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LEtters of Love and gallantry, and several other Subjects; All written by Ladies: With the Memoirs, Life and Adventures of a young Lady; written by her Self.  
VOL. I.   

LETTERS OF Love and Gallantry. And several other Subjects.  
Written by Ladies.  
VOL. II.  
With a DIALOGUE between LOVE and REASON: showing, The Reasonableness and Unreasonableness of LOVE; The Nu●● Letter to the Monk; Characters and Pictures of several Ladies and Gentlemen; with other Passionate Letters, that passed betwixt both Sexes, in Town and Country.  
Dedicated to the Beaux.  
London, Printed for ●. E●i●ee●, at the Corner of Charles-street in Russel-street, Covent-Garden, 1694.   

THE Epistle Dedicatory TO THE BEAUX.  
SInce we are satisfied of your Friendly readiness to Publish our Favours, even before you have received 'em, we thought ourselves obliged by so much good nature, to give you once a just occasion for't, and present you with our Letters. Some fill their Dedications with nothing but Apologys for their making 'em: Some cunningly place the name at the bottom of the Picture, to try if our Wit could guess at what they meant by the Daubing above: Others, as 'twere on design, writ you asleep in the beginning, to convince you they're in Love, as they tell you, at the latter end: while this Geographically Witty ever treats you with a Fool of such or such a Climate, and Travels for business to Japan, or Arragon, when God knows, and you may convince him, we have as much, as he can turn his hand to, at Home: Nay, some, tho' they were Addressing to you, would have the impertinence to bring in Latin and Greek. Thus all, like true Lovers, talk least of the thing they come about: but we, skilled in Men, are too sensible how pleasing 'tis to know we are admired, to entertain you with any thing but yourselves; and shall clear ourselves from the Suspicion of Flattery in such Cases, when you know our compliment to you is an account of a Quarrel that lately happened among us about you; and sure you can't believe we flatter, when it comes to that: To make short, meeting the other Day at— after the usual Entertainment of Modes and Dressing, we naturally fell into Discourse of you; when each singled out her Man, and striven to set him uppermost; one was praised for his way of Dress, another for the throw of his Periwig, this for a pretty Face, and and that for the Airy management of an ugly one: the Dispute was hotly maintained a great while, but finding no end could be made in this, because there was thought to be no Standard for Beauty; we unanimonsly resolved to determine the business by their Writing: Much was said on all hands, and many shrewd Criticisms made: This Man's Verses were arraigned for nonsense; and that many Plays for having in 'em more Bawdy than Wit.  
Another's Songs were condemned for having nothing in 'em; but because 'twas universal with such Writers, the Remark was not taken notice of; She that accused 'em growing angry that She could not come in for her Share of abusing, fell foul on the Author's Person, and said that he moved by the same Rules that he Writ, that every thing was so stiff about him, that nothing was out of Form, and that there was nothing but Form, that he minced all his Words, to make 'em come fine from him: and to make us the better understand her the other day, said She, when a common Man would have said, 'Twas a rude thing, turning to me, his Face and Body in one Motion, Madam, said he, I protest 'twas most disingagingly done: Was there ever such an Ape? Nay, tho' he be the most ugly of them all, yet in his Songs is ever dying for Love. The Patient, She that admired him, could hold no longer, but advanced to revenge the abuse of his Person and Parts on her Head-dress; the rest of us thought our Cause as worthy Defending, and each drew out against her, that had abused it, when C— coming in, put a stop to the War.   

MEMOIRS OF THE Fair Eloisa, a NUN, AND Abelard a MONK.  
IN Order the better to understand all the Beauties of the following Letter, it is necessary to know the Characters of Eloisa and Abelard, as also what sort of Commerce they held together, and consequently to give an Abridgement of both their Lives.  
Abelard lived in the Year 1170. under the Reign of Lewis the Young, and was very famous for his Wit and Gallantry. He is reported to be the Inventor of scholastic Philosophy, which is a very difficult Amusement. Others say, that he was also the Author of the Romance of the Rose, a very agreeable description of Love. The said Romance being in Vogue to this very day, and the said Philosophy still professed, might suffice to give us a very great and Noble Idea of him. But besides that, he has shown in most of his Works, and in the whole Conduct of his Life, a surprising clearness of Mind, an Universal Capacity, a greatness of Soul which nothing could overcome, much delicacy in the Passions, and a great deal of firmness in his Misfortunes: In fine, that which composes the best and most Excellent part of the merit of great Men, is the true Character of Abelard.  
Eloisa was a Gentlewoman of a very good Family, about Eighteen Years of Age, very Witty and Sprightly, who had Beauty enough to move the most Insensible: Her Parents being very Rich, resolved to add an extraordinary Education to those Natural Endowments. An Uncle of hers, who was Canon of the Church of Paris, applied himself most carefully about it; and as he loved her entirely, he spared neither cost nor care to effect it; and proved so successful therein, that the World was filled with the Praise of his Niece's Beauty and Accomplishments.  
Such Admirable Qualifications soon Captivated the Inclinations of all those that knew her. Abelard was one of the first that felt the Power of her Charms, and became passionately in Love with her. His Philosophy was not capable to defend his Heart against those Perfections he has described himself under the Name of Beauty in his Romance of the Rose; neither did he in the least endeavour to contend with his Passion. On the contrary, being wholly taken up with his Love, he abandoned himself entirely to it, and only studied how to declare it to the Person he adored. He being very well shaped, Young, and having a high Reputation in the World, did not question but his Declaration would meet with all the Success he could expect, he tells us himself, Tanti quip tunc neminis eram, & juventutis & formae praeeminebam, ut quamcunque feminarum nostro dignarer amore, nullam vererer repulsam▪ That whatever Woman he could hav●… fallen in Love with at that time, he ha●… reason to hope for every thing, and t●… undertake all, without the least fear of 〈…〉 Refusal.  
Being thus confident of success, h●… only longed for an opportunity to mak●… his Addresses to that Lovely Maid. H●… flattered himself, that if he could once b●… introduced into her Uncle's House, b●… some of his Friends, he would soon obtain the end of all his Wishes. He applied himself immediately about it; an●… the Friends he made use of, easily obtained what he desired of Fulbert,( tha●… was Eloisa's Uncle's Name) who wa●… extremely Covetous, and yet desired nothing so much as the advancement o●… his Niece, by reason that he could no possibly give her a better Master, or on●… that was less self-interested than Abelard Therefore he received him joyfully int●… his House, and committed Eloisa to hi●… Tuition and Care, desiring him, as 〈…〉 he had designed to serve him in his Love to take an absolute Empire over hi●… Niece, and to allow towards her Education all the time he could spare from th●… public, to be with her Day and Night, to have a continual Eye upon her Conduct, and even to make use of the Authority he gave him, whenever he should find her remiss, or disobedient. Fulbert showed a simplicity without Example in all this; since that by confiding thus in young People, and furnishing them himself, with a thousand Opportunities; it was almost impossible for them not to fall in Love with one another. But the Uncle's affection towards the Niece was so strong and so blind; and Abelard's Reputation was so well established throughout the Kingdom, that not harbouring the least suspicion of their virtue, he thought himself absolutely secure.  
Abelard, who easily promised whatever Fulbert required of him, did not fail to improve the liberty he had of seeing the Lovely Eloisa at all convenient hours, and Moments. He acquainted her with his Passion. and did it so well, that she harkened to it with pleasure. It is easy to persuade a Young Maid about Eighteen to Love; and Abelard was too Charming, and had too much Wit, not to make a considerable progress in her Heart in a short time. She soon loved him so tenderly that she could no longer refuse him any thing: Insomuch that being wholly taken up by a thousand Reciprocal Caresses, in the enjoyment of those Delights the Passion he had inspired her with afforded him, being continually with her, he often forgot his most serious and most Important Affairs. A Philosopher in Love, is no wiser than another Man; and however desirous to preserve his Reputation, he sooner or later commits faults that are blamed by every Body, though every Man would be guilty of the same.  
The World soon perceived this Intrigue between the Master and the scholar, so great an Assiduity in their Conversation, together with the Tenderness and Passion that appeared in all their Actions, soon discovered that Philosophy was not always their Theme.  
Fulbert was the only Person that had no Eyes to see what every Body else perceived; and whatever Advices he received about it, he was so prepossessed with a good Opinion of Abelard and Eloisa's virtue, that it made no manner of impression upon him. Finally our Lovers keeping no measures in their Love, things went so far through their imprudence, that the Uncle, being at last undeceived, resolved to part them, to prevent the ill consequences of their Intrigue. But it proved too late, for Eloisa soon discovering something extraordinary in her self, she acquainted Abelard therewith, who thereupon came back immediately to Paris, and stolen her by Night, in order to mary her privately, until her Relations would allow it publicly.  
Fulbert, who loved Eloisa to that degree that he could not live without her, was extremely troubled at her Flight; and being moreover very sensible of the affront Abelard had put upon him in abusing the Liberty he had given him, he was transported to that excess of Rage, that he swore to be revenged of him. Abelard, who was conscious of the Guilt, and could not forbear looking upon his own behaviour, as a piece of Treachery, resolved to go back to Paris, in order to use his utmost Endeavours to appease Fulbert's Fury. To that end he made use of all the Entreaties, Submissions, and Promises he could think on. He begged of him above all things to reflect on the force of Love, and on the Faults that that Tyrant of our Souls has often caused the greatest Men to commit. Fulbert dissembled his resentment, and pretended to be overcome by his Reasons, and to consent to all. He even embraced him closely, the better to deceive him, and to secure his own Revenge.  
Abelard being overjoyed at Fulbert's consent, went back to the place where he had left his Dear Eloisa, whom he married; but with so much Repugnancy on that fair one's part, that it proved a very difficult Task to persuade her. As her Sentiments were very nice, she could not endure the necessity she should be under of Loving him, nor the injury he was going to do himself by Marrying her. She could not endure to think he should be indebted to any thing for the Love she bore him, but to Love itself, and his Quality of Philosopher seemed to her so inconsistent with the design of Marrying her, that she had rather a thousand times be looked upon as his Mistress, than to become his Wife at the cost of his Reputation and Glory. And whereas Abelard had represented to her, that it would be the only way to appease Fulbert's Anger, and to avoid the Revenge he meditated; she assured him that he flattered himself in vain, and that knowing her Uncle as well as she did, she could safely swear to him, that it was impossible to appease him, and that sooner or later he would endeavour to ruin him. However these Reasons not being able to persuade Abelard, she yielded to his Desires, only out of fear of displeasing him by her resistance. And it was not without Tears and Sighs that she consented to mary a Man she loved beyond expression, and by whom she was as tenderly beloved.  
Eloisa was not deceived in the Opinion she had of her Uncle. That Cruel Man still persevering in his design of Vengeance against Abelard, notwithstanding his Marriage with his Niece, found means to corrupt one of his Servants to admit Russians into his Master's Chamber, who drawing near his Bed, while he was a asleep, at one stroke divided the Man from the Lover. That Action was too black and too Tragical to remain unpunished. The Uncle's Estate was Confiscated by a Decree from the Court; and one of the Assassinats together with the Servant who had admitted him were condemned to lose their Eyes, and to suffer the same Punishment by the Hangman's Hand, which they had dared to attempt upon another. After such a Misfo●tune, our Philosopher in order to take such measures as were most suitable to the wretched Condition to which he was reduced, locked himself up in a Monastery, and caused Eloisa to retire into a Convent; and whither out of jealousy, or Love; engaged her to enter into Orders, before he had resolved to do the same himself.  
In the mean time, to keep up the Reputation he had acquired of being the most Learned Man of Europe, he explained the Acts of the Apostles to the Monks of the abbey of St. Dennis among whom he lived. And happening to have an occasion to speak of that Saint, he chanced to say, whither accidentally, or out of a Capricio, That Denis the Areopagite never was in France. It is very well known, that to entertain any Sentiments in those Days contrary to that of the Monks, was sufficient to be reputed an Apostate or heretic. Learning could Authorize nothing, and those who soared a little above the common level, as soon as it was known were forced to condemn themselves to a voluntary Exile to avoid the public Persecution of the Monks. St. Bernard was one of those that declared against Abelard, not for the same reason for which the Monks of St. Denis did it, but only because so much Wit, joined to a worldly conduct seemed dangerous to him. He concluded, That a Mans ' Wit must needs be tainted, when the Heart was not pure-  
During this Storm; Abelard who really possessed all the Qualifications that compose great Men, but yet was not so perfect as to be a Saint; incensed by so many Misfortunes and Injuries, resolved to sly from the Monks, and to retire into a desert near Nogent. The Learned were scarce in that Age, and the desire of Learning began to spread. For that reason Abelard was sought after in his Exile; and being found out, was loaden with Presents by those who were desirous to hear his Lessons. Those Presents were so considerable as to enable him to build a House, and a chapel, which he Dedicated under the Name of Paraclét, the first that ever had that Name in France: Which was represented by some as a Novelty which might have dangerous Consequences, though in reality it was only a Monument of the Consolations he had received from the Grace of God in that place, by a more serious application to his Study, and a more absolute resignation of his Mistress. But Men of Merit, though never so retired are nevertheless exposed to Envy. He was hardly well settled in his Solitude, when he was accused of Caballing. In order to justify himself, he desired leave to quit it, and entreated the Archbishop of Troy, to permit him to settle some Maids there, and to assign his Chapel and his Estate to them. This Settlement being promised, he sent for Eloisa to Govern the Monastery, which having committed to her Care, he retired elsewhere. Happy if he had still been able to fly her.  
It was during that absence that a Letter which he wrote to a Friend near Panaclét, in which he gave him a large account of the Persecutions he had endured, sell accidentally into the hands of that new Abbess. She opened it, and finding a thousand things in it, in which she was highly concerned, she took an occasion from that to writ the following Letter to him, to complain of his Conduct, and to ask him, Whither it was just for a Nice Lover to abandon her to the false ideas which so long a silence might create in her. That Letter( says he who has Collected the Works of Abelard) is very proper to show how far a Woman is capable to carry the Sentiments of her Heart, when she joins a Violent Passion to a good Education.  

Eloisa to Abelard. LETTER I.  
'TIS to her Master, and to her Father; 'tis to her Brother, and to her Husband, that a Maid, a Daughter, a Sister, a Wife, and to include in one word, all that is Sublime, Respectful, Tender and free in those Names; 'tis to her Abelard Eloisa writes.  
A Letter of Consolation written by you to a Friend, lately fell into my hands, Knowing the Character, and being in Love with the Hand, my Heart joining with my Curiosity, forced me to open it. To apologize for the Liberty I took, I flattered myself with the Sovereign Right I ought to have over all that comes from you, and I made a scruple to believe that there could be any Laws of Decorum I ought to observe when I had the means in my power to hear from you. But my Curiosity cost me very dear! What Anguish did it expose me to! And what could equal my Surprise when I found that Letter only contained a sad and long account of your Misfortunes! I found my Name a hundred times in it: I never met with it without fear: Some Misfortune ever followed it. I also red yours in it which was no happier. Those Fatal and Dear ideas disturbed me to that degree, that I thought you did too much to comfort a Friend, to whom you did writ about some Inconsiderable Afflictions, in giving him a particular account of our Misfortunes and Crosses. Heavens! What reflections did I not make that moment? I began a new to reflect upon myself, I was seized with the same Grief that overwhelmed me when we began to be Unhappy. And though time ought to have lessened the smart of our Misfortunes, seeing them written by your Hand, was sufficient to make me feel it afresh to the very bottom of my Heart. No, nothing will ever blot out of my mind what you have suffered to defend your Sentiments. I shall ever remember the Envy of Alberick and Lotulf against you. I shall for ever behold a Cruel Uncle, an abused Lover, and an Assassinate. I shall never forget how many Enemies your Wit created you; and how many were jealous of your Glory. I will ever call to mind that high Reputation you had so justly acquired, which exposed you to the Hatred and Malice of the Pretenders to Learning. Your Book of Divinity ●●s publicly condemned to the Flames. You were threatened with a perpetual Prison. It was in vain for you to pled your Innocence, and to prove that you were imposed upon, and that you were accused of things you had never said, or thought. You condemned them yourself, but yet all this availed nothing towards your Justification, they would needs have you to be an heretic right or wrong. Those two false Prophets, who inveighed so bitterly against you at the Council of Rheims, omitted nothing to ruin you. What Scandals did they not fix on the Name of Paraclet which you gave to the chapel you did Build? What Storm did the Treacherous Monks you honoured with the Name of Brothers, raise against you? That Chain of Misfortunes has drawn Blood even from the very bottom of my Heart. My Tears which I could no wise stop, have blotted part of your Letter. I could wish they had been able to blot out all the Characters of it in the same manner, to sand it you back thus. If I could but have kept it a little longer it would have satisfied me; but it was taken too soon from me.  
However, it is most certai●● and I own it to you, that I was much Calmer before I had red it; but as soon as I had run it over, all my griefs renewed. I have been too long, cried I, I have been too long without Complaining. Since the Rage of our Enemies is still alive; Since Time which commonly disarms the most mortal hatred, cannot disarm them; since your Virtue must needs be persecuted till the Grave serves you for a shelter, tho' perhaps even there their Rage will rak your Ashes, I will keep your misfortunes for ever present to my mind. I will publish them throughout the World, to disgrace this Age that has not understood you. I will hope for nothing, since all things are against you; and that the World takes a delight in persecuting your Innocence. What? my Memory ever full of your past Misfortunes; must I still dread to see you involved in new ones! Must my Dear Abelard never be mentioned without Tears! Shall his Name never be pronounced without a Heart-breaking Sigh! Pray consider the condition to which you have reduced me. Wretched, Afflicted, without the least Consolation, unless it comes from you. Therefore I do conjure you, do not refuse it me; but give me a faithful Account of all that relates to you. I desire to know it, tho' never so sad or moving. Perhaps the mixture of my Sighs with yours will ease you, if it be true as it is commonly reported, that Afflictions that are shared by others, become the more Supportable.  
Do not tell me for an excuse that you are willing to spare our Tears. The Tears of Recluse Maids in a Mournful abode of Penitence are not to be spared. Besides, should you tarry to writ to u●… until you had some agreeable news to sand us, you would tarry too long. Fortune seldom sides with the Virtuous; and she is so Blind, that it is not to be expected she should distinguish one Wise Man among a Crowd of Fools. Therefore writ to us without expecting those kind of Miracles: They are too rare, and we are destined to too many Misfortunes to expect a Change. I propose to myself a world of satisfaction in opening one of your Letters, tho' it were only to convince me that you have not forgot me. Seneca( which you have often made me red) was so sensible, tho' a stoic, of that kind of Joy, that whenever he opened any from Lucilla, he fancied he enjoyed all the same pleasure, he did when with her.  
I have observed since our absence, that we are much more delighted with the Pictures of those we love, when at a great distance from us, than when they are nearer. Nay more, the farther they are from us, their Pictures seem to me to become the more like them: at least our Imagination, which draws them continually out of a desire to see them again, makes them appear so to us. By an effect which is peculiar to Love, vain Colours, and a little Cloth seem animated to us as soon as the beloved object returns. I have your Picture, and never pass by it without stoping before it; whereas I hardly minded it when you were here. If Painting, which is but a mute representation of Objects, affords so much Pleasure: What Joys do not Letters Inspire? They are Animated; they speak; they have that Genius which Explains the Motions of the Heart; they enclose within them the fire of our Passions; they make them as sensible as when we see one another; they express whatever we could say, that is Soft and Tender when we are together; and being sometimes somewhat bolder, they utter more.  
We may writ to one another; that Innocent Pleasure is not forbidden us. Let us not, by our own Neglect, lose the only satisfaction we have remaining, and which perhaps is the only one our Persecutors cannot deprive us of. I will say that you are my Husband; You shall behold me speak like a Wife; and in spite of all your Misfortunes, you shall be whatever you please in a Letter. Letters were Invented for the relief of Recluse Persons like myself: Having lost the real Pleasure of seeing and possessing you, I will find it again in some measure, in those you shall writ to me. I shall red your most secret Thoughts in them; I will carry them continually about me: Infine, if you are capable of any jealousy, let it only be by the Caresses I shall make to them; and never grow a Rival unless it be to the happiness of your Letters: And to avoid all manner of constraint, writ to me without Application, and with Negligence. I would have your Heart speak to me, and not your Wit. I cannot live unless you tell me that you love me still. That Language must needs be so Natural to you, that I do not think you could utter any other to me without Violence: Besides, it is very reasonable you should close up those Wounds, by some marks of a Constant Affection, which you have opened again in my Soul, by the doleful account you gave your Friend: Not that I blame the Innocent Artifice you have used to comfort one in Distress, by comparing his Misery to a greater. Charity is Ingenious, and Praise-worthy in those Pious sleights: But do you not owe somewhat more to yourself than to that Friend, whatever Friendship you may have contracted with him? We are called your Sisters; we call ourselves your Daughters; and if there were more engaging Terms in Nature we would use them to Express our being devoted to you, as also what you owe unto us. Altho' a prudent Silence should cloak our Just acknowledgements, this Church, these Altars, and these Places would declare it sufficiently. But, without suffering Stones and Marble to speak, I confess, and will ever be proud to tell the World, that you are the only Founder of this House. Your coming to this place has rendered it famous, whereas it was only known before for the Robberies & Murders that were committed in it. It was a Den of Thieves and Rogues; but you have made it a House of Prayer. These Cloisters are not beholding to public Alms. The Sins of Publicans are not fixed on their Walls, nor their Vices buried in their Foundations. The God whom we serve in this Place, beholds nothing there but Innocent Riches and simplo Maids, wherewith you have filled it. And therefore this young Plantation is wholly indebted to you for what it is: You ought to Cultivate it, and to afford it all your Cares: You ought to make it one of the principal applications of your Life. Although the Grace of Devotion seems to be entailed upon it on all parts, by our Cloisters and our Vows: Tho' the points of our Grates are so many Bulwarks to defend the approaches of it; yet whereas the Bark is only covered in us, that sap of Adam, which rises imperceptibly in the Heart, produces Distempers, which whither, and absolutely ruin the Trees which seem to promise most, unless they be continually grafted. Virtue among us, remains ever grafted upon Nature, which is weak and Inconstant. To Plant the Vine of the Lord, is not an ordinary piece of work: it requires more than a Day; and when it is once planted, it requires all our application to preserve it. Does not the Apostle, as great a Workman as he was, tell us, That he has Planted, that Appollos has watered, and that God has blessed the Work, and has made it to grow? Paul had planted the Faith among the Corinthians, by Holy and fervent Predications; Apollos, a zealous Disciple of that Great Master, cultivated that Faith, by mildred and frequent Exhortations; and the Grace of God, which their continual Cares solicited so powerfully to descend upon that People, answered their expectation.  
This example ought to regulate your Conduct towards us, I am sensible that you are not idle; but tho' you Labour, you do not Labour for us. You Labour for People whose Thoughts are wholly bent on Earth, and never soar above it; and you refuse your assistance to Persons of a nicer Taste, who are reeling, and do use their utmost endeavours not to fall. You throw the Riches of the Gospel before Swine, in speaking to People that are filled with the Riches of this World, and fatten'd with the juice of the Earth; and at the same time neglect Innocent Sheep, who, as nice as they are, would follow you into deserts and over Mountains. Why do you Labour so much for ingrateful Persons? and forget poor Maids, who would never think themselves sufficiently grateful? Must I be afraid to speak in my own Name, and must I employ other Prayers than my own, to obtain something of you? The Augustins, Tertullians, Jeromes have written to Eudoxa's, Paula's and Melanie's; and when you red those Names, tho' Saints, can you forget mine? Would it be a crime for you to direct me like St. Jerome, to Preach to me like Tertullian, and to discourse of Grace to me with St. Augustin? Your Learning and your sense ought not to be a barren Soil for me. In writing to me, you writ to a Wife: a Sacrament has rendered that Commerce lawful: And since it is in your Power to satisfy me without committing the least scandal, why should you not do it? I have a barbarous Uncle, whose Inhumanity only serves to endear you to my Heart. It serves me instead of all, that the tenderness and remembrance of our Pleasures could inspire us with, to make us love each other. You are no longer to be feared, do not fly me. harken to my Sighs, your being a Witness of them will suffice. If I have put myself into a Cloister out of Reason, persuade me to tarry in it out of Devotion. You are the cause of all my Sufferings, how should another ease me.  
You must needs remember, for those that have loved can never forget, with what delight I spent whole Days in hearing you? How I used to steal away from every body, when we were not together, to writ to you? What disquiets did a Billet cost me, before it came to your hands? And what shifts were we reduced to, to gain People to be our Confidents? I am sensible these particulars do surprise you. You dread to hear the sequel; but I do no longer blushy at it, since my Passion for you has no bounds. I have out done all this for you this day; I have hared myself to love you. I have lost myself here to make you live in quiet. Nothing but Virtue joined to a Passion, free from sensuality, could produce such Effects. Those who love Pleasures, love the Living, not the Dead. We are soon weary of Burning for those that are no longer in a condition to burn for it. My cruel Uncle was sensible of this. He imagined that being like other Women, I loved your Sex better than your Person, but his Crime is vain. I love yo●… more than ever, I am revenged of him by overwhelming you with all my stoo●… of tenderness. If the Passion I formerl●… had for you, was not so pure as it is a●… present: If at that time the Mind an●… Body divided in me the pleasure of loving you; I have  told it you a thousan●… times, I have always been more pleased with the possession of your Heart, than with the enjoyment of all that which is the object of the Felicity of our Sex; and of all what was in you, Man wa●… not that which pleased me most.  
You ought to be sufficiently convinced of it, by the great repugnancy I expressed for Marriage. For tho' I was sensible that Name was August among Men and Holy in Religion, the thought of ceasing to be free by it, hindered me from finding any charms in it. The Bonds of Marriage, tho' never so Honourable, are attended with a necessary engagement, whose ties seem to ravish the Glory of Loving; and I was desirous to free a Man, who perhaps would not always love me, from the necessity of loving. I despised the name of Wife; to live happy with that of a mistress. Those niceties of a Maid who loved you, with so much tenderness, and yet not so much as she desired, were not unknown to you, since you entertained your Friend with them in the Letter I have surprised. You  told him very well, that I found nothing but what was very insipid in all those public engagements, that form Bonds which nothing but Death can break, and create a dismal necessity of Life and Love: but you did not add, that I have protested to you a thousand times, that it was insinitely more pleasing to me to live with Abelard as his Mistress, than to be Empress with Augustus; and that I preferred the happiness of obeying you, before the captivating of the Master of the Uniuerse Lawfully. Riches and Grandeur are none of the Charms of Love. A real Passion divides the Lover from what is not himself, and lays aside his Fortune, his Rank, his employments, to consider him only.  
Those, who seek for an Estate and Dignities, in the could embraces of a careless Husband, do not Love. They aim much more in such a Marriage, to satisfy their Ambition than their Love. I grant that such a mercenary engagement may be attended with some Honour and Fortune; but I can never believe, that it is possible thus to enjo●… the sensible Pleasures of a tender Union or to feel the secret and charming emotions of two Hearts, that have bee●… long in search of each other to unit●… themselves. The Martyrs of Marriag●… hourly sigh for better settlements, whic●… they think they have lost. The Wif●… sees Husbands richer than her own. Th●… Husband, Wives with better Fortune●… than his. Mercenary engagements create Regrets, and those Regrets Discord. They design to be partend, or at least they wish it. That insatiate devouring desire, is the Avenger of Love, whic●… they injure in expecting to meet a happiness by Love, besides Love itself. If there be any real Felicity on Earth, I am persuaded, that it is only to be found in the Union of two Persons, who love each other with freedom, whom a secret Inc●ination has joined, and whom an equal Merit has satisfied. Then there is no vacuity in their Hearts. All is at rest there, because all is contained.  
Could I believe you were as well persuaded of my Merit, as I am of yours, I would tell you, that there was a time in which we might have been reckoned in the number of those Happy ones. Ah! How could I choose but be persuaded of your Merit? Tho' I had been willing to question it; the universal Esteem the World had for you, would have convinced me. Is there a Country, Province or City, that has not desired to have you? Did you ever remove from any place, without being attended with the Heart and Eyes of those you left behind you? Every body was proud of saying, I have seen Abelard to day. The very Women, notwithstanding the rigid Laws the World has imposed upon them, could not forbear expressing, that they felt something for you beyond common Esteem. I have known some, who praised their Husbands exceedingly and yet were jealous of my Joys, and showed sufficiently that you might have expected every thing from them. And indeed, who was capable to resist you? Your Reputation which flattered the Vanity of our Sex; Your Air; Your Behaviour; Those lively Eyes in which your Soul was so admirably Drawn; Your Conversation, which a natural simplicity and delicacy rendered so agreeable and insinuating; In fine, every thing spoken in favour of you Very different, in that from those who by knowing too much; have not Art to trifle agreeably; and who with all their Wit cannot gain the Heart of Women, who have not near so great a share of it as they.  
With what Ease did you compose Verses? and yet those learned Amusements which only served to refresh you after a more serious Study, are the Delight of the most Ingenuous; and there are none among them, who do not judge you worthy of that Rose you have so ingenuously explained. Even the most inconsiderable Songs, and other Trifles you have written for me, have a thousand Charms, and a thousand Beauties in them. I will make them last, while Love endures. Thus what you only designed for me, will be Sung for others; and those Words, so natural and so tender, which were witnesses of your Love in slight Verses, and little Songs, will serve others to explain themselves much better than otherwise they could have done. How many Rivals have those kind of Gallantry's created me? How many Beauties have endeavoured to apply them to themselves? It was an Homage which Self-Love rendered to their Charms. How ' many I have seen who declared themselves for you by their Sighs, when they were  told, after an ordinary Visit you had made them, that they were the Silvia's of your Verses? Others out of despair have often reproachfully  told me, That I had no other Beauty but what your Verses gave me, nor any advantages over them, but that of being beloved by you. Notwithstanding Self-Love, which is so natural in all Women, I thought myself happy in a Lover to whom I was indebted for all my Charms; and I was transported with Joy to think, that I was served by a Man, who had the power to make a Goddess of his mistress. Flattering myself with your Glory, I red, with complaisance, the Charms you gave me, and often without consulting, found myself what you were pleased to speak me, the better to please you.  
But alas! that time is past; I now weep for the loss of my Lover, and the only thing that is remaining of all my Joys, is but a Remembrance which kills me. You who were jealous of my happiness, know that he whom you envied me, is no longer for you, nor for me. I have loved him; my Love is his Crime, and has occasioned his ruin. My small Perfections had charmed him; pleased with each other, we lived happy, and quietly, and passed the fairest of our Days. If it was a Crime to live thus, that Crime pleases me still, and my only Despair is to find myself Innocent. But my misfortune is to have had unjust Parents, whose Rage and Hatred have disturbed the Calm in which we lived. Had those Barbarians called back their Reason, I should now be in quiet with my Husband. What cruelty could equal theirs, when a blind Fury engaged them to hire a murderer to surprise you asleep? Had I been with you, I would have defended you at the cost of my own Life: My Cries alone would have stopped his Arm. But in this place Love is offended, and my Modesty joined to my despair, stops my Tongue. It is not proper for me to say all I think upon that Subject; and tho' it were lawful. I could not do it. Besides, there is ●… great deal of Eloquence in silence, ●… hen misfortunes are too great to be expressed.  
Tell me only, for this is one of my ●… reatest afflictions, why you have begun ●… o neglect me, since my Profession? ●… ou know that I had no other induce●… ents for it but your misfortunes, nor ●… ther consent for it but what you gave ●… e. Let us hear the Cause of your coldness, or at least permit me to discover my Thoughts to you. Is it not, perhaps, that Pleasure only was your ●… im, in applying yourself to me, and that my Passion which left no room for Desires in you, has diminished your flamme? Thou didst please unfortunate Eloisa, when thou didst not desire to please: thou didst deserve assiduites, when thou oughtst to have rejected them, and Incense, when thou didst push back the Arm that offered it to thee. But since thy Heart has suffered itself to be moved; is grown soft, and has surrendered itself, since thou hast sacrificed thyself, since thou hast buried thyself alive, thou art forsaken, thou art forgotten. A woeful Experience has convinced me, that People fly those they are too much obliged too, and that the greatest Favours sooner create coldness in Men, than Gratitude. And indeed, this weak Heart made too slight a defence to be long dear to you. You took it with ease, you quit it in the same manner. But ingrateful as you are, I will never consent to it; and tho'. I ought not to have a Will in this place, I have nevertheless preserved that of being beloved by you. In pronouncing my sad Vows, I had the Last Billet you writ to me about me; by which you assured me, you would ever be mine, and that you would only Live to Love me. Therefore it was to you I offered myself: You had my Heart: I had yours, do not require any thing back from me, and suffer my Passion, as a thing that is yours, and which you cannot part from.  
Alas! How weak am I to talk thus? Our Object here is a God, and I only speak of a Man: You force me to it, Cruel! by your behaviour: You are the only cause of my fault. False Man! Was it Just thus to cease to love me all of a sudden? Why did you not deceive me a while, instead of abandoning me absolutely? Had you only gi●… en me some weak signs of a dying Pas●… on, I should have endeavoured to de●… eive myself, to believe you had some ●… onstancy. But after the rate you use ●… e, what Opinion can I have of you? What can I think of a forgetfulness like ●… ours? And by a forgetfulness of this ●… ature, do not you even take away from ●… e all means of writing to you? I passi●… nately desire to see you; but if I am ●… orbidden to hope it, I will content my ●… elf with a few Lines from your hand. ●… s it then so hard a task to writ to what we love, if it be true that you still love me? I desire none of your learned Let●… ers, on which your Reputation de●… ends. I only desire some of those Billets that proceed from the Heart; which the Pen can hardly follow, and Wit has nothing to do with. How was I deceived, when I thought you wholly mine, in receiving the Veil, and by engaging myself to live Eternally under your Laws. For in making my Vows, I only meant to be entirely yours; and I voluntarily submitted to the desire you expressed to see me lockd up for ever. There●●●●, nothing but Death▪ can make me abandon the place in which you placed me, Nay, my very Ashes will remain in it, in expectation of yours, or the longer to show you my Obedience. Why should I conceal the secret of my Vocation? You know it; it was neither my Zeal nor my Devotion that placed me in a Cloister. Your Conscience is too faithful a Witness of it for you to disown it. Yes, it was the Flesh and not the Spirit, that transported me into this place. I am in it; I Live in it; I remain in it; an unfortunate Love, and cruel Parents condemn me to it; and if I have not the continuation of your Cares, if I lose your Friendship, what will be the Fruit of my Prison? What recompense can I hope for? The unfortunate consequences of a Criminal Conduct, and your particular Disgraces, have covered me with a chased Habit, but not with the sincere Desire of a real Repentance. Thus I combat and Jabour in vain. I am among the Spouses of a God, the Servant of a Man; Among the generous Slaves of his across, the weak Captive of a profane Love. I am at the head of a community of Nuns, only devoted to Abelard. My God: Why do you not direct me? Is it your Grace that makes me speak these Words, or is it only my Despair that forces them from me? At least I feel myself in the Temple of Chastity only covered with the Fire that has inflamed us. I view myself in it, I confess like a Sinner; but one who far from weeping for her Sins, only weeps for her Lover, and who through a weakness unworthy of her present condition, only calls to mind her past actions, not being able to reflect on any others.  
Oh Heavens! What dismal reflections are these? I upbraid myself with my faults; I accuse you of yours: and why all this? veiled as I am what disorders do you occasion? It is a cruel task always to struggle for Duty against Inclination. I am very sensible of what I owe to the Veil that covers me; but I feel much better yet, what a long habit of Loving can effect on a sensible Heart. I am subdued; I am vanquished by my Inclination. My Passion disorders my Mind and Will. One Moment I listen to the Sentiments of Piety that arise within me, and the next I suffer all the Charms of my Tenderness to Reign in my Imagination. I tell you now a thousand things I would not have  told you yesterday. I was resolved no longer to Love you; I considered that I had made Vows; that I was veiled, dead, and as it were butted; But there arises by degrees from the bottom of my Heart a Trouble which destroys all those Sentiments, and clouds my Reason and my Piety. You Reign in Places so concealed, and so Imperceptible in that Heart, that I cannot attack you in them; and when I think of breaking the Bonds that Engage me to you, I flatter myself, and all the efforts I am capable of, only serve to tie 'em closer. Oh! for pity sake, assist a Wretch to renounce her desires, her self, and you if Possible. If you are a Lover, if you are a Father, Succour a Mistress, Comfort a Daughter. Cannot those Names, those Tender Names, move you? Yield, Oh yield, to pity, or to Love! If you consent to it, I am ready to be a real Nu●, and will no longer profane my Vocation. I am ready to humble myself with you before the Richess of the Providence of my God, who makes use of all things for our Sanctification, who through an effect of his Grace purifies whatever is Vicious and Corrupted in our Principles, who through an abundance of Inconceivable Mercy, worthy of him alone, almost forces us, and opens our Eyes to give us a glimpse of so many favours which we refused to know.  
I designed to end here; but while I am angry with you, I must disburden my Heart, and tell you how far it suspects, how much it Upbraids you. I must needs confess to you, that it shook my very Soul to find, that, after we had both resolved to consecrate ourselves to God, you engaged me to do it, before you. What? said I, does he fear to see the Example of Lot's Wife, who looked behind her in quitting Sodom, revived in me? If my Youth, and my Sex, could make you fearful that I might go back to the World, especially Paris not being yet on Fire, nor reduced to Ashes, my Behaviour, my Fidelity, and this Heart, which you too well knew, ought to have cured you of all those sorts of Suspicious. That suspicious Precaution touches me sensibly. What? cried I, heretofore my bare word sufficed to assure him, and now can nothing less than a God and Vows secure him that I will be true.  
What cause have I ever given him to suspect me of the least Fickleness? I never refused to meet him at all his Rendezvous; and should I scruple to follow him in Houses of Sanctity! What? I who have made myself the Victim of pleasure to satisfy him, could I have refused to be an Oblation of Honour to obey him! Has 'vice then such Charms over well-born Souls, that after having drank in the Cup of Sins, one could not receive the Chalice of Sanctity without regret? Or else did you think yourself a better Master for 'vice than for Virtue? Did you think that it was Easier to persuade me to the first than to the latter? No, that doubt would be too Injurious to us both. Virtue is too beautiful not to Embrace it where it is met; and 'vice is too Ugly not to shun it, when you make it known. All things are Charming to me which you desire: Nothing is dreadful or difficult to me when you appear. I am only Weak when you do not guide me: Therefore 'tis in your Power to mould me as you please. Had you any thing to fear, you would be less Negligent. I have done too much, and I must now Triumph over your Ingratitude. While we lived happy, you might have reason to doubt, whither it was not Pleasure that engaged me to you, rather than Friendship. But now the Place from whence I writ decides it. I Love you here at least as much as I did in the World. Had I been in Love with Voluptuousness, after your Misfortune, I might easily have found wherewith to have satisfied myself. I was then but 20 Years of Age, and there were still Men enough rcmaining whom I might have hoped to please; but Abel●rd was gone, and I desired no other: Therefore 'tis only for your sake, that in an Age so proper for Love, I Triumph over Love itself, by burying myself alive in a Monastery. It is to you I Dedicate these remainders of Beauty which the Solitary Days and Nights I pass hasten to Ternish: But since you cannot Enjoy them, I take them back from you, to offer them to God, and thus make him a second Present of my Heart, of my Days, and of my Life.  
I enlarge a little too much in this Place, and I ought not to put you so much in mind of your Misfortunes, an●… of what I suffer for your sake. We Ternish the splendour of the greate●… Actions when we make the Tediou●… panegyric of them ourselves; Bu●… that when we are to deal with Person who are doz'd by a base Ingratitude we can never repeat what we have don●… for them too much. Were you of tha●… Number that Reproach would tell you a World of things. But I do not direct it to you, lest you should prove one of them. Wavering as I am, I am sensible that I love you still. However I ca●… hope for nothing. I have renounced Life. Yet tho' deprived of all, I feel that I have not renounced Abelard in losing my Lover. I preserve all my Love in a Monastery, where I keep all my Vows. Our Rigid Laws have not deprived me of Humanity. You have not turned me into Marble by making me change my Habit. My Heart is not hardened, tho' you are absent from me. I am as sensible as I was heretofore, and yet I ought no longer to be so. Suffer, without blemish to your Empire, that my Lover may Exhort me to Live under your Laws. Your Yoke will be Lighter, if his Hand supports it. Our Exercises ●… ill become Lovely to me, if he will ●… ouchsafe to show me the Usefulness of ●… hem. Retirement, Solitude, you will ●… e no longer dismal, If I may hear that ●… have a place in his Remembrance. ●…. Heart that has been so sensible as ●… hine cannot easily resolve to grow In●… ifferent. We Hate, we Love, several ●… mes before we can attain tranquillity; ●… nd we still preserve some distant hopes ●… f not being absolutely forgotten.  
Yes, Abelard, I do conjure thee, by ●… he Chains I drag in this Place, to ease ●… he weight of them, and to render them ●… s pleasing to me as I could wish them. Give me Maxims of holy Love.▪ After ●… aving quitted thee, I am proud of be ng the Spouse of a God; my Heart a●… oars that Title, and disdains all others. Teach me how that Divine Love is bread, ●… aintain'd, and purifies itself more and ●… ore. When we were both in the Sea of this World, your Vein was continu●… lly employed to acquaint the World with our Joys and Pleasures; But now we ●… re in the harbour of Grace, is it not reasonable you should speak with me of my Happiness, and teach me what may Increase it? Have the same complaisance for me in my present Condition, as you had in the World. Without changing our Hearts, let us change our Object Laying aside profane Songs, let us sing Divine Hymns. Let us Elevate ou●… Hearts to God; and let us have n●… Transports, but for his Glory.  
I expect this from you, as a thing you cannot refuse. Heaven has a peculiar Right over the hearts of the Grea●… Men he has formed. Whenever he touches them he Transports them, and they Languish for, and talk of nothing but him. Until that moment of Grace arrives, think on me, and do not forget me; Remember my Affection, my Fidelity, and my Constancy. Love a Mistress, Cherish a Daughter, a Sister, a Spouse. Consider that I love you still, and that I Combat no longer to Love you. Heaven! What a word is this? What design? I Tremble; my Heart Revolts against my Words, and being ready to blot them out, I conclude this long Letter, bidding you, if you desire it( and would to God I could do it myself) farewell for Ever.   

My Lady C— to her Cousin B— of the Temple, Esq; After having received from him a Copy of Verses on her Beauty. LETTER II.  
Cousin,  
I Received yours with the Verses enclosed, and here return you my hearty thanks for the Face, the Shape, the mien, which you have so generously bestowed upon me. From looking upon your Verses I went to my Glass, but Jesu! the difference, tho' I bought it to Flatter me, yet compared to you, I found it a Plain-Dealer. It shew'd me immediately, that I have been a great deal more beholden to you, than I have been to Nature; for she only formed me not frightful, but you have made me Divine. But as you have been a great deal kinder than Nature has bee●… to me▪ I think myself obliged in requ●…tal, to be a good deal more liberal tha●… Heaven has been to you, and to allo●… you as large a share of Wit, as you hav●… given me of Beauty. Since so hone●… a Gentleman as yourself, has stretche●… his Conscience to commend my Perso●… I am bound in Gratitude to do violenc●… to my Reason to extol your Verses When I left the Town, I desired you t●… furnish me with the News of the Place●… and the first thing that I have received from you, is a Copy of Verses on my Beauty, by which you dexterously infer, that the most extraordinary piece o●… News which you can sand me, is, to tell me that I am handsome: by which ingenious inference you had infallibly brought the scandal of a Wit upon you, if your Verses had not stood up in your justification. But( tell me, Cousin), Could you think I should prove so easy a Creature, as to believe all that you have said of me? How could you find in your Heart to make such a fool of me, and such a cheat of yourself, to intoxicate me with flattery, and draw me into truck my little stock of Wit and judgement for a mere imagination of Beauty, when the real thing too falls infinite short, of what you would make me exchange for the fancy of it? for( Cousin) there is this considerable difference, between the merit of Wit and Beauty, that Men are never violently influenced by Beauty, unless it has weakened their Reason, and never feel half the force of Wit, unless their Judgments are sound; the principal time in which those of your Sex admire Beauty in ours, is between Seventeen and Thirty, that is, after they are past their Innocence, and before they are come to their Judgments: and have not you now( Cousin) been commending a very pretty quality, to admire which, as I have just shown you, supposes, not only a corrupted Will, but a raw understanding: besides, How frail, How transitory is it! Nature deprives us of it at Thirty. If Diseases spare it till then; by which constant proceeding she seems to imply, that she gives it as a Gugaw, to please us in the Childhood of our Reason, and takes it from us, as a thing below us, when we come to years of discretion. Thus Cousin, you have been commending 〈…〉 quality which hath nothing of true M●…rit in it: and of which I have no grea●…ter a share, than to keep me from bein●… scandalous. so that all that I could ha●… got by your kindness, if I had parte●… with my judgement, in order to reap t●… benefit of it, had been nothing h●… wretched Conceit, and ridiculous A●…fectation. If I thought you had enoug●… of the Gallant Man in you, to take wh●… I say in good part, I would advice y●… to engage no further in Poetry. 〈…〉 ruled by a Woman for once, and min●… your Cook upon Littleton: rather Pettifo●… than Flatter. For if you are resolved 〈…〉 be a Cheat, you will show at least som●… Conscience, in choosing rather to chows●… People of their Money, than to bubb●… them of their Understanding: Besid●… Cousin, you have not a Genius whic●… will make a great Poet, and be please●… to consider, that a small Poet is a scandalous, Wight, that indifferent Verse●… are very bad ones, and that an insipi●… panegyric upon another, is a severe Libel on yourself. Besides, there wil●… start up a satirist, one day, and then▪ woe be to could Rhymery; Old Englan●… 〈…〉 not yet so barren, but there will a●… ice some generous Spirit, who, besides ○ stock of Wit, and good sense( which ●… re no very common qualities) will not ●… nly be furnished with a sound Judg●… ent, which is an extraordinary Talent, ●… ut with a true Taste for Eloquence and Wit, which is scarce any where to be ●… ound, and which comprehends, not ●… nly a just discernment, but a fine Pe●… etration, and a delicate Criticism; such ●… satirist as this, Cousin, must arise, ●… nd therefore, you had best take care ●… y a judicious silence, that whenever he appears, he may be sure to divert you, and not afflict you.  
I Am   

From a Lady in the Country, to a Gentleman in Town. LETTER III.  
Dear, thô unkind, SIR,  
HAD the Torment of Separation been equal on both sides, you could not have forgot me so long, nor continued silent to my melancholy Complaints. Absence, is one of the hardest Penalties Love has to undergo; and would be intolerable, were it not eased by the Comfort of mutual Letters; which since I have been so long bereaved of, I leave it to yourself to imagine( if you have a Heart like mine to judge by) How disconsolately I spin out the tedious Hours of weary Life; for since the only Comfort the World affords me, is Absent, What can I find that it should be worth while to live for? since my Life is no longer valuable to me, than 'twill be pleasing to you. There are a Thousand Thoughts conspire against a Lovers Quiet, and every thing contributes to make Absence unhappy. How often upon the fear of your Unconstancy, have I sate down and wept at the Imagination, then pleaded the cause of Love between us, and persuaded my easy Heart, that you would ne'er be false? How often have sighed at the dreadful apprehension, that some more happy Lover had taken you from the Thoughts of me? Then looked into my Heart upon your lovely Image, and fancied 'twas still the same, still constant and loving as before? Thus do I pled in your behalf, and study to convince my Heart, that our Loves will never have an end but with our Days; thus do I wear away the tedious Days, taking delight in none, but in the hopes of that which will let us meet again, and make me once more happy,  
Who am Your entirely Affectionate, and Constant Lover.  
The Sorrows of our Absence have made me Poetical.  

I.  
HOW well I always loved you know,  
Since first your Charms did move;  
But what for you I undergo,  
None knows but▪ I and love.  
Could you but see the endless smart  
Which wretched Caelia bears,  
Those Eyes which set on fire her Heart,  
would quench it with their Tears.   

II.  
But distance from her Love keeps  
Poor Caelia's in cruel pain,  
And she laments, and Sighs, and weeps,  
His Absence, but in vain.  
The doom you gave my Heart to prove,  
I know have doubled found.  
You only left it burnt in Love,  
But now in Tears 'tis drowned.    

From a Lady to a Gentleman, who after a long Converse with her, and Promises of an entire and lasting Affection, was going to be Married to another. LETTER IV.  
Dear Sir,  
FOR how can I forget those soft Names by which my Affection has taught me to call you; or how can I alter my Language since I have never known how to speak to you in any, since our first Converse, but that of Love? But possibly now you understand it not, or are willing to forget that e'er you did; and cannot bear the Remembrance of that unfortunate Woman, whose Crime was not that she loved, but that she loved too well. Yet I shall not at all complain of your Unkindness, nor tax you with falsehood for breaking Promises which, may be, you ne'er intended should be kept; but bend all my loud Sorrows against the Injustice of my Fate, which has given me so large a stock of Love, and been so scanty in Deserts, as not to allow me wherewithal to merit a Return. Nor can I blame your new Choice, being a Person every way Meritorious; yet give me leave, when I hear she is in Possession of that Happiness which I was so frail to hope once would be mine for ever, give me leave to Sigh to myself, and say to my Heart with a relenting Thought, Is this the end of all my glorious Hopes? and are my delightful Expectations terminated thus? Must my entire Affection serve for nothing but an Instrument of my Misery, and was my Passion ever true, only that I might be made Eternally unhappy? Then if my crowded Sorrows break forth in Tears, give me leave to mourn to myself, and deny me not the Privilege of Grief, who have for ever taken from me all hopes of Joy: My Sighs will not reach your happy Ears, nor disturb the peaceable Enjoyment of your new Love; nor do I desire they should; there is some satisfaction even in being unhappy, since it pleases you I should be so; and I will study to bear my Misery with what Patience I can, since you have thought fit to Doom me to it, and ever aclowledge that there is a Crime in loving too well: The worst Wish I have for you, is, that the Lady may Love you as well as I did, and when you find yourself happy in such Affection, give me leave to hope, that sometime or other you will think,( however our cruel Stars ordained it) that such a Lover deserved a Better Fate; and if ever you cast away a Thought upon so Unfortunate a thing as myself, remember that as I always loved you above the World, so I must continue to my Grave  
Your still Constant, tho' Unhappy, Lover.   

Phryne to Eugenia agains●… Marriage. LETTER V.  
I received yours, my Eugenia, by the last Post, in which you give me ar●… Account of the Addresses of Lysander. You might have spared your Character of him; he's too well known to our Sex in this City to want his Picture to be sent us out of the Country; his Wit, his Gaiety, fine Person, and all his other Accomplishments have made more, than you, sigh for him in spite of his being Married. Whatever Sentiments a Lady has of the Addresses of a Married Man, before she sees him, she yet wishes for those of Lysander, as soon as she beholds or hears him speak. You have therefore a happiness beyond thousands in having captivated his Heart, and if you deny yourself the use of it, you owe your own Misery to your own foolish and capricious humour. Ah! How many Ladies of my Acquaintance sigh for, and have in vain endeavoured to gain that Advantage, Fortune has voluntarily thrown into your Arms! But he's Married you say, and therefore you can't be happy, you can't Enjoy your Wishes without a Crime; you can't be his Wife, and you resolve you'l not be what you disdain to Name. I know not what influence Custom may have on you; but I'm not at all mortified at those ignominious Notions the Vulgar have, of having an Intrigue with a Man without the Priests Licence. For my part, Eugenia, I think the desire of Marriage is more Unreasonable and Unnatural, than that of Traytors, for 'tis immediately; and knowingly to conspire against our own Liberty, and Happiness. Love sows the gilded Paths of Youth, with a thousand soft and melting Pleasures; but Marriage comes, and with one fatal blast blows them all away, and it makes us Old in the very down of Youth; for not to Love is to be Old, and to mary is the certain way not to Love. If Love's a Golden Dream, why should we quit the dear Delusion,( when in our own power to avoid it) to Wake to Horror, Misery, and Distraction? That is, why should we mary? 'Tis true, we red in Novels, and Romances of Lovers faithfuls and constant, nay obstinate Adorer of the Wishing fair one, in spite of all the obstacles of Fortune, Friends, or Rivals; but Eugenia, these politic Writers led 'em no farther than Marriage in that humour. When they have brought the Knight and the dansel to the Noose, they there leave 'em; all the Golden Scenes of Love are over, and there remains no more happiness to describe. If they could show us any persevering Lover after Marriage, they would do wonders; tho' 'twould be so unnatural, 'twould pass for downright Farce. Marriage in my mind is at best but like the drunken Feasts of the Lapithites; the Mirth, Jollity, and Pleasure of the Pompous Banquet soon degenerates into Strifes and Combats. Love and Constancy have their Reign before Marriage, but the very Words that seek to tie us faster together, immediately( like the Medicines of Quacks) have a quiter contrary Operation, and Eternally divide us. Fortune and your own Heart has choose you an object of your desires, whom you can't, according to Custom, mary, such a sure provision has Fate made for your Happiness; and you like a froward Child slight the mighty gift. But you're afraid of the Curse and Infamy of an Old Maid; first I shall little value the opinion of the World, if they think me what, to my own real experimental knowledge, I am not; Next, where's the necessity of acting so imprudently, as to hinder your Marriage hereafter? Nature has given us Desires and Appetites, and added a vast Pleasure to the very Act of their Satisfaction, which shows it can be no ill. All the dictates of Nature are easy, sure, and plain, and we comply with 'em with Pleasure; but the inventions of Whimsical Men, that oppose these, are not followed without pain, without constraint, and a thousand inquietudes; by this judge of the Good or Ill of complying with our Inclinations. This is no plea for Prostitution, for then is pleasure, the constant Companion of Natural Actions lost: There are no more Kaptures, no more Transporting Joys, and Melting Languishments; all is dead, heavy, and insipid, if not Painful and Nauseous. A moderate Exercise affords Pleasure and Delight, but continual Toil and Labour is not undertaken without Necessity. The same will hold in all things. 'Tis Non-sense to imagine, that, if Love will not make you happy, a few caconical Words will do the feat. But I have been tedious, if this don't please you; and long enough if it does; 'tis in your power to be Happy if you will, for how long I know not; but this I know, if we must seek no Happiness here, but what's lasting, we may be Miserable all our Lives; for the most permanent we can't grasp a Minute longer than Fate pleases. My dear Eugenia, Adieu.   

From a Lady to a Gentleman, confessing her Love, which had for some time passed under the name of Friendship. LETTER VI.  
SIR,  
THE Acquaintance I have had with the Generosity of your Temper, has made me hope, that you will pardon me a fault I cannot help committing; and excuse what I writ; since 'tis in obedience to an Affection that I have not power to resist. Pardon, if I tell you, the Friendship that has been between us has on my side, changed its name, and is become something that I dare not trust my Tongue to tell you; yet I doubt not but my frailty has too plainly discovered itself, and something beyond Friendship has appeared in all my Actions; which I hope you will construe no farther, than that your poor Friend has only sinned against the Rules of her Sex, and committed a Crime which carries its own punishment along with it: Yet, if Love be a Crime, I am so vain to hope, you will give me leave to be guilty of it, and not condemn me for a fault, which the Charms of your own Person have made me commit. If this open confession of a Frailty, which ought to have been concealed, be an offence, which Generosity cannot pardon, I am doubly miserable; and wish it still lay butted in that unhappy Breast which gave it Birth; that I might rather carry it with me silently to Death, than let it appear to molest the Peace of one I love above the World: yet be not troubled, Sir, for if the Heart, which bears your Image, be so unfortunate, as not to be so acceptable to you; leave it to itself, and 'twill soon revenge your quarrel, and punish itself for the crime of Loving, which yet it will be guilty of till death, and when e'er it dies, carry to the Grave an Affection that cannot end but with the unhappy Life of,  
Your more than Loving Friend, &c.   

From a Lady to her Friend, sent with the following Dialogue. LETTER VII.  
IT Grieves me very sensibly, my Dear Child, that the Sympathy, which is betwixt us in every thing else, should be wanting in that which concerns me most nearly: that whilst I am doomed Eternally subject to the Laws of Love, you should maintain so fierce a War against 'em, and not allow the least share of Reason to those who are governed by him. It can't satisfy me that you make an exception for me; I must reconcile you to my fellow Slave, before I believe you have the charity to think I have preserved my Reason with my Love: For I know Fate has not done a Miracle for me; and you must either believe I am out of my Wits, o●… that Love and Reason are consistent▪ Don't think I have any design agains●… your Liberty. I own that Freedom t●… more pleasing than the noblest Captivity, and I would not deprive you o●… yours, even for the sake of having yo●… agree with me in all things. All I desire of you, is, to own that you shun Love more for uneasiness, than the folly of it. And sure you can't deny me that, when I have allowed you so much: but that I may not give you a new Argument against me, by endeavouring to bring you over to a party, without convincing you of the Injustice of it: despairing to do it with my own Reasons, I have been at the pains to Translate the Dialogue, which I sand you enclosed. If you understood the Original, perhaps it might have a better effect upon you: but tho' I could not imitate the Authors Wit, and that pretty, easy, gentle way he has of Writing, I have done my part to give you his sense. 'Twas writ in French by Monsieur le Pays, whom you have often heard me commend, and wish you understood him; there is so much flamme and Spirit in his Letters, and most of his Verses, and yet they are written in such a natural and unaffected style, as shows him to be a Man of a great Genius: his design in this Dialogue is to justify Love in those things which seem most extravagant and unreasonable; and sure, if there is any colour of excuse for them, you can't but be reconciled to those who ground their Affections well? 'Twas sent by the Author to one of his Mistrisses, whom he calls Calista: and since all he says in it of her is due to you, give me leave to apply it, and to hope that since Reason never forsakes you, and that you create Love in all that see you, so frequent a communication may make 'em less Enemies to one another. With this expectation I leave you to be better entertained by Mr. le Pays; and so make hast to tell you, Dear Calista, that whatever effect he may produce upon you, you shall always share my Heart with Cl— n. and that as long as I am O— a. I shall be  
Your, &c.   

A DIALOGUE BETWIXT LOVE and REASON.  Reason. 
IT was very difficult for us, agreeable Enemy, to meet in any place but at Calista's: you always fly me so obstinately, and I have endeavoured so unsuccessfully to accost you, that I could never have obtained my wish, if Fate had not conducted you to her; but 'twas impossible to shun me there, for I never abandon her, and now I'm resolved not to lose so favourable an occasion. Whilst I have you here, I will tell you a hundred things that lie at my Heart; I will ask you, why you hate me so violently, and if there be no means for us to be reconciled.  Love. 
I don't know, Madam, what cause you have to complain; I do not fly you; I am not your Enemy; and I never, that I can remember, was out of your company; much on the contrary, I always make you my Judge in all my Quarrels; I bring you to justify my Conduct; and in fine, I make use of you in every thing I undertake.  Reason. 
How dare you maintain so great a falsehood to me? you, who chase me from every place where you enter; who are never satisfied whilst I take up the least part of a Soul which you would subject: you, who grow angry when I resist you, and who despise me so much, that you will not hear me speak, when I complain of the disorders, and of the violence you do me.  Love. 
Yes, Madam, I maintain what I have said: Is't not making you a Judge of my Quarrels, when I oblige a Lover who loves without being beloved, to appeal to you for the injustice which is do●… him? Is't not appealing to you to just●…fie his Conduct, when he says 'tis re●…sonable to love that which is lovely and is't not making use of you in 〈…〉 actions, when in stealing a Kiss, 〈…〉 some other Favour, he maintains th●… Reason counsels to pay ones self, wi●… the fortune of one who refuses to pay●…  Reason. 
I grant indeed, that you sometim●… make use of my Name, but never of m●… Self. Since I am welcome in all plac●… which are not infected by you, or t●… other Passions. that I am almost a●…ways desired, and that you are as mu●…dreaded as I am wished for. You a●… glad to employ my Name when yo●… would enter any where, that you ma●… the sooner gain admittance; but as soo●… as ever you are admitted, you easily di●…cover that I'm not with you, and th●… you hardly know me, or if you do 〈…〉 all the use you make of your knowledge is to fly from me, or to drive me from you. If at any time I resolve to com●…bate you, when you have attacked on●… that I governed; your flatteries immediately prevail with the Senses to revolt ●… 'gainst me: You entrench yourself in ●… heir Post, and then their support makes ●… ou so bold, and yours makes them so ●… trong, that all my Darts are broken or ●… lunted, without wounding you in the ●… east. 'Tis to no purpose I stir and ●… ache a Noise; call Honour and Duty ●… o my aid; all my resistance becomes ●… ain, I sink in the end, and must resign ●… he place to you.  Love. 
You tell me, Madam, that I sometimes ●… ache use of your name, but never of ●… our self; and I answer to this, and to ●… ll the other Reproaches which you make me, that on the contrary I often Combat the Name, but I never Com●… at you. 'Tis true, in many Hearts I find false Maxims, dangerous Opinions, and ridiculous abuses, which having assumed your Name, have also the insolence to resist me, and to deny me entrance into those Hearts, which they have possessed themselves of. Then knowing 'em to be Enemies that have taken your Name, tho' they do not belong to you, I do my utmost endeavours to destroy ' em. I neglect no advantage; and seeing that they seek Protectors in their Quarrels, that they always interress in their party evil Custom, stupid shane, and false Glory: By their Example ● engage the Senses and the Pleasures to my aid, who have loved me long, and who are inseparable Friends. With thi● support I undertake the Combat, and am almost always certain of Victory: ● rout my Enemies, who without wearing your Livery, have the Insolence to pretend they belong to you, and to engage against me under false Ensigns: So that, Madam, I revenge your Quarrel, as we● as my own.  Reason. 
You are ingenious in defending yourself; but yet your excuses are very weak▪ How can you know, that the Enemies you Combat with are not of my Retinue, since you don't know my Livery, and that perhaps you don't know me, who am always at the head of those you call false Maxims, dangerous Opinions, and ridiculous abuses? but you are a Young rash one, that strike without knowing who; who neither considers Honour, Duty, nor Justice; and who call, all those your Enemies, that oppose your Pleasures.  Love. 
Since I fight against you without knowing you; you ought not to be displeased with me for it: but is it possible, Madam, it should be you that I always see at the head of so many false Maxims, which oppose themselves to my designs? Really I might easily be deceived in it: after having heard that you were the finest and the most Judicious Person in the World, I should never have known you under the appearance of an old quarrelsome Woman, who is always out of humour; who Preaches eternally against pleasure, and who is Natures Enemy as well as mine. I should know you, Madam, if you did put on a Face more gay; If you were of a less severe humour; If you did agree better with Nature and with me; and if, in fine, you would furnish us sometimes with Counsels proper for our designs.  Reason. 
I understand you, my little Minion; to stand upon good terms with you, I must be at odds with myself; or rather I must not be what I am, if I would make a Peace with you. But do not slatter yourself, that I will be guilty of so mean a thing: 'Tis more just that Love should comform to Reason, than that Reason should condescend to Love; and I will have you know, that there's no comparison betwixt one that is Blind like you, and one so clear-sighted as I; betwixt a little rash Boy, and one that's Prudent: If I seek after you, 'tis because I am naturally good, an Enemy to disorders, and careful to set those right who are out of the way. But you are unworthy of my goodness; you are a little hare-brained Boy, not sensible of the kindness one would do you, nor of the good advice one gives you.  Love. 
What! You condemn me for my Transports, and you fall into the fault you blame. You load me with reproaches, you are angry, you are transported yourself, and Reason is within a little of seeming unreasonable. I perceive, Madam, that I must oblige you to retract to day, and to make you own, that my Extravagancies are better than your Prudence. To which end, since you have now made me some Complaints in general, I desire you to come to particulars; and you shall see that I will satisfy you in every Article, and that Love has his Reasons, which are better than those of Reason her self.  Reason. 
I begin to have bett●r hopes since I see you inclined to satisfy me. 'Tis no little matter to have reduced Love to reason the case; tho' his Reasons, should prove very ill ones; 'tis however to have converted him in some measure: for hitherto he has been an Enemy to all that was called Reason. Let us take the advantage then of the humour you are in, Reasonable Love( for at this time you deserve that Name) let us see what particular reasons you will give for every particular complaint I have to make to you. I am going to begin with one, which I believe will be hard for you to answer. Tell me a little, when I have taken possession of the Soul of a Young Person, when I have subjected her to the will of a Father, who has commanded her to love some one, and to look upon him as one that must be her Husband; Why do you often make use of your Power to make her Love another, contrary to the Obedience which she owes her Parents? Why do you take pleasure in making her find a thousand defects in the Husband that's proposed to her, and a thousand Perfections in the Lover which you offer her? Why do you chase me from her, when I put her in mind of her Duty? Cannot the Obedience due to Parents which seems reasonable to all Nature beside, pass with you for a Reason? If you were reasonable, as you would be thought, would you not make her Love what a Father enjoins her to Love? Would not you side with Duty, and would not you give her the same Counsels that I do? But 'tis enough that I advice her any thing to oblige you to counsel the contrary. You would think you dishonoured yourself, if you had any Sentiments conformable to Reason.  Love. 
Tho' what you complain of does not happen every day, yet I own that I do sometimes occasion it: but in that it happens that 'tis not I, but the Father that wants Reason. If he took care as he ought to consult me before he made such a command, he should not find me excite revolts against his will. If he were reasonable, he would not anticipate my Right, or pretend to act my part in the Heart of his Daughter. I am jealous of my Prerogative and of my Power; and when any Body does encroach upon them, 'tis but just I should make use of them for my Revenge. I know that the Obedience due to Parents is reasonable; but it ceases to be so, when 'tis to the prejudice of my Authority. The Obedience due to me ought to be preferred, when a Father's Counsel and mine disagree. Reason must grant the Counsels of a God are to be followed before those of a Man. Besides mine being always agreeable to the taste of those I advice; their end is only to plant tranquillity in a Soul that follows 'em; and the advices of a Father, which oppose mine, cause always an intestine War in the heart of those that receive ' em. So that Reason preferring Peace to War, will have my Counsels followed, even when they are contrary to a Fathers.  Reason. 
There is some appearance of Reason in your excuse; but what can you answer for your malice in making one Person to be beloved by many rivals. If you were reasonable, you would not wound several Hearts with the same Dart. You would give but one Lover to each mistress; and but one mistress to each Lover. By this means you would hinder the fatal effects that jealousy produces every day; and you would not be the cause of a thousand Quarrels, and a thousand Murders, which we see happen among Rivals. For you can't deny that you are the Author of those Disorders, since they would not happen, if you would be content to make each Beauty be beloved by one Lover only.  Love. 
'Tis not so difficult as you imagine to prove that I am in the right in what you condemn so much. I know very well, that 'tis against common sense to endeavour to make that pass for reasonable, which is condemned by Reason. But, Madam, I must tell you now, what I should have  told you at first, that it is because you are a being which has never been well known: You put on different Faces to different Persons; and yet every one of these Faces will pass for Reason. You give divers counsels according to the Persons you advice: among those that contradict each another in all their actions, every one maintains that Reason counseled him his. 'Tis thus, that many Lovers love one mistress, because all of 'em finding her Lovely, they say that Reason bids them all Love her; though it does not appear reasonable to those that don't Love her. 'Tis thus, that a Lover follows the dictates of his Reason, when he frees himself from a Rival that's an obstacle to him, in the pursuit of what he Loves. 'Tis thus, in fine, that those Actors of disorders, whom you blame with so much violence, believe they have followed your Counsels, when they commit Murders: because you advice those, who love to do and undertake all things, to possess what they Love; tho' those that don't Love say, that Reason teaches that what the others do, is altogether unreasonable; and that, as I have  told you, because you give different advices to the different Persons whom you counsel.  Reason. 
If there is no solidity, at least there is Wit in the Reosons you have given: but what expedient will you find to justify yourself when you drive Reason from the mind of an Old Man; when you make him renounce Wisdom to love a Young Person when he might be her Grandfather. I pardon you easily enough, when you are content to subject Young People to your Empire; for they hardly having known mine, I have no great regret to see them willingly submit to yours. But may I not complain when you come to rob me of my faithful Subjects; those who have so long revered me; those, in fine, who are grown gray under my conduct; for 'tis what you do, when you slide into the Heart of an Old Man: when the Sentiments you give him are opposite to those which I inspire. Is it not doing me a cruel outrage, when you turn topsy-turvy a Mind which I had settled with so much care and pains? What chagrin do you think it gives me to see an Old Man perverted by your Counsels, leave me to follow you; become a Beaux in his Old days; shave his Beard, wear little Shoes; dress himself in the gayest colours; become a Slave to the Fashion; red with Spectacles what you call Billet doux, and gallant Verses; play the Child by a Young Person; whisper her in the Ear; go to Balls, Plays, and public Feasts; and do, in fine, all the Fooleries which I can hardly excuse even in Youth. What—  Love. 
If I did not interrupt you, I believe you would never cease complaining upon this Chapter; tho' if I had nothing to answer but that I made use of the right of reprisal, when I slide into the Heart of an Old Man, I think I should not want Reason; for tho' I don't complain of it here, you sometimes rob me of my Slaves, as I sometimes rob you of yours. Very often, when I think myself Master of a Young Heart, you know how to take a time when it has some disdain, some coldness, or some distaste, and then seizing on the occasion you drive me from it with a great deal of sharpness and scorn: So that 'tis not without Reason, that I too sometimes observe the time when an Old Man has most disposition to leave you, and that with the Fire of some bright Eyes I melt his Ice, and warm the blood which was frozen in his Veins. I confess 'tis making your own Subjects revolt from you: But don't you use me in the same manner when you excite Young People to Rebel against me. If this Reason appear weak to you, I'm sure you can't answer what I am going to add: You complain that I sometimes make Old Men in Love with Young Women; and you pretend that nothing is so far removed from Reason; but I say that there is nothing more reasonable, since by the result of what you have said, a Man should be the wiser the Older he is, he ought to love that which in reason is the most Lovely; and who is more reasonably lovely than a young Person. would an old Man make use of his Reason, if he should love one of his own age, where there is neither Beauty nor comeliness, where there's no Fire that can heat him, nor no Charms that can please him? And is it not more reasonable him for to love a young person, which, one may say, makes one young again, and whose Humour and gaiety excites one to Joy and Pleasures? For the rest don't think it strange that he observes in his Actions and Dress all the Gallantries of Youth; since as old as he is, he becomes young, when he becomes amorous. Tho' he minds Fashions, tho' he does all that you call fooleries, he does it with Reason; since, being a Lover, he must endeavour to please the young person he loves; and he knows that the way to please Youth, is to live like 'em: show the same Desires, and the same Inclinations. would he b● welcome to his young mistress, if he came Preaching the Vanity and Inconstancy of the Age, railing at Balls and other Diversions, and finding something to say against all the pleasures of Youth? would this be a fine way of making himself beloved? and has not he Reason when he practices the contrary?  Reason. 
There is always a great deal of subtlety in your Answers; but what can you say to justify the Crimes you commit, when you oblige one that's married, to love another besides her Husband? Why do you snatch her Heart from him, who is the lawful Master of it, to give it to a stranger, who ought to have no pretence to it? Why do you separate two Persons whom the Laws have joined, to unite Two others, who can't be united without a Crime? Do you think yourself more reasonable than the Laws▪  Love. 
Yes Madam, I am more reasonable than those Laws, which do not so much as consult Reason, in those Marriages, which generally are the Works purely of Chance, of Ambition, which s●metimes mix Fire and Water in joining two persons, who have no disposition to love one another: have they any shadow of Reason? And has not a Woman more, who finds her self subjected in that manner, to give her Heart to a Gallant that loves her, than to a Husband that hates her; to a Gallant well fashioned both in Body and Mind, who thinks of nothing but how to please her, than to a Husband ill made and humoursome, who is Eternally grumbling in the House?  Reason. 
But tell me, since you are reasonable sometimes, Why are not you always so? I'll allow that you are in the right, when you unite two persons; but are you so again when you separate ' em? If Thyrsis had reason to love Phillis, is he in the right too, when he ceases to love her? Is he in the right, when he leaves Phillis for Calista? What excuse can you find for his inconstancy; after having brought me to be pleased with his Love, How can you make me love his change? Is it reasonable to despise what he did esteem, and so throw down those Altars upon which he has so often s●crific'd, to sacrifice upon new ones?  Love. 
It is true, that sometimes Lovers are Inconstant, but they are not without reason in their Inconstancy. When an Object seems lovely to them, they have reason to love it; but when the same Object appears to them no longer so, they are in the right too, to give away their Love. Thyrsis had reason to love Phillis, because he hoped to be beloved by her; he had reason to employ for her all the cares, and all the assiduity that a fair Person deserves: but he had reason to leave her, when he saw that his Cares were in vain, and that his Hopes were without any Foundation. Besides, is it not reasonable to leave the less for the more; to abandon Phillis, who all charming as she is, is however infinitely inferior to Calista? 'Tis thus, that every Lover is reasonable in his Inconstancy; tho' he had no other reason for ceasing to love an Object, than because it ceases to appear lovely to him.  Reason. 
Tho' I am not fully convinced of what you have said, I will not however lose time in answering you, because I have something to ask you that touches me very nearly. How comes it, unjust Love, that you slide often between Persons of an unequal condition; and so unequal, that sometimes, by your Injustice, we have seen Queens in love with Slaves, and Princes in love with Servants? I willingly pardon you, when you unite persons that are equal. Nay more, I approve your Conduct, I authorize it with all my Power. But how would you have me suffer to see, a Woman of Quality prefer to a Gentleman, accomplished both in Mind and Body, some gross Peasant, in whom there appears nothing that's lovely? How can I forbear to murmur, when Princes or Lords choose, to the prejudice of many Ladies as considerable for their Beauty, as Birth; a Country Girl or Servant, who has nothing in her that's fine or agreeable, but in the imagination of that Prince or Lord, your Malice has abused? Must not we condemn your irregularities in such occasions? May not we accuse you of overturning your own Principles, since Sympathy which ought to be the principle of all your Actions, does not meet in such Loves? For in fine, what sympathy can you find between a Princess and a Slave▪ between a Prince and a Servant? Mean while these are the Loves we see many examples of; and that convinces all the World that you are altogether my enemy.  Love. 
I never do what you accuse me of, I own that sometimes Princes have loved Slaves; but it does not follow from thence, that I have joined two Persons so unequal. When I kindle such a Love, I raise the Slave equal to the Princess, or I humble the Princess to the Slave: and to me they seem always equal, tho' they do not appear so to those, that are ignorant of my Power and mysteries I observe that Sympathy always, which you say I renounce, for sympathy is not as you seem to think it, a conformity of Birth, of Riches, and of Honours: it is rather a conformity of Birth under the same Planet; to be of one temper, and to have the same inclinations. And may not this Conformity be found sometimes between two persons, which the difference of Riches and Honours have rendered unequal. I could explain it to you more clearly, and let you see that this sympathy is sufficient to make all the World equal. But 'tis a Knowledge that's reserved only for me: and my Policy teaches me, that, for the good of my Empire, it ought to be unknown to reason. that sympathy that hinders equality, those secret Knots, those invisible Chains, that fetter Hearts, and tie Souls, are the foundations of all my Strength and Power: or rather, 'tis I that take pleasure to appear only in my Effects, and scarcely ever in my Cause. And 'tis that, which renders my Empire very different from yours; for you Command nothing with absolute Authority, since you are obliged to give a Reason for every thing. But for me, I act as a sovereign, and only give a reason when I please. And to tell you the truth, 'Tis a Maxim I have established over all my Empire, that they who Reason well, do not Love well; and that they Reason ill, who Love well.  Reason. 
I see plainly by your last words, cruel Enemy, that my Conversation begins to be tiresome; you are not used to Reason so long: you suffer too much violence in such a Discourse; and tho' I have many things still to ask you, I must make an end, since I grow troublesone to you; I am also sensible that I lose my labour, and that it is impossible for us ever to be reconciled. I hoped that meeting at Calista's, we might have contracted an Union, that has never been known between us: and that in the presence of so charming a Person, I should have made Love more reasonable.  Love. 
Be comforted, Madam, there is something better happened than what you had undertaken. If Reason has not made Love reasonable, I will believe that in the Presence of Calista, Love has made Reason amorous.   

To a Lady he had entertained in the Park in a mask. LETTER VIII.  
YOU  told me last Night, my lovely Moor, when we partend, that I should forget you before Morning; but to let you see how great an impression you have made upon my Heart, I do assure you, that even Morpheus's Kingdom could not protect me from you; for I dreamed of you all Night, saw your lovely Motions, and that bewitching Air which you do every thing with; heard you speak all those pretty things over again, which you said to me, and blushed to see myself out-done by you in Repartees; nay, and had like to have broken my Man's Head for waking me this Morning, tho' 'twas for business of concern: thus have you won me, bewitching Charmer, altho' I had but half an hours conversation with you, and in a mask: too: and I assure you, if you had no●… been so Gracious, as to let me know where to writ to you, I had been desperate e're this time: I conjure you then, even by that Heavenly Beauty▪ which shines through all the Velve● to Honour me with a Line from you● fair Hand this Night, to let me know where I shall see you to Morrow: fo● I do assure you, I shall do such pennance in the mean time, as shall have power to make atonement for all the Sins which ever were committed by  
Your Humble Servant.  
My Man hath Orders, to bring m your Billet to the Park, where I shall be sitting on that dear Bench I found you at.   

The Ladies Answer. LETTER IX.  
AFTER a long dispute with myself, whether I had best go on in this folly, or make an honourable Retreat, I at last perceived that I had not left myself a fair one, I mean, according to those Romantick Rules of Virtue taught us by our secular Mothers; and therefore was resolved to gratify my humour a little further, altho' at the expense of some few Blushes; and especially when I consider that I shall take such care, as that you shall never know more of me than you did last Night; and that you may perhaps see me hereafter in such a place; where my Complaisance will oblige me to rally the Masks as smartly as any of the Old fashioned Company. After all this, assure yourself, that I mean no harm, only to have a little innocent Chat with you, which I percei●… you are very good at. I therefore Cha●…lenge you to meet me to morrow a●… Seven in the Morning, at the sam●… Bench, and with the same Weapon● in lieu of which I shall bring my Tongu●… and Mask; the last of which will, hope, defend my Reputation, as muc● as the ugly Face under it will do m Chastity,  
Adieu.   

The Ladies Address to the whole Assembly of Beaux, at Hippolito's Chocolate-house: LETTER X.  
WHere should a distressed dansel be so likely to find Succour, as from you Young Lords, Knights, and Squires: To all such therefore I address this my Petition in behalf of a poor Lady, to whom Nature has given something a larger stock of sense than to most of her Sex; and not being willing to conceal this Talent, she would fain exercise her good Genius: But alas! in this stupid Age in which all sort of Gallantry is as sophisticated, as French Wines, she has found it impracticable; not then having been so fortunate, as to meet with any single Spark, that did not either want will or Capacity to hold up an agreeable War of Wit; she sends thi●… as her last Effort to the whole Society▪ Hoping that in such a Numerous Assembly, some one will be Valiant enough to accept this proffered Challenge; and in such Cases let them choose their ow● Weapons, and if they think Love a them● too Threadbare for their Pen, let 'em name any other, and the Assailant wil●… endeavour to defend her ground as long as possible; and if vanquished, she'l fairly aclowledge it, and own her se●… obliged to the courteous Victor, who did not think it beneath him to wage a Writing War with a poor Woman.  
 
Direct yours for Flora, to be left 〈…〉 Mr. Hardings a Booksellers in Newport-street, and let me know how t● sand to you again.   

The Two following Letters were desired to be Printed by a Fair Lady. To Acme before I had seen her. LETTER XI.  
I Hope, Madam, you'l forgive the Impatience, that Love begets, since I have( tho racked with the most eager and Violent of Desires) waited so many tedious Minutes and Hours for a favourable Answer to my Humble svit( of being admitted to a sight of you, if not to the transporting Happiness of your Conversation) If, at last, I again trouble you with a Repetition of it.  
Will not the Justice, and tender Compassion that should fill that Heavenly Bosom, grant so much to the most Uncommon of Passions? Can all that Beauty all that Immense Power be without Pity and Justice?  
But you say, Madam, you can't take my former Letter for any thing but a mere Banter; believe me, Divine Charmer, I would sooner Banter my Lawyer, when my Estate depended on my Sincerity, or my physician, when my Life lay at stake, than Banter You, the Goddess of my Heart, in whom a Happiness centers of far greater Import than Estate or Life: 'Twould be a sort of Sacrilege to trifle with the Divinest of her Sex, and with an impudent hypocrisy pretend a Devotion to that absent Power, which all that are Present Adore.  
Ah Madam! though Absent, I am too sensible of your Power, to presume to dally with, and abuse it, who, tho I never yet beholded your Face,( except in Imagination, and in Dreams,) feel all the Racks, and Sighing Pangs of a Poor, longing, tortured Lover; and if the Uncommonness, and Extravagance of my Passion, bring its Reality into Question, I ought, Madam, the more to be pitied, being by that means deprived of my best Plea, my Love; and, Madam, to doubt that is such an affront to the Immensity of Your Beauty, that I can't suffer it with Patience, even from you.  
I. am sufficiently, Madam, satisfied, that I erred not in the former direction of my Passion to you, and you will I hope, remove all doubts of the Reality of my being  
Madam, For ever Septimius.   

To Acme. LETTER XII.  
I Sent the enclosed yesterday, but the Bearer, by a mistake, brought it back again, and I had sent it again, had I not been informed that you were gone abroad. Ah lovely Charmer! Cast off this ungrateful Veil of Cruelty, that sullies all your Glories, for Cruelty is a Monstrous Ingratitude, returning Disdain for Love; for Services Contempt, and for Merit, Disgrace. The mistaken Fair indeed, affect it as a Virtue; but Charming Maid, 'tis not to be found in that Noble List; for 'tis neither Prudence, Justice, Fortitude nor Temperance Fortitude bears unavoidable Ills with Courage, and repels hurtful and unlawful Force or Injury. But Love is so far from being an Ill, that it's a supreme Good▪ it can never therefore be consistent w●th Prudence, to reject the offered Blessing, since Prudence regulates our Actions by th● Rules of Reason. Justice gives to every ●●e his 〈◇〉, and consequently the ●●lov'd to the Lover, crowning the Constant▪ and Deserving. Temperance denies not just Pleasures( for they are founded in Nature, and our Right by its Fundamental Laws) but an ill Choice and hurtful Excess.  
Thus, Madam, you see this Idol, your Sex Sacrifices so many Precious, Unreturning Minutes to, is not to be found among the Glorious Rank of Virtues, but is of an opposite Nature, and consequently a black Compound of the most ungenerous Vices. Cruelty may well be compared to Fortune, both being Blind, and the Reverss of a Noble Mind; for whilst they neglect the past Pleadings of Merit, this rewards it even in Rags. Fly therefore this pernicious 'vice, so unworthy your Beauty, so unworthy your Youth; for it often brings down those Curses of Despair, that blast all the Glories and Pleasures of the Obdurate Nymphs, which, kind Heaven defend the dear charming Acme from, and make her avert the impending evil consequence of Cruelty, by being propitious to my flamme, and sending me one Line or two, which shall be kept like a Fairy Treasure, in the Bosom of  
Your Devoted Slave, SEPTIMIUS.   

To a Friend who was going to travail. LETTER XIII.  
HOW comes this Unkind Silence, Viridomar? I hoped your own Friendship, without the addition of my repeated Desires, would not have let you miss one Post without Writing to your Sorrowful Friend; but here are two past, and not a Word from you Do you begin to break off a Correspondence with Artemisa before you leave England? That looks Ominous, as if you resolved quiter to forget her, as well as never to see her more. Your last, I hope, was not intended for a Final Adieu; No, I must hear from you more than once yet e'er you go, and have an Account what your Designs are, and where you intend to Retire, or I shall never forgive you; You ought to give this Proof of Friendship to my Concern and Grief for you, which is more than you can imagine My Sister tells me I was never so much a Widow as now in my Life; and I think there is a great deal of Reason for it, no Relation whatsoever being so near as a Faithful Friend, and such I esteem Viridomar to be. Indeed I know not what to do with myself; alone I dare not be, then I am almost out of my Wits; all Company I hate; if I sit down to writ, and think I shall not have my Viridomar to writ to, I am ready to Die; Working is my Aversion; Reading itself does not ease me, for I know not whether I red Sense or Nonsense. I am fit for nothing but a Dark Room in Bedlam, only there they make too much Noise for me; Darkness and Silence being the only things can please me, where I can Weep my fill; nor have I any Prospect of any thing will bring rest to my Mind, but the worst of Remedies, the only Catholicon on this side the Grave, Time. But how tedious will that Remedy be? And how do I regret the Thoughts, that Viridomar and I must Forget each other? No, sure that must never be! No, no, 
Time, nor Absence which destroys  
The Cares of Lovers, and their Joys.  Must not, cannot have that Effect upon a well-grounded, Tender Friendship.  
That's a Weak Love, that Absence can deface  
Friendship's Immutable by Time or Place.  
And ours, I hope, will be so. Yet I must Never see nor Converse with you more. Oh that Thought is Unsupportable! Is not that Doom Reversable? Sure, Viridomar, it is. One of your Acquaintance, who I thought loved you, and who I knew you had a Tenderness for, would now be Dearer to me than all my own, with whom I might freely Converse, and Talk of you; and from whom I might have an Account of all Accidents that may befall you, which my unacquaintance with all your Friends will deprive me of, when you are at so great a Distance. What I writ is strangely Confused and Distracted,( but all my Thoughts are so) if I had never written to her, sure you would never have coveted a Correspondence with Artemisa, but you know the Cause, and must Pity your  
Most Faithful, and Disconsolate Friend, Artemisa.   

From the same, upon the same Subject. LETTER XIV.  
WHEN I sent away my last Letter, I had not time for fear of losing the Post, to Answer yours of the 22d. or hardly to red it, something I did say, but I know not what; for yours put me into a great concern, which I have not yet Recovered; and could you see the Part I bear in your Troub●●s, you would not think I cast you off, because of your Misfortunes; No, before we Part you shall confess Artemisa's Heart is of another Temper. It is my Opinion, that where there is the least Cause to imagine ones Friendship is desired or prized, after an Engagement in it, there is hardly any Cause will justify the Deserting a Friend; but to do it because he is Unfortunate is a Crime of the blackest Nature, and would rank me among the worst▪ and most Flagitious of either Sex; if being as Base and Detestable even as Prostitution itself. If I have sinned against your Friendship( which is very dear to me) by Misjudging of you, I hearty Repent of it, and beg your Pardon; my Mind was in very great Disorder, my Friendship grew very Tender, and was sensible of the least could Blast. I found your Letters quiter of another Nature, and different style from what they had been; the more of Kindness I expressed, the more could and Indifferent were your Returns, without the least Air of Friendship or Kindness, which at first I attributed to the Troubles and Disappointments you had met with; but when I received yours of the 8th of July, wherein you Q●estion'd whether there were such a thing as Solid Love? Then I no longer doubted but I was again Disappointed of what I value above all things, viz. a True Friend. For, certainly, Friendship,( if Real) is a Solid Thing, nor can there be an Union of Souls without the greatest and most Substantial Love; I grant all other Love is but Flashy and soon over, and therefore does not Deserve to be called by that Name; but a well placed Friendship in Generous Hearts I should think can never Decay; at least I will answer for myself, that nothing shall abate mine, but the loss of yours; while that continues you may rest confident, that neither Time, nor any Accident shall alter me, but I will be your Friend, both in spite of Fate, and of yourself too, who are so willing to give me a Dismission; therefore, Viridomar, henceforth never Judge of my Friendship by any thing but your own; let that rise to as high a degree as you will, mine shall keep place with it.  
I know not whether You or I have the Truest Notions of Friendship, but I know I should not do by you as you have done by me: were I in any great Affliction, I should not be so Generous to desire you to Leave me, and to Enjoy yourself; and bid you be happy in a more Fortunate Friend; No, I should then endeavour to Retain you, for if any thing will Sweeten our Troubles, and make them easy, it must be the Consideration, that one has a Friend to whom we are very Dear, who Sympathizes with, and bears a part in all our Griefs; and would, if it lay in his Power Redress them, nor can any one merit the Name of Friend that does not share in all our Joys, and Sorrows, the first are redoubled, and the last very much lessened by the Concern one so Dear to us takes in them. It may be you will say, this is Self-Love, but in it I desire nothing more from my Friend than I will( nor can I help it) return, and assure yourself I am as hearty sensible of your Troubles, as if they were my own; and wish it lay in my Power to bring yond out of them, you should then find that Artemisa's is not only a Verbal Friendship.  
I hope, Viridomar, you can Forgive the Errors of your Friend, you will the sooner do it, if you call to mind how I have been once Treated by an Ungrateful Friend, and will allow something to my Fears of such another Defeat; I have laid my Heart open before you, as to my Confessor, if you find any erratas there, use the Authority of a Friend, and Correct 'em, give me Rules of Friendship both from yourself and Cicero, and see if I do not Observe and practise 'em; for I would have mine as Perfect and complete as possible; but tho' you Chide me, do not cast me off, and take your leave of me, that goes nearer to me than all the rest; but you shall not be rid of me so, for now till you tell me you do not Value me, nor think me worthy to be your Friend, I will look upon myself as such, and deal with you accordingly. I am in Pain till I am set right in your Thoughts, and therefore have writ this Post, I sand it enclosed to my Sister, who will sand it you by the Penny-Post. Yours, which you say you writ last Thursday, I have not received; I suppose it was an Answer to that I writ giving an account of this Place and People, I am sorry I have lost it, but hope you have a Copy. Viridomar, what thoughts soever you have of me, still think me your Friend, and then you will think Justly of her, who is  
Your True and Faithful Servant Artemisa.   

Picture of Orontes.  
ORontes is a middle sized Man, very well proportioned to his height, but very stiff and affencted; his Face is the worst part about him. I cannot compare his Temper better than to the Character of Sir Courtly, whose Original he seems to be. He is exceeding Civil and Well bread, and would not be guilty of a Solecism in good manners for all the World. He is a pretender to Wit and Poetry, and passes for the first upon many, for which he is Indebted to good Company and a good Memory: And as Intrigue is the Essential part of a Beaux, he is a great admirer of it; but only beats the Bush for others. He looks like a Toper, but is none; yet loves Company, but hates Noise and Clamour, for he is the softest Creature in Nature. He understands French enough to pervert the sense of an Author, and is seldom, or never without a French Book in his Pocket, of which he is a great admirer. In the main, he is a very honest Gentleman, and very much in favour with the fair Sex: for he will sit you a whole Afternoon with Ladies, and talk of nothing but the Newest Fashions, the most becoming Dresses and Colours, &c. Cajoles and Flatters, sets the Ladies in a flamme, then leaves them to the next Pretender, Trudges to the Coffee-house, and sets up for politics.   

A Letter or Apology of the late M. Du Ryer of the French Academy, Translator of the Works of Cicero and Seneca, and of many other Books, to which Poverty has not allowed him to give all the Perfection he was capable of giving them, and would have done otherwise. LETTER XV.  
HOW, do you praise my Translation of Seneca! That may pass with others, but you will never catch me at it again. Know, Sir, that I did it in Six Months time, and that it requires Six Years to do it, as it should be. My Translation is one of 
* An Ill Translator.  Vill●loin's. The only difference between us, is, that he is very well pleased with what he does, and can do no better: But for my part I know my Faults and could mend them. Yes, I have the Vanity to believe, that I could be d'Ablancourt, or Vaugelas, and I am become 
* Another Ill French Author.  Marolles. Oh Fortune, Fortune! It is an Effect of thy Rigour. Thou hast compelled me, against my Will, to Sacrifice my Reputation to thee; but thou shalt never force me to make thee a Sacrifice of my Honour; and I will not deceive my Friend. This, Sir, is an Avowal I owe to you, for the kindness you do me sometimes in lending of me Money: I sand you the Twenty Pistols you last lent me. My Bookseller came Yesterday to our Village, ●●d brought me Two hundred Crowns. I gave them immediately to my Spouse, who is overjoyed, and makes me happy in my Misfortune. She thinks my Translations as Excellent, as you seem to believe them; and as she is an Eye Witness of my Dispatch; She cannot apprehended how a Mortal can be capable of performing such Wonders with so much ease, and fancies that there is something in me that surpasses Human● Nature. You have heard of poor B— he had married an English Gentlewoman, who cudgeled him when he did no● Work so much as she thought he should do. But mine is neither an English Woman, nor yet a Gentlewoman; she is a very good Housewife, that Love● me Tenderly, and honours me with an Incredible Respect. She keeps my little Parlour and my Alcove as neat and as bright as two Looking-glasses; She makes my Bed so well, that I am o● opinion, no Prince lies more at his ease: and above all things, she never fails to provide me an excellent Soup. I cannot imagine in my turn, how it is possible, with so little Pelf, to make so good a Cheer. So that in spite of Fortune, we pass our Life in admiring each other. She admires my Genius for Translations, and I admire hers for housewifery. Mrs. B.— came along with my good Friend C— to bring me the Two hundred Crowns, which were remaining due to me for my Translation of Cicero's Orations, which I will sand you in few days. That subtle Woman was set out to the best advantage, and saluted me with so good a Grace, that I am sensible that a Bookseller's Shop is as good a School, as the Court, to teach young Women the new Method of saluting People, which the Gallantry of our Nation has lately introduced in the World. In a word, Mrs. B.— has won my Heart; and has offered to advance me the Sum of One hundred Pounds upon my Titus Livius, which is very forward. My Spouse immediately whispered to me, take her at her word, my dear Husband; I believed her, and the said Sum was forthwith produced in beautiful Gold and Silver, to poor Du Ryer, who for fear of ti●ing of you, will trouble you no farther, and will endeavour to do better for the future, than he has done hitherto. I can safely promise it you now, finding myself worth, besides what I have paid you, upwards of Four hundred Crowns; who, since I have known myself, never was so Rich; or rather, never less Poor. Farewell, Dear Sir, do not lose this Letter, which I Desire you to publish for my Justification, at the head, or at the end of the first of my Books that will be Reprinted. I am as I used to be, that is, with great Affection and Gratitude.  
Sir, Your most Humble Servant, DU RYER   

Picture of Alcidamas.  
ALCIDAMAS is of a low Stature, but very well made, Brave and Witty, True and constant to his Friend, Sober and Discreet, and a great admirer of the Fair Sex, a Qualification which is inseparable from that of a Hero▪ his Discourse is solid, and his Conversation easy. He is very well red in History, and neither wants Memory nor judgement. He loves Poetry, and writes a Song or Sonnet very p●ettily. He has a great Genius for Dressing, and Intrigue, for which he is admired and imitated by most Fops in Town, who are not able to reach his other accomplishments. Mars and Venus have divided his younger Days, and still are the Darlings of his Soul. He has been, and still is famous for Ogling from Church to Playhouse, &c. He admires the Creator in his Creatures, and is the True Abstract of Modern Gallantry.   

Almeria to Philander. upon his resolving to leave her to go beyond Sea. LETTER XVI.  
CRuel Philander, Is it then possible that you are resolved at last to forsake the unfortunate Almeria? Can you, after so many reiterate Protestations, Oaths, and Vows of Eternal Love and Constancy, resolve to leave a wretch, who can no longer live without you? Ah▪ Why did you take so much pains to Charm, and to undo me, since you were resolved to leave me exposed to all the Racks and Horrors of Absence and Despair? What injury have I ever done you, to make me so miserable? Sure you never loved me; and only seduced my Heart to triumph over it. An these, oh Heaven! are these the Felicities I flattered myself with, when my Soul was full of your dear Image, whe● my Heart could hardly contain its Joy in hopes of being united to you for ever then, then to hear of Parting, Oh! tha● dreadful Word, Parting, and for eve● That Fiend that haunts and torments me perpetually: That Word contains Death and Hell in it! Sure there can be no Sin in an innocent Affection; Why then am I punished with an Eternal Separation? Oh barbarous Philander! Could you not have concealed that cruel circumstance of my Affliction from me, for ever, it would have been time enough to let me know, that I must neve● see you more after some years had enured me to your Absence. But why do I blame you? It is the nature of Mankind: I should curse myself, my Fondness, and my easy Nature, which persuaded me to believe what I wished. You seemed to love me sincerely; I thought myself obliged to you for it, and thought I could do no less than to reward you with my Heart. I was proud to be beloved by a Man of your sense and Reputation, and pitied all my Sex. But now my Joys, my fatal Joys, are dashed with a never, never to see you more. Whither are you going? Why do you fly me? What can induce you to leave the wretch'd Almeria? Is it Honour forces you from me? No, Honour bids you stay to save my Life; Gratitude will not permit you to leave a wretch that languishes for you, and who had rather die a thousand Deaths, than barely think of leaving you. Think on your Oaths, think on my Despair, and remember that my Life depends on your Resolution. Sure you could never think to leave me, and this was only a trial of my Love, but I ought not to have outlived it; if you have the least niceness in you, you ought never to forgive it: It calls my Love in question, and I mortally hate myself for it. I am on the Rack, and nothing but your Presence can ease my Pain. Return then, Oh! Return to my longing Arms. Yet do not, Why should I desire to see the only Author of my Misery? Fly where your Honour calls you, and boast that you left the wretched Almeria lost. employ that false protesting Tongue to undo more credulous Maids; but let me never hear it more. I will strive to forget you, or if ever I think on you, it shall be only for my wrongs. I'll hourly call to mind your falsehood, Perjuries, and Treachery, and that perhaps may cure me. Oh Heavens! I am but too sensible of the falseness of that Sentiment; No, it is impossible, I do not wish it; I had rather be unhappy in loving you, than to resume my former Indifference. I impute my misfortune to the excess of my Passion. I ought to have considered that my Pleasures would end sooner than my Love, and that you would never forsake your Fortunes for my sake. I neither know what I do, or what I am, nor what I desire. Can any one imagine so deplorable a Condition? I love you to Distraction, yet you will leave me. Do, Cruel, go, I shall not long out-live your Hate; for sure you hate me, or else you could never use me thus. But my Death will for ever disturb your Mind. It invades my Heart already, my Senses are all confused, and I can only add, that in spite of your Ingratitude, as I lived, so I die,  
Yours.   

Sylvia's Picture.  
SYLVIA's neither Tall nor Low, She's Fair and comely, yet not Handsome, and has the Air of an Hostess. She is not Witty, yet Subt●● and Cun●ing, and neither Loves, nor is Be●ov'd by any of her Sex; but in recompense, She has been lavish of her Heart ●o and has received the Addresses of many a Spark. She is Imperious, Proud ●nd Haughty, ill-natured and Surly, and can dissemble exquisitely. She never misses Prayer●, tho' not out of Devo●ion. She seems fond of her endymion, even to uneasiness▪ tho She only adores ●is Wealth. She has got an absolute Empire over him, and knows how to use it. He seems to hug his Chain, and to be fond of his Bondage, tho' some are of opinion, that he only acts the part of a prudent Turtle.   

From a Lady to her Admired, who is in Love with an Old Woman. LETTER XVII.  
Cruel SIR,  
FOR what can I call you, but Cruel and Unkind? who neglective of my Love, can hear my Sighs with no resentments. I have often( you know) when in your company, signified the esteem I have for you, and by many Letters made known to you, the frailty of my Affection, which I was never guilty of to any but to you; However, it was my first Experiment, and if it proves fatal to me, I shall endeavour to endure it, as a thing coherent to my Misfortunes. I writ not these, that I would force your Love; all that I propose, is, to remind you of the excess of mine; which as you have slighted, and think not worthy your acceptance, yet at least, give leave to the unhappy to complain. There is Liberty in Love, for Womens Tears; and Cupid gives us leave, when he unkindly wounds our Heart, to make our Moan. You had with you, when I saw you last, an aged Woman; who, I am since informed, has the possession of your Heart; at this I wondered, and was sorry: thinking it pity that those Worlds of Charms, which always in your Eyes I saw, should lose their Lustre in that ruined Face, that weather-beaten Age of Time, in whose despairing Years Cupid sits melancholy and alone; Oh! If you are not for me designed, yet may you be joined to some more happy Mate, and not fade your blooming Roses in her withered Trunk. Pardon me, Sir, that I can't praise what you admire; Could I do ev'ry thing I ought, you should have been forgotten long since; but 'tis impossible; you are so fast within my Heart, that when I strive to pull you out, I make it bleed; whence to my Sorrow I am forced to tell you, that in spite of all your unkindnesses, I cannot blot you out, but with my unhappy Life; in which, as long as I remain, I shall be always,  
Yours.   

From a Lady to a Gentleman, who promising her Marriage, debauched her, and then left her, taking a Journey beyond Sea. LETTER XVIII.  
cruelest of all your Sex.  
I writ not now that I'd remind you of your forsaken Vows, for sure you need not these as a reproach to your past Crimes, which always will remain in you, as an opprobrious Object to your future Reflections, that you have wrought an unhappy wretch to Ruin; One, who unskilled in Mankind's falsehood, had this in her Fate, that she was too loving; whence comes the cause of all my Misfortunes: my tender Heart unwarily ran out, and lodged itself with you, which, rifled of all its Treasure, you have sent home bleeding, and full of Wounds, which your unkindness made, and left it nothing but the Experiment. How wretched have you made me; Ah! Could you have return'd me all, how many Sighs and Tears would you have saved me? But Oh! 'tis out of Nature's reach, and as I was then forsaken by my good Angels, I am likewise left by you for ever.  
Yet as you are going, I will not trouble you with my Sorrows, nor any farther make known to you, how miserable Love has made me. Let my— go, and with him go all the kind Stars, no matter what becomes of me; of whom you have no farther use, than only to remember, as an Example, how you may ruin more; Go then, and if in all your Travels you meet a wretch so frail, and so unfortunate as I, think with a relenting Thought of me again, and save the fond Believer from the Ruin I am in, who, tho' undone, by you, yet cannot help, Subscribing myself,  
Yours for ever.   

From a Lady to Her Husband in the Camp. LETTER XIX.  
My Dear Strephon,  
I Received your kind Letter, and return you thanks for the Satisfaction I enjoyed in reading you were well, in whose Safety alone depends the stock of all my future Joy; And now, all I have to return you is, that my se●f, and your little Son are well also; whom I have taught to speak your Name, which it repeats hourly, as if like me it wanted you at Home; but vain, alas! are all it's Crys, and my Wishes, since Cruel Wars have robbed us of you, and made the case uncertain whether I shall ever see you more, unless in the beloved Image of your Dear Child; and in his Face, his Eyes, his every Feature, do I see you Daily, and feed upon the thought when we may meet again: But when I think of Fights and dangerous Battles, my frighted apprehension makes me fear that you are hurt, and oft I wish that I was there, to dress your Wounds. Thus anxious of your Fortune I led my melancholy Life, and h●ve no Pleasure in your absence, save that part of Joy only, which I have horded, and keep ready for the time when you shall come again. No Pastimes, no Recreations are pleasing to me, but rather inducements to my uneasy Mind, to chide our Fate that makes us Live asunder: Think then on my precautious Fears, and hazard not your Dear Life too far; and though you regard it not, yet love it for the sake of mine. Oh! How many Sorrows are in that word Death! Which should I hear of you, every Letter in that Fatal Word, would open a Wound within my bleeding Heart, to let my Miserable Life out. But cease my prophetic Fears, my Strephon is yet alive, and Heaven protect and keep him so, which sure, it would could it behold him with my Eyes, or half the tenderness of my Heart, which for ever is always, his as is my Obligation, who am  
Your most Obedient, and Loving Wife, A. M.   

LETTER XX.  
Madam,  
HOW unhappy is the Man that strives with difficulties equal unto mine! Passionate Love prompts me to pursue a Happiness guarded by Innocency and Honour, the Last of which, is only a Vain Notion to deprive us of true Felicity; a word contrived to create Desire, and fill us with a Nobler Esteem for what we wish; but why must I be the only Miserable Person that's baffled with what I know to be but an Empty Name? or do you covet a formal Siege, that the Victory may be greater Can you forget the Charms of Friendship, and the Endearments that attend those who truly Love? Do you find a chillness run through your Veins, occasioned by a Chimera of Fear? or do you apprehended you know not what? No,( my Dearest) by all that's Just I will be faithfully Secret, act honourably by you, nay Swear never to Violate my Word. what have I left Unsaid, Unsworn, that may gain your Favour? Is your Heart impregnable to the Addresses of one that really Admires you? Can you deny him that is yours and only yours? Or do you take a pride in seeing me ruined? Who am  
Your most Affectionate Friend.   

LETTER XXI.  
SIR,  
MORE Unhappy is that Woman, who knows not what Path to Tread; my Life is yours already, and must my Honour too? Can nothing serve but an entire Conquest, over that which when gained, you'l soon despise? the pleasure of every action is in Desire, and a Generous Heart's is above wishing what may make another Miserable. How can I yield, When I know the Moment I Surrender my Virtue I'm undone? It's that now which alone Buoys me up amid my greatest Afflictions: methinks I can look my best Friends in the Face without a blushy, whilst I am ●nnocent; but alas! When I am ruined, nothing but shane can attend each look and thought: Your Arguments might prevail with another, whose Cha●ms ●ight secure your Constancy: She might yield; but I have nothing but Virtue to secure your Friendship, which as I prise beyond Expression, I must never part with that which would Infallibly occasion the loss of it. I freely own that you have made deep Impressions on my Heart, and that it is Death to me to refuse you any thing; but when I consider that I must lose you if I yield, my Weakness Vanishes, and I have courage enough left to say, I cannot, will not, grant your Request, and yet I am,  
Affectionately Yours.   

LETTER XXII.  
Madam,  
I Once could command my Hand with such a freedom that I seldom writ in Vain; But alas! What a change do I find, now I am Penning a Letter to your Dear self, my Lines are faint, my Arguments not persuasive, and every thing seems to contradict my Love: Nay, my very Wishes are imperfect, and the moment I press forward, I expect a repulse; a sense of your Honour bids me desist, and an Ardency of Affection reminds me of the Felicity I shall Enjoy in the Arms of my Dearest Creature. Why were you made so infinitely good, except you'd dispense your Favours to those that passionately Admire you? Or ●ere you only born to make me Miserable? Does my Dearest distrust the continuance of my Passion, or fear a fading of my flamme? Do you expect that I again repeat Vows of Secrecy and Faithfulness? Or have you sworn never to yield to my Desires? If so, Heaven surely will forgive a Perjury so tender, and forget a Crime that produced such effects. Indeed, I acquiesce to those Noble Expressions your Letter is composed of, and own the worth of each Line; but why should you so strenuously pled against my being made Happy, or use such Solid Reasons to deprive me of Bliss; since on your compliance depends wholly my Eternal Misery or Felicity,  
Yours,   

LETTER XXIII.  
SIR,  
IF Words Express the Sentiments of the Mind, and are the only true means to confirm the sincerity of our Intentions, surely then there remains nothing more to say, for I have given you such Reasons against your Love, as would have satisfied any but yourself; and I should not again writ on so nice a Subject, but that the ties of Friendship, and the obligations I lie under to you, will not allow a Silence. I fancy your Pretensions are only for a Proof of my Virtue; and that my Honour is more Sacred to you, than the Humour of being Immodest can be pleasant; neither do I imagine you can forget, that Men always slight what they possess, and despise what is easily gained. Methinks I foresee my ruin, and can look through all your Vows of Constancy, with Protestations of Faithfulness; and you'l believe it, if you'l remember how could you appear, to some you have heretofore passionately loved; and must I expect a better Fate, who less deserve your Affection? No, no, my dearest Friend, I must preserve that which you so much Covet, and never part with what cannot be recalled: If my Life will serve you, pray command it, for I'll continue Virtuous, whilst I am, &c.   

Urania to Theophrastus, in Vindication of Age and Impotency. LETTER XXIV.  
YOU say I'm Old, yet give me no reason, why you think me so: but you'd say I am young indeed; if you knew what I can do— Yes, I know what I mean, I can— answer an Assignation, or— &c. perhaps you'd expect some greater matters in this, than a bare vindication of the calumny of Age; which at this time a-day, I think there is but a very small occasion for; Since you have so little Faith, as to believe me Old and Impotent, because my Body is deformed: Nay, to believe it too, when I have the prospect of— letting you see the contrary in facto. Don't mistake me, Sir, I don't intend you shall see it, only I would have you imagine so.— that my Deeds are much more complete than my Person: For a green Apricock at best( you know) is but palatable on one side: but a rip'nd Peach never fails of pleasing. And howe'er you may be displeased at my manner of Writing, I am sure you can't dislike the subject. For as there are many Women writ what they don't think; so I think what I don't writ. This, you'll say, is an odd sort of an expression; but I will assure you, a true one. So when I have finished this abortive Brat, I'll disown it, because 'tis only an imperfect Idea of my Thoughts. For as I must confess, 'tis much against my inclinations to make Cripples, so tis much against my nature to Nurse them—. Yet in my own defence, I will say this is both Lame in style and Thought, because you shan't say, I am a could, as well as Old  
Admirer.   

LETTER XXV.  
My most kind Pa, Pa.  
HEaven knows the rack I have endured e'er since I last received your Blessing, for want of an opportunity of being happy again. And for that wished for Moment, I here avow freely to offer up my Soul, and all that's dear, a Sacrifice to thee my only Deity. But like the damned, at present I am chained to Torments, the kind Powers above grant like theirs, they mayn't be lasting. Dearest Angel, I have received all your Lines, and must confess, Fate is equally unkind, my Love's as great as yours, and consequently my Sufferings are no less; but assure yourself, the first opportunity we will be blessed and Happy; therefore I entreat you to be neither Restless nor Hopeless, so long as you are entirely beloved,  
By Your Sighing, Wishing, Panting, Kissing, Dear Girl, Loriana. For Sir Timothy Squeze in Park-Prospect in Westminster, LONDON.   

LEETER XXVI.  
Still Charming, and ever Dear.  
I Am so unhappy as to disappoint myself, and you, by not meeting to Morrow, as I sincerely intended, for as soon as I came home, I was unfortunately surprised in being Commanded out of Town for Three days to Epsom; which will seem Three tedious Ages, there being nothing more desired by me, than your most admired and agreeable Conversation. May I enjoy it innocently; for whatever you may imagine by my free Carriage, from my Soul I abhor any thing that in the least savours of Rudeness, or Nicely touches upon immodesty, and esteem Virtue and Reputation more than Pleasure or Life. The Liberty you took, when I was last with you, was the occasion of my not seeing you since, and I had made a resolution never to come in company with you more, tho' at the same time I barred myself from my greatest Happiness; for I Declare, if you can relish my Conversation in so Virtuous a way, as I offer, I shall willingly embrace every opportunity to be with you, being unfeignedly,  
Your Admirer, And Eternal Adorer Amatonta. For Prince Prettyman, at the Chocolate-house in Bridges Street, Covent-Garden, LONDON.   

LETTER XXVII.  
WITH Horror I remember th●… accursed Moment when I fir●… gave you the occasion to believe that 〈…〉 loved you, since you have improved i●… according to the Greatness of your ow●… incomparable ill Nature: A return, 〈…〉 confess, I could not but expect from 〈…〉 Gratitude inspired by your Wit, tha●… prides itself in exposing the weakne●… of those, whom it has deluded. Thi● indeed is so natural to you, that yo●… ought not to be blamed for it: For, yo●… can no more avoid it, than you ca● your impious Desires of the ruin of ou●… Sex; to which you are as directly and impulsively lead, as other poisons are to their destructive ends. So that to cal●… you false, were to be injurious to you since you were ever true to your ow● ruinous purposes▪ Thou barbarous Mur●erer of my Peace and famed! What Cu●se can reach the Merit of thy Crime! But my satisfaction is, that I need not Curse you: For you are a certain Curse to yourself; and your daily Actions, are so many industrious Attempts ●… owards your own eternal Misery: when, ●t the same time, I am in hopes, and not without reason, that my Crime was ●xpiated in the very Commission of it; ●… nce it carried along with it its own pu●ishment, in the sacrificing me immediately to the insults of your Scorn and ●… ngratitude; which( doubtless) is a ●ate of Damnation on this side Hell, proportionable to any impiety whatever, except yours.  
How have I lost a real Heaven for a counterfeit one, that you promised me! my continual Peace of Mind for a moments flattery! O! Had I retained any ●ity for myself; I had shown no compassion to you. would to God, you had perished in an actual despair, e'er I had ●uffer'd such exquisite Torment! Fool that I am! What despair do I think on? Thine? Pretence, Painted Anguish; not to be felt, but by the wretched commiserating Spectators. Hereafter, mayst thou be truly, as thou wouldst seem, passionately in love with some fair unbelieving Creature; that shall damn thee to a Real Despair; and so, of course, descend to those everlasting Torments that wait the Ungrateful and Faithless. And mayst thou at thy very last moment, continue remorseless, and impenitent of thy Injuries to me; That thy Soul may appear all spotted over with thy Ingratitude and Perjuries, no desire nor room left for Mercy; that I may be reasonably assured( for I hop● and wish to out-live thee) that thou art like to be as Eternally wretched, as I am now; nay, more if possible! O Vengeance! Grateful and Sweet as successful Ambition to our Sex, Pursue, pursue the Monster! And inspire him at last, in utter and inexecrable Perdition, with a just Sense of all my wrongs; that his then unfeigned sorrow for 'em, may prove one of his greatest Tortures▪ Then may the loss of me, whom thou hast most offended, aggravate thy less Plagues of Fire, Confusion, and other Scenes of Horror, in the vast instant o● Eternity! I know you Will, and I would have you Laugh at this; lest you should unhappily prevail against the just and hearty Prayers of—   

LETTER XXVIII.  
WHat pains( my Lord) you have taken to make me suspect you! yet( I vow) the Entertainment was very diverting. You acted the Fool and Madman to the Life! so passing like, that it was, nay, and I believe it is impossible, to think you were otherwise, than as you endeavoured to appear! 'Twas, in short, an elaborate Scene, and you shew'd a great deal of Mastery in it. Besides, it was performed without Imitation or Affectation: For, no Man can play anothers Character so well, as he whom it belongs to. And, as it is an Original, it is new; of a different Cast from any I have ever seen on the Stage, or in my Conversation in Town. And all this for my sake, to persuade that you love me; which I believe as earnestly and steadfastly, as that you love Partridge and Quail, which can gratify your Appetite, only in their Destruction: or, rather as you love oysters, which you devour alive.  
Had Madam E— been here; what a deep, affencted Melancholy you had put on! A much more dangerous Madeness, and( as the Physicians say) more difficult to be cured, than the Raving, Roaring, and Bellowing frenzy, that seized you last night. For my part, I'm of Opinion, that the different, Beauties and Tempers of Women, influence the same spark with different Humours in Love. With Her, you used to be as melancholy as a Cat; with me, you are generally as Mad as a March Hare. To me, it is now, Prithee Jenny) tell me roundly, &c. To her it was, Like the Damned from the Fire, &c. You see you don't Dance in a Net. What would you give now for a Copy of the last Damning Letter she sent you? For, I know you have made but a very ill use of what you received from her, I suppose that's Torn and Burnt, as once you unhappily made her believe your Heart was Torn and Burnt, in despair and Love of her. She may wish it had met with the Fate of her Letter, which-soever it be, long before you had seen her— But— Lord!— I can't but think, How, in less than a Minute after, I was grown weary and angry with myself, for my little Petulancy and Gaiety of Humour, you could change your Note, and sigh out in a dismal lamentable Key— I still must love on, though I die in despair &c. Now, this you must know, was the only way to bring me to my pleasant Humour again. O! that I could by any means be positively assured, that you do passionately love me! ' Twou'd( undoubtedly) be the greatest satisfaction and obligation that you could do me. For, you can't imagine how fond and pleased I am with a whining, despairing, and dying Lover: But still he must continue so, even to the last gasp of his Breath: when he ceases to despair at least, I shall never endure a Thought of him more. And now( My Lord!) Let me see if you dare Love  
F. H.   

A Character of a Coquet. LETTER XXIX.  
IF I were not persuaded that you are not so severe a critic, but the Partiality of Friendship may prevail with you, to pass a favourable Censure, where it is not deserved, I could not with any Face, trouble you with this Trifle, which falls so every way short of Wit or Diversion; 'tis an Error only of well-meant Obedience, or at most a rash Sally of that Ill Nature, I could no longer contain. But now to my business; My thoughts beat fast, and Increasing Malice sports within my Veins, and by the help of your Unkindness I am Improving as fast as I can, in that Excellent Talent called Railing, and God knows when I shall have done with it: Come, now, I'll be as good as my word after this Preamble; A Woman that is Singular for any Perfection in Dress, mien, or Person, presently is honoured with the Title of a Coquet Lady, or a Belle Femme; there are other Extraordinary Qualities to the making her such; let me see, an affencted Carriage, Confident Discourse, and nothing at all to the purpose; mighty Pretensions to Wit, tho' she never in her Life said any thing to Procure the Reputation of it, and excessive Censoriousness; which is not altogether to be Imputed to Ill Nature, but to her want of knowing what to do; First you must sit still by the hour, to hear her talk with a disagreeable Noise, against all the absent she or you know; then she fancies her self to have abundance of Sense, because she talks much, and ill of every Body: But if it happen, that you have a kindness for my Lady such a one's Daughter, and she knows you have, perhaps( while you are in Company) she'l turn her humour, and praise her Mantua, or say that she is a dear Woman, dresses moderately Pleasing, and has a tolerable good Humour; but wonders she'd be seen with such a Gentleman, or that she will be acquainted with Unhappy, and Undiscreet mistress such a one, for it can no ways be to her advantage. The very Gentlemen that are Lewd with her are not at all beholden to her; for she Rails at them, that no body else should like them, or that she might not be suspected of liking them her self; then she'l flear to the Play, and can't sit down for half an Hour after she comes in, for making of Conges, her Acquaintance is so general, and yet declares in her Visits, she's as unacquainted with them, as a Lawyer will be to a Cause, when there is nothing to be got by it. She continues in pretty good Equipage for some Years, till her Person and that has had as much wearing as her cornfields Scarf, or an Old Communion Cloath in a country Church. A little time after, she perceives her Gallants abate their Respects, by pretending business, when she has some for them; they slight her by telling her she's grown the Refuse of the Town, and bring it to an absolute Quarrel, by laying a Disease to her Charge; then she pretends to go off with flying Colours, as having left him, and so grieves, and keeps her Chamber, gives out the occasion of it, is a dear Friend of hers that's dead; to carry on the humour, she Sighs, and cries ah! she was the best of her Sex; when the Town and she knows, the true reason is, she's melancholy, dissatisfied with her self and the World, and Wishes that and her self were in flames; In greater or more Violent ones she could not, than perhaps she's in her self: and now she's going off the Stage apace; for now she is come full drive to the Jilting in Hackney-Coaches, and in a little time grows a Scandal to all the little reeking Petticoats, that frequent the Chocolate House; and being past Pleasure of pleasing in her own Person, she employs her self in bringing People together, who want only an opportunity of Undoing one another. Bawds are now company for Women of Quality, and by their Garbs and dependence can't be distinguished. You must know, notwithstanding her Nauseous and Libidinous Life, she has some little Reputation amongst those who are so Unhappy, as not to have heard of her; then in Company she'l let nothing be mentioned but the honourable Intrigues of her Younger Days,( tho' she never had any that was so) the many Adorers she has had, with the several effects,( as she would make you believe) of their desperate Passions, and by what Stratagems they used to obtain her ladyships most reserved affections: Oh! She's in her Kingdom when you talk of Love; yet never will allow any Modern Amour, to be brought into Comparison with those of her Days. At last she Marries a Soldier that beats her, first gets all she has( which is but little) and then Runs away and leaves her to the wide World; she Repents of her ill spent Life; makes a general Lamentation to all her Relations, who usually are of the best Quality; she finds nothing from them but Contempt, who scornfully cry, she's an Old Fool, and deserved her present unhappy Condition, for Marrying a Young Fellow, and a Soldier to boot: She goes off the Stage with a Reputation as rotten as her Person; passes the remaining part of her deplorable Life, in a tattered Old Mantua, carrying News about from one acquaintance to another, for a Meals Meat, or a Glass of Wine.— This is uncorrect as it falls from my Fancy, and I wish it were better for your Diversion,  
Yours, &c.  
Alexander is Acted to Day, being Friday, by Mr. Betterton: If you'l go in disguise I'll meet you there betimes, Pray sand me word by twelve a Clock if you will go, where you will sit.   

A Character of a Country Lady. LETTER XXX.  
YOU say I've a very ill Opinion of the Squires, a worse than they deserve, I can't; so that what already I have said of them is nearer to Praise, than what I could; and to their being deceived in their Wives Fortunes, I could not suspect it, since the Kind Proverb protects them against all such Mischiefs; I wish myself in the Circumstance of their Estate, but I hardly envy any other of their Circumstances. I have Experimented none of their Misfortunes,( as you say) I generally prevent them at the expense of anothers Unhappiness, not my own. Since my last, about a Country Esquire, gave you some Diversion, I hope this about a Country Lady in Town may be received with equal Satisfaction: This Petticoat time has brought up abundance; according to the ancient and Laudable Custom amongst them; they lye concealed two or three Days, in which they Mob it about to their acquaintance,( whose unhappy time 'tis to be traced) and to the Exchange they go, or to Round Court; one place to know whether Comodes continue in that vast Height, or whether any alteration is made in them, since they had their last, those being worn out long since, by often washing: In the other, they go from Shop to Shop, and at last pitch upon the most Unfashionable, Gawdiest, Gayest Silk, which the Second-handed Mercer sells at an Under-rate, for fear her Allowance from her Father, the Broad or New Money she has picked up at Cards, or saved through Good Housewifery, will scarce reach to a better prized one; Then she, to undervalue it, and so by consequence to lessen the Price, crys it Old fashioned, though a New one would not please her so well; then the Mother halls the Daughters by the Sleeve, as if she would carry them to another Shop; the Fellow knows they won't go, he tells them there is no fresher Silk in Town; he makes it up in a sort of Mantua Sleeve, crys, did you ever see Colours better Mingled; Lord! How it sets off the Complexion! sure there can't be a better natured Silk; the Mother crys to the Daughter, Do you like it? Does it please you? Yes, Madam, with a courtesy; Well, says she to the Fellow, pray Cut it off, good Measure pray, and you must bait the Odd Money; they Pack up their things, come to their loadings, carry it to their Maid, and to the mistress of the House, to show their Pennyworth; they tell it cost more than it did, to have the Reputation of affording it; If any happen to dislike it, as very few do otherwise, they cry they've no fancy, and nothing can please them; they snatch it out of their Fists, and are angry; the Mother to appease them, crys what's matter who likes it, you are to wear it Daughters. In all this splendour, the first place they appear Ridiculous in is the Church, and by their shuffing and Pushing get a good place in it: I must needs say they are more attentive at the Ceremony, than our Town Ladies are, because they are more Custom'd to't; they Sing Psalms that you may bear their Untuneable Voices to the farther end of the Church; they cry up the Man that preached, for a very Learned Man, because they don't understand him; they Impose upon some Young Fellow of their Acquaintance to carry them to a Play; they face it in the Box, with their Pockets and Hands full of Oranges, which they buy at the best hand out of the House; they pull out their Handkerchiefs that either smell of Ill Soap, or Lavender and Roses, and spread it over the Box to lean upon, to save their Ruffles or Sleeves: If they spy any Body they know, cry to their Mother, as if they were frighted;( Oh Leminis!) There is Mr. such a one, shall I bow to him: he coming to them looks as silly as they do, and waits to the leading them out. They generally order their Maid with a Magazine of Sweetness to sit under the Box, tied up in one of their Course Genting Handkerchiefs, to tell who they are, if any happens to ask. If the Maid happens to be Prettier than the mistress, some Gentleman or other talks to her, and she with much Put-on-Coyness, and feigned Scorn, crys, Lord you have mistook the Woman, I am none of that Lewd sort; he finds her stink most Holiday-like of Oranges, and thinks her not worth his while, and leaves her. These Ladies, when they are at Home, stand in the Balcony continually, as if they had taken no other part in the House; Comes by some Covent-Garden Beaux, a general designer of Ruining Young Women, like's her, and let's her know it, gets her out upon an excuse of showing her the Queen, the Court, or Bedlam; Carries her out to some place, Debauches her as easily as he got her out. In a little time she finds her self with Child, trys all the tricks her Acquaintance can furnish her to prevent it, but all in vain; is carried down in hast into the Country; 'tis given out the Town does not agree with her, or that they are afraid she'l get the Small Pox. She offered to the Person, with the Encouragement of a little Ready Money, or sent to a Corporation Town to Match with some Alderman's Son; and these Misfortunes have happened very often to Country Misses. If my humour of Railing continues, and you have Patience enough, I may give you the Carriage or way of a Town Coquet; This is Just as Country Ladies behave themselves in Town, found out by my Observation; and Illustrated but a little by my Invention. The length of this I'm afraid will tempt you to fling it by unread, Judging it not worth the loss of so much time, as the reading it will require,  
Yours.   

To her Lover, a moment after his having left her. LETTER XXXI.  
I Begin to writ to you, as soon as you have left me. Could my Thoughts be taken up with any thing but you, in the moments that succeed those which we have passed together? Ah! My Dear! May I believe the Transports I have observed in you, as tender, and as sensible as mine. No, no living Creature ever had Transports like to mine, some Months past, and Love, in order to recompense my Sufferings, has made new Pleasures for me. The Impression they have made upon my Sences, is so Lively, that I have not dared to show myself to any body. It would be yet easy to red the Secrets of my Soul, but my Husband is just entering. Gods! It is very cruel to be obliged to see the Object of our Hatred in the moment we are partend from that we Love. I must recall the Fear and Modesty which you had banished.   

LETTER XXXII. Two Hours after it.  
THE Conversation I have been forced to undergo, is the Thorn of Roses. Good Gods, what can be more cruel, than to be obliged to Entertain a Man in could Blood, when we are all in a flamme! Being full of you, and of the Remembrance of our pleasures, What could I say to him? I  told him in few words, that I had been in-dispos'd all the Afternoon, and fell immediately to Singing; without minding the contradiction between those Starts of Joy, and what I had just  told him. How should it be possible for me to be wise to day, and to think on any thing but you. But you, Dear Charmer, tell me how are your Thoughts employed this moment. For my part I think on you, in the same Place, where you have sworn an Eternal Constancy to me. Nothing can equal the pleasure of triumphing thus over the Vigilancy of the Jealous. Heaven! what could equal their Rage, if they know our Happiness. Yet in my Opinion, there is still something wanting to our Happiness, since they have not the grief to know how we deceive them. Let us acquaint them with it to be revenged of them; but no, Let no body enter into the mystery of our Pleasures, besides ourselves. Let us use our utmost endeavours, that the World may forget us, as much as I have forgot it. I fancy the Universe contain but you and I, and I do no longer see any thing, but what relates to my Love. farewell, Reflection increases real Pleasures, and I am glad they should appear in all my Actions.   

LETTER XXXIII.  
ARe your Brains turned since I saw you last; you then seemed reasonable to me, and now I find you the maddest and most unjust of Men. Have you forgot the Reasons I have to deny what you desire? Is it possible that you would hazard your Reputation and my Honour for a moment's Pleasure? Ah! tho' they have not been capable to banish Love from my Heart, it is not reasonable that the same Love should Triumph absolutely over them; and I am so persuaded, that a mistress without Honour can have no Charms for a nice Lover, that you shall never prevail with me to do a thing that will absolutely ruin my Reputation, in going to the place you propose to me. If I could but hazard my Life without my Honour, to see you, I would not scruple it one moment; my Passion is proof against any thing but Infamy: You will own it yourself, if I can be so happy that the Rendezvous of to Morrow may succeed. I tremble for fear of flattering myself in vain, with the pleasure of seeing you alone. I expect it with a sensible impatience. Methinks, that since the Conversation we had last together in the Park, I have not entertained you sensibly enough of my Love; I fancy I had a presentiment of the long Silence, in which I was going to be condemned. I never spoken to you more Tenderly, nor with more Boldness; for I own it to you, I often want confidence when I see you, I am only familiar as yet with your Idea, &c. I say things to you, when I do not see you, which I dare no longer utter when you can hear them. Come then, Dear Tormentor, come to inspire more boldness in me, and to Triumph over a small remainder of modesty, which deprives you of hearing me say, Whatever can be inspired by a most violent Passion, and which often costs you the Grief of being obliged to upbraid me with being more Passionate in my Letters, than in my Conversation.   

LETTER XXXIV.  
Madam,  
YOU have( doubtless) the greatest and justest reason in nature, to encourage your desire of Revenge; which, so far, as lies in me, I will be sure to promote. You seem to be fully persuaded that he loves me passionately, and I am really glad of it, for your sake: For, this his fond mistake shall be as much improved to his Torment, as I can contrive, or you desire. But I am strangely obliged to your Ladyship, For supposing and wishing, that I may be happy in the most ungrateful Monster, that ever was sent for the disgrace and ruin of so many of our Sex. However, I find your wonted Good Nature; or( perhaps) Christian Charity begins to exert itself on his behalf. Since you seem not to deny there is a possibility that you shall hereafter endeavour to wish him happy. I am unwilling( Madam!) to discourage such Religious and Pious inclinations in you; tho' I am persuaded, that a like injury done to me, would have brought upon his accursed Head, all the real Plagues within my Prayers and Performances, even to his last gasp: But there I would leave him.  
When next you are pleased to engage yourself in the trouble of an Answer to this; be pleased to sand me positive and particular Orders, how I shall proceed in this Affair: For, if you truly Thirst for Revenge, believe me, you shall not want it, since I will sooner sacrifice myself to him, bound in the strong and durable—( What d'ye call ' em?) Bonds of Matrimony. This you must needs own, is none of the least Indications of a sincere Zeal for the service of you; if not, of myself:( unhappily) his Vanity( which you will by no means approve of) will be apt to flatter him, that it was intended in some measure for his sake. Strictly therefore consult your own most secret Inclinations; call 'em to a severe account, and advice with 'em what Instructions you had best sand by the next, to  
F. H.   

LETTER XXXV.  
Madam,  
I Am still at a loss to think what return I shall make you for so great an Obligation, as you were lately pleased to confer on me: I am sure, to my sorrow, there can be none proportionable to it in my capacity: No, not though I were the most Adorable Creature breathing, and should grant you the utmost favour, you could ask of me; supposing, as Heaven be praised that you are not! of t'other most Perfidious and Ungrateful Sex; so much I prefer the hopes of my Revenge on that perjured Wretch to all other considerations whatsoever, here on Earth: O! He has so Vitiated my Inclinations, that I can relish no pleasure but what proceeds from a prospect of Revenge. This Passion is more advanced and unhappily, stronger in me than ●ver I ove was, or could be; because it has more Reason to encourage it, and more ill-natured Circumstances to back it, ●han that foolish mistak● o● my 〈…〉 ha●e had Ob●iga●●●●s to enfo 〈…〉 you ( Madam) I find, th●●●fore I am like to owe the greatest satisfaction that my Soul can rec●ive from Heaven, whose kind Instrument of this you may be to me: For he loves you most ruinously, to himself, I mean, tho' if you should descend to any kindness for him, the ruin would undoubtedly prove your own. However, if by misfortune, he has, or shall hereafter give you any impression of tenderness for him; I doubt not that you are so well armed by your own discretion, and by my miserable Example, as well as by the hard fate of others, that you will defend and secure yourself from the danger of any assault or surprise. But if you must needs yield to his Vigorous and Fierce Attacks( for such they are indeed) may it be, as I know it will, upon the most honourable conditions that you can propose; and then, though you surrender, you will have an equal Victory; which may you still maintain, and be for ever happy in him! Then( it may be) I shall endeavour to wish him the same happiness with you: But all this is impossible, for he would as certainly prove Ungrateful, tho' Married to you, Madam, as ever he was to  
M. F.   

LEETER XXXVI. Sent to Madam G.  
Dear Madam.  
IF Love be the Sweetest Passion of the Mind, why causes it all these Convulsions of the Heart to us Lovers; Why am I on the Rack for you, there is not a Moment but I think on you and in Dreams, I have enjoyed that longed for Moment, but striving to grasp that Sweet Pleasure, it flew swifter than the Northern Wind; Oh! could I but have had the happiness, that wretched Fate hath deprived me of. How much above a common Mortal should I esteem myself? But you are resolved to be lost to me, as you  told me when we were last together, and that I must not enjoy one happy Minute again. Oh! fatal cruel Love, Why hast thou deprived me of that which is more dear than my Life and Soul, and the Sight of you, which is more to me than either, and why all at once, as if you designed to make a Bankrupt of me, or throw me into utter ruin; I have no hopes left but this of your, of reserving one corner of your Heart, that you intend for one that should be absent from you; give me leave to make use of your own Words, tho' they are cruel, Heart-breaking ones, to one that loves you above the World, and all that's in it; I can't compare myself to any thing, except to a condemned Criminal, at the place of execution, that dallies with that which must put him out of pain; your unkindness may have done the work in Two days more; Let me hear from you, I expect my Sentence, or sand me a Reprieve by a Letter, or I die,  
Your Martyr. From St. James's.   

LETTER XXXVII.  
IT may be you will think I have taken time enough to consider of your Request; but I must tell you, all the ground you have gained, is, that if I comply, it is purely as the unjust Judge did with the Widow, lest you weary me with your importunity, and which will be too upon conditions, which if you agree to, I will no longer deny you. First, you must promise me, that no Person whatsoever, without exception, shall ever know who Silvia is, but that if it be known you have any acquaintance with me, still Silvia may remain undiscovered; for if you visit me, I will appear without disguise to you, not understanding what belongs to Clandestine Assignations, nor having any fear you should hear any thing wherewith to reproach me from my past Actions; this being the most Townish one I was ever guilty of. Another thing I shall peremptorily stand upon, is, that I must know who you are, of whom, being you tell me I shall have the true account from yourself, I will inquire of no one else; yet will not I insist so hard upon it, that you should,( if you have any Reason to the contrary) sand it me in Writing, if you engage to let me know it, without deceit, when I see you; for, I must tell you, that tho' I am not suspicious by Nature, yet if I am once deceived, I am lost for ever, nor can I ever be brought to Trust again. If you will Sign to these Articles, in my next you shall know when, and where you shall see Silvia.  
You ask my Thoughts of a thing, the least known and practised of any thing in the World, viz. platonic Love, or Pure, Tender Friendship; that Denomination, I suppose, being only given it, when it is between Persons of a different Sex; I confess, for a great while, my Ignorance,( while I judge of others by myself) made me think it, as the finest, so the easiest thing in the World, but I have now got more knowledge of Mankind, and have found to my great vexation, that, that is the most fallacious way of Judging imaginable. Yet still my Thoughts of that sort of Love,( which I know is possible, tho' hardly practicable) are the same, nor do I think any other Love merits to be called by that Heavenly Name, 
Only the Soul, 'cause that can Love again  
Deserve's a Love, Deserve's a Lover's Pain.  And besides, I think Friendship distinguishes us from B●ates, far more than our boasted Reason does, in which, many Animals out-do the most of Men, and act with far greater Sagacity; But this Pure Divine Love, this Union of Souls, the Beasts are not capable of; especially, if strictly maintained between a Man and a Woman, and exalts us so far above them, that it almost equals us with Angels; the very imagination has transported me above the Clouds, but I must descend to Earth again, and tell you, for all your pretences to it; I fear this Brutal Age will never furnish us, with one example of this Angelical State.  
I am afraid, in my late vindication of myself, I have done some prejudice to your Friend, which I shall be very sorry for, not designing any such thing, and therefore I beg of you not to take this advantage, to break with him upon my account, he having done you no injury in the World; but when you reflect on his Faults, at the same time remember( if that will weigh any thing with you) that he was the occasion of your knowing Silvia, who you profess to have a value for; and let him be upon his good behaviour, till he offend again, for I cannot endure to be injurious to any Person whatsoever. I have not assurance enough to impose a Name upon you; Viridomar is a Name uncommon, and one I Love, tho' I had rather you should please yourself. But I must not forget how you are employed, and therefore I will give you no farther interruption, but subscribe myself  
Your Servant, SILVIA.   

Of Friendship. LETTER XXXVIII.  
'twas to prevent your losing your Labour, as you did last Night, that I desired to know before-hand of your coming; for my stay in Town being but short, I am more abroad than I use to be.  
As to the other Grievance you complain of, 'tis what I know not how to Redress; for the more I think of it, the worse I like it. You would Impose a new sort of Friendship upon me, I understand not, and which favours more of the Body than the Mind; I fear your Notions of Friendship are much too gross for me; and by asking too great Liberties, you will teach me to deny all. An entire Confidence I own there must be, or it is no Friendship; but then that must only relate to the Soul, of which there is no difference of Sex's, and not entrench upon Flesh and Blood, and expose both myself and Friend to a Temptation may be too hard to overcome; and in this I betray no greater a Distrust of you than myself; and tho' I think I am so well acquainted with my own Temper not to fear much on that side, yet I will not part with my Guard. Besides, were I of a humour to grant such Favours, Prudence would not permit it, till by long Converse I had( if it were possible) found your Temper and mine to be alike. If you leave me to myself I shall be as Free as Decency will allow; but if you persist in these Demands, I shall be very shy, tho' I fear not turning a Friend into a Lover, for I am not cut out for a Mistress.  
As to what you have urged from Sir William Davenant's Platonic Love, I shall only say, it may do very well in a Play, where the Representation must always out-do the thing ●●presented: But should any Woman Act in that manner, I know what would quick●y become of her Reputation; and she that sleights that has already Forfeited her Modesty, and has but one step to lose her Innocence, and all that is valuable in Woman-kind.  
In short, if you would be Amilcar's Successor, as you must avoid his Crimes, so you must practise what was pleasing to me in him; and there was nothing did more endear him to me than his Compliance in this matter; for to give him his Due, I must aclowledge, that he never gave me cause to Chide him for his desiring any thing I was unwilling to grant; and he has often Protested, that in my most Intimate Converses with him, he never so much as thought I was a Woman. To Morrow I will be at home to receive you, and am if you please  
Your Friend, SILVIA.   
FINIS.   

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Books Printed for Samuel Briscoe, at the Corner of Charles-street, in Russel-street, Covent-Garden.  
THE satire of Titus Petronious Arbiter, a Roman Knight: With its Fragmeets, recovered at Belgrade. Made English by Mr. Burnaby of the Middle-Temple, and another Hand.  
The Lives of the twelve Caesars the first Emperors of Rome. Written in Latin by C. Suetonius Tranquilius. Translated into English by several Eminent Hands, with the Heads of the Emperors on Copper-Plates.  
Advice to a Young Lord, Written by his Father, under these following Heads, Viz. Religion, Study, and Exercise, travail, Marriage, H●use-keeping, Hospitality, of the Court, of Friendship, of Pleasure, and Idleness, of Conversation.  
A Moral Essay, preferring Solitude to public Employment, and all its Appanages, such as famed, Command, Riches, Pleasures, Conversation: By Sir George Mackenzie. Second Edition.  
FINIS.