will still find the general rule the same. There was no
copyright at Athens or Rome; but the history of the Greek and
Latin literature illustrates my argument quite as well as if
copyright had existed in ancient times. Of all the plays of
Sophocles, the one to which the plan of my noble friend would
have given the most scanty recompense would have been that
wonderful masterpiece, the Oedipus at Colonos. Who would class
together the Speech of Demosthenes against his Guardians, and the
Speech for the Crown? My noble friend, indeed, would not class
them together. For to the Speech against the Guardians he would
give a copyright of near seventy years, and to the incomparable
Speech for the Crown a copyright of less than half that length.
Go to Rome. My noble friend would give more than twice as long a
term to Cicero's juvenile declamation in defence of Roscius
Amerinus as to the Second Philippic. Go to France. My noble
friend would give a far longer term to Racine's Freres Ennemis
than to Athalie, and to Moliere's Etourdi than to Tartuffe. Go
to Spain. My noble friend would give a longer term to forgotten
works of Cervantes, works which nobody now reads, than to Don
Quixote. Go to Germany. According to my noble friend's plan, of
all the works of Schiller the Robbers would be the most favoured:
of all the works of Goethe, the Sorrows of Werter would be the
most favoured. I thank the Committee for listening so kindly to
this long enumeration. Gentlemen will perceive, I am sure, that
it is not from pedantry that I mention the names of so many books
and authors. But just as, in our debates on civil affairs, we
constantly draw illustrations from civil history, we must, in a
debate about literary property, draw our illustrations from
literary history. Now, Sir, I have, I think, shown from literary
history that the effect of my noble friend's plan would be to