THE CHALLENGE, Sent by a Young Lady TO Sir THOMAS— etc. OR, THE Female War.  
Wherein the Present Dresses and Humours, etc. Of the FAIR SEX Are Vigorously attacked by MEN of QUALITY, and as Bravely defended by Madam GODFREY, and other Ingenious Ladies, who set their Names to every Challenge.  
The Whole Encounter consists of Six Hundred LETTERS, Pro and Con, on all the Disputable Points relating to Women.  
AND IS The First Battle of this Nature that was ever fought in England.  
London, Printed, and Sold by E. Whitlock, near Stationers-Hall. 1697.   

THE PREFACE.  
'TWas a considerable while since, that Advertisements were given in the Atheninian Mercury concerning this Book and the design of it: There happened it seems a QUARREL sometime since between Sir Thomas,— etc. And Madam Godfrey— he reflected on the whole Sex, and she as vigorously defended 'em, till at length the Gentleman undertook more at large to prove 'em guilty of innumerable Faults and Follies, (that the whole Sex was made up of Vexation and Vanity, not a Patch or Mask, or Ribbon about 'em; nothing from Top-knot to Shoe-tie, but what needed reformation) and she to Answer whatever he could urge against 'em: But the CHALLENGER began so roughly that the Defendant fled to Athens for succour, which at her desire answered the First Paper, that against LOVE, but would not engage any further in the Controversy; only Printed an Advertisement for any other Ladies to come in and assist their Sex: Accordingly, as the Defendant received the Letters, she sent 'em to me, with Permission to Print 'em, having Answered several of 'em herself. And the rest were done by others of her Acquaintance, and many of 'em shown to the Gentleman before they were sent me. This first Volume beating up for Volunteers, 'tis supposed such an Army of Ladies will come in from all parts of Europe, as will humble Sir Thomas and all his Adherents. The War was no sooner proclaimed, but the Learned Anonimas, the Ingenious Daphne, Madam H— and other Ladies, appeared in behalf of their Sex; and 'tis hoped the News of this First Battle will soon reach the Ears of Madam D'acier of France, Madam Daunoy (Author of the Travels into Spain), the Lady Manley, Madam Pix, and the Ingenious Pindaric Lady, (who lately published a Book of Poems under the Name of Philomela). 'Tis not doubted but these Ladies, and many others will take up Arms in this Litteral War; in which all the Dresses, Customs and Humours of the Fair Sex will be boldly attacked— The Ingenious Bernice has already promised the Defence of Commodes, Madam Wells a farther Defence of Topknots, Climene the Defence of Lap-Dogs, Madam Gibbs the Defence of Kissing, Ephelia the Defence of Red Hair, Madam Diggs the Defence of Patches, Madam Sherburn the Defence of women's taking Tobacco; And Ariadne will prove there's no Sex in Souls, against Leander, who affirms there is. Neither is Clarinda or Sappho Cowardly, but have promised to fight for their Rights and Privileges as long as they can wield Tongue or Pen— And sure I am if these Heroines come thus in a Body, Sir Thomas and his Army will soon be Routed. But suppose these Ladies (like Cowardly Soldiers) will neither scratch nor by't, but turn their Backs when they see the Enemy, yet the Valiant Godfrey (as Oldham expresses it)  
Wears her Pen as others do their Sword;  
And resolves (with the Females already Listed) to Charge the Enemy through and through; But the greater Force comes in, the more hopes of Victory—  
☞ All Young Ladies therefore that are willing to serve under Madam Godfrey, (their She-Champion) are desired to send in their Names. and place of Abode, and they shall be furnished wirh Pen, Ink and Paper, and entered into present Service. The Place of Rendezvouz is Mr. Darker's House in Bull-head-Court near Cripplegate, to whom all Letters must be directed—  
That every Lady may take or propose what Point they can best defend, (for each Female has the Liberty of naming as well as taking her Subject), at the End of this FIRST Battle is added some of the Challenges designed for the Second— The whole Encounter will consist of 600 Letters, Pro and Con, on all the dissputable Points relating to Women. And as soon as the Peace is concluded, there will be printed an Alphabetical Table of all the Ladies engaged in the Fight, and if permitted, their Quality, and Place of Residence, with a Pindaric Poem to Anonimas, Madam H— and the Ingenious Ariadne, on their timely assistance in this Female War.  
If any be so wise and incredulous still, as to ask whether this War be real or not? I answer, 'tis designed by the Challenger as a piece of Diversion for Ladies these Winter Evenings. So that 'tis not a Pin matter whether 'tis real or feigned. I suppose no man is so very silly, as to have the worse Opinion of the Turkish Spy, because generally thought a Fiction— But (for once) to humour these Nice Palates, I do assure 'em that this Quarrel is matter of Fact; and might I have leave to tell who the Ladies are that fight under the Names of Anonimas, Sappho, Cleonta, Arsinda, and Daphne, etc.— 'twould give such Reputation to the Undertaking, that this First Volume would soon swell to the size of the Turkish Spy. I had like to have forgot to tell the Reader that several of the Subjects being near akin, and many of the Ladies not knowing what the rest had writ, 'twas impossible but their Notions must interfere in several places, and be very like, if not the same with each other. An accurate Reader may also take notice that the Style is the same in several of the Answers, and will rightly conclude that they are by the same Hand; A great part of the work, I think near half, being Written by the Lady who first undertook the Quarrel, because there were not enough of her own Sex came in to help her. I am not to Answer for the Freedom, the Combatants use with one another, for I declare it on the Honour of the Black Bird, I neither know the Knight nor Lady.  
But if this be worth the while, I'm promised the rest of the Letters: This is all, Mr. Reader that I had to Acquaint you, since you know of old that I am,  
Your Humble Servant, PHILARET.   

The CONTENTS of the First Battle.  
THat none but a Fool can be in love, by Sir Thomas p. 1 Denied by the Athenians— 7 Against the Female sex's Pride and Vanity, by Sir Thomas 13. Answered by Madam Willet— 21 An Essay in Defence of Top-knots, and the present Fashions by Anonimas 27. Answered by Sir Thomas 41. That Blushings no Sign of Modesty by Mr. Sandford 61. Denied by Madam Prestwood 64. Against Vizard Masks by Sir Henry 66. Answered by Daphne 70. That Women are more cruel than Men by Sir Thomas 73. Answered by Madam Godfrey 80. That in a Dishonourable Amour the Woman's most to blame by Mr. Palmer 85. Denied by Madam Crockford 88 Against reading Romances by Sir Thomas 92. For them by Madam Godfrey 97. That a Black-a-moor Woman is the greatest Beauty by Mr. Bexford 101. Denied by Sappho 106. Against naked Breasts by Sir Thomas 111. Answered by Madam Wood 114. Against Painting and other Artificial Beauty by Sir Will. 116 The Defence of Artificial Beauty by Madam Godfrey 121. A second Answer to Letter XI. further proving that Women ought to Paint by another hand 126. Against Woman's managing business by Sir Thomas 119. Answer by Arsinda 134. Against Old Maids by Sir Thomas 139. Their Defence by Madam Snell 144. Against Fondness and Forwardness in Women 148. Answered by Madam Godfrey 154. Against Dancing by Mr. Woolhouse 157. For it by Madam Feild 161. Against Platonic Love and Friendship in different Sexes by Mr. Rich 164. It's Defence by Madam Godfrey 170. That Women are not more Religious than Men by Mr. Randal 177. The contraryproved, that Women are more Religious than Men by Madam Carter 185. That ugliness is most desirable in a Wife by Sir Henry 193. Answer in Defence of Beauty by Madam Dent 198. Against Shee-wits by Sir Thomas 206. For them by Madam Godfrey 212. Against women's Jealousy by Mr. Trenchfield 219. Answered by Madam Brigginshaw 224. That a true Wife's incorrigible by Mr. Axtel 229. Answered by Madam Barnes 236. Against women's prodigality by Sir Thomas p. 1. in the 2d Alphabet. Answered by Madam Hastings 8. Against marrying a Widow by Sir Thomas 13. The Defence of Widows by a Young Widow 18. Against Plays by Mr. Kingham 242. For them by Madam Chace 248. 1st Alphabet. That there's no such thing as Love after marriage, by Mr. Stratford 23. That 'tis possible to love as well after marriage as before, and the way to do it by M. H— 31. That no woman can be faithful in absence by Sir Thomas 38. Answered by Madam Godfrey 44. Against Nunneries by Mr. Preston 48. For them by Madam Lake 55. Against the Unquietness, Impertinence and Garulity of women by Sir Charles 59 Answered by Madam Haithorn 64. Against women's longing by Mr. Hollis 68 The Defence of women's longing by Madam Radford 73. Against Learning in Women by Mr. Harcourt 101. Answered by Madam H— 106. To an old woman about to Marry a Young Man by Sir Thomas 254. The old woman's Answer 206. Another Answer by a Young Lady 257. These 3 in the 1st Alphabet. The Cure of Love by Sir Thomas 78. Answered by Madam Godfrey in a Letter showing the ways to be Loved 82. That Women are the oddest things in Nature by Mr.— 87. Answered by a Club of Wits 89. Against women's Inconstancy by Mr. Harcourt 91. Answered by Madam H— 95. A second Answer to Mr. Harcourt, wherein is proved that Women are more constant than Men by Ephelia 97.   

THE CHALLENGE, Sent by a Young Lady TO Sir Thomas— OR, THE Female War, etc.  

LETTER I. Against LOVE.  By Sir THOMAS— 
I Was in earnest, and am so still, and have too much reason to be so, and desire nothing but a clear Stage, and no Quarter. I shall begin my Attack on that which is the very Foundation of all your Sex's Pride, and the Dotage and Folly of our own, and that's LOVE, which I undertake to prove, none but a Fool can e'er be guilty of. I know you'll ask me presently, whether I never knew a wise Man in that Condition? I grant, many that are esteemed wise, may have had a shaking or two on't, or have at least thought fit to pretend something like it, to hold their Necks o' one side, and look like Fools, that they might not be out of the Fashion, as our Grandsires' wore Ruffs, our Grannies Farthingales, and yourselves now, such Aerial Monumental Topknots; which tho' you all acknowledge little less ridiculous than a Cap with a Bell at the Top of it, yet it the Seven-Wise-Mistresses should rise again, they'd rather never be kissed, than be one Barleycorn short of the Fashion. But you'll say, they don't all dissemble; for if wise Men han't been really in Love, why do they marry? A  Argument. And who ever did so that was well in his Wits? 'Tis true, that Men of the greatest Sense may sometimes overstrain their Heads with thinking, and get a little delirious, and in that Fit, Nature falls upon them like a Coward, when they are down, and pops 'em into Matrimony; and when once their Horns are fast in the Brake, let 'em get out again how they can. That this is true, you yourselves must grant, or your great Admirers, the Athenians, if you'd either of ye be so ingenious as to resolve me one Question, and that is— Whether you ever knew any of those celebrated Wisdoms, who did not play the Fool egregiously in some one great Instance of their Lise, and in this I'm sure as much as any other. You have heard, I suppose, of one of their Sagacities, who when he had married his Maid, frankly owned that there was no reason below the Girdle, and he never gave a more righteous Judgement. And perhaps 'tis necessary that those great Men should have some such remarkable Blemish that others may know them, and they know themselves to be but Men, as the Spots in the Sun and Moon, are enough to keep any but Sots from worshipping 'em; and as the old Romans, notwithstanding their long Beards, convinced the Gauls at last, that they were not Gods, because they were capable of passion as well as themselves. Suppose then, at worst, that a wise Man should have been in Love, 'tis as a Fool, not a wise Man: He for the time parts with his Wisdom, puts off his Politic, and appears in his Personal Capacity, unless you'll rather say, that as the Gods are fabled to have done, he disguises himself to descend among Mortals. This I still affirm, 'tis no part of his wisdom; he's dr●wn into't by a mere Trick and Fallacy of Nature; 'tis what he would, if he could, avoid, like sleeping, or other less handsome Actions. 'Tis certain, no wise Man would ever be in Love, if he knew how to help it, because it makes him look so like a Fool, that the two Sosia's are hardly less distinguishable. For must not any Man in his right Senses, (which besure is no Lover) must he not own that upon a fair and equal Balance, the Inconveniences of that Passion infinitely outweigh that scratching sort of a Pleasure, which some say is to be found in't. Would any wise Man, I'd fain know, bring a thousand Mischiefs upon himself, which he might keep clear of, or make another's Misfortunes his own, as if he had not already sufficient to torment him? But he that's not in Love is half an Angel to the Wretch, who is condemned to row in that Ship of Fools, chained to some other Fellow-Slave, to have and to hold with a Vengeance, like those poor Creatures, whom the Tyrant fastened to Dead Carcases, that they might stink and rot together. The Story of Pandor's Box is doubtless mistold by the Poets: 'Twas the Dressing Box, which Nature presented to all your Sex, containing, as I hope to prove, I know not how many hundred Kind's of Poisons, Mischiefs and Miseries, entrusted all in your Hands, to punish and plague Mankind. I'd fain know to what piece of Midwifery a Man must have recourse, to find all the Diseases of your Bodies only, (since these of your Minds are granted innumerable) with which, if a Man has the hard Fate not to be choked or poisoned the first Night, as a certain King they talk of used to serve his Wives, yet how many a tedious Moon and Year, and Age, must he languish with some frightful Hag rustling by his side, unless he takes a Dose of Opium to break the Charm, and give him his Habeas Corpus to an easier, and more comfortable Bed in the Dust? 'Tis one of the least and most tolerable Inconveniences of that whimfical Passion, that it turns the Brains of all it seizes, and makes 'em so ridiculous, that 'tis impossible to pity 'em, without laughing at 'em.  
And the worst of it is, that this Madness is infectious too, and better come near any other Venomous Creature than a Lover:— For not only his By't, or his Sight, is mortal, but 'tis almost equally dangerous to hear him. His Sighs kill as certainly as the Breath of a Serpent, and infuse the same Poison into others, which he himself was so full of, that it runs over. To speak truth, he's not only a public Nuisance, but a common Enemy, and deserves as well to be expelled a regular Commonwealth, as the Poets from Plato's, or as that Tragedian, who put a whole City into a Fever, by reciting a Famous Tragedy. All wise Lawgivers have taken a peculiar Care to punish those very severely, who have been Corrupters of Manners, and by their bad Examples, debauched the Commonwealth, and infected it with Riot and Lewdness. But nothing effeminates a Man more than this sickly Passion; nay, it makes him despise or hate all who are healthier and wiser, and will have it a mark of Dullness and Nonsense, not to play the Fool, and is as angry with those who do not, as the Sybarite with the poor honest Fellow, who was hard at work; which so highly displeased him, that he was like to have beaten him, because it made him sweat to look upon him. The subject is so copious, that I find 'tis easier to say too much than enough upon't; I shall therefore add no more, but one just Remark, that 'tis easy to observe what an useful and innocent Passion we ought to esteem it, when we find nothing more common than for the Ravisher, the Incestuous, the Adulterer, and sometimes the Murderer, to plead Love, to excuse them, which therefore should seem not only a Pretence for the blachest Villainies, but even the Cause of them.  
THOMAS—   

Answer to Letter 1  By the Athenians. 
ALL Men must Love, and this Sir you grant, and that Nature itself obliges 'em to do so, which if true, it must be Good and Rational, and the contrary unnatural, than which nothing more can be desired to the prejudice of your opinion; nor can any thing be pleaded more to the Advantage of Love than that 'tis necessary in our present State of Life. When we come to be Angels 'tis another matter, but what's that to those that make the objection? Would not a Man desire to Eat and Sleep when he has occasion, and if he should quarrel with Nature for obliging him to it, would he not thereby highly bring in Question both his Piety and Wisdom, it being no less than taking it ill, that he's made a Man, not a Stone, or a Tree (though even they Love too, in their way) or a senseless Lump of Earth, when she was at Liberty into what mould she'd cast his yet undetermined matter? What is there stronger, more certain, or more unaccountable and wonderful than Sympathy and Instinct? But had the Loadstone that Reason we boast of, 'twould surely make better use on't then to find fault with Nature for making it so dearly Love the Iron. But there's more than this in't, there's something highly rational in the very Essence of virtuous Love, abstracted from that muddy sense we have been so long talking of, though the objection makes it all nothing else, as if Sir Thomas had no Notion of any purer Love, and yet it concludes against Love in General, which is by no means a fair way of arguing. If there be no reason below the Girdle, sure there's some above it, or else we are in a worse condition than those which some esteem their Fellow-Reasoners, and Fellow-Lovers too, if they Love promiscuously and make it all a matter of sense only. But that there's something more refined in Love, is evident to any, who will but be at the pains to reflect on the cause and manner of it, and nothing is more certain than that the mind of Man perceives it is not, nor can be in itself completely happy. It therefore looks abroad, coasts about, and surveys the whole Creation, as the first Man did in Innocence, to seek for something like it and suitable to it, till it meets at last with some embodied Soul, and that it Loves, for were it the body only, 'twould Love a Carcase as well as an Animal, at least one Person as well as another, the contrary whereof is evident to all the World, and that only Brutes, or those who are very near 'em, have no choice in these matters: It finds, 'tis true, no perfect satisfaction in what it Loves, even when it possesses it; and what's the reason, but because the Body lags behind, cometh between, and obstructs its happiness; no other weakness than is to be found in all sensible pleasures. But the reasonableness of Love reaches further: The sympathy of Souls is rational, and we are conscious of it, and can reflect upon it; there's not only, as has been said, something of choice, but even of delicacy in't, whereas there's none in any Magnet either Dead or Living, a subject indeed fit to be wrote upon by none but a Transported Lover.  
However, nothing can be weaker than the remaining objections, which this angry Gentleman produces against that best of passions, the direct contrary to most of what he asserts being evidently true. He calls it a ●azy distemper, when 'tis the most Active Principle in the World; would persuade us that no Wise man is, or would be in Love, whence it follows by the Rule of contraries, that either hatred, or at least a stoical Apathy would better become him, which needs no confutation. So far is Love from being an Argument of Folly, that we defy him to instance in a Fool that ever was in Love. Tho o' t'other side, he knows the story of the Ass in the Turkish-Spy, and we leave him to apply it. And as this Aversion to Love is no great sign of wit, so 'tis no better of Civility and Humanity. For which reason, when we find a person who really has all those qualifications, fall foul on that well-natured passion, we may well believe one of these two things, either that 'tis only a Copy of his Countenance, only as a Trial of Skill and ostentation of his Wit, to show how much he can say for an ill cause, or else that his mind is soured by having been himself unfortunate in his amours, in which case he's a prejudiced Person, and an unproper Judge, and as little regard is to be given to his Rave as he has for Truth or Justice. But let such as these say what they will, the World will be still apt to believe their senses, and when they have so often seen such as have been neither Liberal or Courtly, nor Industrious, nor it may be so much as neat or cleanly before they have fallen in Love, immediately after reformed as it were by Miracle, and become quite other Men, and when their difference from themselves has been and often is so Remarkable, and the Change so much for the better, and they become both Generous and Liberal, and Courtly and Diligent, who can hinder himself from concluding that it must be a Noble Principle, and very Beneficial to Mankind, which causes such an Advantageous alteration? But above all, the slanders he casts upon Love, none appears more unjust or improbable than his charging it with effeminating men's minds; when 'tis Notorious that it does the contrary, and that sometimes to a Fault; and that even a Timorous Heart will not refuse to fight when his Mistresi is near him.  
As for the Gentleman's Civil Farewell, wherein he throws all those mischiefs upon Love, whereof 'tis either the innocent, or but pretended occasion, he can't but be satisfied himself 'tis a very unfair way of Arguing, since if that would hold good, we'd fain know how he could Answer an objection much of the same nature brought against Religion itself, the pretence of which all must own has been the occasion of much mischief in the World. But the same Answer will serve to both; 'Tis not Religion, nor is it Love that really occasion these fatal disorders, but the pretence, the abuse, the Vizard of 'em both, nor will it ever be otherwise, but that Villains will Profane and Scandalise one of these as well as the other.  
But after all, what would the objector gain should we grant that Love were really such a Bugbear as he has represented it, or how come Women more than Men to be concerned in't? O— he tells us in the Beginning, 'tis" this which is the Foundation of all the Female Sex's Pride, as well as of the Dotage and Folly of Mans. But was there never a Beau of his Acquaintance who grew Proud and Vain with being Beloved, nay, with the very Fancy and Dream on't, having so good an opinion of the Beauty and Good humour of his own Wig and Cravat, that he thinks 'tis in possible any Lady in the World should resist him? Such Monsters as these he knows have been found, out of Africa, and 'tis not at all fair to lay the weight of a Folly that ought to be divided between both Sexes, on one only, and that the weaker too, especially when so great a part of Men have so much their own good word, that if the Ladies should not take pity on 'em, and let 'em now and then make Love to them, or at least to their Fan, or Picture, they would infallibly fall in Love with their own dear selves, and like Narcissus, stare so long on their own shadows, till they pined themselves to Death.  
Athens.   

Letter II. Against the Sex's Pride and Vanity.  By Sir THOMAS— 
A Vast Sea to Launch into, and not more wide than 'tis unfathomable: They are indeed but one, though distinguished by different Names, or at least have a mutual Intercourse and flow into each other. But for more exactness I'll discourse of them distinctly, and describe the dangerous Rocks and Sands and Shelves, that are every where scattered round 'em, that though you are resolved to sink yourselves, others at least may beware of 'em.  
And first, your Pride, which you know was your Fall, as well as that of your dear confident, who persuaded you to it. 'Tis hard to say, where you show it most, in your Conversation with us, or with your selves, or with one another.  
While you have Eyes, you will have Pride, you have sufficient in yourselves to feed that, and your vanity, though no other living Eye should ever see you. Is it for your Husbands, or so much as your Lovers, or for the sake of the rest of the World, that's all this Patching and Painting, and Curling and Dressing, and Fooling? No, I must clear you from all these; 'Tis as much for your own dear selves you do it, as for all the rest together. We fancy the Peacock spreads his fine Train to oblige the Spectators, but it's a great mistake, for he does it often enough, and stairs on himself, and admires his glaring Train, when he knows not he has any Witnesses to admire him.  
Thus would you do, if in a room by yourselves, and you were sure neither to receive or make any visits; you'd yet rustle, and ftrut, and look back on your Train, and mend your Curls, and make Court to your own amiable selves, for a whole day together.  
However, as to your outside you have oftentimes somewhat that may at least give a pretence to your Vanity, but what have you to say, for your minds? What show or shadow of Reason, for being Proud of what is so perfectly Contemptible, and there's so little hopes, or it may be possibility, of their ever amending? You are even Proud of your own Pride, when you can find nothing else, and you thus make a sort of an infinite Process in Vice and Folly. Your Sex reconciles a thousand Contradictions, which is itself the greatest, your minds are weak and yet stubborn, lose and dissolved, and open to such pleasing sophistry as you are sure will ruin you, and yet at the same time impregnable against the utmost efforts of sober reason, mighty full of your selves, and yet as notoriously empty as those shapes of Men, who so much admire you. I shall find you a Glass, e'er I've left ye, better than Mrs. Behn's, and much truer; and which, if you'd look upon't half as often as on your own, there would be some hopes you might a little rectify these mental Deformities; but I'm persuaded you are much more inclined to break it, for you never yet endured one that told you your Faults, any more than a Gown that shows your Ill shapes, you dearly Love to be bolstered, and he or none must have your Heart that flatters and abuses ye.  
But I'm slipped from your Pride to your Vanity, which seems to respect others, while the former is often terminated on yourselves; Tho 'twill be as difficult to separate one from tother, as you from either, and therefore I must now consider 'em promiscuously, and take that which comes uppermost.  
And if ever either of 'em showed themselves, 'tis in your pretences to equality with your Lord and Sovereign; that Nobler Creature, whom you were made to serve and obey, a sort of an Appendix you are to Mankind, a Crutch to his Mortal Nature, made (one would be tempted to think) on Pravision of the Fall (had not you yourselves been the Principal Actors in it,) without which one can scarce imagine there had been any need of you. However, made you were, for another, and yet have the Vanity to flatter yourselves, that he was rather formed for you, and that all Mankind are to bow down and Worship ye. O! How hard it goes to pay a little pretended bodily obedience, but if it once comes to the mind, you'll not more yield any Superiority than a begging Spaniard; to a Nobleman of any other Nation. There you are perfect Levellers, as fit to rule as any, and as much right to't, though you may as well say your Bodies are as strong, and can undergo as much Fatigue as ours.  
How many poor Husbands d' you make weary of their Lives by the Pride, the uneasiness, and the Vanity of your Tempers, and what Bunches of 'em have strung themselves on this occasion?  
And no wonder, if you seldom miss trying your skill with them, after you have closed them, at the safe Lock of Matrimony, when you are generally so well practised in Domineering before you are Married. Your Lovers are your Slaves, from the very first sight, and you rule 'em more absolutely when once Chained to your Bed, than the Algereens theirs, when fastened to their Gally-Benches. Your concern is not so much, what subjects you have, as how many; nor how they live, as how they serve, nor how you come by 'em, as how you may preserve 'em. You have the Vanity to believe all that these say of you, all the gross Flatteries wherewith they load you, with which Tyrants are generally pleased, because they think greater things of themselves, than they can hear from others. How many perjuries are you Guilty of? Both all your own, and theirs too, who are so unfortunate, to be enslaved by your fatal artifices. They must be deeply forsworn to please you, and protest you have ten thousand charms they never dreamt of, though your Faces be as mean as your minds. And if these happen to be Blasphemed, if any whom you are grown weary of, and have cast 'em off for the sake of beloved variety, happens to take the ungenteel Freedom to slander you with the greatest Truth, what atonement presently but his Blood, and what Sacrifice less than humane, to appease your Savage Deity! One Rival is presently hired with smiles and hopes, and all the Witchcraft of your Sex, to cut the Throat of another, to gratify your infernal Pride, and insatiable revenge: Whereby you have often a double advantage; you get rid of two Lovers at once, and make room for more, while one of 'em is hanged and the other murdered.  
Nor have your own Sex much fairer Quarter from you then ours. No Truth, nor Justice, nor Friendship, you are all in Hobbs his State of Nature, Independent Empires of yourselves, and at professed Wars with all the World. Your very , your Gowns, much more your Faces are Rivals: You'd scarce one of ye, give another an Inch of pre-eminence, though 'twas upon the Edge of a precipice, and to save both your Lives; so much less wit have you then the two poor Goats, who meeting upon a narrow Bridge, and finding it impossible to pass by one another, or to return without falling into the River, one of 'em very politicly and humbly laid himself down, and the other went over him, by which both got safely whither they intended. And did they not Act far more like rational Creatures, than the two Good Wives of Paris t'other day, who met in a narrow street and complimented till Night, getting both Dinner and Supper in their Leathern-Tabernacle; rather then either of 'em would lessen the Grandeur of their Family by going backward, and leaving the other in possession.  
You show us, how little Beauty is to be really valued by the low esteem you have of it in any but your selves. Some fault you are sure to find in the most regular Face, and then, none but all the World knows it.  
Yes, truly, she's a pretty sort of a Woman enough, for what there is of her, for a little Apple Childish Face. Or else, on my word a proper Dame, and abundant shape she has to recommend her, she'd make a good handsome Man enough, that's the Truth on't. Or the contrary, were she not a thought to slender, a little d'ye call't, (cries another Erynis), why she's a MERE SPIDER, a perfect INSECT, two Pyramids set together. Or, she has a good Complexion, Nay, set down indifferent, it has a notable Eye of the WALL in't; either DOUGHBAKED, or the OVEN OVERHEATED. Or— For her FINE EYES all the World ADMIRE her, yes, they have a Languishing cast with 'em, she is a little CIRCUMSPECT, and has the advantage, that she can throw one of 'em on her LOVER, and the other on her HUSBAND, at the same time, without altering her POSTURE, and look equally amorously on both. Well, but hastened Madam A— a very graceful presence? Yes, and a fine ROLLING-PIN-FACE. She's tall, as a BELL-ROPE, Lovely WHITE TEETH, and a mouth like an— O YES! CURIOUS HAIR, with an Eye of GOLD in't. Round plump SNOWY HANDS, and you see she's not a little PROUD of SHOWING 'em. Charming EYEBROWS, why you may see the LEAD SHINE upon 'em. A GOOD FORTUNE, Those always come SHORT on the telling, or weigh less after Marriage. Of an UNSPOTTED REPUTATION,— Pretty well since she broke off with my Lord R— or after HANDSOMEG— had left her— or where she's not WELL KNOWN;— or— Nay, we ought to hope the best-still;— Many have been ABUSED, and we live in a MALICIOUS WORLD. She TALKS WELL, but affected: Very good HUMOURED, but FOOLISH; a great deal of WIT, and ILL NATURE.  
The plain Meaning of all which is just thus, if you would but speak out.  
I'm so PROUD, that I hate any should be thought a FINER WOMAN than m● self, or so much as equal with me. I'm the prettiest, littlest, softest, roundest, plumpest, properest, gracefullest Creature that I ever set my Eyes on. Have the most Virtue, Beauty, Wit and Reputation. The finest EYES, the best Presence, the prettiest Ways, the loveliest Hair, the evenest Teeth, the most ensnaring FINGERS, the most surprising Foot, the best Shaped:— The most charming Elbow, and Tip of an Ear, of any in CHRISTENDOM.  
— Well, Madam, You are, I see, so ravished with Admiration of yourself, that 'tis pity now to disturb you, or wake you out of such a pleasing Dream; and therefore, at present, there I leave you.  
THOMAS—   

Answer to Letter II.  By Madam WILLET— 
In a Letter to Madam Godfrey, the Lady who first engaged her in this Female War.  
Madam,  
I Doubt you have chosen but a bad second, in a very good Cause, however I cannot deny to contribute the little I am able, where our common Interest is concerned; leaving it to your Discretion, either to give these rude Thoughts, the Honour of a place amongst better Company, or totally to suppress them.  
As touching the Accusation of our seemingly angry Antagonist, who chargeth all our Sex with Pride and Vanity, we may bear it with the less Concernment, because almost in the Prelude thereof, he fairly owns what I take to be very much to our Advantage; namely, that it is not for the sake of their Sex, that we take so much pains in Dressing and Adorning ourselves, but merely, and only for the Decency of the thing in its own Nature: I hope he will not forbid us to reverence our selves, or to consider that we are humane Creatures. If we were to be buried, he would permit us to make use of some Ornaments, which yet surely he will not also attribute unto Vanity, seeing we shall have none but Worms to admire us in the Sepulchre.  
Let us therefore make the best use of this one piece of Ingenuity, which has, it seems, undesignedly dropped from him. Let us record it against we have occasion for it: This Gentleman plainly asserts in the midst of all his passion, That it is not for the sake of our Lovers that we take so much pains with ourselves; nay, as if he had not been yet kind enough, he again adds, that he himself will clear us from this Imputation.  
But I do not conceive that we need all that which he so bountifully grants us; for let us suppose that we did really express something more of Solicitude in our Dress, when we expected the Visits of a Person, for whom we had a virtuous friendship, I cannot see any thing criminal in such a Behaviour, or, that looks like Pride and Vanity; nay, rather the contrary, for nothing savours more of Pride than to affront or slight a Person, who doth not merit it, and who be●●● us any respect, and waits upon us, in order to express the same.  
Now, nothing in my Opinion can be a greater Affront to a Person of Condition, than when we are forewarned of their Visits, to be surprised in a Dress not suitable to receive them;— Or, sometimes to repay the Honour of such a Visit in the same undecent Manner.  
Moreover, it is evident, that many Persons express as much Pride and Vanity in a morose and undecent Dress, and Deportment, as any others can in the most fashionable Dress, and the most costly Ornaments.  
Was not the Cynical Philosopher, Diogenes, guilty of more unexcusable Pride, than the famous Alexander the Great, who came to make him a Visit, for which the brutish Fellow could find no handsomer way of Requital than by bidding him stand out of his Sunshine? We are not to regard what any Person wears, but in what manner he doth it. The most resplendent Monarch in the Universe could not be more proud of his stately Palace, than that same Tatterdemalion was of his stinking Tub; nor the most Beautiful and most Magnificent Youth in all Greece, of his Rich and Splendid Robes, than he of his Squalid Rags, which would Nauseate to behold them.  
These things being agreed to, as I suppose none will deny them, I proceed yet further in the Defence of our Sex, as to the Articles now under Debate; which I may fairly do, or at least silence our Accusers, by a just Recrimination. If we are vain, are they otherwise? If we are proud, are they humble? Let us make an equal Estimation of things, and the contrary will be indubitable. We have, we do not deny, some outward Embellishments which are not proper to Men, and perhaps we use more than they do, and were we somewhat more pleased with them, a little good Nature would not choose to impute it to a Vice, when at the utmost it can be no more than a Weakness: But we desire either our ptesent Antagonist, or any other of our pretended Enemies, to give us Information, if ever they have seen a Lady, altho' dressed to the greatest Advantage, who had so much Complaisance for herself, and so little for another, as when a Gentleman, a Stranger, was in the Room, who came to make her a formal Visit, to employ a great part of her time, in admiring herself in the Class, without any regard to the Company, or to common Civility? And after they have replied to this Query, we shall desire 'em as ingenuously to satisfy us in two or three more: How many of their own Sex they know, who will not employ themselves in the same manner, tho' their Mistress herself were in Company? And whether this be as civil, as we know it is a fashionable way of entertaining ●adies? And lastly, if this be not a clearer Demonstration of their own Sexes insufferable Vanity, than any which they can affix upon ours.  
If you furthermore accuse us, for affecting Dominion over your Sex; and being restless for the Superiority, at least an Equality with them: For my part I know no sensible Woman, who desires either.  
It is enough for us to share the Government of a Family with you; for which, Nature designed us, and for which yo● ought to thank us, and which we ma● justly expect. Some Inequality we conc● between us, but the nearest to Equality or any Degree that you can assign. Our Governors you were constituted, but not our Tyrants; we were given you as Wives, not Slaves, and there can be no greater Indieation of Vanity, than to pretend to an absolute Authority, where you have no Right to any but what is limited and legal.  
But above all things, I stand amazed, that the Gentleman should charge on our Sex's Pride, those Tragical Events, which we are too often occasioned by the same Vice in his own. Can we prevent our Lovers Quarrels, which the 〈◊〉 itself cannot? Or can we favour all, or may not the most Virtuous, Modest, and Discreet Lady living be sometimes the innocent occasion of such Misrortunes, or when the surious Rivals are engaged, would he have us, (like the Sabine Wives) run between, to part 'em?  
And on this Head I must further add, That if Men were but so peaceable and quiet, of such soft, such tender, and compassionate Dispositions, as we generally speaking, must be owned to be; or lastly, of such forgiving, pardoning Tempers, it is certain, there would not be so much War and Bloodshed, such Piracy by Sea, and Ravage by Land; so many great and small Robbers and Murderers, as now oppress and distract Mankind, and make you more Dangerous and more Savage than the fiercest Beasts towards one another.  
Thus, Madam, I have, as well as my mean Abilities would permit, answered the unknown Gentleman's Letter, and remain  
Your Humble Servant, Elizabeth, Willett.   

LETTER III. Being an Essay in Defence of the present Fashions of the Female Sex.  Written by ANONIMAS. 
THo' I have been something negligent, as to Time, yet the Subject you have imposed on me to treat of, doth sufficiently demonstrate the Power you have over me: When laying aside all the curious Thoughts, flowing from all the noble Subjects of Heaven and Earth, you have bound me up to a Woman (forgive me mine own Sex:) And to that which is taxed as the greatest Vanity, ever committed by 'em; I mean the Extravagancy of their present Fashions, amongst which, that of their Heads seems to be vainest; Their unreasonable Toppings: And to which they seem so united, that 'tis not in the power of Reason or Ridicule to make 'em part with them. Other Fashions have their short Continuances here, and then they go off the Stage; this the settled Possession. They are never weary, never will be ashamed of this, tho' it prevails beyond all measure, and is become so Troublesome and Chargeable, that it has forced 'em to lift up the Tops of their Doors, and of their Coaches, to admit 'em.— But I forget my Province, which was to defend, not to accuse the soft and tender Sex: And indeed I speak but the Language of the Vulgar, and (amongst 'em) of the rudest of either Sex, who only are Enemies to these Dresses, and Expose 'em. As for the Gentile, and Understanding, the liveliest, and well Educated part of Mankind, they scruple not to approve 'em, by using of them. Indeed, few or none have defended 'em by the Pen; a Sign that their Enemies are so illiterate, that they cannot read; nor had I undertaken this need lest Task, had it not been in Obedience to your Commands; and in order to this▪ I shall speak of Dress in general, and first, Prove it be no Sin or Folly, and then secondly, Show the Advantages of it, and that it has some positive Good in it; and then lastly, apply all to the present Head-Tires of Lady's in particular.  
To begin then, I lay this down as 〈◊〉 Principle: That there is nothing Uggly or B●●●tiful in itself, but with respect t● the ordinary Rule, and Customs of Nations. Th●re be two outward Things observable in a D●dy; the Figure or Shape and the Form 〈…〉 of it: For th● 〈…〉, it is w●●ely contrived ●nt● that which nature produces, and that which is Redundant, or Deficient, is said to be Monstrous or deformed, not that 'tis so in itself, but in respect of its deviation from the common Standard, that nature proposes to its self to build up the Body of Man in. And as Figure; so Form (by which I mean Colour) depends upon the customary Draughts of Nature. And we count a mixture of White and Red Beautiful, because it has Anciently been counted so; Whereas the Blacks (they say) have either and contrary Notions of Beauty. A plain Demonstration that Beauty is sounded in Custom, not Nature, and that nothing is originally and simply ugly.  
2. And as the Form and I ashion of the Body, so the Form and Fashion of those Garments that cover it, are all Judged handsome or ugly, by the Rules that Custem have proscribed to it: For there be two ends of ; The first Natural, to defend the Body from Cold, etc. The other Civil, to distinguish Sexes, and the several degrees of each Sex, and to set it off and adorn it. And though in the first of these a certain Fitness and Proportion of the Garment to that Member it is designed, or to the whole Body for the use aforesaid, is the probable Rule it ought to be made by; yet in those that distinguish the Sexes, and degrees of each Sex, (as some always must be owned to have the only Authority). And this is the Reason that several Fashions that appear at first sight strange, if not Monstrous, shall become so agreeable by Cnstome that we fall in Love with 'em, and admire 'em, and cannot think those we doted on before tolerable: 'Tis true, great Persons having always claimed the Richest works of the Richest Materials; such habits have been usual signs that they were known by. And wrought Gold and Garments of divers Colours, are the outward Indications of Persons of Honour, Greatness and Riches. And meaner Stuff and Workmanship for the Inferior sort. Thus it has ever been. But we speak not of the Materials, but Figure of the Distinguishing Garment, and therefore for those of Ornament, which is the last end of Garments, I must lay down these General Rules.  
1. That as every Creature is bound by the Law of Nature, to build up and repair his Body by Nutritions, so to adorn it and set it off in the best manner he can, by the Ornaments necessary thereunto; which is in effect, but to set off God's work, and make it appear more Illustrious and worthy of him.  
2. The particular way to do this is not fixed, but guided by Fancy. That is, we first try one way and then another, according to our several Fancies and Opinions. And having experienced one way, perhaps in time we like it not, and fall to another, and so to a Third, and so on till perhaps we fall into some of the Old again, when either they are forgotten, or our Fancy altars, and we think it again conducible to that end: And so, tho' we differ from ourselves, in the Methods and Means of Adorning our Bodies, yet we agree in the end. The Means are only Trials, wherein we are guided by our Fancy. They are Essays of poor imperfect Man, to complete himself, which is the end of Human Nature.  
3. We have an Estimation for Things we have not tried, and for Persons of Honour, and true Worth, and the first is the occasion of the Inventors of new Fashions, and the second, of those that follow 'em. Every one would improve his Body, and make it appear as perfect as he could; but every one cannot tell how. The Rich and Great are those that contrive these outward Embellishments; which having tried and proved, others (that have a great Veneration for what they do) imitate 'em: So that there is cause in Nature, Viz. Perfection, for the Invention of new Fashions, and for the Vulgars' following 'em. As likewise for their Change; when we find by Experience that we have missed this end, and therefore are inclined to try another,  
And lastly, When a Dress is grown common, or used by vile and ordinary Persons, it has lost its Distinguishing and Adorning Quality; and so the End being lost, 'tis fit it should be laid aside, and another assumed, till Authority shall be pleased to Appropriate Garments and Fashions to the several Sorts and Degrees of Sexes: So that 'tis the want of such a good Law, that brings a necessity of Change of Fashions. 'Tis necessary Persons of Quality should be known, that they might have their due Honour: And seeing every ordinary. Creature will break in upon a Fashion, and dress like 'em, and Authority will not interpose to make an Enclosure, what can, nay, what should they do but fall into another Mode for distinction? So that the Original of Fashions, and the Changes thereof, is founded partly in our naturaldesire of Perfection, and Attempts towards it, and partly in that Order and Distinction, which should be amongst Mankind, without which, all things will fall into Confusion.  
These things being premised and agreed to (as I suppose they must be) I wonder why Man (unreasonable Man, that is guilty of the same Crime, if it be one) should rally upon poor Ladies for the pretended Extravagancies of their Dresses. Do they pretend they are uggly or monstruous? Why! there is nothing so in its self; and Custom reconciles every thing, and is the Rule of Decency; that is decent, which the tried and approved Customs of well-educated Persons have made so.— is it because they change and alter? Why! this is nothing but a continued Essay, to render themselves Beautiful and Complete in Body, as well as Mind; the Work of Humane Nature. We are sent hither to Adorn and perfect both the Body and Mind, as far as we may. Education and Study is the Means to the one, and Dressing to the other.  
Each are to be dressed, tho' in a different way. The Body must be adorned with such Improvements as it is capable of; and he that doth neglect it, is a Sloven, and a Sinner against the Law of Nature. I do not here make any Comparison betwixt the Body and the Mind; I am willing to prefer the last, and its Accomplishments, (and would to God it was more minded) yet I say also, that whilst these are done, the other ought not to be left undone. Let the Lady be as long as she will in her Closet, at her Dressing-Box, provided she be not longer there than at her Prayers. I will not blame her Endeavours, to adorn her Body, if it doth not take up the necessary time of Adorning the Mind. Why! doth not every thing strive at Perfection; and if it fails in one Attempt, try another? Do we not every day Eat and Drink, tho' we have tried it so often, and have found it will cure the Disease called Hunger, for some time only? Is it a Sin, to render God's Workmanship beautiful, and try every Method of Art or Nature to effect it? To leave the Dresses as well as Company of the Vulgar, and to lay aside a Garment when it can distinguish us no longer? Lady's would keep to their Fashions, if others would keep from them: But the Inferior sort break in upon 'em: What hurt is it then to forsake the Room? If Authority will not keep up Decorum, but render all common; yet let Ladies be more prudent and regular: And tho' hard-hearted Mankind will not afford their Honour a Protection; yet I hope the Women will do themselves Justice.  
The Sum of all is this— God makes, and Apparel Shapes, etc.— Every Man and Woman is born in a poor Squalid Condition, and Imperfect in Form and figure, till by Nutrition the Body has attained its due Proportion, Magnitude, and Beauty; and even then it is so mean a Figure, that it is not fit to be seen Naked, nor can it distinguish the several Orders of Mankind, and therefore Nature has taught all Nations to conceal their Imperfections under , and to distinguish one from another by them. And because Beauty is the Creature of Fancy, and that the ordinary sort continually break in upon the distinguishing Fashions of the Nobility and Gentry; The Form and Mode of Garments are forced to be changed as often as there is an occasion.  
And if there may be given a sufficient reason, not only for the Adorning of our bodies, but for the often changing the outward Mode, or Fashion of its Ornaments, who can deny this to our Female Sex; who ought to keep up the Advantages Nature has bestowed on us, over Men, in Softness, Sweetness and Beauty. Who are either Married or (I speak only of the Sex in General, and not of every particular Woman, who may find reasons to resolve the Contrary) to be Married, and who deservedly stand upon our Beauties, as well as Merits, or other Accomplishments to Command Love and Respect, and preserve it when obtained. Why therefore should Envious Man, grudge us a little time to fit ourselves for them? Especially seeing they themselves are the Causes of it?  
But you may say our Detractors are of both Sexes, and we are Indicted as Offenders, Not so much against the Laws of Decorum as Religion: Indeed if this were so, 'tis but time to undress and lay aside for ever all our Ornaments, and wear nothing but Sackcloth. But this is a mistake; Religion doth not forbid it, nor will the Soul be injured by the Ornaments of the Body, its dear Associate; And the objections are founded upon Ignorance, Mistake, and Swperstition, as will appear if we consider them.  
1. We are accused of Pride, but this common and popular Accusation will signify nothing to those that consider what Pride is; That it is not any thing about the Body, but is resident in the mind, and consists in an over valuing a Man's self, or in ●hinking better of ourselves then indeed we deserve, or in boasting of our Endowments, as though they were our own, and not derived to us from Above. And how can Clothing and Adorning our Bodies (which is nothing else but covering and hiding the De●ects of our Carcase) be any Indication of the Pride of our minds? Indeed  are nothing else but a tacit confession of our Native Impersections, and Ornaments seem to confess that the Body itself wants them— And what Fool can be Proud of that which is not his own, but what he must be beholden even to the Beasts of the Field for? And if any Lady when she has dressed up herself with the utmost care and Curiosity's, can really think herself better than she was before in her Night , I must own she has a mighty Fancy, but little Reason, and I cannot believe that there is any of our Sex (as foolish as we are) that can think so.  
2. There be two places of Scripture, th●● to the Slovenly Zealote seem to bear hard upon us; the first in the Old Testament, the second in the New.  
That in the Old Testament is Isa. 3.17. and so forward; where there is an Antiquated Inventory of the Woman's Ornaments; Such as Interpreters know not well how to render in Euglish, and these are threarned to be taken off the Daughters of Zion, and they forced to submit to their contraries. But then these Ornaments are not there Condemned as Sinful in themselves; But the Sin consisted in their Pride, Wantonness, and Luxury. V 16. They were haughty and disdainful, and overlooked their Equals. Besides, they had the Aspect and Gestures of Harlots: Their Wanton Eyes, and their Nice and Tripping Gate, Symptoms of the sensuality of their minds; For these Crimes it was, that God threatens to Strip 'em of their Ornaments, by which it would follow, that Ornaments are not a Curse but a Blessing, and the being deprived of 'em, a Punishment.  
The other Text is 1 Pet. 3.3. To which I willingly Subscribe, that the Principal Ornament of a Virtuous Christian Wife, is not the outward ones of the Head-Tire, or Gold Chains, or putting on Apparel, but that of a Meek and Quie: Spirit. This is an Ornament indeed, and that which excels all External Ornaments, and yet it is not exclusive of 'em, unless you would have the Woman lay by not only her Gold, but go with her Hair about her Ears, and use no Apparel. And to conclude all on this Head, I dare Appeal to the most Slovenly and Morose of either Sex, who rail at Pride and the Fashion, because they cannot come up with it; Whether Dresses, even the most Richest and most Curious are not Lawful? When God himself is said to be the Dresser, and to Adorn his adopted Daughter Jerusalem, after the most exquisite Fashion of those Times, Vide Ezek. 16.10, 11, 12. Whether Precious things were not made for our use? And if so, why they may not be used? Whether a Christian hath not as good a Title to the best things as others? And lastly, Whether we may not wear 'em under these conditions.  
1. That we come by 'em Lawfully.  
2. That they are Suitable to our State and Condition of Life.  
3. That we be not Fond or Proud of them, or unreasonably think ourselves the better for 'em. And Lastly, that we be willing to part with 'em upon the Account of Necessity, Justice and Charity. I say, if these considerations are duly weighed, I dare make our Enemies of either Sex, our Judges in this Affair, and Stand to their own Arbitrament.  
And thus I have, I hope, with some clearness, Vindicated the Lawfulness of using Ornaments, and of changing and following the Mode, which fancy (to distinguish the several Degrees of Life, and Adorn all) First invents, and Custom reconciles and renders decent: Give me leave now to add this positive Good of this supposed Vanity: For surely none will deny— That our English in constancy and change of Fashions (how much Lightness and Vanity soever it is charged with) doth yet advance.  
1. Ingenuity and Invention.  
2. Industry, and that it is a great Enemy to that which is the Vehicle of all Temptations (I mean) Idleness. And then,  
3. Trade, and kept many Thousands, which won'd otherwise Starve or Invade others Callings, and so justle others out of a Living, and Strave 'em. And  
Lastly, Charity, by inclining Ladies to give away their  to their Attendance, by reason of the change of the Mode. And these convey 'em to their Inferiors, and so they go through several hands before they be worn out. And so though we have lost the Old Hospitality of the English Nation, and House-keeping is Retrenched, yet there is still a Communication of , which can be attributed to nothing but this Volubility of the Fashion. So great a good proceeds from this supposed Evil.  
I should now descend to our particular Dresses, and those of the Head especially, the Subject of so much Wit, Mirth and Raillery, for their excessive heights and other extravagant Circumstances; Against this all sorts of People have levelled their Laughter and Indignation, and yet they have kept their Station in spite of 'em all; so that they seem to have the Fate and deserve the Motto of the Palm Tree.  
Depressa resurgo.  
The more they are railed at, the more they stick to the Forehead, and grow the higher; a sure Indication at last that our Sex can be sometimes constant. I shall upon the former Grounds assert of 'em, that they have no necessary Immoral Consequences; and therefore are in themselves indifferent; and if they have lifted up the Tops of the Coaches and Chariots, they have put many to work, and so preserved Lives, and caused Money to Circulate. If these are high, 'tis because every one would at least seem Proper and Tall, and what hurt is in that? And as Monstrous as they are represented, yet Custom has reconciled 'em, and made 'em handsome, and a Woman without her Toppings is now a very odd Creature. I shall only add this of them (1.) That a Head once dressed is soon on and off; and so doth not take up so much time as formerly, and so Ladies have so much the more leisure to serve God and do Good to the Public. (2.) That many thousands get an Honest Livelihood by 'em— But I perceive It have exceeded all Measure in this Letter, and bestowed too many words on a matter of so little concern. It was only in obedience to your Injunction; for I am your very  
Aug. 19 1696. Osequious, though unknown Anonimas.   

Answer to Letter III.  By Sir THOMAS— 
Being a Reply to ANONYMA'S Essay, in Defence of Dresses and Topknots, etc.  

In a Letter to Madam Godfrey, the First Challenger, and Person engaged in this Controversy.  
NAY Madam, this is not fair Play, and I must needs complain of you for making War in an unlawful manner, not only bringing more Seconds than I can well deal with, when we were to meet single hand, but attacking me in my own Quarters, before I had put myself in a Posture of Defence; whereas I expected you'd have been all purely on the Defensive, as became your Sex's Modesty.  
Nay, and Learned Ladies too, for I find your Friend has a Touch of Latin (for which I'll not forget her in due time and place) and yet worse, so very Grave she is, that I'm afraid she won't let me Laugh without making her Aagry. But if she be, I must e'en take it patiently, a sort of self denial with which our poor suffering Sex is but too well acquainted, when we have any concern with yours. And I have this comfort, if I am so Fortunate as to Disarm this notable Champion, who I see is detached from your main Body, like a sort of a single forlorn hope to try my strength at the beginning, I shall have the fairer probability of prevailing with greater ease, over the rest of your Disheartened Army. Pray stand you aside a while, and let us two alone together.   

To the most Ingenious Anonimas, Author of the Essay in defence of Dresses, etc.  
'TWas really great pity Madam, to take you off from your Metaphisical Speculations, and to debase your soaring mind to so mean a subject as you are now engaged in. You deserve I see a better cause, you have so well defended an ill one, I know not whether so Ingeniously as Wittily, for I'm apt to believe your mind and your Pen hardly went together. However, we must join issue upon the matter, and I must ask your Pardon, if I take the boldness to unravel your involuntary or wilful mistakes, and— confute all your appearances of Reason. Which yet on better thoughts I know not whether there's so much need of, because I find we agree very well in the beginning of your Essay, and may Travel for some time quietly enough together, (though I doubt our way must soon part.) You own your Sexes present Fashions are extravagant; you own the height of their Toppings is unreasonable, and have made a sharp and just observation, That they yet seem so united to these extravagant and these unreasonable Customs, that 'tis not in the Power of Reason, or Ridicule to part 'em. Why should you and I quarrel, or dispute any further, when we are both so exactly of the same mind?  
But alas, 'tis not long that you continue in this Ingenuous Temper: The prejudices of your Sex soon turn your mind, and accordingly mould all your thoughts ●n defence of what you just before so highly disapproved and so justly condemned. And you begin with what's insinuating enough, that This is only the Language of the Vulgar, and that the rudest of both Sexes; but that the liveliest and best-bred part of the World approve these things by their using 'em.  
But I must ask leave Madam to remind you in the first place, that we are not now enquiring what one or tother does, but what's fitting and reasonable to be done? And besides, that 'tis not impossible that the many should be in the right, nay, 'tis plain they sometimes are so, and those who call themselves better bred, because they eat better and dress finer, are very widely mistaken. But supposing Persons of sense and breeding, which yet you'll not affirm are always to be meafured by the Dimensions of the Top-knot, should be also guilty of these Extravagancies, can that ever the more change their Natures, or make 'em agreeable to Decency and Reason? Nay, does it so much as show their positive and full approbation of 'em? all I tfiink that we can fairly conclude from it, is, that they make use of 'em, and are really Ridiculous to prevent their being thought so. Nothing in short is plainer than that in such Instances as these, they are merely borne down by the Tyranny of custom, and e'en give themselves up to the stream because 'twould be folly to strive against it, when they are yet certain of being hurried away by its impetuosity.  
That none, but a parcel of Ballad-singers and Grubstreet-Authors, have ever yet writ against 'em, there may be alleged two very good reasons; the first, because 'tis such a Gontemptible subject, that a Man of sense would no more draw his Pen at it, than a Man of Courage would his Sword against a little yelping Cur, that made a noise at him as he passed the streets. The second, that as you yourself own, your Sex is Incorrigible, and why should any attempt to wash the Blackamoor white?  
But why then do I now take up the Cudgels? Because Madam, you have made such a cause as was before deplorable, almost formidable again by your espousing it, and because your jagenious Sophistry, if it remain undiscovered, will I fear, harden your Sex yet further in their Obstinacy and Folly.  
And new, to examine your most elaborate Oration, or Sermon. I scarce know which to call it, wherein I shall, as Civility Obliges me, wait on your Ladyship in your own method, from the Doctrine to the Application.  
You assert Madam in the first place, very victoriously, that Dress in General is neither Sin nor Folly, and shame and rags on those that ever think it is. Nor therefore will your second Proposition be denied, that it has advantages in it, and some real positive Good.  
But net a step further, for when you come to apply this to the present Toppings Headgeer, we must have a sore siruggle before you carry me with you.  
Nor must you take it amiss that I deny even Principles, at least the first assertion whereon you bestow that Name, for we now Live in an Age, that very unwillingly takes up with any Authority but that of Reason.  
You say, there's nothing ugly or beautiful in itself, but with respect to the ordinary Rules and customs of Nations: Here Madam, in the first place you seem not to argue clearly, but to confound Decency and Beauty, and Deformity, which seem to be widely different, at least I'm sure we form Notions sufficiently distinct about 'em. A Woman may go very decently habited who yet is naturally very deformed, and one of the most beautiful of your ruinous sex, must be undecently dressed in your aerial Toppings.  
But supposing you only intent to argue from Beauty to Decency, and so on the contrary, your Foundation is yet weak and deceitful. For I think, all are agreed that Beauty is something more than Fancy; I know the objection, from the Blacks, but how can the particular odd opinion of one small part of the World, and that the most Barbarous, any way affect, or influence the General Judgement of mankind, any more than we ought to think, eating one another, is not contrary to the Law of Nature, because some of those Savage Nations constantly practise it, or that there's no such thing in Nature as modesty, because the same disown it.  
We ought therefore to conclude even of Complexion, which I confess, is but the least part of Beauty, that there's something in't more than Fancy and Opinion, because the Blacks are only a sort of Monsters in Nature, at least Deviations from it, since none suppose the first Man and Woman were Created in that manner.  
But even among them there's Proportion, and good Featnres, which is agreed on by all Civilised mankind, who sure are the most proper Judges, as (those who see are of Coleurs,) to be the best and most lasting part of Beauty; and you'll never persuade an equal Judge, that a Carnous Nose, thick Blnbber Lips, and a horrid cruel, distorted Face, is in itself so agreeable as theirs, who are otherwise And 'tis as clear on the other side, that there is a just Proportion, which is pleasing to all that are not prejudiced by Education, or the customs of their Country, and would be thought so at first sight, even by a person bred in a Desert.  
I've insisted the longer on this, because of the Parallel you either make or insinuate between Decency and Beauty, and indeed they are near akin, though I think not the same, for Beauty may be called, if you will, the Decency of the Body, and Decency the Beauty of the attire.  
To let pass your small mistake in Philosophy, that Form is Colour, whereas Figure with Colour seems its more proper definition, I must yet agree with you, that nothing is Originally and Simply Ugly, any more than Simply or Originally Evil; but yet none can doubt but there are Deviations from fair as well as good, and what is so, must be ugly, and that Independently to any Man's fancy or opinion; though not without a respect to those Rules and just Proportions from which it errs.  
And I further am willing to grant, That particular liking depen is on particular Fancy, and unaccountable Sympathy, Whence 'tis, that persons differ so much in their Judgements of these matter, and one may Love one sort of Beauty, another it may be the quite contrary, but none can ever dear on Deformity. No Man sure, in his ●ight ●●nces, 〈…〉 〈…〉 more than they would commend such a one for Neatness, when they stunk alive. But if there should happen to be some Caliban in Nature, an equal Match for such a Sicorax, what need any envy his Choice, or could he persuade any she was a real Beauty, because he thought so; any more than Brimstone, or Assafoetida can be said to be a good smell, because some persons Love it more than Roses.  
For which reasons neither can I be induced to believe, that the Decency or Deformity of Dress depends on custom only, and are one or tother as that preseribes, according to your assertion: Because there is certainly a Natural Decency, which no custom can ever alter. 'Tis true, this is not easy to find, but I think the nearest we can go to the Law of Nature, is by searching into the Law of Nations, or the generally received customs and usages of all the Civilised part of mankind, which will sway very much with a modest Man, if they are not, (as I think they never are) evidently contrary to clear and undoubted Reason: And the best way I grant, to find out what Dress is Reasonable, is to consider the ends of Apparel, which you think, Are only three, to defend from Heat and Cold, to distinguish Sexes and Degrees, and lastly for Ornament. And 'twere well if those ends were well observed, by the present Age, which whether they are, or no, we may by and by have occesion to inquire. However, I must remind you Madam, of one End of Clothing besides all these, which I'm sorry you have forgotten, though 'tis an easy thing for your Sex to do it, and that is the very end, for which Adam and Eve first made such a hard shift, when they sowed Fig-leaves together, and made themselves Aprons; 'Tis a Confession of our Gild as well as want, and certainly something is still due to shame and modesty, and the Siamese Garments which are open before, and those in some parts of Africa, which cover so little of the Body, don't Answer that end, let their customs be what they will, and therefore 'tis not all custom, and whatever Dress offends any ways against it, whatever Nation 'tis in, such a Custom could never defend it,— nay, nor so much as any thing that's extremely inconvenient to your Sex, vastly extravagant, and evidently contrary to right Reason. But against how many of these Rules d● those Ornaments offend, which your Sex has made use of in your own memory? Did those Gowns keep you warm, which left your Besoms so far Naked, that 'tis scarce handsome to think on't? And could custom ever make this a modest Dress, any more than 'twould be so, for the Woman to wear the Man's Apparel, an Old Ceremony of the Pagan Worship, in cented for no good Reason, which yet is so common among the French, with whom Pistols, Hat and Feather, are no more infallible Signs of virility then riding astride, and which began to be as much in Fashion among their Mimics of this side the Water,— and yet, that last, you must own no Custom can legitimate, because against one great End of Apparel, the Distinction of Sexes, by your own confession, as well as against another which you never thought of, whereof I've been just now discoursing,— and yet this Habit chief made use of by Persons of Quality, to distinguish them from those of the Vulgar, whose Imitation they think so very disgraceful. And will not the Matter of the Apparel serve for sufficient Distinction? The Richness and the Gravity of the Fancy,— whereby true Quality is so easily distinguished from those who vainly affect to appear like it? Whence your first Assumption will do you but little Service; That ever Creature is bound to set themselves off as well as they can, and to make God's Work appear more Illustrious and Worthy of him:— But alas, Madam, can you flatter yourself, you're more like him, when you have a new Gown on, than if you were dressed all in Haircloth, or Sackcloth. Dress your Mind, and a little Care will do about the Body. Take Care to be Decent, and that's sufficient, and the less solicitous you are, perhaps the better, about Matters of this Nature.  
You say, the particular way of Adorning ourselves has no Standard, nor is it fixed by any Law— and we may change as often as we please.— But was it not better, when we kept to our old Customs, without any Law 〈◊〉 oblige us, as do most Nations in the World, besides the French and we?— and what have we got by changing our Fashions for theirs, but the Danger of changing Government too, together with them?  
And is it any sign of a stayed and wise Temper, to be always thus new-fangled; to throw away to day what we bought yesterday, tho' the Money might have been infinitely better employed, in the Relief of the Poor and Miserable, or in clothing it may be half a score poor Creatures, now half naked, with the unconscionable Serpentine:— Train of one of your Gowns; which after all, before 've worn it long enough to be well sitted t'ye, must its likely augment your Chambermaid's Wardrobe, and you are looking abroad for another. And this Monthly Adorning, this Completing yourselves, as you call it, must be in good time, the" End of HUMAN NATURE. Pray speak for your selves, and your own Sex, and involve not all Mankind in so ridiculus a Folly.  
You say, Every one would improve their Bodies, if they knew how; but the Rich and Great are those that contrive those outward Embellishments.— Upon their Shop-boards you mean Madam, or in their Exchanges:— For that the Tailors invent so many thousand Fashions at home, or brought 'em over from France, in former Reigns, who sent us their old Fashions for our old Shoes, is, I suppose, beyond Controversy.  
But then these Persons of Quality change these Fashions again, when they find they have missed their End in 'em, that is, Embellishment and Perfection. And did they never yet change for the worse? and is there not certainly a more or less becoming Dress, abstracted from all Fashions?— And what Folly is't for me to change what best becomes me, or according to you, Madam, is most conducive to the Perfection of my Nature; for nothing but mere Novelty, without any manner of Reason?  
But you have a Pretence for that too.— When a Dress is once profaned, by being worn by Vile and Ordinary Persons, it has lost its Distinguishing & Adorning Quality, and is, you say, immediately discarded, and a new one to be invented, that may better answer those Ends,— But, methinks, that's not so very civil neither, when you are imitated by others, purely out of a Veneration for your bright Example, and profound Judgement (in laying the Skirt of a Gown) as soon as they are got into your Colours, on purpose to show how highly they respect and honour you, for you immediately to throw 'em away, and maliciously leave that Fashion for no other reason.  
But for once, let's take what you say for a just occasion of doing so, When the Mob apes Quality, the end of Distinction is lost; the old Dress must be abdicated, and your Brains racked for a n●w one. Well, I desire no fairer a Concession; for I'm sure it must from hence inevitably follow, that down go all your Toppings the next moment; for if you say they are not now grown common, show me one Kitching-wench, at least on Sundays, when her Pails off, that ever appears without 'em.  
Nor can you deny, that the ancient Method of keeping in one Fashion was much the better way of Distinction, than yours, of altering every moment, because while that lasted, 'twas easy for the Law to proportion every one's Dress to their Quality, and as easy to know 'em by it; but now, according to your own Concessions, the Vulgar is continually apeing you; you change petpetually, merely out of spite, and they will still follow you close at the Heels, and put you to an endless Labour.  
Besides, you seem to place the distinction of Quality in what is at best but very precarious: Is it only in the frequency of changing? Then the Eastern Nations infinitely outdo all the Gallanty of Europe, a great part of whose Treasures consist in Vests and Changes of Raiment. Nay, even the barbarous Americans had this part of Magnificence when Cortes came among 'em, which perhaps may give us some faint Light into their Original.  
Nor is the Alteration of the Fashion any better distinction than that of the Vest; for a poor Change Girl may turn her tawdry Mantua, and alter the Fashion on it as often as any Lady of the greatest Qnality: And suppose one of the best note, and whose Fancy was most followed, should invent and practise any thing, monstrous or undecent; as for instance, to mount her Toppings two or three Yards in height, or to have a Train, long enough to sweep a Street. (they make nothing of a whole Room already) would this be ever the less undecent or extravagant? But you recur to your first Refuge,— your Scepticism in Manners— That there's nothing in itself uggly or handsome, and Custom reconciles every thing, and is the Rule of Decency. Whence it follows, that the Gentlemen and Ladies of the Cape, with their delicate Bracelets of stinking Guts, and rich Lockets of corrupted raw Flesh, are as decently dressed as any Person of Quality in Christendom.  
As for the Advantages you talk of, over Men, in Softness, Sweetness, and Beauty, I can't tell what you may have in the two latter, nor am I much concerned, but I'll own as freely as you can assert it, that you have it in the former, tho' in a Sense it may be somewhat wide from that, wherein you understand it.  
But it seems, your Notion of Beauty, as well as Decency, depends upon the common Custom; for you can't be so much as handsome, without Top-Gallants, in your own Opinion; tho' you may have heard of some ●adies in as polite a Court as any in Europe, who still continue to dress in their Hair, in spite of the Fashion, and yet appear as triumphantly as any. And ye can't but own that this is generally a more becoming Dress, (as 'tis more natural and simple) than any other.  
For your Texts, Madam, I think we had even better leave 'em to the Doctor of your Parish, since I find you make but indifferent Work with 'em, and I'm afraid I should make worse.  
I confess I always thought, Divinity and Topknots had but little to do with one another, and that 'twas scarce decent to interest any thing so grave in so frivolous a Matter. I shall therefore leave you in full possession of 'em, and only admire at the Happiness, a Woman of Learning, I see enjoys above all of her Sex or ours, that she converses with none such as are vain enough to be pleased with fine , ot think better of themselves, when dressed with the utmost Curiosity, (tho' that, as she has, the very PERFECTION of HUMAN NATURE,) than when Mobbed up in their Night-cloaths, when they expect no Spectators nor Admirers.  
And here will come in very fitly your three Conditions, which make it lawful; you think to wear the finest  you can get: First, that they be honestly come by, which I confess is prudently enough put in; because lifting 'em out of a Shop, without paying for 'em, is something dangerous, as well as scandalous. The second, that they be suitable to our Condition; that is, according to your Rules, frequently change, if of Quality; and if lower, Imitations of those Changes. Thirdly, That your Sex been't proud of 'em, nor foolishly think themselves the better for 'em,— which you have already satisfied us they never do. And lastly, that they be willing to part with 'em on the account of Necessity, Justice or Charity:— Which when they are, I dare promise 'em, others in their room, more Magnificent than were ever worn by an Empress; especially, when their Charity is so superabundant, to give away one of their Favourite Dresses, or to part with 'em, or deny themselves of 'em, to Relieve the Poorest and most Miserable Creature in Nature.  
If you know any such, you'd do your Sex a great Kindness, to instance in 'em. I desire but Twenty in Twenty Years, and give you all England to find 'em.  
But you yet plead that your Inconstancy, and Change of Fashions, encourages Ingenuity and Industry, and Trade, and all that's Good. A home Argument, it must be owned, for it abundantly laps over, as will plainly appear by the Consequence; for if whatever encouraged any Art or Trade were defensible for that Reason, it must be granted, that Quarrels and Injustice itself are very defensible, because without them the Lawyer could not get his Living. That Debauchery, Intemperance, Lewdness, are very pretty Qualifications, because the poor Vintners, and Physicians and Surgeons (to go no further) get very comfortable Livelihoods on these Occasions, and it's likely, would starve without 'em.  
But above all, who would not admire at your Ladyship, for bearing us in Hand, That a great deal of good Charity comes from this Variety of Dresses, because the ladies give away their  to their Attendants. A superabundant piece of Beneficence, to bestow an old Gown on an old Chambermaid! And is this to balance the loss of our ancient English Hospitality, which you own is so much decayed, and that it owes its Ruin in a great part to the Extravagance of your Sex, you hardly yourself ingenuously deny, since this draws all the Ladies to Town, and you, their Husbands, letting the Seats of their Ancestors drop to the Ground, for fear you should have the new Fashions a Fortnight too late, if you went not up to meet 'em.  
And besides, this wonderful Charity of you Ladies, in bestowing your Wardrobes thus plentifully on your Inferiors, which by the way your Husband is sure to pay for, and making, as you call it, a Circulation of , unluckily destroys one of the other Ends, already mentioned, and that is, encouraging Trade and Industry: For the more of your old  there are in Long-Lane, the fewer new ones must consequently be made. No, Madam, the true way to be charitable indeed to those poor Tradesmen, were to deal with your , as they say the Dutch do with their Cinnamon, and other Spices; when they have a great Harvest of 'em in the Eastern Countries, make a huge Bonfire of a great part of 'em, which effectually prevents a Glut in Europe, and gets 'em a better Trade for the Remainder,  
And now for the Strenuous Defence of your Monumental Head-Dresses, both in English and Latin, which it seems must not be Condemned, tho' you fairly own they have seeded to that Extravagant Height, that we are forced to alter our Coaches and Houses, to make you room (as the Trojans pulled down their own Walls to give the fatal Horse Admittance.— But once more, these very Alterations employ many poor People, and keep 'em from starving.— An extraordinary Advantage, just as a Bullies breaking Windows, makes Work for the Glazier, tho' the Landlord will hardly thank him.  
But they wear 'em so high, because they would seem proper, and is there any hurt in that?— Nay, I confess there's only Pride and Discontent, and a little aukard Hypocrisy in't, as well as open Folly; for the Wench that dances upon Stilts, or Jack-Pudding, that stalks with 'em from one Booth to another, may more properly be therefore accounted Tall, than one, who wears high Toppings for that Reason. Besides, that's only an Excuse for the Short; but what's this to those who are already high enough, and by this Addition are made a Match for a Garagantua.  
The most plausible thing that you can urge for 'em, is towards the Close, that They save time, which your Sex improve to better Uses. This I confess is a good Defence, if 'twere but a true one: For is't not evident, that your Sex's time lies dead upon your Hands, and you know not what to do with it; and if you are Doing nothing, you'll soon be doing Mischief; and on the other side, employing yourselves in what you are capable of, Dressing and Trifling, is at least a more Tolerable sort of Idleness.  
I had like to have overslipt one thing before we part, which well deserves Notice. You say that the Obstinacy of your Sex in this sort of Dress is a sign, That you can once be constant. I must grant it is so, but then pray answer me when you ever were so before, unless when in the wrong?— And if these odd, inconvenient, unbecoming, fantastical Windmill-Heads, are not sufficient Evidence, that you're so in the present Case; then I'll say no more, but that I am  
Your Mistaken Humble Servant, THOMAS—    

LETTER IU. That Blushing ' s no Sign of Modesty.  By Mr. SANDFORD. 
AMong all the Tinctures and Paints that the Pride of your Sex ever invented, none so cunning as that of Blushing: I know you'd have it thought Natural, but I'm satisfied 'tis no more so, than 'tis a sign of Grace or Modesty. You are grown excellent Proficients in the Arts of Dissembling.  
You are Mousers almost as soon as you can creep abroad, and play with you Fans. You learn to Blush, as you do to Weep and Feign, without any Teacher,— a Disposition 'tis in you, that may indeed be much improved by Art and Practice, and one would not think what vast Progress you'll make in a few Years. Formerly in the almost forgotten days of Virtue and Innocence, to have a good Hand at Blushing, went as far to the marrying a young Girl as a good Portion. It looked like a Red Flag of Defiance, hung out, which makes a Man of Courage more eager for the Onset. It appeared wholesome at once, and pleasing; 'twas so like an Apple next the Sun, or a fine Streaky Katherine Pear, that every Body's Mouth watered at it. It looked like a lovely Sun-shiny Evening, or any of the fine things, to which an Amorous Poet compares his Mistress.  
But those Days are gone— We are now come to an Age of much more sinful Knowledge. Your Sex, even yours, is improved in Deceit, and ours in Caution. And when we see a young Thing hanging down her Head, and her Face covered with Blushes, how are we uncharitable when we think there's some reason for't? You were therefore as good leave this Trick; which, like all others, now 'tis found out, can be no longer useful, and which has not the least Shadow of Reason to be so highly esteemed, both by your Sex, and ours, as it has been formerly. For when you Blush, either you have done somewhat, for which you ought to be ashamed, or you have not: If the latter, as you say, it often happens, why d'ye Blush at all? If the former, how come you so ill Dissemblers, to confess it,— and what are you the better for't? or what Satisfaction is't for an Ill Action? Or if for some little innocent Mistake, or Misfortune, you have still less Reason.  
A modest Assurance is after all, the best Token of Innocence; but as for Blushing, the Players themselves can do it; and those who have yet a less honest Name, in the greatest Perfection.  
Theophilus Sandford.   

Answer to Letter IU.  By Madam PRESTWOOD. 
YOU were best blame Nature, who has both given us Faces, such as they are, and Blood, to arise in 'em, and Veins to convey it thither; a in other Springs and Fountains, which she sends up from her inexhausted Store, and yet you will hardly complain of her for refreshing the World. I confess I know not what to make of Blushing, but yet I would not be without it; for 'tis, I think, a handsome silent Reproof t'ye, when your Sex speaks such things as are not fit for ours to hear; and if we blush for you, who have forgot to do't for yourselves, sure you ought not to be so highly displeased at it.  
'Tis well you own that Blushing was once reckoned a good Sign, in the Days, you say, of Virtue and Innocence, and 'twill be hard for you to show a Reason why it should now be disused, unless because your Sex has driven those her two Companions out of the World.  
A Blush is the Daughter of Modesty, and no wonder you are so ready to quarrel with her, when you have so long since proclaimed open War against the Mother. What is more ingenuous than this Emotion in the Young and Innocent, and who is there that's not pleased to see it?  
'Tis a sort of a Natural Virtue, and an Indication how good we should all be, would but you let us alone. Shamefacedness is the first and last Guard of Innocence, which well may be supposed to bleed at the sight of her Murderers.  
Sometimes you pretend there's nothing in't commendable, because 'tis not voluntary, but that's easily answered, for that the Habit of Modesty, whence it flows, may be easily lost, your Sex can furnish us with numerous Examples.  
But he must be very much in Love with Paradoxes, who shall pretend to prove that the Act of Blushing is in our own power, so that any one can Blush when they please, which you may persuade the World is true, when you can but so much as sneeze in that manner, without using any thing to provoke it.  
You say many Blush, who have no Modesty. I can't tell that, but am rather inclined to believe they have still some Sparks on't left, and much more than those that speak âgainst it, wherein they contradict the Sentiments of all places, and all Ages, as well as common Experience, Sense and Reason.  
Judith Prestwood.   

LETTER V Against Vizard Masques.  By Sir HENRY— 
AN Over-grownblack Patch! I'm as Zealous against the Mother, as an old Puritan would be against all the abominable Daughters. Be as ugly as you will, let us see you, but you're too wise, for then 'tis ten to nothing, we avoid you.  
Yet there are some of you have indifferent Saleable Faces, and what reason have those to hid 'em? Is't for fear they should blush and tell Tales, put on your Masque for once when you read this, least Murder should out before you are ware on't.  
If you are really handsome, you imjure both yourselves and us, by clapping this Potlid-Face between us and you. If you are not, and talk pertly to us, how many Thousand Lies are you the occasion of? How well are we all o'th' sudden acquainted, though we ne'er saw one another before in our Lives? How sure are we, that we are intimately acquainted with that Chin, and those Eyes: 'Tis impossible we should be mistaken either in the Leer of one, or the Dimple of the other; besides that inimitable soft Charming Voice of yours, to which, we could make Affidavit, and know it as well as our own Nurses.  
Well, after all this Chatt, which has lasted 2 or 3 Scenes, up goes the Curtain, and a very Sycorax stairs us in the Face, so Frightful perhaps and Ghastly, that if Macbeth's a Playing, we are teady to take you for one of the Witches, vanished from the Stage into the Pit or Galleries, than we Nauseate all our own compliments, start at the thoughts of a Succubus, and would not stay a moment longer with you, though like one of the wayward Sisters before mentioned, you would give us a Kingdom for our reward.  
And yet what honest meaning can you have by thus putting out the Lights? Some dark work sure you have a mind to be employed in, and by this stratagem you can defy Day itself, and make it Night whenever you please.  
They talk of Witches calling the Moon out of Heaven, but you have found a way to call the Sun thence, or which is the same thing, make it shine in vain, and never reproach your crimes, or hinder your satisfactions.  
Truth, indeed, seeks the Light, and hates all Disguises, but what's that to Women, who are never more like themselves, then when they're Incognito, and who have this still to say for't, that they can't appear in a worse shape than their own.  
And now we talk of Truth, I wonder how the old doting Moralists, came to make that, and all the other Virtues of the Feminine Gender. Fortitude itself, or Manhood, though it carries the Nobler Sex in its Nature, in most Languages, me yet is reckoned of the other. If there were no Virtues, but what were to be found in that Sex, 'twould almost tempt one to be of their doting opinion; who pretend Virtue and Vice are both the same, and differ only in Name, and Imagination,  
But I think, they reckon the seven deadly Sins too of the same Gender, and in that I confess, they have made some amends.  
And there's hardly any of 'em that your Mask would not fit, for what some of your Flatterers have said of some of your Sex, that if virtue were to take a visible shape, 'twould certainly appear in theirs, may with more Justice and Reason be said of Vice, at least as to a great part of you, who when once you give your minds to it, infinitely exceed Mankind, and are more tightly wicked.  
But you wear not this Velvet scurf for nothing. No, 'tis that the Amorous Sun mayn't look upon you; nor the wind kiss you so close till it Chap your pretty Lips; or for fear Apollo himself and all the Zephirs should fall in Love with you.  
But if that be your Fear, throw your masks by, for 'tis natural to desire what's unknown; the Philosophers tells us, that Black drinks in the Rays of the S●●, more greedily than any other Colour: That subtle Chemist makes Gold in the deepest Caverns of the Earth, however he seldom or never exposes it, without some thin Crust over it, and who knows but through such a Feeble Curtain, he may more easily transform your Faces, at least into the same Complexion? He may double-Gild you, or at worst, Lackar you over, though he'll not be at the Charges to finish the Process; or go quite thorough with his Transmutation.  
However, of this you can't be ignorant, that the closer you keep vout selves from him, the more close he sticks t'ye, when once he gets you at an advantage; while those who are always exposed to his Courtship, and are not so squeamish as you. he requites 'em with a natural Mask, which can defy all Wethers, and will last 'em as long as their Lives.  
HENRY—   

Answer to Letter V.  By DAPHNE— 
IF there are really such terrible things Lurking under a poor Mask, as you'd make us believe, and the very harmless Bead, that belongs to't, be as Mortal as a chawed Bullet, I wonder you don't go on with your Reformation, and not only pluck that off, but serve us as you sometimes do some of our Sex, whom you find too honesis, gives us an ill Name, and turn us out to the Rabble, to strip us for all together.  
Sometimes we expose ourselves overmuch, if but a part of our Necks happen to be seen, and we Veil 'em not as an African Lady; your Modest Eyes are presently offended, you are as angry as Olivia, and we are la●ing Nets and Springs for amorous Woodcocks, and all stark naught to your own certain knowledge.  
Will nothing please you? Will you make Laws for us, and repeal 'em again the next moment, or will you oblige us, by such as are perfectly contradictory to each other, or rule us absolutely without any Laws at all? Yes, doubtless, that humours most your perverse Appetites: You'd all be Tyrants if you could, but we shall claim the liberties of our Country, we are all Free born English subjects, and had as good have no Government at all as such as we had better be without. Be as much our Masters and our Sovereigns as you please, the Law is your best Defence, as well as ours, and you must never hope so far to alter the Fundamental Constitutions, as to render this the Purgatory of Women, which has been esteemed and called their Paradise from immemorial Ages.  
You must therefore give us leave when our Rights are thus invaded, to stand up for 'em, at least quietly and modestly. Pray let us have the right of addressing, lest we should be tempted to take more. Let us however, sigh under our Grievances, for fear if you should be so unreasonable to deny that easy remedy, we should be forced on those that would be more violent, and like overloaded Camels, throw off the unequal Burden.  
My Mask's my Sanctuary, I'm in my own House, my Castle, if you attempt to turn me out of that, if you dare but so much as draw a Latch, look you to what follows!  
I'll take leave to turn one of your own Canons upon you, since I'm so closely besieged: Either you are pleased to see us look well, or you are not: If you should have no more Wit nor Conscience, then to choose the latter, what is't to you whether you ever see us or no? If the former, why are you displeased with our endeavours to preserve that little Beauty Nature has given us? Especially when you don't stick, to say 'tis the only thing for which you value us.  
I know there is now and then the appurtenances of some Bags, but they are no more a part of us, then of our Goldsmiths or Guardians.  
We must not Paint, nor make use of an innocent Patch or two, to look a little more Gallant, and distinguish ourselves from the very Mob (amongst whom, though you're never so well acquainted, you can expect no writing-Ladies) nor hardly I think so much as wash our Faces. Yet surely they are our own, and we may let you see 'em or not as we think fit, and if we mayn't mend 'em, may at least preserve 'em. Why are you not as Chargin at us for wearing Gloves, which if you please you may call Masking our Hands, as for thinking fit to hid our Faces, and yet if we happen but to pull one of those off, either necessary or innocently, we must be called a thousand Vanitics? 'Twas to show the white hand, and that all might admite it. Turn the Argument to the Face and try your Skill in Answering it.  
Pray where's the conscience or modesty of your Sex, or at least that so much boasted Reason, in denying us such perfectly innocent Customs as these, and so loudly exclaiming against 'em? Is't because you lay so many, and such easy Restraints on your own Desires? Because you are so very modest, so over Virtuous, so wonderfully mortified, that you can't so much as endure any thing in your Sight, that you are pleased to call Vanity? Shut your Eyes then of all Loves, break all your great Glasses, make Scare-crows of your Flaming Wigs, and reform all those Fooleries which we have as fairly told you of, in answer to one or other of your Letters, as ever you did us of ours.  
Daphne—   

LETTER VI That Women are more cruel than Men.  By Sir THOMAS— 
WHich will appear beyond Contradiction by an Induction of Particulars. You are evidently more cruel to Enemies, and even to Friends: To your Rivals, and your lovers, and your very own dear selves, which would make one less wonder at your Barbarity to all the rest.  
And first for your Enemies, whom if you conquered by Right of War, and only made use of the Advantages which Fortune gave you, as did your strapping Amazonian Predecessors, when they rambled about the World, and carried Slaughter & Destruction with 'em where ever they came; this would be somewhat more excusable: But a Coward no more dares be Brave, than Merciful, nor is therefore likely to Attack openly one he hates. You have more Sure and Private Methods of Destruction: You outdo the very Crocodile, who is said to weep over her Prey; for you kill smiling, and destroy embracing, like the Tyrant's Daughter, as he called her; who had an Engine dressed up like a Beautiful Woman, to whom he led those he had a mind to be rid of, who advancing to Salute her, she immediately closed her Arms, and Crushed 'em to Death.  
'Tis a common Observation, that we never hear of any remarkable Mischief, rarely of any Bloody Murder, but there's a Woman at one end on't; and that you exceed the most Barbarous Thiefs and Banditti in Thirst of Blood, those poor Travellers feel, who fall into the Hands of such People, when they have any of your Sex among them. You have all a Touch of the Wild-Irish in ye. You do ten times more Mischief than the Men; and if Candles are to be made of Heretical Tallow, or a Sprawling Child or two to be roasted, who but a Woman to dip her Hands in the Grease of one, and Spit and Baste the other?  
And if you can do this in Cold Blood, and from an Innate Love to Cruelty, with little or no Provocation, what is the Viper then when his Spirits are enraged? What a Figure d'ye make when possessed with your own proper Spirit (for you need no worse) that I mean of Malice and Revenge? How amiable do you all look when you're angry? How sweetly are all your Museles turned? How mild your Eyes? How soft your Voice, and how like Incarnate Women all over?  
The Worm turns a Serpent, and that a Dragon; you breathe as many Knives as a Juggler ever swallowed; you von●● Ropes as he does Ribbons, and have as many sorts of Poisons as he brings Liquors from the Sponge between his Teeth; you run-a-muck at all Mankind, Ranverse Nature, and ●ire the World.  
This in ordinary Cases, but if you are once wrought to the height, if your jealousy or your Ambition urges you on new Methods of Ruin; if your Desires are defeated, or your Loves refused, or your Crimes exposed, you are then a thousand times worse than I've yet described; more Nests of Hells and Furies swarm within you; you are more venomously, more rancorously implacable; all Blasting, Lightning, and Hurricane. In short, so superlatively bad, that none but you yourselves can Conceive or Describe it.  
Tho' after all, I think, you are less dangerous when you appear thus in your own proper Shapes, than when disguised, almost past Knowledge, in those of Love and Friendship: For than you perfectly drill us to Death, and murder us, as they say Witches do, by turning us into Pin-cushions, and sticking us all over with Nails and Bodkins, like an Orange with Cloves, or Bergerac with his Flies, to give us the more lingering Torments.  
Or else, to return to Witches again, when you have once Metamorphosed a Man into that Brute of a Lover, you straight clap a Broom-staff behind him, and switch him thro'thick & thin in all your Aerial Journeys, which way soever the Vane happens to turn, the unaccountable Jaunts, and endless wild Goose Chases of your own Jack-a-Lent Fancies, and unaccountable Humours.  
A famous Doctor is of Opinion, that Spirits, tho' separate, have yet a Plastic Power over Matter, and can mould a Body into whatsoever Form or Shape they please, as we can a bit of Wax: For Example— A Man into a Pudding,— a Woman into a Snake or Cat, or any other Mischievous Creature. An old Man, and a Child into a Cockle, or an Oyster; which last may the more easily be brought about, if that will but hold, which is very positively asserted by another Grave Philosopher, that their Souls are the same already, or that he can hardly imagine any Difference between 'em. But whether or no one word of this be true, 'tis sure enough, you make us what you please, and most maliciously alter the very Form and Figure of many a poor Lover; sometimes you draw out his Neck, till by Virtue of a loosning Plaster of Hemp, 'tis as long as the Glutton wished his own: But much oftener his Ears to that prodigious length, that Midas was a mere Roundhead to him.  
At one time you screw his Face into a thousand Antic Forms, at another his whole Body, which looks Asquint after you have once overlooked him, as much as those Eyes which did it. His Chap falls, he hears with his Mouth, and only eats with his Eyes; his Hands dangle, if they don't happen to fall cross one another; and in a word, you steal him away from himself, and leave a perfect Changeling in his Room; and if there can be a higher or base Instance of barbarous Cruelty, than not only to do this, but to Triumph in it; and when you have adorned your Courts and Antichambers with such Brutes of your own transforming, as Circe's Palace was stocked with, to divert yourself, with setting the poor Creatures together by the ears, to tear one another's Hearts out. I say, if you can show me any thing more brutally cruel than this, which is your constant Practice; why, then I must own your Sex has one Reserve of Mischief, wherewith I was never yet acquainted.  
But it's in vain for Man to expect better Quarter, when your own Sex, if any thing handsome, are as implacably hated by you as old Age, or a foolish faithful Friend, that tells you all your Faults, in hopes to make you better. You would all be Eleanors if you had R●samonds to deal with, and what maze so intricate, that you have not a Model on't in your own Minds? Pulling Quoifs is nothing,— Tear out the Jades Eyes; off with her Nose (tho' war' Coventry;) stamp her under Feet; she have my Man; she seduce my Husband; she pretend to be as handsome as me; I'll eat her Heart; I'll gnaw her Soul; I'll grind her till she's invisible.  
Nay, Your Cruelty is extended, even to yourselves as dearly as you dote upon 'em: Never were there elsewhere any Cannibals so fierce, as to eat themselves, and feed on their own Flesh, tho' they perhaps might now and then make a luscious Feast on a fat Friend, or Enemy. Envy makes you gnaw your own Entrails, defeated Malice or Revenge sets you oftentimes quarrelling with yourselves, and wreaking your Spite on your own Minds or Bodies, because you can't reach others: But Pride is the most vexatious Devil of all your Tormentors.  
To this you are half Martyrs; for this 'tis that you so often wear a Scotch Boot all over ye. The Thumbkin's a Jest to't, and no more than a straight pair of Gloves. You are so far from allowing yourselves room to Eat, that you care not whether you can breathe or no, so you can but look fine, and have your admirable Shape commended. What a Bastile of Whalebone you drag about with you? You are more th●● chained, for you are both Pinioned and Manacled, and can stir no otherwise than a poor Reynard, caught in a Trap, which he drags after him;— tho' subtle as you are, his Cunning here goes beyond ye; for he'll gnaw off his own Leg to get out of Prison, but you would do the same, rather than be delivered,— any more than S— n in the Jakes, on his own Sabbath; and since you are so fond of your Cage, 'twere, I think, pity to disturb you, and there I leave ye.  
THOMAS—   

Answer to Letter VI.  By Madam GODFREY— 
BLess us Sir! What Monsters you make us, sure you were never born of a Woman, or at least will take care never to touch one of those infectious Creatures, lest you should blister all over.  
We used to reckon ourselves pretty harmless Creatures, soft and mild, and tender hearted, and were ready to screek when we did but hear of any Bloody Murder committed by your Sex, and always afford our Pity to the greatest Criminals when they are miserable. Nay, a higher instance of our Compassionate Temper, we have too often no more Wit then to believe you, when you swear and whine and make ugly Faces, and pretend you have no choice but that of Ragoo, the Woman or the Gallows, and are of a quite contrary humour to his, for you'll Dangle if you mayn't have the Woman, he rather than have her. And thus you seduce us, like other easy Friends, to bail you Body for Body, and soon get laid up in your Room, while you, when your Turn is ●uce served, never more value or regard us.  
You say we are Cruel to our Enemies, if we were indeed severe towards them, and justly punished 'em, you could not very reasonably blame us, but it is too evident, our fault lies on the other side, and we are over-merciful. What more formidable Enemy have we then Mankind, without whose help the Devil himself could not hurt us, as they say he cannot Poison without the Witch, to whom but you, do so many of us owe their Ruin, and how few of ye are there, that do not bear the same Malice in Heart against our whole Sex, and would, if you had an opportunity, treat 'em in the same manner; and yet, Ah! you know we are but too ready to forgive you.  
If we should grant that where a Woman is once throughly engaged in any Barbarous Action, so contrary to our Natures, she is then more cruel, even than you who instruct her, yet all that we can thence conclude is, that a Renegade is the Bloodiest Turk; that your Company and Conversation can change our Natures, and make us sometimes run wild like yourselves; and lastly, that the Corruption of the best things is the worst, and that we may therefore guests how excellent the Wine was once, which is now grown such keen Vinegar.  
I well hoped you would have stopped your Career, when you had run so far as to make us in our Fury, overturn whole Nature, and Fire the World; But it seems, Sir T. you have more mischief for us still to do: In the case of Jealousy, Ambition, or Revonge, when we are wrought, you say to the height, but I confess, I thought both you and we had been in our Altitudes before, and that you looked and spoke in the last Paragraph, exactly like one that had owly ●●st his Minress, and was just Raving at the Disappointment The Truth is, after you had made us destroy one World, you ought at least to have taken care for another, some Foothold, and Foundation to play our pranks upon, before you had brought us upon the Stage, and not left us floating in Chaos without any Mercy.  
You are often talking of Witches, Sir T. are you sure none of 'em ever did you any injury? Authors say they can work strangely upon the Imagination; sometimes they'll make my Lord Mayor himself, and all his Hounds mistake an old Woman for a Hare, as stout a Puss as ever went panting over Bansted Downs. At other times they'll steal a Trick from Pimperlepimp, and persuade ye, that you see vast heaps of Money before ye, as large as the Bankers have in their Chests; Anon they'll make you think all you see is Rawhead, and Bloody-Bones, and as Pentheus' Aunts and Mother mistook him for a Wild-Boar, so you take all our soft and innocent Sex, for Hyaena's and Tygresses.  
If you are really of that opinion, 'twill be in vain to attempt persuading you out on't, especially while you labour under such an infected imagination. But if you should happen ever to come to yourself again, pray Answer a Question or two, which you may easily remember, for your memory I find is still indifferent sound, though you may be, I fear, a little touched in your other Faculties.  
Of What Sex think ye was Phalaris, Mezentius, Sylla, Catiline, Domitian, and Near, and all the other Famous Tyrants in the World?  
And who are those, who now make so great a disturbance in it, and have for so many years indeed endeavoured to overturn it?  
They are, if I mistake not, the Men, who Kill, Burn, and Ravish for Sixpence a day all over Chistendom, unless you'll say they are too Generous to set their Villainies at so low a rate, and that they rather commit 'em, as we do, for their own satisfaction and diversion.  
And with the same Justice, you would have us Answer for all the Antic Tricks you are guilty of, when the Spirit of Love has possessed ye. Whatever Beasts you turn yourselves into, let not us Answer for it. Can we help the growth of your Ears, or would you have us dress all your sham-sore-Hearts, which you expose as other Beggars do their Legs, or Heads, to wring out the Charity of every well disposed Fool th●● passes by 'em? No, in these Cases People are now generally hardened, and much for the same reason, and therefore pray take the same Answer: We cannot give to all, and there's so many cheats, we know not whom to believe.  
But suppose you could get off the latter, the former will still remain and be unanswerable. Are we cruel because we don't make minced Meat of our Hearts, and give a little to every pretender? Or would every one of you have all, and force us to work Miracles to content you?  
For aught I see, should we Quarter ourselves and give every one of ye a piece, even that would not satisfy, and we should be only reproached with Cruclty to ourselves, instead of kindness to you; since you already are so disingenuous to reproach us as guilty of the same vice, because we put ourselves to some inconvenience, and it may be, pain too, in our Dresses, merely to oblige your Generous Sex, who thus thank us for it.  
Rachel Godfrey.   

LETTER VII. That in a Dishonourable Arnour the Woman's most to blame.  By Mr. PALMER— 
THat you were the first Tempter's of Mankind, I think you won't deny, and 'twould be to as little purpose, to pretend that you han't followed that Trade ever since. But supposing that now and then it should be otherwise, yet 'tis certain, if you'd never yield, none would ever tempt you, which it may be they begin often in Jest, when you catch 'em at their word, and yield in earnest.  
However, I doubt not to prove, that whoever gins such an Intrigue, the women are always most in fault in the managing it, for they have the Restraints of Modesty, and Shame and Nature, or if they shake off these, a strong bias of Interest and Custom, They run much the greater hazard in their Person and Reputation. They know all this, they have heard a thousand times, that those Oaths on which they force our Sex in those mac●ers, are reckoned but things of course, and 〈…〉 Obligatory than their own 〈◊〉 Erernal Friendship. They see their Neighbours ruin'd every day, it may be their Kindred, their Sisters, their Friends, or their near Acquaintance: Yet they'll on in the same Road, 'tis Green and Pleasant, they have agrecable company in it, and it humours their Vanity, they are admired and praised, and kneered and sung to, and treated and caressed, and for this they part with two Worlds, and think they have a good bargain.  
Nay, how can they deny but they tempt their Tempter's? For how frequently does it so fall out, and yet they expect to be pitied for what they are ruined for. What is't they Dress and Dance, and Patch and Paint, and Sing and Sigh, and Ogle, and lay all the Love-Nets with which they are furnished, either by Art or Nature, what's all this ado for, but to please, and why would they plcase but to be ruined? They dress themselves irresistably, and then complain that they ca●●e resist others: They trifle in the Flame till they burn their silken wings, and then buzz unpityed about the Room, or creep into some chink or corner, and are starved to Death.  
The Man has generally none to govern him, or to advise him better, but you have a Father, a Friend, a Guardian, or it may be a Husband. But I ask your pardon, since on better thoughts the odds rather lies there on your side; the very apprehension of restraint is sufficient, to make any true woman break her Neck to get lose, and she'll ten times rather choose to fall, then to accept of any such Friendly hands to support her.  
Again, how equal soever they may be in the Crime, it's certain that custom makes a wide difference in the Disgrace and Disreputation. It ruins the Woman, but which of you likes the Man ever the worse? I wish I need not say, you often like him the better. However, a Slip of youth covers all, but it stands you in stead to set your Foot firm, for if you fall, Farewell for ever!  
And is there not some reason, that the greater weight of shame should be cast on the Woman, since there's so much depends on her Fidelity and Honesty? The Estate, if she's false, is carried into another Blood, and the true heirs irrecoverably injured. Besides the Disgrace that lights on the Husband, his Honour not being in his own keeping, but enclosed in as slender a viol as Franeion allots, to something that requires equal care to preserve it.  
Lake Palmer—   

Answer to Letter VII.  By Madam CROCKFORD. 
NOW, could you prove this indeed, 'twould be a great piece of Service to your Sex, and be a Means of giving ye what you could none of ye  pretend to, that is, the Reputation of a little good Nature and Modesty: But that the Charge is notoriously False and Vujusst, and the mere Effect of Malice and Revenge, is evident to any Person, that has but a Dram o' Sense:— And indeed one would admire how 'tis possible for Man to be guilty of such, more than Diabolical Villainy, as to use all their Wit and Industry to Court, Flatter, nay, even Force a Woman to Ruin, and then turn all the Obliquy and Shame of the Action upon her, and pretend they'd ne'er Attempted, had they not been sure o' Success:— That there's some of our Sex too Credulous and Weak, we will not deny; that their good Nature does sometimes betray 'em to Intrigues, that are not Justifiable, we also grant; but that they are most to blame on these Occasions, you can never make any unprejudiced Person believe: which Party is it, pray, makes the first Onset? 'Tis not the Custom of our Sex, howe'er Inferior to yours, to become your Petitioners. Is it not you Men that are always at pains of Courtship: And, if in a Criminal Amour, how many Sighs, Vows, and Slavish Submissions, must a Man be guilty of, before he can obtain the least Favour? You say our Sex has the Restraints of Modesty and Reputation, etc. which yours want: Really, we're obliged to'e, that you'll grant us so much, tho' I'm pretty well satisfied you'd rather we were without those Restraints, that you might have the Pleasure of Damning yourselves, and Ruining us at an easier Rate. But I say, how much Time, Watching, Presents, Bribing of Servants, Carressing of Friends, eternal Waiting, constant unwearied Importunities must a Man be at the Expense of, before he makes a Complete Conquest.  
Whereas if we were so naturally inclined to Lewduess, we should be glad to accept the first Offer, or at least, not refuse too long, lest our eager Spark should retire, without letting us have the Pleasure o' Surrend'ring.  
But the Truth is, which you all know, tho' you'll be hanged before you'll confess it; Women are naturally more Cold and Chaste than Men, tho' should we grant our Passions equal, 'twould but more Enhance the Esteem of our Virtue, since 'tis more difficult for those Persons to be honest, that have violent Inclinations to the contrary, than 'tis for them that have not such Desires: But we will not pretend to more Virtue than we really have, and therefore freely own ourselves not so Amorous as you.: And consequently, were there any such thing as a Virtuous Man, he could not have too large Commondations.  
You say 've not so many Friends to advise with as we: But pray, whose fault is that? What hinders your having Good Counsel, beside your own Pride and Vanity, which makes you scorn to hear it? And what you say of us in this Case, may with good reason be be returned upon you, should any Friend be so kind to admonish you, the very Apprehension of such a Restraint would be sufficient to make any Man Choose, and more eagerly pursue his Destruction. And that way at least he would justify his pretending to be Absolute Master of himself, by showing that he dares be Damned, in spite of all Warning, either from Friends or Enemies.  
As for your other Argument, that however Equal in the Crime, the Woman's Disgrace. is greatest, it's easily answered, to your own Eternal Confusion,— 'Tis true, we are more taken Notice of, and Reproached; but why? Is it not because the almost Universal Debauchery of your Sex keeps People from minding it; when if a Woman be guilty of Swearing, Drinking, or the other Vice you charge us with, it's presently carried from one to another, like a piece of strange incredible News, till at last it becomes the Town Talk. But you say we like you the better for your Slips of Youth, as you call your worst of Crimes:— Did any Woman ever tell ye so? We often marry Men, that are, or have been Vicious, and how is it possible to help it? For if we resolved to Marry none but those of undoubted Virtue and Honesty, 'twould be the same thing, as to Vow perpetual Virginity, since among the vast Number of your Sex, 'twould be impossible to find enough to keep 100 of the Women in England out of a Nunnery. Your last Argument has the most Reason, tho' I'm too weary of the Subject, to talk any more on't, only thus much I shall observe,— That it's no Argument of Woman's being the Worse, or the Weaker Sex, that Heaven, which cannot err, has entrusted her with the Estate, Honour, and Quiet of the Family.  
Esther Crockford.   

LETTER VIII. Against Romances.  By Sir THOMAS— 
I Thought I had done with Love; but 'tis such a Pertinacious Devil, that tho' conjured down never so often, 'twill still rise again, and disturb the World. Now it appears in the Shape of some distressed Damsel, or Pensive Knight, and erects its Trophys on as many Sacks full of Romances, as ever the old Woman and the Curate Sacrificed to the Flames, when they cleared Don Quixot's Study, and b●oke him for a Speculative Knight Errand; and had they sent all the rest after, and t' had been Death for any Scribbler to have plagued the World with any more of the same Brood, t' had been a happy thing for us all: But especially for you Women, whose Libraries one might almost venture to reckon up, and swear to, without ever seeing 'em.— Almahide, Ariana, Aristotle's Problems, Astraea, Clelia, Cleopatra, Culpepper, 'twould make a Catalogue indeed, to run through the whole Alphabet, and would tyre the Brazen Lungs of a Stentor, or a Jeffries, to repeat one quarter of 'em.— And if among the Crowd there should happen to be one stray Solitary Prayer-Book, or Practice of Piety, it's sure to have a Cobweb woven cross the Leaves, instead of a pair of old-fashioned Strings or Ribbons. There it lies, and has never been disturbed since the last great Thunder: You Women, for your parts, know how to employ your Time much better, at least more to your Satisfaction. In some brisk new airy Romance you find both your Matins and Evensongs:— That's your Epistle, and Gospel and all; your first and last Employment. For this you part with Sloth itself; nay, your darling Pride can hardly Rival it; for you'll rather grow old for want of Sleep; nay, venture firing the House, and bring yourself Spitchcockt in the middle on't, then leave off before 've done the Story.  
Which that you may be sure not to forget, you make all the haste you can to Transcribe it into your own Life and Actions; Spirit away every Lady or Knight that you most fancy, and make 'em all your own; nor are you more transformed from your true Selves, in your Bodies, when you appear in public with borrowed Cheeks, or Teeth, or Eyes, than your Minds are Metamorphosed by the Transfusion of these Fooleries;— And when a Woman does change, there's little need of proving 'tis for the worse. The Lover must be the sweet Knight, Montelion; the Mistress, the most Chaste and Virtuous Damsel Dulcinea, Asteria, Statira, Hortensia, Valeria, and so down to Calia and Phillis. The old Bawd of a Confident, nothing better or worse than the Sage Vrganda; every little Gobetween, some Dwarf or Vizard; and it may be, the Father himself, or Relation, and best Friend she has, some wicked Enchanter, or cruel Jailor; and the Rival to be sure, no less than the confounded Giant Pandafilando. Nay, worse than all this, we shall find few of those Books but have some fight Lady or other, a First-rate Heroine in the Story, who either in Disguise, or else bare-faced, with her Beaver up, and sometimes her Hair about her Ears, shall rush into the Battle, lay about her like the Amazonian Dame, Penthesilie, and kill ye for a Breakfast some Forty or Fifty Men. Now, what a dangerous Precedent this is to their Sex, and of how ill Consequence to ours, I leave to the practical Judgement of any poor Confessor or M●●●yr in Matrimony, who has often found 〈◊〉 honoured and obeyed with a Threefoo● 〈◊〉, or a Ladle, while he's forced to wor●●●● Rampant Spouse in the strictest Sense o● 〈◊〉 Word, fall upon his Knees, to save his Shoulders, and Adore his Wife Incarnate, as the Indian does other Fiends, merely in his own Defence, and for fear they should devour him.  
And all this they can do, because they dare. From the E●●●y●ng Examples they learn from their ●●ad●es, and read in Romances, as Modern Regicides and Debauchees are hardened, by reading the Achievements of their Predecessors in former Ages. And if they fai● to inspire 'em with a Fight Familiar, they do at least with a loving one, which it may be will prove more importunate, aod trouble● 〈◊〉 the former: This renders 'em imper●ment, vain, and uneasy to themselves and others. They form Ridiculous and Impossible Notions, and attempt as Absurd Actions. 'Tis true, the Defenders of these sort of Writings will tell you they must draw their Hearse something bigger than the Life, because some A●●● once must be made for Distance; but granting this, yet what need of so vast and unnatural a disproportion, as we almost always find between a Romantic and a● Historical Hearse? You'll say true History affords not near so much Diversion as a well penned Roman●●● But can your Sex be pleased with 〈◊〉 but Lies? or 〈◊〉 there not 〈…〉 noble, as well as instructive in ●●●●ory, (were that your Province of which, more before you and I part) It's a strange Green-sickness sort of Appetite, which generally and almost universally reigns in the Minds of your Sex, that nothing will down with you but Trash and Wall, Trifles and Baubles, while you turn up your Noses, and pout at wholesome Food. 'Tis true, were you always Children, or would you but think yourselves what you really are, 'twould be the best Excuse that could be brought for your doting so much on these sort of writings, which a witty Man says may be of very good use to Children, to allure 'em to Reading, and the Study of better things: But you seem to make these the very Top and End of your Learning, and neither go any further, nor desire to do so: The great Children are still in their Hornbooks, and very well pleased with 'em too; or if they do take out, 'tis to something a Form lower than A●sop's Fables. An infallible Proof of what has been often asserted by your humble Dotards, that you have equal Capacity with those whom Nature has justly made your Masters, and who leave you to take up with those Exercises, when you come to what should be your Years of Discretion, which they soon after their Infancy learned to despise, leaving the reading Romances, the making ●irt-Pyes, and playing with your Sex altogether.  
THOMAS—   

Answer to Letter VIII. For Reading Romances.  By Madam GODFREY— 
WE never had yet, a she- Quixote, that I read or heard of, and therefore it seems, make not such an ill use of Romances, as you yourselves who have Composed 'em. You can scarce Name two or three, that were ever Written by a Woman, and if you were the Authors, you published 'em with a Design they should be Read, and we never yet knew of any Public Act, directed by our Masters to your poor Slaves, whereby on pain of your displeasure, we were prohibited to read 'em. 'Tis hard however, that you put us to defend your Follies, as well as our own, and contrary to your own Rules, Sir T— for you threatened us, only with what was peculiar to our Sex; whence 'tis evident, that you are not able to find any great matter against us,  
For once however we'll try to split the Hair, and leaving the Extravagance and ill effects of those sorts of Books, to be defended by their Authors, do not doubt, but we shall find a way to excuse at least our Reading 'em, and to suck Honey even out of those Poisonous Flowers, with which you present us.  
Not that you could justly blame us, neither were there never so much mischief in those kind of Books, for we are, you say, weak and innocent Creatures, and 'tis not easy for us to know the difference between Good and Evil, yet you take no manner of care of our Education, you leave us to Servants and Dancing Masters, instruct us not what to choose, or what to avoid; whereas you are so partial to your own Sex, that our Brothers have all the assistance of ingenious Literature, you give 'em an early taste of Science, and by the perusal of Good Authors. let 'em into the Wisdom of former Ages: We attempt to follow 'em, from the natural Principle of Imitation, as far as we are able, but Alas! are soon left for want of some to Guide us; we then take up sometimes with Romance, instead of Solid History, and how should we know any better, when if you teach us to Write and Read, that's all we are to expect toward the Cultivation of our minds, and yet you are so unconscionable to reflect upon us, if they happen to be more Barren than yours  
But yet it's undeniable, that both the Style and the matter of these Books are of some Advantage to us: They teach us Words, and let us into the Beauties of our own Language: They are in some sort more instructive, as well as much more diverting than many Histories: An Historian relates things as they really are, or at least ought to do so; but a fine Romance gives 'em us as they ought to be, or as the Reader would wish 'em; he's sure to bring off the principal Hero, and his Mistress Triumphant and Happy: The Storms they meet with make their Future Success more agreeable to the Reader, and besides arm our Minds against the Reverse of Fortune. What is't to the Purpose whether the Subjects of the Relation were Real or Fabulous Persons; or if they ever had any real Existence, whether they Acted or Spoke just as is there represented? If every thing is above the Life, it is not likely to make stronger Impressions than if it were only a faint Imitation of what really happened. Besides, pray what Infallible Rule can your Wisdoms give us, whereby we may distinguish Truth from Falsehood in the Gravest Historians? I think you reckon Livy none of the meanest, and would you have us be such very Oafs to believe Mutius Scevola ever spoke that fine Oration, when his Fist was a broiling, which he has made for him? No,— I'll as soon believe all Clelia as one Word on't, any more than that his Generals had nothing else in their Heads just before Engagements, than to make fine Orations which it is not likely the thousandth par● of their Army could ever hear.  
And when we add to this, the base Partiality, Flattery, Prejudice, Interest, Malice, which we find in most Historians, and which we lie so bare, that even we can see it● Vices, wherewith none can charge our Innocent Romances; this will in great part excuse our reading the latter, and being less concerned that we can't so often come by the former.  
But yet further, none can deny but that here are excellent Examples o● Courage, Fidelity, Chastity and Obedience, of the strictest and the nicest Honour and Virtue that can easily be any where found, which we hope are not the worse for being described, in an agreeable Style, and Diverting manner.  
As for those who  on 'em to that degree that you represent, as we don't defend 'em, so we doubt not but many more of your Sex are guilty of such Extravagancies, because we are generally otherwise employed, and only read 'em now and then for Diversion; but you, when you are once at your own Disposal, must do that or worse, and therefore are more universally besotted with 'em.  
Rachel Godfrey.   

LETTER IX. That a Black-a-moor Woman is the greatest Beauty.  By Mr. BEXFORD 
TAke 'em as they come, for I don't pretend Power of Creation, and none who is without it can bring any order out of a Sex that's all confusion. This Bomb is levelled directly against one Angle of your Pride, and I hope will lay it low enough. You generally show that Judgement for which some so much admire you, in being most pleased with the vainest and most ridiculous things you can think of, among which I may justly reckon your complexions: I call 'em yours on supposition you came honestly by 'em, and that they were fairly bought and paid for: But supposing for once you should be beholden to Nature only for 'em, and Art had nothing to do in their Composition, han't you, think you, great reason to be Proud of what a Tulip enjoys in so much greater perfection, and yet a stinking useless Flower after all; Good for nothing, but like yourselves, to be set a top of a Cupboard, or adorn a Chimney? Nature has however in one thing been so civil to mankind, that we can't but admire both her Kindness and her Justice. She has generally given you a mark, that the you flatter yourselves, you may not be able to deceive us, and the Fairer you are— I'll only say, we know you are not the wiser. But after all, since there will be some womanized Fools of our own Sex, that can't be kept from running mad for the outside of a skin, and doting on a fine Complexion, I shall prove, to mortify their Pride and yours, that a despised Mooress is really a greater Beauty than all your Finieal chalky-faced European Ladies; The Sun has but half-baked you, you are not arrived to the perfection of Mullattos, much less are such finished pieces, such double refined Earthen ware as the charming Negro Ladies.  
D'ye start at the very thoughts of such a Comparison, and Pray what reason? You are all Blacks as soon as the Impartial Night has drawn her Veil over the World, and clapped her Velvet Mask on the Face of Nature. And who knows whether you are not so by day too? Nothing more deceitful than Colour, your Hearts are hardly greater cheats than your Faces: You more properly appear to be then are, and all your Red and White may have no more reality than the gaudy Colours of the Rainbow: And would you be persuaded to part but with as much of your skin, as you cover with one indifferent patch, I can't tell but a good Microscope would show so much deformity in't, that it might almost make you out of Love with yourselves. How Yellow and Tawry might it appear? What an odious scurf upon it? How many Armies of Living-Creatures might we there discover? Most of which inconveniences, 'tis very probable a Darker Face never has, for 'twould be but black ●ill, and perhaps much smother and sifter than yours. If you done't in your own Judgement give the Garland to a Black Beauty, why are you all so fond of Patches? If 'tis an addition to your Charms to have a part of your Face of that Colour, must you not yield to theirs who are so all over? 'Tis true, they have some among 'em, Born much after the same manner that you are dressed, some motley faced Creatures; with sick unwholesome Complexions: But then these are hated and abhorred amongst 'em. They reckon that the Leprosy or the Plague, which you affect and admire: They make these their Conjurers and Witches, and with Congruity enough to their opinion, that the Devil himself is white, and accordingly they paint him in that manner; and I believe all our European World are so far of their mind, that they believe there's more danger in white-Witches and white-Devils (though old Wives say, nothing that's hurtful can appear in that Colour) then in the blackest, ugliest, smoak-dryed Hag or Fiend, that ever yet frighted the World.  
Nor can you deny, that their Complexion is infinitely more lasting than yours, the consequence whereof seems to be that 'tis also more perfect. A Fright, a fit of Sickness, a cold, an Ague changes yours, disturbed and altered like these lower Regions, while theirs are like the pure Aether above, free from all Storms and Alterations; or rather like the space beyond the World, there's something in it that's venerable and almost divine, and it remains undisturbed in the Serenity of Darkness.  
But surely there are the Beauties of the mind too, as well as of the Body, and those as much more Charming, as well as lasting, than the other, as you think your Faces beyond a Negroes: But if you once come to a Comparison there, Paris himself would give it against you. What is there that makes a Wife handsomely-humoured, but Industry, Fidelity, Humility, and Obedience? And where can Europe show us any thing of these, like what we find in he African Ladies?  
Even the poor Slaves enjoy these Virtues to Admiration. One of 'em shall be more useful, and do more work than a whole Seraglio of Lazy, white-livered Europeans. Indeed they are good Slaves, and consequently Answer the end for which Nature invented their Sex: Will patiently endure Hunger, Cold, or any Hardship: No Gossip to torment ye, no costly Lyings-in, or Church to Plague and Ruin ye, but as soon as Pickaninny's Born, and sound soused in the next cold water they meet with, up it goes upon the Mother's Back, and no further trouble about it.  
Then they are the humblest, dociblest, most obedient Creatures; O, that every English Lady-wife had one of 'em in her House, for an Example, or would but often look upon Behus Imoinda for the same reason. It may be, it might work some good upon ye, and the poor Heathens might shame ye into Duty and Obedience. When I wonder, shall we see one of you so meekly, so gently hold out your Necks, like innocent Lambs, when your Lord and Husband intimates his will and pleasure, that you should resign your Lives to his Disposal? But I can't tell how far such bright Examples may work upon ye: You may have something of Generosity, some Sparks of noble Emulation yet remaining, and I'll not yet despair of ye, but that in time you may all come to be Imoinda's, In every thing but her End.  
W. Bexford.   

Answer to Letter IX.  By SAPPHO. 
YOUR Judgement we see is so sound, it cannot be mended, but you ought, Sir, to have a better Memory, or at least a readier Invention; since in Answer to my Friend's Essay in Defence of our Sex's Ornaments, you positively affirm that Beauty is more than Fancy, and that 'tis a wide Mistake, that a Black is equally beautiful with an Enropean; but it served your turn then, whereas 'twas now against you; since the contrary Proposition would help you to a sorry Reflection upon our Sex, you chopped at it as greedily as possible, and Black's White, and White, Black in the same moment.  
We shall never fight fair if we know not where to meet you, and we can scarce expect that, when you done't know it your self, for one quarter of an Hour.  
However, pray take this along with you, before we come to the Merits of the Cause, that Women are neither the most fickle Creatures in the World, nor the only Persons that vary their Minds according to the Occasion.  
And now for your pleasant Paradox,— at the very first sight whereof, one had need be very Charitable, not to suspect your Honesty. Pray, were you ever ashore at St. Johanna, or can you clear yourself that 've had no Trading in the Plantations? or any lovely Female Black of your own, on whom like another— you have been passionately enamoured? This, indeed, would be some sort of Excuse for your Ingenuity, but I can't tell what to say to your Virtue. That's in your own keeping, Mr. B. as well as your Reputation; and (to hope the best) if you have a Mind to make your bright Sabra a Lady, I know not who can hinder you.  
But yet, as a Friend, give me leave to advise you: We have been acquainted of old, Mr. B. though grown a little stranger now. Come, 've a fine Gentleweman, and do but make it fairly your own Case: Suppose you should passionately love a fine Lady, and she should have no more sense nor modesty than to d●at upon some Dusky Othelio among her Foct●en; some hard-favoured, thick lipped, Deg nosed, Heathenish Wretch, and refuse your Addresses, and throw herself into ●is A●as, as the Spanish Lady managed ma●ters with the Moor in the Stable; pray how would you like this? and should ye, think ye, be oversparing of your Censures on such an Occasion? I verily believe you would not, and I know not who could blame ye. But pray then do but be at the pains to turn the Scales, and put yourself in the contrary balance.  
Why should so many, not- contemptible Ladies, languish for you, and you more cruel than an Hyrcanian Tiger? But I'll say no more, only wish for your own sake, that you had omitted this one fatal Confessing Letter, which as good as declares the Reason why you are so very angry with all our European Ladies.  
Let it be as it will, we must defend ourselves, and if possible, will maintain the Ancient unquestioned Prerogative of our Sex, in all Controversies to have the last word.  
I much wonder, when your hand was in, that you did not affirm a Black Lady was as fair as a White, as well as beautiful, since a fair Lady, and a Beauty have never been thought in our Language, very different from one another.  
But who knows not whether we are not all Blacks by Day, as well as by Night? True, Mr. B.— and a very  Observation. But than you must consider it returns— Who knows but your Blacks too are Whites? And then we are still even— or you may, if you please, ring the Changes, and make one the other, till you have mingled us so, that you know not which is which, nor how to part us.  
I thought you had been a better Philosopher than to say the Night is Black. You can't say so of the Air; which, as I remember, our Friend, Mr. boil, says, is Diaphanous and of no colour at all. What is it then, our Faces, which you compliment in that manner, but with as little Truth or Reason? For how can you say they are Black when you cannot see 'em? for if you do that, you plainly discover they are of another hue.  
Besides, if we are all Black, why do you prefer others before us? But alas, 'tis too late to complain.  
We cannot tell indeed what we might appear, if you looked upon us with a pair of Virtuoso Spectacles, but than you'd do well to consider Mr. B. that we may in Justice expect the same Advantage, which might be a greater Inconvenience to you, than you imagine. For who knows but we should discover that Ruby-Face of yours was actually all a Fire, and ten or twelve Squadrons and Battalions of little Gentlemen belonging to some invisible Insurance Office thereabouts, carrying Buckets of Claret to quench it? How like soever our Faces may be to the Rainbow, we know what yours is; the Colours there we are certain are real, and defy any Microscope to present us with greater Variety.  
Your Black Ladies have, we must confess, this undeniable Advantage over us, that their Faces can never be worse: Well, Sympathy is a thing not to be disputed against, and who can blame you for admiring 'em?  
If they grow Pale and White with Sickness, we grow Dark and Black, and so far you can't give 'em the Pre-eminence.  
But their Humours, you say, are more Beautiful: Yes, doubtless, for Nature generally takes Care to fit a fair Soul with a beautiful Body, of which, Mr. B. you are an Instance beyond Disputation.  
When you tell us plainly what you'd be at, and what you expect from us, when you are so ingenuous to own nothing would content you, but the basest degree of Subjection and Servitude, and drily persuade us that there's a wonderful Virtue in planting Tobacco, and having our Throats cut; you must excuse us, Mr. B. if the Woman begin to stir a little, and we have laid you more open than ever we intended. Fight fairer for the future, and we promise you that you will meet with fairer Enemies.  
Sappho.   

LETTER X. Against Naked Breasts.  By Sir THOMAS— 
I Am scarce well resolved, whether I should reprove this fulsome Vanity, which so many of your Sex are guilty of, or let it quite alone, since it may be the best way to keep Men from venturing on you in a Lump, would be to show 'em such a Nauseous Sample.  
However, on second thoughts, since you lay your Baits so fair, I think it may be of some service to let the unwary know what Poison lies hid under 'em, and to set up a mark near the dangerous Rocks of such mischievous Land-Syrens, who not content with those broad Signs, hung out in their Eyes and Faces to force a Trade, must expose their Goods too upon the very Stalls, that all may know what they deal in. And are these the only remains of your Grandmothers Innocency? Is your meaning, in throwing off a part, to persuade us you could if you pleased, as easily be without the whole, and that you are really willing to turn Adamites, if you could but have any Encouragement to renew the fashion? Or rather to imitate your Painted Ancestors, differing but in this, that you dawb your Faces only, while they laid it on equally, and blushed all over?  
If you want a Precedent in this Age, you may find enough among the Africans and Cannibals, who have even outdone you in this instance of Civility and good Breeding, you uncover a great part, while they keep as little co●er'd.  
Were you obliged to such an hardship as this, by the Laws of God or Man, and forced to expose those tender parts to the Inclemencies of the weather, and the rough salutes of our Northern Air, there would need no more to exasperate you to the last degree, to make you all turn Atheists and Rebels.  
What was clothing made for? And why d'ye thus Lure, and tempt mankind to your mutual Destruction? Why d'ye expose those fatal Glasses to burn our Eyes out, to blind and enslave and ruin us?  
How contrary is this to the custom of all modest and virtuous women, I mean those who would pass for such, in all Places and Ages? The very Africans Veil themselves from Head to Foot, and their Cozen-Germans, the Spaniards, are not less careful: While we, who have more need of covering in our climate, unveil as much as for shame, we are able.  
There's scarce any Creature, but is Veiled by Nature with something or other, to Learn us that piece of modesty, but you are perverse Scholars, and done't much regard her Instructions: Nay, she has given you Hair, which if you'd cherish, would it may be sufficiently hid you: If you are then for appearing purely as Nature made you, let that but hang dishevelled about your Ears, and 'twill be some relief to our Eyes, and not put such an apparent Rape upon our Sex's modesty.  
In what other thing can you pretend to be either like Truth, or Innocence, but that you are so very fond of appearing in the same manner?  
If shame does naturally attend Nakedness, when there's yet any the least Footsteps left of native Ingenuity and Modesty; unless you have either no guilt or no shame, Learn to blush and to amend.  
Thomas—   

Answer to Letter X. Concerning Naked Breasts.  By Madam WOOD— 
THat you begin to rank your own Gravity among the old Fashioned Gentlemen, we need no more to evince then this last Letter, for you Preach very earnestly against the vices of your own times, which are now almost forgotten, I wonder we han't another Letter against Farthingales, and a Pathetic Reclamation, or two, after your way, concerning the horrid scandal they give to Persons of your modest Complexion and Conversation. But even when a little of the Neck was more usually seen in our Dresses, then 'tis now, Pray what Harm in't, or what more would there be, should we think sit to take it up again? 'Tis cool in Summer, and hardens us against Winter, and why do you blame it? Ill to him that thinks ill, though it's hard we must mew ourselves up, and keep quite out o' sight, on purpose to prevent your Scandalous Imaginations. Which yet there would be some pretence for, were there any hopes to reclaim you, or make you ever the better; for is it not frequent for you to own that you are most mad for what is kept the most strictly from you, and consequently such Sights as you exclaim against, should by your own wa● of Reasoning, make you more Chaste and Virtuous. Would you have us hid our Faces too, and very Hands, and never discover either before you, lest we should give Umbrage to so severe a Virtue; and pray, why then are you so backward to set us an Example? You say our Sex is more Amorous than yours, spare then at least our Blushes and our Modesty; wear Masks out of pity to yourselves and us.  
Hid those lovely rosy Faces, those charming pinking Ey●s, as languishing as a Pig's, when 'tis rotten roasted. Expose not those kill Teeth, which grind the Hearts of our frail Sex to Powder, being scorched long before in the Oven of Affection, by the Flames of our Passion, while you are unkind and regardless.  
O turn that lovely golden Grove away, That shines on either Lip, like Cheeks of rising Day.  
In short, be so kind to take yourselves quite out of Sight, and for ever remain 〈◊〉. Alas! how hard a Sentence, to prevent any further Mischief.  
Elizabeth Wood   

LETTER XI. Against Painting, and other Artificial Beauty.  By Sir WILLIAM— 
WHat— are you not content with your Native Mischiefs? Those Poisons that are born with you; your Eyes, your Voice, your Faces; but you must be beholding too to Art for our undoing, and attack us with Auxiliary Destructions? Where will your Malice end, and what can keep pace with it but your Pride and Vanity?  
Would you give us once some Infallible Mark, to know you from yourselves— I mean what parts of you are Real, and what Ascititious, and Unnatural; for 'tis the oddest Idolatry in the World to bow down to the Excrements of a Worm, to adore Spanish Wool, and Chalk, and Vermilion.  
What a high degree of Pride is it to find Fault with what Nature has made you, to mend the Work of the great Artificer? So Scandalous and Ill-sounding a Practice, that I'd fain hope most Honest and Virtuous Women were now ashamed on't.  
And yet tho' there's few of your Sex but find it necessary to pretend at least to those Characters, how many of 'em are there who lay it on as thick on their own Faces, as the old Painters did on the Copies of others; you would think they made use of a Trowel instead of a Pencil, and make such strong Work, you were almost as good touch a new-plaistered Wall as one of their Faces.  
Either you are already as handsome as you think yourselves, or as errand Dowdies as every Whoremaster thinks his own Wife, or else indifferent;— a Layr of one with tother, neither Foul enough to have the same Effect with Antimony, on touching you, nor so wickedly Charming, as to drive your poor Vassals to Hemp and Daggers; and in which soever of these Forms you'll rank yourselves, I see no need of this Daubing, nor what advantage you can propose by it.  
If ynu are handsome already, you may learn from all the Court Ladies who use it, that Painting is the readiest way to make you Grandams before your times; you must expect to look old, at least Twenty Years sooner.  
'Tis like mending deep ways with Dirt, you must be perpetually laying on, Load after Load, or the unfashionable Wrinkles will devour all your Labour.  
You know yourselves it poisons the Skin, and ruins the Complexion, and yet you'll not be beat off on't, so fond you are of mending Nature, and of a Beauty that can endure neither Fire nor Air, Heat nor Rain, which lasts not so long as a Flower's; and which, as it soon withers itself, so will whither you too when it leaves you.  
If you are Indifferent, be contented, and thank Nature, for neither having made you a Monster of Deformity nor Beauty: For your Gigantic Beauty is certainly monstrous in Execss, as well as others in Defect, and like the poor Giants in Romances, must be sure to be Mown o'rethwart, or Cleft downright,— sooner than any in all the Army.— Since than you have already all you can reasonably desire, and are in a more happy Condition than either of the Extremes; for what reason is't that you'd venture such an Alteration, as must by Turns expose ye to both the Opposite Inconveniences? You'll at first, it may be, think you look very Charming, which will loo all the real or supposed Beauties about your Ears, and" She Paints— is the Word of Battle, which they'll all whisper round, tho' they have it on so thick themselves, that their Faces are like to stick to one another.  
But after this aukard Flourish, which it may be, for a little while you may make by this Artificial Beauty, you at last find yourself on the sudden, tumbling into the lowest Class of all,— that of Real Deformity.  
And well remembered for poor Dowdy, who was in danger of being quite forgotten:— There she sits, tearing her Face, breaking her Glasses, shovelling it on, and rendering herself a thousand times more ghastly than when she was first Cubbed.— Like the poor Wench that came to a Country Painter on a Fair-day, resolving to be a little finer than Ordinary, and gave the Fellow a Shilling to Paint her, which the Rogue did with a Vengeance; making her a blue Nose, black Lips, Green Cheeks, scarlet Kickshaws, and the rest proportionable; that when she came abroad, she scared all the Fair, as if one of the Tigers or Lions had broke lose amongst 'em.  
And pray, Madam, why can't you be satisfied with all the Vggliness you were born with? 'Twas a fair Portion. and one would think you should not be so over-covetous, to augment it.  
Nothing will ever go well that's undertaken in spite of Nature: The Beau may as well set up for a Philosopher, the Bully for a General, or your Holbourn-Heck for a Statesman (or what's next door to't, an Alderman) as you be a Beauty, without ask Nature leave; and the more like you are without being one, you are still the more deformed. Those Monkey Affectations will render you still more Ridiculous and Odious.  
Endeavour then to set your Mind straight, which is in your own Power; make that well-complexioned and beautiful, and thus render yourself desirable and amiable, which you may obtain with more Certainty than if you had the finest Body in the World.  
For after all, Ladies, nothing is more demonstrable than that 'tis not a fine Face only that either obtains Love, or preserves it, which takes off your last Pretences for these Artificial Meliorations, as you call 'em, that you use 'em out of an honest Intent, to get good Husbands, or to hold fast their Hearts, when you have 'em once in your Clutches: Nothing of that will cure a rambling Mind; the likeliest way to do it is, by being quiet and obliging, which at least will make you yourself more Easy and Happy.  
But I forgot I had quarrelled with your whole Sex, for which Reason you ought not to expect to have any of this good Advice from me: However, I imagine 'twill be much the same thing, and that you are more Women than to make any use on't.  
William—   

Answer to Letter XI. In Defence of Artificial Beauty.  By Madam GODFREY— 
YOur main Argument against our Sex in this particular proves too much, and therefore nothing at all: We cannot make use of a little innocent Art, in order to please and oblige you, and preserve your fickle hearts, but you exclaim immediately that we are for quarrelling Nature; that we are guilty of intolerable Pride and Vanity, and discontented with him that made us: And why do you not bring the same accusations against us, for wearing , or such Colours as we find most become us— as you your wigs according to your Complexion? Deformity is not Nature, and consequently one that endeavours to hid her crookedness for Example, only strives to conceal what is unnatural; to throw that behind the scenes which would not so well bear a public view.  
Nature itself endeavours to hid whatever is undecent and unseemly: If we do the same we only imitate her, and you cannot blame us for it without great Injustice.  
But you will perhaps say, what is all this to Painting and Daubing our Faces, at which you are so highly displeased? Yes, it affects even that so much, that it takes off your greatest objection against it, that it is mending the work of Nature, which certainly may be innocently attempted, or at least rectifying her mistakes; otherwise you could not Cut a Hair-Lip, or a Wen, that hindered the sight, which you will hardly say is unlawful.  
Whatever then the Inconveniences may be, in any such Practices, they can hardly amount to any more than what may be fancied in many sorts of Dresses, which may appear a little oddly at first, but use and custom reconciles 'em: And this is so evident, even of the point that is here most in controversy between us, that in some Countries of Europe it is so far from being Scandalous, that the Ladies let their Lovers hold their Glasses to 'em, while they are Painting themselves, who esteem it as a favour, and are no ways displeased at it.  
You are as angry, I perceive, with all kind of washeses as you are with Painting itself, and I must confess, with almost as much reason. For what is Paint but a little more substantial wash, which lasts something longer, or is more visible than the other?  
But if you are against any of those, if you are so Zealons against a little innocent Water, to clear the Face from Freckles, or any such inconvenience, we may shortly expect you will forbid us Fountain-Water too, and we must not have leave to wash in that, because it looks like Pride, and being discontented with Nature. Nay, we may carry it yet higher, for all know some sort of Water, as 'tis simply taken from the Well, will add a florid Colour to the Face, and both increase and preserve the Beauty: But will you like wise abridge us of such as these, or are you resolved to deny us, the most common Blessings of Nature?  
You dare not say it is unlawful to remove any thing, even from the Face itself which renders it deformed, or unpleasing to the Spectators: If you thought so, you would scarce practise quite contrary to your opinion: It is plain, that nature designed Man a Grave and Awful Creature: It gave you Beards to strike us with Reverence: Why then do you envy yourselves such an Advantage? What mean all these Washballs, and Tweezers, and Razors, and Depilatories which you use once or twice a week, and all that you may look like women, whom you so much despise?  
But what is yet much more inexcusable, you have many of you now Learned to patch, nay to Paint as well as we. If you had as Lawful an Excuse for this as the Women, and did use these Arts merely to please your Wives, as we do to oblige our Husbands, none could justly blame you: But we have reason to fear there is something worse at the bottom: It is not for nothing you rail at all Women; Orpheus did it first, and you know the reason, and he met with too easy a Punishment.  
You are very careful to Communicate your grave advice to all our Sex, whether Beauties or otherwise; but in this one thing you are ingenuous, when you own you do not expect it will have any great effect upon us. No body Loves to have good Counsel crammed down their Throats, and to take it like Pills, or a Portion; besides, should a declared Enemy just before an Engagement, or in the very heat of Fight have such an extraordinary qualm of Civility come upon him, as to desire you to taste of a Cordial that he carried about with him, would not you, to return his Compliment, desire him to taste it before you, and think that after him was manners? Which if he refused, you would have just reason to suspect that all was not right at bottom. But so it is here, you give us some snarling Documents against Vanity, Pride, Infidelity, Scurrility, Inconstancy, and a hundred other vices, when your own Sex so notoriously wants reformation, in all those instances more than ours. And you do this in a sour and Magisterial manner, when you are at open Wars against us, which looks not so much like kind admonitions, as unjust reproaches, for when you yourselves, who call us your Slaves, and at least make us your most Humble Subjects, at the same time you give us such good Instructions, never value how much you unravel 'em all by lewd Examples, it would be a miracle if we should not be more injured by one, then profited by the other.  
I shall here rest our Defence against this Head of Accusations, when I have observed one thing more to our Sex's Advantage, from your own Concessions in this Letter: You don't deny but we often use these sort of Arts to please you, and that virtuously and honestly; you further assure us, that such methods will extremely decay our Faces, and make us old before our time: Now take all this for Truth, and reflect upon it again, and try if you can blush at your own Gratitude: For if we suffer so much, and part with what is so dear to us, only to please you for a little while, certainly we should deserve something better from you, than reproaches for our dear Complaisance in those matters.  
Rachel Godfrey—   

A second Answer to Letter XI. Further proving, That Women ought to Paint.  By another Hand. 
FOulness is Loathsome: Can that be so which helps it? Who forbids his Beloved to gird in her waste? To mend by shoeing her uneven Lameness? To burnish her Teeth? Or to perfume her Breath? Yet that the Face be more precisely regarded, it concerns more: For as open confessing sinners are always punished, but the wary and concealing offenders without Witness, do it also without Punishment; so the secret parts need the less respect; but of the Face, discovered to all Examinations and Surveys, there is not too nice a Jealousy. Nor doth it only draw the busy Eyes, but it is subject to the divinest touch of all, to kissing, the strange and mystical Union of Souls. If she should prostitute herself to a more unworthy Man than thyself, how earnestly and justly wouldst thou exclaim: That for want of this easier and ready way of repairing, to betray her Body 〈…〉 and 〈◊〉 (the 〈…〉 sudden De 〈◊〉 of all Women, what a heinous Adviser 〈◊〉 it? What tho● lovest in her Face is Colour, and Painting gives that, but thou 〈◊〉 it, not because it is, but because th●● knowest it. Fool, whom ignorance makes happy, the Stars, the Sun, the Sky wh●m thou admirest, alas, have no Colour, but are fair, because they seem to be coloured: If this seeming will not satisfy thee in her, thou hast good assurance of her Colour, whe●thou seest her lay it on. If her Face by Painted on a Board or Wall, thou w●● Love it, and the Board, and the 〈◊〉 Canst thou loathe it then when it speaks, smiles, and kisses, because it is Painted? Are we not more delighted with seeing Birds, Fruits, and Beasts Painted then we are with Naturals? And do we not with pleasure behold the Painted shape of Monsters and Devils, whom true, we durst not regard? We repair the ruins of our houses, but first cold tempests warns us of it, and bites us through it; we mend the wrack and stains of our Apparel, but first our Eyes, and other Bodies are offended; but by this Providence of Women, this is prevented. If in Kissing or Breathing upon her, the Painting fall off, thou art angry, wilt thou be so, if it stick on? Thou didst Love her, if thou beginnest to hate her, then 'tis because she is not Painted. If thou wilt say now, thou didst hate her before, thou didst hate her and love her together, be constant in something, and love her who shows her great love to thee, in taking this pains to seem lovely to thee.   

LETTER XII. Against Women 's Managing Business.  By Sir THOMAS— 
THAT House is likely to stand very firm whose Foundation is on a Weathereock, and that Family or Estate to be wonderfully well managed, which is left to a Woman's Prudence: Yet tho' they have neither Capacity for Business, nor Resolution to go thorough with it, they'll still be meddling with it, and 'tis as impossible to keep 'em from it, as 'tis a Bee from a Honey-pot, tho' like him, they're sure to chain their Wings up, and to be lost in the pleasant Quagmire: But yet more excusable is the Animal that carries its Sting behind only, than the other, who is a perfect Amphisbena; for the former has its Sense to gratify, and it may be its Hunger; and if it once gets out, carries home its sweet Plunder, and is profitable to the whole Commonwealth: But the latter, out of an empty Ambition, and for the dear pleasure of Ruling, of being necessary, of giving Orders, and disposing Affairs, values not how much the World is embroiled by their Foolish managements.  
Were they but half as sufficient when they come to Action, as in their own Theory, and mighty conceit, there would be no such People in the World as they, no such Solicitors, or Politicians, or Councillors, or Ambassadors: But alas, when once they Embark in Affairs of this Nature, they are like Phaeton between the Claws of the Scorpion, stewing in sweat, as black as that which frighted him and his Horses. The poor Ass, that thinks himself a Stag, when he comes once to leap over a Ditch, is forced to own he's as errand an Ass as ever. The Burden is too large for your shoulders. You were never made sored, nor that for you. Try first whether you can list it, before you pretend to run away with't.  
You have an habitual as well as an actual unfitness for any matter of moment. Triffling's your Province, and both your first and second Nature.  
You may be sometimes great in little things, but you must of necessity be little in greater: You have neither Fund, nor Credit, nor Skill, nor Industry, to make any matters out in your way of Trading: Haberdashes of Business, little under-Springs and Letter-carriers, you may make ashift at, but with Wholesale you'll never do.  
Your very Knowledge and Privity in any matter of great concern, is enough to ruin it: Nay, even in mischief itself, which is more your Element; and the reason why so few Plots ever take effect, may very well be, because there are women engaged in 'em. Their Natural Love to mischief makes 'em first embark in 'em, and their as Natural Folly to discover 'em: Nor need we wish our worst Enemies any greater misfortune, then to have a Parliament of women to direct 'em.  
A Temper resolved almost to obstinacy, is required in the happy Transaction of any considerable concern.  
But when were you so long in the same mind, that it might be so much as taken notice of? Any more than we can say of any determinate part of a rapid stream, Here it is, when in the very Breath that 'twas said, 'tis irrecoverably passed us.  
There's need of a long head, a deep reach, an extraordinary foresight, to bend things, when they are stubborn, and will not easily ply as we'd have 'em. We'll find Men of various Tempers and Interests and Opinions; and there 'tis not easy to mould and soften, and bring 'em all into the Train of thoughts that may be well laid, and to manage 'em with that dexterity that they shall do their own Business, at the same time they are dispatching ours. Your Sex's way of thinking is well known, 'tis Foreright, like some other Creatures, when the object is before you, you drive at it immediately. Sense leads you, your passions drive you, your Humour hurries you; these are your Councillors, and you Act accordingly. You think as the Ephemeris lives, the present only is your Lot, you are born half Epicures, for past and future never trouble you. You are above taking warning either by your own, or others Example.  
Smart itself won't make you wise, and yet that, one would think, were the most proper way to instruct you, to make addresses to your sense, when so perfectly deaf to all Reason.  
I complained just now of your want of Firmness, sufficient for any matter of moment, yet I never thought of Scandalising you with want of obstinacy; I know you possess it in the highest degree, but this is as far from true Courage, as that is from Rashness, or Good nature from Folly. Prudence will teach us, when to bend, and when to stand firm, though we ought to take advise of Honesty together with it. Your Firmness is like that of melted Iron, 'tis Brittle, though 'tis hard, it will rather break all to pieces then confess the least Ductility; while that of a wise man, is more like Steel, it has an Elastic Power in't, which will make it give way for a while, and when there's any real occasion, but 'tis only to return again afterwards to its first Place and Form, with greater vigour.  
Had Hannibal attempted either to have gone straight forward, over the horrid precipice he found in the Alps, or to have cut directly through the Rock that opposed his Passage, without making any turn or wind in it, he must have buried his Army in those vast Snows, and all he had got would have been their Ruin.  
The strange Variety of your Sex! For though you are sometimes in a Humour to keep State, and sit on the Cub-board, like other brittle ware, and be no more seen than a Persian Lady, yet at other times, when the Tide of whim flows t'other way, you are all Black-Acres, you have as many Papers in your Hands as ever had at the— Table— and just to as much purpose, you must be in the wrong, for you carry the false Bias within you. I can't say, you are wilfully mistaken neither, every time you err, but that you are so, is owing to one grand error, which may be in your Power to rectify, and that is, ' That you are always in the Right. If there's any hopes of curing you, I shall give you a short receipt. A way with your Pen and Ink, back to your Stitching, and remember you are Women.  
THOMAS—   

Answer to Letter XII.  By ARSINDA— 
YOU may call us what you please, but I believe 'twill very rarely be found that any Family or Estate was Ill managed, that was left to a Woman's Prudence; which shows we have not only Capacity and Resolution for Business, but success too: And 'tis this Consciousness of our own Ability, makes us Love to share the Fatigues of Life, and assist the Husband, who is much too weak by himself to sustain so great a Charge. But you Men always were, and ever will be ungrateful; You Love the Benefit, but hate to own the Obligation. Tho after 've done, and said all you can, and Railed till 've wearied even yourselves, the wife and better part of your Sex will still own, that they own much of their Ease, as well as of their Happiness, to the Care and Conduct of those who share their Fortune's, as well as their Honours. You confess, we're sufficient for the Theoretical part o● Business, and that's almost as much as we desire, it being our Province to direct, and Advise the Men, and not to do the Drudgery ourselves; Tho were it Customary for our Sex to appear upon the Stage, 'tis not in the least to be questioned but they would Acquit themselves very well, and come off with great Applause. Things would soon be brought to another pass, and the World once more Reduced to method and order. For let us contrive, Design, and lay the plan of an Action ne'er so well, 'tis a 1000 to one but the Man spoils all by his Foolish and Irregular management of it: Much less are you likely to be in the right, when you consult only yourselves, for then, as the Proverb says, 'tis ten to one but you have Fools to your Counsellors.  
We'll own secrecy a part of Prudence, and that nothing considerable can be well managed without it But you say, we can't keep a secret, than never blame us more for Dissi●●lation, which yet you esteem so great a 〈◊〉 of F●●ly: However, let us ask you whether you ●●n in all ●●story, give us the Name of 〈◊〉 Man who bitten off his Tongue, rather than he would be compelled by Torm●●s, 〈◊〉 discover asecret committed to his charge? You know we can tell ye, of a Woman who did thus, and after she had done it, spit in the Tyrant's Face. And this in a Plot too, which you say 'tis so difficult for us to conceal, which may be often true, out of our Natural aversion to such designs.  
When you please we are fickle and unconstant, and done't know our minds: Be it so, but there you grant we have the highest degree of Secrecy imaginable, for sure enough, if we are not conscious to our own thoughts, they can never be betrayed to others.  
And that this is more than flourish, we had a notable Instance, not many Ages since, in our own Nation, of a woman who ruled with at least as much success, as any Prince that ever yet swayed the Sceptre of these Realms, who under an appearing Fickleness of Temper, disguised the most refined Policy, to that Degree, that her Enemies grew Mad that they could not penetrate into her Intentions, which indeed how should they, when oftentimes her most Intimate Counsellors did not know them?  
But we are not so firm and resolved as your Sex, and how should we, generally speaking, or how can you reasonably expect it of us, or do you desire we should be so, though you blame us for the contrary? What experience have we in things, which you take all the care you can to keep us from, and would fain make us Ignorant, that our Devotion may be the greater towards such Idols as yourselves? But when Women are once well entered into Business and Acquainted with it, who more Industrious and Indefatigable? More quick to espy all Advantages, and ward off any cross blows, wherein you can't deny we excel you. Then we are more unsuspected, you Men generally carry a Busy Face with you, you would fain look wise, and sometimes are mistaken for Politicians, just like the good Long-bearded Shepherds, which are said to dress up in Robes of State at the Court of Muscovy, and set 'em all round a Room when the Czar gives an Audience, or Entertainment to any Foreign Ambassador. But the mischief is, you speak and spoil all, while they are as grave and silent as the Figures in the Hang, and if they can but stroke their Beards Majestically, they discharge their trust like able Ministers of State.  
And now we are in Russia, well remembered of the Princess Sophia, who reconciled two Brothers, equally Jealous of their Authority, which she little less than shared with 'em both, for many years together. Give us such an Instance in your own Sex for twenty Ages back, and we'll own 'em equally capable with our own, of engaging in such matters.  
The plain truth is, as I've already hinted, you dare not ordinarily trust us with Affairs of Moment, lest we should see your Blunders, and Correct 'em; you dare not Learn us to fence, lest we should beat our Masters. Give me leave to tell ye one story Sir T. and then we'll take breath by consent. Your modest Sex had formerly Monopolised the whole Art of Medies, and Chirurgery to yourselves, even Midwisery among the rest, which they would by no means Communicate to us, how proper soever the knowledge of it was for us?  
But it happened that a cunning Slut of a Girl, having a great mind to pick out somewhat of these matters, disguised herself in Man's , and got herself entertained by a Noted Physician, who in process of time taught her his Art: Well, away she goes from him, when she had Learned what she came for, and being soon after sent for by some Women, she made her self known to 'em, who keeping it among themselves (though they were women) employed her with all their Acquaintance, and broke her Master and the rest of the Physicians; at which they being enraged, accused this she-man- Midwife before the Magistrates, of being over-intimate with the Good wives, and that way getting all their custom. Which slander the poor Innocent had an easy way to confute, and accordingly was forced to make use on't to the Confusion of her Adversaries, and from that time, that Art has been chief managed by our Sex, and the same success we have, doubtless, (had we the same advantages) we should likewise meet with in all others.  
ARSINDA—   

LETTER XIII. Against Old Maids.  By Sir THOMAS— 
BUT I wish I were sure of being out of their Reach before I begun with 'em, for they have terrible Fangs; and if they get me within 'em, I must be forced to compound for one Eye and Ear, to save the others.  
Nay, 'tis dangerous venturing so much as within sight of 'em, for Anacreon's Description, even of a Beauty, agrees to 'em in some Sense, tho' widely different from that wherein he intended it.  
" They are all Weapon, and they dart,  
" Like Porcupines from every part;—  
But the greatest Fear of all is, lest, like some other sort of Serpents, they should dart themselves, twine about the unwary Traveller, and Sting him to Death.  

For, ah! who can their Strength express,  
Armed when they themselves Vndress,  
Cap-a-pe with— Vggliness.   
As charming a Sight doubtless as Don Quixot in his short Shirt, and full as invincible. Fate itself holds not faster than one of these loving Furies. The Story of the Gorgon's I'm apt to believe was nothing else but three old Maids, who lived together so long till they frighted Mankind almost into Marble whenever their loathsome Faces, and snaky Hairs peeped through the Casement.  
And yet one would wonder how so despicable a Creature could be so terrible: Is there any thing in Nature so mean, so useless, so contemptible?— An old Moth is worth a Regiment of 'em: But I ask their pardon, for on better Thoughts I believe they set up all the Match-brokers and Fortune-tellers in Christendom, and are constant and liberal Benefactors to those two noble Societies. As credulous they are, as he must be, who will believe the thousandth part of the Stories they tell of their youthful Amours:— When they might have been married, they'd have you know, (and lick their Lips at the luscious Imagination) so long since, and so often, in such and such a King's Reign, to that Parson, and this Lawyer, and t'other pretty Gentleman. Thus would they talk over another Age; and if any thing could make 'em young again, besides what they dream of every Night, certainly this Discourse would do it. Thus far however you may venture to believe 'em, that they have had many fair Proffers in their time, since they themselves have made 'em.  
But one good Quality they have; they are not Envious, any more than an elder Sister, when the younger is married before her: Nor Malicious, any otherwise than an African Lady to one who refuses her: Nor Talkative, Ten-Fulling-Mills may make a shift at least to keep pace with one of their Modest Clacks, if not to silence 'em, and make 'em as dumb as a Paraqueet.  
Add to this the Gravity of their Beards, the Decency of their Mustachio's; the pleasant Downy, charming Mossy Substance, that usually adorns their Lips and Chins, and qualifies 'em so admirably well for the Honour of being the Countess of Trifaldi's Waiting-Gentlewomen.  
Had they all as many Hands as Briareus, and every one armed with as many Tweezers, there would be full Employment for 'em all, in eradicating this Malicious Excrement; which if it grew a little closer, they might perhaps make a Virtue of Necessity, and find some ingenious Contrivance, to matt it into a sort of a Velvet Mask, and hid itself as well as their Faces.  
An old Maid in a Commonwealth is much such another Impliment as an Eunuch in a Seraglio; ●●ll out as Jealous and Spiteful as he, and much for the same Reason.  
'Tis not easy to know for what else she was designed (since it looks harsh to grant that Sature made any thing in vain) unless to be a Sister in an Hospital, having spent so mu●h 〈◊〉 ●wn Life among Issues and Plasters. Sure, there's a sort of Sympathy between a S●re Leg, and this Lump of Diseases: Whilst her Gummy Eyes overflow her Spec●acles, poor Ursula weeps whether she will or no, and has the good Fortune to be reckoned Compassionate when she's only Infirm, and her Eyes are troubled with a Diabetes.  
How rank this sort of Creatures are, and what an odd sort of Perfume they wear about 'em, one would guests 'em all of the Race of the Jews, by that, as well as by their Complexion.  
And yet as vain still, as errand, errand Women, in spite of the Song, even at the same time they're Birds of ill Omen; as Proud, Prying, Conceited, Curious, Mischievous, Liquorish, Confident, Impertinent, Lazy, Noisy, Empty, Senseless, Ridiculous Creatures, as their Mothers were at Sixteen.  
An old Spider loves young Fli●s, and now poor Souls, they are forced to peach for Lovers; sometimes we see they truss up a foolish Apprentice; at others a poor needy Tradesman, away with 'em into their Holes, and immediately devour 'em.  
They say the●e's some here in Foreign Countries a subtle Beast, th●● comes by Night to their Village-Houses, and exactly counterfeits a Woman's Voice, making pitiful Moan for Admittance, or crying out for Help, as some of our Trepanners; whom if the fond Credulity of the Inhabitants can once be prevailed upon to admit, they pay dear for their good Nature, one of the Company at least being sure to make their new Guest a Supper.  
But these She-Cannibals, these Flesh-Crows, these Man-Catchers, these Old Maids, are even with him for Scandalising their Sex, and do more than sergeant the Hyaena.  
THOMAS—   

Answer to Letter XIII. In Defence of Old Maids.  By Madam Snell. 
NOthing is more obvious than Recrimination in all these Cases, and the Old Bachelor Sir T. would be an excellent Match for your Old Maids.  
But not to insist always on that Method of Defence, which besides cannot immediately affect you, Sir T. who would be reckoned a young Widower, I rather ask leave to insist on some of the Conveniencies and Excellencies of Old Maids, whom your uncivil Sex so much despises.  
Uugrateful Men, that you are, tho' you cannot remember your Infancy, do not you believe you were once Children?— Yes, and must be so again, if you live much longer, and in both those Circumstances, if you considered the indispensible Use of a careful Old Maid, you would have Gratitude, or at least more Wit, than thus to rail against 'em  
How many wakeful Nights, and weary Days have the poor Souls worn out in young Master's Service, who now so little regards 'em? How many Garters have they broke in rocking him? What terrible Colds, and Rheums, and Aches, in taking him up, and walking up and down the Room with him in cold Frosty Nights, to quiet him. Nay, how much precious Juice have the poor Creatures wrung out of their own dry Gums, to mix with his Pap, when feeding him, that it might not burn him,— and all, all for ever forgotten? Where's Gratitude, where's Honour or Sympathy, or Generosity? Mere Names and Shadows, and Romantic Tales, like those which these poor forsaken Dry Nurses were wont to tell their Children to quiet 'em.  
Well, comfort yourselves, Poor Hearts, tho'. by this time they are got to their Breeches, and can put 'em up and down, without your help, you'll see 'em again sooner than you imagine. They run fast; their Race will soon be over, and they'll come again, and be a second time under your Jurisdiction, sooner than you or they are ware.  
Do but live honestly, and without fretting; and when they come to be Old Men, you'll find but little difference in your own Ages since you first nurssed 'em.  
This they must come to again, and one would expect they should be more civil for that reason, as the Fellow once was to the Devil himself, whom he would not hear abused, because he did not know whose Hands he might fall into.  
The same Watching, the same Tucking up, the same warm , and Flannel, and Candles they used to have when they were young; It may be too you must come into Bed to his old Worship, as you did to his young Worship, to cherish him, and keep him warm, and rub him for the Sciatica, and you may do it without any Scandal or Danger; alas! the harmless Creature, it has no more Hurt in't than a Chrysom Infant.  
It may be 'twill Smirk a little, now and den, and be waggish, and chirrup, but that's all, and you know there's no hurt in't.  
It used to Puke mightily when 'twas Young; a good Sign, and a thriving Child I warn't it: Why just so it spits now for all the World, and Mistress Nurse will be more put to't to keep it dry, and must be changing its Bib four or five times in four and twenty Hours.  
Some times it wants to rise to— and then Nurse must be called, and many a sore tug must she have with him; for now the Child grows heavy, and you would not think how much Care is required to keep it Sweet.  
Besides, 'tis as froward, poor thing, as if t'had got the Gripes, or was cutting its Eye-teeths again. Nurse,— why Nurse-where are ye (if she's gone for a Moment about the most necessary Occasions) then away flies the Bedstaff some two or three Inches, after her, and a Cough comes in the room on't, that just strangles him, and holds him for half an Hour.  
A little Syrup, good Nurse— Ehe, Ehe, I'm just gone, Ehe:— So, set me up in Bed; wipe away here from my Beard this;— Ah, dear Nurse,— that ever I should come—  
O! Your Servant, Sir T. How d'ye like your Picture? Yet this you must be in a few Years, or nothing; and then an Old Maid must be such a Contemptible Creature; and if you'd not be yourself despised and neglected, when you're Old, your best way will be to treat 'em civilly, before you need 'em.  
Eleanor Snell.   

LETTER XIV. Against Forwardness, and Fondness in Women.  By Mr. READING— 
AMong the other Discourses, I've formerly maintained with your Nimble-Tongue Ladyship, you know I blamed your Sex's Forwardness and Fondness; and I think I justly blamed 'em, which I now intent to prove, and that I may please you, I'll do it very Methodically, first the matter of Fact itself, and then the mischief and Folly and Inconvenience of it, to your selves as well as others.  
And that you are Fond, that your whole Sex is fond and forward, and have been coming above these 5000 years, and stealing back to your Rib again, sure you yourselves will scarce deny. We have no more Instances of it, than there have been Individuals of your teizing Sex since the Creation.  
I have said enough on't I suppose already, and have satisfied you, as to old Women and old Maids, which let me tell you, make up a great part of your Corporation, being preserved amongst you, as the Egyptians do their Grandmothers, dried and sapless, for I know not how many Generations. Now if even these make a shift to keep a Colt's Tooth, when they have hardly had more than Stump in their Heads, since the Camp at Tilbury, what a fine set may we believe are in yours, that are as wild as the wind, and all your youth and blood about ye? Even they are ready to overrun poor Mankind, and then sure you must be like to run into 'em. You must own yourselves fond or cruel, for you are always in extremes, the latter you dare not, lest we should take you at your word, and therefore we may take the Liberty to conclude the former. Is it not fondness with a Witness to leave your Parents, to run away from your Friends and Guardians; to straddle over Garden-walls, and fly in the Air like Witches, and ride over Housetops like Cats; to rush through Darkness, and wade through Moats, and almost run through Fire as well as Water? And what is all this for? Is it not for Man, that Charming Creature, Man, whom when you're in an ill humour you'll not afford a good word, and d'ye do all this, think ye, without some little kind of Inclination, some sort of kindly call from Nature, like that of the Land-Crabbs; who most amorously crawl over Churches and Houses, or whatever else happens to stand in their way, that they mayn't fail the Assignation made 'em, with those of their own Species, who come from Sea, I know not how many Leagues to meet 'em?  
What an infinite of Paper d'ye spoil in a Year? How many Heydleberg-Tuns full of Ink do you Squander away, in answering Billet-doux, and Love-Letters;— or rather, in sending 'em, and challenging all Mankind to do the worst they can at your Persons and Reputations?  
But you need not write, you can speak enough, and you have many ways to do it: Your Eyes, your Hands, your every Motion, sufficiently express how unwilling you are to be thought Man-haters.  
And tho' our poor Persecuted Sex should endeavour to keep out of sight, how many different subtle Ways have you to ensnare us?  
Sometimes you get a tame Man, as the Fowler does a Duck, or the Master of the Elephants one of the same Species, to decoy us from our Native Freedom, into your fatal Noose. Sometimes a He, tho' oftener a She-Friend, because you can serve 'em again in the same manner. I have heard of many, who have merely been talked into your Snares, and of some few that have been beaten, and fairly cudgelled into an Amour.  
And these, and a thousand ways have you more, as various as your Hearts and Dispositions, to obtain and secure your Lovers, tho' you know you have already overruled us in a very great Point, as to those Matters:— You make us the Aggressors, that you may have the Honour, and the Pleasure, to see us at your Feet, and hug yourselves at the Excellency of your own Dissimulation. What Hypocrisy, after all, when you love a Man more than even your Sloth, or Ease, or Vanity, to hold off still, and pretend you are not as willing as he? No, you are made of more refined Mould: Another sort of Flesh and Blood you'd have us think, from what we are composed of. Hence the eternal Teizing, the Put-offs, the Fetches, the Doubles, wherewith your poor Dog in a String, that does not know you must be a long while tormented:— And yet 'tis all Fondness still, tho' in another Shape, as they say the Tune-seen Ladies by't hardest, when they are most furiously pleased. 'Tis to keep us from discovering the Cheat as long as you can; for after a while you know 'tis too late:— for when you once have obtained what you desire, you are ten thousand times fonder and madder than ever:— And well remembered of the Mischiefs that follow this Burdock Temper. In the first place, you know, that we know your- Sex in general; and that if you don't dissemble very artificially, you miss what you aim at, your Forwardness being so odious, that you lose us before you have us. Nothing can be imagined more nauseous than your perpetual Siege, and childish Kindness. Were you all Nectar and Ambrasio, you'd tyre us with cramming us thus every day. Have you any occasion to make yourselves cheaper than you are already, or more disagreeable? Guess but by yourselves whether such a Temper can please, and if it's possible, cure yourselves of it, and avoid it. For you'd scarce take it well yourselves to be kissed to Death.  
Do you know any thing in the World so tiresome and impertinent as a downright doting Lover, even while there's yet some relish in him, and before he's a Husband? He haunts ye like your Shadow, and will hardly give you room to breathe, especially if you let him have the least Encouragement; for then there's no enduring him. He'll follow ye to the Garden, to your Chamber, when you are a visiting: Hound him off never so frequently and earnestly, the importunate Cur will still be a hanger on, lie upon your Petticoats, lick your Hands,— ay, your Lips too if he can come at 'em, with as much Savour, and as good a Grace as the Ass did his Master's. If you would scarce be pleased with this, you should take Care to avoid a resembling Practice. Beware of a hoiting foolish Behaviour; been't ambitious of Conquests; if you get one that's worth a keeping, show your Discretion in retaining him, and above all things, neither tyre him, nor kill him with Kindness.  
For if you resolve to persist in these Extravagancies, and of one side Insult and Triumph over your Adorers, while on the other Extreme you so visibly dote upon 'em, that you are ready to suck their Eyes out; you ought to take Heed that you don't at last tyre our Patience, and make us perfectly desperate, the Consequence whereof might be worse than you can imagine; for do but consider what a Condition you'd be in, should you once provoke us to turn all He-Amazons, and set up a Commonwealth of our own Sex, with Exclusion of yours.   

Answer to Letter XIV.  By Madam GODFREY— 
'TIS a very hard Task to please such as are resolved to find fault before hand, and to deal with our poor Sex as the Knavish Fellow thought to have done with the Oracle, who would prove 'twas in an Error, whether it Answered that the Sparrow were Alive or Dead.  
If we show the least modest Kindness or Inclination, you presently rail at us for impudent and lose Creatures, if we keep you at a greater distance, and justly take warning by the Perfidiousness of your Sex, and the misfortunes of our own; then we are Proud and Insulting, and abuse that Power and that Beauty, that Nature has given us. However, since 'tis safer erring of the right hand, and it will oblige you too so extremely, it's pity but you should be pleased, and kept as far off as you desire, by all those whom you are so terribly afraid of.  
But in the mean while, I beseech you let's have no more complaints of the variableness of Women, when you are so much more Chameleons your selves, that the Colour of your mind changes every moment: Sometimes you are for Simplicity and an Ingenuous open temper, and rail at us all for Hypocrites, but before you have drawn in that railing breath again, you are as angry because we don't dissemble, and would persuade us, that nothing can please you, but what you think mere Cheat and Falsehood. The thing in short is this, that if after a thousand Oaths and Protestations and Adorations, and Vows of inviolable Love and Service, we have no more wit then to believe you, and it may be at last give you hopes, only to be rid on you, not being Ignorant of your Generous Temper, and well knowing that to be the readiest way, then immediately we are all that you call us, and twenty favours more than you ever received, must be Boasted of to the next vain Fellow that has Patience to hear you, and Faith to believe you, or it may be to the next poor Credulous Creature, that you're designing to ruin.  
But is this so very Generous as you'd fain be thought, so like those Men of Honour for which you'd be so much valued, first to undo, and then to upbraid; to tempt first, and then to reproach and torment those with whom 've prevailed?  
If our Sex were really so easy as you pretend, how came you to take so much pains to win 'em? What makes you so often talk so frightfully of Rapes and Daggers, and Poisons, and Precipices. Which though it's true, we are now so well Acquainted with, that we take 'em only as words of course, and no more to be heeded then those Oaths, with which you Garnish your Courtship, yet 'tis not impossible, that it may be true, since it has been so formerly; There have been those of your Sagacities, who have thought fit to hang or beat their Brains out, to show the height of their passion, and the Sincerity of their Love; And was there over much Kindness, think you, in such cases as these, or was't the Fondness of their Mistresses, that brought 'em to such an Exit?  
But be all this true or false before Marriage, let us then be fond or otherwise, I'd fain know Sir, why you are so angry with us, for Loving too well afterwards, which I confess, I thought was no Crime, or at least one that might easily be pardoned; Unless it be, because you are afraid you shall want an excuse to use us ill, if we should continue thus doting on you. But even that too may be cured, for I dare promise for myself, and most that I know, that we are not incorrigible, if you complain of us, we'll try whether we can amend; all things are easy to a willing mind, and especially to those who are encouraged by your edifying Examples. But then if you veer about again, as we doubt not but you suddenly will, and complain of our Coldness, our Infidelity and our unkindness, Remember you are to blame, and we were forced to turn your own Weapons upon you, and—  
To Love you less, to preserve your delight.  
Rachel Godfrey—   

LETTER XV. Against Dancing.  By Mr. WOOLHOUSE— 
WEre one of our Europeans cast any where on a Barbarous shore, and should he be saluted at his Arrival with the diverting sight of a Ring of Savages, capering about with their Gimminy-Gomminy till they foamed and dropped down on the Spot, would he not have reason to think 'em all, all either Drunk or Mad?  
And just the same, 'tis very probable, would be the opinion of one of them, should we show 'em one of our Balls or Dancing Schools, for the best we can say for 'em is, that there's some method in this Madness.  
I dare almost be confident, that 'twas some Woman first invented Dancing, 'tis so odd, so Whimfical, so Ridiculous an Exercise. Standing still, turning round, now on one Leg, than t'other, running full-drive, stepping Stately; down to the Ground, up to the Branches forward, backward, sideways, every way, joining hands, parting 'em, patting, kissing, ogling, touching, whispering, grasping, besides all that follows, enough to ruin an Angel, for sure if those Spirits were ever picked up by your Sex, as some of the Learned have fancied, 'twas Dancing first Debauched 'em.  
You have us here just as you desire, you give us a look like a flash of Lightning, and away again, so quick and short you move, that we han't time to discover your real imperfections, but are dazzled with your appearing Beauties.  
We are warmed before with the violent motion, and then 'tis no great matter for you to kindle us, especially when we have such a deal of Tinder, so many rich Silks Rustling on every side of us.  
A convenient School, really to instruct Youth, and a very happy occasion to bring many a Loving pair together.  
Especially your Masks and Balls, where modesty and virtue are hardly so much as pretended to. Where the Lady may meet her Gallant, and walk off with him, though her Husband stands within two steps of her. Where the Curtains are as good as drawn, as soon as they come thither, and an infallible cure for blushing, if there should be any sparks of modesty left.  
I would ask how many have been ruined at these places? were it not much more easy to Answer me, how many who have constantly frequented 'em, did ever escape Ruin.  
I done't at all wonder that Witches are said to use this Dancing, so constantly at their Detestable Sabbaths and Midnight Revels, since 'tis a Diversion as Wild and as Fantastical as their Imaginations. But I can't be satisfied why any Persons should practise it, nay dote upon it, who pretend to Sense, Sobriety and Virtue.  
'Tis indeed so foolish a custom, and carries so many ill Consequences with it, that Judicatures of far different Nations, and in other matters of very opposite opinions have agreed to Condemn it. The Inquisition and Geneva are both of one mind in this matter, at least the one has forbidden a Sarabrand, as the other all manner of Dancing.  
Yet I don't think it strange, that the French should be so much fonder on't then all the other Nations of Europe. They speak, and walk, and talk, and sing, and preach, and I fancy, are almost Born and die Dancing.  
There's a Palsy sure in their Imagination, a sort of a natural impressed motion on their Minds and bodies, which will no more let 'em cease to move then cease to be. One would think every one of 'em carried a large Bladder of Quicksilver in their Bellies, and that they Danced about as that will before the Fire, or as a Leaf is canted round in a Whirlwind, by a purely involuntary motion.  
When the French Court some time since fallen upon that Mad Frolic, whose Relation Historians have left us, and would Dance in the shape of wild Horses, on all four, with abundance of Flax instead of Manes, in one of which a spark of a Flambeau lit, and set 'em all afire, I wonder the Maskers did not rather choose to be burnt to Coals than neglect to Dance out their Dance, and how they could ever be brought to admit of the Lady's Petticoats for Extinguishers, though 'twas to save their Lives.  
Charles Woolhouse.   

Answer to Letter XV.  By Madam FEILD. 
I'm easily induced to believe what you advance in the Beginning of your Letter, that should a Barbarian see the Polite part of the World at a Ball or Dancing-School, he would think us all what he really was himself, and in a Barbarian such a Judgement might be excused, who has hardly more skill in Numbers than one that's Born a Fool, or then a Brute Creature.  
But for one who has a Notion of these things, who looks as if he could think, and would fain persuade us he can reason, for such a one to compare the Courtly and Regular motions of our Gentlemen and Ladies, directed by the Music, and keeping time exactly with it, to the Barbarous Antics of the Savage Africans; this I confess, would amaze me, had I not before heard his Character, and understood by all his Letters, I've yet seen, that his Soul is out of Tune, and for that reason he can neither endure to hear or see Music.  
For Dancing is nothing else but beating those measures with our Feet, which the Artist does with his Fingers, or some other Instrument.  
'Tis a sort of a Living Music, and the Heart keeps time with the rest of the Body.  
Nature itself is a greater Dancer than the most volatile Creature she ever yet framed, she does nothing without motion: Something at first Danced out of nothing. The Orbs fell a Dancing as soon as they were made, and will continue so till they are reduced to nothing.  
What is there you blame in Dancing? You dare not come where 'tis for fear of Temptation, stay away then, and make room for those who are honester, and have no such bad thoughts to disturb 'em.  
If there's no hurt in singly walking, leaping, or turning, how should there be in these all together? Or does the Music make it Criminal, or the Company, neither of which would be so if divided? Or is there any Evil inseparably annexed to it, or have we any Law either Divine or Humane that forbids it, except that of Geneva and Spain, neither of which I suppose you think Infallible.  
But it nourishes and flatters Love, and feeds and fans the Flame already too Predominant. And grant it does so, was a Virtuous Love ever esteemed Disgraceful? Is't not a kindly, a natural and a Generous Passion, and would not every wise Commonwealth do well, as I've read some have done, by all Decent and Lawful ways to Promote and Encourage it?  
As for the Abuses of this sprightly, healthy Exercise, to argue from thence for the taking away its use, is so mean a Fallacy that it's scarce worth the taking notice of, much less the Answering: I expect you'll be shortly for pulling down Churches too, because 'tis said, they are too often shamefully abused by Intrigues and Assignations.  
Marry Feild.   

LETTER XVI. Against Platonic Love and Friendship in different Sexes.  By Mr. RICH. 
YOu know who says, 
You talk of Fires that shine, but never Burn;  
In this cold World they'll hardly serve our turn.   
And would you for once be ingenuous, you must own yourselves of the same mind. As all your Sex is one great Hypocrite, so this is one glareing Instance of their Prevarication: You may as well talk of Love without Loving as without desiring, and when you can show the Love-letters between a pair of Souls, or the History of the Angelical Amours of Nakar and Damilcar, or can tell me the taste of those Immaterial kisses which your Famous Duchess talked of, than I shall begin to believe that you believe yourselves, when you talk of these matters, and that you are full as Spiritual as you tell us; though sure you would not have us take you at your word.  
Not but that I verily believe your Love may still be enough Platonical, and full as pure, as was that of the Philosopher, who gave it the Name, who if he were not very much wronged, never loved Virtue so refinedly, as to like or Court her so Passionately in a foul, or homely Habitation, as he did in those that were more Beautiful and Lovely.  
One of these two things than you can't hardly deny; either that 'tis only an empty Name, or else a sort of a Vizard to something more homely: He that denys what he really is, makes us sometimes violently suspect him what he is not, and as often find out what he takes such over-care to conceal.  
Who that's wise would attempt to Drink out of a Vial, which he knows has either nothing at all in it, or if any thing, the surest and most subtle Poison in the World? If you say, there's a mean, and virtuous Love may be thus disguised, I'd fain know what need on't? Neither Love, nor Truth, nor Virtue need seek Corners, not so much as the former, if he comes in Company with the latter. He ought therefore to be uncased, as Aphrodisius in Psyche, and tho as finely dressed as he, of whom that Divine Poet.  
Upon his Head smiled a soft Grove of Gold:  
Two small-half-heav'ns' were bend in either Brow, etc.  
Yet you ought to be sure, that you embrace not a Serpent, instead of a God, or that he hides not a Satyrs deformed and shaggy Figure, under the Wings of an Angel. The Shipwreck of so many before you, one would be apt to think, should make you afraid of the dangerous Voyage to Mrs. Behns' Island: The Bones that you see, and the Skulls so near the Cave of this Sleeping-Lyon, should keep you from venturing within his Paws, though he sheaths 'em never so Artificially. Platonic Love has ruined half your Sex, and you can't but know as much, and therefore seem to admit the pretences of it, only with a desire to be undone more plausibly, and to retain the shadow of Innocence, when the substance i● vanished. You Gild your Poison, and then fancy 'tis good Food, or Physic, you are told so before, you are parties against yourselves, who can save you?  
If you were but willing to escape Destruction, and to come back from the brink of the precipice, it may be, it might not yet be impossible. Discover the Viper before he has played himself into your Bosoms, and then there's at least a perhaps left that you may avoid him.  
Pray do but persuade any of these refined Sparks to admire you at a distance, not to come near you, or if they do, at least tantalise 'em, so as never to let 'em steal a Grasp or a Touch, and try if they can live on such Airy Diet. The purer any Flame is, the less aliment it needs to support it. Let 'em by this make a Trial of theirs: Let 'em live a year, on not so much as a sigh of pity: Let 'em converse with your Souls only, and make Love to them, for which alone they pretend so great a Passion; but let 'em not so much as throw a look on your Body; nor their Eyes fasten one Glance on yours. For what has the Intuition and Embraces of Souls to do with these dull Material Organs.  
But if neither they nor you can be content with such mortifying Diet, if you feel a sort of a pain, and displeasure, and uneasiness under such a practice, and find this a force upon your Inclinations, and you begin to sigh, and wish, and think yourselves unhappy: Then beware stings, for there's certainly no better nor worse than mere Flesh and Blood at the Bottom. For these passions seem not so properly seated in the mind, as the Body, or only in the sensible Soul, which is hardly different from it.  
The mind itself is pure and Spiritual, Reason is a clam and a Noble Principle, it admits of no Emotions, or Perturbations; and thus the Angels love Mankind and one another: Whereas, if we believe Mr. Milton (who might know as much of that matter as any Heywood of 'em all,) a fallen Angel may 〈◊〉 descovered through all his Disguises, by the violent motions and visible changes which will appear in him, through the most Glorious Forms imaginable, and thus may you, if you please, make a certain Judgement of yourselves and others.  
And much the same may be said of Friendship between persons of different Sexes, another cant you have very near akin to Platonic Love: Which at the beginning may in some Instances be innocent, at least on one side, if not in both.  
But Love's an insinuating Devil, and if he gets but the tip of his Wing into your Heart, all the rest quickly follows.  
His Aguish Train of Pains and Joys, and Inquietudes, his huge Bow and Quiver, and a thousand Poisoned Arrows, and if you once talk of driving him out again, though he lurks there only under the Pretence and Mask of Friendship, how will the little Villain storm and rave, how big will he look, and try to be terribly angry, and then by turns will flatter and fawn again, and hang about you so very importunately, that you can hardly yourself be yet so blind but you'll take notice on't. Since,  
No Friendship e'er languished, or looked half so kind. And then, or never, if it bened yet too late, work for yourself, struggle for Life, assist the Crisis, for if this moment is gone, never expect another.  
You strive for a Noble Empire, no less than that of your own mind and Body too, at the long run, as it almost always happens. Despair has made Cowards brave, and what would one not do for Liberty, and what have not Women done on less occasions? Nor are you without Auxilaries, and those very strong and powerful, as well as your Enemies, Virtue, and Honour, and Reason, and the Good wishes, and good words of all Good Men, which are lost, for ever lost, as well as you with 'em, when ever you abandon yourselves to the fatal Deceiver.  
And pray remember this one short observation more, before we part with this Subject.  
That Honour and Virtue must needs be things in themselves, very desirable and amiable, when Vice and Lewdness are so fond of sheltering themselves under their Names and Colours, though at the same time they do it, they thereby become the most formidable Enemies.  
Edward Rich—   

Answer to Letter XVI.  By Madam GODFREY— 
YOU charge our Sex with a variable and unconstant Temper, as fickle we must all be as the Wind, or as Fortune. 'Tis Man you'd have us think, that's the only firm and stable part of the Creation, unmoved, as Rocks, and fixed on the solid Basis of his own Resolution and Reason. Fixed indeed you may be in Evil, as well as in a very strong conceit of your own Goodness and Wisdom, but whether as changeable, when you happen to be in the right, as that Sex, which is the object of your scorn, as inconsistent with yourselves, and as false to your own assertions, if we had not abundant experience to satisfy us, you yourself would be a sufficient Instance. Sometimes 'tis true, you put on a sort of a Magisterial Air, and Dictate Morality and Virtue, more as it should seem, that you might appear Superior to our Sex, then for any real esteem to that or us. But you soon forget yourself, are all infected with the Fashionable Notions of the Town and Theatre, and discourse just at their Rate, who pretend there's no such thing as Virtue in our Sex, because they would be glad never to find it.  
And to convince any one that we do not scandalise you, we need but remit 'em to the beginning of your last Letter, which I shan't repeat, but leave it to any who are better pleased with such discourses.  
But pray why are you so furiously angry with Platonic Love, which you are forced yourself to own the same thing, or at least not very different from a virtuous Friendship? Can any thing that's virtuous be either so Criminal, or so dangerous as you represent it?  
True Friendship, as I think I've read in some of the Philosophers, can only be between Virtuous Persons; and are all our Sex either unworthy or uncapable of it, or are you grown Ingenuous, shall we call it, or Malicious, in attempting to persuade us the same of your own Sex, that you seem to believe of ours, that there's not one Spark of Virtue and true Generosity left amongst 'em?  
Your Grave Lessons, what extraordinary care we should take of ye, might be admitted: They seem to have some Face of Kindness, and to come from a Friend, though a sour one. Had you therefore only advised us to take an extraordinary Care, with whom we contracted Friendships, to be first very well acquainted with 'em, to Act with caution at least with 'em. if not too with some Reserve, to be careful these Friendships did not cross any other Obligations; nay, after all, to be still upon our Guard against you, considering how generous you are, and how virtuous, and to take care of our Reputations, as well as Innocence; all this, I say, we might have thanked you for, though no more than what our Sex too often Learns from yours, in a more dangerous manner, since 'tis no such great wonder to find among you a perjured and Faithless Friend, we have reason to wish it were not much more difficult to discover the contrary.  
But what we think we have reason to be angry at, is, that you would totally exclude us from what is the Happiness, as well as Perfection of our Natures, and one of the greatest Blessings of Life.  
And yet we fond flatter ourselves, we shall either find you all Virtuous and Capable of Friendship, or prevail with you to be so, or else why do we ever Mary you?  
None would be a Slave to one that they believed False and Perfidious, none in their Wits would give their all to one they thought not so much as capable of Honesty, or Honour, or a lasting Amity. Why d'ye take so much pains before you have us fast, to persuade us you have those Qualifications which may make you worthy our Friendship, Courage, Bounty, Fidelity, and the like? And where is't more likely, where would one expect to find a perfect Unity of Sentiments, or Condescension, where there's any inconsiderable difference, which I look upon as much of the Essence of Friendship? where that true and unbyast tenderness and kindness, which is the inseparable effect of that Noble Virtue, as well as that entire Confidence which is rarely or never divided from it, but where Interest, and God, and Nature, and the Policies of States, and the Laws of Nations have before made the strictest Union?  
And if you are seldom capable of it, if you soon Learn to despise us, if you have little or no tenderness for us, or confidence, or esteem, or so much as Inclination, and if we rarely see in a Married State, lasting Instances of Friendship, we would ask you whether it be either just, or modest, to upbraid us with your own Faults, and our great unhappiness?  
But though you're at Liberty, it must be confessed, to make yourselves as bad as you please, we won't make you worse, and as ill as you are, as meanly as you think of us, and I wish there were no reason to say of Virtue too, yet we're satisfied you are not so Universally Corrupted, but there is some Faith and Friendship left amongst you. There are some Instances of Love after Marriage, which I reckon only a higher Name for Friendship, and that shows it not impossible: Some happy Pairs, who know no Contentions, but who shall Love best and oblige most: Whose Flame is still refining and still increasing, some Phenix-Men, who scorn to take a Woman into their Arms, whom they can't admit into their Hearts too, and let them reign there without a Rival.  
And is not this betwixt different Sexes, and call you not this Friendship?  
And though I grant, considering what your Sex generally are, ours can hardly be too much afraid of you, since too many of you are like some Venomous Creatures, Blasting all you Breath on, and though further Friendships of an extraordinary intimacy after Marriage between different Sexes, not related, be, to speak no worse, very suspicious and ill sounding, and I agree with you, and fatal experience has put it beyond Contradiction, that there's no more specious way to ruin then under such pretences; though I say all this may be granted, yet I can't see how it follows, that after Marriage we are to live like Turkish Wives, to be mewed up and Imprisoned all our Lives, and to die if we but see any Man besides our Husbands. Nor do I see any better reason, Why we should shut our Eyes to their Merits, any more than their Persons, why we mayn't put a modest value on those who deserve it, on a brave and good Man, more than on one that's Villainous and Wicked, and this may at last amount to the Name of a General Friendship. The same we have for the Names of the great Men of former Ages, the same concern for them that we have, when we read the History of Timoleon, or Brutus, or any of the Ancient Heroes.  
Nay, yet further, our own Affairs may often make it necessary to place a greater Confidence in one Man then another, and to entertain a more particular Correspondence with him, and yet all this far enough within the strictest bounds of Modesty and Virtue. We know not what you think of yourselves, or how you feed on your own Vanity, but for our parts, we don't find you such terrible Charming dangerous Creatures, that there's no casting our Eyes on you, without stark falling in Love with you. We are not conscious of any such thoughts; if you are so wicked, you had best keep from us, and make the Experiment whether we'll trouble you with our Invitations. Let us but alone, and we'll be bound not to ravish you.  
But suppose a young Lady no ways engaged, should be pleased with Honourable Addresses and Proffers of Service, from a Person not unsuitable to her Birth and Fortune: Suppose she contracted a real esteem, a particular tenderness for him, and were touched with his sufferings and merits, and should be willing to make him all the returns that a Man of Honour could expect, or Virtue let her give. Where's the crime of all this, I'd fain know, or where the shame of it? Or what is there Unnatural or Immoral, or so much as undecent in it? Or who that is not Brutish would condemn it, or not wish 'em happy?  
And if you find or think any thing worse, if you have any thing that's ill in your own Breast, when you come near us, once more pray keep the Gild, and share the shame among yourselves, and done't involve the Innocent.  
In the mean time, we believe Honour and Virtue, really as aimable as you can represent 'em, and Friendship not much behind 'em: Nor are all your Sex's abuse of those excellent Names, and making 'em a covex for the worst designs, make us out of Love with them, though we shall endeavour to follow your advice, and to have a care of you.  
Rachel Godfrey—   

LETTER XVII. That Women are not more Religious then Men.  By Mr. RANDAL— 
AND one would think none should ever pretend they were, nor will your Sex, I suppose, think themselves much obliged by such a Compliment, since the very thoughts of it must be as uneasy to you, as hereafter is to the Atheists, and will go near to sour all your mirth. If you would be thought Religious, some say you must not Patch nor Paint, but all are agreed that you must not trick, nor dissemble, nor lure in such Flights of Lovers, nor admit a Gallant, nor abuse your Husbands; and what a condition would you be in, if all this should be struck off together? They tell a pleasant story of a Georgian Woman; who having lived such a Life as is common enough with your Sex, and entertained a great many Friends, as was notoriously known to all her Acquaintance; when she was stopped in the midst of her Career by a violent Fit of Sickness, sent for her Confessor for Ghostly Counsel, and promised faithfully she would live a chaste Life, and forsake all her old Friends, if ever she recovered: No, says the conscionable Father, that's too much to promise, and I know you'd never be able to perform it: I'd advise you therefore, he went on, to keep to two or three only, if you should recover, and this would be a good step to your thorough Amendment. Such Religion as this perhaps might do well enough with you, 'twould sit much more jaunty and easy, and for that reason I wonder you are not all Catholics, unless it be the fear of Haircloth, and going Barefoot that keeps you from their Communion.  
Who, you not Religions? Why, what signs of it would we have? You go to Church as fine and as often, and clap the Pue-Door as hard, and repeat the Responses as loud as any: You say your Prayers when it Thunders; and tremble at the sight, or but the News of a Blazing Star, or a Cat with two Heads, or a Foal with a Top-knot, or a Whale rolling up the Thames, or any other prodigy. You don't go so often to the Taverns, as Men, nor get Drunk, nor Swear nor Quarrel like them, nor Fight for Punk, nor run one another through the Lungs, poor injured Creatures! As innocent as a New kindled Viper. As if in the first place you knew not how better to improve your Time, then to go to Church only out of pure Devotion.  
Alas, you have great business there, which you think of greater moment: A Spark to meet, or a great many to stare at, till you grow giddy with turning round so often to throw kind looks at 'em, or squinting over your shoulder. Can you deny that this is the most usual place of Assignations, or that such thoughts as these are entertained and welcomed, most of the time that you should be better employed? 'Tis time enough you think, to be Religious and Formal when you grow old, when the diversions and pleasures of youth are past, and you have no further relish for such matters, and when the Practice of Piety, and the London Dispensatory will be good Company for you, and for one another.  
But in the mean time, any one may read your Devotion both in your Dress and your Eyes, your Looks and your Gesture, and your whole Behaviour, when you would be thought in your greatest Fits of Piety and Goodness: And 'tis not difficult to guests at the Deity you come thither to Worship.  
If you give not Billets about to your Lovers instead of Bills to the Reader, you have yet a well known way of discoursing with 'em: A Look upon one, a half-smile on another, a whole one to the third, a nod to the fourth, your Fine Teeth showed to the fifth, your Hand to the sixth, a Languishing Glance to the seventh; And so on as many as will come, for you could dispatch 'em all, if there were a hundred.  
There may be, you'll perhaps reply, some vain young Creatures that employ themselves after this manner; But no Reflection on those who do otherwise, whose behaviour is grave and scrious, and whose thoughts are fixed on something better than such Foolleries.  
Be it so then, and we'll take this excuse as you have laid it; but first, you must show one of these Saintlike Ladies, if never so little a pretender to Youth and Beauty, who won't leave all these grave thoughts, if she sees but a Spark she likes, fixing his Eyes intently on hers, who will not be pleased with it, and return it, and split Glances with him, and say, by your leave Devotion, on such an occasion?  
You do indeed come to Church, especially in the Afternoons, as soon as you are Dressed, when 'tis fair weather, when there's a Preacher you like, when 'tis not very hot, nor very cold, nor you han't a Cough, or like to be thronged in your Seat, or Mr. Thimbleman's Wife does not sit above ye, of you have no Visitants at home, or no new Play, or Novel, or can't sleep there as conveniently, or out of Complaisance, or because all the Street besides does it, or when you have an Assignation, or hopes of seeing one you like, or your next Neighbours New Gown, or Triumphant Topping. Nay, to Judge the most Charitably, when you know there's fine Music, or a delicate Anthem. And if you can find any better Reasons which bring the bigger half of your Sex thither, I'll freely own 'em all as devout as St. Katherine.  
But supposing you have no business there, neither with Lads nor Lasses, supposing your meaning as good, and Intention as pure as you'd desire, nay, pick out the very best of your Sex, choose you Representatives in every Church in Town, and let us see how they'll behave themselves. Their first work is certainly to throw their Eyes all round, to fish out their Acquaintance, and when once they find 'em, nothing but dopping and curtsying for a Quarter of an Hour. They are wonderful civil to all the Guests, only mythinks they'd do well not to forget the Master of the House for altogether.  
Tho I can't tell how they should do otherwise, when if they happen to be awake, 'tis Chat and loud Whispers, and Laughter that keeps 'em so. They would not be guilty of so rude a thing as to hearken to the Parson for a whole half hour, they are better bred then to mind what he says; They are not such Fools as to need his Homilies.  
Well, when they have half chatted, and half nodded out the Sermon, and once get to the joyful Door again, you'll see more of their Religion in their abundant Charity; and if they have any, here's indeed a very convenient place to show it, in the worst sense of the word. The small pence fly about, that you'd think it a Coronation, and there's at least a brazen shower, if not a Silver one, among the poor thirsty Mumpers: But no more of this, lest we should discourage you from this little Kind of Goodness, which would be a great deal better, if Vanity did not lie at the Core; a Worm which Cankers the fairest Fruit, and makes it good for nothing.  
'Tis a violent suspicion that the Vessel is very empty, which makes so loud a Noise: That all this Art and Paint is to cover some great Deformity. Why so much Parade and Clutter, and Pretence, if all were right? Religion is modest, and Calm and Silent; It dwells retired in the deepest recesses of the mind: It will, it's true, sometimes break out, and shine Gloriously, like the M●●n from behind a Cloud, but its lustre is not fierce, nor glaring: 'Tis sweet, and natural, and is seen whether it will or no, but 'tis contented to shine alone, 'tis equally beautiful when no Eye sees it, it has no need of spectators, nor does it ever desire 'em. Compare this with yours, and see whether you know it.  
Superstitious you are, we must own, to the very height, and consequently you would have been Religious among the Heathens, who use the same word to signify both. You made excellent Bacchanals, but I can't tell whether so good Christians. O! The Devotion of your Brass Kettles, when you tabered upon 'em with such abundant Zeal, to wake poor Dame Luna when she fell into a Fit of the Mother. Horrid Music indeed! But rarely well fitted to the Gods, and to the Worshippers.  
How has your tattling Sex debauched mankind in their very Cradle! How many ridiculous foolish Hobgoblin-Tales have you invented, and so often repeated 'em till you yourselves believed 'em, with which in all Ages, you have prepossessed us in our Infancy, the only time when you can impose upon us, without our leaves, and endeavoured to render our minds as Weak and Timorous as your own, which though some grow out, by a happy Genius, and peculiar strength of Nature, yet it gives others a sort of kickets in their understandings, which they never get shut off after.  
Some Crimes, it's true, you are not so frequently guilty of as our Sex, for which there are several Reasons, Murders you need not Act yourselves, for you have Bravoes enough to perform 'em without your appearing in 'em. From others your way of Life secures you, and you are good, if we may therefore call you so, because you can't help it; as a Robber, or a Pickpocket are very honest, (all but their minds) when they are Loaden with Irons. But still you make a hard shift to break out now and then, as they say those People do from Prisons, to exercise their Art, and return to that sanctuary unsuspected, yet you are sometimes snapped, however they get off, and we need but observe every Session's Paper, and reckon whether is the greater Number, of your Sex or ours, who are there Monthly Condemned, to form an infallible Judgement how far yours excels, both in Honesty and Goodness.  
Timothy Randal—   

Answer to Letter XVII. That Women are more Religious then Men.  By Madam CARTER— 
In a Letter to the Lady who defends our Sex.  
Madam,  
I must once more than draw my Pen in the defence of my Sex: My General lays her commands upon me, and I am all Acquiescence.  
You have indeed given me the Post of Honour, that part where the Enemy makes his first attacks, and if he misses here, and is beaten off again, we need not much apprehend him any where else.  
For, as some of their Sex have endeavoured to persuade ours, that we have no Souls, for a very Transparent Reason, so if others of 'em could bring us to forget we had any Religion, they would then be on the Square with us, and would not be much afraid of what that Bugbear Honour could do against them.  
Malice I see will pervert and poison the fairest Action, nay, will contradict itself rather than not blast the Reputation of its Neighbour.  
If we go to Church we are Hypocrites, if we have any necessary occasions that forbidden us that Happiness, it is according to this Gentleman's Charitable Judgement, because we slight it, and make it our Aversion.  
If we manifest any respect, or awful reverence at the extraordinary manifestations of that Divine Power, which makes even Atheists tremble, why, 'tis nothing but Superstition and Folly; if we are but civil to an Acquaintance at Church, at our first Entrance; for I never knew we were to put off Civility there, any more than any where else, this too must be viewed through false optics: Our Charity itself must be mere Ostentation, as our design in rendering ourselves at the public place of Worship, only to meet, or ensnare some of their Innocent Sex, who had no such vain Imaginations. But he has one Accusation, which I acknowledge lies heavier than all the rest: That we go to Church to hear a fine Anthem: And if we went thither to Sing one, would there be any thing in it blameworthy? I expected the next Crime he would lay to our charge, would be, that we went thither to say our Prayers.  
Some there are, even of our Sex, whom you and I Madam have often observed, with grief and shame, who too often abuse this sacred place with Tattling and Laughter: Let the satire of our Antagonist fall as hard as he sees convenient on such as these, and let him, if he please, Whip 'em out of our Churches, like other Troublesome Animals; but then let him be sure not to overlook any of his own Sex, who are guilty of the same Miscarriage, and let him not unjustly blame those who are free from it.  
We are all Flesh and Blood, there's no dispute of it: Both Sexes are moulded of the same Clay, we do not pretend to be Angels, though our Flatterers would sometimes persuade us so, in order to make us like themselves.  
If they find our Weakness, why are they so ungenerous as to make us betray it? Why can they not desist from tempting us, even when we take Sanctuary to avoid them?  
But yet they cannot affirm without Injustice, that they find our Sex of such I inder- Constitutions; since they know many of their own, who have dogged a Lady to Church often enough, without seeing so much as her Face while they were there, at least, if that could not be avoided, meeting no Encouragement to their Amorous Follies, but all their Glances and Oglings lost in the Air, like the Curses they cast on the Insensible fair Saint, for not returning them.  
As bad as we are in general, nay, as much depraved as the other Sex really is, I am not willing to believe so ill even of them, as this Gentleman would Insinuate, only to blast us; not unlike the Envious Wretch that pulled out one of his own Eyes, that his Neighbour might lose both.  
He represents things indeed, in a more deplorable condition than I would hope they deserve, our Churches, like those in other countries', little better than Theatres, and the same Intrigues managed in both, or rather, as they were of old, and as the Turkish Spy describes some others, like the old Heathenish Temples of Cupid and Venus.  
Pity those who abuse 'em should ever enter 'em, unless there were more hopes of their Reformation by 'em. But I cannot think those things are so common as he would have us believe.  
I declare, I have known but few such Instances, and I never heard you, Madam, mention many more. It's possible that in five or six hundred, or a Thousand People, there may be some few who make this the End of their coming thither. But what just reflection can this be upon all the rest, who may be as reasonably charged with Picking Pockets, because it's Notorious that many wretches come constantly to Church with no other Intention.  
It's indubitably evident, that there may be Hypocrisy in frequenting the Public Worship, but 'tis as certain, that in ordinary cases, there can be no Religion without it: Admit but this, which I do not fatter myself in my own cause, will appear very reasonable, and it will be soon visible, whether Sex has more Religion: The Gentleman, civilly remits us to the Session's Paper to make the Computation, but I must ask his pardon, if I cannot think that a fair way of Trial. Supposing it true, which he Asserts, there may be many reasons assigned for it, without granting Women are the more wicked: For when Men have brought 'em into the Snares of the Law, they generally leave 'em, and can shift for themselves well enough; besides, there are some Capital faults whereof Men cannot be guilty: And when they are Obnoxious to the Law, have many more Conveniences for making their Escapes, than a weak helpless Woman: These I take to be some of the reasons, why we sometimes find more Women in the Black Lift then Men, I say sometimes, because I know the contrary often happens.  
But now we have waited on our Antagonist to the jails, I hope he'll go with us to Church, without suspecting we have any design upon him by drawing him thither. We will not confine him to St. Brides neither, let him choose any Church in Town, and he'll easily see how far the Men are out-numbered by the Women, who without Compulsion fill those Seats, which would be very empty without 'em.  
And I'm apt to believe, notwithstanding all his wrath against us, he does really go to Church now and then himself, for he seems to have remembered several pretty things about Religion, which we own, as well as he, aught to be principally inward and silent; but yet if it be there, he knows it will work outward: Nor will he, I hope, affirm with many others, that there's no need of any public Worship.  
The next bad thing he lays to our Charge is Superstition, wherein he is so civil to acknowledge we exceed the Men, although not in true Religion: But he knows every Virtue runs nearer one extreme than the other, and he who is too Religious, too Unreasonably afraid of the Supreme Being, may yet in time have juster Notions of him, while a desperate Atheist is like to continue as he is, till another World convince him. He cannot say, there are yet many of that Impious Sect amongst us. He can Name no Hobbs, (he knows their Names better than we) nor any other such Universal Poisoners and Corrupters of Mankind, of our Sex, although we have had those as Famous for many sorts of Learning, as ever theirs could boast of: An Argument, by the way, that we are the sounder Philosophers too, because it has been observed, that a thorough and well digested Knowledge of things, inclines more to the belief of a Deity; whil'lt huddled, confused, and crude Notions, we see by experience, often render Men Atheistical and Irreligious.  
The Gentleman owns we have not the same Temptations to Vice, wherewith his own Sex is Assaulted, and we wish we had less still, as we should have, were it not for them: However, in these cases where we have no Tempter, let us be as frail as he can suppose us, we are not like to Err, and Freedom from Vice I take to be a good Degree of Virtue, and Innocence a good Foundation for Religion. They may discourse while they please, of knowing the World, and the Advantages of Experience, we envy 'em not their dear bought knowledge, but think those who know it least, are both the safest and the happiest.  
There is one passage more wherein he blames us, for our way of Educating Children, rendering their minds Wea● and Feeble, and filling 'em with our own Superstitious Notions.  
But I must needs tell him, this Objection is no great Argument of his own Religion, but sounds very much like his Divinity, who said, Fear first made Gods.  
We grant, and suppose he'll scarce deny, that a Just and Awful sense of what is infinite and invisible, is very proper to be Imprinted on the Minds of Children, while they are yet a Blank Table, and as useful to confirm and clear such Notions, if there already: To make 'em honest in the Dark, and to lay the Foundations of Piety and Virtue, and I should think this was the greatest Service could be done to mankind, and for which we deserve Laurels rather than Reproaches.  
Abigail Carter.—   

LETTER XVIII. That Uggliness is most desirable in a Wife.  By Sir HENRY— 
'TIS but a Cowardly sort of Virtue, that's forced to wink, in order to avoid a Beautiful Enemy:— Nor will I so much as make use of your own Arms against you, that this Beauty that makes such Ashes of us all, is only in the Imagination:— Let it be in the Sense too if it will, but I'm resolved it shall never domineer over my Reason. Nay, I'll not only think it, but even look it into an Indifference, and the Subtlest, the Loveliest, the Veriest Woman of ye all shall no more debauch my Judgement, than one of your Predecessors could the Person of that honest Philosopher. You may say, if you think fit, as she did, that I'm a Stone, and not a Man, but I'll prove my Reason beyond Contradiction, by despising such Irrational Creatures as you are. Nay, never Dress, nor Patch, nor Powder, nor Twire, nor Brustle up at me thus; for you'll all lose your Labour. My Choice is made; and if I must have a Wife, I'm resolved a good convenient Parcel of Vggliness shall be her principal Recommendation.  
And a thousand Conveniences shall I meet with by this honest Policy. First, I shall vex you, and mortify your vain Sex a little, which will do me more Good than a Thousand Guineas more in her Portion,— and it may be you may be the better for't too; at least, 'twill be your own faults, if you be not: For there might be some Hopes of you, if we could but once make you humble.  
But order you Matters as you please, for I'll still go on with my Story.  
In the next place, I shall need no Seraglio, no Black or White Eunuches, to keep that safe, which no Body but myself will meddle with. Who would disquiet himself for the vain Satisfaction of having what's left of a Beauty, when he may be so much more happy, with one of a different Character. A thousand Towers, and Looks, and Bars, and Fathers and Husbands can't preserve an Alemena, or a Danae: What Eternal Caterwauling there is about one of these Pestilent Beauties; what purring o' one side, and scratching o' t'other? How often a Man may have been Skin-pinckt, for presuming but to lead home his own natural Wife? With what Fear and Reverence must he Salute her How tenderly must he touch such China Ware, and how slight a matter reduces it to its Primitive Earth again? Give me a good plain Earthen Platter, that will endure a sound Bang, and while I eat in't, I'm safer from Poison, then if all my Meat were served up in unicorns Horns.  
A fine Woman must be conceited, if she has any Eyes, and consequently be pleased herself, that she pleases others. Then should I have a thousand Fop-doodles, Primeing, and Cocking, and Dressing, and Singing at her, and Corrupting all my Servants, and if by Miracle he should at last, beyond my Expectation and his own, find her honest, he takes care to prefer her to one of the Boxes in the next Lampoon, or so publicly abuse her, that I must be forced to slit his Windpipe, or he mine, in attempting her Vindication.  
No, since our Honour is by the abundant Civility of our Country, in our Wives keeping, I would have my Cabinet made as plain and as strong as possible, that none should attempt to break it open, or if they did, might lose their Labour.  
And as I shan't be troubled from others, so neither from herself. My Dear Joan and I shall agree well enough together. She can't be Proud; for what has she to be Proud of, except of my affections? She can't be Ill-natured, for she has nothing but the Agreeableness of her Temper to retain my Heart. Nay, she can't be so much as Jealous, for she shall know I chose her before a Beauty, because I liked her better. She'll be content with any thing, because she's humble, and Name me one Beauty that ever had that Virtue; she'll not trouble me, or ruin me in Expenses. Not in , because she shall be so superlatively Ugly (if my kind Stars would but send me such a Jewel) that no Finery shall make her better. Nor in House-keeping, because she'll not care for much Company; nor in Journeys for the same Reason. She must Love me entirely, because none else will Love her, and that must needs make me Love her again, and how ardently shall I embrace her Fair Soul, through her homely Body? And how quiet and happy shall we sit at home, and pity the Miserable Beauties, and those who possess 'em, as Jove did Semele in the midst of Storms and Thunder; while their Reputations are Blasted, their content Banished, their Estates Ruined, their Hearts Tormented, and in a few Years, or perhaps Hours, that which was the occasion of all this, is no more: The fatal cause is ceased, but the effects still remain. The Beauty is gone, but the Woman still Lives and Hangs on ye, and would fain be a Beauty still, and when all the World is weary, you must begin, and Cringe and Court as much as ever.  
Whilst my dear Dowdy has such a Face that she defys Age, nay, Death itself to hurt it. 'Tis as invulnerable as the heel of Achilles, and by the looks on't you'd think it had been dipped in the same Water. Time must have a good stomach if he meddles with't. It must be merely for the sake of Malice, and therefore I hope, he'll let her alone as well as all the rest of Mankind: For my own use I'd have her, and what should I care whether she pleases others? she'll be a Guard to my House, her Face will fright Thiefs away, and my Children need no other Rawhead and Bloody-bones, to keep 'em in order. What pretty Cubs they'll be, and how like their own dear Father and Mother?  

Come hither and draw her sweet Picture Apelles,  
With a Face like the Fire-pan, and a Nose like the Bellows:  
Her Body all Grid-Ir'n (Mr. Printer! depend on't:)  
Or a Wormeaten Carot with two sticks at the End on't,  
Teeth, Fair as a Slow, by kind nature's direction  
Tho in vain, as a Foil to her darker Complexion.  
Her thin Lips how Pale, and her Gills, how all Rosy?  
But such Charms in her Breath, that each whiff overthrows ye.  
Such, such is my Fair one, no uglier I make her,  
And to show I'm not Jealous, he that likes her may take her.   
HENRY—   

Answer to Letter XVIII. In Defence of Beauty.  By Madam DENT. 
CIvility requires, Sir H. that we should leave you in the unenvied possession of what you so much delight in, the very Imagination of whose Charms had snatched you away into such a Rapture of Doggerel, as neither Wither, nor H. himself could equal.  
Let us then return to that against which you profess so utter an Aversion, and which all the World besides so justly admire. The Defence of Beauty, though it needs no Champion.  
My subject I feel is too big for me, and now only I repent my accepting your Challenge. Not that I fear any Antagonist, but that so weighty a cause has not a more equal strength to support it: It staggers me at once, and dazzles me, and if Sapph, or Behn herself were alive, they must undergo the same misfortune.  
Yet if I must fall, it shall be Honourably, I'll wish I could do more, and will at least attempt it, and perhaps might succeed, had I but all the Beauties in the World before me, that out of 'em, like the Painter, I might make one Venus.  
What art thou, thou strange unaccountable Every thing! Or by what Names, or Titles, shall we salute thee? We see thee every where, and yet none can define thee. Thou art the same, and yet infinitely diversified. Harmony is most like thee, and thou art the Concord, or rather the Virtue of all that's visible. The Almighty Artist has scatter'd thee through all his work. A Flower, a Blade of Grass, a Fly, a Mite possesses thee. We see thee in all shapes and dresses, we admire thee in the Picture of a Storm, or a Battle, and discover a Beauty even in Horror.  
Light itself is thy near Relation, or rather Lightning, could we separate it from the fatal effects it carries with it: Thy Darts are all peaceful and innocent, yet we feel 'em trill through our Hearts, and bless the wound that makes us Mad with Pleasure.  

'Tis in a humane Face thy Throne's erected,  
There dost thou Triumph with a Peaceful sway,  
Thy Sceptre makes the trembling World obey.   
See the little Monarches, the puny Princes and Conquerors, all the Greats, and the Immortals and Invincibles! How they creep and cover about thy Throne! Yet there's one that dares meet thy Beams, and that deserves 'em: He has lately lost a Beauty would have disputed Empires even with thee: Try if thou canst make it up, though that could scarce be done, shouldst thou thyself descend into his Arms!  

Whither, O Beauty! Wither hast thou drawn me?  
Why, O ye Peaceful Plains are you forsaken.  
For noisy Camps and Courts and glittering Thrones?  
I'll home again— Hail all ye happy shades  
Where untaught Nature, beautiful and young,  
Displays unborrowed charms; where thou and I,  
My Damon, Life's unenvied sweets may prove,  
And all the Luxury of Virtuous Love.   
Where we may see a thousand diverting objects, a thousand Beauties on every side, and bewilder our Eyes in the pleasing variety, and return to Living Beaatys, when they are tired with insensible objects, I know where my Eyes can meet their Acquaintance, and find as much Love as they bring with 'em. Such unaffected Gracefulness, such a manly Noble Air, such Eyes, such very Lovely speaking Eyes; Such modesty, such softness, such firmness, such a happy mixture, just such as I would wish in him I Love. And while he Loves, I have no more to wish.  
Who can think, or talk, or write temporately when Beauty is the Subject: Nothing could now be cold that had a Spark of Life, or motion.  
The pleasure it gives is more refined and more removed from sense, even then that of Music: Brute Creatures seem in some Instances to be moved by the latter, but only what has Reason by the former: That is too Spiritual a pleasure for their inferior Natures. I can't therefore think they have Reason, because they have no Choice in these matters: Their Appetites hurry 'em on for the preservation of their Kind, but Beauty never strikes 'em, and the Herd knows no more Distinction than it does Propriety.  
And if there should be any Creatures in humane shape, who had the same Tempers and Inclinations, who could remain insensible before such an object as commands reverence and respect from the greatest Barbarians, they ought rather to be ranked with those Inferior Animals, with whom they Sympathise, or at least among the Mimicry and Sports of Nature, who may seem to have taken pleasure in making a Figure so like a Man, which yet might puzzle the Philosophers to describe him, or to know what Species they ought to rank him under.  
Had Beauty only Barbarians to deal with, it would civilize 'em, had it the worst of Men, so they are but Men, it might work upon them, refine the Oar, smooth the rugged'st Temper, cultivate the most barren soil, and every day produce New wonders.  
But than it must keep company with Virtue, for if once that leaves it, how soon will it Pine and Languish? 'Tis like the Vine without the Elm, the Jessamine without its Support. It tumbles to Earth, and is Trodden into the Mire, by every one that passes by it.  
The more difficulty there is in preserving Beauty unblemished, the more glorious are those who do so. It's possible to be done, for it has been, and still is, in many instances. Heaven is not so envious, or malicious as Earth, but can give Beauty and Virtue to the same Person, and they agree so well together, 'tis pity they should ever be parted.  
It is the envy and wicked Revenge of disappointed Wickedness, which often endeavours to sully what it cannot ruin; and the rest of mankind is so ill-natured, and so very partial, that any of this Kind is greedily received and easily believed.  
Yet after all, if there are really so many ill Women in the World as some would persuade us, who pretend to be very well acquainted with 'em, 'tis easily Demonstrable, that Beauty is not the cause on't, nay, that the smaller part of those who deserve that Character are really Beautiful, because homely Faces make up the most of the World.  
And it is still more likely, on some Accounts, that a fine Woman should be Virtuous than one who is more indifferent, because she is naturally and justly conscious of her own worth.  
There is a decent Pride, which will not let her have such cheap thoughts of herself as other People.  
If 'tis objected, that she values herself for it; and why should she not, so she does it Soberly and Moderately? What Man is there who has more Strength, or Wealth, or Wit, or Prudence then his Neighbours, who does not find his mind Proportionably to his Endowments, and expect a just deference from such as come behind him in any of those Qualifications.  
Beauty, 'tis true, decays, and so does every thing that's Mortal; but 'tis better to be happy some part of Life, than none at all; and the Ruins of a good Face, must be better than those of a bad one; Nay, more agreeable in Age, than the other, when it had the Freshest Youth to recommend it.  
Deformity strikes the mind with Horror, as Beauty with Love: 'Tis, I confess, a deep Piece of Policy to Marry such a Person as a Man cannot Love himself, for fear any body else should Love her, Nor is he always so sure of that neither, since a misshaped body oftentimes covers a more awkward and misshapen mind. And Nature seems to cry, Beware! whenever it shows us one of those Antic Figures, and this they are so sensible of themselves, that they are generally either negligent, and squalid of one side, because indeed, they despair of pleasing after all their pains, or else Spiteful and Malicious Enemies to all the World, because they think they have but few Friends in it. Nor has it been rarely found, that such Persons as these have been lost in the lowest degrees of the most fordid Vices, agreeable to their Nature and Inclination: Tho this must be owned, in the last place, to prevent the Imputation of Ill-nature and Injustice, that where such as these apply themselves vigorously to the Prosecution of Virtue, they become as Famous as any, through a happy resolution of mind.  
But yet on the other side, none can deny that Virtue looks much more Charming in a Beautiful Dress, then in one that's more indifferent or displeasing.  
Katherine Dent   

LETTER XIX. Against a She-wit.  By Sir THOMAS— 
She's such an Heterogeneous Creature as Africa ne'er produced, for Nature will have her Fegaries too, now and then, in these colder Regions. The French have made it a Question, whether there can be such a thing as a Wit of the Breed of some Nations: I think they'll allow it with much ado, once or twice in an Age amongst us Insularies; not that we have any great reason to thank them for it, any more than those who first transported other Wild-Beasts into our Island. But above all the Forest, defend me from a She-wit, and a She-Tyger, tho' of the Two, I should think the former the more terrible, and that I was scarce safe, tho' the wooden Bars in the Tower kept the Peace between us. Her Face I should not much quarrel with, tho' generally cut out of the same piece with the He wit's, nor so much as her Tongue, tho' as melodious as a Cornet: But it's her Teeth and Nails that I'm afraid of, for they rankle at the least touch, and are more furiously venomous than can be imagined. Besides, she's as dangerous at a distance, as at baudy-blows; she's stuck round with Pens, as a Porcupine with Quills, and can dart 'em more speedily and inevitably.  
The Turkish Spy tells us of a rare Fellow that could shoot Twenty-five shot within the compass of a Penny, out of a little Pocket-Cross-bow; but the French spoiled his sport, and got him assassinated, for fear of the worst, and because he might do 'em a mischief. You She-wits will shoot faster, and farther, and deeper, and make use of poisoned Arrows, and yet you live under so mild a Government, that it takes no care to prevent the mischiefs you may occasion, does not so much as make you find Sureties for your good Behaviour: However, abuse not its Lenity, lest it should turn into Fury, and at last order your Arms to be seized, like those of other dangerous and disaffected Persons.  
But if you have Beauty added to your Wit, the Poison is still stronger, and the Infection more mortal; you fight then as unlawfully, as those who wear Charms about; 'em; ●ou can kill every body else, and are yourselves invulnerable. Besides, you are the Representatives of all your Sex, the Treasurers of all its Pride and Vanity, its Revenge and Malice, and there would be danger of your Monopolising 'em, had you not such an inexhaustible Fund amongst ye; Potozis and Mexico's piled one upon tother, whose bottom it's as hard to find, as that of the King of Spain's Treasure: Nor have you any need of a Flota to convoy it home; 'tis your native growth, and spreads incredibly; it lies on the very Surface, and kills whatever is near it.  
There's indeed no touching one of those sort of Creatures, nor so much as venturing safely within sight of you: It's as dangerous approaching you, as 'tis to disturb a Painter when he's about some extraordinary piece of Work; a Man must expect as soon as 'tis finished, to see his Face on some Devil's Shoulders: He's sure to fill a Gap in your next Lampoon, or furnish a Character in your new Comedy; for if he gives way to the Stream, and lets you have all the Discourse, he's a Dull Fellow, and for that must be made an Example; if he ventures to put in a word now and then, he's impertinent, and hinders you from pleasing yourself, and entertaining the Company with your agreeable Conversation.  
But above all, woe to the Wretch that's in love with you, for his Torment is such, that nothing can equal it. The Fantastic Devil will be sure to will-o-the wisp him about, till he's not able to stir, and it may be give him at last a dirty Ditch or Quagmire to rest in. He must be the veriest Fetch-and Carry, the most errand Lover, the gentlest, tamest, Creature that ever was good for nothing but to make a Husband. Everlasting Teizing is his Portion; sometimes you'll no more let him approach ye, than a Persian Bride, and it may be, a Minute hence, the Wind changes, and you stifle him to Death with your kindness.  
Now you are all Thunder, by and by nothing to be heard but gentle Murmurs; and presently you are changed into Tehee and Laughter; but to be sure your merry Humour comes when he's grave, and if the Lover's pleasant, for that very reason you can once be silent.  
You'll wink upon his Rival before his Eyes, and yet he shan't dare complain, nay, not so much as sigh, or look displeased, unless he'd eternally lose you. And yet still you find a way to twist yourselves about his Heart again, that it shall neither be in his power to hate or forsake you, though he knows not how to love you. Away he flies, when you have provoked him beyond measure, but you can lure him down again, struck him and please him, make him shut his blue Broad Eyes, and sleep in your Bosom.  
And then if you do pinion him, when you have him at such an advantage, whom can he blame but his own easiness and folly?  
What should you do with wit? it always oversets you, your Sail is unproportionable to your Ballast, when a Storm comes, you must down with all, or inevitably to the bottom.  
I know no good it does ye, or ever can, or what you are the better for't, unless that it teaches ye to despise your Husband, and to dispute with 'em, instead of obeying 'em.  
Well rest the Ghost of poor Milton, who when you had blinded him, like his own Samson, yet made a shift to give you one Sparring Blow, before he died. For thus he compliments you, and instructs us in his Samson Agonistes.  

— heavens Universal Law,  
Gave to the Man despotic Power,  
Over his Female, in due awe,  
Nor from that right to part an Hour;  
Smile she or lour.  
So shall he least Confusion draw,  
On his own Life, not swayed  
By Female Usurpation, nor dismayed.   
And now we are fallen upon Poetry, pray how many honest Poetesses can you reckon among ye? From Granny Sapph, down to Mother Behu? If Boccalin been't too grave an Author for ye, pray be at the trouble to read a very edifying Story in him— 'Tis the 22d Advertisement, That the Gentlemen of Parnassus having, contrary to their ancient Laws, admitted into their Academy, several virtuous Lady-Poetesses, they were at first wonderfully applauded by the Virtuosos, and what with Emulation, and what with Love, never were there finer Performances in their public Schools. But within a little while, Apollo smelled out some do amongst 'em, which did not at all please him; on which he immediately called a Parliament, and ordered all the Poetesses to be banished out of his Territories, as Plato served the Poets, making a strict Law, that never any more of 'em should be admitted afterwards, giving this Reason, worthy his wisdom for so severe a Decree, because he had found by experience, that women's best Poetry was in their Distaff and their Needle, and that their Exercises in common with the Virtuosos, was like Dog's Play, which generally ends in getting upon one another's Backs.  
They tell a Story of a little pigmy sort of a Poetaster, who was so very light, he was forced to wear Lead in his Shoes, to prevent his being whisked round like a Straw, and blown away by every blast of Wind. You Lady Poets, are often said to be obliged to our Sex for assistance in your Composures; but if one of you could but have stolen this little Fellow's Shoes, and had others made by their Model for all your Sisterhood, 'twould have done you more service than the best Plot or pair of Verses that any of your Sex ever made bold with from the works of your Neighbours.  
THOMAS.   

Answer to Letter XIX. Being a Defence of Wit and Poetry in Women.  By Madam GODFREY. 
WHy so angry with Wit, Sir T. Remember what a Good Natured Gentleman, like yourself, replies to his Antagonist on such an occasion; you might have been made a Wit yourself, and should you have taken it well, if others had been so angry with you for no other Reason?  
Ay— but 'tis the She-wits that you declare War against; you are afraid of 'em, and yet you provoke 'em. You make 'em a parcel of Tygresses and Cata-mountains, and all the Monsters in the Tower, and yet as valiantly as your Brother Knight of the Ill-favoured Countenance, go and set open their Cage, nay thrust in a Staff, and make 'em cuff it about, without any fear of their sallying out against you: And I believe, after all, you need not fear 'em: For have you not seen a harmless Familiar Creature, walk about in the same Cage with the Lions, who yet have scorned to touch him, and thought him below their Anger? Nothing but Hunger could ever drive 'em to lift up their Mighty Paw against him. Even so, Sir T. But so much for Similes, and now to the merits of the Cause in controversy between us.  
I confess, I always thought that Wit and Learning had polished the Manners, and rendered all Persons more refined, and more conversible; and that nothing was more fierce, or more untractable, than a Dunce or a Fool. But 'tis an Age of Paradoxes, Sir T. This that we live in, and you are born, I perceive, to do service to Humane-kind, and to set us right, and clear our Judgements from these and many other vulgar Errors. You assure us, that a Wit is the most fierce and most formidable Creature in the World: A thing with a long Tail, huge Horns, vast Glareing Basin Eyes, unsufferable tremendous Claws, and a Tail, as long as a Blazing-Star, and as mischievous as a Scorpion's.  
But is it not strange that in Creatures of the same Species, there should be so vast a difference? Why, there is not more between a tiney Newt, or a harmless little Lizzard, and your vast and terrible Crocodiles, or Alligadors, then between a He, and a Shee-Wit, according to your way of describing the one, and what we know of the other. Since your Hee-Wits, Sir T. by all that we could ever observe, and as you know by experience, are often the gentlest tamest Creatures, that we Ladies are no more afraid of, then of our Squirrels: We have 'em in a Chain, they fling themselves about from one place to t'other, are never at rest, but always good humoured and diverting, and give 'em but a handful of Filberts, you shall have 'em the best Company in the World. Tho these, I confess, are only the Tame-Wits of whom I'm discoursing, and are among whom our Acquaintance chief lies; Those who are refin'd and polished by their Conversation with the Fairer Sex, whose company you must own, exceeds the best Academies in these matters, since for those of ye who run wild, and only herd with one another, how should you but retain your Native Fierceness, and yet certainly you might be tamed too, with our good management, unless you are worse than Elephants.  
You are afraid of our Painting; Sir T. and lest you should see your own sweet Face exposed by some of our Pencils more to the Life then you'd desire: But yet a wise Man would not be too much afraid of a distant and only possible danger: Besides, there are some Faces so very hard to hit, so full of so many pretty oddnesses, and particularities, and so very Jenesceay-quoyish, that a Good Artist would hardly venture his Reputatition in attempting 'em. However, should we ever venture to draw it, we promise you we won'not be so Malicious as to put a Tail to't.  
But you say, 'tis ill trusting such Edge-Tools, as wit in our Hands. I confess, Sir, you have reason, for if we once knew how to use 'em, we should soon beat ye at your own Weapons; at Mother-Wit, you own we outdo ye already; and who can blame you for endeavouring to keep us from improving it, since we should then be doubly your Masters?  
It were but fair tho, after after all these quarrels about Wit, that you would be so kind to tell us what it is, lest we should dispute, and you should blame us for what yet never had a real being.  
If it be, a just Imaging of Nature, why may not our Sex attempt it as well as yours, and what inconvenience could follow, should they succeed in't, and why may not they do it Masterly as well as Bungling? Success in these things depending partly upon Observation, and partly on custom, but chief on a lively Imagination and a happy Genius. And indeed it's in this quickness of the Imagination, wherein Wit may be thought Principally to consist, according to the most usual acceptation of the word, although, if considered to the bottom, it may be this Definition would be found to fall in with the former. However, all are agreed, that Readiness of Thought, and Sharpness of Repartee, are great Instances of Wit, and that in such Lucky turns we may see the liveliest Glances of it. And if in these you will not pretend to come near us, what is there in them, I beseech you to tell us, for which you can justly blame us? These things are Diverting, and Surprising, and Agreeable, and for which you value yourselves very highly, and you pretend you are fond of 'em too in us, when you can find 'em.  
That Wit, in Woman found so rare as one of your own assuming Sex describes it, and yet when you have found it, you are always envying and pecking at it; Neither Folly nor Wit in our Sex will please ye, and yet you have Indifference as much as either.  
But our next Accusation is for Poetry, another Mortal Sin, which no Indulgence from your Infallibilities, it seems, must Pardon.  
And why should you envy us the little we have of it? A few Airy Songs, o● a Copy of whining Love-Verses to our Faithless unconscionable Bajazet, is, for the most part, all that we pretend to. If by a Miracle, we Writ a New Play now and then, or Vamp up an old one, you know that's our Top, and seldom there, any higher than Farce or Comedy. But for High and Mighty Epic, for the most perfect work of Humane Nature, we leave that entirely unto you, none of ours having ever invaded that province; you may, as long as you please, Writ Dull Foli●'s yourselves, nor shall we envy the Honour you have in Composing 'em, nor the Happiness of others in Perusing 'em.  
But you are most troubled at our want of Henesty: As much, I suppose, as most of your  and Virtuous Sex; though you are more troubled where you find that Accusation a Slander, as it is much more frequently than Truth and Justice. But however, pray whether of these two is it, Poetry, or W●●, that makes us dishonest, and how come either of 'em to have such dismal effects on us, and no such thing in you? O! 'Tis the strength of your Tempers, the Firmness of your minds, and your Consummated Habits of Virtue, 'tis these doubtless that are such Powerful Antidotes, that they can resist such subtle Poisons, and whereof you are so plentifully stored, that if you think they would have the same effect in us, 'twould be a Noble Piece of Charity to assist us with a good quantity of it, since 'tis to be supposed you have very large Funds of your own, which high Obligation should be ever acknowledged by  
Your Humble, etc. Rachel Godfrey.   

LETTER XX. Against women's Jealousy.  By Mr. TRENCHFEILD. 
WHen 'tis your own case, you have a ready excuse for the basest Infidelity, and when you have given us the broadest Signs of your Falsehood, and we must pull out our Eyes if we would not see them yet forsooth, we legitimate all your Injustice by daring to suspect it: And would you be willing to have this turned upon you, or where is the Equity, that you'll allow this to be very fair o' your side, but not of ours? There's nothing more vexatious nor more common amongst you then this Tormenting Vice of Jealousy: 'Tis almost as natural t'ye as Pride and Peevishness, for 'tis an apparent mixture of born. It argues the meaness of your Tempers too, as well as, too often, your own Infidelity. Little minds are most apt to ●u●p●●ion, (of which Argus is a notable 〈…〉 which the great and 〈…〉 much rather be ill 〈…〉 then causelessly suspect any Injury. Gild itself is the most Jealous thing in Nature: 'Tis a sore suspicion you have been formerly in the Oven, by your peeping so often into't. There's no possibility of satisfying a Jealous Woman; were you Married to an Eunuch, you would scarce trust him out of your sight, any more than the Famous Turkish Emperor: I wonder you have never yet invented Male Padlocks, since you'd gladly keep the Men up as close as the Easterlings do their Women: And when they have escaped Prison for an hour, or a day, ne'er a Prince in Europe has more Spies about him then a poor Husband: Who shall scarce look on another Woman, but his own hears on't almost as soon as the Glance is over; but if he dares proceed so far as a civil Salute, he's a gone Man, and I know not how he'll dare lift up his Face any more before his Lady Wife: Alas, poor Husband! This is his condition, and so much worse that one can scarce conceive it without the hazard of a very dangerous experiment, and actually entering into the Noose to Learn what ' 'tis. How many Lives have been sacrificed to that insatiate Fiend, a Female Jealousy, and what Hecatombs would be sufficient to appease it! You are all Medaea's and Circe's, and Poisons and Daggers are your mildest presents on such occasions, and the very suspicion of one Crime in the Man, shall too often be followed with the Perpetration of many much blacker from his implacable Governess.  
Or if you are not quite so outrageous, you make it out, as far as you are able, in lesser, but perpetual Vexations! As importunate you are as Flies in July, and like them, as impotent as you appear, you can yet draw Blood where  you settle. You ‛ worry us with your Peals, as your foresaid Friend complains of one of your Predecessors. What an incredible Copia you have? How came you by such an Inexhaustible stock of words, and so much Natural Eloquence? Here you display all your Figures, and envy us none of your Rhetoric. You are never at a stand unless when you are out of Breath, or Chap-fall'n with too violent motion; and what haste ought an honest man to make in such a case for a Surgeon, to get all set right again?  
Even Night itself, the Easer of all other Cares, brings no benefit to the miserable wretch that's haunted with such a Domestic Fieud: What makes up all other Breaches only widens theirs: The Sun may set and rise, and set again, but she's no Changeling: The Bed's her Chapel, and she says her Prayers there, but 'tis as Witches do, all backward.  
She has an admirable Memory, that's the Truth on't, and shall run ye back ten, or twenty years, and give the poor Man as exact a Catalogue of all his Sins, as if she had been his Evil Genius, that tempted him to commit 'em. He rests, but 'tis as the Saint did upon Gridirons: When she's tired, which may be about Cock-crowing, and sleep with much a ado Tongue-bolts her for a few moments, he's still but little the better, and even she is her own Tormentor; she dreams every moment that she surprises him in another's Arms, Screeches out and snatches after him, till she wakes him in as great a fright as herself; unless he's disturbed and starts up before, at her terrible shape, that still creeps in through her closed Eyelids, and repeats all the Lectures she had just been giving him.  
Even the Church is no Sanctuary to him from her intolerable vexation, she accompanys him thither more out of Spite than Devotion, watches him as sharp as an old Usurer his Rich Hieress, keeps her Eye as intently fixed on his, as if she were duelling him, and if it ever chance to fall on any Female Face in the whole Company, she's ready to unsheathe her Talons, fly out of the Seat at her, and fasten like a Cat, to the Destruction of her innocent rigging. And here's abundant matter for Repetition, when they get home again, as well as for Invention and Malice a long time after. She's such a deepsighted Politician, that, with her, whatever may be, always is; she never wants Circumstances to set off her Venomous Imaginations, she Poisons the fairest Fame with but breathing on't. All Womankind, in her opinion, is one great Strumpet, and she's Jealous of 'em all, lest her Grand Signior should reduce 'em into one Seraglio.  
Nay, she's Jealous even of herself, lest he should think of others while he's embracing her, and not content of Persecuting him in this World, would fain carry her cruelty even beyond the Grave. She's Mortally afraid of dying first, lest he should Marry again, she thinks Second Marriages but another sort of Adultery, and absolutely unlawful, and if any thing could make her content to leave him, 'twould be the hopes of haunting him in the time of his Second Wife, drawing the Curtains, glaring in upon 'em, pulling off the  from 'em, and sliding in cold between 'em. And earnestly wishes for the Enchanted Ring they talk of, which made one of the French Kings so mad for his Mistress, and dote upon her very Carcase.  
Robert Trenchfield.   

Answer to Letter XX. Concerning Jealousy in Women.  By Madam BRIGGINSHAW. 
YOU must own Jealousy is sometimes a Sign of Love; you so often give us reason to be Jealous, there is not a Creature in the World more Jealous than a Husband, and yet you run on in the Old Track, load us with all the odium you can rake together, and would have us believe your Sex is perfectly innocent.  
Why should a Wife ever concern herself at what her Husband did, had she not an extraordinary tenderness for him? And does she not deserve better returns than she generally meets with, for enduring so painful a Passion only on his Account, whereas if she never Loved him, she would know nothing of it?  
You are all ready enough to blame our Sex, whether with, or without Reason, and to exclaim against 'em, if they manifest the least Resentment in cases of this Nature: You would have us be all such perfect Grizzles as the Woman that Lucy talks of, who furnishf a Chamber for her Husband's Conveniencies: But you cannot think it so very easy for a Woman of Spirit to digest an affront of so high a Nature: We do not care for being slighted any more than you, we think we deserve Love, and may reasonably expect it: But when after the most Solemn Vows, the most passionate and private Oaths, and public Solemnities, a Fine Woman shall be left in a few Months, it may be, for some contemptible disease, or at least common and mercenary Creature; this would provoke any thing that is not all a Saint, which Character not very many; either of us or you can pretend to: And no other Reason given for this Treatment but, she's a Wife, with a Curse at one end on't. And how common this is at present, how difficult to find any of your Sex who are Masters of any more fidelity or honesty, all the Surgeons in Town can Witness, as well as the unwholesome dwindling Remains of many considerable Families. I can scarce forbear Naming some of 'em, did not decency forbidden it: There are few Letters in the Alphabet that would not point at one or other.  
There's my Lord, A. and B. and C. and D. and Sir E. F. and G. H. and J. K. and L. M. N. and Sir O. P. and Squire Q. R. though I think there's but one of that Name, and even Mr. S. T. and V W. and I might go on at the same rate were there a Hundred Letters in the Alphabet, or should I repeat it an hundred times over, or Ring as many Changes upon't as one may upon Four and Twenty Bells. And while mankind is so Universally false, whether would you think it a piece of Charity, or Folly in a Woman never to suspect, Nay, not to believe her Eyes, when the Baseness and Villainy of your Sex appears so Glaringly before 'em? It is not indeed, properly Jealousy or Suspicion, but certainty and demonstration, when matters are once brought to this pass: But you'll say, suppose an Husband has been once false, he may be better, and we ought to hope better of him: Why truly, I know no absolute Impossibility in the Repentance of the Devils themselves, but yet I'm sure they are fallen; and have not so large a Charity for them, as I have heard one of the Fathers had, who fully believed they should be saved: It is not often that Men repent, when arrived to any height of Wickedness: They should have stopped short before they had got so far; when they are fallen, they must needs be down, and who can undo what is once done in such cases? or how can we help Remembering the Treason, when we have the Traitor always before our Eyes? When it is your own Case, you plead that the Marriage is effectually dissolved by any one Act, on the Woman's side of this Nature. But pray how many must go to it on the Man's? Or if one were sufficient, how few Marriages would remain undissolved? It is indeed this consideration, and the kindness we have to our Families, and the order of the World, and even to our False and Tyrannical Masters, which inclines us to put up more Affronts of this Nature, than it were possible for us to digest, were we not more unpassionate and more capable of Reason than you generally represent us; Especially when you have so far suborned custom to your side, as unreasonable a Tyrant as yourselves, that it has passed it into one of its own unequal Laws, that it is the Duty of a Woman to be all Milk and Butter, all sweetness and softness, when her Husband keeps a Brace, or a Leash of Rampant Whores under her Nose, it may be in the very House, and maintained by her Fortune, to bring Beggary and Diseases into the Family: Whereas when a Gentleman is but seen near a Woman's Apartment, if he dares but peep into the Avenues of the Seraglio, immediately nothing's to be heard but Pistols and Daggers, and Divorces and Acts of Parliament, and all the terrible things in Nature. Now although you are pleased for some Politic Reasons, to give yourselves so great an Advantage, without any regard to the weakness of our Sex, or the Temptations of your own, or Generosity, or so much as common Justice; yet you might permit us still to keep that little Portion of Common Sense, which Nature has given us, and though we have so little means to right ourselves, give us leave to know when we are injured, and to be uneasy under the Injustice. For suppose us, for once, to have all the Charity and Goodness which you think we want, yet one such wound, one Act of Infidelity, if it should not be Mortal to our Love, must yet needs leave a deep and a lasting Scar behind it. Such too well grounded Suspicions, with such Ruinous matter of Fact to support 'em, as you can never blame us for 'em, unless you do the same for having Eyes, or for thinking, and making use of our Reflection and Reason.  
I cannot deny but we know we are never the better, for all the discoveries we make of this Nature, nay, that it would be on some Accounts the wiser way to rest ourselves content in ignorance, rather than by enquiring into your Infidelitys, to have only a miserable choice left us, either to be disappointed in our search by your deeper cunning, and so lose all our expense and time, or it we find what we expect, to give ourselves the most sensible Affliction and Torment: Yet on the other side, you must acknowledge that suspense is one of the most uneasy conditions of Life, and you can hardly with Justice blame us if we desire to get out of it, and to know the worst, whatever it costs us. LYDIAH BIGGINSHAW.   

LETTER XXI. That a True Wife 's Incorrigible.  By Mr. AXTEL— 
I don't mean that she ought not to be corrected, but that if she be, she'll be never the better for't, and that she's so consummately perverse, that there's no manner of way to work upon her. A Tiger may be tamed, a Lion may have his Teeth knocked out, and Claws pared, and any other sort of Viper its Sting pulled out; but do all this to a Woman, she'll be a mere Woman still: If you knock out her Teeth, she'll mumble you with her implacable Gums; nay, if you pull out her Tongue, she'll certainly scold with the stump on't, while the least bit is left. A Ducking Stool is but a sort of Chair of State with 'em, when enthroned there, they are at the top of their Preferment: The Water is so far from cooling a seasoned Scold, that she is more likely to heat the Water; she sizzes as she goes down, and makes it at least Summer about her. She's like Achilles dipped in Styx, perfectly invulnerable, and contracts as much additional hardness as Steel, by being quenched in Water. The whole Sex are akin to the Taylor's Wife, they'll be snapping their Fingers as soon as they rise, sink 'em as deep as ye will; and when you see an Anvil the softer for being hammered every Day, you may hope the same good effect from disciplining a Woman, whose depraved Stomach turns not only Food, but wholesome Physic into the rankest Poison.  
Were I to direct a Painter to draw the Labour in vain, he should throw aside the old Story of Lathering the Blackmoor, and instead of it, should paint the Taming of the Shrew, which is scarce probable enough to make a Play of it, because none can affirm 'tis a true Image of Life. An Opera indeed might be made on't, such another business as the Tempest, but the Characters would be as incredible, and much stranger than the two Cubs begot by an Incubus.  
There's a dark sullenness, a black rooted obstinacy in all the Sex, the same keen sturdiness that we find in the Blacks, and tho' ye should cut the Snakes all to pieces, every little bit of 'em would fly in your Face.  
Well, will fair means do any better with 'em? will kindness and lenity work on their good Natures? Yes, just as much as 'twill upon a Wolf's, whom ye have saved from the Tree, and brought home to make a House Dog of him: Have at your Mutton, if he can any ways get a fling at it, and if he once breaks lose, he's ten times worse than ever.  
Whoever knew a Woman the better for being kindly used? No, 'tis your Duty, you ought to do no less; nay, you dare do not otherwise, and who should thank you only for paying them their own?  
This 'tis to be so very well opinioned of themselves, they have such an abundant stock of Conceit, that they merit more than all; they are out of reach of Civility, and 'tis impossible to oblige them.  
It shows indeed the Generosity of their Temper, that the more they are loved, the more still they insult. They have then a Handle, an Excuse for domineering, the couchant Husband or Lover must bid Farewell to the Reins and Saddle, know his distance, and learn obedience.  
But your Patience shall prevail as little as your Love: Who would not tread upon a Footstool? And the more you have born already, the more you are like to bear, as you are the better able. Your Brains lie in your Shoulders, for there is all your Wisdom. It's pity such excellent Virtues should rust, for want of due Exercise and Employment ● Doubtless, Matrimony is a state of great Perfection, it has in it so much Mortification.  
Be the Wife Virtuous or False, 'tis much the same thing as to the Man's Ease and Happiness, for if she's incorrigibly Virtuous, there's nothing in the World so imperious and assuming; and because she is not a Whore, expects you can do no less than fall down and worship her; tho' it may be, 'tis want of Beauty or Opportunity that keeps her— I won't say honest, but as she is. An Honest Shrew there's as little hopes of, as of a Precise Hypocrite. They stand upon their Honour, and are both so good, you know not how to mend 'em; and they neither envy the World the knowledge of their Virtues, for you never need fear but you shall hear of 'em. Ah— did I serve you as other Women do their Husbands, and keep a brace or two o'Gallands under your Nose, I should not be used thus. I should not wear such a Toad of a Gown here, not fit to make Shoe-Clouts: I should have more respect and Benevolence, and Worship, and Obedience.  
O'tother side, if she's a Grain too light, tho' you throw in whole Mountains, you could not turn the Scale. You must not believe your own dear Eyes in those cases, much less your Ears, tho' your Dishonour be peeling in 〈◊〉 every moment. Base, Jealous, Suspicious. Dog in a Manger, are it may be, some of the finest Salutations the poor humble wretch must expect, to make his Horns sit easy; or if she once fear he gins to use his Eyes, and resent it in earnest, than all the Sex's Magazine is presently opened, the Dressing-Box of their Minds, which they can paint too, when they please, and disguise beyond knowledge, as well as their Faces. The Sobs, and Tears, and Smiles, and Fits, and cunning half Confessions, and impudent sturdy Denials, as occasion serves, and she finds it most convenient, and according as his Heart is unguarded, and his soft side lies open. Milton will once more show 'em their Picture, and they can't deny but 'tis to the Life.  

— ' These are they wont Arts,  
‛ And Arts of every. Woman false like thee,  
 break all Faith, all Vows, Deceive, Betray.  
‛ Then, as Repentant to submit, beseech,  
‛ And Reconcilement move, with feigned remorse,  
‛ Confess, and promise Wonders in her Change,  
‛ Not truly Penitent, but chief to try  
‛ Her Husband, how far urged his Patience bears  
‛ His Virtue or weakness which way to assail:  
‛ Then with more cautious and instructed Skill,  
‛ Again Transgresses, and again Submits.   
Like to a Miracle; for if he dotes on, and believes hearty, they are safe enough, and just as much altered as the Sea is by the shining of the Sun, or the Motion of the Wind. The Surface is a little varied, but the unfathomable bottom is still the same, the Water as salt and bitter as ever, and the Waves as dangerous and unconstant. What it loses in one Place, it gains in another; and tho' it can't dash the Rock in pieces at one stroke, 'twill wear it by degrees, and in time it may make it moulder away to nothing.  
And thus 'tis, if a Man arms himself with never so much Resolution against his vexatious Spouse, she will find a way to get within him some way or other, and trip up his Heels, though never so much upon his Guard. she'll weather out even his Patience, and make him as weak and peeussh as herself, if he han't a sharp Eye upon her, and observe how ugly it looks in her, and how ill a Physician he must needs be esteemed, who is himself infected by that Disease he pretends to cure.  
Nay, tho' he help himself with his Wit, though he takes never so many different Methods, turns his Thoughts never so many ways, she'll easily countermine him; the natural vanity of a Woman renders all ineffectual. The Symptoms change every Hour, and then there's little likelihood of so much as discovering the Distemper, much less removing it. The Wind roars round the Compass every Glass, and then the most skilful Steersman in all the Watery World, must needs be at a loss.  
There are so many Mazes in a Female Mind, that they often lose themselves in 'em; much more may they lose us. I despair to find a Clue to conduct me quite through it, and therefore here I leave it, without venturing any farther.  
Ralph Axtel.   

Answer to Letter XXI. That an III Wife 's not Incorrigible.  By Madam BARNES. 
SEvere Censures indeed! that will not so much as give us leave to mend, after you have reckoned up all the Faults we are guilty of, and a Thousand more, which never entered into our Minds. I confess I thought all Creatures that were endued with Reason, were by that Faculty also capacitated to review their Actions, and where they had formerly done amiss, to do better: Nay, I have observed even Creatures without Reason, will travel more carefully when they come to a Place where they have formerly stumbled, or been in danger: But have we less Sense even than what is Irrational? or will you not allow us so much as that shadow of Reason, which all give to Beasts themselves? or must a true Wife, as you call her, be necessarily of the same Temper with a true Husband, rather to go on and break her Neck, than acknowledge she was mistaken in the Road, and ask the Direction of her Fellow Travellers? Thus far indeed I must confess, that some Persons have such a way of Teaching, that they plainly confess they have no mind any should learn aught from them, especially if the Scholar's of a free and ingenuous Temper. You never knew a Bird taught to sing, when you held him by the Throat, and the poor little Creature was just struggling for Life. Let us at least hop about our Cage, if you'll not allow us an Aviary: This may in time bring us off from our wild Notes, and make us sing whatever you please: Unless you expect we should say that white's black, and pay you such an Obedience, as the Church of Rome requires of her Votaries: But were it not more desirable to have a Reasonable Creature in your Bosom, than one whom you had rendered perfectly stupid, without any Choice or Will? And can you deny that we are obliged in some Cases to disobey you? which we can never do, though you should command us to perperrate the greatest Crimes, or to endure the worst of Villainies, if you have once taken away that Reason which must be the guide of all our Actions.  
A generous Nature is easily to be wrought upon, if you go about it the right way; but Force is only a fit Argument for a Beast or a Slave; and if you make use of it on those who have the same Principle of Reasoning with yourselves, you may perhaps make 'em fear ye, but it is certain they will never love ye: Nay, even that Fear will by degrees wear away, since it is very natural to slight frequent and unreasonable Anger, which like any other Correction managed at the same rate may harden, but not amend us. Now why should not you Men, who fancy yourselves endued with such a Supererrogation of Prudence, make choice of such means as would infallibly attain the ends you propose, rather than such as you know would effect the quite contrary? especially when those Methods are more pleasing and easy to you, as well as us? You say you would fain have us better, and reform some Vanities and Follies whereof you think us guilty: If you are in earnest, and had not rather have us continue faulty, on purpose that you may have the pleasure of finding fault with us, learn for once from a Woman how to deal with Women, for we should be best acquainted with ourselves.  
And in the first place, we don't desire to be thought full out such Angels as you represented us for your own Ends, at your first Acquaintance. How can you expect to have us make good what you yourselves did never believe, tho' you have often enough said and sworn it, in the heat of Courtship? Set off all those heightenings, allow for 'em all when you come nearer. You take us at last for better for worse, as we do you, Person, and Portion, and Faults, and all together; and as you would hardly refuse or throw back a good Portion for one Brass Half-Crown in't, you should, we would hope, allow us as fair Play as you do our adorable Bags; take good and bad in a Lump; at least overlook the one, if but tolerable and inconsiderable, for the sake of the other. In short, little Faults, in some cases, can hardly be taken notice of without a greater, especially if severely insisted on, and unconscionably aggravated, and never forgotten; which must needs by degrees sour our Minds; and were they not generally more confirmed in Patience and other Virtues than your Sex, which gives 'em sufficient occasion to exercise 'em, would be apt to throw 'em into the worst Extravagancies.  
But if your Example and Conversation should incline us to greater Faults, yet why may not we amend, as we have known some of yourselves, when there has been but little hopes of you? A calm, a kind, a seasonable and rational representing our Errors, with the ill-consequences of 'em, can hardly miss Success. But when did you know a Furious Reproof work any good effect; or how should it, when the Reprover himself, as he manages, is guilty of, it may be, as great a fault as those against whom he exclaims with so much bitterness, and so little discretion? A harsh Reproof is like cold Water thrown on a Bed of Salla●ing after 'tis newly sown; it hardens the Earth, and starves the Seed: But one that carries Kindness and Concern with it, is like warm Water; it enters kindly, cherishes the little sprouting Principles of Life, softens the Earth, and brings a plentiful Crop, to recompense the Gardener's Industry and Labour. Violence, and Noise, and Eagerness, have so little of Reason in themselves, that they ever discredit the best Reason, and for the most part render it unprofitable, when it lights into such bad Company. It looks like an Abuse, and an Attack, rather than a Kindness, and we are apt to be upon our Guard in such Cases, to keep the Gate shut, and even exclude a Friend, for fear of admitting an Enemy.  
Especially when all this is done in public, for every little Fault, and often none at all, in the more provoking and assuming manner, beyond the patience even of a Woman to suffer it.  
Wherhfore would you be at the pains to use the quite contrary Methods, would you observe our Tempers and Inclinations, and work us accordingly, and bend us by degrees, and take time and pains about us, you might bring us to take whatever Ply you desire, and make your own Lives and ours, much happier.  
Dorothy Barnes.   

LETTER XXII. Against Plays.  By Mr. KINGHAM.— 
YES, here you're in your Element, and 'twould be a more difficult matter to make you renounce Plays, then to embrace the Alcoran, and you like 'em the better for what Pryn tells you of 'em, that they were formerly expressly reckoned among the Pomp's and Vanities of the World; nor will it much move you, that Satan and they were used to stand and fall together. The Playhouse is your Church, and you had much rather be Excommunicated from dear St. Brides itself, then from that yet more convenient place of Assignation. Here you Learn all that you think is necessary for your Sex to know, and yet more, see it put in practice at least, if you don't just then do it yourselves. To disobey your Parents, disoblige your Friends, ogle, and then bilk your Lover, cheat your Husband, talk pertly and lewdly, and laugh at all that's graver and better than yourselves. This is the rare Academy to form your minds, or rather to ruin 'em, and often your Estates and bodies with 'em. How many Modern Plays can you show me without a more than moderate share of Impiety and Lewduess. The best are patterns of Revenge and Foolish Love, that either weaken the mind or misled it: The most I'm sure are so unfit for any civilised Country, that I've often wondered how any of your Sex, who are not Professed— could have Impudence to sit 'em out, or read 'em, or their Authors to set their Names to 'em: For them indeed, they have an excuse, which you best know the Truth of, that the Stage is an Image of Life, and that they only represent things as they find 'em, and Women just what they are; which if true, is very much for your Sexes and the present Ages Reputation. For yourselves, they have either taught you the way, or you have Learned it from Mother Nature, to set out as fulsome stuff as N. Lees, Princess of Cleve, without Blushing. You don't understand it, pretty Innocents'! No more than a Viper does Poison, which is his daily Food, and almost the Air he breathes; for there's a great harmony, it seems, between Sabina's senses and your understandings.  
But suppose, for once, there could a modest play be found, I mean in the Expressions, what are we the better if the whole Action, as it generally happens, insinuates nothing but looseness and lewdness? Are you all such Vestals to be proof against the Allurements of Music, and the more fatal Witchcraft of Poetry and Example, when it may be at the same time a Bevy of Fops hang about your Ears, (as Milton says, the old Traitor did at Eves, though in a little more proper shape,) and prodigally squander their Wit and Souls, and all, striving who shall damn theirs fastest to persuade you to damn yours.  
Not that I'd scandalise 'em with being always witty neither: No, they seldom offend against that rule of Mr. Cowley, and are well enough pleased with following his advice; Rather than all be wit, let none be there. For I'm apt to believe the greatest part of their Conversation is just such as pleases you, and such as you're capable of, as dull as you could hear in e'er a Country Church in Christendom.  
But your wise discourse has carried me off from the Play; which is the only good it does in the Theatre, where your chat can hardly be worse than the Actors, and therefore the louder the better.  
How often is't you there see Virtue prosperous, and vice unhappy? So far from it that the Play-wrights tell you now positively, 'tis none of their business to make 'em so. They have got possession, they make their own Rules, and you must take their Herces as you find 'em.  
Or if they do now and then kill a Don John, or a Maximinian, to thin the Stage a little, and turn off some overgrown Villain, they yet generally take a particular care not to let him repent; they kill him while he's in an ill mind, staring and blaspheming at such a rate, that even when he falls, you must think him an even-match for Heaven.  
But what's this still to common Life, where Vice is exposed indeed, but only in order to Imitation. A little Atheism, or whoring, though with the Aggravation of Infidelity, Incest, and all the Foulest Blackest Names that could raise blushes in a very Heathen, shall break no squares: The Spark still shall obtain his beautiful and wealthy Mistress, three or four of his last conveniences soldered up again, and married to some plodding Country Gentleman, and all's as well as ever.  
They tell you 'tis a sign he Reputes when he Marrys, if they had said this brought him in a fair way to't, they had said something, but as 'tis, they are for the most part a Mouth or two short of the mark.  
After all, one would wonder how dullness could be so Charming, were it not a little set off with Lewdness, and how the same heavy Tale, only a new turn of words, it may be, and a silly nasty Song, or two, chopped in at the opening of a Scene, with perhaps some ingenious Dance of Devils and Hobby-Horses; how such stuff as this should be heard, or read with so much as patience, much more with diversion. For I dare affirm, that some hundreds of our Modern Plays have the very same Plot at bottom, either stolen from some of the Ancients, or a Spanish Novel, or from one another. The Squire and the Lady talk always alike. Tell me the Character, I'll as surely tell you their Conversation, as from one of— Rymes I'll guests at another, and would any one be at the pains to make a Scrutiny through all our Comedys, there would be much fewer distinct Characters then he'd imagine, though we have the advantage of humour too above all the World.  
But you can Learn more, you say, sometimes by one Play then by 10 Sermons; and that may be too, as you may manage the matter, you sometimes hearken to one, but you sleep out all the other.  
There may indeed, some good Herbs be found among so many Poisonous Weeds, but when they grow all together, and ten of the deadly plants to one that's wholesome, who that regarded their Life or Health, would go in blindfold amongst 'em, and gather promiscuously to make a Salad, in hopes only to meet with those that would not hurt him?  
They may many of 'em appear inviting, but never the less dangerous, any more than the Manchinel, or Eve's Apple in the Indies, is a good Fruit, because it looks Tempting and Glorious, but you ought to make your Will before you taste it; which you may do if you are of their wise opinion, who are resolved to try all things before they conclude against any.  
I shall not torment you any more, or tease you any longer for what I'm afraid you'll never part with; I'd only ask you one reasonable question before I leave you, whether you ever found yourselves really the wiser, or better for reading any of these Modern Comedys (Farces rather, for the most of 'em now are no other)? I ask again those who have any sense of Sobriety and Modesty, what sort of relish you find they generally leave on your minds; whether they make you love Virtue, or Honour, or Chastity, or your Parents, or other Relatives, more than you did before you read 'em?  
If you find quite the contrary, (and if you done't, you have very good Fortune, or a very happy temper,) then pray be persuaded to leave 'em to the Seeing and Reading of such sort of Persons only as are usually described in 'em.  
Richard Kingham,   

Answer to Letter XXII. In Defence of Plays.  By Madam CHASE. 
WE're as little ashamed to own the Charge, as to defend our Practice; nor do we like the Playhouse  the less for what Pryn says against it, since not only he, but many of the same stamp, will speak as rudely of any thing else, that teaches People either Decency or Politeness. That Plays in themselves are not only Diverting but Useful, none but Persons o' your Sense will deny; the Business of the Stage being to reform Mankind, which is to be done by showing Vice as well as Virtue. A Moral Representation can never be thought either unprofitable, or unlawful; and if we may read or repeat the History of an Ill Man in Prose, how comes the turning it into Verse, to alter its Nature? Poetry has been always thought to teach with more Life and Success than Prose, and the Poet than the Historian. Epic Poetry is above the Heads of the common People, 'tis Dramatic than must work upon 'em; where they see, as in a Glass, their own Vices and Follies, and may, if it be not their own Faults, learn to amend 'em.  
It's true, that Comedies using a lower walk, especially our Modern, being as you justly accuse 'em, too near allied to Farce, meaner and more common Vices must be therefore represented in them. If the Poet does this too grossly, he's a Dauber, not an Artist, and there is as much difference betwixt his Work, and that of a true Master, as between a piece of the most wretched Sign-Post-Painter, and the last hand of Lely or Vario. But this you cannot make a Reflection upon the Art itself, any more than a rash and mischievous Quack can be reckoned for an excellent Physician.  
Yet after all, there is more weight in what they usually allege for their Defence, than you will willingly allow: If a Play is to be a true Image of Life, and if your Lives be such as will not so decently bear the Stage, whether should they or you more justly bear the blame? I know you would fain shift it over to our Sex, but you cannot pretend it is we that have corrupted the Age, how much soever you have endeavoured to do so by us: It is not our Sex that are represented in your Theatres, Drinking, Swearing, Scouring and Raking: Such a Character would be monstrous, and therefore could never please, although all the Malice of your Sex should club to defend it. Now would any tolerable Judge find fault with a Painter for drawing too much to the Life, though the veriest Antic in Nature? If the Poet takes his Characters from your Persons, they must be such as you are, and no wonder that the more he hits you, the less he should please you. But the Chirurgeon must probe the Wound, be it never so tender,  
You say he makes Vice successful, and granting this true, where almost is it otherwise? will you avoid an Acquaintance yourselves, for being the vilest Rake in the World? Does Lewdness ever dissolve your Friendships? nay, is it not that which for the most part unites and cements 'em? Is not your common and ordinary Conversation made up of fulsome Boasting, the foulest Villainies? Much like the Entertainments of the Witches at their Sabbaths, who, they say, are obliged to repeat there, all the Mischiefs they have acted since their last meeting.  
Now when any of this comes upon the Stage, tho' touched infinitely softer than the Life, who would admire if you do not like it? 'tis like your own Claret at secone hand; as well as you loved it before, you now nauseat and abhor it.  
Why then won't you mend, and afford better Copies for our Artists to work by? Do but reform yourselves, and you'll see the Stage will reform insensibly by your Example.  
Nor is that true which you affirm, that we have no virtuous Characters presented on our Theatre in any of our Plays; so far from this, that you would, I believe, be put to it, to name any Play without 'em: And if they are not so frequent there as the contrary, I wish there were not too good reason for it, because neither Truth, nor so much as Probability could bear it.  
But suppose the Expressions as indefensible, and the principal Characters, and whole Management of all your Plays, as dangerous to Virtue, as lewd and as immoral as you could desire them, yet pray whom are we to thank for all this, and who generally are the Authors, your Sex or ours? We have some Two or Three, or it may be Half-a-dozen on the Stage written by Women, but how many Dust-Carts would be sufficient to clear Paul's-Church-Yard of those wherewith your Sex have vexed the World? If you writ Plays, would you not have 'em seen? and if they are such as are not fit to be seen, the more shame for the Authors.  
Besides, of what Sex are those whose Business and Office it is to regulate the Stage, and to take care of these matters? We have not the power of correcting 'em, nor are they brought to us for our Imprimatur, nor can we know what's in a New-Play, before we come to see it. And would you indeed, when there are any Passages unfit for us to hear, have us stand up immediately, and in a Set Speech bear our Testimony against them; or else abruptly leave the Place, and drive the crowding Pit before us, lest we should by our Presence encourage any thing of that nature.  
If the Springs be poisoned, the blacker are those who perpetrate such an abhorred piece of Villainy: Let them be punished, and the Fountains cleared, or new discovered; but deny not the Thirsty-Traveller the common Refreshments of Nature. Nay, if even the Tragedies themselves be infected, if they are filled with false Notions of Honour, and the very Heroes are made up of Revenge and Criminal Love, first, let those very Notions be regulated in common Lise; for while the best of your Sex think it honourable to cut one another's Throats for the least Affront, and on the most frivolous Occasions, a Cast at Dice, an hasty Word, and (for what, Sir, you, I suppose, esteem less than all these) a Silly Woman; nay, while you meet in cold Blood, only out of a Compliment to your lewd and  Friend, and without any manner of Quarrel, send one another's Souls who knows whither? how can you blame the Stage for transcribing the same bloody Honour, and giving it to its greatest Heroes? since, should they do otherwise, it would be as ridiculous, as if they brought in our Warriors, like those of the Ancients, engaging in Chariots, and flinging Darts at one another.  
After all, none can deny but there are excellent Lessons of Morality to be found in these Writers; indeed any Play without a Moral, is a Body without a Soul, I mean one grand Moral Truth, which is aimed at through the whole Representation, which are generally of greater concern and moment in Tragic, than in other Writings. Besides those which are interspersed through the several parts of those Composures, which may often sink into the Minds of the Auditors, when delivered in such a manner, though otherwise, it may be, they would have no effect upon them: And if any should be so unjust and scrupulous, as to object against a known Truth, because 'tis found in these Authors, as if it were spoiled with the other ill Company about it, they must be absolutely silenced, would they but reflect that some such Sentences are transscribed, not only from other Poets, but even from the Dramatics into better Write.  
Beatrice Chace.   

LETTER XXIII. To an Old Gentlewoman about to marry a Young Man.  By Sir THOMAS— 
Madam, May it please your Venerability,  
HAd it been any Lady of ordinary Years and Character that had made an attempt of this Nature, I should not so much have wondered at it: But for you who have been the Standard at least this 40 Years, and have had the best School-Mistress in the World, much longer to instruct you; for you, I say, to endeavour to Ogle in a poor young Fellow, that never did you any harm, and no more thought of making Love to you, than to his own Grandmother: 'Tis this Madam, that stupifies me, amazes me, and confounds me to that degree, that I can't speak a word more, till I have sat still a quarter of an Hour, gnawed my Pen, snuffed my Candle, and looked on the Picture of your Ladyship which I have just here before me.  
It's true Madam, that your Shape is indifferently well, tall and straight, you have been only a little too much of the Heroine, and if you begin to bend a little now about those ample Shoulders of yours, we ought not to think 'tis any Decay of Nature, or Sympathy with the Earth, either in Disposition or Complexion; but rather the mildness and goodness of your Temper, a sort of a Condescension to the Stature of that blooming Lad, whom like a Carthaginian God, you would fain take up in your Arms to make him happy.  
Doubtless Madam, there is a most inimitable Leer in that admirable Face of yours, such a Harmony between all its Parts, both with one another, and the whole Frame of your Venerable Structure, that I believe 'tis as difficult for any to look upon't, or see you Show with't (as the Sun does with his,) without feeling some extraordinary Motions, as 'tis to conceal those Motions when once we feel 'em.  
What Art have you to make your pretty Chin and Nose keep time so exactly together? scarce one of your Temples beats truer to one another; without Controversy, they are both very Harmonious.  

But every part of you contains a Nest of Wonders,  
That Chin, that lovely, rosy dimpled Chin— One  
Charming kill Dimple now all over,  
As sweet (to let your Lips awhile alone)  
As fair as dropping Combs from Hybla 's Hive.  
Or th'Essence of a Thousand fragrant Flowers  
In nature's rich Alembic, wrought & thrown  
With liberal Hand (as liberal as your own)  
Thrown with a careless Cast, & richly spread  
Upon the grateful Earth's green Mossy Bed;  
Pleased to that height, her utmost strength she shows,  
Through the thin Mass, a newborn Garden grows.   
Such is— Madam, I most hearty ask your Pardon; I've forgot what transported and amazed; O your Chin— but such a Lip (for the thickness on't) such Teeth, only this Roguy Painter, has served you as his Brother did the Gentleman, who bid him draw a Dog in a Castle. When one looks for 'em, you always shut your Mouth and hid 'em. Nor is there any heed to be given to the Malicious World, who say you have made Pills of 'em, or swallowed 'em all Twenty Year since for the Cholic, to save the Charge of Golden Bullets. However, if there be any thing in't, who knows but your pretty Teeth might be of that Substance too, as well as Colour, like the Silesian Lads? which if they were, t'had been worth the while to have raked for 'em again, as the Jews at the Siege of Jerusalem (but prey let no Body see you) to string 'em all, for 'tis possible they might be Hollow, and make a Gold Necklace of 'em, which would have excellently set off that scarce Fairer Neck of yours.  

And must I leave that Mouth— scarce with more pain,  
The gentle Breezes of delicious Air,  
By a too happy Fate imprisoned there,  
Enjoy their hated Liberty again.   
No, I must not, before I have endeavoured to do Justice to the inestimable Jewel, shut up in that fair Cabinet— a Tongue as sweet, as soft as Innocence, as quiet as an Angels. 'Tis understood, not heard; or if it does speak, 'tis like Lovers Whispers, or gentle Murmurs, or falling Streams, or the Tide going through Bridge, or Infant Thunders. (I mean when the Stream is even, and the Thunder a great way off.)  
And after that Thunder, it's very likely we shall have Rain, as Socrates said to your Predecessor, the most accomplished Xantippe. And it comes from those fine Hands of yours, in liberal and plentiful Showers to refresh the Earth. You have no Poor near you; 'tis impossible they should continue so; you will not let 'em bear that Name; you won't see 'em want; some may think this a bad Precedent, and that 'twill encourage Laziness, but I'm satisfied there would soon be not a Beggar left in England, were all but as willing as you to relieve 'em.  
Nothing certainly is a more bewitching thing than graceful motion: 'Tis a great part of a good Mind, if not the same with it. What shall I say then of yours, which if you are dancing, appears sometimes as swift as the Wood-Nymphs, or that of Venus herself clambering over Hedge and Ditch, thro' Brakes and Briars after her fair Adonis, as you now after yours. At other times you move like the Earth, on your own Axis, so equally, that 'tis insensible, or, as Ovid says, the Gods do, with both your Feet together, so imperceptibly, one would think you never stirred an Inch out of your Place. They may talk of Posture-Clark while they will, but if ever he could mimic so exactly, or handle a Broom-staff so handsomely, or show the Changeling so naturally, or raise his Shoulders so prodigiously, or shrink in one Hip so profoundly, as I have seen some do it, that shall be nameless, and who it may be, don't value themselves so much on those Qualifications, as many others— why then, may I never have the diversion of seeing the like again.  
Then for your Youth; for that Eternal Youth that hovers round you. That spite of Nature says you shan't grow old— What Nectar is't that still preserves it flourishing as ever?  
No Must, no Tarnish, not the least Corruption.  
Hardly so much as renders Venison grateful. Sure 've found out a way to Pot yourself up, and keep the Presumptuous Air from ever kissing those Sacred Lips only reserved for him you honour with your Love.  

Or like Conserves, which to choice Friends appear,  
You're closely covered more than half the year.   
And whose mouth would not water after such a Marmalade Face as yours (for sweetness to be sure I mean).  
But we must all die, there's no remedy: Feladon's the Man, for him you dress, you dance, you die, you come to Life again, you live and love and tread your years all backward, and you say you will Marry him.  
You defy Coughs, Catarrhs, Sore Eyes, no Teeth, a Demiculverin Breath, and tell Time and Death they have nothing to do with you yet these twenty years. Buy him you will, you have Money enough, he's a Jewel fit only for your wearing, and nothing but the Sexton shall ever part you. Dear Nine and Fifty! Let me be plain with thee; for I have now Complimented long enough.  
What should that Skull of a Face, those Cabidg-stump Arms, that Mummy of a Carcase do with a Husband, especially such a young lively Fellow as thou haste most ungraciously pitched upon? 'Tis absolute Incest for certain, for him so much as to come near thee. 'Tis the worst, the most unnatural Villainy? Thou art dead, all but one sense stark Dead, a Dozen year since, nay, thou haste scarce so much as the sense of Scolding left: Thy very Tongue gins to have the Palsy, with long and frequent use and hard Labour. It retains only a weak sort of an unheeded motion, like the Ringing of a Bell long after the stroke; besides, thy Clapper is worn, and the Bell cracked, and then it's easy to guests thou art like to make good Music.  
Leave him, leave him for shame; untwine thy Clammy Arms from his Neck and Bosom, or we'll infallibly have thee burnt for a Witch, for getting up poor Young Men and Sucking their fresh Blood to fill thy old Wrizzled Veins, after this inhuman manner.  
Mind thy Prayers, buy thee a Coffin, throw away thy whole Apothecary's Shop of Drugs, and Paints, and Slops, and Washeses, out with thy Cart Loads of Pride and Vanity. Death will be here by and by, lie down and be forgotten!  
THOMAS—   

Answer to Letter XXIII. From the Old Gentlewoman aforesaid.  
HA'! ha'! But indeed good Sir T. That you should ever trouble yourself so as to write such a long Letter to me! That you should Load me and oppress me so with Compliments; indeed you do, indeed you do: Ah Sir, you very well know how to please Ladies; our Feeble Hearts, though never so deeply pre-engaged (would mine were at Liberty) hardly know how to refist you.  
I Remember very well in your Good Grandmothers time, (rest her clack!) I ask your pardon Sir T. I protest, I meant your Mothers, or your Sisters rather, for we may be much of an Age, it may be, the advantage may lie on her side, what there is on't; I remember, I went out of hanging sleeves just as she came into 'em.  
But as I was saying, I beg your pardon, Sir T. what was't? The decays of Age, (nay, now I must beg my own). The usual Infirmity of witty People, you know it by experience Sir T. is to forget what's just over, though they remember as perfectly as an Almanac, all that passed 40 or 50 years before.  
But 'twas your Grandmother I think I was talking of, how she would play with you, and how prettily she'd talk t'ye, Good old Creature as she was (as I've heard my Nurses tell me) and clap your Cheeks and guests at your future proficiency, a Wag my Lise on't, an errand Wag, thus would she talk and laugh and talk again, till 'twould almost make one cry to hear her.  
But how little did she think, when she sat dandling you upon one knee, and me upon another, how far was she from Dreaming, there would afterwards be such an intimate Conversation between us, so perfect a confidence and extraordinary a Friendship?  
That covers many Faults, and excuses much Freedom: And indeed I would have my Friends be free, very free with me, as I would be with them. And therefore can't be really angry with any thing that comes from Sir T. though it seems never so severe, because he says so many other kind things to weigh against it, and because indeed I have met with so much true kindness from him.  
Ah Sir T. you can't I believe forget, I'm sure I never can, how Sweetly you and I have some years ago, road together in my Father's Coach in the Park. How many foolish ogling Dukes and Lords, would have handed me into the Coach, and out again, and drove along by us with their Eyes nailed to the Glasses: For that was all I let 'em see, though they made never so many Cringes and Ugly Faces; as thus Sir, (give me a Sword or Cane) and thus, and then t'other way, (once more your pardon, I thought I had been all this while talking with you) and then throw their wigs one way, and their Eves t'other, that 'twould have made one's Heart almost melt to have seen 'em. But I stood my Ground still: I valued not all their Civilities any more than I did their railing: I let 'em despair on, and make choice either of the Ponds, or Trees to ease their Love, according as they found themselves most inclined, and could hear 'em Curse my Countrey-breeding without any concern, while I remained safe and  in my own Virtue and Innocence.  
But really Sir T. do you, do your old Acquaintance and Humble Servant the Henour still, to keep my Picture by you, and that at full length?  
Protest Sir T. if I know how I shall requite this favour, any more than when I shall be Married; all I can say is, that for your respects to the Copy you have, I'm sure you have a right always to command the Original.  
I wonder whose hand 'tis: I wish it was not done when I was a Green young Girl, when my Old Aunt used, I remember, to call me a Bud of Beauty: But there's nothing like Maturity: The midst of Life is the Harvest, and Autumn itself has Charms that the flaunting Spring could never Boast of. Besides, I fear, I had not then the Advantage of Dress, by which you know Sir T. an indifferent Face is much Recommended, and even a good one looks better. I have been drawn in several Figures, sometimes like a Sheepherdess stroking the tender Lambs, or Soliciting the Duggs of a Fruitful Ewe (as one most elegantly expresses it) at others, with a Glass and Dressing-Box before me, my Prayer-Book the unlucky knave painted fallen off the Table.) But that which hit me most, was the shape of an Amazon, with a General's Staff in my Hand, straddling over Towns and Castles, and kicking about whole Arms.  
And were not the Amazons in Love Sir T. did not Theseus Marry one of 'em after he had sound banged her? I think, I've read some such thing in my Ovid's Epistles; and why then should not I be in Love too, since at worst I can only be beaten after Marriage?  
'Tis true, I've Cancelled four Husbands already, thank my Good Stars and Heart of Oak here, all of whom I must confess, I have often respectively banged into their Good Behaviour, and yet they seemed to Love me the better for't, and as the greatest Argument of it, were pleased to die very fast, and leave me at Liberty for a New Venture; and if this last pay all their Old Scores, why might not I Love him the better as they did me? And at worst your Sex and mine would be but just even.  
When you came to the End of your Epistle, your Eye seemed to be off my Picture, and fixed again on some Antic, or other in the Room that hung near it, so intently, that you forgot to whom you were Writing, and (the prettiest Jest in the World) on a sudden changed your Style, and made your addresses to her in a Language worthy of her, and what you say to her I'll show you when we meet next, and we'll have a hearty laugh at it.  
SARAH PRAT   

A Second Answer to Letter XXIII.  By a Young Lady. 
HOw witty you are upon your poor Old Woman of Clouts, whom you have set up to say what you will against her, and then make her answer what you please.  
A fine Pindarical way of Writing, this which you are fallen into, or rather seem to affect above all Mankind, wherein you need not much fear being excelled, since I dare promise you will never be imitated.  
Your Wit, or at least your satire, appears rather to be levelled at Age in general, than at any particular Person, and not so much at any voluntary Weakness, as its inseparable Infirmities. In this you talk like one of our Town Sparks, who employ all their time in railing at whatever is wiser and graver than themselves, and contemn Age as they do Virtue, because they live at such a rate, that they have little hopes of attaining it.  
But are there none that live to be old of your Sex as well as ours? Or is the reason why you expect fairer Quarter and more Reverence, because as you manage Life, an Old Man is so great a Rarity?  
Be as severe as you please against Vice, and none can blame you for laughing at Folly, which is in itself Ridiculous; but blame not Nature, unless you would justly be esteemed Inhuman, nor laugh at the Miserable, which if you do, you can't escape the mark of Barbarity. Some of the Seythians seem to have much the same Civility with yours, who when their Parents grow decrepit and useless, turn 'em out alive to wild Beasts, or hang 'em up on Trees for the Vultures and other Ravenous Fowls to devour 'em. Yet there are some Creatures to whom we don't allow Reason, who may teach both them and you more Compassion and Humanity: The Young Stork carries its Aged Parent through the raging Flames, and over the widest Ocean, to a more Temperate Climate, and Place of Retirement and Safety, as the Hero did his Father from burning Troy, to a happier Country, and a Peaceable End.  
It's true, Old Age is itself a Disease, or rather a Complication of many.— But would you yourself take it kindly, if you lay racked by the Gout and Stone, should others that were in Health laugh at you, instead of pitying you, and at least wishing, if not endeavouring to ease you?  
You must needs grant, there are many things in Age very desirable; the advantage of their Experience, the extent of their Knowledge, the coolness of their Thought, the steddiness of their Judgement, while the Force and Warmth of Youth runs 'em into a Thousand Extravagancies, and were there not graver Heads to manage 'em, they would soon, like Phaeton, fire the World.  
And these Advantages of Age, we hope you will not be so partial, as to Monopolise to your own Sex: If you would attempt any such thing, I only desire you'd answer me one short Question; When was our Nation happier, than when our Queen was an Old Woman?  
But 'tis neither our Sex, you say, nor Age with which you are so angry. 'Tis only the Peevishness, the Frowardness, the Fondness, the Affectation, the Garrulity, the Vanity of an Old Woman, that you can't endure: Be it so then only, be content we should turn the Tables, and see how you like it. You know those weaknesses are not confined to our Sex, they are often charged in Gross on those who are the farthest from them. 'Tis not impossible to find Good Humour and Age together, which more than countervails for the decay of Beauty. If there is sometimes a little too much Sowrness, try first how you can bear Contempt yourself, before you are so ready to blame others. The Fondness for which you fault 'em, I rather take to be the Providence of Nature, for this makes 'em good Grandmothers and tender Nurses. If you should find some one or two in an Age, such awkward, affected Pieces as you have painted, you must reckon 'em as Monsters only, not a Sample of their Kind, else why d'ye wonder and hoot at 'em, when you fee 'em? and why are they despised, or at least pitied by their own Sex, as much as they can be by yours?  
But what, if I mistake not, pinches closer than all the rest; pray who have the most Fools of their Party? And whether is the greater number of Young-Old-Men, or Women? 'Tis not fair to insult, because you have got the advantage of us in Dress itself, our own proper Province.  
A Man is never old now, till he's Bedrid, and there are more Beaus of Threescore, then there used to be of Twenty. Gray-Hairs you reckon as great a Disgrace as Gravity, and you seem to have utterly discarded your Beards, for fear they should so much as put you in mind of Wisdom, and you have stripped our Sex to disguise indeed, rather than adorn your own. And proud of our Spoils, you turn the War against us, and fight us with our own Weapons, while many a poor young Woman is married to a Broom-staff-Husband, who is little else but Hat and Periwig, and serves for nothing but a Warming-Pan for the old Decrepit satire, and loses the best part of her Life, it may be all of it, betwixt Cawdles and Diseases.  
Ann Herbert.   

LETTER XXIV. Against the Sex's Prodigality.  By Sir Thomas— 
THE Friars and the Mint would be very thinly tenanted, did not the good Wives send their Husbands thither in such Shoals, that there's hardly room enough to receive 'em: Those Places are even over-stockt, as the Churchyards were in the Plague-time; and there need new Holes to pile up the Cart-loads that come thither; and one would think the Women were in Fee with the Heads of those Famous Societies, they make such haste to transplant their Families into their Territories.  
You can meet a Woman at no Place, no Age, no Circumstances, but she's expensive enough to ruin a Midas: In her Education. In Courtship, whether you Mary or Bury her, or Church her, at the middle and both ends of her Life. For which reason the Greek Epigrammatist is visibly partial to your Sex, when he says, A Man has two good Hours with ye, that of Day of Marriage, and Day of Death, since even the latter of 'em is a bitter-sweet, and the Expense a Man is at in covering you safely, does almost countervail the Convenience.  
You cost ten times more than you are worth in rearing: You'll never pay for your keeping, and we were even as good let ye run wild, and trust Nature with you.  
Besides the difference in the Education of one of your Sex and one of ours, there's some comfort in what is expended for a Man, because we may hope to see some good on't; but all that is bestowed on one of your unprofitable kind, is cast on such a Barren Soil, that we give it for lost.  
A Man may seek and make his Fortune, but scarce one Woman in Ten Thousand. What they have must be given 'em, and unless there's good booty allowed, they'll never off. The Exchange runs high with 'em, none will accept 'em without great Discount. They are such bitter Pills, that no wonder they won't go down well without gilding.  
And yet the mischief is, we must pay, as well as pray, for our own undoing. Not a few have been at such vast Expenses in the Courtship of their Wives, as were never reimbursed by their Fortunes. Eternal Treats and Presents. Art must be tired, and Imagination jaded in Ministering to their Luxury and Prodigality: Now they show us a Sample of themselves, and by the Mistress we may learn the Wife. A Lord Mayor's Officer scarce eats more Custard in a Twelve Month than they'll devour in one Evening at a Spring-Garden. One would think it went into a Bottomless-bag, and slipped out again as glibly as it went in.  
And this even the poor Apprentice knows by sad Experience, who, when he marches out to— in Triumph with his Greasy Beloved, as soon as he has seen her seated in an Arbour, and the Cheesecake appears before him, stands amazed to see what dreadful Dilapidations she makes amongst 'em in a quarter of an hour. 'Tis then time to feel the weight of his Pouch, and consider how the Ready stands affected; and when he finds she has almost eat to the bottom of his Pocket, how does his poor Heart beat, and he thinks a piece of it goes away every new Cake she breaks, lest he should be forced to pawn his Gloves and Cane for the Postscript of the Reckoning?  
And thus it is, in Proportion, when the Amour is in an higher Sphere; for the greater the Quality, the greater still the Expenses. Masques, and Balls, and Music, and Equipages, and Entertainments without number. The Mistress is a great Abyss, and all about her, Horseleeches feeding on its Banks. You must make a Golden Bridge (which is hard) for your Enemy to come to you, whereas none would think much if 'twere to get shut of such troublesome Company. Every Servant is daubed round with Birdlime, or if you will, stuck with tenterhooks, to Gaunch you in your Fall, and pull out each a piece of your Flesh in your passage by 'em. A Lover runs the Gauntlet amongst his Mistress' Acquaintance, every one will have a stroke at him, unless he Fees 'em all round.  
And when that's over, then comes the Wedding-Feast, the odious Sack-Posset, the Ragged Regiment of Tartarian Musicians, that smell ye out next Morning, as if you were a dead Horse, and all the Matrimonial Expenses, which we'll dwell no longer upon, because 'tis such a Melancholy Subject.  
And now the Unfortunate Creature may make his Will when he pleases, for he has the Incurable Cancer, the Live Wolf in his Breast, that must at last carry him off (I need not say, I mean a Wife) after the has drained every drop of moisture from his frightful Carcase, and left him a Spectacle and Example to all Desperate Husbands.  
She expects to be a Mistress still, to Command like one, to be treated in the same manner, and with the same Expense and Vanity.  
The Sex are all Miranda's, and tho' every Husband had the Philosopher's Stone, he could not transmute Lead into Gold, so fast as they would change that into Rich Furniture, Magnificent Hang, and Extravagant Dresses and Entertainments.  
Glorious Coaches, and a vast Retinue abroad, Plate and Jewels at home, without measure, and without end.  
You must not hope any thing mean or vulgar can please so nice, and so refined a Fancy. If Gold were cheap, she'd not esteem it: She's of the same mind the English King was in, about his Hose.  
It often enough falls out, to make a Husband completely Happy, that the Wife's possessed with the Devil of Building too, and then away go Twenty Coach and Horses and Suits of  at one clap. This part of the House is inconvenient, that's too low, t'other is not uniform. I hate such a sneaking Staircase. What Fools our Fore fathers were to build us such hovel of Houses. Pray Sir— let me have this stack of Chimneys pulled down. Here's a Dining-Room would make a pretty good Pantry. I have no manner of Conveniences in these Chambers; it's a shame they should be seen by any thing of Quality. And without Doors 'tis all like the rest. There stands a Coach-House hardly fit for a Dog-Kennel.  
Certainly these Gardens were designed for a Dunghill. Grub me up those cankered Trees, that have stood rotting there, Sir R— ever since your Great Grandmother. Level that awkward Mount. Let me have three or four handsome Tarrass-walks run up in the room on't. Some Grottoes and Green Houses would do well in that corner, and here you might have as fine a Visto as any in Europe.  
Well, let's suppose all finished to her heart's content, the Old House pulled down, and a new one erected, and Vario's Hand in every Room, and as very a Paradise as Burleigh-House, or Windsor. Perhaps this may please for two or three Months, but think not a Woman should continue in the same mind much longer. The Air is sharp, or unwholesome, the Water is not good: There's no Wood nor Parks about it; or if there are, it hinders the Prospect, and keeps the Vapours from getting up. Or if none of these, yet 'tis at too great a distance from the Town, and we have no good Neighbours. Even sell it, Sir R— and let's go Build at your other Seat, or buy one, as we easily may, that's more convenient.  
And if all this han't yet quite drained him, what think you of one Plague more, that of Gaming? If this wont do his Business, he's inexhaustible. Dear Basset! who would not leave a snoring Husband Twenty Nights together for thy Charming Entertainment? Do we call the Indians Inhuman, for Playing away their Wives and Children, and staking themselves at last, either for so many Years Slavery, or for Life, when nothing else is left? And shall we be more partial towards those that are nearer us, who set their Jointures, Husbands, Bodies, and Souls sometimes, on one Chance of a Die? And when those gone, are yet so besotted with the senseless Love of Gaming, that could they retrieve 'em again, or had they any thing more precious, they would still venture in the same manner.  
I have read somewhere of a mad Fellow, who, when he and several of his Comrades were for some Misdemeanour, forced to cast Lots for their Lives, when a white one fell to his share, and one of his Companions that was yet to draw, was very much afraid, he sold him his Lot for a small matter, and ventured his Life a second time, and had as good Fortune as before, tho' he little deserved it. Few Gamesters come off as he did, tho' all run little less hazards.  
Should I run out in the foolish Prodigality's that are the perpetual Appendages of this vain Sex, and which they think as necessary as their Food and Raiment, all the clutter of Childbed, Christen, and the like, you'd say, I had transcribed all the Batchclor's Banquet.  
To leave this therefore, and come to a little more comfortable Subject. Suppose for once a Woman herself should be so good-natured as to think of some way to make you amends for all this Vexation; in short, to keep ye no longer in suspense, should be so kind to make a die on't, why yet here you are ned rid of her, she has a sting in her Farewell, whose stroke is often Mortal, like other such Creatures, even after she herself is dead. The Charge of her Burial will serve as a sound alloy to the satisfaction of your fair parting, and either break you or the Tradesinen, as Cromwel's did before.  
And this you can no way avoid, without drawing the full cry of the Women against you. This is the best way for a Widower to make his Court, or pave his way to a Second Fortune; for such is the Vanity of that Sex, that if they were put to their Choice, whether they'd live handsomely, or have a Magnificent Funeral, I verily believe they'd most of 'em rather take the latter, whatever shift they made while they were living.  
Thomas—   

Answer to LETTER XXIV. Concerning the Sex's Prodigality.  By Madam Hastings. 
YOU often tell us of Cleopatra, but who remembers Artemisia? The first lavished away a Pearl in a Glass of Wine, though thereto one of your own Sex was the occasion; but the other built a Magnificent Monument to perpetuate the Memory of her Husband, which had perished long since in all probability, had he not left such a Queen behind him. You'll say it may be that she was a Wonder, as well as the Mausoleum, and that we have never heard of another like her: I confess there are not many Queens, but we may find many in a lower station who own all they have to the excellent management of a Prudent and Virtuous Woman; and we may affirm without Partiality to ourselves, or the least vanity, that many more Estates have been honestly preserved by our Sex, than ever were honestly gotten by yours, it being the Wives part to take care of what comes home, and by her Frugality and good Housewifry, to make the most of what ever comes into her Hands, without which, Midas himself would soon be Ruined; That ill natured Proverb having too much of Truth in it, So many Servants so many Thiefs: And it being as certain that not the largeness of the Income, but the regulation of the Expenses is that which brings Wealth and Plenty into a Family, which consists generally most in little things, which you think below you to regard.  
You introduce indeed a perfect Miranda in your Accusation of our Prodigality; nay, have outdone your Original, and thence would very fairly Argue the rest of our Sex like her, at which wise way of reasoning we might conclude all yours were Don john's, and shun you as we would Want, or Age, or Diseases. I think we may challenge you to find us out one such real person in all our Sex as you have there described, nay, with one half of her Extravagancies: and yet there may be something real in them too at the bottom, but you have cunningly turned the Tables, and dressed a Woman in one of your own He-Bear-skins, and then how unmercifully you Bait her? You have scummed up all the Extravagancies of your own Sex, and most ingenuously thrown them upon ours, and though the Idea you have drawn be no more fit for us than the Tyrant's Bed for every Guest, yet you will serve us as he did them, either rack us longer, or cut us shorter.  
I confess I always thought the Groom-Porters, and Gaming-Houses had been full of Men; that 'twas that wise Creature Man who used to mawl the poor Dice and his own Knuckles when the Jade Fortune turned her wrong side at him, and drained him as lank as Jacinta did her Spark's Pockets in the Mock-Astrologer: I was so ignorant to believe the Stories I've often heard, that such and such Dukes, and Lords, and Knights, and Squires, who played away so many fair Manners in a night, and Felled so many thousand stately Trees at a stroke, with a very small jerk of the Elbow, only it may be something more of smartness in it, if the last cast went amiss; that all these had been as arrant Men as ever Swore or Dissembled, or deceived a Woman, or Exposed her after he had Ruined her.  
I thought too, it had been the very same Creatures that were for building so many stately Castles in the Air: So many Glorious fine Palaces and Houses; for keeping so many Stables of Horses, such an Equipage, such Armies of Hounds and Servants; besides a Retinue of W— larger than follows any Camp in Christendom: And that I am not like to continue in my Ignorance, 'tis to your care Sir T. that I must always own myself obliged, who have found out the secret that a few Toppings and a new Gown now, and then, will Ruin a Family, on the Woman's side, though Expenses a thousand times larger on the Man's will do it no manner of Injury: They are all necessary for the Grandeur of his Birth, and the Port of his Character. Let his Lady Beg, his Children Starve or trail a Pike, or hawl at a Cable for Bread, let his Creditors Break or Hang themselves, or to Clipping, or the Highway: Let the cries of a whole Regiment of poor starving Creatures, who Besiege his Door, and Petition for some small part of what he owes them, assault him as duly as he rises, or at least when ever he dares walk abroad; all's a case, he's impenetrable, his Vice must not want, his dear Luxury must not starve: he deals, with 'em as well as he does by himself, dispatches 'em with a Curse or too, or which is worse, recommends 'em to his Steward, to drill 'em on from year to year, and murder 'em with greater torment.  
On the other side, as for the little Extravagancies of our Sex, if we should run something beyond our Quality, it can be but a seratch in the Estate, while the Prodigality of the Man strikes at the very heart on't; gives it a mortal wound, which unless cut off in time, (some part sold to redeem the rest) will infallibly gangrene, and infect the whole Body with an incurable poison.  
And yet after all, we see this Lavish and Prosuse Temper in Men, throws 'em into the contrary Extreme, and makes 'em oftentimes the most basely and sordidly Covetous towards their Wives and Families; who, if they have not a Jointure to secure 'em, shall not have so much as Pin-Money, or what's sufficient to supply the extremest Necessities of Life. And the same 'tis in a lower Rank. For 'tis common enough for an ordinary Tradesman not to sleep without three or four Bottles swagging in his Belly, while his poor Wife at home is often glad of small Beer or Water. Sum up the Evidence yourself Sir T. and be you on the whole for once both Judge and Jury, to decide the Quarrel between us, whether your Sex or ours are, generally speaking, most guilty of Prodigality.  
Rebecca Hastings.   

LETTER XXV. Against Marrying a Widow.  By Sir Thomas— 
YOU complain, Madam, I've forgotten to whom I'm writing, and often address myself to the Men, without any regard to my Antagonist: For this I must beg your Pardon, since the love of the Truth and concern for poor abused Mankind, makes me, I find, sometimes take off my eye from my Antagonist, before I'm ware. But I hope you'll forgive me, since 'tis for the public Good, and tho' I may happen to step out of the way a little now and then, fear not but I'll return again, and fight out the Battle.  
And now for the jolly Widow, since Maid and Wife have pretty well wearied us. And tho' you, Madam, are yet two or three degrees from that state of Life, yet you may in time arrive to it, and therefore you'd do well often to read over the Directions of a very sage Philosopher for the management of your Affairs that you mayn't be surprised when you should come to Action. You know who says,  

Widows who have tried one Lover,  
Trust none again, till 've made over.  
Or if they do before they Mary,  
The Fox's weigh the Geese they carry;  
Whence wittiest Ladies always choose  
To undertake the heaviest Goose.   
Now if we did not sometimes take out Reprisals against your Sex, and some of our He-Foxes, though Poor and Lean, snap up one of your heaviest Geese, we should never be upon the Square with you, though a sad Choice a Man's in when he's brought to that Condition; only the forementioned Gentleman's short Questions can't easily be answered.  

What an Amorous thing is Want,  
How Debts and Mortgages Enchant▪  
What Graces must that Lady have  
That can from Execution save?   
But the worst is, that oftentimes she only brings the Execution sooner on the poor mistaken Husband, who catches Two Tartars at once: For he that ventures on that terrible Creature a Widow, must prepare for the worst, and not think she has been Married, and buried one Husband for, nothing, and having once got out of the Grate, she remembers all her old Tricks again, and is full as wild and more cunning than ever. And 'twould, at least make one cautious if we came to a Ditch which another had attempted to leap, and stuck in the middle, how we overhastily ventured after him. A Widow is a double Woman, she has in her all the Poison of her Sex, highly rectified, and rendered infinitely more Subtle and Mortal. When the Cannibal has once tasted the Blood of one Man, though she weep never so many Crocodiles Tears over his Grave, she hardly ever leaves off till she has tried another. Like a Dog that has once found the sweetness of Sheeps-Blood, nothing but the Branch can make him give it over.  
Believe her not, though she immures herself never so closely, mourns never so unconsoleably, and remains never so Obstinate in her Melancholy Recess, that she may accompany her dear Lord to the place of Silence. Then, even then, when her Peak is but just put on, when her Mourning hardly handselled, would she not refuse Comfort upon reasonable Terms; alas! Pity and Love are near akin, and the heart that melted so lately by one Passion, that of Grief, and has not yet had time to harden, will easily enough admit an Impression from another, though very different. Love has a thousand disguises, he sometimes gets a long black Cloak on, and struts in't as mournfully and gravely as the nearest Relations; but when once he's alone, Widow, have at your heart, off goes his disguise, and he's a God again.  
But let him be what he will, Angel or Fiend, we may safely turn a very Widow lose to him, without any great fear of their hurting one another. Should he be as subtle a Cur as Matchiavel's Married Devil, she'd soon make him hang his Ears as he did, and desire to be dismissed of the Employment. She'd hamper him in Links as substantial as any he had left behind him, give him just his meat for his working and no more, hold him close to a quantum valuit, and make over her Soul and her Estate to some other, even though he had Possession of her Body, but would fain be rid on't if he knew how; since she would haunt and possess him, rather than on the contrary.  
And what then should a poor Mortal do with her, or how should he be able to deal with her? Suppose him in the worst condition, and no way but this or a Gaol, would it not look more like Freedom to live out of the Prisoner's Basket than out of Hers? 'Tis true he'd have nothing but Scraps from both, but then for the former he'd not be upbraided; besides, he'd have a much more mild Durance, a sort of a King's- Bench Prison wherever he was, in comparison of being turned over to a Widow, till Death cleared him at the General Gaol-delivery.  
But the most diverting Scene is, when they are Geese o' both sides, and cheat one another. The Citizen turned Gentleman, and the German-Princess rarely well met, and neither have just cause to complain. When the Widow lives high, keeps a noble House and splendid Table, and has nothing but Sham-Deeds and bastard Mortgages at the bottom: And the Noble 'Squire Eats, Drinks, Presents, Treats and Plays as high as any, and yet's in debt for every Rag he wears, and had much ado to rig himself out for this weighty Expedition. But the Jest is when they come to weigh one another, and find nothing but Feathers o' both sides, to see how they look, and how exactly like one another, only the Bride a little more Chagrin of the two, because she has disgraced the Honour of her Character, and proved a Reproach to the Gravity and discretion of Widowhood, by being imposed on by another, when a true Widow ought to Cheat all Mankind.  
Yet once more we'll suppose the very best, and that an honest Fellow should chance to light on a Widow a little more free of her Purse, though a most hidebound Carcase: Osborn has exactly told such a Man's Fortune. The things (says he) required to read the apprehension of such a loathsome Companion will prove so chargeable, as in a short time her Gold will be spent, and nothing left but the Foul Beast that carriedst ●t.  
Thomas—   

Answer to LETTER XXV. In Defence of Widows.  By a Young Widow. 
AND is a Widow really such a frightful thing, Sir T. so much your aversion? And were you always of that mind? Are we all of us such perfect Witches, such abominable Bloodsuckers, such Cheats and Impostors, such unreasonable, unconscionable Creatures, as you represent us? Or did you never hear of a sly Thief, that cried, The Grapes were sour, when he could not come at 'em? Or of a lewd Spark of your Acquaintance, who has often enough made it his business to defame that Virtue which he could not corrupt and ruin? Just thus, I fancy, did that doughty Knight, Sir Hudibras, rail at his dear Widow, when he could not catch her, and when he found both his sham-Oaths and Whipping lost upon her. But to Harp no more upon that string, which it may be you will think makes but very jarring Music, I must ask leave to enter into the Merits of the Cause, and consider your angry waspish complaints against poor Widows, who I find, as helpless as they are, and how much soever entitled to Heaven's Protection, must expect but little of yours. The more Discourteous Knight you, the while, and unmindful of the Laws of Chivalry and Honour. O! but we do not need it, we are cunning enough of ourselves, you say, to deceive all the World. But pray give me leave to ask you, Sir T. how came a poor simple Woman to be in a little while so strangely altered? If we killed our Husbands indeed, and eat 'em afterwards, there might be something in it, and the Riddle might easily be solved, according to the Faith of the Cannibals; because if we believe them, we should have all their Prudence transfused into us: But that mere Cohabitation should work such a Prodigious change, that only conversing with a Man for a few Years, or it may be Months, should thus transform the most foolish and helpless thing in Nature into a mere She-Matchiavel, and make us too hard for all your Politic Noddles; This I confess is unaccountable, and admirable; and it must needs follow from it, that either we are very apt Scholars, or you are excellent Masters.  
But have not your Sex too the like Advantage by Widowhood? If you have, certainly, Sir T. it's very dangerous meddling with you: For when you have swallowed such a Serpent as a Woman, you must be perfect Dragons; especially if it happens to be a Widow that you have thus got rid of, at whose Happy Departure you would doubtless Triumph as much as the Man when he buried his Twentieth Wife, and wear Garlands all your Life after. And yet (you know, Sir T.) the same expense of Vows and Oaths is required to gain one of us, that you use with others; nay, you are often forced to double your Files, to clinch your Perjuries when you attack a Widow, though you pretend to know our weak side never so exactly, because we are sure we know your Sex well enough, whatever you may know of ours; and having been deceived once before, as it is great odds if when we were married, we met with any better Fortune, we expect you should juggle more artificially, and hang and drown more pathetically than our former Lovers, before you decoy us into a second Noose.  
And when once you have your desire, what Assurance have we after all our cunning, that we shall not catch a Tartar, that a Widower shall not outwidow us, and over-shoot us in our own Bow? Have not you Contrivances and Conveyances as well as we, and Sham-Joyntures, and Airy Estates, which all vanish after Marriage, like the Ink of some of your false Deeds, by which you lured us into your clutches? It may be we may with much ado continue in your good Graces for some half a Year after Marriage; and a long time that too it's like many of you will say, and an unconscionable while to be constant to one Woman: But when once that's past, and you can drain us of no more comfortable Old Gold, a few Pieces whereof we may have laid up for a comfort in Age, or for Legacies, or any extraordinary Accident, than we presently see you appear in your own shapes, and those sufficiently horrid: Nothing but Oaths and Curses, and kicking out of Doors. For if you turn us up to Alimony, and cannot find a way to cheat us of that too, we must take it as a great Favour, while you Drink, and Game, and worse, and Revel in our Estates, to your Heart's desire.  
Thus you see your Pictures may be drawn, Sir T. as well as ours; and there are some Lines so remarkable in many of your Sex, that it is almost impossible not to hit 'em; and I appeal to the common Experience of the World, whether they do not know many Widow-Hunters, to whom this Description agrees as well, and whom it fits as exactly, as if they had been taken measure of, and it had been made on purpose for them.  
After all, to be ingenuous, and acknowledge a Truth, though if the consequence be not strained, it will not hurt us, all Estates and Conditions have some Persons that are a Scandal and Reproach to them, and to their Relations: There are, it cannot be denied, unquiet and ill-tempered, as well as crafty and overreaching Persons, of all sorts and degrees, Maids, Wives, and Widows; ay, and of all Sexes too, Sir T. as I hope I have satisfied you already, of your own as well as ours.  
But why a Widow, who has more Experience in the World, who knows better how to manage a Family, than another, and how to value a good Husband, either by the Loss of one of that Character, or the enduring the Tyranny of a bad one? Why such a Person should not be at least as desirable a Partner as a raw, young, giddy-headed Girl of sixteen, who has just left playing with Lifeless Babbies, when she comes to have Living one's of her own to entertain her, and knows not what to do with them; I profess I am not sharp-sighted enough to discern, and therefore, Sir T. must refer the decision of so weighty an Affair to your nicer Judgement.  
Jane Hill.   

LETTER XXVI. That there is no such thing as Love after Marriage.  By Mr. Strattford. 
EVen this Fool's Paradise quickly withers, and that Tinsil sort of Happiness which a Man finds in Love, soon wears off. After Marriage your Sex thinks it not worth the while to Dissemble any longer; you have caught the Fish, and the Net is laid by: You have entrapped your Prey, and now the Panther's Face is shown, which before you so so carefully concealed.  
You say yourselves that Fools cannot Love, and if not before Marriage, much less after it, so there's three quarters of the World struck off, and how many think ye will there be of your Sex included, certainly not the smallest number.  
Nor can a wise Man love a Fool, for that's unnatural: There is nothing agreeable between them, they don't Tally. 'Tis true, he may be a little tickled and pleased before Marriage: The Beauty hides the Folly, he was prepossessed and hoodwinked; now the truth is, Matrimony often does Men that kindness, it gets 'em their eyes again, tho' 'tis something a sharp Remedy.  
Nay, suppose two wise persons should by a Miracle, meet between one pair of Sheets, by the Parson's leave, I know not but these would be more incapable of Loving than any of the other: The Felicities of Marriage (says one that's thought to have tasted deeply enough of its Infelicities) generally perishing in the Conflict arising between Man and Wife of equal Spirits and Understanding; It being impossible there should want Contests where both lay claim to a capacity fit only to be obeyed.  
But still further, to give Matrimony as fair play as possible, let us suppose a pair as agreeably Matched as Nature can make 'em; neither too wise, the Man a little the advantage, but no Statesman; the Woman no Fool, but wise enough to know or think she has less Wit than her Husband, yet there's a sort of necessity of Nature for the ebb of their Passion after Marriage, (and he that loves not passionately, can't be said to love at all.) For what is strained to the height must needs either give again, or snap in pieces, and 'tis impossible Nature can furnish sufficient Spirits to make the Woman." Each happy night a Bride— whatever Songs may be made on't the next Morning by some doting Bridegroom. Indeed if in any thing we ought to complain of Nature, we might seem to do it with the greatest Justice for this apparent Cheat it puts upon us, for it works the expectations and desires to the greatest Extravagance, and yet afterwards gives us nothing proportionable to her profuse promises and our own exalted Fancies, at least all ingenuous Married Men I ever met with, have frankly owned this great Truth, and 'tis strange if there should be such a real Felicity in that Estate, such an inestimable Philosopher's Stone, that none yet should ever have the good fortune to find it.  
Hear your Friend Osborn, who doted upon you so much even in his Grey Hairs, when he should have been wiser, that he owns in his youth his Heart was your Triumphant Chariot, hear but what Truth and better Experience wrung from him on this Subject. Those Virtues, Graces, and reciprocal Desires (says he) which bewitched, Affection expected (before Marriage) to meet and enjoy, Fruition and Experience will find absent, and nothing left but a painted Box, which Children and Time will empty of Delight, leaving Diseases behind, or at best incurable Antiquity.  
But yet worse, 'tis no Miracle for Want and Poverty to assault the happy pair, and then what becomes of all their Love? It's strange Humane Nature should have no more sagacity then to let itself be made one great Bubble: Never were any paired together, if Love brought 'em into the Noose, but had a strong fancy that alone would feed and  'em: They take that for their Sempstress and their Cook, as the Poet tells us others formerly did Religion; and yet let's see one Instance of any that when they tried the experiment, could grow fat on such airy diet; nay, or so much as live upon't any better than the Welchman's Horse upon an Oat a Day. And when once Want comes in at one Window out creeps Love infallibly at another, especially when the Brats begin to sprawl and stink about in every corner, yelping for the Dug, with scarce  enough to hid their Nastiness. Ay,— now let's see who Loves, and if we find one Pair in all Europe that hold stubbornly to their first Folly, that have all the old Flames and Darts when shivering with cold and tormented with shame, and gripped through with Hunger, then we'll vote 'em, not only the Flitch at Dunmow, but a Monument at their death as famous as the Mausoleum, and ever by my consent every hundred pair who live unhappily in the same circumstances, should, while they live, pay 'em the tribute of a single Maravedi every year, which I am apt to believe would amount to a sum almost beyond Arithmetic to reckon it.  
To speak Truth, I know not how Love should possibly last after Marriage, when Freedom and Liberty are its very Breath and Nature. If we would, 'tis not likely your Sex should be able to continue it: You are a sullen sort of Birds, take never so much care of you, cram you never so well, yet you will hang the wing, and moult as soon as ever you are Caged, and one must expect no Music from you ever after. Satiety as naturally produces Loathing, as Hunger does an eager Appetite, and Novelty, Pleasure. To see the same dull greasy face every day, is worse than seeing the same Play for a Twelvemonth together. Nothing but Pork would tyre a very Fleming. Or if our Stomaches should hold to the same Dish, yet you Cook it so sluttishly as would make one nauseate it in spite of a Siege: You use us like Strangers no longer, that's the truth on't, now we are so well acquainted. The brown Loaf and cold Meat must be esteemed a great favour. In short, all the care you took to disguise your Minds and Bodies, all your intellectual Toppings and Washeses, as well as the Gaiety and Judgement, Wit and good Humour of your outward Dress, are perfectly vanished. We have you in your native Homeliness, though not Innocence: If you have not too contracted some additional countercharms, and add Sluttishness to your other Accomplishments, to make you more completely Odious. For where's that care and solicitous exactness, and womanish diligence, and even affected neatness which were so remarkable in you before you had noosed us? You take no more care then to bolster up your minds, to hid those mental Deformities which would fright even a satire from your Bosoms. You are no more those gay pretty airy foolish diverting things, you were when upon your good behaviour. You give us a Sample indeed, but 'tis like a Snowy Hand to a Sooty Face. You trade too sharp for us Plain-Dealers, expose your best Goods to sale, but pack up those that are Damaged in the middle; Give us a Taste of good Wine, but when we come to send for the whole Piece home, and draw it out, 'tis so pricked and pauled that there's no enduring it.  
Not but that you are careful enough still to look as gay as ever on some extraordinary Occasions: If King Edgar be to make a Visit, Alfreda will be sure to on with all her Jewels, though it costs her Husband's Life: If you do dress at all, you are not sure so much out o'the Fashion to do it for your Husbands, 'tis either for all the World, or for some favoured Gallant: When he approaches you recall the old Leer, resume your Virgin smiles and prettinesses, though it may be awkwardly enough too, for want of practice. New Tallow your weather-beaten Vessel, repair your Rigging, pick your Eyebrows, blubb your Lip, and say over the fine things you can think on, which used to charm all your Adorers, and make 'em run as mad for your Common-place Wit, as for your no more natural Beauty.  
And how should most Marriages ever thrive any better, when they are so far from being made in Heaven, that the Banker has much more to do in 'em than the Parson. 'Tis but a sort of Stock-Jobbing, to make the best on't: You ask no other Qualifications in a Man, than what has he, not, what is he? And what Estate, what Jointure can he make, not what Character, what Reputation has he in the World. Let him make never so Monkey a Figure, and be distinguished by nothing but want of a Brush behind, and going always upon his hind-legs, he's never the worse Bedfellow if he can but settle the Substantial Acres. A goodly Marriage i'the mean time this is like to make, and a great deal of Comfort they'll have between 'em; such a Surplusage of Conjugal Love and Affection, that they'll scarce know what to do with't all, but be very ready, it's likely, to spare some to their Neighbours.  
Nor even so much as here are ye upon the Square, which is still harder; for since you have reduced the whole Affair to mere Bargain and Sale, both Parties ought to stand upon even Ground. But 'tis like all other Trades, one side must be sure to be cheated. Your Sex are seldom without False Dice about ye: Your Fortunes, the only things that would make one bear the Encumbrance at the end of 'em with any tolerable Patience and Satisfaction, are looked upon by a Magnifying-glass, as well as your other Perfections; tho' indeed they may seem to have some Right to the same Advantage with all the rest, because the most Ravishing Charm that belongs t'ye. Substantial, lasting Felicities, and almost a Valuable Consideration, even for Matrimony; at lest 'twould make any thing but that go-down with a great deal of Pleasure.  
Thus, Ladies, have you taught us to Discount, by letting us see the Ready is the main thing you expect from us, and why should we not be as ingenuous with you?  
Love, if any thing, is modest and silent; it has but a weak Head, and hates noise and clamour; and is it then any more likely to be found in the House where a Woman has entered before it, than silence in a Monastery?  
Who can Love where they do not Esteem? And how can the Woman esteem the Man, whom she reckons as her Rival in Government, if not a Tyrant and Usurper upon her Rights and Liberties, as she'll be sure to think him? Such a Republican Spirit has she, tho' he's the most Just and Merciful Monarch in the World. And on the other side, how can she expect he should love one who is daily conspiring against him, to wrest away his Legal Patrimony, and Ancient Inheritance? Man was born her Sovereign, and it looks like no very great piece of Kindness to exclude or dethrone him.  
I'll not insist on those many Diseases so incident to your Sex, and almost inseparable from them, lest I should render that horrid and nauseous, which I only design to represent as it really is, dreadful, and avoidable. But thus much is certain, if these are not in your own Power, they ought to be in ours, and not to Yoke ourselves to what would make our Lives as uncomfortable as yours: Especially when you can't expect Love should last, when the Cement of it, and the very End of Matrimony ceases; unless you can give an Instance of any that fell in Love in an Hospital; always excepting the Famous Gondibert and his Apothecary's Daughter.  
James Strattford.   

Answer to LETTER XXVI. That 'tis possible to love as well after Marriage as before, and the way to do it.  By M— H— 
WHen the Histories of all Nations are full of the Examples of excellent Wives, who for their Constancy and Fidelity to their Husbands, and Conjugal Duty and Affection have justly been made Immortal, it looks like a very ill-natured Paradox to assert that never can be, which so often has been, and therefore may be again, and of which we have as many present living Instances as there are of married Persons that live happily, which I am apt to believe are many more than live otherwise, because Happiness and Content are generally silent, but Misery is querulous and noisy; and we hear every where of the Disorders which happen in any such unfortunate Families. Indeed it is observable of most of the Arguments that are brought against Marriage, or the Happiness of such a State, that not one in twenty of them have so much as the shadow of Reason, but are just such as an ingenious Person says of them, fit for Men rather to wheedle with, than in good earnest think what they speak. And of this sort are all those which pretend to prove there is no such thing as Love after Marriage; for we will not stand to the Experience of a bad Husband in these matters.  
Grant that they never had any, that something base than Love was the motive of their Courtship, and that their Flame was so impure, that it could not long shine after it was lighted by the Torch of Hymen: Yet it is so far from Truth, that Love cannot last at all after Marriage, that I am satisfied many have loved much better after than they did before; nay, in some Instances, have loved very tenderly after that Sacred Bond had united 'em, though perfectly indifferent, if not averse, when both single; although Instances of these last are so rare, that it is ill venturing together unless there be at least some Affection between them. But this I affirm, as Magisterially as ever our Antagonist can the contrary, although with much more Truth and Reason, that married Persons have more cause to Love better than others, and more Advantages to do so: For they have now left all the World for each other, which must needs be a great Endearment on both sides: their Word, and Honour, and Oath are all publicly engaged, and unless they forfeit all these, they must continue to Love one another, and cannot but be Happy. Their Love is both Honourable and Lawful, and now they have all they sighed for, and possess each other's Affections, and Persons, and Fortunes without any fear of a Rival. Shame on him that loves a fine Woman less when he has her in his Arms, than when he only throws sheeps-eyes, and makes ugly Faces at her. It is true, if Men form Romantic Notions of Love and Friendship, and find themselves deceived when they come to apply 'em to common Life, they may be angry without pity or regard. He that expects more from a Mortal than it can give him, deserves to be disappointed. There's no perfect Happiness here, and its pity there should; but yet we may make a shift to pick up a good comfortable share of it with good Management, and there are certainly degrees of it, and one is much more Happy than another, and I am still of the mind that a married condition is in itself the happiest Estate of Life, and will never believe but that it would always be so, did not Lewdness, or Imprudence, or some uncommon Misfortune prevent it; and thus happy I am sure it never could be, without a good degree of Love. The little Endearments of a married condition, the soft Hours, the very Fondnesses and Follies and Particularities, and to others, insignificant Fancies and Humours, have yet all of 'em something new in 'em, and diverting and obliging.  
Nay, even the little Matrimonial Quarrels, the short-lived Anger of Lovers, makes 'em but love better: A little Water sprinkled on their Fire, makes it blaze more strongly than before, if there be not enough to Quench it.  
Most kinds of Pleasure seem to be little more than the curing of some Pain. What else is that we perceive in the Gust of the most delicious Wines, when extreme Thirsty? or the Taste or Smell of a well cooked Dish, when sound Hungry? And the longer we have been Fasting, the sharper we are kept, the more ravenously we fall to, when once we sit down to Table. However, none but Gluttons will gorge themselves; and if afterwards they complain of want of Appetite, Would they not be laughed at, rather than pitied?  
Yet you cannot tell, Mr. S—, whether the Answerer of this Letter be a Man, or a Woman, a Maid, Wife, or Widow; nor shall you ever know it, if I can help it. But whatever I am, Zeal for Truth has engaged me in the Controversy, and no Aversion to Marriage has drawn these Thoughts from me, which you must take as they come, without any more Accuracy, or Regularity, than I find in some of yours.  
But to return to my Subject: Even Absence itself is so far from divorcing Lovers, that it only more closely cements their Affections. Every occasional Journey renders the happy Pair more impatient of meeting; and when they meet again, more pleased with each other; increases their virtuous Love, and heightens their mutual Satisfaction; and the longer they live together, the closer still is the Knot tied, the more indissoluble it grows, and yet the more easy. Time and Age file off by degrees any little roughness in their Temper, and polishes the Inequalities of their Humour, while they grow more acquainted with each others Excellencies and Virtues, and therefore more in love with them, and can more easily bear with those unavoidable Imperfections, those little Blebs, which will be found in whatever is moulded of Clay, and therefore with the less difficulty may be mutually overlooked and forgiven. Tho' were there nothing but length and continuance of Acquaintance, and a long Intimacy, under the same Roof, on the same Road, and in the same Circumstances of Life; yet even from hence we often see such Friendships contracted, that nothing but Death can divide 'em. And these of necessity must be much stronger, where the Obligations are dearer, and the Intimacy closer, and the Secrecy more entire: Where Tenderness, and Interest, and Inclination, join their Forces; and 'tis so much the Concern of both Parties to make each other Happy.  
I never said or thought that Love was more furious the longer it lasted; for I believe the quite contrary. 'Tis more calm and rational; but 'twould be strange, if it should therefore be the less perfect. It burns like subterranean Lamps, undisturbed and even, and therefore must be immortal; at least, the Light can only be extinguished when the Lamp itself moulders: Its Death is owing not to any inward Decay, but merely to the Weakness of the Materials.  
Yet if Souls know Souls hereafter, what Heresy is it, to believe, that a virtuous Friendship, here commenced, shall last, nay shall be perfected, like all other good Qualities, in another World! You'll say, it may be, I'm too grave on such Subjects: But I must ask your Pardon, if I only let you and others know what I think myself. I love to follow a Thought as far as I can see it. And I have read, that some of the brave old Heathens were wont mightily to please themselves with the Friendships of Elysium, and the Satisfaction they expected in a more intimate Correspondence with wise and good Men in another World.  
But well remembered: We are yet in this; and I hope I should do my Fellow Citizens no disservice, if I could put all married Persons, or at least the very greatest part of 'em, in a way to be certainly Happy with each other; and the longer they live, to love still the better, and be more beloved.  
Let the Husband, if he desires this, neither  nor Tyrannize: The Wife neither assume beyond what Nature, and the (indulgent) Laws have given her, nor yet so basely crouch, as to render herself cheap and despicable. If they ever have any little Differences, let 'em no more take air than Fire in a Cellar. Keep 'em even from Servants, and let the Pillow alone decide 'em, where many a Flint is broken. If both are Passionate, take turns to adjourn your Anger; if only one, it's the easier to agree; tho' there's this Advantage even in an hasty Temper, that as it soon kindles, 'tis never long a burning; it may sputter a little, but 'twill do no great hurt; while a sour Log, that's a whole day a lighting, shall, it may be, be half a dozen, before 'tis extinguished.  
In the last place, learn the Act of Memory, and the greater Act of Forgetfulness, and you'll not fail of being Happy. That is, remember all the kind things, forget all that's harsh or ungrateful that ever past between ye; at least never repeat 'em, which will be the best way to forget 'em: Which Advice if you carefully observe, I see no Reason to doubt but you'll live as contentedly as  
Your Humble Servant, M— H—   

LETTER XXVII. That no Woman can be Faithful in Absence.  By Sir Thomas— 
YOur ingenious Sex finds out many Exceptions from that General Rule, Till Death us do part; and 'tis worthy Chronicle indeed to find one of ye constant half so long. I think we have Instances of some one or two that have made a shift to keep Honest without good looking after, and you may well boast of your Phoenix, Penelope, who held out a Siege as long as that of Troy, where her Husband was carrying on one of the Principal Attacks: But you are forced to go as high as the Fabulous Age for one such Story, while we see there's few Husband's need go over their Thresholds to find the contrary; for if they are but absent in another Room, it may be as effectual, as if at the utmost distance the four Seas would allow him. Which, by the way, are the exact measure of a Woman's Conscience, and our Great Grandfather's Wisdom; for was there ever such a Law made in any other Nation of the World, that a Man must thankfully receive all the two legged Blessings his Bountiful Wife will bestow upon him, tho' he has no more to do with 'em than the Great Mogul? If it be pleaded for you, that you are tempted to Falsehood by the Remissness of the Laws on these occasions; may it not with more Reason be retorted, that had you any Ingenuity, you would therefore be the more Faithful. Sometimes you don't love Restraint, and 'tis being tied up so close makes you break your Halter. But what can you say in this case, unless that even this Law has not left you Rope enough, and that the four Seas ought, in Chancery at least, to be extended to both the Indies, which would doubtless have several good Consequences, and make your Husband's Absence more comfortable to you, and profitable to themselves; and in the mean while you would not be such unfruitful, unprofitable Members of the Commonwealth. 'Twou'd effectually prevent much Jealoufie and ill Blood in the Nation. A Man would not then look sour upon his Spouse, at his return from a long Voyage, only because she had been Trading too in his absence, and improving that little Stock he left her; whose unkindness to her might have very ill Effects, make her, it may be, lose what she goes with, if not break her tender heart.  
But then if one Law be favourable to the Sex, there's another Custom that I wonder you don't Petition against, and try to get it altered in Parliament, and that is, the unconscionable time you are obliged to stay without hearing from your Husband, before you dare hope him dead, and admit the consolation of another.  
Seven Years! why, 'tis a Life-time, and such a tedious state of Widowhood, more properly a Civil-Death, than Rowing Ten Years in the Galleys. The only Comfort is, you can set one Law against tother, and then the Scales will be pretty even.  
The greatest wonder to me is, that any should be so unreasonable as to expect Fidelity and Constancy from you. Why does he not as well expect softness from a Flint, or Oil from a Pumice-stone? The Winds and Seas are old Similes, for their Constancy as well as their Silence: And if 'tis not in their Nature to be constant, hardly in Evil, much less sure in Virtue, and least of all, in so strong a Virtue as Fidelity, which they may pretend is too rough and masculine for their softer Natures. And if this bened to be expected, even after Marriage, where there are all the most Sacred Ties imaginable, all the Obligations of Gratitude, and Conscience, and Interest, and Honour to keep 'em steady, how thick must his Sword be, who hopes for it before Marriage, in the absence of him to whom they vowed Eternal Friendship? Is't not fair for a Woman to stand to her Word, while you are by, to remember her of it? We know they are forgetful Creatures, they are weak, and if they venture alone, we must expect they'll fall, and so brittle, that if they do, we may be sure they'll be broken. But they'll say, I'm now Arguing on their side. Let 'em make what use they please on't, but this is matter of Fact, and shows that they are not, or cannot be constant if you trust 'em out of sight. For the Lover takes his Mistress' Vows and Promises along with him: He has 'em in his own keeping, as afterwards, if he gets her, the Writings of her Estate, and let him look to 'em, and not blame her if they are lost, nor be so unreasonable to expect her Constancy should follow him all the World over.  
A Woman's Oaths and Promises are certainly what they report of ours: She'll claim the Clergy of a Lover, and pretend they may be broken upon good occasions, and those she'll never want, till she wants Invention or Confidence: And concludes without any.  
Her Friends are against the Match, and she dares not go against her Conscience and Interest in a matter of such great concern. Or he is unfaithful first, and gives her both Example and Authority to treat him in that manner. Or he is not in a capacity to make good the Proposals he made her; and if they married, they should only live miserably, and stock the World with a Race of Beggars: Or he has neglected and affronted her, either by Silence, or want of that Respect which becomes a Faithful Lover. Or she has heard of some of his former Pranks, and, forsooth, can't think she's bound by any Promise to a Person of so little Virtue. All these she thinks good Reasons, tho' the true one lies still at the bottom.  
His Fortune is not plentiful enough to maintain her Extravagance and Pride, or she has some richer Fool that makes his Addresses, and outbids the Jointure offered by the former: Or it may be he's a Man of Sense, and then he's half condemned before any other tenders his Service: However, if some brisk Fop attacks her, he infallibly carries all before him, having the Fate of her Sex to favour his Pretensions; and oftentimes she only changes for the sake of change, for dear charming irresistible Variety. The Impression of her former Vows wears off from her Memory as fast as the Face of him to whom she made 'em: There are none of those pretty little Amorous Quarrels, which used to blow up and feed their Passion when present. Nor are Letters strong enough to supply the want of actual Management, and appearance in proper Person: They are too cold to keep Love long alive, or to continue it in an unconstant Heart, where at least 'tis easily driven out by a newer, and therefore more fashionable Amour. There's as much difference between actual Personal Addresses, and Epistolary Confabulations, as there is between a disputable Bill and good hard Ready Money. Woman is indeed so far like a New discovered Country, that the first comer pleads a Right to her; but if he withdraws for a while, and a stronger Rival steps in, he seizes the Ground as his own, cuts up the Turf, and Heirs the whole Plantation.  
Sometimes, 'tis true, you have something more of Excuse for your Infidelity: The Unhappy Lover is betrayed by a false Friend, or misrepresented and abused by the Malice of his Enemies. But were that Generosity in your Sex which you pretend to, half that real firmness which you have in an ill Cause, you would weigh the Circumstances, and hear his Defence, and not run away with the first heat of Passion, throw yourselves away (if that can be) on one that cannot Merit you, or is, it may be, as false as yourselves, and give poor forsaken Manly one Reason more to Curse the World by your unkindr● and baseness.  
But you are Faithful to your Love 〈◊〉 it may be you'll boast, even after Death and much more when they are only absent but still living. Yes doubtless, if we granted the one, we should scarce stand to quarrel with you upon the other: But how many Artemisia's and Portia's have you to boast of? The latter of whom seems rather to have suspected her Constancy, than to have given such an Illustrious Trial thereof, as is generally apprehended: The most Charitable Interpretation we can make of what she did, is, that she was afraid she should not keep up the Grandeur of her Name, and the Glory of Cato's Wife, and therefore took a Cordial of Live coals to settle her while she was in a good Mind, and prevent any second Marriage.  
Thomas—   

Answer to LETTER XXVII. For Absence.  By Madam Godfrey. 
WHether or no Absence be the more advantageous to a Lover, or his being present to solicit his Suit with the Fair One; which side soever of the Question I should engage in, it could be no Reflection on our Sex, at least not distinctly from yours; for there have been more false Theseus' then Clytaemnestra's, and till you could show us one of your Sex that would be proof against Interest and Opportunity, that when his Mistress was absent would refuse a Richer, and a Handsomer if the Offer was made, you must not lay all the weight on others shoulders, but support at least an equal share in your proper Persons.  
But letting that rest, I shall now examine what you Advance on this Subject, and doubt not to prove that in many Cases, and on several Accounts, Absence is more favourable to a Lover than the contrary; he has many Advantages by it, which he could not have if present with her he loves. For he can write to her, and express many things that way which he could not any other. It remedies his Bashfulness, (if any of your Sex are yet Oppressed with that unfashionable Malady:) However, he avoids being confounded and dazzled with the Splendour of her Beauty, which has often struck dumb as stout Men as Sir T. without any Reflection upon his Valour. The fear lest any Expression less proper or respective should drop out unawares, as it often happens in Conversation, is here avoided: A Lady will bear many things in black and white, which it may be she would not care to have told her by the Writer if he were present. Many don't love to hear they are loved, or at least, think it not decent to sit still and hear their own Panegyric, which yet they can read well enough, if there be not too much daubing in't. A Lover may talk on as long as he please with his Pen, and reveal all his Passion without fear of being interrupted, either by the Wit, or Ill-nature, or Modesty of his Mistress. Many can write better than they can speak, especially Men of Sense, and this Observation scarce ever fails if they have not had much acquaintance or conversation in the World; and to such as these, Absence gives a mighty advantage: A Lover has time to think twice, to choose his thoughts, and only represent such as will be most favourable to his Passion, when he makes it known by Letter; but in Discourse he has no time nor room to turn an Idea, but his Mistress must take it as she finds it. Generosity and Fidelity plead hard for him in his absence, if he has made any Progress in his Amour before he leaves her, which the Question supposes: Lovers love to please themselves, and represent the dear Object as amiable as their Affection and Imagination can describe it, and as the Man sees his Lady in this advantageous Dress, she contemplates him in one that's full as agreeable, and both are sure to forget what may displease 'em, or make excuses and alleviations, which they can't so well do when they have the Object itself before their Eyes.  
Then if to all this there be a faithful Friend of either side, a Confident to the Amour, it may go better on, and make a larger progress in Absence than otherwise. When Persons are long present and conversing with one another, they are apt to find out each others Faults and Imperfections: It is impossible but they must repeat the same things over and over, unless of an extraordinary Wit, Invention, Memory, and Judgement: At best there is but a dull Satiety, and Wit itself, with nothing else for a long while together, would be apt to be tiresome and offensive: Now Absence heightens and sharpens the Passion, as Hunger does the Appetite, and then none but a Lover can guests the Transports that parted Lovers experiment when they meet again. How eagerly they clasp each other to their Breasts, and look, and sigh, and clasp again, and are never weary. A sight that would be enough to Convert the most averse to Love, or at least make 'em Envy such a Happiness as the sourness of their Natures would never let them possess.  
I had like to have forgot Songs, and Verses, and a hundred pretty Fancies, which a Lover may send to his Mistress when absent, tho' it looks often but scurvily to repeat 'em himself when present, which is like carrying a Letter from himself to the Person to whom it's directed. Besides the partiality of, I think, all Men living, at least that ever I have observed, for their own Works, would be apt to render the poor Author uneasy, and divest him of that complaisance which is so necessary to one that pretends to our Hearts, if we should think fit to dislike any thing in them, either for the Trial of his Good Nature or Understanding.  
But besides, as a Lady can bear much more in Writing than Face to Face, and her Lover express himself more to his Satisfaction, so she can say more to him this way if she's secure of his Fidelity, Discretion, and Loyalty, than if he were actually present. She can tell him a thousand things here, which would put a terrible Violence on the Reservedness of our Sex, should she venture to say half as much before him: Nor would she be this way in danger of his Transports, or seeing him throw himself out o' Window for Joy that she has granted him such a Favour. On all which Accounts, besides divers and sundry Reasons more, too long to repeat, I conclude, that Absence is most Advantageous to a favoured Lover.  
Rachel Godfrey.   

LETTER XXVIII. Against Nunneries.  By Mr. Preston. 
WEre it an Infallible, or so much as a probable Consequence, that Nunneries would keep you Honest, I should for several Reasons, hearty wish that we had more in every City than we had in former Ages, and that all your Sex might be immured in 'em by yourselves, which would almost restore Man to his first Paradise. You want all imaginable helps to Virtue, but I wonder a certain Politic Communion should ever fancy this would prove so. And I wish there were not reason to suspect they had quite different Motives for such an Establishment, since they could not be so little acquainted with your Inclinations, as not to know that this was the direct way to make you long for what they pretended to deny you. A long Lent in truth they impose on your tender Stomaches, not only for two or three Weeks, or a Year, but all your Lives together, unless some Charitable Confessor will give you a Dispensation from the Severity of your Rule. I once more entreat you not to flatter yourselves, that 'tis my fondness for your Company that renders me averse from having you clapped into these Pinfolds. No, you may assure yourselves 'tis the quite contrary; for I think there's just ground to fear that restraining the Fire to so narrow a compass, will make it blaze more furiously, unless it could be quite stifled. When 'tis thus reverberated, what can withstand it? The damning up this vast weight of Waters is very dangerous, for if they once find a way through the Banks, as 'tis hard if they long contain so slippery an Element, then there's no Remedy, but they bear all down before 'em.  
To be plain, I'm afraid thus would you deal with us, were your Sex generally confined to Nunneries. You'd make a desperate Sally at one time or other, fall upon our Sex when unprepared to resist ye, overrun all Mankind, and beat us, as the Amazons did their Neighbours, till they made 'em Ravish 'em in their own Defence, and merely to save their Lives.  
All the Passion and Fire we see and wonder at in the Letters from a Nun to a Cavalier, are no more than painted Flames, in comparison of those which must needs torment such as are thus fatally immured. This they fan, but can never allay by their Conversation at the Grates, which sure must be a lively Emblem of a darker Prison, since this must needs keep their Desires enraged, without giving, 'em any satisfaction, unless you'll suppose 'em all such very Vestals, as to feel no more tingling when their Hands are pressed and kissed through the Grate, than those very conscious Bars that part the eager Lovers.  
And when 'tis once come so far, and a settled Amour is form between 'em, 'tis well if scaling Walls, and breaking Necks done't shortly follow, or it may be, more mischievous Consequences than either.  
That poor Saint had a great deal of Injury done her, who put herself in Man's  on purpose to get into a Monastery, and having there behaved herself so well, as to gain the favour of her Superiors, was it seems so envied by the rest of the Fraternity, that they most Feloniously hired a Strumpet to lay a Bastard to her Charge, likely enough of their own begetting. For which the poor Innocent, not daring to discover herself, was confined to her Cell, and condemned to very rigorous Penance all her Life. In which modest silence she at last died, and then all came out; for she was not only found a Woman, but Intacta too, if we'll believe the Skilful Monk that relates it.  
Now 'twas very well for this poor Girl that she had no Companion assigned her, no Bedfellow to comfort her all that while, nor none in her Sickness to undress her, or to administer any thing whereof there might have been occasion.  
And 'twould be yet worse, I fancy, if some devout Brother should for some such Reason, and out of mere contempt of the World, and hatred of the Vices of our bad Sex, resolve to disguise himself in the Habit of a Woman, and so by that means get introduced among the Sisters, which they say, has not been without Precedent. How sweetly, how innocently would he live amongst 'em? And if he should happen to die there, like the She-Monk already mentioned, how many Ehs! and squeeks would the poor Nuns make when they went to lay him out, and made the Discovery?  
'Twou'd be well if Mother Abbess herself did not come running in, as once before, with the friar's Breeches about her Shoulders, to see what was the matter.  
What caution soever is used in these concerns, something or other will now and then break out, to the Scandal of Mother Church, and Diversion of us Heretics, whence we can't help concluding that how Angelical soever their Profession may be, their Practice is just like that of other pieces of Flesh and Blood, that other French Nuns may be like those who have been discovered to be no better than they should be, and that the Nuns of France may be of a piece with those throughout all the World.  
If this be thought too Uncharitable a Censure, we'll find out another way for Nature to work for itself, for it can't be perfectly unactive, as long as there's Heat and Motion.  
We'll believe then that all their Fishponds are not stocked at the same rate, and that they don't all kill their Children because they han't occasion for't. But then they often kill themselves, and one can scarce tell which is worse. They see Visions and Revelations, are filled with new Light and Prophecy, commence all Pazzis and julian's, and Bridgets and Kates, are Canonised and Prayed to, and their Lives entered in their glorious Legends, to the encouragement of Catholics and confusion of Infidels,— and all this because the Blast works upward. Progenies coeli est, & conscia Flammina futuri— I ask your Pardon, Ladies, for that scrap of that Beastly Language, which slipped from me before I was ware, but as big as it sounds, your learned Advocate (Anonimas) who yoked me so hard in defence of your Topknots, can easily tell you the meaning on't, which on the word of an honourable Enemy, is no manner of hurt, and nothing else but an end of Hudibras before recited, though dressed so fine that he himself would hardly know it.  
Once more pardon for this digression, which if you do not give me presently, I must be forced to make another as long to excuse it.  
But I think we were talking of Enthusiasm, which if any of your Sex inclines to Devotion, will be sure to have a large share in it. It Commands in you all, but it Reigns, it Triumphs in a Cloister, where either Gild or Weakness makes People Superstitious, gives 'em false Notions of Religion, and wild and extravagant Fancies; making 'em all Spiritual.  
Then perpetual poring on their Lives of Saints and old musty Legends, gives 'em a strong Bias that way, makes 'em all Spiritual Don Quixots, and sets 'em agog for some redoubted Adventure in their Religious sort of Knight Errantry, which they themselves confess have been the Original of several of their Orders, particularly of good St. Loyola's, whose Peaceable and disinterested Society have been ever since they were first cubbed so great a Blessing to the World.  
But what's all this, you'll perhaps answer, to the English Ladies? You know we are good Protestants, and renounce Nunneries and all their works (except their Point and pretty Pictures) and should not care to be of any Order amongst 'em, except we might either be Galloping Nuns, or,— But 'twould be enough to reply, that impartial Justice falls without respect on all your Sex, of whatever Age, or Country, or Religion, and these Nunneries being what you so much boast of, to show you can live without us, they deserved that particular notice which I have taken of 'em.  
Nor is that all, for you yourselves, you Protestant Ladies, who have renounced all venial Sins and Confessions, and no more believe Virginity the most excellent state of Life, than you believe Transubstantiation, even you have lately had a serious proposal to make a Schism among your Sex, set up Protestant Nunneries, and exclude yourselves from the World: The surest way I must confess, to procure you Husbands. But if you design any thing else, 'tis easy to show how widely you'd be mistaken: To say nothing of the pleasantness of the Proposal how seriously soever it might be intended, and not to inquire whether or no 'twould be practicable to set up a new Society of St. Cyr, here in England, or what Discipline could possibly be observed amongst 'em, or if they did voluntarily enter into a mutual compact, how many Moons 'twould be, before their Minds would change, and they'd be all dispatched again, and ranging the Commons of Nature as wildly as ever; not to trouble you, I say, with any thing of this nature, there's one or two Reasons which I shall ingenuously acknowledge prevails most with me, and determines me to persuade you against such a course of life; one is for your own sake and the other for ours: As for yourselves, you know the Customs of your Country won't allow you such comfortable Confessors in those melancholy places, as you might have in foreign Countries. As for our Sex, I am only concerned, as in the case , lest your abused Patience should be turned into Madness, and we should be all in danger, if like some new Goths and Vandals, you made an Irruption into our Territories; but lest our own Sex too, when you kept yourselves thus charily, should be tempted to think there was something precious in you, and merely from the natural desire after what's forbidden, should relapse from our Original Reason, and again learn to esteem and value that Trifle Woman.  
JOHN PRESTON.   

Answer to LETTER XXVIII. In Defence of Nunneries.  By Madam Lake. 
I Wonder what Fit of Ingenuity has lately possessed our angry Antagonist, that he so fairly confesses in this Letter, that the very Reason of his being against our enclosing ourselves in Nunneries, is, least for that very Cause he should be more passionately enamoured of us.  
It is not only Women then, I perceive, who are eagerly desirous of what is forbidden them, and that for no other Reason.  
But yet we would be so civil to this Gentleman, altho' our declared Enemy, that we are willing to own his Ingenuity has had a resembling Effect upon us; we are not wholly proof against so much Good-nature; and we must acknowledge, if any thing could make us out of Love with Nunneries, it would be the very same Reason that he brings against 'em: For fear they should make him too violently in Love with us.  
For what Pity would it be, that a hopeful Gentleman, in the Flower of his Manhood, the Ripeness of his Experience, and the sedatest Years of his Life, should be seized with all those inexcusable Tricks of Youth that he talks of, and fall a scaling the Hesperian Gardens, to rob them of their golden Fruit, while the old Dragonist lay snoring under the Tree, and dreamt nothing of it! But if Mother Abbess should chance to ' wake, Mr. Preston, what a miserable plight would you be in! I know you do not mightily affect old Women; but sure an old Abbess would fright ye into a Swoon, beyond the help of tweaking to revive ye.  
Better therefore let us alone, as we promise we will you, and never ravish you into our Nunneries, if you do not ravish us out of 'em. And whatever the Abuses of those Places might have formerly been, I must needs say, I think the Use would be excellent, and we are extremely obliged to the Proposer of any such Expedient. For what could be more desirable than such a Voluntary, and, if we pleased, only temporary withdrawing from the Public? Which is what all great and good Men have desired, to end their Days in Peace and Silence, or at least to breathe a little, and get free from the huge Crowd of Fools and Knaves that pester the World.  
Here we should have the Happiness of ingenious and religious Conversation: We would keep the Doors so fast, that none of your scandalous Sex, nor Scandal itself, would enter: We would employ ourselves in nothing but innocent and diverting Studies, and the Exercise of Devotion: Improve our Minds, Exercise, and thereby strengthen our Faculties, and try if we could not Think and Reason as well as you, altho' you pretend to monopolise those common Gifts of Nature.  
You will scarce deny but there have been excellent devout Men who have formerly lived retired Lives, and forsaken the World. I have myself the Picture of St. Jerome by me, (as they say, from whom I bought it,) painted upon Glass, with a Death's Head on one side, an Hourglass o'tother, a large Book, I suppose it may be a Bible, open before him, in the midst of a dark Cave, which, I confess, I can never look upon, but it strikes me with a sort of a Religious Horror. Such as him you cannot condemn, who in Times of Persecution fled for that Safety to the wild Beasts and Deserts, which they could not find amongst Men, and the more unhospitable Cities and Villages. This was not in itself evil; nor can it be therefore Criminal for any of our Sex, altho' the Circumstances should not be exactly the same, to live much in the same manner: But I propose not an Heremetical, but only a recluse way of living; such as that of Scholars should be in the Universities, with Fellowships, and suitable Encouragements for Ingenuity and Learning. Or, if you dare not trust us with such Advantages, lest we should soon exceed our Masters, let us at least, if our Nation has not the Ingenuity of the French, who admit the Ladies to contend for the Prize of Wit and Eloquence, who often carry 'em away from the whole Academy, let us, I say, enjoy however our dear Privacy, our Quiet, our charming Solitude, our Peace and Content, and Indisturbance, either from you, or any thing equally impertinent. All the Follies of Dress and Compliments, and Visits, and the useless Chat, with which you so frequently accuse us, would there be struck off: We should find other and better Employment than hearing or spreading those venomous Scandals with which your Sex first generally bespatters ours, and after you have done it, make it your Business, I confess, through our own Follies, to lay upon us the odious Drudgery of dispersing 'em.  
There might we enjoy Friendship fit for Desire, above Scandal, and beyond the reach of Envy. We might every Day converse with all the mighty Dead, read and digest the excellent Historians, and admirable Moralists of former Ages, take all the substance and sense, and not envy you the husk of Languages: And at other times, the great Men of our own Nation; the Philosophers, the Divines, and some few Poets. And thus, either return again to the World, after we had been thus for a settled time retired from it, to try if we could make it better, or as our Circumstances required: Or else wear out a long and peaceful Age in some blessed Retirement with more Wisdom and less Contempt than generally falls to our share in those Circumstances when we live abroad in the World, till at length the Lamp of Life goes out without any offence or struggle, and we sink into the Shades of Immortality without a Groan or a Murmur, and leave the World with a Smile, to think how happily we have 'scap'd it.  
Joice Lake.   

LETTER XXIX. Against the Unquietness, Impertinence, and Garrulity of Women.  By Sir Charles— 
THat any who talks so little to the purpose should yet talk so fast, and so loud, would seem very unreasonable, had you not this to plead for yourselves, that 'tis very natural that want of Sense should be supplied with some other qualification: and you have both sound and volubility to compensate for it, either of which oftentimes go farther than the strongest Reason.  
But would you then only tattle for the sake of tattling, for your own recreation, or the exercise of your Talon, or to clear the Air in Plague-time, or when the Nation was troubled with thick Vapours, or other unseasonable weather, you might be at least pardonable, nay, in sums case useful, and it may be, 'twould be worth the while to get your Clacks Consecrated like the Popish Bells, to preserve us from Thunder and Lightning.  
But when the fair Xantippe most undutifully turns her whole Forces against her Lord and Husband, when she uses that dreadful Weapon which was given her to fright away Enemies from his House, most ungratefully and preposterously to fright away the right owner, we must needs say this is a little of the most, and she ought either to be totally Disarmed, or, if a Woman without a Tongue would be thought Monstrous and Ominous, that at least her mouth should be something contracted, and if not sown up like a Ferret's, yet haspt a little at both ends, that it might be kept in some compass and tolerable order.  
Were your Music so very sweet, there might be more pretence for your love to hear yourselves Sing, Enchanting I confess it is, and its Harmony was never better described than by your fast Friend , who thus very remarkably of your most Ravishing Marriage Music,  

Sweet, as a Screech-Owl's Serenade,  
Or those Enchanting Murmurs made  
By th' Husband-Mandrake and his Wife,  
Both buried (like themselves) alive.   
Here he gives an Account of the sweetness of your Cadence, and the harmony of your Numbers, as a little before he lets us know how soft it is, and how like the Music of the Spheres, too delicate for the ears of Mortals.  

That Conjugal Petard, that tears  
Down all Portcullises of Ears,  
And makes the Volley of one Tongue  
For all their Leathern Shields too strong.   
I must confess I cannot tell whether the greatest Amazon can with exact propriety of Speech be said to fire a whole Volley out of one Piece though never so often repeated, unless they commend the double barrelled Invention, and let off a whole File by one Touchhole. This however must be granted, that Echo will repeat the sound almost incredibly, and the Female Head being generally not too full, there's the advantage of the hollow place, for the Reverberation, which may return the Sound oftener than that of Tibbalds or Woodstock, and like the famous Whispering Wall, render that or a Speaking Trumpet, as loud as Thunder, which was in itself but a gentle whisper, hardly audible from one Ear to the other.  
Yet if your Discourse were but worth the hearing, we might bear a little better with the vehemence of the Expression, but such perfect Froth, such unsufferable Impertinence who can endure, unless another Woman. For among yourselves there is seldom any Nonsense lost, you talk to each others Capacities, and all is well enough— E●ther what an extraordinary pretty Gown you have, Madam pray, who made it? Or how does little Master and Miss. do this Evening? well, they are the prettiest Creatures,— and then a long Narration of their Childish Follies, which their Age renders excusable, if not diverting at first hand, though nothing more nauseous than when repeated by a Mother's fondness a hundred times over.  
And well if they scape with bare Folly, which can only be for want of substantial Scandal to work upon. This Railing at their Neighbours is a more necessary and gentile part of the Entertainment, than Tea, or Chocolate. 'Tis true, Dulness may in a great measure force 'em on such a Practice; they Rail at others, as many Swear, merely for want of Discourse, and to stop Gaps in Conversation: and this would, but even this can't excuse 'em, since this Dulness is so visibly affected: They ne'er desire to be better employed; they are wonderfully taken with this mischievous apish sort of pleasure, they'll not be abridged of it for the sake of their dearest Friends, or their own Mothers. Yet still, you'd be more tolerable, would you keep your Conversation to yourselves, and not break out upon us, and even infect us with your Follies.  
Whom are we to thank that all ingenious and profitable discourse is almost utterly banished out of the World, but only the Women, who taking the advantage of the fondness of the English Customs, will be every where intruding amongst us; and having the odds both in swiftness and loudness, will either talk all themselves, or soon drown any other who offers to talk Sense, because 'tis to them an unknown Language. And when once they begin, who should stop 'em, any more than a Bowl rolling down a Hill, which is only set forwards by the Rubs it meets with, which it easily leaps over, and descends with greater Fury.  
I value my Sense of Hearing too much to venture in amongst a Hive of 'em, when they are just Swarming at a Gossipping. I have often wondered how 'tis possible for their Mind to keep pace with their Tongue, believing they spoke Rationally like other People, till at last the thing was easy, since 'tis plain their Speech is only a sort of a Mechanical Motion, and they can't afford to think with it. Travellers describe the Chattering of a whole Neighbourhood of Monkeys in the Woods in the East-Indies, as one of the most Importunate and Ungrateful sound imaginable, and therefore the most like that of the Tattling Sex, who would fain be accounted Humane.  
The Fable of Midas had a good Moral in't. The Woman could no more forbear Tattling of her Husband's long Ears, than all the rest of her Sex in the same condition; nay I believe there's no doubt, if he had Horns as long as his Ears, but she'd have published one as freely as the other.   

Answer to LETTER XXIX. Concerning the Garrulity, Impertinence, and-Unquietness of Women.  By Madam Haithorn. 
DID Women ever plead Causes, or pull Quoifs in Westminster-Hall? Or, have there not been Times, far enough within our Memory, when Billingsgate itself might have learned from the Bench, and a Judge would have made nothing at fair Scolding to have run down an Oyster-Wife.  
Do we ever write Books against one another, and scold in Mode, and Figure, and Greek, and Latin? Did you ever hear of a Council of Women, that hanged, and damned, and burned one another, for what 〈◊〉 one of us understood, after so many hundred Years jangling? Is it we that make Wars, and usurp upon the Territories of our Neighbours, and cause Confederacies and Taxes, and so many Hundred Thousand Lives to set all right again?  
If you dare not say we are guilty of one of all these Accusations, it will be easy to answer who is; and from thence it will as easily appear, who are the great Disturbers of the World.  
If you did not tell your Tale to yourselves, how could you expect to gain Belief when your Malice is so ill contrived, and so unlikely? That ever a Creature made for Love, her Mind, and her Body, and even her Voice, so much more softly turned than that of rough and brutish Man, should yet be accused of those very Crimes, whereof our Accusers are so notoriously guilty! You accuse us, that a great part of our Conversation is made up of Scandal against our Neighbours: Sometimes indeed we are no better employed than in talking of you; And then how should we mention you, without hearing something ill or scandalous concerning you, since such sort of Actions you boast of, and make 'em the great Employment of your Lives? And if the Subject be one of our own Sex, Of what can we discourse more beneficially than our own Faults, that we may learn to amend 'em?  
But you'll say, we don't so much trouble ourselves about those, as the Miscarriages of others. But in them we see ourselves. Every Woman is her Neighbour's Glass; and if any of us are Criminal, Freedom of Speech, in Censuring our Crimes among ourselves, one would think should be the likeliest way to amend them. Besides, you forget that this Method of Conversation, were it so general as you would have it believed, has this one good Effect, That it often puts the innocent in a way to clear themselves; which they could never do, should we mutter about Scandal as you do, in Corners, and by Inuendo's, stab the fairest Reputation with a smile and a side-blow, in such a manner as 'tis impossible to be armed against you.  
And after all, let us manage our Discourses how we will, you cannot deny but the subject of 'em is for the most part more Noble than yours, When the Cloths removed, and we retire to our Tea-Table, and leave our Masters at their Claret, pray is not our Loss extremely great, in being deprived of their beneficial Converse? Dogs and Foxes, and Hares, and Horses are the Top of your Entertainment, or else a little grumbling at Taxes, and banning the confounded Bankers; but that must be after the third Bottle, when the Spirit of Politics gins to come upon ye. But then, what a Harmony is there, and how many Rooms off may it be heard? Never blame us for Gossipping once a Year, when you do it every day. A dozen Women, talking with all their might, and stretching to the utmost the weak Pipes that Nature has given 'em, would easily be drowned by one small knot of Good-Fellows got together. Sometimes every one talks to every one, than you single, and each takes his Antagonist at this terrible Tongue-Combat, which, defend every poor Woman from falling into! Can any thing be louder or more impertinent than you are, on these occasions, as if you were disputing for Lives and Fortunes, and no less were upon the Wheel than some Grand Affair of Christendom? And yet, this is you who blame us for noises, and tattling, and Impertinence, when we can defy you, as wise as you are, in twenty Conversations with any of your Cronies, to bring away so much as one single Sentence worth remembering.  
You say, a Woman is never weary of talking, and you guests without doubt from your own inexhaustible Faculty in Billingsgate Eloquence; but I'm sure we are often enough weary of hearing you, both your Anger and your Love being equally troublesome: Your best is even bad enough, and tedious enough, and how many Thrumms of Plays, what an abominable deal of ill-contrived Fustian must we patiently hear during the Quarantain of your Courtship, though we believe just as much of it as you yourselves.  
But when you once get us fast, you soon treat us with clear another sort of Eloquence, a Snarling Rhetoric at best, if not downright opening and worrying.  
And yet in the mean time where is your Conscience, and the boasted Civility of your Laws towards us? What a piece of unexperimented Barbarity is it, and how much does it relish of your first naked Pictish Ancestors? If a hasty word happens to escape a poor Woman, away presently to hurry her to the Ducking-stool; your Mobbish selves being the Judges and Executioners, mount her in the Air, and plunge her in the Water in the most rigorous Seasons of the Year, to the imminent hazard of her Life: Tho' we must needs say you have no more Law for this inhuman Practice, than for your Water-Tryal of poor Old Women for Witches, when you have no choice but to hang or drown. Thus we yield you the day both in Noise and Nonsense, in talking loud, and fast, and a great deal, and a little to the purpose; and therefore pray let us no more hear you exclaim at your usual rate, as if it were impossible for the greatest Tongue-Hector of you all to silence a Woman.  
Frances Haithorn.   

LETTER XXX. Of women's Longing.  By Mr. Hollis. 
WHatever your Sex does at all, you overdo it. Your Love, your Friendship, your Anger, your Hatred, your Devotion, your Irreligion; whatever 'tis, you are still in the Extremes, and equally Extravagant: Yet in all this you have some Excuse, something or other that leads you into't, either the tempers of your Bodies, or the weakness of your Minds; but what is't, in the name of Wonder, that throws you into this Gigantic Whimsy, more unaccountable than any of the rest? Longing, if it be any thing, is perfect Humour; you do it because you will do it, for there would be some Excuse for't if you could not avoid it. Not that I believe you can choose whether you will Long or no when you have once wound up your Imaginations to the height, and let your Fancies run away with you so far that they have once got the weak Curb of your little Reason between their Teeth; for then, if you had never so much mind to't, you might pull your Heart out without stopping 'em.  
But one would think if you would but suffer yourselves never so little to reflect on the Folly and Madness of this Affection, you would take care to stop it while 'twas in your power. You are Proud enough, and Vain enough in other matters, and don't very well like to be made a Public Ridicule: Why will you be so here, when 'tis so easy to avoid it?  
Can you ever persuade any Rational Creature that you can't help Longing for a New Gown, a Set of Pendants, a fine Locket or Jewel, or a Coach and Six? Well, let's grant these are such things as 'tis Natural for the mouths of all your Sex to water after 'em; nay, were it only delicate Fruit, a fine Dish of Fish, or a Haunch of Venison. But what can you say to a Tarr-Loaf, or the wind of a pair of Bellows, or the delicious Gravy dripping from a pair of sweaty Stockings, or worse than all this, two or three lusty plucks at that Part of a brawny Porter, from whence Taliacotius transplanted his Noses? I don't so much as mention your Longing to give your Husbands a good thundering Box o' the Ear, or it may be two or three one after another, because I suppose you need not pretend a great Belly for such a Liberty.  
Could there be any Consequence more frightful to you than your being ridiculed and laughed at for this wretched Folly, I would urge the Expense that 'tis to your Family, and the many Inconveniencies it carries along with it: But this would be to suppose you capable of Reason, and that you had some concern for the Ease or Fortunes of your Husbands. Let's try therefore if Sense can move you: If your own Children, a part of yourselves, can prevail any thing with you. What hurt have they ever done you, that you should render 'em both ridiculous and deformed, before they come into the World; that you bestow so many Cherries, and Cow-heels, and Hare-lips upon 'em before they see the Light? Or d ' ye do this out of mere Revenge, because they spoil your shapes, and make you so sickly and qualmish, that you can neither endure yourselves, nor any body else endure ye.  
You're a common Nuisance wherever you come when in this condition. All the Company must eat in as much fear of ye as the Scotchman did of the Wolf, that invited himself to Dinner with him when he was Travelling through the Forest; or as a Tyrant, lest he should be poisoned with every bit he eats.  
The Markets, the Stalls, the Poulterers, the Shambles cannot escape ye, and woe to him that denies a poor Creature in that Condition, tho' nothing but an Old Cushion is often in danger, and no need of a Midwife, when an Upholsterer will serve the turn.  
You are ready enough all of you to exclaim at one or two miserable wretches, who make a hard shift to live by cheating those who are good-natured enough to believe 'em, in that manner: They have a better Excuse than the most of their Sex, they make a noise out of Necessity, but you out of Wantonness, and when you have no manner of need on't.  
And then you are as extravagant in the Quantity as you are in the Quality. Wood and Marriot were but Green-Sickness Girls t'ye; you have an Art beyond Transubstantiation, and can swallow a greater bulk than yourselves; as the Serpents in Africa, a whole Calf, while their Bodies give way to make room for't.  
And if the Whim runs o' t'other side, and you are rather for Liquids', you'll make no more to fuddle your Husbands with Drinking with you, than you would if they were to eat with you to burst 'em: By which you gain a double Advantage, and satisfy the Canine Appetite of your Mind as well as Body; for when you have once ' turned your Masters into Brutes, who so fit as you to ride 'em?  
It may be you'll pretend there's a necessity of Nature in these Infirmities, and that we ourselves occasion it: This would be something if you never longed till you were married; but alas, you began it a great while before; you were in a Longing Condition from your Infancy, nay, from your very Creation. You begin it in your Hanging-Sleeves, there's a sort of oddness in your Palate, that you always had, and which will never be reformed. You begin with Chalk, and Wall, and Oatmeal; you eat your Dirt-Pies as soon as ever you have made 'em. You show your Judgement in your Choice, Trash is your Delight, and will be so. In this only you are of a Thread, and you as surely dote on Trifles from the beginning, as you'll afterwards flight a Man of Sense, and throw yourselves away on a Blockhead.  
If you had but so much as a Chance to be in the right, and were but upon even Ground, you might as well sometimes light on a Prize as otherwise. But where there's but any possibility of erring, you have a Million to One against you. You are false within, you have a Jaundice in your Minds, that discolours every thing you do but think on. Neither can you cast the blame on your Sex only, for no She-Creature ever longs but a Woman, especially for what's forbidden; and as an infallible Proof on't, let but any when you are walking in a Garden forbidden you any one Tree, tho' the veriest Crabs in Nature, and your Grandmother will certainly work in you, and you'll fall upon that without mercy, tho' you had a Paradise round about you.  
Gabriel Hollis.   

Answer to LETTER XXX. In Defence of women's Longing.  By Madam Radford. 
I Can't tell whether you'll be so Charitable to give me Credit if I should assure you I am not yet in a Longing Condition, and probably never may be, and therefore mayn't perhaps sufficiently understand the Subject to give you a complete Answer. But when you fall thus foully on our Sex only for being Women, when you are so disingenuous, and so unnatural to accuse 'em for what's no more in their own power than those other Miseries of Life, which but for you they could never know; 'tis then a Common Cause, and we are all engaged in't, and must try according to the best of our knowledge to defend one another.  
And in the first place then, how much soever you pretend to hedge your Betts, 'tis a clear Case that if this be a mischief, it is to yourselves that its Original is owing: 'Tis the perverseness of your own Sex wherewith you have infected ours; all other Longing is but trifling, some little Qualms which we own to our Fathers, and brought with us from them into the World. Most of the Instances you bring, do evidently relate to your own handiwork. Much in the same manner you deal with those of our Sex, who without something surer than your own Oaths and Honours, have no more Wit or Virtue than to believe you; first ruin 'em, and then insult over 'em. And when we have you as fast as the Laws of Heaven and Earth together can hold ye, what strange Creatures do you quickly make us? Our Beauty vanishes, almost as soon as you blow upon it; our Complexion, our Shape, our Health is utterly ruined; we contract a Hundred Diseases, which we own either to your Vice, or at least to your Pleasure; we undergo the most terrible Pains, and the greatest Hazards, and often more than die for every Child is born you; and these are your Thanks, this your Kindness, these the Generous Returns you make for all we endure for your Satisfaction.  
Would any be in pain unless they could help it, or mortally tormented, and run the imminent hazard of their Lives, if they knew how to avoid it? What Pleasure is it to Long, any more than to be Hungry? We are forced for the sake of Decency to put a constant Violence upon our Nature on these Occasions. Are your Minds indeed as you boast, so much stronger than ours? Has your Reason so absolute a Command over your Appetites? Let us then see you refuse a Glass of Delicious Wine sparkling before ye, when you are just ready to die for Thirst: We do this and more, and for you, and often repeat these and greater pieces of Self-denial, and thus it is you Reward us.  
If 'tis so painful, as you seem to acknowledge, to be despised and ridiculed, why do you treat us in that manner yourselves, when you have first exposed us to all that know us? If we Long sometimes for such things as are nauseous and frightful by the common Rule of Taste, this is a demonstration that from the very beginning, 'tis not in our power to avoid it. Were it only for the best Viands, and most Delicious Dainties, you would have some Pretence to think ours was no more; but when you acknowledge the contrary, one would think you might be contented with your own Answer.  
You had pleaded enough for us already, but you still extend your Kindness farther, and allege another Argument, which proves as strongly as the last, that this troublesome Affection of many of our Sex, when in that Condition, is perfectly involuntary: And that is, that it often injures our Children, which are parts of our own Bodies: Well, and are we so unnatural to do this out of Delight and Choice? Would any Mother choose to have a Child deformed and monstrous? But there's more than this in the case, for both Child and Mother not rarely lose their Lives on these Occasions.  
It may be, you'll say, they were desperate. Yes, it may be the ill Usage of the Brute their Husband made the miserables desirous to leave the World, and not leave any of their unhappy Race behind 'em. But you cannot say it is always so, for we must be so just to Mankind, to acknowledge there are some few who know better how to value us, who have a juster tenderness for us, and from whom we meet with fairer Usage.  
And I'm mistaken if such as these think much of every Glass of Wine that goes besides their own Insatiable Weasand; or are so extremely Thrifty, as not to allow their t'other self, what a Friend, nay, a Servant has every day at his Command.  
But if you are of that Mind, good Mr. H. never spoil two Families; let the Widow you wots of alone, and disturb her no further: Be contented that you have turned one Wife over, and got rid of her by one means or another: But if you think to make your Court to a Second in this manner, certainly unless she Longs already, and that for some such odd things you were lately discoursing of, she'll never take you to save her from Miscarrying; for all Women don't dote on such as you speak of, tho' sometimes the Proverb helps 'em.  
If we have this Discase from our Cradles, which on my word if it be true, is a rare Discovery in Nature, why then are you so unjust as to bear so hard upon us for what, for that further Reason, we cannot alter? Why don't you chide your selves, or your Friends for bringing the Gout, or Stone, or other Hereditary Distempers with 'em into the World? Which if it be true, never blame 'em as if their own Extravagancy had pulled 'em on them.  
But no Creature Longs but Woman: The more unhappy she then, and the more pity does she deserve. But are you in earnest, Mr. H? Did you never hear of Men that longed too, and that as passionately and violently as any of those whom they despise and reproach for the same Reason: Nay, even for those very Persons, at least their Fortunes, and had Infallibly miscarried, had hanged or stabbed themselves (or else they are lustily Perjured) if they had not obtained 'em.  
But more than this, Men have longed for some of those silly things for which they make such loud out-cries on the poor Women, for Fruit, for a Dish of Meat, and twenty other things, after which their depraved Appetites have rambled to that degree, that they have swooned away when disappointed. And when they'll assign us a Reason of such an odd Effect, as well as of those ridiculous Antipathies which disturb many Men all their Lives, than we Promise to give 'em another, and a better, why Teeming Women are so often afflicted with Longing, contrary to their own desires.  
Prudence Radford.   

LETTER XXXI. Of the Remedies of Love.  By Sir Thomas— 
AFter the innumerable Mischiefs whereof your vexations Sex are the Causes and Authors, some of which I have endeavoured to set in a just light, that the World may beware both of them and you, I shall end as I began with Love, the most dangerous and fatal of 'em all, and take my leave of that and you together. And that I may not only discover this Epidemical Distemper, but like a good Physician, apply some Remedies to those who are visited with it, I intent to conclude my present Address to your most egregious Vanities, with a few choice Receipts for the Cure of this Fatal Passion, which if taken time enough, is not perhaps so impossible as you would have us imagine.  
And in order to this desirable Alteration on all such as are not yet quite past hope, I must first advise 'em to remove the Cause, which I could never find was any other than an Idle and wretchless disposition. Laziness is as near akin to Love, as a Fever is to an Ague; and I verily believe that hard Working would be as good a Cure for one as 'tis for tother. Chambers, and Couches, and Alcoves, and Beds of Moss or Roses, are the dear delight of that Jack a-napes of a God, that Celestial Bastard, the Son of Venus and— she scarce herself knew whom. There he lolls and stretches himself, and swaggers and domineers, and is wonderful Valiant on his own Dunghill. Where you would almost mistake him for Mars himself, his Mother's Gallant, he looks so big and terrible on all those who are tame enough, and Fools enough to be his Vassals; who lie groaning, and cry, 'tis impossible to break their Chain, or rise from under so many Pelions and Ossa's of Flowers and Billet-deuxs which Oppress and Fetter 'em, because they han't the Resolution to make one brave Effort to recover their Freedom. It must be then a full Tide of Business, their Hands and Heads full of some Honest, and Brave, and Useful Employment, which is one of the most proper and probable means to effect a Cure on such as have a mind to be rid of their Distemper, and who for the most part fell in Love at first for no better Reason than because they had nothing else to do: As is evident from the Character and Quality of those who make up the greatest number of Lovers, among whom you rarely or never find Men of Age, or Business, or confirmed and ripened Judgements, but lose Young Men, dissolved in Riot and Idleness, either not capable of any more Noble and Manly Employments, or rendering themselves actually unfit for it by affecting to remain unbent and useless to themselves and all Mankind, mere Ciphers and Blanks in the Creation.  
But I talk on this Subject like a Lover who is commending his Mistress, and scarce know when I've done. Let's leave this therefore, which I look on as the most Effectual Remedy of any other, and proceed to inquire what further helps may be found against so dangerous a Distemper.  
There was an honest old rough Fellow among the Grecians, who being asked what Remedies should be used for one in Love? He bluntly assigned only these three following: Either, says he, let 'em Fast it out, or let Time Cure it, or if both these fail, there's no Cure but one, and that's a Halter.  
The two first will be thought too gross for the nice Palates of our Silken Gallants, yet if they are wise, they'll rather make use of 'em, than come to the last, which however must be confessed that many of their Tribe have found Infallible.  
If they would stop short of this last, let 'em use others less violent,  the Disease be arrived to too great an height. Let 'em fly from the fair Cockatrice— shut their Eyes, their very Souls, their Memories, their Imaginations. Turn her out, never so much as Dream of her, at least without chiding themselves afterward. Never talk of her, nor let others do it in their hearing, or fly such Discourse, and even all those who are themselves in Love, and be as careful to weather 'em as you would one that was newly come out of a Pest-house, and scattered Infection, Plague, and certain Fate around 'em. Fly your Country, as you would for any other Tyrant, or if it were infected with continual Pestilence. For change of Air is sometimes as wholesome to the Mind as 'tis to the Body. Don't think of her tho' you can't help it; that is, resolve you will not, tho' you do, and must at present, for in time at least you'll get some Ground, and if it be never so little at first, your Heart will by degrees be all your own. If she intrude never so often, tell her, she has nothing to do there, her Reign's at an end, and drive her out, as you would a Fury. Think how like a Fool you look, and how many Monkey-tricks this Love makes you play daily. Consider what you get if you obtain your desires, either to be fairly cheated, and turned off to make room for some new Fool, or tired with an odious Satiety, or at best, pay dear for Repentance. To all which, do but add a real will to be cured, and a firm belief that you may be so, and (believe one that has tried) your Recovery is more than half perfected.  
Thomas—   

Answer to LETTER XXXI. Of the ways to be Loved.  By Madam Godfrey. 
HOW extremely you are afraid of being too much pleased, and how much concerned for fear your Sex should be over-happy! You take a great deal of care to unman all Humane kind, and to reduce 'em to a Stoical sort of Insensibility, to cut off a part of their Souls, tho' 'tis so far from being Gangreen'd, or useless, that it's the most vigorous and necessary part of 'em, if you consider 'em as Members of the Universe, and sensible and conversible Creatures: I mean, the Passions, which are the Feet, or rather the Wings of the Soul, and nothing that's Great and Noble can be achieved without 'em; for I can hardly believe, when you are so earnest to force Love itself into Exile, that you'd leave any of its Kindred behind it. Delight, and Joy, and even Hope are its near Allies, there's a strict Confederacy between them, you can never hope to sever 'em, and they'll certainly run the same Fortune. You would make yourself incapable of Sense as well as Happiness, render all you hear, and see, and taste, insipid and indifferent; reduce yourselves to the condition of a Stone or a Log, and what's that better than being nothing? I expect in your next Essay that you should publish some Choice Remedies against the Fatigue of Breathing, and give us some of the most speedy and Infallible ways to Cure the great Disease of Life: Tho' I should think 'twould be a more Friendly Employment to let us know how we might Improve Life, sweeten it, and make the best on't, and doubly enjoy all its Innocent Satisfactions: And I'm mistaken if a Virtuous and Honourable Love will not produce all these Happy Effects, and a great many others which I have not named, For whether or no 'twill make us more beautiful, as Lady Single is at last convinced by such another Railmore as yourself; this is certain, that 'twill make any Person more careful to appear so; it has changed the most Remarkable Slovens into Complete Gentlemen, it refines the Manners, and softens and gilds the Conversation.  
But this having been already better managed by other Hands, I shall rather choose to close the Campaign with an Attempt to force your Line, to levelly all the Entrenchments you have made against this Powerful God, nay, to take you Prisoner, and show you how you may be Happy whether you will or no, which you can never be completely, unless you Love.  
And the first great Secret in the Art of Love, is Love itself, how great a Paradox soever that may appear: My meaning is, that any one who desires to be loved, must himself Love with all his might, and to the utmost of his Power; for there is no such Charm for Love, as Love, resolved, vigorous, constant, which is almost irresistible. For 'tis in Love much as 'tis in other Passions, if you would transcribe 'em into another's Breast, writ 'em first legibly on your own.  
And when you have once begun the Attack, be sure you push it home, regarding no consequences, but that your Intentions be Honourable and Virtuous, without which, Love itself is but a Dream of Happiness. Take care your Addresses be Lawful, and then the warmer the better; for none of our Sex but hate a lukewarm Zealous Love, which is of itself so warm and active a Passion, that where the Pretender is cold and heavy, how should he make us believe he's in Love at all, any more than that there's any Fire where we see nothing but Ashes, not the least appearance of Heat or Motion.  
You can't think I mean the Old Romantic way of downright dangling for a Mistress, or that the poor enamoured Knight should lug out cold Iron, and make a Window in his Breast, that the obdurate Lady might see what a huge Hole he has in his Heart: No, this is now as justly ridiculous as powdering a Mistress all over with Ruby and Diamond: Or the other Extreme, the Lubber-Gallant's lolling upon a Couch, Courting none but his sweet self; or if he can afford a word or two, only makes Love in stylo recitativo, and humms out a few ends of Verse, or Scraps of Songs, as if he thought our Hearts were to be won the same way they took of old, by Muttering and Incantation: But 'tis the middle way between both of these that can only expect to be prosperous, and the same application of Mind is here required that is necessary in any other Affair of equal weight and moment, and whereon depends the Happiness of a Man's whole Life.  
Nor must this be only for a spurt and away, we should be Cowards indeed, should we yield at the first Summons, and you'd think us very ill provided, could we not beat ye off the first Storm. You will not let us be ingenuous if we had a mind to't: You hate a cheap Conquest, and part with it as easily as you gained it. Let's Humour you then for once, and Please you at your own costs, while at the same time we preserve our Sex's Decency and Modesty. The Girdle of Venus (as one who knew it very well assures us) was made up of Denials as well as Grants.  
But yet at the same time we'd have ye importunate, you must take care to find the way not to be troublesome. You must not turn your Courtship into a Persecution. You must give us some space to breath in, and to consider of Articles and Terms of Surrender, which you may safely allow, so the Truce be not overlong; which will retard your Approaches, and make us think you mean to Raise the Siege, and that you either despair of Conquest, or do not think us worth your Labour.  
And more than all this, we expect you should treat us very fairly, and humour us at least before we yield, and we think we have reason, for we know 'twill be your time afterwards. You may be Humble for a little while, and lay by your Majesty, rebate your Rays, and sheathe your Thunder, as Jove himself did on those Occasions. Such a short Disguise one would think should be a Diversion t' ye, since there's no fear you should get a Habit on't; but Nature will break out some time or other, and we must be that all our Lives to please you, which you with so much violence to yourselves appear to be, in order to oblige us for a few hours only.  
Tho' if by endeavouring to gain your Mistress you should also regain yourselves; if by striving so earnestly to please us, you come at last to be really like us; if by having continually before you the Charming Ideas of Meekness, Complaisance, Gentleness, Humility, Compassion, and Goodness, you should become  you were ware, infected with those Virtues, and wonder at the change without comprehending it; you'd yet have no Reason surely to complain of the Alteration.  
In short, if you desire the favour of a Woman of Sense, you can't expect it without some difficulty, and for such Gold you can never pay too dear; You must be brave, courageous, discreet, constant, and liberal, and in a word, a wise and virtuous Man; and then, if she han't Engagements to the contrary, what should hinder you from succeeding?  
Rachel Godfrey.   

LETTER XXXII. That Women are the oddest things in Nasture, in a particular Letter to Madam—  By Mr.— 
THIS is now the second time I have told you in Print, that you Women are the oddest things in Nature; if any one of Sincerity tells you of their Esteem, you presently despise him, but your manner of doing it is wonderfully particular, your Language uncommon, and your Action so full of unmannerly Pride, that should my Footman have the Esteem I had for you, I should conclude him Fool, and discharge him of my Service. I had the Opinion you were Mistress of some Understanding, and more Goodness, and that Opinion laid me open to an Impression troublesome enough, but the brutish returns made me, has razed that Character, and stained every drop of Blood I have, with the much truer one of haughty, insolently proud and vain. Proud and Vain were given you in your earlier Age, and then you were ; but in declining Years, when scarce any thing but Goodness is left to recommend you, to double the Humour, is intolerable. You think possibly the Title of Sir— and my Lady's Daughter, a Coach, and the Reputation of a Thousand Pounds a Year, (tho' something overvalued) with the Acquaintance of a Neighbouring Earl or two, entitle you to your Fantastic Air, your haughty Toss and Step, and to despise implicitly all without the Title of my Lord, Sir— or your Ladyship. I'm sure this Opinion suits your Mien, and I mistake if not your Understanding, and in Complaisance take this Wish at parting— May your Pride have the lofty Title, and the empty thing familiarly tacked to it, and may that Idolised Title be your only Satisfaction, and be assured when next you make my Prospect a Contemning Smile, remember me, that towering Vanity in her proudest dress must down, tho' set in Beauty; that the Beggar will levelly with us all, and have six Foot of Ground as good as the proudest she; nay, perhaps better; for Osborn says, which you had known had you consulted Books half so much as your Looking-Glass, He that lies under the Hearse of Heaven is convertible into Sweet-Herbs and Flowers that may rest in their Bosoms, who would shriek at the ugly Bugs may crawl in the Arched and Costly Tombs of Kings— And now adieu, Incomparably Proud and Violently affected— fondled into Folly by doting Parents, who having none but you to represent 'em, have hugged their Image till they have defaced it.   

Answer to LETTER XXXII. (Which was dropped at a certain Coffeehouse.)  Written by a Club of— and directed to the Lady concerned. 
'TIS a swinger we must confess; tho' after all, the Style speaks the Writer a Person of Sense, and a Gentleman; nay, as strange as that seems, a Lover too, for that's a vain, capricious, testy, angry thing, that knows not what he writes, nor does, nor says— We confess, Madam, he has wounded you in the most sensible Part: If he had only called you Vain, or Haughty, they had been but such Characters as may indifferently serve for almost all Persons. We say, if this had been all, it had been no great matter; but to tell you you were Old too, if you'd please ingenuously to confess, this makes it sting deeper than all the rest; and did you not need all the Goodness your Lover says you are Mistress of, to forgive it: However, if your Ladyship thinks fit to take our foolish Opinion in this matter, We think you may honourably enough forgive him, for this Reason, because you are not to believe one word that a Lover says or writes either for or against you, since that Arch Wag Cupid as soon as e'er he has caught 'em, puts his own Muffler about their Eyes, and make 'em play at Blind-man's-Buff, running about like Mad-folks, feeling and stumbling, and breaking their own Noses and Shins, and other Folks, and woe to them that stand in their way, or come within their Clutches. But now to be graver: We think, Madam, your Goodness will, and your Honour may forgive him, because he gives you the satisfaction of ask your Pardon, on which Account you may still entertain his Honourable Love, it being very possible for him to Write such a Letter as he is a Passionate Lover, nay, very Natural, Love and Anger being both great Passions, and very near akin, though so far different, as the same Muscles of the Face, are made use of for laughing and crying. Yet in our Opinion, you ought to seem to be as angry with him as you can, as long as you can, (a few Moment's) and to make him pass a Purgatory before he gets to his Elysium. Nor need you do more, we think, effectually to mortify him, than now and then to show him his Letter, and when he sues for any Favour— a Touch or Kiss— of your Hand— remember him you are— Old— Keep him thus at Eyes-end and Lips end but for a Week or a Fortnight, and we'll Undertake for him he becomes as true a Humble Spaniel-Lover as any in Christendom.  
MADAM, Your Ladyship's Humble Servants, etc.   

LETTER XXXIII. Against the Sex's Inconstancy.  By Mr. Harcourt. 
SO various you are, that it can't satisfy you to change Servants, Humours, Lovers, Fashions, Complexions, Eyes, Teeth, and Hair; nay, your Religion (if one knew what 'twas) but you must sometimes take a Fegary to change even Sexes too, and really transform yourselves into ours, on purpose to disgrace it. For we have several Modern Instances, which satisfy us, the Story of Tiresias was more than Fable. See but to what a Condition your Levity exposes both yourselves and us: We can never be sure of ye, you are the Moral of Proteus, and how sadly would it scare any poor Husband (as who knows whose Case it may be next?) to go to Bed with a smooth, soft Wife, and when he turns about the next Morning, should find her perfectly altered, a huge Hee-Face and brawny Shoulders, ten times worse than the Bear-faced Lady?  
What is there to which you are ever true and constant, so much as Fortune herself, to your own Inconstancy; for if you ever happen to remain five live long Minutes in the same Mind, 'tis purely out of Crossness, and for the sake of dear Variety. You will, you will not, you , you scorn, you hate, you love by turns, and all in a quarter of an hour. Those who compare you to the Moon, are hardly so near the Truth as she is to the Earth, for she changes but once a Month, and we know when to expect it; but your Circle is much shorter, and all the Flamsteds' in the World could never give us your exact Theory. One great Benefit however this is to Mankind, that you can scarce be resolved, even in Mischief, at least Variety pleases there too, and you are in search of another, before 've finished the former. 'Tis said, our Nation is richer in Humour than any it Europe, and tho' the Stage has large Supplies from it, yet it can never be exhausted. If it be so, Ben. Johnson stands fairest for Treasurer, tho' he need not have gone farther than any one of his Merry Wives of Windsor to have employed him all his Life: He needed but have shown one Face in one Play to have had sufficient Variety. The Vulgar are apt to stare at strange Customs and Habits, and should there happen to meet in the Exchange but one Person of every several Dress in the World, 'twould be thought a very odd medley. There's this and more in Women, they are all Rainbow in their Minds, whatever colour their Faces; or rather it's a Scandal on that more beautiful and stable Meteor to be compared with them, for that remains fixed as long as the Sun and Clouds that make it: Nay, tho' the Rain is but successive, and new drops are still a falling, that unites itself with 'em all, and is still ; nor does it so much as shift its Colours, but the blue, and red, and green, and yellow, and that lovely mixture of 'em all, which we can scarce describe, remain in the same Order when it gins to faint and whither, as they did when it first appeared or shined in its greatest Glory. But what's all this to Women? Truly not much, for they are quite the contrary. They are all shift, and alteration; have the perpetual motion in their Minds as well as Heads, and think it as ridiculous to stay long in the same Opinion as in the same Gown or Toppings, or to have the same Lover.  
And there indeed is the Cream of your Constancy, for you are as Remarkable for your stability in Love, as you are in Virtue. Forsaken Lovers, we are to believe, are only Tales invented by the malicious, the unfortunate, and the undeserving. So that we durst not think so unworthily of your Sex, as that you'd suffer a Person of Merit to languish, or that any of you could prove false to him, or forsake him, had we not almost as many Instances of it as we have of such Lovers, who after all perhaps aught to made Examples, because by their own they infect others with the same Folly. She that has not a new Amour to appear in once a Month, is as Melancholy as a poor Girl at a Country Wake, that's taken out to Dance without a new Waistcoat. 'Tis well the World is not now much in the Humour of dying for Love; if it were, what would you have to Answer for? And how many Graves would you tread on of your own making? And how many Lovers Ghosts would haunt you, and upbraid you with your Infidelity, and their Ruin?  
And yet after all, why should you not be constant? Is't because you have no Notion of it, or think there's no Pleasure in't? Do but try it, and you'll soon understand it, and own how much you have been mistaken. If Constancy and Fidelity are in themselves very Noble and Charming Virtues, why should they not become a Woman? And how far would they outweigh the Satisfaction you receive in the empty Vanity of seeing every day a new Adorer? Who is there that can read the stories of Ancient Friendships, tho' some of 'em perhaps Fabulous, without Motions of Admiration and Love?  
Of inviolable Faith of Women to their Lovers, Ladies to their Husbands, and the like, which you hardly believe all Romances; and why if they are worthy Admiration, why not too of your Imitation, unless because Constancy is rendered almost impossible t'ye, by the Levity of your Tempers, and by a contrary Habit? For when you do once get into the Humour, you have all of you Resolution enough to make Ephesian Matrons.  
I should Discourse too a little with you concerning your Constancy to your own Sex in your most Sacred Professions of Friendship. But you have one Convenience more than we, and that is, that you are all upon the Square, Cheat that Cheat can, is your Motto, and there's no Deceit or Infidelity ever lost amongst you.  
Thomas Harcourt.   

Answer to LETTER XXXIII.  By Madam H— 
I'M sensibly touched with Commiseration for this poor Gentleman, whom I perceive has received a Wound from one of those Proteus' he speaks of, who having thrown her Granado into his Heart, it has in the breaking much damnified his Brain; sure nothing less could excuse this great perturbation that obstructs his Discerning Faculty, else why might not he as well as others acknowledge all things must obey this Fatal Law of Change? Not to mention more remote Instances, I'll go no farther than yourself, 've no doubt changed from Infancy to Youth, and 'tis to be hoped have changed your Ignorance to a little Understanding, and it may be, a Hobby-Horse for a Mistress, your Innocence for some experienced Evil, your Money for many changeable Trifles; nay, to show you how impossible 'tis to avoid change, consider but your Respiration, you'll find every puff of Breath you send out changes Atoms with what we receive: And now I hope I've said enough for your Conviction, let me, pray, but recommend one Change to you, which will be much for your ease, do but change from a— to a wise Man, and then I'll engage the Inconstancy of Women will never trouble you.  
A. H.   

LETTER XXXIV. Being a second Answer to Mr. Harcourt's Letter concerning women's Inconstancy; wherein is proved, That Women are more Constant than Men.  By Ephelia. 
THrough the Universal Charity and Good Will I bear to my fellow-Creatures indifferently of either Sex, I have been willing to hope that one day Men would become such lovers of Truth and Justice, and so free from the Natural Prejudices of Self-love, as to allow of, and be pleased with the many good Qualities in ours, and leave off their malicious and groundless Reproaches; tho' I think I may be allowed to speak in the Defence of oppressed Innocency, since I see there's but little probability of a change in our Enemies; for one can hardly pass a Bookseller's Shop, without seeing something upon the Stall against us; nor be in a Conversation, but some of the would be Wits must ridicule our Sex, 'tis even become as fashionable an Error as 'tis to laugh at Priest-craft, or Religion itself. Perhaps our Adversaries may tell us, 'tis an Argument for their being in the right; that 'tis not only the Opinion of some, but almost all: To which we Answer, That will prove nothing in their Favour, since 'tis so common to be mistaken in the Judgements made of things, that there is but here and there a wise Man that can distinguish Truth from Falsehood; and especially in such cases as this, where they imagine their Interest concerned; for should it be once owned by 'em, that we have as great a share in Virtue, Prudence, Affability, Good Manners, and whatever may render Society agreeable, as they themselves have, what appearance of Reason could they bring for treating us so despicably and unmannerly as they do? But they think by that means to make us have an ill Opinion of ourselves, through a mistaken Policy, believing that then we shall the more easily submit to their Yoke; which is doubtless an Error, for every wise Woman will obey the reasonable Commands of her Husband, since not only her Duty, but the Custom of our Country oblige her to it, both for her own and his Reputation. And what Excuse could a false and treacherous Lover, or Ill-natured, Vicious, Fantastical Husband find, but by endeavouring to make us as like 'em as possible? And thus by throwing their faults upon us, they think they justify and clear themselves. Which of 'em our present Enemy is, I won't determine, yet methinks he writes with so much eagerness and fury, that he must needs have a tang of one of these Perfections; nay, I believe hardly ever any Person under other Circumstances appeared against us; for tho' a deserving Man may be forsaken, or a good Husband ill treated (for I won't pretend to justify all my Sex) yet they will immediately reflect, that 'tis their Misfortune, and not falsely conclude all Women are base and ungrateful, because they have found some so. And that our Antagonist has more Malice than Truth of his side, we shall soon find by Examination: He gives us not one Instance of our Variousness, as he calls it, but we can give a good Reason for it, or show the Men to equal, if not exceed us;— We change our Servants, why not where they're undeserving? Our Humours, I believe there will be no need of proving that we are always more Obliging, Courteous, and ready to do good Services to others, than you are; less resenting, and more easy to forgive. If there's any Place of Honour or Profit to be gained, he's the surest to succeed, who makes the Ladies his Friends; for where they Promise any Service, or Friendly Office, they are indefatigable till 'tis obtained. Let any one that Affronts us, but acknowledge the Fault, and beg Pardon, we are reconciled, whereas nothing but Blood can quiet your Revenge.— Our Lovers, Ay, there you gain the Point; we yield, we yield; perhaps here and there a Lady may find reason to discard a Lover or two in her whole Life, because of the disadvantages we lie under in that Affair, since we han't the Privilege of choosing where we please, but by Custom are obliged to accept of such as offer themselves, therefore may sometimes chance to admit a Lover, whose Imperfections once discovered, will in some measure justify this change; but you, poor Souls, are such constant, pretty, whining things, that for fear of missing of being Happy in some, you'll Court the whole Sex, and are true to one, but till you see the next Face; and such a value you put upon these Conquests, that he that has betrayed half a dozen Ladies, thinks he has done more to brag of than Alexander. Whereas our Love, when placed on a worthy Object, is great and lasting; David acknowledges it as such, and we have more Examples in History of the surprising and constant Love of Women to their Husbands, than of Men to their Wives: Nay, in our time, to hear of a Wife that's indifferent (till Weather-beaten to't) is very rare; whereas most Men impudently declare, there's no Love after Marriage.— Well, but we altar our Fashions, the Men do just the same; and our Complexions, Eyes, etc. Who would not change a bad one for a good? Besides, Friends, here you are in for Cakes and Ale, and perhaps, lick, scrub up, and powder, as much as we; the better sort of either Sex have their share in this Vanity. Our Religion, if 've any, there I think we're well met, if I'm not mistaken. Sir, I might go on in making Remarks on other Parts of your Letter, but Madam H— having already so ingeniously defended our Sex's Constancy, and proved you guilty of what you charge us with, the less is needful to be said by  
EPHELIA.   

LETTER XXXV. Against Learning in Women.  By Mr. Harcourt. 
I Know many who are against so much as extraordinary Sense in a Woman, and the Reason they give for't is, because even a good Judgement itself, which is a sort of a Ballast in Mankind, will be apt to sink your light Vessels: You will be always full of yourselves, as a Bubble is of Air, how empty soever you are of any thing solid and commendable; but if there happens to be any substance too firm for your feeble contexture, it breaks it immediately, as in the case of your Lively Emblem already mentioned.  
But whatever we conclude of Sense in Women, I am sure Learning is a most mischievous and dangerous Qualification for an● of 'em. This puffs the Bubble to an immense bigness, and hurries it into the Air, till lost in Clouds, and its slender frame dissolving, it drops into nothing.  
The Frog would fain be an Ox, but what did it get by it's big looks? Only one Advantage, that it soon burst its self, and let out the Wind that tormented it.  
You are neither qualified for Learning, nor equal to it, could you, beyond expectation, attain to any Proficiency in it. 'Tis so far from being necessary, or so much as useful t'ye, that 'tis rather mischievous and hurtful, and is very inconvenient, both for us and you. A Hee-Spinster and learned Woman, being equal Absurdities.  
Why should a vain Ambition thus urge you against Nature? To attain any good degree of Science, there must not only be quickness of Apprehension, and soundness of Judgement, but besides this, an unwearyed Diligence, an Vnshaken Constancy, an Indefatigable Industry. And pray, for which of these Virtues are your Sex the most commended? Much Reading is not Learning, any more than the richest Stationer is the best Philosopher; or than 'tis an Argument of Health and Strength, to have a Canine Appetite.  
The Knowledge of Things, and the useful ranging 'em in the Memory, and working 'em into the Practical Judgement, so as to have 'em at hand on every occasion, this I'm afraid is too hard a Task for your Sexes Undertaking.  
The Causes of things are so far removed from sense, that you'll not find it so easy to come at 'em. Truth lies in so deep a Well, that I wish you are not tired a long while before you have drawn it up. Philosophy is so vast a Field, that you can scarce hope not to be lost in't. The Knowledge of all Knowables, Divine and Humane, how should it ever be contained in your puny Nutshell?  
The greater the Genius, the more things doubtless a Man may attend to at once without Distraction; the wider his grasp, the faster his hold: But how can you who are sufficiently employed with your little Family Affairs, or your own Follies and Vanities, and almost over-set with 'em too, and often unequal for 'em; how can you pretend to aim at what has as much more of difficulty in it as it has of variety and distraction? You are ready to split when you are but Coasters, and who then will Insure you when you launch out into the vast Ocean? Learn first to spell well, and you'll have done a great matter, a piece of Learning a little more suitable to your Capacities, tho' so very few of you ever attain it. No, from the first, you have had an inveterate inclination to Rambling: Any where, but where you should be; and any Thing, but what's your Business.  
Besides, could you get Learning, what would you do with't? For so much is any one the better for his Knowledge, as he's capable of bettering others by it, and filling his Post, and discharging his Part, as becomes a Citizen of the World, a Member of the great Commonwealth of Nature. But pray what need of Metaphysics to make a Pudding, or of knowing who beat who, at Pharsalia, or Marathon; to make Point, or thread a Needle? To know for the sake of knowing, and that such things only as neither teach us to regulate the Passions, or exalt the Mind, is a loss of Time as criminal as 'tis ridiculous. But you can Advantage others, you'll say, and improve your own useful Knowledge either by Discourse or Writing— 'Tis so often indeed 've that calmness of Temper, that coolness of Thought, and freedom from Prejudice, and pliableness to Conviction, which is so necessary to all who would gain any thing by Discourse themselves, or Instruct others. And besides, would it not be as creditable for us to learn of our Inferiors, as 'twould be modest for you to pretend to Documentize your Masters? The old Romans, 'tis true, often made use of their Slaves as Schoolmasters for their Children, but one would think they hardly learned of 'em themselves, or submitted to a Servile Ferula, when they were Lords of the World.  
And for your Writing, 'tis yet more intolerable: Han't we Paper-spoilers enough of our own Sex, that you must come in to help us? A Wise Man doubtless he was, that first taught ye to Write, when your Mark itself had been too much. But if you must scribble now and then, that you mayn't quite forget it, one would think a Billet-deux would suffice you, or at least a passionate Love-Letter; or if you pretend so far as a Verse or Song, you meddle beyond your Province, and aught to be sent back from one Constable to another. No, I'm so far from thinking it Decent or Lawful for your trifling Sex to write for Public view, that tho' 'twou'd sound like your own Cruelty to Vote that your three Writing-fingers might be served as the Breasts of the Amazons, yet I could hearty wish there were a Law to tie 'em up a little, both for our sakes and yours; or to pin 'em down by your sides, as they do children's, never to be let lose till you had found sufficient Sureties for their Good Behaviour.  
If even that could secure us, for we know 'tis as Natural for you to scratch with 'em, as 'twas for Puss to Mouse, when she was transformed into one of you. If a Man desires to see Ill-Huswifry and Sluttery in Perfection, let him find one of these Learned Women. But you'll be at your Old Cant I know of improving your Minds, and cultivating your Hearts, and advancing in Wisdom. We take you for once at your words, none will envy you such Learning as is useful for you, but then we hope you'll not be for Riding the Great Horse, or for the Noble Science of Defence, or Gunnery, or Fortification, or the Art of War. Nor have you any more to do with Logic, for you have enough of the Natural without the Artificial, and chop that fast enough with your Husbands. You have all the Topics of Railing, and can make admirable use of the Fallacies without ever learning 'em. If you are fond of the Mathematics, we shan't be so ill-natured to deny your venturing so far in that crabbed Study, till by the unsearchable depths of Algebra you are able to discover this great Secret, that Two and Two make Four, and that Three and Five are even and odd. Learn so much Ethics as to know your Duty to your Husband, which is best taught you at the end of your own Matrimony. Forget not Economics, and the care of your own Household.  
Surgery enough to cure a Whitloe, and Physic enough to fright away an Ague. Music enough to be tuned as exactly to your Husband's Temper as one Unison to another; and Rhetoric enough to be silent, and then the World will no more find fault with a Learned Woman.  
Thomas Harcourt.   

Answer to LETTER XXXV.  By Madam H— 
SURE 'tis either for your Ease or Diversion, you go so far out of your way to consider, Whether Women should be learned, so little Sense and Judgement as you allow 'em, should methinks put 'em out of the danger, and then of what use is all your Declamation for fear we should beyond expectation attain to any Proficiency in a thing so mischievous, hurtful, and inconvenient to ourselves, and you, I fear your Apprehension has been too quick for your Judgement, to suffer you to run away with such a Mistake.  
By your leave, Sir, I think 'tis no equal Absurdity, a Woman's Ambition to raise herself above her Sex, and suppose she could do't; as for a Man so meanly to degrade himself, that when designed for such Great and Noble Employments, he should be content with the most contemptible of Female Perfections, and become a Spinster.  
We're obliged to you for telling us the way of attaining any good degree of Science; you say, it requires a quick Apprehension, soundness of Judgement, an unwearyed Diligence, an unshaken Constancy, an indefatigable Industry; all which Virtues, whatever you may think, are no strangers to our Sex, nor against our Natures, as perhaps the Stationer by his Reading may know better than you with all your Philosophy.  
We envy not your strong Dog's Stomach to digest those hard Bones of Philosophy, and the Causes of Things, We can content ourselves with guessing, which is as far as you can go, and our puny Nutshells will contain as many may-be's as yours; and you're not so sure of all knowables Divine and Humane, but that with some degree of Application we can go as far as you, and in the Practic part of Divinity, far out go you.  
I can't deny the facility a large Genius may give to Learning, but suppose women's should be more contracted, dost follow, they must deny their Genius all Improvement, and throw all away on Folly, Vanity, and Domestic Affairs, for fear of Shipwreck, when they launch out into the vast Ocean of Learning, without your Insurance, which we may be sure you'll never give us whilst under the Mistake of believing we can't spell, and yet pretend to Learning, only because 'tisn't so much our business as yours? A great sign you do't ill, 've such a mind to mend it.  
If a Woman's a Member of the Commonwealth of Nature (which can't be denied) and ought to fill her Post, and discharge her Part as a Citizen of the World, she'll have use enough of her Learning in her Converse with Men, and so much Wit, no doubt, to employed in regulating her Passions, exalting her Mind, and freeinged from Prejudice, Heat, and Obstinacy, rather than apply 'em in making a Pudding, threading a Needle, and teaching Domestic Affairs, knowing by Experience how ill Men succeed  they go by such learned Rules to instruct their Wives in Family-Business, which does as ill become your Sex, as it does ours by Discourse or Writing to pretend to Documentize our Masters.  
Undoubtedly the Man that first taught us to Write, appears as wise, if not a little wiser, and perhaps more just than those, that for tenderness of spoiling Paper, (which afterwards serves for so many uses) would condemn us to so severe a Punishment, as to deprive us of three Fingers, which would for ever disable us from making a Pudding, or threading a Needle, the highest Perfection of our Trifling Sex, according to Mr. Wise-acre.  
I'm surprised to find a Man of so great Undertaking, as that confining our Sex's Scribbling to a Billet-deux, or Passionate Love-Letter, should at the same time be so afraid of us as to call in the help of Laws, and require us to bring Sureties for our Good Behaviour, and yet after all, can hardly think himself secure from scratching; you had better have secured yourself by Law before you had meddled with us; for 'tis not your Wife's being an ill Housewife, and a Slut, will hinder us from scrawling and blotting Paper, and doing all those things you're so afraid of. Truly, Sir, you're mistaken in this last, fear of our Old Cant of Improving our Minds, Cultivating our Heads, and advancing in Wisdom, for now we're convinced of the Error, and perceive in you that Learning works none of those Effects.  
Nor shall we quarrel with you for the Military part of Learning, since 've, by your own Confession, so much as enables us to make War with our Husbands when they invade our Privilege or Prerogatives. And for that part of Ethics, Mathematics, and Music, your good Nature allows us, we return it you with many Thanks, for 've Naturally as much of those as serves our Occasions, for the Man I fear with all his Learning discharges his Duty to his Wife no better than the Wife to the Husband; and to require the Wife should be tuned exactly to the Temper of her Husband, shows the weakness of his Reason, whilst not that, but his Temper, must govern both himself and Wife.  
I only beg a greater Liberty in Surgery and Physic, supposing 'tis none of your Province, but that without danger you may grant it, for we shall neither Write nor Teach it, nor Practice on our Husbands, for there the Law secures you; nor shall Oeconomies be forgotten, if that will please you.  
But the hardest Task you impose, is to learn Rhetoric enough to put us to silence, and then give over; we're all fond of Praise, and a thing so commendable as the Art of Speaking, weighs more with us than the Virtue of Silence, 'twill be hard to stop us in a pursuit of so much Glory; if any thing prevail, it must be the only consideration, that observing your Rules, the World must needs be very much obliged by such a sort of Learned Women.  
A. H.   
The End of the First Battle.   

Subjects designed for [the Second Battle] which are here inserted, that so every Lady (that will join with Madam Godfrey, etc. against Sir Thomas, and his Adherents) may choose what Points they can best defend— What Letters they'll Answer, shall be sent to 'em, if they'll send their Names, and Place of Abode to Mr. Darker's (in Bull-Head-Court, near Cripplegate) the General Place of Rendezvouz.  
Note, That those Subjects that have this Mark †, are already Chosen by the Ladies, and those with this Mark*, are Chosen by the Men.  

1. AGainst women's Riding astride. 

Defended by Madam—    
2. That not kept Mistress was ever true to one Man. 

Denied by Madam—    
3. Against women's making use of Perfumes. 

Answered by Madam—    
4. Against Redhaired Women. 

In Praise of Red Hair, by Madam—    
5. Against wearing Earrings, etc. 

In Praise of 'em, by Madam—    
6. Against women's powdering their Hair. 

Defended by Madam—    
7. Against trying Tricks to dream of Husbands. 

Defended by Madam—    
8. Against the Practice of Choosing Valentines. 

Answered by Madam—    
9 Against Night-Roils. 

Defended by Madam—    
* 10. That there's a Sex in Souls. By Leander. 

Denied by Madam—    
11. That there's no Love without a mixture of Lust. 

Denied by Madam—    
12. Against Black-patches. 

Defended by Madam—    
13. Against Ladies keeping Lap-dogs. 

Defended by Madam—    
14. In praise of Hermaphrodites. 

Answered by Madam—    
15. Against Kissing 

Defended by Madam—    
16. That Women have more Imperfections than Men. 

Denied by Madam—    
17. That 'tis better marrying a Whore than a Slut. 

Answered by Madam—    
18. That Women, when lewd, are more Impudent than Men. 

Answered by Madam—    
19 That Men always love their second Wives best. By Madam— 

* Denied by Sir Henry.    
20. Against loving several Women at the same time. 

Answered by Madam—    
21. That a long Courtship is best. 

Denied by Madam—    
22. That the falling out of Lovers is not the renewing of Love. 

Denied by Madam—    
23. Against women's smoking Tobacco. 

Defended by Madam—    
24. Against women's taking the upper hand. 

Answered by Madam—    
25. Against making Jointures. 

Answered by Madam—    
26. Against women's Preaching in the Church. 

Defended by Madam—    
27. An Essay upon Matchmaking. 

Answered by Madam—    
28. Against Fruition. By Madam— 

* Answered by Sir Charles    
29. That 'tis good to have Rivals in the Courting of a Coy Mistress. 

Denied by Madam—    
30. That crooked Women are the best natured, and make the fondest Wives. By Madam— 

* Denied by Sir Thomas.    
† 31. That Singing is the best accomplishment for a Woman By Madam Prestwood. 

* Denied by Mr. Harman.    
* 32. That Drunkenness is worse in Women than Men. By Mr. Hallet. 

Denied by Madam—    
33. That 'tis best marrying an Old Woman. 

Answered by Madam—    
34. That Poor Women love best. 

Denied by Madam—    
35. Against Confidence in Women. 

Answered by Madam—    
36. Against Clandestine Marriages. 

Defended by Madam—    
37. Against giving Presents before Marriage. 

Answered by Madam—    
38. Against changing the Woman's Name in Marriage. 

Answered by Madam—    
39 Against Woman's wearing the Breeches. 

Defended by Madam—    
† 40. That there be Virgins, whose Chastity is invincible. By Madam Godfrey. 

* Denied by Mr. Brooks, in an Essay upon the Virgins of this Age.    
41. That 'tis a great Happiness to have a Scolding Wife. 

Answered by Madam—    
42. That little Woman are the most fruitful. 

Denied by Madam—    
43. That a Midwife is the most Honourable Employment for a Woman. 

* Denied by Sir Henry—    
* 44. Against the Old fashion of wearing Farthingales, and Ruffs. By Mr. Bruce. 

Defended by Madam—    
45. That a mercenary Woman is the greatest Whore. 

Denied by Madam—    
46. Against Lady's long Trains. 

Defended by Madam—    
47. That a Friendship between Persons of a different Sex may be very innocent. 

Answered by Madam—    
* 48. That no Woman ever died for Love. By Sir Thomas. 

† Denied by Madam Godfrey.    
49. That 'tis Lawful for a man to Marry his Cousin-German. 

Answered by Madam—    
50. That 'tis Lawful for a Man, having buried his Wife, to Marry her own Sister. 

Answered by—    
51. That most Women marry too young. 

Answered by Madam—    
52. Against Quakers Marriages. 

† Defended by Ariadne.    
53. Against crying in the Act of Marriage. 

Defended by Madam—    
54. That a private Courtship is best. 

Denied by Madam—    
* 55. That if Females went a Courting, there would be more Marriages than now there are. By Sir Thomas. 

† Denied by Madam Godfrey.    
56. That all Beauty is imaginary. 

Answered by Madam—    
57 That 'tis Lawful for a Man to beat his Wife. 

Answered by Madam—    
58. That a Person Divorced by Law may Lawfully marry another, though those they were first married to, are yet living. 

Answered by Madam—    
† 59 Against Polygamy. By Madam Prat. 

* Answered by Sir Charles.    
* 60. Against stealing of looks. By Mr. Breme. 

Answered by Madam—    
† 61. Against Woman's answering Love-Letters. By Madam Axtel. 

* Defended by Mr. Harcourt.    
62. That 'tis not modest for a Widow to Marry in less than a Year after her Husband's Decease. 

Denied by Madam—    
63. That the Eye is of greater Service than the Tongue in making of Love. 

Denied by Madam—    
† 64. An Essay upon Godmothers. By Madam Sland. 

* Answered by Sir Thomas.    
65. Against those Ladies who refuse to Bed with their Husbands. 

Answered by Madam—    
66. That 'tis much safer going to the Wars, than to Marry. 

Denied by Madam—    
67. That they never thrive, who Promise Marriage to one man, and wed another. 

Denied by Madam—    
68 That Coyness is the only thing valuable in a Woman. 

Answered by Madam—    
69. That our Laws against Adultery are too favourable to the Women. 

Answered by Madam—    
69. That he that is once a Cuckold, is ever so. 

Denied by Madam—    
70. That a Woman's wit is best at a pinch. 

By Madam—  
* Denied by Mr. Harcourt.    
71. That all Whores are Jacobites. 

Denied by Madam—    
72. That the Barren Woman is more happy than the Child-hearing. 

Answered by Madam—    
† 73. That 'tis possible to find some Virtue in some Women. By Madam Grimes. 

* Answered by Sir Thomas.    
74. Against hanging Pictures in the Chambers of Big-bellyed Women. 

Defended by Madam—    
75. That Women are more prone to Love than other Creatures. 

Denied by Madam—    
† 76. That 'tis possible to be deeply in Love with a Lady we never saw. By Leander.  
† 77. Answered by Ariadne.  
78. That Love is blind. 

Denied by Madam—    
* 79. That the Passion of Love cannot be kept secret. By Sir Henry. 

† Denied by Madam Godfrey.    
* 80. That there may be a greater Love between Man and Man, than between Man and Woman. By Mr. Graves. 

† Denied by Madam Hoy.    
81. An Essay upon the Churching of Women. 

Answered by Madam—    
82. That Women hate the more for being loved. 

Denied by Madam—    
83. An Essay upon Honeymoon. 

Answered by Madam—    
84. That 'tis more Noble to love, than to be loved. 

Answered by Madam—    
85. The Brutes love. 

Denied by Madam—    
* 86. An Essay upon the Lady's Dressing-Room, Library, and several Trinkets belonging to her Closet and Wardrobe. By Leander. 

† Answered by Ephelia.    
† 87. Against Ringing the Bell on the Wedding night. By Madam Grange. 

Defended by Sir Charles—    
88 That the Poetesses of the present excel all former Ages. By Madam— 

† Denied by Madam Plaisto.    
89. That no Bawd ever died Rich. 

Answered by Madam—    
90. That there has been no Instance of a converted Whore this Fifty Years. 

Denied by Madam—    
91. An Essay upon Chambermaids to Persons of Quality. 

The Conduct of Chambermaids defended by Madam—    
92. That Women are capable of as high Improvements as Men. 

* Denied by Sir Thomas—    
93. That 'tis Ominous to lose the Wedding-Ring. 

Denied by Madam—    
94. A Paradox upon the first Fashion of going Naked. 

Answered by Madam—    
* 95. Against Black-patches. By Sir William— 

† Defended by Madam Astford.    
96. Against Lap-dalliance. 

Answered by Madam—    
97. Against Dowries. 

Answered by Madam—    
* 98. A satire upon the Flitch of Bacon given at Dunmow in Essex, to those that Mary, and done't Repent. By Mr. Hart. 

† Answered by Madam Licot.    
99 Against Importunity. 

Answered by Madam—    
100 That Love makes men valiant. 

Denied by Madam—    
101. Against unequal Matches. 

Answered by Madam—    
102. An Essay upon the London Nightwalkers. 

Answered by Madam—    
103. That Passive Obedience is the chief Duty of a Wife. 

Denied by Madam—    
* 104. Against making use of Philters, Annulets, and Charms in Love-Affairs, By Mr. Carter. 

Defended by Madam—    
105. That all Women love those Men best who had their first Affections. 

Denied by Madam—    
106. Against Woman's gazing in the Church. 

Defended by Madam—    
107. Against Woman's Acting in Plays. 

Defended by Madam—    
108. Against a sweet Breath. 

Defended by Madam—    
109. A satire upon the Stews. 

Answered by Madam—    
† 110. Against the Salic Law. By Caliste. 

* Defended by Mr. Valdo.    
* 111. Against a man's trusting his Wife with his Secrets. By Mr. Field. 

† Defended by Madam Egleston.    
112. A satire against the use of Fans. By Mr.— 

Answered by Madam—    
113. The equality of both Sexes asserted. 

By Madam—  
Denied by Mr.—    
* 114. An Essay in Vindication of Jocular writing. By Leander. 

Answered by Madam—    
115. Against Commodes. By Mr.— 

Defended by Madam—    
116. Against Women having their Pictures drawn. By Mr.— 

Defended by Madam—    
117. That 'tis not possible to hate those we have really loved. By Mr.— 

Denied by Madam—    
118. That the Pleasures of Love consist chief in the Chase. By Mr.— 

Denied by Madam—    
119. Against an incredulous Woman. By Mr.— 

Answered by Madam—    
* 120. Against second Marriages. By Philaret. 

Defended by Madam—     

These are but part of the Challenges designed for the Female War: And that the Men may have no occasion to laugh at what they fancy ridiculous in Women, before the Peace is concluded, there will be added by the Ladies, viz.  

† 1. A satire against the Town-Fops. By Madam Crawford. 

Defended by Mr.—    
† 2. Against long wigs. By Madam Godfrey. 

Defended by Mr.—    
† 3. Against Cotqueans. By Madam Chase. 

Defended by Mr.—    
4. Against men's wearing of Muffs. 

Defended by Mr.—    
† 5. Against the Sword-Knot now in Fashion. By Madam Gilford. 

* Defended by Sir Thomas.    
† 6. Against the men's taking Smish. By Madam Rose. 

* Defended by Sir Charles.    
† 7. Against Saluting by the Hat. By Madam Stafford. 

* Defended by Sir Henry.    
† 8. Against Old Bachelors. By Madam Godfrey. 

* Defended by Mr. Graves, in an Essay, proving that a single Life is best.    
† 9 Against Drinking Healths. By Madam Floid. 

Defended by Mr.—    
† 10. Against Beardless men. By Madam Turpit. 

* Defended by Sir Henry.—    
11. That black men are the most Amorous. By Madam— 

* Denied by Sir Thomas—    
† 12. That Bastards always resemble the unlawful Father. By Madam Haithorn 

* Denied by Mr. Reading.    
13. Against Promising Marriage to another Woman whilst the first Wife is living. By Madam— 

Defended by Mr.—    
† 14. Against Enjoyment before Marriage. By Madam Beesly. 

* Answered by Mr. Colet.    
† 15. A satire against the Italian Husbands. By Madam Harford. 

* Answered by Mr. Breme.    
16. Against the Husband's crying down his Wife. By Madam— 

Defended by Mr.—    
† 17. Against Bachelors keeping Young Housekeepers. By Ariadne. 

* Defended by Leander.    
18. Against the Annual Lampooning the Ladies at Tunbridge Wells. 

By Madam—  
Defended by Mr.—    
† 19 Against bragging of women's favours. By Madam Godfrey. 

* Defended by Sir Thomas—    
20. Against Duelling for a Mistress, by Madam— 

Defended by Mr.—    
21. Against the Husband's telling his Wife's Secrets. by Madam— 

Defended by Mr.—    
22. Against Stock-Jobbers. 

By Madam—  
Answered by Mr.—    
23. Against writing Love-Verses. 

By Madam—  
Defended by Mr.—    
24. Against admiring a handsome man. 

By Madam—  
Defended by Mr.—    
25. That 'tis better to marry for Virtue than either Beauty or Riches. By Madam— 

* Answered by Mr. Hill.    
26. That Sighs are the truest marks of a great Love. By Madam— 

Denied by Mr.—    
27. An Essay on Modesty. by Madam— Answered by Mr.—  
† 28. Against men's Kissing one another. By Madam Bail. 

* Defended by Mr. Royse.     
This is likewise but Part of the Ladies Charge against the Men, but here's enough relating to both Sexes, to give an Idea of the whole Encounter; at the end of which will be added, 

1. A Form of Courtship, writ by Mr. Grot.  
2. The Character of what Wife Sir Thomas would have, if he ever marries.  
3. The Lady's Form of Prayer for Husbands, with a Project to provide 'em with good ones.  
4. The Articles of Peace betwixt both Sexes.      

Newly Published  
The Secret History of Whitehall, writ at the Request of a Noble Lord, and conveyed to him in Letters by a Gentleman who was Secretary-Interpreter to the Marquis of Louvois, and who by that means had the perusal of all the Private Minutes between England and France for many Years.  
THE New Discoveries made in this Book are concerning, (1.) The French Court's opposing K. Charles the Second Restoration. (2.) The Matches proposed to K. Charles the Second by the French, with His Majesty's Answers thereunto. (3.) The Sale of Dunkirk. (4.) The Firing of the City of London in 1666. (5.) An Account of a Letter sent by the Dutch to K. Charles the Second, and of its being privately sent to the French Court. (6.) The Secret of the Duke of Buckingham's Embassy into France. (7.) What passed at the Private Interview between K. Charles the Second and his Sister the Duchess of Orleans in 1670. (8.) How Mrs. Carewell, Woman to the Duchess of Orleans, (and afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth) came to be introduced to be K. Charles' Miss. (9) The Private League between K. Charles the Second and the French King. (10.) The Duke of York's Secret Correspondence with that Court, with an Account of his Pension from thence. (11.) Coleman's Intervention with both for his own Advantage, and the Topics he went upon, his Rencounter with the French Ambassador, and his Private Papers. (12.) The Interest the French made both in England and Holland, among the several Sects, to prevent the late Queen's being married to King William. (13.) The Methods concerted to trapan Her late Majesty into France, with her Father's concurrence, and how prevented. (14.) Father St. German's attempting K. Charles the Second in his Religion, with the King's Answer, etc. (15.) Coleman's Wife's Petition to the French King, with his Answer; and an Account of her Hanging herself. (16. M. Le Telier's Speech about the Invasion of England. (17.) The Duke of York's Perversion to the Church of Rome. (18. K. James' Private League with France, when Regnant. (19) The Essay made by the Spanish Ambassador, to draw him into the Austrian Interest, with his Answer and Refusal, in favour of France. (20.) How Father Peter's came to be made a Privy-Counsellor. (21.) Why Mr. Skelton was Imprisoned in the Tower. (22.) Of the shutting up the Exchequer by K. Charles the Second. (23.) An Account of the Five Persons that made up the Cabal in England in 1671. (24.) The Methods used by the French Ministers to corrupt our Ambassadors. (25.) The Offers made by the French King of the Sovereignty of the United Provinces to King William, than Prince of Orange, with his rejection of them. (26.) The Earl of Shaftsbury's Advice to K. Charles the Second, to send an Embassy to the French King. (27.) How my Lord Shaftsbury came to be removed from being Chancellor. (28.) How the French gained their Point, in Marrying the Princess of Modena to the Duke of York. (29.) The Attempts made to engage the Prince of Orange in the French Interest. (30.) Of the Duke of York's moving the French Court for Money, according to his Private Agreement. (31.) Of K. Charles the Second urging the French Court for his Remittances. (32.) The Arguments used against the Duke of York's Marrying his Daughter to the Prince of Orange. (33.) The Embassy sent by the French King to K. Charles, in order to break off that Match. (34.) Some Secrets relating to the Popish Plot. (35.) Of the Duke of York's retiring to Brussels, with K. Charles' Promises to him before his departure. (36.) The Overtures made for K. Charles' Divorce from Queen Katherine. (37.) Of the Duke of York's being twice privately in France, and Closeted by the French King. (38.) Of the Marquis of Louvois' being Privately in England several times in K. Charles the Second Reign; and of his being Closeted by him. (39) The Mystery of the Presbyterian Plot. (40.) Of King Charles the Second Death. (41.) An Account of K. James' Design of destroying the Duke of Monmouth in Holland. (42.) Why K. James was not Crowned by a Popish Bishop. (43.) The true Reasons why the Duke of Monmouth and the Earl of Argile miscarried in their Invading England and Scotland. (44.) Of the Opposition made by several Noblemen against K. James' discarding the Militia. (45.) Propositions made by the French Agents to K. James the Second, for Modelling and Bridling of Parliaments. (46.) The Intrigue of the Trial and Suspension of the Bishop of London. (47.) Of K. James' Closeting several Persons, etc. (48.) A particular Account how my Lord Castlemain came to be sent Ambassador to Rome; and of K. James' receiving the Pope's Nuncio in England. (49.) The Design in Committing the Seven Bishops to the Tower of London. (50.) The Sense of the French Court, with respect to the Prince of Wales' Birth. (51.) An Account of K. James' ordering Mass to be said on Board his Fleet; and of his going on Board himself, to engage the Officers to turn Roman Catholics. (52.) Of the Count D'Avaux acquainting the French King with the Prince of Orange's Preparations against England. (53.) Of the means whereby Mr. Skelton came to know of the Designs in Holland against K. James, and of his acquainting the King his Master therewith; as also his Negotiations in France. (54.) Of the Slights used to make K. James negligent to provide against the Invasion from Holland. (55.) My Lord S— charged with Treachery to his Master K. James. (56.) Of my Lord S'. being excused by some of the French Faction. (57) The Arguments used by the French Agents to gain K. James' Consent to receive French Succours into England, answered by my Lord S— (58. K. James' Speech to his Officers upon the Prince of Orange's Landing in England. (59) The motives for the Queen's carrying the Prince of Wales into France. (60.) Instructions given to the French Emissaries, on K. James' deserting the Crown. (61.) How the French Court received the News of the Prince and Princess of Orange's being Proclaimed King and Queen of England.  
These New Discoveries, to name no more, tho' the rest are of equal Curiosity, (and complete this Secret History, from the Restoration of Charles II. down to the Abdication of the late K. James) had been for ever buried in Oblivion, had not the Fate and Address of this Gentleman led him to fetch 'em out of the dark and almost inscrutable Recesses of the French Cabinet Minutes. The whole Published from the Original Papers, By D. jones, Gent.  
THere is also Published— A New Undertaking, Entituld, The Night-Walker, Or, Evening Rambles, in search after lewd Women, with the Conferences held with them, to be Published Monthly, till a Discovery be made of all the Chief Prostitutes in England, from the Pentionary Miss, down to the Common Strumpet. The first Night-Walker, for October, was Dedicated to the Whoremasters of London and Westminster, and this for November (just now published) is Dedicated to the Duchess of— Price of each 6 d. Both Sold by R. Baldwin, near the Oxford-Arms in Warwick-Lane.