation of a text will predetermine to a certain degree the kind of ‘picture’ one may compose of a protago-

22. Culpeper (2001: 34) develops a dynamic model that combines both cognitive and textual parameters relevant to characterisation in order to show how it might work. I have no space here to elaborate on it in detail. 23. See Chapter 2.5, for a description of relevant theories that focus on the cognitive dimensions of meaning inference. For example, the concept of character in fictional texts also includes knowledge about the genre, which includes a set of associated dramatic roles and fictional character types or their dramatic roles (Culpeper 2001: 87), such as whether a character is a hero or not, in which genre he or she occurs, etc. “The notion of ‘dramatic role,’ as espoused in the work of Propp ([1928] 1968), Greimas (1966) and Frey (1957), does not concern the individuality of a character, but the universal roles that underlie narratives and plays” (Culpeper 2001: 87). 24. There are others. Barthes ([1970] 1975) captures character by lists of features or traits and semes. This system has been used also by Fowler (1986: 33–38, Pfister 1997a: 166–170). Propp ([1928] 1968) uses the concept of character roles. Frey (1957: 171f.) stresses the pragmatic function.


nist. Therefore, the particular forms by which this is achieved need to be studied in detail.

As character-creation and depiction is both a text-internal, text-external and cognitive affair, it is necessary to draw on Martin Buber’s ([1962] 1994) concept of the IYou relation, outlined in Das Dialogische Prinzip, because it appears appropriate to stress the inherently discursive and social character of both drama and the vocative in Shakespeare. It provides a discursive view on identity and how it is created, although Buber’s ([1962] 1994) emphasis on dialogism is theologically rooted and has been mainly transferred to sociological and pedagogical ideas of inter-culturalism.25 The basic situation of drama,26 that is the inherently anthropological constitution, is realised through the experience of the personal, lived and living social construction, and the creation of relationships. Buber focuses on multiplicity, contextuality and dialogism because he views that the creation of identity and face can only succeed in interaction, and, hence, in communication with others. Language helps shape one’s subjectivity, and face “always lies on the borderline between oneself and the other” (Magnusson 1999: 184).27 Buber

25. See, for example, Graf (1987). There are other valuable theories that emphasise the functional quality of language, for example, Bühler’s ([1934] 1999) Organonmodel and Roman Jakobson’s (1960) account of the six functions of language. Yet, although, as Weber (1996b: 2) correctly claims, Jakobson’s model marks the beginning of scholarly work on the interface between language and literature, in his structuralist distinction between literary and non-literary texts “Jakobson and his followers [...] exclude the recipient from consideration and set out to study the intricate patterning of literary texts” (Weber 1996:2). As regards Bühler’s ([1934] 1999: 28f.) model, Leech (1983: 57) is correct to argue that the Organonmodel of Ausdruck and Appell can be integrated with Halliday’s (1994, 2004) interpersonal function. Furthermore, it is crucial to the functional qualities of vocatives on the performance level (see Chapter 6). 26. Hermann (1995: 3) sees dialogue as an essential device for, for example, negotiating social identities or a fictional world rather than as a reflector of the non-fictional world. The fabricated activities need to be made real by a recipientship as credible activity within the dramatic world, which includes values, social norms, and modes of conduct: “[s]uch a ground of commonality links playwright, actor, director, audience, recipient, in a common effort at meaning, since what we encounter in plays is interpreted action, not action in the raw” (Herman 1995: 6). For further discussions on the extent to which dramatic dialogue interacts with conventions of everyday interaction, see Herman (1995), Toolan (2000), or Short (1998). 27. This is also true of Goffman’s (1967a, b, 1974) ideas about face. Despite major drawbacks of Brown and Levinson’s (1989) interpretation that linguistic works mainly mitigate and counteract modes of aggression – conversation is hardly ever inherently cooperative and/or economic – the two aspects of face, emphasised in their model of positive and negative politeness, remain a workable tool. Positive face relates to the “want to be approved by others, and negative face relates to the “want […] that [one’s] actions be unimpeded by others” (Brown and Gilman 1989: 161).

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says: “Der Mensch wird am Du zum Ich” (Buber [1962] 1994: 32).28 Comparable to Bakhtin’s ([1981] 2000: 276) insistence on the quotation and anticipation of words (Magnusson 1999: 184), Buber also stresses that the speaking subject is formed out of this unceasing play of dialogue and that any semiotic unit has to be seen in relation with its context and other semiotic systems: Wie die Melodie nicht aus Tönen sich zusammensetzt, der Vers nicht aus Wörtern und die Bildsäule nicht aus Linien, man muß daran zerren und reißen, bis man die Einheit zur Vielheit zubereitet hat, so der Mensch zu dem ich Du sage (Buber ([1962] 1994: 12).29

The vocative in Shakespeare is one of the central interpersonal bridges from I to You and vice versa. As a dynamic and process-like key concept of the dialogical, the vocative is interactive30 on the discourse level of character in general, on the level of how characters convey messages to one another and on the level of the playwright who conveys a message to the recipient. Hence, the vocative in Hamlet’s “Frailty, thy name is woman!” (Ham.1.2.146) also establishes an interpersonal relationship between the actor and the recipient. As such, it becomes immediately obvious that the vocative in Shakespeare makes relationships, interaction, and the sociological category of alter ego real and can be seen as one of the central key terms and concepts of the dialogical principle. Therefore, the vocative can also be seen as a mechanism for point-of-view-manipulation. It authenticates, substantiates and realises the present in drama in a similar way as the narrative first-person present does for narrative fiction. The self, who is largely constituted by what is mirrored in the response of the other, “must negotiate a difficult tension between its own acts of assertion and its need for the recognition of the other” (Magnusson 1999: 143). In E3, the exchange of vocatives between King Edward and the Countess of Salisbury literally construes the I-You relationship. Even though the play is not part of the corpus under discussion, the vocative usage in E3 can be used as illustrative material for the inherently dialogical quality of vocatives. Shapiro (2003: 35), for example, resorts to the use of forms of address in E3 and the Countess scenes as “a puzzling anomaly in the text of this play that editors and commentators have failed to notice,” and suggests that an analysis of the address patterns may answer authorship questions. At their first encounter, Edward is the Countess’ liberator from the Scots. Therefore, she pays him homage. However, as soon as she is sure of his moral failure in his longing for her and is herself ready to die for her moral standards, she initiates her didactic play and construal of Edward’s real I and You. The vocatives “great king” (E3 2.2.168) and 28. “Through the I, the You is created” (my translation). Buber therewith corroborates Halliday ([1992] 2001: 187) and Bakhtin’s (1981: 275) claims about the social restrictions of each individual in general and holds that each everyday encounter is a social and face- or identity-creating affair. 29. English paraphrasing: “A melody does not consist of tunes alone, a verse not of words, and a statue not of lines; one has to tear and to pull them until unity and diversity interact: that is the character of a human being whom I address as You” (my translation). 30. Elsewhere (B. Busse 2006), I also argue for the ecological character of Shakespeare’s vocatives, which results from its interactive function.


“lascivious king” (E3 2.2.178) immediately contrast with one another and prepare for her vocatival climax in the plain, though highly experientially, textually and interpersonally loaded “Edward” (E3 2.2.187). This vocative illustrates not only the importance of the personal name in the Shakespearean Corpus,31 but also illustrates the Countess’ unmodified, demanding, yet also highly natural and non-conformist vocative, which transfers the imperative into a threat and also construes one part of what Kantorowitz (1957: 28) has described as the king’s two bodies – the body politic and the body natural, which need to be in perfect union. With the Countess’ appeal to both the king’s fleshly lust and his social role as a human being who shares moral standards, she shows that she values her nature, her womanhood, her moral standards and her chastity over Edward’s role as king. She also illustrates that Edward’s two bodies are in disruption. As such, the performative and aesthetic effects of this vocative stand in correlation with the Countess’ threat to murder herself and her demand that Edward kill himself because it is highly informative on the theatricality and electrifying unmasking of Edward. The social nature and micro-analytical framework of this study is also inherent in the theoretical framework of sociological theories and their concept of identity. Especially the theory of symbolic interactionism (Helle 2000: 666) elaborates on the view that in the term identity, the self and the other are interlinked. Mead32 (1934) assumes that identity33 and self are created because human beings define and construe reality. Therefore, identity and self relate the individual and society with one another.34 Sensual experience, consciousness, and the self are created through interaction. These also refer back and re-affect a human being and the self. Therefore, the identity between self and I is the cause and effect of social interaction, it is its consequence and its product (Bevers 2000: 276).35 Mead (Bevers 2000: 276) differentiates between two components of the self: a social/cultural self, the me, and the spontaneous, active self, the I. The social self incorporates social roles and the expectations others have of an individual. The social self is created in interaction. In order to comply with these social roles, taking the role of the other is determining. The active self, the I, which preconditions an identification with and an internalisation of the social self, enables individuals to internalise roles actively. Goffman (1959) describes identity as “the subjective sense of his own situation and his own continuity and character that an individual comes to obtain as a result of his various social experiences.” He also differentiates between social and personal identity. While 31. It has been generally agreed upon that Act 2 in E3 is Shakespeare’s (Melchiori ed. 1998: 36–39). 32. Mead can be seen as one of the founders of symbolic interactionism in his criticism of behaviourism and naturalism. See Helle (2000) for the development of symbolic interactionism. 33. According to Bevers (2000: 276), the most elementary sociological definition of identity is that all possible answers to the question “who am I?” constitute identity. 34. According to Helle (2000: 668), Mead assumes that the object we conceive always is the sum of all its actions. 35. Interestingly, Cooley (Bevers 2000. 276) introduces the idea of the looking-glass and argues that an individual takes his or her conception of his or her own self from the conception that others have of him.

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personal identity relates to the uniqueness of all individuals and their ways of actions that are related to their biographies in the past and today, social identity comprises the roles and expectations which an individual finds in interaction. Both sides of identity confront the individual with expectations: to be oneself and to comply with social roles (Bevers 2000: 277). In what Goffman calls the “role-play” of everyday life – here Goffman uses the metaphor of the stage in order to illustrate the many tactics and techniques of interaction – personal and social identities are constantly contested. Due to the fact that identity is often conceived of as role, the self and social structure (and the total range of institutionalised and organised roles) are set in relation to one another. Note that Shapiro’s (2003: 35) observation of the address patterns in E3, which he describes as a “puzzling anomaly,” presupposes social structure, alleged normative frameworks of power and impropriety for an evaluation of the Countess’ address pattern as deviant. Studies on language and real people further echo the view of the interactive relationship between I and You and its implied concepts of character and identity that may be transferred to Shakespearean drama. Three different areas that add to the theoretical background are language attitude research, the investigation of identity in sociolinguistics, and a social constructivist approach which accords well with Halliday’s SFL. All of these approaches are interdisciplinary in character.36 For reasons of space, only sociolinguistic and constructivist approaches will be briefly outlined here. In sociolinguistics, one research question would be to identify which characters in Shakespeare use what kind of address pattern for themselves and for others and why they do so. The ethnomethodological approach to identity also looks for linguistic patterns in natural language data and investigates which identifications a specifically chosen feature seems to carry (Antaki and Widdicombe 1998: 2).37 In E3, the vocative switching of the Countess forces the analyst not only to evaluate the vocatives other than king and liege, but also to interpret them in the manner suggested above. The connection of gender with identity and language usage has been approached not only in terms of variation38 and speech style,39 but also in terms of social construction. 36. Even though pragmatic studies offer a framework to describe people’s relationships, there is no theoretical contribution about people’s identities and characteristics in communication. Politeness theory (Leech 1983, Brown and Levinson 1987) overlooks the addressee, and Brown and Levinson’s (1987) idea of a model person is too schematic at times. However, it should be said that it acknowledges the goal-directedness of all language. 37. Antaki and Widdicombe (1998) and their collection of papers evolving around the field of ethnomethodology and identity are seen as state-of-the-art. 38. See, for example, Trudgill (1983) or Labov (1990, 1994) who, focussing on a single linguistic feature, claim that, for example, women, regardless of their social background, use more standard forms of language than men, and that women are generally innovators of linguistic change. Hence, women rely on the symbolic status of language. Another reason is their role in transmitting speech to children. 39. Robyn Lakoff ’s (1975) Language and Women’s Place caused many further studies on women and their speech style. She includes linguistic features, such as hedges, tag-questions, exaggerated politeness, and empty adjectives in her discussions. However, she has been highly criticised for not grounding her results on quantitative data and them being coloured by stereotypes.


Studies of this approach are more contextual, functional. They have a social view on language and see SFL, critical discourse analysis as well as ethnomethodology, especially conversation analysis, as its methodological base.40 Hence, on the basis of a detailed analysis and a vast amount of data, it is important to identify the forms of vocatives that a fictional character uses and to interpret the social group, stereotype or identity he or she identifies himself or herself with by the use of these patterns. In addition, it is also necessary to understand that specific power structures and ideologies underlie and are reflected and construed by these discourse structures and that these guide and determine the recipient’s view of the identity of a character. Culpeper (2001: 19) is right to mention van Leeuwen’s (1995, 1996) research on language users as social actors next to Fairclough’s work (1995),41 because van Leeuwen (1996: 32) presupposes that there are linguistic choices which create people and which enable them to refer to them as social actors. He also argues that a set of sociological categories, the primary representational distinction of which concerns inclusion and exclusion, are realised linguistically by means of nominal groups, transitivity choices. Even though van Leeuwen (1996) does not include spoken interaction among his sources of investigation, the distinction between inclusion and exclusion is especially helpful to the description and creation of character because it discloses ideologies and power structures that underlie relationships. One could, for example, argue that in E3, the Countess first includes Edward in the alleged royal norms of address patterns and identity construction, and then excludes him from her personal schemata, which she values as more important.

2.3.2 Habitus Bourdieu’s theory of action42 questions the existence of individual motivation and intention of the actor (Bourdieu 1998: 167f.).43 He argues that the base of actions is socially acquired dispositions, within which the concepts of field, capital, and habitus are interlinked. Field is a partly autonomous social room in which the actors constantly contest their positions. Their social positions are determined by the capital and the power structures that are at their disposal (Bourdieu 1998: 10f.). Economic, social, symbolic, and cultural capitals are the main forms of capital. While economic capital comprises material and economic goods, cultural capital includes the durable disposition of the organism, the capital of an objectified state and that of an institutionalised state (Schwingel 1993: 78-80). Social capital can be described as consisting of the social relations of an individual and their potential and 40. See, for example, Sunderland’s (2000) study of parenthood discourses. 41. Fairclough (1995) will be also be referred to in Chapter 4.1.7. 42. Theories of actions have been dealt with in various disciplines, especially in the fields of philosophy, sociology and psychology. Only during the last years, has some attempt been made to approach this complex area from an interdisciplinary perspective. For example, Max Weber (1985: 9) sees action as a sociological concept which describes the behaviour of a human being that is based on individual intention and motivation. Habermas (1995) sees action as communication. 43. It is beyond the scope of this study to describe the traditions that have influenced Bourdieu. See Graßnick (2004).

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real resources. Symbolic capital is prestige and social recognition. All forms of capital may be interchanged and accumulated through each of the other (Bourdieu 2001: 311). Vocatives in Shakespeare can be situated in the social field (due to their address to both dramatis personae and the recipient) and in the political field due to their identitycreating/reflecting and power-creating/reflecting meanings. For example, the vocative-usage of the Countess of Salisbury for Edward cited from E3 illustrates the accumulated and destroyed symbolic capital of both characters, which causes a change of positions, and shows that within constantly changing fields there are also changing dominant and domineered social classes. Social rooms are created by all societies (Bourdieu 1998: 28). All human beings have social positions. Within this framework, Bourdieu’s concept of habitus44 is crucial because it deals with the ways human beings are able to cope in the social room and the fields, and it also deals with the extent to which the actions of human beings are determined and construed by their structures. It also tries to explain how actors, groups, and classes perceive, understand, and use the frameworks of their everyday actions (Bourdieu 2001: 193). Actions always have to be related to their historical contexts They do not consist of decisions that have been taken independently and freely, but they are pre-determined by social dispositions. According to Bourdieu, habitus is a system of internalised patterns, which allow the user to create all typical thoughts, conceptions and actions of a culture (Bourdieu 1997a: 143). Categories of thought that have been influenced by the habitus also influence actions, which are often not reflected by the speaker. The concept of habitus is to explain the relation between structure and the actual usage – thoughts, actions, conceptions and social structure are interdependent. Therefore, habitus is a transsituational category. The habitus determines that the use of vocatives in Shakespeare is also shaped and influenced by the habitus, which then influences the speaker’s address behaviour. Any change of social position has an effect on the habitus as well. Such a change is influenced by the individual and structural frameworks. Therefore, address patterns and habitus are transsituationally determined. At the same time the habitus is contested in specific situations and needs to be trained for particular fields.

2.4 Stylistics and the theory of foregrounding 2.4.1 British stylistics Despite a visible softening of the dividing line between literary and linguistic criticism, there is still a tendency to keep the two apart. However, there can be no doubt about the fact that language constitutes literature and that, in turn, in literature a multiplicity of the uses of language can be discerned: “since literature is the representation of experiences, feelings, events and ideas through language, it is impossible to analyse literary texts without dealing with language, too” (Noergaard 2003: 11). Linguistic theories may explain

44. See general sociological approaches to habitus (Graßnick 2004).


how meaning in literature is created, and they may also provide methods with which aspects can be disclosed that would otherwise have been missed. Stylistics,45 literary linguistics, or literary stylistics – as the application of linguistic theories to literature is called (Short 1996, Toolan 1998b or Douthwaite 2000) – are often met with scepticism and doubt. Stylistics is not only often accused of a non-situational description rather than interpretation of language (Toolan 1992: xiv), but also attacked for its allegedly “mere labelling” without bringing to light new ideas (Toolan 1998b: iix), or denigrated for its formalisation. Indeed, a look at some of the older studies may underline this view as these often only disclose linguistic devices in literature without interpreting them.46 However, the approaches and techniques within stylistics have been widened extensively during the last years. According to Toolan (1998b: ix), stylistics brings “to close examination of the linguistic particularities of a text an understanding of the anatomy and functions of the language.” Short (1996: 4f.) defines stylistics as concerned with “relating linguistic facts (linguistic description) to meaning in as explicit a way as possible [… and] stylisticians try to discover not just what a text means, but also how it comes to mean what it does.” For reasons cited below, this study follows British stylistics in the tradition of three generations of stylisticians (Douthwaite 2000: 19): Leech (1961), Halliday (1972), Leech and Short (1981), Fowler (1986), Toolan (1998b), and Short (1996). The latter belong to a third generation of stylisticians, which is marked by a deeper and more theoretical advancement into text-analysis and by a greater diversity of branches.47

45. There is no room to revise the history of style from Aristotle onwards or the multi-faceted concepts of style and the disciplines that deal with it. However, a few historical, theoretical, and analytical cornerstones should be pinpointed. Since ancient times, style has not been able to be pinned down to one meaning (Müller 1998: 504f.), it has experienced an interdisciplinary application and a transference from orality to written documents (Plummer 2003: 31). During the 1960s and 1970s stylistics, as the linguistic application to literature within the framework of positivism and the attempt to find objective criteria, came into being (see Esser [1993] for a summary of studies on language and style). 46. One of the problems of stylistics and of the reasons for it being attacked is its relation to style and meaning. The debate between the critic Bateson and the linguist and stylistician, Fowler, is an early example of the attacks directed at stylistics and can be reread in Fowler (1971). Next followed the attack by Stanley Fish on M. A. K. Halliday’s analysis of The Inheritors (which is reprinted in Weber 1996; parts of Toolan’s [1990] response to Fish and others are also reprinted in Weber 1996), which effectively marginalized stylistic analysis in English Studies in the USA. Mick Short, Willi van Peer, Donald Freeman and Paul Simpson have been involved in an academic squabble about stylistics with Ray Mackay (see Mackay 1996, who opened the debate, and Short, Freeman, van Peer, Simpson 1998, Mackay 1999, Short and van Peer 1999). 47. Leech (1961), Halliday (1973), Leech and Short (1981) and Fowler (1986) will be mentioned with regard to the theory of foregrounding outlined in the following chapter. For the different strands of stylistics, see also Weber (1996). Fludernik (1998) gives an overview of the inferences between linguistics and literary criticism. She points out, however, that text linguistics has not managed to formulate an adequate definition of style.

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The stylistic approach can be fused with the sociological, literary, cultural and linguistic theories, outlined above. It stresses language to be a social and context-oriented phenomenon. Stylistics bridges the gap between linguistic and literary criticism, and between linguistic description and linguistic interpretation. Furthermore, in their emphasis on context, stylisticians question the Saussurean distinction of langue et parole as too simple to account for the actual diversity of language. Therewith, they follow not only Bakhtin’s (1981) concept of a polyphony of voices inherent in languages and his option for parole, or more precisely paroles, rather than for langue (Douthwaite 2000: 141f.), but also Halliday (1971, 1994, 2004), who is seen by some as one of the forefathers of stylistics as a result of his analysis of Golding’s The Inheritors. In this connection, stylistics is not seen as a neutral tool or as a range of categories and principles taken eclectically or ad-hoc from any grammatical scheme (Fowler 1986: 7, Douthwaite 2000: 161), but it is a “choice of camp” (Douthwaite 2000: 161) and implies a functional theory of language as outlined above.48 As such, it echoes the Russian Formalists’ understanding of habituation and routines, on the one hand, and defamiliarisation, on the other, not only as a device of a theory of aesthetics but also as a means to generate a critical attitude and awareness of the ideological nature of language.49 The notion that all language is metaphorical and rhetorical has lead to the fact that the Great Chain of Being still exists but, according to Lakoff and Turner (1989: 167), in a highly articulate version of an unconscious model in which ideological notions are presupposed and naturalised (see also Lakoff and Jonson 1980). These notions shape comprehension, taxonomies, ideologies, and structures.50 Language, as such, imposes an interpretation of reality on the language user. Both, the multifunctional approach to language assumed by stylistics and its emphasis on the ideological nature of language, lead us to two further fundamental assumptions of stylistics: firstly, that language is always context-oriented and pragmatic (Fowler 1986: 6), and, secondly, that form is not an algorithm for meaning. Toolan’s (2000: 181) integrationalist stance stresses the routinised social situatedness of spoken language, but he also argues that context is the determining factor in the inference of meaning (Toolan 2000: 181). The notion that meaning may derive from form echoes the formalist origins of stylistic analysis. However, due to the implications a form sets up, meaning derives from form but does not reside in it and it is not per se that it conveys the message: “[t]here is no 1:1 relationship between form and meaning. A given form may convey a multiplicity of communicative functions” (Douthwaite 2000: 163). In addition, there can be no invariant relation between form and meaning because a text is not seen simply as the sum of its parts. A single utterance, hence a single vocative, is multi-layered, and may transfer information

48. Other branches of linguistics share this approach to language, including discourse analysis and text linguistics. 49. These are fundamental assumptions of the theory of foregroundedness, which originates in Russian Formalism (see Douthwaite 2000: 103–117). 50. Metaphor imbues language to such an extent that Lakoff and Johnson (1980: 3) go so as far as to claim that our entire conceptual system is based on this figure of speech.


not only regarding its prepositional content, but also data relating to emotive, attitudinal, ideological, and structural meanings. Although they are no stylisticians, Spevack (1993) and Leisi (1997) nevertheless merit attention at this stage because they are two of the few modern scholars who have hinted at the importance of usage in Shakespeare’s language and the difficulties in inference making by emphasising the extra-linguistic reality in lexicography and semantics in general and Shakespeare in particular. In his preface to A Shakespeare Thesaurus, Spevack (1993: X) emphasises that in his attempt to categorise Shakespeare’s words he takes account of what has traditionally been called the inherent “fuzziness”51 of semantics and also aims at more than the rigid columns of information so typical of lexicography. Even though he sees Shakespeare’s language as a mirror of the Shakespearean idiolect and the Shakespearean world (Spevack 1993: X), he stresses the somewhat surrealistic character of the lexicographical and thesaurus tradition: “[E]ntries lack those meaningful contours for which neither their varying length nor their random usage markers, nor the votes of experts’ panels nor the occasional citations or illustrations can adequately compensate” (Spevack 1993: XII). Leisi (1997: 8) has applied and further moderated his idea of “Gebrauchsbedingungen” – that is, different conditions of use for the respective lexemes – to the analysis of Shakespeare’s words. Already conceptualised in Der Wortinhalt (Leisi [1952] 1975), Leisi’s (1997: 8) denotational approach (Lipka 2002: 115) to lexical semantics52 argues that the sense of a word is certainly not similar to the use of the word even though they stand in strong correlation. This view on context, however, does not exclude to infer meaning from the syntagmatic and paradigmatic relationships in which a word and a vocative may enter (Lipka 2002: 18f.). From the stylistic emphasis on the functional nature of language, on its context-orientedness, and on a multiplicity of meanings one may infer that a stylistic investigation of a literary text and a literary phenomenon in general and vocatives in particular embraces a heuristic method of science, but blurs the dividing line between literary and linguistic analysis (Leech and Short 1981: 13). Furthermore, a stylistic approach aims at explicitness, systematicness, precision, completeness, rationality and internal coherence as well as objectively and empirically verifiable hypotheses. Hence, statistics and quantitative analyses are introduced, but linguistics does not provide an algorithm for use in criticism. In addition, the attempt at scientific rigour, comprehensiveness, and detail (Short 1996: 4) is bolstered by a wide-ranging description of the linguistic categories to be employed in stylistic 51. The term fuzziness is based on Zadeh’s fuzzy logic (Zadeh 1972). 52. Meaning and its complex and numerous theoretical concepts are well represented in theoretical accounts of language philosophy or linguistic semantics. Indeed, as the amount of available material is immense, highly complicated, and very formal, this study will neither summarise nor reflect upon the most fundamental theories, nor find an answer to the question to which semantics has for centuries sought to provide a theoretically and empirically satisfying solution: what is meaning? Difficult points about the “customary unwieldiness of semantics” (Spevack 1993: X) have to be correlated with traditional accounts of lexical semantics, which describe two ways of inferring the meaning of a word/lexeme. One principle of the typology of meaning is that meaning is inherent in words (Lyons 1995). The other level can be established by investigating the syntagmatic and paradigmatic relationships in which a word may enter (Lipka 2002: 18f.).

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analysis and by the several branches that stylistics consists of today.53 However, due to the stylisticians’ demand for accurateness and detail, corpus-stylistic approaches to literature like this study are probably still rare.54 In contrast to Shklovsky (1917) or Jakobson (1960), stylisticians dismiss the conception of art as an autonomous discourse and also observe that literature is not a special or distinct form of language (Fowler 1986: 7, 70f., 72).55 This observation points to a hot debate,56 which goes beyond the confines of this book. Specific aesthetic functions of the vocative in Shakespeare or their poetic effect – to use Jakobson’s (1960) term – and those that are characteristic of fictional dialogue need to be included. In this study, language is seen as functioning for the sake of language alone. In addition, Shakespearean drama was originally intended to be performed so that the aesthetics of language in performance and its effects as a “super-sign” (Pfister 1997: 12f.) cannot be neglected – especially in relation to the recipient of a play.

2.4.2 The theory of foregrounding All observation, description and interpretation already take place in a constructed framework of ideologically and linguistically constructed realities. Hence, classical rhetoric’s theorising of deviation, Shklovsky’s and the Russian Formalists’ concepts of automation, habituation, mechanicalism and defamiliarisation, deviation and estrangement (Douthwaite 2000: 105), Jakobson’s (1960) concept of parallelism, Fowler’s (1986) concept of mind style, habitualisation, and extra-structure, Halliday’s (1973) idea of prominence and psychological saliency, Leech and Short’s (1981) concept of alternation norms, deviation, parallelism – hence, what may be summarised under the theory of foregrounding – are evoked. British stylistics has been highly influenced by literary studies and linguistic theories concerning foregrounding. Douthwaite (2000), however, is probably the first to succeed in exhausting the theories of and approaches to foregrounding for yielding new results in literary analysis. He also exploits the foundations of the theory in Russian Formalism, the Prague Linguistic Circle, New Criticism, linguistic philosophy, anthropology, and British Stylistics. In his study, Douthwaite (2000) also manages the integration of two spheres: that of foregrounding content and language. The former, the focus on theme and topic, has received much attention within linguistic-stylistic analysis, while the latter, foregrounding language in the more technical and sophisticated sense stimulated by the Russian Formalists, has rarely been used for stylistic patterning. To help understand the importance of the theory of foregrounding for this study, it is necessary to highlight some of its basic theoretical assumptions, because it was not until the 1990s that Leech added drama to the list of genres in which the concept of fore-

53. See Weber (1996) for an overview of the different branches of stylistics. 54. But see, for example, Semino and Short (2004). 55. Fowler (1986: 7) notes that stylistic analysis may be applied to any text type. See, for example, Crystal and Davy (1969). 56. See Fowler (1986: 72), and Short, Freeman, van Peer, and Simpson (1998).


groundedness plays a major role (Douthwaite 2000: 22). So far, vocatives have not been characterised as foregrounded. Based on the Russian formalist concept of defamiliarisation, Douthwaite’s (2000: 177) theory of foregrounding assumes that habituation routinises life and dulls the senses and the critical faculties. In order to fight habituation and to raise linguistic and ideological awareness, an entity has to be experienced in a novel fashion and our automatic modes of perceptions have to be surprised so that we are compelled to examine an entity more closely. The phenomenon provides extra structure, the highlighting of importance, and a technique designed to draw attention to a part of a text in which the writer wishes to make some special point.57 As such, it is motivated in the sense that there must be a verifiable communicative (and aesthetic) effect. This effect can range along a continuum of local and global defamiliarisation.58 The psychological effect of signalling importance, salience or prominence may be achieved through two fundamental higher-order techniques: deviation and parallelism.59 In the linguistic sense, deviation is the breaking of a rule or norm. This may take place on all of the many possible levels of meaning of language.60 Parallelism occurs in repetition (Douthwaite 2000: 181), which can be either literal or non-literal. Parallelism sets up a relationship of equivalence between linguistically analogous items.61 If we recall the gender-specific and social aspects of the vocative examples from E3, the extent to which the Countess’ vocatives for Edward are foregrounded becomes obvious, as they surpass by far what Shapiro (2003: 35) has termed a surprising use of forms of address. The analysis of foregrounding does not only include the identification of an instance of foregrounding and the precise description of a foregrounded form, but also the gauging of the effect, which often produces the biggest problems. Douthwaite (2000: 40) further explains the success of foregrounding by three possible effects which “bolster foregrounding’s superordinate function as estrangement. These three effects may be termed inexpressibility, compactness and vividness” (Douthwaite 2000: 40). The inexpressibility 57. The relation to painting and to Gestalt psychology and cognitivism is obvious here. 58. Leech (1985: 50) explores patterns of cohesion of foregrounding, which have been further developed by van Peer’s (1986) congruence of foregrounding. 59. Deviation finds its base in the Russian Formalist concept of estrangement. (There are other predecessors, such as classical rhetoric, of course.) Roman Jakobson (1960) has paved the way towards parallelism. From his groundbreaking findings in phonology and from the ideas of markedness and distinctive features, he modifies Saussure’s concept of paradigmatic and [syntagmatic] relations and introduces the idea of substitution, combination, equivalence and contiguity. 60. Leech (1985: 50) introduces the idea of congruence of foregrounding, which refers to a deviation concurrently occurring at different linguistic levels. 61. British Stylistics deals with habituation and the resultant need for defamiliarisation as a general process underlying foregrounding. Douthwaite (2000) fuses the Russian Formalist base of foregrounding with the elaborations and modifications made by British Stylistics. He focuses on Halliday (1973), who places deviation at the centre and introduces the concept of salience and prominence. He considers Fowler’s (1986) concept of mind style and worldview crucial to the theory of foregrounding. Douthwaite (2000) also recourses to Short (1996) and Toolan (1996). While the former has most extensively introduced the concept of deviation and parallelism in his work, Toolan (1996: ix) emphasises that “foregrounding seems to be the cornerstone of stylistic analysis.”

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hypothesis assumes that a concept, or a special meaning can be expressed in no other way. Underlying this assumption is again the crucial foundation of style – choice – which assumes that alternative linguistic forms would lose something of the meaning, of the force, or of other dimensions of linguistic communication. The compactness hypothesis links foregrounding with the idea of metaphor, as language is capable of producing complex configurations of information, richness, multi-facets, as well as ambiguity of human experience. The vividness hypothesis links the idea of foregrounding to human understanding (Douthwaite 2000: 40). These experiences will be easier to recall, because they capture the imagination due to their linguistic structure and the lexical and functional meanings. Foregrounding cannot be organised into neat categories with water-tight features. The situation is much more complex, because the high-level techniques of parallelism and deviation and their identification imply a typology of norms against which foregrounding operates. The base of comparison and the degree of determining foregrounding are inherent in the concept of relativity, both quantitatively and qualitatively. Hence, the fact that this study provides a quantitative analysis of the vocatives used in a corpus of selected Shakespearean plays also helps establish norms on a qualitative and quantitative level, which can be inherently linguistic, generic, text-internal and so on. This includes not only an identification of general relative frequencies but also of those of the various categories and the characters’ use of vocatives as computed in relative frequencies. However, relativity depends on goals and context and the different numbers always have to be measured and re-interpreted against these parameters. Douthwaite, echoing Leech’s (1985) types of deviation, differentiates between primary norms, secondary norms, and local norms. He therefore takes up Levin’s (1963, 1965) concept of external and internal deviation,62 which has been further moderated by Leech and Short (1981) into qualitative and quantitative foregrounding. Qualitative foregrounding is defined as “deviation from the language code itself – a breach of some rule or convention of English” (Leech and Short 1981: 48, 139), while quantitative foregrounding is defined as “deviance from some expected frequency” (Leech and Short 1981: 48), as we can see by putting into perspective the above mentioned data. However, Leech and Short (1981) also confirm that foregrounding and parallelism are a matter of kind and degree.63 According to Douthwaite (2000: 193), the primary norm refers to our standard view of language and of the world. For Shakespeare’s language this view has to be enhanced by a comprehencive knowledge of EModE and Early Modern England. It is here where the interplay between the reception of the analyst and the fact that the object under investigation is a language that is 400 years old needs to be observed. This also includes the normative sources that describe the use of forms of address in Shakespeare’s time outlined in Chapter 1.6. The extent to which these norms have been determined can be characterised as biased towards lady, lord, sir, and madam vocatives, which are here summarised under the heading of conventional terms. Secondary norms are those created by the text itself which hold out throughout the work or parts of the work. Since this study investigates a corpus of 17 Shakespeare plays, 62. See Douthwaite (2000: 143). 63. See Douthwaite (2000: 154).


further distinctions need to be made between the general vocative norms of the corpus, on the one hand, and those of the respective plays, on the other. As with primary norms, they may be both linguistic and non-linguistic in nature. A third type is the so-called local norm, which may describe parallelism or deviation over stretches of a text. Within this framework, Douthwaite (2000: 196) also further elaborates on internal deviation, which occurs when a text violates its own norms. In addition, more than one source of a secondary norm exists and appears periodically. This has been termed alteration or defeated expectancy (Leech 1969: 119) and alternation (Leech and Short 1981). Each category blends into another or categories can operate simultaneously. The criterion of quantification is a means of establishing norms and deviations or parallelism or to determine whether a norm is a secondary norm or the violation of a local norm. However, objective criteria for the drawing up of a borderline between norms and categories do not exist. Therefore, this typology of norms is meant to serve as a broad guideline rather than an absolute standard, since language is a dynamic phenomenon.64

2.5 Meaning inference and cognitive theories A recent development of foregrounding (Cook 1990, 1994), which introduces the term “discourse deviation” to explain that deviation may also occur when readers’ expectations and the knowledge of their schemata are disrupted, draws a connection between cognitive theories and stylistics. Stylistics investigates in detail the linguistic properties of a text and also connects this with an account of the reading process to describe and explain how recipients understand texts in the way they do. I have no space here to talk in detail about the relevant cognitive dimensions – for example, the potential cognitive sources, the organisation and role of prior knowledge, our mental organisation, or our memory stores – that play a role, for example, in the process of characterisation in fiction.65 However, a few points should be mentioned. Van Dijk (1987: 37) is right to argue that: empirically, meanings and interpretations of utterances or activities are to be accounted for in cognitive terms. No serious account of discourse meaning, coherence, or other semantic properties is possible without notions such as concept, knowledge, beliefs, frame scripts, or models, that is in terms of mental representations and cognitive processes of various kinds. The same is true for the analysis of action and interaction: notions such as plans, intentions, goals, strategies, control, and monitoring are essential in both the theoretical and empirical description of speech acts and social action. 64. Interestingly, Cook (1990, 1994) relates foregrounding to the breaking of readers’ expectations and the basis of their general knowledge of the world and the world’s schemata, especially in their interaction with literary texts. With regard to Shakespeare, this “discourse deviation” may occur on several levels due to the fact that EModE, its context and the culture of Early Modern England is different from a modern, general knowledge of the world. 65. For a detailed analysis of the cognitive features and theories that are relevant to the process of characterisation, see Culpeper (2001) or Stockwell (2002).

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The same holds at all levels, for the representation of the communicative context, including speakers, communicative goals and the social properties of the participants and the situation.

Van Dijk (1997a: 265–266) argues that there is no direct link between discourse structures and social structures because personal and social cognition interplays with these processes. Cognition, in turn, is socially embedded,66 and people frequently perceive others as members of social groups or social categories (Culpeper 2001: 75f.). These are personal categories, such as a knowledge about people’s preferences, interests and goals, social categories (for example, the knowledge of social function). They include kinship roles, occupational and relational roles, and group membership categories, such as sex, age, class and nationality (Culpeper 2001: 75).67 Knowledge structures are often explained via recourse to prototype theory (Rosch 1976) and schema theory (Bartlett [1932] 1995). Prototype theory (Rosch 1976: 382) tends to consider single categories and deals with the processes involved in applying categories and labels. It sees categorisation as one of the pervasive activities to organise our world. However, the effect of function and context in categorisation has rarely been included in the existing studies.68 Our schematic knowledge shapes how we view, remember and make inferences about new information. They enable us to construct an interpretation, a representation or situation model in memory that contains more than the information we receive from the text (Culpeper 2001: 66). These may be textual in character and they may activate scripts in the sense of Schank and Abelson (1977). We need to ask, for example, what schemata did the Elizabethan recipients have of the vocatives in the Countess’ scenes quoted above or in “Ignoble David, hast thou none to grieve / But silly ladies with thy threat’ning arms?” (E3 1.3.136f.), especially if we consider Melchiori’s (ed. 1998: 12f.) observation that the play’s attack against the Scots may have been one reason for its disappearance from stage and editions. We may also enquire whether these and other vocatives would have activated a schema for a particular type of person, what impressions these would have formed about a social category, such as personal role, social role and group membership. Certainly, recourse needs to be made to sources like the OED, the EMEDD, other EModE corpora of English, the contexts of production and receptions of the plays themselves, and the fictional contexts. The analysis and interpretation of vocatives in Shakespeare contain a double cognitive dimension because the contexts of reception are twofold: the context of reception from 400 years ago, when Shakespeare wrote his plays, and the context of the modern interpreter. In addition,

66. A key aspect in the discussion of social cognition is attitude (van Dijk 1987: 189–193). Attitudes are evaluative beliefs which may be associated with emotive aspects. They are general, context-free, organised in schematic clusters, and provide a link to the notion of ideology. 67. This categorisation shows a commonality to sociological parameter of character and identity. 68. See Chapter 4.1.2 for the categorisation of vocatives including these parameters.


note that, for example, the schemata69 suggested by Renaissance research do not necessarily apply to all cultures and all periods. This chapter has generated the theoretical framework that underlies this study. Common denominators between Halliday’s, Buber’s, Bühler’s, Bourdieu’s and Bakhtin’s theories, views of social interaction and of language have been established as contextual, social, and interactive. As notions of character, the process of characterisation, identity and habitus are immediately apparent, these have been defined in relation to a fictional and sociological framework. Furthermore, cognitive features and schemata need to be considered within the framework of such an approach. Stylistics in the sense of British Stylistics is rewarding for an interdisciplinary approach to the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare, because it practices interaction between linguistic and literary criticism and stresses the context-oriented and pragmatic nature of language in general. The theory of foregrounding claims that deviations from and parallelisms to norms have various functions ranging from the aesthetic to the ideological. This theory forms the basis of arguing that vocatives in Shakespeare are foregrounded.

69. Bartlett ([1932] 1995) is seen as a founder of modern schema theory. A schema is a structured cluster of concepts. Usually it involves generic knowledge and may be used to represent events, sequences of events, precepts, situations and even objects.

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chapter 3

“What is the focative case, William?”1 – the grammar of vocatives in Shakespeare and systemic functional grammar

3.1 Shakespearean vocatives analysed below the clause 3.1.1 Shakespearean vocatives as nominal groups A modified version of Halliday’s (1994, 2004)2 grammatical view on the vocative is broad enough to incorporate the functional potential of vocatives below, in, and above the clause. This chapter critically reflects on some areas of Halliday’s account of the interpersonal grammar of vocatives. In contrast to Halliday (1994, 2004) and Eggins (1994), it will be suggested that for a concise and discursive understanding of the Shakespearean network of vocatives, the vocative needs to be incorporated within all three grammatical realisations of the metafunctions and has to be investigated below the clause, as a NG, in the clause, within its co(n)texts, and above the clause as a grammatical and lexical metaphor. Neither EModE descriptions of NGs nor Halliday’s account of the same phenomenon explicitly stress the need for incorporating the analysis of vocative forms within the structural potential of the NG. For example, Abbot ([1870] 1972: § 222) mentions the personal pronoun our in connections with vocatives, but does not see examples, such as “Our very loving sister” (Lr. 5.1.20) or “Tongue-tied our queen” (WT 1.2.27) as all-encompassing entities. Quirk et al. (1985) explain that vocatives are usually noun phrases, but they do not mention the functional possibilities behind this observation. Even though Martin (1992) also points out that vocatives can be investigated as NGs, the meaning of the vocative on this level is not further worked on. Poynton (1996) suggests this method for the analysis of expressive Modern Australian English vocatives but, as will be explained in the following paragraphs, her stress on vocatives seen as NGs only results from the fact that she does not consider their functions and possible meanings in co(n)text. Furthermore, she emphasises the fact that there exists a difference in functional quality between expanded NGs used as vocatives, for example, if transferred to Shakespeare, such as Lear’s “You sulph’rous and thought-executing fires” (Lr. 3.2.4) and vocatives that consist of one element only, such as Cleopatra’s sir in “Sir, you and I must part, but that’s not it” (Ant. 1.3.87).

1.

Wiv. 4.1.51.

2.

See Chapter 1.1, footnote 2, on Halliday’s editions.

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The Modern English experiential3 structural potential of the NG is the following: deictic, numerative, epithet, classifier, thing, and qualifier. This structure can be transferred to the Shakespearean vocative.4 There is, for example, my dear Gertrude in “O my dear Gertrude, this, / Like to a murd’ring-piece, in many places, / Gives me superfluous death” (Ham. 4.5.94–96), where the thing is represented by a personal name and the qualifier is missing. Less expanded vocative forms are those in which there are only two elements, such as my lord in Ophelia’s “My lord, I have remembrances of yours / that I have longed long to redeliver” (Ham. 3.1.92f.). Even shorter are Laertes’ Ophelia in “Fear it, Ophelia” (Ham. 1.3.33), King Lear’s Cordelia in “How, how, Cordelia” (Lr. 1.1.94), or lady in Antony’s “I’ll leave you, lady” (Ant. 1.3.86). In these examples, the vocatives consist of personal names and conventional terms5 only. Other vocatives are represented by the thing only, such as truepenny in Hamlet’s address to the Ghost “Art thou there, truepenny” (Ham. 1.5.150), and Jephthah in “O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou” (Ham. 2.2.403). In “Things and Relations,” Halliday (1998) theoretically describes the potential of NGs, as he talks about the NG in relation to nominalisation as one means of grammatical metaphor.6 He stresses the semogenic power of NGs as a resource for making meaning (Halliday 1998: 196), because in contrast to the exclusively grammatical expansion of the verbal group, the NG can be expanded to a more or less indefinite extent. The NG unfolds lexically by the device which Halliday (1998: 196) calls modification: one noun functions as a kind of key word, other words are organised around it and have different functions with respect to the head noun. Applying these ideas to the Shakespearean vocative, one discerns a complex potential of the vocative as a NG. The deictic element, which serves as a first and most specific constituent of the NG, represents the immediate context, the identification of the item in terms of here and now. It can be specific, realised by a demonstrative, a possessive pronoun or the definite article, or is non-specific (Halliday 1994: 180f.). In Shakespeare, the following varieties occur: my, that, the, these, thou, thy, ye, you, we, or our. Although a NG may have no deictic element in its structure, this does not mean that it has no value in the deictic system. If present, the deictic element serves as a form of orientation by reference to the speaker. In Ophelia’s vocative for Hamlet “My lord, I have remembrances of yours / that I have longed long to redeliver” (Ham. 3.1.92f.) and in “O thou Othello, that was once so good, / Fall’n in the practice of a [damned] slave” (Oth. 5.2.291f.) both personal pronouns emphasise the direct and immediate address of the speaker to the hearer (Elam 1984: 43). 3.

See footnote 10, Chapter 2.2.2.

4. The character of the Shakespearean vocative as NG may also comprise a revealing historical linguistic dimension. One aspect of the amelioration of the English Latin is the constant bias towards Latin (Baugh and Cable 1993: 202, 2002: 204). It is not only the vocative as such that immediately reminds one of Latin, but also the possibility of expanding the NG to an indefinite extent in order to achieve eloquence and elegance (see also Chapters 4.1.3 and 4.2.7). 5.

For the categorisation of these vocatives see Chapters 4.1.1 and 4.1.2.

6.

See Chapter 3.3.

Chapter 3. The grammar of vocatives in Shakespeare and systemic functional grammar

At first sight, Ophelia’s choice of form of address seems to corroborate her image as a most conventional, obedient, and subservient woman who acts according to social decorum, especially because her father and Claudius are spying on her, and she is insecure about Hamlet’s behaviour. With reference to politeness theory (Brown and Gilman 1989), the vocative could be seen as part of a negative politeness strategy, a marker of deference, in order to redress the threat to Hamlet’s negative face, as Ophelia, by returning Hamlet’s love-letters, pretends to accept the end of their mutual love. However, more subtle meanings are conveyed here as well, especially if we compare this choice of vocative to Ophelia’s and Hamlet’s usage of language in general and that of vocatives in particular. Even though Ophelia uses almost exclusively my lord vocatives for Hamlet, the nunnery-scene may also be read as alluding to sexual innuendo. “Are you honest” (Ham. 3.1.102), “Are you fair” (Ham. 3.1.104), and Ophelia’s “And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, / That suck’d the honey of his music vows” (Ham. 3.1.155f.) illustrate this point. Honest and fair, for example, carry clear sexual connotations (Partridge [1947] 1968: 122). In addition, honey may be a direct allusion to her sweet beauty, her attractiveness as well as to sexual intercourse (see also Williams 1997). If the meaning of my lord is expanded to lover and not exclusively seen in reference to social and gender structure, the use of the specific deictic element my will further emphasise that Hamlet has once been her lover and that he might still be obsessed by her beauty. As a consequence, Ophelia, by keeping up appearances, indirectly defies social decorum, as she admonishes Hamlet not to tell the truth. In the Oth. example, Lodovico’s choice of the personal pronoun thou lends additional force to the other highly attitudinal parts of the vocative, the interjection and thus additional vocative O, and the following qualifiers. And yet, Honigmann (ed. 1997: 327) resorts to the conventional explanatory pattern of you/thou, the power and solidarity paradigm (Brown and Gilman 1989). He stresses that thou is less respectful than you. In contrast to this, however, it can be argued that the choice of thou does not only involve aspects of respect and disrespect but also of attitude and emotion. Lodovico not only attacks Othello for being a murderer but also seems to ingratiate himself with the Othello “that wert once so good.” In addition, the choice of a thou form is highly marked in his address pattern, because he does not use it very frequently (Spevack 1968–80). A vocative may also be initiated by a definite article as in 1H4 1.2.158f., where Hal addresses Falstaff with the following vocatives: “Farewell, the latter spring! Farewell, Allhallown summer.” Humphreys ([1960] ed. 1997: 18) points out that “Pope and other edd. change [the] to “thou.” For him, it is possible, as the vocative definite article is found in the 16th century (also in 3H6 5.5.38 or Lr. 1.1.271f.). Kastan (ed 2002: 160) explains that both these terms are Hal’s personifications of an old man behaving like an adolescent. The differences in meaning transferred by the use of the definite article rather than a possessive pronoun are strongly correlated to the idea of the vocative as grammatical metaphor, which will be explained in detail below. In the creation of Falstaff as the “youth or Indian summer of old age” (Humphreys ed. 1997: 18), the indefinite article poignantly lends additional abstract experiential force to the otherwise interpersonal vocative to the extent that Falstaff becomes the somewhat ridiculed personification of “martlemas” (2H4 2.2.102). The numerative indicates some numerical feature of the subset, either quantitatively or ordinatively. It can also occur within the EModE vocative NG. An example is Albany’s

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“Half-blooded fellow, yes” (Lr. 5.3.80) addressed to Edmund, even though half-blooded could also be seen as an epithet. As a bastard, and as having only one parent of noble blood, Albany attacks Edmund for his deeds. The epithet realises some quality of the subset and is part of the structural aspects that may indicate significant features of the system of modification (Halliday 1994: 184). According to Halliday (1994: 184–186), attitudinal epithets tend to precede non-attitudinal ones within NGs. Attitudinal epithets like dear in “O my dear Gertrude” (Ham. 4.5.94) or good in “O, good Sir, I do” (Tmp. 1.2.88) are most frequently interpersonal in character in this corpus.7 For example, Claudius’s “O my dear Gertrude” (Ham. 4.5.94) notably represents one of the most elaborate vocatives he uses for her in the entire play. The meaning of dear as “cherished and beloved” (Schäfer 1973) adds to the personal and languishing tone of the additional vocative O and to the co(n)text in which this vocative occurs. To a certain extent, Claudius wholeheartedly laments the deplorable conditions at court, as Hamlet has killed Polonius, he has been sent away, and Ophelia is close to madness. And yet, his wife personifies his only consolation, since King Hamlet’s murder and Hamlet’s banishment trouble his conscience. Classifiers also indicate a particular subset of the thing; however, to draw the line between epithet and classifier is not always easily performed (even though Halliday [1994: 184] offers a few samples to differentiate both from one another). In Shakespeare, the thing serves as “the semantic core of the NG” (Halliday 1994: 189). The thing can be a common noun such as truepenny (Ham. 1.5.150), a proper noun such as Jephthah (Ham. 2.2.403), or a personal pronoun, such as ye in “And ye that on the sands with printless foot / Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him / When he comes back” (Tmp. 5.1.34–36). The semantic and grammatical freedom of choice with regard to the vocative is indefinite. While in Halliday’s work personal pronouns, used as a thing, interpersonally represent the world according to the speaker, in the context of a speech exchange, proper names are defined experientially, for each person carries only one, at least in the relevant body of experience (Halliday 1994: 189).8 In Modern English, they often occur without any other element of the NG. For the usage of names as vocatives in Shakespeare this exclusively experiential definition has to be questioned. When Lear addresses Cordelia with “How how, Cordelia” (Lr. 1.1.94), the use of the personal name used as a vocative has to be correlated with the etymological background of the name Cordelia. The name originates in Latin cors, meaning heart, but it also alludes to the noun corse, referring to the “living and dead body alike” (OED 1.a., 2.a.). The literary usage of this name as vocative allows for a variety of interpretations rather than an exclusive focus on the experiential meaning of the vocative. On the one hand, Lear’s indignation at Cordelia’s refusal to express her love is evident in this choice of vocative, as he uses her personal name to admonish her. On the other, Lear may also appeal to his favourite daughter for using her heart and expressing her 7. The interpersonal potential as well as the possible choices of vocative epithets in this corpus will be qualitatively as well as quantitatively revealed and displayed in Chapter 4.2.2. 8. Kripke (1972: 272, 303) has clarified the question of whether proper names have no sense but only reference (see also Frege [1892] 1966) by introducing the concept of rigid designator and the fact that referents are “baptized” (Kripke 1972: 302, 303) with rigid designators (see also Allan 2001: 91).


love for him. In addition, the name may also be an omen of her destiny. Generally speaking, it can be said that names in literary texts always carry substantial connotations for the interpretation of the various literary dimensions. There also exists an additional correlation between the names as such and the use of them as vocatives. Common nouns used as thing are common to a class of referents typically accompanied by a deictic and often another element. This may be the case for Shakespearean vocatives, but there are many examples used vocatively that do not corroborate this observation. For example, when Hamlet addresses his father’s Ghost with “Art thou there, truepenny” (Ham. 1.5.150), Jenkins argues that in the presence of Horatio and Marcellus “the mocking familiarity with which Hamlet now addresses the Ghost continues the levity in front of his companions which began in l. 118” (Jenkins ed. 1995: 225). Truepenny is the name of a rustic servant in Ralph Roister Doister (Jenkins ed. 1995: 225). In this example, the lexical meaning of the thing together with the co(n)textual aspects illuminate the interpersonal and ironic indications of this vocative. The qualifier follows the thing. It is either a phrase or a clause and thus of higher or at least equivalent rank than the other elements. For Modern English, Poynton (1996: 216) notes “qualifiers are rare in vocative NGs.” This is not necessarily the case for vocatives in Shakespeare, even though Abbot ([1870] 1972: § 261) does not see for example a relative clause immediately following the vocative as part of it. “And ye that on the sands with printless foot / Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him / When he comes back” (Tmp. 5.1.34–36) is an impressive example of the force the qualifier may have. The examples from Tmp. and Lodovico’s “O thou Othello, that was once good, / Fall’n in the practice of a [damned] slave” (Oth. 5.2.291f.) also illustrate a strong bias to Latin. Both vocatives contain relative clauses as a qualifier and the Oth. example has even an additional participle structure. According to Görlach (1994: 77) and Barber (1997: 183f.), the use of relative clauses and participle structure represents one syntactic means of enriching the English language with complex syntactic structures. If we add this to our initial remark that the NG can be expanded lexically to an indefinite extent, the historical-linguistic dimension is foregrounded. In turn, the use of the expanded vocatives for dramatic purposes is also important, as they corroborate the elevated style of both Lodovico and Prospero. Furthermore, they allow for a very detailed address and description of the addressee and the addresser. The example from Tmp. is part of Prospero’s final invocation of the elements that help him plot his final scheming. Similar to King Lear, who in his madness uses the grand style to construe further dramatic force to his utterance (Act 3, Scene 2), Prospero’s magic has a similar function. Lodovico’s address opposes Othello’s present deplorable state of mind and conditions Othello to that was once so good, and as such intensifies the tragic dimensions of the Othello-story even further. In Modern English NGs, the principle of ordering becomes visible, as the deictic element is first, followed by the numerative and so on. In Shakespeare, this principle may be changed, as in Horatio’s “Nay, good my lord” (Ham. 5.2.214), where the epithet precedes the deictic element. Even though this is common in EModE, one may argue for some intra-textual interpretations as well. Horatio knows that Hamlet will lose the duel. The pre-deictic position of the epithet good further intensifies the epithet and as such tunes the addressee as well as the audience into a situation that is not only marked by high emo-

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tionality, but also by Horatio’s deep loyalty to Hamlet. He attempts to comfort Hamlet and himself. Blake (2002a: 276) argues that this structure often appears when characters want to achieve something. To sum up, if modifications are made, the Shakespearean vocative may be analysed within the structure of the NG. This approach lends emphasis to each stylistic choice that is made. At the same time, it opens up a potential for analysing the Shakespearean vocative within the framework of amplification.

3.1.2 The concept of amplification and the Shakespearean vocative In her analysis of Modern Australian vocatives, Poynton elaborates on the system of modification or, as she calls it, amplification. She describes this dimension as concerned with the articulation of what is variously referred to as “attitude,” “expression,” “feeling” or “emotion” (Poynton 1996: 213). The linguistic expressions of amplification that are mostly recognised by speakers are both lexical and phonological. Phonological amplification is realised by the speech rate, the pitch range and amplitude, the manipulation of speech sounds including flattening out, usual stress and rhythm patterns, lengthening of speech sounds (especially vowels) and repetitions, such as alliteration and assonance (Poynton 1996: 215). Added to these are bodily forms of expressions such as physical behaviour, facial expressions, gestures, and body stance. Aspects of phonological amplification in Shakespeare are more difficult to discover, due to the difference of the EModE and Modern English sound systems. However, even though the available Shakespearean texts are written in character, many stress and rhythm patterns can, if in verse, be inferred from the metre prevalent in a particular context. Rhetorical schemes, such as, for instance, alliteration, as in “I’ll leave you, lady” (Ant. 1.3.86, my emphasis), indicate further phonological clues, and, as pointed out above, help interpret the pronunciation and emphasis of words, phrases, and clauses. According to Poynton’s (1996) results of the analysis of vocatives in Modern English, lexical amplification can be transferred via swearwords, various forms of overt intensification, but especially by purely attitudinal epithets and lexical items combining varying degrees of attitudinal meanings with experiential meanings. Following Poynton’s scheme, my dear Lady Disdain in “What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?” (Ado 1.1.118) and “O thou Othello, that was once good / Fall’n in the practice of a [damned] slave” (Oth. 5.2.291) are modified NGs as they contain more than just one element and are thus expanded. In contrast to these kinds of compound vocatives, the Cordelia-vocative would falsely be interpreted as less expressive, as, from a purely quantitative perspective, it consists of considerably fewer elements than the other vocatives. Poynton’s (1996) stress on the expressive potential of amplificated NGs correlates with her justified criticism of Halliday’s (1994: 197f.) exclusive analysis of the structural potential within the experiential structure. Without referring to the vocative, Halliday (1994: 190) emphasises that when analysing the structural potential of the NG in general, it is not necessary to set up three distinct lines corresponding to the experiential, interpersonal, and textual metafunctions. A single structural representation will suffice because although we can still recognize the same three components, they are not represented in the form of separate whole structures but rather as partial contributions to a single structural line


(Halliday 1994: 179). Therefore, Halliday (1994: 190) describes the structure potential of NGs in experiential terms, for the experiential meaning is assumed to define constituents most clearly and to be conceptually and operationally simpler than models of wave or field. In addition, the dominance of the experiential function for the analysis of language in general and for NGs in particular also results from the fallacy of believing that the experiential dimension represents things as they are rather than as we see them; even though speakers always articulate positions that are grounded on structures of feeling, habitus, as well as institutional norms of interpretation. Poynton (1996) then opts for a three-dimensional investigation of NGs as vocatives. For Poynton (1996), the concept of modification or amplification is the system that justifies most clearly why the analysis of NGs and thus of vocatives has to include all three metafunctions. Her line of argumentation is based mainly on the additional interpersonal and textual potential of the various elements of the NG. It is especially for the epithet as well as the meaning of the initial position of the attitudinal epithet that Poynton9 recognises the amplificatory interpersonal and textual effects when potential attitudinal items are included: It may be that the first realization of attitude as initial epithet has particular significance (it is commonly, after all, the first lexical item of the structure) functioning rather like a key signature announcing the tonality of the music it precedes (Poynton 1996: 217).

An initial attitudinal epithet could be seen as announcing the relevant attitudinal key whose scope is, initially, the whole NG, spreading it over the rest of the group (and ultimately the utterance), having the effect of foregrounding the attitudinally salient information and backgrounding experiential content. In Laertes’s “O thou vile King” (Ham. 4.5.117), it is the epithet vile that changes the tone of this vocative. In Ophelia’s “beauteous majesty of Denmark” (Ham. 4.5.21) (speaking to Gertrude), beauteous reinforces a referential but also ingratiating tone. The interpersonal role of the epithet is also most impressively emphasised in the already quoted example from 3H6.10 Richard: Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard? King Henry: Ay, my good lord – my lord, I should say rather.

9. Poynton (1996) also identifies a possible sequence of epithet sub-categories and lexical sets of varying sizes that iterate within the sub-categories (Poynton 1996: 219) “evaluative,” “experiential,” “attitudinal,” “size,” “colour,” and “participial.” These sub-categories of epithets are intended to serve as a first step towards a formal statement of the structure potential within the NG, but they do not always show linear criteria. Nevertheless, it will be worth pondering upon what forms of epithets are chosen in Shakespeare. Furthermore, it is vital to analyse to what extent they perform interpersonal dimensions that determine the character of the NG. It can be said that interpersonal meanings in the NG can be further embodied in the person system, in the attitudinal type of epithet, in connotative meanings of lexical items functioning in the group, in prosodic features. Yet, see Chapter 4.2.2 for a discussion of the importance of the epithet on Shakespearean vocatives. 10. See also Chapter 4.2.2 for a more detailed explanation of this vocative.

101


‘Tis sin to flatter; ‘good’ was little better: ‘Good Gloucester’ and ‘good devil’ were alike, And both preposterous; therefore not ‘good lord’. (3H6 5.4.1–5) Additional attitudinal and textual implications can be carried on by all other elements, as Halliday (1994: 191) points out, even though he does not corroborate a necessary threefold distinct line of the interpersonal, textual, and the experiential. Two examples will illustrate this point, one is related to the aspect of amplification through modification, the other uses a deictic element and an epithet. At their first encounter Benedick greets Beatrice with “What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living” (Ado 1.1.118). The thing Lady of this NG, at first, seems to be fairly conventional and experiential. Yet, from what we know about the relationship between Benedick and Beatrice before their first encounter, we can already assume that even the conventional term Lady carries ironic connotations and perhaps even lascivious elements. In addition, considering the fact that lady may denote “a woman who rules over subjects” (OED 2.a.), “a woman who is the object of chivalrous devotion” (OED 3.a.), and as a female synonym of lord (OED 4.a.), Benedick, in disguise, may even allude to his feelings for her and the fact that he would like her to subdue to him. The specific deictic element and the epithet are attitudinal markers that seem to foreshadow a very friendly greeting on Benedick’s part, as he uses the possessive pronoun my and the positive epithet dear, meaning precious and sexually attractive at the same time (Williams 1997) to indicate this. Notice also that dear is a homophone of deer, which also subtly adds to Benedick’s feelings of her worth and the fact that he would like her to subdue herself. Both interpretations seem to announce the positive and ironic interpersonal tonality of this phrase and intensify the thing lady. However, in this example, the semantic or connotative content of the element that completely and suddenly changes the tone of this NG-vocative is also the qualifier Disdain or, if Lady Disdain is seen as a compound vocative, the entire nominal group. Disdain is, for example, part of Mulcaster’s (1582) Elementarie and therefore a hard word.11 In T. Thomas (1587), it appears in co-occurrence with to defile, to be against, to reject or cast off. Therefore, a conglomerate of meanings is transferred by this vocative. In context, the vocative from Ado also seems to echo Beatrice’s conventional term and personal name Signior Benedick two lines before (Ado 1.1.107). Taking into account that both vocatives are part of their first words and first address terms directed at one other, the attitudinal character of their vocatives becomes even stronger. Both establish the tone of the scene. The co(n)textual dimension lends additional force to these vocatives, which can then be seen as clear attitudinal markers of banter and irony. Despite Beatrice’s disdainful behaviour, she is dear to Benedick in the literal sense of the word. The vocative as a whole, however, is nevertheless part of their verbal wit play. In addition, this observation may also have a bearing on the play in performance. The actor who performs Benedick could speak the first three parts of the vocative most quickly and then immediately break off in order to emphasise the effect of the qualifier Disdain.

11. For reference to EModE dictionaries, see EMEDD.

Chapter 3. The grammar of vocatives in Shakespeare and systemic functional grammar 103

The force of the deictic element and the epithet is illustrated in Antony’s address to Cleopatra with the vocative “Most sweet queen” (Ant. 1.3.32). At first sight, this vocative seems to represent an intimate and personal, though also respectful, address to Cleopatra that is mainly conveyed by the epithet sweet. Cleopatra is the queen of Antony’s heart. Even though he may construe her as the ruler of Egypt (with queen referring to the female ruler [OED 4.9]), both the OED, in which the first meaning of king is her role as a king’s consort (OED 1.), and even Florio’s (1598) EModE dictionary describe queen as the “king’s mistress.” Antony wants her to behave as a mistress. As such, the fact that at the time the noun queen was not only used to refer to a royal character but also had strong phonological resemblance and could also be seen as a variant of the noun quean (OED 1.), meaning “whore” (see Williams 1997), extends his social superiority to physical dominance. Thus, the vocative is given an additional functional scope that does not result from the epithet but rather from the thing, as Antony attempts to appeal to several of their mutual worlds of sexual experience in order to make Cleopatra listen to him, but he does not succeed. The transference of textual implications is also not restricted to one element within the NG alone. Textual meanings are embodied throughout the entire structure, since they determine patterns of information structure and the order in which the elements are arranged. Benedick’s my and dear in “My dear Lady Disdain” (Ado 1.1.118) are clearly thematic as both, deictic element and epithet, precede the thing. My constitutes the point of departure of this NG but is then functionally “destroyed” by the qualifier. Dear as the second element of this NG contributes to this observation, especially if one considers that, in Shakespeare, we often find examples of vocatives where the epithet precedes the deictic element, as in “good my lord” (Ham. 5.2.214), used by Horatio. The principle of ordering is not maintained in this vocative, and thus more emphasis is placed on the attitudinal element good. In Ado, the question arises of how we can describe the textual function of the qualifier disdain, which is in rheme position. Does it give additional and authoritative force to the qualifier disdain? Benedick could have said disdainful lady without using a qualifier. However, in this example the choice of the qualifier to a certain extent correlates with end-focus in English. From a textual point of view, Halliday, with regard to the qualifier, stresses “the unmarked focus of information in a nominal group is on the word that comes last, not the word that functions as Thing” (Halliday 1994: 191). Therefore, disdain, not lady determines the textual and interpersonal character of the group. In the above mentioned example queen/quean from Ant. the thing could also serve as a textual element to indicate that Cleopatra has to change the tone of conversation. Poynton’s (1996) assumption that expanded vocatives are more expressive than nonelaborated vocatives also needs to be slightly modified for vocatives in Shakespeare. In the short enumeration of possible NGs used as vocatives that can occur in Shakespeare’s plays, among other vocatives, Hamlet’s vocative for Polonius, “Jephthah” (Ham. 2.2.403), and Ophelia’s “my lord” (Ham. 3.1.93) were named. Despite the obvious linguistic expressions of amplification, an overemphasis on modified NGs bears the danger of interpreting non-amplified forms of NGs as non- or less expressive than vocatives that consist of a thing only; even though the structure deictic-epithet-head is the most frequent in the Shakespeare corpus and therefore the structural potential of the NG is of great value for the analysis of vocatives. On the contrary, these are foregrounded in this corpus. Their ex-


pressive and textual meanings are transferred by the general lexical meaning of the thing as such, by the recipient-responsive reading and mainly by the co(n)text. On the assumption that all linguistic choices are stylistic and thus meaningful (Halliday 1992: 73f.), and that “speakers always articulate positions that are grounded in structures of feeling as well as institutional norms of representation” (Poynton 1996: 225), amplification is a concept which, to a certain extent, must become relative in relation and comparison with non-amplified forms. Furthermore, it is a fallacy to believe that expressions of emotion and feeling can only be mechanically measured by the degree of NG amplification as Brown and Gilman (1989) also seem to suggest in their analysis of forms of address and politeness in Shakespeare’s tragedies. Some characters in Shakespeare, such as messengers for example, who cannot be called real characters, but only perform the function of announcing the arrival of another character, may use “frozen vocative forms,” such as my lord. Yet, from a theoretical point of view, they are nevertheless crucial, because they are indicative of and construe the speaker as possessing and emphasising a particular habitus. These forms are the reason why, for example, Ophelia’s vocative, cited above, is often quoted as an example of her obedient character. The use of a non-amplified vocative form cannot necessarily generate a low degree of social interaction. Here the numerous contextual variables as well as the semantics of the thing perspective are of vital importance in order to infer possible functions and meanings of the respective vocative. Therefore, the question of whether amplified vocative expressions are then more stylistic, more suggestive, more elaborate or attitudinal or even more modified than others has to be investigated within the interactional co(n)text of the specific NG and needs to observe the speaker/addressee exchange. Poynton (1996: 226) succinctly puts forward that the speaker is always there, “constructing the representation in the first place and ordering attention with respect to its elements, thereby positioning the addressee most precisely in terms of how they should know, simultaneously with their interpersonal positioning with respect to how they should feel and act” (Poynton 1996: 226). To conclude, a tripartite approach to the vocative as a NG is indispensable. Due to the semogenic character of the NG used as a vocative, NGs carry the weight of descriptive meaning, they can be expanded at will and are thus essential for an interpretation of the co(n)text, the speech exchange, the characters, the scene, act and whole play, and aesthetic functions. The exclusion of the interpersonal and textual metafunctions from the structural interpretation of the NGs represents a narrowed attempt to background the particular kinds of interpersonal and textual meanings operative at this structural level. Furthermore, a solely experiential investigation is especially ironic in the very body of Halliday’s work that gives such a central place to the interpersonal in structural as well as semantic terms. The use of an expressive linguistic device within a NG and with regard to the vocative as a whole then is one overt intrusion of the speaker into the speech event. Moreover, this mode of realisation is part of the affect dimension of the register or contextual category tenor. To this must be added that the vocative forces attention to speaking subjects, to their respective positionings, and to their investments in those positionings (see Chapter 4.2.4). According to Poynton (1996), it is then possible to say something about the extent of these positions linguistically, even in terms of the interpersonal and textual dimension. Within this context, Halliday (1994: 189) also mentions the concept


of grammatical metaphor. In Chapter 3.3, these ideas will be used to construe additional vocative meaning.

3.2 Shakespearean vocatives analysed in the clause 3.2.1 Introduction So far Shakespearean scholars have rarely considered the vocative in Shakespeare to be fruitful for close syntactic examination, because the vocative is seen as a form of address.12 In comparison, Modern English grammars (Quirk et al. 1985 or Bache and DavidsenNielsen 1997) contain more detailed accounts of vocatives. Systemicists, such as Halliday (1994, 2004), Eggins (1994), Martin (1992), and Poynton (1984, 1996) are correct to look at the vocative in the clause in greatest detail in reference to the interpersonal metafunction. They deal with the vocative’s functional realisation as a so-called adjunct or, like Poynton (1996), below the clause as a nominal group.13 The debased status of conversation in general is even more astonishing with regard to a claim which, for example, Berger and Luckmann (2000) so astutely state. They point out that conversation is the most important vehicle for reality maintenance (Berger and Luckmann 2000: 1–3, 24, 63f. and 124f.). Foucault, who says that language is situated in the social, implies that the artificial differentiation between rationality and emotion has to be given up, as all language use is, to some extent, both ideologically and contextually (personally) coloured (Mills 1997: 50f.). In addition, the fact alone that vocatives were transferred into folio- and quarto-editions14 evokes a greater qualitative and functional meaning potential. This fact also goes beyond both a simplified and inadequate observation of its occurrence in spoken language or it being an indicator of the social structure existent in the plays. Furthermore, despite the analysis of vocatives within the interpersonal metafunction, Eggins (1994) and Halliday (1994, 2004) do not explain the vocative’s role within the experiential metafunction, as vocatives only serve to address the next speaker, rather than saying something about the speaker or hearer. Their points of view might result from the claimed belief that vocatives are most frequently realised as proper names (Eggins 1994: 168), which, according to the theories of the philosophy of language, have no sense but only reference (Mackenzie 1997, Allan 2001). The quantitative results from this Shakespeare vocative corpus go against the former assumption, and Poynton (1984, 1996) has also shown for vocative data gained from Modern Australian speakers that personal names are an important, though by far not the only category of vocatives. Furthermore, both for 12. Leech (1999: 107, 113) also argues that the terminological distinctions between vocatives and forms of address must necessarily include a change of functional interpretation. 13. Due to ideological factors, vocatives are dealt with in accounts on for example “casual conversation” (see Eggins and Slade 1997: 116f.), but only within a chapter on the “semantics of conversation,” and here within the concept of “involvement” rather than “appraisal” or “humour.” 14. See also Blake (2002b).


literary and non-literary usage of personal names as vocatives, the alleged lack of sense is questionable. Certainly, the recipient oblivious of the crucial relevance of naming in literature in general (Lodge 1992), and in Shakespeare’s plays in particular is able to enjoy or reasonably understand the plays as such. However, we find that additional information is given to character interactional manoeuvres and the unfolding of dramatic action, if we are aware of the sense of the word. This is of even greater importance when these names are used vocatively. Shakespearean vocatives have the potential for simultaneously reflecting and constructing interpersonal, but also textual and experiential meanings. They constitute an element in the clause to which one can ascribe mood, theme, and transitivity functions. This part of the analysis is mainly a grammatical modification of Halliday’s (1994, 2004) and other systemicists’ views (Eggins 1994) on the vocative within the clause, which is seen as the grammatical bedrock of language and metalinguistic analysis and description of Shakespearean vocatives likewise. These modifications will also certainly help affirm that there is more to language, communication, and the three metafunctions than incredibly complex clause analysis. The aim is to show that forms and functions of vocatives are interdependent and that a grammatical and functional analysis and interpretation, for which Halliday’s SFL provides the necessary tools and theoretical background, is one basis for the following qualitative analyses of Shakespearean vocatives. For reasons of clarity, the vocatives’ interpersonal and experiential role will be treated separately,15 even though all three functions work simultaneously.16

3.2.2 Shakespearean vocatives as adjuncts While Halliday sees the vocatives within the clause as an individual form of adjunct, Eggins (1994: 85) states that the vocative constitutes a subgroup of the second class of adjuncts, the modal adjuncts.17 According to Eggins (1994: 85), the vocatives’ contribution to the 15. Aspects of theme will be analysed in Chapter 4.2.4. 16. As Halliday’s grammar represents a systemic functional approach to Modern English, it would be justified to collect a small sample of naturally-occurring Modern English vocatives as a starting point for the investigation into vocatives in Shakespeare’s plays, especially, because many of the functions Halliday attributes to the vocative are based on theoretical reflections rather than on the investigation of actual examples. One aim of the analysis of the Modern English vocative could chiefly be to scrutinise them for their grammar as some recurrent tendencies in their place of occurrence, their format (for example, tendency to be sub-modified in pre- or post position) might begin to emerge. Poynton (1996) lists a number of naturally-occurring vocatives she collected from Modern Australian speakers. However, using the Bank of English corpus as a source, the investigation into such vocative forms as sir, madam, fool, dear, braggart, girl, friend, lord has only selectively been pursued. And yet, this study’s modifications of the Hallidayean scheme mostly refer to the Shakespearean vocatives, but carry high relevance for Modern English vocatives as well. However, only Shakespearean vocatives will be used as examples to illustrate my points of view. 17. The criteria for the division of adjuncts into three classes – circumstantial, modal and textual – are based on the question of whether they add experiential, interpersonal, or textual meanings to the clause.


clause as a subgroup of modal adjuncts is understood as interpersonal, because “vocative adjuncts function to control the discourse by designating a likely next speaker” (Eggins 1994: 169). Eggins (1994: 85) seems to acknowledge the vocatives’ strong interpersonal potential and involvement in contextual constraints of tenor dimensions, such as power, affective involvement, and context. However, she juxtaposes textual and interpersonal function in the above quoted statement, because the choice of a new speaker refers to the ethnomethodologist’s concept of turn-taking (Sacks 1978, Levinson 1983: 296–303); that is to the organisation of the text. Therefore, it is rather seen as textual. Hence, in 1H4 1.2.112, Poins, having greeted Hal with “Good morrow, sweet Hal” selects Falstaff as a speaker in “What says Monsieur Remorse?” (1H4 1.2.113), or “What says Sir John Jack and Sugar” (1H4 1.2.113). This vocative is textual in the way Falstaff is certainly addressed, but the form of vocative carries highly suggestive interpersonal and experiential dimensions. Note also that strikingly Falstaff is not responding to this address. Therefore, in terms of cohesion and textual structure, Halliday is correct to regard the designating feature of the vocative as a characteristic of the vocative as “interpersonal theme” (Halliday 1994: 53). However, again, the concept of “interpersonal theme” can be misunderstanding. The vocatives’ capacity to work on the structure of the clause as a whole (and its communicative influence on the clause as exchange) also provides the vocative with its characteristic interpersonal function. To understand this concept, it may help to recap some of Quirk’s et al. (1985: 773f.) and Bache’s and Davidsen-Nielsen (1997) grammatical definitions of the vocative. In contrast to Halliday (1994), Quirk et al. (1985: 773) see the vocative as part of the sub-group of the adverbial, namely the disjuncts. Quirk et al. (1985) differentiate between adjunct and disjunct. While adjuncts are “similar in the weight and balance of their sentence role to other sentence elements such as subject and objects” (Quirk et al. 1985: 613), disjuncts can have a superior role as compared with the sentence elements. It is argued that “they are syntactically more detached and in some sense superordinate in that they seem to have a scope that extends over the sentence as a whole” (Quirk et al. 1985: 613). Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen (1997: 107) stress that vocatives may be defined as disjuncts, because “they behave like sentence adverbials positionally and prosodically and have no text-connective function.” But formally, their function is different from disjuncts, because they are realised not by adverbs but by (pro-)nominals. For these reasons, they consider the vocative as a special subtype of the adverbials. In this study, the term adjunct is preferred, because of functional and terminological differences (Martin et al. 1997: 166). This term avoids the ambiguous association of adverbial with the verb, for it constitutes an independent functional group, which can also be associated with other components in the clause. Both Quirk’s et al. (1985) and Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen’s (1997) definitions contain some valuable insights. They stress that vocatives have a more detached character or work alongside the clause as a whole (see also Halliday 1994: 85). Notice, for example, that when Aaron’s scheming has succeeded, he brings the following order from the emperor and says: “Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor / Sends thee this word – that, if thou love thy sons, / Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, / Or any one of you, chop off your hand / And send it to the king” (Tit. 3.1.150–54). Aaron, abusing Marcus’s honest, subservient, official address to Titus at the beginning, switches the use of vocatives from personal name and family name Titus An-


dronicus, to old Titus, implying hence reinforcing the disdainful absurdity in suggesting that Titus is old enough to make do without one hand. The two vocatives may function alongside the clause. However, Halliday’s (1994: 85) and Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen’s (1997: 107) denial of the fact that vocatives do not have “a text-connective function” has to be modified for the Shakespearean vocative. Comparing vocatives to interjections, Bache (1997: 107) stresses the “peripheral status” of the vocative in the clause (which could also be supported by the fact that vocatives are prosodically non-prominent). Halliday (1994: 85) also argues that vocatives are outside the scope of the mood and residue structure, because they do not form part of what is being negotiated. Halliday’s additional grammatical justification for vocatives’ exclusion from the mood and residue structure do not seem to hint at any other role, because he stresses that vocatives cannot function as the subject of the clause (see Halliday 1994, 2004, Eggins 1994: 168, Martin et al. 1997), and do not represent a constituent that will be required to form a grammatically correct sentence. They are optional. Additional to that is that, according to Eggins (1994: 165f.), the vocative’s role in the clause is different from the function of some of the other subgroups of modal and circumstantial adjuncts. There is a specific line of argumentation that warrants circumstantial, mood, and polarity adjuncts, their position within the scope of the mood and residue structure. While circumstantial adjuncts are linked to the processes (that is the predicators) themselves, as they specify some kind of circumstance, the mood adjunct is “most closely associated with the meanings constructed in the mood system: those of polarity, temporality, and mood” (Halliday 1994: 82). Polarity adjuncts are seen as part of the mood and residue structure, because when they ellipse a clause, the predicator is part of the ellipsis. At first sight, the vocative does not carry any of these functions and is hence excluded from the mood and residue structure. And yet, Halliday’s theoretical underpinnings and a more detailed investigation into the vocative’s role within the clause evoke some critical considerations about not only his exclusive treatment of vocatives in the interpersonal metafunctions, rather than in all three, but also about his seemingly grammatically justified narrow analysis of vocatives within the interpersonal metafunction. The adjunct function of the vocative must be placed in a slightly different perspective and broadened by grammatical and semantic considerations. Even though a vocative may never be grammatically required, it is certainly semantically and contextually desired whenever it is chosen in Shakespeare. Theoretically, this assumption coincides very well with two of Halliday’s theoretical premises. One is that he emphasises language as always being situated in the social, which leads to Thompson’s (1996: 80) statement: “if we want to examine what a piece of language is intended to do, we cannot avoid thinking in terms of choice” (Thompson 1996: 8). The other is Halliday’s claim that there is no clear separation between meaning and expression in a simple way, because the expression is in the language (Halliday 1971, 1992: 73, 1994, 1998). To foster the detailed analyses, a more sophisticated treatment of the concept vocative adjunct should be aimed at, despite the fact that the interpersonal qualities of a vocative seem to be more difficult to grasp. An illustrative study should illuminate this idea. We may ask why Aaron in Tit. 3.1.152f., for example, chooses the particular wording of Titus An-


dronicus first, seemingly alluding to the more official and referential Roman way, and why he then switches to old Titus (Tit. 3.1.152f.). Accordingly, for Tit., it will also be necessary to investigate why the following vocative “Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off ” (Tit. 3.1.161) occurs in this place, in this form, and in this relationship to the other constituents and what this vocative reveals for the experiential structure of the clause.18 The use of Aaron’s personal name is part of a general address pattern Titus displays in Act 3. His address pattern exhibits a high proliferation not only of personal names, but also of initial position. In terms of vocative choice, this highly emotional, ingratiating, but also lamenting address pattern strongly contrasts with the authoritative, festive, somewhat distant and decorous address behaviour Titus displays at the beginning. Even more so, Titus’s use of the epithet good for Aaron is especially ironic and tragic in the light of Aaron’s scheming. In the clause, the initially placed vocative good Aaron accompanies an interrogative, which, as will be further elaborated on in Chapter 4.2.4.2, tunes the entire utterance into an indirect request. The vocative good Aaron also correlates with the subject of the interrogative you. This brief example refutes Halliday’s exclusive view on the vocative as an adjunct. This study’s analytical framework introduces one broad inclusive alternative point of view, which also has major consequences for the vocative’s role within the textual and experiential metafunction.

3.2.3 The interpersonal, textual, and experiential grammar of Shakespeare’s vocatives in the clause and their co-reference with other constituents A closer analysis of some examples will argue that there often is a semantic tie between a vocative and a constituent in the clause. Therefore, it is argued that the vocative’s grammatical role as an adjunct can be further modified by what will be henceforth called co-referential. On this basis, the analysis will additionally reinstate that for some mood structures the vocatives also have to be seen as inside the mood and residue structure. And finally, in clauses such as example one, where the connection between vocative and mood/residue appears to be non-existent, a relation can be established by reference to what Halliday calls “grammatical metaphor” (Halliday 1994: 342–367, 1998).19 The following examples should serve as a basis for further detailed analyses. (1) “Noble Antony, / Not sickness should detain me” (Ant.2.2.169f.). (2) “My precious queen, forbear, / And give me [...]” (Ant. 1.3.73f.). (3) “I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick, nobody marks you” (Ado 1.1.116f.). It is certain that Noble Antony, my precious queen, and signior Benedick, cannot function as subjects of the clause. They are not grammatically required, and are hence outside the mood and residue structure. In addition, one has the impression that all three examples

18. See also Photograph 1 in Chapter 6. 19. In Chapter 3.3, the concept of grammatical metaphor is applied to the Shakespearean vocatives.


are particularly “free-standing.” In example two, the connection between the vocative and constituents in the clause does not seem to distinguish itself from that suggested in example one. It is a proposal, precisely an imperative, containing a grammatically needless vocative “appendage.” To begin with the imperative, there exists not only a semantic connection between the vocative in imperatives and constituents in the clause, but also a grammatical one. The inclusion of the mood structure of this clause in the interpretation is absolutely necessary, because it presupposes a particular grammatical structure of the clause. The imperative could be compared to what Martin et al. (1997) define as an imperative in the form of “you do” with an implicit subject you. Hence, the questions arise of whether a) precious queen serves as what, in example three, will be labelled “co-referential” with the personal pronoun you or b) it can even serve as the subject of the clause. Bache and DavidsenNielsen (1997: 109) are hesitant about attributing the subject-function to the vocative. They stress that in “imperatives it is sometimes more difficult to separate vocatives from subjects” (Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen 1997: 109). Imperatives are inherently vocatives “either expressing or, more typically, assuming a second person singular or plural subject you” (Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen 1997: 109). Another reason for the difficulties in distinguishing between the imperative subjects and the vocatives is phonological in nature. For them, the tag-question serves to confirm the status of the imperative subject rather than that of the vocative. Ostheeren (1990: 127) defines the pronoun as extrapolated. In examples like these where the imperative is devoid of an explicit subject in the clause itself, the vocative can always be seen as the grammatical subject of the clause. Hence, in contrast to Halliday’s statements, the vocative serves as both adjunct and subject alike. It is necessary to integrate these observations about the vocatives’ role as an adjunct and the grammatical subject in the clause with meanings that can be inferred from the analysis of the vocative below the clause as a NG. In addition, one has to clarify the difference between an implicit subject you (without an additional vocative) or an explicit you/thou (without an additional vocative) or the occurrence of a vocative alone and with a pronoun in the imperative, especially because the subject in the imperative is not grammatically required. Furthermore, this example renders important that to understand the interpersonal function of the subject, and hence of the vocative, in proposals, further complicates, but also enhances the functional quality of the vocative. The interpersonal, interactive, and dialogic characteristics of the subject are crucial. The subject, in its modal responsibility, is responsible for the success of the proposal. So if a speaker imposes on others by the use of an imperative, and uses a vocative as a subject, one might ask anew to what extent the pure vocative differentiates itself from the use of the personal pronoun alone. In view of the fact that these examples occur in interactive dialogue, we also have to refer to our observations of the vocative as a nominal group and what Halliday calls the semogenic power of NGs. And also we have to correlate these observations with the possibilities of direct address that are at the disposal of the speaker (The semantic value is also grammatically expressed by using the vocative as a subject). Halliday’s exclusion of the vocative adjunct from the mood and residue structure is too exclusive. The queries that have been made in relation to the vocative as being transferred to the mood and residue structure illustrate the profound and complex material that can be opened up if the function of the vocative as an adjunct


is treated in a more sophisticated and detailed way. The extent to which the vocative works on the clause and its speech function needs to be emphasised. The modification of Halliday’s (1994: 53) observation has been particularly profound with regard to imperatives, where the vocative can serve as subject if there is no other grammatical subject present. As noted, the theoretical underpinnings as well as the grammatical modifications of the vocative’s role in the imperative have to be borne in mind as some kind of background information.20 In contrast to example two, the vocative in example three cannot form a replacement of a constituent within the mood and residue structure, because of the personal pronoun you already serving as a subject. And yet, it seems justified to doubt whether the vocativeadjunct function and working alongside the clause as a whole is adequately able to grammatically and semantically describe the relationship that is additionally existent between the vocative Signior Benedick and the personal pronoun you. Illustration 3 below labels the grammatically interpersonal constituents in Beatrice’s first and conversation-initiating address to Benedick (Ado 1.1.106). Illustration 3. Co-reference of vocatives with constituents in the clause

Notice, first, that apart from defining the vocative as an adjunct, my marking is to reconnect ostensibly the embracing semantic relation between the vocative Signior Benedick

20. Within this framework, one of Halliday’s (1994: 85) claims on vocatives and the imperative should be mentioned and questioned at the same time. Halliday (1994: 85) claims that vocatives occur most frequently in imperatives and questions. Certainly, this seems comprehensible because requiring action from the hearer, imperatives and interrogatives impose most extensively on the addressee. Therefore, the conventional patterns that try to explain the use of vocatives within these syntactic patterns mainly allude to its targeting or politeness function, especially because the use of vocatives within declaratives is more difficult to explain. In the corpus under investigation, however, the number of vocatives in imperatives and questions is often as high as in declaratives. Some spot-checks in this study have also confirmed these results. This observation is especially valid as Halliday (1994: 85) points out that even though a vocative may appear in any of the four speech roles and their grammatical realisations, a vocative occurs more frequently with interrogatives and imperatives than with declaratives. However, as this study focuses on the speech moves the vocative is able to frame, this study refrains from a comprehensive empirical investigation of clause types. In Chapter 4.2.5, the clauses accompanying Richard’s vocatives and that of other characters will be investigated.

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and the personal pronoun you.21 This newly established semantic tie between vocative and a constituent in the clause strongly emphasises that a vocative is not only working alongside the clause, but also can affect a constituent in the clause. Hence, the questions that need to be clarified involve considerations about what kinds of meanings can be inferred from Beatrice’s collocation and what effect (Douthwaite 2000: 202–05) the vocative choice and positions of vocatives have on the speech function of the entire clause. Adding to this is the question of why the item you as the subject of the clause correlates with the vocative Signior Benedick, which is in final position and relates to the pronoun. In order to grasp the concept of meaning of a particular utterance, one may reformulate this example. In interaction, Beatrice could have left out the vocative and utter: “I wonder that you’ll still be talking.” Incidentally, her speech move is not one that Benedick can reply to without breaking any injunctions it may be carrying, and confirming any critical description it is seemingly transferring. So speech act theory is of particular importance here. In this respect the form, the position, and the relation of the vocative Signior Benedick with the subject you is particularly effective, because its role extends far beyond that of the targeting function. As a second option, one could suggest the following rewording: “I wonder that Signior Benedick will still be talking.” Even though here it seems as if the vocative could be turned into the subject, this example is rather marginal. Furthermore, in this reworded utterance Benedick would not necessarily know that Beatrice is addressing him directly, because as an indicator she needs the deictic element first as a subject to establish the I-you-relationship and to indicate that she is talking to him. However, for her you (despite the qualitative contrast between you and thou, especially because in the comedies you is the unmarked form, U. Busse 2002: 276) does not seem to be as extensively functionally loaded as you and the vocative Signior Benedick.22 The vocative Signior Benedick consists of two nouns: the conventional term Signior and the personal name Benedick. However, as to the structural potential of this NG, one is confronted with the difficulty in labelling the constituents of the NG in terms of epithet, thing, and qualifier – a problematic complex that generally arises with regard to Shakespeare’s NGs (Blake 1989: 62). Mention has been made that in Signior Benedick, Signior may function as an epithet or a thing. Likewise Benedick could also serve as a thing, but equally so as the qualifier. Either way, the interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings that can be inferred from this variant structural labelling alone are numerous. Due to these difficulties one could call the constituents of the NG also a compound-thing. The compound-thing blends with Beatrice’s inability to position herself in respect to Benedick, and her unwillingness to admit that Benedick, as a man and character, rather than as a person

21. The connection between the subject and the vocative can also occur in other mood structure, as the example “Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed?” (Lr. 4.2.40) amply illustrates. In addition, there is an abundance of examples from various mood structures, where a connection is not only established between vocative and subject, but also between vocative and complement as, for example, in “The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid” (Lr. 1.1.182). 22. In her discussion of cataphora, Wales (2001a: 50) argues that a “light pronoun” is followed by a “heavier noun phrase.” Hence, Signior Benedick may also be seen as cataphoric reference.


positioned within a rigid social hierarchy, a signior, is the centre, the focus of her life and her mind. It somehow reminds us of two vocatives that appear in Son. 20.2 and 26.1: “the master-mistress of my passion” and “lord of my love.” Master mistress suggests both double gender and double allegiance, as in feudal loyalty and courtly love. The introduction of the concept of grammatical co-reference with the subject you in the clause can further specify the vocative’s role as an adjunct in this example. Here, the vocative is not the subject, but co-referential with it and it also occurs in a declarative rather than an imperative. The notion of the subject involves both the speaker and the addressee likewise. In propositions and proposals the speaker assesses the subject meaning to be mostly at risk, and for the listener the subject meaning is most likely a constituent that will be rejected (Martin et al. 1997: 65). Halliday’s (1994: 72) “being the subject of the clause means something” and his definition of the subject as “something by reference to which the proposition can be affirmed or denied” (Halliday 1994: 76) also specify the subject as an entity in respect of which the assertion is claimed to have validity. The subject is the constituent that is responsible for the success or failure of the proposition, and, hence, for the communicative event. Therefore, the indicated alliance between the vocative and the subject emphasised here provides the subject and hence the vocative with a grammatically foregrounded position in the clause. The grammatical and interactional force of the personal pronoun you alone, serving as the subject of the projected clause, and, as the constituent in the proposition that is mostly at risk, does not seem to be of sufficient functional quality. The stylistic (or rhetorical) and contextual value of Beatrice’s choice of personal pronoun you is more suggestive than another stylistic variant she has at her disposal, namely thou. But if we leave the attitudinal differences between you and thou aside for the moment, Illustration 3 shows that vocative and personal pronoun embrace the rest of the clause. Furthermore, the vocative qualifies the subject you. Here, like the qualifier’s role in the NG, which is located right of the thing, the vocative’s role is to qualify in a co-referential way and hence provide additional information on the right side of the subject. The vocative also represents the final component of the embracing connection between vocative and subject. Therefore, the grammatical constituents you and Signior Benedick serve not only as the starting point of the message being mostly at risk, but also as the resting point of the argument. The description of the position of the vocative as being right of its co-referential element might have reminded the reader of the concept of dislocation (see Quirk et al. 1985: 1416f., and Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen 1997: 109). Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen (1997:109) link the vocative with the concept of right- and left-dislocation, even though the assumption that vocatives are part of spoken language and that the concept of dislocation is only characteristic of informal speech, has to be criticised for being ideologically loaded. And yet, the concept of dislocation carries some valuable insights for the functional quality of vocatives. Dislocation describes a concept in which “a noun group that does not constitute the comment is sometimes dislocated to the periphery of the sentence and replaced by a corresponding pronoun” (Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen 1997: 109). In right-dislocation, the final NG is at the end or part of the tail without having prosodic prominence. We talk about left dislocation when the NG is placed initially and pronounced as a separate tone

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unit. It serves to establish the identity of the entity referred to right away and to emphasise what constitutes the topic of the sentence. Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen (1997: 109) state that the link between the vocative and a dislocated noun group is the peripheral status of both. The terminology, however, of something being dislocated (for example from the centre to the periphery) can be misleading. The vocative is not a displaced element in the clause, but both a functionally independent constituent in the clause which also affects other constituents. Yet, this coreferential status of the vocative can be explained via recourse to the concept of right- and left-dislocation. This is not only with regard to the interpersonal metafunction, but also in relation to the textual function of the vocative as a “marked theme,” and the vocative’s multifunctional status in general. Quirk et al. (1985: 1416f.) stress that the purpose of dislocation is amplification, emphasis, focus, and thematic arrangement. The qualitative analyses will show that these functions are of vital importance for the vocatives.23 To transfer these results to the example from Ado, one may argue that it is not only the subject that is put at risk, but also Benedick’s willingness to talk, as Beatrice, using the framework of an indirect thought (which is uttered as direct speech), asks herself why he still endeavours to talk. According to Görlach (1994: 89), it is difficult to say if the use of will refers to future tense or to modality, expressing the volition of the speaker. In this example, one could argue for both options. And yet, with regard to the intensified interpersonal link that has been established between the subject and the vocative, the latter meaning is especially dominant. From a speech act theoretical point of view, this meaning can well be described as the locutionary force of the utterance (Yule 1996). However, the locutionary force of the utterance deviates substantially from the illocutionary force of her utterance, because obviously she wants him to address her rather than say nothing. Hence, the vocative framing potential with regard to the speech function that is conveyed becomes obvious. That is why the subject you does not suffice as an address. She needs the vocative in order to achieve this effect (or the illocutionary force). Beatrice’s behaviour could well be described as a special kind of banter (see Leech 1983). Even though she pretends to be disinterested in Benedick’s presence, the additional nominal choice as address functions as a supplementing, intensifying, and specifying grammatical element for the subject and thus for the mood and residue structure. This observation is also corroborated by the fact that in this opening scene Beatrice selects herself as the conversation-initiating speaker and attacks Benedick right away. Furthermore, the connection between the subject you and the vocative Signior receives an additionally foregrounded quality if one considers that in the whole play Beatrice uses only seven direct address forms to or of Benedick, of which three are used in soliloquies. Certainly, vocatives can co-refer with constituents in the clause other than the subject, such as “The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid / That justly think’st and hast most rightly said!” (Lr. 1.1.182), in which the vocative is co-referential with the complement of the clause, or in “My being in Egypt, Caesar, / What was’t to you” (Ant. 2.2.35f.), in which the vocative co-refers with the prepositional phrase. The co-referential relationship is also 23. See also Chapter 4.2.4 for further critical remarks on the concept of dislocation in relation to the textual metafunction of vocatives.


relevant for other mood choices, as in “Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed” (Lr. 4.2.40). In the example from Tit. 3.1.161 “Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off,” the vocative is a marked interpersonal theme and co-referential with the subject of the mental clause, the senser, thou. Interpersonally, the vocative correlates with the subject of the mood structure. Titus’s preference of thou as a second-person personal pronoun over you intensifies the pleading and ingratiating as well as desperate force of the utterance. However, due to the fact that the subject is further amplified and correlated with the initially-placed vocative, which functions not only on the clause as whole, the illocutionary potential of this utterance is ironic, tragic and therefore hardly bearable in the light of Aaron’s scheming.24 The speech function of the clause is no longer that of a question, but of an indirect request, which also testifies to both Titus’s dependence and his obsession with honour and duty. Experientially, the choice of good Aaron, not only echoes Othello’s constant belief in and address of Iago as “honest, honest Iago” (Oth. 5.2.154), but also construes Aaron as the epitome of goodness. The initial position of the vocative and its over-pleading tone also create Titus’s propensity towards madness and the Senecan pedantry. These modifications of the vocatives’ role on the interpersonal plane are also relevant to the experiential and textual metafunctions of vocatives.25 Halliday (1994, 2004) and Eggins (1994) exclude the vocatives from the experiential metafunction, because the vocative cannot function as a participant within the clause; probably due to its role as an adjunct in the interpersonal metafunction. Furthermore, Eggins uses the vocative George in “But, George, in Switzerland they give you a cognac” (Eggins 1994: 226) as an example of her claim that the vocative does not play a role in the experiential type of meaning, because George “[...] is being talked to, not being talked about” (Eggins 1994: 226). Eggins’ explanation is neither as obvious and simple as she assumes it to be, nor does it represent a reliable and clear criterion for what belongs to the experiential metafunction and what does not. For Shakespearean vocatives, the experiential metafunction is vital for the structural analysis, but also for the functional interpretation of vocatives. It is assumed that the vocative may build up the similar semantic or even grammatical co-relation to the various kinds of participants, circumstances, or processes that have been suggested for vocative adjuncts and subject or complement within the interpersonal metafunction. The utterance from Ant. is an illustrative example of how this co-reference can work within the experiential metafunction, and what it can reveal for the functional quality of vocatives. It will be analysed from an ergative point of view that is seen as complementary to the transitive analysis. The ergative investigation of a clause mainly deals with the question of “who brought the happening about,” while the transitive interpretation asks “whether the action carries over to affect an additional participant or not” (Martin et al. 1997: 111). For the utterance “I’ll leave you, lady” (Ant. 1.3.86), this line of argumentation is as follows: from an ergative point of view I can be labelled as the agent of this clause, leave as the material process and you as the medium. There exists a semantic relationship between 24. This tendency towards using a positive vocative that is the opposite of the addressee’s real character is a frequently occurring strategy in Shakespeare. 25. See Chapters 1.5.2.3 and 2.2.2 for an explanation of the textual and the experiential metafunctions.

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the personal pronoun you and the vocative lady. Toolan’s (1998b: 87) modifications of the labelling of material processes with regard to mediums and agents suggests a differentiation between two subtypes of human mediums: human mediums, grammatical subject in intransitive clauses, which act intentionally, and human mediums, either grammatical subject or complement in the clause, acting “in a way not purposefully intended by them” (Toolan 1998b: 87). Toolan suggests this difference because he wants to contrast the degree of mediumness and subjection. According to this categorisation, you in the example from Ant. would hence be a targeted medium, which is acted upon. The medium you and the vocative lady are correlated. Even though you indicates a distance between speaker and hearer, the choice of the personal pronoun alone does not seem to suffice to indicate that Cleopatra is the targeted or acted upon medium. Therefore, Antony elaborates on the personal pronoun, by choosing a form of address that is highly marked not only within the whole corpus under investigation, but also within his address pattern for Cleopatra, as lady has not been used before and will not be afterwards. Additionally, this contextual use of lady represents a distancing form of address, while politeness theory would probably explain the use of this address form with the help of negative politeness, indicating that Antony tries to redress the face-threatening act by using a conventional term. Furthermore, the choice of a conventional vocative example like lady illustrates that Antony says something about Cleopatra indeed. The interactive view of quotidian selfconstruction has to be modified. In his Outline of a Theory of Practice, Bourdieu (1977a: 82) argues that relations are never individual-to-individual relationships and that the truth of the interaction is never entirely contained in the interaction itself. The lady vocative reveals that theoretical constructs such as the politeness theories are helpful for a contextual analysis, but may be equally misleading, as they do not include a concept that Bourdieu explains theoretically. Benedick’s “By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me” (Ado 4.1.274) is a mental process. Thou serves as the senser. The semantic relation that exists between the vocative and the senser is crucial, as Halliday subdivides mental processes into a) perception, b) affection, and c) cognition (Halliday 1994: 118). Benedick’s clause can be identified as a mental process of affection, in which he chooses himself as the grammatical phenomenon, and thou as the senser. The force of the personal pronoun is further extended in its functional quality. Hence, the speaker establishes the strong semantic link between the senser thou and the vocative Beatrice. Beatrice is not only a targeting form of address, but functions as an experiential vocative, which says something about the speaker and the hearer. To sum up, it has been illustrated that vocatives in Shakespeare are working on the interpersonal and experiential level of the clause as a whole, but also possibly on particular constituents within it. The idea of the “semantic tie” has been crucial in understanding the correlations that may exist between constituents in the clause and the vocative. A somewhat modified version of SFL is broad enough to incorporate the functional potential of vocatives below and in the clause. However, systemic theory as it has been articulated by Halliday and elaborated on by others, such as Martin et al. (1997), Eggins (1994) and Poynton (1989, 1996), does not deal with the vocative network as extensively as is suggested here. And yet, it is useful, appropriate, and theoretically comprehensive for this


study, as it enables the analyst to treat the language of Shakespeare according to the theoretical approach.

3.3 The Shakespearean vocative as grammatical metaphor 3.3.1 Introduction The concept of metaphor is most familiar to us from rhetorical approaches to language, which also enjoyed a high reputation among classical rhetoricians in Shakespeare’s time (Magnusson 2001b: 18). Well-developed communication skills and the celebration of eloquence are also at the core of the humanist syllabus (Adamson 1999), so that Shakespeare’s contemporaries, and probably Shakespeare himself, were able to draw on a vast amount of resources of rhetoric.26 The amplification and variation of any thought or expression within language contains the use of a number of figures of speech, to which the concept of metaphor can be generally applied. Halliday (1994: 340) defines metaphor as a “verbal transference of various kinds.” The term metaphor is also more specifically applied as “a word [that] is used for something resembling that which it usually refers to” (Halliday 1994: 340). As such, it is opposed to concepts, such as metonymy (a word is used for something related to that which it usually refers to) and synecdoche (a word is used for some larger whole of which that which it refers to) (Halliday 1994: 341f.). Certainly, the semantics of basically all vocative constituents may be “metaphorical” in character. Mention should only be made of some obvious references, such as Laertes’s address to Ophelia as “O Rose of May” (Ham. 4.5.158), “Dear maid” (Ham. 4.5.159), “kind sister” (Ham. 4.5.159), and “sweet Ophelia” (Ham. 4.5.159), or Tamora’s seducing vocative for Aaron “Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life” (Tit. 2.3.51), and her disdaining address to Bassianus “Saucy controller of my private steps” (Tit. 2.3.60), or Hamlet’s address to the ghost “old mole” (Ham. 1.5.162), and, finally, Lady Percy’s bantering vocative to Hotspur as “you paraquito” (1H4 2.3.85). In this chapter, major attention is drawn to Halliday’s concept of grammatical metaphor, which is strongly related to the semogenic power of NGs and their potential for taxonomising (Halliday 1994: 342, 1998). The general concept of grammatical metaphor, especially that of the experiential grammatical, but also the interpersonal metaphor is vital to an understanding of the vocatives’ interpersonal, experiential, and textual function, even though, so far, it has not been applied to the analysis of vocatives. Certainly, to fully grasp the conception of both lexical and grammatical metaphor it is advisable to approach an expression in relation to co(n)texts of culture and situation and not in absolute terms. A wording or an expression is metaphorical or congruent (Halliday 1994: 342) in relation to a different way of expressing the meaning.27

26. For a description of the role of metaphor in lexicology, see Lipka (2002: 138f.). 27. This point is especially enlightening in relation to the inference of, for example, word meanings, because the language of the plays is 400 years old.

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3.3.2 Vocatives in Shakespeare as experiential grammatical metaphor According to Halliday (1994: 341), it is not only possible to look at a particular wording in terms of lexical selection. A change of perspective from below, “a variation in the meaning of a given expression,” to above, “as variation in the expression of a given meaning” (Halliday 1994: 342), enables us to investigate the function of different grammatical expressions that are nevertheless said to denote the same meanings. Halliday calls this phenomenon grammatical metaphor, since the focus of study is transferred to the variation in grammatical structure (even though the lexical metaphor can be seen as a subcategory of expressing the same meaning by different wordings). In other words, the transformation within the semiotic mode corresponds with the general capacity of grammars as a stratified system. It sets up categories and relationships, which have the effect of transforming experience into meaning. But while grammar has the power of constructing, it can also de-construe and re-construe along different lines. Stratification involves mapping meanings into forms (that is processes into verbal and participants into nominal structures), and it also allows a re-mapping of, for example, processes into nominal forms. Experience has been re-transformed and undergone a process of grammatical metaphor. Halliday replaces the juxtaposed lexical terminology of literal and metaphorical by the more use- and context-bound definition of metaphorical and congruent. The epithet congruent denotes a way of expressing the meaning that is intuitively closer or more natural to the events in the world, respective of context of culture and situation (Halliday 1994: 343). Therefore, the terms congruent language do not refer to a wording that is understood to be stylistically or socially more degenerate or normative in comparison to metaphorical language: both forms are simply performing different functions, as many factors influence the choice of metaphorical language in different contexts. As such, the concepts of both lexical and grammatical metaphor should not be confused with norm and deviation or marked/unmarked paradigms, as both terms congruent and metaphorical do not initially include any stylistic value judgements (Halliday 1994: 345). Thompson (1996: 165) defines grammatical metaphor as follows: The expression of a meaning through a lexico-grammatical form which originally evolved to express a different kind of meaning. The expression of the meaning is metaphorical in relation to a different way of expressing the ‘same’ meaning which would be more congruent.

Halliday (1998: 197) succinctly theorises the idea in some other words as well: “same signified, different signifier.” Metaphor can be seen as another original and natural means of construing the multifunctionality and flexibility inherent in language. A linguistic element, for example a word or a grammatical structure, serves a particular function and is then extended to other related uses. Metaphorical modes of representation develop among congruent ones. For example, in English, nouns congruently encode things, while verbs congruently encode happenings. If this congruent usage is reversed, we may talk about metaphorical language as a re-mapping of the semantics onto the lexico-grammar (Thompson 1996: 176). What effect does this reconstrual have on the construction of dis-


course and what is the extent to which the concept of grammatical metaphor is applicable to the analysis of vocatives? The line of argumentation made in this study that the vocative can be seen as an experiential grammatical metaphor is strongly correlated to an assumption made in Chapter 3.1, which argues that vocatives should be investigated within the structural potential of the nominal group. The nominal group organises a large quantity of lexical information into functional configurations by the device which Poynton (1996: 115) describes as amplification or Halliday as modification: “[t]he semantic principle of this expansion, and its significance for discourse, is that it locates the participating entity along certain parameters ranging from the most instantial to the most systemic” (Halliday 1998: 196). For Halliday (1994: 342), nominalisation is one type of experiential grammatical metaphor, because the nominal mode of expression is a metaphoric transfer of a clause, hence of a process and participants.28 The experience has been retransformed and undergone a process of metaphor. What varies are not the lexical items, but the grammatical categories, “thus, grammatical metaphor, like metaphor in its traditional, lexical sense, is a realignment between a pair of strata: a remapping of the semantics on to the lexicogrammar” (Halliday 1998: 192). So far, SFL studies have not highlighted the fact that the concept of grammatical metaphor is applicable to vocatives because these are realised as nominal groups and may be seen as rewordings of more congruent clauses. However, the significance this point of view will have for the qualitative status of vocatives is enormous, as the concept helps not only understand the vocative’s functional quality and effectiveness within dialogue as interaction, but might also convince the remaining sceptics that vocatives function within the experiential metafunction. It is possible to discern the underlying congruent structure of a vocative as well as to interpret the suggestions of a congruent rewording for the functional quality of the vocative. At the same time, this notion, in a way, is systematically related to the context and to discursive processes. Albany attacks Goneril with ”Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed” (Lr. 4.2.40). Leaving aside the position of the vocative and the accompanying clause and speech move for the moment, one could reword the vocative tigers, not daughters by an identifying relational clause “You are tigers, not daughters,” where tigers and daughters are the value. It could also be expanded, as a conversion, along the lines of “you tigered your father,” or, as a derivation, “you are tigered” echoing such complex Shakespearean wordformations as “he childed as I fathered” (Lr. 3.6.110).29 As such, when a figure, which can be assumed to be congruently a clause, is reworded as a nominal group, much of the semantic information may become hidden or condensed in the NG. The underlying congruent clausal structure is also evanescent in vocatives, such as my lord or lady, which are often referred to as “titles of respect” (Breuer 1983) that indicate a static social relationship between speaker and hearer. The unpacking of forms such as these into relational processes of the identifying kind “you are my lord” or “you are my 28. The concept of metaphor as such has to be questioned. See also Lakoff and Johnson (1980). 29. Among others childed and fathered can be seen as both conversions and derivations (Wales 1987).

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lady” illustrate that the meanings are different from simple reference to static power relations. At the moment of utterance they are much more than that because the addresser uses this term in order a) to say something about the hearer on the experiential level, and b), on the interpersonal strata, to characterise the relationship between speaker and addressee within this co(n)text, as well as c) to establish the addressee’s dynamic social identity, as will be elaborated on in Chapter 4.2.1. In Ant. 2.2, Lepidus’s “Noble Antony, / Not sickness should detain me” (Ant. 2.2.169) has been used to illustrate that some vocatives in Shakespeare do not ostensibly correlate with any constituents in the clause. Also via recourse to the concept of grammatical metaphor and its application to the vocatives we come round to the view that vocatives will never be freestanding, but rather always co(n)textual and co-referential. As each more congruent clause may unload a vocative, the experiential and, hence, the interpersonal and textual dimensions of Shakespearean vocatives are opened up more clearly. The vocative can be unpacked by an identifying clause such as “you are a noble Antony” or “Antony is noble.” Additionally, another way of proceeding even offers a co-referential relationship between the vocative and a constituent within the clause. There is a tendency for an implicit constituent that complements the verb detain and also suggests itself as relevant when reading the clause. One might tentatively argue that what Lepidus means to say is that due to Antony’s noble character, even sickness could not withhold Lepidus from Antony. Hence the prepositional phrase, spelled in italics, may serve as implicit confirmation criteria for the constant correlation of vocatives with elements in the clause, even though these are not initially legible and rather represent borderline cases. The picture presented so far needs some more exemplifying material. In Tmp., the subsequent vocative, used by Miranda to address her father, occurs: “If by your art, my dearest father, you have / Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them” (Tmp. 1.2.1f.). Certainly, the vocative could be unpacked by a relational clause “you are my dearest father.” And yet, since a reworded clause that contains the verb father may again echo Edgar’s “He childed as I fathered” in Lr. 3.6.110, it is possible to unpack the vocative by the following more congruent clause: “you fathered me dearly.” Again, leaving aside position of vocative and accompanying speech moves, one can argue that this intertextual link enhances the meaning of the congruent rewording of the vocative, not only within its co-text, but also within its context: so far Prospero has represented for Miranda the most important and only person she could relate to. Yet, as she intends to prevent him from further exposing the others to the storm, she is in need of this bombastic reference to their filial alliance. Therefore, the meaning of the noun father in the vocative is complemented by its derivation or conversion, the verb fathered in the congruent clause. Adding to this is that both readings add, capture, and construe experiential and interpersonal meanings of father with their reference to the term of family relationship. Having established the fact that the vocative in Shakespeare may be rephrased as a clause, one may now ask what effects this metaphorical transfer contain, as, for example, in nominalisations the processes are objectified, as the doers of the process are often reduced. Therefore, it is important to describe in detail what happens grammatically in the deconstructing process, and inquire what it is that is reduced and condensed. Within this framework another factor is also worth stressing: Halliday (1998: 197) points out that the


nominal group of a nominalised process can represent another participant in the clause. Even though this observation has to be slightly modified for the role of the vocative, as vocatives in Shakespeare may serve as participants in the clause, and, they are co-referential with other participants in the clause, the notion of participation and condensation are crucial to an understanding of the vocatives’ force in Shakespeare. It is additionally necessary to look in more detail at the co-representational interplay that exists between the metaphorical and the congruent wordings of vocatives, which has already been alluded to in the example from Tmp. This relationship is essential in order to understand the functional, experiential, and interpersonal quality of the vocative, both as a nominal group and within the clause. Beyond the clause, the vocative as a grammatical metaphor opens up a changed, though also complementary viewpoint to the approaches taken within and below the clause. If we assume that a vocative can be congruently construed as a clause and hence reworded metaphorically by a nominal group, a considerable amount of energy is released. Note that the metaphorical shift involves two kinds of grammatical movement: in rank and in structural configuration. To understand the implications of “nouning” the process and the participants, we have to further broaden some of the observations that have been made in Chapter 3.1. The NG is a powerful resource for making meaning. Due to its semogenic power, the NG can be lexically expanded to a more or less indefinite extent. It can organise a large quantity of lexical material into functional configuration in which “lexical items operate either directly (as words) or indirectly (through rankshifted phrases or clauses)” (Halliday 1998: 197). This phenomenon is what Thompson (1996: 168) calls “incapsulation,” one of the two important functions of nominalisation. If we assume that, as has been illustrated above, a process has been rankshifted into a nominal group (that grammatically works as a vocative), this metaphoric shift constitutes another essential prerequisite for the inclusion of vocatives within the experiential metafunction, because it creates experience into wordings. Hence, the experiential function of Shakespeare’s vocatives, which so far has been excluded from all studies of vocatives, is crucial, not only in respect to the grammar of vocatives in the clause and its co-referential status outlined in Chapter 3.2, but also in relation to seeing the vocative as a NG and vocative categorisations (see Chapter 4.1). The NG-structure then opens up the potential for taxonomising and functions as anchoring points for the figure in which they occur. Hence, the transformation of experience into meaning and the re-mapping of semantics onto the lexical grammar creating the flux of experience into configurations of semantic categories have a value in people’s theory of living environment and meaning. The means of packaging compacting, condensing, and destillation (Halliday 1998: 200) is crucial to the interpersonal and experiential dimensions of discourse in Shakespeare. Seeing vocatives as grammatical metaphor is not only a rewording, but also a re-semanticising of meanings that historically, dramatically, and functionally, brings into being a new ideology of vocative usage. Cleopatra’s “Excellent falsehood” (Ant. 1.1.40), for example, might be interpreted as a realisation of how the whole world is contrived into deceit or how Antony resorts to lies and distrust, and, at the same time, it functions as a characterisation of Antony’s allegedly deceitful behaviour. Notice the way in which Cleopatra’s outburst distils, thingifies, and hence somehow statically positions Antony by the abstraction Excellent falsehood. He is

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hit by a verbal arrow, and, as Adamson (1999: 546) has put it, also by the surprise and the force of the new thought; just because it is structurally enwrapped in the NG and vocative manner. Adamson (1999) particularly refers to the high rhetorical potential of NGs for eloquence and the Early Modern appreciative attitude to this kind of rhetorical force (see Chapter 4.2.7). In relation to a vocative that may be preceded by a definite article, mention is made of Hal’s “Farewell, the later spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer” (1H4 1.2.158). As said, the difference between the use of my or the as deictic elements attributes a more distinct and momentary experiential value to Falstaff. This is, however, dialectically dependent upon the interpersonal choice of the vocative as an interpersonal element as such. The condensed information about Falstaff ’s social identity at the moment of Hal’s farewell needs explicit explanation, as it constitutes both a lexical and a grammatical metaphor. When Hal characterises Falstaff or Falstaff ’s condition as the Indian summer of old age, he is experientially characterised as such, but, interpersonally, one needs to question whether his address only adds to the general comic and jovial tone of the scene and thus serves as a form of banter, in which Falstaff lovingly ridicules Falstaff ’s alleged manly vivacity and sexual, criminal, unconventional energy, or whether it is to serve as a more sarcastic means of foreshadowing Hal’s detachment from Falstaff in 2H4. In relation to the confines of the theatre and the fact that content and interpersonal relations were only transferred by means of spoken language, the vocative must be seen as both an interpersonally, experiential, and rhetorically potent means of transferring both content and attitude, and relations. As such, the vocative’s pragmatic capacity for framing the speech function of the utterance it accompanies seems to be a logic consequence. This may result from the semantic ties it establishes to constituents in the clause. Here, the force of the vocative as realised by a nominal group and as a grammatical metaphor has even further enlightened this capacity. When, for example, Lady Capulet learns about Romeo’s murder of Tybalt, she authoritatively and pleadingly turns to the prince and demands: “Prince, as thou art true, / For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague” (Rom. 3.1.148f.). Despite the textual force of this vocative as a speaker-selector and its non-amplified form, the initial position of the vocative and the briefness of the address that goes along with it, not only bespeak of the intensity of her demand, but also almost turn it into a threat. These modifications substantially broaden former approaches, and, at the same time, point to the difficulties in incorporating the vocatives into a grammatical system, and to the vocative’s peripheral treatment. NG-composition causes the fairly static, non-negotiable, and objectified appearance of the vocative. The vocative as a NG is non-finite or “thingified,” as the thing in the NG represents the nucleus of the NG and the other elements are ordered around it. Hence, the vocative that is realised as a NG structure creates a universe of things, bounded, stable and determinate. Toolan (1998b: 96) also alludes to the idea of NGs serving as a grammatical metaphor when he argues that even though most nouns represent things, “stable or inactive” (Toolan 1998b: 96), there are some nouns and noun phrases that “directly entail an activity or verbal procedure. In a hidden way, they are clause-size activities re-packaged as isolated stable things” (Toolan 1998b: 96). If NGs are seen as a possibility of loading compact data into a clause or text, this observation, and the concept of nominalisation that lies behind it, must also have an additional functional po-


tential for the interpretation of the Shakespearean vocative. This is especially so if we take into account that nominalisations and NGs are “also notoriously ideologically charged” (Toolan 1998b: 96). When Antony addresses Cleopatra with “Love, I am full of lead” (Ant. 3.11.72), the vocative could be seen as a nominalisation of the verb to love. One may ask why Antony does not express his love for her verbally and whether this vocative is strongly related to aspects of positioning of speaker and hearer within co(n)text and socially determined rules. Again we can see the semantic ambiguity or, to put it differently, the deal of neutralisation that is achieved when a figure is reworded. Love might be the realisation of “I, Antony, love you, Cleopatra,” but it might also be reworded into the clause “you, Cleopatra, love me, Antony,” alluding to the authoritative force. In both versions, the process is both a mental process, but senser and beneficiary are changed. Accordingly, on the one hand, NGs or nouns in general and the structure of the vocative as a NG represent more stable, targeting elements on the experiential scene, as they tend to persist through time whereas processes themselves are evanescent. In addition, the question whether grammatical metaphor is simply a rewording, saying the same thing in a different way or whether it is also a re-meaning saying something different from the congruent form, has to be answered in favour of the latter. There is no loss of meaning or semantic distinction, as the different possible meanings are still discrete by the semantic junction across ranks and across categories, but a great deal of neutralisation takes place that intentionally causes ambiguity. Therefore, it can be tentatively argued that a nominalisation by means of the vocative in Shakespeare and its sub-processes of trans-categorising, compacting, destilling, serve very well in the primary construal of experience.30 Critical Discourse Analysis (Fairclough 1989) names nominalization as one means of agent deletion to downgrade the addressed to modifier status. In all the examples, the addressee is named from the centre of the addresser and from the point of view of the addressee’s usefulness to the addresser. On the other hand, Halliday’s partly artificial definition of grammatical metaphor as “expressing the ‘same’ meanings in different ways” (Halliday 1994: 342) also seems to contrast sharply with his theoretical axioms that all choices are stylistic and hence meaningful. Meaning is in the language and the expression is the meaning. Consequently, the choice of a metaphorical kind of wording construes a different meaning from the choice of a more congruent wording, because the grammatical categories change. We can integrate these seemingly contrasting opposites between the alleged expression of the same meaning and the fundamental systemic notion of meaning as choice by rightly turning these poles into a productive and co-representational interdependence. Note that congruent wordings can always be useful in exploring metaphorical wording, even though we cannot see them as expressing the real meaning. It is only one particular reading. Furthermore, a piece of wording that is metaphorical has an additional dimension of meaning, the congruent. Therefore, the wording means both, the metaphorical and the congruent meaning. They are not synonymous, but potentially co-representational, as what varies are not the lexical items, but the grammatical categories. 30. See also Wales’ (2001a: 50) mentioning of the “heavier noun-phrase” in her discussion of cataphora.

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The experiential interpretation of nominalization as creating stable entities and turning experience into wordings seems to contrast the vocative’s role as being explicitly and exclusively interpersonal. However, a constant to-and-fro process between the allegedly opposing poles of interpersonal and experiential constitutes what makes the vocative a complex element and indicates its enormous potential. The speaker sets up an exchange with the speaker, because he chooses the interpersonal element vocative as a direct address. As re-construing is seen not only as a rewording, but also as a re-semanticising, where a new ideology is brought into being, the interpersonal ideological import is obvious. The structural potential of the vocative, that is its mode of realisation as a nominal group, is experientially adding to the interpersonal dimension. It provides the speaker with a means of saying something about the hearer (and also about himself) in a grammatically metaphorical way. The enpacking of meaning in a nominalisation is, from a structural point of view, clearly experiential in outlook, as it transfers experience into meaning and enables the speaker to give the impression as if he focused on stable, actor-less ideas (despite frequently involved deictic elements, like my, our, and the often interpersonal epithet which involve the speaker’s attitude and are hence interpersonal) and using a stable, less evanescent grammar to construe meaning. In a nutshell, the grammatical form as such is interpersonal, while the structural framework allows experiential reflections that seem to suggest that these vocative nominal groups have a kind of permanence and existence beyond the actual moment of speaking. Chapter 6 applies these observations to the vocative and its role in dramatic performance. They also correlate with what Eggins (1994: 59) calls the “textual advantage” of nominalization. The possibility of packing in more lexical content per sentence is important for the vocative as a nominal group. It allows further experiential, and attitudinal meanings to be identified within the same nominal group. Furthermore, “by nominalising actions and logical relations, we can organise our text not in terms of ourselves, but in terms of ideas, reasons and causes” (Eggins 1994: 59).31 In addition, the NGs as such together with the strong and individual potential of the other elements carry the shock of the less evanescent new phrases, which opens the way towards a new thought. This is both crucial to the interpersonal potential of vocatives and their rhetorical dimensions. So far the language might have only expressed a concept by a clausal expression. 31. Again, it should be highlighted that the character of the vocative as NG also alludes to a revealing historical linguistic dimension as well. At the time, when Shakespeare wrote his plays, the recovery of the vernaculars in general and the English Language in particular is accompanied by fierce debates about its suitability, its inelegance and inadequacy for literature and scholarship (Baugh and Cable 1993: 202, 2002: 204). The aim to enrich the language in terms of syntax, morphology, orthography, pronunciation, and vocabulary, and the constant bias towards Latin within this process provide the aspect under investigation here, the vocatives as NG, with a historically foregrounded position. It is not only the vocative as such that immediately reminds one of Latin, but also the structural potential of the vocative: the possibility of expanding the NG to an indefinite extent in order to achieve eloquence and elegance as well as complex clauses. In Modern English, a highly nominalised style proliferates in academic or technical language or when the speaker wants to appear objective. Although in Modern English heavily nominalised language is in danger of sounding arrogant, in EModE Shakespeare might have exploited these possibilities for his own theatrical purposes.


Certainly, the distinction between congruence and metaphoricity is also dependent on socio-linguistic and socio-historical conventions (see also Goatly 2001: 207). Consequently, the description of vocatives as a grammatical metaphor is not intended as a value judgement for one or the other side. Due to the number of vocatives in Shakespeare, as outlined and interpreted in Chapters 4.1.3 and 4.1.5, one may even ask whether the grammatically metaphorical mode of expression of the vocative may not occasionally be called more congruent. Yet, here it is important to evaluate the meaningful potential of vocatives as grammatical metaphor. This gives the analyst the chance to draw the readers’ attention to an observation that is often in Shakespeare described as abstract expressions. One may argue that due to the confines of metre, content and structure, as well as due to the force of the NG, which may also be directly addressed to a hearer or hearers, these are shelled into vocatives. Cleopatra’s “riotous madness” (Ant. 1.3.30) has already been quoted as one example. In Rom., Romeo summarises the realisation that Juliet is a Capulet in the following abstract, yet, at the same time, interpersonally emotionalised vocative: “O dear account” (Rom. 1.5.118). Even though Gibbons translates this exclamative vocative as “terrible reckoning” (Gibbons ed. 1997: 120), one could also argue along a different line. The structural and semantic correlation of two antithetical concepts dear and account, which refers to a terrible reckoning indeed, is a typical strategy in the play of combining the negative and positive in situations of inner turmoil.32 In this case, the epithet dear refers to Juliet, who is precious to him from the very first moment despite her origin. In Rom. 2.4.65f., Romeo summarises a hilariously funny jesting between himself and Mercutio with a rhetorically and pragmatically clever quibbling: “O single-sol’d jest, soly singular for the singleness.” Notice the high alliterating proliferation of /s/-sounds and the use of the charming rhetorical figure of antithesis (Adamson 1999: 546). Romeo banteringly seems to imply that not only Mercutio’s bawdy innuendo that Romeo’s sexual exertions make him unable to stand and to think clearly but Mercutio himself has been so poor and silly that the dual should be concluded. In the sonnets, the abstract use of vocatives to summarise a complex idea frequently appears as well. In Son. 42 the final line starts with “sweet flattery” (Son. 42.14). Here the poet uses the address as an expression of gratification and affection or consoling delusion. In Son. 45 the same antithetical strategy that we already know from the examples mentioned above and master mistress appears: “These, present absent, with swift motion slide” (Son. 45.4). Absent refers to the absence of love from the poet and the beloved, too. Present he is with his friend. Hence, he is simultaneously present with the poet and absent from him, which is similar to Sydney: “O absent presence!” (Duncan-Jones ed. 1998: 200).

3.3.3 Vocatives in Shakespeare as interpersonal grammatical metaphor The interdependence between the interpersonal and experiential meanings of the vocative is important, as the vocative can also be seen as an interpersonal metaphor if the concept of modality is understood in broad terms as “intrusion of the speaker meaning,” rather than 32. See also Chapter 4.2.6 for the language of love in Rom.

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within the framework of modalisation and modulation. The vocative’s role as an adjunct is co-referential with various constituents in the clause. The vocative as a NG and within the clause codes the speaker’s opinion about the hearer and says something about the speaker as well. Prospero’s “Fine apparition” (Tmp. 1.2.317), which is directed at Ariel, and his clearly attitudinal “Thou liest, malignant thing” (Tmp. 1.2.257), then effectively illustrate the general notion of modality involving an “intrusion of the speaker.” The main kind of interpersonal grammatical metaphor corresponds with mood, the expression of speech function, and the underlying system of exchange, which determines the four basic speech functions. Toolan (2000) stresses the difficulties in determining the speech functions that are transferred by a particular clause, because more often than not grammatical mood choices and speech functions do not coincide. This mismatch allows us to apply the concept of grammatical metaphor to it, because “it involves the use of one linguistic form to express a meaning that is not its most ‘natural’ function [...]” (Thompson 1996: 175). The same mismatch can occur for the vocatives as well: a form to express a meaning that does not represent its most common form within the corpus as such. Remember again Antony’s “I’ll leave you, lady” (Ant. 1.3.86). The vocative has a clearly distancing connotation and stands in great contrast to the more personal and ingratiating forms Antony uses before. However, politeness theory might argue that the vocative lady is still a respectful term that serves to redress the face-threatening act to Cleopatra’s face. We can complicate this even further, because in the preceding chapter the idea of the “free-standing” vocative has been partly refuted in favour of the vocative being an adjunct that may also be co-referential with constituents in the clause. The impact the vocative may then have on the mood of the clause cannot be underestimated, because, as all other linguistic forms in the clause, the vocative reflects and constructs, that is construes, meaning. Usually, the interplay between mood and speech functions is a potent area for speech act theory, conversational analysis and pragmatic theories. For the moment, it should suffice to treat the idea of the interpersonal metaphor as a more general phenomenon and ask in addition: what is the interplay between the interrelated form and function of vocatives and mood and speech function of the clause? Let us return to the example “I wonder that you’ll still be talking, Signior Benedick” (Ado 1.1.116f.). How do we know that in this example the mood choice and the underlying speech function do not coincide? What role does the vocative play? We identify metaphor in the expression of mood and/or vocative choice. More subtly, an underlying request is wrapped in a declarative shell, because Beatrice wants Benedick to talk to her. A vocative is also an interpersonal metaphor because its most natural function is not to reinforce a request (could be misunderstanding), but it adds to the illocutionary force of this clause. As a cautionary note it should be repeated that this chapter has suggested some possibilities to what extent vocatives may be reworded by more congruent alternative clauses. Mention has also been made of the fact that, due to the application of the concept of grammatical metaphor to the vocatives, the denseness of meanings becomes apparent if vocatives are seen as metaphorical wordings on the experiential and interpersonal plane. Even though this density seems to be diluted by a more congruent unpacking of the vocative, both meanings, the metaphoric and the congruent, are implicative of the underlying meanings a vocative may have. And yet, it is impossible to determine which of the


unpacked rewordings that suggest themselves as relevant rightly reflects the meanings encoded in the metaphorical expression.33 In this chapter, strong emphasis is placed on the relevance of vocatives to the experiential grammar, especially its correlation with other participants in the clause. The world of vocative meanings can be construed by categorising them, also because of their realisations as NGs. Vocatives work not only alongside the clause as a whole, but they may also be co-referential with various participants in the clause. In addition, as grammatical metaphors, vocatives can be reworded as a clause, but the structural potential of the vocative as NG also opens up its semogenic power and the fact that NGs may represent stable, and fixed participants.

33. Even though Thompson (1996: 177) stresses the somewhat negative potential of rewording in “One of the dangers of the concept of grammatical metaphor is that it opens a potentially bottomless pit of possible rewordings,” here, the interrelationship between the vocative as a NG and its rewording should be stressed.

chapter 4

What’s in a vocative? – the experiential, interpersonal, and textual meanings of Shakespearean vocatives: a polyphony of voices

4.1 Shakespearean vocatives as experiential markers 4.1.1 Preliminaries The experiential function1 of language describes the embodiment in language of phenomena of the real world, and through it, speakers represent their views of the world to themselves and the addressee. The inclusion of vocatives in Shakespeare – a linguistic element that is usually said to have interpersonal value only – in the experiential sphere and as a means of reconstruing and construing experience into meaning might come as a surprise. Neither SFL studies nor other studies of vocative usage in Shakespeare consider the vocative highly relevant to this metafunction, although the experiential metafunction is the aspect of grammar that is usually given greatest linguistic prominence. The following chapters will argue that Shakespearean vocatives, as so-called “experiential markers,” semiotically re-construe and construe experience into meaning and are part of the experiential metafunction of language. Vocatives create a universe of things and relations. Here, the experiential effects that result from grammar as a metafunctional and stratified system are primary. In this respect, the vocative’s foregrounded2 (Douthwaite 2000) potential is understood in a thematic and conceptual, but also in alinguistic sense, meaning that the vocative, as a linguistic element, draws attention to itself. Note that, according to Halliday (1994, 2004), the primacy in language is laid on language as a system offering its users a set or network of options that enables a given concept to be expressed in more than one way. As soon as a specific element is chosen, it is stylistic and meaningful, and, in a broad sense, also transfers meaningful signals that guide the recipient towards the inference of global and local meanings, contexts and concepts. Vocative meanings are considered within the experiential metafunction, and clustered by trying to link grammatical, semantic, and contextual features. Even if one were to argue that the quantitative and qualitative foregroundedness of vocatives is exclusively modern, vocatives in Shakespeare carry their inbuilt foregrounded (EModE) effect, which goes far beyond what is established knowledge of decorum or the dominant social code of EModE culture. 1.

See Chapter 2.2.2, footnote 10.

2.

See Chapter 2.4.2.


The heads of the vocative as a NG are isolated and then investigated as to their construed experience. The lexis of the vocative’s head, its semantic content or field constitutes the starting point for evincing the construal of vocative clusters that is to convey the denotational or descriptive meaning of a vocative thing. This procedure will be suggested as a way of illustrating that vocatives are not unwieldy (Kopytko 1993a: 5) and that they cannot be restricted to meanings of rigid social structure exclusively.3 Another aspect that needs to be accounted for is that of collocation – or the syntagmatic axis. Usually, lexemes are not free to be arranged [syntagmatically] with other lexemes. A lexical combination is (also grammatically) restricted, for example, here by a set of items falling within a congruous semantic field, by the grammatical restrictions of the vocative as NG, and by the fact that collocates are dependent on the linguistic and cultural context of use. One may ask for the collocational clusters that occur in the vocative as NG and what they tell us about meanings. Placing a given item in its range of collocates delimits, extends or modifies the core meaning of the item in special ways. This leads to the final aspect of lexical meaning that must be repeated here: that of lexical sets (Lipka 2002: 169), in which words may be grouped together. A lexical item constitutes an experiential category that is more or less indeterminate but in explicit paradigmatic contrast with others. For example, should one vocative cluster be that of specialised fields, one subgroup is that of metaphysical, juridical etc. Similarly assigning a subgroup to a larger or more general class is also a theoretical operation, which often symbolises the move to a higher technical status. Certainly, as a step towards a semantic-contextual description, the clusters that are built up do not define but attempt to classify the core of each vocative (group) in context.4 Within this framework, it is vital to re-emphasise that in the categorising process one has to take into account all elements that can be summarised under the heading of lexical semantics (Tucker 1996: 555, Lipka 2002: 169f.). These features include, for example, the grammar of the words used within the structural potential of the vocative. It should 3. These procedures will certainly have to take into account some of the following considerations: one is the fact that a signifier is rarely monosemous in terms of grammar and lexis, and that often a core of codified meanings can be established. Another dimension that augments the fuzzy character of lexis as such is the concept of connotation. These are meanings deriving from the core signified – associations one makes with the core. They may often introduce social, expressive, emotive, attitudinal meanings – to use Jakobson’s (1960) terms of how communication works. 4. Certainly, despite the grammatical rules mentioned above, the assignment remains complicated. The phenomena to be accounted for are the grammar of words, the experiential lexical choice, the affective lexical choice, the textual lexical choice, the collocational behaviour, the co(n)text (see Chapter 4.2 and Lipka 2002: 169f.). The nature of classification of the lexical system network that characterises Shakespeare’s use of vocatives is most closely related to our perception and classification of phenomena in the world of experience by safeguarding EModE and Shakespearean “idiocyncracies.” Most of these aspects have already been mentioned in the chapter on the theory underlying this process. Therefore, it suffices to revise only some of the crucial headwords involved in this process: different registers, overlapping fields of reference, gain and loss of meanings, generalisation and specialisation, connotations, approval and disapproval, metaphors, formal influence, loss of intensity, and differences of world view (Barber 1997: 256f.). As has already been mentioned, the design is further influenced by ideas in concept categorisation and theories of knowledge representation. Another important source of insight is the kind of relational information about word senses encoded in dictionary definitions.

Chapter 4. The experiential, interpersonal and textual meanings of Shakespearean vocatives

be investigated what meanings the individual position of a word has in general, how it contributes to the overall meaning and what are the consequences for the categorisation. In addition, the lexical choice or the sense and reference of a lexeme,5 plays a major role together with its interpersonal and textual meanings. The process of selecting one dominant type of contrast deserves mention, as one needs to find out the most suitable and less dangerous way to go about the cross-classification of vocative-constituents. The broadness of the clusters is meant to guarantee, on an ad hoc basis, that vocative material from other Shakespearean texts is included. This makes it possible to deal with other plays selectively. Following this listing is an attempt to establish some kind of core semantic (and contextual) value of each thing occurring in the corpus.6

4.1.2 Network of vocatives in Shakespeare The following paragraphs will outline possible interconnections between vocative realisations, lexis, and grammar by means of the creation of a network of options as depicted in Diagram 1. It will also argue that in addition to a thesaurus-like list of vocative categories and corresponding examples, a system network will be seen as indispensably alternative. This network represents both a detailed, illuminating SFL approach to vocatives in Shakespeare and a novel description of the world of vocatives in Shakespeare’s plays. Mention has been made of what Halliday (1961: 267) calls the “grammarian’s dream,” the inclusion of lexis within grammar as a part of the unified system network.7 Here the system network indicates the lexical source of the head-word in the vocative realised as NG. Among the factors that render the system network advantageous to the semantic description of vocatives, its capacity to realise the key notion of SFL (that of choice) comes as the first major justification for approaching the vocatives in this way (e.g. the first two arrows in Diagram 1 realise the network name-based and non-name-based vocative as a primary choice).

5. This is Frege’s sense (Allan 2001: 88f.). Ogden and Richard’s model ([1923] 1946) of concept, symbol, and reference should not be underestimated. 6. To ease the process of computing all vocative things, I use the concordance program conc. 1.76 (see list of references), which alphabetically sorts all things and summarises and counts similar forms. 7. Within SFL, the attempt at realising Halliday’s idea of lexis as most delicate grammar has only rarely, though enticingly, been fulfilled (Tucker 1996). The scarcity of studies (but, in contrast, see Hoey 2005), however, may result from the unusual claim to consider lexis not as separate from grammar, but as an essential part of it. Therefore, (functional) linguists have drawn major attention to syntax and other areas as well as separated syntax from lexis. Since the classification and interpretation of vocatives in Shakespeare aims at fusing grammatical and semantic/lexical particularities of the vocatives’ forms (the lexis of vocative forms constitutes a major pillar in the analysis of vocatives) it is vital to discuss the extent to which the lexis of vocatives can best be approached in Halliday’s sense described above.

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Diagram 1. Categories of vocatives in Shakespeare’s plays – a network of options



A system network of vocatives in Shakespeare shows what is not chosen as well as what is chosen in the lexical resource of the world of vocatives. Therewith it renders explicit the lexical resources, such as conventional, generic, specialised fields, personal names, and so forth. Since SFL is a semantically oriented theory of language that makes statements about how speakers mean, the primacy of choice of paradigmatic relations is certainly imperative for the lexical material of vocatives. For example, one may ask about the semantics of the vocative-thing and its paradigmatic relation to the repertoire of the entire lexical resource. If paradigmatic relations are crucial to the system of choice in relation to the construal of meaning, then syntagmatic relations are a logical consequence. Hence, what grammatical and lexical items within the vocative have in common is their potential for realising meaning by contrasting paradigmatically and syntagmatically with some other items in a given context. One might argue that a system network simply either parallels representations, such as the semantic net or the lexical field, or goes against Chomskyan grammar or psychoanalytical representations of language. However, discriminating all the meanings available to a speaker through the linguistic resource, the system network deviates from the central goal of lexical field representations. In addition, “a system network is accompanied by realisation rules on certain features that specify the structure in which the meanings are realised” (Tucker 1996: 555). Hence, it is a formal scheme for representing linguistically realised meanings that also provides material for analyses of textual, interpersonal, and experiential dimensions. These metafunctional features should not be underestimated in respect to, for example, textual cohesion, choices in register, and expressions of meanings relating to the experiential (Tucker 1998: 10). As Diagram 1 illustrates, broadly speaking, the primary dividing criterion of this categorisation of vocatives is one familiar to us from lexical semantics: that between namebased and non-name-based vocative-things.8 Name-based vocatives are all personal or proper names that are used, non-namebased are all other categories. The former category then contains the sub-classes: modified and unmodified. For those terms that are not based on names a further semantic feature subdivides this class into terms that are related to human qualities and those that are not, and so-called EPITHETs.9 Linguistically speaking, the class of EPITHETs contains vocatives that describe a kind of quality already inherent in the semantics of the thing. In addition, a vocative summarised under the heading EPITHET can indicate one of the two conditions: either it cannot be assigned to one of the other classes mentioned below, or the fact that it denotes an inherent quality is more important than, for example, that it may also be a generic term. For example, the vocative whore is regarded as placing more emphasis on the quality of being a prostitute, although it certainly denotes the female sex of the person addressed, and would therefore also be attributable to the category generic terms,. Furthermore, the category EPITHETs also summarises those clusters in which the thing of the vocative as 8. Again it should be mentioned here that the categorisation of vocatives is guided by what is provided in diverse EModE dictionaries, Shakespeare glossaries, the OED (1992), and Spevack’s thesaurus (1993). 9. The category EPITHET is spelled in capital letters in order to distinguish it from those modifiers that may precede the head of a NG.

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NG cannot be easily defined. This holds true for all vocative collocations that consists of two head nouns, such as my dear Lady Disdain or Lord Westmoreland. Among those categories that redirect attention to human qualities/merits are the following: conventional terms, emotion / mind, thought, generic names, and kinship terms. Even though distinct from what Breuer (1983) and Stoll (1989) have termed “titles of respect,” the core vocabulary labelled conventional stems from those fields that label Early Modern hierarchical society, its social mobility, and the various social structures resulting from the settings of the individual plays (for example, signior denotes the Italian character, while tribune alludes to Roman society). As List 1 in the Appendix illustrates, Shakespeare exploits a variety of those terms for which the OED, for example, gives at least one sense that contains a description of social status, such as “high-born.” Similar denotations can be found in Shakespearean glossaries like Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962) and Onions (1986). Even the lexicographical descriptions of EModE dictionaries compiled in the EMEDD connect several headwords with social status: queen, for example, is described in Florio (1598) as the “spouse of the king.” Despite the highly rank-conscious society of Early Modern England, social mobility also leads to a generalisation of the usage of such terms as sir and lord, and their female counterparts madam and lady (Williams 1992: 92). For example, sir was no longer restricted to “a respectful term of address to a superior” (OED 7.a.), but had a socially wider range (Nevalainen 1999: 438f.). As can also be seen from List 1 in the Appendix, sir and lord are used most often in the corpus under investigation. This widespread use of sir corroborates Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg’s (1995: 560) findings. Nevertheless, there is a wide variety of other samples that are summarised under the label conventional terms. As such, these somewhat archaic usages of and recourses to terms outdated at Shakespeare’s time correspond with the dramatic exploitation of the personal pronouns you and thou, which at Shakespeare’s time almost lost its social and emotive function, and is replaced by a more dominant and less marked use of you (U. Busse 2002). In other words, the number and variety of conventional terms used in the plays also deviate from the extra-textual norm at Shakespeare’s time, despite the category’s importance for EModE address behaviour likewise. In terms of function, the point needs stressing which Saul (1995: 864f.) makes concerning the address terms that have been used for the historical Richard II: he remarks that the historical Richard II used many of the address terms, which, in this study, are summarised under the heading conventional terms, as linguistic expressions of flattery and social augmentation. Another important observation should be highlighted: the distributional unevenness of female and male terms. There are by far more male terms in this category than female. This observation allows the tentative conclusion that in this register female characters are not addressed as often by a direct form of address than is the case for the other categories. The vocatives from the broad category emotion / mind, thought refer to an emotion or thought. Within this category, the term emotion describes any direct agitation or disturbance of mind that is immediately inherent in the sense and reference of the vocative alone – in other words, a mental feeling or affection as distinguished from cognitive or volitional states of consciousness. To some, the construal of the class emotion may seem difficult, because a vocative – perhaps, by definition – automatically conveys emotion: even when


one chooses not to indicate emotion with a vocative, this too is an emotional decision. It can also be considered problematic to restrict emotion to those words that overtly describe an emotion. Yet, as these first clusters of vocatives construe the experiential “world of vocatives” (things) or the core vocabulary, in general, the category emotion / mind, thought does not negate that other terms also entail emotion. A greater variety of terms but fewer occurrences of those head vocatives mark the character of this category. The highest number is represented by the vocative love, which usually denotes a positive emotion. However, the number of negative emotional terms is generally higher in this category than positive terms. As this category contains vocatives that are inherently emotional, one may conclude that their contextual usage is highly marked. Vocatives that are mind/ thought within this category of emotion / mind, thought are terms denoting a process of thinking, mental action. Generic names overtly belong to genus, male or female. In Shakespeare’s plays, it is common usage to address one’s interlocutors by means of address formulae that recourse to the specific sex, and maturity of the addressee. Boy is the term that is most frequently used, while other options that, one would think, denote the same concept, such as knave or lad, occur much less frequently. In contrast to conventional terms, where the number of headwords that refer to women is lower than that referring to men, the terms that denote gender difference are relatively evenly distributed (see List 1 in the Appendix). As the choice of a generic term as a vocative is on average or conventionally lower in register than that of a conventional term one is tempted to resort to a feminist reading and condemn the result of this investigation as ultimately derogatory. However, generic terms may construe more direct and hence more authentic meanings than conventional terms. We shall see that the shades of meanings are various here as well. Kinship terms are the terms referring to family relationships; in a wider sense, they refer to the unity formed by those who are nearly connected by blood. Direct address to members of the family by means of vocatives denoting kin relations seems a normal way of addressing in Shakespearean nuclear families. However these terms have to be evaluated against the other vocative options that are at a speaker’s disposal. Generally speaking, the use of these address formulae might either indicate in-group-identity or denote derogatory meanings. In EModE letters, cousin, brother, and son also appear on their own as address formulae (Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg 1995: 561). The cluster “terms that redirect attention to non- or extra-human qualities” is further subdivided into terms referring to specialised fields and terms referring to natural phenomena. The category specialised fields is divided into the following sub-categories: a) arts/leisure: the trivium, and grammar, logic, rhetoric, dialect, art, and literature, b) legal: of or pertaining to law, c) medical: that area which is concerned with the cure, alleviation, and prevention of disease in human beings, and with the restoration and preservation of health, d) metaphysical: applied to more or less of reproach of reasoning; ideas, which are considered over-subtle, or too abstract; the religious and supernatural terms used as things are assigned to this class, and e) military: pertaining to soldiers or military life, used, performed, or brought about by soldiers.

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The frequency of reference that is made to one of these categories varies in each subcategory. For example, terms that refer to arts and leisure occur 29 times, medical reference appears 51 times, legal terms amount to 79, metaphysical to 461, and military to 127. The high number of metaphysical terms, especially those that are used as apostrophes, are striking within this category. In addition, the complete category testifies to the strong correlation of Shakespeare’s vocative senses and the EModE world view. Furthermore, the degree of lexical broadening that takes place in order to ameliorate the English language as well as the specialisation in various fields of interest that took also place at the time is equally noteworthy. The following categories are hyponyms of terms referring to natural phenomena: a) sense/perception: faculty of perception or sensation; usually reckoned as sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch, b) clothing, c) food, d) furniture: referring to all kinds of furniture, e) nature:10 natural products, occurrences, and phenomena, objects, and f) parts of the body. Quantitatively, the categories are differently represented. Animal-vocative-forms amount to 76, vocatives that refer to clothes amount to 18, those that refer to food amount to 10, those that denote furniture amount to 15, those that refer to nature to 81, to parts of the body to 57, and those to sense and perception amount to 11. Hence, animal vocatives, nature vocatives, and those that refer to parts of the body are most prominent within this category. The interpretation of those vocatives that refer to an animal need special Early Modern knowledge of the different connotations involved. Most of the terms are applied to human beings. Generally speaking, the extent to which natural phenomena are addressed corresponds to the Early Modern world view. The category parts of the body is especially noteworthy if one considers that a direct address is made to the sinews, eyes, brain, or breast. This highly evocative potential also holds for the categories clothing, furniture, and food, which also constitute clusters that are referred to vocatively. It may therefore be argued that the inherent emotive and attitudinal potential of the category is crucial. The lexical variety that is used vocatively is visible in the Appendix in List 1. In conclusion, due to the structural realisation of the vocative as a NG, vocatives need to be considered within the experiential metafunction of language. The noun as an obligatory element constitutes the determining constituent for the categorisation of vocatives. Table 2 lists again categories of vocatives, their definitions and respective examples.

10.

Nature is one sub-category of the general vocative cluster natural phenomena.


Table 2. Categories of vocatives in Shakespeare and their definitions Vocative Category

Definitions

Examples

conventional terms

those fields that label Early Modern hierarchical society, its social mobility, and various social structures resulting from the settings of the individual plays

“noble patricians” (Tit. 1.1.1f.), “dame” (Lr. 5.3.155), “lady” (Ham. 3.4.115), “dear madam” (Lr. 4.7.8), “my lord”


refer to an emotion or thought, any direct “my dearest love” (Mac. agitation or disturbance of mind, feeling, 1.5.58f.) passion and excitement, those terms that denote a process of thinking, or mental action

EPITHET

vocatives that describe a kind of quality already inherent in the semantics of the thing

“friend” (Ham. 2.2.184), “poor Caitiff ” (Oth. 4.1.108) or “sirrah” (Ant. 5.2.229)

generic terms

terms that overtly belong to genus, male or female

“my boy” (Lr. 1.4.106), “sweet wench” (Tit. 3.1.282)

terms referring to natural phenomena

terms referring to nature

“O inhuman dog” (Oth. 5.1.62), “stubborn knees” (Ham. 3.3.67)

sense / perception clothing food furniture nature parts of the body

faculty of perception covering, dress nourishments furnishings natural products, occurrences reference to parts of the body

personal names

all personal or proper names used

“Semiramis” (Tit. 2.3.118), “barbarous Tamora” (Tit. 2.3.118), “fairest Cordelia” (Lr. 1.1.250), “Margaret” (R3 1.3.233)

terms referring to specialised fields

terms that describe learned fields

“O limed soul” (Ham. 3.3.68), “fine apparition” (Tmp. 1.2.317)

arts / leisure legal medical metaphysical military terms of family relationship

the trivium, leisure activities of or pertaining to law of or pertaining to medicine religious, supernatural phenomena pertaining to military life or soldiers terms referring to kinship relations

“O wonderful son” (Ham. 3.2.328), “niece” (Ado 2.1.16)

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The Shakespearean vocative system does not only consist of superordination, co-ordination and antonymy, but also of many more possible lexical and semantic relations. The following chapter will investigate the categories and subcategories in more detail and list some of the representatives of the respective clusters. Even though the cluster conventional terms represents an important category of vocatives in this corpus, the variety of sub-groups, for example, for both natural phenomena and specialised fields creates the foregrounded status of vocatives when levelled both against an inter- and intra-textual norm and context. Therefore, a general interpretation of these clusters is necessary to illustrate their strong interrelationship with the Early Modern linguistic, and socio-cultural background

4.1.3 Making use of the idiom: the world of Shakespearean vocatives – analogy and the Early Modern Chain of Being What does the semantic and lexical variety of vocatives in Shakespeare say about Shakespeare’s world of vocatives if the core meanings belong to registers (or fields) as diverse as conventional terms, specialised fields, such as military, legal, arts and leisure, medical and/or metaphysical, natural phenomena etc.? Number, scope, and breadth of categories run counter to the claims that vocatives are peripheral in Shakespeare and that quantity and quality are unmanageable in terms of a scientific and systematic investigation. At the same time, the variety of vocative clusters alone testifies to the fact that recourse to EModE rigid social structure cannot explain the qualitative potential of this variety. In other words, the core vocative vocabulary that has been formed into clusters provides many more categories than those established so far. In addition, the categorisation does not presuppose functions of vocatives. Despite the fact that there is an ideal so-called lexical “freedom of choice,” the manner in which Shakespearean vocatives are embodied in lexical choices, or to put it differently, the abundance of available paradigmatic entries, is still striking in the sense that it represents but also construes experiential meaning, and context. Furthermore, the network of vocatives presented in the previous section interplays with EModE cultural and sociolinguistic experience. At Shakespeare’s time, the EModE lexicon increased enormously not only in terms of sheer quantity, but also as regards the specialisation of lexical areas or semantic field referred to. Görlach (1994: 111) enumerates the lexical areas of medicine, religion, biology, architecture, philosophy, rhetoric, art, law, shipping, trade and finance, medicine and anatomy that all saw an increase in vocabulary. This was due to the general EModE claim to ameliorate the language, but also resulted from changes and new developments in these fields.11 What is striking is that many of these lexical fields and hence cultural areas or pre-occupations are also referred to and created in Shakespearean direct address behaviour of fictional dialogue. Obviously, dramatic, interpersonal, experiential, textual, pragmatic, sociolinguistic, or other constraints are created and mirrored via recourse to these different fields. The specific character of conventional terms has already been mentioned. The number of personal names is equally striking and alludes to Lodge’s (1992: 35) comment on the crucial role of naming in fiction, because it 11. For further information of the socio-linguistic context see Chapters 1.6 and 4.2.7.

Chapter 4. The experiential, interpersonal and textual meanings of Shakespearean vocatives 139

throws doubt on the reduction of vocatives to speaker selection only. Furthermore, conventional beliefs of what terms of family relation, such us mother and uncle, do in conversation, are frequently boiled down to the indication of personal kinship relations only. Recourse to what is known about EModE Renaissance concepts of the world may help illuminate the experiential potential of vocatives that denote a specialised field, EPITHETs, or natural phenomena. Tillyard’s ([1943] 1973) The Elizabethan World Picture has extensively framed basic ideas of the English Renaissance and should not be underestimated, despite the criticism of incompleteness and of the fiction of a comprehensive Elizabethan world view it has been confronted with (Suerbaum 2001a: 84). Categories of vocatives that have been construed from the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare already allude to and construe some aspects of what is known about the Elizabethan world picture. According to a broad consensus (Suerbaum 2001a: 84f.), the Elizabethan world is characterised by a universal god-given order, which positions all its participants, material and intellectual, in a particular place. The cosmos is further characterised by degree and the Chain of Being. It depicts, for example, the minerals at the bottom, followed by the animal kingdom, human beings and the arch-angels at the top. Generally, the picture is characterised by sub- and super-ordination. The moon marks the beginning of the macrocosm and contains the seven planets. Crucial to the idea of order and degree is also the variety of positions as well as the complementary principle of analogy. As such, micro- and macrocosm are strongly related, especially the relation between human beings and micro- and macrocosms are central. Human beings mirror God, the angels, the stars, and the earthly world. The four humours are related to the basic elements and contain four basic characteristics of the material: gall, representing melancholy, is earthly, cold, and dry; phlegm is watery, cold and humid; blood is airy, hot and humid; and the red gall is fiery, hot and dry (Suerbaum 2001a: 87f.). This Chain of Being, and the different parts that constitute it, are construed when vocatives are categorised. Conventional terms at least superficially refer to social structure and the social order of which Elizabethans were supposed to be part.12 However, the categorisation of vocatives into conventional terms, emotion / mind, thought, EPITHETs, natural phenomena, personal names, specialised fields, and terms of family relationship also alludes to other important aspects of the Elizabethan world picture. As a subcategory of specialised field, the metaphysical, for example, mirrors elements of the Renaissance view of the supernatural, black art, and the macrocosm, which consisted of the planets, the angels, the stars, and God himself. Similarly, recourse to natural phenomena mirrors and construes the second and third step. Generic terms resort to the most obvious distinction between human beings, that of sex, and the different semantic features that can be used to further describe it: age, adulthood, maturity etc. Here, again, parallels to the Early Modern or Renaissance Chain of Being become obvious, as these images also relate to order. As regards the specialised field of arts and leisure, one can discern the construal and recourse to Renaissance ideas as well, for example, in the heavy emphasis on culture and arts in general. Suerbaum (2001a: 96) points out that Elizabethans preferred to think in analogies. Imagery (cf. metaphors, similes, comparisons, and parables) became increasingly impor12. For further details of Elizabethan social hierarchy and the age of social mobility, see Chapter 1.6.


tant (Suerbaum 2001a: 87). Obviously, characters in Shakespeare in interaction construe meanings that are somewhere between who is addressed and the form and function of the vocative that is used. They try to construe human beings and to position them in analogy to this Chain of Being. Therefore, the potential of vocatives for actualising both deviation and correspondence is foregrounded with regard to an outer- and inner-textual norm. At the same time, this idea of foregrounded experiential meaning is strongly correlated with the attempt to make suggestions about the ideation of vocatives. With regard to the outer-contextual norms, the lexical array of vocatives used in Shakespeare tentatively anticipates a sensitive correlation with Early Modern socio-historical and socio-linguistic characteristics. However, at the same time, the deviating potential of vocatives from these external norms is significant. Since the lexical variety within what is here called conventional term has never been systematically analysed, explanatory recourse has been to the rigid social patterns of vocatives only. In addition, as has already been emphasised, sources on EModE address patterns, as described, for instance, in courtesy literature, represent normative sources that certainly cannot unambiguously equated with the use of vocatives in drama. As such, it may be possible that especially with regard to conventional terms foregrounding is understood in the sense of parallelism. But to the same extent, vocatives in Shakespeare differ from the external norm in that many other terms used go beyond the conventional usage. In addition, within conventional terms, different shades are possible. This observation is especially important for the vocative interpretation of those characters who, by way of their roles of the plays, only have a limited array of vocatives at their disposal, but are still able to use vocatives for specific functions other than the merely social. Iago’s constant use of my lord for Othello (see Chapter 5.2.2) can then no longer be seen as a marker of obedience and respect. Nevertheless, deviation from the conventions established in Elizabethan courtesy literature is not only inherent in the use of other lexical fields that are used vocatively. Under the heading of specialised fields, for example, those terms referring to metaphysical phenomena constitute the highest number. Obviously, the need to address metaphysical phenomena is not only a reflection of the Elizabethan interest in religious ideas and affairs (see also Barber 1997). Reference is also often made to so-called natural phenomena, which may refer to animals, parts of the body, clothing, flowers etc. In this sense, we have to emphasise that the denotational meaning of a term may be modified into an indirect, non-literal meaning by its communicative use in context. Some might stress that vocatives are not foregrounded, but simply logic. At this stage, it is therefore necessary to re-emphasise that vocatives construe meanings and context rather than merely reflecting it. The categorisation of vocatives is therefore not a mere labelling, but a creation of new vocative meanings. Probably, in dramatic texts, this almost radical Whorfian claim is even aggravated because directional devices outside the dialogue are scarce (what is called “Nebentext” [Fielitz 1999: 62]). If one wishes to think in economic terms, with reference to the Gricean (1975) cooperative principle, one could argue that within the inner-textual norm, Gricean maxims are all violated (which in turn causes the foregrounding). However, as has already been mentioned, there is more to language choice than questions of economy. Social factors of a


permeable as well as micro-analytical kind play an equally important role as do contextual factors. If one were to reduce vocatives to speaker-identification, it would be possible to argue for a certain level of redundancy involved in the repetition of forms (see Eggins and Slade 1997). However, as the different forms are existent in the play, they are stylistic and create contexts as well meanings. Therefore, one needs to ask for the effect. Lexis informs and affects our reading, and frames (Fillmore 1985, Lakoff and Johnson 1980) help us organise the lexical information and, at the same time, immediately trigger interpretational scripts that have to be placed in context. The fact that vocatives in Shakespeare are always deeply embedded in the cultural context of the respective plays and in that of Early Modern England, and the fact that Shakespeare builds on the usage also alludes to Lakoff ’s (1980: 3) concept of metaphor. Similar to what Lakoff and Johnson (1980) illustrate for modern language, Shakespeare’s cognitive conception of vocatives is largely metaphorical and the essence of his metaphor of vocatives is understanding and experiencing one thing in terms of another. This is not only so in terms of structure, as outlined in Chapter 3.3, but also in terms of lexis, (lexical) metaphor, and cognitive metaphor. Just as Lakoff notices that in discussions, for example, we tend to use war-diction (Lakoff 1980: 7), it can be argued that vocatives in Shakespeare are conventional, emotion / mind, thought, EPITHETs, generic, natural phenomena, personal name, specialised field, and family relation. The foregrounded status also results from this observation. The fact that vocatives in Shakespeare show an overabundance of vocative lexis, which is metaphorical of the Early Modern Chain of Being and used to position and to classify various characters in the play, carries an association to the global level of ideology and culture as a system on the move from micro-linguistics to macro-linguistics and metalinguistic concepts. All vocatives are rhetorical acts of persuasion. In Tit., for example, Aaron’s name and its use as vocative carries an explicit Early Modern link to a herb aron that reinforces Aaron’s position of the pre-Christian evil, the sexual, and the wicked (Lancashire 1997: 16). Cleopatra’s pointed use of military vocatives, such as “the greatest soldier of the world” (Ant. 1.3.38), which construe and reflect situations of high emotional intensity, do not simply identify Antony as part of this group. They are also ambiguous metaphorical divisions, which reflect dominant economic Roman structures, social prejudices, and forces which control their existence. The great semantic variety of vocatives that occur in the corpus under discussion testifies to another key concept of Renaissance ideas: that of copia or an eloquent classical style. In Chapters 3.1 and 3.2, mention has already been made of structural similarities, but here the general Early Modern linguistic developments are indicative of the high lexical variety of vocatives in Shakespeare’s plays. These dimensions will be illustrated in more detail in Chapter 4.2.7, which deals with vocatives and rhetoric, and in Chapter 6, touching on vocatives and theatre. Here, it is sufficient to argue that the enormous semantic variety that leads to a complex construction and depiction of Shakespearean reality also results from the fact that “the instability of the language was to be revelled in” (Platt 1999: 285). According to Adamson (1999: 546), what happened in the Renaissance – partly through the discovery of new manuscripts of Quintilian and Cicero – was a re-integration of the formal figures of rhetoric with

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the persuasive and affective functions of oratory and this went together with an enhanced conception of the orator’s social role.

Within the idea of copia and the Renaissance notion of aesthetics and culture, the concept of variance is central. But the point, in turn, needs stressing that language in general and vocatives in particular often direct attention to themselves. Nevertheless, the social role of rhetoric, the amelioration of the language and the need of the poet to echo several classics on rhetoric is also construed by the use of a lexical variety of vocative terms in Shakespeare’s plays. As such, the Latin bias of vocatives as a syntactic element is attributed a further Latinate rhetorical dimension. Rissanen (1999: 191f.) stresses the importance of the NG for EModE in general. If we relate this observation to what has been argued concerning the vocative as a grammatical metaphor (see Chapter 3.3), the importance of a correlation of grammatical characteristics of the vocative with social-historical and social-linguistic developments at Shakespeare’s time becomes even more pivotal. NGs consisting of a sequence of modifying and qualifying elements that are built around the head serve as a suitable rhetorical means of ameliorating the language. Moreover, if one thinks, for example, about the morphological possibilities of compounding and the experiential and interpersonal force of the vocative, “a vista of new thoughts” (Adamson 1999: 579) is opened up and the emotive, armamental as well as ornamental needs of rhetoric are safeguarded. Concepts which the language can less copiously describe by clausal descriptions are expressed by nominal address patterns. Recipients are faced with the shock of new and less evanescent concepts, and, at the same time, they are forced to rethink the existing stock of the categories as well as to admire the wittedness of the prompting poet (see Chapter 6). As has been illustrated in the previous chapter, usually it is difficult to describe the relation between the compound and the phrase or clause to which it may be said to be equivalent. Furthermore, it should be stressed that the lexical variety of vocatives in Shakespeare, despite several similarities, also deviates from what Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg (1995: 555) have established as the corpus of address formulae in EModE letters. Here they argue that the core vocabulary that occurs is mostly restricted to titles, limited kinship terminology, and a few terms of endearment. Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg’s (1995) results hint at the non-formulaic and multi-layered meanings of vocatives in Shakespeare. Adding to this is another concept that has been taken up by CDA (Fairclough 1995) mentioned in Chapter 2.2.3: that of Bakhtin’s identification of speech genres (1981: 278f.) and his analysis of actual language use and the utterance in context. For Bakhtin, the lexical, grammatical, and compositional structures of particular genres construe the specific context of communication (Bakhtin 1981: 288) – a point of view that is also promulgated by systemic functionalists. CDA’s investigation of texts not only concentrates on the particular regularities, but also on “the class, gender, and ethnic biases they incorporate” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 64). Therefore, genre is regarded as a textual and social quality of a text, not fixed and immutable, but dynamic and changing. Hence, recourse to the different experiential worlds of vocatives – or vocative speech genres – represents a foregrounded construal of these worlds. In addition, the use of the different vocative worlds stands in a dialectical relationship with the Elizabethan worldview, the use of language and so on.


Therefore, the micro-linguistic effect of a vocative within a particular context is constructive of social positions, social structures, and ideologies. The preceding paragraphs have introduced the vocative as an experiential marker, which constructs and deconstructs culture, ideology and power structures. The structural potential of vocatives as NG and the fact that in the moment of utterance the nominalization is used to address the hearer are crucial prerequisites in order to incorporate the vocative within the experiential metafunction. CDA’s and SFL’s emphasis on the interplay between micro- and macro- discursive patterns and their transference to the analysis of vocatives illustrates that discourse (and micro-linguistic means) not only reflects the social construction of reality, but constructs it and is constituted by it. The vocative categories established are crucial for the creation of the Shakespearean experiential world. Furthermore, these categories are suggestive of several linguistic, social, socio-linguistic, and socio-cultural considerations, such as the need for the amelioration of EModE, and the Chain of Being.

4.1.4 The etymology of vocative heads 4.1.4.1 Preliminaries Schäfer (1973) and others (Franken 1995) have impressively illustrated that considerations upon the etymology of words is not only crucial to a general investigation into Shakespeare’s lexicon, but also suggestive of questions about style, diction, and function in the Shakespearean plays. Especially the distinction between Germanic and Romance word-etymology has been brought to the fore of analysis and correlated with the Early Modern endeavour to ameliorate and widen the English vocabulary. The revival of rhetoric and the therewith-related focus on eloquence and decorum, the dominance of Latin as a rhetorical, linguistic, and lexical model, on the one hand, and the purist and archaic emphasis on the Anglo-Saxon origin of the English language, on the other, is crucial (see Chapter 4.2.7). In Early Modern England, the choice of words of different etymological origin entails social, political, stylistic, and cultural meanings, which Shakespeare exploits for his theatrical purpose. The goal of this chapter is to investigate in general the etymological origins of the head terms of vocatives for the different vocative classes. More basic tendencies that can be deduced from the semantic and etymological potential of the head terms alone will be investigated. The source of establishing the specific etymological information of the vocative lemma is Neuhaus’ Shakespeare Database (SDB) project.13 In addition, the etymological analysis of vocative head terms is supplemented via recourse to EModE dictionaries. 4.1.4.2 Germanic and Romance vocabulary, vocative classes and generic observations For the majority of conventional terms the etymology of the vocative head terms summarised under the category conventional goes back to Romance origin. Most of these are introduced into English in Middle English times. Terms, such as worship, queen, peer, neighbour, master, lordship, lord, landlord, ladyship, lady, kinsman, king, keeper, highness, 13. I thank H. J. Neuhaus for allowing me to use his database.


and Goodman are Germanic in origin and most frequently date back to OE stages or the beginning of the ME period, but have survived until EModE and longer. As all expressions that are summarised under this category originate in the description of social positions, it is logical to argue that terms already describing the social structure of, for example, pre-Norman kinships date back to OE, and, in turn, those terms resulting from the introduction of Norman social, cultural, political, and legal institutions come into the language beginning with the 12th century: due to the highly stratified French hierarchical structure, we find a higher quantity of terms. Furthermore, it can be assumed that Early Modern society and audiences of Shakespearean plays are familiar with the address formulae denoting different social status and levels of style or are at least aware of their generalisation patterns and the normative roles of usage illustrated in courtesy literature. In addition, it must be assumed that the explicit Romance or Germanic origin of certain conventional terms at Shakespeare’s time is no longer connected with style because of their assimilation into the lexicon. The option to choose between Romance and Germanic conventional terms adds to the dynamic function of conventional terms, as for example, the choice between the Romance Souvereign and the Germanic King is not only one in meaning, but also one in register and style. In addition, it is also quite striking that the Germanic lord, and the Romance sir or the Germanic lady, and the Romance madam constitute the conventional terms that are most frequently used in this corpus. Furthermore, it is also striking that the EMEDD contains terms that are not Romance in origin, such as lord, lady, master, queen, and that it also includes Romance terms which have been introduced into the English language in the Middle English period: madam, minister, mistress, prince, sir, or signior. This certainly does not indicate that the other vocative terms, which are not mentioned in the EMEDD, are of minor importance. For example, lord and lady occur in Palsgrave’s14 (1530) English-French dictionary, and queen in Palsgrave’s (1530) as well as William Thomas’ (1550) dictionaries, and in Florio’s (1598) Italian-English dictionary. While the entries for queen in William Thomas (1550) and John Florio’s (1598) Italian-English dictionaries allude to the importance of Italian culture for Early Modern society and culture, the same is also valid for the term master (also in Palsgrave 1530 and in William Thomas 1550). However, master is also in Bullokar’s (1616) list. Of the Romance terms that occur in the EMEDD, madam only enters the bilingual dictionaries (Palsgrave 1530, W.M. Thomas 1550, Florio 1598, Minsheu 1599, and Cotgrave 1611) as do signior and Prince (only in Palsgrave 1530). Mistress, minister, and sir are included in Mulcaster’s list of hard words (1582). Romance and Germanic etymology is equally distributed between the terms that constitute the category emotion / mind, thought. Furthermore, most of the Germanic terms are OE, while the majority of Romance vocabulary has a ME lemma-dating remark, although some of the terms, such as pride go as far back as OE. The fact that both etymological strands are resorted to in a balanced fashion corroborates the idea that emotions cannot always be expressed in a clear (rather Germanic) way. Pathos and high or false emotion 14. Reference is made to EModE dictionaries that are part of the EMEDD. See Chapter 1.5.2.1 for further information about the EMEDD.


often demand high style and register. Yet again, context is needed to verify these general observations. There are two Romance terms and one Germanic head word that also occur in the EMEDD. Predicament occurs in T. Thomas (1587) and in Florio (1598), but also in the dictionaries of hard words such as Cotgrave (1611) and Bullokar (1616). Discretion is a term that has entered Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), Florio (1598), and Mulcaster (1582). Love is a term that only occurs in the bilingual dictionaries. In the category EPITHET, more lemmata display Romance etymology (149) than Germanic (129). EPITHETs used vocatively denote a quality of the person addressed. This quality is more often referred to via recourse to Romance lexemes. The EMEDD contains mostly lemmata of Romance origin, such as account (in Palsgrave 1530, T. Thomas 1587, and Mulcaster 1582), acquaintance (in T. Thomas 1587, Florio 1598, Minsheu 1599, Mulcaster 1593 and Cotgrave 1611) or age (only in Palsgrave 1530). Of the category generic terms, except for boy and matron all terms are Germanic etymology and are already existent in OE. Generic terms usually are short direct address terms, which direct attention to the sex of the person addressed. Matron occurs in the EMEDD (in Palsgrave 1530, T. Thomas 1587, Minsheu 1599, Coote 1596, Cawdrey 1604 and in Bullokar 1616). Woman occurs only in Palsgrave (1530), and wench in Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), T. Thomas (1587), and Mulcaster (1582). Of the terms referring to natural phenomena, 114 lemmata are Germanic, 41 are Romance in origin. These figures testify to the naturalness of the category. Hence, the name of the category is indicative of the etymology of the terms. These categories describe phenomena that have always existed. In the EMEDD, for example, a high number of natural phenomena are mentioned: air in Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), T. Thomas (1587), and Mulcaster (1582), ape in Palsgrave (1530), or bawd in T. Thomas (1587) and Florio (1598). This result testifies to the fact that the dictionaries of Shakespeare’s time do not necessarily contain hard words that are Latin words alone. Of the category specialised fields, 147 lemmata are Romance in origin, 79 are Germanic. These results may lead to the conclusion that the vocative heads that comprise legal, philosophical, metaphysical, arts and leisure are taken from Romance vocabulary and represent a higher level of diction. This observation corroborates Barber’s (1997) findings that in EModE new Latinate terms that were introduced into the language are part of learned or specialised fields, such as biology or science. However, it should be stressed here that many of the vocative terms from specialised fields are of ME origin. In the EMEDD, advocate appears in Cotgrave (1611), allegiance in T. Thomas (1587), Mulcaster (1582), Coote (1596), Cawdrey (1604), Cotgrave (1611), and Bullokar (1616), or angel in Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), T. Thomas (1587), and Mulcaster (1582). Personal or proper names used as vocatives can be summarised under the heading of either Romance or Germanic origin. However, Schäfer (1973: 31) is correct to ask whether this division would do justice to the dramatic and literary effect these names have in context – especially when used vocatively. It is therefore necessary to look at the names in their contexts. In the category of terms of family relationship, 15 lemmata are Germanic, nine lemmata are Romance. Obviously, recourse to kinship terminology entails a most clear, straight, famil-


iar diction and style. It can be assumed that the terms uncle, cousin, bachelor, niece, nephew, and coz were equally familiar to the EModE audience despite their Romance origin. It can be summarised that the categories’ general outlook is also construed by the etymology of the different representatives and that etymology is crucial to a functional and contextual meaning appreciation of the terms.

4.1.5 Shakespearean vocative clusters and quantitative observations: the foregrounded role of vocatives in Shakespeare 4.1.5.1 Preliminaries The goal of this chapter is to present as well as to interpret the results of the quantitative vocative analysis in terms of generic, synchronic, diachronic, and contextual considerations. Analysing the quantity of a respective linguistic element as foregrounded can only represent a way into a more detailed and ultimately contextual analysis of each single vocative, as “deviance can be used to suggest and support hypotheses about style; but nothing can be adduced from, or proved by statistics alone” (Leech and Short 1981: 51).15 The importance of a quantitative analysis, however, cannot be underestimated in relation to the analysis of language in Shakespeare, especially because of the present lack of systematic investigations into more than one or two plays. Due to reasons of space, the vocative in Shakespeare will be evaluated against its own norm and the microcosm of this corpus as well as inter-textual considerations. In addition, moving from the general to the specific, one may discern that the systematic quantitative analysis reveals not only an unexpectedly high number of vocatives used in the whole corpus of plays, but also provides a picture of the enormous range of semantic or lexical variety. 4.1.5.2 General figures – absolute and relative frequencies of vocatives Table 3 and Diagram 2 illustrate the absolute figures of vocative occurrence in the plays. The analysis has revealed that, on average, vocatives occur more than 500 times in each play. Yet, for example, in Mac., the actual figures of vocatives are relatively low (e.g. 125 conventional vocative things as opposed to 152 in Rom.), but we have to take into consideration that Mac. is one of the shortest plays in the Shakespeare corpus. In addition, in order to be able to compare the statistical data of the different plays with one another, it is useful to follow Spevack’s (1968–80) computing of relative frequencies in the Shakespeare Concordances.16 The general outlook of relative vocative frequencies, illustrated in Diagram 3, reveals that the average relative frequency of vocatives in the plays of this corpus is around 2.31. In comparison to the high-frequency type, the, for example, which in Ham. amounts to 3.3 (Spevack 1968–80), one immediately realises the high number of vocatives and their foregrounded status: the general occurrence of vocatives in each play surpasses that of “ordinary figures” (or the automatised ones). Hence, what Enkvist tentatively sug15. See also Chapter 2.4.2. 16. Relative frequencies are computed by multiplying the actual figures by 100 and by dividing this result through the number of words used in the play. Diagrams 2 and 3 illustrate that the quantitative discrepancy between Mac. and other tragedies or between Mac. and MV is not as severe as if absolute figures were compared alone.


gests for style in general is also valid for vocatives used in Shakespeare. Enkvist (1973: 73) argues that “style is concerned with a frequency of linguistic items.” His idea of so-called “mots-clés,” “keywords,” or “style reminders” (1973: 132f.), can be fruitfully linked with Douthwaite’s (2000) theory of foregrouding. With regard to the relevance of address behaviour for Early Modern England outlined in Chapter 1.6, one might doubt Shakespearean vocatives’ foregrounding potential when levelled against this external norm. Therefore, one might further argue that if the vocative is a foregrounded element at all, then this status is levelled either against an intrinsically textual norm established by the plays or against modern dramatic vocative usage, where the quantity of vocatives is not as salient as in the Shakespearean examples. Yet, due to EModE focus on the purely social nature of forms of address and due to the statistical data of vocatives in the corpus alone, which will be measured against the inter- and intra-textual “contextually related norm” (Enkvist in Leech 1966: 53, see also Fowler 1986: 43f., Leech and Short 1981: 48), vocatives in Shakespeare need to be understood as foregrounded, both in terms of foregrounding content and language and in terms of the higher-order techniques of deviation and parallelism. If foregounding is, as Douthwaite (2000: 37) establishes, “the deployment of a set of techniques to draw the reader’s [here recipient’s] attention to a certain part of the text so that the reader [recipient] will play special attention to it,” then we need to ask what are the effects and the techniques that are employed to draw the recipient’s attention to the vocative. Here, again, Grice’s (1975) theoretical apparatus of cooperation and implicature remains a workable tool in measuring and evaluating the general outlook of vocative figures, even though doubts still remain as to the theory’s neglect of observing ideological and social factors. First, the high number of vocatives violates the maxim of quantity, because assuming the most basic meaning of vocatives, that of speaker selection, the vocative is used more often than one would conventionally assume necessary. This observation also leads to the maxim of relevance and quantity, as, encountering forms of vocatives of this size, the analyst needs to enlarge the scope of explanatory parameters beyond that of EModE social structure. In addition, if one looks at the large variety of possible forms, the maxim of manner seems to be violated, since speaker selection alone would not demand this variety and energy.

Table 3. Absolute numbers and relative frequencies of vocatives in Shakespeare


Diagram 2. Absolute numbers of vocatives (plays are arranged according to their genre)


Diagram 3. Relative frequencies of vocatives (plays are arranged according to their genre)



Diagram 3 also illustrates that vocatives occurring in the tragedies show the highest average score, which is somewhere around 2.5. In the comedies and the romances, the average relative frequency amounts to 2.0. The figures for the histories are somewhat in between, as a relative frequency of 2.4 is assembled. If, among other topics, “comedy is that form of drama which concerns itself with social man, tragedy with moral or ethical man [and] […] history is above all an exploration of human political behaviour, of the desire’s of power of men’s response to gaining it and to being deprived of it” (Smallwood 1998: 147), then the saliency of vocatives within the tragedies and histories needs to be understood in terms of foregrouded elements that construe as well as reflect these ideas. This is especially significant in the light of what will be explained in the next chapter: the vocatives’ potential for creating interpersonal and textual meaning, which is certainly correlated to the experiential, but also to more conventional characteristics of the tragic and ethical preoccupation that govern tragedy and history. However, considering the lower figures of the comedies (and the romances) does not allow the analyst to argue that vocatives in the comedies are underrepresented or unimportant, as it is a common natural phenomenon of statistical investigation that lower figures need to receive an equal share within interpretational patterns. Vocatives in Shakespeare are quantitatively foregrounded. In order to elaborate on this status the following chapters will interpret the quantitative findings of vocative occurrence in the respective genres and will also focus on diachronic, synchronic and thematic aspects. 4.1.5.3 Absolute and relative frequencies of vocatives computed in the different genres

4.1.5.3.1 The tragedies The relative frequency of vocatives used in the tragedies (see Table 3) is highest in Tit. (3.38), and lowest in Mac. (2.12) and Cym. (1.73). This number is immediately followed by Ham. (2.27). Although the actual number of vocatives occurring in Ham. is higher than in Tit. (as is the case with Lr.), the relative frequency decreases by 1.0. Oth. and Rom. follow Ham. with a relative frequency of 2.4 and 2.48 while Ant. and Lr. display a higher frequency that amounts to 2.67 for Ant. and 2.9 for Lr. Diagram 3 visualises that, following these results, one may generally argue that the transitional period from Elizabethan to Jacobean tragedy does not seem to influence the overall relevance of vocatives in Shakespearean plays. Yet, if these results are more workimmanently considered, as is illustrated for the tragedies of this corpus in Diagram 7, one discerns that the figures seem to be reduced within the Elizabethan period (although the figure for Tit. is far above average) only to increase again after the year 1600, as Ham. marks a first synchronic deviation from the general outlook of vocative distribution. This observation corresponds to the generally held view that the year 1600 constitutes a change in Shakespeare’s writing. Furthermore, it may be constructive of the fact that the end of the 1590s also marks a change not only of the playhouse where many of Shakespeare’s plays were performed (Bruster 2003: 112f.), but also of audience tastes. The move from the Theatre to the Globe occurs during 1599 (Bruster 2003: 113f.), and from that time onwards the audience, with a delight in verbal excesses, also changes into spectators

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who enjoy the verbal and the visual alike17: “[…] Shakespeare abandoned the idea of an auditory in favour of spectators” (Gurr 1996: 93). It may therefore be that the rise of vocative usage is constructive and gives evidence of a response to and a creation of alterations in audience tastes and the tastes of acting companies. Following Ham., the use of vocatives then increases steadily again, although, this time, Mac. is another exception to this rule. With Cym. being composed in 1609/10,18 a diachronic observation can be made. In the later period of Shakespeare’s writing, the number of vocatives decreases. However, it will be illustrated that this reduction does not result from diachronic considerations alone, but is rather due to generic factors. In addition, if we consider Cym. a romance, it bears more resemblance to WT, even though the relative frequencies increase again in the final period of Shakespeare’s composition. It seems justified to argue that for this corpus of plays quantitative deviances of vocative distribution in the plays are dominant in respect to the genre of the plays. Diagram 4, which lists all plays’ vocative occurrences according to diachronic considerations, illustrates that investigating all plays from a diachronic point of view one may discern that the relative frequency of vocative usage seems to decrease until somewhere around 1600. From 1600 onwards, the vocative usage in Shakespeare is less predictable in terms of quantity and clusters used than is the case before 1600. Notice, for example, the high relative frequency of vocatives in Lr., as opposed to the low figure in Mac. Notice also the higher figures for the latest plays of this corpus (despite the discrepancy of distribution of categories for Tmp. and H8). Although some inconsistencies of vocative distribution in the tragedies emerge, it may be tentatively suggested that vocative occurrence decreases after the time in which “the great tragedies” are composed. No matter whether one explanation model for these results may be suggestive of the more mature Shakespearean writings or simply opt for drama that is less restricted to conventions and norms, the role of vocatives in plays that were produced after 1600 is as important as before 1600. Probably due to the tragic potential of both tragedy and history and the changing tastes of the audience (Bruster 2003: 112f.), the distribution of vocatives in the tragedies and the histories is much higher than in the comedies. The number of vocatives in Cym. is, however, much lower than in the other tragedies. As such, its similarities are much more explicit in relation to the other romances and diachronic considerations, which help construe the play as part of the genre romance. These lines of interpretations exist, but they are not meant to downgrade the contextual value of vocatives in the comedies and romances.

17. Bruster (2003: 110) makes an interesting, diametrically opposed quantitative observation as regards props: after 1599 the use of props is reduced in Shakespeare’s plays. However, next to the move of playhouse, he also mentions the changing tastes as well as thematic reasons for these figures (Gurr 1996: 93). In that, Bruster’s (2003: 110) line of argumentation cannot entirely explain the use of vocatives. 18. The chronology follows Evans’ (ed. 1997: 57f.) The Riverside Shakespeare.

Diagram 4. Relative frequencies of vocatives (plays are arranged according to diachronic parameters) Chapter 4. The experiential, interpersonal and textual meanings of Shakespearean vocatives 153


It is vital to further link quantitative vocative figures of the tragedies with a set of dramatic conventions, a few first tentative clues as to the questions of effect, function, and meaning construal of vocatives.19 Tit. is not only the earliest tragedy in this corpus, but also a Roman play and a Senecan Revenge20 tragedy particularly characterised by horror, rape, and murder. As such, the play’s emphasis on a great man’s complaint against fortune and its focus on history are not only part of the immediate and highly appreciated literary and theatrical context, but are also considered to be a faithful picture of Roman civilisation. If one considers the theme of revenge together with a dramatic style that distances horror, it is obvious that the high general relative frequency of vocatives used in the play, 3.38, is crucial to the interpersonal, textual, and experiential – that is multi-faceted and interdependent – representation as well as construal of themes associated with this play. If one accepts the core descriptive meanings that are related to the specific categories, a move towards an analysis of the quantitative distribution of these vocative categories used in Tit. may be further enlightening. In Tit., conventional vocative clusters constitute the largest category. Considering the play’s preoccupation with honour and its Senecan bias towards revenge, this cluster’s role of construing these ideas becomes apparent. As Table 1 and Diagram 3 illustrate, personal names as vocatives immediately follow the conventional cluster. Even though EPITHETs follow these categories by a wide margin, it may be tentatively argued that those vocatives whose connotations are more emotive from the beginning (e.g. EPITHETs, personal names, terms of family relationship, emotion / mind, thought and natural phenomena, generic terms, and specialised fields) are also consistently represented, which will then corroborate and construe the high tragic potential of rape and murder that taxes to the utmost.21 It is necessary to present the distribution of vocative categories in the tragedies of this corpus in order to evaluate the results for Tit.

19. If one follows Bradley’s (1992) comments about what constitutes “real tragedies,” one has difficulties in arguing for a linear developmental line, as, in terms of quantitative figures, the analyst has to differentiate between Lr. and Oth., on the one side, and Ham., and Mac., on the other. 20. Bate (ed. 2002: 29f.) defines one of the central issues of Senecan tragedy as “the expression of emotion in elaborate rhetorical form.” Death is seen as a release into rest. The hero of Senecan tragedy undergoes an explosion of passion which brings out grief and lamentation and consolation in the wisdom of stoic philosophy (Bate ed. 2002: 30). For Renaissance Senecanism, see Braden (1985). 21. U. Busse (2002: 46f.) mentions that Tit., Rom., and Tmp. need individual explanation in order to evaluate their occurrences of you- and thou-forms. Both Tit. and Rom. contain a high proportion of thou-forms, which he explains in relation to the plays’ early date of composition. The high number of thou-pronouns in Tmp. cannot be explained via recourse to the early date of composition of the play. As a “kind of family drama” (U. Busse 2002: 42), U. Busse argues, subject matter and family characterisation are important. Even though, in this analysis, the tendency towards a high proportion of thou-forms in the three plays corresponds with a relatively high number of vocative forms, additional reasoning will be provided to explain these figures.

Diagram 5. Share of all plays in the different vocative clusters


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Diagram 6. Relative frequencies of vocatives in the tragedies (plays are listed chronologically)


Diagram 7. Tragedies’ share in the different vocative clusters


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Diagrams 5 to 7, which depict, among others, the tragedies’ share in the different vocative clusters (rel. freq.), and Diagram 9, which contains the same information about the histories, illustrate that in the tragedies as well as in the histories (apart from 1H4), similar to the results gained from Tit., the vocatives labelled conventional always constitute the category that is most prominently represented. Terms like sir are crucial within EModE address behaviour. Their frequency and the character by which they are modified and qualified are also suggestive of the theatrical interpersonal, textual, and experiential dimensions they encode. In other words, the high frequency of conventional terms in the tragedies and histories allows one to question the to-date frequently emphasised bias towards the rigidly social that is conveyed. This observation is also underlined if one considers the general numerous shares of all plays in the cluster conventional terms as depicted in Diagram 5 (and for the comedies alone in Diagram 11). Saul (1995: 834f.) mentions the attempt of Richard II to upgrade his social position via recourse to the use of conventional terms, such as your majesty, for example. The general intertextual and historical link to Shakespeare’s exploitation of these tendencies is crucial. In contrast to the histories R3 and H8, in which EPITHETs follow as the second largest category, in the tragedies, except Lr. and Mac., personal names usually follow conventional terms by a more or less wide margin. In Lr., EPITHETs follow, while in Mac. natural phenomena constitutes the second largest category. In Cym., the discrepancy between a high number of conventional terms and the representatives of the other categories is similar to Tit. and Ham. The prominence of personal names within the corpus is especially interesting (see Diagram 5) when seen in a complex interplay with conventional terms. Certainly, in Shakespearean drama, it is necessary to establish the identity of the respective dramatis personae. In The Art of Fiction, David Lodge (1992: 36f.) elaborates on the essentialities of naming in the novel.22 Names always signify something even if only to denote the ordinary. The scale of possible functions of names used as vocatives, whose function ranges from construing in-group-identity to condescension, should not be underestimated. Having made these preliminary remarks, the analyst may suggest that, diachronically speaking, the combination of conventional terms with personal names, as it were, establishes a frequently occurring pattern. However, looking at the margins by which personal names follow that of conventional terms, one has to stress that Ham. and Cym. deviate from Tit., Rom., Oth., Ant. in that here, as in the histories, personal names follow conventional terms by a very wide margin (1.17–0.46, and 0.78–0.21), while in the other plays the scope is not that wide. Hence, the distribution of vocatives in Tit. partially complies with the norm established, while the even distribution of the categories that follow the number of the three largest categories is certainly noteworthy and construes the effect of interpersonal dimensions of horror, rape, and murder.

22. Within this framework, mention should be made of Kripke’s (1972: 302, 303) important concept of proper names as rigid designators. Kripke provides not only a solution to the question of whether names have only reference but no sense, but also argues that by means of initial “baptism” (Kripke 1972: 303), a proper name designates the same object in a particular world. Hence, encyclopaedic knowledge and denotata belong to the name.


The tragedy Ham. expands a simpler revenge play, written roughly seven years after Tit. Nevertheless, the plays contrast with each other in many ways: we find, in Ham., not only a multi-dimensional change in the treatment of revenge, as there are only a few traces left of Senecan revenge, and Senecan ethical issues are not central anymore. In addition, Ham. is often said to be the first play that depicts the world and mankind, who delay and doubt. Hamlet’s mind defies limited boundaries, he is problematic, and sweeps to his revenge, while the murder of his father is seen in the light of a general evil in the world. The analysis of the distribution of vocatives in Ham. allows one to argue for the vocatives’ potential of creating and reflecting exactly these nuances, even though the relatively low number of vocatives’ relative frequency is somewhat surprising in the light of the often quoted “geniality” of the play (see Diagram 6). Yet, it may be assumed that the lower quantity of vocatives in Ham. does not say anything about their quality in context, and even alludes to the subtleties, maturity, and complexities of the play as such. As these results also go against the analyst’s initial intuitive insights relating to the assumed high frequency of vocatives in Ham., these results also show, for another time, the accuracy and precision of quantitative linguistic statements, and also hint at the limits of quantitative analyses in general. For Ham., close contextual analysis of vocatives is clearly paramount. In terms of vocative distribution, Ham. also stands in contrast to Tit., as Diagram 6 further illustrates. For example, though personal names follow conventional terms by a wide margin (more than half of the play’s vocatives used are conventional), EPITHETs, as the third largest category, are reduced by half, and the clusters, such as specialised fields, natural phenomena, generic terms, and emotion, are evenly represented, but much lower than in the other three major categories. With regard to vocative distribution, meanings in Ham. are transferred in a much more subtle way. That Ham. no longer represents a clear Senecan revenge tragedy is also construed by the number and distribution of vocatives. If we link Tit. to the other Roman play in this corpus, Ant., one may tentatively argue for a diachronic reduction of relative frequency. Furthermore, the distribution of vocatives in Ant. (see Diagram 6) is more similar than that in Ham., despite the higher frequency of vocatives in Ant. Even though the number of conventional terms and personal names is correlating, the other categories, except for EPITHETs, are evenly, yet minimally, displayed in Ant. (see Diagram 6, for generic terms, natural phenomena, and specialised fields). The more subtle nuances transferred by vocatives denoting specialised fields have to be analysed within the interplay of historical and societal duty. In varying shades and nuances, love is also central in other plays of the corpus, such as Oth., Ant., Ham., Lr., although it should be stressed that Oth. and Rom., as domestic tragedies, are the least political. Love constitutes a natural trigger for tragic conflict, because social norms and external environment appear to be an inevitable prerequisite for the intense realisation of the self, while they seem to reject the claim for love, aesthetics, and poetry likewise. We may ask how lovers try to establish their identities in terms of vocative usage if they are steadily undercut by the rhetoric of society and numerous series of darkening. Hunter (1997: 130) is right to argue that in the four plays, the rhetoric of society receives increasing impact, as the lovers grow older. This observation provides an enormous potential for vocative analysis and the creation of just this meaning, as in Rom., for example, the passionate, but socially powerless youths are imprisoned in the clashes between the representations of past and present.


As such, the pathos and helplessness of the lovers can be understood. In Oth., however, the lovers are maturely married and socially dominant. Their tragic destiny clearly derives from their own deliberate choices, not primarily from any pressures in their environment, because they themselves are responsible moral agents. Ant. displays two lovers who are nearly at the end of their lifetime of infinite power and infinitely indulged eroticism. Public prominence and the need to comply with public roles are ubiquitous, so that the diction of faith and love moves on the edge of rhetoric, game playing, and superficiality. A lip service to the images of public greatness which both of them want and need is indicative of the role and construing capacities the vocative must construe. Again, the importance of vocatives in the creation of interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings becomes obvious, if the figures and the distribution for these three tragedies Rom., Oth., and Ant. are analysed and interpreted. Rom. deviates from the earliest play in this corpus in that the categories following in number the conventional terms are even more consistently distributed than is the case for Tit. (see Diagram 3). For example, EPITHETs and personal names even have the same relative frequency 0.38, and specialised fields, natural phenomena, and terms of family relationship are high in number. In addition, the number of terms from the category emotion / mind, thought is highest in the corpus next to that in MND, while generic terms also constitute a high sharing when compared with other plays. Hence, a relatively equal distribution of terms seems to be a characteristic of early works. This pattern is interrupted in Mac., but resumed in the tragedies that follow Mac. in date of production. In addition, if one considers Rom. at the beginning of a row of tragedies that, among other topics, elaborates on the theme of love and society’s share of it, then the overt use of terms that semantically already possess a greater emotionality is comprehensible (also and especially when seen in comparison with Ham.). In addition, it should be noted here that the resemblances Rom. has with MND in its use of terms of terms from the category emotion / mind, thought and the fact that it also shows a deviating pattern when compared with other comedies in the corpus can be synchronically justified, as MND enters the Stationer’s Register at the same time as Rom. This outlook of vocative-cluster distribution changes diachronically and topically, as the conflict of the lovers between national responsibilities, pure sensual indolence and enslavement to a Circe-figure, as is the case in Ant., increases (see Diagram 7). Yet, it is especially in Ant. that this initially simple moral scheme contains more subtle features, as the strange ironies induced against the chilling, cunning, treacherous, pragmatic, and efficient Caesar illustrate. Under the pressure of historical necessity voluptas, whether represented by Cleopatra or Falstaff, must lose, but the subtleties, bifocalities, and ambiguities remain. However, if we consider Rom. and Oth. as a pair of domestic tragedies, it can be discerned that the share of relative frequency is relatively similar (see Diagram 6). Yet, in terms of distributional pattern, Oth. displays a similar pattern to Ham., although the margin between the second largest category and the largest category (personal names and conventional terms), is not as wide as is the case in Ham. In addition, there is a fourth relatively prominent category, that of specialised fields, which renders Oth. different from Ham. As such, Oth. exhibits a greater relation to the other domestic tragedy, Rom., even though mature moral and ethical questions characterise Oth. more than Rom. In the coming up of the revenge aspect that is crucial to Othello and of the idea of the great man’s fall into the


barbarisms of human nature, the numbers in Oth. and Tit. bear resemblance in their vocative distribution. There is another related aspect: the use of vocatives in relation to cultural differences as most obviously exemplified in Aaron for Tit. and Othello for Oth. Lr. and Mac. seem to stand out diachronically as well as topically from the other plays and must be treated individually (see Diagram 6). Lr. displays not only a high number of vocative relative frequencies. In Lr., the patterns suggested so far seem to merge: a high number of conventional terms is followed by personal names as the second largest category; a low number of vocatives for the other classes or high number of conventional terms and personal names; and a relatively even but higher number of other classes (see Diagram 3). Although Lr. displays a high amount of conventional terms with a relative frequency of 1.2, and the next following category is not that of personal names, EPITHETs, terms of family relationship, specialised fields, and personal names are equally high in number with a relative frequency of 0.3. The numbers for natural phenomena and generic terms amount to a relative frequency of 0.1, and 0.2. The figure for terms from the category emotion / mind, thought is low. Again, the vocatives’ role is foregrounded in the attempt to construe as well as to reflect the disaster that is part of the division of kinship, the question of selfknowledge or political error, the disinheriting of Cordelia, and Lear’s deep confusion over the double nature of kinship, which is also prevalent in the histories, and the complexities of aspects of justice. The relative frequency of vocatives in Mac. and their distribution is different from all other tragedies in this corpus and from the other genres investigated (see Diagram 3). It displays natural phenomena as its second largest category following conventional terms (although EPITHETs and personal names nearly represent the same relative frequency as vocatives referring to natural phenomena (from 0.32 to 0.27). The high number of vocatives from the field of natural phenomena construes the occasionally eerie atmosphere and the clash between the natural and the violence in the play. Considering the fact that the general figure of vocatives used in Mac. is the lowest in comparison to all tragedies, it is noteworthy to mention vocatives construing specialised fields and terms of family relationship, amounting both to a relative frequency of 0.19, and the low figure for emotion / mind, thought, and generic terms.

4.1.5.3.2 The histories In the histories, as Diagrams 8 and 9 illustrate, the high general relative frequency of all three histories analysed corresponds with the distribution of vocatives in the tragedies.

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Diagram 8. Relative frequencies of vocatives in the histories (plays are listed chronologically)


Diagram 9. Histories’ share in the different vocative clusters



Also, the three histories’ vocative share in the different categories (Diagram 9) is, at first sight, similar to each other: the vocative figures for R3 amount to 2.53, 1H4 to 2.33, and H8 to 2.45. These results may allow one to argue that vocatives in the histories play a crucial role not only in creating a tragic potential, but, supposedly, also in complying with the fact that the plays were also historical to Shakespeare when he composed them. This observation stands in strong dialectical dependence with the dramatic functional potentials o vocatives. Yet, in terms of vocative distribution the histories fundamentally deviate from one another, which may lead the analyst to argue in favour of more time-related issues of synchrony and diachrony. Especially for R3 and H8, the high number of conventional clusters, hence the relative frequency of 1.12 for R3 and 1.59 for H8 is remarkable (see Diagram 8). Although, as will be explained below, 1H4 deviates from this pattern, it may be concluded that conventional terms play an even more prominent role in the histories than in the tragedies. One reason for this observation may be generic: as the histories are rarely faithful to their historical sources, the array of address formulae was probably considered crucial to evoke just this historical effect by the use of conventional terms that, on the surface, seem to allude to the status of the addressee or create politeness. Yet, despite the similarities between R3 and H8, there is a most salient difference between the two plays, which can not only be explained via recourse to diachronic considerations. While in R3 all other categories are distributed in the same fashion that is discernible in most of the tragedies, although EPITHETs constitute the second-largest category rather than personal names, in H8 only EPITHETs are quantitatively noteworthy, apart from conventional terms. All other categories follow by a most wide margin or are hardly represented at all.23 Hence, the diachronic change for the late play H8 is not in quantity, but in the choice of forms used. R3 as an early history. H8, as the latest history play in the Shakespeare corpus and one of the latest plays in this corpus, is often criticised for its lack of dramatically insignificant morals (Baker 1997: 1052), for its weak rhetoric of the great victims of misfortune (Buckingham, Wolsey, and Katherine) that serves to sentimentalise and decorate rather than to illuminate. Furthermore, criticism is also directed at the portrayal of the King: Although some critics have described him as a kind of Prospero who beneficently orders all events, and others as the agent of that providence whose workings, Cramner says, secure the glory of the realm, his conduct does not warrant such interpretation. Now hearty and jocose, now petulant, now regal and assured, but never anything for very long, he is shifty rather than complex (Baker 1997: 1025).

It would be easy to argue that the relatively clear and somewhat unexciting vocative pattern displayed here further adds or even construes these puzzling features. However, it is also important to stress that the play is, opposite its weaknesses in characterisation, strong in pomp and pageantry (see Baker 1997: 1024). In addition, there is evidence that H8 (like TNK) is most likely a collaboration with Fletcher, which Hope (1994b: 63, 100–104) has verified in reference to you and thou forms and their occurrences. The unusual distri23. This result could be compared in more detail to U. Busse’s (2002: 46) findings for H8, which has the lowest proportion of thou-forms.


bution of vocatives in comparison to the other plays of this corpus may further support Hope’s claim. Comparing the two representatives of the Lancastrian and York tetralogies with one another (see Diagram 8), the analyst is able to detect further differences in distribution. Noticeably, personal names in 1H4 are highest in number (0.63), followed closely by EPITHETs (0.61) and conventional terms (0.6). The other categories, such as generic, terms of family relationship, natural phenomena, and specialised fields follow by a wide margin, but are nevertheless even in their distribution. The number of emotion / mind, thought terms is low. In R3, conventional terms are by far highest in number. EPITHETs and, in turn, personal names follow conventional terms, each time reduced by half (0.54, 0.31). In addition, the distribution of the other categories deviates from that in 1H4, except for motion, mind/thought, which are equally low. While in 1H4 generic terms and natural phenomena are higher, in R3 specialised fields and terms of family relationships surpass the quantity displayed in 1H4. The following lines of interpretation relate to the just described vocative patterns. It may be argued that R3 foreshadows the pattern that is then prominent in the tragedies, with the exception that EPITHETs rather than personal names follow conventional terms. Yet, in terms of number of conventional terms, it bears resemblances to Tit., which is also an early play. The resemblance can also be explained by the fact that the play is still controlled by Senecan conventions as well as indebted to the tradition of the morality play. Yet, let us concentrate on a generic comparison first. R3 constitutes the final unit in the first tetralogy of histories, where Shakespeare closes his long, though idiosyncratic survey of England’s history in the 15th century, epitomised in the outrageous wickedness of its title character. One third of the speeches in the play are spoken by Richard (Spevack 1968– 80). In this sense, the role of vocatives as interpersonal, experiential and textual linguistic indicators reflect as well as construe Richard’s wickedness and the way his encounters try to deal with a mosaic of identities he may assume: concerned brother, good-natured uncle, pious student, brutal but seemingly passionate lover, and cruel tyrant. Notice the extent to which the quantitative distribution of vocatives alone construes this effect. The vocative usage in 1H4, as part of Shakespeare’s second tetralogy, construes different general ideas. It will be suggested that the deviant pattern described above (the even distribution of conventional terms, EPITHETs, and personal names as the three largest categories) contributes to the construal of a polyphony of voices, characters, genres, and themes that reverberate the essential energies of the play. 1H4 mingles kings, clowns, history and comedy, and challenges the exclusive logic of the aristocratic political action. Another reason for the more varied and more general outlook of the use of vocatives, which is especially visible in the more or less similar frequency of conventional terms, EPITHETs, and personal names, lies in Shakespeare’s artful alternation of folly and politics, the constant moving back and forth from court to tavern. The court and the cares of state, probably represented and construed in the high number of conventional terms, is epitomised by the power-seeking and slow but ultimately successful Lancastrian usurper and later king, the chivalric energies of the rebel Hotspur, Glendower, etc. In contrast to that the other vector, which equally draws the commitment of the prince, is seen in the grouping of characters of the tavern world dominated by Falstaff. The king and Falstaff are

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aligned through their relationship to Hal: the father standing for conventional duty and control, and his surrogate for disorder, crime, and license, but, at the same time, Falstaff also mocks honour and the heroic feats in battle. The polyphonic, juxtaposed, and antithetical vocative usage reflects and construes the universe of action, the continuous oscillation, which a single style could not longer serve. As such, the comic and serious elements contrive not merely to provide relief or to effect changes in pace and style, but bear upon and reinforce each other in many subtle ways. The vocative distribution in 1H4 creates and reflects what Kastan (ed. 2002) describes that it can be clearly seen as an independent unit, even from 2H4 (Kastan ed. 2002: 18).

4.1.5.3.3 The comedies In the comedies, the quantity of vocatives used is much lower than in the tragedies or histories, as becomes obvious in Diagrams 3, 10 and 11. A first synchronic investigation shows that the distribution of relative frequencies in the comedies is most uneven, because the figures keep constantly changing: from MND (relative frequency of 2.4) to MV (relative frequency of 1.63) and then rising again to Ado (relative frequency of 2.06) and MM (relative frequency 2.3).24 If one subscribes to the view that the year 1600 marks a change within Shakespeare’s writing, the rise of quantity in vocative usage in Ado (composed in 1599) may be explained via recourse to historical considerations. Synchronic criteria also help illuminate the high frequency of vocatives in MM, the latest play in the corpus of comedies. MM (written in 1604) constitutes the end of a development of comedies, which is frequently classed under the heading of “dark comedy” or “problem play” (Barton 1997a: 579). In its departure from the norm of Shakespearean comedies (for example, the whole action takes place in Vienna and it moves only in dark places), its depiction of a corrupt, but energetic Vienna, and in the falsehood of the “happy ending” the play almost constitutes a prelude to the great tragedies that come after it (Barton 1997a: 597). In other words, the shadows of the tragedies seem to hang over. Hence, the relative frequency of vocatives in MM resembles that of Oth., while the distribution of terms displays a greater similarity to Lr. (see Diagrams 3 and 10). For example, we find a dominant number of conventional terms, which is followed by EPITHETs and personal names. Specialised fields display an additionally prominent role. Yet, terms of family relationship, natural phenomena as well as emotion / mind, thought are strikingly underrepresented, which lends further support to the general distrustfulness of absolutes of characters who attempt to lead their lives according to rigid ideals of conduct.

24. Here the figures deviate from U. Busse’s (2002: 47) findings for you and thou in the comedies.

Diagram 10. Relative frequencies of vocatives in the comedies (plays are listed chronologically) Chapter 4. The experiential, interpersonal and textual meanings of Shakespearean vocatives 167

Diagram 11. Comedies’ share in the different vocative clusters



MND (composed 1595/96) constitutes the earliest comedy in this corpus and displays not only a higher relative frequency of vocatives than MV and Ado, but also a completely different distribution of terms (see Diagram 3). In MND, as in 1H4, it is not the category of conventional terms that is most prominently represented, but that of personal names. In addition, its figure of 0.75 is the highest number for personal names in the whole corpus. The other categories, conventional terms and EPITHETs, follow by a close margin (0.56 for conventional, and 0.47 for EPITHETs). The vocative classes specialised fields and terms of family relationship are lower than in MV and Ado. Yet, it should be noted as well that, although the figure for emotion / mind, thought in MND is low in comparison to the other vocative forms used in this play, the number of terms from this category constitutes the highest number in the whole corpus, and as such resembles the figure in Rom., one of its contemporaries. MND is different from the other three comedies of this corpus in the intervowen strands of magic, imagination, dreams, illusions of love, poetry, and play, the elegant though also threatening fairy world, lovers who lose themselves in the forest, the comedy’s concern with marriage and fertility and men’s dependence upon the natural world and its seasonal rhythms – all central to the comedy and in some way all relevant to the whole. At the same time, it knits together a number of historical times and places, literary traditions, character types, and modes of thought, as well as a richness of their encompassing world by listing its components so that, according to Barton (1997b: 254), it seems to consolidate and conclude Shakespeare’s first period of experiment with comic form. Hence, the data assembled here marks the construing potential of vocatives in these developments and explains, why the use of vocatives decreases so enormously for MV. MV displays the lowest number of vocatives not only in comparison to the other three comedies, but also when compared to the corpus as a whole (see Diagrams 3 and 10). The reasons for this development construe the general contrasting attitudes towards wealth and the life-styles dictated by each, but also the fact that comedy returns to the question of love and friendship and the rivalry between the two. MV was written at the same time as MND. It is different in terms of constellations presented, but the move towards indeterminacy, already foreshadowed in MND, is here even more obvious although represented in a completely different way. In MV, conventional terms outweigh those of personal names by 0.1. Reduced by half, EPITHETs constitute the third largest category, and except for specialised fields (0.2) the other classifications, that is emotion / mind, thought, generic, natural phenomena, and terms of family relationship, are low in number. One may investigate further to what extent the vocative categories not only contribute to the comic genre of the play, but also interpersonally, experientially, and textually, signal and construe, as it were, judgement. One may also ask whether this is a matter of multicultural and multiethnic perspectives of the kinds also inherent in Ant. and Oth.25 In Ado, the relative frequency of vocatives increases in comparison to MV. Language and wit are epitomised in the conflict between friendship and love of Beatrice and Benedick. Their process of continual discovery of love, their electric awareness that they might 25. For reasons of space, MV has primarily been quantitatively investigated. Answers to these questions will be of future concern in general.


be at the height of their friendship peppered with their very vulnerable innocence (which is also visible in Dogberry) render the play most famous in modern terms. Animosity, on the one hand, and decorum, on the other, is a cloak for a feeling of a different kind: hence, the number of conventional terms. However, at the same time, their protestations of animosity and distaste, which conceal a powerful underlying attraction, are also construed by personal names and EPITHETs as well as by other vocative classes. There is a change in vocatives following the trick, which they believe with such ease, because from then onwards Beatrice and Benedick mostly use personal names to address one another. Correspondingly, the pattern of vocatives also construes and reflects the interconnected plots: e.g. Claudio’s wooing of Hero in the most formal and socially most proper way, the world of male friendship, and the new world of love, are interconnected to the predominant interest in the witty lover. In addition, these plots can, likewise, not be separated from Don John’s anti-comic force and the villainy which he weaves about the more conventional lovers in Shakespeare’s comedy. When seen as an individual genre, the romances exhibit an even lower average relative frequency of vocatives than the tragedies, histories, and comedies, despite the rise of the figures for Tmp. to 2.25 (see Diagram 6 for Cym. and Diagrams 10 and 11). The results go hand in hand with the relatively low number of vocatives used in some of the other comedies. It would be possible to argue that from a diachronic point of view, the quantity of vocatives is reduced in the later comedies (if one considers Tmp. as an exception). If one investigates the relative frequency and distribution of vocatives in Cym. and WT, it is possible to tentatively justify their results via recourse to diachronic and generic features. Vocative distribution in Cym. and WT parallel one another in respect to conventional terms used, as in both plays conventional terms constitute more than half of the vocative corpus used in the respective plays. Yet, while EPITHETs represent the second largest category in Cym. followed by personal names, in WT personal names are used more frequently and are followed by EPITHETs (a distribution that also applies to the tragedies.). Although the sharing of generic terms, natural phenomena, emotion / mind, thought, and terms of family relationship in the vocative corpora of both plays is (surprisingly) alike, the difference in allocation between specialised fields in both plays should be highlighted, because in Cym. we find a relative frequency of 0.2 as opposed to 0.04 in WT. Shakespearean romances, or tragicomedies, even though part of the romantic tradition, were relatively new in 1609 because of their broad and varied flux of stories, their fairytale-like character, sensational incidents, the strong interlink between characters and plot, entertainment and seriousness (Daniell 1997: 117). The relative frequency and distribution of vocatives just described construes this pattern. However, diachronic and generic reasoning partially serves as an explanatory model, as the third romance in this corpus displays a markedly deviating outline. Tmp. characterises itself not only by a higher general relative frequency of vocatives used, but also by a more prominent and levelled representation of categories other than conventional terms, specialised fields, EPITHETs, or personal names, although these represent the four largest categories in this corpus (see Diagram 3, and see also Diagram 10). As such, Tmp. distinguishes itself from Cym. and WT in that the relative frequency for conventional terms is 0.1 lower than for Cym. and WT. In addition, the second largest category in this corpus is not, as in nearly all other


plays, that of EPITHETs or personal names, but that of specialised fields. Strikingly enough, terms of family relationship and generic terms are not very high in number. However, natural phenomena amount to 0.17. Similar to all three plays is the world of oracles, dreams, visions, the rustic, the royalty, strange disguising, and the revelation of identity after many years.26 Hence, it is justified to argue that these results for vocative distribution give further evidence of the respective genre romance. In Tmp., the here and now and its particular suitability for the theatre is particularly salient, as the storm scene, the scenes of magic manipulation, the masques of goddesses, the spirits in the form of a pack of hounds, a half-domesticated so-called monster, characters who can go about invisible to other characters amply illustrate (Daniell 1997: 119). Hence, the higher relative frequency of vocatives in this play and the deviating distribution (see Diagram 3) also construe these ideas. In this sense, the questions of what is reality and illusion add to the important concerns in the play as well as to the fondness of liking life to play. Furthermore, both questions bear philosophical overtones that the ideas of freedom and servitude often quoted only further enrich. Therefore, it is obvious that natural phenomena and specialised fields play a particular role in construing as well as reflecting these dimensions. Arial, Caliban, as well as Antonio and Sebastian rebel against authority, but it is Prospero who retains the power. Smith describes Cym. in the following terms: “the plot is complex, but the characters are not” (Smith 1997: 1567). It is tempting to subscribe to this view and so explain the low as well as fairly conventional distribution of vocatives in the play (that resembles the other tragedies in its highest number of conventional terms). As a romance, however, if one considers that the frequency of vocatives in Cym. and WT is especially marked or foregrounded when measured against the norm established by this corpus, these results ask for at least a cursory qualitative investigation of vocatives in the respective plays. For Cym., it is important to examine whether the experiential, interpersonal, and textual dimension of vocatives are realised in the same way as they are in other plays considering the fact that the characters are obviously not as complex as one wishes them to be. In WT the division of the play into two parts and the plot associated with them may be quantitatively and qualitatively construed by the different patterns of vocatives assembled above. The insane, though unmotivated jealousy of Leontes in the first part, the dignified patience of the accused queen, Paulina’s fearless loyalty to her mistress, and Camillo, the courtier who is loyal to the better side of his sovereign’s character constitute the network of character of the first part and the serious melodramatic first part. The second part is highlighted by a delightful pastoral celebration and joyous and comic festivity, in which the young part is triumphant. 4.1.5.4 Absolute and relative frequencies of the respective vocative clusters Except for 1H4, in which EPITHETs occur most frequently, and MND, in which personal names occur most frequently vocative-things belonging to the conventional cluster are most frequent in all other plays (see Diagram 5). On average, conventional terms are more frequent in the histories (1.09), as the Diagrams 5 and 9 illustrate. The conventional way of 26. Dieter Mehl (1967) mentions these and other features as characteristic of medieval romances.

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explanation would be that a) conventional terms indicate static social hierarchy, and b) due to the fact that terms of address mainly function as indications of this hierarchy, we find a high number of conventional terms. Existent studies (Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989, U. Busse 2002) on this topic most frequently and exclusively associate these terms with the expression of respect, power, and social awareness. The category emotion / mind, thought occurs most often in MND and Rom. (see Diagrams 5 and Table 3). Note again that even with regard to vocative-cluster-occurrence the plays’ similarities can be highlighted. In addition, one may also tentatively argue that the overt use of terms from the category emotion / mind, thought in the tragedies is not as dominant. In the histories, either three clusters (in 1H4, personal names, conventional terms, and EPITHETs) or only two clusters (conventional and EPITHET) are dominant. Compared to such figures those of the other clusters are “underrepresented.” In H8, EPITHETs follow the conventional cluster by a wide margin (see Table 3 and Diagram 9). In comparison with the results presented so far, it might be surprising that EPITHETs of all clusters follow the conventional cluster (difference between conventional and more creative terms). Other classes are much less frequently represented, which, however, does not imply that these classes are unimportant. In 1H4, the number resembles that in H8, so that one may infer that the category is especially meaningful for the history plays. In addition, in the histories, the relative frequency of EPITHETs is strikingly higher (0.57, 0.6) than in the tragedies (except for Lr. where the relative frequency is 0.6). This result is especially remarkable for 1H4, as the cluster, personal names and conventional terms seem to be constituting the most prominent categories. Generally speaking, the relative frequency of EPITHET-clusters in the tragedies is fairly even. In Rom., the number of EPITHETs and personal names is similar (91, relative frequency 0.3, below that in Ham., see Table 3 and Diagram 7). In Lr., the number of conventional vocative clusters, EPITHETs and personal names is always reduced by half. In Mac., EPITHETs rank in the fourth place. In the comedies, the average relative frequency is slightly above that of the tragedies. In the course of time, the meaning of EPITHETs as vocatives seems to have risen again. The number of generic terms is not as dominant as that of the other categories. It is highest in Ant. and Lr. (see Diagram 7). Yet, one needs to investigate in context whether these are only directed at characters from a lower status and as women. In general, figures for generic terms are higher in the tragedies than in the comedies. This observation is somewhat striking, because from a general point of view one would probably think that low, rustic comedy life is construed by generic terms. Diagrams 12 and 13 illustrate not only the quantitative figures that represent the cluster natural phenomena, but also display the different plays that constitute these results. Even though the share of natural phenomena is fairly low, for example, in comparison to conventional terms (see Table 3), it is nevertheless noteworthy to analyse and interpret the data for the different sub-categories.

Diagram 12. Share of plays in the subcategories of natural phenomena


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Diagram 13. Occurence of different subcategories of natural phenomena and the plays’ share



Diagram 13 visualises that the subcategory nature is most frequently represented in this corpus of natural phenomena followed by animal, parts of the body, sense and perception, furniture, clothing, and food. In the preceding chapter, mention is made of the role of elements and natural phenomena within the Elizabethan world-view. Hence, within the Shakespearean address pattern characters in interaction either negatively or positively construe themselves or their interactants as animals, plants, seasons, or they address their clothes, some parts of their body, and furniture etc. The tragedies and histories (even though personal names precede specialised fields) display a relatively even stratification (see Diagram 12). Yet, the highest share of natural phenomena vocatives is transferred by the tragedies. The high number of nature in Mac., Lr., Rom., and Ant. is striking as is the data for parts of the body and animal in Lr., Oth., and Mac. Nevertheless, especially furniture, food, clothing, and sense of perception play a crucial role within the construal of the natural in vocative behaviour as well. In this respect, MND displays a striking figure for sense and perception, Ham. for food, and Ado for clothing. Generally speaking, in Ado, MV, and MM natural phenomena do not occur that often, but MND shows the highest share of all plays in the corpus in sense and perception, nature and animal, which further contribute to the construal of the sublime and the contrast between the fairy world and the city’s life. However, in the histories, the distribution is different. While 1H4 contributes to all sub-categories, R3 mainly contains animal-clusters, nature, and parts of the body. H8 completely deviates from this pattern, because it only displays one vocative from the field of natural phenomena. In little more than half of the plays, personal names surprisingly follow the conventional cluster (Rom., Ham., Oth., Ant., 1H4, MV, WT) or personal names rank in the third position (except for Mac.) (see Diagrams 5 and 7). These meanings should be transferred to vocative usage. The relative frequency of personal names are lowest in Lr. and in Mac. with relative frequencies of 0.30 and 0.26, whereas their relative frequency is highest in Ant. 0.9 (213). In the earlier comedies, personal names amount to 0.75 (120) for MND, 0.48 (100) for MV, 0.29 for Ado (60), and 0.38 (81) for MM (see Table 3 and Diagram 11). The romances show a similarly low distribution. In the histories, 1H4 and H8 fundamentally deviate (see Table 3 and Diagram 9). While in the former, personal names constitute the highest score (following Ant.), they seem to play a minor role in H8 (which fits the general outlook for the later comedies). It is striking that in the tragedies the frequency of conventional terms outweighs by far the cluster that is immediately following it (except for Ant.). Diagram 14 and 15 illustrate that within the cluster specialised fields the category metaphysical is most prominently represented, followed by military, legal, medical, and arts and leisure.

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Diagram 14. Share of plays in the subcategories of specialised fields


Diagram 15. Occurrence of different subcategories of specialised fields and the plays’ share



Ham., Mac., and Ant. are striking in general. Yet, the share of Tmp. in metyphysical terms is highest, which contributes to the fact that vocatives determine as well as create the magic and the metaphysical in the play. Mention has also been made of the socio-historical dimension of the belief in “black magic” at Shakespeare’s time, on the one hand, and the dominance of Christian belief systems, on the other. These results therefore not only help to construe relevant themes of the plays, but also transfer a clear outer-contextual dimension. If one investigates the subcategories of specialised fields within a selection of plays from this corpus, it is striking that all categories are represented in all plays (Tit., Lr., Rom., Oth., R3, 1H4, MND, Tmp.) (see Diagrams 14 and 15). It is further striking that, except for Tit., metaphysical terms always have the largest share of all the different categories in all the plays. This corresponds with the general outlook. However, the high number of these terms in Rom. illustrates that the rise in metaphysical terms must be due to the thematic reasons. Notice that especially the dramatic potential of the other tragedies is especially construed through despair, madness, rebellion – while in Tit. Titus’s strong sense of honour – as construed among others by the high number of legal and military vocatives – governs and creates the play’s idiosyncratic reliance on honour, and the idea of revenge. A look at the sub-categories of specialised fields of a selected range of plays further illustrates the way these contribute to the construal of specific meanings in the play as well. For Tit., the high number of military and legal vocatives is also construing the play’s main themes. Considering Lear’s madness in Lr., the vocatives’ metaphysical world construes these effects, if we, for example, recall Lear’s address to the gods in Lr. 3.4. Notice also that metaphysical terms can relate to the underworld, hence the devil, as well. The high number of metaphysical and military terms that are used vocatively in Oth. is suggestive of Othello’s sense of duty and honour as well as his complete failure of putting Iago’s scheming and Desdemona’s love into perspective: hence, his addresses to the metaphysical. Similar ideas may be valid for R3. Recourse to negative terms from the metaphysical for Richard is particularly characteristic of the women in the play. Hence, these terms mainly characterise Richard. Secondly, following the change of Richard’s behaviour in Act 3, he himself uses this world to calm himself down and to seek support. Terms of family relationship are more salient in plays where we are confronted with kinship relations. Yet, Ham., Oth., Ant. and Ado are somewhat striking because of the low numbers for this category. The data may lead to the tentative conclusion that the qualitative status of those family terms that are used is upgraded and hence foregrounded. In addition, one may argue that with regard to the idea of stylistic choice, the world of family terms does not seem to be the category which these plays’ characters resort to when interacting. Even though, for example, Ham. shows a high number of vocatives that resort to kinship relations, it may be argued that if the characters use direct address forms, they construe relationships other than kinship relations.

4.1.6 A case study: the representatives of the category conventional terms in a selected range of plays of the Shakespeare corpus As a case study, this section investigates the different representatives of vocatives of the category conventional terms in a selected number of plays, which have been chosen ac-


cording to genre and date of production. The plays are Tit., Ant., R3, H8, MND, and Tmp. Furthermore, not only the head terms but also the epithets by which these head terms are modified are investigated. Within the conventional-cluster, the earlier plays (irrespective of their genre) seem to use a similar set of conventional terms that also appears in even relative frequencies. For the tragedies, the set of conventional terms that is used in Tit. is larger than that in Ant. Things conventional Tit. emperor (7) empress (6) grandsire (6) highness (4) King (2) kinsmen (12) ladyship (1) lord (40) lordships (2) madam (14) majesty (3) masters (9) mistress (1) patricians (3) people’s (1) plebeians (1) prince (1) princes (2) queen (6) sir (15) sirs (14) slave (3) souvereign (1) tribune (3) tribunes (6) Things conventional Ant. dame (1) emperor (4) empress (3) highness (4) lady (14) landlord (1) lord (37)


lords madam majesty master masters mistress queen senators servant sir sirs slave souvereign

(9) (52) (2) (2) (2) (1) (18) (3) (1) (80) (1) (2) (1)

Some terms that are used result from the particular gender structure that is existent and construed in the plays as well as from the historical and social setting (no plebeians in Ant.’s Rome anymore). Interesting are those terms, such as sir, lady, lord, madam, which, with a different relative frequency, are existent in almost all plays. Compared with Ant., in Tit., there are lower relative frequencies for madam and sir, there is no occurrence of lady, but we find a higher relative frequency for lord. Mention has already been made of the change within Early Modern demography and the generalisation of titles in EModE (Williams 1992: 92). This fact caused that some terms, including lady, lord, sir, and madam come to be used for people further down the social scale. Especially in his later plays, Shakespeare seems to exploit this fact, because it is not only in Ant. that the frequency of sir and madam is much higher than that of lord, but these results can also be discerned in H8 and Tmp. In R3, a relatively low number of sir and lady can be computed, even though there is also a higher number of madam. The figure that is immediately striking is that for lord, which constitutes almost half of the conventional terms in R3. Generally speaking, the set of lexical terms that are used in R3 is larger than that of the other five plays under investigation. Things conventional in R3 gentlemen (16) grace 3) grandam (7) highness (6) keeper (4) king (2) ladies (6) lady (6) liege (1) lord (144) lords (34)


lordship lordship’s madam majesty marquess masters neighbour peers pleasure prince princes queen Ratcliffe Richard sir sirrah sirs slave souvereign vassals worship yeomen

(6) (1) (27) (2) (1) (2) (3) (17) (1) (5) (5) (3) (1) (1) (7) (1) (5) (1) (9) (2) (1) (1)

H8 has a small set of conventional terms. The dominance of lord corresponds to the usage in the other histories, but is in contrast to the other plays where sir marks the later plays. Even though, in terms of the fictional time presented, H8 is far back in history, Shakespeare uses address terms that are inherently EModE in character. There is also a greater dominance of lordship, lordships, and of lady. Striking is also the high number of your highness. In general one may conclude that conventional terms in H8 not only govern the experiential, interpersonal, and textual vocative patterns in H8, but that the conventionalisation of these terms has been put forward to an extensive extent. Again, the figures and distributions testify to a collaboration with Fletcher (see also Hope 1994b: 100–104). Things conventional in H8 earl (1) gentlemen (13) highness (17) ladies (12) lady (14) ladyship (1) liege (4) lord (67)

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lords lordship lordships madam majesty sir slaves souvereign

(143) (6) (8) (24) (3) (54) (1) (3)

MND displays a small set of conventional terms. Yet, again, the dominance of lord and master is obvious, while lady occurs only once in the corpus and sir only four times. Here the French Monsieur should be noted, because it is of non-native origin and might aim at alleviating the style of the speaker as well as the positions of both speaker and addressee. Things conventional in MND duke (3) gentleman (1) gentlemen (2) gentles (1) highness (1) king (2) ladies (3) lady (1) lord (25) masters (33) mistress (2) mounsieur (7) queen (4) sir (4) worships (1) The differences from this pattern in Tmp. are obvious. Sirvocatives surpass by far those of lord, and the semantic variety that is used strikingly surpasses that of MND. Things conventional in Tmp. duke (1) highness (2) king (2) lady (1) liege (1)


lord lords majesty master mistress peer queen servant sir slave

(17) (5) (1) (9) (3) (1) (1) (1) (58) (6)

As regards the epithets that may modify the conventional vocatives,27 in Tit., as has also generally been observed, more terms that initially refer to social structure appear, while the dominance of good, sweet, and dear, which characterises the whole corpus of vocatives, is not discernible. In contrast to the epithets used in Tit. stand those in Ant. While the epithet-set in Ant. does not appear in such a lexical variety, a high number of epithets as well as broad relative frequencies coincide with the entire corpus: good and sweet (except for dear perhaps) are most prominent. Furthermore, there are more terms that do not initially refer to social status. Epithets that modify conventional terms in Ant. absolute (1) brave (2) courteous (1) dear (9) dearest (1) dread (1) gentle (6) good (15) gracious (3) most (7) noble (4) precious (1) royal (1) sole (1) souvereign (1) sweet (2) vile (1) worthy (2) wrangling (1) 27. See also Chapter 4.2.2 for the crucial role of epithets within the structural potential of vocatives in Shakespeare.

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It may be concluded that the vocatives in the later tragedies are not only modified more often, but that it is exactly the semantic field of social structure governing the whole corpus that also modifies the conventional terms in the later tragedies. Hence, the semantic variety of epithets that are used is smaller, which may lead to the conclusion that some forms and collocations have been conventionalised and Shakespeare may have exploited this tendency for his dramatic purpose. In R3, a larger set of epithets that are used can be discerned. The quantitative dominance of good is already obvious. There are many terms that are inherently interpersonal in nature and do not initially refer to social structure alone. Epithets that modify conventional terms in R3 bold (1) cloudy (1) dear (2) devilish (1) dread (1) erroneous (2) gentle (1) good (22) gracious (14) heart (6) honourable (6) kind (1) little (1) loving (3) mighty (5) most (4) noble (24) painted (1) poor (4) quainted (1) renowned (1) right (2) sorrowing (6) sovereign (5) sweet (4) thrice (1) warlike (1) watchful (1) In H8, the dominance of good as a modifier of conventional terms is obvious. In addition, a small set of modifying epithets occurs, and most of them are initially social in character.


This might lead us to the conclusion that in H8, a late play, epithets that modify conventional terms as well as conventional things have already been conventionalised. Epithets that modify conventional terms in H8 dread (3) fair (1) good (31) gracious (3) honest (1) honour’d (2) learned (1) most (5) noble (12) officious (4) poor (1) proud (1) reverend (3) rude (1) sweet (4) wretched (1) MND displays an extraordinarily limited set of epithets, even though the dominance of good is apparent again. Vocatives seem to appear more frequently in an unmodified way. Epithets that modify conventional terms in MND fair (1) fairy (2) good (7) gracious (2) honest (1) noble (1) renowned (1) sweet (2) The number of epithets that modify conventional terms in Tmp. is larger than the lexical fields which are drawn on. In addition, we find many more epithets that do not initially refer to social structure. Epithets that modify conventional terms in Tmp. abhorred (1) bounteous (1) dear (1) good (7) gracious (1)

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grave great highest honest loyal lying most noble old poisonous potent sweet wicked wrong

(1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (4) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1)

The exemplary analysis of conventional vocative patterns in the six plays illustrates that there are generic differences in terms of the representatives of the category conventional and the epithets that modify them. Furthermore, it can also be tentatively argued that even though the set of terms that are used in this category roughly remains the same, the frequency by which the conventional vocatives appear changes drastically. This is particularly noteworthy for sir and lord, as well as madam. It has been pointed out that this development stands in strong relationship with the EModE tendency towards generalisation, even though this may not prohibit the potential for functional diversity.

4.1.7 “You taught me language.”28 The role of vocatives in the construction and naturalisation of complex power structures Ever since the publication of Brown and his associates’ studies on forms of address (Brown and Gilman 1960, Brown and Ford 1961), the concept of power and its relational counterpart, that of solidarity, has been considered crucial to and central for not only discourse analytic and sociolinguistic research, but also for the analysis of forms of address in general and in Shakespeare’s plays in particular (see Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989, Calvo 1992a and U. Busse 2002). To argue that language is seen as dialogic and social enables one to analyse the determinants of thinking and behaviour, which, as Foucault (1970, [1969] 1972), Bourdieu (1977a, b, 1997a, b, 1998, 2001), Bakhtin (1981), Eco ([1990] 1992), Halliday (1994, 1998, 2004), and others have shown, must be integrated with ideas of belief systems, and aspects of power, in a more complex way than another concept that immediately comes to mind when one discusses these themes: that of ideology. Mills (1997: 32) is correct to argue that due to historical developments in the 1990s the term ideology is not only biased towards Marxism, but is also often seen as a simplistic, negative, exclusively political proc28. Tmp. 1.2.363.


ess. Therefore, Mills suggests that for the discussion of power, especially Foucault’s and, as will be suggested here, also Bourdieu’s theories on discourse purport a less simplistic, more productive, and hence discursive point of view (Mills 1997: 32). In his extensive writing, Foucault tries to move his conception of power away from a negative model towards a framework that stresses the productive nature of power and the general discursive structures that construe meaning, our interpretation of objects, events and our sense of reality (Mills 1997: 33). For Foucault, power is a relation rather than a simple imposition. It involves continuously changing and exchanged role positions. These no longer describe rigid notions of, for example, superior-inferior, master-slave, or oppressor and oppressed (Mills 1997: 38) or an assumption that in any power relation there is simply a powerful participant and a powerless one, but rather an analysis of the degrees of power involved in these relations and the idea of resistance. How we interpret objects and events depends upon just these structures. For a transference of this point of view to a Shakespearean perspective, it can be argued that although social stratification of the characters in Shakespeare’s plays appears to be rigid at first glance, the interactive structures and conversational exchanges allow a much more flexible and mutable approach to power. Note, for example, that although Charmian in Ant. is Cleopatra’s gentlewoman supposed to be subservient, their social relationship and power relations between them are in constant flux. This is particularly evident when Charmian mocks Cleopatra’s childish mourning of Antony’s absence by ironically highlighting Caesar’s qualities (Ant. 1.5). Foucault also points out that there are different degrees or levels of power circulating through a society. The way these dynamic and unfixed negotiations of different power relations between people interact is therefore ultimately related to situated practices of dayto-day interaction (Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 495). By means of discourse as well as other semiotic systems various belief systems are constantly reproduced, formulated and reinforced, but also questioned and resisted. Consequently, different social groups share some kind of belief systems and temporarily position themselves and others into power structures (Fowler 1996: 66). Bourdieu’s habitus theory and his theory of symbolic, cultural, social, and economic capital29 (Bourdieu 1977a, b, 1997a, b) encompass not only material goods and relations, but also those actions that heavily influence social relationships and interaction. Bourdieu’s habitus theory describes how interactants, either as a group or an individual, perceive the circumstances of their environment, and how they use and recognise them (Schwingel 1993: 54). Action is therefore always historical and contextual and needs to be interpreted as such (Bourdieu 1998: 23). Within a sociological and philosophical framework, Bourdieu’s concept of habitus, already outlined in Chapter 2.3, needs to be further enhanced. Habitus is attitude, usuality and appearance, in terms of the physical appearance of an individual and the individual’s attitudes, interests, modes of behaviour, prac-

29. It is beyond the scope of this study to elaborate in detail on these theories, which have evoked vivid and fierce sociological debates. For further information on Bourdieu’s theories of habitus and capital, see, for example, Kauppi (2000), Robbins (2000), and Nordquist’s (1997) bibliography.


tices, and habits.30 We can speak of a socialisation and acculturation of mental images and models. Bourdieu defines habitus as a system of internalised patterns, which allow construing all typical thoughts, apprehensions, and deeds of a culture (Bourdieu 1997b: 143). As a product of history, the habitus produces individual and collective practices; that is history construed by history’s schemata. The habitus ensures the active presence of experience made. This experience is part of each organism in the shape of practices and thought as well as realisation patterns, which one attempts to safeguard and to keep constant to a much greater extent than formal rules and explicit norms are able to realise (Bourdieu 1997a: 101).31 The concept of habitus is strongly linked with that of capital, which is divided into three forms: economical, social, and cultural. Economic capital comprises material and economic goods. The state of one’s organism, cultural goods, and institutionalised goods are summarised under the heading of cultural capital. Social capital describes the social relations of an individual. Symbolic capital, which includes prestige and appreciation as well as the social acknowledgements which an individual receives (Bourdieu 2001: 213), can be gained by means of all other three types of capital. Through the usage of vocatives in Shakespeare symbolic capital is attributed as well as accumulated. At the same time, identity, prestige, and social positions are transferred to both speaker and hearer. As such, individuals and interactants use these social representations not only to accomplish everyday social practices, such as acting and communication, but also to establish power relations. Engaging in a particular type of strategy, relationship or activity, in which one is able to manifest one’s status or allegiance towards a particular orientation, involves discursive processes and reflects social roles, rules, and models. Discourse is at the centre of a theory of selfhood and of ideologies. One may certainly be sure about the dynamic, construing effect of discourse on selfhood, and power structure within Early Modern discourse. In addition to the text-structure and lexico-grammatical features, the concept that is also of vital importance is that of positioning. How are contingent social structures construed? How are characters positioned in conversation? How do they position themselves and others? What role does the vocative play here and what kind of power structures does the vocative construe in relation to the positioning of readers and/or audience? Eggins and Slade (1997) have systematically refuted Kress’ (1985: 2) view that conversation varies from other genres, because it is the genre that “is formally least about power” (Kress 1985: 25). Therefore, the extent to which vocatives in Shakespeare construe the always-present, though “underground” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 65), struggle over power and the involvement of habitus needs to be investigated. In addition, it is debatable whether vocatives in Shakespeare are one of the linguistic elements that compel one to denaturalise it in order to dismantle the power differences often rendered opaque between interactants and casual observers. These ideas of power have consequences for a general concept of language. In discourse theory, language is the site where the interactive struggles are acted out (Mills 1997: 30. The concept of habitus has been dealt with since ancient times (here especially Aristotle), and in medieval times (here Simplicius, Boethius, and especially Thomas of Aquin). In Modern times, Hegel, Husserl and Weber have dealt with similar issues (Graßnick 2004: 24). 31. For further elaborations on Bourdieu’s habitus concept, see Bohn (1991), Nickel (2001).


42). Discourse can be an instrument and an effect of power, but also a hindrance, an obstacle, and a point of resistance. Nevertheless, there is never an intrinsic order to the world itself other than the ordering which we impose on it through our linguistic description of it. Therefore, Fowler (1986), Fairclough (1992, 1995) and particularly representatives of critical discourse analysis (see Chapter 2.2.2) are right to argue that language and belief systems as well as concepts of power are indispensably interrelated with one another. Within this framework, Bourdieu points out that “language is not only an instrument of communication or of knowledge, but also an instrument of power” (Bourdieu 1977a: 648), so that we enter the experiential sphere. Hence, we deal not only with questions of how coordinated social resources are generated, but also with the procedures for and measures that mediate between an individual’s practices, constantly changing social positions, and a social structure (Bourdieu 1977b: 82). The concept of social changes in the ideological use of language is succinctly summarised in the following quotation: A characteristic of a dominant IDF [ideological-discursive formation] is the capacity to ‘naturalise’ ideologies, i.e. to win acceptance for them as non-ideological ‘common sense’. It is argued that the orderliness of interactions depends in part upon such naturalised ideologies. To ‘denaturalise’ them is the objective of a discourse analysis that adopts ‘critical’ goals. I suggest that denaturalisation involves showing how social structures determine properties of discourse, and how discourse in turn determine social structures (Fairclough 1995: 27).

One of the major contributions of critical linguistics is its investigation of why texts actually happen, even though they sometimes tend to look for the right linguistic item to stress their point. Kress (1985: 52) proposes that in order to understand the social distribution of power within texts (or different speech genres), the analysts have to investigate language, because “[l]anguage provides the most finely articulated means for a nuanced registration of differences in power in social hierarchical structures, both as static systems and in process” (Kress 1985: 53). While analysing why conversation and other texts occur, critical analysts have also provided helpful means of how conversation should be studied. Crucial to this notion is the idea that the micro-event and the macro-social structures are inextricably linked, “in other words, the micro-interactions of everyday life are viewed by critical analysts as the realisations of macro-social structures” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 58). Hence, on the one hand, vocative-choices result in particular messages for the paragraph, the scene, the act, and the play as a whole, and, on the other, they are also suggestive of aspects of power and identity creation in a social context. Therefore, discourse analysts, such as Coulthard (1996) and Sinclair (1982), conversation analysis, and Gricean pragmatics, who all mainly describe the local organisation of speech events, are crucial, but have to be merged by CDA’s critical view on discourse. CDA concerns itself with questions about the way in which social relations impinge upon, create and reflect the production of speech or written text and the power relations between participants. Furthermore, they are correct to investigate the reasons for why people not only take the social determinedness of conversation for granted, but also believe in the orderliness of conversation. For example, learning how to appear friendly represents a crucial topic within Early Modern courtesy literature (Brown and Gilman 1989). For Fairclough (1995: 10), these belief systems origi-


nate in people’s compliance with their socially conform background knowledge about the language codes, norms, rules, obligations demanded by a society in interaction as well as about their knowledge of the situation and of the world. Furthermore, Fairclough also equips Foucault’s definition of discourse with a systematic framework of analysis based on a linguistic analysis of a text. Within this framework, CDA does not assume that a language item has only one meaning, but several. For Fairclough, Foucault is so important to linguistics because of his emphasis on the major role of discourse in the constitution of social objects (Mills 1997: 150). Linguistics often ignores questions of the role of language in the constitution of subjectivity and selfhood, while Foucault and Bourdieu stress the constitutive nature of discourse and the primacy of interdiscourse and intertextuality (Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 496). The types of interaction display the complexities of the workings and power relations within the society as a whole. This is probably one reason why, for example, the reputation of Brown and his associates’ study on power and solidarity in address behaviour has also brought the development within Shakespeare studies and vocatives to a standstill. Recalling Kress’ (1985: 53) already quoted statement that language displays fine nuances of power helps us to see the dialectical relationship between language and power in general. However, it also underlines the social potential of all linguistic aspects. Although Kress, in contrast to Halliday and Fairclough, does not seem to believe in the power-creating capacity of language, for him, language and power nevertheless constitute a firm correlation in a number of ways. Language not only points to power relations but also encodes them and expresses power (Kress 1985: 52). He states that all linguistic forms which can be used to indicate relations of distance, and those which can indicate ‘state’ or ‘process’ serve the expression of power. In fact, there are few linguistic forms which are not pressed in to the service of the expression of power, by a process of syntactic/textual metaphor (Kress 1985: 53).

So far, the Shakespearean vocatives’ construal of constantly changing, dynamic, and fluent power, habitus, and symbolic capital has been neglected. The extent to which the vocative clusters construe, construct, de-construct, naturalise, or de-naturalise power relationships also interlinks with the power of nominalizations of vocatives outlined in Chapters 3.1 and 3.2. In Tmp. 1.2.313f., the first encounter between Prospero and Caliban is presented to the recipient in the following way.32 Prospero:

[…] – What ho! slave! Caliban! Thou earth, thou! speak.

In these two lines, we find vocatives that construe powerful and socially telling different experiential worlds. These belong to four different vocative clusters: conventional term, personal name, a term referring to natural phenomena and the EPITHET thou. According to the OED (I.1.a.), a slave is “one who is the property of, and entirely subject to, another person, whether by capture, purchase, or birth; a servant completely divested of freedom and personal rights.” Deconstructing Prospero’s use of the term illustrates the 32. See also B. Busse (2006).


extent to which this vocative alone constitutes the starting point for the shaping and reflection of power and habitus in this address. Within Prospero’s (and Miranda’s) belief systems and ideas of social structure, Prospero is Caliban’s master. The introductory blunt, almost brutal slave, an NG without further modifications, is to make this clear not only to Caliban, but also to the recipient. Prospero’s address heightens his own habitus and denies the attribution of symbolic capital to Caliban. Moreover, Caliban’s social position is hardly present, or denigrated to a minimum. In many performances, for example (see Vaughan and Vaughan ed. 1999: 171), Caliban often rises from a trap door down stage centre. Locating Caliban’s cave below underscores his opposition to Ariel who can enter from aloft, which gives an example of possible actualisations of the vocative. At the same time, the term hints at his status as a slave who sleeps. Notice also Prospero’s initial stylistic preference of slave over Caliban and the fact that Prospero’s slave anticipates Miranda’s more brutal “Abhorred slave, / Which any print of goodness wilt not take, / Being capable of all ill” (Tmp. 1.2.352–54). The metaphoric transformation of a clausal into a nominal mode of construal used as a vocative sounds as a simple enough semiotic and linguistic operation. Yet, it is especially constructive in this example. The more congruent clausal rewording could be the relational clause thou art a slave, where slave functions as an identifier. In addition, it is also possible to unpack the nominalisation in a completely different way: “thou hast been slaved.” This process is material, Thou33 is the medium of the clause, while the agent is missing. As such, the nominal mode of the vocative, both experientially and interpersonally construing habitus, pretends that Caliban’s position is natural in relation to Prospero’s habitus, his history, and his former social position. We can see that the possibilities of unpacking are not only twofold, but that the two clauses are in hypotactic interdependency. In addition, much of the semantic information is hidden: “there is certainly a great deal of neutralisation taking place when a figure is reworded as a NG; but the result […] is not a loss of semantic distinction but ambiguity: the different possible meanings are still discrete” (Halliday 1998: 196). The idea that the total semantic range is not reduced is crucial to the above mentioned vocative in terms of power structures construed. This is because in shifting into the metaphoric mode of NG and using it as a direct form of address, new meanings are created, and a habitus – that of the subservient slave and the master governing him – is construed. It is simply not the case that the vocative slave identifies the conventional master-slave-relationship. This creation reflects dominant economic structures, social prejudices, and forces which control their (and probably our) existence. When Prospero uses the signifier slave, he is not simply conveying the natural signified “one who is dependent,” but he is actually expressing the implicit “social” signified with all the consequences this habitus will have. Although, on the surface structure, it seems to be obvious that Caliban is socially inferior to Prospero, one may ask whether one could also reword Prospero’s vocative into “I’m slaved by you [Caliban].” This interpretation is especially relevant to Prospero’s and

33. Thou is particularly marked in the comedies (U. Busse 2002: 45f.), where the unmarked form of the second-person personal pronoun paradigm is you, which strongly corresponds to the EModE usage at the time when Shakespeare was writing. Hence, Prospero’s use of thou is highly emotional and downgrading.

191


Miranda’s dependence on Caliban’s knowledge of the isle and nature, as exemplified in ”But as ‘tis, / We cannot miss him; He does make our fire, / Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices / That profit us” (Tmp. 1.2.310–12). In the OED (1.a.), the first entry of the verb to slave with a lemma-dating-remark of 1602, corroborates this reading as it denotes slave as “to reduce to the condition of a slave; to enslave; to bring into subjection.” The following vocatives, Caliban and thou earth, further underline the twofold discursive dimensions of the entire address. Again, the semantic of these vocatives is distinct, as both terms not only construe different vocative clusters – personal name and a term referring to natural phenomena – but also because both terms seem to further reduce Caliban to a debased, uncivilised, earthy creature. When, later in the play, Caliban attacks Prospero and Miranda “You taught me language and my profit on’t / Is, I know how to curse” (Tmp. 1.2.363), the recipient is able to imagine what Caliban is referring to. Prospero appears as the vocal master not only of extraordinary loquacious brutality, but also of his intentions to represent the power and leader of the isle. Yet, Prospero’s ostentiously over-elaborate terms of address, his drift toward the unavoidable concrete, hints at the multi-dimensional character of discourse and power-structure on the one hand, while, they, on the other hand, also question these likewise. Prospero’s brutal precision in using vocatives complies with the power structures and conventional view on how master and resented slave might communicate: no camouflage, no concealment, no covering of antipathy, but pure and brutal attack or – to use politeness theory terminology (Brown and Gilman 1989) – un-redressed face-threatening acts. The social infamy evoked by the choice of the vocative thou earth, echoing the EModE social order, further undermines the rigidity of power (in Erich Fried’s German translation, evocatively, this vocative is “Lehmklops” [Fried 1989, 3: 581]). Those in power need to constantly re-establish their superior position in order not to be in danger of losing it. One quotation from Philip Roth’s (2001) The Human Stain, in which Coleman Silk succinctly unmasks the allegedly moral and civil superiority of the mainstream character and their condemnation of all unconventional deeds as a superficial self-protection mechanism, on the one hand, and as a lack of authentic personality, on the other, is valuable for Caliban’s position in the play as well. Coleman Silk states: “[b]eing angry with me, makes them all feel better – it liberates everyone to tell me I’m wrong” (Roth 2001: 81). This liberating habitus has been naturalised from Prospero’s point of view, as he – the socially, linguistically, and morally better sort – is allowed to reveal another repellent deficiency. With the next locution, Caliban is again revealed and undone. The following vocative that is flying from Prospero’s mouth – the nearly alliterating thou tortoise (Tmp. 1.2.317) – overtly alludes to Caliban’s dilatoriness. Yet, with a change of perspective, it could be argued that these vocatives also function as experiential markers in order to ridicule the attempt to be compliant with dominant power structures. Here thou earth and tortoise are negatively uttered from a Western egocentric point of view, which Caliban receives and perceives as such. Some ecolinguists (Fill 1998: 9) focus on the “anthropocentrism” of language, which considers humans to be separated from the rest of the world. Even though the choice of animal terms for characters that are heavily loathed is a common practice within Shakespeare’s vocative choice, Prospero’s attack at Caliban construes an anthropocentric rather than a biocentric point


of view. He positions Caliban away from his own appreciated linguistic framework and names Caliban from the point of view of his usefulness for Prospero. As such, the vocative as a grammatical metaphor and a nominalization also functions as a means of agent deletion, because Caliban’s status is downgraded to that of the modified. In turn, however, it may also function as a term of endearment because it most naturally identifies Caliban with his original field of influence: nature and the world of animals, which Prospero and his daughter need to live upon as well. In Tmp., Trinculo’s, Stephano’s, and Caliban’s encounters can serve as examples to underline this point. For example, Caliban addresses Trinculo with “Wilt thou let him, my lord?” (Tmp. 3.2.30f.), which is un-reciprocally encountered with ”’ Lord’, quoth he? That a monster should be such a natural!” (Tmp. 3.2.32). Caliban’s initiating locution and Trinculo’s retort illustrate the confusion of hierarchical structure and hence power. However, Trinculo’s use of the epithet natural illustrates the extent to which he has been assimilated to these kinds of address patterns between master and servant (see also Photograph 2 in Chapter 6). It is natural, even though they poke fun at it simultaneously. While Caliban believes in his new role as Trinculo’s servant – and his habitus has also been naturalised – Trinculo and Stephano are not only too drunk to recognise the sincerity of Caliban’s intentions, but also too dumb to tackle Caliban with sensitivity and respect. Caliban’s naïve and subservient attitude towards the jester and the butler however is authentic to the extent that he has been “taught” to do so, although, from a dramatic point of view, it certainly conveys aspects of comic relief. This, in turn, pointed, somewhat satirical portrayal of Caliban’s address behaviour illustrates in an almost cynical way not only the power structures that are at work, but also the extent to which a dominant group (Prospero and Miranda) constructs and deconstructs and governs conversational styles. Hence, we find the scarce use of Caliban’s personal name as a vocative. In Shakespearean drama, the vocative has an enormous constructive effect on power structures and systems of knowledge, as is exemplified via recourse to the example from Tmp. Hence, the enormous semiotic power of vocatives construes new meanings, also at the intersection of the congruent and the metaphoric. Moreover, a culture’s meaning-potential is distributed unevenly across social groups and is thus constantly changing (Martin et al. 1997: 507). Somehow, ideology and habitus are then a fourth communicative plane. Ideology is also a system of coding orientations constituting a culture. Contextual specific styles can be discerned with groups of speakers of differing generation, gender, ethnicity, and class. The positioning of speaker/listener becomes obvious in such a way as option in genre, register, and language are made selectively available. Social power can be defined in these terms according to the range of options available. As such, ideology is also concerned with the re-distribution of power and symbolic capital.


4.2 The interpersonal and textual dimensions of vocatives in Shakespeare 4.2.1 Vocatives as interpersonal markers in Ant. and Lr. 4.2.1.1 Introduction: what is the interpersonal? On the interpersonal level, talk – either dramatic or everyday conversation – enacts relationships and works to maintain or construe habitus (Bourdieu 1997a, b), social selves, social structure, and social change (Halliday 1994, 2004). The self is always constituted to a large extent by what is mirrored in the response of the other. Furthermore, the interpersonal level deals with question about who we are, who we are in relation to others, how we relate to others, and what we think of how the world is. When communicating we construe and are construed by attitudes we (sub-) consciously wish or need to express via language and we either intend to position or subconsciously place ourselves and others in our personal encounter. Language in interaction establishes closeness, anger, intimacy, or distance between us. Within this framework, Halliday’s interpersonal feature of language (Halliday 1994, 2004, Eggins 1994, Thompson 1996) – constituting and creating quotidian selves – has to be understood from a general point of view and not from the aspect of reciprocal self-maintenance alone (cf. Brown and Levinson 1987). This study refutes the idea that dramatic characters have stable or continuous identities (in Magnusson 1999: 3) and that one is what one does. Relative social identity results from the assumption that “the self [is considered] a rhetorical construct rather than a natural essence” and that “an important part of the rhetorical work constituting identity will turn out to be not creative fashioning but instead work that prevents and repairs threats to the continuity of the self ” (Magnusson 1999: 145). When transferring this interpersonal potential of language in general to Shakespearean vocatives, we need to find out, for example, who Lear, Cordelia, Regan, and Goneril are in Lear’s unsatisfactory trial of his daughters’ love; especially when he addresses Goneril with “Goneril, / Our eldest-born, speak first” (Lr. 1.1.53f.), Regan with “What says our second daughter, / Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? [Speak]” (Lr. 1.1.67f.), and Cordelia with “But now our joy, / Although our last and least, to whose young love / The vines of France and milk of Burgundy / Strived to be interessed, what can you say to draw / A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak” (Lr. 1.1.82–86). A micro-analysis compels the analyst to meticulously investigate and interpret the difference in address behaviour between Regan’s and Goneril’s “Sir, I do love you more than [words] can wield the matter” (Lr. 1.1.55), “Sir, I am made of that self mettle as my sister / And prize me at her worth”34 (Lr. 1.1.69f.), and Cordelia’s “Nothing, my lord” (Lr. 1.1.87). In addition, interpersonal messages and meanings sent out to the addressee and the recipient are highly meaningful in Antony’s use of “Hear me, queen” (Ant. 1.3.41) and his “My precious queen, forbear / And give true evidence to his love which stands / An honourable trial” (Ant. 1.3.73–75). The motivations for these choices and the potential for construing social identity and selfhood are crucial. In this respect, other examples from Tit. “Speak, gentle niece” (Tit. 2.4.16), “fair Philomela” (Tit. 2.4.38), and “But lovely niece, 34. Quoted from Foakes (ed. 1997: 162).


that mean is cut from thee” (Tit. 2.4.40), which Marcus uses to address Lavinia after she has been brutally raped and deformed, immediately illustrate the complex dimensions of Shakespearean vocatives’ interpersonal force. In the outline of the theoretical framework, the interpersonal meanings of vocatives and their potential for creating social positioning are hinted at. Vocatives in Shakespeare have, next to the experiential and the textual, specific interpersonal meanings: they function as social markers signalling a negotiation of social identities (Calvo 1992a for you and thou), and exhibit an extraordinary power in constructing and holding in place social identity and change. Within the interpersonal framework, vocatives in Shakespeare do not exclusively or necessarily reflect the rigid and permanent social status of speaker and hearer in the social hierarchy depicted in the respective plays. On the contrary, one can enjoy a particular status, that is, a mixture of certain rights and duties, while at the same time, the use of vocatives construes several social identities according to which those rights and duties relate to others in specific interrogations, and may restructure the speech event from moment to moment. Social identity may be understood as multi-layered and multi-dimensional in terms of, for example, social, political, personal, sexual, and also literary parameters. It is not only due to the plays’ literary status that vocatives’ power for the construction of social identity is susceptible to more than one interpretation, but also to the general semantic and functional relationship of polysemy, which can be transferred to the social and hint at the multivalent relationships between interactants. In this most complex endeavour, formal and functional aspects are strongly interwoven, construed, and reflected. Within this framework, aspects of micro-encounters as transferred by the vocative are crucial, as their reverberations are rendered important in order to get into intertextuality. Therefore, pragmatic concepts have to be critically seen within the macro-encounter of social exchange. As such, this chapter stands in strong interdependence with Chapter 4.1.7, on vocatives, power, and habitus. In addition, Shakespearean vocatives may perform the dual role of – to use Fillmore’s terminology (1985) – signalling what kind of frame is established in interaction at the moment of speaking in terms of attitudes, such as closeness, intimacy, anger, or distance expressed or positions taken, and, at the same time, of forming part of the message communicated within this frame. Vocatives create identity as always being patched, even in the making, while gender, race, class, necessity, linguistic ingenuity, dramatic considerations, and a number of other competing measures enter into the moment-by-moment relations of vocative exchange. As has been mentioned, Bourdieu (1977a: 648) argues that “language is not only an instrument of communication or of knowledge, but also an instrument of power.” A person speaks not only to be understood, but also to be believed, obeyed, respected, or distinguished, to accumulate symbolic capital (Bourdieu 2001: 193). Therefore, it is not only due to the high number of vocatives occurring in the plays and the ideation they construe, but also due to their semiotic interpersonal dimensions – the creation of selfhood, self, and an identity relationship (which is only rarely matching) – that the interpersonal will be asserted and investigated. Bourdieu’s (1977 a, 1997 a, b) work on


social practice and his concept of habitus35 also enacts the interpersonal level, as it deals with the procedures and measures that mediate between an individuals agent’s practices and a social structure (Bourdieu 1977b: 82). In other words, the interplay between individual maxims, and social and political structures is relevant. In the micro-encounter of conversational exchange it is also the styles of individual speakers in the plays that is on display and the “inscription in the conversational organisation of the characters’ relative social position” (Magnusson 1999: 148, Bourdieu 1977b: 81f.). The meanings of a Shakespearean vocative are therefore never entirely given in the context of conversation alone. It is easy to object to the considerable interpersonal importance of vocatives in Shakespeare and argue that they amount to little more than superficial forms of social decorum or stable social hierarchies. In turn, within the codes of our own current cultural context, it would be easy to see profuse vocative address as an expression of intimacy and closeness only. Yet, for the interpersonal analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare, a much broader framework is needed in order to explain the enormous interpersonal potential – the interplay between the I and the You – that can be opened up. In addition, the fact that language is used to exchange information, and is functional in shaping interpersonal and inter-group relations is often not only neglected, but also denied in language study.36 Magnusson’s (1999: 143) comment on forms of address as belonging to conversational exchange of the most basic kind is pertinent, as it promulgates the ideological discourse at work, although she, when she discusses Lr., emphasises vocatives’ potential in the creation of social identity. In this study, however, it will be argued that, neither historically nor functionally, experiential meaning is more advanced or more potent than the other (linguistic) component of human semiosis. Within this context, the interpersonal grammar of vocatives as NG and in the clause as well as vocatives’ experiential potential for the (de)-construction of power are strongly linked to (and dialectically dependent upon) the creation and reflection of social identity and aspects of selfhood. The relational, or conative and emotive dimensions, in Jakobson’s terms (1960), the phatic communion – to use Malinowski’s phrase (Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 291) or the expressive, to speak in Bühler’s ([1934] 1999), words – are all invariably concerned with what communication achieves in the social dimension. 4.2.1.2 Vocatives as creating identity in Ant. At two different stages of the same scene in Ant., Antony addresses Cleopatra with “Hear me, queen” (Ant. 1.3.41) and “My precious queen, forbear / And give true evidence to his love, which stands / An honourable trial” (Ant. 1.3.73–75). The examples are highly suggestive or – to use a systemicist phrase – they carry a considerable amount of appraisal, not only because they occur in the same scene with similar conversational interactants, but also because the heads of both vocatives are similar, as are the formal mood structures of the clauses accompanying the forms of address. Recourse to the most conventional ex35. See Chapter 4.1.7. 36. As mentioned, for example, in Chapter 3.2, usually, in models of language, the experiential has been favoured as a mode of structural analysis, due to its greater conceptual simplicity.


isting studies on the use of vocatives or to politeness theory tempts one to argue that the functional import both vocatives convey are gestures at socials status, respectful in nature, and redressing the face-threatening acts Cleopatra is attacked with. But explaining the question of who is Cleopatra and who is Antony is by far more complicated. The two address terms convey different functional meanings because the former is unmodified, while the second contains the interpersonal epithet precious and the deictic element my. As mentioned, the OED (1) tells us that the term queen, used as a form of address, conveys positive, even respectful meanings. In the example, it may therefore allude to Cleopatra’s status as the queen of Egypt. The attributes usually connoted with the status queen should be independence and power. Yet, at this stage of the conversation, Antony individualises Cleopatra as the female potentate of Egypt, whose political rationality should evoke understanding for political and personal duty, but it is the unmodified, final vocative, accompanied by a straight order (and mental process) that frankly alludes to the female, weaker part of her: the fact that she seems to be unable to have vision and to separate the private from the public sphere. Consider how forcefully the unmodified vocative is employed at this stage. It is not their personal relationship Antony is alluding to when trying to convince Cleopatra, but it is her official role as political protagonist which he immediately belittles. Hence, the rewording of the NGs used vocatively into clauses tells a polysemous, yet poignant narrative. In addition, an entry in the EModE dictionary by Florio (1598) conveys a somewhat different nuance. It firstly denotes the queen as the “regina, the spouse of a king,” which then in Antony’s address would be indicative of his own superior position. What Antony enwraps in a saucy shell of flattering linguistic subservience is, thus, also an attempt to construe and to manifest his own superiority, power, and habitus. In addition, the fact that at Shakespeare’s time the noun queen is not only used to refer to a royal person, but, as a variant, has also strong phonological and orthographical resemblance with the noun quean, meaning “whore” (Williams 1997), extends Antony’s wish for social superiority to physical dominance as well. Therefore, he only superficially accumulates symbolic capital. Remarkably, in Antony and Cleopatra’s vocative behaviour, Antony hardly ever uses an unamplified queen vocative, when he addresses Cleopatra. This observation illustrates the need for a micro-linguistic analysis levelled against a co- and contextual norm, because it is tempting to interpret a queen vocative only against a socio-political general norm. Therefore, while the structure and polysemous character of the vocative queen in Hear me, queen is incongruent within their address behaviour, the structure of the second vocative – deictic-epithet-thing – is more congruent within their address behaviour and the general outlook of the corpus. Yet, the choice of the epithet precious, meaning “dear” (OED 1.), is not one of the most common epithets Antony uses when addressing Cleopatra. Furthermore, precious foreshadows the symbolic power of the “orient pearl” (Ant. 1.5.41) that Cleopatra is given as a present. In the EModE dictionaries by Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), and T. Thomas (1587), the epithet precious collocates with the noun stone. Hence, Shakespeare transfers the sense of precious as valuable, rare, and beautiful to social position queen. As such, the interpersonal force of the epithet overrides the experiential potential of the head and the entire vocative is given a foregrounded status that positions Cleopatra as Antony’s queen of heart – the deictic my further emphasises the


view –, as his object of desire, as a beautiful and precious woman, as his inferior, and also alludes to their highly passionate past. This interpersonal force is equally inherent in my precious queen, forbear, which has been described as much more seductive and ingratiating in tone. Although the deictic element my is not infrequently used in emotionally loaded situations, a microscopic or microcosmic view on the use of my here is justified. My indicates this twofold identity – Antony’s Roman sense of male dominance and his possession of Cleopatra and the sincere, emotional, personal, and more Egyptian wish to stay with her. The epithet precious carries not only clear positive interpersonal dimensions, but also reverberates many of the illusions made to Cleopatra as an orient woman.37 Likewise, the epithet is highly suggestive of the value Cleopatra carries as a woman in general and as Antony’s beloved. To the meanings of the thing queen must be added that of sincere appraisal and love for the queen of his heart and of their own cocoon and universe. The situational use of queen is more positive than the previously analysed example. Therefore, W.H. Auden (2000 [1946]: 233) is correct to argue that Antony and Cleopatra generally contains perhaps more first-rate poetry than any other play in the canon, but not a line of it is detachable from the context either of the scene in which it occurs or of the play as a whole.

Antony attempts to achieve more closeness and intimacy, and the poetic, almost hyperbolic NG used vocatively incorporates many of the aspects that constitute and construe Cleopatra’s and Antony’s multifaceted relationship. Note that the vocatives occur within Antony’s seven-fold attempt to tell Cleopatra about his departure and are part of Cleopatra’s game of the moody queen. In other words, while the vocative in Hear me, queen may be initially compliant or cooperative with EModE norms, it is certainly not when Antony and Cleopatra’s address pattern is scrutinised. If measured on a scale of feature analysis, such as + quality, + quantity, + manner (Lipka 2002: 85), my precious queen superficially violates the Gricean (Yule 1996) maxim of quantity and quality in this direction, as the deictic my and the interpersonal epithet precious certainly stand out to echo and construe a different social identity. However, economic violation of constructed maxims immediately leads to social implications of power, habitus and symbolic capital that is accumulated. If we then consider the EModE meaning of queen in Florio (1598) as quoted above, Antony’s attempt to subdue Cleopatra in favour of his own superior social and physical status becomes obvious. Queen alone is structurally and socially foregrounded, as it momentarily emphasises, though implicitly, Antony’s superior social position as her king, leader, and patriarch. While the constant repetition of the head vocative queen is cohesive (Toolan 1998b: Chapter 2) in creating texture and something to hold onto, the differing structural potential of the vocatives as well as their contextual analyses and the use of epithet and deictic elements add different forces to their interpersonal potential. Therefore, this understanding of Cleopatra’s and Antony’s address patterns mirrors and is construed by Bakhtin’s (1981: 282) view on dialogic – seen as referring to the past and present and by Buber’s ([1962] 1994) view on dialogism (see Chapter 2.3.1). 37. See, for example, Enobarbus’s description at Ant. 2.2.201ff.


The observations about the two vocatives as NGs have already illustrated that recourse to standard interpretation of vocatives and to unsystematic procedures lead to biased results. Preliminary reflections on the speech moves38 accompanying the vocative help illustrate this point. The analysis of the formal syntactic categories to which the vocatives are anchored illustrates that these are both imperatives. Yet, in terms of speech functions, Hear me, queen is a clear order, while precious queen, forbear ranges between undertaking and inform (Toolan 2000). Hence, the vital observation that formal grammatical criteria do not coincide with the speech functions they import has a bearing on the general interpretations in terms of the creation of social identity and ideation. In other words, the question whether the vocative frames the speech move of the accompanying clause has to be answered in the affirmative. The position of the two vocatives is another factor that corroborates this idea. The final position in Hear me, queen adds to the authoritative tone of the utterance and the vocative. In My precious queen, the vocative is placed in initial position, and conveys a much more ingratiating, caressing and stylised potential. In terms of experiential grammar, the process used in this example emphasises the urgency of the message as well as Antony’s rage. It is a mental perceptive process (Halliday 1994: 112f.). The vocative is not only coreferential with the implicit senser of the imperative, but may also replace it. Hence, from an ergative point of view, the vocative, and Cleopatra, here in the social identity of queen, is to serve as the medium (Halliday 1994: 118) of the clause. Me, at this stage construing the identity of a married triumvir whose duty commands him, functions as the range of this process. The process types of the utterances in which the vocatives occur, phonological aspects in Hear me, queen, other-attentiveness, and aspects of reciprocity represent further relevant methodological clues. The vocatives create what W.H. Auden describes as the interrelatedness between the personal and the more official spheres: In Antony and Cleopatra […] public and private life are entirely interwoven, and the conflict in the play is between two kinds of public life. Antony could not have a relation with Cleopatra if she were just a beautiful slave girl, nor could she with him if he were just a handsome centurion. Their wordly position is an essential part of their love. Cleopatra is Egypt and Antony is one of the rulers of the Roman Empire (Auden [1946] 2000: 233).

It is both, relative position within a social structure and individual temperament, that organises Antony’s and Cleopatra’s interaction. In this reproduction of social norms, Antony speaks in uttermost conformity with and defiance of his own social norms, on the one hand, and that of society, on the other. What becomes obvious here is that comparable to Bakhtin’s insistence on quotation and anticipation of words (Bakhtin 1981: 276, Magnusson 1999: 184), Buber ([1962]: 1994) also emphasises that the speaking subject is formed out of this unceasing play of dialogue. Language helps shape one’s subjectivity, and face “always lies on the borderline between oneself and the other” (Magnusson 1999: 184). If communication allows the participants to construct and project desirable versions of their identities, and if social actors in conversation are always dependent on each other, the sense of identity Antony inflicts upon Cleopatra by the use of the vocative queen and 38. These are explained in detail in Chapter 2.2.2.


My precious queen is reflexive and procedural, rather than static. It changes from one moment of utterance to the next moment of utterance. However, once uttered, Cleopatra becomes Antony’s queen and his precious queen in such a way as if these accolades, which Antony bestows so carefully upon her, applied to her alone. It also seems particularly pertinent to theoretically supplement these observations by Bourdieu’s (1997a, b, 2001) account of the social production of discourse, which emphasises anticipatory judgements and further enhances Bakhtin’s concept that the uttered is always directed towards a future answer word. “One of the most important factors bearing on linguistic production,” Bourdieu argues, is “the anticipation of profit which is durably inscribed in the language habitus, in the form of an anticipatory adjustment (without conscious anticipation) to the objective value of one’s discourse” (Bourdieu 1977a: 657). Hence, Antony’s use of different address strategies inscribes an expectation of profit, an estimate of the likelihood that he will be believed. Certainly, this expectation will not exclusively derive from an assessment of the immediate situation, and cannot be accounted for by the immediate relation between speaker and listener. The context of reception, which shapes a speaker’s production, has a history, “a language habitus” (Bourdieu 1977a: 657). One will find that Bourdieu makes some generalisations about the use of speech of dominant classes. Yet, his model also helps us toward the social shaping of highly individuated speech patterns. If we re-think these observations, class and gender play an enormous role in this conversational exchange, but to read and construe the power relations in this exchange, one needs to observe the form, function, and structure of vocatives as well as to consider what shapes the non-use of direct address in turn. Of course, in a play, considerations apart from those of real life will affect the access of speakers to a floor. The distinction, for example, between major and minor characters within any plot structure will help account for who uses which vocatives. Nonetheless, one can argue that not only the power dynamics of this situation, but also the high emotionality construes speakers’ language. It is here where the interpersonal dimensions of conceptualising vocatives as grammatical metaphor come fully into effect. The structural potential of the vocative as NG is not only prone to creating vocative clusters, but also attributes a more participant-like and permanent character to the addressee, while at the same time, as a NG, it neutralises and ambiguates meanings of the respective vocatives. Rewording the two vocatives as clauses opens up this interplay between the nominalised vocative form, on the one hand, and that of the reworded clause, on the other. The rephrasal of the unmodified thing queen could function along the lines of a relational clause “you are a queen,” but also “you behave like a queen.” In addition, the NG could also be reworded into “you queen-ed me preciously” or “I was preciously queen-ed by you.” Both are possible versions, in which agent and medium are changed. In contrast to that, rewording the vocative hear me, queen lacks the insertion of the adverb preciously. As such, not only the multiplicity of meanings in the rephrasing procedures becomes obvious, but also the strong interpersonal potential of both vocatives alike. To an impressive extent, using a vocative and hence creating interpersonal social identity (structurally realised as a NG) can then be compared to the process of naming (in literature) in general. Interpersonally speaking, the use of vocatives then refutes the idea of the arbitrariness of the sign in favour of the socially adequate, coherent construal of social identity.


One further reflection on the social nature of language in general and vocatives in particular can be exemplified via recourse to sociological work on selfhood by Goffman (1967a, b and 1974) and Giddens (1990). Both theories echo a sentiment that, in discourse, we have to deal with a multiplicity of personal and social identities. Goffman (1967a, b and 1974) extensively worked on the discussion of the sociable nature of talk and treated everyday encounters as mini-performances or rituals by elaborating on the concept of face.39 In his more localised idea of conversation, the idea of face investigates the way in which a person’s identity and integrity are negotiated in everyday interaction and to what extent people pay attention to their own face and those of others. In this respect, identity has to be seen as a dynamic concept, as an aspect of self that makes a difference in how one’s rights and duties distribute to specific others. One can enjoy a certain status, a particular mixture of rights, and duties, while, at the same time, one might have several social identities or faces, because each interaction assumes more than one identity simultaneously (Goodenough 1965). Therefore, like Bakhtin, Goffman stresses the active role of the speaker and the addressee in the co-construction of meaning likewise. The behaviour of one participant defines and constructs social relations and identities for the other members of the group as one clear way in which social interactional meaning can be shown to be emergent. This allows for the identities of social actors to be multiple and dynamic, flexible, and changeable in the course of interaction. When investigating the language of Shakespeare’s plays, we have to deal with a multiplicity of personal and social identities in discourse. Identity implies a series of choices one continually makes about one’s self and one’s lifestyle These identities emerge from one’s relationship with others rather than as a set of personal attributes. Goffman’s concept of face is particularly intriguing to this study. Goffman, deliberately using the metaphors of theatre, actors, and performance to emphasise the stage-masks that are construed to conjure up specific images effects, and identities (see Goffman 1967 a, b), implicitly hints at his concept’s importance for the study of dramatic dialogue. He also investigates “[...] how individual’s people’s language is co-ordinated with other people’s, so that social interaction is a delicately collaborative achievement” (Coupland and Jaworski 1999: 294). This enables the analyst to build some kind of sociological map of social language usage in general and vocative address patterns in Shakespeare in particular. Despite major drawbacks of Brown and Levinson’s (1987) interpretation that linguistic work is mainly mitigating and counteracting modes of aggression – conversation is hardly ever inherently cooperative – the two aspects of face, emphasised in their model, should be highlighted at this stage. Positive face relates to the “want to be approved by others” and negative face relates to the “want […] that [one’s] actions be unimpeded by others” (Brown and Gilman 1989: 161). One needs not to rely on modern formulations for a transactional conception of selfhood: EModE and ancient theorists of language and culture have already anticipated the essential social character of language. Elizabethan theory of letter-writing, which consisted not only of easily accessible handbooks, represented one of the main rhetorical sources that conceptualised interpersonal exchange in language. The significance of, for example, 39. Weidle (2002) uses Goffman’s (1967a, b) theories to describe and delineate the various dramaturgical patterns of human interaction in Shakespeare’s comedies and histories.


Angel Day’s (1599) The English Secretary, William Fulwood’s (1586/1593) The Enimie of Idlenesse, or particularly Erasmus’s ([1522] 1985) treatise “On the Writings of Letters” surpass that of teaching how to write letters. Magnusson argues that “[f]or Erasmus, dialogic forms of address developed in the epistolary scripts for various occasions are not just forms in words: they are forms of life, the material substance of relationships” (Magnusson 1999: 3). Erasmus not only emphasises the situated character of each utterance, but he also fosters evaluative, functional, and circumstantial parameters that warrant the social dimensions of interpersonal encounter. For Erasmus, relative positioning of addresser and addressee should not be understood as a static social hierarchy, but rather include an infinitely various number of social variables, such as, age, temperament, moods, wealth, or education (Erasmus [1522] 1985: 61). What is so interesting about Erasmus’s treatise on letter-writing is his emphasis on the relative social positioning of characters, which affects language and style in ways that have rarely been discussed in general and in respect to Shakespeare’s plays. Even in Tro., Ulysses and Achilles impressively express how the self is construed in interaction with a You. Achilles speaks of “eye to eye opposed / Salutes each other with each other’s form” (Tro. 3.3.108f.). Conceptualising that vocatives in Shakespeare construe identity and selfhood of the interlocutor addressed, one may ask about the extent to which the choice of vocative form and its functional import is suggestive of the identity of the speaker or his/her face. Antony incorporates many elements of mediated experience into the two vocatives My precious queen and queen. In order to bring Cleopatra to her senses, he employs several linguistic strategies or – to use Goffman’s phrase– “masks” as the conversation moves its way. Yet, as he is forced to assume different social identities, Antony’s disclosure of his wish to appear a superior conversational leader, which is, strikingly enough, impressively expressed by a vocative alone, opens up his weakness likewise. While in the example before, he gives a whiff of counter-Cleopatrean defiance, here his ingratiating strategy, which the public Roman sphere, hence Caesar, condemns as, for example, “not more manlike / Than Cleopatra” (Ant. 1.4.5f.), is to achieve the contrary.40 For a change, his modification of the vocative is not cut to the bone (as is the case in the scenes before the battles of Actium), but abounds in stylistic embellishments that almost mount up to a poetic outburst. W.H. Auden succinctly points out that “the richness of the poetry is kept relevant to the political situation: will Antony leave Cleopatra or won’t he?” (Auden [1946] 2000: 232). This opacity is disambiguated in the vocative My precious queen, forbear. Goffman’s idea of the “stage-masks” that people actively, though by no means consciously, choose, bespeaks a vision of who Antony is, even though in Goffman’s concept the social component, the habitus, and his attempt to accumulate symbolic capital is missing. While, in the first example, Antony has managed to temporarily leave their protective mutual cocoon, and, at the same time, is compliant with what Roman duty expects from him, the vocative my precious queen, in turn, now helps him maintain his relationship with Cleopatra. It complies not only with the cooperative principle and the politeness principle, but also with the avoidance of the principle of dissonance within their relationship (Giddens 1990: 416). His address is more than proper or polite. It is the enactment of 40. See also Ant. 1.4.6f. and Ant. 1.4.16–33.


social role and habitus. If identity is always constructed in the interaction with a You, one needs to ask for Cleopatra’s reactions. Auden remarks that Antony and Cleopatra don’t trust each other a yard. They know exactly what will happen in the course of their affair, and they therefore need reassurance that they have feelings left. Indeed, publicity is especially important to Cleopatra to prove that she can still inspire feelings in others, which is why she behaves so badly (Auden [1946] 2000: 236).

Cleopatra, who is conscious of the social identity she is assuming for herself, taunts Antony wherever she can, and up to Ant. 1.2.1 does not reciprocate any of his direct vocatives, but rather uses abstract vocatival concepts, such as “Riotous madness, / to be entangled with those mouth-made vows” (Ant. 1.3.30f.) and “O most false love” (Ant. 1.3.64). She also purports a highly ambiguous construal of Antony’s honour-obsessed martial preoccupation with war and megalomania in the provocative “thou the greatest soldier of the world” (Ant. 1.3. 38). Therewith, she expresses alleged hate and cynicism, which is inspired by the terror of eventual betrayal. As such, on the surface, she both lexically and interpersonally incoherently violates and exploits Grice’s (1975) maxims of quality and quantity, even though social motivations and roles to play are clearly construed here. Cleopatra, who sees in Antony a great hero, slightly faded and domitable, is most excited about Antony when she cannot have him. Somehow, the distant as well as non-use of direct address forms for Antony have the function of illustrating that in Cleopatra’s key the non-poetic, non-hyperbolic non-use of address forms is the most sincere declaration of affection, lust, and desire of which she is capable. In comparison with Antony’s address behaviour, Cleopatra’s is certainly incoherent. Therefore, her non-use of direct vocatives in this scene not only illustrates the need for seeing use and non-use of vocatives in correlation. But it also illustrates the depersonalising tendencies that are construed especially when seen in comparison with Antony’s use of vocatives. Shakespeare’s depiction of Cleopatra’s address or non-address strategies anticipates what Tannen (1993) has described as dominance and control functions within male and female dialogue, and the different ways in which women use exactly the opposite strategies than they mean. Antony succeeds indeed in at least superficially changing Cleopatra’s conversational strategies for the remainder of this scene as she, in her reply, now directly addresses him. Trying to regain his trust and pretending to be obedient, she uses an initially placed and amplified vocative “courteous lord” (Ant. 1.3.86), which, as an interpersonal theme and as a creation of Antony’s honourable social qualities as a Roman warrior, frames the imperative into an indirect request and, textually, construes a change in tone. Even though the vocative lord is frequently used in this corpus (1021), the collocation “courteous lord” is marked both, generally, in its use of the socially and emotively upgrading function of the epithet courteous, meaning “gracious (OED 1.c.), “gentle” (OED 1.e.), and in Antony’s and Cleopatra’s address pattern. This then leads to the interpretation that especially Cleopatra’s use of those vocatives that seem to allude to the social position of the addressee have to be carefully treated. As such, the functional potentials of Cleopatra’s following two parallel instances of sir vocatives in “Sir, you and I must part, but that’s not it; / Sir, you and I have lov’d, but


there’s not it” (Ant. 1.3.87f.) have to be seen along similar lines. On the one hand, they impressively illustrate the nuances of ingratiating, somewhat lascivious politeness and social uplifting. On the other hand, sir is the vocative form that occurs most frequently in this corpus and, historically, it undergoes a generalisation in meaning that is no longer restricted to the address of socially high-ranked persons (Williams 1992: 92). Therefore, surface politeness, irony, cynicism, and face-threat are conveyed as well. It is doubtful whether Cleopatra entirely refers to the former evaluative social meanings of sir as a distinctive title of honour (OED B.I.1.a.). Although we have not yet reached the overtly poetic use of vocative usage in Ant. 4.8.13–18, the two vocatives superficially serve Cleopatra’s expression of empathy for Antony’s plans and indicate that she has come to her senses. In their deeper function, both sir usages are insincere and give an impressive image of Cleopatra’s power in communicating and accumulating symbolic capital. Nevertheless, in correlation with the equally hyperbolic “Courteous lord, one word” (Ant. 1.3.86), the switch in the accumulation of habitus and symbolic capital consolidates the former assumed power structures. At the same time, these vocatives construe Antony and Cleopatra’s identities as being in need of linguistic refinement and sophistication in order to find a way of forgetting time and death.41 Note that when Antony returns victorious from a fight on the land, he cries to Cleopatra: “O thou day of the world, / Chain mine arm’d neck” (Ant. 4.8.13f.). She answers him in the same key: “Lord of lords! / O infinite virtue, com’st thou smiling from / The world’s great snare uncaught” (Ant. 4.8.16–18). Auden remarks that these expressions of love are poetic, and therefore entirely conscious of their exaggeration. The words are used to create feelings and identities for each other about which both Antony and Cleopatra are in doubt. Their poetry [expressed in the use of vocatives] is a technique to keep up the excitement of living (Auden [1946] 2000: 238).

To conclude, in the theoretical overview underlying this study, it has been emphasised that interactants participate in micro-encounters while being completely unaware of their ideological macro-structural implications. Successful ideologies naturalise themselves, effectively making awareness of the social determinations of our actions virtually impossible. In denying the social identities bestowed on her by Antony, Cleopatra is also explicitly recalcitrant of the positions and specific roles she is placed into through these discursive structures. Within the corpus of Shakespearean women, even Cleopatra’s use and non-use of vocatives, by which she construes habitus and various identities of herself and her addressees, illustrate that she is not at all consistent with any simple stereotype of feminine speech (see also Chapter 4.2.5.2), especially not with the Renaissance commonplace concerning silence as women’s eloquence. She is always an assured and self-confident speaker, although Antony tries to bring stereotyped gender roles into play, when with My precious queen, for example, he also embeds a narrative of their courtship as “mutual recognition.” Her linguistic assurance inscribes and prescribes the history of her prior speech reception 41. Other examples that can illustrate the subtle nuances that can be transferred by a sir vocative are illustrated in Antony’s and Caesar’s exchange at their first meeting after Anton’s return from Egypt.


and her habitus. The linguistic ease that marks the dominant classes and herself as a dominant character, which almost always exempts her from speech tension, linguistic insecurity, and self-censoring is also pertinent in Antony’s anticipatory speech tactic, but not as creatively as in Cleopatra. His verbosity and high rhetorical skills in My precious queen and his plainness in hear me, queen marks his tale. Yet, Antony’s discursive vocative style then also blends linguistic insecurity, linguistic effort, and tension instead of ease and assurance. Although he applies to Cleopatra all language habitus of address behaviour built up through the accumulated history of speech contexts in which he has so far functioned and received recognition or censure, he is not successful, because Cleopatra is stronger and uncooperative. Hence, her female non-compliance with ordinary relations of power and ideologies is an example of how these discursive structures, social relations, and the systems of knowledge may not always function in a society at large. She looks through them. Hence, we can also discern a social motive here: to disobey the rules of social decorum and patriarchy, as outlined in Courtesy Books (cf. Müller-Oberhäuser 2002: 44f.). 4.2.1.3 Vocatives and their potential for social and cultural positioning in Lr. In the Ant. example, we have seen that the vocatives’ creation of social identities evokes subtle nuances of habitus, irony, banter, politeness, in-group-marking, cynicism, and pure hate. In the following, vocatives that construe the cluster kinship terms and EPITHETs will be used as representative examples to argue that vocatives from all clusters may create and establish identities of speaker and hearer. When King Lear intends to divide up his kingdom between his daughters, he asks them to express the quality of their love in exchange. As in many other scenes in Lr., the acknowledgment of one person (here Lear) is the central issue (Cavell 1987: 39–123). Yet, within this attempt, not only the relative social positions of the interlocutors are obviously displayed and construed in the vocatives used as well as in non-vocative usage, but also Lear’s contrasting attitudes towards his three daughters. The style of Lear’s address to his daughters and their therewith construed social identities is foregrounded by a contrast Shakespeare establishes between Lear’s address to Goneril and Regan, on the one side, and to Cordelia, on the other (see also Ostheeren 1990). Rewording the EPITHET “our joy” (Lr. 1.1.82) into a clause especially amounts to a number of possibilities: “you are my joy,” “you are joyful,” “I (en)joy you,” “you enjoy,” “you bring me joy” and also reverberates meanings of Cordelia’s name as referring to “heart, darling” (OED 1.). In Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962), joy is not mentioned as a form of address. However, it can be applied to children and spouses, even though the small frequency of this term renders it foregrounded. There are only eight incidences of joy as a vocative in the Shakespeare corpus (Spevack 1968–80). Joy correlates equally with you and thou (U. Busse 2002: 165). In this example, one could argue that the you intensifies the official character of the scene. However, since the you as a pronoun is also used for the other daughters, it can be argued that the emotive force of these lines stems from the interpersonal potential of the vocatives. While in MND 4.1.4, Titania addresses Bottom as “my gentle joy,” which heightens the comic potential of the entire address, the quantity and quality of potential rewordings for the vocative addressed to Cordelia stands in contrast to the possibilities for Goneril, our eldest born, and wife of Cornwall, as the rephrasing may


only be relational clauses of the identifying kind only, such as “you are Goneril.” Only the personal name is used. One could assume that a personal name and a term of family relationship construe an identity of a beloved self. Yet, the two vocatives do nothing more than targeting Goneril textually, naming her in the literal sense of the word and reminding her of the fixed social position she has within Lear’s hierarchy: that of the eldest daughter, who has the right to speak first. From Lear’s point of view, Grice’s (1975, Yule 1996) maxim of quantity and quality would therefore be maintained, at the same time, as it renders pertinent the impersonality of this address, the inexistence of a personal relationship and the existence of a hierarchical relationship and habitus between father and daughter. The deictic element our, indicating the royal use of pluralis majestatis, which is, due to its low frequency, marked in the corpus, further intensifies the emptiness of this phrase, and Lear’s superiority. At the same time, the vocatives immediately frame the character of the imperative following it. It is a brutal order: speak first, at first perceived as an attack to Goneril’s negative face. In Lear’s interaction with Goneril, he expresses his unemotional attitude towards her as well as his sense of hierarchical relation and habitus. This is specifically ironic if one considers that he attempts to verbally hold his position and that of his daughters in place, while, at the same time, he actively gives up his social position as a king indeed. Here Magnusson (1999: 144) is right to argue that he uses the voice of the past to maintain his position and social identity in a changed world of the present. All his daughters have to serve as promulgators and acknowledgers of his needs. Lear’s direct address to Regan consists only of “wife of Cornwall” (Lr. 1.1.68), although one is tempted to include our dearest Regan as a direct address form as well. No matter whether one chooses both or just the final term, the identity that is construed resembles that of Goneril. The epithet dearest, used to flatter Lear’s own position and to make her express her acknowledgement, does not function as an in-group-identity marker, but it rather gives the impression of irony and sarcasm. Note that Lear’s creation of Goneril’s social identity is targeted at her status as a wife. It is a pre-thought of what Cordelia later implies as Lear’s jealousy. Yet, authority prevails the relationship between Lear and Goneril/Regan, while that between Cordelia and Lear is marked by a caring, though also ostentatious social dominance on his part. One may argue that he favours Regan to Goneril. In the EModE dictionaries by T. Thomas (1587), dear occurs in connection with kinship relations and familiarity. Hence, Lear also uses it for his daughter. In addition, the epithet dear also carries the connotations of “well-beloved, acceptable and favoured” (T. Thomas 1587). We can see that in this example, speech production in general, and vocative usage in particular is, as Bourdieu argues (1977a: 657), always anticipatory and expects that he will be believed, respected, and adequately responded to. The unemotional dominance and negative social identity construed for Goneril at least, but also for Regan, comes therefore full circle when it is seen in contrast with Lear’s initial vocative used for Cordelia. So far a rising pattern has been aimed at and finally the address to the beloved Cordelia can be uttered (see also Ostheeren 1990: 130). Almost all Gricean maxims are violated. At the same time, the vocative our joy is not only a direct address to Cordelia, but also directed at Goneril and Regan and the participants present in this encounter. The polysemy of this term is created on the social, the personal, the


emotional, the psychological, and the cultural level. While creating Cordelia’s identity as Lear’s beloved daughter, the address term immediately enlarges the gulf not only between Lear, Regan, and Goneril, but also between Cordelia and her two sisters, because they must feel the linguistic, emotional, and social disparity between the address forms used and therefore also between their different roles. Yet, although Cordelia certainly is Lear’s favourite daughter and the address term carries, in contrast to those used for his other two daughters, connotations of sincere love, her identity creation as such is not exclusively made for Cordelia’s sake or in other words, for her positive face (to make her feel good) and to accumulate symbolic capital. On the contrary, in this encounter, Lear, as the leader of conversation and of his kingdom, craves for her love and linguistic acknowledgement for his own sake and habitus. This happens with a naturalness that is almost offensive to his other two daughters, even though it is wrapped in a more ingratiating strategy and a less authoritative tone. To these extents, the vocative is certainly foregrounded. The position of the vocative and its potential for framing the accompanying speech move into a request, despite its syntactical function as question and imperative, foreshadows the tragedy in Lear’s gestures at social status and in his exhibited effort to control and maintain the status quo, even in the process of leaving it. He chooses the daughter who is commonly grouped among the good lot for his most passionate address, but a) does not want to accept that what one says does not have to correlate with what one thinks and what one does and b) values the maintenance of habitus and decorum over a sincere expression of love. Lear’s madness is therefore inherent in the demand for a socially compliant address, so that we can see how Lear’s mostly authoritative speech patterns and address behaviour may have a social motive as well. No verbal virtuosity, ease, and assurance, but plain commanding blends linguistic and personal insecurity. A king who has been conceived of as the dominant speaker and the pater familias resigns, but, in a highly institutionalised setting, wants to maintain his linguistic and social status quo. Hence, what we encounter is the likelihood of speech tension and a blurred sense of symbolic capital. Due to these subtleties of meanings conveyed by the vocative alone and by the difficult relationships, one may ask who actually possesses the real linguistic and social power and what habitus. In other words, we may ask whether Lear’s daughters assume the social identities that are bestowed on them and which identity construction is reserved for Lear. To read the power relations off this vocatives exchange is to consider again that (on the surface at least for Goneril and Regan) questions of class and gender govern their responses. Yet, the configurations of speakers, and their address usage primarily reflects the identities construed and the power dynamics of the situation as they try to accumulate symbolic power (Bourdieu 1997a: 101). From the point of view of social decorum, Goneril and Regan are almost identically compliant or cooperative with what Lear and his society in general expect from the obedient and loving daughter. They are consistent with the Renaissance stereotype of feminine speech (see Finkenstaedt 1963 and Magnusson 1999), even though one can see from the outset that they are assured and self-competent speakers as well. Yet, the initial sir vocative almost immediately frames not only their lack of speech tension and linguistic insecurity, but also the over-elaborate, insincere, calculating utterances following it. In language terms, they do not have to try hard to mobilise their verbal resources in order to transfer


what is useful to them. A sir vocative is most often used in a flippant and ironic manner. Similar to Lear, Goneril’s and Regan’s motives are also social: their speech is that of aspiring characters in need of recognition and maintenance. Hence, they are superficially compliant with what society expects from them and therefore intensively mobilise the adequate linguistic resources to which they have access. Lear’s response indicates that trying harder to produce well-crafted discourse will initially pay off, since the discourse’s value in general and that of the vocative in particular depends on the power relations between the particularly and purposefully masked interactants. The forms and functions of the sir vocatives illustrate that Shakespeare takes great care to draw his recipients’ attention to the courtier-like politeness of Goneril’s and Regan’s speech here and elsewhere. Here they seem to be like verbal chameleons, who know how to speak in a way that their father will appreciate them. Therefore, it is not all too striking how their vocative usage gains credit with their auditors, especially Lear. They are socially positioned to receive advantage from them. In Bourdieu’s terms, we can generalise that rhetorical mastery consists not merely in the capacity for discourse production, but also in “the capacity for appropriation and appreciation; it depends, in other words, on the capacity […] to impose the criteria of appreciation most favourable to [one’s] own products” (Bourdieu 1977b: 67). Yet, not all of Lear’s daughters respond in the same way to a felt gap between the recognition they commonly receive and their verbal mastery. In poignant social contrast to Goneril’s and Regan’s linguistic and rhetorical attempts stands Cordelia’s sincere “Nothing, my lord” (Lr. 1.1.87). She does not encounter his address with flattering, inauthentic rhetoric, because that language of service, obedience, and social decorum is not palatable to her. However, her use of the vocative my lord, which is, following sir, the second most frequent in the corpus, is, at first glance, a sign of compliant filial duty, as lord both in the OED (1.) and in EModE dictionaries denotes a signior, “someone who lords over his wife, children,” and “who is a man of rank” (Palsgrave 1530). Nevertheless, it momentarily echoes what Magnusson calls “the new language” (Magnusson 1999: 152) in Lr., as it is sincere, but not artificial, and straight rather than stylised. It also reverberates Antony’s “there’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned” (Ant. 1.1.15) and Son. 84.14: “Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse” (in Duncan-Jones ed. 1998: 279). The desire one has for praise is a weakness which undermines the praise one receives. The praise one then receives is flattering rhetoric. In Son. 85, the speaker is still playing the Cordelia-role arguing that silent, internalised devotion merits favour (in Duncan-Jones ed. 1998: 281). Therefore, in contrast to politeness theory, it will be argued that my lord does not serve the function of redressing or mitigating the face-threatening act. Instead, the term my lord is the direct verbal proof Cordelia gives of her love for her father. Verbally and socially, she cannot go further than this. Note that her entire address pattern consists, like that of Ophelia in Ham., of mostly conventional terms. Mention should be made of the fact that although this is a setting among family, it is as highly formalised as it is emotional and therefore evokes restricting discourse conditions on its participants. Cordelia trusts her father and thus resembles Othello, who believes that linguistic competence counts for less than love or otherwise attributed status, when he points out that deeds rather than


words will win him credit with Desdemona’s father: “My services which I have done the signiory / Shall out-tongue his complaints” (Oth. 1.2.18f.). Cordelia acts along similar lines: she knows that in an official situation she needs to address her father in order to be compliant, but believes that her previous deeds and her relationship with her father will be stronger than mere words. Therefore, among the array of conventional terms, she chooses what is most sincere. Hence, in the moment of verbal recognition she remains faithful to herself and as such positions herself as an agent of change. Her maintenance of address terms within the conventional cluster notwithstanding, nevertheless shows herself, by Renaissance standards, a self-confident speaker in a setting whose formality and importance would either evoke compliant behaviour or would silence most speakers, especially a woman. As such, the vocative echoes Ophelia’s sincere “I think nothing, my lord” (Ham. 3.2.117). Although more heavily loaded with sexual innuendo, the vocative used by Ophelia also construes Ophelia as faithful to herself and to Hamlet. She therefore remains within the discursive structures of the language of service, but only as long as it is palatable, earnest, and authentic to her. It might be tentatively suggested that the vocative my lord used by female characters in this corpus, most frequently indicates sincere address in situation of high formality. The speaker wants to comply with the constraints set upon him or her, but at the same time is in need of giving a small hint of his real feelings. Like Ophelia, like Cleopatra, or like Desdemona – all within their limits – Cordelia, in this scene is not consistent with any simple stereotype of feminine speech. Yet, repeatedly in the play, Shakespeare associates a specific kind of destructive power with the untamed and uneuphemised speech that is usually characteristic of the status-less speaker. The association between the non-compliant voice and the potential for doing damage operates on the level of ideological presupposition. Cordelia’s voice is that most natural to her, the dominant, but sincere note of her linguistic vocative habitus, and not one of the many ventriloquised voices her sisters are so adept at appropriating. She does not deploy the protestations of love or close affection as a rhetorical tactic. Even though the weight of the face-threat is high, the level of politeness strategy should have been higher. But Cordelia, assuming greater intimacy between herself and her father, and not willing to verbally express, but rather feel her attitude towards her father, does not, in contrast to Iago, for example, exploit the semblance of friendship to gain voice power. As if she were aware of the fact how verbal processes function in context, of the conditions governing linguistic domination and language as a power instrument and for speech profit, she defies these mechanisms and refrains from being a manipulator of context. Magnusson (1999: 142–153) argues that Cordelia is disappointing and denies us the discovery or the invention of alternative, because Cordelia, in the fullest moments of recognition, speaks in entire conformity with the established social norm construing Lear’s identity. When Lear is awake she addresses her father as “your Majesty” (Lr. 4.7.43), “my royal lord” (Lr. 4.7.43), or “your Highness” (Lr. 4.7.82)42). These patterns stand in contrast 42. This illustrates the high formality, as your majesty and your highness co-exist, even though, at the time when Shakespeare wrote his plays, your grace and your highness get gradually replaced by your majesty (see Kastan ed. 2002: 154). However, the use of highly stylised address forms like highness, prince and majesty are used by Richard II as linguistic indications of flattery and of his high social position (Saul 1995: 834f.).


to “O my dear father” (Lr. 4.7.25) and “poor perdu” (Lr. 4.7.34), when he is asleep. For Magnusson (1999: 150), this is still Cordelia’s voice of the past. Although she is Queen of France, and has advanced in social position, the voice she develops when she changes place seems to be constrained by that place. In my opinion, an important qualification has to be made concerning Cordelia’s status at the end of the play. Magnusson’s (1999: 150) judgements seem to be guided by modern cultural codes in which authenticity frequently corresponds with social defiance. Admittedly, in official scenes, Cordelia still moves within these social constraints. Yet, if we accept this and the fact that she is not as strong a character as Cleopatra or Beatrice, it can be argued that she feels the social constraints that are on her, but nevertheless attempts to position her father in the place he never wanted to abandon, which is a greater sign of love and maturity. Quantitative figures and the relation of the vocatives in Act 4, Scene 7 to the corpus as such also help clarify these ideas. The frequency of direct address forms is much higher in this scene than in the scenes before and we find many more elaborate vocative terms. Here, utterances and form of address receive their values in this context and certainly the conditions of reception affect discourse production. Hence, it is only at this stage, after Lear has come to his senses that he has recognised Cordelia’s worth. According to Magnusson (1999: 150), the examples illustrate what Bourdieu (1977a) describes in “The Economics of Linguistic Exchanges”: language in any situation will be worth what those who speak it are deemed to be worth, its price will depend on the symbolic power relation between the speakers, with power relation not an invariable function of class position or relative status, even in a rigidly hierarchical society. Certainly, Cordelia accumulates symbolic capital, and subdues herself to her father. Yet, her motivations of love and honest filial duty are still the same as in the beginning of the play. It has also been illustrated that the vocative, as a means of creating identity, may refute Bourdieu’s hypothesis (and hence politeness theory and cooperation) that a person’s discourse production is conditioned by anticipatory adjustments to discourse reception (Magnusson 1999: 164). Conventional terms or those terms that, on the surface, seem to amount to little more than superficial forms of social decorum, create, construe, and reflect social identities of various kinds. The Lr. example points to the fact that inequality in the position a character inhabits in the social system, for example, that between father and daughter or male and female, is relevant to the creation of identity and selfhood. However, rigid social structure cannot be the sole marker of identity alone.

4.2.2 Modification of vocative heads 4.2.2.1 Shakespearean vocatives and amplification: general observations Richard: Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard? King Henry: Ay, my good lord – my lord, I should say rather. ‘Tis sin to flatter; ‘good’ was little better: ‘Good Gloucester’ and ‘good devil’ were alike, And both preposterous; therefore not ‘good lord.’ (3H6 5.6.1–5)


This brief opening conversational exchange, taking place in the tower where King Henry is captured by Richard and his followers, is, as mentioned, one of the final interchanges between the two rivals before King Henry’s abdication and his death. Two vocative features are striking which justify awarding these five lines the prominent position in this chapter, even though the 1, 2, 3H6-plays are not part of this corpus. One is the fact that obviously there is direct evidence in Shakespearean plays (and not only in modern grammatical treatise on the structural potential of the vocative as NG) for the importance of vocatives in general and for their relevance to the meaning inference process and interpersonal relations of all constituents, especially the epithet, in the vocative as NG. The other alludes to the foregrounded potential of the vocatives good lord and my lord for going beyond mere indications of conventional politeness or positive interpersonal senses, and for transferring overt emotive negative meanings likewise. Henry’s equation of Good Gloucester and good devil is especially noteworthy within the general context of the Shakespearean vocative corpus. The epithet good as well as the vocative my lord are the constituents or collocations that occur most frequently within this corpus. In addition, the alliterating Good Gloucester may echo some of the language that is used to describe the retrospective alliance of the Duke of York with what was becoming the cause of “good Duke Humphrey” of Gloucester in the years (1450–1456) prior to the outbreak of the War of the Roses (Carpenter 1997: 117). In his animosities with the Duke of Somerset and on his way to becoming heir presumptive, the language in which York’s case was put is crucial. For example, apart from accusing Somerset for the loss of France, the Duke of York takes what might be called a populist, “just as Duke Humphrey with his appeals to the commons” (Carpenter 1997: 118). With evidence from the text and the modern grammatical elaborations on the importance of all constituents of the vocative as NG, the aim of this chapter is to describe as well as to interpret systematically the vocative collocations – hence, the syntagmatic relations – that may exist for the different categories. To a major extent, this chapter also serves to constitute a general core of options that are available in the plays under investigation and as such illustrates the structural syntagmatic aspects for amplification in the Shakespearean vocative seen as a nominal group. Furthermore, the historical-linguistic and sociolinguistic idea of copia – persuasive, affective, and ornamental (Adamson 1999) – is also realised by means of the epithet, which has been recommended as a means of amplifying from Aristotle onwards (Adamson 1999: 579). As it is seen as part of the grand style (Adamson 1999: 570), EModE saw a massive rise of (Latinate) adjectives, which poets employed for metrical reasons, to augment their resources. Therefore, the analysis of vocative epithets is indispensable in the attempt to evaluate vocatives against different categorical, outer-categorical norms when the vocatives are ultimately analysed in context.43 The description and analysis of vocative modification and qualification in Shakespeare is – in contrast to Halliday’s (1994, see also Chapter 3.1) approach – positioned under the broad label interpersonal, because most of the constituents that co-occur alongside the 43. Chapter 4.2.7 will further situate the epithet within the EModE rhetorical attempt at amplification.

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head are interpersonal, that is emotive or attitudinal in character. Hence, this chapter is not only a section in linguistics, but also sees the description of the epithets occurring in Shakespeare as a socio-cultural phenomenon with regard to the inner-textual norm and the context of production and reception. Furthermore, this chapter will focus on the analysis of constituents preceding the vocative. The other elements – qualifier and deictic elements44 – will either be selectively commented on in correlation with the description of epithets or they have already been mentioned in Chapter 3.1. Recourse to two studies that influenced the procedure in this study is necessary. In her investigation of modern Australian vocatives, Poynton (1996) is correct to highlight the general relevance of “amplification” for the interpersonal meanings of vocatives. Likewise, she focuses on epithets and also attempts a categorisation of epithet meaning. Within each category, a number of potentially lexical sets are suggested, which will occasionally be resorted to in this study.45 A general look at the range of modifiers that may precede the heads of vocatives will help put into perspectives the entire concept of vocative modification. It is immediately striking that the range is varied, creative, and non-formulaic. Some of the epithets, such as abhorred, comfortable, gross, or fatal occur only once in this corpus, while others such as brave (17), gracious (50), kind (17), mighty (10), poor (96), reverend (14), royal (27), worthy (47), young (20), sweet (143), and good (558) are strikingly dominant. Furthermore, the epithets that refer to social structure and political stance are also used in earlier historical and literary sources, e.g. in the ME Fürstenspiegel Regiment of Princes by Thomas Hoccleve ([1410–13] 1999), where he directly addresses Henry of Monmouth, the later Henry V, to whom this Fürstenspiegel is dedicated: “Now, gracious Prince, […]” (Hoccleve [1410–13] 1999: 2157, 4747); “Now, noble Prince, […]” (Hoccleve [1410–13] 1999: 2185), “Yee, gracious Prince” (Hoccleve [1410–13] 1999: 4387).46 In addition, the analysis of vocatives in Shakespearean dialogue also reveals that the core vocabulary that functions as heads and as modifiers of these heads is also much broader than that occurring in, for example, EModE letters, which have been analysed by Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg (1995: 541f.), even though they emphasise that the 44. In Shakespeare’s vocatives of this corpus, these are the more congruent forms such as my, thou and you and the marked deictic elements such as this, that, the, these, those ye, and your. 45. In their analysis of politeness in four of Shakespeare’s major tragedies, Brown and Gilman (1989: 170f.) develop a system for scoring address forms with at most one adjective. This study will completely refrain from Brown and Gilman’s scoring system because their application of rigid parameters is too static and not situated within context. It would be difficult to grasp the additional meanings of an originally positive epithet such as good and to identify meanings other than politeness that cannot only be transferred by the epithet of a vocative alone. 46. Graßnick (2004: 197f.) points out that the addresses used in these Fürstenspiegel refer not only to a specific king or king-to-be (in Thomas Hoccleve’s case Henry of Monmouth), but to all potential potentates to accumulate symbolic capital. As such, they add crucial sociological interpretative dimensions to the investigation of vocatives and epithets in Shakespeare, which need to be further pursued. Therefore, it is food for future study to investigate the meaning of these addresses and the way these epithets are used. In addition, one should compare them to those address forms used in Shakespeare, especially in his history plays.


repertoire in letters expanded in late 16th century letter-writing. Although a general comparison between the two enormously differing genres is difficult,47 some lexical aspects of the epithets in vocatives of the two genres can be compared.48 In letters of the late 16th century (Nevalainen 1995: 555f.), noble, worthy, and honoured occur. These also appear in Shakespeare: noble 119 times, worthy 47 times and honoured only six times. The ubiquitous dear, which enters the letters in the 15th century, appears 97 times in the Shakespearean corpus. In contrast to this Shakespeare corpus, where good is the most prominent epithet, sweet is found most frequently in letters. Good, reverend, honourable, loving, and kind persist throughout the EModE letter data and are also part of Shakespeare’s plays. Even those terms that occur in earlier letter collections, trusty, well-beloved, own, old, and faithful, are existent in Shakespearean vocatives as well, while worshipful does not occur. The intensifiers that appear in the letters are right, most, entirely, heartily, dearly, and very (556). In Shakespeare, most (96) plays a crucial role. Despite the higher number of epithets in Shakespeare, there are some striking diachronic similarities in the use of vocatives in these letters and Shakespeare’s plays. Even though these observations do not convey anything about the term’s functions or different semantic nuances, the correspondences outlined here testify again to the importance of address behaviour in Early Modern England and alert the analyst to some kind of EModE core vocabulary used either as heads or epithet within vocatives. If we have a look at EModE manuals for letter writing, the picture is rounded off. At a different stage in this study, Erasmus’s manual is mentioned as emphasising the choice of language in correspondence to context, other manuals, though conservative in their prescription of suitable epithets preceding an adjective should be mentioned here. Fulwood’s (1586/1593) choice of epithets quoted in Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg (1995: 556) comprises the terms beloved, dearly, trusty, loving, dear, honourable, and worshipful. As the list above displays all of these terms, except for worshipful, these epithets are to be seen as part of the older, probably more conservative repertoire of vocative epithets. Flemming (1576, also in Nevalainen and Raummolin-Brunberg 1995) additionally lists the modifiers good, reverend, and sweet – hence the latter two epithets are those that occur most frequently in Shakespeare. Of the three epithets careful, natural, and comfortable only the two latter are in this Shakespeare corpus and they occur only once. Again, mention of those epithets in the EMEDD49 alone is suggestive of the fact that these epithets must have been, in one 47. Fictional and non-fictional letters are more formulaic. However, the nature and topic of the letter is certainly guiding. 48. This also follows the theoretical bias towards New Historicism that focuses on context. 49. In the EMEDD the following terms can be found: – abhorred in T. Thomas (1587), in Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), Mulcaster (1582) and Cotgrave (1611) – abominable in Palsgrave (1530), T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), and Cotgrave (1611) – absolute in Palsgrave (1530), T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), and Mulcaster (1582) – adder in Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), and T. Thomas (1587) – adulterous in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), and Cotgrave (1611) – approved in T. Thomas (1587)

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sense or another, worthy of notification or somehow under discussion. It should be stressed – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

bacon in Palsgrave (1530), T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), Mulcaster (1582), and Cotgrave (1611) bashful in T. Thomas, Mulcaster (1582), and Cotgrave (1611) beautiful in Palsgrave (1530), Th. Thomas (1587), and Mulcaster (1582) beloved in Blount (1656) beseeming in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Cawdrey (1604), and Cotgrave (1611) blasphemous in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), Cotgrave (1611), and Bullokar (1616) blessed in Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), T. Thomas (1587), Coote (1596), Florio (1598), and Minsheu (1599) bold in Palsgrave (1530), and W. Thomas (1550) brawling in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), and Cotgrave (1611) brave in T. Thomas (1587), Minsheu (1599), and Cotgrave (1611) brutish in T. Thomas (1587), Coote (1596), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), Mulcaster (1582), and Cotgrave (1611) chaste in Palsgrave (1530), T. Thomas (1587) and Mulcaster (1582) chief in Palsgrave (1530), and W. Thomas (1550) churlish in W. Thomas (1550), T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), Mulcaster (1582), and Cotgrave (1611) courteous in T. Thomas (1587), Coote (1596), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), and Cotgrave (1611) damned in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), and Cotgrave (1611) damnable in Palsgrave (1530), T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), and Cotgrave (1611) darting in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), and Cotgrave (1611) dear in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598) and Mulcaster (1582) embossed in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), and Bullokar (1616) fair in Palsgrave (1530) foul in Palsgrave (1530) gaudy in Palsgrave (1530) good in Palsgrave (1530) gracious in Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), Mulcaster (1582), and Cotgrave (1611) grave in T. Thomas (1587), Minsheu (1599), and Cotgrave (1611) gentle in Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), T. Thomas (1587), and Mulcaster (1582) great in Palsgrave (1530) honest in Palsgrave (1530) noble in Palsgrave (1530) poor in Palsgrave (1530) precious in Palsgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), T. Thomas (1587) and Mulcaster (1582) pretty in T. Thomas (1587), Florio (1598), Minsheu (1599), and Bullokar (1616) reverend in Cotgrave (1611) royal in Palsgrave (1530), and T. Thomas (1587) sweet in W. Thomas (1550), and T. Thomas (1587) worthy in Palsgrave (1530) wretched in Palgrave (1530), W. Thomas (1550), and T. Thomas (1587) young in W. Thomas (1550), and T. Thomas (1587)


that the terms of the list above are seen as foregrounded within the EModE corpus. To sum up, despite the greater repertoire of fictional vocatives, Shakespeare’s use of epithets nevertheless has to be seen within the broader framework of outer-textual norms and usages. A categorisation similar to that suggested for the vocative heads may be suggested. There are modifiers from specialised fields, such as blasphemous, blooded, devilish, accursed or those that have name-like character, such as Danish (even though these are very few in number), epithets with a qualitative character, such as gross, greasy, fair, fearful, generic epithets, such as wretched, natural phenomena, such as fensucked, flaming, and those terms that at least from the outset refer to social conventions or structures, such as gentle, reverend, and honest. If we have a look at the epithets such as generous, gentle, reverend, worthy, honest, honourable, kind or noble, the OED, Shakespearean glossaries, and even definitions in the EMEDD are connected with at least one sense of the term as archaic or obsolete or with the description of social status. Breuer (1983: 59) goes as far as to say that noble, honourable, and gracious denote concepts of rank as late as Shakespeare’s time. In Chapter 4.2.2.2, the epithetss good and sweet serve as examples to illustrate that many of these epithet also develop parallel new senses by means of semantic, metaphorical, and functional extension entailing appreciated qualities. Conventional Among the epithets that modify conventional terms fewer refer to social structure, as most epithets are overtly emotive and interpersonal. Naughty, watchful, wrangling, wretched, pretty, or proud can serve as examples. Yet, in terms of absolute frequency50 those terms that initially refer to social structure occur more often. There are, for example, approved (2), bounteous (3), dear (39), dread (8), fair (23), gentle (24), good (266), gracious (41), honest (10), honoured (6), noble (65), poor (11), reverend (8), royal (17), souvereign (9), sweet (44), and worthy (19). Again, good is prominent to modify conventional terms: it is used more than half of the times in the whole corpus. Royal displays a strikingly high frequency as well. It is also noteworthy that although conventional terms occur on their own, both if the sense of the term originally denoted a higher social position or lower social class, nevertheless they often take on an additional epithet that (at least on the surface) also refers to conventional politeness. Examples are duke – (my) (most) gracious Duke, our renowned Duke, royal Duke, worthy Duke, noble prince, most gracious prince, my gentle queen. Even though one may tentatively suggest that female terms, such as lady, or madam receive more emotive, attitudinal, interpersonal epithets rather than an additional conventional epithet (for some probably redundant modifier referring to social structure), one is tempted to ask – following Eggins and Slade (1997) – why there is a need for a “redundant modifier” initially alluding to social structure. Collocations go beyond that of mere denotation of social rank and move towards emotive and interpersonal usage. In addition, one needs to enquire for the relation in which the modifier and the head stand, firstly, with regard to the whole corpus, and secondly, with regard to the category under investigation. If gracious occurs 50 times in 50. It is not necessary to compute relative frequencies at this stage, since the vocative and epithet corpus as such are at the centre of attention.

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the whole corpus or noble 119 times, it almost directly alludes to the fact that these terms must have additional meanings. Furthermore, those terms that, in EModE, have experienced a generalisation may be modified (as often is the case) by an epithet that initially refers to social structure as well. Examples are my gentle lady (1), gentle lady, my good lady (2), good lady (14), courteous lord (1), gentle my lord (4), gentle lord (2), my good lord (61), noble lord (1), my gracious lord (16), gracious my lord (3), my noble lord (13), my royal lord (2) gentle madam (2), good madam (13), my gracious madam (1), gracious madam (3), noble madam (3), gentle sir (1), good sir (34), my gracious sir (1), most noble sir (1), royal sir (4), and reverend sirs (1). Several ways of interpreting these facts are possible. On the one hand, Shakespeare exploits these phenomena for his theatrical purpose. On the other hand, one may likewise argue (due to the high number) that Shakespeare is behind EModE development, because, to a certain extent and at some stages in the play, these terms still denote social rank, while, on other occasions, they do not at all. This is also illustrated for you and thou (U. Busse 2002). One can argue that these results again coincide with and construe an attempt to meet with the changing tastes of the audience as spectators (Gurr 1996: 93). Nevertheless, four terms occur most often unmodified: lady (71), my lord (737), madam (224), and sir (more than 850 times). The results correspond with Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg’s (1995) general findings about the high number of sir in EModE letters, and the fact that towards Shakespeare’s time, these terms occur in unmodified form. Fool and neighbours are rarely modified. Furthermore, the list of epithets that modify conventional terms as vocatives reveals that almost all heads originally denoting higher social positions may contain modifiers that are clearly interpersonal in character and refer to senses different from social structure, even though those are less frequent in number. These results allude exactly to what has already been suggested at the beginning: the inclination towards emotive, attitudinal, interpersonal address within a given range of allegedly social terms only. Moreover, mention should be made of those collocations that occur only once, such as our chiefest courtier (Ham.) and my brave emperor. These are likewise considered foregrounded elements. More often than others, female terms are modified by an emotive term, which indicates that women are continuously referred to emotion while men are to social status. Generally speaking, a set of modifiers re-occurs for most of the conventional terms: good, sweet, gracious, and gentle. If one investigates the difference between Romance and Germanic modifiers, the result is fairly even, and if one spot-checks the etymological collocations for sir, madam, lady, lord, and king, one can see that only for the latter, the Germanic king, slightly more Romance terms appear, while the distribution of modifiers for the other head terms is fairly even. H8 displays a completely different modification pattern from the other histories. We find single uses of lord, lady, sir, and epithet compounds of the kind Sir Westmoreland. Emotion / mind, thought Except for gentle, no modifiers in this category refer to social structure. Considering the fact that this category, from the outset, is already emotive and interpersonal in character and that the number of representatives of this category is quite small, the range of lemmata that serve as epithets is quite striking. Furthermore, more Germanic (17) than Romance


(12) modifiers govern the modification of heads from this category. In addition, most of the head terms, except for love or my love, are modified by epithets of the kind described above and as such provide the whole vocative with even more intensity. Love, for example, is mostly modified by a Germanic term, except for a negative explanation of love, otherwise we find fair, sweet, dear. This, broadly speaking, corroborates the clear, direct interpersonal status of the senses of these head terms alone. Note that most of the terms from this category occur in MND and Rom., which are two plays of two different genres, but diachronically similar. EPITHETs The repertoire of epithets modifying the head terms of this category is strikingly varied. The fact that it contains most of the different lemmata available as modifiers somewhat surprises, because epithets already denote a quality by means of the head. EPITHETs seem to receive additional epithet-modification in order to intensify the interpersonal or emotive character. Only few of the epithets – gentle, honorouble and honoured – in this corpus have initial reference to social structure. Furthermore, the high number of good stands out and one may ask with which terms these instances co-occur. Sweet appears quite often as well. In general, it can be stressed that the higher the emotive quality expressed by the head term, the less likely an additional modification. Germanic and Romance vocabulary is fairly even, friend and fellow occur on their own or with good or sweet; your grace is unmodified. Generic terms The list of modifiers varies in terms of the social and emotive potential that the different modifiers may convey. Again, terms with direct reference to social structure are rare in this corpus (except for gentle, noble, and ungracious). The quantitative investigation reveals that terms directly referring to the sex of the addressee are further described by an emotive or attitudinal epithet. This is particularly suggestive of the general status of generic terms as derogatory, on the one hand, but also open, clear, natural, and direct, on the other. Hence, we find a fairly even amount of negative and positive epithets. Another observation that corroborates the interpersonal potential of the epithets modifying generic terms is that in terms of etymology, slightly more Romance than Germanic modifiers govern this corpus, which one may interpret as an attempt to raise the stylistic potential. It is also striking that apart from overt uses of man, boy, and girl with a clear proliferation of boy, many of the generic terms are modified. Natural phenomena This corpus constitutes by far the most varied corpus of epithets. Since the vocatives directly refer to natural phenomena in the world and may often de-personify the person addressed, only very few references to social structure are made. Corresponding to the etymology of vocative heads, more Germanic (70) than Romance (50) modifiers appear. Furthermore, similarly to the co-occurrence of epithet-modifier within the category EPITHETs, here some terms occur unmodified, if the emotive quality is already high or particularly neutral from the sense of the head alone; otherwise the head terms will be modified.


Personal names The terms that co-occur with personal names are not as frequent and somehow similar in outlook to those epithets that modify conventional terms. Hence, there are many more terms that do not have a direct sense to social structure. In addition, we find a lower number of epithets with initially direct reference to social structure. Strikingly enough, sweet and good – the two terms that are used most frequently in the whole corpus – are used most often here as well. In contrast to epithets modifying conventional terms, however, most of them (40) are Germanic, 31 are Romance in origin. Furthermore, one may most tentatively argue that personal-name vocatives for characters of originally higher social status are more often modified than those for characters of lower social position. In addition, female names often appear modified. Specialised fields Corresponding to the list of epithets for natural phenomena, the epithets that specify the vocatives whose senses refer to specialised fields are numerous and varied. However, in terms of lexical outlook, these epithets resemble the list modifying conventional terms or personal names, but also deviate from them. Many terms – clearly those interpersonal in character – occur only once, while only few terms refer to social structure, however these are not used that frequently. Here good and sweet are highest in number, and there are examples of an initially overt social usage, for example, gentle (6), gracious (2), honest (2), noble (6), and royal (1). Similarly to epithets modifying conventional terms, the distribution of Romance and Germanic terms is even. And yet, this result is strikingly different from the etymology for the head terms, as here the Romance element clearly dominates. Terms of family relationship This is the shortest list in the whole corpus of epithets that modify head terms. Here we find more terms that initially refer to social structure than in the other categories. Good (23), dear (19), and noble (11) dominate this list. In addition, it is striking that most of the epithets are Germanic in origin, only few are Romance. The description of resources available in the Shakespearean vocative as NG – that is the syntagmatic relations of what Poynton (1996) calls amplification – has illustrated that epithets add an extraordinarily powerful attitudinal meaning potential to the vocative in context, which is so strong that it may run over the top of experiential meanings. Epithets are very important – though not the only important – elements within the Shakespearean vocative corpus because they tune us in to the interpersonal and experiential force of the vocative. In other words, to use Fillmore’s terminology (1985), they frame the interpersonal potential of what is going to follow. In that respect the pre-head position of the epithet has particular significance, because it may serve as the interpersonal key whose scope is the whole vocative. It foregrounds the attitudinal salient information and mixes this with the more experiential content of the head. The epithet functions as an interpersonal key signature – or attitudinal key – announcing the tonality of the vocative due to its pre-head position and its complex dialectical interdependence with the social context in which it occurs. The variety of epithets modifying Shakespearean vocatives is especially remarkable.


4.2.2.2 Modification of vocatives: the epithets good, sweet, and others This section presents an exemplary account of the semantic and hence interpersonal expansion of the epithets good, sweet, gentle, gracious, royal, reverend, honourable, and noble, which are often described as denoting social status only (Breuer 1983, Stoll 1989). Good and sweet occur most often in the epithet-corpus. Despite clear cases, both epithets, like many other modifiers, display a variety of semantic meaning and interpersonal shades, which range from positive to negative. Therefore, they display a semantic expansion. These epithets also develop parallel new senses that surprisingly evolve around the complex interplay of context creating language meaning and language creating context. To begin with the epithet good, one reason for the difficulty in establishing the meaning of good is the fact that good appears not only in the vocatives used in the different genres but it also co-occurs with nearly all of the categories established in this study. In the OED, the possible generalised character of good used as an adjective is described similarly. While the OED (A.) tells us that good is “the most general adj. of commendation, implying the existence in a high, or at least satisfactory, degree of characteristic qualities which are either admirable in themselves or useful for some purpose,” Onions (1986: 119) talks about a “conventional epithet to titles of rank,” logically following the OED definition (2.a., b.), in which reference is also made to “valour,” “social structure” and titles of rank. Good not only co-occurs with titles of rank. The generally broad definition in the OED is more suitable for an initial way into different usages of good. In addition, the fact that good appears in the EMEDD, turns it into a foregrounded element to which additional emphasis should be drawn. In Palsgrave (1530), good co-occurs with sentiment, denotes qualities of men and women and it also co-occurs with conversation. Hence, also Palsgrave (1530) as an EModE dictionary testifies to the broader semantic meaning of the epithet. There are examples of good in the corpus that have direct reference to the rank of the person addressed. The messenger’s announcement of Cornwall’s death in Lr. begins with the vocative “O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead” (Lr. 4.2.69) – a somewhat frozen form that redresses the attack to Albany’s negative face (Cornwall’s death), but it also has to be seen as socially compliant. Mention of Cordelia’s “good my lord” in Lr. 1.1.95 and its various meaning have already been made in Chapter 4.2.1.3. There is another incident of the very same vocative structure and lexical quality uttered by a woman. In Ant. 3.13.109, Cleopatra initiates her turn with “good my lord,” but is immediately interrupted. After Thidias has been whipped, Antony realises the duplicity of the woman for whom he has left his wife and accuses Cleopatra in a most brutal way. In order to calm him down, Cleopatra reacts to the situation and places the epithet good, which is to stress Antony’s “good” qualities as a soldier, a triumvir, a man, and a patrician, in pre-deictic position (an observation Blake also stresses 2002a: 276). This structurally deviating form, which occurs most frequently with the epithet good, places even more emphasis on his qualities. The use of this vocative is not necessarily marked within the general address behaviour of a woman to an allegedly superior man (to whom Cleopatra wants to express reverence). Yet, this vocative fundamentally deviates from Cleopatra’s address behaviour directed at Antony in general. Hence, the meaning of good here can be established from the interplay between recourse to a conventional collocation, on the one hand, and from the foregrounded vocative within her address


behaviour, on the other. And yet, the quotation from 3H6 that introduces the preceding chapter amply and forcefully illustrates that the vocatives my lord as well as my good lord (3H6 5.6.1–5) have not been conventionalised at all, but that their choice must be contextually justified and if used conveys specific, even historical, connotations. From what Henry has learned in the past, he withdraws the initial my good lord, because, for him, good has accumulated a negative aftertaste, which Richard does not deserve anymore. In MND 4.1.46, Oberon greets Puck with the following in-group-identity-marker: “Welcome, good Robin.” The epithet serves as an intensification of Oberon’s sincere appreciation of Puck. In Ant. 2.7.106, good also collocates with the Romance head term soldier. Pompey consents to Enobarbus’s suggestion of celebrating the “Egyptian Bachanals,” following a highly festive banquet in honour of the pact. Even though this suggestion is addressed to Antony, Enobarbus’s act of reminding Antony of Egypt and hence Cleopatra is not wholeheartedly compliant with “a good soldier,” because it somewhat sarcastically reminds Antony of his weaknesses, his sexual desires and his non-Roman behaviour. It is uncertain whether Pompey, highly drunk at this stage, has understood this allusion – if so, the interpersonal good ironically characterises Enobarbus not only as an eloquent orator, but also as an independent, though false servant to his master. If Enobarbus is unable to see these implications, the epithet good is nevertheless especially ironic in sight of Enobarbus’s future conduct; perhaps the audience knows that he is going to desert. In Lr. 4.6.237, Edgar, still in disguise, addresses Oswald, whom he is about to stab, with “good gentleman” before he continues talking in cant. The epithet good and its stylised co-occurrence with the conventional term gentleman superficially testify to Edgar’s feigned social compliance and politeness when addressing a person he pretends to see for the first time. However, the deeper meanings of the epithet, especially those of disgust, become obvious in this over-elaborate usage. In this corpus, the collocation good gentleman occurs only twice. As such, its qualitative and quantitative foregrounded status alludes to the irony and sarcasm that is at least inherent in Edgar’s usage from the very beginning, but not immediately perceived by Oswald. The use of the epithet good and its occasional polite, non-committal, ironic, ingratiating, or caressing meanings may have been known to an EModE group of receivers. The over-elaborate use of good gentleman may also be seen as a hidden emotive signifier to the audience (see Chapter 6). Similar meanings of good are transferred in Othello’s address to Iago in Oth. 2.1.208: “good Iago.” Here Othello almost treats Iago as a personal servant and forces Iago’s anger and jealousy at him. However, Othello on his part ascertains with the use of good that the epithet is not just a conventional term, but a sign of Othello’s appreciation of him and his qualities. He trusts him. Here, politeness theory would probably treat the epithet and the vocatival address as negative politeness to re-address the face-threatening act, even though the epithet good tunes the whole vocative into an interpersonal marker of in-group-identity. Like the epithet honest, good is another of the epithets in Oth., which almost directly points to the plot that is going to follow. Here, the recipient is certainly able to detect the farce of this address pattern. In Oth. 3.2.4, Iago refers to Othello in the following way: “Well, my good lord, I’ll do it.” Before this utterance, which is a somewhat odd reply to an order, the communicative interchanges have given us a glimpse of Othello at work,


undistracted by thoughts of Desdemona. Iago seems to be compliant with what Othello demands of him, but the linguistic markers in this utterance testify to his superficiality. Hedging the answer by means of the interjection well the epithet good and the deictic element my are too conventional, on the one hand, and too ingratiating, on the other, not to be detected by the recipient as false and superficially ingratiating. As such, the epithet good carries particular signifying dimensions on the actor-recipient level. There is another revealing use of good in Tit. 5.2.100, “Good Murther, stab him.” The most rare collocation of good and murther clashes with modern as well as EModE normative impressions of the qualities of a murder, and occurs only once in this corpus. It is uttered in a brilliant scene of theatre, “because of the way that one character takes over the other’s plot, and turns it against the inventor” (Kastan ed. 2002: 22). Titus transforms Tamora’s companions to what they are, Rape and Murder. The vocative Good Murther is addressed at Demetrius, which ironically illustrates the tragic dimensions as well as perversity of the entire play. By personifying murder and likewise representing murder as a character’s vice, Titus suggests a world in which people make their own laws. Violence is structured and ritualistic: “the vehicle of Tamora’s revenge against Titus for the death of Alarbus has become the vehicle of Titus’s revenge against Tamora for the rape of Lavinia and the deaths of Bassianus, Quintus and Martius” (Kastan ed. 2002: 22); the collocation occurs between the initially positive epithet good and the negative head Murther. Tmp. provides another striking use of the epithet good. During the storm and observing Boatswain’s activities, Gonzalo utters “Stand fast, good Fate” (Tmp. 1.1.30). Gonzalo relies on the Boatswain’s rope of destiny to be more useful than the ship’s anchor cable. He personifies fate and attributes human features to her by flattering her with the epithet good. His address to fate expresses his wish that his idea of Boatswain’s fate may be right. The prayer-like character and insinuation also add to a positive idea. In Tmp. 1.1.3, the master uses the following utterance: “Good; speak to th’mariners.” Good may be either an abbreviation of the familiar goodman or it may simply be an acknowledgement of the Boatswain’s presence. It is, however, a positive address. In one of the funniest, but also most tragic scenes in Tmp., where Caliban assumes Stephano to be his new master, the following address appears: ”Good my lord, give me thy favour still” (Tmp. 4.2.204). As an expression of high style that not only echoes Cleopatra’s address to Antony and Cordelia’s to her father, but also Caliban’s “You taught me your language” (Tmp. 1.2.363), the pre-deictic epithet good is a seriously meant address to Stephano – but must seem completely comic to the audience, because Caliban is unable to realise that Stephano and Trinculo are drunk and do not belong to the same high social position as, for example, Prospero and Miranda. It is, however, noticeable that Caliban does not address Prospero and Miranda directly by means of at least superficially positive terms, but only uses these terms for those whom he would like to impress and serve. Despite its frequency of occurrence good as an epithet modifying a vocative head cannot be pinned down to the conventional expression of appreciative qualities alone. On the contrary, while it may allude to social rank, on the one hand, it may likewise carry ironic, negative, foreshadowing, and purely positive overtones, on the other. A vocative example that quantitatively and qualitatively connects the description of the epithet good with that of sweet is Poins’ “Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with


us tomorrow” (1H4, 1.2.160f.). The epithets good and sweet not only emphasise the comic element that is so characteristic of 1H4, but also give evidence of the sexual innuendo both terms may transfer in collocation. Partridge ([1947] 1968: 195), for example, points out that sweet denotes “the sweet pleasure of sexual intimacy,” and directly links this adjective to honey, which carries the same connotations, apart from the sweetness of a taste (see also W. Thomas 1550). Poins’ address to Falstaff ridicules Falstaff ’s status as a knight and rather alludes to his allegedly vulgar tavern life and promiscuity. It may even allude to his smell – a little too sweet and probably even corrupt. In Traheron (1543) sweet is also correlated with smell. In strong interconnection with taste stands another meaning of sweet, which Poins might ironically refer to: “pleasing to the ear; having or giving a pleasant sound; musical, melodious, harmonious: said of a sound, a voice, an instrument, a singer or performer on an instrument” (OED 1.a., 2.a., and 4.a.). The sexual innuendo is further reinforced. However, then again Falstaff is certainly pleasing and charming to the audience and, in a limited way, also to Prince Hal, even though the latter does not want to accept this. The epithet sweet appears as a modifier of all categories and in all genres. In 1H4 1.3.45, Hotspur puns on the superficiality of sweet and the rhetoric of love – despite Kate’s attractiveness. Here sweet may equally carry strong bawdy overtones. In Lr., Goneril falsely greets Cornwall with a final farewell: “sweet lord” (Lr. 3.7.21). This collocation of two Germanic terms may be intended to transfer the interpersonal dimensions of Cornwall being of high social qualities, but also, in a less static and frozen version of the vocative, alluding to dear, precious and sexually attractive. However, the vocative and the epithet sweet is especially ironic and tension-creating considering the fact that Edmund, her lover-to-be, leaves the stage with her. Certainly, it is to tune Cornwall into the position of a man who trusts his seductive wife. As such, sweet strongly correlates with the use of the EPITHET sweeting, which describes somebody who is dear to the heart (cf. Cotgrave [1611]). In Ham. 5.2.89, Osric, fulfilling his duty of informing Hamlet about the duel with Laertes, displays the overdone rhetoric of the upstart courtier: “Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure.” Although, in the Arden-Edition, Harold Jenkins (ed. [1982] 1995: 99) stresses that sweet could be common in courtly address to a man, Osric superficially sugars his appearance as a courtier with the verbosity and amplifying rhetoric and the positive connotations of sweet as precious and dear. The meanings of sweet in connection with a soft and lulling voice are also apparent in the EModE dictionary by W. Thomas (1550). In Ungentle Shakespeare: Scenes from his Life, Duncan-Jones (2001) reveals a further connotation of sweet, when she describes the interesting socio-historical, cultural, and intellectual climate in which Shakespeare works around 1600. She mentions the use of “O sweet master Shakespeare!” in connection with the fact that “by the turn of the century Shakespeare was beginning to undergo the mockery that is the usual consequence of huge popularity” (Duncan-Jones 2001: 137). As one example, she draws The First Return from Parnassus,51 in which the foolishly love-sick young gentleman Gullio is teased for his uncritical devotion to ‘pure Shakespeare and shreds of poetry that he has gathered at the theatres.’ It seems 51. A play performed at St. John’s College, Cambridge in the Christmas holidays of 1599–1600 (Duncan-Jones 2001: 137).


that the amorous young men who adored Shakespeare’s ‘sugared’ writings also adored his person. Later in the same play Gullio exclaims, ‘O ‘sweet’ master Shakespeare, I’ll have his picture in my study at the court (Duncan-Jones 2001: 137).

The usage of the vocative O sweet master Shakespeare not only testifies to the fact that Shakespeare’s published and performed writings as well as his image has become the subject of the cult, but also functions as a crucial contemporary intertextual link supporting the broad, especially ironic functional and semantic range of the epithet sweet and the crucial role of the vocative in general. Following the description of possible meanings that are inferred if sweet and good are used as epithets modifying a vocative head, is the exemplary analysis of those epithets that experience a semantic expansion that goes beyond overt senses of social rank. Noble is used to mark the position of those “distinguished in rank” (OED A.I.1.a.). In the Shakespearean corpus, noble most frequently occurs as the epithet of a vocative directed to a person of rank. However, the meaning of noble is often referred to the qualities of that person addressed, despite possible negative undertones as well. In Tmp. 2.1.215f., when Antonio attempts to convince Sebastian of seizing the opportunity to kill his brother Gonzalo and gain his position, the following vocative occurs: “Noble Sebastian, / Thou let’st thy fortune sleep.” Antonio’s choice of the epithet noble could be considered redundant if it were only to position him into a particular rank – because rank is what both of them are most conscious of, even though Antonio attempts to superficially address the former social position they are familiar with in order to lull Sebastian into his plan. Palsgrave (1530) has a reference of noble to the social structure “of noble men,” “Gentyll of byrthe,” and to noble deeds. Here, the epithet characterisation of noble with murder certainly clashes. Murder is an immoral, uncivilized, and horrible dead. Antonio, nevertheless, perversely construes Sebastian as a person of high moral and noble judgement just at the time of suggesting the evil dead. Iago’s address to Othello in Oth. 3.3.93 “My noble lord” has similar implications. In Ado 5.1.292f., Claudio encounters Leonato’s order to marry the daughter of his brother with the following words: “O noble sir! / Your overkindness.” Here the epithet noble refers to both Leonato’s social status and his qualities, which Claudio, believing in Hero’s adultery, needs to make do with and to further uplift. His my noble lord is indeed a little too overly kind, because his arrogance governs him to act the superior, even though he will soon be mocked and educated at the sight of the real Hero. Gentle appears in collocation with conventional emotional vocatives, with EPITHETs, in generic terms, in those terms referring to natural phenomena, in personal names, in terms referring to specialised fields, and in terms referring to family relationship. The diversity of fields in which this epithet appears alone testifies to its semantic expansion. In 1H4 2.3.111f., Hotspur uses the following vocative to convince Kate of the fact that “Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know. / And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.” Similar to the proverbial expression “a woman conceals what she knows not” (Kastan ed. 2002: 205), Hotspur exclusively reduces Kate to her femininity, and, at the same time, accumulates symbolic capital: she is gentle in qualities and outlook but cannot be involved in political matters. Hence, the epithet gentle transfers an explicit female characteristic that also corroborates with the Early Modern ideal of female silence, beauty, and sexual attractiveness (see also T. Thomas 1587). According to the OED (A.1.a.), gentle is a semantically broader


term than noble. Usually, it refers to persons having “the character appropriate to one of good birth,” the person addressed is noble, generous, and courteous – meanings that are also denoted by EModE dictionaries, such as Palsgrave (1530) or W. Thomas (1550) and Florio (1598). However, it may also be used to express tenderness and softness as well as sweet smell (T. Thomas 1587). In Turner’s biological dictionary of 1548, mention is made of a German herb called Gentle. In T. Thomas (1587), gentle is also used to explain the adjective eloquent. This correlation, ironically, though funnily, also gives a direct link to the allegedly assumed female verbosity. In Lr. 4.6.259, Edgar expresses “Leave, gentle wax,” while tearing open Goneril’s letter sealed with wax. Foakes (ed. 1997: 347) quotes Weis arguing that gentle refers to “sealed with a noble crest” and gentle meaning “well-born,” of gentle birth. The opening of the letter is accompanied by a prayer-like verbal personification of the letter, which intensifies Edgar’s hope of discovering the truth about all the mischief that has been committed. Here the wax that seals the letter is personified by the epithet gentle that underlines both the tenderness of the material, but also stands for the preciousness of the letter as a piece of evidence (see also EMEDD). Following Desdemona’s placing herself in the firing-line by allegedly asserting interest in what Iago thinks of her female qualities, which is intended to stop the marital bickering between Iago and Emilia, Iago uses a conventional term as a vocative which is modified by the epithet gentle: “O gentle lady, do not put me to’t, / For I am nothing if not critical” (Oth. 2.1.118f.). Considering the EModE generalisation of lady into a conventional term of address (Williams 1992: 92), one is tempted to assume that gentle serves to underline Desdemona’s social status (as well as to degrade Iago’s own as unworthy of characterising a woman like her). However, matters are subtler. Iago’s gentle lady, which is interlinked with his own immediate degrading, is not as positive as one might think because it serves as a strategy to win ascendancy over Desdemona by collecting symbolic capital, and, as such, also carries a certain amount of sexual innuendo, epecially if we refer this use to the EModE meanings outlined above. Gracious occurs most often in collocation with conventional term, but it can also be found in co-occurrence with epithets, terms referring to specialised fields and with terms of family relationship. Again, this variety testifies to the possibilities of semantic expansion. In Lr. 3.2.61, Kent’s concern for Lear is expressed by a caring, deferential vocative. The vocative “Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel” (Lr. 3.2.61), which initiates his advice to seek shelter, is linguistically striking in two interconnected ways. One is the structure of the vocative, which again displays the pre-deictic position of the interpersonal epithet – supposed to tune us into Kent’s loyalty to his master and his unbreakable devotion. The other is the choice of the epithet itself. According to the OED (4.b.), gracious is often used as a courteous epithet in referring to kings, queens, and dukes. It may also characterise a person who is “endowed with an elegant and graceful charm of appearance and pleasing qualities” (OED 2. and 3.). In EModE dictionaries, gracious co-occurs with benign (T. Thomas 1587) and is part of Mulcaster (1582). In Florio (1598), it also denotes admirable qualities when it co-occurs with gentle and kind and it also collocates with “a gracious, comely pleasing fellow” as well as with handsome, gallant, fine, graceful, pretty, lovely, and beautiful. Minsheu (1599) denotes the meaning of grace and pleasant. In Cotgrave (1611), gracious is used to explain the effect of the precious stone achate on the person who wears


it: “it makes the wearer gracious and keeps him from idleness.” In Cotgrave (1611), gracious is also used to refer to eloquence and friendliness in words. Considering the various Early Modern registers, gracious may be used as a mode of positive description, such as social status, mode of behaviour, dressing, outward appearance, character, humour, and eloquence. The interpersonal potential of the epithet alone as well as its contrast to Lear’s general well-being become obvious. In this scene, Lear is anything but king-like, funny, beautiful, or eloquent. Yet, Lear’s madness as a defence against his guilty feelings does not change Kent’s attitude and loyalty towards him. Hence, in a moving and almost heartbreaking way, by means of the initial gracious in collocation with the head lord, Kent, using the voice of the past, literally means what he says and he unquestioningly construes Lear as the person he used to be. As such, the scene reminds one of Titus’s taxing characterisation of Lavinia as “sweet wench” (Tit. 3.1.282), when she is completely deformed, mute, and mutilated, and carries Titus’s hand in her mouth. There is a high proliferation of the epithet royal in collocation with conventional terms. It can also be found in modifying epithets, generic terms, personal names, and terms referring to specialised fields. Originally, royal was used to underline the “sovereign position of kings and queens” (OED A.I.1a). In Lr. 1.1.193, “Most royal Majesty” further intensifies this idea. In Ant. 4.15.70, when Iras desperately, though vainly attempts to prevent Cleopatra from dying, her Royal Egypt summarises not only the fact that she has been the queen of Egypt, but also construes her as a woman who has royally purported the multilayered image of what is characteristic of an Egyptian woman, especially in opposition to the Roman man. In T. Thomas (1587), royal also refers to “great words” and the excellent estimation of a king or prince. Notably, reference is made to princes and kings rather than queens. It stresses Iras’ adoration and her love. Reverend, the OED (1.) tells us, denotes “someone who is worthy of respect and deep reverence on account of age, rank, or character.” It may be also used as a courteous and respectful form, which is also most frequently and respectfully applied to members of the clergy. In the Shakespearean corpus, the collocational variety of the term clearly displays semantic expansion. It appears in the category conventional, in EPITHETs, in generic, and in terms referring to specialised fields. However, the reference to members of the clergy can also be found in Shakespeare (in H8 3.1.181), or as a negated and highly emotional form (in MV 4.1.226). Nevertheless, there are more ironic and negative uses of the epithet reverend, especially if we take into account that Cotgrave (1611) explains reverend as venerable, worshipful, honorable, sacred or respectful. In Lr. 2.2.126, these meanings are structurally and functionally lead ad absurdum in Oswald’s verbal repartee which results from his anger at Kent’s Ajax compound. He uses the vocative you reverend braggart to address Kent. This highly marked collocation perverts and twists the meaning of the word to such an extent that it somehow foreshadows the dramatic and tragic potential implied in Kent’s imprisonment and putting on the stocks. The EModE dictionaries do not allude to verbosity in connection with reverend. In addition, Oswald mocks Kent’s alleged highly stylised tone and loyalty to his superior and implicitly suggests at the limits of language of people make laws. Honourable usually refers to a person holding a position of honour, distinguished rank and it is often applied as an official or courtesy title of honour or distinction (OED A.I.a.). In


the Shakespearean corpus, the vocatives that contain these meanings can be found as well, especially in collocation with conventional terms (R3 3.4.18). However, the semantic expansion as well as an interpersonal application down the social ladder is also visible in Elbow’s address to Pompey: “honourable man.” It adds to the comic effect of the whole exchange as well as to Pompey’s clumsy attempt at construing Elbow into a position he deserves. The interpretation of vocative occurrences that contain the epithets good, sweet, honourable, noble, reverend, gracious, gentle, and others has illustrated that, despite clear cases, vocatives often experienced a semantic and expressive expansion, which can be inferred from their context and/or EModE dictionaries. However, as there are regularities in language uses, it can nevertheless be argued that the interpersonal potential of epithets in vocatives is powerful and, within the scope of the whole NG, tunes us into the emotive character of what is transferred.

4.2.3 Shakespearean vocative collocations One incentive of this study is to present the lexicon of vocatives in its entire complexity. This chapter presents and explains the database of all vocative forms (types) in this corpus. The vocatives are stored as a computer vocative dictionary. List 2 in the appendix is pioneering in its outlook and degree of precision, as it depicts not only all vocative forms existing in the corpus, but also the frequency of occurrence in descending order, their degree of amplification as well as the category to which they belong. In analysing this vocative material, a differentiation between the vocative form, its category, and its frequency can hence be made simultaneously. This is crucial to evaluating a vocative occurrence in the plays of this corpus in terms of such concepts as congruence, markedness, or foregroundedness. Furthermore, the vocative form (and its meanings and functions) can be more delicately and more precisely analysed, for example, in respect to the context of the entire corpus, the play as such, the various genres, synchronic and diachronic considerations, characters using a vocative, or aspects of gender. In terms of this book’s contribution to the study of Shakespeare’s language, this database exhibits a representative character and can serve as an analytical basis for the vocative usage in those plays that are not part of this study. In addition, the corpus may also be indispensable for further studies beyond that of Shakespeare – those studies that deal with the analysis of forms of address in other EModE text genres, especially EModE drama. Within this framework, lexical and structural amplification of Shakespearean vocatives can also be effectively studied and evaluated. One may ask what it means if a personal name as vocative is amplified by the epithet dear, even though vocative occurrence of personal names is mostly unmodified. Furthermore, the database illustrates that vocatives in Shakespeare are not unwieldy. Shakespeare’s preference for vocatives and the foregroundedness rather than marginality of vocatives can no longer be denied. There are 3111 different types of vocatives in this corpus. Hence, it is not only the high relative frequency of the vocative form as such that is foregrounded in this corpus and, in terms of quantity, can be compared to the figures of the or and, but also the frequency of different lexical types that occur. So far, the high number of vocative types has been completely neglected or undervalued by those studies that rely


on intuitive insights rather than computational statistics and have not analysed more than one play. For example, Brown and Gilman (1989: 175) state that there are more than 100 different forms of address in Shakespeare. The figures gained here also testify to the fact that vocatives can no longer be explained via recourse to the rigidly social alone. Both in terms of semantic or lexical quantity and quality and in terms of functional potential, Shakespeare exploits the linguistic form to the uttermost – dramatically, interpersonally, experientially, textually, pragmatically, etc. In other words, the vocative is highly theatrically meaningful to construe these meanings. Furthermore, the variety of forms also seems to question the claim (e.g. made by Eggins [1994: 283]) that the lexical and structural variety of NGs is somehow limited. The vocative as NG involves semantic and structural as well as functional, interpersonal, textual, and experiential meaningful choices. As regards the categories, it is striking that all categories contain an unexpectedly high number of vocative forms, even though many of the types occur only once. conventional emotion / mind, thought EPITHETs generic name natural phenomena personal names specialised fields terms of family relationship

467 62 844 112 358 654 443 171

Of the collocations that occur in the list below in descending frequency there are: sir 864 (conventional) my lord 731 (conventional) madam 226 (conventional) your grace 109 (EPITHET) my lords 106 (conventional) lords 96 (conventional) masters 95 (conventional) gentlemen 94 (conventional) lady 71 (conventional) your highness 68 (conventional) my good lord 61 (conventional) good my lord 57 (conventional) sirrah 56 (EPITHET) boy 52 (generic) man 45 (generic) brother 38 (kinship term) sirs 34 (conventional) lord 34 (conventional)


friends 34 (EPITHET) Iago 33 (personal name) Hal 33 (personal name) good sir 33 (conventional) cousin 31 (kinship term) your lordship 30 (conventional) your honour 29 (EPITHET) Marcus 29 (personal name) your majesty 28 (conventional) you 28 (EPITHET) Pompey 28 (personal name) father 27 (kinship term) Romeo 26 (personal name) Horatio 24 (personal name) uncle 23 (kinship term) Nurse 23 (specialised fields) fellow 22 (EPITHET) your worship 21 (conventional) my liege 21 (conventional) Friar 21 (specialised fields) Eros 21 (personal name) boys 21 (generic) Lavinia 20 (personal name) Caesar 20 (personal name) kinsmen 19 (conventional) Hamlet 19 (personal name) friend 19 (EPITHET) Francis 19 (personal name) villain 18 (EPITHET) ladies 18 (conventional) Charmian 18 (personal name) Camillo 18 (personal name) Sir John 17 (EPITHET) Roderigo 17 (personal name) mistress 17 (conventional) Laertes 17 (personal name) Cassio 17 (personal name) my gracious lord 16 (conventional) Lysander 16 (personal name) Lucius 16 (personal name) Love 16 (emotion / mind, thought)


Jack 16 (personal name) Edmund 16 (personal name) cousins 16 (kinship term) monster 15 (specialised fields) Andronicus 15 (personal name) sweet friends 14 (EPITHET) signior 14 (conventional) Nuncle 14 (kinship term) my women 14 (generic) Harry 14 (personal name) good lady 14 (conventional) daughter 14 (kinship term) your honours 13 (EPITHET) sweet 13 (natural phenomena) Nerissa 13 (personal name) my noble lord 13 (conventional) Jessica 13 (personal name) good madam 13 (conventional) Claudio 13 (personal name) sister 12 (kinship term) Provost 12 (specialised fields) Pisanio 12 (personal name) my masters 12 (conventional) Macbeth 12 (personal name) good my lords 12 (conventional) fire 12 (natural phenomena) Catesby 12 (personal name) villains 11 (EPITHET) Mother 11 (kinship term) master 11 (conventional) good friends 11 (EPITHET) Emilia 11 (personal name) Antony 11 (personal name) your graces 10 (EPITHET) women 10 (generic) Tybalt 10 (personal name) Titus 10 (personal name) Prince 10 (conventional) Ophelia 10 (personal name) my sons 10 (kinship term) Kate 10 (personal name)


god 10 (specialised fields) Demetrius 10 (personal name) Antonio 10 (personal name) Aaron 10 (personal name) The statistical overview of the most frequent forms illustrates that the vocative types sir and my lord appear most frequently. All other vocatives have a much lower frequency. Madam follows with 226 tokens and the figures for the following vocatives, your grace and my lord, are below 100. Furthermore, the highest figures are terms from the category conventional, which tempts one to argue in favour of the social hierarchy theory of forms of address that is often quoted to explain Shakespeare’s vocative usage (Breuer 1983, Brown and Gilman 1989, Stoll 1989, U. Busse 2002). Although one could argue that in Shakespeare there is still the need to indicate social position, mention has already been made of the fact that both as a social and an experiential marker even vocatives from the conventional cluster transfer meanings that go beyond those of social structure. Yet, the phenomenon of the generalisations of titles at the time when Shakespeare was writing is equally meaningful, since especially such terms as sir, madam, lady, or my lord undergo a semantic and, hence, social broadening, so that, for example, sir could be applied to a person of any social rank (Williams 1992: 92). The high numbers for both sir and my lord give evidence of the historical parallel in Shakespeare. Nevertheless, their high frequency does not allow the analyst to argue in favour of frozen or highly conventionalised forms, because – among other factors – it is exactly this potential which Shakespeare exploits for his dramatic purpose. In addition, mention has already been made of the diachronic observation that my lord is more characteristic of earlier plays while sir occurs more frequently in the later plays. Corresponding to Shakespeare’s somewhat a-historical and foregrounded use of the second-person personal pronoun thou (which, according to Wales [1983], was already a marked form at Shakespeare’s time while you was most commonly used), he, in his use of nominal address forms, also exploits the entire range of those vocatives that are often described as archaic at the time when he composes his plays – lexically, structurally, and functionally. This becomes obvious, for example, in the higher frequency of your grace and your highness when compared to your majesty, even though the latter replaced the former address patterns (see Kastan ed. 2002: 151). Furthermore, it can be observed that the high number of male conventional terms does not find a correspondence in usage of female terms, even though the number of madam occurrences is still high, while lady (not my lady) occurs only 71 times. There is a need to focus on single vocative terms as well and, more generally, to recall some of the claims that have been made about aspects of foregroundedness. Even though it may be argued that sir and my lord are the most congruent forms, they cannot be called frozen, unmarked, or conventionalised. We have to be careful when encountering them because it is exactly this potential of congruence that Shakespeare exploits theatrically. At the same time, single occurrences of a variety as exhibited here in this corpus carry a similarly important meaning-potential as do more frequent occurrences. As a system of vocative collocations, these results also go against Nevalainen and Raumolin-Brunberg’s (1995) analysis of forms of address in EModE letter-writing – both in


terms of quantity and quality. The continuous actualising of deviation and parallelism in comparison to the inner and outer textual norm is especially noteworthy in respect to the network of options outlined in Chapter 4.1.2. The system can now be further broadened, as all vocative options may be placed at the far-left end of the scheme. As such, the system of choice is re-emphasised. Due to their higher frequency, the deictic elements my, you, and thou are more congruent than ye, this, the, that and we, but in context and in their function of creating context, their meaning potential can be highly foregrounded. As such, it becomes obvious again that the experiential, interpersonal and textual potential of vocatives is interdependent. In terms of structure, more and less congruent syntagmatic patterns can be highlighted as well. The most frequent collocation is deictic-epithet-head followed by the deictic-head-collocation (my lord). Qualification, as in “Abhorred slave, / Which any print of goodness wilt not take” (Tmp. 1.2.352f.), and the non-modified and -qualified instance of a single vocative occur less often. Looking at the vocative types of specific categories, the highly marked figures for sir and my lord have already been situated within an interpretative context. In addition, conventional terms are most frequently modified and qualified. Here, the multi-layered meaning potential of the epithets, such as good and sweet, should be correlated to the frequency of their occurrence. Of the conventional set, about two thirds of the types in the corpus are male and one third is female. Yet, with regard to the lexical collocations, the female terms are more positive in outlook. In addition, interestingly, their structure deviates from the general pattern, because epithet head collocations, which may be additionally amplified by intensifiers such as most, dominate. Within the categories emotion / mind, thought and EPITHETs many forms occur only once. Yet, these are highly creative in outlook. In addition, pronouns and the compound-EPITHETs consisting of two heads, such a brother Antony, govern the EPITHET category. The structure my lord plus name is especially characteristic of the histories. The category generic terms is also dominated by a higher number of male terms. The terms boy, man, and boys occur most frequently. Natural phenomena are less frequent but nevertheless important. Personal names as vocatives show a great variety of possible collocations. Prince Hal’s and Iago’s personal names occur most frequently as vocatives – a result which is highly meaningful as such. A name alone is the most frequent collocation. In this respect, the role of gentle, noble, worthy as epithet of superficial upgrading, interpersonal involvement and intimacy are remarkable as is the role of the more intimate epithets good, sweet, pretty and proud. In addition, it is striking that those names that refer to characters with a lower social status are not used most frequently or that at least some of the personal names of characters in higher social positions are referred to vocatively. For example, the status of Hal is that of a prince, as is Hamlet’s, and even Horatio can be assumed to be of respectable birth. Notice also Marcus’s, Pompey’s, or Romeo’s high social position. To sum up, this database provides a clear, detailed, and contextual analysis of socio-historical, sociolinguistic, interpersonal, experiential, and textual meanings in Shakespeare.

231


4.2.4 Textual dimensions of vocatives in Shakespeare and their correlations with the interpersonal 4.2.4.1 Preliminaries If we look at language from the point of view of the textual metafunction, we are trying to see how speakers conventionally construct their message to construe a coherent unfolding language event. It is assumed that while communicating, we interact, say something about the world, and, more or less successfully, more or less consciously, or, more or less expertly, signal how the present part of the message fits in with other parts. In Halliday’s (1994: 37f.) grammar, two parallel and interrelated structural systems – information and thematic structure – realise the textual function. Based on the idea of given and new, information structure starts with the presupposition that when processing language, the hearer must be provided with some peg on which to hang verbal signals. In any utterance, some of the information will already be known to the hearer (given), other information will be unfamiliar (new). Halliday (1994: 37) asserts that messages may be divided into one or more chunks, termed information units, and that each information unit is realised by a phonological structure termed the tone unit. The concept of given – new is best seen as a pragmatic or grammatical-pragmatic status and not as a grammatical rule (Thompson 1996: 160f.). For Douthwaite (2000: 148, 304f.), the function of given and new is very close to information value. He considers part of the answer to the problem of establishing what the information value of new information is as furnished by two concepts: communicative dynamism and focus. Focus is important in establishing an alternative scheme, but then, it is difficult to assert that each phrase has increasing informational weight, as we move rightwards along the utterance (Douthwaite 2000: 306). This is strongly connected to another organising way by which the meanings are expressed: theme choice, which directly affects the structure of the clause itself. Theme/rheme as an identification structure for the textual metafunction (Halliday 1994, 2004) is of vital importance for EModE sentence structure in general, where word order was not as fixed as in Modern English syntax. In addition, as most of Shakespeare’s plays or substantial parts of them are written in verse, word choice and word order are crucial. This, in turn, may affect the positioning of vocatives in the clause as well. As an illustrative example can serve: “Thou hast done well, fine Ariel” (Tmp. 1.2.494). Here, the blank verse and the internal rhyme between well and Ariel further emphasise Prospero’s praise of and satisfaction with Ariel’s deeds. Halliday’s (1994, 2004) general inclusion of vocatives within the textual function along the lines that vocatives may be part of theme and rheme is revealing. However, the explanation model for the vocative functioning as “interpersonal theme,” preceding the topical theme and “designating a likely next speaker” (Eggins 1994: 169), is somewhat misleading, because speaker-selection is inherently textual, as it organises the flow of conversation. This textual conceptualisation, however, results from the fact that, as an adjunct, the vocative functions on the textual and interpersonal level. Here a slightly modified way of connecting the role of the vocative as part of the theme or rheme with interpersonal considerations is suggested. Seeing the theme of the


clause as “the point of departure” (Halliday 1994: 38 and Martin et al. 1997: 28), one may argue that there are a few interrelated issues. First, there is some degree of vagueness in the definition of the nature or function of theme (Douthwaite 2000: 311). Theme is identified as the basic form of the organisation of the clause as message; this is one of the main functions of theme, which is not explicitly mentioned in Halliday (1994, 2004) or in Martin (1992). Secondly, defining theme as the point of departure, which contains information about what the sentence is about, Halliday (1994, 2004) and his followers equate theme with prepositional content so that here, again, information value appears. Halliday (1994, 2004) attributes theme a function that is realised on all levels of text. In any case, however, the picture that emerges for the textual function of the vocative is certainly a complex one, because with the additional introduction of the distinction between marked and unmarked theme several crucial points emerge, which have been summarised by Douthwaite (2000: 312): The starting assertion is that unmarked constructions constitute normality (the typical pattern). Several points derive from this initial assumption. First, marked constructions are abnormal, they are deviant. Second, deviance is a cline which moves from slight deviation (the most usual form of marked theme) to total deviation from the norms (the most marked type of theme). Third, deviation constitutes foregrounding, highlighting an element through making a mistake; it is deliberate and it is motivated (there must be a very good reason for making it a thematic complement). Fourth, it is also significant that in the declarative mood, any unit realising the status theme which does not coincide with the subject is classified as marked.

For Douthwaite (2000), the term “marked theme” goes beyond the point of departure of the message, cohesion, and topic, and testifies to the fact that a marked theme contains abnormally high information value signalled through foregrounding. Information structure that is the idea of the given and new is strongly related to thematic structure. Let us again ask how the vocative fits into this pattern. Mention has already been made of the fact that the vocative can be seen as a marked interpersonal theme if it precedes the topical theme. Otherwise, it is considered part of the rheme. This binary opposition has only limited value for the functional informational qualities and the therewith-related positions of the vocative in Shakespeare, because it fails to differentiate between other positions a vocative may have in Shakespeare. In order to specify the position of the vocative further, the variables “beginning,” “middle” and “final” need to be repeated. While the position “beginning” can be congruently correlated with the vocative functioning as the interpersonal theme, “middle,” and “final,” differentiate the position of vocatives within the rheme in more detail. Initial thematic position is that preceding the “experiential theme,” as in “To you all three, / The senators alone of this great world, / Chief factors for the gods” (Ant. 2.6.8–10) or in “Madam, he’s well” (Ant. 2.5.46). Medial position can be broadly described as that position between any elements of the clause following that of theme or something that is neither first nor last. As examples can serve: “Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails” (Ant. 2.6.24) or “I did not think, sir, to have met you here” (Ant. 2.6.49). End-position is the position following all other elements in the clause, such as “What a treasure had he, my lord?” (Ham. 2.1.401)


or “Thou hast done well, fine Ariel” (Tmp. 1.2.494). The placement of vocatives into initial, middle or final positions echoes Douthwaite’s (2000: 313) alternative view of information value, focus, and foregrounding. He identifies three physical locations where information will be placed in order to give it special emphasis: front focus, middle focus, and end focus. In addition, Douthwaite (2000: 313) identifies the exhibition of dual or multiple foci and labels marked or contrastive focus. The whole conception of deviance or foregrounding is – following Halliday (1994, 2004) – based on the idea that some kind of “illegal” (Douthwaite 2000: 314) material is used. In other words, progression is rightly seen from normality, through codified deviance, to total deviance. The idea of “illegal” material may be misunderstood when seen in an ideological way of grammaticality. However, Douthwaite (2000: 314) is aware of the fact that norm and deviation may ultimately differ from context to context, but what he is referring to here is the inventory that is congruently or conventionally foreseen by the language – a probable reference to Chomsky’s idea of deep and surface structure. To that extent, grammar and illocutionary force of an utterance and context have to be seen in a complex interrelationship. Due to the vocative’s status as an optional element within the clause, which may affect elements in the clause as well as the clause as a whole, the combination of Hallidayean insights, and Douthwaite’s modifications of these, allows us to argue that, on the syntagmatic axis alone, the vocative is not only marked when it appears as an interpersonal theme, but also in other medial or final positions of the rheme. Halliday (1994, 2004) only accounts for the vocative preceding the topical theme, which would imply that vocatives that occur in the rheme are simply unmarked. This is problematic if we follow Douthwaite (2000: 314). Hence, again, via recourse to the complex interplay between norm and deviation, deviations can be established. In other words, “the rules of code lay down in precise terms how contrastive focus may be realised” (Douthwaite 2000: 315). Deviation in these cases may be total because it is creative. In that sense, Douthwaite’s correlation of topic, point of departure of the message, cohesion, and information value is crucial, as whenever a vocative occurs it can be considered to signal abnormally high information value. This in turn is crucial to the interpersonal and experiential metafunction. Both Halliday’s ideas on theme/ rheme and information structure as well as their modifications by Douthwaite (2000) are based on Modern English. However, despite the EModE ubiquity of address forms, a linguistic rank-scale analysis of the concept of vocative that takes account of the EModE linguistic particularities can nevertheless ignore the fact that also in EModE the vocative had similar linguistic features. When levelled against the norm of “illegal material,” the question immediately arises if, despite its advantages, the concept of dislocation (Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen 1997: 109) can still be applied to the vocative. Ultimately, the notion of dislocation (see Chapter 3.2) fails to do justice to the fact that the vocative is an optional element in the clause. The textual focus within the clause may be correlated with the interpersonal clausal element of speech functions. It will be argued that the position of vocatives in Shakespeare and the speech functions that accompany the vocatives in the clauses are not only interrelated, but that it is their forms, their semantics, their positions and co(n)texts that frame the character of the speech moves accompanying Shakespearean vocatives. Furthermore, it will be demonstrated how, in terms of pragmatics, vocatives’ positions and their forms manipulates to produce indirect meaning. As both the


ideas of the free-standing vocative and the vocative that only works alongside the clause, as an adjunct, have been refuted, the functional import of the vocative in its co-text is rendered indispensable. 4.2.4.2 Initial position of vocatives In Lr. 4.2.40, Albany addresses Goneril and Regan as “Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed” and construes the vocative as a grammatical metaphor, which may be rephrased into you tigered your father. Placing vocatives in first position in the clause turns the vocatives into elements that are not only spoken in the first place by the speaker, but also initially perceived by the hearer. Typography (in the modernized version by Foakes [ed. 1997]) assists in rendering the already highlighted unit even more salient. As such, typography as well as initial focusing are correlated with a phonological break after each of the phonological units, which, interlinked, induce a pattern that follows the blank-verse, but also causes a break making the units acoustically more prominent. The two vocatives are therefore foregrounded in multiple ways, and textually emphatic. Albany, for the first time in his address behaviour to either Goneril or Regan, semantically recourses to the world of natural phenomena (i.e. animal) and opposes this to kinship terms by negating Goneril’s and Regan’s characters as daughters. Note the interesting negation not daughters. Tigers premodifies the vocative not daughters, as, obviously, it does not seem to suffice to construe them as tigers, but they are also not daughters. One may think about what is worse, but, in any case, the use of two vocatives can be seen as a violation of Gricean maxims of quantity and quality. The highly marked vocative underscores the meanings of tigers and Albany’s habitus. In Chapter 3.2, mention has been made of the coreferential status between vocatives and participants in the same clause, as in “Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed?” (Lr. 4.1.40), where the subject you is pre-modified by the vocatives tigers and not daughters. The concept of dislocation enhances the idea that the agent of the material clause you is pre-modified by these vocative terms. However, one could also argue that placing the character of Goneril in prominent first position and their behaviour in end-focus exploits both positions. The two vocatives which have been experientially labelled as natural phenomena-animal and term of family relationship metaphorically construe their identities as tigers, and not daughters and therewith summarise Goneril’s and Regan’s self in two NGs as animallike, pragmatic, brutal, as parasites who only serve their own ends. Yet, following the idea that vocatives serve as grammatical metaphor, the rephrasing of the terms into clauses opens up the meaning potential that also hints at the EModE ideological framework and the conventions both daughters have violently defied – the concept of the obedient daughter. However, the down-grading of the clause into an ellipsis of this clause or – in other words – a NG used vocatively attributes a more constant, direct, and attacking, yet interpersonally highly emphatic meaning to these vocatives. In addition, as there are two interpersonal themes that precede the topical theme, the informational value increases, because the value of the two phrases is greater than one. If one correlates these observations with the thematic position of the vocative, the picture comes full circle. Their placement in initial position tunes the recipient into what is going to follow. This framing


potential is also further intensified by the correlation between the subject of the question and the vocative. To notice the position of vocatives alone immediately compels one to further enquire about reasons and functional import for respective placement of vocatives. Grannis (1990: 114) claims that vocatives at the end of a declarative sentence can signal power, cynicism, and insincerity, while vocatives at the beginning of a longer declarative sentence may often signal personal involvement and sincerity. My study goes further by differentiating syntactic category and speech move that accompany a vocative. Furthermore, it also uses Fillmore’s (1985) concept of frames and framing, which may govern the speech moves and functions as well as other interpersonal elements, such as irony, banter, or politeness. The vocative example from Lr. is syntactically accompanied by a question. However, it becomes obvious that the interrogative serves as a rhetorical question – if not as a threat (Toolan 2000). Hence, the threat is not meant as a threat to Goneril’s and Regan’s faces, but to their momentary interpersonal faces as tigers and not daughters. A negative vocative in initial position of an interrogative realises two functions: it adds an authoritative or pushing tone to the utterance and it construes powerful interpersonal meanings and framing potentials. In addition, note that Halliday’s definition of theme as being what the sentence is about comes full circle here, even though this definition may sometimes run into problems, for example, in vocative sentences where no direct experiential meaning can be discerned. Furthermore, the positions, forms, and interpersonal and experiential meanings of the two vocatives further testify to the psychological reality in communicative terms. Two units of interpersonal value precede the actual utterance and govern how the recipients perceive this signal and, at the same time, explain why or how they should perceive or evaluate it the way they do. In Tit., Titus’s brother Marcus, before he informs Titus about the people’s choice to make him the new emperor of Rome, addresses Titus with the following vocative: “Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, / Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, / Send thee by me their tribute and their trust” (Tit. 1.1.179–81). Notice the complicated syntactic structure of this sentence, as, for example, the relative clause postpones what Marcus wants say in order to stress Titus’s qualities, which then correlates with the internal rhyme in thee and me. The vocative Titus Andronicus is also a marked interpersonal theme, which renders the initial vocative salient and induces a phonological break that causes the speaker to stop after the two names Titus and Andronicus have been pronounced. Again, the first unit is acoustically prominent. The initial position of the vocative together with Marcus’s semantic recourse to the world of personal names renders his announcement more official (naming in Rome), as he uses Titus’s full name, Titus and Andronicus, to construe him. Marcus’s task is to officially announce that the people want Titus to be emperor. His role is not that of a brother, as the vocative impressively illustrates and creates. The beginning of this speech almost sounds like a prayer in which a god-like figure who has rendered outstanding services to his country is addressed. In addition, the vocative premodifies the goal of the material clause: thee. The secondperson personal pronoun thee carries informational value in itself, and one may think that the use of the more personal thou stands in contrast to the highly official and reverent Titus Andronicus. For markedness of you and thou forms in Marcus’s address pattern,


Spevack’s (1968–80) concordances reveal that Marcus uses you and thou in a similar quantitative distribution, but obviously differentiates between the persons these are used for. Hence, even though thee does not seem to be marked in his address to Titus Andronicus, the co-occurrence and interplay between Titus Andronicus and thee, and the dislocation of the vocative to the left, which also premodifies the personal pronoun, further contributes to the meaning construal of the vocative of adding a formal tone, on the one hand, and appearing more intimate, on the other. By the use of thee, Marcus wants to add a more intimate interpersonal meaning. Syntactically, the sentence is a declarative. The choice of vocative and its initial position turn it into the speech moves of promise and of an official declaration. In addition, the initial position renders force to the announcement that is made by Marcus and adds sincerity to what is said. Strikingly enough, a few lines later, Saturninus, to whom Titus has transferred the title of emperor instead, uses the following address: “Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done / To us in our election this day, / I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts” (Tit. 1.1.234–36). Here, vocative form and position remain identical with Marcus’s address to Titus. Yet, the contrast in meaning from the basic locutionary force of the utterance is achieved by shifting the nuclear stress onto a syllable that would not achieve such a stress in an unmarked form. Furthermore, mention should be made of the fact that before the official transference of the office to Saturninus, he has not attempted to address Titus. Hence, Saturninus’s address can be seen as a copy of Marcus’s model of the initial use of Titus Andronicus in order to appear sincere, grateful, and reverent. Both vocatives introduce a topic shift, which will also be summarised under the heading textual, because, for example, in Saturninus’s vocative, Titus and Saturninus have finally come to an agreement that is sealed by this pompous declaration. The following example from MND makes use of an expanded vocative from natural phenomena that appears in initial position of an imperative. It is proverbially used by Helena to find a respite from sorrow, as she has followed Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius: “And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye, / Steal me a while from mine own company” (MND 3.2.435f.). The personification of sleep in Helena’s direct address heightens the poetical character, but also her desperate situation from which she needs a momentary cure. The vocative, which is preceded by the conjunction and, is a textual theme. At the same time, it is a cohesive conjunctive device (Toolan 1998b: 26). In Evans (ed. 1997) and Bate (ed. 2002), the orthography of these lines further assist in rendering the highlighted unit even more salient, as the vocative consists of an internal clause boundary that stresses the first unit and introduces the relative clause. The vocative is also highly emphatic, because it is further qualified by a relative clause, in which eye rhymes with a while or company. The qualification of the vocative makes the vocative sound like a prayer by a desperate and somewhat resigned woman who needs some rest in order to cope with the situation. Furthermore, the complex vocative correlates with an implicit agent in the clause, which, syntactically, is an imperative. However, the position of the vocative as well as its structure – consisting of a head that is qualified by a relative clause – turn the utterance into a request rather than an order. Due to Helena’s address to sleep and the qualification of the head by means of the relative clause, her request is delayed. This has the effect of her almost flattering sleep in order to achieve the realisation of her request. The initial address and recourse to the world of natural phenomena lends force to it.


4.2.4.3 Medial position of vocatives Middle position of vocatives in Shakespeare occurs less frequently than initial or final placement of vocatives. In Cym., Imogen addresses Jachimo in the following way: “What, dear sir, / Thus raps you” (Cym. 1.6.50f.). The orthographical mechanism that is at work here is interruption, which also causes another phonological break. This break induces an unusual stress pattern, making the vocative acoustically prominent. The prominence is bestowed on the middle unit, so that the vocative is highly salient. As such, this medial vocative can also be seen as a retarding moment, which creates suspension and is intended at raising the hearer’s attention. In addition, the form of the vocative as dear sir – hence, Imogen’s recourse to the world of conventional terms – may superficially be seen as a redressing of Jachimo’s negative face. However, Imogen is absolutely aware of Jachimo’s deeds and therefore, as a conversational leader, directs him exactly where she wants him to be. She may be ironic, because she has understood his aim or she may simply be polite at this stage. The second medial example is part of a declarative. In R3, Anne, “in a scene in which rhetorical play on words, paranomasio of all kinds is the life of dialogue” (Hammond ed. 1997: 143), says in response to Richard’s insinuation that the responsibility for Henry’s and Edward’s deaths could be divided, and that he was both the cause and the executioner. When he suggests that her “beauty was the cause of that effect” (R3 1.2.121), Anne, horror-stricken, reacts to Richard’s claims in the following way: “[i]f I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, / These nails should rent that beauty from my cheeks” (R3 1.2.125f.). The focus on the vocative homicide is signalled by the metre and stands in correlation with I tell thee, which further postpones what is going to come. Before she elaborates on the need to punish herself if she believes Richard, the vocative in the middle bears the greatest informational weight. Her recourse to the powerful, negative as well as brutal EPITHET homicide, which is used more than once in the play, construes Richard as a manslayer and a murderer. The position and the form of the vocative further illustrates that Anne is not only completely aware of Richard’s deeds, but also turns the declarative into a threat and warning. As a post-modifier of the goal of the inserted hedging phrase I tell thee the vocative violates Gricean maxims of quantity and quality by positioning Richard in just this place of a murderer. The medial vocative that is used to illustrate its function in a declarative is a quotation from Ham. and uttered at a crucial point within the exchange between Hamlet and the ghost of his father. The ghost insinuates that Claudius is his father’s murderer: “but know, thou noble youth, / The serpent that did sting thy father’s life / Now wears his crown” (Ham. 1.5.38–40). The initial focus in the vocative is signalled intonationally, because the vocative interrupts the sequence as well as prevents the rest of the clause (which contains the information about the murder of Hamlet’s father) to be uttered immediately. This is also highlighted metrically, as the vocative thou noble youth terminates the five-feet line, but is nevertheless connected to the rest of the clause. Via recourse to the experiential EPITHET, which is interpersonally tuned in by the emotional personal pronoun thou and the epithet noble, the ghost positions Hamlet as a character of noble qualities. However, by the same token, the choice of vocative is also abstract, distanced, and authoritative consider-


ing the fact that it is his father’s ghost speaking to him. It exemplifies the use of a NG and thingifies as well as renders somewhat static the person that is described this way. The fact that the NG is used vocatively lends further interpersonal qualities to it. Hence, the meanings of the vocative thou noble youth are multi-layered. It foreshadows the problems that are inherent in Hamlet’s character: a more modern anticipation of selfdoubt, and – among other problems – the questioning of the idea of revenge because of his youth. Yet, it also illustrates that because of his youth and the correlation of it with his noble character the ghost is right to implant the idea of revenge in Hamlet. If we take this effect of the position of this vocative into account, the utterance consists of three units, which are equally important, as what the ghost has to say is also the trigger for the tragic dimensions of the entire play. We know that ghosts in Shakespeare conventionally take over these functions. First, with great feeling, the emphatic imperative know is thrown at Hamlet. Obviously, know needs a complement, which is retarded before it is uttered. The vocative in medial position creates a break as well as rhetorically elegant and cleverly interpersonally construes Hamlet in the sense described above. At the same time, this interruption creates suspension and, as a retarding moment, also functions to keep Hamlet’s attention (as later on, we see Hamlet making fun of the ghost by addressing him with the vocative old mole). One could go on and correlate these observations with the high style that is employed by the ghost in order to bring his message forward. Hence, it is viable to argue that the vocative puts additional force on the imperative and construes it into an order to make Hamlet internalise the wickedness of his uncle as well as the implied claim for revenge. 4.2.4.4 Final position of vocatives According to Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen (1997: 109f.), a vocative is pronounced as a separate tone unit in initial position, while a vocative as the tail, or part of the tail of the clause does not receive prosodic prominence at all. Bache and Davidsen-Nielsen’s (1997) claim may be extended. In questions, the final positioning of a vocative adds to the sincerity and urgency of what is enquired, as is visible in MV 4.1.378: “What mercy can you render him, Antonio.” In the example from 1H4 2.3.105f., Hotspur addresses Kate in the following way when he is about to leave for the battle “and, to conclude, / This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.” Following their verbal and rhetorical display of wit and banter, Hotspur at least attempts to be more authoritative in tone. This is mainly achieved by the final position of the vocative, which adds an additional unit and postmodifies the goal of the material clause thee. Again, the use of the vocative intensifies the pronoun thee. Politeness theory (Brown and Gilman 1989) would argue in favour of Hotspur’s attempt to redress the face-threatening act by using an in-group-identity marker, which is interpersonally modified by the epithet gentle. Certainly, Hotspur’s leaving is somehow overshadowed by the vocative, as it is positioned at the end of this phrase. However, at the same time, the authoritative urgency of the message is not only signalled by the modal must, but also by the final vocative which lends further force to the sincerity of his having to leave her. The imperative “Sit, sir” from Ant. 2.2.28 is described by John Wilders (ed. 1995: 130) as “a simple but subtle piece of dialogue. Caesar, as the host, invites Antony to sit, but


Antony, refusing to accept a subordinate position, compels Caesar to accept his invitation. The conference opens with a tiff over the pecking order.” The vocative at the end of this imperative marks another phonological unit containing a raising intonation. Echoing Polonius’s ”Brevity is the soul of wit” (Ham. 2.2.90), Antony uses two mono-syllabic words, terminated by a comma, which are also homophonic and alliterating. The experiential use of the vocative sir, which, as has been claimed, occurs most often in the whole corpus and is therefore difficult to grasp, is always used by Antony for Caesar when he feels compelled to transfer a very important message. Later in the same scene (Ant. 2.2.79) sir is employed by him to explain to Caesar that, despite his being in Egypt, he sees himself by no means inferior to Caesar. When Enobarbus points out “Would you praise Caesar, say ‘Caesar’ go no further” (Ant. 3.2.13), it becomes obvious that the use of a term otherwise considered more polite is not meant as praising in this context. Therefore, it could be argued that the position of the vocative as well as the form that is chosen signal to the recipient and the actors that some most subtle, but extraordinarily interpersonal experiential and textual meanings are transferred. It can be argued that this utterance is therefore utterly impolite and that the illocutionary force and locutionary force clash. 4.2.4.5 Vocatives and cohesion Another resource of creating texture goes beyond the analysis of the clause as such: cohesion (Halliday 1972, Halliday and Hasan 1976, Halliday 1994: 308–399, Toolan 1998b: 23–45). While cohesion refers to the linguistic devices by which the speaker can signal interpersonal and experiential coherence of the text, coherence itself is a mental phenomenon that cannot be quantitatively scrutinised. However, both concepts are interlinked, because a text that makes use of cohesive elements, will be perceived as coherent (Thompson 1996: 117f.). In descriptions about cohesive elements the vocative is usually not mentioned, even though here the explanatory comment that is given to define the vocative as interpersonal theme used to designate the next speaker has already been identified as lexical and textual (see Chapter 3.2). In ethnomethodological studies, the role of forms of address is usually that of speaker-selection in order to set in motion or to keep up the flow of discourse (Eggins and Slade 1997: 145). Further textual clues are scrutinised under the heading of “reciprocity,” and “targeting,” of which the latter aspect is based on Eggins and Slade (1997: 144). Eggins and Slade (1997: 184) are correct to argue that, in multiparty talk, interactants make an important distinction between “targeting” and “redundant” vocative use, as a “targeting” vocative is a vocative used by current speakers to indicate their choice of preferred next speaker in situations where other contextual clues make that person the most likely next speaker. Therefore, Eggins’ and Slade (1997: 184) are conventional in their textual restriction of vocatives’ role to that of speaker selection. For this study, the concept of a “targeting” vocative has been retained, as it is one of the textual functions a vocative may import. Yet, Eggins’ and Slade’s (1997: 146) idea of redundancy will be refuted. For them, “a redundant vocative is one used when there is already sufficient contextual information available for the nominated person to be assumed next speaker” (Eggins and Slade 1997: 145). Hence, this line of argumentation is restricted to textual (in Halliday’s sense) considerations only , and neglects the fact that,


although a vocative may not be textually or grammatically required, it may nevertheless be semantically desired.52 Speaker selection by means of vocative is nevertheless inherent in Shakespearean vocatives. For example, at the beginning of MND, Theseus uses Hippolyta’s personal name to address her, to select her as possible next speaker and to indicate to the audience the who is who of the play: “Now, Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws on apace” (MND 1.1.1). Another example is Claudius’s explicit turn towards Voltemand after the latter’s return from Norway, “Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway?” (Ham. 2.2.59) The speaker selecting function is especially dominant in cases where listeners are addressed by their personal names or name-like variations. Furthermore, in a conversational exchange that consists of more than two interlocutors, selecting the next speaker is crucial. In addition, inferior characters are sometimes addressed by their personal names without the addresser’s expectation that they are actually going to answer verbally. Their reply may be physically or performative, in the sense of a task they have to fulfil. This literally performative role of vocatives is evident in Theseus’s address to Philostrate, “Go, Philostrate, / Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments, / Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth, / Turn melancholy forth to funerals: / The pale companion is not for our pomp” (MND 1.1.11–15). As such, the vocative carries an implicit stage direction (see also Munkelt 1981), as it makes Philostrate leave the stage rather than answer the order. To some extent, the speaker selection function of the vocative can be understood as a cohesive element, because it serves not only as a marker to begin or to continue the flow of discourse, but also to refer to the next speaker. As such, it may be seen as an exophoric – pointing outwards – reference marker. In addition, the vocative may be seen as a deictic marker, or more specifically as a deictic marker of person deixis.53 The direct references to Romeo as “O gentle Romeo” (Rom. 2.2.93), “Fair Montague” (Rom. 2.2.98), and “gentleman” (Rom. 2.2.100) not only testify to Juliet’s juvenile, wholehearted love-sickness, but give the recipient overt and clear textual clues. Her interpersonal involvement and her plea for a true declaration of Romeo’s love is stressed by the proliferation of three vocatives in ten lines of speech, which, in addition, corresponds with Juliet’s general high relative frequency of vocatives used. Nevertheless, the textual switches from the use of a personal name as vocatives to a conventional term mark a cohesive transition point that is to indicate a change in topic. This gradual social and interpersonal upgrading of Romeo is expressed by a stepwise vocative switch, which proceeds from an emotional vocative Romeo to a more formal and deferential gentleman. This evokes a scenario that underlines Juliet’s faithfulness and the seriousness of her statement. As such, her firm belief in her social role, her education, and her naïveté become obvious (see Finkenstaedt 1963), because she addresses him as gentleman, as soon as she assumes him to be a faithful lover. Notice as well that the Nurse switches to young lady when she learns about Juliet’s possible marriage (Rom. 1.3.75). A further textual function that is crucial to the analysis of vocatives is phonological markedness. In Falstaff ’s ironic “How, now, how, now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and 52. In Chapter 6, the extent to which personal names function as targeting vocatives in the first act will be investigated. 53. For further information on deixis, see Levinson (1983), Yule (1996), and Verdonk (2002).


thy quiddities?” (1H4 1.2.43f.), Falstaff seems to praise Hal’s verbal alertness in rejecting Falstaff ’s sexual innuendo transferred in the utterance before. According to the OED (1.), a wag is a “mischievous boy (often as a mother’s term of endearment to a baby boy); in wider application, a youth, young man, a fellow.” Falstaff uses the term before, but with the epithet sweet preceding it. Here he replaces it by mad and creates assonance that further evokes Falstaff ’s rhetorical capacities of being comical and somewhat admonishing likewise. Certainly, the assonance between the two components of the vocatives also further enhances that tone of banter as well. 4.2.4.6 Vocatives as discourse markers indicating topic change A vocative alone, or the shift of one vocative to another, may perform another kind of textual function. Halliday’s (1994: 48f., 83f., 219f.) categorisation of adjuncts distinguishes between the subcategories of conjuntive and continuity adjuncts. While the former category relates one clause to another and hence expresses meanings that are strongly related to concepts of “elaboration,” “extension,” and “enhancement,” continuity adjuncts include continuity and continuative items, which are particular frequent in casual talk (Halliday 1994: 219f.). The example from 1H4 has illustrated that the head of the vocatives that are used for Hal by Falstaff constantly remains wag, but the epithets that modify it evoke a functional shift that is interpersonally and textually forceful. The analysis of Falstaff ’s address pattern for Hal has further revealed that, apart from one exception in 1H4 4.2.50, the vocative wag is only used in Act 1, Scene 2, which would further stress the cohesive function of the vocative wag in this scene. Nevertheless, the crucial role of the epithet as a means of varying the vocative hints at another textual function a vocative may interdependently perform. A vocative may serve as a textual “discourse marker” (similar to Calvo’s [1992a], suggestion for you and thou), where “discourse marker” is understood in Stein’s sense (1985),54 indicating either a change of topic or of conversational tone. Even though the example from 1H4 1.2.43f. “mad wag” is part of a scene that is characterised by jocular familiarity, verbal fencing and ironic overtones, the differences in tone and topic as inferred by the vocative switching from “sweet wag” (1H4 1.2.23) over “mad wag” (1H4 1.2.43) and to “sweet wag” (1H4 1.2.56) cannot be missed. First of all, the fact that the vocative-head remains constant testifies to the vocatives’ role in Shakespeare as a cohesive element, as Hal’s identity is construed as a young boy. However, the epithet shifts are crucial discourse markers. Falstaff ’s role as an eloquent as well as more mature adult, but also as a more jocular, and somewhat jovial father-figure and male role-model should be highlighted. However, despite his playful attempt to appear rather simple-minded, his speeches contain moral and ethical truths that Hal brutally negates later in the play. Mad wag has already been characterised as a form of banter and irony that is meant to praise as well as to criticise Hal’s juvenile and condescending

54. This study chooses Stein’s definition, because, in contrast to Schiffrin’s (1987: 31–41) and Fraser’s (1990), it is broad in nature and not restricted either to sequentially dependent parts which announce the boundaries of units of talk, such as well, no, but (Schiffrin 1987) or to now, well, so, however (Fraser 1990) exclusively. For Stein, any word that performs a textual function in the global organisation of the discourse is a discourse marker.


quibbles, which also testify to his immaturity and arrogance: “But I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king” (1H4 1.2.58f.) indicates a topic change that is evoked by the reinsertion of the epithet sweet. Here, the use of sweet carries multi-layered connotations as well. One certainly alludes to Hal’s youth and the “sweetness” of his social status which somewhat clashes with his disrespectful behaviour towards Falstaff. Another meaning underlines the in-group identity that is to redress the face-threat involved in Falstaff ’s question about Hal’s plans for dealing with people who act against the law. Preceded by the optative construction I prithee (notice the use of the more emotional thou instead of you) and the adjunct but, these meanings of the vocative introduce a new topic in their conversation that leads from pure jesting to more serious topics, which Hal does not want to face. As another example of topic switching can serve Hal’s “Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack” (1H4 1.2.98f.), which interrupts Falstaff ’s brilliantly articulated adoption and mimicry of the Scriptural style of the Puritan (Kastan ed. 2002: 156). Hal is no longer up to it and changes a topic leading to attend the London road notorious for robberies. The topic change is indicated by the vocative because Jack refers to a lower class person and to the jack in the game of bowls (OED II.18.) knocked about by the other balls (see R3 1.3.72). In turn, Falstaff rushes to accept the Prince’s idea, much relieved from the exchanges of the previous 35 lines with their focus on the hangman. To conclude, this chapter has illustrated the textual potential of Shakespearean vocatives. The position of the vocative stands in a strong dialectical relationship with the interpersonal and experiential dimensions. A vocative preceding an imperative (undertaking) intensifies the urgency of the message, a vocative in the middle of a clause often wants to retain the addressee’s attention, while a final vocative, among other functions, often intensifies the authority of the speaker as well as the urgency of the message. All three positions of the vocative in Shakespeare may have the potential for setting the tone of the utterance. Furthermore, the cohesive potential of a vocative, that is its function in creating texture, has been aligned to the ethnomethodological approach of speaker selection and the idea of discourse marker indicating a change in topic and/or tone.

4.2.5 Characters’ use of vocatives in Shakespeare 4.2.5.1 R3 – a representative analysis of Richard of Gloucester The aim of the following passages is to investigate qualitatively as well as quantitatively both the occurrence of vocatives in the address pattern of a number of selected characters and the number and categories of vocatives these characters receive as addressees. By systematically investigating the vocative categories that a character resorts to and those s/he is addressed with, this study investigates what worlds are construed, where a particular addressee locates his or her interlocutor and why this is done so. It will be argued that the vocatives’ potential for what the recipient conceives as interaction or the “traits of a character”55 in a particular situation, as well as aesthetic and emotive effects a vocative may create are enormous. Hence, the emphasis on the construing 55. See Chapter 2.3.1.


intersubjectivity purports the view that speech in general, and vocative usage in particular is not regarded as issuing from within a character, but rather from the interaction among characters in context. Certainly, it is impossible to deny that all the Shakespearean plays as well as Shakespearean characters need to be seen within the dramatic context, their social positions in the plays and the conventionalised models existent in Shakespeare’s time. For example, R3 reveals debts to its Senecan model, to the heritage of the medieval morality play. In addition, “abundant evidence supports the view that spoken language is marked by routines of interaction, normative patterns of discourse” (Toolan 2000: 2) and is partially standardised because of its social situatedness. It is therefore the extraordinarily dialectical and multi-levelled interdependence between meaning and social context, on the one side, and conventionalised speech and dramatic patterns, on the other, as well as quantitative and qualitative considerations by which vocative meanings are construed. Yet, recourse will also be made to characters from other plays. Further distinctive parameters that will be investigated are those of gender, social position, and diachronic observations. Another important feature of this character analysis is that frequencies, both absolute and relative, are computed, because a character’s vocative pattern should be compared to that of others in R3 and other plays. In addition, the relation bearing between the partitions the speaker shares of what is said on the whole are computed. Spevack’s concordances (1968–80) again represent the source for this procedure. They provide the analyst with word counts for the respective characters.56 In R3, Richard’s text partition is more than one third of the whole. Literary critical studies (Hammond ed. 1997: 97–119) often argue that Richard but surmounts the obstacles on his way to the throne (his brothers and their children, the powerful party under queen Elizabeth, and that of Lord Hastings). Richard is also characterised as the epitome of a single representative figure of evil that came to be called the “vice in the mid-sixteen century” (Hammond ed. 1997: 103).57 In Shakespeare’s mind, this might have formed the theatrical mode of inordinate evil, which springs from a context of decayed public morality and which has no satisfactory rational explanation and cannot be deduced to Richard’s deformity alone. A more modern ingredient is added to this mixture, the Machiavellian character, who coincided nicely with that of the vice. Richard’s evil intentions are announced to us right at the beginning of the play. Even though we might want to assume that they are a reasonable response to his personal problems – deformed, ugly, without a particular occupation – these factors cannot be seen as the only trigger for Richard’s behaviour. In his role as a villain, he gains an identity which involves carrying out all elements that are associated with the villain in drama, for example blends of brotherly affection, hostility towards the queen, alleged indignation at Edward’s shabby treatment (all most skilfully feigned), and Richard’s power to dominate even those implacably his enemies.

56. Similarly to the computation of general relative frequencies, the number of vocatives a character uses will be multiplied by 100 and divided through the number of words that individual character uses. 57. This characterisation deviates from the historical Richard III (see Ross 1999).


In Shakespearean drama, the social usage of vocatives in interaction is a means by which these and other meanings can be construed. Table 4 gives the quantitative results of vocative usage for all characters in R3. The relative frequency of Richard’s vocative pattern is 1.97, as Table 4 illustrates. Even though he uses by far most of the vocatives in the play, the relative frequency is not as high as probably expected or if we compare it with King Edward’s relative frequency of vocatives or with that of Prince Edward’s. However, if we move outside the play, it can be discerned that the relative frequency of Richard’s vocatives is similar to, for example, Hamlet’s in Ham. and Octavius’s in Ant. (see Table 6). In addition, while the general relative frequency of Antony’s vocative pattern surpasses that of Octavius, Titus’s as well as Lear’s go far beyond that of Richard’s. Even though Hamlet and Richard have only very few character traits in common, their endeavour to blur the boundaries between appearance and reality are nevertheless comparable. In Ham., characters cannot really decide whether Hamlet’s mode of behaviour is authentic or mad. In R3, the characters know that Richard is evil, but in the first three acts, he nevertheless succeeds in feigning. One may tentatively suggest that the relative frequency of around 2 construes male, multi-faceted and round characters who rely on the difference between appearance and reality. A look at the distribution of vocative categories and their quantitative figures in Table 4 illustrates that Richard resorts to all categories of vocatives in different quantities, which underlines the view that contextual features seem to force him and are construed to position and construe his interlocutors in various worlds. In this attempt, the quantitative figures again correlate with that of Hamlet. Even though, so far, only a general conclusion can be drawn as to the meanings of these results, from an inner-textual norm this result is equally striking because in R3 nobody else recourses to all categories. If one investigates the quantitative distribution of vocatives within the different clusters, conventional terms, followed by EPITHETs and personal names constitute the clusters containing the highest relative frequencies – a pattern that is also characteristic of R3 in general. Within the category of emotion / mind, thought, Richard uses one vocative, which can be considered foregrounded. The number of EPITHETs is the second-highest in Richard’s corpus. EPITHETs directly describe a quality of the person addressed and as such are crucial within his/her address behaviour as well. Generic names play an important role within his address behaviour. The number of specialised fields and natural phenomena that Richard uses vocatively are equally striking. They immediately lend a more interpersonal force to the vocative used. The group of personal names is also noteworthy, as personal names may be subtle in their meanings ranging from condescending meanings to that of marking ingroup identities. Depending on the context, Richard even resorts to kinship terminology. Mention has already been made that, for example, the denotational meanings of conventional vocative forms surpass by far that of attributing rigid social position to the person addressed or of complying with the rules of politeness alone. On the contrary, they may be expressively negative, while, at the same time, they may also be used to transform a scene into a wall of stone music so that they seem to be rhetorically frozen. However, at the same time, they may be paradoxically all the more elusive. It is exactly this impression Richard achieves.

sum

conventional emotion / mind, thought EPITHET generic terms natural phenomena personal names specialised fields terms of family relationship

character

0,37 0,09

0,06

0,35 0,12

0,2

33 8

5

31 11

18

1,97

0,01

1

174

0,76

rel. freq.

67

abs. freq.

Richard of Gloucester

15

0

2 1

0

4 0

0

8

abs. freq.

1,17

0

0,16 0,08

0

0,31 0

0

0,62

rel. freq.

Clarence

8

0

0 0

0

4 0

0

4

abs. freq.

3,49

0

0 0

0

1,75 0

0

1,75

rel. freq.

Brakenbury

41

0

6 2

0

7 3

0

23

abs. freq.

3,68

0

0,54 0,18

0

0,63 0,27

0

2,06

rel. freq.

Hastings

22

0

2 6

3

9 0

0

2

abs. freq.

1,86

0

0,17 0,51

0,25

0,76 0

0

0,17

rel. freq.

Anne

32

3

5 3

5

1 2

0

13

abs. freq.

1,51

0,14

0,24 0,14

0,24

0,05 0,09

0

0,61

rel. freq.

Elizabeth

15

0

4 4

0

2 0

0

5

4,04

0

1,08 1,08

0

0,54 0

0

1,35

rel. freq.

Rivers abs. freq.

Table 4. Characters in R3: relative frequencies of their general vocative usage and their share in the different categories

1

0

0 0

0

1 0

0

0

abs. freq.

0,91

0

0 0

0

0,91 0

0

0

rel. freq.

Grey


sum


character

1,64 0

0

0 0

0,82

2 0

0

0 0

1

2,46

0

0

3

0

0

73

0

7 2

0

17 0

0

47

2,56

0

0,25 0,07

0

0,6 0

0

1,65

rel. freq.

abs. freq.

abs. freq.

rel. freq.

Buckingham

Marquess of Dorset

29

2

6 5

4

9 0

1

2

abs. freq.

1,66

0,11

0,34 0,29

0,23

0,51 0

0,06

0,11

rel. freq.

Queen Margaret

5

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

5

abs. freq.

1,11

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

1,11

rel. freq.

1. Murderer

4

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

4

abs. freq.

0,92

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

0,92

rel. freq.

2. Murderer

5

0

0 0

0

1 0

0

4

abs. freq.

7,35

0

0 0

0

1,47 0

0

5,88

rel. freq.

Keeper

19

1

10 1

0

1 0

0

6

abs. freq.

3,61

0,19

1,9 0,19

0

0,19 0

0

1,14

rel. freq.

King Edward


10

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

10

abs. freq.

4,46

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

4,46

rel. freq.

Ratcliffe


sum


character

0,37 0,18

1,01

0,81 0,37

0,82

4 2

11

2 4

9

3,39

0,18

2

37

0,27

rel. freq.

3

abs. freq.

Duchess of York

7

1

0 0

0

0 0

0

6

abs. freq.

4,52

0,65

0 0

0

0 0

0

3,87

rel. freq.

Boy

10

4

0 0

0

0 0

0

6

abs. freq.

3,03

1,21

0 0

0

0 0

0

1,82

rel. freq.

16

5

0 0

0

4 0

0

7

abs. freq.

4,62

1,45

0 0

0

1,16 0

0

2,02

rel. freq.

Duke of York Prince Edward

26

0

0 0

0

7 0

0

19

abs. freq.

5,94

0

0 0

0

1,6 0

0

4,34

rel. freq.

Catesby

29

0

2 0

0

4 0

0

23

abs. freq.

3,44

0

0,24 0

0

0,47 0

0

2,73

rel. freq.

Stanley

3

0

0 0

0

1 0

0

2

abs. freq.

4,05

0

0 0

0

1,35 0

0

2,7

rel. freq.

Lord Cardinal


7

0

0 0

0

4 0

0

3

abs. freq.

6,14

0

0 0

0

3,51 0

0

2,63

rel. freq.

Mayor


sum


character

5,0 0

0

0 0

0

1 0

0

0 0

0

10

0

0

2

5,0

rel. freq.

1

abs. freq.

Pursuivant

2

0

0 0

0

1 0

0

1

abs. freq.

12,5

0

0 0

0

6,25 0

0

6,25

rel. freq.

Priest

2

0

0 0

0

1 0

0

1

abs. freq.

4,26

0

0 0

0

2,13 0

0

2,13

rel. freq.

Bishop of Ely

6

0

0 0

0

1 0

0

5

abs. freq.

7,23

0

0 0

0

1,2 0

0

6,02

rel. freq.

Norfolk

3

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

3

abs. freq.

1,12

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

1,12

rel. freq.

Tyrell

2

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

2

abs. freq.

18,2

0

0 0

0

00 0

0

18,2

rel. freq.

Sheriff

37

1

1 2

0

17 0

0

16

abs. freq.

3,47

0,09

0,09 0,19

0

1,59 0

0

1,5

rel. freq.

Richmond


2

0

1 0

0

1 0

0

0

abs. freq.

2,99

0

1,49 0

0

1,49 0

0

0

rel. freq.

Blunt


sum


character

0 0

0

1,72 1,72

0

0 0

0

1 1

0

3,45

0

0

2

0

rel. freq.

0

abs. freq.

Ghost Anne

3

0

3 0

0

0 0

0

0

abs. freq.

4,69

0

4,69 0

0

0 0

0

0

rel. freq.

Ghost Clarence

3

0

0 2

0

1 0

0

0

abs. freq.

9,09

0

0 6,06

0

3,03 0

0

0

rel. freq.

Ghost Hastings

6

1

5 0

0

0 0

0

0

abs. freq.

13,6

2,27

11,4 0

0

0 0

0

0

rel. freq.

Ghost Young Prince Edward




As regards the distribution of Richard’s vocative terms in relation to the five acts that constitute the play, note that the vocative plays a crucial role in construing Richard who has hitherto played the villain excellently, but in Acts 4 and 5 proves indifferent to the role of King: he is nervous, preoccupied, makes mistakes and loses control. An analysis of the vocative distribution in Acts 1 to 3 and Acts 4 and 5 reveals that Richard uses 114 vocatives in the first three acts, while 6458 mark the last two acts. This testifies to his strategic conversational behaviour at the beginning, which is construed by the use of vocatives. As regards the distribution of categories, a similar pattern suggests itself as relevant to this interpersonal potential of vocatives in creating the impressions described above. More terms that are conventional are used in the first three acts (a ratio of 46 to 21), but fewer personal names (a ratio of 12 to 19). This testifies to the more overtly emotional situation in the end. In addition, more EPITHETs are used in the first three acts (a ratio of 26 to 7), while more vocatives, resorting to the world of natural phenomena characterise Acts 4 and 5 (a ratio of 2 to 3). However, vocatives that refer to specialised fields are used more often in Act 1 to Act 3 (a ratio of 8 to 3), as are terms that denote kinship terminology. If we now look at the different types of vocatives that occur in the specific categories, several interesting observations can be made. Within the category conventional, the following set of terms that Richard uses can be discerned: my lord (6) poor lord (1) my most sovereign lord (1) my noble lord of York (1) little lord (1) lord of Ely (1) my lord of Surrey (1) my lord of Norfolk (1) my lord of Buckingham (1) lords (1) noble lords (5) your worship (1) your lordship (2) madam (12) lady (3) (marked) sweet lady (1) gentle lady (1) sirs (3) sir (2) marquess (1) my sovereign king (1) my sovereign queen (1) 58. Relative frequencies have only been measured for Richard’s general usage of vocatives.

251


my thought’s sovereign (1) sweet prince (1) your grace (1) your highness (1) gentlemen (2) noble gentlemen (3) gentlemen of England (1) your lordship (1) bold Yeoman (1) A relatively large set of conventional terms characterises Richard’s conventional address pattern. However, these are not very frequently modified, and if so, epithets are used that are intended to appear as if to emphasise the social position of Richard’s interlocutors. The participle intended is employed here, because the multi-layered character of meanings are not only involved with the use of head terms, such as lord, lady, and sir, but also with the employment of epithets, such as gentle, sovereign or noble. If, in addition, terms like my lordship or your ladyship occur once in Richard’s address pattern, one needs to be careful when evaluating them. Blake’s explanation model of “honorific title” (Blake 2002a: 275) only resorts to politeness theory. Furthermore, it can be noted that Blake’s (2002a: 275) observation that so-called titles with names, such as “Sir Toby,” are often used for the lower gentry cannot be corroborated by the analysis of Richard’s address pattern, as he addresses Anne by “gentle lady Anne” (R3 1.1.114), which is here computed under the heading EPITHET. The set of conventional terms that Richard resorts to is meant to let him appear non-committal and socially compliant. Yet, even this allegedly formalised address pattern is all the more and probably paradoxically elusive just because of the quantity of mostly unmodified head terms. Hence, conventional terms can by no means be explained by changes in rigid social status and/or considerations of politeness alone. The suggested explanation models are much more subtle. They should be regarded as stylistic choices levelled against the norm of the corpus as a whole and levelled against the framework of the play and particular characters. Even though, ultimately, it is the context that determines meanings there are different sets of terms available in each category a character resorts to, which are, in turn, suggestive and meaningful as such. Therefore, Blake’s (2002a: 273) general explanation models of, for example, your highness being a more formal term and your ladyship a more honorific, cannot be confirmed by a broad systematic investigation of the Shakespeare-corpus. When Blake argues that sir is a term that is used universally throughout all social ranks (2002a: 275), he does not say anything about its meanings at all. Furthermore, note that the quantity and quality of vocatives in Shakespeare forces one to enquire why there are so many terms that are used and why they are modified in such a variety. In other words, if they were only used to denote rigid social positions, the quantity would have been lower. The use of an emotion / mind, thought term is a self-address that Richard resorts to when he personifies his thoughts. The set of EPITHETs that are used is not a suggestive set in terms of clear or overt interpersonal negative or positive denotations. There are only three very clear negative terms (“villains” [R3 1.2.36], “fool” [R3 5.3.192], “my counsel’s


consistory” [R3 2.2.151], “my other self ” [R3 2.2.151]) and, on the outset, four positive terms. The epithets that are used in addition have a reference to social structure such as good, gentle, and noble. Again, we can see Richard’s attempt to appear non-committal, but we shall see that in context these address forms are constructive of his characters. Generic terms are “men” (R3 3.7.227), “man” (R3 1.1.88), “lads” (R3 1.3.354), “boy” (R3 4.2.32), and “woman” (R3 4.4.431). Considering the status of the women that appear in the play – the use of the generic term is quite striking despite the fact that it is used in absence of the woman addressed. On the surface, Blake’s (2002a: 276) observation that some terms are only used for lower-class characters, such as labourers or artisans, holds true for terms of address like men, and boys, which Richard applies to the two murderers. Within their social context, however, these terms do not indicate social structure, but have interpersonal emotional function. The use of vocatives that denote natural phenomena is striking, as only dog is used to address a human being. Blake notes that derogatory terms are generally short (Blake 2002a: 275), which again does not say anything about their meanings. In addition, a conventional term in a particular context can be seen as derogatory as well. Furthermore, it is striking that in Richard’s use of natural phenomena, most of the vocatives are addressed to natural phenomena in a direct address to them. These might function in order to keep in check his nervousness in Acts 4 and 5, where these terms occur most often. There are, for example, “day” (R3 4.4.401), “night” (R3 4.4.401), or “planets” (R3 4.4.402). Richard’s use of personal names is applied to men exclusively except for one address to Queen Margaret. Mostly, these personal names occur completely unmodified. Only Catesby receives one good59 epithet, Norfolk one good and one gentle, Tyrrel one gentle, kind and simple. As an epithet, plain belongs to Clarence. Richard’s use and number of personal names is too subtle to resort to in-group identity or a derogatory function alone in order to explain frequency and character. Among Richard’s use of specialised fields as vocatives, only one of them is military in register, while all others are metaphysical (“hag” [R3 1.3.213], “witch” [R3 1.3 163], “perfection” [R3 1.2.75], “Jesu” [R3 5.3.178], “God” [R3 3.5.19], “innocence” [R3 3.5.19], “conscience” [R3 5.3.179], “archers” [R3 5.3.339], “fortune” [R3 4.4.400]). This is particularly striking because, as we shall see below, this choice stands in strong relation to the women’s vocatival construal of the irrational aspect of Richard’s behaviour as evil and antiChrist. Note that he uses the same register when he positions the women as hags, while, in a self-address, at the same time, addressing innocent, Jesu, and conscience. Again, this is all done by means of vocatives. Terms of family relationship are not very high in number. Recourse is only made to the female kin relations in his family and to my dear cousin. These general results testify to Richard’s independence and non-reliance on kinship relations, even though one of the plays’ main themes is family relations. This quantitative analysis of Richard’s address behaviour supports yet again the vocatives’ general potential for creating interpersonal, experiential, and textual meanings. It is through the analysis of vocatives in this play alone that some of Richard’s most important character traits can be construed.

59. In Chapter 4.2.2.2, the multi-dimensional meanings of the epithet good are illustrated.


The positioning of vocatives gives further evidence of these claims. The conventional terms that Richard uses are mostly placed in initial or final positions, yet compared to the general outlook in the corpus and the play in general, there is quite a number of medial vocatives. Initial position occurs mostly in the syntactic category of a declarative, only 2 appear with an imperative and three with questions. Strikingly 20 of the 23 vocatives occur in the declarative in the first part of the play. Initial vocatives often add a tone or a shade of sincerity to what is said, which exactly correlates with Richard’s intention in the beginning. The relatively high number of medial vocatives may textually imply the fact that this strategy is not used in the second part: nine vocatives occur in declaratives, six in imperatives, and one in a question. Medial vocatives keep the attention of the speaker or give him or her a feeling of interest on the side of the speaker. This construes the image we get of Richard. Furthermore, of the 23 final conventional terms, four occur in questions, ten in imperatives and eight in declaratives. As a final vocatival position stresses the authority of the speaker, it is again striking that the vocatives that co-occur in final position with an imperative are used in the second part of the play. These results are indicative of Richard’s attempt to appear authoritative, even though it is also a sign of his insecurity and nervousness. Address patterns that are attributed to Richard as addressee reveal equally interesting results. These are shown in Table 5. The number of conventional terms surpasses that of all other categories. There are 92 conventional terms,60 44 EPITHETs, eight vocatives referring to natural phenomena, ten vocatives that draw on specialised fields, and nine personal names. The fact that Richard is most frequently addressed by conventional terms not only correlates with his own address pattern, but also echoes some of the tendencies that have already been hinted at: the superficially formalised, frozen, and alienating rhetoric, which is all the more intangible, as it construes verbal and dramatic irony and character-construing. As such, these ironies can multiply, as words crack under the strain of perpetual use. If we investigate the interpersonal structural potential of the conventional terms that are attributed to Richard, this thesis becomes even more evident. Except for sir, which does not often occur in the play in general, a remarkable variety of head term conventional vocatives appear. However, again, the majority of cases consists of lord vocatives, and more importantly of the non-committal, though interpersonally multi-dimensional, my lord (50 times). My lord is also the most frequent form in the entire corpus. Hence, most of the lord vocatives that are used in the play in general are applied to Richard. Next to my lord, O my lord, my gracious lord (2), noble lord (2), my noble lord (2), my sovereign lord (2), my good lord (4), good my lord (4), mighty lord (1), my thrice-renowned lord (1), dear lord (1), my loving lord (3), and my lord of Gloucester (1) appear. Investigating the epithets modifying the head terms, one discerns that these are at least initially intended to stress Richard’s social position. Yet, the quantity and the pedantry with which they are employed, and their degree of unmoving and conventional force in their formal rhetorical patterns end by being all the more suggestive of superficial politeness, instability, irony, and the creation of false position, face and identity. However, if we remember that the early Shakespearean plays show a higher number of lord vocatives, which are later replaced by sir, it may be argued that we need to be careful when encountering both sir and lord. Hence, Blake’s 60. Relative frequencies cannot be computed here.


(2002a: 275) recourse to overtly negative terms as the only forms of address that may carry derogatory or insulting meanings is questionable. In addition, his elaboration on the exclusively honorific meanings of, say, virtuous, princely, and sweet (Blake 2002: 275) is equally doubtful. Other conventional terms that come to be used for Richard also seem to superficially testify to formal rhetoric and strategies of negative and positive politeness (Brown and Gilman 1989). For example, your highness, which is also defined by Blake (2002a: 274) as more formal, is used four times. Mighty king, my liege, lord, majesty, prince, princes, souvereign, and slave are only used once in Blake’s corpus, allude to what Saul (1995: 897) has argued to be a linguistic and social strategy of the historical Richard II. Even though Richard II predates the historical Richard III (but Shakespeare writes R2 after R3) the historical-linguistic link may nevertheless be established. It is obvious that in the corpus of vocatives that the Shakespearean Richard receives as addressee, slave is the only term that is overtly negative. The other conventional terms are superficially referring to his status. Yet, again, stylistically and contextually, these are prone to contextual multi-dimensionality as well, also, because most of the conventional terms that are used for Richard are uttered by the male characters in the play. Men in the play do not attempt to express overt disgust and indignation at Richard, but rather decode their meanings into shells of decorum and overt politeness. This observation is especially crucial in respect to the generic difference between the characters that make use of EPITHETs, emotion / mind, thought and natural phenomena. Women mainly use these forms. To look at the set of terms first, one discerns that emotion / mind, thought vocatives that occur in the address pattern for Richard are thoughts and detested. While Richard himself personifies thoughts in a self-address to them, Margaret expresses the emotion detested and construes Richard’s identity as loathsome. The use of EPITHETs, which amount to 44 in R3, contains the following set: bloody (1), brother Gloucester (1), consequence (1), dissembler (1), fool (2), grace (13), graces (1), homicide (1), I that… (4), thou loathed issue of […] (1), mighty liege (1), my liege (4), most gracious liege (1), slander of thy heavy mother’s womb (1), thou that […] (1), thou (1), troubler (1), uncle Gloucester (1), villain (1), villain-slave (1), and ungoverned youth (1). This set contains many more overtly negative terms than “neutral” or formalised vocatives, let alone positive EPITHETs. The neutral terms or those that have a reference to social structure are higher in number. Nevertheless, these are non-committal in character and hardly modified by an interpersonal epithet. Hence, their functional import needs to be evaluated within context, yet, in any case, they can be both: negative and positive.

sum


4

1

2

6

2

3

44

0

8

11

10

7

28

0

2

177

10

95

Richard of Clarence Gloucester

10

0

0

2

0

1

3

0

4

Brakenbury

37

1

3

5

0

0

9

0

19

Hastings

Table 5. Characters in R3 as addressees – absolute numbers

24

3

4

0

2

0

7

0

8

Anne

48

10

1

0

3

1

10

0

23

Elizabeth

18

0

4

5

0

0

1

0

8

Rivers

2

0

0

1

0

0

0

0

1

Grey

3

0

1

1

0

0

0

0

1

49

6

0

8

0

0

11

0

24

12

0

4

4

1

1

1

0

1

Marquess Bucking- Queen of Dorset ham Margaret

4

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

4

Keeper


sum


1

0

0

4

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

17

0

0

6

12

Ratcliffe

6

King Edward

32

3

2

0

5

0

5

2

15

Duchess of York

7

2

1

0

0

4

0

0

0

Boy

17

7

0

2

0

2

2

0

4

Duke of York


11

0

0

0

0

0

2

0

9

Prince Edward

18

0

0

15

0

0

1

0

2

Catesby

14

1

0

2

0

1

1

0

9

Stanley

4

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

4

Lord Cardinal

4

0

0

0

0

0

1

0

3

Mayor

3

0

0

0

0

1

1

0

1

Pursuivant

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

Priest


sum

conventional emotion / mind, thought EPITHET generic terms natural phenomena personal names specialised fields terms of family relationship 0 0 0 3 0 0

0 0 0 0 0

0 12

0

0

5

9

Norfolk

5

Bishop of Ely


4

0

0 0 0 4 0

0

0

Tyrell

1

0

1 0 0 0 0

0

0

Sheriff

15

1

2 0 0 6 3

0

3

Richmond

5

0

3 0 0 1 1

0

0

Blunt



In addition, the EPITHETs Richard receives fundamentally deviate from those he uses for others, due to the emotive interpersonality of such terms as dissembler or troubler. Even more striking are the facts that not only do Richard and the women use the negative terms alone, but that these are more often used in the first three acts. The women are the only characters that dare to identify Richard’s villainy via recourse to an identifying and brutal vocative. If one looks at the denotational meanings of these vocatives, most of them also bring up the question of appearance and reality, such as blending the fact that Richard’s actions belie his noble words. Hence, the construal of Richard’s identity as vice and the dissembler as well as the construal of the play’s most important themes extraordinarily rely on vocatives and their informational value. It is by the emotive interpersonal and aesthetic quality of those vocatives that the other characters as well as the audience or the reader are informed about the permanent and temporary identities and positions Richard is placed in and obviously also assumes. The use of vocatives that refer to natural phenomena and specialised fields render these interpersonal and experiential meanings of the vocative even more prominent. Hammond (ed. 1997: 115) is correct to argue that things are not what they seem is reinforced by the imagery. The characteristic images of the natural world, disordered by men’s actions […] are used by Richard for his own purposes. The other characters retort by locating their imagery for Richard in the most loathsome and despised elements of nature.

However, while Hammond does not mention that these identities are often construed by the use of vocatives, one could argue that this is not just imagery which the other characters use as repartee to create Richard’s identity, but also ideological expression of a habitus and of those extraordinarily powerful experiential worlds. These stand in explicit contrast to the above mentioned historical Richard’s II introduction of upgrading vocatives to flatter and continuously re-install the king’s social position (Saul 1995: 897f.), which Shakespeare might have been familiar with. Strikingly, women also mostly use vocatives referring to natural phenomena. Therefore, they position themselves as clear antagonists to Richard. When Richard is addressed as “thou lump of foul deformity” (R3 1.2.57), “hedgehog” (R3 1.2.103), “dog” (R3 1.3.214), “thou elvish marked abortive rooting hog” (R3 1.3.227), “thou rag of honour” (R3 1.2.232) or “thou toad” (R3 4.4.144), the precise, though also subtle aesthetic, ideological, and interpersonal effects of the use can be discerned immediately. Dog, for example, is applied to “persons in abuse or contempt” (OED 3.a.). When Richard is created as a species armed with an innumerable set of spines in hedgehog, his ability to bristle in every direction as well as his disrespect of others is emphasised. Lump refers to his deformity (OED 1.), while foul, in opposite to fair, anticipates the witches’ announcements in Mac. 1.1.1, and alludes to the foulness of visage (Palsgrave 1530) as well as to his foul and evil character. A hog is “a swine reared for slaughter; spec. a castrated male swine, a barrow-pig or bar” (OED I.1.a.) and figuratively applied in approbation to a person (OED IV.7.). He is coarse, self-indulgent, gluttonous, or filthy. Rag denotes a “small worthless fragment or shred of some woven material” (OED I.1.a), especially one of the irregular scraps into which a piece of such material is reduced by wear and tear. It is also applied contemptuously to things,


for example, a torn or scanty garment, a flag, handkerchief, theatre-curtain, newspaper, paper-money (OED 3.a.). A toad is a tailless amphibian (in the play’s use of it also probably alluding to Richard’s deformity) and an EModE construal of a most despised mean and evil human being. Notice that the construal of identity by means of natural phenomena alludes to the elements that were most despised in Early Modern England or, which possessed an inferior position in the Chain of Being (cf. Suerbaum 2001a, b, Hammond ed. 1997: 97f.). As such, the ideological dimensions of these vocatives have a strong connection with the structural realisation of the vocative as NG and the fact that it has been characterised as a grammatical metaphor. Richard becomes a toad or hedgehog, and the creation of this position is both somewhat static and highly interpersonal likewise. If one looks at the structure of these negative vocatives one also realises that Blake’s (2002a: 275) observations concerning the brevity of derogatory meaning of forms of address cannot always be maintained. Furthermore, a look at the world of specialised fields that are denoted vocatively further renders the vocative into an even more foregrounded element. In his introduction to the play, Hammond (ed. 1997: 97f.) illustrates not only that Richard is the representative figure of evil, the vice, but also mentions the irrational aspects of Richard’s behaviour that the other characters react to in varying degrees of fright and horror, as metabolically and metaphysically suggestive of the devil. All of the vocatives that refer to specialised fields are metaphysical in character. They include the following set: “thou dreadful minister of hell” (1) (R3 1.2.46), “foul devil” (1) (R3 1.2.49), “defused infection of a man” (1) (R3 1.2.78), “devil” (R3 1.3.117) or “thou cacodemon” (R3 1.3.143). Again, the women in the play construe Richard as such. They position themselves as clear antagonists to Richard and the other men in the plays, as they are obviously more emotional, direct and risk-taking in their vocative usage, both in the first three acts, but also in Acts 4 and 5. From an experiential point of view these terms powerfully construe his identity as an endlessly anti-Christian, with his favourite device being “with odd old ends stol’n forth of Holy Writ / [To] seem a saint, when most I play the devil” (in Hammond ed. 1997: 102). His vicious moral perversity, which afflicts friends, family, and the entire nation, is expressed vocatively. Hence, his vice-like, anti-Christ qualities are linked with those of another familiar medieval horror: the Scourge of God, which was seen as an element to reconcile tyrannical kings with a benevolent deity (Hammond ed. 1997: 109). It is alluded to in these vocatives. These observations also draw a connection to the other half of the set of specialised fields that constitutes the corpus resorted to. Most of them are used vocatively not only by Richard himself; Christian terms such as God, our innocent guilty, Jesu, O coward, and Conscience are also used by the women to exactly appeal to the contrary experiential concept that is construed by them. In addition, they are made use of in Acts 1 and 2 of the play. Personal names for Richard occur nine times in the play. Yet, most of them (6) occur in Acts 1 and 2 of the play, while three appear in Act 3–5 when Richard is king, but when he also starts to become insecure. Most of the personal names are uttered by the men in the play, except for those incidences used by Margaret, Elizabeth, and the Ghosts of Prince Edward and Clarence. The set of personal names appears in the following variety: Richard (5), Gloucester (1), O bloody Richard (1), and famous Plantagenet (1). It is to be seen whether these are used as in-group identity markers or rather in a derogatory way or


in a multi-dimensional meaning that includes both. However, the majority of unmodified personal names is suggestive of the latter. Richard also receives vocatives that denote family relations. The set includes brother of Gloucester and my son (used by Elizabeth and Margaret), as well as five times uncle, which, applied by Prince Edward and the Prince of York, are indicators of their trust in him. This illustrative analysis of the vocative patterns Richard receives and uses illustrate that vocatives in Shakespeare are clearly foregrounded linguistic, dramatic, experiential, ideological, interpersonal, and aesthetic elements. In addition, it has been verified that a quantitative analysis of vocatives helps establish vocative meanings and construes them in R3 as foregrounded elements of identity, context, and theme. Furthermore, vocatives are construing addresser and addressee characterisation in interaction. In R3, the women’s vocative use is diametrically opposed to the recalcitrant decorous, obedient and ingratiating usage of that of the men, especially when applied to Richard. It is mainly through Margaret, Anne, and Elizabeth that Richard is created as a Machiavellian vice and un-christian devil. These uses of vocatives testify to all the women’s courage, their interpersonal dimensions, and their more or less strong independence. In addition, my reading has shown that the vocatives’ role is crucial for the cultural model and Shakespeare’s role in shaping the negative and monster-like reception of and view on the historical Richard III in the framework of what is often called the “TudorMyth” (Tillyard [1943] 1973: 29–32, Suerbaum 2001a: 41–3, Gillingham 1981: 1–10, Carpenter 1997, and Ross 1999). This view of R3 has survived for a long time and has only recently been refuted by historical sources (Ross 1999). 4.2.5.2 Characters’ use of vocatives in R3 and in the entire corpus As Tables 4 and 5 illustrate, the relative frequency of the majority of characters surpasses that of Richard’s. For example, Brakenbury’s is around 3.5, Hastings’ amounts to 3.68, Rivers’ to 4.0, Buckingham’s to 2.6, King Edward’s to 3.7, Ratcliffe’s to 4.46. These results support their attempt to comply with the rules of social decorum. This claim is further illustrated by their distribution of vocative terms. They almost all display a high number of conventional terms, sometimes they use EPITHETs, personal names and terms that denote specialised fields. For example, if we investigate Hastings’ pattern of vocative usage, we can see that he uses conventional term vocatives, EPITHETs, generic terms and a few personal names. In turn, he receives mostly conventional terms, followed by compound EPITHETs. Some vocatives that denote specialised fields and terms of family relationship are also applied to him. This is suggestive of their at least superficial compliance to social decorum and politeness, which, again, renders the address patterns of the women even more foregrounded. Investigating the use of vocatives of other male characters in the corpus, depicted in Table 6, revealing claims can be made. Caesar in Ant. displays a reasonably low relative frequency of vocatives. He uses mostly personal names and not conventional terms, which testifies to his personal view of himself. Antony’s address pattern is similar to that of Cleopatra, as he uses all vocative categories. In addition, the number of personal names, conventional terms and EPITHETs is fairly similar, although the number of personal names surpasses those in the other categories. In Titus’s address pattern, all vocative categories


appear, which testifies to the pathos by which he construes meaning. In contrast to that stands Saturninus’s address pattern. His relative frequency of vocatives is as high as Titus’s, even though he has fewer words in the play. In addition, in contrast to Titus, he does not use all categories, which gives evidence of his opportunistic character. Marcus’s relative frequency of vocatives is equally high. Yet, it is striking that he resorts to conventional terms and personal names exclusively in order to construe meaning. This might testify to the construal of high style diction and rhetoric by means of vocatives, which is displayed, for example, at the beginning of the play or when he tries to cope with the sight of the mutilated Lavinia. Aaron’s frequency of vocatives is relatively low (2.06), but except for emotion / mind, thought and specialised fields, he recourses to all vocative categories in order to construe meaning. Claudius’s address pattern is similar to that of Caesar in Ant. He uses mostly personal names, but no conventional terms, which confirms Claudius’s and Caesar’s high social positions. However, these results need to be treated carefully, as, in comparison to Hamlet or Titus or even Cleopatra, their vocative pattern also shows an insistence on a string awareness of that social position and role. Lear’s address pattern is as subtle as the play is in general. The relative frequency of his vocatives amounts to a high frequency of 3.39. It may testify to the emotional tension that is created by means of vocatives. In addition, in context, he positions his interlocutors most frequently by means of an EPITHET, although the number of specialised fields and personal names is equally high. Hence, in contrast to Caesar in Ant. or Claudius in Ham., Lear does not recourse to personal names most frequently, but to the category EPITHET, which gives evidence of the multi-dimensionality of meanings and also of a blurred sense of his own social position, as it is only in the first acts that he uses more personal names. Prospero in Tmp. recourses to all vocative categories. This fact gives evidence of the centrality of his character. Edmund’s relative frequency of vocative terms is lower than that of Regan or Goneril. He uses mostly conventional terms, others occur only partly. These results equally fit with his attempt to outwardly comply with the dictates of social decorum. Like Richard (and also Osric, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern), he attempts to hide his real intentions by articulately referring to the non-committal potential of conventional terms. This result is comparable to that of Iago. Iago speaks more than Othello in the entire play and is often correlated to Richard III, as he is also the epitome of evil. He uses quite a number of vocatives, yet their relative frequency is not as high as one would have assumed. It amounts to 1.7, which already hints at the subtlety of his vocative usage, as it does not comply with the general figure that is characteristic of his status. As such, one would expect the relative frequency of his vocatives to be in accordance with that of Osric or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, but it is closer to the figures of the protagonists, such as Hamlet or Cleopatra. Therefore, even though his pattern only displays a very high number of conventional terms, and though a comparably lower figure for all other categories positions him in the role of the upstarts Osric, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern, the general relative frequency is an indicator of the subtlety with which his address terms are employed.61 61. Iago’s use of vocatives is investigated in conversation with Othello in Chapter 5.2.2.

sum


character

0,21 0

0,07

0,84 0,03

0,24

6 0

2

24 1

7

1,64

0

0

47

0,24

rel. freq.

7

abs. freq.

Octavius

133

0

55 11

10

24 3

3

27

abs. freq.

2,24

0

0,92 0,18

0,17

0,40 0,05

0,05

0,45

rel. freq.

Antony

148

1

51 6

4

27 26

1

32

abs. freq.

3,16

0,02

1,09 0,13

0,09

0,58 0,55

0,02

0,68

rel. freq.

Cleopatra

23

0

7 1

0

3 0

0

12

abs. freq.

2,54

0

0,77 0,11

0

0,33 0

0

1,33

rel. freq.

Pompey

230

22

74 18

6

35 20

1

54

abs. freq.

4,06

0,39

1,31 0,32

0,11

0,62 0,35

0,02

0,95

rel. freq.

Titus

64

1

29 3

0

8 0

0

23

abs. freq.

4,03

0,06

1,83 0,19

0

0,5 0

0

1,45

rel. freq.

Saturninus

Table 6. Relative frequencies of characters’ general vocative usage and their share in the different categories

56

1

18 5

1

6 10

0

15

abs. freq.

2,82

0,05

0,91 0,25

0,05

0,3 0,5

0

0,76

rel. freq.

Tamora

58

0

8 4

3

10 4

0

29

abs. freq.

2,07

0

0,29 0,14

0,11

0,36 0,14

0

1,03

rel. freq.

Aaron


sum


character

0 0

0

0,65 0,22

0,22

0 0

0

3 1

1

2,17

0

0

10

1,09

rel. freq.

5

abs. freq.

Lavinia

97

21

23 2

1

16 5

0

29

abs. freq.

4,22

0,91

1 0,09

0,04

0,7 0,22

0

1,26

rel. freq.

Marcus

226

15

36 29

13

48 7

1

77

abs. freq.

1,95

0,13

0,31 0,25

0,11

0,42 0,06

0,01

0,67

rel. freq.

Hamlet

77

3

47 5

3

9 1

1

8

abs. freq.

1,89

0,07

1,15 0,12

0,07

0,22 0,02

0,02

0,2

rel. freq.

Claudius

38

2

20 0

5

2 1

0

8

abs. freq.

3,61

0,19

1,9 0

0,47

0,19 0,09

0

0,76

rel. freq.

Gertrude

52

0

1 0

1

1 0

0

49

abs. freq.

2,55

0

0,05 0

0,05

0,05 0

0

2,41

rel. freq.

Horatio


14

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

14

abs. freq.

4,39

0

0 0

0

0 0

0

4,39

rel. freq.

Guildenstern

43

1

0 1

2

3 0

1

35

abs. freq.

3,65

0,08

0 0,08

0,17

0,25 0

0,08

2,97

rel. freq.

Ophelia


sum


character

0 0

0

0,28 0

0

0 0

0

1 0

0

6,16

0

0

22

5,88

rel. freq.

21

abs. freq.

Osric

10

0

3 0

0

6 0

1

0

abs. freq.

1,47

0

0,44 0

0

0,88 0

0,15

0

rel. freq.

Ghost Hamlet

190

14

32 32

26

42 16

2

26

abs. freq.

3,4

0,25

0,57 0,57

0,46

0,75 0,29

0,04

0,46

rel. freq.

Lear

38

12

3 2

3

4 0

0

14

abs. freq.

4,62

1,46

0,36 0,24

0,36

0,49 0

0

1,7

rel. freq.

Cordelia

65

6

9 9

5

10 3

1

22

abs. freq.

2,26

0,21

0,31 0,31

0,17

0,35 0,1

0,03

0,76

rel. freq.

Edgar

43

7

2 5

1

1 0

0

27

abs. freq.

1,81

0,3

0,08 0,21

0,04

0,04 0

0

1,14

rel. freq.

Edmund


23

15

0 0

1

4 1

0

2

abs. freq.

1,33

0,87

0 0

0,06

0,23 0,06

0

0,12

rel. freq.

Fool

84

1

10 7

2

40 2

0

22

abs. freq.

3,32

0,04

0,4 0,28

0,08

1,58 0,08

0

0,87

rel. freq.

Gloucester


sum


character

0,2 0,2

0

0,41 0

0,14

3 3

0

6 0

2

2,04

0

0

30

1,09

rel. freq.

16

abs. freq.

Goneril

88

0

4 3

4

13 2

0

62

abs. freq.

3,4

0

0,15 0,12

0,15

0,5 0,08

0

2,39

rel. freq.

Kent

31

0

0 2

1

7 0

0

21

abs. freq.

6,19

0

0 0,4

0,2

1,4 0

0

4,19

rel. freq.

Oswald

32

2

1 2

2

4 0

0

21

abs. freq.

2,34

0,15

0,07 0,15

0,15

0,29 0

0

1,54

rel. freq.

Regan

15

0

5 0

0

3 0

0

7

abs. freq.

5,1

0

1,7 0

0

1,02 0

0

2,38

rel. freq.

Egeus

34

0

11 4

6

6 2

1

4

abs. freq.

1,87

0

0,61 0,22

0,33

0,33 0,11

0,06

0,22

rel. freq.

Helena


44

0

13 5

7

13 0

3

3

abs. freq.

3,42

0

1,01 0,39

0,54

1,01 0

0,23

0,23

rel. freq.

Hermia

50

0

21 4

8

7 1

4

5

abs. freq.

3,58

0

1,5 0,29

0,57

0,5 0,07

0,29

0,36

rel. freq.

Hermia


0,57 1,5 0,29

0

8 21 4

0

50

sum

3,58

0,29 0,5 0,07

0,36

rel. freq.

4 7 1

5

abs. freq.

Lysander

emotion / mind, thought EPITHET generic terms natural phenomena personal names specialised fields terms of family relationship

conventional

character

23

0

0 5 5

1 4 0

8

abs. freq.

2,16

0

0 0,47 0,47

0,09 0,38 0

0,75

rel. freq.

Demetrius

17

0

1 9 2

0 2 0

3

abs. freq.

1,06

0

0,06 0,56 0,12

0 0,12 0

0,19

rel. freq.

Oberon

13

0

0 1 4

1 1 0

6

abs. freq.

0,95

0

0 0,07 0,29

0,07 0,07 0

0,44

rel. freq.

Puck

50

0

3 16 0

5 21 1

4

abs. freq.

2,9

0

0,17 0,93 0

0,29 1,22 0,06

0,23

rel. freq.

Theseus

18

0

0 6 8

3 0 0

1

abs. freq.

1,66

0

0 0,55 0,74

0,28 0 0

0,09

rel. freq.

Titania


73

2

0 22 5

4 7 3

30

abs. freq.

2,64

0,07

0 0,8 0,18

0,14 0,25 0,11

1,09

rel. freq.

Desdemona

147

0

5 25 25

0 14 6

72

abs. freq.

1,74

0

0,06 0,3 0,3

0 0,17 0,07

0,85

rel. freq.

Iago


sum


character

0,64 0,08

0,4

0,67 0,48

0,06

40 5

25

42 30

4

2,93

0,08

5

183

0,51

rel. freq.

32

abs. freq.

Othello

14

0

2 0

1

3 1

0

7

abs. freq.

Caliban

1,04

0

0,15 0

0,07

0,22 0,07

0

0,52

rel. freq.

27

4

0 4

1

4 0

0

14

abs. freq.

2,7

0,4

0 0,4

0,1

0,4 0

0

1,4

rel. freq.

Miranda


124

4

28 18

11

29 6

0

28

abs. freq.

Prospero

2,64

0,09

0,6 0,38

0,23

0,62 0,13

0

0,6

rel. freq.



Othello uses all categories to construe meaning. The highest numbers appear for personal names and EPITHETs. As such, his outlook corresponds to that of Claudius, Hamlet, and Caesar in Ant., but is also in accordance with Lear’s. As such, one may already conclude that both characters’ insistence on being disappointed by the women closest to them, and their own continuous pre-occupation with themselves are construed by their use of vocatives. Caliban recourses to conventional terms and EPITHETs alone; his pattern of vocatives as well as their relative frequency echoes his curse to Prospero. The analysis of the relative frequencies and categorical patterns of vocative usage for all characters’ allows the following general conclusions. A relative frequency ranging between 1.5 and 2.0 testifies to the importance of a character and mostly to the subtlety and multi-dimensionality of the vocatives that are used. Furthermore, a specific outlook of vocative categories used construes a number of detailed social and interpersonal positions. For example, protagonists in the plays often use all categories of vocatives. For characters from a lower social status, mostly, a high emphasis is on conventional terms, which helps create the image of a character who needs to comply to the rules of social decorum. Nevertheless, these figures are interdependent ways into the contextual analysis of vocatives. In general, the figures alone testify to the enormous role that vocatives play in the creation of interpersonal, textual, experiential, and emotive meanings and create some characters as protagonists, others as adhering to social decorum, and still others as social upstarts. 4.2.5.3 Generic and social differences as construed in vocatives in R3 and other plays Table 4 also illustrates that the relative frequencies of vocatives used by the women in R3 is below that of Richard’s, despite their crucial function in continuously re-construing Richard’s role as vice. Anne’s amounts to 1.85, Elizabeth’s to 1.74, and that of Margaret to 1.6. In part, these figures may result from the women’s social status as queen and princess. However, mention has already been made of the fact that a relative frequency of 1.5–2.0 testifies to the importance of a character and necessitates to investigate the occurrences in context. The women’s distribution of vocative categories is partly different from that of Richard. Anne and Margaret use fewer conventional terms than EPITHETs, and Elizabeth employs the whole variety of vocative categories (except for emotion / mind, thought). Natural-phenomena vocatives and those that come from specialised fields are crucial in the address pattern of all three. The women in the play, as a group, use vocatives that, from the outset, are more emotive in character than those the men apply to their interlocutors. But in their individual distribution they differ from each other as well. For example, the investigation of Anne’s vocative pattern is suggestive of this claim, as the number of EPITHETs, of terms that denote specialised fields, and of natural phenomena are much higher than conventional terms. Queen Elizabeth’s distributional pattern stands in contrast to that. She uses all different vocative categories, and conventional terms dominate her corpus. As such, the vocative pattern construes her as a queen likewise. However, lord varieties most often appear within her address pattern, which, due to their high number in the play, alerts to her habitus as well as to her knowledge of social compliance, decorum and role-playing. While Elizabeth mostly uses conventional terms, these are not emotive in character. Queen Margaret’s fairly low relative frequency may result from the few occasions of appearance.


However, the figure of vocatives may also testify to the fact that, despite her curses and her vision of her still present importance at court, she has been outlived. Investigating relative frequencies and semantic vocative distribution of other female characters in the play, one is able to deduce that Anne, Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Margaret’s relative frequency is lower than that of other female characters. Considering all players in the corpus, the vocative figures for the female characters are higher than that of the men, and also their semantic distribution is different from that of the male characters. These results may construe both their higher emotionality and a certain need to acquire a social position. In addition, in the earlier plays, the relative frequencies of vocatives for the female characters are not as extensive as in the later plays. Table 6 illustrates that Cleopatra’s address pattern can be considered foregrounded, as the relative frequency of her vocatives is high (3.15). Similar to Richard, Hamlet or Prospero, she uses all vocative categories when she addresses her interlocutors. The relative frequency of Tamora’s vocatives amounts to 2.8, while that of Lavinia amounts to 2.1, which is still a high figure considering the fact that she is mute from the second act onwards. She uses conventional terms, personal names, terms that denote specialised fields, and vocatives denoting kinship relations. Tamora’s figure of vocatives creates the subtlety of her character, as it positions her near the top of relative frequencies displayed. Although Gertrude speaks fewest in Ham., the relative frequency of her vocatives is also striking, as it amounts to 3.6 with a very high number of personal names. Ophelia’s number is similar to Gertrude’s, but her distributional pattern is different, because she mainly resorts to conventional lord vocatives. However, more often than not these are modified by the deictic element my and interpersonal epithets. Cordelia in Lr. displays a high relative frequency: 4.6. Within Cordelia’s address pattern conventional terms and terms that denote family relationship are balanced. Yet, she also resorts to EPITHETs, vocatives that denote natural phenomena, specialised fields, and personal names. In comparison to that, the vocative patterns that her sisters employ are highly different from Cordelia’s, which again illustrates the extent to which vocatives in Shakespeare construe meaning. The relative frequency of the vocatives Goneril uses only amounts to 2.0, while that of Regan amounts to 2.34. Both sisters display a most high number of conventional terms. Even though also the other categories appear in their vocative patterns, their frequency is not as prominent. The fact that the number of their vocatives is more similar to that of the male protagonists renders their characters more foregrouded and worthy of a close examination as well. The habitus have been adjusted to superficially serve society’s rules. The relative frequency of Helena’s vocatives is much lower than that of Hermia, although she resorts to nearly all vocative classes in order to position her interlocutor. The relative frequency of Hermia’s address pattern is 3.42, but she uses mostly EPITHETs and personal names and very few conventional terms. Titania’s construal of the metaphysical fairy world is achieved by the use of vocatives. Even though the general relative frequency is low, she uses mostly terms denoting metaphysical specialised fields. Desdemona resorts to all vocative categories except for natural phenomena. The number is highest for conventional terms, yet her excessive number of emotive terms, which corresponds to that of Othello, should be noticed. Miranda’s address pattern is similar to that of Ophelia with a relative frequency of 2.69. She uses mostly conventional terms.


Several lines of interpretation are possible here: one is based on the fact that their relative frequency of around two should alert us. The other is that in general and especially for the later plays, the relative frequencies of female vocative usage are higher than those of the men, as they range between 2.5. and 4.0. The women’s use of vocatives other than conventional terms is a sign of higher emotionality. Furthermore, their use of formalised nearly frozen conventional terms is all the more elusive and sincere. Finally, more idiosyncratic frequencies and distributions of categories seem to govern the female pattern of vocative usage. To some extent, their patterns lead to those characters who belong to lower social classes. As will be illustrated, investigating the relative frequencies as well as distributional pattern of those characters that are often situated as lower in status (for example messengers, keepers, or servants to the kings and queens), one discerns not only a relatively high relative frequency of vocatives (around 5.0 on average), but also a dominance of conventional terms, which are restricted to lord, madam, sir, and lady vocatives. At least in terms of frequency, women are closer to those characters. This leads us to the following explanations: on the one hand, the women in the plays need to acquire a certain social position. Their vocative usage at least overtly illustrates that they are capable of social compliance. On the other hand, however, the higher average relative frequency for women also testifies to a higher interpersonal emotionality. Hence, it is impossible to explain these results via recourse to the fixed social positions of these characters. As will be argued, it is due to the character, quality and quantity of vocatives they use in interaction that these interpersonal meanings are construed. Even when a messenger recourses to conventional terms alone, the meanings do not necessarily have to be frozen. Notice for example the messenger’s dialogue with Beatrice in Ado 1.1. or Cleopatra’s attacks on the messenger in Ant. 2.5. In both cases the messengers recourse to conventional terms only – in the case of Ado to lady vocatives and in the case of Ant. to madam vocatives, which is higher in style and imitative of Charmian’s address to the queen – but they nevertheless construe interpersonally highly suggestive images of both the role of the messengers and that of the two women. In both cases, the messengers’ use of vocatives provides socially compliant behaviour as well as comic relief, even though in Ant. the topic talked about is much more serious for Cleopatra. In Ado 1.1.42, it is in the conversation with the messenger that Beatrice’s verbal wittiness is emphasised. The messenger’s “He hath done good service, lady, in these wars” (Ado 1.1.48) and “I will hold friends with you, lady” (Ado 1.1.91) certainly construe her in a higher social position. However, as has already been mentioned, the subtle meanings of lady may serve as an ironic comment on Beatrice verbosity and her alleged denial of Benedick. Notice also the change of vocative positions, which serves as one means for the characters to transfer different nuances of meanings, even though their social positions initially confine them to a restricted set of possible terms. While the final position in the latter vocative adds to the sincerity of what is said, the medial position of the former draws to Beatrice’s attention that Benedick has been successful and also indicates that her subversive remarks are superficial shells of banter and of a deeper feeling for him. In Ant. 2.5.25f., the messenger has to tell Cleopatra about Antony’s marriage. Despite the fact that the messenger is certainly compliant with the rules of social decorum, the figures are also suggestive of other interpersonal meanings, because the fact that he


recourses 19 times to the vocative madam, which amounts to a relative frequency of 8.5 is highly indicative. First of all, the messenger’s use of madam is imitative of Charmian’s constant use of it, which, within this circle, renders it foregrounded. The frequency of the term together with the position in which it occurs allows for interpretations of ironic meanings, warning, and smoothing tones likewise. At the same time, the messenger’s use of madam displays Cleopatra’s rhetorical and interpersonal talent as well. While the messenger in Act 2, Scene 5 continuously changes the position of madam as well as its intonational force, he is otherwise, yet also comically, limited as to the vocative set that is at his disposal. He needs to redress the highly face-threatening act to Cleopatra, who is moody, unjust, and jealous of Antony’s new wife as well as injured by Antony’s behaviour. Yet, what he does is bring out Cleopatra’s talents, moods, authority, and sense of honour and pride. The more madam vocatives he uses, the worse are her verbal (and even physical) attacks at an innocent messenger. The semantic and functional quality of the use of vocatives also construes interpersonal meanings of the so-called courtiers or upstart-crows, such as Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and Osric. The relative frequency of vocatives used by Rosencrantz amounts to the extraordinary figure of 4.0, that of Guildenstern to 4.38, and Osric’s to 6.12. In the tragedies, the overtly polite uses of these terms transfer a temporary and rather superficial comic relief. Yet, in their deeper meanings, the identities construed contain a rather cynical criticism of an over-elaborate and hyperbolic address behaviour that serves no other social function than social promotion and society’s appraisal. In the comedies, Dogberry’s attempt at making up with society’s rules is much more sympathetic and therefore wholeheartedly funny as his intentions are to please his superior rather than to promote himself. As such, Goffman’s (1967b) theatrical register categorises the same impulse. Identities as expressed and construed by the vocative are multiple and dynamic. The conceptualisation of interaction as theatre with social actors playing out different roles, is crucial if one attempts to investigate the small notions of irony, banter, sexual innuendo, and gender. The broad analysis of Shakespearean characters’ use of vocatives illustrates that quantitative figures as well as qualitative considerations construe the vocative not only as an important element as such, but also as a complex means of social intercourse, character interaction and constructions.

4.2.6 Vocatives of love and authority in Rom. Different clusters of vocatives in Shakespeare construe love and authority and can be expressed in an overt or covered manner. Romeo and Juliet use vocatives marked by an antithesis between epithet and vocative head in situations of inner turmoil. Romeo expresses his inner turmoil caused by love by means of vocatives in Rom. 1.1.176f.: “Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate, / Of anything of nothing first [create].” The vocative hate expresses feud and brawl, love refers to Rosalinde, who is a Capulet. The vocative structure as a nominal group, which is reinforced by O, the morphological marker of grief, and the antithetical construction between epithet and head, bespeaks the interpersonal and rhetorical force of the two vocatives: in a condensed, pathetic nominalization, Romeo expresses that his inner turmoil seems to him greater than that apparent


in the brawl taking place before his eyes. This strategy reverberates a construction also occurring in Sydney’s Astrophil and Stella 106.1: “O present absence!” (quoted in DuncanJones ed. 1998: 310). When Juliet is informed about Romeo’s murder of Tybalt her youth and temporary inner conflict as to how to evaluate Romeo’s deed is expressed and created by a similar vocative strategy of antithesis. By means of a highly amplified vocative, which occurs only once in the entire corpus, she refers to a part of the body as the seat of love and exclaims “O serpent heart, hid with a flow’ring face!” (Rom. 3.2.73) and Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather’d raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st! A [damned] saint, an honourable villain (Rom. 3.2.75–79)! This tirade of vocative attacks contains several foregrounded features. On the phrase level, the construction epithet head, with either one of them negative, testifies to her inner confusion: just opposite to what thou justly seem’st. In addition, her recourse to natural phenomena, hence, to the animals that were most despised within the Elizabethan world picture (serpents, ravens) in order to momentarily construe Romeo’s negative and false or hypocritical identity, reverberates Anne’s, Elizabeth’s, and Margaret’s construction of Richard’s identity in R3, even though recourse to the natural world of vocatives is an idiosyncratic trait of Juliet’s vocative pattern (out of 87 vocatives, 21 are natural phenomena).62 One may assume that this way of expressing one’s disgust is a mark of the female characters in the earlier plays. A similar observation holds for her use of metaphysical terms. Like the female characters in R3, Juliet employs saint and interpersonally negates it by means of the epithet damned, or she uses the vocative fiend as a head. However, what distinguishes her from the ladies in R3 is that her doubt in Romeo is only momentary. Her love is so strong and resolved that even in a moment of doubt, she needs to retain Romeo’s lovable and adorable qualities; hence her use of positive epithets and vocative heads. Within the framework of the entire play, Juliet’s vocatives as well as Romeo’s are creative love expressions. The idea of the vocative serving as a grammatical metaphor, which, due to its nominalised character, expresses new, less evanescent attitudes and positions of addressee and speaker, needs to be recalled. One has the impression that, for a moment, the vocative structure is much more effective to construe Romeo’s temporary identity than any other construction would be capable of. In addition, the rhetorical force of this enumeration of vocatives should not be underestimated, as it creates Juliet on her way to becoming a more mature woman-child. In addition, it emphasise the Early Modern importance of rhetoric. As an expression of real love can serve the Nurse’s occasionally banter-like vocative address in: “What, lamb. What, ladybird” (Rom. 1.3.3), which she also repeats when she thinks that Juliet is dead in Rom. 4.5.28. Lamb alludes to Juliet’s youth and the Nurse’s overrated view of having to protect her, but also shows the Early Modern reliance on animals and 62. These observations may be indications of the early publication dates of both plays.


trust in them. Notice, however, the extent to which the Nurse’s diction has influenced Juliet’s diction, as Juliet addresses Romeo in a similar way. Ladybird, which the OED quotes as a possible word for “light of love as well as sweetheart” (OED 2.) and as firstly used in Shakespeare, also testifies to her caressing and somewhat patronising tone. Nevertheless, the first occurrence of these terms foreshadows the deeper meanings of the vocatives when Juliet is apparently dead. Strikingly, the Nurse switches from her previous vocatives to the equally verbose, but socially upgrading use of lady “A man, young lady. Lady, such a man / As all the world – why, he’s a man of wax” (Rom. 1.3.75f.). The switch from the vocatives denoting natural phenomena to the conventional term lady somewhat clumsily aims at upgrading Juliet’s maturity as well as social status to get married to “the valiant Paris” (Rom. 1.3.74). At the same time, it is to stress the Nurse’s own capacity of applying her language to the occasion and vice versa. This socially decorous compliance is further problematised when one considers that, in this corpus, the status of lady as a vocative is certainly ambiguous. In Ant., it also transfers warning and authoritative overtones (Ant. 1.3.85). Lady Capulet’s address to her daughter is marked by a loving authority, which also characterises a mother who is anxious for her daughter to get married. Her “Tell me, daughter Juliet, / How stands your disposition to be married” (Rom. 1.3.64) reminds Juliet of both her mother’s higher social status, which bespeaks her authority, and also her loving attitude, as the personal name in the EPITHET vocative illustrates. As such, Lady Capulet’s use of vocatives for her daughter stands in contrast to that of her husband. As a family characteristic, the range of vocatives Capulet applies transfers authority and choler to Juliet. Expecting what is common to the Early Modern concepts of filial duty, Capulet gets completely enraged when he learns that Juliet is unwilling to marry Paris.63 Both in terms of quantity and quality, no other character in the play receives as many qualitatively marked vocatives from Capulet as does Juliet. Examples are “How now, a conduit, girl?” (Rom. 3.5.129), “And yet, ‘not proud’, mistress minion you” (Rom. 3.5.151), “Out, you green-sickness carrion!” (Rom. 3.5.156), “Out, you baggage” (Rom. 3.5.156), “You tallow-face!” (Rom. 3.5.157), “Hang thee young baggage! disobedient wretch” (Rom. 3.5.160), “Out on her, hilding” (Rom. 3.5.168), and “How now, my headstrong, where have you been gadding” (Rom. 4.2.16). Old Capulet’s recourse to natural phenomena (furniture) brutally degrades her as immature, foolish, and disobedient. Yet, the extremity of vocative meaning also testifies to his love for his daughter, as he cannot accept her non-filial behaviour. Mistress minion, for example, similar to the structure of the vocatives in Son. 20 and 26, alludes to both her youth and her duty to obey. She is his father’s mistress. When he addresses her as headstrong, he subconsciously realises that she has the same family characteristics as her father. In T. Thomas’s (1587) EModE dictionary, minion occurs with “gallant,” “gorgeous,” and “neat.” A minion is also a “darling,” a “wanton” or a “wantonness.” Hence, it is used as a term of endearment and to refer to social structure, but it may also contain the following connotations: an affected fellow (as in Florio 1598), and refer to outward appearance (Florio 1598). In Florio’s (1598) Worlde of Words minion is correlated with “gallant, pretty, fine, neat, decent [and] handsome.” Mistress appears most frequently in the comedies. Hence, here its use is marked. The collocation of mistress with you coincides with the general pat63. This causes even his wife to ask: “Fie, fie, what are you mad” (Rom. 3.5.157).


tern in which you is the more frequent form (U. Busse 2002: 116). As such, the negative interpersonal force of the term is strengthened. Green-sickness alludes to Juliet’s paleness, as is shown by carrion implying that she is as pale as a corpse, but also to her reluctance to marry, as green-sickness also refers to a disease of unmarried girls (Evans ed. 1997: 1128). Notice also the Prince’s authoritative, power-conscious and highly stylised attack on both Old Capulet and Old Montague in Rom. 1.1.81–83 and the fact that both patres familias seem to be enormously enwrapped in their mutual hatred of each other. They cannot stop quarrelling: “Rebellious subjects, enemies to Peace, / Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel – Will they not hear.” His tirade consists of interpersonally highly marked vocative clusters: a conventional term and two EPITHETs. The variety and rhetorical diction testifies to the seriousness of his imperative, almost to the extent that it foreshadows the tragedy of the end. Hence, his switch to the more down-to-earth and less decorous vocative in “you men, you beasts” (Rom. 1.1.83) further reinforces this idea. The vocatives’ crucial role in construing the authority of the speaker, while, at the same time, expressing love, trust and support becomes obvious in the Friar’s address in Rom. 3.3, after he has learned about Romeo’s banishment as a result of Tybalt’s murder. While in Rom. 2.3 the Friar in a banter voice mostly creates Romeo’s identity as that of an immature boy who loves, but whose feelings need yet to be accepted (see for example “pupil mine” [Rom. 2.3.82] and “young waverer” [Rom. 2.3.89]), in Rom. 3.3 the Friar employs – similar to Juliet – a strategy that bespeaks his inner turmoil at Romeo’s deed but which is then outwitted by his love for Romeo and his admiration for his uncompromising love for Juliet. He also uses vocatives that not only upgrade Romeo to a man – hence an uplifting towards responsibility and adulthood – but are also marked by antithesis. His “thou fearful man” (Rom. 3.3.1) and the assonance and alliteration in “thou fond mad man” (Rom. 3.3.52) amply illustrate the repetitive structure of this early play. The vocatives of real love between man and woman are most preponderant between Romeo and Juliet. Even though one might argue for the logical status of this conclusion, it will be put forward that through the use of vocatives the emotion of love between the interactants is construed. In their address patterns, all types of vocatives occur to express love, even though in Romeo’s and Juliet’s address pattern one can argue that the classes of vocatives that are inherently more emotional (natural phenomena, the metaphysical, and the emotion / mind, thought cluster) dominate from the beginning onwards. Mention has already been made of the fact that the number of emotion / mind, thought vocatives is highest in Rom. It is also interesting to note that the role of their personal names including their surnames plays a crucial and love-destroying force at first, but, later in the play, is elevated to a Romantic epitome of their pure and uncompromising love, which marks them as “a pair of star-crossed lovers” (Rom. 1.Pr.6). The emotional interpersonal potential of the vocatives in “good pilgrim” (Rom. 1.5.97), “pilgrim” (Rom. 1.5.102), and “dear saint” (Rom. 1.5.103) for Juliet are well described in Gibbons’ (ed. 1997: 118) annotations to the play: Romeo’s first words to Juliet begin a sonnet which Juliet shares and which ends in a kiss. The motifs of hands and pilgrimage are intertwined by the lovers in a series of conceits that advance courtship while exalting, purifying and intensifying feeling; the lovers are separated from the rest of the company in a special and quite new tone.


Romeo may choose the pilgrimage motif [construed by means of a vocative] in selfconscious play upon the meaning of Romeo in Italian, which Florio records as roamer, wanderer, or palmer. Even if the rather implausible suggestion that his masking costume is a pilgrim’s is dismissed, there is a private meaning for him in the conceit, since he feels himself, unlike his companions, dedicated to love and its service; the pursuit of the ideal is a journey to a “straunge strinde” and not without hazard.

Juliet’s construal of “dear saint” (Rom. 1.5.103) has to be read along these lines, even though she answers that a statue does not move whereas the saint may grant a prayer. These highly metaphorical emotional confessions of the lovers as well as Romeo’s and Juliet’s mutual attraction are foreshadowed, as soon as Juliet learns about Romeo’s familial background. Romeo’s and Juliet’s personal names as vocatives show how the allegedly negative potential of “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” (Rom. 2.2.33) becomes the linguistic as well as interpersonal and experiential epitome of their pure and uncompromising love. In this respect, it should be highlighted that the vocative form Romeo belongs to personal name collocations that occur – among others – most frequently in this corpus, namely 26 times and mostly spoken by Juliet. The vocative Juliet also shows a frequency of at least eight (see Appendix List 2). In addition, almost one third of the vocative Romeo as a personal name occurs in this scene, which testifies to the importance of the name in their establishment of love as well as to the fact that they need to clarify whether they will be able to surpass the difficulties that are involved with it. Juliet’s famous question “What’s in a name?” (Rom. 2.2.43) and her equally famous and frequently discussed answer “That which we call a rose / By any other word would smell as sweet” (Rom. 2.2.43f.) is often quoted as the poetic and literary inscription of Saussure’s concept of arbitrariness of the relationship between form and content. Yet, one may ask whether this is really what Juliet is hinting at, when she implicitly compares Romeo with a rose and explicitly states that “So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, / Retain that dear perfection which he ows / Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, / And for thy name, which is no part of thee, / Take all myself ” (Rom. 2.2.45–49). The passage is strewn with exchanges between name and word, which supports the view that Shakespeare calls a name, as a thing apart from a person, a word. No matter whether we deal with names or words, Juliet only describes the systematic Saussurean distinction, but also knows that contextual features, hence their connotations, their references, and their extensions, as well as their contextual features, cannot be ignored when language is used to construe identity and interpersonal relations. Hence, at this stage, her use of the vocative as a personal name explicitly construes everything that is part of the name Montague, especially the families’ rivalry and the logic complications of their relationships involved. When Romeo suggests the alternative vocative, which will later be a mutual vocative of emotion and love in “Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d: / Henceforth I never will be Romeo” (Rom. 2.2.50f.), Juliet maturely rebuffs this as an impossible solution. They have to accept their backgrounds. Therefore, Juliet’s explicit use of his personal name in “O gentle Romeo, / if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully” (Rom. 2.2.93f.), and her “In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond” (Rom. 2.2.98), surprisingly self-consciously warns him to be honest and not rhetorically playful. According to Adamson (1999: 546), the epithet gentle could refer to ornamental, armamental, and even religious eloquence. Here, the idea of su-


perficial rhetoric is present and parallel to the interpersonal allusion to Romeo’s qualities. The medial position of the vocative gentleman in “But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true / Than those that have [more] coying to be strange” (Rom. 2.2.100f.) socially upgrades Romeo and alludes to his position as a gentleman rather than to his family ties. Despite the ambiguous status of lady in this corpus, Romeo’s answer in “Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow” (Rom. 2.2.107f.) is socially and interpersonally reciprocal, because he also establishes her identity as his beloved lady. Juliet’s “sweet” in Rom. 2.2.120 and his “love” and “dear love” in Rom. 2.2.130 and136 are three expressions of their mutual established love, their sexual attraction and youth. But within this construal, Romeo’s personal name and its vocative-usage have now assumed a similar level. This reverberates Benedick’s almost exclusive use of Beatrice’s personal name as vocative, as soon as he has learned about her love for him. Juliet’s “Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed” (Rom. 2.2.142) is a beautiful and moving expression of the fact that Juliet has understood that words and reality, that is, the extra-linguistic world, invariably are one. She also illustrates language’s general and vocatives’ particular interpersonal destructive as well as creative force. That the name Romeo is now an expression of their mutual love, an endearment, becomes obvious in Juliet’s insistence on the vocative in Rom. 2.2.158 and 167 and her equation with Romeo as a falconer, who teaches the hawk how to go fowling secretly (Rom. 2.2.158). Secrecy, they observe, is Juliet’s need. The beautiful and heart-moving vocative “Romeo!” (Rom. 2.2.167) and his “my nyas”64 (Rom. 2.2.167), as a semantic and a metrical completion of the line, remind one of Othello’s purest though martial declaration of love to Desdemona, especially in the extent to which the interpersonal identities and images are invoked. Othello construes Desdemona as “o my fair warrior” (Oth. 2.1.182), Desdemona also more directly and frank uses a personal name and answers “my dear Othello” (Oth. 2.1.182). Romeo’s and Juliet’s recourse to both personal name and the natural world is literally more physical and probably more promising than Othello’s and Desdemona’s identity construction, yet equally abounding in sexual allusions and love. While Othello resorts to a sphere he knows best, the martial, and which carries high rhetorical value likewise, Romeo’s vocative usage here is probably even more romantic, but highly sincere and evocative of the outcome of their love. Wilson says the term nyas is apt both to young Juliet calling from her bedroom window and as Romeo’s reply to falcon-gentle (in Gibbons ed. 1997: 135). The falconer has only to climb to the aerie and it will be his. Only in her absence and when she seems to be dead, does Romeo address her by her personal name, “dear Juliet” (Rom. 5.3.101). Before, he prefers the inherently more emotional terms (see Rom. 3.5.5, 7, and 25), such as the vocative mentioned above or “sweet” (Rom. 2.2.182). Juliet’s emphatic and overly joyful “love, lord, ay husband, friend” (Rom. 3.5.43) in which “ay” serves as an intensifier is a youthfully impetuous declaration of love.65

64. Evans (ed. 1997: 1115) in The Riverside Shakespeare reads “niesse.” Nyas is from Gibbons’ Arden Edition (ed. 1997: 134). 65. If we compare Romeo’s declarations of love by means of vocatives to that of Paris, Paris’ expressions are stylised and less emotional. As if he were to construct a perfect wooing scene, his choice is marked.


To conclude, it can be argued that in context almost all categories of vocatives are able to express both love and authority. Romeo’s and Juliet’s address pattern of love testifies to a change of meaning and importance of the use of their personal names as vocatives. In addition, other vocative classes that are used are highly emphatic and emotive and prosaic in outlook and testify to the sincerity of and resolve in loving as well as to their youth.

4.2.7 “Sweet Smoke of Rhetoric”66 – historicising the use of vocatives in Shakespeare revisited 4.2.7.1 Rhetoric and the Early Modern socio-linguistic context This chapter highlights the relevance of the Elizabethan emphasis on rhetoric to the functional interpretation of vocatives in Shakespeare and goes beyond a frequently pursued rhetorical identification of different styles of different characters. In addition, as rhetoric is undoubtedly a social and a literary doctrine within Early Modern England, one would assume at first hand that the linkage of rhetoric and vocatives in a separate chapter highly contradicts the theoretical focus on the social and interactive features of language made in this study. For example, according to Adamson (2001a: 32), the groupings of styles into three basic types – a high or grand style, a middle style and a low or plain style – had been a central plank of literary theory since classical times and strong traditions had developed of linking each type of style with specific genres and characters.

Yet, this study pioneers in explicitly aligning aspects of rhetoric to the study and functional potential of vocatives in Shakespeare as another contextual approach to Shakespeare (Greenblatt 1988). Although the match between speaker and rhetorical style reflects a social doctrine as well as a literary convention, these matches and levels of rhetorical description may be used, and they construe or further enhance the dynamics of interpersonal vocative encounter both on the text level, and, as we shall see in Chapter 6, on the performance level. In Sidney’s Defence of Poetry, for example, in which he focuses on the need for a practical application of rhetoric, especially of Cicero and Quintilian, eloquence is the means by which speculation or thought leads to action (in Platt 1999: 282). Rhetoric allows the orator to embrace those to whom we are joined by social life and to instil in them a desire to perform socially significant deeds. Hence, rhetoric and the rhetorical role of the vocative bespeak a much broader range than has been argued so far: a linguistic tool, a method of self-fashioning, fashioning others as selves, and a staged problem construing what Greenblatt has called “the dramatic sense of life” (Greenblatt 1973: 44). The rhetorical vocative is neither only instructive nor harmful. It is both. Some further reflections on the role of rhetoric within the general EModE consciousness about the English language are necessary. Talking about EModE, one is immediately reminded of the so-called standardisation process in which the judgement about the best use of English was evolved (Adamson 1999: 539). It is beyond the scope of this chapter to describe in detail the four interlinked and 66. LLL 3.1.63.


overlapping stages, which Dick Leith (1997) identifies as being crucial to this standardisation process: selection, acceptance, elaboration, and codification. For the purpose of this chapter – to understand the Elizabethan emphasis on rhetoric and its relevance to the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare – it should be understood that the central concern is never purely linguistic, but almost always also social, as, in the 14th century, the choice of a preferred variant is based on a north-south distinction, on an urban-rural difference in the 15th century and, finally, in the 16th century moves into one between the language of the better sort and that of the morally degenerate persons. Yet, within this development, the process of standardisation can never be seen as merely a matter of communal choice, an innocent attempt on the part of society as a whole to choose a variety (Leith 1997: 31–57). According to Leith (1997: 37), the standardisation involves the cultivation by an elite – here the written standard is that used by the court in London – which does not consider an embryonic standard of language the most useful, or most widely used variety, but the best.67 The intellectual climate in which Shakespeare composes his plays is that of standard acceptance and elaboration. Therefore, the remarkable recovery of the English language at the end of the ME period causes fierce debates not only about the prestige of English compared with other languages, notably Latin, but also about its suitability for scholarly and literary work, about the adequacy of the language’s vocabulary, the merits or disadvantages of various methods of expanding the vocabulary. Hence, Shakespeare works at a time of enormous linguistic possibilities, freedom and a climate for experimentation, but, at the same time, must almost certainly feel the social and literary constraints or burdens.68 The outline of the various crucial preoccupations that characterised the standardisation process already anticipates the role of classical rhetoric, as part of the trivium, for literary, scholarly, public, and private areas of language production. In order to understand its role further, it is important to outline the changing attitudes towards Latin and English as suitable languages of literary and scholarly work and rhetoric.69 67. Notwithstanding this discernible process of standardisation, it has to be taken into account that EModE was, of course, not a monolithic language, but consisted of a large number of sub-languages (Barber 1997: 1). Irrespective of a particular time-span, EModE was as fixed or non-fixed as other formerly so-called vernaculars, because varieties in region, time, social usage, in the field of discourse and the context of situation existed (Lipka 1992, Görlach 1994, Baugh and Cable 1993, 2002). 68. Mention should again be made of the fact that Shakespeare made use of the usage. As such, the reader should again be referred to ideas of foregrounding of contemporary norms outlined in Chapter 4.1.5. 69. At the beginning of the EModE period (16th century), English is not held in high esteem in the eyes of educated people because French is highly recognised as a literary language (Barber 1997: 42). One of the strongest rivals of the English language is Latin, which represents the international language of scholarship and continues to do so throughout the EModE period (see Rissanen 1999: 189, Adamson 1999: 542, Blake 2002a: 15f). According to different sources from the 15th- and 16thcenturies, in contrast to Latin, English is seen as “brode and rude Englissch as is in ony place of Englond” (Caxton [1473–74] 1973: line 26), and for the most part in the early Tudor period it is a topos that the attitude to the language is apologetic. In addition, a strong tradition still sanctions the use of Latin not only in the traditional subjects of the artes liberales, but also in scientific areas such as the New Philosophy, which contained works by Copernicus and Bacon.


The apologetic nature of comments about the English language is strengthened by the “revival of learning,” the stress of humanism in which the universal currency of Latin as well as Greek and the authors, who had written in these languages, are considered the key to the world’s knowledge. The humanists’ focus on the “Golden Latin Age” (Adamson 1999: 544) focuses on authors who wrote between 100 and 19 B.C. (see also Adamson [1999: 542] on the meaning of the word classical). The 16th century sees the development of new methods of teaching Latin and English. They follow the classical rhetorical tradition (Baugh and Cable 1993: 204, 2002: 205) and Latin is equally dominant at the universities. Barber calls this attitude “the hostility to De-Latinisation” (Barber 1997: 43) and states that this resentment towards the English language turns out to be strongest in groups whose professional status rests on their learning.70 Others, however, underline that it is useful to have works of scholarship in English from which readers of all social classes can benefit. Within this framework, the deficiencies of the language are to be remedied by coining and borrowing new words, while the production of new works would equally enrich the language and give new meanings to the existing words (Barber 1997: 44). A search for a balance between the dualistic relationship of the superiority of Latin and the alleged inferiority of English is one aspect of what Leith (1997: 44f.) calls the elaboration on language in order to develop a so-called standard. It deserves mention in the context of this study because this affiliation between Latin and English is discernible not only in different areas such as the cultural life of the time, grammar, vocabulary, pronunciation, spelling, rhetoric, and style but it is also artistically used by Shakespeare in order to underline his dramatic/artistic purpose within these areas. Moreover, as part of the phenomena of growth in language, literature, and politics, a feeling of pride towards the vernacular is mirrored by extremely creative dealings with all aspects of language, beginning in the 1590s, and thus exactly beginning to emerge at the time when Shakespeare starts composing his plays.71 Barber (1997: 52f.) mentions Jones’s (1953) findings concerning normative conditions that made a piece of art to be regarded as eloquent. Jones observes that a language gained eloquence if there was a production of works written in it. The Elizabethan and Jacobean tendency to stress the importance of literature reinforces this development.72 70. Furthermore, against the use of English, it is stressed that learning would decay and that the incentive to learn the classical tongue will disappear. English is regarded as unsuitable for scholarly works due to its lack in expressiveness and its limited use outside England (Barber 1997: 42). While the use of Latin in scholarly work persists throughout the EModE period, only a certain amount of literature is written in Latin (Morus, Latin plays for performance, Latin plays by Spencer, Milton, Marvell). 71. Comparisons of English with other languages have mostly vanished. Instead, at the end of the 16th century, writers change attitude and start to defend themselves for writing in English, to criticise the dominance of Latin, as well as to extol the eloquence of the English language above all other languages (Görlach 1994: 51). According to Barber (1997: 51f.), the change takes place between 1575 and 1580. 72. Around 1580, especially the works by Sidney and Lily help underline the English eloquence (Barber 1997: 52). In the 16th-century, especially Shakespearean drama contributes to this process. One of the problems, which the vernaculars have to face at the beginning of the modern period, are the limitations of the English vocabulary. These deficiencies have for the most part been remedied by the time of 1580, because the vocabulary is clearly widened. This is achieved by Greek and Latin


Finally, reflection on the production of grammars73 and dictionaries coincides with this changed attitude to the English language. Since it is assumed that “to contribute to eloquence was the fact that a language was ‘fixed’ and ‘ruled’” (Barber 1997: 52), as were Latin and Greek, a pre-version of the 18th century linguistic prescriptivism slowly appeared at the turn of the century. The Early Modern discussion about vocabulary enrichment, copiousness (copia verborum), the emphasis on a correlation between one’s language and one’s social position or the quest for eloquent wisdom anticipate that rhetoric, as the art of speaking well, played a crucial as well as constraining role for Early Modern scholars, writers, members of the court, and those who wished to climb up the social hierarchy. All of Shakespeare’s plays draw on the resources of rhetoric. In Shr., for example, we find the revealing advice “Practice rhetoric in your common talk!” (Shr. 1.1.35), and it is the stylish LLL that most fundamentally capitalises the age’s love for rhetoric. In order to highlight the EModE relevance of the “sweet smoke of rhetoric” (LLL 3.1.63) to Shakespeare’s plays, many of the existing studies on Shakespeare (see, for example, Kermode 2001), however, have rightly identified numerous rhetorical devices, tropes and figures, and rhetorical strategies in the plays, but often, unfortunately, labelled their output as linguistic studies of the language of Shakespeare. In addition, these rhetorical observations have only rarely been aligned to the social and interactive features of drama in

technical words and those from other registers likewise. Due to the high esteem of the classical tongues and “the belief that words derived from them” (Barber 1997: 52), Latin and Greek borrowings are considered to contribute to the eloquence of the English language and are used when an English word could have been employed. While an exaggerated usage of Latin words is also criticised at the time (inkhorn-controversy), it is a commonly held view that this way of vocabulary enrichment is responsible for the increasing expressiveness of the language (Barber 1997: 52). 73. The tradition of Early Modern grammar writing began with Bullokar ([1586] 1977) only in the late 16th century. He wrote a grammar of English Short Introduction or Guiding. The plan was to regulate English by means of three works: a book on spelling reform, a grammar, and a dictionary. The English Grammar has not survived but, in 1586, Bullokar published a pamphlet for Grammar, which he says was an abbreviation of it (Barber 1997: 80). It heavily depended on the grammar of Lily. Other “grammars” from the 16th century are those by Mulcaster (1582), and in 1594, Paul Greaves’ Grammatica Anglicana, a little grammar, a long word-index and a list of Chaucerian words, written in Latin. The would-be grammarians in the 16th century were also concerned just as much with general pedagogical principles (Mulcaster, Ascham) as they were with codifying the vernacular. The vernacular was to compete not only with Latin but also with other European vernaculars (major problem was to achieve some form of standardisation of the orthography). Pedagogical predilections of the sixteenth century are echoed in the work of those writing in the first two decades of the 17th century. The use of grammars for this study is limited. This is not necessarily so because of the lack of grammatical treatises at Shakespeare’s time, but rather because, relying on Latin models, their character is that of word grammars, which deal with letters, syllables and words, and, in most cases, no mention is made of any linguistic unit larger than the word. This observation is, however, not intended to devalue their status, as EM grammars contributed to the standardisation process. The investigation of Lily’s ([1549] 1970) school grammar for some valuable comments on the vocative, for example, has revealed that there is no particular clue as to the function of the vocative.


general (see Magnusson 1999, Adamson 2001, and 2001b). Yet, questions about rhetorical style and vocatives are questions about the choice-making implicit in a writer’s language. Rhetoric is part of the trivium, which, next to the quadrivium, constitutes a major component within the artes liberales (Adamson 1999: 545). A sophisticated and meticulous art initially developed by the ancient Greeks and Romans to provide public speakers in council chambers, public ceremonies, and legal courts with a system of persuasive techniques for their audience, rhetoric, then somehow updated, also becomes crucial for the intellectual training and humanist education of poets, playwrights, or pupils at school. With the enormous Early Modern outpouring of largely practical books on the proper use of rhetoric and rhetorical devices, which are mainly based on the Greek and Latin classics, for example, of Aristotle, Cicero and Quintilian, it is difficult to overestimate the importance of these writers for 16th century England, Shakespeare, and his contemporaries. The medieval distinction between oratory and poetry is again abandoned. The persuasive and affective function of oratory as well as the enhanced conception of the orator’s role became crucial and transferred predominantly positive connotations (Adamson 1999: 547). Among the Early Modern rhetorical treatises can be named Thomas Wilson ([1585] 1969) The Arte of Rhetorique, George Puttenham (1589) The Arte of English Poesy, Henry Peacham ([1593] 1996), The Garden of Eloquence, John Hoskins (1599) Directions for Speech and Style (see Williams 1992, Adamson 1999). Some bequeath us with lists of figures, but all emphasise that the features of well-developed communication skills and eloquence are a base for the all-encompassing humanist education on which to build up workable social communities, civilisation, and governments.74 4.2.7.2 Wilson’s ([1585] 1969) Arte of Rhetoric and vocative usage The interrelationship between vocatives and rhetoric will initially be investigated within a larger picture of rhetoric outlined in Wilson’s Arte of Rhetoric (1553), which was probably one of the most popular and influential handbooks of its kind. Like other Renaissance rhetoricians, Wilson identifies three levels of style, “the great or mighty kind […] the small kind [… and] the low kind” (Wilson [1585 version] 1969: 169) Within these patterns writers think of the Ciceronian pattern of rhetoric as divided in five parts: inventio, dispositio, elocutio, memoria, and pronunciatio (Magnusson 2001b: 19). 74. At this stage, it is possible to refer the reader to qualitative similarities between rhetorical treatise, and courtesy literature, which do provide the best illustrations of the Renaissance preoccupation with the homo universale, the ideal courtier who unites characteristics ranging from ethical and intellectual virtues, military and sporting prowess, and linguistic eloquence. Brown and Gilman (1989: 202) rightly describe that “the primary goal for a courtier was to create a brilliant self that would arrest the gaze and compel admiration.” It is especially Castiglione’s ([1528] 1976) The Book of the Courtier which enjoyed a pervasive influence in Elizabethan England. Its translation by Sir Thomas Hoby appeared in 1561 and even before then, it influenced upper-class life and manners through books, such as Sir Thomas Elyot’s Governor ([1531] 1970). It may have served as a model for the growing Elizabethan drama, as “The dramatic form of colloquy in which the book was cast was the most popular of the literary forms at the time of the Renaissance” (quoted in Humphreys 1997: 18). In 1570, The Schoolmaster, recommended by the influential schoolmaster, Roger Ascham ([1570] 1967), appeared.


Invention is particularly important for the production of eloquent speech, because it offers tools for generating and developing ideas. Dispositio describes the effective arrangement and organisation of speeches. Memory and delivery are parts of rhetoric often given less treatment in handbooks, but they are clearly transferable to theatrical performance. To some extent, all these areas have to do with the logic structure of speech so that the rhetorical handbooks often provide a large arsenal of argumentative tactics (Magnusson 2001b: 19). This chapter focuses on the interaction between characters. According to Hunter (2001: 113), persuasion and logic are strongly interlinked, as, for example, in rational logic, an argument proceeds from point to point, and in syllogistic logic, we tend to find an “if-then” structure. Some methods of persuasion depend on different rhetorical figures to make them work. The technique of persuasion as construed by the use of vocatives is evident in JC. While Brutus identifies Mark Antony with the crowd, Mark Antony begins his address to the public by reversing Brutus’s address from “Romans, countrymen, and lovers” (JC 3.2.13) to “Friends, Romans, countrymen” (JC 3.2.73). Calling on them to first identify them as friends, Mark Antony also expands his list from one syllable to two to three – like a widening or embracing of the audience. Another example of argumentative vocative structuring is Claudius’s initial and immediately interrupted address to Hamlet: “But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son–” (Ham. 1.2.64). At first glance, the form, structure, and positioning of Claudius’s address seem to contain a certain amount of logic and rhetoric skill intended to construe both Hamlet’s identity as a son – rather than just a nephew to Claudius – and Claudius’s alleged sincerity. Hence, the vocative my son is placed at the end of this first unit. Yet, several linguistic and structural markers hint at the superficiality of this attempt. Firstly, we find an intended syllabic narrowing from two to one syllable. Secondly, the conjunction and that is part of the second vocative almost gives the impression as if Claudius has to argue this way without really wanting to. Finally, the over-elaborate usage of the deictic my transfers a slightly too possessive tone. Furthermore, it is commonly known that Hamlet’s “Not so my lord, I am too much in the sun” (Ham. 1.2.67) is a pun on the son-vocative. It is obvious that the actual and permanent identity Claudius bestows on Hamlet disgusts Hamlet. In Rom., Romeo woos Juliet with vocatives, such as “bright angel” (Rom. 2.2.26), or “dear saint” (Rom. 2.2.25).75 In contrast to this stands Henry V’s plain and cold usage of vocatives in the wooing scene (H5 5.2). Vulgarly announcing that “if you would put me to verses, I have neither words” (H5 5.2.132f.) or “but before God, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation” (H5 5.2.142f.) or “for these fellows of infinite tongue that can rhyme themselves into lady’s favours, they do always reason themselves out again” (H5 5.2.155–57), Henry V unpretentiously displays antirhetoric and uses only the personal name “Kate” (see H5 5.2.122, 133, 142, 153) to address her directly. It is one of the most calculated, and cold scenes in the entire play, in which probably Henry’s certainty of success is most shocking.

75. For Beatrice in Ado or Cleopatra in Ant., at particular stages in the plays, the non-use of address forms, hence the non-copiousness, seems to be their way of expressing feelings.


The copious vocative usage of characters, such as Polonius, Osric, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, construes aspirant, and calculating personalities. Mention has been made of the fact that these characters are created by their high relative frequency of vocatives used (see Chapter 4.2.5.3). Investigating Osric’s use of vocatives, we find that it is not necessarily the quality of different vocative forms, but rather the quantity of a set of vocatives, your lordship, sweet lord, sir, and my lord (Ham. 5.2.81), that construes him as a rhetorically articulate and confident speaker. Even though one recommended way of producing an abundant supply of words was to vary an expression by using synonyms (Adamson 1999: 547), Osric’s limited range of vocatives as well as his over-elaborate, unfitting, and mechanical or formulaic use of them create an overblown and artificial identity of himself rather than that one has the impression as if they were sincerely directed at Hamlet. Adding to this is Hamlet’s outwitting rhetoric as well. Style is that part of a structured piece of rhetoric which, after the material has been discovered and arranged, “clothe[s] it in suitable language” (Barber 1997: 72). Magnusson argues that “there is no doubt that it is style that gets the lion’s share of attention, reflecting both the Elizabethan’s special accent on this part of rhetoric and what most fired Shakespeare’s imagination” (Magnusson 2001b: 20). In addition, elocutio covers style in all its aspects and as such further invokes the doctrine of the three styles: high, middle, and low. A stylistic rhetoric in its more narrow sense often divides figures of speech in two types: tropes, or figures of thought, which translate words from their normal sense or usage, and schemes, or figures of sounds, which create ornamental patterns with words through repeating or transforming letters, syllables, or words (see Magnusson 2001b: 21). Note, for example, Holofernes’ irony involved in “What is the figure? What is the figure?” (LLL 5.1.64). Tropes identify some kind of transfer of meaning or substitution, such as metaphor, metonymy, irony, pun, and allegory (Magnusson 2001b: 21). All devices are figurative in the modern sense of the word. Schemes are figures in which there is no such transfer of meaning. They are divided into grammatical and rhetorical schemes. In grammatical schemes, there is some departure from normal grammatical usage: abnormal word order, the use of an aberrant form of a single word, the use of the wrong part of speech, ellipsis, parenthesis, breaking off a sentence and leaving it unfinished. In addition, rhetorical schemes involve no departure from normal morphology or syntax. They include the use of patterned language, achieved by various types of repetition: whole modes of procedure, praising, cursing, consoling, and set pieces, like the elaborate description of a person or a place (Magnusson 2001b: 21). Barber (1997: 74) presumes that the change away from formal patterning is reflected in a change in social consciousness, as the Elizabethan sense of order and hierarchy gives way to the political and intellectual turmoil of the early Stuart period (Barber 1997: 74). Lexical metaphors used as vocatives in the plays are numerous.76 Laertes’ “Rose of May” (Ham. 4.5.158), which he uses for Ophelia after her suicide, and Othello’s ambiguous “thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin” (Oth. 4.2.63) may serve as representative examples. Figures in general contribute to the idea of copia – the attitude expressed by Erasmus that “there is nothing more admirable or more splendid than a speech with a rich 76. See also Chapter 3.3.


copia of thoughts and words overflowing as on a golden stream” (Erasmus [1522] 1985: 11). Yet, the analysis of Osric’s vocative usage has already anticipated several mood points. One is that the dividing line between what Magnusson (2001b: 23) calls a “fine surplus of style” and “too much” is permeable. The other is that the exploitation of rhetorical modes not only contributes to the finding of language that is fitting for the people involved and the situation of speech, what the art of rhetoric calls decorum, but also, more importantly, construes experiential, interpersonal, textual meanings. In other words, it creates and describes interactive character and experience. Therefore, a discussion about the interplay between rhetoric and vocatives also has to investigate instances of non-elaborate language usage. A brief introduction to “low,” “middle,” and “high” style is necessary: The great or mighty kind, when we use great words, or vehement figures; the small kind, when we moderate our heat by meaner words, and use not the most stirring sentences; the low kind, when we use no metaphors nor translated words, nor yet use any amplifications, but go plainly to work, and speak altogether in common words (Wilson [1585 version] 1909: 169).

On the one hand, the Early Modern historically situated quotation echoes some of the most important theoretical underpinnings essential to this study: Bakhtin’s speech genres, the dynamics of everyday social intercourse, and language always being dialogic and situated in the social. Therefore, Bradford (1997: 1f.) is correct to suggest that rhetoric can be seen as one of the most notable predecessors of 20th century stylistics. On the other hand, Wilson’s threefold distinction of style hints at situational usage of language. For example, in Erasmus’s “On the Art of Letter-Writing,” Erasmus insists “a different speech or writing style must be addressed to different persons in different situations” (in Magnusson 1999: 64). Therefore, for him, decorum is offered as a very flexible principle that is not only based on the interlocutor’s rigid social position, but includes far more complex figures. A qualitative study of a passage from Lr. will illustrate the construal of social nuances and complex variables in vocative usage. Lear uses the following moving vocatives: You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o’th’ world, Crack nature’s moulds, all germains spill at once That makes ingrateful man (Lr. 3.2.4–9).

According to Adamson (2001: 35), the example is almost a copybook of the grand style. The genre is tragedy, the scene is one of tempest. In addition, Adamson (2001a: 36) mentions the direct address to the powers to destruct the world, which is often called an apostrophe, as another sign of the grand style. Certainly, within a rhetorical model of language analysis, it is possible to refer to the vocatives used here as another feature that contributes to the overall “grand style” of these utterances. Social dynamics of vocative usage interrelate with rhetorical considerations. Certainly, the novel compounds, and the use of borrowed and native words in thought-executing, vaunt-couriers, and oak-cleaving amount to an impressive reflection of the Early Modern prestige. In addition, all-shaking – combin-


ing the strangeness of the new word with the excitement of the new thought – and the personification of thunder carry similar meanings. Addressing the elements can be summarised as rhetorically marked indeed. It also makes sense to argue, as Adamson (2001: 36) points out, that in some rhetorical handbooks vocatives “are the direct expressions of the speech acts of summoning and commanding, which are speech acts closely associated with the grand style if only because they are typical acts of kings and rulers.” But the features of the grand style and the marked vocative usage in Lear’s address patterns construe Lear as desperate, on the verge of madness that, to him, there seems no other way out. It is the first time in the play that he addresses the elements. Adamson (2001: 40) also emphasises that the delay or denouement of the verbs in a periodic sentence contains the real strength of the clause, which gives singe, strike, crack, and spill the maximum impact. Adamson even offers a rearranged structure in order to illustrate the change in force and functional impact. She is correct to argue that the effect in the original is certainly most dramatic. A different, less classical and contextual perspective that lays its emphasis on the position, structure, and form of the vocatives used here may suport that the dramatic and tragic status of these addresses is almost as much due to them. Note the epithets, also noticed by Puttenham (in Adamson 2001: 40), of the vocatives. They are not only Latinate compounds, but also contain active agents like executing, cleaving, and shaking. The highly dramatic character of Lear’s address of the powers to the mere identification of these elements echoes what Keats ([1838] 1996: 832) has called “The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearean fruit” in his poem “On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again.” 4.2.7.3 Cicero’s Orator and its potential for interpreting vocatives in Shakespeare Alongside more socially situated interpretations of the three styles and vocatives a different way of looking at rhetoric is mentioned by Adamson (2001: 33): “Renaissance discovery (or recovery) of the link between rhetoric and forensic oratory, a link perhaps most influentially expounded in Cicero’s Orator” (Adamson 2001: 33). For Cicero, the three styles are different tools or strategies for winning debates in court or the senate house. The attractions of this view for the dramatist in general and for the rhetorical interpretation of vocatives in particular become even more apparent, if we look at how Cicero translates the three styles into dynamic and persuasive rhetorical strategies: “the simple style for proving, the middle style for pleasing, the vehement style for moving” (quoted in Adamson 2001: 33). Like forensic orators, dramatists also compete for the allegiance of their audience, and therefore canny style selection is a crucial and determining factor for the outcome of their speeches or writings. Hence, style is attributed a “dynamic role in shaping audience response” (Adamson 2001: 33). Vocative usage in Shakespeare’s plays can be peppered with these historically situated rhetorical tactics of moving, proving, and pleasing the audience. Chapter 6 will extensively deal with the emotive qualities of vocative and the relationship they may establish between actor and spectator. Lear’s address to the powers will certainly have moved the audience around him. In Ant. 1.3, Antony’s variance in address behaviour is both to prove his necessity to part, and to please Cleopatra. The scene displays a high proliferation of vocatives on Antony’s side as well as a high number of different vocative forms. In a broad sense, this scene resembles


some kind of trial at court, because Antony needs to convince Cleopatra of the necessity of his departure, while Cleopatra takes on the role of a judge. Of course, Antony’s continuous task in this scene is to prove his obligation, but, at the same time, to move and please Cleopatra in order to be given permission to leave. If we look at their patterns of address behaviour in this scene, rhetorical strategies involving moving, proving, and pleasing, are obvious. The most important stages of rhetoric – inventio, as the discovery of the topic, dispositio, arranging the material decided on, elocutio, the adornment of the style, memoria, the guarding in memory (Platt 1999: 273) – are apparent and construe Antony and Cleopatra’s vocative usage in this scene as a means of fashioning and mirroring one another as the protean, theatrical selves and others. As Proteus is the sea-god known for his ability to change shapes to avoid danger, it is Antony alone who tries to avoid danger, but in their mutual vocative usage both continuously change shape for themselves and the addressee. In this verbal fencing match, Cleopatra, at her best, is the moody, and seemingly jealous queen, who brilliantly outwits Antony’s rhetorical techniques and seriously questions his own view of his identity as a Roman soldier. Looking at the rhetorical implications of vocative choice, distribution, placement, and functions as well as vocative meanings, one may discern serious differences that bespeak and mirror gender differences in vocative usage, and differing identity constructions. Here are some general observations. Antony uses a few more direct forms of address, in order to persuade Cleopatra of his necessity to depart and to induce her to be subservient to him, but to also express his love for her. The number of vocatives Cleopatra uses amounts to six in this scene. Comparing the entire number of vocatives they use for one another, this scene can be called foregrounded. Yet, Cleopatra’s pattern construes a different semantic quality distribution and positioning. Antony’s consists of five queen-variations (dearest queen, most sweet queen, queen, my queen, my precious queen), one personal name (Cleopatra), which also occurs at the beginning, two lady vocatives, which are less polite and almost offensive, and the vocative best. Notice also that he uses two vocatival self-references “thy soldier, servant, making piece or war / As thou affects” (Ant. 1.3.70f.). Cleopatra’s vocatives are more abstract in content at first (“riotous madness!” [Ant. 1.3.29], and “O most false love!” [Ant. 1.3.62]), or refer to military contexts (“the greatest soldier of the world” [Ant. 1.3.38]). Nevertheless the proliferation is less numerous, but, as has been mentioned, increases enormously towards the end of the scene, when two instances of he conventional term sir, and courteous lord are noticeably used in one row of vocatives. In order to achieve his aim of convincing her and to calm his own guilty conscience, Antony switches vocatives not only in terms of content, but also with regard to positioning: initial and final vocatives either stress his sincerity or his authority. Recall also that Florio (1598) describes queen as the spouse of the king, which downgrades Cleopatra’s position. These triple meanings bespeak a similar vocative in Son. 20, “lord of love,” which describes the relation to the “master mistress” as being of double gender and double allegiance, feudal loyalty, or courtly love (see also Son. 26). The copia of this vocative – its amplificatory character and the intimacy and pleading tone – is piercingly destroyed by means of Cleopatra’s unreciprocal non-use of vocative. Notice also that the rhetorical bombast of Antony’s vocative – as a dispositio to set the tone of the scene – and Cleopatra’s immediate disillusion must have entertaining and


didactic effects on the audience as well, despite the seriousness of the scene. The brilliant rhetorical vocative repartees reach their first peak when Antony insists on the intimate personal relationship alone and uses her personal name Cleopatra, which epitomises all ontological creations that one associates with Cleopatra. Cleopatra rebukes this attempt with an abstract exclamation that accuses Antony of being a hypocrite, making a distinction between what he says and what he feels. “Riotous madness / To be entangled with those mouth-made vows” (Ant. 1.3.29f.) alludes to “Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart” (Tro. 5.3.108). Thematically, Cleopatra’s “the greatest soldier of the world” (Ant. 1.3.38) reminds one of Othello’s similar martial construal of Desdemona’s identity in “O my fair warrior” (Oth. 2.1.182). However, here the superlative form of the epithet greatest and the qualifying element of the world also subconsciously transport clear ironic overtones. In addition, the meaning of soldier in this context is equally ambiguous. Again, the double meanings should not be underestimated, especially in relation with the following the greatest liar. Cleopatra’s irritating identity construction finds expression in Antony’s withdrawal of intimacy with the choice of one of the least personal and almost attacking vocatives, “How now, lady” (Ant. 1.3.39). Antony’s renewed attempts to establish an in-group identity and copia in my queen (Ant. 1.3.59, 1.3.61) and “At the last, best […]” are met with another fresh outburst of insults: “O most false love!” (Ant. 1.3.62) and creates Antony as a Roman soldier only acting his grief. Antony’s own construal of “Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war / As thou affects” (Ant. 1.3.70f.), in which he clarifies Cleopatra’s own doubt about who he is serving in favour of the interpersonal to her rather than that to his country, is non-reciprocally, but rhetorically cleverly ignored by Cleopatra when she addresses Charmian instead. She further annoys him when she exclaims that Antony plays a “scene / Of excellent dissembling” (Ant. 1.3.79f.) and only makes it look “like perfect honour” (Ant. 1.3.80). In this example, Cicero’s observations and claim about the importance of speech reception, that the hearer determines its end, become obvious as well. As such, the variety of vocative forms used and the non-address testify to the fact that the vocatives’ protean or rhetorical role in Shakespeare create exactly that tension, which is at stake between philosophy and rhetoric, truth and persuasion: the tension between what is called “homo seriosus” and “homo rhetoricus” (Platt 1999: 279). The literal only seems single in meaning. If one accepts that, like language, selfhood can be shaped and manipulated, the vocative opens up this enormous possibility. There is nothing either good or noble but thinking makes it so. Malcolm’s description to Macduff clearly transfers these meanings, “That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose: / Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. / Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, / Yet grace must still look so” (Mac. 4.3.21–24). In Tmp. 4.2, Caliban is eager to please and move Stephano and Trinculo as well as to prove his sincerity, when he, in a highly elaborate and high style, addresses the two. The novel translation of rhetorical treatise into the role of vocatives in the plays has illustrated the vital historical dimension rhetoric may play for the analysis and interpretation of vocatives in Shakespeare if these are treated interactively and contextually likewise. The relationship between copia, non-copia, and indecency are permeable and dialectically and contextually dependent. Within the theoretical framework of this study, the idea of


decorum is somewhat misleading if one sticks to the idea that it is language fitting for the people or situations involved. To the same extent, language carries a dynamic of its own and as such is initially responsible for what we call identity construction. Rhetoric, then, plays a role within this functional attitude to language. It is that interplay between the functional and the rhetorical that furthers its fine nuances. In addition, the transference of rhetoric to the functional dimensions of vocatives has neither been pursued to stress Shakespeare’s genius in exploiting the various strategies and figures at his disposal, nor to illustrate the idiosyncracies of particular characters. Again, the main emphasis is on the vocative’s function as social exchange. At this stage, it is vital to mention the flamboyant Early Modern and even ancient criticism of rhetoric (Montaigne [1580–1589] 1998: 207). It is not a criticism a priori or per se, but one that turns against non-authenticity and artificiality, just for the sake of using it. Some contemporary comments on Early Modern texts criticise the predominant status of rhetoric, which can be reread not only in pamphlets produced by Shakespeare’s contemporaries, but also in classical treatise on rhetoric. The “inkhorn-controversy” (Görlach 1994: 129f.), and the change from an emphasis on the Latin language to that of the English language around 1585–1595 (Barber 1997: 53f.) can be correlated with this criticism of rhetoric. As such, the interpretation of vocatives in Shakespeare’s plays, that is, literary texts, moves between these poles of rhetoric as a necessary means of eloquent wisdom, on the one hand, and satire and irony, on the other. As a source for the critical, almost negating attitude to rhetoric recourse is made to Montaigne’s essays. “On Cicero” vehemently criticises men who employ beautified language to increase their social reputation (Montaigne [1580–1589] 1998: 129). Denying the superficialities of polite discourse, Montaigne stresses that in contrast to ornate rhetoric, his own style can be characterised as unpretentious and clear. Yet, in his essay “On Books” Montaigne further modifies this point of view. Even though he admits that in order to convince the judge there is a need to speak like Cicero, he hilariously denies the following: if someone wants to arise his attention, he loathes to be continuously addressed by “Listen, you people, listen” (Montaigne [1580–1589] 1998: 207). If one is eager to stress the Shakespearean genius at this stage, it is certainly because he can be called a decorous vocativer. This chapter illustrates that a revised view on the historical context in which Shakespeare produced his play is crucial to another historical linguistic perspective of vocatives. It is suggested that the Elizabethan emphasis on rhetoric is mirrored and construed in the use of Shakespearean vocatives in terms of the concept of style, and that of moving, proving, and pleasing.

chapter 5

“Language most shows a man: speak, that I may see thee.”1 – Vocatives in context 5.1 Micro- and macro-analyses of vocative representatives of the different categories 5.1.1 Preliminaries As a reminder of the subtleties and multi-dimensional meanings that can be transferred by the use of vocatives, the following extract from R3 serves as introductory material: Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honor for an inward toil; And for unfelt imaginations They often feel a world of restless cares; So that between their titles and low name There is nothing differs but the outward fame (R3 1.4.78–83). The explicit relationship between the use of titles to denote a person’s “outward fame” (R3 1.4.83) or social status and the farce and superficiality that lies behind it becomes obvious in this extract from R3. A similar criticism of socially conventional language usage and of an over-emphasised safeguarding of social decorum, which was so prominent a part within EModE courtesy literature (Bull [1967] 1976: 11), can be discerned in Hotspur’s claims on “a candy deal of courtesy” (see 1H4 1.3.251, 1H4 3.1.124 or 1H4 5.4.78). In Ado (2.1.48), it is also obvious in Beatrice’s attack at the very same verbal superficialities. The aim of this section is to illustrate the dramatic and contextual features of a selected variety of different representatives of vocatives. These will be set in correlation with many of the quantitative results gained so far. It will be argued that although all categories established here transfer core functions – for example, those from legal specialised fields construe a learned world or they position the hearer at this particular place – the different representatives of the categories may also cross boundaries and transfer and construe multiple or multi-layered interpersonal, experiential, and textual meanings at a time.

1. Ben Jonson (1640) “Oratio imago animi,” Ben Jonson (1640) Discoveries made upon men and matter and some poems (22 Oct. 2005) 具http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04/descv10h.htm典.


5.1.2 Conventional Terms as vocatives – “Titles of their glories”? 5.1.2.1 Gallants Some of the Shakespearean play-scripts contain interpretive guidelines as to how specific conventional terms should be perceived. In 1H4 2.4.277f., Falstaff exclaims: “Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you.” Here, Falstaff somewhat too joyfully implies that the vocatives gallants, lads, and boys are titles of true companionship, although the vocative-types lad and boy are not always used as indicators of true friendship, also when they are exchanged between Falstaff and Hal (see Chapter 5.2.4). Even though recent comments on this line take Falstaff ’s exclamation as a face-value example “of the language of endearment” (Crystal and Crystal 2003: 8) explicitly recognised by Falstaff, the contextual dimensions and the experiential as well as interpersonal qualities of these vocatives carry a potential for irony, sarcasm, and criticism of surface politeness, especially if we consider the trick that has been played on Falstaff. Furthermore, the enumeration of vocative terms that only carry outward politeness and flattery is overdone in its exclamatory tone. Even though Falstaff has caught a glimpse of Hal’s gradual loss of love for him, he is too wise a mentor and human being to indulge in self-pity or anger. Therefore, he explicitly resorts to address forms that carry multi-dimensional meanings. Recourse to a gallant-vocative from Ado further reinforces both the functions of friendship and in-group comradeship and irony likewise. In Ado 3.2.15, Benedick addresses Don Pedro and Claudio with the following vocative: “Gallants, I am not as I have been.” According to Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 465), the vocative gallant refers to a person of rank and to someone who is splendid, noble, and beautiful. Here, the vocative serves as a discourse marker to announce the change of tone, of atmosphere, and of his own personal well-being. Benedick, at least superficially, construes Claudio and Don Pedro as gallants because he wants them to share his joy in being in love. As interpersonal theme, the unmodified vocative, which only occurs four times in this corpus, adds to the sincerity of what he has claimed and tunes the recipient into a mood that shows Benedick being the light-hearted but also witty lover. From the point of view of speech function, his announcement of his change in the form of a declarative is also framed into a promise by the initial position of the vocative. The use of the unmodified vocative gallants is suggestive of the same friendship and lightheartedness. However, although Benedick’s change of identity, resulting from the trick played on him and Beatrice, is apparent, one can hardly refrain from arguing in favour of an additional construal of light-irony or reverse-banter, especially because it is the first and last time that Benedick addresses Claudio and Don Pedro by means of this vocative. Benedick seems to know about the trick played on him, but cooperates when he pretends not to do so, even though the overly joyful use of gallants may serve as a discourse marker to imply his knowledge. As such, it certainly adds to the comic element in the play, but also serves as another textual and interpersonal key to indicate that Benedick, despite his love-sickness, is still alert. Hence, although the vocative used here may carry indications of social structure, other interpersonal dimensions clearly dominate the interpretation of this vocative. In addition, Adamson’s (1999: 547) observation that the ideals of armamental and ornamental rhetoric are used when the term gallant is deployed, adds another

Chapter 5. Vocatives in context 293

multi-layered meaning both to Falstaff ’s and Benedick’s use of vocatives, which an Early Modern recipient would probably have noticed. Even though the vocative gallant alludes to a rhetorical brilliance that fits both Falstaff ’s and Benedick’s interlocutors, the users of these vocatives may also intend to express ironic and reproachful overtones. As such, the vocative gallant can also construe the identity of verbose, superficial and attacking amelioration of words rather than deeds. 5.1.2.2 Constable and neighbour If it is correct to argue that a reciprocal use of this or other vocatives between characters from a lower social status is common, then Dogberry and Verges’ low number of personal names when they talk to each other is striking. But Dogberry and Verges most frequently also exchange conventional terms for themselves and others, despite some occasions of personal name usage (see Ado 3.3.7f.), in which it is hardly possible to miss the irony behind the usage of the personal name, if we consider that dogberry is the fruit of a wild cornel or dogwood (Humphreys ed. 1997: 86). One of the conventional terms is constable, which, according to the OED (1.) is “the chief officer of the household, court, administration, or military forces or the King’s horses” (see also Cotgrave 1611). When Dogberry addresses Verges, “you, constable, are to present the Prince’s own person” (Ado 3.3.74f.), the use of the conventional term is not only a sign of the fact that they take their role hilariously seriously, but also indicates that they try hard to position each other at this social status and habitus of a constable, so that their official duty as well as their loyalty becomes even more obvious. In T. Thomas (1587) and Florio (1598), a constable is described as someone who has “the custody of wards,” as a “censor, a judge, a corrector and a reformer of policies and disorders.” Considering the fact that, in Ado, both – among others – disclose Don John’s evil deeds, they actually perform their roles as constables and need to continuously reinstate this position in order to gain strength. Within this framework, the rest of Dogberry’s speech – his linguistic muddles – construe him as a character that entertainingly attempts to magnify himself by an allegedly use of learned language. In this example, the medial position reinforces the urgency of the task to be performed as well as Dogberry’s somewhat desperate attempts to appear completely organised. The following vocatives can be interpreted in a similar vein: “Come, neighbor” (Ado 3.3.87) and “Alas, good neighbor” (Ado 3.5.40), even though the latter is clearly marked in this corpus, as it represents the single modified usage of the vocative neighbor. Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 765) describe the familiarity implied in the term and also paraphrase it as “fellow creature.” The intensity of Dogberry’s and Verges’ use of neighbor receives an additional nuance through a collocation that is given in Florio (1598), where neighbor co-occurs with “fighting under one standard, a helping neighbour.” The martial element that is added to their relationship reinforces their own sense of togetherness and importance of prohibiting evil deeds. At the same time, they over-estimate their own position, which somehow adds to the comic potential of their roles. Despite the fact that glossaries of Shakespeare’s language (Onions 1986) or other studies (Blake 2002a: 274) often describe the use of neighbor as a conventional address that is characteristic of a character’s lower status, the meanings that are transferred here can be simi-


larly correlated to Dogberry’s and Verges’ attempts to upgrade themselves. Yet, the general stylistic effect of Dogberry’s muddles is not only to display the comic in mistake making or in overdone communication or in their own funny upgrading, but also to bring about the happy outcome of the play. Magnusson (1999: 160) talks about the redundancies in Verges and Dogberry’s conversations. But although Dogberry and Verges clearly construe themselves, or are construed, as incompetent speakers, their use of address forms is partly responsible for the maintenance work that is necessary, in order to compensate for failures of speech reception rather than for failures of speech transmission; hence, Dogberry also uses a high number of conventional terms when he addresses Leonato. Even though he may not be in complete control of the messages he sends, he is still understood. Arguing in favour of redundancy if the speakers have already been identified is therefore problematic when Dogberry and Verges’ address patterning is investigated. As vocatives, constable and neighbour are forms of address employed among socially inferior characters. They transfer a complex range of functions, alluding to ingratiating, but also authoritative functions. 5.1.2.3 Patrician and signior Blake (2002a: 274) has rightly argued that different countries and historical settings demand an idiosyncratic corpus of vocatives. For example, in Tit., Saturninus addresses the patricians when he pleads for support: “Noble patricians, patrons of my right, / Defend the justice of my cause with arms” (Tit. 1.1.1f.). Certainly, the use of patricians testifies to the fact that the play is set in Rome. As such, this vocatival address occurs only three times in the play and the entire corpus. The line of vocatives in initial position – as interpersonal theme – creates not only the official character of the scene, but also the need for an urgent decision. In addition, Saturninus’s conversational strategy to recourse to the highly relevant social position of familial origin and primogeniture – patricians versus plebeians – cleverly construes their powerful identity as decision-making and influencing members of the senate.2 The early hard-word interpreters define several Latin terms by associating them with everyday titles or conventional terms familiar to 16th-century London. Bullokar (1616) mentions, for example, that tribunes are like knight marshals. Hence, the practice of explaining a word by giving a denotation that points to the world around oneself is significant an understanding of this passage. Bassianus, unlike Saturninus, uses terms common in Elizabethan homiles (Lancashire 1997: 14). According to Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 1059), signior is used as a conventional term among the Italians. It also appears in most of the comedies with Italian setting that are part of this corpus. Even though, in Ado, for example, the term shows mostly upward usage from socially inferior to superior, as is illustrated in the Boy’s question to Benedick: “Signior?” (Ado 2.3.2), it should be noted that corresponding to sir, signior can be assumed to have a generalised status when Shakespeare applies it. Even this example testifies to the fact that the boy’s application of the conventional term alone is not necessarily cooperative, because he does not utter a complete interrogative. 2. Additional examples are the twofold uses of tribune. Tribune has clearly negative connotations, as visible in Saturninus’s address to Marcus in Tit. 1.1.202 “Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell?”, and in Titus’s address to Marcus in Tit. 1.1.343 “No, foolish tribune, no.”


Signior occurs most frequently in a non-modified way, but we also find qualified signior vocatives that contain the following epithets: fair, good, gentle, good, most reverend, and gentle old. In MV 1.3.59 and 97, Shylock applies two signior vocatives to Antonio. Antonio’s active opposition to usury is said to be the chief reason for Shylock’s hatred (cf. MV 1.3.38–40). Shylock’s ”Rest you fair good signior” (MV 1.3.59) is also a signifier of over-elaborate politeness that only superficially construes him as what Cotgrave (1611) describes as “a Maister, a Land lord, a lord of jurisdiction.” Hence, the explicit identity construction of Antonio carries clear social and juridicial connotations. 5.1.2.4 Thane The use of the Scottish vocative thane plays a crucial role at the beginning of Macbeth, in which the witches establish Macbeth’s identity as the Thane of Glamis, and of Cawdor, and as such make future predictions of his social upgrading: “All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!” and “All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor” (Mac. 1.3.48f.). When Lady Macbeth uses the only example in the corpus of my Thane in “Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men / May read strange matters” (Mac. 1.5.62f.), we get another glimpse of her potential for invocating the evil. Her marked and highly idiosyncratic address3 is intended to stress not only Macbeth’s social position, but also the qualities that need to be displayed in the character of a Thane. In Scottish History, a thane was understood to be a person “ranking with the son of an earl, holding lands of the king, or the chief of a clan, who became one of the king’s barons” (OED 4.). Social position and a strong feudal affiliation also demand certain characteristic traits that would go along with it. However, here Lady Macbeth aims at more – socially and personally. Lady Macbeth’s use of Thane is part of a longer speech in which she starts to invoke the evil. She knows that Macbeth’s nature is “too full o’ the’ milk of human kindness” (Mac. 1.5.17), which implies that, in its radical signification, he is too natural, hardness is absent in him; he is squeamish, sentimental, and bound by traditional feelings. She needs to tune him into her plan and accumulate symbolic capital. As such, the deictic element in the vocative my already construes that he is hers and that it is her task to manage the murder. Despite her social compliance, Lady Macbeth’s insistence on Macbeth’s social position alone, as a thane rather than, more personally, as her husband, is suggestive of the character and identity of their personal relationship. While she, in their first mutual appearance, only resorts to “great Glamis” (Mac. 1.5.54), “worthy Cawdor” (Mac. 1.5.54), and “my Thane” (Mac. 1.5.62), he addresses her much more personally as “my dearest love” (Mac. 1.5.58). Hence, it is also in this contrast of vocative behaviour that these meanings are established. The somewhat overly preponderant use of conventional terms testifies to the fact that she attempts to construe him as the resolved, evil, self-centred murderer and usurper. The position of the vocative my thane is equally noteworthy in terms of the textual meanings it conveys. Firstly, it intensifies the illocutionary and perlocutionary force of the entire utterance. Secondly, it also retains Macbeth’s attention to what she has to say. From a general point of view, the clash 3. The other collocations that occur are more reverend and less personal: worthy thane (3), most worthy thane (1), and the qualified versions mentioned.


between the vocative behaviour of the two spouses already foreshadows that – if at all – Macbeth can be no more than the humanised version of a villain. Therefore, it may be concluded that despite the social usage of the term, context-related factors interplay and change the functional potential of the vocative thane from irony, banter, and flattering and erotic feelings to a sincere declaration of trust and devotion and social uplifting. 5.1.2.5 King One would think that the use of king and its variations construes only positive and interpersonal meanings of social hierarchy, decorum and devotion, as King is, for example, mentioned in Mulcaster’s (1582) list of hard words as a term denoting social rank. In the following section, especially those occurrences of king-variations that, in function, go beyond creating the rigid social hierarchy and display negative functions will be introduced. In R3 3.7.239f., Buckingham accepts Richard’s newly acquired status and exclaims: “Then I salute you with this royal title – / Long live Richard, England’s worthy King.” Here the use of king is not only familiar to us from official speeches, but also reinforces the deference and loyalty with which the vocative is uttered, despite the clearly formulaic structure of the personal name and conventional vocative enumerations as NG. Ironically, the vocative also reverberates Son. 25.1f.: “Let those who are in favour with their stars / Of public honour and proud titles boast.” However, for the recipient, the loyal tone that is transferred by the use of this vocative must clash with the fact that Richard’s smile is the smile on the face of a tiger. Even though Buckingham’s exclamation seems to be a suitable contextual commonplace, it is nevertheless one of the final wholehearted expressions of loyalty. In Lr. 1.1.180f., Kent uses the following vocative for King Lear: “Fare thee well, King; sith thus thou wilt appear, / Freedom lives hence and banishment is here.” The unmodified use of King in Kent’s final and undisguised address to Lear, which notably appears seven times in the corpus, carries impolite meanings. Although it is suggestive of Kent’s loyalty, on the one hand, it also transports his rage at Lear’s behaviour, on the other. Somehow, his final goodbye to Lear as King seems to clash with the use of a more emphatic and personal second-person personal pronoun thou, as King most frequently co-occurs with the personal pronoun you. Yet, here, it suitably reinforces the face-threat and warning, and also reminds of the attack of the utterance. Kent has been banished because of his socially noncompliant behaviour. Even though Kent refers to Lear’s social position as king, he does not accumulate symbolic capital, because he seems to suggest that Lear does not behave like a king. Hence, the vocative king epitomises Lear’s farce-idea to divide his kingdom, while, at the same time, retaining the privileges that are connected with it. Puck’s marked and idiosyncratic addresses to Oberon illustrate the extent to which the fairy world is construed by the use of the vocative. In MND 3.2.347, Puck addresses Oberon as “Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.” Here Puck construes him as the master of the fairy world by adding the qualifier of shadows to the vocative, which, in terms of structure and meaning, is clearly foregrounded in this corpus, as it appears only once. In this part of the Fairies’ story, Oberon and Puck have to bestir themselves in order to rectify the consequences in the lovers’ embroilment of the mistakes they have made in their attempt to end it. Puck is eager to excuse his mistake. As such, he takes the responsibility and seems to imply that Oberon, as the king of shadows, would never have made such a


mistake. At the same time, the world of magic is forcefully created as well. The medial position of the vocative represents not only a more sincere and serious attempt to plead for forgiveness, but also turns the imperative believe me into an indirect request, and as such emphasises Puck’s repentance. If king vocatives purport more relatively negative functions of irony and impoliteness or anger, the question comes up whether this potential can also be discerned for its female counterpart queen. 5.1.2.6 Queen, majesty and your grace The vocative queen is reserved for those female characters that have the status of a queen. In 1H4 2.4.391 we find: “Weep not, sweet queen,” where Falstaff employs queen for the hostess, but in her role as queen in the role-playing. Noticeably, in the corpus, this collocation only appears three times so that it is highly marked here. Falstaff follows the rules of social decorum. But, one may also infer that the term alludes to the Germanic noun quean, meaning whore (OED 2.), as the sexual implications that are transferred are clearly apparent. As such, the vocative also alludes to the comic element that is dominant in the play in general. The reconciliation between Titania and Oberon is also discursively marked, construed, and celebrated by a switch of vocative usage from proud Titania to queen and sweet queen. In MND 4.1.75, Oberon addresses Titania with the vocative queen, not only when she is asleep in ”Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen,” but also when she is awake in MND 4.1.85: “Come, my queen, take hands with me.” In Oberon’s address, sexual and erotic implications and overdone caressing are transferred. However, his address is also a funny vocatival queen-address to construe Titania’s identity, even though it certainly emphasises her fine qualities as well. Yet, the interpersonal and social upgrading from proud Titania to my queen and sweet queen carries clear gender-specific and ideological connotations that, from Oberon’s point of view, attempt to mark the hierarchical structures to be intact. If we again refer to one meaning of queen quoted in the EModE dictionary by Florio (1598), where queen is defined as “Reina, a Queene, a king’s wife,” then Titania is inaugurated into the position of the queen (of his heart), but again also construed as being dependent upon Oberon, her governor. Saturninus’s wooing of Tamora likewise contains a meaningful queen-vocative: And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, That like the stately [Phoebe] ‘mongst her nymphs Dost overshine the gallant’st dames of Rome, If thou be pleas’d with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride (Tit. 1.1.315–19).

Notice the complicated and highly amplified structural potential of the nominal group “lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, / That like the stately [Phoebe] ‘mongst her nymphs / Dost overshine the gallant’st dames of Rome,” which correlates with the stylised and decorous character of the entire utterance and is especially striking in light of his previous wooing of Lavinia. On the syntagmatic axis, this vocative only occurs once in this pattern, which further adds to the stylised and official character of the wooing scene. Furthermore, it also represents a male verbose falconer who sets claim on his valuable target. Hence,


both Oberon and Saturninus attempt to position their wives below their own social status,4 but both women (Titania temporarily, Tamora throughout the play) do not accept this positioning. Majesty, which may address both king and queen, is used 28 times in this corpus for male and female kings and queens (or kings-to-be) alike. In Ham. 4.5.21, Ophelia exclaims and spontaneously breaks into “Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark,” with her hair down. On the surface, Ophelia’s address positions Gertrude at her social position as a queen. However, the pomposity with which it is uttered, especially in comparison to her previous usages of conventional and less committal terms, such us lady and my lord, testifies to both Ophelia’s madness and her attempt to establish some kind of female bondage. This is especially reinforced by the fact that she alludes to Gertrude’s outward appearance by means of the epithet beauteous, which in Cotgrave (1611) contains specific allusions to the teint and collocates with pleasures that give a beautiful teint. In 1H4 1.2.17, Falstaff sarcastically attacks Hal with the following words: “And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art a king, as, God save thy Grace – Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none.” Majesty is a common term that is used in the 16th century for monarchs. According to Camden (in Kastan ed. 2002: 151), majesty becomes dominant in the time of the historical King Henry VIII. Your majesty came to replace or supersede your grace, which by the middle of the 17th century had disappeared from courtly behaviour. Falstaff acknowledges more than this terminological shift, as he already foreshadows that Hal’s expected position as a king will only be a social construct that does not include the virtues or characteristics of graceful and kingly behaviour, outlined for example in Mirror for Magistrates (Fürstenspiegel). He seems to imply that Hal will be unable to fulfil what what Kantorowitz (1957: 28) describes as the king’s two bodies – the body politic and the body natural, which need to be in perfect union. Interestingly, even though your grace is a form that seems to lose its meaning at the time when Shakespeare wrote his plays, there are still 98 your grace-occurrences in this corpus, which surpasses the number of your majesty forms. Hence, comparable to the use of you and thou and the generalisation of titles (Williams 1992), Shakespeare exploits these sources for his dramatic purpose. In addition, as has been stressed, Saul (1995: 864f.) points out that the historical Richard II uses prince and majesty as two expressions of his own verbal flattery and augmentation of his kingly status.5 To conclude, similarly to the functional dimensions of the king vocative, vocative forms such as queen, majesty or your grace go beyond conventional models of explanation and function as complex intertextual markers of irony, banter, impoliteness or subtle indicators of anger, friendship, and fear.

4. Saturninus always talks from above, and Saturninus is also a mountain from which the Romans threw traitors (Lancashire 1997: 16). 5. See also Chapter 5.2.4, for a more detailed discussion of this example. The same chapter also contains a discussion on the meaning of prince.


5.1.2.7 Dame, lady and mistress In Lr. 5.3.155, Albany addresses Goneril with the following words: “Shut your mouth, dame.” This vocative only appears three times in this corpus and has only 28 tokens in the entire corpus – a small number when compared to lady or mistress. The senses that are listed in Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 274) refer to a woman who governs, a woman beloved and courted, a mother, or a lady. Dame may also function as a term of contemptuous address. Böhm’s definitions further help illuminate the meaning in Lr. Böhm (1936: 61–64) argues that before the 16th-century dame could be used in the same way as lady, but from then on a broadening of meaning and pejorative meanings are evident. Salmon goes further and points out that at the beginning of the 17th-century the term’s meaning is degraded to “old woman” (collocation with partlet) (Salmon 1967: 53). Stoll (1989: 113) also mentions that dame carries pejorative overtones (see also Palsgrave 1530). The use of the vocative dame and the denotational content of the imperative quoted from Lr. do not evoke a scenario of frames that would be initially expected. The example illustrates that the meaning of dame has undergone a semantic change that implies disdaining and warning tones and also abounds in feelings of hatred at the addressee. The final position of this vocative further frames the imperative into a threat and construes an additional sarcastic voice to the utterance. Reverberating Albany’s “Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed” (Lr. 4.3.40), Albany seems to suggest that her alleged dame-like appearance and insistence on her dame-like qualities are nothing more than an outward farce which seems to testify to her evil character. In terms of co-occurrence with the personal pronoun set in the entire Shakespeare corpus, U. Busse (2002: 107) observes that five you pronouns dominate over three thou pronouns when dame is used. Nevertheless, within this set of the allegedly more neutral you, it is justified to ask whether the vocative dame not only frames the negative illocutionary force of you into new directions that go beyond that of the unmarked. In Ant. 4.4.29, Antony addresses Cleopatra as “Fare the well, dame, […] / this is a soldier’s kiss.” Even though this vocative is clearly ingratiating in style and testifies to the more positive and intimate meanings of dame, dame cannot only be seen as a marker of courtship and love (U. Busse 2002: 107) alone. Antony’s way of construing love and devotion by means of vocatives is often mixed with shades of social connotations that emphasise his own social position and superiority as a man, and as a Roman warrior. Here, in his explicit reference to his (former) military prowess in “this is a soldier’s kiss,” he also seems to allude to the more archaic meaning of dame, and hence Cleopatra’s duty of behaving like his/a dame and his beloved. Lady can construe flippant, ironic, deferential, smoothing, ingratiating, and loving meanings. These functions also result from the high frequency of this female term in the corpus. It occurs 137 times. The majority of cases are unmodified. However, if modification and quantification take place, the variety is enormous and highly interpersonally loaded. After the Ghost’s reprimand in Ham. Act 3, Scene 4, the conversation between Hamlet and his mother experiences another change in tone and strategy. Hamlet initiates the conversation with a conventional and superficial question about Gertrude’s well-being: “How is it with you, lady” (Ham. 3.4.115). The vocative lady stands in contrast to the usage of the terms of family relationship used before. On a superficial interpersonal level,


it does not indicate sarcasm or condescension, but rather deference for his mother. As he employs negative politeness strategy, he somewhat excuses his conduct before and places himself in an inferior position to that of Gertrude. However, his subtle attempt to question these power relations are obvious. The final placement of the vocative in the question adds an element of sincerity. When considered a discourse marker, the vocative and the personal pronoun you add to the impression that the conversation has finally reached a normal level. Yet, to Gertrude, who has not seen the Ghost, the question must seem totally out of context, as she is still convinced of Hamlet’s madness. Moreover, the vocative is equally sarcastic as well as offensive like all other utterances before. Hence, Gertrude does not deliver the second part of the adjacency pair question-answer. Instead she reverses the question and asks him about his well-being: “Alas, how is’t with you?” (Ham. 3.4.115). The switch to you, which is stressed, as this utterance is in blank verse with a stress on the final syllable, illustrates that Gertrude accepts Hamlet’s elevation of her and therefore she exerts her power as a mother and Queen to talk to Hamlet. You may be seen as an indication that the situation is serious, because Gertrude mostly uses the thou-form when she addresses Hamlet (Spevack 1968–80). Hence, her switch to you is highly stylistic. A collocation of lady with a negative epithet (a frequent phenomenon) is illustrated in the following example: “Naughty Lady, / These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin / Will quicken and accuse thee” (Lr. 3.7.37–39). This vocative appears only once in the corpus and it is a very courageous address that expresses Gloucester’s deep indignation and disgust at Regan’s disrespectful, brutal and murderous behaviour. For the recipient, the use of naughty with lady in relation to what has caused Gloucester to attack her by means of this vocative might seem to clash, as in Modern English the term is often applied as a playful censure. Yet, the adjective naughty is also an example of semantic change and narrowing (Barber 1997), as in EModE naughty transferred much stronger connotations of moral wickedness and viciousness (OED 1.a., b., 2.a., and 4.a.). In Palsgrave (1530), for example, it co-occurs with “not doing any good.” In T. Thomson (1587), naughty is used to explain the Latin adverb enormiter and correlates with “without measure, […] and greatly amisse.” It also co-occurs with past all hope and honesty and unlawful, and in sluttish foul and corrupt (Cotgrave 1611). Goneril first thinks of blinding Gloucester and so she, too, is incriminated in what Regan and Cornwall do to him later in the scene. The brutality of Cornwall and Regan is even more horrible, as they are guests in his house, and the violation of Gloucester’s beard suggests the same violation as by rape, because the beard is the male sign of wise maturity (Foakes ed. 1997). Gloucester uses the possible negative connotations of lady in interaction, and he adds the negative epithet naughty. In addition, both the interpersonal force of the vocative as well as the strategy to clash an allegedly positive vocative head with a negative epithet becomes obvious again. The structure of epithet and head is equally marked as foregrounded, as the deictic element is missing. The initial vocative as interpersonal theme also frames the declarative that is to follow into a rather attacking promise, as Gloucester foresees a punishment for this deed. In addition, the fact that this vocative completes the verse line that Regan has begun, so that additional prominence is given to the vocative not only typographically but also metrically, transfers it into a separate toneunit. Furthermore, the vocative correlates with the personal pronoun thou, the agent of


the material clause, which further emphasises the angry seriousness as well as the sincerity of what is uttered. At the same time, it downgrades Regan. Gloucester’s variations on lady in “Unmerciful lady as you are, I’m none” (Lr. 3.7.33) carries similar meanings. In Mac. 2.3.84f., Macduff addresses Lady Macbeth by means of a lady-collocation that is used four times in the corpus: “O gentle lady, / ‘Tis not for you to hear what I can speak.” She transfers an ingratiating, comforting, loving, though also authoritative tone with it. The initial position of this vocative further reinforces the seriousness of what is uttered. As such, it testifies to an Early Modern convention to protect women from evil, dangerous, or brutal deeds. Hence, Macduff tries to redress the news about Banquo’s murder by means of the vocative gentle lady, without knowing, of course, that Lady Macbeth is responsible for it. Gentle may refer here to both her social status as well as personal qualities. In the light of Lady Macbeth’s instigation of the murder, it seems to be a particular Shakespearean strategy to superficially stress the moral qualities of those who seem to be rated among the good, in order to further emphasise the farce to the audience. However, notice also the joyful, though subservient element that may be introduced by means of the vocative lady, even when uttered by a character of a lower social rank than his addressee. In the first scene of the first act of Ado, Beatrice’s conversation with the messenger is marked by a high proliferation of unmodified lady vocatives. The quantity of lady vocatives which the messenger employs amounts to a relative frequency of 8.5. When, in the final utterance of their conversation, the messenger’s deferential alertness culminates in: “I’ll hold friends with you, lady” (Ado 1.1.91), the use of lady not only is another example of making “curtsy” (Ado 2.2.48), which Beatrice so very much despises, it also adds a rhetorical dimension to the use of lady that is characteristic not only of Beatrice. The messenger constantly needs to retort Beatrice’s rhetorical talent in order not to be attacked by her. When women (of mostly superior status) apply the vocative lady to address their own sex, lady may reinforce ingratiating meanings as well as empathy. In Ham. 4.5.27, Gertrude addresses Ophelia as “Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song.” The epithet sweet forcefully adds to these ingratiating meanings and strengthens the tragic potential of the address. It is suggestive of Gertrude’s deep sadness and disparity of Ophelia’s madness. The head-vocative lady deters from Ophelia’s strange behaviour, as it explicitly positions her as a “lady of rank, valour and fine qualities” (see meaning of lady in Palsgrave [1530] and in the OED). The epithet sweet further reinforces the interpersonal potential of the vocative, since Gertrude refers to Ophelia’s agreeable smell (T. Thomas [1587]), her mode of behaviour, her attraction as well as outward appearance, as becomes obvious in W. Thomas’ (1550) description of the adjective sweet. Considering the fact that the absent-minded Ophelia sings a song, the epithet sweet alludes to what W. Thomas (1550) and T. Thomas (1587) describe as the sweetness of a wonderful voice and of language. As such, the vocative is to distract Ophelia from her heavy thoughts. And yet, since the multiple allusions in Ophelia’s song refer not only to the death of Polonius and his unsatisfactory burial or to Ophelia’s forlorn love for Hamlet, but also, ironically, to the queen who herself has not succeeded in distinguishing “her true love from another one” and in lamenting with “true love showers,” Gertrude’s sudden and explicit interruption of the ballad is indicative of the fact that she has understood these allu-


sions. As such, the vocative sweet lady also serves as a reminder of Gertrude’s and Ophelia’s female solidarity and love, which they have been practising so far, and expresses a sense of Gertrude’s irritation of Ophelia’s sudden criticism. The initial position of the vocative, which also helps form the question into both a threat and indirect request to rethink the reproach she sings about, corroborates this view. It adds sincerity, urgency and a sense of surprise to the entire utterance. These meanings receive additional force in Gertrude’s switch from sweet lady to “Nay, but Ophelia” (Ham. 4.5.34). This vocative is the only incident of direct personal name address uttered by Gertrude, but, when seen in correlation with the previous vocative, it functions as both a marker of in-group identity and also contains warning and authoritative overtones; almost as if she wanted to prevent Ophelia from continuing to sing the song, although she despairingly realises that Ophelia is about to lose her senses.6 The unmodified use of lady in Regan’s final address to Goneril “Lady, I am not well” (Lr. 5.3.73) is suggestive of contrasting and ambiguous interpersonal meanings. Firstly, it may be interpreted as a farewell to her sister, as the drink she has taken will cause her death. Yet, the lack of modifying epithets or qualifiers transfers more negative, somewhat warning, and attacking, but also resolved meanings to what she has to say. Especially if we consider that she is not well because her stomach is aching from a heart bursting with anger, the use of the vocative lady also testifies to the hopeless situation and the final resolution she has taken. At the same time, it expresses an attempt to finally invoke the fine qualities and social hierarchy they are used to. The vocative lady may also construe ironic meanings as well as sexual connotations. In Ado 4.1.98f., Don John addresses Hero with the highly marked “Thus, pretty lady, / I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.” For the spectator, Don John’s comforting words must sound especially superficial, ironic, and dishonest in light of the fact that he is responsible for Hero’s situation. In addition, the use of pretty, which appears only two times to modify the head of the vocative, its position as interpersonal theme, and its correlation with the more intimate pronoun thou intensify the temporary tragic element that is part of the play as well. Furthermore, it helps reinforce Don John’s wicked character, as it also carries ingratiating sexual implications, when he alludes to her beauty and the assumed promiscuity and adultery related to it. In Florio’s (1598) EModE dictionary, pretty collocates with country wench, girle, milke-maide, or lasse. Surprisingly, the rare vocative collocation of pretty and wench then carries subtle and socially downgrading connotations, and also construes Hero as an immature girl rather than a lady of rank. In Ado 1.1.111f., Don Pedro addresses Hero with the following vocative: “Be happy, lady, for you are like an honourable father.” Here lady, clearly alludes to the hierarchical structure that positions men in general and Don Pedro in particular above Hero, but also testifies to the light-hearted spirit that is so characteristic in Ado and sets the comedy in motion. Its non-amplified form also reminds the analyst of Antony’s warning and authoritative “I’ll leave you, lady” (Ant. 1.3.86). In Rom., Capulet announces a high festivity at the masque. Following the belief in the social hierarchy, he addresses the men first and three times by means of the com6.

For further information about the epithet sweet, see also Chapter 4.2.2.2.


mon and most frequent unmodified vocative gentlemen: “Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their toes / Unplagu’d with corns will walk [a bout] with you” (Rom. 1.5.16f.). His address to the women is, however, not marked by the reciprocal term to gentlemen, ladies, but by the use of mistress: “Ah my mistresses, which of you all / will now deny to dance” (Rom. 1.5.18–20). According to the OED (I.1.a.) mistress is “a woman who rules” or has control, “a woman who employs others in her service,” and “a woman who has the care of or authority over servants or attendants.” At Shakespeare’s time, it may also have transferred the following meanings: “a woman who has command over a man’s heart”; “a woman who is loved and courted by a man”; “a sweetheart,” and “a lady-love” (OED I.10. a). Reference to a mistress’ social position can also be found in EModE dictionaries, such as T. Thomas (1587) and Florio (1598). In Coote (1596), an additional religious meaning is transferred when an abbess is defined as mistress of a nunnery. Hence, Capulet’s use of address forms for the women at the ball transfers a festive jocularity, which may also include sexual connotations. At the same time, it illustrates that an attempt is made not to socially downgrade the female participants at the masque, but their admirable qualities and to stress their function of entertaining the men. However, the fact that mistress may be used to denote the head of a nunnery is also suggestive of connotations of willed chastity. In Ado, Benedick once names Margaret mistress, when the latter asks Margaret to help him “to the speech of Beatrice” (Ado 5.2.2). Here Margaret is addressed by the EPITHET “sweet Mistress Margaret” (Ado 5.2.1), which testifies to the fact that whatever Margaret’s conduct has been, every effort is made to re-establish her social position. Even though the collocation of the conventional term and the personal name to form an EPITHET is more frequent in the entire Shakespeare corpus, this vocative is highly marked, because of the additional epithet sweet and its single occurrence in the play. It may therefore be tentatively concluded that the use of mistress is a marker of high festivity, urgency and explicit and intended social upgrading of the addressee, in order to achieve something or to re-establish the character addressed. Mistress is used for all fixed social positions in Shakespeare’s plays. It co-occurs most frequently with you (72 times), while thou is only represented six times. In this example, Benedick’s use of prithee is marked in a twofold way – by its occurrence with the exceptional use of mistress and as a repetition of thou, the less frequent pronoun (U. Busse 2002: 116, and 289f.). Hence, Benedick’s ingratiating tone is highly foregrounded as well as ingratiating. 5.1.2.8 Madam When the vocative madam is applied to female characters, social functions are construed in dialectical dependence with other interpersonal and experiential meanings. Even though socially inferior characters, such as Charmian, for example, or messengers, frequently use this vocative for their superiors, the use of madam may nevertheless create interpersonal meanings that range from irony over banter to sincere devotion. Madam appears 240 times in the corpus, and, as such, represents the most frequently occurring female vocative. In the majority of cases, it is unmodified, which correlates with the EModE generalisation of titles (Williams 1992: 92). Unmodified usages in this corpus are characteristic of the messengers’ application of it and of those of the servants. However, the range of modification and qualification is equally noteworthy.


Hamlet’s address-pattern conceals the sometimes violent, ironic, sarcastic, as well as contemptuous comments he directs at his mother. From a socio-historical point of view, Hamlet follows the conventions of his time because, as Finkenstaedt (1963: 124) and Barber (1981: 168) point out, children were forced to meet their parents with obedient deference. However, with regard to dramatic constraints, Hamlet uses the expressions of deference to redress his conversational goals, as well as to transfer a mocking and sarcastic manner. It is striking that, for example, in the first act, madam as a marker of distance rather than social uplifting dominates Hamlet’s choice. Following the Ghost’s revelations, which lead to Hamlet’s feigned madness, madam is replaced by the mother vocatives which dominate the nunnery scene. As the scene is highly emotional, the term of family relationship emphasises Hamlet’s mental involvement in his mother’s fall. Yet, in the nunnery scene, he also presents the other side of his character – that of a moralist and scorner of pretence. Hence, self-assuredly, he introduces a new vocative, the conventional term lady. In the fifth act, when Hamlet has finally found his own identity, he chooses madam as well as the conventional term queen to indicate his love and forgiveness.7 In Lr. 4.7.8–11, Kent addresses Cordelia: “Pardon, dear madam, / Yet to be known shortens my made intent. / My boon I make it that you know me not / Till time and I think meet.” The vocative, which appears only four times in this corpus, is highly marked, and, due to the high number of madam vocatives in general, is an example both of the styles of Kent as an individual speaker and an inscription of his and Cordelia’s relative social positions. This utterance appears in Act 4, Scene 7 in which Cordelia is reunited with Kent and her father. For Magnusson, the relative social positions of the speakers are most obviously displayed in the forms of address – Cordelia is addressed as “Your Majesty” (Lr. 4.7.16) by the Doctor and as madam by Kent, Cordelia uses the pronoun thou in her address to Kent, while he addresses her using ‘you’ (Magnusson 1999: 149).

Even though Magnusson is right to see in Kent’s address behaviour an instrument of demarcating his and Cordelia’s social positions, she fails to realise that, as madam may be used in relatively negative or ironic terms as well, the sincerity of Kent’s tone and his resolved subjugation is partly construed through the explicit sincere use of madam in this example. He refers to her social position and her fine qualities, but also sees the need 7. In Ham., for example, madam is the most frequently used form to refer to women. It has a frequency of twelve (rel. freq. 0.040). However, it is only used to refer to Gertrude. Hamlet’s use of madam to his mother not only carries implications of respect and deference. He uses the term six times with a relative frequency of 0.069. His first usage of the term in “Ay, madam, it is common” (Ham. 1.2.74), and in “Seems, madam?” (Ham. 1.2.76) superficially underlines his inferior status and deference. Even with the use of the conventional term, Hamlet’s second example violates the CP because Hamlet indicates that her question is simply out of place. Hence, the second madam also implies condescension and contempt. Cotgrave’s (1611) definition of French singeotte contains the collocation of “foule slut.” Even the semantic range between the meanings of a lady of rank and a slut is hardly imaginable, Cotgrave’s allusion may be at least reverberating in Hamlet’s sarcastic remarks, which are also implied in Hamlet’s alleged interest when he asks his mother: “Madam, how like you this play” (Ham. 3.2.224).


to address her directly and socially compliantly. These meanings are also apparent in W. Thomas (1550), Florio (1598) and Minsheu (1599). It is a scene of acknowledgement in which Kent explicitly downgrades himself and rejects the upgrading acknowledgement of Cordelia’s generous remarks. According to Bourdieu (1977a), this is the sign of the superior: to reduce this distance would signal presumption or insolence to Kent. Ophelia’s usage of madam coincides with her inferior status, on the one hand, and with her natural intimacy to Gertrude, on the other. After Gertrude has wished her that she may be able to change Hamlet’s behaviour, Ophelia responds: “Madam, I wish it may” (Ham. 3.1.41). She has understood Gertrude’s utterance as an expression of empathy and honest support by a woman of a woman. Consequently, the term expresses her deference of Gertrude’s encouraging words. In this respect, Ophelia might be especially grateful, since, so far, the men important and dear to her have advised her to withdraw from Hamlet, and Hamlet, to whom she has given all the love she has been capable of, has renounced her. 5.1.2.9 Lord For the two conventional terms that occur most frequently in this corpus, sir and lord, it can be argued that in the earlier plays, lord construes the meanings which in later plays the vocative sir transfers. Therefore, in the earlier plays, there is still a higher number of lord vocatives, while those plays that are written after 1600 display a higher number of sir vocatives. Mention has also been made of the EModE tendency towards the generalisation of the two terms (Williams 1992: 92). Yet, despite the high quantity of lord-variations in Shakespeare, Blake’s claim (2002a: 278) that lord is a title carrying most neutral meanings cannot fully be corroborated for this study, even though sir (in contrast to my lord) is applied to characters from all social positions. In addition, the most frequently occurring collocation – my lord – does also not support this statement when seen in context. Some of the interpersonal aspects construed in the vocative usage from 3H6, which has been extensively discussed in Chapter 4.2.2.1, amply illustrates and recalls the stylistic potential of my lord. Richard: Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard? King Henry: Ay, my good lord – my lord, I should say rather. Tis sin to flatter; “good” was little better: “Good Gloucester” and “good devil” were alike, And both preposterous; therefore not ‘good lord’ (3H6 5.6.1–5). Remember that Henry explicitly prefers the vocative my lord to my good lord, not necessarily because my lord is more neutral (it appears 731 times in the entire corpus and as such seems to be frozen), but because it does not contain the epithet good, whose meanings, as he points out as well, have been turned to the contrary. Hence, the use of my lord alone carries clear ironic, if not negative connotations. This is even more so when messengers seem to redress their utterances. Even though the relative social positions of speaker and addressee are most obviously displayed in the use of my lord, especially if we assume that, according to the OED (I.1) or Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 669), a lord is “a lord,


master, ruler owner, nobleman, a peer, a prince,” they are not as completely frozen as one would assume. In Palsgrave (1530), lord is described in terms of social position and often collocates with expressions that refer to social structure, such as signory or domination. However, we also find implied allusions to the farce of being a lord, as in Palsgrave (1530): “He is not worth two pens all […] payed / and yet he kepeth a porte lyke a lorde.” These multi-dimensional EModE nuances are crucial to an interpretation of lord occurrences in the plays. The use of good lord also alludes to what Carpenter (1997: 117f.) describes as the cause of “good Duke Humphrey” of Gloucester (Carpenter 1997: 116). In the chapter of the quantitative usage of different characters in the play (Chapter 4.2.5), mention has already been made of the high relative frequency of conventional terms for Osric, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, some messengers, Dogberry and Verges, Polonius, or Horatio. If we resort to the characters from Ham., for example, there is, however, a difference in usage between the lord vocatives employed by Osric and those by Horatio. This can be inferred from a quantitative investigation. Horatio uses lord variations as vocatives 43 times in the play (rel. freq. 2.11) and Osric seven times (rel. freq. 1.961). Admittedly, the different nuances that are inherent in their usage of lord vocatives (which dominate the address pattern of both characters) are also construed by the way they are presented to the reader and spectator at the beginning. Yet, Horatio’s use of the term is always sincere, while the lord vocatives used by Osric construe him as a pragmatic aspirant, who does anything to comply with the rules of social decorum. The parody of the duffed hat connected with Osric’s usage of the vocative, my lord and sweet lord, which only occurs seven times in the corpus, can serve as textual support (Ham. 5.2.89–96). In contrast, Horatio addresses Hamlet with vocatives in which the sincere tone is always dominant: “The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever” (Ham. 1.2.162), “A truant disposition, good my lord” (Ham. 1.2.169), and “My lord, the king your father” (Ham. 1.2.191). Blake (2002a: 281) points out that there is evidence to suggest that the epithet in front of the deictic element, as in good my lord, was the norm when a suitor was trying to ask for a hearing from, attract the sympathy of or offer some excuse to, a superior (Blake 2002a: 281). In addition, Blake is correct to stress that in these structures 90% make use of good, which appears 57 times in this corpus, while dear (five times), gentle (four times), gracious (three times), and poor (only once), can be used as well. However, the construction sweet my lord does not occur in this corpus. In Ham. 1.2.69, neither of the three circumstances that are set up by Blake (2002a) can be transferred to Horatio’s usage, as his usage of lord-variations is always deferential and represents his idiosyncratic way of construing ingroup identity. This can be inferred from the positioning of the epithet in front of the deictic element, as it tunes us into the sincere statement that is given by him. Yet, considering Hamlet’s enquiry about Horatio’s reasons for leaving Wittenberg (Ham. 1.2.168), Horatio fails to comply with Grice’s CP, as he seems to evade a clear answer, but implicates that it was a service of friendship to Hamlet. Even though the use of good my lord is a forceful indicator of deference, Horatio does not want to achieve anything at this stage. The vocative expresses friendship and empathy and transfers a shade of irony that is not directed at Hamlet, but at the whole absurd situation. Blake (2002a: 282) also argues that similar nuances are transferred “by Ophelia when she enquires how Hamlet is” (Ham. 3.1.92), by Guildenstern when he begs Hamlet to


speak more appropriately (Ham. 3.2.295) and when he suggests that Hamlet’s answers are discourteous (Ham. 3.2.301), by Rosencrantz when he asks what is the cause of his illness (Ham. 3.2.324), and by Horatio when he begs Hamlet to be quiet (Ham. 5.1.262), or by Osric when he wishes to counter what Hamlet has said (Ham. 5.2.106). The examples Blake quotes illustrate that he resorts to the rigid social positions the characters inhabit, and to their sex and aspects of formal politeness only, in order to explain the structure of these vocatives and their functions in context. Even though Blake (2002a: 282) observes that there are three examples in Ham. that do not fit into the pattern of a petition (even though he certainly does not cite those refuted by this study, Ham. 2.1.70, 2.2.550, and 3.3.35), he assumes that in these cases “it may well be that this formula is used as a parting address by a subordinate to a superior or when a superior wishes to pay particular respect to an inferior.” But apart from Ophelia and Horatio, the characters that Blake describes to use good my lord vocatives in Ham. are those that overdo these rhetorical strategies in order to comply with social decorum. For Rosencrantz’, Osric’s, and Guildenstern’s good my lord usage, the quantity and quality deviates from that of Horatio (see rel. freq.) and as such construes them as obedient, socially compliant “upstart crows.” When Claudius uses the dear my lord structure for Polonius (Ham. 3.3.35), the play within the play has informed Claudius about Hamlet’s knowledge of the murder and has caused him to take further precautions, which he, of course, does not want to perform on his own. Claudius is aware of Hamlet’s potential for revenge and he may already assume that Polonius is in danger when spying on Hamlet’s talk to his mother. Therefore, his final “dear my lord” (Ham. 3.3.35) is foregrounded, especially considering the low number of conventional terms Claudius uses in general. It may carry grateful implications, but is also especially ironic in the light of Hamlet’s murder of Polonius. Hence, the cowardly excusing tone may be interpreted as extraordinarily calculating as well. While Hamlet expresses sincere and natural joy at his first meeting with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are only able to respond by means of an artificial as well as exaggerated use of “my honoured lord” (Ham. 2.2.222) and “my most dear lord” (Ham. 2.2.223). Social position is suggestive of the lord vocative variations that are used in the play.8 However, it is exactly this social compliance of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern which construes them as cowardly, insincere, and dishonest courtiers, who are neither rhetorically nor socially capable of being a match for Hamlet.9 In Ado 2.3.44f., “O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice / To slander music any more than once,” the comic element is inherent in the vocative used by Don Pedro. Don Pedro wishes to hear some music that Balthasar is unable to perform. Hence, he uses different address strategies to prevent himself from playing the flute. Lord clearly alludes to Don Pedro’s social status. The initial position of the vocative construes the urgency and sincerity of that request. 8. For example, Claudius uses it only once (rel. freq. 0.024), Gertrude four times (rel. freq. 0.280), and Guildenstern twelve times (rel. freq. 3.762). 9. In 1H4 3.2.147, good my lord is different in structure. Blake (2002b: 276) stresses that characters use it when they want to achieve something. It is the case in 1H4 3.3.92 or in Lr. 1.1.98, but not in this example.


In the exchanges between Guildenstern and Hamlet: “Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you” and “Sir, a whole story” (Ham. 3.2.296–98), Guildenstern uses the overpolite formula not only to initiate a conversation. He starts with the clearly elaborate and structurally foregrounded vocative, and uses the equally ingratiating vouchsafe, to stress his false sincerity and to turn the imperative into an indirect request. Hamlet ridicules both the indirect request and the vocative. Hamlet’s vocative is a counterpoint to that of Guildenstern, but the polyphony of meanings can only be inferred in an immediate interrelationship. The plain sir and the declarative are in syntactic correspondence to the first part of the adjacency pair question-answer. Yet, here sir, as will be elaborated on below, is used in an impolite and very ironic way: it is unmodified, and ridicules its over-polite predecessor. Gracious is used when the social position between addresser and addressee is characterised by a greater distance.10 Buckingham uses the epithet gracious to address Richard in R3 1.3.294, “Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord,” in order to reinforce their mutual understanding in mocking Margaret. The highly stylised use of gracious is particularly ironic here, because it refers not only to Richard’s high social position, but to him being fortunate, pleasant, sweet, soft, and gentle (see T. Thomas 1587). In R3 2.1.53, Richard’s “A blessed labour, my most souvereign lord” follows the king’s bloomy elaboration on the reconciliation of his family and his friends. This collocation occurs only twice in the corpus and only in R3, so that Blake’s observation (2002a: 276) that it is rare for a deferential form of address “to contain more than a single modifier” is correct. However, the overtly polite and ironic usage of my sovereign lord and its markedness when levelled against the inner- and outer-contextual norm is remarkable. The farce of politeness in the vocative to his brother Edward seems to indicate that Richard does not take Edward seriously. According to the OED (I.1.a), souvereign denotes one who has “supremacy or rank above,” or “authority over others; a superior; a ruler, governor, lord, or master (of persons, etc.).” Richard’s use of the overly static and stylised rhetoric has already been mentioned in Chapter 4.2.5.1. Here he tries to tune his interlocutors and especially the king into the music of feigned subservience by positioning himself far below that of his brother. Blake’s statement should nevertheless be modified because epithets in Shakespeare collocate with almost all representatives of the category conventional and not only with those terms. In Son. 57.6, my souvereign is used vocatively as well. It echoes a concept that has already been introduced in Son. 33.1, where the young man is compared with the sovereign brightness of the sun. In Son. 57, the word may have an ironical tinge, as the youth is a sovereign to the speaker only because of the latter’s devotion. Hence, these inter-generic links help to further intensify the ironic potential of the epithet sovereign in Richard’s vocative, because although the spectator is aware of Richard’s farce, his addressees in the play might at least be tempted to believe in Richard’s show. Alexas’ greeting of Cleopatra in Ant. 1.5.34 as “Sovereign of Egypt, hail” certainly pays her the most possible respect. Yet, the verbosity of the vocative due to its qualifying element of Egypt ironically restricts her power to Egypt alone, while at the same time stressing her queenly status.

10. Ant. 3.3.7, where a messenger greets Cleopatra, can be named.


When Blake (2002a: 276) further quotes Poins’ address to Hal, “my good sweet Honey Lord” (1H4 1.2.160f.), and argues that Poins is overusing the modifiers in an excess of politeness which may be a sign that he is not familiar with their deployment, it is problematic to talk about familiarity or unfamiliarity of a particular character with particular address formulae, as the characters are using language in interaction and language is not only uttered from within their individual selves. In addition, Blake fails to see the identity construing potential of this vocative for the speaker and addressee. Poins is construed as part of and appreciative of the tavern world, women, and the joyful joviality that goes along with it. When he asks Hal whether he would like to accompany the group to participate in another “pub crawl,” Hal’s leniency towards this life is created. Further clearly sexual implications are given in the following vocatives in 1H4 2.3.42, where Kate uses “sweet lord” to address Hotspur. In 1H4 2.3.73, Kate’s vocative “Hear you, my lord” is reciprocally followed by my lady. Hal and the Hostess (1H4 2.4.280) also imply these meanings in another reciprocal exchange of lady and lord vocatives. The sincere and devote use of a lord vocative is apparent in “Yes, my lord, yes” (Ant. 3.11.35), even though Antony does not seem to understand that he is addressing Eros. It is also visible in “My worthy lord, / Your noble friends do lack you” (Mac. 3.4.82f.), as well as in “My Lord, when at their home / I did commend your Highness’ letters to them, / Ere I was risen from the place that showed / My duty kneeling” (Lr. 2.4.27–30), and also in “The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever” (Ham. 1.2.162) or in “My fairy lord, this must be done with haste” (MND 3.2.378). In Ham. 2.2.191, Polonius addresses Hamlet with “What do you read, my lord.” The sequel to Hamlet’s famous und uncooperative “Words, words, words” contains what Blake (2002a: 274) would call a neutral form of a lord vocative. However, here the final position of the vocative adds special intonational emphasis to Polonius’s urge to squeeze any kind of information out of Hamlet, while contributing to the metre as well. The choice is therefore one of the most neutral, non-committal, but also highly revealing vocatives used. The address term is intended to further the sincere meaning of what is said. At the same time, it testifies to the fact that Polonius seems to be afraid of Hamlet and his verbal sarcasm. Hence, his cautious attempt to not only initiate the conversation, but also to lead it into the right direction starts by what conversation analysis would call the establishment of phatic communion. Certainly, Hamlet immediately destroys the effect.11 Richard’s “My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn” (R3 3.4.31), is part of a celebrated episode in R3. An atmosphere of normality is ironically built up, when Richard asks the Bishop of Ely for the strawberries in the garden. As such, the vocative aims at attention-getting and selects a speaker. However, positioned at the beginning of this utterance it also construes Richard’s allegedly normal and politically unimportant declarative into an indirect and polite request. Furthermore, the vocative as interpersonal theme represents a separated and foregrounded tone unit. In addition, the collocation of lord with the qualifier of Ely is not only a characteristic of a more formal and deferential address in 11. See also Ham. 2.2.248: “We think not so, my lord.” Further examples are Ham. 2.2.411f.: “If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well,” and Lr. 1.2.32, Lr. 1.1.25, Oth. 3.3.26, and Tit. 1.1.466.


the histories, but also, in a small-talk manner, transfers to the bishop that his strawberries are the best. However, the use of the vocative contributes to the dramatic importance of the episode, so that Richard’s infuriated entry (R3 3.4.58) construes a significant climax, and serves to enhance the importance of Hasting’s fall. Hammond argues that “Richard is role-playing too, trying to keep Hastings in his state of gulled complacency: the strawberries are a means to this end of dramatic characterisation” (Hammond ed. 1997: 339). Ophelia applies eighteen lord vocatives to Hamlet. This presents her as one of the most ambitious promoters of social decorum as well as of gender roles. Her syntactic categories are limited to questions and declaratives. While in the earlier conversational exchanges with Hamlet her placement of vocatives is much more varied, in Act 3, she resorts to a final placement which coincides with her use of declaratives. She only uses you when addressing Hamlet. Following a private expression of his true feelings in the love-letter, in public, Hamlet treats Ophelia as a complete stranger as well as an inferior woman. He brutally insults the shy and obedient Ophelia, when she enters the stage in Ham. 3.1.89. His conduct results from his disgust at female disloyalty and seductiveness, which he transfers from his mother to Ophelia. Thus, we find asymmetrical vocative and personal pronoun usage. It has already been stressed that, especially in this scene, Ophelia’s frequent usage of lord vocatives stands in contrast to Hamlet’s non-use of vocatives. To conclude, Hamlet’s emphasis on his superiority as well as his sarcasm and irony, and Ophelia’s conventional and deferential manner, which results from her inferior status as a woman and from her inhibited and obedient character, may serve as two dimensions that summarise the functions of the lord-vocative in Shakespeare. Ironic and sarcastic overtones stand in co-existence with those expressing anger, impoliteness, frustration, and also intimacy, subservience, and erotic connotations. 5.1.2.10 Sir According to Blake (2002a: 275), in terms of rank, sir is a universal form of address. 864 of the sir vocatives occur unmodified in this corpus, while 81 are amplified either by an epithet only or by a combination of epithet and deictic element. Multiple meanings of sir are suggested in the OED: the OED (I.1.a.) explains sir, for example, as “a distinctive title of honour of a knight or a baronet, placed before the Christian name.” Sir may also be used as a respectful term of address to a superior or, in later use, an equal – sometimes with additions as dear, fair, gentle, good (OED I.7.a.). The OED (I.6.b.) also mentions the use of irony and contempt or rated force when sir is used. In the standard glossaries of Shakespeare’s language, the focus is on the social usage of sir. In Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 1065), for example, reference is made to sir as a general form of address used to men of any station. It is listed in Mulcaster’s (1582) Elementarie, which might be indicative of the fact that, in the 16th century, the allusions to social structure alone were still valid. However, even at the time when Shakespeare wrote his plays, the generalised meanings of sir as applicable to all social ranks were well under way (Williams 1992: 92). When measured against the entire corpus figures, amplified sir vocatives are certainly marked. Mention has been made that on a scale of foregroundedness sir, in the earlier plays, is still more foregrounded than in the later plays.

Chapter 5. Vocatives in context

In Ant. 4.3.6, the soldiers use sir to construe formal, impersonal, but ingratiating meanings, as they prepare for the decisive battle: “Well, sir, good night.” Fried’s (Apel ed. 1995: 279) German translation, for example, is “Freund,” which testifies to the camaraderie among them. However, at the same time, the high proliferation of address terms in this scene, which also displays a switch from brother over sir to soldier, is additionally indicative of the tension that exists among the soldiers: they need to be attentive, as they take up their positions for the battle. The use of the hedge well that precedes the vocative as interpersonal theme also corroborates this view. Furthermore, the vocative forms create the soldiers as having more elaborated personalities than assumed. In R3 1.3.346, Richard provides the audience with another example of his moral perversity. We see him developing his evil intentions with great care and rhetorical skill. In his conversation with the murderers, he switches from an overly caressing “my hardy, stout, resolved mates” to “sirs, be sudden in the execution.” Even though Blake (Blake 2002a: 279) is correct to argue that sirs is used for characters of low social rank, this plural sir vocative has also multiple meanings. Richard uses sirs to address the murderers in order to encourage them, as well as to establish in-group-identity. Despite the generalisation of the term, the former meaning of it, which reverberate either the higher social status of the person addressed or his laudable and noble qualities, partly continues to exist for the murderer and Richard alike. As such, it is a clear rhetorical strategy of implicature. By positioning the murderers as sirs, their personalities as well as the task they have to perform are perversely upgraded as worthy. At the same time, the initial position of the vocative and its plain and unmodified structure, frame the imperative of the clause into an even more direct and facethreatening warning or threat. Richard knows not only about his brother’s rhetorical talent, but also about the intellectual limitations of the murderers, which might cause them to feel pity. Clarence applies a similar, though more emotional and honest strategy of upgrading, when he addresses the murderers as: “O sirs, consider” (R3 1.4.254). When Antony addresses Lepidus in Ant. 2.7.42 as “It is shap’d, sir, like itself ” to tell him about the crocodile in Egypt, the sir vocative additional adds to the ironic tone of Antony’s utterance in an otherwise festive atmosphere. The medial position of the vocative, which indicates a break of the utterance, also transfers clear indications of attention-keeping. In addition, it introduces a new topic as the vocative signals Lepidus that what he has to tell is serious, sincere, and important. However, it is also nothing more than a temporary marker of mutual likeness – hence the non-amplified and non-committal vocative. When Charmian addresses the Soothsayer with: “Good sir, give me good fortune” in Ant. 1.2.14, the use of the vocative in initial position is not only to establish a comfortable atmosphere, but also to enhance the warning tone of the imperative. He is only a good sir, in the literal sense of the word, if he will foretell her a good fortune – hence the parallelism between the creation of identity and good fortune. In Ant. 1.2.131, Enobarbus uses a non-amplified sir vocative to address Antony: “What’s your pleasure, sir.” The final vocative adds to the irritated or stressed tone of the entire question. Despite Enobarbus’s formulaic response, he seems to reproach his master of his unsteady non-Roman behaviour that is governed by his love for Cleopatra rather than by his ratio. As such, the sexual innuendo, which he further insinuates in the course of this dialogue, is already established by the correlations between your pleasure and sir.

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The cool, reproaching, moody, irritated, listless as well as probably also jealous tendencies that make him desert Antony are foreshadowed a few lines before, when he, arrogantly, though cooperatively answers Cleopatra’s questions “Saw you my lord” and “Was he not here with you,” “No, lady,” and “No, madam” (Ant. 1.2.80f.). More deferential, caring, devote but also excited meanings of a sir vocative are transferred when Eros makes use of them in “Sir, sir” (Ant. 3.11.34) and in “Most noble sir, arise. The Queen approaches” (Ant. 3.11.46). However, the final examples, which are characterised by what Blake would call repetition (2002a: 229f.), testify to an even more devote, empathetic, and sincere use of the vocative than the one first quoted. Antony’s realisation that he must now bargain for terms with Caesar causes him to be so lost in remorse that he is unaware of Cleopatra’s presence and fails to hear Eros’s questions; hence, Eros’s repetitive and devote, though enraged, and emotional use of the two sir vocatives. These are non-reciprocally answered, as the use of my lord, though fitting for Eros as a character, imply that Antony might be unaware of who Eros really is. It is the only time that he addresses him that way. In addition, the syntax which Eros and Antony use has changed in the course of the play. Here, especially Antony’s reply is suggestive of King Lear’s in his highest state of madness. Antony’s “No, no, no, no, no!” (Ant. 3.1.29) and the irritating use of the address formulae amply illustrate this similarity. Again, this testifies to the fact that my lord is by no means a neutral form. While Banquo’s usage of sir at the beginning of Mac. seems to transfer a more or less sincere tone in “Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear / Things that do sound so fair” (Mac. 1.3.51) and “Thanks, sir: the like to you” (Mac. 2.1.30), Macbeth’s usage in “To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, / And I’ll request your presence” (Mac. 3.1.14) appears clearly insincere, non-committal, false, and authoritative. These implications are also due to the medial position of the vocative. However, Banquo’s employment of good sir in correlation with the less emphatic you at the beginning of the question, which occurs most frequently in Banquo’s address pattern as a pronoun (Spevack 1968–80), may also add a shade of doubt and insecurity of Macbeth’s intentions. Like a musical counterpoint, the epithet good stresses Macbeth’s good qualities just at that point when Macbeth seems to plot his evil deeds or realises that there is a chance of gaining power. It echoes Othello’s constant and sincere emphasis of honest Iago. The recipient’s emotive reaction will be correlated to an immediate realisation of Macbeth’s evil deeds. As such, good sir functions as an interpersonal and textual marker to indicate the change in atmosphere, which is, at first, positive, high-spirited, and friendly, but then foreshadows the dark and evil spirits that set the tragedy in motion. In Lr., the declarative, which is uttered by Gloucester to address Kent, is marked by the following sir vocative: “His breeding, Sir, hath been at my charge” (Lr. 1.1.9). The acknowledgement of Edmund is the central issue in this exchange, in which Kent is the most active agent in the work of conversational repair. In Kent’s initiating question “Is not this your son, my lord” (Lr. 1.1.8), the final lord vocative might be seen as a linguistic element to redress the fact that by drawing attention to Gloucester’s neglect in this matter of introduction, Kent’s words themselves pose a slight threat to Gloucester’s face (see Magnusson 1999: 146). Yet, here the vocative construes the warning and admonishing character of the entire utterance, and seems to suggest that Gloucester should introduce his son and con-


tinue the conversation with Edmund as a participant. This line of interpretation also guides the analysis of Gloucester’s use of the medial sir. The indirectness and the volubility of Gloucester’s response need not necessarily be understood as a mask for his embarrassment. It will rather be suggested that the use of sir construes the ironic tone of an initially arrogant Gloucester. His alleged jocular apologies are reinforced by the use of the medial position of the vocative, which, as a separate tone unit, is outwardly intended to restrain the damage. Edmund’s final ”Sir, I shall study deserving” (Lr. 1.1.31) constitutes an exact compliance with the social etiquette. The initial vocative adds the sincerity of the tone, but it is here again that the use of sir alerts the reader to a careful interpretation of what is said. Similar meanings are conveyed in Edmund’s false and overly-emotional as well as ingratiating sir in Lr. 2.1.20: “My father watches: O Sir! Fly this place.” Similarly false and foreshadowing is Antonio’s “It is foul weather in us all, good sir,” allegedly deferentially uttered when he attempts to scheme Sebastian into another murder. In Lr. 3.6.22, Lear also addresses the Fool by means of a sir vocative: “Thou, sapient sir, sit here.” This vocative is uttered when Lear sets up the mock court. The vocative is not only suggestive of Lear’s “reason in madness,” but Lear is able to construe the fool as a sapient sir (his official role), even though he, in this scene, conceives him as somebody else. The alliteration between sapient and sir intensifies the Fool’s general position in the play, without Lear being aware of it at the moment of utterance. In Lr. 4.7.47, Cordelia turns to Lear and uses a sir vocative: “Sir, do you know me.” In Chapter 4.2.1.3 of this book, mention has already been made of Cordelia’s differing address behaviours when Lear is awake and when he is asleep. Magnuson (1999: 150) argues that “what Cordelia’s speech style expresses is not her personal coldness but instead a hierarchical relation intact.” Despite these social implications of sir, it should be stressed that Cordelia’s use of it is a most emotional and whole-heartedly serious address. Similar to Cordelia’s address is Miranda’s, which appears when she – be it cleverly or somewhat naively – pretends to be in doubt of Prospero’s status as her father in “Sir, are not you my father” (Tmp. 1.2.55). The initial position of the vocative testifies to the sincerity of the question and, in constituting a separate tone unit, further intensifies the urgency of the question and of a sincere answer to it. In the quantitative analysis of this study (see Chapter 4.1.5), mention is made of the fact that in Tmp., vocatives are not as highly numbered as in the tragedies. Hence, the use of the vocatives in general receives a foregrounded status when Tmp. is analysed. Miranda’s irritated question and the alleged socially compliant usage of the sir vocative seem to underline a certain naivety, but, at the same time, demonstrate that she has a good sense of the right moment and perhaps explicitly attempts to give an image of a naïve daughter in order to downplay the fact the she has understood more than her father assumes. As such, it is possible to argue that in interaction she is familiar with the appropriate rhetorical strategies that cause her father to continue telling about their pasts. Albany in Lr. employs a very negative use of sir at the end of the play. He attacks Edmund in the following way: “Hold, sir. – / Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil” (Lr. 5.3.156). No matter whether the clearly intimidating and brutal thou worse than any name is seen as a separate vocative or as a qualifier to sir, the meaning of sir is, in interaction, dramatically significant and stresses Edmund’s negative qualities. His evil character

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cannot be signified by any name. The final position of the vocative, which adds to the authoritative tone of the imperative and turns it into a threat, is additionally highlighted by the intonational emphasis it receives. It is given further additional emphasis by the second vocative that follows it, which also consists of the clearly emphatic thou forms. In Lr., the variant of sir “zir” (Lr. 4.6.235–41) appears. Often this “phonetic variant” (Ostheeren 1990: 127) is explained as a form of “a conventional stage dialect.” However, in Lr., Edgar’s conscious choice of this dialect can by no means transfer any comic meanings (as is the case in the parson Evans’ use of “The devil and his tam!” in Wiv.). Edgar puts on another disguise as a Western country yokel, in order to further the distance between him and Oswald, whom he knows to be Reagan’s and Goneril’s assistant. Notice that Oswald’s arrogant racism, which is constructed by the use of another conventional term, “slave” (Lr. 4.6.236), is intended to attack the beggar’s conventional address and downgrade his status, but, in its real meaning, both terms position Oswald as a social upstart and opportunistic servant and slave. The illustrative analysis of conventional vocatives in context has illustrated that the interpersonal, textual, and experiential potential that is inherent in any form of vocative from this category is enormous. Hence, the claim that so-called titles of respect only transfer a respectful attitude from speaker to hearer or are indicative of the dominant social structure in the plays can no longer be maintained.

5.1.3 Emotion / mind, thought and EPITHETs 5.1.3.1 Love and fury Terms from the category emotion / mind, thought are not high in number in this corpus. When love is used, its interpersonal meanings are usually positive. It is also the vocative type that occurs most frequently in this corpus. Macbeth’s “My dearest love, Duncan comes here tonight” (Mac. 1.5.58f.), which is Macbeth’s first emotional address after his reunion with his wife, has already been mentioned in Chapter 5.1.2 in relation with the sharp contrast it construes with Lady Macbeth’s less personal and emotional my thane. While Lady Macbeth alludes both to her husband’s social position as a thane, the qualities that need to be correlated with it and their plan to kill Duncan, “too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness” (Mac. 1.5.17), construes his personal and emotional attitude towards his wife as his “dearest love.” The effect of this vocative on the utterance as a whole is enormously emotional. The vocative transfers the illocutionary force of the declarative Duncan comes here tonight into an indirect request that seems to crave for comforting and encouraging words from Lady Macbeth. As such, her reply is cooperative, although it alludes to his social position alone. Hence, both the vocative head and the epithet are clearly interpersonal and emotive in force. Of dear Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 281f.) tell us that it denotes the quality of being “precious, valuable or worth, of beloved and cherished, of inmost and vital, and also of disagreeable affections.” In addition, Mulcaster’s (1582) Elementarie mentions dear. In T. Thomas (1587), it co-occurs with well-beloved, acceptable and favoured. Schmidt’s correlation of dear with disagreeable emotions may only be foreshadowed in this example. Constant reverberations of dearest and most precious by means of the vocative my love is


also obvious in Son. 40 and in Son. 56, where one assumes a personal-seeming address, but which may also refer to the emotion of love. There are only 54 occurrences of love as a vocative in the entire Shakespeare corpus (out of 1982 general occurrences), most of which appear in Rom.12 23 of these 54 occurrences occur with thou and 11 with you. In MND, Titania applies it to Bottom, which reinforces the comic element of the entire scene: “What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love” (MND 4.1.27). However, in comparison to Titania’a address pattern directed at Oberon following their reconciliation, this address is much more emotional and over-elaborate. Hence, one might conclude that Oberon and Titania’s neutrality bespeaks a certain coldness or banter that does not allow one of them to give in to the other or to give up his or her own positions. When Titus personifies fury in “Welcome, dread Fury to my house” (Tit. 5.2.82), his emotional state is clearly underlined. While in “Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song” (Son. 100.3) fury refers to the technical term furor poeticus, derived from Plato via Ficino (Duncan-Jones ed. 1998: 310), Titus’s personification clearly transfers negative emotions. However, reference is made to the limits of language, on the one hand, and the energies that a poet releases on the production of rhymes, on the other. Furthermore, this vocative seems to encourage Titus to revenge the brutal and homicidal attack on his daughter and his whole family, and to develop the madness that is needed to revenge the bloody deeds become apparent as well. Clearly, vocatives that are computed under the heading emotion / mind, thought inhere a highly moving functional potential, which links this category to that of EPITHETs. The category EPITHET is not mentioned in the existent studies on this topic (Salmon [1967], Breuer [1983]), but is essential to the qualitative and quantitative analysis of vocatives in this study. The EPITHET category contains all vocatives that immediately denote a quality of the addressed. Mostly, apart from a few exceptions, the types that have been subsumed under this heading occur only once or twice. The following sample material is to give a representative range of the functional potential of EPITHETS. 5.1.3.2 Truepenny Truepenny is used in Hamlet’s address to the Ghost “Art thou there, truepenny” (Ham. 1.5.150), and only occurs once in the entire corpus. It refers to an honest fellow (Onions 1986) or may denote the name of the trusty servant in Ralph Roister Doister and Other Plays (Jenkins ed. 1995: 225). Furthermore, a supercilious scholar also calls a countryman “old truepenny” (Jenkins ed. 1995: 225). Hamlet’s use of this term is somewhat mocking and ironic and might also cause surprising effects with the recipients, especially if we remember the Ghost’s authoritative display of personal names and Hamlet’s most emphatic and respectful vocative behaviour in the Ghost’s presence. The mocking familiarity by which Hamlet now addresses the Ghost continues the levity he would like to transfer in front of his companions. Yet, from a psychological point of view, it is also a sign of his starting to wonder if the Ghost may not after all be a deceiving devil, so that the concepts of doubt and scepticism, which are extraordinarily typical of Hamlet’s character, are introduced.

12. See Chapter 4.2.6.

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The use of the pronoun thou, which, despite its status as a frequent address pronoun to the supernatural (Yonglin 1991), is marked for Hamlet, as he uses it only for the Ghost, further underlines the emphatic functions of the vocative. To some extent, the question accompanying the vocative is turned into a rhetorical or mock-question as well. It makes fun of the Ghost and implies that, at this stage, Hamlet enjoys displaying his light-hearted mood. Here positioning and power structures are superficially obvious, as Hamlet pretends not to be afraid of the Ghost and of the tasks he has given him to perform. The final position within the question adds to the intimate arrogance. Furthermore, the exaggerated contrast in his mood depicted in the scenes before and now, as well as the tribute he pays to the Ghost when they are alone, foreshadows Hamlet’s doubts and the superficiality of this light-heartedness construed by the use of this vocative. When Blake (2002a: 276) explains the subtleties of the Ghost scene, he argues that Hamlet is not sure how to talk to his father. The complex interplay between situations, Hamlet’s own character, and social rules or positions, however, determine the meanings of truepenny: Hamlet is somewhat compelled to appear secure (also to protect his men), due to the responsibility he has been given by the Ghost. The interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings of the vocative truepenny also foreshadow Hamlet’s sarcasm and irony that is evoked in the other contexts. Certainly, his habitus underlines the different power structures. Yet, the conviction that he will be able to revenge his father’s murder is overrated. 5.1.3.3 Friends According to Blake (2002a: 275), the vocative friends “appears to have been generalised and is used in circumstances where friendship is hardly in question.” Blake quotes Antony’s famous address to the crowd at Caesar’s funeral: “Friends, Romans, countrymen […]” (JC 3.2.74). If one investigates this vocative in its contextual usage, Antony’s speech is preceded by a speech from Caesar’s assassin Brutus. Brutus’s words “Romans, countryman, and lovers” (JC 3.2.13) are marked by assertion, command, circular argument and tautology: all being weak logical devices for persuasion, because they are all self-justifying (Hunter 2001: 124). When Brutus introduces Antony, he identifies him with the crowd so that what Hunter (Hunter 2001: 124) calls the “persuasive force of this scene is largely to do with the way the speaker is presented, his ethos, and the response drawn out of the audience, or pathos” strongly correlates with identity construction of speaker and hearer, questions of effect, the emotive role of the audience and the like. In addition, these concepts also illustrate why Blake’s explanation model of the generalised function of friends cannot fully grasp the meanings of this vocative. Antony begins his speech not only by replacing lovers with friends, but also by reversing Brutus’s address from “Romans, countrymen and lovers” (JC 3.3.13) to “Friends, Romans, countrymen” (JC 3.3.74), construing their identities as friends first. Note how Antony’s list expands from one syllable to two to three, widening the community of addressers of these vocatives likewise. In addition, each vocative constitutes a tone-unit, which receives a special emphasis. The identification of the audience as friends is to establish common ground as well as in-group identity, which is further intensified by the use of proverbs and common knowledge. Antony plays with constructing a positive ethos and identity of himself as well as Caesar, but he also construes a negative ethos and identity of Brutus. The perlocution-


ary effect of this interpersonal creation of identity is construed in the crowd’s appreciation of Antony’s logic in “Mark ye his words? He would not take the crown” (JC 3.2.113f.) and of the Plebeian’s pathos in “Poor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping” (JC 3.2.116). Later in this scene, Antory summarises his view of the audience as friends again, which is also implicitly against Brutus as well. Hence, as he walks into the crowd, they call him “noble Antony.” When Hamlet uses the vocatives friend or friends to address either Polonius, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the players, or Horatio, the functional potential of the vocative is different. The first line of the first encounter between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and Hamlet initially seems to be marked both by sincere familiarity: “My [excellent] good friends!” (Ham. 2.2.224), but immediately assumes an ironic tone that is to warn Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of Hamlet’s alertness and his awareness of their falsity. This can also be inferred from the medial position of the vocative in “What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune that sends you to prison hither” (Ham. 2.2.239– 41). The illocutionary force of this vocative reminds them of Hamlet’s sense of friendship, honesty and trust. Hence, his use of the amplifying epithet good, which tunes us into the in-group identity marker with shades of irony, is to intensify this notion (see also Blake 2002b: 308). But, as a discourse marker, the vocative adds a warning tone to the question. The failure of the perlocutionary force of this utterance – to test Rosencrantz and Guildenstern’s loyalty – is immediately displayed in Rosencrantz’ reply “Prison, my lord” (Ham. 2.2.242). From then onwards, the conversational tone changes completely to irony and sarcasm on Hamlet’s side, which Rosencrantz and Guildenstern do not want to understand or are probably incapable of seeing. At the point when Hamlet repeats the use of friend in “Leave me, friends” (Ham. 3.2.387), the meaning of friends as an in-group identity marker has fully changed when applied to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, for they are not ironically construed as friends, but traitors of his friendship. Hamlet’s address to Polonius in “Friend, look to’t” (Ham. 2.2.185f.) similarly transfers biting and sarcastic meanings. Polonius is equally a traitor not only of Hamlet’s trust but also of that of his daughter. Polonius believes that Hamlet has just provided him with further evidence of Ophelia being the reason for his madness with his “Let her not walk i’ th’ sun. Conception is a blessing, but as your daughter may conceive – friend, look to’t” (Ham. 2.2.184–85), which reverberates the sun metaphor. At the same time, the utterance carries several allusions and shades of meaning that may instigate Polonius to the conviction that Hamlet loves. Yet, due to the heavy erotic innuendo, which might be common knowledge to the audience as well, Hamlet, as an adviser, wittily addresses Polonius’s ethos as a father and appears to construe both him and himself as friends. “[L]et her not walk in the sun” is obviously literally meant, in view of what the sun does to the other carrion. Figuratively, it may suggest keeping Ophelia away from public places and perhaps, with the sun being a royal emblem, specifically from the prince. After Polonius’s plan to “loose“ her (Ham. 2.2.162), the audience may appreciate the irony of this passage. “Conception is a blessing” carries double meanings that are necessary to explain the meanings of the friend vocative. Conception is the power of forming ideas in the mind and becoming pregnant (also used in Lr. 1.1. 11–12).

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Friend occurs 74 times in the entire corpus as vocatives, and there is a balance between the co-occurrence of you and thou (U. Busse 2002: 151–155). In Tmp. 5.1.121–23, Prospero authoritatively, though also intimately, addresses Gonzalo with the following words: “First, noble friend / Let me embrace thine age, whose honor cannot / be measured or confined.” Here the address is not of a more general force, but rather intimately conveyed. This is further reinforced by the co-occurrence of the vocative with the marked personal pronoun thou (as in the comedies you predominates). Notice that Prospero first refers to Gonzalo before he addresses his brother, for example. Hamlet has to instigate the players to perform The Murder of Gonzago. Hamlet’s appreciation of the players is characteristic of his trust in them, as construed in “Welcome, good friends” (Ham. 2.2.422) and in “Follow him, friends” (Ham. 2.2.534). This construal of their ethos and identity as real friends also alludes to the general role of arts or the humanities in his life. Furthermore, the EModE correspondence to the highly frequented, yet often condemned theatre life, also becomes obvious. Hamlet’s address to Horatio in “Sir, my good friend, I’ll change that name with you” (Ham.1.2.163) reverberates the initial vocative he has used for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Why does it seem more sincere? The doubling of the vocatives sir and my good friend testify to the emotionality of the situation and Hamlet’s joy about Horatio’s arrival. He, as a real friend, has come to visit him without being asked before. In addition, the initial position of the vocative further intensifies the sincerity of what is said. This interplay frames Hamlet’s suggestion to change the name of servant – for example, I am your servant – into another sincere answer. Alternatively, the name is that of friend (for example, friend, not servant is what we call one another). Note also that this vocative is preceded by a plain and honest use of a personal name as well, which construes Horatio as everything that Hamlet connects with the name of Horatio.13 5.1.3.4 Self-address Those vocatives that are used by different characters as a self-address are computed under the category of EPITHETs as well. For example, Ophelia’s “And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, / That suck’d the honey of his [music] vows” (Ham. 3.1.155f.) is uttered following the nunnery-scene. It amply illustrates Ophelia’s own view of her deplorable status as being abandoned by Hamlet. Usually, the structure of this kind of vocative self-address is the use of a pronoun, which is then further elaborated on by means of a qualifier. If we look at the qualifier in this example, we can see that it contains a highly amplified structure that consists of hyperbole and the hendiadys: deject and wretched. According to Schäfer (1973), hendiadys may contain a Germanic and a Romance term denoting the same meaning. Following Hamlet’s attacks, Ophelia’s situation is deplorable. The doubling of the epithets describes her status. Furthermore, she implies that, as the music of Hamlet’s vows was as sweet as honey, not only did she believe him, but she also soaked up every word he said. The imagery that is used in Ophelia’s construal of her ethos and identity is 13. In R3 1.4.162, there is no generalisation visible. There is a real purpose behind it Clarence’s address of the murderers as “my friends.” Similarly, see “erroneous vassals” (R3 l.4.195) and “good friends” (R3 2.3.18). See also R3 1.1.18, where the King addresses other members of the gentry as “friends.”


based on natural and musical phenomena and as such is suggestive of what Tannen (1990) would call a more female-like register. Furthermore, Ophelia, fully aware of her role as a woman and alleged wife-to-be, as described in Courtesy Books, where the role of the woman is not only to give birth to children but where she is also responsible for the control of the men’s emotions and deeds (Müller-Oberhäuser 2002: 44f.), is thrown out of balance by Hamlet’s behaviour. Due to the lively picture that is construed via recourse to these images, sexual innuendo is heavily apparent here as well, even though Ophelia is frequently interpreted as a chaste and young woman. According to Partridge, honey may refer to the “sweets of sexual pleasure” (Partridge [1947] 1968: 122, Williams 1997). This highly emotional self-address foreshadows Ophelia’s tragic potential for madness as well as her complete distress at Hamlet’s behaviour. Unfortunately, these feelings are not alleviated by Claudius or her father. The past participle in Lear’s “while we / Unburthend crawl toward death” (Lr. 1.1.40) is an appositional vocative. The EPITHET unburthend in correlation with the use of the pluralis majestatis “we” exemplify the dilemma within Lear’s habitus, personality, and also hints at senility in earlier scenes that is to cause the entire tragic dimensions of the play. Even though the use of the pluralis majestatis can be considered appropriate for a state occasion, Lear overtly construes himself as the king in power. In addition, the introduction of the idea of death adds an ironic note, as Lear’s actions would have been seen as if to guarantee future strife rather then prevent it. However, at the same time, no matter whether Lear is seen as frail or as serious about his description to crawl towards death, unburthen’d only implies that he no longer wishes to be in charge of all the responsibilities of a king, even though he still behaves like one.14 In the present study, pronouns are summarised under the heading of EPITHETs because they contain a qualitative statement that is most obvious in the distinction between you and thou. Often these are used if the name or social position of the addressee is unknown or when negative, disdaining functions are meant to be transferred. In Lr. 2.1.63, Gloucester, who has been trapped into Edmund’s scheming against Edgar, expresses the following threat “He that conceals him, death.” The use of the 3rd person personal pronoun and the amplification of it by means of a relative clause as a vocative, which is then followed by the straight death threat and imperative, is a clear example of Gloucester’s deplorable over-reaction to Edmund’s story. It is directed at the servants who will be executed if they hide Edgar, but it is also an address to the audience, who, in turn, knows about Edmund’s scheming. In R3, Margaret finally envisions her enemies at the end of her first appearance on stage with the following vocative: “Live, each of you, the subject to his hate, / And he to yours, and all of you to God’s” (R3 1.3.301f.). The preceding thirty lines comprise a duet between Margaret and Buckingham, in which Buckingham finds himself increasingly implicated in her complaints and accusations against Richard and in which he tries to prevent her from cursing with some vehemence. Margaret’s final prophecy and wish that either each of them may outlive Richard or die because they are not subjects of Richard’s 14. See also Ham. 3.4.25: “O me, what hast thou done,” and MND 2.2.118f.: “so I, being young till now ripe not to reason, / And touching now the point of human skill.”


hatred but subjected to his hate, exemplifies the force of the amplified EPITHET containing a pronoun.15 5.1.3.5 Goodman, fool, and caitiff Compound vocatives have also been computed under the heading EPITHET. Usually, these consist of two nouns. In Rom. 1.5.76, Capulet, after having granted Romeo to stay at the masked ball, admonishes his nephew Tybalt, who cannot understand his uncle’s benevolence of accepting Romeo’s presence, with the following words: “What Goodman boy” (Rom. 1.5.77). He uses two nouns in order to slight Tybalt. As such he describes his youth with boy and his ill-bred attitude with goodman, which is often prefixed to the name of persons below the rank of a gentleman, especially yeomen and farmers (OED 3.b., also Böhm 1936: 51f.).16 U. Busse (2002: 108) argues that “the examples [of goodman] from the corpus reveal that in most cases the term is not used symmetrically, but from above with a slightly patronising attitude indicated by epithets as boy and bald-pate.” Evans (ed. 1997: 1112) calls this vocative a “double-barrelled insult to Tybalt,” because of both the degrading Goodman and, in coalition, the deflation of a presumptuous youth. Rudanko (1993:168) argues that boy can only be seen as an instance of “positive nastiness,” and, in particular, as a sub-strategy of “markers denoting lack of identity and emphasis[ing] difference of group.” Here, it is argued that the term also alludes to Tybalt’s immaturity and is a highly creative construal of Capulet’s propensity towards immediate aggression and command in case of other people’s non-compliance. Whenever fool is not used to refer to a professional and licensed jester, it has EPITHET-like character and construes a negative ethos and identity of the addressee. Hamlet’s address to Polonius after the murder can serve as one example: “Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell” (Ham. 3.4.31). The high emotionality of this vocative is created by the use of fool, who, according to the OED (A.I.1.a.), is “a person deficient in judgement or sense, or one who acts or behaves stupidly, a silly person, or a simpleton.” Hamlet clearly refers to these lines of interpretation when he addresses the dead Polonius, not only because Polonius is stupid enough to believe that Hamlet would not realise his presence and his potential for violence, but also because Polonius has been willing to do anything for Claudius. In Biblical use, fool is applied to a vicious or impious person (OED A.I.1.a.). This denotation would fit as an address to Polonius as well, if we remember the biblical construal of Polonius’s identity as “Jephthah, judge of Israel” (Ham. 2.2.403). Hence, in order to give word to his feeling of indignation and rage, Hamlet triples the number of epithets that precedes fool and adds even more interpersonally negative meanings to it. In addition, the deictic element you further foregrounds the attacking vocative. The vocative therefore intensifies the highly emotional, aggressive, sarcastic, and brutal state Hamlet is in. However, in WT 2.1.118f., fools is used as a term of endearment or pity: “Do not weep goode fools / There is no cause.”

15. Further examples can be found in 1H4 3.3.123, Mac. 2.3.42, MND 1.1.28, or Tit. 1.1.173. 16. See also Lr. 2.2.45.


In Oth. 4.1.108, Cassio, fooled by Iago’s scheming and fallen in Othello’s resentment, addresses Bianca with the following EPITHET: “Alas, poor Caitiff.” According to the OED (3.), a caitiff expresses contempt, and the use of it often involves strong moral disapprobation: “a base, mean, despicable wretch, and a villain.” Obviously, Cassio projects his disgust at his own moral failings onto his wife Bianca. As such, the vocative should be seen as a construal of his own identity and ethos that carries ideological dimensions likewise. 5.1.3.6 Barber-monger, zed, whoreson, and slanderer A woman’s alleged immoral character or behaviour is construed via recourse to promiscuity and prostitution. For example, Othello attacks Desdemona as “Impudent strumpet” (Oth. 4.2.81), which collocates only once in the play. When men’s negative identities are construed, recourse is often made to the very same register, but notably only for characters of lower rank. Kent addresses Oswald with the following attack: “You whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw” (Lr. 2.2.33), and also with “Thou whoreson zed” (Lr. 2.2.64). Both vocatives are highly marked, as they occur only once in the corpus. The OED (1.) tells us that a barber-monger is a “constant frequenter of the barber’s shop, a fop.” The term is used in ME, but Shakespeare is the first to introduce it into EModE again. Kent construes Oswald as a person, who pragmatically changes his identity whenever it is necessary and as such, overtly positions him in contrast to his own character. In addition, clearly stereotypical views of the whore as inherently unreliable, mean, and, most importantly, immoral are used to attack Kent’s negative face. According to the OED (1.), zed is the name of the letter Z, but may, as in Lr., be contemptuously applied to a person. Foakes (ed. 1997: 229) argues that this vocative not only shows how the letter Z was pronounced, a consonant that is “herd, and so few scene” (Mulcaster [1582], 1st Pt. Elem. xxiii. 161). In addition, Kent seems to suggest that Oswald’s character and his whole personality is as unnecessary as the letter Z, because most of the letter’s functions could be served by ‘s’, and it does not occur in Latin. Here Kent not only upgrades himself as a learned person, but construes Oswald as not being part of the world of fine speech, education, and classical literature, etc. Magnusson is right to suggest that Kent’s outburst articulates a problem that is not only inherent in Kent, but also in Cordelia: Cordelia and Kent end up acting as “yesterday’s people” (Magnusson 1999: 151) and that “[t]he case is almost exactly that of today’s forward-looking feminists, who find themselves reproducing in their lived relations yesterday’s world, even or especially – as in Cordelia’s case – in their acts of kindness” (Magnusson 1999: 151). When Kent, disguised as Caius, meets up with Oswald outside Gloucester’s house and attacks him with the vocative mentioned above, his attempt to dissociate himself from the social practices Oswald stands for becomes obvious. He finds these and Oswald himself unpalatable. His litany of face-threatening terms is even more elaborate when Oswald enquires “What dost thou know me for” (Lr. 2.2.14). Kent, as has been mentioned, answers: a knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, threesuited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composi-

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tion of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mungril bitch; one whom I will beat into [clamorous] whining, if thou deni’st the least syllable of thy addition (Lr. 2.2.15–24).

The highly emotional enumeration of terms changes into attacking vocatives as the litany proceeds. It contains EPITHETs that are more frequent in the corpus. For example, in T. Thomas (1587), rascal collocates with the vile sort of men and women and “the sink of the citie.” In Florio (1598), rascal collocates with baseness and trash, and rogues and varlets. The idiosyncratic and stylistic collocation of these terms turns the address into a highly marked litany of vocatives. Apart from the fact that these terms give us an idea of Early Modern construal of negative identities, here Kent violates the norms of cooperation and politeness, dissents with Oswald’s presentation of the world and construes him as a proponent of the false language of service. Magnusson argues that “while Kent hears the familiar language, he judges it to be matched in the relation between the servant Oswald and his mistress Goneril to a relation in a new and unpalatable way, a way that does not strike him as authentic or decent” (Magnusson 1999: 151). His identity changes the old language which Kent considered worthy. Magnusson goes on to argue that “the extremity of Kent’s verbal tactics here, then, seems to be aimed at opting out of the social forms of acknowledgement that Oswald and his kind have appropriated and made their own” (Magnusson 1999: 153). At the same time, Kent construes a more authentic, though indecent identity of Oswald. As he, however, still converses with Oswald, he still acknowledges his own self. In Tmp. 1.1.43–45, Antonio addresses the Boatswain in the following way: “hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.” The OED (a.) tells us that whoreson is the son of a whore and a bastard son. Furthermore, it is commonly used as a coarse term of reprobation, abuse, dislike, or contempt; sometimes even of jocular familiarity. The EPITHET whoreson also tunes us further into Antonio’s assumed superior position and rage at the Boatswain, but also construes the Boatswain’s identity as one who prefers words to deeds and who will cause the drowning of the whole ship. Preceding this vocative is an exchange of verbal onslaught, in which the Boatswain is annoyed by the constant reappearance of the frightened passengers, whom he accuses of ensuring that all “hands” will drown. The Boatswain is palpably disrespectful, even though he seems to realise that the passengers including Antonio are dependent upon his skills. When Desdemona attacks Iago for being a liar who unrightfully but explicitly attacks his wife for being a prattler and sexually promiscuous, Desdemona feels the implied assault against her as well and retorts: “O, fie upon thee, slanderer” (Oth. 2.1.113). According to the OED (1.), a slanderer is “one who slanders,” or “one who devises or utters false or malicious statements about a person,” and “a defamer or calumniato.” In T. Thomas (1587), slanderer appears to describe a detractor, who is a backbiter that “speaketh euill of some bodie that is basent, a mis reporter.” In Florio (1598), it is used to explain a diffamatore, and in Bullokar (1616), the term is used to describe a “sycophant, a talebearer, a false accuser.” Even though Desdemona does not measure the crucial dimensions of her creation of Iago’s identity, it is particularly striking that she, as one deplorable victim of Iago’s scheming as imposed by his rhetorical potential for defaming, most pointedly expresses Iago’s main characteristic in one vocative alone.


In conclusion, contextualising the vocatives barber-monger, zed, whoreson, and slanderer has highlighted their disdaining and negative potential for a de-valorisation and the establishment of a dualism between speaker and addressee that upgrades the former and socially and culturally downgrades the latter. The vocative sirrah, which will be illustrated in the following chapter, carries similar meanings. However, interestingly, its usage is not restricted to men and socially inferior characters in the play alone. 5.1.3.7 Sirrah The meaning of sirrah, which is often seen as the negative opposite of the vocative sir, is as subtle as that of its alleged counterpart. Therefore, while in Böhm (1936: 52), Salmon (1967: 53; 75), Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 1066), and in U. Busse (2002: 119) sirrah is summarised under the heading of titles of courtesy, here it is summarised under the heading of EPITHETs. The affective potential of sirrah also results from its relatively frequent usage. In this corpus, sirrah occurs 57 times and its frequency in the entire Shakespeare corpus is 149 (Spevack 1968–80). Of the 150 instances of sirrah, in the comedies, 74 you pronouns cooccur with sirrah and only 23 thou pronouns (U. Busse 2002. 120). U. Busse (2002: 120) argues it to be remarkable that you pronouns dominate sirrah, even though it is conventionally seen as a term for social inferiors. If one observes that sirrah is mostly dominant in the comedies, where you is most common in general, the result for sirrah and its co-occurrence with you may, on the one hand, also be interpreted as construing this result and correlating with it. On the other hand, sirrah and the co-occurrence of you might serve as an example of where the assumed correlations between a term of address and a pronoun no longer hold, even though, conventionally, sirrah is explained as denoting rigidly social structure alone. Blake (2002a: 274), for example, mentions sirrah in connection with lower-ranked characters who are referred to in a condescending tone (see Rom. 4.2.2). In Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 1066), sirrah is explained as denoting a compilation used in addressing comparatively inferior persons. In contrast to the restriction of meaning to social usage, Spevack’s (1990: 330) observation in the New Variorum Edition of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra links the usage of sirrah to neutrality and ingratiating agreement. Referring to Minsheu’s (1599) explanation of sirrah as an ironic compound of sir and a, ha (as much to say, a sir, or sir boy), Spevack (1990: 330) argues that “Minsheu’s (and the OED’s) etymology may be open to doubt – although none better has been proposed – and [that] the term is a relatively neutral address to persons of the lowest social ranks as well as the term they use for one another.” As such, Spevack (1990: 330) does not entirely negate sirrah’s potential for creating irony – among other functions of a jocular, almost bawdy tonality, for example in 1H4 1.2.178, where it is used for the Prince by Poins. In Rom. 1.5.29 and 125, it is even construed ingratiatingly for Capulet himself: “Ah, sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well.” Here the vocative is used to address an agreeable person or his cousin. Also, in Ant. there is evidence that, beyond the social scale, sirrah may even transfer empathetic and in-group meanings. When Antony addresses the Soothsayer in Ant. 2.3.10 and 2.5.32, the social positions between them are clear, but, nevertheless, in-group identity is again construed, as Antony certainly likes to receive good news.


In LLL, an epitome play of the time’s preoccupation with rhetoric, pronunciation, and decorous speech, Holofernes pokes fun at the “too affected” (LLL 5.1.13) Armado, who pronounces sirrah as “Chirrah” (LLL 5.1.32). Holofornes, pretending to be insecure about Armado’s pronunciation, asks: “[Quare] chirrah, not sirrah” (LLL 5.1.33). The rhetorical modulation of this EPITHET serves to ridicule Armado’s obsession with rhetoric and the fact that “[h]e draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument” (LLL 5.1.16). In Lr. 1.2.77–79, Gloucester addresses Edmund with “Go, sirrah, seek him” (Lr. 1.2.77), which cannot simply be interpreted as a familiar address “used by parents to children or master to servant” (Stoll 1989: 141). It is rather another expression of authority (in Replogle’s sense 1973: 65), but can also be seen as an indicator of the basic intuitive rejection of Edmund (Grannis 1990: 130). U. Busse (2002: 120) is also correct to interpret this address as an “overspill of verbal outrage” directed at his other son, the alleged deserter Edgar. Cleopatra’s address to Iras as sirrah Iras in Ant. 5.2.229, “Sirrah Iras, go,”17 occurs when Cleopatra sends her women to make preparations for her death. As the only instance in Shakespeare of this kind (Spevack 1968–80), it is highly noteworthy because of “its application to a woman and to one who is not of a low social rank” (Spevack et al. ed. 1990: 330). The discussion of the meaning of this vocative begins in the 18th century. For example, some deny the possibility that sirrah could be spoken to Iras on account of her sex, while others read this occurrence as an enumeration of both sirrah and the personal name Iris, because a comma is put between these words. Still others see sirrah in sirrah Iras as an exclamation, like “go someone” (see Spevack ed. 1990: 330f.). Spevack (ed. 1990: 330f.), however, partly denies these interpretations and impressively suggests that this address to Iras “must be interpreted affectively.” This contextual interpretation alludes not only to Cleopatra’s general trust in and reliance on her women, but also construes the fact that those terms that have been generally considered to allude to rigidly social structure alone have to be considered as carrying many more dynamic possibilities of identity creation.18 The collocation of the personal name Iras and sirrah construe the intimacy of the address and frame the imperative into a request of a very personal kind. Cleopatra indicates that Iras and later Charmian will be her allies in death. To conclude, sirrah is used not only to create an addressee’s downgraded social position. On the contrary, it may also be applied in order to contextualise a specific urgency of the situation, to create in-group identity, familiarity and mutual trust. 5.1.3.8 Dissembler In Antony’s passionate outburst, in which, as Don Pedro funnily, though arrogantly expresses “We had lik’d to have had our two noses snapp’d off with two old man without teeth” (Ado 5.1. 115f.), Antonio accuses Claudio and Don Pedro of being no more than the semblance of manhood: “Marry, dost thou wrong me, thou dissembler, thou” (Ado 5.1.53). According to the OED (1), a dissembler is “one who dissembles,” or “one who 17. I thank Dr. Marga Munkelt for drawing my attention to this example. 18. This also holds true for Cleopatra’s constant use of the vocative Charmian, which cannot only be read exclusively as a typical sign of the address between superior and inferior characters.


conceals his real purposes under a false appearance,” or “one who practises duplicity” or “a deceiver”, and “one who is a hypocrite.” Echoing Claudio’s own attack on Hero – seeming – the vocative, which is connected to two additional thou-forms, serves as a social marker to construe Antonio’s anger at Claudio’s pretentious and unremorseful conduct. In T. Thomas (1587), the term is used to describe a simulator (similarly in Florio [1598] and Minsheu [1599]), to allude to a fainer, a counterfaiter, and a pretender. In Cotgrave (1611), the term describes a hypocrite “who brings, by his fair words or shows, confusion to those he converses with.” Claudio’s identity could not be more pointedly defined. He not only confuses Hero and her family but also downgrades them with his mode of conduct. However, despite the identity construction of Claudio as a hypocrite, the repetitive character of his attacks, to which the final pronoun thou further adds, also underlines the comical element. Due to Antonio’s unlimited rage, Leonato’s attempts to interfere are unsuccessful and Antonio’s accusation culminates in the row of offensive, highly emotional vocatives: “Boys, Apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops” (Ado 5.1.91). As social markers, these vocatives summarise both Claudio’s and the Prince’s superficial characters. They are not only construed as immature (boy), but also as foolish (apes), boasting loudly without reason (braggarts), and as milksops, which, according to the OED (2.b.), figuratively refers to an “effeminate spiritless man or youth; one wanting in courage or manliness.” Cotgrave’s (1611) EModE dictionary provides a suggestive, ideologically loaded sense of milksop, as the definition of French effiminé contains the collocation of “weakling,” “milksop,” “sensual,” and “refined goose.” Hence, Claudio’s and Don Pedro’s behaviours and modes of conduct are not only created as immature, arrogant, and cowardly, but also as womanish and weak. Jack, which, when seen as a grammatical metaphor, terminates the vocative as a narrative, transfers mostly negative meanings likewise, as it refers to a person of low social standing (OED 1.2.a.). Therefore, in sum, this un-redressed, bald-on-record accusation is one of the most passionate outbursts in Ado in general. It certainly entertains the recipient, as the row of vocatives also transfers somewhat comical connotations. However, the recipient also already knows that Antonio says the truth and is loyal to his brother and his niece, no matter what the social sanctions are that are involved with it. The Prince and Claudio lack this wise maturity. 5.1.3.9 Seeming, foul and fair Claudio’s histrionic outburst, in which he accuses Hero of infidelity, is another perverse and brutal example of the insulted, socially conscious, and superficially moral as well as self-centred young wooer. The way he expresses himself shatters the real norms of courtesy and decorum to which Claudio, according to his own sense of himself, allegedly yields. Hence, his sense of honour has been destroyed by Hero’s alleged deeds. He attacks her as “Out on thee, seeming” (Ado 4.1.56), accusing her of pretentious behaviour, even though he is the strongest promoter of it himself. Here, the idea of the vocative as grammatical metaphor, which can be rephrased into a clause, allows to rephrase the vocative as “you are seeming,” “you seem” or, in T. Thomas’ (1587) sense, as “seeming to be true but false indeed.” In Florio (1598), seeming carries specific connotations of the visual or, more precisely, of a visual deception and of “things seeming to be that are not, subtile delusions” (see also Minsheu [1599] for a similar meaning, and Cawdrey [1604], as well as Cotgrave


[1611]). In Cotgrave (1611), even a religious dimension is added to the term when the noun cafard is explained: “hypocriticall, dissembling, seeming holy, pious outwardly.” From the abundance of similar EModE definitions and collocations which correlate with appearance, behaviour, deeds, and character, it can be inferred that the term also denotes the fact that a woman’s physical beauty does not often coincide with her weak, betraying and false character. It rather alludes to her promiscuity, her deceit in betraying men, and, at the same time, construes her as un-Christian. Notably, the vocative seeming occurs three times in this corpus, and it is mostly applied to women who have allegedly betrayed their husbands (such as Desdemona and Hero). Note the extent to which Othello pedantically construes himself as a Christian, while Desdemona is the alleged unchristian adulteress. In the example from Ado, the final vocative position adds to the authority and the verbal violence of the utterance. In Son. 13, the semblance of a beautiful appearance carries connotations of seeming and it suggests something fragile and provisional about the beauty. In Son. 54.1f., the first line “O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem / By that sweet ornament which truth doth give,” also introduces a faint uncertainty about the friend’s integrity. Even though Claudio’s attack is much stronger in force, the interrelations between the meanings of seeming in the EModE dictionaries, the sonnets, and the play should not be underestimated. Claudio’s antithetical accusation “But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! Farewell, / Thou pure impiety and impious purity” (Ado 4.1.103f.) contains the nominalizations of the adjectives foul and fair. It may be of some rhetorical quality due to the use of antithesis, adnominato (the Latin figure of words derived from the same root used in different syntactic constructions [Wales 2001: 274]), of parallelism (the repetition of farewell), and of antimetabole or chiasm in thou pure impiety and impious purity. The contrast of ideas through the contrasts of lexical items that collocate and are parallel satirically alludes to Hero’s outward beauty and inward falsity. For example, the Germanic fair denotes “someone beautiful to the eye,” or “of pleasing form or appearance,” or “good-looking” (OED 1.1.), and collocates chiefly with reference to the face. In all older senses formerly used antithetically with foul (OED I.1.a.), foul, in turn, also negatively refers to the outward appearance as grossly offensive to the senses, physically loathsome; “primarily with reference to the odour or appearance indicative of putridity” (OED A.I.1.a.). It is also transferred to morals and religious connotations, as morally or spiritually “polluted,” and “abominable” or “detestable,” and “wicked” (OED A.I.7.a). The religious element clearly dominates in Claudio’s construal of Hero as impure. For example, in Florio (1598), impiety, which is the translation of the Italian Empieta, is explained as ungodliness, unrighteousness, and wickedness. The EModE definitions turn the vocatives into more authentic and permanent entities. Hero is construed as immoral. At the same time, they add to the absurd and therefore comic situation of the scene, but may not necessarily cause positive reactions from the recipient. This passage also strongly alludes to the witches’ announcement in Mac. “Fair is foul and foul is fair” (Mac. 1.1.11), which implies that the commonly shared values are perverted into evil and vice versa.


5.1.4 Generic terms as vocatives 5.1.4.1 Male generic terms: boy, man, lad, and knaves Male generic terms surpass in number female generic terms. Many of the occurrences of boy, for example, can be found in Lr. Lear frequently addresses the Fool with the vocative boy, for example, in Lr. 1.4.106: “Why, my boy.” According to Foakes (ed. 1997: 197), boy is a term of familiar address, especially to a servant. At this stage in Lr., the use is marked because the vocative contains not only the head term but also the deictic element my. Usually, boy appears unmodified. Obviously, Lear, being disappointed by his daughters, enjoys the presence of the Fool, even though the Fool’s official role in the play is not only to entertain, but also to tell the truth. Therefore, one might assume that in Act 3, Lear’s attitude towards the Fool seems to have changed. His use of boy is now devoid of the deictic element and less inclusive, but still personal, as “In, boy, go first” (Lr. 3.4.26). Now it is the medial position of the vocative which frames the clause both into a direct order and a still mild indirect request. Gloucester addresses Edmund for the first time with the highly marked and amplified in-group identity marker “Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means / To make thee capable” (Lr. 2.1.84f.), which occurs only once in the corpus. He indicates that Edmund’s status of a bastard son has changed to the position similar to that of a naturally born son, especially because Gloucester believes that Edgar has violated his filial duties and loyalty. Hence, the two positive epithets tune the vocative boy into this direction and foreground the functional meaning potential of the vocative not only within the address pattern of Gloucester and Edmund, but also in the entire Lr. corpus. The emphasis on Edmund’s identity as loyal and natural is especially ironic considering Edmund’s scheming. Notably, the OED (A.1.) tells us that loyal, in the sense of “true to obligations of duty, love, faithful to plighted troth,” was first used by Shakespeare. However, Gloucester’s use of boy also creates that Edmund is under Gloucester’s custody. According to U. Busse (2002: 148), there are 82 tokens of boy that co-occur with thou, 18 tokens refer to you and there are no differences for the genres. U. Busse (2002: 148f.) argues that the majority of uses of boy in co-occurrence with thou testify to the expected result, with thou being less neutral and distanced. Hence, boy stands in contrast with other vocative types that are investigated for their co-occurrence with the second-person personal pronoun. There you dominates. In contrast to U. Busse’s (2002: 148) claim, it is also possible to argue that the use of thou in the Lr. example is, at least from a statistical point of view, unmarked for this type, because it occurs more often. In addition, one may argue that even though the majority form is used here, still different sociolinguistic and pragmatic nuances may be transferred that go far beyond that of the conventionalised “intimate meaning.” From what has been suggested so far, it is difficult to explain the vocative and its co-occurrence with the pronoun thou only as an address to a male child (Schmidt and Sarrazin [[1874/75] 1962: 135] and Stoll [1989: 206–208]) indicating intimacy between parent and child. Gloucester’s explicit use of the positive, yet over-elaborate epithets natural and loyal reverberates Othello’s constant emphasis on Iago’s honesty, which is also frequently performed vocatively. As such, one may argue that due to the over-elaborate and unique usage of this vocative, it still testifies to Lear’s subconscious denial of Edmund.


He only changes Edmund’s position, because the current events force him to do so. The initial vocative creates Gloucester’s temporary sincerity, which is further intensified by the contraction of I and will in I’ll, focussing on clear volition, and the use of the more intimate thou. Textually, there is a break following the vocative, which further foregrounds the vocative within the tone unit. Hence, Rudanko’s (1993: 168) claim that the use of boy signals nastiness cannot hold. Therefore, one may tentatively suggest that, in Shakespeare, the construal of identities of evil characters is often positively and extraordinarily powerfully created via recourse to vocatives that are modified by positive interpersonal epithets. These signifiers may be especially allusive to the recipient. In Lr., strikingly enough, the use of old man, which appears seven times in the corpus, is particularly applied to those characters in the corpus, who seem to have lost the feeling for those who love them. This is visible in “What wouldest thou do, old man? / Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak / When power to flattery bows” (Lr. 1.1.146–48), “Idle old man, / That still would manage those authorities / That he hath given away” (Lr. 1.3.16–18) or in “Away, old man! Give me thy hand, away” (Lr. 5.2.5). Generally speaking, the use of man, additionally modified by the epithet old, carries clear condescending interpersonal meanings. The head noun man is particularly intended to demarcate Lear’s and Gloucester’s former social and political positions from those they possess now – the reference to their sex indicates that they have lost their social and political positions as kings and heads of their families, and are nothing more than ordinary men. The epithet old, which is applied both to Lear and Gloucester, refers to their ages OED (B.I.1.), but may also allude to their senile and stubborn characters (OED B.I.2.). At the same time, it may also allude to their (former) wisdom as old man. Nevertheless, here the negative meanings seem to run over the more positive functions of the epithet old. The vocative in Kent’s address is a clear attack, which additionally transfers the question into a warning. The final position of the vocative adds to the sincere tone. The use of thou intensifies the sarcastic face-threatening act of what is said. This is the first and only time in Kent’s address pattern to Lear that he leaves the coordinated social practice of social decorum and social hierarchy, as well as his loyal acknowledgement of Lear’s status as King. Yet, due to his anger at Lear’s attitude towards his daughters, he is no longer able to be silent and accepts a similar outburst when he attacks Oswald. Yet, as he has confessed that he will love Lear in “I must love you, and sue to know you better” (Lr. 1.1.30), he returns to his devote behaviour after he has decided to disguise himself. In Goneril’s idiosyncratic address to Lear “Idle old man, / That still would manage those authorities / That he hath given away!” (Lr. 1.3.16–18), the tragic dimensions of Lear’s decision to divide his kingdom become fully apparent – not only because the collocation appears only once in the corpus, but also because of the brutality of Goneril’s attack. She construes herself as being devoid of respect for her father, and as megalomaniac, ironic, blasphemous, and evil. At the same time, the elaborate structure of the vocative idle old man is clearly foregrounded, as it contains two epithets and a qualifying relative clause, which, both in structure and meaning, are incongruent with the patterns used in this corpus. The additional epithet idle, which distinguishes Kent’s and Edgar’s address from that of Goneril, foreshadows another identity-construing element of the play that is also particularly characteristic of Lear. According to the OED (A.2.b.), idle refers to a person who


is “void of meaning or sense; foolish, silly, incoherent; light-headed, out of one’s mind, and delirious and it also reduces the significance of the person addressed” (OED A.2.a.). As such, Goneril is explicitly construing Lear’s identity as useless, mad, and foolish. The extraordinary powerful interpersonal illocutionary and perlocutionary force of this attack is therefore enormous: firstly, Goneril reaches her aim as Lear leaves her, and secondly, Lear is driven further into a state of confusion, rage, and disappointment. Almost as ironic as Goneril’s attack is Iago’s redressed address to Cassio in Oth., following the latter’s violation of the military code. Iago forces Cassio into drinking, while being on guard and also causes Othello to detect this offence. Cassio, completely devastated, receives the following feigned consolation from Iago: “What, man, there are ways to recover the general again” (Oth. 2.3.271). This vocative-pattern is highly marked, since Iago’s address pattern for Cassio usually consists of allegedly more deferential military lieutenant vocatives. The exclamative and jovial and socially downgrading use of man, which also positions Cassio as nothing more than an ordinary man, also clearly construes the declarative’s dishonest illocutionary force. It is supposed to encourage and comfort Cassio as well as to cheer him up. Yet, the thematic position of the vocative, though preceded by the interjection “what,” is constitutive of the farce of the entire utterance. It carries clear condescending and negative overtones. In turn, one may also argue that, to some extent, Iago is serious and honest in the way he construes Cassio’s identity as nothing more than a drunk man. A more jovial, comic meaning, which also carries not only shades of banter but also sexual implications, is visible in Claudio’s address to Benedick, when the latter attempts to kiss Beatrice: “What, courage, man” (Ado 5.1.132). The vocative not only construes the festive, joyful tone of the entire scene, but also alludes to Benedick’s physical capabilities. As such, it represents a typical male exchange. In Ham. 2.2.225, Hamlet addresses Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in the following way: “Good lads, how do you both.” Out of the 15 vocatives that contain lads as their head, only two are modified by the epithet good. Even though this vocative construes the initially joyful tonality of their encounter, Hamlet’s doubts are immediately present as well, as the sense-definitions in the OED immediately illustrate. According to the OED (2.a.), a lad is “a serving-man, attendant; a man of low birth and position; a varlet or a boy, youth; a young man, and young fellow.” In a wider sense, it may be applied familiarly or endearingly (sometimes ironically) to a male person of any age. In Ham., this is Hamlet’s most intimate address to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Later on, more sarcastic and face-threatening attacks are included. Chapter 5.2.4, for example, explains Falstaff ’s pointed usage of lad as working along similar lines. Lad and lads are used less frequently. Lad is used in twelve occurrences with thou, and only twice with you (U. Busse 2002: 160). Falstaff robs the travellers who carry the King’s money with the following attack: “Ah, whoreson caterpillars, bacon-fed knaves” (1H4 2.2.84). At first glance, the vocatives seem to be purely abusive in order to frighten the travellers as well as to ease the process of robbery. In addition, the irony in Falstaff ’s attack on the travellers for being fat inevitably draws a laugh in performance. However, more serious ideological attacks on their conceptions of habitus (Bourdieu 1977a, b) are also created. As a vocative from the animal world, caterpillars is “the larva of a butterfly or moth, sometimes extended to those of other in-


sects, especially those of saw-flies” (OED 1.). In a figurative sense, however, the expression also alludes to a “rapacious person, an extortioner, one who preys upon society.” In early times, it is distinctly transferred, and used synonymously with the earlier piller, but afterwards only figuratively with conscious reference to the literal sense (OED 2). The epithet whoreson further intensifies the notion of being vile parasites. In “bacon-fed knaves,” knave is a generic term that denotes a boy or lad employed as a servant; hence, a “male servant or menial in general; one of low condition” (OED 2.). Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 617) describe knave as a “young fellow, a boy, a menial, and a rascal or villain” (cf. Stoll 1989: 201 and U.Busse 2002: 170–73). In T. Thomas (1587), knave collocates with a vile fellow of no estimation, but also with a babbler and a vain-talking fellow, which testifies to the fact that the social connotation of knave as being a servant or a menial are clearly negatively rather than only descriptively construed in this address. Blount (1656) interestingly remarks: “Cnapa, and Knabe was not of old used us a name of discrace, or contempt (as now it is) but as the name of some kind of Servant or Lacquey.” Blount’s description amply illustrates Falstaff ’s attack on those who uncritically serve the king. The idea of serving the king – that is, serving the state to make oneself fat – is reinforced by the use of the epithet compound bacon-fed. In Florio (1598), bacon correlates with “stinking like things vinewed or rotten,” and with an unpleasant taste. In its figurative transference, the epithet alludes to the fact that the travellers are only subservient for their own benefit. Ultimately, it criticises feudal structure and opts for personal freedom as displayed by Falstaff. As is the case in 1H4 2.2.65f., where Falstaff gives an example of the symbolic contrast between fatness and leanness between those who feed on the state to make themselves fat, and those who become lean through their sacrifices for the state. In the entire corpus, knave is used 54 times, 18 times together with you and 29 times with thou (U. Busse 2002: 171), which testifies to the emotional potential, even though it is difficult to refer to condescension and attack as well as social downgrading alone, because this example of knave carries clear comic implications directed at the recipients as well. This analysis of the sample of generic terms used as a vocative illustrates that these do not only immediately transfer negative functions, but are either potentially more downgrading as well as sarcastic in function or carry a compassionate tone. 5.1.4.2 Female generic terms: wench, girl(s), women, and maid Female generic terms occur less frequently than male generic terms. When Titus in Tit. uses these generic terms, he construes the identity of his daughter in the following ways: “Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth” (Tit. 3.1.282), and “Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends” (Tit. 4.1.61). The simplicity, naturalness, and wholeheartedly loving tone construe Lavinia as a fragile woman, who needs to be even more loved and comforted following Chiron’s and Demetrius’s slaughter on her. In addition, Titus attempts to detect the fact that Lavinia has been raped, because, as T. Thomas (1587) indicates in his definition of puellatorius, girl also implies virginity and maidenhood. In Florio (1598), girl also collocates with a young maiden servant: this sense implicitly refers to the fact that Lavinia has been the servant of Demetrius and Chiron and his still under her father’s custody. Therefore, the unpretentious potential of the girl vocative becomes obvious. At the same time, the silent tone of the utterances, the clearly Germanic diction,


the short words, as well as the very sad, almost perverse use of the epithet sweet – to refer to a woman who, because of the rape and the slaughter, is everything else but physically beautiful and adorable – are also constructive of the disastrous, pitiable, and hopeless situation, and the limits of a verbal construction of an alleviating and stable identity. This general indication of the limits of language is also anticipated in several of Shakespeare’s sonnets. In Son. 16 and Son. 17, the speaker argues that procreation is more powerful than the poet’s rhymes. Son. 76, resuming the theme of Son. 38, can be seen as the most obvious example of the limits of language despite the fact that the speaker sees the stylistic monotony of his verse as the result of the constancy of his affection and its object and apologises for it: “Why is my verse so barren of new pride, So far from variation or quick change?” (Son. 38.1f.; all Duncan-Jones ed. 1998). The use of the Germanic girls and women is characteristic in Ant. As a vocative, girls occurs seven times in this corpus. Women occurs eight times, and my women is used fifteen times. In most of the cases, these vocatives mark both Cleopatra’s deep trust in and her authority over her women. This mutual female understanding is particularly apparent in the following vocatives: “He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not / Be noble to myself ” (Ant. 5.2.191f.), which is used after Caesar has attempted to convince Cleopatra of leaving Egypt, and in “Show me, my women, like a queen” (Ant. 5.2.227). Maid hardly appears unmodified. When Kent construes Cordelia’s identity and his loyalty to her, he uses the following generic term: “The Gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, / That justly think’st and hast most rightly said” (Lr. 1.1.182f.). Kent’s devote behaviour and his deep appreciation of Cordelia is markedly created in his highly amplified, prayer-like address to Cordelia. The final position of the elaborate vocative that is incongruently qualified by the use of the relative clause is part of the rheme and creates the sincerity of the utterance. The subjunctive of the clause reinforces Kent’s wish that the gods may protect her and implies his assurance that she has spoken rightly to her father. From a textual point of view, the final vocative also represents an metrical break as well as a topic change, which is highly intensified by the elaborate NG-structure of the vocative as such. The relative social positions are displayed in this use of maid. Maid may allude to Cordelia’s status as a virgin (OED 1.a. and 2.a.). Kent uses maid only once in correlation with thou. Later, when they meet again in Act 4, Cordelia’s remarks are generous to Kent (Lr. 4.7.1–21). Kent acknowledges both himself and also Cordelia as social outcasts and therefore comforts her – which would normally be a linguistic strategy of the superior, as we see in Lr. Act 4, Scene 7. Despite these clear rules, the social boundaries are blurred in Kent’s own individual temperament as well. If we consider Bakhtin (1981: 276f.) claim that words always refer back to what has been said, then it is Lear’s condemnation Kent reacts to. The analysis of a selected range of female generic terms used as vocatives in Shakespeare has illustrated that these may also transfer an equally wide variety of functions and meaning that allude to intimacy, compassion, friendship and love, but also to condescension and structures of patriarchy.

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5.1.5 Natural phenomena as vocatives 5.1.5.1 Animal terms: dog and gull Natural phenomena used vocatively make reference to animals, parts of the body, nature in general, and tangible objects, such as food, furniture, and clothing. To start with vocatives that use vocabulary from the lexical field of animals, one may discern that these are realised by way of personification of an animal or used as a form of address for a character. Dog, for example, which appears eleven times in the corpus (out of which four occurrences are unmodified), often negatively positions the character addressed. Blake (2002a: 275) uses the syllabic brevity of dog, for example, to explain that negative or derogatory forms of address are usually short and monosyllabic. Following the disclosure of Iago’s scheming, Roderigo attacks Iago and construes his identity as a dog, which, according to the OED, may refer to a worthless, despicable, surly, or cowardly person (OED 3.a.): “O damn’d Iago! O inhuman dog” (Oth. 5.1.62).19 Both vocatives occur only once in this corpus and are therefore highly marked. The experiential world that is construed here is that of intelligent, but evil scheming. Within the Early Modern world-view, animals were positioned below humans; hence the negative address that is applied to Iago. During the tempest in Tmp., Sebastian admonishes the Boatswain, who has been palpably disrespectful, with “A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog” (Tmp. 1.1.40f.). Unless the Boatswain’s blasphemy has been obscured by the storm or the courtier’s wailing, the charge is false. Nevertheless, in register and diction, the negative Germanic and abusive head vocative dog clashes with the more stylised and Latinate epithets. For example, bawling appears in T. Thomas (1587) and correlates with wailing and complaining. In Cotgrave (1611), it collocates with a railing, clamorous person and a loud and importunate speaker. In T. Thomas (1587), blasphemous takes on a religious meaning, as it alludes to cruelty and ungodliness. In Florio (1598), the epithet correlates with “abominable,” “detestable,” and “cursing.” Sebastian uses the language of the superior not only to indicate that the pitch of the Boatwain’s voice is too high, but to show that the meanings he chooses are not compliant with a servant of his social position (similar meanings are transferred in a renewed reference to the Boatswain’s voice in Antonio’s “you whoreson insolent noise-maker” [Tmp. 1.1.43]). As such, the high emotional intensity, rage, and tension by which these vocatives are uttered testify to Sebastian’s fear of losing his life as well as to his anger at being dependent upon someone in a lower social position. Hence, there is the need to at least verbally distance himself from the Boatswain. Similarly negative interpersonal meanings can be discerned in the animal-vocative that Emilia throws at Othello: “O gull, o dolt, As ignorant as dirt” (Oth. 5.2.163). Considering the fact that Emilia is not only a woman, but also subservient to Othello, her courageous, defiant, and brutal attack, which occurs only once in the corpus, is highly noteworthy in this situation. Both meanings of gull that are explained in the OED effectively construe Othello’s identity. A gull is often seen as a “deception,” “a trickster,” and 19. Similar vocatives can be found in MND 3.2.65 “Out, dog! Out, cur,” in MV 4.1.128 “O be thou damn’d, inexercrable dog!”, in Ham. 4.5.111 “O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs,” in Tit. 4.2.77 “And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her,” and in Tit. 5.3.14 “Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave.”


“a fraud,” and the animal gull is said to contain several genera (OED 1., 2.a., and 3.a.). As such, she further alludes to Othello’s initially feigned loving attitude towards Desdemona. She also creates him as the “dupe” (Honigmann ed. 1997: 318) in Iago’s scheming. Gull also finds mention in Mulcaster’s (1582]) EModE dictionary. In addition, in T. Thomas (1587), it collocates with drink, while in Florio (1598), gull collocates with “monkey and fool.” The EModE collocations therefore also stress Othello’s position as a “foolish fellow, who displays several false identities and brutally deceives others,” and as someone who has been deceived likewise. Hence, despite Emilia’s tendency towards repeating similar meanings in her row of attacking vocatives, her overtly brutal, and direct positioning of Othello within the evil animal world that is most despised together with her qualifying afterthought, “as ignorant as dirt,” corresponds to Elizabeth’s, Anne’s, and Margaret’s construal of Richard’s identity in R3 (see Chapter 4.2.5.1 and 4.2.5.2). In addition, this and other face-threatening attacks directed at Desdemona are indicative of a high emotional intensity, but also seem to suggest that the female speaker, indignant at what has happened, is no longer able to safeguard appearances but rather represents herself as a devote ally of Desdemona. 5.1.5.2 Food, parts of the body, and nature: chewet, eyes, arms, lips, sinows, brains, heart, sides, wind, stones, night, and rose. Vocative reference is also made to natural phenomena – food. The superficial allusion to Falstaff ’s fatness in “peace, chewet, peace” (1H4 5.1.29) only occurs once in the Shakespeare corpus. In Florio (1598), a chewet is a pie, sweet, sugary and fat. In the OED (I.), chewet is described as “a dish made of various kinds of meat or fish, chopped fine, mixed with spices and fruits, and baked, fried, or boiled, later also chewet-pie.” A chewet may also be a “jackdaw,” or “crow-like bird” (OED 1., and Cotgrave 1611) so that the term figuratively denotes a chatterer. Notice how these images reappear in Falstaff. But the force is even more brutal, direct, and also less emotional. Falstaff has been turned into and is created as a chewet, because Hal has changed and has moved away from Falstaff. Within the cluster of natural phenomena, parts of the body constitute a subcategory. Mostly, in situations of high emotionalism, characters in Shakespeare treat parts of their body as conversational interactants and address them in order to gain support or strength. The representatives of this subcategory do not appear in a very large quantity, yet, when seen in context, their potential for creating interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings needs to be highlighted. When Romeo mistakenly believes Juliet to be dead, he is resolved to be united with her in death. Just before he drinks the poison, he – in a conventional farewell scene – addresses several parts of his body to wave good-bye to their existence: “Eyes, look your last. / Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you / The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss / A dateless bargain to engrossing Death” (Rom. 5.3.112–17). Having been induced by his father’s ghost to revenge his murder, Hamlet directly addresses one part of the body: “And you, my sinows, grow not instant old, / But bear me [stiffly] up” (Ham. 1.5.94f.). The vocative, which occurs only once in the corpus, gives Hamlet’s doubts about his mental capability of revenging and about the general character of mankind and his own social role within. His address to this part of his body is suggestive of his need for strength, support, and comfort, but also construes his melancholic character. His personification of sinows – a strong fibrous cord serving to connect a muscle


with a bone or another part; a tendon and the medial position in which it is placed (OED 1.) – creates an almost pleading and desperate tone. He needs them to be uplifted. In Ham. 2.2.588, a similar image is created, when Hamlet wishes his melancholic mind to disappear so that he can cope with the misdeeds that have happened around him: “About, my brains.” In Ham. 3.2.393, his disparity seems to be a shade stronger. The closet-scene is about to take place and he is aware of the fact that he will be confronted with his mother questioning his strange behaviour rather than her own a-moral marriage. He addresses the seat where filial love should certainly reside with the following words: “O heart, lose not thy nature” (Ham. 3.2.393). In its natural state, the heart is considered the centre of vital functions, the seat of life, but also the seat of feeling, understanding, love and thought (OED 1). In its widest sense, the heart is also the mind including the functions of feeling, volition, and intellect. The vocative as an address to the heart is among the concepts more frequently chosen within this category. Syntactically, it initiates the utterance and precedes the imperative. However, the initial vocative marker O, and the position of the vocatives turn both into an indirect request. Hamlet wishes that he would not lose his natural feelings for his mother as well as his filial affection. The same nature that demands revenge requires him to spare his mother. Yet, by means of an optative, he continues to address his heart and concedes that it may allow him to be cruel, not unnatural, to speak daggers to her, but use none. In Son. 95, dear heart is primarily a form of intimate and affectionate address, but also suggests a concern with the dear heart, or most intimate interior impulses of the addressee. In Son. 31, bosom is used as the seat of intimate emotions and a synecdoche for the youth as a whole. In this sonnet, the epithet dear assumes a central role. A similar tone is transferred by Antony’s address to a part of his body. The address is uttered in one of the most heart-moving scenes of the play: “O, cleave, my sides” (Ant. 4.14.39). Macduff ’s address to his breast can be cited as equally moving and as an idiosyncratic and foregrounded address to the natural world, as it only occurs once in the corpus: “O my breast, / Thy hope ends here” (Mac. 4.3.113f.). Macduff is banished from Scotland, he has lost his family and plots revenge. He addresses his breast (which is a metonymy for his heart [OED 1]). At the same time, the address illustrates that there is no hope for him, as he has already realised that his family will have to die. At least temporarily, similar nuances are also transferred by Claudius’s address to his bosom: “O limed soul, that struggling to be free / Art more engag’d! / Help, angels! Make assay / Bow, stubborn knees; and heart, with strings of steel, / Be soft as sinews of the newborne babe” (Ham. 3.3.67–71). Equally emotional and tensional in tone are vocatives that refer to natural phenomena. In R3 4.1.52, the Duchess of York addresses the “ill-dispersing wind of misery,” which serves as a metaphor for her miserable state. Elizabeth also personifies the stones that build up the walls of the tower in which her sons are captured: “Pity you ancient stones” (R3 4.1.98). She deplores her sons’ fate and urges the tower to console them. Addresses to times of the day are equally frequent in the Shakespearean corpus. They especially occur in scenes of high emotional intensity, for example, in R3 2.4.55, when the Duchess emotionally addresses “accursed and unquiet wrangling days.” In Mac. 3.2.46f., Macbeth invokes the night in order to hide his guilty conscience as well as his guilt: “Come,


seeling night, / Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful Day.” Addresses to night appear 11 times in the tragedies – a result which is indicative of the highly tragic and emotional potential of this address.20 Romeo and Juliet also personify the night as a protection, and as their companion. The same theatrical metaphors of night, additionally drawing its protective curtain, are used when both wish to be protected in their attempt to get married: “O blessed, blessed night!” (Rom. 2.2.139) and “Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, / That [th’] runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo / Leap to these arms untalk’d-of and unseen” (Rom. 3.2.5–7), and “Come, civil night, / Thou sober-suited matron, all in black / And learn me how to lose a winning match / Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods” (Rom. 3.2.10–13). What distinguishes Juliet’s invocation of the night from Macbeth’s is that, for Juliet, the night is a positive time, as it enables her to enact love and to fight for it (Mac. 3.2.5), while for Macbeth it conjures up his guilty conscience. In Juliet’s addresses, the night is even further uplifted to the concept of matrimony in “thou sober-suited matron” (Rom. 3.2.11). According to the OED (1.a. and 2.), a matron is “a married woman, usually with the accessory idea of (moral or social) rank or dignity,” but she has also expert knowledge in pregnancy and childbirth and gives assistance. One could argue that while her mother cannot serve as her companion, Juliet personifies the night. At the same time, Juliet is also aware of the sexual ecstasies the night can provide. The alliteration in sober-suited and the diction referring to textiles and theatre illustrate the fact that the night is best suited for love that is forbidden, as it veils its clear intentions. The epithet blessed appears in Palsgrave (1530) with reference to the female sex. In Florio (1598), it is also correlated with beauty and, additionally, with happiness as well as blissfulness. The collocation of blessed and night is strikingly marked, because with reference to the EModE dictionary senses blessed more frequently refers to light, sunshine, and elements of the day. T. Thomas (1587) further emphasises the meaning of “very lucky” and “very fortunate.” Here these connotations are reversed. Juliet is grateful to the night because it enables her to meet Romeo, to plot their plan, and to make love. A religious connotation could be equally construed, as Juliet seems to imply that God sanctions true love. In his verbose, pompous, somewhat pitiable, though hilariously funny “O night, o night, alack, alack, alack” (MND 5.1.172), Bottom attempts to copy the contemporary tragic hero. Shakespeare ridicules these traditions. When Laertes addresses his mad sister with the vocative form “O rose of May” (Ham. 4.5.158), which only occurs once in this corpus of plays, he indicates his love for her and also transfers a growing maturity. May is associated with the freshness of spring and new birth (Lott 1984: 170f.), which corresponds to the head rose. Furthermore, May is the month when the Virgin Mary is celebrated for her virginity (Biedermann 1989: 365). This then refers back to Ophelia’s virginity. Moreover, the term foreshadows Ophelia’s flower symbolism in Ham. 4.5.178f., and it also refers to her greeting in “Fare you well, my dove” (Ham. 4.5.168). It underlines her madness, as it is not clear to whom this is addressed: as an endearment to her father or to Hamlet. In addition, in pre-Elizabethan times, the rose 20. See also R3 4.4.26, 1H4 1.2.154, Mac. 3.4.105, MV 3.2.104, Cym. 3.2.35, Cym. 5.5.264, Lr. 1.2.1, Lr. 2.4.267, Ado 2.3. 58, Ado 3.2.120, Tit. 2.3.8, Tit. 3.1.16, Tit. 3.2.50, Tit. 5.1.9, Mac. 5.5.23, Lr. 1.1.270, Lr. 3.7.82, Lr. 4.6.93, Ado 5.1.200, Ado 3.2.122, or Oth. 5.2.16.


is often associated with female beauty and female genitalia (cf. The Romance of the Rose and Chaucer’s Wife of Bath’s Prologue, see Duncan-Jones 1998: 112). Moreover, the Tudor emblem is also a rose. As such, Laertes’ address for Ophelia with “O rose of May” may be reminiscent of Elizabeth to the extent that the memory of the dead queen and dead dynasty was fresh at the time of the publication of Ham. (in Duncan-Jones 1998: 112). Hence, Ophelia is likened to Elizabeth to the extent that she left the world without any heirs. In Son. 54, it becomes obvious that roses are also praised by the Elizabethans as much for their culinary and medicinal properties as for their appearance. Sweet deaths and roses die sweetly, because they enjoy a further life as rose-water, syrup, or conserve. As such, Ophelia’s beauty is highly emphasised in her death. Son. 67 illustrates the roses of shadow, which encapsulates the idea of the highest summation of human beauty in morning and death. To conclude, I would like to draw on “ecocriticism” (Barry 2002: 248f.), an approach which is concerned with the relationship between nature and culture. Even though ecocriticism rejects the notion that everything is socially and/or linguistically constructed (Barry 2002: 252), its emphasis on – among other topics – the relationship between literature and the physical environment, should be mentioned here, as the characters in the play resort to various natural concepts to overtly construe the identity of the interlocutors and covertly their own.21 Consider, for example, the extent to which these natural phenomena move gradually from being natural at first to cultural formations of the interpersonal. There is a transition: both moments of clarity and of deep human degradation take place by means of vocatives referring to natural phenomena. Furthermore, the fact that in situations of high emotional tension and despair, characters are made to use vocatives from these fields also implies a valorisation of nature within the contexts of the plays and the Early Modern framework (B. Busse 2006).

5.1.6 Personal names as vocatives 5.1.6.1 Preliminaries When Blake (2002a: 276) and others talk about personal names, they explore the vocatives’ possibilities of demarcating in-group identities and of performing a condescending attitude from speaker to hearer. For example, Blake (2002a: 276) exclusively refers to “lowerclass characters,” and hence social structure alone, when he analyses the use of personal names. Interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings construed by the use of vocatives as personal names are more subtle and multi-dimensional, especially if one recalls the high number of vocatives used as personal names. These are not only used among those characters from lower social classes. The use of personal names as address formulae certainly stands in strong relation with the fact that the audience needs to understand who the characters on stage are (Blake 2002a: 272). It is nevertheless justified to highlight the status of Shakespeare’s plays as fiction here. Some of the names used are indicative of historical predecessors, others transfer morphologically or etymologically allusive overtones. For example, according to Jenkins 21. See B. Busse (2006) for an eco-linguistic reading of Shakespeare’s vocatives.


(Jenkins ed. 1995: 163), the name Hamlet denotes one who was, or pretends to be dimwitted like the Amleth(us) in Saxo or Belleforest. Claudius is probably named after the Roman emperor (died 54 AD), who is said to be a bad ruler, incestuously married as well as an uncle-stepfather. Gertrude derives from Old German gea, which means spear, while trude stands for power. In Ado. Hero refers to the lady beloved by Leander, who breaks her religious vows in order to enjoy a clandestine love affair with him (Hiltbrunner 1995: 237). Shakespeare’s audience might have detected a certain irony that is bestowed on the dutiful and obedient daughter, if we additional consider that hero refers to a person of exceptional courage. Beatrice’s and Benedick’s names carry interesting connotations, which somehow construe important traits of their characters, but also back up their harmoniously interrelated roles in the play. Beatrice refers to beatus, she who blesses, and Benedick refers to benedictus, he who is blessed (OED 1). Dogberry and Hotspur are also telling names. What are the relations between the suggestive interpretational material that is already inherent in many of the names given and their use as vocatives? In Ham., for example, as a vocative, the name Hamlet occurs most frequently. Furthermore, investigating Lear’s usage of Cordelia’s personal name as vocatives and correlating these results with the fact that the name Cordelia is suggestive of the Latin noun cors, one discerns crucial parallels. It is only in the last act when she is dead that Lear addresses her openly by her personal name, alluding to the fact that he, despite his madness, seems to refer to Cordelia and her heart as well has her entire good character. Like Titus in Act 3 of Tit., Lear, despite his madness, seems to recourse to the roots or bare necessities so that highly stylised vocatives, such as “our joy” (Lr. 1.1.82), seem no longer suitable to construe the desperate, but less vain and insightful atmosphere and attitudes of the final scenes. Naturally, the use of a personal name as a vocative may reinforce the assumed rank of the speaker and that of the hearer. As such, it is often argued that characters from a lower social position use personal names (Blake 2002a: 277). In Ham., for example, the first scene in the first act, when the soldiers change guard, testifies to this. Characters in high social positions tend to use personal names to their inferiors as well as to their equals, even though, generally speaking, superior characters receive more deferential forms of address. When Voltmand and Cornelius receive the formal order to enquire about Norway “and we here dispatch / You, good Cornelius, and You Voltemand / For bearers of this greeting to old Norway” (Ham. 1.2.33–35), they are addressed by their personal names. Although Claudius’s superior position as king is clearly underlined by the use of the pluralis majestatis, the Latinate diction of the high style, and his use of verse, the use of personal names seems to clash with this elaborate style. Due to the employment of the multi-dimensional epithet good for Cornelius, politeness theory could argue in favour of a face-threatening strategy of negative politeness, which, in addition, also testifies to the speaker’s superior social position. However, the fact that these vocatives additionally serve as discourse markers – not only to address the next speaker (Mey 1994: 192 and Coulthard 1996: 59f.), but also to address the change in topic – lends an additional dimension to the use of personal names: it further foregrounds Claudius’s next address to Hamlet, which, in contrast to that directed at Laertes and Voltemand, does not consist of personal name, hence, does not construe intimate meanings.


If it were correct to argue that between characters from a lower social status reciprocal use of forms of address is common, Dogberry and Verges’ low number of personal names is striking. Despite some occasions of personal name usage (see Ado 3.3.7f.), in which it is hardly possible to miss the irony behind the usage of the personal name, Dogberry and Verges exchange more conventional terms when they talk to one another. In-group identity, which also testifies to a tragic potential that may be inherent in the use of a personal name as vocative, is obvious in Lr. 1.1.250–52, where France addresses Cordelia with “Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; / Most choice forsaken and most loved despised: / Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.” As a witness of Lear’s brutal, cold, egoistic, vain, and overrated dismissal of his daughter Cordelia, France, in a prayerlike manner, here foregrounds the vocative as well as Cordelia’s character. He tunes us into the initial vocative with the use of the interpersonal epithet fairest, which the OED (A.I.1.) denotes as referring to beauty, a respectful address (OED A.I.1.d.), but also to express appreciation of external manifestations, such as words (OED A.I.5.a.). France, in contrast to Lear, emphasises her authentic character, when he recourses to the experiential world of personal names, which, in this case, echoes the fact that Cordelia listened to her heart. As such, she, as he implies by the use of the extensive antithetical qualifiers, is much richer in character than her sisters, although she has not been materially honoured for her honesty and loyalty. The same loyalty is expressed in Pisanio’s address to Imogen: “O Imogen, / Safe mayest thou wander” (Cym. 3.5.104f.), and, ironically, also in Banquo’s “Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure” (Mac. 1.3.148), despite the fact that this vocative carries some elements of doubt as well. In the plays under investigation, many vocatives appear that resort to countries. The use of country names reverberates interpersonal, experiential, and textual meanings. Blake argues that when Hamlet utters “I’ll call thee Hamlet, / King, father, royal Dane” (Ham. 1.4.44f.), for Hamlet, the address to the supernatural causes problems (2002a: 273), because he is insecure how to address his father. This line of interpretation carries many problematic aspects. One is the fact that Hamlet is issued as a character only acting consciously from within rather than being construed in the exchange. The other relates to the fact that an enumeration of vocatives such as these is not necessarily a sign of insecurity on the part of the speaker. It is rather a frequently construed strategy in situations of high emotional intensity and when the speaker attempts to position the addressee at many places – in this case as king, father, and royal Dane. Each vocative receives a little break when it is uttered; however, as an enumeration, the vocatives add to the emotional intensity. Royal Dane might allude to the original values that have been lost by what has happened. It also positions the Ghost as the real King, as the epithet royal both alludes to his social status as well as to his personal qualities. Furthermore, it alludes to the values important to Hamlet as does the term of family relationship father. This interpretation is further corroborated by one of Hamlet’s self-addresses in the last act: “This is I, / Hamlet, the Dane” (Ham. 5.1.257f.). In this scene, Hamlet seems to be conscious of himself as well as of the fact that, as a real Dane, he is responsible for his father’s revenge. His self-address sounds like a resolved announcement to take up the task, which the definite article the and the use of the first person pronoun further intensify. Hamlet’s construal of himself stands in harsh contrast to his scornful address to Claudius, which


culminates in “Here, thou incestuous, [murd’rous] damned Dane, / Drink [off ] this poison” (Ham. 5.2.325f.). The initial, clearly negative vocative testifies to the sincerity of his warning and threat. The structure of the vocative displays not only the striking use of the emphatic and condescending personal pronoun thou, but is also an enumeration of three negative interpersonal vocatives. While the last epithet damned even alliterates with the head Dane, in sum, the vocative brutally construes Claudius as a wicked, blasphemous, evil murderer. Even in speaking, each element of the vocative should receive an additional stress unit that further reinforces both Hamlet’s rage and Claudius’s character. The head noun Dane transfers positive connotations and construes Hamlet’s awareness of his identity. 5.1.6.2 The vocative Margaret in R3 In R3 4.4.8, Margaret addresses herself with the following vocative: “Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret.” She orders herself to stand apart when Elizabeth and the Duchess of York enter the stage, as she has just decided to flee England. The vocative is not only an expression of self-pity that is further reinforced by the use of the personal pronoun thee, but also an attempt to underline her resolution. Richard in R3 uses many derogatory personal names, yet, his exclamative “Margaret” in 1.3.233 is probably one of the most overtly uttered warnings and derogatory vocatives in the play. We have just been through the long scene of Margaret’s curses, which Richard forebodingly terminates in “Margaret.” This threatening imperative vocative is immediately retorted by Margaret’s “Richard” (R3 1.3.233), which Richard, ironically echoing the call by allegedly fulfilling the adjacency pair question– answer, retorts with a joking interjection “Ha” (R3 1.3.233). This exchange receives another ironic, sarcastic, and brutal reply when Margaret exclaims: ”I call thee not” (R3 1.3.233) and Richard rejoins “I cry thee mercy then, for I did think / That thou hast called me all these bitter names” (R3 1.3.234f.). Margaret answers this repartee with “Why so I did, but look’d for no reply. / O, let me take the period to my curse” (R3 1.3.236f.). Richard’s “T’is done by me, and ends in ‘Margaret’” temporarily terminates the verbal onslaught of wit and brutality, but also exemplifies his fabulous rhetorical capabilities. By comparison with Margaret, who is the incarnation of the wrong sort of vengeance, one might even consider Richard almost sincere in his evil deeds. In addition, his deformity is an outward and visible sign of his inward spiritual gracelessness, yet his attractiveness lies in his ability to make us admire him for his verbal talents. The vocatival exchange between Margaret and Richard is another example of the emotive qualities of a vocative as personal name. While our better natures know perfectly well that what Richard is doing is monstrous – in this he shares something with Aaron, but not with Don John or Iago, who are by now means sympathetic – it is not only his immense self-confidence but also “his discernment of character, his address and fertility of resource, the command of his temper, his versatility, the ‘alacrity’ whose loss he laments on the eve of Bosworth, and his unquestioned courage and military prowess” (Hammond ed. 1997: 105f.).


5.1.6.3 The vocative Lear in Lr. In Lr. 1.4.270–72, Lear addresses himself as “O Lear, Lear, Lear! / Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, / and thy dear judgement out! Go, go, my people.” Lear’s tripling of his own name not only testifies to the highly emotional situation that is construed, but also foreshadows the beginning of his madness. The repetition of the three personal names somehow deprecates as well as indicates the many souls that are in Lear’s chest. One is his deep self-pity and preponderance of maintaining his former status. The other is his personal insecurity and recognition of his own faults and identity due to his shock at his daughters’ reactions. The enumeration of the vocative also anticipates the language that construes Lear in the later scenes. The vocative tripling echoes the following sequences of sounds “Now, now, now, now” (Lr. 4.6.172) or “Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill” (Lr. 4.6.187) or “Sa, sa, sa, sa” (Lr. 4.6.203). In addition, Lear construes himself as the Lear he used to be. It is an encouragement, but also a warning or a self-reproach. At the same time, he doubts his own identity. This corresponds to the fact that Regan and Goneril are addressed by their personal names at the beginning, but Cordelia is not. For her, an EPITHET is chosen. Only in Act 5, does Lear resort to Cordelia’s personal name again.22 Despite his madness, Lear has realised that Cordelia is the daughter he should have trusted before. Hence, here the reverberations of Cordelia referring to cors – as illustrated in the triple use of her personal name – still hold. Also, the repetition of Cordelia when she is already dead is another sign of Lear’s change of style and further highlights his “kill, kill, kill.” As such, Magnusson (1999) is wrong to argue that Lear and Cordelia stick to the language of the past. In terms of vocatives used for Cordelia, her personal name seems to be the only appropriate form at the end. 5.1.6.4 The vocative Jephthah in Ham. Hamlet addresses Polonius with the initially placed vocative in his exclamation in “O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hast thou” (Ham. 2.2.403), and in old Jephthah at the end of the question “Am I not in th’ right, old Jephthah” (Ham. 2.2.410). Polonius assumes that Hamlet’s unrequited love for Ophelia is the reason for Hamlet’s deplorable condition. The use of the two Jephthah vocatives carries clearly ironic connotations, even though they are exactly uttered at the moment when Polonius expects them to be uttered. In his naivité and his incapability of, or unwillingness to understand Hamlet’s allusions, Polonius retorts: “Still on my daughter” (Ham. 2.2.405). Jephthah is one of Israel’s most important judges in the Old Testament (Judg. 10, 6–12) who, when defending Gilead, forces Israel’s victory over the Ammonites (or Moabites). He took the vow to sacrifice Jahve, whom he would first encounter arriving home. This is his daughter who bewails her virginity. Crucial parallels are existent between Polonius and the biblical Jephthah. Hamlet positions Polonius as a Jephthah implying that he has sacrificed his daughter for his own sake. Hamlet also indicates that he has understood the game that is played with him. Note that this conversation takes place right before the nunnery-scene. At the same time, Hamlet characterises Polonius as the opposite of a fishmonger (Ham. 2.2.174). A fishmonger can 22. This vocative-switching is similar to Beatrice’s and Benedick’s, which changes into personal name usage for Beatrice after Benedick is convinced that Beatrice loves him.


be considered a character whose daughter had a more than ordinary propensity to breed (OED 1.). In Florio (1598), there is also the term whore-monger, which describes a frequenter of women. The positioning of Polonius as a father who sacrifices his daughter in order to fulfil the King’s wishes also reflects the change of the social role of women. While Polonius is still sticks to the old image Hamlet, at least seems to suggest a new role here. The vocative not only foreshadows Ophelia’s propensity to obey her father fully, even when he comes to spy on her lover; it also hints at her death as a virgin – the sacrifice they all have to pay for. 5.1.6.5 The vocative Charmian in Ant. Cleopatra’s exclusive usage of Charmian’s personal name may serve as an example of how different social nuances of personal name usage can be transferred. Certainly, social structure determines that Charmian is not addressed with lady but with her personal name. However, Cleopatra addresses her 36 times by means of a vocative. This high number of direct address terms for a servant also construes their intimate relationship. It is also highly marked because 22 terms are personal names, and the remaining 14 consist of women, friends, and girls. Towards the end of the play, these are amplified by means of noble, and dear, which are highly marked epithets for a character of Charmian’s social status. Usually, these epithets are applied to characters from a higher social status. On both sides, banter and authority as construed by the vocatives at the beginning of the play are replaced by more sincere expressions of trust, friendship, and loyalty. Cleopatra’s exclusive use of Charmian’s personal name is also highly creative of the meanings of the initial lexical morpheme of the derivation Charmian, the noun charm. In Palsgrave (1530), charm refers to charm as a witch doth by enchantments, and making a charm as a flock of small birds. In T. Thomas (1587), it is bewitching a “charme.” In Florio (1598), the lexeme can refer to a bewitcher or charmer with words or looks. “Note him, Note him, good Charmian, ‘tis the man, but note him” (Ant. 1.5.54), for example, establishes in-group identity when Cleopatra, in a highly emotionally manner, almost equates Charmian’s qualities with the positive abstraction of Antony as “well-divided disposition” (Ant. 1.5.53). The vocative also testifies to her propensity for construing identity by means of extreme vocatives and to her reliance on female companionship. Cleopatra’s “Ink and paper, Charmian” (Ant. 1.5.65) not only illustrates that good Charmian represents one of the most elaborate vocatives Charmian may receive, but also testifies to the authority and ordering tone that is inherent in the use of the vocative alone. However, her following “Did I, Charmian, / Ever love Caesar so” (Ant. 1.5.66f.) is a hidden but banter-like warning to Charmian that she would do better to negate the question rather than to answer it in the affirmative. At the end of the play, her trust in Charmian and her wish to inform Charmian about her final path towards death is clearly apparent in “Now, noble Charmian, we’ll dispatch indeed” (Ant. 5.2.230). Notice that the use of noble may additionally serve to lift Charmian up to a higher social and moral position. In addition, the epithet emphasises her admirable qualities. Dispatch may carry the meanings of both hurry, as in Ant. 4.4.15, and finish, as in 5.2.321, and indicates that they will hurry and really finish Cleopatra’s life. Charmian, noble in her character, is now more seriously positioned as her companion in death.


To conclude, Cleopatra’s “Farewell, kind Charmian” (Ant. 5.2.292) exemplifies the most heart-moving, straight, frank, open, brief and loving farewell one encounters in the play. It also reinforces the change to a soft, loving, but determined tone towards the end of the play. Notice also the choice of the Germanic epithet kind rather than the Latin noble. 5.1.6.6 The vocative Caesar in Ant. A change in atmosphere and interpersonal potential as construed by the use of a personal name is also evident in Cleopatra’s indirect address to Julius Caesar. In Ant. 1.5.29, Cleopatra misses Antony. She is bored, but so deeply attracted to Antony that she needs to compare this relationship with that to Julius Caesar: “Broad-fronted Caesar, / When thou wast here above the ground, I was / A morsel for a monarch” (Ant. 1.5.29–31). She adds the interpersonal epithet broad-fronted to it. In his Life of Julius Caesar, Suetonius describes Caesar as having a broad front (Wilders ed. 1995: 121), which might not refer to a certain noblesse in outlook. As such, the ironic tone of this address is reinforced, despite the use of the personal name. Charmian, obviously knowing her mistress’ unsteady character, mockingly and teasingly positions Caesar as “brave Caesar” (Ant. 1.5.67), alluding both to his outward appearance, his courage, and his success as a Roman warrior. In Cotgrave (1611), brave assumes several connotations that move from sexual potency, over wildness, a valiant, gallant, proud character to a handsome outward appearance. The vocative that describes the absent Caesar includes the conversational strategy of banter. As such, Charmian’s vocative also addresses Cleopatra, as the vocative represents a funny downgrading address to Cleopatra’s face. This is immediately expressed in Cleopatra’s warning: “Be chok’d with such another emphasis! / Say, “the brave ‘Antony’.” (Ant. 1.5.68f.). Their relationship of jovial friendship, on the one hand, and Charmian’s honesty, on the other, becomes obvious in Charmian’s disobedient answer in “The valiant Caesar!” (Ant. 1.5.69), and in her reply to Cleopatra’s warning of being punished if she continues comparing Caesar and her “men of men”: “By your most gracious pardon, / I sing but after you” (Ant. 1.5.72f.). Charmian does credit to her name, when she, in the sense of T. Thomas’ (1587) explanation of recanto “sing[s] after another: also to charm away, to charm out a sing that was brought out by enchantment.” Charmian’s emphasis is placed not only on the interpersonal importance of the epithet modifying the vocative head, but also again on Caesar’s body and outward appearance, as valiant (OED 1.a.) refers to “the well-built, strong, and firm body.” Notice that even though the two women refer to Caesar as Caesar, hence the vocative he wishes to be addressed with, their use of epithets carries clear ideological dimensions as well. In terms of gender, one of the women’s main interests is to talk about and to discuss the men’s outward appearances. Nevertheless, this hilarious verbal fencing testifies to the fact that despite the great gap in social status, Charmian recourses to vocative categories that enable her to position Cleopatra as the moody, unsteady queen, which she nevertheless loves and adores. Surface devotion and deference is expressed in Cleopatra’s address to Octavius Caesar in Act 5. Pretending to be compliant with what Octavius demands of her, she uses Caesar and the epithet good to address him in “Say, good Caesar, / That I some lady trifles have reserv’d, / Immoment toys, thing of such dignity / As we greet modern friends withal” (Ant. 5.2.164–67). The less committal and outwardly positive, but nevertheless subtle


and multi-dimensional epithet is good. The collocation of good with the personal name, which has already been explained as transferring clearly ironic and bawdy undertones, superficially creates Caesar as valiant and supreme. In addition, Cleopatra downgrades herself as a woman and Egyptian and upgrades Caesar as an honoured, ambitious, and iron Roman emperor who cannot be distracted by worldly goods. Hence, the outwardly ingratiating and personal tone carries clear indications of irony as well, and, as such, is a sign of her inner resolution to realise her plans. Furthermore, due to the enjambement in this line, the recipient gets the impression that the position of the vocative is medial rather than final. This further intensifies her strategy to draw his attention to her. In addition, it makes her pause for a moment so that the vocative and the epithet good can sufficiently echo and flatter Caesar. The superficiality of this vocative and the habitus she assumes is extraordinarily powerful: she purrs and wraps him around her little finger, and somewhat bewitches him as well. In addition, she uses a coordinated social practice in order to achieve her aim. She doubles her address (Ant. 5.2.158) as, if we can believe Enobarbus, the use of a personal name for Caesar is most deferential and highly appropriate. Somewhat similar is Antony’s address to Caesar when he asks Caesar about his attitude towards him: “But on, Caesar, / The article of my oath” (Ant. 2.2.86f.). The vocative terminates the imperative and as such lends force to the implied warning. Even though Antony uses the vocative that is most deferential for Caesar and as such functions like a title, negative meanings of irony and degradation are clearly apparent. 5.1.6.7 The vocative Andronicus in Tit. Recourse should also be made to the interpersonal, experiential, and textual potential that can be exploited when the Roman three- or two-fold combinatory principle of naming is considered. When Titus is addressed in Tit. a distinction is made between Andronicus, Titus, and Titus Andronicus. Strikingly enough, Cicero mentions in one of his writings that these names offered a great potential for ironic or deferential or even condescending address. That the Andronici do not have a three-fold name testifies to the fact that they belong to the highly acclaimed plebeians. In Tit. 1.1.116, Tamora addresses Titus as “Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.” She refers to Titus’s family name in order to prevent him from killing her sons. Hence, she cleverly construes him both as an official and powerful person, when she resorts to his family name and the reputation that is connected with it, while at the same time, retaining the in-group identity that is usually transferred by the use of a name as a vocative. Hence, already at the beginning of the play, Tamora construes herself as a brilliant, insinuating, and goal-directed conversational leader and a master of rhetoric. The use of both names in Marcus’s official speech lends a more formal tone to the vocative, and, at the same time, construes Titus’s identity as a successful and praiseworthy Roman emperor: “Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, / Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, / Send thee by me, their tribute and their trust” (Tit. 1.1.179–81). However, the position of this vocative, which is to convince Titus to accept the people’s offer, and the structure of the vocative is thought-provoking. When seen within the highly stylised and structurally complicated declarative that accompanies it, the vocative construes over-


elaborate rhetorical force. Yet, obviously, it is considered a successful rhetorical model, as both Aaron and Saturninus repeat the pattern and the initial position when they want to achieve something (Tit. 1.1.238).

5.1.7 Specialised fields as vocatives 5.1.7.1 Metaphysical terms: soul, hag, minister, god, priest, woe, smulkin, apparition, and wonder Terms that refer to specialised fields have been further divided into metaphysical, legal, arts and leisure, medical, and military terms. Metaphysical terms are mostly used among characters from higher social positions, both male and female. As a first example from the subcluster metaphysical, the vocative “Go, go, poor soul” (R3 4.1.63) should be mentioned. Elizabeth directs this vocative at Anne when Anne is informed about her marriage with Richard. 24 vocatives in the corpus make use of the head soul. However, seventeen of these vocative heads appear modified. The epithet poor is the most frequent epithet that occurs, which renders a somewhat emotional, but also marked force to this vocative. This vocative and the utterance accompanying it as well as that of the whole scene is characterised by a high emotionality: Richard is proclaimed king, Elizabeth’s sons are in the tower, and Anne receives the news of having to marry Richard. Hence, the corruptness of society as well as its evil come to the surface. Anne’s lamentation about her preference of death over marriage to Richard and coronation precedes Elizabeth’s ingratiating vocative. What does Elizabeth’s recourse to the metaphysical term soul entail? Firstly, it alludes to the Early Modern Chain of Being, in which the supernatural elements are higher within the social order than human beings. The OED (I.1.a and 2.a.) further informs us that soul is not only “the seat of the emotions, feelings, or sentiments” or the “emotional part of man’s nature,” but also alludes to the “intellectual or spiritual power, and to the high development of the mental faculties, deep feelings, and sensitivity.” As such, Elizabeth’s vocative is most feminine in its way to show empathy (Tannen 1990, 1993). Elizabeth stresses that Anne, in contrast to Richard, has a soul and a human conscience and that her soul is marked by honesty, and by an appreciation of the most human virtues, such as justice, love and truth (justice as the highest good in Renaissance England). The epithet poor of this vocative-set attributes a tonality to the vocative that is a shade more pathetic, and ingratiating. In the OED (1.a.), poor may denote a lack of material possessions, but can also carry a compassionate meaning (OED 6.). In Palsgrave (1530), poor is often used to describe a poor creature. At the same time, the adjective poor may also describe something “shabby” or someone “mentally or morally inferior” (OED 5.b.). As such, Elizabeth’s address is certainly multi-dimensional. Due to its marked character within this corpus, this vocative, however, also construes less positive meanings. The final position of the vocative following two imperatives further frames these speech moves into a piece of advice. Furthermore, the position of the vocative adds a more authoritative and urgent tone to what she has to say. Blake (2002a: 231) remarks that the rhetorical device of repetition, which is here exemplified in the two imperatives, further enhances the emotional state of the speaker – whether it is due to despair, bitter-sweet irony, or mild impatience. Considering the fact that one consequence of


the coronation of Richard and his marriage with Anne is that Elizabeth is no longer queen, one therefore needs to doubt the whole-hearted sincerity of this remark, despite her later “poor heart,” which again emphasises the epithet “poor.” Furthermore, her vocative behaviour, though marked by the construal of in-group identity, is uncooperative as she hardly reacts to what Anne has lamented about before. Hence, the vocative might be ironic here as well, as Elizabeth knows exactly what will happen to Anne. Furthermore, although metaphysical terms are not infrequent within Elizabeth’s general address behaviour, it is the first time that she addresses Anne by means of a highly emotional vocative. Interestingly, the ghosts of Hastings and Anne then only use the vocative soul again. Claudius’s address to his own soul transfers different experiential and interpersonal as well as textual nuances. In Ham. 3.3.67–70, Claudius, in an address to himself, laments: “O wretched state! O bosom black as death! / O limed soul, that struggling to be free / Art more engag’d! Help, angels! Make assay, / Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel.” The vocative illustrates the address to the metaphysical (even philosophical) concept soul as well as the scene’s high emotional state. It occurs at a crucial moment in the play: right before Hamlet is on his way to his mother’s closet. It is also part of one of the most extensive soliloquies spoken by the King. At the same time, it constitutes one part of a row of vocatives, which all testify to Claudius’s emotional outbreak and to his guilty conscience. If we recall what the OED (1) tells us about the soul as “the seat of usually positive emotions, feelings, and of Christian faith,” Claudius’s moment of deep repentance and his entanglement in the mischief that he has caused himself becomes obvious. Interestingly, he of all people addresses his soul (the other two direct addresses to the soul are uttered by Hamlet), once when he tries to calm himself down and once when he attacks Hamlet in his absence. In addition, he uses a metaphor to elaborate on the character of the souls. Note that in the Chain of Being the soul is part of the highly important rational (Suerbaum 2001a: 90). To a certain extent, this address has the effect of distancing himself from his former deeds as well. The epithet limed, which only occurs once in the corpus to modify the head soul, tunes the recipient into the sphere of natural phenomena and pastimes. It reverberates the practice of catching birds with birdlime. Here Claudius feels like a bird, captured by the falconer, as the play within the play reveals to him that he is caught by Hamlet and his own guilty consciousness. The more he struggles to get out the more he is entangled. In Augustine’s Confessions, this metaphor is also used to describe the deathlike state of the soul which entanglements in wordly pleasures keep one from God (Humphreys ed 1997: 316) – hence his desperate request to the angels to help him.23 Macbeth’s address to the witches in “How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags” (Mac. 4.1.48) also bears correspondences to the time in which the play was composed. It clearly alludes to the Renaissance interest in the supernatural or black art. The address to the witches is an important trigger for the tragedy that characterises the play, even though in the corpus the vocative hag is a negative term to construe and attack female identity

23. Similar to Othello, whose use of soul for Desdemona will be elaborated on in Chapter 5.2.3, Antony’s attack on Cleopatra in her absence leads to the very emphatic vocative “O this foul soul of Egypt” (Ant. 4.12.25), where the illocutionary force of the epithet foul, which echoes the witches in Mac. 1.1.11 (“Fair is foul, and foul is fair.”), is negative.


(see, for example, Lr. 2.4.278f. “No, you unnatural hags, / I will have such revenges on you both”). While Macbeth’s attack alludes to the women’s evil potential for bewitching and performing evil, dishonest, and unjust deeds, Macbeth uses the epithets secret, black, and midnight not only in negative senses. Although the epithets refer to their ways of conspiring, to black art, and to their usual times of meeting – which, in sum allude both to the mystery and ambiguity in their knowledge – these features alone also seem to mark the characteristics Macbeth is particularly attracted to. If one considers that he returns to what the OED calls “An evil spirit, applied in early use to the Furies, Harpies, etc. of Graeco-Latin mythology; also to malicious female sprites or fairies of Teutonic myth” (OED 1.), not only a clearly non-Christian Germanic element that was popular with Renaissance culture is alluded to here, but also his dependence on it. Macbeth asks the witches for their opinion when he is about to kill Banquo, in a very poetical way. Note, for example, the speed of this line, the internal rhyme in black and hags, and the imagery of the epithets used. At the same time, the tone is most authoritative, because of its final position and the somehow jovial initial greeting formula How now, which additionally opens the conversation by means of the first part of an adjacency pair. Furthermore, the vocative underlines Macbeth’s nervousness, because the hyperbolic use of three epithets violates the Gricean maxim of quantity and is hence marked. Moreover, the vocative as such turns the greeting, which is syntactically a question, into a command, as Macbeth is desperate to be informed about his future (enemies). Obviously, in scenes of high emotion, the metaphysical seem to be addressed, either via recourse to deities, witches, or God. The vocative is un-reciprocal, as the witches do not seem to greet Macbeth at all. In the singular, hag is rare in the meaning of “an ugly and wicked woman” (U. Busse 2002: 170). In R3 1.3.214, Gloucester uses it to attack Margaret: “Have done thy charm, thou hateful with’red hag.” Here Richard not only construes Margaret as a wicked woman, but remains in the metaphysical picture of witchcraft that has pejorative connotations in EModE and is highly interpersonally loaded in the play itself. As outlined in Chapter 4.2.5.2, the female characters are construed as antagonists to Richard by means of negative metaphysical vocatives that create Richard as non-Christian and fiendish. In contrast to Macbeth’s painted-over security to the witches, Lady Macbeth’s invocation of “spirits / That tend on mortal thoughts” (Mac. 1.5.40f.) represents an address to supernatural, metaphysical and non-Christian forces that, at least initially, shows authority, her trust, and her determination: “Come, you spirits / That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here / And fill me from the crown to the toe, topfull / Of direst cruelty” (Mac. 1.5.40–43).24 With the help of a structurally more elaborate vocative, Lady Macbeth construes the world of evil, black art, and mystery in order to work herself up. When seen from the Renaissance view of women, one may argue that it is a particularly non-female way of not only thinking in evil terms but also invoking black art (Finkenstaedt 1963). By means of the lexically cohesive, but socially un-cohesive way of addressing these mortal spirits and dark energies, Lady Macbeth positions herself apart from the conventional ideas of femininity, the EModE philosophical, Christian, and anthropological ideal of justice and love. Instead, she invokes those spirits that help her maintain her destructive designs. 24. When Lear is mad, we find a similar address: “Darkness and Devils!” (Lr. 1.4.252).


This mutilating force is further intensified by her use of the neologism unsex (OED 1). She, in contrast to Macbeth, is aware of the fact that she needs to lose “th’ milk of human kindness” (Mac. 1.5.17), in order to fulfil her plan (later, this is reverberated in her address to the ministers whom she directs to take her milk for gall). Her address has prayer-like character that reminds the recipient of the witches’ own invocations at the beginning of the play. Lady Macbeth’s invocation is also reinforced by the position of the vocative. One could think that the vocative is also in medial position between come and unsex. Yet, here the line ends after spirits so that we get two breaks: one after come, the other following spirits. The mostly Germanic etymology of the different constituents in this vocative, which, in sum, correlate with the implicit subject of the behavioural clause intensify the cruelty as well as the clear directness of her address. Ministers are, according to the OED (4.a.), “supernatural, incorporeal, rational beings or personalities, usually regarded as imperceptible at ordinary times to the human senses,” but capable of becoming visible at pleasure, and frequently conceived as troublesome, terrifying, or hostile to men. To gain further support, Lady Macbeth uses another vocative: “Come to my woman’s breasts / And take my milk for gall, you murth’ring ministers, / Wherever in your sightless substances / You wait on Nature’s mischief ” (Mac. 1.5.47–50). Here the final position is a shade more brutal and authoritative. Furthermore, the image invoked carries sexual connotations as well. In addition, the reference to the ministers to suck her milk and take it for gall alludes to the Renaissance concept of the four humours with red gall symbolising choler (see, for example, Suerbaum 2001a: 93). Macbeth should have performed the invocation of the attendant spirits, but her extraordinary potential as a necromancer or exorcist becomes obvious in these vocative patterns. Notably, however, she uses these techniques only at the very beginning. As an almost entirely ritually crazed figure of impotence brought back from the past to represent the brutal un-Christian, Old Testament concepts of retributive justice, Margaret flings thousands of attacks at her tormentors. Her addresses to God (R3 1.3.271) are in pity and in suffering from the bloody deeds that have been done on earth, or more importantly, to her and her family. The initial vocative adds to the sincerity of what she has to say, O is a morphological marker intensifying her lamentation. In “O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, / But thou wilt be aveng’d on my misdeeds, / Yet execute thy wrath in me alone” (R3 1.4.69–71), Clarence, in one of the 23 addresses in the corpus to God, expresses his consciousness of his own corruption and his wish to acquire power. As such, the address to God gives us a Christian-like image of repentance. It co-occurs with an imperative, but functions as a request, which the vocative frames as such. Again, the morphological marker O reinforces his lamentations, his repentance, and his sincerity.25 As an objection could serve the fact that the Christian imagery of the passage is at variance with the classical terminology of the dream. But the lines introduce the religious tone and the language of the ensuing scene.26

25. Some believe these lines to be a late addition to F1. 26. See also R3 3.3.22, R3 4.4.22, Ham. 1.4.39, Ham. 1.5.96, Ham. 1.5.190, Tit. 1.1.332, Tit. 5.2.67, 1H4 5.5.144, Ant. 5.2.45, and Ham. 1.5.96.


At the burial of Ophelia, Laertes, who attempts to evade the prohibitions of the burial service for suicides, attacks the priest with the following words: “I tell thee, churlish priest, / A minist’ring angel shall my sister be / When thou liest howling” (Ham. 5.1.240–43). Laertes is enraged at the fact that Ophelia does not receive the word and services she should receive. Therefore, he alludes to the priest’s religious position, but reverses the inherently positive and moral meanings of priest with the highly interpersonal and emotional epithet churlish, which is marked due to its listing in some of the EModE dictionaries. In W. Thomas (1550), for example, it alludes to dogged and malvolio. In T. Thomas (1587), it refers to behaviour and personality likewise, as the term correlates with such adjectives as “rough,” and “sharp” or “unpleasant,” “cruel,” as well as “disdainful” or “severe,” “rigorous” and “stubborn,” and “fierce.” Similar meanings can be inferred from Florio (1598), in which it denotes “hating,” “ill-minded” and “hearing,” “ill will,” “rude” and “someone that knows no fashion.” Shakespeare might have criticised the Church’s treatment of suicides here. Laertes’ outspoken and explicit turn to and defence of his sister testifies to his change. The fact that he even dares to position the priest as churlish and among the damned further intensifies this idea. The use of thou is marked, as it co-occurs most frequently with you. In Lr. 1.4.257–61, Lear attacks Goneril and says “Woe, that too late repents; [O! Sir, are you come?] / Is it your will? Speak, Sir. – Prepare my horses. – / Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, / More hideous, when thou show’st thee in a child / Than the seamonster.” Strikingly, women (Desdemona, Goneril) and men (Richard), who are falsely or rightly conceived of as the epitome of evil, are often lexically cohesively positioned within the metaphysical, irrational, evil, anti-Christian world of the devil: brutal, cruel, vicious, egocentric, unnatural, conceited, and blasphemous. Here the idea of the vocative as grammatical and lexical metaphor is further alluded to. In addition, the preceding vocative illustrates that Blake’s remark (2002a: 274) about derogatory vocatives being short and overt is not entirely corroborated by the vocatives that are part of this corpus. Lear’s open-face threatening attack, which is triggered by the fact that he was ordered to reduce the number of his train or to leave Goneril (additionally several references to his age), is another outburst of anger that takes control of him and is similar to his attack on Cordelia in the opening scene. The epithet marble-hearted, in which, according to the OED (I.1.a.), marble refers to “white, hard, cold, or rigid like marble,” testifies to this. Lear alludes to Goneril’s role as his child and obedient daughter, even though it was he himself who transferred power. Goneril no longer wants to comply with this position. Yet, for Lear, her behaviour is worse than a sea-monster. Later on, he recourses again to the metaphysical vocative, when hags is preceded by ingratitude, which is another negative abstraction of her character. This direct exclamation violates Grice’s CP, as in terms of structure and amplification it is extensive (Lr. 2.2.467): “No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both.” Notice, the way unnatural correlates with Gloucester’s construal of Edmund as natural. In his address to animals on the ground as Smulkin in “Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin! Peace, thou fiend” (Lr. 3.4.140), Edgar pretends to be poor mad Tom. His address behaviour, however, also construes some deeper traits of his character: a revenger of evil nature, as Smulkin is a minor devil. As such, Edgar is associated with nature in its good aspects, while the new order established by Goneril, Regan, and Edmund is based on


self-interest. It is devoted to nature in a bad sense, because the goddess to whom Edmund appeals (“Thou, nature, art my goddess” [Lr. 1.2.1]) is nature manifested in the law of the jungle. Here Edgar assumes the disguise as “Poor Tom” – the figure of a beggar, half naked, mad or pretending to be – in order to be able to perform his revenge. The image of “Poor Tom,” which is typically described in many accounts of vagabonds, must have appealed to the Elizabethan audience. It links to the underworld of the Jacobean period. Nevertheless, the vocative has also a bad gloomy temper and melancholy. A similar idea is also transferred by Edgar’s address to the animals. As such, Edgar’s role-playing is both sympathetic and disturbing. Yet, it is too simplistic to idealise him as a moral parallel to Cordelia. Edgar points out that his concern is “How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin” (Lr. 3.4.159). The capacity for cruelty that is inherent in these words is performed when he becomes a killer in disposing of Oswald and Edmund. The evil, which is symbolised here in his address to Smulkin, thou fiend somehow echoes the fly episode in Tit 3.2. The final position of the vocative Smulkin, following a clear order, reinforces the idea of a vindictive revenge on Oswald or on Edmund. Hence, on the surface, his address underlines madness, while when looked at in detail, the extent to which vocatives add to important themes of the play becomes obvious. In addition, Edgar has a symbolic function as the un-accommodated man who brings Lear and Gloucester to a new moral consciousness, and as a force of good overcoming evil: “Croak not, black angel; I have no food for thee” (Lr. 3.6.31). A topic change and the construal of positive identity are created in Prospero’s address to Ariel: “Fine apparition” (Tmp. 1.2.317). A switch in tone, interpersonal integrity, and intimacy create these meanings. Ariel enters the stage like a water nymph and is in compliance with the order Prospero gave him. The address is highly marked, especially in the light of Prospero’s angry speech at Ariel, which precedes this exclamation. Prospero not only reminds him of his own role in Ariel’s liberation, but also chides the spirit for his impatience to become free. The see-nymph costumes make him/her blend with the marine atmosphere of the play – he is invisible to Miranda. As a textual signifier, fine apparition illustrates a topic change, as Prospero’s powerful reprimand of Ariel changes into an elaboration on his new role. Prospero seems to indicate that he has forgiven Ariel’s protestations. As an epithet, fine, within the nominal group, refers to “exquisitely fashioned, delicately beautiful” (OED 1). According to the OED (1.a.), apparition is the supernatural appearance of some invisible beings. In addition, Ariel is construed as a beautiful wonder of magic, which the mixture of the Germanic epithet and the Romance head of this vocative also reinforce (see Schäfer 1973). In Florio (1598), the noun apparition correlates with “comeliness,” and “a phantasie” or “a thing that one hath seen in his sleep.” The vocative is also the first of a row of two vocatives; my quaint Ariel refers to his cleverness and skill by which he performs his task. As mentioned above, the doubling or tripling of vocatives adds to the emotional tone of what is uttered as well as to the sincerity or irony of what is said. Here, the vocative functions like an additional encouragement. The imperative also carries a requesting note as well, which is further construed by the vocative. The quantity and quality of the two vocatives violate Grice’s cooperative principle. Yet, the over-elaborate use of two vocatives functions as an ostensive marker to tune Ariel into Prospero’s changed mood. In addition, there is an intonational break after each vocative in order to strengthen the assumed identity that Prospero places onto Ariel.


In Tmp., wooing is performed via recourse to a metaphysical vocative. When Ferdinand addresses Miranda for the first time, he uses “O you wonder” (Tmp. 1.2.427). Prior to this vocative, Ferdinand, in correspondence with Aeneas’ encounter with his mother Venus, characterises Miranda as a goddess. Some would probably describe Ferdinand’s address as a summons (Blake 2002a), as the vocative not only initiates the conversation, but may also be seen as the first part of a somewhat unusual, though probably still coherent adjacency pair. However, the vocative contains the morphological marker O, which adds to the emotional character of what is said. The use of the personal pronoun you (not thou) illustrates Ferdinand’s reverence even more, as, in this case, it can be seen as a marker of higher style, which is also characteristic of the well-educated aristocrat. The Germanic wonder is a play on Miranda’s name, which stems from the Latin verb miror, meaning “to wonder or to be astonished at” (OED 1). In addition, the vocative is another example of the vocative’s general potential for creating important themes of the plays – here, its preoccupation with magic. If we recall the idea of the vocative as grammatical and lexical metaphor, the interpersonal, textual, and experiential dimensions of the vocative wonder become even more apparent. As such, its denotational and functional core can be seen as a narrative, which positions Miranda as a supernatural goddess, and as such strongly creates her as a part of her father’s metaphysical world. However, the interpersonal potential of this vocative is in danger of being conceived of as a hyperbolic address, which in terms of quality almost certainly violates Grice’s cooperative principle, as it is more than polite. This can be inferred from Miranda’s vivid, rhetorically skilful, though also sympathetic answer “No wonder, sir. / But certainly a maid” (Tmp. 1.2.427f.). Since, for Miranda, magic is a metaphysical phenomenon she is familiar with, she does not want to be created as a miracle by the man whom she feels attracted to for the first time. Hence, she explicitly positions herself apart from her father and towards Ferdinand. At the same time, her answer is marked by comic meanings and banter. While this vocative, on the one hand, testifies and adds to the general atmosphere of the play as alluding to the supernatural, it also mocks a wooing technique, on the other – despite the fact that Ferdinand continues to woo Miranda that way. Here, reference to metaphysical semantics testifies to the interpersonal as well as ideological relations that are established. Decorum, rhetoric, wooing, and hierarchical relations are intact. 5.1.7.2 Arts and leisure: art and music In Tmp., Prospero addresses his clothes and personifies them as “Lie there my Art” (Tmp. 1.2.25). In this vocative, the distinction between Prospero’s identity as a magician, as a father, as a duke, and as a man becomes obvious and testifies to the magical atmosphere of the whole play. Vaughan (ed. 1999: 151) suggests that the vocative address echoes a report by Thomas Fuller: Sir William Cecil, Elizabeth’s closest advisor used to say at night, when he put off his gown: “Lie there, Lord Treasurer!” (quoted in Vaughan ed. 1999: 151). The vocative is uttered just before Prospero wakes up his daughter, and as such, can be seen as a discourse marker that indicates the change from the magical and fairy world to the human. This vocative may also be considered ambiguous in terms of what or rather who is addressed. Presumably, Miranda is asleep on the floor. Consequently, the vocative could


construe parts of her identity as well. She is a product of her father’s magic potential: as a daughter, educated and brought up by her father, she is his art, as he has formed her. In addition, the deictic element and the denotations of the term art also create her as most precious and valuable to him. Hence, the meanings of this vocative and its final position almost turn the whole utterance into a caressing statement. Another interesting vocative that denotes elements of arts and leisure is that uttered by Cleopatra in “music, moody food / Of us that trade in love” (Ant. 2.5.1f.), which is uttered closely before her fury at the messenger (an attack that resembles Antony’s on Thidias). Unlike the triumvirs, Cleopatra pretends to have nothing to do in Antony’s absence. As such, the scene begins with an ironic comment on and address to music and sets the tone for the whole episode following it. Even though music should distract her from Antony’s absence, she implies that with it being moody food for those who are in love, it either does not fulfil its function to seduce or to blur at all or further reinforces the feeling of loss and separation. Note how she is able to underline these contextual ambiguities, for example, by the alliteration in music and moody, and the identical vowels in moody and food that literally play verbal music. Here we also get another glimpse at the temperamental and melancholic Queen. The reference, us that trade in love, could function as a pluralis majestatis, but also as a generalisation. As such, it echoes Prospero’s most ironic address to Ariel in “How now, moody” (Tmp. 1.2.244), but also stands in strong contrast, for example, to Orsino’s “If music be the food of love, play on” (TN 1.1.1). Cleopatra’s quick change of mind, exemplified in “let’s to billard’s” (Ant. 2.5.3) further creates the oriental style as well as the use of hyperbole. Furthermore, Egypt as a place of feeding, drinking, music, verbosity, and seduction is also highlighted. Again, the vocative is another example of extensive elaboration. There is a break after “music” – as if she were talking to herself – or thinking aloud. In Son. 8, the imaginary field of music is introduced for the first time in the sequence of sonnets. Here, similar to Cleopatra, the young man is described as made melancholy by hearing music: “Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly” (Son. 8.1). As such, Shakespeare refers quite frequently to music as provoking pensiveness or melancholy, as Jessica’s remark in MV 5.1.69 “I am never merry when I hear sweet music” also illustrates. In MND 3.2.283f., Hermia attacks Helena with a vocative from the field of arts and leisure: ”You juggler! You canker-blossom! / You thief of love!” According to the OED (1. and 2.), a juggler is “one who entertains or amuses people by stories, songs, buffoonery, tricks,” a “jester,” and a “buffoon.” Yet, the term is also often used with implied contempt or reprobation, as it refers to “someone who deceives by trickery and one who plays fast and loose” (OED 3.). In another tirade of vocatives, Hermia uses this vocative to position Helena as such a figure. This attack is triggered by Lysander’s sudden change of feeling and his announcement that he now loves Helena. 5.1.7.3 Military terms: soldiers, defender, lieutenant, and wrack Vocatives that refer to military terms are mostly applied to men. Military register creates interpersonal meanings that appeal to male power, honour, or success, especially when uttered by women. However, it can be used in an equally derogatory way. A first example is Pompey’s address to Enobarbus in Ant. 2.6.72: “Howe far’st thou, soldier.” As a vocative,

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soldiers appears eleven times in the corpus and is used for characters from higher and lower social positions. As such, the vocatival usage of soldier(s) needs to be seen in context. It may transfer a potential for impoliteness, as, for example, in Pompey’s view, Enobarbus is nothing more than a soldier. Before Antony has established Enobarbus’s identity at the first meeting of the triumvirs, he construes him as “a soldier only. Speak no more” (Ant. 2.2.107). This is reinforced both by the personal pronoun thou to which the vocative correlates, and by the fact that Shakespeare transfers to a deserter the name Enobarbus (as he found it in Plutarch). The meaning of “Enobarbus” associates him with the traditionally red-haired Judas Iscariot, the most celebrated traitor (Wilders ed. 1995: 87). In Tit. 1.1.77f., Titus addresses Jupiter, the oldest and most important Roman god, with the unique vocative “Thou great defender of this Capitol, / Stand gracious to the rites that we intend,” before he clearly directs his addresses at the people of Rome, his brother Marcus, or the patricians on stage. This address to the victorious emperor is especially indicative of the existent Roman conventions that Shakespeare describes to be dominant, but also alludes to Titus’s own martial and honour-obsessed personality as the defender of Rome. In Oth. 2.3.259, Iago addresses Othello with one of the eight lieutenant vocatives in the play: “What, are you hurt, lieutenant.” Allegedly appealing to Cassio’s official position, but, on the surface, rather piercingly reminding Cassio of the neglect of his duty, which Iago has caused, Iago does not frame the use of the military vocative into a real question, but rather into a threat that testifies to Iago’s irony and sadism. “Come, wrack” (Mac. 5.5.50), Macbeth says, addressing destruction when he is about to face the defeat of his own murderous kingdom. He begins “to be aweary of the sun” (Mac. 5.5.48) and wishes that “th’ estate o’th’ world were now undone” (Mac. 5.5.49). As such, the unique personification of the vocative wrack and the direct invocation or address of damage, disaster, injury to a person, state by reason of force, outrage, or violence, devastation, and destruction render explicit the apocalyptic extent of Macbeth’s history. He deals with no more and no less than the destruction of the world and human nature. 5.1.7.4 Legal terms: allegiance, thief, traitor, and advocate Vocatives that refer to legal terms are equally potent in transferring interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings. Laertes rejects his bond with Claudius in Ham. 4.5.132, “To hell, allegiance,” after he has been informed about his father’s death, thereby denying a feudal relationship. The foregrounded vocative allegiance, which occurs only once in the corpus, summarises all relevant duties and rights that mark feudal society and the relation of a king to his surrogates. In Cawdrey (1604) and Cotgave (1611), the concept of loyalty is introduced in correlation with allegiance. In Bullokar (1616), allegiance is described as the obedience to a prince and the obedience of a subject. Since, at this point, Laertes believes that Claudius is responsible for his father’s death, the vocative also indicates his change of personality, as from now on he is no longer a spoiled young man, but resolved to revenge the murder of his father. Again, the allusion to the metaphysical world and the short imperative testify to his change. In MND 3.2.282f., Hermia uses a legal vocative in a somewhat odd collocation when she combines the emotion / mind, thought with a legal term. She idiosyncratically attacks Hermia as a thief of love in “O me, you juggler! You canker-blossom! / You thief of love.”


After Lysander’s change, she resorts to this legal term, and construes Helena as a woman who steals something. She uses this strange collocation to establish Helena’s identity. Notice the comic potential that is inherent in these rather serious attempts at female attacking by means of overdone and brutal vocatives. Saturninus is falsely led into the assumption that his brother Bassianus has betrayed him. Hence, he positions Bassianus as a traitor and implies that his deed represents not only a moral, and feudal injury but is an attack against the law: “Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, / Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape” (Tit. 1.1.403f.). Prospero feigns to be angry at Miranda’s intent to soften him with “What, / An advocate for an impostor” (Tmp. 1.2.477f.). In T. Thomas (1587) the highly stylised character of this address becomes obvious, as the Latinate term impostor alludes to a beguiler, and a seller of false ware. Hence the vocative is not only an attack on Miranda, but also on Ferdinand. To sum up, vocatives from specialised fields carry a strong potential for interpersonal emotionality, but also carry a strong ideological force that is habitus-creating and reflecting.

5.1.8 Terms of family relationship 5.1.8.1 Preliminaries The quantitative analysis of vocatives in this corpus has revealed that vocatives denoting terms of family relationship are incoherently distributed in the plays under investigation. If one looks at the use of the representatives of this class in the respective plays, it can be discerned that there is a complex interplay and construal between vocatives denoting kinship relations and the family structure existent in the plays. For example, in 1H4, the King and Westmoreland as well as Hotspur and Worcester use terms of family relationship. Cousin is very prominent here. In H8, no terms of family relationship are used. In Ham., a greater variety of family terms appears with a slight dominance of mother. In Mac., we find a dominance of cousin, but other terms are used quite often as well. Oth. displays a larger variety of kinship terminology. In MV, only father is used to address Gobbo. In Ado, kinship terminology is important. In Cym., the variety is broader – daughter, son, husband, and wife appear. Despite the overt function of denoting the interpersonal meaning of ingroup family relationship, the potential of this cluster for creating more complex and subtle functions as well as connotations should be highlighted. 5.1.8.2 The vocative son The following line from Ham., “But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son“ (Ham. 1.2.64), is to serve as a first example of the interpersonal, textual, and experiential power of family terms. Claudius initiates his address at Hamlet with the vocative, naming the natural relationship before the newly inherited – the EPITHET cousin Hamlet is uttered prior to the vocative son: “But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son” (Ham. 1.2.64). Claudius is immediately interrupted with “A little more than kin, and less than kind” (Ham. 1.2.65). Claudius, pretending to be unconfused, proceeds in his superficial endeavour to ask about Hamlet’s well-being, enquiring: ”How is it that the clouds still hang on you” (Ham. 1.2.66). This Hamlet immediately retorts, saying that “Not so, my lord, I am too much in the sun” (Ham. 1.2.67).


In order to interpret these vocatives, it is vital to remember that Claudius addresses Laertes beforehand, “carressing him with his name four times” (Dover Wilson in Jenkins ed. 1995: 181). In Claudius’s address to Hamlet, the initial position of the two vocatives (if one considers them as the beginning of the interrogative “How is it …”) as interpersonal themes demarcates the change of topic and tone. Preceded by a the conjunction but, which is a textual theme and hedging in function, each of the two vocatives represents an individual tone-unit receiving individual emphasis, of which the latter is even stronger in focus, because it is introduced by the conjunction. This strategy makes it appear as if Claudius not only initiates a speech rather than an intimate address to his nephew, but also intends to reinforce the sincerity of this address. He doubles the vocatives first alluding to his former kinship state to him (my cousin Hamlet) then to the newly established one achieved by marriage (and my son). This strategy of doubling and later even tripling vocatival address in official addresses where the allegedly most important is named last is a popular rhetorical strategy in Shakespeare. Recalling the previously established idea of the vocative as grammatical metaphor, one may rephrase the nominal groups as relational clauses of the following kind: you are not only my nephew, but also my son. Claudius creates Hamlet’s identity as one that Hamlet, as can be seen from his retorts, does not want to assume. Yet, as Claudius wants to allude to just these kinship ties (and not, as was the case with Laertes, just to his character as Hamlet alone – which would be even more dangerous), the situational context compels him to use this strategy, and it is the vocative that construes the contextual atmosphere. The language Claudius uses in interaction construes him to appear sincere. From the very beginning, he paints over the fact that he is responsible for his brother’s death. Since quality counts rather than quantity, Claudius’s artificial, arrogant attempt to achieve in-group identity and empathy is but a sign of the rhetorical high style adequate to a king. It, however, not only violates the Gricean maxims of quality and quantity, but also Hamlet’s positive face and his sense of morality. The tripling of the vocatives is supposed to function as an upgrading, but, for Hamlet, the widened kinship relation from nephew to son is degradation. He has been turned out from the place heaven gave him as well as deprived of the throne. At the same time, Claudius’s address may also be interpreted as clearly authoritative, because the address to the kinship ties a person shares with another alludes to one sense of loyalty and responsibility. Hence, the interrogative that accompanies the initial vocatives is framed into a somewhat condescending warning as well. In addition, it is especially ironic in the light of what the Ghost will tell Hamlet. But Hamlet’s wit is less recondite than Claudius. That Hamlet does not want to accept the identity as Claudius’s son is not only created by the fact that he immediately interrupts Claudius after the latter has uttered the two vocatives just described, but also by the fact that he uses sun to pun on the vocative son. These homophones, reappearing in R3 as well, allude to the Early Modern concept of the four humours. The longer note to the Arden Edition explains that although to Schmidt sunshine suggests careless idleness, the obvious meaning of the metaphor is that Hamlet, with the melancholic’s [one of the four humours] characteristic preference for the shade, objects to the brightness into which he is brought, whether it be the glare of public notice, the gaity of the court, or, more pointedly, the sunshine of the king’s favour (Jenkins ed. 1995: 435).


In addition, his mother’s marriage alone has turned him into Claudius’s son. Therefore, marriage and his mother’s weakness are also expressed by this pun, which he later on rephrases as “Frailty, thy name is woman” (Ham. 1.2.146). The reinforcement of this vocative is an unmistakable glancing at the sun as a royal emblem: Hamlet hints that he is too much in the king’s presence. Hamlet finds this relationship too much for him and Claudius is making too much of it, making him more his son than he really is. The analysis of the son vocatives has illustrated that textually, experientially, and interpersonally, vocatives that refer to family relationships are complex; they construe as well as are suggestive of and construe many aspects of discourse pragmatics. In addition, vocatives employ and are lexical as well as grammatical metaphors that tell a little narrative – it is again by means of vocatives that the most important themes of the play are construed. The same nuances are illustrated in the row of vocatives that terminate Claudius’s advice to stop mourning and his superficial request to make Hamlet stay in Denmark: “And we beseech you bend you to remain / Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye, / Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son” (Ham. 1.2.115–17). This time Claudius authoritatively terminates his highly stylised request (note the poetic and stylised NG in the comfort of our eye, and the beseech you construction) with a tirade of three vocatives that begin with a conventional vocative my courtier and again end with the allegedly most important identity that Hamlet should assume: our son. The form of the deictic element deviates next to the change of position of the three rhematic vocatives, which add to the authoritative tone of the vocatives and attribute to each a specific tonal emphasis. The use of the pluralis majestatis in the deictic element our still expresses Claudius’s attempt to possess Hamlet and further distances Hamlet from him. As such, the previously mentioned deictic elements in my cousin Hamlet and my son are now a shade more superficial and insincere. Similar to the example, cousin co-occurs most frequently with a you pronoun (80 you tokens, 34 thou tokens [U. Busse 2002: 135]). Hence, it is the enumeration of the vocatives that further enhances the highly stylised character of the entire address. The observation in the Arden Edition (Jenkins ed. 1995) that Claudius repeats the words which give offence before and that the queen intervenes again is only partly right as number, position, and amplification, and meaning of the vocatives fundamentally go against this claim. In addition, the fact that Claudius uses the vocative courtier to initiate his ingratiating style is suggestive of a different conversational strategy: his attempt to undermine Hamlet’s present social position, which is that of a courtier and a son to Claudius rather than that of an immediate successor to the throne. Furthermore, as beseech you is considered more deferential than prithee or pray you (Brown and Gilman 1989: 183), Claudius’s simultaneous usage of the negative politeness strategy (substrategy five: give deference [Brown and Gilman 1989: 168]) is constructed. This is also the case for his use of inkhorn terms. Schäfer (1973: 63) points out that Claudius’s way of expression is characterised by a highly nominalised style and by words which are banned for being inkhorn terms.27 That Hamlet clearly ridicules and satirises both his newly acquired status as Claudius’s “stepson” and that of being the son of a promiscuous mother who has also collabo27. For an explanation of inkhorn terms, see Barber (1997: 56–62), or Baugh and Cable (1993: 212–15, 2002: 217–220).

355


rated in the murder of his father is extraordinarily powerful in his exclamative vocative “O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother” (Ham. 3.2.328). This self-address follows the exchange between Hamlet and Rosencrantz, who – as a medium and messenger to Gertrude – informs Hamlet that his “behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration” (Ham. 3.2.326f.). The vocative shows an exceptional foregrounded and highly amplified structure. It contains the morphological vocative marker O and a relative clause that qualifies the head son. Wonderful is, in line with the whole tone of the repartees between Hamlet and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, clearly ironic in this case as to Gertrude and Claudius his behaviour, and the fact that he has asked the players to perform the murder of Gonzago has been face-threatening. The use of son is clearly ironic and sarcastic. Mention has already been made of the crucial role of epithets in construing interpersonal meanings of the vocative. The epithet wonderful is a violation of Grice’s maxim of quality, but at the same time implies that Hamlet has whole-heartedly understood the farce and superficiality of the court. Hamlet construes himself as a son who provokes amazement – even though he wishes this were due to other deeds. It should be stressed here that, by means of vocatives, Gertrude never refers to Hamlet as son. She always uses his personal name and includes his character as a whole. Addressing Hamlet as son is Claudius’s part, because for him this relationship has only recently been acquired. As such, the vocative – as black humour – attacks Claudius’s and Gertrude’s ideas about a faithful and obedient son. At the same time, Hamlet knows that his behaviour during the play-within-the-play has merely provided the convenient occasion for what is already planned. Hence, son reverberates the allusions that have been elaborated on above. The extraordinary linguistic and interpersonal potential of the homophones sun and son are also crucial in R3. In her tirade, Margaret addresses her dead son and appropriates Richard’s pun from R3 1.1.2: “Witness my son, now in the shade of death, / Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath / Hath in eternal darkness folded up” (R3 1.3.266– 68). Edward assumed the device of a sun as his emblem in consequence of the vision of the three suns which appeared to him at the battle of Mortimer’s Cross (1461). On the one hand, son is a clear address to the son who was killed by Richard (Hammond ed. 1997: 165). In the shade of death, this vocative clearly construes empathy, which the thou form further emphasises. The middle position stresses the attention Margaret would like to get. On the other hand, it is an address to the sun, her son, her fame, when she was queen. And, again, reference is made to the four humours. In Lear’s address to Cornwall and Albany, son refers to their status as sons-in-law. At the same time, it reverberates Lear’s address to his daughters Regan and Goneril. In the vocative “Our son of Cornwall, / And you, our no less loving son of Albany, / We have this hour a constant will to publish / Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife / May be prevented now” (Lr. 1.1.41–45), the officiality of the scene is construed. Lear also appeals to kinship relations because this is exactly what he wants to maintain, despite his division of his kingdom. For the first and last time, Lear positions Cornwall and Albany as his sons-in-law. These identities are reinforced, but, at the same time, challenged, as their selves are construed by what is said and how the vocative is employed. The use of pluralis majestatis is also suggestive of the kinship relations he has previously established for his daughters. The vocatives here testify not only to the identity of the addressee, but also of


the addresser. At the same time, it is by the use of vocatives that one of the paradoxical traits in Lear’s character is construed: he wants to divide his kingdom but appeals to just these relations as a king and father in order to sustain his status. “You do look, my son, in a mov’d sort, / As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir” (Tmp. 4.1.146f.) represents the first and last time that Prospero addresses Ferdinand with this honestly ingratiating, emphatic, and most personal term of address. Textually, it functions like a discourse marker in Stein’s (1985) sense, not only because of the change of topic and tone, but also because of its medial position, which lends further emphasis to the vocative as a tonal unit. The indication that Prospero has accepted Ferdinand to become his son is especially fitting following the fairies’ celebration of “a contract of true love.” Yet, it also carries authoritative connotations, as it is further modified by the deictic element my, which still underlines Prospero’s power. In addition, it reminds Ferdinand of the fact that there is no need for himself to be angry, because of the end of this celebration. Furthermore, this conversational strategy of manipulating or reducing the social distance in conversation and the positioning of Ferdinand within the world of kinship relation is also the reflex of or the habitus (Bourdieu 1977 a, b, 1997a, b) of a superior. At the same time, individual temperament construes the position that is attributed to Ferdinand. In his interactions with Cloten, Cymbeline, for the sake of his love for his wife, repeatedly acknowledges his love for her son and appreciation of him: “Our dear son, / When you have given good morning to your mistress, / Attend the queen and us” (Cym. 2.3.60–62). By means of this vocative Cymbeline reduces social distance and his wish to express his empathy and love rather than his presumption or insolence. Corresponding to the very limited number of vocatives Cymbeline uses for Cloten in general, this vocative is the only time that Cymbeline addresses Cloten this way. He only addresses him two times with the term of family relationship son, but this time by means of the epithet dear and the deictic element our, which is wrapped in a pluralis majestatis and highly marked because it is less frequent in the corpus. To conclude, the phonological as well as functional potential of son for going far beyond indications of in-group family identity has been illustrated. It may equally be used to flatter, to ingratiate, to express love and devotion. 5.1.8.3 The vocative wife The investigation of the use of wife testifies to a number of different nuances and meanings that can be transferred. For example in R3 2.1.21, King Edward, after the peace with Lord Hastings has been established, addresses his wife Elizabeth in the following way: “Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand.” Firstly, the initial vocative that represents the textual theme of the imperative marks an independent tone unit that further emphasises the order-like character of this imperative, as a break after wife has been pronounced. Furthermore, the unmodified character of the vocative form testifies to what Blake (2002a: 271) has pointed out about the somewhat unfriendly tone of forms of address that appear unmarked despite his focus on what he calls titles. However, one could also argue that Edward’s recourse to the Germanic wife is simply a most clear, direct and unembellished way of saying what he has to say. Mention should be made of the fact that Edward addresses Elizabeth only twice by means of a vocative: one is the vocative just mentioned; the other


is another unmodified madam vocative (R3 2.1.17). In general, the use of non-amplified vocatives is characteristic of him and of his way of transferring his royal status. Coming back to the vocative used here, one could argue that Edward’s recourse to the term of family relationship that emphasises their marital bond is an interpersonal indicator – somewhat similar to a discourse marker – to follow his advice. In terms of speech function, the vocative frames the imperative that follows it not only into an order but also into a threat. As a vocative, wife does not frequently appear. There are eight instances in which wife correlates with thou, nine of you and eleven in which no address pronoun occurs (U. Busse 2002: 143). Salmon’s (1967: 56) remark that “husbands and wives on good terms call one another by their titles, for example husband and wife, and indicate greater affection by the use of an epithet […]” does not necessarily hold true for this example because, here, Edward simply orders his wife. The fact that the more congruent you pronoun is chosen intensifies the impersonality of this address. One could even go further and argue that here wife functions as an abusive term, because Edward creates Elizabeth only as his subordinate in relation to her feudal allegiance as his queen. In strong contrast to this stands the use of the vocative wife that is used by Macbeth to address Lady Macbeth: “O! full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife” (Mac. 3.2.36). The vocative summarises the grimness of the tragedy as well as Macbeth’s trust in his wife. The final position of the vocative adds further sincerity to the utterance, as it is constructed as a separate tone unit, which receives renewed emphasis following the exclamation. Macbeth has just given the order to kill Banquo and almost philosophically expressed that “the affliction of these terrible dreams / […] shake us nightly” (Mac. 3.2.19), implying that too many negative feelings and his guilt caused by Duncan’s murder are weighing on his mind. This is further construed by the metaphor scorpions. The use of the vocative wife fundamentally deviates from that used by Macbeth not only due to the position it receives in the clause, but also due to the epithet dear, of which the OED tells us that it denotes somebody who is precious (A.I.1.a.). The epithet tunes us in, and sets the tonality of the vocative head that is to follow. Hence, again, interpersonal dimensions correlate strongly with experiential meanings. The vocative is an expression of empathy and deep love. It is also a lamenting call for psychological and physical trust, support, and comfort. Although this is one of the deep expressions of Macbeth’s love for Lady Macbeth, it also opens up the dimensions of the tragedy in Macbeth. He is a learned, highly educated, philosophical character, whose soul is inhabited by many differing and conquering ideals, thoughts, ideas, and personalities. Hence, this vocative illustrates that, in contrast to Richard in R3, for example, his character is not the ultimately evil or anti-Christ. He doubts, repents, fights against these feelings, then needs help gain. Many souls are in his chest, but it is exactly because of his trust in his wife and not in himself that he feels the way he does. To conclude, the semantic and contextual potential of wife is so broad that it cannot be reduced to that of ingratiating in-group kinship identity. These similar nuances also hold true for the use of husband will be illustrated in the next chapter. 5.1.8.4 The vocative husband In another moment of high emotion, Lady Macbeth greets Macbeth with the vocative my husband (Mac. 2.2.13). It is a crucial address because it is only here that she addresses him


that way. The structure of the vocative is that of a deictic element and a thing. Her use of the deictic element my implicates her possession of Macbeth, not only in terms of kinship relations but also in terms of psychological bondage. To a certain extent, she has appropriated her aims onto him. The vocative is a grammatical and lexical metaphor – it stands for something, even though the illocutionary force is to comfort and to strengthen him, but at the same time also to warn him not to doubt. The perlocutionary force of this utterance is different, as it does not have the comforting effects it is intended to have. Their conversational exchange is no longer normal. The vocative is part of an exclamation. When Lady Macbeth sustains the self of her husband, she implies something about herself because it summarises what the deed means to her. Cleopatra’s short, resolved and unmodified announcement to the dead Antony stands in complete contrast to the one just mentioned: “Husband, I come” (Ant. 5.2.287). The vocative is one of the most clear, and direct as well as loveliest expressions of love and resolve in the play. With its clear Germanic diction, the initial vocative is suggestive of the sincerity in her expression. She seems to have made up her mind as she relinquishes the earth and worldly pleasures in his favour. Here Salmon’s remark that greater affection is only indicated by the use of an epithet cannot hold. Juliet’s use of the vocative husband, which is again part of a row of vocatives positioning Romeo in the interpersonal place of the cherished lover, construes her as a sincere, though inexperienced, young, and immature declarer of love: “Art thou gone so, love, lord, ay husband, friend! / I must hear from thee every day in the hour, / For in a minute there are many days” (Rom. 3.5.43–45). What makes this and the other vocatives so sympathetic to the reader and catches his or her emotive reactions is the fact that Romeo means everything to her, and that she is willing to give up and ignore all social bonds to realise her love. The same is expressed in Imogen’s “My dearest husband, / I something fear my father’s wrath” (Cym. 1.1.85f.). Even though she is in fear of her father’s emotional outburst, she expresses her love in a way as her later assumed name Fidele testifies to the fact that “nomen est omen.” In contrast to this stands Emilia’s husband: “What’s the matter, husband” (Oth. 5.1.111). The final position of this vocative adds additional phonological and intonational force to her question and transfers the speech function of a threat or a warning. The clear, direct, and warning illocutionary force of this vocative is further intensified by its nonamplification. Emilia, already sensing that Iago is responsible for the tragedy of her mistress Desdemona and Othello, appeals to their marital bond in order to move him to some sincerity, but at the same time, she also satirises the interpersonal quality of this bond, as she seems hardly able to believe herself that Iago is her husband. In conclusion, when the women use the vocative husband, they also refer to ingratiating, loving but also subtly downgrading meanings. 5.1.8.5 The vocatives nuncle and niece The fool uses the vocative nuncle as an address to Lear in, for example, “How now, Nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters” (Lr. 1.4.104). Apart from a few exceptions, the Fool most frequently uses this term to address Lear. Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 784) say it is a customary address of a licensed fool to his superior and the OED tells us


that it is a variant of uncle. Foakes (ed. 1997: 197) provides more interesting hints. He is correct to suggest that nuncle might be contracted of “mine Uncle.” However the initial n could also be associated with n in nothing and never – words that continuously reverberate in the play and probably suggest that Lear does not behave like the Fool’s uncle. Although the fool is a licensed jester and acts to entertain, we also meet him again and again to tell and to know the truth. Especially in the example above one cannot refrain from arguing in favour of an ironic meaning this vocative seems to construe. It is unreciprocal and fresh, but, by negating and somehow alluding to Lear’s status as nuncle and not uncle, the Fool alludes to Lear’s several senses of identity and the fact that he is unable to give up his status as a king. Niece can be used of a grandchild (see R3 4.4.1; see OED 1.a.), though in Shakespeare it usually has the modern meaning – niece by marriage and by courtesy. In the comedies, terms of family relationship are used to indicate kinship relation to position the interlocutor at that place, while in the tragedies the nuances are subtle. In Ado 1.1.85, Leonato, who uses niece most frequently to address Beatrice, employs the address term in “You will never run mad, niece.” This finally positioned vocative serves not only to establish the family ties between Leonato and Beatrice, but also adds to the sincere and jesting tone of what is said. Leonato and Beatrice converse about the fact that Beatrice will never come to a husband if she continues to behave like an unapproachable verbal attacker. Here the vocative even frames the declarative into a jesting promise. Before, Beatrice was alluding to the fact (Ado 1.1. 80) that a benedict was a Roman Catholic priestly order qualifed to exorcise evil spirits. That actually some kind of madness is meant seems unlikely, but the association with madness may have sparked off the idea of catching the Benedick. Hence Leonato’s mad refers to Beatrice’s remarks in line 80 and anticipates his claim, “By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue (Ado 2.1.16).28 Vocatives play crucial and foregrounded, complex and subtle roles in establishing meanings. Via recourse to contextual vocatives, this analysis has revealed main themes inherent in the play, as well as given textual clues to the structure of a particular piece of dialogue. It has also moved further, towards a dialogic or interactive view of quotidian selfand other-construction. Vocatives construe and help us understand relationships between interactants. This dialogic, social, and functional view on vocative meaning builds on the theoretical claims and approaches that have been elaborated on in Chapter 2. The preceding paragraphs are an attempt to show how the different parameters dialectically depend on one another in order to establish meaning. As such, the quantitative and the qualitative norms, deviations, the co- and context, the corpus of vocatives and its particularities, synchronic, diachronic, and thematic observations, considerations of context, as the play, the act, the scene, the line, its co-text, the speaker, the hearer etc. and the meanings of the representatives of each category are interlinked in order to establish meaning and to 28. When Beatrice addresses Leonato, she mostly uses uncle to position him as one of her relatives as well as to emphasise her own rhetorical verbosity. The following vocative illustrates the multilayered character of uncle used as a vocative: “With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world” (Ado 2.1.14–16). The medial position draws further attention to the separate tonal unit within the utterance. A more ingratiating tone is transferred by 1H4 1.3.252 “Good uncle, tell your tale”. See also Richard’s blend of brotherly affection in R3 1.3.


show how meaning is created. In addition, the interpersonal ideas of face, irony, and banter are included, as well as Halliday’s (1994, 2004) grammar of the interpersonal, the textual, and the experiential. To learn to read the socially situated use of vocatives, their rhetorical complexity and eloquence as well as their historical situatedness, means also to understand the fascinating social life of the vocatives that Shakespeare employed and exploited for his dramatic writing. Each individual vocative in the plays of this corpus is neither hardly ever entirely frozen nor entirely conventional, nor does it exist in order to use a form of address, nor fixed or static, nor exclusively suggestive of the single lense of social rank. On the contrary, even in a still highly stratified society, age, gender, family and household position, occupation and affective bonds, Poynton’s (1985) register dimensions play an important role. Yet, ultimately, the dialectically dependent interrelations between the interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings in context construe and are indicative of what is called the multi-dimensionality of vocatives. As such, Poynton’s ideas of tenor dimensions – such as affective involvement, power, and contact (Poynton 1985 in Eggins 1994: 64) – do not suffice to explain why Cleopatra switches vocatives in Act 1, Scene 3 from non-address over “my soldier,” and “the art and burgonet of men” to “courteous lord” and “sir.” Vocatives in Shakespeare demarcate class, but more importantly social position, relative power, and experiential and interpersonal worlds – hence, friendship, subjection, authority, intimacy, alienation, enmity, irony, banter, intertextual clues, ideology and the like are or may be subtly constructed or inflected in the words that constitute a vocative. Therefore, claims, such as, “[t]he politest forms of address are those with either the possessive pronoun or an honorific modifier together with a title or attribute” (Blake 2002a: 281), are only partly correct. Firstly, these statements seem to presuppose a function (politeness) and impose this function on a vocative type. Secondly, a most elaborate or amplified vocative such as Blake’s example can equally transfer ironic meanings as, for example, in “the arm / And burgonet of men” (Ant. 1.5.24). Thirdly, less modified vocatives can also be polite, as the analysis of Cordelia’s my lord, which she utters at the beginning of the play, has illustrated. Fourthly, Blake’s (2002a: 281) observations fail to consider comprehensively that forms of address are not only constituted by titles but also by terms denoting emotion / mind thought, EPITHETs, generic terms, natural phenomena, personal names, specialised fields, and kinship terminology. The contextual analysis determines and construes its function. In other words, this study correlates the diverse, complex, and dialectically interrelated aspects of form, function, context, speaker, norms and deviation, addressee, habitus, the theoretical premises, the co- and context of the play, of production and reception and the like.

5.2 Pairs’ use of vocatives in Shakespeare: positioning self, other and identity-construction 5.2.1 Preliminaries When Othello has fallen prey to Iago’s scheming and attacks Desdemona as “O thou public commoner” (Oth. 4.2.73) and as “impudent strumpet” (Oth. 4.2.81), Desdemona is


unable to understand Othello’s change of behaviour. For that reason, she asks Othello’s alleged confidant Iago, who is, however, responsible for the undoing of her “credit with the Moor,” the following question: Desdemona: Am I that name, Iago? Iago: What name, fair lady? Desdemona Such as she said my lord did say I was (Oth. 4.2.118–20). Two functionally vocative-related aspects are crucial in this quotation: these are the rhetorical performance in Iago’s and Desdemona’s vocative exchange and the reference to the interpersonal and experiential potentials of vocatives for creating identity and positions, when Desdemona likens Othello’s attacks to the extraordinarily powerful procedure of “naming” and seriously questions whether part of her identity corresponds with that of a promiscuous, unreliable, and disloyal whore. In the following sections, the interpersonal, textual and experiential micro- and macrodynamics of relationships as construed and replicated by the use of vocatives between pairs will be investigated. The representative and illustrative micro-linguistic analyses of vocatives will be pursued via recourse to some representative examples: Iago and Othello (with occasional sidesteps to Iago and Cassio or Othello and Cassio) as well as Desdemona and Othello in Oth., and Hal and Falstaff in 1H4. The more neutral term pairs is introduced in order to refrain from immediately presupposing social hierarchies, such as husband and wife or master and servant (see Mazzon [1995, 2003], see also B. Busse [2006]). Vocative usage between pairs construes meanings of context, and creates what is classically called characters in interaction (see Chapter 2.3.1). The core areas of interest are questions about the categories of vocatives used between these pairs, the speech functions of these vocatives, the illocutionary as well as perlocutionary forces, reciprocal vocative behaviour, as well as ideologies and habitus conveyed and created. How speech in general and vocatives in particular create meanings, reflect, and construe context and relations, and are received is dependent upon a social and political position and habitus (Bourdieu 1977a, b, 1997a, b) of a character. It is that what Iago calls “the voice potential” (Oth. 1.2.13). However, also, and often more importantly, it is also created by the appropriated or attributed social position in the exchange. Of course, in a play, considerations apart from those of real life, for example, the distinction between major and minor characters, will affect the access of speakers to the floor (Magnusson 1999: 168). In “The Economics of Linguistic Exchanges,” Pierre Bourdieu (1977a) develops a market analogy to explain how utterances receive their values in particular contexts and how, in turn, the condition of reception affects particular discourse production (Magnusson 1999: 163). One may investigate whose speech gets recognised, whose speech is listened to and obeyed, who remains silent, and whose speech fails to gain attention or credit. Gender, race, class, necessity, linguistic ingenuity and a number of other competing social factors, such as those named by Poynton (1984) in her elaboration on tenor dimensions – affective involvement, power, and contact (see also Eggins 1994: 64) – enter into


the moment-by-moment relations of symbolic power that affect vocative meaning.29 A vocative’s potential for creating power dimensions – to be believed, obeyed, respected, or distinguished – is strongly influenced by the practical expectation of achieving a high or low price for one’s discourse. The use of vocatives also inscribes an expectation of profit, an estimate of the likelihood that the speaker will be believed, recognised, and obeyed. As such, the concept of reception and production also has a history. In this respect, the idea of the vocative habitus will be introduced in reliance on Bourdieu’s general claim of a speaker’s habitus (Bourdieu 1977b: 79, 1997a: 110, 1997b: 143; Magnusson 1999: 166).

5.2.2 Othello and Iago in Oth. 5.2.2.1 Quantitative findings of their vocative usage The figures for Iago and Othello in Table 730 in the Appendix illustrate that in terms of quantity and quality the characters’ uses of vocatives fundamentally deviate from one another. Like all other major characters in interaction, Othello resorts to the entire corpus of vocative categories. This might corroborate what Knight has established as the “Othello music” (in Honigmann ed. 1997: 78), on the one hand, and the style which he disqualifies as “blatantly absurd, ugly” (Honigmann ed. 1997: 78), on the other. Also the even number of vocatives from conventional vocatives, emotion / mind, thought, EPITHETs, natural phenomena, personal names, and specialised fields and the low number of generic terms and terms of family relationship further underlines this view. In contrast to Othello, Iago resorts to conventional terms and a high number of vocatives from specialised fields, which are mostly military. In his address pattern, there are also very few personal names, few EPITHETs, generic names, and vocatives denoting natural phenomena. These results tempt one to argue in favour of Iago’s voice potential or social habitus. However, vocative choice and the low relative frequency of vocatives used by Iago (especially when compared to higher relative frequencies of characters from a similar social status) will illustrate that this deceptively straightforward bias towards the rigidly social is only one possibility of explaining the vocatives Iago applies to Othello. As regards Iago’s address pattern for Othello. Iago uses 37 vocatives for Othello – which represents the greatest share of his whole range of vocatives. The low relative frequency of Iago’s vocative usage becomes even more foregrounded if we consider that Iago talks to Othello quite often. The categories he resorts to are conventional terms, EPITHETs, vocatives denoting natural phenomena, personal names, and terms from specialised fields (military). However, the distribution of vocatives is particularly noteworthy, since 30 terms are conventional, one vocative appears as an EPITHET, one is a vocative denoting natural phenomena, one appears as a personal name, and four are from the military specialised field.

29. Eggins (1994: 65) lists a few general rules that may be employed to explain modern vocative usage. 30. Table 7 in the Appendix is a representative example of how the data for other pairs and for Iago’s vocative usage directed at Othello were computed. For reasons of space only Table 7 is printed in the Appendix.


If we apply Douthwaite’s (2000: 179f.) ideas about norm and deviation to Iago’s vocative usage for Othello, the high number of conventional terms can be interpreted as an indicator of both Othello’s and Iago’s social status, while those categories that only occur once could be interpreted as deviating from this norm. Corresponding to his general address pattern, Iago’s vocatives for Othello are mostly unmodified, hence, very few interpersonal epithets, such as good, dear, and noble occur. In other words, those epithets, which seem to have direct reference to social status abound, and all of these three epithets belong to the range of epithets that most frequently modify a conventional vocative head. As such, they also carry a potential for superficial politeness and non-commitment as well. A look at Iago’s use of vocative representatives causes further suspicion as to the sincerity of his patterns. For example, the representatives of the vocative cluster conventional only consist of sir and lord vocatives. Sir appears six times, and good sir once. Lord vocatives appear in the following variety: my lord 18 times, and dear my lord, good my lord, and my noble lord each only once. In sum, although the choice of form is suggestive of Iago’s status as inferior to Othello, at the same time, all vocatives seem to represent a somewhat too overt stress on outward politeness. The fact that lord varieties used in the play only appear in Iago’s, Desdemona’s, and Emilia’s address patterns for Othello, but are most often employed by Iago, further emphasises and construes this impression. In addition, Emilia’s and Desdemona’s usage of lord vocatives are all modified by interpersonal epithets which hardly occur in Iago’s address. In addition, Iago’s use of the lord-variety only appears after Desdemona has uttered it for the first time, as if he were only imitating the model given to him. As a consequence, Iago’s non-modification becomes stylistically foregrounded even more so, if we recall that characters from Iago’s social status seem to exploit the vocative patterns that are available to them for their own purposes. Iago is a master of this strategy. The highest frequency of my lord vocatives from Iago appears in the temptation scene of Oth. (Act 3, Scene 3). In that scene, my lord may also differently explain the view on sex. For example, the only term that is taken from the vocative cluster of sense and perception, the supervisor, has got these meanings. To support the sense of a real relationship Iago would like to establish with Othello, it is possible to quote those studies that argue for Iago’s underlying homosexuality (see Honigmann ed. 1997: 50). Within this framework, the high number of my lord vocatives could be explained as sexual indications, if one accepts the sexual innuendo that my lord may occasionally transfer (Williams 1997). A non-contextual look at Iago’s use of dear my lord and good my lord may also tempt one to argue, in Blake’s terms (2002a: 275), that in highly emotional situations, characters in Shakespeare use the epithet in front of the deictic and the head, to achieve something. The scarcity of this pattern in Iago’s address to Othello also corroborates the idea that the epithet is more important than the heads as it stresses the interpersonal potential of the epithet which then overrides the experiential content of the head itself. However, the fact that they are purposefully implanted into Iago’s plot cannot be denied. The same holds true for the EPITHET your honour. The three uses of military terms may be equally deceptive in their most common attempt to construe Othello as a military leader. Iago addresses Othello three times as gen-


eral and once as captain. Captain here refers to a company rank, while general denotes the top rank within an army.31 Yet, notably, these address terms only appear at the beginning of the play when Iago attempts to construe his “voice potential” (Oth. 1.2.13) or “his credit with the Moor” (Oth. 2.3.359). Hence, Iago’s vocative usage is more elaborate at the beginning while, further into the play, Iago does nothing more than to superficially comply with the rules of social decorum. As such, the use of the personal name Othello is highly marked from a social and contextual perspective. It also appears only once when used by Iago and at a most crucial moment in the play. Tentative pre-interpretations can also be drawn from the distribution of positions. The placement of vocatives varies between all vocative positions. Yet, initial vocatives slightly dominate.32 As such, they add force to what is said, while the final vocatives often construe sincerity or the authority of the speaker Iago. To sum up Iago’s general data: on the surface, Iago employs vocative terms that refer to Othello’s ranks, both social and military and seem to be compliant with Iago’s social roles in the play. Yet, the compliancy as well as the comparably relatively low relative frequency of vocative data also evoke a superficial kind of politeness.33 In Othello’s vocative-address for Iago a different pattern emerges. Only at the beginning of the play, do we find a conventional term, masters, and the use of a military term, ancient, which re-appears again at the end of the play. One positive EPITHET is also used at the beginning, while negative EPITHETs proliferate towards the end. However, the highest number of vocatives that is applied to Iago is that of a personal name as vocative. This figure becomes even more foregrounded, if we consider that in this corpus next to the form Hal (see Appendix List 2) the vocative Iago is the most frequent form (33 times). In addition, of 25 personal names, only three are modified, but only by those epithets that are clearly subtle in meaning, but are seriously employed in Othello’s address: honest and good. Recalling Desdemona’s correlation of name-giving and identity-construction cited 31. Precisely, Othello possesses two ranks which are incompatible. 32. Iago’s vocative-deceptiveness is also construed in the choice of positionings: three initial vocatives co-occur with three imperatives, and one with an indirect request. Out of ten questions in which vocatives occur, six are final, two initial, one medial, and one occurs alone. Yet, mostly vocatives occur in declaratives. Out of the 21 declaratives, initial position dominates (11), followed by six final and five medial vocatives. 33. A comparison of Iago’s vocatives directed at Cassio with those to Othello reveals an interesting distribution of frequencies and categories and further foregrounds those directed at Othello. 25 vocatives are directed at Cassio. While there are only four conventional terms, one generic term, five personal names, and one EPITHET, however, spoken in his absence, the number of terms from the military specialised field clearly dominate Iago’s address pattern for Cassio. This category is represented by lieutenant vocatives alone. Hence, while Iago’s choice of vocative terms for Cassio is, similarly to that applied to Othello, not very elaborate, his clear emphasis on military terms sadistically stresses the position Iago did not get, and, at the same time, continues to torture Cassio after the latter has lost this position due to Iago’s scheming. Cassio employs a similar strategy but with different motivations. Cassio exclaims to Desdemona that she “may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar” (Oth. 2.1.165f.). Hence, Iago’s lower social class and education (rather than evil scheming) oblige Cassio to treat him the way he does. He addresses Iago much less frequently, and only three military terms refer to Iago directly.


at the beginning of this chapter, one may reflect which identities and positions Othello attributes to Iago and whether these change in the course of the play from, for example, condescension to in-group identity. One may ask who Iago is for Othello and what he stands for in Othello’s mind. Generally speaking, the overall outlook of vocatives from Othello for Iago alludes to both the address of inferior to superior and in-group identity. However, the contextual analysis reveals that there is a progression in functional potential from condescension to Othello’s over-emphasised dependence on Iago and his belief in him. These changes are especially construed by the use of Iago’s personal name as vocative. 5.2.2.2 Contextual analysis of vocatives exchanged between Iago and Othello in Oth.: Iago preparing a “voice potential” In Oth. 1.1, Iago takes on the voice of a “ruffian” from the gutter, who can stir up trouble and do serious damage, which the audience, but not Othello, Cassio, Desdemona, or Emilia, are able to recognise immediately. A specific kind of destructive power is associated with the untamed and uneuphemised speech of Iago. Some of the motives for his scheming are, for example, his jealousy of Cassio, who has been promoted despite his lack of experience as a soldier. Iago’s brutal, nihilistic, frivolous, and violent language not only construes Cassio’s “bookish theoric” (Oth. 1.1.24), but also his sarcastic description of his own position as “his Moorship’s ancient” (Oth. 1.1.33) – a coinage on the often vocatively used analogy of kinship, generalship, and worship. Iago’s desire to get Cassio’s place is dominant in the course of the play.34 An incentive for his evil and disdainful scheming can be seen in his lack of what he calls a “voice potential” (Oth. 1.2.13, Magnusson 1999: 164f.). He is keenly aware of the gap between his own considerable skill and the limited advantages that readily come his way through their deployment, as the power relations are not to his favour. Hence, Iago expresses extreme contempt for the linguistic accent of others, and for the recognition that the limited verbal repertoire nonetheless garners them easy profits that his own allegedly greater rhetorical expertise cannot achieve. In Oth. 1.1.118, the exchange between Brabantio and Iago, “Thou art a villain!” and “You are a senator,” contemptuously highlights his feeling of class and his resentment against social privilege. Cassio also patronises Iago in Oth. 2.1.97–99 with “Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, / That I extend my manners; ‘tis my breeding / That gives me this bold show of courtesy” and in his unfortunate remark with which he sets Iago’s speech in antithetical and insulting relation to his own “You may relish him more in the soldier than in the scholar” (Oth. 2.1.165f).35 Iago derogates Cassio’s style and habitus – not because he cannot replicate it, but because he is not socially positioned to take advantage of it. Hence, in his need to win the upper hand and to undo Cassio’s and Desdemona’s credit with Othello, and Othello’s credit with the Venetian authorities, Iago needs to assess the condition of the linguistic market in which he operates or to accumulate symbolic capital (Bourdieu 1997a: 110). At the same time, he is also 34. See Oth. 1.3.391f., 2.1.171f., 3.3.250, as well as “Now art thou my lieutenant” (Oth. 3.3.480). 35. This also echoes Antony’s address to Enobarbus in “Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more” (Ant. 2.2.107).


compelled to choose tools, timing, and appropriate private situations that will work to give him profit (Magnusson 1999: 173). Even though his vocative pattern is, at first glance, compliant with the social norms appropriate to his position, it nevertheless receives an additional meaningful dimension. It construes not only the bluff of “honest, honest Iago” (Oth. 5.2.154), and the Machiavellian evil of the “verbal chameleon” (Magnusson 1999: 172), but also discloses the vocative’s extraordinary interpersonal, textual, and experiential potential for identity construction, positioning, and manipulating others. This multi-dimensional construal of meaning becomes even more foregrounded when considered in correlation to how Iago, in degrading sexual images, expresses his hatred of Othello and his jealousy of his marriage with Desdemona. In his address to Brabantio, he informs Brabantio that “an old black ram / Is tupping your white ewe” (Oth. 1.1.88f.), that “you’ll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse” (Oth. 1.1.111f.), and that “your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs” (Oth. 1.1.115f.). Iago construes Othello as the old, violent, and sexually possessive other. As such, he stereotypically corroborates the volatile tendencies that voyagers claim of the Barbarians. Even though Iago’s actual social status is lower than that of most characters (he is a commoner), his thoughts and scheming need to enter Othello’s mind. However, to argue that the vocative forms he uses are only one way of how he appropriates the Cassio-like politeness or one way of manipulating the social context, as a so-called “finder[-out] of occasion” (Oth. 2.1.242), does not fit the essential quality of the potential of vocatives. Going merely beyond the usual dictates of social decorum, Iago is not content to fit his speech to the occasion. On the contrary, he not only employs ostentatiously polite and deferential forms as a mere rhetorical strategy, but assumes the identity of the devote soldier who protests his love and loyalty, on an a-moral and temporary, loathsome, though powerful basis. Considering the Renaissance English ideal of the courtier, one may argue that his Machiavellian character also leads it ad absurdum. Therefore, the high number of lord vocatives for Othello may also be interpreted as a feigned religious worship of the “wargod Othello” (Bloom 1998: 434). In order to achieve his aim, Iago is, as Harold Goddard has succinctly put forward, constantly at war (in Bloom 1998: 434). Iago is not a public orator but a rhetorician of conversation and of the therewith involved exploitation of some of the characteristic rhetorical forms, of logic, of politeness, and of inference. Strongest evidence for the fact that he is not only a verbal but also a social chameleon, who reduces to nullity, redundancy, as well as to the uncanniness of nihilism, is his expression “I am not what I am” (Oth. 1.1.65). The character of this exclamation is to expresses his pride in self-delight, which augments in the course of the play. However, the utterance in its reversal of God’s claim, it purports the view that is the psychologist, the dramatist, and the aesthete of the play, as he contemplates Othello’s ruin and increases his confidence in diabolic art. Hence, the high number of conventional vocatives that are used for Othello also construe what Bloom (1998: 435) has described as Iago’s “Ahab-like obsession,” and as Othello being “the Moby Dick who must be harpooned.” Iago ruins and tortures Othello by insinuating into his mind the question “How do you know,” which Helen Gardner used in her defence of the “Noble Moor” (in Honigmann ed. 1997). An important means of developing this strategy and construing these identities are vocatives. A complex proc-


ess of re-ranking occurs in the intense conversations in which he makes Othello believe Desdemona to be false. These situations afford the servant a voice potential, not because he employs polite eloquence, but because his mastery consists in his ability to understand the full social logic of politeness and to undermine its strong orientation to conservative reproduction of the entitlement of dominant speakers. The use of conventional terms seems to be subservient, on the one hand, but, on the other hand, it assumes a dynamic that is construing not only rhetorical, but also social dominance. When Othello continuously addresses Iago as Iago, with occasional detours to honest Iago and good Iago, the address pattern is not necessarily a linguistic sign which the superior uses to address the inferior, but it seriously construes Iago’s position as the only loyal comrade who has been left over of all Othello’s companions. With Iago’s poison entering his mind, Othello seems to have changed more completely. Reacting to Iago’s lies, his voice is no longer stylised, bombastic, or courteous, but he somewhat slides into the role of a cruel, sex-driven savage who is only capable of using plain personal names or abuse vocatives. He clings to Iago; hence, his constant appeals to him. He is entangled like a fly in a spider’s web – to use Iago’s own metaphor – even though he remains a character of many conflicting impressions. Othello’s language changes from the fluidity of the first act to the shorter sentences and plain vocatives for Iago in the later acts. The staccato voice is also construed by the vocative. Trustful at first, he grows compulsively suspicious, and wears Christianity and morals as a mask, which alludes to Goffman’s (1967 a, b) idea of face and stage-masks that are employed in interaction (see Chapter 4.2.1). Hence, his blunt vocatives at Iago also hint at Othello’s tendency to overvalue things in the world: the pride, pomp, and circumstance of war, and politeness (Honigmann ed. 1997: 53). Iago’s constant use of my lord, though insincere, is reciprocated in Othello’s constant use of his personal name. As such, it seems to represent a moral hold-on-to in Othello’s world of accusation, sexual promiscuity, amoral behaviour, and error of judgement. This observation of blunt Iago usages must also be related to the aspect of love, which contains different facets. In Oth. 1.2, Othello and Iago encounter each other for the first time in front of the Sagitary. Note again that we have been powerfully, though disdainfully, tuned into Iago’s nihilistic attitude towards Othello. The outdoor setting, the announced street fighting, and the darkness provide him with a favourable context in which restrictions on speech roles are relaxed or even overturned. Here he can set up a contest of voices in which he is able to win the floor and to assume full scope to elaborate his version of reality. It is striking that the scene is not initiated by establishing any kind of phatic communion, and that the first two longer speeches belong to Iago, who tells about Brabantio’s and Roderigo’s alleged slanders at Othello. The first address term occurs in “Nay, but he prated / And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms / Against your honor” (Oth. 1.2.6–8, my emphasis). Your honor can be seen as an address term or as a complement of the prepositional phrase referring to his virtues. However, considering Iago’s pretended over-elaborateness, which can be seen in the hendiadys scurvy and provoking to modify the noun as well as the emphasis on prate and spoke, and the alleged degradation of his own character in “with the little godliness I have” (Oth. 1.2.9), your honour may also be seen as a highly stylised vocative that, next to,


for example, your grace, already assumes a sense of archaism at the time when Shakespeare composed his plays. With the final position of this address term, which is often called a style (Breuer 1983) and may reflect overtly polite usage, Iago lends further force to the fact that Othello is the target of Brabantio’s and Roderigo’s verbal onslaughts. In addition, the choice of the highly stylised, Latinate address term your honor construes Othello’s identity as noble, honourable, worthy of praise, and almost royal character (as it is most frequently used for kings and queens), while that of the others is strongly contemptible. The construal of Iago’s own position is also implicated in this rhetorical strategy. He deprecates himself as a loyal servant. His verbosity, which is not necessarily typical of a courtier, but effective in promulgating his dutiful behaviour and his love for Othello, construe this impression. The final position of the vocative also frames the sincerity of what is said, because it is a promise with the illocutionary force to convince Othello of his love and his honour. Note again the dramatic potential and dimension of this initial creation of Othello’s identity. That Iago’s first profession of love and his construction of Othello’s identity as your honor only serves to lull Othello into a false sense of security as well as to mitigate the facethreat of the next utterances can be seen in Iago’s “But I pray, sir, / Are you fast married” (Oth. 1.2.10f.). The vocative sir is the interpersonal theme of the question and correlates with the personal pronoun you, which is the agent of the material clause. In addition, the question and the vocative are introduced by a somewhat hedging but and the indirect request I pray you, which, in correlation emphasise Iago’s loyalty and his trustworthiness. The indirect request I pray you is most common in the entire Shakespeare corpus (U. Busse 2002: 287). In comparison to the entire vocative pattern, Iago applies to Othello, sir and you certainly appear to construe more deferential meanings. However, considering the generalisation of sir at the time when Shakespeare composes his plays, it may also transfer more condescending meanings than Othello seems to be able to detect. Note the speed with which this question is thrown into Iago’s speech. Here sir is also indicating a topic change, which is, however, not particularly coherent,36 let alone cooperative, if we consider that instead of giving Othello time to answer, Iago somewhat patronisingly and arrogantly adds that Brabantio is so popular that he can get way as effectively as if he also had two votes. The almost rhetorical interruption needs to be correlated with what Iago has announced before: that Iago loves Desdemona as a sexual object. While the vocative sir is both impolite and referring to Othello’s rank and qualities, it may also reinforce the sexual innuendo of the whole phrase. One of the most important factors bearing on linguistic production is the anticipation of profit which is durably inscribed in the language habitus, in the form of an anticipatory adjustment (without conscious anticipation, Magnusson 1999: 172). Hence, if the context of reception shapes a speaker’s linguistic production, then Iago assumes the identity of the devout soldier, in order to be particularly successful in speech reception and to accumulate symbolic capital. The extraordinary interpersonal potential of vocatives for construing this becomes obvious. Othello’s use of vocatives for Iago in their first encounter is unreciprocal, both in terms of quality of the vocative and the moment of utterance. Only after eight lines into 36. Coherence refers to Halliday and Hasan (1976), Halliday (1994, 2004), and Toolan (1998b: 18f.).


his speech, he positions Iago as “for know, Iago, / But that I love the gentle Desdemona” (Oth. 1.2.24f.). The position of the vocative following the imperative, which functions as a threat and as a separate tone-unit, reinforces the warning tone of the entire phrase. At the beginning, the vocative Iago as a name has not yet assumed the multiplicity of positive meanings that are construed later in the play. At this stage, Othello does not consider his identity to be more than an ensign, as Iago has not yet worked his way through and poisoned Othello’s mind. Note, however, that the recipient, having experienced Iago’s disdaining comments directed at Othello, will immediately position Iago’s identity along the lines of the evil Machiavellian. The recipient may also realise the resemblance of Iago with the Spanish form, as it carries curious associations with Iago’s “Diablo, ho!” (Oth. 2.3.161), which is unique in Shakespeare and with the most famous Iago, Sant’iago known as “Metamoros,” “the Moor-killer” (Honigmann ed. 1997: 334). These dimensions of speech reception create tension. Othello addresses Iago directly only when he talks about his love for Desdemona. It seems as if he is already foreshadowing that the interpersonal triangle Desdemona-Othello-Iago, and their alleged feelings of love may lead to the tragic potential of Othello’s own destiny. The final position of the vocative and the preceding imperative may, however, also be characterised as a somewhat bombastic prelude to Othello’s protestation of love for Desdemona. As such, the vocative adds sincerity to what is said, and, at the same time, also transfers a warning and condescending tone to Iago. If Iago is trisyllabic, I-a-go (see Honigmann ed. 1997), then the vocative not only constitutes a separate tone unit, but its final syllable also rhymes with the verb know and as such lays further emphasis on the fact that Iago should know about and believe in Othello’s love for Desdemona. Nevertheless, the question remains why Othello would want to talk to his ensign about his love and what the concept of love really means in this connection, especially if we consider that there is not only one kind of love in the play, but also the intercourse that “soul to soul affordeth” (Oth. 1.3.114). That Iago and Othello are no longer alone when Iago directly addresses Othello again, clearly influences Iago’s address pattern for the Moor in this sequence. With the attendants’, but mainly with Cassio’s presence, the formality of the social context is heightened and military camaraderie is further stressed. This is illustrated in Cassio’s courtier-like address to Othello “The Duke does greet you, general” (Oth. 1.2.36), and in the more condescending and degrading vocative directed at Iago: “Ancient, what makes he here” (Oth. 1.2.49). Even though his address to Cassio is unreciprocal, Iago’s address to Othello, “Come, captain, will you go” (Oth. 1.2.53), not only interrupts Cassio’s exclamative “Marry, to“ (Oth. 1.2.53), but also stands in harsh contrast to, for example, the frivolous and promiscuous “he to-night has boarded a land carract” (Oth. 1.2.50). The vocative becomes situationally foregrounded, as Iago seems to realise and to stress that an address to Othello is more important than answering Cassio’s question. Again, the vocative captain testifies to Iago’s toying with Othello. Allegedly paying attention to his manners, he resorts to the world of military terminology in order to tune Othello into a context that may afford just his military prowess. As such, he is also imitating Cassio’s address to Othello. The allusion to his military rank “as a captain of the company” (Honigmann ed. 1997: 335) also construes him as an honourable man who does not neglect his duty because of a woman. At the same time, it is a step further on his way to infect Othello’s mind. By positioning


Othello as highly superior to himself, the power structures between them seem to be clear. Yet, when seen within Iago’s scheming and his attempt to increase Othello’s trust in him, Iago dominates by accumulating symbolic power. The positioning of the vocative general within the imperative and the question gives additional stress to each short sequence of this utterance. It is a shade more encouraging, as if to invoke friendship, camaraderie, or Othello’s position as father-like figure. Note again the speed with which Othello is encouraged. A range of extremely important social meanings is encoded in this unmodified vocative from the specialised field military. The vocative instructs the recipient towards analysis, especially because it is only in this scene that Iago alludes to Othello’s military and social position as a general and a captain. In Oth. 1.2.55f., Iago resorts to Othello’s position as general of the army, partly to lend force to his warning of Brabantio’s bad intentions, which is also emphasised by the initial position of the vocative “General, be advised, / He comes to bad intend.” He alludes to his loyalty, and he is, surprisingly enough, an adviser to his superior. Despite the presence of others, Iago is nevertheless rhetorically potent, as the illocutionary force of the upgrading vocative from captain to general is to encourage Othello to stand his man. At the same time, Iago’s vocative echoes Cassio’s general, which testifies to the fact that he can speak like Cassio, and is also capable of construing situations and identity that are purposeful to him. The initial position of the vocative that precedes the imperative is to stress his sincerity. Iago is not a character that strategically plans in advance, but in his presentation of himself and others he is guided by the context of each situation, which he intelligently appropriates. Another of Iago’s contemptible vocatives immediately follows when Othello seems to be challenged by enemies in the dark and Iago, seemingly defending Othello and implicating that Roderigo is the cause of Othello’s trouble, picks on Roderigo. In Oth. 1.2.58, we get the distasteful “Come sir, I am for you,” which reverberates “I am not what I am” (Oth. 1.1.65) and also perverts biblical allusions. The bluff of the entire scene becomes apparent. Again, the vocative is positioned in the middle of two utterances, which provides it with an extra intonational stress. The briefness of the sequences lends additional speed to what Iago has to say. Iago wants to add to the sincerity, no matter how one reads the position of the vocative. As regards the process types (Halliday 1994: 106–175) used here, the clause is a powerful relational clause, in which Iago construes himself as the subject of the clause, the carrier. You, which correlates with sir, is the attribute, which further reinforces Iago’s alleged loyalty, but also creates Iago as the character in power. Again, he resorts to the deceptively overt conventional term sir that may transfer polite and deferential meanings. His rather bold sir may testify to the fact that in scenes of high emotional intensity, Iago seems to upgrade his use of address terms from my lord to sir or from a military term to a conventional vocative for Othello. He needs to fight for his position, in contrast to Enobarbus in Ant., for example, who is blatantly impolite, but uses sir vocatives as well. Recalling what has been said about the vocative as grammatical metaphor, one may argue that the contextual investigation of Iago’s use of vocatives for Othello in the first scene is not only foregrounded, but tells a narrative that may allow the recipient to come to the main ideas of the play. The address you of my inclining is certainly also directed at Cassio and Iago, who have just given ample protestation of their loves. Hence, Othello’s vocative reverber-


ates Iago’s “Sir, I am for you” (Oth. 1.1.65) and testifies to how much he is in need for a constant repetition of trust. Yet, his stress on loyalty also illustrates not only Iago’s enormous potential for construing the tone that is smoothing to Othello’s ears, but also gives ample evidence of the extent to which Iago has already entered Othello’s mind. To conclude the analysis of Othello’s vocatives in the first act, reference is made to the address Othello uses following Brabantio’s verbal onslaught at him in which he, following Iago’s model, construes Othello as a secretive, seductive, sexually violent black megalomaniac. Similar to an official speech, almost prayer-like indeed, Othello addresses his people, but also the audience with “Hold your hands, / Both you of my inclining and the rest” (Oth. 1.2.82f.). The address pattern, which antithetically separates Othello’s party from those against him, illustrates the social motive in Othello’s bombastic and distinctive speech patterns. He is a man of great rhetorical talent; yet, without a consistent and homogenous history of speechmaking and speech reception. Therefore, the dominant speakers among the Venetians may well overreach him in his speech. The highly formalised speech tension increases, as the gap between recognition and mastery rises. To Othello, the need for the self-corrections which are aimed at ensuring the revaluation of his linguistic product by a particularly intensive mobilisation of the linguistic resources, becomes more imperative. Hence, Othello needs to try harder to produce well-crafted, embellished, and elaborated discourse. 5.2.2.3 Feign and farce: vocative usage in the temptation scene In Othello’s and Iago’s vocative exchange in the temptation scene (Oth. Act 3, Scene 3), the potential of Shakespearean vocatives for creating interpersonal, textual, and experiential meanings as well as relationships is further foregrounded. Iago insinuates into Othello’s mind the idea of Desdemona’s adultery with his lieutenant Cassio, who has just lost his position and his credit with the Moor because of neglecting his duty. In this scene, Iago causes Othello’s mental collapse from which he never recovers. Othello’s simplistic distinction between murder (or revenge) and sacrifice is suggested here. It resembles the distinction between appetite and sexual love, and leads us to a discussion of Othello’s nobility and morality. We shall see that he divides all human activity into such pure antithetical concepts as higher and lower, and thinks of himself as being committed to the higher. Iago may not express all his motives in so many words, but they can be sensed even when he appears to speak respectfully. Iago repeatedly fawns on Othello as my lord, or secretively hugs himself at the joke that Othello “would be satisfied” (Oth. 3.3.393) by seeing Desdemona “topped” (Oth. 3.3.396). The temptation scene has been prepared by the “gradual revelation of Iago’s outstanding dramatic talents” (Honigmann ed. 1997: 37). In this scene, the highest number of vocatives Iago uses for Othello appears and they consist basically of my lord vocatives. The positioning of vocatives is in accord with Iago’s choice of vocatives, because it changes continuously from initial to final position – as such, stressing both the sincerity and the urgency of the utterance. Most frequently, Iago’s my lord vocatives occur with declaratives and questions. Yet, their speech functions differ fundamentally, as they are mostly working as requests. Furthermore, complex processes of re-ranking occur in the intense conversations in which he makes Othello believe Desdemona to be false. These lines have been frequently analysed by various scholars, but vocatives have rarely been at the centre of attention.


Magnusson (1999: 175) is, however, correct to describe Iago as a rhetorician of politeness, and more generally of conversation. For her, Iago’s initial overtures are hedged in by ostentatiously polite forms (Magnusson 1999: 178) and as such represent a deferential rhetoric which seems almost to ventriloquise Cassio’s voice. Negative politeness behaviour, convoluted rhetoric, and an alleged acceptance of a large power difference seem to redress the serious face threats involved in asserting the infidelity of Othello’s wife. This strategy later leads to a re-ranking of power relations between servant and master. Iago begins by inviting Othello’s inference making before the level of direct statement is reached. Despite Desdemona’s presence, Iago does not procrastinate about presenting to the audience his entire potential for evil when he insinuates: “Nothing, my lord; or if – I know not what” (Oth. 3.3.36). Iago has brought Othello to see Cassio and Desdemona together and comments on it as “Hah? I like not that” (Oth. 3.3.35). The illocutionary force of this utterance is to make Othello believe and ask about Cassio’s and Desdemona’s relationship invented by him. Othello is cooperative and at least alert to Iago’s implicature when he enquires: “What dost thou say” (Oth. 3.3.35). Notice the lack of a direct address formulae here in favour of the use of the intimate personal pronoun thou, which testifies to Othello’s heightened trust in Iago, even though Othello’s habitus still allows him to speak like that. In addition, the personal pronoun you is the form Othello uses more frequently for Iago. Iago’s utterance “Nothing, my lord” (Oth. 3.2.36) reverberates many incidences in Shakespeare, in which a similar formula, the redoubling after the Latin term reduplicatio or anadiplosis (Wales 2001a: 276), occurs. For example, Ophelia uses “I think nothing, my lord” (Ham. 3.2.117). Hamlet sarcastically leads her nothing ad absurdum and adds sexual connotations to it in “Nothing” (Ham. 3.2.121). In Lr. 1.1.87, Cordelia’s declaration of love for her father contains the following words: “Nothing, my lord.” Edmund’s answer to Gloucester’s question “What paper were you reading?” (Lr. 1.2.31) is “Nothing, my lord” (Lr. 1.2.32).37 Hammering on the adverb nothing is so prominent in the plays that different, though cohesively related, interpretations are possible, even though it seems that often the off-record statements insinuate the contrary of what is said. However, when women, like Ophelia or Cordelia, use the phrase and the vocative Nothing, my lord in collocation, the use of the adverb as well as the use of the vocative is more sincere, though recalcitrant. The meaning of the construction when uttered by some of the male characters in the plays must be established from this contrast. In Iago’s, Edmund’s, and Hamlet’s case the vocative may carry sincere surface meanings, further underlined by the use of the final position of the vocative framing the whole utterance into a promise. However, the illocutionary and perlocutionary forces of this utterance are completely different. As a discourse marker, my lord insinuates that something is wrong and almost compels the addressee to further enquire into the problem: Edmund has prepared a letter in which Edgar is portrayed as disloyal to his father, and Iago wants to poison Othello’s mind to Desdemona’s infidelity. These sarcastic overtones receive an additional shade of sexual innuendo if one considers the connotations that are implied in the thing (Partridge [1947] 1968: 199) as the male penis and my lord. In Oth., at least, they seem to foreshadow the sequences when Iago contemptuously torments Othello with obviously fabricated images 37. Nothing is also echoed at Oth. 1.2.31–35.


of Desdemona’s sexual activity in which he reveals himself as well. Iago is picking up the words of Othello and “plants the seeds of suspicion in Othello’s mind” (Wales 2001: 277). Obviously, Iago cannot resist the voyeuristic satisfaction of imagining other people’s sex lives and he entraps himself by supplying Othello with more and more detail – as such, the high proliferation of vocatives is a means of camouflage and also may already stand as a very intensive indicator of Iago’s subconscious homosexual feelings for his lord. Iago’s sexual hang-ups from Act 1 later contribute to much of the spice of the temptation scene – opposed to Othello’s sexual inexperience and immaturity. Othello has lost the security of his own identity as he immediately reacts to Iago’s insinuation and the allegedly sincere my lord. Othello also overvalues Iago’s performance. Notice that already at the beginning of the temptation scene the long elaborate and embellished sentences we have encountered in Act 1 seem to have given way to a narrative voice that is characterised by shorter sentences, questions, exclamations, and hesitations. Seemingly bald on-record commands by Othello may overtly undermine Iago’s inferiority, but, below the surface, Iago has manoeuvred his master into a situation that affords the servant a voice potential in which the servant is the powerful master and leader of the conversation. His mastery consists in his ability to understand its full social logic und undermine its strong orientation to conservative reproduction of the entitlement of dominant speakers. Yet, Iago’s so-called incoherent use of language in general becomes obvious as well (in Honigmann ed. 1997). It often appears to say more than it does, or to mean very little, acting merely as a “verbal smokescreen.” His habit of repetition sets in, which is also characteristic of Othello. However, while Iago keeps self-control, Othello’s mind seems to lose its grip and leads to a mental breakdown from which he never fully recovers. Iago pretends to be extremely reluctant to answer in order to save Othello’s negative face, although Othello assumes that Iago will answer properly. This raises suspicion. However, this vocative is one of the many lord-variations by which Iago creates his own identity, the bluff of honest Iago, and that of Othello, whom he lulls into security. It is almost construed as a penetrating and torturing dramatic motto by which Iago fawns on Othello. Coulthard (1996: 185) is correct to argue that “Iago rouses Othello’s suspicion by a sequence of unanswered questions, not simply because the questions are unanswered but because they are avoided clumsily.” Iago has assumed a rhetoric that allows him to reverse the original power structures. Iago assumes the linguistic habitus of an intelligent vice without his addressee realising that this dominance exists rhetorically, socially, and psychologically. The dramatic potential and emotive effect of Iago’s quick, staccato, and brutal initiating of poisoning Othello’s mind is crucial. Many people, on reflecting, consider parts of the plot of Othello unconvincing. Why, they ask, does Othello fall into Iago’s trap, why does Desdemona not confess to having lost her handkerchief? On stage, however, in the moment-by-moment development of the play, the events are utterly convincing. The textual sequencing of utterances and its utterly incoherent character is, however, highly construed by the use of the vocative. Imagine the speed by which the initial words between Othello and Iago are uttered before the play returns to “normal question answer conventions with Desdemona replying to Othello and incidentally confirming the fact which Iago had questioned” (Coulthard 1996: 187).


Both elements of the utterance Nothing, my lord receive an additional intonational break. In this example, my lord frames the declarative into an indirect request with the perlocutionary effect to seduce Othello. In addition, my lord is overtly polite but may also carry an obscure social insult which only the recipient can detect. It is almost turned into an abusive term, as, similar to a discourse marker, Othello allows Iago’s scheming as a trick of patronage. That Iago must observe Othello is obvious in the next vocative he uses: “Cassio, my lord” (Oth. 3.3.38). Iago pretends to defend Cassio, which he again intensifies by the use of the vocative my lord. It overtly refers to Othello’s superior qualities. Yet, at the same time, the exclamative interrogative, which has the function to confuse Othello further, dissociates the departing figure from the still honest though disgraced Cassio, and also positions Othello in an even more inferior stand. Note also that the vocative marks another change in topic, which leads Othello further into the trap. Retaining the unmodified my lord form, Iago politely belittles Othello. In Desdemona’s address strategy for Othello, Iago’s potential for linguistic imitation is obvious. Yet, in her appropriation of the floor my lord vocatives carry clear positive meanings. After Desdemona’s departure, Iago continues to construe himself as a loyal friend who interrogates and acts just for Othello’s good. Two aspects differentiate Iago’s “My noble lord” in Oth. 3.3.93 from the previous ones. Note first that the position of the vocative has changed to an initial vocative and that the interpersonal epithet noble – following Desdemona’s model – has been added. The epithet noble denotes Othello’s social status and his praiseworthy and true character (OED 2.a. and 4.a.). At the same time, the overt stress on Othello’s noble qualities – despite the formulaic character of the entire vocative – is construed more positively, if we consider that the question Iago is about to ask contrastively heads at the insincerity of mainly Cassio and Desdemona. Note the syntactical structure of the interrogative accompanying the vocative. Before Iago mentions the process of Cassio’s knowing “of your love” (Oth. 3.3.95), he builds up a further contrast between Othello and Cassio when he appositively adds the sub-clause “when you wooed my lady” (Oth. 3.3.94). Notice also that Iago construes Desdemona as my lady, which is a clearly ambiguous vocative, as it may denote a proper address form, but it may also be interpreted literally, as he has already announced in Scene 1.1 that Desdemona should be his. Admittedly, the model for this ostentatious reference might be his constant use of my lord. The initial position of the vocative almost seems to announce a speech Iago wishes to give. At least it lends further urgency to what he has to say. The fact that Othello interrupts Iago with a question that is already familiar to us from the beginning of this scene, “What dost thou say, Iago?” (Oth. 3.3.93), lends further force and additional intonational stress to the vocative my noble lord. One can almost hear Iago reverberating “I am for you” (Oth. 1.1.65). Iago wins over Othello. Again Othello’s final positioning of the vocative Iago in this question construes a whimpering, though also somewhat resigned Othello, who pleads for Iago’s help and who is grateful for anything Iago seems to suggest. He, again, positions Iago by means of his personal name, which, especially after Desdemona’s defence of Cassio, now evokes an even more powerful shade of honest Iago. In ergative terms (Halliday 1994: 163–172), Iago is the sayer and the agent of the clause. Hence, Iago’s assumed linguistic habitus is highly successful. He knows how to lead the conversation and


presents himself as reluctant to answer. With seemingly increasing desperation, he tries to avoid committing himself to any opinion about honest Cassio. Othello’s “Why of thy thought, Iago” (Oth. 3.3.98) reinforces both Othello’s authoritative and disparaging tone. The speed in which this part of the scene is performed increases in quick succession, as Iago now avoids answering six questions. This un-cooperation, which may be further enlightened by Grice’s theory of implicature, overtly succeeds in presenting the image of a wriggling man who does not want to lie. The epitome of a strategically convincing and rhetorically clever dialogue proceeds and reaches the limit of grotesque sadism in the following sequence from Oth. 3.3.103–117, which must cause emotive contemptible reactions from the recipient: Othello: Iago: Othello: Iago: Othello: Iago: Othello:

Iago:

[…] Is he not honest? Honest, my lord? Honest? Ay honest. My lord for aught I know. What dost thou think? Think, my lord? Think, my lord! By heaven thou echo’st me As if there were some monster in thy thought Too hideous to be shown. […] My lord, you know I love you.

Iago’s, somewhat child-like and clumsy, but rhetorically most effective vocative choice and positioning implicate that he allegedly knows something that he does not want to say. These exchanges, which culminate in Othello’s “thou echo’st me” (Oth. 3.3.106) and in Iago’s “My lord, you know I love you” (Oth. 3.3.117) drive not only Othello mad but also the recipient of the play. At the same time, the intertextual biblical link is “a horrible reminiscence of Peter’s ‘thou knowest that I love thee’” (John 21.15–17, in Honigmann ed. 1997: 215). However, it should be added that not only this phrase, but also Iago’s constant allegedly subservient usage of my lord vocatives echo or unbearably mirror Peter’s sincere addresses to Jesus as my lord (cf. John 7.68–69). The curious co-occurrence of my lord and honest tunes Othello further into Iago’s scheming. By means of the elliptic question that carries the illocutionary force of a request, the perlocutionary force is likewise fulfilled, as Othello, who completely overrates the honesty of Iago, desperately keeps asking. Although he notices Iago’s un-cooperative, echoing questions, he believes it to be a sign of his honesty of not to say what Othello would not like to hear. The playful tone of the verb think as opposed to knowing is also enwrapped into my lord vocatives. The initial vocative in “my lord, for aught I know” (Oth. 3.3.104) is to reinforce his sincerity – but he seems to have run out of invention that is why he can only clumsily reverberate “Think, my lord” (Oth. 3.3.106). Othello thinks aloud and pleads for clarification: “As if there were some monster in thy thought / Too hideous to be shown” (Oth. 3.3.107f.). Hence, Iago’s false protestation of his love for Othello: “My lord, you know


I love you” (Oth. 3.3.117) is just about right. Again, the initial vocative testifies to his alleged sincerity and frames it into a promise. Even though the meaning of love in Oth. carries many different facets, the co-occurrence of my lord, which correlates with the goal of the mental (affection) clause (Halliday 1994, 2004), may be a more or less subconscious sign of Iago’s disrupted sense of love and emotion. He construes his position as a leading conversationalist, and, at the same time, prepares Othello for the shock, because he pretends his wish to protect Othello. Iago, for example, answers the sub-ordinate rather than the main clause: “Show me thy thought” (Oth. 3.3.116). The frivolity, blasphemy, and indecency are cumulative so that, as a recipient, one is disgusted at this blatant lie. Hence, the use of the vocative my lord is non-committal, but also superficially enhances the sincerity effect and his alleged struggle not to attack Othello by a face-threatening thought, even though the recipient of the play immediately realises that the frequency of vocatives and intensity are too overrated. The change of positions – final in questions, initial in declaratives – again superficially adds to the sincerity, while its illocutionary force is often a request to make him continue asking. The lines Oth. 3.3.122f. illustrate that Iago used vocatively construes the idea of love and honesty in Othello. Yet, Othello’s protestations are very ironic in the light of “And weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath” (Oth. 3.3.119). The dramatic potential of vocatives becomes even more obvious as the tension rises. Imagine the speed with which this is performed. In terms of morality, the recipient must be about to react to this contemptuous behaviour. In terms of entertainment and aesthetic effects, the recipient is inspired by the feel and artistic quality of the scene. Iago’s indignant Machiavellian spirit is getting worse in his bald-on-record advice “O, beware, my lord, of jealousy” (Oth. 3.3.165). Notice that the prepositional phrase of jealousy carries end-focus. Its articulation is postponed by another use of the vocative my lord, which serves both to redress the face-threatening act, as well as to provide the phrase of jealousy with more emphasis. At the same time, the vocative, receiving additional intonational stress as well, frames the imperative into a bold threat. Finally, Iago has disclosed what he seems to have hidden for such a long time; yet, without giving any further clues as to which jealousy is meant and at whom it should be directed. The story of the “greeneyed monster” (Oth. 3.3 166) follows. Again, it is vital to consider the use of my lord in the broader framework that has been described above. Recourse to Oth. 3.3.155 and 159 illustrates Iago’s alleged preoccupation with “good name in man and women” (Oth. 3.3.155) and “but he that filches from my good name” (Oth. 3.3.159), which also foreshadows Desdemona’s “Am I that name, Iago?” quoted at the beginning of this chapter. This structural pattern, imperative, a threat, and the vocative, constitutes a specific tone unit. In Oth. 3.3.189f., the use of the vocative Iago carries a momentary shade of more authoritative meanings: “No, Iago, / I’ll see before I doubt.” It is uttered when Othello seems to resume all his energy in order to stay calm and fair. At the same time, the vocative frames the declarative into an order directed at Othello to provide him with further evidence. To these are added constant protestations of his love for Othello (Oth. 3.3.194, 217, 221), which in terms of Grice’s CP, are completely overloaded so that love loses its meanings but heighten Iago’s habitus and his voice potential. In Oth. 3.3.224, a devout vocative accompanies another of Iago’s fake protestations of love. He has asked Othello to


be no more than suspicious of Cassio and Desdemona. The vocative and the accompanying clause serve to minimize the threat to Othello’s face and, at the same time, construe Iago as a self-degrading, honest soldier. Iago summarises Othello’s recollections of Oth. 1.3.63 by echoing Brabantio (Oth. 1.2.67–71) with the following overdone exclamative vocatives: “Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural” (Oth. 3.3.233). These fake, but structurally condensed protestations of love, honesty, morality, and loyalty may also be explained by the idea of the vocative as a grammatical metaphor. Rephrasing the two vocatives, one would be able to argue that “foul disproportion” not only echoes the meanings of the reversal of moral and human order in the witches’ “fair is foul and foul is fair” (Mac. 1.1.10) in Mac., but also hints at a lack of a sense of proportion. Certainly, Iago, presenting himself as a Christian-like moralist, is only describing the alleged wilfulness and carnal desire, the rebellious, false, immoral, lustful, rancid, and foul-smelling character of Cassio and Desdemona. However, the audience knows that this construal is part of his identity as well. The vocative unnatural thoughts represents sexually demeaning attack at Cassio and Othello. Yet, again it could also be understood as a self-address to Iago, as his dreams, his sexual fantasies and his utterly blasphemous, evil, scheming is by no means natural in the Christian sense of the word or when measured against other, pagan standards of morality, love and trust. As such, the epithet unnatural also echoes Edmund’s address “Thou, nature, art my goddess” (Lr. 1.2.1), by which he invokes his understanding of a new natural order. The contemptuously ingratiating tone reaches another culminating effect when Othello authoritatively orders Iago “Leave me alone, Iago” (Oth. 3.3.240), and Iago echoes Othello with “My lord, I take my leave” (Oth. 3.3.241). Of course, Iago does not leave him immediately, but waits for another lamentation and then expresses “My lord, I would I might entreat your honour / To scan this thing no farther” (Oth. 3.3.244f.). Again, echoing what Othello has just said, Iago places my lord in initial position, and adds you honour as another highly stylised vocative to it. Having poisoned Othello’s mind, Iago, in a polite fashion, now expresses the wish to have the ability to distract Othello and turn his mind away from adultery. Note first the use of the subjunctive with the highly stylised verb form would that is to intensify his wish. Notice further the use of might, which, in EModE, often refers to the ability to do something (Görlach 1994: 85), which adds to the formulaic, courtier-like character of this declarative and the Romance that is highly elaborate in its origin of entreat. Finally, the uses of the vocatives my lord and your honour additionally intensify the wish. Certainly, Iago means the opposite of what he says, and he knows that he has already managed to poison Othello. Hence, his overt use of politeness will sound as music to Othello’s ears, because he not only overvalues negative incidents but also positive language. By way of implicature, the sexual implications of this utterance become obvious. “To scan this thing no farther” (Oth. 3.3.245) may allude to Desdemona’s body. Thing again may also be a general abstraction of sexual images of Cassio and Desdemona. We also gain an image of Othello’s special aptitude to deceive himself, even when Iago is not directly responsible. Othello relapses into anger almost immediately. Re-enacting the emotional seesaw of “O, Iago, the pity of it, Iago!” (Oth. 4.1.196) and “I will chop her into messes” (Oth. 4.1.200), he wants to persuade himself, committed as he is to noble action. Yet, by this time we can sense how completely he will be capable of surrendering to


illusions. At a definitive moment, when he tries to sum up his life, he speaks of war and illustrates that he has always been committed to the higher of human activities. The Renaissance commonplace of a “Farewell speech” is expressed vocatively (Oth. 3.3.350–57). In his idealising speech, where he recalls the higher war, its glory, and pageantry, and omits the other, he does not set out to deceive, but to present only one view of the truth. Nevertheless, he also echoes what Iago has announced in his soliloquy preceding this invocation (Oth. 3.3.333). Othello’s language further changes as he reacts to pressure. He even attacks Iago and orders proof (Oth. 3.3.359). He then catches hold of Iago. Despite this clear facethreatening attack, the only one in the play directed at Iago so far, this outburst is rather a sign of his emotional breakdown than of a sudden mistrust in Iago. The expansiveness of his narrative has given way to shorter sentences, questions, exclamations, and hesitations, which are mostly expressed vocatively.38 A change of vocative is noticeable following Othello’s attack. Iago switches to the even more-non-committal sir, as, probably, Othello would have reacted more nervously to my lord. Nevertheless, the double meaning of sir as an indicator of superior social status and its generalisation sir prevail (OED 1.a. and II.6.b): Iago

I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion. I do repent me that I put it to you. You would be satisfied. Othello Would? nay, and I will! Iago And may – but how? How satisfied, my lord? Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on? Behold her topped? (Oth. 3.3.391–396) Iago plays on the past participle satisfied to suggest a voyeur’s satisfaction. These are also his dreams and it is the vocative that adds to the sexual innuendo of what is said. According to the OED (2.), a supervisor is “an onlooker.” Hence, the emphasised position adds an additionally intonational stress to the utterance and turns the interrogative into rhetorical questions, which additionally receive a shade of sadism. His fantasy stirs up emotion. Iago’s poisonous “My medicine” (Oth. 4.1.44), as he will later call it, construes this image. He, as the man in charge and the lord of the household, insinuates the moral and Christan-like image of marriage. When he tells Othello about Cassio’s alleged confessions of his love for Desdemona, he produces his own voyeuristic dreams. Sir and the non-use of my lord in Oth. 3.3.421, “And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand,” testifies to his own highly emotional status. In addition, sir is marked in this case, as Iago attempts to lay further sensational emphasis on his narrative about Cassio’s dreams. Hence, the position of vocatives as an interpersonal theme, hedged by and and then, adds a shade of urgency, it causes tension, it draws Othello’s attention, and it lends more importance to what is to follow. Obviously, Iago’s narrative seems to have the perlocutionary effect at which Iago is aiming. In Oth. 3.3.427, the tension and Othello’s emotional stand, which is close to a 38. See Oth. 3.3.375f. He attacks Desdemona: “O wretched fool that lov’st to make thine honesty a vice.”


breakdown, is construed by means of an abstract vocative. Othello is so thrown out of balance that he can only summarise his situation as “O monstrous! monstrous” (Oth. 3.3.427). There may be several addressees of this vocative: the vocatives might be directed at himself and his own deplorable situation. Furthermore, via recourse to the metaphysical world, Cassio’s identity is construed as monstrous. Note that Iago narrates Cassio’s dream but not any of his deeds. The exclamative vocatives, however, again create Othello’s overvaluation of things. Ironically, the vocative could also address Iago, for whom the recourse to the negative metaphysical world is certainly more apt than for Cassio. The recipient is certainly able to realise this double meaning. As such, the dramatic and tragic potential of this vocative, the sequence, and the entire scene is further heightened. In Oth. 3.3.444f., Othello’s trust and balance seem to be temporarily restored: “Look here, Iago, / All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven.” Some of his old determined voice echoes through it. Yet, the fact that he pretends to be resolved to replace his love by revenge gives us an image of a mad and imbalanced Othello. His general state of mind and his imagery remind us of that used by Lear and Ophelia. Nevertheless, his address to Iago as a personal name illustrates that he is completely captured by Iago. He is dependent on him and addicted by the bluff of “honest Iago.” Alluding to the four humours in Oth. 3.3.447 with “Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell,” and to an emotion in “Yield up, O love, they crown and hearted throne / To tyrannous hate” (Oth. 3.3.448f.), as well as to the personification of his own body in “Swell, bosom, with thy fraught” (Oth. 3.3.449), Othello invokes the powers in order to have the capacity of punishing Desdemona and Cassio for their betrayal. Even though we have been primed by Iago to interpret Othello’s language as “bombast circumstance / Horribly stuffed with epithites of war” (Oth. 1.1.13f.), note the final lightening up what is Othello’s grand style, before he physically falls down and linguistically falls apart. Verse, alternating monosyllabic and polysyllabic Latinate words, vehemence in the invocation of love and vengeance alike, imperatives that are turned into indirect requests, yet characteristics of the language of rulers and dark vowels mark these vocatives. Notice also that in contrast to Quintilian’s recommendation: to give verbs their maximum impact by delaying them (in Adamson 2001a: 39), Othello’s disparity is expressed by placing the verb in front and then immediately interrupting it by the vocative containing abstract concepts which are then personified. Before Iago has finally managed to strip away the noble exterior and construe him as no more than an “erring barbarian” (Oth. 1.3.355f.), vengeance can be seen as another metaphysical term, which is also indirectly directed at Iago without Othello knowing of it. In its vehemence and disparity, the passage particularly reminds the reader of one of Lear’s convolute, passionate, and persuasive climaxes in those speeches where he addresses metaphysical powers greater than himself (Lr. 3.2.4–9). The invocation is also reminiscent of Lady Macbeth’s address to the evil powers, which is also performed vocatively (Mac. 1.2). Othello’s repetitions of the exclamative vocative blood in “O blood, blood blood” (Oth. 3.3.451) are not only further construals of Othello’s indignation at Desdemona’s alleged adultery and his overvalued need for revenge, but also illustrate that the grand style gradually disintegrates. All this is turned into the tragic-grotesque when, according to the stage directions in Honigmann (ed. 1997: 238), two bodily actions accompany Othello’s and


Iago’s vocative exclamations. Othello is kneeling and Iago follows. Here Othello’s overevaluation and over-moralisation of incidences in his life are emphasised. In addition, the recipient of the play may have difficulties in believing in Othello’s emotional outburst. Iago’s address to the stars and the elements, in which he almost turns Othello into “the ventroloquist’s dummy” (Honigmann ed. 1997: 239), represent the climax of Iago’s hypocrisy and indignation. The linguistic structure of this invocation testifies that it is no more than a clumsy copy of what has been previously referred to as the grand style. Especially, the repetition of the imperative “witness” creates an overdone rhetorical strategy. This is also the case for Iago’s self-address by means of his personal name in Oth. 3.3.465–67: “Witness that here Iago does give up / The execution of his wits, hands, heart / To wronged Othello’s service.” This protestation of Iago’s loyalty is then reciprocated by several of Othello’s graceful, pedantic, and helpless declarations of trust in Iago (see, for example, Oth. 3.3.469, “I greet thy love”) and also with the upgrading of Iago as: “Now art thou my lieutenant” (Oth. 3.3.479). In the first scene of Act 4, Iago seems to have achieved his goal of construing Othello as an “erring barbarian” (Oth. 1.1.355). Both Othello’s physicality and his language fall apart. The habit of repetition sets in and his mind seems to lose its grip, as, like a punchdrunk boxer, he has been harpooned for too long. Nevertheless, these are mysteriously moving speeches: he grieves for Desdemona, we grieve for Othello and his mind swings back and force, out of control, and back again. Othello’s dislocated language, which testifies to his beginning trance, culminates in the verbal and physical breakdown of the epileptic fit (Oth. 4.1.35–43). Sometimes he happens to recall his earlier voice, but only with signs of willed performance and, to commit the barbarism that even Leontes in WT avoids. The opening words of Act 4, Scene 1 imply that the speakers have talked for a while. Othello now echoes Iago reversing their roles whereas Iago continues to work on Othello’s visual imagination. Notice Othello’s emotional dependence on Iago, which is exemplified in the constant and reassuring repetition of Iago’s personal name (Oth. 4.1.1 or Oth. 4.1.5). Notice also Iago’s clever recourse back to the familiar vocative at a time when he has succeeded in poisoning Othello. He uses my lord in Oth. 4.1.12, which may serve as another hypocritical sign of Iago’s subservience, but which also serves to underline Iago’s gained ascendancy over Othello. His sadistic remark that Desdemona, as a possessor of the handkerchief, can naturally give it to anyone she likes, not only reminds Othello of the handkerchief as another piece of evidence for Desdemona’s sin, but also leads to his final breakdown. Othello’s fit abounds in vocatival exclamations, which are introduced by his worries at the meaning of lying with and on her. He exclaims: “Handkerchief – Confessions – Handkerchief ” (Oth. 4.1.37). And later, following his rationalisation of his trembling before he falls, he cries out: “Confess? Handkerchief? O devil” (Oth. 4.1.43). Hence, the vocative plays a crucial role in construing Othello’s trance as the concepts he alludes to are familiar, but the sequence and force by which he utters the vocative are suggestive of his momentary insanity. Notice the effect Iago’s manipulation of Othello’s imagination and his insinuation of the handkerchief have on Othello. The personification of the handkerchief as an address stands as a symbol for Desdemona’s adultery. With Othello in a trance, Iago talks about his poisonous rhetoric and character as a medicine and addresses it: “Work on, / My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are


caught, / And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, / All guiltless meet reproach. – What ho! My lord! / My lord, I say! Othello” (Oth. 4.1.47f.). As such, it also mirrors the Early Modern interest in medicine as a scientific field. However, Iago’s personification immediately hints at the dangers and manipulative potential of human beings and science for destruction. When Iago hears something approaching, the vocative usage textually indicates a change in topic and in tone. Iago performs the role of the devastated servant who is incapable of coping with the situation. Probably because Othello is still unconscious, he uses two repetitive my lord vocatives and, for the first (and last) time, triumphantly addresses Othello by his own personal name: “Othello!” (Oth. 4.1.48) Notice that the row of three vocatives is to emphasise Iago’s alleged emotional involvement in Othello’s state of mind. However, the unprecedented use of the personal name for Othello also, though covertly, represents a climatic construal of Iago’s power over Othello and the change of roles between master and servant. In reversed roles, now Iago, assuming the habitus of a master, addresses his mental and emotional servant Othello with a personal name. In Oth. 4.1.65, when Othello has regained power and action, a multi-dimensional sir vocative in correlation with the equally multiply suggestive epithet good precedes the imperative “Good sir, be a man” (Oth. 4.1.65). Probably, the use of the address form is one of the most illustrative examples to stress the resplendent meanings that may be inferred by the use of sir and good alike. Despite politeness theory’s (Brown and Gilman 1989) probable emphasis on the vocative redressing this face-threatening act, it will be argued that good sir reinforces rather than embellishes the negative character of the entire imperative. It is explicitly face-threatening, provocative, and sadistically cynical. Iago retains the ascendancy gained earlier and the vocative good sir as well as the phrase un-man Othello further. Notice the final positions of the vocatives in the following lines, which reinforce the sincere, deplorable, yet mysteriously moving tone of Othello’s requests. At the same time, the high proliferation of Iago’s name used vocatively continue construing Iago’s face as sincere and honest. In Act 5, these culminate in “O brave Iago, honest and just, / That hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong” (Oth. 5.1.31f.), and in the almost absurd “My friend thy husband, honest, honest Iago” (Oth. 5.2.154). Even in the revelation scene Othello still cannot fully refrain from keeping some shades of admiration for Iago, even though Honigmann (ed. 1997: 317) argues that the epithet precious may denote “intensive egregious.” Later on, he addresses him by means of the only EPITHET that is part of his address formula for Iago: “O thou pernicious caitiff ” (Oth. 5.2.318). To sum up, while Othello’s vocative pattern is suggestive of the assimilated habitus and culture he has assumed, Iago’s clumsy rhetorical vocative repetitions achieves to accumulate symbolic capital in order to then occupy just this position. He pertains the image of the unlearned, non-decorous soldier, yet, his mastery consists in his ability to understand its full social logic und undermine its strong orientation to conservative reproduction of the entitlement and habitus of dominant speakers. He is not a public orator but a rhetorician of conversation, and its exploitation of some of its characteristic rhetorical forms and logic, politeness and inference. He exploits his address pattern for Othello to gain voice power. Contextually, Iago’s vocative choice is highly effective, even though Iago excels in short-term vocative tactics.


5.2.3 Othello and Desdemona in Oth. – cultural tension and immaturity of love as construed by vocatives 5.2.3.1 Preliminaries Racism and “Othering”39 have various implications in different contexts of Shakespeare’s plays. Prospero, for example, describes Caliban as “filth as thou art” (Tmp. 1.2.346), but is rebuked in a similar way by Caliban’s curse at the beginning of the play. Tamora’s child fathered by Aaron is described as a joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue. Oth. offers a more sympathetic and more wonderful insight into otherness than is afforded by Caliban. Nevertheless, in Oth., the citizenship’s estrangement at the fact that a black man lords over Europeans and marries an upper-class wife can still be felt, probably to the same extent as if Caliban were to reappear as Prospero. Othello’s status as a stranger coming from another world is constantly repeated in the play, for example, in Oth. 1.1. His rank as governor of Cypress further magnifies his otherness, even though Othello fully identifies with Venice and Christianity. This racism and the awareness of ethnic disparity also trace back to the streets of London, at the time, when Shakespeare wrote and his plays were performed (Honigmann ed. 1997: 28f., 60). Othello and Desdemona’s mutual vocative usage construes and reflects the cultural tension between them, their explicit physicality, as well as the immaturity of their relationship, which is not strong enough to cope with Iago’s scheming. These lead to the difficulties in and tragic consequences of failed cross-cultural communication: the inevitable misunderstanding that may occur when two people from different social, cultural, and political backgrounds lack a common language and communicate by a language that construes estrangement and deception.40 5.2.3.2 Quantitative findings of their vocative usage Of Othello’s vocatives only one fifth (38 vocatives) are directed at Desdemona, which amounts to a relative frequency of 0.61. In turn, Desdemona uses 30 vocatives for Othello. Since she speaks less in the play than Othello, this number, however, represents half of the vocatives of her corpus and adds up to the high relative frequency of 1.08. Hence, her high quantitative vocative data alone do not corroborate the commonly put forward thesis that she is too passive. The distribution of vocative clusters also differs remarkably between Othello and Desdemona. If we accept Act 3, Scene 3 to be the finally determining scene in which Othello is ultimately trapped into Iago’s scheming, the vocatives Othello uses for Desdemona before and after this act construe the change in Othello’s and Desdemona’s relationship. In 39. “Otherness” is a term that has been introduced in colonial and post-colonial discourse theory. Said, for example, has illustrated that a number of features which are rooted in large-scale belief-systems are used to describe power relations that create a negative image, an other, in order to produce a civilised view on Western Society (in Mills 1997: 105f., Hulme 1986, Pratt 1992, and Spivak 1988). 40. Mazzon (2003: 229) observes but an “intensity of the tormented and passionate feelings“ merging from the use of pronominal and nominal forms of address and also lists the various nominal forms of address that are exchanged between them, but does not go into a detailed context-related and pragmatic analysis and interpretation of both nominal and pronominal forms of address.


his choice of vocatives at the beginning, he remains idiosyncratically faithful to his otherness, to his ardent love for Desdemona, and to the physicality of their love. Following Act 3, Scene 3, Othello resorts to more conventional, but interpersonally less committing, emotional, and earnest vocatives that seem to hide his indignity at Desdemona’s alleged unchastity and, at the same time, are suggestive of his incapability of communicating. Here, he does not simply identify her as a lady of rank, but he assumes arbitrary divisions which reflect dominant economic structures and social prejudices. In this case, these are implicit expressions of a habitus: using one term while meaning another. In other words, the implicature (Grice 1975) or what is meant (Tannen 1990) is highly different. The first two acts contain a higher number of emotional vocatives, military expressions, terms from specialised fields, such as sense and perception, and modified personal names directed by Othello at Desdemona. Hence, conventional terms, mostly negative EPITHETs, negative generic terms, and natural phenomena vocatives, overly-sweet sense and perception vocatives, authoritative personal names, negative metaphysical vocatives either mark Act 3, Scene 3 or the following scenes in which they encounter, while vocatives from the cluster emotional and positive EPITHETs do not reappear after Act 3, Scene 3. In Acts 1 to 3, Othello uses the following utterances that contain vocatives for Desdemona: “Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour / Of love, of wordly matter and direction / To spend with thee” (Oth. 1.3.298–300), “O my fair warrior!” (Oth. 2.1.182), “O my soul’s joy! / If after every tempest come such calms, / May the winds blow till they have wakened death” (Oth. 2.1.184f.), “Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus” (Oth. 2.1.204), “O my sweet, / I prattle out of fashion, and I dote / In mine own comforts” (Oth. 2.1.205–07), “Come, Desdemona” (Oth. 2.1.211), “Come, my dear love, / The purchase made, the fruits are to ensure” (Oth. 2.3.8f.), and “All’s well now, sweeting, / Come away to bed” (2.3.252), and “Come, Desdemona” (Oth. 2.3.257). Although, frequently, the vocatives are syntactically accompanied by imperatives and despite the fact that it is only as late as in Cyprus that they address each other directly, the positive experiential and interpersonal worlds, which often also carry specific sexual overtones, dominate Othello’s idiosyncratic usage of vocatives in Acts 1 to 3. Notice the high number of personal names, which still transfer a positive tone, as their correlation with the highly emotional thou further illustrates. Notice further the steady construal of Desdemona as a beloved, and also sexually attractive object. His blackness and her white skin further enhance their physicality. The potential of colour division and the allusions to the sense are highly constructive of the ideologies of racism and of the individual who is bound by his culturally imposed or culturally suitable perspectives (Nietzsche quoted in Douthwaite 2000: 117). Mention has already been made of the many nuances that sweet may transfer. The use of “O my sweet” (Oth. 2.1.205) and “sweeting” (Oth. 2.3.252) in correlation with “fruits […] to ensure” (Oth. 2.3.9) and “away to bed” (Oth. 2.3.253) carry clear sexual overtones (Partridge [1947] 1968: 195), the sweetness of sexual pleasure. Considering the fact that, in the play, sex is reinforced in many different ways and Othello and Desdemona have to postpone their wedding-night, sexual connotations are also construed vocatively. Hence, as such, one might want to argue that the use of vocatives is both suggestive of the physicality of their relationship and the fact that they are probably not


as familiar with each other as one would assume, but also construes Othello as what Iago associates with the quintessential sexually promiscuous Moor and the lustful barbarian. At this stage, Othello’s vocative voice is highly bombastic and rhetorically civilized. However, Othello, suffering from both jealousy and envy or the psychology of humours, also intends to stake his claim in respect to this young love. The vocatival use of her personal name also contains the deictic my to indicate his possession. While self-approving dramatisation and self-idealisation are essential elements of Othello’s character and egotism, Othello also characterises Desdemona by means of these idealised vocatives, because they are suggestive of the ecstasies of romantic love. Even though Othello may talk not only of sex, but also of love as well, he tends to overvalue things in his world – the pride, pomp, bombast and circumstances of war, skin white as snow – and his love does not necessarily match that of Desdemona. His highly emotive and elaborate vocative choice indicates both sexual appetite and spiritual love. At the beginning, they use the language of love to which they are adjusted. In addition, Othello’s exceptional sensuousness and his preoccupation with his soul become obvious in his choice of vocatives directed at Desdemona as well. In addition, he construes Desdemona’s physical beauty and her musical voice – which even point to a more primitive worship of the sun, the moon, and the elemental forces of nature that somehow overlay Christian virtues. “O my soul’s joy” (Oth. 2.1.184) and “Honey” (Oth. 2.1.204) construe these ideas. Nevertheless, Othello’s choice of vocative is still indicative of his attempt to assume a voice potential that ignores his “otherness,” while Desdemona’s eloquence, despite her youth- and gender-binding responsibility to comply to the rules of social decorum, creates the ease and assurance on their relationship throughout the play. Hence, since Othello believes that his voice potential still needs to be acknowledged (they are never alone), his vocative style also displays its eloquent performance and not necessarily its adequacy. Yet he is standing apart from the Europeans. Verbal virtuosity, not plainness, marks his style, which blends linguistic insecurity even in the act of wooing and love expression. As such, he comes close to assimilation in an alien culture, but he needs to mobilise his verbal repertoire more fully than other speakers or Desdemona. Therefore, the vocative “O my fair warrior” (Oth. 2.1.182), which will be analysed in depth below, is one of Othello’s most emotive, most authentic, most praising, though also most stylised vocatives for Desdemona. Mention has already been made of the fact that after the temptation scene conventional terms, mostly negative EPITHETs, negative generic terms, and natural phenomena vocatives, overly-sweet sense and perception terms, authoritative personal names, negative metaphysical vocatives either mark Act 3, Scene 3 or the scenes following, while vocatives from the cluster emotion / mind, thought and positive EPITHETs do not reappear after Act 3, Scene 3. Here, the vocative usage for Desdemona also illustrates that Iago’s poison has invaded Othello’s mind and construes Othello’s inner alteration. His vocative usage changes as he reacts to the pressure. However, while the fluidity and confident expansiveness of his voice give way to shorter sentences, the vocatives he uses are highly elaborate in Desdemona’s absence, and stylised or complying with the “official” rules of social decorum in Desdemona’s presence. In this respect, the idea of the vocative as a grammatical metaphor should be repeated. The interpersonal and experiential meanings can be fused to the extent that both inter-


personality and fixity are construed. Hence, Othello’s recourse to highly elaborate vocative forms. Furthermore, Othello’s vocative pattern following Act 3, Scene 3 is marked by repetitive vocatives that occur in moments of highest tension and when he is under pressure. They are also characterised by a high proliferation of the interjection and morphological vocative marker o. Most frequently, the o of lament (and sexual pleasure) accompanies the vocatives. Furthermore, vocatives are more often accompanied by questions, and declaratives. These mostly transfer the illocutionary force of threats. The authoritative tone of the vocative is likewise construed by their final positioning. Hence, in terms of structural potential, position, and accompanying clause, there is a change in Othello’s address behaviour. His mind swings back and forth, he is constantly on the verge of collapsing, and only at times does he appear to have recovered his earlier voice. Yet, these attempts sound more like a willed vocative performance. The emotional character of his vocative pattern also becomes particularly evident in the choice of vocative forms. For example, even though, at first glance, the vocatives in Act 3, Scene 3 still appear to be similar to those used before, a closer look reveals that, for example, both the epithet sweet in “Sweet Desdemon” (Oth. 3.3.55) and the head sweet in “sweet” (Oth. 3.3.56) additionally assume negative and sarcastic meanings that testify to Othello’s shaken trust in Desdemona. In the first example, sweet, on the syntagmatic axis, clashes with Desdemon, and in the second example, the vocative is reduced from the former highly elaborate and emotive o my sweet in Oth. 2.2.204 to a plain sweet. Especially in the first example, Othello shows his weakness for resonant names, since one part of Desdemona’s name demon refers to a “supernatural being of a nature intermediate between that of gods and men” (OED 1.a.), or to “an inferior divinity, spirit, genius” (OED 1.b.), or, in general current use, to a “an evil spirit; a malignant being of superhuman nature” (OED 2.a.). In W. Thomas (1550) demon is equated with devils. In addition, these terms are foregrounded because Othello’s sincere expression of love and devotion carries, as has been illustrated, a completely different structural and semantic vocative tone. In addition, des-damony and dis-demony may refer to a superstition, and also to a worshipping of God out of fear and not love (OED). On the surface, Othello certainly intends the term to be an abbreviated endearment of the name Desdemona. Even though the meanings are multidimensionally positive and negative it is doubtful whether Othello has consciously employed the following reverberations that are also inherent in Desdemon. Translated into English, the Greek model of Desdemona is “unfortunate” or “ill-starred” (Honigmann ed. 1997: 2f.), which also alludes to he fact that she has made the wrong marital choice. When Bakhtin (1981: 276) argues that words are always directed towards a future answer word, the vocative desdemon foreshadows the plainer and more brutal recourse to the experiential world of metaphysics that Othello resorts to in, for example, devil (Oth. 4.1.244). As such, he construes her as a non-Christian evil spirit that allies with black magic rather than with God. He impressively echoes Anne’s, Elizabeth’s, and Margaret’s curses of Richard in R3. Hence, his creation of her identity as unfaithful to God and to himself is to further his own identification and overly-emphasised alleged assimilation with Christian virtues, which he needs in order to be accepted by the Venetian society. Notice also the clearly literal and end provocative potential in “Farewell, my Desdemona” (Oth. 3.3.87) as


a final goodbye to his wife. It is the last time that he uses the deictic element my in correlation with the plain personal name. Of eight personal names that are used for Desdemona, three occur in Act 2, while the other, more authoritative, face-threatening, and condescending vocative-usages of her personal name appear after Act 3, Scene 3. To some extent, Othello’s constant re-invocation of her personal name carries appeal-like functions, but also transfers a brutal disbelief and a wrong reception of what she has to say. As such, his changed vocative behaviour is not only suggestive of the general difficulties in communication between husband and wife, but also alludes to the cultural tension which they, without being aware of it, need to cope with. The uses of EPITHETs, such as strumpet, which appears six times in the corpus, resembles the low style and brutality which Othello seems to have appropriated from Iago. Notice also that although in Ant. chuck functions as a term of endearment, the analysis of strumpet and chuck within the inner-contextual norm of Oth., reveals that these are clearly negative and disdainful in function. As such, they may also serve as discourse markers to indicate to the recipient that something is wrong. Othello’s use of conventional terms only occurs after Act 3, Scene 3. Recourse is made to a less idiosyncratic, less personal, but more socially compliant vocative usage that must be a violent attack at Desdemona. When he addresses her, for example, with good lady, he somehow seems to recourse to socially determined, less emotional, reserved, but, with regard to his address pattern, highly marked vocatives. While on the surface he pretends to resume his rhetorical bombast, to test Desdemona, and to pretend social compliance, determination, and his reliance on fixed European virtues, at the same time he still stands apart from them. As regards the vocative mistress, the double-dimensions are crucial, as Othello, by being explicitly uncooperative in terms of quality and manner (Grice 1975), implies that she is somebody else’s mistress. In co-occurrence with the negative exclamative “You!” (Oth. 4.4.92), these meanings become obvious. Notice also the switch from thou co-referring to a vocative in Acts 1 and 2 to the exclusive use of you with a vocative following Act 3, Scene 3: “O thou public commoner” (Oth. 4.2.74) is negative, as Othello brutally positions Desdemona as one of the common people. “Patience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin!” (Oth. 4.2.63) and “O thou weed! / Who art so lovely fair and smell’st so sweet / That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst ne’er been born” (Oth. 4.2.67–69) allude to Othello’s sensuousness and Desdemona’s physical beauty, but also to her alleged potential for committing adultery. Notice also that Othello’s recourse to the metyphysical world, on the one hand, and to natural phenomena, on the other, are both indicators of his high emotional tension, his madness, his obscenity as well as the obsession by which he seems to apply high moral standards and condemna-


tions to the people who do not deserve it.41 In W. Thomas (1550), cherubin is described as one of the orders of Angels (similar in Coote 1596). In Florio (1598), the stone cherubin is referred to. In Cotgrave (1611), the stone is further described as red-faced, and having a fiery face like a cherubim. Othello’s address explicitly alludes to the murder and bloodshed. Implicitly, however, it may also refer to Desdemona’s love. At the same time, he construes his attitude towards her and probably his outward appearance as completely enraged to her. In addition, the choice of the term is suggestive of his over-emphasised and unnatural emphasis on Christianity and Christian moral. When their relationship is still intact, he chooses a military term, hence, a field he is familiar with, which is authentic though stylised. Here the ideological assimilation is linguistically embedded in the choice of an address term that is rated by a culture which he attempts to please. Furthermore, the choice of the term cherubim also alludes to Othello’s ambivalent feelings for Desdemona. The use of this biblical name is ambivalent as it refers to Desdemona’s outward verbal insistence on being faithful, chaste, and loving, while, so Othello believes, her deeds testify to the contrary. Following Act 3, Scene 3, Othello, constantly re-invocating his own moral superiority over Desdemona, assumes the commonly socially compliant vocative usage that seems to be suitable for women, and he adjusts to Iago’s poisoning language. He positions Desdemona as an adulterous, promiscuous woman. The vocative usage not only construes his madness and rage at her, but also the success of Iago’s scheming, the loss of his grip on mind and language. In addition, it is also only in Act 3, Scene 3 that Othello addresses Desdemona in her absence by means of remarkably negative, sarcastic, and sardonic vocatives: “Excellent wretch” (Oth. 3.3.90), “Damn her, lewd, minx” (Oth. 3.3.475), “Minion, your dear lies dead” (Oth. 5.1.33) and “Strumpet, I come” (Oth. 5.1.34). Notice that all of these vocative meanings are high in rhetorical force and style, as they, for example, constantly change between high and low diction and Germanic and Romance bias. Their emotive quality is further construed by the propositional contents of the entire set of vocatives: all, either overtly or covertly, refer to Desdemona’s alleged lasciviousness and to sex. For example,

41. These vocatives are used following Act 3, Scene 3: “Not now, sweet Desdemon” (Oth. 3.3.55), “The sooner, sweet, for you” (Oth. 3.3.56), “Farewell, my Desdemona” (Oth. 3.3.87), “Well, my good lady” (Oth. 3.4.34), “How do you, Desdemona?” (Oth. 3.4.35), “This hand is moist, my lady” (Oth. 3.4.36), “What promise, chuck?” (Oth. 3.4.49), “Devil! O devil, devil!” (Oth. 4.1.240), “O devil, devil!” (Oth. 4.1.244), “Mistress!” (Oth. 4.1.249), “Pray, Chuck, come hither” (Oth. 4.2.24), “Ah, Desdemona, away, away, away” (Oth. 5.2.23), “Patience, thou young and rose-lipped cherubin” (Oth. 4.2.63), “O thou public commoner” (Oth. 4.2.73), “Impudent strumpet!” (Oth. 4.2.82), “You! Mistress! that have the office opposite to Saint Peter / And keep the gates of hell” (Oth. 4.2.94), “You, you, ay, you!” (Oth. 4.2.94), “You, you, ay, you!” (Oth. 4.2.94), “You, you, ay, you!” (Oth. 4.2.94), “O, Desdemona” (Oth. 4.3.5), “Ay, Desdemona” (Oth. 5.2.23), “Have you prayed tonight, Desdemon?” (Oth. 5.2.25), “Sweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury” (Oth. 5.2.50), “O perjured woman, thou dost stone my heart / And makest me call what I intend to do / A murder, which I thought a sacrifice” (Oth. 5.2.63–65), “Out, strumpet, weep’st thou for him to my face” (Oth. 5.2.77), “Down, strumpet!” (Oth. 5.2.79), “O ill-starred wench, / Pale as thy smock” (Oth. 5.2.272), “Cold, cold, my girl” (Oth. 5.2.275), “O Desdemon!” (Oth. 5.2.281), “Desdemon” (Oth. 5.2.281), and “O Desdemon! dead, Desdemon” (Oth. 5.2.281).


the exclamation excellent wretch is ironic because, if at all, only Desdemona’s outward appearance might hold this creation of identity. According to Partridge ([1947] 1968: 135), Shakespeare establishes and popularises an unchaste sense of lewd. While in OE and ME it refers to ignorant and lay people (as opposed to clerical and non-clerical), in EModE, it undergoes a semantic transition to vile and unchaste. According to the OED (2.b.), the lascivious connotations of minx (in some editions the vocative is structured as “lewd minx”) are introduced at the time when Shakespeare composes his plays. In Florio (1598), a minx is mentioned in correlation with a “gill, a gickesie, a flurt, aslut, a queane.” Strumpet also refers to a prostitute or a very wanton woman. With regard to minion, additional meanings can be added. Despite the preponderance of sexual innuendo, the French term alludes to “small, delicate, sweet, and charming” and reverberates the Middle High German “Minne,” meaning love. While the former meanings are suggestive of the still present, though immature, love of Othello for Desdemona, the multi-layered correlations of the vocative “minion” with “Minne” suggest the strong social disparities between them and the vanity of their love, as the medieval concept of “Minne” does not include the realisation of mutual love. Furthermore, the OED (A.1.a.) describes minion as “a beloved object, darling, favourite, a lover or lady-love and as one specially favoured or beloved; a dearest friend, a favourite child, servant.” The latter possibility of denoting a dear servant already contains a meaning that is also suggested by the OED (1.b. and e.): “chiefly, and in later use it could have an contemptuous or opprobrious sense, a mistress or paramour and, as a form of address, it could be used endearingly (darling, dear one (obs.) and also contemptuously (hussy, jade; servile creature, slave).” In T. Thomas (1587), minion occurs with gallant, gorgeous, and neat. A minion is also a dearling, a wanton or a wantonness. Yet, in EModE, minion may also contain unexpectedly negative connotations: an affected fellow (as in Florio 1598), and refer to outward appearance, as in Florio (1598), where he correlates minion with gallant, pretty, fine, neat, decent, and handsome. Therefore, Othello’s strategy to use double meanings by referring to allegedly positive surface connotations and underlying negative connotations and to choose registers completely different than in Act 2, Scene2 are identity construing of both him and Desdemona. Hence, the vocatives Othello applies to Desdemona in her absence testify not only to Iago’s successful communicative strategies, but also to the destructive potential within Othello’s personality, his strong sense of honour, and his sexual fantasy. In addition, their incapability of communicating and their lack of a common language, resulting from crosscultural tension is rendered opaque by the fact that only in Desdemona’s absence is Othello able to communicate his feelings in full and to be blatantly overt. Furthermore, his construal of the world of sexual lasciviousness carries strong ideological overtones, as his otherness is projected onto Desdemona’s allegedly typical female failures. To some extent, Othello, in a European way, dehumanises her behaviour by a series of stereotypical accusations. As such, he assumes a way of the colonising people (Said in Mills 1997: 105f.). If we recall the idea of the vocative as a grammatical metaphor and the NG potential for creating fixed, less evanescent entities, the effective potential of the vocative for disdainful accusations and identity construction of the kind Othello construes becomes obvious. Othello’s address to the dead Desdemona bears witness to and is constructive of his final realisation of his guilt. Although still highly emotional, the vocatives seem to be


somewhat clearer and plainer in outlook, as he recourses to four repetitions of the ambiguous desdemon and abbreviated version of her name and a negative epithet likewise, and to two generic terms wench and girl. In the first vocative, he emphatically admits his guilt by means of high style, as the neologism in the epithet ill-starred, as a Greek translation of her name (Honigmann ed. 1997: 2), refers to the fact that she is born under, or having one’s fortunes governed by an evil star that is unfortunate, unlucky and ill-fated. At the same time, contrastingly he presents himself as opposite. Pale, when seen in opposition to his blackness, refers not only to her motionless body, but also to her white skin, her innocence, and her virginity, although Othello only subconsciously refers to these meanings. The second vocative denotes her youth and her innocence, but this time the use of the deictic my seems to have recreated his original love for her. However, the constant repetitions and the heart-moving emotionality of these vocatives testify to the despair that is proclaimed and Othello’s mind to being on the verge of madness. Mention has already been made of the high relative frequency of Desdemona’s address terms for Othello. The distribution of her address terms for Othello is also striking as regards choice. “My dear Othello” (Oth. 2.1.182) and “dear” (Oth. 2.3.252) are the only vocatives she uses for him in the second act. Here, compared to Othello’s frequency of address terms for her, the number is much lower. Even though in terms of vocative choice, she is also reciprocal to Othello’s construal of their idealised and somewhat romantic love. Following Act 3, Scene 3, all 23 conventional terms appear, which apart from “Othello” (Oth. 3.3.68), “my dear Othello” (Oth. 3.3.279), “sweet Othello” (Oth. 4.1.238), and “Othello” (Oth. 5.2.23) constitute Desdemona’s address pattern for Othello. The conventional terms consist of 20 times my lord, and single occurrences of good my lord, my good lord, and sir. These results allow for multi-dimensional lines of interpretation. Vocative forms other than my lord are foregrounded in Desdemona’s address pattern as are her elaborations on his personal name. However, notice also her constant repetition of my lord, which, if taken as more than an expression of social compliance, testifies to her serious feelings for him. It also construes what Müller-Oberhäuser (2002: 44) describes as the role of women to emotionalise their husbands, which is described in ME courtesy books: So ist ihre Aufgabe eine zweifache: nicht nur soll sie selbst keinen Zorn fühlen oder äußern, sondern soll sie vor allem den Zorn anderer, speziell der Männer, mit Sanftmut begegnen. Verbale Höflichkeit wird im Rahmen weiblicher Unterordnung zu einem Besänftigungsmechanismus und damit zu einem Synonym weiblicher Demut (Müller-Oberhäuser 2002: 44).

In what Müller-Oberhäuser (2002: 44) calls a female manager of feelings, Desdemona resembles Ophelia’s address to Hamlet (he is her lord, sexually, mentally, socially, and emotionally). Since the reception of her vocatives is different after Act 3, Scene 3, Desdemona resorts to more cautious, and less emotional address forms. As such, she tries to guarantee their social roles and their social integration. These tactics and the assumed habitus are compliant with social decorum. However, she is nevertheless an aristocratic speaker, full of assurance, as she initiates speeches and orders. Hence, her recourse to conventional address patterns is also a natural class habitus


indicating that she inhabits and bespeaks her voice potential. Especially when she moves Cassio’s suit to Othello, she is most self-confident. Many questions and imperatives accompany Desdemona’s address forms. In addition, she is also at times demanding, and her address behaviour seems to be partly supportive of Othello’s adultery thesis, as he only partly recognises that she, throughout the play, continues to bespeak ease that marks her dominant class. Her occasional falling back to address patterns that were uttered prior to Act 3, Scene 3 are not forceful enough to convince Othello of her chastity. Therefore, Desdemona’s choice of vocatives construes the mutual immaturity of their love. To Othello her recourse to conventional European address patterns do not seem to be inclusive. In this respect, her alleged childlike behaviour should be questioned as well. Due to Desdemona’s general impulsiveness she also wants to lead him. Therefore, she chooses a collision course, which, though redressed by polite address behaviour, distances them from one another even more. Her address behaviour shows sensitivity as well. She is, as part of her feminism, not as self-centred as the men or Othello, as is construed by her constant repetition of my lord vocatives. Desdemona is not “too gentle” (Oth. 4.1.93), because what we have just described is also her strength as a “sweet soul” (Oth. 5.2.50). The way she manages him by means of forms of address is her protective linguistic and emotional wall against Othello’s cannonade of accusations. Her vocative patterns also show Shakespeare’s attempt to use the normal, female, stereotypical address pattern for a man and likewise to question these, by mirroring their farce in a situation where men’s egoism is powerful. 5.2.3.3 The destruction of alter ego and of the inherent interactive function of the vocative An in-depth analysis of the passages Oth. 2.1.180, Oth. 3.4.33, Oth. 5.2.29 and Oth. 5.2.76 will further illustrate the general comments made. The first vocative exchange is Othello’s “O my fair warrior!” and Desdemona’s retort “My dear Othello!” (Oth. 2.1.182f.), situated at Othello’s arrival in Cyprus. Preceding this exchange is Desdemona’s somewhat irritating conversation with Iago about “What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me” (Oth. 2.1.117f.). A one-verse line represents a textual unity that is vocatively initiated by Othello and terminated by Desdemona. This metrical beauty, which is further enhanced by the near structural similarity of the vocative (deictic – epithet – head), however, collides with the form of vocatives which both choose for one another. Recourse to military register may evocatively exemplify a clear declaration of love, as in love poetry a woman is sometimes addressed as a warrior in love. Hence, in his wooing Othello does not comply with Proteus’s advice in TGV 3.2.69–71 to produce a wooing sonnet: “You must lay lime, to tangle her desires by wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.” Yet, the vocative’s idealising tone and the fact that in praise and in moments of high emotion Othello recourses to the semantic register he knows best, he is most familiar with, and which will make an impression on the onlookers – the military, tells us much about the speaker. If we apply Lakoff and Johnson’s (1980: 9f.) definitions of metaphor, we may argue that obviously for Othello love is war. The positive historical dimensions and conventions of


this metaphor are in strong dialectical dependence on some idealising, martial, aggressive and violent, as well as immature and physical connotations. They do not seem to promise a happy end. In addition, the vocative also echoes Iago’s “trade of war” (Oth. 1.2.1). Furthermore, Othello later sees war as his occupation (Oth. 3.3.354), and, as he tries to sum up his life, he also speaks of war (Oth. 3.3.354f.). He recalls the higher war, its glory, and pageantry, and omits the other “feats of broil and battle” (Oth. 1.3.138f.). The deictic my in my fair warrior indicates his belief in possessing Desdemona, while the epithet fair and the interjection O create her physical beauty (which is also linked to her social status) and her sexual attractiveness (OED 1.a. and b.). However, the vocative also over-emotionally alludes to Desdemona’s praiseworthy character (OED 5.e.). In that sense, Othello’s stylisation of Desdemona and his constant reference to his own exceptional sensuousness also resemble his penetratingly perverse insistence on Iago’s honesty. Even though Othello’s use of military diction to create Desdemona’s identity functions as an enormously praising image as well as a term of endearment, the vocative as an interpersonal and experiential marker also impressively illustrates the ideological dimensions this vocative transfers: Othello projects the world to which he has assimilated himself onto Desdemona. Notice that his achievements in war are responsible for the fact that the Venetian senators are at least temporarily able to make do with his “otherness.” As such, it is also natural that Desdemona receives the vocative only once and at one of their happiest moments – away from her father and Venice where their wedding night has been interrupted, and during their first re-encounter at a place that seems to be privately and professionally promising. Desdemona’s “My dear Othello!” (Oth. 2.1.182) is reciprocal in terms of the high level of romantic and idealised love that is construed and in respect to the courage with which it is uttered in an official scene in presence of others on guard. As such, she reflects the ideal (medieval) wife as well, because she encounters his greeting with a compassionate response (Pakkala-Weckström 2001: 401, 407). The emotionality differs from Othello’s vocative in its degree of stylisation, intimacy, clarity, and female gender-specific qualities that are apparent. The use of my dear Othello is not only marked, because it appears unattached to a specific speech move, but also because it is one of the few instances in which Desdemona relinquishes her status habitus and enters the private, female, overtly highspirited sphere of mutual love, trust, and understanding that a relationship as young as theirs is capable of displaying. Desdemona’s positioning of Othello as no less than my dear Othello – hence, her use of a positively amplified personal name – shows a dominance in clarity and authenticity one can only discern if this vocative is seen in relation to the other address forms she uses. Here the senses and connotations that are apparent in the name Othello – braveness, courage, blackness, otherness, and sexual attractiveness – are openly transferred by her wholehearted and warm welcome. The interpersonal force of her plain my dear Othello becomes obvious in Othello’s reply, hence, in his switch from the military vocative to the EPITHET “O my soul’s joy” (Oth. 2.1.184) in the following line. Despite the similarity in the O of joy and ecstasy, in the my of possession, and in Othello’s constant reference to his soul as the seat of his love, Desdemona’s vocative seems to have tuned him into his next retort so that overt emotional force wins over both the idealised as well as stylised tone and the experiential military world that dominates O my fair warrior. The


vocative is much more open, clearer, and less stylised so that the utterances that follow receive prayer-like, worshipping character. Oth. 3.4.30f. stands in contrast to this vocative. Desdemona realises that “the sun / Where he was born drew all such humors from him.” While in Act 2, Scene 1, their mutual love has been expressed by highly emotional vocatives alone, Iago’s successful scheming now evokes a frantic suppression of negative emotions that results in a perverse, sarcastic, brutal, platitudinous, and mutually violating exchange of allegedly superficial vocatives. These, on a deeper level, frame the conversation – initiating adjacency pairs. Desdemona […] How is’t with you, my lord? Othello Well, my good lady. [aside] O hardness to dissemble! - How do you, Desdemona? Desdemona Well, my good lord. Othello Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady (Oth. 3.4.33–36). Desdemona is determined to reinstall Cassio’s reputation. Yet, before she does so, she, as a woman, is cautious enough to introduce the conversation by asking about Othello’s well-being in a typical adjacency pair. She tries to manage his emotions. The final position of the most common vocative within Desdemona’s address pattern constitutes not only a separate tone unit, but adds to the sincerity of her question. Mention has already been made of the fact that my lord is the most frequent vocative form within her address pattern and in the corpus as a whole. Yet, despite her cautious attempt not to transgress the rules of social decorum and to accumulate symbolic capital (Bourdieu 1997 a, b, 1997 a, b), while, at the same time, emphasising her own social habitus, her constant repetition of my lord is indicative of her love for him and of her endeavour to protect and guarantee their social order, their emotional universe and their mutual social integration. Othello completes the adjacency pair with “Well, my good lady” (Oth. 3.4.35) and introduces an incongruent address pattern. Despite the deictic element my, the constituents good and lady both allude to her high social status and probably also to her character. Yet, beyond this surface meaning of social decorum, these vocatives open up the tragic abysm that leads to Othello and Desdemona’s destruction. These conclusions can be drawn from the final and authoritative position of the vocative, which turns the declarative into a sarcastic threat (meaning, “well, why do you ask?”). Yet, in comparison to the vocatives so far used for Desdemona, the highly marked vocative my good lady is evocative of the tension that exists between them. The only trace that is reminiscent of their former address behaviour is the deictic element my. Good has been described as semantically polysemous in Shakespeare’s use of vocatives. Here the emphasis is on good while the illocutionary force implicates the contrary. Furthermore, the complex meanings of lady should be highlighted as well. They do not necessarily only imply the reference to social structure, but also often assume negative and warning meanings. Notice also that Othello, in order to overtly stress his well-being, extends the vocative structure that Desdemona has used for him by the interpersonal epithet good. From this somewhat over-elaborate vocative one might even assume that both epithet and head of this vocative receive special intonational emphasis only to further evoke the farce of the entire exchange.


The immaturity of Othello’s and Desdemona’s love and their incapability of communicating (which results from Desdemona’s alleged violation of Othello’s sense of honour and her infidelity) is further reinforced by the fact that Othello can only express his real feelings in an aside: “O hardness to dissemble” (Oth. 3.4.33). Notice that here the interjection O is now transformed into the O of lament and self-pity. In addition, Othello de-humanises Desdemona’s identity by using an abstract concept, hardness, and by construing Desdemona as a hypocrite who conceals her intentions and opinions under a guise. He then switches vocatives and echoes Desdemona’s question about his well-being with the following utterance: “How do you do, Desdemona” (Oth. 3.4.35). The use of her personal name in final position is clearly authoritative and distant in tone. Its co-reference with the equally unemotional you further evokes this image. As such, the vocative and the personal pronoun you have the function of expressing a final warning for Desdemona to indicate that she should say the truth rather than continue dissembling. Desdemona answers with another somewhat frightened completion of the metrical line, which we have already encountered in Act 2, Scene 3. Yet, this time, rather than choosing Othello’s personal name as a vocative, she copies Othello’s “Well, my good lady” (Oth. 3.4.34) and symmetrically answers “Well, my good lord” (Oth. 3.4.35). Hence, while her vocative usage is reciprocal to Othello’s, the evaluation of it in respect to her entire address pattern renders it foregrounded, as it appears only once in her address pattern. Hence, in this simple but subtle piece of dialogue the tragic dimensions of their relationship are construed by the vocatives they use. Othello’s “This hand is moist, my lady” (Oth. 3.4.36) is an allusion to her sexual unfaithfulness. A moist hand argues an amorous nature – hence, his withdrawal of the epithet good used before. Here the lady vocative reverberates clear sexual connotations and alludes to Desdemona’s attractive physicality. For Othello, she falsely pretends to behave like a lady. Yet, notice that while Othello believes that Desdemona’s tension is due to her feelings for Cassio, he fails to see her fear at his changed behaviour and her love for him. Hence, his over-elaborate and false “What promise, chuck?” (Oth. 3.4.50), used to detect his indignation at Desdemona’s constant insistence on Cassio’s release (which must seem mysterious and false to him), only superficially functions as the same term of endearment as in Mac. 3.2.45. It rather testifies to his extreme emotional tenseness, as it is unprecedented in usage. In Oth. 5.2.23, Othello gives a final glimpse of nearness, even though they have yet been drawn so far apart from one another. When Desdemona, while awakening, uses the vocative Othello, she not only encourages him to reveal his identity and continues to harmonise and to control both their emotions, but also construes the Othello whom she trusts and loves and whom she would like to regain. Her strength is illustrated by the fact that although she senses his changed attitude and the approaching of her tragic fate, she still trusts him and hopes to reach him by way of her attractive familiarity. Othello’s response in “Ay, Desdemona” transfers multi-layered meanings as well. On the one hand, his final use of her personal name is the clearest and most intimate he can get. On the other hand, however, it also reveals the menacing, insane, determined, and honour-obsessed Othello who can no longer bear the emotional and physical harm that has been done to him. Notice that even though he kisses her while she is asleep, the scene is a final prelude to his murder.


Desdemona’s final attempt to allude to one of their well-known spheres of mutual understanding in “Will you come to bed, my lord?” (Oth. 5.2.24) is uncooperatively rebuked by Othello with another over-elaborate insistence on Christianity: “Have you prayed tonight, Desdemon?” (Oth. 5.2.25). While Desdemona attempts to safeguard social and emotional decorum and, at the same time, to express her deep devotion to Othello with the vocative my lord, Othello’s response is an allusion to the devil and to demonic, evil, unchristian, and unfaithful comportment, although it superficially serves as a constructed endearment likewise. It not only clashes with the utterance in which it occurs, but also with the vocative my lord used by Desdemona. However, Desdemona displays again her emotional strength of being a manager of feeling and emotion when she, for another time, completes the metrical line with “Ay, my lord” (Oth. 5.2.25). As such, Desdemona’s beauty has always been introducing a faint uncertainty about Cassio’s integrity, a scepticism which is indicative of what Son. 54.1 argues about beauty: “O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem / By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.” To conclude, the analysis of vocatives exchanged between Othello and Desdemona not only captures the complexity lying behind the use of vocatives in Shakespeare, but also illustrates that vocatives in Shakespeare give another cogent example of the fact that, as Lakoff and Johnson (1980) have argued, language functions as metaphor and as such reflects and construes ideology. Both Desdemona’s and Othello’s address patterns bespeak the Early Modern theory of the great Chain of Being and try to shape as well as to mirror the comprehension of an ideology that combines aspects of gender, social structure, racism as well as idiosyncratic features. One needs to resort to metalinguistic concepts of ambiguity, communicative functions etc. in order to understand that Othello’s and Desdemona’s exchanges of vocatives are also rhetorical acts of persuasion that are indicative of Desdemona’s role and construal of a manager of feelings, social integrity and social order. The plethora of Othello’s more emotional terms until Act 3 including the use of military terms illustrates that we should move from micro-linguistic to macro-linguistic levels – that is from a single vocative lexeme and its associations and meanings to the global level of ideology as a system – in order to understand the vocative exchanges in their entire complexity. In that respect, seeing language as metaphor has a persuasive, allembracing political and ideological function. The quantitative and qualitative analysis of the vocative exchange between Othello and Desdemona has also illustrated that Othello’s and Desdemona’s different cultural backgrounds and habitus and the immaturity of their love is created and reflected so that even though Desdemona assumes her role self-assuredly their relationship must fail. Their direct address patterns also construe the fragility of their relationship. In addition, vocative exchanges between them are different in quantity and quality before and after Othello’s breakdown in Act 3, Scene 3. Before this scene, the number of vocatives is fewer, but the quality of his vocative terms is more idiosyncratic and positively emotive – yet, also highly stylised and martial. After Act 3, Scene 3, the number of vocatives is reduced and marked by a reliance on conventional social patterns in which the locutionary forces of the vocatives clash enormously with illocutionary and perlocutionary effects.


5.2.4 Prince Henry’s and Falstaff ’s mutual vocative usage – or “Whom do we Credit, Hal’s ‘Old White-Bearded Satan’ (1H4 2.4.462) or ‘Sweet Jack Falstaff, Kind Jack Falstaff, True Jack Falstaff, Valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack Falstaff ’”(1H4 2.4.475–77)?42 5.2.4.1 Preliminaries The above-cited question, which Harold Bloom asks when he discusses the improvised but elaborate play-within-the play in 1H4 in which, at first, Falstaff portrays the king, while Hal plays himself (Bloom 1998: 281), introduces two vocatives that lead to the heart of the analysis of vocative usage between Hal and Falstaff. One may ask whether Falstaff ’s relationship with Hal is marked by a “[v]ice-paracite-fool-miles-loriosus-corrupt-soldiercoward” unworthy of admiration or whether it is, as Falstaff himself disclaims, constructive of an interaction that creates Falstaff as a rather free, witty, intelligent, loving, vital, mocking, jesting, and comic “monarch of language” (Bloom 1998: 281). One may further investigate whether Hal’s transformation into Henry V is worthy of admiration or whether he should, in interaction with Falstaff, be characterised as a hypocritical brutal soldier, slaughterer of prisoners, and faithless son who is falling out of love for the sake of conquering honour, England, and France. According to Kastan (ed. 2002: 5), Hal stands in the middle of a triangulation of forces that evolve around his father, as the head of the political world, his self-indulgent surrogate father Falstaff (Kastan ed. 2002: 5) and the impetuous Hotspur. In this study, emphasis is laid on the Hal-Falstaff relationship and the centrality of vocatives in the creation of textual, interpersonal, and experiential meanings of their relationship. Falstaff ’s constant love for Hal, his idleness, and the conversion of the wild prince, which is a central strand in the chronicler’s account of Henry V, are not a miraculous transformation, but a selfconscious strategy that is amply construed by the use of vocatives. Hal announces from the first that he will only “a while uphold / The unyoked humor of [Falstaff ’s] idleness” (1H4 1.2.195f.). 5.2.4.2 Quantitative findings of their vocative usage The analysis of quantitative figures of vocatives introduces us to the constructive interpersonal, the textual, and experiential potential of their relationship. Of 143 vocatives (Spevack 1968-80), Falstaff applies more than half to Hal alone, which amounts to a relative frequency of 1.6. Hal’s data amount to 133 vocatives, of which 63, hence slightly less than a half, are directed at Falstaff. These figures add up to a relative frequency of 1.4. In comparison to the vocative data of the other pairs so far mentioned, both Hal’s and Falstaff ’s high numbers are crucially foregrounded. Throughout the entire play, Falstaff ’s experiential recourse to vocatives differs from Hal’s choice in terms of vocative form, vocative positioning, and vocative distribution, and the clauses that accompany the forms of address. Falstaff applies nine conventional terms to Hal, 21 EPITHETs, nine generic terms, six vocatives that denote natural phenomena, 40 personal names, and one vocative from a specialised field. As such, a majority of more emotional, personal terms but also subtle 42. Bloom (1998: 302).


vocatives (EPITHETs, personal names etc.) are clearly apparent in Falstaff ’s address pattern. This general outlook also goes against the claim that social structure alone – hence, Falstaff ’s status as a knight and Hal’s status as a prince – determine the interpretation of vocative usage, as in this case, the number of conventional terms employed for Hal should have been higher. Falstaff ’s recourse to all categories of vocatives also makes the analyst curious to know which specific terms he uses and what functions these purport. At the same time, however, this pattern already allows the conclusion that rhetorical brilliance is construed by Falstaff ’s vocative prose. In addition, these general figures also hint at what has been called the construal of Falstaff ’s love for Hal and his “linguistic vocatival” devotion that is construed by his address pattern. Notice the high number of personal names and the high number of EPITHETs. In terms of vocative distribution, some interesting results can be discerned. Eighteen vocatives for Hal appear in Act 1, Scene 2, decrease in Act 2, Scene 2 to seven, only to increase in Act 2, Scenes 4 to 43 and then to gradually decrease again to seven vocatives in Act 3, Scene 3, to three in each scene, Act 4, Scene 2, Act 5, Scene 1, and Act 5, Scene 3. Even though Act 2, Scene 4, which takes place at Gadshill and illustrates Falstaff ’s and Hal’s reaction to the trick played on Falstaff, is a very long scene, the high proliferation of vocatives for Hal from Falstaff renders the vocative into a crucial and foregrounded linguistic element. In addition, the fact that more terms occur for Hal until Act 2, Scene 4 than before or after. This also gives evidence of the fact that they do not encounter each other directly anymore after Hal’s transformation and his resolve to acquire honour and kingship. The tavern life that, from Hal’s point of view, is the only mark of their relationship is terminated. Falstaff senses this change, yet as he cannot bear to see it clearly, he evades Hal where he cannot convert him. As will be illustrated, the vocative analysis contradicts the idea of Falstaff as, for example, a cowardly braggart, as a sly instigator to vices, as a fawner for the prince’s favour, as a besotted old scoundrel, or as a battered old soldier. Hal uses only three conventional terms for Falstaff, 23 EPITHETS, four generic terms, 15 terms denoting natural phenomena, 16 personal names, and two terms from specialised fields. Even though his use of nearly all vocative categories is symmetrical to Falstaff ’s in terms of emotion, intimacy, and interpersonality, and although it is allusive of a (Fallstaffian) genius for language and his rhetorical control of others, the higher number of natural phenomena and the lower number of personal names are noteworthy. By the some token, the few conventional terms that are applied to Falstaff should be highlighted as well. The distribution of Hal’s vocatives over the entire play seems to be almost reciprocal to Falstaff ’s usage in terms of quantity and quality, but two crucial exceptions must be mentioned. While most of the vocative terms Hal directs at Falstaff occur in Act 2, Scene 4 (35), fewer appear in Act 1, Scene 2 (only six in Act 2, Scene 2). However, in comparison, Hal uses more vocatives for Falstaff in Act 3, Scene 3 and Act 4, Scene 2, but then again fewer in Act 5, Scene 1, and Act 5, Scene 4. In order to find solutions to these mood points, the representatives of the particular vocative categories for both Falstaff and Hal shall be investigated as well as their distribution in the play. In their first encounter in 1H4 Act 1, Scene 2, Falstaff uses only personal names (nine) of the form Hal (rather than Harry, which only occurs in Act 2, Scene 4), two variations on wag (three times sweet wag and once mad wag) as the only EPITHETs that occur in Act


1, Scene 2, and the generic term lad. Even at this very beginning, Falstaff ’s choice of vocatives is generally indicative of his love for the prince and his mentor-like status as father figure, it may also allude to Falstaff ’s comic, ironic, as well as jesting banter directed at the prince. This use of his personal name is especially noteworthy in line with the fact that the form Hal is the most frequent personal name collocation that appears in the entire corpus (see List 2 in the Appendix). Of all the vocatives used as personal names for Hal, the position of the vocatives and the accompanying clauses vary. However, it may be tentatively suggested that many occur with questions and declaratives rather than with imperatives. Furthermore, medial position, which textually alludes to the attention-getter as well as reprimanding function of the personal name, is most frequent. Furthermore, the high proliferation of the vocative Hal may also transfer comic overtones. The interpersonal potential of Falstaff ’s choice of vocatives for Hal is further reinforced by the generic term lad, which, notably, Falstaff later (ironically) rates among “the titles of true fellowship” (1H4 2.4.278). According to the OED (1.), lad, which originally refers to a serving man of low-birth, also describes a “boy, youth, a young man, young fellow, and in the diction of pastoral poetry.” It is also used to denote a young shepherd. In a wider sense, it may be applied familiarly or endearingly (sometimes ironically) to a male person of any age. Even though Falstaff considers lad to be part of the titles of true fellowship, he also alludes to Hal’s young age, and hence to his immaturity, while at the same time upgrading himself as a wise adult. As such, the high proliferation of Hal and lad transfers clearly personal, emotional, and loving meanings, and alludes to Falstaff ’s assumed role as a father-substitute on which he naturally insists. However, the display of pedantry of these utterances also creates ironic and banter-like overtones of the vocatives. Notably, only in Act 1, Scene 2, variations on the vocative wag are used, probably as the strongest, most emotional, and intimate creations of the prince’s identity as Falstaff ’s son-like companion. At this stage, Hal’s belief in Falstaff ’s love is unbroken, even though his rhetoric of devotion is peppered with a strong sense of irony and emotion. The fact that Falstaff takes the freedom to address the prince in this way (others do as well, for example, Poins addresses Henry by means of sirrah) illustrates their intimate and joyful atmosphere. This is how comedy is created as well. Even though we do not know how Falstaff and Hal have interacted before the beginning of the play, we may yet assume that Falstaff ’s verbal strategy argues implicitly for a prior relationship of great closeness and importance between them. Falstaff has maintained the positive affection of their earlier relationship. Falstaff ’s address pattern in Act 1, Scene 2 of 1H4 needs to be investigated in relation to Hal’s vocative choice. In terms of absolute and relative frequency, fewer vocatives mark Hal’s address pattern for Falstaff. The prince’s vocative choice is equally striking. Conventional terms sirs are addressed to Poins and Bardolph. At the same time, Hal somewhat perverts Falstaff ’s positive sense of “lad” (1H4 1.2.39) in “my old lad of the castle” (1H4 1.2.41), and he construes Falstaff as “the latter spring” and “all-hallown summer” (1H4 1.2.158). Furthermore, he also ambivalently addresses him two times as “Jack” (for example, 1H4 1.2.99). The social permeability of sir and its multiplicity of positive and negative meanings have already been hinted at. “My old lad of the castle” (1H4 1.2.41) is not only foregrounded due to the high level of amplification of the vocative as NG, but also as a pun on “Oldcastle,” Falstaff ’s remote original Sir John Oldcastle (Humphreys ed. 1997: xxxix).


Furthermore, Jack is also a cant term for a roister. In addition, Gabriel Harvey’s Fovre Letters (1592) refers to “Old Lads of the Castell” and his Pierce’s Superego to “a lusty ladd of the Castell.” Furthermore, Shakespeare’s audience would have known that one of Southwark’s brothels was called the Castle (Humphreys ed. 1997. 14). Hence, as early as their first encounter, Falstaff is construed as the proverbially fat and old knight whose age mocks his alleged vitality. His consciousness is created as focused on food, drink, sex, power, and money. He is an emblem of self-indulgence. However, the witticism by which this vocative creates Falstaff ’s identity also alludes to a genius for language and its rhetorical control of others through psychological insight, which is clearly Falstaffian in outlook. In Shakespeare’s plays, Jack also often functions as a term of contempt. Even though, at this stage, the vocative may still be applied in mocking banter, Jack retains the degradation of Falstaff as a lower-class person. At the same time, metaphorically, the prince’s vocative may also describe a jack in the game of bowls (OED 1.II.18), knocked about by the other bowls. Falstaff ’s positioning as a mocked highwayman rather than as a knight illustrates the nihilistic potential that is already inherent in the prince’s later identity creation of Falstaff. Furthermore, the prince’s surprising uses of the natural world in the latter spring and all-hallown summer, which construe that Falstaff is ageless in his exuberance, also carry overdone interpersonal tones of mockery. These are especially foregrounded by the amplifying interpersonal epithet in all-hallown and the general reference to spring and summer as the two seasons of physical and mental vitality, the Falstaffian spirit, wit, and sense of humour. As such, the superb irony that is evoked, especially if one imagines the presence of Falstaff as a fat knight, immediately furthers the ambivalent voice of the prince’s vocatives. 5.2.4.3 Vocative change: from devotion and jesting mockery to princely ambivalence and destruction In the first line of Act 1, Scene 2, Falstaff addresses the prince with the following vocatives: “Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad” (1H4 1.2.1). Many editors, such as Brook (in ed. Humphreys 1997: 9), observe that “[i]t is indeed an absurdity for Falstaff to ask the time of day, for Falstaff has properly nothing to do with the world of time […]. For Falstaff, each day is a new day lived for itself. The future does not cast a cloud over the present.” If the prepositional content of this interrogative is of no importance for Falstaff, the illocutionary force of the question may nevertheless initiate a conversation by means of an adjacency pair indeed. One may also ask whether it is to provide the audience with a first glance at the comic business and mockery Falstaff is possible to make of himself and others. The doubling of two vocative forms, a personal name, and a generic term, initiating and terminating the interrogative, are striking. Both vocatives are initially intimate and ingratiating in character (see also Kastan ed. 2002: 149), but also receive a jesting note. This is also due to the embracing function of the two vocatives, as, textually, they represent two separate intonational units that receive additional force. One also gets the impression of (allegedly) uncontrolled rhetoric, since Falstaff is supposedly discovered asleep. However, despite the jesting mockery, the vocatives are clearly indicative of Falstaff ’s love for and devotion to Hal, especially when levelled against the entire address corpus of Falstaff for Hal. In addition, their foregrounded status also needs to be highlighted if we consider that


Hal does not reciprocate the vocatives in the same intimate jest. While the symmetrical use of Hal and the title of true fellowship lad verbally embrace Hal and, in co-occurrence, function as the most intimate and emotional social markers that construe Hal’s identity as such, Hal uses no direct address form at all, but brutally construes Falstaff by a relational clause as “Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack” (1H4 1.2.2f.). Nevertheless, even though intimate in function and particularly characteristic of Hal and Falstaff ’s relationship, lad may also be seen as a constant allusion to the prince’s youth and his immature behaviour. Lad occurs less frequently with you, only twice, and twelve times with thou (U. Busse 2002: 160). It seems as if Falstaff has maintained the positive affection of the earlier relationship, while Hal is already violently moving away from Falstaff. Falstaff parries nimbly, yet, he must begin to recognise that the prince’s ambivalence has turned destructive. Evidently, the prince needs both to convict Falstaff of cowardice and to show himself that, rhetorically, he cannot only hold his own against his teacher of wit but ignore Falstaff as well, bettering his instruction. In “I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art a king, as, God save thy Grace – Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none” (1H4 1.2.16–18), as mentioned in Chapter 5.1.2.6, both Falstaff ’s rhetorical superiority and his ability to enwrap his accusations and morality in linguistic shells of banter and honest acts of devotion become evident. The indirect request I prithee is interrupted by the vocative sweet wag before Falstaff employs a fourfold pun on grace. Grace can be read as an EPITHET – hence an upgrading term of respect – but also as a theological term for unmerited spiritual grace or divine assistance, as social charm and as the blessing before the meal (and it is the last upon which Falstaff continues to play). He then switches to the decorous majesty, but immediately destroys the effect when he argues that the “heir apparent” (1H4 1.2.58) will lack the grace towards squires of the night’s body. According to Saul (1995: 864f.), the use of the term majesty has been introduced by Richard II in his attempt to employ direct elaborate language that socially and politically reflects, confirms, and upgrades his social position as a king. “’Majesty’, a word derived from ‘maius’ (‘magnitudo’) [in the late Roman Empire] likewise implies the ruler’s possession of sovereignty” (Saul 1995: 864). At the same time, Richard II favours this term because it represents a conscious return to an earlier age, it distances him from his subjects, and it also stresses his possessions of God-like attributes, the sacred nature of his rulership (Saul 1995: 865). In contrast to the term prince, as another means of socially upgrading, majesty is not used as a term of direct address in, for example, Hoccleve’s ([1410–13] 1999) mirror for the princes Regiment of Princes, dedicated to Henry of Monmouth, the future Henry V, because Henry is not yet king (Graßnick 2004: 197f.). Furthermore, in the 1390s the establishment of distinctive address forms reminiscent of Richard II are considered a sign of his tyrannical rulership and therefore not used: After the accession of Henry IV in 1399 there was inevitably a moderation of the verbal excesses of Richard’s last years. Henry showed little interest in cultivating a kinship of distance; his preference was for a more “intimate” style. He seems to have discouraged the use of the more high-flown of the addresses in which Richard had delighted in the last years; and there is little evidence that he was regularly addressed as “your magnificence” or your serene highness’ […] (Saul 1995: 876f.).


In 1H4 and 2H4, the king and Hal receive your majesty forms (cf. 2H4 2.4.112, H5 1.2.237). This usage testifies to the fact that Shakespeare does not follow the historical model, but exploits for his own theatrical purpose the fact that at Shakespeare’s time the use of majesty is increasingly common (Kastan ed. 2002: 151).43 Even though, in this example, Falstaff only implicitly refers to Hal’s future position as majesty, several interpretations are possible that link up to the historical sources mentioned above as well as to the highly ambiguous “thou whoreson mad compound of majesty” in 2H4 2.4.112. Falstaff seems to foreshadow Hal’s loss of love for him and the rhetorical, political as well as tyrannical excesses that, for the recipient, construe the historical Richard’s II excesses as well. Notice also the use of the term compound in this example, which alludes to the artificiality of composition of Hal’s future role and identity. As such, in both examples, even though Falstaff replaces grace by the term majesty, and even though Falstaff knows that “‘tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation” (1H4 1.2.100f.), Falstaff also distances himself from Henry as the “heir apparent” (1H4 1.2.58) and therefore only partly accumulates symbolic capital. In its relevance to the future, the address term, as the later “Prince of Wales” in 1H4 2.4.139, is, following possible addresses in Hoccleve’s ([1410–13] 1999) Regiment of Princes not only addressed to Hal alone. It is also addressed to the recipient and the other characters present on stage to indicate that Henry is the future king. Therefore, Hal is no longer an individual but part of a group of potentates, who Falstaff seems to disdain because of their egotism and selflove, etc. Notice that to a certain extent the oppositional activities of the fictional Henry resemble those of Henry of Monmouth at the end of his father’s reign. Hence, Falstaff ’s vocative-habitus only superficially serves the norm and the needs of those who rule, but in its structure and form is constructive of a more critical attitude towards Hal.44 The meanings of wag as a mischievous boy, but also as a mother’s “term of endearment to a baby boy and as a term used to a young man or a fellow chap” (OED 1) create Falstaff ’s assumed status as a father-substitute and mentor. At the same time, they construe that the prince’s immaturity and his ambitions will not allow him to act against power, usurpation, rule, grand extortion, treachery, violence, hypocrisy, and fake. Notice the interpersonal force of the epithet sweet in this context, which, despite its prominence for the characterisation of Hal, not only alludes to Hal’s noteworthy qualities. Its over-elaborate use also carries bawdy meanings and is indicative of the fake in Hal’s alleged sweetness. Again, this vocative is unreciprocated. As has been argued, majesty may function as a common honorific title for a monarch and replaces your grace. Falstaff is perhaps ironically acknowledging this terminological shift by which majesty came to replace your grace, which by the middle of the seventeenth century had almost completely disappeared from courtly vocabulary (Kastan ed. 2002: 151). It is only in line 40 that Hal addresses Falstaff

43. Kastan (ed. 2002: 151), referring to Camden (1982: 151), argues that Falstaff here seems to indicate a terminological shift because in the 16th century, majesty replaced your grace as a form of address. For Shakespeare, there is still a high number (98) of your grace uses in this corpus. In addition, Falstaff uses it to refer to Hal (cf. 1H4 2.4.447). In the light of the linguistic practises of Richard II outlined above, Falstaff ’s address is ironic. 44. Therefore, as mentioned, Hal does not comply with what Kantorowicz (1957: 28) has described as the king’s two bodies.


directly for the very first time. This is the exchange in which Hal ironically perverts Falstaff ’s banter and bawdy in lad to a more aggressive old lad of the castle. The obliqueness of this innuendo and Hal’s rejection of it (1H4 1.2.41) may reflect Shakespeare’s care to keep Hal reputable. However, Falstaff ’s clear mockery and his ability to see through Hal is later reinforced by the vocative switch from sweet wag to mad wag in “How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities?” (1H4 1.2.45f.). The prince uses the vocative Jack for the first time in “Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack” (1H4 1.2.98f.). In its final position of the interrogative, the vocative is a clear textual marker, indicating a change in topic. Hal, who is fed up with being subtly accused of his superficial character and of his reputation among the public, chooses more common ground between Falstaff and himself, and implicitly suggests another robbery. The fact that he construes Falstaff as Jack allows the following conclusions. Even though the vocative Jack positions Falstaff as a lower-class person rather than a knight – and as such implies that robbery, the tavern world, eating, drinking, and sex, is clearly Falstaffian – Jack also functions as an ironic and disdainful, though still more positive in-group identity marker. Due to Falstaff ’s own freedom, his sense of humour, and his love for Hal, Falstaff is cooperative and almost joyfully festive in his reply. Hal gives him an inch, but Falstaff takes a mile in “Zounds, where thou wilt, lad, I’ll make one” (1H4 1.2.97). Falstaff ’s exit in this scene is then accompanied by “Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, all-hallown summer” (1H4 1.2.145–59). To sum up, in this very first encounter between Falstaff and the prince, the vocative usage is crucial to the construal of their characters in interaction as well as their initial close relationship. Yet, it also foreshadows the negative potential for face-threat, brutality, and aggressiveness. Falstaff, sensing Hal’s change and commencing hypocrisy but unable to bear it, confidently and naturally sets himself against Hal’s fake and chivalric code of honour and resorts to emotional, friendly, and intimate vocatives that mainly allude to his function as a mentor and father-substitute. However, in their subtlety and penetrant insistence on decorum, Falstaff ’s vocatives for the prince also sublimely scorn the aspirations and potentialities of power, usurpation, rule, grand extortion, treachery, violence, hypocrisy, fake, and piety. Falstaff ’s wit and his love for the prince as probably his one weakness are far too strong to overtly attack Hal. Hence, we find the more silent, yet also a more mature cynicism and irony of his vocatives, which also turn Falstaff ’s vocatives into his own mode of devotion, and himself “into the monarch of language” (Bloom 1998: 294), who is “full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks” (Bloom 1998: 294). As such, it is one of the ironies of the play that both linguistically and cognitively, Falstaff prepares his own destruction by teaching and loving much too well. Bloom (1998: 288) suggests that, as a wayward mentor, Falstaff represents the alternative to Hal’s imitation of his own usurping father: the prince wants to evade the guilt of usurpation and his father’s drive to power at first. Even though Hal more than shares this impulse so that at first he suppresses it, Hal also senses that Falstaff ’s company and his wholehearted belief in hedonism does not represent the chivalric and “Puritan” code of honour which Hal, as the kings’s son and the “heir apparent” (1H4 1.2.58), should comply with. Hence, in Act 1, Scene 2, Hal’s ambivalence towards Falstaff is construed via recourse to the ambiguous vocative meanings. Linguistically, the overt piercing irony and witticism, on the one hand,


and the banter-like compassion, on the other, allow describing the prince’s role as what could be called a loveless “Hal-staff.” One is able to sense Falstaff ’s rhetorical mastery in Hal’s words. Yet, the analysis of the prince’s address pattern for Falstaff also already implies that later this ambivalence is not only weighted toward the negative. Hal’s potential for endless and well-nigh aggressiveness, and his colder hypocrisy are clearly inherent and finally end in such phrases as “Reply not to me with a fool-born jest” (2H4 5.5.55) and “the tutor and feeder of my riots” (1H4 5.5.62). 5.2.4.4 Falling out: vocative usage creating a loveless ‘Hal-staff ’ In 1H4 Act 2, Scene 2, the hiding of a fat man’s horse, which is an obvious practical joke (see Kastan ed. 2002: 192), is played on Falstaff. Here Falstaff requests: “I prithee good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son” (1H4 2.2.40f.). The Quarto text has “good prince, Hal” (Kastan ed. 2002: 193), perhaps suggesting that these are two separate vocatives – a thought that can be supported by the fact that the collocations occur nowhere else in the play. However, the parallel with good king’s son, which will again be repeated in Act 2, Scene 4, suggests that also good Prince, Hal might be a correct reading. In any case, Falstaff ’s compound-vocative of the cluster EPITHET connects Hal’s social position as a prince and a king’s son with his personal relationship with Falstaff as “Falstaff ’s Hal.” As such, it impressively ponders up both Hal’s alleged official role as a royal person and his personal morality. Nash (2001: 84f.) aptly summarises Act 2, Scene 2 in the following way: It comes after Falstaff ’s ignominious rout at the Gadshill caper, when the veteran, with his sullen company of hacked swords and nosebleeds, comes back to the Boar’s head to face some merciless interrogatory teasing from the Prince and Poins.

At first glance, it seems as if Falstaff ’s and Hal’s constant to-and-fro between negative and positive functional imports characterises the vocative usage of Hal for Falstaff and vice versa. For example, both characters use most of the vocatives for each other in this scene. However, crucial differences exist in Falstaff ’s higher number of conventional terms, in Falstaff ’s more limited use of EPITHETs, in his higher quantity of personal names, and in the generally less aggressive, less pompous, and less overdone denotations and functional import of vocatives as natural phenomena and as generic terms. As such, they may also be called less subtle, as they are characteristic of an unprecedented rhetorical word-play, punning, mocking and jesting, vividness, spirit, and wit, but never lose the sense of love, devotion, and freedom from society, as well as didacticism. Hal’s vocative usage for Falstaff construes Hal as a great leader and usurper of power. In comparison to Act 1, Scene 2 of 1H4, Act 2, Scene 4 represents an impressive and more direct presentation of the rhetorical capacities of both characters, but also gives us an idea of the effects of Hal’s falling out of love and Falstaff ’s recognition of it. In addition, there are fewer and less emotional vocatives following Act 2, Scene 4, and only Falstaff maintains the positive affection of the earlier relationship. In Act 2, Scene 4, Hal’s aggressiveness that is construed vocatively has Machiavellian qualities. But Hal’s falling out of love carries ideological dimensions as well, as Hal’s constant insistence on what Falstaff would call the pretences of honour vocatively construes that eating, fornication, and the other obvi-


ous indulgences are at the heart of Falstaffianism. As if Falstaff ’s consciousness were only focused on food, drink, sex, power, and money, the experiential world of vocatives Hal resorts to construe Falstaff as a coward, a court jester or fool, a confidence man, a bawd, a politician, an opportunistic courtier as well as alcoholic, and as a seducer of the young. The entire range of vocatives, though displayed by awesome rhetoric, says much about the ideology, habitus and cold hypocrisy of the speaker. As a consequence, Hal’s obsessive accusations of cowardice stand in harsh contrast to Falstaff ’s address of banter. To begin with, Falstaff uses the conventional term gallants (1H4 2.4.277) for Hal, again as another “title of true fellowship.” The adjective gallant may have been used at Shakespeare’s time to denote rhetorical eloquence and mastery (Adamson 1999: 546). As such, this historical-linguistic dimension also bespeaks Falstaff ’s subtle but piercing irony. Other conventional terms are my lord (2), my noble lord (1), my good lord (1), and masters and thou naughty varlet as the only negative, but also bantering conventional term evoked by the epithet naughty. Without knowing their immediate contexts, these are clearly apparent if we consider not only the meaning potential of the amplifying epithets good and noble and the fact alone that Hal, as prince, is involved in robbery and tavern-life. These ideas are also corroborated by the fact that, in Act 2, Scene 4, conventional terms show a higher proliferation than in other scenes. However, ironic connotations are not clearly apparent from the outset and, at first glance, these terms seem to be rather polite. The scarce number of Hal’s conventional terms for Falstaff has already been marked. In the mock-rehearsal, Hal, using the older highly stylised term, calls Falstaff majesty when he pretends to address his father. This address is clearly indicative of his better knowledge of social decorum rather than emotional sincerity and again hints at the popularity of this term. A majority of Falstaff ’s EPITHETs for Hal carry negative denotations. However, their interpersonal force is less brutal – but no less amusing – than Hal’s EPITHET pattern. A positive notion of lad also appears in Falstaff ’s address pattern. Hal’s recourse to generic terms amounts to three disdainful, overtly attacking, and condescending vocatives that no longer carry any notion of ambivalence of feeling or banterlike quality, even though to some they certainly seem entertaining. In you whoreson round man, man, and ungracious boy in the mock-trial, the interpersonal force of the epithet, overriding and sustaining the ideologically loaded experiential world, becomes obvious. The six vocatives in Falstaff ’s address pattern that denote natural phenomena, again, are face-threatening, but in comparison to Hal’s use of vocatives less aggressive and less cold. When Hal addresses Falstaff as ye cuckoo and you stock-fish, experientially alluding to the animal world, the choice is certainly foregrounded in the entire corpus; however, his jesting metaphors allude to Hal’s age, his skinny physical appearance, and they also carry clearly bawdy connotations. In contrast to Falstaff, the prince recourses to a higher number of vocative terms denoting natural phenomena. These are ideologically loaded as they construe Falstaff as a fat old coward and seducer of the youth. They also dishonour Falstaff ’s father- and mentor-like status. Hence, they affect Falstaff ’s identity and personality as a whole – a typical rhetorical strategy and habitus of “othering” that the seemingly superior employs in order to ward off the danger and truth that is obviously part of what the allegedly inferior has to say. Hal attempts to silence Falstaff. Seeing the vocative as a nominalised grammatical metaphor we may discern that it construes a fixed identity of


Falstaff, on the one hand, while it is equally emotive and emotional, on the other. In R3 and in Oth., for example, Iago’s and Richard’s Machiavellian characters are vocatively construed via recourse to the negative metaphysical and natural world. Hal can only brutally force his own ambitions if he succeeds in detecting and manipulating that Falstaff is a wise, free, independent critic of chivalric honour, megalomania, power, usurpation, rule, grand extortion, treachery, violence, hypocrisy, and fake. As we have seen, this fake is construed vocatively and, in sum, constitutes a large part of the tragicomedy that marks both “the philosopher of Eastcheap” (Bloom 1998: 275) Falstaff, and prince Hal. At the end of Act 2, Scene 4, Hal even attacks him as “that old white-bearded Satan” (1H4 2.4.463) and “reverend vice” (1H4 2.4.453) and finally resorts to the metaphysical world. While in Act 2, Scene 4 Falstaff addresses the prince mostly by the functionally ambiguous, but in terms of face-threat subtler, personal names, Hal and Harry, the prince, in a downgrading manner, uses fewer personal names, but these are still Falstaff, and Jack. The acting at the Boar’s Head abounds in Hal’s sarcastic innuendo on Falstaff ’s alleged heroism. The prince and Poins are curious to know which story Falstaff will invent in order to deter his flight from Poins’ and Hal’s attack after the robbery. They mock his constant cursing in “How now, wool-sack, what mutter you” (1H4 2.4.135). Here the vocative wool-sack is one of the many address forms the prince uses to position Falstaff as a fat person, as it refers to a large bale of wool, the particular image of Falstaff ’s bulk suggested by the mention of the weaver. Notice that Poins and the prince have not only taken care of fooling Falstaff, but also taken away his horse to return to the tavern. The initial position of the vocative may but rightly refer to Falstaff ’s physicality, but is certainly a more brutal term indicating Hal’s loss of love. The vocative co-occurs with the personal pronoun you, the less intimate sayer of the verbal class. The prince uses his authority and arrogance to downgrade Falstaff as a cowardly fat man. Falstaff ’s vocative replies, however, are not only indicative of his enormous freedom, but also of his seeming knowledge of Poins and the prince. Their ideologies allow them to construe Falstaff this way. However, the speech habitus they assume bespeaks an allegedly inborn superiority that is characteristic of those who are madly driven by an unprecedented sense of megalomania, sadism, and self-love. In a moment of highest emotional intensity, when Falstaff is compelled to report about the robbery which the prince has perverted into the mocking of Falstaff in favour of his own entertainment, Falstaff uses awesome rhetoric to remind Hal of his original role and also implies that he knows the situation already: “A king’s son!” (1H4 2.4.136) and “You, Prince of Wales!” (1H4 2.4.139). In order to indicate to the audience how to take him, he implies that the prince’s deeds betray his social and familial position. Notice the exclamative and reproachful tone in both vocatives referring to his duty as a prince and as a son. To explain Falstaff ’s usage, recourse can be made again to a direct intertextual link with Thomas Hoccleve’s ([1410–13] 1999) Fürstenspiegel The Regiment of Princes.45 Here Henry of Monmouth is addressed with the following uses of prince: “Now, gracious Prince […]” (RP, 2157, 4747), “Now, noble Prince […]” (RP, 2185), “Excellent Prince […]” (RP, 2390; 3310; 3347; 4787; 4866; 4964), or “Yee, gracious Prince” (RP, 4387). Except for clerical usage, the address of a potentate by means of “prince” was uncommon in England. 45. Henceforth abbreviated as RP.


According to Saul (1995: 863), the term is only also slowly established with the ascension of Richard II, also as part of Richard’s tendency towards identity construction, social and political upgrading, as well as safeguarding of his own position later described as tyranny. In addition, it is tradition among the high clerical priests and potentates to address the king as prince (Saul 1995: 863). Graßnick (2004: 197f.) argues that, on the surface, Hoccleve’s ([1410–13] 1999) choice of address for Henry of Monmouth can be explained via recourse to his title which he possesses at the time when Regiment of Princes was composed, Prince of Wales, and to his status as the heir to the throne. She also points out that at that time, however, prince is used for potentates in power (MED 1.a.) and is only established as a term for the king’s son in the course of the 15th century (MED 6.b.).46 Therefore a subtler reason for this choice of direct address form may be that Hoccleve ([1410–13] 1999), by accumulating symbolic capital and therefore partly deviating from the norm, also foreshadows Henry’s future status as a king and as such also prestigiously upgrades the prince’s position (Graßnick 2004: 197f). Falstaff ’s address for Hal in 1H4 as “You Prince of Wales” (1H4 2.4.139) receives additional sociological, socio-linguistic and highly ideologically loaded interpersonal meanings.47 The vocative may result from Falstaff ’s deeply felt instinct for theatricality, which also serves Henry’s own sense of himself. However, in contrast to the historical model, Richard II, Falstaff only superficially promotes this aggrandising and prestigious language, even though he is explicitly aware of the connotations that accompany the term prince. Knowing that Henry has a fondness for flattery, Falstaff serves these needs and also accumulates symbolic capital. At the same time, when exploiting these potentials, he is also highly critical and sceptical of Henry’s individual future conduct as a king in particular and of the general hierarchical society and the way potentates exploit their power. The Latin origin of prince as princeps alludes to the king’s independent law-making capacity (OED 1.). As such, the attributation of prince to Hal carries related, but slightly different meanings than that of majesty. That Falstaff ’s implications are successful and hit the prince’s nerves can be seen in his reply: even though the prince seems to pretend indifference, his more attacking facethreat in “Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter” (1H4 2.4.139) suggests the contrary. The head of the vocative man is straightforwardly negative. The epithets further enhance the negative emotional tonality, as they abusively construe him again as a fat person of low social status. Whoreson is a common term of contempt. While Kastan (ed. 2002: 134) argues that the literal meaning of the term is largely irrelevant (like “son-of-abitch” today), next to Hal’s construal of Falstaff as a fat man and dull-witted, here it should be argued that Falstaff ’s social status as a knight is explicitly and piercingly downgraded

46. In Shakespeare, prince is used for those in power and for kings’ sons likewise (R3 3.1.1). 47. It is interesting to investigate the meaning of these addresses and the way the epithets are used in address forms in Shakespeare, especially in the history plays. The addresses used in these Fürstenspiegel refer not only to a specific king or king-to-be (in Thomas Hoccleve’s case Henry of Monmouth), but to all potential potentates (“virtual prince”). They add crucial sociological interpretative dimensions to the investigation of vocatives and epithets in Shakespeare, which need to be further pursued (Graßnick 2004: 197f.).


by means of an allusion to his own alleged promiscuity that seems to be inherited. Nevertheless, to some extent, Hal’s constant reference to Falstaff ’s outward appearance and his bawdy life-style are also turned into cynical textual and ideological markers of the superior to provoke Falstaff further into the story. As such, the vocative carries a special entertaining effect, which is certainly loathed by those who understand the cold hypocrisy, arrogance, and self-evident appropriation of superiority behind it. The Gad’s Hill bustle and the Falstaff-Hal burlesque are further construed by another rhetorical vocative switch, when the prince falsely but indubitably amusingly enquires about the whereabouts of the money. As a sensationalist, the prince pretends to be reconciled with Falstaff when he asks: “Where is it, Jack, where is it” (1H4 2.4.160). Here we catch another glimpse of “Halstaff ” whose rhetorical potential for pointedly alluding to intimacy and friendship is crucial. Again, the vocative Jack refers to a person of low social status. However, its position as a symmetrical line between the two identical questions Where is it functions to draw Falstaff ’s attention, which should also imply that finally the prince is on Falstaff ’s side again. Notice that in Act 1, Scene 2, Hal introduces this vocative to indicate the topic change as well as to establish common ground. Here the tricking effect is similar. Following Falstaff ’s narration of his alleged fight against “eleven buckram men” (1H4 2.4.219), the prince gets his chance to make a fool of Falstaff. Falstaff is cornered, and the audience is confronted with the exposition of a tirade of verbal vocative onslaughts, such as “Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene greasy tallow catch” (1H4 2.4.226–28). Wales is correct to argue that the low-life scene in an Eastcheap tavern provides not only comedy in action but also what we must suppose is realistic colour, portraying the City of London in Shakespeare’s period. At first glance, it might appear that he is simply adopting the timehonoured rhetorical principle of decorum, making the language in a “low” style appropriate to the setting (Wales 2001: 195).

As the prince indicates in 1H4 2.4.17–19, he has learned his language as well. This is illustrated by his colourful vocatives, which also contain some condensed interpersonal epithet compounds, such as noun and participle in clay-brained or the adjective and participle in knotty-pated. Surely, the language of rogues and tinkers had begun to attract quite a lot of academic interest by Shakespeare’s time (Wales 2001: 199). While the bliss of freedom gained in humour is the essence of Falstaff (Bloom 1998: 297), these enumerations of abusive vocatives carry a deeper ideological and interpersonal meaning. Falstaff is no longer exclusively construed as a fat, foolish coward, but also as a dull, knotty and lumpish person. Knotty-pated denotes a thick-headed man (OED 1.). Hal uses the epithet not-pated (i.e. with cropped hair) to describe the vintner (Kastan ed. 2002: 219), and, according to Kastan (ed. 2002: 219), “it is possible that Hal in fact intends this word rather than what in essence repeats clay-brained immediately before.” Certainly, in the theatre, knotty-pated could be heard as either word, and notty-pated would fit with the set of images identifying Falstaff as a Puritan, as cropped hair was commonly taken as an identifying sign of the godly. Hal’s positioning of Falstaff as a dripping pan under roasting meat in tallow-catch is but a vivid and funny image that Humphreys (ed. 1997: 68) may like to describe as a


“superb appropriateness of this to Falstaff ” and as a variant form of “tallow-keech.” Yet, it is also immediately indicative of the negative and seriously downgrading social and ideological force and habitus, because Tallow-catch denotes a lump of fat. The image is probably of the hardened fat that has accumulated beneath roasting meat (OED). There is more evidence for the shadows of the forthcoming confrontations. A few lines further down, the prince renews his attacks and exclaims: “This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back breaker, this huge hill of flesh” (1H4 2.4.241–243). Again, the vividness of the descriptive EPITHETs is allusive of the prince’s rhetorical capacities. Yet, these vocatives create experiential worlds that are so familiar to us that we can almost imagine Falstaff ’s shape and the way Hal gives us an image of his own arrogance and social as well as speech habitus. The oxymoron in sanguine coward, for example, implies that cowards are supposedly pale and thin, whereas the full-blooded man is sanguine, ruddy, and corpulent. Sanguine literally denotes a red-face. Bedpresser is a lively and rustic metaphor for Falstaff ’s sexual promiscuity and his corporal presence alike, as it also denotes one whose weight will flatten a bed. Horse-back-breaker both alludes to Falstaff ’s status as a fornicator, a whoremonger, or a womaniser (Partridge [1947] 1968: 64), but, together with this huge hill of flesh, it gives us a literal image of Falstaff ’s fat body. In Florio (1598), a presser is described as a presser of wines, a tucker. In a figurative sense this also fits Falstaff because he enjoys drinking. Falstaff ’s retort (1H4 2.4.244–48) consists of equally vivid images in which the string of vocatives mocks Hal’s thinness in return to Hal’s mocking of Falstaff ’s great size. Indeed, on stage, they are often delivered by mocking the rhythms of Hal’s delivery of his list (Kastan ed. 2002: 220). When he attacks Hal for his figure, he is outrageously devoid of self-love, as he mocks his own body, but continues to eat and drink. Falstaff uses the animal world to construe Hal’s lankiness (Humphreys ed. 1997: 69). Hal stands in absolute contrast to a kingly figure, as you starveling refers to his tall spindliness, as does you eel-skin (see also 2H4 3.2.319–21 or MND 2.1.255f.). Another base comparison, which equally appears in this row of face-threatening acts, is you dry neat’s tongue denoting the cow or ox tongue. You bull’s pizzle, in which pizzle denotes something which was used as a whip, carries similar connotations. As such, both vocatives bring out the idea of elongated shrivelled dryness. Stock-fish refers to dry cod, You tailor’s yard to the thinness of the cloth yeard, You bow-case to a long holder for unstrung bows, and you vile-standing tuck to a stiff upended rapier. In this case, stand is also a quibble because a blade was said to stand when it lost its resiliency. Sheath (1H4 2.4.247) is “a case for a knife or a sword” (OED 1.a.), closely conforming to the shape of a weapon. Leather case is a leather’s carrier for an archer’s bows, and vile standing tuck is a useless rapier. Standing is usually glossed as upright, but none of the other images of thinness makes its orientation an issue. Here standing seems to relate to rigid (OED II.8.), “referring to the blade’s loss of resilience which minimizes its usefulness.” On the surface, the descriptive, humorous, and stunning metaphors seem to allude to Hal’s physical shape alone. However, in their wider senses, reference to Hal’s skinniness create Hal as a person who pretends to be a moraliser of kingly stature but who, in reality, does not contain any character or sense of right honour. As such, the allusions to different cases that only carry or protect the weapon indicate that he is nothing more than a useless and hypocritical marionette unable to assume the position of the


king. Notice, that both the enumeration of these vocatives as well as their thingified status as NGs construe Falstaff as such. Falstaff sees an opportunity to reassert himself fully not only when he ironically argues that he does not want to kill or violate “the heir apparent” (1H4 2.4.269), but also when a messenger from court arrives, who summons the prince to answer to his father who has been hearing no good from him. The improvised play-within-the-play presents further anticipations of the forthcoming confrontations. First, Falstaff portrays the king while Hal plays himself. Falstaff enjoys a vision of the greatness of Falstaff. He has been absorbing much abuse from Hal, but now, triumphantly, he betters the scoffing, though in a far finer tone than the prince’s aggressiveness. This is visible in the authoritative “Harry” (1H4 2.4.221) or in the decorously admonishing “thou naughty varlet” (1H4 2.4.431), so that “Royal father and holidaying son are rendered charmingly foolish” (Bloom 1998: 301). At this stage, we get an image of the play in its sweetest and purest sense, an exercise that heals and restores. Yet, Hal’s thunderous version after he commands that he is to play his own father stands in deep contrast to the previous rehearsal. Though it is intense with Falstaff ’s poignant wit and Hal’s cold fury, Hal’s ambivalence explodes into positive hatred in his final summation vocative: “That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan” (1H4 2.4.462f.). The prince is not acting anymore, but speaks from his whole mind and heart, as he no longer refers to Falstaff ’s physical appearance, but further intensifies the criticism. Notice that now Hal is resorting to the metaphysical by means of Satan to express his disdain for Falstaff and his real role in Hal’s life. Hal is no longer described as a morality-play vice figure, but he becomes Satan himself. Hal does not want to assume responsibility for his alignment with the low and rustic life. In Florio (1598) and Cotgrave (1611), misleader collocates with seducer and enticer, as well as a seducer to some evil. At the same time, a misleader is a corrupter, a defiler and a deflowerer of maids. Hal is disgusted by Falstaff and has fallen out of love.48 Even though Hal plays Falstaff into the hangman’s hands from the very beginning, he illustrates that it is better to get rid of him by a forged march or even (honourably) in battle. But Falstaff is annoyingly indestructible. Notice Falstaff ’s insistence on superficial decorum in “My lord, the man I know” (1H4 2.4.463), but also the fact that he emphasises man, alluding to the fact that he knows the man but not this exaggerated and strange construal of him. Mention has already been made of the fact that, following Act 2, Scene 4, the number of vocatives of both characters for one another decreases considerably. Falstaff reduces them to the still intimate lad, several instances of Hal, and mad wag, while Hal’s pattern consists of overtly more negative terms, such as “What say’st thou, Jack?” (1H4 3.3.96) and “What didst thou lose, Jack” (1H4 3.3.100), which only serve as poor attempts at establishing common ground. This can also be seen in “An otter, Sir John” (1H4 3.3.125), “Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound” (1H4 3.3.125), “But sirrah, there’s no room for faith” (1H4 3.3.154), “Why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in thy pocket but tavern reckonings” (1H4 3.3.156–58), “O my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee” 48. An experience which Iris Murdoch calls one of the great human experiences (in Bloom 1998: 301) in which you see the world with newly awakened eyes.


(1H4 3.3.176), “I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot” (1H4 3.3.186), “Jack, meet me tomorrow in the temple hall” (1H4 3.3.199), “How now, blown Jack” (1H4 4.2.49), “How now, quilt” (1H4 4.2.49), “But tell me, jack, whose fellows are these that come after?” (1H4 4.2.61f.), “But, sirrah, make haste; Percy is already in the field” (1H4 4.2.74), “Peace, chewet, peace” (1H4 5.1.29), “What, old acquaintance, could not all this flesh keep in a little life” (1H4 5.4.102), and “Poor Jack, farewell” (1H4 5.4.103). Hence, beginning at Act 2, Scene 4, Hal’s ambivalence has finally changed into a pure hatred. Falstaff is maligned, threatened with hanging, yet Falstaff remains the parodist of noble butchery, the defier of time, law, order, and the state. We are urged to clear our minds of cant, as Falstaff is free of societal delusions. “Peace, chewet, peace” (1H4 5.1.29) is still brutal, but hardly excessive, because Falstaff has outlived his function for a prince, who means to conquer honour. He is nothing more than a jackdaw or a crow, or, figuratively, a chatterer. Falstaff pays back, replete with sublime mockery of the absurd slaughter, and with contempt for Hotspurian honour. Yet deep down in his heart, he remains faithful in his love for Hal, which he most heart-movingly expresses at the end of 2H4 when he, though still over-elaborately, greets the new King Hal with “My king! My Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!” (2H4 5.5.46). Hal uses the attack “Why, thou whoreson, impudent embossed rascal” (1H4 3.3.156f.) to admonish Falstaff of doubting the Hostess’ innocence. Again superficially, the vocative refers to Falstaff ’s outward appearance, with embossed referring to a swollen knave. Yet, according to Schmidt and Sarrazin ([1874/75] 1962: 939), rascal may also denote a young or underweight deer. In the OED (1.), a rascal “is one belonging to a class of idle vagrants or vagabonds.” Despite the abusive potential of this vocative, clear ideological meanings are inherent as well. Apart from the fact that Falstaff is tellingly associated with the natural world, the epithet embossed, which may refer to foaming at the mouth (OED), especially carries other connotations that subconsciously refer to Hal’s assumed superiority. In Florio (1598), embossed correlates with a technique of painting that contains divers colours. In addition, silver may also be well-fined and tried if it is embossed (Minsheu 1599). Hence, even though Hal attempts to be utterly negative and brutal, the use of embossed construes Falstaff ’s many faces, but also his extraordinary qualities of rhetoric and colour. The use of thou and you in correlation with rascal is mixed (U. Busse 2002: 174). Here it adds to the downgrading interpersonal force, even though Hal more frequently uses the thoupronoun to refer to Falstaff. In Act 5, Scene 4 of 1H4, Shakespeare affords Hal his great moment: “What, old acquaintance, could not all this flesh / Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell” (1H4 5.4.101f.). Both vocatives are ambivalent and revelatory. The epithet old refers both to Falstaff ’s age and to the fact that their companionship is over. Acquaintance construes the personal knowledge, and the knowledge of a person or thing gained by intercourse or experience, which is more than mere recognition, and less than familiarity or intimacy. Poor Jack, farewell is almost as much an authentic address as the warlike Harry can summon for the apostle of vanity. Considering the fact that Falstaff is still alive the illocutionary force of both vocatives is both revelatory of speaker and hearer. The Latinate term, acquaintance, which appears in Mulcaster (1582) and other EModE dictionaries, such as T. Thomas (1587) and Florio (1598), refers to a friend, a familiar one of right or long acquaintance


(T. Thomas). Florio adds a different sense – namely that of acknowledgement, thankfulness, mindfulness, and a knowing of one another. These EModE senses are suggestive of Hal’s partly positive meanings of this address, even though they certainly disdain likewise. Especially if we consider that old may refer to Falstaff ’s age as well as to the age and the end of their friendship. Let us finally ask how we are to account for this unjustified malevolence, this exorcism that transcends rejection. Whom do we credit Hal’s “old white bearded Satan” (1H4 2.4.462) or “sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff ” (1H4 2.4.475f.) with? Falstaff ’s and Hal’s vocative usage for one another (including choice, positioning, elaboration, and accompanying clause) construe Hal’s falling out of love with Falstaff and Hal’s endless and aggressiveness. Furthermore, their mutual vocative usage creates and mirrors Hal’s constant insistence on what Falstaff would call the pretences of honour. By means of vocatives, Hal seems to insist that eating, fornication, and the other obvious indulgences are at the heart of Falstaffianism. Kastan (ed. 2002: 233) observes that this enumeration of vocatives is an “an interesting echo of Nashe, Have with You: ‘curteous Dicke, comicall Dicke, liuely Dicke, louely Dick, learned Dicke, old Dicke of Lichfield’.” As such, Hal’s general rhetoric and his vocative usage in particular imply that Falstaff is not only his mentor in terms of the harvesting of affections (with the slight difference that Hal harvests everyone), but also (another part of him that becomes Falstaffian) a genius for language and its rhetorical control of others through psychological insight. This rhetorical and social dependence of Hal upon Falstaff turns him into what will be called a “Halstaff.” Falstaff ’s vocative usage directed at the prince construes Falstaff ’s love for Hal: his one weakness, his vulnerability, a rejected father-substitute, and a dishonoured mentor. Furthermore, the tragicomedy that is involved in this relationship is also effectively created and displayed by means of vocatives. Themes of morality and honour, on the one hand, interchange with the idea of Falstaff as a jester, a comic genius, a proverbial fat man, and the Falstaffian spirit (Bloom 1998: 274), on the other. The vocative analyses illustrate that Falstaff is no cowardly braggart, no sly instigator to vice, no fawner for the prince’s favour and no besotted old scoundrel. In this sense, Swinburne is correct to talk about Falstaff ’s morality of “the heart and the imagination, rather than the social morality that is the permanent curse of Shakespearean scholarship and criticism” (in Bloom 1998: 281). Mutual vocative usage also hints at language itself. Falstaff is so secure in his language that he tempts Bloom to talk about the best prose in English and about a “festival of language” (Bloom 1998: 282). His beautiful laughing speech is truly “Sir John’s mode of devotion” (Bloom 1998: 275). As such, Falstaff ’s and the prince’s vocative exchange construes entertainment that is so essentially a part of Elizabethan theatre and testifies Falstaff ’s popularity with the Elizabethan audience. Finally, their vocative usage creates what shall be bardolatrously called Shakespeare’s impressive usage of cognitive power. This includes his creation of exchange, identity, and ideology by means of vocatives and Falstaff ’s charisma – a cognitive charisma that might explain why his appeal is so enormous.

411

chapter 6

Vocatives in Shakespeare and the theatre

6.1 Going beyond speaker selection: quantitative, generic, diachronic and thematic results An analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare would be incomplete without an examination of performance aspects (Wells 1970, Evans ed. 1997, Suerbaum 2001a, b). The two communicative levels of drama, play texts in print and performed on stage, are seen as equal and dialectically dependent components of vocative interpretation.1 An explicit theatrical or performative role of vocatives in Shakespeare exists and further enhances the interpersonal, experiential, and textual dimensions of vocatives. This study relates the analysis and interpretation of vocatives and the theatre to the explicit corporal presence of actors in the Shakespearean theatre (Kiernan 1996), to the quantity and quality of vocatives forms and their function as interpersonal, experiential, and textual markers. Furthermore, Bühlers’ Organon-model (Bühler 1934 1999: 28f., Nöth 2000: 89, 203, and Bublitz 2001: 45–48) and historical dimensions of the Shakespearean theatre are considered crucial. Vocatives in performance also serve as identification units in Shakespeare’s plays, as segmentation and supplement components, and as aesthetic and emotive semiotic symbols that explicitly address the audience. As one of the most obvious performative functions of vocatives in Shakespeare, a vocative serves as a means of speaker and character identification, as especially in Shakespeare’s time, many actors perform several roles, so that the audience needs to be informed about who is who in the play. As mentioned, in MND, Theseus’s first line contains Hippolyta’s personal name as a vocative so that the audience is able to identify her as Theseus’s wife-tobe: “Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour / Draws on apace” (MND 1.1.1f.). At the beginning of Ham., the soldiers express their camaraderie by means of personal names, which also helps the audience to distinguish, for example, Horatio from Marcellus. Barnardo welcomes Horatio and Marcellus with the following words: “Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus” (Ham. 1.1.23). Fielitz (1999: 60) cites a change in the promptbook of The Royal Shakespeare Company’s performance of Shakespeare’s H8 in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1997. She observes that the first lines in the text (F1) by Buckingham are “Good morrow and well-met” (H8 1.1.1). The promptbook of this performance shows a change into “Well 1. For their general dependency, see Elam (1980), Pfister (1997), Krieger (1998), Culpeper (1998: 6), Fielitz (1999), Jackson (2000a, b, c).


met, my lord of Norfolk.” According to Fielitz (1999: 60), the introduction of the vocativeEPITHET simplifies the identification of the characters for the current audience. This micro-analytical investigation of the vocative as performance and of speaker identification should be verified by a corpus-based analysis of vocative-form distribution in the different acts of the play. Attempting to investigate vocative frequency and categorical vocative distribution in relation to the usually assumed Aristotelian five-act-scheme, one needs to observe several interconnected issues. One is the fact that the now familiar segmentation of Shakespeare’s plays into act and scenes only inconsistently appears in the First Folio (1623) and hardly in the preceding Quartos, and, as such, cannot be assumed to have existed in “Shakespeare’s manuscripts” (Evans ed. 1997: 56, Dessen 1995: 85). This observation, as will be argued below, also attributes a crucial role of the vocative on a microanalytical level. Furthermore, as the Aristotelian scheme and the required unity of time, place, and plot only begin to spread at the time when Shakespeare composes his plays, there have been heavy debates about the extent to which Shakespeare provides his plays with the familiar five act structures (see Suerbaum 2001a). It can be considered certain that Shakespeare did not appropriate the five-act-scheme, let alone other Aristotelian prerequisites in a very meticulous manner (Suerbaum 2001a). Hence, this closed form (Klotz 1970) needs to be replaced by what Klotz (1970) has called the open form of drama. Even though the individual scenes (Suerbaum 2001a) replace the act as a segmentation unit, so that the act does not have the same important meaning anymore, the high number of vocatives that appear in the whole corpus of Shakespearean vocatives as well as in the individual plays justify investigating the number of vocatives as well as the categories of vocatives in the individual acts and scenes despite the modernity of this structural layout. It will be assumed that some obvious trends within the different plays may be observed, despite the fact that, as a result of the theoretical base underlying this study, vocatives in context ultimately construe meaning. A distinction has to be made between the frequency of vocatives in the particular acts and the distribution of different vocative clusters from Act 1 to Act 5. The relevant figures are depicted in Table 8. For the tragedies,2 the following results have been gained. In terms of quantity, it may be tentatively argued that for many tragedies in this corpus, the highest vocative numbers appear in Acts 3 or 4 (see Tit., Rom., Ham., Mac., Oth., Ant.). As such, one may also talk about a diachronic contingency. This quantitative observation is not meant to say that the other three tragedies are created according to strict Aristotelian rules, but in the case of Tit., Rom., and Oth., vocative frequency in the different acts may more overtly contribute to the scheme.

2. Only the earliest and the latest tragedies of this corpus will be investigated in order to recourse to a diachronically more polarised set of tragedies.

Chapter 6. Vocatives in Shakespeare and the theatre 415

Table 8. Act – vocative distribution in the plays

Tit. Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5

60 0 27 0 4 50 16 28

42 0 8 13 1 20 2 12

12 0 9 13 6 35 7 12

81 0 21 13 3 50 6 10

22 1 30 8 2 34 6 6

185

98

94

184

109

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5

40 2 18 9 6 15 17 11

34 5 10 4 17 26 19 5

43 8 20 10 18 32 25 19

27 7 21 0 22 7 13 14

8 2 22 4 11 11 7 5

118

120

175

111

70

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


34 0 15 1 3 24 7 4

36 4 16 9 5 30 22 0

54 4 17 3 10 29 22 0

47 1 11 3 11 29 14 1

51 2 40 6 6 33 11 5

sum

88

122

139

117

154

conventional emotion / mind, thought EPITHET generic terms natural phenomena personal names specialised fields terms of family relationship sum

Rom.


Oth.


Lr. Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5

91 1 37 13 11 31 14 24

68 0 30 4 10 20 16 12

37 2 35 9 16 16 19 7

68 0 29 1 10 8 14 16

51 2 40 6 6 33 11 5

222

160

141

146

154

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


21 3 12 0 2 13 1 8

14 1 8 1 1 9 5 4

40 2 13 0 3 4 3 1

13 0 8 1 47 11 13 10

37 0 11 1 2 7 9 9

sum

60

43

66

103

76

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


40 2 11 0 2 30 6

61 0 17 2 0 56 5

59 2 12 4 6 37 9

42 1 22 23 10 54 12

36 0 12 4 6 36 5

0

1

6

1

2

sum

91

142

135

165

101


Mac.

Ant.


R3 Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5

65 2 50 4 9 17 14 4

56 1 10 5 3 13 6 13

98 0 37 3 0 23 10 16

56 1 32 3 19 15 9 13

51 0 24 0 0 21 9 2

165

107

187

148

107

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5

conventional emotion / mind, thought EPITHET generic terms natural phenomena personal names specialised fields

20 0 20 8 2 16 0

72 3 55 17 25 84 10

20 2 37 4 8 22 3

11 0 14 0 1 7 2

20 0 21 0 2 23 4

terms of family relationship

11

2

6

2

5

sum

77

268

102

37

75

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5

64 0 34 0 1 0 3 0

46 0 39 0 0 5 2 0

78 0 18 6 0 10 7 0

30 0 4 4 0 12 1 0

155 0 39 2 0 10 2 0

102

92

119

51

208


1H4

H8



MND Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


16 3 13 1 0 42 3 0

4 2 11 1 13 21 7 0

27 6 28 2 17 35 23 6

30 7 6 0 2 19 1 0

14 0 17 1 5 3 0 0

sum

78

59

144

65

40

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


15 0 5 0 0 17 1 0

37 2 16 5 4 21 8 8

36 4 18

16 1 3 1

3 35 3 0

17 0 8 3 1 15 23 0

sum

38

101

99

67

35

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


22 0 15 0 0 6 0 7

48 0 11 1 2 9 0 19

55 2 11 1 1 11 2 6

40 0 18 0 18 8 6

54 0 13 11 4 16 6 4

sum

50

90

89

90

108

MV

12 2 0

Ado


MM Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


12 0 9 1

29 0 11

37 0 12

11 4 0

66 2 46 8 2 20 8 2

2 21 18 4

2 12 14 3

71 0 23 3 0 17 20 2

sum

37

154

85

80

136

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5

62 1 12 1 4 8 8 4

28 0 3 1 6 5 5 3

51 0 23 17 4 17 6 3

18 0 14 5 3 11 10 7

49 0 15 7 6 15 23 7

100

51

121

68

122

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


36 0 7 3 3 19 2 6

53 2 13 2 4 3 2 0

13 0 6 9 3 3 0 0

77 0 21 12 4 21 4 7

44 0 6 2 1 15 3 6

sum

76

79

34

146

77

Cym.


WT


Tmp. Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Act 5


33 0 19 5 8 11 15 8

25 0 2 5 6 11 19 0

12 0 20 0 6 9 11 2

11 0 8 0 4 14 16 1

28 1 18 1 5 13 17 1

sum

99

68

60

54

84

For Mac., other interpretations need to be suggested. Mac. displays the highest number of vocatives in Act 4, and the second highest number in Act 5, while Acts 1 and 2 show fewer vocatives. Here the final acts seem to be highly emphasised. Lr. is not only a later play but, in orientation, also completely different from the other tragedies in this corpus. In contrast to the tragedies mentioned so far, the appearance of vocatives in Lr. almost gradually decreases from act to act, which might relate to the more open structure of the play, so that each individual act, if not each individual scene and vocative in context, becomes more important in its own right. In Ant., the highest number of vocatives occurs in Act 4, which testifies to the potential of vocatives for construing the importance of the third or fourth act for the tragedies in general. If one has a look at the length of the fourth act of Ant. this result can be explained as well. In Ant., Act 1 displays the lowest number of vocatives. While in Tit., for example, the high number of vocatives in Act 1 is suggestive of both the expository character of Act 1 and the play’s early date of composition (as such it corresponds with Rom.), the distribution of vocatives in Ant. construes a more individual character of vocatives and the sequence, the scene, and the act, and is also indicative of a diachronic deviation in the course of composition dates of the play. The same holds true for Lr., Mac., and Ham. in part. As regards the distribution of vocative categories over acts of the investigated plays, often, for example in Tit., Rom., Oth., or Lr., personal names and conventional terms appear in the first act. Yet, by the same token, both categories are frequently represented in both the first and other acts, so that one could only argue in terms of speaker selection for personal names or the construal of rigid social or political positions for conventional terms alone. Even in Tit., Shakespeare’s earliest tragedy, the highest numbers of conventional terms, personal names, terms of family relationship for the first act corroborate the highest frequencies of vocatives in Act 1 in general. Yet, what is striking is that the number of EPITHETs, which has been established to be a category of high interpersonal force, is low in the third act. Instead, personal names used vocatively dominate this scene, which illustrates the foregrounded status of vocative usage in Act 3 and leads to reflections about the functional quality of these vocatives, especially when seen as construing Acts 3 and 4 as the most emotional acts within tragedy in general and Tit. in particular. In Rom., a similar pattern emerges which corresponds to the early composition dates of both tragedies.


Oth. partly stands in contrast to these results. The quantitative data of conventional terms is striking, but not particularly high for the first two acts – in the last three acts, there is a much higher number. The number of EPITHETs is even more noteworthy because the distribution is fairly even (from Act 1 to Act 4, but highest in Act 5), which goes hand in hand with the relatively high number of vocatives in Act 5. Personal names are similar in Acts 2 to 3 and not in Act 1, which is a result dissimilar from Tit., but similar to Rom. In Lr., due to the highest number in the first act, as well as the highest figures for the vocative categories conventional terms, emotion / mind, thought, EPITHET, personal names, and terms of family relationship, one might stress the importance of the first act. However, it is also possible to argue that this result testifies to the more open structure of the play in general so that each individual act, if not each individual scene, becomes more important in its own right, despite the highest number of vocatives referring to specialised fields and natural phenomena, and EPITHETs in Act 3. In Mac., natural phenomena and specialised fields (natural phenomena are frequent in Mac. so it is most striking that they seem to appear in Act 4 only) as well as the number of personal names are highest in Acts 4 and 5, even though it is somewhat surprising that EPITHETs do not follow this pattern. Personal names are highest in Act 1, which underlines the fact that personal names used vocatively serve the purpose of introducing the characters to the recipients. In general, it seems that in the tragedies – except for Lr. (which goes against conventional description) – Acts 3 and 4 do not show the highest number of vocatives and these figures do not result from a high number of conventional terms, but may rather be constituted by vocatives that denote generic terms, specialised fields, natural phenomena, EPITHETs and personal names, hence, more overtly emotional terms. This corresponds to the high emotional character of Acts 3 and 4 and a frequent recourse to the bare necessities or the metaphysical. In addition, EPITHETs are unevenly distributed which reflects and creates their more immediate highly interpersonal character. Despite these general somewhat similar and genre-creating as well as content-creating tendencies of vocative distribution that can be observed, the frequency and cluster distribution of vocatives in the tragedies may also be individually and contextually construed. In the histories of this corpus, the distribution of vocative quantity shows a varied pattern. In R3, the highest number of vocatives occurs in Act 3. This is also valid for the categories conventional, personal names, and terms of family relationship. However, Act 4 shows a relatively high number of vocatives as well, even though Act 1 displays the second highest rate of vocatives following Act 3. EPITHETs and vocatives from specialised fields are most frequent in Act 1 (this might also result from the fact that here vocatives of the type Sir Westmoreland have been computed). Natural phenomena used vocatively are highest in Act 4 of R3. Hence, it can be argued that the play shows a different distribution from the tragedies (despite the dominance of vocatives in Act 3). The pattern in 1H4 of vocative distribution is completely different from what we have encountered so far. This result helps construe the different facets, genres, and themes that are characteristic of the play. In 1H4, more than half of all vocatives occur in Act 2, which, among others, construes the final estrangement between Falstaff and Hal, the robbery, the tavern life, and the decision of war. Furthermore, the high number of personal names – higher than EPITHETs and conventional terms – is equally striking and plays a crucial


role in construing experiential, interpersonal, and textual meanings. Moreover, in Act 1 the figure for vocatives is the second highest. Yet, in comparison to Act 3, vocative figures are reduced by half. It is also striking that in Act 1, the combination of conventional and personal name is not highest, but conventional terms and EPITHETs of the kind other than that of the Sir Westmoreland character dominating H8. This result also reflects the social and political clashes between the different spheres of life that are represented and construed. In addition, the Falstaff-Hal opposition is also created. Furthermore, the number of vocatives in Act 3 is higher than in Act 1, as is the distribution of conventional terms and EPITHETs. Despite the familiar pattern of vocative dominance in Act 3, one can tentatively argue that vocatives construe meaning within units smaller than the act. Some similarities underline the genre of the plays, yet, mostly, the plays’ vocative idiosyncracies in relation to scenes can be assumed. In H8, the vocative pattern is different from the other histories. Act 5 shows the highest number of vocatives, but the number of vocatives in Act 3 is also striking, despite the fact that there are not as many different vocative categories used in H8, as the whole play is constituted of EPITHETs and conventional terms. Personal names are highest in Act 4. The comedies display an equally varied pattern of vocatives. In MND, as in some of the tragedies, vocatives are most frequent in Act 3. This figure is followed by that computed for Act 1, while in Acts 4 and 5 the number of vocatives decreases. Concerning the other vocative categories, MND displays a pattern one would have expected. As family relations are only construed at the beginning of the play, there is a low number of terms that refer to family relationship. These occur only in Act 3. Conventional terms are most frequent in Act 3 and 4, while emotion / mind, thought are highest in Acts 3 and 4 (similar to Rom.). EPITHETs are by far most frequent in Act 3, but dominant in Acts 1 and 5 likewise. While natural phenomena are highest in Acts 2 and 3 (the youngster’s way into the forest), vocatives as personal names also dominate Act 1. However, the number of personal names is still frequent in Act 3. MV shows a nearly even number of vocatives in Acts 2 and 3. Acts 1 and 5 display the lowest number of vocatives. The distribution and number of vocatives in MV is different from MND in another sense: there is low number of conventional terms and personal names in Act 1, EPITHETs occur only in Act 5 and terms referring to specialised fields appear only in Act 1. In Acts 2 and 3, this distribution changes drastically, as EPITHETs and personal names are much more frequent, but most frequent in Act 3. Vocatives as specialised fields are most dominant in Act 4 and terms of family relationship occur only in Act 2. That comedies do not display a linear pattern of vocative distribution is also underlined by the results gained from Ado. We find a fairly even number of vocatives in Acts 2 to 5, but the highest number of vocatives still appears in Act 5. This is one reason why the play is so festive in the end. Generic terms are also highest in Act 5. EPITHETs and vocatives as personal names are highest in Act 4, and conventional terms occur most often in Act 3, while conventional terms seem to be important throughout the play. Terms of family relationship are most frequent in Act 2, as, at this stage of the play, the characters are still willing to stress kinship ties. In MM, the highest number of vocatives occurs in Act 2. There are nearly half as many vocatives as in the other plays. Similar to the pattern in Ado, vocatives are not as prominent in Act 1, but in all other acts. As regards the distribution of categories,


all, except conventional terms, are highest in Act 2. Hence, it might be tentatively argued that in terms of vocative number, Acts 2 and 3 in the comedies play a crucial role. A looser vocative distribution is also prominent in the later romances. In Cym., the highest number of vocatives appears in Acts 1, 3, and 5, which somehow corresponds to the pattern scrutinised for the earlier tragedies. Conventional terms are most prominent in Act 1, but personal names most often appear in Acts 3 and 5. The distribution of vocatives in Act 3 is more even than in Act 1, as is the number of vocatives as personal names, EPITHETs, and generic terms indicate. In Act 5, the number of specialised fields stands out. In contrast to these results, those in WT show the highest number of vocatives in Act 4, while vocatives occurring in Act 4 are strikingly low. In Acts 1, 2, and 5, the vocative appearance amounts to a nearly similar result. Personal names occur most often in Acts 1 and 4, while EPITHETs are most crucial in Acts 2 and 4, conventional terms, however, show a higher frequency in Acts 2 and 4. In Tmp., the vocative quantity is highest in Act 1 and Act 5. This result is further underlined by the fact that conventional terms are highest in Acts 1 and 5, but also dominant in Act 2. EPITHETs dominate Acts 1, 3 and 5, and generic terms only occur in the first two acts. Personal names are more dominant in the last two acts. Except for Act 3, terms of family relationship only occur in Act 1. To some up, in terms of vocative patterns used, there is more variety for the latter plays or in other words, from a diachronic point of view, vocative patterns became more uneven. Furthermore, vocatives both create and reflect formal criteria of dramatic structure and are responsible for the content and atmosphere of a specific scene or act.

6.2 Supplementing and triggering: vocatives as stage directions What is here called a ‘supplement concept’ provides the vocative with new functions in performance. During a performance, the vocative may be seen as a supplement to the manuscripts, because the use of vocatives does not only inform the audience about who is speaking, but also contributes to the creation of interpersonal positioning, textual information and experiential meanings. Within this framework, a concept of theatre semiotics – that of segmentation (Krieger 1998: 84) – will help illuminate even more clearly the general remarks on the vocatives in Shakespeare supplementing meanings to the play in performance. Due to the density of signs, a performance might have other segmentation units than the literary text. With respect to the performance of a play, the text’s density poses the problem of where to focus one’s attention. Each utterance of an actor in performance might represent a different segmentation unit so that micro- and macro- sections occur. Krieger (1998: 84) suggests that signifying units are neither an inherently reader-related nor a purely performative element, but a result of rehearsal. If we now transfer these theoretical insights to the Elizabethan ‘art of orchestration’ of the performance text, the concept of segmentation becomes even more important. No matter if the play is performed in an open-air playhouse or in halls, the most basic features and procedures of the amphitheatre auditorium are not changed (Gurr 1996: 47). In addition, restrictions on the Early Modern playhouses (Gurr 1996) need not be overstated,


since they were part of the Elizabethan theatrical experience. Nevertheless, they rendered important the texts in performance and the actors. In correlation with the quantity and quality of vocatives in Shakespeare, a vocative may serve as a micro-segmentation unit for the players, and, in its broader sense, it also supplements as well as segments stage directions. For example, in addition to the other interpersonal and experiential functions outlined above, the performative role of the vocative in “I’ll leave you, lady” (Ant. 1.3.86) has been construed as highly meaningful. Antony’s last, rather brutal, short, and impersonal lady can be explained as a caesura. Uttering this threat, the actor has to know how to pronounce and to stress the words. As a vocative at the end of a declarative may have conveyed authoritative connotations, these have to be realised by a fall in stress at the end of this line. Furthermore, the actor/ director could also include reflections about mime, gestures, and movements as well as other effects that are part of the current theatre and may have been of importance within Shakespeare’s time. Therefore, the vocative has also consequences for the actor or actress performing Cleopatra. For her (or him), lady serves as a semiotic marker to act differently from before. She also has to change her voice, gestures, and movements to the extent that she is approaching Antony now, while before both were separated from one another or on different parts of the stage. An investigation of three recorded performances has revealed that the vocative is a trigger for a change in intonation, pitch, mime, gesture, and movement (even though the respective promptbooks of these plays do not give direct clues for the actual performance). For example, in the 1992 RSC production3 of the play (directed by Trevor Nunn) starring Janet Zusman as Cleopatra and Richard Johnson as Antony, Antony leaves Cleopatra’s bed. While leaving a dreamy atmosphere, he raises his voice to a dark and roaring pitch. However, one can hardly see him cursing behind the curtains, but only wildly walking up and down in front of them. When he exclaims “I’ll leave you, lady” there is a break after the personal pronoun you, and lady is most articulately pronounced. Both syllables of lady are stressed.4 Obviously, Antony’s address pattern has an effect on Cleopatra, as she, although not approaching him at once, but assuming a pleading, innocent tone, seductively skips towards him. Her dominance of the scene becomes obvious in her sweetly purring voice, which then characterises her Courteous lord and the two sir vocatives. All three vocatives receive an individual tone-unit, they are stressed and, as such, seem to calm Antony down. The BBC Shakespeare Production of 1989, starring Colin Blakeley and Jane Laportaire, represents a less subtle and seductive Cleopatra. The scene does not take place in Cleopatra’s bedchamber, but outside in the dark, with Antony wearing his Roman warrior tunic. Antony’s “I’ll leave you, lady,” is resolved in tone with no special emphasis on one

3. The selection of video-taped productions and prompt-books of the different plays were investigated at The Shakespeare Centre Library at Stratford-upon-Avon. 4. Certainly, a description of different sequences of a particular performance would need to contextualise the entire performance in terms of historical background, performance techniques, and indebtness to various theories of performance (Gurr 1996, Fielitz 1999). However, as this passage’s main goal is to analyse the role of the vocative as a supplement and segmentation unit, the information given should suffice to draw general conclusions.


particular constituent of the clause, but accompanied by Antony’s relinquishment of his seated position. She follows him; he then takes a seat, which she responds to by kneeling in front of him. Notice the performative potential that has been evoked by the utterance and the vocative. Cleopatra’s Courteous lord and the double sir vocative are expressed in a quick requesting, but not seductive voice. The line “Courteous lord, one word,” and the initial sir of the next line are uttered in one sequence. After the first sir there is a long break, Cleopatra’s voice is low and soft. She touches Antony’s arm with every sir she utters and then her head with her two hands. The promptbook of a 1992-RSC production of the play by J. Caird contains direct clues as to how to pronounce Courteous lord. A break is indicated following the vocative. The investigation of one recording of the play by Caedmon Audio (1995) featuring Anthony Quayle, Pamela Brown, Paul Daneman, and Jack Gwillim reveals that there is a silence of five seconds after Antony has pronounced “I’ll leave you, lady.” This break reinforces the seriousness of Antony’s remark and thus has to be answered compliantly. To conclude, vocatives performed on stage offer additional material as to mime, gesture, pitch of voice, movement and general directional realisations. The extent to which these theatre-semiotic features affect the audience will be illustrated in the following chapter.

6.3 Vocatives in Shakespeare and Bühler’s ([1934] 1999) concept of Ausdruck and Appell Another function that is crucial to the vocatives’ role in performance can best be introduced by a short outline of two theories, Bühler’s Organon-model ([1934] 1999: 28f) and Jakobson’s (Jakobson 1960) emotive function of language.5 These can both be integrated into Halliday’s interpersonal function (Leech 1983: 57). Bühler’s ([1934] 1999: 28f.) function of Ausdruck and Appell explains how language is always goal-directed. Each linguistic sign has a function. It is a symbol due to its relation with things and relations in the world. It is a symptom due to its dependence on the speaker, and it is a signal, because of its appellative function directed at the listener (Bublitz 2001: 46). Roman Jacobson’s (1960) theory of the six functions of language, despite its formalist and structuralist bias, represents an extension of Bühler’s ([1934] 1999: 28f.) model, especially the emotive and the conative functions.6 Similarly, just as Bühler ([1934] 1999: 28f.) emphasises the function of language as directed to the hearer, Jacobson’s emotive function of language, which is used to express attitudes to the listener, and the conative function, which is used to directly influence the hearer, stand in strong correlation to the vocatives’ roles in performance (see also Bublitz 2001: 48). Hence, the vocative carries the powerful potential for affecting the listener, which is also expressed in the following quotation from Ham.: “I have heard / That guilty creatures sitting at a play / Have by the very cunning of the scene, / Been struck so to the soul / That presently they have proclaimed their malefactions” (Ham. 2.2.588–92). Hamlet’s observa5.

In this line, see also Schulz von Thun (1997: 29f.).

6.

For a more detailed description of Jacobson’s model, see Bublitz (2001: 47f.).


tion describes not only the effective and affective potential of language in performance on those people who have something to hide. In its broader and figurative sense, Hamlet’s observation also emphasises the general social centrality of performance, the emotive, conative, and signalling function of language in general and the vocative in particular. These go hand in hand with Kiernan’s (1996) argumentation in Shakespeare’s Theory of Drama. In her account, Kiernan (1996) does not question the “magic of theatre” or deny the probable idea of the commercial playwright responding to market forces as possible reasons why Shakespeare writes drama. She gives a more theoretically reasoned and lucid explanation why the playwright exploits the possibilities of drama as a distinct art form. Kiernan (1996: 11) stresses that Shakespeare’s plays seem to question some of the common Renaissance aesthetic theories of art, due to its reliance on the corporeal presence of the subject and the privileging of the human body. The embodied use of language enables the author-model, the audience, and actors to elaborate on the relations between insubstantial image and corporeal substance. Kiernan’s (1996) emphasis on the literally performative aspect of drama, hence, on the language of the plays, which is embodied anew again and again by the actors in every performance, carries strong links to the contextual and social usage, analysis, and interpretation of language. This is so because within a reading process or a performance nothing is seen as static or out of context.7 Theatre semiotics also highly evaluates the interplay between the just mentioned components within a performance (Krieger 1998: 75), as well as the plurality of meanings in the performative process. The theatrical messages are non-redundant since each signal has an aesthetic justification. The multi-channelled, multi-systemic communicational system produces a plurality of messages. Elam describes this phenomenon as both synchronic and diachronic “semiotic thickness” (Elam 1980: 44). Theatre semiotics stresses the polysemic character of theatrical signs (Elam 1980: 10). Theatrical semantic ambiguity goes beyond the narrative representation (Elam 1980: 11) including non-verbal communication, the stage, the playhouse, etc., and text and performance have got different polysemous characters. It is understood that the quantity and quality of vocatives in Shakespeare contribute to these described phenomena. We may ask how playgoers and actors interact to create performances and what consequences these may have for the interpretation of vocatives in the language of Shakespeare. A full or complex understanding must remain uncertain, however, the more tentatively one is able to value the context, the more it may be possible to give a different weight to specific aspects of language, especially if we consider that there are 3111 different vocative forms in the entire corpus. The centrality of performance has to be named as a first factor (Gurr 1996: 56). Theatre-going is an attractive activity that may have been part of many people’s lives from all social classes. As mentioned, Gurr (1996: 93) argues that there is a change not only of the playhouse, with the move from the Theatre to the Globe in 1599, but also of audience’s taste to that of spectators. The desire for visual theatre in the late 1580s and 1590s turned 7. Evans (ed. 1997: 57) argues along similar lines. He portrays Shakespeare as a man “with deeply felt literary pretensions, like Jonson, bent on preserving his works in authoritative texts for posterity” (Evans ed. 1997: 57).


into a preference over the verbal in the 1590s, only to give way to the spectacle of the Jacobean court, which may have included both the visual and the verbal. Mention has been made that the number of vocatives in the plays raises around the year 1600. Moreover, the role of vocatives in establishing a relationship with the audience cannot be underestimated. No matter whether we deal with the audience of the 1590s or the spectators of the plays that were composed after 1600, these participants in Shakespeare’s plays are far from being passive. As performance texts, the plays are composed for a tighter grouping of people, a more immediate and readily socially recognisable entity than any readership of a printed text. The aspect of deixis, the I-You relation as one of the basic orientations within dialogue is crucial within this framework. Serpieri (in Hawkes 1997: 295) has argued that all semiotic functions in a dramatic text derive from the deictic orientation of the utterance towards its context. Deictic words constitute the basic semiotic units of dramatic representation. The vocative is a deictic element on several levels of addressees: in respect to actor – actor, conversation – actor, and character – recipient. The vocative can therefore also be seen as an emotive deictic element that establishes relationships of different kinds between the player(s) and the audience. We may ask, for example, whether Antony’s co(n)textual “I’ll leave you, lady” (Ant. 1.3.86) can cause the audience to comment on Cleopatra’s or even Antony’s behaviour, because it might realise the caesura of this utterance, even though a lady vocative is commonly considered a rather “unmarked” form of address. If the vocative is a symbol or, in Jacobson’s words, a conative and emotive marker, then there is a need to further specify these kinds of appeal to the audience. Therefore, another of Shakespearean vocatives’ performative function is to entertain. For example, in order “to drive away the time till Falstaff come” (1H4 2.4.28f.), Hal suggests mocking Francis’ limited intellectual capabilities. He talks incoherent nonsense to mystify Francis, while Poins from another room “never leave[s] calling, ‘Francis!’” (1H4 2.4.31), in order to show that Francis can answer nothing else but “Anon, anon, sir” (1H4 2.4.44). The comic potential of these passages, which are “totally in the humbug style” (Humphreys ed. 1997: 60), is created both by the seven penetrated uses of Poins’ Francis and by a high proliferation of Hal’s use of the vocative Francis as well. The prince again pokes fun at socially and intellectually inferior characters, and as such reveals a whole narrative about his own ideologies and interpersonal priorities. These attitudes culminate in the hilariously funny “Anon, Francis? No, Francis, but tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, a-Thursday, or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But Francis” (1H4 2.4.64–66), and in “Away, you rogue, dost thou not hear them call” (1H4 2.4.78). Notice the high number and effective positioning of vocatives as personal name, which give the impression as if the prince were seriously interested in Francis’ wellbeing, but which only serve to entertain himself. With regard to the entertaining functions of vocatives, Falstaff ’s list of phallic symbols in 1H4 2.4.244–51 has already been mentioned. Kent’s tirade against Oswald (Lr. 2.2.14) that, as has been described, changes into a list of face-threatening vocatives transfers a certain amount of entertainment despite the brutality, violence, and serious meanings involved. In Rom. Act 2, Scene 1, Romeo is concealing himself behind the stage when Mercutio and Benvolio enter seeking him. Gibbons (ed. 1997: 124) argues that “Mercutio burlesques the ritual summoning of a spirit by calling its different names; when the right


one is spoken the spirit, it is supposed, will appear and speak. The names are mocking synonyms for Romeo.” The tirade of mocking terms for Romeo in “Nay, I’ll conjure too: Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover” (Rom. 2.1.6f.), which appears in correlation with the burlesque at the summoning of the spirit, certainly entertains the audience. The changes of vocative fields from personal names over EPITHETs to emotion / mind, thought vocatives are powerful in creating Romeo as entangled in his own microcosm of love. Two of these vocatives refer to the Elizabethan conception of the four humours. When Romeo exclaims humours, he is certainly referring to the liver as the seat of love, which could also imply that love is re(a)d as liver. Mercutio is again in a quibbling mood in Rom. 2.4.37, when he, still believing Rosaline to be Romeo’s beloved, answers to Benvolio’s “Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo” (Rom. 2.4.36), and “Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified” (Rom. 2.4.37f.). The name, reduced to meo or O me, becomes the cry of the lamenting lover. The OED (1.b.) cites the passage in illustration of the sense of roe as “the milt or sperm of male fish,” so roe is a further quibble. This quibble leads to the vocatival attack in “O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified.” The clear sexual connotations allude to the fact that Romeo is but pure flesh with all its lusts and desires. Fishified quibbles on the senses “turned into a herring,” which means to become obsessed with sex, gone pale and bloodless (OED as in Rom.1.1.30). When the Nurse in Rom. returns from her encounter with Romeo, she is aware of Juliet’s unlimited curiosity about the outcome of their meeting. The Nurse consciously postpones the answer and forces Juliet to assume a strategy of politeness that is marked by a rhetorically overdone series of EPITHETs modifying the vocative. These effectively resemble the Nurse’s own diction and rhetoric and therefore culminate in “O sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love” (Rom. 2.5.54). The initial position of the vocative further intensifies the requesting and allegedly sincere tone of the vocative. Notice, however, the potential of the adjective for creating ironic tones. As another example can serve MND 2.2.104, which illustrates the comic consequences of Puck’s faulty target for the magic liquid despite his attempt to end the lovers’ embroilment. In the forest, the awakening Lysander, whom the audience has encountered as an ardent lover of Hermia, is now wooing Helena, who, in turn, has been rejected by Demetrius. His first utterance contains the following vocative directed at her: “Transparent Helena” (MND 2.2.104). The vocative represents a comic agent of the flower love-inidleness and the fact that the lovers are inadvertent victims of Puck’s and Oberon’s magic. The concept of the vocative as grammatical metaphor helps enlighten the hilarious effects of this vocative on the audience. While the general role of vocatives is highly interpersonal and affective, its realisation as a nominal group – as a thing or a nominalization – likewise turns the vocative into a less evanescent, more permanent even static syntactic constituent. Hence, for that particular moment, Helena is experientially construed as transparent Helena. Yet, again, the interpersonal force of this vocative is then further emphasised by the highly emotional and, in comparison to other vocatives, slightly overdone transparent, alluding to her quality of being so pretty that she transmits shining light. In terms of grammatical metaphor, the vocative could be rephrased as a relational clause “Your are transparent” or “Helena is transparent.” Hence, for the audience, the interpersonal


semantic character of the vocative, which is syntactically shelled in an experiential NGstructure, is an agent of the entertaining and of humorous effects, especially if the form chosen is either positively or negatively overloaded. As a linguistic element, the vocative directly and creatively participates in Shakespeare’s attempt to please the queen, courtly patronesses, daughters of noblemen, noblemen, gentlemen, etc., but also the entire social range of spectators (Duncan-Jones 2001: 130f.). Wiggins (2000: 26) succinctly puts forward that theatre playing is, as Horace defined it in his Art of Poetry, to profit and to delight. Despite some playwrights’ defence of delight as evoked in ethical and political virtue, playgoers were therefore actively interested in the pleasures of the stage and wanted to be entertained (Wiggins 2002: 27) so that, as Robert Green comments in 1592 (quoted in Wiggins 2000: 27), “[t]he people make no estimation of morals teaching education.” Therefore, the playwright’s anxiety about reception needed to be compensated with a safeguarding of a certain comic or entertaining element. In the First Folio, Heminge and Condell address “the great variety of readers” (Moston ed. 1998: 7) – a variety that with the spread of literacy increasingly reflected a similar range of interests and abilities as in the heterogeneous playhouse audience. This observation leads us back to what has already been said about the Protean rhetorical function of vocatives to establish, as a linguistic tool, a method of self-fashioning, and a relationship between actor and audience. For Elizabethans and probably also for Shakespeare, the fact that the third part of the division of oratory in Cicero and others, the epideictic (the demonstrative), was one of the chief divisions (Adamson 1999). Platt (1999: 281), suggests the Renaissance theatre as another location of deliberative rhetoric: a place where audiences could listen to and deliberate on dialogues, as speeches in form and forum might have been similar to those of the ancient forbearers. The didactic function – to teach the audience how to be better citizens (hence, also to teach the interpersonal, experiential, and textual potentials of vocatives) – is therefore of crucial importance. We are not only reminded of the deictic potential of the vocative, but, on the performance level, the vocative in Shakespeare is rhetorical, and a Protean marker that bespeaks the interpersonal, experiential, and textual function of vocatives. The rhetorical meanings of vocatives, then, may be equally shifting, scheming, instructing, harming, entertaining, self- and other constructing, or manipulating. Erasmus’s claim that “Human beings are not born, but fashioned” (in Platt 1999: 287) is a further construction of that idea. Notice also that another historical dimension is crucial in the attempt to entertain the audience by means of creative, ornamented, clothed, scheming, forceful, dramatic, and metaphoric vocatives: “[t]he instability of the language was to be revelled in” (Platt 1999: 285). Bassanio’s speech, for example, before he ultimately chooses the casket, renounces outward shows while still observing that the world is “deceived with ornament” (MV 3.2.74). While reading, he also addresses the audience as “You that choose not by the view” (MV 3.2.131f.). Pretending to comply with the tradition of Plato – non-ornamental and non-deceiving speech – Bassanio uses the personal pronoun you as EPITHET-vocative and further modifies it. However, the dispositio of this speech fundamentally deviates from what is to follow as his speech gets more ornamented and is turned into an ornamented speech against ornament.


Mention is made of the intertextual historical echoes that exist in Falstaff ’s addresses of Hal as prince and majesty (1H4 1.2.17, 2.2.40 or 2.4.138), because it alludes to the address practice in Hoccleve’s ([1411–12] 1999) Regiment of Princes and the historical Richard’s II linguistic identity constructions by means of address forms such as prince and majesty (Saul 1995: 836). Their uses may have served as a subtle criticism of Hal’s reliance on rhetorical bombast, his arrogance and his falling out of love, which the audience would have been able to notice. The performative share of Shakespearean vocatives in entertaining the audience is also evident in Puck’s poetic and rhyming “Captain of our fairy band, / Helena is here at hand” (MND 3.2.110f.), as it alludes to the audience’s aesthetic senses. Demetrius’s awakening after having been incensed by Oberon’s love-drink is equally humorous. At the sight of Helena, he, seemingly uncertain whether Helena is a woman or a goddess, equally exclaims with rhetorical pathos: “O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! / To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne” (MND 3.2.137f.). Notice the enumeration of five highly ambitious, rhetorically beautiful and praising vocatives from the metaphysical, and the rhyming of divine and the in Early Modern England archaic Middle English eyne. In cooccurrence, recourse to the metaphysical is to set Helen further apart. In addition, the enumeration of vocatives in “To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne,” also accompanies a highly decorous anticipation of Son. 18.1: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day.” In strong contrast to this wooing stands Helena’s forceful, yet equally funny, condemnation of the lovers. She also draws on the metaphysical to construe negative positions of her addressees: “O spite, O hell, I see you are all bent / To set against me for your merriment” (MND 3.2.145f.). The comic confusion reaches its peak when Hermia initiates an attack on Helena. A high proliferation of creative, face-threatening and somewhat brutal vocatives not only alludes to the extremity of a female exchange of witty onslaught, but also to the riotous tension that is construed through Hermia’s disgust with Helena’s alleged betrayal of their friendship. While Hermia attacks Helena via recourse to three vocatives – one from the field of arts and leisure, one from nature, and the last from legal terminology – Helena uses two EPITHETs. Yet, all allude to the disparity between appearance and reality and as such create comic effect. Hermia’s “You juggler! You canker-blossom! / You thief of love” (MND 3.2.282f.) describes Helena as a trickster-figure and a worm that cankers blossom. Helena’s “Fie, fie, you counterfeit! you puppet, you!” (MND 3.2.288) positions Hermia as a false, forged, and childlike girl. The fact that these highly emotional and face-threatening vocatives are uttered by angry women, who are also non-compliant with the constraints of social decorum, renders the entire situation even more comic and may lead to discussion about gender-specific vocative usage. Both female characters choose a far more bloomy and creative language that is in essence emotional as well. These characteristics have already been observed with regard to Anne, Margaret and Elizabeth in R3. Within this framework, irony and banter also entertain the audience. When Demetrius, Lysander, and Theseus somewhat boisterously praise Bottom and Quince with “well, roared, lion! Well run, Thisby! Well shone, Moon” (MND 5.1.265–67), their fictional identities as players of the lion, the moon, and of Thisbe are ironically construed on purpose because of their enormous performative achievements as actors.


Antonio’s attack on Claudio in response to the latter’s arrogant, juvenile, and immature belief in Hero’s infidelity certainly conveys funny and entertaining overtones due to the extremity, quickness, and repetitive intensity by which the vocatives are uttered, “Thou dissembler thou” (Ado 5.1.53) and “Boys, Apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops” (Ado 5.1.91). The semantics of the EPITHET vocatives Braggarts and milksops, the generic term boys, the vocative denoting natural phenomena apes, and the personal name Jack create Don Pedro and Claudio as immature, verbose, insincere, and socially degenerated characters. Likewise, Antonio’s emotional rage and his somewhat overdone senile attack certainly transfer highly amusing overtones. Don Pedro’s comment on them in “We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth” (Ado 5.1.115f.) ironically illustrates this entertaining effect, but also adds an immediate more serious aftertaste to Don Pedro’s and Claudio’s arrogance and superficiality. Accordingly, Benedick, like Antonio and Leonato, is finally convinced of Hero’s innocence. When he, a little further into the scene, addresses Claudio as “my lord Lack-beard” (Ado 5.1.192), the Shakespearean coinage Lack-beard, in correlation with the conventional term is a witty and comic EPITHET. However, even though Benedick is still acting with dignity and ignores his friends’ raillery at his love for Beatrice, his subtly stinging reproof carries other meanings than those of entertainment alone. The density involved in the realisation of the vocative as NG, Lackbeard and its syntagmatic collision with the conventional term lord, allow to elaborate on the amusing elements, the vitality, the spirit, the charm, and the linguistic as well as communicative or situational competence of this compound vocative. One may also reflect upon the more serious and aggressive, and less appreciative dimensions of what is implied. As a metaphor, Lackbeard serves as a condensed agent of Claudio’s lack of maturity, since only men wearing beards exemplify their age’s wise maturity. As such, this positioning of Claudio also alludes to Cleopatra’s comment on Caesar as “scarce-bearded Caesar” (Ant. 1.1.21). Here the banter-like and gentle vocative exchanges do no longer seem over-assertive colourings, but are also indicative of the gloom and grief of Act 4 that is about to pass with a lesson for Claudio and Don Pedro. Hamlet’s “Madam, how like you this play?” (Ham. 3.2.229) sparkles for its precision and irony, and complies with social decorum likewise. However, the independence of spirit by which Hamlet at least pretends to be in secure possession of appropriate rhetoric also alludes to the farce that is involved in the entire question, as Hamlet has just indicated to his mother that he is aware of Claudius’s murder. Trinculo and Stephano constantly demean Caliban as monster (Tmp. 4.1.196–254). In addition, an extensive variety of verbal degradations (with constant reference to vocatives as natural phenomena), including fins, fish, scales, tortoises, shells, fur, skin diseases, floppy puppy ears clearly dominates their address patterns. This way of positioning may seem appropriate, highly creative or funny to that kind of audience in whose eyes (like Prospero’s and Miranda’s) Caliban is unalterably the other (see also photograph 1 in this chapter). Yet, these identity constructions also carry an element of assumed and appropriated racism that results from Stephano and Trinculo’s drunkenness and from their own acculturation into specific social structures. In turn, Caliban’s resentment of his master is – among others – evident by his plot with Stephano and Trinculo. Yet, that this slave seeks more to be liberated from his present master than from slavery in general is evi-


dent in the fact that he shows no reluctance (until Act 5, Scene 1 in Tmp.) to serve King Stephano (Tmp. 3.2.22). The language he uses to construe Stephano’s superiority is surely indicative of the language he has been taught. Hence, it is marked by a compliance with social decorum. His addresses to the drunk jester and butler as “thy honor” (Tmp. 3.2.58), for example, heighten the degree of comedy, but also reinforce the tragic element that is involved in assimilation and racism. In the scene of verbal onslaught and superficiality of feeling between Richard and Anne in R3, Richard’s feigned courtesy and wooing – another dimension of his rhetorical bravura – alternates with Anne’s whole-hearted hostility and disgust. Anne makes diverse diabolical attacks upon Richard, which are mostly vocatively construed (for example, R3 1.2.49). Like Margaret in Act 1 Scene 3 and Act 4 Scene 4, she further invokes Richard’s own creation of an anti-Christ. Richard diametrically opposes this construal by positioning her as a God-like figure. As such, his superior and awe-inspiring command of rhetoric and his cleverness gain ascendancy over her. This brilliance not only entertains the audience, but almost attracts it, simply because, we, as spectators, admire his persuasive linguistic techniques, although we know that what he does is monstrous. Even though we cannot accept Richard’s deformity too easily at face-value, his ability “to make us admire him” is stunning (Hammond ed. 1997: 105). When he tries to woo Lady Anne, whose husband he has killed, one exchange is especially indicative of his immense self-confidence, his command of temper and manipulating that of others, and his linguistic vitality. Richard’s “Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a women, / Of these supposed crimes, to give me leave, / By circumstance, but to acquit myself ” (R3 1.2.75–77) is neatly retorted by Lady Anne as “Vouchsafe, diffus’d infection of [a] man, / Of these known evils, but to give me leave, / By circumstance, [t’accuse] thy cursed self ” (R3 1.2.78–80). Despite the parallel structure of both EPITHET vocative and surrounding clause (stichomythia), Richard’s stubborn and self-confident rhetorical excellence marks this exchange. He offers to defend himself in a legal manner, while Anne can only neatly respond to it in moral and religious terms that his known evils may be denounced against him. Notice that he, again, construes her God-like character by means of vocatives while she uses this vocative to describe him as a poison, a disease. Hence, the constant to-and-fro from civilisation and god-like status to a deconstruction into the world of the devil and evil nature is devastatingly created and reflected by means of vocatives. Richard’s verbal bombast and pomposity seems to be especially effective when he encounters female verbal vocative attacks. Margaret’s feverish curse consists of animal and EPITHET vocatives as well as of metaphysical terms used vocatively: “Thou elvish-mark’d, abortive, rooting hog, / Thou that was seal’d in thy nativity / Thou slave of Nature, and the son of hell; / Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb, / Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins, / Thou rag of honour, thou detested” (R3 1.3.227–32). These are effectively but brutally and ironically outwitted by Richard with a simple “Margaret” (R3 1.3.233), which she, in turn, can only copy and exclaim as “Richard!” (R3 1.3.233). Richard’s habitual vocative duplicities and Margaret’s constant misuse devalue the name of God, make heaven a hell, and also unsettle the linguistic and semantic foundations of morality and decorum and of conventional meaning. The rapidity with which these sequences are spoken even further emphasises the verbal effects of these vocatives, and as such, their emotive quality


becomes obvious. Similar strategies are visible in one of Richard’s addresses to Elizabeth when he woes her daughter. His “You mock me, madam” (R3 4.4.284) in response to Elizabeth’s sarcastic narration of Richard’s evil character and her claim that Richard’s actions belie his noble words are again brutally (but surely rhetorically brilliantly) outwitted by Richard’s use of just these allegedly very noble words. Richard’s effective insertions of vocatives referring to his family relationship with his brother Clarence as “Brother, good day. What means this armed guard / That waits upon your grace?” (R3 1.1.42f.) are functioning as adjacency pairs to initiate the conversation. The initial term of family relationship and the EPITHET your grace reflect, both in their quantity and their over-done quality, alternating intimacy and social decorum and the hypocritical greeting of his brother. Richard continues to use this address pattern when using the vocative my lord, while Clarence movingly addresses him with the intimate, serious, and personal vocative “Richard” (R3 1.1.52). Moving outside the corpus, one should mention Armado’s use of overdone and surely comic vocatives for Moth in “my tender juvenal” (LLL 1.2.12), and Holofernes’ attack at him as “thou consonant,” furthering the verbal trick that has been played on Armado as “a man of fire-new words fashion’s own knight” (LLL 1.2.178). When in TN, Sir Andrew describes himself as “a great eater of beef ” and that that this would do “harm” to his wit (TN 1.3.85f.), he not only testifies the knowledge of mad-cow-disease at the time when Shakespeare was writing, but also gives reason why Sir Toby and Maria ironically construe him. Viola, disguised as Cesario, needs to perform Orsino’s ardent declaration of love in front of Olivia. Shakespeare ridicules the highly stylised and conventionalised formulaic expositio of a wooing speech. When Viola initiates her speech with an enumeration of praising epithets in the vocative EPITHET “Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty” (TN 1.5.170f.), she also yet immediately interrupts this bliss of address terms with a question about Olivia’s true identity. She exclaims that “It would be loath to cast away my speech” (TN 1.5.173f.), if Olivia were not the woman for whom the wooing speech was intended. This statement questions the alleged truth of Orsino’s woe and the real character of stylised rhetorical vocatives in general. No doubt, however, the entertaining vitality and high spirit remains. Somehow, these reactions foreshadow the comic absurdity in Malvolio’s yellow-stocking show, which is verbally enriched by “sweet lady, ho” (TN 3.4.117) and “Ay, sweet heart, and I’ll come to thee” (TN 3.4.30f.). Later, Sir Toby construes him as “chuck” and “Bawcock” (TN 3.4.112).

6.4 Stirring up emotions: vocatives as addresses to the recipient The potential of vocatives for stirring up the recipients’ emotions is created in Clarence’s attempt at preventing the murderers from executing him. Even though Richard has warned them that “Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps / May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him” (R3 1.3.347f.), the murderers momentarily seem to give in to Clarence’s emotionality. Clarence’s vocative usage plays a crucial role. While he movingly establishes initial in-group identity when he uses the EPITHET in “Wherein, my friends, have I offended you” (R3 1.4.177), he then switches vocatives to “erroneous vassals” (R3 1.4.195)


and accompanies this vocative with numerous scriptural and liturgical parallels. The religious register is abandoned in favour of several Os of lament (1H4 1.4.216, 224) that serve as interjections.8 Later, Clarence switches again to a moving finale in “O sirs, consider” (R3 1.4.254) and “My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks. / O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, / Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress. / A begging prince, what beggar pities not” (R3 1.4.263–67). Notice the touching switch from the conventional term to the EPITHET “my friend” (R3 1.4.263) and his own heart-breaking self-reference as “a begging prince” (R3 1.4.267), which in their entirety constitute a mighty and apt farewell of Clarence.9 These vocatives are also an address to the audience to further mark the murderers’ wrongdoings. An in-depth analysis of some passages form Tit. will further enhance the emotive quality of vocatives in performance. In Act 3 of Tit., Titus intends to stand bail for his sons and pleads the tribunes for their release. Marcus has just discovered Lavinia’s mutilated body. Marcus, Titus, and Lucius’s son are resolved to take revenge after they have been presented with the heads of Titus’s sons even though, with the help of Aaron, Titus has made the sacrifice demanded by Saturninus to chop off his hand. Tit. is often described as the epitome of a Senecan revenge tragedy (Bate ed. 2002: 29f.), which was based more on declamation than on action: the expression of emotion in elaborate rhetorical form was its very life-blood. Bate points out that “Senecanism in its broader sense is a key to the rhetoric of the drama” (Bate ed. 2002: 29), with two themes exercising a deep influence on Titus in particular. Death is a release into rest which is not to be feared and a wise man has an inner stability that makes him immune to the blows of fortune. Seneca’s philosophical idea of submission to the will of the universe is skilfully combined with Seneca’s tragic scene of anagnorisis, of terrible recognition (Bate ed. 2002: 29f.). Typically, the hero of Senecan tragedy undergoes an explosion of passion (furor), which elicits, on the one hand, grief and lamentation, and, on the other hand, consolation in the wisdom of stoic philosophy. In terms of language, Bate talks about controlled rhetoric, the balance of the lines, the doublings and formal repetitions (Bate ed. 2002: 32). Furthermore, rhetorical tragedy proposes that humankind, even in the greatest extremity, is capable of something other than the howl of the wounded animal. As such, Renaissance man is rhetorical man, whose repertoire of formal linguistic structures and accompanying physical gestures is a way of ordering the chaos of experience. It is investigated whether the vocatives used in this scene are another rhetorical means of construing the Senecan image, whether they are controlled or rather formal, or whether it is rather a trigger to something else. If we refer Bate’s description of the Senecan image to Titus’s address pattern of the first two acts, we can see that especially the high number of conventional terms he uses construe this highly stylised, formal image of a man of honour and decorum. In Act 3, the functional quality of Titus’s address forms and that of others change. Two vocatives from that scene may serve as a ‘leitmotif ’ for the experiential and interpersonal meanings that are transferred. One is Lucius’s farewell to his father in “Farewell, Andronicus, my noble 8.

These may also be interpreted as vocative addresses – here, to raise pity, empathy, and help.

9. As other examples of the vocatives’ potential for emotion can serve Kent’s moving goodbye to Cordelia and Cleopatra’s beautiful “Husband, I come.” (Ant. 5.2.286), when she is about to die.


father, / The woefull’st man that ever liv’d in Rome” (Tit. 3.1.288–89), the other is Titus’s positioning of Lavinia as “Thou map of woe that thus dost talk in signs! / When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, / Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still” (Tit. 3.2.12–14). Both vocatives echo the full title of the play “The Most Lamentable Roman Tragedy of Titus Andronicus,” as the original sense of lamentable is “Full of or expressing sorrow or grief ” (OED A.1.). Even though an audience will not consciously be able to perceive the relevance of quantitative vocative figures to the creation of mood and attitude in this act, the in-depth analysis will reveal why the vocative choice and quantity contribute highly to the grief, passion, and disparity of this scene. To begin with, in contrast with the preceding and following acts, Act 3 contains few conventional terms. Furthermore, considering the shortness of this act, the number of personal names is very high as is the number of generic terms. There are only thirteen conventional vocatives, which mostly occur at the beginning of Act 3, Scene2, but 35 personal names. If one generally considers generic names, EPITHETs, vocatives referring to natural phenomena and specialised fields to be more interpersonally loaded, emotive, appellative, and conative, again, the extent to which vocatives in this scene construe contexts and meanings becomes obvious. The difference in address behaviour is also particularly relevant in Titus’s address to Marcus and to Lavinia. Titus addresses Marcus by means of personal names and kinship terminology only, while earlier he has also used the conventional term tribune. While Titus’s address to Lavinia is still characterised by personal name vocatives (as one direct address in Act 1), in Act 3 (after he has learned about her destiny and seems to be resolved to scheme revenge), however, the number of vocatives for Lavinia proliferates extensively. Looking at the modification of vocatives, one can discern that fewer of the terms are modified, but if vocatives receive an amplifying epithet, the adjectives used mostly highlight the interpersonal even more, as we see in reverend, gentle-aged, noble, grave, and my gracious. The position of vocatives in the clause also displays revealing data: 46 initial, that is, often pleading, vocatives surpass the number of 15 middle vocatives, and 16 final vocatives. Imperatives and declaratives surpass the number of questions. When speech moves are considered, the imperatives are mostly indirect requests rather than clear orders, and declaratives can be considered promises or mild suggestions as well as informatives, which also contribute to the moving, pleading and desperate atmosphere of the entire scene. The peculiar distributions of parameters that are relevant to a detailed investigation of vocatives allow the following conclusions. As if most characters in this scene were going back to the roots or to the bare necessity of speech, highly stylised rhetoric has given way to intensive, emotional, emotive, and appealing vocatives that interpersonally function as consolidation, alleviation, encouragement and indication of great passion and grief – all these features are either consciously or subconsciously transferred to the recipient. However, while Marcus still uses the voice of decorum, Titus’s language becomes obsessive, evocative, and provocative in a different sense. Marcus’s poetical address to Lavinia corresponds to his lament over Lavinia’s deformity. His language remains more than intact. But as the decorum of Roman honour disintegrates, the decorum of dramatic expectation do as well: for Titus’s use of vocatives, the expressions of grief, and also of empathy as well


as of a growing determination for revenge prevail. Titus’s use of vocatives is no longer ritual or stylised, but can be described as self-conscious performance, as the expression of emotion by means of vocative. It has a highly elaborate rhetorical form. It seems as if he is close to his explosion (furor and breakdown at the same time), before he plots his revenge. If we refer this use of language to the performative aspects of vocatives – in their conative character addressed to the audience – notice that these are expression of an effort to realise a sight that “taxes to the utmost the powers of understanding and utterance” (Bate 2002: 9). As such, the vocatives move, relieve, stir up emotions, provoke, and evoke. At the beginning of Tit. 3.1, we get a final glimpse of Titus’s habitus as exemplified by his sense of honour and of social decorum. The vocative appears in middle position of a declarative, as he addresses the tribunes as if they were judges in order to plead for his sons’ release and his own imprisonment (Tit. 3.1.12). His uses of the deferential vocatives “O reverend tribunes” and “O gentle, aged men” (Tit. 3.1.23) are not only parallel in structure and in high style, but also in the level of grief that is involved. Yet, Titus’s heartmoving plea is accompanied by the creation of space as he even “lieth down” (Evans ed. 1997: 1081, see stage-directions on Tit. 3.1.12) and remains in this position even when the tribunes have already left the stage. Hence, the vocatives’ space-creating function in performance becomes obvious. Titus’s lying renders the upgrading and deferential vocatives even more important, as he needs to look up to express them to the tribunes. Although Lucius, explicitly positioning Titus both socially and personally superior in “O noble father you lament in vain” (Tit. 3.1.27), and later in “My gracious lord” (Tit. 3.1.32), verbally lifts him up, Titus retains this position while the words are spoken. Hence, despite Titus’s knowledge of the departure of the tribunes, the tragic dimensions are reinforced because Titus is still lying. The tragic interconnection between the expression of vocatives and paralinguistic gestures and movements becomes even more apparent in his highly poetic identification with and personification of the “earth.” Titus’s loss of power and honour, his Lear-like near-insanity, and his search for consolation are construed in “O earth, I will befriend thee” (Tit. 3.1.16). Notice another creation of space, both performative and symbolical, by means of vocative. Titus, still lying, orients himself further downwards when a conciliatory recourse is made to the element earth rather than, for example, to the gods. The emotive quality of this vocative is thought-provoking. While human secular authorities are in commanding position, Titus is below the stage figuring the underworld, on the verge of allying with the dark. Titus is still lying when Lucius announces that he has nobly agreed to the tribunes’ suggestion that they release his sons if he leaves Rome. Titus, only then rising, cynically exclaims: “O happy man, they have befriended thee! / Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive / That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers” (Tit. 3.1.52f.). By means of this initial vocative he echoes not only his own address to the earth, but also creates space and interpersonal contact with the audience. Even though on the communicative level between actor-actor his recourse to the basic generic term man is authoritative, degrading, and admonishing, Titus expresses exactly what the audience is thinking, foolish Lucius, and as such allies with them. The cynicism with which he does so is also reinforced by another occurrence of the O of lament and the fact that this collocation O happy man occurs only once in the corpus. In order to withdraw from implicature and indirectness, Titus chooses


a more cooperative, yet also more face-threatening vocative when he amplifies Lucius’s personal name by the epithet foolish referring to wanting, humble, but also ridiculous. The willing deconstruction of the classic binary opposition between wilderness and civilisation links Lucius to it and reverberates Albany’s attack of Goneril and Regan as “Tigers, not daughters” (Lr. 4.2.40). Titus uses vocatives of valour and patriotism. This changes him into the identity construction of a grieving man – a register that is characteristic of him and Marcus (while as others, such as Chiron and Demetrius introduce the comic element). This strategy becomes also obvious in his address to Lavinia, but begins with his cynicism for Lucius. In Act 3, Titus vocative-address to Lavinia is highest in number (15 vocatives in Act 3, eight in Act 4 and two in Act 5). Mention has already been made of the higher number of personal names in this act referring to her and in general. Of the fifteen vocatives, two are EPITHETs, three generic terms, one refers to a part of her body, seven are personal names, and one military term occurs. The clarity by which Titus initiates the address to her is outstanding. Only later does he refer to concepts that are more abstract. As one example of an initial personal name usage can serve “Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand / Hath made thee handless in they father’s sight” (Tit. 3.1.66f.). Titus’s usage of Lavinia’s personal name between imperative and interrogative not only introduces his relentless play on the word hand, but partly transfers an authoritative tone that is further enhanced by the intonational break following both speak and Lavinia, which makes the vocative stand out. It is noticeable that despite Lavinia’s dreadful sight, Titus tries hard to regain his conscience and to identify her at first as Lavinia rather than to construe any other identity (“thou map of woe” only occurs much later). Hence, again, the audience’s terror at Lavinia’s brutal mutilation is not only alleviated by this simple, yet straightforward, and ingratiating vocative, but also forcefully re-established due to the harm that has been done to her. The following vocative is also a direct personal name, but this time Titus tries to establish Lavinia’s former identity even more, for himself, Lavinia, and the audience, when he appeals to her by an initial vocative in “Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips / Or make some sign how I may do thee ease” (Tit. 3.1.120f.). By means of the epithet gentle, he refers to her social and personal qualities and as such further enhances the interpersonal force of the vocatives, which tunes the audience into the heart-breaking mood of the entire scene. The vocative co-refers with the possessive pronoun thy. In correlation, both maximise the empathy and encouragement, yet also the masochistic and disparaging elements of both speaker and hearer. One may have the impression of a stylistic clash in the juxtaposition of gentle and a personal name. Yet, in the corpus under investigation, gentle is not only a frequent epithet (94 times), but it also collocates a little more frequently with personal names (28 times) than with conventional terms (24 times), which leads to the conclusion that the collocation of two stylistic and emotive registers were popular with Shakespeare to express what has been described here. Notice also that the vocative initiates an optative in which Titus suggests to express his love by kissing her lips. Again, the vocative is to construe, alleviate, and to reinforce a visual image that is neither bearable to Titus and Marcus nor to the audience. Hence, Titus’s overdone and expressively emotive vocative evokes pity and transfers alleviation likewise. In this respect, notice also that in Lucius’s address, which he utters after having caught sight of Lavinia, emotions, empathy, and an inclusive emphasis


on kinship wins over reference to social structure. His use of the initial vocative in “Sweet father, cease your tears, for at your grief, / See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps” (Tit. 3.1.136f.) illustrates this thesis. Titus’s “Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot / Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, / For thou, poor man, has drowned it with thine own” (Tit. 3.1.139–41) occurs in answer to Marcus’s “good Titus, dry thine eyes” (Tit. 3.1.138). Notice the high proliferation of clear and emotional vocative terms and the lack of reference to previously expressed constructions of Marcus’s social position – personal names, a term referring to family relationship, and a generic term – and the witty play on the common technique of beginning a line with a spondee formed by a repeated monosyllable. When both are at their most intimate moment, Aaron brutally interrupts their suffering with a disgusting, yet officially declared address: “Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor / Sends thee this word – that, if thou love thy sons, / Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand / And send it to the King” (Tit. 3.1.150–54). The frivolity and brutal violence of inserting the epithet old in “old Titus” in order to implicate that his age could do without a hand, and the even more impious attack at “any one of you” indirectly referring to Lavinia, who, horribly enough, has already been disposed of both her hands, are yet two other examples of his deceiving rhetoric and his fiendish character. These tendencies are even further reinforced if we take into account that his seemingly general address “Or any one of you” (Tit. 3.1.153) could even be directed at the audience. Hence, the emotive, evocative, and pro-vocative potentials of this address form represent a transduction of the disintegrating society, of rape, murder, mutilation, and cannibalism to the audience. Titus’s imperative, which functions like an undertaking, “Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand” (Tit. 3.1.193), hardly allows us to bear the brutality and farce of the entire phrase, especially if we imagine that Titus hands him his hand.10 The scene becomes vivid in Photograph 1 from the 1987-production by Deborah Warner, depicting Brian Cox and Peter Polycarpou. The utterance “Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand” (Tit. 3.1.194) is one of the most heart-moving, absurd and grotesque versions of human destruction. It portrays the tragic dimension of Titus’s belief in honour and Aaron’s capacity to prevail the image of good Aaron. In modern editions, the Moor’s name is commonly spelled Aaron (see Bate ed. 2002: 124). In the quarto text, it is always Aron. Shakespeare’s choice of the name tallies with the pre-Christian evil. Entries from three EMEDD dictionaries from 1587 to 1611 make Aron the name of a very common English plant, never the name of Moses’ brother Aaron in the Old Testament, the usual critical gloss (cf. Bate ed. 2002: 125). A search for Aron yields the following results. According to Lancashire (1997: 19), John Gerarde’s Herball provides us with some detail that is highly crucial to Aaron in the Shakespeare play, because it describes it as “A small member of the family of dragons, this plant has spots of diuers colors

10. In John Barton’s production of Tit. at Stratford (1981), he omits the prelude to this utterance. Munkelt (1987: 217) argues that he “is almost certain to arouse laughter in the audience”. She also points out that with these omissions, “he encourages laughter in the wrong place” (Munkelt 1987: 217).


like those of the adder: Arum or Cockow pint hath freat, large, smooth, shining, sharpe, pointed leaues, spotted here and there with blickish spots, mixed with some blewnesse.” Yet, even though Lancashire’s (1997: 17) observation is certainly valuable, it should not be forgotten that Aaron is always presented as “Aaron, the Moor” or “the Moor.” In other words, great emphasis is placed on the negative connotations of his status as a Moor. The name pint is the diminutive of pintle or penis, a sexual allusion owing to the shape of the pestil rising within the plant’s hose. Lancashire (1997: 20) points out that the Moor shares many features of this natural medicine. Called “the devil” (Tit. 5.1.145) like the dragon plant, and compared to the adder (Tit. 2.3.35). Witnessing this performance of evil and the disintegration of civilisation, one is about to truly and humanly indulge in the same hysteria Titus will display a few lines further down. Titus’s “Ha, ha, ha!” (Tit. 3.1.264) is the play’s pivotal decorum uttered when the two heads and his own hand are presented to him, even though dramatic decorum dictates that one should rant and storm. Jonathan Bate (ed. 2002: 11), without explicitly mentioning the audience-addressing potential of vocatives, renders vivid the emotive correlation between the spoken vocative and its visualisation, which again refers to the vocatives’ performative potential for creating space: At the end of the scene, he [Titus] and Marcus carry off the heads; but, so as to be sure that Lavinia is not left out, he says ‘Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.’ This is a visual joke for it shows that she has become the hand made of Revenge […] If we laugh at Titus’s line, as the audience in all three productions I have seen certainly did, we are sharing in Titus’s experience. By laughing with him, we also participate in what he calls ‘the sympathy of woe’ (Bate ed. 2002:11).

Hence, the action and the vocative sweet wench somewhat blur the conventional distinction between comedy and tragedy, and the aesthetic and the monstrous. The entire scene materialises, and the hand is no longer an icon of political agency. The vocative sweet wench in its contrast with the visual, directs our attention both to the object, to the characters on stage, and to the verbal. It is precisely such moments that draw the most critical attention. What is dramatised in the text becomes real during the performance. The text acts itself out and is acted, performed in its very essence. As spectators, we can be seen as performing these vocatives, as participating in these scenes of wonder, disgust, violence, and pity. In the banquet-scene, Titus movingly describes Lavinia as “Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs, / When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating / Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still” (Tit. 3.2.12–14). The noun map is used figuratively for a detailed representation in epitome, and, moreover, it is also a specially coded signifier that talks in signs (OED 1.). Serpieri (in Bate 2002: 206) notes that maps were particularly associated with the Elizabethan charting of hitherto undiscovered new worlds. Here, Lavinia is an epitome of previously unimagined woe.

Photograph 1



From this interplay between the vocatives as emotive and conative markers, other results can be inferred. The transduction from the verbally uttered vocative to the visual may certainly involve crucial differences that depend on the performative techniques, changing stages, aims and impulses inherent in the process of transferring the text into a prompt book or screen-play. However, the address to the recipient is prominent in a crucial emotive and conative way: to move, to please, to entertain, to stir up emotions, to teach, or to shock. It is the vocatives’ idea of mobility and shape-shifting that foregrounds its performative potentials. A capacity to construe and to mirror a variety of states, shapes, meanings, which may be exchanges, altered or discarded. At the same time, Shakespearean vocatives’ ability to relate characters and audience to each other establishes the participation in and the acting out of larger elements in their dramatic world and in the moment of the actual production. The partiality of writing is always enhanced by the visualisation of an utterance or a vocative. Hence, illustrating the multi-dimensionality of visualised vocatives can best be concluded with a description of some visualisation of vocatives from actual performances.11 For example, a photograph of a Cym. performance from 1962 depicting Vanessa Redgrave and Eric Porter, which is printed in Parson and Mason (2000: 64), shows Jachimo uttering the following sequence: “O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her. And be her sense / But as her monument, Thus in a chapel lying” (Cym. 2.2.31f.). Additional ontologies and meanings are construed because the visualisation of “O sleep, thou ape of death” can be read as a personification of Imogen asleep. The vocative is directed to her, as can be seen from Jachimo’s paralinguistic gesture of his hand, and his body movements. A visualisation of Claudius’s “But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son – A little more than kin, and less than kind! How is it that the clouds still hang on you?” (Ham. 1.2.64–66) can be seen in a photograph printed in Parson and Mason (2000: 73) and taken from a performance of Ham. by the Royal Shakespeare Company at Stratford in 1989. It shows how paralinguistic gestures and mime add to the meaning of the vocative. Claudius’s ingratiating embrace of Hamlet with his right arm collides with his arrogant turn of his face to the audience rather than to Hamlet. Notice also Hamlet’s rejecting posture with his face down, and one hand in his pocket. Gertrude’s seated position and her admiring turn towards Claudius and/or expecting glance at Hamlet are equally noteworthy. Lear’s heart-moving, but, by no means self-reflexive portrayal of his self-pitying address to the gods in “You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, / As full of grief as age, wretched in both” (Lr. 2.4.272) is effectively construed in the photograph of Charles Laughton taken in 1969 and illustrated in Parson and Mason (2000: 113), as Lear’s face is directed upwards and has both a pleading and desperate mime. In Adrian Noble’s 1994 production of Mac. at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Macduff and his soldiers profess allegiance to Malcolm with “Hail, King of Scots.” A photograph from this scene, which is printed in Parson and Mason (2000: 128) is indicative of the official scene and their loyalty. Notice the green background of the stage, indicating hope and a better future. 11. It is beyond the scope to contextualise the referred to performances in terms of performance technique or traditions (see Wells 1997, Parson and Mason 2000).


The festive joy and banter can be literally perceived in Claudio’s “Prince, thou art sad, get thee a wife” (Ado 5.4.122), which is portrayed in a photograph from Parson and Mason (2000: 157). The intimacy between Emilia and Desdemona and Emilia’s belated loyalty become obvious in the photograph taken of the 1990 Trevor Nunn production of Othello at The Other Place in Stratford, which is printed in Parson and Mason (2000: 168). The visualisation of “What did thy song bode, lady?” (Oth. 5.2.246) exemplifies Emilia’s positioning of Desdemona as a beloved and highly appreciated woman of rank, and construes herself as a loving and faithful promulgator of Desdemona’s sincerity, even though her horrified mime also testifies to her own realisation of her offence in trusting Iago. Bevington (2002: 40) emphasises the same close friendship in the tragic context of male hostility. Here the usage of lady in final position is highly positive. Sam Mendes’ 1993 production of The Tempest at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford visualises Caliban’s identification with Stephano in a peculiar way in Photograph 2 and also illustrates the way Caliban is subdued by Stephano. The construction of Caliban’s identity as a monster is not only verbally continuously re-invigorated (see Tmp. Act 4, Scene 2), but Stephano is permanently wearing a sign saying “monster,” which reinforces the iconic and symbolic potential of the verbal vocative, as it construes the intense, fixed, and permanent habitus of Caliban as the other uncivilised barbarian. The ostentatious and insistent use of this sign is also an emotive marker directed at the audience, as the audience is constantly reminded of Caliban’s deformity, verbally through the constant use of the vocative “monster,” visually through the masque and other paralinguistic signs, mime, and gesture, and through the written text. This stigmatisation of Caliban as a monster should allude to the Nazi yellow star. Although it is impossible to evaluate the communicative, pragmatic and cultural competence of the audience at Shakespeare’s performances and today, and although the rapidity with which a play is performed will not always trigger conscious interpretations and meaning inference processed of vocatives, nevertheless, the quantity and quality with which specific images are constantly and systematically construed and reflected by vocatives allow the conclusion that vocatives in Shakespeare carry clearly emotive and conative functions that are addressed to the audience. The interpretation of the performative qualities of vocatives in Tit. has illustrated the interplay between the verbal itself and the transduction of the verbal into the visual. Hence, the quantity and quality of vocatives can also be explained via recourse to the performative aspect. If names are used to structure reality, then vocatives in Shakespeare serve both as icons and symbols.


Photograph 2


As such, the vocatives’ appellative function signals to the listener. Recalling Wiggins (2000: 30), who puts forward the idea that language functions for its own sake – to entertain, to please, to stir up emotions – then one needs to argue that the auditive and linguistic element is then further enhanced by a visualisation of the words (again this is idiosyncratic) in which, partly, language serves as an illusion. This is especially relevant to conventional terms, as they seem somewhat redundant, but also to those vocatives that represent an auditory emblem of the conflicts and harmonies in the plays (for example, Lackbeard). As such, vocatives and the plasticity of Early Modern worldviews afford us imaginative participation in understanding the meaning of a play and a vocative. Vocatives also have the function to relieve when the action does not correspond to words: here vocatives play an enormous role, either to further the illusion on the actor-actor level, while the audience is aware of this illusion, or even on the actor-audience level.

chapter 7

Conclusion

Horatio: O day and night, but this is wondrous strange: Hamlet: And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy (Ham. 1.5.172–175). Analogous to Horatio’s distorted feelings of the ghost’s mysterious appearance (and his wish to protect Hamlet from the stranger), the use of vocatives in Shakespeare to some has, more often than not, seemed to be equally “wondrous strange” (Ham. 1.5.172) or – to use an epithet entailed by Kopytko (1993a: 53) – unwieldy. Furthermore, similar to Horatio’s suggestion when he attempts to withdraw Hamlet from his preoccupations with the Ghost and his message, vocatives as a linguistic part of Shakespeare’s language have also frequently been neglected or fused with lines of interpretation that secure the known or the status quo. Hamlet, in contrast, not only understands that, despite his doubts, his revenge on his father’s murder, which the ghost has implanted into him, is crucial on his way to adulthood or to what is often called modern man. Yet, Hamlet also more generally implies two further, almost philosophical theoretical underpinnings that are also essential to this study. One is the application of the Christian ethic expressed in Matt. 25.35, “I was a stranger and you took me in,” to the analysis and interpretation of vocatives in Shakespeare. The other is the transference of Hamlet’s realisation that the Ghost’s appearance cannot be explained via recourse to Horatio’s and Hamlet’s present world view to the study of language and reality in general and the vocative in particular. All cannot be construed by means of just one theory or method and in addition, the vocative cannot be pinned down to one function alone: “There are more things in heaven and earth, […] / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hamlet’s advice “And therefore as a stranger give it welcome” (Ham. 1.5.73) bespeaks a trustful belief in the uncanny. This study quantitatively and qualitatively approaches the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare and from several theoretical and practical angles, similar to Hamlet’s explanation that things and relations cannot be explained by one philosophy alone. This study takes account of the complex interpersonal, experiential, textual, and purely linguistic features of vocatives, as is illustrated already by the definition of vocatives advanced. It fuses linguistic structural observation, intonation, and position with introductory ideas about function, when it says that vocatives are direct attitudinal adjunct-like forms of address, realised as nominal groups or as head alone; and that also, in Shakespeare, vocatives are optional in form, the morphological marker O may introduce them, and their position may be initial, middle, or final in the clause.


However, the status of vocatives in Shakespeare also requires a newly considered fusion of grammatical aspects with co(n)text and with the social in order to account for both structural and functional potentials, as is particularly visible in the analyses of my lord and sir vocatives. Theoretically and practically drawing on partly post-modern theories by, for example, Bakhtin (1981), Buber ([1962] 1994), Bourdieu (1977a, b, 1991, 1997a, b), Eco (1983, 1994a, b, c, [1962] 1996), and Halliday (1994, 1998, 2004), this study argues that the language of Shakespeare is dialogic, social, interactive, and contextual. Vocatives in Shakespeare always have to be analysed along the sphere of the we understood in Buber’s ([1962] 1994) sense, which then includes such factors as diverse as the contexts of production and reception, the contexts of the play, the immediate context, genre boundaries, social hierarchies etc. In other words, on the levels of micro-and macro-analyses, the I-You relationship, bespeaks a fundamental condition of the contextual potential and inter-subjectivity of vocatives in Shakespeare. This study argues that a fusion of theories from linguistic and literary criticism as well as cultural studies is necessary. This fusion is not intended to provide an ultimate interpretation of vocatives in Shakespeare because “theory’s value rests in the restricted but real promise of its assistance in reclaiming provisional knowledge in the face of impossibility” (Strohm 2000: 110). The vocatives in the excerpt from Ham. may also illustrate some foregrounded functional qualitative meanings of vocatives in Shakespeare. Horatio makes recourse to the cluster of natural phenomena O day and night. Together with the O of grief and distortion, he therewith expresses his emotional tension, as interacting characters in Shakespeare often construe high emotional intensity when these patterns, or speech genres (Bakhtin 1981: 276), or conversational styles (Tannen 1993), are used. The functional import of Horatio’s vocative choice is also highly marked in the context of his entire vocative scheming. Nowhere else does he use these expressions, and, in addition, for him, conventional terms surpass by far the number of other vocative clusters. As such, form and structure of the vocative and its initial position frame the illocutionary force of the utterance from a mere declarative into an indirect request. In turn, Hamlet’s vocative for Horatio is direct, though un-reciprocal, as he does not comply with Horatio’s lamenting and fearful tone. Hamlet’s in-group, though authoritative, use of Horatio’s personal name immediately disillusions the perlocutionary force of Horatio’s utterance and establishes his superior habitus. Even though he most frequently addresses Horatio with his personal name, the highest relative frequencies of Horatio’s personal name as vocative appear not only towards the end of the play, but also is a vocative form that is one of the highest in the personal name cluster (24 times). In other words, while in the first two acts and especially in Act 1, Scene 4, at their first meeting, the use of personal name alternates with friend, sir, fellow-student and gentlemen, the personal name vocative dominates the final acts, mainly alluding to Hamlet’s unlimited trust in his friend but also moving towards an expression of despair as well. Hence, reconsidering Bakhtin’s claims about words always being oriented towards the past and the present (Bakhtin 1981: 276f.), one may argue that Hamlet’s choice of form and the final position of the vocative as part of the rheme (Halliday 1994, 2004) are certainly marked and are more authoritative than the later vocatives. In addition, the crucial interpersonal and experiential roles

Chapter 7. Conclusion 447

of personal names as vocatives in the corpus also create complex meanings in context that cannot be restricted to either authority or in-group identity alone. The stylistic approach of this study emphasises and takes account of the interactive and social character of Shakespeare’s language, as the fusion of linguistics and literary criticism is interdisciplinary and seen as dialectically dependent. The approaches chosen for this analysis, which range from sociological, literary, philosophical, linguistic, and critical to semiotic approaches, are hospitable both to the theoretical concept of dialogue as social and interactive and to conversation as an actual practice, of which the vocative is certainly a part. In particular, as a form-to-function approach (Jacobs and Jucker 1995: 6), this study critically uses Halliday’s SFL and its three metafunctions of language – the textual, the interpersonal, and the experiential – as a heuristic tool for the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare. Halliday’s grammar, its theoretical background, despite its marginal treatment of the vocative, and the tripartite distinction of the functions of language interdependently mirror and create the vocative functions and meanings both on the micro- and macro-analytical level and can be fused with other socially-oriented theories and approaches. Due to the theoretical basis of this study, the vocative-definition and the quantity and quality of vocative forms, a complex scheme of analysis takes account of and construes purely linguistic, pragmatic, contextual, systemic-functional, interpersonal and other features and criteria. The grammar of vocatives as created and critically illuminated by means of Halliday’s SFL is a broadened grammatical approach to the construal and mirroring of experiential, interpersonal, and textual functions as well as meanings of vocatives and the new categorisation of the vocative corpus. Following Halliday’s rank-scale, Shakespearean vocative grammar is critically investigated below the clause, in the clause and beyond the clause. Below the clause, vocatives are realised by the structural potential of the nominal groups. Each constituent may assume a crucial role in the meaning inference process. This potential is interpersonal, textual and experiential so that Hallidays’s non-observance of these roles on the NG level does not hold for Shakespearean vocatives. In addition, other Early Modern idiosyncracies, such as the principle of ordering, need to be observed. In Kent’s “Good my lord, enter” (Lr. 3.4.1), the epithet precedes the deictic element my. However, here it does not suffice to explain the illocutionary effect of the epithet position as a means of insisting on leading Lear into the hovel. The structure and form of Kent’s vocative says much more about Kent himself: the repeated use of this vocative and its particular structure bespeaks, his deep loyalty. Cleopatra, pretending to follow Caesar to Rome, says farewell to Caesar with a final, “my master and my lord” (Ant. 5.2.589). The use of both my lord and master is clearly marked and alludes to the multifaceted status of my lord vocatives. While, with regard to Cleopatra’s address pattern, variations on the lord vocative have usually been reserved for Antony, master occurs only once when directed at Caesar. Hence, her habitus and her experiential allusion to Caesar’s higher social position and her creation of her loyalty to him are overdone by the doubling of two foregrounded vocatives. As such, the combination of two conventional vocatives by means of the connective and are only outward and superficial means of evoking Caesar’s interpersonal and experiential superiority. Especially the use of my lord is, in contrast to existing studies, highly multidimensional and interpersonally loaded. Cleopatra’s address to Caesar is also misleading, trapping, and ingratiating,


because she does not explicitly refer to Caesar by his personal name (even though this is the highest title one can give him), as she does Antony in her final moments. Therefore, even though Poynton’s (1996) emphasis on the interpersonal potential of the epithet in vocatives and on the high interpersonal force of amplified vocatives mostly holds, Cleopatra’s (explicit) omission of the interpersonal epithet here illustrates that the stylistic potential of a vocative also results from the NG’s entire force. Absence of an epithet, for example, is equally stylistic and effective. There are other single vocatives in Shakespeare transferring subtle positive interpersonal and experiential functions as well, even though, for example, Edgar’s use of the cant-term “zir” in Lr. 2.2.288 is only a fake example of temporary superficial politeness, which may be interpreted as Edgar’s final warning. At the same time, even though a variation on the most frequently occurring sir, zir is also indicative of the heterogeneous functional force of the sir address-pattern. In Lr. 1.4.112, the fool addresses Lear, for example, as sirrah and as nuncle. Some claim that sirrah is normally used by those in authority to address inferiors (e.g. U. Busse 2002: 119–123), but there are several examples in this corpus that contradict this claim. Nuncle, which is interpreted as a variant of “mine uncle” also carries more subtle meanings, as nuncle is only used by the fool who is a licensed jester and seems to be obliged to disregard rules of social decorum. The initial n could also be associated with n in nothing and never – words that reverberate in the play. Hence, the fool’s suggestion might also be “not uncle” (see Foakes ed. 1997: 197) to allude ironically but subtly to Lear’s sole preoccupation with himself and his fault in abandoning both Kent and Cordelia. The fool’s use of sirrah is both an in-group identity marker and a term of abuse. Lear’s behaviour has debased the royalty of his own character. Applying Halliday’s SFL (1994, 2004) to the vocatives as functioning in the clause, this study pioneers in claiming that the vocative as an adjunct needs to be analysed in the clause on all levels of SFL-analysis: the textual, the interpersonal, and the experiential. This approach is crucial to a further highlighting of the functional potential of the Shakespearean vocatives. In Shakespeare, the vocative not only works outside mood and residue but affects both by either being correlated to a constituent or by framing the speech move. This holds for vocatives occurring in declaratives, imperatives and interrogatives alike. In Act 2, Scene 2 of Lr., Lear’s personality is about to fall apart. As he slips back and forth from king to father and from commanding to tending, the dramatic tension is highly increased in his address to Gloucester, whom he has ordered to arrange a conversation with his daughter. After Gloucester has remarked that all he could do is convey a message and not give orders in the way Lear wants it, Lear’s inner turmoil and the fact that he cannot cope with the present situation are expressed in his reply to Gloucester, “Dost thou understand me, man” (Lr. 2.2.288). He puts the heat on Gloucester by choosing a downgrading, direct and brutal generic vocative: man. The vocative is part of the residue in this clause. In its final position, the vocative frames the illocutionary force of the utterance. Even though it is a question in outlook, the speech move is a threat and order. In addition, the vocative correlates with the subject thou, which is also highly emotive and, in this case, equally downgrading. As such, the interpersonal grammatical analysis of the vocative also alludes to concepts such as (non-) cooperation, pragmatic principles, speech act theory (Leech 1983, Yule 1996) and Toolan’s (2000) theory of speech moves. It shows the complex inter-


play between structure, form, and function. From an ergative point of view, Lear’s vocative is in final position of a mental clause, in which the addressee is the senser. Here, Lear emphasises the senser of the mental process and further expands it into the vocative man in his attempt to keep up appearances and to safeguard his authoritative position. Beyond the clause, the Shakespearean vocative is seen as both a lexical and a grammatical metaphor. This analysis stands in close correspondence with the investigation into vocatives in the clause and as a NG. As the vocative is realised as a NG, it can also be seen as an experiential nominalization, which then implies the possibility of rephrasing the vocative into a clause. What is the effect of these claims on the functional interpretation of vocatives? In Lr. 1.4.4–7, Kent addresses himself as “Now, banished Kent, / If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned / So may it come thy master whom thou lov’st / Shall find thee full of labours.” Identifying himself as banished Kent by means of a vocative, Kent likewise creates a new personality for himself. This assumed identity enables him to turn up in a disguise that remains impenetrable and allows him to give full expression to his true nature as Lear’s faithful follower. As a grammatical metaphor banished Kent can, for example, be rephrased into “Kent has been banished.” However, the realisation of this concept by means of a nominal group renders Kent’s position more permanent and fixed, while, at the same time, it reinforces his attempt to distance himself from the Lear-created position. The grammatical process that takes place is what Thompson (1996: 168) calls incapsulation – one of the two important functions of nominalisation. If we assume that a process has been rankshifted into a nominal group (that grammatically works as a vocative) this metaphoric shift constitutes another essential prerequisite for the inclusion of vocatives within the experiential metafunction, because it creates experience into wordings. Hence, the experiential function of vocatives is significant not only in respect to the grammar of vocatives in the clause and its co-referential status, but also in relation to seeing the vocative as a NG. The NG structure opens up the semogenic power of the vocative as NG and its potential for taxonomising. Hence, the transformation of experience into meaning and the re-mapping of semantics onto the lexical grammar – creating the flux of experience into configurations of semantic categories – have a value in people’s theory of living environment and meaning. The means of packaging compacting, condensing, and destillation (Halliday 1998: 200) are crucial to the interpersonal and experiential dimensions of discourse in Shakespeare. In the example quoted, it seems as if Kent were only “banished Kent.” The constant to-and-fro process between the allegedly opposing poles of interpersonal and experiential constitutes what makes the vocative a most complex but also compact element. On the one hand, the speaker sets up a very direct exchange with the listener, because he chooses the interpersonal element vocative as a direct address. Furthermore, a new ideology is brought into being and the interpersonal ideological import is obvious. On the other hand, the structural potential of the vocative, that is its mode of realisation as a nominal group, is experientially adding to the interpersonal dimension. It provides the speaker with a means of saying something about the listener (and also about himself) in a grammatically metaphorical way. The enpacking of meaning in a nominalization is clearly experiential in outlook as it enables the speaker to give the impression as if he were focussing on stable, fixed, compact and reality-construing ideas and positions (despite frequently involved deictic elements, like my and our, which


involve the speaker’s attitude and are hence interpersonal) by the use of a less evanescent grammar. The grammatical form as such is interpersonal, while the structural framework allows experiential reflections and the reinforcement of habitus. The potential for taxonomising is inherent in the grammar of the NG and therefore intrinsic to the structure of the vocative and its classification. As such, the structural organisation of the vocative as a nominal group is the grammatical starting point for the classification and quantitative analysis of vocatives. Within the database of Shakespearean vocatives, which collects all the material relevant to the analysis of Shakespearean vocatives, a new categorisation is realised. The categories, as the representation of the paradigmatic axis, attempt to define the core denotations of each group, by combining sense and contextual features of each vocative head. The variety of categories is built along the following criteria. The primary dividing line is that of name and non-name based vocatives. Non-name based vocatives are then further classified into terms that redirect attention to human features, terms that do not, and EPITHETS, which describe an inherent quality. Among the categories that redirect attention to human qualities are conventional terms, emotion / mind, thought, generic terms and kinship vocatives. Vocatives in Shakespeare which direct attention to non-human qualities are address forms referring to specialised fields, such as arts and leisure, legal, medical, metaphysical, military, and natural phenomena, such as clothing, food, furniture, nature, and parts of the body. The scheme of networks of options, as a realisation of Halliday’s “grammarian’s dream” (Halliday 1961: 247), draws the attention to the possibilities or choices of vocatives that link both lexis and grammar. Vocatives in Shakespeare are not peripheral or unwieldy. The variety of vocative clusters testifies that vocatives cannot be explained via recourse to a rigid social structure alone. The interplay of Shakespearean vocatives with the Early Modern cultural and sociolinguistic experience is multi-layered. First, they construe EModE socio-linguistic endeavours as in Shakespeare’s time the English lexicon increased enormously in quantity and quality. Furthermore, on the basis of Tillyard’s ([1943] 1973) statements about the Elizabethan world-picture, it is illustrated that even minerals, the animal kingdom, human beings and angels, the planets, the theory of the four humours and the elements that represent these four humours may be used vocatively. Another Early Modern key concept that is alluded to is the vocatives’ central role in achieving eloquence and copia verborum, hence, the role of rhetoric. Furthermore, Shakespeare deviates from the use of address terms in more standardised Early Modern English letters. Vocatives in Shakespeare are foregrounded against an outer and inner textual norm and also via recourse to Grice’s (1975), and its maxims. In addition, the concept of power and the idea of the vocative as an experiential marker are construed by means of Bourdieu’s habitus theory (1977a, b, 1997a, b) and his views on language and symbolic capital as well as by Foucault’s (1970) points of view on discourse and power. These include questions about how specific structures are construed, who is positioned at what place, how symbolic capital is construed and in what way these procedures are answered to. Symbolic capital, which includes prestige, appreciation as well as social acknowledgement of an individual (Bourdieu 2001: 213), can be gained by means of all other three types of capital Bourdieu mentions. Vocatives in Shakespeare attribute as well as accumulate symbolic


capital. In Shakespeare, the vocatives’ role bespeaks an underground struggle over power, winning ascendancy, and ideologies or habitus. As such, allegedly naturalised ideologies and macro-organisational vocative usages are highlighted as highly ideologically loaded. Belief systems and power are construed by vocatives in the actual co(n)texts of the plays, and the idea of power is in constant change, dynamic, and fluent. The quantitative analysis, as one component of the multi-dimensional approach to Shakespeare’s vocatives, reveals crucial synchronic, diachronic, generic, and content-related, or Early Modern context-construing features. The figures of relative frequency in each play alone render the vocative foregrounded, both in terms of foregrounding content and language and in terms of the higher-order techniques of deviation and parallelism. The average relative frequency amounts to the high number of 2.31. The tragedies show the highest average score, which is around 2.5. In the comedies, the average relative frequency amounts to 2.0. The figures for the histories amount to 2.4. If the quantitative results are more chronologically considered, the figures are reduced within the Elizabethan period (although the figures for Tit. are far above average) only to increase again following the year 1600. This observation corresponds to the generally held view (U. Busse 2002: 45–48) that the year 1600 constitutes a change in Shakespeare’s writing. These results also construe and may be seen as a response both to the change of playhouse from the Theatre to the Globe around 1599 and to a change in the audience’s taste from the verbal to the spectacle (Gurr 1996: 93). By way of qualitative vocative parameters and a set of dramatic conventions, tentative clues as to the questions of effect, function, and meaning construal of vocatives in Shakespeare in the tragedies are suggested and created. For example, in the tragedies, the vocatives labelled conventional always constitute the category that is most prominently represented and, as Cym. is a tragedy in F1, it correlates with the other tragedies in its depiction of a high number of conventional terms, but not in its general figures, so that it should be rather subsumed under the heading of romances. Therefore, the analysis of vocatives as measured against the background of Shakespeare’s plays as a whole by means of systematic computer-assisted investigation leads to a complex vocative database for the plays selected that serves as a corpus for further qualitative considerations and a base of comparison for other studies. In addition, it argues for the quantitative and qualitative importance of vocatives in Shakespeare, which is extended by a number of interesting quantitative observations concerning the etymology of the head terms of vocatives. For example, vocatives from specialised fields are more often Romance in origin, while more generic terms are Germanic. Furthermore, it can also be tentatively argued that even though the set of terms that are used in this category roughly remains the same, the frequency by which the conventional vocatives appear changes drastically. This is particularly noteworthy for sir and lord, as well as madam. Vocatives in Shakespeare have, next to the experiential and the textual, specific interpersonal meanings. They function as social markers and, more ideologically orientated, construe a negotiation of social identities. In this complex endeavour, formal and functional, as well as quantitative and qualitative aspects are strongly interwoven, construed, and reflected. Vocatives may perform the dual role of – to use Fillmore’s (1985) terminology – signalling what kind of frame is established in interaction at the moment of


speaking. They create attitudes, such as closeness, intimacy, anger, or distance expressed or positions taken, and, at the same time, form part of the message communicated within this frame. Vocatives create identity, gender, race, class, necessity, linguistic ingenuity, dramatic considerations, and a number of other competing measures and contexts enter into the moment-by-moment relations of vocative exchange. The form of vocatives attributed to a listener may construe more than one social identity simultaneously – of speaker and listener likewise, as vocatives are a means of how characters in Shakespeare manage, construct and project their self-presentation or desirable versions of their identities. It is the styles and habitus of individual speakers in the plays that is on display as “inscription in the conversational organisation of the characters’ relative social position” (Magnusson 1999: 148, Bourdieu 1977: 81f.). In Mac. 5.8.6–8, Macduff accuses Macbeth of the following: “I have no words / My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out.” Macbeth is responsible for King Duncan’s, Banquo’s and his family’s deaths. In addition, Macbeth’s murderous destruction resembles a genocide that amply illustrates the consequences of the abuse of power and egocentric megalomania. As such, Macduff is aware of the limits and force of language as habitus, as Macbeth’s deeds tax to the utmost the powers of understanding and utterance. As a grammatical metaphor, the vocative “thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out” bespeaks a variety of rephrasing clauses. Even though the head of the vocative “villain” is common in the corpus and most frequently collocates with thou pronouns (U. Busse 2002: 179–81) to construe the identity of a wicked person, the deictic and the comparative epithet as modifier elements and the qualifying sequence in “than terms can give thee out” not only remind us of Lavinia’s positioning of Tamora, quoted at the beginning of this study, but also construe Macbeth’s potential for destruction. Conversation shows no lack of the possibility for emotional eloquence (Herman 1995: 4). The vocative in the Mac. example is an impressive example to show how language conflates and merges into action. It also illustrates that even Macduff ’s murder of Macbeth questions the temporary liberty that is achieved, and rather alludes to subversion, obedience, subjugation, and cruelty, as war has dehumanised the people. The verbal is no longer a potential means of defying evil. Within this framework, a detailed analysis is made of the role of the epithet within the NG. This analysis also serves to constitute a general set of epithet options that are available in the plays under investigation and as such illustrates the structural syntagmatic interpersonal aspects of amplification in the Shakespearean vocative. The epithet is further situated within the Early Modern rhetorical attempt to amplify the language. The idea of copia – persuasive, affective and ornamental – is realised by means of the epithet, which has been recommended as a means of amplifying since Aristotle onwards (Adamson 1999: 579). The description and analysis of vocative modification and qualification in Shakespeare comprises – in contrast to Halliday’s approach (1994, see Chapter 3.1) – all three metafunctions of language, even though most of the epithets used can be labelled “interpersonal.” They are emotive and they carry a crucial potential for functioning as an interpersonal key signature to announce the tonality of the vocative, due to their pre-head position and their complex dialectical interdependence with the social context in which they occur. Within the textual metafunction, the vocatives’ potential for additionally framing the speech move is highlighted. There are intra-linguistic clues as to the distribution of


vocatives in specific syntactic categories. In contrast to Halliday’s (1994, 2004) claim that generally vocatives occur most frequently in imperatives, in Shakespeare, vocatives also show a high proliferation in declaratives. In the example from Mac. mentioned above, the final position of the clearly negative EPITHET, turns the declarative into a direct threat that testifies to Macduff ’s determination. Hence, to enter the interpersonal and experiential and correlate both with textual observations is a crucial amalgamation in order to define vocative function. In interrogatives, initial position tunes the listener as well as the audience into what is going to follow, which is also further intensified by the correlation between the subject of the question and the vocative. Often this vocative position is also to transfer sincerity. In addition, a negative vocative, which stands in initial position in an interrogative, results in both adding an authoritative or pushing tone to the utterance, and construing powerful interpersonal meanings and framing potentials. The choice of the vocative in initial position in a declarative turns the speech move into either a promise and/or an official declaration. In addition, the initial position renders force to the announcement and often adds sincerity to what is said. Furthermore, it represents an independent graphological and phonological unit. Final positioning may often attempt at emphasising the speaker’s authority or (feigned) sincerity. Medial vocatives often serve to draw the listener’s attention and to lend force to what has been said, while, at the same time, they give additional emphasis to the address itself. The speaker selecting function is also seen as textual. The textual vocative in Shakespeare is also considered to be a deictic marker of person deixis. As such, it is strongly related to the concept of the vocative as an interpersonal marker. Phonological markedness of vocatives is also a textual function. A switch from one vocative to another when speaker and listener remain constant is both textually and interpersonally noteworthy. As a conjunctive adjunct, a vocative may serve as a discourse marker, indicating a change in topic or cohesion. Without going against the idea of character interaction and creation of identity within interaction the occurrence of vocatives in the address pattern of specific characters and the number and categories of vocatives these characters receive as addressees are investigated qualitatively as well as quantitatively. By systematically and contextually analysing the vocative categories that a character resorts to and those he or she is addressed with, this study shows what worlds are construed, where a particular addressee locates his or her interlocutor and why he chooses this address behaviour. Richard’s address pattern in R3 is used as a representative analysis and general interpretative and functional guidelines as to the correspondence between vocative frequency computed from the vocative usage of a character and its meaning are suggested. As such, it is tentatively suggested that a vocative relative frequency of somewhere around 2.0 construes male, multi-faceted, and round characters. The analysis of Richard’s vocatives in R3 illustrates the potential of vocatives for positioning and construing his interlocutors in various worlds. The distribution of Richard’s vocative terms in relation to the five acts of the play shows his character as an evil Machiavellian who has hitherto played the villain excellently, but in Acts 4 and 5 proves indifferent to the role of King: he is nervous, preoccupied, makes mistakes and loses control. The fact that Richard is most frequently addressed by conventional terms by the men in the


play not only correlates with his own address pattern, but also echoes some other tendencies: the superficially formalised, frozen, and alienating rhetoric. Even more striking is the fact that the negative terms are used not only more often in the first three acts, but also only by Richard himself and by the women in the play. The women in the play use vocatives that, from the outset, are more emotive in character than those applied by the men to their interlocutors. Furthermore, it is illustrated that social position of the courtiers, such as Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, or Osric in Ham., are construed by their vocative usage. The same holds true for vocatives uttered by messengers where the address terminology is not entirely frozen. Explicit functions of vocatives – expressing love and authority – are analysed in Rom. The historicizing chapter of vocatives displays a broad context-creating and contextreflecting framework. It transcends the face-to-face scenario and stresses the need to take in all forms of communication and contexts. It focuses on the interconnections between mind, language, culture, and history. For the analysis of vocatives in Shakespeare, the contemporary linguistic, socio-historical, political, and historical contexts – the linkage of the plays and their contemporary culture – constitute this historically grounded study. It opens up new and broader historical dimensions: the Early Modern quest for the amelioration of the English language and the humanist emphasis on Latin and rhetoric. Vocatives in Shakespeare are part of all styles, they contribute to the initial function of rhetoric as being forensic, as they construe argumentative structuring. Having established that the vocative in Shakespeare is an ostentatious deictic device for construing plot, experiential, interpersonal, and textual meanings, in Chapter 5, representative examples from all categories are analysed in context in order to illustrate that the relationship between the semantic of the vocative and the possible functions it may assume is dialectically dependent and multi-faceted. It has world-, and habitus creating potential, and also world-mirroring functions. It is responsive to the aesthetic, the expressive, the informational, and the interactional. As such, even on the text level, a vocative’s semiotic thickness is multi-faceted. This polysemy of voices and contexts – played and apprehended – is shaped and created by the social scene. Certainly, as convention attributes routines to life, there are some vocatives that can be called to refer to these normative patterns. However, as Bakhtin argues that the word in living conversation is directly, blatantly oriented toward a future answer word (Bakhtin 1981: 276), vocatives in Shakespeare have the potential for demarcating class, social position, identity, friendship, subjection, authority, intimacy, alienation, symbolic capital, habitus, and power and so on. They reproduce and construe patterns of social organisation or of individual psychology. The configurations of speakers and their address usage primarily reflect the identities construed and the power dynamics of the situation as they try to accumulate symbolic power (Bourdieu 1997a: 101). In Bourdieu’s terms, we can generalise that rhetorical mastery, consists not merely in the capacity for discourse production, but also in “the capacity for appropriation and appreciation; it depends, in other words, on the capacity […] to impose the criteria of appreciation most favourable to [one’s] own products” (Bourdieu 1977b: 67). As, for example, usually, a conventional term may carry an address to one’s social position and/or high social qualities, but the functions in context may vary from sincere ingratiation to irony, sadism, sarcasm, and the accumulation of symbolic capital to assume or


attribute power. Personal names are equally ambiguous when used as vocatives. Specialised fields and natural phenomena as vocatives are more emotional and more specified from the outset. Generic terms are more direct, but not necessarily always downgrading. Terms of family relationship are also subtle in the construal of meaning. As such, for example, the analysis of the vocative behaviour of three pairs in the corpus represents an illustrative micro- and macro-analysis of the vocative in context and interaction to construe just these crucial potentials. Iago, for example, makes understated use of conventional vocatives to accumulate symbolic capital. He is able to achieve a voice potential which then poisons Othello’s mind. In turn, Othello’s choice of vocatives for Iago on the surface still bespeaks his superior social position, but also creates and testifies to his other habitus: a dependence on outward non-authentic ideological rules and Christian faith that is used to appear to be assimilated to the people around him. Hence, his choice of vocative for Iago construes his tragedy. Othello’s and Desdemona’s mutual vocative usage construes and reflects both the cultural tension that exists between them, their explicit physicality and the immaturity of their relationship, which is not strong enough to understand the social component of Iago’s scheming. These lead to the difficulties in and tragic consequences of failed cross-cultural communication, the lack of a common language, and their adherence to outward power-structures and habitus, even though Desdemona’s address patterns construe some of the traits of the medieval image of a woman as a manager of feelings outlined in Courtesy Books. Falstaff ’s and Hal’s vocative usage construe Hal’s falling out of love with Falstaff and Hal’s endless and murderous aggressiveness. Their mutual vocative usage creates and mirrors Hal’s constant insistence on what Falstaff would call the pretences of honour. As such, Hal’s general rhetoric and his vocative usage in particular imply that Falstaff is no longer his mentor in terms of the harvesting of affections (with the slight difference that Hal harvests everyone), but also (another part of him that becomes Falstaffian) in terms of teaching him to be a genius for language and for rhetorical control of others through psychological insight. This rhetorical and social dependence of Hal upon Falstaff turns him into what is here called a “Halstaff.” Falstaff ’s vocative usage directed at the Prince construes Falstaff ’s love for Hal, but also his one weakness, his vulnerability, his being a rejected father-substitute and a dishonoured mentor. Themes of morality and honour, as construed by vocatives, interchange with the idea of Falstaff as a jester, a comic genius, a proverbial fat man and the Falstaffian spirit (Bloom 1998: 274). Via additional recourse to the historical ME Fürstenspiegel The Regiment of Princes by Hoccleve ([1410–13] 1999) in connection with Bourdieu’s (1977a, b, 1997a, b) theory of language and habitus, the vocative analysis illustrates that Falstaff is no cowardly braggart and no fawner for the Prince’s favour. In addition, mutual vocative usage also hints at language itself and its cognitive power. Falstaff ’s and the Prince’s vocative exchange also construes entertainment that is so essentially a part of Elizabethan theatre. This study also relates the analysis and interpretation of vocatives, the quantity and quality of vocatives forms, and their functions as interpersonal, experiential, and textual markers to the explicit dramatic potentials and the corporeal presence of actors in the Shakespearean theatre (Kiernan 1996). Following – among others – Bühlers’ ([1934] 1999) Organon-model, it is argued that vocatives in performance may serve as a “who


is who” in Shakespeare’s plays, as segmentation and supplement units, and as aesthetic and emotive semiotic symbols of entertainment and alleviation that explicitly address the audience. Furthermore, due to their interpersonal potential, the vocatives in Shakespeare offer a potential means of acting out the word and direct our attention towards just these crucial relations between vocatives as linguistic means and the acts behind them. These moments draw the most critical attention, as the image is shaped in the words, the text acts itself out, and the audience is actively participating in these scenes of verbal and performative materialisation. Turning to possible directions of study that can still be pursued, one might argue that the analysis of the remaining Shakespeare’s plays which, for reasons of space, are omitted from this study, is profitable in order to acquire a complete view of vocatives in Shakespeare. This endeavour immediately links up to an equally productive comparison of vocative usage with Shakespeare’s other non-dramatic works, with the plays of his contemporary dramatists and with the texts existent in the different EModE corpora (e.g. Lampeter Corpus), and also even with modern drama.1 Another field of research would be the investigation into the vocative usage of different Shakespeare editions, as Blake (2002b) has stated. Furthermore, a comparison between vocatives used especially in the histories and those that can be found in other historical sources where address formulae is of crucial importance, such as in Fürstenspiegel, is theoretically and practically fruitful. In Chapter 5.2.4, the historical correlation between 1H4 and Hoccleve’s ([1410–13] 1999) Fürstenspiegel Regiment of Princes, which is dedicated to Henry of Monmouth, and Falstaff ’s use of majesty and prince for Hal is meaningful because the address formulae of majesty and prince occur in both texts but in different ways. Therefore, informing one another, these intertextual and historical correlations add crucial sociological interpretative dimensions to the investigation of vocatives and epithets in Shakespeare that might go beyond those established between normative sources about address formulae in Courtesy Books and those used in Shakespeare’s plays. Let me conclude with a final example from Ant. Cleopatra, as if she were “not all alone unhappy. / This wide and universal theatre / Presents more woeful pageants than the scene / Wherein we play in” (AYL 2.7.135–8), explicitly chooses death to be united with Antony. Her death construes her own self-willed and independent female character and renders Caesar’s Roman honour and pride ridiculous und inauthentic. Her final words and vocatives are some of the most beautiful versions of aesthetic interpersonal, experiential, and textual vocative choice. When she uses “Husband, I come!” (Ant. 5.2.286) and “O Antony” (Ant. 5.2.311) – in her address pattern and in the entire corpus two highly marked vocatives as personal name and as a term of family relationship – she re-invocates Antony via recourse to the two most open, direct, sincere, and loving vocatives. At the same time, the Egyptian oriental eroticism and propensity towards the uncanny, the subtle, and emotions 1. A less comprehensive, but equally rewarding analysis of Arthur Miller’s ([1949] 1989) Death of a Salesman has revealed a smaller number of vocatives and a less elaborated variety of vocative forms. An emphasis seems to be on the use of personal names, which attempts to impede the farce of the American Dream by emphasising the ideal of authenticity and truth and human values. In any case, the way vocatives are employed in the text alludes to the experiential, interpersonal, and textual potential of vocatives in Miller as well.


are at their peak because Cleopatra chooses to die the Egyptian way – by an asp rather than by a Roman sword. Cleopatra’s direct address to the asp personifies the animal as a companion in love and death alike. She deliberately arouses the asp to bite her more fiercely, and, of course, she is anxious to kill herself during this brief period when she is alone: “Come, thou mortal wretch, / With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate / Of life at once untie. Poor venomous fool, / Be angry and dispatch. / O, couldst thou speak, / That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass / Unpolicied” (Ant. 5.2.303–08). Both EPITHET vocatives are affectionate terms, even though they are alluding to the asp’s destructive force as well. The positions of the vocatives are pleading indicators of sincerity and authority alike. While in R3 the address of animals, such as asps, is clearly negative, also from an eco-critical point of view (Fill and Mühlhäusler 2001, Barry 2002), it is noticeable that the use and representation of nature and animals is markedly positive, intimate, supportive, and identity-creating in the Egyptian world. To the question “What’s in a vocative?” there is no uniform answer. This quantitative and qualitative analysis, which fuses mainly post-modern, historical, historical-pragmatic, historical-linguistic, corpus-linguistic, and cultural studies as well as literary approaches and theories in a form-to-function investigation, illustrates that on the micro- and macroanalytical level the vocative in Shakespeare is a tightly orchestrated, and contextualised music, which lays bare the arbitrary social and contextual roots of meaning itself as well as the land mines of social intercourse and habitus. When, in 1992, Halliday (1992: 73), claims that “Language does not correspond; it construes,” he criticises the English language system for creating sexism, growthism, and classism and establishes an inherent interrelationship between language and the world. As such, Halliday’s view goes beyond the notion of naïve pragmatism and pure manipulations.2 One may ask whether language can influence reality or, when Halliday’s view is transferred to the vocative in Shakespeare, whether the vocative at Shakespeare’s time was either too useful or too destructive or harmful a tool. As such, this provocative outlook on vocatives as a powerful reality- and power-creating tool and Halliday’s idea of the construing force of language are related to what is most usually associated with the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis, as it implies that the structure of a language influences how its speakers view the world. This study denies ultimate linguistic relativism and the idea of anything goes. However, in view of the fact that vocative functions are measured against the existence of diverse contexts and that the theoretical approach to this study is one that focuses on the interactive, social and contextual features of language and sees the language of Shakespeare as a social semiotic, vocatives may be seen as “shapers of events” (Feyerabend 1975: 223f.). Halliday’s critical view on language peppered with an integrational linguist’s emphasis on context and his linguistic constructivism are also inherent in other views on, for example, historical linguistics. In the introduction to their book Alternative Histories of English, Watts and Trudgill (2002: 2) criticise, for example, that many of the histories of the English language have been “sociolinguistically inadequate, anglocentric and based on Standard English” and also neglected the communicative and pragmatic aspects of the language. This study is a 2.

See also Halliday (1992, 1998), Fill (1996), Fill and Mühlhäusler (2001), and Jung (1996).


contribution not only to Shakespeare’s studies, pragmatics, corpus-linguistics, systemic functional grammar, or Stylistics but also to historical linguistics. In addition, the strong interplay between the meaning of vocatives, their function and their structure as a NG, in the clause and above the clause also alludes to Michael Hoey’s (2005: 3) idea of Lexical Priming. He develops a new theory of the lexicon of Modern English in which he “reverses the roles of lexis and grammar, arguing that lexis is completely and systematically structured and that grammar is an outcome of this lexical structure.” Hoey’s theory is firmly based on collocation and the psychological concept of priming, which refers to the idea that every word is primed for collocational usage. Therewith a word acquires a meaning from the specific contexts and co-texts in which it occurs. Priming functions on a more abstract level so that words are also likely to be primed for specific semantic, pragmatic and cultural associations. The idea of lexical priming and priming for semantic, pragmatic and cultural associations is applicable to the literal and metaphorical projections and structures of the concept of vocatives. On the basis of the Shakespearean corpus, and Shakespeare’s vocatives, it has been systematically illustrated that, on the one hand, the vocatives are obviously primed for and by more abstract semantic and pragmatic concepts as well as sets that are also multifunctional in meaning. On the other hand, recourse to the corpus of Shakespeare’s vocatives in general, their forms and functions has demonstrated that vocatives are also primed for specific semantic, pragmatic and cultural associations. As the crossing of theoretical and practical boundaries is a necessary prerequisite, new ways of analysis in relation to linguistic, literary, and cultural (Shakespeare) studies have therefore also been implicitly suggested. In any case, the meaning potential of vocatives defies neat limitations. The vocative in Shakespeare contains more polyphonic voices than the experiential, the textual, the polite, the dramatic, the pragmatic, the social, the habitus frame, the performative, the cultural, the intimate, the ironic, the banter, and so on. As one possible finale to this analysis let us therefore listen to the following intonation from Ado: “Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn” (Ado 5.3.11).

Appendix

List 1: List of Head Words of Vocatives

conventional terms carriers1 clerk commoner constable counsellor count countryman county court courtier dame duchess duke earl emperor empress fool gallants gentleman gentlemen gentles gentlewoman goodman grandsire herald highness keeper king kinsman kinsmen ladies lady ladyship landlord liege lord lordliege

(2) (2) (1) (3) (1) (4) (2) (1) (1) (1) (3) (1) (8) (1) (11) (7) (8) (4) (15) (118) (1) (6) (9) (6) (2) (71) (4) (31) (2) (19) (25) (138) (9) (1) (32) (1021) (1)

lords lordship lordships madam majesties majesty marquess master masters mastership merchant minister ministers mistress mistresses moor monsieur neighbour neighbours page patricians peer peers plebeians prince princes princess queen senators servant shepherd signior signiors sir sirs slave sovereign subjects tailor thane tribune varlet vassals worship worships yeomen

(276) (33) (10) (256) (4) (35) (1) (23) (112) (1) (1) (1) (1) (30) (1) (1) (7) (7) (7) (1) (3) (1) (20) (1) (31) 17) (3) (43) (5) (2) (1) (21) (4) (946) (37) (24) (16) (2) (1) (15) (10) (8) (2) (23) (1) (1)

wretched


EPITHETs conclusion contempt content despis’ detested discretion distressed dolt dotard fury good happiness hate hated humours ignorance innocent interprets jest joy love lover lovers maypole outrage passion passion pleaser predicament pride prudence rage remembrance shame sooth state sympathy thought thoughts time vows wit woe world’s

(1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (4) (45) (1) (4) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (3) (1)

most monstrous (1) wondrous heavy (1) monster ingratitude (1) honey nurse (1) most gross (1) damon dear (1) lady Fortune (1) lord’s knave (1) cousin Hamlet (1) goodman’s son (1) lady Beatrice (1) cousin Hero (1) cousin Capulet (1) cousin Romeo (1) angel she (1) cousin Westmoreland (1) monsieur remorse (1) sir John Jack (1) sugar Jack (1) sir John (17) sirrah carrier (2) prince Hal (1) sir John Pauch (1) sirrah Jack (1) bed-presser (1) horseback-breaker (1) bow-case (1) master sheriff (1) lord Mortimer (1) cousin Percy (2) lord Mortimer (1) dame Partlet the hen (1) mistress Quickly (1) cousin Vernon (1) sir Walter Blun (2) sir Michael (5) sir Richard (1) lord Douglas (1) king Harry (1) sir Walter Blunt (1) lord John of Lancaster (1) cousin Westmoreland (2)

1

1.

(1)

Numbers in brackets signify the frequency of the respective head word given.

460 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare brother John (2) brother John of Lancaster(1) son John (1) son Harry (1) friend Eros (1) most renowned (1) sirrah Iras (1) fellow-student (1) lord Hamlet (2) worse than brutish (1) barber-monger (1) goodman boy (1) whoreson zed (1) hysterico passio (1) shame itself (1) friend Lucio (1) master Froth (8) worship’s pleasure (1) master Elbow (1) master constable father Friar (1) brother father (1) master Bernardine (3) lord Angelo (1) lord Escalus (1) signior Lucio (2) goodman Baldpate (1) lord Angelo (1) friend Escalus (1) lord Bassanio (1) signior Antonio (2) father Abram (1) master young man (1) master sir (1) worship’s friend (1) worship’s reverence (1) signior Bassanio (1) friend Launcelot (1) signior Antonio (1) lord love (1) lord Bassanio (4) friend Salerio (1) wit-snapper (1) master Lorenzo (1) your worship’s (1) master Cobweb (1) master Peaseblossom (1) master Mustardseed (2) mounsieur Mustardseed signior Leonato (2) signior Benedick (3) Lady Disdain (1) signior Claudio (1) signior Benedick (2) count Claudio (1) march-chick (2) count Claudio (1) prince’s fool (1) county Claudio (1) Monsieur Love (1) neighbour Dogberry (1) neighbour Seacole (1) Master Constable (1)

neighbour Verges (2) Friar Francis (1) lady Beatrice (1) master Constable (2) sir boy (3) brother Antony (2) Lord Lackbeard (1) mistress Margaret (1) signior Leonato (1) Morship’s ancient (1) signior Brabantio (1) signior Montano (1) friend Cassio (1) cousin Lodovico (1) Signior Lodovico (1) gentlemen all (1) gentlemen all (1) and most gross (1) villain Capulet (1) daughter Juliet (1) thou, her maid (1) signior Romeo (1) rat-catcher fiend angelical (1) opposite to what thou justly seem’st (1) sir Paris (1) tallow-face (1) lady wisdom (1) cot-quean (1) slug-abed (1) Sir Paris (1) Hugh Rebeck (1) James Soundpost (1) Friar John (1) Mercutio’s kinsman (1) County Paris (1) brother Montague lord Sebastian (1) fellow Trinculo (1) servant-monster (3) Monsieur Monster (1) king Stephano (2) demi-puppets (1) sir King (1) son Ferdinand (1) sir page (1) most dear’st (1) goddess nature (1) demi Atlas (1) knave Eros (1) sir my Octavia (1) cousin Glendower (1) uncle Worcester (1) cousin Percy (1) cousin Hotspur (1) Nuncle Lear (2) I that am curtail’d of this fair proportion, cheated of feature by dissembling nature, (1) Deform’d, unfinish’d, snet before my time into

the breathing world, scarce half made up, (1) And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them (1) I that am no shap’d for sportive tricks nor made to court an amorous l ooking glass (1) I that am rudely stamped , and want love’s majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph (1) I that kill’d her husband and her father (1) I, trembling (1) abed (1) account (1) acquaintance (1) age (1) all (1) ambition (2) ancient (3) any (1) anything (2) Atlas (1) auditory (1) babe (2) baggage (2) bankrupt (1) base (1) bauble (1) beast (3) beauty (1) beguil’d (1) best (1) blessings (1) bloody (1) blowse (1) boast (1) bondage (1) bonfirelight (1) both (4) bow (1) braggart (1) braggarts (2) briefness (1) caitiff (4) callat (1) case (1) chops (1) chuffs (1) churl (3) circumstance (1) coach (1) comforts (1) companion (1) competitor (1) complainant (1) conduct (1) consequence (1) consort (1)

coraggio cordial countrymen couple courtesy cousin coward coxcomb creature creatures cruel cunning cupbearer dear dearest deligence demi desdemon destruction disposition dissembler drudge dunghill dwarf empress encounter engines enemy excellent fact factors fair fairest falsehood fault favorers favour fellow fellows few fiend figure filth flattery follies follower followers folly fool fools form foul friend friends gentle gifts goaler good gossips grace graces gracious greater

(2) (1) (2) (2) (1) (1) (9) (2) (3) (2) (1) (1) (1) (8) (2) (1) (2) (5) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (3) (4) (2) (1) (2) (1) (1) (39) (15) (6) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (22) (8) (1) (1) (47) (111) (4) (1) (4) (4) (2) (120) (14) (2) (1)

Appendix 461 greatness guests guide hardness hay he headstrong heart hearts homicide honour honours horrible horror hostess I illusion infirm ingratitude iniquity instrument interrupter intruder issue justly kill’d knave knavery ladyship last least letter lewd liar liege life lob loon lord lordship lordships lover lozel madman mate mates me men messenger milksops mine mingle minimus minion mischief misleader mistress mocker mock’ry mountaineer nation negligence news

(1) (6) (1) (1) (1) (4) (1) (1) (3) (1) (33) (13) (3) (3) (8) (9) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (7) (2) (1) (1) (2) (8) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (5) (3) (2) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (3)

nobility noblest nonpareil one ones opposite ostler own pale pandar paper parcel partner partners patch patrons peasant pedlar people perfect period perserver piece pilot place point poison pomp poverty prattler presence preserver pretty pride puppets rapine rare rascal rascals reckoning recreant relation remnant reputation rest riddance rogue rogues roundly royal ruffian runaway rustics savage scullion seal secrets seeming seem’st servant shame shame sheat

(2) (2) (1) (7) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (4) (2) (2) (1) (1) (1) (16) (1) (1) (1) (3) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (10) (2) (1) (2) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (19) (4) (2) (1) (2) (1) (2) (2) (1) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1)

sheperdess shepherd sicklemen signs similar sirrah slain slanderer slave slug some space spade speaker speed spite spited spot strain strange strumpet stuff sweet sweetheart thing thou tidings time top torment traitor traitors tranquility trifler trot troth troubler truant truepenny tyranny tyrant unburdened unkind unnatural untaught vanity varlet vassal vices villain villainous villains villainy villein virtue virtues wag wanderer wanton waverer we welcomer what

(1) (2) (1) (2) (1) (57) (1) (1) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (3) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (2) (6) (1) (1) (1) (15) (16) (1) (1) (1) (1) (6) (6) (1) (1) (1) (6) (1) (1) (1) (1) (6) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (52) (1) (15) (7) (1) (1) (1) (5) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1)

whore whoreson will world worship Worth worthiness wretch wretches wronged yard ye yokefellow you youngling younglins youth zir

(3) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (10) (3) (1) (1) (4) (1) (61) (1) (2) (12) (2)

generic term boy boys brother girl girls gods knave knaves lad lads maid maiden man manhood matron men wench wenches woman women

(71) (31) (2) (15) (7) (1) (10) (7) (11) (15) (10) (3) (84) (2) (1) (12) (13) (4) (12) (24)

natural phenomena (np) np – animal air ape apes bawd beacon beadle beef beetles bird brewer’s calf callop

(1) (2) (4) (7) (1) (1) (1) (1) (5) (2) (2) (1)

462 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare cat caterpillars chewet chuck cock cuckoo cur curs day dog dogs dove fig’s fish fly fowl fox foxes goats goose gull hedgehog hedgehogs horse horses jerkin jug kite ladybird lamb lion minx mole monkey monkeys moon mooncalf newts nightingale nyas owls ox paraquito puppies rascal rat raven ropes serpent snail snakes spiders spinners sponge steed steeds stock swain tigers toad tortoise worm worms

(2) (1) (1) (4) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (10) (1) (1) (1) (4) (1) (2) (1) (2) (1) (3) (1) (1) (1) (6) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (3) (2) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (3) (1) (2) (1)

np – clothing bag bead cloak cloth cords crown handkerchief hood jewel jewels linen quilt ring rubies sack spurs switch wool

(1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (3) (2) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (2) (1)

np – food bacons drink egg fillet food honey jelly pudding starveling surfeit

(1) (4) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1)

np – furniture bolting bombard candle catch cauldron cell house hutch joys pint pot receptacle tallow vial walls

(1) (1) (1) (1) (9) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2)

np – natural acorn adamant air airs ape blossom brooks burr canker cataracs

(1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1)

cloth cloud clouds darkling darkness day days death dog Dowlas earth fire fires flower flowers fogs frost god’s gold groves heat heaven heavens high hill hog hour hurricanoes lakes lead life light lightnings lights lily marjoram moon nature nest night primrose rag rain ring root rose rubies sapling shadow shadows silver sleep slip spring star stars stone stones substance summer sun sweets thunder

(1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (23) (1) (1) (1) (2) (7) (12) (1) (2) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (5) (4) (3) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (1) (5) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (4) (4) (3) (12) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (4) (1) (1) (1) (1) (4) (2) (1)

time trunk wax wool weed wind winds world

(2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1)

np – part of the body arm arms ass blood bosom brain brains breast breath brow carrion corse ears eel eye eyes face finge flesh fork gall gulf guts hand heart hearts knees leg lips liver lump maw mouths nose noses paunch pizzle scale senses side sides sight sinews skin sleep slips sting tears tickle toe tongue tooth

(1) (1) (1) (5) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (5) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (26) (4) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1)

Appendix 463 wagtail whey wing womb

(1) (1) (1) (2)

np – sense and perception counterfeit cry good hue lightness sight supervisor sweet sweetest sweeting touch

(1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (16) (1) (1) (1)

personal names Aaron Abhorson Aemilius Agrippa Albany Alexas Alonso Andronicus Angelo Antigonus Antonio Antony Apollo Ariel Athenian Balthasar Banquo Bardolph Barnardine Barnardo Bassanio Bassianus Beat Beatrice Benedick Benvolio Berkely Bessy Bianca Blunt Borachio Bottom Brabantio Brakenbury Britain Buckingham Burgundy Butts

(15) (2) (4) (5) (1) (7) (2) (21) (10) (1) (12) (24) (2) (15) (1) (4) (8) (7) (1) (2) (9) (1) (1) (10) (5) (5) (1) (1) (5) (2) (1) (9) (4) (2) (1) (7) (2) (2)

Cadwal Caesar Caius Caliban Camillo Canidius Canterbury Capulet Cassio Catesby Cawdor Ceres Charles Charmian Chiron Clarence Claudio Clemens Cleomenes Cleopatra Cobweb Conrade Cordelia Cornelius Cornwall Cromwell Curan Cymbeline Cytherea Dane Daniel Dauphin Demetrius Denetrius Denny Derby Desdemona Diomed Dion Dolabella Domitius Donalbain Doreas Doricles Dorset Douglas Duncan Edgar Edmund Egeus Egypt Egyptian Elbow Emilia England Enobarbus Eros Escalus Ethiope Euriphile Falstaff Ferdinand Fidele

(3) (29) (4) (2) (26) (3) (1) (4) (26) (17) (2) (2) (4) (24) (2) (6) (15) (1) (1) (8) (2) (2) (8) (2) (1) (10) (1) (2) (1) (2) (3) (1) (13) (1) (1) (1) (10) (3) (1) (5) (2) (1) (1) (2) (3) (4) (1) (3) (17) (5) (6) (1) (1) (12) (4) (12) (1) (4) (1) (1) (6) (1) (2)

Fleance Flute France Francis Francisco Gardiner Gertrude Glamis Gloucester Goblin God Goneril Gonzalo Goth Goths Gratiano Graymalkin Gregory Grey Griffith Guildenstern Hal Hamlet Hannibal Harry Hastings Helen Helena Hercules Hermia Hermione Hero Hippolyta Horatio Iago Imogen Iras Isabel Isabella Isis Jachimo Jack Jacks Jephthah Jessica Jesu John Jove Jule Juliet Juno Kate Katherine Kent Laertes Lamord Lancaster Launcelot Lavinia Lear Leonardo Leonato Leonatus

(1) (4) (1) (20) (1) (1) (13) (2) (9) (1) (1) (5) (4) (1) (1) (9) (1) (2) (1) (8) (6) (35) (28) (2) (15) (4) (5) (7) (1) (15) (4) (13) (4) (26) (43) (10) (7) (16) (3) (4) (1) (24) (2) (2) (13) (2) (1) (2) (1) (12) (1) (12) (1) (8) (20) (1) (1) (6) (24) (5) (1) (8) (2)

Leontes Lepidus Lorenzo Lovel Lovell Lucio Lucius Lysander Macbeth Macduff Maecenas Malcolm Mamilius Marcellus Marcus Mardian Margaret Maria Mariana Mark Meg Menas Mercury Mercutio Michael Milan Milford Miranda Montague Montain Montano Moor Morgan Morocco Moth Mounsieur Mugs Mustardseed Mutius Ned Nerissa Norfolk Oberon Octavia Ophelia Osric Oswald Othello Pallas Paris Parthia Patience Paulina Peaseblossom Percy Perdita Peter Peto Philarmonus Philomela Philostrate Pisanio Plantagenet

(1) (7) (6) (2) (2) (4) (20) (20) (14) (5) (3) (2) (2) (3) (30) (2) (8) (1) (2) (1) (2) (7) (1) (8) (3) (1) (1) (4) (6) (1) (3) (6) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (7) (13) (3) (2) (4) (15) (2) (3) (13) (1) (1) (1) (4) (11) (2) (4) (5) (12) (4) (1) (1) (1) (15) (1)

464 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare Poins Polydore Pomfret Pompey Portia Posthumus Proculeius Proserpina Prospero Publius Puck Purr Pyramus Quince Ralph Ratcliffe Regan Reynaldo Richard Richmond Rivers Robin Roderigo Roman Romans Rome Romeo Rosencrantz Salerio Saturnine Scotland Scott Sebastian Seleucus Semiramis Sempronius Setebos Seyton Shylock Silius Snout Stanley Starveling Stephano Tamora Tapster Taurus Tessel Theseus Thetis Thidias Thisbe Thomas Titan Titania Titus Tom Trinculo Tubal Tybalt Tyrrel Ursula Valentine

(6) (4) (2) (33) (5) (6) (2) (1) (2) (9) (2) (1) (3) (7) (1) (6) (13) (3) (7) (6) (3) (5) (19) (1) (9) (7) (32) (4) (3) (3) (2) (3) (3) (2) (1) (1) (1) (4) (10) (3) (2) (1) (3) (9) (10) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (4) (22) (6) (7) (7) (12) (4) (4) (2)

Varrius Varrius Vaughan Venditus Ventidius Ventitus Voltemand Wolsey Worcester Yedward York Yorrick

(1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (2) (2) (2) (3) (1) (2) (1)

specialised fields (sf) sf – arts and leisure art bow drum eunuch experience fife instrument jig juggler maker melancholy music musicians passado pipers player playfellow pupil puppet reverso trump trumpet tune

(1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (3) (3) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (2) (1)

sf – legal advocate allegiance assay beggar citizen confusion controller cutpurse fathers guilty heir innocence innocents judge judges justice justicer

(1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (12) (1) (4) (2)

justicers legitimate lendings murder murderer murderers murther pirates plague prison punishment Sheriff submission thief traitor traitors treachery treason trespass vice wrongs

(1) (1) (1) (3) (4) (3) (3) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (6) (2) (7) (2) (4) (1) (1) (1)

sf – medical apothecary doctor frailty infection medicine mummy nurse plague potion prevented venom weakness well

(3) (8) (1) (1) (3) (1) (31) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1)

sf – metaphysical angel angels apparition ashes beasts blasphemy blessed bodements bully burden cacodemon cardinal carrion chaos cherubim confess confessions conscience creature cross cupid curse damnation

(2) (4) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (5) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (2)

dead death deed devil devils Diablo divine divinity earth elements elves enchantment equivocator esperance fairies fairy fatal fate father fathers fiend fortune Francis freedom friar friend ghost God goddess goddesses gods gross hag hags heathenish heaven heavens heavy Hecate hell heresy hound impiety infidel Ingratitude innocence jesu jew Jove Jupiter madness mind minister ministers miracle miscreant monster monstrous mortal most nymph nymphs ominous

(1) (9) (1) (8) (4) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (5) (1) (1) (2) (2) (1) (1) (3) (13) (2) (5) (9) (1) (4) (32) (2) (3) (25) (4) (4) (32) (1) (2) (7) (1) (14) (14) (1) (1) (5) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (5) (14) (3) (6) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (28) (9) (2) (2) (3) (2) (1)

Appendix 465 pagan Pantheon perfection perjur’d philosopher piety pilgrim pity power powers priest profaners protector provost purity revenge saint satan sin sister smulkin soothsayer sorrow soul souls spell spirit spirits substance synod times turlygod unnatural unsanctified unthankfulness vengeance virgin vision

(1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (2) (3) (2) (1) (13) (1) (3) (5) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (1) (24) (3) (1) (15) (5) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (4) (1) (1)

witch wonder wondreous words world

(2) (2) (1) (1) (6)

sf – military archers arm arms banner boatswain brace brimstone burgonet captain chief clubs commander conqueror couriers dagger death defender devils emperor enemies fray general guard guards host lieutenant map massacre music officer

(1) (1) (3) (1) (3) (2) (1) (1) (12) (1) (2) (3) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (2) (1) (11) (1) (1) (1) (18) (1) (1) (1) (3)

officers peace perdu pioner powers soldier soldiers soul spell sword synod triumpher troops tuck vaunt warrior wars weapons woe world’s wrack

(3) (1) (1) (1) (1) (11) (4) (1) (1) (3) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1) (4) (1) (1) (1) (1) (1)

terms of family relationship aunt babes bachelor bastard bread brethren bride brother brothers child children

(3) (2) (1) (2) (1) (1) (1) (57) (5) (11) (3)

cousin cousins coz daughter daughters divorced father fathers fry hilding husband law mother mother’s nephew nephews niece nuncle offspring sister sisters son sons uncle wife

(51) (19) (10) (25) (3) (1) (57) (2) (1) (1) (9) (1) (23) (5) (2) (4) (13) (16) (1) (27) (8) (35) (23) (29) (21)

List 2: List of all vocative collocations, and their categories in descending frequency Vocatives that have got a frequency of ten and more sir 864 (conventional) my lord 731 (conventional) madam 226 (conventional) your grace 109 (EPITHET) my lords 106 (conventional) lords 96 (conventional) masters 95 (conventional) gentlemen 94 (conventional) lady 71 (conventional) your highness 70 (conventional) my good lord 61 (conventional) good my lord 57 (conventional) sirrah 56 (EPITHET) boy 52 (generic term) man 45 (generic term) brother 38 (term of family relationship) sirs 34 (conventional) lord 34 (conventional) friends 34 (EPITHET) Iago 33 (personal name) Hal 33 (personal name) good sir 33 (conventional) cousin 31 (term of family relationship) your lordship 30 (conventional) your honour 29 (EPITHET) Marcus 29 (personal name) your majesty 28 (conventional) you 28 (EPITHET) Pompey 28 (personal name) father 27 (term of family relationship) Romeo 26 (personal name) Horatio 24 (personal name) uncle 23 (term of family relationship) Nurse 23 (specialised fields) fellow 22 (EPITHET) your worship 21 (conventional) my liege 21 (conventional) Friar 21 (specialised fields) Eros 21 (personal name) boys 21 (generic term) Lavinia 20 (personal name) Caesar 20 (personal name) kinsmen 19 (conventional) Hamlet 19 (personal name)

friend 19 (EPITHET) Francis 19 (personal name) villain 18 (EPITHET) lieutenant 18 (specialised fields) ladies 18 (conventional) Charmian 18 (personal name) Camillo 18 (personal name) Sir John 17 (EPITHET) Roderigo 17 (personal name) mistress 17 (conventional) Laertes 17 (personal name) Cassio 17 (personal name) my gracious lord 16 (conventional) Lysander 16 (personal name) Lucius 16 (personal name) Love 16 (emotion / mind, thought) Jack 16 (personal name) Edmund 16 (personal name) cousins 16 (term of family relationship) monster 15 (specialised fields) Andronicus 15 (personal name) sweet friends 14 (EPITHET) signior 14 (conventional) Nuncle 14 (term of family relationship) my women 14 (generic term) Harry 14 (personal name) good lady 14 (conventional) daughter 14 (term of family relationship) your honours 13 (EPITHET) sweet 13 (natural phenomena) Nerissa 13 (personal name) my noble lord 13 (conventional) Jessica 13 (personal name) good madam 13 (conventional) gods 13 (specialised fields) Claudio 13 (personal name) sister 12 (term of family relationship) Provost 12 (specialised fields) Pisanio 12 (personal name) my masters 12 (conventional) Macbeth 12 (personal name) good my lords 12 (conventional) fire 12 (natural phenomena) Catesby 12 (personal name) villains 11 (EPITHET) Mother 11 (term of family relationship)

master 11 (conventional) good friends 11 (EPITHET) Emilia 11 (personal name) Antony 11 (personal name) your graces 10 (EPITHET) women 10 (generic term) Tybalt 10 (personal name) Titus 10 (personal name) Prince 10 (conventional) Ophelia 10 (personal name) my sons 10 (term of family relationship) Kate 10 (personal name) god 10 (specialised fields) Demetrius 10 (personal name) Antonio 10 (personal name) Aaron 10 (personal name)

Leonato 8 (personal name) lad 8 (generic term) King 8 (conventional) Juliet 8 (personal name) Gratiano 8 (personal name) girl 8 (generic term) fellows 8 (EPITHET) Desdemona 8 (personal name) captain 8 (specialised fields) Bassanio 8 (personal name) Angelo 8 (personal name) you rogue 7 (EPITHET) Trinculo 7 (personal name) sweet prince 7 (conventional) spirit 7 (specialised fields) slave 7 (conventional) Regan 7 (personal name) poor man 7 (generic term) Othello 7 (personal name) man 7 (generic term) Vocatives that occur old o love 7 (emotion / mind, less than ten times thought) O heavens 7 (specialised fields) your ladyship 9 (convenO Antony 7 (personal name) tional) niece 7 (term of family relathou 9 (EPITHET) tionship) my Queen 9 (conventional) my son 7 (term of family my good lords 9 (convenrelationship) tional) my boy 7 (generic term) my good friends 9 (EPIMenas 7 (personal name) THET) master Froth 7 (EPITHET) lads 9 (generic term) Lepidus 7 (personal name) Jew 9 (specialised fields) King of Scotland 7 (convenIsabel 9 (personal name) tional) good gentlemen 9 (convenImogen 7 (personal name) tional) Hermia 7 (personal name) general 9 (specialised fields) Enobarbus 9 (personal name) good friend 7 (EPITHET) Gertrude 7 (personal name) cauldron 9 (natural phefortune 7 (specialised fields) nomena) fool 7 (EPITHET) your lordships 8 (convendeath 7 (specialised fields) tional) Cleopatra 7 (personal name) wife 8 (term of family relaBardolph 7 (personal name) tionship) Ariel 7 (personal name) son 8 (term of family relayour lordship 6 (EPITHET) tionship) sisters 8 (term of family rela- you that thus far have come to pity me 6 (EPITHET) tionship) wench 6 (generic term) Shylock 8 (personal name) traitors 6 (EPITHET) Romans 8 (personal name) sweet lord 6 (conventional) Publius 8 (personal name) sweet lady 6 (conventional) my wife 8 (term of family Stephano 6 (personal name) relationship) Sir Thomas 6 (EPITHET) my noble lords 8 (convenRichard 6 (personal name) tional) Princes 6 (conventional) my love 8 (emotion / mind, poor soul 6 (specialised fields) thought) Poins 6 (personal name) my lady 8 (conventional)

Appendix 467 O villain 6 (EPITHET) noble peers 6 (conventional) noble lords 6 (conventional) my soul 6 (specialised fields) my honourable lords 6 (conventional) my heart 6 (natural phenomena) my fair guests 6 (EPITHET) monstrous 6 (specialised fields) Margaret 6 (personal name) Lord cardinal 6 (EPITHET) Jupiter 6 (specialised fields) Hostess 6 (EPITHET) Hero 6 (personal name) heaven 6 (specialised fields) heart-sorrowing peers 6 (conventional) good fellow 6 (EPITHET) Gloucester 6 (personal name) gentleman 6 (conventional) Fool 6 (conventional) doctor 6 (specialised fields) dear Sir 6 (conventional) dear 6 (EPITHET) Cromwell 6 (personal name) Banquo 6 (personal name) all good people 6 (EPITHET) you peers 5 (conventional) Tubal 5 (personal name) traitors 5 (specialised fields) Tamora 5 (personal name) sweet ladies 5 (conventional) sons 5 (term of family relationship) rogue 5 (EPITHET) Richmond 5 (personal name) Posthumus 5 (personal name) Paulina 5 (personal name) neighbour 5 (conventional) Ned 5 (personal name) my liege 5 (EPITHET) my friends all 5 (EPITHET) my friends 5 (EPITHET) my dear lord 5 (conventional) kind gentlemen 5 (conventional) Kent 5 (personal name) Iras 5 (personal name) husband 5 (term of family relationship) Guildenstern 5 (personal name) grandsire 5 (conventional) grandam 5 (conventional) good my liege 5 (conventional) good monsieur 5 (conventional) good father 5 (specialised fields) girls 5 (generic term)

gentle friends 5 (EPITHET) father 5 (specialised fields) fair lords 5 (conventional) every mother’s son 5 (term of family relationship) Egypt 5 (personal name) Dolabella 5 (personal name) devil 5 (specialised fields) dear my lord 5 (conventional) Cardinal 5 (specialised fields) Beatrice 5 (personal name) young lords 4 (conventional) you that survive 4 (EPITHET) you rogues 4 (EPITHET) you rascal 4 (EPITHET) you knaves 4 (generic term) your lordship 4 (conventional) ye rogue 4 (EPITHET) villainy 4 (EPITHET) the drink 4 (natural phenomena) sweet sir 4 (conventional) strumpet 4 (EPITHET) soldiers 4 (specialised fields) soldier 4 (specialised fields) Sir Thomas Lovell 4 (EPITHET) sir boy 4 (EPITHET) signior Benedick 4 (EPITHET) seyton 4 (personal name) royal sir 4 (conventional) Rome 4 (personal name) Ratcliffe 4 (personal name) Polydore 4 (personal name) Peto 4 (personal name) Peter Quince 4 (personal name) Peter 4 (personal name) officious lords 4 (conventional) O Regan 4 (personal name) O me 4 (EPITHET) O heaven 4 (specialised fields) O god 4 (specialised fields) o day 4 (natural phenomena) noble Prince 4 (conventional) noble lord 4 (conventional) nephews 4 (term of family relationship) my Thanes 4 (conventional) my noble father 4 (term of family relationship) my lads 4 (generic term) my child 4 (term of family relationship) my brother 4 (term of family relationship) my boys 4 (generic term) my Ariel 4 (personal name)

most royal sir 4 (conventional) Montague 4 (personal name) men of malice 4 (generic term) Master Constable 4 (EPITHET) Lorenzo 4 (personal name) Lord Hastings 4 (EPITHET) Lear 4 (personal name) Launcelot 4 (personal name) keeper 4 (conventional) Justice 4 (specialised fields) honest neighbours 4 (conventional) Helen 4 (personal name) Hastings 4 (personal name) Griffith 4 (personal name) good troth 4 (EPITHET) good mother 4 (term of family relationship) good Mercutio 4 (personal name) good lieutenant 4 (specialised fields) good friar 4 (specialised fields) good cousin 4 (term of family relationship) good Cassio 4 (personal name) good Camillo 4 (personal name) Good 4 (EPITHET) Goneril 4 (personal name) gentle my lord 4 (conventional) gentle lady 4 (conventional) gallants 4 (conventional) freedom 4 (specialised fields) fellows in arms 4 (EPITHET) fair queen 4 (conventional) fair maid 4 (generic term) fair lovers 4 (emotion / mind, thought) elves 4 (specialised fields) Egeus 4 (personal name) dear madam 4 (conventional) dear lady 4 (conventional) coz 4 (term of family relationship) cousin Percy 4 (EPITHET) count 4 (conventional) Cordelia 4 (personal name) Charles 4 (personal name) blood 4 (natural phenomena) Benvolio 4 (personal name) Benedick 4 (personal name) Balthasar 4 (personal name) Agrippa 4 (personal name) Aemilius 4 (personal name) youth 3 (EPITHET) your royal grace 3 (EPITHET)

you that bear the corse 3 (EPITHET) you so perfect and so peerless 3 (EPITHET) you sad-faced men 3 (EPITHET) you petty spirits of region low 3 (specialised fields) you men of Cyprus 3 (generic term) you imperfect speaker 3 (EPITHET) you heavy people 3 (EPITHET) you gods 3 (specialised fields) you gentlewoman 3 (conventional) you fools 3 (EPITHET) ye 3 (EPITHET) worthy Thane 3 (conventional) worthy friends 3 (EPITHET) woman 3 (generic term) wenches 3 (generic term) vengeance 3 (specialised fields) unworthy sons 3 (term of family relationship) Titus Andronicus 3 (personal name) tribunes 3 (conventional) treason 3 (specialised fields) thief 3 (specialised fields) the senators alone of this great world 3 (conventional) sweet wag 3 (EPITHET) sweet love 3 (emotion / mind, thought) sweet Hero 3 (personal name) sweet emperor 3 (conventional) sweet Beatrice 3 (personal name) stars 3 (natural phenomena) sir Walter Blunt 3 (EPITHET) Sir Michael 3 (EPITHET) Silius 3 (personal name) signior Antonio 3 (EPITHET) seeming 3 (EPITHET) Salerio 3 (personal name) reputation 3 (EPITHET) queen 3 (conventional) Pyramus 3 (personal name) puppies 3 (natural phenomena) Prince of Wales 3 (conventional) poor Tom 3 (personal name) poor souls 3 (specialised fields) poor shadows of Elysium 3 (natural phenomena)

468 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare poor heart 3 (natural phenomena) Percy 3 (personal name) people 3 (EPITHET) Patience 3 (personal name) owls 3 (natural phenomena) Oswald 3 (personal name) ostler 3 (EPITHET) officers 3 (specialised fields) officer 3 (specialised fields) O world 3 (specialised fields) O villainy 3 (EPITHET) O Tamora 3 (personal name) O my daughter 3 (term of family relationship) O Jesu 3 (specialised fields) O heavens 3 (natural phenomena) O Hamlet 3 (personal name) o earth 3 (natural phenomena) O Caesar 3 (personal name) nymph 3 (specialised fields) noble gentlemen 3 (conventional) my worthy lord 3 (conventional) my most worthy friends 3 (EPITHET) my mistress 3 (conventional) my master 3 (conventional) my loving lord 3 (conventional) my lord of Norfolk 3 (conventional) my lord of Buckingham 3 (conventional) My lord Bassanio 3 (EPITHET) my honour’d lord 3 (conventional) my hearts 3 (natural phenomena) my girl 3 (generic term) my friend 3 (EPITHET) my dread lord 3 (conventional) my daughters 3 (term of family relationship) my daughter 3 (term of family relationship) murderers 3 (specialised fields) Murder 3 (specialised fields) Moor 3 (personal name) Miranda 3 (personal name) Mercutio 3 (personal name) Macduff 3 (personal name) Lucio 3 (personal name) horror 3 (EPITHET) high-day 3 (natural phenomena) Hermione 3 (personal name)

Helena 3 (personal name) Heavens 3 (specialised fields) Heart 3 (natural phenomena) handkerchief 3 (natural phenomena) great King 3 (conventional) gracious my lord 3 (conventional) gracious madam 3 (conventional) good Peers 3 (conventional) good masters 3 (conventional) good man 3 (generic term) good lords 3 (conventional) good Laertes 3 (personal name) good Iago 3 (personal name) good Griffith 3 (personal name) good father 3 (term of family relationship) good Enobarbus 3 (personal name) good Catesby 3 (personal name) good brother 3 (term of family relationship) Goaler 3 (EPITHET) gentle lords 3 (conventional) gentle 3 (EPITHET) fools 3 (EPITHET) filthy hags 3 (specialised fields) false Thanes 3 (conventional) Fairies 3 (specialised fields) fair lady 3 (conventional) fair Hermia 3 (personal name) eyes 3 (natural phenomena) Escalus 3 (personal name) Douglas 3 (personal name) Dorset 3 (personal name) dog 3 (natural phenomena) dear mother 3 (term of family relationship) coward 3 (EPITHET) Clarence 3 (personal name) children 3 (term of family relationship) chief factors for the gods 3 (EPITHET) Canidius 3 (personal name) Caius 3 (personal name) Buckingham 3 (personal name) brothers 3 (term of family relationship) Bottom 3 (personal name) arms 3 (specialised fields) A nest of traitors 3 (natural phenomena) a bawd 3 (natural phenomena)

Zir 2 (EPITHET) your majesties 2 (conventional) your lordships 2 (EPITHET) your lordship’s 2 (conventional) your honor 2 (EPITHET) your good worship 2 (conventional) younglins 2 (EPITHET) you unnatural hags 2 (specialised fields) you slave 2 (conventional) you she foxes 2 (natural phenomena) you secret, black, and midnight hags 2 (specialised fields) you puppet you 2 (specialised fields) you gracious couple 2 (EPITHET) you good gods 2 (specialised fields) ye white-lim’d walls 2 (natural phenomena) ye sanguine shallow-hearted boys 2 (generic term) ye alehouse painted signs 2 (EPITHET) wretches 2 (EPITHET) worthy soldier 2 (specialised fields) worthy prince 2 (conventional) Voltemand 2 (personal name) Ventitus 2 (personal name) varrius 2 (personal name) varlet 2 (conventional) Valentine 2 (personal name) Ursula 2 (personal name) Tyrrel 2 (personal name) tyrant 2 (EPITHET) troth 2 (EPITHET) treachery 2 (specialised fields) traitor 2 (specialised fields) traitor 2 (EPITHET) Tom 2 (personal name) Titania 2 (personal name) Tigers not daughters 2 (natural phenomena) thou villain 2 (EPITHET) thou varlet 2 (conventional) thou toad 2 (natural phenomena) thou naughty varlet 2 (conventional) thou knave 2 (generic term) thou debosh’d fish 2 (natural phenomena) thou coward 2 (EPITHET) Thisbe 2 (personal name) these men 2 (generic term)

the jewels of our father 2 (natural phenomena) the fair Ophelia 2 (personal name) sword 2 (specialised fields) Switch 2 (natural phenomena) sweet soul 2 (specialised fields) sweet queen 2 (conventional) sweet Portia 2 (personal name) sweet lords 2 (conventional) sweet Isabel 2 (personal name) sweet heart 2 (natural phenomena) sweet girl 2 (generic term) sweet father 2 (term of family relationship) sweet boy 2 (generic term) sweet aunt 2 (term of family relationship) spurs 2 (natural phenomena) some of you 2 (EPITHET) Sir William Brandon 2 (EPITHET) sir Paris 2 (EPITHET) sir King 2 (EPITHET) silver 2 (personal name) Signior Lucio 2 (EPITHET) Signior Leonato 2 (EPITHET) signior Bassanio 2 (EPITHET) Shame of ladies 2 (EPITHET) servant-monster 2 (EPITHET) servant 2 (conventional) Seleucus 2 (personal name) scurvy knave 2 (generic term) Scotland 2 (personal name) rustics 2 (EPITHET) roundly 2 (EPITHET) Rosencrantz 2 (personal name) Robin Starveling 2 (personal name) Robin 2 (personal name) Rivers 2 (personal name) right noble princes both 2 (conventional) Reynaldo 2 (personal name) reverend sirs 2 (conventional) reverend lords 2 (conventional) reverend fathers 2 (specialised fields) recreant 2 (EPITHET) rebellious subjects 2 (conventional) rain 2 (natural phenomena)

Appendix 469 profaners of this neighbourstained steel 2 (specialised fields) Proculeius 2 (personal name) princely Buckingham 2 (personal name) prince Bussanius 2 (EPITHET) priest 2 (specialised fields) pretty lady 2 (conventional) pretty fool 2 (EPITHET) Portia 2 (personal name) poor lady 2 (conventional) poor creatures 2 (EPITHET) poor babe 2 (EPITHET) Pomfret 2 (personal name) Peaseblossom 2 (personal name) patricians 2 (conventional) one 2 (EPITHET) old friend 2 (EPITHET) Octavia 2 (personal name) o woeful day 2 (natural phenomena) o sun 2 (natural phenomena) O strange 2 (EPITHET) O my father 2 (term of family relationship) O my Antonio 2 (personal name) o monstrous 2 (specialised fields) O learned judge 2 (specialised fields) O Isabel 2 (personal name) O Imogen 2 (personal name) O horrible 2 (EPITHET) O hell 2 (specialised fields) O Gertrude 2 (personal name) O dear father 2 (term of family relationship) O Cromwell 2 (personal name) O child 2 (term of family relationship) O brother 2 (term of family relationship) O boys 2 (generic term) Nuncle Lear 2 (EPITHET) noble Titus 2 (personal name) noble sir 2 (conventional) noble partners 2 (EPITHET) noble madam 2 (conventional) noble lady 2 (conventional) noble friends 2 (EPITHET) nobility 2 (EPITHET) night 2 (natural phenomena) Nick Bottom 2 (personal name) new-appearing sweets 2 (natural phenomena)

nephew 2 (term of family relationship) neighbour Verges 2 (EPITHET) neighbours 2 (conventional) Nature 2 (natural phenomena) my you 2 (specialised fields) my very noble and approved good masters 2 (conventional) my unblown flowers 2 (natural phenomena) my tender babes 2 (term of family relationship) my sovereign lord 2 (conventional) my sovereign liege 2 (conventional) my sovereign 2 (conventional) my sons 2 (generic term) my royal lord 2 (conventional) my pretty cousins 2 (term of family relationship) my poor princes 2 (conventional) my people 2 (EPITHET) my noble gossips 2 (EPITHET) my noble girls 2 (generic term) my mother 2 (term of family relationship) my lord Sands 2 (EPITHET) my lord of Winchester 2 (conventional) my lord of Gloucester 2 (conventional) my lord of Canterbury 2 (conventional) my Lord of Burgundy 2 (conventional) my lord Cardinal 2 (EPITHET) my life 2 (EPITHET) my horse 2 (natural phenomena) my hardy, stout, resolved mates 2 (EPITHET) my gracious sovereign 2 (conventional) my gracious Duke 2 (conventional) my good master 2 (conventional) my good lords both 2 (conventional) my good lord Chamberlain 2 (EPITHET) my good lady 2 (conventional) my gentle queen 2 (conventional)

my gentle brothers 2 (term of family relationship) my dearest love 2 (emotion / mind, thought) my dear Othello 2 (personal name) my brave emperor 2 (conventional) my brace of lords 2 (specialised fields) musicians 2 (specialised fields) murtherous villains 2 (EPITHET) murther 2 (specialised fields) murderer 2 (specialised fields) mounsieur 2 (conventional) most worthy sir 2 (conventional) most potent grave, and reverend signiors 2 (conventional) most noble sir 2 (conventional) most mighty sovereign 2 (conventional) most grave senators 2 (conventional) Moon 2 (natural phenomena) Montano 2 (personal name) mine honest friend 2 (EPITHET) milksops 2 (EPITHET) mighty lord 2 (conventional) Michael 2 (personal name) merciful heaven 2 (specialised fields) master Barnardine 2 (EPITHET) Mariana 2 (personal name) Mardian 2 (personal name) Marcellus 2 (personal name) Mamilius 2 (personal name) Malcolm 2 (personal name) Maecenas 2 (personal name) lusty gentlemen 2 (conventional) Lovell 2 (personal name) Lovel 2 (personal name) Lord Titus 2 (EPITHET) Lord Mortimer 2 (EPITHET) lord Chamberlain 2 (EPITHET) Lord Bassanio 2 (EPITHET) Lord Angelo 2 (EPITHET) lord 2 (specialised fields) lips 2 (natural phenomena) Lion 2 (natural phenomena) life 2 (natural phenomena) lamb 2 (natural phenomena) lady Beatrice 2 (EPITHET) kinsman 2 (conventional) king Stephano 2 (EPITHET) kind sister 2 (term of family relationship)

Jove 2 (specialised fields) Jesu 2 (specialised fields) Jacks 2 (personal name) inhuman traitors 2 (specialised fields) incapable and shallow innocents 2 (specialised fields) honest lord 2 (conventional) honest Iago 2 (personal name) honest gentleman 2 (conventional) holy father 2 (specialised fields) Hippolyta 2 (personal name) herald 2 (conventional) heaven 2 (natural phenomena) hearts of gold 2 (EPITHET) he that knows 2 (EPITHET) Gregory 2 (personal name) great Glamis 2 (personal name) good youth 2 (EPITHET) good your graces 2 (EPITHET) good wench 2 (generic term) good Ursula 2 (personal name) good uncle 2 (term of family relationship) good Tubal 2 (personal name) good sir Michael 2 (EPITHET) good signiors both 2 (conventional) good signior 2 (conventional) good queen 2 (conventional) good Pompey 2 (personal name) good Peter Quince 2 (personal name) good Paulina 2 (personal name) good nurse 2 (specialised fields) good news 2 (EPITHET) good my friends 2 (EPITHET) good my friend 2 (EPITHET) good Meg 2 (personal name) good master Mustardseed 2 (EPITHET) good lord 2 (conventional) good lieutenant 2 (specialised fields) good lads 2 (generic term) good heart 2 (natural phenomena) good God 2 (specialised fields) good gentleman 2 (conventional)

470 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare good friends as you are friends, scholars, and soldiers 2 (EPITHET) good Charmian 2 (personal name) good captain blunt 2 (EPITHET) good boy 2 (generic term) good angels 2 (specialised fields) good Andronicus 2 (personal name) good Aaron 2 (personal name) Gonzalo 2 (personal name) goddesses 2 (specialised fields) goddess 2 (specialised fields) gentlemen all 2 (conventional) gentleman both 2 (conventional) gentle Romeo 2 (personal name) gentle madam 2 (conventional) gentle Kate 2 (personal name) gentle cousin 2 (term of family relationship) gentle Aaron 2 (personal name) fury 2 (personal name) Friends both 2 (EPITHET) Flute 2 (personal name) fathers 2 (term of family relationship) Falstaff 2 (personal name) fairest 2 (EPITHET) fair youth 2 (EPITHET) fair sun 2 (natural phenomena) fair madam 2 (conventional) fair ladies 2 (conventional) fair Helena 2 (personal name) fair encounter of two most rare affections 2 (EPITHET) esperance 2 (specialised fields) erroneous vassals 2 (conventional) enemies to peace 2 (specialised fields) England 2 (personal name) dull thing 2 (EPITHET) dread queen 2 (conventional) Domitius 2 (personal name) Diomed 2 (personal name) Desdemon 2 (EPITHET) dear saint 2 (specialised fields) dear queen 2 (conventional) dear maid 2 (generic term) dear lords 2 (conventional) dear Isabel 2 (personal name) dear heart 2 (natural phenomena)

dear God 2 (specialised fields) dear friends 2 (EPITHET) dear father 2 (term of family relationship) dame 2 (conventional) Cymbeline 2 (personal name) cur 2 (natural phenomena) cousin of Buckingham 2 (term of family relationship) count Claudio 2 (EPITHET) coragio 2 (EPITHET) constable 2 (conventional) Conrade 2 (personal name) Clubs 2 (specialised fields) clerk 2 (conventional) chuck 2 (natural phenomena) Chiron 2 (personal name) Capulet 2 (personal name) Cadwal 2 (personal name) Butts 2 (personal name) brother John 2 (EPITHET) brother Antony 2 (EPITHET) brother 2 (generic term) brewer’s horse 2 (natural phenomena) brave lords 2 (conventional) brave boys 2 (generic term) Brakenbury 2 (personal name) braggarts 2 (EPITHET) Brabantio 2 (personal name) both your majesties 2 (conventional) both your graces 2 (EPITHET) both you of my inclining and the rest 2 (EPITHET) both of you 2 (EPITHET) both 2 (EPITHET) boatswain 2 (specialised fields) bird 2 (natural phenomena) Bianca 2 (personal name) beloved sons 2 (term of family relationship) Barnardo 2 (personal name) Apollo 2 (personal name) apes 2 (natural phenomena) Angels 2 (specialised fields) ancient 2 (EPITHET) Alonso 2 (personal name) Alexas 2 (personal name) Abhorson 2 (personal name) a very forward March-chick 2 (EPITHET) a jealous-hood 2 (natural phenomena) youth the doors of breath 1 (EPITHET) your your worship’s 1 (EPITHET) your worship’s reverence 1 (EPITHET)

your worship’s pleasure 1 (EPITHET) your worship’s friend 1 (EPITHET) your worships 1 (conventional) your worship 1 (EPITHET) your thing 1 (EPITHET) your sweet heavens 1 (natural phenomena) your slave A poor infirm and despised old man 1 (conventional) your partner in the cause ‘against which he fought 1 (EPITHET) your only jig-maker 1 (specialised fields) your noble grace 1 (EPITHET) your mastership 1 (conventional) your manhood 1 (generic term) your Majesty’s good thought 1 (emotion / mind, thought) your lordship’s pleasure 1 (conventional) your ladyship 1 (EPITHET) your highness’s will 1 (EPITHET) your highness’ pleasure 1 (EPITHET) your highness’ 1 (conventional) your high presence 1 (EPITHET) your high majesty 1 (conventional) your great fellow 1 (EPITHET) your gracious 1 (EPITHET) your grace’s words 1 (EPITHET) your grace’s hand 1 (EPITHET) your grace’s 1 (EPITHET) your grace whose had has rais’d me 1 (EPITHET) your good honour 1 (EPITHET) your good grace 1 (EPITHET) your fair princess 1 (conventional) your empress 1 (EPITHET) youngling 1 (EPITHET) young waverer 1 (EPITHET) young son 1 (term of family relationship) young sister 1 (term of family relationship)

young sir whom son I dare not call 1 (conventional) young Osric 1 (personal name) young master 1 (conventional) young man 1 (generic term) young lady 1 (conventional) young fry of treachery 1 (term of family relationship) young baggage 1 (EPITHET) you you whose places are the nearest 1 (EPITHET) you wrangling pirates 1 (specialised fields) you wild bedfellow 1 (EPITHET) you whoreson round man 1 (generic term) you whoreson insolent whoreson 1 (EPITHET) you whoreson dog 1 (specialised fields) you whoreson cullionly barber-monger 1 (EPITHET) you whom the god have made preservers of my throne 1 (EPITHET) you wanton calf 1 (natural phenomena) you wagtail 1 (natural phenomena) you vile standing tuck 1 (specialised fields) you trifler 1 (EPITHET) you thief of love 1 (specialised fields) you the blacker devil 1 (EPITHET) you that sleep in fame 1 (EPITHET) you that are blamed for it aike with us 1 (EPITHET) you tallow-face 1 (EPITHET) you taking airs 1 (natural phenomena) you tailor’s yard 1 (EPITHET) you sunburned sicklemen of August weary 1 (EPITHET) you sulphurous and thoughtexecuting fires 1 (natural phenomena) you stubborn ancient knave 1 (generic term) you stock-fish 1 (natural phenomena) you starveling 1 (natural phenomena) you spotted snakes with double tongue 1 (natural phenomena)

Appendix 471 you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts 1 (specialised fields) you slug-abed 1 (EPITHET) you sheat 1 (EPITHET) you sad Andronicus 1 (personal name) you rude rascals 1 (EPITHET) you reverend braggart 1 (EPITHET) you precious pandar 1 (EPITHET) you paraquito 1 (natural phenomena) you of the Goths Princes 1 (conventional) you numbling fool 1 (EPITHET) you nimble lightnings 1 (natural phenomena) you neat slave 1 (conventional) you murth’ring ministers 1 (conventional) you muddy knave 1 (generic term) you minimus of hindering know-grass made 1 (EPITHET) you merchant 1 (conventional) you men 1 (generic term) you married ones 1 (EPITHET) you mad-headed ape 1 (natural phenomena) you lord Cardinal of York 1 (EPITHET) you long-legg’d spinners 1 (natural phenomena) you lendings 1 (specialised fields) you justicers 1 (specialised fields) you juggler 1 (specialised fields) you i’ the chamblet 1 (EPITHET) you houseless poverty 1 (EPITHET) you honest gentlemen 1 (conventional) you heavens 1 (specialised fields) you heavenly guards 1 (specialised fields) you heavenly blessings 1 (EPITHET) you hard-hearted adamant 1 (natural phenomena) you green-sickness carrion 1 (natural phenomena)

you gentle gods 1 (specialised fields) you fiery-footed steeds 1 (natural phenomena) you fensuck’d fogs 1 (natural phenomena) you false Danish dogs 1 (natural phenomena) you ever-gentle Gods 1 (specialised fields) you ever-burning lights above 1 (natural phenomena) you Ethiope 1 (personal name) you elements that clip us round about 1 (specialised fields) you elements 1 (specialised fields) you egg 1 (natural phenomena) you eel-skin 1 (natural phenomena) you dwarf 1 (EPITHET) you driedneat’s tongue 1 (natural phenomena) you dog 1 (natural phenomena) you curs 1 (natural phenomena) you cur 1 (natural phenomena) you cowardly rascal 1 (EPITHET) you counterfeit 1 (natural phenomena) you cot-quean 1 (EPITHET) you cloudy princes 1 (conventional) you chaste stars 1 (natural phenomena) you cataracs 1 (natural phenomena) you canker-blossom 1 (natural phenomena) you bull’s pizzle 1 (natural phenomena) you bow-case 1 (EPITHET) you beasts 1 (specialised fields) you beastly knave 1 (generic term) you beast 1 (EPITHET) you bead 1 (natural phenomena) you bawling blasphemous incharitable dog 1 (natural phenomena) you base football player 1 (specialised fields) you bald pated lying rascal 1 (EPITHET) you baggage 1 (EPITHET)

you ancient stones 1 (natural phenomena) you acorn 1 (natural phenomena) York’s wife 1 (term of family relationship) Yedward 1 (personal name) ye whore 1 (EPITHET) ye warlike Goths 1 (personal name) ye thief 1 (specialised fields) ye that on the sands with printless foot 1 (EPITHET) ye rude slaves 1 (conventional) ye rascals 1 (EPITHET) ye knaves 1 (generic term) ye giddy goose 1 (natural phenomena) ye fat-kidneyed rascal 1 (EPITHET) ye fat paunch 1 (natural phenomena) ye fat guts 1 (natural phenomena) ye fat chuffs 1 (EPITHET) ye elves of hills 1 (specialised fields) ye devils 1 (specialised fields) ye cuckoo 1 (natural phenomena) wronged 1 (EPITHET) wretched state 1 (emotion / mind, thought) wretched Queen 1 (conventional) wretched Margaret 1 (personal name) wretched man 1 (generic term) wretched lady 1 (conventional) wretched Isabel 1 (personal name) wretch 1 (EPITHET) wrack 1 (specialised fields) worthy uncle 1 (term of family relationship) worthy sir 1 (conventional) worthy Sebastian 1 (personal name) worthy Pompey 1 (personal name) worthy Othello 1 (personal name) worthy Montano 1 (personal name) worthy Maecenas 1 (personal name) worthy Macduff 1 (personal name) worthy Macbeth 1 (personal name)

worthy lady 1 (conventional) worthy gentleman 1 (conventional) worthy general 1 (specialised fields) worthy father 1 (term of family relationship) worthy Duke 1 (conventional) worthy Cawdor 1 (personal name) worthy Camillo 1 (personal name) worthy Banquo 1 (personal name) worthy Andronicus 1 (personal name) worthiness of nature 1 (EPITHET) Worth what’s dearest to the world 1 (EPITHET) worse than brutish 1 (EPITHET) worm 1 (natural phenomena) world’s shame 1 (emotion / mind, thought) world 1 (specialised fields) world 1 (natural phenomena) Worcester 1 (personal name) wool-sack 1 (natural phenomena) wool of bat 1 (natural phenomena) wondrous thing 1 (EPITHET) wondreous heavy 1 (specialised fields) wolvish-ravening lamb 1 (natural phenomena) woeful woeful woeful day 1 (natural phenomena) woe’s scene 1 (EPITHET) wit-snapper 1 (EPITHET) witche’s mummy 1 (specialised fields) winds 1 (natural phenomena) window 1 (natural phenomena) wind 1 (natural phenomena) wife of Cornwall 1 (term of family relationship) wicked wit 1 (emotion / mind, thought) wicked varlet 1 (conventional) whoreson dog 1 (EPITHET) whoreson caterpillars 1 (natural phenomena) whey-face 1 (natural phenomena) what a rogue 1 (EPITHET) what a peasant slave 1 (EPITHET) weaving spiders 1 (natural phenomena)

472 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare weapons 1 (specialised fields) we that have free souls 1 (EPITHET) we ignorant of ourselves 1 (EPITHET) watchful gentlemen 1 (conventional) warlike sovereign 1 (conventional) wanderer 1 (EPITHET) wall-eyed slave 1 (conventional) vows to the blackest devil 1 (emotion / mind, thought) villainous whore 1 (EPITHET) villain boy 1 (EPITHET) vile thing 1 (EPITHET) vile Scott 1 (personal name) vile Montague 1 (personal name) vile jelly 1 (natural phenomena) vile instrument 1 (EPITHET) victorious Titus 1 (personal name) victorious friends 1 (EPITHET) vice of kings 1 (specialised fields) vial 1 (natural phenomena) very good friends 1 (EPITHET) Ventidius 1 (personal name) venomous poor fool 1 (EPITHET) venom 1 (specialised fields) vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts 1 (specialised fields) Vaughan 1 (personal name) Vassal 1 (EPITHET) valiant youth 1 (EPITHET) valiant Othello 1 (personal name) valiant Cassio 1 (personal name) unworthy brother 1 (term of family relationship) untimely death 1 (specialised fields) unseemly woman in a seeming man 1 (generic term) unsavoury guide 1 (EPITHET) unreal mock’ry 1 (EPITHET) unpleasing news 1 (EPITHET) unnatural though thou art 1 (EPITHET) unnatural detested brutish villain 1 (EPITHET) unnatural 1 (EPITHET)

unmannerly intruder as thou art 1 (EPITHET) unmanner’d dog 1 (natural phenomena) unkind 1 (EPITHET) unhappy fortune 1 (specialised fields) unhappy Claudio 1 (personal name) unhandsome warrior as I am 1 (specialised fields) unhallowed slave 1 (conventional) ungracious boy 1 (generic term) ungovern’d youth 1 (EPITHET) unconfortable time 1 (natural phenomena) uncle Worcester 1 (EPITHET) Uncle Marcus 1 (EPITHET) uncle Gloucester 1 (EPITHET) uncertain favour 1 (EPITHET) unburdened 1 (EPITHET) tyrant 1 (personal name) Tybalt the best friend that I had 1 (personal name) tune 1 (specialised fields) trusty Pompey 1 (personal name) trumpet 1 (specialised fields) truepenny 1 (EPITHET) true Pisanio Who long’st like me to see thy noble lord. 1 (personal name) true Jack Falstaff 1 (personal name) truant 1 (EPITHET) trot 1 (EPITHET) triple-turned whore 1 (EPITHET) treacherous villain 1 (EPITHET) transparent Helena 1 (personal name) touching now the point of human skill 1 (EPITHET) tooth of wolf 1 (natural phenomena) tongue of dog 1 (natural phenomena) Tom Snout 1 (personal name) toe of frog 1 (natural phenomena) Titus unkind and careless of thine own 1 (personal name) Titus 1 (conventional) time-pleaser 1 (emotion / mind, thought) Time 1 (EPITHET)

thy soldier 1 (specialised fields) thy no greater father 1 (term of family relationship) thy honour 1 (EPITHET) thy grace 1 (EPITHET) thy Caliban 1 (personal name) thrice-noble Titus 1 (personal name) thrice-gentle Cassio 1 (personal name) thrice fair lady 1 (conventional) thoughts 1 (emotion / mind, thought) thou, her maid 1 (EPITHET) thou young and rose-lipped cherubin 1 (specialised fields) thou wretched rash intruding fool 1 (EPITHET) thou wretched boy that didst consort him here 1 (generic term) thou worse than any name 1 (EPITHET) thou wondrous man 1 (generic term) thou womb of death, gor’d with the dearest morsel 1 (natural phenomena) thou woeful welcomer of glory 1 (EPITHET) thou wicked varlet 1 (conventional) thou wicked Hannibal 1 (personal name) thou whose captain I account myself 1 (EPITHET) thou whoreson zed 1 (EPITHET) thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch 1 (natural phenomena) thou whoreson impudent embossed rascal 1 (EPITHET) thou villain-slave 1 (EPITHET) thou villain Posthumus 1 (EPITHET) thou villain Capulet 1 (EPITHET) thou villain base 1 (EPITHET) thou vile lady 1 (conventional) thou vile king 1 (conventional) thou unsubstantial air that I embrace 1 (natural phenomena)

thou unreverend and unhallo’w friar 1 (specialised fields) thou unpossessing bastard 1 (term of family relationship) thou unnecessary letter 1 (EPITHET) thou unknown power 1 (specialised fields) thou unfeeling man 1 (generic term) thou tortoise 1 (natural phenomena) thou thunder-master 1 (EPITHET) thou that stands so for Posthumus 1 (EPITHET) thou sure and firmset earth 1 (natural phenomena) thou spell 1 (specialised fields) thou sober-suited matron all in black 1 (generic term) thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb 1 (EPITHET) thou similar of virtue that art incestuous 1 (EPITHET) thou shag-hair’d villain 1 (EPITHET) thou serpent 1 (natural phenomena) thou scurvy patch 1 (EPITHET) thou scornful page 1 (conventional) thou scarlet sin 1 (specialised fields) thou sad man 1 (generic term) thou runaway 1 (EPITHET) thou robed man of justice 1 (generic term) thou reverend man of Rome 1 (generic term) thou rat-catcher 1 (EPITHET) thou rascal beadle 1 (natural phenomena) thou rag of honour 1 (natural phenomena) thou quiet soul 1 (specialised fields) thou pure impiety 1 (specialised fields) thou public commoner a 1 (conventional) thou proud Scott 1 (personal name) thou protector of this damned strumpet 1 (specialised fields) thou precious varlet 1 (EPITHET) thou poor ghost 1 (specialised fields)

Appendix 473 thou poisonous slave got by the devil himself 1 (conventional) thou pernicious woman 1 (generic term) thou perjur’d 1 (specialised fields) thou pale and common drudge ‘tween man and man 1 (EPITHET) thou painted maypole 1 (emotion / mind, thought) thou other gold-bound brow 1 (natural phenomena) thou old unhappy traitor 1 (EPITHET) thou offspring of the house of Lancaster 1 (term of family relationship) thou noble youth 1 (EPITHET) thou naughty goaler 1 (EPITHET) thou my sometime daughter 1 (term of family relationship) thou most renowned 1 (EPITHET) thou most lying slave whom stripes may move, not kindness 1 (conventional) thou mortal wretch 1 (EPITHET) thou mine of bounty 1 (EPITHET) thou map of woe that thus dost talk in signs 1 (specialised fields) thou lump of foul deformity 1 (natural phenomena) thou lob of spirit 1 (EPITHET) thou loathed issue of they father’s loins 1 (EPITHET) thou lily-livered boy 1 (generic term) thou knotty-pated fool 1 (EPITHET) thou king of gods 1 (conventional) thou jesting monkey 1 (natural phenomena) thou injurious thief 1 (specialised fields) thou incestuous murd’rous damned Dane 1 (personal name) thou honourable man 1 (generic term) thou happy father 1 (term of family relationship) thou great defender of this Capitol 1 (specialised fields)

thou goddess 1 (specialised fields) thou gentle day 1 (natural phenomena) thou gaudy gold, hard food for Midas 1 (natural phenomena) thou foolish thing 1 (EPITHET) thou foolish friar 1 (specialised fields) thou fool 1 (EPITHET) thou fond mad man 1 (generic term) thou flaming minister 1 (conventional) thou fiend 1 (specialised fields) thou fearful father 1 (term of family relationship) thou fair heaven 1 (natural phenomena) thou emperor 1 (conventional) thou elvish-mark’d abortive rooting hog 1 (natural phenomena) thou earth 1 (natural phenomena) thou dreadful minister of 1 (specialised fields) thou double villain 1 (EPITHET) thou dotard 1 (emotion / mind, thought) thou divine nature 1 (natural phenomena) thou dissembler 1 (specialised fields) thou disloyal thing that shouldst repair my youth 1 (EPITHET) thou detestable maw 1 (natural phenomena) thou dearest Perdita 1 (personal name) thou day in night 1 (natural phenomena) thou darkling 1 (natural phenomena) thou cruel Angelo 1 (personal name) thou cream-fac’d loon 1 (EPITHET) thou climbing sorrow 1 (specialised fields) thou clay-brained guts 1 (natural phenomena) thou churl 1 (EPITHET) thou child 1 (term of family relationship) thou changed and self-cover’d thing 1 (EPITHET)

thou cat 1 (natural phenomena) thou cacodemon 1 (specialised fields) thou burr 1 (natural phenomena) thou bloody prison 1 (specialised fields) thou bloody hand 1 (natural phenomena) thou bloodless remnant of that royal ash 1 (EPITHET) thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out 1 (EPITHET) thou blessed thing 1 (EPITHET) thou beacon to this underglobe 1 (natural phenomena) thou basest thing 1 (EPITHET) thou ape of death 1 (natural phenomena) those kissing cherries tempting grow 1 (specialised fields) thorny hedgehogs 1 (natural phenomena) Thomas Tapster 1 (personal name) this wide-chapp’d rascal 1 (EPITHET) this seal of bliss 1 (EPITHET) this sanguine coward 1 (EPITHET) this huge hill of flesh 1 (natural phenomena) this horse-back-breaker 1 (EPITHET) this bed-presser 1 (EPITHET) this ancient ruffian 1 (EPITHET) Thidias 1 (personal name) thick night 1 (natural phenomena) thick cloud 1 (natural phenomena) these filthy vices 1 (EPITHET) the wrong Duke of Milan, Prospero 1 (conventional) the woefull’st man that ever lived in Rome 1 (generic term) the wide world’s emperor 1 (specialised fields) the valiant Caesar 1 (personal name) the universal landlord 1 (conventional) the troubler of the poor world’s peace 1 (EPITHET)

the tranquil mind 1 (specialised fields) the top of admiration 1 (EPITHET) the supervisor 1 (natural phenomena) the spirit-stirring drum 1 (specialised fields) the shrill trump 1 (specialised fields) the royal banner 1 (specialised fields) the rest 1 (EPITHET) the queen 1 (conventional) the punto reverso 1 (specialised fields) the prince’s fool 1 (EPITHET) the Prince 1 (conventional) the post unsanctified of murtherous lechers 1 (specialised fields) the point envenom’d 1 (EPITHET) the plumed troops 1 (specialised fields) the nonpareil 1 (EPITHET) the noblest that survives 1 (EPITHET) the neighing steed 1 (natural phenomena) the murderer 1 (specialised fields) the most pitious cry of the souls 1 (natural phenomena) the medicine of our house 1 (specialised fields) the man in the moon 1 (generic term) the latter spring 1 (natural phenomena) the judges 1 (specialised fields) the immortal passado 1 (specialised fields) the heart where mine his thoughts did kindle 1 (natural phenomena) the hay 1 (EPITHET) the guard 1 (specialised fields) the greatest soldier of the world 1 (specialised fields) the good Gods 1 (specialised fields) the god of Jupiter 1 (specialised fields) the former Hero 1 (personal name) the folly of this island 1 (EPITHET) the eldest son of this distressed queen 1 (term of family relationship)

474 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare the demi-Atlas of this earth 1 (EPITHET) the Countess Richmond 1 (EPITHET) the blest gods 1 (specialised fields) the big wars that makes ambition virtue 1 (specialised fields) the beauteous Majesty of Denmark 1 (conventional) the arm of mine own body 1 (natural phenomena) the arm 1 (specialised fields) that/that incestuous adulterous beast 1 (EPITHET) that white-bearded old Satan 1 (specialised fields) that villainous abominable misleader of youth 1 (EPITHET) that vanity in years 1 (EPITHET) that trunk of humours 1 (natural phenomena) that swollen parcel of dropsies 1 (EPITHET) that stuffed cloak-bag of guts 1 (natural phenomena) that roasted Manningtree ox with the pussing in his belly 1 (natural phenomena) that reverend vice 1 (specialised fields) that husband 1 (term of family relationship) that huge bombard of sack 1 (natural phenomena) that grey iniquity 1 (EPITHET) that good Kent 1 (personal name) that father ruffian 1 (EPITHET) that bolting-hutch 1 (natural phenomena) Thanes 1 (conventional) Thane of Glamis 1 (conventional) Thane of Cawdor 1 (conventional) Th’ untuned and jarring senses 1 (natural phenomena) th’ inconstant moon 1 (natural phenomena) th’ ear-piercing fife 1 (specialised fields) Tessel 1 (personal name) tender sapling 1 (natural phenomena) temperate nymphs 1 (specialised fields)

tawny tartar 1 (personal name) Taurus 1 (personal name) Tartar’s lips 1 (natural phenomena) tailor 1 (conventional) sweeting 1 (natural phenomena) sweetheart 1 (EPITHET) sweetest fairest lily 1 (natural phenomena) sweetest 1 (natural phenomena) sweet, sweet, sweet nurse 1 (specialised fields) sweet wench 1 (generic term) sweet villain 1 (EPITHET) sweet sovereign 1 (conventional) sweet sister 1 (term of family relationship) sweet saint 1 (specialised fields) sweet revenge 1 (specialised fields) sweet rememberance 1 (emotion / mind, thought) sweet powers 1 (specialised fields) sweet playfellow 1 (specialised fields) sweet partner 1 (EPITHET) sweet Othello 1 (personal name) sweet Ophelia 1 (personal name) sweet Octavia 1 (personal name) sweet niece 1 (term of family relationship) sweet Ned 1 (personal name) sweet Mutius 1 (personal name) sweet Mistress Margaret 1 (EPITHET) sweet mistress 1 (conventional) sweet marjoram 1 (natural phenomena) sweet maiden 1 (generic term) sweet maid 1 (generic term) sweet madam 1 (conventional) sweet Lavinia 1 (personal name) sweet Jack Falstaff 1 (personal name) sweet Isis 1 (personal name) sweet Hermia 1 (personal name) sweet heaven 1 (specialised fields)

sweet Hamlet 1 (personal name) sweet Hal 1 (personal name) sweet gold 1 (natural phenomena) sweet Gertrude 1 (personal name) sweet friend 1 (EPITHET) sweet flower 1 (natural phenomena) sweet doctor 1 (specialised fields) sweet Desdemona 1 (personal name) sweet Desdemon 1 (EPITHET) sweet Demetrius 1 (personal name) sweet cell of virtue and nobility 1 (natural phenomena) sweet Bottom 1 (personal name) sweet bodements 1 (specialised fields) sweet Blunt 1 (personal name) sweet blowse 1 (EPITHET) sweet Bianca 1 (personal name) sweet Alexas 1 (personal name) sweet 1 (EPITHET) swain 1 (natural phenomena) Sugar Jack 1 (EPITHET) substance of us all 1 (natural phenomena) stubborn knees 1 (natural phenomena) Starveling 1 (personal name) Stanley 1 (personal name) standing lakes 1 (natural phenomena) sponge 1 (natural phenomena) spited 1 (EPITHET) spirits of peace 1 (specialised fields) speechless complainant 1 (EPITHET) sovereign 1 (conventional) sovereign sir 1 (conventional) sovereign of Egypt 1 (conventional) sovereign mistress of true melancholy 1 (conventional) sovereign 1 (conventional) soulless villain 1 (EPITHET) soul of us all 1 (specialised fields) soothsayer 1 (specialised fields) son John 1 (EPITHET) son harry 1 (EPITHET) son Dorset 1 (EPITHET)

son 1 (generic term) some three or four of you 1 (EPITHET) some of ye 1 (EPITHET) some God 1 (specialised fields) sole sir o’th’ world 1 (conventional) Snout the tinker 1 (personal name) snail 1 (natural phenomena) Smulkin 1 (specialised fields) smiling damned villain 1 (EPITHET) slips of yew, silver’d in the moon’s eclipse 1 (natural phenomena) sleep that sometimes suts up sorrow’s eye 1 (natural phenomena) slanderer 1 (EPITHET) slain 1 (EPITHET) sister 1 (specialised fields) sirrah Jack 1 (EPITHET) sirrah Iras 1 (EPITHET) sirrah carrier 1 (EPITHET) sirrah 1 (conventional) Sir Walter Herbert 1 (EPITHET) Sir Richard Ratcliffe 1 (EPITHET) Sir Richard 1 (EPITHET) sir page 1 (EPITHET) Sir Nicholas 1 (EPITHET) sir my Ocativia 1 (EPITHET) sir more knave than fool 1 (conventional) sir John Pauch 1 (EPITHET) sir John Jack 1 (EPITHET) sir Harry Guilford 1 (EPITHET) Sir Christopher 1 (EPITHET) sinful thought 1 (emotion / mind, thought) sinful Macduff 1 (personal name) simple plain Clarence 1 (personal name) signior Romeo 1 (EPITHET) signior Montano 1 (EPITHET) Signior Lodovico 1 (EPITHET) signior Gratiano 1 (EPITHET) signior Claudio 1 (EPITHET) signior Brabantio 1 (EPITHET) sick-lipped slave 1 (conventional) Sheriff 1 (specialised fields) sheperdess 1 (EPITHET) shame itself 1 (EPITHET)

Appendix 475 shallow, changing woman 1 (generic term) serious vanity 1 (EPITHET) sergeant 1 (specialised fields) senseless linen happier therein than I 1 (natural phenomena) senseless bauble 1 (EPITHET) Sempronius 1 (personal name) Semiramis 1 (personal name) seeling night 1 (natural phenomena) Sebastian 1 (personal name) scornful Lysander 1 (personal name) scale of dragon 1 (natural phenomena) savage 1 (EPITHET) saucy Eunuch 1 (specialised fields) saucy controller of my private steps 1 (specialised fields) Saturnine 1 (personal name) sapient sir 1 (conventional) sage grave men 1 (generic term) sad friends 1 (EPITHET) rustic mountaineer 1 (EPITHET) rubies unparagon’d 1 (natural phenomena) royal wench 1 (generic term) royal queen 1 (conventional) royal prince 1 (conventional) royal knavery 1 (EPITHET) royal King 1 (conventional) royal Egypt 1 (personal name) royal Duke 1 (conventional) royal Dane 1 (personal name) root of hemlock, digg’d in the dark 1 (natural phenomena) Rome’s royal empress unfurnished of her well-beseeming troop 1 (conventional) Rome’s royal emperor 1 (conventional) Rome’s dear friend 1 (EPITHET) Rome victorious in thy mourning weeds. 1 (personal name) Roman brethren 1 (term of family relationship) Roman 1 (personal name) Rodero 1 (personal name) Roderigo whom love hath turned almost the wrong side out 1 (personal name) Rivers that died at Pomfret 1 (personal name) riotous madness 1 (specialised fields)

right royal 1 (EPITHET) right noble Burgundy 1 (personal name) Richard of York 1 (EPITHET) rich Ceres 1 (specialised fields) revenge 1 (specialised fields) renowned Titus more than half my soul 1 (personal name) renowned Lucius 1 (personal name) remorseless treacherous kindless villain 1 (EPITHET) relenting fool 1 (EPITHET) relation 1 (EPITHET) rebellious hell 1 (specialised fields) rebellious dead 1 (specialised fields) rash wanton 1 (EPITHET) rascal 1 (EPITHET) rare words 1 (conventional) rare instinct 1 (specialised fields) rare for Antony 1 (EPITHET) rare Egyptian 1 (personal name) rapine 1 (EPITHET) Ralph 1 (personal name) rage 1 (emotion / mind, thought) quilt 1 (natural phenomena) quiet untroubled soul 1 (specialised fields) queen of Goths 1 (conventional) Purr 1 (personal name) pupil mine 1 (specialised fields) prous and ambitious tribune 1 (conventional) proud Titania 1 (personal name) proud Saturnine 1 (personal name) proud Rome 1 (personal name) proud lord 1 (conventional) proud Demetrius 1 (personal name) Prospero my lord 1 (personal name) Prospero 1 (personal name) proper stuff 1 (EPITHET) profane fellow 1 (EPITHET) prince Saturninus 1 (EPITHET) pride 1 (EPITHET) pretty York 1 (personal name) pretty soul 1 (specialised fields)

pretty Ophelia 1 (personal name) pretty 1 (EPITHET) Preserver of my father now of me 1 (EPITHET) preposterous and frantic outrage 1 (emotion / mind, thought) precious villain 1 (EPITHET) precious creature 1 (specialised fields) poor Yorrick 1 (personal name) poor worm 1 (natural phenomena) poor Turlygod 1 (specialised fields) poor thing 1 (EPITHET) poor soul that tak’st thy leave of it. 1 (specialised fields) poor sick Fidele 1 (personal name) poor ropes 1 (natural phenomena) poor Romeo 1 (personal name) poor rogue 1 (EPITHET) poor quainted queen 1 (conventional) poor princess 1 (conventional) poor prattler 1 (EPITHET) poor perdu 1 (specialised fields) poor Ophelia 1 (personal name) poor one 1 (EPITHET) poor old Jack 1 (personal name) poor old heart 1 (natural phenomena) poor my lord 1 (conventional) poor mortal-living ghost 1 (specialised fields) poor monkey 1 (natural phenomena) poor Milan 1 (personal name) poor lord 1 (conventional) poor living corse 1 (natural phenomena) poor key-cold figure of a holy king 1 (EPITHET) poor Jack 1 (personal name) poor hurt fowl 1 (natural phenomena) poor house that keep’st thyself 1 (specialised fields) poor ghost 1 (specialised fields) poor fool 1 (conventional) poor father 1 (term of family relationship)

poor Desdemon 1 (EPITHET) poor country a 1 (conventional) poor country 1 (conventional) poor Cordelia 1 (personal name) poor Claudio 1 (personal name) poor Clarence by thy guile betray’d to death 1 (personal name) poor Clarence 1 (personal name) poor Caitiff 1 (EPITHET) poor bird 1 (natural phenomena) poor bankrupt 1 (EPITHET) poor Antony 1 (personal name) pomp 1 (EPITHET) Pomp 1 (conventional) plebeians 1 (conventional) plain and holy innocence 1 (specialised fields) plague 1 (specialised fields) place 1 (EPITHET) pitiful-hearted Titan 1 (personal name) pitiful sight 1 (natural phenomena) piteous predicament 1 (emotion / mind, thought) pipers 1 (specialised fields) pious sir 1 (conventional) pilgrim 1 (specialised fields) Philostrate 1 (personal name) Philarmonus 1 (personal name) Peter Qince 1 (personal name) perturbed spirit 1 (specialised fields) perserver 1 (EPITHET) perfect 1 (EPITHET) Perdita 1 (personal name) people’s tribune’s here 1 (conventional) people of Rome 1 (EPITHET) pensive daughter 1 (term of family relationship) peer 1 (conventional) pedlar 1 (EPITHET) peace 1 (specialised fields) patrons of my right 1 (EPITHET) patch 1 (EPITHET) Passion 1 (emotion / mind, thought) partner 1 (EPITHET) parlous boy 1 (generic term) Pantheon 1 (specialised fields) Pallas 1 (personal name)

476 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare pale primrose 1 (natural phenomena) pale ashes of the house of Lancaster 1 (specialised fields) painted queen 1 (conventional) our very loving sister 1 (term of family relationship) our son of Cornwall 1 (term of family relationship) our son 1 (term of family relationship) our renowned Duke 1 (conventional) our queen 1 (conventional) our old and faithful friend 1 (EPITHET) our no less loving son of Albany 1 (term of family relationship) our joy 1 (emotion / mind, thought) our innocence 1 (specialised fields) our honour’d hostess 1 (EPITHET) our gracious mother 1 (term of family relationship) our good old friend 1 (EPITHET) our eldest-born 1 (EPITHET) our dearest Regan 1 (personal name) our dear son 1 (term of family relationship) our cousin Hamlet 1 (EPITHET) our chiefest courtier 1 (conventional) our brother 1 (term of family relationship) Osric 1 (personal name) oppressed king 1 (conventional) one woe 1 (emotion / mind, thought) one thing to rejoice and solace in 1 (EPITHET) one poor and loving child 1 (term of family relationship) one of you 1 (EPITHET) old traitor 1 (EPITHET) old Titus 1 (personal name) old soldier 1 (specialised fields) old sir 1 (conventional) old signior 1 (conventional) old Shylock 1 (personal name) old Morgan 1 (personal name) old mole 1 (natural phenomena)

old lord 1 (conventional) old Jephthah 1 (personal name) old Jack 1 (personal name) old fond eyes 1 (natural phenomena) old fellow 1 (EPITHET) old Escalus 1 (personal name) old carrion 1 (specialised fields) old Capulet 1 (personal name) old acquaintance 1 (EPITHET) of one man refus’d 1 (EPITHET) O you wonder 1 (specialised fields) O you mighty gods 1 (specialised fields) O you kind Gods 1 (specialised fields) O you gods 1 (specialised fields) O you blessed ministers above 1 (specialised fields) O wretched fool that lov’st to make thine honesty a vice 1 (EPITHET) O worthy Stephano 1 (personal name) O worthy Goth 1 (personal name) O worthiest cousin 1 (term of family relationship) O wonderful son that can so astonish a mother 1 (term of family relationship) O wonder 1 (specialised fields) O woeful time 1 (natural phenomena) O woeful sympathy 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O woe 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O wise young judge 1 (specialised fields) O wise and upright judge 1 (specialised fields) O wife 1 (term of family relationship) O well-painted passion 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O well-devided disposition 1 (EPITHET) O weary reckoning 1 (EPITHET) O weary night 1 (natural phenomena) O villainous 1 (EPITHET) O villain that I am 1 (EPITHET)

O valiant Eros 1 (personal name) o valiant cousin 1 (term of family relationship) O vain fool 1 (EPITHET) O vain boast 1 (EPITHET) O upright judge 1 (specialised fields) O unhappy girl 1 (generic term) O true apothecary 1 (specialised fields) O trespass sweetly urg’d 1 (specialised fields) O treason of the blood 1 (specialised fields) O treacherous villains 1 (EPITHET) O thou wicked Hannibal 1 (personal name) O thou well-skilled in curses 1 (EPITHET) O thou vild one 1 (EPITHET) O thou untaught 1 (EPITHET) O thou tyrant 1 (EPITHET) O thou side-piercing sight 1 (natural phenomena) O thou pernicious caitiff 1 (EPITHET) O thou mine heir of Naples and of Milan 1 (specialised fields) O thou invisible spirit of wine 1 (specialised fields) O thou good Kent 1 (personal name) O thou foul thief 1 (specialised fields) O thou dull Moor 1 (personal name) O thou day o’th’ world 1 (natural phenomena) O thou Damon Dear 1 (EPITHET) O thou damnable fellow 1 (EPITHET) O thou Caitiff 1 (EPITHET) o thou blessed moon 1 (natural phenomena) O thou Arabian bird 1 (natural phenomena) O those deliberate fools 1 (EPITHET) O this foul soul of Egypt 1 (specialised fields) O these naughty times 1 (specialised fields) O the more angel she 1 (EPITHET) O the heavens 1 (specialised fields)

O the gods 1 (specialised fields) O the father 1 (term of family relationship) O that brave Caesar 1 (personal name) O sweet revenge 1 (specialised fields) O sweet Portia 1 (personal name) O sweet Paulina 1 (personal name) O sweet my mother 1 (term of family relationship) O sweet Juliet 1 (personal name) O sweet England 1 (personal name) o sweet bully Bottom 1 (personal name) O strange and fast’ned villain 1 (EPITHET) O Stephano 1 (personal name) O spite Too old to be engag’d to young 1 (EPITHET) O spite 1 (EPITHET) O Spartan dog 1 (natural phenomena) O son 1 (term of family relationship) O sleep 1 (natural phenomena) O single-soled jest 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O sides 1 (natural phenomena) O shame 1 (EPITHET) O Setebos 1 (personal name) O serpent heart hid with a flowering face 1 (natural phenomena) O sacred receptacle of my joys 1 (natural phenomena) O ruin’d piece of Nature 1 (EPITHET) O rude unthankfulness 1 (specialised fields) O royal piece 1 (EPITHET) O rose of May 1 (natural phenomena) O Romeo 1 (personal name) O reverend tribunes 1 (conventional) O Ratcliffe 1 (personal name) O rarely base 1 (EPITHET) O rare fortune 1 (specialised fields) O rare 1 (EPITHET) O proud death 1 (specialised fields) O Proserpina 1 (personal name)

Appendix 477 O princely Buckingham 1 (personal name) O pretty Isabella 1 (personal name) O poor Gloucester 1 (personal name) O plague right well prevented 1 (specialised fields) O place 1 (EPITHET) O pity 1 (specialised fields) O Pisanio 1 (personal name) O perjured woman 1 (generic term) O Perdita 1 (personal name) O Paulina 1 (personal name) O pale 1 (EPITHET) O nurse 1 (specialised fields) O nuncle 1 (term of family relationship) O notable strumpet 1 (EPITHET) O noble weakness 1 (specialised fields) O noble misery 1 (specialised fields) O noble judge 1 (specialised fields) O noble father 1 (term of family relationship) O negligence 1 (EPITHET) O nature 1 (natural phenomena) O my Wolsey “The quiet of my wounded conscience;” 1 (personal name) O my sweet beef 1 (natural phenomena) O my sweet 1 (natural phenomena) O my soul’s joy 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O my son 1 (term of family relationship) O my poor father 1 (term of family relationship) O my phrophetic soul 1 (specialised fields) O my love 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O my lord Posthumus 1 (EPITHET) O my lord Aberga’nny 1 (EPITHET) O my lord 1 (conventional) O my follies 1 (EPITHET) O my fair warrior 1 (specialised fields) O my fair cousin 1 (term of family relationship) O my dear Hamlet 1 (personal name) O my dear Gertrude 1 (personal name)

O my dear father 1 (term of family relationship) O my dear Cassio 1 (personal name) O my brother’s child 1 (term of family relationship) O my brother 1 (term of family relationship) O my breast 1 (natural phenomena) O musicians 1 (specialised fields) O murderous coxcomb 1 (EPITHET) O most true 1 (EPITHET) o most small fault 1 (EPITHET) O most pernicious woman 1 (generic term) O most lame and impotent conclusion 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O most kind maid 1 (generic term) O most insatiate and luxurious woman 1 (generic term) O most delicate fiend 1 (specialised fields) O monstrous world 1 (specialised fields) O mischief strangely thwarting 1 (EPITHET) o mischief 1 (EPITHET) O melancholy 1 (specialised fields) O loving hate 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O Lorenzo 1 (personal name) O lord archbishop 1 (EPITHET) O long and tedious night 1 (natural phenomena) O limed soul that struggling to be free art more engaged 1 (specialised fields) O life 1 (natural phenomena) O lamentable day 1 (natural phenomena) O lady Fortune 1 (EPITHET) O lady 1 (conventional) O Juliet 1 (personal name) O Jove 1 (specialised fields) O Jew 1 (specialised fields) O Isis 1 (personal name) O Iras 1 (personal name) O insupportable heavy hour 1 (natural phenomena) O inhuman dog 1 (natural phenomena) O infinite virtue 1 (EPITHET) O ill-starred wench pale as thy smock 1 (generic term)

O Iago 1 (personal name) O husband 1 (term of family relationship) O holy friar 1 (specialised fields) O Hero 1 (personal name) O Hermione 1 (personal name) O hell Too choose love by another’s eyes. 1 (specialised fields) O hell kite 1 (natural phenomena) O Helen 1 (personal name) O heavy ignorance 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O heavy deed 1 (specialised fields) O heavy day 1 (natural phenomena) O heavy burden 1 (specialised fields) O heavenly mingle 1 (EPITHET) O heaven 1 (natural phenomena) O heat 1 (natural phenomena) O heart 1 (natural phenomena) O Harry 1 (personal name) O hardness to dissemble 1 (EPITHET) O happy torment 1 (EPITHET) O happy man 1 (generic term) O happy Leonatus 1 (personal name) O happy horse 1 (natural phenomena) O happy fair 1 (EPITHET) O happy dagger 1 (specialised fields) O Hal 1 (personal name) O gull 1 (natural phenomena) O Griffith 1 (personal name) O grave and good Paulina 1 (personal name) O grace 1 (EPITHET) O good Horatio 1 (personal name) O good Gonzalo 1 (personal name) O Goneril 1 (personal name) O Gods 1 (specialised fields) O God which this blood mad’st 1 (specialised fields) O God of Love 1 (specialised fields) O God 1 (personal name) O gentlemen 1 (conventional) O gentle son 1 (term of family relationship) O friar 1 (specialised fields)

O form 1 (EPITHET) O fool 1 (EPITHET) O flesh 1 (natural phenomena) O filthy traitor 1 (EPITHET) O Ferdinand 1 (personal name) O fault 1 (EPITHET) O father Abram 1 (EPITHET) O Fate 1 (specialised fields) O faithless coward 1 (EPITHET) O excellent young man 1 (generic term) O excellent 1 (EPITHET) O eastern star 1 (natural phenomena) O earth with this blood drink’st 1 (natural phenomena) O Douglas 1 (personal name) O Doricles 1 (personal name) O dolt 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O dishonest wretch 1 (EPITHET) O devil 1 (specialised fields) O develish-holy fray 1 (specialised fields) O detestable villain 1 (EPITHET) O Desdemon 1 (EPITHET) O deadly sin 1 (specialised fields) O day and night 1 (natural phenomena) O damned paper 1 (EPITHET) O damned Iago 1 (personal name) O cursed wretch 1 (EPITHET) O cursed spirit 1 (specialised fields) O curse of marriage 1 (specialised fields) o cruel 1 (EPITHET) O cross Too high to be enthrall’d to low 1 (specialised fields) O coward conscience 1 (specialised fields) O cousin 1 (term of family relationship) O courteous Tybalt 1 (personal name) O comfortable Friar 1 (specialised fields) O Cleopatra 1 (personal name) O churl 1 (EPITHET)

478 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare O Charmian 1 (personal name) O Cassio 1 (personal name) O calm, dishonourable vile submission 1 (specialised fields) O Buckingham 1 (personal name) O brother Montague 1 (EPITHET) O brawling love 1 (emotion / mind, thought) O brave touch 1 (natural phenomena) O brave sir 1 (conventional) O brave monster 1 (specialised fields) O Bottom 1 (personal name) O bosom black as death 1 (natural phenomena) O bloody period 1 (EPITHET) O blood 1 (natural phenomena) O blessed 1 (specialised fields) O beauty 1 (EPITHET) O Antony Nobler than my revolt is infamous 1 (personal name) O all you host of heaven 1 (specialised fields) now gods that we adore 1 (specialised fields) not poison 1 (EPITHET) not my child 1 (term of family relationship) most credulous fool 1 (EPITHET) noses 1 (natural phenomena) Nose of Turk 1 (natural phenomena) Norfolk 1 (personal name) nole Titus 1 (personal name) noblest of men 1 (EPITHET) noble Venditus 1 (personal name) noble tribunes 1 (conventional) noble strain 1 (EPITHET) noble signior 1 (conventional) noble Sebastian 1 (personal name) noble Pompey 1 (personal name) noble philosopher 1 (specialised fields) noble patricians 1 (conventional) noble mistress 1 (conventional) noble master 1 (conventional) noble Lucius 1 (personal name)

noble lord of York 1 (conventional) noble judge 1 (specialised fields) noble heart 1 (natural phenomena) noble Hamlet 1 (personal name) noble Gloucester 1 (personal name) noble friend 1 (EPITHET) noble father-in-law 1 (term of family relationship) noble emperor 1 (conventional) noble cousins 1 (term of family relationship) noble County Paris 1 (EPITHET) noble Charmian 1 (personal name) noble captain 1 (specialised fields) noble Burgundy 1 (personal name) noble brother Marcus 1 (EPITHET) noble Antony 1 (personal name) noble Agrippa 1 (personal name) no Jew 1 (specialised fields) newts 1 (natural phenomena) neighbour Mugs 1 (personal name) neighbours 1 (conventional) neighbour Seacole 1 (EPITHET) neighbour Mugs 1 (EPITHET) neighbour Dogberry 1 (EPITHET) naughty lady 1 (conventional) nation miserable 1 (EPITHET) naked fellow 1 (EPITHET) my young York 1 (personal name) my young mistress a 1 (conventional) my young lady 1 (conventional) my worthy Cawdor 1 (personal name) my woman 1 (generic term) my Wolsey 1 (personal name) my warrior 1 (specialised fields) my wag 1 (EPITHET) my villein 1 (EPITHET) my very worthy Cousin 1 (term of family relationship)

my uncle 1 (term of family relationship) my true preserver 1 (EPITHET) my true Paulina 1 (personal name) my tricksy spirit 1 (specialised fields) my Titania 1 (personal name) my thrice-renowned lord 1 (conventional) my thrice gracious lord 1 (conventional) my thought’s sovereign 1 (conventional) my Thetis 1 (personal name) my Theseus 1 (personal name) my Thane 1 (conventional) my sword 1 (specialised fields) my sweet queen 1 (conventional) my sweet Moor sweeter to me than life 1 (conventional) my sweet love 1 (emotion / mind, thought) my sweet lord 1 (conventional) my sweet friend 1 (EPITHET) my sweet creature of Bombast 1 (EPITHET) my sweet Cassio 1 (personal name) my sweet Bianca 1 (personal name) my surfeit 1 (natural phenomena) my supreme crown 1 (specialised fields) my spirit 1 (specialised fields) my spade 1 (EPITHET) my sovereign queen 1 (conventional) my sovereign king 1 (conventional) my slave 1 (conventional) my sister 1 (term of family relationship) my sinews 1 (natural phenomena) my sides 1 (natural phenomena) my sick fool 1 (EPITHET) my royal liege 1 (conventional) my rising heart 1 (natural phenomena) my ring 1 (natural phenomena) my quaint Ariel 1 (personal name)

my pretty knave 1 (generic term) my pretty cousin 1 (term of family relationship) my prettiest Perdita 1 (personal name) my precious Queen 1 (conventional) my potent master 1 (conventional) my poor fool 1 (EPITHET) my Perdita 1 (personal name) my only life 1 (natural phenomena) my old Venetian friend Salerio 1 (EPITHET) my old lad of the castle 1 (generic term) my Oberon 1 (personal name) my nyas 1 (natural phenomena) my noble uncle 1 (term of family relationship) my noble sister 1 (term of family relationship) my noble Scott 1 (personal name) my noble mistress 1 (conventional) my noble friend 1 (EPITHET) my noble fellow 1 (EPITHET) my noble cousin Buckingham 1 (EPITHET) my noble brother 1 (term of family relationship) my nightingale 1 (natural phenomena) my niece that flies away so fast 1 (term of family relationship) my most wronged sister 1 (term of family relationship) my most sovereign lord 1 (conventional) my most sacred lady 1 (conventional) my most gracious lord 1 (conventional) my most fair Bianca 1 (personal name) my most dread sovereign 1 (conventional) my most dear lord 1 (conventional) my most dear Gloucester 1 (personal name) my mistresses 1 (conventional) my mistress 1 (EPITHET) my medicine 1 (specialised fields)

Appendix 479 my mate in empire 1 (EPITHET) my Lucio 1 (personal name) my lovely Saturnine 1 (personal name) my lovely Aaron 1 (personal name) my Lord’s knave 1 (EPITHET) (conventional) my lord/liege 1 (conventional) my lord the Prince 1 (conventional) my lord the Duke of Buckingham 1 (conventional) my lord the Duke 1 (conventional) my lord Sebastian 1 (EPITHET) my lord Sands 1 (conventional) my lord of York 1 (conventional) my lord of Worcester 1 (conventional) my lord of Westmoreland 1 (conventional) my lord of Surrey 1 (conventional) My lord of Oxford 1 (conventional) my lord of Gloucester 1 (EPITHET) my lord of Derby 1 (conventional) my lord Northumberland 1 (EPITHET) my lord Chamberlain 1 (EPITHET) my lord archbishop 1 (EPITHET) my lord Antonio 1 (conventional) my lord 1 (personal name) my lord 1 (EPITHET) my little lord Cardinal 1 (EPITHET) my legitimate 1 (specialised fields) my learn’d lord Cardinal 1 (EPITHET) my learn’d and servant Cranmer 1 (EPITHET) my Lavinia 1 (personal name) my lady wisdom 1 (EPITHET) my lady the hostess 1 (conventional) my lad 1 (generic term) my king 1 (conventional) my ingenious instrument 1 (specialised fields)

my industrious servant 1 (EPITHET) my husband 1 (term of family relationship) my honoured lord 1 (conventional) my holy sir 1 (conventional) my Hippolyta 1 (personal name) my Hermia 1 (personal name) my heresy 1 (specialised fields) my hearty friends 1 (EPITHET) my hearts 1 (EPITHET) my heart 1 (EPITHET) my headstrong 1 (EPITHET) my grave sir 1 (conventional) my grandam 1 (conventional) my gracious sir 1 (conventional) my gracious mother 1 (term of family relationship) my gracious madam 1 (conventional) my gracious lady 1 (conventional) my good sweet honey lord 1 (conventional) my good Lysander 1 (personal name) my good lord of Winchester 1 (conventional) my good lord of Westmoreland 1 (conventional) my good lord Mayor 1 (EPITHET) my good Lord Hamlet 1 (EPITHET) my good lord Cardinal 1 (EPITHET) my good lord archbishop 1 (EPITHET) my good liege 1 (conventional) my good knave Eros 1 (EPITHET) my good friend 1 (EPITHET) my good fellows 1 (EPITHET) my good fellow 1 (EPITHET) my good Cromwell 1 (personal name) my good cousin 1 (term of family relationship) my good Camillo 1 (personal name) my good boy 1 (generic term) my good and gracious Lord of Canterbury 1 (conventional) my good Alexas 1 (personal name)

my ghostly father 1 (term of family relationship) my gentle Varrius 1 (personal name) my gentle Puck 1 (personal name) my gentle nurse 1 (specialised fields) my gentle lady 1 (conventional) my gentle joy 1 (emotion / mind, thought) my gentle Gratiano 1 (personal name) my gentle cousin Westmoreland 1 (EPITHET) my friendly knave 1 (generic term) my friend Stephano 1 (personal name) my follower 1 (EPITHET) my flesh 1 (natural phenomena) my fellow 1 (EPITHET) my fear interprets 1 (emotion / mind, thought) my father in his habit as he liv’d 1 (term of family relationship) my father 1 (specialised fields) my father 1 (term of family relationship) my faithful friends 1 (EPITHET) my fairy lord 1 (conventional) my fairest friend 1 (EPITHET) my fair Cordelia 1 (personal name) my fair 1 (EPITHET) my excellent good friends 1 (EPITHET) my ever-gentle cousin 1 (term of family relationship) my emperor 1 (conventional) my dove 1 (natural phenomena) my Doricles 1 (personal name) my Desdemona 1 (personal name) my diligence 1 (EPITHET) my delicate Ariel 1 (personal name) my dear’st sister 1 (term of family relationship) my dearest sister 1 (term of family relationship) my dearest Queen 1 (conventional) my dearest husband 1 (term of family relationship)

my dearest father 1 (term of family relationship) my dearest coz 1 (term of family relationship) my dearest 1 (EPITHET) my dear son 1 (term of family relationship) my dear sister 1 (term of family relationship) my dear one 1 (EPITHET) my dear Nurse 1 (specialised fields) my dear master 1 (conventional) my dear Majesty 1 (conventional) my dear love 1 (emotion / mind, thought) my dear Lady Disdain 1 (EPITHET) my dear Hamlet 1 (personal name) my dear Gertrude 1 (personal name) my dear countryman 1 (conventional) my dear 1 (EPITHET) my coz 1 (term of family relationship) my cousin Westmoreland 1 (EPITHET) my cousin Vernon 1 (EPITHET) my cousin Romeo 1 (EPITHET) my cousin Hamlet 1 (EPITHET) my cousin Buckingham 1 (EPITHET) my cousin 1 (term of family relationship) my countryman 1 (conventional) my Cordelia 1 (personal name) my competitor in top of all design 1 (EPITHET) my commander 1 (specialised fields) my coach 1 (EPITHET) my chuck 1 (natural phenomena) my captain 1 (specialised fields) my callop 1 (natural phenomena) my Cadwal 1 (personal name) my brains 1 (natural phenomena) my bird 1 (natural phenomena) my best Camillo 1 (personal name)

480 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare my beloved brother 1 (term of family relationship) my art 1 (specialised fields) my all-worthy lord 1 (conventional) my accursed womb the bed of death 1 (natural phenomena) Mustardseed 1 (personal name) music moody food of us that trade in love 1 (specialised fields) music 1 (specialised fields) murderous slave 1 (conventional) Mounsieur Mustardseed 1 (EPITHET) Mounsieur Cobweb 1 (personal name) Moth 1 (personal name) most wretched 1 (EPITHET) most worthy Thane 1 (conventional) most worthy prince 1 (conventional) most worthy madam 1 (conventional) most worthy gentleman 1 (conventional) most woeful day that ever, ever I did yet behold 1 (natural phenomena) most wicked speed 1 (EPITHET) most wicked sir whom to call brother would even infect my mouth 1 (conventional) most wicked fiend 1 (EPITHET) most ungrateful maid 1 (generic term) most sweet Queen 1 (conventional) most sweet Jew 1 (specialised fields) most sovereign creature 1 (EPITHET) most rightful judge 1 (specialised fields) most reverend signior 1 (conventional) most noble empress 1 (conventional) most noble Caesar 1 (personal name) most noble Antony 1 (personal name) most monstrous 1 (specialised fields) most mighty princess 1 (conventional) most learned reverend sir 1 (conventional)

most learned justicer 1 (specialised fields) most learned judge 1 (specialised fields) most lamentable day 1 (natural phenomena) most kind messenger 1 (EPITHET) most ignorant monster 1 (specialised fields) most honour’d madam 1 (conventional) most holy sir 1 (conventional) most heavy day 1 (natural phenomena) most heathenish and most gross 1 (specialised fields) most happy hour 1 (natural phenomena) most grave Brabantio 1 (personal name) most gracious sir 1 (conventional) most gracious prince 1 (conventional) most gracious majesty 1 (conventional) most gracious liege 1 (EPITHET) most gracious Duke 1 (conventional) most foul 1 (EPITHET) most false love 1 (emotion / mind, thought) most fair 1 (EPITHET) most dread liege 1 (conventional) most dear’st 1 (EPITHET) most dear queen 1 (conventional) most dear mistress 1 (conventional) most dear Caesar 1 (personal name) most damned Angelo 1 (personal name) most courageous day 1 (natural phenomena) most bounteous sir 1 (conventional) most bounteous lady 1 (conventional) most beautiful pagan 1 (specialised fields) most anything Alexas 1 (personal name) most absolute lord 1 (conventional) mortal 1 (specialised fields) Morocco 1 (personal name) moon-calf 1 (natural phenomena)

mooncalf 1 (natural phenomena) Montain 1 (personal name) Monster Ingratitude 1 (specialised fields) Monsieur Remorse 1 (EPITHET) Monsieur Monster 1 (EPITHET) Monsieur Love 1 (EPITHET) monkeys 1 (natural phenomena) mocker 1 (EPITHET) mistress Qickly 1 (EPITHET) mistress o’th’ feast 1 (conventional) mistress minion you 1 (EPITHET) Mistress Line 1 (EPITHET) misshapen chaos of wellseeming forms 1 (specialised fields) miserable lady 1 (conventional) miserable England 1 (personal name) miscreant 1 (specialised fields) minx 1 (natural phenomena) ministers of grace 1 (specialised fields) minion 1 (EPITHET) mine own lord 1 (conventional) mine own 1 (EPITHET) mine honor’d lady 1 (conventional) mine honest friends 1 (EPITHET) Milford 1 (personal name) mighty Theseus 1 (personal name) mighty sovereign 1 (conventional) mighty liege 1 (EPITHET) mighty King 1 (conventional) Mercutio’s kinsman 1 (EPITHET) Mercury 1 (personal name) merciful powers 1 (specialised fields) me 1 (EPITHET) maw 1 (natural phenomena) master young man 1 (EPITHET) master young gentleman 1 (conventional) master sir 1 (EPITHET) master sheriff 1 (EPITHET) master secretary 1 (EPITHET) master porter 1 (EPITHET) master of a full poor cell 1 (conventional)

Master Marquess 1 (EPITHET) master Lorenzo 1 (EPITHET) master lieutenant 1 (EPITHET) master Gadshill 1 (EPITHET) master Elbow 1 (EPITHET) master doctor 1 (EPITHET) master Bernardine 1 (EPITHET) massacre 1 (specialised fields) marvellous sweet music 1 (specialised fields) martyr’d 1 (EPITHET) Marquess 1 (conventional) Mark Antony 1 (personal name) Marcus Andronicus 1 (EPITHET) manners 1 (EPITHET) malignant thing 1 (EPITHET) malice 1 (EPITHET) making peace or war As thou affects 1 (EPITHET) maiden pride 1 (emotion / mind, thought) maiden 1 (generic term) madman 1 (EPITHET) mad wag 1 (EPITHET) mad spirit 1 (specialised fields) Macbeth that shalt be King hereafter 1 (personal name) m lords 1 (conventional) Lysander 1 (personal name) lozel 1 (EPITHET) loyal and natural boy 1 (generic term) loving followers 1 (EPITHET) loving balck-brow’d night 1 (natural phenomena) Lover 1 (EPITHET) love-performing night that runaway’s eyes may wink, 1 (natural phenomena) lovely Tamora 1 (personal name) lovely niece 1 (term of family relationship) lovely Lucius 1 (personal name) lord Stanley 1 (EPITHET) Lord Sands 1 (EPITHET) Lord Rivers 1 (EPITHET) lord of my life 1 (conventional) lord of lords 1 (conventional) lord of Ely 1 (conventional) Lord Mayor 1 (EPITHET) Lord Lucius 1 (EPITHET) Lord love 1 (EPITHET)

Appendix 481 Lord Lackbeard 1 (EPITHET) Lord John of Lancaster 1 (EPITHET) Lord Hamlet 1 (EPITHET) lord Escalus Escalus 1 (EPITHET) Lord Douglas 1 (EPITHET) Lord Dorset 1 (EPITHET) lord Demetrius 1 (EPITHET) Lord Alexas 1 (EPITHET) lizard’s leg 1 (natural phenomena) living countrymen 1 (EPITHET) liver of blaspheming Jew 1 (natural phenomena) little lord 1 (conventional) little cousin 1 (term of family relationship) Liar 1 (EPITHET) lewd 1 (EPITHET) Leontes 1 (personal name) Leonatus 1 (personal name) legitimate Edgar 1 (personal name) Lavinia dearer than my soul 1 (personal name) Launcelot your boy 1 (personal name) Lancaster 1 (personal name) Lamord 1 (personal name) lamentable day 1 (natural phenomena) ladybird 1 (natural phenomena) lady mine 1 (conventional) knave 1 (generic term) knave 1 (EPITHET) kite 1 (natural phenomena) king of shadows 1 (conventional) King of our commonweal 1 (conventional) King Harry 1 (EPITHET) kind Tyrrel 1 (personal name) kind lords 1 (conventional) kind Jack Falstaff 1 (personal name) kind gods 1 (specialised fields) kind Charmian 1 (personal name) kind and dear princes 1 (conventional) kill’d 1 (EPITHET) Katherine Queen of England 1 (personal name) just opposite to what thou justly seem’st 1 (EPITHET) Juno 1 (personal name) Jule 1 (personal name) Jug 1 (natural phenomena)

Judicious punishment 1 (specialised fields) judge of Israel 1 (specialised fields) joy 1 (emotion / mind, thought) Jove 1 (personal name) jolly sheperd 1 (conventional) John 1 (personal name) jewel 1 (natural phenomena) Jesu Maria 1 (personal name) Jesu 1 (personal name) jerkin 1 (natural phenomena) Jephthah 1 (personal name) jealous Oberon 1 (personal name) James Soundpost 1 (EPITHET) Jachimo 1 (personal name) Italian fiend 1 (specialised fields) Isabella 1 (personal name) interrupter of the good that noble-minded Titus means to thee. 1 (EPITHET) innocent 1 (emotion / mind, thought) injurious world 1 (specialised fields) injurious Hermia 1 (personal name) inhuman dog 1 (natural phenomena) Ingratitute 1 (EPITHET) ingrateful fox 1 (natural phenomena) infirm of purpose 1 (EPITHET) infidel 1 (specialised fields) inexercrable dog 1 (natural phenomena) indistinguish’d space of women’s will 1 (EPITHET) impudent strumpet 1 (EPITHET) impious purity 1 (specialised fields) ill-weav’d ambition 1 (EPITHET) illusion 1 (EPITHET) ill-spirited Worcester 1 (personal name) ill-dispersing wind of misery 1 (natural phenomena) ill-beseeming beast in seeming both 1 (EPITHET) if savage 1 (EPITHET) if anything that’s civil 1 (EPITHET) Iago who hast had my purse as if the strings were thine 1 (personal name) I, trembling 1 (EPITHET)

I wretched villain 1 (EPITHET) I thy schoolmaster 1 (EPITHET) I that kill’d her husband and her father 1 (EPITHET) I of ladies most deject that suck’d the honey of his music vows 1 (EPITHET) I not remembering how I cried out then 1 (EPITHET) I dreading that her purpose was of more danger 1 (EPITHET) I 1 (EPITHET) hysterico passio 1 (EPITHET) hurricanoes 1 (natural phenomena) Humours 1 (emotion / mind, thought) Hugh Rebeck 1 (EPITHET) howlet’s wing 1 (natural phenomena) horse 1 (natural phenomena) horrible villain 1 (EPITHET) horrible sight 1 (natural phenomena) horrible shadow 1 (natural phenomena) horrible 1 (EPITHET) honourable villain 1 (EPITHET) honourable man 1 (generic term) honey nurse 1 (EPITHET) Honey 1 (natural phenomena) honest soldier 1 (specialised fields) honest nurse 1 (specialised fields) honest neighbour 1 (conventional) honest Iago that look’st dead with grieving 1 (personal name) honest good fellows 1 (EPITHET) homicide 1 (EPITHET) holy saint Francis 1 (specialised fields) holy Gonzalo 1 (personal name) holy friar 1 (specialised fields) holy Franciscan friar 1 (specialised fields) hollowing man 1 (generic term) his yokefellow of quity 1 (EPITHET) his Morship’s ancient 1 (EPITHET)

his majesty 1 (conventional) his infidel 1 (specialised fields) hilding 1 (term of family relationship) highness 1 (conventional) highest queen of state 1 (conventional) high emperor 1 (conventional) Hercules 1 (personal name) hellish dog 1 (natural phenomena) hell-hound 1 (specialised fields) hedgehog 1 (natural phenomena) Hecate 1 (specialised fields) heavy lightness 1 (natural phenomena) heavy eyes 1 (natural phenomena) heavenly powers 1 (specialised fields) heavenly bow 1 (specialised fields) heat 1 (natural phenomena) heart with strings of steel 1 (natural phenomena) he that conceals him 1 (EPITHET) he hat will think to live till he be old 1 (EPITHET) hateful with’red hag 1 (specialised fields) hateful day 1 (natural phenomena) hated potion 1 (specialised fields) hated 1 (emotion / mind, thought) harsh Jew 1 (specialised fields) Harry’s wife 1 (term of family relationship) happy star 1 (natural phenomena) Hamlet the Dane 1 (personal name) half-blooded fellow 1 (EPITHET) hail virgin 1 (specialised fields) hag-seed 1 (EPITHET) gulf Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark 1 (natural phenomena) guilty 1 (specialised fields) groves 1 (natural phenomena) Grey 1 (personal name) greatness 1 (EPITHET) greater than both 1 (EPITHET) great tyranny 1 (EPITHET) great sir 1 (conventional) great master 1 (conventional)

482 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare great lords 1 (conventional) great Jove 1 (personal name) great heart 1 (natural phenomena) great happiness 1 (emotion / mind, thought) great God of Heaven 1 (specialised fields) great empress 1 (conventional) great chief 1 (specialised fields) Graymalkin 1 (personal name) grave’s due by life usurped 1 (EPITHET) grave tribunes 1 (conventional) grave sir 1 (conventional) grave fathers 1 (specialised fields) gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome 1 (specialised fields) gracious sir 1 (conventional) gracious lords 1 (conventional) gracious lady 1 (conventional) gracious Emperor 1 (conventional) gracious Duke 1 (conventional) gracious conqueror 1 (specialised fields) gracious auditory 1 (EPITHET) gracious 1 (EPITHET) grace 1 (EPITHET) gorbellied knaves 1 (generic term) goose 1 (natural phenomena) goood brother father 1 (EPITHET) goodman’s son 1 (EPITHET) goodman delver 1 (conventional) goodman boy 1 (EPITHET) goodman boy 1 (conventional) goodman Baldpate 1 (EPITHET) good-faced sir 1 (conventional) good your grace 1 (EPITHET) good you 1 (EPITHET) good Worcester 1 (personal name) good wax 1 (natural phenomena) good uncle Marcus 1 (EPITHET) good Titus 1 (personal name)

good tickle-brain 1 (natural phenomena) good thou 1 (EPITHET) good sweet sir 1 (conventional) good sweet nurse 1 (specialised fields) good sweet 1 (natural phenomena) good soul 1 (specialised fields) good sooth 1 (emotion / mind, thought) good son 1 (term of family relationship) good soldier 1 (specialised fields) good sister 1 (term of family relationship) good sir Thomas 1 (EPITHET) good Sir John 1 (EPITHET) good signior Leonato 1 (EPITHET) good Signior Benedick 1 (EPITHET) good Shylock 1 (personal name) good Shepherd 1 (EPITHET) good Romeo 1 (personal name) good Robin 1 (personal name) good Reynaldo 1 (personal name) good rapine 1 (EPITHET) good Prudence 1 (emotion / mind, thought) good Provost 1 (specialised fields) good prince Hal 1 (EPITHET) good prince 1 (conventional) good Pisanio 1 (personal name) good pint-pot 1 (natural phenomena) good pilgrim 1 (specialised fields) good Peter 1 (personal name) good partner 1 (EPITHET) good old man 1 (generic term) good nuncle 1 (term of family relationship) good Norfolk 1 (personal name) good niece 1 (term of family relationship) good neighbour 1 (conventional) good Ned 1 (personal name) good my lord of Rome 1 (conventional)

good my lord of Derby 1 (conventional) good my lord Cardinal 1 (EPITHET) good my fellows 1 (EPITHET) good my brother 1 (term of family relationship) good murther 1 (specialised fields) good Michael 1 (personal name) good master secretary 1 (EPITHET) good master Puppy 1 (EPITHET) good master porter 1 (EPITHET) good master Peaseblossom 1 (EPITHET) good master Froth 1 (EPITHET) good master Cobweb 1 (EPITHET) good master 1 (conventional) good Margaret 1 (personal name) good Marcellus 1 (personal name) good manhood 1 (generic term) good majesty 1 (conventional) good Lysander 1 (personal name) good love 1 (emotion / mind, thought) good Lorenzo 1 (personal name) good lord Chamberlain 1 (EPITHET) good lord archbishop 1 (EPITHET) good Leonardo 1 (personal name) good Launcelot 1 (personal name) good lad 1 (generic term) good king’s son 1 (EPITHET) good king of cats 1 (conventional) good Juliet 1 (personal name) good Isis 1 (personal name) good Iras 1 (personal name) good Horatio 1 (personal name) good Hermia 1 (personal name) good heavens 1 (specialised fields) good hearts 1 (natural phenomena) good Hamlet 1 (personal name)

good grandsire 1 (conventional) good grandam 1 (conventional) good goose 1 (natural phenomena) good good Nurse 1 (specialised fields) good goddess nature which hast made So like to him that got it. 1 (EPITHET) good Gertrude 1 (personal name) good gentle youth 1 (EPITHET) good friend Lucio 1 (EPITHET) good friend Escalus 1 (EPITHET) good fools 1 (EPITHET) good Fleance 1 (personal name) good father Friar 1 (EPITHET) good fate 1 (specialised fields) good empress 1 (conventional) good Emilia 1 (personal name) good Egeus 1 (personal name) good Doctor 1 (specialised fields) good Diomed 1 (personal name) good Demetrius 1 (personal name) good Cromwell 1 (personal name) good coz 1 (term of family relationship) good cousin Lodovico 1 (EPITHET) good cousin Hotspur 1 (EPITHET) good cousin Capulet 1 (EPITHET) good Cornelius 1 (personal name) good Capulet which name I tender dearly as mine own 1 (personal name) good captain 1 (specialised fields) good Canterbury 1 (personal name) good Caesar 1 (personal name) good Brabantio 1 (personal name) good Boatswain 1 (specialised fields) good Blunt 1 (personal name)

Appendix 483 good Benvolio 1 (personal name) good Beatrice 1 (personal name) good Bassanio 1 (personal name) good Athenian 1 (personal name) good apothecary 1 (specialised fields) good Antony 1 (personal name) good ancient 1 (EPITHET) good Alexas 1 (personal name) god’s light 1 (natural phenomena) God’s lady dear 1 (EPITHET) gods 1 (generic term) Goblin 1 (personal name) goats 1 (natural phenomena) gifts that have the power so to seduce 1 (EPITHET) gentlewoman 1 (conventional) gentles 1 (conventional) gentlemen of England 1 (conventional) gentle, aged men 1 (generic term) gentle wax 1 (natural phenomena) gentle villain 1 (EPITHET) gentle uncle 1 (term of family relationship) gentle Tyrrel 1 (personal name) gentle tribune 1 (conventional) gentle sweet 1 (natural phenomena) gentle sister 1 (term of family relationship) gentle sirs 1 (conventional) gentle sir 1 (conventional) gentle signior 1 (conventional) gentle Rosencrantz 1 (personal name) gentle Romans 1 (personal name) gentle Puck 1 (personal name) gentle Publius 1 (personal name) gentle people 1 (EPITHET) gentle Patience 1 (personal name) gentle Paris 1 (personal name) gentle Octavia 1 (personal name) gentle Norfolk 1 (personal name)

gentle night 1 (natural phenomena) gentle niece 1 (term of family relationship) gentle my liege 1 (conventional) gentle mortal 1 (specialised fields) gentle mistress 1 (conventional) gentle Mercutio 1 (personal name) gentle Marcus 1 (personal name) gentle maiden 1 (generic term) gentle lover 1 (emotion / mind, thought) gentle lord 1 (conventional) gentle Lavinia 1 (personal name) gentle lady Anne 1 (EPITHET) gentle Jew 1 (specialised fields) gentle Isabella 1 (personal name) gentle Hero 1 (personal name) gentle Hermia 1 (personal name) gentle Helena 1 (personal name) gentle heavens 1 (specialised fields) gentle Guildenstern 1 (personal name) gentle girl 1 (generic term) gentle friend 1 (EPITHET) gentle Eros 1 (personal name) gentle Empress 1 (conventional) gentle daughter 1 (term of family relationship) gentle coz 1 (term of family relationship) gentle Catesby 1 (personal name) Gardiner 1 (personal name) gall of goat 1 (natural phenomena) frost 1 (natural phenomena) friends that have been thus forward in my right 1 (EPITHET) friend Launcelot 1 (EPITHET) friend Eros 1 (EPITHET) friend Cassio 1 (EPITHET) friend 1 (specialised fields) Friar John 1 (EPITHET) Friar Francis 1 (EPITHET)

fresh lily 1 (natural phenomena) fresh horses 1 (natural phenomena) frantic wretch 1 (EPITHET) Francisco 1 (personal name) Francis Flute 1 (personal name) France 1 (personal name) Frailty 1 (specialised fields) foul wrinkled witch 1 (specialised fields) foul devil 1 (specialised fields) fortunate mistress 1 (conventional) foolish wench 1 (generic term) foolish tribune 1 (conventional) foolish tears 1 (natural phenomena) foolish Lucius 1 (personal name) fond wretch 1 (EPITHET) fond woman 1 (generic term) fond boy 1 (generic term) followers 1 (EPITHET) Flute the bellows-mender 1 (personal name) flower of this purple dye, hit with Cupid’s archery 1 (natural phenomena) flesh 1 (natural phenomena) flatter’y 1 (EPITHET) Finge of birthstrangled babe, ditch-delivere’d by a drab 1 (natural phenomena) fine spirit 1 (specialised fields) fine Ariel 1 (personal name) fine apparition 1 (specialised fields) filthy Dowlas 1 (natural phenomena) filth as thou art 1 (EPITHET) Filth 1 (EPITHET) fillet of a fenny snake 1 (natural phenomena) fiend angelical 1 (EPITHET) Fidele 1 (personal name) fellow-student 1 (EPITHET) fellow Trinculo 1 (EPITHET) favorers of my right 1 (EPITHET) father of my life 1 (term of family relationship) fate 1 (specialised fields) fatal vision 1 (specialised fields) fatal and ominous to noble peers 1 (specialised fields) famous Plantagenet 1 (personal name)

false-boding woman 1 (generic term) false justicer 1 (specialised fields) fairy king 1 (conventional) fairy 1 (specialised fields) fairest lady 1 (conventional) fair sister 1 (term of family relationship) fair sir 1 (conventional) fair Shepherd 1 (EPITHET) fair Philomela 1 (personal name) fair one 1 (EPITHET) fair Montague 1 (personal name) fair love 1 (emotion / mind, thought) fair lord 1 (conventional) fair Hippolyta 1 (personal name) fair good signior 1 (conventional) fair gentlewoman 1 (conventional) fair gentlemen 1 (conventional) fair dame 1 (conventional) fair creature 1 (EPITHET) fair coz 1 (term of family relationship) fair Beatrice 1 (personal name) fair and noble hostess 1 (EPITHET) fair and gracious daughter 1 (term of family relationship) fair 1 (EPITHET) faint-hearted boy 1 (generic term) eye of newt 1 (natural phenomena) experience 1 (specialised fields) excellent wretch 1 (EPITHET) excellent falsehood 1 (EPITHET) Euriphile 1 (personal name) eunuch Mardian 1 (EPITHET) equivocator 1 (specialised fields) enchantment 1 (specialised fields) empress 1 (conventional) Elbow 1 (personal name) egregious murtherer 1 (specialised fields) Edward Plantagenet 1 (EPITHET) Edgar 1 (personal name) earth 1 (natural phenomena)

484 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare ears 1 (natural phenomena) Earl of Hereford 1 (conventional) eagle 1 (natural phenomena) dunghill 1 (EPITHET) Duncan 1 (personal name) Dull unmindful villain 1 (EPITHET) dull earth 1 (specialised fields) dull clouds 1 (natural phenomena) Duchess of Burgundy 1 (conventional) dreadful trumpet 1 (specialised fields) dread sovereign 1 (conventional) dread Fury 1 (emotion / mind, thought) Dowlas 1 (natural phenomena) dove-feather’d raven 1 (natural phenomena) Doreas 1 (personal name) Donalbain 1 (personal name) divorced 1 (term of family relationship) divinity of hell 1 (specialised fields) divine perfection of a woman 1 (specialised fields) divine Imogen 1 (personal name) divine air 1 (natural phenomena) divine 1 (specialised fields) distressed 1 (emotion / mind, thought) dissembling courtesy 1 (EPITHET) dissembler 1 (EPITHET) disobedient wretch 1 (EPITHET) Dion 1 (personal name) Diablo 1 (specialised fields) devils 1 (specialised fields) devils 1 (natural phenomena) devilish slave 1 (conventional) detested kite 1 (specialised fields) detested 1 (emotion / mind, thought) destruction 1 (EPITHET) despiteful tidings 1 (EPITHET) despiteful and intolerable wrongs 1 (specialised fields) Despised substance of divinest show 1 (specialised fields) despis’ 1 (emotion / mind, thought) Derby 1 (personal name) Denny 1 (personal name)

Demetrius 1 (personal name) delicate Ariel 1 (personal name) degenerate bastard 1 (term of family relationship) defus’d infection of a man 1 (specialised fields) dead niece 1 (term of family relationship) dearest soul 1 (specialised fields) dearest chuck 1 (natural phenomena) dearest 1 (EPITHET) dear wife 1 (term of family relationship) dear stone 1 (natural phenomena) dear sovereign 1 (conventional) dear son Edgar 1 (term of family relationship) dear sister 1 (term of family relationship) dear Rosencrantz 1 (personal name) dear Romeo 1 (personal name) dear queen that ended when I but began 1 (conventional) dear my brother 1 (term of family relationship) dear love 1 (emotion / mind, thought) dear lord 1 (conventional) dear lady daughter 1 (EPITHET) dear Juliet 1 (personal name) dear Isis 1 (personal name) dear Goddess 1 (specialised fields) dear gentlewoman 1 (conventional) dear general 1 (specialised fields) dear friend 1 (specialised fields) dear Duff 1 (personal name) dear discretion 1 (emotion / mind, thought) dear daughter 1 (term of family relationship) dear coz 1 (term of family relationship) dear cousin 1 (term of family relationship) dear Charmian 1 (personal name) dear account 1 (EPITHET) dead life 1 (natural phenomena) Dauphin 1 (personal name) daughter Juliet 1 (EPITHET)

darting Parthia 1 (personal name) Darkness 1 (natural phenomena) Daniel 1 (personal name) dangerous fellow 1 (EPITHET) damned spot 1 (EPITHET) damned fact 1 (EPITHET) damnation 1 (specialised fields) dame Partlet the hen 1 (EPITHET) Cytherea 1 (personal name) cursed, cursed slave 1 (conventional) Curan 1 (personal name) cruel, irreligious piety piety 1 (specialised fields) cruel Moor 1 (personal name) coxcomb 1 (EPITHET) cousin Westmoreland 1 (EPITHET) cousin of Buckingham 1 (EPITHET) cousin Hero 1 (EPITHET) cousin Hamlet 1 (EPITHET) cousin Glendower 1 (EPITHET) cousin Buckingham 1 (EPITHET) cousin Angelo 1 (EPITHET) courteous lord 1 (conventional) courageous Richmond 1 (personal name) County Claudio 1 (EPITHET) County 1 (conventional) countrymen 1 (EPITHET) counsellor 1 (conventional) Cornwall 1 (personal name) Cornelius 1 (personal name) cords 1 (natural phenomena) cordial 1 (EPITHET) content 1 (emotion / mind, thought) contempt 1 (emotion / mind, thought) constable 1 (conventional) consort 1 (EPITHET) conscience 1 (emotion / mind, thought) confusion 1 (specialised fields) confessions 1 (specialised fields) confess 1 (specialised fields) condemned villain 1 (EPITHET) companion in the front of war 1 (EPITHET) commander of our commonweal 1 (specialised fields)

commander of my thoughts 1 (specialised fields) comforts 1 (EPITHET) cock 1 (natural phenomena) Cobweb 1 (personal name) close villain 1 (EPITHET) Cleomenes 1 (personal name) Clemens 1 (personal name) civil night 1 (natural phenomena) citizen 1 (specialised fields) circumstance of glorious war 1 (EPITHET) churlish priest 1 (specialised fields) churl 1 (EPITHET) chops 1 (EPITHET) child 1 (term of family relationship) chewet 1 (natural phenomena) Ceres 1 (specialised fields) Catesby 1 (conventional) cat 1 (natural phenomena) carriers 1 (conventional) carriers 1 (conventional) captain of our fairy band 1 (specialised fields) Caliban 1 (personal name) Caius 1 (personal name) Caitiff 1 (EPITHET) bully-monster 1 (specialised fields) burgonet of men 1 (specialised fields) bully Bottom 1 (personal name) brother of Gloucester 1 (term of family relationship) brother John of Lancaster 1 (EPITHET) brother Gloucester 1 (EPITHET) brother Edmund 1 (EPITHET) brooks 1 (natural phenomena) broad-fronted Caesar 1 (personal name) Britain 1 (personal name) brimstone 1 (specialised fields) bright angel 1 (specialised fields) Briefness 1 (EPITHET) brief candle 1 (natural phenomena) brief abstract and record of tedious days 1 (EPITHET) bride 1 (term of family relationship) bread of greatness 1 (term of family relationship)

Appendix 485 brave world 1 (EPITHET) brave Percy 1 (personal name) brave Moor 1 (personal name) brave friend 1 (EPITHET) bounteous madam 1 (conventional) bosom 1 (natural phenomena) Borachio 1 (personal name) bondage 1 (EPITHET) bold yeomen 1 (conventional) bold peasant 1 (EPITHET) blown Jack 1 (personal name) Blossom 1 (natural phenomena) bloody, bawdy villain 1 (EPITHET) bloody Richard 1 (personal name) bloody cloth 1 (natural phenomena) bloody 1 (EPITHET) blind worm’s sting 1 (natural phenomena) blind worms 1 (natural phenomena) blind sight 1 (natural phenomena) blind Cupid 1 (specialised fields) blest pudding 1 (natural phenomena) blest fig’s end 1 (natural phenomena) blasphemy that swear’st grace o’erboard 1 (specialised fields) black vengeance 1 (specialised fields) black angel 1 (specialised fields) bitter conduct 1 (EPITHET) best brother 1 (term of family relationship) best 1 (EPITHET) Bessy 1 (personal name) Berkely 1 (personal name) Benedick the married man 1 (personal name) beloved Regan Thy sister’s naugh 1 (personal name) being young 1 (EPITHET) beguil’d 1 (EPITHET) beggar 1 (specialised fields) beetles black 1 (natural phenomena) beautiful tyrant 1 (EPITHET) Bassanius 1 (personal name) bashful cunning 1 (EPITHET) Barnardine 1 (personal name) barbarous Tamora 1 (personal name)

banished poor man 1 (generic term) banish’d Kent 1 (personal name) bacons 1 (natural phenomena) bacon-fed knaves 1 (generic term) bachelor 1 (term of family relationship) aunt 1 (term of family relationship) assay 1 (specialised fields) arms 1 (natural phenomena) archers 1 (specialised fields) approved warrior 1 (specialised fields) Apothecary 1 (specialised fields) anything of nothing forst create 1 (EPITHET) Antigonus 1 (personal name) another Hero 1 (personal name) ancient lady 1 (conventional) ancient damnation 1 (specialised fields) an upright judge 1 (specialised fields) an ram-tender 1 (EPITHET) an old sheep-whistling rogue 1 (EPITHET) an learned judge 1 (specialised fields) an everlasting bonfirelight 1 (EPITHET) an ass 1 (natural phenomena) an advocate for an impostar 1 (specialised fields) an abominable monster 1 (specialised fields) almost most absolute Alexas 1 (personal name) all-worthy villain 1 (EPITHET) all-shaking thunder 1 (natural phenomena) all-seeing heaven 1 (natural phenomena) all-hallown summer 1 (natural phenomena) allegiance 1 (specialised fields) all you unpublish’d virtues of the earth 1 (EPITHET) all tranquility 1 (EPITHET) all the whole synod of them 1 (specialised fields) all the court 1 (conventional) all bless’d secrets 1 (EPITHET) all 1 (EPITHET) Albany 1 (personal name)

alas poor wenches 1 (generic term) age 1 (EPITHET) Admir’d Miranda 1 (personal name) Adder’s fork 1 (natural phenomena) accursed and unquiet wrangling days 1 (natural phenomena) accurs’d unhappy wretched hateful day 1 (natural phenomena) abominable villain 1 (EPITHET) abhorred villain 1 (EPITHET) abhorred tyrant 1 (EPITHET) abhorred slave which any print of gooness wilt not take 1 (conventional) A worthy pioneer 1 (specialised fields) A villainous coward 1 (EPITHET) A villain 1 (EPITHET) A very weak monster 1 (specialised fields) a strange fish 1 (natural phenomena) a second Daniel 1 (personal name) A scullion 1 (EPITHET) A savage clamour 1 (EPITHET) A rat 1 (natural phenomena) a pleasant-spirited lady 1 (conventional) A murderer 1 (specialised fields) a most scurvy monster 1 (specialised fields) A most ridiculous monster 1 (specialised fields) A most poor credulous monster 1 (specialised fields) a most perfidious and drunken monster 1 (specialised fields) A most intelligencing bawd 1 (natural phenomena) A most high miracle 1 (specialised fields) a most delicate monster 1 (specialised fields) a moral fool 1 (EPITHET) a merry whoreson 1 (EPITHET) a merry devil 1 (specialised fields) A mankind witch 1 (specialised fields) a loyal sir 1 (conventional)

a king’s son 1 (term of family relationship) A king of shreds and patches 1 (conventional) A howling monster 1 (specialised fields) A gross hag 1 (specialised fields) A good wench 1 (generic term) a gentle riddance 1 (EPITHET) a gentle 1 (EPITHET) a dull and muddy-mettled rascal 1 (natural phenomena) a drunken monster 1 (specialised fields) A Daniel 1 (personal name) a damned saint 1 (specialised fields) A bitter Fool 1 (conventional) a banish’d man 1 (generic term) Beat- 1 (personal name) you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew 1 (EPITHET) you the valiant of this warlike isle that so approve the Moor 3 (EPITHET) you that have been so tenderly officious With Lady Margery, your midwife there To save that bastard’s life- 1 (EPITHET) you nymphs called naiads, of the indring brooks, with your sedged crowns and everharmless looks, leave your crisps channels 1 (specialised fields) you few “that lov’d me, And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to 6 (EPITHET) you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites 1 (EPITHET) you beasts That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountain issuing from your veins, On pain of torture from those bloody hands 2 (specialised fields) wrangling Queen “whom everything becomes-to chide, to laugh, to weep;; whose every passion fully strives To

486 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare make itself, in thee fair and admired” 1 (conventional) valiant Jack Falstaff and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack Falstaff 1 (personal name) treble woe Fall ten times treble on that cursed head Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense depriv’d thee of. 1 (emotion / mind, thought) treacherous hue that will betray with blushing The close enacts and counsels of thy heart! 1 (specialised fields) traitor who mak’st a show but dar’st not strike, thy conscience is so possessed with guilt.. 1 (EPITHET) toad that under cold stone days and nights has thirty-one swelter’d venom, sleeping got 1 (natural phenomena) thriftless ambition that will ravine up thine own life’s means 1 (EPITHET) thou wretch that hast within thee undivulged crimes unwhipped of Justice 1 (EPITHET) thou that wast seal’d in thy nativity the slave of nature and the son of hell! 1 (EPITHET) thou that must approve the common saw, Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st to the warm sun. 1 (EPITHET) thou meagre lead which rather threaten’st than dost promise aught 1 (natural phenomena) thou marble-hearted fiend More hideous, when thou show’st thee in a child Than the sea-monster 1 (natural phenomena) thou his cupbearer -whom I from meaner form Have bench’d and rear’d to worship, who may’st see Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth see 1 (EPITHET) thou desperate pilot now at once run on the dashing rocks thy seasick waery back 1 (EPITHET) the son of a father murder’d prompted to my revenge by heaven 1 (term of family relationship) the empress of my soul which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee 1 (conventional)

sons of Rome scatter’d by winds and high tempestous gusts, O let me teach you how to knit again. 3 (term of family relationship) slave of no more trust Than love that’s hired! 1 (conventional) sirrah that knew me for a fool, a coward, one all of luxury, an ass, a madman 1 (EPITHET) royal Lear Whom I have ever honour’d as my King, Lov’d as my father, as my master followe’d, As my great patron thought on in 1 (personal name) Ratcliffe! 1 (personal name) Queen of Goths that like the stately Phoebe ‘mongst her nymphs Dost overshine the gallant’st dames of Rome 1 (conventional) proud man dressed in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he’s most assur’d 1 (generic term) princes that strive by factions and by friends ambitiously for rule 2 (conventional) Posthumus That didst set up my disobedience ‘gainst the King My father, and make me put into contempt the suits of princely fellows, 1 (personal name) poor wretch That for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d To loss and what may follow. 1 (EPITHET) poor harmless fly that with his pretty buzzing melody, Came her eto make us merry 1 (natural phenomena) O you mortal engines whose rude throats Th’immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit 1 (EPITHET) O thou weed who art so lovely fair and smell’st so sweet that the sense aches at thee 1 (natural phenomena) O thou Othello that wert once so good, fallen in the practice of a cursed slave 1 (personal name) O thou his thing Which I’ll not call a creature of thy place, Lest Barbarism, making me the precedent 1 (EPITHET) O perilious mouths that bear in them one and the self-same tongue Either of condemna-

tion or approof Bidding the law make curtsey to their will 1 (natural phenomena) O heaven that such companious thou’dst unfold And put in every honest hand a whip to lash the rascals naked through the world Even from 1 (specialised fields) O cunning enemy that, to catch a saint, with saints dost bait thy hook. 1 (EPITHET) O brave Iago honest and just, that hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong! 1 (personal name) o bitter consequence That Edward still should live true noble prince 1 (EPITHET) O balmy breath that dost almost persuade justice to break her sword 1 (natural phenomena) noble Banquo that hast no less deserv’d, nor must be known No less to have done so, 1 (personal name) naked poor wretches that bide the belting of this pitiless storm 1 (EPITHET) my noble and well-warranted cousin whom it concerns to hear this matter forth 1 (term of family relationship) my most loving friends bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny 4 (EPITHET) my brave spirit Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason! 1 (specialised fields) most wretched that have my heart parted betwixt two friends that does afflict each other! 1 (emotion / mind, thought) most miserable hour that e’er time saw in lasting labour of his pilgrimage 1 (natural phenomena) most detestable death by thee beguil’d, by cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown 1 (natural phenomena) mistress that have the office opposite to Saint Peter And keep the gates of hell 1 (conventional) mine brother that entertain’d ambition, Expell’d remorse and nature, whom with Sebastian would have killed

your king 1 (term of family relationship) milk-livered man “That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy 1 (generic term) many-coloured messenger that never dost disobey the wife of Jupiter, who with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers Diffusest honey drops, refreshing showers, And with 1 (EPITHET) maid that justly think’st and hast most rightly said ! 1 (generic term) loathed medicine! 1 (specialised fields) least to whose young love the vines of love and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess’d 1 (EPITHET) kind Rome that hast thus lovingly reserv’d the cordial of mine age to glad my heart! 1 (personal name) injurious love That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror! 1 (emotion / mind, thought) idle old man that still would manage those authorities That he hath given away! 1 (generic term) I that am rudely stamped , and want love’s majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph 1 (EPITHET) I that am no shap’d for sportive tricks nor made to court an amorous looking glass 1 (EPITHET) I that am curtail’d of this fair proportion, cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform’d, unfinish’d, snet before my time into the breathing world, scarce 1 (EPITHET) I Never so weary, never so in woe, bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briars 4 (EPITHET) good king that must approve the common saw, Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st to the warm sun. 1 (conventional) fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who, of force, must

Appendix 487 know The royal fool thou cop’st with. 1 (EPITHET) foul-spoken coward that thund’rest with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing dar’st perform! 1 (EPITHET) fellow Who needs must know of her departure and dost seem so ingnorant 1 (EPITHET) fairest Cordelia “that art most rich, being poor; Most choice forsaken and most loved despised: “ 1 (personal name) Edmund Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself 1 (personal name)

dead corse again in complete steel, making night hideous and we fools of nature So horridly to shake our disposition with thoughts beyond the reaches 1 (natural phenomena) dark night that from the eye his function takes, The ear more quick of apprehension 1 (natural phenomena) Camillo as you are certainly a gentleman, thereto Clerklike experienc’d, which noless adorns Our gentry than our parents’ noble names, In whose success we are 1 (personal name)

brave slip Sprung from the great Andronicus, whose name was once our terror, now our comfort Whose high exploits and honourable deeds Ingrateful Rome requites 1 (natural phenomena) beastly creature the blot and enemy to our general name! 1 (specialised fields) barbarous beastly villains like thyself! 1 (EPITHET) any thing that’s due to all the villains past, in being, to come 1 (EPITHET) although our last to whose young love the vines of love

and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess’d 1 (EPITHET) a slave that is not twentieth part the tithe of your precedent lord 1 (conventional) a cutpurse of the empire and the rule, that from a shelf the precious diadem stole and put it in his pocket 1 (specialised fields) a callat of bountless tongue who late hath beat her husband, And now baits me! 1 (EPITHET)


Appendix 489


Appendix 491


Appendix 493

References

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Index

A ablative case 27 adjacency pair 300, 308, 339, 346, 350, 393, 399, 433 adjunct 2, 12, 28, 29, 44, 60, 105–111, 113, 115, 126, 232, 235, 243, 445, 448, 453 Ado 1, 5, 13, 22, 31, 34, 35, 42, 100, 102, 103, 109, 111, 114, 116, 126, 166, 169, 175, 178, 223, 271, 283, 291–294, 301–303, 307, 324–326, 329, 335, 337, 338, 353, 360, 422, 423, 431, 442, 458 amplification 8, 21, 100–104, 114, 117, 119, 210–212, 218, 226, 319, 348, 355, 359, 398, 452 analogy 138, 139, 140 Ant. 5, 12, 15, 27, 28, 30, 32, 34–36, 42, 43, 71, 76, 141, 151, 158–160, 169, 172, 175, 178–180, 183, 187, 194, 196–198, 202–205, 208, 219, 220, 225, 233, 239, 240, 245, 261, 262, 269, 271, 274, 283, 286–288, 299, 302, 308, 309, 311, 312, 323, 324, 331, 334, 341–343, 345, 347, 351, 352, 359, 361, 366, 371, 387, 414, 420, 424, 427, 431, 434, 447, 456, 457 anthropocentrism 192 Appell 79, 425 artes liberales 279, 282 Ausdruck 79, 425 AWW 29 AYL 22, 24, 47, 456 B biocentric 193 C Chain of Being 86, 138–141, 143, 260, 344, 345, 395 cohesion 89, 107, 133, 233, 234, 240, 453 concordance 42, 131

concordances 9, 29, 30, 51, 237, 244 constructivism 4, 69, 457 copia verborum 141, 142, 211, 281, 285, 287, 288, 450, 452 courtesy 6, 18, 20, 62, 64, 65, 140, 144, 189, 225, 282, 291, 323, 325, 360, 366, 390, 432 Critical Discourse Analysis 60 Cym. 32, 34, 35, 151, 152, 158, 170, 171, 238, 335, 338, 353, 357, 359, 423, 441, 451 D dame 299 defamiliarisation 72, 86, 88, 89 deixis 241, 427, 429, 453 deviance 90, 146, 152, 233, 234 deviation 140, 231 dialogism 4, 73, 79, 198 disjunct 2, 28, 107 E E3 80–84, 89, 92 eco-criticism 3 eco-linguistic 336 EMEDD 6, 7, 53, 92, 102, 134, 144, 145, 213, 215, 219, 224, 438 ergative 46, 59, 115, 199, 375, 449 Err. 34 experiential 11, 15, 57, 59, 70, 100, 106, 107, 109, 112, 138, 142, 291, 422, 423 F foregrounding 10, 67, 84, 85, 88–90, 93, 101, 140, 147, 233, 234, 279, 451 frame 91, 111, 195, 311, 352, 393, 446, 451, 452 framed 292, 354 frames 8, 76, 141, 299, 300, 318, 327, 344, 347, 358, 360, 369, 375, 377, 448 Fürstenspiegel 212, 298, 405, 406, 455, 456

H 1H4 5, 16, 31, 33, 34, 71, 97, 107, 117, 122, 158, 164–166, 169, 171, 172, 175, 178, 222, 223, 239, 242, 243, 291, 292, 297, 298, 307, 309, 320, 323, 329, 330, 333, 335, 347, 353, 360, 362, 396–411, 421, 427, 430, 434, 456 2H4 34, 97, 122, 166, 401, 403, 408, 410 H5 33, 34, 283, 401 3H6 6, 7, 12, 97, 101, 210, 220, 305 H8 33, 152, 158, 164, 172, 175, –181, 184, 185, 216, 225, 353, 413, 422 habitus 1, 7, 11, 15, 16, 77, 83, 84, 93, 101, 104, 187, 188, 190–198, 200, 202–207, 209, 235, 259, 269, 270, 293, 316, 319, 329, 343, 353, 357, 361–363, 366, 369, 373–375, 377, 382, 384, 390, 392, 393, 395, 401, 404, 405, 408, 436, 442, 446, 447, 450– 452, 454, 455, 457, 458 Ham. 12–14, 19, 24–28, 32, 34, 35, 37, 42, 80, 96–99, 101, 103, 117, 146, 151, 152, 154, 158–160, 175, 178, 298–302, 304–310, 315, 317–320, 329, 332–335, 337–340, 345, 347, 348, 352, 353, 355, 356, 373, 413, 414, 420, 425, 426, 431, 441, 445, 446, 454 heteroglossic 74 historical pragmatics 8, 9, 21, 23, 25, 45, 55 I I-You 15, 73, 79, 80, 112, 427, 446 impoliteness 5, 56 inkhorn 281, 289, 355 intentio auctoris 75 intentio lectoris 75 intentio operis 75, 76 interpersonal 5, 11, 15, 23, 46, 49, 57, 70, 95, 97, 100, 101, 103–112, 115, 117, 120, 121, 124, 125, 129, 138, 142, 151, 194, 197, 232–236, 240, 291, 420, 422, 423

524 Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare J JC 283, 316, 317 Jn. 33 K king’s two bodies 81, 298, 401 L lady 6, 12, 18, 42, 64, 70, 76, 90, 96, 100, 115, 116, 119, 126, 134, 143, 144, 179–182, 215, 216, 224, 227, 229, 230, 241, 251, 252, 271, 274, 277, 287, 288, 298, 299, 304, 309, 312, 341, 362, 375, 393, 394, 424, 427, 433, 442 lexico-grammar 68, 69, 71, 75, 118, 119, 188 lexicographical 87, 134 lexicology 117 lexicon 138, 143, 144, 226, 450, 458 LLL 278, 281, 284, 324, 433 lord 5–7, 12, 18, 27, 28, 43, 64, 71, 90, 96, 97, 99, 101–104, 106, 113, 119, 134, 140, 143, 144, 179–183, 186, 193, 194, 203, 204, 208–211, 216, 219–225, 227–231, 233, 251, 252, 254, 255, 269–271, 278, 283, 284, 287, 298, 305, 312, 317, 350, 353, 359, 361, 362, 364, 367, 368, 371–379, 381, 382, 390, 391, 393, 395, 404, 409, 414, 424, 425, 431, 433, 436, 438, 446, 447 Lr. 5, 12, 13, 15, 19, 22, 24, 26, 27, 30, 32, 35–37, 40, 47, 95–98, 112, 114, 115, 119, 120, 151, 152, 154, 158, 159, 161, 166, 172, 175, 178, 194, 196, 205, 219, 220, 222, 224, 225, 235, 236, 270, 285, 296, 299, 300–302, 304, 307, 309, 312–314, 317, 319–322, 324, 327, 328, 331, 335, 337, 338, 340, 346, 348, 349, 356, 359, 373, 378, 380, 420, 421, 427, 437, 441, 447, 448, 449 M Mac. 12, 32, 35, 37, 146, 151, 152, 154, 158, 160, 161, 172, 175, 178, 288, 295, 301, 309, 312, 314, 320, 326, 334, 335, 338, 345–347, 352, 353, 358, 378, 380, 394, 414, 420, 421, 441, 452, 453 madam 5, 6, 12, 18, 28, 106, 134, 144, 179–182, 186, 215, 216, 227, 229, 230, 233, 251, 271, 272, 303, 312, 358, 431, 433, 451 metafunction 44, 46, 57, 59, 60,

71, 105, 108, 109, 114, 115, 119, 121, 129, 143, 232, 234, 449 metafunctions 40, 68, 70, 71, 95, 100, 101, 104, 106, 108, 115, 447 metaphor 6, 11, 15, 69, 82, 86, 90, 95–97, 105, 109, 117, 118, 125, 139, 141, 142, 190, 193, 200, 215, 235, 260, 273, 284, 317, 325, 334, 345, 348, 350, 354, 358, 359, 368, 371, 378, 385, 389, 391, 392, 395, 404, 408, 428, 431, 449, 452, 458 mistress 299 MM 29, 31, 33–35, 166, 175, 422 MND 31, 34, 35, 160, 166, 169, 171, 172, 175, 178, 179, 182, 185, 205, 217, 220, 237, 241, 296, 297, 309, 315, 319, 320, 332, 335, 351, 352, 408, 413, 422, 428, 430 modality 114, 125, 126 mood 44, 57, 58, 70, 106, 108–112, 114, 196, 233, 448 MV 27, 31, 34, 35, 146, 166, 169, 175, 225, 239, 295, 332, 335, 351, 353, 422, 429 N nominalisation 96, 119, 120–124, 191, 449 O Oth. 5, 12, 16, 19, 24, 25, 27, 32, 35, 36, 61, 70, 96, 97, 99, 100, 115, 151, 154, 158, 159–161, 166, 169, 175, 178, 209, 220, 223, 224, 277, 284, 288, 321, 322, 329, 332, 352, 353, 359, 361–363, 405, 414, 420, 421, 442 P paradigmatic 68, 72, 77, 87, 89, 130, 133, 138, 450 parallelism 231 performance 3, 14, 16, 29, 30, 32, 51, 70, 76, 79, 88, 102, 124, 201, 278, 280, 283, 329, 413 performances 191, 201 politeness 7, 17, 20, 21–23, 43, 49, 56, 65, 70, 76, 79, 82, 97, 104, 111, 116, 126, 164, 192, 197, 202, 205, 208–212, 215, 220, 236, 239, 245, 252, 255, 261, 292, 295, 300, 307–309, 322, 337, 355, 361, 364, 365, 367, 372, 373, 378, 382, 428 Q quadrivium 282

R R2 34 R3 5, 7, 13, 15, 19, 27, 31, 33, 34, 42, 43, 158, 164, 165, 175, 178–180, 184, 226, 238, 243, 261, 273, 291, 296, 308–311, 318, 319, 333–335, 339, 344, 346, 347, 354, 356–358, 360, 386, 405, 406, 421, 430, 432–434, 453, 457 residue 44, 58, 108,–111, 114, 448 rheme 28, 46, 60, 103, 232–234, 331, 446 rhetoric 1, 4, 16, 36, 88, 117, 135, 138, 141–143, 159, 164, 208, 222, 254, 255, 262, 278, 293, 308, 324, 373, 374, 404, 405, 428, 435, 438, 450, 454, 455 rhetorical 7, 71, 86, 100, 113, 117, 122, 124, 125, 141–143, 194, 201, 205, 208, 209, 238, 272, 273, 275, 277, 307, 311, 313, 316, 322, 344, 361, 366–368, 397, 407, 429, 430, 433, 434, 452 Rom. 16, 27, 32, 35, 36, 122, 125, 146, 151, 154, 158–160, 169, 172, 175, 178, 217, 241, 272, 283, 302, 303, 315, 320, 323, 333, 335, 359, 414, 420–422, 427, 428, 454 S semiosis 75, 196 Shr. 34, 281 sir 5, 6, 12, 52, 64, 90, 95, 98, 134, 144, 158, 179–183, 186, 194, 203, 204, 207, 208, 216, 223, 227, 228, 230, 231, 233, 238–240, 252, 254, 255, 271, 284, 287, 294, 305, 308, 310, 318, 323, 348, 350, 357, 361, 364, 369, 371, 379, 382, 390, 398, 409, 411, 421, 422, 424, 425, 427, 446, 448, 451 Son. 296, 308, 315, 326, 331, 334, 336, 351, 395, 430 speech moves 15, 40, 43, 46, 57, 59, 111, 120, 199, 234, 236, 237, 344, 435, 448 stylistics 9, 10, 50, 67, 84, 85, 88, 89, 285, 458 symbolic interactionism 81 syntagmatic 87, 130, 133, 211, 218, 231, 234, 297, 386, 431, 452 systemic functional grammar 11, 22, 57, 68, 95

Index 525 T textual 11, 15, 49, 57, 60, 100, 101, 103, 104, 109, 112, 138, 151, 237, 291, 422, 423 TGV 34, 391 theme 28, 46, 60, 70, 71, 88, 106, 107, 114, 115, 232–234, 236, 237, 240, 292, 294, 300, 302, 309, 311, 354, 357, 369, 379

Tit. 5, 6, 12, 32, 34–37, 69, 74, 107–109, 115, 117, 141, 151, 154, 155, 158–161, 165, 178–180, 183, 194, 195, 221, 225, 236, 237, 294, 297, 309, 315, 320, 330, 332, 335, 337, 343, 347, 352, 353, 414, 420, 421, 434–439, 442, 451 Tmp. 13, 27, 28, 31, 34, 35, 98, 99, 120, 126, 152, 154, 170, 171, 178–180, 182, 185, 190, 221, 223, 231, 232, 234, 288, 313, 318, 322, 332, 349–351, 353, 357, 383, 423, 431, 432, 442

TN 351, 433 transitivity 46, 59, 70, 83, 106 transsituational 84 trivium 135, 279, 282 Tro. 29, 202, 288 Wiv. 26, 95, 314 WT 31, 34, 35, 95, 152, 170, 171, 175, 320, 381, 423

Pragmatics & Beyond New Series A complete list of titles in this series can be found on the publishers’ website, www.benjamins.com 154 Hübler, Axel: The Nonverbal Shift in Early Modern English Conversation. Expected January 2007 153 Arnovick, Leslie K.: Written Reliquaries. The resonance of orality in medieval English texts. xii, 283 pp. + index. Expected December 2006 152 Warren, Martin: Features of Naturalness in Conversation. x, 264 pp. + index. Expected December 2006 151 Suzuki, Satoko (ed.): Emotive Communication in Japanese. v, 233 pp. + index. Expected December 2006 150 Busse, Beatrix: Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare. 2006. xviii, 525 pp. 149 Locher, Miriam A.: Advice Online. Advice-giving in an American Internet health column. 2006. xvi, 277 pp. 148 Fløttum, Kjersti, Trine Dahl and Torodd Kinn: Academic Voices. Across languages and disciplines. 2006. x, 309 pp. 147 Hinrichs, Lars: Codeswitching on the Web. English and Jamaican Creole in e-mail communication. 2006. x, 302 pp. 146 Tanskanen, Sanna-Kaisa: Collaborating towards Coherence. Lexical cohesion in English discourse. 2006. ix, 192 pp. 145 Kurhila, Salla: Second Language Interaction. 2006. vii, 257 pp. 144 Bührig, Kristin and Jan D. ten Thije (eds.): Beyond Misunderstanding. Linguistic analyses of intercultural communication. 2006. vi, 339 pp. 143 Baker, Carolyn, Michael Emmison and Alan Firth (eds.): Calling for Help. Language and social interaction in telephone helplines. 2005. xviii, 352 pp. 142 Sidnell, Jack: Talk and Practical Epistemology. The social life of knowledge in a Caribbean community. 2005. xvi, 255 pp. 141 Zhu, Yunxia: Written Communication across Cultures. A sociocognitive perspective on business genres. 2005. xviii, 216 pp. 140 Butler, Christopher S., María de los Ángeles Gómez-González and Susana M. Doval-Suárez (eds.): The Dynamics of Language Use. Functional and contrastive perspectives. 2005. xvi, 413 pp. 139 Lakoff, Robin T. and Sachiko Ide (eds.): Broadening the Horizon of Linguistic Politeness. 2005. xii, 342 pp. 138 Müller, Simone: Discourse Markers in Native and Non-native English Discourse. 2005. xviii, 290 pp. 137 Morita, Emi: Negotiation of Contingent Talk. The Japanese interactional particles ne and sa. 2005. xvi, 240 pp. 136 Sassen, Claudia: Linguistic Dimensions of Crisis Talk. Formalising structures in a controlled language. 2005. ix, 230 pp. 135 Archer, Dawn: Questions and Answers in the English Courtroom (1640–1760). A sociopragmatic analysis. 2005. xiv, 374 pp. 134 Skaffari, Janne, Matti Peikola, Ruth Carroll, Risto Hiltunen and Brita Wårvik (eds.): Opening Windows on Texts and Discourses of the Past. 2005. x, 418 pp. 133 Marnette, Sophie: Speech and Thought Presentation in French. Concepts and strategies. 2005. xiv, 379 pp. 132 Onodera, Noriko O.: Japanese Discourse Markers. Synchronic and diachronic discourse analysis. 2004. xiv, 253 pp. 131 Janoschka, Anja: Web Advertising. New forms of communication on the Internet. 2004. xiv, 230 pp. 130 Halmari, Helena and Tuija Virtanen (eds.): Persuasion Across Genres. A linguistic approach. 2005. x, 257 pp. 129 Taboada, María Teresa: Building Coherence and Cohesion. Task-oriented dialogue in English and Spanish. 2004. xvii, 264 pp. 128 Cordella, Marisa: The Dynamic Consultation. A discourse analytical study of doctor–patient communication. 2004. xvi, 254 pp. 127 Brisard, Frank, Michael Meeuwis and Bart Vandenabeele (eds.): Seduction, Community, Speech. A Festschrift for Herman Parret. 2004. vi, 202 pp. 126 Wu, Yi’an: Spatial Demonstratives in English and Chinese. Text and Cognition. 2004. xviii, 236 pp. 125 Lerner, Gene H. (ed.): Conversation Analysis. Studies from the first generation. 2004. x, 302 pp.

Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Discourse Constructions of Youth Identities (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Discourse Constructions of Youth Identities (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Second Language Interaction (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Impoliteness in Interaction (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Humor in Interaction (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Style Shifting in Japanese (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

The Language of Daily Life in England, (1400-1800) (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Constraints in Discourse 2 (Pragmatics and Beyond. New Series)

Youngspeak in a Multilingual Perspective (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Constraints in Discourse (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series, 172)

Metapragmatics in Use (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

The Grammar-Pragmatics Interface: Essays in Honor of Jeanette K. Gundel (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

New Adventures in Language and Interaction (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Creativity and Convention: The pragmatics of everyday figurative speech (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Cognitive Semantics: Meaning and Cognition (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

The Language of Business Studies Lectures: A corpus-assisted analysis (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Calling for Help: Language And Social Interaction in Telephone Helplines (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Hedging in Scientific Research Articles (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Essays in Speech Act Theory (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

South Slavic Discourse Particles (Pragmatics and Beyond. New Series)

Cognitive Semantics: Meaning and Cognition (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Social Roles and Language Practices in Late Modern English (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Constructions and Language Change

Recontextualizing Context: Grammaticality Meets Appropriateness (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Connectives As Discourse Landmarks (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Pragmatic Markers in Oral Narrative: The Case of English and Catalan (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Linguistic Variation in the Shakespeare Corpus: Morpho-Syntactic Variability of Second-Person Pronouns (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Web Advertising: New Forms Of Communication On The Internet (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Vocative Constructions in the Language of Shakespeare (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Discourse Constructions of Youth Identities (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Discourse Constructions of Youth Identities (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Second Language Interaction (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Impoliteness in Interaction (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Humor in Interaction (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Style Shifting in Japanese (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

The Language of Daily Life in England, (1400-1800) (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Constraints in Discourse 2 (Pragmatics and Beyond. New Series)

Youngspeak in a Multilingual Perspective (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Constraints in Discourse (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series, 172)

Metapragmatics in Use (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

The Grammar-Pragmatics Interface: Essays in Honor of Jeanette K. Gundel (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

New Adventures in Language and Interaction (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Creativity and Convention: The pragmatics of everyday figurative speech (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Cognitive Semantics: Meaning and Cognition (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

The Language of Business Studies Lectures: A corpus-assisted analysis (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Calling for Help: Language And Social Interaction in Telephone Helplines (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Hedging in Scientific Research Articles (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Essays in Speech Act Theory (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

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Cognitive Semantics: Meaning and Cognition (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Social Roles and Language Practices in Late Modern English (Pragmatics & Beyond New Series)

Constructions and Language Change

Recontextualizing Context: Grammaticality Meets Appropriateness (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

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Pragmatic Markers in Oral Narrative: The Case of English and Catalan (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Linguistic Variation in the Shakespeare Corpus: Morpho-Syntactic Variability of Second-Person Pronouns (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

Web Advertising: New Forms Of Communication On The Internet (Pragmatics and Beyond New Series)

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