Mr. Pope's literary correspondence. Volume the third. With letters to, and, from the Duke of Shrewsberry, Lord Lansdowne,: [pt.3]

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- To the SUBSCRIBERS.

- To Mr. CURLL.

- E. CURLL ad A. POPE. S. P. D.

- ERRATA.

- TO Mr. EDMUND CURLL, Bookseller, In Rose-Street, Covent-Garden.

- LETTERS OF Mr. POPE to Miss BLOUNT.

- To Miss B**** on the Death of her Brother.

- To the SAME.

- To the SAME.

- To the SAME.

- AN EPISTLE FROM Mr. POPE to Mr. GAY, Occasioned by Two STANZAS in his BALLAD of Black-Ey'd SUSAN. 1726.

- [section]

- To her GRACE CATHARINE, DUCHESS of Buckinghamshire,

- To Mr. C****

- THE INSCRIPTION ON THE Monument Erected to the Dryden-Family in the Church of Tichmarsh in Northamptonshire.

- JAMES MOORE, Esq TO Dr. SEWELL.

- Dr. SEWELL, TO JAMES MOORE, Esq

- AN EPISTLE TO A GENTLEMAN, WHO Wrote an EPISTLE.

- AN Original Letter from his Grace the late Duke of Shrewsberry, relating to a Manuscript Copy of the Lord Holles's Memoirs, in Answer to a Letter sent his Grace by Mr. Curll the Bookseller. To Mr. CURLL.

- TO Mr. CURLL, Bookseller, &c.

- TO Sir BERKELEY LUCY, Bart.

- A LETTER To Mr. P***

- LOVE LETTERS BY Mrs. MANLEY.

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- LETTER I.

- LETTER II.

- LETTER III.

- LETTER IV.

- LETTER V.

- LETTER VI.

- LETTER VII.

- LETTER VIII.

- A LETTER FROM A NUN in Portugal, TO A GENTLEMAN in France.

- LETTERS Of the HONOURABLE GEORGE GRANVILLE, Esq

- To the Hon. Mr. BERNARD GRANVILLE, at the Earl of Bathe's, St. James's.

- TO WILLIAM-HENRY, Earl of Bathe, &c.

- TO WILLIAM-HENRY, Earl of Bathe.

- To my Nephew, Mr. BEVIL GRANVILLE, Upon his entring into Holy Orders.

- TO The QUEEN.

- A DIALOGUE Concerning WOMEN, BEING A DEFENCE of the SEX. Written to EUGENIA. By WILLIAM WALSH, Esq

- TO THE READER.

- SOME ACCOUNT OF WILLIAM WALSH, Esq

- A DEFENCE OF THE FAIR SEX. To EUGENIA.

- AESCULAPIUS: OR, THE HOSPITAL of FOOLS. AN Imitation of LUCIAN.

- LETTERS BETWEEN THOMAS UVEDALE, Esq And the Celebrated Mrs. ELIZABETH THOMAS.

- [letter]

- A SONG FOR St. Caecilia's Feast. Set to Music by Mr. Richardson, Or ganist of Winton, and performed at the Bishop's Palace, 1702.

- TO THOMAS UVEDALE, Esq

- To Mrs. THOMAS.

- THE Mosaic Creation.

- [section]

- Lady CHUDLEIGH, TO Mrs. THOMAS. 1720.

- ZENOBIA.

- PIECES written by Mr. POPE.

- THE CHALLANGE. A COURT BALLAD.

- EPIGRAMS, Occasion'd by An Invitation to Court.

- THE SPEECH Of the Reverend FRANCIS ATTERBURY, D.D. On the Day of his Admission to the Deanry of Christ-Church, OXON. 1711.

- On the DEATH of that Excellent Young Man, Mr. SHIRLEY, Junior.

- AN ODE On the DEATH of Bishop ATTERBURY.

- [section]

- IMPARTIAL MEMORIALS OF THE LIFE and WRITINGS OF Thomas Hearne, M.A. By several HANDS.

- LETTERS sent to Mr. CURLL.

- THE LIFE OF Mr. Thomas Hearne.

- A TRUE COPY Of the LAST WILL and TESTAMENT OF Thomas Hearne, M.A. Extracted from the Registry of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury.

- [codicil]

- [codicil]

- [section]

- A SHORT MEMORIAL, AND CHARACTER, OF THAT Most Noble and Illustrious Princess MARY Dutchess of ORMONDE.

- THE INTRODUCTION.

- THE LIFE Of Her GRACE MARY Dutchess of ORMONDE.

FINIS.

Mr. POPE's Literary Correspondence.

VOLUME the THIRD

With LETTERS To, and, From

- The Duke of SHREWSBERRY,

- Lord LANSDOWNE,

- Bishop of ST. ASAPH,

- Sir BERKELEY LUCY,

- WILLIAM WALSH, Esq

- Lady CHUDLEIGH,

- Mrs. MANLEY,

- Mrs. THOMAS, &c.

LONDON: Printed for E. CURLL, at Pope's-Head, in Rose-Street, Covent-Garden. M.DCC.XXXV.

To the SUBSCRIBERS.

GENTLEMEN,

MR. Pope's Project to usher his Letters into the World by my Means, was the Foundation of this Scheme of A Literary Correspondence; which has been so well received, that it shall be continued while People of Taste approve of it: And that will be as long as People of Taste, who have valuable Performances in this Kind in their Power, contribute their Stores to the Emolument of Mankind. Not but that I am always ready and willing to purchase any Genuine Pieces from such Possessors as expect a Premium.

The second Volume of this Work promised (besides Mr. Pope's) to contain Letters to and from Lord Somers, &c. notwithstanding which, Mr. Pope, in his Spleen, has employed his Sifters to talk his Sense of the Matter to me; particularly 'Squire Brocade, whose Objections, intermixed with my Answers, make a very notable Scene, to the following Effect, viz.

Enter BROCADE, Sept. 12. 1735.

Mr. Curll, how comes it that you call this Second Volume Mr. Pope's Correspondence, when there is so much more of other Peoples: This is a mere Imposition upon the Town.

C.

Sir, be pleased to read the Title-Page. I began this Collection chiefly upon what remain'd of Mr. Pope's, and besides finding most of my Customers eager to see the Minds of Men, especially in the Case of Epistolary Writing; and having considerable Supplies of the Kind, I published a Second Volume, as you see; and have Materials of equal Value, and sufficient in Quantity, to make a Third and Fourth.

B.

D—n me, I do not desire to read any Man's Writings but Pope's; he's the only Writer of the Age; his Equal never lived in any Time or Country. There's nothing worth reading in either of your Volumes but what is his.

C.

Sir, It is not my Business to set up my Opinion against that of Gentlemen who do me the Favour to call at my Shop, but some of my Customers, whose Judgment is much esteemed among their Acquaintance, have said that Mr. Pope's Share in this Second Volume is the very worst Part of the Book.

B.

Z—s! what do you mean by that? Will you pretend to name any Writer in Competition with Mr. Pope.

C.

Sir, they do pretend to say, that the Pieces of Bishop ATTERBURY in this Volume, are something beyond Mr. Pope's Compass: His Style in Prose, his Judgment in the Critical-Taste, his Heroic Love of his Country, his Vindication of Lord Clarendon's History from an unattested Calumny, and his ABSALON & ACHITOPHEL, tho' done when he was a Youth at the University, are all inimitable by Mr. Pope.

B.

Your Judges are Blockheads, there's not a polite Man about the Town reads any Thing but what is Pope's. How impertinent is it to publish that Absalon & Achitophel in Latin, without getting it translated for the Ladies, if it be good for any Thing? What a Pox, do you think Gentlemen must be at the Slavery, like School-boys, of construing it to them in English? It would be well for you if you could pacify Mr. Pope, perhaps if he and you were Friends, he might be prevailed on to take a hundred Guineas to do it for you.

C.

Sir, I presume you have seen the Poem, in its English Original, by Mr. Dryden. I doubt whether the Public would desire Mr. Pope's finishing Hand to that Piece.

B.

Dryden was a tolerable Poet in his Time, but nothing in Comparison to Pope. There's Le Neve's Will and Creed, I like well enough, because they contain partly my own Religion: But there's his Epitaph in Latin, why is not that translated?

C.

Because, Sir, it contains some Particulars that cannot be so well expressed in any other Language.

B.

Sir, I think as I please; but what do you mean by those Political Letters of Addison, Prior, Harley, and the rest; there is not any Wit in them, surely?

C.

I grant it, Sir, because the Writers of them did not intend it: But I am told there is much Good Sense in them; that they open the Scene of the famous Partition Treaty, and the Designs of France upon the Death of King CHARLES II. of Spain; that they discover the Importance of a Man who is trusted with Affairs, and how mere un homme sans consequence a Man may be, with a great Employment, if the Conduct of the secret Springs of Action is placed in other Hands: With many other useful Lessons.

B.

Why, Mr. Curll, you are a great Politician.

C.

Very little of a Politician truly, Sir: But since there are some Gentlemen inclined to adore a single Name among the polite Writers, to the Prejudice of all the rest, and to point me out as Heretical, for being of a different Opinion, it is necessary I should be able to give some Reason for my Dissent; and that, I apprehend, is done to the Purpose, if I am able to shew the Excellency, the Superiority, of many others over Mr. Pope, in this Epistolary Taste especially.

B.

Pray, Mr. Curll, have you sorted your Materials for your Third Volume.

C.

Yes, Sir.

B.

Do you make it a Secret, or may we be informed what the principal Parts are to be.

C.

Sir, I'll inform you with Pleasure; it is no Secret at all, I assure you. There are more of Mr. Pope's Letters to Ladies, particularly her Grace the Duchess of Buckinghamshire: Some very pretty Letters of Mrs. Manley, full of true Humour, perfectly picturesque, in a genteel unaffected Style, natively pleasant, and, as Horace says, simplex munditiis.

There are excellent ones of the late Lord Lansdowne: They convince the Reader of the Patriot, the Englishman, the Christian, the Tenderness of the most humane Mind, the Politeness of the finest Gentleman, the Dignity of the British Peer, are here united, and shine forth with full Lustre in the utmost Propriety and Perspicuity of Language.

B.

You flourish abundantly, Curll; why Lansaowne was a Jacobite.

C.

Now, Sir, you are quite out; read his Lordship's Character of Queen CAROLINE. My Lord was indeed very young when he wrote some of these Letters, and the Prince of Orange was not then landed. But, I presume, had it been so, a Jacobite might possibly be a Man of Wit; for Mr. Pope is allowed to be so, tho' he owns himself a Papist. But here are Letters of my Lord's, that shew other Sort of Sentiments at a riper Age, with Regard to the Revolution Settlement.

B.

Well, are there any other Writers in your Third Volume.

C.

Yes, yes, Sir, we are only got forward 110 Pages, and then we present you an invaluable Tract of Mr. Walsh's: Be pleased, Sir, to read Mr. Dryden's Opinion of him and of this Piece.

B.

Sir, I pay no Regard to Mr. Dryden's Flattery.

C.

Wycherley and Pope for That! But hear, Sir, how Mr. Pope sings:

To Walsh the Wit of Greece and Rome was known,

And ev'ry Author's Merit but his own.

And, in his Epistle to Arbuthnot, he prides himself that,

The knowing Walsh wou'd tell him he cou'd write.

B.

Well, I see it appears by Mr. Pope, that Mr. Walsh was a very great Man. Are we to have any Thing more?

C.

Yes, Sir, The Hospital of Fools is an Imitation of Lucian, by Mr. Walsh, and Gentlemen of the best Taste among my Customers agree, that Lucian wrote nothing equal to it. I had forgot to mention a Letter concerning Asses, containing abundance of Wit. The rest of the Book will consist of Dr. Atterbury's Pieces translated, Letters of Lady Chudleigh, Mrs. Thomas, and others of great Character for Wit, or Literature, or both. And there will be some curious Anecdotes concerning that indefatigable Antiquary, the late Mr. Thomas Hearne of Oxford, and his Writings: And relating to that most exemplary, as well as most noble Princess, the late Duchess of Ormonde, with a fine Copy of Verses in her Praise, by a greater Man than Mr. Pope.

B.

Ay, who is that, pray?

C.

One John Dryden—Sir—

B.

Curll, you are really impertinent.

C.

Sir, you are really conceited; and I would advise you to enter yourself of Tim. Lancet's Society, and read the Dunciad on Sundays, as he says he constantly does. I cannot lose any more Time, Sir, in such trifling Debates; you are resolved not to like any Writer but Mr. Pope; and I am resolved to carry on this Scheme of a Literary Correspondence, so long as Works of real Worth are sent me by the polite and judicious Part of Mankind. My Respects, Sir, to Mr. Pope, when you see him.

Yours, E.C.

N.B. The FOURTH VOLUME of our LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE will open with a Collection of Historical Letters, beginning 1688, and ending 1730, wherein the most important Points of the British Affairs are discussed. By an Old Whig. Printed from an Original Manuscript. With which I received the following Letter, from a very eminent Gentleman, of the Long-Robe, upon his reading the Sheets of this Third Volume, as they came from the Press.

E. CURLL.

To Mr. CURLL.

I Have read the Three Volumes of your Literary Correspondence with Satisfaction. A Collection of good Letters is much wanted in our Language. The French have several; and I think they outdo us in no other Article of polite Literature. Artificial Letters, written on Purpose to be published, are apt to fall short of the vivid Force and Openness found in the unbosoming of Friend to Friend; therefore it is extreamly difficult to imitate well, as it also is to obtain the Papers of a valuable real Correspondence.

If Gentlemen could be satisfied, there would be no Endeavours to know how Letters came to the Press, I am persuaded, our free, learned, polite Age and Country, might easily find you a genuine Collection in the best Taste.

For my own Part I will not have any Doubt of your Conduct in this Respect; therefore you now receive inclosed the very Mind of a Man of Sense and Rank in his Country, upon public Affairs, from the Revolution to the Year 1730. Most of them were Letters to the late Bishop Atterbury, and the rest, to an intimate Friend of his, who died before him.

The Bishop, a few Months before his Death, lent them to a Nobleman in France (from whom I had them) and at the same Time he told him, they were written by the honestest Whig of his Acquaintance; that he differ'd from the Writer upon several Points, but look'd upon him to be a good Englishman in the main; that he (the Bishop) had been censur'd by his Enemies as a hot Party-man, but that he could always relish the Correspondence of a Person of Sincerity and Honour, though of different Sentiments in Politics or Religion; and that if he did not live to ask for these Letters again (as he found himself in a declining Condition) he desired they might not be lost, because there was much Truth and good Sense in them; but insisted, that if they went abroad, it would be in such a Manner as not to prejudice the Writer of them in any Branch of his Family, which might have Occasion for the Countenance of Men in Power.

If you think it agreeable to your Scheme, you may publish them; if not, I wish you Supplies more to your Purpose, and am,

Sir,
Your Humble Servant. B.T.
London, Sept. 14. 1735.

E. CURLL ad A. POPE.
S. P. D.

THAT our Name and Fame may be equally transmitted to Posterity, in this our Literary Correspondence, most earnestly desiring; A faithful Register of Matters of Fact, will be the best Method for obtaining these desirable Ends.

Having given Notice in the St. James's Evening-Post of Saturday July 12th, that the SECOND Volume of Literary Correspondence would be published on Monday the 14th: You was pleased, in the London Gazette, of Tuesday the 15th to insert an Advertisement which I shall here paraphrastically re-insert for the true Information of the Public, viz.

Whereas several Booksellers (Printers and Publishers, viz. L. Gilliver, T. Cooper, and J. Watson) have printed several surreptitious and incorrect Editions of Letters as mine, some of which are not so, (being written by those Persons to whom they are by E. Curll justly ascribed) and others interpolated; (by the Editor of those six hundred Copies sold by the Reverend Mr. R. Smythe, pursuant to the Direction of his Cousin P.T. (both Agents of mine) to the aforesaid E. Curll) and whereas there are daily Advertisements of SECOND and THIRD Volumes of more such Letters, particularly my Correspondence with (Dr. FRANCIS ATTERBURY) the late Bishop of Rochester; (the said SECOND and THIRD Volumes being now published) I think myself under a Necessity to publish such of the said Letters as are genuine (not hitherto published) with the Addition of some others of a Nature less insignificant, especially those which passed between the said Bishop (ATTERBURY) and myself, or were any way relating to him, which shall be printed with all convenient Speed (and which will likewise be faithfully re-printed by E. Curll, as a Supplement to the THREE VOLUMES of Literary Correspondence by him published and carried on with the universal Approbation of the Public.)
A. POPE.

This, Sir, must be understood to be the true Meaning of the foregoing Advertisement, and which shall be, by me, literally made good.

As to R. Smythe, whom you have been pleased to inform me, was only a pretended Clergyman; against, therefore, this nominal R. Smythe, exclusive of his Function, I have exhibited a Bill in Chancery to hold him to his Contract of delivering to me six hundred printed Copies of the First Volume of your Letters, (printed by your own Direction to compleat your Correspondence with Mr. Wycherley, as Lawton Gilliver hath himself acknowledged, whom, with yourself, I have made Parties to my Bill against R. Smythe, not in the least doubting, but from such an equitable Triumvirate I shall obtain Justice.)

For, with you, Sir,

Flatt'ry in ev'ry Shape I hold a Shame,

And think a Lye in Verse or Prose the same.[*]

Bravo to God, and Coward unto Man,

The Lyar is; [†] deny this Truth who can?

This Vice, Sir, is as mean as it is base; and as you have found, in all Debates between us, has been the Abhorrence of,

Your Humble Servant, E. CURLL.
PECKHAM, Sept. 15. 1735.

P.S. As I am pretty conversant with those Authors whose Works I print, in revising vising my old Friend VOITURE for a new Edition; I find you have very politely pillaged his Letters: Your First, To a Lady, with a Book of Drawings, is evidently taken from One he wrote to Madame Rambouillet, in the Name of Callot the Engraver, presenting a Book of his Prints. Your Second is, I find, a Compliment to our Friend Parson Broome, and Mrs. Betty Marriot of Sturston-Hall in Suffolk. And lastly, the Compliments in those Letters of this Volume to Miss B. are transplanted from what VOITURE wrote to Madame Rambouillet, M. Vigean, and other Ladies of the Court of France.

Notes

*
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot.
↵

†
Dr. South's Character of the Lyar.
↵

ERRATA.

LETTER 3d to Miss B. Line 1. for Liberty, read Liberality. Belluchi, mention'd in the Letter to the Duchess of B—, was a Painter, not a Statuary.

TO Mr. EDMUND CURLL, Bookseller, In Rose-Street, Covent-Garden.

Mr. CURLL,

THE Characteristicks whereby the Author of the inclosed Letters may be known, are too many and glaring to need any mentioning of his Name. Were there no other Arguments to confirm this, his own Pen betrays him. But for your farther Satisfaction, I must inform you, that I found them among some Papers of a deceased Friend, with several others of a Nature more insignificant, which therefore I would not transcribe. The Gentleman's Wife, before she was so, is known to have been personally acquainted with your Adversary, which puts the Matter past Doubt.

With many Thanks for your two former Volumes, these are at your Service for your third, which I find you are about.

Yours, S.E.
Aug. 23d, 1735.

LETTERS OF Mr. POPE to Miss BLOUNT.

To Miss B**** [†] on the Death of her Brother.

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 were 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 inforcing, than 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 has so perfectly united them, that the fond Assistance you afforded your late Brother, should now prove an extraordinary Comfort to you, since God will 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, thro' a Contempt of your own Life, engaged you in the Offices of the best and tenderest Sister in the World, beyond the Limits of all Obligations; and by an admirable Constancy, made you assur'd 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 which are wished you, by,

Madam,
Yours, &c.

To the SAME.

MADAM,

I Here send you the Elegy[*], which you have but too often demanded of me, and which heretofore hath indeed been heard by others, but, till now, hath not been read by any.

It is my Wish, that the same Fortune may in this happen to me as hath befallen you; who, after you have for so long time concealed the noblest things in the World, have in the Discovery of it, dazled all those that have seen it. But it is an over-great Fondness for 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 sending them to you. And, to deal freely with you, a less Power than what you have within these few Days gained upon me, would not have been sufficient to have prevailed with me to do it: And, without your Command, Madam, they had never known any other Place than that of my own Memory. But it is high time it were delivered of them, to make room for something more delightful; I mean that which Mrs. **** had the Grace to acquaint me with the other Day, and which 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 many in the World to whom I would not say so much, even tho' 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.

I am, Madam, &c.

To the SAME.

MADAM,

THO' my Liberty were, as you say, greater than Alexander's, it were more than recompenced 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 Yours. In like manner, Madam, considering the Reputation you do me, if I envy his, it is not so much that which he hath acquired, as what you have bestowed on him, and he hath received no Honours which I do not look upon 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 Daughter of Darius, and hath re-infused 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 beseech you, Madam, to assure your self I have for you the same Passion which you have for him, and that the Admiration of your Virtues shall ever engage me to be, Madam,

Yours, &c.

To the SAME.

MADAM,

I Could never believe it possible that the Receipt of a Letter from you should add to my Affliction, or that you could have possibly sent me such bad News, as that you could not comfort me 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 something to strengthen my Patience to endure the Absence of your Mother and You, there could not be any Misfortune which You could 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 Mrs. A****, which hath been heavy enough to crush me, and wanted not much to spend the Remainder 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 sprightly 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 tho' I reflected not on my own Concernments, yet could I not but infinitely regret a Person by whom you were infinitely beloved; 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, if this Disturbance can admit of 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 methinks it speaks an over-interested Affection, to be sad because she hath left us to better her Condition, and is gone into the other World, (from whose Bourne no Traveller returns [*]) to find that Quiet she could never meet with in this.

I very heartily entertain the Exhortations you give me thereupon, which is, often to con over a Lesson so profitable and necessary, and to prepare myself for the like one Day; I know how to make my Advantage of your Remonstrance. The Miseries we have run thro' 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 Years, we may presume to expect some few fair Days, be pleased to give me leave, Madam, to entertain Thoughts more diverting than those of Death; and if it be likely that we are shortly to see one another, let me not fall out with my Life.

Where you say, You think me destined to great Things, you give so great Security of my Life, and so happy a Presage of the Adventures that shall happen to me, that I shall not be sorry for its Continuance 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 Prophesies may be fulfilled. In the mean time, I 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 which obliges me to be so much,

Madam,
Your, &c.

N.B. The WORKS of VOITURE, Translated from the last PARIS Edition, and Addressed by Mr. POPE to Miss BLOUNT, in Two Volumes, is Printed for Mr. Curll. Price 6s.

Notes

†
BLOUNT.
↵

*
The Small-Pox.
↵

*
This, with some other Poetical Pieces, will be found in our FOURTH Volume.
↵

*
HAMLET.
↵

AN EPISTLE FROM Mr. POPE[*] to Mr. GAY, Occasioned by Two STANZAS in his BALLAD of Black-Ey'd SUSAN. 1726.

OFT, as thou know'st, I've dar'd the Critic-Croud

Unseen, like HOMER's Heroes in a Cloud.

And oft, like TEUCER, hast thou ta'en the Field

Beneath mine ample Telamonian Shield.

YET hence since Wits undue Advantage raise,

Studious to censure both, but neither praise,

Thee I'll espouse, my Friend, in open Light,

Careless, tho' CURLL should print, or DENNIS write.

My Lit'ral-self, that partial I commend,

In thee my Figurative-self, my Friend.

WHO thy Poetic Worth can sitter tell?

So well who knows it, or who loves so well?

Tho' grov'ling oft, sometimes thou durst, like me,

Degenerate into loftiest Poetry!

How does th' applauding World with Wonder view

A Nymph, or Heroine, in a Black-Ey'd Sue!

Whose Charms thy Verse has spread from Pole to Pole,

Where Winds can carry, or where Waves can roll.

To noblest Heights did humblest Ballad rise.

When Indian Diamonds sparkled for her Eyes.

When far-fetch'd Iv'ry taught the Lover's Sight

Her Skin how spotless, or her Teeth how white!

Her op'ning Lips Arabian Sweets exhale

Fragrant as od'rous Afric's spicy Gale.

Such choice Perfumes, nor VIRGIL's happy Field,

Nor fam'd Alcinous' Magic Garden yield.

Nor fairer seem'd of old the Paphian QUEEN,

When unadorn'd on Ide by PARIS seen.

Nor e'en Romance can brighter Charms display,

Nor more cou'd PETRARCH for his LAURA say.

For Flights like these, the Learn'd may search in vain

The Sabine Cygnet, or the Theban Swan.

But finest Genii ne'er should fetter'd be

By Character and dull Propriety.

But leave your real Life your simple Strains,

To English Milk Maids and Sicilian Swains.[*]

Yet most thine Art, O Bard divine! is seen,

When CUPID guards his WILLIAM in Machine.

And turns the missive Balls that round him fly,

Lest Tears, alas! shou'd drop from SUKEY's Eye.

Submissive at his Feet the Bullets fall,

Tho' shot with Force to sink an Admiral.

No more from MARS let VENUS Succour find,

But list her CUPID, now, no longer blind,

Improv'd by modern Marksmen let him know

The Use of Fire-Arms, and resign his Bow.

Such Art, tho' tasteless Vandals disregard,

Is old, and worthy the Maeonian Bard.

So silver Thetis from her Ouze shall rise

The dead PATROCLUS to preserve from Flies;

Ambrosial Drops a kind Receipt afford,

Lest Maggots harm him after HECTOR's Sword.

SOONER mine ODE that hail'd CAECILIA's Day,

Shall yield the Palm to sing-song Opera;

And veil its weighty Sense and Thought profound,

To wav'ring, quav'ring, undulating Sound:

The knotty Question shall determin'd be,

Of DRYDEN, Bard immortal, and of ME,

Which most excels in Verse and Piety:

Dan CHAUCER's Tales; Dan DURFEY shall outshine,

And PHILIPS' Pastorals compare with MINE,

Than GAY forgotten lye.—

Or take Allusions in a nat'ral Strain,

Drawn from the Seaman's proper Place, the Main.

SOONER shall British Sailors Cowards grow,

And count their Numbers when they meet their Foe;

The rough old Tar, a supple Courtier be,

And leave off Flip for elemental Tea,

Than Thou shalt Die—till then, as VIRGIL says,

Shall last thy Name, thy Honour, and thy Praise

Notes

*
The genuine Author of this Epistle is the Reverend Mr. WESLEY of Westminster-School.
↵

*
His Pastorals, called The Shepherd's Week.
↵

To her GRACE CATHARINE,[*] DUCHESS of Buckinghamshire,

Twitnam, Jan. 27, 1720.
MADAM,

I THINK myself obliged by your GRACE's many Condescentions of Goodness to me, in particular your informing me by a Line of Dr. Ch—'s[†] State of Health. I am really impatient to hear further of him.

The Morning I left the Town, I went with Mr. Jervas to Belluchi's,[*] but parting in Haste, I had not his Opinion at large; only he assures me, he thinks the Figures will not be too small, considering that those which are nearest the Eye, are, at least, as large as the Life. I can't but be of Opinion, that my Lord Duke's and your Grace's, ought to be made Portraits, and as like as possible; of which they have yet, no Resemblance. There being no Picture (as I believe) of the Duke in Profile, it might be well, I fancy, if Belluchi copied the Side-Face from chat Busto that stands in the Salon.

I beg your GRACE's Pardon for the Freedom with which I write to you: And I ought to ask it, (now I think on't) on another Occasion, in which I have used too much Freedom: Having a great Esteem for the famous Bononcini, not only from his great Fame, but from a Personal Knowledge of his Character; and this being increased by the ill Treatment he has met with here, I ventured, among other Persons of the first Distinction, who subscribed to me for his Composures, newly ingraved, to set down the Name of your Grace. When I did this, your Grace was at Bath, and I forgot ever since to tell you of it, 'till now, when the Book's[*] coming out, put me in Mind of it.

If you can excuse this Fault, I sincerely think I shall not err this Way again, 'till such another great Man as Bononcini arises, (for whenever that happens, I doubt not the English will use him as scurvily) but that your Grace needs not apprehend, during our Lives. I am, with the sincerest Respect,

MADAM,
Your GRACE's most Obliged, Most Obedient Servant, A. POPE.

To Mr. C****

SIR,

I Have complied with your Request so far as I am able: Mr. Dryden was not born (but bred) here, as the Inscription itself shews. The more common Tradition is, that he was Born at Aldwinckle, mentioned in the Inscription: But even this is uncertain. So wishing Success to your Undertaking,[*]

I remain, Your Humble Servant, H.L. Rector of Tichmarsh.

THE INSCRIPTION ON THE Monument Erected to the Dryden-Family in the Church of Tichmarsh in Northamptonshire.

Here lies the honourable Remains

Of Erasmus Dryden, Esq

And of Mrs. Mary Pickering his Wife.

He was the 3d Son of Sir Erasmus Dryden,

An ancient Baronet,

Who liv'd with great Honour in this County,

In the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.

Mr. Dryden was

A very ingenious worthy Gentleman,

And Justice of the Peace in this County.

He married Mrs. Mary Pickering,

Daughter of the Reverend

Dr. Pickering of Aldwinckle,

And Grandaughter to Sir Gilbert Pickering:

Of her it may be truly said,

That she was a Crown to her Husband.

Her whole Conversation was,

As becometh the Gospel of Christ.

They had 14 Children;

The eldest of whom was John Dryden, Esq

The celebrated Poet,

And Laureat of his Time:

His bright Parts and Learning,

Are best seen in his own excellent Writings

On various Subjects.

We boast that he was bred,

And had his first Learning here,

Where he has often made us happy

By his kind Visits,

And most delightful Conversation.

He married the Lady Elizabeth Howard,

Daughter to Henry Earl of Berkshire,

By whom he had three Sons;

Charles, John, and Erasmus-Henry:

And after 70 odd Years,

When Nature could no longer be supported,

He received the Notice

Of his approaching Dissolution,

With sweet Submission,

And entire Resignation,

To the Divine Will;

And he took so tender and obliging Farewel

Of his Friends,

As none but he himself could have express'd;

Of which sorrowful Number I was one:

His Body was honourably interr'd

In Westminster Abbey,

Amongst the greatest Wits of divers Ages.

His Sons were all

Fine ingenious and accomplish'd Gentlemen.

They died in their [*] Youth unmarried.

Sir Erasmus-Henry, the youngest,

Liv'd till the ancient Honour of the Family

Descended to him.

After his Death

It came to his good Uncle

Sir Erasmus Dryden,

Whose Grandson

Is the present Sir John Dryden

Of Canons Ashby,

The ancient Seat of the Family.

Sir Erasmus Dryden,

The first nam'd,

Marry'd his Daughters

Into very honourable Families:

The eldest to Sir John Philips,

The second to Sir John Hartup,

The youngest was married to

Sir John Pickering,

Great-Grandfather to

The present Sir Gilbert Pickering, Bart.

And it is with Delight, and humble Thankfulness, that I reflect on the Character of my pious Ancestors, and that I am now, with my own Hand, paying my Duty to Sir Erasmus Dryden, my Great-Grandfather, and to Erasmus Dryden, Esq my honoured Uncle, in the 80th Year of my Age.

Eliza. Creed, 1722.

JAMES MOORE, Esq TO Dr. SEWELL.

Beckely near Oxford.
Dear Sewell,

I Am, as you will find by the Date of this, deep in Solitude; and dividing the Empire of a Country-Village with the Author of the ATALANTIS.[*] The bright Contagion, as our Friend YOUNG calls it, of that Lady's ROMANCE, has spread it self thro' this whole Place. Every thing moves in that Spirit. Horses are Palfryes; Sweethearts, Paramours; and West-Winds, Etesian-Gales. The Women all take their Names from Grand CYRUS, and the general Joy here at the Commitment of URGANDA to Bridewell, has been severely check'd by PARTHENISSA's standing in a white Sheet.

I began an Epistle in GAY's Manner, to welcome you here.

For thee shall new skimm'd Cream the Bowl adorn,

And the Red-Cow her Treasure yield each Morn;

For thee, the Partridge and the Lev'ret fall,

Lord of the Game, for thou can'st conquer All.

For thee shall Coffee, as it sumes, refine,

And Oxford-Loaves with Beckley's Butter join.

Then if those Butter'd-Loaves [*] must parted be,

The Crumb for SEWELL,[†] and the Crust for ME.

For thee the Earth-born Hind Respect shall feel,

Hush the loud Flayl, and stop the rumbling Wheel.

GODDESS of sweet CONTENT, blest Poverty

Unenvy'd, since from vain Excesses free,

How calm's the Mind that's satisfy'd with thee?

You will forgive an Impromptu, which was only meant to shew you, that I can be Gay when I am alone. How much would it add to my good Humour, if I could see you either at this Place or Oxford.

I hope Distressed Mother PHILIPS will give us an entire Copy of his HUMPHREY; for what I've seen, appears, by the Number of Dashes, to be a Tragedy taken down in Short-hand.

Notwithstanding his huge anticipating Character, and his little Arts for Success, might give it a Run in the Representation, it must sure make as ill a Figure as the Conscious Lovers in the Closet, where nothing but true Merit can support it. Pray let me know if there be any thing in it, which you can approve, that might tempt me to look it over again. In the mean time, Peace be to the Manes of his BRITON.

I demand a Letter by the next Post, to instruct me, what other Historian can give me an Account of Clarence, besides Holingshead; how you would have him killed; or whether I may condemn the Duke of Norfolk? I expect this immediately to atone for the fashionable Banter of your last, and am,

Dear Sir,
Your most obliged J.M.

Dr. SEWELL, TO JAMES MOORE, Esq

DEAR MOORE, While you, (so Poetry begins,

When eager Youth by Imitation sins)

So twice [*] e'en ADDISON himself began,

But the Verse mended as the Poems ran:

This Censure past, those common Words erase,

And kindly fancy better in the Place:

From Oxford Groves, the Muses fav'rite Scene,

To Baiae travel, to correct the Spleen,

But count not Inns and Sign-Posts in the Way,

And pen a Journey, like poor Poet GAY.[†]

With easy Converse from the ancient Store,

Draw solid Wit, and from thy Genius more,

Each by the other set, will brighter shine,

As diff'rent Sweets in well-chose Flow'rs combine.

Some Wits, too partial, to this Side incline,

And ev'ry Ancient is, with them, Divine;

They by their Language each Perfection scan,

And measure by the Dress, and not the Man.

To these, bright sparkling Phrases are a Rule,

And Judgment follows Charms observ'd at School:

Yet who shall tell that Age's proper Thoughts,

If Critics deem'd them Beauties, or if Faults.

Caesar to Terence lent but half a Smile,

And nicer Pollio laught at Livy's Style;

Horace with Freedom rough Lucilius blames,

And gives poor Plautus' Quibbles harder Names:

The Truth is this, of Language long since dead,

No certain Rule or Standard can be had.

N.B. This Piece was left unfinished by Dr. Sewell, and never sent to Mr. Moore.

AN EPISTLE TO A GENTLEMAN, WHO Wrote an EPISTLE.[*]

By Mr. AMHURST.

Haec tibi mittuntur, quem, sum modo carmine questus,

Non aptum Numeris Nomen habere tuis.

OVID De Ponto, Lib. 6. ELEG. 14.

ACcept, good Sir, the Tribute of a Friend,

Not apt to blame, too honest to commend:

Of One who dares with Freedom to advise

A Poet, spite of Custom, to be wise.

HORACE, of ancient Choirs the sweetest Bard,

(And sure of HORACE you must oft have heard)

Commands us fall, ere we a Subject chuse,

To try the Strength, and Genius of our Muse;

To poise each Burden, and to judge with Care,

How much our Shoulders may with Safety bear.

An ADDISON shou'd sing Great MARLBRO's Toil;

And POPE must make the gay BELINDA smile.

Had you observ'd this Golden Rule, I'm sure

You'd been from Critics, as from Fame, secure:

Your Muse might still have sung, in Rustic-Strains,

The Milk-Maid's Pity, or the Looby's Pains.

The Woods and Rocks might echo to your Song,

And BUMPKIN cry, 'cause CISLY stay'd too long.

The sporting Lambkins might in Numbers play,

And rosy Cheeks adorn the new-born Day.

You might have almost burst, with tuneful Note,

The warbling Nightingale's distended Throat.

Or made the Woodlark thrill in sweeter Lays,

Than MARGARETTA, after paultry Plays.

Wou'd you have Learning shown, you might have told

How JOVE came down, dissolv'd in liquid Gold:

How ORPHEUS sung, or how ACHILLES fell,

Or PROSERPINE was kidnap'd into Hell.

Had you these Subjects chose, and manag'd ill,

The World had only said, you wanted Skill;

Not only you, but many thousands more,

Had done the same, or worse, perhaps, before.

But ah! rash Youth, how cou'dst thou dare to praise

So great a Name, in such unpolish'd Lays:

A Name in which so many Virtues shine,

As make it, without Compliment, Divine.

To Heav'n itself we Thanks and Praises owe,

Only because from thence all Blessings flow:

And CHANDOS, sure, is Heav'n's Vicegerent here,

Her Blessings to dispense, with more peculiar Care.

But stay, my Muse, lest Thou commit that Crime

I just condemn'd, when in Another's Rhime.

As well might STEELE the Public Debts discharge,

By the sole Income of his Fishing-Barge:

As well might VANBRUGH's daubing Pencil trace

Th'inimitable Lines of HOWGILL's Face:

Or Spintext teach that luscious Maid to cant,

And her who's now an Angel, make a Saint,

As We do Justice to his mighty Name,

Repay his Bounty, or exalt his Fame.

AN Original Letter from his Grace the late Duke of Shrewsberry, relating to a Manuscript Copy of the Lord Holles's Memoirs, in Answer to a Letter sent his Grace by Mr. Curll the Bookseller.
To Mr. CURLL.

Sir,

THese Memoirs go no farther than the Parliament's resolving to treat no more with the King. My Lord Holles was of the Presbyterian Party, zealous at first, to take Arms against the King, but would not have carried it so far as the Independents did; he writes very virulently against them, gives Instances of Cromwell's and Haslerig's Cowardice, as may be seen in the annexed Table;[*] mentions Lord Savile as an Impostor, who accused himself and others.

This Book is an Apology for the Scots and English Presbyterians, and a Satire against the Army and Independents, but wrote in so angry and declaiming a Stile, that it does not please me; it treats only of public Facts known to every body, and tells none of those secret Intrigues, Schemes, Conferences, &c. which are what is most valuable in these sort of Books.

SHREWSBERRY.
1708.

TO Mr. CURLL, Bookseller, &c.

Ch. Ch. Oxford, Jan. 8. 1731.
SIR,

I Am very glad it was ever in my Power to do you any good Office,[*] and should be ready to do the same again, especially in a Cause of Justice and Truth. But your Author, in his Defense of the CLARENDON-FAMILY[†] must not Appeal to me on Account of any Interpolations in the Characters of that Famous History, for I have no such Originals, nor ever saw any.[†]

I have great Reason to believe that That Work was as faithfully published as ever any Posthumous Piece was, which, I believe, will shortly be made evident to the Public by a more able Hand.[*]

I am, Sir, Your Humble Servant, THOM. ASAPH Elect.

TO Sir BERKELEY LUCY, Bart.

SIR,

WHAT Mr. Nelson, in his Life of Bishop Bull, says of that learned Prelate, may with the strictest Veracity be applied to Mr. Collins, viz. "He hath received so great a Brightness from his own Pen, that it needs no auxiliary Light to increase its Lustre;" and his Character is so secure, from the Example of his Life, that all Calumnies raised against it, fly like Chaff before the Wind.

By a Letter from King's-College, Cambridge, I am informed, "that Mr. Collins was bred at Eton, in quality of an Oppidane; where he was very remarkable, even while a Boy, for a good Taste of the Classics, &c. He was admitted a Fellow-Commoner of King's-College, July 8, 1693, where, under the Tuition of Dr. Hare, he was soon perceived to grow indefatigable in the roughest Tracts of Philosophy, particularly the Ars Cogitandi: He was almost a singular Example among those of his Station. Rarus ferme communis sensus in illa fortuna, says Horace, is as applicable to a Man of flourishing Circumstances, as to the Patriot; and tho' it has been much controverted what was the Poet's View, yet in both Lights Mr. Collins has been thought to be an Exception."

Since Mr. LOCKE hath declared, that he considered Mr. COLLINS as a Philosopher, and a Christian, all the sneering and lucrative Sarcasms of Ecclesiastics ought to be held in the utmost Contempt. His Character is so secure from the Example of his Life, that I am the less concerned for my own Inability, to embalm his Memory; especially as the Weight and Importance of the Matter will make some Amends for those Defects which may arise from the Manner of handling it.

That Part of Biography, Sir, which records Men famous in the Republic of Letters, is generally acceptable to the Learned, because it attempteth to gratify a Curiosity, which prevaileth much, and is nourished among them; whereby they are prompted to search for, and enquire after the minutest Circumstances, which relate to such Authors, who are no otherwise known to them, than by the Works they have left behind them.

And now, Sir, as the best, and most firm Basis I can lay, for the Support of my Superstructure, give me Leave to mortify the wrangling Priesthood, by exhibiting the sincere Sentiments Mr. Locke had of Mr. Collins's Virtues and Abilities: A Character which I am certain, with all those who knew his intrinsic Worth, will turn the Balance even against the Constitutions of Popes, the Decrees of Councils, or the Cavils of Convocations.

"You have exceedingly obliged me (says Mr. Locke to Mr. Collins) in the Books, of Yours, that you have sent me; and (continues our immortal Christian Philosopher) I am over-joyed with an Intimation I have received also, that gives me Hopes of seeing You next Week. You are a charitable good Friend, and are resolved to make the Decays and Dregs of my Life the pleasantest Part of it; for I know nothing calls me back to a pleasant Sense of Enjoyment, and makes my Days so gay and lively, as your good Company. Come then, and multiply happy Minutes upon, and rejoice in the Good you do me; for I am, with a perfect Esteem and Respect,"

Yours, &c.

Upon Mr. Collins's Return to Town, 1703, after paying the Visit mentioned in the foregoing Letter, Mr. Locke returns him the following Acknowledgment.

I owe you my Thanks, for the greatest Favour I can receive, the Confirmation of your Friendship, by the Visit I lately received from you.—In some other Letters he thus expresses himself.

There is one Mr. Collins, with whom if I desire to live upon equal Terms, it is not that I forget how much he is superior to me in many Things, wherein he will always have the Precedency.—You make my Life, since I have had your Friendship, much more valuable to me than it was before.—Tho' my Friendship be of very little Value or Use, yet being the best Thing I have to give, I shall not forwardly bestow it, where I do not think there is Worth and Sincerity: And therefore, pray pardon me the Forwardness wherewith I throw my Arms about your Neck; and holding you so, tell you, you must not hope, by any Thing that looks like Compliment, to keep one at a civiller and more fashionable Distance.—Yours of the 16th Instant[*] makes me love and value you, if it were possible, more than I did before; you having therein, in short, so well described, wherein the Happiness of a rational Creature in this World consists: Tho' there are very few who make any other Use of their half-employed and undervalued Reason, but to bandy against it. 'Tis well, as you observe, that they agree as ill with one another, as they do with common Sense. For when by the Influence of some prevailing Head, they all lean one Way; Truth is sure to be borne down, and there is nothing so dangerous, as to make any Enquiry after her; and to own her, for her own sake, is the most unpardonable Crime.—'Tis no small Advantage to me to have found such a Friend, at the last Scene of my Life; when I am good for nothing, and am grown so useless, that I cannot but be sure, that in every good Office you do me, you can propose to your self no other Advantage, but the Pleasure of doing it.[*]—Give me leave to desire you, to bestow some of your spare Hours on the Epistles to the Corinthians, [†] and to try whether you can find them intelligible or no.—If I regret my old Age, it is you that make me, and calls me back to the World just as I was leaving of it, and leaving it as a Place that had very little valuable in it: But who would not be glad to spend some Years with you?—He that has any thing to do with you, must own, that Friendship is the natural Product of your Constitution, and your Soul, a noble Soil, is enriched with the two most valuable Qualities of human Nature, Truth and Friendship. What a Treasure have I then in such a Friend, with whom I can converse, and be enlightened about the highest Speculations!

Souls, Sir Berkeley, endowed like Mr. Locke's, Mr. Collin's, or your own, were made to converse with each other only, far very far, removed from the Insolence of Priests or the Pedantry of Schools! such stoical Apathy as they were, and you are possessed with, put Mr. Addison upon leaving us this perpetual Memento in his Campaign.

Great Souls by Instinct, to each other turn,

Demand Alliance, and for Friendship burn.

Rais'd of themselves, their genuine Charms they boast.

And those who paint them truest, praise them most.

These Characteristics given of Mr. Collins, by Mr. Locke, will surely make every little, or indeed the greatest Canonical Pedagogue, dread to attack the Memory of our dear Friend, especially when they find the Esteem he had for him reached even beyond the Grave;[*] and with which Testimonial I shall close what I have to offer on this Head for the present.

"The Knowledge I have of your Virtue of all Kinds, secures the Trust, which, by your Permission, I have placed in you:*—May you live long and happy, in the Enjoyment of Health, Freedom, Content, and all those Blessings which Providence has bestowed on you, and your Virtue intitles you to. I know you loved me Living, and will preserve my Memory, now I am Dead. All the Use to be made of it, is, That this Life is a Scene of Vanity, that soon passes away; and affords no solid Satisfaction, but in the Consciousness of doing well, and in the Hopes of another Life. This is what I can say, upon Experience; and what You will find to be true, when You come to make up the Account. Adieu. I leave my best Wishes with you."

JOHN LOCKE.

I am Sir Berkeley Lucy's most Obedient, Humble Servant, E.C.

A LETTER To Mr. P***

REJOICE with me, my Friend, there is Probability of mine Advancement, this is the Reign of Expectancy. Never, if not now, shall I become considerable: Places of National and mighty Trust, are given to those the World will trust no longer. Emulous of the Roman Simplicity, our Nobility, like so many CINCINNATUS's, seem to be taken from the Plough; our Clergy, representing the Mechanic Piscatory Founders of Christianity, are Men of mean Descent, and altogether as eminent for their Ignorance. But as the uninterrupted Succession of their Apostleship is most undeniable, the Lord inspire these with those. Saul from a Tender of his Father's ASSES, became a tender Father to the People Israel, and left his former Care. Caesar too was called to be a King, but he retained his ASSES; some he made Judges, some Bishops, and some Ambassadors, which occasioned the Scoffers to say, that Caesar only wore the Lion's Skin. What led me, I believe, to this Subject, was the hearing of Papers now crying about the Streets, intitled, The Congress of Asses; which naturally brought to my Remembrance, many Folks and Occurrences, both at Home and Abroad. We have a Poet Laureat here, Thanks to my Lord Chamberlain, now grown old, who is twice a-Year brought forth to be kicked at by his Brethren.

The Heels of ev'ry Ass salute old C—

If Dean B— or Doctor S— pride themselves too highly on the Linguose Faculty, may not the Ass of Balaam serve for their Reproof, as well as he did for that of his Master. Nothing seems to me more unjust, than the Contempt which is offered to this noble ANIMAL by the Vulgar, who mistake his solemn Majesty for Dullness. Should this Epistle ever appear in Public, as I hope it never will, I am sensible it would be thought an insinuating Artifice of mine, to get a Place at Court, or recommend myself to Somebody in Power; whereas, I have no such Intention, I assure you, but shall disinterestedly, and without Flattery, as far as I am able, take away part of the Burden from the Back of this generous Beast: For, What is heavier than an ill Name? in doing which, I have only imitated the renowned Osborn's and Walsingham's of these our Times, whose Labours I must acknowledge to be as far superior to mine, as they are more difficult: But to proceed; ASSES formerly were not contemptible, their Names were not made a Reproach; they sometimes were cloathed in Furs like our Aldermen, and sometimes in Scarlet, and Cloath of Gold, and King's and Princes used to ride upon them. Midas, a Phrygian Monarch, had himself the Ears of an Ass, which was in those Days, held an uncommon Thing. Kings will not, out of brotherly Affection, despise them, moreover this stately Beast is not to be prevailed upon by Blows; the venerable Dispensers of our Laws are not endowed with more Gravity; all the Holy-gifted ones, should respect him as an Elder, and one of themselves; for he once spoke by the same Divine Power, they would be thought to speak by: Besides, he has that in him, which is well Worthy of their Imitation, I mean his Patience. Both Sacred and Profane History have emblematized Strength and Heroism by the Ass, than which, nothing can be more natural, noble, beautiful, or just. Jacob, when he blesses his Sons, says, Issachar is a strong Ass, crouching down between two Burdens. And Homer, in the Eleventh Book of the Iliad, compares Ajax, making a noble Retreat, to one of these Animals forcing his Way into a Field of Corn, there satisfying his Hunger, and then retiring with a tardy sullen Intrepidity, Maugre the Opposition of a Troop of Boys,

Whose ratt'ling Strokes resound upon his Sides.

Had I nothing else to offer in their Behalf, the above-mentioned Instances are sufficient to abate all Ridicule, and draw Respect from the viperous Tongue of Calumny itself.

But farther, the most eminent Poets, Orators, Historians and Naturalists, have not thought it beneath them to treat of the Ass, either in Metaphor, Simile, or Description Narrative. Pliny Lib. 11. Cap. 37. gives large Account of him, describes his Nature, Passions, &c. and shews us what Judgment we are to form of the pricking-up, and what from the limber and half-erected Position of his Ears. Virgil mentions him but sparingly. Horace more frequent, the Thirteenth Epistle of his First Book, is wrote Ad Vinnium Asellum, whom he banters on his Name. He was to present Horace's Poems to Augustus, who desires, if they are too burthensome to him, that he will cast them away, and not bear them like Panniers, to be laugh'd at, and get the Surname of Ass, because his Paternal one was ASELLA. Cicero speaks of one Asellius Sempronius, an Historian, by which we know this Name to have been considerable with the Romans. There are likewise two Stars in Cancer, called the ASELLI; and Silenus, the Foster-Father of Bacchus, according to Ovid, was always mounted upon an Ass. I shall here repeat something truly Poetical, spoken of the Ass in our own Language, not inferior to any thing of the Ancients. It is taken from the DUNCIAD, where no less than a Goddess proclaims several Sorts of Games, and promises a Drum to him of all her Favourites, who shall out-voice the Ass.

And his this Drum, whose hoarse Heroic Base,

Drowns the loud Clarion of the braying Ass.

First having encouraged her Children, they begin the Sports; the Goddess thus giving the Word of Command,

Sound forth my Brayers, and the Welkin rend.

As when the long-ear'd, milky Mothers wait,

At some sick Miser's triple-bolted Gate,

For their defrauded, absent Foals, they make

A Moan so loud, that all the Guild awake.

Sore sighs Sir Gilbert, starting at the Bray,

From Dreams of Millions, and three Groats to pay:

So swells each Wind-pipe, Ass intones to Ass,

Harmonic Twang, of Leather, Horn, and Brass:

Such as from lab'ring Lungs, th' Enthusiast blows,

High Sounds attempted to the vocal Nose;

But far o'er all Sonorous Blackmore's strain,

Walls, Steeples, Skies, bray back to him again.

In Tot'nham-Fields, the Brethren in amaze,

Prick all their Ears up, and forget to graze.

Long Chanc'ry-Lane, retentive rolls the Sound,

And Courts to Courts, return it round and round.

Thames wafts it thence to Rufus' roaring Hall,

And Hungerford re-echoes Bawl for Bawl.

Scarce do I know whether the Ass is more indebted to the Poet for this excellent Description of him, or the Poet to the Ass, for those Qualifications of his, which were the Occasion of it: But certain I am, that every Language is enriched with many terse Sayings, Proverbs and Sentences, drawn from the known Qualities of this Quadrupede, fait en dos d'Asne, signifies any Thing done with Cunning. Asinus Antronius is a Lob-Cock. Asinus ad Lyram, and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 in the Greek, are Proverbs which seem to reflect upon the Ass for his Unskilfulness in Music; whereas the contrary is manifest, for this Animal pays an extraordinary Attention to every sort of Wind-Music, as may be easily discover'd by the pricking-up of his Ears, his simpering Gesture, his frolic Spurning of the Heels, attended by the Clangor of his own Pipe, with a seeming Desire to bear a Part. It is most unquestionable, that he has the Advantage of all other Beasts, the Sounds he utters being more articulate: And many learned Critics agree, that no living Pipe so nearly resembles the Hautboy, Bagpipe, or that more admired new-invented Water-Music, the French-Horn; the Performers upon which Instruments, if he does not excel every body, will readily allow, it is not for want of Ear.

Sir Richard Blackmore was sneered at by the Critics; but what will not Critics sneer, for applying the Word Bray to the Sound of Armour, War, &c. which must needs have been right in him; for if the Hero himself is justly likened to an Ass, there is, as it were, a Chain of Propriety, in comparing the Noise of Arms and Clangor of the Battle, to Braying:
[*]
There are others also, who reflect upon the Ass for his Ears, which is whimsical indeed; and I doubt not but that this Clamour proceeds from those only who have lost their Own. While I treat of this Subject, methinks I feel some of that Assistance which the Poets so often call for; I am hurried away, a Flood of Fire pours itself upon me, Nature is overpower'd violently. Thou, O Art, assist me to restrain her Force, lo! I again subside, steady is my Seat, and tight my Rein. How copious is the Theme I handle! surely the World could not contain the Volumes which might be wrote upon it! What I can say is nothing, it would not be esteemed as a Sentence in the great Folio: twelve Books, each twelve Times bigger than DoomsDay-Book, are to be wrote solely upon the Milk of this Animal. It is Mother's Milk to half the Nation. It is the Kettle of Medaea, the Waters of Aganippe; to this is owing our remarkable Progress in the liberal Sciences and polite Literature; to this is owing the Politics so nobly defended by Walsingham and Osborne; to this is owing the Histories of the Burnets, the Cookes, and the Oldmixons, the Divinity of the Henleys and the Fosters, the Physic of the Misaubins and the Wards, the Poetry of the Fieldings and the Savages: And to this is owing these my Labours. To this also, but whether am I going, those of our Party already mention'd, are sufficient. How greatly have they laboured to be thought Asses, and how greately have they succeeded—Here I must take Notice of a remarkable Instance of the Ass's Principles, if that Expression may be permitted me, when our immortal Deliverer landed at Torbay, the vociferous Acclamation of a congregated Drove was heard by Multitudes of his Followers; and if I am not misinformed, the famous Dr. Burnet assured them, it was a happy Omen; and I doubt not, but that upon the Publication of the second Volume of his History, we shall find that he, after his usual pious Manner, has discover'd Providence to be eminently interested in favour of that Undertaking, from the Declaration these Animals made as a sort of joining with their own Party.

I have already exceeded the Limits of a Letter, and shall conclude, after I have interpreted two Fables, famous for their Antiquity.

First, Oenus, a Rope-maker in Hell, had an Ass always standing by him, who as fast as he twisted the Cord, bit it asunder; his Labour was thereby rendered abortive, eternally renewed, eternally frustrated.

Oenus resembles those hellish Ministers, who thro' their evil Counsels make Ropes to bind the People in Slavery. By the Ass is meant the honest Patriot, who, ever watchful for the public Safety, destroys his Schemes, discovers his Designs, drives him to invent new Mischief, which he still renders ineffectual by his Vigilance.

Secondly, An Ass being honoured with carrying on his Back the Statue of Isis, the People bowed, fell on their Knees, and worshipped the Goddess: The Ass thinking his Merit to be the Cause of their Adoration, grew insolent and proud: But when he was unloaded, they convinced him by Blows, it was not him they respected.

By the Ass you are to understand, all such as have Places at Court; what Respect they meet with, is not paid to them, but to their Office; from which, when they are once discarded, every Man carries a Cudgel, which will convince them of the Truth of what I say. I am, my dear Friend, in all Shapes, comforted with Hopes and Expectations,

Yours, &c. PHILO-A—s.

Notes

*
The Duke married to his third Wife Catharine, natural Daughter of King JAMES II. (by Catharine Sidley, Daughter of Sir Charles Sidley, whom he created Countess of Dorchester, and who, upon his abdicating the Throne, married the Earl of Portmore) he dignified her with the Name of the Lady Catharine Darnley, gave her the Place of a Duke's Daughter, and permitted her to bear his Arms. She was very young, left a Widow by James Earl of Anglesey, from whom she was divorced by the King and both Houses of Parliament, for the Earl's ill Usage of her.
↵

†
Chamberlen's.
↵

*
The Statuary who made the Duke's Monument, to which this alludes; whereon are represented the Portraiture of his Grace, habited like a Roman General; and at his Feet, that of her Grace weeping. On the Top of the Basis of the Column, is seen, in Relievo, Time bearing away the four deceased Children of the Duchess, whose Effigies are represented in Profile-Bustos, supported by Cupids Lamenting.
↵

*
His CANTATAS.
↵

*
The LIFE of Mr. Dryden.
↵

*
It is true they died unmarried, but liv'd to Mens Estate; and Mr. Charles Dryden was unhappily drown'd, in swimming near Windsor. Mr. John had a considerable I ost under Pope Clement XI.
↵

*
On Saturday Morning, about one o' Clock, July the 11th, 1724, Mrs. Manley died. She was seized with a Fit of the Cholick on the Tuesday before, which never left her, till she expired. Her Corpse was interr'd in the Parish Church of St. Bennet, Paul's-Wharf, with great Decency.
↵

*
Potius, Bunns.
↵

†

The Bays for Marlbro', and the Lyre for thee.

Tickell to Addison.

↵

*
See his Poems to Lord Somers, and Earl of Halifax,

While You, my Lord, the Rural Shades admire, &c.

↵

†
See his Journey to Exeter, a very trifling Performance.
↵

*
Mr. GAY.
↵

*
Alluding to the Table in the Manuscript.
↵

*
The Favour I received from this very worthy Prelate, was the drawing up a List of the Chancellors of Norwich, printed at the End of Sir Thomas Browne's Antiquities of that Cathedral, 1712.
↵

†

Bishop Atterbury's Defense of the Earl of Clarendon is an irrefragable Answer to the latent Lye hatched, and propagated by Messrs. Ducket and Oldmixon; for I believe (the dead Man) Smith, wholly innocent.

See the Clarendon-Family Vindicated. Printed for E. Curll, 8vo. 1732.

↵

†
It was reported that his Lordship had such a MS. which was the Motive of my writing to him. E.C.
↵

*
To the New Edition of the Earl of Clarendon's History, printed at Oxford, 1734, is prefixed Bishop Atterbury's Defence, which is sufficient.
↵

*
Of Feb. 1703-4
↵

*
Letter of 19. March 1704.
↵

†
Mr. Locke's Paraph. on those Epistles.
↵

*
See Mr. Locke's Pieces, 8vo. p. 328, 329, where is a Letter thus Superscribed by Mr. Locke, For Anthony Collins, Esq to be deliver'd to him after my Decease.
↵

*

Vide Milton, lib. 6. lin. 209.

—Arms on Armour clashing bray'd,

Horrible Discord—

Sir Richard, we see, was but a later Copiest of this Beauty; he, it seems, stole it from Milton, who stole it from Homer, who stole it from the Ancients, his Predecessors, who copied from Nature.

↵

LOVE LETTERS BY Mrs. MANLEY.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THIS small Packet of Letters, tho' written under the Fatigue of Travelling, is a delightful Proof of the true Taste both of the Thoughts and Sense of their inimitable Author. All who had the Happiness of her Conversation, were soon convinced how free she was from the general Frailties of her Sex; what a Nobleness and Generosity of Temper she possessed; how distant her Views from the least Appearance of Self-Interest, or mean Design! How often have I heard her compassionately regretting the Miseries of Mankind, and never her own, but when they prevented her extensive Charity to Others!

Never was she Vindictive against the most inveterate Enemy; the innate Softness of her Soul, rendered her Deportment equally obliging to Friends and Foes, and never did she resent but with the strictest Justice.

A Journey to Exeter was undertaken by her (on account of a Law-Suit) in the Year 1694, and two Years afterwards, these Letters were made public, without her Leave, by J.H. [*] Esq so highly was she disgusted at this ungenerous Treatment, that she caused them to be suppressed.

The Copy from which this Edition is re-printed, I received from her own Hands, near twenty Years ago, with this positive Injunction, That it should never more see the Light, till the Thread of her Life was cut.

E.C.

LETTER I.

EGHAM, St. John Baptist, 1694.

I Am got, as they tell me, sixteen Miles from You and London; but, I cannot help fancying, it is so many Degrees. Tho' Midsummer to All besides, in my Breast there is nothing but frozen Imaginations. The Resolutions I have taken of quitting London (which is, as much as to say, the World) for ever, starts back, and asks my gayer Part if it has well weighed the Sense of Ever? Nor does your Letter, which I received this Morning, taking Coach, less influence me, than when I first formed the Design. You should have used but half these Arguments, and they had undoubtedly prevailed. It is of the latest now to ask me why I leave the crouded Market, and retire to starve alone in Solitude? Whereas you quote the Poet.

All your Beauty no more Light will have,

Than a Sun-Dial in a Grave.

I am too much afraid Sloth and Sadness are going to be my Eternal Companions; and you know my Soul is unfitted for such Guests, till upon the Road to Execution: I fancied—Dying to the World. Horace, Cowley, all those Illustrious Lovers of Solitude, debauch'd my Opinion, against my Reason; and I took Coach with Mr. Granville's[*] Words in my Mouth,

Place me, ye Gods, in some obscure Retreat:

O! keep Me Innocent: make Others Great.

In quiet Shades, content with Rural Sports,

Give Me a Life, remote from guilty Courts:

Where free from Hopes and Fears, at humble Ease,

Unheard of I may Live, and Die in Peace.

Yet you see how great a Change two Hours has produced: All my Constancy is not Proof against the Thought that I am going to have no Lover but myself for ever. The green inviting Grass (upon which I promised to pass many pleasing solitary Hours) seems not at all entertaining: The Trees, with all their blooming, spreading Beauties, appear the worst sort of Canopy; because, where I am going, they can offer their Shade to none but Solitary Me. But it is not reasonable my Dulness should extend to You, who have every thing in your Nature just and pleasing. You asked, and I eagerly engaged (because you desired me) to give an Account of myself and Travels, every Stage. I have not forgot, when I told you it was too often, how you answered, Not for a Mind so fruitful as mine in Variety of Inconstant Thoughts. You find at present, they run all upon melancholy Apprehensions, which have so wholly possessed me, I have not had Time to observe my wretched Fellow-Travellers, only a pert Sir in the Company, that will make himself be taken notice of by his Dullness.

They most unmercifully set us to Dinner at Ten o' Clock, upon a great Leg of Mutton. It is the Custom of these Dining Stages, to prepare one Day Beef, and another our present Fare: It is ready against the Coach comes; and tho' you should have a perfect Antipathy, there is no Remedy but Fasting: The Coachman begs your Pardon; he would not stay dressing a Dinner for the King, (God bless him) should he travel in his Coach. I have left the Limb of the Sheep to the Mercy of my Companions, (whose Stomachs are, thus early, prepared for any Digestion) to tell you, with what unfeigned Respect I shall be ever

Your True, and Faithful Servant, D. MANLEY.[*]

LETTER II.

I Am got safe to Hartley-Row, and in a little better Humour than when I wrote my last. Our Landlord is a perfect Beau, and most exquisitely performs the Honours of his House. I am in pain for his Assiduity: I cannot fetch a Step, no not to the Window, from the Table, &c. but he is Squiring me; and so dressed, and so conceited, that nothing but serving a loose Apprenticeship, could have set him up a Master in the Trade of Foppery. He was a Goldsmith's 'Prentice, where he studied more his Pleasures, than Profit. This House fell to him, and he wisely resolved to keep it himself, with the Help of his Sister, who is a neat, housewifely, obliging sort of Woman. I suppose it is, by much, the best Entertainment this Road affords. They have a tolerable Cook; and I was glad to find something I could eat at Three o'Clock, for we came in here at Two, and I can give you a little better Account of my Fellow-Travellers. The Sir, I spoke of, is a Baronet's Son, as he has carefully given me to understand: I take it for granted, he likes me, and would have me do the same by him. As he came in, he put off his Travelling Suit, for a Coat and Vest, designed to dazzle the Curate and all his Congregation. The Way I took to mortify his Foppery, was, not to speak a Word of the Change; which made him extream uneasy: At length, cut of all Patience, he desired my Opinion, if his Taylor had used him well? What the Brocade was worth a Yard? How many Ounces of Silver-Fringe? And recommended to my Curiosity the exquisite Workmanship of the Loops; and then gave me the Sum Total of his Cost. I answered him, That Finery was lost upon me; I neither was, nor pretended to be a Judge. He pertly answered, He perceived by my Sullenness, that I had a great deal of Wit; tho' I understood he had but little by his Remark. Well, all this did not do: He would fain have had me enquired into his Family, Intrigues, and Fortune; which when he perceived I had no Curiosity for, 'Faith Madam, (says he) I beg your Ladyship's Opinion, if I am not the most unfortunate Man breathing: I'll tell you a very mortifying Adventure. Nay, you must hear me. I vow, this Indifferency does not look natural to you; your Eyes promise us much more Fire. I'll shut 'em, thought I, for ever, rather than such a Fop shall find any thing to like them for. What! no Answer, Madam, (says he) I perceive your Attention by your Silence. 'Gad, I love a Person of your Breeding, that know themselves better than to interrupt a good Story. Perhaps Madam is not well with her Journey, answered Mrs. Mayoress of Totness. Alas! I wonder Riding in the Coach should not have got you a better Stomach. Poor Gentlewoman, she has scarce eat any thing. I'll recompence that by a Feast of the Mind, answered my Fop. How say you, Madam, shall I begin the Regalio? I had as good consent, quoth I: With or without my Leave, I see you are resolv'd upon it. Well then, Madam, says he, since you are disposed to be delighted, I'll about it instantly.

It happened at Oxford three Months ago (where I often came, my Father's Estate being not far distant) I saw a Lady, and fell in Love with her; ay Gad, Madam, downright in Love with her. She was a Person genteely bred, and had seen the Beau-Monde, made the Tour of all the Places of Gallantry, shined in the Drawing-Room, languished in the Boxes, adorned the Park; in a Word, was all a Man of my Circumstances could desire in one he was resolved to make an Oblation of his Heart to. But as her Honour was my Care, and not marrying my Design, I searched for a dexterous Pretence to visit, and be happy. I took Mr. Slye with me, a Gentleman of the Town, who had a Wife: To give you the Character of my Friend, He was naturally amorous, had a handsome Person, and Strains of natural Wit beyond whatever I saw in the most Acquired; and your Ladyship must allow me to be a Judge of Wit, by so dexterously finding out yours, maugre your Silence. I bowed for this extraordinary Compliment; and thought I could not more agreeably return it, than by continuing my Silence; and as the Poet has it, left him to his dear Mistake. Mr. Slye, continued he, was to propose a Marriage between me and my Lady Conquest, to the old People her Relations, whom she was just come to live with: But as soon as he saw her, if I was her First Oxford Victim, he was certainly the Second; and, as I found, presently took with her. She had a very fine Hand, which Mr. Slye, according to the Country Liberty, kissed; and then, with Cleveland, said,

So soft, 'tis Air but once remov'd;

Tender, as 'twere a Jelly Glov'd.

She gave him a Look, which seemed to say, she wondered in that Place at such a Piece of Gallantry; and then pursuing with her Wit the Victory of her Eyes, charm'd my Friend to that Degree, that he told me, he must enjoy her, or die. 'Gad, Madam, was not this a very odd Turn? I carried him to speak for me; and he comes to make me the Confidant of his Designs? We agreed tho', as Friends should, to keep our mutual Confidence secret from her, and to endeavour each of us to make himself happy, and faithfully to relate the Progress of our Amours. But because the Country is much given to Tatling, the Pretensions of Marriage went on. Lady Conquest was Airy and Coquet; loved Company and Gallantry, if they could be purchased with Safety: But she knew so well how to manage every body, that none durst speak to her, more than she had a mind to hear. I was one of the awed Fools. 'Gad! would you believe, Madam, that Love could make so great an Ass of a Man of my Understanding? And yet it was not altogether that neither, my Pride was concerned; I was resolv'd not to serve for her Diversion, till I was sure she was consenting to be mine; but could no more keep out of her Company, than I could hang myself. I desired her to walk: She consented, with a Crony she picked up, upon Condition I would engage Mr. Slye of the Party. I was jealous, but to no Purpose; either my Rival's Company, or not my Mistress's. Slye pretended Fear of his Wife, that he durst not appear in public with any other Woman; for she already began to have Apprehensions of my Lady Conquest, whose Way of Living was remote to those of Country-Gentlewomens; and therefore he was resolved to think no more of her; tho' infinitely pleasing to him; for his Fortune depended, in a great measure, upon his Wife's Mother. I came back with this doleful News to Lady Conquest. Go tell him, answered she, he who has pretended to love me, should fear nothing more than not being beloved; and that I command him to meet us at the appointed Place. I ran, like a Fool, to do her Message, which I believed Raillery, because she ought to have been more cautious of a married Man's Love, if serious. Slye wanted but Intreaty: He consented, and we met, but not to my Comfort; tho' the Expence was mine, he had the Profit: She was not easy unless he sat nigh her; she talked to him, stared at him, did every thing to shew she was pleased; whilst I, by a Notion of Pride, would pretend nothing, for fear I should not have all: For 'Gad, Madam, I do not love being baulked thus. Several Times we met, but all as little to the Purpose. Undoubtedly, she saw I loved her, but would not see, because I was of Use in her Affair with Slye. The whole Town talked of our approaching Wedding, and I began to be Fool enough to resolve on it, thro' Slye's Persuasion, who continually extolled her Honour and Virtue, and tickled my Pride with the News of her Love; but that she wanted a Declaration from me, before I could expect a Confession from her. I told him, I would think on it; and so we parted. That Night (as Chance would have it) I passed along by the House where she lived, and I found the Gate open: I know not what Devil of Curiosity carried me in; and when in, to go to her Chamber: I did both unseen, and concealed myself behind the Bed, which I saw sitted for Night. I resolved to wait till she should be in Bed, and then to take Advantage of her Woman's Absence, (who lay in the Anti-Chamber) and there to declare my Love, and offer her Marriage. Long I had not waited, (tho' 'Gad, Madam, I was very impatient, and thought every Minute Seven) when the charming Fair came from her Dressing-Room, with nothing on but her Night-Gown and Slippers, which were soon thrown off, and the Goddess appeared more beauteous than the naked Queen of Love. The happy Bed soon received her; and she cryed, Haste, and bring my Lover to me. At these Words her Woman went into the Anti-Chamber, and returned softly with Slye; who flew to her Arms, sighed, kissed, and died there.—Imagine my Surprize! 'Twas so great I could not in a long time shew myself to interrupt 'em: At length, seeing him undress for Bed, 'Gad, Madam, my Patience was quite expired; Traytor, says I, shewing myself, Is it thus thou preservest thy feigned Duty to thy Wife? I laid my Hand upon my Sword, and he did the like on his; and we had certainly drawn, had not the Amorous Fair thrown herself out of Bed between us, and conjured us on her Knees to make no Noise, else she was lost for ever. I raised her naked Beauties, and carried them whence they came, but complained at my hard Fortune, which had made me the Instrument of my own Ruin. She saw I was extreamly touched at it, and after her Shame and Surprize was a little over, You have no Reason, Sir, (said she) to complain of me: I could have no Engagements with a Man who never pretended to love me. Tho' you have given me the Glory of refusing you as a Husband (in the Eyes of the Town) it could not but nettle me, to know there was nothing serious on your Side, but done like a Gentleman, to secure my Reputation amongst ill-bred Fools, who know not the Charms of Conversation, and will not permit it (without Censure) to those that do. But 'Gad, Madam, (answered I) your Ladyship is not so dull, but to know I loved you: All my Assiduities, Uneasiness, Sighs, and Ogleings, must have informed you. Our Sex dares hardly believe yours (she replied) when you take Pains to speak: And sure it were an unpardonable Vanity to draw such Consequences without it. These Circumstances you pretend, I have found common to all Gentlemen: Therefore must I conclude the whole World is in Love with me; and deny myself those who tell me they are my Servants, for the vain Imagination that another is silently so? 'Gad, Madam, (answered I) I cannot possibly forgive the Preference of a dull, silly, sober, married Man, to an airy, well-dressed, young, amorous One. I will be gone to London by Break of Day, for fear I should not conceal my Resentments, and so injure your Ladyship irreparably: For 'Gad, Madam, I must repeat again, you were to blame to slight all the Pains I took to breed you for nobler Game. This last, I confess, broke my splenetic Silence, and I could not hold laughing heartily; which amply paid my Squire for the Pains he had taken in his Relation. He concluded it with telling me his Journey to London, and short Stay there, only to accouter; his Design of visiting a Lady-Sister, married into Devonshire: And closed with Lauds to his good Fortune, that had thrown him into a Coach with a Lady of my Charms and Sense, to whom he had sacrificed the Relicks of Lady Conquest the first Minute that he saw me. I answered him, That I found Experience had made him resolve against losing a Second Mistress for want of speaking. He had Manners sufficient (or rather Conscience) to think he had given me enough of his Beau-self for one Day, and withdrew.

I could not forbear, late as it was, sending you an Account: If you laugh in your Turn, I am paid for my Pains, as well as the Squire. It is now past Eleven, and they will call us by Two: Good Night; I am going to try if I can drown in Sleep that which most sensibly affects me, the cruel Separation we have so lately suffered.

D.M.

LETTER III.

DO not you think I am more constant than your Friendship could hope, or mine pretend to? I think it a great Proof of it, amidst the Fatigues of a West-Country Journey, to give you thus duly an Account of my insignificant self, and Travels. We parted from Hartley-Row at Three this Morning, thro' a Croud of Beggars who watch our Coach for Alms; and will never leave it unblessed. Hence my Beau took Occasion of Simile; bid me to observe how wakeful those Wretches were for small Charities, that he would do the like, in hopes of greater; and that my divine Idea had so filled his Sight, he could not resolve to let Sleep intrude, for fear of shutting me out. I perceived he took Pains to be thought uneasy, and I have more good Manners than to disappoint him. Mrs. Mayoress, now she is acquainted, has all the low, disagreeable Familiarity of People of her Rank. She entertained us all the Morning with a sorry Love-business about her Second Husband; Stuff so impertinent, I remember nothing of it. Beau continues in his Assiduities: I think none was ever so plagued with dying Eyes; his are continually in that Posture, and my Opposites, that I am forced to take a good deal of Pains to avoid them. The two other Fellow-Travellers were never so promoted before, and are much troubled their Journey is to last no longer, and wish the four Days four Months. I hope every Jolt will squash their Guts, and give them enough of it: But they are Proof against any such Disasters, and hugely delighted with what they are pleased to call Riding in State. After this ridiculous Account, you need not doubt but I am thoroughly mortified. The Trouts are just brought upon the Table, which are the only good Thing here; they look inviting, and will not stay for cooling Compliments. I hope Time will shew none, to say,

I am unalterably yours, D.M.
SUTTON, 25 June.

LETTER IV.

I Cannot give myself any Reason why these Coach-men are such unreasonable Rogues: They make us rise at Two in the Morning, to bring us into our Inn at the same Hour in the Afternoon. After we were reposed a little, Beau shined again (as Yesterday) and waited upon me to Evening-Prayers. I need say nothing to you of Salisbury Cathedral: If in a foreign Country, as the LADY in her Letters of Spain, [*] I could entertain you with a noble Description; but you have either seen, or may see it; and so I will spare my Architecture. There are abundance of pretty, innocent-looked Women, genteel enough; but I have lost my Heart to a'handsome Churchman. I never thought before that Dress was tolerable; but so wore, it seems a mighty Ornament. He was placed behind me; but I turned my Devotion, and kneeled to him, imagining him no less than (as in Antique Days) some High Priest of the Sun. The Canon gave me Cause to think he had dined too well, and was obliged to his Snuff, more than Religion, for keeping him awake. Well, Devotion done, I was forced to break up mine, and leave him without a Knowledge of his Conquest. As we were walking to our Inn, I asked Beau what we should do to pass the next Day without being very weary of each other, for Sunday does not permit Travelling. He (you may be sure) did not fail to tell me, he could never be weary of me, tho' (himself) expiring by my Sight and Cruelty. I waved his Compliment, and told him my Design of engaging the People in the Exeter Coach (if they seemed worth it) to live with us for the Time. When we returned, we were told it was not yet come in, occasioned by the breaking of the Axle-tree five Miles off; but that a Fellow was gone to mend it, and they were expected every Moment. My Chamber-Window answered the Court; I rose to it at the Noise of the Coach, and presently saw alight, a tall, blustering, bigbon'd, raw Thing, like an over-grown School-Boy, but conceited above any Thing. He had an Appurtenance, called a Wife, whom he suffered to get out as well as she could. As long as he had lain by her, he did not think her worth the Civility of his Hand. She seemed a Giant of a Woman, but very fine, with a right Cit's Air. He blustered presently for the best Lodging, which he saw taken up by her that held the fine Fan before her Face: You may guess this was your humble Servant. The Chamberlain told him, it was their Custom, first come, first served; but that there were very good Chambers besides. The rest of the Company were two Things that looked pert and aukward; Tradesmens Daughters I judged them. But methoughts, casting my Eyes upon a Gentlewoman and her Servant, that came out last, I found something pleased me; whether it were because she really deserved it, or that the Stuff she was with set her off. I had a Basin of fine Heart-Cherries before me, just come from the Garden: I caused them to be brought after me into the Gallery, and designed them as a Bait to the Woman whom I was to begin the Acquaintance with; for Beau designed to set up to get a Fortune in Devonshire, and was unwilling to shew any Irregularity; and I thought myself above their Reflections. The first that appeared was the Wife, with a rising Belly: This seemed a good Hint; I offered them to her, not knowing but she might long. The Sight (I suppose) did not displease her, for she readily accepted, and eat very greedily. The Genteellooked Lady had much to do to be persuaded. As for the other two, they were gone to chuse a Lodging. We presently grew acquainted, taking Travellers Liberty, and supped together. But, shall I tell you! the Wife grew jealous of me. It seems, her Temper was such; and her Husband (no small Man in his Country, though himself just set up in Merchandizing at London; his Father, one of the Canons at Exeter:) thought he might carry all Hearts before him, as well as the Country-Lasses. They were come from visiting their Friends, and returning to their House in London. Mrs. Stanhope (for that was the Lady's Name whom I liked) told me, I was not to count upon the Conquest, for he had given her Douceurs all the Way, and made her extream uneasy, because his Wife appeared to be such. We grew into an Intimacy, and left the Company. My Beau was to me faithless and inconstant. One of the aukward little Things I told you of, and who had a tolerable Face, was a Goldsmith's Daughter of Exeter, and acquainted with his Lady-Sister; that began their Acquaintance. She seemed free and fond: He took the Hint, and applied himself to her; which I was very glad of. Mrs. Stanhope went with me to my Chamber; and after much Discourse, offered Friendship, and mutual Knowledge of each other; she gave me this Account of her last Adventure:

I came now from Falmouth, (says she) where I have been ever since the Beginning of the Spring, to visit a Brother and his Wife who live there. Until within these six Weeks I saw nothing that pleased me: At last it was a Captain of a Man of War had the Chance; my Brother brought him to his House: And for my Excuse, I must tell you, he is a very pretty, genteel young Gentleman, of a good Family and Education, and in Prospect of coming to very good Fortune. They talked of the Town and Country Beauties: At last, a young Creature was named, whom I had not seen; but the Captain set her before every thing he had. I was concerned at his Opinion, and asked him his of the Duchess of Grafton? He gave her due Praise; but yet in his Esteem, this exceeded. I could not but think him extreamly in the Wrong; and was angry when I heard him wish himself a Man of mighty Fortune, to deserve her. He sailed that Night; and after ten Days Cruise, came in again. His first Visit was to me. I asked him if he had seen his Mistress? He said he had none. I remembred him of what he had spoke. He answered, that I had taught him better. He continued his Applications, visited me three Times a Day: And because I was still jealous of his Words, I had him watched, and an Account brought of all his Visits. The young Lady's Uncle made a Ball; but because my Brother and he were not well together, there was no Hopes of my being invited; which my Lover very well knew, and therefore said, he would not be there, having received Orders to sail. He took his Leave with transporting Sorrow; and had the Glory to find mine was real. However, I would not lose the Ball, because I desired to see my reputed Rival. I forgot to tell you he had never seen her but once, when he praised her to that Degree; and dexterously told me, a second Sight had undeceived him. I dressed myself like a Farmer's Wife, with a Basket on my Arm; and by the Help of one of the Servants, was placed like a Country Gazer at the Corner of the Room. I needed not to be told my Rival, a thousand dazzling Charms distinguished her; and tho' I looked with jealous Eyes, must acknowledge I never saw any Beauty more perfect. All my Hopes lay in a certain Softness, which did not promise much Wit. In a little Time my Traytor (whom I imagined in the wide Ocean) came to the Ball, danced with his Mistress, and was as assiduous as she deserved. I was so well pleased at the Discovery, I stayed not for any more, for fear I should not escape myself. About Midnight he came (for a Minute) to see me, and told me he was just come ashore, the Ship under Sail; yet without another Sight, it was impossible for him to depart. I confounded him with telling him what had so lately passed at the Ball: Yet he drew himself out of the Embarrass, and said every thing to make me think he loved me; and we were seriously treating upon the Affair of Matrimony. I told him he must get my Father's Consent who lived at London, where I was going. He begged me to defer my Journey till he came in; which I too readily promised; and so we parted. I knew my Fortune fairer than my Rival's, and began to be persuaded I had the better of her. For, what else could draw him to address me? When I saw him return, it was with mutual Joy: But he was ordered that same Night to sail to Plymouth, and did not expect to be back in a Week; therefore we agreed upon my Journey. He swore an inviolable Love, and would have contracted himself, if I durst, without my Father's Consent: He intended to write to his Friends above to ask it. And thus we once more parted, but not till he had severely exclaimed against any Designs upon my Rival, before a whole Crew of Town-Gossips, that I was sure would tell her. You may conclude we agreed upon Writing. I took my Journey, and stayed at an Aunt's House in Exeter Ten Days; where I heard that within Four of my Departure, my Lover returned; and in three more was publickly married to my Rival. I wrote to thank him for ridding me of a knavish Husband, wished him Joy, took Coach, and resolved against too easily believing any Man again.

The Post has just brought me a Letter from you: I find you curse me with the Continuation of Egham Uneasiness, till I return to (the World in) London. Methinks it is unreasonable to impose the continued Slavery of Writing: I assure you, I shall take Truce with it till at my Journey's End, unless something happen worth your Notice. General Talmash's Body was brought in here this Evening: His Secretary I am acquainted with, and have sent to desire the Favour of his Company To-morrow at Dinner; and if any Thing in his Relation be entertaining, you shall not fail of it, from

Your Sincere, Faithful Servant, D.M.
Saturday Night, from Salisbury.

LETTER V.

THE Account of so great a Man's Death as General Talmash [*] (in the middle of all his Enterprizes, when Fortune seemed to promise him much greener Laurels than he had yet gathered) has so added to my Melancholy, that I will not describe his Misfortune to you, for fear it be contagious; but rather suffer you to expect the public Account: For I am one of those that esteem you more than to make you uneasy; as I think none can be otherwise that hears the Particulars of his Loss. Something there was extreamly touching.

After this doleful Subject, methinks my Beau may justly complain I have so long a time neglected his most singular self. We parted this Morning from our Sunday Acquaintance. Fop told me (when I gently reproached him for Inconstancy,) 'Gad, Madam, it is but to make myself the newer to your Ladyship To-morrow. I rather thought it was to keep me such to him. He has given me a Relation of his Success with the Damsel. She treated him (in her Chamber) with Rosa Solis, and what he calls Sucket. The rest he could willingly have acquainted me with, but I recommended Discretion in Ladies Affairs; and he (almost bursting) is yet forced to be silent. How long he will keep such I do not know, for he has often offered at breaking his most painful Penance. We have passed Dorchester and Blandford To-day, but I found nothing in either Place worth your Notice. The Toils of the Body influence the Mind: I suppose by my Dullness, you find I speak woeful Truths. We are lodged at Bridgeport, and very ill; but it is but for a Night. Here is just come into the Inn an Acquaintance of Beau's, who promises yielding Matter for To-morrow's Letter. This was infected in the Beginning by General Talmash; and the most uneasy Journey as dully concludes it.

Your ever Constant, and Obliged Servant, D.M.
Bridgeport, June 26.

LETTER VI.

BEAU is now grown so insipid, that I shall say very little of him for the future; and I have Reason to believe myself such to him; for these two last Evenings (contrary to Custom) he has not redressed: The Fatigue which he seems more sensible of than any of us, has tarnished the Lustre of his Eyes; and instead of any farther Ogleing, drowns all his amorous Pretensions in as profound Sleep as the uneasy Jolting of the Coach will permit. This is what I can never be so happy to gain. But to tell you something of our last Night's Entertainment: Whilst Supper was getting ready, the Gentleman I told you of, at Beau's Intreaty, gave us an Account of what Affairs were carrying him to London: The short of it is this,

Your Ladyship (says he) may soon perceive by my Accent, that I am a Foreigner. I had the Glory of following the Prince of Orange (now our auspicious King) in his Expedition into England. We landed in the West, with all those Particulars, which are needless to repeat. During our Stay at Exeter, I rendered my constant Devotion at the Cathedral; and in coming thence one Evening, an old Woman (with a Look as mean as a Beggar) presented me a Letter; which when I had opened, I found from an Unknown, who stiled himself my Friend, and gave me this Advice, that a Lady of good Country-Quality and Fortune (and who was then in Exeter) was going to be disposed of by her Mother to a Man she no way affected: But that she had been heard to say, If the handsome Switzer were in his Place, she should obey without Reluctancy. And concluded the Letter with giving me Advice, like a good Friend, to improve my growing Fortune; for so considerable an one as Twelve Thousand Pounds was not every Day thrown into a Soldier's Lap. I had forgot to tell your Ladyship the Letter was writ in French, the Lady's Name, and Directions to her Lodgings. My Heart gave me a secret Presage that the Matter would not be lucky to me, which I followed, and therefore took no Notice of the Letter. Three Days after, the same old Woman brought me another, much more pressing: Upon which I gave myself blindly up to my Destiny. I visited, and found the Lady, tho' not a Beauty, yet genteel and taking. It was easy to guess by my Reception, that the Letters came from her. I will omit the Discourse we had, and only rest upon Matter of Fact. She obliged me to leave my Command, and go with her to her Estate. Her Mother looked upon me with an evil Eye, but my Mistress was transportingly kind, and much concerned that none of the Ministers round durst marry us, for fear of the old Lady. Whereupon we concluded I should pretend to take my Leave, as desingning for London; but instead of that, go directly into Cornwall, where she had a considerable Estate, and would meet me. The Matter happened as we agreed; but for fear her Mother should pursue us, she consented to take me for her Husband, before the Parson could be got to make us such. That happy Night I had all the Reason in the World to believe myself agreeable to her; and all was confirmed in the Morning by the Priest. Thus caressed and blessed, we returned to her House. The old Lady (who had no Command of her Daughter's Fortune, and saw the Business beyond Remedy) was one of the first to make her Court to me, and wish me Joy. Three happy Months I had all the Satisfaction that innocent Marriage and excessive Love in a Bride, could give me. Then I began to consider a little my Affairs, and proposed to my Wife my being naturalized, that I might look after hers. She swooned at the Name; and when she recovered, she snatched a Bayonet of mine, and wounded herself under the Left Breast, but not much. I cannot express my Surprize: We hushed the Matter for fear of her Mother; and I employed some of my Soldiery Skill to cure it, which had the Effect. I enquired into the Reason of this Extravagancy. She told me the Discovery of Interest in me, when she had believed Love was the only Motive of our Marriage. Some Days passed, and as often as I offered at it, she received such mighty Disgust, that I resolved to get it done without her Notice; for she took me not as a Husband, but a Lover. It was true, I was received as a Guest, but not a Master; and my Circumstance (having left my Command) required that. I got her Leave for my Journey: She shewed such extravagant Passion at our Separation, that I swore a speedy Return; and resolved to leave my Naturalization depending, look after my other Affairs and return within a Fortnight to her: But before that Time I had a dangerous Fit of Sickness at London. I wrote often to her, and gave her an Account that the Act was passed, and I could now happily call myself an English Husband. She only answered, She knew how to interpret it; but she was out in her Cunning, if I should find an English Wife at my Service, who knew not the true Value and Use of one. This Letter damped me; but trusting to the Greatness of that Power Love had given me in her Heart, I did not question but my Presence would make all Things easy. I took Post, my Impatience would not stay the Coach, tho' the Remains of my Fever seemed to expect it. I gave myself no Rest during the whole Journey. I sent to give her Notice of my Arrival: but what was my Surprize, to find all shut at home! I called under her Window where I perceived Light: It was a heavy Night of Rain: I knocked at the Gates, and stormed, but all to no Purpose; I was glad to take up my Lodging in the Porch. At Six in the Morning an Under-Servant appeared: I asked for her Lady. She told me she was gone none knew whether, and had conveyed away her Plate, &c. so that, if I pleased, an empty House was at my Service. I calmly bore all this, imagining it but a Tryal, sought her round the Country, but in vain; she often shifted Places, and went disguised. Not long after, she commenced a Process against me, and by a Pretence (which will for ever make her notorious) rendered me to the Court as Incapable. I was still so tender of her Fame, as to suffer the Aspersion. Common Law separted us: She got the better, by my refusing to vindicate myself; and I Fifteen Hundred Pounds of her Fortune and the Charges of the Court. It is since last August that this has happened. I have vainly tried to remove her implacable Aversion, or to learn the Cause of it: But I see my Endeavours are all fruitless; and I am now going to leave England (I think) for ever.

I complimented him upon his Misfortunes, and really, in my Opinion, he could not be deserving of them. 'Gad, Madam, (says Beau) see what inconstant Things you Ladies are! I happened to be at this Gentleman's House when he was first married, and never saw any thing so fond of him as his Wife. 'Gad, I do not believe whatever Woman I make happy, tho' her Esteem be equal to my Merit, she can possibly be fonder.

I am now got safely, weary into Exeter; and I thank God, rid of the Impertinency of my Fellow-Travellers, Beau excepted, who will see me safe home, tho' distant from his. The Cathedral here is very fine; the Bishop's Seat, in it, surpasses Salisbury; tho' short in every thing else. Forgive me for leaving you thus abruptly, since it is more pleasingly to entertain myself with a Letter of yours just brought to me.

I am, Most Constantly, and Sincerely yours, D.M.
Exeter, June 28.

LETTER VII.

IF I have omitted answering your Three last, it proceeded from nothing but the Desire of doing something new; and you know it is extremely so in me, not eagerly to shew you all Testimonies of Friendship. My Solitude is much more pleasing than I fancied it: As yet I am not weary of that happy Indifferency, which leaves me nothing either to hope or fear.

Thus Empty, and thus Idle do I live;

Nor Lov'd, nor Loving; can, nor take, nor give.

I have most foppish Letters from Beau, who parted with a World of seeming Regret; and yet I hear he is endeavouring at a Mistress: I suppose I may bid his Impertinence farewel for ever. I think I bid you hope (in one of mine) to hear no more of him; I know not how I am fallen upon the nauseous Repetition. Themistocles refused Simonides, when he would have taught him the Art of Memory; pertinently saying, He had more need of Forgetfulness than Memory. I remember what I would not, but I cannot forget what I would. My Study has fallen upon Religion; I am searching into all Sorts: You shall not fail to hear what that Chance-Medley produces. I can now with cold Indifferency shake Hands with all Things beyond this Solitude. How long the extraordinary Humour may last, I cannot inform you. At present, I repeat with Stoical Pride,

Keep Me, ye Bounteous Gods, my Cave and Wood

In Peace: Let Tares and Acorns be my Food.

Yours, &c. D.M.
July 10, 1694.

LETTER VIII.

I Am sorry I cannot make good my Promise to so indearing a Friend as yourself. Looking over my Papers, I find but one of Colonel PACK's Letters in Imitation of the Portugal NUN's: I certainly had Three, which he sent to me for my Opinion; but Two are lost, which I very much regret; and the more, because I know not where he is, to repair it. I would hear how you approve his Stile. I think Imitation the hardest Part of Writing: It confines a free-born Genius, which naturally loves untrod Wilds; at least, if I may guess at another's by my own. And now I am speaking of that, let me tell you all those romantic Ideas of Retirement, which viewed at a Distance, give a ravishing Prospect, now I am wedded, and bedded to, prove the worst sort of Matrimony; but it is only to such a particular Friend as yourself, that I dare complain; to the remoter Sort I assume a Stoical Appetite and Air—Tell them, The World, with all its gaudy Pleasures, are but rich Delusions, which at once corrupt our Senses and our Fame: That the little Spot of Earth I have chose to fix my Fate in, has more solid Entertainments, more real innate Delights, than the Glories of a Court. Then sigh, and seem to pity the more elevated Part of the World, that can bury themselves in Noise and Crowd. But let me tell you, there is no real Satisfaction without Conversation. I have had so much of the Dead since I settled here, and (as I may say) nothing of the Living, (for I find none deserves the Name) that I wish for the conjuring Art; and would rather converse with the Ghosts of the Departed, than always with their Books, or with myself. But I forget, I detain you from better Company; I mean the inclosed. Write to me still, but nothing of News; I desire to hear none till I see London again; and when that will be, I have not the Pleasure so much as to imagine: It will be new (to lie forgotten, and forgetting, and as it were, be born with Understanding) to all the Vanities and Virtues (if any) of that Hydra.

I am, Sir, Withgreat Esteem, Your Most Obedient Servant, D.M.
March 15, 1694-5.

P.S. I inclose Colonel Pack's Imitation of the Nun's Love Letters to a Cavalier.

Notes

*
James Hargrave, late of the Middle Temple, Esq
↵

*
Late Lord Lansdowne.
↵

*

This Lady was born at Sea, between Jersey and Guernsey and christened by the Name of De la Riviere Manley. She' wrote these Letters to her Namesake and Kinsman, John Manley, Esq they fully express what kind of Esteem she had for him.

The Life of Mrs. Manley, written by herself, is printed for Mr. Curll.

↵

*
The Countess D'Annois's Travels into Spain.
↵

*
This fine Gentleman died of his Wounds at Portsmouth. which he received in the unfortunate Expedition before Brest. Anno 1694.
↵

A LETTER FROM A NUN in Portugal, TO A GENTLEMAN in France.

OH my fled Heart! and he that so unjustly keeps it from me! Was not your barbarous Resolution sufficient that I should never possess Yours; but you must add the Use of all your best Art to keep me from my Own? In what Disorder do I speak and write, for want of a poor tender Heart! That is gone a Pilgrimage to Love, and (the unkind Heavens not hearing its Prayer) has thro' Distraction lost its Way, and never will return again? Fire fets on Fire: Why then does not my Flame make you burn? It is a false Maxim: Extremity of Cold scorches. Had I at first put on a Behaviour more cool and remote to your pretended Affection, and treated you with Unkindness, how many Bows and Vows would you have offered at Love's-Altar? With what Ardency would you have continued your Protestations? Who would have thought that a Fire (at first) so well kindled as yours, should need Fanning with an infectious Blast to preserve its Heat? Or that the wholsome Sun should put it out? But that alas! was my Misfortune: My Burning was the greater, and drew yours away.—How can I then with any Confidence blame you, for what I myself was truly and principally the Occasion of? You too easily perceived how earnestly I was wont to watch your Eyes, that they looked not on others; as if mine took it unkindly they were not gazed on altogether. How perverse are our Fates! Why else was it not contrived that you might be as happy in me, as it was possible for me to be in you? Say what you will, you was to blame. What Care you took to assault my Affections, was sufficiently discoverable in the constant Ardour and Formality of your Approaches; contriving to appear at all Times as engaging as possible. Your Conquest was not so great: You could not well have met with a Heart less fortified for a Defence: Ye Gods! that I should yield upon your very first Summons; and so dishonourably, that I was not allowed Flying Colours! Nay, what is yet more, that I should bear so mean, so low, and so contemptible a Spirit, as to take infinitely more Delight in my own Captivity and Vassallage, than in the most flourishing Tranquillity! What do I thus rave upon? What would I have? If I am happy in my Condition, why do I not rest and retain my Senses like others of my Sex? But that still (and I fear ever) I have the same sad Tune to sing;

My Conqueror (whom I adored for being so) is gone; and my Cloyster is now as much a Prison to me, as it was Heaven, and Liberty, and all Things, when I had him there. It was an unworthy Thing to steal my better Part, my Soul, away, and not think this little Frame, its old Companion, worth taking with you. But what you had got, you thought was of light Carriage, needed little Stowage, paid no Freight, and (I dare stake my Life) was the All you ever intended to have of me: And to be so served, is (it seems) the All I am ever likely to expect from you. How grosly did I flatter myself, and abuse you, whenever I imagined you would be kind and true to me! You that are so cruel, that could you reduce any other Woman into my ill Circumstances, if there was a Third in the World, you would certainly leave the former, and there feign fresh Adorations. If there was not, yet purely to gratify your Inhumanity to her, even I, now slighted and neglected, should then have your Company; for you could not brook being put by a Pleasure of that Kind, though it cost you the Trouble of going to one who loved you more than the World.

How very odd (and as tho' you were writing to some public Place of Intelligence) was that Discourse of yours in your last Letter! concerning the great Lightning and Thunder which you say happened in your Parts! Also, you desire to know what Weather we have had here. Are these proper Enquiries for a Love-Letter? Truly it might have Thundered, Lightened, and Rained, or it might have been very pleasant delightful Weather for aught I know; for I am not capable of making any Remarks of that kind: But this I can inform you, being too sure of the Truth of it, that it has been very stormy Weather in my Eyes ever since your Departure; and until you return (the only Sun, whose Influence can disperse these Clouds) I fear it will ever be Tempestuous. This Account (it may be) pleases you more than if I had sent you Word the ill Weather had reached our Country, demolished our Monastery, set me at Liberty, and I was in Pursuit of you. Then, then, how I would glut my Revenge by the Incursions of my Love! For it should hunt you in all Places and all Countries. And since it wore so much the Visage of an evil Spirit in your Conceit here, as to make you quit the Spot, I would try whether Change of Air would alter its Complection and Features, so as to force you into a better Opinion of it, and be thoroughly revenged on you that Way: For to love, I find is the Unhappiness you would avoid above all other things: But your Appetite and Taste is as much depraved as my Project is vain and impracticable: I find the Sour of France gratifies your Palate above the Sweets of Portugal; and a French LADY (with her distant Regards to your Address, and, at last, counterfeit artificial Acceptance) shall engage you much more than the Loyalty, Integrity, Truth and Freedom of my unlimited Passion. Will not the World swear we are both mad? You for preferring a Counterfeit, (because it glisters, before the true Metal itself, which is known to every Child by its Weight:) I for my Fidelity to so much Ingratitude. But let the World blame us as it pleases, I am resolved to be as true to you, as you to your natural Inconstancy. To what a Degree of Bliss should I be advanced, if I could find you complaining of the Remissness of my Love, and admiring the Intenseness of your own: Then I should be but too happy if that Fault was not found on your Side, as alas! to all the World too visibly it is: And the same Conceptions you make of an Immensity, will but just serve you to fathom my Zeal, which (although cherished and pruned after the most careful Manner) is productive of nothing but the most bitter, sour, and unpleasant Fruits imaginable.—Your unkind Dealings and Actions to me, are the Fruits of my extraordinary Passion. What Soul could imagine such dissonant Notes should strike, to interrupt the Harmony of my Affection? In what had you been the worse, had you retaliated my extream Kindness with but a little of yours; and although more than a little be my Due, yet with the least Grain I could have wrought my own Contentment: But you are so unjust to deny all, and leave me to a racking and a miserable Despair; one Hour's Torment of which, I would not wish you should endure Ages to come, to be set free myself; and yet no otherwise fond of my Condition, but as it is a Gift of yours, and which (for any Thing less than your Love) I will never part with. O! barbarous, barbarous Man! to deny me that which you take more Pains to throw away upon another, than I can do to obtain it. You shall not use me thus; indeed you must not: It is I say it, but you regard not that, so insensible are you of my Condition; which though never so unfortunate as to my own particular, yet is aggravated with Cares for your Welfare, who are the sole Cause of my Unhappiness. How you will relish this Letter I know not; I fear you will think there are too many Invectives against your Tyranny; in which I will agree with you myself, and ask your Forgiveness: But alas! they are as gentle as I could possibly persuade my Pen to drop; for since you take so much Pleasure in a hard Heart, I would not for the World any ways cross you, by making you less obdurate; so tenderly I value your Satisfaction, and so little (for your sake) my own. But oh! the infinite Pleasures you would find in Love, if you thought them worth the looking after! Love (as it is, or is not mutual) is the truest Epitome of the supernatural States: If mutual, the Joys are lasting, and never cloy; if not, the Torments are intolerable, yet must be endured. Oh! that any thing I could say might dissolve you to a Sense of my miserable Life; or, indeed rather your own! And yet if it could in the least enter into my Thoughts, that you are altogether at Repose, I assure you, I would never interrupt you; no Noise of my Afflictions should ever be your Disturbance: But I am very much mistaken, if you are altogether without Remorse for the Sufferings you have brought upon me. I remember you once was flexible, and of a compassionate Nature, and your Behaviour very like a Gentleman; whatever has misguided you to the Abuse of my Favours, which (if I have Knowledge of my Heart) were at first, much more for your sake than my own, you were the Aggressor, and not I; and whatever Kindness I shewed you, was more to make me happy, than yourself; that by Charity to a Serpent, I at last was stung. It is said that venomous Creatures have a balsamick Quality in themselves, to cure the Wounds they make: But you (more unnatural than all the rest) have none; at least, most cruelly you withhold it from me. Oh Heaven! that I had but Power to contain myself! that I had but Temper to be a little calm! But it is a Condition I have long since abandoned, and (till I see you again) will never re-assume. In the Rage I am in, I could think in you as many Unkindnesses, as by and by the Fury of Love would find a Task to unravel; for if one Half Hour I blame you, in the next I call it Injustice. So careful am I, that no ill Thought of you appear deserving, that were you worse than you are, my Pleasure would consist in being flattered that you are better than I think you: Nay, sometimes I persuade myself that you are a Man of the greatest Justice in the World; and that it is not even in your Nature (wilfully) to do an unequal Thing. But it is most certain, I am doomed to a fruitless Love, without the least Possibility of a Deliverance. Indeed, formerly I had a faint Prospect (as I thought) of being in some measure restored; but I looked through false Opticks, that presented me with a wrong Object; and since that, I have done the great Work, of learning to be well satisfied with my intolerable Condition. Did my Love run parallel with what is commonly found in the World, it would not be so desperate.—Happy they, who (in a Pet, or upon some small Disgust) can recede from their Passions, and set up for new Ones elsewhere; and whatever they pretend, Self-Interest is the greatest Thing. This is the Way of Amouring most in Fashion: This is that Imposture which prevails upon so many tender Hearts: And in Cases of Denial, very artificially can usurp languishing Eyes, want no expressive Insinuations, counterfeit Melancholy and Distraction; and all to serve some base Bye-End. If this had been the Quality of my Love, the Vengeance you assign me had then been merited. I verily believe, if it had had but the least Tincture of Treachery, I should have won your Heart, should have made you jealous: And that Temper would have been very inconsistent with your Resolutions to make a thorough Conquest: Nothing less than which (to a Man of Prowess like you) could have been a real Pleasure. Yes, yes; it is very plain, if my Passion had been forged, and bore a false Accent, it would certainly much better have agreed with yours, as being much nearer related; but the fatal Consequence (of a true Fervency, returned with fair Assurances, and foul Actions) none knows but the wretched, solitary I. Upon the whole, I think verily I love you, because you make me miserable. If that be true, go on, be signalized to the World for your Unkindness, that the more I may be so, for my unaccountable Affection. That I love you, Heaven knows; you know else I should see you here again, cringing out the feigned Allegations of your Sincerity, though much more distant than we are. O, that we were to begin again! What Course would I then take! I fear, even fool myself, as I have done; for since I know no greater Pleasure than the Love of you, I should too willingly run the Risque of any Disadvantage that could happen by it. I die a thousand Deaths every Hour, and still revive, to die them over again: Adieu. What could I not endure for your sake? I have at this Moment so lively an Idea of you, that I almost fancy you here in Person. Methinks, how very kind you are! How affectionately you condole me for the Torments I have suffered in your Absence; and how thankful I am to you for them! How you press my Hand, and swear you will never part with me! And Ah, Monsieur! How I believe you, for being hitherto so faithful!—Once more Adieu. I think I never writ Letters to you in my Life, but their Length made them stayed for. The Post (at my Request) has waited a great while, and I am now sent to; I wonder else, when I should give over. You may judge a little of my Condition, when you see even hurrying-Post-haste itself can admit of a Delay to please me. The Actions of all People that see me, are designedly kind, and of a Desire to divert me. One takes me by the Hand, begging of me to be chearful, and leave my unprofitable Thinking; shewing me good Reason for it: But, alas! I find Reason and Love two very separate Things, not at all influencing each other. To-day a Sister brought me Variety of the best Fruits; of which, nothing but a Piece of a Pomgranate, could I be persuaded to eat. I might thank her, but I am not sure I had so much Manners: Every body excuses my ill Breeding, but much wonder at my Alteration. The Rigour and Severity of our Religion can dispense with many great Faults in me, that it will not allow in others. What shall I do? Well, I have only one Thing more (besides a Thousand) to say to you; which is, That if you can have Regard for any one Sentence in this long Letter; it may be to this last, I implore you to let me see you in Portugal before I die. Adieu, Adieu.

SOPHIA.

LETTERS Of the HONOURABLE GEORGE GRANVILLE, Esq

M. •… Gucht sculp.
The Right Honourable GEORGE Lord LANSDOWNE

To the Hon. Mr. BERNARD GRANVILLE, at the Earl of Bathe's, St. James's.

Mar near Doncaster, Oct. 6. 1688.
SIR,

YOUR having no Prospect of obtaining a Commission for me, can no way alter or cool my Desire at this important Juncture, to venture my Life in some Manner or other, for my King and my Country.

I cannot bear living under the Reproach of lying obscure and idle in a Country Retirement, when every Man, who has the least Sense of Honour, should be preparing for the Field.

You may remember, Sir, with what Reluctance I submitted to your Commands upon Monmouth's Rebellion, when no Importunity could prevail with you to permit me to leave the Academy; I was too young to be hazarded; but give me Leave to say, it is glorious at any Age to die for one's Country, and the sooner, the nobler the Sacrifice.

I am now older by three Years; my Uncle Bathe was not so old, when he was left among the Slain at the Battle of Newbury: Nor you yourself, Sir, when you make your Escape from your Tutors, to join your Brother at the Defence of Scilly.

The same Cause is now come round about again: The King has been mis-led; let those who have mis-led him be answerable for it: Nobody can deny, but he is Sacred in his own Person, and it is every honest Man's Duty to defend it.

You are pleas'd to say, it is yet doubtful, if the Hollanders are rash enough to make such an Attempt: But be that as it will, I beg Leave to insist upon it, that I may be presented to his Majesty, as one, whose utmost Ambition it is to devote his Life to his Service, and my Country's, after the Example of all my Ancestors.

The Gentry assembled at York, to agree upon the Choice of Representatives for the County, have prepared an Address, to assure his Majesty, they are ready to sacrifice their Lives and Fortunes for him, upon this, and all other Occasions; but at the same Time, they humbly beseech him to give them such Magistrates, as may be agreeable to the Laws of the Land; for at present, there is no Authority to which they can legally submit.

They have been beating for Volunteers at York, and the Towns adjacent, to supply the Regiments at Hull, but nobody will list.

By what I can hear, every body wishes well to the King, but they would be glad, his Ministers were hang'd.

The Winds continue so contrary, that no Landing can be so soon as was apprehended; therefore, I may hope, with your Leave and Assistance, to be in Readiness before any Action can begin.

I beseech you, Sir, most humbly and most earnestly, to add this one Act of Indulgence more to so many other Testimonies, which I have constantly received of your Goodness; and be pleas'd to believe me always, with the utmost Duty and Submission, Sir,

Your most Dutiful Son, and Most Obedient Servant, GEORGE GRANVILLE.

N.B. The above Letter was wrote before his Lordship was 22 Years old.

TO WILLIAM-HENRY, Earl of Bathe, &c.

At the Camp in Flanders, Sept. 4. 1711.
My Dear Lord,

WHILST you are pursuing Honour in the Field, in the earliest Time of your Life, after the Example of your Ancestors, I am commanded by the Queen, to let you know, she has declared you her Lord-Lieutenant of the County of Cornwall; the Earl of Rochester to act for you till you are of Age.

You will do well to write your most humble Thanks to her Majesty, for so graciously remembring you, unsollicited, in your Absence: You should likewise do the same to my Lord Rochester, for accepting the Trouble.

This, my dear Lord, is a Preparative to bring you upon the Stage with some Lustre at your first Appearance in the World. You are placed at the Head of a Body of Gentry, entirely dispos'd in Affection to you, and your Family: You are born possess'd of all those amiable Qualities, which cannot fail of fixing their Hearts: You have no other Example to follow, but to tread in the Steps of your Ancestors: It is all that is hoped or desired from you.

You are upon an uncommon Foundation in that Part of the World: Your Ancestors, for at least five hundred Years, never made any Alliance, Male or Female, out of the Western Counties: Thus there is hardly a Gentleman, either in Cornwall or Devon, but has some of your Blood, or you some of theirs. I remember, the first Time I accompany'd your Grandfather into the West, upon holding his Parliament of Tinners, as Warden of the Stannaries, when there was the most numerous Appearance of Gentry of both Counties, that had ever been remember'd together; I observ'd there was hardly any one but whom he call'd Cousin; and I could not but observe, at the same Time, how well they were pleased with it. Let this be a Lesson for you, when it comes to your Turn to appear amongst them. Nothing is more obliging, than to seem to retain the Memory of Kindred and Alliances, tho' never so remote: And by Consequence, nothing more disobliging, than a Forgetfulness of them; which is always imputed to an affected, disdainful Superiority and Pride.

There is another Particular, in my Opinion, of no small Consequence to the Support of your Interest, which I would recommend to your Imitation; and that is, to make Stowe your principal Residence. I have heard your Grandfather say, if ever he liv'd to be possess'd of New-Hall, he would pull it down, that your Father might have no Temptation to withdraw from the ancient Seat of his Family. From the Conquest to the Restauration, your Ancestors constantly resided amongst their Countrymen, except when the public Service call'd upon them to sacrifice their Lives for it.

Stowe in my Grandfather's Time, till the Civil Wars broke out, was a Kind of Academy for all the young Men of Family in the Country: He provided himself with the best Masters of all Kinds for Education; and the Children of his Neighbours and Friends shared the Advantage with his own. Thus he, in a Manner, became the Father of his Country; and not only engaged the Affection of the present Generation, but laid a Foundation of Friendship for Posterity, which is not worn out at this Day.

Upon this Foundation, my Lord, you inherit Friends without the Trouble of makeing them, and have only to preserve them: an easy Task for you, to whom Nature has been so liberal of every Quality necessary to attract Affection, and gain the Heart!

I must tell you, the Generality of our Countrymen have been always Royalists; you inherit too much Loyal Blood to like them the worse. There is an old Saying amongst them, That a Godolphin was never known to want Wit; a Trelawney, Courage; or a Granville, Loyalty. Wit and Courage are not to be mistaken; and to give those Families their Due, they still keep up to their Character: But it is the Misfortune of Loyalty, not to be so clearly understood or defined. In a Country, subject to Revolutions, what passes for Loyalty To-day, may be Treason To-morrow; but I make great Difference between Real and Nominal Treason. In the Quarrel of the Houses of York and Lancaster, both Sides were proclaimed Traitors, as the other prevailed: Even under Cromwell's Usurpation, all who adhered to the King were proclaimed Traitors, and suffered as such; but this makes no Alteration in the Thing itself: It may be enacted Treason to call black, black; or white, white: But black will be black, and white will be white, in Spite of all the Legislators in the World.

There can be no Doubt about Allegiance, unless Princes become Tyrants, and then they cease to be Kings: They will no longer be respected as God's Vicegerents, who violate the Laws they were sworn to protect. The Preacher may tell us of passive Obedience; that Tyrants are to be patiently suffer'd, as Scourges in the Hands of a righteous God, to chastise a sinful Nation; and to be submitted to, like Plagues, Famines, and such like Judgments from above. Such Doctrine, were it true, could only serve to mislead ill-judging Princes into a false Security; Men are not to be reason'd out of their Senses: Human Nature, and Self-Preservation, will eternally arm against Slavery and Oppression.

It is therefore not to be supposed, that even the weakest Prince would run that Hazard, unless seduced by Advice, wickedly palliated by evil Counsellors. Nero himself, under the Influence of a good Ministry, was the mildest, the most gracious, and best beloved of the Emperors: The most sanguinary, the most profligate, and the most abhorr'd under a bad one. A Prince may be deceiv'd, or mistaken in the Choice of his Favourites; but he has this Advantage, he is sure to hear of it from the Voice of the Public: if then he is deaf, he seems to take upon himself the Blame and Odium of those Actions which were chargeable before but upon his Advisers.

Idle Murmurs, groundless Discontents, and pretended Jealousies and Fears, the Effect of private Prejudice and Resentments, have been, and will ever be, under the wisest Administrations: We are pester'd with them even now, when we have a Queen, who is known to have nothing so much at Heart, as the Contentment of her People: These are transitory Vapours, which scatter at the first Appearance of Light: The Infection spreads no farther than a particular Set of four, splenetic Enthusiasts in Politics, not worth minding or correcting. Universal Discontent can never happen but from solid Provocations.

Many well-meaning Persons however, abounding in Zeal, have been often unwarily caught by popular Pretences, and not undeceived, till it was too late. Have a Care, my dear Cousin, of splitting upon that Rock: There have been false Patriots, as well as false Prophets.

To Fear God, and Honour the King, were Injunctions so closely tack'd together, that they seem to make but one and the same Command: A Man may as well pretend to be a good Christian, without fearing God, as a good Subject without honouring the King.

Deo, Patrice, Amicis, was your Great-Grandfather Sir Bevil's Motto: In three Words he has added to his Example a Rule, which in following you can never err in any Duty of Life. The brightest Carriage, and the gentlest Disposition, is Part of the Lord Clarendon's Character of him; so much of him you may have begun to shew us already; and the best Wish I can make for you, is to resemble him as much in all—but his untimely Fate.

My Dear Lord,
I am for ever, &c. GEORGE GRANVILLE.

TO WILLIAM-HENRY, Earl of Bathe.

At the Camp in Flanders 1711.

EVery living Creature, my dear Lord, is entitled to Offices of Humanity: The Distress, even of an Enemy, should reconcile us to him: If he thirsts, give him Drink; if he hungers, give him Food; overcome Evil with Good. It is with this Disposition I would have you enter into the Exercise of that Authority, [Lord-Lieutenant of Cornwall] with which her Majesty has honoured you over your Countrymen. Let no body inspire you with Party-Prejudices and Resentments. Let it be your Business to reconcile Differences, and heal Divisions; and to restore, if possible, Harmony and good Neighbourhood amongst them: If then there should be any left to wish you ill, make them asham'd and confounded with your Goodness and Moderation: Not that I would ever advise you to sacrifice one Hair of the Head of an old Friend to your Family, to gain fifty new ones; but if you can encrease the Number by Curtesy and Moderation, it may be worth the Trial.

Believe me, my dear Lord, Humanity and Generosity make the best Foundation to build a Character upon: A Man may have Birth, and Riches, and Power, Wit, Learning, Courage; but without Generosity it is impossible to be a great Man: Whatever the Rich and Powerful may think of themselves, whatever Value they may set upon their Abundance and Grandeur, they will find themselves but the more hated and despis'd for the ill Use they make of it.

You should look upon yourselves but as Stewards and Trustees for the Distressed: Your Over-abundance is but a Deposit for the Use and Relief of the Unhappy; you are answerable for all Superfluities mispent: It is not to be supposed that Providence would have made such Distinctions among Men, such unequal Distributions, but that they might endear themselves to one another by mutual Helps and Obligations. Gratitude is the surest Cement of Love, Friendship, and Society.

There are, indeed, Rules to be observ'd, and Measures to be kept, in the Distribution of Favours. We know who have both the Power and Inclination to do Good, but for Want of Judgment in the Direction, they pass only for good-natur'd Fools instead of generous Benefactors.

My Lord—will grudge a Guinea to an honest Gentleman in Distress, but readily give twenty to a common Strumper. Another shall resuse to lend fifty Pounds to his best Friend without sufficient Security, and the next Moment set his whole Fortune upon a Card or a Die; a Chance, for which he can have no Security. My Lord—is to be seen every Day at a Toy-Shop, squandring away his Money in Trinkets and Baubles; and at the same Time leaves his Brothers and Sisters without common Necessaries.

Generosity does not consist in a Contempt of Money, in throwing it away at Random, without Judgment or Distinction; tho' that indeed is better than locking it up, for Multitudes have the Benefit of it; but in a right Disposition to proper Objects, in Proportion to the Merit, the Circumstances, the Rank, and Condition of those, who stand in Need of our Service.

Princes are more exposed than any others to the misplacing their Favours: Merit is ever modest, and keeps its Distance: The Forward and Importunate stand always nearest in Sight, and are not to be put out of Countenance, nor thrust out of the Way.

I remember to have heard a Saying of the late King James, That be never knew a modest Man make his Way in a Court. David Floyd, whom you know, being then in waiting at his Majesty's Elbow, reply'd bluntly, Pray, Sir, whose Fault's that? The King stood corrected, and was silent. If Princes could see with their own Eyes, and hear with their own Ears, what a happy Situation it would be both for themselves and their Subjects? To reward Merit, to redress the Injured, to relieve the Oppressed, to raise the Modest, to humble the Insolent; what a God-like Prerogative, were a right Use made of it!

How happy are you, my dear Lord, who are born with such generous Inclinations, with Judgment to direct them, and the Means to indulge them! Of all Men most miserable is he, who has the Inclination, without the Means. To meet with a deserving Object of Compassion, without having the Power to give Relief, of all the Circumstances in Life is the most disagreeable: To have the Power is the greatest Pleasure.

Methinks I see you ready to cry out, Good Cousin, why this Discourse to me? What Occasion have I for these Lectures? None at all, my dear Lord; I am only making my Court to you, by letting you see, I think as you do.

But one Word more, and I have done.

In Trust, Intimacy, and Confidence, be as particular as you please: In Humanity, Charity, and Benevolence, universal.

I am, for ever, &c. GEORGE GRANVILLE.

To my Nephew, Mr. BEVIL GRANVILLE, Upon his entring into Holy Orders.

WHEN I look upon the Date of your last Letter, I must own myself blameable for not having sooner return'd you my Thanks for it.

I approve very well of your Resolution of dedicating yourself to the Service of God; you could not chuse a better Master, provided you have so sufficiently search'd your Heart as to be persuaded you can serve him well: In so doing you may secure to yourself many Blessings in this World, as well as a sure Expectation in the next. There is one thing which I perceive you have not thoroughly purg'd yourself from, which is Flattery: You have bestow'd so much of that upon me in your Letter, that I hope you have no more left, and that you meant it only to take your Leave of such Flights of Fancy, which, however well meant, oftener put a Man out of Countenance than oblige him.

You are now become a Searcher after Truth: I shall hereafter take it more kindly to be justly reprov'd by you, than to be undeservedly complimented.

I would not have you understand me, as if I recommended to you a sour Presbyterian Severity; that is yet more to be avoided. Advice, like Physick, should be so sweeten'd and prepar'd, as to be made palatable, or Nature may be apt to revolt against it. Be always sincere, but at the same Time always polite: Be humble without descending from your Character; reprove and correct without offending good Manners: To be a Cynick is as bad as to be a Sycophant: You are not to lay aside the Gentleman with your Sword, nor to put on the Gown to hide your Birth and good Breeding, but to adorn it. Such has been the Malice of the World, from the Beginning, that Pride, Avarice, and Ambition, have been charg'd upon the Priesthood in all Ages, in all Countries, and in all Religions. What they are most oblig'd to combat against in their Pulpits, they are most accus'd of encouraging in their Conduct. It behoves you therefore to be more upon your Guard in this, than in any other Profession: Let your Example confirm your Doctrine; and let no Man ever have it in his Power to reproach you with practising contrary to what you preach.

You had an Uncle, Dr. Dennis Granville, Dean of Durham, whose Memory I shall ever revere; make him your Example: Sanctity sate so easy, so unaffected, and so graceful upon him, that in him we beheld the very Beauty of Holiness: He was as chearful, as familiar, and condescending in his Conversation, as he was strict, regular and exemplary in his Piety: As well bred and accomplish'd as a Courtier, as reverend and venerable as an Apostle: He was indeed in every Thing apostolical, for he abandon'd all to follow his Lord and Master.

May you resemble him; may he revive in you; may his Spirit descend upon you, as Elijah's upon Elisha; and may the great God of Heaven, in guiding, directing, and strengthening your pious Resolutions, pour down his best and choicest Blessings upon you.

You shall ever find me, dear Nephew, your most affectionate Uncle, and sincere Friend, &c.

LANSDOWNE.

TO The QUEEN.[*]

MY MUSE expiring, who, with earliest Voice,

Made Kings, and Queens [†], and Beauty's Charms her Choice,[‡]

Now on her Death-bed the last Homage pays,

O QUEEN, to Thee; accept her dying Lays:

So at th' Approach of Death the Cygnet tries

To warble one Note more, and, singing, dies.—

Hail Mighty QUEEN, whose pow'rful Smile alone

Commands Obedience, and secures the Throne.

Contending Parties, and Plebeian Rage

Had puzzled Loyalty for half an Age;

Conqu'ring our Hearts, YOU end the long Dispute,

All that have Eyes confess YOU absolute.

To Tory Doctrines, even Whigs resign;

And, in Your Person, own the Right Divine.

Thus sung the MUSE, in her last Moment fir'd

With CAROLINA's Praise, and then expir'd.

LANSDOWNE.

Notes

*
These Verses were written by his Lordship in the blank Leaf of a Copy of his Works in 4to, presented to her Majesty, 1732. He died Anno 1735.
↵

†
King James and Queen Mary II. Queen Anne his MYRA (i.e. the Countess of Newburgh) &c.
↵

‡
Alluding to his Poem, intituled, The Progress of Beauty.
↵

A DIALOGUE Concerning WOMEN, BEING A DEFENCE of the SEX. Written to EUGENIA. By WILLIAM WALSH, Esq

TO THE READER.

THE Perusal of this DIALOGUE, in DEFENCE of the FAIR SEX, written by a GENTLEMAN of my Acquaintance, much surprized me: For it was not easy for me to imagine, that one so young, could have treated so nice a Subject with so much Judgment. It is true, I was not ignorant that he was naturally ingenious, and that he had improved himself by Travelling; and from thence I might reasonably have expected that Air of Gallantry, which is so visibly diffused thro' the Body of the Work, and is indeed the Soul that animates all Things of this Nature: But so much Variety of Reading, both in ancient and modern Authors, such Digestion of that Reading, so much Justness of Thought, that it leaves no Room for Affectation, or Pedantry, I may venture to say, are not overcommon amongst practised Writers, and very rarely to be found amongst Beginners. It puts me in Mind of what was said of Mr. Waller, the Father of our English Numbers, upon the Sight of his first Verses, by the Wits of the last Age, that he came out into the World Forty Thousand strong, before they had heard of him. Here, in Imitation of my Friend's Apostrophes, I hope the Reader need not be told, that Mr. Waller is only mentioned for Honour's sake, that I am desirous of laying hold on his Memory, on all Occasions, and thereby acknowledging to the World, that unless he had written, none of us could write. I know my Friend will forgive me this Digression; for it is not only a Copy of his Stile, but of his Candour. The Reader will observe, that he is ready for all Hints of commending Merit, and the Writers of this Age and Country are particularly obliged to him, for his pointing out those Passages which the French call Beaux Endroits, wherein they have most excelled. And tho' I may seem in this, to have my own Interest in View, because he has more than once mentioned me, so much to my Advantage, yet I hope the Reader will take it only for a Parenthesis, because the Piece would have been very perfect without it. I may be suffered to please myself with the Kindness of my Friend, without valuing myself upon his Partiality: He had not Confidence enough to send it out into the World, without my Opinion of it, that it might pass securely, at least amongst the fair Readers, for whose Service it was principally designed. I am not so presuming, to think my Opinion can either be his Touchstone, or his Passport: But I thought I might send him back to Ariosto; who has made it the Business of almost Thirty Stanzas in the Beginning of the 37th Book of his Orlando Furioso, not only to praise that beautiful part of the Creation, but also to make a sharp Satire on their Enemies; to give Mankind their own, and to tell them plainly, that from their Envy it proceeds that the Virtue and great Actions of Women are purposely concealed, and the Failings of some few amongst them exposed with all the aggravating Circumstances of Malice. For my own Part, who have always been their Servant, and have never drawn my Pen against them, I had rather see some of them praised extraordinarily, than any of them suffer by Detraction: And that in this Age, and at this Time particularly, wherein I find more Heroines than Heroes. Let me therefore give them Joy of their new Champion: If any will think me more partial to him than really I am, they can only say I have returned his Bribe: And the worst I wish him, is, that he may receive Justice from the Men, and Favour only from the Ladies.

JOHN DRYDEN.
1691.

SOME ACCOUNT OF WILLIAM WALSH, Esq

THE AUTHOR of the following excellent Treatise, was "[*] William Walsh, Esq Son of Joseph Walsh of Abberley in Worcestershire. He became a Gentleman-Commoner of Wadham-College, Oxford, in Easter-Term, 1678, aged 15 Years; left it without a Degree; retired to his native Country, and sometimes to London."
"He wrote A DIALOGUE concerning WOMEN; Being a Defence of the FAIR SEX, and addressed it to EUGENIA, 1691."

"He also wrote another small Piece, intitled, Letters and Poems, Amorous and Gallant, 1692."

Mr. Wood will have it, that the LADY characterized by Mr. Walsh under the Name of EUGENIA, was his Mistress. For this he could not have any other ground than his own malevolent Conjecture. But that our Author was a Gentleman very susceptable of the soft Passion, appears plainly from his own Pen; sending forth his Love-Letters and Poems with the following Address to the Public:

Go, little Book, and to the World impart

The faithful Image of an Am'rous Heart;

Those who Love's dear, deluding Pains have known,

May, in my fatal Stories, read their own.

Those who have liv'd from all its Torments free,

May find the Thing they never felt, by Me.

Perhaps, advis'd, avoid the gilded Bait,

And, warn'd by my Example, shun my Fate.

While with calm Joy, safe landed on the Coast,

I view the Waves on which I once was tost.

Love is a Medley of Endearments, Jars,

Suspicions, Quarrels, Reconcilements, Wars;

Then Peace again. O! wou'd it not be best,

To chace the fatal Poison from our Breast?

But since so few can live from Passion free,

Happy the Man, and only happy he,

Who with such lucky Stars begins his Love,

That his cool Judgment does his Choice approve.

Ill grounded Passions quickly wear away;

What's built upon Esteem, can ne'er decay.

As for three Amours I have had in my Life-time, (says Mr. Walsh [*]) I valued the one Mistress after I left loving her; I loved another after I left valuing her; I love and value the third, after having lost all Hopes of her: So that, methinks, according to the Course of my Passions, I ought to love and value the next, after having obtained her. However, from this time forward, upon what Follies soever you fall, be pleased, for my sake, to spare those of Love; being very well satisfied, there is not one Folly of that kind (except Marriage) which I have not already committed. I have been, without Railery, in Love with the Beauty of a Woman whom I have never seen; with the Wit of one whom I never heard speak, nor seen any thing that she has written; and with the heroic Virtues of a Woman, without knowing any one Action of her Life, that could make me think she had any.—Cupid will have it so; and what can weak Mortals do against so potent a God? Adieu; live pleasantly, that is, philosophically; and guard your Heart from the Pains of Love. Such were the Sentiments of our Author when about Thirty Years of Age.

Mr. Walsh pursued the Advice he gave his Friend, and left Cupid in the Lurch, wholly gave himself up to a Literatum Otium, became one of the best of Subjects to his Soveraign, King WILLIAM, whom he has immortalized in his inimitable Version of that Ode of Horace, begininng,

Justum & Tenacem propositi virum, &c.

And his immortal Successor Queen ANNE constituted Mr. Walsh her Master of the Horse.

This Gentleman was, in the Opinion of Mr. DRYDEN[*], ‘"the best Critic of our Nation in his time."’ And, Mr. Pope, speaking of the Earl of Roscomon, thus concludes his Essay on Criticism, viz.

To him the Wit of Greece and Rome was known,

And ev'ry Author's Merit, but his own.

Such late was Walsh: the Muse's Judge and Friend,

Who justly knew to Blame, or to Commend;

To Failings mild, but zealous for Desert;

The clearest Head, and the sincerest Heart.

In the Year 1714, the Public were obliged with a small Posthumous Piece of Mr. Walsh's, intitled, AESCULAPIUS: Or, The Hospital of FOOLS. An Imitation of LUCIAN; hereunto subjoined.

A DEFENCE OF THE FAIR SEX.
To EUGENIA.

IT is a dangerous thing, MADAM, it must be confessed, this Conversing with fair Ladies; and it draws us into Inconveniencies, of which we do not at first see the Consequences. I little thought, when I talked with your Ladyship, of the Virtues of your Sex, that you would have commanded me to have given my Sentiments upon that Subject in Writing. I grant you, Madam, you might have spoken to several of your Acquaintance, who would have undertaken the Business at first Word, with all the Courage imaginable; but to me, who never durst take Pen in Hand to write any thing beyond a Billet, the Enterprize seems very terrible. I confess, when you spoke to me of it first, I was well enough pleased with the Design; for I thought a Defence of the Sex, would be a Means of obliging all of the Sex, who were worth defending; and therefore look'd upon it as the writing a Circular Love-Letter to all the fair Ladies in the Kingdom. But as Men generally mix Interest with Honour, so, upon second Thoughts, I considered what I should get by it, besides Fame, if it should succeed; and I found, if I persuaded all Men to be as passionate Servants to the Ladies as myself, I should make but a very indifferent hand of it: Thus, Madam, you would engage me in a Controversy, where it would be a Scandal to be vanquished, and a Disadvantage to overcome: For I, who could never succeed in an Amour where there was any Fool pretended besides myself, should have great Hopes indeed, when I had persuaded all Mankind to be my Rivals. After all, Madam, there were your Commands to encourge me to it; and the Commands of a fair Lady are to me beyond all the Arguments in Nature; I therefore resolved upon the Undertaking. But as it is no new thing to see People undertake a Business that they are altogether unable to perform, so I must own, I found a thing of this Nature quite beyond my Strength: You may believe, Madam, I was very melancholy at it, and it was then that a Friend coming into my Chamber, asked me the Occasion. As I never love to conceal any thing that afflicts me from a Friend, so I presently told him the Business, That a Lady had commanded me to write her a Treatise in Defence of Women. If that be all (says he briskly) I am come to your Deliverance; for this very Morning have I been at a Conversation, where the Question concerning the Virtues and Vices of that Sex, has been handled as fully as can be desired. Thou appearest to me, my dear Friend, (said I, embracing him) like my better Genius, and therefore, without any farther Ceremony, sit down, and give me an Account of the Conference.

Taking a Walk (says he) this Morning in St. James's Park, with several of my Acquaintance, there was one among the rest who was all the while, either gazing upon the Ladies as they came by, or speaking with that Indifference to us, that made us very plainly see, he did not mind the Subject of our Discourse, tho' we talked of all the most considerable Things that offer themselves in such Conversations. (A very strange Man this, Madam, who was thinking upon some Mistress, I warrant, when they were raising Taxes, and beating the French.) Another, who was a Person of excellent Sense, and had a particular Friendship for this, tho' they would often dispute about their several Thoughts of Women, in which Point they could never agree; (I wonder they should dispute about that, Madam, for the greatest Disputes in those Cases are, when they do agree) began to rally him upon this Subject; which he did so handsomely, that he pleased the rest of the Company very well, without displeasing his Friend in the least. PHILOGYNES (which was the Name of the first, as MISOGYNES was of the other) (Here, Madam, I must confess, I fancied my Friend put false Names upon me; for besides, that I remember neither of these Families in England, the one, you must know, signifies a Woman-hater, and the other, a Woman-lover) cried to MISOGYNES, Tho' I allow you to rally me as much as you please, and am glad of any Occasion I can give you, to exercise a Talent you possess in so eminent a Degree, yet I hope you do not in earnest think the Conversation of Women so ridiculous as you would make us believe. Ten times worse, said MISOGYNES, than I can represent it; and since we have often had slight Skirmishes upon that Occasion, and we have now Time enough to fight it out, if you have the Courage to lose one Morning's gazing at them, I challenge you to the private Walk by the Canal-side, to defend their Cause; and these Gentlemen, if they please, shall be our Judges. Tho' I am very unwilling, answered PHILOGYNES, to lose a Morning that has called out all the best Company of the Town, yet since it is in Defence of the Ladies, and you so boldly challenge me, I take you at your Word, upon Condition, that if I get the better in the Judgment of these Gentlemen, you shall engage to be in Love by To-morrow Morning. Upon Condition, that if I overcome, said MISOGYNES, you will engage to be out of Love by the same Time, I agree. That is no equal Stake, replied PHILOGYNES, for it is to lay Happiness against Unhappiness; however, I am so well satisfied of my Cause, that I will undertake you, even upon those Odds.

Upon this Agreement we walked all to the other side of the Park, full of Expectation of the Event of the Debate; when we were come thither, we found we had the whole Walk to ourselves, and so MISOGYNES who gave the Challenge, began in this manner:

The Propagation of Mankind being the only Way to preserve it from Extinction; and the Copulation with Women being the only Means that Nature has ordained to that End; there is no doubt but all Commonwealths ought to give any reasonable Encouragements to it; I have therefore always admir'd the Wisdom of those Governments that incited, or compelled their Subjects to marry, as a Thing so much more necessary to Mankind in general, than pleasing to any one in particular; but that a Man should, out of a mere Act of Judgment, run after Women; that he should find Delight in their Company, is so very extraordinary, that the wise Men of old thought it hardly possible, otherwise they had had no need of making such severe Laws to force them to it, as they did.

Your Ladyship, who is so well versed in Greek and Roman Authors, knows, that amongst the [*] Spartans, they who lived long Batchelors were condemned to ignominious Punishments, and debarred the Privileges of other Citizens. That the [†] Cretans had a Law to compel all the handsomest young Men to marry; as the [*] Thurians had to invite them to it, both by Honours and Rewards. That [†] Plato ordains, that whoever lived a Batchelor to the five and thirtieth Year of his Age, should be capable of no Honour in his Commonwealth: And that the[‡] Romans did not only take all Care imaginable, to encourage People to Marriage, but frightned them into it by Punishments, if they refused.

Notwithstanding this, had you a Design of marrying them, I should not altogether so much condemn you; nay, had you but a Design of enjoying them without it, there might be somewhat still alledged in your Excuse. How unjustifiable soever such a Design may be, as to the moral Part, the Action itself is very agreeable to the natural. But to pick them out only for the Benefit of their Conversation, to fall in Love with their Understandings, and to leave the Company of wise Men for handsome Women, is just the same Thing, as if you should chuse rather to eat Jays and Parrots, than Woodcocks and Partridges, because the Feathers of the former make the finer Shew.

It is a very good, as well as a very general Way, to guess at People by the Company they keep; and thus we may give a great Judgment of the Female Sex, by a View of those with whom they are the most pleased of our own. Well, let them appear then; what do you find? Fine Coats, large Cravat-strings, and good Perriwigs, I must own, but for any Thing else, they, and their Perriwig Blocks are Critics alike. It is true, to do them Justice, they talk most learnedly of Points and Ribbons; have most mathematical Heads for the erecting of Ladies Top-knots, make as considerable Figures, talk as loud, and laugh more than any in Drawing-rooms and Playhouses; and those who know nothing of their Language, would take them, by their Gestures, to be the wittiest Persons in Christendom; but if unluckily you understand them, you will find it only false Fire, and that all this violent Laughter is produced by no Jest. Then take them out of their own Element, begin a Discourse of any Thing that is worth knowing, they are dumb; out of Modesty? No; but they hate to talk of Things that are grossier; and the Pedantry of Scholars, and Gravity of Men of Business, is utterly unfit for a Gentleman.

Were it nothing but the Company of such sort of Creatures as these, it would be enough, I should think, to frighten a Man of Sense from them. Can you see these Fops, as much as you are used to them, without laughing? except it rather makes you blush to think you should bring yourself into Competition with such Tools as they are: I am far from blaming them for following the Ladies: They avoid the Company of Men who despise them, for that of Women who admire them: Nor do I find fault with the Ladies, for being pleased with them; for since Likeness, they say, breeds Love, what Wonder is it they are fond of those Men whose Follies make them most like themselves? but for a Man who has some Pretences to Wit and Learning; for one who might be acceptable to Men of Sense, to run after them; nay, for a Man who spends all the Morning in the Study of Homer and Aristotle, to spend the Afternoon among the Impertinencies of Women, puts me in mind of the Mountebank Stages in Naples, where the Jesuits and Jackpuddings entertain the Spectators by Turns.

It is possible, you will say, that all this makes for you; that the Faults of your Rivals render your Virtues the more remarkable, and that there is no doubt, but a Man of Merit may succeed in any Place where a Man of no Merit may pretend; but, alas! Sir, you deceive yourself very much, if you encourage that Opinion. Had you fit Judges, there is no doubt but you were in the right: But if the fairest Lady in Christendom were amongst the Indians, where they paint the Devil of her Colour, do you expect they should do her Beauty Justice? Or if a slender Man were among the Muscovites, do you think they would admire him for being well shaped, where they thought none but big-belly'd Men to be so? Credit me, Sir, a Man who leaves his Parts to the Judgment of Women, is very near the same Circumstances: Will you not believe me in that Case, because I profess an Enmity to them? You do well: but will you believe themselves? View all the Town, take good Notice: Among all the young Heiresses who run away from their Guardians, is there any one who does it with a Man of Sense? Among all those Widows who ruin themselves by second Marriages, is there any one who does it with a Man of Sense? Among all those Ladies who cuckold their Husbands, is there any one who does it with a Man of Sense? We see them do these Things every Day, with Chaplains, Dancing-masters, Butlers, and Footmen. Who are the Men that shew the tender Billets received? What are they who boast of the Favours of all the finest Women in Town? Are they not the most despicable of Mankind? Are they not such whose Conversation is the Jest of Men of Sense? And have they above one Thing about them, that distinguishes them from the other Sex?

After all, Sir, are not the Women in the right in this Point? Or do they ever shew more Judgment, than when they pitch upon such Men? What do they look for in a Husband, but one who will admire them, who will be governed by them, and upon whom all their little Tricks will pass? And who but Fools are fit for that? What do they propose in a Gallant, but giving them Pleasure without Scandal? And to the former Part they have a received Notion of the Ability of Fools: Then for the Scandal, who so likely to give none as those Men, whom the World will hardly believe were favoured by them, tho' they took their Oaths upon it? For notwithstanding Experience teaches us the contrary, yet People are apt to fancy, a Man of Sense must succeed before a Coxcomb; and will rather believe the former are favoured, tho' they swear they are not; than the latter, tho' they swear they are.

But, alas! Sir, Men of Sense they think know them, and that they take, as well as I do, to be a sure Means to hinder their being in Love. It was upon this Account that [1] Solomon gives such severe Characters of them in his Proverbs; that [2] Euripides represented them so faithfully, as to get the Name of the Woman-hater; that [2] Simonides has distinguished them into so many sorts of evil Things; that [3] Lucian has so naturally described their Tricks; that [4]St. Chrysostom has made such a severe Invective against them; that [5] Juvenal has given his Friend such Counsel against having any Thing to do with them; and, in fine, it is upon the same Account that all the Epigrammatists, Comic Poets, and Satirists are so continually exposing them to the World, making their Follies ridiculous, and their Vices odious. It is upon the same Account likewise, that to call a Man Effeminate, has always been reckoned such a Reproach; and that to say a Man is governed by a Woman, has been one of the worst Characters you could give of his Understanding.

See here a dreadful Army, Madam, against us. I asked my Friend what these Gentlemen had said upon this Occasion? He told me, Juvenal had written a very severe Satire (the XIth) against Women, which I should see very much to its Advantage, if I would consult Mr. Dryden's Translation of it. For Simonides, he told me, he had written Iambics against them, in which he divides them into ten Sorts. The first he said was descended from a Sow, (you will find very noble Families among them, Madam) and she was sluttish: The second from a Fox, and she understands every thing, and has a great deal of Good in her, and a great deal of Ill too: The third from a Dog, and she is prying about, and snarling at every Body: The fourth is made of the Earth, and she understands nothing but how to fill her Belly, and sit by the Fire-side: The fifth of the Sea, and she is changeable and inconstant; sometimes in a Calm, and then on a sudden in a Storm: The sixth is made of Ashes, and a Labouring Ass, (an odd Composition you will say) and she is scarce driven to her Business with Threatnings or Force, but crams herself Night and Day, and lies with every one that comes; (now whether she takes this Quality of lying with all who come, from the Father's-side, or the Mother's-side, I cannot absolutely determine.) The seventh was descended from a Pole Cat, and she is nauseous and stinking: The eighth from a Mare, and she never cares to do any Work, and minds nothing but appearing neat and fine: The ninth from a Monkey, and her Ugliness is a Jest to every body: The tenth from a Bee, and she makes an excellent Wife. [1] There is a Story also of this Simonides, that being asked about a Wife, he said, she was the Shipwreck of Man, the Tempest of a House, the Disturber of Rest, the Prison of Life, a daily Punishment, a sumptuous Conflict, a Beast in Company, a necessary Evil. And [2] St. Chrysostom, besides the Homily upon the beheading St. John Baptist, which is almost all an Invective against Women, says in another Place, What is a Wife? The Enemy of Love, the inevitable Pain, the necessary Evil, the natural Temptation, a desirable Calamity, a domestical Peril, a pleasing Damage. Thus you see these Ancients, Madam, had a very commendable Faculty of calling Names: What think you, might not the Matrons of Billinsgate improve in their Conversation? But it is natural, when People cannot convince our Reason, to endeavour to move our Passions.

I know you will object against these, Anacreon, Theocritus, Catullus, Tibullus, Ovid, Horace, Propertius, and all those Poets and Wits, ancient and modern, who pleas'd themselves, whilst they lived, in the Pursuit of Women, and have render'd themselves immortal after their Death, by the Trophies they raised to them. It is confessed, that spending their Time upon the Sex, they ought to know them best: But on the other side, to excuse their own spending their Time, ought to represent them as favourably as possible; and yet, pray what is the Account they give us of them? Do they not all with one Consent complain, either of the Cruelty, or Falshood of their Mistresses? Are not their Books full of Quarrels, Picques and Jealousies? and do they not shew the Levity, Perjury, and Lewdness of the Sex? Does not [1] Anacreon, and a hundred more, tell you, they mind nothing but Wealth? (This Complaint of the Love of Wealth, and Invectives against it, has been very ancient, and very general amongst the Poets; besides this Greek, [1] Horace, [2] Ovid, [3] Tibullus, and [4] Propertius, make them, amongst the Romans; [5] Marino, [1] Guarini among the Italians; [2] Conde de Villa Mediana, and [3] Quevedo amongst the Spaniards; [4] Ronsard among the French; and [5] Cowley amongst us: For you must know, Madam, these Poets were a sort of People, who were never very remarkable for their making large Jointures; their Estates generally lye upon Parnassus, where Land lets worse than it does in Ireland: Nor do I remember to have read in any History, of Poets who deferr'd the Enjoyment of their Mistresses for the drawing of Writings.) Does not [6] Theocritus make continual Complaints of the Cruelty of his Mistress? Does not [1] Catullus tell you, that his Lesbia lay with all the Town? and [2] that what any Woman says to her Lover, ought to be writ in Wind, or running Streams? Does not [3] Tibullus complain, that he had taught his Mistress to deceive her Guards so long, that she learnt to deceive him too? Does not [4] Ovid lye at his Mistress's Door all Night, whilst an inconsiderable Fellow has got into her Arms? Does not Horace complain of the [5]Cruelty of two Mistresses, and the [6]Perjury and Inconstancy of three or four more? And does not [7] Propertius, besides his own Cynthia's Falshood, cry out of the Incontinence of the Sex in general? I know not what your Success in Love may have been; but till you tell me the contrary, I can hardly believe it better than these Mens. For what Qualification can there be to make a Woman kind and constant, that they had not? Anacreon appears to be one of the gayest humour'd Men that ever was born; Theocritus the most tender and natural in his Poems; Catullus was without a Rival the greatest Wit of his Age; Tibullus was not only the smoothest and delicatest of the Roman Poets, but also the most beautiful Person of his Time; Ovid and Propertius, as neither of them wanted Love, so never had any a more soft and tender Way of expressing it; and Horace, besides the Talent of crying up his Mistresses, and pleasing their Vanity that Way, had the pleasantest Manner of exposing the Follies of this Rivals, and the severest of revenging the [1]Falshood or Unkindness of his Mistresses, of any Man in the World. And yet none of all these could, by their own Confession, keep a Woman to themselves, or even teach them Cunning enough to jilt them so, that they should never find it out; which [1] Ovid tells us frankly, was all he desir'd from them.

From this, Madam, you may please to observe, that Jilting is no such new Thing as some People would make us believe, tho' methinks these Poets are dangerous Persons to jilt, since it is remember'd against their Mistresses; near two thousand Years after.

And in Effect, what but Ruin and Desolation proceeds from them? Who was the Betrayer of [2] Samson, but Dalilah? Who was the Cause of the Destruction of [3] Troy, but Helen? Of [4] Agamemnon's Death, but Glytemnestra? Of [5] Hercules's, but Deianira? Who advised the burning of [6] Persepolis, but Thais? Who ruin'd [7] Hannibal's Army, but the Capuan Women? Who lost [8] Mark Antony the World, but Cleopatra? Why should I burden you with Instances, when every Country can furnish Examples enow of their own? What made such Confusion in [1] Justinian's Court, but Theodora? What caused the Revolt in the Low Countries, but the Government of the [2]Princess of Parma? Who made such dreadful Disturbances in [3] Scotland, as their Queen Mary? And who raised the greatest Persecution for Religion, that ever England saw, but our own Queen of the same Name?

But certainly they must have some very great Perfections to make Amends for all these Faults: Well then, let us see what they are! Let us view these pleasant Comfits that are to make the Poison go down: Let us enjoy a little of that Conversation, that is diversitive enough to make People neglect all their Danger. Sit in one of their Drawing-Rooms all Day; observe the Discourse which passes; is it not a tedious Repetition of the same Impertinencies over and over again, to every new Visitant? And is not one Half of that spent in censuring all the Town, and the other Half in railing at those who censure? Do they not inveigh against the Lampooners, and at the same time talk as scandalously as they can write? The horrid Affectation, the ridiculous Vanity, the gross Dissimulation, and the inveterate Malice that appears in all their Discourses, are Things for which I should think all the Paint on their Faces could not make Amends. For my own part, I confess, I have been Fool enough to be in Love too, and have follow'd Women upon that Account, but to another sort of End, than you say you do: But when that End was once satisfied, to talk with them afterwards, was as great a Penance to me, as it would be to sit in a greasy Cook's Shop, when my Belly was full.

This MISOGYNES is a very rude Fellow, and I am sure your Ladyship will be of my Opinion, that his last Simile was very fulsome. It is a Sign he hates Women; for had he conversed with them, they would have taught him better Manners.

But there are doubtless, you will say, Women of Understanding: Pray where are they? Is it your prudent Woman, your good Housewife, who is plaguing all the World with her Management, and instructing every body how to feed Geese and Capons? Or is it your Politician, who is always full of Business, who carries a Secretary of State's Office in her Head, and is making her deep Observations upon every Day's News? Or is it your learned Woman' who runs mad for the Love of hard Words' who talks a mixt Jargon, or Lingua Franca' and has spent a great deal of Time to make her capable of talking Nonsense in four or five several Languages? What think you, Sir, do you not wish for your Visitant again, as the more tolerable Folly of the two? Do not you think Learning and Politics become a Woman as ill as riding astride? And had not the Duke of [1] Brittany Reason, who thought a Woman knowing enough, when she could distinguish between her Husband's Shirt and his Breeches?

Do not you, in Answer to these, fetch me a Sapho out of Greece; a Cornelia, the Mother of the Gracchi, out of Rome; an Anna Maria Schurman out of Holland; and think that in shewing me Three learned Women in Three thousand Years, you have gained your Point; and from some few particular Instances, proved a general Conclusion: If I should bring you half a Dozen Magpies that could talk, and as many Horses that could dance, you would not, I suppose for all that, chuse out the one to converse with, or the other to walk a Corant.

But would you see them to their best Advantage? Would you have their Wit, Courage, and Conduct display'd? Take them upon the Business of Lust; that can make Sapho witty, Aloisia eloquent, a Country-wife politic; that can humble [1] Messalina's Pride to walk the Streets; can make tender [1] Hippia endure the Incommodities of a Sea-Voyage; can support the Queen of [2] Sheba in a Journey to Solomon, and make [3] Thalestris search out Alexander the Great: In this Particular, I must confess, we ought to submit to them, and with Shame allow them the Preference. I cannot reflect upon the Stories of [4] Sewiramis's lying with all the handsomest Men in her Army, and putting them to Death afterwards; of her offering her Son the last Favour; of [5] Messalina the Empress's prostituting herself in the public Stews; and of Queen [6] Joan of Naples providing a Bath under her Window, where she might see all the lustiest young men naked, and take her Choice out of them, without such an Admiration as their heroic Actions deserve. [1] Sapho, as she was one of the wittiest Women that ever the World bred, so she thought with Reason it would be expected she should make some Additions to a Science in which all Womankind had been so successful: What does she do then? Not content with our Sex, she begins Amours with her own, and teaches us a new Sort of Sin, that was follow'd not only in [2] Lucian's Time, but is practised frequently in [3] Turkey at this Day. You cannot but be sensible, Sir, that there is no Necessity of going so far for Instances of their Lewdness, and were it civil to quote the Lampoons, or write the Amours of our own Time, we might be furnished with Examples enough nearer Home.

Here, Madam, I could not forbear telling my Friend, that his Disputant grew scurrilous. He told me, considering him as a Woman-hater, he thought it was no more than his Character required; and that if I compared his Discourse with what others had said against them, I should think him a very well-bred Man.

After this to talk of their Levity or Babling, what were it but trifling? All the Lovers and Poets who have had any thing to do with them, can furnish themselves with Instances enough of the first; and any Man who will give himself the Trouble of reading any one History, shall find Instances enough of the other, if his own Wisdom has hindered him from makeing them at his own Cost. [1]There being a Senate called in Rome, upon some very extraordinary Occasion, one of the Senators was desired by his Wife to tell her what it was? He reply'd, He was obliged to Secrecy; she swears it shall never be known to any one by her Means; upon that Promise he informs her, that there was a Lark seen flying over the Senate-House with a golden Helmet on his Head, and a Spear in one of his Claws, and that they had thereupon called the Soothsayers together, to know what it portended. No sooner was the Husband gone, but the Wife tells it too, under a Vow of Secrecy to her Maid; she to another who was her Fellow-Servant, who told it to her Lover; so that, to be short, it ran so fast, that as soon as the Senator came into the Market-Place, one took him aside, and told it him for a great Secret; aways goes he, and tells his Wife she had undone him, in divulging what he had trusted with her: She denies it, with a true feminine Impudence: How could it come to be known then? says he. Alas (reply'd she) are there not three hundred Senators, and might it not come from any of them as well as you? No, says he, for I invented it on a sudden, to satisfy your Curiosity, and thus had I been served, if I had trusted you with the Secret. It is such another Story they tell us of young Papirius to his Mother, who asking him what had been debated that Morning in the Senate, told her, They were making a Law for Men to have a Plurality of Wives. But it is somewhat a more tragical Relation Plutarch gives of Fulvius. Augustus complained to him, that he was dissatisfied with what he had done, in adopting Livia's Sons, and disinheriting his own Nephews; Fulvius goes home, and tells it his Wife, she tells it to the Empress, who upbraids the Emperor with it. Augustus, when he saw Fulvius next, checked him for it; by which he perceived himself ruined, and therefore went immediately, told his Wife what she had done, and that he resolved to stab himself: But certainly the Wife's Answer was very sufficient; Nor did you deserve less, said she, who having lived so long with me, did not know I could not keep a Secret.

But omitting these, whose Actions are recorded to their Infamy, let us see a little of those who are quoted as the Glories of their Sex. And who more cry'd up amongst them than [1] Judith? What Action more celebrated than her murdering Holofernes, when he had treated her with all the Kindness and Respect imaginable in his Tent? For my part, I must own my Virtue does not arrive to so high a Pitch; and should rather have suffered my Town to have been ruin'd, than have been guilty of an Action that appears to me so barbarous; but I confess that of [2] Jael is yet worse, to invite a Man into her Tent, promise him Protection, and when he had trusted his Life in her Hands, to murther him whilst he was asleep. What shall we say to Penelope, who is instanced as a Pattern of Chastity, and conjugal Love? I will not with [3] Ovid and
[4]
Virgil (if the Priapeia are his) make malicious Reflections upon her trying her Lovers Strength in a Bow; but take the Story as it lies in the Odysses, I am sure she would hardly pass for such a Saint in our Days; and if a Lady had her House full of Lovers for twenty Years of her Husband's absence, and if her Husband were forced to fight all these before he could have his Wife again, it is possible the Lampooners of the Town would not have represented her Case so favourably as Homer has done. But what shall we say to [*] Lycophron even amongst the Greeks, who speaks of her as a most profligate sort of Woman, or to [†] Duris Samius, who asserts her to have been so very common, as to have lain with all Comers during her Husband's Absence, from whose promiscuous Copulations Pan was born, and therefore took the Name. (Pan, your Ladyship knows, in Greek, signifies All.) For Lucretia, I shall not insinuate, as a [*]great Wit seems to do, that she stabbed herself, rather than return to the Embraces of a Husband, after having been so much better pleased by a Gallant; but if she were one who valued her Chastity so much, and her Life so little, as they would make us believe, it is somewhat odd that she should rather let Tarquin enjoy her alive, than a Slave lie in the Bed with her when she was dead; and that she should chuse to commit the Sin, rather than bear the Shame.

But let us forgive them all these Things I have mentioned; and since [†] Le Chambre assures us, that there is no Beauty in a Woman, but what is a Sign of some Vice; let us attribute it to Nature's Fault, not theirs; and reckon that the more vicious they are, the nearer they come to the Perfection of the Sex; and indeed, not spending much Time in their Conversations, I will pardon them all their Levity, Babling, Malice, and Impertinence; and, being unmarried, shall not be so severe upon their Lusts and Adulteries; provided they will stop there. Let Helen run away from her Husband with a handsomer Man; but let her not suffer all Troy to be ruined for the keeping her there: Let Clytemnestra lye with another Man, during her Husband's Absence; but let her not murder him for it when he comes home: Let [†] Semiramis make use of all the handsomest Fellows of her Army; but let her not put them to Death for fear they should tell Tales: And tho' I would forgive her, yet her own Sex would never pardon her being the first Maker of [‡]Eunuchs: Let Phaedra and Fausta invite their Husbands Sons to supply their Fathers Defects; but let them not accuse them, and have them put to Death for refusing: Let Joan of Naples make use of all the Men in her Kingdom; but let her not strangle her Hushand for his Imperfections in a Point that he could not help: That Cruelty and Barbarity, I confess, is what provokes me so much against the Sex: I can see Tibullus's Mistress jilt him, for a Fool who is not half so handsome; I can see Ovid waiting all Night at his Mistress's Door, whilst another Man is in her Arms; and I can see half a Score impertinent Women plaguing you with nonsensical Stories, and be very well diverted all the while: But I confess I cannot hear of Medea's cutting her Brother in Pieces, and strewing his Limbs in the Way to stop her pursuing Father, without Horror and Dread; nor of her treating her own Children after the same manner, to revenge herself upon Jason, without a like Emotion: I know not how other People may bear such Things; but for my Part, when I see all the Murders and Barbarities they commit, to revenge themselves on their inconstant Lovers, to get rid of their Husbands for some one they like better, or to prevent the Discovery of their Lewdness; but my Hair stands on end, my Blood shrinks, and I am possess'd with an utter Detestation of the Sex. Go but one Circuit with the Judges here in England; observe how many Women are condemned for killing their Bastard Children; and tell me if you think their Cruelties can be equalled; or whether you think those who commit such Actions fit for your, or for any civil Conversation. But I see by your Looks you are convinced, I see you abandon your Cause, and I shall cease to expose any farther a Sex, of whose Patronage you seem already ashamed.

Here MISOGYNES left off, and PHYLOGYNES began to answer him: But I must beg your Pardon, Sir, said my Friend, for my Time is come, and I must necessarily be gone. The Devil you shall, said I; you would engage me in a pretty Affair; I promise a Lady a Defence of her Sex, and you will make me send her a Satire against it. Truly, my dear Friend, said he, I designed to have told you all, but it is later than I thought, and I have Business waits for me. No Business, said I, can be so considerable to you, as the satisfying a fair Lady is to me, therefore sit down, and bring me fairly off what you have told me already, or you and I shall be Friends no longer. After all, Madam, to tell you the Truth, tho' there is no great Matter in this Speech of MISOGYNES, yet I can hardly believe he made it upon a sudden; 'tis possible tho', they two having discoursed the Matter as they told us before, might have provided themselves each with Arguments. But supposing that, I can scarce believe one Man would be suffered to talk so long without Interruption; at least I am sure, some who we know were none of the Company. But it is possible, that he who told me, might leave out all that was spoke by others, for Brevity sake, being as you see in haste.

If you are as apt to be mistaken in your Judgment of Things as of Looks, replied PHILOGYNES, it is no wonder you should make such strange Conclusions. Whatever Seriousness you may see in my Face, does not, I'll assure you, proceed from any Distrust of my Cause, but an Astonishment at what strange Arguments the Invention of Man can suggest against the best Things that are. I say, the Invention of Man, for I am far from believing you in earnest in this Point; I have too just an Opinion of MISOGYNES, to think he does any Thing but put on this Humour for a Trial of Skill; and I no more believe you a Hater of Women, for the Invective you have made against them, than I believe Erasmus a Lover of Folly, for the Encomium he has writ upon it. If you have therefore any thing more to urge, forbear it not upon any supposed Conviction you see in my Countenance; for, notwithstanding that I think you have handled the Subject as fully as any one who has undertaken it, yet I will assure you I cannot submit to your Arguments; and therefore am very ready to hear any thing you have further to urge. No, says MISOGYNES, I am sensible I have troubled the Company long enough about a Trifle, and it is very fit you should have your Turn of speaking now. Part of the Company was already convinced by his Arguments, the other Part thought he had said as much as the Matter would bear, and therefore both agreed in desiring PHILOGYNES to speak what he had to say, which he did in this Manner:

I confess, Sir (said he smiling) when I saw the Associates you allotted me at first, I began to despair of my Cause; I own I was ashamed of my Company, and resolved to pack up Baggage instantly, and quit a Trade in which none but Fops and Fools were engaged; but when I saw the Anacreons, the Ovids, and all the Wits, antient and modern, in the same Circumstances, I even took Heart again. Courage, said I, the Business is not so bad as I thought, and it is possible his Heart may relent, and allow us some better Company than he condemned us to at first. At least, thought I, if it is a Folly to converse with Women, it is some Comfort that he owns it to be a Folly of which the greatest Wits of the World have been guilty before us: And when I saw all Greece, and the greater Part of Asia venturing their Lives for One Woman, I thought I had somewhat the Advantage of them, whilst I ventured nothing but my Rhetoric for them All together. And when you named Samson, Achilles, Hannibal, and Mark Anthony, I enquired who those Gentlemen were; for certainly, thought I, if they were such brave Men, and great Soldiers, as I have heard them represented, we have no Reason to despair of the Victory when we have them to lead us on.

You might have spoken more generally of them too, if you had pleased; you might have told us, that there never was a great Soldier who was not as famous for his Amours, as his Battles; that a Poet was scarce thought free of his Trade, who had not paid some Duties to Love [*]; and you might have added to these all the Wise-men and Philosophers of the World: You might have informed us, that David, tho' a Man after God's own Heart, was not contented without some Share in the Womens: That Solomon, who knew the Virtue of every Plant, from the Cedar of Libanus, to the Hysop that grows upon the Wall, took as much Pains to have as general a Knowledge of the Ladies: That [†] Socrates, who was the ugliest as well as the wisest Man of his Time, would in spite of Nature aim at Love too, and, not terrified by one ill Wife, would try to mend his Hand in another: That [†] Plato, whom Antiquity has called Divine, did not spend all his Time in erecting Commonwealths, but that some of it was bestowed upon the Xantippe's and Archeanassa's: That [†] Aristotle, whom Philip made Governor to Alexander, made himself a Slave to his Mistress; that this was not an Effect of his Passion alone, but of his Reason; [*]That he said, Love was not only upon the Account of Copulation but Philosophy; and commands his Wiseman to be in Love, before he bids him meddle with the Commonwealth: And in fine, that this great Man, who fathomed all Arts and Sciences, who has given us the best Rules of Philosophy, Politics, Poetry, &c. did also not think it unbecoming his Gravity to write one Treatise of Love, and four Amatory Theses. You might have mingled Sacred Story with Profane: You might have told us that St. Peter was married, that St. Paul defended the leading about a Sister; that we owe one of the most celebrated [†]Fathers of the Church to the Endeavours and Conversion of a Woman; and that St. Jerom had so great an Esteem for the Sex, as to dedicate a great Part of his Works to some of them. You might have added to these a thousand more, which you see I purposely omit to avoid Prolixity, and mention none but whom you will allow to be the most celebrated of their Profession, without doing your Cause and Injury in the least; for after all, it is but shewing us a Drawing-room of Fops, reading a Dialogue out of Lucian, seeing a Scene of a Play, quoting a Sentence out of Solomon's Proverbs, searching all History for two or three ill Women, and the Business is done, the Cause is gained, let the Trumpets sound, and Io Poean be sung for the Victory.

I am sorry, Sir, that I cannot be as civil to you, as you have been to me: It goes against my Conscience to place you with so bad Company, considering with what you have obliged me; and of those few great Men whom you have seduced to your Party, I am concerned that I must take better Part from you. I fancy, after what I have already said of Solomon, after reflecting upon his History, you cannot think him a true Friend to your Cause; and therefore will not, I hope, depend too much upon him. I shall say nothing of his Wives and Concubines, I shall not so much as mention his Canticles, which [*] Grotius, as well as I, affirms to be a Love-Poem, and which [*] Rapin reckons both the first and best of Pastorals; but I shall attack you at your own Weapon; I shall oppose Proverb against Proverb; if he has been severe in them upon ill Women, whose Cause I do not undertake, he has spoken as favourably of the [†]Wise and the Good: for whom we appear: In like manner, if Euripides has represented Women so in his Tragedies, as to get the Name of the Woman-hater, I appeal from his Writings to his Life and Conversation, which shew him far otherwise. If Simonides gives you severe Characters of several Women, he gives you one at last that makes amends for all; one in whom no Fault can be found; and if you think that is not enough to take him off from your Party, if you are still so very fond of him, we will tell you, that Men who are deformed and ugly, as [‡] Simonides was, naturally declare themselves Enemies to Women, because they fancy Women are Enemies to them; and upon that Account, not upon the Account of his Wit, we will allow him to you. As for St. Chrysostom, tho' we have all the Respect imaginable for a Father of Church, and upon that Account shall not enter into the Merits of the Cause betwixt [*]him and the Empress Eudoxia; yet this we shall say, Sir, that as Fathers of the Church are subject to Passions, as well as other Men; so it is no Wonder that a Man, who is used very ill by one Woman, and converses with few else, should conclude them all alike. Thus after having taken two of your Patriots from you, and if not taken, at least disabled the other two from being very credible Witnesses, you are reduced to Lucian and Juvenal. For the former, if I should quote you what the old Fathers say of him, if I should tell you, that he did not only abuse the Christian Religion, but even his own; that he rallied all the Philosophers, Orators, and Historians of his Time; that not content with that, he falls foul upon those his own Religion taught him to worship as Gods; I fancy you would not think what such a Man says of any great Weight; but truly, Sir, there is no need of that in this Case: What does this Lucian do, pray? Why [†]he describes the Bawds griping, covetous, and encouraging their Daughters in Lewdness; his Courtesans false, jilting, and true Courtesans throughout. And what of all this, pray? what does this make for you? It is not the Cause of Bawds, or Courtesans that we undertake; tho' even amongst them he represents a great part easy, loving, good-natur'd Fools, and us'd accordingly by their Lovers. But does Lucian pretend that there are no good Women? Does he fall upon the Sex in general? or does not he bring in [*] Charicles in one place defending them, and does not he make the greatest Encomium that can be of Panthaea in another, and speak with abundance of Esteem of several other Women in the same? And if he does introduce Callicratides in one of his Dialogues railing at the Sex, in Opposition to Charicles, he does it in the Defence of a Sin, which I am sure you will scarce think it civil to name. What shall we say to Juvenal, but what Plato did to Xenocrates, bid him sacrifice to the Graces. He is always violent, always declaiming, always in a Passion; and what Wonder if he falls upon the Women in one of his Fits? After all, you will make no great Matter of him; for if he has writ one Satire upon the Women, he has writ fifteen upon the Men. For the comic Poets and Satirists, whom you mention in general, when you name them in particular, I shall give them particular Answers. And now truly, Sir, see yourself reduced to a miserable Equipage; some old Husbands, and jilted Lovers; some Men with ill Faces, and worse Miens, may possibly stick to you still; but that is all: I am sorry to see a Man so well made, of so much Wit, and who has been so successful amongst the Ladies, rank himself with such a Tribe; but you do it, I suppose, by way of Variety only; and so let Misogynes appear, at the Head of his Regiment, that makes a worse Figure than Sir John Falstaffe's; let them be encouraged with stummed Wine and muddy Ale; let them give Fire to their Mundungus, and so let the Battel begin, whilst we with all the Heroes, Wits, and Philosophers, see how we can defend the Cause we have undertaken.

I am sensible, Sir, that I have broken the Order of your Discourse, and I beg your Pardon for it: But I thought it was necessary to distinguish our Enemies from our Friends, before the Armies joined, that so we might know whom to attack, and whom to spare; and having done that, I shall now confine myself to your Method, and follow the Course that you please to lead me.

Though I perfectly agree with you in the Esteem of the Laws made for the Encouragement of Marriage, and consequently cannot but regret the Want of them amongst ourselves; yet I must beg your Pardon, Sir, if I wholly dissent from you, in the Inference you would draw from it: For it is very apparent to me, and to any unbyassed Person else, I suppose, that those Laws were never made, as you fancy, for the forcing Men to the Love of Women, to which all Countries were naturally enough enclined; but for the restraining them to Particulars; that whilst they followed the general Pleasures of the Sex, they might not lose the useful Part, which was the Procreation of Children. Had there been so few Virtues amongst them, as you please to imagine, there had been no Need of this; When we have but one Dish of Meat that we like, we fall upon that without any Deliberation; but when the Fancy is distracted with Variety of Dainties, we often lose more Time in the making our Choice, than would otherwise be requisite to the satisfying our Appetites.

It is true, Sir, it is a very good Way to judge of People by the Company they are fond of; but it is not a certain Way to judge of People by the Company that is fond of them. There was a Taylor in Love with Queen Elizabeth, but it does not necessarily follow that Queen Elizabeth was in Love with a Taylor. If there are ridiculous Fellows who follow the Ladies, before we run down the Ladies for it, let us see if they do not laugh at them as well as we our selves. And I cannot think their pursuing them any Reason at all for Men of Sense to avoid them. You would think it very hard, that Alexander and Caesar should quit the Art of War, because some Thrasoes and bragging Bullies pretended to it as well as they; and Virgil and Horace would take it very ill, that you should damn all Sorts of Poetry, because of the Bavius's and Maevius's, who set up for it; and whatever Reason you would give against the being a Minister of State, I dare say, Sir Politic Woudbee's aiming at it would be none. (Here Philogynes seems to me not to understand the right Use of that considerable Part of Mankind call'd Fools; For it is only the Half-Wit that is intolerable, and a true Fool, is next a true Wit the best Company in the World; for as a noble Author has extreamly well observed,

Wit, like Terce Claret, when't begins to pall,

Neglected lies, and's of no Use at all;

But in its full Perfection of Decay,

Turns Vinegar, and comes again in Play.

DORSET.

After this I need not tell you, Sir, that it is very ill judging of People by their Out-side; and as I laugh at those who like a Man only for his being well dressed, so I fancy you will allow them to be as ridiculous, who run him down only for the same Reason. It was objected against [*] Aristotle and [†] Cicero, that they were too sumptuous in their Apparel, and overcurious in their Dress; and without doubt there were deep [‡]Critics in those Times, said they minded nothing but making themselves fine; who yet, without any Offence to their Learning, we may suppose, could not give so good an Account of their Studies, as these two great Men have done of theirs.

(Courage! there are two good Precedents for the Beaux.)

After all, Sir, I know there are a great many of these gay Coxcombs, of these eternal Pretenders to Love; and I have nothing to say in their Behalf; let them even shift for themselves amongst the Thrasoes, and Bavius's. But they do not only pretend (you say) they are successful too. It is very possible, Sir; I do not know but there may be Fools enough of the other Sex, to like the Fools of ours. But it is with the best Sort of Women too (you say) that they succeed. And who tells you so, pray? They themselves. I swear, Sir, though I have a very great Esteem for those Gentlemen, yet I must beg their Pardon for my Faith in this Point; I can never think a Woman, whose Wit we all allow, can be fond of a Man whose Folly we all see. On the other side, I know how natural it is, for every one to avoid Contempt; and when a Man is despised in one Place, what so reasonable as to make you believe he is esteemed in another. And I hope the Gentlemen themselves will take it for a Compliment, when I tell them I do not believe a Word they say in this Point; since certainly a Man of Honour would rather of the two, tell a Lye to the Prejudice of a Woman who uses him ill, than a Truth to the utter Ruin of one who grants him all the Favours he can ask.

But let us judge them by their Actions, say you! Do not most of the young Heiresses run away with the pitiful Fellows? If they do, Sir, it should rather deserve your Pity than your Anger; or if you must be angry, be angry with the Guardians whose Severity frighten them away, and yet hinders them the Sight of any Men of Merit to run away with. It is no Wonder that one who has never seen any Town, but where he was born, should think that the finest in the World; and you cannot blame a Woman for being in Love with a Man who does not deserve her, if she never saw any who did. All that we can reasonably expect in that Point is, that she should make some Satisfaction when she sees the World better; and if she shews her Contempt of her Choice then, it is as much (if not more) than can be required. In like manner you cannot say a Widow makes an ill choice, except you prove she was offered a better. If a Man, who is obliged to ride a Journey, does it upon an ill Horse, you will be very well satisfy'd certainly, when he tells you, it is the best he could get. (I confess, Madam, this seems to me but a very indifferent Excuse for the Widows; for he would make us believe, it is but next Oars with them; and so I told my Friend; but he reply'd, I must consider, it is only those Widows who make an ill Choice, about which he is to speak; and as he cannot say of them, as of the young Maids, that it was for want of seeing the World; so they must be contented with this Excuse, or make a better for themselves.) For the Wives, who you say cuckold their Husbands, there may be somewhat more to be said. Modesty being almost an inseparable Quality of Wit, there is no Wonder that a Man who is possessed of that, should so seldom succeed in these Undertakings; whilst Fools, by their natural Impudence push on the Thing; and married Women are a sort of Forts that are sooner taken by Storm than Treaty. So that this shews rather the great Confidence of the Man, than the little Judgment of the Woman; who it is forty to one had much rather a Man of Sense was possessed of her, if he would take the same Methods to gain her as the other had done.

(After all, Madam, I think none of these Excuses extraordinary; therefore if I were worthy to advise the Ladies, they should rather make Use of Men of Wit in all these Capacities, than put their Friends to the Trouble of inventing such pitiful Defences for them.)

Now, Sir, as I cannot see any Reason why Women should naturally love Fools more than Men of Wit, so I shall very hardly be brought to believe they do. In a Husband I suppose they propose a Man whose Conversation shall be agreeable as well as his Person; and who shall have Wit to entertain them, as well as Wisdom to direct them; and in whom can this be found, but in Men of the best Sense? If in a Gallant, as you say, they propose Pleasure without Scandal, tis very hard the Heat that warms a Man's Brain, should so entirely settle there, as to render him incapable of pleasing them otherwise; though it is possible, by reason of his having Variety of Thoughts to divert him, he may not give himself so entirely up to those Pleasures, as People less capable of thinking do: And for the Scandal, who so proper to hinder that, as those who have Prudence to manage Things so as not to be found out, and Wit enough to turn it off if they are? Whilst a Fool by his Want of Sense shall quickly make the Thing public, if there be an Intrigue, or by his Vanity brag of one, though there be none. Add to this, that when a Woman seems pleased with a Man of Wit, every body is apt to attribute it to the Pleasure of his Conversation; whereas, when she is fond of a Man, in whom we can see nothing to be liked, we naturally suppose she likes him for something that we do not see: And though it is possible it may be only Want of Judgment in the Lady, yet the World is apt to compliment her Understanding in that Case, to the Prejudice of her Reputation. And to conclude, Sir, though I do not believe all those Men successful who say they are not, yet I am very much inclined to believe all those Men not to be successful, who say they are.

For your Examples of Women-haters, I have sufficiently I think reply'd to them already; and for your other Arguments, if it be an Affront to call a Man effeminate, I hope you do not think it any great Compliment to tell a Woman she is masculine; and had that Argument been urged against you, I dare answer for you, you would have said, that that only proved the Perfections of the Sexes different; and as Man was made for the ruder Labours, it was requisite he should be strong and coarse; and the Women, being made for the easier Things, ought to be soft, tender, and delicate: And as for Mens being governed by their Wives, though the being hector'd by them is not so commendable; yet it [*] was observed by [†] Cato of the Romans, that they governed all the World, and that their Wives governed them: Amongst the [‡] Assyrians it was a Custom introduced by Semiramis, (who had ruled that Kingdom with so much Glory) that the Wives should have Dominion over the Husbands: The same Custom prevailed likewise among the [*] Sauromatae; and the [†] Aegyptians had an express Law to that Purpose. We know how much the [‡] Spartans (the bravest Men of the World) were commanded by their Wives, and that all the Care and Management of domestic Affairs was committed to them. So that I cannot imagine how a Thing should be so very scandalous, that was practised by most of the bravest People under the Sun.

Here are very good Precedents for married Women, which it is to be hoped they will lay up in their Hearts, and practise in their Lives and Conversations.

I have as great a Veneration for those Poets you mention, as any Man can; and upon that Account I shall not believe all the Ill they say of their Mistresses, because I suppose they would not have me: As I have been a Lover myself, so I know very well that People are apt in those Cases to take Suspicions for Realities, and Surmises for Matter of Fact. Does not ‖ Aurengzebe call Indamora faithless, and ingrate? And yet I believe he would be very angry that you should call her so too; and would not any one who came in when he was in one of his Rants, conclude, a Man who loved so well, would not be enraged against a Mistress at that rate, unless her Falshood was very apparent? And yet when we come to examine the Cause of this Disorder, what is it, but Morats giving him his Life at her Request, or his leaning upon her Lap when he died. I rather mention this than any of the Poets you spoke of, not only because all the Motions and Passions of a Lover are described with as much Art and Delicacy, as in any of those Antients, but also, that seeing the whole Business before you, you may judge of every little Cause of his Disorder, as well as he himself, which in Odes and Elegies you cannot do. You see the Lover there in a Fury, but what Cause he has to be so, there is no body to tell you, but he who is in it. Add to this, that a Man often feigns Jealousy of his Mistress, to binder her from being so of him, and will upbraid her Falshood to defend his own. (That is a Thing, now I confess, Madam, which I can hardly believe.) And it is evident, they had not really any such bad Opinion of Women, since with all this they did not cease to run after them. However, if you think these general Answers not sufficient, let us see what we can say to Particulars. For the Complaints of Cruelty and Scorn. I look upon them as Things of Course; and therefore, shall say nothing to them. If Anacreon's Mistress did ask him nothing but Money, why did he chuse one whose Necessities drove her upon it. And if other Men have made Complaints of the Womens minding Wealth more than Love; I desire to know whether Women have not as much Reason to make the same Complaints of the Men. And for those who talk of their Mistresses Inconstancy, let us see first whether they were constant to them. For Ovid, he does not pretend to put it upon you, but complains in [*]one Place of his being in Love with two at once, and tells you frankly in [†]another, that he was in Love with all the Town. For Horace, Suetonius, (or whoever it was that writ his Life) informs you that he was intemperately given to Women; and what Wonder then, that a Man who try'd so many, should find one or two false. Tibullus had two [‡]Mistresses whom he celebrates by Name, and there are some more Elegies that it does not appear whether they are writ to them or others; and though he tells us the [*] Report was, that his Mistress was kind to other Men; yet the Report gave him so much Torment, that he desired it should be stifled; if therefore you have any Friendship for him, endeavour to fulfil his Desire in that Point. For Propertius, besides his [†] intemperate Love of all Women, he tells you his [‡] Mistress caught him with two Wenches at the same Time; and confesses that he rails at the Incontinence of Women, only because she upbraided him with his. Thus whatever Qualifications those great Men had, Constancy, you, see was none; and though we allow you, each of them had Merit enough for any one Woman, yet one Man can hardly have enough for half a Score.

Now if Ruin and Desolation has come to great Men, and States, from Women, it shewed they had a good Opinion of the Sex in general, that they would suffer for them; and had they not been sensible the greatest Part were good, they could never have been imposed upon by the Bad. Then as for those ill Women whom you have mentioned, as I suppose you will not undertake to defend all the Actions of Tyrants and Murderers; so I do not think myself at all obliged to defend all the Women who have been guilty of some of their Crimes. The Dispute is not whether there have been any ill Women in the World, but whether there are not more Good. And when I have told you that the Book that condemns Dalilah, cries up Deborah and Jael: That if Homer has represented Helen guilty of some Faults (for you will see that Homer does not represent her Cause so violently bad) he tells us of Hecuba and Andromache, and a Thousand others who were very good ones; That if Clytemnestra was false to Agamemnon, Penelope was as famous for her Truth to Ulysses; and so put you Example against Example, which I forbear to do, only because it is so very easy; should I, I say, do but this, you could not complain that your Arguments were unanswered. But truly, Sir, we might carry the Thing much farther; we might defend some of those Women you mentioned, and excuse the rest. For Dalilah I shall say say nothing, out of Respect to the Scripture, that represents her as an ill Woman; it is possible, were she alive, she might tell you in her own Defence, that what Account you have of her, is from her professed Enemies: That however taking the Thing as they tell it; if she did commit a Piece of Treachery, it was against an Enemy of her Country; and that it was very hard she should be so much run down for the same Thing they have so much admired in Jael and Judith, as well as every body else did in Marcus Brutus; she would perhaps push her Defence further, and tell you, that though she deliver'd Samson to the Philistines to be kept Prisoner, yet she neither drove a Nail through his Head, nor cut it off. But for Helen, give me Leave to tell you, it is a great Dispute amongst the Historians, whether she was forced away by Paris, or went by her own Consent; several are of the former Opinion; and [*] Hoelztzim says plainly, he wonders Homer will put such a ridiculous Story upon the World, as to make her the Occasion of the Trojan War. (Menelaus, it must be confessed, Madam, if the Story be true, was a very easy goodnatur'd Husband, who would be at so much Pains and Charge to fetch back a Wife who run away with another Man. I do not remember in my own Memory, to have known above five or six Examples like it). And Plato in Phaed. speaks as if the belying her were the Cause of Homer's Blindness, as well as of Stesichorus's; but that the latter understood the Way of expiating his Fault better, and made his Recantation to this Effect, That there was not a Word of Truth in the Story of her going to Troy. If Clytemnestra was consenting to her Husband's Death, yet it was Egisthus, a Man, who gave the Blow: And if Thais did advise the burning Persepolis, yet it was no less a Person than Alexander the Great who put it in Execution. And as for Deianira and Cleopatra, whatever Fatality arrived to their Lovers from them, may certainly be very well excused upon the Innocence of their Intentions, and their Punishment of themselves afterwards, the one hanging, the other poisoning herself. If the Capuan Women destroyed Hannibal's Army, they destroyed a Body of Enemies that all the Men in Italy could not. In like manner, for your other Instances we might tell you, that Procopius, who tells those terrible Stories of Theodora, Anecdota, is so very passionate all along, and mixes such ridiculous Fables with what he tells, that there is no great Credit to be given to him. (This Procopius was a Soldier under Justinian, and has writ, amongst other Things, a secret History of those Times: In this he represents the Empress Theodora more like a Devil than a Woman; he makes her and the Emperor converse frequently with Spirits, and makes her put them to an Employment, that savours more of the Flesh than the Spirit.) Though granting she was as lewd as he represents her, what Wonder is it, that one who had been a stroling Play-wench, and common Strumpet before the Emperor married her, should not turn Saint after? If the [*]Princess of Parma embroiled Flanders, she did it by the Command of Philip, for whom she governed. And as for your two Queen Mary's, Caussin, in his Holy Court you know, makes a Saint of the One, and Parsons, of the Other, with whom I leave you to fight it out, not thinking our Dispute very much concerned in it.

Then, Sir, if there are Impertinents, if there are ridiculous Persons of the other Sex, I hope you do not think they are all Platos, nor all Aristotles of our own; And I will undertake, for every Woman who plagues you with her Business, for every woud-bee Politician, and for every Pedant amongst them, to bring you double the Number of the Men. If Olivia is impertinent in the Plain-Dealer, I hope there are Novels and Plausibles who keep her Company; And if I should carry you to a City Coffee-House, and there shew you a Parcel of People talking of Things that they understand nothing at all of; and settling the Governments of Countries, which they never saw as much as in a Map: From thence to a Play-House, and shew you the pert and insipid Railery of the Sparks upon the Vizard-Masks: From thence to a New-Market Course, and enter you at a Table, where you should hear nothing talked of but Dogs and Horses: From thence to a Tavern, and shew you a Set of Men in their drunken Frolics: I fancy you would wish yourself in your Drawing-Room again, as a more agreeable Folly than any of those I have mentioned. And I appeal to you, whether Lucian in his Timon, Boileau in his eighth Satire, and my Lord Rochester in his upon the like Subject, say not as much against Mankind, and make them as ridiculous as you can do the Women. And I will assure you, Sir, I am far from being of the Duke of Britanny's Mind, that Learning is unfit for a Woman; and shall, without any Offence, either to him or you, continue of the same Opinion, till you have answer'd Anna Maria Schurman's Arguments in their Behalf, and till you have taken away herself, who is one of the best Arguments.

(This Anna Maria Schurman was a Dutch Lady of Utrecht, of whom you will hear more anon. There was a long Dispute between her and Rivetus, Whether Learning was fit for Women? 'Tis printed in her Works in Latin. Here, Madam, there follows a tedious Chapter, of Women who have been famous for Wit and Learning; which though it may be convenient for those who question their Abilities that Way, yet I do not see of what Use it can be to your Ladyship, or to any who have the Honour of being acquainted with you; therefore if you please, Madam, we will cast off here, and take Hands again at the Bottom.)

Nor indeed you fear that I should search three several Countries, and three several Ages, to furnish me with a learned Woman apiece. No, Sir, even Greece itself, to go no further, had nine Muses, nine Siblys, and nine Lyric Poetesses, if you are delighted with the Number Nine, which is three times three. And if you have more Mind to Particulars, we will shew you there [*] Megalostrate the Mistress of Alcman, who had a Gift of Poetry as well as he; the Daughters of [†] Stesichorus, who were as good Poets as their Father. We have also an Eretrian Sapho, as well as she who was in Love with Phaon; Erinna, and Demophila, the first the Mistress of Sapho, the other equal to her, who flourished all four in the same Time. After these we have Theano, the Wife of Pythagoras, who undertook his School when he was dead, with two others of the same Name (if you will believe Suidas) whereof one was a Lyric Poetess, the other a Thurian, who writ of Pythagoras. We have also about the same time Cleobulina (the Daughter of Cleobulus, one of the seven Wise Men of Greece) a Poetess, and Corinna who had the Surname given her of The Lyric Muse. We have presently after Telesilla, an Argive Poetess, not only famous for her Wit, but for her inspiring her Country-women with so much Courage, as to make them put to Flight the Spartiates, who came upon them in the Absence of their Husbands. At the same time lived Praxilla, one of the nine Lyrics, and of whom we have a Copy of Verses to Calais yet extant; What will you say to Aspatia Milesia, who is celebrated as a Sophistress, (you know the Word [*] Sophister was not then abused) a Teacher of Rhetoric, and a Poetess? There was also Hestiaea, mentioned by Strabo; Antyte, by Tatian; and Nyssis, by Antipater Thessalus; of the two last of which there are some Things yet extant. If you have a Mind to see what they did after they turned Christians, we will produce Eudocia, the Wife of Theodosius, instructed in all sort of Learning, and who writ several Treatises, very much cried up by Photius. I have not said a Word here of Lasthemia the Mantinaean, nor Axiothea the Phliasian, tho' they are mentioned amongst the Disciples of Plato, by Diogenes Laertius; and I own I forgot Hipparchia, whose Life he writes, and commends both as a Philosopher and a Writer of Tragedies, and Hedyle the Poetess, whom Athenaeus quotes, and [*] Vossius it seems has forgot them as well as I. I question not but there are several others whose Names we want, and I question not but there are several named whom I remember not: However this is enough to let you see we are not so hard put to it as you imagine, since one little Country can furnish us with all these. What say you, Sir, are you yet satisfied there are Women of Wit and Learning? or shall we fetch you the [†] Cornelia you mentioned, [‡] Sempronia, [*] Cornisicia, Polla Argentaria the Wife of Lucan, and who assisted him in his Poem; Sulpitia, Proba Falconia, Helpine the Wife of Boetius, from among the Latins? Or if these are not enow, shall we bring up our Reserves of Italian, Spanish, French, German, and English? And if you are not yet contented, because I fancy every Body else is, I shall refer you to Jacobus a Sancto Carolo's Library of Women, illustrious for their Writings; or to Anna Maria Schurman, who was indeed a Library herself, since you mention her. Pardon me, Sir, if I detain you a little longer than ordinary with this Woman; and though you may think it lost Time, because you knew it before, yet it is possible every Body does not know, that she was very well skilled in the Hebrew, Chaldee, Syriac, Arabic, Turkish, Greek, Latin, French, English, Italian, Spanish, German, Dutch, and Flemish Languages; that she had a very good Faculty at Poetry and Painting; that she was a perfect Mistress of all the Philosophies; that the greatest Divines of her Time were proud of her Judgment in their own Profession; and that when we had this Character of her, she was not above thirty Years of Age. What think you, Sir, is not this Woman sufficient of herself? Or shall we refer you to Mademoiselle [*] Gournay among the French, or [†] Lucretia Marinella among the Italians, who have both writ in Defence of their Sex, and who are both Arguments themselves of the Excellency of it? I shall not as much as mention any of those Ladies whose Wit Balzac and Voiture so much admire; I shall say nothing of the Mesdemoselles Scuderie and Le Fevre, to the first of which we do not only owe several excellent Treatises published under her own Name, but who is said also to have had a great Share in those that appear under her Brother's; and to the latter of which we are obliged for so many admirable Versions, and judicious Observations upon most of the Greek and Latin Poets. I shall not as much as trouble you with our own Country-Women. I shall say nothing of Sir Thomas More's Daughters, about whose Education [‡] Erasmus has written; I shall pass by Sir Nicholas Bacon's, who were as learned as they; shall say nothing of Sir Philip Sidney's Lady Pembroke; nor as much as mention Mrs. Philips, or any of the rest of our English Poetesses; but I can hardly forbear saying something of the Lady Jane Gray, of whom all Nations else speak, and whose Fame is more celebrated in Italy, both for her Learning and Piety, by the Account that Michael Angelo has given them of her, than it is here at home. Should I reckon up all those Ladies whose Wit and Learning has been celebrated by our own Poets; should I but enter upon the Praises of Queen Elizabeth of England, or Mary of Scotland, in that Particular, I should never have done. But I can hardly omit two Ladies who are Strangers, and however I am straitned for Room, yet methinks I ought to be just to those who were civil to me; since therefore I received particular Favours from the Procurator Cornara, during my Stay at Venice, let me not pass over in silence his Daughter, for whom most of the greatest Princes, and Learned Men of Europe have testified such an Esteem. This Lady, besides her Skill in Rhetoric, Logic, Music, and Astronomy, writ and spoke perfectly well seven several Languages; and made the Course of all the speculative Sciences with so much Success, that she might very well profess herself a Mistress of them; and all this before she was thirty Years of Age. Her Sister, whom I had the Honour to see (she herself being dead some Time before) is likewise a Person of very singular Endowments; and all this whilst they are one of the best Families of a Town, where the Nobility seem almost as proud of their Ignorance, as their Liberty. The other I shall mention, is Christina Queen of Sweden, a Princess whose Accomplishments are so generally known, that it is enough to have named her; a Lady of that true Judgment, that she knew how to esteem Wit and Learning at the same Time that she despised Crowns; and seemed to be born as a sufficient Recompence to the Commonwealth of Letters, for all the Mischiefs her Predecessors the Goths and Vandals had done it before; I am satisfied it is impossible for me to add any Thing to a Glory so established as that of this Princess is; yet as I never passed any Time either with greater Benefit, or greater Satisfaction, than what I passed in her Conversation, so I am very well pleased, methinks, with any thing that gives me Occasion to call it to my Remembrance. There might be as advantageous Characters, perhaps, given of some Ladies of our own Country now living, did not their Modesty, that inseparable Quality of Wit and Women, deter me from it.

We might tell you farther, Sir, that this Modesty too often hinders them from makeing their Virtues known: That they are not of those eternal Scriblers who are continually plagueing the World with their Works; and that it is not the Vanity of getting a Name, which several of the greatest Men of the World have owned to be the Cause of their writing, that is the Cause of the Womens. Had not Sapho been so much in Love, it is possible we had never heard any Mention of one of the greatest Wits that ever was born; had not Cicero and Quintilian given us Accounts of Cornelia, and the Daughters of Laelius, and Hortensius, they had never done it themselves; had not Jane Gray been put to Death, her Virtues had never been so much taken notice of; had not the Portugueze Nun been deserted by her Gallant, we had missed some of the most passionate Letters that these latter Ages have produced; and had not Anna Maria Schurman's Works been published by a Friend, without her Consent, we had lost the Benefit of them. We may tell you too, that it is not only in respect of their own Sex that they are admired, but even of ours. That of those two Odes we have yet of Sapho, we owe one to Dionysius Halicarnassaeus, the other to Longin, the two best Critics of Greece, who chose them out for Examples to their Rules, before any of the Mens: That the Epistle of Sapho to Phaon, which is esteemed the most delicate of Ovid's, is supposed to be taken out of her Writings: That Corinna was five Times victorious over Pindar, the best Lyric Poet of our Sex. And were we here in England as forward in printing Letters, as they are in France and Italy, we might furnish Volumes of them written by our own Ladies, that would make all the Women-haters blush, or make all Men else blush for them.

(Here, Madam, I must own to you I grew jealous, for I could not imagine that PHILOGYNES would have said this, without having seen some of your Ladyship's Letters.)

We may tell you too, that granting the equal Capacities of both Sexes, it is a greater Wonder to find one Learned Woman, than a hundred Learned Men, considering the Difference of their Educations. If you should go into Greece, and, seeing the Ignorance is among them at present, tell them their Countrymen were incapable of learning, would you not be very well satisfied, when they told you of the Platos and Aristotles of Antiquity? And that if they had not as famous Men now, it was because they have not the same Advantages they had then? And pray why may not the Women be allowed the same Excuse? Will you by your Laws and Customs endeavour to keep them ignorant, and then blame them for being so? And forbid all Men of Sense keeping them Company, as you do, and yet be angry with them for keeping Company with Fools? Consider what Time and Charge is spent to make Men fit for somewhat; Eight or Nine Years at School; Six or Seven Years at the University; Four or Five Years in Travel; and after all this, are they not almost all Fops, Clowns, Dunces, or Pedants? I know not what you think of the Women; but if they are Fools, they are Fools, I am sure, with less Pains, and less Expence than we are.

Upon second Thoughts I hope, Sir, you will allow, that Women may have Wit and Learning; for their Courage and Conduct we may possibly say more anon. But for Heaven's sake, do not aggravate their Faults always at that Rate; for whatever Sapho's Life and Conversation were, there is nothing in her Writings, but what represents the most tender, and delicate Passion in the World: And as for Aloisia Sigaea, (I give you Thanks for putting me in mind of [*] Aloisia Sigaea,) who was as remarkable for her Wit and Learning as any of the other, I am very well assured you do not believe that infamous Book which goes under her Name, to have been written by her; [†] all who speak of it assure us the contrary; and that she was so far from writing it, that she [†] never published any Thing: On the other side, all Historians represent her as remarkable for her Virtue as her Learning. For the Queen of Sheba, there is no mention in Scripture of her Travelling for any Thing but to be satisfied with the Wisdom of Solomon; however, if you will believe she went to him, for the same Reason that [‡] Thalestris did to Alexander the Great; it was no such great Matter, in Countries where is was thought no Sin, if the one had a Mind to have a Child by the wisest Man in the World, and the other by the bravest. After all, we must own if there are lewd Women, they endeavour to conceal their Lewdness, they do not brag of it, nor fly openly in the Face of Religion; and if they once come to be publicly discovered, they are rendered infamous to all the World, and their nearest Friends and Relations avoid their Company: Whilst there are several Men who boast of their Iniquities, value themselves upon their being thought lewd, and what is worse, find others to value them upon it too; nay, by their Incitements and Encouragements to Wickedness, often bring themselves to that Pass, that the least Part of the Sins they are to answer for, are what they have committed themselves. But not a Word more, I beseech you, of Sapho, nor her new Crime, let Lucian be forgotten for putting us in mind of it, and let it be cloistered up within the Walls of a Turkish Seraglio; I speak not this in Behalf of the Female Sex, but of our own; for if they should once hear of this Argument, and fall upon us with [*] Socrates, [†] Plato, and all those Heroes of Antiquity whom Plutarch and Lucian produce in Defence of a like Sin in our Sex; should they mention Anacreon, Tibullus, Martial, and all those Poets who have eternized their Infamy in their Writings; and after that shew you what Progresses this Crime has made, not only in the Turk's Dominion, but even in Spain and Italy, I am sure, Sir, you would wish you had said nothing of a Point, that may be so severely made use of against our selves.

Now tho' you are pleased to quote the Lampoons, yet you think, as well as I, that such Things are not worth any bodies takeing notice of; we both know there are a sort of People about this Town, who please themselves with Defamations: One of these, if they see a Man speak to a Woman, make their little Signs, their politic Winks, and possibly when they meet him, in their insipid Way of Railery, tax him with it: If he is angry at them, then he is piqued, and afraid the Intrigue should be found out; If he says nothing (as it deserves nothing) then he is out of Countenance, and cannot say a Word; and if he laughs at them (which is all the Answer a Man would make to such Stuff) then he is pleased with the Thing; so that every Way the poor Lady's Reputation suffers; and these Sparks shall not fail to blow it about Town, that there is an Amour; not that they think so of you, but that you may return the Compliment, and say so of them, when they speak to any Lady themselves.

For their Garrulity, if you would see Things which are against you, in that Treatise of [*] Plutarch, from whence you bring two of your Instances, you might have been furnished with enow of the Mens. But tho' it is lawful to forget Stories that are not for you, yet methinks you ought to tell out those you do mention; and when we have heard that the Wife of Fulvius, seeing what she had done, shewed her Husband the Way to avoid the Consequences of it, by stabing herself first; we must certainly own, that such a Woman had Virtue enough to make Amends for all her Faults. And if in Answer to the Instances you bring, I should mention the [*] Melitish, or the Saxon Women, who tho' they were all engaged in Plots with their Husbands, yet not one discovered it; If I should shew you [†] Leaena at Athens, or [‡] Epicharis at Rome, who being both engaged in Plots, one against the Tyrant Pisistratus, the other against Nero, yet could not by all their Tortures, be brought to discover them; and that the former, for fear her Torments should make her reveal it, bit off her Tongue; certainly, Sir, you would have a better Opinion of their Taciturnity. But we need not go so far for Instances; our own Country, and our own Time, will furnish us with enow. In all the Plots we have had continually on foot, tho' we have had Women engaged and accused; tho' there was one pilloried in the first, three executed in another, and sixteen or seventeen excepted in a General Pardon; though there have been several seized upon like Accounts since, yet, you see, there has not been one of them who ever made a Discovery. Give me leave, Sir, to commend them for their Virtues at the same Time that I am far from defending their Faults; and though I have a very good Opinion of those Men who discover a Conspiracy upon Remorse of Conscience, yet I must take leave to believe that there are some, at least, who do it upon another Account; and without any Sorrow at all for their Design, except that it did not succeed, think to save their own Lives, by the Sacrifice of other Peoples; and make Amends for their Treason against the Government, by their Treachery to their Friends.

But no Wonder you are so severe upon the Faults of modern Women, when you fall upon those whom all Antiquity has reverenced. It is hard that Jael and Judith, whose Actions have been so long admired, should be called to Account for them so many thousand Years after. It would be an Injury to their Cause, to say any Thing in their Defence; and a Presumption in me to justify Actions, that the Scripture has celebrated so much. But must poor Penelope fall under your Displeasure too? I am sensible how much she is like to suffer, who is defended by so dull a Fellow as Homer, against those most ingenious Gentlemen, who are the Lampooners of our Age: However, as their Ability in Scandal needs no foreign Aid; and as I am satisfied they would think it a Disparagement to them to be reckoned with Virgil and Ovid, let us free them, pray, from such unworthy Companions. For the former, I believe you are fully satisfied the Priapeia are none of his; and as fully satisfied that the Authority of such sort of Verses is not extreamly much to be depended upon: And for Ovid, if in the Person of a Bawd, who he tells you was a Liar, he gives you a Reflection upon Penelope; yet he makes her very sufficient Amends, when [*] he speaks in his own Person. And taking the Story as it lies, that her House was always full of Lovers whom she could by no Means get away; Laertes being too old, Telemachus too young to encounter them; it certainly shews her Virtue so much the more: For as there is no great Courage required to keep a Fortress in the Time of Peace, so a very little Virtue is sufficient to preserve that Chastity which no Body ever thought it worth his While to attempt. Now if Lycophron and Duris Samius represent her as a lewd Woman, as I understand not how they should come to know it, all the Writers who lived before them giving so very different an Account; so for Lycophron, it is no great Wonder a Greek and a Poet should lye; or that Duris Samius, seeing the Etymology of the Word Pan come so pat, should feed us with a Story upon it, of his own Invention. (Pan you remember, Madam, in Greek signifies All, and who would not tell a Lye for so pretty a Conceit?) You may observe also, that this Author was not of so established a Reputation as Cicero would make us believe, since [*] Plutarch, who quotes him once, does it only to contradict him in a Point of History, that he ought to have known better than this. For Lucretia, observe of Sir Charles Sidley, as of Ovid before, that he only makes the Bawd say it; and if you consider the Fear in which she was, you will find that that Passion often makes People run into a greater Danger to avoid a less, of which you have Instances enow in our own Plantations, of the [†] Slaves who hang themselves, to avoid their being beat.

After all this, Sir, if you still think with Le Chambre that Men have a greater natural Inclination to Virtue than Women, yet I hope you will grant they have taken a very becoming Care to overcome that Inclination; and if Nature has not given so large a Talent to the other Sex, yet they have improved that Talent much better than we have done ours. Then for your Instances of some few ill Women, I tell you, as I did before, that the Cause in general is not at all concerned in them; and when I shew you an Atreus cutting his Brother's Children in Pieces, and giving them to him to eat; a Phalaris roasting People alive in a brazen Bull; a Busyris murdering all his Guests; a Nero ripping open the Womb of his Mother, to see the Place where he had lain; and so for every Crime of that Sex, shew you how far they have been outdone by some of our own, as that [*] Italian Lady I mentioned does in her Treatise upon a like Occasion, I am sure you will find a very great Disadvantage of your Side. But I take you at your Word, let us go a Circuit with the Judges, and if you find not six Men condemn'd for one Women, I will pay the Charges of the Journey. It is true, indeed, as most of the Women who are condemn'd, are so, for a Crime which they commit to prevent their Shame; so the Care of that, and Hypocrisy, are two Faults of which out Sex is not so generally guilty. Now though I do not think myself obliged to say one Word for any one of those Women you have condemned; and shall therefore leave Phoedra and Fausta to your Mercy, though neither of them expected the Cruelty of their Husbands should have carried Things so far; and shall not argue much for Semiramis, though certainly her having all the Bravery, Wisdom, and Virtues of our Sex in the greatest Perfection, might move you to forgive her the having some of our Faults; and for her putting Men to Death, I am contented that every one who boast of Ladies Favours should be served in the same Manner; (Here, Madam, I cannot at all agree with Philogynes, because it might be severe upon some honest Gentlemen, whom all the Laws against Adultery and Fornication would never reach.) Yet methinks I have an Inclination to say somewhat for Queen Joan of Naples, because she is generally represented so very ill. The common [*] Story is, that having married Andreossa an Hungarian, and her Kinsman; and not finding him so capable of satisfying her, as his Youth and Beauty promised, she caused him to be strangled in a Silk Cord of her own making. The first and chief Author of this Story is Villani, a Florentine, (for [*] Collenuccio takes it from him, though, as such Things use, it has lost nothing in his Hands) who tells you that he had it from a [†]Relation made to his Brother by a certain Hungarian, who had been a Servant of Andreossa's; and in his Return to Hungary, passed through Florence. Now the Author of this Story being an Hungarian, one of those of whom Petrarch writes so much ill, and also a Servant of the dead King, he ought to speak passionately against the Queen, of whom they were professed Enemies: You may observe also, that the [‡]Letter which Lewis the Brother of Andreossa writes to her at the Time that he came with a potent Army to revenge his Brother's Death, speaks of her being privy to it, as a Thing that was suspected, rather than a Thing that did plainly appear. On the other side, ‖ Boccace, who lived a great while in that Court, throws all the Blame of the Action upon the Conspirators, and none at all upon the Queen. After all, believe as you please, and do as you please with all these Women who have offended you: If Helen runs away from Menelaus, let all Greece arm, and fetch her back again; If Clytemnestra consents to the killing Agamemnon, let Orestes kill her for it; If Semiramis puts the Men she has made Use of to Death, let her own Son serve her in the same Manner; If Joan of Naples causes Andreossa to be strangled, let Durazzo cause her to be strangled in the same Place; Let not your Severity stop there, but let their Infamy live when they themselves are dead; and let the Euripides's, the Juvenals, and the Misogynes's, set out their Actions in their true Colours. But let the Business go no farther, I beseech you. Let not Hecuba, nor Andromache suffer, because Helen is a wanton Woman; nor Penelope be run down, because Clytemnestra is an ill Wife; and if Joan of Naples strangles her Husband, let not all those who have died for theirs, fall under the same Condemnation. It is one of the chiefest Ends of Punishments to distinguish the Good from the Bad, do not you therefore by Punishments confound them. If Tibullus and Ovid's Mistresses jilt their Lovers, let it be remembered against them two thousand Years after; and if Misogynes's serve him so, let him shew his Resentment in as severe a Manner as he pleases. Let him disdain the mean Revenge of malicious Whispers, and nameless Lampoons, and the much meaner Way of railing at all, because one has injured him; but let him boldly hunt her out from the Herd; let him publish her Infamy in lasting Characters; though she is free from Conscience, let her be plagued with the Stings of Shame; and let all Women be terrified by her Example from being false to Men of Wit, or kind to Fools. But let him have very full Satisfaction of the Matter of Fact first; let him not go upon dubious Grounds, nor jealous Surmises; let him not believe the Vanity of some, nor the Malice of others; let him consider the Stories of [*] Bradamante in Ariosto, of Aurestilla in Consalo de Cepedes, of Othello in Shakespeare, and let him see how far Jealousy may seem reasonable, whilst nevertheless the Person of whom they are jealous may be innocent. After all, I give you even in that greater Power than I should care to take myself; I would rather by other Peoples Faults correct my own, and should think the noblest Revenge a Man could take upon a Woman who injured him, would be the doing some Action that would make all the World admire him; I would have every body upbraid her with my Wrongs, whilst I myself was silent: It is true, if by the Injuries she did me, there were any Aspersions cast upon my Reputation; there Justice to myself would oblige me to make the Story public: But I would certainly endeavour to reclaim her by Mildness, before I made Use even of that Severity; and as I should scorn any Favour that was the Effect of Fear, so if I once broke into an open War, all the Submission she could make should never bring me to an Amity again, though perhaps my own Good-nature might in Time prevail upon me for a Forgiveness.

This, Sir, is what I thought necessary to reply to what you said; in which I see we have quite exceeded the Bounds of a Dialogue, and turn'd that into Declamation, which was intended only for Conversation. I have troubled the Company so much already, that I dare trespass no farther upon their Patience, and shall therefore omit some other Things, which I intended to have said upon this Occasion.

You are like those People, cry'd Misogynes, who when they have provided all the Dainties they could get, make an Apology at the End of the Treat, for their having got no more: If I am not altogether convinced of the Goodness of your Cause, yet I am very well convinced that you have said all the Cause will bear.

Tho' perhaps I should have no great Mercy upon you, replied Philogynes, yet I have too much for these Gentlemen, to detain them so long, as to hear all that I could say upon so glorious an Occasion. Should I make a Collection of what is written by the best Authors of Antiquity in their Praises; should I but refer you to what Stobaeus has collected for them, since you mention what he has done against them; should I but transcribe what [1] Plutarch, [2] Lodovicus Vives, [3] Speron Sperone, the most Learned of his Countrymen, [4] Ribera, [5] Hilarion de Costè, [6] Scuderie, and a thousand others have said of them in Treatises written expresly in their Praises: should I but search all the Bibliotheques for a Catalogue of those who were famous for their Writings; Should I afterwards tell you of those who were remarkable for their Piety, conjugal Affection, Penitence, and Contempt of worldly Vanities; should I but repeat the Names of those who have died for the Preservation of their Chastity; should I shew you a [*]Country even at this Day, where they cannot by any Severity hinder Women from burning themselves with the Bodies of their deceased Husbands: Should I mention the Women of [†] Cios, amongst whom for seven hundred Years there never was the least Mention of any Adultery, or Fornication; should I tell you that the first of those Sins was so little known amongst the Spartans, that they did not think it worth their while to make any Law against it: (Now, said my Friend, whether this were not as good an Argument of the Mens Chastity as the Womens, I leave you to judge; but really I think not, Madam; for besides Intrigues with their own Sex, which were common enough amongst the Men in those Eastern Countries; I do not doubt but the Men, being Men of Honour, would ask; though the Women, being Women of Honour, would deny.) Should I but give you a List of the Martyrs of that Sex, from those who suffered under Tiberius, to those who suffered under our own Queen Mary, I fancy I should make you ashamed of your Simonides, your Juvenal, and all your Satirists put together. Should I after this defend them in the Virtue to which they are thought to have least Pretences, which is, Courage; should I but name those who have been famous for their warlike Atchievements; should I tell you of Deborah, Penthesilaea, Thalestris, Camilla; should I shew you a Country [*] of Amazons, even in our own Time: Should I carry you into France, and shew you a warlike Virgin (at least an unmarried Woman) whose Memory is still annually celebrated by one of their chiefest [†] Towns, and who, besides her Fame in their Chronicles, has given a Subject to one of the most famous [‡] Heroic Poems which that Nation has produced; would you not, after all, confess they might very easily be defended, even in this Point too? But I shall wave that; I am satisfied with the Care universal Custom has taken of them; and as Seamen in a Storm, to preserve their Things of greatest Value, throw away those of less; so I am very well pleased that Mankind should be exposed to the Hazards of War, whilst the Fair Sex is preserved in Safety at Home, whose Smiles are the noblest Reward a brave Man can desire for all the Hazards and Fatigues he has endured in a Campagne.

But it is generally agreed that all Virtues are requisite for those who govern well; and since there are some Countries where Women are excluded from the Throne, and no Country where they are not postponed, it would be convenient, methinks, to see what they do, when by Accident they are placed upon it. I shall not trouble you here with Deborah, nor Esther, nor as much as mention Semiramis, though you have mentioned her upon another Occasion; and yet certainly the Bravery of most of her Actions ought to make us forget the Faults of some few; but I shall confine myself within the Bounds of our own Country.

[*]At a Time when the Britons groaned under the Servitude of the Romans; when the King, by thinking to oblige the Emperor, gave him an Opportunity of pillaging his Country; and that their Patience under their Sufferings, was only a Means of making them more; When their Houses were robbed, their Wives and Daughters ravished, and their Sons taken away from them; then Boadicea arose, and by her Courage, as well as Eloquence, inspired her dispirited Countrymen with a Resolution of throwing off that Yoke which was grown intolerable to be born. It is true, indeed, the End was not answerable to the Successes of the Beginning; nor to the Glory so heroic an Undertaking deserved; however as it was neither Want of Courage nor Conduct in her, so we ought to render her that Veneration which is due to so resolute an Enterprize.

But as one of the greatest Attempts the Britons made for their Liberty was whilst they were led by a Woman, so we must own the greatest Glory our Nation could ever boast, was under the Government of one of the same Sex. It was in the Time of Queen Elizabeth that this Island arrived at that Pitch of Greatness, to which it had been ascending for several Ages, and from which it has been declining, till very lately, ever since: It is the Name of this Princess that is dearer to all Englishmen, than the Names of all the Monarchs since the Conquest besides, and the only one whose Birthday has been celebrated after her Death, by the voluntary Gratitude of the People.

But however we may forget Things that are past, let us not oversee that which lies before our Eyes; and since the Occasion is so very fair, I know not how we can omit the shewing our Sense of those Virtues, of which the whole Nation has demonstrated so grateful an Acknowledgment by the Body of their Representatives; and never were they more truly their Representatives before. Yes, Sir, without going to foreign Countries, without searching the Histories of our own, we have even in our own Time, and our own Country, a Princess who has governed to their general Satisfaction, a People the most curious to pry into the Faults of their Governors, of any People under the Sun. A Princess, who though she never shewed any Fondness of Vain-glory, or Authority, yet when the Necessity of the Kingdom called her to the Helm, managed Affairs with that Dexterity, which is very rarely found in those who are the most ambitious of Command. Every Thing during that little Time of her Government, was ordered with that Courage, Conduct, and Prudence, that her greatest Friends cannot find Eloquence enough to commend, nor her greatest Enemies the least Pretences to condemn. Though she had a Husband venturing his Life in another Country, with a Bravery equal to what has made us suspect the Stories of Antiquity; tho' our Fleet, the Bulwarks of the Nation, was managed in a Manner the Courage of the English Seamen was utterly unacquainted with; tho' a Monarch, who thinks himself able to contend with all Europe together, seemed to make his utmost Efforts against a Princess, who had nothing but the universal Hearts of her Subjects to defend her; tho' all Christendom was in Suspence to see the Event of the Undertaking, and every little Prince had forgot his own Danger to contemplate hers; even at this Time did we see her look with all the Unconcern imaginable, and whilst every Body else was alarmed for her Safety, she only seemed to have known nothing of the Danger. Not that this Unconcern proceeded from any Ignorance of her Condition, or unreasonable Contempt of her Adversary; no, she provided against their Attempts with all the Prudence could be wished for, at the same Time that she looked upon the Danger with all the Courage in Nature.

But however great these Virtues may appear, when they are set off by the Lustre of a public Command, yet they are in Effect much greater, when they teach People to despise all such dazling Trifles. Here it is, Sir, that we have a fresh Field for Eloquence, when we see a Lady dissatisfied at that Glory which she had to every Bodies Satisfaction beside, and grudge herself that Authority, which she owed to the Absence of a Husband whom she loved so much better than that. What think you, Sir, of that Alacrity, of that Joy with which she resigned up the Government? Does it not put you in mind of the old Roman Generals, who quitted their Plough to command an Army, and when the Victory was gain'd, returned with greater Content to their Plough again? This is that Wisdom which we should admire; this is that Virtue which we should adore; and we ought to despise all those little Pretenders to Business, who thrust themselves into the Management of Affairs against every Bodies Will but their own; and having neither Virtue nor Prudence enough to retire from it at the universal Murmurs of the People, are generally made Sacrifices at last to the just Resentment of an enraged Nation.

These are those blazing Comets, whose fatal Glories portend Destruction to a Government, whilst the Virtues of the others, like those of the Sun, give it Life and Heat, by their benign Influence. Much more, Sir, might be said in Defence of the Sex, which I shall purposely omit, because I am satisfied I can never conclude with a more illustrious Example.

Notes

*

Athen. Oxon. Vol. II. pag. 1106. Edit. ult.

↵

*
See his xxth Letter to a Friend.
↵

*
See his Postscript to his Translat. of Virgil.
↵

*

Plutarch in Life of Licurgus.

↵

†

Strabo, Lib. 10.

↵

*

Diod. Sicul. B. 1.

↵

†

Ibid. Lib. 4, & 6.

↵

‡

Aul. Gell. Lib. 1. Cap. 6. Sueton. in Life of Augustus: Dion. in ibid. Lucius Florus. Livy, Lib. 59

↵

1.

Chap. 7, &c.

↵

2.

V. Stobaei Senten. cap. de Vituperio Mulierum.

↵

2.

V. Stobaei Senten. cap. de Vituperio Mulierum.

↵

3.
See the Dialogues of the Courtesans, and that of Love.
↵

4.
Homily on the Beheading St. John Baptist.
↵

5.

Satire 6th.

↵

1.

Camerar. Hist. Med. L. 3. C. 11.

↵

2.

On Matt. Chap. xix.

↵

1.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

Od. 44.

↵

1.

—fore enim tutum iter & patens

Converso in pretium deo.

Lib. 3. O. 16. speaking of Jupiter and Danae.

↵

2.

Ingenium quondam fuerat pretiosius auro,

At nunc barbaria est grandis, habere nihil.

Ecce recens dives, parto per vulnera censu,

Praesertur nobis, sanguine factus, eques.

Curia pauperibus clausa est. Dat census honores.

V. Amor, &c.

L. 3. El. 8.

↵

3.

Ad dominam faciles aditus per carmina quaero;

At mihi per caedem, & facinus sunt dona paranda.

Sed precium si grande seras, custodia victa est,

Nec prohibent claves, & canis ipse tacet.

L. 2. El. 4.

↵

4.

Nulla est poscendi, nulla est reverentia dandi,

Aut si qua est precio, tollitur ipsa mora.

Aurea nunc verè sunt saecula, plurimus auro

Venit honos, auro conciliatur amor.

L. 3. El. 11.

↵

5.

Da te chi se defende?

Quâ pensier fermi, e casti

Non atterri, e non guasti?

Chi teco unqua contende?

Chi vinto non se rende?

Qual non cade, o non cede

Forte cor, salda voglia, intera fedé?

Anch' egli amor lo strale

Già d'oro, e d'or lo cocca

Onde qual honor lo scocca,

E bella Donna assale,

Stampa piaga mortale

Là doue ogni altra punta

D'impiombate quadrel si spezza, e spunta.

Mar. Rim. par secunda Canzon. 15. L'oro.

↵

1.

Le Richezze, li Tesori

Son insensati Amori Past. Fido. Chor. del Atto 2do.

↵

2.

De tus flechas por ser d'oro

Ninguna lei se deffiende.

↵

3.

El Rico està en toda parte,

Siempre a proposito viene,

No ay cosa que se le esconda,

No ay puerta que se le cierra.

Quev. Thal. Rom. 37.

↵

4.

Celuy devroit mourir del'Eclat du Tonnerre

Qui premier descouvrit les Mines de la Terre.

Ronsard. El. 8.

↵

5.
'Tis all against the Love of Money.
↵

6.

Idyll. 3. 10, 11, 14, 20.

↵

1.

Illa Lesbia quam Catullus unam

Plus quam se atque suos amavit omnes,

Nunc in quadriviis, & angiportis

Glubit magnanimos Remi nepotes.

Catul. 59.

↵

2.

—mulier cupido quod dicit amanti,

In vento, & rapidâ scribere opportet aquâ.

↵

3.

Ipse miser docui quo posset ludere pacto

Custodes, eheu nunc premor arte meâ.

Lib. 1. El. 7.

↵

4.

Ergo ego nescio cui quem tu complexa tenebas

Excubui clausam servus ut ante domum.

Lib. 3. El. 11.

↵

5.

Lib. 1. Od. 23. L. 3. Od. 10. 26.

↵

6.

Lib. 1. Od. 13. Lydia, Lib. 2. Od. 8. Barine. Lib. 3. Od. 9. Lydia again, Epod. 15. Neaera.

↵

7.

Lib. 2. El. 18. upon Cynthia's Falshood. Lib. 3. El. 17. De incontinentia mulierum.

↵

1.

See Lib. 1. Od. 25. Lib. 3. Od. 15. Lib. 4. Od. 13. Epod. 8. 12.

↵

1.

Non ego•ne pecces cum sis formosa, recuso;

Sed ne sit misero scire necesse mihi.

Lib. 3. El. 14.

↵

2.

Judges, Ch. 16.

↵

3.

V. Homer.

↵

4.

Velleius, Lib. 1. Euseb. Chron. Soph. in Electra. Euripid. in Oreste.

↵

5.

Ovid. Metam. L. 8.

↵

6.

Quint. Cur. Lib. 5.

↵

7.

Livy, Lib. 3. Dec. 3.

↵

8.

Plutarch in Vit. Anton.

↵

1.
Procop. Arec.
↵

2.
Strada, Bentivoglio, Garnier, &c.
↵

3.
Buchanan and Knox.
↵

1.

Montagne's Essays, B. 1. C. 24. Mad. Gournay L'Egalite des Deux Sexes.

↵

1.

Vide Juvenal. 6. Sat.

↵

1.

Vide Juvenal. 6. Sat.

↵

2.

1 Kings x. 2. 2 Chron. ix.

↵

3.

Quint. Curt. Lib. 6.

↵

4.

Diod. Sicul. C. 2.

↵

5.

Juven. 6th Sat.

↵

6.
This Bath is now shewn in the Ruins of her Palace, a little Way out of the City of Naples.
↵

1.

Lilius Giraldus, Dial. 9. de Poetis.

↵

2.
See his Dialogue between Cleonarium and L•oena.
↵

3.
See Tavernier's Travels.
↵

1.
Plutarch of Garrulity.
↵

1.

Jud. xiii.

↵

2.

Judges iv. v. 17.

↵

3.

Penelope vires juvenum, tentabat in arcu,

Qui latus argueret, corneus arcus erat.

Ovid Amor. L. 1. El. 8

↵

4.
(Speaking of Ulysses)

Ad vetulam tamen ille suam properabat, & omnis

Mens erat in cunno, Penelopea tuo.

Quae sic casta manes, ut jam convivia visas,

Ut{que} fututorum sit tua plena domus.

E quibus ut scires quicunque valentior esset,

Haec es ad arrectos verba locuta procos;

Nemo meo melius nervum tendebat Ulysse,

Sive illî laterum, seu fuit artis opus.

Qui quoniam periit, modò vos intendite: qualem

Esse virum sciero, vir sit ut ille meus.

Priapeia.

↵

*

V. Domin. in Ovid. El. 8. L. 1. See also Seneca's Epistles.

↵

†

Lilius Giral. Hist, Deorum Gent. Pan.

↵

*
Sir Charles Sedley, in his Translation of Ovid's VIIIth Elegy B. 1.
↵

†

L'Art de Connoitre les Hommes. Or, Art how to know Men. C. 1.

↵

†

Diodor. Sicul. B. 2.

↵

‡

Ammian. Marcellin. B. 14.

↵

*
Cowley's Preface.
↵

†
See Diogenes Laertius in his Lives of these Three Philo¦sophers.
↵

†
See Diogenes Laertius in his Lives of these Three Philo¦sophers.
↵

†
See Diogenes Laertius in his Lives of these Three Philo¦sophers.
↵

*

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
: Diog. Laert. in

〈◊〉

Aristot.
↵

†
St. Austin was converted by his Mother.
↵

*
Est autem—It is a Dialogue between Solomon and the King of Egypt's Daughter; two Chorus's, one of young Men, the other of Virgins, who lay near the Bedchamber, speaking between. The Nuptial Secrets lye hid here under modest Words, which was the Cause the ancient Hebrews would not suffer this Book to be read, but by those who were near Marriage. Grot. in Canti•.
↵

*
Rapin de Carmine Pastorali.
↵

†

Proverbs, Chap. last, &c.

↵

‡
Girald, in vit Simonidis. Plutatch in vit Themistoclis.
↵

*
V. Socrat. Schol. Sozomen. Evagr.
↵

†
See the Dialogues of the Courtesans.
↵

*
In the Dialogue of Love.
↵

*

Diogenes Laertius in vit. Aristot.

↵

†

Plutarch in vit. Ciceronis.

↵

‡
See Verres's Jests upon Cicero for his Effeminacy. Plut.
↵

*

V. Alex. ab Alex. L. 4. C. 8.

↵

†

Plutarch in vit. Cato.

↵

‡
V. Leges Connubiale•
↵

*
Nicholaus
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
, and from him Stobaeus. Serm. 42.

↵

†

Diodor. Sieul. L. 1.

↵

‡

Aristot. Politic. L. 2. Cap. 7.

↵

‖
See the Tragedy by Mr. Dryden.
↵

*

Eleg. 1 L. 10. 1.

↵

†

Eleg. 4. L. 1.

↵

‡
Delia. Nemesis.
↵

*

Rumor ait crebro nostram peccasse putam.

Quid miserum torques Rumor acerbe tace.

↵

†

Aspice uti coelo modo Sol, modo Luna ministrat,

Sic etiam nobis una puella parum

2 Lib. El. 18.

↵

‡

Lib. 4. El. 9.

↵

*
Prologom. ad Apollon.
↵

*
See Bentivoglio, Strada, Garnier
↵

*
Vassius de Poet. Grecis.
↵

†
Lilius Girald. in vit. Stesich.
↵

*
Plutarch in Vit. Themistoch.
↵

*
Vossius mentions neither of these two in his Poetis Grecis.
↵

†

Quintil. L. 4.

↵

‡

Salust. Bell. Catil.

↵

*
Vossius de Poetis Latin, for the rest.
↵

*
L'Egalite des Deux Sexes.
↵

†
Nobilità delle Donne.
↵

‡
Epist. ad Budeum.
↵

*
Vasaeus Chron. Hisp. Thuanus.
↵

†
Vid. Eloges des hommes illustres de Monsieur de Thou.
↵

†
Vid. Biblioth. Hispan.
↵

‡

Vid. Quint. Curtius, B. 6.

↵

*
Socrates was in Love with Alcibiades.
↵

†
Plato writes Verses to Aster. a Boy, with whom he was in Love.
↵

*
De Garrulitate.
↵

*

Plutarch, de Clar. Mulierib.

↵

†

Plin. B. 3. Plutarch, de Garul.

↵

‡

Tacitus Annal. B. 15.

↵

*

Penelope mansit, quamvis custode remoto.

Inter tam multos intemerata procos.

OVID. Amor L. • El. •

↵

*
Life of Alcibiades.
↵

†

Ligon's History of Barbados. Fol. p. 50.

↵

*
Lucretia Marinella, La Nobiltà e l'eccellenza delle Donne,
•
on deffetti e mancamenti degli Huomini.

↵

*

Essais de Montagne, L. 3. C 5.

↵

*

Istoria di Napoli, L. 5.

↵

†
V. Annotazione e Supplimente al Istoria di Collenuccio per Costo.
↵

‡
Inordinata vita praecedens, retentio potestatis in regno, neglecta vindicta, vir alter susceptus, & excusatio subsequens, necis viri tui te probant fuisse participem & consortem.
↵

‖
Casi degli Huomini Illustri.
↵

*

Orlan. Furioso. Canto 32.

↵

1.
De Claris Mulier.
↵

2.
De Foeminâ Christian.
↵

3.
Dialoghi delle Donne.
↵

4.
De la Gloire Immortelle des Dames Illustres
↵

5.
Eloges des Dames Illustres.
↵

6.
Femme Heroique.
↵

*
See Bernier's History of Indostan. Tavernier's and Mandelso's Travels.
↵

†

Plutarch de Clar. Mulieribus.

↵

*
See Acosta's History of the West-Indies.
↵

†
Orleans.
↵

‡
La Pucelle de Monsieur Chapelaine.
↵

*
Tacitus in Vita Agric. and from him Sammes in his Britania Illustratá.
↵

AESCULAPIUS: OR, THE HOSPITAL of FOOLS.
AN Imitation of LUCIAN.

By WILLIAM WALSH, Esq

AESCULAPIUS.

MAKE the Third Proclamation, Mercury.

MERCURY.

O—Yes! O—Yes! O—Yes! Whereas daily Complaints are made by all the World, of the innumerable Follies of Mankind, by reason of which they are neither happy themselves, nor will suffer others to be so: The great Jupiter, out of his fatherly Compassion to Mankind, has sent Aesculapius to apply Medicines to them. Whoever therefore there is, that is troubled with Folly of what kind soever, let him repair hither, and he shall be cured without any Fee.

AESCULAPIUS.

What shou'd be the Meaning of this? Every particular Man complains of the Follies that are in the World; and when we come hither to apply Medicines to them, there is not one Man that offers himself to be cured.

MERCURY.

If I might be allowed to advise Aesculapius in Points relating to Physic, I would tell him there is one Thing in this Disease of Folly, different from all other Kind of Diseases; which is, that the Men can easily find the least Symptom of it in other People, yet there is no Man that perceives the greatest in himself. I think it therefore advisable to make Proclamation, that every Man should give Notice of what other People he knows, who are troubled with this Disease.

AESCULAPIUS.

Let it be as you say.

MERCURY.

O—Yes! O—Yes! O—Yes! Whoever has any Relation, Friend, or Acquaintance, that is troubled with Folly of whatever Kind, let him bring him hither, and he shall be cured without any Fee.

AESCULAPIUS.

See! see! What Crouds are getting together! Every Man seizes his next Neighbour, without any Deliberation at all; and they come willingly too, because every Man seems ready to accuse the other.

First MAN.

Here, Sir, I have brought you a Fool to be cured.

Second MAN.

Pray, Sir, take this first, for he is dangerously ill.

Third MAN.

Take Pity upon this, good Sir, for he has a Complication of Folly upon him.

MERCURY.

Pray, Gentlemen, have a little Patience: You shall be all cured, one after another.

First MAN.

Nay, for my Part, I have no Occasion for myself.

Second MAN.

How! no Occasion, Neighbour; I wish, for your own sake, you had not. For my Part, indeed—

Third MAN.

Prithee, good Neighbour, hold thy Tongue. What, cuckolded and hen-pecked, and pretend to be free from Folly?

AESCULAPIUS.

Mercury, Keep the Croud off with your Caduceus; and bring the Patients up in Order.

MERCURY.

Stand off there, Gentlemen, and do not press upon us so. Here, you old Fellow, come in here with your Patient: Make your Reverence to Aesculapius, and tell him what you would have.

Old MAN.

An't please you, Sir, this young Man is a Kinsman of mine. He came very young to a great Estate, half of which he has made a Shift to squander away already; and he is in great Danger of doing so by the rest in a short Time, if you do not cure him of his Folly. I have taken a great deal of Pains in advising him, but all in vain. If he could not live upon his whole Estate, I asked him how he hopes to live upon the Half? And if he spent his Estate when he was young and able to get one, what would become of him when he was old, and past getting one? But when I talk to him, he laughs at me, and that is all the Thanks I have for my Pains.

AESCULAPIUS.

Mercury, put him in the Hospital; Care shall be taken of him.

Young MAN.

I desire, Sir, that you would please to hear me first, and judge whether it is this old Man or I who have most need of your Medicines. I confess, indeed, that what he says is true. But pray consider, that I spend this Estate in pleasing myself; and were it not a great Folly to debar myself of Pleasure for the present Moment, which is all I am sure of, for fear of not having Means to enjoy them in a future Time, to which I have no Security that I shall ever arrive. But, granting, I were certain of Life, Is it not a Madness to waste all my Youth, which is the only Time we are capable of Pleasure, to lay up Wealth, which we are to make Use of in an Age when we are not capable of any Pleasure at all. But this old Man, who has the Confidence to accuse me, does ten times worse. He did not only heap up Wealth all his Youth, but he continues to do so still; and though his Age, and the Infirmities of his Body give him hourly Notice that he can hardly live one Year longer, yet is he at his Usury, his Extortion, and a hundred Ways to hoard up Wealth, as if he were to live ten Thousand Years.

AESCULAPIUS.

A very palpable Folly indeed. Mercury, put him aside too.

Young MAN.

I did not doubt, Sir, but that I should convince you at last. I may go away now?

AESCULAPIUS.

How, Friend! Does that Man's being a Fool hinder you from being a Fool too. If it be a Folly in him to heap up Money that he can never probably live to spend; Is it not a Folly therefore in you to squander away that Money which probably you will live to want. Take Care, Mercury, that they may be both put in the Hospital.

MERCURY.

It shall be done. In the mean time here are some others.

AESCULAPIUS.

Well, Gentlemen, what have you to say?

First MAN.

This, Sir, is a Friend of mine, an honest, good-natur'd Man as lives; but he has a Wife who makes him the greatest Fool in Nature; and though she abuses him in the grossest Manner imaginable, insomuch that half the Town laugh at him, yet is he himself blind to that in his own House, which any Stranger sees. Here is one who has been often found with her, and who can tell you more, if you examine him.

AESCULAPIUS.

Well, Sir, and what can you say?

Second MAN.

All that I can say, Sir, is, that the Gentleman is a very worthy Gentleman; and his Lady a very fine Lady. He has often, indeed, bragg'd to me of the Happiness of a marry'd Life. I thought the best Way to find out this Happiness, was in going to his Lady, who has fully convinced me of all her Husband said. But as I have a perfect Friendship for the Gentleman, I must confess, Sir, I am as well satisfied with his having a fine Wife, as if I had one myself.

AESCULAPIUS.

He has a fine Time on't, the mean while.

HUSBAND.

I confess, Sir, I have nothing to say in Contradiction to these Gentlemen. All that the one says, and the other would insinuate, may be true for aught I know; nor do I think it much worth my While to enquire after it. Half the Town, the first says, laugh at me for being a Cuckold; and he would have me make it public, that the other Half might laugh at me too. But pray let us consider how much wiser he acts: He marry'd a Wife, who by the way is not extreamly taking; and yet you cannot imagine what Care, what Contrivances, what cunning Stratagems, this wise Person made Use of to search out a Thing, which, after all, he did not care to find. And though with all his Bustle he could find out nothing that really made against her, yet he has cast her off with Infamy and Shame, chiefly indeed to himself, for using a Wo man ill who never gave him Occasion for it. If there be so many who laugh at me for a tame Husband, let him hearken after his own Concerns, and he will find a much greater Number who rail at him for a base and ill-natur'd one.

Now for this brisk Monsieur here, for this finished Gentleman, who can with so much Delicacy rally the poor Fools that marry! So very ingenious a Person, no doubt, acts much more wisely himself. Lord, how is his Estate divided? One Part upon Taylors; another upon Milliners; a third upon Perfumers; a fourth upon Perriwig-makers. All his Time spent between the Toilet, the Play-house, the Park, and Drawing-Room. And upon what noble Design, pray, is all this Time and all this Money wasted? Even, Gentlemen, that this most charming Person of his, may attain that with all this Cost which I received Twenty Thousand Pound for doing. Would his Niceness be contented with the Meat that had been tumbled, and cold upon my Trencher? Truly, Sir, his Happiness is little more than this, I that am the Fool, come to her when I will, stay with her as long as I will, and command her as I will; while this wise Gentleman is waiting a frosty Night under her Window, breaking his Brains for Songs and Billets for her; bribing her Women, losing his Rest, and venturing the being abused, kicked down Stairs, and having his Throat cut whenever he happens to be found out.

AESCULAPIUS.

Very great Fools, truly, all Three! Is it not strange, Mercury? One would think every Man wise, when we hear him talk of other Peoples Concerns; and yet we find them all Fools when we look into their own.

MERCURY.

Alas, Aesculapius, how should it be otherwise? when a Man is told of his Folly, he does not consider whether it be true, and endeavour to mend it: He only considers whether the Man who tells him of this, be not guilty of some Folly too; and if he find he is, as I doubt we shall find few who are not, he rests as well satisfied in laughing at him, as if he were absolutely free from all sort of Folly himself.

AESCULAPIUS.

Well, old Gentlewoman! What is it you have to say against that young Man?

Old WOMAN.

An't please you, Sir, this young Man is my Husband: He made fair Pretences to me before Marriage, but now he neglects and despises me for every other Woman. Now I appeal to you, Sir, and to all the World, whether it be not a very great Folly, for a Man to tye himself, during Life, to a Woman he does not love?

AESCULAPIUS.

Yes, without doubt, it is. Mercury put them both up.

Old WOMAN.

An't please you, Sir, it is I who make the Complaint.

AESCULAPIUS.

Very good, Mistress. And if it be a Folly in him to marry a Woman that he does not love, was it not a Folly in you to marry a Man without knowing first whether he loved you or no?

MERCURY.

Here are several other Wives who complain of their Husbands, and Husbands who complain of their Wives.

AESCULAPIUS.

Put them in all, without farther Deliberation. For though People may be allowed to be as critical in their Choice as they please before Marriage, yet when that is once done, it is a great Folly to complain.

MERCURY.

Here are a vast Quantity more of both Men and Women, brought upon Account of their Marriage.

AESCULAPIUS.

It were an endless Work to hear of every one who play'd the Fool in Marriage. To save Time, therefore, we will put up all the married People at a Venture; and if there be any one who can give us satisfactory Reasons, to prove that he did not play the Fool in it, we will let him out again.

HUSBAND.

No, Sir, I will not go in: No one can say I committed any Folly in marrying.

AESCULAPIUS.

How, Friend, marry and commit no Folly! What Wife have you, pray?

HUSBAND.

One who has Wit, Beauty, Virtue, Riches, and is of a very considerable Family.

AESCULAPIUS.

It is very much to be suspected that thou art guilty of Folly in having this Opinion of her. A Woman with Wit and Beauty, marry an odd disagreeable Fellow, and not cuckold him! However, Friend, if it be so, you may go away, but be sure you send your Wife in your Place.

HUSBAND.

Do you reckon it a Folly then in a Woman not to cuckold her Husband?

AESCULAPIUS.

No, Friend, we do not tell you so. But when a Woman who finds by her Constitution that she shall make any Husband a Cuckold, takes one who is very fit for that Purpose, there are some wicked People who think she does as wisely as a Woman in her Circumstances could. But when a Woman marries a Man who is fit for no other Use than to make a Cuckold of, without a Design of putting him to any Use, that that Woman commits a Folly, there was never any one yet could doubt.

MERCURY.

But see what vast Crouds are waiting for Audience; and with how much Eagerness are they set upon discovering the Follies of one another? It is impossible for us to hear all the particular Follies of which particular Men are guilty. It seems to me therefore by very much the easiest Way, to pick out the wise Men first, and when we have done that, we may apply general Medicines to the rest, without enquiring farther into their particular Distempers. Make Proclamation therefore, Mercury, that People may no longer trouble themselves with bringing the Fools of their Acquaintance, but henceforward let them bring none but the Wise Men.

MERCURY.

Alas, Aesculapius! Art thou no better acquainted with the Nature of Mankind than this? Believe me, if we stay here till one Man accuses another of being wise, we may stay till the End of the World. No, Aesculapius, no: In searching the Follies of Mankind, it was necessary to have an Account of them from others, and not from themselves: But if you would search for Wise Men, you must not ask Mens Opinion of one another, but take what every Man thinks of himself.

AESCULAPIUS.

Thou art better acquainted with the Humours of Mankind than I am; do therefore as thou wilt.

MERCURY.

O—Yes! O—Yes! O—Yes! Let all those that are Wise range themselves upon the Right Hand, and distinguish themselves from the rest.

AESCULAPIUS.

What is the Meaning of this? Every Man places himself on the Right Side, but one; and they jostle one another for Room with the greatest Violence imaginable! Here you Sir, What are you, pray, who appear so very confidently in the very Head of the Wise.

POET.

Who I, Sir? I am a Poet.

AESCULAPIUS.

Well; and pray, Mr. Poet, what Pretence have you to place yourself so confidently before all the rest?

POET.

Can Aesculapius know I am a Poet, and ask that Question? As much as a Man is above a Beast, so much is a Poet above another Man. It is we who converse with the Gods, and despise the rest of Mankind. It is we who elevate ourselves above the transitory Things that the Vulgar are fond of; who despise Riches, Glory and Honour, and seek for nothing but Fame and Immortality.

When conq'ring Death shall ravish from their Eyes,

Those trifling Glories that the Vulgar prize:

When Crowns shall fall; when Empires shall be lost;

And all that's mortal be dissolv'd to Dust:

Then shall I live immortal in my Fame,

And future Ages shall extol my Name. [*]

STATESMAN.

I think there is no great Need of convincing Aesculapius, how little that Man deserves the Title of Wise, since he himself has been pleased to prove it sufficiently already. I will not say any Thing to the Man himself, or enquire what Pretences he has to the Title of a Poet; but taking it for granted that he is as good as he fancies himself, yet can any Thing be so ridiculous as the very Design he proposes. He does not pretend that Poetry makes People happy in this World, because we very plainly see the contrary; but he pleases himself with a vain Reversion of imaginary Honours that he is never to enjoy till he himself is insensible of them. It will be a very great Satisfaction, doubtless, to a Man when he is in the Grave, to think his Verses run as smoothly as ever; and one must be an Infidel to doubt but that the Author of a fine Poem will be extreamly considered in the other World.

I do not say this out of any Malice to the Profession of a Poet, nor would I pretend to take a Title from them, though they do not deserve it, but in order to shew you those who do. Do you ask me then who it is that deserves the Title of a Wise Man? Whom should I answer, but him who knows how to govern the State. If particular Persons of a Community think they have any Title to Wisdom, how much more must they allow that Title to those who are capable of governing the Community? It is they, certainly, who can move Assemblies, who can advise Kings, who can govern Commonwealths, that deserve the Title of the Wise. How considerable a Figure does such a Man make in a Government? How much is he followed and caressed? What Advantages does he get to himself and Family? And how much is he flattered and adored by these very Poets who would vainly arrogate the Title of Wise to themselves?[*]

STOIC.

Though I am of a Profession that do not trouble themselves with the Trifles of the World, yet I cannot, I confess, be pleased to see People take a Title to themselves, to which they have not the least Pretence. I might observe here, that considering how Kings are for the most part advised, and Commonwealths governed, a Man has no great Reason to boast of his having a Hand in either. But I shall wave all that as to my Particular, and speak to the Employment of a Statesman in general. Is there then any Thing so ridiculous as for a Man to propose the making himself Great, as the End of all his Actions? The only End a Wise Man proposes, is the making himself happy; how ridiculous then must he appear, who makes himself miserable, in order to make himself Great? Who seeks the Contempt of the Wise, that he may get the Admiration of Fools? Who leads a false dissembling Life; fawning upon those who treat him insolently, and treating those insolently who fawn upon him? Who values himself upon the bearing other Peoples Burdens, for which the only Thanks he gets, is Envy, or Contempt: Envy if he succeed, and Contempt if he fail? Should a Man, who came late to an Inn, instead of taking the Rest that was requisite to refresh him for the next Day's Journey, enter into Cabals, form Designs, and manage Intrigues to get the best Room in the House, which would make him very uneasy if he fail'd of it; and from which, tho' he succeeded, he must necessarily depart the next Morning; would not this Man appear ridiculously foolish, and contemptible to all the World? And when we see a Man in a World from which he must necessarily depart in a very short Space of Time, instead of preparing himself for what is to follow, waste all that little Time in senseless Cabals, in vain Designs, and in ridiculous Intrigues, to make himself Great and Powerful; which, if he do not attain it, makes him uneasy; and which, if he do, he must leave immediately again: Is not this Man ten Times more ridiculous, and more foolish than the other? The Man who by his Folly loses his Rest one Night, will without doubt grow wiser, and take a double Share of Rest the next: But, alas! in the other Case, it is quite different; there is no second Opportunity of correcting the first; and he who has spent one Life foolishly, will never be trusted with another to employ better.

AESCULAPIUS.

Wisely urged, O incomparable Stoic! The Folly of this sort of Men is very palpable; and you, certainly, who can so sagely find out their Infirmities, can easily discover to us the Men who are subject to no Infirmities at all.

STOIC.

You judge right, divine Aesculapius! it is among us, and only us, that you must expect to find a real Wise Man. And our Leaders have taught us, upon a due Consideration of the World, to pronounce all Men Mad beside. 'Tis true, their Extravagance does not appear, perhaps, to the Vulgar; but as in a Mad-house, one of the Patients does not perceive that Madness in his Companion, which is presently found out by a sober Stander-by: So in this universal Madness which possesses the World in general, tho' they do not discover it in one another, yet it is at first Sight apparent to the Eyes of the Sage. Do you ask me then, who is this Wise Man that I have mentioned? It is he who places not his Felicity in his Beauty, his Wealth, or his Learning; who desires no Pleasure, who fears no Pain: Whom the Frowns of Fortune cannot deject, nor her Smiles exalt: Who is happy in Prisons, in Banishments, in Torments: Who, if he were broiling in Phalaris's BULL, would cry out, How pleasant is this! It matters not how many Arrows Fortune aims at him, since he is impenetrable to them all. As there are some Stones so hard, that the Iron cannot touch; as Diamonds can neither be cut nor broken, but resist the strongest Force; as Rocks in the Sea break the Fury of the Waves, and, beaten upon so many Ages, retain no Marks of its Rage; so is the Soul of a Wise Man, solid and firm; and has collected so much Strength, that it remains as safe from all Injuries, as any of the Things I mentioned. But what will you say; is there no one then who will attempt the injuring a Wise Man? Yes, they will attempt it, but they cannot perform it: He is elevated so much above the Vulgar, that none of their ill Designs can arrive at him. When that foolish King darkened the Day with his Arrows, there was not one of them which reached the Sun; when the Chains were cast into the Sea, they could not bind the Waves; and those who destroy the Temples, do no Injury to the Divinity: In like Manner, whatever is done proudly, maliciously, or insolently, against a Wise Man, (who is in nothing different from a God, but in Point of Time) is but attempted in vain.

AESCULAPIUS.

O sage! O wonderful! O incomparable Stoic! This, this is a Wise Man indeed! Is it possible that People can continue Slaves to their Follies, when Wisdom proposes such sublime, such noble Rewards to her Followers? But descend a little from this high Region, in which you are placed; conform yourself to the Weaknesses of others; and convince their Stupidity by living Examples of this high Pitch of Wisdom you have so nobly described to them. But what is the Matter with that Man to laugh so? You, there, who stand by yourself on the left Side, while all the rest are gotten upon the right.

MAN, solus.

Alas! Sir, who can forbear laughing, to see Men hope by their Pride and Vanity, to exempt themselves from those Infirmities, to which all Mankind are naturally subject? This sage, this wonderful, this incomparable Stoic, after all his noble and high-flown Similies, is neither so hard as a Diamond, so firm as a Rock, nor so elevated as the Sun. This mighty Man, who would laugh in Phalaris's BULL, yet is liable to Pain and Anguish, as well as the meanest of the People; the most vulgar Weapon shall hurt him; and the most ordinary Strength shall reach him. This contemplative Person, who has found out the Follies of all Mankind, has one of his own that he does not see, ten Times more extravagant than any of theirs: Since there is no Folly, sure, so extravagant, as for one who labours under all the Frailties, and Weaknesses, and Infirmities of Mankind, to think himself in any wise comparable to the Perfection of a God.

AESCULAPIUS.

Well, Friend, what are you then, who dare accuse the Stoics of Folly, who accuse all the World beside?

MAN.

Alas! Sir, I am a Fool too, and am so well convinced of it, that you see I keep by my self on the Left Side, when all the rest go to the Right; and were I not convinced my self, I have given sufficient Reason to convince any one else, by troubling myself with correcting the Follies of others, while I have so many Follies of my own that are uncorrected still.

AESCULAPIUS.

What are become of all the Wise Men then; are there none left?

MAN.

If you take every Man's Opinion of himself, never were there so many; if you take their Opinions of one another, never were there so few.

AESCULAPIUS.

Are all Men then alike?

MAN.

No, there are some who are called Wise, and some who are called Fools; not but that the wisest Man has a sufficient Stock of Folly too. But the best Method I can propose to distinguish Mankind, is by calling those Men Wise, who know themselves to be Fools; and those Men Fools, who think themselves to be Wise.

AESCULAPIUS.

Mercury, thou art a swift Messenger, haste away to Jupiter, inform him of what we have done, and know his further Pleasure in the Matter: You may tell him, that upon a full Survey of Mankind it appears, that every one has such a sufficient Share of Folly, that he has no Reason at all to complain of his Neighbours having more. That in Answer to those who think their Folly obstructs their Happiness, it is very plain, that the Happiness of Mankind is so complicated with this Folly, that it is impossible to cure them of the one, without endangering the other too. Should we convince the Fool who squanders away his Money, that he might live to want it; should we convince the Fool who heaps up Treasure, that in a little Time he must die, and have all his Treasure taken from him; should we convince the Husband, who places his Happiness in his Wife and Children, that the one cuckolds him, and the other are none of his; should we convince the Man who does Things to be eternally famous, that after Death he will have no Sense of Fame, or of whatever is said of him; we should make them all miserable and wretched. On the other Side, by taking away their Folly, we shou'd take away one of the most useful Qualities in the World, since it is very evident, that Mankind live upon the Follies of one another. Were there not Fools who sell Estates, what would become of the Fools who buy them? Were there not Fools who marry, human Kind would come to an End. Were there not Fools of Business, how would the Fools that meddle with no Business be managed? Were there not fighting Fools, who would protect the Fools, that would not fight, from Oppression? And were there not Writing Fools, what would the Reading Fools do for a Diversion? So that upon the whole Matter I think we had even as good leave the World as we find it. However, if he thinks there ought to be somewhat done in this Matter, after having made so much Noise about it; the most general Folly in Men being that of shewing Severity to other Peoples Faults, while they neglect those they commit themselves; He may order a solemn Proclamation to be made, That no Man shall have the Privilege of censuring the Follies of other People, till he can bring a Certificate, under the Hands of three judicious Neighbours, that he has none at all of his own.

Notes

*
In several Places of Mr. Pope's Works, it will be found, that he has a most ardent Thirst after Immortality.
↵

*
Such has been the quondam Advice of Mr. POPE's Lelius, alias Saint John, alias The Examiner.
↵

LETTERS BETWEEN THOMAS UVEDALE, Esq And the Celebrated Mrs. ELIZABETH THOMAS.[*]

MADAM,

IF any Thing could render the Solitude of a Country Retirement agreeable to my Temper, certainly it would be the Opportunity of receiving your obliging Letters, which next to your ingenious Conversation, give me the greatest Satisfaction in the World; but since my Affairs will not at present permit me to enjoy that Happiness, I must beg the Continuance of an Epistolary Correspondence. I protest, Madam, it is the highest Piece of Charity imaginable, to throw away a friendly Hour, in writing to a poor Wretch condemn'd to live threescore Miles from London, amongst a Parcel of sour, unsociable Animals, who have nothing but their outside Forms by which a Man would take them to be rational; for, indeed, their Humours and their Understanding favour much of the Brute. I have made some Observations on the Inhabitants, and I find the Gentlemen to be a Miscellany of Ideots and Madmen, and the Ladies a Mixture of Coquet and Home-bred, which being odly blended together, makes a wretched Composition of Affectation and Ill-Manners, so that out of mere Necessity, I am forced to converse with the Dead, and make my Study the chiefest Entertainment of my Hours. Though I cannot oblige you with a Sample of Winchester Wit, as yet, because either our Rhymsters are asleep, or want a Subject to work on; but to return our Favour of those excellent Verses on MUSIDORA, [*] I present you with two Copies of my own home-spun [†] Poetry, by which you'll see what it is you're to trust to, if you trade with me in Verse, and how great a Loser you will be at the Year's End; for whosoever trafficks with me in such Sort of Ware, will make as indifferent a Bargain as the Indians heretofore, who barter'd Gold for Spanish Glass. If this tiresome Scrawl has not frighted you, Madam, from writing to me, be pleas'd to direct your Letter to Captain Brown's, in Hyde-Street, and it will safely be receiv'd, by,

MADAM,
Your most humble Servant, THOMAS UVEDALE.
WINTON, April 16, 1703.

A SONG FOR St. Caecilia's Feast.
Set to Music by Mr. Richardson, Organist of Winton, and performed at the Bishop's Palace, 1702.

I.

FROM Sounds, coelestial Sounds, arose

This universal shining Frame;

The Atoms which the World compose,

By Harmony to Order came:

The hudled Chaos, which before

Gloomy Marks of Horror wore,

With its charming Notes beguil'd,

Assum'd a Brightness, and serenely smil'd.

Soon as the Waters heard the Voice Divine,

Bright Streaks of glorious Light,

Sprung from the dusky Womb of Night,

O'er the new Globe, triumphantly to shine.

CHORUS.

Bid Trumpets rend their martial Throats,

Soft warbling Flutes breathe gentle Notes,

Whilst, in sweet Concert, Viols play,

To crown the Grandeur of this Day.

II.

Orpheus, the Bard, whose magic Song,

Drew list'ning Herds, and Woods along,

Lost on the Nuptial Day his Bride,

In her Beauty's blooming Pride;

Sadly he sigh'd, with fruitless Breath,

At last he visited the Realms beneath;

Fast in his Hand the wond'rous Harp he bore,

Whose Charms had oft been try'd before:

Upon the trembling Strings he softly plays,

Harmonious, moving, mournful Lays;

The gloomy Pow'rs the Strains ador'd,

And to his Arms Euridice restor'd.

CHORUS.

Let Sounds melodious strike the Ears,

And rival those which tune the Spheres,

Whilst, in sweet Concert, Viols play,

To crown the Grandeur of this Day.

III.

At last Divine CAECILIA came,

Fraught with Music's heav'nly Flame,

ORPHEUS to Her must yield the Prize,

Who drew an Angel from the Skies:

Hail! Patroness of Music, Hail!

Whose Charms o'er all Mankind prevail.

Bright CAECILIA! sacred Maid!

To thee our tributary Sounds are paid:

Harmonious Sons of Art prepare,

Of tuneful Strains the noblest Air,

In Honour of CAECILIA's Fame,

And to the Stars exalt her Name.

CHORUS.

Hail! Patroness of Music, Hail!

Whose Charms o'er all Mankind prevail.

Bright CAECILIA! sacred Maid!

To thee our tributary Sounds are paid.

TO THOMAS UVEDALE, Esq

SIR,

THOUGH I receiv'd your generous Present two Days after the Date, yet the Affairs of my Parents, and the Commands of a noble Lady,[*] have harrass'd me so much, that I could not get Time to return my Thanks sooner. I doubt you'll quickly be convinc'd you have formed a very unjust Idea of me; for I protest, on a Self-Examination, I can't find one of those good Qualities you lay to my Charge. However, 'tis highly obliging in you, to fancy me ingenious and agreeable, 'till you know the contrary; as such, I accept the Compliment, and acknowledge your uncommon Candor. The Question now is, Whether I ought not to stop here, and preserve your favourable Opinion by my Silence, rather than hazard it by a farther Discovery of my Ignorance? The first is certainly most prudent, but the latter, being more just, I think it a Point of Honour to undeceive you, and dispel the false Charms of an imaginary Prospect. Your American Simile would have been proper enough for me, but I can by no Means allow you to make Use on't, neither can I admit of a Barter so exceedingly disadvantageous to my Correspondent. No, Sir, I'll preserve your finish'd Poems as a Standard of good Verse, but I shall not pretend to traffic with you, because I never wrote any Thing that pleas'd myself; and surely if an Author can't satisfy her own Judgment, 'tis in vain to expect she should please others.

I hope you'll be contented with this Answer, because 'tis Truth; and I hope also, that if I should not send so quick a Return to your Letters, as you may expect, or as they deserve, you will not presently accuse me of Disrespect; for, what with the continued Weakness of my Grandmother, and the necessary Concerns of Life, I have so little Time at my own Disposal, that I dare not promise a constant Correspondence, lest I should engage for more than I can perform. I conjure you, by your most beloved Muse, never more to call any Thing of mine excellent, since, in my Opinion, unmerited Praise is no better than civil Lampoon. I should pity your hard Fate in living among such unsociable Animals, did I not believe that a wise Man scorns to be beholden to Fortune for a precarious Happiness; and that you are this Philosopher, I no more doubt, than that you imitate the Elder SCIPIO, and improve your Lucky Idleness. However, since you seem too Modest to own the Happiness you find in Solitude, and again think fit to descend to Complaint, I will also confess, that I join in your just Resentments, (for I have had the same Account of the ill-natur'd Wintonians by another Hand) and am now sensible, that what I took for a Satire, was no more than a Character well drawn. But is it possible the Inhabitants should be all of a Piece? Is there no shining Exception, no generous Mind who has Fortitude enough to resist the malignant Particles of its native Air? Yes, yes, you will confess, I know you will, that Mrs. Martland has Learning, Virtue, Wit, and good Humour, sufficient to atone for the Vices, Folly, and Ill-nature of a much larger City than Winchester. How then can you complain of Solitude? or how can you call that Place dull, where our English SAPHO resides? SAPHO was the Name Mr. CROMWELL chose for her, and not undeservedly, her excellent Verses requiring a nobler Epithet, if the Records of Time had afforded it. I know not whether you have the good Fortune to be acquainted with this incomparable Lady; if you are, and find a convenient Opportunity, I would intreat you to give her my best Respects, and to assure her that I have been many Years very ambitious of subscribing myself her unfeign'd Admirer. I have also another Request, which is this, that you would send me the Title of that Book wherein is DURFY's Lampoon on Mr. DRYDEN's Marriage, or do me the Favour to transcribe it from your own Memory. I am,

SIR,
Your most humble Servant, CORINNA.
LONDON, April 20, 1703.

To Mrs. THOMAS.

MADAM,

INstead of convincing me that I have form'd a very unjust Idea of you, your last Letter has but the more confirm'd my Opinion of your Worth and Goodness: and tho' an Unwillingness of owning the shining Qualifications of your Mind, and the distinguishing Character of true Merit, has conjur'd me never to use the Word excellent for any thing of yours, yet I must and will say, that I never saw any of your Writings, but what deserv'd that Title; neither can I admit of your excusive Arguments for solid Reasons, why you should deny me the Advantage and Satisfaction of a Poetical Merchandise, but only take them to be a modest Refusal of my Offer, upon the Account of my Insufficiency to become your Correspondent in so precious a Commodity as Verse. Tho' I have been somewhat slow in answering your Letter, yet do not accuse me of Disrespect or Negligence, since it is not design'd as a premeditated Silence, for indeed I have been seiz'd with so severe a Fit of Melancholy, that for the Space of ten Days I have not had the Heart to apply my Mind to any thing but the unsociable Companions of an uneasy Being, Sorrow and Discontent; and how long it would have continu'd upon me, had not the prevailing Thoughts of Fair CORINNA rous'd me from that Lethargy of Temper, I cannot well determine. Stupidity and Insipidness are the Epidemical Distempers of our Town; therefore it is no Wonder that my Spirits, naturally prone to Dullness, should so soon catch the reigning Contagion. LUCIUS FLORUS, in his History of the Second PUNIC WAR, gives us an Account, how HANNIBAL in his Nonage was sworn ROME's eternal Foe: In like manner, do I verily believe, that the Wintonians, in their Infancy, fretfully resolv'd to be everlasting Enemies to Mirth and Sense; for at the least Appearance of either, they start like wild Beasts at Fire-Arms, and raise all their Posse of Malice and Ill-nature to suppress whatever bears the Face of Wit or Diversion. Tho' I am a Stranger, Madam, to Mrs. Martland's Perfections, yet since you are pleased to bestow so high an Elogy on her Learning, Virtue, Wit, and Good-humour, I believe her to be an extraordinary Lady, and on your Commendation, am very desirous of her Acquaintance, but how to introduce myself to her is the Point; for you must know, that our Ladies here, like Snails, keep every one in their own Shell, and are wond'rous shy of Men Visitants. How far a Person of such fine Notions, and such an exalted Mind as the Elder SCIPIO was, might improve the Minutes of a solitary Retirement, I am not able to judge; but sure I am, that one of my slender Understanding, destitute of Books, and ingenious Conversation, can reap no other Advantage from a Country Life, than what DOMITIAN did from killing of Flies, passing away time in an idle Employment: Whatever Pleasures that renowned Hero found in Solitude, were certainly owing to his Choice; but my Retirement is only the Result of invincible Necessity, which gives a Tincture of Bitterness and Disgust to all the Pleasures of a rural Life. I am concern'd that my Memory cannot oblige you with neither the Title of the Book, nor the Lampoon on Mr. DRYDEN's
[*]
Marriage, for either 'twas never heard of, or else wholly forgotten, by,

MADAM,
Your most Humble Servant, THOMAS UVEDALE.
WINTON, May 13, 1703.

THE Mosaic Creation.

WHEN first the starting Hours, with fleeting Pace,

O'er Time's eternal Plain began their Race:

The wise Creator with his Hands did rear,

The Fabric of this beauteous Theatre:

The wond'rous Frame of Heav'n and Earth arose

At his Command, and did their Forms disclose:

Th' expanded Earth was one continu'd Void,

'Till his creating Pow'r its Strength employ'd:

No Form the hudled Mass of nothing bore,

But gloomy Marks of wild Confusion wore,

Clouds of substantial Darkness to be felt,

On the brown Face of unshap'd Nature dwelt,

Th' Almighty's Spirit on the Waters play'd,

And all his heav'nly Energy betray'd.

Th' Eternal spake: Let smiling Light convey

Around th'Abyss an unaccustom'd Day.

Strait from the Region of tremendous Night,

Dawn'd forth, in ruddy Streaks, primaeval Light,

Its orient Beams e'en charm'd th' Almighty's Sight.

Then by his Pow'r a Separation made,

Between the lovely Light and beamless Shade;

The streaming Light, was call'd refulgent Day,

The Darkness Night, and sunk in Horror lay.

And when the Ev'ning and the Morn came round,

Thus far th' Almighty's First Day's Work was crown'd.

Again the God-head spoke: Let strait appear,

A Firmament amidst the Waters clear,

To part the Streams with an officious Care.

Soon a new model'd Firmament was seen

Divide the Waters, with its lucid Screen,

So in distinguish'd Channels calmly move,

Waters beneath the Sky, and those above:

Then by his Mouth the sacred Name of Heaven,

Was to the new-created Aether given.

And when the Ev'ning and the Morn came round,

The Labour of God's Second Day was crown'd.

Then from his Throne, thus said the Pow'r supreme,

Let all these Waters make one flowing Stream,

Which roll beneath the vast Aetherial Mold,

And let one Place their liquid Troops infold;

That the dry Land may shew its recent Head,

And with extended Force its Beauties spread.

No sooner spoke, but the dry Land appear'd,

And from the Deep, its barren Forehead rear'd;

The Name of Earth, th'unmeasur'd Land possess'd,

As that of Sea, the congregated Waves express'd;

The spacious Forms his Pow'rful Hands had made,

With secret Pleasure did his Mind invade:

Once more th'Eternal spoke: Let teeming Earth,

Disclose a sudden and prolific Birth;

Let grassy Burdens load the naked Plain,

And useful Herbs in verdant Triumph reign;

Let Fruit-Trees bearing Fruit, in Vigour grow,

Which on the Years their Product may bestow;

And let the pregnant Seeds of ev'ry Kind,

To every Herb, and every Tree assign'd:

With springing Grass, the Fields were cover'd o'er,

And Herbs, which in themselves, their Seedings bore;

In stately Rows the spreading Fruit-Trees stood,

Bearing their proper Seed, and God pronounc'd it good:

So when arriv'd the Ev'ning and the Morn,

Thus far his Work the Third Day did adorn.

Jehovah said; let glorious Lights display

Their beamy Splendor round the heav'nly Way,

Which may distinguish Night from chearful Day;

Whilst in its Orb each shining Spark appears,

For Signs, for Seasons, and revolving Years.

When strait with Lights the Crystal Plain was spread,

That on the Earth their dazzling Lustre shed:

Two Lights immensely great, he form'd in haste,

Which in the Skies were to Advantage plac'd.

The greater Orb to rule the burning Day,

The less amidst the Shades of Night to stray,

And from the darken'd Space its Beams convey.

To these the Stars, with twinkling Lustre bright,

He added, to adorn the Face of Night:

High in the Azure Roof they took their Place,

With their fair Rays, this under World to grace;

So when the Godhead saw how all Things stood,

His awful Voice declar'd the Labour good:

And when the Ev'ning and the Morning clos'd,

The Fourth Day's Work in Order was compos'd.

Again th'Almighty spoke; Let now the watry Field,

Unnumber'd Shoals of moving Creatures yield,

With a vast Product of the feather'd Kind,

To fan, with various Wings, the buxom Wind.

Huge Whales he form'd, the Monsters of the Deep,

And Creatures which on Earth's low Surface creep,

With springing Fowls that wing the airy Steep:

Each in themselves their proper Kind contain'd,

That all was good his sacred Tongue explain'd:

Increase, and Multiply, the Maker said,

And o'er the Earth be fruitfully convey'd;

Full to the Brim the foaming Ocean lade,

And let the num'rous Fowl the Land invade:

So when the Ev'ning and the Morn roll'd on,

The Fifth Day's Labour was compleatly done.

Jehovah said; Let th' obsequious Earth,

Produce a mingled instantancous Birth,

Of Cattle, creeping Forms, and Beasts of Prey,

And let their Seed be stor'd in the cemented Clay,

Lest moldring Time should wear the Kind away.

The furious Herds the shady Forest trace,

Low grov'ling Reptiles print the flow'ry Space,

And ev'ry Creature fill'd his proper Place.

Th' Eternal look'd, and saw 'twas wond'rous good,

'Cause all Things in a just Decorum stood:

Thus from his Seat th'Almighty did declare,

Let us make MAN, whose nobler Form may bear

Our heav'nly Image, and our Likeness wear:

And let the finny Race, and ev'ry Drove,

With Beasts that round the globous Ball shall rove,

And those whose Belly sweep the dusty plain,

Confess him Lord, and own his pow'rful Reign:

In his own Image God created Man,

As Male and Female join'd, his Hours began.

The Father Hand pour'd wond'rous Blessings round,

And with unmeasur'd Bounty they were crown'd.

Increase, be fruitful, and the Earth subdue,

The Maker said, this Pow'r is given to you.

Rule with unrival'd Sway the scaly Land,

Beast, Fishes, Birds, each living Thing command.

The Lord went on; Behold, to you I've given,

The Use of ev'ry Herb that's under Heaven;

And ev'ry Tree that beareth Fruit, for Food,

Pleasing to Life, and to the Palate good:

To ev'ry Beast that roams the Forest round,

And ev'ry creeping Thing that crawls the Ground,

With all the winged Flocks, the wholesom Herbs, whose Green

Is with an everlasting Verdure seen.

With this sweet Grass they may their Hunger ease,

And all its meagre rav'nous Troops appease.

Then God survey'd the finish'd Globe with Care,

And lo! the Work appear'd Divinely fair:

So when the Ev'ning and the Morning came,

The Sixth Day's Light smii'd on the glorious Frame

Notes

*
This Lady was Mr. Dryden's CORINNA,
↵

*
See CORINNA's Poems. 8vo.
↵

†

1. Song for St. Caecilia's Feast.

2. The Mosaic Creation.

↵

*
Lady Delawar.
↵

*
The Piece here referr'd to, was not Durfy's, but written by a Nobleman, and may be found in the Works of the Earls of Rochester, Roscomon, and Dorset, in 2 Volumes, 12mo. Printed for E. Curll. It is intitled, Satire to his Muse, by the Author of Absalom and Achitophel; and begins thus,

Hear me, dull Prostitute, worse than my Wife,

Like her, the Shame and Clog of my dull Life;

Whose first Essay was in a Tyrant's Praise;[*]

Baudy in Prologues, Blasphemous in Plays:

So lewd, thou mad'st me for the Church unfit,

And I had starv'd, but for a lucky Hit,

When the weak Ministers implor'd my Wit:[*]

Stol'st me from Business, where I might have made

A solid Fortune, to thy barren Trade.

My Father wisely bid me be a Clerk;

Thou whisper'd'st, Boy, be thou a tearing Spark.

I, from that fatal Hour, now Hopes pursu'd,

Set up for Wit, and aukwardly was lewd;

Drank 'gainst my Stomach, 'gainst my Conscience swore.

Against my Will, I marry'd a rank Whore—[†]

After Two Children, and a Third Miscarriage,

By brawny Brothers hector'd into Marriage. &c.

↵

*
Oliver Cromwell.
↵

*
Alluding to his Absalom and Achitophel.
↵

†
Lady Elizabeth Howard.
↵

Lady CHUDLEIGH, TO Mrs. THOMAS. 1720.

YOUR various Styles of Cross and Kind,

Recals a Custom to my Mind,

How Farmers, politickly, vein

Their Bacon-Hogs with Fat and Lean:

They feast them one Day, next they fast,

And make 'em excellent at last.

How generously condescending and goodhumour'd were you, when you wrote that Letter of the 10th, and how peevish and splenatic in that of the 12th: But I ought to be the last who should arraign you, since I know, by unhappy Experience, it is not always to be avoided, nor will I ever complain of the Style when you take the Pains to write, and are not absolutely angry. What Pity it is, that the brightest Genius should not inhabit the strongest Constitution; and that our Intellects must sympathize with those crazy Machines our Bodies, which, like Barometers, are affected with every Change of Air; but 'tis always so, the richest Jewels are set in the most malleable Metals, and Brass and Iron serve for Implements of common Use. It is very rare that one shall meet with a fine Genius, in a Herculean Figure; and I am often induced to compare such Persons to great Houses, where the Garrets are generally the worst furnish'd.

I must confess, however, they have an Advantage which the others wants, they are pleas'd better cheap, and as they have less Delicacy, they find no Difficulties to their Satisfaction. For it is certainly a Misfortune to have a Taste too refined for the Age one lives in, and to spin such Cobweb Notions of Excellence, as 'tis probable one may never find but in one's own Treasury of Ideas.

I have often endeavour'd to correct in myself this Research, after what Reason would persuade me was a Non-Entity; but I could never make my Relish descend to the Common, the Modish Entertainment of Life; I have at last sound the Phoenix I despair'd of, and met with a Person whose Sentiments and Delicacy most exactly tally with mine, and entirely happy should I be in such a Friendship, had He, Madam, but a little more Steadiness; but alas! when I consider his Passion for Novelties, [*] I must own I suffer all the Torments of a final Separation.

Yours, &c. MARY CHUDLEIGH.

P.S. I inclose ZENOBIA.

ZENOBIA.

I.

ZENOBIA, Empress of the East,

Aspiring Rome, with Wonder saw

ZENOBIA, Pattern of the West,

Shall keep th' admiring World in awe.

II.

Unsway'd by Custom's rigid Forms,

A more superior Course she steers,

To what she likes, herself transforms,

And graceful in each Change appears.

III.

Ah! why did Nature thus mistake,

And not bestow the Form assign'd;

Why cloath the Soul in Hero's Make,

When softer Female rul'd the Mind.

IV.

Doubtless, to shew ZENOBIA's Art,

And give a never-dying Fame,

Nature renounc'd the plastic Part,

To compliment ZENOBIA's Name.

V.

So Grand she does in all appear,

In princely Gesture so excel,

Comparison were odious here,

Save glorious ANNA's Parallel.

VI.

This said, e'en Eloquence were vain,

Nor can a just Encomium give,

Since great ZENOBIA does remain,

Her living Representative.

Notes

*
Sir George Chudleigh was very much addicted to Women.
↵

PIECES written by Mr. POPE.

THE CHALLANGE. A COURT BALLAD.

To the Tune of, To all you Ladies now at Land, &c.

I.

TO one fair Lady out of Court,

And two fair Ladies in,

Who think the Turk [*] and Pope [†] a Sport,

And Wit and Love no Sin;

Come, these soft Lines, with nothing stiff in,

To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin.

With a fa, la, la.

II.

What passes in the dark third Row,

And what behind the Scene,

Couches and cripled Chairs I know,

And Garrets hung with Green;

I know the Swing of sinful Hack,

Where many Damsels cry Alack.

With a fa, la, la.

III.

Then why to Court should I repair,

Where's such ado with Townshend,

To hear each Mortal stamp and swear,

And ev'ry Speech with Zoons end;

To hear 'em rail at honest Sunderland,

And rashly blame the Realm of Blunderland. [*]

With a fa, la, la.

IV.

Alas! like Schutz, I cannot pun,

Like Grafton, court the Germans;

Tell Pickenbourg how Slim she's grown,

Like Meadowes run to Sermons;

To Court ambitious Men may roam,

But I and Marlbro' stay at Home.

With a fa, la, la.

V.

In Truth, by what I can discern,

Of Courtiers 'twixt you Three,

Some Wit you have, and more may learn

From Court, than Gay or Me:

Perhaps in Time you'll leave high Diet,

To sup with us on Milk and Quiet.

With a fa, la, la.

VI.

At Leicester-Fields, a House full high,

With Door all painted Green,

Where Ribbons wave upon the Tye,

(A Milliner I mean;)

There may you meet us Three to Three,

For Gay can well make Two of Me.

With a fa, la, la.

VII.

But shou'd you catch the Prudish Itch,

And each become a Coward,

Bring sometimes with you Lady Rich,

And sometimes Mistress Howard;

For Virgins to keep Chaste, must go

Abroad with such as are not so.

With a fa, la, la.

VIII.

And thus, fair Maids, my Ballad ends;

God send the King safe Landing,[*]

And make all honest Ladies Friends

To Armies that are Standing;

Preserve the Limits of these Nations,

And take off Ladies Limitations.

With a fa, la, la.

EPIGRAMS, Occasion'd by An Invitation to Court.

I.

IN the Lines that you sent,

Are the Muses and Graces;

You've the Nine in your Wit,

And Three in your Faces.

II.

They may talk of the Goddesses,

In Ida Vales,

But You shew your Wit,

Whereas They show'd their Tails.

III.

You Bellenden, Griffin, and little Lepell,

By G— you all lie like the D—l in Hell;

To say that at Court there's a Dearth of all Wit,

And send what Argyll, would he write, might have writ.

IV.

Adam had fallen twice, if for an Apple,

The D—l had brought him Bellenden and Lepell.

V.

On Sunday at Six, in the Street that's call'd Gerrard,

You may meet the two Champions, who are no Lord Sherrard.

VI.

They say A—ll's a Wit, for what?

For writing? no,—for writing not.

Notes

*
ULRIC, the little Turk.
↵

†
The AUTHOR.
↵

*
Ireland.
↵

*
This Ballad was written Anno 1717.
↵

THE SPEECH Of the Reverend FRANCIS ATTERBURY, D.D.
On the Day of his Admission to the Deanry of Christ-Church, OXON. 1711[*].

MOST Excellent Youth, this your Reception of me, in the Entrance of your Court, with your obliging Oration, is truly acceptable. I rejoyce not so much that I am, as that this House is adorned thereby; which has always been esteemed the Nursery of ingenuous Education; and I am with Pleasure induced to believe, that your Cotemporaries are in all Things like yourself: In which Expectation, if I am not deceived, you may with Confidence assure yourselves of such Incouragment and Rewards as I have Power to bestow.

Your Congratulation, select Batchelour, and that of your Society, is the more pleasing to me, for that it proceeds from those who are grown up to a Maturity of Judgment, enlarged and perfected by the Precepts and Instructions of Philosophy, and other various Kinds of Learning. I wish I was altogether the Man, which I understand from you, they take me to be. He I truly am, who with the utmost Satisfaction behold a Learned Body of young Men happily pressing after whatever is praise-worthy, and who cannot therefore but greatly encourage the growing Commendation of your House. I know I shall hear much concerning your Love of the profound Sciences, the commendable Course of your Studies, and the Progress of your Learning, from that worthy Man the Sub-Dean of this House; whose Vigilance and Industry if I can any ways assist, he will find in me, when Occasion offers, an active Sharer of his Care and Counsel.

Most Eloquent Reader of Rhetoric, you indeed shew yourself well fitted to that your Province, which you have sustained for many Years with Reputation; when having so slender a Subject to work upon, you dignify and enlarge it, with a plentiful Flow of Words, and all the forceful Charms of Eloquence. Both I myself am but too conscious, and you, notwithstanding the great Things you say of me, cannot be insensible how little I deserve these Commendations; yet with what Ingenuity and Modesty do you treat me, when not judging it convenient to admonish me publickly, you have Recourse to those Rules of your Art which say, That an Exhortation is then most effectual, when you extol him whom you mean to excite. If any therefore, led away by this Kind of Speech, should imagine that the Virtues recited are mine, great is his Mistake; it was designed to a different Intent, that whilst you thus discharged your own Duty, you might remind me of mine; and your whole Endeavour was, that the Auditors of this Panegyrick might understand not who I am, but what he ought to be that has the Honour to preside in this flourishing College; who being placed over so numerous a Body of those already Learned, and others yet a Learning, should be ever mindful to defend the Cause of Religion, cultivate good Manners, and promote sound Literature; truly a very difficult Undertaking! however, you shew me the Way to make it easier, for even at this Instant, we cannot but remember those worthy Men my Predecessors in this Trust; from which Remembrance you readily hit upon all those Perfections required to compose a Picture, highly finished, of the Greatest Man, and the most Skilful Governor.

However, when I think of filling this Post, now fallen to my Lot, and consider my own Abilities, there arises a Dread and Diffidence sufficient to confound and overwhelm me; nor am I ever so dispirited or out of love with myself, as when Fell and Aldrich, those two great Luminaries of your Commonwealth of Letters, present themselves to my Remembrance; for who has not Reason to dread treading in the Paths they trod, who (being endowed with the choicest Gifts of Nature, furnished with a great Variety of Arts, exercised in a long Tract of Academical Employments) brought this House, which ever had its Share of Glory, ever illustrious for its Praise of Learning, to the utmost Pitch of Splendor and Perfection.

Both of them were eagerly studious of Knowledge, and earnestly disposed to cultivate the liberal Sciences: Both of them were possessed with extraordinary Candour, so as to cherish every Appearance of Virtue that presented itself, ever interpreting favourably and to the milder Sense, whatever bore the Face of Doubt: Both of them were noble and generous, not carried away with the Thirst of Riches or of Honours: They were careless of their private Affairs, but vigilant for the Public Good: No Man ever loved his Family more ardently, or cherished it with more Affection, than both of them did this House: No Man's Country was ever dearer to him, than this University to them: By their own Labour, by their own Cost, to increase the Art of Printing, to repair, to rebuild these Walls; as it was always a Care to them, so was it a Pleasure: With these Thoughts, with these Desires were they employ'd when living, nor was there any Intermission to the Hour of their Deaths. You are not unacquainted with the Things I speak of, which so lately were, and still are in your Sight and Hearing; but be they rivetted ever so strongly in your Minds, the Repetition of them will always be a Pleasure, and the Remembrance of them delightful, who excelled in every Qualification that could be in Man. The Image of that most humane Man can never be forgot by me or you, by whose Demise this House, as tho' it were deprived of a Parent, now lies in Mourning and in Sorrow: God grant that now, by my coming among you, it may in some measure be refreshed and comforted. To him nothing was wanting which indulgent Nature could bestow, either to the propagating or Embellishment of Learning; nothing which could excite either the Love or Admiration of those over whom he presided: What Perspicuity, what Strength of Thought, what a ready Utterance was he endowed with, applying himself to different Kinds of Learning, with Ease and Quickness! Never at a Loss, nor a Stranger to any Sort of Literature that was laid before him: Whatsoever he undertook in any Art, was performed to Exactness; so that one might say, he was alone born for that Part which he then sustained, and that all his Time and Labour had been imployed therein: Whether he followed more serious Studies, or delighted himself with those of less Consequence; whether he treated of divine or moral Subjects, you could not perceive which he was more capable to perform, this or that: But then, in his Address and Conversation, in his Recess and Business, how genteel was his Behaviour, how plain and open was his Mind! What Integrity in his Life, what Truth in his Words, what Modesty in his Countenance, what Gracefulness in his Front! Adorned with these Gifts of Nature, that which often seems morose and severe in abstrase Learning, he was wont to allay, with a wonderful Pleasantness; so that he could mould and form the Minds of young Beginners, not barely by his Precepts and Instructions, but by his Aspect and engaging Manner, to the Love of Learning and all the Praises of Humanity. In this Man were many Things admirable, many Things excellent, but nothing more so, than that he held the Memory of blessed Fell in singular Regard and Veneration, looking upon him, and declaring him to be the unerring Guide and Pattern of all his public Actions, the best Master for the Instruction and Government of Youth, a Restorer of that Discipline which was interrupted amongst us in the Times of Distraction; and, in a Word, the Guardian Establisher of this spacious Building: And, truly, ever since a Way was opened for the Return of true Religion and sound Learning to this Place, from whence it was driven. Whatsoever this House hath contributed to the Help of Science, or the Increase of Piety; whatsoever Benefit hath accrued from it to the Church or State, all flows from the Labour, Care, and Counsels of that most holy Prelate: By him was laid the Foundation of our Praises; by him were sown the Seeds of Virtue, Industry and Learning, which even now flourish, and which from him, both living and dead, hath so often ripened into a plenteous and joyful Harvest.

As often, therefore, as I consider this Body still flourishing by the Instructions of Fell, methinks I see that well planted Field, which Cyrus formerly shewed Lysander, where, if I may say so, one might admire the Height, Ranks, and regular Disposition of Trees, the Ground cultivated, smooth and clean, with the sweet and flagrant Odor wafted from the Flowers, but above all, the Diligence and Industry of him by whom they were thus planted and designed.

Happy that Husbandman of ours, who can truly say with Cyrus, All these have I thus disposed, mine is the Order, the Design is mine; many of these Trees have I also planted with my own Hands, for the Benefit of this, and, perhaps, of the coming Generation. To me therefore, in the Discharge of this Office (shall I say it was a Happiness or a Misfortune, immediately to succeed such eminent Men) what now remains, but that I, who am diffident of my own Abilities, should rouse myself up by the Contemplation of those Virtues with which they excelled, and that those best of Masters whom I profitted by, when living, I should copy after when dead, and look on them as Examples to be followed in all Things according to my Ability.

They truly, by their excellent Endowments obtained this, that they were singularly serviceable to you, which I too well know I can never attain to. There is one Thing, however, which I boast to share in common with them. It is a certain unspeakable Degree of Love and good Will, which I bear towards this House, by which I have at Heart, you and all your Interests. In this I trust never to be out-done by any of those my Ancestors, with some of whom, in nothing else am I worthy to be compared.

Notes

*
Translated from the Latin Original. See VOL. II.
↵

On the DEATH of that Excellent Young Man, Mr. SHIRLEY, Junior.

I.

WHile the inspired Throng, on Harps well play'd,

Thee lost, in weeping Strains rehearse,

Do not refuse, thou amiable Shade,

This slender Duty of my Verse.

II.

To whom, if Phoebus shine with friendlier Ray,

So many Years she'll Give thy Fame,

As hasty Death, dear Youth, has Snatch'd away,

From Life's too perishable Frame.

III.

The faithful Paper ever shall declare

Thy Deeds, thy Modesty, thy Worth,

And praise a Soul divinely good and fair,

Endowed with Virtue, from its Birth.

IV.

But here, alas, no Virtue can detain

The fleeting Soul; no Worth, or Grace,

Can stop a Fever's lamentable Pain,

Or make fierce Death resign his Place.

V.

What profits all thy quick and shining Sense,

Thy Genius, Parts, or Strength, of Thought?

Too Soon, O Virtue! art thou call'd from hence,

Thy Honours, early Wit, are short.

VI.

Narcissus, so amidst a Thousand, best,

No lovelier Flower to be found,

The Gardens Pride, stood far above the rest,

Now Storms have levell'd with the Ground.

AN ODE On the DEATH of Bishop ATTERBURY.

I.

YOU who would build yourselves eternal Fame,

Live to the World, and be for ever known,

Chuse out some eminently virtuous Name,

And try to blend it with your own:

But praise no Wretch, by Fraud or Rapine great,

Because he can reward thy Toils with Pelf;

If so, you justly share the Villain's Fate,

And draw a Nation's Curses on yourself.

A nobler Theme presents itself to all,

(Ye Learn'd, your Atterbury's dead)

'Tis Virtue's Funeral.

II.

If when he Dy'd, the Angels did rejoice,

Join'd by his Harp to sing th' Almighty's Praise,

Have we not Cause to weep for such a Loss,

What greater Subject can demand our Lays?

Ye noble Souls who did his Friendship share,

'Tis you alone my Sorrows would address,

I know how virtuous, and how few, you are,

And wish no other Hearers, were you less;

But wou'd go thither, wheresoe'er you went,

An honourable Death to share,

Or noble Banishment.

III.

No Laurels, no Rewards, attend this Verse,

It is too honest for the World's Applause;

Be it my Wealth to weep upon thy Hearse,

My Glory, ever to defend thy Cause.

I boast some Merit; 'tis to love thy Name,

This is a Privilege, no Laws deny;

'Tis Laurels, Glory, Wealth, Applause and Fame,

And I would do it, were I sure to die.

For in thee living we alone might find

More Friendship, Honour, Sense and Truth,

Than now is left behind.

IV.

With early Speed he follow'd Virtue's Chace,

Still as she fled him, did he not pursue?

With added Vigour and redoubled Pace,

What cannot exemplary Virtue do?

Whate'er he did, 'twas there he did excel,

The Husband, Father, Master, or the Friend,

Were all perform'd so tenderly and well,

'Twas hard to say where most we might commend:

Time, to thy Wing, and bring me if you can,

'Mongst all thy Dead and Living Store,

To such another Man.

V.

As the high-crested Oak, which long had stood

The Tempest's Shock and the fierce Lightning's Blaze;

Whole Ages flourishing o'er all the Wood,

The lenient Hand of Time at length decays;

So with unshaken Zeal did he oppose

The factious Insolence, the impious Hate,

The Malice, Rage, and Turbulence of those,

Who sought Subversion to the Church and State.

Heaven saw, was pleased, then call'd him to receive

What none but the Approv'd can know,

And none but God can give.

IMPARTIAL MEMORIALS OF THE LIFE and WRITINGS OF Thomas Hearne, M.A. By several HANDS.

Parr 〈◊〉

Hearnius behold! in Closet close y-pent,

Of sober Face, with learned Dust besprent;

To future Ages will his Dulness last,

Who hath preserv'd the Dulness of the past

LONDON: Printed in the YEAR. M.DCC.XXXVI.

LETTERS sent to Mr. CURLL.

June the 30th, 1735.
SIR,

AS you intend to publish the Life of that eminent Antiquary Mr. Thomas Hearne, it is to be wished that it might be compleat and just; not in that Manner as it was set out about four Years ago, by a Chaplain of All-Souls College, which was intended rather as a Sneer upon Mr. Hearne [*] than to give us an impartial Account of his Life and Writings.

Among the Manuscripts he has left, is A DIARY of his LIFE, interspersed spersed with many curious Passages, Characters, and his whole Conversation and Correspondence till within a few Days of his Death.

I am, Sir, Your Humble Servant, P.Q.

July 8, 1735.
SIR,

I Received yours much too late, and after a solemn Promise, to the Gentleman you mentioned, not to communicate aught without Permission relating to him: This I could not but comply with (as yourself well know the Friendship and long Correspondence between us) so that I must not contribute, but if called upon by any who may hereafter do him the Honour designed by you, as I hope nothing else is, or that any Thing mean, trifling, or injurious will be handed into the World.

Your, &c. A.B.

July 10, 1735.
SIR,

AS to the Gentleman's Character you intend to attack, I must desire to be excused, if I don't concern myself: He is dead, and has answered elswhere, and how far his Censures are just, I know not; he cannot now defend himself: De Mortuis nil, nisi bonum. As to the Gentleman to whom the MSS are left, I will not encourage you, or any Body, to apply to him. By the WILL, you'll find he has Directions from the Testator as to that Affair, and he is a Man of too nice Honour not to strictly adhere to them; so that all manner of Application, there, will be ineffectual.

Your, &c. A.B.

Our Correspondent A.B. is very tenacious of the Antiquary's Character. We hope he will not find any Thing mean, trifling, or injurious; unless doing Justice[*] may be mistakenly so deemed.

As to the good old Caution he gives[§], it were to be wished that Mr. Hearne had had more Regard to it himself, but neither he, nor his Predecessor Wood, had any the least Regard either for the Characters of the Living, or the Memory of the Dead; the Writings of both being over loaded with Calumny.

A Catalogue of Mr. Hearne's Works is annexed to most of the Books he has published; among which we cannot point out any Thing useful, unless it be his Ductor Historicus, and his Index to the Earl of Clarendon's History.

PHILALETHES.

THE LIFE OF Mr. Thomas Hearne.

THAT He, may never be forgotten, who has raked the Repositaries of Antiquity, and been indefatigable in fetching Learning from Places where many would not have sought after it; a few Memorials of his Life, and some Observations on his Writings, will, we hope, redound to his Credit.

In the Parish-Register of Abbots, or White-Waltham, a Village about six Miles distant from Windsor, it stands upon Record that he was baptized by the Name of Thomas, Son of George Hearne and Edith his Wife on the Eleventh of June, 1678. His Father, we have been informed, was a considerable Antiquary of the lower Class; and was Sacristan of that Parochial Church to the Day of his Death. So that Mr. Hearne, in all probability, received his great Propensity to the Study of Antiquity as it were ex Traduce.

It is agreed on all Hands that his early Inclination to Letters first discovered itself among the Tumuli of his own Parish Church-yard; over which he was observed to be continually plodding lmost as soon as he was Master of the English Alphabet. To this soon after adding a little Writing, he grew impatient after Antiquity: resolved never to be unprepared for collecting Materials that might be serviceable hereafter, and accordingly stuffed his Diary (which was his constant Companion) with every Occurrence worthy his Notice. This he prudently foresaw would turn to a good Account in his more advanced Years; Vacancies in his future Labours might be supplied with a Story from his Journal; and tho' it might not be very methodical, or perhaps not at all to his Purpose in Hand, yet the Design of preserving it might sufficiently justify its Publication.

This was the advantageous Method he pursued all his Life Time: He copied Monuments and Inscriptions; Original Letters and venerable Ballads of Antiquity; Stories of honest John Ross and Peter Langtoft; Robert of Brune and St. Thomas Cantilupe: Men! who had not Mr. Hearne lived, might have lain for ever buried in an ignoble Obscurity. The Preservation of these Things may be ascribed to his Collectanea which are now swelled to a prodigious Size.

It is difficult indeed to determine to what particular Number these MSS Volumes are now grown, because they are kept with as strict and sacred a Care from the Eyes of Mankind as the [*] Oracles of the Sibylls deposited in the Capitol. The highest Number we have yet seen quoted by himself is cxxiii, in his Preface to the [*] Annals of John of Trokelowe. So that notwithstanding there can be no certain Calculation made of an exact Number, yet there is some room for a Conjecture that they are not fewer than five Hundred.

Several Passages there are in his [†]XCV Volume which enough convince us of his not being then arrived at Years of Discretion, notwithstanding he had filled so many of them: If therefore his Industry was as great in his advanced Years as in his Youth (which we believe all will allow when they consider the uninterrupted State of Health he all along enjoyed) we think we may be allowed not to have exceeded the Number, but rather to have fallen short of it. This however we only took Notice of to shew what an inestimable Loss the World must sustain, should this prodigious Treasure perish with its Collector.

This Digression we hope the Reader will pardon; and so, without dwelling on the first eight or ten Years of his Life, we shall follow him to the School, where we are told he laid the Foundation of his future Greatness.

It was happy for him as well as the World that he fell into the Hands of a good [*]Master at Bray School: it being a malancholly Thing to consider how many great Genii have either been cramped or utterly spoiled thro' the Ignorance or Indolence of trifling Pedagogues. Here he soon mastered the Rudiments of Learning, and by a gradual but speedy Progress became acquainted with the Roman and Greek Historians.

Thus encouraged by the Pregnancy of his Parts, his assiduous Industry and Proficiency in School Learning, his liberal Friend [†]thought them sufficient Motives to the Continuance of his Bounty, and sent him accordingly in the Year MDCXCV (with a considerable Addition) to the University of Oxford. Fortune here again (if we are rightly informed) seemed particularly fond of him: The Vicar[*] of the Parish where his Benefactor lived was at that Time a considerable Tutor in Edmund Hall, and in the Study of Antiquity most eminently remarkable. Thro' this Gentleman's Means he was admitted into this Place, and used more like a Son than barely a Pupil by him.

A few Years being spent in Academical Learning, by the Help of which he had improved his Propensity to Antiquity; He gave the World a Specimen of his future Designs. In the Year MDCCII (but seven Years from his Matriculation) he published a copious Index of the principal Passages in Sir Roger L'Estrange's Translation of Josephus; which seems to have met with so good a Reception, that the same was reprinted not long after in an Octavo Edition. In MDCCIII he obliged the World with (or at least occasioned the Publication of) the Reliquiae Bodleianae, or some genuine Remains of Sir Thomas Bodley, adding the same Year, to his other Labours. Pliny's Epistles and Panegyric, with various Lections and Annotations; not to mention his Edition of Eutropius, with many other Things published all in this Year. In MDCCIV and V came out that laborious Work called Doctor Historious, in two Volumes, 8vo, being a short System of Universal History, and an Introduction to the Study of it.

It would be almost endless to expatiate particularly on his Labours, or to give an Account of the Product of every Year; for which Reason we must refer the Reader to his own printed Catalogue of them, inserted at the End of every Book, he published, since they became numerous.

During this Period however it is observable that his Vindication of Those who take the Oath of Allegiance, was written, which loudly speaks in the Behalf of Mr. Hearne's Industry, and shews the early Application he had made to Books. The many just Quotations in it from sacred History as well as Profane, from Acts of Parliament and Lawyers of the greatest Name, we flatter ourselves will excuse our writing a Panegyrick, and its Author's Name recommend it enough to the Perusal of Mankind.

In MDCCIII, on the 3d of July, he took the Degree of Master of Arts, and had no sooner compleated it, but the Eyes of the whole University were upon him: His Industry was almost become a Proverb, and (notwithstanding a little Surliness of Temper which it is thought he brought into the World with him, and which probably increased with his severe Studies) he met with Friendship in a great many, and much Respect from all Men,

I should have mentioned indeed before this, the Encouragement he had from the [*]Head Librarian, who (acquainted with his Diligence) made him Underkeeper of the Bodleian Library. There he had Room enough for his Inquisitive Genius to range in; of which he made so good a Use, that the Product of every Year afterwards may justly be ascribed to the Acquisitions he had made in this Treasure of Learning.

After some Years spent in this Way, of printing Indexes, Itineraries and Collectanea, his Labours met with an additional Reward; being on the 19th of Jan. 1714-15, elected Architypographus of the University and superior Beadle of Civil Law [†] This we find him acknowledging with Pleasure and Humility to be an Honour, which he took the first 'Opportunity of mentioning to the World, on purpose that his Gratitude might be made known to Posterity. And notwithstanding he was conscious to himself that the University Favours were conferred upon One who every way undeserved them, in respect of Learning, and other requisite Qualifications, yet still he had very good Reason for accepting them upon this Account amongst others, as they seasonably assisted and relieved one of their Members who had for many Years led an obscure and retired Life, and was at that Time reduced to a necessitous Condition thro' the great Expence he had been at in carrying on many public Designs.'

In this happy Posture of Affairs one would have imagined he might have been easy and satisfied: But neither Friendship nor Preferment could put a Stop to his Enquiry after Truth. Soon after this Promotion he acquired better Reasons (to Himself at least) for Non-Compliance with the Oaths which were necessary for keeping it, than he had before for the Acceptance of it; and accordingly resigned that advantageous Post, which the University had so lately consered on him, as inconsistent with his Conscience, or at least, his Manner of Thinking.

Ever since he steadily adhered to the Principles of a Non-juror; spent his Time in annually obliging the World with something relating to the History of England, or with some other Affairs as they accidentally have fallen in his Way, both for the Benefit and Pleasure of Mankind. Here we think he might have been left still labouring at the Oar, deserving the Favour and Compliments of the Learned upon his yearly Revival of something (as it were) lost to every one but himself. [*] Singulis fere Annis Cl. Hearnius aliquid e MSS. eruere quod ad Historiam Anglicanum spectat, idque Praefationibus ac Appendicibus prolixis saepe longe aliena complexis sive ornare sive onerare.—[†] Hearnius doctus Antiquarius & Industriae summae. Hic Talpa eruditus egregia e Tenebris eruit; multum scalpsit, corrasit, & occultus ipse Literaturae Cumulos, Naso satis acuto, in Lucem edidit.—Hearnium alterum verbis mutilatis totum incumbentem, fortiter, obstinate, contractis Superciliis infixum, & Temporibus suis hoc e Saxo Ingenii sui Vi vel Duritie pot ius, Lumen elidentem videor videre. These Passages, how much soever they may look like Ridicule to Men who deal only in Polite Learning, are still undoubted Confirmations of Mr. Hearne's Industry, and will ever be thought so by Persons of deeper Penetration.

Amongst many Qualities remarkable in him, his strict and unshaken Integrity is none of the least. No Regard for any one's Merit could ever prevail with him to connive at their Errors: He chose rather to break off the strictest Friendship, than to be led aside by it in his Search after Truth; Nay his very Gratitude, when it interfered with his Integrity, was at once renounced as no longer binding. [*] Operae Pretium est (says he) Lectorem monere me nulla alia de Causa à Richardsono dissentire, nisi quod Veritatem aliis quibuscunque Amicitiis anteferendam esse censeam. And in another Place, [†] Ed collineat Operum nostrorum Scopus, ut Veritatem pro virili asseramus, cui litavimus.

There is one Thing indeed relating to University College (to which Society he [§] declares himselfe indebted) which it would really be a Fault in us not to take Notice of, because we are positive his Veritatis Amor can never be reconciled with it.

During the late unhappy Contest in that House, occasioned by the Death of Dr. Charlett, Mr. Hearne published Peter Langtoft's Chronicle; at the End of the Second Volume of which, he adds a Glossary upon English Words. Upon the Word Writ he has it thus: We commonly understand by Writ (the same with the Latin Breve) a written Order or Precept from the King or Court of Judicature, by which any thing is commanded to be done relating to Suit or Action.

Had he left off here he had done very well: [*] Sed ad Agendum Nati sumus are his own Words; upon which Principle we suppose he proceeded in this Place. Of this kind (he tells us) is that remarkable one relating to University College of King Richard the Second, with his Seal annexed, which he just saw and hastily run over.

Whether he ever saw this Instrument we shall not scruple at present, but whether there is any Seal to it, or has been, within the Compass of Mr. Hearne's Years, we leave to the Enquiries of the Fellows of that Society.

The same he tells us was done afterwards expresly by King Henry VI, in a Writing quoted from the Muniments of the same College by [*]Mr. Twyne. The thing will appear best to the Reader if we produce the Passage printed by Mr. Twyne, and the Translation of it by Mr. Hearne.

Nam cum Temporibus Henrici Sexti inter Guilielmum Abbatem de Osney, & Richardum Witton illius Collegii Magistrum esset Controversia, &c. And then follows the Instrument itself, which is only a common Form in the Case of a Law-Suit drawn by some Attorney, which Mr. Hearne, without the least Authority whatever, makes to be one of these Writs or Precepts from the King or Court of Judicature relating to the depending Suit between the Abbot of Osney and Richard Whitton then Master of the College.

How he came to translate Temporibus Hen. VIti, by the Order of Henry the VIth, looks more like Design than Blunder; tho' we would not suggest that he had any Intent of giving a Turn to a Cause then depending in some Measure upon such Instruments as he would have made this.

The Annals of this College lately published by Mr. Smith we find gave our Antiquary some Distaste; but upon what Bottom this Anger is raised, a little Enquiry (if the Reader will permit) will soon discover.

In his Preface to [*] Dr. Sprott we find this Gentleman a very great Favourite of Mr. Hearne's; whose Character there given is Vir per-eruditus & benevolus: But we are afraid his Temper grew four and morose as he advanced in Years. In his Preface to the Life of Richard II, we have another Account of Mr. Smith: viz. Scriptor ille ferreus atque mendax Gulielmus Faber de Joh. Rosso tam maligne passim locutus est.—Haec in Gratiam Gulielmi Fabri Ecclesiae Anglicanae (quod vix credas) Sacerdotis, qui multum Temporis in isto uno [scil. Antiquitatis] Studio consumsit, nuperque (jam pene Octogenavius) Librum prolixum, Annales Collegii Universitatis, Verbo haud satis apto, appellatum, Lingua vernacula conscripsit (ne dicam conscribillavit) & in publicum protrusit.

We cannot but observe here, that Mr. Smith's Age is made a part of his bad Character; when old Age, by some more sacred Writers than Mr. Hearne, is thought honourable rather than scandalous. Many other Sentences there are in this Preface, which abound with the same sort of Language of this Reverend old Gentleman, which the Veritatis Amor can never justify.

[*]One Passage there is respecting Sprott (whose Authority we own we have some Reason to scruple) which proves, that Mr. Hearne had either not kept up to his avowed Regard for Truth, or else had unhappily blundered in a Point of Chronology, tho' he abused Mr. Smith for it in the very same Case. His Words are these: Sprottus floruit An. Dom. 1274, longe nimirum citius quam exoptat Guil. Faber, qui 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 immemor, audectar falsoque retulit, Ranulphum Higdenum primum omnium fuisse qui de Scholis Aluredianis aliquid tradidit, &c.

It is observable here, in the fifth place, that Sprott lived (according to Mr. Hearne's own Confession) in 1274, which was in the Reign of Edward the First; that he Studied in ea parte Aedis Christi quam vulgo vocant Quadrangulum Cantuariense, and that he wrote of Canterbury College, and left a Book behind him concerning it, is evident from the above-cited Preface to Sprott's Chronicle.

This is a very surprising Canterbury Tale indeed; and that would make Sprott (provided it could be proved) more Famous than the Samian Philosopher, who, by the Help of Transmigration, passed thro' two or three Successive Stages of Generation, but never under the same Name.

Sprott, who lived in 1274, in the Reign of Edward the First, studied in Canterbury College, which was not built till 1363, and therefore agreeable to this Account, must either have lived about 89 Years before he was born, or at least written of a Place as many Years before it was built.

This Mistake we would have accounted for in our Author's Behalf, had it been in our Power; but as it was not, we left it to himself, who was better qualified to reconcile Difficulties of this Nature.

Another Slip of this kind appears in Page 302 of his Collection of Curious Discourses. Academia (says he) scripsit Guilielmo Wykham Episcopo Winton: ut illis accommodaret Machinas, quarum Ope Scholam Theologicam Voltis & Fornicibus exornarent. It is very well known that the Divinity School (for which this Loan was desired) was built in the Year 1476, by Tho. Kempe Bishop of London. This Mr. Hearne allows in the Page preceding the Place before cited. [*] William of Wikham Bp. of Winton died the 27th of Sept. 1404. so that, according to this Assertion, the University sent to him ut illis accommodaret Machinas, &c. 60 Years after his Death. [†] Rymer in his Foedera tells us, that Hen. Beaufort Bp. of Winton died the 3d Id. of April 1447. and was succeeded by William Waynflete, who lived in Possession of the same till 1486. So that if for Wikham we read Waynflete, as the Person petitioned to by the University, we shall come within the Time of building the Divinity School, and set Mr. Hearne right in his Chronology. This we believe was an Alteration of no Design, but only a simple, thoughtless Blunder. Mistakes of this sort we shall conclude with an Assertion of his relating to University College, where he makes William of Durham to have studied in the Great Hall, which was not bought for the Use of William of Durham's Scholars till 124 Years after his Death.

As for the Censure passed upon Mr. Smith in the Passage above-cited (which really is too severe without better Grounds for it) we may venture to say it is Unjustifiable. For supposing that Sprott's Book was written before Higden's, yet still Mr. Smith (who had never seen or heard of it till he had finished his Annals) might undoubtedly say, and consistent with Truth too, that Ralph Higden was the first he ever had met with quoted as a Friend to the weak Cause of K. Alfred's Halls, and who seemed first to have introduced this Novelty into the World.

Mr. Hearne therefore in the former Case seems to deserve the Sentence of being 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 immemor; and int he latter to be very Ungenteel, to make no worse of it. [*] 'Utinam igitur Auctor Noster (to use almost his own Words) Errores expungat, Librumque Retractationum ipse confestim edat, Crimenque nefandum, quod Clerico huic digno intulit, pro virili eluat. Hoc enim non extorsit Veritatis Amor.'

Whilst we are thus impartially considering our Antiquary's Character, by setting him right in his Mistakes, as well as commending his Virtues, one thing occurs which we should have been glad never to have had the Opportunity of correcting. About twenty Years before the Publication of the Life of Richard II (which was wrote by one of the Monks of Evesham, our Author, in his [†]Preface to the seventh Volume of Leland's Itinerary, expresses a hearty Concern for the just Rights of the Crown, in Opposition to those, 'who, in Order to advance and maintain Republican Principles, strain their Inventions to give a wrong Turn to and pervert the true Meaning of our best Historians; and studiously asperse, blacken and desame, the Memory of King Charles the II (as others with less Modesty have done that of K. Charles the I.) What he has said upon these Points he hoped no Ingenuous or Impartial Person will think Uncharitalle or Unbecoming.

These are sounding Words, and express a great deal of Loyalty to the Memory of those Princes. But such fickle Things are our Memories, that sometimes they seem to take Pleasure in exposing us. Hence doubtless it was that Mr. Hearne lately run counter to his own above-cited Declarations. It must be Forgetsulness (we hope so at least) that will suffer a Man to draw his own Character in an infamous I Light; and whether he has not done it to the Life, let the Reader judge when he has heard the Accusation, and is referred to the Place where he may soon inform himself.

At the latter [*] End of the Life of Richard the 2d, there is a Letter printed and Mr. (Hearne says an Original one) of Charles the First when Prince of Wales: It is directed to the Duke of Buckingham, and interpreted by the Publisher of it, as carrying on an Affair of Gallantry. Be the Letter what it will, Original or not, He ought to have given a better Reason for making it publick. He was apprehensive (he tells us) that if such a Letter should be stifled, some Persons might interpret it an Instance of Partiality, and be apt to make base Reflections upon it. Let us examine this kind of Reasoning a little. The stifling this Letter would have been thought an Instance of Partiality; The Reason of which must be this; Because Mr. Hearne was necessarily obliged to publish every Thing he met with. And then, he says, that some Persons would be apt to make base Reflections on it: On the Letter we snppose, which if stifled, they might never see or hear of: Or if he meant those Gentlemen who communicated it to him, he again forgot his Veritatis Amor, because they never intended it should be printed. That it might escape therefore all Censure he published it in a heap of Appendixes and Curae secvndae, and made it a hundred Times more easy for base Reflections to be cast on it than it was before.

This is the Reason given for publishing this Letter. In the next Book printed by him, which was Trokelowe's Annals of Edward the 2d) we have an Apology in his Preface for the very same Thing. The Letter became the Subject of almost every one's Discourse, and a Reflection cast upon a Prince, remarkable for his uncommon Chastity, could not but be taken Notice of by many of his Friends. Whether it had like to have discontinued any of his Subscriptions, or whether he had more maturely considered the Matter, we cannot say; this however is plain, that his Apology was designed to give a softer Turn, than was hinted in his Explanation of the Letter; and that he had rather have it thought, that the Prince was unwarily misled, than inclined to this Gallantry.

It had been more prudent (and we may add less officious) in Mr. Hearne, whilst he was thus endeavouring to clear himself, to have first got leave for the Printing this Letter from the Gentleman who shewed it him, and who, we are informed since, so highly resents it, that he broke off a Friendship with him, which had been kept very strict for many Years. We must subjoin by the way, that it is certainly a greater Instance of Partiality to publish a Letter as an Original, which the Editor could not at that Time, nor afterwards, prove to be so.

The Apology will appear, upon a little Consideration, not at all inferior to his Reason for printing it; especially if we observe, that tho' he did not know what the Intrigue was, yet he happily conjectured, by making the Prince to be inticed like Joseph by the Importunity of a lewd Mistress; tho' we do not remember that Joseph ever wrote to a third Person about his Affair. Nay, it may be remarked farther, that Mr. Hearne makes the [*] Wife of Pharoah the importunate Woman, when the Scriptures assure us, it was Potiphar's Spouse that was so deeply smitten with the Comeliness of the Hebrew. But a Man may possibly forget his Bible, who is so very much taken up with Adam de Domerham, and the black Book of the Exchequer, &c.

Had this unfortunate Prince lived some hundred Years before he did, Mr. Hearne's Love for Antiquity might probably have engaged him in his Defence rather than in exposing him. We find him, in the [*] Appendix to Leland's Collectanea, very angry with Tyrrel the Historian for staining the Reputation of Ethelred and his first Queen: There he says 'it is a great Crime to scandalize any Person; the Heinousness of it increases according to the Dignity of the Person, of whom the Scandal is raised: But this (says he) may be wiped off by a public Retraction.'

This was good Doctrine, had not a Preface to Canden's Queen Elizabeth shewed, that Men do not always practise as they advise: But a public Retractation which (from the ingenuousness of Mr. Hearne's Dposition) we had Reason to think he would make, might wipe off the Blemish he may have contracted, either in the Case of Prince Charles, or the indecent Language given Mr. Smith. His Pretence to strict Integrity, we were almost confident, would prevail with him to do it, in a better Manner than disguising it in a trifling Apology; and as he was a strict Enquirer after Truth, and is, by this Time, convinced it was wrong to publish the Letter, or abuse the aged Divine, we do not doubt but that he retracted what he had said in both Cases, and frustrated the Expectations of some People who thought he delighted in Abuse, tho' we hope he acowledged our Friendship in setting him right.

Thus have we considered one of his excellent Qualities; the next is his Fidelity as an Editor.

One Rule which we have been informed he at first laid down, and generally speaking closely observed, was always to follow his Authors religiously. Their Mistakes by this means were punctually copied and sacredly preserved: Nay, the very Blunders of Transcribers were faithfully penned down for the Amusement of Posterity. Prurigo emendandi ac commutandi a Nobis plane absit, are his own Words in the Notes after the Appendix of John of Trokelowe's Annals of Edward the Second. And again in [*] Leland's Itinerary he declares, that he was so nice in this Affair, that 'I observed (says he) Mr. Leland's Way of Spelling, and omitted nothing, not so much as the Asterisks, and other Notes of that Nature which had been inserted by him: Nor did we leave out even those Words that are plainly redundant, nor pretend to alter those which are manifestly wrong, and occasioned by the Haste the Author was in, or else by the Defect of his Memory.'

This Method is very observable throughout the numerous Volumes he has obliged the World with. Sic MS. he has noted perhaps in the Margin to shew that he was not ignorant of the Error in the Copy. Delenda sunt ut opinor may possibly be seen at the Bottom of one Page, and lege, &c. at another. Here perhaps may be a Desunt, &c. and there a Subintellige, &c. But still amidst all these Regulations, the Text is generally kept purely corrupt, and scarce a Blunder thro' the whole, but what is very industriously preserved. Nay, so great a Regard had he for the old Way of Spelling, that the following Epistle (which we have printed as like the Original as possibly we could) is a standing Proof of it.

There are indeed a few Cases in which he has varied from this Rule, [*] which might have been concealed, 'had we not been apprehensive (to use his own Words in another Case) that some Persons, if such Slips should be stifled, might have interpreted it a great Instance of Partiality, and made base Reflections upon it.' One of this Nature we must not pass by, lest his Character should prevail (as probably it might) with some Men hereafter to establish his Errors for Truths.

[*]Dr. Leonard Hutton, in his Antiquities of Oxford, has quoted a Line from Shepreve's Life of [†]Dr. Claymond, concerning a Shed which formerly stood in the Corn-Market, built to skreen the Corn from the Weather. Upon this there was an Inscription, and the Copy from whence he transcribed it, had it thus, viz.

Ut possit sircum Saccus habere locum.

In this Verse there appears a palpable Error, which a Reader of no extraordinary Capacity might have discovered and corrected. But see the Misfortune of not following an old Rule. By an unhappy Conjecture he has wandered from his Copy, and to make better Sense of it he has acted the Critic's Part, and mended sircum with circum. But we think the Alteration of this Letter makes but little Difference in the Sense. The Lines (as we copied them from the Manuscript Life, now in the Musaeum at Oxford) run thus, viz.

Plebs ubi Rura colens, empturis hordea vendit,

Aspice quadrifido tecta propinqua foro.

Hoc erexit opus talem Claymundus in Usum

Ut Siccum possit Saccus habere Locum.

Whether this Mistake arose from his not having an Ear for the Monkish Music, an Error of the like Nature may serve to determine.

[*]In the Catalogue of his Works, annexed to the History of Glastonbury, he has published an Inscription in the following manner, now to be seen in the Remains of Rewly.

ELE LONGESPE COMITISSE DE

VERVIC VISCERA SVNT HIC.

Mr. Wood saw this intire; but afterwards it was broken, and unskilfully placed in a Wall of one of the lower Rooms of [†] Rewly, where Mr. Hearne says he has often seen it, and that it is very legible. In this ancient Inscription we find there is a Jingle too; and had it been so legible as he declares it was when he saw it, we are surprised that He, of all Men, would be so inaccurate a Copyer a Trade he followed all his Life) as to transpose one Word and add another, instead of taking it as it really is,

ELE DE WERWICK

COMITISSE VISCERA SUNT HIC.

The Word Longespe, inserted in his Account of it, is not upon the Stone, how legible soever he asserted it to be; and the Spelling of Werwick quite altered by him, without the least Authority whatever but his own.

This Blunder may in some Measure be accounted for in this Manner.—There is now in the Anatomy School (which was formerly under the Care of Mr. Hearne) a Stone found at Rewly, (probably the Foundation-Stone of a Chapel there) bearing this Inscription—ELE LONGESP COMIT: WAREW: HANC CAPELLAM FECIT: This no doubt had often been perused by our Antiquary, as well as the other before mentioned; and perhaps the trusting too much to Memory, might raise a confused Notion of both Inscriptions, and corrupt the Monkish Jingle in the former Case.

These few Mistakes then having taken their Rise from not sticking closely to his Copy: we shall take Notice of but One more, which was occasioned by following it too closely; and it may be seen in his Edition of that valuable [*]MS. which is said to have belonged formerly to Venerable Bede.

Let it be observed in the first Place, that this MS. is in very old Capital Letters, and each Page divided into two Columns: The first contains the Latin, the Greek is wrote collaterally in the other. Thro' the Oscitancy of the Scribe, the Latin Sentence is frequently carried beyond the Bounds of its own Column, by which means it becomes intermixed with the Greek. The Text as he has printed it stands thus: viz.

MIRARI COEPERVNT ΕΘΑΥΜΑΖΟΝ

ET CONFVNDEBANTVR ΜΕΝΤΕΚΑΙΔΙ*EEgr;ΠΟΡΟΥΝ

At the Bottom of his Page (not contented with Dr. Mills's Reading.) he adds sic plane in Codice nostro non 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 ut apud Millium; tho' it will appear beyond all Dispute upon any one's Enquiry, that the Doctor was not in the least to be blamed. For, as we observed before, thro' the Carelessness of the Scribe, the Latin Line be¦ing carried beyond its due Bounds into the Greek Column, and the Words MENTE and MEN TE consisting of five Capital Letters, just the same in both Languages, unhappily led Mr. Hearne into this Mistake. So that by defalcating one Word from the Latin, and converting it into two Greek ones of no Signification at all, he spoiled the Sense of the one, and made the other quite superfluous.—But some Faults sure are pardonable in so voluminous a Writer.

To be particular in shewing his Talent at Reasoning would, we fear, be making too free with our Reader's Time: We might quote three Parts of his Discourse on the Stunsfield Pavement, had not Mr. Peyntr thoroughly considered it already; and give such Instances of it which nothing but Envy or Ill-Nature could find Fault with: But the following Epistle prevents our dwelling upon this Excellency, it being a Master-piece of its kind, and what the Reader, we hope, will be greatly delighted with.

But let the Epistle speak for itself: There is one Paragraph in his [*]Preface to Sprott's Chronicle, which really seems to be a new Method of Reasoning, such as no Writer but himself, we believe, dares lay any Claim to. He is there speaking in Sprott's Praise, and his Words are these—Adeo ut non videam cur mihi sit Detrimento, si publice declarem me opinari de Academia nostra Oxoniensi Opus etiam justum ac distinctum contexuisse: And then comes the Reason in the very next Sentence, viz. Opinioni favet Auctoris Pietas. Quod si Tu aliter sentias, Ego in Sententia non perstabo nec quorsum recidant quaecunque animadverti magnopere laborabo, si modo illud concesseris de Collegio Cantuariensi Opus post se reliquisse, in quo multa itidem de tota Academia è Monumentis praeclaris obiter notaverit.

This is the Argument produced to prove that the Author of that lean Chronicle (whether Sprott or some other) it not clearly appearing that Sprott was the Author of it, composed many other valuable Books, not at all inferior to the Chronicle which is published. Great Pity indeed! that such profitable Works should be buried in Obscurity; and doubtless was there not some Hope of their being still recoverable, Sprott's Admirers (how inflexible soever in other Cases) would lament greatly under their Loss in this.

Agreeable to this new Method of Reasoning we find an uncommon Conjecture in his Preface to the Sixth Volume of Leland's Itinerary, which very few Writers would ever have made. From a Medal of Carausius bearing this Inscription, VICTORIA CEA, he endeavours to prove, that the Brogue of the common People is the true Standard of the Roman Dialect and Pronunciation. The Word Caesar, according to this curious Remark, is not to be pronounced as it generally is by People of Fashion and Breeding, Cesar, but agreeable to the broad Manner of speaking used by the most rustic of Mankind, and as it stands upon the Coin, CEASAR.

We acknowledge the Observation to be a very curious one, and to stand upon the Authority of a Medal, but if it should ever be discovered, that it proceeded from an Error of the Mint-Master, from a simple Literal Transposition, or from any other Accident (as possibly it might) the Remark will then sink into its Value; The Coin indeed may be curious upon the Account of the Blunder, but is no more an Argument to ascertain the Truth of Dialect or Pronunciation, than that spurious Halfpenny of his present Majesty, would be a Standard in the next Age for pronouncing GEOGIVS instead of GEORGIVS.

It would waste too much of the Reader's Time probably, to offer here a Collection of all the Poetical Fragments scattered thro' his Labours; the Preservation of which by Printing them, we must observe, shews no small Desire to be useful to Mankind, as these Rhythmes contain either Lessons of Oeconomy; such as,

With a red Man reade thy read;

With a brown Man break thy Bread:

At a pale Man draw thy Knife;

From a black Man keep thy Wife.

Rob. Glouc. 2 Vol. p. 698.
Or an Account of an ancient local Custom.

Ule, Ule, Ule, Ule,

Three Puddings in a Pule,

Crack Nuts and cry Ule.

Rob. Glouc. p. 679.

Or else an Illustration of a Pedigree:

William de Coningsby

Came out of Britany,

With his Wife Tiffany,

And his Maid Manfas,

And his Dog Hardegrass.

Thus have we collected some Memorials of Mr. Hearne's Life, and have taken the Liberty to correct some few Mistakes in his Writing. In a Thing of such Moment we have been very careful not to offend any impartial Reader: we have avoided Flattery on the one Hand, and Scandal on the other. We have described his good Qualities as they occurred, and rectified such as must be acknowledged to have been gross Errors; and such as he would not pass over in any Author that fell in his way either Living or Dead. Nay, if any Person differed from Him, but in his own private Opinion, it was Ground sufficient for him to let loose the Reins of his utmost Vengeance; a flagrant and very unjustifiable Instance of which we shall here produce.

In the Year 1726, Mr. Hearne, in the Catalogue of Trifles of which he had been the Editor, subjoined to one of his most trifling ones [*] in mentioning Mr. Dodwell's Dissertation De Parma Equestri Woodwardiana, printed at Oxford 1713, 8vo, our Author thus harangues;

Mirum certe nemini videri debet, nonnullorum invidiam sibi ipsi (Dodwello) concitasse, qui sane incredibili odio prosequerentur. Verum hi impii fere erant, qualis equidem & scriptor ille nuperus fuit, Gualterus Moyleus armiger, cujus opera posthuma (nam auctor ipse ad plures abiit) omnes boni procul a seipsis arcere debent, quippe in quibus de auctoribus praestantissimis optimisque plerisque, tam veteribus quam recentibus, contumaciter arroganterque scripserit, nequidem ipsis Sanctis Patribus exceptis, de quibus haec pro more fidenter protulit [Vol. 11. Pag. 183.]
As for the modern Casuists, I shall only produce Bishop Sanderson, who had more LOGIC and Judgment than all the Fathers put together.—Sed pudet piget{que} hunc authorem nominasse. Atque ut verum fatear, ideo potissimum piget, quod in ejus operibus compareat Dodwelli Epistola, satis prolixa linguaque vernacula concepta, (de Dialogo, Luciano vulgo adscripto, titulus Philopatris) misere tamen decurtata ac luxata, multisque mendis scatens gravioribus, dignissima profecto, quae vel seorsim edatur, vel saltem in auctoris ipsius operibus simul collectis accurate divulgetur. Haec brevissime de Gualtero Moyleo, viro leviter docto, qui (ex odio in Clerum Clerique amicos) Scriptores optimos virosque praestantissimos libere, pro modulo ingenii, insectatus est, cujus tamen vituperia ut omnes boni valde contemnent, ita & encomia ab ejusmodi calamo provenientia non est quod quis magni faciat.

Pag. 651.Jam si objicias, de re nostra antiquaria anglo Britannica eximie disseruisse Moyleum, summatim respondeo, fastum, mea plane sententia, passim comparere, raro peritiam, rarius animi candorem, rarissime (fatente etiam, ut videtur, ipso Editore) quod tantopere crepat, acre judicium. Pueriliter, (ne dicam semidocte) omnia de Inscriptione Bathonica. Alioqui (ut alia taceam) non pronunciasset Fabriciensis (idem proculdubio quod Fabricensis) Julii Vitalis cognomen sive agnomen fuisse; Fabrice (quod idem plane est quod Fabricae) vocem compendiariam esse pro Fabricensium; Collegium antiquitus nunquam aedificium ipsum, quo vivebatur, sed semper societatem sive sodalitium denotare, & ad initium Inscriptionum Sepulchralium Ethnicarum. D. M. sive Diis Manibus nunquam non esse sculptum. Imo & pueriliter etiam (ne quid dicam de objectione absurdissima contra Actorum Diurnorum Romanorum Fragmenta, quae authentica esse viri longe maximi Stephanus Vinandus Pighius, Thomas Renesius, Isaacus Vossius, Henricus noster (Dodwellus, aliique rectissime judicaverant) de Clypeo votivo Woodwardiano (de quo ea qua licuit brevitate & nos in Livio nostro egimus, locutus est.) Sed hoc de argumento audi, quaeso, quod ipse doctissimus Woodwardus per literas ad me scripsit, Londini datas Junii 30. MDCCXXVI. Sic nimirum vir clarissimus.

'You form a right judgment of Mr. Moyle's Works—As to my Clypeus Votivus, for such the best Antiquaries judge it to be, Mr. Moyle passes sentence upon it, without ever having seen it, from two very imperfect Sketches of Dr. Clarke and Drakensberg, and without having consulted Mr. Dodwell's excellent Book de Parma, &c. where he might have seen the Question of the Theatres fairly discussed in order to the ascertaining the true Antiquity of the Shield. That truly learned Man is far from carrying the Antiquity of it up to the time of the Sacking of Rome by the Gauls. So that Mr. Moyle in demolishing that Notion, only demolishes a mere fancy of his own. But that it was antient is agreed by the best Judges of all Nations, and the Baron Spanheim, and Mr Abednego Sellers, two of the most learned Men of the last Century, thought it so considerable, that they had both begun to write Dissertations on it, but were both prevented finishing them by Death.'

This Treatment of Mr. Moyle, was, by Mr. Curll, a Bookseller in London, very justly reprehended; who, with an Edition he had printed of Mr Moyle's Works published in his Life time, sent the following Letter to Anthony Hammond Esq as an Apology for his Friend Mr. Moyle, some Account of whose Life and Writings he had just then published.

Let us a little consider, Sir, (says Mr. Curll) the Antagonists Mr. Moyle has met with through the Management of Mr. Serjeant. [*] As to the Attacks of Mess. Whiston and Woolston, relating to the Thundering Legion, their Guides are so very bad, that I dare say their Followers will be very few; I shall therefore content my self with what Monsieur Le Clerc observes upon a particular Occasion. [†] 'Mr. Addison is of Opinion, says he, that the Figure of Jupiter Pluvius, sending down Rain on the fainting Army of Marcus Aurelius, and Thunderbolts on his Enemies, is the greatest Confirmation possible of the Story of the Thundering Legion: This learned Man would apparently mean to say, that this Figure is a Monument of the Shower which fell on the Roman Army, and of the Thunder which confounded the Germans; for as to the Thundering Legion, the Learned are agreed that it had that Denomination long before this Circumstance; and that there is no Probability that it was intirely made up of Christians. See Henry de Valois upon Eusebius, Lib. 5. Cap. 5. and Father Pagi upon the Year CLXXIV.'

Thus, with Monsieur Le Clerc, I leave this Thundering Legend. And, may it still continue to lead up the Van of Miracles in the Romish Church; for as Mr. Moyle well Remarks, as it took its Name from Paganism [*], it is most proper that it should end in Popery.

I shall by and by incur the same Censure as Mr. Moyle has undergone; for I freely acknowledge, that I have the same Opinion of Archibishop Tillotson, which he had of Bishop Sanderson, That He had more Judgment than all the Fathers put together. And I believe the same Character might justly be given of Bishop Taylor, Bishop Pearson, Dr. Barrow, and that truly great Man you have named, Bishop Stilling fleet, and several other of our English Divines.

Before I mention any part of Mr. Hearne's Charge, I shall give a Summary of Mr. Moyle's Religious Principles in his own Words, viz. 'If Men, says he, would but consider, that it is not only our Duty, but our Interest to be Virtuous, one would think this were no hard Task to perform, viz. reforming the Manners of the People, and restoring them to their antient Sobriety and Virtue. Among a thousand Advantages that Christianity has, above all other Religions, this is none of the least, that it has united our Interest and our Duty together. Would not a wise Man be Chaste for the sake of Health; Honest for the sake of Profit; Temperate for the sake of Pleasure, and all Three for the sake of Fame? For Vice was never yet so triumphant as to be in greater Reputation than Virtue. These Considerations, together with the innumerable Mischiefs and Inconveniencies which attend a vicious Course of Life, ought in Reason to reclaim Men from all unmanly Excesses. One would think in a Christian Nation, that Religion and Conscience; our own Hopes and Fears; the Prospect of eternal Happiness or endless Misery, should be Considerations strong enough to lay an effectual Restraint on the most violent Lusts and Appetites.—One of the greatest Obstacles, in my Opinion, to the Reformation of Manners, is, that too many Men place all Virtue and Religion in warmly adhering to the Interest of this or that particular Sect or Party: As if a fiery Zeal for the Church, or the Meeting-House, could atone for Lewdness and Debauchery; or as if vicious and immoral Men could be of any Christian Church or Community'[*]

Now Sir, tho' I should be as far from interrupting the indefatigable Labours of Mr. Hearne in his Historical Studies as any Man living; yet I think no Man ought to be indefatigable in Slander, and that the Unchristian Temper he has shewn ought to be reprehended. And it gives me no small Concern to find the grave Style of an Antiquarian changed to the foul-mouthed Language of the most abandoned Prostitute. Neither can I by any means agree, that whatever unguarded Expressions Mr. Moyle may have dropt, can be just Grounds of Provocation for such Scurrility, as I believe never before fell from the Pen of any Controvertist. But Mr. Moyle has himself hit the right Nail on the Head in the Passage above cited. Mr. Moyle was a professed Whig, and a hearty Well-wisher to his Country. Mr. Hearne is a professed Non-Juror, and a fiery Bigot to those of his own Principles. With him, Pope Clement the XI, and Mr. Dodwell were equally Infallible, and, in the true meaning of the Word, I believe so too. Mr. Moyle, as a Whig, must be a Republican, a Contemner of Religions; one who had a natural Antipathy to the Clergy and their Friends, a meer Ignoramus, and, in good Ecclesiastical Charity, gone to the Devil. I cannot help therefore asking you, Sir, whether you really think the Positions advanced by Mr. Moyle in his Lescard-Charge, or any part of his Conduct to which you were ever a Witness, could deserve such Treatment, especially from one who never knew him otherwise than by his Writings.

As to the Critical Dispute, I shall be as silent as I resolve to be about the Legendary one above mentioned. Yet I cannot help observing, that what Dr. Woodward says, is very merrily dogmatical. For, he will have it that Mr. Hearne forms a right Judgment of all Mr. Moyle's Works,—because the best Antiquaries have judged his Shield to be a Clypeus Votivus. And Mr. Moyle is highly criminal, and passes Sentence upon it, without ever having seen it, otherwise than by two Draughts. Now I would only ask the learned Doctor one plain Question; If I see the Picture of a Horse, am I to believe the living Animal it represents to be a Bear? But indeed he descends a little, and says, That the Baron Spanheim and Mr. Sellers intended to write Dissertations upon it, and that some other Antiquarians really believed it to be an Antique; (anglice) the Back of an Old Sconce, which I have been credibly informed he bought in Rag-Fair.

As to that Piece of Mr. Dodwell's, which Mr. Hearne complains is imperfectly printed, it is to be hoped he will oblige the learned World with a more correct Copy; tho' this Imputation does not lye against Mr. Moyle, but against the Person who transmitted that Piece to him.

May Mr. Hearne hereafter retain a more Christian Temper. May his useful Studies, as you are pleased to call them, meet with all the Success he can expect, and may the scurrillous Cavils, both of him and every other Writer, meet with that just Contempt which is due to such Performances. This is the hearty Wish of,

Sir,
Yours &c. E. CURLL.

Upon this Occasion Mr. Curll also wrote the following Letter to Mr. Hearne, viz.

SIR,

YOUR late Invective against Mr. Moyle I shall prove to be wholly Groundless and therefore it turns upon yourself.

In the first place you will have it, that all who dissent from Mr. Dodwell are a set of abandoned Wretches, and such indeed was Walter Moyle Esq whose Posthumous Works all good Men ought to lay aside; for Reasons hereafter to be considered. As to Mr. Dodwell, I had above twenty Years intimate Correspondence with him, and always believed him to be a learned, and very pious Man. But at the same time, all, who knew him, will allow that Mr. Dryden's Character of a certain Peer, in Absalom and Achitophel, too much resembled Mr. Dodwell; for he truly was, what the Poet asserts,

Stiff in Opinions, mostly in the Wrong;

Was every thing by starts and nothing long.

The First Book I ever printed was the present of a Manuscript he made me, in Defence of his, now sufficiently exploded, Doctrine of the Divine Imortalizing Spirit transfused by Baptism [*]. And if you will, undertake to vindicate every Notion he advanced, God speed the Plough. Secondly, you will have it, that Mr. Moyle treats with great Contumacy and Arrogance many of the best and most excellent Authors as well ancient as modern, (tho' you name none but your Doctissimus Woodwardus vir Clarissimus, of whom more in the sequel) and, you add, he does not spare even the Holy Fathers, of whom he confidently asserts that Bishop Sanderson had more Judgment than all of them put together. And I am as confident that every Man of Judgment in Europe believes this Article of Mr. Moyle's CREED.

Now since your Breast is animated with so much Heat in behalf of these Venerabilia, the Fathers, I desire to know by what better Authority, than a Popish Canonization, are they invested with the Epithet of Holy? If indeed, all the Libertinism of Youth be sufficient to confer that Title, and all the Impotence of Age, be sufficient to confirm it, the Plea is good, and the Precedents produced may be St. Augustine, St. Origen, and that notorious Saint, of Creed-making Memory, St. Athanasius. Who in their Works may say of each other—

Quantum mutatus ab illo.

Therefore, as to their Sacredness, I think it may be fairly said to be extinct. Upon these Considerations indeed, you ought to be sorry and ashamed to mention Mr. Moyle as you have done.

Thirdly, With what Face, other than that of an assuming Arrogance, can you say that Mr. Moyle was but a superficial Writer, after Dean Prideaux, (with whom certainly you will have the Modesty to own you cannot stand in Competition) has thanked him for the Pains he had taken about his Connection? And declares, that he should have been glad of the Assistance of so Learned a Friend near him, to whom he might have communicated that History before it was printed.[*] You farther add, with an equal share of Confidence and Falshood, (as will appear from the Sentiments of learned Men) that, he was one, who on account of his Hatred to the Clergy, and their Friends, has boldly, according to the measure of his Understanding, (I heartily wish yours was either as deep or as honest) railed against the best Writers, and the most excellent Men. (But, latet Anguis in Herba, the Men you here hint at, are the professed Enemies of our Constitution both in Church and State, and as such only were opposed by Mr. Moyle.) What you farther, with the greatest Disingenuity insinuate against him, may be strictly applied to your own Temper, that, as all good Men must despise the Censure of so scurrilous an Antagonist, so they must, upon the same Principles, have but a very slight Opinion of those Persons whose Encomiums are drawn by your Pen.

Mr. MOYLE's wayward-Editor, you have indeed justly reprehended; but as to your Cavils concerning the Bath Inscription, they are equally disingenuous. Does he not tell Dr. Musgrave, whom he allowed to be a superior Judge, with all the becoming Modesty of a well bred Gentlemen, that, he could pretend to no great Skill in these Matters; but since you ask my Opinion (says he to the Doctor) I will give it with my usual Frankness, not doubting but you will receive it with your usual Candour [*]. This is corresponding like Men of Sense and Integrity!

As you began with Mr. Dodwell, I am sorry to conclude, that you are guilty of the Charge he brings against his Opponents, in the Piece I printed for him abovementioned, pag, 143. It is my great Unhappiness, says he, that I have to do with Adversaries, who will not be confined to the Subject of our principal Dispute, without deviating to personal Reflections, wherein the Reader is not any Way concerned. This is the Bane of all Controversy, and I hope for the future you will avoid it.

Lastly, As to your Vir Clarissimus Woodwardus Doctissimus, he most learnedly follows the Low-bell of your Scandal, and shields himself under your Sentiments of his Clypeus Votivus. But I would advise neither of you to be too fond of your own confined Speculation, and rest assured that there has already been more Thousands sold of Mr. Moyle's Works, than ever there will be Hundreds either of your Monkish Chronicles, or his Fossilarian-Labours, including his late Fardle of Self-conceit, prefix'd to his Self-defence (against the Objections of the learned Camerarius) which was written by himself, tho' he has franked it under the Cover of his Translator Holloway. And to my other Wishes for your Welfare, may you, during Life, reign unrivalled, Legendarygrubber to the University of Oxford.

E. CURLL.

P.S. That the Public may be fully convinced how different the Sentiments of the truly Learned are from those Self-conceited Sciolists who have attacked Mr. Moyle's Writings, it will be sufficient to produce the Judgment given by Monsieurde la Roche [*] of The whole Works of Walter Moyle, Esq (published by himself.)

'Wit, good Sense and Learning are equally conspicuous in the Works of the late Mr. Moyle; and therefore it was very proper to reprint those Pieces which were published by the Author himself, at several Times; by which Means, we have now in Three Volumes all the Works of that Ingenious and Learned Gentleman. He being a very honest Man, was always very zealous for the Liberty of his Country; and that noble Character appears in many Parts of his Works. When he came into Parliament he always acted a very honourable Part. He was a Person of an uncommon Beneficence and Humanity. A more extensive Charity, and a truer Love for his Country, was scarce to be found in any Man. It appears he had a great Esteem for the Clergy, and was admirably well qualified for Critical Enquiries'[*].

Now lest we should be thought partial, as to what we have written concerning the Triflings of this notable Antiquary, we shall here produce what Mr. Alexander Pope of Twickenham, in the County of Middlesex, hath noted concerning him, viz. 'I can never enough praise my very good Friend the exact Mr. Thomas Hearne, who if any Word occur, which to him and all Mankind is evidently wrong, yet keeps he it in the Text with due Reverence, and only remarks in the Margin, Sic MSS. or Sic Orig'. And in another Place, he thus delivereth himself; 'Our own Antiquary Mr. Thomas Hearne hath published many curious Tracts which our Poet hath to his great Contentment perused.'

[In Glossar. to Rob. of Glocester] Artic. BEHETT; others say BEHIGHT, promised, and so it is used excellently well by Thomas Norton, in his Translation into Metre of the 116th Psalm, verse 14.

I to the Lord will pay my Vows,

That I to him BEHIGHT.

'Where the modern Innovators, not understanding the Propriety of the Word (which is truly English from the Saxon) have most unwarrantably altered it thus,

I to the Lord will pay my Vows,

With Joy and great Delight.

V. Ibid.— 'HIGHT] In Cumberland they say to hight, for to promise or vow; but HIGHT usually signifies was called; and so it does in the North even to this Day, notwithstanding what is done in Cumberland.'

V. 183. AREDE] 'Read or Peruse; tho' sometimes used for Counsel; READE THY READ, take thy Counsaile. Thomas Sternholde in his Translation of the first Psalm into English Metre, hath wisely made use of this Word,

The Man is blest that hath not lent

To wicked READ his Ear.

'But in the last spurious Editions of the singing Psalms, the Word Read is changed into Men. I say spurious Editions, because not only here, but quite throughout the whole Book of Psalms, are strange Alterations, all for the worse! And yet the Title-page stands as it used to do! And all (which is abominable in any Book, much more in a sacred Work) is ascribed to Thomas Sternholde, John Hopkins, and others! I am confident were Sternholde and Hopkins now living, they would proceed against the Innovators as Cheats. A Liberty which, to say no more of their intolerable Alterations, ought by no means to be admitted or approved of by such as are for Uniformity, and have any Regard for the old English Saxon Tongue. HEARNE, Gloss. on Rob. of Gloc. Art. REDE.'

We do herein agree with Mr. Hearne. Little is it of Avail to object, that such Words are become unintelligible. Since they are truly English, we ought to understand them; and such as are for Uniformity should think all Alterations in a Language, Strange, abominable and unwarrantable. [SCRIBLERUS Not. in DUNC.]

This is all Ironicè and Scriblerian-Railery; and as such only, is it here produced. Of all such Antiquaries therefore, as Mr. HEARNE, well hath Mr. POPE decribed them.

—dim in Clouds, the poreing Scholiasts mark,

Wits, who like Owls, see only in the dark;

A Lumber-house of Books in ev'ry Head,

For ever reading, never to be read!

Well likewise might he ask this Question, viz.

But, who is he in Closet closs y-pent,

Of sober Face, with learned Dust besprent?

Right well mine Eyes arede the myster Wight,

On Parchment Scraps y-fed and Hight.
Hearnius Wormius

To future Ages may thy Dulness last,

As thou preserv'st the Dulness of the past!

With equal Justice hath Mr. Pope finely rallied another Species of these poring Wretches, the mere Medalists, who are wholly ignorant of the true use of those Coins which they seem so intensely to study, viz

With sharpen'd Sight pale Antiquaries pore,

Th' Inscription value, but the Rust adore;

This the Blue varnish, that the Green indears,

The sacred Rust of twice Two hundred Years.

To gain Pescennius one employs his Schemes;

One gains a Cecrops in exstatic Dreams;

Poor Vadius [*] long with learned Spleen devour'd

Can taste no Pleasure since his Shield was scour'd;

And Curio restless by the Fair-One's Side,

Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his Bride‖.

It is now high Time to take Leave of such Glossographers and Medallists as these so justly censured by Mr. Pope. For, according to Mr. Hearne's very silly Defence of Sternholde and Hopkins, our Language should not have admitted of any Improvements, but have continued in the obsolete Guise of Geoffrey of Monmouth and Chaucer; nor is it to be doubted but Mr. Hearne was full in Opinion, that Mr. Dryden had injured Chaucer's Diction, as much as those he calls the Innovators upon the Psalms.

We shall next consider our Antiquary's Political and Religious Principles.

Mr. Hearne wrote a Letter to his Patron, Mr. Cherry, in Vindication of those who took the Oath of Allegiance to King William; [*] and we cannot think it any bad Part of a Man's Character to give his Reasons for complying with that Oath, which others refused. The Point was disputable, and Censures no Doubt were passed upon the Jurors as well as Non-Jurors. His Reasons for Compliance (how weak soever in the Eyes of those of a different Persuasion) were doubtless good in his own; and if he discovered better afterwards for refusing the Oath, than he before gave for the taking it, we think, and with strict Justice, that he ought to have produced them for the Benefit of the Public and clearing the Point in Dispute. How he became dissatisfied in this Affair, is not the Business of our Inquiry.

What Mr. Hearne could mean by publishing a Letter of King Charles I, when Prince of Wales (therefrom insinuating, that his Royal Highness had then an Intrigue upon his Hands, and the Duke of Buckingham played the Part of Pimp upon the Occasion) is a Mystery which we believe his Fautors will have much ado to unravel. But at the earnest Request of many Friends, we have here reprinted that Letter, to shew what little Grounds there were for so ill a Construction as has been put upon it. It is as follows, viz.

STEENIE,[*]

I Have nothing now to wryte to you, but to give you thankes bothe for the good councell ye gave me, and for the Event of it. The King gave mee a good sharpe potion, but you tooke away the working of it, by the well relished Comfites ye sent after it. I have met with the Partie that must not be named, once alreddie: and the cullor of wryting this Letter shall make me meete withe her on Saturday, although it is written the Day being Thursday. So assuring you that the Busines goes safelie onn, I rest,

Your constant loving Friend, CHARLES.

I hope ye will not show the King this Letter, but put it in the safe Custodie of Mister Vulcan.

On the Back this: ‘Pr. Ch. to the Duke.’ Without Date.

Thus after wasting, not employing, a Life of Fifty odd Years, on the Tenth Day of June 1735, this Studier and Preserver of Monkish-Trumpery gave up the Ghost.

He was a most sordid poor Wretch; had an universal Mistrust of the Generality of Mankind; lived in a slovenly, niggardly Manner, and died possessed of what he had not the Heart to enjoy [*].

A TRUE COPY Of the LAST WILL and TESTAMENT OF Thomas Hearne, M.A.
Extracted from the Registry of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury.

IN the Name of GOD. Amen. I Thomas Hearne, Master of Arts, of the University of Oxford, being of perfect Mind and Memory, make and ordain this my last Will and Testament (all written with my own Hand) in Manner and Form following, revoking all other Wills by me formerly made.

Imprimis, I commend my Soul to Almighty God who gave it me, trusting to be saved through the alone Merits of my Blessed Saviour and Redeemer Jesus Christ; and for my Body, I commend it to the Earth, and desire that it may be buried in a Christian and Decent, but (as best becomes Dust and Ashes) in a plain humble Manner, in the Church-yard of the Parish in which I happen to die.

Item, As touching the Distribution of my Worldly Goods and Effects, I dispose of them as followeth. First, I give and bequeath to Mr. William Bedford of London, Son of my late Friend Mr. Hilkiah Bedford, all the MSS. and other Books, that Doctor Thomas Smith left me, and are standing together in a Press, with this Request, that he would punctually observe what I have written at the Beginning of some of them. Also I give and bequeath to the said Mr. William Bedford, all MSS of my own Collection and Writing, and all printed Books by me collated with MSS, or that have MSS Notes of mine in them.

Item, I give to the said Mr. William Bedford, all my other MSS, whatsoever now in my Possession.

Item, I give to the said Mr. William Bedford, my Box or Cabinet of Coins, Medals, and all other Things contained in it.

Item, I do hereby make, ordain, constitute, and appoint my two Brothers William and Edmund Hearne, and my Sister Anne Hearne (the Wife of Thomas Field) of Woburn in Bucks, joint Executors of this my last Will and Testament; To whom I give and bequeath all the Rest of my Goods and Effects whatsoever not herein mentioned, to be equally divided between them, Share and Share alike, desiring that they would all three lovingly agree together, and take effectual Care, that what I have given to Mr. William Bedford be most faithfully delivered to him, and not exposed to the View of others.

And my Will further is, First, That Mr. Bedford would take special Care of the MSS and Books I have bequeathed to him; particularly of Dr. Smith's, and of those written, collated and noted by my self, so that they be all kept together, and that they fall into none but good Hands. Secondly, That Mr. Bedford would act the Part of a Supervisor or Overseer of this my last Will and Testament, and assist my Executors to the best of his Power, in which, as I rely upon his Prudence and Conduct, so at the same Time I hope they will readily follow his Advice.

In Witness of all which, I have hereunto set my Hand and Seal, this Fourteenth Day of February, in the Year of our Lord One thousand seven Hundred and twenty nine.

Thomas Hearne.

Signed, Sealed and Declared in the Presence of

- Andrew Hanly, Sen.

- Andrew Hanly, Jun.

N.B. Confirmed also by the Affidavits of Richard Rawlinson, L.L.D. and James West of the Inner Temple, Esq

CODICIL to my WILL, dated February 14th, 1729.

My Brother William being dead, I give all his Share to his only Child, my Nephew Thomas Hearne, born after the making of the above-written Will; and I charge my two surviving Executors, Edmund and Elizabeth not to wrong him.

Thomas Hearne.
Dec. 30, 1731.

I desire no other Epitaph than this:

HERE LYETH THE BODY OF

THOMAS HEARNE, M.A.

WHO STUDIED AND PRESERVED

ANTIQUITIES.

HE DYED JUNE 10. M.DCC.XXXV

AGED LV YEARS.[*]

DEUT. xxxii. 7.

Remember the Days of old, consider the Years of many Generations: ask thy Father, and he will shew thee, thy Elders, and they will tell thee.

JOB viii. 8, 9, 10.

Enquire, I pray thee, [of the former Age, and prepare thy self to the Search of their Fathers,—(For we are but of Yesterday, and know nothing, because our Days upon Earth are a Shadow)—Shall they not teach thee, and tell thee, and utter Words out of their Heart?]

Proved at London, with a Codicil annexed, the First Day of July 1735, before the Worshipful Thomas Walker Doctor of Laws, Surrogate, by Edmund Hearne, and Anne Field (Wife of Thomas Field) the Mother and Sister, and the two surviving Executors, to whom Administration was granted, being first sworn duly to administer.
Deputy Registers

- William Legard

- Peter St. Eloy

- Henry Stevens

Notes

*
The Gentlemen herein hinted at, is the Reverend Mr. Bilson, who published Mr. Hearne's Vindication of taking the Oath of Allegiance; the Preface to which is so far from Sneer, that it contains many judicious Remarks, and is a full Detection of our Antiquary's gross Errors.
↵

*
To that truly fine Gentleman Walter Moyle, Esq
↵

§
De mortuis, &c. instead of which, Mr. Hearne cries cut, Ad plures abiit.
↵

*
See Dr. Prideaux's Account of these choice Leaves in the 485 page of Vol. 2. of his Connection: where we find that none but the Keepers of them were ever suffered to peruse them, and They only upon particular Exigencies.
↵

*
P. 29.
↵

†

Rob. de Glouc. Vol. 2. p. 638.

↵

*
Mr. Gibson, Author of the excellent Grammatical Exceptions against the late Alterations made in the common Accidence and Grammar.
↵

†
Mr. Cherry of Shettesbroke, Berks. This Gentleman paid for Mr. Hearne's Education, which he has gratefully acknowledged.
↵

*
White Kennet, M.A. afterwards Bp. of Peterborough.
↵

*
Dr. Hudson Principal of St. Mary-Hall.
↵

†

Leland. Collect. Vol. 1. p. 56.

↵

*

Acta Eruditorum Anno 1729. p. 182.

↵

†

Ed. Young. Orat. Codrington. p. 26.

↵

*

Leland. Collect. Vol. 1. p. 37.

↵

†

Alured. 〈◊〉 p. 43.

↵

§

Leland. Itin. p. 7, 8.

↵

*

Rob. de Avesbury Praef. p. 1.

↵

*

B. Twyne Apolog. Antiq. Acad. Oxon. p. 198.

↵

*

Sprott. Pref. p. 27.

↵

*

Life of Rich. 2. Pref. p. 19.

↵

*

Le Neve. p. 286.

↵

†

Rymer Foed. Vol. 8. p. 392.

↵

*

Leland. Collect. Vol. 1. p. 27.

↵

†

Leland. Itin. Pref. p. 12.

↵

*
Pag. 405
↵

*
This Blunder reached our Author's Ears, and in his Preface to Tho. Caius stands corrected, th with some Reluctance. For he says it signifies nothing whether it was Pharoah's or Potiphar's Wife.
↵

*
Page 77.
↵

*

Leland. Itin. Vol. 1. p. 15.

↵

*

History of Rich. II. p. 404. Cur. Sec.

↵

*
Dr. Hutton, Student of Christ-Church, about the Year 1574.
↵

†
Dr. Claymond President of Corpus.
↵

*

Antiq. Glaston. p. 337.

↵

†
A Monastery adjoining Oxon.
↵

*
MS. Latino Graec. Fol. 38.
↵

*
Pag. 28, 29.
↵

*
Johannis Confratris & Monachi Glastoniensis Chronica, five Historia de Rebus Glastoniensibus è Codice MS. 8vo.
↵

*
Mr. Thomas Serjeant, of the Tower, publish'd Mr. Moyle's Posthumous Works as the whole of his Writings, without so much as taking Notice of what that Gentleman had himself published.
↵

†
See Bibliotheque Choise, ARTIC. of Mr. Addison's Remarks on Italy &c.
↵

*
See, his Posthum. Works, Vol. 2. p. 83.
↵

*
See, his Charge to the Grand Jury at L•seard. 〈◊〉 Works. Vol. 1. p. 152, 155, 156, and 158.
↵

*
An Explication of a famous Passage in the Dialogue of St. Justin Martyr with Tryphon, concerning the Immortality of Human Souls, &c. 8vo. printed in the Year 1708, price 2s. 6d.
↵

*
Posth. Works. Vol. 2. p. 36.
↵

*
Posth. Works, Vol. 1. pag. 169, 170.
↵

*
See New Memoirs of Literature for the Month of September 1726, Vol. 4. pag. 225 & seq.
↵

*
Mr. Moyle's Works are printed for Mr. Curll.
↵

*
Dr. Woodward.
↵

‖
Pope's Verses to Mr. Addison, on his Dialogues upon Medals.
↵

*
It was intitled, A Vindication of these who take the Oath of Allegiance to his present Majesty, from Perjury, Injustice, and Disloyalty, charged upon them by such as are against it. Wherein is evidently shewed, That the common Good of a Nation is what is primarily and principally respected in an Oath, and therefore when the Oath is inconsistent with that, the Persons who have taken it, are absolved from it. In proving of which, the Case of Maud and King Stephen is particularly considered. In a Letter to a Non-Juror. Conscientia mille Testes. Printed in the Year 1731. 8vo.
↵

*
A Nick-name given by King James I. to the Duke of Buckingham,
↵

*
We have been informed that a considerable Sum of Money, upwards of a Thousand Pounds was found hid in Holes and Books.
↵

*
This Distich would much better suit a Church-yard-Rail, viz.

Here lies Tom Hearne, with Dust and Dirt besprent,

In which his Life most uselesly he spent.

↵

A SHORT MEMORIAL, AND CHARACTER, OF THAT Most Noble and Illustrious Princess MARY Dutchess of ORMONDE.

King sc.

THE INTRODUCTION.

ONE must have but little Knowledge of human Nature, not to be sensible of that Curiosity which prompts Mankind to be acquainted with the History of Persons distinguished by their extraordinary Virtues and Qualifications, and who have experienced many uncommon Varieties of Life. In reading their Transactions, we become agreeably intimate with the Characters which have raised our Admiration; we attend them in the different Scenes thro' which they pass, and are sensible of a secret Longing to imitate the shining Parts of their Conduct: They frequently teach us an easy Moderation in Prosperity, and are no less successful in reconciling us to the severe Dispensation of Providence.

THE Impressions we receive from personal Characters, are more lively and affecting than such as are imparted to us by moral Precepts; and those Virtues, which Institutions of Philosophy might give us but a languid Invitation to imitate, are altogether irresistable, when they are set off by the Conduct of Persons of Elevation; and they must be thrown into Action, in order to give them their last Polish and Refinement.

THIS may be one Reason why Biography has generally met with such a favourable Reception, and we may venture to affirm, that if the Authors who engage in this Kind of Writing, would select such Characters as are entertaining, and instructive at the same Time, they would have no Cause to complain of any Disregard from the Public.

THE noble Lady, who is the Subject of the following Memoirs, has made so conspicuous and engaging a Figure, thro' the series and Vicissitudes of a long Life, that she may be justly reputed an Honour to her own Sex, as she has always been the Admiration of ours.

IF a Descent from an illustrious Race of British Nobility, a polite and generous Education, an early Familiarity with the most amiable Accomplishments, an inchanting Harmony of Person and Mind, a Virgin Purity of Youth, and a taintless Fidelity of conjugal Life, have any Charms in the softer Sex, they have all lent their full Lustre to the late Dutchess of ORMONDE.

IT should seem as if Providence intended to guard this Lady from every Imputation that could be formed against her by envious and detracting Minds, and therefore would not confine her Virtues to Scenes of Satisfaction and Prosperity; she had long convinced the World of her Ability to act an unexceptionable Part in such a Situation, but something still remained to give her Conduct its full Perfection. The appointed Period arrived; this incomparable Person was deprived of the dearest of all her Enjoyments: She saw herself for ever separated from her darling Consort, and her former Affluence contracted into a very moderate Limitation: Her Sunshine of Happiness darkened with Adversity; but that Adversity only gave her an Opportunity of charming all who knew her, by her inimitable Resignation to the Decrees of Heaven.

AS there was Reason to believe the Public would be curious to know the Particulars of a Life so diversified by such unusual Events, all possible Care has been taken to collect every authentic Circumstance that could make such a Relation useful and entertaining; and, we presume, that the Impartiality with which we have proceeded, on this Occation, will intitle this Performance to a candid Reception from those who are pleased to favour it with their Perusal.

THE LIFE Of Her GRACE MARY Dutchess of ORMONDE.

THE Dutchess of ORMONDE, whose Life we propose to write, was the Elder surviving Daughter of Henry Duke of Beaufort, by his Dutchess Mary, Daughter of that unfortunate Patriot, the Lord Capel, whose steady Attachment to his distressed Soveraign, King CHARLES, I. deprived him, in 1648, of a Life which deserved a much happier Period.

THE most noble House of Beaufort, as it was august in its Original, so it has been perpetuated by a Train of Descendants, who have been justly esteemed the Ornaments of their Country. And the great Plantagenets, who founded this illustrious Family, have transmitted their Virtues thro' a long Series of their Posterity, and adorned the Kingdom with a Progeny, of both Sexes, which will be ever remembered with Honour.

THE Dutchess of ORMONDE was born at Beaufort-House, near Chelsea, Anno 1665; and, in her early Years, presented such a Dawn of amiable Qualities to her noble Parents, as convinced them that the Lustre of their Family would receive no Diminution from their lovely Daughter. Animated by this Persuasion, they were particularly careful to cultivate, by a suitable Education, the Virtues which had already sprung up in her Mind with such a luxuriant Bloom. Their Cares succeeded to their Wish, and there was no Accomplishment necessary to give Perfection to her Sex, but what appeared with all its Charms in the Conduct of this young Lady.

NATURE sometimes presents us with a great deal of Inequality in her Productions; and it is no uncommon Thing to see a very disagreeable Exterior allotted to a finished Mind; but she now determined to be uniform in her Operations, and prepared, for the Duke of Beaufort's Daughter, a Form as amiable, as the Soul which was to claim it, for her Habitation.

IT would require a Pen, much more masterly in Description than mine, to give the Reader a competent Idea of this engaging Lady; the inchanting Harmony of her Shape, the Lustre and Vivacity of her Eyes, which inspired all who beheld them with unutterable Impressions; the glowing Blush of the Rose, which was blended in her Cheeks with the Virgin Purity of the Lilly, the flowing Shade of Hair which wantoned in a Profusion of Ringlets, that no Pencil could imitate; the delicate Turn of her Face, and the bewitching Softness which diffused itself thro' every Feature; the panting Snow of her Bosom, and the taper Whiteness of her Arms; with a thousand other Beauties which perpetually played around her, formed such an Assemblage of Perfection, that was to be resisted by nothing but Insensibility itself.

WE believe we shall not be taxed with Falshood, when we affirm, that such a Prodigality of Charms were capable, without any other Assistance, of captivating a thousand Hearts; but we have already intimated that Nature discarded all Partiality in her Plan, and made this irresistable Form the Residence of a Soul which was altogether as attractive as its lovely Mansion: The most refined Poignancy of her Wit was contrasted by the sedatest Judgment; and each of these fine Qualifications were so beautifully softened by her native Sweetness of Temper, that her Pleasantry never gave Pain, and none ever thought themselves insulted by her superior Penetration.

THE Happiness of her Memory facilitated her Improvement, by those Books and Industry, with which she was daily conversant; and, in a few Years, it proved such a Treasury of Knowledge and Politeness, as few Ladies of her Age were ever enriched with: The little Levities of the Sex, and those refined Deviations from Sincerity and Sanctity of Manners, which are become so fashionable a Part of modern Education were altogether unknown to her. True Virtue is certainly amiable in herself, but she puts on redoubled Charms when she shines in the Conduct of a blooming Virgin.

SUCH was the Lady we are describing; her Mind was as immaculate as her Face, and every Year that added to her Youth, presented her with new Perfections, and awaken'd a general Curiosity to know what happy Man was to be bless'd with the Endearments of her nuptial Love.

IT is not to be imagined in what Manner that pleasing Expectation influenced some of the noblest of the British Youth. A virtuous young Lady of Rank and Beauty is a publick Blessing, she civilizes the Souls of her Admirers more than all their Academical Institutions, and fires them to aim at a proper Similitude of Accomplishments. Innocence, Purity and Honour appear so persuasive in the Fair-One, that it is no Wonder if she daily increases the Number of their Votaries, and brings them fresh Accessions of Homage.

AMONGST the shining Crouds of Adorers who wished to inspire her with the soft Sensibility of Love, none made so conspicuous a Figure as the Duke of Ormonde; he was descended from a very antient and illustrious Family that had given many Heroes to their Country, and, in the Person of the Duke, had presented it with an Ornament that did not a little contribute to its Lustre. Death had for some Time deprived him of his first Lady (who was the eldest Daughter of the Earl of Rochester) and left him a Widower in the full Bloom of his Youth. His endearing Behaviour to his deceased Dutchess, warmed many of the fairest with secret Wishes to succeed her in his Embraces. His Person was such as might impart the softest Impressions to the chastest Heart, and was set off by such a winning Singularity of Sweetness, Generosity, and every other Quality which constitutes the fine Gentleman, that it was almost impossible for him to be long considered with Indifference by any Lady to whom he breathed his Passion. We may add to this, that he possessed such a Princely Estate, that Fortune seemed to contend with Nature which of them should be his greatest Benefactor. It is true, the Duke only valued the Favours of the former, as they enabled him to distinguish himself by numberless Acts of Humanity, and indulged him in his natural Propensity to Benevolence. And if the Goddess has not of late been so liberal to many others, it may have proceeded from their being destitute of his Inclinations to communicate her Bounties to their Fellow Creatures.

AFTER the Account I have attempted to give of these two illustrious Persons, it will be natural to conclude, that they were formed for each other; and therefore, without entering into the Particulars of that tender Intercourse which Love, and a Similitude of Dispositions, established between them, it will be sufficient if we acquaint the Reader, that his Grace was so fortunate in his Addresses, as to prevail on the Duke of Beaufort's charming Daughter to consent to be the loveliest Bride in England.

THE Number of the young Dutchess's Admirers was not diminished by her Marriage, and tho' they found themselves restrained from disclosing to her the Sentiments with which her Charms had inspired them, yet there were several who 〈2 pages missing〉 merited that Friendship by a Number of amiable Qualities.

IT often happens, that Men of Wit, thro' too much Partiality to themselves, are apt to fancy that a Lady's Satisfaction in their Conversation, must create a Fondness for their Persons, and the Earl did not fail to impute to the Dutchess, Impressions in his Favour, which she herself was never sensible of; and consequently he was always ready to improve every Instance of her Complacency too much to his own Advantage. The Opinion he entertained of his being more agreeable to her than he really was, made him look on the dishonourable Conduct he was meditating against the Duke, as a Crime that was capable of a very easy Vindication, he thought it more honourable to succeed with the Dutchess, than to preserve Fidelity in his Friendship to her Lord; and to such an Infatuation was he hurried by his guilty Love, that he imagined it to be the most criminal Action in the World to neglect the Happiness which his Vanity represented the Dutchess inclinable to afford him.

IN Consequence of this Persuasion, as he had the Honour one Evening to lead her Grace from the Drawing Room, he slipt a Letter into her Hand, as she was stepping into her Coach, and then retired with a profound Reverence. The Lady believed the Paper contained some agreeable Piece of Poetry, in which the Earl, as we intimated before, was very happy, and was impatient to read this new Product of his Capacity: But who can describe her Confusion and Resentment, when she found it to be a Declaration of Love, and her Displeasure was the greater, as she was conscious that no Part of her Conduct could possibly give that Nobleman any Pretentions to the indecent Presumption with which he treated her; and tho' it was late at Night, she resolved to acquaint the Dutchess her Mother with the Affront that had been offered to her Virtue.

SHE accordingly ordered her Coachman to drive to the Dutchess of Beaufort's House, and, at her Arrival there, went into her Grace's Bed-Chamber, and intreated her, with a Flood of Tears, to read the Letter she put into her Hands. The Dutchess was not a little surprized 〈1 page duplicate〉 〈1 page duplicate〉 to see her Daughter in a Disorder of Mind intirely new to her, and immediately read over the Letter, with an Astonishment natural to such an Event. Is it possible, Madam, said the Dutchess of Ormonde, that any Man can dare to think he has a Privilege to treat me in this dishonourable Manner! I can appeal to Heaven and Earth, that my Conduct has hitherto been without Reproach, which makes this Violation of the Respect due to me, so insupportable.

THE Dutchess of Beaufort was as much dissatisfied with this Adventure, as her Daughter, and was justly apprehensive that it might be attended with very fatal Consequences; to prevent which, all imaginable Discretion was necessary.

WHILST they were deliberating what Steps were most proper to be taken in so delicate an Affair, a Lady of great Quality, and a near Relation to them both, came in very seasonably to assist at the Consultation; and after she had heard a particular Account of the whole Affair, she gave it as her Opinion, that it would be most proper for the Dutchess of Ormonde to dissemble her Resentment, and treat the amorous Peer with such an Air of Indifference, as would effectually mortify his Vanity, and discourage him from persisting in his criminal Desires: The Lady added, that if such a Course of Behaviour should not have the Effect that might be reasonably expected, she would undertake to disclose the Affair to the Duke of Ormonde, in such a Light as should engage him to come into a Scheme she had formed for making this new Lover the Diversion of the whole Town.

THIS Advice was allowed to be just, and, after some farther Consideration, the Dutchess of Ormonde took her Leave, with a Determination to conduct herself according to her Relations Sentiments. It was not long before the young Earl saw her, and, as he was pleased to flatter himself, that the Graces of his Wit and Person were irresistable, he was not a little surprised at the negligent Manner in which the Dutchess heard all the fine Things he said to her; and as he found that he had not made the least Impression on her Heart, he began to imagine she might possibly not have read his Letter, for he could not believe that so much premeditated Wit and Tenderness as it contained, could prove ineffectual; and therefore resolved to be certain that his next Letter should be read by the Dutchess; for which Purpose, he found Means to gain, as he imagined, one of her Women to his Interest; he made her a Present of a large Purse of Gold, accompanying it with a second Billet, which he intreated her to deliver into her Lady's Hands, and, at the same Time, gave her to understand, that if she acquitted herself of the Confidence he reposed in her, to his Satisfaction, there was nothing she might not promise herself from his future Bounty.

THE Dutchess's Woman performed her Commission, and gave the Letter to her Lady, with a particular Account of the Earl's Liberality, and all the large Promises he had made her. The Dutchess, after she had read the Letter, made her Mother, and the other Lady, who had instructed her how to behave, acquainted with the Contents; upon which they thought it now a proper Time to make the Duke of Ormonde privy to the Secret. This they did, in such a Manner as easily disposed his Grace to come into their Measures, to make his Rival as ridiculous as his Vanity ought to render him. To accomplish which, it was agreed among them, that the Dutchess should answer her Lover's Letter, and it is easy to imagine, that an Epistle dictated by such Persons, and on such an Occasion, was artful enough to deceive, even a Gentleman of the Earl's Penetration. It would be no disagreeable Entertainment to the Reader, could I repeat all the pleasant Things, and the diverting Contrivances that were invented by this illustrious Company, to expose the presuming Lover. The Dutchess of Ormonde was for having him privately admitted into the House, and shut up in some Place where he might be half frozen, before he should be set at Liberty: But the Duke replied, That would be a Management of too low a Turn for the Earl's nice and delicate Taste, and then recollecting, that his Garden Wall was of a very convenient Heighth, he thought it would be best for the Lover to climb over it, in order to come to his Lady, the Danger and Difficulty only tending to compleat the Glory of such a gallant Adventure; besides, added he, we shall by this Means see whether his Lordship is in earnest, and dare hazard his fine Person in the Prosecution of his Amour.

THIS Proposal meeting with the Approbation of all the Ladies, they went into the Garden to examine the Wall, and, observing a Place that had Hooks, which a Ladder might be commodiously fastened to, the Dutchess's Woman had Directions to describe this convenient Situation to the Earl; but it was not done till several Letters had passed between him and the Dutchess, and he became persuaded, that his Addresses were as successful as he could wish. And now the Dutchess's Woman acquainted him, he had made all imaginable Impressions on her Lady, and that she expected the Pleasure of his Company with the greatest Impatience, but then, continued she, it will be impossible for your Lordship to pass by the Porter in any Disguise; and you are not insensible what Regard is due to a Lady's Reputation, in an Affair of this Nature, and therefore some Expedient must be thought of, to prevent any Discovery of your being admitted into my Lady's Apartment.

THE Earl, upon this, gave her the strongest Assurances of his strict Regard for the Dutchess's Honour; and therefore, said he, I am desirous of being introduced in any Manner you can contrive, to prevent my being discovered by any of the Servants, and there is no Danger, that I will ever decline to accomplish my Happiness, with all the Privacy my lovely Dutchess can possibly desire.

THE Gentlewoman finding him in such a Resolution, thought it then proper to acquaint him, That no Way would be more effectual, to prevent the Affair from being detected, than for his Lordship to climb over the Garden-Wall, and then she described that particular Part of it, where the Hooks were fastened; your Lordship, added she, is too gallant, to hesitate at any little Danger that you may be exposed to, on such an Occasion, and you are likewise to consider, that you could not have a more favourable Opportunity of convincing my Lady, that your Passion for her, can make you despise every Hazard and Difficulty that may lie between you and the Happiness you are in Pursuit of, and therefore, if your Lordship has no Objection to what I have been proposing, I will be, at Eleven this Night, in the Garden to receive you.

HIS Lordship was so animated, with the Hopes of his imagined Joys, that he told the Gentlewoman, in a Kind of Transport, That he thought Fortune was very propitious to him, in giving him suchan Opportunity of convincing her Lady how much his Passion could surmount every Danger and Impediment; upon which he took his Leave, with a solemn Promise to be punctual to the appointed Time; and then went to pay a Visit to the Duke of Ormonde, by whom, as was before observed, he was treated with the greatest Friendship and Intimacy.

THE Duke received him with his usual Affability, and after some Conversation, walked with him in his Garden, where he could not forbear smiling to himself, to observe, with what a curious Eye his Visitor examined rhe Wall he was to scale that Evening. After they had taken a few Turns, the Earl took his Leave, and went to his own House, where he passed the Remainder of the Day with all the impatient Desires, natural to a Lover, who expects the happy Period of all his Wishes. The appointed Hour was, at last, come, and his Lordship did not fail to be exactly punctual at the Place agreed on, where he found the Ladder of Ropes thrown over the Wall, by the Means of which he mounted to the Top, with wonderful Activity, and from thence, as nimbly descended into the Garden: But, alas! how frequently do Disappointments and Disgrace attend the finest Schemes of poor Mortals; and how common is it for Men to meet with the most disagreeable Accidents, in the very Instant that he promised himself nothing but Rapture, and the most perfect Felicity! The adventrous Peer had no sooner set Foot on the fatal Ground, than the Gardener, who happened to be a very sturdy Fellow, pretending to mistake him for a Person who intended to rob the House, fell upon him with Herculean Force, and gave him such a vigorous Drubbing, that he was obliged to cry out for Assistance. The Noise alarmed the House, and the Duke, with all the Company, who were then at Supper with him, came out in a seeming Surprise to know the Occasion of the Clamours they heard. Any one will imagine, that the unfortunate Lover made no very graceful Figure in such a Conjuncture; and, as it was impossible for the Spectators of his Disgrace, to keep their Countenances, he grew sensible, that this had been a premeditated Scheme to expose him. But, as he had a peculiar Presence of Mind, and was, likewise, one of those Philosophic Lovers, who never run distracted at the Disappoinment of their Passion, he asked the Duke's Pardon for the Folly he had committed, desiring his Grace to impute it to a youthful Inconsideration he would no longer indulge; after which, he joined with the Company in their Mirth, and rallied himself very pleasantly for the Discipline he had received from the honest Gardiner.

THE Earl's ill Success in his Amour, soon became public, and was, for a considerable Time, the Entertainment of all the gay Company about the Court; and besides this, it entirely extinguished the Hopes of all who sighed for the amiable Dutchess in Secret. They were convinced, that her Vertue was impregnable, and that it was possible for a Lady to be the fairest of her Sex, and, at the same Time, capable of preserving an untainted Fidelity to her Nuptial Vow.[*]

ANY one will easily believe, that the Duke, after this amiable Proof of his Lady's Virtue, could not but cherish such a Treasure with the utmost Fondness, and, indeed, our noble Pair lived in so mutual an Intercourse of Endearments, as rendered them the Envy and Admiration of the Age. I say, the Envy, because there have been People malicious enough to declare, that the Dutchess, some time after her Marriage, entertained such a Fondness for Cards, as in a great Measure alienated the Duke's Affection from her for a considerable Time. But whilst some have been so ungenerous as to propagate such a Report, and others so weak as to believe it, all must acknowledge this to be the only Frailty that was ever imputed to that Lady, and even this has been aggravated much beyond the Reality of the Fact. The Truth is, Cards being at that Time, as well as now, the fashionable Amusement of the Fair, it was impossible for the Dutchess, whose House was continually filled with the best Company in the Kingdom, to do otherwise than comply with the Inclinations of her Visitors in that Diversion; and it may be true, that she might sometimes sit up late at Play to oblige her Company, and we will not deny, that the Duke might be sensible of some Uneasiness to find his Lady compelled by the reigning Decorum among the Great, to be absent more Hours from him, than were agreeable to her Inclinations. But, at the same Time, in Justice to the Memory of that incomparable Lady, we must affirm, That the Moment she was sensible of the least Uneasiness in her Lord on that Account, she never after would suffer Play to detain her from him, to any late or unseasonable Hour. A singular Instance this, of a Lady, who could resolve to sacrifice what was then thought an innocent Amusement, to the Repose of her Consort; whereas the same Motive now, is frequently insufficient to make Numbers of the Sex resign Pleasures that are really criminal and injurious to their own and their Husband's Reputation. But to return to this noble Pair.

WHEN the Duke was constituted Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, the Dutchess undertook that Voyage; and her Reception and Return is so truly, and so elegantly described by Mr. Dryden, in his Address to her Grace[*], that it would be Injustice to his Memory to omit it, on this Occasion, viz.

Already have the Fates your Path prepar'd,

And sure Presage your future Sway declar'd:

When Westward, like the Sun, you took your Way,

And from benighted Britain bore the Day,

Blue Tritons gave the Signal from the Shore,

The ready Nereids heard, and swam before

To smooth the Seas; a foft Eiesian Gale,

But just inspired, and gently swell'd the Sail;

Portunus took his Turn, whose ample Hand

Heav'd up the lighten'd Keel, and sunk the Sand,

And steer'd the sacred Vessel safe to Land.

The Land, if not restrain'd, had met your Way,

Projected out a Neck, and jutted to the Sea.

Hibernia, prostrate at your Feet, ador'd,

In you, the Pledge of her expected Lord;

Due to her Isles, a venerable Name,

His Father and his Grandsire known to Fame;

Aw'd by that House, accustom'd to command,

The sturdy Kerns in due Subjection stand,

Nor bear the Reins in any other Hand.

At your Approach, they crouded to the Port;

And scarcely Landed, you create a Court:

As Ormonde's Harbinger, to you they run;

For Venus is the Promise of the Sun.

For Waste of Civil Wars, their Towns destroy'd,

Pales un-honour'd, Ceres un-employ'd,

Were all forgot, and one Triumphant Day,

Wip'd all the Tears of three Campaigns away.

Blood, Rapines, Massacres, were cheaply bought,

So mighty Recompence your Beauty brought.

As when the Dove returning, bore the Mark

Of Earth restor'd to the long-lab'ring Ark,

The Relicks of Mankind, secure of Rest,

Op'd ev'ry Window to receive the Guest,

And the Fair Bearer of the Message blest.

So when you came, with loud repeated Cries,

The Nation took an Omen from your Eyes,

And God advanc'd his Rainbow in the Skies.

To sign inviolable Peace restor'd,

The Saints with solemn Shouts proclaim'd the new Accord.

When at your second Coming, you appear,

(For I foretel that Millenary-Year)

The sharpen'd Share shall vex the Soil no more,

But Earth unbidden shall produce her Store:

The Land shall laugh, the circ'ling Ocean smile,

And Heaven's Indulgence bless the holy Isle.

Heav'n from all Ages has reserv'd for you,

That happy Clime, which Venom never knew;

Or if it had been there, your Eyes alone

Have Pow'r to chace all Poison, but their own.

Now in this Interval, which Fate has cast,

Betwixt your future Glories, and your past.

This Pause of Pow'r, 'tis Ireland's Hour to mourn,

While England celebrates your safe Return;

By which you seem the Seasons to command,

And bring our Summers back to their forsaken Land.

The vanquish'd Isle our Leisure must attend,

'Till the fair Blessing we vouchsafe to send;

Nor can we spare you long, tho' often we may lend.

The Dove was twice employ'd abroad, before

The World was dry'd; and she return'd no more.

O Daughter of the Rose, whose Cheeks unite

The diff'ring Titles of the Red and White;

Who Heav'ns alternate Beauty well display,

The Blush of Morning, and the Milky Way;

Whose Face is Paradise, but fenc'd from Sin,

For God in either Eye has plac'd a Cherubin.

All is your Lord's alone; ev'n absent, He

Employs the Care of Chaste Penelope.

For him you waste in Tears your Widow'd Hours,

For him your curious Needle paints the Flow'rs;

Such Works of Old Imperial Dames were taught,

Such for Afcanius fair Elisa wrought.

The soft Recesses of your Hours improve,

The Three fair Pledges of your happy Love:

All other Parts of pious Duty done,

You owe your Ormonde nothing but a Son;

To fill in future Times his Father's Place,

And wear the Garter of his Mother's Race.

The World was deprived of this most incomparable PRINCESS, of whom it was no longer worthy, Anno 1733.

Notes

*
The foregoing was an Adventure of the late Duke of Buckinghamshire when he was Earl of Mulgrave.
↵

*
See the Dedication of his Fables.
↵

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Mr. Pope's literary correspondence. Volume the third. With letters to, and, from the Duke of Shrewsberry, Lord Lansdowne,: [pt.3]

Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744.

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1106006593

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9781106006592

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— Mr. Pope's literary correspondence. Volume the third. With letters to, and, from the Duke of Shrewsberry, Lord Lansdowne,, Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744.. xxxii,241,[1],46;[2],iv,66;[2],30p.plates : ports. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for E. Curll,. 1735.. [Includes: 'Impartial memorials of the life and writings of Thomas Hearne, M.A.', with a separate titlepage (dated 1736), pagination and register; and, 'A short memorial and character of .. Mary Dutchess of Ormonde', with separate pagination and register.] [Pp.[113-242] are also issued as part of Curll's edition of Walsh's 'Works', 1736.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [Griffith, 402] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT5510.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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