Familiar and Courtly LETTERS, Written by Monsieur Voiture To Persons of the greatest Honour, Wit, and Quality of both Sexes in the Court of FRANCE. Made English by Mr. Dryden, Tho. Cheek, Esq Mr. Dennis, Henry Cromwell, Esq Jos. Raphson, Esq Dr.—, etc. WITH Twelve Select EPISTLES out of Aristanetus: Translated from the Greek. Some Select LETTERS of Pliny, Jun. and Monsieur Fontanelle. Translated by Mr. Tho. Brown. And a Collection of Original LETTERS lately written on several Subjects. By Mr. T. Brown. Never before Published. To which is added, A Collection of LETTERS of Friendship, and other Occasional LETTERS, written by Mr. Dryden, Mr. Wycherly, Mr.— Mr. Congreve, Mr. Dennis, and other Hands. London: Printed for Sam. Briscoe, in Russel-street, Covent-garden, and sold by J. Nutt, near Stationers-hall, 1700. To the Honourable Sir Cham Duncomb, Kt. SHERIFF of London and Middlesex. THo' I am wholly a Stranger to your Person, I am not to your Character; for who can live in London and not see living Instances of your Charity and Munificence? You have been the Sanctuary of the Distressed, and even those unhappy Wretches, who found no Benefit in the Public Deliverance of the Kingdom, have owed theirs to you. At your own proper Expense, and by a Generosity peculiar to yourself, you have done that which has been reckoned Piety in the greatest Monarches and Republics, and what Princes have sent Royal Fleets into the straits to perform. You have rescued Numbers of Christian Captives out of the cruel Hands of Tyrants, professing the same Religion, and breathing the same Air with themselves. You have redeemed Slaves in a Country which abominates Servitude, but by a strange Fascination suffers its Natives to enslave one another: You have delivered them out of an unwholesome nasty Confinement, where they dragged a Life wretched to themselves, unserviceable to the Commonwealth, lamentable to their Relations, only to gratify the Revenge or stupid Malice of their haughty Oppressors. In the best constituted and most generous Government that ever appeared in the World, to save the Life of a Citizen, was thought an Action that deserved nothing less than a Public Reward. You have restored the Lives of a hundred Citizens, by restoring them to their Health, their Liberty and Tranquillity of Mind; for what is Life without those Blessings to make it supportable? Charity, by what Stupidity it so happens I cannot imagine, has not that Incense paid it, nor makes that Figure in the World that Heroism does. To lay a whole Country in Ashes, to destroy Millions of poor Wretches, has for several Ages passed for a Royal Virtue, Mankind has been so sottish, as to deify those that have performed these noble Exploits, and advanced themselves by the Slavery or Destruction of their Fellow-creatures. But tho' the present Age pays a servile Adoration to Heroes, yet Posterity judges of them otherwise; and accordingly we find, that Caesar and Alexander, who were treated as Gods when alive, are now, when all Occasions of Flattery to their Persons cease, treated as Robbers and Usurpers. It is otherwise with Charity: Whatever Acknowledgements the Time it lives in pays it, Posterity is sure to reward and honour it; Age only serves to extend it the more, like a well-grown Tree that enlarges its Branches every Spring. 'Tis true, it does not delight in Noise and Ostentation; it flies from that Applause which Heroism courts; it values itself upon no mute Inscriptions and breathless Statues. It erects to itself living Images, and will be commemorated with Gratitude, while there is such a Thing as Memory or Gratitude in the World. The Hero may extort Flattery even from the Slaves he crushes, or purchase mercenary Praise: but a charitable Man is sure to have the voluntary Prayers and Blessings of those whom he relieves, and even Calumny itself dares not attack him. Thus we see you have the general Acclamations and Applauses of the People, for having done those Actions which the greatest Athenians or Spartans' would have been proud of, in a City which in no respect is inferior to Sparta or Athens. Pardon therefore an unhappy Man, who has laboured under Afflictions, which he might have prevented if he would have gone upon dishonest Methods, by which others have not only repaired, but improved their Fortunes, and whose little All, if it had not fallen into dilatory, I will not say malicious Hands, might have afforded him a Retreat, if not a comfortable Support: Pardon him, I say, if having experienced hard Usage in the World, he could not forbear to pay his Public Acknowledgement to the Patriot that has redeemed so many Sufferers, if he endeavours to celebrate that Virtue which would have kept him from sinking, and extols that Charity that may restore him when he is sunk. For this Reason I have presumed to dedicate the following Volume of Letters to yourself, which were given me by some of my Friends, who, in commiseration of my hard Circumstances, were willing to contribute something towards my Assistance. It does not bccome me, who pretend to be no Judge, to say any thing of the Performance. The Gentlemen who are concerned in the Collection are too well known to want my Praises. I hope that they may serve to entertain you at your vacant Hours, when you can unbend yourself from the Hurry of Public Business. At least I beg you to accept them as a Testimony of my Respect, which shall be ever paid you by Your most obedient and most humble Servant, SAM. BRISCOE. THE CONTENTS. Mons. Voiture's LETTERS. Made English by several eminent Hands. TO my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. By Mr. Dryden, Pag. 1 To Mademoiselle Paulet. By Mr. Dennis, 10 To Mons. de Caudebonne. By the same Hand, 13 To Mons. de Godeau, 15 A Billet from Madam de Saintot, to Mons. de Voiture, 19 The Answer of Mons. de Voiture, 20 To his unknown Mistress. By Mr. Dennis, ibid. To Mademoiselle Paulet. By Mr. Dennis, 22 To the Marchioness of Rambovillet, in answer to a Letter of Thanks of hers, 24 An Imitation of Mons. de Voiture's Letter to Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, 27 To the Duke of Enguien, upon the taking of Dunkirk, 31 To the Duke of Enguien, upon his gaining the Battle of Rocroy, 34 To Mons. de Balzac, 37 To the Marquis of Pisani, who had lost all his Money and Baggage at the Siege of Thionville, 43 To Mademoiselle de Bourbon, a Relation of the Author's being tossed in a Blanket. By Tho. Cheek, Esq 46 To Madam de Rambovillet. By Jos. Raphson, 50 To the Cardinal de la Valette. By the same, 57 To a young Lady, Maid of Honour to her Royal Highness' Daughter. By Henry Cromwell, Esq 61 To the Marchioness de Rambovillet, on Absence. By the same, 63 To Mons. Costart. By Dr.—, 66 To Madam—. By the same, 67 To the same Lady, 69 To Diana. By the same Hand, 71 To the Precedent of the Household. By ***, 72 To Mons. d' Emer, comptroller- General of the King's Revenues. By the same Hand, 73 An Abridgement of a Letter to Mons. d' Avaux. By the same Hand, 74 To Madam—. By Henry Cromwell, Esq 77 To Mons. de Chaudebonne. By Tho. Cheek, Esq 80 To my Lady-Abbess, to thank her for a Cat, which she sent him. By Mr. Oldys, 85 A Comical Letter out of the famous Mons. de Colletier, to Mademoiselle de Choux. By Sir D. Clark, Kt. 87 Aristaenetus' EPISTLES. Translated from the Greek, by Mr. T. Brown. TWo Ladies that were conquered by a Gentleman's singing, 89 A Lawyer's Wife to her Friend, complaining that her Husband did not manage her Law-Case so well as he ought, 92 A Fisherman to his Friend; being a Description of a lovely Damosel that washed herself in the Sea whilst he was fishing, 95 An Adventure with a Harlot, 97 A Cure for Love, 100 From a Filled to her serenading Gallant, acquainting him that his Money would charm her more than his Music, 103 A Relation of a Maid that fell in love with her Mistress' Gallant, 104 A Letter of Gallantry from a young Gentleman to his perjured Mistress, 108 A Love-Letter to his Mistress, 110 An Account of the ill Success of his Friend Damon in his Amour, 112 A Lady to Gentlewoman to acquaint her, that she was in love with her Husband, and she with her Page, 115 A Relation of a Lady that satisfied her Longing with with her Gallant before her Husband's Face, 117 Some Select EPISTLES out of Pliny, Jun. Made English by Mr. T. Brown. To his dear Friend Romanus, Lib. 3. 120 To his dear Friend Geminius, Lib. 8. 121 To his Wife Calphurnia, Lib. 8. 124 To the same, Lib. 7. 125 To his dear Friend Ferox, Lib. 7. 126 To Cornelius Tacitus, Lib. 8. 127 To Cornelius Tacitus, Lib. 6. 129 To Sura, Lib. 7. 135 LETTERS out of Mons. le Chevalier d' Her. *** By Mr. T. Brown. To Mademoiselle de I—, upon sending her a Boar in a Pastry, who had liked to have wounded him at the Chase, 140 To Mons. C— on the Cartesian Philosophy, 142 To Madam D— V— upon sending her a Black and a Monkey, 145 To the same on the Death of the Monkey, 147 To Mademoiselle de C— upon sending her an Extract of the Church-register, 149 ORIGINAL LETTERS. By Mr. T. Brown. To Dr. Baynard at the Bath, 153 Melanissa to Alexis, being a Defence of Love against Drinking, 158 To a Litigious Country-Attorney, 167 To Mr. Moult, 171 To the same a News Letter, 175 To the same, from the Gun Musick-booth in Bartholomew-fair, 184 A Consolatory Letter to my Lady— on the Death of her Husband, 190 To Mr. Moult, upon the breaking up of Bartholomew-fair, 194 To W. K. Esq being a Relation of a Journey to London, 200 A Love-Letter from an Officer in the Army to a Widow whom he was desperately in Love with before he saw her, 208 An Exhortatory Letter to an old Lady that Smoked Tobacco, 211 To Sir W. S. on the two incomparable Pieces, The satire against Wit, and Poeticae Britannici, by another Hand, 212 To a Physician in the Country, being a true State of the Poetical-War between Cheapside and Covent-garden, by another Hand, 212 LOVE-LETTERS. By Gentlemen and Ladies. LOve-Letters, written by Mr.— to Madam— 225 to 230 Four Love-Letters to a young Lady by another Hand, 230 to 233 A Letter from a Lady to her Lover in the French Army, with a Tuft of Hair enclosed in it; 233 To Madam C— ll's 234 Madam C— ll's Answer, 236 His Answer to the foregoing Letter, 237 Madam C— ll's Answer, 239 To Mrs.—, by another Hand, 241 To my Lady—, by the same Hand, 242 Four Love-Letters to an old Lady, 243 To a Lady that had got an Inflammation in her Eyes, 247 Madam— to Mr. B—, being an Account of a Journey to Exon, etc. 251 The Answer, 255 To Dr. Garth, 260 To his Poetical Friend, advising him to study the Mathematics. Out of Quevedo. By Mr. Savage, 161 To W. Joy, the strong Kentish-man, from the Lady C—, dropped out of her Foot-man's Pocket, and taken up by a Chairman in the Pall-mall, 265 LETTERS of Friendship. By several eminent Hands. MR. Dennis, to Walter Moil, Esq 1 Mr. Wycherley, at Cleave, near Shrewfbury. By the same Hand, 6 Mr. Wycherley's Answer to Mr. Dennis, 12 To Mr. Wycherley. By— 15 To Mr. Wycherley. By— 19 Mr. Wycherley, to Mr. Dennis, 21 To Mr. Wycherley. By Mr.— 24 Mr. Wycherley, to Mr.— on the Loss of his Mistress, 27 Mr.— 's Answer to the foregoing Letter, 29 Mr. Wycherley to Mr.— 31 Mr. Dennis to Mr. Wycherley, 34 To Mr. Wycherley, that a Blockhead is better qualified for Business than a Man of Wit, 36 To Mr. Dryden, 40 To the same, 43 Mr. Dryden to Mr. Dennis, 46 My Lady C— to her Cousin W. of the Temple, after the had received a Copy of Verses on her Beauty, 52 Mr.— at Will's Coffee-house, 56 To Walter Moyle, Esq 61 To Mr. Congreve, 64 To Mr. Congreve, 66 Mr. Congreve to Mr. Dennis, concerning Hemour in Comedy, 69 To Mr. Congreve at Tunbridge, 86 Mr. Congreve's Answer 87 Six Love-Letters to his Charming but Cruel Mistress, by Mr.— 92 to. 102 To Walter Moyle, Esq at the Back in Cornwall, 102 Mr.— to Mr. Congreve, 105 Mr. Congreve to Mr.— 107 To Mr. Congreve at Tunbridge, 109 Mr.— to Mr. Dennis, 112 To Mr. Dennis, 213 To the same. 214 Familiar and Courtly LETTERS, WRITTEN By Mons. VOITURE, TO Persons of the greatest Wit, Honour and Quality of both Sex, in the Court of France. Made English by several Eminent Hands. To my Lord Cardinal de la Velette. By Mr. Dryden. My Lord, I Am satisfied, that you old Cardinals take more Authority upon you, than those of the last Promotion; because having written many Letters to you, without receiving one from you, yet you complain of my Neglect. In the mean time, seeing so many well-bred Men, who assure me that you do me too much Honour to think of me at all; and that I am bound to write to you, and to give my Acknowledgements, I am resolved to take their Counsel, and to pass over all sorts of Difficulties and Considerations of my own Interest. This than will give you to understand, that six Days after the Eclipse, and a Fortnight after my Decease, Madam the Princess, Mademoiselle de Bourbon, Madam du Vigean, Madam Aubry, Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, Mademoiselle Paulet, Monsieur de Chaudebonne, and myself, left Paris about six in the Evening, and went to La Bar, where Madam du Vigean was to give a Collation to the Princess. In our way thither we found nothing worth our Observation; but only that at Ormesson, an English Mastiff came up to the Boot of the Coach, to make his Compliment to me. Be pleased to take this along with you, my Lord, that as often as I express myself in the Plural Number, as for Example, We went, we found, or we beheld, 'tis always to be understood, that I speak in the Quality of a Cardinal. From thence we happily arrived at La Bar, and entered a Hall, were we trod upon nothing but Roses and Orange-flowers. Madam the Princess, after she had sufficiently admired this Magnificence, had a mind to see the Walks before Supper: the Sun was then just sitting in a Cloud of Gold and Azure, and gave us no larger a share of his Beams, than to supply a soft and pleasing Light: The Air was not disturbed either with Wind or Heat; and it seemed that Heaven and Earth were conspiring with Madam du Vigean, in her Treating the fairest Princess upon Earth. After she had passed through a great Parterre, and Gardens full of Orange-trees, she arrived at the Entrance of an enchanted Wood, so thick and shady, that Authors conclude the Sun, since the Day of his Birth, never entered it, till now that he waited on her Highness thither. At the end of an Alley, which carried the fight out of distance, we sound a Fountain, which alone cast up a greater Quantity of Water, than all those of Tivoli together; about it were placed four and twenty Violins, which had much ado to make themselves be heard, for the rumbling of the Streams in falling: When we were got near enough, we discovered, in a cetain Nich, within a Palisade, a Diana, of about eleven or twelve Years of Age, and fairer than the Forests of Greece and Thessaly had ever seen: she bore her Bow and Arrows in her Eyes, and was encompassed with all the Glories of her Brother. In another Nich, not far distant, was another Nymph, fair and gentle enough to pass for one of her Train: those who are not given to believe Fables, took them for Mademoiselles de Bourbon and la Priande; and to confess the Truth, they resembled them exactly. All the Company was in a profound Silence, admiring so many different Objects, which at once astonished their Eyes and Ears, when on a sudden the Goddess leapt down from her Nich, and with a Grace, impossible to be described, began a Ball, which lasted for some time about the Fountain. 'twas somewhat strange, my Lord, that in the midst of so many Pleasures, which were sufficient to engage the whole attention of their Spirits, who enjoyed them, yet we could not forbear to think of you; and it was generally concluded, that something was wanting to our Happiness, since neither you, nor Madam de Rambovillet were present. Then I took up a Harp and fung this Spanish Stanza, Pues quiso mi suerte dura, Que faltando mi sennor Tambien faltasse mi Dama. And continued the rest of the Song so very melodiously, and with such an Air of Sadness, that there was not one of the Company, but the Tears came into their Eyes, and they wept abundantly: Their Sorrow had endured much longer, had not the Violins struck up a Sarabrand, with great speed and presence of Mind; upon which the Company got upon their Feet, with as much Gaiety, as if nothing in the World had happened, and fell into the Dance; thus leaping, capering, turning round, and hopping, we returned to the House, where we found a Table already spread, and served as if it had been served by Fairies. This, my Lord, is one Passage of the Adventure, which is so stupendous that no words are capable of expressing it: For there are neither Colours of Speech, nor Figures in the Art of Rhetoric, which can describe six several sorts of Potages, which were at once presented to the Sight. And what was particularly remarkable, that there being none but Goddesses, and two Demigods at the Table (viz.) Monsieur Chaudebonne and I, yet every one eat as hearty, and with as good Appetites, as if we had been neither more nor less, than plain Mortals. And to confess the truth, a better Treat could not have been provided. Amongst other things, there were twelve Dishes, besides other Eateables in disguise, which were never seen before on any Human Table; and whose very Names have never been so much as mentioned in any History. This Circumstance, my Lord, by some disastrous Accident, has been related to Madam la Mareschalle—, and though immediately upon it, she took twelve Drams of Opium, beyond her ordinary Dose, yet she has never been able to close her Eyes, from that fatal Moment. During the first Course, there was not so much as one single Cup went round to your Health; the Company was so intent upon the present Affair; and at the Desert, we quite forgot it. I beg your Permission, my Lord, to relate all things as they passed, like a faithful Historian as I am, and without Flattery; for I would not for the World, that Posterity should mistake one thing for another; and that at the end of two thousand Years hence, or thereabouts, Posterity should imagine your Health was drunk, when really there was no such thing in nature. Yet I must give this Testimony to Truth, that it was not for want of Memory: For, during all Suppertime, you were often mentioned; all the Ladies wished you there, and some of them very hearty, or I am much mistaken. As we risen from Table, the sound of the Violins summoned us up Stairs, where we found a Chamber so gloriously lighted up, that it looked as if the Day, which was now below the Earth, had retired hither, and was assembled in one body of Light. Here the Ball began again, in better Order and with more Grace, than it had been danced about the Fountain: And the most Magnificent Part of it, my Lord, was, that I footed it there in Person. Mademoiselle de Bourbon, I must confess, was of opinion, that I danced aukwardly; but she concluded, to my advantage, that I must be allowed to Fence well; because, that at the end of every Cadence, I put myself upon my Guard: The Ball continued with much Pleasure till all of a sudden a great Noise, which was heard without Doors, caused the Company to look out at the Windows; where, from a great Wood, which was about three hundred Paces from the House, we beheld so vast a Number of Fireworks issuing out, that we verily believed all the Branches and Trunks of the Trees had been metamorphosed into Guns; that all the Stars were falling from the Firmament, and that the Element of Fire was descending into the middle Region of the Air. Here, my Lord, are three Hyperboles tacked together, which being valued at a moderate Price, are worth three dozen of Fusees at the least. After we were recovered out of this great Fit of Ecstasy, into which so many Miracles had plunged us, we resolved on our Departure, and took the way to Paris by the Light of twenty Flambeaux: We passed through all the Ormessonnois, and the wide Plains of Espinay, without Resistance, and went through the middle of St. Dennis. Being placed in the Coach by the side of Madam— I said a whole Miserere to her, on your behalf; to which she replied, with much Gallantry, and no less Civility. We sung in our Journey a World of Songs, Roundeaux, Roundelays, Lampoons, and Ballads; and were now half a League beyond St. Dennis, it being two a Clock in the Morning precisely; the Fatigue of the Journey, Watching, Walking, and the painful Exercise of the Ball, having made me somewhat heavy, when there happened an Accident, which I verily believed would have been my total Ruin: There is a certain little Village, situate, say the Geographers, betwixt Paris and St. Dennis, and vulgarly called, La Valette: At our going out of this Place, we overtook three Coaches, in which were those Numerical Violins which had been playing to us. Hereupon, Satan entering into the Spirit of Mademoiselle, she commanded them to follow us, and to give Serenades all Night long to the poor innocent People of Paris, who were asleep and dreamt not of her Malice: This Diabolical Proposition made my Hair rise an end upon my Head; yet all the Company passed a Vote in Favour of it; and the word was just ready to be given, but by a signal Providence, they had left their Violins behind them at lafoy Bar; for which the Lord reward them. From hence, my Lord, you may reasonably conclude, that Mademoiselle is a dangerous Person in the Night, if ever there was any in the World: and that I had great reason at Madam— 's House to say, that the Violins ought to be turned out of Doors, when that pestilent Lady was in Company. Well, we continued our way happily enough, but only that as we entered the Fauxbourgh, we met six lusty Fellows, as naked as ever they were born, who passed directly by the Coach, to the terror of the Ladies. In fine, We arrived at Paris; and what I am now going to relate, is indeed prodigious: Could you imagine it, my Lord? the Obscurity was so great, that it covered all that vast City; and instead of what we left it, not full seven Hours before, filled with Noise, and with a Crowd of Men, Women, Horses, and Coaches; we now found nothing but a deep Silence, a dismal Desert, a frightful Solitude, dispeopled Streets, not meeting with any Mortal Man, but only certain Animals, who fled from the Lustre of our Torches. But the remaining part of the Adventure, you shall have, my Lord, another time. As Boyando tells you, Qui e il sin del Canto; e torno ad Orlando, Adio Signior, a voi me raccomando. To Mademoiselle Paulet. By Mr. Dennis. Madam, SO great a Misfortune as mine, wanted no less Consolation than that which I lately received from you; and I looked on your Letter, as a Pardon which Heaven granted me after my Sentence: I can call by no other name, the News which obliged me to return to this Place, and I can assure you that Sentence of Death is oftentimes less rigorous. But since, in the midst of all my Misfortunes, I have the Honour to be remembered by you, to complain would be ill-becoming of me: for methinks he may dispense with the Favours of Fortune, who is happy enough to obtain yours. This is the Reason that I shall make use of to comfort myself, for the Necessity of remaining here, and not that which you urged in yours, That it is better to be an Exile in a Foreign Land, than to be a Prisoner in one's own Country: For, alas! you know but one half of my Misery, if you are not convinced that I am both together; and if you judge of the Matter rightly, you will find that a thing, which seems very inconsistent, is to be found in me, which is to be banished from the same Person by whom I am kept a Prisoner. You will find it difficult to interpret this Riddle, unless you call to mind, that I have always been used to mingle a Dram of Love in my Letters: For, if as you say, I am allowed some Liberty here, of which I should be deprived in France; I beseech you let it be that of assuring you, that there is a great deal of Passion mixed with the Affection which I express for your Service. I should indeed be Ungrateful, if I should discover but an ordinary Friendship for a Person who does such extraordinary Things for me; and I am obliged to fall in love at least with your Generosity. I have been acquainted what Care a Gentleman and a Lady has taken to inquire of my Welfare, which is an additional Obligation to one whom they had extremely obliged before. For all the rest, they have seemed buried in so profound a Silence, that for six Months together I have heard not the least mention of them. Whether this comes from their Forgetfulness or from their Prudence, I am unable to determine: Yet Forgetfulness may be allowed an Excuse for Silence, but a dumb Remembrance is without Defence. I leave you to conclude, Madam, how much Lustre this reflects upon what you have done for me, and how much I am obliged to you for a long Letter at a time, when others have been afraid to send me their Service. Therefore let me assure you, that tho' I am unable to make suitable Returns to such Goodness, I esteem it at least, and extol it as it deserves, and that I am as much as a Man can possibly be, Madam, yours, etc. To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. I Writ to you ten or twelve Days ago, and returned you Thanks for the two Letters, which I have at length received from you. If you were but sensible of the Satisfaction they brought with them, you would be sorry for not having writ to me oftener, and for not frequently repeating the Consolation, of which I had so much need. Madrid, which is the agreeablest Place in the World, for those who at once are Lusty and Libertines, is the most disconsolate, for those who are Regular, or those who are Indisposed. And in Lent, which is the Player's Vacation, I do not know so much as one Pleasure that a Man can enjoy with Conscience. My Melancholy here, and my want of Company have produced a good Effect in me; for they have reconciled me to Books, which I had for a time forsaken; and being able to meet with no other Pleasures, I have been forced to taste and to relish that of Reading: Prepare then to see me a Philosopher as great as yourself; and consider how fast a Man must come on, who for seven whole Months has studied, or has been sick: For if one of the chief Things that Philosophy aims at, is a Contempt of Life; the Stone-colick is certainly the best of Masters, and Plato and Socrates persuades us less efficaciously. It has lately read me a Lecture, that lasted seventeen Days, and which I shall not quickly forget; and which has often made me consider how very feeble we are, since three Grains of Sand, are sufficient to cast us down. But if it determines me to any Sect, it shall not at least be that which maintains that Pain is not an Evil; and that he who is Wise is at all times Happy. But whatever befalls me, I can neither be Happy nor Wise, without being near to you, and nothing can make me one or the other, so much as your Presence or your Example. Yet am I very uncertain when I shall be able to leave this Place, and expecting both Money and Men, which are coming by Sea, and which are two things that do not always keep touch with us; I apprehend my remaining here longer than I could wish; therefore I make it my humble Request to you, That you would not forget me so long as you have done, and that you would testify, by doing me the Honour of Writing to me, that you are convinced of the real Affection with which I am yours, etc. To Monsieur de Godeau. Sir, You ought to give me time to recover our Tongue, before you oblige me to write to you: For it appears to me to be something absurd, that I, who have been now so long a Foreigner, and but just come from breathing the Air of Barbary, should presume to expose my Letters, to one of the most eloquent Men in France. This Consideration has kept me silent till now. But tho' I forbear to answer your Challenges, I cannot refuse to return your Civilities: By these you have found a way to vanquish me, in spite of all my Evasions: In my present Condition it is more reputable to you, to Conquer me this way, than to overcome me by Force: You would have acquired but small Glory by vigorously attacking a Man, who is already driven to Extremity, and to whom Fortune has given so many Blows, that the least may satisfy to over-whelm him. Amidst the Darkness in which she hath placed us, we can have no Defence; but here all our Art and our Skill in Parring are useless. The Case perhaps might be otherwise, if you had set before my Eyes the Sun of which you make mention; and as dejected as you see me now, I should grow daring enough to enter the Lists against you, if the Light of that were divided between us equally. 'Tis more to have that alone on your side, than all the rest of Heaven. The Beauties which sparkle in all that you do, are only derived from hers, and it is the Influence of her Rays on you, which produces so many Flowers. Nothing can ever appear more lively, than those which you scatter on every thing that comes from you. I have seen them upon the Ocean's extremest Shores, and in Places where Nature cannot produce, no, not one Blade of Grass. I have received Nosegays of them, which made me meet in Deserts, with the choicest Delicacies of Greece and of fruitful Italy: And tho' they had been carried four hundred Leagues, neither the length of way, nor of time had in the least diminished their Lustre. They are indeed Immortal and cannot decay, and so vastly different from all Terrestrial Productions, that it is with a great deal of Justice, that you have offered them up to Heaven; for Altars alone are worthy of them. Believe me, Sir, in what I am saying, I speak but my real Sentiments; when my Curiosity, as you say, had obliged me to pass the Bounds of the ancient World, to find out rare and surprising Objects, your Works were the wonderfullest things that I saw, and Africa could show me nothing more new, and no more extraordinary Sight. Reading them under the Shade of its Palms, I wished you crowned with them all; and at the very time that I saw, that I had gone beyond Hercules, I found I came short of you. All this, which was capable of producing Envy in any Man's Soul but mine, filled mine with so much Esteem and Affection, that you then took the place there, which you are now desiring, and perfectly finished what you think you are still to begin. After the Knowledge which I have bad of you, how can I form such an Image of you, as you are willing to give me? How can I Fancy you to be that little Creature you say you are? How could I comprehend that Heaven could place such mighty things in so small a space? When I give my Imagination a Lose, it gives you four Yards at least, and represents you of the Stature of Men engendered by Angels. Yet I shall be very glad to find that it is as you would have me believe. Amongst the rest of the Advantages, which I expect to derive from you, I am in hopes that you will bring our Stature into some Credit, and that it is ours which henceforward will be accounted the noblest; and that by you, we shall be exalted above those who believe themselves higher than we. As we pour the most exquisite Essences into the smallest Bottles, Nature infuseth the divinest Souls into the smallest Bodies, and mixes more or less of matter with them, as they have more or less in them of their Almighty Original. She seems to place the most shining Souls, as jewellers set the most sparkling Stones, who make use of as little Gold as they can with them, and no more than just suffices to bind them. By you the World will be undeceived of that sottish Error of valuing Men by their Weight, and my Littleness with which I have been so often upbraided by Madamoiselle de Rambovillet, for the future may recommend me to her. For what remains, the Affection is very Just, which you tell me, she has for you, and with her, six more of the loveliest Creatures that illustrate the Light. But I wonder that you should think to get mine by such a Discovery; and to gain it by the very Means, which were sufficient to make you lose it. You had need to have a high Opinion of my Goodness, to believe that I can love a Man who enjoys my Right, and who has obtained the Consiscation of my most valued Possessions: But yet I am so just, that even this shall be no Impediment, and I believe you to have so much Justice on your side, that I do not despair but that we may accommodate even this matter between us. They may very well have given you my Place without your putting me out of it, and my room in their Hearts was but very small, if it cannot contain us both. As for my part, I shall do my utmost, that I may not incommode you there; and shall take care to take up my Station so that we may not clash, since so powerful an Interest cannot make me cease to be yours, you may believe, that in spite of the worst of Accidents, I shall be eternally Yours, etc. BILLET from Madam de Saintot, to Monsieur de Voiture. I Have promised to bestow you, for a Gallant, upon two fine Women, my Friends. I am confident that you will not find the Exploit too many for you, and do not doubt but that you will confirm my Promise, as soon as you have but seen them. The Answer of Monsieur de Voiture. LEt me see what I love as soon as you can: For I die with Impatience till that happy Moment. And since, at your Command, I have fallen in Love, it behoves you to take some care that I am beloved too. I have thought all Night upon the two Ladies that— In short, upon you know whom. I writ this Billet to one of them; deliver it, I beseech you, to her, whom you believe that I love the more passionately of the two. In Acknowledgement of the good Offices which I receive from you, I assure you, that you shall always dispose of my Affections; and that I will never love any one so much as yourself, till I am convinced that you have in good earnest a Mind that I should. To his Unknown Mistress. WAs there ever so extraordinary a Passion, as that which I have for you? For my part, I do not know any thing of you; and, to my knowledge I never so much as heard of you: And yet, I Gad, I am desperately in Love with you; and it is now a whole Day, since I have sighed, and looked silly, and languished, and died, and all that for you. Without having even seen your Face, I am taken with its Beauty; and am charmed with your Wit, tho' I never have heard one Syllable of it. I am ravished with your every Action, and I fancy in you a kind of I know not what, that makes me passionately in Love with I know not whom. Sometimes I fancy you Fair, and at other times Black; Now you appear Tall to me, by and by Short; Now with a Nose of the Roman Shape, and anon with a Nose turned up: But in whatever Form I describe you, you appear the Loveliest of Creatures to me; and though I am ignorant what sort of Beauty yours is, I am ready to pawn my Soul, that it is the most Bewitching of all of them. If it be your Luck to know me as little, and to love me as much, than thanks be to Love, and the Stars. But lest you should a little impose upon yourself, in fancying me a tall fair Fellow, and so be surprised at the Sight of me, I care not for once, if I venture to send you my Picture: My Stature is three Inches below the middle one; my Head appears tolerable enough, and is decently set off with a large grey Head of Hair; then with Eyes that languish a little, yet are something Haggard; I have a sort of a cudden cast of a Face: But in Requital, one of your Friends will tell you, that I am the honestest Fellow in the World; and that for Loving faithfully in five or six Places at a time, there is no Man alive comes near me. If you think that all this will accommodate you, it shall be at your Service as soon as I see you: Till that long longed for time, I shall think of you; that is, of I know not whom. But if any one should chance to ask me for whom I sigh, don't be afraid, I warrant to keep the Secret; I would fain see any one catch me at naming you to him. To Mademoiselle Paulet. Madam, There was only one thing wanting to your Adventures, and that was to be a Prisoner of State; I have given you here the happy Occasion of being such: Fortune, who has omitted no Opportunity of bringing you into Play, will, in all probability, make her Advantage of this. I know very well that I bring you into Danger by writing to you; yet cannot even that Reflection restrain me. From whence you may conclude, that there is no Risk which I would refuse to run, to refresh your Remembrance of me, since I can resolve to endanger even you, you who are dear and valuable above all the rest of the World to me. I tell you this, Madam, at a time, when I would not lie, no, not in a Compliment: For I would have you to know, that I am much the better for the Distemper which I have lately had: It has caused me to assume such good Resolutions, that if I had them not, I could be contented to purchase them with all my Health. I plainly foresee, that this will but divert you, you who are conscious to so much of my Weakness; and who will never believe that I can keep single Resolutions, I who have broken so many Vows; yet nothing is more certain than that I have hitherto beheld the Spanish Beauties with as much Indifference, as I did the Flemish at Brussels; and I hope to grow a Convert in the very Place of the World in which the Tempter is strongest, and where the Devil resumes as glorious Shapes as what he put off when he fell. The Reformation is so great in me, that I have but one Scruple remaining, which is, That I think too often of you; and that I desire to see you again with a little too much Impatience. I, who have moderated the rest of my Passions, have been unable to reduce that which I have for you, to the Measure with which we are permitted to love our Neighbours; that is to say, as much as we do ourselves; and I fear you have a larger Share in my Soul, than I ought to allow a Creature. Look out, I beseech you, for a Remedy for this, or rather for an Excuse for it; for as for a Remedy, I believe there is none, and that I must be always, with utmost Passion, Madam, yours. To the Marchioness of Rambovillet; in Answer to a Letter of Thanks of hers. Madam, THo' my Liberality should, as you tell me, surpass the Bounty of Alexander, it would nevertheless be richly recompensed, by the Thanks which you have returned me for it. He himself, as boundless as his Ambition was, would have confined it to so rare a Favour. He would have set more value upon this Honour, than he did on the Persian Diadem; and he would never have envied Achilles the Praise which he received from Homer, if he could but himself have obtained Yours. Thus, Madam, on this Pinnacle of Glory on which I stand, if I bear any Envy to his, 'tis not so much to that which he acquired himself, as to that which you have bestowed upon him, and he has received no Honours, which I do not hold Inferior to mine, unless it be that which you did him, when you declared him your Gallant. Neither his Vanity, nor the rest of his Flatterers, could ever persuade him to believe any thing that was so advantageous to him, and the Quality of Son of Jupitur Hammon, was by much less glorious to him than this. But if any thing comforts me for the Jealousy which it has raised in me, 'tis this, Madam, that knowing you as well as I know you, I am very well assured, that if you have done him this Honour, 'tis not so much upon the account of his having been the Greatest of Mankind, as of his having been now these two thousand Years no more. However, we here find cause to admire the Greatness of his Fortune, which not being able yet to forsake him so many Years after his Death, has added to his Conquests a Person that gives them more Lustre than the Daughters and Wife of Darius; and which has gained him a Mind more great than the World he Conquered. I ought here to be afraid, after your Example of Writing, in too lofty a Style: But how can the Writer be too sublime who writes of you, and of Alexander? I humbly beseech you, Madam, to believe that I have equal Passion for you, with that which you show for him; and that the Admiration of your Virtues will oblige me to be always, Madam, yours, etc. An Imitation of Monsieur de Voiture's Letter to Mademoiselle de Rambovillet: Being an Answer to that by which she had informed him, who was then with Monsieur in Exile, that the Academy designed to abolish the Particle Car, [For.] That the Reader may be diverted with this Letter, he is desired to suppose, that there is a Club of Wits erected in London, for the Regulation of the Tongue, who have a Design to abolish it. Madam, FOR, being of so great Importace in our Tongue as it is, I extremely approve of the Resentment you show for the Wrong they design to do it; and I must needs declare, that I expect no good from this Club of Wits, which you mention, since they are resolved to establish themselves by so great an Oppression: Even at a time like this, when Fortune is acting her Tragedies throughout all Europe. I can behold nothing so deserving of Pity, as when I see they are ready to arraign and to banish a Word, which has so faithfully served this Monarchy; and which, amidst all our English Confusions, has always been of the side of those who were truly English. For my part, I cannot for my Heart comprehend, what Reason they can allege against a Word, whose only Business is to go before Reason, and which has no other Employment than to usher it in. I cannot imagine what Interest can oblige them, to take away that which belongs to for, to give it to Because that; nor why they have a mind, to say with three Syllables, that which they say with three Letters. That which I am afraid of, Madam, is this, That after they have been guilty of this one Injustice, they will not scruple at more; perhaps they may have the Impudence to attack But, and who knows if If may be any longer secure. So that, after they have deprived us of all those Words, whose business it is to bring others together, the Wits will reduce us to the Language of Angels; or, if they cannot do that, they will at least oblige us to speak only by Signs: And here I must confess, that your Observation is true, viz. That no Example can more clearly show us the Instability of Humane Affairs. He who had told me some Years ago, that I should have outlived For, I had thought had promised me a longer Life than the Patriarches. And yet we see that after he has mentained himself for some hundreds of Years, in full Force and Authority, after he has been employed in the most important Treaties, and has assisted in the Councils of our Kings with Honour, he is all of a sudden fallen into Disgrace, and threatened with a violent End. I now expect nothing less, than to be terrified with lamentable Cries in the Air, declaring to the World, that the Great For is dead: for the Death of the Great Cam, or of the Great Pan, was, in my mind, less important. I know if we consult one of the finest Wits of the Age, and one whom I esteem with Passion, he will tell us, that 'tis our Duty to condemn an Innovation like this, that we ought to use the For of our Fathers, as well as their Sun and their Soil, and that we should by no means banish a Word, which was in the Mouths of our Edward's and of our Henry's. But you, Madam, are the Person, who are principally obliged to undertake his Protection: for since the Supreme Grace, and the Sovereign Beauty of the English Tongue lies in yours, you ought to command here with an absolute Sway, and with a Smile or a Frown, give Life or give Death to Syllables, as uncontrolled as you do to Men. For this, I believe you have already secured it, from the imminent Danger which threatened it, and by vouchsafing it a Place in your Letter, have fixed it in a Sanctuary and a Mansion of Glory, to which neither Envy nor Time can reach. But here, Madam, I beg leave to assure you, that I could not but be surprised to see how fantastic your Favours are, I could not but think it strange, that you, who without Compassion could see a thousand Lovers expire, should not have the Heart to see a Syllable die. If you had but had half the Care of me, which you have shown of For, I should then have been happy in spite of ill Fortune: Then Poverty, Exile, and Grief would scarce have had force to come near me. If you had not delivered me from these Evils themselves, you had freed me at least from the Sense of them. But at a time that I expected to receive Consolation from yours, I found that your Kindness was only designed to For, and that his Banishment troubled you more than ours. I must confess, Madam, it is but just, you should undertake his Defence; but you ought to have taken some care of me too, that People might not object to you, That you forsake your Friends for a Word. You make no Answer at all to that which I writ about; you take not the least Notice of that which so much concerns me: In three or four Pages you scarce remember me once; and the Reason of this is For: Be pleased to consider me a little more for the future, and when you undertake the Defence of the Afflicted, remember that I am of the Number. I shall always make use of him himself to oblige you to grant me this Favour, and to convince you that it is but my Due; For I am, etc. To the Duke of Enguien, upon his Taking of Dunkirk. I Am so far from wondering that you have taken Dunkirk, that I believe you could take the Moon by the Teeth, if you did but once attempt it. Nothing can be impossible to you: I am only uneasy about what I shall say to your Highness on this Occasion, and am thinking by what extraordinary Terms I may bring you to reach my Conceptions of you. Indeed, my Lord, in that Height of Glory, to which you have now attained, the Honour of your Eavour is a singular Happiness; but it is a troublesome thing to us Writers, who are obliged to Congratulate you upon every good Success, to be perpetually upon the Hunt for Words whose Force may answer your Actions, and to be every Day inventing of new Panegyrics. If you would but have the Goodness to suffer yourself to be beat sometime, or to rise from before some Town, the variety of the Matter might help to support us, and we should find out some fine thing or other to say to you, upon the Inconstancy of Fortune, and the Glory that is gotten by bearing her Malice bravely. But having, from the very first of your Actions, ranked you equal with Alexander, and finding you rising upon us continually; upon my word, my Lord, we are at a loss what to do, either with you or ourselves. Nothing that we can say, can come up to that which you do, and the very Flights of our Fancy flag below you. Eloquence, which Magnifies smallest things, cannot reach the Height of those which you do; no, not by its boldest Figures. And that which is called Hyperbole on other occasions, is but a cold way of speaking when it comes to be applied to you. Indeed it is different to comprehend, how your Highness each Summer has 〈◊〉 found out means to augment that Glory, which every Winter seemed at its full Perfection; and that having begun so greatly, and gone on more greatly, still your last Actions should crown the rest, and be found the most Amazing. For my own part, my Lord, I congratulate your Success, as I am in Duty obliged; but I plainly foresee, the very thing that augments your Reputation with us, may prejudice that which you expect from after Ages; and that so many great and important Actions, done in so short a space, may render your Life incredible to future Times, and make your History be thought a Romance by Posterity. Be pleased then, my Lord, to set some Bounds to your Victories, if it be only to accommodate yourself to the Capacity of Human Reason, and not to go further than Common Belief can follow you. Be contented to be quiet and secure, at least for a time, and suffer France, which is eternally alarmed for your Safety, to enjoy serenely, for a few Months, the Glory which you have acquired for her. In the mean time, I beseech you to believe, that among so many Millions of Men who admire you, and who continually pray for you, there is not one who does it, with so much Joy, with so much Zeal and Veneration, as I, who am, My Lord, your Highness', etc. To the Duke of Euguien (afterwards the Great Prince of Conde) upon his gaining the Battle of Rocroy. My Lord, AT a time that I am so far removed from your Highness, that you cannot possibly lay your Commands upon me, I am fully resolved to speak freely my Mind to you, which I have so long been obliged to disguise, left it should bring me into the same Inconvenience, with those, who before me, have taken the like Liberties with you. But let me tell you, my Lord, you have done too much, to let it pass without taking Notice of it; and you are unreasonable if you think to behave yourself as you do, without being loudly told of it. If you did but know how strangely all Paris talks of you, I am very confident that you would be ashamed of it; and you could not without Confusion hear, with how little Respect, and how little Fear of Displeasing you, all the World presumes to discourse of what you have done. I must confess, my Lord, I wonder what you could mean: You have shown yourself Bold with a Vengeance, and Violent to the last Degree, in putting such an Affront upon two or three old Captains, whom you ought to have respected, if it had been only for their Antiquity: In Killing the poor Count de la Fountain, who was the very best Man in the Low-Countries; in Taking sixteen Pieces of Cannon, the proper Goods of the King's Uncle, and the Queen's own Brother; and in Confounding the Spanish Troops, after they had shown so much Goodness in letting you Pass. I heard indeed, you are obstinate as a Devil, and that it was not to much purpose to dispute about any thing with you: But yet I never thought, that your Heat would have transported you so far. If you go on at the rate you have begun, you will shortly grow Intolerable, I assure you, to all Europe, and neither the Emperor nor the King of Spain will either of them be able to endure you. But now, my Lord, laying the Man of Conscience aside, and resuming the Man of State: I felicitate your Highness for the Victory I hear you have gained, the most complete, and the most important, which has happened in our Age. France, which you have sheltered from all the Storms that it dreaded, is amazed to see that you have begun your Life with an Action, with which Caesar would gladly have crowned his own, and which alone, reflects more Lustre upon the Kings your Progenitors, than all theirs have transferred to you. Well, my Lord, you have verified what has been formerly said, That Virtue comes to the Caesars preventing Time: For you, who are a true Caesar, both in Wit and in Knowledge; Caesar in Diligence and in Vigilance; in Courage Caesar, and per omnes Casus Caesar; you have outrun the Hopes, and surpassed the Expectation of Men; you have clearly shown that Experience is necessary to none but ordinary Souls; that the Virtue of Heroes comes by a more compendious way, and that the Works of Heaven are finished when but begun. After this I leave you to judge, how you are like to be received and carress'd by the Lords of the Court, and with what Pleasure the Ladies heard, that he whom they had seen Triumphant in Balls, had been Victorious in Armies; and that the finest Head of all France, was likewise the best and the strongest. There is not a Man even to Mounsieur Beaumond, who does not declaim in your Praise. They who had revolted against you, are now reduced; and they who complained that you were always Laughing, have been forced to confess, that you have shown yourself now in good Earnest; and every one's afraid of being of the Number of your Enemies, since you have defeated such Multitudes of them. Pardon, O Caesar, the Liberty which I have taken; receive the Praise that is due to you; and permit us to render to Caesar, that which is due to Caesar. To Monsieur de Balzac. Sir, IF it be true that I have always kept the Rank, which you tell me I have held in your Memory: Methinks you have shown but an indifferent Concern for my Satisfaction, in delaying so long to impart the pleasing News to me, and in suffering me so long to be the happiest of Men, without dreaming I was so. But perhaps you were of opinion, that this very good Fortune, was so infinitely above any thing that I could in reason hope for, that it was necessary you should take time to invent Arguments, which might render it credible, and that you had an occasion to employ all the Power of Rhetoric to persuade me, that you had not forgot me. And thus far at least I must needs confess, that you have been very Just, that resolving to let me have nothing but Words for all the Affection you own me, the Choice which you have made of them, has been so rich, and so beautiful, that, let me die, if I believe the thing they assure me of would be of greater Value: This, at least, I'm sure of, that they would suffice to Counterbalance any Friendship but mine. I am only discontented at one thing, and that is, that so much Artifice and so much Eloquence, should not be able to Disguise the Truth from me; and that in this, I should resemble your own Shepherdesses, who are too silly to be beguiled by a Man of Wit. But indeed, you must excuse me if I am something inclined to suspect an Art, which could invent Commendations for a Quartan Ague, and an Art which you have at more command than ever Man had before you. All those Graces, and that Air of the Court, which I so much admire in yours, convince me rather of the Excellence of your Wit, than of the Goodness of your Will. And from all the fine things which you have said in my Favour, all that I can conclude, even when I am inclined to flatter myself, is, That Fortune has been pleased to give me a place in your Dreams: Nay, I know not if the very Extravagancies of a Soul so exalted as yours, are not too serious, and too reasonable, to descend so low as to me. And I shall esteem myself too obligingly used by you, if you have but so much as dreamt that you Love me. For to imagine, that you have reserved a Place for me amidst those sublime Thoughts, which are, at present, employed, in Recompensing the Virtues of all the World, and Distributing Shares of Glory to Mankind; to imagine this, would be extreme Presumption in me. I have too great an Opinion of your Understanding, to believe that you could be guilty of any thing that is so much below you; and I should be unwilling, that your Enemies should have that to object to you. I am perfectly satisfied, that the only Affection which you can have justly for any one, is that which you own to yourself; and that Precept of Studying One's self, which is a Lesson of Humility to all besides you, aught to have a contrary Effect in relation to you, and oblige you to contemn, whatever you find without you. And therefore here let me swear to you, That without pretending to any Share in your Affection, I should have been very well satisfied, if you had preserved, with never so little Care, the Friendship which I have vowed eternally to have for you, and to have placed it, if not amongst the things which you value, at least amongst those which you are not forward to lose. But in leaving me here with that lovely Rival, of whom you made mention of in yours, you have shown, let me tell you, too little Jealousy, and you have suffered her to gain so much Advantage of you, that I have reason to suspect that you have conspired with her, to do me a Mischief. And therefore I have more reason than you to complain, that she has enriched yourself by your Losses, and that you have suffered her to get into her Power, that which I thought to have secured from her Tyranny, by entrusting it in your Hands. If you had been willing to have made never so little Defence, the better part of myself, had yet been our own; but you, by your Negligence, have suffered her to surprise it; and to advance her Conquest at such a rate over me, that tho' I should surrender to you, all that remains of me, you would not have so much as one half of that which you have lost. Nevertheless, let me assure you, That you have gained, in my Esteem, as much as you have lost in my Affection; and that at the very time that I was beginning to Love you less, I was forced to Honour you more. I have seen nothing of yours since your Departure, which does not go beyond all that you had done before: And by your last Works, you have the Honour of Excelling him who surpassed all others. It cannot therefore but appear strange, that when you have so much reason to be contented, you should yet be complaining, and that you yourself should be the only great Man who remains dissatisfied with you. At present all France is listening to you, and you are indifferent to no Man, who has but learned to Read. All who are concerned for the Honour of their Country, are not more inquisitive after what the Marshal de Crequi is doing, than they are after what is doing by you. And you are the Person who can make more Noise in your Solitude, than the most Happy and most Renowned of our Generals, at the Head of forty Thousand Men. Can you wonder then, that with so much Glory, you should be obnoxious to Envy; and that the very same Judges with whom Scipio was Criminal, and who condemned Aristides and Socrates, should not unanimously do Justice to your Desert? The People can plead Prescription for hating the very Qualities which they admire in any one. Every thing which transcends 'em, they think affronts 'em; and they can better bear with a common Vice, than an extraordinary Virtue. So that if that Law was in force amongst us, of Banishing the most Powerful for Authority or Reputation, I make no doubt, but that you would stand the Mark of the Public Envy: and I believe even Cardinal Richlieu would not run greater Hazard. But, for God sake, have a care of calling that your Misfortune, which is but that of the Age: And complain no more of the Injustice of Men, since all, who have Worth, are of your side; and that amongst them, you have found a Friend, whom yet, perhaps, you may lose once more: At least, I shall do my utmost to put you into a condition of doing so. For every Man's Darling Vanity, at present, is to be accounted yours. For my own part, I have always in so public a manner professed myself so, that if through ill Fortune I should not be able to Love you so much as I have done, yet here let me swear to you, That you shall be the only Man to whom I will dare to declare it; and that I will always own myself to the rest of the World, to be as much as ever, Yours, etc. To the Marquis of Pisani, who had lost all his Money and his Baggage, at the Siege of Thionville. The Character of the Marquis of Pisani, was a Man of Honour, Generosity, and Courage; but an Extravagant, Ignorant, Obstinate, Disputing Gamester. Sir, THe Man would be to blame, or I have been very much misinformed, who should upbraid you with having had the Mules to keep, at your Camp of Thionville: The Devil a Mule have you kept there, Sir. They tell me, that upon the weighty Consideration, that several Armies have been formerly lost by their Baggage; you have made all possible haste to be disencumbered of yours. And that having often read in the Roman Histories, (this it is to be such a Man of Reading, look you) that the greatest Exploits that were done by their Cavalry, were done on Foot, after having voluntarily dismounted in the Extremity of the most doubtful Battles, you took a Resolution to dispatch away all your Horses, and have managed Matters so swingly, that you have not so much as one left. And now, the important Person stands on his own Legs. Perhaps, you may receive some small Inconvenience from this: But let me die, if it be not much for your Honour, that you, as well as Bias, honest old Bias, I warrent you know him so wondrous well, should be able to say, that you carry all that is yours about you. No great quantity I must confess of Foppish Accoutrements, nor a long Train of Led-horses, nor abundance of that which they call the Ready; but Probity, Generosity, Magnanimity, Constancy in Dangers, Obstinacy in Disputes; a Contempt of all Foreign Languages, Ignorance of False Dice, and a surprising Tranquillity upon the Loss of Transitory Things: Qualities, Sir, which are properly and essentially yours; and of which neither Time nor Fortune can ever deprive you. Now as Euripides, who was, as you know, or as you know not, one of the gravest Authors of Greece, writes in one of his Tragedies, that Money was one of the Evils, and one of the most pernicious ones, that slew from Pandora's Box; I admire, as a Divine Quality in you, the Incompatibility which you show for it, and look upon it to be a distinguishing Mark of a Great and Extraordinary Soul, that you are Uneasy till you are rid of this Corrupter of Reason, this Poisoner of Souls, this Author of so much Disorder, of so much Injustice, and of so many Violences. Yet, I could hearty wish, that your Virtue were not arrived at such an extraordinary Pitch, and that you could be brought to some Accommodation with this Enemy of Human Kind, and that you might be persuaded to make Peace with it, as we do with the Great Turk, for Politic Reasons, and the Advantage of Commerce. Now upon Consideration, that it is a difficult matter to be much at one's Ease without it, and fancying that as I played for you at Narbonne, you threw for me at Thionville; and that it is perhaps in my Name, that you have packed off your Baggage, I here send you a hundred Pistols at present in part of Payment; and, that these may not meet with the same Fate which befell their Predecessors, I desire you not to defile your Hands with them, but to deliver them to the French Gentlemen who are with you, for whose sake I chief remit them. I am, etc. The End of Mr. Dennis' Translation. To Mademoiselle de Bourbon, A Relation of the Author's being tossed in a Blanket. By Tho. Cheek, Esq. Madam, LAst Friday in the Afternoon I was tossed in a Blanket; because I had not made you Laugh in the time that was given me: Madam de Rambovillet pronounced the Sentence, at the Request of her Daughter, and Mademoiselle Paulet. They had deferred the Execution to the return of the Princess, and yourself; but they bethought themselves afterwards, not to delay it any longer; and that it was very improper to put off Punishment to a time, which ought to be wholly devoted to Pleasure. 'Twas in vain to cry out, and make Resistance, the Blanket was brought, and four of the lustiest Fellows they could get, were picked out for this Service. I may venture to affirm to you, Madam, that no Man was ever yet in so exalted a Condition as I was, and I did not believe that Fortune would ever have raised me so high; at every Toss they threw me out of sight, and sent me higher than a soaring Eagle. I saw the Mountains crouching far below me, the Winds and Clouds travel beneath my Feet, discovered Countries that I n'ver had seen, and Seas I n'ver had thought of. There can be nothing more diverting, than to see so many things all at once, and to discover half the Globe at one View. But I assure you, Madam, all this cannot be seen without some Disturbance; when one is in the Air, and certain of falling down again, that which frighted me the most was, That, when I was very high, looking downwards, the Blanket appeared so small that I thought it impossible to fall into it; and that I confess was some trouble to me: But, among so many different Objects, which at the same time struck my Sight, there was one which for some Moment's took away my Fear, and touched me with real Pleasure: It is this, Madam, Being desirous to look towards Piedmont to see what passed there, I saw you at Lions, as you crossed the Saone; at least, I saw a great Light upon the Water, and abundance of Rays about the most charming Face in the World: I could not well discern who was with you, because at that time my Head was lower-most; and I believe you did not see me, for you looked another way; I made Signs to you as well as I could: but as you began to look up, I fell down again, and one of the Tops of the Mountain Tarara hindered you from seeing me: As soon as I came down, I told 'em that I had seen you, and, as I was going to tell 'em how you did, they all fell a Laughing as if 'twere a thing impossible, and immediately began to make me leap higher than before. There happened to me a very strange Accident, which will seem incredible to those who have not seen it: One time when they had tossed me to a very great height, in coming down, I found myself in a Cloud, which being very thick, and I extremely light, I was a great while entangled in it, before I could fall down again; so that they stayed a long time below, spreading the Blanket and looking up without being able to imagine what was become of me. By good Luck there was no Wind stirring, for if there had, the Cloud in marching would have carried me of one side or tother, and so I must have inevitably fallen to the Ground, which could not have happened without hurting me very much. But a more dangerous Accident succeeded this, the last time they threw me into the Air, I found myself amongst a Flock of Cranes, who at first were mightily surprised to see me so high; but when they came near me, they took me for a Pigmy, with whom, you know Madam, they have perpetual War, and thought I came to 'em as a Spy into the middle Region; immediately they fell upon me with great STrokes of their Beaks, and with such Violence, that I imagined myself struck with a hundred Daggers. And one of them, that had taken me by the Leg, pursued me so furiously, that she did not leave me till I was in the Blanket. This made my Tormentors afraid to send me back to the Mercy of my Enemies; who were now got together in great numbers, and hovered in the Air expecting me again. At last they carried me home again in the same Blanket, but so dispirited as never Man was: To tell you the truth, this Exercise is a little too violent for one of my tender Constitution. I leave it to you, Madam, to judge how cruelly I have been dealt with, and for how many Reasons you are obliged to condemn this Action; and to deal plainly with you, you that are born with so many commanding Qualities, should think it of the highest Consequence to begin betimes to hate Injustice, and to take those that are oppressed into your Protection: I beseech you then, Madam, in the first place, to declare this an Outrage you by no means approve; and for Reparation of my Honour, and my Strength, to order a great Canopy of Gause, to be set up for me in the blue Chamber of the House of Rambovillet, where I shall be waited on, and magnificently entertained for a whole Week, by the two Ladies who were the cause of this Misfortune; that at one Corner of the Room they shall be continually making Sweetmeats; one of 'em shall blow the Fire, and t'other shall do nothing else but put Syrup upon Plates to cool, and bring it me as often as I have occasion. Thus, Madam, you will do a deed of Justice, worthy of so great and beautiful a Princess, and I shall be obliged to be with the utmost Sincerity and Respect, To Madam de Rambovillet. By Joseph Raphson, Esq Madam, How threatening soever your Letter be, I could not choose but admire its Beauty, and wonder how you could join the obliging and the terrible Style with so much Artifice together. You make me think of the Gold and Azure we find on the Skins of our Snakes, you do as it were enamel the sharpest Reflections, with the liveliest Colours of Eloquence; and, in reading them, I cannot forbear to be pleased with those very things which most affright me. You soon began to be as good as your Word, when you told me that you would no longer smile, than Fortune frowned on me: In the same Minute she seems to have granted me a little Repose, you begin to disquiet me, and show me, that tho' I have escaped the Dangers of the Seas and Pirates, I am not yet in Safety, and that you are more dreadful than they. I could not have thought, Madam, that for having refused a Quarrel with your Dwarf, I should have contracted one with yourself, nor that I should be obliged to answer a Challenge, because I did a Compliment: If you think I failed in that, you ought rather to call it Respect and Fear, than Contempt; and believe that the same Creature who difarmed Monsieur de M— of his Sword, made my Pen fall from my Hand. Although he might have some Reason to complain, yet you had none to take his part against me; and if you wish me Ill for his sake, I may justly say you quarrel with me on the least Occasion in the World. If you are resolved to persecute me, all the Excuses I can allege will signify nothing; and I can only wonder you take so much Pains to find a Pretence for it. It will be no Advantage to me, to have come so far through so many Dangers; I shall find Algiers, wherever you are; and tho' I am in Brussels, yet I was never so near Captivity, or being Shipwrecked. However, don't persuade yourself, Madam, that the Flames of those Animals wherewith you threaten me, can make me afraid. I have long since learned to defend myself from those sorts of Mischiefs; and whatever you can say, I am more apprehensive of Death from you Eyes, than your Hands. Among all the Passages of your Letter, which seems to me admirable in all its parts, I take particular notice of what you say, how great a pleasure it would have been to you, if I had been taken by the Pirates; I can't but attribute it to your extraordinary Goodness, that you could wish I had been two or three Years chained to an Oar in the Turkish Galleys, that somy Voyage might have been more diversified. 'Twas an ingenious Curiosity, to desire to know how I could look after and dress the Camels of Barbary, and with what unshaken Constancy I could bear Bastinadoes! After the rate you talk, I suppose you would have been glad, if I had been impaled for half an Hour, to have satisfied you how it felt, and what I thought of it: But that which is yet more considerable, these kind Wishes, you say, you bestowed upon me, after you had reassumed the mild Form of Woman, and were somewhat appeased, and become more Humane; neither can I any more reconcile to Justice the Quarrel you would pick with me about Alcidalis: Judge, Madam, if being embarked in the same Seas with him, and in the same Dangers, I could forget those Perils which I suffered, to recount those he had gone through; and while I lay under my own Misfortunes, if I could amuse myself to write a History of his? Notwithstanding I did not omit it in the midst of my Troubles, I writ above a hundred Sheets of his History, and took a particular Care of his Life, at a time when I can swear to you, I had none of my own. But don't thence, Madam, make an Estimate of the Care I take to please my Friends. After I have rendered you all the imaginable Services I can, those Shadows can only show you the least part of the Passion I have for your Concerns. If you would know that, consider it rather in the Cause than in the Effects. But your Imagination, how lively and wonderful soever it is, falls short of that; and if there is any thing in the whole World greater than your Soul, and which is beyond its Comprehension, it is the Respect, Affection, and Esteem it has bred in mine. Being no less sensible to acknowledge the Obligations I own to other excellent Persons, you'll think that the Letter I received at the same time with yours, brought me an infinite Satisfaction, as well as an extreme Honour. You knew better than any other, the Inclination and Respect I have always had for the Merits of the Person who writ it, and you may remember in the time of the Civil Wars between you two, I have sometimes left your part to take his. But this last Goodness of his has gained something afresh in my Heart; and since I have received it, pardon me, if you please, that I have esteemed him for some Moment's above any other Person in the World: But that you may not think, Madam, that it is you who have procured me all the Favours I receive from him, I assure you that on another Occasion very lately he has done me a piece of Service, without your being privy to it: Although it is none of those I take the most Pleasure in receiving, and it has given me a new Subject of reflecting on my ill Fortune, yet I esteem it a great Honour to owe Obligations to him, which I should be ashamed to do to any other, and I am glad to receive any Marks of his Generosity. He'll swear, when you speak to him of it, he knows not what you mean; and methinks I now see him telling you so: but you know his Humour and Temper, never to forget to do a good Action, and never to remember it when it is done. Since the Honour of your Esteem for me, has been the first Motive to establish me in his Favour, I humbly beg, Madam, your Assistance to return him those Thanks I own him, and that way to pay him at least as far as I can at present. I a thousand times kiss the Feet of that incomparable Person who was pleased to write with her own Hand the Superscription of the Letter you sent me, and with four or five Words, render that Present inestimable, which was extraordinary precious before. You have a great deal of Reason to call her the most charming and agreeable Person in the World, who can relieve the Distressed at such a Distance. I with that she, who so well knows how to manage it, may once have all the Happiness due to so much Goodness, Beauty and Virtue together, tho' I know this Wish is very Extensive. I hear that the Lady, which I used to call the Morningstar, is become Greater and more Admirable than ever, and that it at the same time enlightens and burns all France; although its beams scarce reach the dark Shades where we live, yet its Reputation does, and as far as I can understand, the Sun is not so bright as it. I am glad the Intelligence that animates it, has lost nothing of its Force and Light, and that there is nothing but the Soul of Madamoiselle de Bourbon, that can make us doubt, whether her Beauty is not the most perfect thing in the World. The manner, as I have seen in one of your Letters, she condoles me in, appears admirably fine: indeed so many Crosses I have met with, aught to stir up Pity in her; in her, I say, who is so well acquainted with my Weakness, and who knows that from my Cradle, I have not had one Day of Repose. It has been disturbed at the Postscript of your Letter addressed to King Chiquito. In the Hell of Anastarax I found mine; and there I wandered three Nights and Days, without seeing a jot of any thing. I am very sorry for it, for I desired above any thing in the World to have the Comb of King Georgia; I have had a mind to it above these two Years. But since you pretend to so much Guessing, Imagine if you please, Madam, all I would farther say, if I durst make my Letter longer. Guess how much more I honour and esteem, you than I did two Years ago; and think with how much Passion I am, Madamoiselle, Yours, etc. Brussels. To the Cardinal de la Valette. By the same Hand. My Lord, I Am apt to believe, when you writ me the Letter, you were pleased to Honour me with, that you thought the Esteem I have always had for you, has acquired you some Reputation in the World: That on all Occasions, I had given you infinite Testimonies of the Honour of my Friendship, and had for that reason lent you two thousand Crowns on an extraordinary Occasion; and that at such a Time when all your Credit failed you elsewhere; at such a Juncture too, that otherwise your Reputation must have for ever sunk. At least, after the rate you return your Thanks, and speak of yourself, and me, I have reason to believe, that in a Dream, you have mistake the one for the other, and put yourself in my Place. Otherwise, my Lord, you would not write after that manner you do, unless, perhaps you are of Opinion, that there is no greater Good in the World than to do so to others, and think those oblige you, who give you an Opportunity of obliging them, and imagine you receive the Pleasures you give: Certainly if it be so, there is no Man in the World, to whom you are more obliged than to me; and I deserve all the Thanks you give me, since I have given you more Occasions than any one else of exercising your Generosity, and doing Actions of Goodness, which without doubt, are worth more than all the Good you have done me, or all that you have remaining. Among the great Number of those I have received from you, and among so many Favours you have been pleased to bestow upon me, I assure you, my Lord, there are none I Esteem so much as the Letter, you have done me the Honour to Write to me; and if among so many Things which affected me with Joy, there is any one Thing that did so above the rest, I must needs beg your leave to tell you, it is that, where you mention the two Persons, who deserve all the Respect we can pay them, and to whom, if we compare them not one to the other, there is nothing under the whole Heaven, they can be compared to. When I think that I am in their Memory, for that Moment my Pains cease; and whensoever, I represent to myself the Image of either the one or the other, the very Face of my Fortune seems to be changed, and that Imagination chases from my Spirit, the Darkness which oppresses it, and fills it with Light: But that which is still a greater Happiness, is, tho' I am so far from ever having deserved the Honour of their Favour, yet I flatter myself that I have some share in it; and I am so happy as to believe what you tell me concerning it. I know one, my Lord, who would not be so easy to be persuaded, if he were in my place, and who after two Years Separation could not live in so much Tranquillity, nor with so great Assurance. In the Satisfaction which that Belief gives me, be pleased to judge if I am much to be lamented, and if there are not many whom the World calls Happy, that are not so much as I: Without this I could not defend myself from the general Sorrow which is here on all sides, nor resist the Melancholy of Monsieur de C—, whom I am forced every Day to contend with, and who is in Truth much above what is commonly imagined of him. Besides his Fancy he has taken to let his Beard grow, which already reaches down to his Middle, he affects a Tone more severe than ever, and which comes very near the sound of Astolphus' Horn: Unless he were to treat of the Immortality of the Soul, or of the Supreme Good, and the most Important Questions of Moral Philosophy, he could not Bawl louder. If Democritus should come again, though he was never so great a Philosopher, he would not bear with him, because he was addicted to Laughing; he has undertaken to reform the Doctrine of Zeno, as too soft; and is going about to make the Stoics turn Capuchins. So that, my Lord, you don't desire any Advantage to that People, whose Governor— you wish him to be. To a young Lady, Maid of Honour to his Royal Highness' Daughter. By Henry Cromwell, Esq Madam, HAving been ever sensible of the Power of your Eloquence, assist me, I beseech you, in returning my Acknowledgements to the fairest, and most generous Princess of the World: For, I swear, I have been Oppressed with her Bounties, and must declare, that there is not any thing under Heaven, so Lovely, and so Charming, as the Mistress whom you serve; I had almost said whom we serve: And, indeed what would I not give, that I might thus express it? From the first Moment that I heard her, I presently concluded that there was not in the World so great a Genius as hers; but the Care she has been pleased to take of me, above all things amazes me, and I can not sufficiently admire, how, among such elevated Thoughts, she can have room for any so trivial; and how a Mind, in all things else so high, can descend so low. The Pastils which were presented me this Morning, have had a wondrous Effect upon me, and I can not imagine from whence this Miracle proceeds, unless from a Touch of her Royal Highness' Hand; for I find myself infinitely better, by having kissed the Paper only that enclosed 'em: This, as long as I live, shall be my Antidote against all sorts of Ills, and there is but one, for which so pleasing a Remedy as this can have no Cure: But lest you should too curiously inquire, what this is I mean, 'tis much better that I should explain myself, and tell you, that 'tis the Trouble, to have so seldom the Sight of her, and to be destined to live far from the only Person who deserves to be Adored; if you reflect upon this, it will appear the greatest of Misfortunes; and 'tis very hard to be a Man of Honour, and survive it. To the Marchioness de Rambovillet, on Absence. By the same Hand. Madam, My Lady, your Mother, must excuse me; but never any thing was so tiresome to me as Rome: Not a Day passes, but I see something that's wonderful; Masterpieces of the greatest Artists that ever were; Gardens where there is an everlasting Spring; Buildings that are not to be equalled in the World, and Ruins yet more Beautiful than they: But all this that I tell you hath no power to divert me, and at the same time that I see 'em, I wish myself far from 'em: The most excellent Paintings, Sculptures, and Portraitures of Apelles, Praxiteles de Papardelle have no Charms for me. I should be amazed at this, were I not sensible of the Cause, and did not well know that a Person who has been accustomed to the sight of you, could never be easy when he did not enjoy it: for to tell you the Truth, Madam, I have the same Sense of you, as of Health; I never so well know your Value, as when I have lost you: and although, when I am near you, I manage not always so well as to maintain myself with you, yet from the Moment that I behold you no more, I seek you with a thousand Wishes. I call to mind that you are the most precious of worldly Things, and I find by Experience, that all the Delights of the Earth are harsh and disagreeable without you: I had more Pleasure some time ago in two or three turns of the Ruel with you, than I have had since, in seeing all the Vine-yards of Rome, or that I should have to see the Capitol, though in all its ancient Splendour, with even Jupiter Capitolinus there in Person; but that you may know that this is no Raillery, and that I am really as Ill as I express it, 'tis but eight Days since, that walking in the Morning with the Chevalier de Jars, I had fallen all along if he had not received me in his Arms; and the next Evening I swooned once more in the Apartment of the Mareshal de Estree's. The Physicians say that those are melancholy Vapours, and that these Accidents are not to be neglected; as for me, since this has taken me two Days successively, and that I was threatened with something worse, I have neither been stupid nor insensible; but have taken some Antimony which Monsieur Nerli gave me; this has done me some good, and I'll bring four Doses with me, which I will persuade the Duchess d'Ainguillon to take; for there is no Volatile Salt which can have so good Effect: and this we must be contented with, till he that hath given me it, shall find the Receipt of the Aurum Potabile, which Secret, as he says, he shall attain to in a Year at least. I hope to leave this place in a Week; you will be amazed that I can continue so long in a Place which I tell you I have been so tired with; but I have been kept here till now, by some things which I will acquaint you with, and which I have not yet been able to dispatch; but I assure you once more, that I never in my Life was so uneasy and so impatient to see you; I humbly beseech you to do me the Honour to believe me, and to be assured that I am much more than I can here express, Rome. Madam yours. To Monsieur Costart. By— Monsieur, You will be surprised that I solicit your Assistance in an Affair on t'other side the Mountains; that I beg your Succour against the Romans: It is not the first time as you know, that they have disturbed the Quiet of those that troubled themselves not with them. But I think they were never so unjust to any body as to me; they never gave Hannibal more Vexation than they will me, if you do not help me: Quorsum haec, I'll tell you; They have among them an Academy of Men, that call themselves Humourists, which is as it were fantastical; and indeed, they must be so to take a fancy to admit me into their Number, and to advise me of it by a Letter from one of their Society. I must write him an Answer of Thanks in Latin; and this 'tis puts me in such pain. But I have been eased from the Moment that I thought of you, for this methinks is your true Talent, and a Man that lives in Poitou, and writes Latin Letters out of Wantonness, can't refuse me one. Their Device is a Sun raising Vapours from the Sea, which falls back again in Rain, with this Motto out of Lucretius, Fluit agmine dulci: Pray try what you can say upon this, and upon the Honour which they have done me, and my want of Merit. Monsieur Pauquet will be sure not to fail us, and he knows more than either you or I: I leave this Matter wholly to you two; for I am no way capable of it, when you can do it if you please. Me dulcis domine Musa Lycimnie, Cantus, me voluit dicere lucidum Fulgentes oculos, & bene mutuis, Fidum Pectus amoribus. She has been gone this nine Days: Poor Lycimnia! Without Lying, I love her better than myself, but not better than you, I am, Monsieur, etc. To Madam— To acquaint me with your Sufferings, is the way to redouble mine; and I, that have supported my own with so much Patience, doubt whether I shall be able to bear up under yours. But whatever happens, I can't endure too much, since it is for Love of you, and the two Words which you have put in your Billet, out of Rank from the rest; are enough to render any thing supportable, and make me cheerfully embrace Martyrdom. I suppose you have no doubt of it, and that you are assured of my Resolution, since after having warned me of the Mischief you intent me, you expect that I should come and meet you: and that after Dinner, I should voluntarily appear in a place where my Pains are to be increased. These Menaces would terrify any other but myself, and make a wiser Man than I, provide for his Security: But whatsoever Danger I foresee, it's impossible for me to disobey you: Or having the Honour of knowing you so well as I do, to forbear being, Madam. To the same. I Have forgot all that I should say to— to whom you would reconcile me, and I assure you'tis not because I have slept since; I am sorry to have so little Concern for a Person so well recommended to me, and that not being able to afford her any room in my Affection, she had no more in my Memory. It's the part of my Soul in which I may with most Justice allow her a place, being that which is most opposite to the Judgement, and wherein things past are laid up. But if I say any thing obliging to her after Dinner, she shall not be able to complain that I talk to her by heart; for I find that I'm so much a Stranger to all that I have to say to her, that if you do not quickly relieve me, you shall see that I know no more than you, either the Words or Time: I wish you knew no better that of your departure. For without lying, I have not Courage to endure the bare thought of it, which stifles in me all others. When I think that to Morrow you will be no longer here, I am surprised that I am to Day in the World, and I am ready to confess to you that there is some Faction in this Love, which I testify, when I consider that I yet breathe, and that my Displeasure has not yet finished my Days. Others have lost their Speech and confined themselves to inaccessible Solitudes for less Misfortunes than mine. I own that I could not go so far from you, to vent my Grief, but I am methinks to be excused for not seeking a Cell in the Deserts of Egypt, since I hope for a place in that which you are making. It is this Hope only, which keeps me in the World, and my Life hangs only on this Expectation. I know not whether all that I here say be within the bounds of a passionate Friendship, but you cannot accuse me of speaking too intelligibly, since all my words will bear a double Construction; nor complain that I do not write to you in such Terms as you desire, since I never met with the Person that should inform me what those are: So long as some Allowance is made for my Failings, and that I may tell you some part of my thoughts, I swear to you by the same Affection that I did Yesterday, that the only Folly I shall ever be guilty of, shall be always to love the most aimiable Person that ever was, and that I will be content to be hated by you, when ever I offer you my Friendship. To Diana. By the same Hand. Madam, IF you be as sensible of the Uneasiness of not seeing what you love, as I am; if you suffer, during this Absence, any thing like what I endure; What Considerations, charming Diana, could prevail upon you, to be two Days without seeing me? Why do not we rather hazard the other Extremity, than this which our Misfortune reduces us to? Is it reasonable, to hinder four or five People from prating and observingour Satisfaction we should sacrifice it, and to prevent a little Noise, endure so much Misery? No, no, my dear Diana, the greatest Misfortune that can befall us, is to be separated from one another; I know nothing that we ought so much to fear: Do not think that our Love is a whit the more private, for the pains we take to conceal it; the Dejection which is visible in my Countenance, speaks plainer than any body can do. Let us then lay aside a Discretion which cost us so dear, and give me, after Dinner, an Opportunity of seeing you, if you would have me live. To the Precedent of the Household. By *** Sir, MAdam de Marsilly believes that I have some Interest in you; and I, who am vain enough to be thought to have it, have not informed her to the contrary. She is a Lady esteemed at Court, and that may influence the Parliament; and if she succeeds in a Cause to be heard before you, believing that I have contributed to her Success, you cannot imagine the Credit it will do me amongst the better part of the World: I can propose nothing to bias you farther than by putting you in mind of my Interest, because you know your own can never engage you. To serve a Friend, and to do Justice, which is all we demand, are things the severest Judges may be solicited for; and I shall be sensible you do 'em both to me, if you continue loving me as much as you have done hitherto, and if you believe that I am Yours. To Monsieur d'Emer, Comptroler General of the King's Revenues. By the same Hand. Sir, SInce you won't permit me to mention some of your Letters, pray give me leave to take notice of that you writ to Monsieur d' Arses upon my Account, and to tell you, there are very few in France, that can write in such a Manner, particularly where you say that to accommodate my Affair you'll advance a Sum of Money; you must pardon me, if I am of Opinion that to offer twenty thousand Livers to do a Friend a Service, is so gallant a way of Writing, that there are few capable of expressing themselves in such a Style: Even we of the Academy of the Beaux Esprits, are not able to boast of any Turn of Thought equal to this. The Abridgement of a Letter to Monsieur d'Avaux. By the same Hand. VIs ergo inter nos, quid possit uterque vitissim, Experiamur: No, I beg your Pardon Sir, Apollo tells me I am overmatched, and I am resolved to take his Advice; nor am I concerned that you have so far exceeded me in your last Letter, because there you have even exceeded yourself: I must tell you, I am jealous of the very Praises you give me; they are so artful and ingenious, that I should be prouder of being capable of giving, then receiving them; and the very Words wherein you tell me how much I am above others, show me how much more you deserve that Compliment; every Line of your Letter is extraordinary, especially the Picture you draw of Madam de Longueville, which is so ravishing, that the sight of the Original could not have transported me more. You say 'tis wonderful, that at a Treaty for Peace, you cannot be safe in Munster, notwithstanding the Passports from the Emperor and the King of Spain; that is, Sir, you cannot be secure in Munster because Madam de Longueville is there. When you upbraid me, that you have had but one Letter from me in a whole Year, and that I cannot hold out to Write twice successively with the same Force, I cannot but acknowledge that even your reprimands are not less obliging than your Praise, except where you tell me I am fifty Years old, and where you upbraid me with my Spectacles and grey Hairs. Before I make an end of this Letter, I must send you the Compliment of Madam de Sable, and Madam Monthausier: I have shown them both these Passages of your Letter, where you speak of Madam de Longueville; for the rest, fear not that any shall see it, especially that part where you speak of fifty Year old. You must know, that here I am but forty seven, therefore pray let me be no more at Munster. I had alomst forgot to tell you, those Ladies commanded me to say, that if you speak but as well as you writ, Madam de Longueville cannot be tedious in any place where you are. They swear there is no Person upon Earth has Wit enough but yourself, and I tell them that I have thought the same thing this five and twenty Years; but I must detain you no longer, Ne me Crispini Scrinia lippi, Compilasse putes. Verbum non amplius addam. To Madam—. By Henry Cromwell, Esq Madam, THe Letter which you desired to see, is not worth the least Line of that in which you command it; but you, who were Yesterday so devout, do you make no scruple to write such Things in the Holy-week, and do you not apprehend the Consequence of 'em, and what Effect they may have? I had set my Conscience at rest, and for that reason had resolved never to see you more. But your Letter has given me a new Disorder; and as well as another, I have suffered myself to be overcome by your Pearls, and your four thousand Livers. I could not have thought, that you would ever have made use of such Means, to regain a Lover, or that these sort of Things could have had any Power over me: And I assure you, 'tis the first time that I have let myself be dazzled with Riches. So to tell you the Truth, the Pearls were never so well set as they are in your Letter; and your four thousand Franks as you have managed 'em, are worth more than three hundred thousand: You are an incomprehensible Person, and I can not sufficiently Admire, how, without reading Herodotus, and making use of the Saturnalia, you can write such delicate Letters: As for me, Madam, I begin to imagine that you have deceived us, I believe you are acquainted with the source of Nilus, and that Spring from whence you draw all these fine Things, which you say, is much more secret and unknown: in fine, whatsoever your Steward says, 'tis not the Marchioness d' Sable, who is the finest Person in the World: you have more Charms in a corner of an Eye, than there is in all the rest of the Earth: Nor have all the Charms of Magic a Power comparable to those you writ. To Madam—. By the same Hand. YOu may be assured that neither Grief nor Love will ever be the Death of any Person, since neither the one nor the other have yet killed me; and that having been too Days without the Honour of seeing you, I have some appearance of Life remaining: If any thing could have made me resolve upon a Distance from you, 'twas the Belief I had that Death would have been the only Consequence, and that so great a Pain as that would not suffer me long to have languished: Notwithstanding, I find, beyond all my Hopes, that I last much longer than I imagine; and whatsoever Mortal Wounds I have, I believe, my Soul can not detach its self from my Heart, because it sees your Image there: This is the only Pretence that I find not to tax it with Cowardice, and the only Reason that should detain it so long in a Place, where its Sufferings are so great. From that Hour when you saw me, dragged by four Horses, and tore in pieces at my Separation from you: I swear to you, that I have not yet dried my Eyes, and although they can no longer distinguish Colours, or discern the Light, yet will they serve more faithfully than ever, in assisting me to Weep for your Absence: Tormented and Languishing as I am, methinks I am left all alone upon the Earth, or that I have been transported into that corner of the World, where the Sun is not much oftener seen, than Comets here with us, and where the shortest Night is three Months long: But this Misfortune would not be the worst that might befall me, if this present Night of mine lasted no longer; but I doubt if after so long time I shall see the Light again: Judge, I beseech you, to what Extremity I am reduced, that being only at the Entrance of so long and melancholy a Night, I already begin to count the Hours, and every linger Moment with Impatience. Oh! that amidst the Darkness that overwhelms me, there were at least some Intervals of Repose, and that I could sometimes have pleasing Dreams, but whatever my waking Dreams are, they are never so Extravagant as to propose to me any thing agreeable; and my Thoughts are only reasonable in this, that they never promise me any good in this Condition: I believe that I may swear to you, that the most unfortunate Man this Day in the World, is he who Honours you the most; and it were impossible that I could have lived so long, had I not hoped that it would have soon dispatched me: I plainly see that I have but fifteen Days more to deplore your Absence; and that my Life and my Misfortunes can endure no longer: This Hope alone has made me suffer both, with less Impatience; and I believe you are not displeased at it, since all that I ought to hope, you are willing to indulge me; at least I cannot explain the last Words you said to me, more advantageously to myself; and whatsoever way I take it, I cannot see, what better I have ever to expect: nevertheless, you, who are more discerning, and see much farther than I can, I beseech you tell me, if my Passion ought not to have an Event more fortunate than this, and what might have become of me if I had longer survived it. To Mons. de Chaudebonne. By Thomas Cheek, Esq Sir, I Writ to you in sight of the Coast of Barbary: There is but a Channel between us of about three Leagues over; tho' it is the Ocean, and the Mediterranean Sea together: You would be surprised to see a Man so far off, who takes so little Pleasure in Rambling, and who was in such haste to return to you. But the Advice I received, that this Season was very improper for Navigation, by reason of the great Calms, and that I should find it very difficult to Embark before September, has given me at once an Inclination, and Leisure to pursue this Voyage, for I chose rather to suffer the Fatigue of Travelling, than the Laziness of Madrid. So that after having seen at Grenada all that remains of the Magnificence of the Moorish King's El Alhambra, the Zaccatin, and that famous Place the Vivarambla, where I had formerly imagined so many Tilts and Tournaments, I am just come to the Point of Gibraltar: From whence, as soon as they shall have equipped me a Frigate, I hope to pass the straits, and visit Ceuta, and coming back from thence, to take the Road of Cales, St. Lucar, and Sevil, and so to Lisbon. Hitherto, Sir, I have not repent of this Enterprise, which at this time of the Year has seemed rash to all the World: Andalousia has reconciled me to all the rest of Spain, and having passed it in so many other Parts, I should be sorry not to have seen it in the only Place where it appears Beautiful. You'll think it strange, that I praise a Country, where it is never Cold, and where the Sugarcanes grow: But in Recompense, I can assure you, they have such Melons, that 'twere worth coming four hundred Leagues to taste them; and that Country, for which a whole People wandered so long in the Wilderness, could not be, in my Opinion, much more delicious than this is. I am attended here by Slaves, who are handsome enough to be my Mistresses, and it is permitted me everywhere to gather Palms without Conquest. This Tree, for which all ancient Greece has fought, which is not to be found in France, but in our Poets, is here no scarcer than the Olive-trees; and there is not an Inhabitant on this side who has not more of them, than all the Caesars. You may behold at one View the Mountains charged with Snow, and Valleys covered with Fruit. They have Ice in August, and Grapes in January: Summer and Winter here are always mixed together, and when the Year grown old in other Countries, and whitens all the Earth, here it is ever green with Laurels, Orange-trees and Myrtles. I confess, Sir, I endeavour to make it seem as beautiful to you as I can; and having complained to you formerly of the Ill I have met with in Spain, if I do not retract what I have said, I think I am obliged, at least, to represent to the best Advantage, whatever I find that's Good in it: In the mean time you'll wonder, that a Man so much a Libertine as I am, should be in haste to quit all this, to go and find his Master. But I'll swear ours is such a One, that there can be no Pleasure, that aught to be preferred to the Honour and Satisfaction of Serving him. Liberty, which is esteemed the most charming Thing in Nature, is not so desirable as his Highness: You know how little I am inclined to Flattery; and one of the most remarkable Qualities which distinguishes my Lord, is that he cannot suffer it. But it must be acknowledged, that besides the eminent Virtues which are owing to the Greatness of his Birth; his Affability, his good Nature, the Beauty and Vivacity of his Ingenuity, the Pleasure he takes in hearing witty Things, and the Grace with which he speaks them himself, are Qualities which can hardly be found any where to that degree, as they appear in him; and if it were only to see something extraordinary, that I ramble about the World, what need I give myself the trouble to go so far, when I should do much better to keep near his Person. I examine every thing I see with more Curiosity than I naturally have, that when the time serves I may give a satisfactory Account to his Highness: And I am well assured, that when I shall have once had the Honour to discourse with him about these Matters, he will know'em ever after better than I do. The prodigious Memory of this Prince, has been a mighty Comfort to me during my Absence; for having had the Honour to be in it some time ago, I don't question but I have a place there still, because I can hardly imagine, that I am so unfortunate as to be the only thing he ever forgot. His Highness, who never forgot a Tribune nor an Aedile, nor even a Legionary Soldier, who has once been named in History, will not, I believe, forget one of his humble Servants; and the whole Globe being in his Imagination better represented than in any Map of the World, let me go never so far, I need not fear for that to go out of the Honour of his Remembrance. Nevertheless, I humbly entreat you, Sir, (you who with so much Goodness, procure me all sorts of Honours and Advantages) to find an opportunity to tell my Lord, how much I desire to have the Honour to kiss his Hand; and the Prayers I make continually for a Life of so great Consequence to all Mankind. If after this I desire any thing more of you, 'tis only that you would be pleased to take care that time shall diminish no part of what you have so liberally given me in your Affection: But see, how far the Excess of mine has carried me, that it makes me doubt the most generous Man a live. You who know, Sir, that in all those that love much, there are always some Motions that are not conformable to Reason, pardon, 〈◊〉 beseech you, this Fear, and consider that 〈◊〉 am excusable, being with so much Passion. Yours, etc. To my Lady Abbess, to thank her for the Cat which she sent him. By Mr. Oldys. Madam, I Was so perfectly yours before, that I imagined you ought to have believed there was no need of Presents to secure me to you, nor that you should have contrived to catch me like a Rat, with a Cat. However, I must needs own, that your Liberality has created in me some new Affection for you; and if there had been yet any thing in my Soul that was straggling from your Service, the Cat you sent me has caught it, and now it is entirely your own. 'Tis certainly the most beautiful and jolliest Cat that e'er was seen: The greatest Beau-cat of Spain, is but a dirty Puss compared to him; and Rominagrobis himself, who you know, Madam, is Prince of the Cats, has no better a Mein, nor can better smell out his Interest. I can only say, that 'tis very hard to keep him in, and that of a Cat brought up in Religion, he is the most uneasy to be confined to a Cloister. He can never see a Window open, but immediately he is for jumping out of it; he had e'er this leaped twenty times over the Walls, had he not been prevented; and there is no Secular Cat in Christendom that is more a Libertine, or more headstrong than he. I am in hopes, however, that I shall persuade him to stay by the kind Entertainment I give him; for I treat him with nothing but good Cheese and Naples-Biskets; and perhaps (Madam) he was not so well treated by you: For I fancy the Ladies of— don't suffer their Cats to go into their Cupboards, and that the Austerity of the Convent won't afford 'em such good Cheer. He gins to grow tame already; Yesterday I thought verily he had torn off one of my Hands in his wanton Addresses. 'Tis doubtless, one of the most playful Creatures in the World; there's neither Man, Woman nor Child, in my Lodging, that wears not some Mark of his Favour. But however lovely he is in his own Person, it shall always be for your sake that I esteem him; and I shall love him so well, for the Love I have for you, that I hope to give occasion to alter the Proverb, and that hereafter it shall be said, Who Loves me, Loves my Cat. If besides this Present you will give me the Raven that you promised me; and if you will send me an Elephant in a Hand-basket one of these Days, you may as proudly say that you have given me all the sorts of Beasts that I love, and every way obliged me to be, all the Days of my Life, Yours, etc. A Comical Letter, out of the famous Monsieur de Colletier, to Madamoiselle de Choux. By Sir D. Clark, Kt. Madam, DId you ever see an Almanac in your Life? You'll say this is an odd Question. I'll give you the Reason then, why I asked it: There's an odd sort of a Fellow usually pictured in it, Madam, with the Devil knows how many Darts in his Body. And what of him? cry you. Why Madam, he's only a Type of your humble Servant, for that Son of a Whore Cupid has so pinked me all over with his confounded Arrows, that, by my Troth, I look like— let me think, like what;— like your ladyship's Pin-cushion. But this is not all: Your Eyes had like to have proved more fatal to me than Cupid and all his Roguery: for, Madam, while I was Stargazing t'other Night at your Window, full of Fire and Flame (as we Lovers use to be) I dropped plumb into your Fishpond, by the same Token, that I hissed like a red-hot Horse-shoe fling into a Smith's Trough. 'Twas a hundred Pound to a Penny, but I had been drowned, for those that came to my Assistance, left me to shift for myself, while they sorambled for boiled Fish, that were as plentiful as Herrings at Rotterdam. Some of my Fellow-sufferers I caught, of which I intent to make an Offering to your Ladyship, as well as of, Madam, Your most devoted Slave, COLLETIER. The End of the first Part of Voiture's Letters. Twelve Select EPISTLES, OUT OF ARIST AENETUS, Epist. 2. Lib. 1. Translated from the GREEK. I Was a singing to myself one of the newest Songs last Evening in the Piazza, when a very merry Adventure befell me: Two pretty young Ladies in the bloom of their Youth, and inferior to the Graces in nothing but their Number, came up to me, and the Elder of them, with a Look that had nothing of the Air of a Coquette in it, was pleased to greet me after the following manner: Whatever you may think of the matter, Sir, you have made two Conquests to Night by your Voice: Love has found a way to our Souls through our Ears; we are both subdued by your Harmony, and have had a long Debate with ourselves, for which of us you intended this Entertainment. My own Vanity made me believe it was meant for me; my Companion here is as positive that the Compliment was designed for her. Thus not being able to decide the Controversy among ourselves, which had like to have engaged us in a Civil War, we both agreed to have it determined by yourself. Why faith, Ladies, replied I, to them, you are both of you very Handsome; but the Deuce take me if I am in love with either of you: therefore I would advise you, as a Friend and a Plain-dealer, not to quarrel about such an insignificant Fellow as I am, but to let all Acts of Hostility cease, and live like good Neighbours together: Not but that I believe I could be hearty in Love with both, or either of you at any other time, but at present my Heart is engaged elsewhere; and I am confident you have more Generosity and Justice than to usurp the Property of another, or to take up with the Leave of Love. Oh! cried they, this is a downright Sham. There is not one handsome Woman in this Quarter of the Town, yet you pretend to be in Love; 'tis plain we have caught you in a Story, therefore you shall swear that you love neither of us. I could not but laugh at the Proposal: Why, Ladies, said I, every thing I have is at your Service; but I have a tender Conscience, and would not willingly be perjured. That is as we would have it, said one of 'em; we knew the Truth would come out one way or other, therefore resolve to come along with us, for we won't lose so fair an Opportunity. With that both the Damosels fell a tugging and hawling me forward; they plucked one way, and I plucked another; but you know the Proverb, Two to one is odds at Football; so I was forced to submit to my Destiny, and go along with 'em whither they were pleased to lead me. So far the Story may be read or heard by all the World, but what follows is a Secret: In short, not to set your Mouth a Watering with a Description of every Particular, I was carried to a Room, where we made an extemporary Bed with Chairs and Stools; so ingenious is Love when it is put to its Shifts. The two good natured Nymphs were not disappointed; and your humble Servant went off well satisfied with his good Fortune. Glycera to Philinna. Out of the same, Epist. 3. Lib. 2. SOme ill Daemon certainly owed me a Spite, (by the same Token he more than got out of my Debt) when I was prevailed upon to marry this dull Phlegmatic Lawyer of mine; for I'll tell you after what a horrid rate he uses me: Every Night, when other Husbands, as in Duty bound, solace their poor Wives a Bed, my Man of Law sits up, pretending he has a Conveyance to draw for my Lord— and then, says he, I'm to make a Speech in the Court to Morrow for my Client Sir John— and if I have it not by heart, there will be the Devil and all to do; with that he walks about the Room in a meditating Posture, to make me believe he is in earnest, mumbling I know not what unintelligible Stuff to himself. Since he has not Assets enough, as far as I can perceive, to discharge the Debt of Matrimony, why should he marry, I wonder, to inflame his Reckoning? Why should a Man that doth not want a Wife to humble his Constitution, pretend to Monopolise a young Virgin to himself, especially when he wants either Will or Ability to do her Justice? Did he choose to make me his Spouse only to deafen me with impertinent Stories of Executions, Answers, Ejectments, and impertinent Decrees? Could he think I could ever prove such a supple Slave, as to sit up all Night to poor over a dull Statute-book? Since I find he puts my Bedchamber to no other use, then to profane it with nasty Pettifogging, I am resolved for the future to have a separate Bed by myself: If this won't reform him, but he still continues an incorrigible Sot, drudging in other People's Business, and neglecting mine, I am resolved to show him a Rowland for his Oliver, and to speak to some more able Council to manage my Law-case. This I hope is enough to make you comprehend my Meaning; you are a sensible Woman, experienced in these Affairs, and therefore a Hint is sufficient. Consider then, my dear Friend, and tell me how I must play this Game. You are a Woman, and understand the Necessities of our Sex, and tho' I have not named my Disease to you in downright Terms, (for my Modesty would not give me leave to do that) yet since you know the Nature of it, I hope you'll be my Doctress, and prescribe me a Remedy. 'Tis but reasonable, I think, that you, who are my near Relation, and besides have a good Talent at Composing of Differences, should stand my Friend at this Juncture: Besides, as you had a great hand in making this wicked Match, you are obliged in Honour, to make it supportable to me. But above all, it will be requisite to be very secret, for should my litigious Blade come to hear that I apply myself to other Council, he may reject me for good and all, and so what I get in the Hundred, I may lose in the County. Cyrtion to Dictys. Out of the same, Epist. 7. Lib. 1. DIstracted between Joy and Grief, I writ the following Lines to you: Yesterday I was at my old Recreation of Fishing by the Seaside, and as I was drawing a thundering Fish out of the Water, so very large that it made my Rod crack again, behold there comes up to me a pretty Damosel, with a lovely mixture of Roses and Lilies in her Cheeks, tall and straight as a Cedar that likes the Ground it grows in. Thought I to myself, I'm a lucky Dog to Day, Fortune favours me in both Elements, and now I am like to get a better Prize at Land than I drew just now out of the Water: Honest Friend, cries she, I conjure you by Neptune, to look after my clothes a little, while I wash myself in the Sea. This Request, you may imagine, was not unwelcome to me, because it would give me an Opportunity to see something. She had no sooner thrown off her Rigging; but, good Heavens! there was a sight enough to have spoiled the most virtuous Resolutions of the severest Philosopher: From between her Hair, which was of a lovely Black, and flowed down in great Quantity, I discovered a pair of Rosy Cheeks, and an Ivory Neck, that wholly possessed me with Admiration and Surprise: both these Colours were in the highest perfection, but they derived no little agreement from the neighbourhood of the Black. To return to our Nymph, she had no sooner undressed, but she plunged foremost into the Waves. The Sea was as smooth as a Bowling-green, and when she appeared above the Water, had I not seen her before, I durst have sworn she was one of the Nereids, of whom the Poets tell us so many Stories. When she had washed as long as she thought fit, out she came; and from such a sight as this, our Painters, I suppose, were instructed how to draw Venus rising out of the Sea. I immediately ran to my lovely Damosel to deliver her her clothes, and when she was so near me, could not forbear to touch her Bubbies, and so forth. But to see what ill Fate attends me! The young Gipsy blushed and frowned at me: But even her very Anger became her; it gave a fresh Lustre to her Beauty, and her Eyes darted Lightning at me. Then in her Indignation she broke my Rod fling my Fish into the Sea, and ran away from me, as fast as her Legs would carry her. Imagine in what a Confusion she left me. I lamented the loss of what I had taken with so much Pains; but the loss of her, whom I had as it were in my Hands, afflicted me infinitely more. This Disappointment, in short, so mortifies me, that I dare no longer trust myself with the cruel Idea of it. Philochorus to Polyaenus. Out of the same, Epist. 4. Lib. 1. LAst Week Hippias and I were taking a turn in the Park, when on a sudden he thus alarmed me: Friend, says he, prithee mind that Lady yonder that leans upon her Maid's Arm. How tall! how straight! how well-featured she is! By Heavens, 'tis a Miracle of a Woman: Let us even cross the Walk and accost her. Why, replied I to him, you're mad I think: Unless I am mistaken in her Outside, she's a Woman of Virtue, and consequently no Game for such as you and I: But if you resolve to proceed, let us view her a little more distinctly before we board her, for I love to look about me before I leap. My Companion fell a Laughing, as if he had been distracted, and striking me gently on the Shoulder, thou'rt a Novice, said he, I find in these Affairs. Take it from me, all the Women in the World are made of sinful Materials. One may have more Hypocrisy than another, but if you put it home to her, I'll engage you'll find her made of true Flesh and Blood. But alas, you are a perfect Stranger to the Townintrigues, otherwise could you imagine that any Woman of Honour would be walking here at this time of the Day, and dart her Glances so artfully on all she meets? Prithee observe how she plays with her Necklace, how slily she steals her pretty Hand out of her Glove; and as if she went to reform some Disorder in her Dress, how dexterously she discovers her Breasts? From these and a thousand other Indications I conclude that this Lady won't let a Man sigh at her Feet in vain: but what is more convincing, I now tipped the Wink at her, and she as kindly returned it; therefore let us go and board the Vessel, for I dare engage she'll make no Resistance. He had no sooner spoke these Words, but he makes directly to the Prize above mentioned, and finding a fit Opportunity, he thus made his Addresses to her: I swear by your Beauty, the most sacred Oath to me that can be, you have made yourself in a Moment the absolute Sovereign of my Heart; and if you please to order that Eavesdropping Maid of yours, to retire to some distance, I have something to communicate to you, which perhaps you will not be displeased to hear. She accordingly commanded her Attendant to file off, when the other in this manner pursued his Discourse, As I know that Love is no Chameleon to live upon Air, I am not so unreasonable as to demand any Favours of you gratis: And, on the other hand, Madam, I am sure you are too conscientious to put too high a Price on ' 'em. Gold, you know, may be too dearly bought; but I hope you'll comply with the running Market-price; I have Madam, two things to plead for me, Vigour and Wealth, but I would by my good Will husband both of 'em so, as to make 'em hold out: Come give me your Answer. The Lady's Eyes sufficiently declared the Consent of her Heart; she stood still and blushed, and such a beautiful Red streaked her Cheeks, as we find in the Heavens when the Sun is just a setting. When my Friend found the Bargain was now as good as struck, he turned about to me; And what do you think now of my Skill in these Affairs? you would have dissuaded me forsooth, from this Expedition, but now you see how I have succeeded; for, at the expense of a few Words and a little Time I have brought the Nymph to surrender. You alas, are such a Heretic, as to believe there are Women in the World above Flattery, Corruption and Bribery; but you are in a damned Mistake; follow me, and I'll show you some Sport: but in the mean time take this for granted, That there is no Garrison so strong, and no Woman so obstinately virtuous, but by one Practice or other, both may be brought to take a new Master. Lamprias to Philippides. Out of the same, Epist. 16. Lib. 1. YOu remember me troubled with all the Symptoms of Love, and desire to know how I got cured of it; I used to entertain my Passion in the Fields and solitary Groves, which instead of abating, grew every Day fiercer, and raged more violently in my Breast. As I walked by the purling Streams, May Cupid, said I, and his Mother, (for they, and only they, know what Torments I languish under,) give me Courage enough to make a Declaration of my Passion, which hitherto I have stifled within me. As Love has transfixed with his Darts this tender Breast of mine, so I hope he will in the same manner, treat the fair Insensible, who has given me so many cruel Inquietudes. One Day it happened that after I had amused myself with these Contemplations in the Woods, I found I had Resolution enough to venture an Interview with my Mistress. I went accordingly to her House, and had a long Conversation with her, wherein I found the Beauties of her Mind, to be not at all inferior to those of her Face: Her Looks wore all the bewitching Marks of the most agreeable Innocence; I admired her Hand, the whitest and softest in the World: I viewed with sacred Horror, those charming Eyes, that penetrate quicker and deeper than Lightning. To complete my Ruin, she showed me a delicious pair of Breasts as it were by accident, on which the God of Love himself, would be proud to recline his Head. All this while my Tongue was tied with a religious Awe, and I had not Assurance enough to acquaint her with my Pain. However, I was very intent on my mental Devotion, and prayed to Cupid, that since he knew my Imbecility so well (which I wholly imputed to himself) he would so effectually touch my Mistress' Heart that she of her own accord, should own her Affection for me. I had no sooner concluded these pious Ejaculations, but I found the God had heard my Prayers; for my Mistress, who looked so Coy and Demure at my first coming into the Room, on the sudden, smiled very graciously upon me, and gently squeezed me by the Hand; and then no longer able to conceal the Vehemence of her Desires, she impressed so warm a Kiss on my Lips, that I was in good hopes, the Seal would never have pared from the Wax: All the Sweets of Arabia the Happy, all the fragrant Odours of the Eastern World, all the blooming Beauties of the Spring, and the Wealth of Summer: in short, all the Incense that is offered on the Altars of our Gods, comes infinitely short of the natural Sweetness of her Breath. But here I will stop my Narration, for what need I trouble myself to send every Particular to you, who are old enough to imagine 'em of yourself. Only this I will add, That we strove all Night long, which of us should express their Love in the most Emphatical Manner; and that, that saucy Intruder, sleep found us too well employed to offer to interrupt us. Philomatia to Eumusus. Out of the same, Epist. 14. Lib. 1. THis comes to let you know that we are not so bewitched to Music as you imagine, and that the best Lute and Guitar in the World will make but little Progress, unless it comes attended with the more powerful Harmony of Mony. Why then do you give yourself and me the unnecessary trouble of so many Serenades? Why must you employ your Hands to show the Passion of your Heart? Why do you persecute me with your Sonnets, and sing under my Windows? Since Beauty's Charms do hourly fade, And a Scandal it is to be reckoned a Maid; Let not Love's Pleasures be delayed. You are old enough, one would think, to know that Money atones for all Defects with us Women, and that Beauty and Vigour have no Merit with us, if they have no Gold to recommend 'em: But you think me an easy, foolish, good-natured Creature, who am to be imposed on by any wheedling Stories. You fancied, I suppose, that I never had been initiated the Mysteries of our Profession and that I would immediately surrender to you, upon the first stroke of your Violin, and the first touch of the Lute; but to undeceive you, know that I was bred up under the most experienced Mistress of her time; who form my tender Mind with wholesome Precepts; telling me, that nothing under the Sun was sincere or desirable but Money; and teaching me to despise every thing but that. Under her Instructions, and by her virtuous Example, I have profited so much, that I now measure Love, not by vain empty Compliments, that signify nothing, but by the Presents that are made me, and by the Almighty Rhetoric of Gold, which will stand my Friend, when a thousand such fluttering Weathercocks as you have left me in the Lurch. Terpsion to Polycles. Out of the same, Epist. 7. Lib. 2. TO convince you how insensibly Love gets Admission into the most innocent Hearts, be pleased to read over the following Story: A young Country Girl, fell desperately in Love with her Mistress' Gallant, and took Fire herself, while she contributed to ease that of others. Being obliged to keep Watch upon the Stairs, lest the Lovers should be surprised, she could not but often hear their Murmuring and Sighing: She saw 'em too folded in one another's Embraces, performing the Ceremony of Love; and thus through the Eyes and Ears of this tender Girl, the God of Love, with his Torch and Arrows plunged himself over Head and Ears in her panting Breast. She bewailed the Unhappiness of her Condition, and accused her Destiny for giving her a Mind susceptible of the most tender Impressions, yet, denying her the Means to satisfy them: Why should not I, said she, participate Pleasure with my Mistress, since I have a Soul as sensible as hers? Why should Love, that tramples over all Distinctions of Rank and Quality, show himself a Dastard only in respect to me? But she did not long afflict herself with these unprofitable Complaints. Venus would not suffer her to lose the Time in lazy Wishes, for being sent one Afternoon to invite the Gallant to her Mistress' Lodgings, without any farther Preamble or Preface, she accosted him in this manner: Sir, said she, I believe you to be a Gentleman, and willing to ease the Longing of a young Virgin: If my Face will go down with you, that, and the rest of my Body are at your Service. You know well enough what it is to Love, and therefore will have Compassion, I hope, on one that languishes under that Distemper. The Gentleman without farther ado, took her at her word, and was so courteous as to play the Priest, since she was so willing to be the Sacrifice. He soon eased her of that Burden she complained of, and owned that he ne'er received more Pleasure in his Life. The Kisses of married Women are generally insipid; the Kisses of mercenary Harlots are fallacious and deceitful; but those of an innocent, uninstructed Virgin are true, and consequently delicious. Our Lovers had like to have fainted away under the Violence of their Agitation; their Souls hovered about their Mouths, but their uninterrupted Kisses denied them a Passage: While the golden Minutes passed away in these Transports, the Mistress, who was seized with a Fit of Jealousy to see them stay so long, stole softly into the Room, and surprised them in very criminal Circumstances. The unhappy Maid found the first Effects of her Indignation, whom she thumped and beat, and dragged by the Hair, but the poor Wench entreated her to consider, that tho' her ill Stars had sent her a Slave into the World, which was none of her Fault, she had as strong Inclinations as the best of her Sex: that Love was an Imperious Deity; and when he had once got Entrance into a Heart, would not throw up his Possession, as she herself could not but know by Experience. Wherefore, Madam, says she, in consideration of Love, who is our common Master, and whose Yoke both of us carry, be pleased to forgive this Indiscretion in me: which, after the worst Gloss you can put upon it, was only the Effect of a foolish Curiosity, from which the best of Women are not exempt. These Complaints so innocently delivered, soon appeased her Mistress' Fury, who, taking her Gallant by the Hand, thus rallied him; I find, cries she, you are of the Humour of some People, who had rather gather sour Grapes, than stay till they are Ripe. What could make you so foolishly trifle your time with a silly raw Baggage, that is so far from knowing how to perform her part in the Chorus of Love, that she does not yet understand how to levelly her Kisses aright; which are but a Prologue to the busier Drama that follows. A Virgin is dull and heavy, and unacquainted with the true Management of a Passion; whereas, such a Woman, as I am, that has tried many a Fall with many a Man in her time, needs not the Instructions of any one, but gives the utmost Satisfaction: In short, a Woman gives, but a Virgin only receives Kisses, which makes a sensible Difference between them; And this, continued she to her Spark, you know well enough; but, if you want to have your Memory refreshed, come to me to Night, and I will make you own I am in the right. What happened upon this, I can't tell, neither am I curious to know, because all Men affect to Govern themselves by their own peculiar Palates, but especially in the Business of Love. A Letter of Gallantry, from a young Gentleman, to his Perjured Mistress. Out of the same, Epist. 9 Lib. 2. IF you consider, Madam, what ill Treatment I have had from your Hands, you are in the right on't to believe that I hate you most mortally; but then if you reflect what an absolute Empire your Beauty has gained over my Soul, you can't but be sensible that it is impossible for me to harbour the least injurious Thought of you. To convince you how far I interest myself in every thing that concerns you, I swear to you by that adorable Face, which hath made so perfect a Conquest of me, That next to the Grief of losing you, I am in the next place concerned to think what Punishments Heaven has in store for you, for affronting it by so open, so barefaced a Perjury. Love has so effectually stifled all Resentments within me, that I dare not entertain the least disadvantageous Wishes against you. But tho' I am ready to forgive you, I am afraid lest the Powers above should call you to an account for violating their Majesty by a Crime so provoking. If the thing wholly depended on me, you might fafely stare Heaven in the Face, after you have so often called down its Vengeance on your Head; but my Fear is, (and my Concern for you, obliges me to tell you so much) that the Gods will not be so ready to pardon you, as I have been; and any Misfortune of yours would asflict me more, than to find myself neglected and forgotten by you. I impute my Miseries to Destiny, not to you, (you see Madam, I would rather judge injuriously of Heaven than of yourself) and I will never cease to pray, that Justice itself may be blind, that so you may escape the Punishments you deserve, and rather than those bright Eyes should suffer any thing, tho' they have caused my Ruin. Nay, if it should be your chance to trespass once more, and offend Heaven again, I hope it will have a due Regard to the Weakness of your Youth. I am content to sacrifice my Pretensions to you; I, who would sooner part with the Indies than yourself, provided that you be no Sufferer. Farewell charming Creature, farewell; and may Fate be as indulgent to you, as I have been: Show me now if you can, a Lover like me, who after such cruel Usage ever writ so humble a Letter. Abrocomas to his dear Delphis. Out of the same, Epist. 21. Lib. 2. YOu'll be angry perhaps at the frank Confession, I am going to make to you. I examine with curious Eyes all the Women I see, I go to all the places of public Resort, and no Female escapes me; pray, Madam, don't think I do this to carry on any Intrigue with 'em (for I would not have you put so unjust a Construction upon my Expressions) 'tis only to see how much your Beauty surpasses theirs, and to be able to do the more Justice to your Merits. Yes, Madam, by Cupid I swear it, who never had a devouter Votary than myself, you surpass the rest of your Sex in Dress, Beauty, and the Agreeableness of your Deportment: Your Charms are so conspicuous and shining, that they need no Artifice to set 'em off: a natural Red adorns your Cheeks; neither do you lie under any necessity to load your Head with that cumbersome Attire, other Women take a Pride in. You have the loveliest Hair in the Universe; Who can behold so black a pair of Eyebrows, in so fair and white a Forehead, and not own himself your Slave? I dare not trust my Invention, as fertile as it is, with venturing upon more Particulars. In short, Madam, all the Perfections of your Sex centre in you; and your Empire is never so safe, as when you appear amongst our most celebrated Beauties. Your sight alone, as it creates our Astonishment, so it commands our Love; and to make a new Triumph, you need only appear to a new Beholder. Since my Life is entirely wrapped up in yours, I wish you may live long and happy. All my Inclinations, all my Hopes and Thoughts terminate in you; and I earnestly beg of Heaven, that I may always continue in this Opinion. Enjoy that Conquest therefore which Nature has given you, and I will everlastingly carry Love's Golden Dart in my Breast. Neither do you endeavour to pluck it out from thence, for besides that, you are not able to do it, I don't desire to have it done, for I take pleasure in nothing so much as in my Passion. May it always be the Scope of my whole Life to love Delphis, and may it be my Fate to be beloved by her, to be subdued by her Beauty, and charmed by her Conversation. Oceanius to Aristobulus. Out of the same, Epist. 20. Lib. 2. YOu desire to know what Progress our Friend Damon has made in the Affections of his Mistress, whom he hath so long besieged, and I am sorry I cannot send you so good News as I could wish: He threw himself down at her Feet, and in the common strain of Lovers; will you not, says he, take compassion on my Youth? Will you not pity one that dies every Moment for you? Show at least some Tenderness to the Man, who never was conquered by any Beauty but yours? But she returned him a Compliment, as cold as if it had come out of the midst of Tartary: Leave persecuting me, says she, with idle Stories of your Passion, with your pretended Darts, and your Romantic Flames, for you do but lose your Time and Labour. The Youth was reduced to the last Despair, when he found himself thus slighted, and as Anger on these Occasions generally succeeds to Love, he said the most reproachful bitter things against her, that his Indignation could inspire him with. When his Fury had spent itself, looking upon him with a scornful Air, I know, says she, how to punish the Insolences of your Tongue: All your Sex are perfidious and false; You devour us, nay, you devour one another. The most savage Beasts in the Woods, unless compelled by Hunger, seldom attack the Travellers, but when they are taken by you, and have been debauched with a Domestic Education, they prove erranter Brutes than any in the Forest; to be short with you, your Perjury and Inconstance teach us to lay aside all pity, and treat you as you deserve: for in the first Ardours of your Love, you can lie all Night at our Thresholds on the bare Ground; you can say the most submissive things in the World; you can whine and cry, and make Goddesses of us; you have Oaths perpetually at command, and with those Counters you deceive us; but no sooner have we granted the last Favours to you, but you grow insolent and haughty; you make us the Subject of your ill-mannered Mirth, and you disdainfully reject her, whom the Hour before you adored like a Divinity. You are all Atheists as to Love, and pretend that Jupiter has other Business on his Hands, then to trouble himself with the Oaths of Lovers. Thus the Lady discarded the unfortunate Lyco; and, as partial as I am to my Friend, I cannot but own there is a great deal of Truth in her Invective. Chrysis to Myrina. Out of the same, Epist. 15. Lib. 11. YOu and I, my dearest Myrina, have long languished under the Tyranny of Cupid, who is the most Fantastical of all the Deities. You are in Love with my Husband, and 'tis my unhappy Destiny, (But who can resist the God who commands all the rest?) to dote on your Page. What Expedient will Love, who uses to be no Blockhead when he is put to his shifts, what Expedient, I say, will Love find out, to put an end to our present Sufferings? You know I am a constant Woman at Prayers, and if a Woman ever prays for any thing in good earnest, you likewise know, 'tis when she prays for a kind Gallant. Now to be plain with you, I put up a fervent Petition to Heaven this Morning, that it would furnish a Remedy for both our Passions; when immediately the following Thought came into my Head: I won't be positive, as our Priests generally are, that this Whimsy of mine is of Heaven's inspiring; but it seems so easy, so pretty, and so feasible, that I am resolved with your help to see it put in Execution. The Stratagem in short is this: Do you pretend to be very angry with your Page, upon what Occasion you think most proper, whether for tearing your Fan, beating your Squirrel, or so forth, but be sure to turn him out of your House. The better to colour this Business, I will give you leave to strike him a Blow or two, but I article beforehand with you, that you shan't hurt him. Upon this I know he will immediately run to me, as being your greatest Acquaintance, and I will take care to dispatch my Husband on an Errand to you, under pretence of interceding for the Boy, that you would be so kind as to take him into your Service again. By this Means both of us will have a fair Opportunity to satisfy our Long, which, for my part, I will see punctually performed, unless your Page is a very ignorant Devil indeed; and I suppose you will not be wanting to yourself. But, my dear Myrina, remember to keep my Husband with you as long as you can, for that you know will be for our mutual Interest. I can tell you beforehand, that you will not be disappointed in my Spark; I that have so often experienced how well he performs upon Duty, am satisfied he'll outdo a Hero, when Wickedness spurs him on. Farewell. Stesichorus to Eratosthenes. Out of the same, Epist. 9 Lib. 1. TO see now what cunning Gipsies these Women are! Tother Day a certain Woman of my Acquaintance, walking in the Marketplace with her Husband by her side, and a Train of Servants at her heels, saw a Gallant of hers at some distance off, with whom she used to be familiar. She had a mighty longing to whisper something in his Ear, and if possible to steal a Kiss from him before her Husband's Face; so to bring the matter about, she pretends to fall upon her Knee, and her Gallant, who as it seemed, understood her Design, charitably lent her his Hand to help her up: Then down she tumbles again, and our Gentleman was forced the second time to give her his Assistance. Oh! my poor Wife, cries the Cuckold, in a strange Consternation, I hope thou hast not hurt thyself. Troubled with such cruel Fits, cried she; and then she made the third Stumble. The Gallant on one side, and the Husband on the other did what in 'em lay to set her on her Legs again, but as her Fits still increased, the Husband, with the help of the kind Gentleman, was obliged to carry her to the next Tavern: The Gallant chafed her Hand, and rubbed her Face; and all the while the Fellow thanked him for the great Pains he took with his Wife: but finding her Indisposition still increase, he ran down Stairs like Lightning to fetch a Physician of his Acquaintance to her, not daring to trust his Servants with so important a Message. In the mean time our Lovers, were not wanting to administer mutual Consolation to each other: So by that time the Husband came back with his Doctor, his Wife was exceedingly refreshed. The Gallant was complimented a thousand times for his Civilities on this Occasion: Sir, says the Man, I hearty beg your Pardon for the Trouble my Wife has given you. Lord Sir, answered he, if it was to do ten times again, it would be no trouble. But indeed 'twas too much, Sir. I'faith, cries the other, I don't think I can ever do too much for her. I swear but you have, says the Husband, I find she hath put you into a Sweat with helping her. In short, they drank a loving Glass together; the Wife pretended she was twenty per Cent. better than when she set out in the Morning; the Gallant was highly satisfied with what he had done, and the Husband was the merriest Man alive, to see his Wife so miraculously recovered. The End of Aristaenetus' Epistles. Some Select LETTERS, OUT OF PLINY, Junior. Made English by T. Brown, Gent. I Am to inform the Reader, that in the following Letters, I have not confined myself to a literal Version. Where I found any place so perplexed that no certain Sense could be made of it, or where it could not be understood without a Comment, (which would have looked ridiculous in such a Collection as this.) I have fairly omitted it, and sometimes I have made bold to alter a Word or two to make my Author more palatable to the English Reader. As for the Choice I have made of the Letters, if they are not the best, I hope they will not displease. To his dear Friend Romanus. Lib. 3. AT your Request, I have sent you the Panegyric I lately delivered before our most incomparable * Trajan Prince, altho' I had sent it to you whether you had desired it or no. Now you have it before you, I must beg you to reflect upon the Difficulty, as well as the Nobleness of the Subject. Upon other Occasions, the Newness of the Argument generally draws our Attention, but here it was impossible for me to say any thing which all the World did not know before: for which Reason, the Reader having nothing else to employ him, will only mind the Elocution, in which 'tis a hard matter for a Man to succeed well, when that, and only that, is esteemed. I could wish that the Order, Transitions, and Figures could be considered at the same time: for in the barbarous Nations, you shall find several that are able to invent handsomely, and to express themselves magnificently enough; whereas to dispose of things in their proper Order, and to vary the Figures with Art and Judgement, is only the Talon of the Learned. I am of Opinion indeed, that the sublime and pompous Style is not always to be used; for as in a Picture, nothing sets off the Light so well as an artful Disposition of the Shades, so an Oration is no less recommended by the Simplicity than the Majesty of the Diction. But why should I trouble you with these things, who know them so much better than myself? In the mean time I beg the favour of you, to mark what places you shall think want Correction; for I shall be the easier inclined to believe that the rest of the Oration pleases you, when I find you dislike some Passages in it. Farewell. To his dear Geminius. Lib. 8. 'TWas the noblest thing you ever attempted in your Life, to relate the Dacian War in Verse: For, besides the newness of it, what Subject is more Copious and Fertile, what more Poetical, and, tho' we all know it to be true, what more seemingly Fabulous? You will have a noble Occasion to employ all the Stores of your Invention: when you talk of Rivers commanded to take a new Course, or bridled by new Bridges, that before were hardly to be passed in Boats, when you talk of Armies encamped on the tops of Precipices, and mighty Kings who had grasped the whole Universe in his Imagination, not only despoiled of his Kingdom but his Life: In short, when you come to describe two magnificent Triumphs, both of which were celebrated for the Reduction of a Nation held Invincible before: The only and greatest Difficulty will be, to express all this in a Strain equal to the Dignity of the Subject; which even you, my Friend, will find to be no easy Task, altho' you have a towering, elevated Genius, capable of the highest undertake. Some little Trouble too you'll find it, to soften the Names of these barbarous People, and particularly of their Towns, so as they shall not shock our Ears, when they come into Verse; but there is nothing so harsh and dissonant but what may be made harmonious, or at least tolerable with a little Care and Alteration. Besides, if it was lawful for Homer to contract, to extend, and turn Words, even of Grecian Extraction, for the better Cadence of his Verse, why should not the same Privilege be allowed you, especially since it is not affected but necessary? Therefore, when after the Custom of the Poets, you have invoked the Help of the Muses, and especially of your Hero, their greatest Patron, whose noble Achievements and Actions you are going to Sing, weigh Anchor, put up all your Sails, and if ever you did it upon any Occasion, so now more particularly hoist your Flag, display your Colours, and bear down with all the Force of Wit. These Metaphors perhaps may seem too daring for Prose; but why may I not be indulged to speak in the Poetical Language to a Poet? But this I bargain with you beforehand, that you shall send me your Poem in pieces just as you finish it: Nay, even before you have finished it, by which means it will come the more fresh, like Fruit newly gathered from the Tree. You will tell me 'tis impossible that small Pieces should please so well as an entire Work, or that a Sketch should be so well liked as a finished Picture: I confess it, and therefore I will consider it as such, and you shall bestow the last hand upon it at your leisure in my Library. To your other Favours give me, I beseech you, this farther Mark of your Friendship, as to communicate to me what you would let no body else see: For tho' I may the more commend and value your Writings as I see them come out more slowly and more correct, yet I shall both Love and Honour yourself infinitely the more, as you send me these things with most dispatch, in their Undress. To his Wife Calphurnia. Lib. 8. YOu send me word, that my Absence does not a little afflict you, and that you have no other Antidote against your Melancholy but my Letters: 'Tis no small Satisfaction to me, that I am always in your Thoughts, and that such Trifles can contribute to your Diversion. For my part, to let you see my Case is parallel with yours, I am perpetually reading yours, and the oftener I read them, the more new they seem to me, and I still discover some fresh Beauties in 'em, which I did not observe before. Tho' this in some measure alleviates my Pain, yet it sets me a longing the more for your Company; for if your Letters are so sweet and entertaining, what Pleasures may I not expect from your Conversation? Therefore let me conjure you to lose no Opportunities of Writing to me, tho', as I hinted before, at the same time this Commerce delights me, it gives me some Uneasiness. To the Same. Lib. 7. 'TIs impossible for me to tell you how much I regret the want of your good Company, and I have several good Reasons for it: In the first place, there is Love in the case. Then 'tis to be considered that you and I never lived asunder, which is the reason why I pass the greatest part of the Night in thinking on you. From the same Cause it proceeds, that even in the Daytime, at those Hours when I used to visit you in your Chamber, my Feet of their own accord carry me to you, and then when I miss you there, I come back no less melancholy and sorrowful, than if you had turned me out of your Room. The only time that I am free from these Inquietudes, is when I am pleading in the Hall, and drudging for my Friends. Judge then, what a mortified Life I lead, when I am forced to find Relaxation in Labour, and Comfort in Care and Misery. To his dear Friend Ferox. Lib. 7. YOur last Letter is a convincing Argument that you Study, and that you don't. You'll tell me I talk Riddles to you, and so I do, till I explain to you more distinctly what my Meaning is. In short, the Letter you sent me, shows you did not study for it, so easy and negligent it appears to be; and yet at the same time 'tis so polite, that 'tis impossible that any one should write it, who did not weigh every word; or else you are certainly the happiest Man in the World, if you can write Letters so Entertaining, without Care and Premeditation. To Cornelius Tacitus. Lib. 8. I Return you your Book which I read over very carefully, having marked all along in the Margin what places I thought fit to be altered, and what struck out; For I am no less inclined to tell the Truth, than you are to hear it. 'Tis a plain Case I believe, that no Man suffers himself to be so patiently found fault with, as he that deserves the highest Commendation. And now I expect my own Book from you with your Corrections and Amendments. These reciprocal Offices of Friendship that pass between us give me no little Satisfaction; for if our Posterity will have any Concern for us, I am pleased to think that they will tell, with what Amity, Concord, and Integrity, you and I have lived together. It will be a remarkable, and perhaps the only Instance in History, that two Men almost of the same Age and Quality, and of some Reputation for Learning, (I am obliged to speak the more sparingly of you, because at the same time I speak of myself) should promote one another's Studies so unanimously. When I was but young, and you had justly acquired a high Character in the World, even than it was my greatest Ambition to imitate and follow you, tho' at never so great a Distance. We had then at Rome several Persons of Wit and Learning, that were deservedly admired; yet so great a Similitude was there between our Tempers and Dispositions, that even then I endeavoured to Copy after you. For this Reason 'tis no small Satisfaction to me, that whenever there is any Discourse about Learning and Learned Men, you and I are still quoted together; that when your Name is mentioned, the Company immediately mentions mine; and that when they prefer a third Man to one of us, they mean it of both. But 'tis no matter to me, whether you or I are mentioned first, for if I am first, it is only because I am the next to you. I don't question too, but you have observed, that in the last Wills of the Deceased, unless there was some particular Difference in the Case, you and I have Legacies of the same Value generally bequeathed us. The Conclusion I draw from all this is, That we have the greatest Obligations that can be, to entertain the strictest Amity; since even our Studies, our Manners, our Reputations; in short, the united Testimony of the World are so many Arguments why the mutual Friendship between us should still increase. Farewell. To Cornelius Tacitus. Lib. 6. YOu desire me to send you an Account of my Uncle's Death, that you may be the better able to relate it in your History. I am obliged to you for this Favour, for I foresee my Uncle's Name will be immortal, if it has the Honour to be preserved by your Pen: Tho' it was his Fate to die, like great Cities memorable for their Calamities, in the Universal Desolation of the finest Part of Italy; Nay, tho' he himself has written several learned Volumes, which will propagate his Memory to future Ages, yet that Eternity which seems to be entailed on every thing you writ, will not a little contribute to perpetuate his Name: For my part I reckon those Men happy, who by a particular Indulgence of Heaven are capable of doing things fit to be transmitted to Posterity, or of writing Works, that deserve to be read; but I reckon those the happiest of all, who possess both these Advantages: Amongst the Number of these Latter I reckon my Uncle, by means of yours, as well as his own Writings, upon which account I am proud to comply with your Desires. My Uncle was then at Misenus, with the Fleet under his Command in the Harbour, on the 24th Day of August, about one of the Clock in the Afternoon; when my Mother came to tell him, that she beheld afar off a Cloud of an unusual Magnitude and Form. He was then hard at Study, but calling for his Slippers, he got up to the highest part of the House, from whence he might most advantageously behold this Prodigy. At so great a Distance we could not positively tell from whence this Cloud arose, tho' afterwards we knew it came from Mount Vesuvius: Nothing resembled the Shape on't more than a Pinetree does, for from a long taper Trunk, it speed itself to a very large Head, the Reason of which I suppose might be, that when the Wind that carried it up, began to fail, it's own weight made it run out into a great breadth. Sometimes it looked of a whitish, and sometimes of a black gloomy Colour, according as it carried up with it Earth, or Ashes. My Uncle thinking it impossible to make a just Observation of this Phaenomenon without coming nearer, commanded a Galley to be got ready, and made an offer to take me along with him, if I thought convenient. I excused myself to him, and answered, that I would pass that Afternoon at my Study; and as it happened he had given me something to transcribe. As he was going out of the House with his Pocket-book in his Hand, the Seamen affrighted at the present Danger (for the Village lay under the Mountain, and there was no means of escaping but by Sea) begged of him not to expose himself to so eminent a Danger. This did not dissuade him from his Resolution; and what he began out of a Spirit of Curiosity he performed with the greatest Intrepidity. So he ordered the Galley to put out to Sea, and went himself aboard it, with a Design to assist not only those of Retina, but the Neighbouring Towns, for the Country thereabouts is mighty populous: he steered his Course towards those places, from whence the affrighted Inhabitants ran away in great Multitudes; nay, he sailed into the very Mouth of 'em, and was so free from Fear, that he took particular notice of every Circumstance almost, relating to this Eruption. By this time the Ashes fell on the Deck, falling the hotter, and in greater Quantities, as they approached nearer to the Shore, with a shower of Pumice-stones. Then he considered a little with himself whether he had best tack about, and Sail homewards (which the Pilate advised him to do) or make for Pomponianum. In this place, tho' the danger seemed to be at some Distance from them, yet soon after came upon 'em, he ordered all his Luggage to be carried on Shipboard, being resolved to make his Escape, tho' the Wind sat in a contrary Corner. But as it then blew directly for 'em, my Uncle persuaded them to be of good Courage. After this he Bathed and was very cheerful at Supper, or (what in these Dangers is full as great) he seemed at least to be so. All this while the Flames broke out in several places of the Mountain Vesuvius, which appeared so much brighter in so dark a Night: In this strange Consternation the Country People left their Habitations, which in their Absence were devoured by the Flames, and this my Uncle urged as an Argument, why it was not adviseable to quit the place where they were. After this he composed himself to rest: and slept very sound, as those which were in the next Room said. But the Court-yard, through which there was a Passage to the Dining-room, was by this time so covered with Ashes and Pumice-stones, that there was no getting out of it for him, if he stayed never so little longer; so being awaked out of his sleep, he, together with the rest that sat up, made the best of their way to Pomponianum: It was debated among 'em, whether they should stay within doors, or venture abroad in the open Air, for the Earthquake was so violent, and the Houses reeled and staggered so, that one would have thought they had been torn up from their very Foundations. Now they were in the Fields, they had reason to fear the falling of Pumice-stones, tho' they were light and porous, which however of two Dangers were the least: with my Uncle, Reason overcame Reason, with the rest, one Fear overcame another, and they carried Pillows on their Heads to break the fall of any thing that might fall on ' 'em. In other places it was Day, but here it was as dark as possible Nightitself could be, tho' it was somewhat lessened by the Flambeaux and other Lights. Then it was resolved to go the Seashore, and see how the Sea stood affected, which still continued very Tempestuous. Here my Uncle, lying along upon a parcel of clothes, called once or twice for cold Water, and drank it off. After this the Flames, and a smell of Brimstone, which used to precede the Flames made the place too hot for 'em, so they waked my Uncle, who being supported by two Servants, got up; but in an Instant fell down again, being I suppose suffocated by the sulphureous Vapours: Three Days after this, his Body was found whole and entire, without the least hurt or mark upon it, and in the same clothes he last put on; in a Posture too, that made him rather look like one that was asleep then dead. While this happened, my Mother and I were at Misenus; but this is nothing to the History, and you desired to be informed no farther, then relates to the Death of my Uncle. I will therefore conclude, but before I do that, give me leave to add, That I have given you a true and faithful Account of all the Particulars relating to this Accident, that have come to my Knowledge. I leave it to you to pick out what you think most proper for your Purpose; for it is one thing to write a Letter, and another to write a History; one thing to write to a Friend, and another to address himself to all the World. Farewell. To Sura. Lib. 7. YOu and I are both at Leisure, you to teach, and I to be informed; I have for a long while earnestly desired to know, whether there are any such Things in Reality, as Spectres, or whether they are only the Results of a fearful Imagination: For my part, I am inclined to believe the former, by what happened, as I have been told the Story, to Curtius Rufus: He was walking up and down a Portico towards the Evening, when the Shape of a Woman appeared to him, but much more bigger than the Life, and much more beautiful: This unexpected Sight strangely surprised him, when the Phantom told him she was Afric, and came to tell him his Fortune; adding that he was going to Rome, where he should arrive to the greatest Honours; that he should return back to this Province in Quality of Governor, and there die. Every thing exactly happened as the Spectre foretold. The Story goes, that as he was sailing for Carthage, and coming out of the Ship, the very same Figure met him upon the Shore, upon which he fell Sick, and remembering what it had formerly told him, gave over all hopes of Recovery, before the Physicians thought his Case dangerous. But what I am now going to tell you, as it is by much stranger, so it is more terrible than the other. There was a large and stately House at Athens, but untenanted for the ill Name it lay under; for in the depth of Night you might hear a Noise like that of the draggling of Chains, which at first seemed to be further off, but by degrees came nearer and nearer to you: At last the Ghost appeared, in the Shape of an old Man, Lean and Meager, with a long Beard, and the Hair of his Head matted; It had Fetters about its Legs and Manacles on its Hands, which it shaked and rattled. These strange Noises disturbed the Neighbourhood so, that few or none could sleep for them; some fell sick with watching so long, and their Fears increasing, died soon after; for tho' the Spectre was not visible in the Day, yet their Memory still represented it to their Eyes, and one Fear begot another: For this Reason no one would dwell in the House, but it stood empty, and was left wholly to the Ghost, to play his Midnight-frolicks in; however, there was a Bill put over the Door, to signify that the House was to be Let or Sold, if by chance they could meet with a Chapman, who knew nothing that it was haunted. It happened that one Athenodorus, a Philosopher, coming to Athens, read the Bill, enquired after the Price, and suspecting there was something extraordinary in the Matter, because it was to be had so cheap, he informs himself of the Neighbours, who fairly acquainted him with the whole Business: He was so far from being discouraged by it, that it made him the more eager to strike a Bargain. When it began to grow dark, he ordered a Bed to be made for him in a Room that faced the Street; he called for Paper, Ink, and Candle, and ordered all his Servants to withdraw; he employed his Mind, his Eyes, his Hands in Writing, lest his Imagination, having nothing to take it up, might be at leisure to create Visions and Spectres: All the former part of the Night the Scene continued quiet enough, at last he heard the rattling of Iron, and shaking of Chains. Our Philosopher did not so much as lift up his Eyes to see what was the Matter, nor left off Writing, but endeavoured all he could to neglect it; the Noise still increasing, and moving nearer, so that sometimes it seemed to be within, and sometimes without the Room, at last Athenodorus looked behind him and saw it, just as the Neighbours had deseried it to him. It stood still, and beckoned with its Finger, like a Man that calls to another. He on the other side makes a sign with his Hand, that it should tarry a little for him, and falls to his Writing again. All this while the Spectre rattled his Chains over his Head as he writ, and he looking behind him, found that it beckoned to him as before, so he took up his Candle in his Hand, and followed it: The Ghost walked leisurely along as if its Chains did hinder it, after that it turned into the Court-yard, and immediately vanished under Ground. Our Philosopher took some Leaves and Herbs that he might know the Place again, the next Day he goes to the Magistrates of the Town and advised 'em to dig in the place where this happened: which they accordingly did, and found a parcel of Bones wrapped about with Ironchains formerly belonging to a Body, which Time, and the Earth together had putrified. These relics were publicly Buried, after which the House was haunted no more. I am inclined to believe this Story, having had it so confidently affirmed to me.— I earnestly entreat you to bestow a little Consideration to inform me better upon this Point. 'Tis a Subject worthy of your deepest Enquiry, tho' I confess I am not worthy to have you to communicate your Learned Thoughts to me. Although you can plead on both sides, and manage an Argument either pro or con, as the Custom of the Gentlemen at the Bar is, yet I beg you not to employ that Talon here, but fairly to determine the Point, because I would not be dismissed uncertain or left in suspense, since this is the Reason of my giving you this Trouble. Farewell. The End of Pliny's Select Epistles. LETTERS OUT OF Mons. le Chevalier d' Her. *** Made English by the same Hand. To Mademoiselle de I— Upon sending to her a Boar in a Pastry, who had like to have wounded him at the Chase. Madam, I Have ran the greatest Risk in the World, but at last my Enemy is defeated, and now I send him to you bound to his good Behaviour in Piecrust. I have ordered him to be well Spiced and seasoned with Salt, to preserve the Memory of my Triumph. If I were acquainted with the Secret of the ancient Egyptians, I would have embalmed him, and made a Mummy of his Body: By that means he would have lasted numberless Ages, but it unluckily falls out with us Moderns, that we have no other Secret but this of Paste. Imagine that this Animal you see before you, had no great mind that I should kill him: As soon as he saw me, away he scampered as if the Devil had been behind him, but on a sudden turned back upon me with a felonious Intent to Murder me. Upon which I deliberated with myself what I had best to do. I could not tell but you might have set him against me, for whenever I see any thing that is dismal or terrible, I immediately conclude that it comes from you. But after I had well examined the Boar's Countenance, I could not find that he had so jolly an Air, as even your Rigours and Cruelties use to be attended with. There was another Difficulty still behind, and that was to know, whether I had not best die to put an end to those cruel Torments you make me suffer; but there was too much Self-interest I thought to take that course, and I humbly conceived it was for your ladyship's Honour, that a Lover so faithful as I, should live, altho' he did not find his Account in it. Thus the Zeal that I had for your Glory cost the poor Boar his Life, who little imagined he had to deal with an Adversary that was animated by so powerful a Motive. In short, I shot my Gentleman dead upon the Spot; and his Brother Boars I presume will have more Guts in their Brains for the future, then to pick a Quarrel with such as preserve their Lives on purpose for you. I should be the happiest Man in the Universe, Madam, if you would feed hearty upon him out of Revenge, for having been so impudent to put me in peril of my Life; and if that Consideration make him go down the better with you, I am, Your most Obedient, etc. To Monsieur C— Upon the Cartesian Philosophy. ANd is it true Sir, that you have lost your Understanding? I hear you are turned Philosopher of late, and what is more, that you belong to that Sect of Philosophy, which is the oddest in the World. It seems you don't think there are such things as Colours: You maintain that Beasts are Machine's, and move by Clockwork: In fine, you turn things topsie turvy after so strange a rate, that a Man can't tell what to trust to. I spoke of it the other day to Madam B— who is very much your Friend, and is hearty afflicted, at the loss of your Reason: I dare swear she would strangle Des Cartes in one of her Garters if she had him in the Room; for in short, his Philosophy is not to be endured in a Christian Country; it robs the Ladies of their Beauty, and makes 'em all as ugly as Witches. If there is no such thing as Colours, there's consequently no such thing as a fine Complexion; and what will become then of the Lilies and Roses in the Cheeks of our great Beauties? You'll come off but scurvily, let me tell you, if you think to appease 'em, by saying that Colours are in the Eyes of those that look upon 'em, and not in the Objects themselves. The Ladies won't depend upon the Eyes of other Men for their Complexions, but are resolved to hold it of themselves and not at the Courtesy of every Spectator. If there are no Colours in the Night, our Friend Mr. N— is finely brought to bed, who fell in Love with Madam L— merely upon the score of her fine Face, and married her. It would be a great Mortification to him, after having believed that he has the finest red and white in the Universe between his Arms, to find there is no such thing as red and white in Nature. But if the Complexion is a cheat upon our Senses, what will you say to those Ladies that practise the Mystery of Painting, and lay on the Carnation and the White as thick as Plaster? 'Tis certain nothing can be more real, and so these Ladies will enjoy a Privilege above the rest of their Sex, I mean that of having a true Complexion; however, all the World are of another Opinion, and will positively tell you that theirs is not true. I desire you to answer this Argument at your leisure; but this is not all, for Madam De B— and myself have found out another Objection against your Philosophy, which you'll find it no easy matter to answer. You pretend that Beasts are no less Machine's than Watches; now I dare engage, that if you put a certain Machine called a Dog, and another Machine called a Bitch together in the same Room, there will result a third little Machine from their corresponding together; whereas you may put two Watches together as long as you live, nay, till Doomsday if you please, and they will never produce a third Watch between ' 'em. Now Madam B— and I find by our Philosophy, that all those things, that being two, have yet the virtue to make three, are of a Class much superior to that of Machine's. We give you time to consider of an Answer to these Objections, for we know very well that you must consult your Books, before you'll be able to do it. Madam B— sends you word by me, that she will not receive a Visit from you, before you have made some Reparation to her Complexion: As for me, I assure you, I am a Piece of Clockwork newly wound up, to go in your Service, am Your most Obedient Servant. To Madam D— V— Upon sending her a Black and a Monkey. Madam, AFric has exhausted herself for you, she sends you too of the oddest Creatures she produces, and nothing would be wanting to make my Present complete, if I could send you a Crocodile to keep 'em Company. Both of 'em are in Perfection, the Black is the saddest Dog of all Blacks, and the Monkey is the most malicious Devil of all Monkeys. I can assure you, that one of these Beasts, has a mighty Respect for the other, and is a professed Admirer of his Ingenuity and great Parts. You'll soon discover that this Admirer is the Black. Besides it is an Article of Faith among those of his Nation, that the Monkeys have as much Reason as themselves, but that they conceal it as much as they can, by not talking, for fear Men should clap Packsaddles upon their Backs, and make them Work for their Living. This Black, Madam, has a particular Esteem for the Monkey, as having lived under the same Roof many Years with him, and has not a jot of Understanding more than he has learned in his long acquaintance with him. But I have one Advice to give you, Madam, and that is to look him frequently in the Face: Our Blacks in France turn tawny, and become of an Olive Complexion, which is enough to scare Lueifer out of his Senses. The Physical Reason of this is, because the Sun is not strong enough in our Climate to keep up that charming Black which it gives 'em in Afric; but, Madam, your Eyes, that are so lively and piercing, will supply the Defect of the Sun; and will not let him lose an Ace of his primitive Complexion. I am extremely glad that you will always have a Slave in your presence to represent me; he is not more yours than I am; if he gives you any Occasion to have him well Cudgeled sometimes, to put him in mind of his Duty, he something resembles me, for the Devil of Rebellion often tempts me to revolt against you. As for the Monkey prey don't be surprised, Madam, if you hear Sighs come from him, that are strong enough to turn about a Windmill, if you see him pass whole Nights without sleeping a Wink, if you find him as Melancholy as a Horse in a Pound, when he is not in your Company; in fine, if he eats little and can't divert himself in any thing, for I must tell you, Madam, that like a trusty Servant he has learned all this of his old Master, who is, Your most Obedient, etc. To the same. On the Death of her Monkey. I Am told your Monkey is gone the way of all Flesh, at which I am exceedingly grieved, for I am like to be a great Loser by his Decease, since I have no body now to put you in mind of me but the Black. The unhappy Creature I suppose broke his Heart because he was not able to imitate me before you, as well as he desired: indeed there was nothing which he could not handsomely counterfeit with infinitely more ease than my Passion; but may his Destiny light upon all the Rivals you make me who shall have the Insolence to be the Apes of my Affection; perhaps too the poor thing drew your Displeasure upon himself, for endeavouring to imitate my Passion, and so unluckily died of Despair. If it is so, I have nothing left me to do, but to imitate him in my turn, and to die after him. I am informed you have shed some Tears for him; it is something of the latest to repent for the ill Usage you have given him, but regulate your Conduct I beseech you by him, and done't oblige me to die, if you must needs regret me after Death. It is very probable that if you so hearty lament the Party that imitated me, you'll grieve ten times more for your humble Servant. I am an Original of Tenderness, and if you lose me, you are not like to find my Fellow in haste, but must even content yourself with very scurvy Copies. But, Madam, let me conjure you, not to use the Black the worse because he is my Representative; it would be very hard upon him indeed, if for that Reason he must meet with the Destiny of the Monkey. Can you suffer nothing to be near you, that has the Misfortune to bear some Resemblance of my Fidelity and Devotion for you, but you must kill it by your Cruelty? The Tears I shed for the Death of the Monkey are better founded than yours, since his Adventure teaches me what I am to expect. Farewell, Madam, but remember if you please, that you cannot restore the late Defunct to Life again, but that you have still the Power to preserve Your humble Servant, etc. To Mademoiselle de C— Upon sending her an Extract of the Church-Register. Madam, I Can without Vanity boast, that I make you to Day a very considerable Present: In short, I give you two whole Years; you thought you were twenty two Years old, and I bring it you attested in a Paper under Hand and Seal, that you are but twenty; now I reckon that I give you these Years which I take away from you, and indeed in those matters we never reckon otherwise. The two Years you thought had passed over your Head, are still to come, and I do myself the Honour to make you a Present of ' 'em. I am ready to die for fear, Madam, that you will not value them as they deserve; But good Heavens! the Man that were able to make such a Present, to certain Ladies that shall be nameless, what Favours might he not expect from their Hand? Where is the White and the Red, and where are the fine Dresses and Compliments that can be put into the Balance with two complete Years? It is but reasonable, Madam, I think, that you should employ 'em wholly upon me, since you are indebted to me for ' 'em. When they are gone and passed; you may do what you please, I shall then pretend to have no manner of Right over you, but with Submission, Madam, from the present Moment till you are completely twenty two, you wholly belong to me. After that, I leave you just as I found you, at Liberty to break off, or continue the Commerce, according as you see convenient; but if I find you not at all inclined to do me Justice, know, Madam, that I will suffer no one to Love you, upon the Foot of twenty Years wherever I go I will tell the Company, that in truth you had not been so old by two Years if you had not been so minded, but that you refused to accept 'em from me, and that since you don't Love me, 'tis but requisite you reckon yourself to be twenty two Years old. You little imagine perhaps to what strange Hazards you expose yourself, by making me Master of the Secret of your Age: for 'tis a Secret, Madam, which those of your Sex keep inviolably to themselves, and perhaps the only one a Woman can keep. Several Ladies have trusted me with the Affairs of their Families; nay, even with their Love; but I could never yet meet with one so open-hearted to trust me with her Age. There are a thousand Women that will run up to the Mouth of a Cannon, that will hang or drown with as much cheerfulness as if they went to a Gossipping, that will make you nothing to jump down four Stories: but, I never found a Woman, that had Courage and Resolution enough to tell her Age. The truth on't is, the older they are, the more sensible they become of what Importance it is, that they had not lived so many Years. As for you, Madam, who have not played your Cards so cautiously as you should have done, you don't know how you will tremble one Day left I should tell any Tales of you. Your Destiny will depend upon me, and there is nothing which I cannot force you to comply with, if instead of a Poniard I send you the Extract of the Church-register. I dare engage that you laugh at my Menaces at present, and that you think the time is so far off, that you don't believe I shall ever live to see it. I am afraid indeed you'll prove a Prophetess, for unless you are less rigorous, you'll soon dispatch Your most Obedient, etc. The End of Monsieur Fontanelle's Letters, under the borrowed Name of the Chevalier d' Her. Original Letters. Lately Written by Mr. Brown. To his honoured Friend, Dr. Baynard at the Bath. July 6. 99 Dear Doctor, WHile here in Town we are almost Roasted by the hot Wether, and the Sun plays so warmly on us, that some People who were of no Religion before, talk of turning Adamites in their own Defence; I cannot but laugh to think what a blessed Pickle you are in at the Bath, where such Crowds of you Stew in so little a Pipkin; where you broil upon the Earth, parboil in the Water, and you breathe the Composition of Gunpowder; or, were there nothing extraordinary in your Soil, your Climate, or the Season of 〈…〉 ne-Year, where you have pretty Ladies en 〈…〉 sons to set you all on Fire, though you were 〈…〉 bless or three Degrees more to the North than Lapland, and I were Writing to you now in the midst of January. This is the first Summer since the Revolution, that the Sun has been pleased to dispense any Favours to us, for hitherto we have had as little Reason to complain of his Benignity to us, as the Politics of our Statesmen. Our Fruits have ripened without the Influence of the one, as our Affairs have made a shift to rub on without any great Conjuring on the part of the other. The Sun that ripens the Grape, will likewise ripen Favours, and other such generous Distempers, to the great Joy of the Poets and Physicians; and Phoebus, their common Father, will encourage his own Tribe, by raising up a new Stock of Wines and Diseases. Indeed, where you are, it is almost impossible for the Gentlemen of the Faculty to want Business, for if our last Advices from the Bath, don't deceive us, you have almost as many Doctors upon the Spot as you have Patients, that watch the coming in of every Coach, as nicely as a young Boy at the University do the Return of the Carrier, and ply at all Corners of the Streets, 〈…〉 egularly as the Watermen do at the 〈…〉 ple Stairs: But it has long ago been 〈…〉ed of you, as of the Lawyers, that they will find or make Work wherever they come; and accordingly I knew a little Town in Essex, where the Inhabitants, time out of mind, had lived in as uninterrupted Tranquillity, as the happy Indians did in America, before the Spaniards came to beat up their Quarters; but upon an Attorney's coming to reside amongst'em, the Face of Affairs was immediately altered, Tenants conspired against their Landlords, Ostlers revolted from their Masters, and the Apprentices took up Arms against their lawful Tyrants: Not a Tithe-egg could be had without an Action, nor a Pig under a Suit in Chancery, a Spirit of Division had crept into every Family, Maids betrayed their Mistresses, Girls rebelled against their Grandmothers, and Sweethearts deserted their confiding Damsels; in short, every Man stood as much upon his own Guard, as if he had been in an Enemy's Country; these were the blessed Effects of the Lawyer's living amongst ' 'em. Now Doctor, it were a very hard Case, if having so much Credit at the Bath, you could not do as much for yourself, as the above mentioned Attorney did to promote his own Business; if you could not Philosophically Reason People into Distempers they were never troubled with, like the Fanatic Parsons that Fly-blow their Hearers with Scruples they knew nothing of before. If you could not cure'em of Ails they never felt, and leave behind you Maladies, you never found upon ' 'em. But I am informed that the Tub-Preachers are very much dissatisfied that you invade their Territories, and encroach upon their Prerogative of Hell. Your hot and cold Baths (they say) put their Brimstone and Ice out of Countenance; and 'tis reported, that by the skilful Management of your Torments, by scalding your Patients at the Bath in July, and freezing them at Islington in December, you've broke half the Retailors of the Terrors of Pluto's Kingdom. But to come now to the News of the Town, we have had an Apparition lately here, stranger than any in Glanvill or Aubry; for it has appeared in the Streets at noon Day, and thousands of People are ready to depose that they have seen it. By this strange Apparition, I mean the White Parson, so called for his wearing a White Hatband, Scarf, and Sursingle, by which he distinguishes himself from the rest of his Brethren. I could wish you had been here in Holbourn t'other Morning, to have seen his Cavalcade: He road up the Hill as great as a Prince, and like other Princes signalised his Entry with printed Declarations, with a great Rabble of loud-mouthed Hawkers, Male and Female, bellowing it on every side of him; and 'tis supposed by the Learned in Astrology, that he will keep this Declaration as Religiously as some other Princes beyond Sea have kept theirs: In short, he pretends to preach the Gospel Gratis, and indeed as he manages it, it is pity he should have a Farthing for it: He calls the rest of his Cloth Hirelings, tho' unless the Fellow is belied, he would accept of a Pot of Ale from a Chimney-sweeper, and has preached a hundred times upon a Joint-stool for a pickled Herring and a Poringer of burnt Brandy. The Rozinante, on which this Don Quixote road, had a Laurel-garland about his Head, and I dare swear, deserved the Bays as well as his Master; for the Wretch, as I am informed, is troubled with a Whore to his Wife, and his Muse is an arrant Jilt, the latter is the more common Prostitute of the two. But, dear Doctor, News are as scarce in Town, as Fees at the Bath and it falls out unluckily for you and me, that we must change Places, to find what we want; for I hear you have a Mint at the Bath for Scandal, as we have here for Money; so that 'tis but shifting the Scene, and we may draw Bills upon one another, to answer our several Occasions, till when, I am. Melanissa to Alexis. GIve me leave, my dearest Alexis! give me leave, who love you better than my Life; and if I make bold to reproach you with your Failings, you will easily forgive this freedom, unless I am mightily mistaken in the Humour of my Alexis, when you find it wholly regard your own Interest and Welfare. It is not without a sensible Concern that I see you abandon yourself so to the Bottle of late: A young Fellow, but especially one like Alexis, aught to devote himself to another Divinity; old Age indeed may be allowed to supply its defect of Warmth with Wine, but Youth as it needs it not, so Nature advises it to pursue a more agreeable Game. But can any thing in the World be so absurd as to surfeit ourselves with Cordials when we have not the least Indisposition? To convince you then that my Complaint is neither junust nor unreasonable, I, who know so little of the World, and have nothing but Nature to guide me; I who am a Stranger to Language, and Style, and consequently must maim my Thoughts, for want of knowing how properly to express 'em, will endeavour to describe to you, a Night as it passes away in the Embraces of an agreeable Mistress, accompanied with all the Transports and Tendernesses of Love, and the Night as it is commonly spent by what the Town call Men of Wit and Pleasantry, at the Rose or Blew-posts: The Play is now over, and the Sparks who while it was Acting, rallied the Vizard-Masques, laughed aloud at their own No-jests, censured the Dress and Beauty of all the Ladies in the Boxes; and, in short, minded every thing, but the Representation that brought them thither, begin now to File off, and gravely debate how and where the Evening is to spent; At last the Tavern is pitched upon, the Room taken, and our learned Critics in Pleasure's seat themselves round the Table. The Master of the House is the first Person they send to Advise with; who, after a few Cringes and Scrapes, tells 'em, He has the best Champagne and Burgundy in Town, and is sure to ask an exorbitant Price for't, tho' 'tis a vile nasty Mixture of his own Brewing. After a long and foolish Dispute, the Rate is adjusted, Napkins are called for, the Muff, Sword and Periwigg nicely laid up, and now something-like Business comes forward. When these grand Preliminaries are settled, the next important Debate is, what they must eat; so the Cook is sent for, who recommends to 'em something Nice and Dear; this Difficulty with much ado got over, the Glasses plentifully walk round, to blunt and weaken that Appetite which they pretend to excite by it. And now their Hearts begin to open, and their Tongues to communicate their most secret Thoughts. The topping Beauties of the Town are the first Subjects of their Conversation, and this is so ample a Field, that they soon lose their way in it; one boasts of Favours received from a Lady, whom perhaps he never saw any where but at the Playhouse; another toasts a Countess, whom he pretends to admire in a particular manner, and gives broad Items of an Intrigue between her and a certain Gentleman that shall be nameless; in short, 'tis resolved by the Board, Nemine contre dicente, that there is not one honest Woman in the three Kingdoms, who has Beauty enough to gain her a Lover. When this Argument is pretty well exhausted, the next thing they talk of, is the Authors of the Town, and what Books and Plays have lately appeared: Upon this Head, every Man in the Company affects to discover a peculiar Taste and Judgement, and thinks he shows his Wit by finding Faults, where there are none; the Play, whatever it is, is taken to pieces, the Plot upon Examination, is found either to be stolen, or not to be well unravelled, the Scenes are languishing, the Characters threadbare, or not worth a Farthing; infine, the Poet is sent to the Devil for want of Wit, as the pert Critic thinks he shows his, by condemning what he doth not understand. All this while the ungodly Brimmer walks incessantly round the Table, the Company soon dwindles into private Cabals, every Man talks busily to his Neighbour, Affairs of State are determined, this Minister is displaced, and t'other Man put into his room; The Proceed in Parliament laid down beforehand, and 'tis concluded what Regiments shall stand, and what be broken; after this Punctilios of Honour come to be discussed, the freshest Duels behind Mountague-house, and Chelsey-fields are learnedly run over; such a Man is a Coward for suffering Captain— to tread upon his Toes in the Pit, and not calling him to Account for it; Damn you, cries another, Jack— is as Gallant a Fellow as ever drew Sword, and whoever says any thing to the contrary, is a Son of a Whore and a Villain, and I'll cut his Throat; with that a Bottle is thrown at his Head, the Glasses goes to rack, the Table is overturned, nothing but Disorder and Confusion is in the Room, and all this Mirth and Jollity concludes in Murder. Or if the Scene doth not end altogether so Tragically, but they part Friends as they came in, ten to one but a merry Frolic is proposed: The Quarters of some illnatured Coquet are to be beaten up, and her poor Windows must feel the sad Effects of their Heroic Valour; but while they are carrying on this Attaque with unparalelled Vigour and Gallantry; behold the Superintendant of the Night, with his trusty Guard of Myrmidons falls upon their main Body; some of our Heroes lie sprawling in the Kennel, with their trusty and wellbeloved Periwigs lying by 'em; the embroidered Coat is all over covered with Dirt and Blood, the welladjusted Cravat torn to Rags, the Sword either broke or carried off in the Tumult; and thus, after a well-favoured Drubbing, our Sparks make a shift to crawl home to their Lodgings, if the Nocturnal Magistrate and his Cannibals, don't hurry 'em to New-prison or the Round-house, the usual Sanctuary for such Adventurers. But suppose nothing of this happens, and our merry Gentlemen get home safe from the Tavern, without any Disaster or Calamity by the way; yet the next Morning calls 'em to a severe Account, for the Misdemeanours and Intemperance of the proceeding Night: Their Head aches, their whole Frame is in disorder, they are incapable of relishing either Books or Conversation; even Music itself, with all its boasted Efficacy, is not able to allay their Pains, the most exquisite Dishes are nauseous to 'em, they starve amidst the greatest profusion of Luxury, and curse that Extravagance over Night that Starves them the next Day in the midst of Plenty. 'Tis certain, that I have been favourable in this Description, 'tis certain that I have not set down half the Disorders that accompany a Debauch while 'Tis a making, nor half the ill Effects that happen after it. Let us now turn the Tables, to find whether Love can be reproached with any of these Inconveniencies that use to attend Drunkenness: Let us see how the Moment's wear away in the Embraces of a delicious Mistress; and then we shall soon discover on which side the Advantages lie, and be able to decide this Controversy. I know very well that I want Eloquence and Language, to describe the Raptures and Transports of Love as they deserve; however, I am so well assured of the Goodness of my Cause, that altho' I am an unfit Advocate to defend it, yet I don't much despair of carrying my Point. The long expected Night at last arrives, when Damon is to be made happy in the Arms of his beloved Armida, with his Head full of a thousand delightful Ideas; (for Love is so good-natured, as to pay his Votaries part of their Pleasure beforehand) he comes to the happy Mansion, where the chief Treasure of his Soul resides, he knocks gently at the Door; the trusty Maid conducts him by the Hand in the dark, and leads him to his Mistress' Apartment. At the first Interview, he is all wrapped up in Silence and Astonishment, his Thoughts so crowd upon him, that they hinder one another in the Passage; after he is a little recovered, he endeavours to speak; but, alas! his Eyes talk infinitely more than his Tongue. On her part, the Confusion is no less, and her Joys equally tumultuous; thus finding themselves unable to Discourse, they tell their Passion in Sighs and Glances; they confirm it by repeated Kisses, and at every Kiss their fluttering Souls meet at their Mouths. Damon squeezes that Hand, which almost dissolves in the touch; he presses those glowing Breasts that would warm the coldest Hermit; but all this is nothing but the Prologue to the succeeding Drama. Love calls upon 'em for a more substantial Repast, though they are undressed in a Minute, yet this very Minute seems an Age; and now they are a going to taste all that Felicity, which Love can bestow, or Humane Nature can bear. The Candle is put out to hid the Blushes of Armida; she finds her eager Lover by her side, who cost her so many Tears and Sighs in private. The happy Lover is lost in a Labyrinth of Pleasure; sometimes he abandons her Breast for her Mouth, and sometimes her Mouth for her Breast, and is only uneasy he cannot Kiss 'em both together. He Faints, he grows Giddy with the Excess of Joy: nothing but half-formed Words and Murmurs can come from him; at last he approaches Love's Altar, at last he— But here my Pen fails me, I am forced to draw a Veil over those Raptures, which 'tis not in the Power of mortal Eloquence to represent. Thus our happy Lovers, after they have repeated Oblations to Love, lay intranced in one another's Arms, and act over in their busy Dreams, the delicious Scenes that so Transports 'em waking. The Morning approaches, the blushing Morning awakens the transported Pair. Amintas is beholding to its Light, for showing him the Nymph, in whose Embraces he so agreeably past the Night. She charmed him in the Dark, she ravishes him in the Light; and the only Uneasiness that attends their Happiness, is Impatience to repeat the Bliss. Both the Lovers rise equally satisfied, with having done their Parts, with Gaiety in their Looks, and Satisfaction in their Souls: Parting gives them some Pain, but that is sufficiently recompensed at their next Meeting. Thus I have endeavoured, my Alexit, to show what a vast Difference there is between a Night murdered in the Excess of Wine, and a Night consecrated to Love. Though no Truth is more evident than this; yet our Youth, possessed by what fatal Stupidity, I cannot tell; generally Devote themselves to the wrong Divinity. Instead of following the Dictates of Nature, whom they ought to obey, they treat her like an Enemy, and profane those Altars, they ought to pay their Devotions at. I know well enough, that you Gentlemen, don't much care to be Advised by those frail Things called Women, and perhaps too you will tell me, that Interest has made me say all this. However, let me conjure you to consider a little upon what I have offered to you, and believe that no one loves you so dearly and tenderly as MELANISSA. To a litigious Country-Attorney. A Letter of Gallantry. Worthy Sir, THat I am no Stranger to your Character (tho', I bless my Stars for it, I am to your Person) you'll soon find, if you'll give yourself the trouble to read the following Lines: There is no great pleasure indeed in drawing Monsters; however, since it may be of public Advantage to have 'em described in their true proper Colours, that others may avoid, and detest 'em, I have ventured at the Task, that yourself, as well as the World, may see by Reflection what you cannot help to be. To accommodate myself to the Dialect of your Profession, I will begin my Letter like a Bond, with a Noverint Vniversi: And may all Men accordingly know by these Presents, That Mr. M. C. is the veriest pettifogging Rascal that ever scandalised a Green Bag, or came within the Walls of Westminster-hall. I have often wondered, that Providence should be at the Trouble and Expense of Disordering the whole Fabric of Nature, when it has decreed to punish us with Dearths and Famines, since it may go a more compendious Way to work, and effect all these Calamities by the Ministry of Lawyers. Give a true Lawyer but Pen, Ink, and Parchment, and I dare engage he will starve the Country ten Miles round him. The most odious Animals, and the most contemptible Infects, have some use or other, living or dead, or at least serve to diversify the Universe: Toads, they say, suck up the Venom of the Earth; Snakes are useful in Medicine; but it would puzzle the wisest Naturalist to find out any thing good in a Lawyer, (I mean such a Fellow as you are) who abhor Honesty, and Plaindealing, as much as a Miser does Charity, and build your own Welfare upon the Destruction of those poor Wretches who fly to you for Justice. We see puny Rascals, of a lower Class, trussed up every Sessions, for petty Roguries to thine; for easing the Hedges of some lousy Linen, for nimming of Cloaks, stealing of supernumerary Spoons, etc. when such a Villain, as you reduce whole Families to Poverty, and set a County together by the Ears, and are so far from being called to an Account for it, that you get an Estate out of the Public by Rapine and Extortion, Nose the Parson of the Parish, and Insult over all the Neighbours; and, tho' you have Tricks and Evasions enough to escape Justice here, yet you pay Cent. per Cent. Interest for your Rogury in another World; the Devil never keeps a Holiday in good earnest, but when an Attorney of your Stamp makes a perpendicular Leap into his Dominions; and he will no more part with him, when he has got him into his Clutches, than one of his own Lawyers will refund a Fee; Possession being eleven Points of the Law in Hell as well as in Westminster-hall. Thus, Sir, you see I have made a little familiar with you and your Function, and perhaps am bolder than welcome: But, Sir, I have a Favour to request at your Hands, and I tell you beforehand, that you must not deny me. What I have to propose to you is not unreasonable or difficult; for I don't desire you to make Restitution of what you have unjustly plundered from so many Families, nor to build Hospitals, (unless it be one for your Father, who Grazes upon the Common:) No, Sir, you shall find me the fairest, the easiest Man you ever dealt with: I am informed your House stands by the side of a famous River, which looks as if Providence designed you for the End I advise you to: So, Sir, if you please, one of these fine Mornings to take a Leap into it from your Garret, it will be the best-natured thing you ever did to the World in your Life; you need not cram your Pockets with Stones or Led, to make you sink, for your own Sins are ponderous enough to do your business without 'em, if the Proverb don't secure you. But, Sir, if this will not do, as perhaps it mayn't, (for, as I told you before, you shall find me the most reasonable Man in the Universe) why then, Sir, I would advise you to hang yourself in your Closet, in your Wife's Garters, or rip up your Guts with a Case-knife, or cut your Jugulars with a Razor, or take a good large Dose of Opium; or lastly, knock your Brains out against a Brickwall: but then, Sir, take my Word for't, you must knock hard; for, your Neighbours tells me, you have a confounded thick Scull. In short, Sir, I shan't insist nicely upon the How, the Where, the When, provided the thing be done in a reasonable Time: and I promise you under my Hand, that the Bells shall ring merrily, as soon as it is accomplished; and to encourage you to proceed in this Affair, I can assure you you'll Oblige no less than a whole County by it, and particularly your unknown Servant. To Mr. Moult. London, July 25, 99 Dear Sir, ACcording to Promise I had written to you last Saturday, but that I was obliged to Accompany some Gentlemen that Morning to Richmond, in Expectation of hearing fine Music, which never in the Playhouse had passed the Censure of a Pit-Fop; and drinking true Languedoc, never yet debauched in a Vintner's Cellar. But it happened quite otherwise with us: For the Wine was such sophisticated Stuff, that I told the Company, it set Drunkenness on the same Level with Swearing; I mean by disarming it of all Excuses: And as for the Music, it was so abominable, that half a dozen Welsh-harpers met upon St. David's Day, to make merry over a Mess of Leek-porridge, could not have tormented the Ears of a Purcel with more discording Thrumthrum. I dare almost engage, had the same Fellows played upon the same Instruments before the Town of Jericho, the Walls would have paid the same Compliment to their Harmony, as they did to that of the Levites, for nothing could have patience to stand still and listen to their Performances. So, after this double Disappointment, we were forced, very late in the Evening, or very early in the Morning, (I want be positive which) to go back to our Boat, and return for London, reflecting all the way as severely on our mispent-time, as a Town-lady, who has obliged a Poet with her Favours all Night, and gets nothing in the Morning for her Pains, but the Copy of a new Song for Breakfast. When I had the Happiness of seeing you last in Town, I told you that you should not fail of having a Letter from me every other Post; I am afraid I shall be better than my Word, and Persecute you more constantly than a City-vintner does a Country Parliament-man that chalked it plentifully last Winter Sessions. Since I have no other way of conversing with you but by Letters, you may depend upon seeing me twice a Week at least, tho' were you in Town I believe I should scarce visit you so often. But, dear Friend of mine, this is purely the Effect of Absence. I knew a certain Gentleman, who, when he was at home with his Wife, scarce vouchsafed to exchange a Word with her once a Week; but being obliged to take a Journey as far as York, he never failed of writing to her every Post, and longer Letters too, than a Clergiman does when he recommends himself to his Patron for a fat Living. The reason of it is plain, because all Blessings (and such I say is Mr. M—'s Conversation to me and every one that knows him) are never throughly understood when we have 'em in our Possession, and are never so much valued as when they are at some distance from us. Thus, my dear Friend, for want of something else to entertain you, I have fallen the Lord knows how, into making Moral Reflections, which was never my Talon; but if a Man is to govern himself by the Examples he sees in this wicked Town, I don't know why I should not be allowed to Talk out of my Element, as well as a Thousand more which I could name to you, were I disposed to be ill-natured: I could tell you of a certain famous Painter, who understands his Trade and Business, as well as most Men living, and yet is perpetually new modeling the Government, and harping upon Politics, which he understands just as much as the Lord-Mayor and Aldermen do Arabic. I know a City Physician, who can dispatch his Patients as fast as any of the College, yet in spite of Nature and his own Genius, will be always murdering of Rhimes, and feeling the Pulse of the Muses: and another of the Faculty near Charing-cross, who instead of Galen and Hypocrates is perpetually puzzling himself with Daniel, and the Revelations. I know a Lawyer perfectly well versed in all Mysteries of Conveyancing, who, by his good Will, Talks of nothing in all Companies but the Merits of Cow's Piss, and the modern Dispute betwixt Alcalis and Acids. There is also a famous Parson I could mention to you near St. Dunstan's, who Preaches his Parish fast asleep every Sunday with the Opium he puts in his Sermon, yet over his Coffee must be settling the Affairs of Europe, the Succession of Spain, and the Union of the two East-India Companies, of all which he Talks more wretchedly than a Poet or a Beau does of Religion; though, by the by, this must be said in his Justification, that he Talks much better of every Thing, than what he was educated to. I can't tell how you'll relish such an insipid Letter as this, but 'tis my Misfortune at present, that I can't furnish you a better Treat: For my part, I had rather Rob the Spittle, or quote Second-hand Sayings, from a Second-hand Wit at Will's Coffee-house, than be beholding to those dull Rogues that Writes the Weekly News-papers: However, I hope to make you Amends the next Post; and in the mean time beg leave to Subscribe myself. To Mr. George Moult. A Letter of News. August 14, 99 Dear Sir, HAving nothing of our own Growth to Entertain you with, I stole into a French Coffee-house near Soho this Afternoon; where a Parcel of persecuted poor Hugonots, who had just shifted off their Rags, and crept into good clothes, by the help of our English Charity; were railing against the Tyranny of their quondam K— g, like so many Alms-folks against the Churchwardons of their Parish, and expressed as great an Aversion to their own Native Country, as a Jew to Bacon, or the Scotch Kirk to Lawn-sleeves: Amongst the rest was a Parson, who calling for a Dish of Tea, the Coffee-man, through good Husbandry, had converted one of his wooden Shoes (which I suppose he came over in) to the use of a Sugar-box, which the Preacher took up as a Text, and gave us a very good Afternoon's Lecture, upon the Miseries of his Country Men, in which the ungainly Slipper was oftentimes made use of, as a very serviceaable Type. This being over, I began to examine the Foreign Papers, to see what News. But Europe, as large as it is, being from the farthest Extremity of Spain, to the remotest Parts of Muscovy, at least two thousand Miles in length (more than I shall ever be Master off;) Europe, I say, that contains two Empires, fourteen Kingdoms, and the Devil knows how many Principalities, Dukedoms, Marquisates and Earldoms, with a Pope at the Head of it too, that loves Mischief as dearly, as a Friar does Nun's Flesh, is not able at present to furnish out a Letter for you; but to satisfy you, that I have not been wanting, on my part, to hunt for Foreign Occurrences; I have here sent you an Abridgement of the most material Passages in the Outlandish Gazettes. Our last Letters from Warsaw advise, that three Poles were run through the Guts by three Germane Soldiers, and that some of the small Diets are broke up in a Heat; But, alas, what are Murders and Mutinies in Poland? No more than Simony in a Welsh Bishop. They talk too, that the Cardinal Primate, grumbles in his Gizzard, and is not so hearty to the King as he should be; but when did you know a Churchman in Authority, and not endeavour to blow up the Coals of Sedition to the hightest Aggravation, if it lay in his Power? I wish some one or other would send him over Bishop Overhall's Convocation-book. For certainly what helped to open the Eyes of the D— of P—'s can never fail of working Miracles, in so enlightened a Country as Poland. Madrid, July 20. The King of Spain's Health is much altered for the better of late, he Eats and Walks to a Miracle; for Yesterday at Dinner, he ravenously devoured a whole Lark, and without any one to support him, made a shift to walk threescore Foot outright. This Re-establishment of his Health, the Priests, ten to one, will Father upon some She or He-Saint, that knows nothing of the Matter; but I heard a merry Gentleman a Day or two ago Account for it otherwise. As Monica said of her beloved Son St. Austin's Conversion, That it was impossible for a Son of so many Tears ever to miscarry; so 'tis impossible, cries this Gentleman, that a Monarch, whose Health is drank in all the Taverns in Christendom, which are not Frenchifyed; should do otherwise then find in himself a sensible Alteration for the better; and I pray to God continually, that a certain Person, who waits so impatiently for a certain dead Man's Spanish Slippers, may go bear Foot, and not have so much as a Pair of French Wooden-shooes to keep him out of the Dirt. Paris, July 23. The King's Statue was lately set up here in the Place de Vandome; 'tis a perfect Colossus, and Mons. Geriardin has made it appear, That our Monarch has been drawn three times bigger than the Life, not only by his Parsons, his Poets, and his Historiographers, but by his Statuaries too. The Ceremony of the Erection was very magnificent, several of the Nobility, the Counsellors of the Parliament, and the Principals of the Citizens, assisted at it in all their Formalities; and if it had been the Custom of the Place, the City Recorder had made a handsome Speech to the Figure. Our Letters from all Parts of the Kingdom informs us, that the poor Hugonots are Persecuted ten times more severely, if possible, than the Witches in Scotland, and 'tis thought deserve it as little. Rome, July 10. Our last Letters from hence advise, that mighty Preparations are making for the ensuing Jubilee; most of the Charnel-houses and Tooth-drawer's Shops have been disfurnished of late, on purpose to provide Relics for the great number of Votaries we expect here. A Carmelite Friar has brought a most valuable Rarity with him from the Holy-land, which he presented last Week to his Holiness: 'Tis the Comb which belonged to the Cock that set St. Peter a Weeping; and the Pope, they say, designs to make a Present of it to a peculiar Favourite; we are like to be overrun with Strumpets from all Parts of Christendom, who flock hither partly to wipe off their old Scores, and partly to begin a fresh Tick with Heaven. 'Tis found by a modest Computation at present, that they are at least ten Harlots to one Churchman already. How will they be overpowered then, when the whole Posse is got to Rome? However it is hoped that we shall have a speedy Reinforcement of Brawney well-chined Regulars, and Seculars from the North, to keep the Balance more even between the Gown and the Petticoat. This is the first time that a Plurality of Concubines was ever thought a Grievance at Rome. Amsterdam, July 30. The Magistrates of this Place, lately took into their pious Considerations, the reforming the Abuses of the Long Cellar, and one of them proposed to have it locked up; for which he had liked to have been Dewitted by the Mob, for a Parsel of Saylors hearing of it, gathered in great Numbers about his House, demolished his Windows, and had proceeded farther in their Outrage, had not some of the topping Burgomasters pacified 'em, by telling 'em the old Immunities, and Privileges of the Long Cellar should be continued to them and their Heirs for ever. It was likewise proposed in our Council, to have laid some new Penalty upon Drankenness but it being represented to 'em, that it would incense the People, and bring down the Excise, for that Reason they went no farther in it. Last Week four Men and as many Women came from the Duchy of Juliers to this Place, with a Spick and Span new Religion (as 'tis reported) the whole Contents of which, may be carried in the compass of a Snuff-box: They give out that it is the easiest and cheapest Religion that ever was known, and have offered it to the States for the value of four thousand Gilders; if it be rejected, they design to Embark for England, and see what Market they can make of their new Religion at London. Two learned Critics of the University of Leyden have had a long Contest about the right Spelling and Writing the Word Idcirco; and, at last, have agreed to refer the Matter to Dr. B B —y, who being a Person of singular Humanity, 'tis not doubted but he will do it to Satisfaction. Edinburgh, July 29. We have not had for these ten Years last passed so favourable a Summer as now; so that we don't doubt, but that our Sloes will ripen; and the Kirk has appointed a general Thanksgiving for it: fifty two Witches are in Custody in several Prisons in this Kingdom, and many terrible Things are alleged against 'em, and some of them have been such silly Jades to own themselves guilty, choosing to be burnt outright, rather than live any longer like Witches. The chief Discoverer of them is Mr. Sawney Cockburn, who knows all the Witches Forms in the Kingdom; and with his Kirk Terriers will Unearth you ten of 'em in a Morning: We build great Expectations upon our new Colony at Darien, and talk of covering all the Churches in Edinburgh with Silver in a very short time; but others, who are not altogether so Sanguine, are of Opinion, that all these mighty Pretences will fall to the Ground: And now I am upon this Article, give me leave to tell you, that I heard a Politician talk in the Rainbow Coffee-house Yesterday upon this Matter; I am confident, says he, that the Hand of Heaven will appear very Visible in the Chastisement of the Scots in this new Project of theirs upon America. They have impudently bid Defiance to Fate, and opposed the Decrees of Providence, for as God Almighty from Eternity decreed the Germans to be Drunkards, the French to carry Pack-sadles, the Jews to be Rascals; so he predestinated the Scots to be Pedlars; accordingly we find, the Germans to this Day get Drunk before Noon, the French carry Pack-sadles to this Day, and so will do in Secula Seculorum, the Jews Cheat on still, and the English Rebel; only the Scots must kick against the Decrees of Fate, and instead of Pedlars, a Title their Ancestors Aquiest in for two thousand Year and upward, set up for Merchants, Forsooth; but if ever they make any thing on't, says he, (and if they are not at last reduced to their old ancient Pedlarism) I'll forfeit my Reputation of a Prophet to you, although they have cheated King William out of an Act of Parliament, I believe they will find it a hard matter, withal their Craft and Cunning, to cheat Heaven. Thus, Sir, I have sent you the most important Occurrences I could find in the Foreign Papers. But as to London, which used to be an inexhaustible Magazine of News and Scandal, it affords neither at present. Our Beaux are all gone down to Tunbridge and the Bath, in hopes to make Conquests in both those Places; where I presume they will succeed as well as our dear Brethren beyond the tweed in their new Caledonian Plantation; but a Month or two hence they will return to Town with their Pockets as empty as their Heads. The Lawyers are gone down to their respective Habitations to sow Dissension amongst his Majesty's liege People in the Country, and will reap, no doubt on't, a most plentiful Harvest the next Michaelmas-Term. Our old red-nosed Claret-drinkers have now left us to recruit, by a Vacation-sobriety, their decayed Carcases, and enable 'em to sit up whole Nights with the Parliament-men the next Winter. In short, the Stock-jobbers have left the Change, and the Citizens are half of 'em gone to Epsom, in order to Cuckold one another, which is the best News at present from your assured Friend, etc. From the Gun Music- booth in Smithfield, in the time of Bartholomew-Fair. Aug. 28. 99 Dear George, All Things are hushed, as Law itself were dead, Poor pensive Fleetstreet, droops its mournful Head; Smooth Alcalies in Peace with Acids' sleep; The Church and Stage no longer Difference keep; The Pulpit-drums don't beat. ANd now the Spirit of Versification leaving me in the lurch, I come to tell you in honest Prose, I mean no more by all this rumbling Stuff, than to let you know this is the long Vacation, which Lawyers, poor Whores, and Tailors, as well as many other Trades, curse as hearty together as Engrossers of Corn do a plentiful Harvest, or Colemerchants a warm Winter. Yet tho' many are glad this penitential Season is near expired, as for my part, I could hearty wish, as a Soldier does by the Wars, or a Woman by Enjoyment, it would last much longer. You'll tell me, that this is a Paradox; For why the Plague should a Man desire to be in Town, when it is a Desert in a manner, when all the best Company is gone to Tunbridge, Epsom or the Bath? All this may be true; but before you and I part, perhaps I may bring you to be of another Opinion, and reconcile you to the long Vacation. In the first place: You must know, that I hate to be in a Crowd; for which reason I wonder, why so many wise Gentlemen should be so fond to go to the Jubilee at Rome, where they are like to be thronged and crowded as much as a Spectator at a Country Bull-baiting, and with almost as bad a Mob (pardon the Insolence of my Expression) for considering what a vast Multitude of Priests, Fops and Bigots are gathered together at Rome, from all Corners of the Universe, I wonder how an honest Man can think himself safe in so dangerous a Crowd, or a wise Man please himself with the Sacred Farces of a Church Rabble. In short, I love the long Vacation upon the same account that some honest Claret- drinkers love walking Home at Midnight, because the Streets are clearer and not so incommodious as at other times. Besides, London is at no time of the Year so thinly peopled (God be thanked) but a Man, with a little Industry, may find Company enough of both Sexes, to the ruin of his Health and Consumption of his Estate. But this is not all, a universal Spirit of Civility reigns over all the Town, the Tradesmen are more confiding and the Harlot's better natured. A Vintner, who, in the hurry of Michaelmas-Term, is as difficult of access as a Privy-counsellor, will now give you his Company for ask, and perhaps club his Bottle into the Bargain; and the very individual Damsel, with whom a Month or two hence, nothing below a Senator will go down, or at least a Man that will bribe as deep, is now so humbled by the Emptiness of the Town, that for the Credit of being carried in a Coach to her Lodgings, and the Expense of a Bottle of Wine, to treat her Landlady, will put on a clean Smock to oblige you, without so much as exacting Money to pay the Landress. I could say a thousand things more in behalf of the Vacation, but I shall content myself at present, that it produces Bartholomew-Fair; and when I have said that, I think it needs no farther Panegyric. If Antiquity carries any weight with it, the Fair has enough to say for itself on that Head. Fourfcore Years ago, and better, it afforded Matter enough for one of our best Comedians to Compose a Play upon it: But Smithfield is another sort of a Place now to what it was in the Times of Honest Ben; who, were he to rise out of his Grave, would hardly believe it to be the Place where Justice overdo made so busy a Figure, where the Crop-eared Parson demolished a Gingerbread Stall, where Nightingales sung ballads and fat Ursula sold Pig and bottled Ale. As I have observed to you, this noble Fair is quite another thing then what it was in the last Age, it produces Operas of its own growth, and is become a formidable Rival to both the theatres; It no longer deals in humble Stories, of Crispin and Crispianus, of Whittington's Cat, with the merry Conceits of King Edward the Fourth and the Tanner of Tamworth: It beholds Gods descending from Machine's, who express themselves in a Language suitable to their Character: It trafficks in Heroes, it raises Ghosts and Apparitions; it has represented the Trojan Horse, the Workmanship of the divine Epeus; it has seen St. George encounter the Dragon, and overcome him. In short, for Thunder and Lightning, for Songs and Dances, for sublime Fustian and magnificent Nonsense, it comes not short of Drary-lane or Lincolns-inn-fields. But, to leave off this Bombast, with which the Booths have infected me, and deliver myself in a more familiar Style, you are to know, that, at this present Writing, your humble Servant is in a Musick-booth; yet, tho' he is distracted with a thousand Noises and Objects, as a Maid whirling round with a dozen Rapiers at her Neck, a Dance of Chimney-sweepers, and a Fellow standing on his Head on the top of a Quartpot, he has both Leisure and Patience enough to Writ to you. Smithfield had always the Reputation of being a Place of Persecution, with this difference, that the Women do that in this Age which the Priests did in the last, and make as many poor Sinners suffer as by Fire. Cheap- side Cits come to see horned Beasts brought hither from all Parts of the World, when they might behold the very same Monsters at home, if they would but be at the pains of consulting their own Looking-glasses: The pious Reformers of the City have been long endeavouring to put down this Nursery of Wickedness and Irreligion, as they call it; but the beloved Wives of their own Bosoms, and their virtuous Daughters, better understand their own Interest, than to lose any Opportunity of getting abroad and planting Cuckoldom and Fornication, as their Mothers did before ' 'em. Certainly no Place sets Mankind more upon a level than Smithfield does; Lords and Bellows-menders, Beaux and Fleaers of dead Horses, Colonels and Foot-soldiers, Bawds and Women of Virtue, walk Cheek by Jowl in the Cloisters, and jostle one another by Candle-light, as familiarly as Nat. Lee's Gods in Oedipus jostle one another in the dark. The poor Vizard-masks suffer most unmercifully; no sooner can one of this Character show her Head within this privileged Place, but she is hurried into a Corner, and a hundred several Hands are examining at once whether she carries any Contraband-goods about her. The Woman's Children in the Maccabees, that chose rather to suffer than pollute themselves with Swines-flesh, would have died ten thousand Deaths rather than so much as tasted a Pig's Ear in Smithfield, with a thousand of Prince Molach's Subjects floating in the Sauce about him. But I suppose our virtuous People swallow Pig and Pork so earnestly to show their Aversion to Judaisme. So much may suffice at present, for I am just now going to a Puppet-show to see the Creation of the World and Noah's Flood, which will give me more Satisfaction, I don't question, than Dr. Woodward's Hypothesis, Mr. Whiston's Theory, or any new System of our modern Vertuoso's. I am your most humble Servant. A Consolatory Letter to my Lady— on the Death of her Husband. Madam, I Was very much surprised to hear that your Ladyship took so much to Heart, the Loss of your Husband, that your Relations should not be able to Conquer so obstinate a Grief, or that a Person of your good Sense and Resolution should be so unfashionable and so weak, as to pay that Respect to the Ashes of the Dead, which well-bred Women nowadays can scarce afford to the Living; I will not pretend to attack your Grief in the common Forms, I will not represent to you, that all Flesh is Grass, that nothing is exempt from the Laws of Fate, and that 'tis in vain to regret a Loss which it was not in our Power to prevent; these threadbare Topics I shall leave to Divines and Philosophers, and shall content myself, to oppose your Lamentations, with Arguments better suited to your present Condition. 'Tis true, Madam, you have lost a Husband, but what of that? have not Thousands done so before you? but then consider, that his Death makes room for a new Election. A Widow ought no more to afflict herself for the Death of her Husband, than a Country Corporation ought to go into Mourning for the Death of the Member that represented 'em in Parliament; for without staying for a Writ from the Clerk of the Crown, she may proceed to a new Choice as soon as she sees convenient. Your Husband, God be thanked, has neither carried your Youth with him into the other World, nor your Jointure; could he have robbed you of either of those Blessings, you might have just Reason to complain; but I think a Woman's Condition is not very desperate, when her two surest Friends, her Beauty and her Wealth stick close to her. As you have Charms, and Money enough to procure you store of Lovers, so in my Opinion, it must needs be an agreeable Diversion in your present Sorrow, (for I will allow you, Madam, to keep up the Appearance of it) to observe the different Style and Language of your Admirers, one will tell you, that he adores the Perfections of your Soul, exclusive of all Worldly Considerations; but, Madam, have a care of these Platonics, for a Man that makes vigorous Court to the Body, is worth a Thousand Coxcombs, that pretend to be in Love with your Soul; another will tell you, that he is ready to hang or drown for your Sake, and desires you to choose what sort of Death for him you think fit, if you deny him that Blessing wherein his Life can be only happy. Be governed by me, Madam, and take such a Lover at his Word, if he decently dispatch himself; you may take it from me, that he loved in earnest, but if he fails to give you this Testimony of his Affection, you may conclude him to be a Hippocrite; a third perhaps will boast of his Acres, and tell you what a large Settlement he will make you, whatever you do, pray take care of these Smithfield Gentlemen, for not one in a Thousand is honest at bottom. It will be a pleasant Amusement to you, to manage these Humble Servants of yours so artificially, as to make all of 'em hope; yet, at the same time jealous of one another, to steal a kind Glance sometimes at one, and bestow a gracious Nod sometimes upon another, and after you have thoroughly examined their several Merits and Qualifications, to proceed in your Choice, as the Cardinals do at the Election of a Pope, and pitch upon one, which, in all probability, is likely to make a seed vacant. Thus, Madam, instead of dwelling upon the Illustrious Qualities of the Defunct, to the usual Method of common Comforters, I have made bold to lay down before you, the Measures you are to take with the Living. I confess I have ventured upon a Task for which I am no ways fitting: Solomon has told us, That the Hearts of Kings are unsearchable; which, I suppose, he knew to be so by his own Case; he might have added, when his Hand was in, That the Hearts of Widows are past finding out: Thus, Madam, you are not to wonder, if the Directions I have given you, are none of the surest; however, such as you see 'em, they are at your Service, as is likewise, Madam, Your most Obedient and Faithful, etc. To Mr. Moult, upon the breaking up of Bartholomew-fair. Sept. 12, 99 Dear Sir, THe Glory is departed from Smithfield, and Intriguing has left the Cloisters; in short, Bartholomew-fair is over, Et voila mon Ami les miserables Effets d' une si grand● Revolution. Those very individual Persons, who, two Days ago, glittered in Imperial Tinsel, governed Kingdoms in Imagination, commanded Legions, and talked sublime Heroic in Tragic Buskins; those very Persons, I say, who put the Sun out of Countenance in his double Capacity, both as the God of Poetry, and the Governor of the Day, who, out-shone him at Noon with their brighter Bristol Stones, and out metaphored all Parnassus in the Booth, who commanded Respect from the inferior Mobb, and drew the Eyes of the whole City, more than a Lord-Mayor at a Public Cavalcade: — Quis talia fando, Myrmidonum, Dolopumve, aut duri miles Vlyssis, Temperet à lachrymis? Are now, by a most wonderful Revolution of Fate, divested of all their Splendour and Magnificence, their Troops, their Armies, nay, their very Guards have deserted 'em; they are now reduced to the common Obscurity of Mankind; instead of the most exquisite Wine, that used to Crown their Glasses, we find 'em now burying the Regret of their lost Sovereignty in humble Slip, or more humble Aniseed; and are glad to be trusted for a Dinner at a Boiling-cook's, and snore contentedly in a Garret. And those charming Dulcibella's, who, by the unparalleled Lustre of their Eyes, forced Monarches to lay their Sceptres at their Feet, who had the Disposal of Kingdoms and Dominions, who stole away the Hearts of all Beholders, and, when ever they pleased, drew either Admiration or Pity from the Spectators, are now, by their like Inconstancy of Fortune, obliged to return to the Privacies of a less pompous Life. They, whom Yesterday Sun beheld so majestically secure, that they refused a gracious Smile to prostrate Princes; Nunc in quadriviis, & angiportis, Glubunt magnanimos Bruti nepotes. Are now glad to dispense their utmost Favours, for no higher a Bribe than a Silver-thimble, and a double-guilt Brass-ring at most. They pollute themselves with the sorrowful Embraces of their Fellow-sufferers: In the Daytime, foot Stockings, wash Footman's Socks, and charitably make up Breaches in old. Muslin and Lace; regale themselves with a Pint of Milk at Noon, and Gray-pease at Night, trudge it on Foot from Charing-cross to the Change; and, with their officious Elbows, remind all the Passers-by of their desolate Condition: In fine, They, who so lately commanded the whole Universe, are under perpetual Alarms from Watchmen and Constables; and, though they so often Fee the savage Justice's Clerk, are often forced to submit to the barbarous Discipline of Bridewell and New-prison. But tho' Bartholomew-fair be dead, and buried for a Twelvemonth, yet, it is some Consolation to us, that it revives in both the Playhouses. Poetry is so little regarded here, and the Audience is so taken up with Show and Sight, that an Author need not much trouble himself with what he Writes, so he is but in fee with the Dancing-masters, and has but Songs enough to lard his dry Composition. One would almost swear, that Smithfield had removed into Drury-lane, and Lincolns-Inn-fields, since they set so small a Value on Wit and Sense, and so such Trifles that have no Relation to the Play. To convince you, that I have Reason for what I say, I will Transcribe one of their own Bills, that you may see what sorry Entertainment they are now accustomed to. By the by, I am to tell you, that some of their late Bills are so very monstrous, that neither we, nor our Forefathers, ever knew any thing like them, they are as long as the Title Pages to some of Mr. Prin's Works, nay, you may read the Gazette, even when it is most crowded with Advertisements, sooner than run over one of them. In the first Place, here are to be seen, the Mimic Entertainments of Mr. Clinch of Barnet, who makes a most incomparable Consort with a Pair of Tongues, and a Key. In the next Place, there is to be a Dance of Bohemian Women; then the worthy Gentleman that danced the Cheshire-rounds, has been pleased, at the Instance of several Persons of Quality, to show his Parts upon the Stage. It were to be wished the War had continued, for than we had not been overrun with a Parcel of fine light-heeled Messieurs, who are a greater Nuisance to our Theatre, than the Privateers were to our Merchantmen in the Channel: We had Mons. L'Abadie, Mons. Balloon, the Famous Burlesque Dancers from Paris, and the Famous Madam— 'Las— that had the Honour to Dance before the Duke of Orleans, the Dauphin, and the Lord knows how many Persons of Honour: Besides, I had liked to have forgot to tell you, that one of their Bills promised us wonderful Things, from a Gentleman that sung like a Turkeycock. Shortly, I suppose, we shall have all sorts of Sights and Shows here, as, Jumping through a Hoop; for why may we not have that as well as Mr. Symsons Vaulting upon the Wooden-horse, Dancing upon the high Ropes, Leaping over eight men's Heads, Wrestling, Boxing, Cudgeling, Fight at Backsword, and Quarterstaff, Bear-baiting, and all the other noble Exercises, that divert his Majesty's People at Hockley i'th' Hole? not forgetting the witty Pranks of Punchinello, and the merry Conceits of the little Pickle-herring. What a wretched Pass is this wicked Age come to, when Ben. Johnson, and Shakespeare want go down with 'em, without these Baubles to recommend 'em, and nothing but Farce and Grimaces will go down? For my part, I wonder they have not incorporated Parson Bu— ess in their Society, for after the Auditors are stupefied with a dull Scene, or so, he would make a shift to relieve 'em: In short, Mr. Collier may save himself the trouble of writing against the Theatres, for, if these lewd Practices are not laid aside, and Sense and Wit come in play again, a Man may easily foretell, without pretending to the Gift of Prophecy, that the Stage will be short-lived, and that the strong Kentish Man will take Possession of the two Playhouses, as he has done of that in Dorset-garden. I am Your Humble Servant. P. S. The only News we have at present, is, that the strong Kentish Man (of whom you have heard so many Stories) has taken Possession of the Theatre in Dorset-garden; and how they'll get him out again the Lord knows, for he threatens to thrash all the Poets, if they pretend to disturb him in his new Quarters. Mr. Joseph Hains, was his Master of the Ceremony, and introduced him in a Prologue upon the Stage; and indeed, who was so fit to do it, as this Person, whose Breath is as strong, as the Kentish Man's Back. I don't doubt, but that several of the Ladies, who saw this Prodigy of a Man, longed to try a Fall with him in Private, like the Woman in Ovid, that was desirous to lie with Hercules, upon the score of his Strength. Her Words, unless my Memory fails me, were these, — Subiit me magna cupido, Far virum, tulerat qui prius ipse polum. She had heard that Hercules had bore Heaven upon his Back, which set her Concupiscence upon Tiptoes, to bear so Heavenly-minded a Champion; like Citizens, that long to Intrigue with the Minister, in Hopes to partake in his Godliness. To W. K. Esq Being a Relation of a Journey to London. Sir, YOu are earnest to know how I got to Town, and what Adventures I met upon the Road. Since you can condescend to entertain yourself with Trifles of this Nature, be pleased to take them as they follow: As soon as I came to Reading, I sent the Man of the House, where I lay that Night, to inquire what Places were taken in the Coach; who brought me word, that only one Place was taken, and that for a Woman. I presently represented to myself some Maid, Wife or Widow of Nineteen, with black roguy Eyes, cherry Cheeks, narrow Mouth, swelling Breasts, and a Breath as sweet as Violets. I thanked my kind Stars for this favourable Opportunity, and with these pleasant Imaginations passed away the Night very agreeably. Next Morning, full of these charming Ideas, I made haste to the Inn where the Coach lay: But, good Heavens! no sooner did I peep within the booted Caravan, but I found myself the most lamentably disappointed that ever poor Sinner was. Instead of the Beauty I had represented to myself, behold an old Gentlewoman with formidable Whiskers, her Nose and Chin as ready to meet as the two Ends of a Halfmoon, and a dismal Forehead-cloth into the Bargain, cooled my Courage. A Man of more Piety than myself would have thanked Heaven for being so favourable to him, and securing him from a Temptation; but, I'faith, I could not find in my Heart to do it. Into the Coach I stepped, but with as much Regret on my side, as a Transport enters a Virginia Ship, and, without so much as bidding her Ladyship Good-morrow, I composed myself to sleep as well as I could; and, being pretty well prepared for it, by what I had been doing the Night before, slept ten Miles perpendicular, without the least interruption, till we came to Maidenhead. Here we took up a Captain, and two Gentlemen besides. The Captain was one of the most agreeable entertaining Gentlemen that ever could have atoned for my former Disappointment: He had been in the Service ever since the Campaigning at Hounslow, since which he had seen most of the Action in Scotland, Ireland, and Flanders. Our Conversation at first ran upon Politics: Religion succeeded to that Discourse; and, when we were weary with that Subject, by one unanimous Consent, we fell upon Women. The Captain, who, as I told you before, was a Man of Wit and Pleasantry, diverted us extremely upon this Argument: He told us, that as other Gentlemen devoted their Time to Geometry or Music, or any thing else which they fancied, he had made it his Business to study Women, and had arrived to so great a Perfection in this noble Science, that, after the first Interview, he could as certainly tell how many Days a Woman would hold out, and when she would deliver, as Monsieur Vauban could tell when any Town would surrender. I compare, says he, a Woman to a Fortification; In the first place, because it is in my own Way. And, secondly, because there's the greatest Resemblance in the World between them. There's no Fortification so strong, nor no Woman so virtuous, but, by open Force or Stratagem, may be made to yield. The World is at liberty to talk what it pleases; but I positively maintain, that every Woman is to be taken: They are either to be undermined by Flattery, or won by Bribery, which we Military Men call Capitulation, or else (but it does not happen once in a hundred Years) to be managed by downright Strength. Now all the Art lies to know how to employ these Expedients. Some Ladies will be flattered into Love, whom all the Bribes that stir about Weminster-hall in a Session can never move: And others, by far the greatest part of the Sex, are to be managed by Money, who have too much Discretion to be imposed upon by Flattery. And there are others too great for Bribery, and insensible to all the Flattery in the World, that must be vanquished by Force. Tho' their Inclinations, Gentlemen, are as rampant as yours, nay perhaps fiercer, yet they would seem to be forced; they think 'tis an Excuse for their Infirmity, and quarrel with you after you have obliged them. It was my Fortune, Gentlemen, about some eight Years ago, to be quartered upon an Elder, when some of our Troops were in Scotland: His Wife, as to her Beauty, was but indifferent, but she was young, and she belonged to the Kirk, which were two extraordinary Temptations, especially the latter. I offered her half a Piece, which was a mighty Sum in that Country, but could not prevail. Then I laid out all my Stock of Rhetoric upon her, and made a Goddess of this Coquette, but to as little effect as before. At last it came into my Head to take the following course; I spoke well of the Covenant, and railed at the Bishops, after I found her communicative enough of her Person. The next Summer we were sent for over into Ireland, and, after the decisive Battle of the Boyn, pursued the broken Remains of K. James' Army. In short, gentlemans, I have tried all the Tricks in the World with them, and find, by long Experience, that Flattery does more than sincere Dealing with them, and Drink more than Flattery, Money more than that, and Religion, I mean the Pretence of it, more than Flattery, Drink and Money put together. This you may take for granted, for Spinosa and Vanninus never made a quarter so many Atheists, as Love. Since I am upon this Argument, Gentlemen, and we have nothing else to talk of, give me leave to tell you a short Story relating to this Affair: The Scene lies in Wales, or the Borders of it, I want be positive, but I dare swear it will divert you for want of a better: In the Country abovementioned lives a Family, very remarkable for their Godliness, by the same token that there were always three or four Presbyterian Divines, with as many young Cubs of the Schism, to keep the House in due Order. From Morning to Night there was nothing but Exhortation, and Use, and Application was to be heard within the Walls. The Cook exhorted the Butler, the Groom gave Spiritual Advice to the Gardener: Yet, amidst all this Whining and Praying, and Singing of Psalms, the Devil, who owed the Family a Grudge, for making this Mock-War against him, seduced my Lady's Praying-Gentlewoman to commit Acts of Wickedness with one of the Knight's Praying-Footmen: This zealous Pair managed the Matter with so little Discretion, that their Amour was discovered by some of their Fellow-servants; but godly People, you know, think themselves above Scandal. At last, word was brought to the old Lady, that they were actually in Bed. At first she disbelieved the News, but finding it confirmed by other Witnesses, she went to this Scene of Lewdness, taking with her a Smith to break open the Door, in case of Opposition, and a Nonconformist Parson to awake their Consciences for them, in case they found them Impenitent. Upon the first Alarm that my Lady gave them, the Lovers would not answer; but when they found the Smith began to break open the Door in good earnest, the Footman got up and opened it. The old Lady could hardly forbear striking them, so much was her holy Spleen provoked at the Profanation of her House: But she thundered out Judgements plentifully against them, and the Divine that was with her did the same. In short, the Footman had his Livery stripped over his Ears, and the poor Wench was sent Home to her Relations, by the same token that she attempted to drown herself by the way. This godly Family was in a strange Disorder to be defiled thus with Fornication; and the Master of it, being then in London, this unhappy News was sent to him, withal desiring his Advice to know what must be done upon this Occasion. He ordered the Bed, upon which this sinful Action had been committed, to be carried out of the Gates of the House, and there to be burnt. On the Day when this was put in execution, the discarded Footman chanced to come by, as Fire was set to the offending Materials, and being told the reason of it, My Master, says he, might have let this Bonfire alone; for, to my knowledge, if he's resolved to punish in this manner every Bed that has been accessary to Fornication, there's not one in the House can escape him. The Captain had just made an end of his Story as the Coach was got upon the Stones. I took my leave of the Company in the Hay-market, being obliged, as you know, to visit Mr. C—; by whom I find, that there's no stirring for me out of Town this Month or two. Had not the end of our Journey caused a Separation of our Company, I question not but the witty Conversation of my Fellow-traveller would have furnished me with something farther to have entertained you; but since our different Affairs robbed me of the Opportunity, I beg you to accept, at second-hand, what I have borrowed from another to oblige you, and you will more than recompense the good Intentions of Your humble Servant. A Love-Letter from an Officer in the Army, to a Widow whom he was desperately in Love with before he saw her. THo' I never had the Happiness to see you, no, not so much as in a Picture, and consequently can no more tell, what Complexion you are of, than he that lives in the remotest part of China; yet, Madam, I am fallen passionately in Love with you, and this Affection has taken so deep root in me, that in my Conscience I could die a Martyr for you, with as much Alacrity, as thousands have done for their Religion; though they were as ignorant of the Truth, for which they died, as I am of your Ladyship. This may surprise you, Madam, but you'll cease to wonder, when I shall acquaint you what it was, that not only give Birth to my Passion, but has so effectually confirmed it. Last Week, riding into the Country about my lawful Affairs, it was my Fortune to see a most magnificent Seat upon the Road; this excited my Curiosity to inquire after the Owner of so beautiful a Pile; and being told, that it belonged to your Ladyship, I began that very Moment to have a strange Inclination for you; but when I was farther informed, that some two thousand Acres of the best Ground in England, belonged to this noble Fabric, together with a fine Park, variety of Fishponds, and such like Conveniencies; I than fell up to the Ears in Love, and concluded to list myself in the Number of your humble Servants: Thought I to myself, the Owner of so many agreeable Things, must needs be the most charming Lady in the Universe: What tho' she be old, her Trees are green? What tho' she has lost all the Rofes in her Cheeks, she has enough in her Gardens? What signifies it tho' she be barren, since her Acres are fruitful? With these Thoughts, I lighted from my Horse, and on the sudden fell so enamoured with your Ladyship, that I told my Passion to every Tree in your Park, which, by the by, are the tallest, straitest, loveliest, finest shaped Trees I ever saw; and have since wore out above two dozen Penknives, in Engravening your Name upon their Barks. I will now appeal to your Ladyship, whether any Lover, ever went upon more solid Motives than myself. Those who are wholly influenced by Beauty, will infallibly find their Passion decay with that; those who pretend to admire a Woman for the Qualities of her Mind, aught to consider her Soul abstractedly from her Body; and he that loves not a Woman for her Flesh, as well as her Spirit, is only fit, in my Opinion, to make his Court to a Spectre; whereas you need not question the Sincerity of my Passion which is built upon the same Foundation with your House, grows with your Trees, and will daily increase with your Estate: For all I know to the contrary, your Ladyship may be the handsomest Woman in the World; but believing you are so, but whether you are or no, signifies not a Farthing, while you have Money enough to set you off, tho' you were ten times Uglier than the present red-nosed Countess of—, and older than the famous Countess of Desmond. I am a Soldier by my Profession, and as I fought for Pay, so, with Heaven's Blessing, I design to love for Pay; all your other Suitors would speak the same Language to you, were they as honest as myself; this I will tell you for your Comfort, Madam, that if you pitch upon me, you'll be the first Widow upon Record, from the Creation of the World, to this present Hour, that ever chose a Man for telling her the Truth. An Exhortatory Letter, to an old Lady that smoked Tobacco. Madam, THough the illnatured World censures you for Smoking, yet I would all vice you, Madam, not to part with so innocent a Diversion; In the first place it is Healthful, and as Galen in the usu Partium rightly observes, is a sovereign Remedy for the Toothache, the usual Persecutor of old Ladies. Secondly, Tobacco, though it be a Heathenish Weed, is a great help to Christian Meditations; for which is the Reason I suppose that Recommends it to our Parsons; the Generality of whom, can no more write a Sermon without a Pipe in their Mouths, than a Concordance in their Hands: besides, every Pipe you broke, may serve to put you in mind of Mortality, and let you see upon what slender Accidents, Man's Life depends. I knew a Country Minister, who on Fast-days used to mortify upon a Rump of Beef, because it put him, as he said, in mind, that all Flesh was Grass; but I am sure much more may be learned from Tobacco. It may instruct you that Riches, Beauty, and all the Glories of this World vanish like a Vapour. Thirdly, It is a pretty Play-thing: A Pipe is the same to an old Woman, that a Gallant is to a young one, by the same Token they make both Water at Mouth. Fourthly and Lastly, It is fashionable, at lest 'tis in a fair way of becoming so; cold Tea, you know, has been this long while in Reputation at Court, and the Gill as naturally ushers in the Pipe, as the Sword-bearer walks before the Lord-Mayor. I am your ladyship's humble Servant. To Sir W. S—. January 8. I Have, according to your Order, sent you down by the Canterbury Coach, the satire against Wit, and the Poetae Britannici, two incompar able Pieces in their Kind, and which will certainly give you a great deal of Diversion, if you are to be diverted by Dullness and Defamation, or what is as bad as Defamation, by vile, lousy Panegyric. The former of these two Poems came like Melchisedeck into the World, without Father or Mother; I mean the Author, for several Reasons best known to himself, has not thought fit to set his Name before it: however, he is not so concealed as he fancies himself; for if there is any certainty in Physiognomy, or the Child to be known by resembling the Features of the Father, as they say the Austrian Family are by the Lip; it was undoubtedly written by the City Bard, the same worthy Gentleman, who about three Years ago lampooned K. William in an Heroic Poem, by the same Token, that he was Knighted for it. I have been told he has disowned the Bastard in several Companies, but that won't serve his turn: The Grand Jury at Will's have found the Bill against him; so now he must even take the Brat home, and bring it up its Father's Religion, Hypocrisy and Backbiting. A Friend of mine t'other Day, said a very pleasant thing, methought upon this Occasion, A satire against Wit; that is, says he, a satire against every individual Subject King William has in his Dominions, for there's never a Man between St. Michael's Mount, in Cornwall, and Barwick upon Tweed, but thinks himself a Wit, whatever the World may think of him; nay, I dare engage that the Author himself, for all his Aversion to Wit, does not believe this satire is without it. 'Tis the most fantastical Mixture of Hypocrisy and Scandal you ever saw: The Writer of it, (which he shows by his Scurrility and Want of good Manners) sets up for an Advocate of Religion, and pretends that a Confederacy is carrying on in Covent-garden, to Banish that and Learning out of the World. By the terrible Description he makes of some People, one would be apt to think that the Goths and Vandals, who have been buried under Ground for so many hundred Ages, were newly sprung up in Russel-street, and going with Fire and Faggot to set all our Libraries in Ashes; and when that was done, to knock all the Parsons in the Head, and ravish all the Women between Temple-bar and White-chappel. But Dr. Otes' forty thousand Pilgrims, with their black Bills, and so forth, don't smell so much of Romance. All the Reason I know of he has to make this hideous Outcry, is, because the Dispensary has made bold to expose the rumbling Fustian of his two arthur's, and some honest Gentlemen, that now and then use to drink a Dish of Tea at Will's, have been guilty of the horrid Sin of speaking the Truth, and condemning his Rhymes. A strange thing this? that a Man must be an Atheist, only for calling Dullness by its proper Name, and a Rake, because he has too much Honesty to Flatter one of the most stupid execrable Poems, that has plagued the World since the Days of Quarles and Ogilby. As I told you before, the Author of this incomparable satire has been pleased to disown it; but he has acknowledged enough to do his Business. He has owned to a Person of the indelible Character, who complimented him upon the Writing of it, and told him, that an indelible Mark was stamped upon all his Works, that indeed he Corrected and Revised it (if another had been to Correct it, he would have done it with martials una litura;) but indeed did not Write it: However, this is enough in all Conscience, for next to the Scandal of Writing such a confounded satire, that of Correcting and Revising it, deserves the next place. But in satire and Murder, there's no such thing as Accessories, but every Man is a Principal. It would look like too Solemn a Confutation of such Ribaldry, to say that the Gentlemen, whom he has abused, have improved and cultivated our Tongue, have obliged the World with several Works that will be read with Admiration, and remembered with Gratitude, when his are forgotten, that they think it no Disgrace to their Learning, to accompany it with good Manners, that they know when to unbend themselves to Pleasure, and when to apply to Business, that they don't affect a Gravity which after all becomes none but mysterious Blockheads, nor show their Morals, by censuring those of their Neighbours; I say, it would look too solemn, to say any thing like this in their Justification, since not only their own Works speak for them, but they are sufficiently commended, by being made the Heroes of his Libel. Among other merry Doctrines he advances, he tells the World, that 'tis impossible for a Man to be a Wit, and not a Rake; this I suppose he calculated for the Meridian of Cheapside, and for the Consolation of his City-Friends, whom all the World will clear from the Imputation of being Wits; and yet, with all due Respect to my Lord-Mayor and Aldermen be it spoken, I believe there are as many of that Character within the City-walls, as there are in Covent-garden, and stupid senseless Coxcombs too, that discredit Pleasure, and Murder that which was designed to enliven Conversation. He principally levels his Indignation at Mr. Dryden, and among other Sins, taxes him with Flattery. If Flattery is to be Pardoned in any sort of Men, it certainly aught to be in the Poets; but for my part, I don't think them more guilty of it, than the rest of Mankind, who all agree to make their Courtship to Wealth and Greatness; and if it is a Sin to flatter Greatness, they do neither better nor worse than all the World, who, perhaps, have not the same Excuse. If Man were minded to be ill-natured, he might easily turn the Tables upon the Church, and show that the Parsons have flattered as much as the Poets. If the Latter in their Epistles Dedicatory bestow Wit and Learning upon Blockheads, the Former have bestowed Grace, and the Lord knows how many Christian Virtues upon those that never possessed them. What makes it look worse in the Parsons than the Poets? Is it, that the Latter are privileged by Function, whereas the former are Men of Grimace, and are supposed to deal in nothing but Truth: But 'tis a Jest, that the City Bard should fall foul upon any one for Flattery; he that has been guilty of the grossest, vilest Flattery imaginable, and prostituted the Dignity of an Epic Poem, more than any one before him. An Epic Poem is a noble magnificent Composition; the chief End of it is to excite Men to Virtue, by celebrating illustrious Examples, and proposing them to Imitation. 'Tis a Public sort of a Building, like that of a Temple, or a Town-hall; now as a Man that designs to build any such Structure, if he intends to adorn it with Statues, aught to set up those of celebrated Men, of Kings, or Princes, or Bishops, and not his Barber's because he Trims him well, or his Shooe-maker's, because he has got the Length of his Foot: So in Epic Poem, an Author should only introduce Men of Figure into his Work, and not throw away his Incense upon mean or obscure Persons, merely because they are his Friends, and now and then drink a Glass a Wine with him at the Three Tuns. Yet the Author of the two Arthur's, has not only done this, but has (to his immortal Credit be it spoken) introduced satire into an Epic Poem, which no one did before him, and I dare swear no one will ever attempt the like after him, except such a sordid Imitator, as he that has Burlesqued our Saviour in Heroic. But to return to our Satirist: You and I, and every Body has been charmed with the honourable Mr. boil's Answer to a stiff haughty Grammarian that shall be nameless, but is known well enough. Never did Wit and Learning Triumph so gloriously over Dullness and Pedantry, as in that noble Book; and never was any Argument managed with that Variety of Learning, and those agreeable Turns of Wit. Accordingly it had not only a kind Reception in England, but elsewhere. The Foreign Journals, gave it the Commendation it deserves, and all the Polite Judges in Europe were pleased to see an arrogant Pedant, that had been crowding his Head twenty Years together with the Spoils of Lexicons and Dictionaries, worsted and foiled by a young Gentleman, upon his own Dunghill, and by his own Criticisms. Thus one would have thought that Mr. boil's Merit and Quality would have secured him from any scurrilous Treatment; and that his Enemies, if he could have any such, would be content to Envy him in Private, and never have the Impudence to Attack him in Public. And yet the noble Author of the satire against Wit, has villainously insinuated, that the Gentleman I have been talking of, did not Write the Book, to which he prefixed his own Name. I will appeal to you, whether 'tis possible for any Suggestion to be more malicious and base than This; and whether the Publisher of it can be used too scurvily, aught to be treated with any good Manners, which he has so notoriously violated. They talk of squibbling him with Epigrams; for my part, I think 'tis doing him too much Honour, and making him more considerable than he deserves; however, if they go on with it, I shall not be wanting to contribute my Quota to so Pious a Design. 'Tis now high time to come to the Author of the Poetae Britannici: I do the Scoundrel too much Honour to name him; but since two or three Advertisements have set him out in all his Trappings, for once I shall condescend to mention him: His Name is Cobb, the same numerical Blew-coatboy, that some Years ago Writ a merry Pindaric upon the Queen's Death, which was presented for Blasphemy at the Old-baily. I can't imagine how it could come into the Head of so obscure a Wretch, to think he could do any Honour to the Persons he pretends to commend, or that his Censure should be taken in Prejudice of the meanest Scribbler in Town. Thus I have given you a short Account of these two Lampoons; I should have made a Scruple to obey your Commands, (the only time I was ever like to Disobey you) in sending them down to you, but that I considered with myself, that your Worship in all probability has been a great Transgressor these Christmas-holidays, and Trespassed most enormously with your Tenants in Roast-beef and March-beer; for which Reason it may not be amiss for you to do Penance, as I reckon you will most plentifully, if you can have Patience to Read over the City Bard's and the Bluecoat Scriber's Poem. I am, with all Respect, Your most humble Servant. To a Physician in the Country. Sir, WE are almost barren of News; the War betwixt the Northern Crowns, and the Poetical Physicians is the only Subject at present; Holstein and Riga, Cheapside and Covent-garden the Scene of all our Coffee-house Debates. What passes in our two first, the public Prints will inform you; the latter I shall endeavour to give you some Account of: You are not Ignorant of the Civil War that is broke out amongst the Subjects of Apollo, and the Disorders in Parnassus. Two brawny Heroes, the Sons of Paeon, head the opposite Factions; both have signalised themselves extraordinarily one in four Poems, which he has Printed, and tother in a Poem printed four times. The City Bard takes Arms, to drive out Wit, as an Evil Counsellor from all the Rellins of Apollo. The Covent-garden Hero rises in its Defence, and maintains its Services. This Quarrel is so far spread, that it's not like to be decided Proprio Marte; each Chief has his Faction, the Knight of the Round-table has gathered a Body of Mercenaries, to whom, on the other side, are opposed a Squadron of Auxiliary Volunteers; and thus, as in Forty One, Blew-aprons, and Laced-coats are drawn up against one another, and the Rabble and Gentlemen set together by the Ears; each Side confident of Success, that trusting to their Multitudes, this to their Courage and Conduct. The Pestle and Mortar-men are drawn up against the Esculapian Band; the first, who like Tailors and Women measure the Goodness of every Thing by the length, assert the good old Cause of long Bills, and long Poems, against the Jus Divinum of Efficacy and Sense; and think it infinitely more Meritorious to write three or four Folio's without Wit, than to fill a small Octavo with it, and prefer the Art of Swelling a Bill, before the Skill to Cure a Disease. The Cheapside Hero, they say, devotes himself wholly to their Service, and Rhimes as well as Prescribes to the use of their Shops: However, this doughty Chief, in the midst of his Cheapside Triumphs, has been brought under Martial Discipline, and forced to run the Gauntlet in Covent-garden, and switched through the whole Posse of Parnassus, for fight against the Law of Arms with false Colours. Those that favour his Cause complain of the Injustice and Indignity of his Punishment, alleging, he suffers for what he never did. They on the other Hand defend their Proceed, and affirm they know him through his Disguise, and that coming upon 'em in Masquerade, he ought to suffer as a Spy, or an Assassin, and deserves no more Quarter, than he gives to his Patients. Notwithstanding this, his Party have rallied once more, and the Mercenaries are brought to the Attack, who hope to affect that by Stratagem, that they despair of by plain Force; and, like the Scots at the Bass, since they can't reduce 'em by Arms, attempt to Poison them with Stink-pots. At the Head of those, is a Mendicant Rhymer, one that begs with a Poem, like a Pass in his Hand, and with a shame Brief, as a Sufferer by Poetic Fire; has Collected the Charity of well-disposed Persons through all Parnassus for above twice twelve Months; and like a true Beggar, when he has tired 'em out, falls a Railing: For a Bribe from his Balad-Printer's not large enough to Rob him of the Benefit of the Act of Parliament, for the Relief of Poor Prisoners; and the Promise of a Dinner now and then from Sir Arthur, he has consented to Libel his Benefactors, and return to his old Quarters, and subsist for the Remainder of his Life upon the Basket. Thus countenanced and encouraged, he lays about him most desperately, and like one not much concerned for the Success, draws his Incense, and his Ammunition from the same House of Office. Friends and Foes are treated alike in Compliment, he paints one with the same Sir-reverence, that he aims to bedaub the other; and when his Hand is in, like the Conqueror in Hudibrass' Ovation, bestows his Ordure very liberally amongst the Spectators. Thus, Sir, I have given you a true Account of the State of the Poetical War, headed on both Sides by Gentlemen of your Faculty; among whom, though here has been no Bloodshed, there has been as much Noise of Slaughter and Execution, as in Holstein, or Livonia. You may expect more on the same Subject, for the Quarrel is not like to drop, while H—ns can tell his Fingers, or P— subsist on Mumping in Metre. I am, etc. LOVE-LETTERS, WRITTEN By Mr.— to Madam— I Had a Mind to know, Madam, whether you had quarrelled with me t'other Night, at the— or not; and therefore, writing to you Yesterday, I find now that you are angry at something; but may I be discarded, if I know the Reason: If you have made a Quarrel on my approving—, I beg your Pardon, and shall henceforth do Violence to my own Reason, and contradict Mankind to agree with you: 'Tis hard to find any Sympathy in Hearts, where there's such Contrariety in Opinions. I shall therefore, Madam, henceforth square my Sentiments to yours in every thing; and if you will quarrel without a Cause, I will oblige you, and do so too. Your Uneasiness, Madam, wrongs either your own Charms or my Sincerity; either of which is a sensible Abuse to me. 'Tis a hard Fate, that you can't love and be easy, and I can't desist and live: but I can die to make you happy; an ill-natured Line or two does the Business; for I cannot bear the Spleen, the Rheumatism, and your Displeasure at once. So, Madam, strike now, and for ever quit yourself of an unfortunate Man, who has but one Hand, which he thinks sufficient, since he can thereby ever own himself Yours. To the same. Madam, Sunday-morning, NExt to my Prayers, I must address my Devotions to you; to you whom I have offended, and to whom I must offer a penitential Sacrifice, if an Oblation of a bleeding Heart can make any Atonement for my Sin, I offer it freely. Heaven is merciful, and so should you be; I dare not approach, without your Permission: If you will Sign my Pardon in a Line from your dear Hand, expect me with all the Joy of a reprieved Malefactor. I am, Madam, happy or miserable, as you please to make me. To the same. WHat shall I say to the dearest Woman upon Earth! Were my Thoughts common, how easily might they be expressed! But the Expression, like the Enjoyment in Love, is lost by a too ardent Desire; my Soul plumes itself in the secret Pride of being beloved by you; and upon so just a Foundation of valuing myself, who can accuse me of Vanity? I can no more compliment what I love, than I can flatter what I hate; and therefore when I tell you, that your Charms are more and more engaging, and my Love improving, believe it for a Truth; hear my Wish, and then conclude me happy: Oh! could I find (grant Heaven that once I may) A Nymph fair, kind, poetical and gay; Whose Love should blaze unsullied and divine, Lighted at first by the bright Lamp of mine: Free from all sordid Ends, from Interest free, For my own sake Affecting only me. What a blessed Union should our Souls combine! I her's alone, as she was only mine; Blest in her Arms, I should immortal grow, Whilst in return, I made my Celia so. Sweet generous Favours should our Loves express, I'd Write for Love, and she should Love for Verse: Not Sacharissa's self, great Waller's Fair, Should for an endless Name with mine compare. She should transcend all that e'er went before, Her Praises, like her Beauty should be more: My Verse should run so high, the World should see, I sung of her, and she inspired me: The World should see that from my Love I drew, At once my Theme, and Inspiration too: Blessed in my Wish, my Fair, I'm blest with you. I went abroad Yesterday morning about seven, and returned about one this morning, slept till past eight, than arose to tell you, that I dreamt of you all the time, and that I am your own. To the same. BY Heavens and Earth (my Dearest) I am tied Neck and Heels with Wine, and Company! All the Spells of Love can't undo the Charm; besides, my Dear, I am almost fuddled; I shall stay here at the Rose till towards eleven; it will be a tedious Walk to go home to Night, considering that you lie upon the same Floor with the Door: It is not impossible, methinks, for a Man of so much Love to slip in Incognito. Your— is with me, there will be a double Pleasure in deceiving him, and being happy in my dear One's Arms; I shall call at the Door, and see whether the Coast be clear: however, this, if it succeeds, will make me the happiest upon Earth—; however, my Dear, run no Hazard that may expose you; but consider, my Dear, the eager Wishes of the faithfullest, and most loving of Mankind. To the same. IF I did not Love, I would not beg, and if ever you loved, you'll grant my Pardon; your Letter, Madam, has tormented me more than all the Favours of your whole Sex besides can please me; if I have lost you, I have lost my self, and shall be lost to all Womankind: My Letter last Night was written in heat of Wine; so Men guilty of Murder in their Drink, repent it all their Lives; mine is a greater Crime, for I have stabbed myself, pierced my own Heart, and now it bleeds with Anguish and Despair. Stabbed my own Heart, and pierced your Image, there the Remembrance of the Happiness I have enjoyed, will now prove the greatest Curse; the melting Sighs, the moving Tears, the Joys, the Raptures that mounted me to Heaven, now cast me down to Hell: I shall now turn Poet in good earnest; And like poor Ovid, banished from his Rome, Curse that destructive Art, that caused his Doom. In short, Madam, I am Mad, and if I think farther, I shall let the World see it. Revoke that word, eternal Silence, or you make me eternally Miserable, for I am now the most Disconsolate of Mankind. To a young Lady. By another Hand. My Dearest Madam, FOr so I must ever think you, I hope you got safe to London, and that your Indisposition is abated, which will be the Means to make mine the more tolerable, since I can more easily bear mine own than yours; You expect I should tell you, how I am; and excepting a little Melancholy, the Reason of which you know, I find myself tolerable, my fever, I think, did not think fit to visit me last Night; I ramble out of one Room into another, now and then I let fall a Tear. I design to come to London, on Sunday next, that my Heart and I, may be in the same Place; till then, believe me most entirely Yours. To the same. I Cannot help telling my Dearest, how much I am hers, what Pleasure I have in her Company, what Pain in her Absence; to love her, is but to see her; and to value her, is only to know her: But pray, my Dear Mrs.—, forget not to drink some Chocolate with me to Morrow, that I may once say, I spent a Sunday well; I am sure I shall have some good Thoughts in the Morning, because I shall think of you; and when I do so, I shall think of one that I passionately Love, and that I hope is not unmindful of Hers. To the same. TO convince you, I am not given to Change, regard but this Piece of Paper, 'tis torn like my Heart at taking leave, and is such a Scribble as I usually writ; I am harsh in my Style, negligent of my Ink, and not too exact in fashioning up my Letter; and cannot have the least Esteem for myself, but when I reflect that I have the Honour to be lokt upon as, Madam, your most Humble. To the same. Dear Madam, 'tIs to you, I must always address to tell me how I do; 'tis no matter, tho' I should find myself in Health, if your Frowns should tell me otherwise; know then, Madam, I languish, or revive, as you smile or look out of Humour; and though, at present, one would guests by my Handwriting, that I am just at the point of Death; yet, I doubt not, but I shall live tell to Morrow Evening, if you would but promise, at that time, to come to Yours. A Letter from a Lady to her Lover, in the French Army; with a Tuft of Hair enclosed in it. Out of the French. Sir, I Have sent you a Pattern of what you formerly used to like so much, and could wish the whole Piece with you: I long to see you, and am sorry, that your Honour is dearer to you, than your Mistress, and that you prefer a Lodging in a Trench to her Arms. I begin to complain of the length of the Campagne; but if it be true, that one of these enclosed in this Letter, can draw more than six Horses, I may have some Hopes they'll pull you hither to me; at least all that's left of you, for I suppose you are too much a Hero, to bring back all your Limbs with you, or to have any thing entire, but your Heart, at your return to Yours. To Madam C—ll. Madam, IT is not without some Pains, Madam, that I have gathered the following Account, which if it proves not advantageous to me; it is at least very satisfactory, to know why I am refused: Because you done't like me. A very substantial Reason, I must confess; and the only one I believe, on which the Virtue of your Sex is grounded: For, Madam, I am satisfied, your Fortress is not Impregnable, and though you won't Capitulate with me, though I offer your own Terms, I know the Man, to whom you would gladly Surrender upon his. A Song, or an amorous Copy of Love-Verses, would gain the Point: 'Tis strange, Madam, that you should be in Love with the Sons of the Muses; those poor Rogues, that can only pay with empty Breath, what I, with substantial Gold, would purchase; and that used to be the most prevailing Argument with your Sex. Adsheart, Madam, half a Crown damns a Poet at any time, and for a Shilling, you may buy what he has puzzled his Brains about half a Year to Collect; then, pray where lies the Curiosity? Now, I should think, a little Money, or a little Wit, clean Linen, and a sweet Breath, might be every jot as acceptable. I may reasonably suppose, your Husband, a very Husband; for Women are generally in Extremes, and your Sickness of the Fool is increased to a Madness for a Wit. Now, Madam, I would advise you, to apply a Medium for your Cure, which you may find in your humble Servant: I am neither Idiot enough, to be called a Driveller; nor Wit enough, to set up for a Poet: yet, I'll venture a Wager, if you'll try, I can leave you as substantial as either. Consider, Madam, on this Advice, and Heaven give you Grace to put it in Practice: I shall expect your Answer, or you may expect the second Part of the same Tune. For in short, Madam, I Love you, and must, and will Possess: I am resolved not to be uneasy thus, when 'tis in your Power to give me Ease. I am, Madam, or will be wholly yours, and I hope to find one Day the same Conclusion, in a Letter from your dear self. Madam C— ll's Answer to— Could I value a Man upon his Fortune, I should condescend to Converse with a Fool, though by your Assurance and Vanity, one would take you for a Wit: my Conversation with the Sons of the Muses, is purely for my Diversion; if I thought you had Sense enough to make me Sport, I would list you in the Number. I'm afraid the Product of your whole Life, want amount to the Value of what you reckon a Poet's half Year's Pains, unless it were to expose yourself, which they can do better for you: You tell me, you have a sweet Breath, but how can that be a sweet Breath, which Stinks so Rankly of Nonsense? You propose a little Money, and a little Wit; but I scorn to be beholding to any Man for the former, and the latter I have it already, without the Arrogance of Riches, and the ill Manners of Vanity. My Husband knows me so well by my Company, and you so well by your Letter, that he has given me leave to Answer it; nay, commanded me, else I had left you a Prey to your Conceit and Vanity; which in a little time, will make you fit for the Stage, and so make you good Company for Women of Sense. Sir, I advise you to make your Valet transcribe your Letters for you, for your own hand Spells worse than a Whore. His Answer to Mrs. C—ll. AN Answer, and by the Husband's Command too; better still, I hope you have Wit enough to make Advantage of the Liberty he gives you: Your Letter, Madam, shows you a Woman of Sense; and the Scarceness of that Commodity in your Sex, renders you the more agreeable: And it ought to be taken into consideration by the Parliament, to prevent the Increase of Fools, that no one Man should engross a Person of Wit to himself: You are very severe, Madam; but no matter, I had rather be the Subject of your Thought this way, than not at all; for I may hope at last to convince you of the Sincerity of my Passion, and Pity is essential to your Sex. But, what am I doing! this is labouring to be a Fool indeed, and losing your Opinion of my Vanity; if you'll let me enter your List, Madam, under what Colours you please, I don't question coming off with Credit. And if you don't confess I have made you as good Sport as any of the Parnassian Family, I'll give you leave to cashier me the next Moment. I'm glad to find such a Reformation in your Sex; but, I doubt, Madam, you'll hardly persuade many of 'em to be of your Mind. For I tell you, Madam, Gold is the women's God; and there's scarce a Duchess in this Kingdom, that can't find an use for a superfluous Sum. I deny your having Wit without Vanity; if you mean in yourself, good Manners obliges me not to contradict you, tho' I have much ado to help reminding you of the following Line, in the Letter, 'tis out, Faith, before I was ware, your Pardon for that: If you mean the Lover, I must tell you, Madam, that no Poet is without the Vanity of ten thousand a Year, and I'll warrant, to assert his own Wit, would venture to Libel a Parliament-man, for hissing his damned dull Plays, though he had picked his Pocket of half a Crown. Look ye, Madam, I have no occasion to expose the Product of my Brain; the Product of my Estate is sufficient to afford me Necessaries; and that's more than your Poetical Friends can warrant from their spare Diet and hard Study. And to answer the Postscript, good Spelling is beneath a Gentleman; so much by way of Answer. Now, Madam, I wish I knew of what Metal, this good Man of yours is made; for I would fain be acquainted with him, 'tis the best way of Intriguing in the World: If he is a Courtier, Flattery makes him my Friend; if he's a Citizen, Custom in his way of Trade; if he serves the King, a Bribe may do the Business; if a Man below these, a hard Word, and a big Look makes you mine; and if I once had Possession, you should find I had Courage enough to defend my own, though with all the Submission to you imaginable. For believe me, Madam, to be the sincerest of all your humble Servants. An Answer. I'M very glad to hear, Sir, that you are a Member of Parliament, for by that means you may prefer a Bill in favour of my Sex, that may provide against the troublesome Suit of those we don't care for. Pray Sir, be kind to the D— of N—; I don't think but an Act of Resumption, in ease of a Wife may pass. If an Act of Parliament make a Cuckold, it may be of dangerous Consequence to all the Husbands in the Nation; for the Subjects will be for following the Example of the higher Powers. I imagine you to be of the Court Party, you understand a Bribe so well; but I can assure you my Husband falls not in your Road; he's no Courtier, consequently not Knave; no Soldier; so not in your Power to use ill; no trusting Cit to oblige your Squireship's Acquaintance; nor Fool enough to be frighted with the Bray of an Ass: thus much by way of Answer to your Wish. And now, Sir, I tell you, I want much of your Vanity to relish your Flattery; I have Wit enough to distinguish the Arrogance of a Coach and Six from the Complaisance of a Man of Sense; I despise your Price, and nauseate your Person; and if you don't desist, I shall expose your Name in Print; and your Years will show you Bankrupt in Love, as your Letters does of Sense and good Manners; and that you are deficient in 'em all, I believe the World will agree with, Sir, Your humble Servant. To Mrs.— By another Hand. Madam, I Must acquaint you in short, that you must either pull out your Eyes, or I must pull out mine; either you must not be Handsome, or I must be Blind. Yet though my Passion is as violent perhaps as any Man's, you must not expect I should either Hang or Drown. I should betray great Want of Sense, and little Knowledge of your Merit, to be willing to leave the World while you are in it. To deal sincerely with you, Madam, I choose infinitely the Happiness of Living with you, before the Glory of Dying for you. Besides, I have that good Opinion of your Sense, to believe you prefer the living Lover to the dead; the Lips that are warm, to those that are cold; the Limbs which have Motion, to those which have none. If I must die, Madam, kill me with your Kindness, but not with your Cruelty: Let me expire rather upon your Bosom, than at your Feet. If you shall be tenderly inclined to give me a Death of this kind, I am prepared to receive it on any Ground in the three Kingdoms: Appoint but your place, and I shall not fail to meet my fair Murderer. To my Lady—. Madam, I Am now at my Lady—, where we have had a very warm Debate: Among many general Things we happened to fall into a Discourse of Queen Elizabeth, and a Question arising what Complexion she was of; one Lady said, she was Fair, another maintained she was Black, a third contended she was Brown. The Dispute was managed with very great Heat, and little Certainty on all sides. Speed, Baker, Camden, were consulted; but we found the Historians either silent, or as much divided as the Company; at last, after a long Debate, it was the unanimous Resolution of both Ladies and Gentlemen, to refer it to your ladyship's Determination, as a Person of greater Antiquity, and consequently of better Authority than our Chronicles. If you shall do us the favour to give us some Satisfaction in this Matter, 'twill be a general Obligation to the whole Company, and a particular Honour done to, Madam, Your ladyship's obedient Servant. To the same. A Love-Letter to an old Lady. Madam, PAying a Visit Yesterday to Mrs.—, I was informed of your ladyship's Displeasure: What should occasion your Indignation, I cannot well apprehend: I do assure you, no Man living has a greater Veneration for your Ladyship, or has been readier upon all occasions to testify it to the World. To convince you of the Truth of what I say, I will relate to you what happened last Saturday; by which it will appear, that I have been so far from ridiculing your Ladyship, which is the Accusation you fasten upon me, that no one could have given greater Demonstration of his Respect: For being in Company, where mention was made of your Ladyship, not so honourable indeed as I could have wished, or your Quality and Character might have required; I took occasion to do Justice to your Merit: Gentlemen, said I, you do my Lady wrong; for my own part I must profess, I think her a very agreeable Woman. You cannot be serious sure, replies a certain Gentleman, who had more Malice than Wit; in my whole Life, I never saw so hideous a Complexion. Sir, said I, 'tis unjustly done, to find fault with a Complexion, which is none of her own; if her Face displeases you, blame her Woman who made it. But I hope, returned he, you will not deny, but that she is Redhaired: With submission, Sir, I do, to my certain knowledge she has not one hair on her Head. But then her Teeth, all the World must allow are execrable. I deny it, Sir, for she has but one that is bad. But you must grant me her Chin is too long by three Inches. But do you apprehend the Reason? 'Tis because her Neck is too short by two. I see, Sir, said he, with some little heat, you are obstinately bend to oppose the Power of Truth; but I hope you are not so far prejudiced, as to maintain her Breath to be sweet? That Infirmity, Sir, replied I, is the Effect of the Foulness of her Lungs, and not of her Mouth; and, if her Lungs are rotten, is it her ladyship's Fault, or Nature's. And then her Ga●e, says he, is the most disagreeble in the World. You have betrayed at once, Sir, said I, both your Malice, and your Ignorance; if you had the least Acquaintance with her Ladyship, you must have known better; Alas! poor Lady! she has not walked without Crutches these ten Years. But then her Conduct, I hope you will not undertake to justify that; how does it become old Eve, think you, to Patch, and Paint, Intrigue, read Romances, and Love-verses, talk Smuttily, look Amorously, dress Youthfully; insomuch, that if it were not for her Looks, you could not distinguish her from her Daughter. Under favour, Sir, you mistake, 'tis her Granddaughter you mean. And then to keep a young Fellow of five and twenty to satisfy her brutal Lust. 'Tis false, I have heard Mr.— affirm a thousand times she was Insatiable. He would have proceeded in his Defamations, but I desired him to omit all farther Discourse on that Subject, for that I could not, with Patience, support, that a Woman of your ladyship's Merit, and Virtue, and a Woman for whom I had so particular an Honour, should be so impudently Vilified and Blasphemed to my Face. I hope by this time you are made sensible, Madam, that I am quite another Person, than you apprehended me to be, and that I am so far from having any disrespectful Thoughts of your Ladyship, that no one of your grandchildren, the nearest Relation you have remaining, could have gone farther in your Vindication. But I would not have you attribute my Defence of your Ladyship, altogether to Respect; give it a tenderer, and truer Name, and call it Love. I say Love; for let me die, Madam, if I have not a violent Passion for your Ladyship. I know you may very well suspect the Truth of what I say; for Love in me, you will tell me, aught to imply Beauty in you. But Love, you know very well, creates Beauty no less frequently, than Beauty does Love. And if by the help of Imagination, I can find out Charms in you, which no Body else can discover; I think I have reasonable Foundation enough for my Passion: there is something, I know not where to fix it, 'tis not in your Face or Shape, or Mien, or Air, or any part of your Body; much less in your Mind: but something there is so very agreeable, something I know not what, nor where, so bewitching that 'tis not in my power to defend my Heart against you. Perhaps the malicious World will say you are Old; but we know old Wine intoxicate more than new; and an aged Oak, is stronger than a young one. 'Tis with your ladyship's Beauty, as with old Buildings when they fall, it destroys with its Ruins. As I profess myself an Admirer of Antiquity, by consequence I should have no small Passion for your Ladyship: For I must tell you, Madam, there are finer Fragments of Antiquity in your Face, than any Greece or Italy can boast of; and more Beauty lies buried in one Wrinkle of yours, than in the Ruins of the most stately Arches, or most magnificent Temples. You cannot therefore question the Sincerity of my Profession, when I tell you I am, Madam, with all Reality, Your ladyship's most passionate Adorer, and most obedient, humble Servant. To a Lady that had got an Inflammation in her Eyes. Madam, YOu will hardly believe, perhaps, how much People talk of your Indisposition. The late Eclipse, when the Sun itself was in Labour, occasioned not half the Discourse, as the present Distress your Eyes are in, throughout the whole Empire of your Beauty, that is throughout the whole Kingdom. Nothing is more generally talked of, or more universally lamented. Those beautiful Eyes, which were wont to spread Joy in all Hearts, now diffuse Sorrow in every Breast: at the same time they raise different Passions; the Women pity what they envy, and the Men lament what they adore. 'Tis true, there are some discontented Persons, that perhaps have formerly felt your Rigour, who let drop bold Expressions; they say, your Eyes are deservedly punished, for the many Violences and Barbarities they have committed; that 'tis but just they should be afflicted, who have made so many poor Men suffer; and that it seems a manifest Judgement of Heaven, that the Distemper should attack you in the very Place where you assault Mankind. These are the Murmurs of some few Men, Madam, whom we except from the Multitudes who bewail the Calamities of your Eyes. Sir Thomas—, who you know speaks fine things, did me the honour of a Visit Yesterday, and commands me to tell you, That had he as many Eyes as Argus, to give yours one Moment's ease, he would pluck them all out, and throw them, as he would himself, and his Fetters, at your Feet. For my own part, Madam, who have but two Eyes, one of 'em is at your ladyship's Service, the other I am unwilling to lose, because I am unwilling to lose the sight of you. Your grave Uncle likewise gives his Service to you; 'twas my Fortune to meet him at my Lady— 's Lodgings, where your Ladyship, and your present Indisposition, being the Subject of our Discourse, the old Gentleman, who moralises on every thing under the Sun, lifting up his Eyes to Heaven, and laying his Hand upon his sage Breast, Alas! says he, see the Vanity of all Things here below! See, Ladies, see Gentlemen, see how frail is Beauty! how uncertain its Possession! the finest Eyes in the Universe are in danger of losing their beautiful Lustre! How imperfect are the most perfect Things! Alas, alas, Vanity of Vanity, all is Vanity, says the Preacher. When the Oracle had ceased, Sir, said I, (with an affected grave Look) I remember well, you were wont frequently to tax your Niece with Pride; don't you think Providence designed this present Affliction as a Lesson of Humility to her? Does it not seem the very Intention of Heaven, by this Indisposition, that those very Eyes which may justly make her proud, should teach her to be humble: that where she is strongest, she should find herself weak: that where she is most divine, she should confess herself mortal. Very religiously and solidly reflected, says old Solomon; I profess I am surprised to find so much Maturity in so much Youth: Go on in the Ways of Wisdom and prosper. Thus, Madam, like a faithful Historian, as I am, I have related to you, what is the Discourse of the World upon this Infirmity; but I am sensible, I have made your ladyship's Patience suffer, by the unfashionable Length of my Letter, which I fear will give your Eyes, in the Weakness they are in at present, too much pain in the reading. I shall conclude, with my Advice and my Wish: My Advice, That you would take care of the finest Eyes in the World. My Wish, That the Flame were removed from your Eyes to your Heart. I am, Madam, Your ladyship's most obedient Servant. To Mr. B— in Covent-garden. An Account of a Journey to Exon, etc. Apr. 8. 1700. AS we have one good Quality in our Sex beyond what yours can boast of, that is, seldom to make a Promise but with a Design to keep it; I have therefore been careful to let you see I cannot easily forget any thing which so great an Obligation as my Word hath engaged me to remember: And as there was nothing needful but a bare Remembrance of my Promise to induce me to preserve it, so I hope, on your part, there will be nothing more required to render what I have sent you acceptable than a Willingness to receive it: I confess I have given you but a rude Account of my Journey, every part just scribbled o'er with as much freedom as 'twas acted, wanting leisure to put it in any other than a lose Morning-dress, not questioning but it may please you as well without the Formalities of Style as a pretty Woman without Stays may some of your Acquaintance. In the first place I shall give you a rough Draught of those discording Mortals our Company was composed of in the Stage-coach, (viz.) A Barrister at Law, an Attorny's Clerk, a Cornish Justice, a Tailor, and a Valet to a Parliament-man that would be, but some dispute arising in the Election prevents me fixing his Title, that had I been travelling in a Dutch Scout or a Gravesend Tilt-boat, I could not have been treated with less Manners, or teased with more Im-pertinence The Justice, notwithstanding the Government's Care for the Reformation of Vice, was as drunk as a Dutch Captain before he engages, and, for the first Day, talked of nothing but Fox-hounds, March-beer, Warrants, Whipping-posts and Vagabonds, Hallowing as laudably in every interval of his Nonsense, as if he had been riding threequarter-speed at the very Heels of his Beagles, larding his other Qualifications now and then with a Scrap of an old Hunting Song, with a hay down, ho down, etc. which gave me good reason to suspect he had been much more conversant with Robin Hood's ballads than with Keeble's Statutes, understanding the latter I believe as much as a Germane Juggler does Necromancy, or a Lord-Mayor State-Policy. The Limbs of the Law were much disturbed at his Bawling, for I conceive they love no Bodies Noise but their own. They desired him to sleep; but he cried, Zounds, Sir, I wined sleep; I din't care a F— t for your Anger, I'm a Justice of Peace, and worth thirty Thousand Pound, and am the head Man where I live; and By G— d, if you come to Lancton, I'll give you a Glass of the best March-Beer you ever drank in your Life: but I will make a Noise if I please. I was in hopes of seeing Law and Justice fall together by the Ears, but at last Justice slept and the Law got the better by surviving it. The Tailor, had you seen him, you would have sworn he had been broke by the Jubilee Beaus, for he had Lines of Faith in his Face, and his Clothes bore the Marks of Poverty; he complained very much of Trusting: I find 'tis a common Calamity, and ruins more Families than the Royal Oak-Lottery. The Valet personated his Master to a Tittle, and was as arrogant and noisy as e'er a Country ' Squire in England. Now, if I were to be hanged, I can't tell who had most Manners of all these: The Lawyer slept Dogs-sleep most part of the Way, I suppose the better to ruminate on the Causes he had in hand. The Clerk was as impertinent as a Midwife at a gossiping, and I as dull as an old Woman at a Funeral. They failed not to Eat and Drink hearty upon the Road, nor to make me club to the Reckoning; Justice and Law were both of a side in that particular; and, the Court of Equity being very chargeable, I chose to submit upon any Terms, rather than seek for Remedy. After the Fatigue of four Days, which might serve for a reasonable Penance for all the Sins I ever committed in my Life, I arrived at Exon, where we met the Judges entering the Town in as much Triumph as ever Caesar did Rome after a Victory; the High-Sheriff road in as much State as a Colonel of the City Train-bands, and much in the same order, only the Sheriff marched in the Rear of his Army, and the other in the Front. The next Day being Sunday, called by the Natives of this Country Maze-Sunday, (and indeed not without some reason, for the People looked as if they were gallied) I was waked by the tremendous Sound of a Horse-trumpet, I imagined some Monster was to be seen, and, looking out of my Window, I saw several sorts, the first were Mrs. Sheriff and her Husband, (for Women rule in this Climate, and therefore I give her the Pre-eminence) in a triumphant Chariot (erected on purpose for that Occasion) with Dick and Doll crowding to see their Worships, as if it had been his Czarish Majesty; the Custom it seems is to conduct them in this manner to the most magnificent Church of the place, where we will leave them to their several Ejaculations. I am your obliged Servant, You know who. The Answer. Madam, Apr. 22. 1700. I Received your Letter, and am glad to find by it, that you have got that by making a small Journey to Exeter, for which other People are forced to cross the Alps, and beat the Hoof to Rome, I mean the Remission of your Sins, which you think you have made a reasonable Atonement for, by suffering so much from the Impertinence of the Cornish Justice and the two Limbs of the Law. But, Madam, don't flatter yourself, or think that your Chalk will be so easily wiped out. You have been a great Sinner in your time, and four Days Penance in a Stage-Coach will hardly atone for the Sins you have committed: And, because we are too apt to be overfavourable to ourselves, give me leave, Madam, to awaken your Conscience out of this dangerous State of Security, by laying before you some of the many Sins you are accountable for: Imprimis, Here are People in Town that charge you with Murders numberless; and, unless you hearty repent of them, and promise to commit no more, I find but little hopes of you. Yes, Madam, you are charged with Murder, with this horrid Aggravation too on your side, That whereas other Assassins only murder their Enemies, or such as they suspect to be so, you make no scruple to kill your Lovers that throw themselves at your Feet, and would purchase a single Smile from you at a seven Years Service. In the next place, You are accused of Theft. Set your Hand to your Heart, Madam, and do but consider how many of those valuable Commodities you have stolen in your time, yet never had the Conscience to restore them to the right Owners. What makes the Crime worse in you, you have added Sacrilege to Theft, and stole away People's Hearts at Church, in the time of Divine Service, and in the sight of Moses and Aaron. You'll tell me, perhaps, that this is no Theft, and that if Men will put their Hearts upon you, how can you help it. But Madam, some People gave them you, who had no right to dispose of them, as I could instance in a thousand married Men that sighed for you, and, according to the ancient Proverb, the Receiver is as bad as the Thief, for they stole 'em from their Wives to bestow 'em upon you. Thirdly and lastly, Madam, you have not only your own Sins but those of other People to answer for. How many Women have you made guilty of the horrid Sin of Detraction, and tell a thousand malicious Stories of you, only because you were handsomer than they, and consulted with that wicked Privy-counsellor, your Looking-glass, to appear so? How many Men have you made guilty of Perjury, and made them forsake their former Vows, to sacrifice 'em to you? Thus, Madam, I have made bold to lay some of your Sins before you. Should I undertake to send you a full Catalogue of them, I should have as fine time on't, as the Commissioners, that are to inspect public Accounts. Therefore never think that your Exeter Journey has compounded for them. I would advise you this holy Year of Jubilee, to turn your Face towards Rome; but, alas, you'd spoil the Devotion of all the Pilgrims there, that according to our last Advices, are above a hundred thousand strong. In short, Madam, I don't know what course to advise to; only don't stay long in the Country, for that would be to Trespass against a positive Text, and to put your Candle under a Bushel. Come to Town as soon as you can, and begin to make Restitution in the Place where you have done the most Mischief. You desire, in my Answer, I should transmit you some News: I assure you, Madam, there is not enough stirring about Town to make an Alderman's Jaws wag, that the City News-hounds sit as hush over their Coffee, as so many Englishmen in a Tavern when the Drawer has brought the Reckoning: But however, for once, I will strain a Point to oblige you. Notwithstanding the late War in Flanders, and the present Year of Jubilee, have rid the Nation of abundance of Fools, yet Knaves are every Term as thick in Westminster-hall, and Cuckolds every Day as numerous upon Change, as if they had still, without loss, preserved their ancient Number. Marriages this Easter, by the Computation of the Clarks of Marrowbone, Pancras, Minories, Dukes-place, and Knightsbridge, are decreased from the last Year's Account by several Hundreds, to the great disapmpointment of the Clergy; yet the Number of Maids, 'tis generally believed, are as few as ever, to the Discredit of the Protestant Religion, the Dishonour of the Nation, and the great Scandal of the Reforming-Society. Poetasters are grown as numerous in this Town as Quack-Doctors at London, and every one so applies himself to the Stage, that the Whitefriars Printers are quite beggared for want of ballads: Yet Wit, I observe, is as scarce as 'twas in the time of Jeffry Chaucer, when a Distich of Verses were worth a Page of Prose, and a Song, with a Fa-la-la Chorus, was much more listened to than a Sermon. Discretion in married Women, is here grown as scarce as Modesty in Maids; they so forward their Daughters, by their own foolish Talk and Example, that the pretty Miss at Seven, instead of a Rattle, talks of nothing but a Husband, and the young Lady at Eleven is as ripe in her Thoughts and as pert in her Behaviour as if her Education had been in a Brothel instead of a Dancing-school. I know, Madam, some of this News must seem strange to a Woman of your Virtues, but the more surprising generally the more acceptable, especially if it be true; for which reason I sent it you to supply the scarcity of such as might have been more welcome, and therefore beg your acceptance of it in room of better, from, Madam, Your humble Servant To Dr. Garth. WHether your Letter or your Prescription has made me well, I protest I cannot tell; but thus much I can say, that as the one was the most nauseous thing I ever knew, so the other was the most entertaining. I would gladly ascribe my Cure to the last; and, if so, your Practice will become so universal you must keep a Secretary as well as an Apothecary. The Observations I have made are these, that your Prescription stayed not long with me, but your Letter has, especially that part of it where you told me I was not altogether out of your Memory: You'll find me much altered in every thing when you see me, but in my esteem for yourself: I, that was as lank as a Crane, when I left you at London, am now as plump as an Ortolan. I have left off my false Calves, and had yesterday a great Belly laid to me. A facetious Widow, who is my Confident in this Affair, says you ought to Father the Child; for He that lends a Man a Sword is in some part accessary to the Mischief is done with it; however, I'll forgive you the inconvenience you've put me to. I believe you were not ware you were giving Life to two People. Pray let me have a Consolatory Letter from you upon this new Calamity; for nothing can be so welcome, excepting Rain in this Sandy Country where we live. The Widow saith, she resolves to be sick, on purpose to be acquainted with you: But I tell her she'll relish your Prescriptions better in full Health: And if at this distance you can do her no Service, pray prescribe her Your humble Servant, T. M. To his Poetical Friend, advising him to Study the Mathematics. Out of Quevedo. AT length, my Friend, I begin to awake out of those Dreams and Visions, which the reading of Verses and Poems has so long plunged me in. My middle Years put all those Delusions to a stand; I have now some moderate Esteem for other Thoughts besides Images and Descriptions. I am not in my former Ecstasies at every Metaphor, and can almost bear the Rapture of a fine Turn. Poetry, believe me, leads the Reader, as well as the Knight, into an enchanted World: The Objects are all there dressed in false Colours, and nothing appears in its due proportion. But if it deceives us in all things abroad, what Disorders and Confusion does it raise at home? By feeding the Mind with Delicacies, it makes it mad after Pleasure, and lets all the Passions lose upon us. Our Joys it blows up too high, and makes our Griefs sit heavier; and, what is yet worse, it kindles in us that foolish Passion Love, the ruin of our Ease and Dotage even in Youth. Whereas Mathematics improves all our Faculties, makes the Judgement stronger and the Memory take in more. The Dull it teaches to Perceive, and the Giddy to Attend. It distinguishes between True and False, and enures us to Difficulties: Besides, it gives us a thousand Advantages in Life. By this the Miser counts his Bags, and the Countryman knows his Times and Seasons. This gives our Cannon aim in War, and in Peace furnishes every Workman with his Tools. How many noble Engines has it invented? In one the Wind labours for us, and another turns Bogs and Pools into firm Land. This builds us Houses, defends our Towns and makes the Sea useful. Nor are its Effects less wonderful than advantageous. The Mathematician can do more things than any Poet e'er yet conceived. He in a Map can contract Asia to a Span, and in a Glass show a City from a single House, and an Army from a Man. He can set the Heavens a thousand Years forward, and call all the Stars by their Names. There is scarce any thing without his reach; He can gauge the Channel of the Sea, and weigh Saturn. He sees farthest into the Art and Skill of the Creator, and can write the best Comment on the six Days Work. Be advised therefore to employ yourself rather in the improving of your Understanding, than debauching of your Passions, and to prefer Realities before Appearances. In my mind, to make a Dial is harder than to find a Motto to it, and a Prospect drawn in Lines pleasanter than one in Words. Instead of Descriptions of cool Groves and flowery Gardens, you may inform yourself of the Situation and Extent of Empires, and while others are wand'ring in Elysian-fields and fancied Shades below, you may raise your Thoughts to the Infinity of Space above, and visit all those Worlds that shine upon us here: Think most of Mercury when he is farthest off the Sun, and mind little in Venus but her Periodic Motion. To let you see I have got the start of you, I now follow the old Rule of, Nulla dies sine Lineâ, and am so far advanced in Geometry that I defy any Man to make a rounder Circle, or cut a Line in two more nicely than myself. I am well versed in Squares, am no stranger to the Doctrine of Proportion, and have transposed A, B, C, D, in all the Mathematical Anagrams they are capable of. My Chamber I have surveyed five times over, and have at length found out a convenient Place for a South-dial. I am at present about a Bargain of Pins, which you shall soon see disposed into Bastions and Counterscarps. I felt at first, I must confess a great Confusion in my Head between Rhimes and Angles, Fiction and Demonstration. But at length Virgil has resigned to Euclid, and Poetical Feet and Numbers to their Namesakes in Geometry and Arithmetic. In short, I writ altogether upon Slate, where I make Parallels instead of Couplets and Describe nothing but a Circle. Let me for the future therefore catch no Poet in your Hands, unless it be Aratus or Dyonisius, and follow my Council, unless you can make one of these Studies subservient to the other, your Poetry wise and learned, and your Mathematics pleasant and Ingenious. I am, Sir, Yours, etc. To William Joy, the strong Kentishman, from the Lady C—. Dropped out of her Foot-man's Pocket, and taken up by a Chairman in the Pall-mall. SIR, I Saw you Yesterday, with satisfaction, exerting your Parts in Dorset-garden; on that very Theatre where I have frequently beheld the Alexanders, the Caesars, the Hercules, the Almanzor's, the greatest Heroes of Greece or Italy, of ancient or modern Times, taking Towns, sacking Cities, overturning Empires, singly routing whole Armies, but yet performing less Wonders than You. Yet, I must tell you, it grieves me to see so Noble a Talon mis-employed, and that Strength thrown away upon undeserving Horses, that cannot reward your Labour, which might much better divert the requiting Woman. Meet me therefore, thou puissant Man, in another Garden, on a better Theatre, where you may employ your Abilities with more Profit to Yourself and Satisfaction to the expecting MELESINDA. The End of the First Part. LETTERS OF Friendship, AND Several other OCCASIONS: The Second Part. Written by Mr. Dryden, Mr. Wycherly, Mr.— Mr. Congreve, and Mr. Dennis. WITH LETTERS written between Mr. Dennis and Mr. Congreve, Concerning Humour in Ancient and Modern Comedy. London: Printed for Sam. Briscoe, in Russel-street in Covent-garden, MDCC. To the Right Honourable Charles Montague, Esq. One of the Lords of the Treasury, Chancellor of the Exchequer; and one of His Majesty's most Honourable Privy-Council. SIR, AS soon as I had resolved to make this Address to you, that the Present might not be altogether unworthy of you, I took care to obtain the Consent of my Friends to publish some Letters, which they had writ as Answers to mine. When I look upon myself, I find I have reason to beg Pardon for my Presumption: But when I consider those Gentlemen, I am encouraged to hope that you will not be offended to find yourself at the Head of no Vulgar Company; a Company, whose Names and Desert are universally known, a Company raised far above the Level of Mankind by their own extraordinary Merit, and yet proud to do Homage to yours. They are Gentlemen, 'tis true, who are divided in their Interests, and who differ in their Politic Principles, but they agree in their Judgements of Things, which all the World admires, and they always consent when they speak of you. In presenting this little Book to you, I only designed to show my Zeal and my Gratitude; but they assure me unanimously, that I have likewise shown my Judgement. Tho' indeed, Sir, the number of the Great, who cast a favourable Eye upon Human Learning, is not so considerable, but that a Man who would Address any thing of this nature to one of them, may soon determine his Choice. Proficients in other Arts are encouraged by Profit, which is their main Design, but he who bestows all his time upon Human Studies is incited by Glory alone, and the World takes care that he should have no more than he seeks for. The Enthusiast, the Quack, the Pettifogger, are rewarded for torturing, and for deluding Men; but Humanity has met with very barbarous Usage, only for Pleasing, and for Instructing them. The very Court, which draws most of its Ornament from it, has but too often neglected it; there Learning in general has been disregarded: For none but great Souls are capable of great Designs, and few Courtiers have had Greatness of Mind enough to procure the Promotion of Science, which is the Exaltation of Human Nature, and the Enlargement of the Empire of Reason. Our Ministers of State have formerly behaved themselves with so much Indifference, as if it would have lessened them to have taken any care of Letters: They have shown themselves as perfectly unconcerned, as if not one had discovered, that at a time when our Neighbours are grown so knowing, the Public Safety depends on the Progress of Learning, and that to Patronise Science, is to take care of the State. Besides, too many of our Statesmen have been engaged in unjust Designs. Most of our Politicians have done their Endeavour to encroach on the Crown, or to attempt on the People. Few have had Capacity and Integrity enough to keep the Balance so steady, as to maintain Prerogative at once, and assert Privilege; to serve the King Zealously, and their Country Faithfully; to possess at the same time the Favour of the one, and the Hearts of the other, to such a degree as to be courted by the People to serve as their Representative, at the very time that they are employed by the King in Matters of the highest Importance. Instead of that, most of them have had reason to be afraid of the King or the Commons; and Men who have been solicitous for their own Safety, have seldom appeared concerned for the good of others. Few than have been and are in a Condition to be Protectors of Learning, and therefore those happy Few, deserve all the Honours which we are able to pay them. Of those, Sir, you appear in the foremost Rank, and are to the Commonwealth of Learning what you are to the State, a great Defence and a shining Ornament. You have warmly encouraged all sorts of Studies, but have been justly and nobly partial to those, for which the State has made no Provision: Which is enough to gain you the Esteem of all who have any Regard for Learning; and to win the very Souls of all, who, like me, are charmed with the softer Studies of Humanity. For which your Zeal has been so diffusive, that it has extended itself even to me, tho' a bare Inclination to cultivate Eloquence and Poetry, was the only thing which could recommend me to you: Yet even this has been encouraged by the Promise of your Protection, and by the Humanity of your Receiving me: The Access which I have had to you, has been the greatest Obligation that you could lay upon a Man who has still valued Merit above all the World, and who has sought his Improvement more than he has his Advancement. When I have at any time approached you, I have found in you none of those Forbidding Qualities, of which they accuse the Great: Instead of those, I have found an Attractive and a Humane Greatness, the generous Sincerity of the Man of Honour, joined with the Grace and Complaisance of the Courtier, and a Deportment Noble without Pride, and Modest without Descending. Nature has made me something averse from making my Court to Fortune: But I am proud to attend upon real Greatness; and to wait upon you, since first you encouraged me, has been at once my Duty and my Ambition. The Permission which you gave me to approach you, was so great an Incitement to me, that I believe it might have brought me to write well, if I had not a very just reason to resolve to attempt it no more. You had given me one great Encouragement before I had the honour to see you, and that was, by leaving off Writing yourself. For Vanity is a greater Incitement to Poets than Pensions, and even Want depresses the Spirits less than the thought of being surpassed. Therefore while Mr. Montague sung, he sung alone. We admired indeed our Conquering Monarch, but we admired in Silence. We revered the Greatness of your Genius, and neglected our Talents. Indeed the Strength and Sweetness of your Voice was fit to charm us alone, and we, who followed, were only fit for the Chorus. But you have left a Province, which you have made your own, to the Administration of those who are under you, and are gone on in your victorious Progress to the Acquisition of new Glory. From which I am sensible that I detract by detaining you: For your Actions are your best Encomiums, and the loud Consent of the Nation your best Panegyric. It was a glorious one that was spoken to you by the People of Westminster, in the Request that they made to you to serve as their Member in the present Parliament, at a time when they were Caballing all over the Kingdom, and Gentlemen were depriving Peasants of their little Reason, in order to obtain their Voices; Mr. Montague's Merit, while he was silent, solicited for him so importunately, that it prevailed upon a number of considerable Inhabitants of the Politer Parts of the Town, to come and make it their humble Request to you, to Honour them by Representing them, which puts me in mind of a Saying of De la Bruiere, That the People are then at their height of Happiness, when their King makes Choice for his Confidents, and for his Ministers, of the very same Persons that the People would have chosen, if the Choice had been in their Power. This, at present, is our own Case; for doubtless the same People, who, without any Brigue or the least Corruption, came voluntarily to entreat you to suffer them to place you in the Great Council of the Kingdom, would, if the Choice had been in their power, have placed you in the Privy-Council; and they who frankly offered to trust you with the Disposal of the Money which is in their Houses, would have trusted you, had it been in their power, with the Intendency of that in the Treasury. So that the People's Proffer to Choose you, seems to me to be a loud Approbation of the Choice, which the King had made before of you, and of your Ministration upon that Choice. But I injure the Public while I detain you: Yet give me leave to end with my zealous Wishes for you, that the Happiness may be multiplied on you, which you so nobly seek to communicate, that you may increase in Riches and Honours faster than you advance in Years, till you arrive at that Height of Prosperity which may be answerable to your high Desert, and till Fortune may be said to pour down her Gifts upon you, in Emulation of Art and Nature: Yet Envy after all shall be forced to declare, that Mr. Montague sprung from an Illustrious Stock, and loaded with Plenty and Honours, is yet Nobler by Desert, than he is by Descent, and Greater by Virtue than he is by Fortune; I am, Sir, Your most humble and most obedient Servant, JOHN DENNIS. TO THE READER. I Once resolved to have along Preface before this little Book; but the Impression has been so long retarded by the Fault of those who had the Care of it, that I have now neither Time nor Humour to execute what I intended. I shall therefore only give a Compendious Account of what I proposed to have treated of more at large: I designed, in the first place, to have said something of the Nature and of the End of a Letter, and thought to have proved that the Invention of it was to supply Conversation, and not to imitate it, for that nothing but the Dialogue was capable of doing that; from whence I had drawn this Conlclusion, That the Style of a Letter was neither to come quite up to that of Conversation, nor yet to keep at too great a distance from it. After that, I determined to show, That all Conversation is not familiar; that it may be Ceremonious, that it may be Grave, nay, that it may be Sublime, or that Tragedy mnst be allowed to be out of Nature: That if the Sublime were easy and unconstrained, it might be as consistent with the Epistolary Style, as it was with the Ditactique; that Voiture had admirably joined it with one of them, and Longinus with both. After this, I resolved to have said something of those who had most succeeded in Letters amongst the Ancients and Moderns, and to have treated of their Excellencies and their Defects: To have spoken more particularly of Cicero and Pliny amongst the Ancients, and amongst the Moderns of Balzac and Voiture; to have shown that Cicero is too simple, and no dry, and that Pliny is too affected, and too refined; that one of them has too much of Art in him, and that both of them have too little of Nature. That the Elevation of Balzac was frequently forced, and his Sublime affected; that his Thoughts were often above his Subject, and his Expression almost always above his Thoughts; and that whatsoever his Subjects were, his Style was seldom altered: That Voiture was easy and unconstrained, and natural when he was most exalted; that he seldom endeavoured to be witty at the Expense of right Reason: but that, as his Thoughts were for the most part true and just, his Expression was often defective, and that his Style was too little diversified. That for my own part, as I came infinitely short of the extraordinary Qualities of these great Men, I thought myself obliged to endeavour the rather to avoid their Faults; and that consequently I had taken all the care that I could, not to think out of Nature and good Sense, and neither to force nor neglect my Expressions; and that I had always taken care to suit my Style to my Subject, whether it was Familiar or Sublime, or Didactique; and that I had more or less varied it in every Letter. All this and more I designed to have said at large, which I have only hinted now in a Hurry. I have nothing to add, but to desire the Reader to excuse my bad Performance, upon the account of my good Endeavour, and for striving to do well in a manner of Writing, which is at all times useful, and at this time necessary; a manner in which the English would surpass both the Ancients and Moderns, if they would but cultivate it, for the very same Reason that they have surpassed them in Comedy. But methinks, I have a Title to the Reader's Favour, for I have more than made Amends for the Defects of my own Letters, by entertaining him with those of my Friends. A Collection of Letters. Written by several Eminent Hands. To Walter Moyle, Esq Dear Sir, YOU know a grave Fellow assures us, that upon the Cessation of Oracles, lamentable Cries were heard in the Air, proclaiming along the Coasts the Death of the Great Pan: And have not you upon this Dearth of good Sense, and this Cessation of Wit! tell me truly; have not you heard These Sounds upon the Cornish Shore, The Sage, Will. Ur.— is no more? Gone is the Universal Lord of WIT! He to whom all the Wits paid Homage; For whom his Subjects set a Tax upon Words, and laid exorbitant Customs on Thoughts: He's dead; alas, he's dead! Dead, I mean, Sir, in a legal Capacity; that is, Outlawed and gone into the Friars; to go into which, is once more to Outlaw himself: He has done it, Sir, and ill Fortune has brought him to be a Felo de se that way. For since the Law thought it but just to put Will out of its Protection, Will thought it but prudent to put himself out of its Power. And since the Law could use him with so much Contempt, as to declare to all the World that it does not care for Will. Vr—; Will, who is extremely stout in Adversity, has declared, by his Actions, That he does not care for the Law. Virgil tells us in his Sixth Book, that the Souls in Hell were busied about the same things in which they were employed upon Earth; even so does Sage Will use the same Nutmeg-grater, and the same Tea-pot in the Friars, that he handled before in Bowstreet. Thus has he left the Wits, without any Sorrow, tho' he loves them, and without taking any Leave of them. For Will thinks they cannot be long from him; and he says, he expects that in a very little time his Old Company should be constant at his New House. And dost not thou think that they too have reason to expect the very same thing? For as the Death of any Man ought to put all his Friends in mind, that he went before but to lead them the way; so Will's Departure from this miserable Life, this lewd Covent-garden Life, and his Ferrying from Somerset-stairs to the infernal Shore of Alsatia, should be a Memento to the rest of the Wits, that he is but gone whither they all must follow. To leave off Poetical Similes, this Body Politic is in a cursed Condition; and cannot keep long together without a Head. The Members are at present in a grave Debate how to get one. To Morrow the Whole House will resolve itself into a grand Committee, to consult about Ways and Means of making Provission for the Common Necessities. Some talk of an Excise upon May-dew, and Rasberry-brandy: That there will be a Poll, is strongly asserted, in which every Man is to pay according to his respective Condition. To Morrow it will be known to how much each Man's Quota amounts. As for Example: How much a Poet is to pay, how much a Wit, how much a Politician, and how much a Critic. A Critic, did I say? I beg your Pardon: They have voted Nemine Contradicente, that they will Cess no Critic till Mr. Moyle returns. I have given them my Sentiments upon the forementioned Poll, which were, That it was something hard to make a Man pay for being called, Wit, Poet, or Critic; That they saw by Experience lately in the State, that poor Dogs grumbled to pay for their Titles. How then could they think that People would be contented to be taxed for their Nicknames? That in settling this Tax they were to take a quite contrary Method, to that which was taken upon settling a Tax in the State. That in the State, sometimes a Man paid for what he really had; As for Example, when a Country ' Sqnire paid for his Land or his Money; and sometimes for what he really had not, as when a Cit. that is twice dubbed, Knight by the King, and Cuckold by his Wife, pays for his Honour, and for his Children. The First of which is but as it were his, for it is really the King's; and the Second of which are but as it were his, for they are really the Courtier's who helped him to his Title. In the State too a Man is made to pay for something which he does, or for something which he does not. As a Jacobite pays so much for Swearing when he's Drunk, and so much more for not Swearing when he's Sober. But that in our Case, if we would be exactly Just, we should make People pay neither for what they have, nor for what they have not; nor for what they do, nor for what they do not; But should oblige them to pay only for pretending to have what they really have not, or for offering to do, what they are utterly incapable of doing. That thus the Tax would certainly fall upon the most solvent Part of the Body. For how ridiculous would it be to Tax a Man for having Poetry and Wit, when they are almost always signs, that he has not a Farthing to pay? On the other side, how absurd would it be to tax him for a bare Want of those Qualities? since when a Man is Dull without Pretending, 'tis ten to one but he is Poor, for Riches make Men vain, and Vanity makes them affected. But he who is not much at his ease, is hardly at leisure for Affection; and I have often seen, that when Vanity has thrown a Fop out of Nature, Necessity has brought him back again: But a rich Rogue will be sure to be always Pretending. Fortune takes pleasure in making those Vain, whom Nature before made Impotent, and both of them often conspire to finish a Coxcomb. Thus I would have none pay, but they who put Gravity upon us for Wisdom, Visions for Politics, and Quibbles for Wit; and I would have no Man at any Expense for being called a Poet, a Wit, or a Critic, unless it be by himself. It would be equally hard to lay a Tax upon any one, for his Ill Fortune, or for his Ill Nature, since they are things of which no Man is Master. But what? A Sot cannot help his Vanity. Agreed: But than it makes him so much happier than he deserves to be, that he may well be contented to pay for it. I am your most humble Servant, JOHN DENNIS. To Mr. Wycherley, at Cleve, near Shrewsbury. Sir, WHile I venture to write these Lines to you, I take it to be my Interest not to consider you, as I hitherto always have done, and as for the future I always shall, viz. As Mr. Wycherley, as the greatest Comick-wit that ever England bred, as a Man sent purposely into the World, to Charm the Ears of the wittiest Men, and to ravish the Hearts of the most beautiful Women: No, Sir, that in writing to you I may assume some Spirit, I shall at present only consider you as the humble Hermit at Cleve; Humble even in the full Possession of all those extraordinary Qualities, the knowledge of which has made me Proud. I must confess, that I have no great Opinion of that which Men generally call Humility. Humility in most Men is want of Heat; 'tis Phlegm, 'tis Impotence, 'tis a wretched Necessity, of which they who lie under it, vainly endeavour to make a Virtue. But in a Man of Mr. Wycherley's Make, 'tis Choice, 'tis Force of Mind, 'tis a good, 'tis a generous Condescension. And what Force of Mind is there not requisite to bend back a Soul by perpetual Reflection, which would be always rising, and eternally aspiring by virtue of its inborn Fire? Yet yours, notwithstanding all its Power, cannot wholly depress its self, nor descend in every part of it. At the time that your Will vouchsafes to stoop, your Understanding soars; your Writings are as bold as your Conversation is modest, (though those are bold, as this is modest with Judgement) and he who would do you Justice, must needs confess, that you are a very ambitious Writer, though a very humble Man. Yet your very Ambition has obliged Mankind: It has exalted Humane Nature, in raising your own by its most noble Efforts; and that without boasting Pre-eminence. And surely it must be for this very reason that we feel a secret Pride, when we but read the Discoveries which you have made. Thus I cannot say what you are without Vanity, for never was Man exempt from it; but I can say, that you have made use even of Vanity to humble you by way of Reflection, and that you have avoided that dangerous Effect of it, Vainglory, the Rock upon which several great Wits before you have been seen to split. For you have always wisely considered, that Vainglory in the Vulgar may be supportable, nay may be diverting; but that in great Men it must be intolerable. That whereas in the First 'tis want of Discernment, 'tis Folly, 'tis the Extravagance and Blindness of Self-love; in the Last, 'tis Crime, 'tis Malice, 'tis a secret and proud Design to Mortify and Insult over the rest of Men, over whom they have so much advantage; That it is for this very reason, that we so deeply resent and so severely revenge the mortal Affronts we receive from it. Great Wits were by Heaven predestined to Rule, to rule the Minds of others, the noblest Empire; but when they grow outwardly Vain they grow Tyrants, and then their discontented Subjects rebel, and then they despose those Kings as Usurpers, whom before they obeyed as their lawful Monarches. But a moderate, a good, and a gracious Prince, like you, commands their Hearts as well as their Understandings, and under one whom they love so well, they grow as proud, as they are pleased to obey. Our violent Inclinations make us belong to you, and therefore 'tis the Interest even of our Pride, that you should long continue in the Place which your extraordinary Desert has attained. Did we nothing but esteem you as much as we do, we should certainly envy you; if we did not hate you; for bare Esteem is always forced upon us, whereas Inclination is much more voluntary: Besides, as a judicious French Man observes, Esteem is foreign, and comes from abroad, and is therefore received with Grumbling; but Inclination is our own, and born in our Breasts, and is therefore Caressed and Cherished. I might add, That upon this account, it is hard to wish well to those whom we very much esteem, if they have not likewise the Skill to make themselves be beloved; because barely to esteem depresses the Spirits, as much as to love very much exalts them; it brings the Soul 〈◊〉 languid Temper, and gives it at once 〈◊〉 horrid Views of another's Excellencies, and of its own Infirmities; but Affection gives it Agitation and Warmth; and in the View of a Friend's Desert, it takes too much Pleasure, and too much Pride to consider its own Defects. 'Tis true, that you are esteemed at this high Rate, you own to your Wit and your Penetration; but that you are esteemed without Envy, that you are with Joy and Gladness esteemed, you own to this, that while the force of your Fancy and Judgement makes all the World admire you, you remain yourself unmoved by it; that while your Excellence fills all Mouths but yours, you alone appear to be unacquainted with it. Thus while by the Merit of your extraordinary Qualities, you are known to surpass all others, it plainly appears that you have beyond all this a Greatness of Soul, from whence you look down on your own Merit. An infallible Sign that the Talants which we admire in you are no Illusions, but real things, things that were born with you, and have been improved by you, and which you have not acquired: For Men are found to be Vainer, upon the account of those Qualities which they fond believe they have, than of those which they really have; and Hereditary Greatness gives Men 〈◊〉 to be humble, whereas Preferment occasions Pride. None but such real Greatness as yours can capacitate a Man to be truly humble; for the Soul, which by Nature is not seated high, can hardly be said to descend. If I have insisted too long on this shining Subject, a Subject which is so conspicuous in you; if you look upon this tedious Letter, as one of those various Persecutions which every eminent Virtue provokes; I desire you to consider, that I have so many Obligations to this very Humility, that I looked upon myself as obliged by Gratitude to say as much as I have done. For to what I own the Happiness which I have frequently received in your Conversation; to that I own the present Satisfaction which your Permission to write to you gives me; and to that I am indebted for the Hopes of your Answers; when I have received them I shall then believe what you were pleased to tell me when I saw you last, that you are much more Humble in the clear Air on your Mountain at Cleve, than when you are in Fog and sulphurous Smoke in Bow-street. But at the same time, the Satisfaction of thinking that Distance does not make you forget me, will render him very Proud, who is at present, Sir, your very humble Servant, JOHN DENNIS. Mr. Wycherley's Answer to Mr. Dennis. Dear Sir, YOu have found a way to make me satisfied with my Absence from London; nay, what is more, with the Distance which is now betwixt you and me. That indeed uses to lessen Friendship, but gives me the greater Mark of yours by your kind Letter which I had missed if I had been nearer to you: So that I, who receive no Rents here, yet must own if I did, I could not receive greater Satisfaction than I had from yours, worth even a Letter of Exchange, or Letters Patents; For I value your Friendship more than Money, and am prouder of your Approbation than I should be of Titles: For the having the good Opinion of one who knows Mankind so well, argues some Merit in me, upon which every Man ought to consider himself more, than upon the Goods of Fortune. I had rather be thought your Friend in proof of my Judgement and good Sense, than a Friend to the Muses; and had rather have you than them thought mine. If I am as you say, at once Proud and Humble, 'tis since I have known I have had the Honour to please you; tho' your Praise rather humbles than makes me (tho' a damned Poet) more Vain. for it is so great, that it rather seems the Raillery of a witty Man, than the Sincerity of a Friend; and rather proves the Copiousness of your own Invention, than justifies the Fertility of mine. But I fear I am forfeiting the Character of the Plain-dealer with you; and seem like vain Women or vainer Men, to refuse Praise, but to get more; and so by returning your Compliments, show myself grateful out of Interest, as Knaves are punctual in some Payments, but to augment their Credit. And for your Praise of my Humility, (the only Mark of my Knowledge, since it is a Mark of my knowing myself,) you have praised that to its Destruction, and have given me so much, you have left me none. like those Admirers who praise a young Maid's Modesty till they deprive her of it. But let me tell you, 'tis not to my Humility that you own my Friendship, but to my Ambition, since I can have no greater than to be esteemed by you, and the World, your Friend, and to be known to all Mankind for, Dear Sir, your humble Servant, W. WYCHERLEY. POSTSCRIPT. My Dear Friend, I Have no way to show my Love to you in my Absence, but by my Jealousy: I would not have my Rivals in your Friendship the C—s, the D— s, the W— s, and the rest of your Tavern-friends enjoy your Conversation while I cannot: Tho', I confess, 'tis to their Interest to make you dumb with Wine, that they may be heard in your Company; tho' it were more the Demonstration of their Wit to hear you, than to be heard by you. For my own part, I am ambitious of your Company alone in some Solitude, where you and I might be all one. For I am sure if I can pretend to any Sense, I can have no Instruction or Satisfaction of Life, better than your Example and your Society. My Service pray, to all my Friends; that is, to all yours whom I know: and be charitable (as often as you can) to the Absent; which you good Wits seldom are; I mean be charitable with your Letters to Your humble Servant. POSTSCRIPT. PRay let me have more of your Letters, tho' they would rally me with Compliments undeserved as your last has done; for like a Country Esquire, I am in love with a Town Wit's Conversation, tho' it be but at a Distance that I am forced to have it, and tho' it abuses me while I enjoy it. To Mr. Wycherley. Dear Sir, NOT long after I writ my last to you, I was hurried up to Town by a kind of a Colic, which was ended in a Destruction upon one of my Feet. You know, Sir, a Defluction is a general name which some pleasant French Men have given an Infant Gout, too young to be yet baptised. But tho' the Distemper raged in each Hand, I would in spite of it, answer your admirable Letter, a Letter which I had certainly known to be yours, tho' it had been sent me without a Name, nay and transcribed by a Chancery-Clerk in his own hideous manner of Copying. But I must confess I was surprised to hear you say in it, that you took the Sincerity of a Man who so much esteems you for Raillery, yet tho' you declare it, you can never believe it. I am willing to believe you exceeding humble; but you can never be humble to that degree, unless your Mind, which resembles your Eye, in its Clearness, its Liveliness, and in its piercing Views, should be also like it in this, that plainly discerning all things else, it wants a sight of itself; but in this it does not resemble it: For it beholds itself by Reflections, and like a lovely Maid at her Glass, is charmed with the sight of its own Beauty. This is a sight in which you take Pride as well as Pleasure; but yours I must confess is a guiltless Pride, it being nothing but first Motion, which it is impossible for Man to avoid. You have both the Force to subdue it immediately, and the Art and Goodness to conceal it from us. That it plainly appears from what I have said, that you do not believe I had any design to rally you. I am confident that through all my Letter there appears an Air of Sincerity. But that is a Virtue which has been so long and so peculiarly yours, that you may perhaps be jealous of it in your Friends, and disclaim some Virtues which they commend in you only to Monopolise that. You had given me, at least an occasion to think so, if the Raillery in yours had not been so very apparent, that even I had Eyes to discern that you have been to blame in it, tho' I am doubly blinded with Love of you and myself. Yet if you writ it with a design to Mortify me, assure yourself that I shall fortify my Vanity with that very Artillery with which you have begun to attack it. If Mr. Wycherley rallies me, it is certain that I have my Defects; but it is full as certain, that he would never condescend to abuse me at such a distance if he wholly despised me. Thus, Sir, you see I am as reasonable with my Friend, as a Russian Spouse is with her Husband, and take his very Raillery for a Mark of Esteem, as she does a Beating for a Proof of Affection. The very worst of your Qualities gain our Affections: Even your Jealousy is very obliging, which it could never be unless it were very groundless. But since your very Suspicion is obliging, what influence must your Kindness have on our Souls? The Wish that I were with you in some Retirement, is engaging to that degree, that I almost repent that I so eagerly desired your Conversation before. For if it were possible I would augment that Desire as a grateful Return to yours. To be with you in Solitude would make me perfectly happy. Tho' it were in the Orcadeses, I would not wish myself removed to any happier Climate; no, not even to that which contained my absent Mistress; all that I could do for her on that occasion, would be to wish her with me. In that Retirement what should I not enjoy? Where I should be admirably instructed without Trouble, and infinitely delighted without Vice, where I should be glorious at once with Envy and Quiet. For what could be more glorious, than to be the Companion of your Retreat! My very Ambition instructs me to love such Solitude. Tho', properly speaking, there can be no Solitude where you reside: Immortal Company still attends you, and the Virtues, the Graces, and the Charming Nine, who love the Groves, and are fond of you, follow you to remotest Retirements. The Comic Muse is more particularly yours; and it is your peculiar Praise to allure the most Ravishing of all the Sisters after you into Retirement: To make that Goddess forsake the Crowd with you, who loves it most of the Nine: You have been constantly her Darling, her best Beloved. Thus in Retirement with her and you, I should have the Conversation of Mankind; I should enjoy it with all its Advantages, without its least Inconveniencies. In the Philosophy of your Actions and Words, I should see the Wise, the Good, and the truly Great; in your Observations, and in your Raillery, the Men of Sense, and the Men of Wit; and in your satire, severely pleasant, the Fools and Rascals exposed by it. In the Postscript to my last, I made an Apology for usurping a Style so foreign from this way of Writing. I have once more run into the same Fault in this, but the very Thought of Mr. Wycherley spreads a generous Warmth through me, and raises my Soul to Rapture. And when a Man writes, his Soul and his Style of necessity rise together. In my next I have something with which I must trouble you, that will require another manner of Writing. I am, etc. To Mr. Wycherley. Dear Sir, I Have been very ill ever since I took my Leave of you, so that I parted in one Night from all that I value most, that is, from my Health and you. However, Nature was kind in not failing to supply me with Vigour, till Fortune had deprived me of your Conversation, and I was got amongst People with whom I small occasion for Vigour. Yet even here in spite of Sickness and Absence I have made a shift to Converse with you: For I thought that your Works were the only things that could make me full Amends for the Loss of your Company: By them you have been able to give me Joy even in the midst of my Pain. For, the Country Wife, and the Plain Dealer are Stores of Delight, which you have laid up by a noble Charity, to supply the Poor in Spirit through all Posterity. So that I believe that to be one of the Reasons of Fortune's Pique to you, that you have put it out of her Power for the time to come, to prosecute her Quarrel to Men of Sense effectually: for by having recourse to you in your Works, they are sure to become more happy than. Fools, even at the time when they are less successful. But I can hold up my Head no longer at present, as soon as I am better you may expect a longer Letter from me. I am yours, etc. Mr. Wycherley to Mr. Dennis. Dear Sir, I Have received yours of the 20th of November, and am glad to find by it, that however your Friends are Losers by your Absence from the Town, you are a Gainer by it; of your Health, which every one you have left behind you, (but Ch—) may be thought a Friend to: and the more each Man is your Friend, the more he is satisfied with pour Absence, which tho' it makes us ill for want of you, makes you well for want of us: your taking no Leave of me (which you would excuse) I take to be one of the greatest Kindnesses you ever showed me; for I could no more see a Departing Friend from the Town, than a Departing Friend from this Life; and sure 'tis as much Kindness and good Breeding to steal from our Friend's Society unknown to 'em, (when we must leave 'em to their Trouble) as it is to steal out of a Room, after a ceremonious Visit, to prevent Trouble to him, whom we would Oblige and Respect; so that your last Fault (as you call it) is like the rest of your Faults, rather an Obligation than an Offence; tho' the greatest Injury indeed you can do your Friends, is to leave 'em against their Will, which you must needs do. You tell me you converse with me in my Writings, I must confess than you suffer a great deal for me in my Absence, which (tho' I would have you love me) I would not have you do; but for your truer Diversion, pray change my Country Wife for a better of your own in the Country, and exercise your own Plain Dealing there, than you will make your Country ' Squire better Company, and your Parson more sincere in your Company than his Pulpit, or in his Cups: But when you talk of Store of Delights you find in my Plain Dealer, you cease to be one; and when you commend my Country Wife, you never were more a Courtier; and I doubt not but you will like your next Neighbour's Country Wife better than you do mine, that you may pass your time, better than you can do with my Country Wife; and like her Innocence more than her Wit, since Innocence is the better Bawd to Love; but enjoy my Wife and welcome in my Absence, I shall take it as civilly as a City Cuckold: I was sorry to find by you that your Head ached whilst you writ me your Letter; since I fear 'twas from Reading my Works (as you call them) not from your own Writing, which never gave you Pain, tho' it would to others to Imitate it. I've given your Service to your Friends at the Rose, who, since your Absence, own they ought not to go for the Witty Club; nor is Will's the Wits Coffee-house any more, since you left it, whose Society, for want of yours, is grown as Melancholy, that is, as dull as when you left them a Nights, to their own Mother-wit, their Puns, Couplets, or Quibbles; therefore expect not a Witty Letter from any of them, no more than from me, since they, nor I have conversed with you these three Weeks. I have no News worth sending you, but my next shall bring you what we have. In the mean time let me tell you (what I hope is no News to you) that your Absence is more tedious to me, than a Quibbler's Company to you; so that I being sick Yesterday, as I thought without any Cause, reflected you were forty or fifty Miles off, and then found the Reason of my Indisposition, for I cannot be well so far from you, who am, My Dear Mr. Dennis, Your obliged humble Servant, W. WYCHERLEY. POSTSCRIPT. PRay pardon me that I have not sooner answered your Letter, for I have been very busy this last Week about Law-affairs, that is, very Dull and Idle, tho' very Active. Your Friends of the Coffee-house and the Rose, whether Drunk or Sober, Good Fellows, or Good Wits, show at least their Sense, by valuing you and yours, and send you all their Service; and never are more Wits and less Poets, that is, less Liars, than when they profess themselves your Servants. For News, W— lives soberly, Changed— goes to bed early; D'Vrfy sings now like a Poet, that is, without being asked: And all the Poets, or Witss-at-will, since your departure speak well of the Absent. Bal— says his ill Looks proceed rather for want of your Company, than for having had that of his Mistress; even the Quibblers and Politicians, have no double Meaning when they speak well of you. To Mr. Wycherley. Dear Sir, THE sight of your Letter revived me: It appeared like the Rays of the new Sun, to one who has wintered under the Pole, and brought with it Light, Warmth, and Spirit. The Raillery in it was very obliging; for the Lust of Praise is as powerful with Men, as the Itch of Enjoyment is with Women; and it is as hard for us to think that our Friend's ridicule us when they commend our Wit, as it is for them to believe that their Gallants abuse them when they extol their Beauty. Yet generally in both Cases, whatever is said, is said for the Satisfaction of him that speaks it. But then, as he delights in Deceiving, the Person to whom he speaks is deceived with Pleasure, and both Parties are satisfied. But Mr. Wycherley is to be excepted from this general Rule, who commends his Friend for his Friend's sake. You never are witty to please yourself, to whom Wit has so long been habitual, that you are often hardly moved yourself when you say those admirable things with which we are transported. Not that I am so far betrayed by Vanity, as to take your Compliments at the Foot of the Letter, or to suppose that you believed all that you said; but I am willing, for your sake, to believe that you meant something of it; and that not being without Kindness for me, (which is only owing to the Sweetness of your Nature, that is, to your Merit, and not to mine;) your Reason, as the Duke de la Rochefoucaut says, has been bubbled by your Affection. And here, Sir, I have much the Advantage of you; for when I declare that I have the greatest Opinion in the World of you, none will mistrust my Sincerity, and all will applaud my Discernment; but you cannot express your Zeal at so high a rate for any Friend, but it must considerably lessen the World's Opinion of your Judgement. But if it is Mr. Wycherley's peculiar Praise, never to have shown Want of Judgement in any thing, unless in that only thing in which Error is honourable: How few are they who are capable of Erring at your Rate! Vellem in amicia sic erraremus, & isti Errori virtus nomen posuisset honestum. And how happy is the Man who has a Friend so accomplished, that Error in him is Virtue? I am that happy Man, and am so far exalted by my Happiness, that I am never less humble, than when I subscribe myself, Dear Sir, Your most humble and faithful Servant. Mr. Wycherley's to Mr.— on the Loss of his Mistress. Dear Sir, I Have had yours of the 31st of March, to which I should sooner have returned an Answer, had I not been forced to take a little turn out of Town; but your Letter to me, brought me not more Satisfaction than your last to Mr. Moyle gave me Disquiet for you: Since by that I find how uneasy you are. Yet know, my Friend, from one sufficiently experienced in Love-disasters, that Love is often a kind of losing Loadam, in which the Loser is most often the Gainer. If you have been deprived of a Mistress, consider you have lost a Wife, and tho' you are disappointed of a short Satisfaction, you have likewise escaped a tedious Vexation, which Matrimony infallibly comes to be, one way or another; so that your Misfortune is an Accident which your true Friends should rather felicitate than commiserate. You told me in your last, that you were no more Master of yourself: Then how should I help Rejoicing at the Restoration of your Liberty? A Man might as reasonably be sorry for his Friend's Recovery from Madness, as for his Recovery from Love, (tho' for the time a pleasant Frenzy;) so that, your Mistress' Father, has rather been your Doctor than your Enemy: And you should not be angry with him, if he cures you of your Love-distemper, tho' by a Means a little too violent; for next to his Daughter's Cure of Love, his may prove the best. Well, pray be not angry, that I can be pleased with any thing that can so much displease you: I own my Friendship for you, has a little Selfishness in it, for now you cannot be so happy as you would in the Country, I hope you will make us as happy as we can be in Town, which we shall be as soon as we have your company: For know, my Friend, change of Air after a Love-distemper, may be as good as 'tis after a Fever; and therefore make haste to Town, where a great many Doctors have engaged to complete your Cure. Your Friends will do any thing to root out the Remains of your Passion. The Witty Club will grow Grave to instruct you; and the Grave Club will grow Gay to delight you; Wh— will turn a Philosopher; and I will grow a Goodfellow, and venture my own Health, for the Recovery of your good Humour; for I had rather be sick in your Company, than for want of it; who am, Dear Sir, Your most unalterable Friend, and humble Servant, W. WYCHERLEY. POSTSCRIPT. PRay pardon me for not writing to you before, or rather for writing to you so dully now, which I hope will be my best Excuse for my not writing sooner. All your Friends of the Coffee-house are well; and what is no News to you, are, in spite of your Absence, your constant humble Servants. The Answer to Mr. Wycherley. Dear Sir, I Have a colourable Excuse for my Silence, for when you went out of Town, you gave me the hopes of receiving a Letter from you, as soon as you arrived at Cleve. Besides, since that, I have been a Month in Northamptonshire. But the Inclination which I have to converse with Mr. Wycherley, is too violent to receive any Check from Punctillo's. But, alas, I was restrained by too just an Impediment: For ever since I saw you, I have been so racked by a cruel Passion, that I have had no Power to do any thing but to to Complain. And your Portion of Melancholy is not so small, that you have need to be troubled with another Man's Spleen. I would be sure to communicate my Happiness to my Friend, nay, I could be but half happy if I did not communicate it. As in Love I never could be pleased to a Height with my own Pleasure, if I did not find that it added to that of my Mistress. But I should impart my ill Humour to my Friend, if I found that it were not in his Power to ease me, and that it were much in his Inclination, with as much Regret, as I should acquaint him with his own ill Fortune, if I were clearly convinced that it were not in my Power to assist him. You would not advise me to stifle this Passion. You are too well acquainted with Love, and me, to do that: You know that that would be to persuade me to a thing which you are already sensible that I am very willing and very unable to do. I blush while I show this Weakness, but sure there is some Force of Mind required to show some sorts of Weakness. You remember the Maxim of the wise Duke: Lafoy meme fermete qui sert a Resister al'amour, Sertauffi queque fois a le rendre violent & durable. If that be true, I beseech you to believe that this obstinate Lover is a constant Friend too, and unalterably, Dear Sir, Your most humble Servant. Mr. Wycherley's Letter to Mr.— Dear Sir, I Lately received from you so kind, and so witty a Reproach for my not writing to you, that I can hardly repent me of my Fault, since it has been the Occasion of my receiving so much Satisfaction: But you have had a reasonable Excuse for your Silence, since you say I promised to write to you first, which is very true; and I had kept my Promise, but for my Conjecture that you could not stay so long out of Northamptonshire; nor was I, it seems mistaken in that. But be assured, dear Sir, I think there can be no better End, or Design of my Writing, than in its procuring me the Satisfaction of receiving something of yours; especially, since I have no other way left me now of Conversing with you. But it seems, you forbear to relieve me out of Charity, since you say your Trouble was so great, that you were unwilling to communicate it to me to mine. I see your Wit can do any thing, make an Omission of a Kindness a greater Obligation; and if you complain but to your Mistress, as wittily as you do to your Friend, I wonder not at her Cruelty, nor that she should take Pleasure to hear you Complain so long. But, my Friend, have a care of Complaining to her, with so much true Sense, lest it should disparage your true Love; and indeed, that I fear is the only Cause you are suffered to Complain so long, without the Success which is due to your Merit, Love, and Wit, from one who, you say, has herself so much; which, with your Pardon, I shall hardly believe, tho' you are her Voucher, if she does not do what you would have her; that is, do you and herself Reason as fast as she can; since she must needs believe you a warm and sincere Lover, as much as I believe you a zealous and a true Friend. And I am so well acquainted with Love and you, that I believe no body is able to alter your Love, or advise your Reason; the one being as Unalterable as the other Infallible; and you (for aught I know) are the only Man who at once can Love and be Wise. And to the Wise, you know, a Word is enough; especially since you gave me a Caution against opposing your Passion; because it would be in vain. If Love be in you as in other Men, a violent Passion, it is therefore a short Frenzy, and should be cured like other Distempers of that kind, by your Friends humouring it, rather than opposing it. Yet pardon me, if I prescribe the common Remedy of curing one Love with another. But whether you will let me be your Doctor or no, I must at least wish you well, who am, Dear Sir, your most obliged affectionate Friend, and humble Servant, W. WYCHERLEY. POSTSCRIPT. PRay thank my Friend Mr. W.— for putting his Surtout of a Letter over yours of a finer Stuff, as the Lining of a Garment is often finer than the Outside. Pray give all the honest Gentlemen of the Coffee-house, of my Acquaintance and yours, my humble Service; whom, with you I hope to see again, within this three Weeks, at London. Mr. Dennis to Mr. Wycherley. Dear Sir, A Man who has the Vanity of pretending to Write, must certainly love you extremely well, if he does not hate you after he has received from you such a Letter as yours: And he must undoubtedly show a great deal of Friendship, when he assures you he does not envy you the very Lines by which you commend him. A Man had need be very well acquainted with the Goodness of your Nature, to be satisfied that you do not praise with a wicked Design to mortify. There are few Writers so humble, whom Mr. Wycherley's Commendation would not render vain; but then there are few Writers so proud, whom the Wit that Mr. Wycherley shows in commending them, would not humble. So that a Man, who did not know you, would be apt to believe that whenever you writ to Phrase, you do but like a Wrestler who lifts People up on purpose to throw them down, and the higher he raises them, makes their Fall the greater. Your Commendation is to a modest Man, what the second Bottle is to a sober Man; it raises his Vigour while he is swallowing it; but the Wit is as sure to make the one Melancholy upon mature Reflection, as the Wine is certain to leave the other Spiritless after the third Concoction: But our Infirmity cannot be your Fault; to whom we are obliged for your generous Intentions, which give you such a peculiar Distinction from ordinary Men of Wit. Indeed, by a just and a noble Confidence, which you may repose in yourself, you may always very safely commend; because you may be always sure to surpass. 'Tis prudent and noble at once in a Conqueror to extol the Conquered: To praise the Excellence which he o'ercomes, is but to commend himself: Besides, it wins the very Heart and Soul of him that is overcome, if he has but Virtue enough to be so subdued; and makes him willing to leave his last Retrenchment. It would long since have had that Effect upon me, if the rest of your good Qualities had not prevented it; which have so closely and so entirely tied me to you, that whenever I receive a Letter from you, my Vanity is sure to gain on the one side, what it is certain to lose on the other: For if I am mortified as to my own Wit, I do not fail to value myself upon yours. I am, etc. To Mr. Wycherley, That a Blockhead is better qualified for Business than a Man of Wit. Dear Sir, THE last time I was at Will's, I had the Mortification to hear, that our Friend Mr.— had met with a Disappointment in—; at which, some, who were present, were glad, affirming, That Success would have thrown him out of his Element; for that a Man of Wit is not qualified for Business so well as a Blockhead: I have since had some Thoughts concerning that matter which I here send you, and of which I desire your Opinion. Upon Reflection I have found out the following Reasons, why Blockheads are thought to be fittest for Business, and why they really succeed in it. First, As their Brains are a great deal colder, than those are of Men of Wit, they must have but very straight Imaginations, and very barren Inventions; from whence it follows that they have but few Thoughts, and that a few Objects fill their Capacities. Secondly, It is reasonable enough to believe, that since they are uncapable of many Thoughts, those few which they have, are determined by their Necessities, their Appetites, and their Desires, to what they call their Fortunes and their Establishments. Thirdly, It is not very hard to conceive, that since a Blockhead has but a few Thoughts, and perhaps but one all his Life-time, which is his Interest, he should have it more perfect, and better digested, than Men of Wit have the same Thought, who perhaps have a thousand every Hour. Fourthly, It is easy to comprehend, that since such a one has but a few Thoughts, or perhaps but one, which by often revolving in his Mind, he has digested, and brought to perfection, he should readily pass from Thought to Action. For he must grow weary of Thinking so often of one and the same thing; and since the Nature of the Soul requires Agitation, as soon as his little Speculation ceases, he must of necessity act to divert himself. Fifthly, It will be certainly found, that as a little Thought often makes a Man active in Business, so a little Judgement often makes him diligent; for he may well be eager in the Pursuit of those things, on which, seduced by Passion and Vulgar Opinion, he sets an exorbitant Value; and concerning whose Natures and Incertainty he is not very capable of making solid Reflections. For tho' Prudence may oblige a Man to secure a Competency, yet never was any one by right Reason induced to seek Superfluities. Sixthly, Penury of Thoughts supposes Littleness of Soul, which is often requisite for the succeeding in Business: For a Blockhead is sordid enough to descend to Trick and Artifice, which in Business are often necessary to procure Success; unless they are more than supplied, by a Prudence derived from a consummate Experience, or from a great Capacity. Thus have I endeavoured to give the Reason, why a Fool succeeds better in Business than a Man of Wit; who has a multitude of Thoughts, and which fly at the noblest Objects; and who finds that there is something so pleasing, and so noble, in Thinking rightly, and more especially in the sublime Speculations of exalted Reason, that he finds it intolerably irksome to descend to Action, and abhors the very Thought of being diligent in things, for which he has an extreme Contempt. Thus you 〈◊〉 that in some measure, a Fool may be said to be better fitted out for Business, than a Man of Wit. But it is high time to distinguish: For, first, when I say that a Blockhead is fitted for Business, I mean only for little Business: For to affirm, that he is qualified for Affairs that require Extent of Capacity, would be a Contradiction in Terms. Secondly, When I affirm, that a Man of Wit is less capacitated for Business, I mean that he is less so, as long as he keeps in his natural Temper, and remains in a State of Tranquillity: But if once he comes to be thrown out of that by the Force of a violent Passion, and fired with Zeal for his Country's Service, or inflamed by Ambition, and Business can be made subservient to the gratifying of those Passions, than I dare boldly affirm, that one Man of Wit will go further than a thousand of those who want it. Of which it would be easy to give more than one Instance amongst our present Ministers. But I will be contented with putting you in mind, that none of the Romans had more Wit than Caesar, and none of the French than Richelieu. Before I conclude, I must give you a Caution; which is, That by the Word Blockhead, I do not mean one that is stupid, but that I apply that word according to the Language of you Men of Wit, to one who thinks but a little: And that on the other side, by a Man of Wit, I do not mean every Coxcomb whose Imagination has got the Ascendant of his little Reason; but a Man like you, Sir, or our most ingenious Friend, in whom Fancy and Judgement are like a well-matched Pair; the first like an extraordinary Wife, that appears always Beautiful, and always Charming, yet is at all times Decent, and at all times chaste; the second like a prudent and well-bred Husband, whose very Sway shows his Complaisance, and whose very Indulgence shows his Authority, I am, dear Sir, your most humble Servant, JOHN DENNIS. To Mr. Dryden. Sir, THo' no Man writes to his Friend with greater Ease, or with more Cheerfulness, than myself; and tho' I have lately had the Presumption to place you at the Head of that small Party, nevertheless I have experienced, with Grief, that in writing to you I have not found my old Facility. Since I came to this place I have taken up my Pen several times in order to write to you, but have constantly at the very beginning found myself damped and disabled; upon which I have been apt to believe that extraordinary Esteem may sometimes make the Mind as Impotent as a violent Love does the Body, and that the vehement Desire we have to exert it, extremely decays our Ability. I have heard of more than one lusty Gallant, who, tho' he could at any time, with Readiness and Vigour, possess the Woman whom he loved but moderately, yet when he has been about to give his Darling Mistress, whom he has vehemently and long desired, the first last Proof of his Passion, has found on a sudden that his Body has jaded and grown resty under his Soul, and gone backward the faster, the more he has spurred it forward. Esteem has wrought a like Effect upon my Mind; my extraordinary Inclination to show that I honour you at an extraordinary rate, and to show it in words that might not be altogether unworthy Mr. Dryden's Perusal, incapacitates me to perform the very Action to which it incites me, and Nature sinks in me under the fierce Effort. But I hope you will have the Goodness to pardon a Weakness that proceeds from a Cause like this, and to consider that I had pleased you more if I had honoured you less. Who knows but that yet I may please you, if you encourage me to mend my Fault? To which, if you know but the Place I am in, Charity would engage you, tho' Justice could not oblige you: For I am here in a Desert, deprived of Company, and deprived of News; in a Place where I can hear nothing at all of the Public; and what proves it ten times more a Desert, nothing at all of you: For all who are at present concerned for their Country's Honour, harken more after your Preparatives, than those for the next Campaign. These last may possibly turn to our Confusion, so uncertain are the Events of War; but we know that whatever you undertake must prove Glorious to England; and tho' the French may meet with Success in the Field, by you we are sure to Conquer them. In War there are a thousand unlooked-for Accidents which happens every Day, and Fortune appears no where more like herself; but in a Combat of Wit, the more Humane Contention, and the more Glorious Quarrel, Merit will be always sure to prevail: And therefore, tho' I can but hope that the Confederate Forces will give Chase to De Lorge and Luxemburgh, I am very confident that Boileau and Racine will be forced to submit to you. Judge therefore, if I, who very much love my Country, and who so much esteem you, must not with a great deal of Impatience expect to hear from you. I am, Sir, your most humble Servant. To Mr. Dryden. Dear Sir, YOu may see already by this presumptuous Greeting, that Encouragement gives us as much Assurance to Friendship, as it imparts to Love: You may see too, that a Friend may sometimes proceed to acknowledge Affection, by the very same Degrees by which a Lover declares his Passion. This last, at first, confesses Esteem, yet owns no Passion but Admiration: But as soon as he is animated by one kind Expression, his Look, his Style, and his very Soul are altered; but as Sovereign Beauties know very well, that he who confesses he Esteems and Admires them, implies that he Loves them, or is inclined to Love them; a Person of Mr. Dryden's exalted Genius, can discern very well, that when we Esteem him highly, 'tis Respect restrains us if we say no more. For where great Esteem is without Affection, 'tis often attended with Envy, if not with Hate; which Passions detract, even when they commend, and Silence is their highest Panegyric. 'Tis indeed impossible, that I should refuse to Love a Man, who has so often given me all the Pleasure that the most insatiable Mind can desire; when at any time I have been dejected by Disappointments, or tormented by cruel Passions, the Recourse to your Verses has calmed my Soul, or raised it to Transports which made it contemn Tranquillity. But tho' you have so often given me all the Pleasure I was able to bear, I have reason to complain of you on this account, that you have confined my Delight to a narrower Compass: Suckling, Cowley, and Denham, who formerly ravished me in every part of them, now appear Tasteless to me in most; and Waller himself, with all his Gallantry, and all that admirable Art of his Turns, appears three quarters Prose to me. Thus 'tis plain that your Muse has done me an Injury; but she has made me Amends for it: For she is like those extraordinary Women, who, besides the Regularity of their charming Features, besides their engaging Wit, have secret, unaccountable, enchanting Graces, which tho' they have been long and often enjoyed, make them always New and always Desirable. I return you my hearty Thanks for your most obliging Letter. I had been very unreasonable if I had repined that the Favour arrived no sooner: 'Tis allowable to grumble at the Delaying a Payment, but to murmur at the Deferring a Benefit, is to be impudently Ungrateful beforehand. The Commendations which you give me, exceedingly soothe my Vanity: For you with a Breath can bestow or confirm Reputation; a whole numberless People proclaims the Praise which you give, and the Judgements of three mighty Kingdoms appear to depend upon yours. The People gave me some little Applause before; but to whom, when they are in Humour, will they not give it? and to whom, when they are Froward will they not refuse it? Reputation with them depends upon Chance, unless they are guided by those above them: They are but the Keepers as it were of the Lottery which Fortune sets up for Renown; upon which Fame is bound to attend with her Trumpet, and Sound when Men draw the Prizes. Thus I had rather have your Approbation than the Applause of Fame Her Commendation argues Good Luck, but Mr. Dryden's implies Desert. Whatever low Opinion I have hitherto had of myself, I have so great a Value for your Judgement, that, for the sake of that, I shall be willing henceforward to believe that I am not wholly Desertless; but that you may find me still more Supportable, I shall endeavour to compensate whatever I want in those glittering Qualities, by which the World is dazzled, with Truth, with Faith, and with Zeal to serve you; Qualities which, for their Rarity, might be Objects of Wonder, but that Men dare not appear to admire them, because their Admiration would manifestly declare their Want of ' 'em. Thus, Sir, let me assure you, that tho' you are acquainted with several Gentlemen, whose Eloquence and Wit may capacitate them to offer their Service with more Address to you, yet no one can declare himself, with greater Cheerfulness, or with greater Fidelity, or with more profound Respect than myself, Sir, your most, etc. Mr. Dryden to Mr. Dennis. My dear Mr. Dennis, WHen I read a Letter so full of my Commendations, as your last, I cannot but consider you as the Master of a vast Treasure, who, having more than enough for yourself, are forced to Ebb out upon your Friends. You have indeed the best Right to give them, since you have them in Propriety; but they are no more mine when I receive them, than the Light of the Moon can be allowed to be her own, who shines but by the Reflection of her Brother. Your own Poetry is a more powerful Example, to prove that the Modern Writers may enter into Comparison with the Ancients, than any which Perrault could produce in France; yet neither he, nor you, who are a better Critic, can persuade me that there is any room left for a solid Commendation at this time of Day, at least for me. If I undertake the Translation of Virgil, the little which I can perform will show at least, that no Man is fit to write after him, in a barbarous modern Tongue: Neither will his Machine's be of any service to a Christian Poet. We see how ineffectually they have been tried by Tasso, and by Ariosto. 'Tis using them too dully if we only make Devils of his Gods: As if, for Example, I would raise a Storm, and make use of Aeolus, with this only Difference of calling him Prince of the Air. What Invention of mine would there be in this? or who would not see Virgil through me, only the same Trick played over again by a bungling Juggler? Boileau has well observed, that it is an easy matter, in a Christian Poem, for God to bring the Devil to Reason. I think I have given a better Hint for new Machine's in my Preface to Juvenal, where I have particularly recommended two Subjects, one of king Arthur's Conquest of the Saxons, and the other of the Black Prince in his Conquest of Spain. But the Guardian Angels of Monarchies and Kingdoms, are not to be touched by every Hand. A Man must be deeply conversant in the Platonic Philosophy to deal with them: And therefore I may reasonably expect that no Poet of our Age will pre-sume to handle those Machine's, for fear of discovering his own Ignorance; or if he should, he might perhaps be Ingrateful enough not to own me for his Benefactor. After I have confessed thus much of our Modern Heroic Poetry, I cannot but conclude with Mr. Rym—, that our English Comedy is far beyond any thing of the Ancients. And notwithstanding our Irregularities, so is our Tragedy. Shakespeare had a Genius for it; and we know, in spite of Mr. R— that Genius alone is a greater Virtue (if I may so call it) than all other Qualifications put together. You see what Success this learned Critic has found in the World, after his Blaspheming Shakespeare. Almost all the Faults which he has discovered are truly there; Yet who will read Mr. Rym—, or not read Shakespeare? For my own part, I reverence Mr. Rym— 's Learning, but I detest his Ill Nature and his Arrogance. I indeed, and such as I, have reason to be afraid of him, but Shakespeare has not. There is another Part of Poetry in which the English stand almost upon an equal Foot with the Ancients; and 'tis that which we call Pindaric; introduced, but not perfected by our Famous Mr. Cowley: and of this, Sir, you are certainly one of the greatest Masters: You have the Sublimity of Sense as well as Sound, and know how far the Boldness of a Poet may lawfully extend. I could wish you would cultivate this kind of Ode; and reduce it either to the same Measure which Pinder used, or give new Measures of your own. For, as it is, it looks like a vast Tract of Land newly discovered. The Soil is wonderfully fruitful, but unmanured, overstocked with Inhabitants; but almost all Savages, without Laws, Arts, Arms, or Policy. I remember poor Nat. Lee, who was then upon the Verge of Madness, yet made a sober, and a witty Answer to a bad Poet, who told him, It was an easy thing to write like a Madman. No, said he, 'tis very difficult to write like a Madman; but 'tis a very easy matter to write like a Fool. Otway and He are safe by Death from all Attacks, but we poor Poets Militant (to use Mr. Cowley's Expression) are at the Mercy of wretched Scribblers: and when they cannot fasten upon our Verses, they fall upon our Morals, our Principles of State and Religion. For my Principles of Religion, I will not justify them to you: I know yours are far different. For the same reason I shall say nothing of my Principles of State: I believe you in yours follow the Dictates of your Reason, as I in mine do those of my Conscience. If I thought myself in an Error I would retract it; I am sure that I suffer for them; and Milton makes even the Devil say, That no Creature is in love with Pain. For my Morals, betwixt Man and Man, I am not to be my own Judge; I appeal to the World if I have Deceived or Defrauded any Man: And for my private Conversation, they who see me every Day can be the best Witnesses, whether or no it be Blameless and Inoffensive. Hitherto I have no reason to complain that Men of either Party shun my Company. I have never been an impudent Beggar at the Doors of Noble Men: My Visits have indeed been too rare to be unacceptable; and but just enough to testify my Gratitude for their Bounty; which I have frequently received, but always unasked, as themselves will witness. I have written more than I needed to you on this Subject: for I dare say, you justify me to yourself. As for that which I first intended for the principal Subject of this Letter, which is my Friend's Passion, and his Design of Marriage, on better consideration I have changed my Mind: For having had the Honour to see my dear Friend Wycherley's Letter to him on that Occasion, I find nothing to be added or amended. But as well as I love Mr. Wycherley, I confess I love myself so well, that I will not show how much I am inferior to him in Wit and Judgement, by undertaking any thing after him. There is Moses and the Prophets in his Counsel: Jupiter and Juno, as the Poets tell us, made Tiresias their Umpire, in a certain merry Despute, which fell out in Heaven betwixt them: Tiresias you know had been of both Sexes, and therefore was a proper Judge; our Friend, Mr. Wycherley, is full as competent an Arbitrator: He has been a Bachelor, and Married Man, and is now a Widower. Virgil says of Ceneus, Nunc vir nunc Faemina Ceneus, Rursus & in veterem fato revoluta figuram. Yet, I suppose, he will not give any large Commendations to his middle State; nor as the Sailer said, will be fond, after a Shipwreck, to put to Sea again. If my Friend will adventure after this, I can but wish him a good Wind, as being his; and, My dear Mr. Dennis, your most Affectionate and most Faithful Servant, JOHN DRYDEN. Written for my Lady C—, to her Cousin W— of the Temple. By Mr. Dennis. After she had received from him a Copy of Verses on her Beauty. Cousin, I Received yours with the Verses enclosed, and here return you my hearty Thanks for the Face, the Shape, the Mien, which you have so generously bestowed upon me. From looking upon your Verses I went to my Glass: But, Jesus! the Difference! Tho' I bought it to Flatter me, yet compared to you, I found it a Plain Dealer: It showed me immediately that I have been a great deal more beholding to you, than I have been to Nature; for she only formed me not Frightful; but you have made me Divine. But as you have been a great deal kinder than Nature has been to me, I think myself obliged, in Requital, to be a good deal more Liberal than Heaven has been to you, and to allow you as large a Stock of Wit as you have given me of Beauty: Since so Honest a Gentleman as yourself, has stretched his Conscience to commend my Person, I am bound in Gratitude to do Violence to my Reason, to extol your Verses. When I left the Town, I desired you to furnish me with the News of the Place, and the first thing I have received from you, is a Copy of Verses on my Beauty; by which you dexterously infer, that the most extraordinary Piece of News you can send me, is to tell me, that I am Handsome. By which ingenious Inference, you had infallibly brought the Scandal of a Wit upon you, if your Verses had not stood up in you Justification. But tell me truly, Cousin, could you think that I should prove so easy a Creature as to believe all that you have said of me? How could you find in your Heart to make such a Fool of me, and such a Cheat of yourself; to intoxicate me with Flattery, and draw me in to Truck my little Stock of Wit and Judgement, for a mere Imagination of Beauty; when the real thing too, falls so infinitely short of what you would make me exchange for the very Fancy of it? For, Cousin, there is this considerable Difference between the Merit of Wit and Beauty: That Men are never violently influenced by Beauty, unless it has weakened their Reason; and never seel half the Force of Wit, unless their Judgements are sound. The principal time in which those of your Sex admire Beauty in ours, is between Seventeen and Thirty; that is, after they are passed their Innocence, and before they are come to their Judgement. And now, Cousin, have not you been commend-ing a pretty Quality in me, to admire which, as I have just shown you, supposes not only a corrupted Will, but a raw Understanding: Besides, how frail, how transitory is it! Nature deprives us of it at thirty, if Diseases spare it till then: By which constant Proceeding, she seems to imply, that she gives it us as a Gugaw to please us in the Childhood of our Reasons; and takes it from us, as a thing below us, when we come to Years of Discretion. Thus, Cousin, have you been commending a Quality in me, which has nothing of true Merit in it, and of which I have no greater a Share, than to keep me from being scandalous. So that all I could have got by your Kindness, if I had parted with my Judgement, in order to reap the Benefit of it, had been nothing but wretched Conceit, and ridiculous Affectation. If I thought you had enough of the gallant Man in you, to take what I say in good part, I would advise you to engage no further in Poetry: Be ruled by a Woman for once, and mind your Cook upon Littleton. Rather Pettifog than Flatter: for if you are resolved to be a Cheat, you will show at least some Conscience, in resolving rather to chouse People of their Money, than to bubble them of their Understandings. Besides, Cousin, you have not a Genius which will make a Great Poet, and be pleased to consider, that a Small Poet is a scandalous Wight; that indifferent Verses are very bad ones; and that an insipid Panegytic upon another is a severe Libal upon yourself. Besides, there will start up a satire one Day, and then Woe be to cold Rhymers. Old England is not yet so barren, but there will arise some generous Spirit, who, besides a Stock of Wit and good Sense, which are no very common Qualities, will not only be furnished with a sound Judgement, which is an extraordinary Talon; but with a true Taste for Eloquence and Wit, which is scarce anywhere to be found; and which comprehends not only a just Discernment, but a fine Penetration, and a delicate Criticism. Such a Satirist as this, Cousin, must arise, and therefore you had best take care, by a judicious Silence, that whenever he appears, he may be sure to Divert you, and not Afflict you. I am, etc. To Mr—, at Will's Coffee-house, in Covent-garden. I Received your Panegyric upon Puns, which I so approve of, that I am resolved to get it printed, and bowed up with Erasmus his Praise of Folly. Yet to confess a Truth, I was something dissatisfied to see Quibbling commended with so much Wit: For nothing can be writ with more Wit, than your Letter to the Reserve of the Quibbles; which I suppose you inserted amongst so many things which are so finely said, lest these should have rendered you too vain, or too much have mortified me: But pray, after this Panegyric upon Quibbles, give me leave to ask you the same Question that the Lacedæmonians asked the Sophister, who harangued in the Praise of Hercules: By the way, did you ever expect to hear a Quibble compared to Hercules? There's a Simile for you. I think, as Novel says, that's New. You, who are cried up for so great a Wit, tell me, without Envy, could you ever have thought upon that? But to return to my Question: Here you have spent a great deal of time in the Defence of Quibbles. Who said a Word against them? The Devil a Syllable did I mention of them in mine. It is true, I cited honest Mr. sweet—, but it is a hard Case, if the Quoting an Author must be construed the Condemning his Works: I have a great Respect and Kindness for Mr. sweet—, as I have for all who have any Excellence. And truly, I think that for the Management of Quibbles and Dice, there is no Man alive comes near him. And let me tell you, Sir, for all your new Emulation, he is a better Quibbler than you. But it is high time to give over Raillery: For if you were my Father a thousand times, let me die if I would not rigorously examine that part of your Letter which pretends to defend Quibbling. You say that I am too Nice, and that my Aversion has something in it, that is very like Affectation: But here you must give me leave to turn you own Simile upon you: Can a Man be justly accused of Niceness or Affectation, because he appears offended at a Stink? When I tell you that Quibbling is extremely foolish; You know it is foolish enough, you reply; but it is a foolish thing that diverts. And do you think this Knowledge of it will excuse the Folly? Give me leave to resume the aforementioned Simile: Suppose a Fellow who beaks Wind, should say to the Company, while they are cajoling their offended Noses with Snuff, Look you Gentlemen, I know I am a brutal Dog for this, this is very nasty, but Begad it is very Diverting: Would the Excuse, think you, be current? A Quibble diverts: Right; and so does a Hobby-horse, which in my Mind, for those who can be diverted without Reason, is the better Bauble of the two. A Quibble diverts: Jesus! That this should be spoken at Will's? Can there be a more damnable satire upon Wit, than that so many Gentlemen who have so very much of it, should be forced to play the Fool to divert one another? But, for God's sake, what do you mean when you say a Quibble diverts you? It makes you laugh, I warrant: Why the greatest Coxcomb about the Town shall outdo you in Laughing at any time. Nature, who has dealt impartially with her Children, and who has given them but two Distinctions from Beasts, Reason and Laughter, has, where she has bestowed the more of the One, conferred the less of the Other: And therefore a Coxcomb will laugh at nothing. Ay, that indeed, say you, is a Sign of a Fool. Well, my dear Friend, I have so much Kindness for thee, that out of thy own Mouth, thou shalt not be Judged: For if a Quibble is not Wit, it is nothing. But it is at as great a Distance from Wit, as an Idol is from the Deity; and I will no more believe nauseous Equivocals to be Wit, because some Sots have admired them, than I will believe Garlic to be God, because the Egyptians adored it: Nay, it is a more damnable Sign of Stupidity in an English Man, to make Wit of a Quibble, than it was in the Egyptians, to make a God of their Garlic. But to return from whence I digressed; I have never appeared so much a Stoic, but that I have been as much for Diversion as any of you: But then am I for the Diversion of reasonable Men, and of Gentlemen. If there be any Diversion in Quibbling, it is a Diversion of which a Fool and a Porter is as capable as is the best of you. And therefore Ben. Johnson, who writ every thing with Judgement, and who knew the Scum of the People, whenever he brings in a Porter or Tankard-bearer, is sure to introduce him Quibbling. But if Punning be a Diversion, it is a very strange one: There is as much Difference between the silly Satisfaction which we have from a Quibble, and the ravishing Pleasure which we receive from a beautiful Thought, as there is betwixt a faint Salute and Fruition. But what would you have us do? you cry. Men of the greatest Parts are no more to be found with Wit always about them, than rich Rogues with always the Ready. Why, look you, Sir, as the first Step to Wisdom is to be freed from Folly; so the first Approach to Wit is a Contempt of Quibbling. If it happens at any time that you have not your Wit about you, we will either have patience till such time as you have, or take good Sense in the lieu of it: If you are not in a Condition to delight us, we will be contented to be Instructed; we will make your Instruction nourish our Vanity, so turn even that to Delight. Nay, there is something noble in right Reason, and consequently something delightful. Truth is so divinely beautiful, that it must please eternally; but Falsehood is base, and must shock all generous Minds, and every Equivocal is but ambiguous Falsehood, that is the pittiful'st, the basest of Falsehood. To Walter Moyle, Esq Dear Sir, THo' you are already indebted a Letter to me, yet I think fit to give you Credit for another; tho' perhaps you may little desire to run into Debt this way: But it is for two Reasons that I give you the trouble of this: For, in the first place, I am taking a turn for a little time into the Country, and I design that the Prevention of this should make some Amends for the Delay of my next. In the Second place, I have made some Provision of Scandal, which I am willing to make use of, before it grow stolen upon my Hands. Just after I writ my last, I threw myself into a detached Party, which marched from Will's to Namure; with the same Design that the Volunteers went to Breast, to keep out of the Fray, and be Spectators of the Action. However, before they were come to Blows, I went amongst the Tents, and had some Discourse with Major-General R—, whom I found to be Father to Mr. Bays his Parthenope. For the Major-General is a very honest Fellow, who sells Ale by the Town-Wall: We had the Satisfaction to see that the Town was taken, and the whole Siege was carried on as Sieges generally are, with a great deal more Noise than Mischief. On Monday last, which was the Second of September, I travelled into the City, where I had the Satisfaction to see two very ridiculous Sights. The first was a Bawd carted for an Action which had some Relation to that memorable Day: For she was convicted of being an Accomplice in setting Fire to an Ancient and Venerable Pile of the City; that is, she was found Guilty of being instrumental in the Clapping an Alderman. I stood in a Bookseller's Shop to see her pass, which Bookseller was packing up some Scoundrel Authors to send them away to the Plantations. These Authors are Criminals, which being sentenced to be Burut here, have at last found Grace, and got off with Transportation. You remember the terrible News that we heard at P—, which, as it sprung from a ridiculous Occasion, that is, my Lady Mayoress' Gossipping, has had a comical Consequence. For the Common Council have made an Order, by which my Lady Mayoress is dispensed during the Wars, from seeing those Children born in the City, which are got in the Suburbs; that is, from being present at one of their Wive's Labours. But 'tis time to return to the Fair. Last Night I took a turn in the Cloisters, where I was entertained with a great many Dialogues between Vizour and Vallancy Wig, upon which I leave you to be Judge, whether my Eyes or my Ears were the better entertained of the two. For I heard a great deal of Unintelligible Language, addressed to a great many Invisible Faces. As if, because the Women had resolved not to be seen, the Men had determined not to be Understood; and had in revenge eclipsed the Light of their Understanding by Fustian, as the others had obscured the Lustre of their Eyes by Velvet. Formerly the Ladies made use of White and Red to atract, but within these thirty Years black has succeeded, and the Devil is found more Tempting in his proper Colour. I have neither time nor place for any more: you shall have the rest by the first Opportunity. Yours, etc. To Mr. Congreve. Dear Sir, I Have now read over the Fox, in which, tho' I admire the Strength of Ben. Johnson's Judgement, yet I did not find it so accurate as I expected: For first the very thing upon which the whole Plot turns, and that is, the Discovery which Mosca makes to Bonario; seems to me, to be very unreasonable. For I can see no Reason why he should make that Discovery which introduces Bonorio into his Master's House. For the Reason which the Poet makes Mosca give in the ninth Scene of the third Act, appears to be a very absurd one. Secondly, Corbaccio, the Father of Bonario, is exposed for his Deafness, a personal Defect; which is contrary to the end of Comedy-Instruction: For personal Defects cannot be amended; and the exposing such, can never divert any but half-witted Men. It cannot fail to bring a thinking Man to reflect upon the Misery of Human Nature; and into what he may fall himself without any Fault of his own. Thirdly, The Play has two Characters, which have nothing to do with the Design of it, which are to be looked upon as Excrescencies. Lastly, the Character of Volpone is inconsistent with itself: Volpone is like Catiline, Alieni appetens, sui profusus; but that is only a Double in his Nature, and not an Inconsistence. The Inconsistence of the Character appears in this, that Volpone in the fifth Act behaves himself like a giddy Coxcomb, in the Conduct of that very Affair which he managed so Craftily in the first four. In which the Poet offends, first, against that famed Rule which Horace gives for the Characters, Servetur ad imum, Qualis ab incepto processerit, & sibi constet. And, Secondly, Against Nature, upon which all the Rules are grounded: For so strange an Alteration, in so little a time, is not in Nature, unless it happens by the Accident of some violent Passion; which is not the Case here. Volpone on the sudden behaves himself without common Discretion, in the Conduct of that very Affair which he had managed with so much Dexterity, for the space of three Years together. For why does he disguise himself? Or, why does he repose the last Confidence in Mosca? Why does he cause it to be given out that he's dead? Why, only to plague his Bubbles. To plague them, for what? Why only for having been his Bubbles. So that here is the greatest Alteration in the World, in the space of twenty four Hours, without any apparent Cause. The Design of Volpone is to Cheat, he has carried on a Cheat for three Years together, with Cunning and with Success: and yet he, on a sudden, in cold Blood, does a thing which he cannot but know must endanger the ruining all. I am, dear Sir, your most humble Servant. To Mr. Congreve. Dear Sir, I Will not augment the Trouble which I give you by making an Apology for not giving it you sooner. Tho' I am hearty sorry that I kept such a Trifle as the Enclosed, and a Trifle writ extempore, long enough to make you expect a laboured Letter. But because in the Enclosed, I have spoken particularly of Ben. Johnson's Fox, I desire to say three or four words of some of his Plays more generally: The Plots of the Fox, the Silent Woman, the Alchemist, are all of them very Artful. But the Intrigues of the Fox, and the Alchemist, seem to me to be more dexterously Perplexed, than to be happily Disentangled. But the Gordian Knot in the Silent Woman is untied with so much Felicity, that that alone may suffice to show Ben. Johnson no ordinary Hero. But then, perhaps, the Silent Woman may want the very Foundation of a good Comedy, which the other two cannot be said to want: For it seems to me, to be without a Moral. Upon which Absurdity, Ben. Johnson was driven by the Singularity of Morose's Character, which is too extravagant for Instruction, and fit, in my Opinion, only for Farce. For this seems to me, to constit ute the most essential Difference, betwixt Farce and Comedy, that the Follies which are exposed in Farce are singular; and those are particular, which are exposed in Comedy. These last are those, with which some part of an Audiance may be supposed infected, and to which all may be supposed obnoxious. But the first are so very odd, that by reason of their monstrous Extravagance, they cannot be thought to concern an Audience; and cannot be supposed to instruct them. For the rest of the Characters in these Plays, they are for the most part true, and most of the Humorous Characters Masterpieces. For Ben. Johnson's Fools, seem to show his Wit a great deal more than his Men of Sense: I admire his Fops, and but barely esteem his Gentlemen. Ben. seems to draw Deformity more to the Life than Beauty: He is often so eager to pursue Folly, that he forgets to take Wit along with him. For the Dialogue, it seems to want very often that Spirit, that Grace, and that noble Raillery, which are to be found in more modern Plays, and which are Virtues that ought to be inseparable from a finished Comedy. But there seems to be one thing more wanting than all the rest, and that is Passion, I mean that fine and that delicate Passion, by which the Soul shows its Politeness, even in the midst of its Trouble. Now to touch a Passion is the surest way to Delight; for nothing agitates like it: Agitation is the Health and Joy of the Soul, of which it is so entirely fond, that even then, when we imagine we seek Repose, we only seek Agitation. You know what a famous modern Critic has said of Comedy: Il faut que ses Acteurs badinent noblement, Que son Noeud bien forme se denove aisement; Que l'action Marchant ou la Raison la Guide, Ne see perdie Jamma dans une Scens vuide, Que son Style humble & doux se releue a propos, Que ses discours par tout fertiles enbons mots, Soient pleius de Passions finement maniees, Et les Scenes toujours l'une al'autre liee. I leave you to make the Application to Johnson— Whatever I have said myself of his Comedies, I submit to your better Judgement. For you, who, after Mr. Wycherley, are incomparably the best Writer of it living, aught to be allowed to be the best Judge too. I am yours, etc. Mr. Congreve, to Mr. Dennis. Concerning Humour in COMEDY. Dear Sir, YOu writ to me, that you have entertained yourself two or three days, with reading several Comedies, of several Authors; and your Observation is, That there is more of Humour in our English Writers, than in any of the other Comic Poets, Ancient or Modern. You desire to know my Opinion, and at the same time my Thought, of that which is generally called Humour in Comedy. I agree with you, in an impartial Preference of our English Writers, in that particular. But if I tell you my Thoughts of Humour, I must at the same time confess, that what I take for true Humour, has not been so often written even by them, as is generally believed: And some who have valued themselves, and have been esteemed by others, for that kind of Writing, have seldom touched upon it. To make this appear to the World, would require a long and laboured Discourse, and such as I neither am able nor willing to undertake. But such little Remarks, as may be contained within the Compass of a Letter, and such unpremeditated Thoughts, as may be communicated between Friend and Friend, without incurring the Censure of the World, or setting up for a Dictator, you shall have from me, since you have enjoined it. To define Humour, perhaps, where as difficult, as to define Wit; for like that, it is of infinite Variety. To enumerate the several Humours of Men, were a Work as endless, as to sum up their several Opinions. And in my mind, the Quot homines tot Sententia, might have been more properly interpreted of Humour; since there are many Men, of the same Opinion in many things, who are yet quite different in Humours. But tho' we cannot certainly tell what Wit is, or what Humour is, yet we may go near to show something, which is not Wit or not Humour; and yet often mistaken for both. And since I have mentioned Wit and Humour together, let me make the first Distinction between them, and observe to you, that Wit is often mistaken for Humour. I have observed, that when a few things have been wittily and pleasantly spoken by any Character in a Comedy, it has been very usual for those, who make their Remarks on a Play, while it is acting, to say, Such a thing is very humorously spoken; There is a great deal of Humour in that Part. Thus the Character of the Person speaking, may be, surprisingly and pleasantly, is mistaken for a Character of Humour; which indeed is a Character of Wit: But there is a great Difference between a Comedy, wherein there are many things humorously, as they call it, which is pleasantly spoken; and one, where there are several Characters of Humour, distinguished by the particular and different Humours, appropriated to the several Persons represented, and which naturally arise from the different Constitutions, Complexions, and Dispositions of Men. The saying of Humorous Things, does not distinguish Characters; for every Person in a Comedy may be allowed to speak them. From a witty Man they are expected; and even a Fool may be permitted to stumble on 'em by chance. Tho' I make a Difference betwixt Wit and Humour; yet I do not think that Humorous Characters exclude Wit: No, but the manner of Wit should be adapted to the Humour. As for Instance, A Character of a Splenetic and Peevish Humour, should have a Satirical Wit; a Jolly and Sanguine Humour, should have a Facetious Wit: The former should speak positively; the latter, carelessly: For the former observes, and shows things as they are; the latter rather overlooks Nature, and speaks things as he would have them; and his Wit and Humour have both of them a less Alloy of Judgement than the others. As Wit, so, its opposite, Folly, is sometimes mistaken for Humour. When a Poet brings a Character on the Stage, committing a thousand Absurdities, and talking Impertinencies, Roaring aloud, and Laughing immoderately, on every, or rather upon no occasion; this is a Character of Humour. Is any thing more common, than to have a pretended Comedy, stuffed with such Grotesque Figures, and Farce-Fools? Things, that either are not in Nature, or if they are, are Monsters, and Births of Mischance; and consequently as such, should be stifled, and huddled out of the way, like Sooterkins, that Mankind may not be shocked with an appearing Possibility of the Degeneration of a Godlike Species. For my part, I am as willing to Laugh, as any body, and as easily diverted with an Object truly ridiculous: but at the same time, I can never care for seeing things, that force me to entertain low Thoughts of my Nature. I don't know how it is with others, but I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a Monkey, without very mortifying Reflections; tho' I never heard any thing to the contrary, why that Creature is not Originally of a distinct Species. As I don't think Humour exclusive of Wit, neither do I think it inconsistent with Folly; but I think the Follies should be only such, as men's Humours may incline 'em to; and not Follies entirely abstracted from both Humour and Nature. Sometimes personal Defects are misrepresented for Humours. I mean, sometimes Characters are barbarously exposed on the Stage, ridiculing natural Deformities, casual Defects in the Senses, and Infirmities of Age. Sure the Poet must both be very Ill-natured himself, and think his Audience so, when he proposes by showing a Man deformed, or deaf, or blind, to give them an agreeable Entertainment; and hopes to raise their Mirth, by what is truly an agreeable of Compassion. But much need not to be laid upon this Head to any body, especially to you, who in one of your Letters to me concerning Mr. Johnson's Fox, have justly excepted against this Immoral Part of Ridicule in Corbaccio's Character; and there I must agree with you to blame him, whom otherwise I cannot enough admire, for his great Mastery of true Humour in Comedy. External Habit of Body is often mistaken for Humour. By External Habit, I do not mean the ridiculous Dress or Clothing of a Character, tho' that goes a good way in some received Characters; (but undoubtedly a Man's Humour may incline him to dress differently from other People) but I mean a Singularity of Manners, Speech, and Behaviour, peculiar to all, or most of the same Country, Trade, Profession or Education. I cannot think that a Humour, which is only a Habit, or Disposition contracted by Use or Custom; for by a Disuse, or Compliance with other Customs, it may be worn off, or diversified. Affectation is generally mistaken for Humour. These are indeed so much alike, that, at a distance, they may be mistaken one for the other: For what is Humour in one, may be Affectation in another; and nothing is more common, than for some to affect particular ways of saying, and doing things, peculiar to others, whom they admire and would imitate. Humour is the Life, Affectation the Picture. He that draws a Character of Affectation, shows Humour at the Second-hand; he at best but publishes a Translation, and his Pictures are but Copies. But as these two last Distinctions are the nicest, so it may be most proper to explain them, by particular Instances from some Author of Reputation. Humour I take either to be born with us, and so of a natural Growth; or else to be grafted into us by some accidental Change in the Constitution, or Revolution of the internal Habit of Body; by which it becomes, if I may so call it, naturalised. Humour is from Nature, Habit from Custom; and Affectation from Industry. Humour shows us as we are. Habit shows us, as we appear, under a forcible Impression. Affectation shows what we would be, under a voluntary Disguise. Tho' here I would observe by the way, that a continued Affectation, may in time become a Habit. The Character of Morose in the Silent Woman, I take to be a Character of Humour. And I choose to Instance this Character to you, from many others of the same Author, because I know it has been condemned by many as Unnatural and Farce: And you have yourself hinted some Dislike of it, for the same reason, in a Letter to me, concerning some of Johnson's Plays. Let us suppose Morose to be a Man naturally Splenetic and Melancholy; is there any thing more offensive to one of such a Disposition, than Noise and Clamour? Let any Man that has the Spleen (and there are enough in England) be Judge. We see common Examples of this Humour in Little every Day. 'Tis ten to one, but three parts in four of the Company that you dine with, are discomposed and startled at the Cutting of a Cork, or Scratching a Plate with a Knife: It is a Proportion of the same Humour, that makes such or any other Noise offensive to the Person that hears it; for there are others who will not be disturbed at all by it. Well; but Morose, you will say, is so extravagant, he cannot bear any Discourse or Conversation, above a Whisper. Why, it is his Excess of this Humour, that makes him become ridiculous, and qualifies his Character for Comedy. If the Poet had given him but a moderate proportion of that Humour, 'tis odds but half the Audience, would have sided with the Character, and have condemned the Author, for exposing a Humour which was neither remarkable nor ridiculous. Besides, the Distance of the Stage requires the Figure represented, to be something larger than the Life; and sure a Picture may have Features larger in Proportion, and yet be very like the Original. If this Exactness of Quantity, were to be observed in Wit, as some would have it in Humour; what would become of those Characters that are designed for Men of Wit? I believe if a Poet should steal a Dialogue of any length, from the extempore Discourse of the two wittiest Men upon Earth, he would find the Scene but coldly received by the Town. But to the purpose: The Character of Sir John Daw in the same Play, is a Character of Affectation: He everywhere discovers an Affectation of Learning; when he is not only conscious to himself, but the Audience also plainly perceives that he is Ignorant. Of this kind are the Characters of Thraso in the Eunuch of Terence, and Pyrgopolinices in the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus: They affect to be thought Valiant, when both themselves and the Audience know they are not. Now such a Boasting of Valour in Men who were really Valiant, would undoubtedly be a Humour; for a fiery Disposition might naturally throw a Man into the same Extravagance, which is only affected in the Characters I have mentioned. The Character of Cob in Every Man in his Humour, and most of the under Characters in Bartholomew-fair, discovered only a Singularity of Manners, appropriated to the several Educations and Professions of the Persons represented. They are not Humours but Habits contracted by Custom. Under this Head may be ranged all Country Clowns, Sailors, Tradesmen, Jockeys, Gamesters and such like, who make use of Cants or peculiar Dialects in their several Arts and Vocations. One may almost give a Receipt for the Composition of such a Character: For the Poet has nothing to do, but to collect a few proper Phrases and Terms of Art, and to make the Person apply them by ridiculous Metaphors in his Conversation, with Characters of different Natures. Some late Characters of this kind have been very successful; but in my mind they may be painted without much Art or Labour; since they require little more, than a good Memory and superficial Observation. But true Humour cannot be shown without a Dissection of Nature, and a narrow Search to discover the first Seeds from whence it has its Root and Growth. If I were to write to the World, I should be obliged to dwell longer upon each of these Distinctions and Examples; for I know that they would not be plain enough to all Readers: But a bare Hint is sufficient to inform you of the Notions which I have on this Subject: and I hope by this time you are of my Opinion, that Humour is neither Wit, nor Folly, nor personal Defect, nor Affectation, nor Habit; and yet, that each, and all of these, have been both written and received for Humour. I should be unwilling to venture even on a bare Description of Humour, much more to make a Definition of it; but now my hand is in, I'll tell you what serves me instead of either: I take it to be, A singular and unavoidable manner of doing, or saying any thing, peculiar and natural to one Man only; by which his Speech and Actions are destinguished from those of other Men. Our Humour has relation to us, and to what proceeds from us, as the Accidents have to a Substance; it is a Colour, Taste, and Smell, diffused through all; tho' our Actions are never so many, and different in Form, they are all Splinters of the same Wood, and have naturally one Complexion; which tho' it may be disguised by Art, yet cannot be wholly changed: We may paint it with other Colours, but we cannot change the Grain. So the natural Sound of an Instument will be distinguished, tho' the Notes expressed by it, are never so various, and the Diversions never so many. Dissimulation, may by degrees, become more easy to our Practice; but it can never absolutely transubstantiate us into what we would seem: it will always be in some proportion a Violence upon Nature. A Man may change his Opinion, but I believe he will find it a Difficulty to part with his Humour; and there is nothing more provoking, than the being made sensible of that Difficulty. Sometimes, one shall meet with those, who perhaps, innocently enough, but at the same time impertiently, will ask the Question, Why are you not merry? Why are you not gay, pleasant, and cheerful? Then instead of answering, could I ask such one, Why are you not handsome? Why have you not black Eyes, and a better Complexion? Nature abhors to be forced. The two famous Philosophers of Ephesus and Abdera, have their different Sects at this Day: Some weep, and others laugh at one and the same thing. I don't doubt, but you have observed several Men laugh when they are angry; others who are silent; some that are loud: Yet I cannot suppose that it is the Passion of Anger which is in itself different, or more or less in one than t'other; but that it is the Humour of the Man that is predominant, and urges him to express it in that manner. Demonstrations of Pleasure are as various; one Man has a Humour of retiring from all Company, when any thing has happened to please him beyond Expectation; he hugs himself alone, and thinks it an addition to the Pleasure to keep it secret. Another is upon Thorns till he has made Proclamation of it; and must make other People sensible of his Happiness, before he can be so himself. So it is in Grief, and other Passions. Demonstrations of Love, and the Effects of that Passion upon several Humours, are infinitely different: But here the Ladies, who abound in Servants, are the best Judges. Talking of the Ladies, methinks something should be observed of the Humour of the Fair Sex; since they are sometimes so kind as to furnish out a Character for Comedy. But I must confess I have never made any Observation of what I apprehend to be true Humour in Women. Perhaps Passions are too powerful in that Sex, to let Humour have its Course; or may be by reason of their natural Coldness, Humour cannot exert itself to that extravagant Degree, which it often does in the Male-sex: For if ever any thing does appear comical or ridiculous in a Woman, I think it is little more than an acquired Folly, or an Affectation. We may call them the weaker Sex, but I think the true reason is, because our Follies are stronger, and our Faults are more prevailing. One might think that the Diversity of Humour, which must be allowed to be diffused throughout Mankind, might afford endless Matter, for the support of Comedies. But when we come closely to consider that Point, and nicely to distinguish the Difference of Humours, I believe we shall find the contrary. For tho' we allow every Man something of his own, and a peculiar Humour; yet every Man has it not in quantity, to become remarkable by it: or, if many do become remarkable by their Humours; yet all those Humours may not be diverting. Nor is it only requisite to distinguish what Humour will be diverting, but also how much of it, what part of it to show in Light, and what to cast in Shades; how to set it off by preparatory Scenes, and by opposing other Humours to it in the same Scene. Through a wrong Judgement, sometimes, men's Humours may be opposed when there is really no specific Difference between them; only a greater proportion of the same, in one than t'other; occasioned by having more Phlegm, or Choler, or whatever the Constitution is, from whence their Humours derive their Source. There is infinitely more to be said on this Subject; tho' perhaps I have already said too much; but I have said it to a Friend, who I am sure will not expose it, if he does not approve of it. I believe the Subject is entirely new, and was never touched upon before; and if I would have any one to see this private Essay, it should be some one, who might be provoked by my Errors in it, to publish a more judicious Treatise on the Subject. Indeed I wish it were done, that the World being a little acquainted with the Scarcity of true Humour, and the Difficulty of finding and showing it, might look a little more favourably on the Labours of them, who endeavour to search into Nature for it, and lay it open to the Public View. I don't say but that very entertaining and useful Characters, and proper for Comedy, may be drawn from Affectations, and those other Qualities, which I have endeavoured to distinguish from Humour: but I would not have such imposed on the World for Humour, nor esteemed of equal Value with it. It were, perhaps, the Work of a long Life to make one Comedy true in all its Parts, and to give every Character in it a true and distinct Humour. Therefore, every Poet must be beholding to other Helps, to make out his Number of ridiculous Characters. But I think such a One deserves to be broke, who makes all false Musters; who does not show one true Humour in a Comedy, but entertains his Audience to the end of the Play with every thing out of Nature. I will make but one Observation to you more, and have done; and that is grounded upon an Observation of your own, and which I mentioned at the beginning of my Letter, viz. That there is more of Humour in our English Comic Writers than in any others. I do not at all wonder at it, for I look upon Humour to be almost of English Growth; at least, it does not seem to have found such Increase on any other Soil: And what appears to me to be the reason of it, is the great Freedom, Privilege, and Liberty which the common People of England enjoy. Any Man that has a Humour, is under no Restraint, or fear of giving it Vent; they have a Proverb among them, which, may be, will show the Bent and Genius of the People, as well as a longer Discourse: He that will have a Maypole, shall have a Maypole. This is a Maxim with them, and their Practice is agreeable to it. I believe something considerable too may be ascribed to their feeding so much on Flesh, and the Grossness of their Diet in general. But I have done, let the Physicians agree that. Thus you have my Thoughts of Humour, to my Power of Expressing them in so little Time and Compass. You will be kind to show me wherein I have erred; and as you are very capable of giving me Instruction, so I think I have a very just Title to demand it from you; being, without Reserve, Your real Friend, and humble Servant, W. CONGREVE. To Mr. Congreve, at Tunbridge. Dear Sir, MR. Moyle and I have impatiently expected to hear from you. But if the Well which you drink of had sprung up from Lethe, you could not have been more forgetful of us. Indeed, as the Tunbridge-water is good for the Spleen, it may be said in some manner to cause Oblivion. But I will yet a while hope that Mr. Moyle and I are not of the Number of Things that plague you: However, I am so sensible of your being mindful of me in Town, that I should be ungrateful, if I should complain that you do not remember me where you are. Mr. Moyle tells me that you have made a favourable Mention of me, to a certain Lady of your Acquaintance, whom he calls— But then to mortify the Old Man in me, or indeed rather the Young, he assured me, that you had given a much better Character of him. However, for that which you gave of me, I cannot but own myself obliged to you, and I look upon your Kindness as so much the greater, because I am sensible that I do not deserve it. And I could almost wish that your good Qualities, were not quite so numerous, that I might be able to make you some Return in Specie: For Commending you now, I do you but Justice, which a Man of Honour will do to his Enemy; whereas you, by partial Praise, have treated me like a Friend. I make no doubt, but that you do me the Justice to believe that I am perfectly yours; and that your Merit has engaged me, and your Favours obliged me to be all my Life-time, Dear Sir, your most humble Servant, J. DENNIS. Mr. Congreve to Mr. Dennis. Dear Sir, IT is not more to keep my Word, than to gratify my Inclination, that I writ to you; and tho' I have thus long deferred it, I was never forgetful of you, nor of my Promise. Indeed I waited in Expectation of something that might enable me to return the Entertainment I received from your Letters: but you represent the Town so agreeable to me, that you quite put me out of Conceit with the Country; and my Designs of making Observations from it. Before I came to Tunbridge, I proposed to myself the Satisfaction of Communicating the Pleasures of the Place to you: But if I keep my Resolution, I must transcribe, and return you your own Letters; since I must own I have met with nothing else so truly Delightful. When you suppose the Country agreeable to me, you suppose such Reasons why it should be so, that while I read your Letter, I am of your Mind; but when I look off, I find I am only charmed with the Landscape which you have drawn. So that if I would see a fine Prospect of the Country, I must desire you to send it me from the Town; as if I would eat good Fruit here, perhaps the best way were, to beg a Basket from my Friends in Covent-garden. After all this, I must tell you there is a great deal of Company at Tunbridge; and some very agreeable: but the greater part, is of that sort, who at home converse only with their own Relations; and consequently when they come abroad, have few Acquaintance, but such as they bring with them. But were the Company better, or worse, I would have you expect no Characters from me; for I profess myself an Enemy to Detraction; And who is there, that can justly merit Commendation? I have a mind to write to you, without the Pretence of any manner of News, as I might drink to you without naming a Health; for I intent only my Service to you. I wish for you very often, that I might recommend you to some new Acquaintance that I have made here, and think very well worth the keeping; I mean Idleness and a good Stomach. You would not think how People eat here; every Body has the Appetite of an Oastrich, and as they drink Steel in the Morning, so I believe at Noon they could digest Iron. But sure you will laugh at me for calling Idleness a new Acquaintance; when, to your Knowledge, the greatest part of my Business, is little better. Ay, but here's the Comfort of the Change; I am Idle now, without taking Pains to be so, or to make other People so; for Poetry is neither in my Head, nor in my Heart. I know not whether these Waters may have any Communication with Lethe, but sure I am, they have none with the Streams of Helicon. I have often wondered how those wicked Writers of Lampoons, could crowd together such quantities of execrable Verses, tagged with bad Rhimes, as I have formerly seen sent from this place. But I am half of Opinion now, that this Well is an Anti-Hypocrene: What if we should get a quantity of the Water privately conveyed into the Cistern at Will's Coffee-house, for an Experiment? But I am extravagant— Tho' I remember Ben. Johnson in his Comedy of Cynthia's Revels, makes a Well, which he there calls the Fountain of Self-love, to be the Source of many entertaining and ridiculous Humours. I am of Opinion that something very Comical and New, might be brought upon the Stage, from a Fiction of the like Nature. But now I talk of the Stage, pray if any thing new should appear there, let me have an Account of it; for tho' Plays are a kind of Winter-fruit, yet I know there are now and then some Windfalls at this time of Year, which must be presently served up, lest they should not keep till the proper Season of Entertainment. 'Tis now the time, when the Sun breeds Infects; and you must expect to have the Hum and Buz about your Ears, of Summer-flies and small Poets. Cuckoos have this time allowed 'em to Sing, tho' they are damned to Silence all the rest of the Year. Besides, the approaching Feast of St. Bartholomew both creates an Expectation and bespeaks an Allowance of unnatural Productions and monstrous Births: Methinks the Days of Bartholomew-fair are like so many Sabbaths, or Days of Privilege, wherein Criminals and Malefactors in Poetry, are permitted to creep abroad. They put me in mind (tho' at a different time of Year) of the Roman Saturnalia, when all the Scum, and Rabble, and Slaves of Rome, by a kind of Annual and limited Manumission, were suffered to make abominable Mirth, and Profane the Days of Jubilee, with vile Buffonery, by Authority. But I forget that I am writing a Post-letter, and run into length like a Poet in a Dedication, when he forgets his Patron to talk of himself. But I will take care to make no Apology for it, lest my Excuse (as Excuses generally do) should add to the Fault. Besides, I would have no appearance of Formality, when I am to tell you, that I am, your real Friend, and Humble Servant, W. CONGREVE. Letters of LOVE. Written by— Dear Madam, NOT believe that I love you: You cannot pretend to be so incredulous. If you do not believe my Tongue, consult my Eyes, consult your own. You will find by yours, that they have Charms; by mine, that I have a Heart which feels them. Recall to mind what happened last Night: That at least was a Lover's Kiss. It's Eagerness, its Fierceness, its Warmth, expressed the God its Parent. But oh! its Sweetness, and its melting Softness expressed him more. With Trembling in my Limbs, and Fevers in my Soul I ravished it: Convulsions, Pant, Murmur showed the mighty Disorder within me: The mighty Disorder increased by it. For those dear Lips shot through my Heart, and through my bleeding Vitals, delicious Poison, and an avoidless, but yet a charming Ruin. What cannot a Day produce? The Night before, I thought myself a Happy Man. In want of nothing, and in fairest Expectation of Fortune; Approved of by Men of Wit, and applauded by others; Pleased, nay charmed with my Friends, my then dearest Friends; Sensible of every delicate Pleasure, and in their turns possessing all. But Love, Almighty Love! seems in a Moment to have removed me to a prodigious Distance from every Object but you alone: In the midst of Crowds I remain in Solitude. Nothing but you can lay hold of my Mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you. I appear transported to some Foreign Desert with you, (Oh that I were really thus transported!) where, abundantly supplied with every thing in thee, I might live out an Age of uninterrupted Extacy. The Scene of the World's great Stage, seems suddenly and sadly changed. Unlovely Objects are all around me, excepting thee: The Charms of all the World appear to be translated to thee. Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing State! my Soul can fix upon nothing but thee: Thee it Contemplates, Admires, Adores, nay, Depends on; Trusts in you alone. If you and Hope forsake it, Despair and endless Misery attend it. Dear Madam, THis I send by the Permission of a severe Father, I will not say a cruel one, since he is yours. What is it that he has taken so mortally ill of me? That I die for his Daughter is my only Offence. And yet he has refused to let me take even my Farewell of you. Thrice happy be the Omen! May I never take my Farewell of thee, till my Soul takes leave of my Body. At least, he cannot restrain me from Loving: No, I will love thee in spite of all Opposition. Tho' your Friends and mine prove equally averse, yet I will love thee with a Constancy that shall appear to all the World, to have something so noble in it, that all the World shall confess, that it deserved not to be Unfortunate. I will for sake even my Friends for thee: My honest, my witty, my brave Friends; who had always been till I had seen thee, the dearest part of Mankind to me. Thou shalt supply the place of them all with me. Thou shalt be my bosom, my best-loved Friend; and at the same time, my only Mistress, and my dearest Wife. Have the Goodness to pardon this Familiarity. 'Tis the tenderest Leave of the faithfulest Lover; and here to show an Over-respectfulness would be to wrong my Passion. That I love thee more than Life, nay, even than Glory, which I courted once with a burning Desire, bear Witness all my unquiet Days, and every restless Night, and that terrible Agitation of Mind and Body, which proceeded from my fear of losing thee. To lose thee is to lose all Happiness; Tormenting Reflection to a sensible Soul! How often has my Reason been going upon it? But the loss of Reason would be but too happy upon the loss of thee: Since all the Advantage that I could draw from its Presence, would be to know myself Miserable. But the time calls upon me: I am obliged to take an odious Journey, and leave thee behind with my Enemies. But thine shall never do thee harm with me. Adieu, thou dearest, thou loveliest of Creatures! No Change of Time or Place, or the Remonstrances of the best of Friends, shall ever be able to alter my Passion for thee. Be but one quarter so kind, so just to me, and the Sun will not shine on a happier Man than myself. Dear Madam, MAy I presume to beg Pardon for the Fault I committed? So foolish a Fault, that it was below not only a Man of Sense, but a Man; and of which nothing could ever have made me Guilty, but the Fury of a Passion with which none but your lovely self could inspire me. May I presume to beg pardon for a Fault which I can never forgive myself? To purchase that Pardon, what would I not endure? You shall see me prostrate before you, and use me like a Slave, while I kiss the dear Feet that trample upon me. But if my Crime be too great for Forgiveness, as indeed it is very great, deny me not one dear parting Look; Let me see you once before I must never see you more. Christ! I want Patience to support that accursed Thought. I have nothing in the World that is dear to me, but you. You have made every thing else indifferent: And can I resolve never to see you more? In spite of myself I must always see you. Your Form is fixed by Fate in my Mind, and is never to be removed. I see those lovely piercing Eyes continually, I see each Moment those ravishing Lips, which I have gazed on still with Desire, and still have touched with Transport; and at which I have so often flown with all the Fury of the most violent Love. Jesus! From whence, and whither am I fallen? From the Hopes of blissful Ecstasies to black Despair! From the Expectation of immortal Transports, which none but your dear Self can give me, and which none but he who loves like me, could ever so much as think of, to a Complication of cruel Passions, and the most dreadful Condition of Human Life. My Fault, indeed, has been very great, and cries aloud for the severest Vengeance. See it inflicted on me: See me despair and die for that Fault. But let me not die Unpardoned, Madam; I die for you, but die in the most cruel and dreadful manner. The Wretch that lies broken on the Wheel alive, feels not a quarter of what I endure. Yet boundless Love has been all my Crime; unjust, ungrateful, barbarous. Return of it! Suffer me to take my eternal Leave of you; when I have done that, how easy will it be to bid all the rest of the World Adieu. Dear Madam, THIS is the third Letter that I have sent you since I came hither: Those which went before it were all the Overflowings of a Heart more full of Passion than ever was Man's before. It is impossible for me to be distant from you, but I must send to you by every occasion. And yet you can resolve to take no Notice of all my Tenderness: Yes, my dearest, inhuman Creature, you can. You have been sick, nay dangerously sick, and have never sent to me. Have I left all the World for you, and could you resolve to leave the World without me; Nay, without so much as giving me the least Notice of it? Christ! Can you resolve to leave me to Despair and to endless Misery, without expressing the least Concern for me! And can I persist in loving one so ingrateful! Is there such another ingrateful Creature alive! No, there lives not so ingrateful a Creature, but there lives not one so Charming. Dear Madam, CAN you be angry still with your poor Penitent? You cannot have the ill Nature, sure? Yes, but you can, you say since he could have the Presumption to be angry with you. But, my Dearest, there is this Difference betwixt your Anger and mine; Mine was caved by the Cruelty of your supposed Infidelity; and yours by the Kindness of your Lover's Resentment: for if I had not been fond of thee to the last degree, I had not been so incensed against you. Yet even when I was most so, I could sooner have plucked out an Eye, than have resolved to have parted with thee: Nay, I could sooner have torn out both Eyes, if the loss of both would not have for ever deprived me of the dear, the ravishing sight of thee. But if you still think that my Anger had Gild in it, and that I ought to suffer for it, the means to punish me with utmost Severity, and to make me my own Tormenter, is to tell me, you love me: Then I shall curse myself and my Rage, and feel all the Plague of Remorse for having offended thee: I shall look upon myself as the basest, the most ungrateful of Men for abusing thy Goodness, and thy charming Tenderness. I shall believe that I can never humble myself enough, and never suffer enough to deserve Forgiveness. Thus, Madam, you have your Revenge in your Power. It is a false Modesty which restrains you from taking it: In order to it, you have nothing to do, but to prove yourself tender, and to show yourself grateful. If you must be ashamed, blush at your Cruelty; blush at your Inhumanity: But Gratitude is Reason, and Love is Nature; never be ashamed of those. Do but consider, there was a time, when I was happy in your Esteem; yes, there has been a time, in which I was thought not altogether void of Reason by you: How then can you blush at the owning a Passiion, which you command with an absolute Sway, at the very time that it Tyrannizes' over me? Dear Madam, MY Friend's Stratagem gave me an opportunity of seeing you, by finding Fault with you. It must proceed from Design or Madness if I find fault with thee: Thy lovely Face is the very same that set all my Blood in a flame; and I am sure my Heart can never be altered. How it trembled in my Breast when I saw you last, and by its trouble confessed its Conqueror! How it has burnt ever since with redoubled Fury! When I shall be free from this Flame, Heaven only knows, for the Hour of my Death Heaven only knows: 'Tis a Flame that has incorporated with that of my Life, and both will go out together. In vain I invoke my Reason to resist my Senses: My Reason finds you more lovely than my Eyes did before; shows me all the Graces of thy beauteous Mind, and grows pleased and prides itself in its own Captivity. You accuse me, they say, of some extraordinary Crime: A Crime against whom? Against you whom I love! Against you, for whom I could die! Strange Accusation! Yet at the same time you refuse to see me, you refuse to receive my Letters: And must I be condemned Unheard? Robbers are allowed to speak before they are sentenced; Murderers have the Privilege to plead for their Lives: And shall the tenderest Love be denied the Privilege which is granted to the blackest Malice? I have been guilty of nothing but too much Love, if too much Love be a Fault. Why have you given Credit to my Enemies, before you have heard me? I may indeed be convinced of an Error, but I can never be convicted of a Crime against you. The Man must be mad, nay, desperately mad, who can design to injure himself; and thou art, by much, the better, the dearer Part of me. Give me leave to see you once more before I depart: Let me see once more that Face which has undone me, yet charms me even in Ruin: O Face industriously contrived by Heaven, To fix my Eyes and captivate my Soul! Nay, I will see you, if it be but to upbraid you with your barbarous Wish: If at the time that you made it, you had struck a Dagger in my Heart, you had given it a gentler Wound. The only Wish that I have to make, is to be happy in thee; if that succeeds not, I have another, and that is, to lie at rest in my Grave. The End of the Love-Letters. To Walter Moyle, Esq at Bake, in Cornwall. Dear Sir, YOUR long Silence made me conjecture, that you are so intent upon being Burgess of Bodmyn, that you had forgot the Citizens of Covent-garden: At last I received an agreeable Letter from you. You had best have a care of talking in Cornwall, at the rate that you writ to your Friends. If you do, the Cornish Men may not think you rightly Qualified to Represent them. When you left the Town, you talked of a Critical Correspondence between us: But Idleness on your side, and ill Humour on mine, have baulked a very hopeful Design. But an Accident has lately happened, which obliges me to provoke you: For there has just been a Play acted, called, The Mock-marriage, the Author of which, whose Name I have forgot, asserts, dogmatically, in his Preface, That he who writes by Rule shall only have his Labour for his Pains. I know not what this Author can mean by this: For, whom does he pretend to persuade by this fine Assertion? Not Mr. Moyle, and me at least. We know indeed very well, that a Man may write regularly, and yet fail of Pleasing; and that a Poet may please in a Play that is not regular. But this is eternally true, That he who writes regularly ceteris Paribus, must always please more, than he who transgresses the Rules. Nothing can please in a Play but Nature; no, not in a Play which is written against the Rules: and the more there is of Nature in any Play, the more that Play must Delight. Now the Rules are nothing but an Observation of Nature: For Nature is Rule and Order itself. There is not one of the Rules, but what might be used to evince this. But I shall be contented with showing some Instances of it, even in the Mechanical Rules of the Unities: And first for that of place; It is certain that it is in Nature impossible, for a Man who is in the Square in Covent-garden, to see the things, that at the same time, are transacted at Westminster. And then for that of Time, a reasonable Man may delude himself so far, as to fancy that he sits for the space of twelve Hours, without removing, eating or sleeping; but he must be a Devil that can fancy he does it for a Week. What I have said may evince a Necessity of observing the Unities of Time and of Place, if a Poet would throughly write up to Nature. And then the Unity of Action follows on course: For, that two Actions that are entire, and independent, should happen in the same short space of time, in the same little compass of place, begin together, go on together, and end together, without obstructing or confounding one another; this indeed may be done upon the Stage, but in Nature it is highly improbable. Well then, since the Rules are nothing but Nature itself, and nothing but Nature can please, and since the more that any Play has of Nature, the more that Play must Delight, it follows that a Play which is regularly written, ceteris Paribus, must please more than a Play which is written against the Rules, which is a Demonstration. Rule may be said to be a Play; what Symmetry of Parts is known to be to a Face? The Features may be regular, and yet a great or a delicate Air may be wanting: And there may be a commanding or engaging Air, in a Face whose Features are not regular. But this all the World must allow of, that there can never be seen any Sovereign Beauty, where Air and Regularity of Features are not united. Thus is Reason against this Author; but the mischief is, that Experience is against him too: For all your Dramatic Poets must confess, that the Plays which they have writ with most Regularity, have been they which have pleased most. I must trouble you with another Dramatical Criticism, but not till the next Opportunity. I am yours, etc. Mr.— to Mr. Congreve. Dear Sir, I Came home from the Land's End Yesterday, where I found three Letters from Mr. Dennis, and one from you, with a humorous Description of John Abassus, A Country Poet. since the dubbing of Don Quixote, and the Coronation of Petrarch in the Capitol, there has not been so great a Solemnity as the Consecration of John Abassus. In all the Pagan Ritual, I never met with the Form of Poetical Orders; but I believe the Ceremony of Consecrating a Man to Apollo, is the same with Devoting a Man to the Dii Manes, for both are Martyrs to Fame. I believe not a Man of the Grave Club durst assist at this ridiculous Scene, for fear of laughing outright. W. was in his Kingdom, and for my part I would have rather sat there than in the House of Commons. Would to God I could laugh with you for one Hour or two at all the ridiculous things that have happened at Will's Coffee-house since I left it, 'tis the merriest Place in the World: Like Africa, every Day it produces a Monster; and they are got there just as Pliny says they are in Africa, Beasts of different kinds come to drink, mingle with one another and beget Monsters. Present my humble Duty to my new Lord, and tell him, that I am preparing an Address to Congratulate his Accession to the Throne of the Rabble. Tell the Lady, who was the Author of the Hue and Cry after me, she might have sent out a hundred Hues and Cries before she would have found a Poet. I took an effectual Course not to be apprehended for a Poet, for I went down clad like a Soldier, with a new Suit of clothes on, and, I think there could not have been a better Disguise for a Poet, unless I had stolen Dr. B—'s Coat. Mr. Dennis sent me down P— M— 's Parody. I can say very little of the Poem; but as for the Dialogue, I think 'twas the first time that M— suffered any body to talk with him, though indeed here he interrupts Mr. Boileau in the midst of the first word. My humble Service to Mr. Wycherley. I desire you would write me some News of the Stage, and what Progress you have made in your Tragedy. I am your affectionate Friend and Servant. Mr. Congreve to Mr.— Dear Sir, I Can't but think that a Letter from me in London, to you in C—, is like some ancient Correspondence between an Inhabitant of Rome and a Cimmerian: May be my way of Writing may not be so modestly compared with Roman Epistles; but the Resemblance of the Place will justify the other part of the Parallel: The subterraneous Habitations of the Miners, and the Proximity of the Bajae help a little; and while you are at B— let B— be Cumae, and do you supply the Place of Sibylla. You may look on this as Raillery, but I can assure you, nothing less than Oracles are expected from you, in the next Parliament, if you succeed in your Election, as we are pretty well assured you will. You wish yourself with us at Will's Coffee-house; all here wish for you, from the Precedent of the Grave Club, to the most puny Member of the Rabble; they who can think, think of you, and the rest talk of you. There is no such Monster in this Africa, that is not sensible of your Absence; even the worst natured People, and those of least Wit lament it; I mean, half Critics and Quiblers. To tell you all that want you, I should name all the Creatures of Covent-garden, which like those of Eden-garden would want some Adam to be a Godfather and give them Names. I can't tell whether I may justly compare our Covent-garden, to that of Eden, or no; for tho' I believe we may have Variety of strange Animals equal to Paradise, yet I fear we have not amongst us the Tree of Knowledge. It had been much to the Disadvantage of Pliny, had the Coffee-house been in his Days; for sure he would have described some who frequent it; which would have given him the Reputation of a more fabulous Writer than he has now. But being in our Age it does him a Service, for we who know it, can give Faith to all his Monsters. You who took care to go down into the Country unlike a Poet, I hope will take care not to come up again like a Politician; for then, you will add a new Monster to the Coffee-house, that was never seen there before. So you may come back again, in your Soldier's Coat, for in that you will no more be suspected for a Politician, than a Poet. Pray come upon any Terms, for you are wished for by every body, but most wanted by your Affectionate Friend and Servant, W. CONGREVE. To Mr. Congreve, at Tunbridge. Dear Sir, MY Business and my Thanks for your Kindness, you will find in the Enclosed, which I had sent by the last Post, had not an accident hindered it. All the Return that I can make you at present is, to acquaint you with such News as we have. Our Friend Mr.— went last Friday to the Bath: He promised to write to me from that place, but it would be unreasonable indeed to expect it. For W— takes up his Afternoons, and his Mornings I suppose, are spent in Contemplation at the Cross Bath. Most of your Friends of the Coffee-house are dispered: Some are retreated into the Country in hopes of some Favours, which they expect from the Muses; two or three of them are retired in Town to ruminate on some Favours, which they have received from their Mistresses. So that the Coffee-house is like to grow into Reputation again. For if any one gives it the scandalous Denomination of the Wits Coffee-house, he must call it so by Antiphrasis, because there comes no Wit there. Here are two or three indeed, who set up for Wits at home, and endeavour to pass for Wise at the Coffee-house: for they hold their Tongues there. Indeed the Coffee-house is generally the Exchange for Wit, where the Merchants meet without bringing the Commodity with them, which they leave at home in their Warehouses, alias, their Closets, while they go abroad to take a prudent care for the vending it. But you are of the Number of those happy Few, who so abound in Hereditary Possessions, and in rich Returns from Greece and from Italy, that you always carry some of it about you to be liberal to your Friends of that which you sell to Strangers. Mr.— babbles eternally according to his old rate, and as extravagantly as if he talked to himself; which he certainly does, if no body minds him any more than I do: He has been just now enquiring, what sort of Distemper the Spleen is; an infallible sign that he is the only Man in Covent-garden, who does not know he is an Ass. To make him sensible what the Spleen is, I could find in my Heart to show him himself, and give it him. If any thing restrains me from being revenged of his Impertinence this way, 'tis the Consideration that it will make him wiser: This Coxcomb naturally puts me in mind of the Stage, where they have lately acted some new Plays; but had there been more of them, I would not scruple to affirm, that the Stage is at present a Desert and a barren Place, as some part of Africa is said to be, though it abounds in Monsters. And yet those prodigious Things have met with Success: for a Fool is naturally fond of a Monster, because he is incapable of knowing a Man. While you drink Steel for your Spleen at Tunbridge, I partake of the Benefit of the Course; for the Gaiety of your Letters relieves me considerably: Then what must your Conversation do? Come up and make the Experiment; and impart that Vigour to me which Tunbridge has restored to you. I am your most humble Servant, JOHN DENNIS. Mr.— to Mr. Dennis. NAmur taken, and a Letter from Mr. Dennis, were two of the most agreeable Surprises I ever met with. And nothing but the Reflection, how dear the Conquest will cost us, I mean, the innumerable ill Poems it will produce, could allay the Pleasure. A— has watched for a Victory a long time, and will not miss this Opportunity to mortify the Day of Thanksgiving, and scribble away the Public Joy. The Devil take Will's Coffee-house: I could be the easiest Man in the World under my Calamity, if it were not for some of the Company there; who are now the greatest Enemies I have in the World, worse than the Company from which I am just now stolen to write this Letter. Among the rest is a Country Gentleman who dictates Politics abundantly, for with us, as well as at old Rome, we take Dictator's from the Blow, but ours are such as ought never to remove their Hands from it. I am yours, etc. Mr.— to Mr. Dennis. WHile you are happy in the Politics of the Grave Club, and the Two Covent-garden Clubs. Puns of the Rabble, you have no regard to the forlorn State of your poor Friend. Before I left London, I feigned an hundred agreeable melancholy Pleasures, with which I might fool away a Retirement; but now I detest being alone, and question whether Mankind or Solitude be the fit Subject for a satire. Of this, I am sure, that God Almighty, rather than be alone, created the—; and Man, rather than be alone, chose a Wife. Whatever advantage I have lost by my Country Life, I believe, I have gained the Gift of Prophecy in the Wilderness, for I foretold the Poem with which A— has visited us. I am yours, etc. Mr.— to Mr. Dennis. TO your Business hereafter, but first, let's have a Dance, as Mr. Bays says. When I came home from the West, where I had passed a Fortnight, I found your three Letters full of Wit and Humour. I was charmed with the Scandal you writ in the first, and enclosed in the last, viz. A.'s Poem. I found the Preamble before the Poem to be like a Suterkin before a Dutch Child. I read it over in great haste, in hopes to be pleased at last with the End of it, but this is the first time I ever disliked his Conclusion. For he threatens strange things. I hope, 'tis only in terrorem, if not, I hope God in his Goodness will send us a Peace, and prevent his Songs of Triumph. Certainly, since the Devil was Dumb there never was such a Poet. FINIS. ERRATA in Pliny's Letters. PAge 13. instéad of eminent, r. imminent. p. 132. l. 7. instead of make for Pomponianum, etc. r. go to his Friend Pomponianus, who was at Stabiae, on the other side of the Bay. p. 132. 1. 10. instead of he, r. Pomponianus had. Ibid, instead of tho' the Wind, l. 12. r. had not the. Ibid, l. 13. instead of But as it then blew directly for 'em, my Uncle etc. r. But the same Wind brought my Uncle into the Harbour, who, p. 133. l. 6. instead of made the best of their way to Pomponianuns, r. joined Pomponianus and his Company. These are the grossest Faults, the rest, which are in no small Number, by reason of the Books being Printed in the Gentleman's Absence, who was principally concerned, the Reader is desired to Correct with his Pen.