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 public. 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 times 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.
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