Whatever e-mails are flying back and forth in Washington about the current price of gas, I doubt that any of them is couched in such elegance. Elizabeth's speech to her army at Tilbury might have been written by Shakespeare, though in fact the words were her own. The condition of our literature is even worse. Prose is somewhat healthier, though it is difficult to imagine that anyone living in the year 2400 would wish to read any of our productions. I doubt it.
Languages flourish and then quiesce in ways that are very mysterious.
If English in 1600 was at a peak of strength and beauty, in 1700 it was comparatively dull, and in 1800 just girding itself for the glories of the 19th century. Let us preserve what we can, and hope for better days. But let us burn every book, tear down every memorial, turn every cathedral and college into an engineering shop, rather than grow cold and petrify, rather than forget that inner glowing tradition of the English spirit. The colossal superiority of Anglo-Saxon civilization, that has spread our beautiful language across the globe, is fueled by a restlessness, an endless pushing forward, that carries that language with it, discarding what it does not need. Conservatism is not a devotion to stasis but a determination to bring the best of the past with us into the unknowable future.