Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to Harley (1712) and The British Academy (1712)

by Mr. Oldmixon; Arthur Maynwaring

Another Instance of the forc’d Homage he pays to Truth, is his blaming the Slavish Disposition of the Senate and People of Rome, by which the Eloquence of the Age was wholly turn’d into Panegyrick. Now considering how many Pages he has prodigally bestow’d upon it, in the very Letter I am taking cognizance of is it not very odd he should call Panegyrick a Slavish Disposition, and worse still that he should term it the most barren of all Subjects; what if I could prove, that above half of his Three Sheets of Paper are of that kind of Panegyrick, which is so fatal to great Men. The Greeks said, Flatterers were like so many Ravens croaking about them, and that they never lifted a Man up but as the Eagle does the Tortoise, in order to get something by the fall of him.

It is a sad Case, when Men get a habit of saying what they please, not caring whether True or False: Who can without pity see our Letter Writer accuse the Famous La Bruyere, for being accessary to the declining of the French Tongue, by his Affectation; when it is notorious, that La Bruyere is the most masterly Writer of that Nation, and that his Affectation was in the Turn of his Thought, which he did to strike his Readers, who had been too much us’d to dry Lessons to receive any Impression by them. He says, he has many Hundred New Words, not to be found in the Common Dictionaries before his Time. I should be glad to know, who are those Lexicographers, whose Knowledge in the French Tongue he prefers to La Bruyere’s; since Richelet and the Academy are not of his Æra, I should rejoyce with him, if a way could be found out to fix our Language for ever, that like the Spanish Cloak, it might always be in Fashion; but I hope he will come into Temper with the Inconstancy of Peoples Minds, of which he complains, and that we are in no Fear of the Invasion and Conquest he talks of, comforting himself, that the best Writings may be preserved and esteem’d, meaning his own and his Friends, which no doubt would fare much better than Mr. Locks or Mr. Hoadly’s; for Conquerors are not us’d to take much Care of those that write against them.

I like extreamly his rejecting the Old Cant of Forty One, and giving the great Rebellion its true Name Forty Two: But, if I had been he, I would not have named it at all. For there are a great many Men in England, who, tho’ they were not concern’d in it themselves, yet they do not love to hear of it, for the sake of those that were; and it certainly was an Error in delicacy to touch upon so tender a Part, no Man of Honour caring to have his Father and Grandfather call’d Rogue and Rebel to his Face, especially if such Grandfather or Father had no other Fault in the World but his Rebellion; which after so many Acts of Oblivion, and a Revolution besides, can not be a Crime of that Nature, as to last to the 3d and 4th Generation. He is much to be commended however for his Impartiality, and pleading Guilty to the Charge of the Whigs, that the Licentiousness which enter’d with the Rystauration, infected our Religion and Morals. How it corrupted our Language I can’t imagine, when the greatest Master of it Arch-Bishop Tillotson, flourish’d all that Time; but I find he is more conversant in the Court Poetry and the Plays, than the other elegant Writings of those Times: Be it as it will, he would lay an Infinite Obligation upon us, if he would recommend us to any Author in the Reign of King Charles the Martyr, which he distinguishes as the Golden Age of Politeness; who wrote with the Purity of Dryden, Otway, and Etheridge, and with less Affectation, which in Comick Writings is unavoidable, and in the best never us’d but to be expos’d. Yet the Poets he affirms have contributed very much to the spoiling the Tongue: And who would he have to restore it? Himself, and his Brethren. Himself a Poet of Renown, and who, if he would once speak his Mind, I make no question is Prouder of his Elegy upon Patridge, and his Sonnet on Miss Biddy Floyd, than of all His Prose Compositions together, or even that elegant Poem, call’d The Humble Petition of Frances Harris, which is the Pink of Simplicity.

Therefore all the Money I have, which God knows is a very small Stock,

I keep in a Pocket ty’d about my middle, next my Smock:

So when I went to put my Purse, as God would have it, my Smock was unript,

And instead of putting it into my Pocket, down it slipt.

Then the Bell rung, and I went down to put my Lady to Bed,

And God knows, I thought my Money was as safe as my Maidenhead.

There is a great deal more of it, all as Easy and Natural as this, in the true Stile of Mrs. Abigail, and just as Amphibuous. It is as much Poetry as Prose, Pretty and Innocent, according to the Rules of Criticism; which the Author has taken more care not to break, than the First Commandment; tho’ one wou’d think it was his Business to have been mindful of it; and if he had left the Smock to be upript by the Butler, it wou’d have done every whit as well. I cannot help taking notice, that the Clamour he raises about the Poets of King Charles the Second’s Reign, the only Age of Poetry in England, is for their Contractions and leaving out the Eds and Eths, wherein he offends intollerably in this very Dogrel of his. Who wou’d have said Smock unript and down it slipt, and not unripped and slipped; there is a waggery in it much better than any Hudibrastick; for it wou’d have run thus: