2. Grammatising English

Greaves’ Grammatica Anglicana brings into sharp focus all the tensions inherent in early modern grammatical practice. His attempt to systematise English exposes the limits of the available descriptive tools, revealing how classical grammatical categories both enabled and constrained linguistic analysis. This exposure is itself an act of metalinguistic awareness: it marks an emerging capacity to reflect critically on the adequacy of classical terminology when applied to a non-classical linguistic system. The grammar becomes a site in which competing impulses – pedagogical clarity, inherited authority and the desire to account for linguistic specificity – are negotiated rather than reconciled. Greaves’ work, therefore, does not merely describe English; it renders visible the methodological conditions under which vernacular languages first became objects of grammatical knowledge, and under which language itself became an object of conscious analytical reflection.

The forementioned tensions are symptomatic of a broader European pattern. In the early modern period, a far-reaching initiative emerged to codify vernacular languages, a phenomenon termed ‘grammatisation’, in which grammarians framed their descriptions of modern languages through the lens of the classical Greek and Latin models (Percival Reference Percival1975; Vorlat Reference Vorlat1975: 3–6; Law Reference Law2003: 210–57; Butler Reference Butler2010; Gallagher Reference Gallagher2019; Marsico Reference Marsico and Sanzotta2020a). Because of the authoritativeness of these models, authors attempting to codify vernaculars were compelled to use classical categories as both structural template and descriptive metalanguage. Latin thus functioned at once as model, analytical tool and legitimising apparatus. The reliance on Latin as a metalanguage is a key marker of early modern metalinguistic awareness: vernaculars could be conceptualised only through the lens of an already codified linguistic system (Vezzosi Reference Vezzosi, Bergs and Brinton2012; Marsico Reference Marsico, Horster and Pade2020b). This produced persistent descriptive strain. Writing a grammar of English meant translating a language with limited inflection, fixed word order and obligatory articles into a system designed for highly inflected classical languages. The outcome was what Nicola McLelland describes as a form of ‘grammatical straitjacketing’ (Reference McLelland and Brown2006: 465), whereby vernacular structures were forced into pre-existing classical moulds. These conceptual mismatches generated frequent points of friction and highlighted moments where linguistic reflection encountered its own limits. The authority of the classical model, as Ute Dons has similarly observed, would after all persist well into the modern period, shaping grammatical description and pedagogical expectations alike, and thereby constraining how linguistic knowledge could be imagined, structured and transmitted (Reference Dons2004: 5–6).

In early modern England, the emergence of such grammars was made possible by a wider shift in the country’s political and cultural self-perception. That age, to put it in John Gallagher’s words, ‘was a period of intense linguistic consciousness’ (Reference Gallagher2019: 8), and ‘“[q]uestions of language” … were grounded in the everyday experiences of speaking and hearing, often in multilingual contexts, and in a world where “national” and “standard” languages remained fluid and debatable’ (Reference Gallagher2019: 11). By the end of the sixteenth century, however, England had consolidated its power both domestically and internationally, and this newfound confidence fostered a growing interest in the vernacular. Patriotic sentiment, the linguistic implications of the Reformation and changing educational priorities converged to make the status of English a matter of national concern. Grammar writing, though still an unusual enterprise, increasingly came to be seen as a means of demonstrating the dignity, regularity and expressive capacity of the national language, thus linking linguistic description to broader forms of cultural self-awareness (Crystal Reference Crystal2005: 365–414; Horobin Reference Horobin2016: 33–83; Marsico Reference Marsico, Horster and Pade2020b).

In light of the above, Greaves’ decision to write his grammar in Latin is not difficult to understand. Because Latin remained the European lingua franca, it enabled the widest possible readership, from foreign students to English learners improving their Latin. ‘Grammatising’ a vernacular like English thus served multiple functions: (i) it systematised the language for translation and for access to administrative and sacred texts still composed in Latin; (ii) it offered English pupils a clearer grasp of their own language as a tool for mastering Latin; and, not less importantly, (iii) it made English teachable to foreigners (Barber Reference Barber1976). The choice of Latin as medium, in other words, shaped not only the accessibility of the work but also its pedagogical orientation. This dual intention thus necessarily required English to be conceptualised in relation to Latin in different ways – sometimes by analogy, sometimes by contrast. It is precisely within this dynamic that Greaves’ Grammatica Anglicana assumes its distinctive character: the grammar positions English within a comparative framework, mobilising classical categories while simultaneously adopting a methodological apparatus that seeks to reconcile clarity with economy.

First of all, Grammatica Anglicana distinguishes itself through the explicit way it sets English against Latin, foregrounding points of divergence rather than mere correspondence. By doing so, Greaves invites readers to view English not simply through inherited classical categories but as a linguistic system possessing its own structures and regularities. The decision to compose the work in Latin and to present it in a deliberately compressed format – ‘however short and written according to a concise method’ (title page; quantumvis brevi et succincta methodo conscriptum) – reinforces this comparative stance. The grammar’s tight organisation reflects a conscious effort to demonstrate that English could be described with the same economy and precision accorded to classical languages, and that it participated in a broader ideological project: namely, asserting the vernacular’s legitimacy as a rule-governed, analysable and teachable language within the humanist intellectual framework.

Another element that distinguishes Grammatica Anglicana from the other early grammars is, then, the specific way in which Greaves seeks to discipline English through unica methodus, the pedagogical system associated with Peter Ramus. Ramism promised clarity, order and hierarchical organisation, offering an apparently modern solution to the problem of linguistic description. Its appeal lies precisely in its claim to render linguistic knowledge transparent and teachable, a core concern of metalinguistic thought. In adopting this framework, Greaves aligns himself with a long-standing debate about how knowledge should be structured and transmitted. Early modern humanists, confronted with an increasingly vast and often contradictory body of learning, sought new ways to classify and articulate the disciplines. The renewed study of ancient authorities, together with the pressures of a rapidly changing society – expanding bureaucratic, political and cultural institutions, the rise of the middle classes, and advances in mechanical arts and mathematics – forced scholars to rethink the organisation of the humanities (Gilbert Reference Gilbert1960; Vasoli Reference Vasoli1968; Grafton & Jardine Reference Grafton and Jardine1986). Within this climate, universities became key sites of methodological innovation, and it is within this intellectual landscape that Greaves’ Ramist choices acquire their full significance. Applied to English grammar, however, this method remained largely prescriptive and deeply indebted to Latin structures. Greaves’ adoption of Ramist principles reinforces rather than resolves the underlying tension between innovation and inheritance, revealing how new pedagogical techniques could coexist with entrenched grammatical paradigms, and how metalinguistic reflection remained bounded by inherited analytical vocabularies.

Despite its obvious limitations, by examining how Greaves negotiates the competing demands of classical authority, vernacular specificity and pedagogical utility, the following two sections will argue that Grammatica Anglicana offers a valuable case study in early modern metalinguistic awareness. Its significance lies not in formal originality, but in the way it makes visible the cultural, ideological and methodological forces that shaped the earliest attempts to think systematically about English as a language. This process presupposes a heightened awareness of language as something that can be abstracted, analysed and transferred across linguistic systems, and in this sense Grammatica Anglicana exemplifies the productive – if often uneasy – fusion of patriotic assertion and classical imitation that characterises early modern linguistic discourse, reflecting the pedagogical, cultural and ideological currents of its time.

3. Linguistic competition and pedagogical anxiety

Ute Dons has aptly maintained that ‘the study of the grammars’ paratext’, ‘can shed [… significant] light on the development of the grammatical tradition’ (Reference Dons2004: 176–7). Paratexts are especially revealing from a metalinguistic perspective, as they articulate authors’ assumptions about language, correctness and pedagogy before formal description begins. In this sense, Dons builds on arguments advanced by other scholars, such as Eleanor Shevlin, who has observed that paratexts illuminate ‘not just individual works, but reading processes, authorial composition, publishing practices, marketing trends, and generic transformations’ (Reference Shevlin1999: 43–4). Greaves’ own Prefatory Epistle to Grammatica Anglicana is no exception. It is here that he articulates both rhetorical skill and scholarly purpose, affirming his alignment with what Arthur Padley has described as a ‘sense of a discourse community of grammar writers’ (Reference Padley1985: 58), while simultaneously emphasising the ‘originality’ (A2r; novitate) of his grammar, which he hopes ‘can encourage [the reader] to read it even more willingly’ (ibid.; ad legendum etiam facilius invitari poteris), thus positioning his work within an emerging tradition of explicit linguistic self-reflection.

Greaves laments that many ‘distinguished and illustrious writers’ (A3v; egregis et illustris scriptores) have devoted themselves to rhetoric, while grammar has been relatively neglected. Despite the ‘apparently trifling nature’ (A2r; argumenti leviusculam) of his subject, he sees grammar as foundational and essential. Following prefatory conventions, Greaves obviously celebrates England’s divine gifts, although he is fair in acknowledging what he perceived as linguistic limitations:

1. (1) Ut non sit dubium, quin universi splendoris gloria, famaeque celebritate, cum summis, et potentissimis orbis terrarum imperiis, facile conferri possit. Caeterum inter tot divina munera φανερὰ divina φιλίαϛ τεκμήρια quibus ita undique cincti et circumsepti sumus, ut merito nobis invideant, et admirentur omnes, et inter infinita paene naturae beneficia, quae tam multo et amico imbri in nos hactenus effuderit, ut ne quicquam, aut ad necessitatem utilius, aut ad voluptatem iucundius amplius desiderari possit: unico sermonis ornamento parce nimis, et tenuiter donati videamur […] (A2v)

   ‘Likewise, there should be no doubt that – by virtue of our glorious prestige and the renown of our fame – England may readily stand in equal conference with the greatest and mightiest powers of the world. After all, we are surrounded and enclosed by so many φανερὰFootnote ⁴ divine gifts, so many φιλίας τεκμήριαFootnote ⁵ of divine favour, that all people rightly envy and admire us; and among the almost innumerable natural privileges which Nature, like a generous and friendly rain, has thus far poured upon us, nothing further could be desired – whether more useful in time of need or more pleasing in times of delight. Only in the matter of the ornamentation of our language do we appear to have been rather poorly and sparingly endowed […]’

In this regard, he goes on to write, it is as if Nature ‘had degenerated into a step-mother’ (ibid.; in novercam primo degenerasset). Because of this, Greaves apparently adopts a markedly conservative position, stating explicitly that English cannot truly rival classical Greek or Latin, whose ‘purity and elegance’ (A3r; puritate et elegantia) he praises without reserve.

By contrast, when he turns to comparisons with the modern European vernaculars, Greaves adopts a distinctly patriotic tone, positioning English assertively within what Peter Burke has described as the period’s ‘linguistic competition’, characterised by ‘the struggle for the centre’ (Reference Burke2004: 70). He does indeed assert that English combines French fluency, Italian dignity and German expressive force:

1. (2) Si Gallus verborum facilitatem, et mimicam prolationis elegantiam requirat, ipsas suaviorum deas mulierculas et puellulas nostrae regionis aures animosque hominum, ipsa Sirenum suavitate permulcentes consulturus eat. Si Italus suam in verbis gravitatem, et modestiam iactet, non linguam solum, sed ipsum ortum, et genus ab illis, nos traxisse glorietur, qui usque ad hodiernum diem, ut corporum habitu, et moribus, nihil paene discrepantes, sic linguae sono illis persimiles habemur. Si Germanus vim verborum et vehementiam obiiciat, quid quaeso non persuadeat Anglus, cuius singula verba tot fere argumenta. (A3r)

   ‘If the French claim superiority in fluency and a certain theatrical elegance of pronunciation, let them come and observe the young women and girls of our country – goddesses of kisses – who enchant men’s ears and souls with a charm equal to that of the Sirens. If the Italians boast dignity and modesty of expression, they proudly insist that we received from them not only our language, but also our origin and lineage; and to this day, they maintain that we differ little from them in appearance and customs, since we are thought to resemble them most closely in the sound of our speech. If the Germans put forward the weight and vehemence of their utterance, I marvel at what the English might not persuade them to do, given that every word in our language possesses the force of an entire argument.’

The culmination of this comparative rhetoric, in other words, is an emphatic reversal of Greaves’ earlier caution. Having conceded the unrivalled authority of Greek and Latin, he now elevates English above the modern vernaculars by presenting it as a language of synthesis rather than derivation. English, Greaves claims, does not merely rival its European counterparts but actually surpasses them by selectively incorporating their finest qualities. This logic of appropriation allows him to resolve linguistic competition through hierarchy: while other languages excel in isolated virtues, English alone achieves completeness. Hence his striking conclusion that:

1. (3) nostram solam ex tot linguis perfectam, et quod in unoquoque genere optimum, illud sibi delibasse. (Ibid.)

   ‘our language alone stands perfect above all others, having gathered into itself the finest qualities of every tongue.’

The claim is less a descriptive linguistic judgement than a rhetorical assertion of cultural centrality, revealing how grammatical discourse could function as a vehicle for national self-fashioning in late Elizabethan England.

Interestingly, Greaves’ linguistic patriotism is accompanied by an uncommon pedagogical concern that is rarely foregrounded in other contemporary grammars. He stresses the importance of teaching English correctly, warning of the risks posed to ‘the still unripe intellects of children’ (A3v; puerorum ingeniola) when exposed to poor models. He criticises the linguistic carelessness even among the educated, noting that many Englishmen ‘say everything accurately in other languages’ (ibid.; in aliis linguis accurate omnia dictitant) yet ‘they ramble all too shamelessly’ (ibid.; turpiter omnino hallucinatos esse) in their own native language. In order to substantiate this claim, he even cites flawed phrases such as ‘More better’, ‘Such works was finished’, ‘He spake it to she’ and ‘Whose fountains is dried up’, that could be evidently heard at the time, and some of which, interestingly, can still be recognised as common mistakes students make today. In the light of this, he concludes:

1. (4) Non mirum si vulgus barbare omnino loquatur, cum qui docti, et sunt, et habentur, tam inscite, et impure scribunt. (Ibid.)

   ‘Small wonder that common people speak utterly uncouthly, when those who are and are esteemed learned write so ignorantly and impurely.’

The argument presupposes a clear hierarchy of linguistic authority and reveals an acute awareness of how language norms are socially transmitted, making grammatical instruction a site of moral as well as linguistic responsibility. Greaves’ position therefore serves a double purpose: it highlights the usefulness of his Grammatica Anglicana, and it places him in the company of pedagogues like John Brinsley, who insisted that students must first grasp the rules of their own language if they hoped to acquire Latin with precision. Since Latin functioned as the shared academic language and the key to higher learning and professional advancement, the argument carried considerable weight. Thus, Greaves not only stresses the practical necessity of a vernacular grammar, but also reinforces a widely held early modern belief: that solid competence in one’s native tongue was the essential foundation for mastering Latin effectively. Here, vernacular instruction functions as a metalinguistic training ground, cultivating analytical habits that precede and enable classical learning. Far from being conceived as a rival to classical learning, English grammar is presented as a preparatory discipline, designed to train linguistic awareness, analytical skills and habits of correctness that could then be transferred to Latin. In this sense, the teaching of English becomes both a corrective and a propaedeutic exercise, aimed at preventing linguistic corruption while simultaneously strengthening the very classical education that continued to define scholarly authority.

Finally, another revealing aspect of Greaves’ Epistle is that, although Grammatica Anglicana is addressed primarily to ‘masters and doctors of letters’ (A4r; literarum magistri et doctores), it is also explicitly conceived for a foreign readership. In this regard, the choice of Latin as his medium is not only justified as the unavoidable recourse to the period’s lingua franca, but also reclaimed as the most effective means of making English accessible to ‘foreigners’ (ibid.; exteri), who are now invited to attain ‘the understanding of this most celebrated language’ (ibid.; celeberrimae huius linguae perceptionem), whose long-obscured structure he claims to have ‘at last disclosed and restored through my efforts alone’ (ibid.; mea unius opera reclusum iam tandem, et reseratum serio triumphabunt). As Peter Burke has observed, ‘learning English was not a high priority for continental Europeans at this time’ (Reference Burke2004: 115), or, to put it in John Florio’s blunter words, ‘[it was] a language that wyl do you good in England, but passe Dover, it is woorth nothing’ (Reference Florio1578, 50v). Precisely for this reason, Greaves’ gesture appears all the more striking. The decision to address foreigners further confirms Greaves’ awareness of English as an object of grammatical knowledge that can be abstracted from its native context and taught systematically. His grammar does not merely respond to an existing demand, but actively anticipates and promotes English as a language worthy of international study, projecting vernacular instruction beyond national borders and into the sphere of cultural ambition.

4. Between method and usage

Greaves’ decision to adopt Ramus’ unica methodus reflects his ambition to bring rigour and clarity to the study of English grammar (Bruyère Reference Bruyère1984). The Ramist emphasis on method is inseparable from a metalinguistic concern with how linguistic knowledge should be organised, transmitted and internalised. Following Ramist principles, he organises Grammatica Anglicana into two main sections – one on etymologia (that is, orthography and morphology) and one on syntax – and throughout the various chapters he prioritises deductive reasoning (from general definitions to specific examples) through structured lists and paradigms rather than speculative theorisation (Michael Reference Michael1970: 187; Dons Reference Dons2004: 246–7).Footnote ⁶ However, this methodological framework soon encounters practical limitations. Latin grammatical categories, as has been already written in section 2, were often ill suited to capturing the structural specificities of English: despite its reliance on them, Greaves’ grammar provides a clear illustration of this problem.

For example, given the pervasive pull of Latin in his text, he offers no substantive account of how articles function in English, a category which did not exist in his linguistic model. In this regard, in chapter 4 of the Etymologia sections he merely notes that:

1. (5) Adiectivis annumeratur etiam Articulus The. (B2r-v)

   ‘The article the is also included among adjectives.’

While in chapter 2 of the Syntax section he refers only briefly to the use of a/an in relation to one:

1. (6) In adiectivis haud obscura distincto est, inter one, et a: eaque multiplex.

   Prima quod one unitatem certius denotat, magisque emphatice afferit, ut one day doth store grief enough for the morrow.

   Secunda est, quod One substantive saepius ponitur. A non item, ut one, two, three, four, five; non a, two, three, four, five.

   Then straight one fetched the prisoner behung with robes about. […]

   An pro a, sequente vocali utimur, ut an ox, an ass. (C3v-C4r)

   ‘Among the adjectives, there is a clear distinction between one and a; and it occurs at many levels.

   The first is that one denotes a somewhat certain unity and is more emphatic. For example: one day doth store grief enough for the morrow.

   The second is that one is more often used as a substantive, differently from a. For example: one, two, three, four, five; and not a, two, three, four, five.

   Then straight one fetched the prisoner behung with robes about. […]

   We use an instead of a when a vowel follows. For example: an ox, an ass.’

Again, if it is true that early grammarians in general devoted little attention to articles, demonstrating, as Dons argues, how slowly scholars began to separate themselves from the classical model (Reference Dons2004: 84), this also confirms Ivan Poldauf’s characterisation of early modern grammars as ‘a thoroughly confused mixture of what is required by the grammar of English and what has come down from the Latin grammatical tradition’ (Reference Poldauf1948: 161).

Significantly, only when presenting these fragmentary observations does Greaves briefly gesture towards other vernaculars. He mentions French and Italian – languages frequently used in contemporary discussions of English usage – to suggest that, like le in French or il/lo in Italian, the English article may be assimilated to the wider class of adjectival modifiers. Yet this comparative gesture remains cursory and does not lead to a more coherent account of the article as a distinct grammatical category. The example thus exposes both Greaves’ awareness of cross-linguistic variation and the constraints imposed by the classical framework he inherits. At the same time, it remains unclear whether Greaves intends to imply that the relative simplicity of the English article – left largely undescribed – is itself one of the features that, as he maintains in the Prefatory Epistle, makes English superior or more ‘perfect’ than its continental counterparts.

Greaves’ treatment of verb tenses likewise reveals the strain of fitting English into Latin categories. The difficulty becomes particularly evident in chapter 6 – the longest section of the Etymologia, and the one devoted to verbs – where Greaves’ empirical precision sits uneasily alongside the constraints of a classical template. John Algeo praises his verb lists as proof that Greaves was a ‘better grammarian’ than Bullokar (Reference Algeo, Arn, Wirtjes and Jansen1985: 194), yet Latin influence remains both strong and occasionally confusing. Adopting the classical tripartition of past tenses (praeteritum / perfectum / plus quam perfectum), as I have discussed elsewhere in more detail, he imports the terminology without defining it clearly (Ragni Reference Ragni2023). Thus, when analysing modal verbs such as could, would, should and might, he designates their past forms as infectum, a term unexplained at that point; likewise, in describing the English past perfect (I had hated), he identifies had as the imperfectum of have, again introducing terminology without clarification. These inconsistencies, though perhaps intelligible to a contemporary Latin-educated readership, sit uneasily within the Ramist ideal of systematic clarity. They reveal moments where metalinguistic ambition outpaces available descriptive tools, forcing Greaves into terminological compromise.

These few selected examples show that Grammatica Anglicana is most revealing not in what it achieves, but in how it exposes the conceptual pressures under which early English grammatical thought operated. Greaves’ Ramist commitment to order, deduction and clarity reflects a genuine metalinguistic ambition: the desire to make English analysable, teachable and commensurable with the classical languages through which linguistic knowledge had traditionally been framed. Yet his attempt to describe English ‘according to the unique method of P. Ramus’ ultimately reveals the tension between analytical innovation and inherited classical models. Precisely in attempting to map Latin-derived categories onto English, the grammar lays bare the inadequacy of inherited terminology and the difficulty of articulating the specific structures of a less inflected vernacular. His hesitant treatment of the article, his inconsistent use of tense labels and his occasional gestures towards cross-linguistic comparison all testify to an emerging self-awareness about the nature of linguistic description itself – about what can and cannot be said within existing conceptual frameworks. Grammatica Anglicana thus offers not a fully coherent system but a revealing case of intellectual negotiation, illustrating both the ambitions and the limits of early modern linguistic codification, and the gradual emergence of metalinguistic awareness within those limits.