Winsing she was, as is a jolly colt, 8 I have almost done with Chaucer, when I have answered some objections relating to my present work. I find some people are offended that I have turned these Tales into modern English; because they think them unworthy of my pains, and look on Chaucer as a dry, old-fashioned wit, not worth reviving. I have often heard the late Earl of Leicester say, that Mr. Cowley himself was of that opinion; who having read him over at my Lord's request, declared he had no taste of him. I dare not advance my opinion against the judgment of so great an author; but I think it fair, however, to leave the decision to the publick. Mr. Cowley was too modest to set up for a dictator; and being shocked perhaps with his old style, never examined into the depth of his good sense. Chaucer, I confess, is a rough diamond, and must first be polished ere he shines. I deny not likewise, that living in our early days of poetry, he writes not always of a piece; but sometimes mingles trivial things with those of greater moment. Sometimes also, though not often, he runs riot, like Ovid, and knows not when he has said enough. But there are more great wits, be The original copy here reads-receiving; but it was manifestly an errour of the press, and has been properly corrected in the modern editions. Philip Sydney, Earl of Leicester, to whom DON SEBASTIAN is dedicated. He died in March 1696-7. See vol. ii. p. 171. side Chaucer, whose fault is their excess of conceits, and those ill sorted. An author is not to write all he can, but only all he ought. Having observed this redundancy in Chaucer, (as it is an easy matter for a man of ordinary parts to find a fault in one of greater,) I have not tied myself to a literal translation; but have often omitted what I judged unnecessary, or not of dignity enough to appear in the company of better thoughts. I have presumed farther in some places, and added somewhat of my own, where I thought my author was deficient, and had not given his thoughts their true lustre, for want of words in the beginning of our language. And to this I was the more emboldened, because, if I may be permitted to say it of myself, I found I had a soul congenial to his, and that I had been conversant in the same studies. Another poet, in another age, may take the same liberty with my writings; if at least, they live long enough to deserve correction. It was also necessary sometimes to restore the sense of Chaucer, which was lost or mangled in the errours of the press. Let this example suffice at present; in the story of PALAMON AND ARCITE, where the Temple of Diana is described, you find these verses in all the editions of our author: Ther saw I Dane yturned til a tree, I mene not hire the goddesse Diane, But Venus daughter, which that hight Dane. - - - 9 9 In Mr. Tyrwhitt's edition this line is printed rightly, [But Peneus' daughter, &c.] from the best Mss., which confirm our author's conjecture. In the preceding line, which, after a little consideration, I knew was to be reformed into this sense,-that Daphne, the daughter of Peneus, was turned into a tree. I durst not make thus bold with Ovid, lest some future Milbourne' should arise, and say, I varied from my author, because I understood him not. But there are other judges, who think I ought not to have translated Chaucer into English, out of a quite contrary notion: they suppose, there is a certain veneration due to his old language; and that it is little less than profanation and sacrilege to alter it. They are farther of opinion, that somewhat of his good sense will suffer in this transfusion, and much of the beauty of his thoughts will infallibly be lost, which appear with more grace in their old habit. Of this opinion was that excellent person whom I mentioned, the late Earl of Leicester, who valued Chaucer as much as Mr. Cowley despised him. My Lord dissuaded me from this attempt, (for I was thinking of it some years before his death,) and his authority prevailed so far with me, as to defer my undertaking while he lived, in deference to him. Yet (following a bad copy,) he had omitted the word hire, by which the metre was rendered defective. Luke Milbourne, a clergyman, who published in 1698 a volume of critical Notes on Dryden's Translation of the Pastorals and Georgicks of Virgil. He is called by Pope the fairest of all criticks, for having subjoined his own version of certain parts of that author, that they inight be compared with that which he censured. my reason was not convinced with what he urged against it. If the first end of a writer be to be understood, then, as his language grows obsolete, his thoughts must grow obscure: Multa renascentur, quæ jam cecidere; cadentque When an ancient word, for its sound and significancy, deserves to be revived, I have that reasonable veneration for antiquity to restore it. All beyond this is superstition. Words are not like landmarks, so sacred as never to be removed. Customs are changed, and even statutes are silently repealed, when the reason ceases, for which they were enacted. As for the other part of the argument, that his thoughts will lose of their original beauty by the innovation of words,-in the first place, not only their beauty, but their being is lost, where they are no longer understood; which is the present case. I grant that something must be lost in all transfusion, that is, in all translations; but the sense will remain, which would otherwise be lost, or at least be maimed, when it is scarce intelligible, and that but to a few. How few are there, who can read Chaucer, so as to understand him perfectly? And if imperfectly, then with less profit, and no pleasure. It is not for the use of some old Saxon friends, that I have taken these pains with him let them neglect my version, because they have no need of it. I made it for their sakes, who understand sense and poetry as well as they, when that poetry and sense is put into words which they understand. I will go farther, and dare to add, that what beauties I lose in some places, I give to others which had them not originally: but in this I may be partial to myself; let the reader judge, and I submit to his decision. Yet I think I have just occasion to complain of them, who, because they understand Chaucer, would deprive the greater part of their countrymen of the same advantage, and hoard him up, as misers do their grandam gold, only to look on it themselves, and hinder others from making use of it. In sum, I seriously protest that no man ever had, or can have, a greater veneration for Chaucer than myself. I have translated some part of his works only that I might perpetuate his memory, or at least refresh it, amongst my countrymen. If I have altered him any where for the better, I must at the same time acknowledge, that I could have done nothing without him. Facile est inventis addere, is no great commendation; and I am not so vain to think I have deserved a greater. I will conclude what I have to say of him singly, with this one remark. A lady of my acquaintance, who keeps a kind of correspondence with some authors of the fair sex in France, has been informed by them, that Mademoiselle de Scuderi, who is as old as 2 2 This venerable spinster, whose fruitful pen produced the GRAND CYRUS, CLELIA, IBRAHIM, and various other somniferous Romances, which our patient ancestors in the last century read with much delight both in French and English, died at Paris, about eighteen months after this Discourse was written, June 2, 1701, at the great age |
