LETTERS OF Affaires LOVE and COURTSHIP. WRITTEN To several persons of Honour and Quality; By the Exquisite Pen OF Monsieur de VOITURE, A member of the Famous FRENCH ACADEMY established at PARIS by Cardinal de Richelieu.  
Englished by J. D.  
LONDON, Printed for T. Dring and J. Starkey, and are to be sold at their shops, at the George in Fleet street near Cliff●rds Inn, and the Mitre at the West end of St. Paul's Church, 1657.   

TO THE Worthily Honoured GEORGE BOSWELL Esquire.  
SIR,  
WEre I to make this Address to a person unacquainted with my Author, and the Work I now publish, it were, haply, pardonable in me, to give it and him, the greatest Eulogies a piece and person of so much worth might justly claim. Nor were it hard to imagine, what I might, did I make it my business, say of one of the most eminent members of the FRECNH ACADEMY (an Association of Wits, such as no age till this ever saw) a man so rarified by Travel and experience into the noblest heights of an elaborate Eloquence, and one so versed in Criticism, that he could raise beauty and lustre out of the ruins and rubbish of the m●st ancient Authors. But, Sir, since my application is to you, whose correspondence with Learning is so universal, the trouble is spared, and if there be any thing remarkable by way of account of him, it is but fit it were done (pro more) in another place. Nor is there, in this, any more necessity, I should (though I might easily take the occasion) celebrate this kind of writing as the most advantageous of any. It is in a manner the Cement of all society, the foundation and superstructure of all Friendship and conversation, the remedy of absence, the Intelligentiall part of all Loves, which which lays the plots and carries on the designs of united hearts at the greatest distance; in a word, it is the general Agent of all inclinations and passions, and what, out of the roughness of Barbarism, hath raised man to the highest Gentilesses, courtships, and civilities. My design therefore is, not to make, but, renew your acquaintance with the exquisite de VOITURE, yet far from a presumption, that your entertainment of him in this language will be proportionable to your esteem of him in his own. But, if I may measure it by the infinite affection, and consequently, the general indulgence and patronage you have for all Learning, that you will afford it such as it may in some sort deserve, is, I must confess, a confidence I know not how to avoid, but presses so much upon me, that it contributes not a little to that it is in me, thus publicly, though with t●e greatest submissions and respects, to express myself,  
SIR, Your most humble 
 Servant, 
 J. DAVIES.   

To the General READER.  
WHen I have given my Author, the great recommendations he might but justly claim, and that the present work bear not a sufficient proportion thereto, I know what it will signify, by interpretation, with the many; That it is done purposely to ensnare the Reader, and gain the more reputation to the work, or amounts to no more than a compliance with the custom whereto all that employ themselves in Translations are strictly tributary, that is, to say, something of their Authors. This indeed is easily imagined, but, for my part, what I have to say of mine, seems, at least to me, to be the effect of a certain necessity, or, if you will have it so, a convenience, that I should give some account of him. For certainly, when there is so much briguing and courtship used to procure Letters of Naturalisation here by persons that have lived long among us, for me to naturalise a person, who only took occasion to see this Country, some three and twenty years since, and never thought of travelling into it again so long after his death, without the least satisfaction given, whether he be such as may be made a free Denizen, and enjoy the privileges of an English man, were certainly a presumption I know not how to answer.  
The person I solicit for is very famous in his own Country, but one of the most eminent Members of the FRENCH ACADEMY, a Consort of wits assembled together to harmonise the language of that Country, and amidst their contributory Labours to all Learning in general, to endeavour the cultivation thereof so far as to make it capable of the highest Eloquence and ornament. But this haply is a recommendation not calculated for the meridian of the ordinary capacity, which expecting to find him more particularly characterized, I have thought fit to take him asunder, and consider him in his several qualities and perfections.  
He was excellently well furnished with all those qualities which are any way requisite or advantageous to Conversation, having a certain confident familiarity, whence all he did or said, was attended with a more than ordinary grace. His carriage was full of mildness, affability and complaisance, far from all animosity, deriving neither reputation nor envy from other men's works, but judging of things soberly, without prejudice or passion. When any discourse was advanced about any point of Learning, or that he was to give his judgement of some opinion, he did it to the infinite satisfaction of all the Audience, with a certain Gallantry which spoke him much free from the supercilious contentiousness of the Schools▪ Insomuch that many imagine his Wit and Genius naturally expressed under the name & person of Callicrates in the third Volume of the Grand Cyrus. He was an excellent pattern of a good and real Friend, which disposition of his Heart attended by those others of his mind gained him so great a number, and that of so great ones▪ He never contracted friendship with any he had once convinced of falsehood, whence it came to pass, that laying the foundation of his affections on virtue and not on Fortune, they were not shaken by disgraces.  
These endowments, though they are not so frequent in Courts, yet do they often bring men thither. They at least forced our Author, and gained him a reputation there, such as that, by the means of Monseigneur d' Avaux, (sometimes his Fellow-Collegian, but always his Friend and Patron) the doors of Lords and Princes were open to him. Nay nature seemed to requite the smallness of bulk she had bestowed on him with certain letters of recommendation writ in a character that purchased him the esteem and caresses of the greatest, and raised him to acquaintances much beyond what a Courtier of his birth and quality could have expected.  
This would be thought a fair step to publish charges and employments, but his Genius directed him to other things, as having a great dis-inclination for whatever was of Affairs, by reason of the distraction and attendance incident hereto. Yet, I know not how it happened, he was a kind of Master of the Ceremonies to the Duke of Orleans, his business being the introduction and entertainment of those Ambassadors that came to visit his Highness. He was also sent as an Envoy to the Great Duke of Florence to acquaint him with the birth of the present Lewis XIV. King of France. He went twice to Rome, and was once here in London. During the Broils of France he accompanied the Duke of Orleans into Languedoc, whence he was by him sent to the Spanish Court, where he was very familiar with the late great Favourite the Conde Duke d' Olivares and other Grandees. He stayed so long in this negotiation, that he arrived to such perfection in the Spanish Tongue, that he made those much celebrated verses, which were taken to be Lope de Vega's, one of the greatest wits of that Nation.  
For his Correspondences they must needs be great, that is, consonant to his Friendships and acquaintances, which were with the greatest. The late Prince of Conde, he that is now, and his Brother the Prince of Conti, had very great respects for him; he was also much in favour with the King and Queen, the late, and the present Cardinal, with whom he had been a long time acquainted, and had received divers good offices from him. His familiarity with the Cardinal de la Valette may be much seen in his letters. Nor is it less manifest what particular obligation he had to the house of Rambovillet, (a place dedicated to be the mansion of virtue, where, in the chamber of the illustrious Artenice, met a Club of the most excellent persons about the Court;) he having written more letters to Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, since marchioness de Montausier, then to any other.  
But among his more letterd acquaintances, that is, such as were more conformable to his humour and quality, are to be numbered Monsieur de Balzac, Monsieur Chapelain, Costart, and indeed all that pretended any thing to wit, had a reverence and admiration for his, and have now no less veneration for him dead, than they had esteem for him alive. Among his letters, we find but one to Monsieur de Balzac, which gave us occasion to premise that of Monsieur de Balzac whereto it was an answer. But in de Balzac's letters there are many to Mr. de Voiture, both in his Volumes, and his choice letters, not yet published in English.  
His Estate consisted for the most part in pensions, as may be seen partly in his letters. His great Benefactor Monseigneur d' Avaux allowed him 4000 Livers per ann▪ by a place (which yet obliged him not to the least trouble or attendance) he gave him in the Revenue. The Author of the history of the FRENCH ACADEMY, will needs make him a great Gamester, but unfortunate, and says he lost 1500. pistols in one night, which was somewhat high for a person of his fortunes. That story and much more concerning him, as he was a member of the Academy, who is desirous, may find in that History, newly published and sold by T. Johnson at the Key in Paul's Churchyard.  
He was also courted to be one of the ACADEMY of the HUMORISTS at Rome, such a reputation was his wit in even in foreign parts, before any thing of his was yet abroad in the world. As to his Person, he who best could, describes himself, in his letter to an unknown Mistress, Letter LXXIX.  
The Author of the history of the French Academy, gives this account of his way of writing; His Prose, saith he, is more correct and exact, having a certain air of gallantry, which is not found any where else, and something so natural and elaborate together, that the reading thereof is infinitely pleasing. He many times slights Rules, and liek a Master thinks himself above them, as scorning to be fettered by them, so that his writings are not Copies, but Originals; having, out of the Ancient and Modern wits, made a certain new character, wherein he imitated no man, and scarce any can imitate him. This I shall have something to say to anon, taking thence at the present only occasion to give the account I think fit of his LETTERS, which in this address was my particular design.  
The present Collection was made according to the directions of Monsieur Chapelain, and Monsieur Conrart, two Members of the Academy, who, out of the esteem they had for the Authors memory, took the pains to cull out of an infinite number, these, as fittest, a●l circumstances considered, at that time, to be published. For the order, it is according to the time as near as could be guessed, but it was the Authors negligence, that he seldom dated his letters, especially as to the year. There are ●ome few words in the Italic Character, which signify something particular, which, out of the same modesty, as those who have put out the several Editions of this book in French, I have forborn to give any explication of, not so much for fear of mistake, as a tenderness for the Correspondents. Let therefore the Reader make what he can of them, it suffices that I have acknowledged that there is in them some extraordinary meaning. The letters of Love are disposed by themselves, for their sakes who shall not haply think them so full of wit and vigour as might be expected. In both these and the other, there is abundance of variety, as to expression and something particular as to matter of invention. Only his familiarity, with such great persons as he writes to, may seem strange; but it may be supposed he knew how far he might be free, and that that was excusable in him, which, in any other haply would not, yet on some occasions he hath expressed much reservedness, a great conduct of judgement.  
But to take the just value of this work we are to appeal, from even the most judicious men, to the women, whose approbation and suffrages, we shall, in this case, look on as most considerable. Those were they that thought his writings and discourses their noblest entertaiments. Nor indeed is it less difficult, or less glorious to be favourably heard in the Cabinet then on the Theatre. He made it his business to please the Court, that is, the noblest part of it, the Ladies. Among these, there was (why may I not say?) a Trium virate (since in their judgements and their comprehension of things of this nature they were more than Masculine) which had an infinite esteem for him, and to please them▪ signifies no less than to please all the wits of the sex. They are, the Duchess of Longueville, and the two Marchionesses the Sable, and de Montausier, such as a man no sooner hears named, but his soul is filled with the image of three the most accomplished persons in the world. Such they are, that Princes, Ambassadors, and Secretaries of State preserve their letters as so many rarities of the French Tongue. So fortunate was this Author in this particular, that it caused two impressions of his works in the first six Months, since which, they have had 4. or 5. other Editions both in France and Holland.  
And now I come to what I intended to say to the foregoing character of his writings, given by the Author of the History. I produce of him the judgement of his great Friend and Correspondent Monsieur de Balzac, in the XXIX. Letter of the second Book of his familiar Letters to Monsieur Chapelain. Le CAR (saith he, alluding to the LIV. Letter of Monsieur de Voiture's) de nostre Amy est une fort jolie chose, & il faut av●uer qu'il a le genie de la belle & de la noble raillery. Je voudrois seulement qu'il travaillast un peu a purifier son stile. Dans ses Escrits la construction est souvent embarassene, & nile's choses, ni les paroles ne sont pas tousjours en leur just place. All the concernment I have in this, is, that if there cannot be a greater affectation than the slighting and scorning of Rules, and that it must be ever attended with obscurity, an imperfection in any Author, he who employs himself in the translation of such things, must expect to meet with much ambiguity.  
But of all writings there are not any lie more open to various construction than LETTERS, it being supposed there is ever something particular between the two correspondents which a third person cannot possibly imagine. To this therefore may the defects of the present work be justly attributed; and that so much the rather, that the Author never intending any thing of these Letters to the public, and seeming to write all he did only for his Friends, does it in such characters as were only intelligible by them.  
His Poetry is excellent, but free and unconstrained, as having been rather his diversion then his Business. He began a kind of Panegyric for the Conde Duke d'Olivares, to express his gratitude, and acknowledgements of the favours he had received from him; As also an History under the name of Alcidalis, mentioned several times in his letters; but both are so imperfect, that there is little probability the world will ever see them. Of his Correspondence with Monsieur Costart (for whom it seems he had an infinite esteem) there is a great Book extant.  
As to the advantages may be made of the present work of his Letters, I doubt not but they will be thought considerable by those whom Conversation, generous acquaintances and Affairs, have any way raised above the Multitude. Besides these, it is not unfitly addressed to the greater number of young Students in the Universities, who wanting the forementioned conveniences, may by their serious perusal of these Letters, learn to shake off their nurseries, and pedantical correspondences, and be refined in some measure proportionably to the Eloquence and stile of Courts and Cities.  
J. D.   

THE TABLE.  

TO Monsieur de Voiture from Monsieur de Balzac LETTER 1.  
Monsieur de Voiture's Answer. 2.  
To the marquis de Rambovillet 3.  
To my Lord Duke de Bellegarde, with an Amad●s 4. 66.  
To Madame de Saintot with an Orlando Fu●oso translated by du Rosset 5.  
To the same 77, 78, 80.  
To my Lady marchioness de Rambovillet under the name of of Callot, an excellent Graver with a Book of his Figures 6.  
To the same 7. 37. 82. 96 151.  
To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet under the name of the King Sweden. 8, 9  
To the same upon the Word CAR 54.  
To the same 14. 23. 30. 49. 51. 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60▪ 62, 63, 64, 65. 71. 86, 87, 88 94, 95. 98. 104. 112. 115. 129, 130. 134. 152, 153. 160. 161.  
To Mademoiselle de Bourbon 10.  
To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette 11.  
To the same 52. 67, 68, 69, 70. 83, 84. 101.  
To Mademoiselle Paulet 12. 20. 21, 22, 24, 25, 26. 28, 29. 31, 32, 33. 39 41, 42, 43.  
To Madame du Vigean, with an Elegy he had made for her, and which she had often begged of him. 13.  
To● my Lady marchioness de Sab●é 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 86. 109.  
To Monsieur de Chaudebonne 27. 38. 40. 54.  
To Monsieur de Puy-Laurens 34, 35.  
To Monsieur du Fargis 36.  
To Monsieur 45.  
To Monsieur 46.  
To my Lord marquis de Montausier, fin●e slain in la Valtel●ne 47. 107.  
To the same, prisoner in Germany 143, 144.  
To my Lord marquis Pisany 48. 85. 94▪ 120.  
To the same, having lost all his equipage at play at the siege of Thionville 146.  
To Monsieur Gourdon, at London 50.  
To Monsieur Godeau since Bishop of Grass 53.  
To the marquis of Soudeac, at London 61.  
To Madam 73, 74.  
To Madam ●6.  
To Monsieur upon the taking of Corbie from the Spaniards by the King's forces 75.  
To Monsieur 103.  
To an unknown Mistress 79.  
To Monsieur Arnaud under the name of the sage Icas 81.  
To Monsieur Costart 91, 92, 93. 97. 126, 127, 128. 136. 148. 166. 186, 187. 192, 193, 194, 195.  
To my Lord Bishop of Lisieux 99  
To Monsieur de Lyone, at Rome 100  
To my Lord 102.  
To Madame la Princess 105.  
To Monsieur Chapelain 106 112. 133.  
To Madam 107.  
To Madam 108.  
To Madam 110.  
To my Lord Cardinal Mazarine 116.  
To the Duchess of Savoy 117.  
To Mademoiselle Servant 118.  
To the Count de Guiche 119. 124.  
To the same upon his advancement to the charge of Marshal of France 125.  
To the Marshal de Grammont upon his Father's death 159, 170.  
To Monsieur de Serisantes Resident for the King with the Queen of Sweden 121.  
To Monsieur de Maison-Blanche, at Constantinople 122.  
To Monsieur de Chavigny 123. 140.  
Butillerio Chavienio, V. Victuru, S. P. D, 200.  
To my Lord Precedent de Maisons 131, 132. 141.  
To Monsieur Esprit 135.  
To the marquis of Roquelaure 138,  
To the marquis of St. Maigrin 139.  
To my Lord Duke d'Anguien upon the success of the battle of Rocroy, 1643. 143.  
To the same, when he crossed the Rhine to join the Marshal de Guebriant, 1643. 145. 174, 175. 179.  
To the same upon the taking of Dunkirk; 133.  
To the Prince 191.  
To my Lord d' Avaux surintendant of the Revenue, and P●enipotentiary for the Peace 147. 153. 167. 177, 178. 184, 185. 188, 189. 196, 197, 198, 199.  
To Monsieur de Chauchroche 149.  
To the marchioness de Vardes 150.  
To M. de B. M. de B. & M. C. 154.  
To my my Lady Abess— to give her thanks for a Car she had bestowed on him 155.  
To Monsieur Mauvoy to thank him for the sealed earth he had sent him 156.  
To the Count d' Alais 158.  
To Monsieur Chantelou 162. 171, 172, 173.  
To the Marshal de Schom● e●g 164, 165. 174.  
So the Marshal d' Emery, cotroller general of the Revenue. 168.  
To the Duke de la T●imouille 177. 181, 182.  
To the Queen of Poland 180.  
To the Duchess of Longueville at Munster 190.    

TABLE Of the AMOROUS LETTERS.  

TO Floricia 1.  
To Madam 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13.  
To Diana 14, 15.  
To Climene 16.  
To Mademoiselle de 17.  
To M. D. 18.  
To— 19  
To Madam 20.  
To Madam— 21.    

THE LETTERS Of MONSIEURE de VOITURE.  

The Letter of Monsieure de Balzac; To Monsieur de VOITURE. LETTER I.  
SIR,  
THough one half of France lie between us, yet are you as present to my Thoughts as the Objects I see; and you are concerned in all my imaginations. Rivers, Plains and Cities, may well oppose my content, but cannot take off my memory from the entertainment of, and a frequent reflection on those excellent Discourses you have honoured me with, till I recover the happiness of hearing them again. Should you grow proud of any thing, I must confess, it should be only of those seeds you have scattered in my soul; and your company, which at first was extremely pleasing, is now become absolutely necessary to me. You may therefore well think it is much against my will that I leave you so long in the Embraces of your Mistress, or suffer her to enjoy what is mine, and not be accountable to me for it. Every moment she allows you of entertainment, are so many usurpations made upon me; your whisper are secrets concealed from me; and to enjoy your conversation in my absence, is for her to enrich herself to my disadvantage: But there is no reason I should envy so fair a Rival, were it only because you are both equally happy; or build my affection upon your mutual enjoyments; provided (at my coming) I find myself after four Month's absence fairly charactered in your memory, and that Love hath there assigned some place for Friendship, and thence hope your condoleances for the miseries of the times, and injustice of mankind. In the interim, as my joys, where I now am, are but slender, so are my afflictions inconsiderable; I am at an equal distance from good and bad Fortune; that fickle Goddess, who is employed in the depopulations, and subversions of States and Cities, is not at leisure to do mischief in mean places. I converse with Shepherdesses, who can say I and no, and are too dull to be deceived by understanding persons; and though they are equally strangers to Painting and Eloquence; yet because I am master of them, they would suffer me to show how small a distance there is between Power and Tyranny. Instead of the fine words, and acquaint discourses wherein your Ladies abound, there issues from their mouths a pure and innocent breath, which incorporating itself with their Kisses, affords a taste, which ordinarily the Court does not. If therefore you prove not happier in your choice there, than I shall here, I make over-particular profession to rely on your judgement, and be  
SIR, Your most humble Servant, 
 BALZAC.   

To Monsieur de Balzac. LETTER II.  
SIR,  
IF it be true that I have ever had that place in your esteem, you tell me, you have not been, in my opinion, as careful of my satisfaction as you should, since that in not affording me the knowledge of so great a piece of News; you have continued me in the ignorance of my being the happiest man in the world. But, it may be, you conceived that happiness to be so far beyond any thing I could hope, that you thought yourself obliged to take time to bethink you of expressions, such as might represent it to me as credible; and were to master all the forces of your Rhetoric, to persuade me that I still live in your memory: This indeed I must confess, very much speaks your justice, since that, being to make me no other return of the affection I might claim of you, but Words, you have made choice of those so Rich and Noble, that, to be free with you, I am in some doubt whether the Effects would signify much more; and am absolutely of belief, that any Friendship besides my own, might take it for good satisfaction. But what I quarrel at, is, that so much Artifice and Eloquence cannot shadow the truth from me, and that I therein am like your Shepherdesses, who, through an overgreat simplicity, cannot be carolled by too much wit. You'll however, excuse me; if I am a little distrustful as to that Science, which can find Eulogies for Quartan Agues, and Nero's; and wherein I know you have stronger charms than ever any man had. All those Gentillesses, which I admire in your Letter, I take to be expressions of your greatest wit rather then of your good affection; and of so many excellent things as you have said in my commendation, all that I can flatter myself to believe, is, that Fortune hath been pleased to make me some part of your Dreams; and yet I am to learn whether the resueries of a soul so Elevated as yours is, are not too serious, and too rational to descend to any reflection on me; and I shall accordingly acknowledge you deal too favourably with me, if you have afforded me your Love but in a Dream. I dare not imagine, that amidst those high designations, whose present employment is to make distributions of glory, and to proportion rewards to all Virtues, you may have reserved any place for me; no, I have a greater opinion of your worth, then to be drawn into such a disesteem of it, nor should I wish your enemies had so much to reproach you with. I am satisfied, that that measure of affection which you may with justice have for me, is that which you should have. That precept of knowing one's self, which all others should look on as a memorial of humility should have on you a contrary effect, that is, oblige you to a contempt of whatever is without you. For my part, I must profess to you, that, disdaining all pretence to your Friendship, I should have been content, if you had only preserved, with some little tenderness, that which I had vowed to you, and had disposed it, if not among those things for which you have any esteem, yet at ●east among those you would be unwilling to lose. 〈◊〉 that you have left me here so near this fair Rival, whom you mention, not to disguise my thoughts to you, signifies that your jealousy is not very strong, and you give her so much advantage, that I have some reason to believe you hold a correspondence with her, to my prejudice. If so, I conceive I have much greater cause of complaint than you, since she hath enriched herself by your losses, and that you have suffered her to gain that whereof I thought to have eluded her Tyranny, by disposing it into your hands. Had you made the least opposition in the world the better part of myself were yet at our disposal; but your negligence put it into her power, and enabled her so to improve her conquests over me, that when I have possessed you of all that remains, you shall not find the one half of what you have lost. Yet I dare assure you, on the other side, that you have recovered in my esteem the same place that had been taken from you in my affection, and that my love no sooner began to decrease towards you; but I thought myself obliged to honour you the more. I have not met with any thing of yours since your departure, which seems not to me above whatever you had done before; nay, by these late pieces of yours, you have gained the honour of having excelled him who had outgone all others. I cannot in the mean time but think it strange, that having so much reason to be content as you have, yet you cannot be so, and that all Great Persons expressing their satisfaction of you, there wants only your own. All France is become your Audience, and there is not any one that hath arrived to reading, looks indifferently on you. All those who any way concern themselves in the glory of this Nation, are not more inquisitive to know what the Marshal de Crequi does, than what you do; and we have more than two Generals, who make not so much noise, amidst an Army of thirty thousand men, as you do in your solitude. You are not then to wonder that so great Reputation should be attended by much envy, but bear it patiently, if the same Judges, before whom Scipio was found a Criminal, and who condemned Aristide's and Socrates, allow you not, by a joint sentence all your merits can pretend to. It was ever a Custom with the people to hate the same excellencies in any man, which they admire in him, every thing that is out of their Road, being offensive; whence they are more ready to bear with a common Vice, than an extraordinary Virtue. So that if that Law, which ordered the banishment of such as were overpowerful, either as to Authority or Reputation, were still in force among us; I believe the greatest burden of the public Envy would fall upon your shoulders; and that the Cardinal of Richelieu would not run so great a hazard as yourself. But be it your care, that you call not that your misfortune, which is properly that of the Times, and complain not any longer of the injustice of men, since that all those who own any worth, are of your side, and that among those you have found a Friend, whom it is not impossible but you may lose once more. At least give me leave to assure you, I shall do all that lies in my power, to put you into a capacity of doing it; since it is now become so great a vanity to be numbered among yours. I have hitherto made so public a profession thereof, that if it should happen, I cannot but love you less than I was wont, assure yourself you will be the only man to whom I shall presume to acknowledge it, and that to all the world besides, I shall as I have ever, express myself,  
SIR, Yours, etc.   

To my Lord Marquis de Rambovillet, Ambassador for the King in Spain. LETTER III.  
My LORD,  
I could never have believed it possible, that I should give you any cause to complain of me, or that ever Libels should be written against me in Madrid. And, to deal ingenuously, I should not easily have been appeased for the one or the other, if, when I received that unhappy tidings, I had not at the same time met with an account of your welfare, and the great Reputation you daily gain among a sort of men, who, before they saw you, could not admire any thing but themselves. But since I number all your happinesses amongst my own, I must think it absolutely unlawful for me to be sad at a time when all the world speaks so advantageously of you; nor can I do less than rejoice as often as I hear it said here, that you have taught the Spaniards humility, and that they have as much honour for you, as if you were of the blood of the Guzman's, or that of the Mendoza's. You may therefore hence conclude, my Lord, that my soul is more tender than you make it, and that I have this, at least, common with all the virtuous, that I concern myself in whatever good fortune happens to you. 'Tis true, I had once resolved to smother this sentiment, so as not to communicate it even to you. For amidst those great affairs whereof you have now your hands full, I thought it a breach of the public peace to occasion the least diversion of your thoughts, by any unnecessary address; and how much liberty soever you might have given me to do it; yet should I not have had confidence enough to make use of it, if I had not another extraordinary adventure to acquaint you with. Be pleased then to know, my Lord, that upon Sunday the twenty first instant, about twelve at night; the King and the Queen, his Mother, having assembled the whole Court; there was seen at one end of the great Hall in the Lowre,, where nothing appeared before, a great brightness broke forth on a sudden, and immediately there appeared, amidst an infinite number of Lights; a company of Ladies covered all over with Gold and precious Stones, and seemed as it were newly descended from Heaven: But there was one amongst the rest so easily observable, as if she had been all alone; and I have a certain faith, that humane eyes never saw any thing so excellent. She was the very same, my Lord, that upon another occasion, had been so much admired under the name, and in the habit of Pyramus, and that had, another time appeared among the Rocks of Rambovilllet, with the bow and countenance of Diana. But imagine not that you can represent to yourself above half her Beauty, if you measure it only by what you have seen; and know, that this night, the Fairies had shed on her those secret advantages of Beauty, which make a difference between Women and Goddesses. For even when she had masked herself with the rest, in order to the Ball, which they were to represent, and consequently had lost the advantage her face gave her over them, the Majesty of her stature and carriage rendered her as remarkable as before; and whithersoever she went, she drew along with her, the eyes and hearts of the whole presence. In so much, that renouncing the error I was in, in believing she could not dance excellently well; I now confess, it was only she that could. And this very Judgement was so generally given by all present, that those who cannot endure to hear her praises, must needs banish themselves from the Court. This, my Lord, acquaints you, that while you receive great honours where you are, you miss great enjoyments here, and that Fortune how nobly soever she may employ you elsewhere, does you no small injury, when ever she takes you from your own house. For, in fine, now that you have gone over the Pyrenean Mountains, if you should pass that Sea which separates Europe and Africa; and proceeding further, would visit that other side of the World, which Nature seems to have disposed at a great distance, purposely for the greater safety of her Wealth and Treasure, you should not find there any thing so rare, as what you have left behind you; and indeed all other parts of the earth, cannot afford you what may equal that you have left at Paris. This puts me into ●belief, that your absence will be as short as may be; and that as soon as his Majesty's affairs shall give you leave, you will return hither to enjoy those Goods, which none but yourself can be worthy of. But, my Lord, I am not satisfied, whether we are not over confident of a Nation, that hath made so great usurpations upon us, to have trusted you in their power, and accordingly fear the Spaniards will be as loath to part with you as la Valteline. This fear certainly would put me into a far greater disorder, were I not confident that those of the Council of Spain, have not since your coming into the Country, been Masters of their own resolutions; and that you have already made too many servants there, to stand in fear of any violence. We may then hope, that as soon as the Sun, which scorches men, and dries up Rivers, shall begin to reassume his heat, you will return hither and overtake the Spring, which you had already passed over there, and gather Violets, after you have seen the fall of Roses. For my part, I expect this season with much impatience; not so much because it furnishes us with Flowers and fair weather, as that it brings your return, and I promise you I shall not think it pleasant, if it come without you. I am of opinion you will easily believe what I say for I am confident you allow me to be so good, as that I should passionately wish a felicity wherein so many are concerned; besides that, you know how particularly I am,  
(My Lord) Yours, etc. Paris March 8.   

To my Lord Duke de Bellegarde, with an Amadis. LETTER FOUR  
My LORD,  
IN a time when there is such a confusion in History, I thought I might presume to send you Fables; and that being in a place where you only study a remission of your spirits, you might afford some of those hours you spend among the Gentlemen of your Province, to entertain Amadis. I hope, considering the solitude you are in, he will find you some pleasant diversions, by the relation of his Adventures, which certainly must be the noblest in the World, till you shall think fit to acquaint it with your own. But what ever we may read of him, we must acknowledge your Fortunes are as extraordinary as his, and that of all those Enchantments which he hath dissolved, there is not any one which you could not have mastered, unless it be haply that of the Ark of the faithful Lovers. In a word, my Lord, you have raised in France a more amiable, and a more accomplished Roger then he Greece, or that of Ariosto, and this without any enchante● Arms, without the assistance of Alquif or Urganda; and without any other charms then those of your own person, you have had both in War and Love the greatest successes imaginable. Besides, if we consider that exactness of courtesy, which could never degenerate, those powerful graces whereby you gain the affections of all that see you; and that height and constancy of mind, which would never permit you to decline into any breach of duty, or civility; it will be hard not to conclude you descended from the Race of the Amad's. And I am of opinion, if you'll believe me, that the History of your Life will be one day added to those many Volumes we have of theirs. You have been the Ornament and Esteem of three several Courts, you have so behaved yourself, that you have had Kings to your Rivals, yet not to your enemies, and at the same time possessed their favour, and that of their Mistresses, and in an Age, wherein Discretion, Civility, and true Gallantry were banished this Court; you have given them a Retreat in yourself, as in a Sanctuary, where they have been admired by all the world, though not imitated by any. And truly one of the chiefest reasons whereby I was persuaded to send you this Book, was to let you know what advantage you have even over those who have been dressed up by imagination to be the patterns of others; and how far the inventions of Italians and Spaniards come short of your Virtue. In the mean time, my humble suit to you, is, that you would be assured among all the affections it hath gained you, it hath not raised in any so much admiration and true passion as it hath in me, and consequently, that I am much beyond what I am able to express, and with all manner of respect,  
My Lord, Yours, etc.   

To Madam de Saintot, with an Orlando Furioso in French, Translated by du Rosset. LETTER V.  
MADAM,  
THis certainly is the noblest Adventure, that ever Orlando was engaged in, nay, when he alone defended the Crown of Charlemaigne, and snatched Sceptres out of the hands or Kings, he could not pretend to any thing so glorious, as now that he hath the honour to kiss yours. The Title of Furioso, under which he hath wandered all over the earth, must not divert you from granting him that favour, nor frighten you from affording him your presence; for I am confident he will be civilised by being near you, and that he will forget Angelica assoon as he shall have seen you. This at least I know by experience, that you have already done greater Miracles than this, and that you have sometime, with one word, cured a greater madness than his. And certainly, it were far beyond all that Ariosto hath said of it; it he should not acknowledge the advantage you have over the Lady, and confess, if she were placed near you, that she would address herself, with much more necessity than ever, to the Virtue of her Ring. This Beauty, who of all the Knights in the world, met not with any completely armed, who never smite the eyes of any one, whose heart she wounded not, and who by her love, burnt up as many parts of the world, as the Sun enlightens, was but a faint draught of those Miracles which we are to admire in you. All the Colours, all the Adulterations of Poetry have not been able to represent her so fair as we find you, it being a thing even beyond the reach even of Poetical extravagance; for to say truth, it is much more easy to imagine Chambers of Crystal, and Palaces of Diamonds; And all the enchantments of Amadis, which you look on as so incredible, cease to be such when once compared to yours. At the first sight, to fix the most obstinate minds, and settle such as are at the greatest distance from slavery; to kindle in them a certain love, that submits to reason, yet knows not what hope or desire means; to Crown with Glory and Delight those souls whom you have deprived of all rest and Liberty, and to dismiss those infinitely satisfied, whom you do not any ways oblige; these are effects more strange, and more remote from probability than Hippogryphs and flying Chariots, or whatever our Romans furnish us with that is yet more wonderful. I should make a greater Book than that which I send you, if I continue this Discourse; but this Knight, who could never be brought to give any man precedence, is troubled that I wait on you so long, and advances to entertain you with the History of his Loves. 'Tis a favour you have often denied me; and yet I shall, without jealousy, allow him to be in that more happy than I, since he promises me, in lieu thereof, to present you but with this Discourse in my behalf, and to oblige you to read it before any thing else. This enterprise is too great for a heart less confident than his, and I know not how fortunate he may be in it. However, it is in my opinion, very just, since I afford him the means to entertain you with his own passions, that he give you some account of mine; and among so many F●b●es, ●●●ain● you with some truths. I know you will not hear them always; but since they find you impenetrable, and that it amounts not to so much as should oblige you to any resentment thereof, there is no danger to let you know, that I esteem you alone above all the world beside, and that I should not be so ambitious to command that, as to obey you, and be,  
Madam, Yours, etc.   

To the Marchioness of Rambovillet, under the name of Callot, an excellent Graver, sending her from Nancy a Book of his Figures. LETTER VI.  
MADAM,  
OF so many several imaginations as have been the productions of my mind, the most rational I ever had, is that of presenting your Ladyship with this Book; your Ladyship I say, Madam, who excel all others in that part of the soul which inspires Painters, Architects, and Statuaries, and who by your example exemp it from that blame which is cast upon it, which is, that it admits not excellency, where there is a perfection of judgement. For not to mention that great illumination of mind, which enables you at the first sight to apprehend the truth of things, you own a Fantasy, which, beyond any other in the world, can discover their beauty. And as there is not at this day any one seems so much concerned, that Noble things should have the esteem that's due to them as yourself; so is there not any knows so well how to commend them. It is a very modest Flattery, Madam, to tell you, that you can judge of them, since I durst affirm, that, when you are so pleased, you can tightly do them. And indeed it hath happened, that even when you have not been serious you have done some Designs, that Michael Angelo, would think it no disparagement to acknowledge his own. Nay further, it may be boasted of you, that you have put one Piece into the world, which excels the best things that ever either Greece or Italy produced, and discredits even the Minerva done by Phidias. It is not hard to imagine that I speak of the Noble Lady your Daughter, in whom alone, Madam, it may be said, you have done many Miracles. But it must be a hand more confident than mine, that shall undertake to represent what is either in you or her, and I should not be able to do it, though I can dispose into one sheet of Paper numerous Armies, and represent the vastness of Seas and Mountains; I shall therefore only tell you, but with infinite respect, and truth, that I am  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. VII.  
MADAM,  
EVer since I have had the happiness of your sight, I have been inexpressibly troubled, and yet, all notwithstanding, I have not been unmindful of what commands you had laid on me. As I passed by Espernay, I went, by your order, to visit the Marshal Strozzi, and was so much taken with the Magnificence of his Monument, that considering the condition I was in, and finding myself not able to get thence, I was very desireous to be buried near him. But this was a little boggled at, because it was perceived I had yet too much warmth about me: I resolved therefore to cause my Body to be translated to Nancy, whither, at length, Madam, it is come, but so out of case and flesh, that I assure you, there are many interred, that are not so much. Eight days have I spent here, yet not recovered myself, and the more rest I take, the wearier I am. Besides there is so vast a difference between the fifteen days wherein I had the honour to be with you, and the fifteen last past, that I wonder how I can suffer it; and me thinks, Monsieur Margone, who is a Schoolmaster here, and myself, are the two most deplorable examples of the inconstancy of Fortune, that ever were seen. I am troubled with certain obstructions and weaknesses, which spare me not a day, there being no such thing here, as Theriacon; and consequently, I am sicker than ever I was, and that in a place where I can find no Remedies. So that Madam, I much fear, Nancy may prove as fatal to me, as it was to the Duke of Burgundy; and that after I have run through great hazards, and opposed great Enemies, as he had done, it is decreed I shall end my days here: But I will hold out as I can, for, I assure you, I never am so much in fear of death, as when I think I shall not have the honour to see you again. And therefore having missed death by the hands of one of the most excellent Ladies in the world, and neglected a many opportunities to die in your presence ' it would trouble me very much to come and lay my bones three hundred Miles, from you, and to think one day, when I should rise again, that I should have the dissatisfaction of finding myself once more in Lorraine. I am  
Madam, Yours, etc. Nancy, Sept. 23.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, under the name of the King of Sweden. LETTER VIII.  
MADAM,  
BEhold the Lion of the North, and the Conqueror whose name hath made so much noise in the world, casts at your feet the Trophies of Germany, and, having defeated Tilly, broken the Fortune of Spain, and the forces of the Empire, comes to submit himself to yours. Amidst the acclamations of joy and Victory, which my ears have been so long accustomed to, I have not heard any thing so pleasant as the report of your good inclinations for me; which I had no sooner understood, but I changed all my designs, and directed to you alone that Ambition, which aimed at the whole earth. This is so far from abating any thing of my designs, that it elevates them; for the earth hath its limits, and the desire of being absolute master of it, hath fallen into other souls besides mine. But that Mind, which all admire in you, and which is immeasurable and incomprehensible; that Heart which is so far above Crowns and Sceptres, and those Attractions, whereby you command all Wills, are infinite Treasures, to which none but myself durst ever pretend; and those who wished worlds, were more moderate in their wishes then I. But if mine prove effectual, and that Fortune, which makes me every where victorious, attend me into your presence, I shall contemn Alexander and all his Conquests, and acknowledge, that those who have commanded all mankind have not had an Empire of so vast an extent as mine. I should tell you more, Madam, but I am just now going to give battle to the ●mperial Army, and some six hours after I intent to taken Nuremburg. I am  
Madam, Your most passionate Servant, 
 GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS.   

To the same. LETTER. IX.  
MADAM,  
ALL the inventions you have furnished me with for my diversion, have proved ineffectual in this Country, and the more rational your advices seem to me, the less reason I find to take any heart, since they are only my remembrancers, that I can no more hear a person, whose discourses are so excellent. All those I converse with here, tell me the place is pleasant enough; and there is not one of the quality of a Monsieur who hath not a Highness, much more a Princess to entertain. But how gallant soever the Court of Lorraine may be, I find myself as much alone, as I was eight months since in my Travels through La Because; and I remember I have met better company in the streets at Paris, than I have in the Datchesse's Chamber. I know not whether it may be an effect of the Spleen, which I have for some time, been extremely troubled with, but am of opinion, there are not any more conversable persons in the world than those I met in the last journey I had the honour to make with you; and I should be infinitely more pleased with the entertainment of Monsieur— then with that of the Duchess of— The melancholy which hath fastened itself on my heart and eyes makes all faces seem to me as if I saw them through the fume of Aquavitae, and I perceive not any thing which carries not a certain frightening with it. Those hours, which my Lord Marquis calls the hours of digestion, last with me from morning to evening, and I am become so ill company, that Monsieur de Chaudebonne is somewhat vexed at it, nay to speak truly, takes it very ill. But I have made my peace with him, with a promise that he shall hear me speak one of these days two hours together, and that I will entertain him with a history more pleasant than that of Heliodorus, and that done by a greater Beauty than Cariclea. You may easily judge, Madam, that my promise can aim at no other than that of Zelida and A cidalis; for there is not any other in the world, whereof it might be said. What stupidity soever I am arrived to, fear not I shall put her to any loss of Beauty in the relation; for amidst all my misfortunes, I have still preserved my memory sound and entire, and doubt not but I shall find it faithful, were it only for your sake, since you are as much concerned in it as any, and that I am, much beyond what I can express,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Mademoiselle de Bourbon. LETTER. X.  
MADAM,  
UPon Friday in the afternoon, I was tessed in a blanket, because I had not made you laugh in the time assigned me to do it, according to the sentence of Madam de Rambovillet, upon the motions of the Lady her Daughter, and the Lady Paulet. They had once put off the execution till the return of Madam la Princess and yours, but they have since resolved not to delay it any longer, out of a consideration that punishments ought not to be referred to a season that should be absolutely consecrated to joy. It was to little purpose for me to cry out, or to resist; the blanket was brought, and four of the strongest could be met with, were chosen to do the business. All that I can tell you, Mâdam, is, that never was any man so high as I was, nor could I ever have believed Fortune should ever have exalted me so much. Every toss sent me out of their sight, even beyond the Soaring of Eagles. The Mountains I saw infinitely below me, and could observe the winds and the clouds travelling under my feet, I discovered countries which I had never seen before, and Seas which had never come into my imagination. There cannot be any thing of greater diversion, then to see so many things at a time, and to take a survey of one half of the earth at one sight. But I assure you, Madam, that all this cannot be seen without disturbance, when a man is in the air, and is certain to fall down again. One thing I was extremely frightened at, was, that when I was gotten up very high, and looked downwards, the Blanket seemed to me so little, that I thought it impossible I should ever fall back into it, and this I must confess put me into some disorder. But among so many several objects, as at the same time entertained my eyes, there was one which for some minutes put me out of all fear, and found me a more than imaginary pleasure. And that is, Madam, that desirous to look towards Piedmont to see what was done there, I saw you at Lions just as you were crossing the Saone. At last, I perceived on the water a great light, encompassed with an infinity of beams, such as are those of the greatest Beauty in the World, I could not well discern who was with you, by reason that at that time my head was downwards, so that I believe you saw me not yourself, for you looked another way. I made signs to you as much as I could, but as you were going to lift up your eyes, I fell down still, and one of the tops of the Mountain Tarara deprived me of your sight. I was no sooner got down, but I would needs give them an account of you, assuring them I had seen you, whereat breaking into a laughter, as if I had told a thing absolutely impossible, they began to make me dance up more nimbly than before. There happened one strange accident, such as will seem, to those who saw it not, incredible; in one toss which they gave me, as I came down again, I fell into a cloud, which being very thick, and I extremely light, I was for a good while entangled in it, and could not get out so that they below were at a loss for a long time, stretching the Blanket, and looking up to the skies, not able to imagine what was become of me. By good fortune there was not any wind stirring, for if there had, the cloud passing along would have carried me someway or other aside, and consequently I had fallen to the ground, which could not have happened, but I must needs hurt myself very much. But there fell out afterward a much more dangerous accident, the last cast they gave me into the air, I fell amongst a flight of Cranes, who at first sight were amazed to see me so high, but coming nearer, they took me for a Pigmy, with whom, as you know, Madam, they have carried on a war from the beginning of the world, and thought I was sent as a spy to see what they did in the middle Region of the air. They fell upon me pellmell, pecking at me as fast as they could, and that so violently, that I thought myself stabbed in a hundred places with Poniards; and one of them, having fastened on my Leg, pursued me so importunately, that it let me not alone till I was fallen into the blanket. This put my persecutors into a certain fear of returning me to the mercy of my Enemies; for there was an infinite number of them got together, that hung still in the air, expecting I should be sent among them. They carried me therefore to my Lodging in the same blanket, so bruised that it was impossible I could be more. And to deal ingenuously, this exercise is somewhat violent for a man of so much weakness as I am, You may judge, Madam, what Tyranny there was in this action, and how great reason you have to disallow it, and to be free with you, since you are borne with such endowments as dispose you to command, it concerns you in time to accustom yourself to hate injustice, and to take the oppressed into your protection. It is therefore my humble suit, Madam, that you would declare this manner of proceeding illegal, and such as you must disapprove; and for reparation of my Honour and strength, to order that a large Canopy be set up for me in the blew-chamber at Rambovillet-house, where I may be attended and treated magnificently for eight days, by the two young Ladies, who have been the cause of all my misfortune, and that at one corner of the chamber, there shall be Sweetmeats made, that one of them shall constantly blow the fire, the other shall not do any thing but put Syrup upon plates to cool it, and bring me of it, as often as I shall call for it. Thus, Madam, shall you do an act of Justice worthy so great and so excellent a Princess as you are, and I shall be obliged with more respect and reality than any man in the World, to be,  
Madam, Yours, etc.   

To my Lord Cardinal De la Vallette. LETTER. XI.  
My LORD,  
I Am now satisfied that the ancient Cardinals assume a great authority, in comparison of such as are but lately admitted to the dignity, since that though I have written divers times to you, and not received any thing from you, you yet quarrel at my sloth. But in the mean time I meet with so many persons of good quality, who tell me, that you honour me too much in the remembrances you are pleased to afford me, and that accordingly I am obliged to write to you, and send you my most humble thanks, that I am resolved to follow their advice, not minding any concernment of my own therein.  
Be pleased then to know, my Lord, that six days after the Eclipse, and fifteen days after my death, Madam La Princess, Madam de Bourbon, Madam du Vigcan, Madam Aubry, Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, Mademoiselle Paulet, Monsieur de Chaudebonne and myself, left Paris about six of the Clock in the evening, to go to La Bar, where Madam du Vigean was to entertain Madam la Princess at a Collation. We met not with any thing by the way worth the observation, save that at Ormessan, we saw a Dog, which came to the boot of the Coach, and fawned upon me. You may be pleased to take notice my Lord, that, as often as I say, we met, we saw, we went, etc. I speak in the quality of a Cardinal. From thence we arrived at la Bar, and came into a Hall strewed all over with Roses and Flowers of Oranges. The Princess much admiring that piece of magnificence, would needs visit the walks, in the interim between that and suppertime. The Sun was then setting in a cloud of Gold and Azure, and scattered no more of his beams, than would suffice to shed a pleasant and gentle light; the Air had dismissed all wind and heat, and Heaven and Earth, in a certain competition to Madam du Vigean, would needs entertain the noblest Princess in the world. Having passed through a spacious Court, and large Gardens full of Orange-trees, she came into a wood, into which, Day had not been admitted for a hundred years, till that hour that it came in along w●th her. At the end of a spacious walk, as far as we could see, we found a Spring, which alone, was guilty of a greater liberality of water, than all those of Tivoli. About it were disposed four and twenty Violins, which had much ado to drown the noise which the falling of the waters made. Being come near it, we discovered in a hollow Seat, which was within a Palisado of fruit-trees, a Diana about the age of eleven or twelve years, and more beautiful than the Forests of Greece and Thessaly had ever seen her. She carried her Bow and Arrows in her eyes, and had about her all the Beams of her brother. In another Seat not far from it, there was one of her Nymphs, handsome and gentile enough to be of her retinue; those who give not much credit to Fables, thought them to be Mademoiselle de Bourbon, and the Virgin Prianda, and indeed they were very much like them. All the company stood in a profound silence, as admiring so many objects, which at the same time charmed both eyes and ears, when on a sudden the Goddess, issues out of her Seat, and with a grace, beyond all representation, began a Bal, which lasted for some time about the Spring. What is most remarkable, my Lord, is, that, amidst so much pleasure, which should absolutely take up and surprise the minds of those engaged therein: there wanted not remembrances of you, and it was the general acknowledgement of all, That there was something defective to so great enjoyments, in that you and Madam de Rambovillet were not there. Whereupon I took a Harp, and sung.  
Pues quiso me suerte dura,  
Que fault ando mi Sennor  
Tambien faltasse mi dama,  
And went through the rest so melodiously and so mournfully, that there was not one in the company, who shed not abundance of tears; and this had lasted a long time, had not the Violins suddenly struck up a Saraband so full of life, that all rise up as jocund as if nothing had been, and so leaping, dancing, vaulting, turning, and tumbling, we came into the house, where we found a Table so well furnished, as if it had been served in by Fairies. This, my Lord, is such a circumstance of the adventure, as cannot be described, and certainly there are no colours or Figures in Rhetoric, can represent six Bisques, which were the first entertainment of our eyes. But this was particularly remarkable, that there being only Goddesses at the Table, and two Demigods, that is to say, Monsieur de Chaudebonne and myself, they all fed, and that neither more, nor less heartily, then if they had been really mortal. And indeed, to say truth, never was there a handsomer service, and among other things, there were twelve sorts of F●esh, so disguised, no man ever heard any talk of, and whereof the very name is yet to be learned. This particularity, my Lord, hath unfortunately come to the ears of the Marshal of Saint— Lady, who, though she had given her twenty drams of Opium more than ordinary, yet could never sleep since. At the beginning of Supper we had not your health up, as being otherwise very merry, and at the end there was no more done, by reason, as I think, it was not thought on. You must not, my Lord, expect that I should flatter you, but that, as a faithful Historian, I give you a true account of what past; for I would not have posterity misapprehend one thing for another, and that some two thousand years hence it should be believed your health was drunk to, when there was no such thing. Yet dare I not but do truth this right, that it was not for want of remembrances of you, for all Suppertime, there was much discourse of you, and the Ladies wis●●'d you there, some of them very heartily, or I am much mistaken. At the rising from Table the noise of the Violins drew up the company into an upper chamber, which was so well enlightened, that the day, which was gone from above the earth, seemed to be wholly retired thither. Here the Bal was reassumed in better order and more handsomely, than it had been about the Spring, and that which was of greatest magnificence in it, was, my Lord, that I danced myself. Mademoiselle de Bourbon was indeed of opinion, and that justly, that I did not dance well, but that I was a good Fencer, because that at the end of every cadence, I seemed to put myself into a posture of defence. The Bal continued with much pleasure; when on a sudden, a great noise was heard without, which obliged all the Ladies to look out at the windows; and there issued out of a great wood, which was about three hundred paces from the house, such a number of Fireworks, that all the boughs and bodies of the trees seemed to have been turned into crackers, that the Stars were falling out of Heaven, and that the Sphere of fire were to take possession of the middle region of the Air. These three Hyperboles, my Lord, well prized, and reduced to just value of things, are worth three dozen of crackers. When all were recovered out of the astonishment, whereinto this accident had put them, it was resolved we should depart, and we took our way towards Paris, by the light of twenty Torches. Having crossed over the quarter of Ormesson, and the great Plains of Espinay, we passed without any opposition through the midst of St. Denis'. Sitting in the Coach immediately next to Madam— I repeated to her in your behalf, a whole Miserere, whereto she answered with much courtesy and civility. We sung by the way, abundance of Scavans, Petits-doigts, Bonsoirs, and Bon-Bretons. By that time we were got a League beyond St. Denis', it was two of the clock in the morning: the trouble of the journey, watching, and the exercise of the Bal, had made me extremely heavy; when there happens an accident, which I thought would have proved my final destruction. There is a little Village between Paris and Sr. Denis' called La Villette, at the end whereof we met three Coaches, in which were gotten the Violins, whom we had entertained all the day before. Take then, my Lord, the strange accident that happened; the Devil would needs put it into the mind of Mademoiselle— to give order they should follow us, that we might spend the whole night in Serenades. This proposition made my hair stand upright, and yet it was seconded by all the rest. The Coaches were stayed, and the order sent them what they should do; but, as good fortune would have it, the Rascals had left their Instruments at La Bar, for which Heaven reward them. Hence, my Lord, you may easily judge, that Mademoiselle— is as dangerous a Lady for the night as any in the world, and that I had much reason to say at Madam— there was a necessity of sending away the Music, otherwise that it was in vain to entertain any thoughts of a departure. We kept on our way without any disturbance, till that, entering the Suburbs, we met six lusty Plasterers, who being stark naked, passed by the Coach wherein we were. At last we got into Paris, and what I am now going to tell you, is more dreadful than all the rest: We found the whole City covered with a horrid obscurity, and whereas we had left it about seven hours before full of noise, Men, Horses, and Coaches, we now meet w●th a general silence, and a frightful solitude; the Streets being so dis-peopled, that they could not afford one man, only we saw another sort of Creatures which at the light of the Torches hid themselves. But my, Lord, for the rest of this adventure, you shall have it another time;  
Qui el fin del Canto, a torno ad Orlendo,  
Adio Signior, a voi mi raccommando.   

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XII.  
MADAM,  
THere were never certainly any Enchantments so strong as yours; and all those Magicians, who have made use of Images of wax, have not known so strange effects as you have: That which you have sent, hath caused amazement in all those that have seen it; and, what is much more to be admired, and which I think beyond all the power of Magic, it hath raised in the marchioness of Rambovillet a Love, and in me a Joy, the very day of your departure. I cannot apprehend how that could happen to you. But the Letter and Present which came from you, made me forget all my misfortunes, and I received the little Europa with as much satisfaction as if I had been presented with that which makes one of the three parts of the world, and which is divided into divers Kingdoms. And indeed it is of greater value, since it is like you; and upon that account my Lady Marchioness took it away from me by force, and swore by Styx, it should never come out of her Cabinet. Thus hath Europa been raivshed a second time, but much more gloriously, (in my opininion) than when she was carried away by Jupiter. 'Tis true, that by way of satisfaction, I have received two Dogs, which have snouts so long, that, in my judgement, they are worth a Gentlewoman; and I know not whether there be any one in Paris, for whom I should part with them: Nor indeed, the humour I am in, considered, ought I to converse any longer with rational Creatures; and in the despair I am in, I should wish myself in a desert, within the paws of the most cruel Lions; though I said, there should nothing be loved but Dogs. Be you then pleased, who have made them so gallant, to make them also grateful; and that they may bestow some remembrances on me, since I honour them above any one in the world, and am,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Madam du Vigean, with an Elegy he had made for her, and which she had often demanded of him. LETTER XIII.  
MADAM,  
I send you herewith the Elegy which you have but too often demanded of me, and which heretofore hath indeed been heard by divers, but till now hath not been read by any. It should be my wish the same fortune might in this happen to me as hath befell you; who, after you have for so long time concealed the noblest things in the world, have, in the discovery of it, dazzled all those that have seen it. But it is an overgreat fondness of my own Verses, to wish them that advantage, nor indeed should I wish them better, since they were not made for you: If you think them very ill, you are so much the more obliged to me for them, in that knowing it as well as you, yet I have not forborn to send them you. And, to deal freely with you, to prevail with me to do it, a lesser power than what you have within these few days gained upon me would not have been sufficient: And without your command Madam, they had never known any other place than that of my Memory. But it is high time it were delivered of them, to make room for something more delightful, and that which Mademoiselle— afforded me the sight of, the other day, fills it so much at present, that I doubt whether there be place for any thing else. I perceive, Madam, that where it was my design to send you a Letter of excuse and compliment, I am fallen into one of Love; but I wish all the other defects you shall find in it, were as pardonable as that. In the mean time let me assure you, that I have not of a long time been so engaged, and that there are a many in the world to whom I would not say so much, even though they held a Dagger at my Throat. But since there is no fear of any scandal, you are obliged, Madam, at least in my opinion, to look favourably on those Elements of affection, were it but to see, how I should behave myself, if I should fall in Love; and, if I were permitted, what might be the consequence of it.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, upon the death of her second Brother, who died of the Plague, and whom she attended during his sickness. LETTER XIV.  
MADAM,  
HAving no less admiration for your courage and good Nature, than Sympathy with your grief; I am so highly sensible of both the one and the other, that if I were capable to render you those commendations which are justly due to you, and that comfort whereof you stand in need, I must confess I should be much troubled where to begin; for what obligations can be more equally enforcing, then to render to so eminent a Virtue the honour it merits, and to so violent affliction the comfort it requires? But I am to blame to put a distance between these two things; since Charity hath so perfectly united them, that the incomprehensible assistance you afforded your late Brother, should now prove an extraordinary comfort to you, and God bestow that on you out of Justice, which others obtain out of his indulgence; his infinite Goodness being such as will not suffer unrewarded so exemplary an act of tenderness, as what, through a contempt of your own life, engaged you in the offices of the best Sister of the world, beyond the limits of all obligations; and by an admirable constancy, made you assured amidst a danger that terrifies the most daring. Upon this account am I confident that he will preserve you from it, and will shower on you, as a reward of your Virtue, the blessings are wished you by  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Lady marchioness of Sablé. LETTER XV.  
MADAM,  
I Know no better way to ease you, as to the bad news you have already received, then to put you into a fear for yourself. Know then that I who write this to you, have been three days together in a house, out of which two persons died of the plague. The best thing you ever did, was to leave Paris, since it was the time that all the Virtuous were to expect persecution. Madam de Rambovillet hath lost her Grandson, who in three days made a shift to die of the plague, yet would she not hear of leaving the House while there was any life in him. You may easily think, Madam, that nothing could divert me from being constantly among them, since you were not here: But I am afraid I frighten you too much, and that the Remedy I apply to your affliction is too violent for the Disease. Know then, that I who write unto you, am not the writer hereof, but have sent this Letter twenty Leagues from this place, to be coppy'd out by a man I never saw. I think myself very much concerned, Madam, in the trouble now lies upon you, and apprehend that this disaster could not have happened in a more unfortunate time; yet the moderation I know your mind subject to, and the dis-care you have for the things of this world, raises in me a hope that you have a better pennyworth of this affliction than any other would, and that the Loss of fifty thousand livres, per annum, now gone from your House, whereat some other more interress'd than yourself, would be more then ordinarily disordered, will cause in you an affliction not exceeding mediocrity. But, Madam, I must not, by a consolatory Letter, think to answer the most obliging Love-Letter in the world; for the latter part of yours cannot be termed otherwise. My humble Suit therefore, Madam, is, That you would not repent you of your writing so favourably to me as you have, for amidst all my discontents, I have entertained that joy with as much resentment, as if I had known the greatest serenity in the world, and I cannot conceive myself unhappy, while I have the honour of your affection. I am so fortunate, and so confident, that I am not in the least doubt of it; and my good fortune is great in this, that I esteem that the greatest good of this world, which I conceive myself most assuredly possessed of. You are so well satisfied with me, Madam, that I know you will more favourably receive those assurances which I express of your affection, than those I might give you of mine; and though you wish my happiness in all things, yet can you not desire any thing more advantageous for me, then that I should believe you love me; and those who have seen what alteration your absence hath wrought in me; and how great a part of my mind you have carried away with you, may one day satisfy you, that I, in some measure, deserve that honour. But Madam, I cannot forbear to tell you, that Monsieur Le Maistre, who saw with what tenderness I bade you adieu, will be confirmed in his former opinion, and hopes one day to find our Characters engraved together upon the Tree of Bourgon; at least, it is no small joy to me, that he hath observed the acknowledgement, and reciprocality of our affection. For my part, Madam, I once more tell you what I so much pressed upon your faith at your departure, which is, that I shall not esteem or effect any thing in this world as much as I do you, and shall ever, with all manner of respect, remain,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Mademoiselle de Chalais  
MADAM,  
IT was not my design, to put you into any danger, no more than my Lady, by forcing you to the reading of this Letter; but I believe that those who have taken off the tincture of Gold, cannot be prejudiced by any infectious Air. For my part, I take every morning thirty grains of Antimony, and fix eyes of the fish you wot of. With this Antidote I can go any where without danger. Be you pleased to continue me the honour of your affection; for if it fail me, I shall take my Antimony without preparation. I am, Madam, most sincerely,  
Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. XVI.  
MADAM,  
I have with your Letter received, the greatest joy I met with, since your departure hence. If you please to call to mind with how much ingenuity and Friendship, all the Letters you do me the honour to direct to me, are written, you will no longer doubt of it; and you would discard the opinion you are in as to my negligence, if Fortune had not pleased, the last I writ to you should miscarry. 'Tis a miscarriage you should be the more sensible of, in regard there was one enclosed from Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. She entreats you to satisfy yourself from Madam de St. Amand, to whom it was directed, what is become of it; for she is much troubled, by reason of divers things she writ to you about. But for my part, Madam, assure yourself I take so much delight in writing to you, that I take not much more in being idle. And my Letters are the productions of so sincere an affection, that if you judge aright, you will esteem them much beyond those which you are so importunate for. Those were only the issue of my invention, these of my heart, those I was at some charge at, these extremely divert me. Should I not have troubled you a little, Madam, if I had repeated these and those five or six times more, and would you not have been surprised at the novelty of the stile? I thought to have done it, merely to see what you would have said, but since you are not here, I am in no great inclination to laugh, and I should have been gone hence long since, if a certain change of my affairs had not detained me. My sloth is born under the most fortunate constellation that may be, it never wants some pretence or other to avoid the doing of what it hath no mind to do, and I have put off my departure from one week to another, yet it is no fault of mine, that I am here still. I believe, Madam, you will not think this strange, since you would have stayed here till now, had not the Chariot of the Posthouse forced you hence. But I am resolved to snatch myself out of Paris within ten or twelve days, and I conceive I shall find no great difficulty in it. At least, the greatest inducement I had to stay here, was taken away the day of your departure; and if any thing could at the present enforce me thereto, it should be Madam, and Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, who tell me every day that I should be gone. I can assure you, Madam, without any violence done to the sincerity I owe you, that you are loved by these two Ladies, as much as you can desire, and I hear them daily discourse of you with so much tenderness, that one of those things I so much at this present esteem in them, is the affection they bear you. Be therefore as much assured of them, as of me, and place not their Friendship among those Goods which you may lose. I am extremely glad that you have satisfied some others who are not of this nature, and that you have taken that order in your affairs that you desired. I return you my most humble thanks, that among your own you have had a careful reflection on mine. The indifference I am guilty of as to that particular, bespeaks a necessity of knowing what I should do, so as I durst not disobey, and that I should entertain the advice of a person, whose counsels are commands. That about which I was so much troubled, and was the cause of my stay, is in a better condition than I could have hoped, and I doubt not but we shall take some order in it, by the advance of a certain sum of money. But I shall think myself well out of the Briars, if I escape so: Besides Madam, I shall henceforth be the less troubled for wealth, now that I am assured you will not want any. If it come to the worst, the Secrets I know in Physic and Chemistry, may prevail with you to afford me a retreat, and to clothe me like a Gentleman, when you shall think fit I should usher you. You were very much in the right, when you thought I should want your recommendation to Mademoiselle d'Atichi, and I humbly entreat you, Madam, to write to her in my behalf. I have seen her but once since your departure. That with what Monsieur Nerti shall be able to acquaint her with, will, I hope, satisfy her, that you recommend unto her a person you look not indifferently on, and one, whom you have found so faithful, as to have deserved that good office from you. If she believe it, I conceive, Madam, that she will think better of it, then of many other things; for there is nothing more certain (pardon me, Madam, if I speak it not with respect enough) then, that I love you beyond any thing this world affords, and with all sincerity, am,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. XVII.  
MADAM,  
THe beginning of your Letter gives me occasion to admire your Judgement, for I must acknowledge you have been more apprehensive of a resentment, which lay dormant in my heart, than I was myself. Me thought I was extreme earnest to depart: but what pleasure soever it may be to me to hear from you, yet I must confess that when I saw Robin, I was somewhat at a loss to think I had no pretence for any longer stay, and I think I should have been content to wait seven or eight days for that joy. However, Madam, I cannot have been so far surprised, but I should easily recover myself, through the care you are pleased to have of me, and I am extremely satisfied, to see that you have written more Letters for me in one night, than you have done in four years for Madam Desloges and Madam D'aubigni.  
It is questionless, the greatest expression or affection may be expected from you, especially if I consider the circumstances wherein you write to me, and I must no longer doubt, that you will direct all things to the advancement of my Fortune, since you contribute thereto your own pains, I acknowledge it, Madam, with such a heart as you know I have, and besides the great satisfaction it affords me, as to my own particular, I think it a far greater, to find you as generous and as noble a friend as I have ever wished you. And I am to profess to you, I am so far at rest, as to that part of my Fortune, that I am afraid I shall neglect it in others things, and shall slight the friendships of Queens, whenever I shall think myself assured of yours. Be not therefore, I shall entreat you, Madam, the least troubled at what you have done for me, or what may be the issue of it, nor what effect your Letters may have; but if you have written any, either for my advantage or reputation, assure yourself they have proved as effectual, as you could have wished. I shall not fail to observe the order you have given me for the delivery of them. For the rest you have done very well to excuse the stile, for, not to dissemble with you, that jargon of Marfisa, Merlin, and Alexis, is to me insupportable. And yet I cannot amidst all this, but observe abundance of wit, and a strange vivacitty, but above all, an extraordinary inclination to do me some favour. I am extremely pleased at what you tell Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, that if they be not more careful, I shall go into Flanders, as if I went to Vaugirard; and in my judgement, that very word is worth a good Letter. 'Tis very true Madam, that had they not been so careful as to give me notice of it, I had gone with the Messenger of Brussels. And to deal truly with you, I go this journey with so much regret, that I cannot imagine I should fear to be taken; and were it not for Madam— I should be content to pass the rest of the Winter in a chamber in the Bastille, so that it may be allowed good fires. The— is absolutely ruined; Monsieur— hath for these four months past, professed a strict friendship with him, and Monsieur de Bellegarde: you may easily judge, Madam, he will never be the better for it, no more then I. Mademoiselle d'Atichi hath promised me wonders, and that with so much affection, as you could have done yourself. I acknowledge I have not deserved so much at her hands, and know not whether I ever shall; assure yourself of Madam de Villeroy, and be not troubled for any thing else, I have received all your instructions, and shall observe them. Madam and Mademoiselle de Rambovillet have an infinite affection for you. I bid you farewell Madam, with the tears in my eyes, and assure you, I love you proportionably to your merits, and much beyond your imaginations.   

To the same. LETTER XVIII.  
MADAM,  
TO deal freely with you, It is an impardonable ingratitude in you not to have taken the pains to send me some Answer, and to be more slothful than I am, speaks a sloth absolutely insupportable. What fair pretences soever I made a shift to find for my not writing to you for six Months together; yet have I not dismissed Robin, without something to assure you, That notwithstanding all that, I am more yours then ever. But it is certain, Madam, that you cannot lose me, be as careless of me as you please. I could sometimes heartily wish, that I might, with Mademoiselle de Chalais, deliver myself out of your service, and there are not here wanting those who would endeavour to convey me away, but I cannot consent thereto; and me thinks, that to save myself in that manner were the only way to lose myself. Madam de Rambovillet hath commanded me to tell you, that out of a belief you may want an able and discreet person to supply her place, who is gone from you, she hath sent you Mademoiselle— who by good fortune had not been entertained any where; she hopes you will receive her as a person she hath chosen for you, and accordingly hath dismissed her two days since. I should not have written so confidently if I had not been commanded; for, believe me, Madam, my heart is too too sensible of your indifference for me; be pleased to cure it of that disorder, for I assure you it is all your own. I am,  
Madam, Yours, etc.   

To the same. LETTER XIX.  
MADAM,  
IF you concern not yourself in my content nor my quiet, yet at least be not so negligent of my fortune. I am upon the point of my departure, which yet I must put off till I hear from you. I fear me, that the Letters you have sent me bear too old a date; if you have not broke off all correspondence in that Country; I believe it were much to my advantage that you gave me others, or took some occasion to speak in my behalf, if you think fit. But if otherwise, it will be but necessary that you speak for yourself, and that by your Letters you renew the assurance of your fidelity and service. And that, Madam, will prove a continual kind of recommendation for me. I humbly beseech you to send to me with all possible diligence, for there is not any thing else stays my departure. I bid you Adieu, Madam, with so great affection, and so much tenderness, that it were much more dangerous that Nerli should see this then the other, and assure yourself I am much more troubled to live at a distance from you, then to quit the Ladies I leave here. Thus, Madam, are you more considerable with me then all the world besides, and if you knew after what manner it is, you would be satisfied with it, though nothing but whole hearts will content you. I tell you this with as much sincerity, as if they were my last dying words: Never shall I love, honour, or esteem any other person, as much as I do you, as resolved, at all times, and in all places, to be,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Mademoiselle de Paulet. LETTER XX.  
MADAM,  
I Return you my most humble thanks that you quarrel not at me, and withal assure you that you have as little reason to abstain at any one in the world. I am extremely surprised at what you tell me, that those who honour me with their affection, quarrel at my sloth, when they themselves are so far guilty of it, that they employ others to reproach me with it. The condition I am in considered, it were much more rational to send me Consolatories than complaints, and it seldom happens that the persecuted, the banished, and such as are sequestered, find others sport. When I say so, I shall entreat you not to think that I mean any thing against that excellent Person, whose excess of merit, and want of health, exempt her from all obligations of this nature. But those whose business is to compliment, and only to exercise their wits, are not, in my judgement, to be pardoned, the neglect of doing me that honour. I assure you there never was any sadness comparable to mine, and if I durst write pitiful Letters, I could tell you things would make your heart burst: But to say truth, I shall be glad it should remain whole, and should much fear that, if it were once in two, it would be shared away in my absence. You see how well I can apply those ingenuous things I hear spoken; but Madam, it concerns you, (from whom I have this, since I forget not any handsome expression of yours not in two years after I have heard it) to send me some, since I can so well make my advantage thereof, and send me some words which I may think myself obliged to remember as long as I have those: All I have ever seen from your departure till now, is so indifferent that it hath not taken away any thing of my affliction; and therefore I would entreat you to send me some thing of greater virtue, since you can furnish others with as much as you please. Otherwise I shall believe the precipitate reconciliation which was made so suddenly before my departure, was feigned, and that there was not any thing of sincerity in you, but what signifies your coldness, and your indifference. I leave it to you to judge whether it is possible I can live with this imagination, and whether you are not the most ill-natured in the world, if you put me into that danger. I beseech you therefore to be more careful of me, for you are more than ordinarily obliged to be so, since it is certain I am, more than ever,  
Madam, Yours, etc.  
When I had written this Letter, me thought it contained five or six Drams of Love, but it is so long since I have so much as made mention of Him, that I could not abstain; besides that, I am of so small a bulk, that you know there is fear of me. On the other side, the Person you speak of, hath been dead long since, it remains only that he should be buried, but he is let alone through negligence.   

To the Same. LETTER XXI.  
MADAM,  
I was extremely happy to receive your Letter before I left Brussels and with it so much comfort on the very Eve of my departure. Since that, I have known no disturbance though I have had much pain; for I would not have it said, That a man, for whom you are pleased to have any providence, can be unhapy, and should be ashamed Fortune had a greater influence over me than you. I have Travelled twelve days without any resting from morning till night; I have passed through Countries where Wheat is a rare Plant, and where Apples are preserved with as much tenderness as Oranges in France. I have come into places, where the most aged cannot remember they ever saw a Bed; and for my Recreation, I am at this present in an Army where the stoutest are wearied out: And yet I live still, and do not find any one in better health than myself. I know not what to attribute such an extradinary strength of constitution too, unless to the power of your Letter; and me thinks I am like those men who do things more than humane after they have swallowed certain Characters: Assoon as I came, I got myself, by the favour of Monsieur de Chaudebonne ' Listed in a Troop of Tories; and I dare tell you, Madam, and that without vanity, that I behave myself as gallantly as any of them. Nevertheless, I have not as yet ravished any Wife or Maid ' as having not yet shaken off the weariness of my Journey, nor recovered my full strength, and all I could do was to set three or four Houses on fire; but I grow stronger and stronger every day, and am resolute beyond all faith. To be serious with you, I am quite another man than you have known me, and he should not escape my clutches now, who heretofore might easily give me the slip. And yet I believe, how mischievous soever I make myself, you do not conclude I am become such, and that you think I am not much to be feared; especially by you, Madam, since you know you have absolute power over me, and that I am most Cordially,  
Madam, Yours, etc. June 27. From the Port Igoin, upon the Loire, which we are now going to cross.  
At my departure from Brussels, I sent to him that was to bring you this Letter, certain Pictures; and I entreated him to leave them with you, and I humbly beseech you to direct them to the Person to whom you conceive I send them, and tell her that they are a Parcel of my Plunder; and that I send her that in part of what I lost to her at Moure.   

To the Same. LETTER XXII.  
MADAM,  
YOu should hear from me oftener, were it in my power; but ordinarily we come into places where any thing is more easily found then Ink and Paper; besides that it being expected I should write with so much reservedness, I am at such a loss, that I tremble when I take Pen in hand, for fear of saying too much and endeavour what lies in my power to avoid it. Even at this present, I am almost out of myself to write things which it were more convenient not to mention, and such as haply you yourself would not think too well of: For I remember, in your last Letter you forbade me to speak of Love, and I must needs obey, though with ever so much violence to myself. And yet Madam, I cannot forbear telling you, that how strong soever the passion I have for the war may be, yet I have another that is much more prevalent in me, and am not ignorant that our first inclinations are ever the most predominant. We meet nothing that opposes us, we make daily nearer approaches to the Country of Muskmelons, Figs, and Muscadine-Grapes; and we go to fight in places, where we shall not gather Palms, but what are mingled with Flowers of Oranges and Pomegranates; but I assure you I should willingly quit my part of our Victories, for the hononr of being at this present at your feet, and that I shall not so much esteem the Title of a Conqueror, as that of,  
Madam, Your Slave, etc.   

To Madimoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER XXIII.  
MADAM,  
I am very far from having any thing to object against your Prudence, since it is accompanied with so much Goodness, and that it is not less employed for the advantage of others than your own. I must confess I should have been very much troubled to be the first unfortunate man that you should have given over for such, and that you should have exercised on me the apprenticeship of that dis-compassionate Virtue which never yet could claim any acquaintance with your Generosity. And whereas those actions which are not performed without danger are of greater esteem than others, it cannot be expected there should be always security for doing well, and you are, Madam, in my opinion, particularly obliged to be tender of the unfortunate, since that to change their condition you need apply nothing but words. Those I have had the honour to receive from you, have wrought on me the effect you could imagine, in so much that I have not since known any affliction save that of being unable to express the resentment I have of them. There is nothing so certain, Madam, as that when you are pleased not to be cross, you are the most accomplished person in the world; and Goodness, which is so delightful wherever it is found, is much more adorable in you, where it is better attended then ever it was in any one. You had long ere this met with my most humble thanks for what you are pleased to have for me if I had had the feast favourable opportunity to send them you: and I put this Letter into the hands of Fortune as a forlorn, though I perceive not how it shall pass through so many difficulties and fires, wherewith we are encompassed. And yet I believe it will not be so unhappy as to miss you, merely because it is directed to you, and that you must needs receive it through the assistance of that good fortune, which you say you have in things of small consequence: I should here take occasion to acquaint you with divers that are of great, and which I could wish within your knowledge; but I conceive it is your desire I should be discreet as well as yourself, and that I should not write any thing, that mightily open to censure. In the mean time, though we are of contrary parties, I suppose I may affirm, without any crime, there is not any one of ours whom I would so readily follow as I should you, and that I shall be while I live, with all manner of respect, and sincere esteem,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER. XXIIII.  
MADAM,  
IT concerns me much more than you, that the accommodations you had sent me, should not fall into other hands than my own. Of all the Goods I have left me, there are none I am more unwilling to part with, than those I have received from you, and I shall easily digest the want of all the others, if I may but enjoy those. If the Stones you have bestowed on me, are not able to break mine, they will at least help me to bear my pain with greater patience; and me thinks I should never complain of my colic, since it hath procured me so great a fortune. And yet I must needs tell you, that this generosity was like to cost you dear, and it was not improbable, that these Stones might prove so many rubs in your way. He at whose house I sojourn, knows you honour me with your Letters, ever since I showed him that wherein you remembered your self to him. He was in place, when your Letters came to my hands, and he either knowing or guessing by the superscription, it was your hand, I acknowledged it was so. My first curiosity was to look into a paper, which seemed much heavier than the rest, and having opened it, I disburdened it of a Bracelet, the most glittering and gallant that ever was. I cannot express the greatness of my surprisal, to find a thing so little expected from you, and to see how indiscreet I had been in the first favour I had received from you. I outblushed the Ribbon you had sent me, and he who was present, put on a Countenance so severe, as if it had been sent me by Mademoiselle— But having read your Letter, I found that, what seemed to be a favour, proved a Remedy, and that the Bracelet was not sent to a Gallant, but to a sick person. You may say your pleasure, Madam, but me thinks I am of a very good nature, for though I should have given all I have in the world, that you would have done a piece of Gallantry of this nature to me, yet was I much pleased on this occasion, that it was not any, and was very glad to be myself, less happy, that so you might seem less censurable. So that for this time, L'Ejade hath had for you an effect which you expected not from it, and its Virtue justifyes yours, which was accused, and in my opinion, ready to receive a severe Sentence. This supposed, I cannot but esteem it very precious, and coming from so good a hand, I have a great faith in it. I stood in much need of such a remedy, in a Country where there is no other to be had, and where relief is rather to be expected from stones than men. And if you call to mind a certain particularity, which was told us heretofore concerning this place, you would have a greater pity for those that have the Colic. Though you should not find out what I mean, I shall not be much moved, for in a man that should think himself felicified, but with a moment of your favour this discourse is not over-gallant. I shall only tell you, Madam, that you are more than ordinarily obliged to be careful of me; For besides your having been subject to the same infirmity, I am to acquaint you that at this time, mine proceeds from the same cause, and the Physicians of Madrid give me the same advice, as we received formerly from Monsieur de la Grange, and Monsieur de Lorine. When you were at the height of your melancholy, you never were more solitary, more intractable, nor indeed more inhuman, than I am here. You can hardly imagine how different my present life is, from what I have formerly led, and you will one day be astonished, when I shall tell you, that I have passed over eight months without speaking to any woman, without quarrelling, without contestation, without playing, and what is more strange, without putting on a pair of shoes. This is a very lamentable thing to relate. I have endured a Winter more piercing than that of France, in a place, where there are no such things as Night-gowns or Chimneys, where there's never any fire made, unless it be for a Victory, or the birth of a Prince. Amidst this misery, I have often wished the fire at Rambovillet-house, here, and regretted the time, that I refused to be the Cyclops, of a much more amiable person, than she that governs their master. There's a great deal of Learning requisite to understand this. But if you guess at the person I mean, I humbly crave your pardon, Madam, to assure her hence, that I honour her with a greater passion than ever, and that I should not quarrel at my absence, if I thought it had wrought in her the same effect it hath done in me; for, to deal sincerely with you, it hath reinforced the affection, which I ever have devoted to her Service, and having past an Act of oblivion for all the injuries she hath done me, I can now only remember those excellent endowments, which rend her both so amiable and admirable. However I might dissemble it in my countenance, yet had I still a secret grudge against her, nor could I ever, till my last sickness, be induced to forgive her, the affront she once did me in your presence, when she thought to have murdered me with a Basin of water. ●ut now, I have changed all desires of vengeance, into wishes to see her, to honour and to serve her; and if there be any one in the world, that I love beyond her, it is only one, whom she also loves beyond herself. For that other, I shall ever, in my mind and in my esteem, reserve for her a particular place, she shall never have in my affection, either company or competitor, no more than she hath in the world: and if the love I bear you, proceeded only from friendship, I must confess, I should have a greater affection for her then for you. Frown not at ihis, nor think it strange, that I avoid not in my Letters, those things you may take offence at, since you have not that tenderness for me in yours. For what necessity was there you should tell me that, those two persons had made such new acquaintances, as might oblige them to forget their old friends? And to what end must this come at the close of the most obliging Letter in the world? If my disease could be cured like the quartane Ague, by some extraordinary apprehension, this crossness might serve for something; and yet I should be little obliged to you, when curing me of the Colic, you will needs force me into jealousy. Be pleased therefore to endeavour my quiet as to that particular; for, to be free with you, I am thereby so much discomposed, that e have taken very little rest since. I was already in some inclination to that fear; not that I any ways question the goodness of those Ladies, but I often think what great danger there is in a great distance. In a word, Madam, it is of you that I dare assure myself, for, to struggle with so long on absence, there is not only a constancy requisite, but an obstinacy. But since you have done me the favour to number me among your Friends, I am confident my unhappiness will not give you occasion to retract it, and that you will not suffer Fortune to bring that about, which so many religious men, and other good people have attempted without effect. If there be any other who afford me the honour of their affection, it's a happiness I enjoy not without some distrust, as being a good which I may lose, and from which, time haply takes away somewhat every day. You tell me, your Mistress' Mistress hath not forgotten me. This I question whether I can decipher. Your Mistress, is it not a young Gentlewoman, very much Eaglesighted, having somewhat a short nose, one that is subtle, fierce, scornful, selfconceited, and obliging, one that is of a good and bad nature, much given to chiding, and yet is ever pleasant, a very virtuous Gentlewoman, who hath a mother that useth her very harshly, and whom I loved one time from Bagnolet to Charronne? If it be the same, her Mistress, without question, deserves to be Mistress of all the world, and I have maintained for eight months together in this Court, that there is not beneath Heaven any thing so good and so glorious as she. I have not so great a resentment of all my own afflictions put together, as I have of hers, and I have shed abundance of tears, wherein she hath been the most concerned. It is certainly a thing very strange, and pleads much compassion, that there should be so much happiness in her birth, and so little in her life, and that the same person own at the same time all the graces, and all the disgraces in the world. I receive the honour she does me, with all the respect and all the joy I ought, and my prayers to God are, that he would comfort her, as she doth others. This goodness should cause no small shame to the Lady, on whom were once found a brace and a half of louse. But me thinks your Mistress is too retentive to let me know any thing, and yet she might without any danger of jealousy, have afforded me a compliment. You make it much your business to assure me of the friendship of your Servant, but if it be not the same I mean, I should not take it well, you bestowed so much of your thoughts on him: but that person deserves all things, and I know not any thing I should envy him. For Madam de Cl●rmont, though you had said nothing to me, yet should I be satisfied she does me the honour to love me; having the experience I have of her charity, I cannot doubt of her affection, and there needs no more to come into the number of her friends, then to be listed among the miserable. Amidst the joy, the honour I have done me by so many excellent persons, brings with it, it is an extraordinary grief to me that you tell me nothing of a man from whose remembrance you know, I derive no small comfort. I am satisfied Madam, that it is not your fault; that is, that you have not any thing to acquaint me with concerning him. There's not any circumstance of all my misfortune troubles me so much as that, nor for which I can have less patience. I fear me, he takes it not well that I mention him; but neither this consideration nor any other shall make me ungrateful, nor hinder me from declaring wherever I am, that there is not any man can deserve the affections of his Friends, and the esteem of his enemies, more than he. If the Count de Guiche be at Court, be pleased to give me leave, humbly to entreat him to spend some few thoughts on me, and to give an instance of his constancy, by loving a person at so great a distance, and withal so unserviceable. I was the other day very much pleased to find Madamoisele de Montausier in the Newsbook; but me thinks it were much more reasonable that the young Gentleman had been there, and by what acquaintance I have with him, I should not think the fame of his Sister should spread further than his: I wish he knew how much I am still his humble servant, and wish him all the happiness and noble adventures he merits. But I must except a certain Lady, in whose Embraces I once wished him; and I now assure her, that she will be guilty of the greatest ingratitude in the world, if any thing cause her to forget me: For, without flattery, the passion I have for her, is beyond any thing she can imagine. Which yet if after all, she reward with a treachery, I shall one day not stick to make use of Steel or Poison to revenge myself: You can hardly guess, Madam, who it is I mean; and it is a secret too important to be trusted to any one. I only desire you to show this passage to Madamoiselle du Pin. But I fall into a custom of writing large Letters, though afraid to be too tedious; and yet I have a thousand other things to acquaint you with; nor is it without an extraordinary violence to myself, that I can only tell you, I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c From Madrid.   

To the Same. LETTER XXIX.  
MADAM,  
YOu have more reason than any one to grant that though my body is, my inclinations are not capable of any change, for you may assure yourself I am inalterable as to what ever relates to you. If you think I am furnished with Affections of all Rates, know also that those Rates are just and proportioned to the value of the Persons. While I observe this Rule, you may be satisfied I shall never own any passion more violent than that to serve you. If you allow this to be according to reason, it is no less consonant to my own inclination; and therefore you may sa●ely believe, I shall never cease to love y●u, though you tell me I am nothing cautions, and that I cannot improve my pleasures with discretion. I know not any, I pro●ess it, greater than to honour you, and to flatter myself with frequent imaginations of all those Goodnesses, and all those perfections which I know reign in you. Though the Presents you send me are poisoned, yet I receive them with a wil●ing mind, and shall no otherwise what ever comes from your hands. It hath been no small joy to me to find my justification in the same pieces, whereby it was expected I should have been condemned. Those two Rows of bl●ck, mentioned in the Stanza's of the Youth, are easily discovered not to be for the young Gentlewoman, She deserves that name as well as Madamoiselle de N●uf-vic, and I assure you the Tablets are come to her hand after the same manner. The business of Madamoselle Mandate is much more innocent, and if you have opened the Letters concerning it, 'tis a great injustice to quarrel so much with me about it: However, I have read, not without shame, the Stanza's yond sent me, and I am much more excusable for being unfortunate in Verses then in Courtship; Thence I perceive, that since Monsieur Chaud●bonne hath reinstated me with Madamoielle de Rambovillet, I have derived from them another mind, and that I was but a simple Lad in that time, that Mademoiselle du Plessis says I was so ingenuous. But, Madam, when any will needs put these affronts on me; I beseech you take them not upon your account. They write to your Hu●band to have a great care of me, as, that he should wrap me up in Silk and Cotton; and in the mean time they endeavour what they can to take away my life. I find the advice of Madamoiselle de Bourbon excellent good, that I should be preserved in Sugar; but it will take up a great deal to sweeten so much bitterness, and then I should taste like Lemmon-Pill candied. Thousands of thanks most humbly presented reach not any acknowledgement of the transcendent honour she does me by her remembrances of me. I wish with all my soul, that that Aurora (for the name you have given her suits her very well) may be seconded by as fair a day as she deserves, and that all those of her life may be free from all cloudiness, and express a clearness and serenity consonant to that of her mind and countenance. My most humble services, with the greatest passion that may be, presented to Madam de Clermont, and to the Ladies her Daughters. I return my most humble thanks to Monsieur Gedeau, for the Verses he sent me; I find them suitable to the rest of his works which I read over daily, employing my whole Study in what he hath done.   

To the Same. LETTER XXVI.  
MADAM,  
ABout a Month since I received a Letter you were pleased to write to me of the twenty of January; the last Post brought me another of the twenty sixth of the last Month, and both came accompanied with a many Papers you also thought fit to send me. You may well think it unreasonable, say what you will, that I should moderate the praises I am to give you, and that I should begin to speakless well of you when I receive most good from you. I could not answer the former, because I was sick when the Messenger departed, and to show that the joys of miserable people are but short lived, the next day after I had received it, I was taken with the Colic, which I thought I had lost, and one days ease cost me seventeen days torment. Madam de Clermont honours me beyond all possible desert of mine; and I am throughly sensible of the extraordinary obligation she hath cast upon me. And yet I shall not believe she loves me to that height she speaks, nor that I am so much concerned in her Prayers, if I continue in this decay both of health and fortune. And yet it is a greater than I can ever hope that the Lady, whom you know I ever place above all the rest, will be pleased to look after my concernments. There's no Oracle I should more willingly rely upon then her Providence; and I receive her counsels and her commands, as if they came from Heaven. Though I cannot find a place high enough for her in my own mind, yet I dare assure her, that I have ever thought her present at whatever hath befallen me. She hath often comforted me in my greatest afflictions, and that part of my Soul, wherein she was, hath been free from all troubles and disturbances, into which my miseries had hurried me. I adore her as the noblest, the most beautiful, and most perfect thing that ever I saw: And yet all the respect, all the Veneration I have for her, cannot hinder me from having a most tender affection for her as the best creature in the world. I must also confess, the Lady her Daughter owns no less goodness, if it be true, as you tell me, Madam, that she is pleased to think of me. I should gladly some way acknowledge this honour, but me thinks one heart will not suffice both and her mother, and that when one hath taken her share, there will be little left for the other. The favour done me by three persons so accomplished, frees me from all troubles, yet gives me withal a new one, which is, that I can never deserve it, nor express, as I would, the resentment I have of it. And since it requires infinite thanks, I humbly beseech you, Madam, to employ yours together with that Eloquence, which is so natural to you, for to thank them; and let me not want your assistance in this, which you afford me in all things. When I reflect on the honour you and they do me in your remembrances; I wonder, that, being so happy in that, I am so unhappy in other things, and that so much misfortune can befall a man that hath so many Guargian Angels. I am not yet satisfied, whether be greater the happiness of being beloved, or the unhappiness of being absent; and I find that of all men I am the most to be envied, and the most to be pitied. I have the greater reason to say this, that I am not mistaken in your Letter; and if it be true the Lady, whose generosity you so earnestly maintain, though not impeached, hath done me the honour to write to me, I shall eesily swallow down all the checks you gave me upon that account. Nevertheless, I shall entreat you not to think I raise a particular quarrel against her; but not having received any recommendations, save from two or three persons; the complaint was general against all the rest, from whom I had not received a word since my coming hither. 'Tis true, I think her much more to blame then any other, that she who hath the greatest memory in the world, should be so scanty of it towards her friends; and since her thoughts have often passed the Pyrenean Mountains for Alcidalis, and to imagine in Spain persons that never were there; I could not but wonder she should forget those that are, and are at her service. And if she hath done me the honour you tell me, she hath gone much beyond my hope, and done for me more than I durst have desired. But it being past, it is a loss I know not how to brook. I know, Madam, that, though I had said nothing to you, you will easily imagine with what regret I suffer it: But me thinks, you, who take the pains to send me the Letters of Monsieur de Balzac: and Copies of all the best things, should not have forgotten that. I have perused with much satisfaction, what was sent him upon the death of the King of Sweden, and am glad to see the greatest Wits pay him the homage and acknowledgement due to his memory. The Sonnet I am much taken with, and the Letter is excellently well Penned. I have particularly observed this in it, that the Author of it, must needs be well acquainted with the humour of ●he person to whom he writ; since that having lost a Lover, he says not one word to him by way of consolation. By good fortune for us, she is more tender for her friends, and since she remembers the most inconsiderable, and indeed who can never deserve that name, there's no doubt of the rest: For my part, whatever I may have sometimes heard from that man, who you say is so severe, and for whom I durst say nothing here; I have thought it impossible that a person that begets a friendship in all that see her, should have none in herself; and that having derived so many excellent qualities from the Lady her Mother, she hath missed the most Noble, which is, that of being the best Friend in the world. You see Madam, how I can correct those faults you reprove in me. I bileeve I have reformed them by what I have said, and answered those reproaches you cast on me for commending you to her prejudice. I have chosen rather to retract my thoughts of her, than what I had said of you, and I have thought it easier to add to her praises, then to abridge yours. I have received you Judith with extraordinary satisfaction; I say, with extraordinary satisfaction, because it deserves it, besides what I do therein for your sake. For I think you are extremely taken with this History, and are well pleased to see an action of blood and murder justified by the Scripture; I could not in the reading of it, stave off an imagination, that I saw you holding a Sword in one hand, and the Head of Monsieur de St. B— in the other: You tell me it is done by the Author of the Translation of St. Paul's Epistles; you consider not Madam, that a Person who hath waded through so much sickness and affliction, must needs have forgotten abundance of things, especially since what is left is taken up in things wherein it is so well employed. You put me to a like nonplus in another Letter, telling me, your servant desired to be remembered to me; what likelihood is there to guess aright who it should be? My first imagination was it might be a Cardinal; the next, a Doctor of Divinity: Afterwards I thought it might be a Merchant of Aubry-Boucher-Street, or a Knight of Malta; a Privy-councillor, a Poet, or a Judge; and there is not any Rank, wherein I found not some cause to doubt: But if it happen to be a young Gentleman, flaxen haired, of a very fair complexion, and a person infinitely ingenuous, nothing could happen more to my satisfaction, than the least expression of his remembrances of me; and it shall be the main business of my life, by my most humble services, to deserve his affection. As poor as I am, I would it had cost me a thousand Crowns, that I could have played a Game at Tennis with him, which had not been impossible, had I been suffered to take my own course; for I was fully resolved to return by Paris, and you might have seen me within a while of the Religion of Monsieur d' Aumont; but I submit and obey, though with no small trouble. I am not certain when I shall leave this place, whether within a Month, two, or three. I have told one man here how much he is obliged to you for your remembrances of him: He returns you his most humble thanks, and hath engaged me to tell you he is infinitely your Servant. We keep house together, and live in the greatest Friendship possible: I crave pardon of the Lady you know; and I leave her to judge, who is so skilful in things to come, what I may promise myself thence, and whether I may not one day arrive at a good subsistence as well as he. Behold, Madam, another large Letter, whereof you know but the least part, and whereof I have said nothing of what most nearly concerns me. Behold what it is, not to answer the Gallantries which you write, and to send me Letters, wherein you speak only of your Friends, and say in a manner nothing of yourself. Nevertheless I have not made it so much my business to be revenged, as that I can avoid professing in this place, that I repeat for you alone, all the expressions of esteem and affection, which I have directed to every one of them in particular; and that I am, much after another manner,  
Madam, Yours, etc. From Madrid.   

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XXVII.  
SIR,  
ABout ten or twelve days since, I writ to you, and thanked you for two Letters, which I have at length received from you. If you could apprehend what satisfaction they brought along with them, it would be your grief you had sent me no more; and that you had not afforded me this comfort, in a time that I stood in so much need of it. Madrid, which is the pleasantest place in the world for the healthy and the debauched, is the most wearisome to the temperate and the diseased; and when Lent comes in, and makes a Vacation among the Players, I know not of any one Recreation which a man may conscientiously make use of. The sorrow and solitude I struggle with here, have wrought on me at least this one good effect, that they have reconciled me to Books, which I for a while shaken hands with; and meeting here with no other entertainments, I have been forced to admit those of Reading. Expect therefore, Sir, to find me almost as great a Philosopher as yourself; and imagine what great advantages he may arrive at, who for seven Months together, hath constantly studied or been sick. And if it be granted that one of the principal ends of Philosophy is the contempt of Life, I know no better Master for it then the Colic, than which Socrates and Plato are much less persuasive: It hath read me lately a Lecture which lasted seventeen days, which I shall not in a short time forget, and hath made me many times consider how weak we are, since there needs but three grains of sand to cast us to the ground. If it oblige me to be of any Sect, I shall not be of that which maintains that pain is no evil; and that the Wiseman is always happy. But Sir, happen what will to me, I can neither be the one nor the other, if I am not near you; and nothing can assist me so much to attain both, as your example and your presence. I am yet to know when I shall depart hence, and, expecting men and money to come to me by Sea, I am afraid I shall stay longer than I desire, for these are two things that come not always at the time appointed. My humble suit therefore is, That you would not forget me so long as you have done, nor to express, by honouring me with your Letters, that you are satisfied with the sincere affection which speaks me,  
Sir, Yours, &c   

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER. XXVIII.  
MADAM,  
SInce the favour I receive by your writing to me cannot be valued, and that it was not in my power to deserve it, you ought not to discontinue it, though I come short in the acknowledgement thereof. The condition I was in two Months since forced me to suffer the ordinary Messenger to depart without a Letter, and if that be only the reason, as in all likelihood it must, that he is returned again without any from you; I assure you it is the greatest discourtesy my Colic ever did me. Since than your Letters are so necessary, I beseech you Madam, let me not want that assistance, and you, who are so charitable towards those who are in any affliction, express yourself such towards one that wrestles with so many kinds of it. You are further obliged to be so, out of this consideration that my greatest, and which I am least able to resist, is, that I am at such a distance from you. And if this regret be accompanied by any other equally apprehensive, it is for persons whom you love as yourself. I humbly desire you to acquaint them, and that often, that the passion I have for them is too great to be expressed, and let me ever have some place in their inclinations, where you yourself have so much, that we may there, since we cannot any where else, be together. For your own part, Madam, I beseech you once more not to forsake me, the honour of receiving Letters from you, is a happiness, which though I could not have hoped, yet I cannot be without, now that I am so much accustomed to it. Deprive me not therefore of it, after you have so generously afforded it me, and do not herein oppose two virtues which are so natural to you, your liberality and your constancy, and though it is beyond my power to satisfy this obligation, yet shall not I be wanting as to wishes, nor shall importune Fortune for any thing, so much as that I may be able to express otherwise then in words, how far I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. XXV.  
MADAM,  
THere cannot be any thing more acceptable in your Letters, than the Letters themselves; I have met with in the beginning of yours, what you would not have had me to hope till I came to the closure, and you have granted me the satisfaction which you promised me elsewhere. It is very probable you did not read what was added to your Letter by another hand, and that you, who send me gold and precious stones, or words of greater value, would not entertain me with reproaches. And yet I must confess that I do in some sort deserve what hath been written to me, and that I am not very much a Gallant, since I have not the confidence to be such towards you. It is a great shame to me that I have written such large Letters to you, which yet contained nothing of that stile, whereof a Female Friend of yours says, that it seems to her to be all poetry; and that being so many leagues distant from you, never durst acquaint you with any thing of my thoughts. But I will not be disgraced any longer upon your account, and if you cause not some satisfaction to be made me for this affront, I am resolved to treat you with Letters wholly made up of Love, full of fires, darts, and pierced hearts, and shall break forth into so many gallantries, that it shall repent some, they have offended me. I am at this present extremely troubled to keep my hands in, and I find no other inducement to refrain, then to think on that excellent person, of whom I have learned to prevent in all things what may be to be feared, and whose very memory obliges me to respect and prudence. I humbly beseech you, Madam, who are acquainted with all the transactions of my mind, to let her know in what posture she is there, and with what resentment and sincere affection I return the honour she does me. You may also if you please, since you own so great a goodness, engage in the same manner, Madam de Clermont to continue her affection to me, and her prayers to God for me. I shall for my part, as much as lies in me endeavour to deserve the favours I shall obtain through her intercession, and it were certainly very hard, that a man, whom you preach to, and she prays for, should not be converted. But you may let her know, that I beg not so much her prayers as her affection, and though I believe she can make me constant holy and happy; I care not so much for all this, as to be loved by her: I have read, with inexpressible apprehension of joy, what you tell me concerning that divine person, before whom I once made my Epitaph. I dare assure her, that when I had two and was in the power of my greatest Persecutresses, I was not more to be pitied than I am now, and that I should wish rather to die in her presence, then live far from her. After the extraordinary honour she does me, there were not any thing I could desire additional to my glory, save that I were so happy, that the Lady, who should have been carried away once at Lima, had but remembered me. But it is the pleasure of Heaven, that the Lady her mother should remain yet in the world unparalleled, and if haply there may be any thing as fair as she, there cannot be aught so good. Me thinks, she, for whose sake I once made the Dryads laugh, Madam de C— (I think there were no danger to put her name at length) should not be so much incensed against the Rebels, but that she might do me the honour to think on me sometimes. If the report be true, that we had a design to carry her away, it should have been after the same manner the Greeks took the image of Pallas out of the power of their enemies, in confidence that Fortune and Victory would always attend the side where she were. But for my part, I had no hand in it; she knows, that my pretences, if ever I had any to her, have been in a fair way, and she may remember that my addresses have ever been full of respect and esteem. Seriously, I cannot be so passionate for our affairs, but I must be also very much for her. When ever I reflect on her, I silence my wishes, and I have much ado to continue well affected to my own party. I have been more generous in commending her, than she hath been in her remembrances of me. It's not eight days since, that I found means here, to represent her so like herself, that I screwed up a man, who hath no reason to wish well to all her Friends, if not into a Love, at least into an extraordinary esteem of her. I am your Servant's most humble Servant, and I dare assure him, he hath not a greater passion for you then I have for him. You tell me, Madam, that one of your house hath a greater esteem for me then for any man, and that I should look on it as an extraordinary obligation: but it were also but fitting you described him more particularly. I wish it him I mean; if so, I defy all misfortunes. You may easily guess for whom I make this wish. I know not whether it may be any thing dangerous to mention me to him, but I beseech you, Madam, let not that frighten you. What countenance soever he may put on it, he is not so much to be feared, he is better than he is taken to be, at least I know thus much of him, that it is impossible he should not love those that love him. I have divers times thought to have sent him half a dozen Spanish— the neatest and most glittering can be had. Be not frighted, Madam, I mean Blades; and if as I pass through Granada, I meet with a pretty Sarazine Lass, I shall not fail to send her to him: I believe I shall take that way when I go hence, and to follow the directions, or rather the commands I have received, I must go two hundred Leagues out of my way by Land, and be forced to measure five hundred by Sea. I quarrel not so much at the hazard and inconveniences of it, as it troubles me that I cannot pass through France. Though I have long since been engaged to promise, I shall be much troubled to perform it, and it never cost me so much to effectuate any resolution as this. Had I been left at liberty, I should have taken the Road, with as much freedom, and safety as ever, and should have gone from hence directly to Bourg-la-Reyne. I should have had at least the satisfaction of passing one night in Paris, and I had resolved to have bestowed on you by the way, Ravergarde, and Rousette, and assure your (If you should have had it home. I think that while they dissuade me from that design, and seem to have a fear for me, they also stand in fear of me, and imagine they might learn so much at the office of Address, and that I fool-hardily durst venture myself any where. But I was resolved to be a little more circumspect. I should have been glad to have bestowed Serenades on three or four persons, with a little Roaring, and away; but I must obey, and believe that what is imposed on me is the better. This submission therefore aught to be acknowledged, since in my opinion, it speaks both Obedience and Sacrifice. At least I hope never to be reproached with obstinacy, since I have been so compliant in this. That, and the itch of writing so much, that I know not how to end my Letters, are two notable alterations in me. Pardon me the one for the others sake, and be pleased sometimes to remember, that I am mostcordially,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

Madrid,  
I humbly crave your pardon, Madam, to return two or three words, as gently as I can, to the person who falls so foul upon me in your Letter. I have a long time considered who this little man should be, of whom I hear such great things, and who is esteemed so much above and below me. It cannot be Monsieur de Vigean, for I am but two finger's breadth taller than he, and he is but ten times more gallant than I. After a long reflection, me thinks it smells very much of his story, and that it is not possible, there should be in the world a man so little or so gallant. I humbly beg, Madam, a true account of this business.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER XXIX.  
MADAM,  
IF your other Letter was of the same metal as that I have received, I have not been so unhappy in the loss of it; and it had been to be wished this second time that I had only known, without seeing any thing, that you had done me the honour to write to me. Having read what you sent me, as that you had been much troubled to send your compliments as Forlornes, I expected to meet with some of them, and this past, I find none save that you take occasion to tell me, I am but a little man, and assure me that I am guilty of very little gallantry. If you had no other to make me, you needed not, Madam, to have put them under the protection of the most valiant Lady in France; and though they had been found, you would not thence have been thought well affected to the Rebels, and as to the manner your Letter was written in, you should fear nothing so much as that it should be delivered me. After so much earnestness as I had for a Letter from you, that I can assure you I made it my only business, you take the pains to write five or six lines, wherein you chide Fortune very much for offering to lay her hands on any thing that came from yours. And for what concerns me, There is a man there now, not so tall as you by a Cubit, and i'll take my oath a thousand times more gallant. This indeed is an excellent consolatory Letter, after so long expectation, and words finely shuffled together, to make me forget so many sorts of afflictions. If I am not mistaken, I have often told you, Madam, that you are fitter to write a challenge then a Letter. Having done as you have, there needs no more than to add, that you will justify, in the Court of Trebizonda, what you have written, and sign it ALASTRAXAREA. Is it possible, that being mistress of so many excellent endowments, and having so great power over me, you should make use of neither, but to hurt me, and be like those Fairies, who are never well but when they do mischief, and disturb the good which the others do. When Mademoiselle Paulet, had written me a handsome obliging Letter, when my Lady Marchioness assures me of the honour of her Friendship, when Madam de Clermont promises me her prayers, nay when the most excellent and most accomplished person in the world honours me with her remembrances, you come last of all, to trouble the general joy, and spoil all that they had done for me. 'Tis strange the Pyrenean Mountains, the Limits of two great Kingdoms, cannot defend me from you. You are it seems, so far from being moved by my misfortunes, that you persecute me to the world's end, and torment me much more than my own ill-fortune. At a time, when my choicest Friends durst not hold any correspondence with me, and when it was dangerous even to write to me, you trample on all considerations, to tell me, you find me not very gallant, and that there is a Dwarf whom you are a thousand times more taken with then me. My opinion is, Madam, that I have just cause to chide, and raise all these complaints. But that you may not be confirmed in what you say of me, and to show you that I am not so small a gallant, as not to entertain mildly what comes from so good, hands, I shall tell you, Madam, that,  
I thought my misfortunes had been absolutely irrelieveable, and I had no sooner read over what you did me the honour to write, but they are extremely moderated. Not that I was mistaken in their greatness, but it is because nothing is impossible to you, and that you can apply remedies to things uncapable of any. The miracle is, that, though you speak nothing but ill of me, you should be able to do me so much good, and that, not regarding what you write to me, I have been satisfied with the bare sight of your hand: Those that profess Magic produce not such admirable effects, whence it is manifest, that you can, as well as the other, instill into words a secret virtue, and other force than they have of themselves. That in objecting my imperfections to me, you have cured all ●y afflictions, and that I should ●ake pleasure to read that you es●●em another beyond me, is a miracle beyond my comprehension But; Madam, it is long since I have sought for any natural reason in the greatest part of what comes from you. I know that a person 〈◊〉 full of Miracles, may very well do some: but how great soever 〈◊〉 may be, the strangest that ever you did, is, to have raised joy in a person of my condition, and felicifyed a man out of Poverty, banishment, and sickness. Herein you make it appear, that Fortune who hath the world under her feet, is herself under yours, and that you can pardon those, whom she condemns to be unhappy. Besides, if I am but under your good influence, I matter not the malevolence of the Stars, and though they all conspired my ruin, yet if you protect me, I shall think the better part of Heaven benevolent to me. Forsake not, Madam, I beseech you, a person that reposes so much confidence in you. There needs no more, to make me happy, but your will I should; and if you can afford but good and hearty wishes, I shall immediately feel the effects thereof. You are obliged to direct some of them hither to me, for I assure you all mine are for you, and the most passionate I own, are, that you want not any thing your Beauty and your Virtue merit. It is true I am also concerned in that; and if so, there were no differences of parties, nor no distinction in the world, all men should have but one will, and the whole earth would obey you.  
This, Madam, is to give you notice, to be more cautious of what you say another time, and that I am not so small a Gallant as you conceive. But if you will needs oblige me to believe you, command your Little man to write a Letter a thousand times more gallant than this. But though he had that advantage over me, I should have another which I esteem no less, which is, that I dare confidently say, I am, a thousand times more than he, or any whatever,  
Madam, Yours, etc.   

To Mademoiselle de Paulet. LETTER XXX.  
MADAM,  
THough I may not be allowed any satisfaction when I want your sight, yet it is some excuse, that I have not any but what I receive from you. 'Tis to you that I owe all the joys I have here, and though I have lately been to see the Escurial, and Aranw●●z, and have seen the entertainment of the Bulls, and that of the Canes, I should not have seen any thing I could esteem in Spain, had I not received your Letters there. Your trouble takes off a great part of mine, and I forget my unhappiness, when I think that you allow me a place in your memory. This obligation is so excessive, that I doubt much whether any besides myself could satisfy it. But if you please to consider, you will find I have long since paid all by the way of advance, and from the first moment I had the honour of your acquaintance, there hath not passed a day, wherein I have not deserved what ever good you should ever be able to do me. I am confident, Madam, you will not attribute this to any vanity, but to an extraordinary apprehension of that passion wherewith I honour you, and to a certain faith I am of, that a perfect affection is to be preferred before all things. That which I have to serve you, is at such a high point, that no other than your own can recompense it; and though you should give me my life a hundred times, and with it all the goods of this world, you were still very much in my debt, if I wanted your affection. And certainly herein you show yourself very just, in that, since you cannot make me full satisfaction, you strive to give me content otherwise, and cover an injustice with abundance of Civility. But a grain of goodwill cannot outweighed by all the fair words, if any could, they were certainly your own, n●r should you need to make use of others. I wonder much, that when I receive from you a large packet, I find but one small Letter, and what comes through your hand makes but the least part of what comes from you. And as I very seldom had the honour to visit you at home, but there have been five or six persons in your chamber, so also you take occasion to engage as many into your Letters, and not to write to me but in public. Imagine not however it shall oblige me to be the less free with you; I will make those confidents whom you seem to appoint for my Judges, and I should choose rather to discover my Secret to them, then conceal it from you. But to be more earnest, Madam, for I know you wish I had not spoke all that you have read, instead of complaining of it, I return you thousands of thanks for the extraordinary honour I receive from so many excellent persons through your means, and which I should never deserve without you. I must needs acknowledge that my wishes cannot aim at a greater satisfaction then to see your Letters, but I am very glad that you therein exceed them, and show me more favour than I durst desire. If I mistake not, I discovered in your last certain lines drawn by the best hand in the world, and I have entertained them with so much veneration, as is requisite to compose the leaves, whereon a Sibyl wrote her Oracles. I have a greater esteem for these four Verses, then for all the works of Malherbe, and I, who have in my time seen some upon the subject of Love, and were done to praise me, assure you, I never met with any thing of Poetry, that I was so much taken with. I know not of what kind the affection is, which I have for that person, but I never hear or see any thing from him, which searches not into my very Soul, and I cannot apprehend how it comes to pass, that esteem and respect work in me the same effects as an overviolent passion. Though you say nothing of Madam de Clermont, yet am I confident she cannot have forgotten me, and I humbly desire you, Madam, to do me the favour to tell her, that to become more worthy of her affection, I endeavour to grow better and better every day. The Lectures you read to me, and the Books you send me, contribute not a little thereto. I thank you for the Psalm, but why, in the condition I am in, do you send me such heavy things? What better Paraphrase can be had upon the Miserere, than myself? I have at last gotten St. Paul's Epistles. The two Books, whereof you sent me one in December, the other six weeks after, I received the same day; and for aught I can judge, the person, whom you represented to me as so little, is one of the greatest men in France. The Preface, amongst other things, I extremely like, and have been mightily satisfied with the reading of it. I should say more, but that at the present I can admire nothing but Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. This I cannot but acknowledge, Madam, whether it happen through stupidity or presumption: I had seen, without jealousy, all the gallant things, which till now you have thought yourself concerned that I should, but when I had read over the answer of the Infanta Fortune to Master Lac, I was much troubled who should be the Author, and, to be free with you, was extremely vexed it should be any other than myself. I reflected a long time on the most deserving persons to find out the Author, yet was not able to pitch on any one; but when I understood by your Letter who it was, for I keep it still for the last, I must confess, it was the greatest joy I had had of a long time. I was extremely satisfied to find the glory due to a person whom I honoured so much before, and to whom I resigned so great a part of my Soul, that it is a question whether the writing of so gallant a Letter may be attributed rather to his then to mine. But indeed, she seems rather to be actuated by that of all the world, if it be considered how apt she is for all things, and be●ides, that no other hath so much as she, there is not any hath so many different lustres, or the advantages of all lights as much as hers. It may be he may take it ill; but I must needs tell you▪ that I thought to have continued in the same incrredulity I was in once before, for another miracle of her understanding; and I could not think it possible, she could be so fortunate in things of that nature, having never read any Books of that kind. But she is not to be discovered by Reason, but by Faith, and as she composes Histories, wherein all the passions are represented to the life, though she never was subject to any; makes a description of Italy and Spain, though had never seen the map▪ of them, and is acquainted with all the earth, having never been further than Chartres: In like manner, without sight of the ancient Romans, she speaks the Language of Lancelot du Lac, better than the Queen Geni●ura could have done, and I believe she could speak Arabic, would she but undertake it. It must be acknowledged she is a person very hard to be comprehended, and that if Madam de Rambovillet be the greatest perfection in the world, the Lady her Daughter is the more admirable. Be pleased, Madam, to understand the praises I give with their due restriction, knowing you as I do. It hath happened moreover very fortunately for me that I have not met with this expression of her understanding, but at a time when I had another of her Civility: for it would have troubled me very much not to love a person, whom I was obliged to esteem so highly. The five or six lines she hath honoured me with▪ I have received with all the respect, affection, and joy she can imagine, so that they have taken away the resentment I had of the other Letter. This is one advantage that persons that are mischievous have over those that are not, that all the good offices they do, are much better taken, and the rarity seems to set a value on the action. And though I know she hath not done me this favour, but to make me the more sensible of an ill-turn another time, yet can I not avoid being drawn in by it, and loving her, at this present, as if she were the best natured person in the world. As for the reproaches which she hath in store to cast in my dish one day, 'tis a menace takes away nothing of the ambition I have to see her, and I shall so far justify myself, that she shall acknowledge I have merited even in those things, wherein she thinks I have failed. Amongst a many things which have given me extraordinary satisfaction in your Letter, I am particularly pleased at one thing you tell me, that, as you were writing, a deserving person was troubled that he was forced to retire at one of the clock in the morning, without seeing me. It is long since I have passionately wished some assurance of the honour he does me in his remembrances. I shall not stick to tell you, there is not any man in the world, for whom I have a greater respect; but I dare not acknowledge how much I love him, lest the interest of your Husband oblige you to take it ill, and reproach me with an ill disposal of my affections. You, who hold it as a general rule, that all persons of that quality cannot love, aught to admit of some exceptions as to him; and as I have heard you often affirm, that he had more generosity than others, you may also conclude, he hath also more Friendship. But grant it were not so, and that he had absolutely forgot me, yet is it certain, I could not possibly abate any thing of the passion I have for him. I can no more oppose this inclination then that I have for you, and you should not think it strange I should love an ungrateful man, when you know I have so long loved a woman, that is such. Nay, to be free with you, even at that time that I thought he had quite forgotten me, I have not passed a fair evening in the Prade, but I have wished him there. The Gros-d'●au were as acceptable at Madrid as at Paris, and if I had been here; I would carry him to sing before gates which should open more easily than yours, and where we should be better entertained than we were at your house. There are in this place certain Creatures, which those of the Country call Morenites, which as to their shape are very handsome, having a very smooth skin, being mild, active, and gamesome, very easily tamed, and naturally compliant to mankind. The coolness of the night, which they are much taken with, causes that about that time, they are ordinarily found in the steeets, and if I mistake not his curiosity for things of this nature, I am confident he would be extremely glad to see some of them. I humbly beseech you, Madam, since I am indebted to you for all things, to employ all the interest you have in him, to oblige him to honour me with his remembrances; and if you can engage him to love me, I will bear with you six months longer, for what you owe me. I know not whether your Servant hath done me the honour to write any thing to me, I am ever his most-humbly, with as much passion as ever, and it's not three days since I locked myself into a chamber, and in memory of him sung Pere Chambaut, half an hour together: There are at the bottom of your Letter three several hands, which I know not whose they are, and if I mistake not, never knew. I had once resolved to have got them answered by three of my Friends, Spaniards; but I have not had the time, being on the eve of my departure. I hope to be gone hence within three or four days, in order to the progress I writ to you of, as also to see Portugal and Andaluzia. Some endeavoured to dissuade me from it, by reason of the great heats of this season; but to improve my experience, I am resolved to see the world a little, and to recover myself of a Winter I have passed over here without so much as warming myself, I am going to find out the Dog-days in Africa, and to spend the Summer in a Country where the Swallows spend the Winter. The danger I am like to meet with in this Voyage frighten me not at all, it may be I should meet with greater near you. All I am troubled at, is, that, if I chance to die in it, Mademoiselle de Rambovillet will be much pleased to say, that three years since she foretold I should die within four. But, Madam, a preson concerned in your prayers ought to hope for better fortune. I know not whether I have yet a long time to live, but me thinks I have a great many years to love you in, and therefore, my affection being so great and so perfect, I conceive it impossible, I should so soon quit the relation of  
Madam, Yours, etc.   

To the Same. LETTER. XXXI.  
MADAM,  
THere is nothing wanting to your fortunes, save that you have never been guilty of High-Treason, and now see I furnish you with a fair occasion for it. Fortune, who hath not neglected any to bring you on the Stage, will not haply fail to make use of this, I easily perceive that I put you into some danger by writing to you, and yet that very consideration cannot oblige me to forbear. Hence you may also infer, that I would set any thing at stake to put you in mind of me, since I bring yourself into danger, on whom I set a higher value than on all this world affords. This I tell you, Madam, in a time, when I would not dissemble, no, not in a Compliment. For, (that you may know how the case stands) I have made an extraordinary advantage of the sickness which you have been told I have had. It hath engaged me to take such good resolutions, that if I had them not, I should gladly purchase them with all the health I have. I do not doubt but you will laugh at this, as knowing my weakness, and will think it unlikely for me to execute simple resolutions, who have broken so many vows. And yet it is certain, that I have looked on all the Spanish women as if they were no other than the Flemish of Brussels, and I hope to prove a virtuous man, instead of a man of this world, where there are so great temptations, and where Satan shelters himself under the handsomest shapes. In all this reformation I am troubled but with one scruple, which is, that I think too much on you, and that I desire with much impatience the honour to see you again. Though I have moderated all my affections, I cannot reduce that I bear you, to that point, wherein it is permitted we should love our neighbour, that is to say, as ourselves, and I fear me, you have a greater part of my Soul, then should be bestowed on a Creature. Be you pleased to consider, Madam, what remedy there is for it, or rather, what may be said to maintain it; for as to remedy, I cannot believe there is any, and withal that it is impossible, I should not, with all manner of passion, ever be,  
Madam, Yours, etc.   

To the same. LETTER XXXII.  
MADAM,  
THe consolation I have received from you was but proportionable to the greatness of my misfortune, and I have received your Letter as a reprief that Heaven sent me after my condemnation. I cannot call by any other name the news that engaged my return hither; and I assure you there are many sentences of death, that are not so cruel. But amidst all my disasters, I should do ill to complain, when you honour me with a place in your memory: and it were not hard, me thinks, to scorn the favours of fortune, when one is so happy as to enjoy yours. Upon this consideration, I shall be content to stay here, and not upon that you mention, viz: that, it is better be an exile in a strange Country, then to be a captive in ones own. You see but one half of my unhappiness, if you consider not that I am both together: and if you observe well, you will find, that two things seemingly incompatible conspire in me, to be banished and a Prisoner at the same time. You will be troubled, Madam, to find out this riddle, if you call not to mind, that I have taken up a custom to say somewhat of Love in all my Letters, And whereas you tell me, I should have here some Liberty, which I should not in France, I humbly desire it may be only that; and give me leave to assure you, that I am extremely passionate in the affection I have to serve you. I were too ungrateful, if, for a person, that doth such extraordinary things for me, I should have only an ordinary Friendship, and I ought to be in Love, though it were only with your generosity. I have been acquainted with the obligation I ought a Gentleman and a Lady, (from whom I had received a many before) and the pains they take to have an account of me. For the rest, they have sacrificed so much to Silence, that I have not so much as heard them named these six months. I know not whether it be forgetfulness or prudence, and to tell you truth, I know not what construction to make of it. Besides it seems more excusable, not to say any thing to a person whom one hath no remembrance for, then to remember him, and not make any expression of it. I leave you to judge, Madam, how much what you have done for me is hereby magnified, and how highly I am obliged to you, for a large Letter, in a time when the rest durst not send me commendations. Which goodness, I must assure you, if I cannot acknowledge, yet shall I celebrate and esteem as it deservest, and, to the utmost of my power, remain,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Monsieur de Puy-Laurens. LETTER XXXIII.  
SIR,  
I Have received the Letter you did me the honour to write to me, with more joy than I ever expected to meet with here, insomuch, that though I have abundance of things in desire, am at so great a distance from the place where I wish myself, am here in a languishing condition, and cannot without infinite difficulty get hence, yet was I satisfied as to all, when I once perceived your tenderness towards me. And since, as you tell me, I have an interest in your Friendship, I look on it as a happiness that outweighs all others, and that those on whom you have bestowed Riches and Honours, have not been so well dealt with as I. I assure you Sir, it is the only consolation I have received in this Country, where the continual want of health makes me incapable of any diverssion, and where I have not seen any women unless it were in the Prade, or upon the Stage. I shall therefore without any violence agree with you, as to what you say in disparagement of the Ladies of Madrid in comparison of those of Brussels; and before either your presence or theirs oblige me thereto, I now subscribe to whatever you can say to their advantage; Innocency, Youth, and Beauty, for which you say you so much esteem them, are Qualifications, which here never met together, and which yet are not so common where you are, but they give me occasion to guests at the reason, why you take that side with so much earnestness. If it happen to be the same person I mean, I should cross my inclination and my judgement, were I not of your opinion, and acknowledge, that though Xarifa, Daraxa, and Galiana should return into the world again, Spain would not have any thing comparable to the other. The artifices they use on this side, and the illusions wherewith they would appear what they are not, cannot represent any thing so beautiful; and the very white itself of this place, is not so white as she. The most accomplished beauties that are here can no more compare with hers, than brass and ebony can Gold and Ivory, and between the handsome faces of this place and hers, there is a difference proportionable to that between a light Night and a fair day. So that, Sir, whereas I have often affirmed that of all the Ladies, the Spanish only deserved to be courted, I now acknowledge that a single Lady of the Court where you are, were enough to baffle them all, and that the only advantage they have over those of that side, is, that they can be more amorous: nor do I think that to be generally true, and that if the same fortune which you meet with every where, attends you in Flanders, you have taught some not to yield to them even in that. But this discourse should have been reserved for the confidence you promise me when I shall be near you, the hopes whereof augments the impatience I have to return. I therefore humbly beseech you, Sir, to remember that promise, and be pleased to have a care that the multitude of your adventures make you not forget any circumstance of it. For my part, whereas all those that approach you do it to advance their Fortunes, and beg either employments or pensions of you, I shall never desire any thing of you so affectionately, as the honour of your conversation, nor do I believe you can bestow any thing on me of greater value. I know it is an iudulgence, whereof you are much less liberal, than any of the other, and that there are very few persons, to whom you easily communicate it; but the passion I have for all yours, gives meadmittance into that n●●●ber, together with the extraordinary sincerity, wherein I am on all occasions,  
Sir, Yours, etc. Madrid. March. 13. 1633.   

To the Same. LETTER. XXXIV.  
SIR,  
YOu have in five or six lines comprised all I can think acceptable in this world, and by promising me the presence of my Master, your conversation and Friendship, you have answered all my wishes. Being put into this hope, there are no difficulties I should think insupportable, the Sea will afford me an easy passage to come and possess myself of so great advantages, and all the gallant men upon earth were once embarked upon a design less considerable than this. But I must first dissolve the enchantments of Madrid, and overcome the destiny of this Court, which hath decreed, that every one be stayed here ten or twelve months after the last day he proposed to himself to be here. This, Sir, is so certain, that having attempted this winter to make an escape hence before this season, the force of the charm drew me back, when I was gotten forty Leagues hence, and I am here to this day, as deeply engaged as ever: However I expect some good issue of what you tell me you have written in my behalf, and if this adventure must be accomplished by one of the most gallant persons in the world, I hope I must be your debtor for my deliverance: I know, Sir, it is not the noblest that you have put a period to, but I assure you, it is one of the most difficult and the most just. For, to be free with you, you are somewhat concerned to be tender of a person who honours you with that sincerity I do, and bearing the character you do, there is nothing you cannot with more ease find, than affections pure and disinteressed as mine. Those that are in such places as yours, are commonly treated like Gods; many fear them, all sacrifice to them, but there are few that love them, and they more easily find Flatterers than Friends. For my part, Sir, I have only looked upon yourself abstracted from all things else, I see in you things greater and more shining than your Fortune, and such endowments as will not permit you to be an ordinary person. You will find I speak this with a great deal of experience, if you reflect on the discourse you gave me the honour to have with you in the meadow at Chirac, where having opened your mind to me, I found in it so much resolution, courage and generosity, as absolutely conquered and took in mine. I than discovered you had such sound apprehensions of whatever men are surprised by, that those things which they looked on, as most considerable in you, were such as you made least account of; nor could any man judge more impartially of any third person, than you did of yourself. I must confess, Sir, that at that time, seeing you perpetually engaged on precipices, with a countenance cheerfully confident, and not thinking Constancy able to hold out at that rate, I found some reason to imagine you were not aware of them. But you soon convinced me, there was nothing in your person, nor about it, which you most clearly understood not; so far, that seeing two paces from you, imprisonment and death, and so many other accidents that threatened you, and on the other side honours, reputation, and the greatest rewards, you considered all, without the least agitation, and saw reasons not much to envy the one, or to fear the other. I was astonished to see a man, that had been bred all his life in the bosom of Fortune, acquainted with all the secrets of Philosophy, and that you had learned Wisdom, in a place where all others lose it. From that minute, Sir, I entered you into a List of three or four persons I love and honour beyond all the world besides, and made a great additional of respect and esteem to the passion I have ever had for you, which I afterward cast into a far greater affection. This is that I have still, and which I shall preserve while I live, in so high a degree, that, it is certain, you ought to acknowledge it, and withal that it is some satisfaction to you, I am so much and so highly,  
Sir, Yours, etc. Madrid. June 8. 1638.   

To Monsieur du Fargi●. LETTER XXXV.  
SIR,  
YOu are, I perceive, as liberal of praises as of any thing else, and not being able otherwise to relieve me in the exigencies I am in, you would needs send me the fairest words in the world. I could make no better use of them, then to return them upon yourself, and if I use not the same, I confess I shall be much troubled to find any to requite the honour you do me. Nor can I but think, Sir, you writ them out of a foresight of the necessity I should have for them, and by giving me so much reason to commend you, you have also been careful to furnish me with materials to do it. This favour obliges me to pocket up with patience, the reproaches you load me with, and as I receive from you those honours I durst not own, it is but reasonable, I bear the reproaches I have not deserved. Were it not for that, I should call you to account for accusing me for the extreme desire I have to leave this place, and to know, why you call that hatred, which you might have attributed to affection. I am as much as any man acquainted with the delicacies of Spain, but if I mistake you not, Sir, you think there cannot be any so great for me, as to be near my friends, and if I have quarrelled with Paris itself, by reason of my Master's absence, you should not think it strange I am grown weary of Madrid, and that I can take no pleasure in a place where I cannot have my health. But though this passion were as unjust as you would have it, yet should you not reproach me with an injustice I am guilty of for your sake, nor take it ill, I over-passionately desire to see you. If I were to struggle with the same inconveniences, in a place where you were, as I met with here, they would not seem to me the same, when I were to encounter them in your company; and I wonder at that expression of your Letter, where you tell me, that there are on that side some persons, with whom, what seems most unpleasant in life you would think easily supportable. Assure yourself, Sir, I am also very much eased by that kind of consolation, and say you what you please, being where you are, I can fear neither melancholy nor necessity; when I call to mind that even in the Mountains of Avergne, we have ever found with you, cheerfulness and good entertainment. There are certain treasures in your person, which I shall enjoy maugre all ill-fortune, and never know either poverty or sadness. This is that which makes me so impatient to get out of this place, and if all my Friends did not oppose it, I should at my departure take the shortest way to find you out, and would myself take down those effigies of you, which you say they have hanged up upon the Frontiers. I suppose, Sir, your imagination is a little more brawny, then that you should expect any consolation for that; but it is not to be thought that you, whom death itself, as near as you have seen it, could not frighten, should be daunted at his picture. It is not by that posterity will judge of you. Fortune, who is always unjust, will find out some other more to your advantage, and for these effigies, she will one day bestow Statues on you. All the changes she hath wrought in your life, seem to me like those pieces of Tale which is used on pictures, which alter nothing in the countenance, and only change what is about the person. Thus does she make sport with great men, she loves to see them in divers shapes, and in a breath she advances those into a Chair of State, whom she had exposed upon a Scaffold. Sir, I hope, at my arrival, to find that change, and for my own particular, I only desire I may soon have the honour to see you, and that all my fortunes were so engaged in yours, that I might never be happy or unhappy without you. Ia●,  
Sir, Yours, etc. Madrid. June 8. 1633.   

To the Lady marchioness de Rambovillet. LETTER XXXVI.  
MADAM,  
THough my liberality were, as you say, greater than Alexander's, it were more then recompensed by the thanks you have been pleased to return it. Even his ambition, as insatiable as it was, would by so extraordinary a favour have been limited. He would have valued this honour more highly than the Persian Diadem, and he would not have envied Achilles the praises of Homer, might he have had yours. In like manner, Madam, the reputation you do me considered, if I envy his, it is not so much that he hath acquired, as what you have bestowed on him, and he hath received no honours which I conceive not below my own, unless it be that you do him, when you call him your Gallant. Neither his own vanity nor his Flatterers have ever advanced any thing so advantageous to him, and the quality of the Son of Jupiter Ammon was not so glorious as that. But if nothing can cure me of the jealousy I have of it, yet, Madam, knowing you as I do, I am confident, if you do him that favour, it is not so much because he is the greatest of mankind, as because it is two thousand years since he was. However it be, we may see in this the greatness of his Fortune, which not able to forsake him so many years after his death, adds to his conquests a person which celebrates them more than the wife and daughters of Darius, and hath reinfused into him a Soul greater than that of the world he hath subdued. I should fear, by your example, to write in too high a stile, but can a man aim at one too high, speaking of you, and Alexander? I humbly beseech you, Madam, to assure yourself I have for you the same passion, which you for him, and that the admiration of your Virtues shall ever engage me to be,  
Madam, Yours &c   

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER. XXXVII.  
SIR,  
WHile you commend my Eloquence, you should have some regard to my modesty, and take ●eed you cause me not, to lose a good quality, which I have, out of a desire to bestow on me one I have not. However, I have received your commendations with much joy, not that I believe that of myself which you say of me; but look on it, as a signal expression of your Friendship, and that you must needs have a great affection for me, since that to favour me, you have been surprised in a thing, whereof you are otherwise so well able to judge. Thus, Sir, do I find it more to my advantage, to think myself unworthy the honour you do me. And that which raises me to a good opinion of your Friendship, I am more proud of, then what would have raised me to a good one of myself. And indeed, if I were as eloquent as you would have me, I should desire to make no other advantage of it, then to gain in your Soul that place, which I know, by that I have there already, and to persuade you, to love me as you do. And if, this granted I were to desire any thing else, it were in the best dress of words that can be had, to return my thanks to those the Ladies, who, you say, honour me their remembrances. But particularly for one of them, I would gather all the Flowers, and all the graces of Rhetoric, and should immediately write her a Love-Letter, so full of gallantry, that she should be ready to hearken to me, at my return. Since they are three, me thinks neither of than should take any offence at it. They were too too cruel to deprive me of the liberty of my wishes, and hinder me from building Castles in the air, since it is the only satisfaction I have. I begin now to entertain a stronger hope of my return, than I have had hitherto. The pleasure I shall find in leaving this place, will recompense the disturbance I have met with in it, and I feel, by way of advance, the joy I shall receive when I see you. Thus, Sir, is there a Mixtion of all things; good and ill are dispersed every where, and when either of them is not at the beginning, it fails not to be at the end. I am as yet uncertain which way to take, but think I shall take shipping at Lisbon. If it had been left to my choice, I would have passed through France, how dangerous soever it might have proved. Not that I would be thought over-confident, or take, as you do, a dangerous way, when I may take another; but the shortest seems to me ever the surest. Besides, to tell you truth, I could never imagine myself born to be hanged. Nevertheless, I am commanded to take another way, and the persons whom you have given an absolute power over me, and should exercise it over the world, have so express'dly ordered it, that I may not so much as put it into deliberation. In the mean time, while they charge me not to hazard myself, they cast me on the mercy of the Sea and Pirates. Yet I dare tell you, I fear neither, and am afraid more of the calms which may delay my happiness of seeing you; I shall not trouble myself for the rest, if I may but soon arrive at that, together with the opportunities, to make it one day appear by my services, that you have made another man 〈◊〉 generous as yourself, and that I am, as much as I ought to be,  
Sir, Yours, etc. Madrid Jun. 8. 1633.  
To avoid here a long Catalogue of Names, which you say is troublesome, I present my services to none. But you must give me leave, to make it my humble suit to you, that you would give order, that in case the Countess de Moret, and the Count her Husband, and my Lord his Brother have forgotten me, they may at least acknowledge me at my return. I cannot apprehend, by what misfortune it hath happened, that I have heard nothing from them, having written two Letters to them. However I am confident, they cannot want a goodness for me, since they have so much for all the world.   

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XXXVIII.  
MADAM,  
I Have now an excellent subject to write you a Love-Letter upon, and I might safely say, that I pass the days without light, and the nights without closing my eyes. At least, this hath been my course of life, since I left Madrid. In ten nights, I have made ten days-journey, and am got to Granada, without seeing the sun, unless it be at rising and setting. It is here so dangerous, that the comparison which Bordier made between him and some eyes, holds no longer: for as they did, so he burns all he sees, and is no less to be feared then the Elementary fire. I have made a shift to escape him by the help of the darkness, having always the whole Earth between us. I rest myself at this present in the shade of a mountain of snow, wherewith this City is covered. Three days since, I saw, in Sierra Morena, the place where Cardenio & Don Quixot met; and the same day I supped in Ven●a, where were accomplished the adventures of Dorotea. This morning I saw el Alhambra; the place of Vivarambla, and the Zaccatin, and the street where I lodge is called, lafoy call de Abenamar, Abenamar, Abenamar Moro de la Moreria. I am extremely satisfied, to see the things I had imagined: but much more to imagine the things I have some times seen. How excellent soever those objects may be, which present themselves to my eyes, my imagination furnishes me continually with such as are more: and I would not exchange the images I have in my memory, for all I have seen that is most real and most precious. Yesterday, looking on the walks and springs of Generalifa, and wishing to meet there Galiana, Zaida, & Daxara, in the condition they sometimes were in, I wished there moreover another person, one, to do her right, a thousand times more gallant, and more amiable, and such, as Xarifa, set near her, would forfeit her name and her Beauty. By these marks, I think, I have sufficiently described her. But it is a lamentable thing, Madam, that I am forced to speak with so much artifice and circumspection, and that I cannot easily be persuaded to say, it is yourself. You may indeed give me leave to be gallant now, being the source of all gallantry, and at the place whence it hath spread all over the world. From hence I hope, with God's assistance, in four days to reach Gibraltar, whence I am resolved to pass to Ceuta, and to visit the place of your birth, and your Parents, who reign in the deserts of that Country. As I shall give them an account of you, so, Madam, I humbly desire you to do of me, to the persons whom you know I most love and honour, and to do me the favour to assure particularly three of them, that how far soever Fortune may cast me, my better part shall ever be where they are. For your part, you cannot doubt of the passion wherewith I honour you, and know that I am but too much,  
Madam, Your, &c   

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XXXIX.  
SIR,  
I Write to you in sight of the Coast of Barbary, and there is between me and it, but a channel three leagues broad, and yet is the Ocean and the Mediterranean sea both together. You will be astonished to find so far off a man, who takes so little pleasure in running, yet was in such haste to find you out. But advice hath been given me, that this season is not the fittest for Navigarion, by reason of the great calms happening therein, and that I should hardly meet with any opportunity till September furnished me with the desire and leisure to take this progress, choosing rather to undergo the toil of the voyage, than the Sloth of Madrid So that when I had seen at Granada, all that was remaining of the magnificence of the Moorish Kings, el Alhambra, le Zaccatin, and the famous place of Vivarambla, where I had some time imagined so many tournaments and combats, I am come to the point of Gibraltar, whence assoon as a Frigate shall be provided for me, I hope to pass the Straight, and see C●uta, and at my return thence, take my way to Cadiz, St. Lucre's, and Sevil, and so to Lisbonne. Sir, I have not yet had any occasion to repent me of this enterprise, which all the world thinks rashly undertaken in this season. Andalusia hath reconciled me to all the rest of Spain, and having passed through divers parts of it, I should have been troubled I had not seen it in that part where it is most beautiful. You will not think it strange I should commend a Country, where it's never cold, and where the Sugarcanes grow. But I dare assure you it affords such a Melon, as would invite a man four hundred leagues to eat it, and that Land for which a whole Nation wandered so long in the desert, could not be, in my opinion much more delicious than this. I am waited on by Slaves, who might be my Mistresses, and, without danger, I can gather palms any where. This Tree, for which all old Greece fought, and is not to be found in France, but in our Poets, is here as common as Olive-trees, and there's not an Inhabitant of this part, who hath not more of it then all the C●●sars. There needs but the same ●ight to see the mountains covered with snow, and the Valleys burdened with Fruits. Here is Ice in August, ●nd Grapes in January: Summer and Winter being so reconciled, that when the Earth becomes hoary through the age of the year every where else, it is here always green with Laurels, Orange-trees and Mir●les. Sir, I must confess, I endeavour to make it appear the most beautiful I can, and having heretofore aggravated the ill I have met with in Spain, since I cannot retract what I have said, I think myself obliged to celebrate to the greatest advantage, the good I have found in it. In the mean time, it may be much wondered at, that a man of such a Libertine humour as I am of, should make such haste to quit all this to find out a Master. But, to be just, ours is such a one, as no enjoyments are to be preferred before the honour and satisfaction of his service; Liberty, which is thought the most amiable thing in the world, being not to be esteemed such in competition with his Highness. You know I am not much given to Flattery, and it is one of those remarkable endowments his Highness hath, that he cannot suffer it. But it must be acknowledged, that besides those glorious Virtues he derives from the greatness of his birth, his affability and goodness, the beauty and vivacity of his understanding, the delight wherewith he hears good things, and the grace wherewith he entertains others with them, are qualities hardly to be found any where else at the height they are in him, and were it not for the sight of something rare, that I wander about the world, I need go no further, but shall do better to get near his person. I consider every thing here with much more curiosity, than I have of myself, to satisfy one day that of his Highness. And I doubt not, but, when I shall have the honour to entertain him therewith, he will be more knowing in it then I am. The prodigious memory of this Prince is one of those considerations I found so much encouragement in during my exile, for I am confident I have a place there still, since I have some time had the honour to be there, and I shall not be so unhappy, as to be the only thing, it should disburden itself of. His Highness, who could never forget a Tribune, an Aedile, no, not a Legionary Soldier, once mentioned in History, will not, I hope, one of his Servants; and the whole terrestrial Globe being much better in his Imagination, then in any Map, how far soever I may go, I need not fear I shall go beyond his remembrance. However, since I owe all the honours, and advantages, I have received to the mediation of your goodness, I shall entreat you, to take occasion to acquaint his Highness, how infinitely desirous I am of the honour to cast myself at his feet, and what orisons I daily put up to Heaven, for one, in whose welfare the whole world is concerned. If this once granted, I desire any thing of you, it is only that you be pleased to see, that Time deprive me not of any part of that affection, whereof you have been so liberal towards me. But observe where the excess of my own carries me, in that it makes me distrustful of the most constant and most generous of mankind. But you, Sir, who are not ignorant, that all those, who love much, are guilty of certain agitations not strictly justifiable by reason, will be pleased to pardon me this fear, and allow me excusable, as being with so much passion,  
Sir, Yours, etc.  
I heart'ly wish that the Countess of Barlemont, and the Princess de Barbanson knew how infinitely they are in my thoughts at one of the extremities of Europe, and that I am going to cross the Sea, to see if Africa, which they say, always produces something rare, own any thing comparable to them.   

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XL.  
Madam,  
I Am at length got out of Europe, and have passed the Straight which limits it, yet the Sea which lies between us, can smother nothing of the passion I have for you, and though all the Slaves of Christendom are free, when they touch at that Coast, I am never the less yours for that. Be not troubled to see me break forth in gallantries so openly, the air of the Country hath inspired into me something of cruelty more than ordinary, whence it comes I am grown more confident, and whenever I shall treat hereafter with you, expect to find me as a Turk does a Moor. However you should not take it ill to be entertained with Love at such a distance, and if it were but only out of curiosity, you should be glad to see the Love-letters of Barbary; there wanted in your adventures that, of having a servant beyond the Seas, and as you have some of all qualities, it were but fit, you had some in all Quarters of the World. I graved yesterday the Characters of your name upon a mountain, not much lower than the Stars, and whence are discovered seven Kingdoms; and to morrow I send challenges to the Kings of Morocco and Fez, wherein I offer to maintain, that Africa never produced any thing so rare, and so cruel as yourself. That done, Madam, my business here is at an end, but to go and see your friends, to whom I intent to propose the marriage, which hath made so much noise heretofore, and endeavour to gain their consent, that there may be no further delay in it. For aught I hear, they are people not very easily accessible, I shall be much troubled to find them, I have been told, they should be at the bottom of Lybia, and that the Lions of that quarter are less, both as to nobility and growth. There are some young ones sold here, which are extremely handsome, I am resolved to send you half a dozen of them instead of the Spanish Gloves, for I know you will esteem them more, and they are cheaper. Here may be had here for three Crowns the prettiest that can be; it is but play with them, to carry away a man's hand or his arm, and, yourself excepted, I never saw any thing more agreeable. Be pleased to prepare Mistress Anne to converse with them, and to give them the place of Dorinda. I shall send you them by the first sail hence, and I would to Heaven, I could come along with them, to cast myself at your feet! There it is, Madam, where they will have occasion to be the cruelest creatures in the world, and think themselves the Kings of all others. But the greatest assurance I can give that the air of Africa hath instilled some barbarousness into me, is, that I have now written three pages, and thought to have finished my Letter without speaking of M. D. R. I asture you, wherever I am, she is ever in my heart and remembrance, and even at this moment, Ben che di tanta lontananza, li foe humilissima riverenza, and I am her most humble and most dutiful servant, Branbano. While I am out of Christendom, I dare not say any thing to Madam de C— for Mademoiselle do R— I believe she will never wish me any thing the worse for that; I hope one day to be out of her debt, for the pleasure I had in hearing the adventures of Alcidalis, by entertaining her with my own. I shall acquaint her with things strange and incredible, and for her Fables I shall give her History. Your Servant hath still in my mind the place his merit, and the affection he honours me with, may justly claim. There is a Friend of yours, Madam, I love so passionately, that I forget my duty, and withal to tell you, how much I honour and respect him; The infinite desire I have to continue in his remembrance, hath almost put me upon an indiscretion, for without considering the motives, which might dissuade me, there wanted but little that I had written to him, and had resolved to begin thus.  
My Lord; I could not forbear writing to you, were it only out of an humour, to date my Letter from Ceuta. After I had viewed the places of the Kings of Grenada, and the habitation of the Abencerrages, I was desirous to see the Country of Rodomont, and Agramant, and be acquainted with the earth that produced all those great men.  
Che furo all tempo che passaro i Mori  
D'Africa il Mar' e'en Francia nocquer tanto.  
I believe, Madam, this beginning would have made his teeth water to see the rest, which I should have continued in this manner.  
If your inclinations are not changed, I am confident, my Lord, you will not censure this curiosity, and that amidst the felicity surrounds you, there are certain Hours when you envy the condition of a wretched exile. If I can but get a Pass, as I hope I shall from Tetuan, and that the Alarbes who ramble about the Country, hinder not my design, I shall have the satisfaction, within some days, to see a City full of Turbans, a people that swears not by any thing but Ala, and African Ladies, who have nothing barbarous but the name, and who, notwithstanding they are burnt by the Sun, are yet fairer, and cast a greater lustre than he. 'Tis a Country, my Lord, where women are not fools, could not cruel, they are all amorous, full of fire and spirit, and, what some will think the better of, they never go to Confession. By the pleasure I shall have to see all these things, you may easily judge, my Lord, that it is not always Fortune makes men happy, and that there is not any so bad, wherein there may not be good emergencies, if a man can but happen on them. While you are taken up with your good Fortune, and are troubled to make your advantages of it, and to employ it well, I enjoy leisure and Liberty, wherein my misfortune leaves me. Me thinks, now that I am deprived of France, I possess all the earth besides, and that I ought no more to quarrel at the Destiny which forced me thence, then people troubled with the Lethargy, should with those that smite, and pinch them that they might awake. In stead of spending my life among ten or twelve persons, in five or six streets, and two or three houses, changing place now every hour, I see mountains, deserts, precipices, flowers, and fruits, which I never had heard named, different Nations, Rivers, and Seas I was not acquainted with. Every day I change Cities, every week Kingdoms; I cross in a moment out of Europe into Africa, and I could with more ease find out the source of the Nile, than I could some time have done that of Rongis. If this condition, my Lord, admits not the enjoyments you find, in the conversation of the only amiable persons in the world, I at least want those hours of distraction and melancholy, which poison even to the Soul, and can, in an hour, break the strongest heart in the world. In that state of innocency wherein I live, I importune Heaven every day to preserve you from it, and that it would long continue in your person, the purest generosity of our age, and so many other excellent qualities it hath bestowed on you. If after this I may advance any particular wishes for myself, it is, that after so many wander, I might have the honour to entertain you therewith, and assure you, My Lord, that I resent, as I ought, the essential obligations I have to be,—  
But Madam, for a man that should have written a Love-letter to you, methinks I introduce many things which could not have been admitted he. You see what it is not to be versed in it, and to have kept me so long in suspense; if you had given me leave at the beginning to have sent you of that kind, I could at this present write excellent ones, and should not end my Letter so simply as I do, by telling you I am,  
Madam, Your most humble and most 
 dutiful Servant, 
 VOITURE the 
 AFRICAN. August 7. 1633.   

To the Same, With divers Lions of red Wax. LETTER XLI.  
MADAM,  
THis Lion having been forced, for some reasons of State, to depart Lybia with his whole family, and some of his friends, I could not think of any place where he might retire with more honour then near you, and that he is in some sort fortunate in his misfortunes, if they procure him the acquaintance of so excellent a person. He is descended in a right line from an illustrious Lion, that about three hundred years since, reigned in the mountain Caucasus, from one of whose grandchildren, it is affirmed here, came your great-great-grand-father, who was the first of all the Lions of Africa, that came into Europe. The honour he finds in a relation to you puts me in hope you will entertain him with more mildness and compassion, than you are wont to have, and I believe you will think it no disparagement to be a Sanctuary to persecuted Lions. This will infinitely add to your reputation through all Barbary, where you are already esteemed beyond any thing on that side of the Sea, and where a day passes not but I hear some one of your actions celebrated. If you can help them by any invention to disguise themselves under a humane shape, you will do them a transcendent favour; for by that means they might do much more mischief, with more impunity. But if that be a Secret you will never communicate, you may yet sufficiently oblige them, by affording them a refuge, and the assistance of your advice. I assure you, Madam, they are accounted the cruelest and the most savage of all the Country, which I conceive you will be extremely satisfied with. There are among the rest some whelps, who, by reason of their infancy, can only kill children, and worry sheep. But I believe in time, they will prove good ones, and arrive to the virtue of their forefathers. At least, I am confident, they shall find nothing about you that shall make them degenerate or abate their courage, and that they shall be as well brought up, as if they were lodged in the shady Forests of Africa. In this hope, and the confidence I have that you cannot let them want any thing which your generosity might oblige you to do for them, I do now give you thanks for the good entertainment you shall afford them, and assure you that I am,  
Madam, Your most humble and most dutiful 
 Servant 
 LEONARD, Governor of the 
 King of Morocco's Lions.   

To the Same. LETTER XLII.  
MADAM,  
SInce my departure from Madrid, it hath cost me, to get this place, the travel of two hundred and fifty Spanish Leagues, which signify little less than five hundred French; it is not ill gone of a man that had a pair of Legs so intractable, that it was reproached to him he was not able to go. I have thought all this pains well employed, when at my arrival at this place, I have met with the Letters you were pleased to send me of the third of July. And though I was shown at Sevil, all the riches of the Indian Fleet, and saw six millions of Gold in one chamber, yet I may presume to say, I met not with so great Treasures as that you sent me. You may easily imagine, what satisfaction it was to me, to receive so many assurances of affection from all the only amiable persons in the world. And certainly, this joy should have been greater, than a man so disaccustomed to have any could have born, if it had not been moderated by the news you send me of your own indisposition. The colic could never hitherto take in all my patience, but taking me that way, it hath made a shift to conquer it, and grief seizes the most apprehensible part of me, when it assaults you. I am extremely cast down to see my soul divided between two bodies so weak as yours and mine, and that I am forced to be always sick of your miseries or my own. In fine, Madam, I perceive there must be found out for me some more substantial remedies than the Ejacle; we shall be forced to submit to the advice of Physicians, and must resolve rather that one Virtue then two virtuous persons should miscarry. Charity, which is the principal, obliges us to have a compassion on ourselves, and since grief and sickness are the effects of sin, and one of the curses which attend it, we should do all that lies in our power to avoid it, and consequently be the more careful of our health. You are more concerned than I to take this advice, for mine is at this present in a better posture than it was wont to be, or the toil and agitation of the journey hath made me for a while ●esse apprehensive. If you will enter into this course of Physic, I will expect you in England, and carry you to all places according to the custom of the Kingdom of Logres. I came out of Madrid contrary to the consent of all, with that little Prudence, which you know the Philosophers of that Sect, whereof your Husband is, admit in any thing relates to their pleasure; and in a season when the Spaniards dare hardly creep out of their houses, I had designed to run through the greatest part of Spain, and to spend the month of August in the hottest place of Europe. In the mean time, I have, thanks be to God, effected my design, and now that I am gotten into Portugal, I laugh at those who said, I went to end my days in Andaluzia. To do you right, Madam, it is no ordinary reputation to you to have been able to fire a man's heart so cold as mine. The Sun, which here cleaves the earth, and scorches the Rocks, found it a hard task to warm me, and I have not met with any inconvenience in this journey, save only one night that I had not clothes enough about me. Three men, who came out with me, have been forced to stay by the way. But for my part, neither heat, nor weariness, nor the disaccommodations of the Country for Travel, have been able to stay me, and though I have met with many beds, worse furnished than those of Villeroy, and many chambers more inconvenient than those of Panfou, and that I have not flept any thing, worth mentioning these three months, yet am I got hither more vigorous and more sound than ever. Think not therefore I am the same unwieldy creature you have sometimes seen; I am quite another man, than you can imagine me to be. I am grown six large fingers in this journey, being extremely Sunburnt, my face grown longer than it was, my teeth before close, my eyes black, and my beard of the same colour, and according to the imagination, I have at the present of the Baron de Villeneuve, I am become more like him, than Monsieur de Serisay. That countenance, which stood between mildness and simplicity, is grown into a quite contrary posture, and there's nothing about me which is not changed, save that my eyebrows do still meet, which is a signification of a very wicked person. I hope within three or four days to try whether I can as well bear the trouble of the Sea, as all the others, and assoon as an English bottom, which hath already taken in two thirds, shall be fully loaden, we shall God willing take the advantage of the first wind. It must be acknowledged, there is something very humorous in my Fortune; since I, who could not be prevailed with to go so far as the Exchange in the best company in the world, have now travelled beyond Hercules, and it is above a month since I have passed his Pillars: and whereas I was not able to endure a gentle wind in Madam de Rambovillets closet, I am now going to challenge two and thirty in the midst of the Ocean, and of Winter. That indeed is not the greatest hazard, but thirty Sail of Barbary Ships continually crusing about this coast, do more frighten those that go hence, and are more terrible than a Tempest. I would gladly know, if there be any ginger, who having seen me ten years since in St. Denis' street in my round cap, could tell me, whether I run a great hazard of rowing in the Galleys of Algiers, or being devoured by the Fishes of the Atlantic Sea. But in case it be destined I should be taken by the Pirates, I wish I may fall into the hands of a famous Courser, which I have heard Mademoiselle de Rambovillet sometimes name, and whose name hath something in it, makes me have an inclination for him. If Mademoiselle de Rambovillet can guess at him in four times, and afterwards name him without laughing, I will give her a little comb was presented to me yesterday, which had been made for the Queen of China. However, I am not much troubled about my ransom, or that I shall be forced to redeem my Liberty, for the Captain of the Ship hath assured me, I need not break my sleep for that, and hath sworn he would fire the ammunition first. See the excellent remedy I have, and consider if I had not better embarked myself with an Anabaptist. But what is most remarkable, and is a very pleasant occurrence, is, and I profess I tell you no lie, that I go in a Ship that hath no other freight then myself, and eight hundred chests of Sugar, so that if I come to a good port, I shall arrive absolutely conserved, and if it happen I be cast away with all this, I shall have this comfort, that I shall die in sweet water. Judge now whether I could have met a more favourable opportunity. All considered, I cannot but think this voyage will prove fortunate to me. I hope the Zephyrs, which are listed among the mild spirits, will be merciful to me, and that before this Letter comes into France, I may be in England. I humbly beseech you, Madam, to do me the favour to assure the former of the two persons, whom I just now mentioned, that, though I shift places so much, she hath still that in my memory she was ever wont to have. All the objects that present themselves to me, put me in mind of her, and when ever I see a magnificent Structure, a pleasant palace, or a gallant City, or some great Masterpiece of Art, or Nature, I wish, and should gladly know her opinion of it. That, wherein she was so favourable to me, raises me to a greater satisfaction of myself, than ever I had in my life: and the value she sets upon me, coming from so good a hand, seems to me, to be beyond any. There could not any thing have happened more to my advantage, then to receive this honour from a person that can so well judge of it, and of whom it may be truly said, never Lady so well understood gallantry, and the Gallants so ill. I have only to wish, that when this favour was done me, it had been expressed in other terms, then saying, she gave el precio de mas galan all Re Chiquitto. It had been, me thinks, enough, to have said only Chico: but the stile of the Gentlewoman who writ it considered, I wonder she did not make it Chiquittico, which yet might have been done to very good purpose, and with so great a glory as I received, 'twas fit I should be minded of my meaness. I do all lies in my power, to justify her goodness, for I confess that as things stand, I were too too ungrateful, if I should any way complain of her, after the honour she hath done me in writing to me. Nay even when she reproaches me with my meaness, she raises me above all the rest, and with a sheet of Paper, makes me the greatest man in France. The Letter I have received from her, is so excellent, and so full of ingenuity, that after this, I know not whether I shall have time and confidence enough to write to her. I am never so proud as when I receive her Letters, nor ever so humble, as when I am to answer them, and consider how far my wit is below hers. I would gladly, Madam, say some thing here of that person, who may be ever commended, yet never enough, and I could wish there were words as fair, and as good as she, to speak of her accordingly: but there is no language in the world can reach that, and the utmost effort of the imagination, can only conceive something worthy of her. I thank Madam de Clermont, that the extraordinary heats of Andaluzia have not made me sick, and that I have had good weather both times that I passed the straits. I beg the continuance of her favours, and her faith, that I shall never forget such essential obligations. I shall fully discover between this and England, how great the affection is, she is pleased to honour me with. They say there are in Norway a sort of people that sell winds, but I think she can bestow them; if I have it not always a-stern, I shall quarrel with her: with her permission, I humbly kiss the hands of Madam Atalanta ' and though her Inconstancy be one of the chiefest things I have commended in her, yet I desire her not to have any for me. I divide a thousand thanks between her and her Sister, for the honour of their remembrances of me. But, Madam, this is the fifth Page I have written, without writing to you, and when you have read so many things directed to others, not saying any thing to you, methinks it might be asked you, Why so mealy-mouthed are you for no Cake? You know it is your fault rather than mine. If you have a mind to any, you need but say so, you shall have all I promise you, and consequently the shares of all the rest. However I cannot forbear acquainting you, with the extraordinary joy I take to understand, I am wholly in that man's heart, who you know is so much according to mine. I know well enough, it is no place of rest, and think Africa affords not any more hot, nor is there any Gulf in the Sea knows more agitation. Yet all hinders not, but I am infinitely glad to be there, and think myself extreme happy, to have so much room in the best heart of France. If besides there are only hands and feet left, I doubt not but the hands are fair, and the feet clean, and there would be some I should kiss with all my heart. But since he hath been pleased to do me so great a favour, I humbly entreat him, to consummate the obligation, that he would permit you to get in further than any other, and at least allow so much room there, as half your body will take up; for to be free with you, Madam, I cannot be entire in any place where you are not. If he have still the same inclination to well-doing he hath had, I know he will not deny me that favour, and that it will be no hard matter, to dispose us somewhere aside together. I stand in very much need of such an opportunity, that so I may have some private discourse with you, and acquaint you, so that we may not be overheard by others, with what I feel for your sake, after what rate I love and honour you, how insupportable your absence is to me, how delightsome your memory, and how passionately I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XLIII.  
SIR,  
I Thought I should never have gotten out of this Country, and my misfortune seemed to have blocked up the Havens of St. Lucre's and Lisbon. I left Madrid upon intelligence sent me that an English Ship should set sail from Sevil within six weeks, and to avoid waiting there, and to come just at the time appointed, I had gone about by Gibraltar and Granada. In the mean time, besides those six weeks, there are six other past, and yet I think it will be a month ere she get out to Sea. The impatience of being so long in one place, forced me to leave that, yet making account to return, to come and see this. And though some had written to me, that it was no convenient sailing, yet I resolved to run a course of six score leagues, and to pass la Sierra Morena twice, only for my recreation. But, as good Fortune would have it, while I was on my way, arrived an English Ship, wherein I shall, with God's assistance, venture myself. I have stayed for her these three weeks, within two days she will have in all her lading, and will be gone with the first wind. Fortune disposes very oddly of me; after she had employed me to travel through Spain, in the month of August, she engages me in a voyage in November. The Ship carries twenty five Guns, is strong and well munitioned, all, I think, not too much, for there are a many Turks upon the Coast; and in this season, I think, I shall not be so unhappy, as not to meet with some tempest, which I may one day describe to you. This opportunity is questionless the greatest I could hope; it is an easier voyage hence, then from Sevil, and I would not for any thing I had stayed there, and not have taken a resolution to see Portugal. I assure you, Sir, that Dom Manuel, and the Lady Osoria have a great Estate here, which if they could get into, they were better accommodated than they are at Brussels. Lisbon is in my mind one of the noblest Cities in the world, and deserves as well to be seen as any. It consists of three mountains covered with Houses and gardens, which have a River of three leagues breadth, for a looking-glass to see them in, and that part of the City which is under Tagus, seems not less beautiful than that which is on the shore. Yet I think it tedious staying here, for I have not received a Letter since my coming, and have no account of any thing. They are acquainted here with no other France, than the Antarctick. The greatest part of those I see here, are men of the other world, and ordinarily, you have more news here of Cape Vert, and Brazil, then from Paris, or Flanders: So that though it should be some satisfaction to me, to be in the Marmalade-Country, where I have a Mistress sweeter than it, yet all will not do, and I pray as heartily for a departure, as if I were in Norway. Spanish adventures are strange things; I have continued in it as chaste as a young Gentlewoman, whom I believe you see every night, and yet notwithstanding all this continence, I am able to show you one day Love-letters in the language of Castille, Portugal, and Andalusia; and if a black-Moor-Lady, who lives over against me, could write, I should show you some in that of Guinny: but I hope the winds will blow over all these affections, and bring me to a place, where I have others more solid, and more settled. I leave you, who alone make up the greatest part of them, to judge with what impatience I desire that happiness. And I dare further assure you, I shall never quit Mistress with so much pleasure, as when I come to wait on you again; and I, who had ever secured myself from the droopings, disturbances, and discontents of Love, do now meet with them all in Friendship. Sir, I think you will credit me, and be easily persuaded, that a man on whom you have conferred so many good things, and whom you have taught a many more, cannot want the resentment he ought to have thereof. Constancy and Gratitude are two Virtues I have learned of you, which I cannot better employ then towards you: and when, out of an extraordinary generosity, I shall have paid you twice over what I owe you, yet were I not quite discharged, and I should be still indebted to you for that very generosity, since I had acquired it through your acquaintance. It is not therefore my intention to be discharged from a person to whom I take so much pleasure to be beholding; and besides that my inclination and my reason direct me to you, I shall gladly entertain any thing, whereby I am infinitely obliged ever to be,  
Sir, Yours, etc. Lisbon, Octob. 22. 1633.   

To Monsieur— LETTER. XLIV.  
SIR,  
TO satisfy you that I think your excuse very allowable, I shall also make use of it; it is more requisite for me then for you, and you should not think it strange, that I, who have always less wit, and at this present, less time than you, should allege it in my necessity. You will easily be persuaded when you understand, that it is reported this day, we shall be gone within five: so that I must buy a Bed, Quilts, Coverlets, a little flock of sheep, twenty Cows and Oxen, fifty Pullet's, and a certain number of such Cats as they keep in Lockers; for the Captain will not find the Passengers entertainment. Besides all this, I am to write to Sevil, to Madrid, to Flanders, to France, to Friends, to Merchants, to Ministers, (of State) to my female acquaintances and Mistresses, and what troubles me above all, I have every day to answer a Love-letter written in Portuguez, which I profess, I can neither read nor understand. Judge now, whether ever man was so overwhelmed with business, and if I can hope to return you a Letter that shall requite yours, when I cannot do it with all the assistance of leisure. It hath brought with it all the consolation, which a fair-conditioned and a good friend is capable of, and hath in my opinion, wrought in me a wonderful effect, having shaken off the melancholy I was in, by reason of not hearing from my Father and Friends in France. I wonder I receive nothing by the Ordinary. Though I tell you of a departure within five days, yet forbear not to write to me, for, as you know, the days of this Country are not of four and twenty hours, and those of Spain are not much longer than they are at Norway, I could wish the Knight of the round-Table were in an humour to come hither, for I know not what more magnificent title to give him; and it must be confessed no man can be more ingenious than you to find him excellent titles, and certainly he can never meet with a better opportunity. Besides that the Ships at St. Lucre's are farther off by four and twenty Leagues, I believe it will be fifteen days ere they be gone, and so he may triumph over divers nations, and after he shall have set on fire so many Castilian Beauties, melt down the Portughezes. Certainly if I were so wise as not to love any one of those I see not, I could never have had a better time in all my life, than the three months' last passed, absolutely dis-entangled from all trouble, and business, and hearing no news, but what you were from time to time pleased to afford me. The true Secret to gain health and cheerfulness, is, that the body be in motion, and the mind in rest; this is a benefit of Travel: but commonly it happens quite contrary; when we think to repose ourselves, we take most pains. The trot of a jadish mule is not so tedious, as the expectation of Carnero in the Secretaries walk, and the least business ill managed, afflicts more than ill weather, or an ill way. Assure yourself therefore, that I extremely like the design you have to undeceive yourself as to fortune, and to forsake her as a dangerous Mistress; her caresses and her malice are equally to be feared, one way or other she destroys all her Servants, and those who look on her favours as real advantages, are much more mistaken than those who take an egg for an Oystershell. If I had not ended the sentence with that jest, methinks I should have been too serious for a man that is not wont to be such, and besides is in haste. When you have a mind to this retirement, I will wait on you, and we will get into some place, where we will call every beast as we please ourselves; we will, like Adam, give all things new names, and when we shall go contrary to all other men, and call that ill which they call good, it may be we shall be in the right. But till that come to pass, and while I am in the world, I beg your utmost diligence to continue me in the friendship of these Gentlemen. There comes not a commendation from the Count de Maure, which I value not at a million; number the Maravediss the Fleet may amount to, and reflect on the wealth you have sent me. If the Count Stufe hath the same fortune with you, as he hath with me, he should have ruined you long since; for I cannot make my party good against him, but he hath got ground even to my very Soul. 'Tis true, you are concerned in this loss, since it is the taking away of what is yours, from one that is wholly devoted to your Service, and is, more than any man,  
Sir, Yours, &c Lisbon. Oct. 15. 1633   

To Monsieur— LETTER XLV.  
SIR,  
I Do not certainly know who you are, but I am satisfied, the Letter I have received must needs come from a person of more than ordinary Virtue, and I may well expect one day great assistances from you, if what you say be true; that you know better how to serve me then to write. If you be the same I imagine, the good office could not come from any hand whence I should have more highly valued it; and I am extremely elevated to see so much goodness in a person, in whom I had before observed all other excellent endowments. As you have in this done me a greater honour than I could have expected▪ so let me assure you. Sir, that I acknowledge it beyond any thing you can imagine, and that I am as generous to resent your favour, as you have been to do it. I think you are so well opinioned of me as to believe it, and you who by the bare communication of your acquaintance, take in the hearts of all those that see you, cannot doubt but you are extremely beloved by those whom you so particularly oblige thereto. But, Sir, amongst all the afflictions you have gained, I dare profess, there is not any attended with more respect and esteem then mine, and that I am, as indeed I ought, more than any man,  
Sir, Yours, &c Lisbon. Oct 22. 1633.   

To my Lord Marquis de Montausier, who was since killed in La Valteline. LETTER. XLVI.  
SIR,  
I Have read your Letter with all the content and satisfaction that could be expected by any one from a person so costive as to writing, and withal so deserving. Methinks now there is not any thing which I may not promise myself from your Friendship, since you have for my sake taken a little pains, and you could never have given me a greater assurance you will make good those words you have sent me, then that you have written them. Only I cannot but be troubled to think, that amidst all these expressions of tenderness, there is some occasion for which you could with me hanged. To be free with yond, Sir, methinks it speaks some flaw in the affection you bear me, and I think, without standing much on punctilios, I ought to take it ill. However I run so much hazard of it otherwise, and I wish with so much passion, that you had all your merits can pretend to; that if there wanted nothing else to gain a Kingdom, I deal sincerely with you, I think I should be as willing you should have it, as you can be yourself. I should more easily pardon Fortune that affront, than what she puts upon you, in not granting what you might justly claim, and denying you the title she hath bestowed on Monsieur du Bellay. But since the business sticks not there, and that it is possible I may have a hundred Crowns of Martyrdom, yet you not get one of Sovereignty, another course must be taken, and without hazarding the lives of your friends, you must owe this honour to none but yourself. I assure you, that while I ramble through so many Kingdoms, I ever think of you, and shall endeavou to lay some plot which you may one day put in execution. Not long since, I saws even Kingdoms at one sight, whereof there were four in Africa, which I wished yours, and which it is a great pity you should suffer to continue in the hands of the Moors. But if you like not the air of Barbary, there is news come that the Island of Madera is upon some thoughts of revolting, and that it will bestow itself on the first that shall maintain it against the Tyranny of the Spaniards. Imagine with yourself. I pray you, the pleasure there is in having a Kingdom of Sugar, and if it be not likely our conversation there will be full of sweetness. How great and powerful soever the charms and engagement of Paris may be, yet, if I mistake you not, they cannot divert you from laying both hands on such an opportunity; and that if any thing stays you, it must be the inconveniences of Travel, and the trouble it is to rise betimes in the morning. But, Sir, Conquerors cannot alwayly till eleven of the clock; Crowns are not gained without toil; nay even those that are made of Laurels and Myrtles are bought at a dear rate; and Glory expects that her Suitors should suffer for her. I must needs confess, it is almost a miracle to me, that Fame should not have br●ught some tidings of you, before I had the honour to receive them from yourself; and me thinks I am farther than I thought I could have gone, when I consider I am in a Country where you are not known. Suffer not a reputation so just as yours, to admit any limits, nor stop at the bottom of the Pyrenean mountains, over which that of so many others hath flown; come yourself and make its way, and if the Gazette says nothing of you, let History do it. As for that, which some would needs oblige you to take ill from me, which is, that I had given you the quality of a Squire; I assure you, Sir, you had no great reason to be offended at it. I shall make it appear to you, that Amadis de Gaul, under the title of the Squire of the Sea, accomplished his noblest adventures; and that Amadis of Greece, while he was yet called the Squire of the burning Sword, killed a great Lion, and relieved King Magadan: but these are artifices of the Gentlewoman you know, who having sworn my ruin, is troubled to see me under the protection of one of the bravest men on earth. It will therefore be hard for her to force me out of yours; for I profess to you, Sir, (and this I speak more seriously than all the rest) it shall ever be my endeavour, by all sorts of devoits and humble services, to deserve the honour of your affection. Methinks it were a great want of judgement, generosity, and virtue, not to love perfectly a person in whom all these are in so high a degree, and therefore I, who extremely esteem these qualities wherever I find them, must needs acknowledge them particularly in you, where they are associated with so many other graces, and attended by so much Civility. Be therefore, I beseech you, assured, that as I understand you better than any man, so shall I ever have a greater honour for you, and while I am worth any thing, shall never be other then,  
My Lord, Your, &c Lisbon. Oct. 22. 1633.   

To my Lord marquis de Pisany. LETTER XLVII.  
My LORD,  
IF I have any esteem for the two Letters you have so much commended, it is that they have procured me the honour to receive one of yours; the very sight whereof confirmed me in the judgement I had long since made of you, that you should one day raise a jealousy in the Lady your Sister and me, and deprive us of the reputation of writing well, to which, you laid aside, we might have pretended. But since so many other ways invite you to honour, be pleased to allow us the other, and propose not to yourself a thing so difficult, as to imitate in all things your noble Father, who not satisfied with the reputation of one of the stoutest men in France, would needs add to it, that of writing and speaking better than any other. If you are so resolved, my Lord, no doubt but you may arrive to it as well as he; but, beside the abundance of pains it will cost you, you neglect an opportunity to oblige us, and to give us an extraordinary confidence of your affection, by slighting, for our sakes, a glory whereof you might claim so great a part. There are others more solid, and more worthy you, whereto you should aspire. But if nevertheless you think there is nothing so inconsiderable as that a virtuous man should despise it, and that glory is that only, whereof he ought not to be liberal, I must confess, I have nothing to object against so just an apprehension. The affection your noble Sister hath for you, I know to be such, that I am confident she will soon pardon you the wrong you may haply do her herein. And for my part, I shall suffer myself to be o'ercome, since it will be by you; and for the glory you shall take from me, I will participate of yours, as much as may amount to that of,  
My Lord, Yours, &c Lisbon. Oct. 22. 1633.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER. XLVIII.  
MADAM,  
IT is a great pity you do not take pleasure in doing good oftener, since that when you undertake it, none can effect it with so much obligation as you do. I have received, as I ought, the intentions you had to put a compliment upon me, and you have not only eased me much of my misfortune, but have put me in some doubt whether I should call it so; and telling me the goodness you have for me shall last no longer than my unhappiness, you have almost forced me into a wish it may never end. See Madam, what powerful charms you lay on me; two things so opposite as your presence and your absence, and whereof one is certainly one of the greatest goods, and the other one of the greatest ills in the world; you have, by the bare pronouncing of three words, so changed that, that I know not which is the good, which the ill, and consequently, whether of them I should rather wish. However, since I must needs be tormented one way or other, I had rather suffer near you; and how hard-natured soever you may be, methinks you cannot do me a greater injury then that of not seeing you. I must confess Madam, I fear you beyond what you can imagine, and more than any thing in the world. But if the respect I owe you, permits me to express myself so, I love you much more than I fear you. Though you frighten me a little sometimes, yet I cannot but be pleased to see you under all the shapes into which you put yourself; and if you should be changed once a week into a Dragon, yet even in that condition, should I be in love even with your scales and your claws. According to the prodigies I find in your person, I believe this Metamorphosis may one day happen, and where you tell me that three days in a month you are not to be conversed with, methinks it signifies some disposition thereto. I am of Monsieur de— C opinion, that you will come to some strange end, and I hope time will at length show us what we should think of you. In the mean time, be as you will, it must be confessed you are a most amiable creature, and while you shall continue under the shape of a Gentlewoman, the world shall not offord another so accomplished, or so much to be esteemed as you, nor any man, who can be, as much as I am,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Lisbon. Oct. 22. 1633.  
Madam, I humbly beseech you to still your Dwarf with a Compliment instead of an Answer to the challenge he hath sent me, which is, I will have nothing to do with any that relate to you, and for his Mistress' sake and his own, I infinitely esteem him, and desire his Friendship.   

To Monsieur Gourdon at London. LETTER XLIX.  
Sir,  
I Have had more leisure than I could have wished, to send you what you desired of me at my coming away. The winds are so far from carrying away my promise, that they have given me occasion to keep it. They have stayed me here already eight days, which I should have thought very long and tedious, if I had not brought from London imaginations that should last longer than that. I assure you, you are much concerned therein, and that the best I have had, have been employed on you, or the things I have seen by your means. You will haply guess hence that I speak not of the Tower, nor yet of the Lions which you brought me to the sight of; In one Person you have shown me more treasures than there are there, and withal more Lions and more Leopards. It will not be hard for you to judge that I speak of the Countess of Carlisle; for there is not any other of whom may be said so much good, and so much ill. How dangerous soever it may be to think of her, yet have I not been able to forbear, and to be sincere with you, I would not give that representation which I have of her in my mind for any thing, though the most perfect I have seen in the world. She is, I must confess, a person full of enchantment, and there were not any other under Heaven should command so much affection as she, did she but know what it is, and carry about her the sensitive Soul as well as the rational. But considering the conditions we know her to be of, we can say no more of her, then that she is the most amiable of all those things that are not good, and the most delightful poison that ever Nature produced. I stand in such an awe of her wit, that it had almost diverted me from sending you these Verses; for I know she can judge what is good, what ill in any thing; and that all the Goodness which should have been in her will, is diverted into her Judgement. But it matters not much if she condemn them. I dare not wish them better, since they were made before I had the honour of her acquaintance; and I should be much troubled to have praised or dispraised any one to perfection, for I reserve both for her. For your part, Sir, I trouble you not with excuses, but such as are allowable; on the contrary, I conceive you very much in my debt, and aught very much to acknowledge it, that I am overcome to send you such as are not. What ever they are, I dare assure you they are the first I ever writ twice. If you knew to what a height of sloth I am arrived, you would acknowledge my compliance herein, no small argument both of the power you have over me, and how passionately I desire to be,  
Sir, Yours, etc. Dover, Dec. 4. 1633.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER L.  
MADAM,  
BE your Letter ever so full of threatening, yet can I not but consider the excellency of it, and admire with what artifice you join Beauty and Terror together. As the skins of Serpents presents us with Gold and azure, so you would enamel the most poisonous expressions with the livelyest colours of Eloquence; and when I read them, I cannot but be delighted with the same things I am frighted at. You begin very soon to make good your promise to me, that I was not to expect your favour any longer than while I wanted that of Fortune. Now that she seems to have rocked me into a little rest, you will needs disturb it, and thereby show me, that, though I have escaped Seas and Pirates, yet am I not safe, and that you are more to be feared then all; yet could I not believe, Madam, that my avoiding a quarrel with your Dwarf, should engage me in one with you, or oblige me to answer a Challenge, being guilty of no other affront then that of returning a Compliment. But if so be you think I have not acquitted myself as to that, what you call contempt, you might have termed respect and fear; and conclude that the same Creature who disarmed Monsieur de M— of his sword, might very well cause my pen to fall out of my hand. Nay though he had some cause to complain, yet were you not obliged to protect him against me; and if you wish me ill for his sake, I may safely say you have quarrelled with me upon the most trivial account in the world. But if you are resolved to persecute me, all my excuses will not be able to divert you, and a●l I wonder at, is, that you would trouble yourself to find out any pretence to do it. It signifies nothing to me that I have escaped so many dangers; the place where you are, will be a perpetual Algiers to me; and though I am at Brussels, yet never was I nearer Captivity or Shipwreck. However, Madam, I would not have you imagine the flames of those living creatures you threaten me with, to be that which puts me into any fear. It is long since I am proof against such accidents, and, whatever you may say, I fear Death more from your hands then from your eyes. Of all the passages of your Letter, which I admire in all things, I have made a particular remark at the exclamation you make, speaking what pleasure it had been to you, if I had been taken by the Pirates. It speaks certainly an excessive goodness in you, to wish me for two or three years in a Turkish Galley, only that there might be greater diversity in my Travels. The excellent curiosity of hearing from me how I had dressed the Camels in Barbary, and with what constancy I had suffered Lashing with Laths. By your manner of speaking of it, I cannot but believe you would have been glad I had been spitted on a stake for half an hour, to know what kind of torment it is, and how a man finds himself after it. But what is most remarkable, is, that you make these wishes, after you have as you say, reassumed the form of a young Lady, and had acquired more mildness and humanity. There is as little justice in all this, as in the Quarrel you would have with me for Alcidalis. Be yourself judge, Madam, whether being upon the same seas, and engaged in the same dangers as he, I could forget the troubles I was in myself, to relate those he had run through; and being o'erwhelmed with my own misfortunes, I should make it my Business to write his: And yet I have ●one it in the midst of all my distraction; I have written above a hundred theets of his History, and I have been careful of his life, at a time when, I assure you, I was not much of my own. And yet, Madam, I would not have you judge by this how diligent I am to please my female▪ acquaintances. When I shall have rendered you all services imaginable, these appearances would not discover to you the least part of that passion I have for any concernment of yours. If you would know it well, consider the cause thereof, rather than the effects. But your imagination, though admirable in itself, is here too narrow, and if the world can afford any thing too great for your mind, and such as it cannot comprehend, it is the respect, the affection and the esteem it hath begotten in mine. Being equally forward to acknowledge the obligations I receive from the other excellent persons, you may well believe that the Letter I have received with yours, brought me as well an infinite joy, as an extraordinary honour. You know best of any one, how far I have adored the merits of him that writ it, and he may put you in mind that in the time of the Civil wars between you two, I have sometimes quitted your part to take his. But this last goodness, hath found something of new acquest in my heart; and since I have received it, I crave your pardon, if there are some intervals wherein I love him beyond any person in the world. But Madam, that you may not think that all the favours I receive from him, are derived to me, through your procuration, I am to tell you, that upon another occasion, he hath not long since done me a good office, you being nothing concerned in it. Which though it were not of the kind that I take most pleasure to receive, as being such as hath given me fresh occasion to reflect on my cross Fortune, yet I take it as a great honour to owe him those obligations which I should be ashamed any other, and am glad to receive any expression soever of his Generosity. He shall swear to you, when you mention it to him, he k●ows not what you mean, and me thinks I now see him do it; but you know his inclination and his humour who never forgot a good turn to be done, and can never remember it when it is. Since the honour your affection casts upon me is the chiefest consideration that hath engaged me in his favours, I humbly beg your assistance Madam, to render him the acknowledgements I ought, and to requite him, at least proportionably to my present condition. I kiss a thousand times, the feet of that incomparable person, who would needs with her own hand superscribe the Letter you sent me, and with four or five words make a Present inestimabl, which before was but too precious. You have justly called her the greatest Beauty and best woman in the world, since that at such a distance she can raise up those that are cast down. I wish, she, that hath so great an influence over her, may one day find all the happiness which such a System of Goodness, Beauty, and Virtue may claim, though I see this wish is of a vast extent. They say the star which I sometimes called the Daystar is greater and more admired then ever, and that it shines and twinkles through all France. Though its rays reach not the obscurity wherein we are, its reputation does, and, as I hear, the Sun comes short of its brightness. I am glad the Intelligence it is moved by, hath lost nothing of its force nor its light, and that there is not any thing but Madam de Bourbon's wit can bring it in●o question whether her Beauty be the most accomplished thing in the world. The manner of her complaints, as I have met with it in a Letter of yours, I think hugely pleasant; the troth is, the many traverses I have had, may well raise a compassion in her, in her, I say, who is so well acquainted with my weakness, and knows that from the Swathing-band I have not had to this present, one day of rest. It hath been also disturbed by the discourse at the bottom of your Letter, directed to King Chiquitto. In Astaranax's Hell I have met with my own, and have wandered in it three days and three nights, yet could not see at all. I am extremely troubled at it, for above all things, I would have had King Georgia's Comb, and it is above two years that I have longed ●or it. Nor are you to believe you have gotten that I proposed to you; the Queen of China's Combs are not so easily come by; you must first be pleased to send in writing the name of the Pi●are, and tell me sincerely whether you named him without laughing, for there lies all the difficulty: But since you pretend so much to Divination, be pleased to imagine Madam, all I should add, if I durst make this Letter any longer. Guess how much I now love you beyond what I did two years since, and how passionately I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c Brussels, Jan. 6. 1634.   

To my Lord Cardinal de la Vallette. LETTER. LI.  
MY LORD,  
I Cannot but imagine, when you writ the Letter you have been pleased to honour me with, it was your opinion, that he esteem I have ever had for you, had gained you some reputation in the world; that upon all occasions, I had given you extraordinary assurances of the honour of my Friendship; and that in consequence thereof, I had lent you 2000 Crowns upon a Business of great importance, and at a time when your credit lay extremely at stake. At least according to the rate that you thank me, and speak of yourself and me; I have some ground to think, that not minding what you did, you mistook one for the other, and unawares put yourself in my place. Otherwise my Lord, you had not written as you have, unless it be, haply, that not conceiving there can be any greater good in the world then to do it to others, you think yourself obliged to those who give you occasion to oblige them, and imagine you have received the good offices which you have done. If it be so, I must need confess, there is not any man you are so much obliged to as myself, and that I deserve all those returns you afford me, since I have given you greater occasions than any man, to exercise your Generosity, and to do those actions of Goodness, which certainly are to be esteemed beyond all the wealth you have, or can ever bestow on me. Amidst the great number of good offices I have received from you, and so many favours you have been pleased to shed on me, I assure your Lordship, there is not any I more highly esteem then the Letter you have honoured me with. But if amidst the many things I have w●th so much satisfaction observed therein, there be any passage hath entertained me with more pleasure then ordinary, be pleased to give me leave to tell you, it is that where I conceive you speak of these two persons which at this day make up the most inestimable part of the world, and to whom, if they be not compared one to another, there is not any thing under Heaven that may. When ever I do but think myself in their remembrances, there ensues for that moment a cessation of all my sufferings; and when I represent to myself the faces of the one or the other, me thinks that of my Fortune is changed, and that imagination forces out of my mind the obscurity it is clouded with, and fills it with light. But a greater happiness is, that being so far from ever hoping to merit the honour of their good inclinations, I cannot but think myself much interessed therein, and am so happy as to believe what you tell me as to that particular. I am well acquainted with one, My Lord, who were not so easily persuaded, were he in my place, and who, after so great a distance for two years, would not live in so much tranquillity, and so great confidence. According to the satisfaction this faith affords me, be you judge, whether I am to be much bemoaned, and if there be not a many whom the world calls happy, are much less such than I: Were it not for this, I would not certainly ward that distraction which presents itself here of all sides, nor oppose the melancholy of Monsieur de C— which I am fain to beat up perpetually, and which, to tell you truly, is greater than is imagined. Besides that, he is got into an humour to let his beard grow, which already reaches his girdle; he is fallen into a tone much more severe than ever, and sounds somewhat like Astolfos Horn; unless it be on some discourse concerning the immortality of the Soul, or the Chief Good; or to carve up some of the most important Questions of Moral Philosophy; he can hardly be gotten to open his mouth. If Democritus●hould ●hould revive, notwithstanding his great Philosophy, he would not endure him, because of his Laughing humour: He hath undertaken to reform Zeno's doctrine, as being too mild, and he will institute a Sect of Stoics Recollects. So that, My Lord, you desire not any thing advantageous for the Nations, over which you wish him Governor—   

To Monsieur Godeau, since Bishop of Grass. LETTER. LII.  
SIR,  
YOu ought to have allowed me some time to recover our Language, before I should be obliged to write to you, it being not handsome, that when I had been so long a stranger, and am now but just come out of Barbary, I should direct Letters to one of the most eloquent of all France. This consideration occasioned my silence hitherto; but though I avoided answering your challenges, I cannot but make some return to your civilities, and notwithstanding all my evasions, you have found some other means to bring me to reason. My condition indeed is such, that it is much more honourable for you to have reduced me after this manner, then to have taken me in by force. It had been no great reputation to you to overthrow a man already cast down, and on whom Fortune hath bestowed so many blows, that the least can force him to the ground. The obscurity whereinto she hath cast us, admits not of any art or defence; it would haply fall out otherwise, if not quite contrary to what you say, if you had set before my eyes the Sum you speak of, and as dejected as you see me, I might be confident enough to fight you, if that light were equally divided between us. 'Tis a greater advantage to have that of your side, than all the heavens beside. All the beauties that shine through whatever you do, proceed only from hers, and they are her rays which produce in you so many flowers. To do you justice, I have never thought any thing so pleasant, as those which are the productions of your mind. I have seen some of them on the borders of the Ocean, and in places where Nature could not force out a pass. I have received Posies made of them, that have even in deserts entertained me with the deliciousness of Italy and Greece. Though they had travelled four hundred Leagues, neither time, nor travel, had taken away any thing of their Lustre, as being indeed such as are called immortal, and so different from whatever derives its being from the earth, that it is with much justice you have offered them to Heaven. and they ought not to be bestowed any where but on Altars. Take this Sir, as my sincere judgement of them; and when my curiosity, as you tell me, had translated me out of the ancient world to search out some rarity, I have not met with any thing can pretend so much to it as your Works. Africa was not able to present me with any thing more new, or more extraordinary; when I read them under the shade of its palms, I wished them you all, and at the same time that I looked on myself as one that had gone beyond Hercules, I found myself far behind you. What might have raised emulation in another's mind, filled mine with esteem and affection, you then took that place you demand now, and accomplished at that time what you think you have yet to begin. Being so well acquainted with you, it is hard for me to represent to myself such an image as you would force upon me, or to imagine you so inconsiderable as you make yourself. I cannot apprehend Heaven should crowd so many things into so little room. When I measure you according to my imagination, I cannot afford you less than seven or eight Cubits, nor represent your Stature other then that of those men who were begotten by Angels. Yet I shall not be sorry it should be as you would have me believe; amongst the advantages I shall receive by your means, I hope you will make our Stature famous; that shall be henceforth thought the richest, and you will lift us up above those who think themselves higher than we. The richest Essences are put into the smallest Viols, and nature seems pleased to infuse the more precious Souls into the least bodies, and the more or less celestial they are, greater or lesser is the mixture of earth. She enchaces the brightest Souls, as Goldsmiths dispose their more precious Stones, who employ as little Gold as they can about them, and no more than is requisite to fasten them. You will undeceive mankind as to that gross error, of esteeming those most, who weigh most: and my lownes, which hath been cast in my dish so often by Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, shall be my Elegy with her. On the other side, I think the affection, which you say she hath for you justly bestowed; as also that of five or six other the most excellent person the world affords. But I wonder you make it an argument to persuade me to give you mine, and that you should think to gain it by the same reasons which should make you lose it; you must certainly be extremely confident of my goodness, to think I can love a man who enjoys all my estate, and hath obtained the forfeiture of it. And yet I shall be so just, that it shall not hinder me, and I doubt not but you are the like so far that I fear not we shall fall out for that; they may very well have given you my place, yet so as you should not thrust me out, nor indeed may it be said it was great if it could not contain us both. For my part, I shall do all that lies in my power, that I may not be troublesome to you, and shall so dispose of myself there, as that I may do you no violence. Since therefore so powerful a concernment is not able to separate me from yours, you may believe there never shall be any thing that can do it, and that I am, at all Essays,  
Sir, Yours, etc. Brussels, Feb. 3. 1634.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER. LIII.  
MADAM,  
CAR being of so great importance in our Language, I am extremely pleased at the resentment you have of the injury is like to be done it; and I can entertain no great hopes of the Academy you tell me of; since it intends to establish itself by so great a violence. At a time wherein Fortune acts Tragoedies in most parts of Europe, I find nothing deserves so much pity, as when I see people ready to banish and prosecute a Word which hath done such faithful service to this Monarchy, and which amidst all the disturbance of the Kingdom, hath continued constantly a faithful Subject. For my part, I cannot apprehend what reasons they could allege against a Word which marches always in the front of Reason, and knows no other employment then to introduce it. I cannot see upon what account they would take away from CAR what belongs to it for to bestow it on POURCEQUE, nor why they will needs express that in three words, which they may with three Letters? What is more to be feared, Madam, is, that this injustice connived at, will beget others; here will be no difficulty made to set upon MAIS, and I know not whether S I will be safe. Insomuch that having taken away all the words of connection, the wits will reduce us to the language of Angels; or if that may not be, they will oblige us to speak only by signs. I must confess there's nothing more certain than what you say, that there can be no greater argument of the uncertainty of humane affairs. Who should have told me some years since, that I should have outlived CAR? I had thought he had promised me a life longer than that of the Patriarches. In the mean time it comes to pass, that having lived 1100 years in force and credit, after it had been employed in the Treaties of greatest consequence, and been honourably serviceable in our King's Counsels, it falls into sudden disgrace, and is threatened with a violent end, I have now no more to expect then the time when I shall hear those sad exclamations which shall say, The Grand CAR is dead, whose death is of much greater consequence then that of the grand Cham, or the grand Pan. I know, if one of the greatest Wits of the Age be consulted hereupon, one I extremely honour, he will tell you that this Novelty deserves a heavy censure, that we ought to make use of the CAR of our forefather's, as well as of their Land and Sun, and that we ought not to cast off a word that hath been in the mouth of Charlemaign and St. Lewis: But you Madam are particularly obliged to take it into your protection, since the greatest force and beauty of our Language is in yours, you ought to have a supreme power therein, and appoint words to live or die, as you please. Nor do I doubt, but you have delivered this out of the danger it was in, and by enclosing it in your Letter, you have given it Sanctuary, and a place of glory, where neither time nor envy can ever assault it. Amidst all this, I must acknowledge I was extremely surprised to see you so fantastic in your good actions, in that you Madam, who without any compassion could have seen the destruction of a hundred men, could not see the death of a poor Syllable. If you had been so tender of me as you have of CAR, I had been happy in spite of my ill-fortune; poverty, banishment, and grief, could hardly have fastened on me; and if you had not been able to rid me of these evils, you might at least have rid me of the resentment thereof. When I was in hope to receive some comfort from your Letter, I find it more concerned for CAR then for me, and that his banishment troubled you more than ours. I confess, Madam, you do well to defend him, but you ought to be as careful of me as of him, that it may not be reproached unto you, that you forsake your friends for a word. You make no answer to any thing I writ to you of; to those things that concern me, you have nothing to say. In three or four Pages you can hardly take occasion to remember me once, and the reason is CAR— I beseech you consider me the more for it another time, and when you shall undertake the protection of the persecuted, remember I am of the number. To oblige you to do me this favour, I shall ever make use of him, and I assure you, you owe it me, CAR I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER LIV.  
MADAM,  
THough I had presented you with as many pearls as the Poets have made Aurora weep, and where I have only given you a little piece of Earth, bestowed on you the whole Mass, you could not have been more magnificent in your return of thanks. The great Mogul's vine might be bought with the least of your words, and all the precious stones it is burdened with, cannot boast so great a Lustre, and so much light as the things you write. This beginning, Madam, is very glittering, and those, who at any rate will needs write high words, would be glad to begin thus that which they call a handsome Letter. But the Messenger allows me not the time; besides that I have diligently read that of your Lady Mother's and your own, I am resolved not to be any further engaged with them. To deal truly with you, there cannot be any thing more gallant or more handsome, than what I received from her, and the miracle is, that a person that writes but once in four years, acquits herself so well, as if she made it her constant study, and had all that time minded nothing else. I must now expect to be more and more acquainted with the mira●les of your house, but I must needs withal acknowledge my astonishment For your part, Madam, I am particularly to admire, that being able to dance so well, you are as excellent at writing, and carry the garland at the same time for three things which seldom lodge together, being the best danccr, the best sleeper, and the most eloquent young Lady in the world. But I am extremely pleased that you have engaged Monsieur Magne into the Morris-dance; this humour I am as much taken with as any of yours, and take my wo●d, we will never dance it unless he make one. You are further to know, that Monsieur de Chaudebonne is so deeply melancholy that he cannot shake the Bells well, and I think I should be myself much troubled to dance it well in your absence, being as I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. LV.  
MADAM,  
NOw that your Letters are more to be admired then ever, I confess, I should be much troubled to want them. Having since my receipt of your last, lost all hope of writing any that are good; it must needs be a great satisfaction to me to receive such; nor is it any more than justice you should restore me to that honour which you make me lose otherwise. The great opinion I have long since conceived of your wit, had prepared me without surprisal, for a sight of all these miracles, and I was satisfied nothing could proceed from it I should wonder at, unless it produced things mean and ordinary. But I must confess it hath attained a degree of perfection beyond any thing I could imagine, and that I was never able to imagine what you have since discovered. I assure you, Madam, I speak without flattery, and my indignation is not so far spent, as that I should be drawn into that humour. You are now gotten so much beyond yourself, as you were before beyond all others; and the most inconsiderable Letter you now write, exceeds Zelidas and Al●idalis; nay though there were put with them into the scale both their Kingdoms. In the very height of my anger, I have not made any complaints against you that were not accompanied with your praises; and one reason that now obliges me to a reconciliation, is a fear I am in, that if I should express any thing of displeasure, it would be thought an effect of envy rather than of a just resentment. In the mean time, your heart knows whether I have not cause, and without speaking any more of it, it is there I would have you make me satisfaction; besides that having been tongue-tied so long, I would not break forth▪ immediately into out-cries. I only entreat you to consider, what kind of creature I should have been, having at the same time lost all hope of returning into France, and the comfort of your remembrances and Letters. One of these misfortunes was enough to crush me, but I am miraculously kept up, by reason they are come together, and that the one encourages me to support the other. When after this expression of your ill inclinations towards me, I reflected on the multitude of evil Fortune delivered me from, by hindering me from falling into your hands; methinks proportionably to that, perpetual banishment was no hard measure, and that at least I should die here of a death less cruel. But Madam, this comfort is not so good but that I stand in need of some other, for I assure you that Monsieur de— is not so sad as I am, and that cloudy black melancholy wherein you have sometimes seen me, was but the shadow of what I now struggle with. I humbly beseech y●u dissipate it, and if possible, find out words to conjure away these clouds. But who doubts your power to do it, and who knows not that your wit defies all impossibility? To that then I recommend myself, and since the least imaginable, and most extraordinary things are easy to it, let it render me capable of some enjoyment here, and make me live till such time as I shall tell you, how much I am, beyond whatever you believe,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER LVI.  
MADAM,  
I Wonder not at all if you laughed your belly full when you writ me the strange report that flies up and down of me, that I have neither goodness nor Friendship: for to be free with you, never was any thing advanced equally ridiculous, and you had as much reason to entertain it with any credit as if you had been told that Monsieur de Chaudebonne flies along the high way, or hath married Monsieur de 〈◊〉 Gentleman's daughter. For my part, I only admire that such a false reporr and a calumny so ill grounded, should spread so far, and infect three Provinces, and you must needs acknowledge that the raiser of it, whoever it be, must be the most mischieveous and most dangerous person in the world. I shall make a strict enquiry after him, and if I discover any thing, assure yourself I shall find a way to be revenged, though it were a person as amiable and as dreadful as yourself. Your L●dy Mother, does certanly an action suitable to her ordinary Goodness, in not permitting such an impiety to be spoken of upon her ground, but let her only forbid the mention of it in her chamber and closet, for I know some confident and resolute enough to attempt it. For poor Madam de Chalais whom you expose like a sheep to my rage, is innocent as to this crime; she hath erred only through simplicity, and I should rather complain against her Mistress, should I quarrel with other than the Authors of this importune: I do seriously think it very strange, that she, who is well acquainted with the charms of ease, and the enjoyment there is in doing nothing, should call me an ungratesul man, for no other reason but because I let her alone, and trouble her not with such Letters as she should heartily wish she had never received, when they come to be answered. Though I trouble not myself to take any notice of it, she hath still the place in my inclinations she ought to have; she is according to her own desire at the bottom of my heart, in the most retired part of it, where she enjoys quiet without noise. I do indeed love and honour her as perfectly as she deserves, and when ever▪ I read any thing that is pleasant, eat any thing that is good, or digest it any thing well, I think on her, and wish her the like. But to the business Madam, you sent us a piece of news a while since, whereto I made no answer, because than I was somewhat vexed, and it is such, as, next to what you write of the report, I have thought as strange as any thing I ever heard. Though I am as much as any man acquainted with the excellencies of my Lady marchioness— yet I cannot sufficiently admire, that, at a time when she cares not for any man living but her Cook and her Doctor, clad in the root, as we have seen her, and hooded with three table-napkins, she should conquer a heart so hard to be taken in, as I imagine that of the marquis de la— should be, and send a Lover to sigh for her in the deserts of Thebais. The young Squire you tell me of would do well to follow him, or if he hath no mind to undertake so great a journey, let him turn Hermit at Mont Valerien. I deal plainly, instead of making those demands you advance on his behalf, it were better he held his peace, and would not speak for these seven years: However, Madam, since it is your pleasure, I will answer them. To the first, why being clad in blue he seems to be clad in green, is one of the subtlest Questions I ever read of in any science; and for my part, I see not whence it should proceed, unless it be that the Squire, who was wont for some years never to get up before one of the clock, and not to be dressed before three, is now become more slothful, and is not seen before candlelight. However it be I am of opinion that at all adventures he put on green, to see whether it will appear he is not clad in ble●. To the second, which is, to know whether he should choose either to take la Motte, or deliver me into the hands of the Saracens; I find, abating all consideration of my own interest, that the latter attempt; besides that it is more just, is much the more difficult, and consequently the more glorious. There are 25000. ●oot and 6000. horse charged to guard me with as much care as they would Guelderland, and Antwerp; which yet he should not much stick at. Hector le Brun defeated without any assistance thirty thousand men in Northumberland at an time, and I think he was not so valiant as the other. Let him not fear there will be a want of Laurels here for him; the fairest that Europe affords are gathered in this Country. For my own part, I promise him the trouble of disposing, and making them into Crowns; but besides the Sarrazins of the male there are others of the female sex he must encounter, for these will be loath I should be carried hence; and therefore the report which you say is so rife of me in three Provinces, never came yet into any of the seventeen. I am not thought so mischievous here, as where you are; and it is thought, that though I knew not sufficiently how to love, I am yet myself amiable enough. But Madam, I must confess I derive no comfort thence, and think myself very unfortunate, if, among the many in France for whom I have a particular adoration, there be not some one so well opinioned of me as to believe my heart is made as it should be; that I can have a constant honour for what ever deserves it, and an infinite love for what is infinitely amiable. I know not as to your part, what you think of it, but I am confident there is not any one hath less reason to doubt it, or that I am, less than I ought, or you can wish,  
Madam, Yours, etc.  
Your Lady Mother will be ever the best and discreetest Woman in the world; she could not have promised me any thing should please me better, than the Galliard-dancing which she says will institute at my return. But you should have said, the Galliard-Feast, you corrupt the Text; this hath made me reflect on the time past, and consider how different it was from this. Then when I lay upon straw I thought myself upon three Quilts, and now though I had a dozen under me, I should imagine myself laid upon thorns. See Madam what a condition the most easeful Gallant of Brussels is in. But he who called me so in a Letter to you, knows not all my afflictions, and imagines not how much my soul is troubled that I am far from all that love me. You know how this is to be understood, and what rank, as to that point, those two admirable persons hold, which is such as no other aught to be admitted into it. All that come out of France hither speak of them with admiration, and tell miracles of their goodness and beauty. I humbly beseech you, Madam, to employ your interest to preserve me a place in their remembrances. The Person to whom you know I owe so many obligations, adds daily now-ones to the old, and not many days since honoured me with his recommendations in a Letter to the Count de Brion. I acknowledge it, as I am obliged to do, and though I had no more goodness and Friendship, then is reported, yet shall I never want the resentment I ought to have of the honours and good offices he hath been pleased to do me; but I fear he may become too serious, which I beseech you to reform.   

To the Same. LETTER. LVII.  
MADAM,  
THough you assured me that the Isle of France was not any of the three rebellious Provinces, yet I suspect some of the Islanders of the female sex, and there is particularly one I wish in my power that I might inflict that punishment on her she deserves. Though they were innocent as to any crime save that of an easy inclination to believe what is injurious to me, I should find them guilty enough, and be not a little troubled to have offended so much against them. I have had much a do to apprehend what you say of the Raven, and the King of England's Son; but if I mistake not, it is one of the wickedest devices in the world; you never did any thing against me I took so heinously, and I shall never forget it till I am revenged. But to what height is the persecution arrived, and what may I not expect now that your Lady Mother seems to declare against me? I was extremely astonished when I discovered her writing, and found she abused both me and my faithful Friend▪ And yet I cannot believe she did this out of her own inclination, and it must needs be that you forced her to write it with a poniard at her throat. All this, Madam, put together, raise in me an extreme rage, but the kindness I received from you hath appeased me. I have found in Monsieur de Chaudebonne's Letter the sugar you thought to have put into mine, and have tasted it with the greatest pleasure I ought. I must confess we have not so good here; send me of it often, I beseech you, I shall convert it into good temparament, and contrary to the tenet of Physicians, That all sweet things turn to choler, it shall allay mine, which is at this time much stirred. But to speak truly, it is horrid impiety to abuse a poor child who would take the pains to learn French for my sake, and who had the wit to make choice of me above all those that are here. In the mean time I dare answer, you that very suddenly she shall writ after another manner, and within three months she will be in a condition to revenge herself. In those days, when Madam de— used the words Fleering, and pitiful, & though she might not say Sad, her writing was much at this rate, and yet now her wit is cried up every where, and copies of her Lette●s are dispersed thus far. ●ut to satisfy you as to the Question, you press me to answer sincerely and conscientiously, I tell you, Madam, truly and sincerely, that I do not think there is any person ever thought that it was for my reputation I had sent the Love-letter you have seen; and were I yet to choose, I had rather have made a Letter of that kind, than such a judgement as that. But I ought not to be so f●ee in my opinion of any thing, not knowing of whom I speak, when I had been snapped so as I have in what I have said of some who can remember what they did in their cradles. I must confess I thought it would be laughed at, nay that it ought, but since you and Monsieur de la— have said it, freely recant what I said, and shall take heed how I offend persons that remember things at such a distance—   

To the Same. LETTER. LVIII.  
Madam,  
WEre you not the most amiable person in the world, you would be certainly the most abominable, as being guilty of a certain implacability which were insupportable in any other. You demand peace after the rate that others grant it, and to decide a quarrel, you use words that might beget a war. I know not how I came to dishonour myself so much; give over your snarling, let me hear from you every week. This certainly is a strange humility, and an excellent method to exercise the Christian Virtues. You command me further not to take any thing amiss from five and twenty years to five and twenty years, as if your favours were not to be expected, but when those of Heaven are open, and that there is requisite a Jubilee to absolve those whom you have offended. Thus far, Madam, had I proceeded, when I received your second Letter, which hath appeased me very much, by acquainting me that you desire not I should be hanged unless you were present. It is certainly an infallible argument of the good inclinations and the great tenderness you have for me, that you wish not this accident should befall me, unless you had also the satisfaction to see it. When I had so long implored the assistance of your wit to find out words that might allay my unhappiness, you could not have be thought you of better. For know, nothing could more encourage me to continue at Brussels then to tell me they wish me hanged at Paris, so that this place which I have hitherto looked on as a prison, I must now consider as a sanctuary against your persecutions. I cannot easily credit what you tell me of Madam de— nor that she should take your part against me. If she have, Fortune is more righteous then either of you, by hindering her Letters to come into my hands. To be free with you, it is much to be lamented, that you have spoilt so good a nature, and I shall be more troubled that you have corrupted her Innocence, then to see that you have condemned mine. However it be, assure yourselves, you cannot take any resolutions against me which are not unjust, and which I shall not one day make you both repent. This, Madam, is not spoken out of Vainglory, but of that confidence which ordinarily accompanies such as deal uprightly, and is the effect of a good conscience. Were I conscious but of the least default, and had any way deserved your menaces, I should not have these good intervals which you see I sometimes have, and instead of curing others of the Spleen I should die of it myself. If I have cured your Mother of that misery, I shall willingly undergo what other soever may befall myself. The assurance I have of the honour of her remembrances, and the affliction it is to me that I cannot see her; divide my happiness and my misery, and I wonder not so much, that she wishes to see me above any one, since I believe not any man can be more pleasant than myself, when I am but near her. That Philosophical Friend of ours whom you have so opportunely remembered with his little twinkling eyes, had them almost started out when I read to him that passage of your Letter. To say truth, Zeno's soul would have been startled at such an emergency, and that of Monsieur Mignon afflicted and cast down. Philosophy, which hath remedies for all other misfortunes, knows not any to qualify the least loss may happen to a man in the esteem of Madam Rambouill●t. For how great an Enemy soever it may be to the passions, yet I cannot disapprove what may be had for so rare a person, not think it much a man should do that for her sake, which she would have done for virtue's. I know not Madam, whether she can as easily instruct me not to love you; but what likelihood is there I should ever learn it, when Monsieur de Chaudebonne is my Tutor therein? I do not, I must confess, much hope it, but am resolved, what misfortune soever it may procure me, ever to remain,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Brussels. June 30. 1634.   

To the Same. LETTER LIX.  
MADAM,  
I am extremely troubled that you can give me no greater hope of peace, and that you are never at a loss, as to wit, so much as when you are to do me some good. For knowing it, as I do, capable of all things, I must needs think the default rather to be in your will, and while I shall find you so little favourable to me, I shall have cause to believe you are not so good as you pretend to be. I fear me the assurance your Brother gives of your Justice, will prove rather an argument of your Tyranny, which once strengthened takes away the liberty even of complaint. Were he as far from you as I am, he would haply be of my opinion, and were I in his place, it may be I should be of his. In the mean time, Madam, whether it be an absolute peace or only a Truce that you afford me, I am glad to make my advantage of it, I have already performed one of the conditions on which you give it me; M.D. having proposed another way to me how to write to her, I could not but make use of it, though I was much desirous my Letter should have passed through your hands, for I hoped it might have been bettered thereby, and was resolved earnestly to entreat you to correct it. It's not above four days since it was sent, Monsieur Frotta who is yet here, having with much solicitation, taken charge of it, For Alcidalis, I shall not leave him, till I have brought him into afric, which I hope will be very suddenly, for we see Land already. But Madam, I cannot make him happy till I am become such myself; I cannot bring him to see Zelida till I have met with Monsieur Mandate; and it must be another spirit than what I have at present, to express his joy, and his good fortune. To be free with you, next to his Story, what you relate to me concerning Martha, hath pleased me as much as any I ever heard; but it is but the beginning thereof, her Fortune shall not stop there, nor would I swear that we shall not one day see her Queen of Mauritania. All which notwithstanding I despair not but she may be hanged, but it will not be so soon. I am infinitely glad for what she hath procured you from the Duchess of Savoy, and that honours attend you from all parts of the world. I could also have easily gotten you one of the Moustaches of the King of Morocco, and a handful of the beard, and two of the grinding teeth of the King of Fez. But since the death of his Majesty of Sweden, I conceived you would no longer hazard your Friendship among that sort of people, which obliges me to be more reserved; for I remember you have often blamed me for engaging you always to Lovers, such as you care not for. If I am discreet for your concernments, Madam, I must be such for my own; what opportunity soever Fortune may favour me with, I shall have a care not to be trepanned by her, and I shall live longer than I expected, if the Prophecy of the sage Enchantress prove true. I humbly beseech her to believe, she cannot more justly assume that title with any one then with me; to say truth, whatever she does, enchants me, I have spent a whole day in reading the four lines she hath written to me. I shall take her advice, and avoid Gradafilea, as I would Scylla and Charybdis. Give me leave to return my most humble thanks to my Lord Cardinal de la Valette, for the remembrance he hath honoured me with in a Letter to the Count de Brion; as also to tell you how far I am troubled at the indisposition of Mademoiselle Paulet. Her favour which you tell me should not last above twenty four hours, will put me into one for many days, nor shall I shake it off, till I have had other news. M. d'A. would not pardon me the freedom which you will, if she saw how ineffectual her advice proves, and that I cannot avoid speaking of other persons in your Letters. She would utterly despair of any good of me, and would, with much more reason than ever, conclude me defective as to gallantry; but though she place you above all this world affords, if she knew what rank you have in my inclinations, I assure you, she would find me as much as might be desired,  
Madam, Yours, etc. March 3.   

To my Lord marquis of Sourdeac, at London. LETTER LX.  
MY LORD,  
THough the crossness of my Fortune should have hardened me for all sorts of Afflictions, yet can I not digest that of not receiving something from you: and me thinks the want of your Letters is a misfortune able to shake the constancy of a Virtuous man. I have with much impatience, these many days expected that you would honour me with an answer of the last I writ to you and which I put into the hand of your noble Lady. But now my patience is quite spent, and I can no longer adjourn an humble suit that you would put me out of pain, and acquaint me by Letter what accident hath hitherto deprived me of that happiness. You see my Lord, what assurance I have in your words, and how great confidence I repose in your goodness, since I dare beg so boldly, a favour I can never deserved, if you had not promised it me, and which I press you to pay me with as much rigour as if it were a just debt, though it be only an effect of your indulgence and liberality. And since you have ever expressed so much inclination to that Virtue, I think you will not be a little pleased to see, that, in spite of Fortune you can still practise it, and that it is in your power to do him a Courtesy who desires it of you. All I can assure you, is, that it shall be well employed, and duly acknowledged, and that you shall not in any thing make a greater demonstration of your Goodness, then by assuring me of the honour of your affection, and giving me leave to pass every where under the quality of  
My Lord, Your, etc. Brussels, Aug. 25, 1634.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER LXI.  
Madam,  
I Have not passed one Hour of the day wherein I read not the Letter you writ to me at midnight, and though I am not wont to be much pleased with the courtesies are done me at those hours, yet I have entertained this with more satisfaction than can be expressed. Having considered it well, I have found it not to proceed from one asleep, and am confirmed in the judgement I sometimes made of you, that at that time your mind is more vigilant, more clear, and more vigorous than at any other. While I would find out the reason of it, I shall not admit the least suspicion of any ill of you, nor take notice as a strange thing, that you keep Robin-good-fellows hours. I am more inclined ' to believe, your understanding knows no night, and being, as it is, a spring of Light, the obscurity which makes others dull and heavy, cannot hurt it; for when all things else are covered with it, that breaks forth with greater lustre, the shadow of the Earth being as unable to reach it as the stars. Though I expressed myself in terms yet fuller of Hyperboles, I humbly beseech you to conceive me far from speaking so much good of it as I have received from it. The choice it furnished you with of three or four words, which render your last Letter more obliging then all the rest, hath raised in me unhoped for enjoyments, and forced on me a joy I make some difficulty to entertain, as being such as I ought not to be capable of but in your presence. But, Madam, be pleased to consider the extent of your Empire, at the very moment that you writ and wished our misfortunes at an end the Elbenes departed hence to find out some remedy therein, the Heavens began to clear up, and gave us greater likelihood than ever. Which since it is so, and that in you to do good and to wish it, is the same thing, I humbly beg the continuance of your good desires for us. I can easily imagine that sufficient to raise some fortunate emergency; your good fortune will qualify the malignity of ours, and you can contribute more than any one to that accommodation, which so many are engaged to bring about. But Madam, be pleased it may be suddenly, for, to deal truly with you, I am almost out of myself to see the Miracles that are at Paris. I do not think the Lady you mention to Monsieur de Chaudebonne can discover the greatest, when the ape, who was taught to play on the Guitarhe, could also sing to it. I know where there are things far more extraordinary, and where I may see greater wonders; besides that, as to my own particular, I shall show you one beyond all, which is the change of my humour, which I promise you, shall be if not as noble, equally constant as yours. Fear not therefore Madam, that a Melancholy which you dissipate at such a distance, can ever come near you, and trouble not yourself for the loss of my Letters, when you shall have me; I shall make you acknowledge I am better than they, and find I have not put my best thoughts into writing. In a word, I dare assure you, that unless it be in abundance of grey hairs, there hath happened no change in me which is not for the better; though I doubt not but those will fall with the cares that begat them, and questionless I shall become quite another man then what I am, when I shall be able to tell you myself with how great passion I honour you, and how much I am,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Brussels Oct. 15. 1634.   

To the Same. LETTER LXIL  
MADAM,  
I Know not who those Abencerrages are whom you prefer before me, but I conceive they were no more born in Granada then I was. The greatest advantage haply they have over me, is, that they are neat you, and that all my crime, is, that I am at so great a distance. You have indeed reason to believe me guilty of some enormous offence, since Heaven punishes it so heavily, nor do I wonder much you should condemn me thereupon, nor that you should be deaf to the reasons of a man that makes his defence so far off. It hath been the custom of all Gentlewomen both Moors and Christians to do so. Yet I should wish, that while you deprive me of your Friendship, you would not endeavour my dishonour, and that you would not take so much pains to accuse me, only to clear yourself. You might with more humanity follow the example of Madam— and Mademoiselle— the former without alleging any reason in the world, broke off all correspondence with me on a sudden, conceiving that in time things would come to that pass. The other hath forsaken me but lately; but as without dishonour, so without noise, and growing silent through pure weariness of talking, speaks no more of me, neither good nor ill. But however, Madam, if there be that little remainder of Justice in your mind as to think that Friends are not to be forsaken without some pretence, I wonder you could bethink you of no better, since you are so fortunate as to invention, and have ever dressed up your Fables with so much probability. Besides Madam, you have not judged so favourably as you ought of the Letters you have seen of mine, if you think that Monsieur Mandate hath received the more excellent. My judgement of yours is otherwise, and, though I knew nothing of those you writ to others, I durst swear you never writ better. It must be a Goodness great as mine to speak after his manner, and I am the only man can celebrate the Satyrs are written against me. To be serious, a man that undergoes ill so mildly, deserves Good should be done him, and it should be some affliction to you to treat with so much rigour a person that takes it with so much patience, and who is, with so much constancy,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. LXIII.  
MADAM,  
I Should have torn this Letter after I had received yours, if I had credit enough for what you write to me; but I am so accustomed not to receive any thing but what's ill, that I must now expect nothing else, Peace itself being suspected when it is offered by you. I wish heartily there were some mark of reconciliation between us, as there is between Heaven and Mankind, and that you know some means how I might be as much assured of your promises as I am afraid of your Threats. I look on it as a good omen, that Mademois●le— who had a while since forsaken me hath renewed her correspondence with me; me thinks she is your Rainbow, and like that in the Heavens, appears after the Tempest. It was never seen while Heaven was incensed against me, and while it thundered and lightened. The truth is, the season was so tempestuous, that I had given over all thoughts of remedy and given myself for lost. Being in this posture, Madam, you may imagine with what joy I opened my eyes to those beams which you darted on me through so much obscurity; but I must confess I dare not be over-confident. I know you many times condescend to a reconciliation, that you may take a greater pleasure to fall out again. I am afraid the light you show me should be a false one, and that this light is but the flash of the Lighting, and the surprisal of the Blow which haply it will not belong ere I feel. If it be otherwise; and that it is a true peace you grant me, I entertain it which such a heart as you would desire, and with what conditions and Qualifications you are pleased to accompany it with. But Madam I must have this proviso in, that you would acknowledge my Innocence, and confess that you did not so much as suspect me to be guilty of those crimes, which you pretended to accuse me of. Till this be granted, and you have made me full satisfaction, I cannot answer your demand concerning Chocolate, nor speak of Comedies, when my mind is full of Tragedies: Yet I could not avoid laughing, when I read what you say, that Monsieur de R is as fierce and full of blows as My Lord Amadis. Your Eloquence is not so high flown as to raise any wonder in me, for I have ever foreseen it. That which I am more surprised with, is, that you are become so infinitely pleasant. You may say what you please of Madam de S— I cannot entertain the least suspicion of her fidelity. They are considerable eulogies of her Servant, that he is handsome, young, and a Gascon; but when all is done, you shall find she will be simple enough not to forsake me for him. It is ten years since, I have known by experience how she hath treated the handsome and the young; and for the Gascon, it's a quality you will not number among those that shall pretend to any love from her, if you call to mind I have heretofore told you that she said of one, that he was either a Gascon or Picard. I am not much taken with his finding of epris in her Anagramme, I have found prisé, which happens somewhat mischievously. To come to the worst, Madam, I can find here, when I please myself, a Mistress handsome as the Infanta Briana, amorous as Mademoiselle Arlande, and strong and fleshy as Madam Gradafilea. I speak seriously, one of the stoutest Whenches in all the 17. Provinces longs to be acquainted with me. But Monsieur de Chaudebonne advises me not to hazard myself with her. In the interim, I make this Letter too long, where I thought to have said but one word to you, and Mademoiselle d'A— would think it guilty of very little gallantry since I speak of so many persons in it besides yourself. But Madam, how infinitely should I be obliged if you would but afford me a handsome Letter for her! If you deny me this favour grant me at least another I beg of you, to let me know what condition I am in with you, and whether you have prolonged the four years you had assigned me to live. You shall dispose of me as you please; but to be just, you ought to own more humanity towards me, for I am infinitely,  
Your, etc.  
The poor rogue will be well in time, he is almost recovered already. I humbly thank the sage Enchantress who hath furnished me with the adventure of Astaranax; I think there never was any thing so dreadful as her Hell should be, and I imagine I see there Cerberus, the three Furies and all their Snakes, in one only person. But what part does poor— act amongst this damned crew?   

To the same. LETTER LXIV.  
MADAM,  
BEing so infinitely obliged, as I am to Madame de C— ay should be ashamed, not to have mentioned her; but in a Letter wherein I said nothing of your Lady-Mother, me thinks I might be pardoned a forgetfulness of all the World. I believe it was she writ the four lines in Spanish, of King Chiquito: I am not well acquainted with her hand; but I know the ordinary air of her writing, is so Sprightly and so particular in her, that a man cannot be deceived in it, as being such as n●ne can imitate. For what concerns you, Madam, I now tell you softly, and in a meaner stile than the beginning of this Letter, and consequently the more to be credited, that I look on all; I receive from you as so many Miracles. They are much beyond those for which I admired you so much heretofore, and which I thought the noblest in the World; and though I am not much guilty of envy, I should be much troubled, there were any man in France could write as well as you. Mademoiselle Paulet is not pleased to honour me with a Letter; The large Letters I writ to her out of Spain, I perceive have tired her: I shall easily reform that, and it will be much more easy for me, to avoid over-writing to her, then overloving her. The only man of whom I have said nothing, seems to be only he of whom I never should, it being more necessary, I should give him some assurance of my discretion, than my affection: My speaking so often of those that are about him, will satisfy him, that it is not out of forgetfulness; that he is only unmentioned, and that he can never entertain that opinion of me, as that I could forget a person, whom I ought to honour and serve beyond all the World, upon so many different accounts: But I know not why he says, we shall have so many disputes about the Spanish; unless it be that having always had the advantage of me in all those, we have had together heretofore, and what pleasure it is to dispute and to overcome, he will needs prepare that entertainment for me against my return by challenging me on a subject, wherein I have all the advantage that may be. I presume, Madmae, on your pardon, For all I have added in this Letter, since it concerns such as you love no less than yourself. Be pleased further to give me leave to tell your Brother, that I love him as much now, as when I bid him Adieu; and that I am his most humble and most dutiful Servant. I once more Madam kiss your hands for the honour, I receive by your writing to me. I am not so much joyed to be here myself as to find your Letter here; but if you can condescend to so much goodness for me; I should wish they were somewhat less eloquent, so they were more passionate. I speak seriously, you frighten me, and when I see your mind so highflown, me thinks it is impossible, I should ever reach it, or have any place therein. Among so many fair Words, let there be some good ones. Rid me of this fear; for to deal truly with you, I stand in much need of, and in some sort deserve something, of your care.   

To my Lord the Duke of Bellegarde. LETTER. LXV.  
My Lord,  
MR de Chaudebonne is guilty of the boldness, I take to write to you, as being the only comfort he could give me in the affliction, he sees me almost o'erwhelmed with: 'tis true, my my Lord, the trouble I take not to have found you here, I number among the greatest, I have met with in this Country. I prepared myself for this banishment, the more out of some hopes I might spend it in your Company, and doubted not to find France wherever you were; But this would have been too great a comfort for a man destined to unhappiness, nor is Fortune ever so favourable to those she persecutes. In the interim my Lord, I look on it as a good presage, that she is pleased, we should be at some reasonable distance from you; and have some faith, she will be reconciled with us; if she once afford us the happiness of your presence. For to be ingenuous, My Lord, I cannot imagine she hath absolutely forsaken you, and there needs no more than her sex to argue, she cannot have you; and that she will shortly see you again. But though you want her, you are not without that extraordinary prudence, and height of courage, which attends you every where, and which you have not long since so nobly expressed, that I question whether those unfortunate years have not been more advantageous to you then others. I could easily, My Lord, spin out this discourse to a great length; but I would not be thought indiscreet, in the management of the freedom is allowed me—   

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. LXVI.  
My Lord,  
I would gladly know how long it is since you questioned, whether the four last Books of the Aeneids were written by Virgil or not, and whether Terence be the true Author of Phormio. I should not ask so confidently; but you know that in Triumphs Soldiers are wont to jest with their Commanders, and that the joy of a Victory permits that freedom, which without it might not be assumed. Confess therefore freely, how long it is since you have thought on little Erminia in the Verses of Catullus, or those of Monsieur Godeau. But, My Lord, though you had forgotten all the rest, you should ever be mindful of his Benedicite; for no man had ever so much cause to say it as you, or was so highly obliged to render thanks to the Lord of Hosts: To do you right, the Conduct and Fortune whereby you have secured us, is one of the greatest Miracles ever were seen in War; and all the circumstances so extravagant; that I should put them into the Chapter of Apparent falsities, were there not so many witnesses, and that I am satisfied nothing of Miracle can happen to you, which ought not to be believed. The joy wherewith all you love here are filled at this news, is a thing beyond all representation: But can you imagine, My Lord, that those Persons who were heretofore ravished at your singing and Poetry, must needs be now infinitely satisfied, when they hear it said that you raise sieges, take Cities and defeat Armies, and that the greatest hope of good success in our Affairs lies in you. I assure you, this is entertained here with the greatest resentment you could wish, and, which is more than you think; your Arms gain Victories, more desirable than all those you can have beyond the Rhine. How amibitious soever you may be, that consideration should engage you to return, for assure your self, My Lord, a Battle is not now the noblest thing that may be gained, and you will acknowledge yourself, that there may be a Rose or a Shoestring, fit to be preferred before nine Imperial Ensigns. I am  
My Lord, Your, etc. Paris, Oct. 23. 1635.   

To the same. LETTER LXVII.  
My Lord,  
I Have shown Monsr. de St. H— Monsr. de St. R— and Monsr. de St. Q— that passage of your Letter where you speak of my Lord's menial Servants; I am to acquaint you, that they have taken it very ill, and am confident, that Mr des Ousches, to whom I have not yet communicated it, will be of the same opinion. So that, were I to arm myself against your menaces, you may easily judge, I shall not want Friends, and that my writing to you now proceeds not so much from fear, as from a sincere Affection, and a natural inclination, I have to obey you; Besides those I have named, this place affords a many other gallant Persons, such as it were a little more dangerous to quarrel with; who take it not well, I should take pains for your diversion, and think it unreasonable, you should take any, wanting their presence. And truly, my Lord, since your absence smothers all their enjoyments, it were but just, you should with no other than that of seeing them again; and that in the mean time you would not admit any divertisement. I can assure you, that whatever is taken here at this time, hinders them not from thinking on you, and making continual wishes for your return. The cold and snows of the Mountains of Alsatia benumb them, and make them tremble even in the greatest Assemblies; and the fear of the ambushes of the Cravates perpetually Alarms them in the midst of Paris. But what is most remarkable, and which will haply seem incredible to you, is that I have observed M. de B— & M. de R— melancholy in the midst of the Bal, and that upon your account, and sighing in the height of the Music. What judgement, My Lord, or what advantage you will make of it; I know not, but for my part, let them do what they can hereafter, I am confident they shall never be able to give you a higher expression of their affection. Taking out the other day the last Letter, you honoured me with, and reading that passage where you tell me, that you were upon your departure; instead of saying into Alsatia, I read Thracia. Iron-armes, who, you know, is not wont to be easily moved at any thing grew as pale, as a clout, and said, full of amazement, into Thracia Sr. and another who stood by, and is a little better acquainted with the Globe than the other, could not but be a little disturbed. I would gladly entertain your Lordship, with something concerning your Spouse; but I know not what to say of her, for whatever shall be said of her will be incredible, and there is not any thing in her, exceeds not the limits of description. Whatever you have observed in her, that might raise love or admiration, is augmented hourly, and there are daily discovered in her new Treasures of beauty, wit and generosity. But with all I dare assure you, she hath in your absence behaved herself, with all the circumspection you could wish. I know there is a certain report, which questionless hath raised in you some jealousy; for I am not ignorant of the humours of your Africans; and it is true, there is a young gallant of a good family, and who may one day come to a good estate, who waits upon her often; but I assure you, that all this notwithstanding, she hath no other apprehensions than those of a most discreet, and most reserved Woman, and such as you yourself may have instilled into her. To be free with you, my Lord, if your heart be not grown brawny among the Swedes, the remembrance of all these Persons might raise in you a great desire of returning, and how strong soever the charms of Fame may be, you should not think them stronger than theirs. Hasten therefore your return as much as you can, and for a while at least; let them be the objects of your ambition; for though Fortune attended you with victory even to Prague, I do not conceive you really in her favour, while she keeps you at a distance hence. There are no Conquests beyond the Rhine, not beyond Danuhius, can absolutely satisfy you; and all Germany cannot balance the suburbs of one City, that is on this side. I am,  
My Lord, Your, &c   

To the Same. LETTER LXVIII.  
MY LORD,  
YOu think it seems, there's no more to do, then to write, and speak as slightly of it, as may be expected from a man that hath nothing else to do, then to command twelve thousand men, and oppose thirty; but if you were taken up with the sight and consideration of three or four Persons that are here, you would find abundance of other employment for your thoughts. Were you in my place, you would think time as precious as I do; I would to Heaven you were, that it might be seen how well you would come off, with the assistance of that Conduct, which you are so much celebrated for, and that miraculous prudence, whereby you have escaped so many other dangers. For I am to acquaint your Lordship, that when you have put a period to the War, you are now engaged in, you will be drawn into another more dangerous one here, you shall deal with an Adversary more gallant, and more stubborn than the Germane; and you, who have delivered so many millions of Souls, will have much a do to escape yourself. There is no retreat to be thought on, and there needs no more to make a total rout, than the very sight of them. There is among the rest, a certain Iron-arme, the most terrible Creature the Sun this day beholds. There is no armour can keep off his blows, he crushes whatsoever he but touches, nor are all the cruelties of the Croates comparable to his. I doubt not, but your Lordship knows whom I speak of, and that you have had some engagements with them already; but conceive not, you shall find them such as you left them. Their forces are increased very much lately, and their power is come to that height that they are grown irresistible; there passeth not a day, but they get something, though they venture for it to the gates of Paris, they take, they kill, they plunder all wherever they come; and while you are employed to defend the Frontiers, they set the heart of the Kingdom on fire. Ye● I would not this should frighten you from returning, but having known no fear in all those engagements, wherein any other would entertain not any in these; for though they put all to the Sword, yet they may haply afford you Quarter, and if you fall into their hands, they will treat you with as much mildness, as may be expected by a Prisoner of your quality. By as much as I can learn, they hope to see you in that condition, for me thinks they should not be so much overjoyed at your Victories, as I perceive they are, if they thought not they would augment the Glory of theirs; but they will be transported to see at their feet the Reducer of Galas; and ●ole● the World know that he who hath been the Buckler of all France, was not able to ward off their blows: On the other side, I know they are excessively impatient of your return, and am confident, France affords not another man, whose Company they are more desirous of. I send you this intelligence, My Lord, that you may accordingly provide to make your party good; or at least, not to be so much ena●mou●'d of the tittle of a Conqueror as not to expect to lose it here. For my part, happen what will, I must confess I wish you here; for I shall not much enjoy myself, till I have the honour to see you, and to entertain you, at your own f●re side with the cares, the disquiets, and the Alarms you have given to all those that love you. I am,  
My Lord, Your, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. LXIX.  
My Lord,  
YOu must needs admit something of mortification amidst your Triumphs, in that having always the satisfaction to entertain the Children of Mars, you have a minute's patience for the entertainment of a Child of the Muses. We cannot at Paris endure, you should live so pleasantly at Ments; and not being able to hinder your enjoyments, yet we endeavour what we can to interrupt them. Yet should I not have presumed it, had I not been commanded by a certain Lady, who will not be denied any thing, and whom even those, to whom Armies and their Generals submit, would make no great difficulty to obey. I assure your Lordship that, when ever I imagine a sight of you with eight or ten great Commanders about you, I much pity Terence, Virgil, and myself, and am extremely troubled for those who here are so ambitious of your frequent remembrances; and yet I am confident there is no bastion about the place where you are, so inconsiderable, which you care not for more than you do for me: However, it is not for me to murmur. I considered there were a many others, who had greater reason to quarrel, nor was I desirous to be at difference with a man, who they say, hath the disposal of all the Marshal de la Forcès Troops. But now that I am forced to this confidence, and that there are some here, who will maintain what I write; I shall presume to tell you, that it is a very sad thing, that your affection, which not long since was divided among the most excellent Persons in the World, is now become the pillage of a sort of Soldiers. I can hardly contain myself, nay, I am at a loss of all discretion, when I think that the place which the most adorable Creature in the World had in your heart is now taken up, for the Quarters of Colonel Ebron; that Madam de C— and Madam de R— have theirs taken up by some Commissary or Major, and that you have bestowed mine on some wretched Lanspresado. This consideration, my Lord, puts us all here into an inexpressible sadness; there is but one person hath a greater constancy than the rest, and would persuade us not to believe, you can be guilty of so great an injustice. She I speak of is a Gentlewoman of— fair-haired, of a very clear complexion, more cheerful, and more beautiful than the fair weather of this season; and indeed such, as you shall not find three so handsome in all the Country of M●ssin. She hath Eyes wherein all the light in the World seems to unite and centre, a complexion that darkens all things, a mouth which all those of the World beside cannot sufficiently commend, as being full of attraction and charms, and is never shut or opened, but with the keys of wit and judgement. By the description I make of her, you will easily conclude her a beauty, far different from that of Queen Epicharis; but if she be not so much an Egyptian as she, yet hath she as good a Talon as to stealing as the other. For in her very infancy, she robbed snow and Ivory of their whiteness, and Pearls of their lustre and clearness, she took beauty and light from the Star●s, and yet there passes not a day but she gets some ray from the Sun, and is not ashamed to deck herself with it before all the World. Not long since, in an assembly at the Lovure, she took away the grace and the lustre from all the Ladies, nay from the Diamonds that covered them, and spared not even the Jewels of the Crown on the Queen's head; but took from them what was most beautiful, and most glittering. In the mean time, though all the World perceives her violence, none opposes it, she does what she pleases without any fear of punishment, and though there are those at Paris, who take Dukes and Peers the next day after they are married; yet are there not any will presume to lay hold on her: But though she have a cruelty for all the World; yet me thinks she hath a great mildness for what concerns you; she hath commanded me to tell you, she hath not those distrusts of you which others have, and in requital thereof she desires you to send her six triumphant Arches, of those are left of your entrance; four dozen of public acclamations, and the Poetical works of the Landgrave of Hesse. I advise you to answer her desire exactly, and above all things, to hold a fair correspondence with her; for if she once endeavour to do you a mischief, your Lifeguard, and your Troop, will not secure your person. Mets is not a place strong enough to shelter you from her power: But, my Lord, I consider not that I entertain you too long amidst the great affairs you have, and that if I should make my Letter any longer, I fear you would put off the reading of it, till this peace were concluded. I should indeed be much troubled you did not see the end of it, since what concerns me most, is that there you should not find the most sincere professions I make to you, That of all those whom you have so much obliged, there cannot be any, with more zeal and respect than I am,  
My Lord, Yours, &c   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, with a dozen fancies of English Ribbon, for a Discretion he had lost to her. LETTER. LXX.  
To apprehend the wit and humour of this Letter, note the French word, Galen, is ambiguous, signifying either a Fancy, or knot of ribbon, and a Gallant; and that a Discretion is a Wager, which lost it is referred to the Discretion of the Loser to pay what he pleases; there having been nothing named before.  
MADAM,  
SInce Discretion is one of the principal qualities of a Gallant, I conceive that when I send you a dozen, I am much more than out of your debt. Be not afraid to entertain so great a number, though you would never yet receive one; for I assure you, you may be confident of these, as such as shall not divulge the favours you do them: How glorious soever it may be to receive of yours, yet hath it been no small matter to have found so many of this humour, in a time when they are all so full of vanity; which indeed occasioned so long a journey as to fetch them from beyond the Sea. I need not tell you, Madam, that they are not the first of that Country, that have been well entertained in France. But these certainly are the most fortunate that ever came thence, and if you but give them a reception, they need not envy those who have waited on Princesses and Queens. For, to do you right, Madam, the Earth affords not any thing above you, and whoever were placed in your mind might presume to be in the highest place in the world. I speak confidently for a man that pays a Discretion; but be pleased to consider, that one Love-letter is little enough for a dozen Gallants, and that those for whom I write, at least, those of their Country, have such a strange way to express themselves, that they seem to discourse of Love, when they do but compliment. Take it not amiss, that, being their Secretary, I have in some sort imitated their stile, and be assured, that had I been only to speak for myself, I should have been content to tell you, Madam, that I am, with all manner of respect.  
Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. LXXI.  
MADAM,  
I could never believe it possible that the receipt of a Letter from you should add to my affliction, nor that you could ever have sent me such bad news, as that you might not comfort me up at the same time. I thought my unhappiness at such a point as could not admit of any addition, and that since you were able sometimes to strengthen my patience to endure the absence of your Lady-Mother and your own, there could not be any misfortune which you would not have encouraged me to suffer. But give me leave to tell you, that I have found the contrary in the affliction, I have for the death of Madam Aubry, which hath been heavy enough to crush me, and wanted not much of spending the remainders of my patience. You may easily judge, Madam, what an excessive grief it must needs be to me to have lost a friend so good, so considerable and so accomplished as she, and one that having always given me so many expressions of her affection, would needs do something when she had not many hours to continue here. But though I reflected not on my own concernments; yet could I not but infinitely regret a person by whom you were infinitely loved, and who, among many particular endowments, had that of knowing you as much as may be, and esteeming you above all things. Yet I must confess, that if this disturbance can admit any remission, it is, to reflect on the constancy she expressed; and the fortitude wherewith she hath suffered a thing whereof the name would make her tremble at any time. I am extremely comforted to understand, that at her death, she had those qualities which only she wanted in her life, and that she so opportunely found courage and resolution. When I consider it seriously, it is somewhat against my conscience to bemoan her, and me thinks it speaks an over-interessed affection, to be sad because she hath left us to better her condition, and is gone into the other World to find that quiet she could never meet with in this. I very heartily entertain the exhortations yo give me thereupon, which is, often to con a lesson so profitable and necessary, and to prepare myself for the like one day, I know how to make my advantage of your remonstrances, and this is not the first time that I must acknowledge my reformation their effect. The miseries we have run through all this while is no small preparation for it; There's no better lecture to instruct a man how to die well, than not to take much pleasure in living. But if it be not impossible for the hopes that Fortune proposes to prove effectual; if after so many unhappy years, we may presume to expect some few fair days, be pleased to give me leave, Madam, to entertain thoughts more divertive than those of death; and if it be true that we are likely shortly to see one another; let me not yet fall out with my life. Where you say that you think me destined to great things, you give so great security of my life and give so happy a presage of the adventures that shall happen to me, that I shall not be sorry it continue yet a while. For my part, if destiny doth promise me any thing that is good, I assure you, I will do my utmost to get it. I will contribute all I can thereto, that your Prophecies may be fulfilled. In the mean time, I humbly beseech you to be confident, that of all the favours I can beg of Fortune, what I most passionately desire, is, that she would do for you what she ought, and for myself only afford me the means to acquaint you with the passion, obliges me to be so much.  
Madam Your, etc.  
Madam, give me leave to return my most humble thanks to my Lady Marchioness for the honour of her Remembrances, by sending me word that she admires me; but her silence teaches me how I ought to reverence her.   

To the Same. LETTER LXXII.  
I cannot for a Brevet owe you less than a Letter, and how fair soever the Words I put in it may be, they will not be so rich as those of the Parchment you have procured for me; since those of that amount to ten thousand Crowns. Monsieur de Puy-Laurens hath dispatched it to me with all the care and diligence that could be expected. I had indeed some suspicion, that he, who hath in his time done so great things for the Ladies, would not be wanting on this occasion, to serve the most accomplished of all, and was confident the most excellent mouth in the World could not have been opened ineffectually upon my account; This good fortune having once happened to me, I imagine there is not any but may, and me thinks the least I can expect is to be rich, since it is your desire I should be happy. In the mean time, though I am not much taken up with the things that relate to my own settlement; yet I must confess I have entertained this with extraordinary joy, and should think myself over-interessed in this occurrence; were it not, that what I consider of greatest importance in this favour, is that I owe it your procurement. And certainly, those who place riches among things indifferent, would not rank your good inclinations among them; and for my part, I think it unjust to number amongst the goods of Fortune, a benefit that virtue hath obtained for me. I conceive, Madam, I may without any Indecorum call you so, and if I am not misinformed of your proceedings, you may with much more right take that name, than tha● you go under: At least this may be affirmed, she never appeared so glorious to the World as she doth in you, and those who have known her heretofore, and said, she would raise in all men a love of her, if she were but seen naked, would have found her more powerfully attractive clothed with your person. And certainly when I consider that conflux of Miracles, and that diversity of favours heaven has showered on you, me thinks, that for which I now send you my acknowledgements, is the least you ever did me. The place you sometimes give me leave to take in your closet, I prefer before that you have gotten for me, and I think you cannot lay a greater obligation on me, then that of your sight and company. And yet, Madam, it is not impossible; but that the last you have done me is more to be esteemed than it appears; and since it is not yet known on whom you have bestowed me, it may be the courtesy will prove greater than you have imagined; for haply you have made a present of me to a Mistress, who shall deserve the addresses of all the World, one that shall have a great, noble, and liberal soul, a high and generous heart, a person accomplished, full of attractions and charms, and shall have for all men those secret allurements, which every one finds in her whom he particularly loves. She will have, it may be, a wit beyond all imagination, full of fire and flame bright and pure, as that of the Angels; will be seen in all excellent learning; acquainted with three or four Languages; understand the Situation of the earth as that of little Luxembourg; know the motions of the Heavens, the names and places of all the Stars, and when all's done, not any among them so bright, so clear, or so strongly influenced as herself. You will give me leave, Madam, to wish it may happen so, as also to make vows for it, since I can make more advantageous ones for the good of France than you; besides the hope I have, that mine may be answered when those of others shall not, endeavour not therefore, I beseech you, ever to divert me from this wish; for I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the same. LETTER. LXXIII.  
MADAM,  
SInce my addresses to you are in an honourable way, I think there's no gallantry, which I may not safely practise, and that having p●e●ented you with verses, I may well send you posies. 'Tis a present which the Gods have deigned to receive from men, and since Flowers are the purest and noblest productions of the Earth; I think there is not any to whom they may be with more justice offered then to you; at least you ought to love them for this consideration, that there is not one among them, whose beauty is not attended by some virtue, and that they will not be touched, not even by Kings nor Princes. But though they are the Daughters of the Sun and Aurora, and dispute for lustre with Pearls and Diamonds, I am confident they will lose their brightness as soon as they come near you; and you discover, that the beauties of the Earth are not comparable to those of Heaven. I doubt not, Madam, but you will give me leave to call yours so, nor that you, who in all things represent Heaven, will deny it the honour of having alone produced so excellent a person. It were too great an advantage to the things below, to rank you among them, and since we are commanded to despise them; there is much reason to believe you are not of them, since Madam, you are the object of the esteem and affection of all that see you, and have never cast your Eye on any rational soul, which you have not gained. I see what consequence you may draw hence, if you think me endued with one; but Madam, I humbly entreat you to believe, the greatest effect you have caused in it, is that of admiration, and that I am in all manner of respect,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Monsieur— After the re-taking of Corbie, from the Spanjards by the King's Forces. LETTER. LXXIV.  
SIR,  
I Must needs acknowledge, I love to be revenged, and that after I had suffered you, for two months together to laugh at the good hopes I had of your affairs, had heard you condemn the conduct thereof by the events, and seen you triumph for the victories of our Enemies, I am not a little glad, to acquaint you that we have retaken Corbie. This news will no question, startle you as well as all Europe, and you will think it strange, that those people, whom you think so circumspect, and who have particularly this advantage over us, to keep well what they have once gotten, have suffered a place to be retaken on which it was imagined all the bruned of the War would have fallen, and which being kept or retaken, should for this year have disposed the reward, and honour of arms to one side or other. In the mean time we are the Masters of it, those who were cast into it, were glad the King gave them liberty to be gone, and have cheerfully left the Bastions they had raised, and under which it was thought they would have been interred. Consider then, I pray, the issue of that expedition, which hath made so much noise. It is three years since the Enemy hatched this design, and threatened us with this Tempest. Spain and Germany had done all that lay in their power towards it; the Emperor had sent his ablest Commanders, and his best Cavalry; the Army of Flanders had contributed their best Troops. Of these is formed an Army of 25000 Horse, 15000 Foot, and 40 pieces. This cloud great with thunder and lightning is disburdened on Picardy, which it finds unprovided, our Armies being engaged elsewhere. They presently take in la Capelle, and le Castelct; they set upon, and ●n nine days, take Corbie. Now are they Masters of the River, they cross it; they overrun all that lies between Somme, and Oize, and while no body opposes them, courageously keep the Field, put our peasants to the sword, and burn our Villages. But upon the first news they received, that Monsieur was advancing towards them with an Army, and that the King was not far behind him, they retreat, fortify themselves behind Corbie, and understanding they were marching towards them with all expedition, our Conquerors quit their entrenchments. These valiant and warlike people, and who you say are born to command others▪ fly before an Army which they gave out consisted only of our Coachmen and lackeys; and those people that should have broke through France to the Pyrenaean Mountains, who threatened to sack Paris, and breaking into our Lady's Church, should have taken away the Colours gotten at the Battle of Avein, give us leave to draw lines about a place of so great importance, time to raise Forts, and soon after to storm and take it, while they were content to be only spectators. You see the consequence of Picolom●ni's bravadoes, who sent his Trumpeters, one while to tell us, that he wished us more powder; another, that a supply of Horse was coming to us, and when we were furnished with both, he took good care not to stay for us. So that, Sir, besides la Capelle, and le Castelet, places of no consideration, all the business of that great and victorious Army hath been to take Corbie, to return it again, and to put it into the King's hands with a Counterscarp, three Bastions, and three half Moons, which it had not before. If they had taken ten other places, with the same success, o●r Frontiers were in a better condition; as likely to have been better fortified by t●em, than those who hitherto have had Commission to do it. Do you think the re-taking of Amiens, was any thing of greater importance, or more glorious than this? At that time the Forces of the Nation were not otherwise diverted, all were joined together upon that design, and all France was engaged before one place. Here on the contrary, we were forced to take this in the heat of a many other Affairs, which took us up of all sides, in a time when the State seemed to be absolutely exhausted, and in a season wherein, besides the men, we had also the Heavens to fight with. And whereas before Amiens the Spaniards got an Army together but five months after that siege to force us to raise it, they had one of 40000 at Corbie before this War was laid. I am confident, if this accident make you not a good Frenchman, it will at least raise in you an indignation against the Spaniards, and will exasperate you against a sort of people that have so little manhood, and can make so little benefit of their advantages. In the mean time, those who out of disaffection to the Governor, hate their own Country, and to ruin one man could wish all France destroyed; laughed at all the preparations we made to prevent that surprise. When the Troops we raised here had taken their march towards Picardy, they said, they were only Victims sent to be sacrificed, to our Enemies; that that Army would moulder away with the first Rains, and that the Soldiers being raw and undisciplined would run away at the first of the Spanish Troops. Even afterward, when those ●roops wherewith we were threatened were retreated, and that a design was laid to block up Corbie, the resolution was thought irrational. They said, it was impossible, but that the Spaniards should have furnished it with all things necessary, having had two months' time to do it; and that we might consume before that place many millions of Gold, and many thousands of men, to recover it haply in three years. But when it was resolved, it should be assaulted in the midst of November, there was not any one that cried not out. The best affected acknowledged▪ there was some precipitation in the business, and there w● need not others who plainly said, that out of a fear that our men should not die fast enough through misery and want of bread, they would needs have them drowned in their own Trenches. For my part; though I was not to learn the inconveniences, that attend sieges undertaken in that season, yet I suspended my judgement. I thought those who sat at the helm, had seen the same things which I did, nay much more than I saw; that they would not inconsiderately engage in the besieging of a place, on which all Christendom had its eyes; and therefore as soon as I was assured that it was assaulted, I was in a manner confident it would be taken. For, to speak impartially, we have sometimes observed my Lord Cardinal himself mistaken in those things which he hath entrusted to the conduct of others; but in the enterprises whereof he would see the execution himself, and which he hath encouraged with his presence, we have never known him miscarry. I therefore was satisfied, that he would overmaster all difficulties, and that he, who had taken Rochel in spite of the Ocean, would easily reduce Corbie notwithstanding the Rains and the Winter: But since it comes so pertinently in my way to speak of him, and that it is three months since I durst presume to do it; give me leave now, and take it not ill, if amidst the remission this news hath wrought in your Spirits, I take my time to tell you what I think.  
I am not of their opinion; who endeavouring, as you say, to convert Eloges into Briefs, screw up all my Lord Cardinal's Actions into Miracles; celebrate his praises beyond what those of men might or aught to aspire to, and out of a desire of having too great things believed of him, advance those that are incredible. But neither am I guilty of that malicious baseness, as to hate a man because he is above all others, nor am I carried away with the torrent of general hatreds and affections, which I know to be many times unjust. I consider him with a judgement, which passion forces not to bend either way, and I look on him with the same eyes that Posterity shall. But when within two hundred years, those who come after us, shall find in our History, that the Cardinal of Richelieu hath dismantled Rochel, overthrown Heresy, and by one single Treaty, as it were with a Trammel, taken in thirty or forty of its Cities at a cast; when they shall understand that in the time of his Ministry, the English were beaten and broken, Pignerol conquered, Casal relieved, all Lorraine joined to this Crown, the greatest part of Alsatia reduced under our power, the Spaniards defeated at Veillane and Avoin, and shall observe that while he had the steerage of our affairs, France had not a neighbour, of whom it got not either places or battles; if they have any French blood left in their Veins, or any love for the glory of their Country, can these things be possibly read and not raise in them an affection for him, and in your judgement, will they love or esteem him the less; because in his time that Revenue of the Hostel de Ville was paid some what later than it should have been, or that there were some new Officers thrust into the Exchequer? All great things cost dear, great attempts prove too violent, and strong remedies weaken; but if we are to look on States as immortal, and to consider the future advantages as present, if we cast up a right▪ we shall find this man who they say hath ruined France, hath saved it many millions, by the bare reducing of Rochel, which for these two thousand years, in all minorities of Kings, all discontents of Grandees, and all opportunities of revolt; would have been sure to rebel, and consequently obliged us to eternal expense. This Kingdom had but two kinds of Enemies, that it had need fear, the Huguenots and the Spaniards. My Lord Cardinal coming to the helm of affairs, designs the ruin of both. Could he attempt any thing more glorious, or more advantageous? He hath effected one, and hath not yet accomplished the other; but if he had failed in the former, those who now cry out, that it was a precipitate resolution, unseasonable and beyond our force to think to break, and give a check to that of Spain, as we yet find by experience, would they not also have condemned the design of destroying the Huguenots, would they not have said, that it was to no purpose to reassume an enterprise, wherein three of our Kings had miscarried, of which the late King durst not think on? And would they not have concluded, as falsely as they now do in the other business, that the thing was not feisible, because it had not been done? But let us consider, I pray, whether it may be attributed to him or to Fortune, that he hath not effected that design. Let us consider what course he took to do it, and what Engines he set on work. Let us see whether he wanted much of overturning the great Tree of the House of Austria, and if he shaked not to the very Roots that trunk, which with two of its boughs covers the North and the East, and ore-shadowes the rest of the Earth. He went under the Pole to find out the Heros, who seemed to be destined to put the axe to it, and lay it on the ground. He was the Spirit that animated that thunder, which hath filled Germany with fire and lightning, the noise whereof hath been heard all over the World: But when this Tempest was blown over, and that Fortune had diverted the stroke, did he sit down content? Did he not afterward put the Empire into greater hazard, than it had been by the loss of the Battles of Leipsic and Lutzen? His policy and his intrigues got us presently an Army of 40000 men, in the very bowels of Germany, with a General who had all the qualities requisite to work a change of State. But if the King of Sweden would hazard himself beyond what a person of his designs and quality should, and if the Duke of Fridland's design was discovered, because not put timely in execution; could he charm the bullet that took away the former in the midst of his Victory, or make the latter invulnerable to the thrusts of a Partisan? And if after all this, to bring all things to a total ruin, those who commanded the Army of our Allies before Norlinghen gave Battle at an unseasonable time, was it in my Lord Cardinal's power, being 200 leagues off, to change that resolution, and stop the precipitation of those, who for an Empire (for that was the prize of that Victory,) would not expect three days? You see then that to secure the House of Austria, and to divert his designs, which are now thought so temerarious, Fortune was forced to do three miracles, that is, to bring about three great accidents, which in all likelihood should not have happened; the death of the King of Sweden, that of the Duke of Fridland, and the loss of the Battle of Norlinghen. You will tell me that he ought not to quarrel with Fortune, for crossing him herein, since she hath been such a faithful Servant of his in all other; that it was she by whose assistance he took places before they were besieged, who hath made him a fortunate Commander of Armies without experience; who hath as it were always led him by the hand, and delivered him out of those precipices into which he was fallen, and in a word, who hath made him appear valiant, wise, and circumspect. Let us consider him in the displeasure of Fortune, and see whether he were defective as to wisdom conduct, or courage. Our affairs were not over successful in Italy, and as it is the fate of France, to gain Battles and loose Armies, ours was extremely weakened since our late Victory over the Spaniards. We were not much more fortunate before Dole, where the continuance of the siege gave us occasion to expect no good success of it, when intelligence came that the Enemy was gotten into Picardy, that he had immediately taken lafoy Capelle, le Castelet, and Corbie, and these three places which should have found them work for divers months, had hardly kept them eight days. All is a fire even to the banks of the River Oise; we could see from our suburbs the smoke of the Towns they burned us; all take alarm, and the Metropolis of the Kingdom is in disturbance. Upon this, news comes from Burgundy that the siege of Dole was raised; and from Xain●onge that 15000 peasants are revolted and keep the Field, and that it was much feared Poicto and Guyenne might follow their example; Ill news come one in the neck of another, Heaven is all overcast, the tempest falls on us of all sides, and there appears not from any the least beam of good Fortune. Amidst all this obscurity, was not my Lord Cardinal as well sighted as before, did he loose fight of the North Star in all this Tempest; hath he not held the rudder with one hand, and the compass with the other; hath he got into the skiff to save himself, and when the great Vessel, he was in, seemed near a wrack, hath he not been as willing to perish with it as any other? Is it Fortune that led him out of this Labyrinth, or was it his own prudence, constancy and magnamity? Our enemies are not fifteen Leagues from Paris, and his are within it. Every day discovers some plots laid to ruin him. France and Spain, conspire, as a man may say, against him alone. Amidst all this, what face hath that man put upon it, who they say was startled at the least ill success, and who had caused Haure de Grace, to be fortified to cast himself into it, upon the first frown of Fortune? Yet all hath not forced him to step back; his thoughts were taken up with the hazards of the State, and not his own, and all the change could be seen in him, in all this time, was, that where before he was not wont to go abroad without a Guard of two hundred, he is now content with the attendance of five or six Gentlemen. It must certainly be acknowledged, that an adversity born with so much courage and gallantry is to be preferred before much prosperity and Victory; I thought him not so victorious the day he entered Rochel, as he seemed to me then, and the journeys he made from his own House to the Arsenal, I look on as more glorious for him, than those he made beyond the Mountains, and which brought along with them Pignerol and Suze. Open therefore your eyes, I beseech you, to so much light, envy not any longer a man who can with so much Fortune be revenged of his enemies, and cease to wish him ill, who can turn it to his glory, and bear it with so much courage. Forsake your party before it forsake you; nor are they a small number, of those that were dis-affected to my Lord Cardinal, that are converted by the last Miracle he did. And if the War shall end, as there is some ground to hope, it will not be long ere he reduce all the rest. Being wise as he is, so much experience must needs have taught him what is best; and he will direct all his designs to render this State the most flourishing of any, after he hath made it the most terrible. He will bethink him of an Ambition more noble than any other, and which no man reflects on; which is, to become the best and best-beloved man in the Nation, and not the most powerful and most feared. He knows that the noblest and most ancient Conquests are those of Hearts and affections. That Lautel is a fruitless plant, which affords at best but a shade, and is not to be compared to the fruits and harvests, which are the Crowns of Peace. He sees that it merits not so much elegy to add a hundred Leagues to the Frontiers of a Kingdom, as to take off one penny of the Tax; and that there is less reputation and true glory, to defeat 100000 men, then to settle and secure twenty millions. So that this great Intelligence who hath hitherto been employed, in finding out ways to defray the charges of the War, in raising men and money, in taking of Cities and gaining Battles, will be henceforth taken up wholly in introducing & settling peace, wealth, and abundance. The same head that was delivered of Pallas armed, shall restore her with her Olive, peaceable, mild and knowing, and attended by all those Arts which ordinarily accompany her. We shall have no more new Edicts; but such as tend to the regulation of Luxury, and settling Commerce: Those great vessels that were built to carry our Arms beyond the straits, shall be employed in convoying our Merchants, and keeping the Sea open, where we shall have no War but with Pirates. Then shall my Lord Cardinal's enemies have nothing to say against him, as they have hitherto been unable to do any thing. The Citizens of Paris shall be his Guards, and he will find how much more pleasant it is to hear his praises in the mouth of the people then in that of Poets. Prevent that time I conjure you, and delay not your being one of his Friends till you are forced to it. But if you will needs persist in your opinion, it is not my endeavour to force you out of it; but withal be not so unjust, as to take it amiss that I have maintained mine; and I promise you, I will patiently read whatever you shall write to me, when the Spaniards shall have once more retaken Corbie. I am,  
Sir, Yours, &c Paris, Dec. 24. 1636.   

To Madam— LETTER. LXXV.  
MADAM,  
SInce yesterday hath seemed longer to me then the three last months, wherein I had not seen you, and that there is not any one here will be troubled with my Letters, give me leave to write to you, and to tell you that I never was so deeply in love. Three or four things of those you said to me that day have so taken up my thoughts, that I have not been able to apprehend any of those have been told me since. Besides, what you seemingly granted me, and which you did merely to oblige me, is like to prove my ruin, and I find by experience that when it was your intention to give me liberty, you cast me into Prison. This makes a brighter fire than the aromatic wood you had prepared for me, and it must be granted the flame of it is very pleasant since I am taken with it, even when I am devoured thereby. I do not therefore beg any relief from you in the condition I am in, I wish not any remedies that should quench it; but would rather embrace those that should augment it. My only suit to you is, that I may burn in your presence, and since I must be consumed, that it may be near you, that you may not want my Ashes. Those of a Lover so full of respect, so reasonable, and indifferent as to his own concernments, deserve to be preserved, and you cannot in justice deny that favour to a man, who takes so much pleasure to die for your sake.  
Madam, when I took pen in hand I thought only to have asked you whether you would go to morrow to the Comedy des petites Saintot; but I c●uld not but write this to you, which if I am not mistaken, signifies little less than a love-Letter, though you have not been wont to receive any such, from any of your forty three Servants. I entreat you to read this heartily: If you can avoid going abroad to morrow, you will extremely oblige me. But if you must needs be at the Comedy, deny me not your pity, and when you shall behold the several deaths there represented, reflect on those I shall at the same time suffer for you.   

To Madam de Saintot. LETTER. LXXVI.  
Madam,  
WHile you thought only to have discovered a little piece of gallantry, you have written the gallant●st Letter in the World: Though I am a great Counsellor, yet am I extremely puzzled to answer it, and must confess you understand the case better than I. I was already satisfied you had still the same great wit I have ever admired in you, and that of all things you had forgotten only me. But I must withal acknowledge, that I could not have imagined you had learned to write so well since I saw you last, or that I should ever have seen any thing from you more excellent, or such as I should have been more taken with, than what I had before. This done, fear not but I shall do all that lies in my power to put off the suit you mention, and though you have sometime commenced one very roundly against me; yet I shall not take this occasion to revenge myself. But are you not a wicked Woman to come, and disturb me thus? I was in the sweetest slumber in the World, and I question whether I shall while I live sleep so well again. I am extremely distracted that you come not to day to the Academy; for you may easily guests for whose sake I came. I shall use all my interest, that they may send a deputation to entreat your presence. But if you would but give me leave, to show your Letter there, it were enough to raise the wishes of all for your Company. Farewell; I am yours sworn, etc.   

A NOTE from Madam de Saintot, to Monsieur de Voiture.  
I Have promised you for a Servant to two fair Ladies of my Friends. I am confident you will not think the enterprise too difficult, and withal that you will make good my word, as soon as you shall have seen them.   

De Voiture's Answer. LETTER LXXVII.  
I Would gladly see, as soon as possibly you can, that which I love, for, to speak freely; I am almost out of all patience to do it; and since you have obliged me to love, be it also your care that I may be loved. My thoughts have been taken up all this night with the two persons you know; I write this love-Letter to one of them, I beseech you give it her of the two whom you think I love best. In requital of all the good Offices you shall do me, I assure you, you shall ever dispose of my affections, whi●h shall never be addressed to any one so much as yourself, till I shall be satisfied, that it is your absolute will they should be otherwise.   

To an unknown Mistress. LETTER. LXXVIII.  
Madam,  
THere never was any inclination so extraordinary or so extravagant, as what I have for you. I am absolutely unacquainted with you, and to my best remembrance, I never, in all my life so much as heard you named; However, be assured I love you, and that it is now a day since I have suffered upon your account. Though I never saw your face, yet I think it handsome, and I am taken with your disposition, though I never heard any thing said of it. I am extremely pleased with all your actions, and I imagine in you something I know not what, which makes me passionately in love with I know not whom. Sometimes I imagine you of a fair complexion sometimes of a brown, one while tall another, low, now with a hawke's nose, anon, with a thick and short one. Under all these shapes, into which put you, I think you still the most amiable thing in the World; and though I am uncertain what kind of beauty yours is, I durst swear it is the most taking of any. If your acquaintance with me being little, your affection be proportionable, I am engaged to love and the Stars. But that you may not be deceived, and imagining to find me a tall flaxen▪ haired man, be surprised when you see me, I shall, as near as I can, give you a Character of myself. My stature is two or three fingers below the meanest; my head is handsome enough, well stored with grey hairs, I am of a gentle aspect though my eyes are a little misplaced, and have a countenance simple enough for a Country-fellow. But to make amends for all this, one of your Friends will tell you, that I am the best company in the World, and to love in five or six places at a time; there's not any he, can do it with as much fidelity as myself. If you can bear with all this, I shall offer you mine upon the fi●st sight I have of you; in the interim you shall be the object of my thoughts, though I know not whom I think on, and when it shall be asked me for whom I sigh, you need not fear I shall discover you, and be withal assured, I shall never say any thing of you.   

To Madam de Saintot. LETTER LXXIX.  
I Am extremely troubled, that I cannot walk with you; for Mademoiselle la Princess, and Mademoiselle de la Trimoville, commanded me yesterday, to wait on them to Ruel. Since you take the same walk every day, do me the honour, tomorrow or the next day, which you offer me now; in requital whereof you shall dispose of me as you please; which you cannot do more freely than you do, when you bestow me thus on whom you please. You must needs keep something that is excellent for yourself when you make such presents to your Friends: but if they are handsome, as you say they are, turn me over to one of them; and let me not be divided. Could that be done, I would have it done now, that so I might go to Ruel, and wait on you two, and I assure yourself you should have the better half. The advice you give me, will make me grow weary of Mademoiselle— Madam— and Mademoiselle,— be pleased to present my most humble Services, to the Ladies on whom you have bestowed me. I wish Madam— were one, for, I was infinitely taken with her the other day. But consider, I p●ay, how much I am at your devotion. Though I know them not, yet am I not without some inclination for them, and though I have never loved two persons at the same time, yet I see I shall do any thing you shall impose on me.   

To Monsieur Arnaud, under the name of the sage Icas. LETTER LXXX.  
SIR,  
THough I were ignorant of your being a great Magician, and having the science of commanding Spirits, yet the power you have over mine, and the Charms I find in what you have written to me, would have convinced me there might be somewhat supernatural in you. With the assistance of your Characters, I have seen in a little piece of paper, Temples and Goddesses, and you have shown me in your Letter as in an enchanted Glass all the persons I love. Above all, I have observed with much delight, the Piece wherein you represent, amidst the shades, the brightest light of our ag●, and let me know the affection is born me by a Person, who can not at this day be equalled, no not by any that you know, though you are acquainted with what is past, and to come. But Sir, let me entreat you, who can discover what is most hidden, and need only say, speak Spirits, erect a figure to know what's become of that Creature, and do me the favour to let me have what you shall learn of him. It is certainly a curiosity fit to be satisfied, and I promise you not to reveal the Secret, for I shall in that, as in all other things, obey your commands, so to express myself,  
Your, &c   

To my Lady Marchioness de Rambovillet. LETTER. LXXXI.  
Madam,  
WIthout citing either sacred or profane History, whatever you write is excellent. I lay up the least Notes that fall from your hands, as I would the leaves of a Sibyl, and I study therein that height of Eloquence, which all the World seeks after, and would be but necessary to speak worthily of you. And if it be true, as you say, that I have done it, and it be possible ehat ay have given you your due praise, I may presume to have performed the hardest thing in the World, and which, as much as lay in my power, was most in my wishes. For I assure you, Madam, I have not endeavoured any thing more possionately, then to acquaint the World with two the greatest examples that ever were of an accomplished virtue, and a perfect affection, by letting it know how much you are esteemed, and how much I am,  
Madam, Your, &c   

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. LXXXII.  
MY LORD,  
I Saw divers reasons not to expect any Letters from you so soon, and easily inferred that a person who had so many things to do, could not write much. I was content to hear your name, and Victories cried up here every week, and to buy all the news I could learn of you. But certainly it was time you did me the honour I have received, the insolence of some people beginning to grow insupportable to me, who presumptuously gave out that the time of their Prophecies was come, and that I should shortly be ranked among them as a private person. Nay there wanted not those who took this occasion to tempt my fidelity. You cannot easily believe, my Lord, what advantages I have been proffered, to induce me to quit your party this winter, and to let out my claws against you twice a week. And yet though these offers have been made by the most enchanting mouth in the world, yet have I slighted them with that constancy I am obliged to have for a man of whom I have received all things, and whom I find otherwise so much to my humour that though he had ever hated me, yet could I not but respect and serve him. So that though I have at Paris those engagements, which they never want who aspire not to the conduct of Armies, and are not capable of those high passions, which at this present take up the better part of your soul; yet am I ready to take my leave of all here when ever you shall command me, and shall quit, to wait on you, a person that is young, sprightly, and black. To do this I only want a handsome pretence, and if your enemies, as I believe, will needs have their walls between you and them, and oblige you to a siege, I shall not fail to be with you; besides that, not to flatter you, I had rather be besieger then besieged, and the Spaniards are gotten so near Paris, that though I did not leave it for your sake I should for my own; All the Bridges near it are broken down, they are ready every hour to draw up the chains, and at the same time when we are terrible on the banks of the Rhine, we are not ourselves safe on those of the Seine. Amidst the trouble this disorder causes in me, I must confess, my Lord, it is some comfort to me, to see that at a time when our affairs are declining on every side they prosper on yours; and while our Army in Picardy shrinks into its Garrisons, that we have in Burgundy moulders away in its Trenches, and that we are not much more fortunate in Italy, you have seized Galas in his Trenches, you take places while he looks on, and may be only called the Conqueror and the Victorious. In a word, not to represent things otherwise then they are all the progress we have made this year is due to your conduct.  
Te copias, te consilium, & tuos  
Praebente Divos.  
Be pleased therefore, my Lord, to command me to come and share in your prosperity, and to wait on our good Fortune in that place only where it●now is. Besides that without any great pretence to valour, the exploits of Monsieur de Simpleferre suffer me not to sleep, and I have fastened to the hilt of my sword three of the little Flemish Lady's Letters, which I intend to thrust into the body of some German. Sed quid ag●? Cum mihi fit incertum tranquillo, ne fis animo, an ut in bello, in aliquâ majusculâ curâ negotione versere, labour longiùs. Cum igitur mihi erit exploratum te libenter esse visurum, scribam ad te pluribus. I have not much stuck to put in this, because it is Cicero's, and shall thrust as much Latin as I can into my Letters, since you tell me you read nothing else in them, for truly, it were great pity you should lose yours. But if you are so unfortunate as to forget it, I promise you my endeavours to recover it this winter, I will acquaint you with the most excellent passages of Virgil, Horace, and Torence; I will explain the most difficult, and will show you the secret graces, and the most undiscovered beauties of those Author's. In a word I shall return you all you have lent me, etc.  
My Lord, since the writing of this Letter comes a Messenger, who hath brought news of your being at Colmar; I assure you this news hath caused greater rejoicing in the Court then all the Balls either prepared or preparing; and particularly seven or eight persons are infinitely elevated at it. The absence of Friends may indeed be born with, when they do such things as you do, and there is not any one of those who have greatest affection for you that could rather have wished you here. To be free with you, my Lord, it is a glorious action to relieve the King's Allies in spite of winter and enemies, and that you, who bear no part in the public rejoicings, are he only who justifies, and gives us occasion to celebrate them.   

To the Same LETTER LXXXIII.  
My Lord,  
I Know no reason you have to quarrel with me, unless it be, that having your arms ready you could fall out with all the world, and foreseeing that the Spaniards will not find you work long, you seek out occasions of new differences. It's a hard thing to be a Conqueror and just at the same time, and I perceive Fortitude and Justice, are two virtues seldom lodge together in the same inn. It is not many days since I writ you a letter so large that I thought you would not have found no leisure to read it, and I do not find myself guilty of having slipped any occasion I had to discharge my duty. Though I should not, my Lord, consider the infinite obligations I owe you, and were not to give some account of myself to the person of most honour I have ever known, yet could I not avoid writing to you, as being loath to give any cause of discontent to a man who at present is the most to be feared of any in France. Under pretence, that you have a many things lie on your hands, that you do the business of a Labourer, a Soldier and a General, while you are employed about the fortifying of a Camp, and the taking of a City, to see order and justice observed in an Army, and to make disciplinable a Nation that had never yet been so; you imagine that all others are at leisure, and that none but yourself takes any pains. In the mean time, I assure you, that if I had nothing else to do here, then to hearken to those that tell news of you, and return it to others that inquire, I should not be much less employed than you are, and have very little time to write to you. Some who in other years were content with two or three hours' discourse of you, spend now six in speaking of you, without the least weariness. Those who are dissatisfied with the Government, and those who are for it, are equally inquisitive to know what you do, and there are not any to whom you are indifferent but those to whom France is such. While I write this, my Lord, I hear the Treaty with Landrecis is concluded, and that you are to march into it next Sunday. I praise God, and rejoice with you, that you have convinced strangers it is not impossible, but that we may take some of their places, and that you have dissolved the enchantment which had hindered us from it for so many years. Louvain, Valentia, and Dole, had persuaded our enemies that we should never get any thing of them, and that the most we could do was to recover what they had taken from us. The most inconsiderable places seemed to become impregnable assoo as we came before them; our Armies, which did well enough upon all other occasions, were ruined and absolutely disheartened assoon as they were engaged in a siege, and how great and victorious soever your Fortune hath been, yet was there no ditch so shallow, no work so weak but gave it some check. In fine, my Lord, you have exchanged that ill destiny, you have satisfied those that would have sent you back to Dole that they mistook you. You have, as I may say, made your Cannon be heard as far as Brussels, and the noise hath made the Cardinal Infant to retreat as far as Gaunt, instead of advancing to the relief of a place, which you were going to take from him. But what I look on as most considerable in this Action, is, the Order, diligence, and security wherewith it was done. The very day you opened your Trenches, it might have been said Landrecis was ours, and though Picolomini and all his Forces, which were such a terror to us the last year, had brought along with them thither all the power of the Empire, they could not have taken it out of your hands. We were not wont to take that course for the reducing of places, and it may be said, that the first siege you laid was the first regular one that hath been seen in France.—  
M— hath been very earnest with me to go along with him, but I have excused myself pretending affairs of great consequence, which I made him believe I had to do here. The affairs of so great consequence is a siege: I have laid to a place that is very pleasant, and excellently well situated. I have drawn my lines of circumvallation about it, after the way of Holland and yours, and Picolomini should not hinder me from taking it. Things being carried on so far it would have troubled me extremely to raise the siege, for that, among Conquerors, such as we are, is a thing insupportable.  
july 3. 1634.   

To my Lord marquis de Pisany. LETTER. LXXXIV.  
MY LORD,  
I Am very glad you are become the hardest man in the World, and that neither labour, watching, diseases, nor the lead and steel of the Spaniards can do you any injury; I could not believe that a man bred with Ptisan and Barleywater, could have such a hard skin, nor indeed that there were any Characters that could produce such an effect. However this may happen, I am confident it cannot be natural, and yet I shall not be troubled at it, for I would rather see you a Sorcerer, then in the condition of poor Attiehy or Grinville; how well soever you might be embalmed. To be free with you, what cause soever there be of death; me thinks there is still something of lowness in being dead. Avoid it before, my Lord, as much as you can, and I beseech you, hasten your return, for I can be no longer without your company; and it is in this principally that I am persuaded you use charms, that I, who am very indifferent as to those that are absent, have perpetual desires for you, and have something to say to you on all occasions. At least those, wherein I wish you are, as inviting and less dangerous than those, wherein you are daily engaged. If you will then be advised by me, take a good Horse between your Legs, and be as glad to return to Paris, as you were to leave it. As soon as I shall hear of your being there, I promise you to shake hands with Tours, Blois, and Richelieu; Monsieur and Madam de Combalet, and the Lady your Sister, to come and wait on you, with the fincere Professions of my being,  
My Lord, Your, etc. Richelieu, Oct. 7. 1637.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, with this Inscription, To the Infanta Fortune, at the Palace of the Perilques. LETTER. LXXXV.  
MADAM,  
WE are come to this place, and have not met with any adventure worth the relating to you, and the 〈…〉 shall write our History shall have nothing to say as 〈…〉 that the fifth, we came to Saumur. Yesterday, 'tis true, 〈…〉 a River, we perceived coming towards us four huge Bulls, which to my fellow-Travellers seemed enchanted; but for my part, I am satisfied they were not, because they suffered us to pass without disturbance, and did not shoot fire at their Nostrils. The day before we would have taken away a Traveller's Purse and his Horse, according to the custom of the Kingdoms of Logres, yet we did not; for, as we perceived, the man took it as an injury, and thought it as ill handling as if we should have robbed him. In a word, you cannot imagine how much Knight-errantry is decayed, we have passed above ten Bridges that were not guarded by any body, and wherever we have been entertained, they were easily entreated to take our money; which Master Lac, and I could have wished otherwise. We speak of nothing all the way but loves, and do all that lies in our power to reduce the age of Uterpendragon; but we find other people little inclined that way, and I can hardly express to you how scarce Adventures are. The two best I have met with, are, that two days since I had a Letter from the resolute Infanta, and that I have opened another, which I think the handsomest I ever saw; it is in my judgement the most perfect production of Fortune, and since she is at your disposal in all things, we shall have cause to complain of you, if we be not one day happy; for to be free with you, I think it is in your power, and that you need no more than wish it. We are resolved to be your Knights through this War; and to do such feats of arms, as shall raise a jealousy in Dom Falanges d'Astrê. In the mean time we shall not fail to send you the Giants, we shall subdue by the way; and it is proportionably to those that I would be thought,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. LXXXVI.  
MADAM,  
I Have travelled so far that I am come into a Country where there's no talk of War, Spaniards, Germans, Edicts, subsidies or loans from the people, and where there are no entertainments but those of Love, Balls, and Comedies. This will give you occasion to think that I am gotten very far, haply, that I am beyond Popocampesche; or that Fortune hath brought me into the invisible Island of Alcidiana. In the mean time, the place where this is, is not at so great distance from you; it's a City seated on the banks of the Loirc, where the Cher●isburthens ●isburthens itself into that River; the Inhabitants speak a kind of Touraine French, and are in stature and complexion; somewhat like those of France. But to be serious with you, I assure you Madam, that since the expulsion of the Moors out of Granade, there hath not been known any Gallantry ●r magnificence comparable to what is seen here; and Tours which hath been called the Garden of France, might be now, the Paradise of the Earth. There passes not a day wherein there are not Music, Balls and Banquets, whatever is delicious is here in abundance; the sweet Oranges come from all parts, and the Bon-Chrestien-Pears have not left the Country. The Highways from Paris hither are all strewed, with Violons, Musicians and Dancers, cloth of Silver, Embroidery, and Engines, which come thronging into this City. Yesterday about seven at night, came i● by Torchlight six Chariots, full of Loves, Laughters, Allurements, Attractions, and Invitations, who were got together from all parts of the World, to come to this Assembly. Nay it is reported that some of them are come from the bottom of Norway, as you may imagine by the wether it hath made; whence a many that are here believe there's not one left in the World; but that they are all come hither. And yet Madam, I doubt not but that those you were wont to converse with, have stayed behind, for amongst the many that are here, I have not met with any one of yours, nor indeed any of that kind. This arrival hath wrought strange effects all over the City; the air of it is become more serene and more mild, all men are fallen in love, all the Women become handsome, and the Lady President whom you ●aw at Richelieu, is now one of the gallantest Women in France. But Madam, what is very strange, and what haply you will think incredible, is, that amidst all these entertainments, the day is extreme burdensome to me, and from morning to night, I know not what either to say or do with so many loves. There's not one fallen to my share, and of so many Beauties, there's not any one I dare pretend to; So that while the gallants that are here, are elevated with their Fortunes, and make resolutions to live here eternally, I heartily wish myself at your fire side with Mademoiselle d'Inton, or to see you, at least; through a Glass-window, with your Lady-Mother. I know not whether I should attribute this to the two Grains, she gave me at parting, or to something else; but I never was guilty of such passionate wishes to see you both, as conceiving no happiness desirable without it. I humble beseech you, Madam, to second my wishes thereof, and to be assured, that beyond all those who desire it, I am infinitely,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Tours. Jan. 8. 1638.   

To the Same. LETTER. LXXXVII.  
MADAM,  
YOu are not to expect any Letters from me at present, but such as are tedious and importunate; and yet I cannot forbear writing to you. But you will Pardon me, if I endeavour my own diversion thus, since I have no other means to do it; for my present humour considered, that I should divert myself with Mademoiselle des Caudreaux, or with Mademoiselle Chesneau, I do not think it can fall into your imagination, or that you can believe there is any thing here, which might keep me one day from being 〈◊〉 saddest man in the World. Among the many afflictions I struggle with the trouble I am in for your health lies very heavy upon me, this last misfortune having rendered me so fearful, that, of one that feared nothing, I am become one that's frighted with any thing; and think I shall never see again, what's once got out of my sight. The more endeared any one is to me, the greater likelihood me thinks there is that I should lose him. Which if so, Madam, be pleased to consider what fear I should be in for you, and if I may not conceive that, if Fortune were to do me, a worse turn than she hath lately done me, it must be that she will have some design upon you. I am extremely impatient to get once out of these fears, and this place, to have some enjoyment of myself near you, after so great sufferings, or at least some little rest after so much disturbance. I am,  
Madam, Your, &c   

To my Lady Marchioness de Sablé. LETTER. LXXXVIII.  
MADAM,  
I Wish I had not so soon had the sight of the Letters, you sent to Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, and to— For it was my hope, that preventing your writing, and venturing my stock voluntarily in that Trade, I should have given you so signal an expression of my affection, as what I have received from you of yours. But what you have written to me is so obliging, that I must confess, I dare not pretend to any worthiness to answer it, and that the sloathfullest person in the World being in my condition, would do as much as I do. Certainly, Madam, those who will not allow you to have the tenderness you ought, must needs acknowledge, that if you are not the most amorous person in the World; yet are you the most obliging. True friendship hath not more kindness than there is in your words; and all even appearances of affection become you so well, that the most perfect souls cannot but be satisfied therewith. Yet can I not but imagine there is some charm in them for me, and though 〈◊〉 know you have in the adulterations of friendship the Secret that Monsieur— hath for Rubies, and that when you please, you can give a little paste the lustre of a precious stone; yet am I confident that what you have made with me is very substantial, and that there is not any thing more true, or more firm: For my part, I may safely say, that I have ever honoured and loved you beyond any other whatsoever, but nothing comparably to what I do now; and I dare not burden this Letter with the sentiments I have for you, lest, if it miscarry, it should be taken for a love-Letter. I do not think that passion can pretend to greater sensibility and tenderness, than what I daily feel in myself for you. Yet I cannot personate the agitations of extravagant Lovers, nor put out my tongue like Iscaron. But certain it is that since I left you, I am troubled with such fits of melancholy as almost distract me, insomuch that all the World wonders at it, nay in some hours of the day, Father Tranquillus and the little jesuit, would make no difficulty to exorcise me, for if I have known any divertisement, it hath been to entertain all people with discourse of you. It was discovered that I had been at your House, and at Loudun, so that to see me proved a general curiosity, and I was examined as one returned from Heaven or Hell. I told them, Madam, that you were as handsome as you were four years since. But when I would have told them that you were grown a greater wit, they thought I related things incredible, and there I lost all credit: And yet it cannot be denied but miracles are done in you, which never were in any, for the World never afforded any one that gained beauty by the small Pox, and was refined by a Country conversation. Mademoiselle de Rambovillet was extremely pleased with your Letter, I took it for one of the best you ever writ, and was not a little glad to see what was so much to my advantage so excellently well written. What assurance soever I had myself of your affection; yet is it a pleasure to me to see your liberality of it towards others, and confess that effeminate vanity, you say I am guilty of, was moved at it. Adieu Madam, after five Pages, I am loath to give you over, as being,  
Your, etc.  
Madam, be pleased to let me know whether you have observed, that, that, as being, wherewith I have concluded my Letter, be one of those conclusions whereof we have had some discourse.   

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER LXXXIX.  
My Lord,  
ARe you not still troubled that you suspected not that those of Verceil wanted powder, or that, wanting it; they were not able to make good the place, or that you have, with eight or nine thousand, forced twenty thousand into very good Works? certainly you make no great use of your reason, if that vexation find you work still; were you in hopes to do things impossible, that you are not satisfied that you have done all that might be? Your Lordship will pardon me if I tell you so much, but certainly, it suits not well with a grave person to be so disordered for a thing, wherein he hath not failed; and me thinks it takes away much from the merit of a man's duty, when he is not satisfied that he hath done it. You brought a handful of people to the relief of a place besieged by a numerous Army; you found the lines drawn about it, and all the works in such a posture, as that it was thought you could not have gotten a single man into the City, to give them any intelligence, and yet contrary to the hopes and opinions of all the World, you have gotten in eighteen hundred. Could any thing be done more resolutely, better designed, or more fortunately executed? It was you that brought things to that pass, Fortune hath done the rest, and if she hath done ill, why should you torment yourself so much? Accustom not yourself, I beseech you to so much familiarity with her, but as well in good success as in the contrary, distinguish between what she hath done, and what you have. Hence it will happen, that you will never have any either too high or too low thoughts of yourself. If you will needs be accountable for all events, and cannot be satisfied; but when all, your own wishes can suggest, comes to pass, you must certainly wage a War upon very hate conditions, and expect Fortune should do as much for you as she did for Alexander, and somewhat more than she hath done for Caesar. Besides, you are ungrateful to your own, if you quarrel with her about this last accident, and it is a kind of injustice to think it a great misfortune to have missed a great prosperity. You, in the mean time, talk as if, through your own owersight, you had lost ten Battles and a hundred Cities, and you seem to be enraged at the loss of a place, which in the opinion of all the World was given over from the beginning. The taking of Verceil hath much prejudiced the King's affairs, but your reputation suffers not at all in it. If the relief you have put into it, hath not proved effectual, it deserves never the less praise, nay in the height of your prosperity, you never did any thing more gallant, more resolute, or more extraordinary. Take then more moderate resolutions, than those you seem to have, and being not in a capacity to frighten your Enemies, do not your friends. You, who have taught me all I know, are not to learn, that Prudence is a general virtue, which winds itself into all the rest, and that where she is not, Fortitude loseth its name and nature.  
To morrow or the day after, I shall do your compliments to the person you tell me of; the last time I saw her, she spoke extremely of you, and protested to me, that upon your account, she took no great joy for the taking of Verceil; for though all the World was satisfied you were not in any fault, yet she knew it troubled you, and had a greater affection for you, then to entertain any joy for a thing, whereat you were afflicted. No doubt but she loves you infinitely, if I am not mistaken, and there's another does it more than infinitely,  
My Lord, Your, etc. Paris, Aug. 7. 1638.   

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. XC.  
Sir,  
I Shall for this time observe that Imperatoriam brevitatem, you tell me of, for I am upon my departure to Saint German's, which is the reason I shall have, but a word to say to you. Yet shall not this cause me to be 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, according to your Theophrastus; In the entertainments we make together, or rather those you give me, I am only to say Grace, 
Tantum laudare paratus.   
To tell you truly what Nations were the first introducers of Polygamy, I profess I am not able, nor do I trouble myself about it, 
Tros, Rutulusve fuit, nullo discrimine habebo.   
However it be, I shall give you more credit than H●rodotus, who says that in the Indies, there are a sort of Ants, less than Dogs, but somewhat bigger than Foxes; this is the Text, at least of the book which I have: But I know not whether my Herodotus be the same with yours.  
But to the purpose; you have put me into a great disorder about Theocritus, with whom I was the best satisfied in the World. But to return to the other of whom we spoke of, tell me what he means when he says that Venus sent the Woman's disease among the Scythians, who had profaned her Temple at Ascalon.  
Your verse of Athenaeus, that Wine is the great Horse of the Poets, is very pleasant: but, be ingenuous, did you not endeavour to make it an Alexandrian Verse? 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 with 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I am pleased with, and alludes very fortunately to the French Phrase, to baek the great Horse, as you have ingeniously observed. But that great Horse often casts his Rider, and it may be said of him, that he bites and kicks.  
For the Edentulum of Plautus, I concur with you, that his meaning is not, that it doth not bite, for it were a fault, but that it is a facetious manner of speaking, to express its age, that is, it's perfection.  
What would you have me to do with Ulpian, who calls the Christians Impostors, idem Trebatio & Papiniano videbatur. We may be overthrown by the Digests, but the Code is much of our side.  
The Sentence out of Pliny I like well, rerum naturae nasquam, etc. When I saw the Elephant, I said, that he seemed a Creature rudely cast by Nature, and that there was greater artifice in a fly.  
But it's well remembered; I think I shall take a great journey, the King hath bestowed on me that of Florence, to acquaint the great Duke with the news of the Queen's lying in. This must needs be advantageous to me, and in some sort, pleasant; but I am withal troubled that it will deprive me a while of the happiness, of seeing you and your Letters, for I believe you will be at Paris before I return. I am in doubt whether I shall stay here till you answer this Letter, yet fail not to write, for a thousand things may happen to stay me, or hinder my departure. However I take my leave of you, and beseech you to be assured of my heartiest affection, and that I never met with any happiness in this World, which I esteemed so highly, or that I enjoy myself so much in as your friendship.  
But I pray forget not to dash out those— Monsieurs, which you scatter up and down your Letters ad populum Phaleras, or else I will put one in every line.  
Vis le Sent coli, volebam amare,  
Sed si te colo sexte, non amabo.  
That is to say, I shall be so much the less,  
Your, etc. Paris, Aug. 25. 1639.   

To the Same. LETTER. XCI.  
Malè est Cornifici tuo Catullo,  
Malè est m●herculè & laboriosè.  
SEriously Sir, I was never so much disordered as I am at the present; in the mean time you write nothing but extravagances, and are as gamesome and free, as if we were still in our youthful Studies, and were not troubled at any thing in the world. Instead of saying something to me relating to my affliction, and giving me your judgement of it, (for it requires as much matter of conjecture as any the obscurest passage in Tacitus,) you quote to me Lampridius, and Athenaeus, quam ineptè, and at a time when I am disputing in myself, whether I am in Madam— 's favour or not, and that it is become a Problem, you come and entertain me with Pharaoh. When we returned together from Arcueil, if I had held you in discourse with the Kings of Egypt, consider how well you would have taken it, and what attention you would have given me. And yet I must confess, I could not but with much satisfaction read over all you writ. What you tell me of— hath made me laugh.  
Ti●yosque vultu  
Risit invito.  
Your Patruissimè I am hugely taken with, so Plautus is frequent in such unhappy fooleries; but, certainly, sometimes his expressions are very excellent; and thus I reconcile Horace and Cicero, one says he is an unhappy Bouffon, the other, that he is passim refertus Urbanis dictis. I read in him the other day, of an old man, who having surprised one near the place, where he had hid his Treasure, searched him, made him show his right hand, than his left, and finding nothing, says, cedo tertiam. This is a pleasant personation of a suspectful old man, who imagines a man may have a third hand to rob him. I cannot express the extraordinary satisfaction you give me by writing to me as you do. I find more matter of study in your Letters, than all the books in the World, and more excellent things.  
For those Gentlemen of Quintus Metellus Celer, I have no acquaintance with them; you tell me they were taken for Indians, for my part, I think they were for Coxcombs. On the other side, you talk of the Winds as learnedly as Columbus would; 'tis easily perceived you took it all verbatim out of some book, for I dare swear, that you never knew till now what a Rhombus of wind is: and as to the strait of Vegas, I cannot be too confident of your knowledge of it.  
For aught I perceive 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 signifies basiare & amare; kissing and loving convertuntur. But I am satisfied, that— is opposite to that passage of Aristenetus.  
Your Shepherd, his Sheep, and Hercules, I am mightily taken with, nay the Ass is a noble creature as you make it speak. Let me know whether you found the humour in Aesop's Fables. The application of the fable I think dangerous, and go you and preach it at Ruel. But as to our sheep, Hercules would find them good meat, might he have enough of them. The Argonauts as they sailed to Colchos, left him in an Island; divers reasons are given for it; some say, it was because he broke all the oars in rowing: Others that he was too heavy; some, that the Argonants were affaird, he should have carried away all the glory himself; and others, that it was by reason of his gluttony. I remember I have read in a Greek Poet, I mean, Greek and Latin, that is Ears moved as he did eat, and because it seems very pleasant to me, I have preserved the Verses, which are these, 
Illum si edentem videris, strepunt genae,  
Intus sonat guttur, sonat maxilla, dens  
Stridet caninus, sibilant nares, movet  
Aures, solent armenta sicut, haud minus.   
I am so sorry I did not observe you, when you fed on the Cinnamon Biscuit, at Gentilly, for certainly your ears were in motion.  
I find your Translation of the Greek into French verse very good; but be ingenuous, how often did you invocate Apollo for it.  
The expression of Achillus Tatius, that the Peacock's tail is a meadow of Feathers, is handsome, but haply a little too confident, and I think Tertullian more fortunate, who after he had said many things of the Ornaments of the Peacock, adds, nunquam ipsa, semper alia, & si semper ipsa quando alia, toties denique, mutanda, quoties movenda.  
I am content Ulpian should be guilt since you will have it so, as also Papinianus; for they will do nothing but breed contention. But if will take my advice, Trebatius shall be pardoned, for the Apothegme I have from you of his, consultus à quodam an nux pinea pomum esset, respondit, si in Vatinium missurus es, pomum eret. Farewell Sir, I am unfeignedly,  
Yours, &c   

To the Same. LETTER. XCII.  
SIR,  
WHen I had Sheep to buy, and Love-letters to write in Castilian and Portughez, my hands were not so full of business as they are now. I am to take my leave of the King and Monsieur; I am to solicit Monsieur de Bulion for an Order; and get my money out of the Excheaquer: I must bid all my friends adieu, and for all this I have but three days. In the mean time I lay all aside to divert myself by writing to you, for me thinks nothing conserns me so much, and that this voyage would not prove very fortunate to me, if I began it so ominously as to be gone hence without bidding you Farewell. I know not whether this embarcation will prove fortunate, but I never left France with so much good will, and I think it a pleasure to go and challenge upon the Mediterranean, the two and thirty winds which you know I sometime defied upon the Ocean. But now it comes into my mind, you make thirty five, you that pretend so much to Navigation, with your Rhombus and the straits of Vegas.  
Heu quio nam tanti turbarunt Aethera venti.  
Those who have compassed the World never were acquainted with above thirty two, the other three are yours, I could not believe there were so many. But that which I think most insupportable in you, is the Greek wind, and the ability you pretend to above me to know where a Grave, or a Circumflex ought to be placed. It was well said, thou shalt neither add not take away on Jota; but it is not meant of Accents. And yet because I have ommitted one, you blow as if you had gained a great Victory. Oventum horribilem! when you abused poor Philomela so much, and next to Terea, handled her worse than ever any did, I crowed not so much, though you were not so excusable for that as I am for this.  
But goodness! how partinently have you told me of your Duriter ... and the rest of that passage! certainly I must needs love you well, that I can without envy read whatever you write to me, and take so much pleasure to find you more witty than myself. To be free with you, the greatest affliction my departure hence causes me, is that I shall hear no more from you; Me thinks the Figgs, the Grapes, the Melons of Italy, nay the Present the great Duke shall make me, cannot balance the loss I am at for your Letters. But you would rather. I should praise you for your Poetry, then for your prose. For Aristotle says, that of all Artisans the Poet is the most in love with his own work. Your Poetical labours are certainly admirable, and let me die if you make not as good Verses as Cicero.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER. XCIII.  
MADAM,  
I Cannot absolutely say that I am come to Turin, for I have brought but half myself with me. You think my meaning is that I have left the other with you, you are mistaken, it is, that of a hundred and four pound, that I weighed at my coming out of Paris, I now weigh but fifty two. I am out of flesh and fall'n away extremely, and this alteration considered, I think the Marquis of Pisany, and I shall not know one another at our next meeting. The fever stayed me a day at Rouen, I thought myself surely laid up, and expected a sickness of some continuance. What troubled me most, was, that I imagined you would hardly believe it proceeded from the grief I took at my parting from you, & would attribute it to my riding Post. And indeed that was not improbable, and what confirmed this opinion, is, that questionless, the three last Horses I rid on, had hurt very much that part of the body which you know Brunel showed Marphisa; and what was more dangerous, I had such an excessive heat, that if I had been Governor of Monsieur le Dauphin, I could not have been fitter for it, than I was the four first days. I mentioned it to a great Person in Rouen, who being as I was told Apothecary, brought me something that gave me much ease. I pray let my Lady Duchess know as much, since that I have not had any hurt, save that of not seeing you; but for that there is no remedy, Mercurial Salt cannot cure it. I am here ever since yesterday in the afternoon, I have not seen my Lady Duchess yet, by reason that yesterday the Duke was thought to lie dying, to day I shall see her: to morrow I shall go hence for the Army, and I hope the next day about noon, I shall see my Lord Cardinal de la Valette, and your Brother. I doubt not, Madam, but you will be glad of this occasion, and will not take it ill I should be sensible of this joy in your absence. When I say in your absence, I include also that of Madam la Princess, Mademoiselle de Bourbon, my Lady Duchess of Aiguiblon, my Lady Marchioness de Sablê, Madam du Vigean, and my Lady Marchioness your Mother, whom I should have named first, though there are Princesses and Duchess' in the number. You cannot believe how much I am troubled at the sickness of Mademoiselle de Liancourt; if she be any thing recovered, and cured of her— be pleased, Madam, to let me know so much at Rome; for that will oblige me to take a journey thither, and I shall see all things there with much more ease and satisfaction. But it were an extraordinary one to me, might I but tell you here how much I am,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Turin, Sept. 1. 1638.   

To the Same. LETTER. XCIV.  
MADAM,  
I Wish you had seen what condition I was in this day in a Glass; you had found me among the most horrid Mountains in the World, in the midst of a dozen or fifteen men, the most dreadful to look on that might be, whereof the most innocent had killed fifteen or twenty others. They were all black as Devils, their hair grown down to the midst of their bodies, every one had two or three cuts over the face, an arquebuse on his shoulder, and two Pistols and two Daggers at his Girdle. These are the Bandits that live in the Mountains of Piedmont and Genua, you would certainly have been afraid Madam, to see me among those Gentlemen, and would have thought they had been going to cut my Throat. For fear of robbing I had entreated their Company, having written to their Captain the night before, to come and expect me in my way, which he hath done, so that I have got off for three Pistols. But above all, I wish you had seen what faces my Nephew and my man put on it, who thought no less than that I had led them to the Shambles. Having dismissed them, I came into two places where there were Spanish Garrisons, and there certainly I was in greater hazard than before: being examined, I said I was a Savoyard, and to pass for such, I spoke as near as I could like M. de— upon my bad accent I was permitted to pass. Consider whether I shall ever make any excellent discourses that will stand me in so much steed, and if it had not been very impertinent at that time, that, under pretence of my being of the Academy, I should have pumped myself for the best French. Thence I came to Savone where I found the Sea somewhat more rough than was suitable to the small vessel I had taken, and yet, God be praised I am come safely hither. Consider Madam, what a many hazards; I have run through in one day. In a word, I have escaped the Bandits, the Spaniards and the Sea, all which have not done me so much hurt, as you do, and it is for your sake that I run the greatest hazard I am like to meet with in this voyage. You think I do but jest; but, may I die, if I can any longer stave off the affliction, it is to me not to see your Mother and yourself. I must indeed confess, that at the first I was in some doubt whether it were you or the Post Horses that hurt me; but now it is six days since I have ridden, and yet feel no less weariness. This convinces me that my torment proceeds from my distance from you, and that my greatest weariness is that of not seeing you; and this is so certain, that if I had no other business here, than what I have to do at Florence, I think I should immediately return hence, and not have the courage to go any further, had I not an affair of yours to solicit at Rome. Be then pleased to think yourself obliged to me for this; for I assure you, there's much more in it then I tell you, and that I am, as much as I ought to be,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To my Lady Marchioness de Rambovillet. LETTER. XCV.  
Madam,  
I Have upon your account seen le Valentin, and that with much more curiosity than ever I saw any thing, and since you expect a description of it, I shall give it as exactly as I can possible. But you may be pleased to consider, that when I have executed that Commission and the other, which I am to do at Rome, I have done for you the two most difficult things to me in the World, that is, to speak of Edifices and affairs. Le Valentin, Madam, since there must be a Valentin in it, is a house within a quarter of a League of Turin, seated in a Meadow, upon the Po. As you come into it, the first thing you meet with, may I perish if I know, what you come to first: I think it is a Lodge; no, no, it is a Portal, no, I am mistaken it's a Lodge. I profess, I know not whether it be a Portal or a Lodge. Not an hour since I had all as perfect as might be, and now my memory hath played the jade. I shall take better notice at my return, and not fail to give you a punctual account of it. I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c Genua, Oct. 7. 1638.   

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER XCVI.  
SIR.  
I Was yesterday lodged in one of the noblest palaces in the World; I had for my Lodgings, a spacious Hall, two Antichambers, and one other Chamber hanged with Tapestry interwoven with Gold, and was attended by twenty or thirty Officers; and to day, I am in one of the most wretched Inns that ever I was at in my life, and have only one man to wait upon me. To balance so great a change of Fortune, and to raise myself to as great happiness to day as I was in yesterday, I called for Pen, Ink and Paper, purposely to write to you. May I perish, if amidst the honours I received suitable to the Person I then represented, and the entertainments I was treated with, I have been as much pleased as I am at the present! Besides the delight, I take to entertain you, I am otherwise not a little glad to let you know, that it was not the advantage I made of the exchange of your Letters for mine, that caustd me to hold that correspondence, since that even now, when I cannot hope for any answer from you, I yet take a certain pleasure to write to you, and to assure you of my readiness to serve you. It is, I assure you, as great as you deserve, and the affection you have for me may claim. I hope within three weeks to leave Rome, and if I meet with a Vessel, to take shipping for Marseilles. You that are so well acquainted with the winds, if you have any command over them, be pleased to lock them all up at that time, praeter Japyga. But for that, there's no great danger, if he be somewhat high; I matter not for a little roughness of the Sea, so I may make the more speed, for I am in haste to be at Paris, and to see you there. I am,  
Your, etc. Rome, Nou. 15. 1638.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER. XCVII.  
Madam,  
I Must crave my Lady your Mother's Pardon, I never was so weary of Rome. There passes not a day but I see something 〈◊〉 that's admirable, some Master pieces of the best Masters that ever were, Gardens where the Spring is at this present: Edifices which the World cannot parallel, and ruins more noble than even those. And yet all this cannot shake off sadness, nor hinder that even while I see them, I wish myself hence. The most excellent pieces of painting, Sculpture and etching of An●llus Praxiteles, and of Papardelle please me not. I should wonder at this, did I not know the reason of it, that is, that who hath been accustomed to see you, cannot well enjoy himself when he does not. To deal truly with you, Madam, I have the same consideration of you as of my health; I never know your true value till I have lost you, and though, when you are present, I observe not that moderation which might gain me a good constitution with you, yet as soon as you are once gone, I make a thousand wishes for you. I acknowledge the World affords not any thing more precious, and find by experience that all the delicacies of the Earth are bitter and unpleasant without you. I took more pleasure to see with you two or three Walk at Ruel, than I have had to see all the Vineyards at Rome, or should to see the Capitol though in its former magnificence, and that Jupiter Capitolinus were there in person. But that you may know I am not in jest, but in very good earnest, as ill as I am; about eight days since taking a walk in the morning with the Chevalier de Jars, I had fallen down all along had he not received me in his arms, and the next day in the evening I swooned in my Lady d'Estree's Chamber. The Doctors tell me they are melancholy vapours, and that these accidents are not to be slighted. For my part, seeing they took me two days together, and that I was in danger of something worse, I have neither played the Fool nor Madman, have taken the Antimony, which I had from Monsieur Nerli. In a word, it hath given me great case, and I intent to take four dozes with me, which I shall entreat my Lady Duchess of Aiguillon to take, for there is no Ripopé near so effectual, and this must be used till he who hath bestowed it on me, have found out the Aurum potabile, which he pretends to do once within a year. I hope to leave this City within these eight days. You will wonder, Madam, I should— continue so long in a place which I seem to be so weary of; but I have been stayed here hitherto by some occasions I shall acquaint you with, and which I could not avoid. But I assure you once more, I never was in so much disorder, nor ever had so great a desire to see you. Be pleased I humbly beseech you, to believe me, and assure yourself, of my being, much beyond what I can express,  
Madam, Your, etc. Rome, Nou. 25. 1638.   

To my Lord Bishop of de Lisieux. LETTER. XCVIII.  
My Lord,  
I Would very gladly have been myself the Bearer of the enclosed, and have give my humble thanks for the favour of your recommendations of me to the person who sends it. Besides that having gone through my devotions at Rome, I would try whether I might not advantage myself more at Lisiex, where I may learn to gain those Pardons I have received from the Pope. I believe this journey would prove more advantageous to me, than what I have lately taken; f●r my Lord, there's nothing so certain, as that I never see you but I am better for some days, and never come near you, but I feel my good Angel resuming new Forces, and disposing of me with more assurance. It is long since I am convinced in my thoughts, that if God hath decreed my conversion, he will make use of no other means then that of your discourses, and your example; and that if he should send a voice from Heaven to call me home again, it shall come through your mouth. Hence it is, that me thinks the will I have to serve you, in some sort, sanctifies me, and that I cannot be absolutely profane, when I have so much respect and affection for so reverend a person. I must at least attribute it to you, that I am guilty of one rational passion among so many that are not such, and that I am not so absolutely irregular; but there is one part of my Soul untainted. Though I do not find it the best employments I might, and am a very ill Husband thereof; yet I doubt not, but I have secured for ever the part you have in it, nor can I ever forfeit or engage the place you have therein. It is great enough, my Lord, to save one day, all the rest, and I despair not but shortly it will be wholly your own. You daily purchase something in it, and want not much of having an interest there greater than that of all the World besides. Be pleased to make all your own, and be as proud of the acquest, as if it were that of some unbelieving Country, whereof you had been designed to destroy the Idols. I am in some hopes it will so come to pass, and reflecting on the great favours you have done, and confident, that you cannot be mistaken, I look on all the good you have said of me as a Prophecy, and believe I shall be such hereafter, as you assured Cardinal Barbelin I was then. I cannot well express the noble entertainment he made me upon your recommendation, and the affection he seems to have for whatever you concern yourself in. You are, my Lord, almost as well known in Italy as in France, and certainly, I have not met with any thing at Rome, whereby I have been so much edified, as the esteem and passion I found there for you. But above all, Cardinal Barberin seems to be your absolute friend, and to have for your virtue that affection and respect, which you shed into the hearts of all those who follow your example. He hath burdened me with some thing particular to you from him, which I reserve till I have the honour to see you, and be in a capacity to essure you myself, that I am, beyond any,  
My Lord, Your, etc. Paris, Jan. 15. 1639.   

To Monsieur de Lyonne, at Rome. LETTER. XCIX.  
Sir,  
THough you have caused me the most restless hours I have had in all my journey, and have treated me at Rome worse than any, yet assure yourself I have not seen any man, I so much desire to see again, or have greater inclinations to serve. It seldom happens, that he who ruins a man gains his friendships; you have had that good Fortune with me, and your Genius hath in all things such an influence over nine, that I have not been able to make my party good either way; but that while you have gotten my money, you have withal gained my heart, and made yourself Master of my affections. And if I am so happy as to have any place in yours, that gain takes away the sense of all my losses, and makes me think myself the gainer in what hath passed between us. Your acquaintance, though it hath cost me very dear, hath not stood me in more than 'tis worth, and I should not stick to give as much to find such another in Paris. This granted, Sir, you may be assured, I shall do any thing that may secure the honour I esteem so much, and that I shall not easily lose a friend, I have purchased at so dear a rate. I have done all you desired in the business you writ to me about, and shall be as dutiful to you in all your other Commands; for I am, with the greatest earnestness and affection I ought,  
Yours, etc. Paris. Feb. 7. 1639.   

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. C.  
My Lord,  
IF you but reflect on the passion you saw I sometime had for Renaut, and Roger, you cannot doubt of that. I now have for your concernments, since you do in your shirt what they could but do with enchanted arms. Were you a Fairy, you could not hazard yourself more freely than you have done, as having carried Valour to its uttermost limits, and to the highest point, they could have done, who can pretend to no other Virtue. I must needs acknowledge my Lord, that if the War had been ended by this last performance, whereof you have been the principal cause, and that you had no more to do, then to come and Triumph, I should be extremely elevated at what is reported of you here, and with much satisfaction sit down to write your History. But when I consider that there are other occasions wherein you may run the same hazards, and that I am not assured of what shall happen at the end of the Book, I cannot without some disturbance participate of that glory which all the World gives you, and the fear of what's to come takes away much of the enjoyments of things present. I leave therefore to those, who have not so great affection for you as I have, and to whom you are not so necessary as to me, to employment of celebrating your praises. For my part, all I can do at the present, is, humbly to beseech you to be more tender of the most Illustrious person of this age, and not to rely so much on Fortitude as to injure Justice. This will advise you not to hazard so freely the wealth of all the World, and be so careless of a Life, wherein all the excellent▪ and virtuous are concerned, and which is more considerable to France, than the whole Country you defend. I am,  
My Lord, Your, &c   

To My Lord— LETTER. CI.  
My Lord,  
THough you had left Paris, upon some design, or something relating to your enjoyments or your Glory, I think it would nevertheless have caused me some trouble, and raise in me a quarrel with your concernments; but the cause of your departure being so unfortunate and strange as it is, I may say, there could not any thing have happened of so great affliction to me, nor could Fortune have done what I should think more unjust, or more insupportable, since it hath disturbed the enjoyments of all here, and that a many, who are not so much obliged to you as I am, are sensible of that disaster, I hope, my Lord, you will do me the honour, not to doubt, but I have the greatest resentment I ought, and that it was not necessary I should acquaint you with so much by writing. However I thought it my duty to make this acknowledgement, and I expect to find some ease in assuring you there is not any one can be more tender of your enjoyments, or with greater sincerity,  
My Lords, Your, &c   

To Monsieur— LETTER. CII.  
Sir,  
YOu had done better to have danced a Coranto less, and sent me a Letter, and the time of one of your Galliards had been better spent in writing to me. It hath been reported here, that in the same Ball, you began it thirty times over, 't was indeed well danced for a great Commander, and a man that would pretend to some trouble that he had left Paris. If you continue thus, I now wash my hands of all your affairs; and find that the Ladies of Lorraine are more obliged to send you fruits then those of the Court. I know not, Sir, how you understand it, nor what advantage you find in it; but for my part, me thinks, to dance at Mets is not to dance in cadence, and I dare swear it affords not twenty more amiable and greater Beauties than three or four here; who sometimes speak of you, and who take it not well, you should mind your enjoyments so much in their absence. But if you are grown so great a dancer, and cannot by any means forbear it, they entreat you not to dance Galliards altogether; but to call for some graver dances, as your Brawl's and Pavines. I thought it my duty, Sir, to give you this advice, you may take it as you please; but for my part, I shall ever be,  
Sir, Your, &c   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER. CIII.  
MADAM,  
YHE news of the raising of the Siege at Thurin, was to me the most welcome that ever I received. And yet it was some trouble to me, to lose thereby an opportunity to express the real affection I have for my Lord Cardinal de la Valette; for I was resolved to get into the Town, and bring him some encouragement, by the news I should tell him of you. The Count de Guiche, whom I acquainted with my design, told me, that the ordinary reward of such as were surprised in such attempts, was hanging, yet was I nothing startled, and being fortified by some Reasons of Mademoiselle de la Trimoville, in case I should have come to the Wheel in Italy, I thought it no great matter to be hanged there. But it had been a pleasant spectacle, if the Cardinal de la Valette, walking on the Walls should have known me upon the Ladder. The troth on't is, wanting your presence, a man would not stick to hang himself for a half penny, and feeling a great weight on his stomach, it were better be strangled then endure it. You, Madam, who have never wanted yourself, or felt the grief which attends a separation from the most amiable person in the World, cannot imagine the misery of it. But if you please, I will tell you how it comes to pass: The first day, a man is extremely drowsy, the second stupefied, the third extravagant; and then, when he begins to come to himself again, and to apprehend things, he sighs out, whence come you? O sighs here, and sighs there; come, come, take your money, 'tis the saddest thing in the World. Fear not the miscarriage of this, for there's no interruption. But in case this Packet be surprised, this is to certify Prince Thomas, the Marquis of Leganez, and all those to whom these presents shall come, that no heed is to be given to me, that all I speak is in jest, and that it is but ordinary with me to write thus extravagantly. They may give it what credit they please, and yet there is nothing so certain, as that I am beyond all that may be said,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Grenoble.   

To Madam la Princess. LETTER. CIV.  
MADAM,  
UNless I had been nailed to Paris, nothing could have hindered me from going this day to Poissy; for whatever I may have said to another Princess, there is not any in the World, whom I would more gladly see than you. But you know Madam, that as one Nail drives out another, so was it necessary the Passion I had for you should give way to a later, that hath fastened on me, and which if it be not the stronger, is yet at the present more importunate. I know not whether you will apprehend this, which seems to be left as a Riddle; but I assure you I have a fundamental reason not to stir hence, which yet I dare not lean on, and whereof I think it not convenient to discover to you any more. I have a long time deliberated in myself whether I ought to go, and there is a great controversy between my heart and another part, which I name not; but to be short, Madam: I must confess, that which in all reason should have been the lowest is highest, and that I have preferred before all things, that which according to the course of nature ought to be behind. I dare profess to you, however, that in my posture I considered, I could do no otherwise, and that yourself, who are the most considerable Person in the World, and do all things in Order, would have done no less than I have, had you been in my place, My Prayers to Heaven are, you never may; for in the condition I am in, there's none good for me, as being every where, as if I sat upon Thorns. I can make a shift to go a little a foot, but a Horse is a torment to me, a Coach is too rough, nay I find some inconvenience even in the Sedans of Monsieur Souscarriere. I am,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Paris, Aug. 5. 1639.   

To Mon●ieur Chapelain. LETTER. CV.  
Sir,  
I Shall satisfy your desire, but whether for your own sake or Monsieur de Balzac's that I do it, I know not, nor indeed could I resolve that Question though I should study it till tomorrow. The authority you have over me is so equally divided between you both, that, if at the same time one should command me to eat, the other to drink, I should be starved, at least according to the Philosophers, for, I should never find any reason to comply, with the one rather than with the other. But, as good Fortune will have it, you agree so well together, that you will never lay contrary commands upon me, and join interests, so that whenever I shall do what I am commanded, I shall satisfy both. I am troubled at your Nail, and pity you much; but, for aught I can perceive, it is nothing in comparison of that I have; mine, est latus clavus,  
— Cum lato purpura clavo.  
And if you had such another on your nose, it would cover all your face: I am still extremely troubled with it. It excuses me that I wait not on you, for that you may know the truth of it, it hath jus lati●clavi, I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. August. 10. 1639.   

To Madam— LETTER. CVI  
MADAM,  
THE Letter you so much desire to see is not worth one line of that wherewith you demand it. But are you, who pretended to so much devotion yesterday, nothing troubled in mind at the writing of such things in the Passion-week, and do you not perceive the consequences and effects they may produce? I had cleared and disburdened my conscience, and had thereupon resolved not to see you again; but your Letter hath put me into my former disorder, and with your Pearls and your four thousand Livers, I am corrupted as well as the other. I never thought, you should ever have been put to these shifts to reduce a Servant, nor that such things should prevail any thing with me, and to tell you truly, it is the first time I ever was dazzled with wealth, or tempted with money. And indeed, it must be confessed, the Pearls never had such a lustre as you have given them in your Letter, and your four thousand Livers, as you employ them, may well be valued at above three hundred thousand. You are certainly an incomprehensible person, and I cannot but wonder, how without the reading of Herodotus, or making use of the Saturnales, you have been able to write such excellent Letters. For my part, Madam, I begin to imagine you have deceived us; I doubt not but you know the source of the Nile; for that, whence you derive all the things you say, is much harder to find and more unknown. In a word, what ever your Porter may say, my Lady Marchioness de Sable, is not the most accomplished person in the World; there are more charms in a corner of your eye; then in all the Earth besides, and all the words that are used in magic, have not the operation which those you write have.   

To Madam— LETTER. CVII.  
MADAM,  
NO doubt but some one of the Fairies to whom you say, you recommend your Letters after they are written, hath laid hands on that you have sent me. It must certainly needshave been one of the most knowing among them, and one that is as well acquainted with the Court as the Winds. I do not believe the Kingdom of them can afford many, able to do as much; and am of opinion that the same who inspires you when you speak, hath for this time assisted you to write. Besides the Gentillesses I have observed, and the visible beauties that shine in it, there is something else, that smites the heart as well as the Fantasy, and a certain secret virtue, that produces extraordinary effects. I had no sooner read it over, ere I found myself freed from all my smis-fortunes, and as if all absence, all desires, all fears, had been banished this World, my Soul was immediately in an absolute calm. This, Madam, I cannot believe possible to be done; but by the science of Fairyships, for to love you as I do, and to be satisfied without seeing you, cannot certainly be a natural effect. However it be, I am obliged to you for having put me into the condition I am in, and since I was not to expect any satisfaction from Reason, you have done well to apply charms. All my fear is, they will not last long, I distrust the joy I feel, when I am ignorant of the cause of it; and am afraid the same fate may happen to me, as to dead bodies forced out of their graves, which having only a Magical animation are actuated but for a while, and fall down suddenly, when the enchantment is once dissolved. Suffer not my case to be the same; and since I am reanimated by your words, and that your Letters are certain Characters, which while I have about me, I cannot die, be it your care to renew them daily, and let me have at least an artificial subsistence, till I see you again, and that your presence inspire me with real life. The relation you have given me of your adventures, is, I must needs acknowledge, very pleasant, since it gives me occasion to derive a certain pleasure from the very inconveniences you have run through. I beseech you, continue me the account of all your Fortunes, and as you have acquainted me with what hath happened to you in the Woods; so let me know also those you have when you shall lodge in the City. But you have very handsomely taken occasion to make it appear that you know the—   

To my Lady Marchioness de Sablé. LETTER. CVIII.  
Madam,  
HOw excellent soever the Letters of Monsieur de la Mesnardiere may be, yet Mademoiselle de Chalais, and I could not think ourselves satisfied with the bare receipt of them only by this return, especially when all the news they brought us, was that you had caught a very great cold. But what is more strange, is, that I, who ever quarrel with you for being too scrupulous in point of health, am at the present fallen into the same humour for what concerns you, and more troubled for your cold then a quotidian fever I should have had. 'tis true, I have now occasion enough to be troubled at it, since that thereupon depends your journey, and upon your journey all my joy. For, I assure you, Madam, I am resolved not to entertain any if you come not, and must expect to be the happiest or the unhappiest man in the World according to the resolution you shall take. I dare also tell you that you shall not want your part of the satisfaction we intent you, and that infallibly you will find greater diversion and mirth here, and consequently more health. But till you do come, it would be an extraordinary kindness, would you but send Mademoiselle— and Mademoiselle de— before, that in this interim, I might have some one to discourse withal of you, and with whose conversation I might elude my impatience.  
—  
'tis very confidently done, to dash out four lines together when a man writes to a Marchioness. But you know better than any one, of what consequence it is that should be allowed, and how advantageous these blottings are to humane Society. I write not— for I am vexed that she sent me nothing the last time, I send you a Bourriche of Fancies, which I humbly beseech you to put into the hands of her confident: Let her dispose of them as she pleases, and keep them herself, if she think she cannot present them to— without giving suspicion to her Mother. But I entreat her to pick out the best, and to present them to you, from herself, I would say, from me, if I durst, and were not confident, that you are not much taken with presents of that nature. I send them also some images, because it now comes into my mind that I had promised them some. I have nothing to acquaint you with as to your friend, the poor lass, is, if I am not mistaken, in a very sad condition; Her Husband is never a minute absent from her; he is a perpetual torment to her, nor is her Mother less troublesome; in a word, never was any one so little married, nor so much. Madam, hasten to the sight of this— spectacle, I am,  
Yours, &c   

To Madam— LETTER. CIX.  
MADAM,  
THough I am utterly out of all hope of acquitting myself of those obligations, which your civilities have forced upon me, yet should I be troubled they were any less; and though I think myself unworthy all the honours you shed on me, yet can I not but derive thence an extraordinary satisfaction. Had I no other acquaintance with you then that I knew your conditions and quality, I ought to look on the honour of your Letters and commands, as the greatest I am capable of. But it having been the pleasure of Fortune, I know not by what contrivances, that, being at a great distance from you; I should know you as particularly as those who are about you, I must confess, Madam, it is a satisfaction beyond all expression, and that I feel myself troubled with a little vanity, that I should receive so great favours from a person, who I have long since thought the most accomplished of the age, and in whom I know may be found all the perfections that command affection and esteem. Were I so inconsiderable in the World as never to have heard any thing of this; yet were it easy for me to judge by your Letters, that France affords not any thing comparable to your wit and civility; nay expressions so transcendent and so full of obligation as those you have given me, would almost make me imagine there were something in it extraordinary. I cannot, Madam, but acknowledge them such, that from whomsoever they came, I should have been extremely surprised thereat; but certainly, the person, from whom they are sent, renders them yet much more considerable, and the hand that writ them, inspires them with a force and virtue, which they could not derive elsewhere. If after this my heartiest services— attend A— it will be no great miracle, you have obliged me thereto so much, that it is impossible I should do otherwise, since you have not left me the least pretence or shadow of merit. I wish, Madam, that instead of recommending to me a person, for whom I had already a great esteem and affection, you had in three words commanded me something that were difficult, and whereto I should have had some reluctancy, that so you might, in some degree, have discovered how far I am at your devotion; and that it is not your extraordinary kindnesses, nor yet that manner of writing whereby you gain the hearts of all that read your Letters, which oblige me to obey you, but the respects I have for so many admirable endowments as you are furnished with, and the inclinations, wherewith I am,  
Madam, Your, &c   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER CX.  
Madam,  
I Am the only man that is yet dead of the Disease of your absence, nor do I much fear to tell it you plainly, because I believe you will not be much troubled at it. Nevertheless, if you will have the naked truth, when there's no danger to tell it you, I was, you know, a very jocund Bachelor, and unless it were, that I was extremely given to contestation, and was as obstinate as yourself, my other imperfections were excusable. You are then to understand, Madam, that since last Wednesday which was the day of your departure, I have neither eaten nor opened either my mouth or my eyes, and indeed all that is wanting is that I am still above ground, that is unburied. I would needs have that last Ceremony delayed a while, for these reasons; in the first place, because I have ever had an aversion thereto, and next, I should not take it well the report of my death should be spread abroad so soon, and therefore I put the best face I can on it, that men might still be in doubt; for if they consider that, it happened to me just in the nick of your departure, we shall never avoid coming into the ballad called The good year, which is now so much in vogue. Were I again in the World, one of the things I should be extremely troubled at, is, the little discretion that many have in advancing and abetting all manner of Stories. These that are a live, are not in my opinion, impertinent in any thing so much as this, nay it is hateful even to us that are dead. But, Madam, take heed you do not laugh when you read this, for certainly, it is a kind of impiety to abuse the dead, and were you in my condition, you would not take it well to be so dealt with. I therefore conjure you to pity me; and since you cannot do any thing else for me; have a care of my Soul, for I assure you, it is in extraordinary Torments. When we were separated, she took immediately the road to Chartres, and thence strait to la Mothe, and now while you read this Letter she is at your Elbow, and will be this night in your Chamber, and if you think it not importunate, give you five or six outcries. I believe you would be much pleased with the noise, for it is not unlike that of the Angels of the Lower-house; while she torments herself, and makes such a hellish Stir, that you will think the House ready to turn upside down. I was once in a mind to send you the Body by the Carrier, as also that of the Marshal de Fervaque's Lady, but it is in such a pitiful condition, that it would have been all to pieces ere it had been with you; besides that I was afraid the heat might have spoiled it. You will honour me extremely, if you please to tell the two excellent Princesses with whom you are, & I desire them to call to mind, that while I lived, I was their incomparably humble Servant, and that I cannot shake off that passion, even after death; for the condition I am in, I profess I have the same honour and respects for them as ever. I shall not only presume to affirm, that there is not among the dead any one so much their Servant as I am, but will make it good; there is not among the living any more at their devotion than I am, or that can be more than I am,  
Madam, Yours, &c   

To Monsieur Chapelain. LETTER. CXI.  
SIR,  
THough it were only out of some design upon your own reputation, or that you would cast so much honour upon me, you should write to me often, for your great wit, which is admirable in all things, is never more fortunate then in the Letters I receive from you. If you would but present each of your Judges with the like, you needed no other recommendation, and they would be convinced there were no more to be done in your case, then to do justice to the most virtuous man in the World. I shall do what you command me, with all the earnestness I can, and all the passion you may claim; and therefore fear not I shall forget it: my Will is not over confident of my memory in things of that consequence, but perpetually represents to me what I have to do, till it be done. What business soever I may have, I place yours amongst the first of my Agenda, sed tu inter acta refer, & pro certo habe, me in hâc re, & in omnibus, omne officium, studium, curam, & diligentiam tibi praestiturum. I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. Apr. 3. 1640.  
I humbly desire you to return my thanks to Monsieur de la Mote, but with an eloquence worthy of yourself and him.   

To My Lord Marquis de Montausier: LETTER. CXII.  
My Lord,  
SInce your are designed to dispose of those of our family to Reason and their duty, it were but sit you took the same course with me as the rest, and made me a more virtuous man than I have been as well as my Nephews. It does certainly very much argue my defect as to that point, since I have not hitherto returned you my thanks for what courtezies you had done both them and me. But in a word, my Lord, without putting me into Prison, and without obliging me to fast, you have forced me, as well as the other, to do what I ought, and have shown yourself so resolute to engage me, though I was unworthy of it; that, notwithstanding my negligence, it is impossible I should not express my resentment thereof, and to return you the humblest thanks you may justly claim. I presume you will pardon me my fault, since I acknowledge it with so much ingenuity. And certainly, my Lord, considering the reputation of cruelty that lies upon you, it corc●rns you very much to do such a signal act of mercy, as that is, and to pardon a man loaden with so much guilt as I am. I beg it of you upon the account of Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, and if it be Lawful to add any thing thereto, I conjure you, by the extraordinary passion wherewith I am,  
My Lords, Your, &c   

To my Lord Marquis de Pisany. LETTER CXIII.  
MADAM,  
YOu had persuaded me, that ere I should have continued here quite three weeks, I should spend my time very pleasantly, and it is now above six since I came hither, and see not any effect of your prediction. I humbly beseech you, make good your word, by affording me the satisfaction you promised, which you must send me from the place where you are, since I cannot meet with any here. I have done you that service at my coming hither, that you are obliged not to deny me this assistance, for you are to know that I have given you a resurrection in the opinion of all the World, and that you have not any friends or kindred here, who thought you not dead ever since Autumn last. If your Lordship doth think this service of any consequence, and deserves acknowledgement, it will be your fault if you do not as much for me, and restore me to life, which I cannot absolutely say, I have in this place. To do this miracle there needs no more than a Letter from you, with an assurance that you continue me the honour of your affection. If what you expressed to me at my departure be not quite lost, you will not deny me this favour, especially having in your necessity so excellent a Secretary as him you are wont to make use of. I have understood you did me the honour to drink my health; but as it is now, there are requisite stronger remedies then that to restore it, and it is only from you that I can expect any. But from the reflection I make on the love, you have for whatever belongs to you, and the protection I have sometimes seen you afford your subjects, I raise a confidence that you will not forsake me, who am as much your vassal as if I had been born in your Town of Essars, and withal do put particularly profess myself,  
My Lord, Your, &c   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER. CXIV.  
Madam,  
IT must needs be acknowledged that I am remarkable for the sincerity of my friendship; 'tis a grief to me that I see you not, as if it were a loss of great consequence to me, and me thinks, I spend not my time so well here, as when I have the honour to be near you. Amiens, in your absence, seems less pleasant to me then Paris, and though I can every day visit Ladies that speak the Language of Picardy excellently well, yet I do not think myself ever the happier for it. The conversation of my Lord Duke de C— Monsieur de T— and Monsieur de— whom I meet here often, affords me no entertainment at all. Sometimes I think it very tedious to continue three hours together in the King's Chamber, nay I find no diversion in the Society of Monsieur Libero, Monsieur Compiegne, and twenty more excellent persons, I have no acquaintance with, who very much celebrate my parts, and tell me they have seen of my works. I have seen the King play at Hoc all this afternoon, and yet find not the least remission of my Spirits; and though I go constantly thrice a week a Fox-hunting, I find no great sport in it, though there be in the company a hundred Dogs, & as many Horns, which together make a hideous noise, such as whereof the terror would break your tender Ears. To be short, Madam, the Recreations of the greatest Prince in the World divert me not, and when I want your sight, I am insensible even of the enjoyments of the Court. You are, certainly, very ungrateful, if you render me not the like; but suspicious wretch that I am, I fear me you take your pleasure sometimes with the Princess and Mademoiselle de Bourbon; nay haply since your coming to Grosbois, you have not so much as wished yourself five or six times at Amiens. If it be so, you may recompense it with this favour, that you will be pleased to persuade their Highnesses, to honour me with some few remembrances, that I may not be thought the less considerable by them, for being in a place, where I see the King and my Lord Cardinal twice every day. And yet, Madam, you are not to expect ever the more news from me, for I have not any to acquaint you with, My Lord Fabert came hither yesterday m●rning, and went away at one in the afternoon with Orders to our Generals. He told me that Monsieur Arnault hath played the Devil with his hinder feet in a battle, that happened near l'Esle, and that the Marshal de Brezê hath written it to the King, as I hear by Monsieur de Chavigny. 'Tis reported here that our Armies are returning, and that we shall not return so soon: I pray be pleased to chide a little at it, and honour me so far, as to believe me sincerely, and as much as you can desire,  
Madam, Your, etc. Amiens, Sept. 10. 1640.   

To my Lord Cardinal Mazarin. LETTER. CXV.  
My Lord,  
BY a Letter from Madam the V. I have understood the favour your Eminence was pleased to do me, and with what extraordinary kindness, and what assurances of good inclinations you have thought fit to grant me— since then my Lord, I may thence infer, that amidst the affairs of greatest consequence, your E. condescends to a remembrance of your most inconsiderable Servants, and that while you are employed in the highest things, you neglect not the lowest, I have a certain confidence, you will excuse the boldness I take, to return you my most humble thanks, and that you will be pleased to take the pains to read the profession I make; that, besides the respects and veneration which we all owe a person, who hath, and doth still add to the Glory of this State, I shall through all the actions of my life, ever own, a most particular inclination, to express myself,  
My Lord, Your, &c   

To my Lady Duchess of Savoy. LETTER CXVI.  
Madam,  
AFter so many consolatory Letters as there hath been, but too much occasion to write to your Royal Highness, I should be very loath to let slip an occasion to write you one of congratulation. These come to you so seldom, that I think they must needs be very welcome when they do; and were there nothing else to recomend them, certainly the novelty should make them acceptable. It is long since, Madam, that I have expected what now begins to appear, and thought, the misfortune of the most accomplished and most amiable Princess that ever was, too great a disorder in the World to last long. How great soever the Malice and envy of Fortune seemed to be towards you, and what fate soever might cross your affairs, yet was I still guilty of an imagination that so much goodness, generosity and constancy, and so many Divine qualities as your R. H. is furnished with, could not be long unfortunate, and that, at length, Heaven would be forced to do some miracle for a person on whom it had bestowed so many. There is much reason to believe, Madam, that that of the taking of Turin will be seconded by a many others, and that the great success which hath happened in your Dominions is a certain Politic Symptom that there will be a change of all things, and such a general settlement as naturally aught to be. But what you should the more rejoice at in this happy revolution, is, that, there's nothing so certain as that your concernment therein, multiplies the joy of all here, and that your R. H. is so well beloved, that the more generous part of the Court, do as much rejoice for the interest you have in this prosperity, as for the advantage accrues to the Crown of France, and the great acquests of Glory which his Majesty's Armies have made thereby. I doubt not, Madam, but your R. H. is satisfied, that amidst the public joy, I have some particular matter of rejoicing, whereof no other can be equally sensible: if you but honour me so much as to reflect on the extraordinary passion I have for whatever you are concerned in, and the inclination, and obligation wherewith I am,  
Madam, Your, etc. Paris, Oct. 4. 1640.   

To Mademoiselle Servant one of the Ladies of Honour, to her Royal Highness. LETTER. CXVII.  
Madam,  
I Am so well acquainted with your Eloquence, that I humbly beg your assistance to render the acknowledgements, I ought, to the most excellent and most generous Princess in the World. I am certainly even o'erwhelmed with her favours, and must confess, there's not any thing below Heaven so full of charm or so amiable as the Mistress you, (I thought to have said we) serve, and indeed there is not any thing I would not contemn, that I might use that expression. The first time I ever heard her, I was presently of opinion, that of all the understandings in the World, there was not a greater than hers; but the tenderness she is pleased to have for me, I am astonished at above all things; and cannot sufficiently admire, that at the same time, when she is burdened with highest thoughts, she can also entertain those that are so low, and that a mind which ordinarily is soaring about the loftiest things, can be guilty of so great condescensions. As to the balls, have been given me this morning, they have wrought a wonderful effect in me; and were it not that they had touched the hand of her Royal Highness, I see not whence the miracle should proceed. I did but kiss the Paper wherein they were, and I find myself very much better, I shall henceforth look on it as an antidote against all kinds of misfortunes, and unless it be one, I know not any which so pleasant a remedy cannot cure me of. That you may not put yourself to too nice a scrutiny to find out my meaning, I were better explain it, and tell you, that it is the grief I take that I cannot see her enough, and am destined to live at a great distance from the only person that deserves to be waited on. If you consider it strictly, this misfortune is greater than all the rest, and it is very hard for a man to be tender of his honour, and not to take it so much to heart, as to die of it.   

To the Count de Guiche. LETTER. CXVIII.  
My Lord,  
THough it must be thought an ordinary thing to see you do glorious actions, and that it is fifteen years that you have been talked of at this rate, yet can I not avoid being extremely surprised, when I hear of any new performances of your Valour, and your Reputation being so precious to me, as it is, I am extremely pleased that from time to time it is renewed and multiplied daily. Those who are guilty of the greatest ambitions of honour would be satisfied, with what you have acquired within these late years, and would sit still with the esteem you are in with all the World. But, for aught I can see, My Lord, you set no limits to yourself as to this point, and as if you were jealous of the glory you have already acquired, and what you have done heretofore, you seem every year to exceed yourself, and to do something beyond your former achievements. For my part, what passion soever I may have for your past actions, I shall not besorry they should be Eclipsed by those you are yet to effect, and that your exploits in Flanders should darken all you have performed in France, Germany, and Italy. All my fear is, that these great aspirations at Glory, should carry you beyond your due bounds as to matter of hazard, and accordingly, what you did in the last Battle wherein the Marshal de la Meilleray defeated the Enemy, as it affords me much cause of rejoicing, so does it at the same time put me into some fear. The expressions you there made of your conduct, and your courage find matter if general admiration here; and indeed, my Lord, if we consult Romances, we shall hardly find any thing more noble, or more worthy celebration. But yet, give me leave to tell you, that, since the invention of enchanted Arms is lost; and the custom, that Hero's should be invulnerable absolutely abolished, a man is not allowed to do such actions as these often in his life; and Fortune, who hath delivered you for this time, is but bad security for the future. Be pleased therefore to consider that Fortitude hath its extremes as well as all the other Virtues, and that, as they are, so it also aught to admit the attendance of Prudence. This, if seriously consulted, will not permit a Marshal of the Field, and a Master de Camp of the Guard should become a Volunteer and a Forlorn, so as to expose to all hazards, a person of your concernment, and to venture so cheap a commodity of so great Value. I know not, my Lord, whether you will take this freedom of mine in good part; but I am certain, you cannot say I interpose in a business wherein I am nothing concerned, and will find there is not any more than I am, if you make any reflection on the passion, wherewith I have ever been,  
My Lord, Your, etc. Paris, Oct. 6. 1640.   

To my Lord Marquis de Pisany. LETTER. CXIX.  
My Lord,  
WEre it possible I could be so ingrateful as to forget you, yet the noise you make at the present is so great, that it were a very hard matter I should not call you to mind, and use all the endeavours I could to preserve myself in the esteem of a person, of whom I hear all the World speak with so much advantage. I have been extremely glad to hear what honour you have gained in the last engagement before Arras, and though I am long since acquainted with the qualifications of your heart, and mind, and have ever had that opinion of you which all others have now, yet must I confess my weakness; me thinks the general esteem wherein you now are, adds something to the inclinations I have to honour you, and I feel in myself a certain vanity of passion for a man burdened with the applause and acclamations of all the World. The satisfaction it is to me would certainly be absolute, were it not disturbed by the fear I am in to lose you. But I know how dangerous a virtue Fortitude is; and it is the common report, that you are as ill a Husband of your person, as you are of all things else. This, my Lord, puts me into perpetual alarms, and the fate which hangs on me to lose the best, and most valuable of my friends, puts me into so much the greater apprehension for you. To allay this, all I have, is a secret confidence in your good Fortune; my heart tells me that you have a great journey yet to go, and a many things to do, and that the friendship you are pleased to honour me with will be more Fortunate to me, then that of some others. I wish it both for your sake and my own, and that with all my Soul; as also that I may be happy enough one day to demonstrate to you, how much and how passionately I am,  
Your, etc.   

To Monsieur de Serisantes, Resident for the King with the Queen of Sweden. LETTER. CXX.  
SIR,  
YOur little Ode I look on as a great work, and makes me conceive, that, though you there mention your debauches, you are sometimes sober at Stockholm. The fruits of Greece and Italy are not fairer than those you bring forth under the North, nor can I but wonder how the Muses were able to follow you thither. You may safely brag that you have carried them further than ever Ovid did; nor indeed did ever man show them so many Countries as you have. But if you derive these Enthusiasms from the Wine, my advice is, that you always venture to drink at the same rate, 
— Dulce periculum est,  
O Lenaec, se qui Deum  
Cingentem viridi tempora pampino.   
And you may say, 
Bacchum in remotis carmina rupibus  
Vidi docentem—   
Sir, I am not able to tell you, how infinitely I was pleased to find Oil of Jasmine, Spanish Gloves, and English Ribbons, in Latin Verses. To do you but justice, all from the beginning to the end is admirably pleasant, 
Insigne recens, adhuc  
Indictum ore alio,   
But since I understand not Latin the best in the World, be pleased to explain yourself, as to those words, m●ntis & acerbus dolour. It puzzles me very much. I shall not pretend to any concernment in your secrets, any further than you give me leave; but take it not ill, if I do in your interests, since I am most sincerely,  
Sir, Your, etc. Paris, Dec. 15. 1640.   

To Monsieur de Maison-blanche, at Constantinople. LETTER. CXXI.  
Sir,  
YOu would certainly do very ill to turn Turk; for I assure you, you have abundance of Friends in Christendom, and your reputation is here so great, that were your condition mine, I should rather come away thence, and enjoy the fruits of it, then command forty thousand janissaries, marry the Grand Seigneur's Daughter, and be strangled a while after. I know not what kind of Beauty's you have in Asia, but I assure you, five or six of the handsomest Ladies in all Europe are fallen in love with you, and provided you are nothing diminished, whereas you meet there with Maids that entreat you to buy them, you shall sell yourself here at what rate you please. To deal freely with you, your Letters never made so much noise in London, as they do now in Paris; the General discourse is of them, all desire them; and if the Grand Seignor knew how considerable you are among the Christians, he would dispose of you for your life into one of the Towers of the Black-Sea. Madam, the Princess asked me the other day, whether you were really so great a Wit as was reported; not above four days before Mademoiselle de Bourbon put the same question to me; and there's not any but is astonished at the noise, you at the present, make in the world. For, to deal truly with you, your Physiognomy discovers not all that is excellent in you; and it is a miracle, that, by your looks you were once taken for an Engineer. It would never be guessed at by your nose what you are worth, and to esteem you proportionably to your merits, presupposes a conversation and acquaintance with you such as I have, or never to have seen you, or known you but by your Letters. They are, no question, pleasant beyond all imagination: and I am never thought such by those who have any affection for me, unless I bring along with me some one of them. But particularly, Monsieur and Madam de Rambovillet, the young Lady their Daughter, and the marquis of Pasany, are ravished with them, and accordingly have an extraordinary esteem and abundance of respects for pou. Be it therefore your care to preserve them by writing to me as often, and as pleasantly as you can: this you will find no hard task, the place where you are, will furnish yond with new things, though it were for these ten years. I wish it were so easy for me to entertain you, and that by describing our Garments, Actions, manner of life, our food, the fashions and Beauties of our women; I could write such Letters as you would take any delight to read. But, unless it be the Ceremonies of our Religion; I believe you have not forgot any thing that's done here: so that all I have further to say to you, is, that I honour you perfectly, and love you heartily; and that you know it as well as myself. For, if I should relate to you after what manner we relieved Casal, and how we took Arras and Turin; What entertainment could it find you who are accustomed to your Armies of three hundred thousand men; and who have yet the taking of Babylon fresh in your memory? I shall therefore tell you but one thing, which yet you will be astonished at; The Prince of Or●nge is now ●●aten every year five or six times, and the Count Harcourt doth those things now, which the late King of Sweden, were he a live, would envy him for. Farewell Sir, what ever may happen, continue your affection to me, and honour me so much as to assure yourself, that I am, as far as I ought, and withal manner of passion,  
Sir, Your, etc.   

To Monsieur de Chavigny. LETTER. CXXII.  
SIR,  
YOu may hereby perceive how considerable the Interest and reputation I have with you is. Monsieur Esprit, who is coming to Court with a Letter of recommendation to you from M— thought it not unnecessary to be further recommended by me; and I, who am a little given to vanity, have chosen rather to undertake it, then to tell him I durst not. Sir, you may assure yourself he is one of the best natured men in the World, one whose mind and Soul are of a makin●, such as you would wish, of a free disposition, very discreet, very learned, a great Divine and a good Philosopher, with all these qualifications he is not one of those that contemn wealth, and out of a confidence that he should make very good use hereof, he would not take it amiss if he could get an Abbacy, to obtain which Madam d'Aig●illon writes in his behalf to my Lord Cardinal. This will lie upon his Eminence to do; but upon you to find him noble entertainment, and that is all he expects. After the Character I have given you of him, I think it very unnecessary to add the humble supplication I make to you on his behalf, nor can I give you any reason why I do, but that it is his desire, and that I am wont to do any thing he would have me. But, Sir, having acquainted you with his Interests, I conceive it is according to the rules of friendship, I should be mindful of my own, and most humbly beg your confidence, that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. Paris, Jun. 2. 1641.   

To the Count de Guiche. LETTER. CXXIII.  
My Lord,  
AFter the finishing of one great siege and two small ones, and an abode of fifteen days in Flanders without Equipage, do you not think it an extraordinary refreshment to go and besiege Bapaume, and to begin a fresh in the Month of September, as if nothing had been done all the year before? Me thinks the Knights heretofore had a much easier time of it, than those that live in these days, for as to those the breaking of four or five Lances in a week, and now and then a brush of fight, or haply a combat, was the main of their work. All the time besides they took their progresses in fair Forests and Flowery Meadows, & most commonly with a young Lady or two: and from Perion King of the Gauls, to the last of the race of Amalis, I do not remember I have read of so much as one troubled with drawing lines of Circumvallation, or giving Orders for a Trench. Fortune, My Lord, is certainly the greatest Cheat in the World! Many times, when she Loads men with honours and employments, she makes them very unhappy presents, and ordinarily sells us at very dear rates what she seems to give us. For, in fine, without any consideration of the hazard of Iron and Lead, (a thing not worth the speaking of,) but supposing you always fought under enchanted Arms, yet can you not avoid it; but the War must cut of the best part of your best days: it hath robbed you of six Months of this year, nay from you, whom it hath been pleased to perserve a live, it hath taken away within these fifteen years, above the one half of your life. And yet, my Lord, it must be acknowledged, that those who pursue it with so much glory as you do, must certainly find great enjoyments in it, and doub●ess, this general consent of a whole people with that of the more excellent, and more virtuous, to raise one man above all the rest, is a thing of so m●ch insinuation, that there is no generous Soul which is not surprised with it, nor no hardship which that does not represent as supportable. For my part, my Lord, (who pretend to have been acquainted with the inconveniences of War, as well as yourself,) I must needs confess your Reputation comforts me for your absence, and what pleasure soever it may be to hear you speak, yet I prefer before it that of hearing you spoken of. However I cannot but wish your sudden coming hither, to enjoy the fruits of the Glory you have acquired, that after so many hard marches as you have had, you may take the pleasure all this Winter, (what weather soever it be,) to go twice or thrice a week from Paris to Ruel, and from Ruel to Paris. Then shall I have the leisure to tell you what Alarms I have been in for your sake, and acquaint you with the affection, wherewith I am,  
My Lord, Your, etc. Paris, Oct. 15. 1641.   

To the same. Upon his promotion to the charge of Marshal of France. This Letter was written eight days after the precedent. LETTER. CXXIV.  
My Lord,  
OF all that I said to you prejudicial to War, I now make my recantation, and since the honour you have received is derived from it, all controversy between me and it, is absolutely decided. I have indeed long since been of opinion that so great valour and Services, in a man of your quality, and a person so much in the respects of all the World, could not but meet with sudden rewards and acknowledgemets. But there being a vast difference between the things that are to be, and the things that effectually are, I could not but be extremely glad to hear that, that had been done for you which needs must; and this news I was as sensible of, and as much surprised at, as if I had not expected it. It is out of all Question, my Lord, that the principal recompense of your actions is the reputation they have gained you; but yet, it should be no slender satisfaction to you, to ascend at your age, to the highest degree that the Fortune of War can raise men to. But, if on the other side, you consider how many dangers you have run through to arrive to this, what hazards you have been put to, and how many gallant men you saw fall, who yet run the same race with you; you will think yourself somewhat obliged to Fortune that hath preserved you thus long, and hath not opposed your virtue. Among the many reasons I have to congratulate your happiness, there is one particular satisfaction which you cannot have yourself, and which truly, at least in my opinion, surpasses all the rest; to discover by the unforced and unsuspected judgements of all the World, that your glory is free from all envy, and to see, there is not any one who is not as glad of your prosperity as if he were concerned in it. The public rejoicing at this particular good Fortune of yours, is to me a presage that it will be seconded by a many more, which it may produce; and I hope you will shortly add, to the honour you have received from the King, that reputation, which ●ou only can, and which indeed is the most solid and most real. I think you doubt not but I heartily wish it, since you know how much I am, a thousand ways, obliged to be, with all manner of respect and passion,  
My Lord, Your, etc.   

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. CXXV.  
Sir,  
THere's not any thing in your Letter, I am not extremely pleased with; but was not without jealousy, able to read the enjoyments you took upon the Banks of the River of Cha●ente; in so much that I who, upon all other occasions, am as glad of your advantages as if they were my own, and who have not the least envious thought for your reputation, your learning nor your wit, cannot but envy your having eight day's conversation with Monsieur de Balzac. I doubt not, but you knew how to make your advantages of that happiness, for of all the men I know, you are he that can best do it.  
& Deorum  
Muneribus sapienter uti.  
You may interpret that Sapienter as you please, either in its proper signification or the Metaphorical; for if a man entertains Balzac with good discourses, it's supposed it cannot be done without good Dinners, and I doubt not, but you have an admirable Palate for the one as well as the other. Monsieur de Balzac is no l●sse eloquent at a Banquet than he is in his Books. He is Magister dicendi & caenandi. He hath a certain science of making good cheer, which he deserves to be no less esteemed for th●n his Rhetoric; and among other things, he hath found out a kind of Broth, which I value beyond Pliny's Panegyric, or the longest Oration in all Isocrates. All this hath been extremely well bestowed on you, for it is not enough to say that you are sapiens, but you are, as Eni●● expresses it, sapienti potens. I say not but you may be as good in the other sense, nec enim sequitur, & cui cor sapiat, ei non sapiat palatus. This I must tell you we are obliged to Cicero for, lest you might think, that Palatus came from me. Your Gout certainly never came so much wished for, as when you were there, and it is a question to me whether your health ever did you so great service; that very courtesy is such as should work a reconconciliation between you and it, or at least deserves you should not mince it into a fluxion, and be so modest as not to call it by its own name. But be ingenuous, have you not done as that Coelius did, sanas liniendo, obligandoque plantas incedensque gradu laborioso? For to deal freely with you, a Gout that takes you so seasonably, and stays you eight days, to enjoy yourself, to feed on Figs and Musk-melons, I cannot but entertain a little jealousy of. On the other side I cannot by any means, take it well you should grow so familiar with the Master of the house, and that he should profess so much friendship to you, as he pretends in all the Letters he writes hither. All that I was able to do, was to give way to Monsieur Chapelain, and suffer myself to be named the second.  
Non jam prima peto Mnestaeus, nequ● vincere c●rto,  
Quanquam O!—  
But I will never consent to be third. Sir, do you observe that Quanquam, O! it is spoken in my Spirit with greater indignation and bitterness then in Virgil. Look therefore to yourself both you, and he, and the other, and behave yourselves very gingerly. For, in a word I know not whether I shall be able to endure all this, and whether it will not make me bankrupt as to all patience. Certainly there's not any thing could ●aise so much jealousy in me, as as the friendship of Monsieur de Balzac; he is one of the two men in the World, with whom I would gladly spend the remainder of my life, you may easily judge who the other is. Not to mention his wit, which is beyond any thing may be said of it, there is not under Heaven a better Friend, a better man, a more sociable, a more pleasant or a more generous; Virro (for me thinks I can express it better in Latin) facillimis, jucundissimis, suavissimis moribus, summae integritatis, humanitatis, fidei, liberalissimus, cruditissimus, urbanissimus, in omni genere officij ornatissimus. The Friendship, which we mutually preserve, without any mention of it in writing one to another; and the confidence we have one of another is a thing rare and singular; but above all things, of very great example in the World, and whence, a many well disposed people, who destroy themselves with the writing of ill Letters, should learn to be quiet, and give others leave to be so.  
What you say of building about Balzac, as about Chil●y, I very much approve of, and it were certainly very seasonable; but we wits are not the greatest Builders, and lay our foundation for it, upon these Verses of Horace,  
Aedificare casas, plaust●llo adju●gere mures  
Siquem delectet barbatum, insania ver●et.  
At least, Monsieur de Gombaut, Monsieur de l'Estoille, and myself, are resolved not to build at all, till the time come, that stones dispose themselves one upon another, at the sound of the Ha●pe. I know not, whether Apollo be fallen out with the Trade and hath given it over, because he was so ill paid for the Walls of Troy; but me thinks his favourites are not much addicted to it, and their Genius directs them to other things much different from sumptuous Edifices. I therefore thank you for your hill; but I were none of the wisest to go and build in a place, where I have already a fair house ready built. I have be thought myself, that that passage, Nulli potest facilius esse loqui, quam rerum naturae pingere, etc. Was the younger Pliny's, and thought it very pleasant that you durst not name him to me. But in your judgement, is it not better said, Nulli potest facilius esse loqui, quam rerum naturae facere? For, in the first place there's more opposition between loqui and facere, then between loqui and pingere, which is something of more grace. In the next, it is an expression of greater height, Nulli facilius est loqui, quam rerum naturae fac●re: It is not so easily for any one to say, as for Nature to do; then to say, It is not so easy for any one to say as for Nature to paint. Will you not acknowledge this to be something flat and of a low Spirit, to refuse a word which presents itself, and is withal the better, and to keep a great Stir to find out another that's not so good, and farther from the sense? He is one of those eloquent blades, of whom Quintilian says, Illis sordent omnia quae narturae dictavit. And in another place, Quid quod nihil jam proprium placet, dum parúm creditur disertum quod & alias dixisset. He thought to have been very much refined with his pingere, and hath spoilt all. While I write this I consider with myself, how finely I were surprised if this passage belong to the elder Pliny. But if it be, his be the loss, I will not retract what I have said, why does he speak like his Nephew? Non sapit patruum in that passage, even he, who in comparison of the other is wont to be patruus Patruissimus, as Platu●us or T●rence says. Which of the two is it? I think the former.  
I would gladly know where that Tree grows who bore the Roses you sent me. Certainly neither Poestum, nor Egypt, nor Greece, nor Italy ever brought forth the like. It may very well be yourself, Tu Cinnomomum, Tu Rosa. You look as if you thought this taken out of the Song of Songs, when it is Plautus'. I can hardly imagine those Verses should be the work of any modern wit; but if they are, I should be much troubled, they were any other than yours or Monsieur de Balzac's. Whoever is the Author, he may very well be proved of them, and those Roses are certainly ●orth a many Laurels. But I beseech you, let me know whose they are dirmi a'mine, mea Rosa, mea voluptas. With your Roses, you have also sent thorns, when you propose to me the two passages, you would have me explicate. In the first place, as to that of salust, we are to consider that Hunting, was a commendable exercise among the Scythians, the Numidians, nay the Grecians themselves, and particularly the Loc●demonians; but I do not remember I have seen any thing to prove that among the Romans, it was the exercise of the more virtuous or better sort. For, Agriculture, it is to be distinguished according to Time. In old Rome, consular men, and such as had been Dictator's, returned from the management of the Commonwealth to the Plough-tail, which was the ordinary employment or calling of the Papirij, the Manlij and the Deccis. But they had no sooner tasted the delciacies of Asia and Greece, ere they gave it over; and you may easily judge that a sort of people, who had the hair drawn off their Arms and thighs with certain Pincers, who cured and perfumed themselves, were far enough from goading of Oxen. If I am not mistaken, it is in the lives of the Gracchis that I have read, that one of the reasons which moved one of them to advance and Legem agrariam, was, that having travelled through Italy, he had not met with any at work in the Fields about Husbandry, but only Slaves, where before they were all Citizens of Rome. Now, if it was so then, it may be easily judged that in salust's time, it was yet more ordinary to see Slaves employed in Tillage; Whence it comes, that Hunting and Agriculture, which are Quaestuosae Artes, are by him called Servilia Officia, quae aut à servis exercebantur, aut exer●cri poterant.  
For the other, I think, that where Ausonius says, arguetur rectius Seneca quam praedicabitur, non erudijsse indolem Neronis, sed armâsse saevitiam; he does not mean that Seneca had ever incited Nero to be cruel; but that instead of commending him for having taught his Disciple Philosophy enough, to make him merciful, he is to be reproved for having taught him too must sublety and Rhetoric to maintain his cruelty: so that armare, in that place, is not understood of offensive but defensive Arms. And accordingly, I think Tacitus says, that when that virtuous man had killed his own Mother ('twas a terrible Stork) Seneca assisted him to write to the Senate upon that occasion, and to find out pretences to palliate the horrid action whom he had committed. This passage obliged me to read over the whole Oration of Ausonius, which had I not done, I should not have presumed to meddle with it, and while I have all the best Authors by heart, I would not willingly read a line of the others. Good God what jargon they speak; after what rate they write; and how is a man that is accustomed to Cicero, astonished when he finds himself among such people!  
Of all the Letters I have received from you, I have not thought any better writ or more pleasant than the last; but the passage I am most pleased with, is, that where you speak of the Abbot of Lavardin. There commendations, which he desires you to present me with from him, satisfy me, that, either he is extremely civil, or sufficiently well opinioned of me, and whether of the two it be, it matters not, I am infinitely pleased at it, either for his interest or my own. Sir, let me beg your favour so far as to let him know from me, that I receive the honour he does me, withal the respects and acknowledgements, which a person of his merit and quality may justly claim; but withal, that I cannot sit down with the receipt of Civilities, that I aim at something more, and have a great design to gain one day the happiness of his Friendship.  
I was not so much amazed to hear the Nuns of Loudun speak Latin, as I was to see you rip so much Italian. A man cannot discover by your citations, but that you understand it. But I hope I shall be revenged when I hear you pronounce it; for, ordinarily the Italian learned in Poiton hath not the accent extremely Roman, and therefore do what you can, sapiet Poitavinitatem.  
Your, quod mirere, in the passage of Tacitus, speaking of the recreation of the Germans, is well observed and well understood. But it's considerable what St Ambrose says upon it, I know not by what hazard I come to know it. F●runt Hunnos, says he, cum sine legibus vivant, aleaesolius legibus obedire, in procinctu ludere tesseras simul & arma portare, in victoriâ suâ captivos fieri.  
Your ballismos, I also like very well, as also the Medal of Vigenere. But will you believe that Cordonniers, are so said, de ce qu'ils donnent des cors, because they give Horns? I persuaded a good honest man the other day that it was a true Etymology.  
I should sooner forget a thousand Mistresses than Monsieur de Chives, and Monsieur Girard, par nobile fratrum, nay I should as soon forget you. If you hold any correspondence with them, I beseech you do me the favour assure them, that I am still their most humble Servant, with as much passion as ever, and that I entreat them not to have a greater, affection for you then they have for me, and not to be guilty of an infidelity towards me such as that of Monsieur de Balzac, by forsaking me, to entertain new faces. Farewell, Sir, and be ever assured, I shall not love or esteem any thing as I do you. I am, most sincerely,  
Sir, Your, etc.   

To the Same. LETTER. CXXVI  
Sir,  
I Was once resolved, for a while to break off the correspondence that is between us, as making a conscience, in a season when a man should do penance, to come to those great entertainments you make me: but after I had endured much, I was convinced, I was not able to be without it. I sued for a dispensation to receive your Letters, and have obtained it. For your part, you may without any scruple receive what I send you, as having hardly so much as to entertain you with a light Collation. Insteod of those mullos trilibres you presented me withal, I can only return Tiberinos' Catillones, which only like the banker of Tiber, and feed on the slime of the Latin Country;  
Postquam exhaustum est nostrum mare.  
Nay for this time I shall hardly find as many as will make up a dish, and therefore I shall only treat you with pulse.  
Impunè te pascent Olivae,  
Te cicoreaea, levesque malvae.  
You must be content to make the best cheer you can with it, I can do no more; I cannot command those Parks, nor those Champions which are designed for your hunting, Hortulus hic, etc.  
Unde epulum possis solis dare Pythagoreis.  
You cannot but remember that Coecilius Atreus cucurbitarum, I shall be forced to do the like; for, to tell you truly, my stock is quite Exhausted; and, 
Mihi omne penu ex fundis amicorum hic affertur.   
For you Piscinarians, (so Cicero, writing to Atticus, calls certain rich men of his time, Quantum Piscenarij mihi invideant, alias ad te scribam,) for you I say, it is an easy matter to treat your friends, you are not put to such shifts to do it as we, 
Nec seta longo quaerit in mari praedam.  
You have your Fishponds ever full;  
Piscina Rhombum pascit, & lupos vernas,  
You need no more than whistle,  
Natat ad magistrum delicata murena.   
It is impossible to take you unprovided, you I say, who have Penus Varius, or Varia, if you would have it so, or Varium, or Penum or Penu, ('tis a pleasant Knave, that, he is of all genders, and shifts himself out of one declension into another, and when he pleases, is undeclinable,) I am one of those, quibus sunt verba fine penu & pecunia. Think it not strange, I should be astonished,—   

To the same. LETTER. CXXVII.  
SIR,  
YOu now see what it is to entertain your friends at great Feasts, there needs no other reason you should not expect any returns of them. And to put me to greater troubles, you bring along with you Monsieur de Balzac, the most delicate, and the most humorous person in the world, quâ munditiâ, quâ elegantiâ hominem? Your Diet I knew, and you were sufficiently acquainted with my Table; but it cannot entertain so great a stranger.  
— Ingentem non sustinet umbram.  
To speak freely, when I look on you both, I cannot but think on Jupiter and Mercury, when they came to embrace poor Philemon, (be this however spoken without any offence to either, for all comparisons are odious) and in effect, that good man had not more reason to be troubled than I have. It is certainly a cruelty in you to have engaged me to this, and that a more than Neronical cruelty, Indicebat familiaribus coenas, quorum uni mellita quadragies H. S. constiterunt, alteri pluris aliquanto rosaria. To tell you the truth, that is it hath diverted me all this while; I have often said to myself, 
— Nunquam ne reponam?   
But I forbore both upon your account and his: 
Cupio enim magnificè accipcre summos viros.  
Ut rem mihi esse reantur,   
In fine, after a tedious search without finding any thing, me thinks it might have been said to me as to that other, Nunquid adolescens meliùs dicere vis quam potes? or otherwise, 
Quid multum cupias cum sit tibi gobio tantum.  
In loculis?—   
I am therefore resoled to do what I can, and desire you to be satisfied with it, 
— Rebusque veni non asper egenis.   
You must accommodate yourselves to my exigencies, I can do more; I am not Master of those great Parks, nor yet of those Champions which lie open to your Game, nor yet those vast Seas where you fish, for all you say, 
Hotulus hic puteu●que brevis, nec teste movendus.   
I am, I must confess, ashamed to discover my wants and poverty; and yet though I am poor, I cannot shake off Ambition.  
— Hîc vivimur ambiaiosâ  
Paupertate.—  
I wish with all my heart, I could  
Admetus Palatinas acipensera mittere mensas,  
Or entertain you at such a Supper as he was, before whom, duo millia lectissimorum piscium, septem avium apposita traduntur. But tell me I pray, do you gentlemen of Poitou, feed much upon Acipensers? I have sent to inquire for some here, and the Fishmongers know not the name. And yet it was a kind of Fish very much heretofore esteemed at Rome; Huic tantus olim habebatur honos, says Macrobius, (did you imagine I had read Macrobius?) Ut a coronatis ministris, & cum tibiis in convivium soleret ferri. That indeed was an extraordinary privilege for a Fish. C. Duillius, had almost such another, Caium Duillium, qui primus Poenos dasse devicerat, redeuntem à coenâ senem saepè videbam puer, delectabatur cereo funali & tibicine, quae sibi null exemplo privatus sumpserat; tantum licentiae dabat gloria. It was not I that saw him in that magnificence, 'twas Cato the Censor; and Cicero, who tells the Story, had, I doubt not, very great respects for this Fish, and fed on it heartily: For, in his Tusculane Questions, he remembers himself of it, and names it above all others for a delicate bit. Si quem igitur tuorum afflictum merore videris, huic acipenserem potius quam aliquem soc●●ticum libellum dabis? In the mean time, there is not a word more of it. Hence you may judge what the glory of humane things amounts to, and what account is to be made thereof afterwards, 
— I demens & saevos curre per Alps,  
Ut pueris placeas, & declamatio fias.   
However it be (that same, however it be, is a little far fetched, for it relates to my telling you that I had nothing to treat you with all.) I shall entertain you as well as I can, and will say with that other, vide audaciam, etiam Hirtio coenam dedi sine pavone. In another place he tells one who bragged, that he would find him as poor cheer, as I shall you, Si perseveras me ad matris tue coenam vocare, feram id quoque, volo enim videre animum, qui mihi audeat ista quae scribis apponere, aut etiam polypum, Miniani Jovis similem; crede mihi non audebis: ante meum adventum, fama ad te de meâ lautitiâ veniet, eam extimeoces. Make me, I beseech you, understand what Beast is meant by that Polypum Miniani Jovis. I profess, since you have failed me of your Letters, I know nothing at all. As for the Promulsis, it is tolerable hitherto, but you are not satisfied with that only; Non enim vir es qui soleas promulside confici, integram famem ad ovum affers. Let us then fall to other meat.  
As to our quarrel against those who make not their Reverence●s long enough, I do not think them to be blamed so much, and the reason is, that the truest and most effectual, consist chiefly in small things; as in certain Gestures, certain motions of the body and countenance, whereby, without being as it were perceived, they work their effect.  
Componit furtim, subsequiturque decor  
That Furtim me thinks, signifies as much, as also what the Spaniards call el no se que, they are so small that a man knows not well what it is. Nor shall you need to trouble yourself any further about their Husbands: Why would you invalidate marriages of so long standing? The Gods, as you said upon another occasion make up others much different. The world is full of such marriages, have they not married pain upon pleasure, sufferings to glory, Heaven to earth; and Mademoiselle— to her Husband, 
Sic visum veneri cui placet impares  
Formas atque animos sub juga ahenea,  
Saevo mittere cum joco.   
I know not whether I told you that we had given over writing one to another, and that I had been informed that she made heavy complaints against me: She is in the City, and I have given her a visit. Our interview was somewhat like that of Dido and Aeneas, when they met in Hell. I did all lay in my power to pacify her, I told her, verus mihi nuntius ergo, and per sidera juro, and nec credere quivi.  
Illa solo fines oculos aver satenere,  
Nec magis incepto vultum sermone moveri,  
Quam si dura silex, aut stet Marpesia cautes.  
As to sleep, he's not so ill a Husband as you make him, and that Grace, I know not you call her, could not be better disposed in order to her quiet and case, He is as gentle as a Lamb, the most patient of all the Gods, 
— Placidissime somne Deorum,  
Pax animi, quem cura fugit.   
And were it not that there are no Gates to his Lodging, he were a very good match: You may see in Lucian the description of his City, and how he was accommodated: Though all he could do, were to restore the complexion, enliven the overwearied eyes, and embellish the Ladies, do you not think it enough to get into their favour? He is a Distiller of Poppy, and Mandragoras, and well skilled in Fucus', that are, doubtless, incomparably beyond all the white and red in Spain, no usava afeytes Dorinda, y assidesperto con los que el suemo le avia dado. Learn a little Spanish though it were for nothing else but that you might not plaugue us so much with your Italian. Nor indeed is he so heavy as you think him.  
Tum levis aethereis delapsus somnus ab astris,  
Nor could he have gotten so many children if he had been so weak.  
Tum pater è populo natorum mille suorum.  
Nay though he were as cold as you conceive him, do you place but a small succour in all those dreams which he drives before him as it were with a wand, and disposes of as he pleases? Have you forgot that expression of Fleur D'espine?—  
Se non sogni questi  
Ch'io dorma semper, e mai non mi desti.  
And that other, 
Proh Venus & tenerâ volucer cum matre Cupi●o,  
Gaudia quanta tuli, quam me manifesta libido  
Contigit—   
Do you make no account of this, and do you not think an honest woman may be satisfied with it? As to what you say, that the Graces ought never to sleep; go and visit some of your Ladies the next day after a Call, when they have sat up all night, and then give me your opinion as to that point. For your somno mollior herba, and your morbida, Domine Magister noster! I think you neither understood the Latin, nor the Italian, for the one signifies to sleep upon, and morbido signifies no more than polite, smooth, lean, properly effeminate.  
Your Emperor Lampridius I look on as a sober, rational man; and if Heliogabalus had made a score of such Ordinances as those, I should place him next to Titus and Trajan. I wonder you should forget that other of Tiberius, Asellio sabino H. S. ducenta donavit pro Dialogo, in quo boleti, & ficedulae, & Ostreae, & turdi certamen induxerat. Were not those Emperors? I am extremely troubled at the loss of that Dialogue, and would you not have been glad to see a discourse between an Oyster and a Mushroom? That Asellius was certainly an excellent person, and had I known him I would with all my heart have given him a Demicaster.  
The Stones I sent you in their natural shapes you have excellently cut, and admirably wrought: They are become in your hands precious, and you have made them one of your best Dishes of your Banquet; Fecisti ut lapidi illi panes flerent. Without Saturn's stomach, or the Moon's teeth, I have made a shift to eat very heartily of them, and with great satisfaction. That's a kind of meat, quam nemo coquus hactenus in jus rocaverat; but you make such sauces, as would persuade a man to eat pebble-stones. I could not believe that that Story came from such grave Authors. This granted, I am not an Infidel as to that, that the stories should sometimes hear the sound of the Harp, besides that at this day we believe, that walls have ears.  
I must needs confess I have a greater esteem for Ausonius than I had, you have made me see him in his Lustre, by showing him me in his Poetry. He was no question a very excellent person, and I doubt not but his Oration had been very good, had he turned it into verse. Those you have furnished me with of his; I am acquainted with a sort of men like him, who go very ill a foot, and can do miracles on Horseback: but I wish those men would do only what they are best at, and that Cicero had never writ in verse not Ausonius in Prose.  
Do you expect I should now speak of the other Banquet, whereof I had my part, 
Ut Nasidieni juvit me caena beati,   
That is to say, how I find myself after the good entertainment of Monsieur de Balzac? I shall answer you, Ut nunquam in vita fuerit melius. Lucullus Apollo, no, not that of Delphos could have been so magnificent; the least Dish is to be preferred before the Dodecatheon of Augustus, you know, 
Cum primum istorum conduxis mensa choragum,  
Sexque Deos vidit Mallia sexque deas.   
Which deserves no great admiration. It is of such a Feast as this, that it may be said 
I lauri de Permesso, e di Parnaso  
Andorno a coronar la Gelatina.   
That man is certainly admirable in what ever he does.  
I ever and anon meet with some Verses of his, which are doubtless much beyond what I thought this age could have produced, such as might raise a jealousy, I say not in Lucca, or Clandian, but even in Lucretius and Virgil. But be pleased to ask him, upon what grounds he believes that I have gotten the explication of the passage of Ausonius out of his bowels, and why he ranks me among those, qui plus ex jecore alieno sapiunt quam ex suo.  
I am therefore to conceive that I know nothing but by a reminiscence of those things which my soul learned heretofore in his conversation. His Dish of Wind, as well as yours of Stone, I am infinitely taken with, and certainly it had been excellent food in the Island of Ruac, a place I know not whether you are acquainted with. It is an Island where the Inhabitants live only by wind, and where the sick take no other Physic then those unwholesome blasts that come in at some hole made in the place where they lie. You are certainly excellent Cooks, you season all things so well, that there's not any thing might not be eaten out of your hands, and which you would not make a man swallow down pleasantly. You can give, 
Cuerpo a los vientoes, y a las piedras alma.   
This is a Verse of Lovys de Gongora, one whom you are not acquainted with: I am very much pleased to understand the alliance between the Athenians and Boreas, as also that there was a Norwegian of a Citizen of Athens▪ he me thinks might have called himself Citizen of the world, with as much right as that other who bragged so much of it. But indeed the Athenians had there met with a very turbulent Cockney. I did not, I must confess, believe, that the Sea was a Tear like that of his who had a better stomach to digest stones, than I have. He shed it no doubt when he was turned out and bound in chains by his Son. Do you think (at least if the story be true) that it may be said of Saturn, as well as of poor Pallas' Horse, 
Guttis humectat grandibus ora.   
The truth is, they played him very unhandsome tricks; but it hath happened well for mankind, that as he was extremely given to melancholy, so he could not weep much, for if he had shed but three tears what should have become of us, omnia pontus erant. It might be said on this occasion, that he wept bitterly; but tell me I pray, if you can, Did he weep both the Sea and the fish in it?  
— Immania Cete,  
Tritonesque citos, Pontic exercitus omnes.  
I had forget to give you an account of your passage of Seneca Valde me torfit illa podagra, adeoque impliciti videntur hi pedes, ut ad illos utrosque dextros explicandos, nullum dextrum pedem habeam. Unless it be his meaning, that the Gout turned the left foot, which ought to be inward, outward; and that being so turned on the same side as the right foot, he says, utrosque dextros. But it could not be meant that the right foot was turned to the left side, for than he had said utrosque Sinistros. It is certainly very hard to be understood; if you can find any better explication, 
— Si quid dextro pede concipis.   
Let me know it.  
I have heard of your sickness, but with much disturbance, though I knew it not till it was over, and was astonished to understand the danger I was in, when I knew nothing of it. Dear Sir, I beseech you rest satisfied, this World wants that I should value love or esteem more than I do you. May I perish, if ever I am so pleased with my own thoughts, as when I think (which I do often,) that Fortune will find out some way that we may spend the remainder of our days together, and that I may have you, in serijs ●ocisque, amicum omnium horarum. I profess there is not any thing I wish so much, and that I am and ever shall be your Servant, with as much passion, as when I saw you every morning. I make this profession to you on the eve of a journey of six months, which I am to take, for I go hence with the King for Catalonia.  
Be pleased therefore to forbear writing till you hear of his Majesty's return. I should be much more impatient to come back, if I thought to find you here in the Summer. I advise you to do all you can, that it may be so. Qui benè latuit, bene vixit, is a precept you have nothing to do with; let alone  
Panaque Sylvanumque senem Nymphasque sorores,  
You are a debtor to the Public, and it were but fit such a man as you were known to all the World, omnis autem peregrinatio, you know, obscura est. Hasten therefore your return, I beseech you once more, and as soon as your term shall be expired, let me find you here, or M— or some— and take heed; ne quid temporis addatur ad hanc provincialem molestiam. I send you a Book, which Mademoiselle de Courmay presents you with. Farewell Sir, be pleased to continue me in your affection and remembrances, and assure yourself I shall be while I live, and most sincerely,  
Your, etc. Paris, Jan. 24. 1643.  
Your infoelix Theseus, I look on as an extreme happy man, and am almost confident that Hercules did not deliver him out of Hell more fortunately, or more gloriously than you do.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER. CXXVIII.  
Madam,  
HAd I been without my— I should certainly have been extremely troubled to be deprived the honour of your sight, and I believe I should have thought on you more heartily than ever I did, for to tell you truth; I felt myself extremely disposed thereto, and never was so much afflicted at a departure from you. But it is beyond your faith, Madam, what strange diversion— afford a man, and what an excellent remedy they are against a great passion; one while a Horse falls lame, another, a wheel is broken, sometimes they are lodged for a whole night in a Bogg, and I profess all can be done with them, is that they make a man think three or four times a day on her, whom he thinks his best friend. But now that we shall travel more gently, and are to embark upon the Rhosne, I shall discharge my duty of thinking on you better, and if I am not mistaken, I shall come to Avignon the most passionate man in the World. For your part, Madam, who take no greater journeys then from your own house to the suburbs of St german, and are not troubled with such ill ways as we are, you are not by any means to be excused, if you honour me not so much as to think on me sometimes, since, I must needs tell you, yond are more obliged to do it then ever, and if you are not often in my thoughts; it is, when you are, with so much sincerity and such resentments, as wherewith I am confident you would be satisfied. Besides, who knows but I do often reflect on you, and that I express myself thus modestly, because I dare not tell you all? In this uncertainty, I humbly desire you, Madam, to believe only what Monsieur Arnaud shall acquaint you with, for I have ordered him to explain my intentions to you, and to tell you, since it is his profession to make Orispianes, how much I am, and after what manner,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Lions, Feb. 23. 1642.  
The Resolution my Lord Cardinal had taken to go upon the Rhosne is changed, upon this account, that walking the day before yesterday upon the Quay, he saw a Boat full of Soldiers, very near being cast away, some, who leaped out the Boat into the water, being drowned; which his Eminence hath no great mind to be, because it would prove prejudicial to the designs he hath upon the Roussillon.   

To the same. LETTER. CXXIX.  
Madam,  
I Wish you had seen me the other day, that you might have known what condition I was in from Vienna to Valentia. The day was newly delivered of the Sun, nor was he but weakly able to gild the Mountain-tops, when we were gotten upon the Rhosne. It was one of those fair days, which Apollo does sometimes adorn himself withal, and which are never seen at Paris, but in the height of Summer. Those who were of my company, entertained themselves one while with the sight of the Mountains of Dauphine, which were some ten or twelve Leagues on the left hand, all covered with Snow, another, the Hills on both sides the Rhosne loaden with Vines, and Valleys as far as sight could reach, burdened with Trees which were green and flourishing. For my part, while all were thus employed, I got up alone upon the cabin of boughs which covered our Vessel, and while they were admiring at the things that were about them, I began to consider what I had left behind. I fixed my right Elbow on the covering of our Bark, which supported my head, the left hand being carelessly stretched out, wherein was a Book which I had taken only as a pretence for my retirement. I looked earnestly on the River, which yet I saw not. There fell immediately tears of no small bulk from my eyes, my sighs were so violent, as if they brought some part of my Soul out along with them; and ever and anon there slipped from me certain words, pronounced with so much disorder and confusion, that those who were about me could not well hear them, and which I shall acquaint you with when you please. What I now write to you, would have been capable of more advantage and ornament, if I could have put it into verse, for I profess to you, the Nymphs of the Waters were troubled at my affliction, the God of the River had a compassion for me; but all this cannot be well expressed in prose. The result is, that I remained seven hours in that posture, without moving either hand or foot. I wish, Madam, you had but seen me thus in any exercise of Religion; it would have raised no small devotion in you, in so much that the Master of our Vessel said, he had in his time, carried ten thousand men from Lions to Beaucaire, but had never seen any that seemed to be so much out of his senses. Having dressed up this fine story, it just now comes into my mind, that you will haply imagine there is not a word true of it, and that what I have said is merely matter of invention to fill up a Letter. Though it were really so, Madam, yet am I still excusable, for to deal freely with you, a man is many times much at a loss what to say, nor can I conceive, how, without some such inventions as these persons, who hold not any correspondence either as to love or affairs, can often write one to another; and yet to be ingenuous with you, all I have told you, of my resvery, my sighing, and my sadness, is punctually true. Only as to the resentment which the Nymphs, and the God of the Rhosne had thereof, I am not over confident; I spent a whole morning in these thoughts without the least remission. During that time, I must confess, I thought three or four times on Mademoiselle— the rest I wholly bestowed on the Lady your Mother, and yourself. I had promised you, that if we went by water, I should come out of your debt as to that point; and indeed I have done so much, that if I fall into the same posture again, the Sun that first shines on me in Languedoc will inflame me into extravagance. It is already so hot in Avignon, that we can hardly endure it. The Spring hath overtaken us already, there's every where abundance of Fleas and Violets; I wish you both with all my heart, for Madam, as I shall be glad, you should not sleep too much in my absence, so can I not but wish you whatever I see that is handsome and beautiful, and remain,  
Madam, Yours, etc. Avignon, Shrove Monday 1642.  
It was certainly a rare sight the last night, to see the streets of Avignon full of Candles, Lanterns and Torches, at all the Windows, to see my Lord Cardinal, who made his entrance at seven at night. It was as light as at Midday, and if the Pope had come hither himself, he could not have been more nobly received. They gave him thousands of benedictions, a commodity the people of this Country is extremely liberal of, because it is a Papal Territory. The Jews of Avignon are very well, Monsieur the Vice-Legat full and sat enough, and the Count d'Alais somewhat more than he.   

To my Lord Precedent de Maisons. LETTER. CXXX.  
My Lord,  
IT is too great a goodness in you to take the pains to write to me, and to treat me with so much civility, as if I were not before the most obliged man in the World to you. I beseech you, and that most humbly and most earnestly not to take trouble on yourself any more. You have not for the most part much to acquaint me with; but for my part, besides the obligation of my duty to write to you, the occurrences which from time to time happen here furnish me with something to say to you. Nevertheless, my Lord, I must needs confess, I was infinitely satisfied with the last Letter you were pleased to send me; and when ever you have such pleasant news to tell me, I dare not refuse the honour you do me in the communication thereof. I am extremely glad of the great acquaintance and friendship you have, since my departure, made with Mademoiselle de Rambovillet, I understand it no more by your Letters then by hers: she never writes to me, but she mentions you, and that with all the affection and esteem due to you. I cannot, my Lord, but acknowledge it an extraordinary satisfaction to me, that you and Madam de Rambovillet pity me for the indiscretion I was guilty of, and it shall be a remembrancer to me for the future, besides the solemn protestation I lately made to the same purpose to Monsieur de Chavigny. I am also to be glad, that you have had the reputation to keep Madam— fifteen days, and what is more, to cut off all access from others; all I have to quarrel at, is, that you do not dispose of her, till that now she is in a mind to be reformed, and in the state of repentance. However I advise you, not to let fall your suit; for, time, Fortune, and the addresses of a person of Honour may work a great change in Affairs? Having once spoken of those things, I conceive your Lordship will find no great pleasure in any news I can entertain you with hence; but to avoid importunity, I shall tell you all in a word, which is no more than that I am,  
My Lord, Your, etc. Narbonne, May 10. 1642.   

To the same. LETTER. CXXXI.  
My Lord,  
IT is certainly an excess of kindness in you to give me thanks for any thing, who shall never be able to do enough for you, and should be still in your debt, though I had hazarded my life a hundred times in your service. For this kindness, my Lord, and the proffer you are pleased to make me, I return you thousands of most humble acknowledgements, and am extremely elevated to see, that, amidst affairs as well of the greatest as least consequence, you take all occasions to give me assurances of the friendship you are pleased to honour me with. Though I have played almost to dotage and extravagance, yet have I kept so much wit about me as to reserve money enough to clear me from this place, and am troubled at nothing so much, as that I have given you so ill an assignation, and put into your hands a Creditor little better than myself. On the other side my Lord, I cannot express the extraordinary joy, I take at the great friendship you have made with the whole Family of Rambovillet: Mademoiselle de Rambovillet never writes to me, but she sends me some thing concerning you, expressing the great esteem she hath for you, and that you may be better satisfied with the sentiments my Lord Marquis of Pisany hath for you, I send you a scrip of the least Letter he writ to me; For, Monsieur de Charigny, you are certainly obliged to have many respects for him, he is ready upon all occasions to speak of you, with all the esteem and affection imaginable; he acquaints all his friends with your friendship towards him, and promises it to those, whom, as the dearest, he hath the greatest inclinations to oblige. He told me the other day, that you had written him the handsomest, and most obliging Letter in the World, but being engaged in Company, he had not the leisure to show it me. Three days since he took his journey hence towards the Army, to be present at the Ceremony of the Order, which the King granted yesterday to the Prince of Mourgues, and returns to morrow. Of the Kings return there is not any certainty: I shall, my Lord, in that business take the greatest care I can, as I would in all things you command me. The hopes of taking in Perpignan so soon, are very much remitted, they now give out it will not be before the 25th of the next month. Monsieur de Turene told me he would lay two hundred pieces, that it would be taken before June were passed. Whenever Monsieur de Chavigny goes to the Army, he lodges at Monsieur des noyer's, it is now the greatest friendship in the World, but withal the most real and most sincere, I am,  
My Lord, Your, etc. Narbonne, May 22. 1642.   

To Monsieur Chapelain. LETTER. CXXXII.  
SIR,  
THough I am well furnished with confidence, yet dare I not return to Paris without sending you an answer, and am indeed ashamed I have been so long in your debt as to that part of my duty: but I must withal freely tell you, that, foreseeing I should have occasion to write to you, to acquaint you with what judgement should be made of the Verses you sent, I delayed it as long as I could, out of a design to save myself a Letter. If you are but just, you must not think it strange, that a man should be a little fearful when he is to write to a Doctor as you are: and certainly, when I do but reflect, that it is to the most judicious person of our age, the maker of the Imperial Crown, the Metamorphoser of Lionne, and the Father of the Maid, that I write, my hair stands up, and makes me look like a Hedgehog; but when, on the other side, I consider that this Letter is directed to the most indulgent of mankind, to the excuser of all faults, the commender of all labours, to a dove, to a Lamb; my hair lies down as smooth and as flat, as the feathers of a drowned Chicken, and I fear you not so much as the wagging of a straw. I shall therefore tell you, Sir, gentle as you are, that the Verses of Monsieur de Balzac, have not yet been seen by my Lord Cardinal.  
O Coelum, O Terras, O Maria Neptuni!  
Will you cry out. Is this the account is made of the Sons of jupiter? Is this a treatment befitting the greatest wit in the world?  
Frange miser calamos vigilataque praelia deal.  
You have indeed reason to say all this; but you are to believe that a many other things were to be thought on all this journey, and that if Apollo, whom you know, had come in person to Narbonne, with all his light and lustre about him, he would have been received but in the quality of Chirurgeon. I have spoke of it a hundred times to Monsieur de Chavigny, who ever answered me, that for Monsieur de Balzac's sake, it must be reserved for a time, when the spirits of his Eminency were less distracted with affairs, and more fit to entertain things of that nature. He hath commanded me to entreat you on his behalf to return the greatest acknowledgements possible to our friend, for the Epigrams he made for him, wherewith he is infinitely satisfied; to say truth, they are the handsomest in the world. As for the Verses directed to my Lord Cardinal, they are absolutely Virgilian, with a little more Enthusiasm than the Author is wont to have; and for my part, had I both my Arms broken on the Wheel, I should take a pleasure to hear them. If it be any shame, that he, for whom they were made, hath not yet seen them, the greatest part of it will fall on Monsieur de la Victoire, whose care it principally was. For my part, I have contributed thereto all the care and affection I ought, and abating all thoughts of the powerfulness of your recommendation, and the passion I have to serve Monsieur de Balzac, I should I profess, have solicited with no less ardency, for a man risen out of the bottom of Sweden, that should have sent hither what you have. All the offence I have committed, is, that I have not written to you sooner; but you have pardoned me far greater, and consequently will this, since I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. Avignon, June 11. 1642.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER. CXXXIII.  
MADAM,  
THere's nothing so certain as that I should have an extraordinary affection for you, if I should never see you again, for it being but two Months since I left you, it is double to what it was, and increases daily so much, that If I see you not suddenly, I question not but it will defy all limits. To say truth, besides the satisfaction it is to have spent some time without any contestation with you, and passed over a Lent without any dispute about the Almond-milk; your Letters, Madam, have, I must needs confess, contributed much to make me judge more favourably of you, and think you more amiable. The two you have honoured me with, have raised in me new matter of astonishment; and as if I never had been acquainted with your perfections, and that every one, to speak freely, hath some little indignation at the reading of those things, which he might have written; yet I have, I assure you, been extremely pleased with them; they have dispelled all my afflictions, they have in a manner cur'd me of all misfortunes, and have infused into me a joy which I could not have expected here but by enchantment or miracle. Of both which there is so much in what ever you write, that I wonder not at all that they have wrought this effect in me, but only that they have inflamed with an extraordinary impatience to see you again, since there is not any man, who had the advantages of his wit and senses, and knew you to be so mischievous as I do, but would rather desire to be always at a distance of two hundred Leagues from you, were it only but to receive of your Letters. It should, on the other side, be your wish, that I sat down content with this honour, and that I came not near you; for, doubtless, being far from you, the services I do you are greater, and you ought to consider them accordingly. And certainly when I reflect on all those I have done you since I left Paris; all the discourse I had concerning you with Monsieur de Roussillon; the assurance I gave of your affection to the Count d' Aleix, the professions I made to his Lady, that she was one of those Persons for whom you had the greatest honour and respects; the miracles I related of you to Madam the Saint Simon, and the expressions wherewith I assured the Lords Deputies of Marscilles, of the good inclinations you had for them and their City, methinks the main end of my travelling up and down the world, is to procure you Servants, to keep up your correspondecies, and to dilate your reputation. Meeting yesterday with my Lord Precedent F— in the King's Chamber, he fell into discourse of your excellencies; I told him, that he was very much in your liking, and that it was long since that I had discovered your particular inclination for him. He is handsome, and believed it, and I assure you, Madam, as also Monsieur de Chaveroche that if ever you have any business in the Parliament of Grenoble, the first Precedent will be your infallible friend. I am infinitely pleased to see what you acquaint me with of the Mistresses of my Lord Marquis of St. M—It is, I must confess, a great joy to me, and to be absolutely a person of Honour; it was but fit he should enter into that kind of life. To say truth, to fasten any thing on his mind, that should possess the place of that person which was there, it were little enough to thrustin seven at a time, and yet he will have much a do in seven others, to find all those perfections he admired in one. In the mean time, I cannot but think it strange, and to deal freely with you, cannot understand a possibility that a man can love seven persons at a time; for my part, I could never, when I was most prodigal of my love, go beyond six, and it must certainly be very infamous to love seven. But, Madam, since I perceive he is so much addicted to talking, and I grown so melancholy, I believe, for my part; that our souls were changed when he embraced me last, that I took my leave of him, for ever since I have been in perpetual disquiet, always wished myself out of the places where I was; nay, me thinks I have loved Mademoiselle du Vig●an, more than ordinary. I know not whether this proceeds from the honour she hath done me in her remembrances, or from a necessity there is, that an affection so well grounded should increase daily: but I could wish, that where he hath hitherto loved the gentlest nature in the world, he had made his addresses to that other you know, who expects, when any one hath declared himself for her service, that he persevere and die in it, were it only to see what would have been the issue of it. And certainly, it were but expedient, that for the advantage and edification of all the world besides, an unconstant man should be punished once in his life. I call him unconstant, though he hath done nothing but what was desired of him; but it should not have been in his power to do it, and both for his reputation sake, and the respects I have for him, I wish he had died rather. But we shall one day see these Gallants unmercifully dealt with in the other world. For my part, who am a sinner as well as others, I have been miraculously converted, and dare affirm, that my soul is in Paradise as to that point. But Madam, what is it that you tell me of the Marriage of Mademoiselle de V— and the Count de G— and where hath fortune been ransacking for these two persons to join them together? I have much joy to wish for that of Mademoiselle de G— and the Count de F— there is a friend of ours who will be very— at that Wedding, and I am sorry I cannot be at it myself. All the news is, that those of Colioure capitulate; you will find by the Letter I send you, that I forgot not the delivery of yours to Madam de Lesdiguieres. I have been now writing these four hours; is it not in your judgement, time that I should tell you that I am,  
Madam, Your, &c   

To Monsieur Esprit. LETTER. CXXXVI.  
SIR,  
IT may be said of your letter, as of the Sun's chariot; could you have imagined that the chariot of the Sun, and your letter, had any thing common? 
Materiam superabat opus.—   
To tell you truth, I could not have believed it possible that the Countess de T— should have found me so much pleasure, that M. lafoy V. D— could have been so pleasant, or that any good could have been made of Madam de C— when in the mean time, you have dressed them up so, as that I have been extremely pleased to see them all, and you have embalmed these bodies so well, that I should not be much more taken with the most young, and most healthy. Hence it may be inferred, that a good workman doth miracles in all kinds of matter, and this which, next to the first matter, was the most naked, and the most indigent of all, hath received from you so excellent a form, that you have made it, as it were another compositum. It is only you can make Mercury of any kind of wood; this, whereof any other but yourself, could have made nothing but ashes, is so well disposed, and employed with so much industry, that Cedar and Calambon is not comparable to it. You Swallows have a miraculous faculty, with a little earth and straw, (for you know 
Et mirè luteum garrula fingit opus. ) to do such things as are not less to be admired then the Masterpieces of the most regular Architecture. A hop certainly would in your hands become a rose,— Qaeicquid calcaveris hic rosa fiet.  
One Swallow such as you are is enough to make a Summer. But assure yourself I honour you as much as if you were an Eagle, or, if you please, an Ostrich and am,  
Your, etc. Nismes. June. 17. 1642.   

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. CXXXV.  
Sir,  
COnsider I pray, whether I deal not favourably and ingenuously with you, since so specious a pretence as that of a great journey performed with so much precipitation, (for we are come in six days from Paris to Grenoble by Coach,) hinders me not from giving you an answer? I received your last Letter a quarter of an hour before my departure; I rejoice at your prosperities as much as if they were my own, and while I am unfortunate in whatever I desire, I think myself fortunate, when you are so. For I cannot say that Fortune is absolutely my enemy, since she is your friend, and I forgive her all the mischief she hath done me, in requital of the favour she doth you. You will be astonished at what I shall tell you, and truly I am ashamed to tell you; M— is more unmerciful to me then ever, more cruel than she was in her Letters; and what is lamentable and shameful both, this resistance inflames me, and I am fallen more deeply in love with her then ever you knew me.  
O indignum facinus, nunc ego &  
Illam Scelestam esse, & me miserum sentio;  
Et taedet, & amore ardeo, & prudens, sciens,  
Vivus, vidensque pereo, nec quid agam scio.  
It is one of the reasons moved me to undertake this journey, ut defatiger; but I fear me I shall have the same Fortune with that other. Do you, who are more discreet, and better acquainted with her, give me some advice in this case, and let me know, whether you conceive she will persist in the resolution which she seems to have taken. But deal freely with me, and in such an adventure as this, use not your ordinary compliance; It will haply prove a kind of remedy to me, to be persuaded that there is not any. You are obliged above all others to deliver me out of this disturbance, for besides that your affection to me aught to be greater than any man's, you are, in some sort, the cause of all the afflictions I groan under at the present, as who first brought me to the sight of her, 
Te, cum tuâ  
Monstratione magnum perdat Jupiter.   
I speak it not in good earnest, but me thought it came very pat to my purpose. As to the word wherein you desire my judgement, I can say as little to it as you, though I reflected on it by the way as we came. That, 'tis true, does not signify much, for my thoughts were wholly taken up with her. Farewell, get my heart from her as soon as you can, that you may have it wholly to yourself, or, if she must keep it, that it may be with some justice, I am,  
Sir, Your, &c   

To the same. LETTER. CXXXVI.  
Domine,  
NOt to dissemble with you, all your Latin cannot exempt you from simplicity, and it is easily discovered in you that the greatest Clarks are not always the most polite. I was strangely reconciled with M— within one quarter of an hour after our meeting; we had hardly exchanged two or three reproaches, but we embraced one another more heartily than ever. Love sneezed above two hundred several times that day, sometimes on the right, and sometimes on the left, which brought him into a cold he hath been troubled with these three weeks. She gave me, mille, deinde centum, deinde mille altera, deinde secunda centum. See now what you get by citing so unseasonably those two Epigrams; for to tell you truth, I conceive her very handsome about the nose, and am of the judgement of her neighbours; Sic meos, amores? There ought not such strict notice be taken of what falls from Lovers in their passion, and though Phaedria, coming upon the Stage, speaks of Meretricum contumelias, yet in the next scene, he would soon quarrel with his ears, that should affirm Thais was not a very honest woman. Had you forgot your Publius Mimus, Amantium irae, & that other, who putting things in their order, says, injuriae, suspectiones, inimicitiae, induciae, bellum, and then at last, pax rursum? According to the knowledge we have of your simplicity, and the opinion which I know you have of that fierce and impersuasible Nature, we concluded you would be cajolied thereby, and that you would write a Letter that should find us abundance of good sport, but to the end that you might oblige her, and pretend a regret for having endeavoured to get away the heart from her. I assure you, I had much ado to persuade her to be guilty of that treachery towards you. This is the reason, that you have not received oftener from her, and she hath purposely forborn, because you should not take her in a lie twice. But we must do you that right as to acknowledge, that if you are defective as to judgement, you have, to balance it, a great wit; I am infinitely taken with your Letter. There are some applications the most fortunate in the World, or to say the better, the most ingenious, particularly that di boni, and that fundi calamitas, but, quoth me capere oportuerat, haec intercipit, how do you understand it, by your explication of him alterum? I approve it not, for Gnatho being in all probability elder than Thraso, or at least coaetaneous, what likelihood is there he would say, that it should seem that Thraso had made the other; haud ita jussi: 'tis an equivocation upon rectè jocularium in malum, visu dignum. I shall see Monsieur de— since you command me to do it, for that makes me more considerable than if I were a Bishop. I admire the expression of Monsieur Pauquet; I have often told you that his wit went beyond yours. To deal freely with you, I believe he dictates your Letters; I wish he would also my answers. But tell me, whence came that Hemistick, I never read it, and cannot imagine it was ever applied on any occasion, but the wheat that grew on the Bastions of Rochel, I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. Paris, Aug. 4.   

To my Lord Marquis de Roquelaure. LETTER. CXXXVII.  
My Lord,  
I know not what advantage I shall make of the honour of your friendship, but it hath cost me already very dear; there passes not a Campagne, wherein for your sake, I endure not many sad days, and that the hazards you are engaged in, cause me not abundance of affliction, when, in the mean time, I have a great joy to see, that, by a strange extravagance of Fortune, you find a way to purchase glory in the worsted side, and that in those engagements, which are in a manner unfortunate to all others, you make yourself famous. Things well considered, you cannot in my judgement, with any justice quarrel with Fortune, for, if she be not on your side, she takes you into that whereof she is, and at the end of all fights, I find you among the Victorious. For my part, I am more jealous of your liberty then your glory, and must confess myself not at all troubled for your imprisonment, and reflecting on what hath happened, I have a greater affection for you, when you are among the Spaniards, then if you were of our side. I wish, my Lord, you may receive from them, all the good entertainment that your merits may claim, and I do not in the least doubt but you shall; for, besides what is due to your condition, there are those excellencies in your person, which in three days gain the hearts of all that come near you, and I make no difficulty, but the enemies who have taken you, are by this time your friends. I would gladly, were I permitted, come and bear you Company with them, for assure yourself, my Lord, there is not any thing I would not heartily do, to demonstrate to you, how sensible I am of the honour you do me every where, by the public acknowledgements you make of the affection you have for me; and neither Paeris, nor the Court, cannot afford me greater enjoyments, than what I should find with you, and to assure you, that I am, with extraordinary passion▪  
My Lord, Your, &c   

To my Lord Marquis de St Maigrin. LETTER CXXXVIII.  
My Lord,  
I Have been three whole days in suspense whether you were alive or not, with what affliction, you may easily imagine. Amidst this alarm, I received, as very good news, that of your imprisonment, and I could not be much troubled at the loss of your liberty, when I had been so much in doubt of that of your life. Nor indeed, my Lord, can I not but acknowledge, that if your destiny had been in my hands, you should have had no other than what you have: and as I should have been extremely afflicted that you had been found among the dead, so should I not have been well pleased you had clearly escaped. Fortune hath pitched on the mean I desired, and I believe I jump with your thoughts of it; for I conceive you would not have enjoyed yourself much in a liberty, which you must have purchased by a retreat. When I am got to Paris, if you please to send for me by a Drum, as one of your menial Servants, I shall not disown the relation, but be ready to wait on you; I am extremely impatient for the relation of your Adventures, and now I think you are at leisure to make it. I wish, with all the passion that may be, you may always meet with good ones, and if, having six or seven Mistresses to grieve for, you have any time to spare, to think on me, I humbly beseech only to honour me so far, as to remember that, I am,  
My Lord, Your, &c   

To Mon●ieur de Chavigny. LETTER CXXXIX.  
Sir,  
I Profess it is out of pure considerations of friendship that I write to you, and that I cannot but tell you, that I languish away here, for want of your company. After I had made such haste to get out of Italy, I grow wearier of Paris then ever I was of Turin, and having very excellent accommodations of Lodging in Crequi-House, it happens often that I wish the Chamber of la Grave, and that of Novalaize, nay sometimes, my own bed at lafoy Souchiere I took more pleasure, the day, that the wind and rain put my nose into a pleasant posture, than I do now in the fairest days of all: and to tell you all in a word, I should be content to entertain M— four hours every night, conditionally I might enjoy you but one half hour in the day. Seriously, Sir, I cannot imagine otherwise of myself then that I am fallen into a Pit, whence forty fathom of Rope will hardly get me out; nor is there any but you that can do it, and therefore till you are returned, I shall continue there crying and roaring after a sad manner. There passes not a day over my head, wherein I make not some addition to the affection I bear you, and whether it be that I have more leisure to reflect on myself, and consider the obligations I owe you, or that conversing with other men, I make greater discoveries of the extraordinary difference there is between you and them, I have greater respects for you then when I was upon my journey, when yet I had greater for you then for myself. You will pardon me, that I tell you this with so much freedom, and not think it strange, that speaking with much passion, I express myself the less considerately. Notwithstanding all this liberty, I have in my Soul the humblest respect I ought to have for you, and that, honouring you sincerely, proportionably to your merits, I am, beyond what I can express, and as much as I can be,  
Sir, Your, &c   

To my Lord Precedent de Maisons. LETTER. CXXXX.  
My Lord,  
MAdam de Marsilly is persuaded that I have some credit with you, and I am guilty of so much vanity as not to tell her she is mistaken. She is a person very well beloved, and esteemed by all the Court, and hath a great influence over the Parliament. If she have good success in one business wherein she hath chosen you for Judge, and shall be satisfied that I have contributed any thing thereto, you cannot imagine what abundance of reputation this will raise me in the World, and what esteem with all the virtuous and more considerable sort of people. I propose no more, to gain what just favour you can do, but my own interests, for I know, my Lord, that I need not mention any thing of yours, since that without it I durst promise you her friendship. That indeed is a bribe might corrupt the most upright Judges in the World, and is a temptation proportionable to your great Virtue; but you gain it justly, since she demands nothing but justice of you. 'Tis a thing I may also claim of you, which yet amounts to no more than the continuance of the affection you have formerly borne me, if you are but satisfied of my being,  
My Lord, Your, &c   

To my Lord Duke d'Anguien, upon the success of the Battle of Rocroy, M DC XLIII. LETTER CXLI.  
My Lord,  
SInce I am now far from your Highness, and that you cannot put me on any employment, I am resolved to give you an account of all the thoughts I have had of you of a long time, and which I durst not trouble your acquaintance withal, for fear of slipping into the inconveniences, wherein I had observed those entangled, who had presumed upon the like freedom with you. But, my Lord, the things you do are too great to admit of silence, and it were very unjust you should think to do such Actions, and that there should be no more said of them. If you but knew how all at Paris are broke loose into discourse concerning you, I am confident it would make you blush, and you would be withal astonished to see with how little respect, and less fear to displease you, all the World talks of what you have done. To be free with you, my Lord, I know not what your thoughts run upon, and it was certainly an excess of confidence, and an extraordinary violence in you, to have, at your age, baffled two or three old chieftains, whom you should have respected though it were but for their Antiquity; brought the poor Count de Fontain to be meat for worms, though one of the bravest men in all Flanders, and whom the Prince of Or●nge durst never meddle with; taken 16 pieces of Canon that belonged to a Prince who is Uncle to the King and Brother to the Queen, one with whom you never had the least difference, and defeated the best Troops of Spain, after they had with so much mildness given you passage. I know not what Father Meusnier will say of it, but all this is disconsonant to good manners, and contains, in my judgement, much matter of Confession. I had indeed often heard that you were guilty of an inconvincible obstinacy, and that it was not safe to dispute any thing with you; but I must confess I should not have believed, it could have arrived to this height; for if you continue thus, you will become insupportable to all Europe, so far will the Emperor and the King of Spain be from being able to oppose you. But, my Lord, not to meddle at all with matters of Conscience, and to mind only those of Policy, I congratulate your Highness, the gaining of the greatest Victory, and of greatest consequence of any hath happened in this age, and that without being important, you do those actions that are such in so high a degree. France, whom you have cleared from those storms it stood in fear of, is astonished to see you, at the entrance of your life, do an action such as wherewith Caesar would have been glad to crown all his, and which returns to your royal Ancestors more lustre than you had derived from them. You now verify, my Lord, what was heretofore said, that Virtue comes to the Caesars before its time; for you, who are a true Caesar in disposition and science, a Caesar in diligence, in vigilance, in courage Caesar, & per omnes casus Caesar, have eluded the judgements, and exceeded the hopes of all men; you have discovered that experience is only requisite for ordinary Souls, that Heroical Virtue is acquired by other ways, that it knows no degrees, and that the Masterpieces of Heaven are in their perfection, even from their beginnings. Having done this, you may easily imagine what entertainment and caresses you are to expect from the Grandees of the Court; and how the Ladies are transported to understand, that he whom they have seen triumph in the Balls, does the same thing amidst Armies, and that the handsomest head in France is the best and best settled. There's not any, even to Monsieur de Beaumond, but speak favourably of you; all those who were revolted against you; and complained that you were still mistaken, acknowledge that for this time you are in the right, and seeing the great number of Enemies you have defeated, there is not any one who fears not to be of it. Give me leave, O Caesar! to be thus free with you, receive the Eulogies which are due to you, and permit that we render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's.   

To my Lord Marquis de Montausier, Prisoner in Germany. LETTER. CXLII.  
My LORD,  
YOu would not be troubled that you were taken, if you knew how much you are bemoaned. There is certainly less pleasure in being at Paris then to be there wished for as you are, the affliction which all of quality are in for you, being to be preferred before the noblest liberty in the world. If you cannot at the present be convinced of this truth (for in the condition you are in, you look as if you could not understand reason) I shall one day clear it up to you here, and make you acknowledge, that you ought not to number among your misfortunes, an accent that raises you the affection and respects of all the most amiable persons in France. In this general sentiment of all the world, I do not, my Lord, think it to much purpose to trouble you at present with my own; for what probability is there you should afford me any consideration among Princesses, Princes, Ministers of State, and great Ladies, and particularly among the young Ladies, who are much to be preferred before the others, the Ministers, Princes and Princesses? When you have bestowed your thougets some considerable time on all those persons, I humbly beseech you to believe, that the world affords not another who concerns himself more in your good and bad fortunes, than I do, or can be with greater passion.  
My Lord, Your. etc.   

To the Same. LETTER CXLIII.  
My LORD,  
THough I am the most confident man in the world of your friendship; and that the freedom which shines through all your actions, removeth all distrust of your affection, in those to whom you had promised it; yet can I not but be extremely satisfied when ever you assure me of your love, as thinking all the security can be given me for a thing whence I derive so much pleasure, and advantage little enough: The satisfaction I took in the reading of your Letter, is the greatest I have had ever since I left Paris; and unless it be the acknowledgements you therein make me, there is not any thing I am not infinitely sensible of. I am therefore to assure you● Lordship that I receive daily new satisfactions, that I have at length suffered myself to be overcome by your favour, and have lost that hardness of heart, that had too long, made a separation between us. Though I make some difficulty to reflect on that time; yet I must needs acknowledge it is some pleasure to me, to remember it, so to multiply my joy by comparing it with this; nay (I hope I am not too free in what I say) there are some intervals, wherein I cannot wish it should have fallen out otherwise. For besides that the enjoyment of a Good is the greater, by as much as as there was a fear of losing it, and that the friendships, which after some interruption are renewed, have something of ardency, and eagerness, which those that are constant, and of a long standing have not; this misunderstanding hath given me occasion to receive a signal expression of your goodness, by letting me know with what mildness and affection you have entertained me as soon as I came near you: At lest this advantage I am confident to make of it, that, having once discovered what fault I committed in the ill management of the honour of your respects, and found by experience, how hard it is for me to be without them: I shall, for the future, arm myself against all failings of that nature, and shall not suffer any thing whatsoever to divert me from being,  
My Lord, Your, etc.   

To my Lord Duke d'Anguien, when he passed the Rhine with those Troops, which were to join the Marshal de Guebriant. MDCXLIII.  
For the understanding of this Letter, you are to note, that before my Lord Duke's departure from Paris, being among a company of Ladies, with whom he conversed very familiarly, they diverted themselves with divers little recreations, and particularly that of the Fishes, wherein the duke was the Pike. The Author making also one in the sport, under the name of the carp, took occasion thence to write to him this piece of ingenious Raillery.  
LETTER CXLIV.  
GOod morrow Gossip Pike, good morrow Gossip. I was indeed in a manner persuaded that the waters of the Rhine could not stop you, and knowing your strength, and what pleasure you take in swimming in the deep waters, I was satisfied you would not be startled at those you have now passed; but that you would do it with as much glory, as you had accomplsshed so many other adventures: I am nevertheless to rejoice that you have done it much more fortunately than we did conceive you would, as also, that without the loss of a single Scale, to you or yours, the bare noise of your name, hath dispersed whatever should have opposed you. Though you have been hitherto excellent in all the Sauces have been made for you; yet must it be acknowledged that the Sauce of Germany gives you a noble taste, and that the Laurel which is put into it, makes you taste admirably well. The Emperor's people, who thought to have fried you, and eaten you without salt, have indeed done it all backward; and there is certainly some pleasure to see, that those, who made it their brags that they would make good the Rhine, are not over confident of keeping Danubius. D●-Fish, how to do you bestir yourself: there is no water so troubled, so deep or so swift, which you dare not venture yourself headlong into; Indeed Gossip, it must needs be confessed, you have satisfied the Proverb that says, young flesh, and old fish; for though you are but a young Pike, you have a certain consistency which the oldest Sturgeons have not, and you perform such things as they durst not attempt. Nor indeed can you imagine what extent your reputation is of; there are no Ponds, no Springs, no Brooks, no Rivers, no Seas, where your victories are not celebrated; no standing water where you are not thought upon; no running water where your noise is not heard, your name pierces to the Centre of the Sea, and swims on the superficies of the Waters, and the Ocean, which limits all the world, does not your glory. The other day my Gossip Turbot, my Gossip Gurnard, myself, and some other freshwater fish, supped together at my Gossip Smelts, where was brought us up at the second course, an ancient Salmon, who had compassed the world more than once, was then newly come from the West-Indies, and had been taken in France for a spy, as he followed a Bark laden with salt. He told us there were not any abysses so deep, where you were not known and feared, and that the Whales of the Atlantic Sea, sweated again, and were nothing but water all over, as soon as they had but heard you named. He would have continued his relation, but the scalding-Broth he was in prevented it, so that he could not without much difficulty express himself. The same intelligence, in a manner, was brought us by a shoal of fresh Herring that came from the coasts of Norway. These assured us that the Sea of that Country was frozen this year two Months before the ordinary time, out of a fear, the news that was brought thither by certain she Mackarels, of your advancing towards the North, had caused there; and had told us that the great Fishes, who, you know, devour the small, were afraid you would serve them as they did others; that the greatest part of them retired under the Bear, out of an opinion you would not come thither; that all both great and small were in alarm and disturbance, and particularly certain Congres, who already roared out, as if they had been flayed alive, and made the River's echo again. To do you right, Gossip, you are certainly a terrible Pike, and under the correction of the Hippotames, the Sea wolves, nay, and the Dolphins too, the greatest and most considerable Inhabitants of the Ocean, are but poor Crabs in comparison of you, and if your proceedings prove proportionable to your beginnings, you will swallow up both the Sea and the Fishes. In the mean time, your glory being at such a point that it cannot ascend higher, or dilate itself further, it is, in my judgement high time, you should, after so much toil and weariness, come and refresh yourself in the waters of the Sein, and remind your enjoyments with abundance of pretty Tenches, handsome Perches, and honest Trout, who expect you here with no small impatience. But how great soever the passion they have for you may be, it is not comparable to mine, nor approaches the desires I have of being in a capacity to express myself, to my wishes,  
Your most humble, and most 
 dutiful servant, 
 and Gossip, 
 The CARP.   

To my Lord marquis of Pisany, who lost all his money and baggage at play, at the siege of Thionville.  
LETTER CXLVI.  
My LORD,  
IF I am not misinformed, whoever should affirm you were much troubled with horse flesh at the siege of Thionville ' would do you no small injury; the Devil a horse had you to keep there. I have been also told, that you, considering with yourself that many Armies have been heretofore lost, through their Baggage, have fairly rid yourself of all yours; and that, having often read in the Roman Histories (See the fruits of great reading!) that the greatest services their cavalry ever did, were when they voluntarily alighted, and rushed on foot into the brunt of the most doubtful Battles; you have accordingly resolved your Horses should not be near you, and have taken such an excellent course, that you have not so much as one left.  
The eminent Person feet it now—  
You will haply find it somewhat inconvenient; but certainly, it must be acknowledged, there's no small honour in it, that you may say as well as Bias, (Bias an old Gentleman you are well acquainted with!) that you carry all you own about you. We do not mean thereby, a quantity of unnecessary accommodations, nor a number of Horses, nor yet any great abundance of Gold and Silver; but honesty, generosity, magnanimity, constancy in dangers, obstinacy in dispute, a contempt of foreign languages, ignorance of false dice, and an unheard of indifference for the loss of frail and perishable goods. These qualities are peculiar and essential to you, such as neither Time nor Fortune can deprive you of. And whereas Euripides, who was, as you know, or know not, one of the gravest Authors of all Greece, writes in one of his Tragedies, that money was one of the evils that came out of Pandora's box, and, it may be, the most pernicious; I cannot but admire in you, as a divine quality, the incompatibility there is between you and it, and look on it as an excellent qualification of a great and transcendent soul, the antipathy it hath against that corrupter of Reason, the venom of minds, and the author of so many disorders, injuries, and violences. But yet my Lord, I should wish your Virtue were not so high-flowne, that there were some correspondence between you and this enemy of mankind, and that you would make such a peace with him as we do with the great Turk, out of considerations of policy, and Commerce. Since then a man cannot well be without it, and imagining that as I played for you at Narbonne, so have you for me at Thionville. I sent you a hundred pistols, being somewhat more or less than what you are out upon my account, and that they may not have the same fate as the others, I shall entreat you not to fowl your hands with them, but to put them into those of the French, for whose encouragement I principally send them you.   

To my Lord D' Avaux Sur-intendant of the Finances, and Plenipotentiary for the peace. LETTER CXLVII.  
My LORD,  
YOu would not be a little pleased with your departure hence, if you knew how extremely you are regretted here. It is not certainly near so great a pleasure to be at Paris, as to be wished there as you are; and though you were now as much in love with it as ever, yet the general complaints of all the Virtuous might raise in you a certain satisfaction that you a●e not here. When I reflect on your life, my Lord, methinks that great person whom his indulgent Fortune surnamed the Taker of Cities, deserved not the title with as much justice as you; for if it be true that there is no better way to reduce them then by taking in the hearts of the Citizens, the World never knew such another Poliorcetes, and we may number Hambrough, Coppenhagen, Stockholme, Paris, Venice and Rome itself among your Conquests. You cannot easily believe what sadness this place hath put on for your departure. For my own part, my Lord, I am so disordered at it, that nothing affords me the least diversion. To do you right; in what other person could I meet with such an excess of wit, knowledge, and virtue? Where could I meet with such excellent discourses, a conversation so advantageous, and such noble entertainment? Since your departure, here I could never meet with any meat which were not too much salted, nor any man which were not too little; Omnia aut insulsa aut salsa nimis. I cannot meet with any thing my palate quarrels not at, nec convivium ullum, & nec conviva ullus placet. Of this Attic salt, whereof I have eaten above a Bushel with you, and which, as Quintilian says, Quandam facit audiendi sitim, Paris cannot show so much as one corn. 
Non est in tanto corpore mica salis.  To be free with you my Lord; it proves very unfortunately for me to have met you here more experienced, more knowing, and more virtuous than ever, and withal in a capacity and willing to honour and oblige me. I now dear buy the four thousand Livers pension you have bestowed on me; and if you stay longabroad, I cannot acknowledge myself obliged by your presence. Vah quenquámne hominem in animo instituere, au● parare quod sit charius quam ipse est sibi. But I presume too much on your goodness by entertaining you so long. Yet must I needs tell you before I make an end, that the Queen received your Cabinet very kindly, and esteems it according to its worth; and hath commanded me to return you her thanks. For four or five days after there came not either Princess or Duchess to her to whom she showed it not. She showed it particularly to Mademoiselle La Princess, to whom she spoke exceeding great things of you. It is but j●st, my Lord, I should tell you, who laid the foundations of my Fortune, and bu●lt it up to this happiness, that the Queen, hath been pleased to allow me the pension of 1000 Crowns which she had promised me since your being here, and hath charged it on the Abbey of Conches, whereof she hath approved the resignation which the Abbot hath made of it to one of the children of Monsieur de Maisons. I am  
My Lord, Your, etc. Paris, Dec. 13. 1643.   

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CXLVIII.  
SIR,  
I Must not take it ill that you should be as slothful as I; but because you were not wont to be so, and that it is long since I received any letter from you, I fear me the last I sent came not to your hands, in which I answered all your expressions of Poiton, & gave you my judgement of the passages out of Sallust & Ausonius. If you desire for the future as much time to return your answers as I am wont to take, I have nothing to say against it, and yet methinks it is not just that you and I should be subject to the same Rule, since we are  
Nec cantare pares, nec respondere parati.  
The other day, ● communicated that passage of Terence, He● alterum, to Monsieur de Chavigny, and told him that you had proposed it to me, as also the exposition you made of it, and that for my part I could not subscribe thereto. The next day, he told me, that he thought there should be an interrogation, Ex homine hunc natum dicas? Do you think him the issue of a man, would you not take him rather for a beast? For my part, I can find no fault with it, only am in some doubt, how a man supposed to be alone, can use interrogation, as if he spoke to a third person. Be pleased to send me your opinion of it, for I told him I would acquaint you with his, and we shall both expect your answer. You may also consult with Monsieur de Balzac about it: I shall show Monsieur de Chavigny both your answer and his, if you send it me. I repeated to him the other day the Verses Monsieur de Balzac made for Monsieur Guye●, he was extremely taken with them, and expressed an extraordinary esteem and affection for him, commending his Wit, his Humour, his Works, his Broths, for he tells me he hath eaten of them. He is certainly a man of a transcendent wit, and passionately loves all those that have any; and it may be, he will satisfy our friend that he remembers him when he lest thinks on it. Farewell Sir, I am  
Your, etc. Paris, Nou. 22.   

To Monsieur de Chaveroche. LETTER CXLIX.  
SIR,  
KNowing what lechery you have for a Lawsuit, and what love for me, I conceive I shall make a request to you which you will not take amiss, when I make the heartiest entreaties I can, that you would take the trouble upon you of informing yourself of a Business of my sisters, to direct her with your advice, and assist her with your credit. I recommend her to you as one of whom I have the greatest confidence in the world, and whom I think the best able to advise her in this occasion. I believe Mademoiselle de Rambovillet will not spare any solicitation for both of you, for I now make her business yours, and if you will be serious in it as I hope you will, I doubt not but the issue will be such as is expected. For requital, I promise never to call you Hog again, and will bestow on you the first Chapel whereof I shall have the disposal. For to tell you that this obligation will add any thing to the passion I have to serve you, were to abuse you, since it is certain, that I am long since as much as possibly I can be  
Sir, Yours, etc.  
Once more, SIR, let me entreat you to do miracles in this Business.   

To my Lady marchioness de Vardes. LETTER CL.  
MADAM,  
YOu may easily perceive, that we are in a great disorder here, insomuch that we know not where to reassume our duty when we have not done any for so long time, and that to a person to whom there are so many obligations due as I owe you, and who may justly claim so much respect, address and affection. I have for these many months been in labour for an excuse for my default, and should take great pains to write you a handsome Letter, wherein I would prove by 20. or 30. reasons, that I have made none. But I must confess I have not yet found out so much as one; nay I am of opinion that all the wits and all the eloquence of our Academy could do no more, it being that which only your own and that of my Lord marquis can effect. To you both therefore, Madam, I address myself, to beseech you to tell me freely what a man in my condition might say. I am confident you would be much puzzled as well as I. But if you want invention to cover my fault, be pleased to have goodness enough to pardon it. You cannot by any thing else give a greater demonstration of what I daily say of you, viz. that between this and heaven there are not two other persons, so good, so familiar, and so generous. Nevertheless be pleased to believe, that it is long since, I have had a remorse for my offence, and endeavour what I can to get out of it; so that to make the best of it, I am unblamable only for the first month, for as to all the time since, I was disheartened by that shame and confusion, which must needs attend a person of Honour guilty of such a base Delinquency. If all this prevail not with you, I know Madam how otherwise to satisfy you, that is, within three days I shall put myself into your power, bound hand and foot, that you may punish me according to my demerits, and make me such an example, as shall terrify all future ingratitude; for, in a word Madame, I will not live any longer in your displeasure, there being no hazard, which I should not gladly embrace to express myself, MADAM,  
Yours, &c   

To my Lady marchioness de Rambovillet. LETTER CLI.  
MADAM,  
I Had much reason to be well opinioned of my own way to Valenton; that other, which they would persuade me was so direct, that I could not go out of the way if I would, proved s●ch that I missed it but thrice yesterday, though I would not have done it. Being gotten to the walls of Brevane, instead of turning on the right hand, I took the left, and went as strait as an arrow to a village, which stood out of my way two large Leagues. I know not how it came to pass; but my imagination was extremely troubled with Mademoiselle d'Angenes, and Mademoiselle de St. Megrin, and methought they were like two false fires keeping still before me, and ●nlightned me, but to my destruction. However, Madam, I do not desire they should hear any thing of it; for I was in no small fear they would have done me a greater mischief once before, and therefore my endeavour is to have nothing to do with such people, and to endure anything rather than incur their displeasure. But so it is, that I am got hither as safely as if I had your Lackey with me. I have not met with any wolves in my way, nor any of those hazards which you were afraid I should, nor indeed any misfortune, but what's happened through the means of the persons I left about you. I assure you, Madam, this day shall not pass, without a many wishes to see the Griffon-Horse and you, and wait on you in the walk you intent to take. I am  
MADAM Yours, &c   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER CLII  
MADAM,  
Whoever shall love any thing as highly as I do you, must not pretend to any rest; I was ever against your journey, but believed withal the greatest hurt it could have procured was to cause me the greatest affliction in the world, and whereas I was sufficiently disordered that I had not the honour of seeing you, the News which is come hither from Merlou, hath distracted me much more. Though this Accident produced no worse effect than the dissolution of such excellent company, yet were it sad enough, nay such as for which I should hardly admit any comfort. Methinks it is long since the Small pox hath been guilty of so great an insolence, and that since it durst not do your Mother's face any injury, it should also have been as tender of her pleasure and diversion. The rejoicings which I heard were among you, took away much of my afflictions here, nor durst I presume to be sad in a time when it was reported you danced every day. But now I have not the happiness of one pleasant thought, and I assure you that the young Ladies du Vigean, were never so weary of their Garret or any other place, as I am now of Paris. But Madam be pleased to consider the excess of my discontent, I had resolved to go in three days to Blois on horseback, which signifies little less than that I should cast myself headlong into the river. It is uncertain whether I shall ever return; however, honour me with the constancy of your love whether I am alive or dead, and remember that I either was or am  
MADAM Yours, &c   

To the same. LETTER CLIII.  
MADAM,  
IT is to be be admired that you should complain of solitude, when you have carried away with you what ever was excellent and desirable in Paris, and to expect comfort from us when you have not left us any. Were I but near that admirable Princess with whom you are, I should send you such Letters ●s you desire of me, and from her most inconsiderable either words or actions I would take occasion to dispel the thickest melancholy. If you find so little diversion where you are, it must needs be, that the Accident at Merlo● hath quite altered her from what she was, and that her sisters having the small pox, hath made a greater change in her then her own. In the mean time, Madam, take it from me, that most of the houses in Paris are now Country-houses as well as yours; and certainly a many which have not so good company. But if a person that enjoys not herself with Mademoiselle de Bourbon, can be pleased with any other news concerning M. de la G. I can furnish you, for she is in a manner all the acquaintance I have here, and I have as many of her excellent expressions of you as will fill up two large sheets of paper. She is certainly a notable Lady, and the most accomplished, and the most pleasant of any alive. Consider Madam, whether much diversion can be expected from me at a time, when I am capable of so little myself; and whether you think not fit I should go to Blo●s as soon as I can, and that I should say no more to you then that I am  
MADAM Yours, &c   

To M. de B. M. de B. & M.C. LETTER CLIU  
LADIES,  
YOu are certainly very tyrannical to come and disturb me ●o unseasonably as you do, and it must be that you are destined to be my Tormentors, since that the very favours you do me turn to my disadvantage, and that I never receive any good from you, which is not seconded by some greater mischief. Not long since I would have given any thing in the world for such a Letter as I have now received, and now it is come in a time when there is not any thing I would not part with not to have received it. For your particular, Madam, I am sorry that I am forced to make this acknowledgement of the honour you have been pleased to do me, but the Ladies who are with you are so presumptuous, that I doubt not but they will atttribute to themselves the Civilities I direct not to them; and therefore if I treat you with more roughness than I could wish, you may blame your company▪ Give me then leave to tell you all, that the discontents you gave me at parting had that influence on my mind, that to tell you truly, there was nothing of you left there; at least you did not those disorders you were wont to do. This distance I took with a great patience, and expected your return with no less tranquillity; I began to consider, the world was ●urnished with something besides you, which yet were amiable: methought that though you were returned, I could be without your sight three or four months, and yet not die; and, not to dissemble with you, the hatred I had for you was greater than the affection. While I enjoyed myself in the memory of so great a reformation; your Letter comes and pulls down in a moment all that my reason had built up in a long time, and with much trouble you have, by some magical practice, changed my inclinations with a certain number of words, nay the very character of the things you have written to me, hath made me quite another man then what I was. I should be much more astonished at this miracle, were I not satisfied that persons who are guilty of so many may also do some, and knew not otherwise by experience, that in whatever comes from you, there are certain poisons, and those secret charms, which a man cannot possibly elude. In the mean time, know, nothing could have happened more mischievouslie for me then that half-favour you did me; which is so powerful, as to stifle my indignation, but not absolutely to appease me: so that the condition I am inconsidered, I know not whether side to take, and can neither resolve to hate you as I ought, nor love you as I would. This causes such a distraction in me, that I cannot expressey ●m resentments thereof, nor judge which side I should take: all I can say, is, that I am sufficient lie desirous to see you again, and yet am afraid, I am not weak enough to fall again into your hands. If this happen, treat me better than you have done; for, the effect of so many disobligations will prove sad at last; and to deal sincerely with you, it were pity I should not be, with the same passion as ever,  
LADIES, Yours, &c   

To the Lady Abbess— to thank her for a Cat she had sent him. LETTER CLV.  
MADAM,  
I Was already so much yours, that I thought you satisfied there needed no presents to gain me, or that you should lay a plot to catch me, as a Mouse, with your Cat. And yet I must confess your liberality hath●raised in me some new affection, and that if there were any thing in my inclinations which you could not command, the Cat you sent me, hath made a shift to take it, and make it absolutely yours. It is certainly the handsomest and most familiar of the kind that ever was: the best Cats in Spain are, compared to this, but Burnt-tailes, nay even Rominagrobis himself (Rominagrobis Madam, you know is the Prince of the Cats) could not have a handsomer look, nor mind his interest better than this does. All I have to except against her, is, that she is very hard to keep, and of a Cat bred up in a Monastery, she brooks her restraint very heavily. A window cannot be opened, but she offers to leap out at it; she had twenty times leapt over the walls had she been suffered, and there is no secular Cat, more wild, or more given to liberty than she. But I hope the good entertainment I make her will prevail with her to stay; she feeds altogether on Cheese and Biscuits. It may be she was not so well kept before, for I think the Ladies— suffer not the Cats to be much acquainted with the Cheese, the Austerity of the Convent not haply permitting they should make such good cheer. She begins to be very familiar, she had yesterday almost carried away one of my hands as I played with her. She is certainly one of the prettiest Beasts in the world; there is not one in the house that carries not her marks. But how amiable soever she may be as to her own person, yet is it upon your account that I esteem her, and and I shall affect her so much for your sake, that I hope to change the Proverb, and that it shall be henceforth said, Love me, love my Cat. If you second this present with the Raven you have promised me, and will send within some days Poncette in a pannier, you may boast that you have bestowed on me all the beasts I care for, and obliged me to be while I live,  
MADAM, Yours, &c   

To Monsieur de Mauvoy to thank him for the Terra sigillata he had sent him. LETTER CLVI.  
SIR,  
THis is the first homage I do you for the Earth I hold of you, and I could wish, that while I do it, I were able to express how sensible I am of the tenderness and affection wherewith you have obliged me. You have indeed verified the common saying, that the gift derives its worth from the Giver; you have set such a value on what you have bestowed on me, and sent it covered with so many flowers, and so much civility, that you have made it precious, and you have found out●a way to make me a great present, when you give me a thing of no great value. But certainly I, who was never yet owner of so much as an inch of ground, am not a little obliged to you, in that by your means I begin to have some, and that you have first crossed that ill destiny, whose pleasure it seemed to be that I should never have had any. All I can tell you is, that what you have put into my hands shall not be barren, it hath already produced in me all the acknowledgements that a Civility so accomplished as yours might claim, this obligation having added something to the passion wherewith I already was  
Yours, &c   

To my Lady marchioness de Rambovillet. LETTER CLVII.  
MADAM.  
IT is to be admired that you having those endowments which might justify you in a defiance of all the World, are yet the most obliging person that may be, and have so great a goodness for me, as if you saw in my heart all the inclinations I have to honour and to serve you. Assure yourself Madam, that your name is written there in such Characters as cannot ever be defaced, and how far soever you may be hence as to ground, my memory knows nothing present but you. I should be extremely disordered, Madam, that I cannot represent unto you with what joy and respect I have received the honour you were pleased to do me, did I not believe a mind extraordinary as yours could guess at my thoughts. Be pleased then to imagine, Madam, what resentments one may have, who is the most grateful of mankind, and hath the greatest inclinations in the World to honour you. This comes somewhat near what I feel, yet it is but part of that passion wherewith I am  
Your, etc.   

To my Lord the Count d'Alais. LETTER CLVIII.  
My LORD.  
IF your affliction be of public concernment, and such as wherein all the Virtuous in France share with you, I think you satisfied that my resentments of it are not ordinary, whom your goodnesses oblige above any other, to participate of whatever you are interessed in. I know my Lord with what constancy you endure it, but that takes nothing from the trouble it costs me, so that what should comfort me adds to my disturbance. The more I reflect on the courage, constancy, and greatness of soul wherewith you bear this thunderclap of Fortune, the more am I afflicted that we have lost a Prince, in whom all those qualities should in all probability have been revived, & in whose person I doubted not but we should one day see again those Virtues, which I fear me we shall not find any where but in yourself. I wish, my Lord, we may there enjoy them long; that Fortune who hath so unmercifuly lopped off this branch, may spare the body, and have some respect for a head so dear and so precious as yours. This wish, I assure you, is as much upon the account of France as my own, who am with all manner of respect and passion,  
My LORD Your, etc.   

To my Lord Marshal de Grammont upon his Father's death. LETTER CLIX  
My LORD.  
THere hath happened a strange thing about the cause of your affliction, in that being a person that hath as hearty friends as any man, I have not met with any that bemoaned you, and that the most considerable part of France, having concerned themselves so much in the reputation you have lately gained, there's not any will interest themselves in your misfortune. I know not what account they will give for it, nor what excuse they can allege that they have so little compassion for you. For my part, my Lord, who am acquainted with your very soul, and know how exactly you discharge all the duties of friendship, I am satisfied, that you are extremely troubled, and knowing how good a Brother, Kinsman, and Friend you are, I am confident you are as good a Son; and that, having lost a Father, who hath been regretted even by those who knew him not, your affliction must needs be extraordinary. This is the more commendable in you, by how much men in these times are little troubled with such resentments. This tenderness of soul is as much to be celebrated, as the constancy you have expressed in the greatest hazards, and that in an age which affords so few examples of good Nature you are cast down for a loss which makes you one of the richest men in France. This certainly deserves admiration, and indeed darkens all your Achievements. But as even the best things are not free from excess, so your grief which hitherto hath been just, were not such should it continue any longer. It were an indecorum for a man whom France looks on as one of its Heroes, to afflict himself as other men; and it were not to have a sufficient esteem of Virtue and Renown, to persist in landnesse in a time when you do such glorious actions, and receive the acclamations of all the World. I have heard the Queen loud and open in your praises; wherein also a person much in her esteem was no less liberal; your reputation increases daily, and your wealth is never the less. For they say that in money and poultry you will be henceforth thought very considerable. If with all this you cannot be satisfied, there's a friend of mine will have much more reason than ever to cry out— The truth is, my Lord, it were too much, and I should have something to quarrel at myself, though otherwise I cannot disapprove any thing you do, as being most passionately, nay implicitly  
My Lord Your, etc.   

To Mademoiselle de Rambovillet. LETTER CLX.  
MADAM,  
I Minded not much what I did, when after I had had the confidence to chide a long time, I grew friends with you the day before your departure, and it gave me occasion to reflect on what you have told me often, that I have no great judgement: you can hardly imagine what trouble and disorder that peace hath cost me, and what advantage it were to me to be again at odds with you. I never thought any absence so long as this which doth but begin. I now feel all those things I w●i● to you formerly; methinks you have carried Paris, and France, and all the World along with you to Rouën. Be pleased to consider, Madam, you who have always laughed at me, when ever I said that nothing was more prejudicial to me then watching, what disquiets, disturbances, and pains I had avoided, if on Friday the seventh of April, I had gone to bed at midnight, and how much I am obliged to wish I had been fast asleep the two last hours I spent with you. 'tis certainly an odd destiny which will, neither when I am far from you, nor when near you, allow me any rest, 
Ni sen ti ni con tigo  
Puede vivir el mundo.   
And yet having often had the experience of both, I find the affliction it is not to see you the most piercing of any, and that you never do me greater hurt than when you are not near me.  
May 16. 1644.   

To the Same. LETTER CLXI.  
MADAM,  
THough what you tell me were true, that this journey had raised some goodness in you, yet it discovers a great unnaturalness in you, to acquaint me with so much, and by that means add to the affliction it is to me to be far from you: for if I wish you present with all your cruelties, what trouble must it be to me not to see you, if I thought you furnished with some kindness, when it is the only quality I have ever thought wanting in you? But I am not so easily drawn in, nor indeed is the thing so probable, as that it should be believed upon your word. The scratch you gave me as you passed by is to me a demonstration that you have not left all your shrewishness at Rouën, and that you have not parted with all your humours, since you take so much pleasure to persecute me. This considered, Madam, I must needs tell you I should have been glad to have been at your interview with the Sea, to see what face you put on it, what you thought, one of the other ' and what happened on the day that the two most unruly things in World met together. If conformity beget affection, there should have passed a great friendshp between you, for when I consider its calms, tempests and roughness, it banks, shelves, and rocks, the losses and advantages it brings the world: how admirable and incomprehensible it is, fair to those that look on it, and dreadful to those that are at the mercy of it; that it is irresistible, untameable, bitter, unmerciful, and insolent, methinks you are as like one another as two drops of water, and all the good and ill that may be said of that may be also affirmed of you. There is only this difference Madam, that that, though it be vast and great, hath its limits, and you have none, and all those that know your disposition hold that it hath neither bottom nor channel. And I pray what Abyss hath furnished you with that deluge of Letters you have sent hither, which are all so excellent and so admirable, and such as any one of them would ask as much time to write as that of your absence amounts to? What other imagination would not be drained to afford so much as should gain so many people, solicit so many Judges, and write to so many persons? The Sea indeed hath done you a courtesy, and it is an argument of your good intelligence, that Madam de Guise was directed so opportunelie to Roven; and to make the Romance a little more famous, Fortune hath done well to bring thither also a person so considerable as you are. Do you not think that all the adventures of a Country would be delayed till you were there? There is some thing extraordinary in it.  
El dia que tu nancistè  
Grandes Sennales avia.  
And I question not, when you die, but I shall find your death in the Gazette. As for the Gargoville, I must confess, Madam, I know not what it means. I have read the Relations of Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, and those of the Spaniards, and the Portughezes of the East and West-Indies, but do not remember I ever met with that word in any of them; I humbly beg your better information. 'tis certainly a great pity, you wandered not up and down the World, you would inform us otherwise then all other Travellers do. I wish I had as pleasant things to entertain you with as those we have received from you. But since your departure hence, Paris affords not so much news as Rouën. This also confirms that the place is better for the Person. Your Lady Mother is in health; Monsieur A.— plays the Devil with his hinder feet, now that he hath his elbows at liberty with Monsieur de St Megrin, ever since the death of my Lord Duke. He is become so handsome, so bright, that it is almost a miracle I saw your noble Brother yesterday. Monsieur de Chastenay came hither two days since. This if I am not mistaken is all I have to say to you. I humbly kiss your hands, and am much more passionately than you can believe,  
Madam, Yours, &c Paris, May 30. 1644.   

To Monsieur de Chantelou. LETTER CLXII.  
Sir,  
I Could not send this Lacquaie to Paris without taking occasion to return you my most humble thanks for the honour you have been pleased to do me, though I have neither leisure nor invention enough to answer a letter so excellent as that of yours, which is such, as it had raised in me no small jealousy, if it had been writ by another: But loving you as I do myself, or, to go a little higher, as I do Mademoiselle— and as much as Mademoiselle— does you, I must needs be glad to find your writing proportionable to your speaking, singing, dancing, vaulting, and indeed your excellency in all things. All I have to object to you is that you give me no account of Mademoiselle de Chantelou, nor of Mademoiselle de Mommor. In a person of so much judgement as you pretend to, it is certainly a horrid default; you'll pardon my freedom, and allow it in a person who admires you in all things else, and most passionately is,  
Yours, &c   

To my Lord de'Avaux. LETTER CLXIII.  
My LORD,  
THough I received no letters from you, yet the receipt of your kindnesses were enough to engage me to write to you; and methinks the least I can do is to give you words for your money. Were it at my own choice, I know the value of things so well, that I had rather give you money so it might but procure words from you; but since it is your pleasure it should be otherwise, I think it better for both it should be so, 
Permittóque ipsis expendere Numinibus, quid  
Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris.  When I have rendered you the most humble acknowledgements I owe you, I think, my Lord, I shall have very little else to trouble you with: Neque enim te credo in stomacho ridere posse, and amidst the disturbances and melancholy you struggle with, I conceive there is no entertainment for such letters as I am wont to write to you. Now to speak to you of your division, methinks is not very seasonable. Quid enim aut me ostentem qui si vitam pro tuâ dignitate profundam, nullam partem videar meritorum tuorum assecutus? aut de aliorum injuriis querar? quod sine summo dolore facere non possum. When I shall understand that you have put on more cheerfulness, assured me that the Tempest is over, that it 〈◊〉 fair weather, and that it raines not, then shall I reassume that kind of writing Cicero calls genus literarum jocosum. In the mean time I must acquaint you with one thing whence you may derive no small comfort. It is, that in the differences there are between you and— unless it be some persons that have a dependence on him, all the World is of your side, and that that benevolent aspect which hath raised the general love of all to you doth in this occurrence incline the whole Court and the City to favour you. I hope the presence of Monsieur de Longueville will produce a better face of things at Munster. At least the Scene is like to be changed, and new Actors will come upon the Stage and those excellent: 
Alter ab integro Seclorum nascitur ordo,  
Jam venit & Virgo—  Were it not that you have assured me of my ignorance in Astrology and my unaquaintance with the Stars, I should give you some Predictions; for I see a blazing-Star, which promises many things, and must cause great alterations. At least, my Lord, you shall have no cause to complain any more of Westphalia as of a barbarous Country, and where the Graces and Muses can find no entertainment. Is it not now that it may be said 
— Quoquo vestigia figis,  
Componit furtim, subsequiturque Venus?  How excellent is that furtim, if you consider it well! But what intrigues are there between you and Father Chavaroche, is he not a good honest fellow, that minds his Religion well, commendable as to Manners, a good Wit, and a great judgement? He writes miracles here of you, with a certain extravagance of passion, and hath as great an affection for you as the Parson of St. Nicholas. In the mean time, I owe heaven thanks, that amidst so many occasions of afflictions, your health and your cheerful humour have constantly kept you company. I wish you the continuance of both, and myself in a capacity to let the World know how much I am,  
My LORD, Your, etc. Paris, Apr. 1. 1645.   

To my Lord Martial de Schomberg. LETTER CLXIV.  
MY LORD,  
IS ●t that you were afraid what you were to write to me should smell of the oil, that you had sent me your letter without doing me the honour of writing particularly to me. And yet that which I have received since from you, I look on as the better part of your present. Without that, operam & oleum perdideras, and you might have sent me all the Olives of Languedoc, and yet not have made your peace with me. If you think, my Lord, that I concern myself too much, you will find that it is not for things of small consequence, and if you consider well what value I set on the things you write, you will not think it strange that I so passionately desire your letters, as what I cannot be without. The last I received brought me rest, joy, and health. All these had shaken hands with me ever since your departure hence; I hope your return will put me into a perfect good constitution, and restore me to my Wits and strength, which I must not expect without you. Till this good fortune happens, my only diversion is to discourse of you in all places, at all times, and upon all occasions. Upon what terms, my Lord, I leave you to imagine; but it is ever among persons who are overjoyed to hear me, and who will be able to acquaint you, in case you doubt of it, that among the many who take a pleasure to speak well of you, there's not any does it more heartily than myself, or is more passionately,  
MY LORD, Your, etc. Paris. April 7. 1645.   

To the same. LETTER CLXV.  
MY LORD;  
HAd you been here, you had dashed out one part of these verses, and would have made me correct the other; nor do I send them you, but to let you see how destitute I am of all good advice, nay of all wit, when I have not the honour to be near you. Be pleased to imagine by that, My Lord, what wishes I make for your return, as being one that takes not much pleasure in being a fool nor yet in seeming such, and if it concern me not much to desire you should stay no longer in Languedoc. Those whose hearts you have carried away with you, are not at such a loss as I am for your absence, nor expect you with more impatience than I po. Yet I meet one person, who i● all places and on all occasions gives wonderful expressions of an extraordinary affection for you. But, my Lord, you have made me such a courtier and so confident, that notwithstanding all these fair appearances, I think my affection towards you exceeds that of any other, and, to reform somewhat that freedom of speaking, that I am with most respect and zeal,  
My LORD, Yours, &c Paris. April 27. 1645.   

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CLXVI.  
QVuid igitur faciam? eámne infectâ pace ultrò ad eam veniens? Would you give me this advice? an potius ita me comparem. I shall forbear the rest for your sake. Without jesting, Sir, I stand in great need of your assistance at this present, and wish you here to mind me from time to time of hei noster, but you have not courage enough to give such bold advice, I must take it of myself. To be free with you, this Lady is too angry, 
Non est sana puella, nee rogare qualis sit  
solet haec imago nasum.   
It may be she will not be so cruel at Paris as at— she is more considerable there then here; if I may trust your information, 
Hanc provincia narrat esse bellam.   
But your writing to me at the time you did was the best thing you ever did, for if you had delayed it but two days longer, I should have been as angry with you as I am with her, and was resolved to have written to you in the stile you know. And, to deal plainly with you, I am not well satisfied with those you have written; there cannot be any more abrubt or indifferent. Unless it be that you have assured me of your health, what do they contain that is pleasant.  
Quâ solatus es allocutione?  
All I am pleased with is, that I conceive you spend your time very merrily, since you can afford me so little of it; but are you not the happiest man in the world, that when you least expected it, Fortune hath forced three weeks or a month on you.—  
Adeóne hominem venustum esse aut felicem  
quam tu ut scies?  
What do you think of that venustum? I think he there means him qui habet Venerem propitiam, for the other signification is not very pertinent. Farewell Sir, be assured I am assolutelie yours, and as much as you can desire.  
Yours, &c Paris. Aprili 30.   

To my Lord d'Avaux. LETTER CLXVII.  
MY LORD,  
YOu cannot imagine what a troublesome thing it is to be ever writing to a man that returns no answer; I should as willingly talk to deaf man or a wall, and yet they say walls have ears; but when I am not answered, I think I am not heard. I have been above these six weeks a writing a Letter to you, cannot do it.  
But he who knows not what to say  
His silence cannot well betray.  
It may well be applied to me, what Vibbius Crispus, vir ingenii jucundi & elegantis, said to a young man who was troubled for an Exordium for an Oration he had made, Nunquid, inquit, adolescens meliùs dicere vis quam potes? for to be ingenuous, I would not write any thing to you nisi perfectum ingenio, elaboratum industriâ, nihil nisi ex intimo artificio depromptum. Yet Cicero, who was a great Master of words, and of whom I have borrowed the l●st recited, was troubled as well as I in such occasions, & me scripto aliquo lacesses, saith he to one of his friends, Ego enim meliùs respondere scio quâm provocare. However, my Lord, according to the common saying, he that is bound pays, and I think also, he that pays is bound, and that it is my duty, some way or other to find you entertainment since I am paid for it. Yet were it a great liberality in you, who study the virtue so much, if, to the obligation you have already cast on me, you would add that of writing to me sometimes. For I profess, it is only you can inspire me with wit, and methinks I am at a greater loss of it then ever, since I have have not had the honour to see and hear you. If you pretend your being a Plenipotentiary to exempt you from answering; Papinianus had the charge of all the affairs of the Roman Empire, and yet I can show a hundred places, in great books, Papinianus respondit, and respondit Papinianus. They were the most politic and the most experienced that were wont to answer; and thence comes responsa sapientum, & prudentum responsa. Even the Oracles themselves, (and you can be no more) gave answers; nay even things inanimate do sometimes endeavour to make some answer, 
Answers are forced from Water's Woods and Rocks.   
Three words which you may say, will afford me matter of writing for many leaves.  
Nardi parvus onyx eliciet cadum.  
This will cost you no time, or if it do, there needs only that time and Wit you spend in the evenings with your servants. Your Lordship will pardon my importunity, for, to deal freely with you, I have an infinite desire to hear from you, and if your Letters were to be had for money, your four thousand franks had been long since spent, and so I should have returned all I had received from you. We have had much ado to be paid this year, and yet I have made a shift to get mine. By what Monsieur de Bailleul often tells me, I infer he expects some acknowledgement from you. I beseech you when you write to him, though sometimes you are also to seek what to say to him, present him with something, that he may know you are sensible of the service he hath done you. Monsieur de— will be shortly with you; his wife, an excellent and lovely creature, is hghly in the Queen's favour. Be pleased to give him occasion to speak well of you at his return. I am in no ordinary favour with the King, and not in disgrace with the Queen. But now I grow tediou, and it is a question whether I transgress not on your leisure, I humbly kiss your hands, and remain.  
MY LORD, Your, etc.   

To Monsieur d'Emery controller General of the Finances. LETTER CLXVIII.  
SIR,  
THough you were unwilling I should speak of your other Leters, yet must you needs give me leave to celebrate that you writ to Monsieur d'Arses upon my account, and to tell you that France affords but very few that could do the like. And particularly that passage where you say that to contract my Business you will advance your money, methinks is one of the neatest expressions I ever read, and how modest soever you may be, yet you will acknowledge that to offer twenty eight thousand franks, for a friend is a noble kind of expression, and that there are very few can make use of that stile, and can express themselves after that manner. At least, Sir, give me leave to tell you, that had it been debated among all the Wits of the Academy, it would not have been resolved to write after that manner, and that among the many excellent humours we light on, there is not any like tha●. It is, to speak seriously, a most noble and most high—   

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXIX.  
MY LORD,  
IF I have seemed backward in the congratulation of a success which hath cost you the loss of the Marquis of Pisany, you will not, I hope, think it strange, and doubt not of your Highness' pardon, if upon this occasion I have been more taken up with grief than joy. It is no article of my faith, my Lord, who would cheerfully sacrifice my life to your service, that those who have lost theirs in it have misspent them, but could heartily wish myself in their condition, rather than be so unhappy as to be obliged to weep in one of your Victories. In the mean time my Lord, since I have to encounter one of the saddest afflictions could fall upon me, it is no small alleviation that you have so fortunately and so gloriously trampled on so many hazards, and that heaven hath been pleased to be tender of a person to whom I might address all the respect and zeal, which I may have vowed to all those I shall or may ever lose▪ My prayers to it my Lord, are, that it would be more careful of your life than you are yourself, and start me out some occasion to satisfy your Highness how much, and how passionately I am,  
Your, &c   

To my Lord Martial de Grammont, LETTER CLXX.  
MY LORD,  
THe grief I took at the death of the marquis of Pisany which is the greatest I ever had to deal with, took away nothing of my affliction for your imprisonment, but since, at a time when I thought myself uncapable of joy, the news of your Liberty hath found it reception. It is indeed some comfort to me amidst so much disturbance, to see that all my passions are not unfortunate, and that Fortune is not so cruel as to take away all the persons that are dearest ●o me. I were yet to learn, my Lord, one of the best qualities that you own, and how much, above all men, you are capable of a true and perfect friendship, if I were not satisfied that you were as sensible of that misfortune as myself. And though you should have been long since hardened to accidents of this nature, and accustomed to lose the friends you most esteem; yet I am confident the loss of this hath extremely troubled you, and that you will acknowledge you never made any that you ought to put on more sorrow for. For my part, who was acquainted with the very secrets of his heart, and know the greatest esteem he had for any thing in the world was for you, I should neglect my duty to his memory, and frustrate the intentions I have ever to observe his inclinations, and the designs he had, if, upon his account, I should not force myself into your service more than ever, and add somewhat to the affection wherewith I have ever honoured you. Of this, my Lord, I question the possibility, but it is my duty to do what I can towards it, and withal to profess, that if the passion I have for you cannot admit any augmentation, it shall never decrease, and that I shall ever be  
MY LORD Yours, &c   

To Monsieur de Chantelou. LETTER CLXXI  
SIR,  
A Mistress and a suit at Law will certainly find a man too much business at a time; but if you had pleased to take the Lawsuit into your care, and recommend the Mistress to me, though I am infinitely pleased with all your commands, I must confess I should have entertained it more willingly. I have employed one to speak to your Counsel, and he hath promised that your business shall not be moved this Parliament. I conceive Sir, that I have in this given you the greatest assurance of my obedience that I possibly can; for being extremely desirous to see you again, and withal infinitelie-jealous of the Lady that detains you, you could not have desired any thing of me which I should have been more more unwilling to satisfy you in, then that I should myself order things so, that you might be longer hence, and have two month's time to stay with her. Having obeyed you in this, you cannot doubt, but that I shall ever be, upon all occasions,  
SIR, Your, etc. July 6.   

To the same. LETTER CLXXII.  
SIR,  
THat I have delayed an answer so song, I have a better excuse than I wish I had; the ●ever and the gout have had to do with this great wh●le, each in its turn, nor am I yet quite rid of them. Hence you may infer that you put me upon the employments are necessary for me, ●etter than I should myself: for being now absolutely decayed, I am yet better to solicit a Cause then court a Mistress. I wish you may soon obtain the one, and never be overthrown in the other. I am sincerely,  
SIR, Your, etc. Paris. Aug. 21.   

To the same. LETTER CLXXIII.  
SIR,  
YOu need net doubt but that I, who can afford you my life, would easily lend you my name, & that I should not gladly make Monsieur— believe me a landed man. But Monsieur— tells me you acquainted him not with your resolution till it was too late, and that the house you would have bought was disposed of before. Sir, I am sorry your affairs detain you there longer than you expected, for assure yourself we cannot be without you. One of the handsomest of our neighbours lies sick, nor have I my health as I should. Methinks you should for her sake hasten your return, as also for that of  
SIR, Your, etc. Paris. Octob. 15. 1645.   

To my Lord Marshal de Schomberg. LETTER CLXXIV.  
My LORD,  
YOu have been pleased to honour me with I etters so excellently well penned and so full of obligation, that I have not yet been able to answer them, lest I might appear unworthy your praises, or return you such as were not suitable to your worth. All I can tell you of your last Letter, is, that had I ever so little less esteem for you then I have, I should have the greatest quarrel with you of any man in the World; but I concern myself so much in any thing relates to you, that the vanity you take from my Letters I reassume from yours, and am as proud of the things you write as if I were the true author thereof. In a word, my Lord, when you doubt whether I shall remember, cricore, or approve of your wheels, you are too distrustful of my memory and my judgement. The common Proverb certainly that all comparisons are odious, holds not at all in you, there's nothing more ingenious, nothing more pleasant than those you imagine, and you who are so fortunate in them upon all occasions cannot meet with any thing that may be compared to your own. But as excellent things stand you not in much, so can you not esteem them to their worth. We who are forced to travel far for them, and find them not without great trouble, set a higher value on them, and think ourselves very rich of what you regard not at all, nay what you are ready to disclaim. It hath happened indeed very fortunately for such wits as we are, that yours hath been hitherto employed, in the commanding of Armies and government of Provinces; and that your birth hath designed you for a greater glory than that of writing well. We had been in a strange perplexity, who can do nothing else, and dare not pretend to any thing above it. I have heard, not without astonishment, fear, and joy, what you have done at Montpelier; methought I saw Rodomont in the midst of Paris; for your Lordship remembers, that he alone opposed so many people.  
Non fasso, merlo, trave, areo, O balestra,  
Nè c●● che sopra'il Sarracin percote,  
Ponno alentar la valorosa destra.  
To tell you truly, unless it be that his feet are not so handsome as yours, I take you to be very like him; and when you have your sword in your hand I think you much more. But happily while you read this, your Lordship hath some other affairs of as great importance to do, and I divert you from it by an over-tedious Letter. Be pleased to let me know whether the business of Pont Saint Esprit be at length concluded, as also what my Nephew must do, when he shall depart, whither he shall go, & to whom he is to apply himself. Doralice hunts me up and down, and sends for me every day to acquaint me with something concerning you. I call him Doralice, not of any ill omen, or thinking of any Mandricard. I am,  
My LORD, Your, etc. Paris, Aug. 5. 1645.   

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXXV.  
My LORD,  
When I thought myself in the very depth of affliction, and burdened with as much as any mind could possibly bear, the fear I was in for your highness, convinces me that I might be more unhappy than I am, and that, though my losses were extraordinary, I had yet abundance to lose. I cannot, my Lord, express the disturbance my soul struggled with to think of the hazard you were in, nor what darkness and disorder I imagined likely to happen in the World. Some slender hope I had indeed, that Heaven, who seems to mind the prosperirie of this State, would not deprive France of you so soon, & that it must preserve a person, by whom it had decreed to do yet a many miracles. But, my Lord, that malice of Fate which envies those who raise themselves above their nature, and the necessity, which there is that humane affairs should decline when they are at the highest point, gave me much reason to fear. The short and precipitate successes of Gaston de Foix, the death of the Duke of Weymar in the midst of his Triumphs, and that of the King of Sweden, who was killed as it were between the arms of Glory and Fortune, were the perpetual entertainment of my mind, and presented my imagination's with none but fatal presages. In fine, God is only pleased to threaten men, and seems to have given them this alarm, that they might the better consider what a present he hath made them of you, and how much the Earth is concerned in you. The noblest of your Victories hath not afforded you so great joy as it were to you to know what astonishment all took here at the news of the danger you were in, and with what eyes and tears you have been bemoaned. I should be very glad your Lordship knew it, that if you fear nothing as to yourself, you may be the more cautious out of a respect to those who love you, and grow a better husband of a life, whereon those of so many others depend. Amongst the many prayers have been made for it, be pleased to believe there cannot any be more fervent than mine, and that of all those who have a veneration of your Highness, I am, beyond any,  
My LORD Your, &c   

To my Lord Duke de la Trimoville. LETTER CLXXVI.  
My LORD.  
YOu are not satisfied to be ever conferring new benefits on me, but you do it with some new insinuation, and accompany them with circumstances of so much obligation that it must be confessed, only you know how to do it. I render your Lordship thousands of humblest thanks for all the favours you have been pleased to do me: I would to the acknowledgement of my Nephew, which I send you, gladly add some public act of Gratitude, whereby the World might be satisfied both of the obligation you have done me, and the resentment wherewith I have received it. But since that cannot be, I humbly beseech your Lordship to be satisfied with the security I here give you, to be while I live at your service with all requisite fidelity, and that nothing shall make a deeper impression in my heart and inclinations than the memory of your kindnesses. And though I know that the judgement you make of the Verses I sent you, is too much in my favour, yet can I not but acknowledge that I am not a little proud of it. What you have been pleased to acquaint me with of it, and what you have written of me to your Lady, I am more sensible of then I can express. To be free with you, there's nothing more obliging; my interest is so inconsiderable to me, that I prefer the honour of your approbation before all the good you have done me, nay all that you can ever do me. In the mean time, your Lordship will give me leave to tell you, that the praises you give me are such, and ●uched in such terms, that I should wish, rather I knew how to commend then be commended after that rate; and should be more proud to give then receive such praises. I shall endeavour to deserve them the best I can, and if no otherwise, I shall at least make it my business to merit the honour of your affection, by the singular fidelity and the extraordinary respect wherein I shall ever be,  
My LORD, Your, &c   

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CXXLVII.  
My LORD,  
CAn there be any thing more high and excellent than the beginning of your Letter? It is not certainly so honourable not to make a default, as it is to excuse it so handsomely. Nay this freedom of acknowledging in yourself those defaults which need not any excuse, cannot proceed but from excellent grounds, and a soul rich, liberal, and justly confident. I know not whether so ingenuous an exordium hath absolutely gained me, but it hath drawn me into a belief of all you build upon it, and I have read your Letter thrice over with great satisfaction. I observe in it certain beauties, a certain politensse and grace which puts me in mind of what Quintilian says, Messal● nitidus & candidus, & quodam modo prae se ferens in dicendo nobilitatem suam. But, with your favour, you have not been equally ingenious in accusing me; the latter part of your Letter is much weaker than the other, and contrary to what Cicero says, de coelo meliùs objiciente crimina quam defendente, bonam sinistram habes, malam dextram. First, if it be without any cause, or dissatisfaction that you have not vouchsafed me an answer for so many months, and have denied me a note of three lines, 'tis a proceeding, my Lord, not consonant to your wont goodness, especially in a time when what you have done for me seemed to oblige you to treat me with more civility, that it might not be thought you relied too much upon the kindness you had done. For in fine, though I esteem your courtesies yet I rather wish your caresses, and if it be not possible to be both among your servants and your friends at the same time, I doubt not but you will honour me so much as to believe I should not be troubled about the choice. But if it proceed from any dissatisfaction you have of me that you have been so long silent, I cannot but be the more astonished that you should suffer your heart to be so long burdened with a grudge against me, who from my infancy have loved, honoured and esteemed you, with such constancy and perfection, that notwithstanding a many great and honourable friendships I have contracted since, never any of my friends but have thought and observed, that of all men, you were he for whom I had the greatest inclinations, and with whom, than any, I would rather spend the rest of my life. But notwithstanding all this, and a friendship of five and twenty years, if there be a report which you take offence at, you think me the author of it, because it hath some relation to the interpretation I made of your riddle. And this must seem more probable to you, then that a many that are here, or with you, such as daily invent other Stories, should also advance this. Your Letter I was extremely taken with, that zeal which I have in all things for you prevailed with me to read it to two of my friends, and discover to them the conjecture I made of the blank line. Neither they nor I thought that interpretation any way prejudicial to you, nor can think so yet. But we must not dispute it any longer with you; you ought to have the greatest care of your own reputation, and I commend that modesty provided I be not thought guilty of any extravagance. If, my Lord, the esteem you have for me proceeds only from the report that I pretend to something of wit, and that I can sometimes write a handsome Letter, you esteem me for the quality I think most inconsiderable. Those of my acquaintance here honour me for my great professions of friendship, candour, faith, and discretion. Of all which if you have not found the experience in me, you must needs have observed the seed of them even from my youth. In a word I have much reason to take it ill, that you have thought me so dis-circumspect, as to give entertainment to a calumny, since you call it so, and that having thought me guilty of it, you have not rather pardoned it me. For, to be free with you, you have not half the love for me you should have, if you have not a remission for a many others. Be pleased to plead my cause better another time before yourself, and to look on me as a person, who hath a passion for you beyond all example, and is absolutely,  
My LORD, Your, &c   

To the Same. LETTER CLXXVIII.  
My LORD,  
THough I were guilty of some remainders of anger towards you, the first lines of your Letter had appeased me and reduced me to reason. I am so extremely taken with any thing you do, and what you write to me is so full of charm, that though I had something to object to your humour or your friendship, assoon as I should see any thing from you, I am captivated and forced to return to you, as a man is sometimes to court a cruel Mistress. 'Tis true, my Lord, when I made you all those reproaches, and writ rabiosulas illas satis fatuas, as Cicero says in a certain place, I was extremely incensed against you; and to be free with you, how highly soever I may be obliged to you, I had some reason to do it, at least, 
Si quid longa fides, ca●●que jura valent.   
And might I not justly think it strange, that you the best, and best Benefactor of all men, 
Qui largiris opes veteri fidóque sodaeli;  should deny me five or six lines? and that being prodigal of all other things you should be over-thri●●ie of your words? And yet when I had well considered it, I confess your good husbandry of them is to be excused, if you value them as I do. For to one that understands them well, and knows the true rate of things, can there be any thing so excellent, so rich and so precious? And your last Letter only, Does it not amount to more than I could ever expect from your Surintendance? Was the Attic elegance, you tell me of, ever more pure at Athens, or urbanity more acceptable, or better understood at Rome? I am infinitely pleased with your citation of Ariosto, which I had forgotten these twenty years. And that touch, If I take up the pen against Monsieur— he falls out with me; if I lay it down to Monsieur Voiture, he's mad; is it not worth a whole Volume of Letters? In a word, with what vigour, what force, what conduct do you maintain your paradox, and all those of Cicero, may they be compared to yours? I must therefore persist in my former opinion, and grant, that a man who can write such excellent things, is much to blame that he writes them not to some other who is able to apprehend them. Upon such an occasion Panurgus said to Epistemon, who by specious reasons, would maintain a thing not very probable. I understand you, and think you a good Common-place man, and zealous in your Cause, you entertain me here with descriptions and Diatyposes, which I have nothing to say against. But, preach and plead from this time till Whitsuntide, at last, you'll be ashamed not to have persuaded me to any thing. Yet I must confess your reasons have shakn me a little; but the more prevalent, the more persuasive and the more ingenious what you write is, the more excusable I think myself, that I have forced from you the honour of writing to me. I am confident, my Lord, that that desire, though attended with too much earnestness, cannot displease you; nor can you easily entertain a bad opinion of a man, whom you cannot satisfy with a pension of four thousand Livers, and yet is ready to fall out with you if you afford him not your Letters. There is nothing I cannot more easily be without, nothing I could not be more willingly deprived of, 
Quidvis faciliùs passus sim quam hâc in reme deludier.  I had seen, not many days before, others from you; one to Monsieur— one to the Princess, and one to Monsieur. With what spirit, what gallantry, what grace! I am vexed I am not at the Source of all these excellent things, that I cannot be near you, and that I cannot collect what daily falls from you. You may believe what you please; but what advantage soever I may make by your good Fortune, I profess I love you much more as Overseer at St. Nicholas', than Lord high Treasurer or Plenipotentiary. How often happens it in those narrow lanes, you tell me of, that I think with myself, 
— O ubi campi  
Westphaliae!   
For in a word, say what you will of the barbarousness of that Country, no place can be barbarous when you are in it.  
Omit mirari beatae  
Fumum & opes strepitumque Romae.  
The most pleasant, most beautiful, and most delightful fruits of Greece and Italy, grow by your means, 
Vervecum in patriâ, crassoquesub aere,—   
Neque miror Coelum & Terras vim suam, si ita tibi conveniat, dimittere. Good God, what disadvantageous weapons hath that man chosen, qui tecum decertare voluit contentione scribendi!  
— Verbosa & grandis Epistola venit.  
But to be more pleasant, your Letter hath raised a difference between two Ladies, about the explication of that passage where you tell me of the inspirations happen to me at my Lady Marchionesse's bed side. Madame de Rambovillet applies it to herself, and Madame de Sablé disputes it; and that you are obliged to the latter both for her affection and her hatred; for there's as much obligation in the one as the other. 'Tis to be admired what impression you make in the mind of all those whom you would humour, 
Adeóne hominem tam ven●stum & felicem.   
She is extremely incensed against you and at an absolute distance, because of the slender care you have of her, and cannot forbear railing on all occasions, and yet must commend you at the same time; but how commend? much better than I could. Yet I do not think fit you should write to her in order to an accommodation; for so you would certainly fall into that silence which you hug so much; but be pleased to write something to me concerning her. I also beg a Compliment from you to Monsieur Tubeut: if you will trouble yourself with neither, I am satisfied. Your last Letter hath given me satisfaction, I shall expect nothing from you these six months, only afford me the honour of your remembrances, and account me ever,  
MY LORD, Your, &c   

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXXIX.  
My LORD,  
YOur Highness hath not done any thing in this Campagne that required more confidence than what I do at the present, for knowing how delicate you are, and how few letters please you, I am resolved to write you one, though I have not any thing that is either good or pleasant to entertain you with. May I die, if I had not rather dispatch six men with my own hands, or be with you to hinder a sally of the enemies! And yet this action, my Lord, wherein there seems to be so much courage, proceeds only from my fear. I have endeavoured as much as lay in my power to exempt myself from it, and rather than write an ordinary Letter to you, I had resolved not to write at all, which certainly had been the shortest and the best course. But Madame de Montausier, whom I have consulted about it, frighted me, and told me it was no jesting matter, that you were a man not to be so slighted, and what face soever you put on it, you would bear me a grudge in your heart. Now my Lord, to hazard a grudge from that heart which finds all the world discourse, I must confess I was very loath. This fear forced away the other which held me back, and so I choose rather to discover that want of wit which happily you thought me not guilty of, then to give you any occasion to distrust any defect of zeal or respect of you. And certainly, it were very strange that I, who have ever loved Achilles and Alexander, whom I never either saw or knew, and that only for the things 〈◊〉 have read of them, should want a veneration for your Highness, of whom we daily see so many miracles, and of whom I have received so much honour and so many favours. Your Highness may be assured that the sentiments I have for it, are such as they ought to be, and that I can express neither the pain nor the pleasure.—   

To the Queen of Poland. LETTER CLXXX.  
MADAM,  
What I look on, as most considerable, in the present Madame de Sablé hath sent me, and the plot whereby your majesty got me to receive it, and made me disobey the Queen, though innocently, is, the occasion it gives me to presume to write to you, with the means I have to confirm myself in your remembrances, under prerence of rendering your Majesty the most humble acknowledgements I owe it. I shall therefore tell you Madam, that the most covetous man in the world, was never more glad of any thing bestowed on him, than I have been elevated at what I have received of your Majesty, and that I think myself more concerned in this adventure than I thought I could ever have been. To be ingenuous, the honour of receiving expressions of affection from one of the greatest Queens in the world, and what I value more, the most accomplished person I ever saw, is a concernment might take in the noblest souls, and such as to which all the Kings on earth cannot bestow any thing proportionable. I wish Madame, all your future liberalities may be as well bestowed, I mean, as well acknowledged, and that among so many millions that are subject to you, some may take as much pleasure as I do, to celebrate your praises, and make you known to all the rest. This done, your Majesty will soon have over all your subjects that Empire which it hath hitherto had over all those rational souls that have approached it. This Empire Madam you have had from your birth, and was yours before you had either Sceptre or Crown, and which if you give me leave to say so, is much more estimable and more absolute, than what you have now received from Fortune. I pray Heaven for the long continuance of both the one and the other unto your Majesty, with all the prosperities it deserves, and that I may once in my life be so happy as to see you in your glory, and that I may tell you myself, with how great respect, passion, and zeal, I am,  
MADAM, Your Majesty's most humble, etc.   

To my Lord Duke de la Trimoville. LETTER CLXXXI.  
MY LORD,  
I Have found out a way to multiply your kindnesses, and to order things so, that you shall be able to bestow on me another Canonrie. My Lady Duchess of Aiguillon, moved hapl●e by your example, would needs oblige me as you do, having preferred my Nephew, whom you made Canon of Laval, to the grand Vicarship of Nostre dame; which when he is possessed of, he resolves to resign his benesice of Laval to another of my Nephews, if you shall approve it. I hope, my Lord, that the same goodness which gran●●d the first favour, will not deny the second, and as you have obliged me with much generosity, so in this occurrence, do I not doubt the continuance of your good inclinations. This latter Nephew, for whom I make this humble suit to you, is a Bachelor of Sorbonne, sufficiently learned, and very studious. So that, if I mistake not your homour, which is to esteem those that profess Letters, I conceive, that, in the solitude of the Country, he may contribute somewhat to your entertainment, when you would afford your mind some remission. For my own part, my Lord, I desire nothing so much as to receive fresh obligations from a person I honour and respect as highly as I do you. And I should heartily wish that all the indulgence of Fortune towards me, might come through no other hands than yours. Whether I have acknowledged or not what I have already received from you, I shall not say myself, but appeal to the whole Court, where there is not one who is not acquainted with what goodness and liberality you have been pleased to oblige me, and the public professions I make to be, upon all occasions,  
MY LORD, Your, &c   

To the same. LETTER CLXXXII.  
MY LORD,  
I Am far from any suspicion you can ever be weary of obliging me, but am afraid you may of my acknowledgements: I have had so many to make you lately, that unless I should use repetitions, I see not how I could dilate myself on a subject wherein your Goodnesses have already exhausted me. I shall therefore only make it my humble suit to you, that you would remember the favours you have done me, the easiness wherewith they have been obtained, the obliging Letters wherewith you have accompanied them, and the civility whereby, while you have engaged me, you have not omitted any occasion to shed on me all the honour I was capable of. While your Lordship reflects on those things, be pleased withal to imagine a gratitude on my side proportionable thereto, and consider, whether a conjunction of so many obligations with the extradinary passion I have ever had to honour you can ever dispense in me with any eclipse of the fidelity and respects of  
My LORD, Your, &c   

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien, upon the taking of Dunkirk. LETTER CLXXXIII.  
MY LORD,  
I Believe you might fasten on the Moon with your teeth, had you but attempted it. So far I am from being astonished at your taking of Dunkirk, when nothing is impossible to you. All I am troubled at, is, what I shall say to your Highness thereupon, and by what extraordinary expressions I shall be able to represent to you what I conceive of you. The glorious condition you are in considered, no question, my Lord, but the honour of your affection is a thing extremely advantageous; but for us Wits, who are obliged to write to you on the good successes that happen, it is as distractive to be put to find out words suitable to your actions, and from time to time to dress up new panegyrieks for you. Would you be pleased to take a defeat sometimes, or but raise a siege from before some place, diversity might help us a little out, and we should find something that might be handsomely said upon the inconstancy of Fortune, and the honour it is to suffer her disgraces courageously. But having even from your first achievements paralleled you with Alexander, and seeing your daily ri●ing things, the troth is, my Lord, we know not where to place either you or ourselves, and cannot find any thing to say which is not below you. Eloquence, which magnifies the least things, cannot, with all its advantages reach the height of those you have done; nay what in other subjects she calls call Hyperboles, is but an indifferent manner of speaking to express our thoughts of you. It is certainly not easily comprehensible in your Highness, that you should add something every summer to that glory which the precedent Winters seemed uncapable of addition; and that having overgrown so great beginnings, and afterwards as great progresses, the last things you do are still the most glorious. For my part, my Lord, I contribute that joy to your prosperities I ought; but foresee, that what adds to your present reputation, will derogate from what you are to expect from future ages, and that within a small time, so many great and considerable Actions done in the neck one of another, will render your life incredible hereafter, and will make Posterity look on your History as a Romance. Be pleased then, my Lord, to set some limits to your Victories, though it were only to accommodate yourself to the capacity of mankind, and not exceed their belief. Mind then for a while remission and security, and let France, who in the midst of her triumphs is ever in alarm for your life, peaceably enjoy the fruits of that glory you have gained her. In the mean time, be pleased to be assured, that among so many millions do admire you, and bless heaven for you, there cannot any do it with more joy, zeal and veneration, then,  
My LORD, Your Highness' most, etc.   

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CLXXXIV.  
My LORD,  
THough I were so excellently qualified, as that it might be said of you and me, & cantare pares, yet will not any say, & respondere parati. I received your Letter but yesterday, and I answer it to day; yours make not that haste, but as if you lived in some remote corner of the East-Indies, I have them after the expectation of some years. For my part I admire you.  
— Vt unum  
Scilicet egregii mortalem, altique silent'st;  
And cannot apprehend how a person who hath so much advantage in speaking can take so much pleasure to be silent. The three first lines of your Letter, and what you say of this months being extremely spent, is beyond any thing our Academy could do▪ But with what salt have you seasoned your last Course? May I die if ever any thing took me more! Poor Monsieur de Lieure, who had been in my thoughts these twenty years, presented himself, all his guests, and all his house, with incredible satisfaction, and brought along with him all the fashions of that time. It happens indeed very fortunately for the Wits, that you have had the management of greater affairs than we, and that Claudium Memmium ab institutis studiis deflexerit cura terrarum. How am I plagued, my Lord, when I read what you write to me, that I am not near you, and what a spite do I find that Fortune hath done me, by disposing me at such a distance from a person so precious, of a Wit so full of entertainment! Not to mention the lustre, pomp, and hopes here, in this only I place all happiness, 
Ille, si fas est, superare Divos,  
Qui sedens adversus identidem te  
Spectat & audit.   
My Lady marchioness de Montausier hath caused me to read several times what you writ concerning her, and of a many Letters that have come to her from all parts, she says nothing hath been sent equally excellent. She hath charged me to tell you that she is extremely pleased that you approved of her marriage, which she would not have thought well of, had you not confirmed it with your consent, and that she would have asked it had you been here; but in your absence, she inferred from the many expressions of affection, which to her knowledge, my Lord marquis had received from you, that you would not oppose a thing he was desirous to effect. She and the marquis her husband have enjoined me to return you thousands of acknowledgements, and to assure you of their most humble services. But, my Lord, I am very glad you have a servant who finds all the world ●●lk, and that I am better known in strange Countries, than Monsieur Falandre and Monsieur Coiffier, I should have sent you the 〈…〉 wer● read to you, 
— Namque tu solebas  
Nostras esse aliquid putare nugas.   
And what greater approbation could I desire then yours? But, Verebar ne te haec deprehenderent in curâ aliquâ majusculâ, as Cicero says: and then I considered what that other says, 
Multa quidem nobis facimus mala saepè Poetae,  
— Vt cum tibi librum  
Sollicito damus aut fesso.—   
The general Peace will not raise more joy than all Virtuous and great Minds have conceived at the accommodation between you and Monsieur Servient. I believe it is as you write, & si quis est qui neminem bona fide putet redire posse, non vestram hic perfidiam arguit, sed indicat suam. If you can procure the continuance of it, there cannot be any thing better.  
Si quidem herclè possis nihil prius neque fortiùs.  
Thousands of most humble thanks for the care you have had of my affairs; I am as I ought,  
My LORD, Your, &c   

To the same. LETTER CLXXXV.  
My LORD,  
SHould I receive yearlie your four thousand livers without so much as making a great A, or putting my hands to do any thing in order to your service, you were the likeliest man in the world to suffer it, nay you would be so pleased merely because it would exempt you from affording me a few lines which your Goodness obliges you to honour me with some times. For my part, I should be also well satisfied, were it not something too dishonourable, besides that it were a great ease to me. You cannot imagine, my Lord, what weariness there is in writing to a person who answers not. I have been these three months writing to you, and have not been able to make an end of my Letter, and when I had with much ado, got two periods together, I am presently disturbed, and say to myself, ah! woe is me I am got into the quagmire, as the Counsellor was wont to say, of whom you told me the story. And yet, what ever come of it I must needs write; for to tell you truth, I am ashamed I can no better deserve your money, it being some trouble to my conscience to enrich myself so unjustly. In the mean time, be pleased to rest satisfied, that, notwithstanding my constant and confident addiction to silence, my heart speaks all possible respect, passion, and esteem for you, and I am daily confirmed in the judgement I had of you even from my youth, which is, that the world affords few comparable to you, nor any whom Nature hath furnished with such a combination of a great soul and a vast wit. According to that opinion, be you pleased to imagine with what impatience I wish your return, and, if I am not as much concerned as any man in that peace which is the expectation of all Europe. Amidst the greatest assemblies, the highest entertainments, and the most pleasant walks, I make perpetual wishes for your conversation, your suppers over a single Napkin, and those turns you honoured me with in your Garden. But now it comes into my mind, by what engines did you raise that great house which appeared on a sudden in Saint Avoye's street? For a thing so unexpected seems rather to have been made pegmate aliquo quam aedificatione.  
Et crescunt mediâ pegmata celsa viâ.  
The walls of Thebes we●e not raised with so much expedition, and if as I have heard the stones of Cithaeron, came running and leaping where they were appointed to come, and disposed themselves into their proper places, it was a great convenience. Well, we must come to what your postilion said; You are a strong man, you pull down a house in three days, & triduo reaedificas illam, but Goodness! with what lustre and magnificence! All the Architects, than whom the world affords not a more jealous or a more envious generation, acknowledge nothing can be more noble; but what takes me, is, that you do this at a distance of two hundred leagues, and that by your Overseers. Whereas all others who build, will needs place every stone goes into their edifices, with their own hands, and they are ever seen confusedly with their Workmen surveying, measuring, calling, giving orders, nasty and slovenly  
Atque indecoro pulvere sordidos.  
It is only you can do these things by proxy, and clearly discover, that the design of pacifying Christendom, is that only which takes up all your thoughts, since the building of a Palace cannot so much as divert them, and that those things which wholly possess the souls of other men cannot find any entertainment in yours. In the mean time I add my joys to yours in the name of the Penates of Jean Jaques de Mesmes, and all the other eminent persons your Ancestors, in the name of the Penates who were the tutelary Deities of Passerat, and of all the learned of that age, as also of this, that you have re-edified and adorned their ancient seat, and that 
Non sinis ingentem consen●isse domum.  My hearty wishes are, that you may suddenly enjoy yourself in it, and that you may see yourself.  
quam dispari domui dominaris.  
But my Lord, I am come to the nineth page, having strained my wits so far, that at last I have dressed up a Letter of a fair length. You cannot imagine what ease I am at now; but yet you will, you cannot but imagine it. I am now free for three or four months. I humbly kiss your hands; am going to the Fair, and remain  
My LORD, Your, &c   

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CLXXXVI.  
SIR,  
YOu will be extremely surprised that I should desire your assistance in a business I have on the other side of the mountains, and that it is to be employed against the Romans, This is not the first time, you know, that they have disturbed their quiet who owed them nothing; but I think they were never so unreasonable with any as they are with me, nor were so troublesome to Hannibal as they are like to be to me, if you relieve me not. Quorsum haec? I shall tell you. There is among them an Academy consisting of certain persons who are called the Humorists, which signifies as much as if one should say Fantastics, and indeed they are such in so high a degree, that they will needs have me matriculated among them, and have signified so much to me by a Letter written by one of the Body. I am obliged to return them another in Latin to give them thanks, and this is that I am troubled about. But you were no sooner in my thoughts but I was presently at ease, for I thought my business done, there being a man in Poitou, who hath an excellent command of writing Letters in Latin, and would not deny me such a courtesy. Their device is, a sin exhaling the vapours of the Sea, which are returned in showers, with this motto, out of Lucretius, Fluit agmine dulci. Be pleased to consider, if you can find any thing to say to them, as to that, and the honour they have done me, whereof I merit so little; in a word, do the best you can. If it come to the worst, Monsieur Pauquet will not fail, who understands this business better than any of us, which yet I absolutely refer to you both; for I am not able to undertake it, and therefore be you pleased to do it, 
Me dulcis domina Musa Lycimnia  
Cantus, me voluit dicere lucidum.  
Fulgentes oculos, & benè mutuis  
Fidum pectus amoribus.   
Poor Lycimnia hath been gone hence these eight days. I must needs acknowledge I love her more than I do myself, but not more than I do you. I am  
SIR, Yours, &c   

To the same. LETTER CLXXXVI.  
SIR,  
I H have a great desire to come and live with you in Poitou, for I find that you and Mousieur Pauquet are grown greater wits since your coming thither then you were before. On the contrary, I come out of a country where mine is grown rusty in the abode of fifteen days, as being not blest with the sight either of good books or your Letters, and waiting on Ladies who understand not a word of Cicero, Virgil, or Terence. To deal truly with you, I am extremely taken with all you write, and unless it be your absence, there is no rate I would not buy your Letters at. When ever I casually meet with any thing I conceive worth your acquaintance, I am not so much pleased at what I write to you, as what I know you will answer thereto, and think with myself, 
Nardi parvus onyx eliciet cadum.   
Seriouss●e, if I thought not myself so much concerned in your reputation as my own, I should be extremalie jealous of you; but I do not conceive it of much consequence whether you or I be the more learned or the greater wit, my reputation at Rome will be the same; and I put so little difference between what is yours and mine, that I am as much pleased at your Latin as if I had writ it myself. Methinks, there needs no more than this to qualify me for the Academy of the Humorists, and that a man, who hath such a friend as you are, deserves entertainment every where. Quintilian says, nemo speret ut alieno labore sit disertus, yet I hope it of you: I believe, I shall by your means, be eloquent as often as I shall have need; and if I take some pains to preserve my Latin, it is not so much for any use I shall make of it, as that I may understand what you write to me, and what you do. I expect with impatience the glean of the harvest you have made in Poitou, and that you would send me the best and choicest of what you have learned. The partnership there is between us is extraoodinarie, confers enim rem & industriam, and I, though I contribute nothing have my part of the profit. The civil Lawyers call this Societatem Leoninam, which the Laws will not by any means allow. I know not what passage you mean, to which you say I have not answered; be pleased to let me know it, I thought I had left nothing unanswered. I almost subscribe to your interpretation of him alterum; but methinks it is somewhat disadvantageous to Terence; I should be glad, for his sake, another might be sound. But as to the Ladies, who I told you knew not a word of Cicero, pray give me your opinion of what Sallust says of Sempronia, that she was Literis Graecis ac Latinis docta; in another place he says of Sylla, Literis Graecis atque Latinis juxta, atque doctissimè eruditus. That a woman should commit faults in her own language, if she be not well versed in it, I nothing wonder at; but that he does observe it in a man, and that an eminent one, I think very strange; and do you but imagine what praise it were to the Duke of Weymar, that any one should say in his commendation, that he were very knowing in the German Tongue. Farewell, I am  
Your, etc. Paris. Sept. 20.  
In reading over my Letter I observe an equivocation in the beginning. I come out of a Country, where mine, &c, for that mine might relate to Country, and I mean only my Wit, though I know you would not have taken the one for the other: However I acknowledge it a fault. Vitanda inprimis ambiguitas, non haec solum quae incertum intellectum facit, ut Chrematem audivi percussisse Demeam; sed illa quoque, quae etiamsi turbare non potest sensum, in idem tamen verborum vitium incidit, ut si quis dicat visum à se hominem librum scribentem. Name etiamse librum ab homine scribi pateat, malè tamen composuerat, fecerar●●● ambiguum, quantum in ipso fuit. I have chosen rather to write this then correct what I had once written.   

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CLXXXVIII.  
Myy LORD,  
YOu do well indeed to quarrel at my complaints, and to say, 
O tu insulsè, malè & molestè vivis,  
Per quem non licet esse negligentem.   
The excellency of your Letters sufficiently excuses the impertunitie wherewith I beg them. This last is admirable beyond any, I must acknowledge myself in your debt. You verify the proverb very much, that who is bound pays, only I wonder that person, in whom there seems to be great riches, and who can easily part with them, is so hard to be brought to it. We favourites of Apollo cannot but wonder that one who hath spent his whole life in Treaties, should write such excellent Letters, and should be glad that you Gentlemen of Affairs did not meddle with our Trade. And certainly it were but just you contented yourselves with the glory of having put a period to so many important negotiations, and particularly that you are now engaged in for the disarming of all the several Nations of Europe, and not entrench upon that poor reputation which is gained by the disposal and Tactics of words, and the fortune of pleasant imaginations. It is not over-honourable for a person of your Gravity, and concernment to the public, to contend with us for Eloquence, or make it your business, while you are employed to reconcile the Swedes and the Imperialists, and to balance the interests of the earth, to work an accommodation between Consonants that clash, and to measure periods. Why in God's name, do you not content yourself with the making of excellent and sound dispatches, such as those of the Cardinal d' Ossat, or, if you will be guilty of a greater ambition, those of Cardinal du Perron, but will needs trouble yourself with such as cannot but raise in us all the indignation in the world. You will pardon me that I tell you this with some disorder; nothing but your Letter could have put me into it, as what hath dissolved the cement of all friendship. Qui volet ingenio cedere nullus erit.  
Nec jam prima peto, Mnesthaeus, neq vi●cere certo.  
But I who would willingly allow you some paces before me, must need be vexed to be left so far behind. I showed your Letter to one of my Friends, an able understanding man, intimately acquainted with M.— and who hath an infinite esteem of his merit. Having read it, good God, saith he, how far is this man beyond— had I seen this Letter in any hands but yours, I should have sworn you had writ it. 'Tis for your mortification, my Lord, that I repeat these last words.  
— Et sibi Consul  
Ne placeat, curru servus portatur eodem.  
To give you my real thoughts of it, you never writ a handsomer, or made a nobler discovery of your abilities, nor have you been insensible of it yourself, when in the conclusion you press me to acknowledge myself in your debt. May I perish, if I am not ashamed to answer it, for to so many excellent and noble things what can I return you?  
Pro molli vi●la, pro purpureo Hyacintho,  
Carduus, & foliis surget paliurus acutis.  
At least, the assurances I have given your Lordshp of another man's approbation, and the confusion you have put me into comes upon you more directly than those of the last return. You very pleasantly shift off the praises I gave you about the Building of Monsieur Pepin, where you tell me it is pity I had not seen the Coaches he sent you, and that I should find you a person of as much Honour as before, it is as handsomely expressed as could be, and that word must needs proceed from a Gallant spirit.  
Cui benè in pulivere recalcitrat:  
Hence I infer you would not have suffered that more hyperbolical flattery than any I have been guilty of, 
Est major Coelo, sed minor est Domino.   
But it is to no great purpose for you to say, that to have a handsome house is a thing not much considerable. L. Opimii domus, cum vulgo inviseretur à populo, suffragata creditur domino ad Consolatum obtinendum, saith Cicero. And you see how he cries out himself pro domo suâ. I must agree with you, that the Edifice you are at work upon now, that great Temple of Peace, into which all the several Nations of Christendom are to enter, is much more worthy your endeavours, and is the only design fit to employ your great Mind. I am elevated, my Lord at the News, I hear of it, and that it will have a contrary fate to that other, Magnificentiae verae admiratio extat Templum Ephesiae Dianae, ducentis & Viginti annis à totâ Asiâ factum. You use a great deal more expedition, and indeed are a much better workman. I should be extremely desirous to be here at the return of Madame de Longueville, after the conclusion of so happy a Peace. What you tell me of this Princess, is handsome as herself, and I preserve it purposely to show her one day. No doubt but I shall judge more advantageously of you you by your own writings, then by those of Gronovius or Jacobus Baldus which indeed are excellent, and somewhat approach the character of the best part of Antiquity; but I find not in them either the smoothness or wit of our ancient Author, and if you have made any greater discoveries, you have found it only in yourself. Consider, my Lord, whether I am not happy, to find in you the perfections which your Grandfather esteemed in Passerat, and the patronage which Passerat sound in him. Madame de Sablé, and Madame de Montausier, are ravished at some passages I have shown them of your Letter, and would needs have copies of that concerning Madam the Longueville. Be free, my Lord, do you think it possible, I say not, in one single person, but in whatever the world pretends to as most handsome and most amiable, do you, I say, think it possible, to meet with so much wit, such graces and attractions as are in that Princess?  
Num tu quae tenuit dives Achaemenes  
Pinguis a●● Phrygiae Mygdonias opes,  
Permutate velis crine Lycimniae?  
In the mean time be you upon your Guard; She writes wonders of you here, and of the friendship is between you both, your correspondence with her is somewhat dangerous.  
Incedis per ignes  
Suppositos cineri doloso.  
But I can assure you, her goodness is proportionable to her Beauty, and the World affords not a more high and noble soul. I had once resolved to give you a visit this Autumn, nay had begged a journeie of the Court, for under such a pilgrimage as that, what can come near an acknowledgement? but an unhappy business since fallen out hath detained me, such as finds me much trouble, and keeps me in perpetual alarm, yet it is not properly a Business, but, 
una malarum quas amor curas habet▪   
Think not slightly of it, my Lord, you will not take up the first stone; but, if I mistake not, this is the tenth page I am upon, 
Dii magni, horribilem & sacrum libellum!   
I had forgot myself, I crave your pardon, and am,  
My LORD, Your, &c   

To the Same. LETTER CLXXXIX.  
VIs ergo inter nos quid possit uterque vicissim Experiamur?  
I shall not hold, my Lord, the matth is unequal; I should find myself overreached, when I would have attempted it., 
— Cynthius' aurem  
Vellit, & admonuit—   
I shall take his advice, and be more tender of my ears, he is the God of good Counsel. And indeed when I had considered the last things you were pleased to honour me with I thought you greater and stronger than ordinary, and was not at all troubled that you had outgone me, when to do it you exceeded yourself. My own Letter and the two I received from you, put me in mind of the three lines which Protogenes and Apelles drew by way of trial of skill. The first you sent me was admirable and worthy so great a Master, what I made upon it, could not certainly fall from an ordinary hand, but the last, which you have now drawn  
— Vltima linea rerum est;  
It is incomparably beyond all, insomuch that I shall not presume to do any thing after it. That I now take up the pen, is only to give you in writing the confession I make, that as well in the business of Eloquence as that of the Revenue, I am but your Clerk, as also to let you know once more the advantage you have over me. I am not, I must confess, insensible of the praises you are pleased to give me, 
— Nec enim mihi cornea fibra est;   
But they are such, so noble and so ingenious, that, to be free with you, I should be much more proud to have bestowed them then to have received them, and the same words you make use of to exalt me above all others, satisfy me that I am infinitely below you. I wish I had here some body that were given to exclamations, as confident and judicious as Monsieur de St. Romani, for every line of your Letter deserves a pulchrè & bellè. But particularly, the representation your Lordship hath made of our Princess is so rich and noble, that I have been more pleased with the sight of it, then happily I should have been with hers, and you have found out a way to make an addition to those graces which before were infinite in her, tali opere dum laudatur, haud victo sed illustrato. This is what Pliny says of the Greek Verses which were made for Apelles' Venus, whose work was certainly much below yours, as his Goddess was less beautiful than yours. You have represented her with all her attractions and charms, pinxisti & quae pingi non possunt, tonitrua, fulgetra, fulguraque. But you will give me leave to tell you, that it is hard, that that person should not be Mistress of a Soul where she is so well represented, and that if you are not in love with her, you should with the description you have made of her.  
A certain face was by a Master drawn,  
So lively, and in such perfection,  
The Painter fell in love with what head done.  
But that it is otherwise you give me the best reasons in the World, and do miracles were there but faith. So many beauties and graces fill up, yet do not disorder your imagination, and it is long since you have enjoined your eyes not to admit any thing into your mind but the representations of the noblest objects. How handsomely is this expressed! but would you have me to be free with you, I am afraid you either mistake me, or are mistaken yourself.  
Coecum vulnus habes, sed lato ba●●heus auro  
Protegit—  
That Sun of Sweden, to whom you compare her, is, if I may trust you, very hot; & qui in sole ambulant, etiamsi non in id venerint, colorantur. I fear me, it may be your fate.  
— Et figas in cute solemn  
It were strange, say you, that in an Assembly of Peace, there should not be public Faith enough for my preservation, and that the Passports of the Emperor and the King of Spain, should not make Munster a place safe enough for me. This, my Lord, is excellently well said, and this period is happily one of the neatest could have been written, and deserves an exclamation, That Munster is indeed a place of safety, but, Madam de Longueville is there, 
Portus ab accessu ventorum immotus, & ingens  
Ipse, sed horrificis juxtà tonat Aetnaruinis.   
The Fires and Snows which this Princess casts, if you consider it, justify the comparison between her and Aetna. 'Tis to much purpose then to seem so confident, and to say, 
Cantabit vacuus coram latrone Viator.   
The greatest part of those Singers die for fear. You who are a Cedar of Libanus would be thought a Shrub; but were you a more inconsiderable Plant, yet should you not escape. The eyes you are to avoid, consume all from the Cedar to the Hyssop. In the mean time, to come to some thing more serious, I doubt not but you are wholly taken up with the carrying on of that great Design which you are employed in, and concerns the quiet of so many millions of men. I hope you will put the last stone in this building, as you have done the first, since you are 
— doctus  
Saxa movere sono testudinis, & prece blandâ  
Ducere quo velis.—   
As to what you say of Monsieur d' Ossat, I am clearly of your opinion. There cannot be any thing more judicious, or more excellent than his dispatches: but my meaning was, if you were not satisfied with the doing of such as his were, and that you were desirous to write such as were full of flourishes and eloquence, that you would imitate Cardinal du Perron, who hath done some of that kind, yet in my mind, hath not been the most fortunate in the World in it. I agree not with you so well in the judgement you make of our two Poets. That I have not read much of the Jesuit, you guess right. I have not troubled myself with little besides the places where he mentions you. The 26. ode of the 8. I am much pleased at: I can say nothing against the 3. & 5. of the 9 but in this verse, 
Me super ipsa nihil Niobe si obcta moveris;  that Niobe, and this manner of speaking, do you not conceive it harder than even that petrified Niobe? Do you like that pulvereum cahos? and that comatus olor, is it not a little too bold? besides that I think it a little too obscure for us whose business lies in the management of the Revenue, and meddle not with much Latin, no● could I ever understand Mananti●● vita Flumina praemoneo. I think it is in the 3. of the 9 I asked Monsieur de Bailleut and Monsieur d' Emery, and they can say as little to it themselves. But after all, as to what opinion I should have of this and all the other Authors, I appeal to you who are infallible, and by whose judgement mine is regulated. I have also the same submission to make to you, as to the offence you charge me with of not writing to Madam de Longueville. I have forborn all this while out of respect, but you frighten me much more when you represent this Princess to me as so serious and politic. We have here a kind of pleasure in imagining her discoursing with Monsieur Lampadius (who I am told is ordinarily clad in violet Satin) Monsieur Vulteius and Monsieur Salvins, and above all, that fat Hollander 
Dulcia barbare  
L●dentem oscula quae Venus  
Quintâ parte sui Nectaris imbuit.   
I know not what discourse sh● can find for those Gentlemen, nor how pertinently she talks; but I have often seen her here in divers Companies, where she hath not spoke three words, nor so much as opened her mouth in a whole afternoon. He who gives her advice to learn Dutch for her diversion hath been well laughed at by Madam de Sable, and Mademoiselle de Montausier. If this proposition was advanced by Monsieur Vulteius, do you not think that verse of Horace●itlie ●itlie applied to the occasion, 
Durus enim Vultei nimis attentusque videris  
Esse mihi.—   
As to your complaint that you receive not from me above twice a year, and that I have not strength enough to write to you twice together, I return you my most humble thanks; these complaints I think as obliging as your praises: nec tam molestum est accusari abs te officium meum, quam jucundum requiri. But you know my imperfection, and lay hold on the leg that halts. 
Dixi me pigrum proficiscenti ●ibi, dixi  
Talibus officiis propè mancum.  Besides you know better than any man how troublesome it is to write these Letters that have no real subject, and where a man must discourse upon the point of a needle. I have only the end of your Letter to answer, which being excellently handsome, nay full of flattery in the beginning and middle, hath a very ugly tail. 
— atrum  
Desinit in piscem.  Yet I could not but laugh at the debasement of Guillon, and it must be confessed you remembered it very opportunelie; you are certainly to be admired in all things, 
Seu tu querelas, sive geris jocos.  There cannot be any thing more serious, more grave, or more rigid than the chide you give. 
Tertius è Coelo cecidit Cato—  You represent to me the indecorum it is for a man to be old and in love; you put ten Lustres on my head, to which you add, out of kindness, an Olympiad, for you confound the Greek and Latin numbers to make the sum seem the greater, nay you make no conscience to attribute something to the swiftness of Time; you tell me of my spectacles, and it is true I have used them these six months, and do while I write this; you abuse my beard and grey hairs, and to that add, 
Tandem nequitiae fige modum tuae.  But when, say you to me, will it be time to think of a Reformation? 
Nun pudet capiti non posse pericula cano  
Pellere?  Are Rheums, the Gout, and the Stone, fit companions to be lodged with Love, or would you make a conjunction between all the diseases of youth and old age? what confusion, what shame is it! 
Jamdudum ausculto, & cupiens tibi dicere servus  
Pauca reformido.  
In the first place, my Lord,  
Vltra Sauromatas fugere hinc libet—  When you are fallen into such serious reproofs; had you spent your life upon the top of a Pillar, or in the Deserts of Thebais, defying the World and its enjoyments, you could not speak more austerelie; but how can you, whom I have seen so gallant, unless you have before done miracles, be so confident as to declaim thus highly and severely? I ackdowledge part of what you say against me to be true, 
Parcius ista viris tamen obiicienda memento.  I was almost in a mind to add, novimus & qui te. But though you were as much reform as Father Gondi, and that your mind were no longer subject to any passion, and that your eyes did, as you say, not transmit any thing to your imagination but so as that it came not to your judgement, you would do but what you are oliged to, in such manner that I should make no advantage of it. I may say of you great men whom Fortune hath thrust upon the Stage, to act the highest parts, 
Vos O patricius sanguis, quos vivere par est  
Occipiti coeco;—  especially as to your part, my Lord, whom France, Spain, Italy, and Germany look upon, it is but just you should live so, 
Nos numerus sumus & fruges consumere nati,  
Sponsi Penelopae, nebulones—  In the mean time, for one word I have let slip, which is no more than that I had some engagement here, you cry out, 
O coelum! O Terras! O Maria Neptuni!  when it would be inferred, that minxi in patrios cineres; or am guilty of some enormous crime, 
Patrue mi patruissime nihil feci quod succenseas,  And certainly were ● you in my place, so obscure a person as I am, and that you were near a handsome Lady that entertained you nobly, I question much whether your Lordship with all your austerity would fall out with her. And therefore I shall not be frighted at any thing you shall say, 
Miserorum est neque Amori dare ludum  
aut ex—  
animari metuentes patruae verbera linguae,  And that, Nec turpem senectam degere, ne● cytharâ carentem, which you have taught me, how do you understand it? that I must play on the Guitarre at threescore? much to the purpose: Lambin expounds it, that a man must be amorous as long as he can, and he is a man of no weak judgement: But this is a huge long Letter, 
Tibi ingentem epistolam impegi.  And yet, ere I conclude I must make you a thousand compliments from Madam de Sable and Madam de Montausier. I have only showed them those passages of your Letter where you speak of Madam de Longueville. For the rest never any shall set eye on it; though it were only for that of the ten Lustres you need not fear I shall show it any; I am thought here to be but forty seven years of age, I beseech you let me be no more at Munster, nay if you please, dame unum, dame etiam duos. I had forgot to tell you that these Ladies have commanded me to let you know, that if you speak as you write, they pity not Madame de Longueville, and that it is not impossible to be well any where, so you be there. I wish you were ●ensible how highly they esteem you, they are satisfied the world affords not any other, that dares pretend to so much wit, and I told them I knew as much five and twenty years since. But I am too tedious. 
— Ne me Crispini s●rinia Lippi  
Compilâsse putes, verbum non amplius addam.   
Paris. Jan. 9 1647.   

To my Lady Duchess de Longueville at Munster. LETTER CLXXXX.  
MADAM,  
HAving hitherto forborn to write to your Highness merely out of respect, I extremely troubled, that I am forced to it by so sad an occasion as obliges me at the present. I doubt not, Madam, but you are infinitely troubled at the loss of your noble Father, at a time when you received from him the greatest expressions of his affection, and that not being accustomed to such discourtesies of Fortune, this hath extremely surprised you. But my hope is; that what equality of mind which never suffered you to do or say any thing but in its due measure, will guide you in this occasion, and that you will regulate your grief and tears, as you have done all the actions of your life. Nor indeed Madam is it any more than just that a person so celestial as you are should comply with the will of heaven, and, having received so much from it, be content it should take something from you. And it seems it would needs take the time of your absence to do it, and hath permitted this misfortune to happen when you were at a great distance, that your eyes might not be the witnesses of that mourning which was to fill your house. My prayers to God are, that he would restore it to joy by your sudden return thither, and that he would afford us the Pecce, with your Highness, without which there is no living, both which are the earnest desires of all the world, but especially of  
MADAM, Your &c.   

To the Prince of Condé, LETTER CXCI  
My LORD,  
IT is only to discharge my duty, not to comfort you, that I presume to write to you; I am too well acquainted with the extent and excellencies of your mind to imagine that another can give you any reason for it which you saw not yourself before. Besides, my Lord, I think a mind employed to purchase the quiet of all Europe is uncapable of being disordered at the death of a single person how great soever he might be; and that the constancy of your soul which hath manifested itself on all occasions, will not be wanting in this. But the kindnesses you have ever honoured me with, obliging me to conceive myself in whatever you are, I have thought it but my duty, to let you know what sympathy I have for your affliction, as also to renew the profession which I have so often made, to be, with all manner of respect,  
My LORD, Your &c.   

To Monsieur Costart.  
Who having laughed at certain fault which the Author had committed, while he spoke Latin to an Ambassador, three days after he sent him this Epistle.  
LETTER CXCII.  
SI vales benè est, ego autem vereor ur valeas, heri enim, si non agro, ut certè anxio animo domum te recepisti, neque ego meherculè sine molestiâ eram, quando te felicitatis meae & conscium & authorem in his aerumnis videbam versari. Scio quam morosi sint qui amant, & quam omnibus vel minimis offens●s obnoxii: sed si te novi, is es qui citissimè sanari potes, fortassis quidem jam haec nox & Catullus tuus tibi dedit consilium, & ut destinatus obdures, suasit. Quomodo igitur te habeas, quâ ment sis, tranquillâ aut sollicitâ, vigilarisne lassus, an naso tantum vigilaris? fac me certiorem. Ego mi Costard, tibi persuadeas velim, me à nullo plus velle amari, quam à te, & si ita placet, mandaturum quid inimicae nostrae, quidni enim mea est si tua? ut res suas sibi habeat. Tu quid velis vide & me ama.  
Be pleased to correct this Epistle, and to tell me freely, whether, out of the sixth form where you saw me not long since, I may not go into some higher. I am  
Your &c.   

To the same. LETTER CXCIII.  
Been exolvisti, mi Costarde quod mihi de te promiseram, ●e pro onyce, cadum redditurum, & cadum quidem similem illi Sulpitiano, spes donare novas largum, & amaráque curarum eluere efficacem. Illa enim tua Epistola, quam tu ponderosam, ego magni ponderis nomino▪ nescio quomodo me invitum & renitentem in tantâ dolendi causâ, gaudere compulit, & quod non tempus, non literae, non ipsa quae poterat esse luctus satietas, fecerant; tua lepida, faceta, lepidissima, facerissima, omnibus Atticis. Romans nostris salibus condîta fecit allocutio. There you have all my Latin at a breath, and the truth on't is, I have not French enough to make you fully understand, as I could wish, the true resentments I have of your care towards me, and the affection I perceive you have for me. I have not observed any thing by your Letter, which I am not infinitely satisfied with, and quarrel at nothing but the praises you give me; for to be free from you, you set too high a rate upon 
Et crassum unguentum, & sardo cum melle papaver.   
Nay though you were taken with my Nardus, yet the rest of the Letter, if my memory fails me not, was not much to be admired as having been written in haste.  
Quid quod olet gravius mistum diapasmate virus.  
For the passage of Terence, which you tax me with passing by without saying any thing of it, I think it was done because I would not perceive any difficulties therein. Cato would make Thraso understand, that having often heard that witty reply, and never learning who the Author was, he had presently concluded it to be one of those pithy expressions which above a many others gain reputation in process of time, and which are remembered as Apothegms, and does not mean, that he did not believe it because he was the first that said it, but that before that he had looked on it as an ancient saying; audieras? Gn. saepe, & fertur in primis. I see not what you'd stick at there. For my part, I fear me you understood it not, since you are scrupulous about it, and that you are one of those, 
Qui faciunt ne intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant.   
But certainly it is in me a great presumption, nay ingratitude to speak thus to a man who writes such excellent things to me; I must confess, I learn more out of your Letters, than I have out of all the books I ever read, and that if I am Magister coenae, you are Magister scholae, or, to speak better Latin, Ludi Magister; which is as much, as Cicero said of Hirtius & Pansa; Hirtium & Pansam habeo dicendi discipulos, coenandi magistros. But I beseech you, give me good large Lessons, that is, write large Letters.  
Parcentes ego dexteras  
Odi.—  
But I have not done yet, for sparge rosas, is very good again, and do not think to excuse yourself upon the dust and barrenness of Philosophy and Theology. These sciences must needs flourish in your hands, pro carduo & pro paliuro foliis acutis, surget mollis viola & purpureus Hyacinthus. 
— Quicquid calcaveris hîc rosa fiet.   
You strew your flowers every where, but do not imagine I am satisfied with a present of those of Seneca, it is as much as if you sent me Cheapside, I would have them up and down at random, per devia rura, and such as are more natural, 
Et flores terrae quos ferunt solute.   
To be free with you, I am not much taken with that Author, I like your Latin better then his, and have been more pleased with the things you have said of yourself, than what you have quoted out of him. But amidst the satisfaction it is to receive of your Letters, it often happens, that the pleasure I find in reading of them, augments the regret I have that I cannot see you, and makes me the more sensible of the loss it is to me, not to be near a person that writes such things, and who, were he but here, would ente●aine me with the like every morning.  
medio de fonte lepôrum,  
Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat.  
For Pliny I much wonder he should make such account of the saying of his Senator, and am no less surprised that you should so much commend that of Montagne's.  
— Nimium patienter utrumque.  
I shall, for your sake forbear the rest; the sayings of Monsieur Pauquet are much beyond any of those Gentlemen. That you have communicated to me of his, hath made me laugh heartily. I have seen all the Letters you have written hither and to Angoulesme, and I admire them all. I cannot but tell you that the half page where you speak to me of Monsieur de P— seems to me to have been written by Petronius. Farewell.  
I had written this letter to you before, but understanding, by what you write to my Lady marchioness de Sablé, that you had not received it, I have gotten it together again as well as I could; if you now receive it twice, I am confident you will read it but once. I am,  
Your &c.   

To the same. LETTER CXCIV.  
SIR,  
QVo me Bacchi rapis tui  
Plenum, quae in nemora, aut quos agor in specus,  
Velox ment nova?  
What vast Countries do you show me, and what unknown worlds do you represent to me, such as I should never have discovered! 
Vt mihi devio,  
Ripas & vacuum nemus mirari libet!   
Your great Factor awaked me to deliver me your Letter I cannot express the astonishment I was in to find myself Master of such treasures, and to see so many things that were new to me.  
Non secùs in jugis  
Ex somnis stupet Evias  
Hebrum prospiciens, & nive candidam  
Thracem—  
This certainly must needs be highly noble, after a night spent one half in gaming, the other in sleep, to awake more knowing.  
Me fabulosae Vulture in Appulo,  
Ludo fatigatumque somno,  
Frond nouâ puerum palumbes  
Texere.  
Be pleased, by the way, to observe that fatigatum somno, and give me your judgement of it. Let me not fail of the continuance of your good offices and care of me, whereof I would have you more liberal than you were the last time. 
Nec parce cadis mihi destinatis.  
Treat me always alike.  
Et chia vina, aut Lesbian,  
Velure, quod fluentem nauseam coerceat,  
Metire nobis Coecubum.   
But with these Greek wines mix some of your own. I shall esteem your fancies as highly as those of Aeschylus or Sophocles, and think not yourself out of my debt, that you have caused Monsieur Pauquet to transcribe three or four sheets of your Collections. Methinks you have done as that Caupo of Ravenn●; you have sent it me merum, when I desired it mixtum. But you have been extremely fortunate in finding out the devia rura I desired, and have pleased me infinitely. Spanish wines are too strong for me.  
— Generosum & molle requiro,  
Quod curas abigat, quod cum spe divite manet  
Invenias, animùmque meum, quod verba ministret  
Quod me Lucanae juvenem commendet amicae.  
I am ashamed after all this to return you Villum pro vino. But what would you have?  
Nos alicam, mulsum poterit tibi mittere dives.  
But amongst all the good entertainment you make me, I am surprised at the difficulties you propose, and I can compare it to nothing, but, 
— Inter pateras & lenia pocula serpens.   
After you had treated me so well, you put me upon the rack: 
Tu lene tormentum ingenio admoves  
Plerumque duro.   
Do you not take it to be your part rather to instruct me, and clear up my doubts, then to propose any to me? Are not you the master, and I Davus sum non Oedipus? But my best way to come off well, is not to make any answer at all to them; and so discover myself to be one of those of whom it is said, in conviviis loquebantur, in tormentis tacebant. I shall only tell you, that in my Terence▪ instead of rem ●i videas, censea●, I have found, rerum. Instead therefore of answering your Questions, I will make others to you, and ask you how you understand that passage of Quintus Curtius, who says that Alexander, in the second battle, as I take it, that he gave Darius, engaged with Darius' Brother in the heat of the charge, who, says he, armis & robore corporis multum supra caeteros eminebat. Some say that armis is there put instead of humeris; others that it signifies armour, and that the meaning of it, is, that the magnificence of his armour, his stature and strength of body made him remarkable beyond all others. Those who hold the former opinion say, that the Author seemed to allude to that Hemestick of Virgil 
— quam forti pectore & armis,  that eminere will not hold in the other signification; that if he would have represented him as remarkable for his armour, he would not have simply said armis, but fulgore armorum. The others answer, that though eminere properly signifies to surpass in height, yet it many times admits avother signification, which is, to be eminent ot remarkable, so that if armis stand there for the shoulders, the word eminebat must be taken in two several significations: for in the ●ormer, it suits not well with robore corporis, and to say that he was higher than all the rest by the shoulders and strength of body, were as improper. But indeed armis is a word that cannot properly be said but of Brutes, and is never attributed to men but by the Poets, and consequently, it is irrational to think that Quintus Curtius, who might as well have used humeris, should be guilty of such a strange aequivocation, as that of putting armis. Do you take it into your consideration, and let me have your opinion of it, for it hath raised a great contestation here, and your judgement is expected.  
I am extremely in love with whatever you write to me of Bacon. But do you not think that Horace, who said, 
Visum Britannos hospitibus feros,  would be much astonished to hear a Barbarian discourse after that rate?  
Your aureae diei palpebrae I like hugely, and methinks amongst the great number of Godfathers which Aurora hath had, there's none hath given her a more pleasant name than Euripides. The Law of the one-eyed Locrian, was in my judgement highly just, and it concerned him very much to advance it; for my part, if to have been only bigle or squint eyed, I should have ventured very hard for it. Do you not think that bigle comes from binus oculus, as if I should say a double eye, which looks divers ways.  
For Lucius Neratius, had he given his boxes on the ear with a little more choice, I should have thought his money not ill spent, and that it were one of the most pleasant inventions of of expense that could be made.  
That was certainly a great and remarkable Phlebotomy that cured Fabius Maximus of a Fever. Do you think, that the Allobroges should afterwards ever wish him his Quartan Ague? I will send you, for the fever which they call Semitertiana, or, if I may presume to speak g●e●k before you, Emitritaeus (I pray do not tell your Master Monsieur Pauque● that I have written Emitritaeus without an h,) I say I will teach you for that kind of Fever a receipt a hundred times easier; 
Inscribas chartae quod dicitur Abracadabra,  
Saepiùs & subter repetas, mirabile dictu!  
Donec in angustum redigatur littera conum.  That is to say, first Abracadabra, and under that Abracadabr, and in the third line, Abracadab, etc. Did you never hear of this? And does it not require a great acquaintance with Physic and the Virtues of things to find out the propriety of that word?  
The Verses of Alexander Severus have found me a great deal of excellent good sport: you that are so well acquainted with the Greek, are you not extremely troubled that the Original is lost? It is not unlikely, but the Iter of Julius Caesar and the Sicily of Augustus were of that kind. Is not Fort●n● a mad slut to suffer the Works of C●nna and Varius to perish; and to have preserved to out times this epigram, whereof the Author when he had made it might have said, as Horace did. 
Exegi monimentum aere perennius,  
Quod nec imber edax aut aquilo impotens, etc.  The equivocation of Aurelian pleases me, yet could I not but pity the poor dogs. I should have been better pleased he had sworn not to leave a cat there.  
As for your Stars of the Earth, you are not the first that hath put that humour into French, or have presumed that the Stars might be called the Flowers of the Heavens. For the Romance of the Rose says 
Heaven and Earth have long since known  
This envious competition;  
This pregnant in her flowery pride  
Thinks her, then that, more stellified.  
And Marino  
The flowery skies, the starry earth.  But now I think on't, Lycimnius is here, but hath not brought his wife with him. She writes to me that she is very much displeased at it, that he was in no good humour, and would not permit it. I know not what to think of her; but that you may not be mistaken, Madam Lycimnia hath a greater gift of talking and subtlety than we. If you have met with any fair and faithful Mistress, 
Gaude sort tuâ, me libertina, neque uno  
Contenta Phryne macerat.—  Be pleased to take notice that libertina signifies in that plac● what we call in our language Libertine, and take heed you 〈◊〉 stake not.  
How infinitely am I pleased with the little Latin Sto●ie at the bottom of your Letter, and how admirably think it written! If your History or mine were written so, Petronius would be no more read. Farewell Sir, and assure yourself, I wish nothing so much as to see you again, and that we walked to the Schools together. I am sincerely  
Your, &c   

To the same. LETTER CXCU.  
SIR,  
YOu had better have let Hebrus pass by, and shall find what it is to oppose Rivers and to hinder their currents. This is gentle, and without noise, and glides away quietly without doing any hurt to any body; in the mean time you declaim against it, as if it had carried away— sata laeta, boumque labores, you speak a thousand things against the honour of it, 
— & ferâ diluvie quietum  
Jrritas amnem.—  But you who would not pe●●it it, cum pace labentem, shall shortly see it, 
Nunc lapides adesos,  
Stirpesque raptas, & pecus & domos,  
Volventem unà, non sine montium  
Clamore, vicinaeque sylvae.  You may guess somewhat near, Sir, whether you are in my Allegory, designed by the cattle or the mountains. But to return to what we said, Hebrus is a very pleasant River, but not much frequented, and little known to the vulgar, ignotus pecori, and the inhabitants of Poitou, and certainly you were ignorant of this, 
Atque auro turbidus Hebrus;  nor yet knew what Pliny says, that there's gold found in the bottom of it. But, be ingenuous, had you never heard neither, that the head and harp of Orpheus were cast into this River, 
— Caput, Hebre, lyrámque  
Excipis.—  Now in your own judgement, had you any reason to complain, that I should put you on its banks? especially since it is said, 
Flebile nescio quid queritur lyra.  And again 
— Resp●ndent flebilè ripae.  Consider the great injury I did you, it may be you had heard of all this. And if it be true what Pausanius says, that the Nightingalls which were near Orpheus' Tomb sang more melodioushe than the rest, do you imagine whether you were well placed or no, and what music there must needs be? The complaint you make against my Snows, methinks is not much more rational, and, for aught I see, you are not one of that delicate number, whereof Pliny says, I mean the elder (for as to the other, I care not much to quote him) nives petunt, poenasque montium in voluptatem vertunt, ●nd you would not call them your Mistresses, as this man did, 
Setinum, dominasque nives, densique trientes.  But though you were not of that opinion; yet should you not be so angry at it, 
Aspice quam densum tacitarum vellus aquarum  
Defluat in vultus Caesaris in que sinus;  
Indulget tamen ille Jovi.  You should not methinks be in a worse humour than Domitian, and your Catullus might have satisfied you, that I had not lodged you so ill, when he says, 
Ego viridis algida Idae  
Nive amicta loca colam.  Are you to learn, that, dedit nivem sicut lanam, and that this is it that preserves the tenderest flowers from the smartness of the Winter? Certainly, since you are not to be always incensed and exasperated, you have I must confess sent me the fairest in the World, and that of all sorts. 
Et quas Ossa tulit, quasque altus Pelion herbas  
Othrisque & Pindus, & Pindo major Olympus.  There are not noses enough for all this; the nose of a Rinocerot, that of Papilus and that of Monsieur— 
Et omnis copia narium  were not sufficient. A man who should send all this ought not to suspect that one would put pede barbaro for him, or that it should fit his foot well. Should a Barbarian have all these spoils of Greece and Italy? 
Barbarus has segetes?—  But though I had called you so, I would have you to know; for I cannot forbear teaching you something at all times, that it is not so offensive as you would take it, and without observing to you, that bartarico postes auro, is interpreted by Servius for multo auro, I shall tell you; that barbaricâ lege jus meum persequar, in Plautus, is expounded by the interpreters Romanâ lege, and again in the same Author, quid urbes barbaras juras, that is to say, Italas.  
Your citation of Horace's Furius amidst the discourses of Snow, you entertain me with, convinces me that you understood it not; for Horace would not thence infer that he spoke cold things, but would abuse the verse he had made, 
Jupiter hybernas canâ nive conspuit alpes.  I am much missed ken if Quintilian citys not also this verse in a certain place, where he censures ill Metaphors, and so Horace, to express that it was cold weather, says ingeniously and with all satyricallie 
— & cum  
Furius hybernas canâ nive conspuit Alps.  I am not of your opinion as to the explication you make of ludo fatigatumque somno, by explicating fatigatus to signify lassatus as to ludo, and oppressus as to somno. For I conceive that any one word that relates to two other, aught to be construed in the same signification as to both, and for my part, I should take fatigatum somno, in that place for, fatigatum somni inopiâ; as somnieil in F●en●h is taken for sleep in effect, and also for the desire or inclination to sleep. I can do no more for weariness and sleeping. For the rest, be it your care, that all the passages which you allege of fatigatus, wherein you give other significations than the ordinary, be more reconcileable to good sense, by leaving it in that which is most proper to it; and I would rather say, wearied the gods for another Empire, then importuned; and so of the rest.  
I have found, as well as Aristotle, that Felicity was not in Gaming, and upon that account I have quite given it over; it's seven months since I played at all, which is a piece of news of great consequence and I forgot to acquaint you with, 
Nec lusisse pudet, sed non incidere ludum.  I am of your opinion as to what you quarrel at in Quintilian; his reason is good for the falls of children, but not for their recreations and run.  
The severity wherewith the Thessalians punished those that killed Storks, I think a rational proceeding; but I know not whether it was because the Storks devour Serpents, or because they nourish their parents in their old age, or for that they were the first inventors of Clysters, which is a commendable and advantageous invention. Certainly, abating their abusivenesse, as you know, 
O Jane à tergo, etc.  they are a sort of Birds of very good manners, and endued with excellent qualities. Nor do I wonder much at what Pliny says of the esteem which the Romans had for the Ox, and even to this day, amongst a many Nations, powdered beef is in great veneration; but do you know what Suetonius says of that virtuous Prince Domitian, inter initia usque adeo ab omni caede abhorrebat, ut absente adhuc patre, recordatus Virgilii versum,  
Impia quae caesis gens est epulata juvencis; edicere destinaverit, ne boves immolarentur. See the good Prince, what a tender soul he hath, and you were best trust him.  
I believe you are not too well acquainted with Sylla when you say he was not a fickle man, and I dare lay a wager you never saw him, animo ingenti cupidus volupta●um, sed gloriae cupidior●tio luxurioso esse, tamen ab negotiis, nunquam voluptas remorata. Consider if it may be hence inferred that he was neither unconstant nor a Gallant.  
I pray return my most humble thanks to the Abbot of Lavardin for the judgement he hath given on my side upon that passage of Quintus Curtius; and that I am not so glad that he hath judged it for me, as that he hath judged aright: for I shall henceforth concern myself so much in him, as to make it a matter of congratulation, that he is so able a judge in things of this nature.  
I am very glad that you study Etymologies so much; you have almost found that of the besi●les, and it is no ill beginning but it comes from bini circuli, or ●is circuli. That of Monsieur Crassot, which you laugh at, I like well enough, nor shall I quarrel much with that of Vigenere, but I will give you des mules (kibes) for his slippers, and you shall acknowledge that that word is derived from mulaei, which were, calcei regum Albanorum rubri coloris.  
Thus you have now what I should have written to you long since, but I have so much business, and of that nature that I doubt not of your pardon, when you know it.  
Res misera est pulchrum esse hominem nimis. But, be a little more venturous, and let not Pegasus and Bellerophon frighten you; take it from me, all is but fables. 
Aude hospes contemnere opes, & te quoque dignum  
Finge Deâ.—  By the next return I will send you the decision upon the words of your Nobility, at the present I have not the leisure. I am  
Sir, Your, &c,  
I forgot to explicate to you the passage of Quintus Curtius, at least according as I understand it, and certainly it is very difficult. There was not, says he, any earth under the walls, whereon to fasten the scaling-ladders, nor had Alexander any Ships; nay though he had had, yet when they would have planted the ladders upon the Sips which moved and tossed up and down, it could have been done with such diligence but that those upon the Walls would have had time enough to force back with darts those who would have scaled, and those who were in the Ships.   

To my Lord d'Avaux. LETTER CXCVI  
My LORD,  
IT is an extraordinary satisfaction to all that love you to see the attendance of Madam de Longueville so full and so free of your praises, that it might be thought they had not seen in all Germany but yourself, and were returned to Paris for no other business then to discourse of you. I meet upon several occasions some I have no acquaintance with, who compliment me and make me proffers of their services upon your account; women and maids that will needs take me by the neck for your sake. But above all, their Mistress gives you those praises you may justly claim, and after such a manner, that it is impossible any other can do the like. It is long since that your Lordship hath heard me say, that every woman hath her humour; but there's not any can pretend to so exact a one as she, and I am extremely pleased that it absolutely concurres with mine as to what concerns you. All the World knows that you are a great Ambassador, a great Minister of State, and a great Man, 
Et pueri dicunt:  but as to what they call a Virtuous man and a Gallant man, if I may presume to understand anything of it; no man ever arrived to that height which you have, and yet this Truth is not so well known to any as to Madam de Longueville and myself. She hath a very high esteem for your integrity, your prudence, your magnificence, and your magnanimity; She much celebrates the great credit and veneration you were in all over Germany; but above all, she takes infinite delight to speak of the delicacy and beauty of your mind; of the acuteness you have in judging of excellent things, the facility to dispense them, and all the recommendable qualities which are rare even in Plenipotentiaries, and which she says she never could discover in any one besides yourself. In a word, she knows you as well as if she had looked through into your heart, whether she have been there I know not. She hath not mentioned a syllable to me of the Letters I writ to you, though she does me the honour to speak to me with much freedom, and that I have often put her upon that subject. What ever you read here, my Lord, is somewhat too gentle, and may very well admit of a corrective, but those Lustres and Olympiads, which you have so well represented to me heretofore, doth not this occasion put you in mind of them? Acknowledge then that there are certain emergencies wherein the greatest souls, and the most vigilant prudence may be guilty of some failing.  
Paris. May 16. 1647.   

To the same. LETTER CXCVII.  
DVpliciter delectatus sum tuis literis, & quod ipse risi, & te ridere posse intellexi. For aught I perceive, jucundissime Domine, (for why may not I give you the same title, as Pliny in his preface, does Trajan?) You Plenipotentiaries spend your time very merrily at Munster; you have taken up an humour to laugh but once in six moneth●. You do very well to hug time while yond have it, and not to slight those enjoyments of life which Fortune is pleased to bestow on you. You lie there at rack and manger, up to the ears in papers, always reading▪ writing, correcting, proposing, comparing, making Orations, and consulting ten or twelve hours every day, fitting in good easy and warm chairs, while we poor rogues here, are walking, running, trudging up and down, playing, watching and tormenting ourselves out of a wretched life. But, amidst all your metriment, be pleased to acknowledge, my Lord, whether it be not more unpleasant living at Munster since the deporture of Madame de Longueville? Certain it is, that it is fairer weather at Paris since her coming thither, 
Purior hic campos Aether, & lumine vestit  
Purpureo.—   
Such is the pleasure of Fortune and the World.  
Hic apicem rapax  
Fortuna eum stridore acuto  
Sustulit, hic posuisse gaudet.  
You have returned her a greater beauty and a greater wit than you had received her from us, and notwithstanding her great bulk, she sets the greatest part of mankind here afire. Arcanus hinc terror, sanctáque reverentia, quid sit illud quod tantum perituri rident. I wish you heard what she says of you, and with what esteem and friendship she expresses herself; if you did, though you are not subject to any passions (is it Monsieur Cornifice Vlfelt that maintains that opinion?) yet certainly you would run some hazard. She thanks you for your notice, as to the marriage she was not assured of any thing before, and hath commanded me to make you thousands of compliments from the truest heart in the world. Your Italian and his elegance I am infinitely taken with: seriously, my Lord, you frighten me.  
Tot linguae, totidemora sonant.  
There is something monstrous in it, that mouth with twelve springs, attributed to Pindar, may it not with as much justice be to you? But into what a bysse did you dive for, se no vi piace prestarmi quella fede, and by what art, ex rebus damnatis, & jam nullis, can you extract beauties and graces never before known or heard of? That, with Julio Bertolini, and Bartolo●aeo Dini, was lost in the shipwreck of a thousaud other things which time hath made in my memory; you have recovered it, quasiiure postliminii, and with how great satisfaction, I cannot express. I was I must confess, very much ashamed that my servant should see me break forth into a loud laughter at the reading of a Letter, which he had understood was brought me from my Lord d' Avaux, a man so grave, so serious, and looked upon with so much reverence by all the world. Res ardua vetustis novitatem dare, obsoletis nitorem, fastiditis gratiam, but with you is nothing easier, as being able to do far greater things.   

To the same. LETTER CXCVIII  
My LORD,  
IT must needs be acknowledged you have in me a very strange kind of Clerk, one that understands not a word of the Finances, never goes to the office, and thinks it much to writ once in six months to his Master; but, in requital; he is a good Gamester, an ordinary Poet, writes handsome Letters, and sights duels at midnight by torchlight. I make the more haste to accuse myself, merely to prevent your reproofs, for methinks I see you with your plenipotentiary Countenance upbraiding me again with my Olympiads, and saying, 
Sperabam jam deseruisse adolescentiam,  
Gaudebam● ecce autem de integro▪   
But I think it is not a greater shame for me not to be wiser in my old days than others are in their youth, Saleii Bassi vehemens & poeticum ingenium fuit, nec adhuc senectute maturum. Yet must I needs confess, that I could not but a little blush at it, nay so much that I durst not for some time write to you; besides, that in the disturbance I imagined you were in, at the slow advancement of your design, I thought Letters so disserious as mine are, would have proved importunate. I am not ignorant, my Lord, what a great lover you are of my Country, and consequently cannot doubt but you are much troubled at the difficulties which daily arise, and so much recard the negotiation you are employed in. All I have to say to you as to that point, is, that you ought be sensible thereof only as to the public interest, without interposing your own. The world is so well satisfied as to your good intentions, that when ever any here quarrel at the slow progress of the peace, and those who are thought (unjustly perhaps) not to contribute all they can towards it, it raises matter of discourse of you, such as you would be extremely glad to hear. That certainly is a strange constellation, that forces on you always the affections of all people, there is not a Citizen, but names you, knows you, and celebrates your praises. France hath trusted you with the small hope she had left; for seeing that the peace could not be concluded without a miracle, it is believed that it must be you shall do it, and amidst the public consternation, you are looked at as a Sanctuary. In the mean all things are so changed here, people's hearts so cast down, and so little of enjoyment, that I think there is no great matter of choice between an abode at Munster and Paris: a man cannot meet with any who have not their complaints, some that they cannot get their Salaries, others that their pensions are shortened, nay there want not Clarks that belong to the Revenue, who, say they are no better treated then other.  
Saclé is seen among the rest  
When all things are locked up i' th' chest, etc.  
This, if I mistake not, is a fragment of a piece of our youthful Poetry. That your Lordship may see whether I am any thing improved since that time, I send you some verses I made three years since upon the Prince his sickness when he was in Germany. I had some reasons not to communicate them to any, nor is it many days since I first showed them. They have been well approved here, yet shall I not be satisfied till I know your judgement of them. Be pleased to honour me so much as to let me know whether they are worth aught, that, in case they answer not expectation, I may shake hands with Poetry, and apply myself wholly to the business of the Revenue. I cannot conclude this Letter without telling you that Madame de Longueville received lately one from you, which she infinitely values, and which hath been extremely commended by all that saw it. To do you justice, it deserved no less, it being impossible there should be any thing so handsome.  
Nosti, Antipho, quam elegans spectator formarum sim.  
You know whether I understand any thing as to Beauties of of this nature. France affords not another that can write at that rate.   

To the same. LETTER CXCIX.  
My LORD,  
YOu cannot give me a greater assurance of the settledness and tranqu●ity of your soul, then by sending such a Letter as that came last to my hands, it seems to be drawn  
— Medio de fonte Lepôrum,  
So excellently well it is written, and so easy to perceive, that it is the production of a clear and undisturbed mind. There is not certainly any thing could, in my thought, raise you so great esteem, as to see, that, notwithstanding the present posture of your affairs, you can laugh in this manner. This is called Diis frui iratis, & Fortunae minaci mandare laqueum. Do you remember the time, when you built her so glorious a Temple in verse? You are sufficiently converted from that Idolatry, and now you can as easily laugh at her. And yet, I think that, for this time, she will but threaten. Those who pretend acquaintance with the Court, hold, that it is not safe to be exposed to the envy which one must needs run the hazard of by misintreating a person, who, at the opinion of all the world, hath deserved so well of France. Monseigneur de Longueville hath done me the honour to show me the Letter you writ to him. I found it handsome, excellently handsome. Certainly, my Lord, there is not of all the Wits, of all those, qui artem ●ractant musicam; any that understands it so well as yourself. I am extremely pleased that you have not disliked my verses, ...  
In the mean time I am satisfied with your deferbuisse, my Terence is not so correct as yours, nor I as you. But why will you enjoin me to write to you once a month? Is it not enough that I serve you by the Quarter? Put me upon some employment in relation to your Affairs, that so I may have something to entertain you with. If you do not, my Letters will prove nothing but skin and bones, short and cold. Nevertheless I shall obey you, and if I should not do it out of a consideration of the many obligations I owe you, I could not for bear for your Parenthesis of Mousieur Voiture of Amiens; ego enim (existimes licet quod lubet) mirificè capior facetiis; moriar si praeter te quenquam habeo in quo possim imaginem aentiquae festivitatis agnoscere. If I understand any thing of it, you are the best and most prudent man in the world, a truth all are satisfied of, nor is it less unquestionable, that you are also the most pleasant.   

BUTILLERIO CHAVIENIO. V. VICTURUS S.P.D. LETTER CC.  
DVpliciter delectatus sum tuis literis & quod ipse risi, & quòd te ridere posse intellexi. (this I have from Cicero, for the rest you will easily perceive I am not in his debt) Verebar enim ne te hominem urbanissimum tam longa extra urbem commoratio taedio & languore afficeret. Verùm illae tuae jucundae, suaves, salibus undique aspersae satis ostendunt solitum in te vigere Genium, ill●mque ingenii tui aciem nullâ ratione retundi posse. Nec miror sanè quod rure nihil ruris contraxeris, & te ubique tam elegantem praestes, quippe qui omnium elegantiarum fontem tam prope habeas, & à latere viri suprà omnes eloquentissimi non discedas, 
— & te haec  
Scire, Deos quoniam propiùs contingis, oportet.   
Vt enim videbantur Athenae migrare quocunque se Alcibiades sontulisset, sic quicquid in urbe est urbanitatis politiorisque doctrinae, lepores, venustates, Veneres ipsae Richelium, quoquo se vertat, comitantur. Quam lubenti animo Epistolam tuam legerim, quámque capiar illis íngenii tui deliciis, illóque tibi peculiari genere scribendi, peream si satis dicere possum. Tu-te reputa, quae in ignotissimo diligerem, quam mihi chara esse debeant in te homine amicissimo, omniúmque mearum fortunarum ac rationum p●●trono. Quod mihi succenses, & subirasci viderîs quod me parùm diligentem praebeam in rebus domesticis curandis, ínque illo negotio conflciendo quod me hic detinet; jure quidem, sed & perhumanè facis, qui tantis implicitus negotiis mea curas. Caeterùm, tibi persuadeas quaeso, me omni observantiâ, fide, amore erga te, omni denique studio, omnibúsque officiis praestiturum, ut me hac tuâ humanitate ac benevolentiâ dignum aliquando judic●s. Emin tuus, imò noster, quam me devinctum habeat, & in posterum sit habiturus ipse judicare potes, qui & beneficium ab illo in me collatum, & me quam gratus sim nosti. Certé Vir alioquin summo ingenio, acerrimo judicio praeditus, liberalissimus, & ut omnia dicam, amicitiâ tuâ dignus, vel ob id unum facinus ab omnibus laudari, à te amari, à me coli semper debet. Roxanam his diebus diligentissimè legi. Quid de eâ sentiam quaeris? nihil meherculè usquam elegantiùs, nihil ornatius, nihil sublimius, dignam denique Alexandro & Armando. Quo propiùs inspexi, eo mihi pulchrior visa est, támque absoluta, ut nihil in ea praeter aliquem naevum desideres. Sed quid ejus tibi nunc venustatem  
Praedicem aut laudem, Antipho,  
Cum ipsum me nôris quam elegans formarum spectator siem,  
In hác commotus sum.  
Mi pergratum feceris, si tuum de illa judicium ad me perscribas, percupio enim scire, an tibi tam lecta, quam audita placuerit. Si quid in hac urbis solitudine faciam, quaeris? deambulo, lego, scribo, satis juc●ndè● haec omnia, nisi anxius essem publicis rebus; déque tuâ salute. Vive & vale:   

In obitum N.  

PRima manu Troum quae missa est cuspis in hostem,  
Eximio juveni funus, acerba, tulit.   

At nobis meliorem aninam facta invida rollunt,  
Et rapuit fortem mors properata virum.   

Pro facinus! qui vel laudes aequasset Achilles,  
Ille habuit fatum Protesilae tuum.     

THE AMOROUS LETTERS OF Monsieur de VOITURE.  

LETTER I.  
Floricia,  
FOR God's sake, let's once shake off this dark colour, or if we must needs be in mourning let it be for your absence. I received your excuses before you sent them, and you cannot but think me really satisfied you were not in any fault, since I had the confidence to accuse you▪ I have taken more pains than you would have done yourself, to find out what might be said in your defence; and to be ingenious with you, I made your cause so much my own, and thought myself obliged to be so tender of your innocence, that I durst not omit any thing that might maintain it. For, had you been found guilrie, I should first have suffered for it, nor indeed had any been so cruelly punished as myself. But all this omitted, I have a greater opinion of my own fortune and your courage then to doubt that either of them should fall so low. It is unworthy both you and me, to fear that an affection so well cemented should by any casualty be dissolved: nay it is a crime in us but to imagine such a thing possible. If but one of those two Gentlemen, with whose conversation I reproached you, had stayed till day in your Chamber, I should think you could no less than take a whole night to fall out with him for it; nay though I should have seen him in your embraces, I think I should have taken you for another, or that you had mistaken him for me. In a word, I should rather distrust the fidelity of my own eyes then your faith, and am more easily persuaded I may be deceived in them then in you. No, your entertainment of those two men shall never find my thoughts any business, nay though they had spent an Age with you, I should not believe you had bestowed one quarter of an hour with them. But I pray let me know, when you had dismissed the former, did you stay alone with the other, or did your woman come immediately into your Chamber? Did they upon their departure from you undertake that journey with as much satisfaction as at other times? Do you still feed them with those fair hopes, wherein only I esteem them more rich, then if they possessed all the World besides? I am somewhat curious as to these particulars, out of a confidence that I cannot but be much pleased with them, and no doubt but I should be rather satisfied then any way disturbed at that interview, were I but fully informed thereof. But, in the mean time, they saw you, while I was at a distance of thirty Leagues from you, nay at the same time that I was alone in my Chamber bemoaning your absence, they were in yours and heard you discourse. Nay it may be they saw you laugh, and that you gave one of them occasion to fall into some pleasant dreams that night. Ah Floricia! what a treacherous passion is jealousy, and how easily she insinuates herself into us, while our Reason is asleep! I know that your past errors oblige you to very deplorable consequences, and that you are forced to many actions against your own inclinations and mine, to avoid running the hazard of one thing which you think very dear. But if you knew how much I am cast down at it, and how heavy these considerations lie upon me, it may be, that another time you will hazard any thing rather than my life; and yet you reproach me with a negligence that I did not send you my picture soon enough. But I pray, was it your desire I should have come and made a third with the other two? or could you have wished me present to be an eyewitness of the entertainment you gave them? This is so irrational, that my very picture would not have suffered it, for it would have been no less then to put me to death in effigy. Add to that, I should have felt something of it hence, and, no question, have fallen into some languishing disease, not unlike those who are killed at the distance of a hundred leagues, only by pricking their images. But though there were no such thing to be feared, yet should you not desire the sight of my picture, especially in the condition the first days of your absence had put me into. All the Art of painting could not have afforded colours ill enough to represent that which sadness had clothed me in; nor indeed can I see any likelihood that a man half dead should be drawn to the life. You would have found me quite another person, than what you had seen so pleasant in your company. If I had been well drawn you would not have known me, for I hardly knew myself, and might hardly pass for an ill copy of what I was a while since. But I hope that after some short time you will find me more cheerful and more divertible, for I begin to clear up my countenance, and if the Painter do but his duty, you shall discover in the Piece a certain hope, that it shall not be long ere you may expect my attendance to second that of my Picture. Do you therefore prepare yourself to entertain me with more freedom, and if you are yet at your own disposal, let not the recommendations of the witty Gentlewoman hinder you. I sent her not my humblest services, but only returned those I had received from her by three several persons; and I should no have presumed to do it, had I not been afraid to offend you by retaining any thing of hers. Besides, you would soon have been informed, whether I had not made a conscience to be importunate to you for a quarter of an hour by so unwelcome a refl●ction as that. The same consideration which prevailed with you, not to acquaint me with the news I have otherwise learned, made me stifle this. But since we know all one of another, and that the bad angel, which keeps us asunder will needs discover all those actions of ours which may any way give offence, I beseech you let us elude his malice, and so prevent him in this, that knowing all things by a mutual communication, they may put on quite another face; and for my part, I profess to you, I shall never be guilty of any thing, which in any likelihood may give you offence, whereof I shall not presently make my confession to you. Be you pleased to make me the same promise, and withal, let me know whence you came to understand that I had sent recommendations to any one, and by what means you have discovered that, whereby I came to the news whereof I have made my complaint to you: for, to be free with you, I am extremely troubled at it, and for my part, I can think no otherwise then that you have some Genius about me, who acquaints you with what is done. But since he tells you all, ask him whether I love you, as also, how often in a day I sigh for you.   

To Madam— LETTER II.  
IT is certainly a menace would startle a more confident person than I am. But while you shall threaten me after this rate, I must needs confess I cannot much fear you, and shall be so bold as to give you a meeting in the afternoon according to your direction, what misfortune soever may be the consequence of it. I know your lodging is no secure place for me, and that under pretence of the friendship whereof you are pleased to honour me with a promise, there is not any one from whom I should far more mischief then from you. But yet be pleased not to leave me too long upon the Rack, for if you are resolved to be kind as you pretend, let this occasion give you handsel. The truth is, my implicit obedience towards you, and the resignation wherewith you see I put myself into your hands, does in some sort oblige you thereto. Though I know what you have destined me to, yet shall I do all that lies in my power, to satisfy that person, who you desire should be, at my charge; and I promise you to keep her affection secret, without deriving any vanity or reputation thence; but I doubt I shall not so easily conceal your intelligence thereof.   

To the Same. LETTER III.  
Madam;  
THe only way to make a Geometrical proportion in my sufferings is to acquaint me that you are subject to any, and whereas I have hitherto undergone my own with patience enough, I much doubt whether I shall be able to bear yours. But happen as it may or will, I cannot endure too much, since it is for your sake I do it; for the two words which you thrust into your Letter of a different rank and file from the rest, cannot but render all things supportable to me, and make me cheerful even in Martyrdom. I think you no Infidel as to this point, but are satisfied of my resolution, since that having given me notice of the mischief you intended me, you expect I should come myself to receive it, and that in the afternoon I should repair to a place, where my sufferings are to be multiplied. This m●●ace might frighten another, and would oblige a wiser man than myself to mind his own safety. But what hazard soever I may run, there's no means to avoid your commands, or, being honoured so highly with your acquaintance as I am, to forbear professing myself,  
Madam, Your, etc.   

To the Same. LETTER IU.  
MADAM,  
I Have clearly forgotten all I should have said to— to whom you would have me reconciled; and yet I must needs tell you, it is not that I have slept since. I am displeased with myself, that I have had no more respect for a person, who had been recommended to me from so good hands, and that not being able to afford her any room in my inclinations, she hath found so little in my memory. That is a certain part of my Soul where I might justly have allowed her a place, for that is it which is the most opposite to judgement, and hath the charge only of things past. But if I tell her any thing that favours of obligation this afternoon, she shall have no cause to complain that I speak to her only by heart; for I find mine at such a distance from whatever I have to say to her, that if I have not your immediate assistance, you will find I shall be as far to seek as you, both as to words and time. But, were it Heavens pleasure you knew not that of your departure, and that you were not able to give me any account of it at least for this day. For, to deal truly with you, I have not courage enough, to endure the very imagination of it, nay that very thought st●fles in me all other. When I consider that to morrow you will not be to be found here, I think it strange I should be in the World to day: nay I am almost in an humour to acknowledge with you that there is some fiction in the love I pretend to, when it comes into my mind that I am still alive, and that this affliction does not absolutely make an end of me. Others have become speechless, and confined themselves to the deserts of Thebais upon less discontents than mine. But if I tell you, that I cannot go so far from you to bemoan my misfortune, I am, methinks, the more to be excused, that I go not to endure an hermitage in the wildernesses of Egypt, since I hope to find a place in that you are going to build. This hope is all that flaies me in this World, my life hangs altogether on this consideration. I know not whether all I have said here be within the limits of a passionate friendship; and yet you cannot affirm that I speak to you too clearly, since you have ever had a privilege to give my words several interpretations: nor complain that I write not to you in such terms as you desire, since I could never yet meet with the man that should teach me how to do it. While my failings are connived at, and the discovery of my resentments allowed, I profess to you, with the same affection as I did yesterday, that the only extravagance the World shall know me guilty of, shall be, ever to be enamoured of what was ever amiable, and incur your displeasure from the hour that you are assured of my friendship.   

To the same. LETTER V.  
I Am fully satisfied that my days are near an end, and that I am at the Vigils of the greatest misfortune will ever happen to me. In the mean time I find myself more free and undisturbed than I durst have hoped, and amidst thousands of reflections that add to my torment, there are some few that alleviate it. The astonishment I am in permits me not to examine the cause of so extraordinary an accident; but I am not to be taught, that you produce in my soul, I know not by what means, certain effects whereof I cannot find out the cause, and that you kindle a certain joy in my heart, though I know no reason for it. Be it as it will, I find myself so resolved for death as if there were something for me to expect after it; and how insupportable soever that separation may be which brings with it your absence, I am prepared to endure it, as if it were only a passage to a better life. All I am troubled at, is, that that person, to whom you lend me sometimes, suffers me not to end my days quietly, but I must be forced to spend between you and her the last hours of my life. By this I am absoluttlie convinced (though I could not hitherto be persuaded to believe it) that at the hour of death, we all see our good and bad angels, and that we have at that moment happy and unhappy visions. But I humbly beseech you in case you hate me not yet, not to forsake me in this extremity, and to be careful and tender of a Soul which cannot be saved but by your means, and must be tormented eternally, if you deny it your protection.   

To the Same. LETTER VI.  
IT was high time for me to think of my Conscience, and it was a happy turn for me, that I made yesterday some part of my confession; for I had not been yet so sick as I am this day, and my sickness increases so, that, had I delayed it any longer, I think I had died in a very sad condition. At least, to measure things by the fits I am troubled with, and the distractions that torment me, I see myself falling into extravagances and enthusiasms, and have no great hope to be, though but for one hour longer, absolute Master of my senses and intellectuals. What persuades me the more it will be so, is, that amidst the sufferings & afflictions which I expected should have swallowed me up, I cannot put on much sadness, and find myself less troubled then ordinary, though I am in the worst condition I ever was in in my life. I lost, not many days since, a dear friend, whom the excess of his pain made insensible thereof. His dreams made him laugh amidst the pangs of death, and his imaginations found him some ease, whilst he was on the rack of a Fever. I beseech you envy me not such a dissolution as that, and since I have not eight days to live, give me leave to spend them after that manner. This granted I shall acknowledge you merciful beyond my faith, and myself happy beyond my hope. For an attempt so extravagant as mine should not meet with so good success, and after the commission of so high an essence, I did not expect to die so soon, nor so quietly. I crave your pardon; I thought not to have written any thing to you but what concerned your friend, and now I first perceive that I have not said a word of her. I humbly beseech you to dispose of both her and me as you please, only let me know when you would have me to come and hear the sentence. I should humbly beg it may be given this evening— but I am afraid to be too importunate, and I know not where to find you in the afternoon.   

To the same. LETTER VII.  
IF this be the day that I am to entertain the person you recommended to me yesterday, I beseech you send me what you would have me to do it withal, or take it not ill, that I should make no presents to others, of a good, wherein the poorest are richer than myself. I never had so many painful hours as the twelve I spent last, and since I had the honour of your presence, I have had so little rest, that I dare assure you there are few Fevillants but were better lodged then I. That man, in whose heart you yesterday left the dagger, hath had a better night; Fear, regret, despair, and all the poisons of love that are of a cold nature, were my perpetual Tormentors; and sleep, which for some time would needs give me some ease, hath been properly to me the image of Death, since it continually represented to me that of your absence. The condition I am in considered, I do not think your friend would find anygreat entertainment in my company, unless it be that her love must needs be converted into hatred, and all her passions swallowed up into that of Revenge. If this will serve, she shall find in me absolute satisfaction, and shall be well pleased to see the world affords some more wretched than she. However, give me leave to entreat you, what humour soever she may be in, not to leave me so much alone with her, that some body cannot separate us; and withal to consider that there is no safety for me, whether she love or hate me. I humbly beg this favour of you, that in case I may ever have her.— I may not receive my death from any other hands than yours, and that there may be no need of any other Instruments, but that I may be stifled by my own sighs, and the disturbances I am in for your absence. I know not whether you will begin, with this, to show her the Letters I write to you; but I shall not complain of it, provided you give me leave to be gone immediately, and secure myself in Spain. For that I think a remedy appliable to all sorts of misfortunes; and if you have permitted another to retire thither to avoid a fever, you may very well excuse me, if I go thither to shun death. But, the misery I am in considered, I wonder I should be guilty of such a thought, an imagingtion of that nature, being, methinks, too light to fall into a mind so deeply afflicted as mine. However, since you every year save one man's life, and that you professed yesterday that you would do all the kindnesses that cost you nothing; why should I not hope, that I haply am he whom you will favour so much, and that you will not suffer me to die, since you can prevent it with so much ease.   

To the same. LETTER VIII.  
I Thought there had not been any but yourself could have caused me ill nights, but I yesterday met a Lady, who hath made me spend this last without the least admission of sleep, and wounded me so deeply in the heart, that I have not known any rest since I saw her. Without any design, as I conceive, to mutther me, she told me that you were to depart to morrow, and that she had had this news from your own mouth. If it be so, I think I have some reason to quarrel with you, (having robbed me of half my life) that, without any desert of mine, you make my days shorter than they should be. You will happily think it strange, that a man so unfortunate as I am should complain that he is not suffered to live long enough, and think myself injured that I am too soon delivered out of my misery. But I see that even the most miserable are in love with life; and since I cannot lose mine but by a separation from you, I think it is only the manner of dying that startles me, and that I am to be excused, if I am afraid of so cruel a one. This consideration hath not permitted me to close my eyes since yesterday, and if this day prove so long as the night last passed, I am to fear your absence as a misfortune which cannot happen till after a hundred years. But such an unhappy accident ought to be foreseen even at that distance; nay though it wece not to come to pass till the end of the world, I should begin to fear it from this minute. However, be pleased to let me know what I am to expect, and since it is all the kindness you can do me, let me know the day and hour of my death, that so I may have a little time to recollect thoughts before hand, and to prepare myself for it.   

To the same. LETTER IX.  
I Had designed the Letter I now send you enclosed, to have been much about the same time with you at— and that it would have stuck up at M—'s a good while, ere you had thought of it. But I was forced to keep it till now, as not being able to find out the man's lodging to whom I should have delivered it, till two hours after his departure. I believe you must needs have heard of the fresh occasions of affliction which are happened to me since, and consequently it is not necessary I should be myself the bringer of all the ill news. I shall only tell you, that I am not much happier in my Friendships then I am in my passions, and that Fortune smites me in all the patts where she can wound me. However, to make this misfortune the more insupportable, she needed not have sent it me after your departure, and if she was resolved I should take this unkindness the more heavily, she ought to have done it before she had quite smothered me. By this you perceive what an inconsiderable thing Friendship is, when it is not attended with passion. For this accident, which at any other time would have run through my heart, and which I should have given all I am worth in the world to have avoided, hath not bin●able to castme down more than I was; and of all the tears I have spilt since, I know not whether I have bestowed one whole one on my friend And, to say truth, since he was to stay here, & was out of all hope to come where you are, I cannot imagine the loss of his liberty any great injury to him, or that he might not easily dispense with the conversation of all the world, when he could not have yours. I think it much harder measure, I should be kept here a Prisoner with the rest, and should be detained when no body accuses me. However it be, yet I confess the greatest Criminals are more innocent than I am, and though they should have conspired against the state and the King, I am guilty of a design more traitorous than then that, for which I see there is no way but death.   

To the same. LETTER X.  
THat neither grief nor love can cause any man's death, you need no greater assurance then that neither hath yet made an end of me; and that having past two days without the honour of your fight, there is still some symptoms of life in me. If any thing could prevail with me to dispense with your absence, it was a certain faith I had that death would discharge me, and that so pressing an affliction would not suffer me to languish long. In the mean time I find, much contrary to my my hope, that I last longer than I had imagined, and how mortal soever my wounds may be, yet I think my soul cannot take her leave of my heart, because she sees your image there. 'Tis the only pretence I meet with to clear her from cowardice, nor can I see any other reason that could engage her so long in a place, where she suffers so much. Ever since the hour you saw me drawn by four wild horses, and torn to pieces by my separation from you, I da●e swear, I have not had the leisure to wipe my eyes, which though they have now lost all acquaintance with light and colours, yet will never do me such faithful service as they do now, since they help me to bewail your absence. Amidst the torments I suffer, and the languishing condition I am in, I think myself all that is left of mankind upon earth, or that I am transported into that corner of the world, where the Sun is as seldom seen as Comets are here, and where the shortest night is three months long. And yet, all this notwithstanding, my unhappiness were not arrived to the height, if the darkness wherein I now am, lasted no longer, and I much question, whether after that time, I may hope to see day. But, consider I beseech you Madam, what extremity I am reduced to, that being as yet but in the twilight of so long and tedious a night, I begin, already to count the hours, and that without breaking forth into impatience at every moment, as if a midst the obscurity I am covered with, there were some short intervals of rest, and that I cold sometimes flatter myself into some pleasant dream. But how extravagant soever my imaginations may be, they attain not that height as to insinuate aught that is delightful, & mythoughts are only rational in this, that they never promise me any happiness. This being my condition, I think I may safely swear, that the most wretched man in the world is he who honours you most; and it were certainly impossible I should live so long, did I no● hope to die of it suddenly. But I perceive, I cannot have fifteen days longer to bemoan your absence, and that my miseries and life cannot last above that time. This hope engages me to bear more patiently with both, and I believe you are not displeased that I entertain it, since it is your will I should hope all I ought. At least, I cannot interpret more advantageously for myself, the last words you said to me; and which way soever● cast my eye, I see not how I can ever expect better. In the mean time, you that see 〈◊〉 and much farther than I do, be pleased to tell me whether my extravagance should hope a better issue than that, and what would have become of me, if I had lived longer.   

To the same. LETTER XI.  
I Am very much ashamed to tell you so much; but the wretch who should have been dead long since is still in the world; nay, after I had been fifteen days without heating from you, I am in condition to give you some account of myself. 'Tis, I must needs say, so sad a one, and the affliction I wrestle with so insupportable, that if I shift it not off some way or or other, you will not conclude it is for want of resentment and resolution, in regard that amidst the torments I encounter with, there is less courage requisite to endure death then continue life. And certainly, that which I lead is so unhappy, that I had resolved to be rid of it a thousand times, if I durst presume on any enjoyment of myself out of your sight, and if you had not taught me, that it wants something of absolute misery, to have the satisfaction of a voluntary death. That therefore I must look for as the sole effect of my own griefs, and consequently I must creep by inches to my end, and not make my journey shorter by half a day. And yet, though the trouble it is to me, that I shall never see you again, hath cost me above a hundred thousand tears, I have not sufficiently bewailed your absenee; and having so many misfortunes to grieve for, it were unjust I should be so ready to give up the last gasp.   

To the same. LETTER XII.  
SInce you have forsaken us, a minute hath not past which hath hot added something to my afflictions, and I have not overcome an hour, which I thought not should be that of my death. But now I perceive, that my soul is so overpressed with grief, that it hath not the strength to get away; and that if she remain yet in my body, it is like the lazy birds in the Indies, whereof you heard so me discourse, as I take it about a hundred years since, who cannot be gotten to quit the Tree which cannot afford them any further nourishment, and had rather die languishing, then take the pains to change place. I assure you I aggravate not this story in any thing; and that great mind, whereby you imagine all things with so much ease cannot assist you in the comprehension of half my afflictions. I spend whole days without ever opening mine eyes, and the best part of the night without ever putting them together. And what you will wonder at much more, is, that these restless hours of impatience and despair, and those nights which the fear of having displeased you made me sit up with many mortal disturbances, I now grieve for as lost joys, and the enjoyments of my life past. This indeed is punishment proportionable to the greatest extravagance that ever was known; these are the torments I am destined to suffer for too near an acquaintance with you. But amidst all these afflictions, though I see it must necessarily cost me my life, and that all the indulgences of Heaven and Fortune are too weak to deliver me of them, yet can I not be persuaded, though not imagine how, but that it is in your power to make me die happy, and that what all the world besides cannot do, you only can.   

To the same. LETTER XIII.  
MADAM,  
I Was in hope to make this advantage of the solitude wherein you left me, that I should not have derived the least diversion or entertainment from any one; and that being in a place where I am absolutely unacquainted I should have had the leisure to entertain you with some of my thoughts. But I have hardly the time to to say any thing to you, being snatched away for Fountainbleau, whither Fortune is pleased to command me, upon business of great importance, purposely, as I conceive, to deprive me me of the satisfaction of writing to you. And indeed how liberal soever she may be of her smiles and flatteries, I have but too much reason to be jealous of her, having been treated with so many of her ill offices: nor can I think she can ever be fully reconciled to a man, to whom she hath done so much mischief. But having kept me up in the midst of so many misfortunes, I might entertain some hopes, if there were any thing of courage left in me, that she reserves me for some great accident, and that she will do in me some of her miracles, when she hath already done one so strange as that of the saving of my l●fe. Yet the last favour she did me was much beyond it, and I am more obliged to her for her assistance in the happy recovery of the first Letter you writ to me, after it had been lost two days. I know not whether I should have acquainted you with it; but as soon as I had it in my hands, I was presently satisfied that it was not impossible for me to entertain some joy though I want your presence; and for the time I spent in the reading of it, I much doubt whether I was any thing troubled at your absence. Do not imagine, that a small time would suffice for this, for it amounts to little less than all that is passed since I received it, and indeed it is the only employment my eyes have taken any delight in since they saw you. I this, I profess, I speak truly, and sincerely, though I have divers times seen your two good friends, being not any thing pleased either with the voice of the one, or the actions of the other. When I went to her with whom I left you, the verses of Tasso which I entreated her to repeat, made up one half of her discourse, and her gestures the other. And though they are both excellent things in their kind, yet all was not able to raise me out of melancholy, great as the former wherein you had seen me; and I could find nothing in her, that might any way alleviate the doom you give me, that I never gain her affection. However, her friendship might have proved more advantageous to me than you imagine, and I should address myself to her with more earnestness than I do, sins she hath cruelty enough to destroy those whom she loves, when they are become as unhappy as I am. But I perceive, she would not do me that favour without hearing my case, and that I must go through the rack to my death. At least she began to put me on it the day I last saw her, and put a many interrogatories to me concerning the cause of my transportation, which I am not out of yet. But a man who can bear with your absence, may well endure any racking, nor is it probable that Torments should force any thing out of me, when I am so accustomed to suffer, and that having already confessed once, I cannot perceive my pains are ever the less. It is on you— that I fasten this reproach, and whom, methinks I have reason to quarrel with, in that having acknowledged my crime to you, you have neither justice enough to put me to death, nor mercy enough to let me live. I heartily beseech you to grant me either, and if I may not hope to find you favourable, let me find you just. But what ever your doom is, be pleased to let me hear it from your own mouth, and I do not much trouble myself whether it be life or death, so I have one of the two in your presence. There is no attempt so difficult, which I shall not accomplish; no enchanted Castle which I should not enter under your conduct. But if the enchantments which hinder you from being seen, must ne dissolved by the most faithful and most amorous man in the world, I certainly am He, there being no other that shall presume to offer at this Adventure. But see Monsieur de B. with whom I am to go, sends me word that he is just upon his departure; and I dare not put him to attendance, for I honour him very much. He hath a seat in M.— whither he is to go within these fifteen days: I must be allowed much more leisure than I have now, to answer Letters that require Commentaries. Be pleased then to afford time proportionable to the employment, for all I have had hitherto hath been hardly enough to understand them well.   

To Diana. LETTER XIV.  
IF the affliction it is not to see what you affect be as insupportable to you as it is to me; and if, during that absence, you suffer something suitable to what I do endure, what considerations were those, Fair Diana, that were able to engage you two days from a sight of me, and why do we not run any hazard or extremity, rather than what whereinto we are reduced by this misfortune? To smother the discourses of four or five persons, and to hinder their observations of our enjoyments, is it requisite we should not have any, and to avoid a little noise, must we needs endure so much misery? no, no, my dearest Diana, the greatest misfortune can possibly happen to us, is to be separated one from another, nor indeed do I know any other we should fear so much. Besides, you are not to imagine, that the trouble we put ourselves to, can make our Loves be thought any thing the more secret. The sadness, wherewith my countenance is overcast when I want the light and influences of your presence discovers them to all the World, and speaks louder than any person could do. Let us then henceforward shake off a discretion which costs us so dear, and give me leave and the means to see you this afternoon, if it be your pleasure I should live.   

To the Same. LETTER XV.  
HAving permitted you to spend the time all yesterday till midnight, I conceive there's no great danger, if to day, I put you in mind, fairest Diana, that you have a servant who hath not seen you almost these two days; and who but yesterday was reproached with his sadness, when in the mean time, you were commended, where you were, for your freedom and pleasantness. I have therefore thought it not unseasonable, to be your remembrance of him this morning, for happily you thought not on him yesterday, since I dare not hope that in so good company, any thought of yours could be so presumptuous as to mind you of me. At least I had so many of all kinds, that I have some reason to believe there could not remain any with you; and I imagine that being well attended, and thinking me too much alone, you sent me all yours to divert me. And indeed they pressed upon me so much and were so confident that they accompanied me into a house, where they could not expect to be very welcome. 'Twas a lady's for whom you have sometimes reproached me that I had no compassion, where finding one of your Cousins, who had as little for you, I could not but take occasion to speak of you; this obliged me to stay there two hours longer than ordinary, during which time your name was up above twenty times. I could perceive both the one and the other break forth into fire and jealousy, whence I thought us sufficiently revenged; I of him who had been so bold as to love Diana; and you of her who had presumed to love what belongs to her. I know not whether I have, in this, been too indiscreet or too malicious, but I assure you, it was the only pleasure I had yesterday, and the first I ever had in that place. I humbly beg you will pardon it me upon condition of a reciprocal forgiveness from me, if happily you received yesterday any satisfaction without my participation thereof.   

To Climene. LETTER XVI.  
SInce I am so far from being in a capacity to speak to you, as if I were absent, give me leave to write to you, and to make use of the only means which is left me to express myself. I thought, fairest Climene, that the greatest misfortune I could fear, was that of being at a distance from you: but hath absence any thing more cruel or more insupportable in it, than my appearance before you such as it is at this present? To be near all the graces, all the joys, and all the beauties in the Wo●ld, and not to presume to turn his eyes towards them; to have his heart on one side, and to look perpetually on the other; to speak of all things but what a man thinks on, and whilst a man is in the midst of a fire, and upon the rack, to be obliged to tell stories: these certainly are torments beyond all imagination, and such as it is impossible any man should suffer, if he did it not for your sake. I am now sufficiently revenged of all the mischiefs which I said mine eyes had done me; they have now as little freedom as myself, they endure in their turn all the misery they have caused me, and are now so punished that they dare not look towards you, and have lost that joy for wh●ch they had sold you my liberty. This, Climene, ●s the condition I am in upon your account, these the afflictions I groan under, for my knowledge, above any other, of your amiableness and perfections. I cannot perceive any possibility they should have any remission, nay I foresee others that threaten me, and doubt not but I shall be much more unhappy within these three days then I now am, when I shall neither have the means to see you, hear you, nor write to you. In the mean time, amidst these afflictions I perpetually bless the day I first met you, and would rather endure all these miseries, then be guilty of the tranquillity I was in before I had seen you. All I beg, is, that you would have a little compassion on me, and afford me in your own thought some few wishes' of better fortune, since I can, for your sake, so well bear with a bad one.   

To Mademoiselle de— LETTER XVII.  
MADAM,  
I Cannot sleep but with a great deal of disturbance, I have lost the taste of all things, nay I have not the same advantage of the air as other men, and I do not so much breath as sigh, this is the condition I have been in ever since I saw you last. 'Tis true I am not well satisfied whence all this proceeds, and am not certain whether it be an effect of my Rheum or my Love; but in all probability you contribute most to my misfortune, since the greatest ease I find is to write to you. I never certainly thought you so amiable in my life, as you were the other day. Notwithstanding what you know, and what would have frighted any other man, I thought you the most pleasant thing in the World, and though you forced me away from time to time, and that your humour was changed into that of Mademoiselle de St. Martin, yet was I extremely satisfied with your discourse and your entertainment. This convinces me, that besides those things in you which lie open to the e●e, there is some secret enchantment forces men to love you, and makes it impossible, happen what will to you, but that you must be fair and kind. All your disdains could never oblige me to think you cruel: when you tear my heart into a thousand pieces, there's not one but is yours, nay one smile of yours chases away all the grief and bitterness you make me endure. Since I am much pleased with all gentle things, I cannot think ill what you do, nay even death itself were good as you dress it. Since than I am so much taken with your rigour, do but imagine what resentment I should have of your favours, and be pleased, though but once, to try what effect they shall produce in me. You know that a small matter contents me, and consequently the satisfaction of my desire will not stand you in much.   

To M. D. LETTER XVIII.  
THis is the fourth Letter I write to you since I have heard from you; if the fault be Fortune's, it is the greatest misfortune in the World, if yours, the greatest cruelty you ever were guilty of. In the mean time I cannot forbear being your remembrancer of myself, and without considering whether it will avail me any thing, I write Letters to you without any expctation of answer, and entertain you with complaints without any hope of pity or satisfaction. The last time I writ to you, I thought myself a little at ease, but, for aught I perceive there is not any to be looked for, after a man hath once in his life seen you. That representation, which I thought half blotted out of my mind, is recovered there with all its colours and more light than ever: it so fills my soul that there is no room for any thing else, and what this place affords I look on as at a greater distance from me than you who are a hundred Leagues hence. It is certainly a very sad case, that an excessive Beauty should be guilty of an excess of cruelty and ingratitude, and that so many reasons as there are not to love you, should consist with so much obligation, nay, necessity to do it. Seeing you performed not the promise you made me, I did all that lay in my power to recover my former Liberty, and to deliver myself out of your hands. But now I have done all I could, I am fallen again into them, and all my endeavours amount only to this, that I should beware another time how I attempt an impossibility, and not add, to so many afflictions, that of seeking remedies where there are none to be had. You may then do what you please with me, without any fear that I shall resent it, as being at a loss of all courage, strength, and resolution, when I have to deal with you. But, methinks, it concerns your generosity very much, not to use cruelty towards a man, who cries you Quarter, and casts himself at your feet, and make the most complaint, the most disinteressed, and the most perfect passion that ever was, the most unfortunate.   

To— LETTER XIX.  
IT is one of the fairest days that ever were seen in Summer; I am at Liancour, one of the most pleasant places in the World; I have the company of three or four of the handsomest Ladies in France, and yet I lock myself up in my Chamber, alone, to write to you. Hence you may easily infer that I am in a much better humour now then I was the last time, and consequently this Letter will be milder than the other. I repented me I had sent it an hour after it was gone, and the same night I received yours, wherewith I was absolutely satisfied; not that it caused any change in my judgement, or that I thought not my resentment just; but I could be no longer angry with you, and am convinced, that you cannot do me so great a displeasure, for which three words from you shall not procure an act of Oblivion. For, in fine, my affection is at the present, arrived to that point whereto you said once at St. Clou, that it ought to be, in so much, that though I should find you guilty, not of a negligence but an infidelity, I could not forbear loving you. Since it was decreed I should be in the power of some one, it is certainly my great happiness that I am fallen into the hands of a person of so much goodness, reason, and integrity, and who disposes of me with more care, caution, and lenity, than I could do myself. But all this granted, I have at the present to object to you, that you have not that tenderness of my quiet you ought: for to deal freely, what was your intention, to write to me that Fortune hath carried herself very strangely towards you, without acquainting me how, and leaving the rest to my conjecture? It is indeed an invention the neatest that may be, to make me imagine and feel all the misfortunes that may have happened to you, whereas I should have had but some to wrestle with, if you had acquainted me how it is. Deliver me as soon as you please out of this pain, which I profess, is one of the greatest I ever had in my life. I write to you in much haste and disturbance, for I am now called away by some that knock at my Chamber door. But I cannot endure to write you a short Letter, and you, h●pl●e, would think it as mischievous as the other, if it be not long enough. I have kissed yours a thousand t●mes, and read it almost as many; it is the handsomest and m●st obliging in the World: But, I beseech you write to me negligently▪ that you may do it the more pleasantly, and entertain me in your Letters with the same freedom as you spoke to me in your Chamber. I am but too well acquainted with your abilities, fear it not, and I would have a knowledge of your affection proportionable to my wishes. I am extremely glad you are with the person you tell me of; for knowing how much you love her, and how amiable she is, I doubt not but she contributes much to your enjoyments. You tell me that she is now as well acquainted with me as you are. How? have you acquainted her with all my ill conditions, have you told her how full of mischief I am, and what trouble I have put you to? If it be so, it is certainly very maliciously done, and assure yourself, I shall, to be revenged, know what I have to tell her of you, when I see her. It was not necessary to make such a particular description of me, and it had been better to have done it less like, that so I might have been more handsome; for she, who is so tender of your quiet, and who hath no jealousy for you, and so much affects what you love, I am afraid may wish me ill for having tormented you so much, and believe me, a person of little honour, when she shall understand I have been jealous. But I beseech you, make it your business to raise in her a good opinion of me, for I desire, above all things to be in her favour, and now that I conceive myself in your affection's, there is not any thing I desire so much as her friendship. Fo●r days since, I lost Monsieur C.— and certainly with much reg●et, for I love and esteem him infinitely. I told him that I was to write to you by the way of— you have satisfied me very much where you tell me, that you take great delight in reading the books I presented you with; but let me know which of them you are most taken with, and in that, what pleases you best. I was resolved to beg some account of them from you, but now I desire not only that, but of whatever you do; for I shall be extremely glad to know the most inconsiderable of your thoughts and actions. I am upon my return to Paris, where I shall find a Letter of yours, which makes me very impatient to be there; two days, I hope, will bring me thither: But in regard the Messenger goes not away till to morrow noon, I send this Letter before by a Lacqueie. Adieu, I beg the continuance of your affection; for my part, how much I love you, I am not not able to tell you, time shall discover.   

To Madam— LETTER XX.  
MADAM,  
I Am at last come hither alive, and am ashamed to tell it you; for, methinks, a person of honour ought not to live after he had been ten days without seeing you. I should be the more astonished, that I have been able to do it, were I not satisfied that for some time, there have happened things to me altogether extraordinary, and such, as whereof I had not the least expectation, and that since I have seen you, all things are done in me by miracle. It is certainly a strange effect that I have all this while withstood so many afflictions, and that a man so much wounded could hold out so long! No sadness so weighty, no sorrow comparable to that I struggle with. Love, and fear, grief, and impatience, are my perpetual torments, and the heart I had bestowed on you whole, is now torn into a thousand pieces, but you are in every one of them, nor could I part with the least to any I find here. In the mean time, amidst so many and such mortal afflictions, I assure you I am not to be pitied, for it is only in the lower region of my mind that the tempests are raised, and while the clouds are in perpetual agitation, the higher part of my soul is quiet and clear, when you shine with the same beauty, lustre, and influences, as you had on the fairest days wherein I have seen you, and with those beams and circulations of light, and graces as are sometimes seen about you. I must needs confess, as often as my imagination is directed that way, I am insensible of all affliction. So that it sometimes happens, that while my heart suffers extraordinary torments, my soul tastes infinite felicities, and at the same time that I am afflicted, weep, and consider myself at a great distance from your presence, nay, happily, your thoughts, I would not change fortunes with those who see, are loved and enjoy. I know not whether you, Madam, whose soul knows not the least disturbance, can conceive these contrarieties; it is as much as I can do to comprehend them, who feel them, and am often astonished to find myself so happy and so unhappy at the same time. But let not, I beseech you, what I tell you of my happiness, divert your care from a consideration of my miseries, for they are such as cease not to frighten me even when I feel them not, the only agitation of two so different resentments being enough to cast me to the ground. If then you have any reasons to comfort me withal, that are not taken out of Seneca, I beseech you send them them me, and withal some of those miraculous words, which you know, that can restore strength and cheerfulness to the most indisposed minds, and which have twice already saved my life? you aught certainly to be tender of it, since indeed it is yours, and that I have made foheartie a present to you of it. For my part, I must confess it is much dearer to me since it hath belonged to you & I should be loath to leave the world so soon after my acquaintance with what, is most accomplished, and most excellent in it.   

To Madam.— LETTER XXI.  
MADAM,  
I Crave your pardon, and confess that I have not, in my opinion, loved you long, and that the standing of my affection is but the day before yesterday. At least it hath thrived so much since that time, and is arrived to such a height, that when I look thence on what I had before, it seems to me so little, that it hardly appears, and that love, which, eight days since, I thought the greatest in the world, seems in a manner nothing to me. As I am glad to see myself in that condition, so is it a grief to me that it happened no sooner, and I am angry with my own heart, for having concealed from you so large a place so long. Being amiable as you are, methinks I have done you an injury in that I have not loved you as much as I do now, even from the first minute that I saw you, and should not have permitted, that the obligations I owe you should contribute any thing thereto. But certainly, it was because I could not discover what you were at the first sight; and, to say truth, the different beauties you have, so many graces and attractions, so much wit, judgement, courage, vigour and generosity cannot be seen with the cast of an eye, but it tequires time to do it, and there are so many things in you, that it would take up many days even to see you well. I know not whether I am mistaken, but methinks now I have overcome it, and my soul is so filled, that there is no place for any thing else; it is wholly taken up with reflections on you, and comprehensions of you, which are attended with so much delight and attention, that being upon the brink of a horrid precipice, I do not perceive it, and being ready to lose you, I am all joy that I have found you. I profess, dearest Madam, that what I write is clearly what I think, and that the least part of what I think is, what I now write. There are no words to express the affection I bear you, it is beyond any thing that may be said, or thought. There is only you in the world that can imagine it, etc.   

To Madam. LETTER XXII.  
MADAM,  
I Am at this time a little in doubt how I ought to write to you, for I am extremely dissatisfied with you, and particularly that you have not given me any account of yourself, never wanting the opportunity to do it. What hinders me, is that I would not say any thing whereat you might be troubled, or might any way disturb your quiet, for, assure yourself, I am more tender of it then my own. But, withal, I must tell you, that I cannot disguise my resentment of it from you, nor is it in my power to use any artifice as to you, or write to you as I should, were I satisfied. To be free then with you, I cannot conceive, how a person who hath done so many things for the preservation of my quiet, should not in six weeks find leisure enough to oblige me with a Letter, and that you, who account absence a thing so dangerous, and seem to be in so much fear it should produce some ill effect in me, are so carried away with it, and have, during so long time, neglected to make use of the only remedy there is against it. It is now upon two months since your departure, you had a certain direction how to write to me, there were Carriers in all the places through which you passed and yet I have not had so much as one Letter from you, What, in your opinion, should I think of it? would you have me think that at Orleans, at Blois, at Tours, at Angers, and since, during all the t●m you sta●d at— and at— you had not the leisure to send me a Letter? Was it that you were indifferent whether you received any from me, & should thence infer that I should be the l●sse hasty for yours? It is indeed true, that you were not obliged thereto, and that I seemed content, at your departure, not to expect any from you, till you had had the leisure to receive something from me. But should you have done the less for that, and should you not rather have thought it a pleasure to do me a kindness when I least looked for it? I had left you ot your liberty; whether you would oblige me or no, you have made made use of it, you have not written to me, because it was at your discretion to do it or not. How then! if you had perceived that I would have been content to stay four months for a Letter from you, should you not have written to me all that time, for who can be content five weeks may as well twenty? To deal freely with you, I know not what to think of it, might I object lightness to the noblest mind, and surest heart in the world, I should conceive you changed. But any thing seems more probable to me then that. However it be, assurre yourself, my M. (I call you so still, and that very heartily) my affection is not a whit diminished. It only takes anay something of that secret joy which you had left me in all my sufferings, and the satisfaction it was to me, to think, that since I have known you, you have ever had a care, goodness, and kindness for me great as I could wish, and that you never let s●ip any occasion wherein you made me not the greatest expressions that might be expected, of a sincere and perfect friendship. And though it be otherwise now, my love is never the less, and you are as dear and precious to me, as when you would needs be let blood every day for my sake, and were not afraid to shorten your own life, to prolong the time you had to see me. I undergo my afflictions with much constancy; and what troubles me most, is, that you have given me occasion to imagine once in my life, that I were not the most ungrateful man in the world, though I loved you but moderately, and with mediocrity.   

LETTER XXIII.  
M. D. M.  
IN what darkness have you left me, and into what abyss am I now fallen since I have lost your sight? I am more tender of your tranquillity, then to presume to acquaint you with all the trouble you have put me to, though my afflictions are come to that point, that I sometimes wish your love to me were not as mine to you, lest you should suffer as I do. You will not think it strange I should be so much disordered, if you consider the reason I have, and you will not wonder I should take so much pains to get up again, after so high a fall. But, my M. be but pleased to represent to yourself what hath happened to me in a few days; fortune hath directed me to the most amiable person in the world, I have found her, I have seen her, I have loved her, she hath discovered abundance of good inclinations for me, I have lost her, and all this hath passed so luddenlie, and was done with so much precipitation, that I often doubt, whether I have been so happy as I imagine I have, and that I have only dreamt what hath happened to me. And indeed to speak seriously, so much friendship for me from a person I was hardly acquainted with, so much confidence and resolution in a woman, so many excellent qualities in the same subject, and many undiscoveted treasures at the same time; and on the other side such a number of accidents one in the neck of another, such a throng of good and bad adventures, are things that seem rather to have been imaginary, then real; there being hardly a fable which is not so well contrived, as to pretend to more probability than this. In a word, my M. the pleasant dream is over, I know not what is become of all those felicities, my rest hath been disturbed, and, awakeing, I find myself in the blackest and most dismal night that ever was. In the mean time, I endeavour to get it over with as much patience as may be, and till the day does appear, I entertain myself with the most pleasant imaginations I can. I censider with myself; that I derive joy enough for the remainder of my life, from my having had your love, though but for one minute, and that the very remembrance of this happiness, should engage me to a cheerful suffering of all kinds of torments. I was not reasonable that the most precious thing the world could brag of, should cost me nothing. Fortune hath been very just in forcing me to buy the heart you have bestowed on me, and I am obliged to her, in that she hath not called to me for satisfaction for your love, till that after you had freely granted it me, at a time when you owed me nothing, and that I could not look on it, but as the largesse of your own inclinations. I should therefore be very ungrateful, if I should now be frugal of a few tears for a person who hath lost so much blood for me. I is now my turn to suffer, and it is but fit I should give you some assurances of my affection, after I have received so many of yours. But you are so good, that it is impossible I should suffer any thing in your presence; and it was but necessary you should be at a distance, that my martyrdom might be thought the more meritorious. In fine, my M. you see with what thoughts I endeavour to moderate the bitterest sorrows in the world, and to bear with the absence of the most accomplished, and most inviting person that ever was. But, do what I can, I must needs confess, that many times my resolution and my reason forsake me, and I easily perceive, that, if you relieve me not I shall not be able to hold out long. Be pleased then to let me hear from you as soon as possible; assure me that you are in health, and command me to abate somewhat of my affliction.   

To M. D. B. LETTER XXIV.  
MADAM,  
THe night is passed with all other men, but not with me; since I cannot yet discern any thing of what, of all things the world affords, I desire most to know. It is long since that my mind hath been overcast with such thick clouds, that light can have no admittance, and the obscurity is so great, that I cannot perceive any thing but confused and mis-shaped images of things, which sometimes I am pleased with, but for the most part astonished at. Do you therefore, in whom all the light and brightness of heaven seems to be centred, dispel this darkness, and suffer me not to be any longer in doubt, whether I am the most happy, or the most unhappy man upon earth. The sharpest displeasure, and the most perfect joys are so interwoven, that one comes not without the other, nay it often happens, that, at the same time, I am engaged with incredible afflictions, and infinite enjoyments. Be pleased, I beseech you, to separate these, and suffer not there should be so much disorder in a place where you command; after so many riddles, tell me one intelligible word, whereby I may know my good or bad fortune. For my whole soul, which I have bestowed on you, I only beg, that you would but let it look into yours, and that the dearest mind in the world, may not be ever the most obscure to me. Consider what trouble it is to me, never to speak to you, but before a person, who would prove a mortal enemy to my affection, if she came to the discovery of it, and what torment it is, to make a perpetual comedy of a thing so serious, and continual falsehoods the masks and shrouds of such pure truths. Enable me to do all this, have the goodness to make me eternally happy, by saying one word only; suffer not the justest passion in the world to be most unfortunate, or that I should die of grief for having perfectly loved the most amiable person in the world.   

To the same. LETTER XXV.  
IT cannot possibly be otherwise then that you should use ●ome charm upon me yesterday, when you made me acknowledge myself satisfied with you; for certainly without some magical operation, it were impossible that by three words, that signified so little, you should have made me forget the most signal affront you were able to do me. In the mean time, certain it is, that you laid my sorrows asleep, and so handsomely surprised and eluded my judgement, that in the most pressing grief I e●●r groaned under, I withal felt the greatest joy I ever was sensible of. But the enchantment was soon over, and, to my unhappiness, I recovered my understanding as soon as I had left you, and after I had, in your presence, with much ado kept in the tears of joy, I have all this night wept the most bitterly that could be. Let me do what I can to humour myself, yet can I not but presently reflect on the treacherous part you have played me, such as will never admit oblivion, and hath quite broken off all confidence and correspondence between us; and what is most to be lamented, though there is all the reason in the world that I should not love, yet I see not any likelihood how it can be done. All the sorrows, whereof you yesterday stayed the course, have this day like a deluge overturned all, and made such a disorder, that, unless 〈◊〉 be the knowledge of my own misery, and that my memory tells me that you are what is most amiable in the world, I am utter●ie insensible of all reason, and discernment of things. This is the condition I am in, which is such as seems incapable of my remedy. But see withal what confidence I have in you! if I may this day receive but one obliging word from your mouth; if you discover any one favourable look or action, or but say within yourself that you would have me recovered, I question not but all my misfortunes are past, and that I shall forget all the unkindness you have done me.   

To the same. LETTER XXVI.  
MADAM,  
I Most humbly beg your pardon for it, but I must indeed confess, that I have been satisfied with you these dozen hours. I know that, according to your consideration of it. I could not have been guilty of a greater crime, and that you are not offended at any thing so much in me, as that you should imagine I entertained the least secret joy. Hence you may measure my gratitude, in that though I am confident you will make me repent it, yet can I not but return you my acknowledgements, and tell you, that, all this granted, there is no affliction I would not willingly endure for your sake. You may therefore, if you think good, ruin all my imaginations, and all my confidence, let me be convinced that I have misunderstood whatever I have interpreted favourably to myself; let me perceive that my affection is indifferent, it may be importunate to you. 'Tis happiness enough for all my life, to have imagined myself though but for one half day, in your favour, and this very satisfaction hath enabled me to undergo all manner of inconveniences.   

To the same. LETTER XXVII.  
MADAM,  
ARe you not the most implacable of any that ever were borne of your s●xe? you are not satisfied that you show me not the least favour, nay, you are so far from it, that you would not have me imagine so much, and as if you derived abundance of reputation from my being perpetually sad, you are presently offended if you find but the least complaisance in a corner of my mind. What charge is it to you, I pray, if I flatter myself with some thoughts of my own happiness, and entertain myself with such imaginary enjoyments as you contribute nothing to, when in the mean time I have been so overreached, as to cast my affection on the most ungrateful person in the world? Are you not extremely unjust, after all this, to take it ill I should be at a loss of discretion in other things, and that a man of so little conduct, should be so ill a judge of himself? Be pleased then, in that at least, to let me take the advantage of the irregularity of my Reason, and the disorder you have put me into. Had I my senses and intellectuals about me, I should not be so confident that you loved me, nor indeed, had I them, should I do it; so that the condition I am in considered, I cannot entertain a thought you should take any offence it.   

To the Same. LETTER XXVIII.  
SInce you are so much afraid I should be too happy, and are extremely disordered at whatever I magine, as if you were accountable for my thoughts, yet is it but necessary I should discover them to you, and make you clearly understand what those confidences mean which raise so much hostility between us. Though I die for it, I must give you a just account thereof, and knowing the sharpness of your discernment, and that you are fully possessed of my soul, it were in vain for me to pretend to conceal any thing of it from you. I profess openly, I never entertained the least hope, desire, or, indeed, imagination, that you had that affection for me, which I have for you: for, conceiving you infinitely above any thing this Element affords, I could never be persuaded you were subject to that kind of passion which cements together two souls of the same nature ... But proportionably to the inclinations which those spirits above are pleased sometimes to have for that part of mankind which they take into their protection, I have thought it likely you might regard my welfare, and that it was impossible, that the most generous soul in the World should admit any passion but the purest that ever was. This acknowleged, I must needs confess it hath often happened, that some one action of yours, a smile, the cast of an eye, a blush on some favourable occasion, have sometimes raised a certain imagination in me that you abhorred me not; but an imagination so weak, and so far from pretending to confidence, that it signifies something less than opinion, a suspicion, or doubt, which lightly moving upon my heart, left a certain tract of light behind it, and filled the rest of my soul with tranquillity and joy. Now I have told you whence proceed those enjoyments and satisfactions you are so highly offended with; but if after this explication thereof you think them still unjust, I am ready to disclaim them, for, I deal freely with you, were it in my power, to be so, it would trouble my conscience to be happy, if you were unwilling I should, and, having made an absolute conveyance of my soul, you are to make your own advantages thereof; it is absolutely at your disposal, and it is wholly left to your consideration, whether you would rather have it happy or unhappy.   

To the Same. LETTER XXIX.  
MADAM,  
IF all that is handsome; all that is attractive, what ever hath any insinuation of delight, in this World were joined together, could it make us any thing so amiable as you were last night? And was not all that the Poets say of Smiles, Graces, and Loves, visibly discovered about you at that time? Now that I have been so happy as to have seen all this with my eyes, I make a resolution never to complain of any thing, ...  
I know well enough it will cost me the rest of my soul; but may I perish if I am troubled a jot at it! and had I the command of those of all the World besides, I should heartily, with them all, purchase such a pleasure as that I had when I saw you.   

To the Same. LETTER XXX.  
MADAM,  
I Am now convinced I shall never get out of your hands, and that all the designs I lay to recover my liberty prove ineffectual; for as you do every day add some new unkindness to the former which raise in me some inclinations to revolt, so I from time to time discover some new attraction that detains me; the increase of your perfections is proportionable to that of your rigours, and according to both are my chains doubled. After I had used my utmost endeavours to oppose whatever I thought handsome in your person, and your intellectuals, it happens that wh●n I see you again, I find in you some beauty I never had observed before, and consequently against which I was nor prepared; and there is in you such a diversity of things amiable, that there will never be a wanting some one against which I cannot m●ke my party good.   

To M. de V. LETTER XXXI.  
MADAM,  
AFter fourteen Verses, you may very well give me leave to write fourteen lines in Prose, and to tell you, in a language which is thought ordinarily to speak more truly than the other, that I die for you. That Beauty whereof I speak is much better written in my soul than it is here, and the image I have conceived of it is such, that, when I celebrate you above Aurora and the Sun, I say not any thing which I think not too mean, and which I conceive not below you. Be pleased to consider, what quiet that mind must pretend to, wherein you are so engraven, and which, perpetually reflecting on the most accomplished thing in the World, amongst a many motives of desire discovers not, which way soever it looks, any of hope. And yet, in this very condition, mine find, content; it is so much taken up with a survey of your miraculous perfections, and considerations of your beauty, that it both not time to bethink itself whether I am loved or not, or be sensible that I die. The Idea I have framed to myself to you, and which I perpetually contemplate hath such a command over me, that I neither perceive what I want, nor what I endure; and while my heart burns and is consumed, while it is disturbed by fears, desires, and agitations, my thoughts are calm, and afford me joys exceeding those of mankind. In the mean time, I must with all reason think, that my life cannot last long at this rate, and 〈◊〉 belongs to you, and is absolutely at your dispos●▪ I thought it my duty to ●●ve you notice what danger it 〈◊〉. It is you● part to take such order therein as you think good; for as to what concerns me, I have not any thing to propose or beg of you concerning it, there being in my will such an humble compliance with yours, that I give it not leave either to wish the good you would not I should have, nor avoid the ill you shall destiny me to. All I have to say to you, is, that, you being absolute Mistress of my Soul, it is not reasonable that all my felicity should consist only in my imagination, and that it were, happily, but just, you should entertain the most solid and sincere passion that ever was, with more real and more solid enjoyments.   

To Mademoiselle— LETTER XXXII.  
MADAM,  
THe greatest pleasure I ever had in my life is that of having seen you, and the greatest torment, that of being incapable to see you again. May I perish, if my eyes could fasten on any thing they thought pleasant since I parted from you! I have left at Blois all the enjoyments I was wont to find here, and I am more disordered at Paris, then ever I was in any place. And yet I should be much troubled to be less afflicted, and am even in love with my sadness when I but consider that you would be satisfied with the sight of it. It is certainly but just that so great a good fortune as that of having found you, should cost me something, nay, though I forfeited all the tranquillity of this life, I should not think I had bought it at too dear a rate. The least reflection, or the remembrance of the most inconsiderable of your actions, or of but some expression of yours, finds me a satisfaction, greater than the affliction all the misfortunes in the World are able to give me, and, even at the same time that I suffer, that I see you not, and am in doubt whether you love me. I would not change conditions with those who are most fortunate, who see, and who enjoy. So great resolution, where there is so much occasion of disturbance, cannot certainly but raise in me a serious belief that you dissembled not, when you told me that you had bestowed your heart on me; for had I no other than my own, I were not able to hold out against so many sorrows, and I am satisfied that I cannot have such an extraordinary strength of myself, but must needs have derived it from you. To deal truly with you, it is, I must confess a very strange adventure that's happened to me, to have found in one single person, whatever this World calls amiable, to have no sooner seen her then loved her, and to have no sooner loved her then lost her, that my felicity hath been raised and laid on an instant, and that, in so short a time, I have had so much reason to enjoy and to bemoan myself. However it be, I cannot but think that a happy hour wherein I saw you, and would not part with the Idea that remains of you in my imagination, for all that is most substantial upon earth. I shall be further confirmed in this opinion according to what answer you shall make me, which if it prove as favourable as the words you last gave me, I shall think all I suffer for you well bestowed. You may then safely slight the danger you say there is in writing, and put yourself to some hazard to deliver me out of that I shall be in, if you quit your tenderness of me. Be pleased therefore to consider, that nothing lays a greater obligation on a candid Soul than an absolute confidence, and that it is but just, you should afford some little comfort to a man, who desires no more, and cannot have any but what he receives from you.   

LETTER XXXIII.  
HAving had one of the worst nights in the World, it cannot be expected I should have patience for a day of the same kind, and yet I cannot perceive how this should prove any better, if you, who appoint my fortunate and unfortunate times, are not pleased to order it otherwise. I thought myself yesterday, when I took my leave of you, very well satisfied, and methought, there or four words I had forced from you, had laid me asleep; but I had not gone ten paces from your house, ere all my misfortunes fell upon me afresh; that distraction, those fears, those jealousies, those diffidences which I had but newly shaken hands with, made a general assault upon me, possessed themselves of my Soul, and could never be gotten out since. Whether I sleep or wake, they are the perpetual employment of my thoughts and dreams: they have represented to me whatever should prove most troublsome to me, and what I should most fear, and have furnished my imagination with chimaeras and extravagant apparitions. I was in hope the day would have dispelled all this, but it is already far spent, and yet I still see the same things. My Soul is a place where you exercise supreme authority, suffer not there should be so much Anarchy where you are accountable for the government: drive away these frightful images out of a mind where there ought to be only your own, and let there not be so near the most delightful object in the World, those that are the most hideous. I have so much confidence in you, that if I have but three words from you, after the reading of this Letter, I doubt not but I shall find immediate ●ase. I shall be sensible hence of what you shall but whisper in your Chamber, and shall be at rest assoon as you wish me so. If only your astonishment was the cause of your silence yesterday, I beseech you let it not have the same power over you to day; and since you cannot speak obliging things, but when your own inclination directs you, be pleased to do it now when I am not near to importune you, but beg it at a great distance, and with a great submission, and am ready to assure you, that if it be your pleasure I should be unhappy I would rather be so, then that there should be the least disconsonaneie between your will and mine.   

To Madam— LETTER XXXIV.  
MADAM,  
When I had not so much as a thought of you, and was very much at ease, what necessity had you to tell me in your Letter that it was your desire I should be so? I was in the greatest ●e●en tie in the World, and you no sooner wish it me, but it is changed into the greatest disturbance imaginable. The inevitable privilege you have to disturb my quiet, is to me a very prodigious thing; I can neither comply with your indifference nor your indignation, and it is a great question whether I should stand more in fear of your bad then your good inclinations. When I am in your favour, I can never be at rest, when I conceive myself out ot it, I am withal out of all joy, and so which way soever I look on you, Injust still look for disorder. The only means I know to secure myself, is, not to think on you, and absolutely to discharge my memory of whatever remains there of a person so amiable and withal so dangerous. This was in a manner my condition when I received your letter, and you are come to put all into commotion by wishing me peace and liberty. But since the mischief is done there must be a patience to endure, and to see what will be the result: but if it ever happen again while I live, that I can cease thinking of you, for heaven's sake, Madam, let me entreat you to spare your compliments of congratulation, and if you rejoice at my happiness, let it be done secretly, so that I may be utterly ignorant of it.   

To— LETTER XXXV.  
MADAM,  
I Shall not fail to wait on you at the Collation, though I were confident to be poisoned; for I have already met with that venom in your Letter, that hath prepared me to receive all you can give me of the kind, nay indeed to desire it. You need not have told me what strange alterations are wrought in men's minds by Devotion, I know it already by experience on myself, since I must attribute to it the change hath happened in me that I cannot live without seeing you. Three lines of what you have written have made another in me much different. You should methinks have had more charitable considerations about you, then to put your neighbour into any danger; and, if you are devout, you are not, for aught I can perceive, troubled much with tenderness of conscience. To deal soberly and seriously with you, it was a horrid impiety in you, to have stirred up in me all those sentiments which I had with so much trouble laid asleep, and I shall make my complaints to the barelegged Carmelites, if your future carriage prove not so favourable, as to oblige me to smother them.   

To Madam— LETTER XXXVI.  
MADAM,  
I Thought my life so near spent that I had not the hope of one good day left me, and it would happily have fallen out so, had I not received one this morning from you. If there were any thing in me which you might not claim as your own, this last favour of yours hath infalliablie gained it y●u; and I must needs tell you, that if hereafter I receive any other from you, I must confess myself a bankrupt, and shall have nothing left me to return you for it. This I tell you in very good earnest; and if it be not dangerous here to speak too loud, when I cannot be heard of any one, I never thought myself so much obliged in any thing, nor is it in my power to render you sufficient thanks for the last act of Grace you did me. I may very well call it such, since it hath raised me again after the sentence you pronounced against me the other day, and hath inspired me with life amidst so many mortal afflictions. 'Tis true that which I now lead is so unhappy, that I look on it as a present I should not much value, were it not bestowed on me by you. For being to run through fifteen days, ere I shall see you, I question whether it be not cruelty to make me live so long. Yet I shall be content to do it, since it is your pleasure to command it, and that I am much mote concerned in your affection then then   

To Mademoiselle— LETTER XXXVII.  
MADAM,  
Unless I should send you Flowers-de-luce, this world affords not any flowers fit to make you a present, and therefore what I now send you are only strew for your feet. Nay indeed I much envy them that disposal, as conceiving they will be much more glorious in that place, then if they were on the heads of Queens. You will wonder much that a man who knows you so well should be guilty of a presumption, great as as that of writing to you, and thence you may measure the violence of my passion, since that at my age, and with my countenance, it hath forced me to the impudence to declare it to you, and that so great a hazard as that of displeasing you could not oblige me to forbear. I know, Madame, there cannot be any offences more impardonable than what are committed against you, and that I am not destined to die by any other hand than yours. But I recommend myself to the disposal of my destiny, and what misfortune soever may happen to me thereby, it is impossible I should avoid it. While you read this, indignation makes you blush, and gnash your very teeth. Yet I am as far from repenting me of any thing as ever, for I am now proof against all, even the most extraordinary accidents, and am, though it cost me my life, resolved to be eternally  
MADAM, Your, &c   

To Madam— LETTER XXXVIII.  
MADAM,  
I Dare not acquaint you with the condition I am in, and after I have made such brags of the Heart I have bestowed on you, am ashamed you should discover so much the weakness of it. I was of a certain belief, that the assurance I had of your affection, would have armed me against all afflictions of all kinds, and that it was impossible, I should be loved by you, and unfortunate at the same time. ay, in the interim, find myself in as great disorder, as if I had lost all things by the losing of your sight, and am so much in torment as if there were no other happiness or unhappiness in the world then that of your company or your absence. Hence I infer, that our two souls are not yet well soldered together, and easily discover that you have given me but a very small part of yours, since I want a supply of courage to struggle with a single affliction. 'Tis true, if we consider aright, that what I have to deal with, is not of that kind of misfortunes which constancy teaches men to endure with patience; nay Reason, with all its rigour and severity, cannot disapprove so just a suffering as mine, and if she will not permit me to regret the most pleasing, the most inviting person, and the greatest Beauty in the world, she cannot take it amiss I should grieve for the most accomplished, the most generous and the most discreet. Though I should not be afflicted that I cannot see you, yet that I hear you not is reason enough that I should, and have withal an extraordinary resentment for the loss of a conversation that did not only enlighten my soul, but inflamed it, and from which I never parted not only a better man, but also a more amorous. If amidst so many occasions of trouble it is possible I should admit any comfort, it must happen beyond my expectation, and it will be much more convenient that you should give it me then that I should take it of myself. Be you therefore pleased, Madam, who have a better insight in all things than I have, and are particularly acquainted with my heart and fortune, to tell me whether it be a rational proceeding that my want of seeing you should be an infinite affliction to me; or if you cannot convince me that that ought not to be; do but tell me that you would not have it so, and that you command me to endeavour my own preservation till I see you again.   

To Madam— LETTER XXXIX.  
MADAM,  
I Was beginning to grumble that you had made me no answer, when a report was scattered up and down that you were to come hither shortly; which put me into a better humour, and made this dis-satisfaction as short-lived as some others, I have heretofore endeavoured to entertain against you. I must confess indeed, that I, who make it my business to call to mind all the excellent qualities you carry about you, with as much entertainment as if I still saw them, should certainly have forgotten all your kindnesses and civilities, if I thought you could have forborn the expression thereof towards me in this occasion, and have denied a man that comfort which you must needs think he could not but stand so much in need of. To be free with you, I cannot believe there ever were any afflictions comparable to mine, and though I was absolutely satisfied, before I had left you, that your absence would have proved my death, yet could I not imagine it should have done me so much mischief as it hath. Billy, Gam, and Phan, never wept so much in their lives for you as I have done, nay Biquet was never so much troubled for you, as I have been though you never bestowed any Roses on me. Seriously, Madam, I am just in the same posture at Paris, as you were heretofore at la Basme, but that I have not the pleasure of buying any sheep here, and if I understand any thing your humour, I durst swear your ten years' solitude seemed not so tedious to you, as that I have had, though but of three weeks. I sometimes visit Ladies handsome enough, but do you imagine they can so much as oblige me to speak? All women signify no more to meet the present, than the man you know did to you, nay though they had all the Graces about them, yet can they not find me a minute's entertainment. I cannot now, in any company exceed a smile, and when I have viewed all about me, I retire and slink into a corner by myself. Be pleased, Madam, that the opportunity I look for, may be with the soon, and that after so much suffering, I may enjoy your company, as you have formerly prophesied I should.   

To— LETTER XL.  
MADAM,  
THe Cannon of Arras hath not done so much execution as the words you have written to me; for these have in an instant, forced away the enemies that had laid hold on me, and were ready to take away my life. Yesterday, is I came fro● your house, I was surprised by a Troop of suspicions, fears, disturbances and jealousies, and your Letter hath defeated them all. They pursued me quite to my lodging, and would not afford me one minutes rest all this night: you certainly have more exquisite punishments for those that offend you, than my Lady Ma●chionesse— and by purting into my head what you do, you take a fuller revenge than if you cloven it in twain. For you are to imagine that mine is at the present, furnished with all that this world calls joy and grief, satisfaction discontent, the greatest love and the greatest distrusts that ever were, shuffled together. It must be your divinity, Madam that shall separate all these, and since I have but three days to live, let me enjoy myself in them free from all disturbance.   

To— LETTER XLI.  
MADAM,  
COnsider, I beseech you, the effects of your enchantments, since that, in the condition I am in, they have made me utterly insensible of my misfortune, and, being just upon the point of engaging with the greatest affliction could have happened to me, I think myself the most fortunate man in the world. I am within three days to take my last leave of whatever there is of beauty, wit and gentleness, beneath heaven, nay I am to shake hands with all goodness, Courtesy, and generosity. I know that at the same time I must part with all joy, my life and soul and all; and yet, all this notwithstanding, I want not my good intervals, and if I have not slept w●ll this last night, I may affirm, I have not had an ill night of it. To say truth, one minute, such as I had yesterday in the afternoon, is enough for a man's whole life. The very remembrance of the felicity I have had, is consolation enough in all occurrences, nay though I should have but dreamt it, it were enough to make me eternally happy. You see what consideration my life wholly hangs on at the present, and whereby it is armed against all manner of afflictions, since that the happiness I can pretend to is only grounded on a certain faith I have that you have some little affection for me. I humbly beg the continuance of it for some time, and would not you should think it much to allow that satisfaction to a man who is very suddenly to encounter with so many discontents.   

To— LETTER XLII.  
MADAM,  
YOu will understand by the Letter I writ to you this morning, that I comply with you in all things; and I do now give you the greatest assurance I can possibly, of my submission, when I return you what you had sent me. I find them both so excellently handsome, that I could not resolve on any choice, and therefore I refer myself to you. Yet I am, I must confess, as much taken with the lesser as I am with the other, and in as much as she is more sprightlie and knows more dissimulation, she is so much the liker you. You may now consider, whether you have not wit enough to find out an excuse for loving two persons, when you have found out a way to make me in love with three. But indeed there is no necessity for these Inventions, and if you consider how innocent I am ever since this day, you will find I am to be disposed of at your pleasure. But you shall never persuade me, after the receipt of the Letter I last had from you, but that you are the merriest, the most amiable, and the person the most given to Gallantry and entertainment, of any in the world.   

To— LETTER XLIII.  
MADAM,  
I Have had my eyes often since yesterday in the same posture that you saw them, but I have no sooner thought on yours, but my own were immediately restored, and freed from all kind of distraction. I cannot imagine there can any thing remain undiscovered in a person so full of Light, nor be persuaded that Heaven should make a thing so excellent only to surprise men. The picture I brought yesterday from your house hath cured me of all misfortunes, and I no sooner cast my eye on it, but all my ill inclinations are dispelled, all my diffidences vanish, and my mind is replenished with content and complacency. This is the estate of my affairs while I write to you, and I dare affirm, the world affords not a man more content, more happy, or more amorous than myself.   

To— LETTER XLIV.  
MOnsieur de Castelnaut is in health, Monsieur de Mercaeur hath been slightly wounded, and the marquis de Faure almost mortally.  
I must needs commend your goodness, in that you are so tender of the dead and wounded, and give you many thanks, for what concernment I may have therein. I was myself to be numbered among the latter, the last time I saw you, but in such a way, that I see not any probability I should ever recover it; and unless it be, that I may never stir from your bedside, or farther than two yards from you, I do not think it possible I should live. It is, questionless, Madam, a very great indiscretion in you, to appear so amiable as you are, to those whom you wish no hurt to; when I saw but half your charms and excellencies, you had more about you then I was possibly able to endure. I leave it to you to imagine what condition I must be in now. I have not had one minutes rest since I left you. And yet this hinders not, but that I have so much satisfaction and so much enjoyment of myself, that, were I to die within an hour, I should not quarrel with you; besides that, since your departure hence must be very sudden, and that I am to expect a most sad and unhappy life, it were not fit I should much fear the loss of it, but rather be extremely satisfied that you took it from mere you went hence.   

To— LETTER XLV.  
MADAM,  
IT must certainly be acknowledged that you do miracles as well in verse as in prose, there is not any to be compared with you; for my part, it puts me into the greatest amazement in the world. And when I consider how innocent you were the last winter, when you durst hardly speak ordinary things, and were of opinion, that the word Sophister was injurious, I am not able to comprehend, how you came to do all you now can and that a person who never read but one Comedy, should grow so learned. It is a miracle I understand not, may when I heard the Nuns of Loudun speak Greek and Latin, I was not so much astonished as I am now to see you write. All I beg of you, Madam, is, that you would not make use of the wit you have gotten to overreach me, for I easily am persuaded, that if you attempt it, I shall not be able to avoid it. I therefore leave it to your conscience, requiring only you would be faithful to me, at least till such time as you meet with another, who hath a greater affection, and a higher estem, and admiration for you, than I have.   

To— LETTER XLVI.  
MADAM,  
HAving well considered all that passed yesterday, my promises shall exceed your desires; for assure yourself, I shall never beg any thing of you, nay, what is more, I will never see you. I have hardly taken my breath, since I made such strange vows and resolutions to that purpose, that if ever I prove delinquent hereafter, I must needs renew my addresses to you with the basest heart, and the most perjured soul in the world. There must certainly be an extraordinary weakness both in the one and the other, if ever they fall again into your hands, after so much ill entertainment as they have received from you, nay I shall justly incur all the mischiefs you are able to do me, if the remembrance of those you have done deliver me not out of your power, A small beam of light, descending as it were from heaven, hath cleared up the darkness I was in, discovered to me the Legerdemain of your charms, and convinced me, that she whom I thought yesterday the most inviting person upon earth, is the most to be feared and avoided. Be pleased therefore to give me leave to seek my quiet elsewhere, since I must not expect any near you, and since there is no punishment you have not inflicted on me, and you know no more torments to put me to, be not troubled I should get away from you, especially considering it is not in your power to hinder it, and that at the same time that you read this Letter, I leave Paris, with a resolution never to come into it again, till you are out.   

To— LETTER XLVII.  
MADAM,  
NOthing so certain as that you are destined to be the perpetual disturbance of my life, since that your kindnesses and unkindnesses are equally prejudicial to my enjoyments. The Letter you writ to me yesterday, the affection you pretended towards me, and the pains you took to speak with me, would not allow me the least sleep last night. I spent it wholly in calling to mind the perfections of your wit and behaviour, in all that you said; and considering, that what the world conceives most pleasant, most excellent, and most inviting, was not comparable to the most trivial things you either spoke or did. I know not what may become of me, but certainly, I am in a great fear, I shall not be able to avoid that accident, which I told you yesterday you would be extremely glad should happen to me. When I think you love me, I cannot sleep, when I imagine you have cast your affections on another, I utterly despair: when I am at a great distance from you, I know not what I do, and when I see you, all your actions, all your gestures, all your words, prove so much poison to me. Hence you may be pleased to consider what kind of life I lead, and what I must expect: there never was certainly any so full of disorder, and all the hope I have, is, that your absence will shortly put a period to it, and consequently deliver me out of all my miseries.   

To Madam— LETTER XLVIII.  
MADAM,  
YOu have, I must confess, much reason to laugh at me, who cannot but be much ashamed that, after I had played the Hector so much, I am forced to discover such cowardice and weakness. For aught I perceive, Madam, which way soever I turn myself, I am never far from you. I have you perpetually in my heart, and am as much at your disposal when I am in my Lodging as when in your Coach. But if things be well considered, you are not to derive any reputation thence, nor I dishonour, and since all this is wrought by enchantment and sorcery, there's not any thing you can with justice brag of, or reproach me withal. This must needs be the true cause of this proceeding, for were there not something supernatural in it, 'twere impossible, that, being so well acquainted with your artifices, I should be so little able to avoid them, and that the most mischievous person in the World should appear to me the most amiable. I beseech you therefore, Madam, content yourself with the mischief you have done me, break the image you have made for me; or, if it be your pleasure I should recover, be pleased, since nothing is impossible to you, to force me to believe that you love me, and I shall cheerfully endure all the miseries you shall inflict on me.   

To— LETTER XLIX.  
MADAM,  
I Could not with any civility suffer your Lacqueie to go hence without a Love-letter, and methinks it is much after the rate of those which may very well serve a Millener's Wife, of your quality. I have subject enough ●o write you one that were the most amorous in the World, if I should acquaint you with the least part of what good inclinations my heart hath in store for you. But knowing how much you stand upon your advantages, I durst not let you know after what manner you are there, nor be guilty of so much easiness of nature, as to be drawn in with the present of a pair of Gloves, to discover my thoughts in a business of such consequence. I am therefore to assure you only, that I have received yours as I would do a Kingdom. They are indeed a most excellent pair, I have kissed them above a hundred times, and that, I dare assure you, more heartily, than I should have done the fairest hands in the World, were they not your own.  
FINIS.