Summary

Portrait of Jonathan Swift Jonathan Swift The Battle of the Books; with selections from the literature of the Phalaris controversy (1908)

For anything else of genuine that the Moderns may pretend to, I cannot recollect; unless it be a large vein of wrangling and satire, much of a nature and substance with the spider's poison, which however they pretend to spit wholly out of themselves, is improved by the same arts—by feeding upon the insects and vermin of the age. As for us, the Ancients, we are content, with the bee, to pretend to nothing of our own beyond our wings and our voice: that is to say, our flights and our language
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Jonathan Swift Jonathan Swift The Battle of the Books; with selections from the literature of the Phalaris controversy (1908)

It is but to adjust the reasonings of both to the present quarrel, then to compare and apply the labours and fruits of each, as the bee has learnedly deduced them, and we shall find the conclusion fall plain and close upon the Moderns and us. For pray, gentlemen, was ever anything so Modern as the spider, in his air, his turns, and his paradoxes? He argues in the behalf of you his brethren, and himself, with many boastings of his native stock and great genius, that he spins and spits wholly from himself, and scorns to own any obligation or assistance from without.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Jonathan Swift Jonathan Swift The Battle of the Books; with selections from the literature of the Phalaris controversy (1908)

But to issue out against him, man against man, shield against shield, and lance against lance, what Modern of us dare? [7] For he fights like a god, and Pallas or Apollo are ever at his elbow. But, oh! mother, if what fame reports be true, that I am the son of so great a goddess, grant me to hit Temple with this lance, that the stroke may send him to hell, and that I may return in safety and triumph, laden with his spoils." The first part of this prayer the gods granted at the intercession of his mother and of Momus, but the rest, by a perverse wind sent from fate, was scattered in the air.
Source: Wikisource

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