ADVERTISEMENT.  
There is lately published in Latin, Evangelium M●dici, se● Medicine Mystica de Suspensis Naturae Legibus, sieve de Miraculis. By Dr. Connor, of the College of Physicians, and Fellow o● the Royal Society. In Octavo. T●e chief Heads of the Matters that he treats of are as follows: 

I. Of the Nature of a Body, particularly an Organical one, where the Structure and Natural State of the H●man Body is explained.  
II. How many Ways the Natural State of the Human Body, is said to have been Supernaturally altered.  
III. Of the Laws of Motion, and of the three different Suspensions of the same, in order to explain all Miracles.  
IV. How it can be conceived, that Water can be changed into Wine.  
V. How it can be conceived, that a Human Body can be Invulnerable, Immortal, and can live for ever without Meat, as after the Resurrection.  
VI How a Human Body can be conceived to be in a Fire without Burning.  
VII. How we can conceive that an Army can pass through the Sea without Drowning, or walk upon the Water without Sinking.  
VIII. How it can be conceived that a Man can have a Bloody Sweat.  
IX. Of the different Ways a Human Body can come into the World; where is given an Account of its Generation by Concourse of Man Woman.  
X. How we can conceive a Human Body can be ●orm'd of a Woman without a Man, as Christ ' s.  
XI. How to conceive a Human Body to be made without Man or Woman, as Adam ' s.  
XII. How to conceive a Human Body Dead, some Ages since, to be brought to Life again, as in the Resurrection.  
XIII. How many Ways it cannot be conceived that a Human Body can be Entire and Alive in two Places at the same time.  
XIV. Of the Natural State of the Soul, and its Influence upon the Body.  
XV. Of the Supernatural, or Miraculous State of the Soul united to the Body.    
There is in the Press, and will be published next Trinity-Term, A Third Volume of Familiar Letters, written by the late Lord Rochester, the Duke of Buckingham, and Sir George Etherege, which will be entirely theirs. If any Gentlemen are willing to oblige the Public with any Letters of those Honourable Persons own writing, they are desired to send them to Sam. Briscoe, in Cov●nt-gard●n, who will print them in the next Volume.   

Familiar Letters: VOL. I.  
Written by the Right Honourable, john, late Earl of Rochester, TO THE Honourable Henry Savile, Esq And other LETTERS by Persons of Honour and Quality.  
WITH LETTERS Written by the most Ingenious Mr. THO. OTWAY, AND Mrs. K. PHILIPS.  
Published from their Original Copies.  
With Modern LETTERS by THO. CHEEK, Esq Mr. DENNIS, and Mr. BROWN.  
The Second Edition with Additions.  
London: Printed by W. Onley, for S. Briscoe, at the Corner of Charles-street, in Russel-street, Covent-garden, 1697.   

TO Dr. RADCLIFF.  
I Have presumed, tho' I knew at the same time how heinously I trespassed against you in doing so, to Inscribe your Name to the following Collection of Letters. As you were no Stranger to that Excellent Person, whose Pieces Composes, by far, the most valuable part of it, so I was satisfied that every thing, from so celebrated a Hand, would be acceptable and welcome to you; and in that Confidence, made bold to give you the Trouble of ●his Address. My Lord Rochester has left ●o established a Reputation behind him, that he needs no officious Pen to set out his Worth, especially to you, who were acquainted so perfectly well with all his Eminent Qualities, ●hat made him the Delight and Envy of both Sexes, and the Ornament of our Island. In every thing of his Lordship's writing, there's something so happily expressed, the Graces are so numerous, yet so unaffected, that I don't wonder why all the Original Touches of so incomparable a Master, have been enquired after, with so Public and General a Concern. Most of his other Compositions, especially those in Verse, have long ago blessed the Public, and were received with Universal Delight and Admiration, which gives me Encouragement to believe, that his Letters will find the like Reception. Tho' most of them were written upon private Occasions, to an Honourable Person who was happy in his Lordship's Acquaintance, with no intention to be ever made public; yet that constant good Sense, which is all along visible in them, the justice of the Observations, and the peculiar Beauties of the Style, are Reasons sufficient, why they should no longer be concealed in private Hands. And indeed, at this time, when the private Plate of the Nation comes abroad to relieve the present Exigences, it seems but just, that since the Dearth of Wit● is as great as that of Money, such a Treasure of good Sense and Language should no longer be buried in Oblivion. With thi● difference, however, That whereas our Plate before it can circulate in our Markets, mus● receive the Royal Stamp, must be melted down, and take another Form, these Unvaluable Remains want no Alterations to recommend them; they need only be taken from the Rich Mines where they grew; for their own Intrinsic Value secures them, and his Lordship's Name is sufficient to make them Current.  
As for the Letters by other Hands, that make up this Volume, some of them were written by Gentlemen, that are wholly Strangers to me, and others belong to those that are so much better known in the World than myself, that I can say nothing upon this Occasion, but what falls vastly short of their Merit. But I cannot forbear to say something of Mr. Otway's: They have that Inimitable Tenderness in them, that I dare oppose them to any thing of Antiquity; I am sure few of the present Age can pretend to come up to them. The Passions, in the raising of which, he had a Felicity peculiar to himself, are represented in such lively Colours, that they cannot fail of affecting the most insensible Hearts, with pleasing Agitations. I could wish we had more Pieces of● the same Hand, for I profess an entire Veneration to his Memory, and always looked upon him as the only Person, almost, that knew the secret Springs and Sources of Nature, and made a true use of them. Love, as it is generally managed by other Hands, is either raving and enthusiastical, or else dull and languishing: In him alone 'tis true Nature, and at the same time inspires us with Compassion and Delight. After this, I will not venture to say any thing of my own Trifles that bring up the Rear. Some of 'em were written long ago, and now huddled in haste; the rest had a little more Care and Labour bestowed upon them. If they contribute in the least to your Entertainment, which was my only Design in publishing them, I have attained my Ends: I have some others by me, which I may, perhaps, publish hereafter, if these meet with any tolerable Success.  
I need not, and I am sure I cannot make you a better Panegyric than to acquaint the World, that you were happy in my Lord Rochester's Friendship, that he took pleasure in your Conversation, of which even his Enemies must allow him to have been the best judge, and that in the Politest Reign we can boast of in England. The Approbation of so impartial a judge, who was, in his Time, a Scourge to all Blockheads, by what Names or Titles soever dignisied, or distinguished, is above all the Incense that a much better Hand than mine can presume to offer: Should I put out all the Dedication Sails, as 'tis the way of most Authors, I could soon erect you into a great Hero, and Deliverer; and tell how often you have triumphed over inveterate Distempers, and restored the Sick to that only Blessing, that makes Life supportable. I could tell how, by your single Merit, you have ba●●led a Faction formed against you with equal Malice and Ignorance; I could tell what Marks of Munisicence you have left behind you, in the Place that was honoured with your Education, and how generously ready you are to serve your Friends upon all Occasions. But after all, the highest thing I will pretend to say of you her is, That you were esteemed, and valued, and loved by my Lord Rochester. 'Tis true, as there never was any Conspicuous Merit in the World, that had not, like Hercules, Monsters to encounter, so you have had your share of them; but, Heaven be praised, your Enemies, with all their vain Endeavours, have only served to six your Interest, and advance your Reputation: Tho' I know you hear of nothing with more uneasiness, than of the Favours you do; yet I cannot omit to tell, and indeed I am vain upon it, that you have condescended so low, as to divert those Hours you could steal from the Public, with some of my Trifles, that you have been pleased to think favourably of them, and rewarded them. For all which Obligations, I had no other way of expressing my Gratitude but this; which, I am afraid will but inflame the Reckoning, instead of paying any part of the Debt: But this has been the constant Usage in all Ages of Parnassus, and, like Senators that take Bribes, we have Antiquity and Universality to plead in our Excuse. But I forget that you are all this while in pain, till the Dedication releases you: Therefore I have nothing but my Wishes to add, That you, who have been so happy a Restorer of Health to others, may ever enjoy it yourself, that your Days may be always pleasant, and your Night's easy, and that you'll be pleased to forgive this Presumption in  
Your most humble and most obliged Servant, T. BROWN.   

THE Bookseller's Preface.  
HAving, by the Assistance of a Worthy Friend, procured the following Letters that were written by the late Incomparable Earl of Rochester (the Originals of all which I preserve by me, to satisfy those Gentlemen, who may have the Curiosity to see them under his Lordship's hand) I was encouraged to trouble others of my Friends, that had any Letters in their Custody, to make this Collection, which I now publish.  
Indeed the Letters that were written by the abovementioned Honourable Person, have something so happy in the Manner and Style, that I need not lose my Time to convince the World they are genuine. I may say the same of Mr. Otway's Letters, that they are full of Life and Passion, and sufficiently discover their Author. And that this Collection might be complete, I got some that were written by the Famed Orinda, Mrs. Katherine Phillips, to be added to the rest; together with others by some Gentlemen now living, that the Reader might have a Variety of Entertainment.  
Our Neighbouring Nations, whom I don't believe we come short of in any respect, have printed several Volumes of Letters, which meet with public Approbation; I am satisfied, that if the Gentlemen of England would be as free, and Communicative to part with theirs, we might show as great a Number, and as good a Choice as they have done. It has been used as an Objection against publishing things of this Nature, That, if they are written as they ought to be, they should never be made public. But I hope this Collection will disarm that Objection; for tho' the Reader may not understand every particular Passage, yet there are other things in them that will make him sufficient Amends.  
I have only a word more to add: Upon the Noise of this Collection, several Gentlemen have been so kind, as to send me in Materials to compose a Second, which is now printed; and, on the Printing the Second, I have procured as many of the Lord Rochester's the Duke of Buckingham, and Sir George Etheridge, which will almost make a third Vol. which if I can complete, it shall be published next Trinity-Term; and therefore those Gentlemen that have any Curious Letters by them, written by those Honourable Persons, and are willing to oblige the Public, by letting them come abroad, are desired to send them to me, who will take care to have them faithfully Transcribed for the Press, and Printed in the third Vol. which will be entirely theirs, and no modern one mixed with them.  
SAM. BRISCOE.   

A TABLE Of all the Letters in this Volume.  
SEveral Letters by the late Earl of Rochester, to the Honourable Henry Savil, Esq from 
p. 1. to p. 50.  The Earl of L—'s Letter to the Honourable Algernoon Sidney, 
p. 51.  Algernoon Sidney's Letter against Arbitrary Government, 
p. 60.  Two Letters by another Hand, to Madam— from 
p. 67. to p. 72.  Love-Letters by Mr. Otway, from 
p. 73. to 87.  A Letter from— to Mr. G— 
p. 88  A Letter to the Duke of Vivone, by the Famed Monsieur Boiliau. Translated by Thomas Cheek, Esq 
p. 91.  A Letter by Mr. Dennis, sent with Monsieur Boileau's Speech to the Academy of Paris, upon his Admission, 
p. 102.  Monsieur Boileau's Speech to the Academy. Translated by Mr. Dennis, 
p. 106.  Letters of Courtship to a Woman of Quality, from 
p. 118. to 133.  A Letter of Reproach to a Woman of Quality, 
p. 134.  A Letter of Business to a Merchant's Wife in the City, 
p. 136.  Letters by the late celebrated Mrs. Katherine Phillips, from 
p. 137. to 152.  A Letter to Mr. Herbert, 
p. 153.  A Letter to C.G. Esq in Covent-garden, 
p. 156.  To the Perjured Mrs.— 
p. 163.  To the Honourable— in the Pall-mall, 
p. 168.  A Letter to my Lady— 
p. 173.  A Consolatory Letter to an Essex-Divine, upon the Death of his Wife, 
p. 179.  A Letter to the fair Lucinda at Epsom, 
p. 183.  To the same at London, 
p. 185.  To W. Knight, Esq at Ruscomb, in Berkshire, 
p. 189.  To a Gentleman that fell desperately in Love, and set up for a Beau in the 45th Year of his Age, 
p. 197.  The Answer, 
p. 200.  A Letter to his honoured Friend, Dr. Baynard, at the Bath, 
p. 202.  A Letter to Mr. Raphson, Fellow of the Royal Society, upon occasion of Dr. Conner's Book, entitled, Physica Arcana, seu Tractatus de Mystico corporum Statu; to be Printed by Mr. Briscoe, 
p. 213.  A Letter to the Lord North and Grey, 
p. 218.  To a Friend in the Country, 
p. 221.    

BOOKS newly Printed for R. We●lington, at the Lute in St. Paul Church-yard.  

A Discourse of the Nature and Faculty of Man, in several Essays; with Refl●●ctions upon the Occurrences of Human Li●● By Tim. Nourse, Gent.  
The Lord Rochester's Letters, Vol. I.  
The Works of that excellent Practical Ph●●sician, Dr. Tho. Syden●am; wherein not on the History of Acute Diseases are treated 〈◊〉 after a new Method, but also the shortest 〈◊〉 safest way of curing most Chronical Diseas●  
Ovid travesty: Or a Burlesque on Ovi● Epistles. By Capt. Alexander Rad●liff, Grays-inn.  
The Family-Physician: Being a cho●● Collection of approved and experienced Remedies to cure all Diseases incident to H●●man Bodies; useful in Families, and serviceable to Countrypeople. By George Ha●ti●● Servant to Sir Ken●hn Digby, till he died.   

PLAYS.  
Anatomist, or Sham-doctor. Plain-deal Orphan. Oedipus. Rover. Spanish Wive Unnatural Brother. Younger Brother, Amorous Jilt.  
Where you may be furnished with most Plays.    

Familiar Letters, By the Right Honourable, JOHN, LATE Earl of ROCHESTER. VOL. I.  

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
Dear SAVILE,  
DO a Charity becoming one of your pious Principles, in preserving your humble Servant Rochester, from the imminent Peril of Sobriety; which, for want of good Wine, more than Company, (for I can drink like a Hermit betwixt God and my own Conscience) is very like to befall me: Remember what Pains I have formerly taken to wean you from your pernicious Resolutions of Discretion and Wisdom! And, if you have a grateful Heart, (which is a Miracle amongst you Statesmen) show it, by directing the Bearer to the best Wine in Town; and pray let not this highest Point of Sacred Friendship be performed slightly, but go about it with all due deliberation and care, as holy Priests to Sacrifice, or as discreet Thiefs to the wary performance of Burglary and Shop-lifting. Let your well-discerning palate (the best Judge about you) travel from Cellar to Cellar, and then from Piece to Piece, till it has lighted on Wine sit for its noble Choice and my Approbation. To engage you the more in this matter, know, I have laid a Plot may very probably betray you to the Drinking of it. My Lord— will inform you at large.  
Dear Savile! as ever thou dost hope to outdo MACHIAVELLI, or equal ME, send some good Wine! So may thy wearied Soul at last find Rest, no longer hovering 'twixt th' unequal Choice of Politics and Lewdness! Mayst thou be admired and loved for thy domestic Wit; beloved and cherished for thy foreign Interest and Intelligence.  
ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
YOU cannot shake off the Statesman entirely; for, I perceive, you have no Opinion of a Letter, that is not almost a Gazette: Now, to me, who think the World as giddy as myself, I care not which way it turns, and am fond of no News, but the Prosperity of my Friends, and the Continuance of their Kindness to me, which is the only Error I wish to continue in 'em: For my own part, I am not at all stung with my Lord M—'s mean Ambition, but I aspire to my Lord L—'s generous Philosophy: They who would be great in our little Government, seem as ridiculous to me as Schoolboys, who, with much endeavour, and some danger, climb a Crabtree, venturing their Necks for Fruit, which solid Pigs would disdain, if they were not starving. These Reflections, how idle soever they seem to the Busy, if taken into consideration, would save you many a weary Step in the Day, and help G G —y to many an Hours sleep, which he wants in the Night: But G G —y would be rich; and, by my troth, there is some sense in that: Pray remember me to him, and tell him, I wish him many Millions, that his Soul may find rest. You write me word, That I'm out of favour with a certain Poet, whom I have ever admired, for the disproportion of him and his Attributes: He is a Rari●y which I cannot but be fond of, as one would be of a Hog that could fiddle, or a singing Owl. If he falls upon me at the Blunt, which is his very good Weapon in Wit, I will forgive him, if you please, and leave the Repartee to Black Will, with a Cudgel. And now, Dear Harry, if it may agree with your Affairs, to show yourself in the Country this Summer, contrive such a Crew together, as may not be ashamed of passing by Woodstock; and, if you can debauch Alderman G G —y, we will make a shift to delight his Gravity. I am sorry for the declining D—ss, and would have you generous to her at this time; for that is true Pride, and I delight in it.  
ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
Dear SAVILE,  
THIS Day I received the unhappy News of my own Death and Burial. But, hearing what Heirs and Successors were decreed me in my Place, and chiefly in my Lodgings, it was no small Joy to me, that those Tidings prove untrue; my Passion for Living, is so increased, that I omit no Care of myself; which, before, I never thought Life worth the trouble of taking. The King, who knows me to be a very ill-natured Man, will not think it an ●asie matter for me to die, now I live chiefly out of spite. Dear Mr. Savile, afford me some News from your Land of the Living; and though I have little Curiosity to hear who's well, yet I would be glad my few Friends are so, of whom you are no more the least than the leanest. I have better Compliments for you, but that may not look so sincere as I would have you believe I am, when I profess myself,  
Your faithful, affectionate, humble Servant, ROCHESTER. Adderbury, near Banbury, Feb. ult  
My Service to my Lord Middlesex.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
I Am in a great strait what to write to you; the stile of Business I am not versed in, and you may have forgot, the familiar one we used heretofore. What Alterations Ministry makes in Men, is not to be imagined; though I can trust with confidence all those You are liable to, so well I know you, and so perfectly I love you. We are in such a settled Happiness, and such merry Security in this place, that, if it were not for Sickness, I could pass my time very well, between my own Ill-nature, which inclines me very little to pity the Misfortunes of malicious mistaken Fools, and the Policies of the Times, which expose new Rarities of that kind every day. The News I have to send, and the sort alone which could be so to you, are things Gyaris & carcere digna; which I dare not trust to this pretty Fool, the Bearer, whom I heartily recommend to your Favour and Protection, and whose Qualities will recommend him more; and truly, if it might suit with your Character, at your times of leisure, to Mr. Baptists' Acquaintance, the happy Consequence would be Singing, and in which your Excellence might have a share not unworthy the greatest Ambassadors, nor to be despised even by a Cardinal-Legate; the greatest and gravest of this Court of both Sexes have ta●ted his Beauties; and, I'll assure you, Rome gains upon us here, in this Point mainly; and there is no part of the Plot carried with so much Secrecy and Vigour as this. Proselytes, of consequence, are daily made, and my Lord S—'s Imprisonment is no check to any. An account of Mr. George Porter's Retirement, upon News that Mr. Grimes, with one Gentleman more, had invaded England, Mr. S—'s Apology, for making Songs on the Duke of M. with his Oration-Consolatory on my Lady D—'s Death, and a Politic Dissertation between my Lady P—s and Capt. Dangerfield, with many other worthy Treatises of the like nature, are things worthy your perusal; but I durst not send 'em to you without leave, not knowing what Consequence it might draw upon your Circumstances and Character; but if they will admit a Correspondence of that kind, in which alone I dare presume to think myself capable, I shall be very industrious in that way, or any other, to keep you from forgetting,  
Your most affectionate, obliged, humble Servant, ROCHESTER. Whitehall, Nou. 1. 79.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
Dear SAVILE,  
WEre I as Idle as ever, which I should not fail of being, if Health permitted; I would write a small Romance, and make the Sun with his dishrieveled Rays gild the Tops of the Palaces in Leather-lane: Then should those vile Enchanters Barten and Ginman, lead forth their Illustrious Captives in Chains of Quicksilver, and confining 'em by Charms to the loathsome Banks of a dead Lake of Diet-drink; you, as my Friend, should break the horrid Silence, and speak the most passionate fine things that ever Heroic Lover uttered; which being softly and sweetly replied to by Mrs. Roberts, should rudely be interrupted by the envious F—. Thus would I lead the mournful Tale along, till the gentle Reader bathed with the Tribute of his Eyes, the Names of such unfortunate Lovers— And this (I take it) would be a most excellent way of celebrating the Memories of my most Pocky Friends, Companions and Mistresses. But it is a miraculous thing (as the Wise have it) when a Man, half in the Grave, cannot leave off playing the Fool, and the Buffoon; but so it falls out to my Comfort: For at this Moment I am in a damned Relapse, brought by a Fever, the Stone, and some ten Diseases more, which have deprived me of the Power of crawling, which I happily enjoyed some Days ago; and now I fear, I must fall, that it may be fulfilled which was long since written for Instruction in a good old Ballad, 
But he who lives not Wise and Sober,  
Falls with the Leaf still in October.  About which time, in all probability, there may be a period added to the ridiculous being of  
Your humble Servant, ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
Dear SAVILE,  
IN my return from New-market, I met your Packet, and truly was not more surprised at the Indirectness of Mr. P.'s Proceeding, than overjoyed at the Kindness and Care of yours. Misery makes all Men less or more dishonest; and I am not astonished to see Villainy industrious for Bread; especially, living in a place where it is often so the gayete de Coeur. I believe, the Fellow thought of this Device to get some Money, or else he is put upon it by Somebody, who has given it him already; but I give him leave to prove what he can against me: However, I will search into the Matter, and give you a further account within a Post or two. In the mean time you have made my Heart glad in giving me such a Proof of your Friendship; and I am now sensible, that it is natural for you to be kind to me, and can never more despair of it.  
I am your faithful, obliged, humble Servant, ROCHESTER. Bishop-Stafford, Apr. 5. 80.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE, Ambassador in FRANCE. Begun, Whitehall, May 30th, 79.  
Dear SAVILE,  
'TIS neither Pride or Neglect (for I am not of the new Council, and I love you sincerely) but Idleness on one side, and not knowing what to say on the other, has hindered me from Writing to you, after so kind a Letter, and the Present you sent me, for which I return you at last my humble Thanks. Changes in this place are so frequent, that F— himself can now no longer give an account, why this was done to Day, or what will ensue to Morrow; and Accidents are so extravagant, that my Lord W— intending to Lie, has, with a Prophetic Spirit, once told truth. Every Man in this Court thinks he stands fair for Minister; some give it to Shaftsbury, others to Hallifax; but Mr. Waller says S— does all; I am sure my Lord A— does little, which your Excellence will easily believe. And now the War in Scotland takes up all the Discourse of Politic Persons. His Grace of Lauderdale values himself upon the Rebellion, and tells the King, It is very auspicious and advantageous to the drift of the present Councils: The rest of the Scots, and especially D. H— are very inquisitive after News from Scotland, and really make a handsome Figure in this Conjuncture at London. What the D. of Monmouth will effect, is now the general expectation, who took Post unexpectedly, left all that had offered their Service in this Expedition, in the lurch; and, being attended only by Sir Thomas Armstrong, and Mr. C— will, without question, have the full Glory as well of the Prudential as the Military Part of this Action entire to himself. The most profound Politicians have weighty Brows, and careful Aspects at present, upon a Report crept abroad, That Mr. Langhorn, to save his Life, offers a Discovery of Priests and jesuits Lands, to the value of Fourscore and ten thousand Pounds a Year; which being accepted, it is feared, Partisans and Undertakers will be found out to advance a considerable Sum of Money upon this Fund, to the utter Interruption of Parliaments, and the Destruction of many hopeful Designs. This, I must call God to witness, was never hinted to me in the least by Mr. P— to whom I beg you will give me your hearty Recommendations. Thus much to afford you a taste of my serious Abilities, and to let you know I have a great Goggle-eye to Business: And now I cannot deny you a share in the high satisfaction I have received at the account which flourishes here of your high Protestancy at Paris: Charenton was never so Honoured, as since your Residence and Ministry in France, to that degree, that it is not doubted if the Parliament be sitting at your return, or otherwise the Mayor and Common-Council, will Petition the King you may be dignified with the Title of that place, by way of Earldom or Dukedom, as his Majesty shall think mo●t proper to give, or you accept.  
Mr. S— is a Man of that tenderness of Heart, and approved Humanity, that he will doubtless be highly afflicted when he hears of the unfortunate Pilgrims, tho' he appears very obdurate ●o the Complaints of his own best Concubine, and your fair Kinswoman M— who now starves. The Packet enclosed in your last, I read with all the sense of Compassion it merits, and if I can prove so unexpectedly happy to succeed in my Endeavours for that Fair Unfortunate, she shall have a speedy account. I thank God, there is yet a Harry Savile in E●gland, with whom I drank your Health last Week at Sir William Coventry's; and who, in Features, Proportion and Pledging, gives me so lively an Idea of yourself, that I am resolved to retire into Oxfordshire, and enjoy him till Shiloe come, or you from France.  
ROCHESTER. Ended the 2● th' of June, 1679.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
ANY kind of Correspondence with such a Friend as you, is very agreeable; and therefore you will easily believe, I am very ill when I lose the opportunity of Writing to you: But Mr. Povy comes into my Mind, and hinders farther Compliment: In a plainer way I must tell you, I pray for your happy Restoration; but was not at all sorry for your glorious Disgrace, which is an Honour, considering the Cause. I would say something to the serious part (as you were pleased to call it) of your former Letter; but it will disgrace my Politics to differ from yours, who have wrought now sometime under the best and keenest Statesmen our Cabinet boasts of: But, to confess the Truth, my Advice to the Lady you wot of, has ever been this, Take your Measures just contrary to your Rivals, live in Peace with all the World, and easily with the King: Never be so Ill-natured to stir up his Anger against others, but let him forget the use of a Passion, which is never to do you good: Cherish his Love wherever it inclines, and be assured you can't commit greater Folly than pretending to be jealous; but, on the contrary, with Hand, Body, Head, Heart and all the Faculties you have, contribute to his Pleasure all you can, and comply with his Desires throughout: And, for new Intrigues, so you be at one end, 'tis no matter which: Make Sport when you can, at other times help it.— Thus, I have given you an account how unfit I am to give the Advice you proposed: Besides this, you may judge, whether I was a good Pimp, or no. But some thought otherwise; and so truly I have renounced Business; let abler Men try it. More a great deal I would say, but upon this Subject; and, for this time, I beg, this may suffice, from  
Your humble and most affectionate faithful Servant, ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
Dear SAVILE,  
'TIs not that I am the idlest Creature living, and only choose to employ my Thoughts rather upon my Friends, than to languish all the Day in the tediousness of doing nothing, that I write to you; but owning, that (tho' you excel most Men in Friendship and good Nature) you are not quite exempt from all Human Frailty, I send this to hinder you from forgetting a Man who loves you very heartily. The World, ever since I can remember, has been still so insupportably the same, that 'twere vain to hope there were any alterations; and therefore I can have no curiosity for News; only I would be glad to know if the Parliament be like to sit any time; for the Peers of England being grown of late Years very considerable in the Government, I would make one at the Session. Livy and Sickness has a little inclined me to Policy; when I come to Town I make no question but to change that Folly for some less; whether Wine or Women I know not; according as my Constitution serves me: Till when (Dear Harry) Farewell! When you Dine at my Lord Lisle's let me be remembered.  
Kings and Princes are only as Incomprehensible as what they pretend to represent; but apparently as Frail as Those they Govern.— This is a Season of Tribulation; and I piously beg of Almighty God, that the strict Severity shown to one scandalous Sin amongst us, may Expiate for all grievous Calamities.— So help them God, whom it concerns!   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
IF Sack and Sugar be a Sin, God help the Wicked; was the Saying of a merry fat Gentleman, who lived in Days of Yore, loved a Glass of Wine, would be merry with a Friend, and sometimes had an unlucky Fancy for a Wench. Now (dear Mr. Savile) forgive me, if I confess, that, upon several occasions, you have put me in mind of this fat Person, and now more particularly, for thinking upon your present Circumstances, I cannot but say with myself, If loving a pretty Woman, and hating Lautherdale, bring Banishments and Pox, the Lord have mercy upon poor Thiefs and S— s! But, by this time, all your Inconveniences (for, to a Man of your very good Sense, no outward Accidents are more) draw very near their end; For my own part, I'm taking pains not to die, without knowing how to live on, when I have brought it about: But most Human Affairs are carried on at the same nonsensical rate, which makes me, (who am now grown Superstitious) think it a Fault to laugh at the Monkey we have here, when I compare his Condition with Mankind. You will be very good-natured if you keep your Word, and write to me sometimes: And so good Night, dear Mr. Savile.  
ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
WHether Love, Wine, or Wisdom, (which rule you by turns) have the present Ascendant, I cannot pretend to determine at this distance; but Good-nature, which waits about you with more diligence than Godfrey himself, is my Security, that you are unmindful of your absent Friends: To be from you, and forgotten by you at once, is a Misfortune I never was criminal enough to merit, since to the Black and Fair Countess, I villainously betrayed the daily Addresses of your divided Heart: You forgave that upon the first Bottle, and upon the second, on my Conscience, would have renounced them and the whole Sex; Oh! That second Bottle (Harry!) is the Sincerest, Wisest, and most Impartial Downright Friend we have; tells us truth of ourselves, and forces us to speak Truths of others; banishes Flattery from our Tongues, and distrust from our Hearts, sets us above the mean Policy of Court-Prudence; which makes us lie to one another all Day, for fear of being betrayed by each other at Night. And (before God) I believe, the arrantest Villain breathing, is honest as long as that Bottle lives, and few of that Tribe dare venture upon him, at least, among the Courtiers and Statesmen. I have seriously considered one thing, That the three Businesses of this Age, Women, Politics, and Drinking, the la●t is the only Exercise at which you and I have not proved ourselves errand Fumblers: If you have the Vanity to think otherwise; when we meet, let us appeal to Friends of both Sexes, and as they shall determine, live and die their Drunkards, or entire Lovers. For, as we mince the Matter, it is hard to say which is the most tiresome Creature, loving Drunkard, or the drunken Lover.  
If you ventured your fat Buttock a Gallop to Portsmouth, I doubt not but through extreme Galling, you now lie Bedrid of the Piles, or Fistula in Ano, and have the leisure to write to your Country-Acquaintance, which if you omit I shall take the Liberty to conclude you very Proud. Such a Letter should be directed to me at Adderbury, near Banbury, where I intent to be within these three Days.  
From your obedient humble Servant, ROCHESTER. Bath, the 22d of June.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
Dear SAVILE,  
WHether Love or the Politics have the greater Interest in your Journey to France, because it is argued among wiser Men, I will not conclude upon; but hoping so much from your Friendship, that, without reserve, you will trust me with the time of your stay in Paris, I have writ this to assure you, if it can continue a Month, I will not fail to wait on you there. My Resolutions are to improve this Winter for the Improvement of my Parts in Foreign Countries, and if the Temptation of seeing you, be added to the Desires I have already, the Sin is so sweet, that I am resolved to embrace it, and leave out of my Prayers, Libra nos a Malo— For thine is, etc.  
ROCHESTER. Oxford, Septemb. 5.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
'TIS not the least of my Happiness, that I think you love me; but the first of all my Pretensions is to make it appear, that I faithfully endeavour to deserve it. If there be a real good upon Earth, 'tis in the Name of FRIEND, without which all others are mere fantastical. How few of us are fit stuff to make that thing, we have daily the melancholy experience.  
However, dear Harry! Let us not give out, nor despair of bringing that about, which, as it is the most difficult, and rare Accident of Life, is also the best; nay, (perhaps) the only good one. This Thought has so entirely possessed me since I came into the Country, (where, only, one can think; for, you at Court think not at all; or, at least, as if you were shut up in a Drum; as you think of nothing, but the Noise that is made about you) that I have made many Serious Reflections upon it, and, amongst others, gathered one Maxim, which I desire, should be communicated to our Friend Mr. G—; That, we are bound in Morality and common Honesty, to endeavour after Competent Riches; since it is certain, that few Men, if any, uneasy in their Fortunes, have proved firm and clear in their Friendships. A very poor Fellow, is a very poor Friend; and not one of a thousand can be good natured to another, who is not pleased within himself. But while I grow into Proverbs, I forget that you may impute my Philosophy to the Dog-days, and living alone. To prevent the Inconveniences of Solitude, and many others, I intent to go to the Bath on Sunday next, in Visitation to my Lord Treasurer: Be so Politic, or be so Kind, (or a little of both, which is better) as to step down thither, if famous Affairs at Windsor, do not destain you. Dear Harry! I am  
Your Hearty, Faithful, Affectionate, Humble Servant, ROCHESTER.  
If you see the Duchess of P— very often, take some opportunity to talk to her about what I spoke to you at London.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE ●  
Dear SAVILE,  
IF it were the Sign of an honest Man, to be happy in his Friends, sure I were marked out for the worst of Men; since no one e'er lost so many as I have done, or knew to make so few. The Severity you say the Duchess of P— shows to me, is a proof, that 'tis not in my power to deserve well of Anybody; since (I call Truth to Witness) I have never been guilty of an Error, that I know, to her: And this may be a Warning to you, that remain in the Mistake of being kind to me, never to expect a grateful Return; since I am so utterly ignorant how to make it: To value you in my Thoughts, to prefer you in my Wishes, to serve you in my Words; to observe, study, and obey you in all my Actions, is too little; since I have performed all this to her, without so much as an offensive Accident. And yet she thinks it just, to use me ill. If I were not malicious enough to hope she were in the wrong; I must have a very melancholy Opinion of myself. I wish your Interest might prevail with her, as a Friend of here's, not mine, to tell how I have deserved it of her, since she has ne'er accused me of any Crime, but of being Cunning; and I told her, Somebody had been Cunninger than I, to persuade her so. I can as well support the Hatred of the whole World, as Anybody, not being generally fond of it. Those whom I have obliged, may use me with Ingratitude, and not afflict me much: But to be injured by those who have obliged me, and to whose Service I am ever bound; is such a Curse, as I can only wish on them who wrong me to the Duchess.  
I hope you have not forgot what G G —y and you have promised me; but within some time you will come and fetch me to London: I shall scarce think of coming, till you call me, as not having many prevalent Motives to draw me to the Court, if it be so that my Master has no need of my Service, nor my Friends of my Company.  
Mr. Shepherd is a Man of a fluent Style and coherent Thought; if, as I suspect, he writ your Postscript.  
I wish my Lord Hallifax Joy of every Thing, and of his Daughter to boot.  
ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
YOu, who have known me these ten Years the Grievance of all prudent Persons, the Byword of Statesmen, the Scorn of ugly Ladies, which are very near All, and the irreconcilable Aversion of fine Gentlemen, who are the Ornamental Part o● a Nation, and yet found me seldom sad, even under these weighty Oppressions; can you think that the loving of lean Arms, small Legs, red Eyes and Nose, (if you will consider that Trifle too) can have the Power to depress the natural Alacrity of my careless Soul; especially upon receiving a fine Letter from Mr. Savile, which never wants Wit and Good-nature, two Qualities able to transport my Heart with Joy, though it were breaking? I wonder at M—'s flaunting it in Court with such fine Clothes; sure he is an altered Person since I saw him; for, since I can remember, neither his ownself, nor any belonging to him, were ever out of Rags: His Page alone was well clothed of all his Family, and that but in appearance; for, of late he has made no more of wearing Second-hand C— 'tis, than Second-hand Shoes; tho' I must confess, to his Honour, he changed 'em oftener. I wish the King were soberly advised about a main Advantage in this Marriage, which may possibly be omitted; I mean, the ridding his Kingdom of some old Beauties and young Deformities, who swum, and are a Grievance to his Liege People. A Foreign Prince ought to behave himself like a Kite, who is allowed to take one Royal Chick for his Reward; but then 'tis expected, before he leaves the Country, his Flock shall clear the whole Parish of all the Garbage and Carrion many Miles about. The King had never such an opportunity; for the Dutch are very ●oul Feeders, and what they leave he must never hope to be rid of, unless he set up an Intrigue with the Tartars or Cossacks. For the Libel you speak of, upon that most unwitty Generation, the present Poets, I rejoice in it with all my Heart, and shall take it for a Favour, if you will send me a Copy. He cannot want Wit utterly, that has a Spleen to those Rogues, tho' never so dully expressed. And now, dear Mr. Savile, forgive me, if I do not wind up myself with an handsome Period.  
ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
Dear SAVILE,  
THO' I am almost Blind, utterly Lame, and scarce within the reasonable hopes of ever seeing London again, I am not yet so wholly mortified and dead to the taste of all Happiness, not to be extremely revived at the receipt of a kind Letter from an old Friend, who in all probability might have laid me aside in his Thoughts, if not quite forgot me by this time. I ever thought you an extraordinary Man, and must now think you such a Friend, who, being a Courtier, as you are, can love a Man whom it is the great Mode to hate. Catch Sir G. H. or Sir Carr, at such an illbred Proceeding, and I am mistaken: For the hideous Deportment, which you have heard of, concerning running naked, so much is true, that we went into the River somewhat late in the Year, and had a Frisk for forty Yards in the Meadow, to dry ourselves. I will appeal to the King and the Duke, If they had not done as much; nay, may Lord-Chancellor and the Archbishops both, when they were Schoolboys? And, at these Years, I have heard the one Declaimed like Cicero, the others Preached like St. Austin: Prudenter Persons, I conclude, they were, even in Hanging-sleeves, than any of the flashy Fry, (of which I must own myself the most unsolid) can hope to appear, even in their ripest Manhood.  
And now, (Mr. Savile) since you are pleased to quote yourself for a grave Man of the Number of the Scandalised, be pleased to call to mind the Year 1676, when two large fat Nudities led the Coranto round Rosamond's fair Fountain, while the poor violated Nymph wept to behold the strange Decay of Manly Parts, since the Days of her dear Harry the Second: P— ('tis confessed) you showed but little of; but for A— and B—, (a filthier Ostentation! God wot) you exposed more of that Nastiness in your two Folio Volumes, than we altogether in our six Quarto's. Pluck therefore the Beam out of thine own Eye, etc. And now 'tis time to thank you for your kind inviting me to London, to make Dutch-m●n merry; a thing I would avoid, like kill Punaises, the filthy Savour of Dutch-mirth being more terrible. If GOD, in Mercy, has made 'em hush and melancholy, do not you rouse their sleeping Mirth, to make the Town mourn; the Prince of Orange is exalted above 'em, and I could wish myself in Town to serve him in some refined Pleasures; which, I fear, you are too much a Dutchman to think of.  
The best Present I can make at this time is the Bearer, whom I beg you to take care of, that the King may hear his Tunes, when he is easy and private, because I am sure they will divert him extremely: And may he ever have Harmony in his Mind, as this Fellow will pour it into his Ears: May he dream pleasantly, wake joyfully, love safely and tenderly, live long and happily; ever prays (Dear Savile) un Bougre lass qui era toute sa foutue rest de Vie,  
Vostre fidelle, amy & tres humble Serviteur, ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
THAT Night I received by Yours the surprising Account of my Lady Duchess' more than ordinary Indignation against me, I was newly brought in dead of a Fall from my Horse, of which I still remain Bruised and Bedrid, and can now scarce think it a Happiness that I saved my Neck. What ill Star reigns over me, that I'm still marked out for Ingratitude, and only used barbarously to those I am obliged to! Had I been troublesome to her in pinning the Dependence of my Fortune upon her Solicitations to the King, or her Unmerited Recommendations of me to some Great Man; it would not have moved my Wonder much, if she had sought any Occasion to be rid of a useless Trouble: But, a Creature, who had already received of her all the Obligations he ever could pretend to, except the continuance of her good Opinion, for the which he resolved, and did direct every step of his Life in Duty and Service to her, and all who were concerned in her; why should she take the Advantage of a false idle Story, to hate such a Man; as if it were an Inconvenience to her to be harmless, or a Pain to continue just? By that God that made me, I have no more offended her in Thought, Word, or Deed, no more imagined or uttered the least Thought to her Contempt or Prejudice, than I have plotted Treason, concealed Arms, Trained Regiments for a Rebellion. If there be upon Earth a Man of Common Honesty, who will justify a Tittle of her Accusation, I am contented never to s●● her. After this, she need not forbid me to come to her, I have little Pride or Pleasure in showing myself where I am accused of a Meanness I were not capable of, even for her Service, which would prove a shrewder Trial of my Honesty than any Ambition I ever had to make my Court to. I thought the Duchess of P— more an Angel than I find her a Woman; and as this is the first, it shall be the most malicious thing I will ever say of her. For her generous Resolution of not hurting me to the King, I thank her; but she must think a Man much obliged, after the calling of him Knave, to say she will do him no farther Prejudice. For the Countess of P—, whatever she has heard me say, or any body else, of her, I'll stand the Test of any impartial Judge, 'twas neither injurious nor unmannerly; and how severe soever she pleases to be, I have always been her humble Servant, and will continue so. I do not know how to assure myself the D. will spare me to the King, who would not to you; I'm sure she can't say I ever injured you to her; nor am I at all afraid she can hurt me with you; I dare swear you don't think I have dealt so indiscreetly in my Service to her, as to doubt me in the Friendship I profess to you. And, to show you I rely upon yours, let me beg of you to talk once more with her, and desire her to give me the fair hearing she would afford any Footman of hers, who had been complained of to her by a less-worthy Creature, (for such a one, I assure myself, my Accuser is) unless it be for her Service, to wrong the most faithful of her Servants; and then I shall be proud of mine. I would not be run down by a Company of Rogues, and this looks like an Endeavour towards it: Therefore (dear Harry) send me word, how I am with other Folks; if you visit my Lord Treasurer, name the Calamity of this Matter to him, and tell me sincerely how he takes it: And, if you hear the King mention me, do the Office of a Friend, to  
Your humble Servant, ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
Dear SAVILE,  
THE Lowsiness of Affairs in this Place, is such (forgive the unmannerly Phrase! Expressions must descend to the Nature of Things expressed) 'tis not fit to entertain a private Gentleman, much less one of a public Character, with the Retail of them, the general Heads, under which this whole Island may be considered, are Spies, Beggars and Rebels, the Transpositions and Mixtures of these, make an agreeable Variety; Busy Fools and Cautious Knaves are bred out of 'em, and set off wonderfully; tho' of this latter sort, we have fewer now than ever, Hypocrisy being the only Vice in decay amongst us, few Men here dissemble their being Rascals; and no Woman disowns being a Whore. Mr. O— was tried two Days ago for Buggery, and cleared: The next Day he brought his Action to the Kings-Bench, against his Accuser, being attended by the Earl of Shaftsbury, and other Peers, to the number of Seven, for the Honour of the Protestant Cause. I have sent you herewith a Libel, in which my own share is not the least; the King having perused it, is no ways dissatisfied with his: The Author is apparent Mr.—, his Patron my L— having a Panegyrics in the midst; upon which happened a handsome Quarrel between his L—, and Mrs. B— at the Duchess of P—; she called him, The Hero of the Libel, and complimented him upon having made more Cuckolds, than any Man alive; to which he answered, She very well knew one he never made, nor never cared to be employed in making.— Rogue and Bitch ensued, till the King, taking his Grand-father's Character upon him, became the Peacemaker. I will not trouble you any longer, but beg you still to Love  
Your faithful, humble Servant, ROCHESTER.   

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.  
HARRY,  
YOU are the only Man of England, that keep Wit with your Wisdom; and I am happy in a Friend that excels in both, were your Good Nature the least of your Good Qualities, I durst not presume upon it, as I have done; but I know you are so sincerely concerned in serving your Friends truly, that I need not make an Apology for the Trouble I have given you in this Affair.  
I daily expect more considerable Effects of your Friendship, and have the Vanity to think, I shall be the better for your growing poorer.  
In the mean time, when you please to distinguish from Prosers and Windham, and comply with Rosers and Bull, not forgetting john Stevens, you shall find me  
Your most Ready and most Obedient Servant, ROCHESTER.   
The End of the late Earl of Rochester's Letters.   

THE E. of L—'s LETTER To the Honourable Algernoon Sidney.  
DIsuse of Writing hath made it uneasy to me, Age makes it hard, and the Weakness of Sight and Hand, makes it almost impossible. This may excuse me to Every-body, and particularly to you, who have not invited me much unto it, but rather have given me cause to think, that you were willing to save me the labour of Writing, and yourself the trouble of Reading my Letters: For, after you had left me sick, solitary and sad, at Penshurst, and that you had resolved to undertake the Employment wherein you have lately been, you neither came to give me a Farewell, nor did so much as send one to me, but only writ a wrangling Letter or two concerning Money, and Hoskins, and Sir Robert Honywood's Horse; and though both before and after your going out of England, you writ to divers other Persons, the first Letter that I received from you, was dated, as I remember, the 13th of September; the second in November, wherein you take notice of your Mother's Death; and if there were one more, that was all, until Mr. Sterry came, who made such haste from Penshurst, that coming very late at Night, he would not stay to Dine the next Day, nor to give me time to Write. It is true, that since the Change of Affairs here, and of your Condition there, your Letters have been more frequent; and if I had not thought my Silence better both ●or you and myself, I would have written more than once or twice unto you; but though, for some Reasons, I did forbear, I failed not to desire others to write unto you, and with their own, to convey the best Advice that my little Intelligence and weak Judgement could afford; particularly not to expect new Authorities nor Orders from hence, not to stay in any of the Places of your Negotiation, not to come into England, much less to expect a Ship to be sent for you; or to think, that an Account was, or would be expected of you here, unless it were of Matters very different from your Transactions there; that it would be best for you presently to divest yourself of the Character of a Public Minister, to dismiss all your Train, and to retire into some safe place, not very near nor very far from England, that you might hear from your Friends sometimes. And for this I advised Hamburgh, where I hear you are, by your Man Powel, or by them that have received Letters from you, with Presents of Wine and Fish, which I do not reproach nor envy.  
Your last Letter to me had no Date of Time or Place; but, by another at the same time to Sir john Temple, of the 28th of july, as I remember, sent by Mr. Missonden, I guess that mine was of the same Date: By those that I have had, I perceive that you have been misadvertized; for though I meet with no Effects nor Marks of Displeasure, yet I find no such Tokens or Fruits of Favour, as may give me either Power or Credit for those Undertaking and good Offices, which, perhaps, you expect of me.  
And now I am again upon the Point of retiring to my poor Habitation, having for myself no other Design, than to pass the small remainder of my Days innocently and quietly; and, if it please God, to be gathered in Peace to my Fathers. And concerning you, what to resolve in myself, or what to advise you, truly I know not: For, you must give me leav● to remember of how little Weig● 〈◊〉 opinions and Counsels have bee●●ith you, and how unkindly and unfriendly you have rejected those Exhortations and Admonitions, which in much Affection and Kindness I have given you upon many Occasions, and in almost every thing, from the highest to the lowest, that hath concerned you; and this you may think sufficient to discourage me from putting my Advices into the like Danger: Yet, somewhat I will say: And, First, I think it unfit, and (perhaps) as yet, unsafe for you to come into England; for, I believe, Powel hath told you, that he heard, when he was here, That you were likely to be excepted out of the General Act of Pardon and Oblivion: And though I know not what you have done or said here or there, yet I have several ways heard, That there is as ill an Opinion of you, as of any, even of those that condemned the late King: And when I thought there was no other Exception to you, than your being of the other Party, I spoke to the General in your behalf, who told me, That very ill Offices had been done you, but he would assist you as much as justly he could; and I intended then also to speak to Somebody else, you may guests whom I mean: But, since that, I have heard such things of you, that in the doubtfulness only of their being true, no Man will open his Mouth for you. I will tell you some Passages, and you shall do well to clear yourself of them. It is said, That the University of Copenhagen brought their Album unto you, desiring you to write something therein, and that you did scribere in Albo these words, 
Manus haec inimica Tyrannis,  
Ense petit placida cum Libertate quietem:  And put your Name to it. This cannot choose but be publicly known, if it be true. It is said also, That a Minister, who hath married a Lady Laurence here of Chelsey, but now dwelling at Copenhagen, being there in Company with you, said, I think you were none of the late King's Judges, nor guilty of his Death, meaning our King. Guilty! said you; Do you call that Gild? Why, 'twas the justest and bravest Action that ever was done in England, or any where else; with other words to the same effect. It is said also, That you having heard of a Design to seize upon you, or to cause you to be taken Prisoner, you took notice of it to the King of Denmark himself, and said, I hear there is a Design to seize upon me: But who is it that hath that Design? Est●e nostre Bandit. By which you are understood to mean the King.  
Besides this, it is reported, That you have been heard to say many scornful and contemptuous things of the King's Person and Family; which, unless you can justify yourself, will hardly be forgiven or forgotten: For, such Personal Offences make deeper Impressions than Public Actions either of War or Treaty. Here is a Resident, as he calls himself, of the King of Denmark, whose Name (as I hear) is Pedcombe; he hath visited me, and offered his readiness to give you any Assistance in his Power or Credit with the Ambassador, Mr. Alfield, who was then expected, and is now arrived here, and hath had his first Audience. I have not seen Mr. Pedcombe since; but, within a few Days I will put him in mind of his Profession of Friendship to you, and try what he can or will do. Sir Robert Honywood is also come hither; and, as I hear, the King is graciously pleased to admit him to his Presence, which will be somewhat the better for you, because then the Exceptions against your Employment and Negotiation, wherein you were Colleague, will be removed, and you will have no more to answer for, than your own particular Behaviour. I believe Sir Robert Honywood will be industrious enough to procure Satisfaction to the Merchants in the Business of Money, wherein he will have the Assistance of Sir john Temple; to whom I refer you for that and some other things.  
I have little to say to your Complaints of your Sister Strayford's unequal Returns to your Affection and Kindness, but that I am sorry for it, and that you are well enough served for bestowing so much of your Care where it was not due, and neglecting them to whom it was due, and I hope you will be wiser hereafter. She and her Husband have not yet paid the Thousand Pounds, whereof you are to have your part, by my Gift; for so, I think, you are to understand it, tho' your Mother desired it; and if for the Payment thereof your being in England, or in some Place not far off, be necessary, as some pretend, for the Sealing of some Writings, I think that, and other Reasons, sufficient to persuade you to stay a while where you are, that you may hear frequently from your Friends, and they from you. I am wholly against your going into Italy as yet, till more may be known of your Condition, which, for the present, is hard; and, I confess, that I do not yet see any more than this, that either you must live in Exile, or very privately here; and (perhaps) not safely; for though the Bill of Indemnity be lately passed, yet if there be any particular and great Displeasure against you, as I fear there is, you may feel the Effects thereof from the Higher Powers, and receive Affronts from the Inferior: Therefore you were best to stay at Hamburgh, which, for a Northern Situation, is a good place, and healthful. I will help you as much as I can in discovering and informing you of what concerns you; though, as I began, so I must end, with telling you, That Writing is now grown troublesome to  
Your Affectionate Le— London, Aug. 30. 1660.   

The Honourable Algernoon Sidney's LETTER, AGAINST BRIBERY, AND Arbitrary Government. Written to his Friends, in Answer to Theirs, persuading his Return to England.  
SIR,  
I Am sorry I cannot in all things conform myself to the Advices of my Friends; if theirs had any joint concernment with mine, I would willingly submit my Interest to theirs; but when I alone am interested, and they only advise me to come over as soon as the Act of Indemnity is passed, because they think it is best for me, I cannot wholly lay aside my own Judgement and Choice. I confess, we are naturally inclined to delight in our own Country, and I have a particular Love to mine; I hope I have given some Testimony of it; I think that being exiled from it is a great Evil, and would redeem myself from it with the loss of a great deal of my Blood: But when that Country of mine, which used to be esteemed a Paradise, is now like to be made a Stage of Injury, the Liberty which we hoped to establish oppressed, all manner of Profaneness, Looseness, Luxury and Lewdness set up in its height; instead of the Piety, Virtue, Sobriety, and Modesty, which we hoped God, by our Hands, would have introduced; the Best of our Nation made a Prey to the Worst; the Parliament, Court and Army corrupted, the People enslaved, all things vendible, and no Man safe, but by such evil and infamous Means as Flattery and Bribery; what Joy can I have in my own Country in this Condition? Is it a Pleasure to see all that I love in the World sold and destroyed? Shall I renounce all my old Principles, learn the vile Court-arts, and make my Peace by bribing some of them? Shall their Corruption and Vice be my Safety? Ah! no; better is a Life among Strangers, than in my own Country upon such Conditions. Whilst I live, I will endeavour to preserve my Liberty; or, at least, not consent to the destroying of it. I hope I shall die in the same Principle in which I have lived, and will live no longer than they can preserve me. I have in my Life been guilty of many Follies, but, as I think of no meanness, I will not blot and defile that which is past, by endeavouring to provide for the future. I have ever had in my Mind, that when God should cast me into such a Condition, as that I cannot save my Life, but by doing an indecent thing, He shows me the time is come wherein I should resign it. And when I cannot live in my own Country, but by such means as are worse than dying in it, I think He shows me, I ought to keep myself out of it. Let them please themselves with making the King glorious, who think a Whole People may justly be sacrificed for the Interest and Pleasure of One Man, and a few of his Followers: Let them rejoice in their Subtlety, who, by betraying the former, Powers, have gained the Favour of this, not only preserved, but advanced themselves in these dangerous Changes. Nevertheless (perhaps) they may find the King's Glory is their Shame, his Plenty the People's Misery; and that the gaining of an Office, or a little Money, is a poor Reward for destroying a Nation! (which, if it were preserved in Liberty and Virtue, would truly be the most glorious in the World) and that others may find they have, with much Pains, purchased their own Shame and Misery, a dear Price paid for that which is not worth keeping, nor the Life that is accompanied with it; the Honour of English Parliaments have ever been in making the Nation glorious and happy, not in selling and destroying the Interest of it, to satisfy, the Lusts of one Man. Miserable Nation! that, from so great a height of Glory, is fallen into the most despicable Condition in the World, of having all its Good depending upon the Breath and Will of the vilest Persons in it! cheated and sold by them they trusted! Infamous Traffic, equal almost in Gild to that of judas! In all preceding Ages, Parliaments have been the Pillars of our Liberty, the sure Defenders of the Oppressed: They, who formerly could bridle Kings, and keep the Balance equal between them and the People, are now become the Instruments of all our Oppressions, and a Sword in his Hand to destroy us: They themselves, led by a few interested Persons, who are willing to buy Offices for themselves by the Misery of the whole Nation, and the Blood of the most worthy and eminent Persons in it. Detestable Bribes, worse than the Oaths now in fashion in this Mercenary Court! I mean, to owe neither my Life nor Liberty to any such Means; when the Innocence of my Actions will not protect me, I will stay away till the Storm be overpassed. In short, where Vane, Lambert and Haslerig cannot live in Safety, I cannot live at all. If I had been in England, I should have expected a Lodging with them; or, tho' they may be the first, as being more eminent than I, I must expect to follow their Example, in Suffering, as I have been their Companion in Acting. I am most in Amaze at the mistaken Informations that were sent to me by my Friends, full of Expectations, of Favours, and Employments. Who can think, that they, who imprison them, would employ me, or suffer me to live, when they are put to death? If I might live, and be employed, can it be expected that I should serve a Government that seeks such detestable Ways of establishing itself? Ah! no; I have not learned to make my own Peace, by persecuting and betraying my Brethren, more innocent and worthy than myself: I must live by just Means, and serve to just Ends, or not at all, after such a Manifestation of the Ways by which it is intended the King shall govern. I should have renounced any Place of Favour into which the Kindness and Industry of my Friends might have advanced me, when I found those that were better than I, were only fit to be destroyed. I had formerly some Jealousies, the fraudulent Proclamation for Indemnity, increased the imprisoning of those three Men; and turning out of all the Officers of the Army, contrary to Promise, confirmed me in my Resolutions, not to return.  
To conclude, The Tide is not to be diverted, nor the Oppressed delivered; but God, in his time, will have Mercy on his People; he will save and defend them, and avenge the Blood of those who shall now perish, upon the Heads of those, who, in their Pride, think nothing is able to oppose them. Happy are those whom God shall make Instruments of his Justice in so blessed a Work. If I can live to see that Day, I shall be ripe for the Grave, and able to say with Joy, Lord! now lettest thou thy Servant depart in Peace, etc. [So Sir Arthur Haslerig on Oliver's Death.] Farewell; my Thoughts, as to King and State, depending upon their Actions. No Man shall be a more faithful Servant to him than I, if he make the Good and Prosperity of his People his Glory; none more his Enemy, if he doth the contrary. To my particular Friends I shall be constant in all Occasions, and to you  
A most affectionate Servant, A. SIDNEY.   

A Letter by another Hand.  
To Madam—  
I Have News to tell you: You got a new Subject yesterday; tho', after all, (perhaps) it is no more News to you, than it would be to the Grand Signior, or the French King: For you (Madam) either find or make Subjects wherever you go. It is impossible to see you, without surrendering one's Heart to you; and he that hears you talk, and can still preserve his Liberty, may (for aught I know) revive the Miracle of the three Children in Daniel, and call for a Chamlet Cloak to keep him warm in the midst of a Fiery Furnace. But really (Madam) I am none of those Miracle-mongers; I am true Flesh and Blood, like the rest of my Sex; and, as I make no Scruple to own my Passion to you, so you (Madam) without incurring the Danger of being questioned by the Parliament, may pretend to all the Rights and Privileges of a Conqueror. My Comfort is, that all Mankind, sooner or later, must wear your Chainr; for you have Beauty enough to engage the nicest Heart, though you had no Wit to set it off: And you have so plentiful a share of the last, that were you wholly destitute of the former, as I have already found to my Cost, you have but too much, you could not fail of harming the most Insensible. For my own part, I confess myself an Admirer, or, if you please, an Adorer of your Beauty: But I am a Slave, a mere downright effectual Slave to your Wit. Your very Conversation is infinitely more delicious than the Fruition of any other Woman.  
Thus, my Charming Sovereign, I here profess myself your devoted Vassal and Subject. I promise you eternal Duty and Allegiance: It is neither in my Power nor Will to depose you; and I am sure it is not in your Nature to affect Arbitrary Sway. Tho' if you do, (Madam) God knows, I am a true Church of England-man; I shall never rebel against you in Act or Thought, but only have recourse to Prayers and Tears, and still stick to my Passive Obedience. Perhaps, Madam, you'll tell me, I have talked more than comes to my share; but, being incognito, I assume the Liberty of a Masquerader, and, under that Protection, think myself safe. But, alas, did you know how I languish for you, I dare swear (my charming Sylvia!) you would bestow some Pity upon  
AMYNTAS.  
To Madam—  
I Have never had the Happiness of your Conversation but once, and then I found you so very charming, that I have wore your lovely Idea ever since in my Mind. But it is not without the least Astonishment, that I received the News of what befell you t'other Day; it still makes me tremble, and leaves a dismal Impression behind it, not easy to be imagined. For Heaven's sake, Madam, what could urge you to so cruel a Resolution, that might have proved irreparably fatal to yourself, and matter of perpetual Affliction to your Friends? What Harm have I, and a Thousand more of your Adorers done you, that you should so terribly revenge the supposed Infidelity of another upon them? Or, Why should you, whom Beauty and Wit have put in a Capacity to subdue our whole Sex, lay to Heart the Unkindness of one Lover, who may proceed to a new Election when you please? If I had Vanity enough to aspire to be your Privy-counselor, I would even advise you to bury the remembrance of what is past, and either to punish all Mankind, as you easily may, though I need not instruct you how; or else to choose some happy Favourite out of the Throng of your Servants, and shower your Favours upon him. If Sincerity and Truth may bid for the Purchase of your Heart, I can help you to one that thoroughly understands your Worth, and accordingly values it; that would be damned before he would abandon you for the greatest Princess in the Universe; that would cheerfully die for your sake, and yet only lives out of Hopes, that he may one day merit your Esteem by his Services. I fancy, Madam, you now demand of me, where this strange Monster of Fidelity is to be found? Know then, that he lives within less than a Hundred Miles of Red-Lyon-Square; and that his Name is, (Oh! pardon the Insolence of this Discovery) his Name is  
AMYNTAS,  
There is another Letter that accompanies this, and was written a Week ago; which I had not Courage enough to lay at your Feet till now.   

LOVE-LETTERS,  BY Mr. Thomas Otway. 
To Madam—  
My TYRANT!  
I Endure too much Torment to be silent, and have endured it too long not to make the severest Complaint. I love you, I dote on you; Desire makes me mad, when I am near you; and Despair, when I am from you. Sure, of all Miseries, Love is to me the most intolerable; it haunts me in my Sleep, perplexes me when waking; every melancholy Thought makes my Fears more powerful; and every delightful one makes my Wishes more unruly. In all other Uneasy Chances of a Man's Life, there is an immediate Recourse to some kind of Succour or another: in Wants, we apply ourselves to our Friends; in Sickness, to Physicians: but Love, the Sum, the Total of all Misfortunes, must be endured with Silence, no Friend so dear to trust with such a Secret, nor Remedy in Art so powerful, to remove its Anguish. Since the first Day I saw you, I have hardly enjoyed one Hour of perfect Quiet: I loved you early; and no sooner had I beheld that soft bewitching Face of yours, but I felt in my Heart the very Foundation of all my Peace give way: But when you became another's, I must confess, that I did then rebel, had foolish Pride enough to promise myself, I would in time recover my Liberty: In spite of my enslaved Nature, I swore against myself, I would not love you: I affected a Resentment, stifled my Spirit, and would not let it bend, so much as once to upbraid you, each Day it was my chance to see or to be near you: With stubborn Sufferance I resolved to bear and brave your Power; nay, did it often too, successfully, Generally with Wine or Conversation I diverted or appeased the Daemon that possessed me; but when at Night, returning to my unhappy self, to give my Heart an account why I had done it so unnatural a Violence, it was then I always paid a treble Interest for the short Moment's of Ease which I had borrowed; then every treacherous Thought rose up, and took your part, nor left me till they had thrown me on my Bed, and opened those Sluices of Tears that were to run till Morning. This has been for some Years my best Condition: Nay, Time itself, that decays all things else, has but increased and added to my Longings. I tell it you, and charge you to believe it as you are generous, (which sure you must be, for every thing except your Neglect of me, persuades me that you are so) even at this time, tho' other Arms have held you, and so long trespassed on those dear Joys that only were my Due; I love you with that tenderness of Spirit, that purity of Truth, and that sincerity of Heart, that I could sacrifice the nearest Friends or Interests I have on Earth, barely but to please you: If I had all the World, it should be yours; for with it I could be but miserable, if you were not mine. I appeal to yourself for Justice, if through the whole Actions of my Life I have done any one thing that might not let you see how absolute your Authority was over me. Your Commands have been always sacred to me; your Smiles have always transported me, and your Frowns awed me. In short, you will quickly become to me the greatest Blessing, or the greatest Curse, that ever Man was doomed to. I cannot so much as look on you without Confusion; Wishes and Fears rise up in War within me, and work a cursed Distraction through my Soul, that must, I am sure, in time have wretched Consequences: You only can, with that healing Cordial, Love, assuage and calm my Torments; pity the Man than that would be proud to die for you, and cannot live without you, and allow him thus far to boast too, that (take out Fortune from the Balance) you never were beloved or courted by a Creature that had a nobler or juster Pretence to your Heart, than the Unfortunate and (even at this time) Weep  
OTWAY.  
To Madam—  
IN value of your Quiet, tho' it would be the utter ruin of my own, I have endeavoured this Day to persuade myself never more to trouble you with a Passion that has tormented me sufficiently already, and is so much the more a Torment to me, in that I perceive it is become one to you, who are much dearer to me than myself. I have laid all the Reasons my distracted Condition would let me have recourse to, before me: I have consulted my Pride, whether a●ter a Rival's Possession I ought to ruin all my Peace for a Woman that another has been more blest in, tho' no Man ever loved as I did: But Love, victorious Love, overthrows all that, and tells me, it is his Nature never to remember; he still looks forward from the present Hour● expecting still new Dawns, new rising Happiness, never looks back, never regards what is past, and left behind him, but buries and forgets it quite in the hot fierce pursuit of Joy before him: I have consulted too my very self, and find how careless Nature was in framing me; seasoned me hastily with all the most violent Inclinations and Desires, but omitted the Ornaments that should make those Qualities become me: I have consulted too my Lot of Fortune, and find how foolishly I wish possession of what is so precious, all the World's too cheap for it; yet still I Love, still I dote on, and cheat myself, very content because the Folly pleases me. It is Pleasure to think how Fair you are, tho' at the same time worse than Damnation, to think how Cruel: Why should you tell me you have shut your Heart up for ever? It is an Argument unworthy of yourself, sounds like Reserve, and not so much Sincerity, as sure I may claim even from a little of your Friendship. Can your Age, your Face, your Eyes, and your Spirit bid defiance to that sweet Power? No, you know better to what end Heaven made you, know better how to manage Youth and Pleasure, then to let them die and palls upon your Hands. 'Tis me, 'tis only me you have barred your Heart against. My Sufferings, my Diligence, my Sighs, Complaints, and Tears are of no power with your haughty Nature; yet sure you might at least vouchsafe to pity them, not shift me off with gross, thick, homespun Friendship, the common Coin that passes betwixt Worldly Interests: must that be my Lot! Take it Ill-natured, take it; give it to him who would waste his Fortune for you; give it the Man would fill your Lap with Gold; court you with Offers of vast rich Possessions; give it the Fool that has nothing but his Money to plead for him; Love will have a much nearer Relation, or none. I ask for glorious Happiness; you bid me Welcome to your Friendship, it is like seating me at your Side-table, when I have the best Pretence to your Right-hand at the Feast. I Love, I dote, I am Mad, and know no measure; nothing but Extremes can give me ease; the kindest Love, or most provoking Scorn: Yet even your Scorn would not perform the Cure, it might indeed take off the edge of Hope, but damned Despair will gnaw my Heart for ever. If then I am not odious to your Eyes, if you have Charity enough to value the Wellbeing of a Man that holds you dearer than you can the Child your Bowels are most fond of, by that sweet ●ledge of your first softest Love, I charm and here conjure you to pity the distracting Pangs of mine; pity my unquiet Days and restless Nights; pity the Frenzy that has half possessed my Brain already, and makes me write to you thus ravingly: The Wretch in Bedlam is more at Peace than I am! And, if I must never possess the Heaven I wish for, my next Desire is, (and the sooner the better) a clean-swept Cell, a merciful Keeper, and your Compassion when you find me there.  
Think and be Generous.  
To Madam—  
SInce you are going to quit the World, I think myself obliged, as a Member of that World, to use the best of my Endeavours to divert you from so ill-natured an Inclination; therefore, by reason your Visits will take up so much of this Day, I have debarred myself the opportunity of waiting on you this Afternoon, that I may take a time you are more Mistress of, and when you shall have more leisure to hear, if it be possible for any Arguments of mine to take place in a Heart, I am afraid too much hardened against me: I must confess it may look a little extraordinary for one under my Circumstances to endeavour the confirming your good Opinion of the World, when it had been much better for me, one of us had never seen it: For Nature disposed me from my Creation to Love, and my ill Fortune has condemned me to Dote on one, who certainly could never have been deaf so long to so faithful a Passion, had Nature disposed her from her Creation to hate any thing but me. I beg you to forgive this Trifling, for I have so many Thoughts of this nature, that 'tis impossible for me to take Pen and Ink in my Hand, and keep 'em quiet, especially when I have the least pretence to let you know you are the cause of the severest Disquiets that ever touched the Heart of  
OTWAY.  
To Madam—  
COuld I see you without Passion, or be absent from you without Pain, I need not beg your Pardon for this renewing my Vows, that I love you more than Health, or any Happiness here or hereafter. Every thing you do is a new Charm to me; and though I have languished for seven long tedious Years of Desire, jealously and despairing; yet, every Minute I see you, I still discover something new and more bewitching. Consider how I love you; what would not renounce, or enterprise for you? I must have you mine, or I am miserable; and nothing but knowing which shall be the happy Hour, can make the rest of my Life that are to come tolerable. Give me a word or two of comfort, or resolve never to look with common goodness on me more, for I cannot bear a kind Look, and after it a cruel Denial. This Minute my Heart aches for you; and, if I cannot have a Right in yours, I wish it would ache till I could complain to you no longer.  
Remember poor  
OTWAY.  
To Madam—  
YOU cannot but be sensible, that I am blind, or you would not so openly discover what a ridiculous Tool you make of me. I should be glad to discover whose satisfaction I was sacrificed to this Morning; for I am sure your own ill Nature could not be guilty of inventing such an Injury to me, merely to try how much I could bear, were it not for the sake of some Ass, that has the Fortune to please you: In short, I have made it the Business of my Life to do you Service, and please you, if possible, by any way to convince you of the unhappy Love I have for seven Years toiled under; and your whole Business is to pick ill-natured Conjectures out of my harmless freedom of Conversation, to Vex and Gall me with, as often as you are pleased to Divert yourself at the Expense of my Quiet. Oh, thou Tormenter! Could I think it were Jealousy, how should I humble myself to be justified; but I cannot bear the thought of being made a Property either of another Man's good Fortune, or the Vanity of a Woman that designs nothing but to plague me.  
There may be Means found sometime or other, to let you know your mistaking.  
To Madam—  
YOU were pleased to send me word you would meet me in the Mall this Evening, and give me further satisfaction in the Matter you were so unkind to charge me with; I was there, but found you not, and therefore beg of you, as you ever would wish yourself to be eased of the highest Torment it were possible for your Nature to be sensible of, to let me see you sometime to Morrow, and send me word, by this Bearer, where, and at what Hour, you will be so just, as either to acquit or condemn me; that I may, hereafter, for your sake, either bless all your bewitching Sex; or, as often as I henceforth think of you, curse Womankind for ever.  

Mr.— to Mr. G—  
Dear G—,  
AS I hope to be saved, and that's a bold word in a Morning, when our Consciences, like Children, are always most uneasy; when the Light of Nature flashes upon us with the Light of the Day, and makes way for the calm return of Thought, that Eternal Foe to Quiet; but, I thank my Stars, I have shaken that Snake out of my Bosom, and made Peace with that Domestic Enemy Conscience, and so much the more dangerous by being so—  
— But, as I was going to say, your Letter has put new Life into me, and revived me from the Damp, that Solitude and bad Company has flung me into; 'tis as hard to find a Man of Sense here, as a handsome Woman: A Company of Country 'Squires round a Table, is like a Company of Waiters round a dead Corpse, they are always ridiculously Sober and Grave, or, which is worse, impertinently Loud: Wine, that makes the gay Man of the Town brisk and sprightly, only serves to pluck off their Veil of Bashfulness, a Mask that Fools ought always to wear; and which, once off, makes 'em as nauseous, as a barefaced Lady of the Pit; they are as particular in their Stories, as a Lawyer in his Evidence, and husband their Tales, as well as they do their Moneys: In short, as Madam Olivia says, They are my Aversion of all Aversions.  
You may easily imagine, I have too much of the Men, but on my word, I have too little of the Women: Full of Youth, Vigour and Health I lie fallow, and, like the Vestal Virgins, am damned to Coldness and Chastity in the midst of Flames. God knows what hard shifts I use, my Right-hand often does, what (like Acts of Charity) I'm ashamed my Lefthand should know. As much as I despise the Conversation of these Fops, I court it out of an apprehension of being alone, not daring to trust myself to so dangerous a Companion as myself. 'Tis in these cool Intervals of Solitude, that we conspire Cuckoldom against our Friend, Treason against the State, etc. for the Devil of Lust and Ambition, like other Evil Spirits, only appears to us when we are alone.  
The Talking of the Devil, puts me in mind of the Parsons: I had the Benefit of the Clergy this Week; I mean the Company of two honest unbigotted Parsons; I drank a Bowl to the Manes of our immortal Friend, one that was as witty as Necessity, and discovered more Truths, than ever Time did: One that was born to Unchain the World, that struggled with Mysteries as Hercules did with Monsters, and, like him, too fell by a Distaff.  
After so mournful a Subject, egad I'll make you Laugh— The Deuce take me, if I did not, last Week, assist at the Ceremony of making a Christian; nay, more Sir, I was, Honos sit Auribus, a Godfather, who am  
your Affectionate Friend, and Servant, etc.    

Mons. BOILEAV's LETTERS,  TRANSLATED By THO. CHEEK, Esq 

To the Duke de Vivone, upon his Entrance into the Haven of Messina.  
My LORD,  
KNow you not, that one of the surest ways, to hinder a Man from being pleasant, is, to bid him be so: Since you forbade me being serious, I never found myself so grave, and I speak nothing now but Sentences. And, besides, your last Action has something in it so great, that truly it would go against my Conscience to write to you of it otherwise, than in the Heroic Style: However, I cannot resolve, not to obey you, in all, that you command me; so that in the Humour that I find myself, I am equally afraid to tyre you with a serious Tri●le, or to trouble you with an ill Piece of Wit.  
In fine, my Apollo has assisted me this Morning, and in the time that I thought the least of it, made me find upon my Pillow, two Letters, which, for want of mine, may perhaps give you an agreeable amusement: They are dated from the Elysian Fields; the one is from Balzac, and the other from Voiture, who being both charmed with the Relation of your last Fight, write to you from the other World, to congratulate you. This is that from Balzac; you will easily know it to be his by his Style, which cannot express things simply, nor des●end from its height.   

From the Elysian Fields, June the 22d.  
My LORD,  
THe Report of your Actions, revives the Dead; it wakens those, who have slept these thirty Years, and were condemned to an eternal Sleep; it makes Silence itself speak: The Brave! The Splendid! The Glorious Conquest that you have made over the Enemies of France! You have restored Bread to a City, which has been accustomed to furnish it to all others: You have nourished the nursing Mother of Italy; the Thunder of that Fleet, which shut you up the Avenues of its Port, has done no more than barely saluted your Entrance; its Resistance has detained you no longer, than an over civil Reception: So far from hindering the Rapidity of your Course, it has not interrupted the Order of your March; you have constrained, in their Sight, the South, and North Winds to obey you, without chastizing the Sea, as Zerxes did; you have taught it Discipline; you have done yet more, you have made the Spaniard humble. After that, what may not one say of you? No, Nature, I say, Nature, when she was young, and in the time that she produced Alexander's and Caesars, has produced nothing so great, as under the Reign of Lovis XIV, she has given to the French, in her declension, that which Rome could not obtain from her in her greatest Maturity. She has made appear to the World, in your Age, both in Body and Soul, that perfect Valour which we have scarce seen the Idea of in Romances and Heroic Poems. Begging the Pardon of one of your Poets— he had no reason to say, That beyond Cocytus' Merit, is no more known: Yours, my LORD, is extolled here, by the common Voice, on both sides of Styx. It makes a continual remembrance of you, even in the Abodes of Forgetfulness: It finds zealous Partisans in the Country of Indifference. It puts Acheron into the Interests of the Seine. Nay more, There is no shade amongst us, so prepossessed with the Principles of the Porticus, so hardened in the School of Zeno, so fortified against Joy and Grief, that does not hear your Praises with pleasure, that does not clap his Hands, and cry, A Miracle! at the Moment you are named, and is not ready to say with your Malherb, 
A la fin, c'est trop de silence,  
En si beau suject, de parler.  As for me, my LORD, who know you a great deal better, I do nothing but meditate on you in my Repose; I fill my Thoughts entirely with your Idea, in the long Hours of our leisure; I cry continually, How great a Man is this! And if I wish to live again, 'tis not so much, to return to the Light, as to enjoy the Sovereign Felicity of your Conversation, and to tell you Face to Face, with how much respect, I am from the whole extent of my Soul,  
My LORD, Your Lordship's most humble, and most obedient Servant, BALZAC.  
I Know not, my LORD, whither these violent Exaggerations will please you; and whither you will not find, that the Style of Balzac is a little corrupted in the other World; however it be, (in my Opinion) he never lavished his Hyperboles more to the purpose; 'tis for you to judge of it: But first read, (if you please) the Letter from Voiture.   

From the Elysian Fields, June the 22d.  
My LORD,  
THo' we poor Devils, who are dead, do not concern ourselves much in the Affairs of the Living, and are not exceedingly inclined to Mirth: Yet I cannot forbear rejoicing at the Great Things you do over our Heads. Seriously, your last Fight makes the Devil and all of a Noise here below; it has made itself heard in a place, where the very Thunder of Heaven is not heard; and has made your Glory known in a Country where even the Sun is not known. There are a great many Spaniards come hither, who were in the Action, and have informed us of the Particulars. I see no reason why the People of that Nation should pass for Bullies; for I can assure you they are very civil Persons, and the King sent 'em hither t'other Day very mild and quiet. To tell you the truth, my LORD, you have managed your Affairs very well of late. To see with what speed you fly o'er the Mediterranean-Sea, would make one think you absolutely Master of it: There is not at present, in all its extent, one single Privateer in safety, and, if you go on at this rate, I can't see how you'd have Tunis and Algiers subsist. We have here the Caesars, the Pompey's, and the Alexanders; they all agree, That you exactly follow their Conduct in your way of fight: But Caesar believes you to be superlatively Caesar. There are none here, even to the Alaricks, the Gensericks, the Theodoricks', and all the other Conquerors in icks, who don't speak very well of this Action; and in Hell itself (I know not whether you are acquainted with that Place) there is no Devil, my LORD, who does not confess ingenuously, That at the Head of an Army you are a greater Devil, than himself: This is a Truth that your very Enemies agree in. But to see the good that you have done at Messina, for my part, I believe you are more like an Angel, than a Devil, only Angels have a more ●airy shape, and do not carry their Arms in a Scarf. Raillery apart, Hell is extremely biased in your Favour. There is but one thing to be objected to your Conduct, and that is the little care, that you sometimes take of your Life. You are so well beloved in this Country, that they don't desire your Company. Believe me, my LORD, I have already said it in the other World, a Demi-God, is but a very little thing, when he is dead; he's nothing like what he was, when he was alive. And as for me, who know already, by experience what it is to be no more, I set the best Face on the Matter I can; but to hide nothing from you, I die with Impatience to return to the World; were it only to have the Pleasure to see you there; in pursuance of this intended Voyage, I have already sent several times to find out the scattered Parts of my Body to set 'em together, but I could never recover my Heart, which I left at parting with those seven Mistresses, that I served, as you know so faithfully, the whole seven at once. As for my Wit, unless you have it, I'm told, 'tis not to be found in the World. To tell you the truth, I shrewdly suspect, that you have at least the Ga●ety of it: For I have been told here four or five Sayings of your Turn of Expression, which I wish, with all my Heart, I had said, and for which I would willingly give the Panegyric of Pliny, and two of my best Letters. Supposing then, that you have it, I beg you to send it me back as soon as possibly you can; for indeed you can't imagine how inconvenient it is● not to have all one's Wit about one, especially when one Writes to such a Man as you are; this is the Cause that my Style, at present, is so altered: Were it not for that, you should see me merry again, as formerly, with my Comrade le Broch●t. And I should not be reduced to the necessity of ending my Letter trivally, as I do in telling you, that I am,  
My LORD, Your Lordship's most Humble and Obedient Servant, VOITURE.   

THese are the two Letters, just as I received 'em: I send 'em you writ in my own Hand, because you would have had too much trouble to read the Characters of the other World, if I had sent 'em you in the Original. Do not fancy, my LORD, that this is only a trial of Wit, and an imitation of the Style of these two Writers. You know very well, that Balzac and Voiture are inimitable. However, were it true, that I had recourse to this Invention to divert you, should I be so much in the wrong of it, or rather ought I not to be esteemed, for having found out this way to make you read the Praises, which you would never have suffered otherways? In a word, could I better make appear with what Sincerity, and with what Respect I am,  
My LORD, Yours, etc.    

A LETTER Writ by Mr. DENNIS, Sent with the following SPEECH.  
SIR,  
I Have here sent you enclosed, what I promised you by the last Post, and I think myself obliged to give you some account of it. In the late Appendix to the new Observator, I find the Author reasonably complaining of the corruption of History by the French, and giving a reasonable guess, how false the History of this Age (as far as it is writ by them) is like to come out in the next. And particularly what Monsieur Pelisson's History of the present King of France is like to be, which is now writing by that King's own order. Monsieur Boileau, who writ the enclosed, has at least as great a share in that History as Monsieur Pelisson: And therefore you have in the enclosed, in the which he has very artfully inserted a Panegyric of his Prince, a Pattern of what his part of the History will be. For having flattered his Master in this small Panegyric, we have all the reason in the World to believe, That he will flatter him too in his History. And that he has flattered him here, you will plainly find; not only by Exaggerations, which are in some measure to be allowed to an Orator; but in affirming things which are directly contrary to the truth. Such are those two remarkable Passages of the French King's offering Peace to the late Confederacy, for the general good of Christendom, (which not so much as a Frenchman, who has common Sense, believes) and of his Bombarding Genoa, only to be revenged of its Insolency and of its Perfidiousness, which every Man, who has heard the Story of Mr. Valdryon, must laugh at. Now since it is to be presumed, that Monsieur Boileau will flatter him in his History, because it is plain that he has ●latter'd him in his Panegyric; What are we to expect from Monsieur Pelisson, whose sincerity is by no means so much talked of as the other's? I thought to have concluded here: But it comes into my mind to make two Reflections upon the Panegyrical part of the enclosed. The first is this, That since Monsieur Boileau, who is, in the main, a Man of Sincerity, and a lover of Truth, could not but flatter Lewis the Fourteenth when he commended him; we may conclude, that it is impossible to give him a general commendation without flattery. For, where a Satiric Poet paints, what other Man must not daub? The second Reflection is this, That since this Panegyric is scarce to be supported, notwithstanding the most admirable genius of the Author, which shines throughout it; and an Art to which nothing can be added, (remember that I speak of the Original) and beyond which nothing can be desired; you may easily conclude how extremely fulsome the rest of the Panegyrics upon Lewis the Fourteenth must needs be, whose Authors fall infinitely short of Boileau's, either Genius, or Art, or Virtue.   

THE SPEECH OF Monsieur BOILEAV, Upon his Admission into the French Academy.  Translated by Mr. DENNIS. 
GENTLEMEN,  
THe Honour this Day conferred upon me, is something so great, so extraordinary, so little expected; and so many several sorts of reasons ought to have for ever excluded me from it, that at this very Moment, in which I return my Acknowledgements, I am doubtful if I ought to believe it. Is it then possible, can it be true, Gentlemen, that you have in effect judged me worthy to be admitted into this illustrious Society, whose famous Establishment does no less honour to the memory of Cardinal Richlieu, than all the rest of the numerous Wonders of his matchless Ministry? And what must be the thoughts of that great Man? What must be the thoughts of that wise Chansellour, who after him enjoyed the Dignity of your Protectorship; and after whom it was your Opinion, that none but your King had right to be your Protector? What must be their thoughts, Gentlemen, if they should behold me this day, becoming a Part of this Glorious Body, the Object of their eternal care and esteem; and into which by the Laws which they have established, by the Maxims which they have maintained, no one ought to be received, who is not of a spotless Merit, an extraordinary Wit, and comparable even to you? But farther, whom do I succeed in the Place which you are pleased to afford me here? 
* Monsieur de Besons.  Is it not a Man who is equally renowned for his great Employments, and his profound Capacity? Is it not a Magistrate who filled one of the foremost Seats in the Council; and who, in so many important Occasions, has been Honoured by his Prince, with his strictest Confidence: A Magistrate, no less wise than Experienced, watchful, laborious; with whom the more I compare myself, the less Proportion I find.  
I know very well, Gentlemen, (and who can be ignorant of it,) that in the choice which you make of Men who are proper to supply the Vacancies of your learned Assembly, you have no regard either to Place or to Dignity: That Politeness, Learning, and an Acquaintance with all the more gentle Arts, have always ushered in naked Merit to you, and that you do not believe it to be unbecoming of you, to substitute in the room of the highest Magistrate, of the most exalted Minister, some famous Poet, or some Writer, whom his Works have rendered Illustrious, and who has very o●ten no other Dignity, than that which his Desert has given him upon Parnassus. But if you barely consider me as a Man of Learning, what can I offer you that may be worthy of the favour, with which you have been pleased to honour me? Is it a wretched Collection of Poetry, successful rather by a happy temerity and a dexterous imitation of the Ancients, than by the beauty of its thoughts, or the richness of its expressions? Is it a Translation that falls so far short of the great Masterpieces with which you every day supply us; and in the which you so gloriously revive Thucydides, Xenophon, Tacitus, and all the rest of the renowned Heroes of the most learned Antiquity? No, Gentlemen, you are too well acquainted with the just value of things, to recompense at a rate so high, such low Productions as mine, and offer me voluntarily upon so slight a foundation, an Honour which the knowledge of my want of Merit, has discouraged me still from demanding.  
What can be the reason then, which in my behalf has so happily influenced you upon this occasion? I begin to make some discovery of it, and I dare engage that I shall not make you blush in exposing it. The goodness which the greatest Prince in the World has shown in employing me, together with one of the first of your illustrious Writers, to make one Collection of the infinite number of his Immortal Actions; the Permission which he has given me to do this, has supplied all my Defects with you.  
Yes, Gentlemen, whatever just Reasons ought to have excluded me ever from your Academy, you believed that you could not with Justice suffer that a Man who is destined to speak of such Mighty Things, should be deprived of the Utility of your Lessons, or instructed in any other School than in yours. And, by this, you have clearly shown, that when it is to s●rve your August Protector, whatever Consideration might otherwise restrain you, your Zeal will not suffer you to cast your eyes upon an● thing but the Interest of your Master's Glory.  
Yet suffer me, Gentlemen, to undeceive you, if you believe that that great Prince, at the time when he granted that favour to me, believed that he should meet within me a Writer, who was able to sustain in the least, by the Beauty of Style, or by the magnificent Pomp of Expression, the Grandeur of his Exploits. No, Gentlemen, it belongs to you, and to Pens like yours, to show the World such Masterpieces; and he never conceived so advantageous a thought of me. But as every thing that he has done in his Reign is Wonderful, is Prodigious, he did not think it would be amiss, that in the midst of so many renowned Writers, who with emulation describe his Actions in all their Splendour, and with all the Ornaments of the sublimest Eloquence, a Man without Artifice, and accused rather of too much Sincerity than of Flattery, should contribute by his Labour and by his Advice, to set to show in a proper light, and in all the simplicity of the most natural Style, the Truth of those Actions, which being of themselves so little probable, have rather need to be faithfully related, than to be strongly exaggerated.  
And indeed, Gentlemen, when Poets and Orators, and Historians, who are sometimes as daring as Poets or Orators, shall come to display upon so happy a Subject, all the bold strokes of their Art, all their force of Expression; when they shall say of Lewis the Great, more justly than was said of a famous Captain of old, that he alone has achieved more Exploits than other Princes have read; that he alone has taken more Towns, than other Monarches have wished to take: When they shall assure us, that there is no Potentate upon the face of the Earth, no not the most Ambitious, who in the secret Prayers that he puts up to Heaven, dares presume to Petition for so much Glory, for so much Prosperity as Heaven has freely granted this Prince: When they shall write, that his Condust is Mistress of Events; that Fortune dares not contradict his Designs: When they shall paint him at the Head of his Armies, marching with Gigantic Strides, over great Rivers and the highest Mountains; thundering down Ramparts, rending hard Rocks, and tearing into ten thousand pieces every thing that resists his impetuous Shock: These Expressions will doubtless appear great, rich, noble, adapted to the lofty Subject; but at the same time that the World shall wonder at them, it will not think itself obliged to believe them, and the Truth may be easily disowned or mistaken, under the disguise of its pompous Ornaments.  
But, when Writers without artifice, and who are contented faithfully to relate things, and with all the simplicity of Witnesses who depose, rather than of Historians, who make a Narration, shall rightly set forth, all that has passed in France, ever since the famous Peace of the Pyrenees; all that the King has done in his Dominions, to re-establish Order, Discipline, Law: when they shall reckon up all the Provinces which he has added to his Kingdoms in succeeding Wars, all the Advantages, all the Victories which he has gained of his Enemies; Holland, Germany, Spain, all Europe too feeble against him alone, a War that has been always fruitful in prosperity, and a more glorious Peace: When Pens that are sincere, I say, and a great deal more careful to write the Truth, than to make others admire them, shall rightly articulate all these Actions, disposed in their order of time, and attended with their real circumstances; who is it that can then descent from them, I do not say of our Neighbours, I do not say of Allies; I say of our mortal Enemies? And tho' they should be unwilling to acknowledge the truth of them, will not their diminished Forces, their States confined within stricter Bounds, their Complaints, their Jealousies, their Furies, their very Invectives, in spite of themselves, convince them? Can they deny that in that very Year, of which I am speaking, this Prince being resolved to constrain them all to accept of a Peace which he had offered them for the good of Christendom, did all at once, and that at a time, when they had published, that he was entirely exhausted of Men and Money: that he did then, I say, all at once, in the Low-Countries, cause to start up as 'twere out of the ground two mighty Armies, each of them consisting of Forty Thousand Men; and that he provided for them abundant Subsistance there, notwithstanding the scarcity of Forage, and the excessive drought of the Season? Can they deny, that whilst with one of these Armies, he caused his Lieutenants to besiege Luxemburgh, himself with the other, keeping as it were blocked all the Towns of Brabant and Hainault: That he did, by this most admirable Conduct, or, rathert by a kind of Enchantment, like that o● the Head so renowned in the ancient Fables, whose Aspect transformed the Beholders to Stones, render the Spaniards unmoved Spectators of the taking of that important Place, in the which they had reposed their utmost Refuge? That by a no less admirable effect of the same prodigious Enchantment, that obstinate Enemy to his Glory, that industrious Contriver of Wars and Confederacies, who had laboured so long to stir up all Europe against him, found himself, if I may use the Expression, disabled and impotent, tied up on every side, and reduced to the wretched Vengeance of dispersing Libels; of sending forth Cries and Reproaches: Our very Enemies, give me leave to repeat it, can they they deny all this? Must not they confess, That at the time when these Wonders were executing in the Low-Countries, our Fleet upon the Mediterranean, after having forced Algiers to be a Suppliant for Peace, caused Genoa to feel, by an Example that will be eternally dreadful, the Just Chastisement of its Insolence and of its Perfidiousness; burying under the Ruins of Palaces and stately Houses that proud City, more easy to be destroyed than be humbled? No, without doubt, our Enemies dare not give the Lie to such known Truths, especially when they shall see them writ with that simple and natural Air, and with that Character of Sincerity and Probability, with which, whate'er my Defects are, I do not absoly despair to be able at least in part to to supply the History.  
But since this very Simplicity, all Enemy, as it is to Ostentation and Pageantry, has yet its Art, its Method, its Beauties; from whence can I better derive that Art, and those Beauties, than from the source of all Delicacies, this ●am'd Academy, which has kept possession, for so many Years, of all the Treasures, of all the Riches, of our Tongue? These, gentlemans, are the things which I am in hopes to find among you; this is what I come to study with you; this is what I come to learn of you. Happy, if by my assiduity in frequenting you, by my address in bringing you to speak of these Matters, I can engage you to conceal nothing of all your most secret Skill from me: Your Skill to render Nature decent and chaste at the very time when she is most alluring; and to make the Colours and Paint of Art, appear to be the genuine Beauties of Nature. Thrice happy! if by my Respects and by my sincere Submissions, I can perfectly convince you of the extreme Acknowledgement, which I shall make all my Life-time for the unexpected Honour you have done me.   

Letters of Courtship TO A Woman of Quality.  
IF it be a Crime in me, Madam, to love, 'tis your fair Self that's the occasion of it; and if it be a Crime in me to tell you I do, 'tis myself only that's faulty. I confess, 'twas in my Power to have forborn writing, but I am satisfied I could never have seen you, but the Language of my Looks would have disclosed the secret; and to what purpose is it to pretend to conceal a Flame that will discover itself by its own Light? In my mind there's more Confession in disordered Actions, frequent Sighs, or a complaining Countenance, than in all the artful Expressions the Tongue can utter; I have been struggling with myself this three Months to discover a thing which I now must do in three words, and that is, that I adore you; and I am sure if you'll be just to yourself, you cannot be so unjust to me, as to question the reality of this Discovery, for 'tis impossible for you to be ignorant of the Charms you possess, no body can be rich, and yet unacquainted with their Stores. And therefore, since 'tis certain, you have every thing wonderfully engaging, you must not take it ill that my Taste is as curious as another's, I should do an injury to my own Judgement if it were not; I am not, Madam, so vain as to believe, that any thing I can act or utter should ever persuade you to retain the least kind regard, in recompense of the pain I suffer; I only beg leave and liberty to complain: They that are hurt in Service, are permitted to show their Wounds; and the more gallant the Conqueror, the more generous is his Compassion. I ventured last Night to falter out my Misfortune, 'twas almost dark, and I attempted it with greater boldness, nay, you yourself (cruel and charming as you are) must needs take notice of my disorder; your Sentences were short and reproving; your Answers cold; and your Manner (contrary to your usual and peculiar sweetness) was severe and forbidding, yet in spite of all the Awe and i'll Aspect you put on, you must always appear most adorable to,  
MADAM, Your most lost and unfortunate humble Servant.  
By the same Hand.  
YOu need not have laid an Obligation on me of writing, who am so inclinable of my own accord, to tyre yo● with Let●ers; 'tis the most agreeable thing I can do, and could wish you thought it so too; but when I reflect upon the harshness of my Expressions, I must needs conclude, I have a greater regard to my own satisfaction in writing, than to your patience in reading; the only way I know to make me write better, would be to receive more frequent Letters from you, which would instruct me to do it; and I should think it the greatest perfection of my Pen to imitate even the faults of yours (if there were any.) I have the satisfaction left me, that I am writing to one, that, though her Judgement be nice and discerning, her Interpretation is easy and candid; ONE that has not only the brightness of Heaven to make me adore her, but also the goodness of it to forgive my offences; else I should despair of Pardon for this too long Letter.  
I confess, if I were to make a recital of your Divine Qualities, an Age would be too small a time to be employed in the Work: I should endeavour to paint your gay airy Temper, and yet shadow it with all the Modesty and cautious Reservedness; you have an Humour so very taking, that, as it fires the serious, and dull, so it checks, and restrains the too forward; and as your Charms give encouragement, so your wakeful Conduct creates despair. If the Paper and your Patience would not fail me, I could live upon this Subject; but whilst I do Justice to your Virtues, I offend your Modesty; and every Offence against you, Madam, must be avoided as much as possible by him, all whose Happiness depends on pleasing you, as does that of,  
MADAM, Your humble Servant.  
By the same Hand.  
AS I cannot reflect upon the melancholy Appearance of things on Sunday and Monday last, without an Affliction inexpressible, so I cannot think on the happy Change without the most grateful Pleasure. Heavens! how my Heart sunk, when I found the tenderest part of my Soul seized with an Indisposition, her Colour faded, the usual Gaiety of her Temper eclipsed, her Tongue faltering, her Air languishing, and the charming Lustre of her Eyes setting and decayed! Instead of kind Expressions full of Love and Endearments, I could hear nothing but Complaints, and the melancholy Effects of a growing Illness. 'Tis true, (my dearest Life) tho' you are as beautiful as Light, tho' sweet and tender as a Flower in Spring, tho' gay and cheerful as dawning Youth, yet all these Perfections, that captivate others, cannot secure you against the Tyranny of Distempers; Sickness has no regard to your Innocence, but the same ruffling Tempest that tears up the common Weeds, blasts also the fragrant blushing Rose: But now, to the Eternal Peace of my satisfied Mind, ●he Feverish Heat is extinguished, and your Charms recover their usual heavenly Brightness; I am the Unhappy Wretch that feels their force, and consumes of a Fever never to be extinguished, but with the Life of,  
MADAM, Yours, etc.  
By the same Hand.  
THIS Morning I discovered the happy Signal at your Window, which was as welcome to me as a Cordial to fainting Spirits: Heavens grant the Design be real, Love is never free from Fears; and my presaging Mind bids me not be too confident. If there be any Sympathy in our Souls, as there is in our Manners and Humours, I am sure you must be very much indisposed; for, all Night long, dreadful Fancies haunted me, and drove all soft and pleasing Ideas from me: The same Rest which guilty despairing Wretches and Feverish Souls find in the midst of their Agonies, was my Lot all Night long: I could not, durst not slumber; and, as my Love grew more outrageous, my Apprehensions about you were more distracting. I cannot be well till I see you, which, if it be with your usual Charming Gaiety, I shall be the most blessed of Mortals: But if pale Sickness sit upon your Lips, Heavens grant it may also freeze the Blood of  
Yours.  
By the same Hand.  
IF Distraction be an Argument of Love, I need no other to convince you of my Passion: All my past Actions have discovered it, since I had the honour to know you; tho' not any so sensibly as my Behaviour on Sunday-night: My Reflection on it, gives me more pain than I can express, or you imagin●; tho' in my Mind those Actions may be forgiven, that proceed from Excess of Love. My Letter will discover the Loss of my Senses, which I never had so much occasion for as now, especially when I presume to write to one of so much judgement as yourself; but you, my dearest Creature, must look upon the Infirmities and Distress of a Lovesick Wretch, with the same Candour and Mildness that Heaven does upon you; and let all my Faults be forgiven by your tender Heart, that is designed for nothing but Compassion, and all the gentle Actions of softest Love. Whilst I am preaching up Pity, I must remember to practise it myself, and not to persecute you with more Words, th●n to tell you, that I love you to Death, and, when I cease to do it, may Heaven ●us●ly punish my broken Vows, and may I be as miserable as now I think myself happy. But as the greatest Passions are discovered by Silence, so that must direct me to conclude.  
Yours.  
By the same Hand.  
I Am troubled, at the Soul, to find my Dearest Life express herself with so much Concern: I am sure, till Death makes me cold, I shall never be so to one whose I entirely am, not so much by Vows as by the sincerest Passion and Inclination. No, my kind Dear, engaging Creature, sooner than utter one Sigh which is not for You, I would choose to be the Contempt of Mankind, and an Abhorrer of my own loathed Being. Your Person is too charming, your Manner too winning, your Principles too honourable, ever to let a Heart escape, that you have once made entirely your own; and, when mine is not so, may it fester in the Breast of  
Yours.  
By the same Hand.  
TO express the grateful sense of the Obligation I have to you, cannot be effectually done, unless I had your Pen. If you observe my Style, you will have reason to conclude, I have not received your ingenious Letter of Yesterday, which should have been a Precedent to me, and a Rule to write by; I assure you I am as well satisfied of the Reality of the Contents of it, as I am of its Ingenuity. Your Sense is clear, like your Actions; and that Spirit that glows in your Eyes, shines in your Lines. I may venture to say, that Writing is not the least of your Excellencies, and if any thing could persuade me to stay longer than Friday or Saturday here, it would be in Expectation of a second Letter from you. 'Tis my greatest pleasure to hear you are well, and to have the happiness of possessing in Thought, what is denied to my Eyes; desiring the Continuance of them for no other end, than to gaze upon my dear Conqueress, who, after a most engaging manner, has the way of kindly killing  
Her humble and eternally obliged Servant.  
By the same Hand.  
I Hope, my dearest Life, will excuse this Impertinence, tho' I received her Commands not to write; but when I tell h●●, that the Tumult of my Mind was so extreme, upon the reflection of my late Folly, that I could not rest, till I had acknowledged my Rashness; I hope she'll continue her usual Goodness of forgiving one, that cannot forgive himself. When I think of my unworthiness, I rave. I have been treated by the dearest and best of Creatures, with all the Honour and Sincerity imaginable, and my Return has been Brutality and ill Manners. 'Tis you alone, Madam, that have sweet engaging Ways peculiar to yourself, you are easy without Levity; Courteous and Affable without Flattery; you have Wit without Ill-nature, and Charms without being vain. I cannot think of all your Heavenly Qualifications, without upbraiding myself for making such barbarous and unjust Returns. I cannot think of what I have done, without a Just Abhorrence; I loathe and detest myself, and must needs own, I ought not to subscribe myself by any other Title, than,  
MADAM, Your Ungrateful.   

A Letter of Reproach to a Woman of Quality.  
MADAM,  
I Am sorry I must change my Style, and tell you I am now fully satisfied that your Ladyship never will be so; I always feared your Desires would exceed your Returns: But when I heard you were supplied by three Nations, I thought you might have been modestly contented. And I have even yet good nature enough to pity your unfortunate Condition, or rather Constitution, that obliges half the Town of necessity to decline all sorts of Commerce with you; I could have wished you had had Reputation enough left for me to have justified, tho' you have cruelly robbed me of the Joy of Loving, without making yourself any reasonable Advantage of it; had your Soul consulted my Destiny, I should have had fairer play for my Passion, and not have been thus sacrified to your most Egregious Follies; yet, since better late than never, take, Madam, this time, now the Town is disbanded, the Season moderate, and your ladyship's common Practice prorogued, to consider if there be any way left you, in some measure, to save the Confusion of yourself, and that of,  
MADAM, Your real humble Servant. August the 10 th', 95.   

A Letter of Business to a Merchant's Wife in the City.  
MADAM,  
I Can forgive you the Difficulty you made of passing an Evening with me; nay, even the affected Indifference you entertained me with, when you might have employed your time much better; I knew your Character, and guessed what would be the end of our first Meeting, but desire it may not be the beginning of the Second; for the future, prithee, dear Hypocrite, (do not forget yourself) and so often engage me to Love tenderly, and yet conjure me to hope for no Return; but do me the Favour to make a better use of the next Opportunity, lest your carry on too ●ar the unnatural Jest, and contrive to force yourself out of the Inclinations of,  
Madam, Your real humble Servant.   

LETTERS, By the late Celebrated Mrs. Katherine Phillips.  

The Famed Orinda, to the Honourable Berenice.  
YOur ladyship's last Favour from Col. P—'s was truly obliging, and carried so much of the same great Soul of yours, which loves to diffuse itself in Expressions of Friendship to me, that it merits a great deal more Acknowledgement than I am able to pay at my best Condition, and am less now when my Head aches, and will give me no leave to enlarge, though I have so much Subject and Reason; but really if my Heart ached too, I could be sensible of a very great Kindness and Condescension in thinking me worthy of your Concern, tho' I visibly perceive most of my Letters have lost their way to your Ladyship. I beseech you be pleased, first, to believe I have written every Post; but, secondly, since I came, and then to inquire for them, that they may be commended into your hands, where alone they can hope for a favourable residence; I am very much a Sharer by Sympathy, in your ladyship's satisfaction in the Converse you had in the Country, and find that to that ingenious Company Fortune had been just, there being no Person fitter to receive all the Admiration of Persons best capable to pay them, than the great Berenice: I hope your Ladyship will speak me a real Servant of Dr. Wilkins; and all that Converse with you, have enriched all this Summer with yours. I humbly thank your Ladyship for your Promise of Mr. boil's Book, which indeed merits a public, not View only, but Universal Applause, if my Vote be considerable in things so much above me. If it be possible, oblige me with the sight of one of them, which (if your Ladyship command it) shall be very faithfully returned you. And now (Madam) why was that a cruel Question, When will you come to Wales? 'Tis cruel to me, I confess, that it is yet in question; but I humbly beg your Ladyship to unriddle that part of your Letter, for I cannot understand why you, Madam, who have no Persons alive to whom your Birth hath submitted you, and have already by your Life secured to yourself the best Opinion the World can give you, should create an Awe upon your own Actions, from imaginary Inconveniencies: Happiness, I confess, is twofaced, and one is Opinion; but that Opinion is certainly our own; for it were equally ridiculous and impossible to shape our Actions by others Opinions. I have had so much (and some sad) Reason to discuss this Principle, that I can speak with some Confidence, That none will ever be happy, who make their Happiness to consist in, or be governed by the Votes of other Persons. I deny not but the Approbation of wise and good Persons is a very necessary Satisfaction; but to forbear innocent Contentments, only because it's possible some Fancies may be so capricious as to dispute, whether I should have taken them, is, in my Belief, neither better nor worse than to fast always, because there are some so superstitious in the World, that will abstain from Meat, upon some Score or other, upon every day in the Year, that is, some upon some days, and others upon others, and some upon all. You know, Madam, there is nothing so various as Vulgar Opinion, nothing so untrue to itself: Who shall then please, since none can fix it? 'Tis a Heresy (this of submitting to every blast of popular extravagancy) which I have combated in Persons very dear to me: Dear Madam, let them not have your Authority for a relapse, when I had almost committed them; but consider it without a Bias, and give Sentence as you see cause; and in that interim put me not off (Dear Madam) with those Chimaeras, but tell me plainly what inconvenience is it to come? If it be one in earnest, I will submit, but otherwise I am so much my own Friend, and my Friend's Friend, as not to be satisfied with your ladyship's taking measure of your Actions by others Opinion, when I know too that the severest could find nothing in this Journey that they could condemn, but your excess of Charity to me, and that Censure you have already supported with Patience, and (notwithstanding my own consciousness of no ways deserving your sufferance upon that score) I cannot beg you to recover the Reputation of your Judgement in that particular, since it must be my Ruin. I should now say very much for your most obliging Commands to me, to write, and should beg frequent Letters from your Ladyship with all possible importunity, and should by command from my Lucasia excuse her last Rudeness (as she calls it) in giving you account of her Honour for you under her own Hand, but I must beg your pardon now, and out-believing all, I can say upon every one of these accounts, for really, Madam, you cannot tell how to imagine any Person more to any one than I am,  
Madam, Your ladyship's most faithful Servant, and passionate Friend, ORINDA. June the 25th, Priory of Cardigan.  
Lucasta is most faithfully your Servant: I am very glad of Mr. Cowley's success, and will concern myself so much as to thank your Ladyship for your endeavour in it.   

To the Honourable Berenice.  
Dear MADAM,  
I Have been so long silent, that I profess I am now ashamed almost to beg your Pardon, and were not Confidence in your ladyship's Goodness a greater respect than the best Address in the World, I should scarce believe myself capable of remission; but when your Ladyship shall know more fully than Papers can express, how much and how many ways I have suffered, you will rather wonder that I write at all, than that I have not written in a Week; when you shall hear that my Dear Lucasia, by a strange unfortunate Sickness of her Mother's, hath been kept from me, for three Weeks longer than I expected, and is not yet come: I have had some difficulty to live, and truly, Madam, so I have, and more difficulty to be silent to you, but that in earnest my disorder was too great to write: Dear Madam, pardon and pity me, and, to express that you do both, be pleased to hasten hither, where I shall pour all my Trouble into your Bosom, and receive thence all that Consolation which I never in my Life more needed than I now do. You see, Madam, my Presumption, or rather Distraction to leap from Confessions into Petitions, and those for advantages so much above my merit: But what is that, that the dear Great Berenice can deny her faithful Orinda? And what is it that Orinda would not do or suffer, to obtain that sweet and desired Converse, she now begs of you? I am confident my Lucasia will suddenly be here to, thank you for your Charity which you will, by coming, express to me, and the Obligation you will put upon her by it; both which shall be equally and constantly acknowledged (if you will please to hasten it) by  
Your faithfully affectionate Friend, and humble Servant, ORINDA. Nou. 2 1658.   

To the Honourable Berenice.  
I Must confess myself extremely troubled, to miss a Letter from your Ladyship in a whole Fortnight, but I must beg you to believe your silence did not occasion mine; for my Ambition to converse with you, and advantage in being allowed it, is too great for me to decline any opportunity which I can improve to obtain so much happiness: But really the Box of Gloves and Ribbons missed a conveniency of going, and a Letter that attended them partaked in the same misfortune; by this time and some days before it I hope they have reached you, for they were sent away above a Week ago; and if so, all that I can tell you of my Desires to see your Ladyship will be repetition, for I had with as much earnestness as I was capable of, begged it then, and yet have so much of the Beggar in me, that I must redouble that Importunity now, and tell you, That I gasp for you with an Impatience that is not to be imagined by any Soul wound up to a less concern in Friendship than yours is, and therefore I cannot hope to make others sensible of my vast desires to enjoy you, but I can safely appeal to your own illustrious Heart, where I am sure of a Court of Equity to relieve me in all the Complaints and Supplications my Friendship can put up: Madam, I am assured you love me, and that being once granted, 'tis out of dispute, that your Love must have nobler circumstances than mine, but because the greatness and reality of it must be always disputed with you, by me there must of necessity remain the obligingness of your Love to weigh down the Balance, and give you that advantage over me in friendship, which you unquestionably have in all things else, and if this reasoning be true, (as sure there are all Sciences in Friendship, and then Logic cannot be excluded) I have argued myself into handsome necessity of being eternally on the receiving hand, but let me qualify that seeming meanness, by assuring you, that even that is the greatest testimony of my esteem for your Ladyship, that ever I can give; for I have a natural pride (that I cannot much repent of) which makes me very unwilling to be obliged, and more curious from whom I receive kindnesses than where I confer them; so that being contented to be perpetually in your Debt, is the greatest Con●ession I can make of the Empire you have over me, and really that Privilege is the last which I can submit to part with all, to be just done in Acts of Friendship, and that I do not only yield you in all my Life past, but can beg to have it continued by your doing me the greatest favour that ever I received from you by restoring me my dear and honoured Berenice; this, Madam, is but one Action, but, like the Sum of an Account, it contains the Value of all the rest, and will so oblige and refresh me, that I cannot express the satisfaction I shall receive in it; I humbly thank your Ladyship for the assurance you have given me, that you suddenly intent it, and that you were pleased to be accountable to me for your stay till Christmas, which being now at hand, I hope you will have neither Reason, Importunity, nor Inclinations to retard the Happiness you intent me: Really, Madam, I shall and must expect it in these Holidays, and a disappointment to me is the greatest of Miseries; and then, Madam, I trust you will be convinced of this necessity there is of your Life and Health, since Heaven itself appears so much concerned in it, as to restore it by a Miracle: And, truly, had you been still in danger, I should have looked upon that as more ominous than the Blazing-star, so much discoursed of; but you are one of those extraordinary Blessings which are the Public Concernments, and are, I trust, reserved to be yet many Years an Example of Honour and Ornament to Religion.  
Oh, Madam, I have abundance to tell you and ask you, and if you will not hasten to hear it, you will be almost as cruel as Arsaces'; but you will come, and, if you find any thing in this Letter that seems to question it, impute it to the continual distrust of my own Merit, which will not permit me easily to believe myself favoured: Dear Madam, if you think me too timorous, confute me by the welcome Experiment of your Company, which, really, I perpetually long for, and again beg, as you love me, and claim as you would have me believe it; I am glad your Ladyship has pitched on a place so near me, you shall be sufficiently persecuted with Orinda. I know you will pardon me, for not acquainting you with the News you heard from other hands, when I tell you, there is nothing of it true, and the Town is now full of very different Discourse; but I shall tell you more particularly, when I have the honour to see you; and, till then, cannot with conveniency do it. I easily believe Dous factious; but, in those Disputes, I think he discovers more Wit than Wisdom, and your Ladyship knows they are inseparable; I shall lose the Post, if I do not now hasten to subscribe, what I am always ready to make good, that I am more than any one living,  
Your ladyship's most Faithful and most Passionate Friend and Servant, ORINDA. Decemb. 30. 1658.   

To the Honourable Berenice.  
WIth the greatest Joy and Confusion in the World, I received, Dear Madam, your ladyship's most obliging Letter from Kew, and thus far I am reconciled to my own Omissions, that they have produced a Shame which serves me now to allay a Transport, which had otherwise been excessive at the knowledge that I am to receive, that notwithstanding all my Failings, you can look upon me with so generous a Concern: I could make many Apologies for myself, and with truth tell you, That I have ventured Papers to kiss your ladyship's Hand, since I received one from it, but really, Madam, I had rather owe my restitution wholly to your Bounty, than seem to have any pretence to it myself, and I will therefore allow myself utterly unworthy of having any room in your Thoughts, in that I have not perpetually begged it of you, with that Assiduity as is suitable to so great and so valued a Blessing; and I know that tho' a Sea have divided our Persons, and many other Accidents made your ladyship's Residence uncertain to me, yet I ought to have been restless in my Inquiries how to make my approaches to you; and all the Varieties and Wander and Troubles that I have undergone since I had the honour to see your Ladyship, ought not to have distracted me one moment from the payment of that Devotion to you, which if you please, I will swear never to have been one jot lessened in my Heart, as ill and as seldom as I have expressed it; but now, that my good Fortune has brought me once mor● so near your Ladyship, I hope to redeem my Time, by so constant and fervent Addresses to you, as shall both witness how unalterably I have ever loved and honoured you, and how extremely glad I am still to be preserved in so noble and so prized a Heart as yours; and, that I may the sooner be secured of that and restored to your Converse, I must beg your Ladyship to find some occasion that may bring you to London, where I may cast mysel● at your Feet, both in repentance of my own Faults, and acknowledgement of your Goodness, and assure you that neither Lucasia, nor any other Person, ever had the Will, the Power, or the Confidence to hinder the Justice of my most affectionate Service to your Ladyship, and though you fright me with telling me how much you have considered me of late, yet I will venture upon all the Severity that Reflection can produce; and if it be as great as I may reasonably fear, yet I will submit to it for the Expiation of my Failings, and think myself sufficiently happy if after any Penance you will once more receive me into your Friendship, and allow me to be that same Orinda, whom with so much goodness you were once pleased to own as most faithfully yours, and who have ever been, and ever will be so; and, Dear dear Madam,  
Your ladyship's most affectionate humble Servant and Friend, K. Phillips.  
This was wrote but a Month before Orinda died.   

To Mr. Herbert.  
I Received your two Letters against Hypocrisy and Love, but I must tell you, they have made me no Convert from, womans, and their Favourite; for who like Simonides, would give nine scandalous Origins to Womankind, for one good one, merely because the Follies and Vices of that Sex deserve it, and yet hope ever to make your account of them? or who, with Petronius Arbiter, would tell the Lawyers, 
Quid faciunt Leges ubi sola pecunia regnat?  
Aut ubi paupertas vincere nulla potest,  
Ipsi qui Cynica traducunt tempora cena,  
Nonnunquam Nummis vendere verba solent,  
Ergo judicium, nihil est nisi publica Merces  
Atque eques in causa qui sedet empta probat.   
Thus Englished by Mr. Barnaby. 
Laws bear the Name, but Money has the Power;  
The Cause is bad when e'er the Client's Poor:  
Those strictlived Men that seem above our World,  
Are oft too modest to resist our Gold.  
So judgement, like our other Wares, is sold,  
And the Grave Knight that nods upon the Laws,  
Waked by a Fee, Hems, and approves the Cause.  That the Bar is but a Market for the Sale of Right, and that the Judge sits there only to confirm what the Bribe had secured before, and yet hope ever to escape when you come into their Hands? Or what Man that has his Interest before his Eyes would tell this dangerous Truth, That Priests of all Religions are the same?  
No, no, Plaindealing must be left to Manly, and confined to the Theatre, and permit Hypocrisy and Nonsense to prevail with those pretty Amusements, Women, that like their own Pleasure too well, to be fond of Sincerity. You declaim against Love on the usual Topics, and have scarce any thing new to be answered by me, their professed Advocate, if by Repentance you mean the Pain that accompanies Love; all other Pleasures are mixed with that, as well as Love, as Cicero observes in his second Book de Oratore, Omnibus rebus, voluptatibus maximis fastidium finitimum est: In all things where the greatest Pleasures are found, there borders a satiety and uneasy pain: And Catullus, Non est dea nescia nostri, quae dulcem curis miscet amaritiem: Nor am I unknown to that bright Goddess, who with my Cares mingles a sweet pleasing Bitter. But I take this pain in Love to proceed from the imperfection of our Union with the Object beloved, for the Mind forms a thousand entrancing Ideas, but the Body is not capable of coming up to that satisfaction the Mind proposes; but this Pain is in all other Pleasures that we have, none of which afford that fullness of Pleasure, as Love, which bears some proportion to the vehemence of our Desires: Speak therefore no more against Love, as you hope to die in the Arms of Sylvia, or not perish wretchedly in the Death of a Pumpkin. I am  
Your Friend, etc.    

LETTERS  BY Mr. Tho. Brown. 

To C. G. Esq in Covent-Garden.  
MAy I be forced to turned News-monger for a wretched Subsistence● and beat up fifty Coffeehouses every Morning, to gather Scraps of Intelligence, and fatherless Scandal; or, (to Curse myself more emphatically) may I live the restless Life of some gay younger Brother's starving Footman of the Temple, who, between his Master's Debts and Fornication, visits once a Day half the Shopkeepers in Fleetstreet, and half the Whores in Drury-lane, if I am not as utterly weary of hunting after you any longer, as ever Statesman was of serving the Public, when the Public forgot to bribe his private Interest. Should I but set down how many tiresome Leagues I have travelled, how often I have shot all the City-gates, crossed Lincolns-inn Fields, passed the two Tropics of the Old and New Exchange, and doubled the Cape of Covent-garden Church to see you, I should grow more voluminous than Coryat; and you'd fancy yourself, without doubt, engaged in Purchase's or Hackluyt's Itineraries. As you are a Person of half Business and half Pleasure, (which the Wise say, is the best Composition in the World) I have considered you in your two Capacities, and ordered my Visits accordingly. Sometimes I called upon you betimes in a Morning, when nothing was to be met in the Streets, but grave Tradesmen, stalking in their Slippers to the next Coffee-house; Midnight-drunkards, reeling home from the Rose; industrious Harlots, who had been earning a Penny over Night, tripping it on foot to their Lodgings; Ragmen, picking up Materials for Grubstreet; in short, nothing but Bailiffs, Chimney-sweepers, Cinderwomen, and other People of the same early Occupations, and yet, as my ill Stars contrived it, you were still gone out before me. At other times I have called at Four in Afternoon, the Sober Hour, when other discreet Gentlemen were but newly up, and dressing to go to the Play; but to as little purpose as in the Morning. Then, towards the Evening, I have a hundred times examined the Pit and Boxes, the Chocolate-houses, the Taverns, and all places of public resort, except a Church, (and there, I confess, I could no more expect to meet you, than a right Beau of the last Paris Edition in the Bear-garden) but still I failed of you every where, tho' sometimes you 'scaped me as narrowly as a Quibble does some merry Statesmen I could name to you. Is it not strange, thought I to myself, that every paltry ginger about the Town, by the help of a foolish Telescope, should be able to have the Seven Planets at a Minute's warning, nay, and their very Attendants, their Satellites too, tho' some of them are so many hundred thousand Miles distant from us, to know precisely when they go to Bed, and what Rambles they take, and yet that I with all my pains and application should never take you in any of your Orbits, who are so considerably nearer to me? But, for my part, I believe a Man may sooner find out a true Key to the Revelations, than discover your By-haunts, and solve every Problem in Euclid much easier than yourself. With all Reverence be it said, Your Ways are as hard to be traced as those of Heaven; and the Dean of P—, who in his late History of Providence has explained all the several Phoenomena's of it, but his own Conversions, is the fittest Person I know of in the World to account for your Eclipses. Some of your and my good Friends, (whom I need not mention to you) have crossed the Germane Ocean, made the Tour of the Low-Countries, seen the Elector of Bavaria and Prince Vaudemont, and might, if they pleased, have got drunk with a dozen of Germane Princes, in half the time. I have been beating the Hoof up and down London, to find out you;— so that at last, after a World of mortifying Disappointments, taking a Martial in my hands, I happened to light upon an Epigram of his, addressed to Decianus, a very honest Gentleman it seems, but one that was as hard to be met with as yourself: And this Epigram, suiting my own case exactly, I here send you a Paraphrase or Imitation of it, call it which you please.  
Ne valeam, si non totis Deciane Diebus.  Lib. 2. Ep. 2. 
In some vile Hamlet let me live forgot,  
Small-beer my Portion, and no Wine my lot.  
To some worse jilt in Church-Indentures bound,  
Than ancient Job, or modern Sh— found,  
And with more Aches visited, and Ills,  
Than fill up Salmon's Works or Tilburgh's Bills:  
If 'tis not still the Burden of my Prayer,  
The Day with you, with you the Night to share.  
But, Sir, (and the Complaint, you know, is tr●e)  
Two damned long Miles there lie 'twixt me and you:  
And these two Miles, with little Calculation,  
Make four, by that I've reached my Habitation.  
You near Sage Will's, the Land of Mirth and Claret,  
I live, stowed up in a White-chappel Garret;  
Oft, when I've come so far your Hands to kiss,  
Flattered with Thoughts of the succe●ding Bliss,  
I'm told, you're gone to the Vexatious Hall,  
Where, with eternal Lungs, the Lawyers bawl,  
Or else stole out, a Female Friend to see;  
Or, what's as bad, you're not at Home for me.  
Two Miles I've at your Service; and that's civil,  
But to trudge four, and miss you, is the Devil.  
And now, if you are not incurably lost to all sense of Humanity, send me word where it is you pass your Evenings, or in one of your beloved Catullus' Expressions, 
Demonstres ubi sunt tuae tenebrae.  But if you think that too hard upon you, for I would not be thought to invade your Privacies, appoint some common meetingplace, the Grffin, or the Dog, where, with two or three more select Friends, we may pass a few Hours over a Righteous Bottle of Claret. As you ever hope that Heaven will be merciful, or Sylvia true to you, let this happy Night be some time this Week.  
I am your most obliged Servant, T. BROWN. London, June 20. 1695.   

To the Perjured Mrs.—  
THis Morning I received the News, (which, knowing you to be a Woman, I confess, did not much startle me) that is, spite of all your Promises, your Vows, and Obligations, nay, and in spite of your Interest too, (which you Women so seldom sin against) you had sacrificed my worthy Friend Mr.—, and are to be married next Week to that nauseous, that insupportable, that everlasting Beast—. Upon which I immediately repaired to my Friend's Lodgings, and, because I knew but too well how nearly he had taken you into his Heart, I carried him to that blessed Sanctuary of disappointed Lovers, a Tavern, the better to prepare him for the News of your Infidelity; I plied him warmly with the Juice of the generous Grape, and entertained him all the whi●● with the most horrible Stories of your Sex, that my Malice could suggest to me, which, Heaven be praised, was fruitful enough upon this occasion; for I don't believe I forgot one single Instance of Female Treachery, from Mother Eve, of wheedling Memory, down to your virtuous self. At last, when Matters were ripe, I disclosed the unwelcome Secret to him—. He raved and wept, and, after some interval, wept and raved again; but, thanks to my pious Advice, and the kind Influence of t'other Bottle, it was not long before the Paroxysm was over. I could almost wish you had been by, to see how heroically he threw off your Chains; with what Alacrity he tore you from his Bosom; and, in fine, with what a Christian Self-denial he renounced you; more heartily, I dare swear, than his Godfather abjured the Devil for him at his Baptism.  
And now, Madam, tho' I confess you have prevented my Curses, by your choice of such a Coxcomb, and 'tis not good Manners to solicit a Judgement from Heaven on every such Accident at this, (for Providence would have a fine time on't, to be at the expense of a Thunderbolt, for every Woman that forswears herself) yet so much do I resent the ill usage of my Friend, that I cannot forbear to give you this conviction, how earnestly I can pray, when I set myself to't. Therefore give me leave, Madam, to throw these hearty Ejaculations at your Head, now, since I shall not have the honour to throw a Stocking at you on the fatal Night of Consummation.  
May the Brute, your Husband, be as Jealous of you, as Usurpers are of their new Subjects, and, to show his good opinion of your Judgement as well as your Virtue, may he suspect you of a Commerce with nothing of God's making; nothing like a Gentleman that may serve to excuse the Sin, but lousy Bush-begotten Vagabonds, and hideous Rogues in Rags and Tatters, or Monsters that stole into the World, when Nature was asl●ep, with Ulcers all over them, and Bunches on their Backs as large as Hillocks. May you never actually Cuckold him, (for that were to wish you some Pleasure, which, God knows, I am far from being guilty of) but what will serve to torment him as effectually: May the Wretch imagine, you've injured him that way; under which prepossession may he never open his Mouth, but to Curse, nor lift up his Hands, but to Chastise you. May that execrable Day be for ever banished out of the Almanac, in which he does not use his best endeavours to beat one into your Bones; and may you never go to Bed without an apprehension that he'll cut your Throat: May he too have the same distrust of you. Thus may your Nights be spent in Eternal Quarrels, and your Nuptial-sheets boast of no honourable Blood but what's owing to these Nocturnal Skirmishes. May he lock you up from the sight of all Mankind, and leave you nothing but your ill Conscience to keep you company, till at last, between his penurious allowance and the sense of your own guilt, you make so terrible a Figure, that the worst Witch in Macbeth would seem an Angel to you. May not ●ven this dismal Solitude protect you from his Suspicions, but may some goodnatured Devil whisper into his Ear, That you have committed Wickedness with a Bedstaff, and, in one of his frantic Fits, may he beat out your Brains with that supposed Instrument of your Lust. May your History be transmitted to all Ages in the Annals of Grubstreet, and, as they fright Children with Rawhead and Bloody-bones, may your Name be quoted to deter People from committing of Matrimony. And, to ratify all this, (upon my Knees, I most devoutly beg it) may Heaven hear the Prayers of,  
T. BROWN.   

To the Honourable— in the Pall-mall.  
SIR,  
LAst Night I had the following Verses, which, for my part, I confess, I never saw before, given me by a Gentleman, who assured me they were written by my late Lord Rochester; and, knowing what a just Value you have for all the Compositions of that incomparable Person, I was resolved to send 'em to you by the first opportunity. 'Tis indeed very strange how they could be continued in private hands all this while, since the great care that has been taken to print every Line of his Lordship's Writing that would endure a public view: But I am not able to assign the Reason for it. All that you need know concerning the occasion of them, is, that they were writ●en in a Lady's Prayer-book.  
Fling this useless Book away,  
And presume no more to pray;  
Heaven is just, and can bestow  
Mercy on none but those that mercy show.  
With a proud Heart, maliciously inclined,  
Not to increase, but to subdue Mankind.  
In vain you vex the Gods with your Petition;  
Without Repentance and sincere Contrition,  
You're in a Reprobate Condition.  
Phillis, to calm the angry Powers,  
And save my Soul as well as yours,  
Relieve poor Mortals from Despair,  
And justify the Gods that made you fair;  
And in those bright and charming Eyes  
Let Pity first appear, than Love;  
That we by easy steps may rise  
Through all the joys on Earth, to those Above.  
I cannot swear to their being genuine; however, there's something so delicate in the Thought, so easy and beautiful in the Expression, that I am without much difficulty to be persuaded, that they belong to my Lord. Besides, I cannot imagine with what prospect any Gentleman should disown a Copy of Verses which might have done him no ill Service with the Ladies, to father them upon his Lordship, whose Reputation was so well established among them beforehand, by a numerous and lawful Issue of his own begetting. The Song that comes along with them was written by Mr. Gl— of Lincoln's-Inn; and, I believe, you'll applaud my Judgement, for seeking to entertain you out of my Friend's Store, who understands the Harmony of an English Ode so well, since I have nothing of mine own that deserves transcribing.  

I.  
Phillis has a gentle Heart,  
Willing to the Lover's Courting;  
Wanton Nature, all the Art,  
To direct her in her Sporting:  
In th' Embrace, the Look, the Kiss,  
All is real Inclination;  
No false Raptures in the Bliss;  
No feigned Sigh in the Passion.   

II.  
But, oh! who the Charms can speak,  
Who the thousand ways of toying,  
When she does the Lover make  
All a God in her enjoying?  
Who the Limbs that round him move,  
And constrain him to the Blisses?  
Who the Eyes that Swim in Love,  
Or the Lips that suck in Kisses?   

III.  
Oh the Freaks, when mad she grows,  
Raves all wild with the possessing!  
Oh the silent Trance! which shows  
The Delight above expressing.  
Every way she does engage,  
Idly talking, speechless lying:  
She transports me with the Rage,  
And she kills me in her Dying.   
I could not but laugh at one Passage in your Letter, where you tell me, That you, and half a dozen more, had like to have been talked to death t'other day, by— upon the Success of his late Play. For my part, I don't pity you at all; for why, the Devil should a Man run his Head against a Brickwall, whe● he may avoid it? On the other hand, I wonder why you Gentlemen of Will's Coffee-house, who pretend to study Pleasure above other People, should not as naturally scamper out of the Room when your Persecutor appears, as Monsieur Misson tells us, the Dogs in Italy ran out of Church as soon as ever they see a Capuchin mount the Pulpit. I find by you, that the abovemention'd everlasting Babillard plagued you with his Songs, and talked of outdoing Don Quixot of Melodious Memory; so far I agree with him, that if he has any Genius, it lies wholly in Sonnet. But (Heaven be praised) notwithstanding all the feeble Efforts of his Enemies to depose him, Mr. D'Vrfey still continues the only Legal, Rightful and Undoubted King of Lyricland, whom God grant long to Reign over all his Hamlets, and may no Gallic Attempts against his Crown or Person ever prosper. So wishes  
Your most obliged Servant, T. BROWN.   

To My Lady—  
I Found a Letter of your ladyship's own Hand left for me last Night at my Lodgings. This Morning a Porter visited me with another of the sort, and just now going to dine with some Friends at the Blew-posts, you send me a third to refresh my Memory. I vow to God, Madam, if you continue to draw your Bills so ●ast upon me, I must be forced to protest them in my own defence, or fly my Country. But, with submission, methinks the Language of all three was very surprising: You complain of my absence, and coldness, and the Lord knows what, tho' 'tis but four days ago since I gave you the best convictions of my Love I could, and you flattered me strangely, if you were not satisfied with them: May I be as unacceptable to all Womankind as an old Eunuch with Io. Haynes' Voice, if there's a Person in the Universe whom I adore above yourself; but the devoutest Lover upon Earth may sometimes be without an Offering, and then certainly he's excused by all Love's Cannon-Law in the World, for not coming to the Altar. There are People I know that love to hear the rattling of the Boxes, and show themselves at the Groom-Porter's, when they have not a Farthing in their Pockets; but for my part, I could never endure to be an idle Looker on. I have a thousand Obligations to your Ladyship, and till I am in a capacity to repay them, should be as uneasy to see you, as any other Creditor when I have no Money to send him going. I am so very honest in my own nature, that I would not put you off with half Payments, and if I were not, your Ladyship is so discerning, that I might much easier palm clipped Money upon a Jew, than succeed in such a trick with so nice a Judge. Perhaps, Madam, you are scrupulous in this matter even to a Fault. 'Tis not enough for you, that your Money is Parliamentary, and that other People would be glad on't, for if it is not of the largest size, or wants one grain of its due weight, you reject it with indignation. But, what is the hardest case of all, (and you must pardon me, Madam, if I take this occasion to reproach you with it) you are for engrossing a Man's whole Cash to yourself, and, by your good will, would not leave him one solitary Testar to distribute among the Needy elsewhere, tho' you don't know what Objects of Charity he may meet abroad. This, in truth, is very severe usage: 'Tis the same as if the Government should only take care to pay off the Soldiers in Flanders, and suffer the poor Seamen to starve. Even the Royal-Oak Lottery, who are fit to be imitated by you in this particular, never strip a Man entirely of all, but let him march off decently with a Crown or two to carry him home. If this Example won't work upon you, pray learn a piece of Tartarian-m●rcy; they are none of the best bred People in the World, I confess, but are so civil when they come to a place, not to Eat out the Heart of the Soil, but, having served a present turn, shift their Quarters, and forbear to make a second Visit till the Grass is grown up again. Nay, a Nonconformist Parson, who is a kind of a rambling Church Tartar, but of the worse sort, after he has grazed a beloved Text as bare as the back of one's Hand, is glad for his own convenience, to remove to another. Both these Instances, you'll say, look as if I advised you to supply my defect in another place; I leave that to your own discretion, but really your humble Servant's present Exigences are such, that he must be forced to shut up his Exchequer for some time.  
I have a hundred times wished, That those unnatural Rogues, the Writers of Romances, had been all hanged, (Montague before me did the same for the Statuaries) for giving you, Ladies, such wrong Notions of things. By representing their Heroes so much beyond Nature, they put such extravagant Ideas into your Heads, that every Woman, unless she has a very despicable Opinion of her own Charms, which not one in a Million has, expects to find a Benefit-Ticket, a Pharamont, or an Oroondates, to come up for her share, and nothing below such a Monster will content her. You think the Men could do infinitely more, if they pleased; and, as 'tis a foolish Notion of the Indians, that the Apes would speak, if it were not for fear of being made Slaves to the Spaniards; so you, forsooth, imagine, that we, for some such reason, are afraid of going to the full length of our Abilities. We cannot be so much deceived in our hopes of your Constancy, as you are disappointed in our Performances; so that 'twere happy for the World, I think, if Heaven would either give us the Vigour of those Brawny long-lived Fellows, our Ancestors, or else abridge the Desires of the Women: But, Madam, don't believe a word, that those Romance Writers, or their Brethren in Iniquity, the Poets tell you. The latter prate much of one Hercules, a Plague take him, that run the Gauntlet through fifty Virgin-sisters in one Night. 'Tis an impudent Fiction, Madam. The Devil of a Hercules, that there ever was upon the Face of the Earth, (let me beg of you therefore, not to set him up for a Knight of the Shire, to represent the rest) or, if part of his History is true, he was a downright Madman, and prospered accordingly; for you know he died raving and impenitent upon a Mountain. Both he and his whole Family have been extinct these two thousand Years and upwards. Some Memoirs tell us, That the Country rose upon them, and dispatched them all in a Night, as the Glencow-men were served in Scotland. I want justify the truth of this; but, after you have tried the whole Race of us, one after another, if you find one Man that pretends to be related to this Hercules, tho' at the distance of a Welsh Genealogy, let me die the Death of the Wicked.  
Therefore, Madam, take my Advice, and I'll engage you shall be no loser by it. If your Necessities are so pressing, that you can't stay, you must e'en borrow of a Neighbour; since Cheapside fails you, a God's Name, try your Fortune in Lombardstreet. But if you could order Matters otherwise, and allow me a Week or so longer, to make up my Sum, you should then be repaid with Interest, by  
LYSANDER.   

A Consolatory Letter to an Essex-Divine upon the Death of his Wife.  
OLD FRIEND,  
A Gentleman, that lives in your Neighbourhood, told me this Morning, after we had had some short Discourse about you, that you have buried your Wife. You and I, Doctor, knew one another, I think, pretty well at the College; but being absolutely a stranger to your Wife's Person and Character, the Old Gentleman in Black take me, if I know how to behave myself upon this occasion; that is to say, whether to be Sad or Merry; whether to Condole, or Congratulate you. But, since I must do one or tother, I think it best to go o● the surer side; And so, Doctor, I give you Joy of your late great Deliverance. You'll ask me, perhaps, why I chose this Party? To which I shall only reply, That your Wife was a Woman, and 'tis an hundred to one that I have hit on the right. But if this won't suffice, I have Argument to make use of, that you can no more answer, than you can confute Bellarmine. I don't mean the Popish Cardinal of that Name, (for, I believe, you have oftener laid him upon his Back, than Mrs. Mary, deceased) but an ungodly Vessel holding about six Gallons, which, in some Parts of England, goes by another Name (the more's the pity 'tis suffered) and is called, a jeroboam.— And thus I urge it.— Mrs. Marry, defunct, was either a very good, or a very bad, or an indifferent, a between Hawk and Buzzard Wife; tho' you know the Primitive Christians, for the four first Ages of the Church, were all of Opinion, that there were no indifferent Wives' however, disputandi gratia, I allow them here. Now, if she was a good Wife, she's certainly gone to a ●etter place; and then St. Jerome, and St. Austin, and St. Ambrose, and St. Basil, and, in short, a whole Cartload of Greek and Latin Fathers (whom 'tis not your Interest, by any means, to disoblige) say positively, That you ought not to grieve. If she was a bad one, your Reason will suggest the same to you, without going to Councils and Schoolmen. So now it only remains upon my hands to prove, that you ought not to be concerned for her Death, if she was an indifferent Wife; and Public Authority having not thought fit as yet, to oblige us to mourn for Wives of that denomination, it follows, by the Doctrine of the Church of England, about things indifferent, that you had better let it alone, for fear of giving Scandal to weak Brethren.  
Therefore, Doctor, if you'll take my Advice, in the first place, Pluck up a good Heart; secondly, Smoak your Pipe, as you used to do; thirdly, Read moderately; fourthly, Drink plentifully; fifthly and lastly, When you are distributing Spoon-meat to the People next Sunday from your Pulpit, cast me a Hawk's Eye round your Congregation, and, if you can, spy out a Farmer's Daughter plump and juicy, one that's likely to be a good Breeder, and whose Father is of some Authority in the Parish, (because that may be necessary for the Support of Holy Church) say no more, but pelt her with Letters, Hymns and Spiritual Sonnets, till you have gained your Carnal Poi●t of her. Follow this Counsel, and I'll engage your late Wife will rise no more in your Stomach; for, by the unerring Rules of Kitchen-physic, which, I am apt to think, is the best in all cases, one Shoulder of Mutton serves best to drive down another. I am  
Yours, T. BROWN.   

To the fair Lucinda, at Epsom.  
MADAM,  
I Wish I were a Parliament-man for your sake. Another now would have wished to have been the Great Mogul, the Grand Signior, or at least some Sovereign Prince, but you see I am no ambitious Person, any farther than I aspire to be in your good Graces. Now, if you ask me the Reason, why I wish to be so; 'tis neither to bellow myself into a good Place at Court, nor to avoid paying my Debts; 'tis to do a Public Service to my Country, 'tis to put the famed Magna Charta in source: In short, Madam, 'tis to get a Bill pass, whereby every pretty Woman in the Kingdom, (and then I am sure you'll be included in it) should under the severest Penalties imaginable, be prohibited to appear in public without her Mask on. I have often wondered, why our Senators flatter us with being a free People, and pretend they have done such mighty things to secure our Liberty, when we are openly plundered of it by the Ladies, and that in the Face of the Sun, and on His Majesty's Highway. I am a sad Instance, Madam, of this Truth. I that, but twelve Hours ago, was a free as the wildest Savage in either Indies, that Slept easily, Talked cheerfully, took my Bottle merrily, and had nothing to rob me of one Minute's Pleasure, now love to be alone, make Answers when no Body speaks to me; Sigh when I least think on't; and, tho' I still drag this heavy lifeless Carcase about me, can give no more account of my own Movements, than of what the two Armies are doing this very moment in Flanders. By all these wicked Symptoms, I terribly suspect I am in Love. If that is my case, and Lucinda does not prove as Merciful as she is Charming, the Lord have Mercy on poor  
MIRTILLO.   

To the same at London.  
MADAM,  
AT last, but after a tedious Enquiry, I have found out your Lodgings in Town, and am pleased to hear you're kept by— who, according to our last Advices from Lombardstreet, is Rich and Old, two as good Qualities as a Man could desire in a Rival: May the whole World (I heartily wish it) consent to pay Tribute to all your Conveniences, nay, to your Luxury; while I, and none but I, have the honour to administer to your Love. Don't tell me your Obligations to him won't give you leave to be complaisant to a Stranger. You are his Sovereign, and 'tis a standing Rule among us Casuists, that under that capacity you can do him no wrong. But you imagine he loves you, because he presents you with so many fine Things: After this rate, the most impotent Wretches would be the greatest Lovers; ●or none are found to bribe Heaven or Women so high, as those that have the most defects to atone for. You may take it for granted, that half the Keeping-Drones about the Town, do it rather to follow the Mod●, or to please a vain H●●our, than out of Love to the Party they pretend to admire so, and this foolish Affectation attends them in other things. I ●●●'d tell you of a certain Lord, that keeps a Chaplain in his House, and allows him plentifully, yet this Noble Peer is a rank Atheist in his Heart, and believes nothing of the matter: I know another, that has a fine Stable of Horses; and a third, that values himself upon his great Library, yet one of 〈…〉 ou● but once in half a Year, and t'other never looked on a Book in all his Life. Admit your City-Friend l●ved you never so well, yet he's old, which is an incurable Fault, and looking upon you as his Purchase, comes with a Secure, that is with a sickly Appetite; while a vigorous Lover, such as I am, that has honourable Difficulties to pass through, that knows he's upon his good Behaviour, and has nothing but his Merits to recommend him, is nothing but Rapture, and Ecstasy, and Devotion. But oh, you a●e afraid it will come to Old Limberham's Ears; that is to say, You apprehend I shall make Discoveries; for 'tis not to be supposed you'll turn Evidence against yourself. Prithee, Child, don't let that frighten you. Not a bribed Parliament-man, nor a drubbed Beau, nor a breaking Tradesman; n●y, to give you the last satisfaction of my Secrecy, not a Parson that has committed Simony, nor a foraging Author that has got a private Stealing-place, shall be half so secret, as you'll find me upon this occasion. I'll always come the backway to your Lodgings, and that in the Evening, with as much prudent religious Caution, as a City Clergyman steals into a Tavern on Sundays; and tho' it be a difficult Lesson for Flesh and Blood to practise, yet, to convince you, Madam, how much I value your Reputation, above my own Pleasure, I'll leave you a Mornings before Scandal itself is up; that is, before any of the censorious Neighbourhood are stirring. If I see you in the Street, or at the Playhouse, I'll know you no more, than two Sharpers, that design to bob a Country-fellow with a dropped Guinea, know one another when they meet in the Tavern. I'll not discover my Engagements with you by any Overtacts of my Loyalty, such as Drinking your Health in all Companies, and Writing your Name in every Glass-window, nor yet betray you by too superstitious a Care to conceal the Intrigue.  
Thus, Madam, I have answered all the Scruples that I thought could affect you upon this Matter. But, to satisfy your Conscience farther, I am resolved to visit you to Morrow-night; therefore muster up all the Objections you can, and place them in the most formidable posture, that I may have the Honour to attack and defeat them. If you done't wilfully oppose your own Happiness, I'll convince you, before we part, that there's a greater Difference than you imagine, between your Man of Phlegm, and such a Lover as,  
MIRTILLO.   

To W. Knight, Esq at Ruscomb in Berkshire.  
Dear SIR,  
YOu desired me, when I saw you last, to send you the News of the Town, and to let you see how punctually I have obeyed your Orders, scarce a Day has passed over my Head since, but I have been enquiring after the freshest Ghosts and Apparitions for you, Rapes of the newest date, dexterous Murders, and fantastical Marriages, Country Steeples demolished by Lightning, Whales stranded in the North, etc. a large Account of all which you may expect when they come in my way, but at present be pleased to take up with the following News.  
On Tuesday last, that walking piece of English Mummy, that Sibyl incarnate, I mean my Lady Courtall, who has not had one Tooth in her Head, since King Charles' Restauration, and looks old enough to pass for Venerable Bede's Grandmother, was Married— Could you believe it?— To young Lisanio. You must know I did myself th● Honour now and then to make her Ladyship a Visit, and found that of late she affected a youthful Air, and spruced up her Carcase most egregiously; but, the Deuce take me, if I suspected her of any lewd Inclinations to Marry; I thought that Devil had been laid in her long ago. To make my Visits more acceptable, I used to compliment her upon her Charms and all thate where by the by, my dear Friend, you may take it for a general Rule, that the Uglier your Women are, and the Duller your Men, they are the easier to be flattered into a belief of their Beauty and Wit. I told her, she was resolved to act Sampson's part, and Kill more People in the last Scene of her Life, than other Ladies could pretend to do in the whole five Acts of theirs. By a certain awkard Joy, that displayed itself all over her Countenance, and glowed even through her Cheeks of Buff, I could perceive this nauseous Incense was not unwelcome to her. 'Tis true, she had the Grace to deny all this; and told me, I rallied her, but dedyed it so, as intriguing Sparks deny they have lain with fine Women, and some Wou'd-be Poets deny their writing of Fatherless Lampoons, when they have a mind at the same time to be thought they did what they coldly disown. I could not but observe upon this, and several other occasions, how merciful Heaven has been to us, in weaving Self-love so closely into our Natures, in order to make Life palatable. ' The Divines indeed arraign it as a Sin; that is, they would make us more miserable than Providence ever designed us, though were it not for this very Sin, not one of them in a hundred would have Courage enough to talk in public. For my part, I always considered it as the best Friend, and greatest blessing we have, without which, all those merry Farces that now serve to entertain us would be lost, and the World itself be as silent and melancholy as a Spanish Court. 'Tis this blessed Vanity that makes all Mankind easy and cheerful at home, (for no Body's a Fool, or a Rascal, or Ugly, or Impertinent in his own Eyes) that makes a Miser think himself Wise, an affected Coxcomb think himself a Wit, a thriving gay Villain think himself a Politician, and, in short, that makes my Lady Courtall believe herself agreeable. But to quit this Digression and pursue my Story.  
On the Day abovementioned, this dry Puss of Quality, that had such a furious longing to be Matrimonially larded, stole out of her House with two of her Grave Companions, and never did a Country Justice's Oatmeal-eating Daughter of Fifteen use more discretion to be undone with her Father's Clerk, or Chaplain. Gray's Inn Walks was the place of Rendezvous, where, after they had taken a few Turns, Lisanio and she walked separately to the Chapel, and the Holy Magician Conjured them into the Circle. From thence they drove home in several Coaches, Dined together, but not a Syllable of the Wickedness they had committed, till towards Night, because than I suppose their Blushes were best concealed, they thought fit to own all. Upon this some few Friends were invited, and the Fiddles struck up, and my old Lady frisked about most notably, but was as much overtopped, and put out of Countenance, by the Young Women, as Somerset-house with the New Buildings. Not to enter into a Detail of all that happened, this rusty Gammon of Bacon at last was dished up between a pair of clean Sheets, soon after the Bridegroom followed, going to act Curtius' Story, and leap alive into a Gulf. Let others envy his fine Equipage, and brace of Footmen, that think it worth the while; as for me, I shall always pity the Wretch, who, to fill his Guts at Noon, obliges himself to work in a Mine all Night. A poor Knight of Alsatia, that Dines upon good wholesome Air in the Temple-Walks, is a Prince to him.  
I met Lisanio this Morning at the Rainbow, and whether 'twas his Pride, or ill Humour, since Marriage, I can't tell; but he looked as grum as a Fanatic that fancies himself to be in the State of Grace. I have read somewhere, that the Great Mogul weighs himself once a Year, and that the Courtiers rejoice or grieve, according as the Royal Body increases or diminishes. I wonder why some of our Nice Beaux that are Married, don't do the like, to know exactly what Depredations a Spouse makes upon the Body Natural. As for Lisanio, I would advise him never to do it, because if he wastes proportionably to what he has done this Week, a Skeleton will outweigh him by the Year's End. But this is not half the Mortification that a Man must expect, who, to show his Courage, ventures upon a Widow. Though he mounts the Guard every Night, and wears out his Carcase in her Service, till at last, like Witherington, in the Ballad, he fight's upon his Stump, yet he's never thanked for his pains; But labours under the same ill Circumstances with a King that comes after one that is deposed, for he's sure to be told of his Predecessor upon all occasions. The second Temple at jerusalem, was, without question, a Noble Structure, and yet we find the old Fellows wept, and shook their Heads at it: Every Widow is so far a Jew in her Heart, that as long as the World lasts, the second House will fall short of the Glory of the first. And indeed I am apt to imagine the Complaints is just, for a Maid and Widow are two different things; and how can it be expected that a Man should come with the same Appetite to a Second-hand Dish, as he brought with him when it was first served upon the Table?  
And now Mr. Knight, I am upon the Chapter of Widows, give me leave to add a word or two more. A true Widow is as seldom unfurnished of an Excuse to Marry again, as a true Toper is without an Argument for Drinking. Let it rain or shine, be hot or cold, 'tis all one, a true Son of Bacchus never wants a good Reason to push about the Glass. And so a Widow, if she had a good Husband, thinks herself obliged, in mere Gratitude to Providence, to venture again; and if he was a bad one, she only tries to mend her hand in a second Choice. It was not so with the People of Athens and Rome. The former had a King that lost his Life in their Quarrel, and they would have no more, because he was too good for them● as the latter, because theirs was an ill one. But Commonwealths, you know, are Whymsical things. I have only one thing more to say before I have done, which though it looks like a Paradox at first sight, yet after you have considered a while upon it, I fancy you'll grant to be true: 'Tis in short this, That a Man is the decay of his Vigour, when he begins to mistrust his Abilities, had much better Marty a Widow than a Maid, For, as Sir john Suckling has long ago observed, a Widow is a sort of Quagmire, and you know the finest Racer may be as soon foundered there, as the heaviest Dray-horse. I am  
Your most obliged Servant. T. BROWN.  

POSTSCRIPT.  
I believe I shall see you in the Country, before you hear from me again. Lest I should come down a Barbarian to you Fox-hunters, I have been learning all your noble Terms of Art for this Month; and now, God be praised, am a great Proficient in the Language, and can talk of Dogs and Horses half an Hour, without committing one Solecism. I have lived as sober too all this while as a Parson that stands Candidate for a Living, and with this Month's Sobriety in my Belly, design to do Wonders among you in the Country.    

To a Gentleman that fell desperately in Love, and set up for a Beau, in the 45th Year of his Age.  
I Never was a Predestinarian before, but now begin to think better of Zeno and john Calvin than ever, and to be convinced there's a Fatality attends us. What less could have made— once the Gay, the Brave, the Witty (six Months ago I should have added the Wise) at the approach of Gravity and Grey Hairs forfeit his Character, fall in Love with Trash, and languish for a green Coddling, that sticks so close to the Stem, that he may sooner shake down the Tree, than the Fruit? 'Tis true, the foolish Hours of our Lives are generally those that give us the greatest share of Pleasure, but yours is so extravagant, so unreasonable a Frolic, that I wonder you don't make your Life all of a piece, and learn at these Years to jump through a Hoop, and practise other laudable Feats of Activity. Oh, what a Conflict there is in your Breast, between Love and Discretion● ●Tis a motley Scene of Mirth and Compassion, to see you taking as much pains to conceal your Passion from the prying malicious World, as a bashful young Sinner does to hide her Great Belly, and to as little purpose, for 'twill out.— You must be a Touchwood-Lover, forsooth, and burn without Blaze or Smoke. But why would you feel all the Heat, yet want the Comforter Light? Such sullen Fires may serve to kindle your Mistress' Vanity, but never to warm her Heart. Well, Love I find operates with the Grave, like Drink with Cowards, it makes 'em most valiant, when least able. But why's the Hair cut off? Can you dock any Years with it? Or are you the Reverse of Samson, the stronger for shaving? If so, let me see you shake off these Amorous Fetters to show your power. But you are Buccaneering for a Prize, and would surprise a Heart under false Colours. Take my word for't, that Stratagem won't do, for the Pinnace you design upon, knows you have but a crazy Hulk, in spite of your new Rigging and Careening. Wearing of Perukes, like advancing more Standards than there are Troops in an Army, is a stale Artifice, that rather betrays your weakness to the Enemy, than alarms them: For tho' powdered Vallancee, like Turkish Horse-tails, may at a distance make a terrible show of Strength, yet, my dear Friend, like them too, they are but very unserviceable Weapons at a close Engagement. After all, if you're resolved to play a French Trick, and wear a Half-shirt in january, to show your Courage, have a little of the Frenchman's Prudence too, and line it with a Swanskin Waistcoat: That is, if you must needs at this Age make Love to show your Vigour, take care to provide store of Comforters to support your Back.  

The Answer.  
WEll, but hark you, Friend Harry! And do you think now that forty Years (if a Man should ever come to it) is as fumbling a doting Age in Love, as Dryden says, it is in Poetry? Why then, what will become of thee, who hast made such wicked Anticipations upon thy Nature's Revenue, that thou art utterly non-solvent to any Matrimonial Expectations? Thou that in thy Post-haste of Town-Riot and Excess, overleapest all the Measures of Time, and art got to be Fifty in Constitution, before thy Age writes Thirty! Enjoy thy acquired jubilee, according to thy wont Course, but be assured no Body will ever be able to enjoy thee. The Woman- Prodigals, feed upon Husks, when they have any thing to do with thee, thou emptied, raky, dry Bones. My Rheumatical Person, as such, will be allowed some Moisture, and Grey Heirs only tell you, the Sap is gone down to the Root, where it should be, and from whence thine has been long since exhausted into every Strumpet's Cavern about the Suburbs; confound your Widows, and put your own Farthing Candle lighted at both ends, under one of their Bushels, if you please: I find I have Prowess enough for the best Maidenhead in Town, and resolve to attempt nothing under that honourable Difficulty. And so much for the Women—    

To his Honoured Friend, Dr. Baynard, at the Bath.  
My Dear DOCTOR,  
I Have not writ to you these two Months, for which I expect to be severely reprimanded by you, when you come to Town. And yet why should you wonder at such a poor Fellow as I am, for being backward in my Payments, if you consider 'tis the Case of Lombardstreet, nay of the Bank, and the Exchequer itself (you see I support myself by very honourable Examples) at this present melancholy juncture, when, with a little alteration of Mr. Cowley's Words, a Man may truly say, 
Nothing of Ready Cash is found,  
But an Eternal Tick goes round.   
However, to make you some amends for so long a Delay, I come to visit you now, like Noah's Dove, with an Olive-branch in my Mouth; that is, in plain English, I bring you News of a Peace, of a firm, a lasting, and a general Peace, (for after this merry rate our Coffe-house Politicians talk) and pray do but consider, if 'twere only for the Pleasure of such an Amusement, what will be the happy Effects of it.  
In the first place, this Peace will soon beget good store of Money, (the want of which, though we are sinful enough in all Conscience, is yet the most Crying Sin of the Nation) and this Money will naturally end in a great deal of Riot and Intemperance; and Intemperance will beget a jolly Race of brave Diseases, with new Names and Titles; and then, My dear Doctor, you Physicians will have a Blessed Time on't.  
As for the Lawyers, who, were it not for two or three Noble Peers, some of their neverfailing Clergy-Friends, a few well-disposed Widows, and stirring Solicitors, that keep up the Primitive Discipline of Westminster-hall, would perfectly forget the Use of their Lungs, they too will see glorious Days again. I was told a melancholy Story t'other Day of two hopeful young Attorneys, who, upon the general Decay of their Profession, were glad to turn Presbyterian Divines; and that you'll say is a damned Time indeed, when Lawyers are forced to turn Peacemakers. But as the World grows richer, People will recover by degrees out of this State of Laziness; Law Suits will multiply, and Discord make as splendid a Figure in the Hall as ever. Headstrong Squires will Rebel against their Lady Mothers, and the Church no longer connive at the abominable Sacrilege of Tythe-Pigs and Eggs converted to Lay Uses.  
And then, as for the honest Good-fellows of the Town, whose Souls have mourned in Secret, ever since the unrighteous Abdication of Claret; how will they rejoice to see their old Friend sold at Twelvepences a Quart again? What Matter of Joy will it be to his Majesty's Liege-people, that they can get Drunk with half the Cost, and consequently with half the Repentance next Morning? This will in a particular manner, revive the drooping Spirits of the City Sots; for nothing goes so much against a true Cheapside Conscience, as an expensive Sin. As times go now, a younger Brother can hardly peep into a Tavern without entailing a Week's Sobriety upon himself; which, considering what Occasions there may be to drink away the Public and Private Calamities, is a sad Mortification. Wine indeed is grown a sullen Mistress, that will only be enjoyed by Men of some Fortune, and not by them neither, but upon solemn Days; so that if these wicked Taxes continue, Canary itself, tho' a Confederate of ours, is like to meet the Fate of condemned Criminals, to return to the dismal Place from whence it came, an Apothecary's Shop; and to be distributed about by discreet Nurses in the Primitive sneaking Gill. 'Tis true, the Parliament, as it became those to whom the People had delegated their Power, thought to obviate these Grievances, by the Sixpenny Act, and laying a Five hundred Pound Fine upon Cellar-Adultery; but the Vintners, an impudent Generation, broke through these Laws as easily as if they had been Senators themselves; nay, had the Boldness to raise new Exactions upon the Subject: This obliged one half of the Town, at least, to come down a Story lower, and take up with dull English Manufacture, so that half our Wit lies buried in execrable Slip, or fulsome Nottingham. To this may be ascribed all those phlegmatic, sickly Compositions, that have loaded of late both the Theatres, most of which puny Butterprints, like Children begot by Pocky Parents, were scarce able to endure the Christening; and others, with mighty pains and difficulty, lived just long enough (a Methuselah's Age!) to be Crowned with Damnation on the third Day. But when Money circulates merrily, and Claret is to be had at the old Price, a new Spirit will appear abroad, Wit and Mirth will shake off their Fetters; and Parnassus, that has made such heavy returns of late Years, will trade considerably. It would be too tedious to reckon up all the other Advantages that the Kingdom will receive by this joyful turn of the Scene; but there are some behind, which I must not omit, because the Public is so nearly concerned in them. We have a World of Married Men now, that, to save Charges, take St. Paul's Advice in the Literal Sense, and, having Wives, live as if they had none at all, and so defraud both them and the Government; but upon the happy Arrival of Peace, they'll vigorously set their Hands to the Plough again, and the Stale Bachelors too will find Encouragement to Marry, and leave behind them a pious Race of Fools, that, within these Twenty Years, will be ripe to be knocked in the Head, in defence of the Liberty of the Subject, and the Protestant Religion.  
We hear there's such a thing as New Money in the City, but it only visits the Elect, for the Generality of People are such Reprobates to the Government, that they may sooner get God's Grace, than a Milled Crown-piece. To inflame our Reckoning, tho' there's so little Silver stirring in the Nation, that Dr. Chamberlain is in greater hopes than ever of making his Paper-project take, yet the World was never so unseasonably scrupulous. What an Usurer would have leaped at in King Charles' Time, our very Porters now reject; which is full as ridiculous, as if in the present Difficulty of raising Recruits, a Captain should resolve to take no Men but such as were eight Foot high, or a Gentleman in the last Ebb of his Fortune, when he can scarcely pay for Small-beer, should then, and never before, fall in Love with Champagen. The last Year we had Money enough, such as it was, merrily Circumcised, the Lord knows, however it made a shift to find us Wine and Harlots: Now 'tis all silenced, and in the room of it, (but that too, will soon suffer Circumcision) Faith passes for current, and never was there a Time of more Universal Chalk, since the Apostolical Ages. This, among other Evils, cannot but have an ill Effect, My dear Doctor, upon the Gentlemen of your Profession; for People at present, are so taken up with the Public Transactions, or their own Losses, that they have no leisure, or are so poor, that they have no fancy to be Sick. The Generality of those that are, christian a Distemper as they do Shipwrecks in Cornwall, by the Name of God's Blessing, and tho' a Legion of Diseases invest them, don't think it worth the while to send for a Physician to raise the Siege: If they do, 'tis for none of the College, 'tis for some Half-Crown Chirurgeon, who has cheated the World into an Opinion of his Skill, by putting Greek into his Sign, or for a Twelve-penny Seventh Son, that preaches on Horseback in the Streets; but in the Case of Chronical Diseases, let the World rub, is the general Language. Men put off the mending of their Bodies, as they do of ill-tenanted Cottages, till they have Money to spare. There's a venerable Bawd in Covent-garden, that had her Windows demolished last Shrove-Tuesday, and she won't repair them neither, till there's a General Peace.  
I believe no Body in the Nation will be averse to it, but only our Friends in Red, and these find their Account so visibly in the continuance of the War, that if they ever pray, which, I believe, is but seldom, we must excuse 'em if 'tis against that Petition, Da pacem Domine in Diebus nostris. Some of 'em quitted Cook upon Littleton, and some abandoned other Stations to go into the Service; and these upon a Change of Affairs, must either turn Padders upon Apollo's, or the King's high Road, and either turn Authors, or Grands Voleurs, in their own defence. But Paul's will be built in a short time, and then a Low-Country Captain will make as busy a Figure in the Middle Isle, as ever his Predecessors did in the Days of Ben. johnson. Some of them may fight over the Battles of Steenkirk and Landen in Ordinaries, or demonstrate how Namur was taken, by scaling the Walls of a Christmas Pie; and others set up Fencing Schools, to instruct the City Youth. The latter, indeed, will act most naturally; for I observe, that when People are forced to change their Professions, they keep to 'em as nigh as they can, tho' they act in a lower Sphere: So for instance, a battered Harlot makes a discreet Bawd, and a broken Cutler an excellent Grinder of Knives. As for the Poets, I believe they are the most indifferent Men in the Kingdom as to what happens: They have lost nothing by the French Privateers since the Revolution; nor are like to do, if the War lasts Seven Years longer, so it may be supposed they will not be angry to see the only Calumny of their Profession, I mean their Poverty made universal; and indeed, if to pay People with fair Words, and no Performance, be Poetical, there's more Poetry in Grocers-hall, than in Parnassus itself.  
But, My dear Doctor, after all this mighty Discourse of a Peace, for my part, I should believe as little of it, as I do of most of Mr. Aubrey's Apparition Stories, but that we have not Money enough to carry on this great Law Suit, much longer, (for in effect, War is no other, only you must Fee more Council, and give greater Bribes) and the Lord have Mercy, say I, on a Man that Sues, or a Prince that fights for his Right in Forma Pauperis. This, and nothing but this, makes me imagine we shall have a Peace, and not the Christian Piety of one or t'other side. And to say the truth, half the Virtue in the World, if traced to the Cradle, will be found to be the lawful Issue of mere Necessity. People lay aside their Vices, to which their Virtues succeed, just as they do their clothes, sometimes when they are Unfashionable, but generally when they are worn Threadbare, and will hang about them no longer. A Godly Rascal of the City leaves off Cheating, when the World will Trust him no longer; and a Rakehell turns Sober, when his Purse fails, or his Carcase leaves him in the Lurch: And lastly, which word● I don't doubt, sounds as comfortably to you, as ever it did to a hungry Sinner in a longwinded Church; 'tis for want of more Paper, more Ink, and more Candle that I persecute you no longer, who am  
Your most humble Servant, T. BROWN.   

To Mr. Raphson, Fellow of the Royal Society.  
I Send you by the Bearer hereof, Mr. Aubrey's Book, that you have so much longed to see: 'Tis a Collection of Omens, Voices, Knockings, Apparitions, Dreams, etc. which whether they are agreeable to your System of Theology, I cannot tell. And now I talk of Dreams, I have often wondered how they came to be in such request in the East: Whether their Imaginations in those hot Countries are more rampant than ours, or whether the Priesthood, for their own ends, cultivated this Superstition in the People, which I am rather inclined to believe; yet 'tis certain, that Affairs of the last Consequence, have been determined by them. An Interpreter of Dreams, was, in some sort, a Minister of State in those Nations● and an Eastern King could no more be without one of that Profession in his Court, than an European Prince without his Chaplain, or Confessor. Homer too, the Father of the Bards, had a great Veneration for Dreams. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. He makes them all jure Divino you see; had he lived in Archbishop Laud's Time, he could not have said more for Monarchy, or Episcopacy. If you can pardon this foolish Digression, (for which I can plead no other Excuse than the Dog-days) I have something of another Nature to communicate to you, which I am confident will highly please a Gentleman of your Curiosity.  
Dr. Connor, o● the College of Physicians, and Eellow of the Royal Society, hath now Published in Latin, his Evangelium Medici, seu Medicina Mystica de Suspensis Naturae Legibus, sive de Miraculis. He designs in this Book, to show by the Principles of Reason and Physic, as likewise by Chemistry and Anatomy, that the natural State of any Body can never be so much over-turned, or the Situation of its parts so extremely altered, but it may be conceived in our Mind. He treats of Organical Bodies, and the Human in particular: But because some Persons, who never gave themselves the Trouble, to be fully informed of what he means, have been pleased to censure his Undertaking as very extravagant, I have his leave to lay open his Tenets before you, who are owned by all that know you, to be so great a Master in all parts of Learning, and chiefly the Mathematical. Now the chief Heads of the Matters that he treats of, are as follows.  

I. Of the Nature of a Body, particularly an Organical one, where the Structure and Natural State of the Human Body is explained.  
II. How many ways the Natural State of the Human Body, is said to have been Supernaturally altered.  
III. Of the Laws of Motion, and of the three different Suspensions of the same, in order to explain all Miracles.  
IV. How it can be conceived, that Water can be changed into Wine.  
V. How it can be conceived, that a Human Body can be Invulnerable, Immortal, and can live for ever without Meat, as after the Resurrection.  
VI How a Human Body can be conceived to be in a Fire without Burning.  
VII. How we can conceive that an Army can pass through the Sea without Drowning, or walk upon the Water without Sinking.  
VIII. How it can be couceived, that a Man can have a Bloody Sweat.  
IX. Of the different Ways a Human Body can come into the World; where is given an Account of its Generation by Concourse of Man and Woman.  
X. How we can conceive a Human Body can be formed of a Woman without a Man, as Christ ' s.  
XI. How to conceive a Human Body to be made without Man or Woman, as Adam ' s.  
XII. How to conceive a Human Body dead, some Ages since, to be brought to Life again, as in the Resurrection.  
XIII. How many ways it cannot be conceived, that a Human Body can be Entire and Alive in two Places at the same time.  
XIV. Of the Natural State of the Soul, and its Influence upon the Body.  
XV. Of the Supernatural, or Miraculous State of the Soul united to the Body.   
The Doctor desires, and I am sure you'll own, 'tis a very reasonable Request, that Gentlemen would be pleased to suspend their Judgements, till they see his Reasons, which he will ingenuously submit, without any Presumption on his side, to their better Understanding. He is the more encouraged to publish his Thoughts about these Matters, because some of his Friends, to whom he has communicated his Reasons, have told him, That none but such as will not rightly understand him (and People of that Complexion, are never to be convinced) could deny what he maintains; because his Reasons are not grounded upon any Metaphysical Abstract, or Hypothetical Notions, but entirely upon the visible Structure of the Human Body. When your Affairs will permit you to come to London, you and I will take an Opportunity to wait upon the Doctor, who I know will give you what farther Satisfaction you can desire.  
And now, Mr. Raphson, I hope you have finished in your Country Retirement, your Treatise de Spatio Infinito, Real, which the Learned World has so long expected from your Hands. All your Friends here earnestly long to see you in Town, and particularly myself, who am  
Your most Obliged Friend, and Servant, T. BROWN.    

TWO LETTERS BY Capt. AYLOFFE.  

To the Lord North and Grey.  
MY LORD,  
YOu seem to wonder, what should be the reason that Men, in Matters of Gallantry, generally have incurred the Censure of Inconstancy, when Women prove faithful even to an Inconveniency. One reason I believe is, that we hate to be long confined, and their Conversation soon palls; tho' what may be assigned, with greater plausibleness, I think is, that those very Favours a Woman grants to her Lover, increase and continue her Affection, but withal lessen his. men's Passion almost always extinguish with possession; and what is the Parent of a Woman's Tenderness is the Parricide of ours: We seldom adore longer than we desire, and what we aim at most can be conferred but once. In our Sex there is not that fatal distinction: but as a Virgin, after yielding, has dispossessed herself of that Jewel which every one was willing to have purchased, and only courted her for. I believe the Demonstrations of Love from Women, are more real than ours; there being too frequently more of Vanity than Verity, more of Study than Affection in our Pretences: But it's no small Wound in a Woman's Heart, that constrains her to speak, and I really am of opinion, that she can hardly love more violently, who confesses she loves at all. A Word sometimes drops from their Mouths, which, as it was undesigned, gives a clearer evidence of a growing Inclination, than all the elaborate Actions and affected Languish, the greatest part of Gallants put in practice. A lovely Face is certainly the most agreeable Object our Eyes can behold, and the very Sound of the Voice of one we dearly love, is beyond the softest Harmony: Yet, by I know not what Fate, I have seen the Juncture when both were without any effect, and this more than once. The Latitude (I fancy) which we take in our Addresses, makes the Impression but feeble: Variety of Objects distracts the choice, and we conserve our Liberty while we are pitching upon a Tyrant. The indulgence of one Woman, who is not extremely charming, makes some sort of reparation for the slighted Vows we vainly offered to a cruel Beauty. Few Men are so much in love, as to be Proof against the continued Scorn of the most agreeable Phillis: We ask to obtain, not to be denied; and he that can find the ●ame satisfaction in every place, will hardly ●e long confined to any one. Not but that Women, speaking generally, are not so perfidious as Men; and it is Injustice, as well as Malice, in us to treat 'em as we do. They deserve really more than Policy will permit us to show 'em they do.  
Your Lordship's Humble Servant, AYLOFFE.   

To a Friend in the Country.  
YOu have now, at length, left scouring the Watch, and teizing the Exchange-women, bid adieu to Bourdeaux, and taken up with Barrel-ale. You are all the Morning galloping after a Fox; all the Evening in a smoky Chimny-corner, recounting whose Horse leaped best, was oftenest in with the Dogs, and how readily Lightfoot hit the cooling Scent, and revived your drooping Spirits with a prospect of more diversion; which some Men, who think themselves as wise in the enjoyment of this World, as all the Men in Oxford-shire, are pleased to term mere fatigue. And I believe your own Footman would not ride so far and so hard to fetch a good Dinner, as both of you do to see the Death of a stinking Beast. Has not the Rose as good Accommodation as your Catherine-wheel Inn? And does not a Masque give a more Christianlike chase, and conclude in more satisfaction than the Animal you wot of? I saw your Letters to some of our Club, and laughed not a little at the strangeness of your Style; it smelled of filthy Tobacco, and was stained with your dropping Tankard. You acquainted 'em at large with the Situation of your Mansion-house; how a knot of branching Elms defended it from the Northwind; that the South-sun gave you good Grapes, and most sort of Wall-fruits; your Melons came on apace, and you had hopes of much good Fruit this Summer. After all, in Covent-garden Market, we can buy, in one quarter of an Hour, better Plants than yours, and richer Melons, for Groats a piece, than you have been poring over this three Months. You thanked 'em for some News, that was so old we hardly could imagine what you meant, till Tom, who has all the Gazettes and Pamphlets locked up in his Heart, as David did the Commandments, disclosed the Mystery to us. I pity your new State indeed: Your Gazettes are as stale as your Drink; which, tho' brewed in March, is not broached till December. The chief Topics of Discourse, (for Conversation you have none) are Hawks, Horses, and Hounds; every one of 'em as much God's Image as he that keeps 'em, and glorifies the Creator in a greater degree, and to more purpose. This you call a seasonable retreat from the Lewdness of London, to enjoy a calm and quiet Life: Heaven knows you drink more there, and more ignoble and ungenerous Liquors than we in Town; for yours is downright Drinking: Your Whoring I will allow safer, but it is mere Brutality too; there is no such thing as Intrigue in all your County, which is like an exquisite Sauce to good Meat, qualifying the Palate more voluptuously. Well, 'tis Six, and I must to the Club, whereas we will Pity your Solitude, and Drink your Prosperity, in a Cup that is worth a Stable of Horses and a Kennel of Hounds So adieu.   
The End of the First Volume.   

BOOKS newly Printed for and Sold by Samuel Briscoe, in Russel-street, the Corner of Charles-street, Covent-garden, 1697.  

Polybius' Roman History, translated by Sir H. Sneers: With the Character and Life of the Author, by Mr. Dryden.  
Letters on several occasions: Written by and between Mr. Dryden, Mr. Wycherl●y, Mr. Congreve, and Mr. Dennis: With a Translation of Vo●ture's Letters, by Mr. Dryden and Mr. Dennis. The Second Edition.  
The World bewitched: Written by B●ltaz●r B●kker, Minister of Amsterdam. Translated into ●nglish from a Copy approud by the Author.  
The History of the Revolution of Sweden: Translated by the ingenious Dr. Mitchel. The Second Edition.  
Mrs. B●●●'s Novels and Historie●, in one Vol. Also her Memoirs and Life, by a Lady of her Acquaintance, with her Picture curiously engraven on a Copperplate: Wi●h Love-letters. The Third Edition, with Novels never before printed.  
The Cour●ier's Manual: Or the Art of Prudence: Written by Balta●●r Gracian, one of the greatest Wits of Sp●in. Translated into English by a Person of Honour.  
The Select Comedies of Plautus. Translated by Mr. Eachard. With Critical Reflections on the Ancient and Modern Dramatic Rule, by Mr. Eachard.  
There is in the Press, and will speedily be published, The Annals and History of Cornelius Tacitus. Translated into English by Mr. ●ryd●n, and several eminent Persons of Honour and Quality. Wi●h Historical and Political Not●s, by Amelo● de la Husa. In three Volumes, 8 ●o.