If the first end of a writer be to be understood, then as his language grows obsolete, his thoughts must grow obscure: Multa renascentur quae nunc cecidere; cadentque, Quae nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus, Quem penes arbitrium est et jus et norma loquendi.[30] When an ancient word for its sound and significance deserves to be reviv'd, 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 remov'd; customs are chang'd, and even statutes are silently repeal'd, 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 maim'd, when it is scarce intelligible; and that but to a few.