Because I take upon me to direct those who teach children to read and write English, and because the reading must needs be such as writing leads to, therefore I will thoroughly examine the whole certainty of our English writing, as far as I am able, because it is a thing both proper to my subject and profitable to my country. For our natural tongue being as beneficial tous for our needful expression as any other is to the people who use it, and having as pretty and fair phrases in it, and being as ready to yield to any rule of art as any other, why should I not take some pains to find out the correct writing of ours, as men have done in other countries with theirs? And so much the rather because it is asserted that the writing of it is exceedingly uncertain, and can scarcely be rescued from extreme confusion without some extreme measure. I mean, therefore, to deal with it in such a way that I may wipe away the opinion that it is either uncertain and confused or incapable of direction, so that both native English people may have some secure place to rest in, and strangers who desire it may have some certain means of learning the language. For the performance of this task, and for my own better guidance, I will first examine the means by which other tongues of most sacred antiquity have been brought to artistic form and discipline for their correct writing, to the end that by following their way I may hit upon their method, and at the least by their example may devise some means corresponding to theirs, where the custom of our tongue and the nature of our speech will not admit of the same course being exactly followed. That being done, I will try all the variety of our present writing, and reduce the uncertain force of all our letters to as much certainty as any writing can attain.
I begin at the subject of correct writing, because reading, which is the first elementary study, must be directed both in precept and practice according to the way that the thing which is to be read is written or printed. And considering that the correct writing of our tongue is still in question, some, who are too far in advance, esteeming it quite unfit, some, who are too farbehind, thinking it perfect enough, some, who have the soundest opinion, judging it to be on the whole well appointed, though in certain particulars requiring to be improved, is it not a very necessary labour to fix the writing, so that the reading may be sure? Now, in examining the correct method of our writing, I begin at that which the learned tongues used, to find out what was right for themselves, when they were in the same position in which ours now is. For all tongues keep one and the same rule for their main development, though each has its special features. In this way I shall be able to answer all those objections which charge our writing with either insufficiency or confusion, and also to examine, as by a sure touchstone, all the other supplements which have been devised heretofore to help our writing, by either altering the old characters, or devising some new, or increasing their number. For if the other tongues that have been so highly esteemed, when they were subject to, and charged with, these same supposed wants with which our writing is now burdened, delivered themselves by other means than either altering, or superseding, or increasing their characters, and made use of their own material, why should we seek means that are strange and not in keeping with our language when we have such a pattern to perfect our writing by so well-warranted a precedent? That the finest tongue was once quite rude is proved by the very course of nature, which proceeds from weakness to strength, from imperfection to perfection, from a low degree to a high dignity. What means, then, did those languages use, which have won the opinion of being correctly written, to come by the method that produced that opinion? There are two considerations in regard to speech concerning the way that has beenfollowed in its refining. For if we look into the first degree of refining, before which no tongue at all had any beauty in the pen, we have to consider how the very first language proceeded from her first rudeness to her fullest perfection. Again, we have to consider how other secondary languages have improved and purified themselves by following the same method as that used by the primitive tongue.
But I desire to be warranted by them both, that is, to follow the first refiners and also the second improvers in this course, which, as far as I know, no man has yet kept in this subject, though several have written orthographies. And my opinion is, that it best beseems a scholar to proceed by art to any recovery from the claws of ignorance. Therefore, I will examine, even from the very root, how and by what degrees the very first tongue seems to have come by her perfection in writing, and what means were taken to continue that perfection, ever since the time that any tongue was perfected. Consideration, however, must always be had to the special peculiarities of any particular tongue, as these cannot be comprised under a general precept along with any other tongue, but must be treated as exceptions to the common rule. And yet even these particular features are not omitted in the general method of the first refining, and thus it is commended to us by means of translations, which come in the third degree, and refine after the first, by following the intervening process. Now, in this long passage from the first condition of extreme rudeness to the last neatness of finished skill, I will name three stages, each naturally succeeding the other, where the reader’s understanding may alight and go on foot, if it be wearied with riding. The first stage is while the sound alone bore sway inwriting. The second is while consent in use removed authority from sound alone to the joint rule of reason, custom, and sound. The third, which is now in progress, is while reason and custom secure their own joint government with sound by means of art. For as sound, like a restrained but not banished Tarquinius, desiring to be restored to his first sole monarchy, and finding supporters only in the province of sound, sought to make a tumult among the writers, ever after that reason and custom were joined with him in commission. I will, therefore, first deal with the government in writing which was under sound, when everything was written according to the sound, though that stage came to an end long ago.
I should begin too far back in seeking out the ground of correct writing, if I should enquire either who devised letters first, or who wrote first,—a thing as uncertain to be known as it would be fruitless if it were known. For what certainty can there be of so old a thing, or what profit can arise from knowing one man’s name, even if one were the founder, which can scarcely be? For though he be honoured for the fruit of his invention, yet his authority would do small good, seeing that the matter in question is to be confirmed not by the credit of the inventor, who dwells we know not where, but by the user’s profit, which everyone feels. And therefore as they who devised the thing first (for it was the invention of no one man, nor of any one age), did a marvellously good turn to all their posterity, so we, as their posterity, must think well of the inventors, and must judge that pure necessity was the foundress of letters, and of all writing, as it has been the only general breeder of all things that better our life, need and want forcing men’s wits to seek forsuch helps. For as the tongue conveyed speech no further than to those that were within hearing, and the necessity of communication often arose between persons who were further off, a device was made to serve the eye afar off by the means of letters, as nature satisfied the ear close at hand by the use of speech. For the handing down of learning by the pen to posterity was not the first cause of finding out letters, but an excellent use perceived to be in them to serve for perpetuity a great while after they had been found by necessity. The letters being thus found out in order to serve a needful turn, took the force of expressing every distinct sound in the voice, not by themselves or any virtue in their form (for what likeness or affinity has the form of any letter in its own nature to the force or sound in a man’s voice?) but only by consent of the men who first invented them, and the happy use of them perceived by those who first received them.
Hereupon in the first writing the sound alone led the pen, and every word was written with the letters that the sound commanded, because the letters were invented to express sounds. Then for the correct manner of writing, who was sovereign and judge but sound alone? Who gave sentence of pen, ink, and paper, but sound alone? Then everyone, however unskilful, was partaker in the authority of that government by sound. And there was good reason why sound should rule alone, and all those have a share in the government of sound, who were able even to make a sound. In those days, all the arguments that cleave so firmly to the prerogative of sound, and plead so greatly for his interest, in the setting down of letters, were esteemed most highly, as being most agreeable to the time, and most serviceable to the State. But afterwardswhen sound upon sufficient cause was deposed from his monarchy, as being no fit person to rule the pen alone, and had others joined with him in the same commission, who were of as good countenance as he, though not meant to act without him, then their credit was not at all so absolute, though reasonably good still. This any well-advised supporters of sound may well perceive, and be well content with, if they will but mark the restriction in the authority of sound, and its causes. For as great inconveniences followed, and the writing itself proved more false than true, when the pen set down the form that the ear suggested to answer a particular sound, and as the sound itself was too imperious, without mercy or forgiveness whatever justification the contrary side had, men of good understanding, who perceived and disliked this imperiousness of sound, which was maintained with great uncertainty,—nay rather with confusion than assurance of right,—assembled themselves together to confer upon a matter of such general interest, and in the end, after resolute and ripe deliberation, presented themselves before sound, using the following arguments to modify his humour, but seeking rather to persuade than compel:
That it would please him to take their speech in good part, considering that it concerned not their private good, but the general interest of the whole province of writing: That he would call to his remembrance the reasons which moved them at the first to give him alone the authority over the pen, as one whom they then thought most fit for such a government, and indeed most fit to govern alone: That they now perceived, not any fault in him, for using like a prince what was his peculiar right, granted by their own commission, but an oversight in themselves in unadvisedlyovercharging him with an estate which he could not rule alone without a sacrifice of his honour, whereof they were as tender as of their own souls: That their request therefore unto him was not to think more of his own private honour than of the good of the whole province: That they might with his good leave amend their own error, which however it concerned his person yet should not affect his credit, the fault being theirs in their first choice.
They paused a little while, before they uttered the main cause of their motion, for they noticed that sound began to change colour, and was half ready to swoon. For the fellow is passionate, tyrannous in authority but timorous.
Howbeit, seeing that the common good urged them to speech, they went on, and told him in plain terms that he must be content to refer himself to order, and so much the rather because their meaning was not to seek either his deprivation or his resignation, but to urge him to qualify his government, and make use of a further council which they meant to join with him, as a thing likely to bear great fruit, and of good example in many such cases, since even great potentates and princes, for the general weal of their states, were very well content, upon humble suit made to them, to admit such a council, and use it in affairs: That the reasons which moved them to make this suit, and might also move him to admit the same, were of great importance: That because letters were first found only to express him, therefore they had given him alone the whole government therein, and were well contented with it, until they had espied, not his misgovernment, but their own mischoice: That the bare and primitive inventions, being but rude, and being ruled accordingly, andexperience at the time affording no more growth in refinement, why should they not now yield to refinement, upon better cause, what they yielded to rudeness from mere necessity? That no man having any sense of the correctness in writing that is commended by experience would yield the direction to sound alone, which is always altering, and differs according as either the pronouncer is ignorant or learned, or the parts that pronounce are of clear or stop delivery, or as the ear itself has judgment to discern: That considering these defects, which crave reform, and the letter itself, which desires some assurance of her own use, it might stand with his good pleasure to admit to his council two grave and great personages, whom they had long thought of, and through whose assistance he might the better govern the province of the pen.
Since they praised the parties so much, he desired their names. They answered—Reason, to consider what will be most agreeable upon sufficient cause, and Custom, to confirm by experience and proof what Reason would like best, and yet not to do anything without conference with sound.
The personages pleased him for their own worthiness, but the very thing that recommended them to him for their own value made him dislike them for the danger to himself. For is not either reason or custom, if it please them to aspire, more likely to rule the pen than sound? said he to himself. Howbeit, after they had charged his conscience with all those reasons in one throng, which they had used individually before, urging that it were no dishonour to yield a little to those who had given him his whole rule: That they might have leave to amend their own error in overcharging him: That though they seemed to lower his rank, yet theydid not seek to defraud him of his own: That the wrongs done to writing, which they indicated to him were matters worthy of redress: That the councillors whom they appointed were honourable and honest: That the common benefit of the whole province of writing earnestly sued for it, and they were very well assured that so good a father as he was to that poor estate would never be unwilling, but rather voluntarily condescend without any request, that he might not be half dishonoured in delaying the request from not knowing the grievances. After they had pressed him so closely, though he was very loth, after being once a sole monarch, to become almost a private person by admitting controllers, as it seemed to him, rather than councillors, as they meant, yet perceiving that their power was such that they might force him to grant what they begged of him if he should try to make terms with them, he was content to yield, though with some show of discontent in his very countenance, and to admit Reason and Custom as his fellow-governors in the correct method of writing.
For in very deed wise and learned people, whatever they may lend ignorance to play with for a time, reserve to themselves judgment and authority to exercise control, when they see unskilfulness play the fool too much, as in this same quarrel for the alteration of sounds according to a presumptuous rule they had very great reason to do. For as in faces, though every man by nature has two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth, and so forth, yet there is always such diversity in countenances that any two men may easily be distinguished, even if they are as like as the two brothers, the Lacedaemonian princes, of whom Cicero speaks; so likewise in the voice, though in everyone it passesthrough by one mouth, one throat, one tongue, one barrier of teeth, and so forth, yet it is as different in everyone, as regards the sound, by reason of some diversity in the vocal organs, as the faces are different in form, through some evident distinction in the natural cast of features. And this diversity, though it hinders not the expression of everyone’s mind, is yet too uncertain to rule every man’s pen in setting down letters.
And again, what reason had it to follow every man’s ear, as a master scrivener, and to leave every man’s pen to its own sound, where there were such differences, that they could not agree where the right was, everyone laying claim to it? Again, why should ignorance in any matter be taken for a guide in a case demanding knowledge? Because of the clamour of numbers? That were to make it an affair of popular opinion, whereas the subject is one of special difficulty, requiring wisdom. And therefore if any number, though never so few, deserve to be followed, it were only they who could both speak best, and give the best reason why. But that kind of people were too few at the first to find any place against a popular government, where the ear led the ear, and it was asked why sound should give over his interest, seeing letters were devised to express sound in every one of us, and not merely the fancy of a few wise fellows. And yet when corn was once introduced, acorns grew out of use though a fit enough meat in a hoggish world. For naturally the first serves the turn till the finer and better comes forward. And as something worthily took the place of nothing, so must that something again give place to its better; as sound did something to expel rudeness, though it may not set itself to keep out progress in refinement.
Wise men would stand no longer to that diversity in writing, which necessarily followed, when everyone spelt as his vocal organs fashioned the sound, or as his skill served him, or as his ear could discern. All these means are full of variety, and never in agreement, as appears by the example of whole nations, which cannot sound some letters that others can.
Owing to these discontentments, and by consent of those who could judge and pronounce best, they arrived at a certain and reasonable custom—or rather, truth to say, to a customary reason—which they held for a law, not inadvertently hit on through error and time, but advisedly resolved on by judgment and skill. Nor yet did they, contrary to their promise, deprive sound of all his royalty, which was like that of a dictator before, but they joined reason with him, and custom too, so as to begin then in acknowledged right, and not in corruption after, as a Caesar and a Pompey, to be his colleagues in a triumvirate. From that time forward sound could do much, but not at all so much as before, being many times very justly overruled by his well-advised companions in office. Thus ended the monarchy of sound alone.
We are now come to that government in writing which was under sound, reason and custom jointly, and which proceeded in this way. Reason, as he is naturally the principal director of all the best doings, and not of writing alone, began to play the master, but yet wisely and with great modesty. For considering the disposition of his two companions, first of sound, which the letters were to express in duty, being devised for that purpose, and then of custom, which was to confirm and pave the way to general approval, he established this for a general law in the province of writing—thatas the first founders and devisers of the letters used their own liberty, in assigning by voluntary choice a particular character for the eye, to a particular sound in the voice, so it should be lawful for the said founders and their posterity, according as the necessity of their use and the dispatch in their pen did seem to require it, either to increase the number of letters, if the supply seemed not to satisfy the variety in sound, or to apply one and the same letter to diverse uses, if it could be done with some nice distinction, in order to avoid a multitude of characters, as we apply words, which are limited in number, to things which are without limit; and generally, like absolute lords in a tenancy at mere will, to make their own need the test of all letters, of all writing, of all speaking, to chop, to change, to alter, to transfer, to enlarge, to lessen, to make, to mar, to begin, to end, to give authority to this, to take it from that, as they themselves should think good. This decree being penned by reason, both sound and custom at once approved—sound, because there was no remedy, though his heart longed still for his former monarchy, which was now eclipsed; custom, because that served his turn best. For if necessary use and dispatch in the pen could have authority, which was given them in law, by consent of the men who were successors to those that first founded the letter (which were men of the most learned and wisest sort), then were custom indeed, having reason for a friend, and sound no foe, a very great prince in the whole province in both writing and speaking. And good reason why. For custom is not that which men do or speak commonly or most, upon whatsoever occasion, but only that which is grounded at the first upon the best and fittest reason, and is therefore to be used because it is the fittest.If this take place according to the first appointment, then is custom in his right; if not, then abuse in fact seems to usurp upon custom in name. So that I take custom to build upon the cause, and not to make the cause.
After reason had brought both sound to this order, and custom to this authority, then was there nothing admitted in writing but that only, which was signed by all their three hands. If the sound alone served, yet reason and custom must needs confirm sound; if reason must have place, both sound and custom must needs approve reason; if custom would be credited, he could not pass unless both sound supported him and reason ratified him.
During the combined government of these three, the matter of all our precepts that concern writing first grew to strength; then rules were established and exceptions laid down, when reason and custom perceived sufficient cause. But none of all these were as yet commended to art and set down in writing; they were only held in the memory and observation of writers, having sufficient matter to furnish the body of an art, but lacking in method, which came next in place, and joined itself with the other three for this purpose.
All this time, while reason and custom governed the pen as well as sound, the discontented friends of sound never rested, but always sought means to supplant the other two, ever buzzing into ignorant ears the authority of sound and his right to his own expression; and the same errors that troubled the pen while sound alone was the judge, began to creep in again, and cause a new trouble, inasmuch as all of the more ignorant sort were clearly of opinion that the very sternness of sound was simply to be accepted without all exception, thoughthose of learning and wisdom, who had first set up reason and custom as companions to sound, and still continued of the same mind, could very well distinguish usurpation from inheritance, and right from wrong.
Reason therefore, finding by the creeping in of this error both that he himself was being injured by senseless time, and his good custom sorely assailed by counterfeit corruption, perceived the fault to lie in the want of a good notary, and a strong obligation, by which to set in everlasting authority, by right rule and true writing, what he and custom both, by the consent of sound, had continued in use, though not put down in writing. This would ever be in danger of continual revolt from the best to the worst, by the uncertainty of time and the elvishness of error, unless it were set down in writing, and the conditions subscribed by all their consents, for a perpetual evidence against the repiner. For this is the difference between a reasonable custom and an artificial method, that the first does the thing for the second to confirm, and the second confirms by observing the first.
While nothing was set down in writing, sound and his accomplices were in hopes of some recovery, but this hope was cut off when the writings were made, and the conditions settled. The notary who was to cut off all these controversies and breed a perpetual quiet in the matter of writing, was Art, which gathering into one body all those random rules that Custom had beaten out, disposed them so in writing, that everyone knew his own limits, Reason his, Custom his, Sound his. Now when Reason, Custom, and Sound were brought into order, and driven to certainty by the means of art and method, then began the third, the last, and the best assurance in writing.
Art, being herself in place, perceived the direction of the whole tongue to be an infinitely hard task—nay to be scarcely possible in general, considering the diverse properties of the three rulers, reason, custom, and sound, which alter always with time. For what people can be sure of their own tongue any long while? Does not speech alter sometimes for the better, if the State where it is used itself continue and grow to better countenance, either for great learning, or for any other matter, which may help to refine a language? And does it not sometimes change to the more corrupt, if the State where it is used chance to be overthrown, and a master-tongue coming in as conqueror, command both the people, and the people’s speech also? In consideration of this uncertainty, Art betook herself to some one period in the tongue, when it was of most account, and therefore fittest to be made a pattern for others to follow, and pleasantest for herself to work and toil in. Upon this period she bestowed all those notes, which she perceived by observation (the secretary to reason) to be in the common use of speech and pen, either clear in sound, or suitable to reason, or liked by custom, but always supported by them all.
Such a period in the Greek tongue was the time when Demosthenes lived, and that learned race of the father-philosophers: such a period in the Latin tongue was the time when Cicero lived, and those of that age: such a period in the English tongue I take this to be in our own day, both for the pen and for speech.
Art choosing such a period in the primitive tongue, and having all the material gathered into notes, wherewith to set up her whole frame and building of method, distributed them in such a way that there was not anyone thing necessary for correct writing, but she had it in writing, saving some particulars which will be always impatient of rule, and make fresh matter for another period in speech; though that which is now made so sure by means of art can never be in danger of any alteration, but will always be held for a precedent to others, being most perfect in itself. For a tongue once enrolled by the benefit of art, and grown to good credit, is established in such assurance that its right cannot be denied, and opposition would be soon espied, however it should wrangle; then it is made a common example for the refining of other languages, which have material for such a method, and desire to be so refined.
This course was kept by the first tongue that ever was refined, from the first invention of any letters, until corruption which had slily crept in, but had been wisely perceived, made a reform necessary. This reform grew again to corruption, in the nature of a relapse, because, though it was soundly made, yet it was not armed with sufficient security against the festering evil of error and corruption. Therefore, when it felt the want of such an assurance, it begged aid from art, which, like a beaten lawyer, handled the matter with such forethought in the penning of his books, that each of those who were in any way interested was taught to know what was his own. Other tongues besides the first to be refined, on marking this current of events, applied the same to their own writing, and were very glad to use the benefit of those men’s labour, who wrestled with the difficulties of sound, error, corruption, and the residue of that ill-humoured tribe.
This original precedent in the first, and transferredpattern in the rest, I mean to follow in finding out our correct English writing, and whether it will prove to be fashioned accordingly and framed like the pattern, shall appear when the thing itself shall come forth in her own natural hue, though in artificial habit.
Before I deal further with this matter, I must examine two principal points in our tongue, of which one is, whether it has material in it for art to build on, because I said that art dealt where she found sufficient matter for her labour. The other is, whether our writing is justly challenged for those infirmities with which it is charged in our time, because I said that this period of our own time seems to be the most perfect period in our English tongue, and that our custom has already beaten out its own rules, ready for the method and framework of art. These two points are necessarily to be considered. For if there be either no material for art owing to the extreme confusion, or if our custom be not yet ripe enough to be reduced to rule, then that perfect period in our tongue is not yet come, and I have entered upon this subject while it is yet too green. However, I hope it will not prove premature, and therefore I will first show that there is in our tongue great and sufficient stuff for art to work upon; then that there is no such infirmity in our writing as is pretended, but that our custom has become fit to receive this framing by art by the method which I have laid down, without any outside help, and by those rules only which may be gathered out of our own ordinary writing.
It must needs be that our English tongue has matter enough in her own writing to direct her own practice, if it be reduced to definite precepts and rules of art. The causes why this has not as yet been thoroughlyperceived are the hope and despair of those who have either thought upon it and not dealt with it, or have dealt with it but not rightly thought upon it.
For some, considering the great difficulty which they found to be in the writing of our language, almost every letter being deputed to many and various—even well-nigh contrary—sounds and uses, and almost every word either wanting letters for its necessary sound, or having more than necessity demands, began to despair in the midst of such a confusion of ever finding out any sure direction on which art might be firmly grounded. Perhaps either they did not seek, or did not know how to seek, the right form of method for art to adopt. But whether difficulty in the search, or infirmity in the searchers, gave cause for this, the parties themselves gave over the thing, as in a desperate case, and by not meddling through despair they fail to help the right.
Again some others, bearing a good affection to their natural tongue, and being resolved to burst through the midst of all these difficulties, which offered such resistance, devised a new means, in which they placed their hope of bringing the thing about. Whereupon some of them who were of great place and good learning, set forth in print particular treatises with these newly conceived means, showing how we ought to write, and so to write correctly. But their good hope, by reason of their strange means, had the same result that the despair of the others had, either from their misconceiving the things at first, or from their diffidence at the last.
The causes why their plans did not take effect, and thus in part hindered the thing, by making many think the case more desperate than it really was, were these. The despair of those who thought that the tongue was incapable of any direction, came of a wrong cause, thefault arising indeed not from the thing which they condemned as altogether rude and incapable of rule, but from the parties themselves, who mistook their way. For the thing itself will soon be put into order, though it requires some diligence and careful consideration in him that must find it out. But when a writer takes a wrong principle quite contrary to common practice, where trial must be the touchstone, and practice must confirm the means which he conceives, is it any marvel if the use of a tongue resist such a means, which is not in conformity with it? From this proceeded the despair of hitting aright, because they missed their intention, whereas in reality they should have changed their intention, in order to hit upon the right, which is in the thing and will soon be found out, if it be rightly sought for.
Again, the hope of the others deceived them too quite as much. For they did not consider that whereas common reason and common custom have been long engaged in seeking out their own course, they themselves will be councillors, and will never yield to any private conception, which shall seem evidently either to force them or cross them, in acting as they themselves do, never giving any precept how to write correctly, till they have railed at custom as a most pernicious enemy to truth and right, even in the things where custom has most right, if it has right in any. Therefore when they proceeded in an argument of custom, with the enmity of him who is Lord of the soil, was it any wonder if they failed of their purpose, and hindered the finding out of our correct writing, which must needs be compassed by the consent of custom and the friendship of reason? So in the meantime, while despair deceives the one, and hope beguiles the other, the one missinghis way, the other making a foe, and both going astray, they both lose their labour, and hinder the finding out of the best mode of writing, because the true method of finding out such a thing has another course, as I have shown before.
Yet notwithstanding all this, it is very manifest, that the tongue itself has matter in it to furnish out an art, and that the same means which has been used in reducing other tongues to their best form, will serve this of ours, both for generality of precept and for certainty of foundation, as may be easily proved on those four grounds—the antiquity of our tongue, the people’s intelligence, their learning, and their experience. For how can it be but that a tongue which has continued for many hundreds of years not only a tongue, but one of good account, both in speech and pen, should have grown in all that time to some refinement and assurance of itself, by so long and so general a use, the people that have used it being none of the dullest, and labouring continually in all exercises that concern learning, and in all practices that procure experience, either in peace or in war, either in public or private, either at home or abroad?
As for the antiquity of our speech, whether it be measured by the ancient Teutonic, whence it originally comes, or even but by the latest terms which it borrows daily from foreign tongues, either out of pure necessity in new matters, or out of mere bravery to garnish itself with, it cannot be young—unless the German himself be young, who claims a prerogative for the age of his speech, of an infinite prescription; unless the Latin and Greek be young, whose words we enfranchise to our own use, though not always immediately from themselves, but mostly through the Italian, French, andSpanish; unless other tongues, which are neither Greek nor Latin, nor any of the forenamed, from which we have something, as they have from ours, will for company’s sake be content to be young, that ours may not be old. But I am well assured that every one of these will strive for antiquity, and rather grant it to us than forgo it themselves. So that if the very newest words we use savour of great antiquity, and the ground of our speech is most ancient, it must needs then follow that our whole tongue was weaned long ago, as having all her teeth.
As for the importance of our tongue, both in pen and speech, no man will have any doubt who is able to judge what those things are that make any tongue to be of account, which things I take to be three—the authority of the people who speak it, the subject-matter with which the speech deals, and the manifold uses which it serves. For all these three our tongue need not give place to any of her peers.
First, to say something of the people that use the tongue, the English nation has always been of good credit and great estimation, ever since credit and estimation in the course of history came over to this side of the Alps, which appears to be true—even by foreign chronicles (not to use our own in a case that affects ourselves), which would never have said so much of the people if it had been obscure, and unworthy of a perpetual history.
Next, as to the matter with which it deals, whether private or public, it may compare with some others that think very well of themselves. For not to touch upon ordinary affairs of common life, will matters of learning in any kind of argument make a tongue of account? Our nation then, I think, will hardly beproved to have been unlearned at any time, in any kind of learning, not to use any stronger terms. Therefore, having learning by confession of all men, and uttering that learning in their own tongue for their own use, they could not but enrich the tongue, and bring it consideration.
Will matters of war, whether civil or foreign, make a tongue of account? Neighbouring nations will not deny our people to be very warlike, and our own country will confess it, though loth to feel it, both on account of remembering the suffering, and of fearing to gall our friends by vaunting ourselves. Now, in offering material for speech, war is such a breeder that, though it is opposed to learning because it is an enemy to the Muses, yet it dares compare with any department of learning for the multitude of its discourses, though these are not commonly so certain or useful as learned subjects. For war (besides the many grave and serious considerations about it) as sometimes it sends us true reports, either privately in the form of projects and devices that are intended, or publicly in events which are blazed abroad because they have occurred, so mostly it gives out—I dare not say lies, but—very incredible news, because it can hatch these at will, being in no danger of control, and commonly free from witnesses. Every man, moreover, seeks both to praise himself and to harm his enemy, besides procuring some courteous entertainment by telling what is not true to those that love to hear it. All these tales about stratagems and engines of war and many other such things, give matter for speech and occasion for new words, and by making the language so ready, make it of renown.
Will all kinds of trade, and all sorts of traffic, makea tongue of account? If the spreading sea and the spacious land could use any speech, they would both show you where and in how many strange places they have seen our people, and also let you know that they deal in as much, and in as great a variety of matters, as any other people, whether at home or abroad. This is the reason why our tongue serves so many uses, because it is conversant with so many people, and so well acquainted with so many matters, in such various kinds of dealing. Now all this variety of matter and diversity of trade, both make material for our speech, and afford the means of enlarging it. For he who is so practised will utter what he practises in his natural tongue, and if the strangeness of the matter requires it, he who is to utter, will rather than stick in his utterance, use the foreign term, explaining that the people of the country call it so, and by that means make a foreign word an English denizen.
All these reasons concerning the tongue and its importance being put together, not only prove the nation’s exercise in learning, and their practice in other dealings, but seem to infer—to say the least—no base-witted people, because it is not the part of fools to be so learned, so warlike, and so well-practised in affairs. I shall not need to prove any of these positions, either from foreign or home history, as my readers who are strangers will not urge me for them, and those of my own nation will not, I think, gainsay me in them, since they know them to be true, and may use them for their honour.
Therefore I may well conclude my first position, that if use and custom, having the advantage of such length of time to refine our tongue, of so great learning and experience to furnish material for the refining, and ofso good intelligence and judgment to direct it, have attained nothing which they refuse to let go in the correct manner of our writing, then our tongue has no certainty to trust to, but writes all at random. But the antecedent is, in my opinion, altogether impossible; therefore the consequent is a great deal more than probable, which is that our tongue has in her own possession very good evidence to prove her own correct writing; and though no man as yet, to judge by any public writing of his, seems to have seen this, yet the tongue itself is ready to show it to anyone who is able to read it, and to judge what evidence is trustworthy in regard to the standard of writing. Therefore, seeing I have proved sufficiently in my own opinion that there is great cause why our tongue should have some good standard in her own writing, and consider myself to have had the sight of that evidence by which such a standard appears most capable of justification, and am not altogether ignorant of how to give a decision upon it, I will do my best, according to the course which I said was kept in the first general refining of any speech, and has also been transferred to every secondary and particular tongue, to set forth some standard for English writing. This I will base upon those notes which I have observed in the tongue itself, the best and finest therein, which by comparison with themselves offer the means of correcting the worse, without either introducing any innovation, as those do who set forth new devices, or mistaking my way, as those do who despair that our tongue can be brought to any certainty without some marvellous foreign help. Thus much for the material fit for art in our tongue; now for the objections which charge it with infirmities.
Those who see imperfections in our tongue eitherblame certain errors which they allege to be in our writing, or else they will seem to seek its reformation. In pointing out errors they rail at custom as a vile corrupter, and complain of our letters as miserably deficient. In their desire for redress they appeal to sound as the only sovereign and surest leader in the government of writing, and fly to innovation, as the only means of reforming all errors in our writing.
In their quarrel with custom they seek to bring it into general hatred, as a common corrupter of all good things, declaring it to be no marvel if it abuse speech, which in passing through every man’s mouth, and being imitated by every man’s pen, must needs gather much corruption by the way, because the ill are many just as the good are few, and common corruption, which they term custom, is an ill director to find out a right. Hereupon they conclude that, as it seems most probable, so it is most true that the chief errors which have crept into our pen take their beginning from the sole infection of an evil custom, which ought not so much as once to be named, for direction to what is right, in either pen or speech, being so manifestly false, notwithstanding whatever any writers, old or new, can pretend to the contrary. Then they descend to particularities, proving that we sometimes burden our words with too many letters, sometimes pinch them with too few, sometimes misshape them with wrong sounding, sometimes misorder them with wrong placing. And are not these marvellously great causes of discontent with custom, which is the breeder of them? And yet if good writers seem to favour custom, then the case is not so clear as you take it to be, that it is nothing but a hell of most vile corruptions; that it alone infects all good things; that it alone corrupts correct writing.For if it were indeed only this, they would not warrant it, and give it such great credit, as I remember they do. Is there not, then, some error in the name, and may not custom be misconstrued? For certainly these writers, when they speak of custom, mean that rule in conduct and virtuous life in which good men agree, and their consent is what these men term custom, as they call that rule in speaking and writing the custom wherein the most skilful and learned agree. And is it likely that either the honest in act will mislead virtue in living, or the learned will disapprove of correctness in writing? And, again, those honest men who approve of custom in matters of life complain very much of corruption in manners and evil behaviour; and the learned men, who approve of custom in matters of speech and pen, complain very much of error in writing and corruption in speech; and both accuse the majority of people as the leaders to error, and set down the common abuse at the door of the multitude. And therefore it cannot be otherwise but that the double name is what deceives. For those who accuse custom mean false error which counterfeits custom, and is a great captain among the impudent for evil and the ignorant for rashness, and yet has the chief part in directing all. And those who praise custom mean plain truth, which cannot dissemble, which is the companion of the honest in virtue, and of the learned in knowledge, and directs all best. Now will ye see? This mistermed “custom” in the pen is that counterfeit abuse which was the only cause why the monarchy of sound, of which I spoke before, was dissolved, and itself condemned by those wise people who joined reason with sound; and the right custom which writers commend so is that companion of reason which succeededin its place when the counterfeit was cast out. Now you see the error. So neither do writers approve of such a corruption, nor is custom your opponent, but both writers and custom, as well as you and I will scratch out the eyes of common error, for misusing good things and belying custom. If good things are abused it is by bad people, whose misnamed custom is rightly named error. If words are overcharged with letters, that comes either by the covetousness of those who sell them by lines, or the ignorance of those who, besides pestering them with too many, both weaken them with too few, and wrong them with the change of force and position.
When they have dealt thus with custom, and with their opponents (as they consider those who are really their friends) without marking what their reasons are, or by whose authority custom is established, which they so impugn by suggestion of a counterfeit, then they begin to complain sorely of the insufficiency and poverty of our letters. While these are as many as in other tongues, yet they do not suffice, it is alleged, for the full and right expression of our sounds, though they express them after a sort, but force us to use a number of them, like the Delphic sword of which Aristotle speaks, for many sounds and services contrary to the nature of such an instrument, each letter being intended at first for one sound. Thus it comes to pass that we both write improperly, not answering the sound of what we say, and are never like ourselves in any of our writing, but always vary according to the writer’s humour, without any certain direction. Therefore, foreigners and strangers wonder at us, both for the uncertainty in our writing and the inconstancy in our letters. And is it not a great shame that so able anation as the English, who have been of very good note for so many years, either should not notice, or would not amend, in all this time the poverty of their pen, and the confusion in their letters, but both let their writing thus always run riot, and themselves be mocked by foreign people?
If foreigners do marvel at us, we may requite them with as much, and return their wonder home, considering that they themselves are subject to the very same difficulties which they wonder at in us, and have no more letters than we have, and yet both write and are understood in spite of all these insufficiencies, just as we also write and are understood in this our insufficiency even by their own confession. But the common use of writing among those strangers, which agrees so with ours in our uncertainty, makes me think that this complaint of insufficiency is not general either with them or with us, but in both cases belongs to a few, who objecting to what they know nothing of, and not observing what they cannot, therefore blame what they should not. For if their blaming upon good cause, and marking upon wise judgment concurred with their number, though not so great, I should be afraid lest they should have the better, because they were the fewer; but being both the fewer and the weaker, they carry no great weight in condemnation. Other folks also, who see something as well as they, do not quite disapprove of all their disapproval, but desire some redress, where there is good cause, though they may not agree as to the means of bringing about the redress, nor yet admit that the error is as great as these objectors pretend. For we confess that this multiplicity and manifold use in the force and service of our letters requires some distinctions to be known by, ifgeneral acquaintance with our own writing do not help us to perceive in use what we put down by use; but still we defend and maintain the multiplicity itself, as a thing much used even in the best tongues, and therefore not unlawful, even though there were no distinctions.
And again, we do not think that every custom is an evident corruption, where the general usage of those who cannot be suspected of writing with other than good judgment, lays the groundwork for precept, as leading to the exercise of art, and assurance to the pen. And we rest content with the number of our letters. Some people in studying to increase this number, only cumber our tongue, both with strange characters and with needless diphthongs, forcing us away from what the general rule has won and is content with. And why not these letters only? Or why may they not be put to many uses? This paucity and poverty of letters has contented the best and bravest tongues that either are, have been, shall be, or can be, and has expressed by them, both in speech and pen, as great variety and as much difficulty in all subjects as possibly can be expressed or understood by the English tongue or be devised by any English intelligence. The people that now use them, and those that have used them, have naturally the same organs of voice, and the same delivery in sound, for all their speaking, that we English have, because they are men, just as we English folk are; and they handed down the use of the pen to us, and not we to them. And finding in their own use this necessity which you note, they fled to that help which you think naught, and were bold with their letters, to make them serve diverse turns, sometimes with change, sometimes with some ingenious mark ofdistinction. That this kind of distinction is enough, is known to all who are acquainted with the foreign letters, and with those writers who treat of them. Nor is there any difficulty which they are not subject to, either in the same or in very similar things, just as we are. And will strangers wonder at us? Or do not those of our own people who are learned perceive these things? For in the ignorant I require no such discretion. I certainly think that all people, as they have the same natural organs to speak by, though from habit some may harp more on one sound than on others, and some—even whole nations—may lean more upon one organ, such as the throat or the teeth, than others do, yet naturally all are made able to sound all kinds of speech and all letters, if they are accustomed to them at the most fitting age and by the best means. I hold also that it is only education and custom that make the difference, and therefore rule all, or at least most, in speech, wherein if there be any reason, it is not natural and simple, as in things, but artificial and compound, based upon such and such a cause in custom and consent. And though the Hebrew grammarians alone divide their letters according to the vocal organs on which they lean most, such as the throat, the roof of the mouth, the tongue, the lips, or the teeth, yet not the Hebrews alone have that distinction in nature, but every people which has throat, teeth, palate, tongue, lips, and with those organs use the utterance of sounds. This is an argument to me, both that use is the mistress, and that he who sounds on any one method by the usage of his country, may be smoothed to some other by the contrary use, and that therefore the same letters will serve all people, if they choose to frame themselves accordingly. For, otherwise, why do wepersuade our people to sound Latin in one way, Greek in another, Hebrew in another, Italian in another, if it is not a thing that we can become acquainted with through customary usage? And this being so in all nations, what need have we for more letters to utter our minds, seeing that the organs of utterance are all one, and that nothing can be uttered either more diverse or difficult than those have uttered from whom we have the letters we possess? Nor is it any discredit to our people to rest content with those letters, and with that number, which antiquity has approved and held for sufficient. Is nature, therefore, which was fruitful in them, now so barren that we may not invent, and add something to theirs? No, forsooth. All mankind is one, without any respect of this or that age, both to nature herself, and to the God and Lord of nature, and therefore what is given to one man, or delivered in one age of common service, is meant for all men and all ages, and always for their benefit; nor is either God himself, or nature his minister, tied to any time for the delivery of their gifts, but whenever man’s necessity compels him to seek, then they help him to find. We understand, therefore, that as no one age brings forth everything, so no one age can but confess that it has some one or other particular invention, though not the self-same, because it is enough to have received it once to use ever after. So is it in this use of letters, which being once perfected is never to be shaken, unless a better means be found of uttering our speech, which I shall not see, nor can foresee by any secret prophecy. In these inventions, though the first receiver have the prerogative in taking, yet the whole posterity has the benefit in using, and generally with greater perfection, because time and continuance increaseand prune, and when it is at the full, it is a mistake to seek further, which I take to be the case in the matter of penning. Nor is the restraint from innovating, altering, or adding to things already perfected any discourtesy in reason, or any discountenance in nature, but the simple delivery of a perfect thing to our elder brethren to be conveyed unto us; as we in like case must be the transporters to our posterity of such things as it pleases God to continue by our means, whether received from our elders or devised by ourselves.
But why may we not use all our four-and-twenty letters, even for four-and-twenty uses each, if occasion serve, seeing that the characters being known are more familiar and easier to be discerned than any new device—yea, even though the old resembled each other more, and there were but one new? It has been sufficiently declared already, that those men who first devised letters, reserved the authorities over them and their use to themselves for life, and to their successors for ever, to modify and use them as it should please them best by consent among themselves, as necessity arose. And why not so, where the invention is their own, and the right use of it? This general reservation is enrolled already in all reason and antiquity, and the particular consent for the writing of our language is given already by our general use, and will be registered also in a very good record, I hope, and that shortly. And will you make that sovereign which is but subaltern? Or will you take that to be immovable like a steady rock, which roams by nature, to serve the finder? There is no such assurance in sound for the establishing of a right as you conceive, nor any such necessity in letters to be constant in one use as you seek to enforce.
The philosopher says that nature makes one thing for one use, and that every use has its particular instrument naturally, but that our own inventions—nay, that even the most natural means—may through our application, serve for sundry ends and uses. And will letters stand so upon their reputation as not to seem to admit of our applying them to their own purposes, seeing that they are both our creatures, and by creation our bondmen, both to sound as we shall think good, and in as many ways as we may wish them to serve? No, surely, they do not think so, but they are most ready to serve as we appoint, both by creation and by covenant. The letters yield readily, but some letters seek to delay their dutiful obedience, holding that their substance is adamant, and that they were not born to yield so.
With the same pen we make letters and mar them; with the same we direct and destroy them; which are contrary uses, though meant to compass the same right end. And will letters seem to serve but for one use, being nothing but elves of the pen’s breeding? They will not, but prove their own dutifulness to the pen, their parent, by following his direction in very many points, as they yield to reason and reasonable custom in many of their powers, whereby they seem to argue against contention, they themselves being satisfied.
The number of things which we write and speak about is infinite, yet the words with which we write and speak are definite and of limited number. Therefore we are driven to use one and the same word in very many—nay sometimes in very contrary senses—and that is the case in all the best languages, as well as in English, where a number of our words are of very various powers, as in the sentence: “A bird flies light,wherever she may light,” and many others that need not now be mentioned. And will letters stand aloof, so as to sound always in but one way, and to serve always but one use, where their great-grandfathers, even the words themselves, are forced to be manifold—nay, are very well content so to be, because of their founder’s command to be pliable, and at the voluntary disposal of wisdom and learning? Letters must not stand aloof, but approve of the service allotted to them, be it never so manifold, seeing that without confusion, customary acquaintance will make the distinctions clear; as a disputer will sift out the difference of manifold words, so that the variety in their senses may cause no quarrel in the argument.
If through want of skill and mere ignorance, we do not write always in the same way, then knowledge is the helper, and he that will follow the right usage must have the desire to learn aright.
If distinctions are wanted then accent must be the means of avoiding confusion, or some such device which may serve the purpose without pestering the writing by anything too strange. For it is most certain that we may use our letters like all other things whose end is the convenience of man. Nor is it any abuse when those who use can give a reason that is sufficient to the wise, and not contrary to good custom. And though some may not be persuaded, yet when an act is passed by division of the house, it is law by parliament. Then the objectors must relent and follow, though they may not favour it. They must make the best of what they thought worst, when lawful authority restrains their will. A thing originally free, being once controlled by order, has lost its freedom, and must then keep the current appointed for it, being itself subject to man for his uses.
Our letters are limited in number, but their usage is certain even in their greatest uncertainty, and therefore I take it that we may rest content both with their number and with their use. So much concerning the complaint of our poverty in letters, and the confusion in their powers, which I do not wonder at, because I see it so in all things; and I see no cause why we cannot overcome the difficulty by our own inventions and devices, where we are to take account of nothing but our own consent, guided by the judgment of the wisest men, and imitation of uncorrupted nature.
If there be need, the increase in the number of our letters is not refused to us any more than to other people, but the need is denied, because we entered upon other people’s most perfect inventions, and though this came later in time, yet it was so much the surer, because all things necessary were devised to our hands, and because our need can be no new need. Whatever we need to write we are able to write, and when we have written it we are able to read it. If there be any fault, the remedy must be, not to seek what we have not, but to mark what we have, seeing that we have sufficient.
The credit of sound being well established in their opinion, as the natural lord and leader of all our letters, and custom being condemned as a traitor, intruding against all right upon the territory of sound, then they turn to the cure of this diseased corruption, and pray Hippocrates to be judge. To amend that which is amiss in the writing of our tongue, their ground-work being laid in the shaken monarchy of deposed sound, they proceed in a full course of general innovation, though some more and some less. First, they increase the number of our letters and diphthongs, as if it werenot possible either heretofore to have written, or at this day to write, any word correctly, for want of some increase in the number of our letters. For as the overcharging of our words with too many letters comes by using too much those which we have already, so the difficulty through using them so diversely proceeds from the mere want of material to answer each particular purpose.
Then they change the form of our letters and bring us in new faces with very strange lineaments, how well-favoured to behold, I am sure I know, and how unready for a penman to run on with, methinks I foresee,—yet such readiness in the character to follow the hand roundly is a special service belonging to the pen. Nor do I myself in these observations so much regard what the print will stamp well,—for it will express anything well whose form can be imitated,—as what the pen will write well and that with good dispatch, because printing is but a peculiar benefit for the few, while writing is general and in every man’s fingers. A form that is fair to the eye in print and cumbersome to the hand in penning, will not pass in writing. To conclude, this, they say, is the only help to amend all misses: for defect, to enlarge; for what is old and corrupt, to bring in what is new and correct; need enforces redress, and duty requires these changes.
Must we then alter all our writings anew? Or from what day is this reform to take full place? It is a strange point of physic when the remedy itself is more dangerous than the disease. Besides, I take the alteration in this sort to be neither necessary, as there is no such insufficiency, nor yet expedient, seeing that such inconveniences follow. For speech being an instrument and means of uttering what the mind conceives, if bythe delivery of the mouth the mind be understood, the speech is sufficient in fully answering so needful a purpose. If writing, in which I include both the print and the pen, so fully express the pith of the voice that the reader may understand the writer’s meaning in full, I cannot persuade him that the letters which he reads are not sufficient to express the writer’s meaning, as he is ready to confute this by the proof that he understands it most completely.
But these objectors will say that this understanding comes, not through the writing, but by the intelligent reader, who understands correctly by means of the so usual, though so corrupt, writing, which is imperfectly and improperly written, and that propriety in using the pen is wrongly refused, when it may be had easily with very small effort.
I like the reason well, as I admit some imperfection. But neither is the imperfection so great as they conceive, nor is their reason so near to redress as they think. As for the imperfection, how it comes and how to help it, my whole labour will prove that in the sequel. As for their reason, I cannot see that it would be a small effort, because they alter entirely, or at least they quite change the superficial appearance, which in this case, where propriety in writing is the possession of custom, would be too great a strain. For custom, being so secure, will not be content to be overruled in his own province, or to admit the claim of any reform where he is proprietor, however private men’s notions, upon never so probable appearances, may offer support to the contrary side.
The use and custom of our country has already chosen a kind of penning, in which she has set down her religion, her laws, her private and public dealings;every private man has, with the approval of his country, so drawn his private writings, his evidence, his letters, that the thing seems impossible to be removed by so strong an alteration, though it be most willing to receive some reasonable pruning, so that the substance may remain, and the change take place in such points only as may please without novelty, and profit without forcing. For were it not in good sooth too violent a step to offer to overthrow a custom so generally received, so definitely settled—nay, grounded so securely as shall shortly appear—by altering either all or most of our letters? Were it not a sign of a very simple orator to think that by so strange an innovation he could persuade custom to divorce himself from so long and so lawful a match? Nay, were it not wonderful even but to wish that all our English scripture and divinity, all our laws and policy, all our evidence and writings were penned anew, because we have not that set down in writing which our forefathers meant, but either more or less, owing to the insufficiency of our writing, which is not able to set faithfully and fully down what the mind conceives? They will say that they do not mean so radical a change. But they must needs mean it, because it must either follow at once upon the admitting of this new alteration, which is too great in sense, or, after a term of years, which is too great in thought. For with a new writing coming in, and the old character growing out of knowledge, all records of whatever kind must needs either come over to the new fashion, or remain worm-eaten like an old relic, to be read as the Roman religion written down under Numa Pompilius was read by those of Cicero’s time, when every word was as uncouth and strange as if it had come from some other world. But am I notundertaking a needless task in disapproving what I need not fear, because there is no danger in it, the very usage of our country refusing it already? I grant I am. But yet I must say something that I may not seem to contemn, since if I say nothing my opponents may then seem to have said something. But certainly I hold the thing to be much too cumbersome and inconvenient, even though it were likely to be profitable, but where no likelihood of any profit at all is in sight, and the change itself seems neither necessary nor easy, I cannot approve the means, though I bear no grudge to its proposers, who deserve great thanks for their good intentions. For their labour is very profitable to help forward some redress, though they themselves have not hit on it. For while different men attempt to solve the problem, some one or other will hit it at last, whereas the case would be desperate if it were never dealt with. But this amendment of theirs is too far-fetched, and without its help we understand our print and pen, our evidence, and other writing. And though we grant some imperfection, as in a tongue not yet fully developed, yet we do not admit that it is to be perfected either by altering the form or by increasing the number of our familiar letters, but only by observing where the tongue by her ordinary custom yields to the refining process, as the old, and therefore the best, method leads us. For it is no argument, when faults are found, to say this is the help, and only this, because no other is in sight. But whenever the right is found by orderly seeking, then the argument is true, that it was not thoroughly sought, when it was denied to exist. And to speak impartially between the letter and sound on the one side, and custom and the letter on the other side, letters can express sounds with all their joints andproperties no more fully than the pencil can the form and lineaments of the face, whose merit is not life but likeness; for the letters, though they yield not always what sound exactly requires, give always the nearest, and custom is content with this. And therefore if a letter do not sound just as you wish, yet hold it as the next best, lest if you change you come not so near. And though one letter be used in diverse, or even contrary sounds, you cannot avoid it by any change, seeing that no other has been liked hitherto but this which we use. Certainly, so far as I have observed, we are as well appointed for our necessity in that way, and as much bound to our general custom for the artificial tones of our natural tongue as any other nation is to any other language, whether ancient in books or modern in speech. And whatever insufficiency seems to be in its writing, it will excuse itself, and lay the whole blame upon the insufficient observer for not seeking the solution in the right way. This will be found true, when it shall be seen that by sufficient care it may be made clear and pure without any foreign help, and without either altering the form or increasing the number of our ordinary letters, but only by notes of its own breeding, which, being already in use, desire nothing else but some direction from art. This I am in good hopes of performing, according to the plan of the best refiners in the most refined tongues, with such consideration as either breeds general rules, or else must bear with particular exceptions. I will mark what our customary writing will yield us in the way of notes, without dreaming of change, which cannot stem so fatal a current as custom runs with. I will therefore do my best to confirm our custom in his own right, which will be easily obtained, where men are acquaintedwith the matter already, and would be very glad to see wherein the correct manner of their writing stands, and a great deal more glad to find it so near when they thought it to be further off. Thus have I run through these alleged infirmities in our tongue, whose physicking I like not this way, and therefore I will join close with my own observation to see if that will help.
Those men who will give any certain direction for the writing of any tongue, or for anything else that concerns a tongue, must take some period in its history, or else their rules will prove inapplicable. For every tongue has a certain ascent from the lowest to the highest point, and a descent again from the highest to the lowest; and as in the ascent it has not reached a secure position, because it is not thoroughly reduced to art, so in the descent it comes to be not worth noting, because it gets rude again, and in a manner withered. Hence it comes that the age of Demosthenes is the prince of Greece, as that of Cicero is the flower of Rome, and if the languages of these countries had not been committed to the security of books, they would have been of little worth; nay, they would have been forgotten altogether, long before our day, as the spoken tongues of those nations, changing continually since the periods named, are now quite altered, or at least are nothing like what they were in their prime, though still blooming in another form. So that books give life where bodies bring only death. Consider the Greek and Latin writers before the ages of those men, and by comparing them with these, you will see the difference that I spoke of, the earlier being too rude to be brought under rule, and the later departing from established rules and yielding to change. This period offull development, with the ascent to it and the decline leading to decay, shows us that everything belonging to man is subject to change, the language changing also, but never dying out. It must needs be therefore that there is something of the nature of a soul in every spoken tongue that feeds this change even with perceptible means. For if any tongue be fixed, and free from movement, it is enshrined in books, not subject to ordinary use, but made immortal by the register of memory.
This secret mystery, or rather quickening spirit, that dwells in every spoken tongue, and therefore in our own, I call “prerogative,” because when sound has done his best, when reason has said his best, and when custom has carried into effect what is best in both, this prerogative will resist any of them, and take exception to all their rules, however general and certain. It thus makes way for a new change, which will follow at some stage of the language, if the writer’s period be chosen at the best. I cannot compare this customary prerogative in speech to anything better than to those who devise new garments, and are left by law to liberty of device. Hence it comes in the matter of apparel, that we do not remain like ourselves for any length of time, though what is most seemly, like a rule of art, pleases the wisest people best. From this same liberty of speech to carve out a way for itself, come the exceptions to our general rules. Hence it comes thatenough,bough,tough, and such other primitives are so strangely written, and more strangely sounded. In this way prerogative seems to be like quicksilver, ever stirring and never settled, though the general custom always offers itself to be ordered by rule, as a close friend to reason. Thisstirring quintessence, leading to change in a thing that is naturally changeable and not blameworthy for changing, some not very well-advised people consider as an error, and a private misuse, contrary to custom, because it seems to be a very imperious controller, but in this they are deceived. For indeed, though this prerogative, by opposition in particular cases, checks general conclusions, yet that opposition came not from individual men; it is a private thing itself, and the very life-blood which preserves tongues in their best natural form, from the first time that they grew to be of any account till they come to decay, and begin a new period, different from the old, though excellent in its kind, which in its turn must give way to another when the time is ripe.