inform us that it was composed by Shakspere or old Ben, or
somebody else who took them for his model. A face of iron could not have
the assurance to avow dislike; the theater has its partisans who
understand the force of combinations trained up to vociferation, clapping
of hands and clattering of sticks; and though a man might have strength
sufficient to overcome a lion in single combat, he may run the risk of
being devoured by an army of ants."

Goldsmith returned to the charge in "The Vicar of Wakefield" (1766),
where Dr. Primrose, inquiring of the two London dames, "who were the
present theatrical writers in vogue, who were the Drydens and Otways of
the day," is surprised to learn that Dryden and Rowe are quite out of
fashion, that taste has gone back a whole century, and that "Fletcher,
Ben Jonson and all the plays of Shakspere are the only things that go
down." "How," cries the good vicar, "is it possible the present age can
be pleased with that antiquated dialect, that obsolete humor, those
overcharged characters which abound in the works you mention?"
Goldsmith's disgust with this affectation finds further vent in his "Life
of Parnell" (1770). "He [Parnell] appears to me to be the last of that
great school that had modeled itself upon the ancients, and taught
English poetry to resemble what the generality of mankind have allowed to
excel. . . His productions bear no resemblance to those tawdry things
which it has, for some time, been the fashion to admire. . . His
poetical language is not less correct than his subjects are pleasing. He
found it at that period in which it was brought to its highest pitch of
refinement; and ever since his time, it has been gradually debasing. It
is, indeed, amazing, after what has been done by Dryden, Addison, and
Pope, to improve and harmonize our native tongue, that their successors
should have taken so much pains to involve it into pristine barbarity.
These misguided innovators have not been content with restoring
antiquated words and phrases, but have indulged themselves in the most
licentious transpositions and the harshest constructions; vainly
imagining that, the more their writings are unlike prose, the more they
resemble poetry. They have adopted a language of their own, and call
upon mankind for admiration. All those who do not understand them are
silent; and those who make out their meaning are willing to praise, to
show they understand." This last sentence is a