Memoirs: of Mrs. Lætitia Pilkington, wife to the Rev. Mr. Matthew Pilkington. Written by herself. Wherein are occasionally interspersed, all her poems; with anecdotes of several eminent persons, living and dead. Among others, Dean Swift, Alexander Pope, ... [pt.1]

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- TO Sir ROBERT KING, Bart.

- PREFACE.

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MEMOIRS OF Mrs. PILKINGTON.

ALTHO' it has been the common Practice, with Writers of Memoirs, to fill their Volumes with their own Praises, which, whatever Pleasure they may have afforded to the Authors, by indulging their Vanity, are seldom found to give any to the Readers; I am determined to quit this beaten Track; and by a strict Adherence to Truth, please even my greatest Enemies, by presenting them with a lively Picture of all my Faults, my Follies, and the Misfortunes, which have been consequential to them.

And I am the more inclined to proceed, in that I think the Story may be instructive to the Female Part of my Readers, to teach them that Reputation

Is the immediate Jewel of their Souls,

And that the Loss of it

Will make them poor indeed!

Othello.
So that I propose myself, not as an Example, but a Warning to them; that by my Fall, they may stand the more secure.

However numerous my Mistakes in Life have been, they have still had most surprizing Additions made to them, not only by base and unworthy Minds, Wretches devoid of Truth and common Honesty, but also by Persons of high Rank, and such as outwardly profess Christianity; who have fancied it an Act of Piety to believe and spread of me the most improbable and notorious Falshoods! nay, so far has their persecuting Zeal been carried, that they have rendered my honest Industry ineffectual; and by depriving me of any Means to support Life, endeavoured to make me even such a one, as they represented me to be: That Clergymen, and Ladies of Honour, should unite, in driving to Extremity, a Person, who never yet, either in her Conversation, or Writing, offended against the Laws of Decency or Humanity, is but too apt to make one think, they had quite forgotten the Christian Grace, Charity, without which we are told, all other Virtues are of no Avail, and consequently, fall far short of Perfection themselves.

I therefore hope those who have taken such unbounded Liberties with my Character, will also allow me to paint out theirs, only with this Difference, that I shall confine myself to Truth, a Favour I never yet received at their Hands; since even the priestly Robe, and Mitred Head, have, with Regard to me, disclaimed it, of which, in the Series of these melancholy Adventures, I shall be able to produce many surprizing Instances.

I was born in the Year 1712; by my Mother's Side descended of an antient and honourable Family, who were frequently intermarried with the Nobility. My Great Grandfather was Earl of Killmallock, whose Daughter married Colonel Meade, by whom he had twenty-one Children, twelve of whom lived to be married. This Gentleman, to his Honour be it spoken, tho' he was a Man of Fortune, and in the Army, declared on his Death-bed, 'That he never had, either when a Batchelor, or a married Man, criminal Conversation with a Woman; never was drunk; never broke his Word; nor ever used Tobacco.'

The late Duke of Ormond, when Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, dining at Colonel Meade's, offered to confer on him the Honour of Knighthood; but he then being in an advanced Age, declined it for himself, telling his Grace, 'As he was going out of the World, and his eldest Son coming into it, he would chuse, if he thought proper, his Grace should bestow it on him:' Which accordingly he did.

This Gentleman, Sir John Meade, was bred to the Law, and deservedly distinguished, as one of the finest Orators that ever spoke at the Bar: He was a perfect Master of classical Learning; and a Lover and Judge of the muse-like Arts; his paternal Estate was about Fifteen Hundred Pounds a Year, which was augmented by marrying successively two great Heiresses; as well as by the vast Business he had in his Profession: So that with all those Advantages of Nature, Education, and Fortune, it was no Wonder he should meet with universal Respect and Esteem.

He was in this Situation, when Sir Edward Seymor had an Estate of five Thousand Pounds a Year left to him in Ireland; this was a Matter too considerable for Sir Edward to hope immediately to possess without Law-suit or Difficulty; so that he found his personal Appearance absolutely necessary. It is to be observed, that Sir Edward Seymor was accounted the proudest Man in England; and Sir John Meade was as remarkable for the same Fault; neither indeed did I ever meet with any Person of either of those Names in England or Ireland, who was not abundantly stocked with it, tho' without the same Pretensions to support it.

Sir Edward Seymor landed at Dublin, filled with that natural Contempt for the whole Country, which those of the English, who have not been resident amongst them, are but too apt to express on every Occasion: He there found some of his own Countrymen in Places of Profit and Trust, of whom he enquired, 'Whether there are any such Things as good Lawyers to be met with in this damned Place?'

They answered, 'Yes, very good; but if he hoped to carry his Cause, he must see Sir John Meade: Well, said he, let one of my Footmen go for him.'

'Your Footman, Sir Edward! said one of the Gentlemen, who knew Sir John: Why, 'tis odds if he will speak to You. I assure you, if he does, 'tis a Favour few of his Clients obtain from him.' 'What, a Duce, return'd he, do Irish Lawyers take such State upon them?' 'You are to consider, Sir Edward, he is a Gentleman of Family, has a noble Fortune, and is so eminent in his Profession, that should he be employed against you, you may bid Farewel to your Claim.'

This last Argument had such Force with Sir Edward Seymor, that he condescended to wait on Sir John Meade next Morning: Sir John had been apprized of what the other had said; and resolving to be as stately as himself, sent him down Word, 'He was very busy, but if he pleased to wait till he was at Leisure, he would see him.' So Sir Edward was shewn into a Parlour, where he remained above an Hour, fretting himself to Death, at this disrespectful Usage offered to a Person of his Dignity.

When Sir John thought he had pretty sufficiently mortified him, he sent to let him know, he should be glad to see him, and received him with a Politeness natural to him; but when Sir Edward went to open his Case to him, he told him, 'He must leave him his Brief, for he could not spare Time to hear him:' So Sir Edward laid down his Brief, with a large Purse of Gold on it; and, having got his Audience of Leave, departed, full of Indignation at meeting with a Man as proud as himself.

When the Day appointed for the important Trial was come, there were Numbers of Lawyers engaged on either Side of the Question: Sir John being, I suppose, resolved to try his Client's Patience to the uttermost, permitted every one of them to speak before him, without Interruption, and sat drawing Birds with a Pencil, till Sir Edward was ready to burst with Rage at him, especially as he found the Cause likely to go against him: At length, when their Pleadings were ended, and Judgment going to be pronounced against Sir Edward, Sir John Meade arose, and desired to be heard, which he ever was with Favour and Attention by the Court, when making a Speech, which took an Hour and a half in Time, he so fully confuted all Sir Edward's Antagonists, and made his Title to the Estate so evident, and with such powerful Eloquence, that he had a Decree to be put in immediate Possession.

Sir Edward was so charmed with Sir John's graceful Elocution, that he could not forbear several Times crying out in Extacy, An Angel! by Heaven, an Angel! But when he found the happy Effects of it so much to his own Advantage, he could no longer contain himself, but cathing Sir John in his Arms, My dear, dear Friend! says he, permit me to have the Honour of calling you so: I do not wonder you should be proud, who have more Cause to be so, than any Man living.

The Court not breaking up, till it was late, Sir Edward pressed Sir John to give him his Company that Evening; Sir John excused himself, telling him, 'He was every Night engaged to a Club:' 'Well, then, said Sir Edward, if you will give me Leave, I will accompany you; (provided you think it will be agreeable to your Friends?)' Sir John answered, 'They would all, he was sure, esteem it as a very great Honour.' So accordingly Sir Edward met them, and they were mutually delighted with each other's Conversation, we may presume, by their staying together till Four the next Morning. Some of Sir Edward's Friends finding him in Bed at Twelve o'Clock the ensuing Day, he told them, 'He had sat up all Night:' 'With whom, Sir Edward?' Why, returned he, 'With Homer, Plato, Socrates, Cicero, and all the antient Greek and Roman Poets, Philosophers and Historians.'

From this Time, Sir Edward and Sir John contracted a Friendship, which did not terminate, but with their Lives.

As this little Piece of History redounds to the mutual Honour of both these great and eminent Gentlemen; I hope it will not be accounted Vanity in me to recite it.

One of Sir John Meade's Sisters, being smitten with the good Mien of a Roman Catholick Officer in King James's Army, stole a Match with him, of which my Mother was the First-fruits; but her Mother dying in Childbed of her second Child, and King William entirely subduing Ireland, my Grandfather thought proper to follow his Royal Master's Fortune to France, leaving my Mother, then an Infant, to the wide World: However, Providence did not abandon the helpless Orphan; her Grandmother, the Widow of Colonel Meade before-mentioned, took her Home to her; and while she lived, with true maternal Tenderness, bestowed on her the best and politest Education: And when the Trustees sat in Ireland, it being proved she was bred a Protestant, she recovered her Mother's Fortune, which had been settled on her, and which she had been some Years kept out of, on Account of her Father's being a forfeiting Person.

He, in the mean time, returned privately to England, and married a Niece of the celebrated Jesuit Father Hugh Peters: by this second Venture, he had one Daughter, who was married to Mr. Fowler of St. Thomas in Staffordshire, the sole Heiress of whom is the present Lady Faulconbridge, to whom, were it of any Use to me, I have the Honour of being a first Cousin by the Half-Blood.

My Mother being now in Possession of a handsome Fortune, and by the Death of her Grandmother entirely at her own Disposal, for her Fathern ever enquired what became of her, did not, it may be supposed, want Admirers; especially as she had a very graceful Person, with Abundance of Wit, which was improved by reading and keeping the best Company: however, none of them made any Impression on her Heart, till she saw my Father, who was the Son of a Dutch Physician, that accidentally settled in Ireland, and who had no other Fortune to boast of, than a liberal Education, and a very amiable Person and Understanding; Qualities which recommended him to my Mother so powerfully, that she had Constancy enough to wait for him three Years, while he went to Leyden, where he studied Physick under the late famous Dr. Boerhaave; and having taken his Degree, he returned to Ireland, uniting himself in Marriage to his faithful Mistress. Her Friends were at first much displeased with her; but my Father's Merit soon reconciled them to her Choice; and there being then but one Man-Midwife in the Kingdom, my Father made himself Master of that useful Art, and practised it with great Success, Reputation, and Humanity.

I was their second Child, and my eldest Brother dying an Infant, for a long Time their only one; being of a tender weakly Constitution, I was by my Father greatly indulged; indeed I cannot say, but it was in some Measure necessary he should, by his Gentleness, qualify my Mother's Severity to me; otherwise it must have broke my Heart; for she strictly followed Solomon's Advice, in never sparing the Rod; insomuch that I have frequently been whipt for looking blue of a frosty Morning; and, whether I deserved it or not, I was sure of Correction every Day of my Life.

From my earliest Infancy I had a strong Disposition to Letters; but my Eyes being weak, after the Small-pox, I was not permitted to look at a Book; my Mother regarding more the Beauty of my Face, than the Improvement of my Mind; neither was I allowed to learn to read: This Restraint, as it generally happens, made me but more earnest in the Pursuit of what I imagined must be so delightful. Twenty times a Day have I been corrected, for asking what such and such Letters spelt; my Mother used to tell me the Word, accompanying it with a good Box on the Ear, which, I suppose, imprinted it on my Mind. Had Gulliver seen her Behaviour, I should have imagined, he had borrowed a Hint from it for his floating Island, where, when a great Man had promised any Favour, the Suppliant was obliged to give him a Tweak by the Nose, or a Kick on the Rump, to quicken his Memory. However, I do assure you, it had this Effect on me, insomuch, that I never forgot what was once told me; and quickly arrived at my desired Happiness, being able to read before she thought I knew all my Letters; but this Pleasure I was obliged to enjoy by Stealth with Fear and Trembling.

I was at this Time about five Years of Age; and my Mother being one Day abroad, I had happily laid hold on Alexander's Feast, and found something in it so charming, that I read it aloud;—but how like a condemned Criminal did I look, when my Father, softly opening his Studydoor, took me in the very Fact; I dropt my Book, and burst into Tears, begging Pardon, and promising never to do so again: But my Sorrow was soon dispelled, when he bade me not be frightened, but read to him, which, to his great Surprize, I did very distinctly, and without hurting the Beauty of the Numbers. Instead of the whipping, of which I stood in dread, he took me up in his Arms, and kissed me, giving me a whole Shilling, as a Reward, and told me, 'He would give me another, as soon as I got a Poem by Heart,' which he put into my Hand, and proved to be Mr. Pope's sacred Eclogue; which Task I performed before my Mother returned Home. They were both astonished at my Memory, and from that Day forward, I was permitted to read as much as I pleased; only my Father took care to furnish me with the best, and politest Authors; and took Delight in explaining to me, whatever, by Reason of my tender Years, was above my Capacity of Understanding.

But chiefly was I charmed and ravished with the Sweets of Poetry; all my Hours were dedicated to the Muses; and, from a Reader, I quickly became a Writer; I may truly say with Mr. Pope,

I lisp'd in Numbers, for the Numbers came.

My Performances had the good Fortune to be looked on as extraordinary for my Years; and the greatest and wisest Men in the Kingdom did not disdain to hear the Prattle of the little Muse, as they called me, even in my childish Days. But as I approached towards Womanhood there was a new Scene opened to me; and by the Time I had looked on thirteen Years, I had almost as many Lovers; not that I ever was handsome, farther than being very fair. But I was well-drest, sprightly, and remarkably well-tempered, unapt to give or take Offence; insomuch that my Company was generally coveted; and no doubt but I should have been happily disposed of in Marriage, but that my Mother's capricious Temper made her reject every advantageous Proposal offered, and at last condemn me to the Arms of one of the greatest V—s, with Reverence to the Priesthood. be it spoken, that ever was wrapt up in Crape.

And here I cannot forbear observing, how very few who wear that S—d H—t are adorned with any real Sanctity of Manners: What Ambition, Avarice, Lust, and Cruelty reigns among them; they are generally the first Seducers of Innocence (as the Holiness of their Office gives them free Admittance into every Family) and as soon as they have made a Breach in the tender Mind for Ruin's wasteful Entrance, (provided they can but slip their own Necks out of the Halter and remain unexposed) they shall be the first to persecute with Ecclesiastical Courts, and Spiritual Authority, that very Person, whom they themselves first taught the Way to sin.

Let none presume to censure this as Spite,

I suffer for their Crimes of whom I write,

And 'tis ever allowed that the Losers may have leave to speak.

I would not, by this Reflection, be thought to strike at Religion, or the valuable Part of the Clergy: Those who are possessed of Christian Charity, and make the Sincerity of their Faith appear in the Righteousness of their Life, are truly worthy of Reverence and Honour; but alas! their Number is so few, that the Ears of Corn are scarce discernable among the Tares, of whom no doubt Satan will reap a plentiful Harvest.

But to return. Amongst all those who addrest me, my Heart retained its Freedom; and if their Flattery pleased me, it was only as it fed my Vanity; that Passion, which, like Pride, is so universal: I had no particular Engagement, was entirely submissive to my Parents, punctual to all the Duties of Religion, unaffectedly innocent, and much more pleased with my Female Friends, than with the Company of Men.

There were two young Ladies, in particular, for whom, from my Childhood, I had a very tender Affection, and whom, as often as I could, I visited; as their Brother was a Clergyman, many of the Gown frequented their House, and amongst the rest, the Reader of our Parish-Church, Mr. P—n. He had a good Face, and many agreeable Accomplishments; as a tolerable Taste in Music, and a poetical Turn, which greatly entertained me; but being a Man of obscure Birth, and low Fortune, I had no farther Thoughts of him, than merely as an Acquaintance: However, it was my Misfortune to be liked by him, when I least imagined it; as he played very well on the Organ, he gave us an Invitation to Church, promising, after Evening-Prayer, to sing an Anthem for us. I, who always delighted in Church-Music, begged my Mother's Permission to go, which, with some Difficulty, I obtained. After the Music he invited us into the Vestry-Room, where he had prepared a little Collation of Fruit, Wine, &c. and singling me out, he began to address me in a very passionate Stile, and earnestly begged Leave to visit me: I told him, 'I was to go into the Country next Day, to stay all the Summer, and were I not, I had no Male Visitants, but such as my Parents approved of; and consequently it was out of my Power to grant his Request.' My Mother sending for me, prevented any farther Conversation for that Time; and early the next Morning we set out on our intended Journey.

During my Stay in the Country, he wrote me a great many poetical Compliments, and subscribed himself Amintas: As they were really very elegant, my Mother, who always examined my Letters, exprest great Curiosity to know the Writer; saying, 'I ought to return a Letter of Thanks to him:' But as I took this only for a Trap, I told her, which was true, I knew not who it was; lest I should be denied the Pleasure of visiting the young Ladies, where I first saw him, if I should have given her the smallest Hint, that I guessed at the Person.

I had, by this Time, a Brother of about nine Years of Age, of whom my Father and Mother were fond even to Extravagance; whenever I went abroad, he used to cry to go with me, and was constantly indulged in it.

A few Days after our Return to Town, I went to wait on the young Ladies beforementioned, and took my Brother with me; I was scarce seated when Mr. P—n came in; and after saluting me, began to reproach me with Cruelty, in never having favoured him with an Answer to any of his Letters. I told him, 'I was much obliged to him, for the agreeable Entertainment they had afforded me; but that, excepting my Father, I had never wrote to any Man, neither was I Mistress of Wit enough to correspond with him.' A good many civil Things were said on either Hand, during Tea Time; after which my Brother growing urgent with me to return Home, I happened to say he was so great a Favourite, I durst not contradict him; upon which, Mr. P—n made his Application to him, and gave him an Invitation to his Lodgings; where he entertained him so kindly, that the Child returned in Raptures with him; and loaden with Toys and Sweetmeats. Upon this Civility to my Brother, my Father sent and invited Mr. P—n to Dinner; (and you may be sure he did not refuse him) but quickly found the Art of making himself so agreeable to my Parents, that they were even uneasy whenever he was absent; which seldom happened, except when his Duty required his Attendance. He now began openly to court me; and, to my great Surprize, neither of them feemod averse to it; but allowed him as much Liberty of conversing with me, as a reasonable Man could desire; and for my own Part, he gained so large a Share in my Esteem, that as they seemed to approve of him, I was very well satisfied.

One Year past on in this Manner, during which Time, Mr. P—n never omitted any Thing to convince me of the Sincerity of his Passion; and tho' he saw me every Day, and all the Day; yet every Day was still but as the first:

So eager was he still to see me more.

The ensuing Spring, my Mother took a Lodging, about a Mile from Dublin, by the Sea-side, for the Benefit of bathing, where my Father and Mr. P—n came every Afternoon together to visit us; but my Father's Business seldom permitting him to stay above half an Hour, he generally left Mr. P—n with us: Who, one Night happening to stay later than ordinary, left a Gold Watch, and a handsome Diamond Ring in my Possession; lest, as he said, he should be robbed of them going Home. My Father and he coming to us the next Day, (according to Custom) I brought to Mr. P—n his Ring and Watch; but he would by no Means accept of either, but insisted on my keeping them as a Present; my Father and Mother were both by; and neither of them shewing any Dislike to it, I was, with great Reluctance, obliged by him to take them.

I mention these Particulars, trifling as they are, because I have been accused of Disobedience to my Parents, in marrying without their Consent or Knowledge; whereas they were acquainted with the Affair from Beginning to End; neither was I any more than passive in it; never having allowed myself to have any Will but theirs.

My Father was at this Time so eminent in his Profession, and lived after so elegant a manner, that every body concluded, he was able to give me a very good Fortune; and few People could believe he countenanced Mr. P—n's Addresses to me; he neither having any Preferment in the Church, nor any other Fortune: And whatever Merit an Irish Clergyman may possess, he has little Hope of Advancement by it, unless he has some Relation in the House of Commons, who, by betraying the Interest of his Country, can procure for him,

The Leavings of a Church distrest,

A hungry Vicarage at best;

Or some remote inferior Post,

With forty Pounds a Year at most.

Swift.
And in this, the present State of poor Ireland nearly resembles that of England, under the Reign of Queen Mary, when, as soon as a Bishoprick became vacant, an Italian was immediately nominated to it. Ireland groans under the same Calamity: An English V—y, English Judges, English Bishops, with their long Train of Relations and Dependants, lay their hard Hands on all Preferments; while her learned Sons languish out Life, in hopeless Poverty and Dejection of Spirit.

I have frequently observed it, as a Want of Policy in the English Government, to permit the People of Ireland to have an University: Learning naturally inspires Men with the Love of Liberty; the Principles of which ought to be discouraged in the Minds of those, whom their Masters are pleased to condemn to Slavery, Want and Oppression; unless, perhaps it may be done with a cruel Intent, of making their Yoke the more galling to them.

Ireland, while free, was remarkable for producing brave and valiant Men. Ever witness for her,

Her matchless Sons! whose Valour still remains

On French Records for twenty long Campaigns;

Yet from an Empress, now a Captive grown;

She sav'd Britannia's Right, and lost her own.

Swift.

I hope I shall be pardoned by all true Patriots for this Digression; if not, I can only make Use of Falstaff's Apology, That Rebellion lay in my Way, and I found it.

But to resume my Thread. All my Friends and Relations attacked my Father warmly on this Head; who solemnly declared, 'He knew nothing of any amorous Correspondence between Mr. P—n and his Daughter, that the Gentleman came to visit us, as being Parishioners:' But withal declared: 'Since such a Report was spread, he would civilly forbid him the House;' which accordingly he ordered my Mother to do. Mr. P—n came as usual, and my Mother delivered her dreadful Commission to him. No sooner was the fatal Sentence pronounced, but my astonished Lover fell pale and speechless to the Floor; and to say the Truth, my Case was little better than his: I raised him in my Arms, and senseless as he seemed, he grasped me close, and leaned his drooping Head upon my Bosom; whilst my Mother applied Remedies to him till he revived: When he came to himself, he blamed us for our Care: saying, 'Since I was lost, he could not, would not live.'

As I was naturally of a soft compassionate Temper, the Condition I saw him in pierced my very Soul; but I was too much in Awe of my Mother to venture to say so at that Time. So he left me with Sorrow deeply imprinted in his Countenance, and, as I believed, in his Heart.

About two Years before this, a young Woman of about eighteen Years of Age, was brought to my Father, by a Stationer, to be by him instructed in Midwifery: She was Mistress of Hebrew, Greek, Latin and French, understood the Mathematicks, as well as most Men: And what made these extraordinary Talents yet more surprizing, was, that her Parents were poor illiterate Country People; so that her Learning appeared like the Gift poured out on the Apostles, of speaking all Languages, without the Pains of Study; or, like the intuitive Knowledge of Angels: Yet in as much as the Power of Miracles is ceased; we must allow she used human Means for such great and excellent Acquirements: And yet in a long Friendship and Familiarity with her, I could never obtain a satisfactory Account from her on this Head; only she said, 'she had received some little Instruction from the Minister of the Parish, when she could spare Time from her Needlework, to which she was closely kept by her Mother.' She wrote elegantly both in Verse and Prose; and some of the most delightful Hours I ever past, were in the Conversation of this female Philosopher.

My Father readily consented to accept of her as a Pupil; and gave her a general Invitation to his Table, so that she and I were seldom asunder. My Parents were well pleased with our Intimacy, as her Piety was not inferior to her Learning. Whether it was owing to her own Desire, or the Envy of those who survived her, I know not; but of her various and beautiful Writings, except one Poem of her's in Mrs. Barber's Works, I have never seen any published; 'tis true, as her Turn was chiefly to philosophical or divine Subjects, they might not be agreeable to the present Taste; yet could her heavenly Muse descend from its sublime Height to the easy epistolary Stile, and suit itself to my then gay Disposition; as may appear by the two following Poems: To make them intelligible, my Reader must observe, that I being in a Country Town at the Assizes Time, had writ her an Account to Dublin of the principal Entertainments I met with there and in the rest of the Country. I must also beg Pardon for publishing the Compliments paid to me in them, which I really would omit were it possible. Her Answer to my first Letter was this. ‘’

The Second was as follows: ‘’

As this Lady was perfectly well acquainted with Mr. P—n's Regard for me, he applied to her to intreat a Meeting at her Lodgings, where I frequently went.

She had too much Compassion for a despairing honourable Lover to refuse his Request; and accordingly she gave him Notice the next Visit that I made to her, after having asked my Consent to it. Our Interview was very melancholy, and his Sighs and Tears prevailed so much on my young soft Heart, that, at last, I faithfully promised to be his; but added, 'We were both so young, that it would be prudent to wait till he had some Preferment, or till my Parents came into better Temper; and that, in the mean time, I would see him, or write to him, as often as I conveniently could.'

I forgot to mention, that I had sent him his Watch and Ring some Days before; he would fain have prevailed on me to take them again, but I absolutely refused them.

The next Morning, my Father told me, I must prepare to go and stay a Year with my Grandfather, who lived a hundred Miles distant from Dublin, and that I must set out in two Days. I made no Answer, but thought proper to give Mr. P—n Notice of my Departure, and easily prevailed on my Brother to give him a Letter; but Heav'ns! how was I frighted when he, returning in a few Moments, told me, Mr. P—n had stabbed himself with his Penknife: I ran all in Tears to my Mother, entreating her Permission to go and see him. She appeared much concerned, and sent for him to come to us, which pleasing Summons he readily obeyed. But I could scarce forbear laughing at my own Credulity, when my wounded Swain came to us in perfect Health. He had indeed given himself a Scratch, on Purpose to terrify us, and had just such a desperate Wound as I have frequently received from the Point of a Pin, without complaining.

However, by this Artifice he once more gained Admission to us, and had an Opportunity of assuring my Mother, 'That if she sent me to the West-Indies, he would follow me;' and added also, 'That he was next Heir to a good Estate;' which was the most prevailing Argument he could make use of to her; and took such an Effect, that she not only kept him to Supper, but so far indulged him, as to give him a Key to the Garden which opened into a little Stable Lane, by which means he could come in and go out as often as he pleased unnoticed. As soon as he left us, my Mother spoke to me in this Manner: 'Child, said she, I believe that young Man loves you sincerely, neither have your Father or I any Objection to him; but in the Light we appear in to the World, it would seem strange to accept of him as a Son-in law. Your Father is not, at present, able to give you a Fortune; and I know most of those who address you, hope for one with you; and he chuses rather to reject them, than let them into his real Circumstances: What I would therefore advise you to is this: If you love this Man, marry him; we shall at first seem displeased, and then forgive it, and do for you every thing within our Power; as he is an ingenious, sober Man, your Father's Interest may soon get him a Living, and till then ye shall both live with us.'

This Discourse strangely surprized me, and left me doubtful how to act; to take to myself the Reproach of Disobedience, in the Eyes of the World, appeared very shocking to me; and tho' I was resolved to marry Mr. P—n some Time or other, yet I was startled at the Thought of doing it immediately, and told my Mother my Objections: However they appeared but trifling to her. The next Morning she called me pretty early to Breakfast, and, to my great Surprize, I found Mr. P—n with my Father, his Harpsichord placed in the Parlour, which, with a Cat and an Owl, were all his worldly Goods.

He told me with great Rapture, that he was going for a Ring and a Licence to be married in the Evening. As for my Part, I thought he only jested, till my Father confirmed it, by telling me I must either resolve to marry immediately, or break off with Mr. P—n entirely, leaving it to my Choice which to do. I was too much confounded to make any other Return than to give my Hand to Mr. P—n, who kissed it with great Extacy; and my unfortunate Nuptials being thus concluded, we were married privately in the Evening by the Vicar-General, having no other Witnesses but my Father and Mother, and his Father, and we resolved to keep it secret for a few Days to avoid the Hurry and Expence of Matrimony. We went into the Country to my Uncle Brigadier Meade's Seat for a Fortnight; where my new espoused Husband staying from me a whole Day, in Pursuit of his Game (for he delighted in Fowling) at his Return, I presented him with the following Lines, my first Attempt in Poetry that was not quite childish: ‘’

This little poetical Essay met with more Applause than it really merited, on Account of my Youth, and was extremely acceptable to Mr. P—n, who, with the Raptures of an enamoured Bridegroom, read it to every Person whom he thought possessed of Taste or Genius.

On our Return to Town, we received the Visits and Compliments of all our Acquaintance; every one of whom my Mother assured, I had married without their Consent; but this was not all, for she said it so often, that at length she persuaded herself it was so; and made it a Pretence for giving me all imaginable ill Treatment, both in publick and private, which, having no Remedy, I was obliged to bear as patiently as I could; for if I quitted her House, I had no Place to go to, as Mr. P—n's whole Income would scarce have paid the Rent of a tolerable ready furnished Lodging. However I had some Consolation in Mr. P—n's Tenderness, which seemed daily to increase for me, and in the Conversation of a very agreeable Set of Friends, some of whom it may not be amiss to give a particular Description of.

In the first Place, I had the Honour of being well received by Mrs. Percival, who is married to the Brother of the Earl of Egmont, to whose Virtues I cannot refuse doing Justice, (altho' her Censures of me have not been over-charitable) a Lady of most universal Genius, there being no one Accomplishment, that adorns the Woman of Quality but what she possessed; and her Station gave her an Opportunity of shewing them to Advantage; she was also extremely happy in her Family; her Husband was a most worthy Gentleman; both her Sons Men of Sense and Honour, and one of her Daughters very agreeable. It may easily be supposed this Belle Assembly engaged the Company of all the learned and polite World; every Night was a Drawing-Room, and the ingenious and curious of both Sexes went Home delighted and improved. As my Father was Physician to Mrs. Percival, and her eldest Son married to a near Relation of mine, I had at all Times free Access, and so found a frequent pleasing Relief from my Vexations.

I had also the much envied Honour of being known to Dr. Swift, whose Genius, excellent as it was, surpassed not his Humanity in the most judicious and useful Charities; altho' often hid under a rough Appearance, till he was perfectly convinced both of the Honesty and Distress of those he bestowed it on: He was a perpetual Friend to Merit and Learning; and utterly incapable of Envy. Indeed why should he not? who, in true genuine Wit, could fear no Rival.

Yet as I have frequently observed in Life, that where great Talents are bestowed, there the strongest Passions are likewise given: This truly great Man did but too often let them have Dominion over him, and that on the most trifling Occasions. During Meal-times he was evermore in a Storm; the Meat was always too much or too little done, or the Servants had offended in some Point, imperceptible to the rest of the Company; however, when the Cloth was taken away, he made his Guests rich Amends for the Pain he had given them by the former Part of his Behaviour. For

Then was truly mingled in the friendly Bowl

The Feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul.

Pope.
Yet strict Temperance preserved; for the Doctor never drank above half a Pint of Wine, in every Glass of which he mixed Water and Sugar; yet, if he liked his Company, would sit many Hours over it, unlocking all the Springs of Policy, Learning, true Humour and inimitable Wit.

It is a very great Loss to the World, that this admirable Gentleman never could be prevailed on to give us the Particulars of his own Life; because, as it is the Fate of all eminent Persons to have various Characters given of them, so it was more remarkably his: One Reason for this may justly be assigned; that as at his first setting out Party ran high, those who on either Side had any Talents for Writing, spared not to throw the blackest Aspersions on the other; so that, if we give them both Credit, we must conclude, there was neither Honour nor Virtue among them; but that all who were out, Tories and Whigs, Whigs and Tories, were equally corrupt: Indeed Ambition is a grand Deceiver, and apt to undermine Integrity itself; and this the Doctor himself was so sensible of, that I have frequently heard him declare, 'He thought it a great Blessing that all his Hopes of Preferment were at once cut off; insomuch that he had nothing to tempt or mislead him from a Patriotism, in which his grateful Country found their Happiness and Security.'

This leads me to a Story, I remember to have heard him tell, and therefore, I hope, cannot be impertinent:

A Clergyman, whose Character greatly resembled that I have heard Bishop Berkley give to Bishop Atterbury; namely, a most learned fine Gentleman, who under the softest and politest Appearance concealed the most turbulent Ambition: This Clergyman having made his Merit, as a Preacher, too eminent to be overlooked, had it early rewarded with a Mitre; his Friend Dr. Swift went to congratulate him on it; but at the same Time told him, 'He hoped, as his Lordship was a Native of Ireland, and had now a Seat in the House of Peers, he would employ his powerful Elocution in the Service of his distressed Country.' The Prelate told him, 'The Bishoprick was but a very small one, and he could not hope for a better, if he did not oblige the Court.' 'Very well, says Swift, then it is to be hoped, when you have a better, you will become an honest Man.' 'Ay, that I will, Mr. Dean, says he, till then, my Lord, farewel.' This pious Prelate was twice translated to richer Sees; and, on every Translation, Dr. Swift waited on him to remind him of his Promise, but to no Purpose; there was now an Archbishoprick in View, and till that was obtained, nothing could be done: This in a short Time he likewise possessed; he then sent for the Dean, and told him, 'I am now at the Top of my Preferment, for I well know no Irishman will ever be made Primate, therefore as I can rise no higher in Fortune or Station, I will zealously promote the good of my Country.' (A fine Reason truly!) And so he commenced a most outrageous Patriot, from those very laudable Motives, and continued so till his Death, which happened within these few Years.

I hope my Readers will indulge me in the frequent Mention I shall make of Dr. Swift; for tho' his Works are universally esteemed; yet few Persons now living, have had so many Opportunities of seeing him in private Life; as my being a Person sans Consequence afforded me, which Happiness I obtained by the following Means:

The learned Nymph before-mentioned, whom Curiosity engaged every Person to see, had shewn many of my Scribbles to Dr. Delany, known sufficiently by his own incomparable Life and Writings: As she was one of the first to congratulate me on my Marriage; she was a Witness how severely both Mr. P—n and I were used, or rather abused by my Mother; she told Dr. Delany of it, and made such favourable mention of the poor young Couple, that he generously imagined his countenancing Mr. P—n might be a Means of procuring us better Treatment. He had been Class-fellow with my Father in the College, and tho' they did not visit, yet they had that mutual Esteem for each other, which good Men feel for good Men; and were pleased whenever Accident threw them into each other's Company. The Doctor, preaching at our Parish Church immediately after our Marriage, was so kind as to join us coming out, and accompany us Home, to wish the young Couple Joy, a Favour we were all extremely proud of; at parting he gave us all an Invitation to to dine at his beautiful Villa, about a small Mile distant from Dublin; what Opinion I conceived of him and his Improvements, may be seen in the following Lines, composed in one of his lovely Arbours:—
Delville the Seat of the Rev. Dr. DELANY.

HAIL, happy Delville! blissful Seat!

The Muse's best belov'd Retreat!

With Prospects large and unconfin'd;

Blest Emblem of their Master's Mind!

Where fragrant Gardens, painted Meads,

Wide op'ning Walks, and twilight Shades,

Inspiring Scenes! elate the Heart!

Nature improv'd, and rais'd by Art;

So Paradise delightful smil'd,

Blooming, and beautifully wild.

Thrice happy Sage, who safe retir'd,

By Heav'n and by the Muse inspir'd;

In polish'd Arts, or Lays sublime,

Or God-like Acts employ your Time.

Here Nature's Beauties you explore,

And searching her mysterious Store,

Thro' all her Operations find

The Image of the Sov'reign Mind,

And in each Insect, Plant and Flow'r,

Contemplate the creating Pow'r:

Nor is thy Love of him alone

In fruitless Speculation shewn;

Thro' Life you happily exert,

The Christian Virtues of your Heart;

To give new Schemes of Culture Birth,

And bless and beautify the Earth;

To raise th' Afflicted from Despair,

And make the friendless Wretch thy Care:

To thee the highest Bliss is given,

A Soul to praise, and copy Heaven.

Whether it was owing to my Youth, or any real Merit in the Verses, I know not, but, weak as they were, from the Candour of the Company they met with great Applause, and the worthy Gentleman to whom they were directed, praised the Poetry extremely, only modestly wished I had a better Subject to employ my fine Genius, as he was pleased to call it.

I hope, if I should live to publish these Writings, none of the honourable Persons mentioned in them, as having been once my Friends, will be offended at it; since whatever Misfortunes have since befallen me, I was not then quite unworthy of the Regard they shewed me, and still retain a grateful Sense of their Favour; only lamenting that by one fatal Folly it is irrecoverably lost.

And now I must confess, as I have talked of Ambition, I had a strong one to be known to Dr. Swift: As Dr. Delany had recommended and introduced Mr. P—n to him, and the learned Lady before-mentioned, I thought it a little hard to be excluded from the Delight and Instruction I might possibly receive from such Conversation; and having often remonstrated on this Head, to no Purpose, I at last told them, (for to give me my due I was pretty pert) 'that truly they were envious, and would not let me see the Dean, knowing how much I surpassed them all.' As I spoke this but half serious, I set them all a laughing, and as they were to meet the next Day at the Deanery-House to keep the Anniversary of his Birth-day, I inclosed to Dr. Delany the following Lines: ‘’

Dr. Delany presented these Lines to the Dean, and at the same time told him my saucy Speech above-mentioned. The Dean kindly accepted of my Compliment, and said, 'He would see me whenever I pleased.' A most welcome Message to me!

A few Days after, the Dean sent the Doctor Word, he would dine with him at Delville, and desired to meet Mr. and Mrs. P—n there: You may be assured I obeyed this welcome Summons, and a Gentlewoman was so kind as to call on me to go with her; when we arrived, Dr. Delany's Servant told us, his Master, the Dean, and Mr. P—n were walking in the Garden; we met them on a noble Terrass, whose Summit was crowned with a magnificent Portico, where Painting and Sculpture displayed their utmost Charms: The Lady presented me to the Dean, who saluted me, and surprized me, by asking her, 'If I was her Daughter?' She smiled and said, 'I was Mrs. P—n.' 'What, says he, this poor little Child married! God help her, she is early engaged in Trouble.' We passed the Day in a most elegant and delightful Manner; and the Dean, engaging Mr. P—n to preach for him at the Cathedral the Sunday following, gave me also with the rest of the Company an Invitation to Dinner. As the Communion is administered every Sunday in this antique Church, dedicated to St. Patrick, the first Prelate who taught the Gospel in Ireland, I was charmed to see with what a becoming Piety the Dean performed that solemn Service; which he had so much at Heart, that he wanted not the Assistance of the Liturgy, but went quite thro' it without ever looking in the Prayer-Book. Indeed another Part of his Behaviour on this Occasion was censured by some as savouring of Popery, which was, that he bowed to the Holy-Table; however this Circumstance may vindicate him from the wicked Aspersion of being deemed an Unbeliever, since 'tis plain he had the utmost Reverence for the Eucharist. Service being over, we met the Dean at the Church-Door, surrounded by a Crowd of Poor, to all of whom he gave Charity, excepting one old Woman, who held out a very dirty Hand to him; he told her very gravely, 'That though she was a Beggar, Water was not so scarce but she might have washed her Hands:' And so we marched with the Silver Verge before us to the Deanery-House. When we came into the Parlour, the Dean kindly saluted me, and without allowing me Time to sit down, bade me come and see his Study; Mr. P—n was for following us, but the Dean told him merrily, He did not desire his Company; and so he ventured to trust me with him into the Library: 'Well, says he, I have brought you here to shew you all the Money I got when I was in the Ministry, but do not steal any of it.' 'I will not indeed, Sir, says I;' so he opened a Cabinet, and shewed me a whole Parcel of empty Drawers; 'Bless me, say he, the Money is flown;' he then opened his Bureau, wherein he had a great Number of curious Trinkets of various Kinds, some of which he told me, 'Were presented to him by the Earl and Countess of Oxford; some by Lady Masham, and some by Lady Betty Germain;' at last, coming to a Drawer filled with Medals, he bade me chuse two for myself; but he could not help smiling, when I began to poize them in my Hands, chusing them by Weight rather than Antiquity, of which indeed I was not then a Judge.

The Dean amused me in this Manner till we were summoned to Dinner, where his Behaviour was so humorous, that I cannot avoid relating some Part of it: He placed himself at the Head of his Table opposite to a great Pier-Glass, under which was a Marble Side-board, so that he could see in the Glass whatever the Servants did at it: He was served entirely in Plate, and with great Elegance; but the Beef being overroasted put us all in Confusion, the Dean called for the Cook-maid, and ordered her to take it down Stairs, and do it less; the Maid answered, very innocently, 'That she could not:' 'Why, what Sort of a Creature are you, says he, to commit a Fault which cannot be amended?' And turning to me he said very gravely, 'That he hoped, as the Cook was a Woman of Genius, he should, by this Manner of arguing, be able in about a Year's Time to convince her she had better send up the Meat too little than too much done;' charging the Men Servants, 'Whenever they imagined the Meat was ready, they should take it Spit and all, and bring it up by Force, promising to aid them, in case the Cook resisted.' The Dean then turning his Eye on the Looking-glass espied the Butler opening a Bottle of Ale, and helping himself to the first Glass; he very kindly jumbled the rest together, that his Master and Guests might all fare alike. 'Ha! Friend, says the Dean, Sharp's the Word, I find you drank my Ale, for which I stop two Shillings of your Board-Wages this Week, for I scorn to be outdone in any thing, even in cheating.' Dinner at last was over to my great Joy; for now I had Hope of a more agreeable Entertainment than what the squabbling with the Servants had afforded us.

The Dean thanked Mr. P—n for his Sermon: 'I never, says he, preached but twice in my Life, and then they were not Sermons, but Pamphlets.' I asked him, 'What might be the Subject of them;' he told me, 'They were against Wood's Half-pence.' 'Pray, Madam, says he, do you smoke;' 'No indeed, Sir, says I;' 'Nor your Husband;' 'Neither, Sir:' 'It is a Sign, said he, you were neither of you bred in the University of Oxford; for drinking and smoaking are the first Rudiments of Learning taught there; and in those two Arts no University in Europe can out-do them.' 'Pray Mrs. P—n tell me your Faults;' 'Indeed, Sir, I must beg to be excused, for if I can help it, you shall never find them out;' 'No, says he, then Mr. P—n shall tell me;' 'I will, Sir, says he, when I have discovered them.' 'Pray Mr. Dean, says Dr. Delany, why will you be so unpolite, as to suppose Mrs. P—n has any Faults?' 'Why, I will tell you, replied the Dean; whenever I see a Number of agreeable Qualities in any Person, I am always sure, they have bad ones sufficient to poize the Scale.' I bowed, and told the Dean, 'He did me great Honour:' And in this I copied Bishop Berkley, whom I have frequently heard declare, 'That when any Speech was made to him, which might be construed either into a Compliment, or an Affront, or (that to make use of his own Word) had two Handles; he was so meek and so mild, that he always took hold of the best.'

The Dean then asked me, 'If I was a Queen, what I should chuse to have after Dinner?' I answered, 'His Conversation;' 'Phooh! says he, I mean what Regale?' 'A Dish of Coffee, Sir;' 'Why then I will so far make you as happy as a Queen, you shall have some in Perfection; for when I was Chaplain to the Earl of Berkley, who was in the Government here, I was so poor, I was obliged to keep a Coffee-house, and all the Nobility resorted to it to talk Treason:' I could not help smiling at this Oddity, but I really had such an Awe on me, that I could not venture to ask him, as I longed to do, what it meant? The Bottle and Glasses being taken away, the Dean set about making the Coffee; but the Fire scorching his Hand, he called to me to reach him his Glove, and changing the Coffee-pot to his Left-hand, held out his Right one, ordered me to put the Glove on it, which accordingly I did; when taking up Part of his Gown to fan himself with, and acting in Character of a prudish Lady, he said, 'Well, I do not know what to think; Women may be honest that do such Things, but, for my Part, I never could bear to touch any Man's Flesh— except my Husband's, whom perhaps, says he, she wished at the Devil.

'Mr. P—n, says he, you would not tell me your Wife's Faults; but I have found her out to be a d—ned, insolent, proud, unmannerly Slut:' I looked confounded, not knowing what Offence I had committed.—Says Mr. P—n, 'Ay, Sir, I must confess she is a little saucy to me sometimes, but—what has she done now?' 'Done! why nothing, but sat there quietly, and never once offered to interrupt me in making the Coffee, whereas had I had a Lady of modern good Breeding here, she would have struggled with me for the Coffee-pot till she had made me scald myself and her, and made me throw the Coffee in the Fire; or perhaps at her Head, rather than permit me to take so much trouble for her.'

This raised my Spirits and as I found the Dean always prefaced a Compliment with an Affront, I never afterwards was startled at the latter, (as too many have been, not entering into his peculiarly ironical Strain) but was modestly contented with the former, which was more than I deserved, and which the Surprize rendered doubly pleasing.

By this Time, the Bell rang for Church; and Dr. Delany and Mr. P—n, who with myself were now all the Company, (for the rest departed before the Coffee was out) were obliged to attend the Summons: But as there is no Service in the Cathedral, but Evening-Prayer at Six o'Clock, I chose rather to attend the Dean there, than go to hear another Sermon; by this means I had him all to myself for near three Hours, during which Time he made me read to him the Annals of the four last Years of the Reign of Queen Anne, written by himself; the Intentions of which seemed to be a Vindication of the then Ministry and himself, from having any Design of placing the Pretender on the Throne of Great-Britain: It began with a solemn Adjuration, that all the Facts therein contained were Truth, and then proceeded in the Manner of Lord Clarendon, with giving the particular Characters of every Person whom he should have occasion to mention; amongst whom, I remember, he compared Lord Bollingbroke to Petronius, one who agreeably mingled Business with Pleasure. At the Conclusion of every Period, he demanded of me, 'Whether I understood it? For I would, says he, have it intelligent to the meanest Capacity, and if you compreprehend it, 'tis possible every Body may.' 'I bowed, and assured him I did.' And indeed it was written with such Perspecuity and Elegance of Stile, that I must have had no Capacity at all, if I did not taste what was so exquisitely beautiful.

Mr. P—n, when he was Chaplain to Alderman Barber, in the Year of his Mayoralty, mentioned those Annals to Mr. Pope, who said he had dissuaded the Dean from publishing them; as the Facts contained in them were notoriously false. I was greatly astonished when Mr. P—n told me this, nor could I tell what to determine: It seemed strange to me, that a Person of the Dean's good Sense and Veracity, should in the most solemn manner invocate the Almighty to bear Testimony to Falshoods, publicly known to be such. And yet as Mr. Pope was in Prose a Man of unquestioned Probity, and united to the Dean in the strictest Bonds of Friendship, and consequently, without doubt, well acquainted with the Transactions of those Times, we can hardly suppose he would speak in the manner he did, without just Grounds for so doing; and his Evidence seems strengthened by his being of the Romish Religion, which must certainly incline him to wish well to a Prince of the same Faith. However, upon the whole, I am inclined to judge charitably of the Dean; and to believe, that tho' the Ministers frequently employed him as a Writer, and entertained him as a Companion; yet they had not let him into the Depth of their Designs, the Mystery of Iniquity! So that what he relates in his Annals of the inviolable Attachment of those in Power to the Hanover Succession and the Protestant Faith, might be by him believed to be Truth: For who so wise but may be deceived? And perhaps Mr. Pope's long and intimate Correspondence with Lord Bollingbroke gave him a better Knowledge of what was really intended at that critical Juncture. Pardon this Digression.

The Bell rang for Evening-Prayer, to which I accompanied the Dean. There is a fine Organ in this Church, which, with its antique Magnificence and so harmonious a Choir, brought Milton's Lines into my Mind:

And let my due Feet never fail

To walk the studious Cloysters pale,

And love the high embowed Roof,

With antique Pillars, massy Proof,

And story'd Windows richly dight,

Shedding a dim religious Light;

There let the pealing Organ blow

To the full-voic'd Choir below;

In Service high! and Anthem clear,

Which may with Pleasure thro' mine Ear,

Dissolve me into Extasies,

And bring all Heaven before my Eyes.

On our Return to the Deanery-house, we found there waiting our coming Dr. Delany and Mr. Rochford, to whose Wife, A Letter of Advice to a new-married Lady, (published since in the Dean's Works) was written, and which by the bye, the Lady did not take as a Compliment, either to her or the Sex, Mr. P—n, Dr. Sheridan, Author of the Art of Punning, with two or three other Clergymen, (who usually passed Sunday Evening with the Dean) Mr. P—n and I were for going Home, but the Dean told us, 'He gave us leave to stay to Supper;' which from him was a sufficient Invitation. The Dean then pulled out of his Pocket, a little Gold Runlet, in which was a Bottle-Screw, and opening a Bottle of Wine, he decanted it off; the last Glass being muddy, he called to Mr. P—n to drink it: 'For, says he, I always keep some poor Parson to drink the foul Wine for me:' Mr. P—n, entering into his Humour, thanked him, and told him, 'He did not know the Difference, but was glad to get a Glass at any rate:' 'Why then, says the Dean, you shan't, for I'll drink it myself: Why, P—x take you, you are wiser than a paultry Curate, whom I asked to dine with me a few Days ago; for upon my making the same Speech to him, he told me he did not understand such Usage, and so walked off without his Dinner. By the same Token, I told the Gentleman who recommended him to me, That the Fellow was a Blockhead, and I had done with him.'

The Dean then missing his Golden Bottle-Screw, told me, very sternly, 'He was sure I had stolen it:' I affirmed, very seriously, 'I had not:' Upon which he looked for it, and found it where he himself had laid it; ''Tis well for you, says he, that I have got it, or I would have charged you with Theft:' 'Why, pray, Sir, should I be suspected more than any other Person in the Company?' 'For a very good Reason, says he, because you are the poorest.'

There now came in, to sup with the Dean, one of the oddest little Mortals I ever met with: He formerly wrote the Gazetteer; and upon the Strength of being an Author, and of having travelled, took upon him not only to dictate to the Company, but to contradict whatever any other Person advanced Right or Wrong, till he had entirely silenced them all: And then having the whole Talk to himself, (for, to my great Surprize, the Dean neither interrupted nor shewed any Dislike of him) he told us a whole String of Improbabilities, such as, 'That each Pillar of St. Peter's at Rome took up more Ground than a Convent which was near it, wherein were twelve Monks, with their Chapel, Garden, and Infirmary.' By this Account, every Pillar must take up, at least, half an Acre, and, considering the Number of them, we must conclude the Edifice to be some Miles in Circumference. No one present had ever been at Rome, except himself, so that he might tell us just what he thought proper.

I took notice, that before this dogmatical Gentleman the Dean was most remarkably complaisant to Mr. P—n and me, and at our going away, the Dean would hand me down all the Steps to the Coach, thanking us for the Honour of our Company, at the same time sliding into my Hand as much Money as Mr. P—n and I had given at the Offering in the Morning, and Coach-hire also, which I durst not refuse, lest I should have been deemed as great a Blockhead as the Parson, who refused the thick Wine.

It has been a Matter of Dispute amongst the Learned, whether England or Ireland had the Honour of giving to the World this admirable Person; 'tis probable Posterity may contend this Point, as warmly as the seven Cities of Greece did the Birth-place of Homer: And tho' in reality, 'tis of no great Importance where a Man is born; yet as the Irish are the eternal Ridicule of the English for their Ignorance, I am proud Hibernia had the Happiness of producing this brilliant Wit, to redeem the Credit of the Country; and to convince the World, a Man may draw his first Breath there, and yet be learned, wise, generous, religious, witty, social and polite.

The Account I have frequently heard the Dean give of himself, was, that he was born in Hoey's-Alley, in Warburgh's Parish, Dublin; his Father was a Lawyer, and returning from the Circuit, he unfortunately brought home the Itch with him, which he had got by lying in some foul Bed on the Road. Somebody advised him to use Mercury to cure it, which Prescription cost him his Life in a very few Days after his Return. The Dean was a posthumous Son to this Gentleman, but, as he said, came Time enough to save his Mother's Credit. He was given to an Irish Woman to nurse, whose Husband being in England, and writing to her to come to him; as she could not bear the Thoughts of parting with the Child, she very fairly took him with her, unknown to his Mother, or any of his Relations, who could learn no Tidings either of him or her for three Years; at the End of which Time, she returned to Ireland, and restored the Child to his Mother, from whom she easily obtained a Pardon, both on account of the Joy she conceived at seeing her only Son again, when she had in a manner lost all Hope of it; as also, that it was plain, the Nurse had no other Motive for stealing him, but pure Affection, which the Women of I•…land generally have in as eminent Degree, for the Children they nurse, as for their own Offspring.

I believe the Dean's early Youth did not promise that bright Day of Wit which has since enlightened the learned World. Whilst he was at the University of Dublin, he was so far from being distinguished for any Superiority of Parts or Learning, that he was stopped of his Degree as a Dunce. When I heard the Dean relate this Circumstance, for I set down nothing but what I had from his own Mouth, I told him, I supposed he had been idle; but he affirmed to the contrary; assuring me, he was really dull, which, if true, is very surprising.

I have often been led to look on the World as a Garden, and the human Minds as so many Plants, set by the Hand of the great Creator for Utility and Ornament. Thus, some we see, early produce beautiful Blossoms, and as soon fade away; others, whose Gems are more slow in unfolding, but more permanent, when blown; and others again, who tho' longer in arriving at Perfection, not only bless us then with Shade and Odour, but also with delicious wholesome Fruit. To go on with the Allegory, we often hear from Children very bright Sallies of Wit, and Reflections above their Years: From these hopeful Beginnings we are apt to expect something very extraordinary in their Maturity, but how often are we disappointed? How often do we see these sparkling Children dwindle gradually into the most humdrum Men and Women, as if, to make use of the Florists Phrase, the Blow was quite over; and some, whose Childhood has given no Presages of great Talents, have improved every Year, till they have brought forth the beautiful Flowers of Poetry and Rhetorick, and the rich Fruits of Wisdom and Virtue.

Whether this Comparison will hold, I submit to the Judgment of those who are better acquainted with the secret Workings of Nature, than I can presume to be. I am afraid of going out of my Depth, and yet I have a great Inclination to say a little more on this Subject.

I have known a Person, who in his Youth was an extraordinary Adept in Music, and performed on several Instruments extremely well. I saw the same Person some Years after; and lo! his musical Talent was entirely lost, and he was then a very good Painter. Now I could not help forming a Notion in my own Mind, that as our Ideas depend on the Fibres of the Brain, it was possible we might by the continual Use of some particular one, weaken it so as to make it perish; and at the same time, another might exert from that very Cause itself with double Strength. Thus, I suppose, when this Gentleman's musical Fibres perished, his painting ones shot forth with Vigour. If there be any Truth in this Whim of mine, which, I own, I am fond of believing myself, we may easily account for the various Dispositions which we meet with, even in the same Person at different Periods of Life.

But to return. Altho' it is not in my Power to give a succinct Account of the Dean's Life, neither have I any intention to attempt it, yet I believe I am better qualified to do it, than most of those who have undertaken it, as they were absolute Strangers to him, and relate Things upon Hearsay. The Dean, for the latter Part of his Life, contracting his Acquaintance into a very narrow Compass, for as he was frequently deaf, he thought this Infirmity made him troublesome, and therefore kept no Company but such as he could be so free with, as to bid them speak loud, or repeat what they had said; it was owing to this, that Mr. P—n and I frequently passed whole Days with him, while Numbers of our betters were excluded; and as he was like another Nestor, full of Days and Wisdom, so like him, he was pretty much upon the Narrative, than which nothing could be more delightful to me, as Pleasure and Instruction flowed from his Lips: His Words

Drew Audience, and Attention still as Night

Or Summer's Noontide Air.

MIL.

I remember in one of these periodica• Fits of Deafness, for they returned on cer¦tain Seasons on him, he sent for me earl• in the Morning; he told me when I came he had found Employment for me; so he brought to me out of his Study a large Book, very finely bound in Turkey Leather, and handsomely gilt; this, says he, is a Translation of the Epistles of Horace, a Present to me from the Author, it is a special good Cover! But I have a Mind there should be something valuable within side of it; so taking out his Penknife, he cut out all the Leaves close to the inner Margin. Now, says he, I will give these what they greatly want, and put them all into the Fire. He then brought out two Drawers filled with Letters: Your Task, Madam, is to paste in these Letters, in this Cover, in the Order I shall give them to you; I intended to do it myself, but that I thought it might be a pretty Amusement for a Child, so I sent for you. I told him, I was extremely proud to be honoured with his Commands: But, Sir, may I presume to make a Request to you, yes, says he, but ten to one I shall deny it. I hope not, Sir, it is this; may I have leave to read the Letters as I go on? Why, provided you will acknowledge yourself amply rewarded for your Trouble, I do not much care if I indulge you so far; but are you sure you can read? I do not know, Sir, I will try. Well then begin with this: It was a Letter from Lord Bolingbroke, dated six o'Clock in the Morning; it began with a Remark, how differently that Hour appeared to him now rising cool, serene, and temperate, to contemplate the Beauties of Nature, to what it had done in some former Parts of his Life, when he was either in the midst of Excesses, or returning Home sated with them; so he proceeded to describe the numberless Advantages with which Temperance and Virtue bless their Votaries, and the Miseries which attend a contrary Course. The Epistle was pretty long, and the most refined Piece of moral Philosophy I ever met with, as indeed every one of his were, and I had the unspeakable Delight of reading several of them.

Nor can I be at all surprized, that Mr. Pope should so often celebrate a Genius, who, for Sublimity of Thought, and Elegance of Stile, had few Equals. The rest of the Dean's Correspondents were, the Lady Masham, the Earl of Oxford, Dr. Atterbury, Bishop Burnet, Lord Bathurst, Mr. Addison, Archdeacon Parnell, Mr. Congreve, Mr. Pultney, Mr. Pope, Mr. Gay, Dr. Arbuthnot; a noble and a learned Set! So my Readers may judge what a Banquet I had. I could not avoid remarking to the Dean, that notwithstanding the Friendship Mr. Pope professed for Mr. Gay, he could not forbear a great many satirical, or, if I may be allowed to say so, envious Remarks on the Success of the Beggar's Opera. The Dean very frankly owned, he did not think Mr. Pope was so candid to the Merits of other Writers, as he ought to be. I then ventured to ask the Dean, whether he thought the Lines Mr. Pope addresses him with, in the Beginning of the Dunciad, were any Compliment to him? viz.

O thou! whatever Title please thine Ear.

Dunciad.

'I believe, says he, they were meant as such; but they are very stiff;'— 'Indeed, Sir, said I, he is so perfectly a Master of harmonious Number, that had his Heart been in the least affected with his Subject, he must have writ better;' 'How cold, how forced, are his Lines to you, compared with yours to him:'

[*]Hail happy Pope, whose generous Mind.

Here we see the masterly Poet, and the warm, sincere, generous Friend; while he, according to the Character he gives of Mr. Addison, damns with faint Praise.— 'Well, replied the Dean, I will shew you a late Letter of his to me;' he did so; and I own I was surprized to find it filled with low and ungentleman-like Reflections both on Mr. Gay and the two noble Persons who honoured him with their Patronage after his Disappointment at Court. 'Well, Madam, said the Dean, what do you think of that Letter? (seeing I had gone quite through it:)— 'Indeed, Sir, returned I, I am sorry I have read it; for it gives me Reason to think there is no such thing as a sincere Friend to be met with in the World.' 'Why, replied he, Authors are as jealous of their Prerogative as Kings, and can no more bear a Rival in the Empire of Wit, than a Monarch could in his Dominions.' 'But, Sir, said I, here is a Latin Sentence writ in Italics, which, I suppose, means something particular; will you be so kind to explain it?' 'No, replied he, smiling,—I will leave that for your Husband to do;—I will send for him to come and dine with us, and in the mean time we will go and take a Walk in Naboth's Vineyard:' 'Where may that be, pray, Sir?'— 'Why a Garden—I cheated one of my Neighbours out of.'—When we entered the Garden, or rather the Field, which was square, and inclosed with a Stone Wall, the Dean asked me how I liked it? 'Why pray, said I, where is the Garden?' 'Look behind you,' said he; I did so, and observed the South Wall was lined with Brick, and a great Number of Fruit Trees planted against it, which being then in Blossom, looked very beautiful. 'What are you so intent on, said the Dean?'
'The opening Blooms, Sir, which brought Waller's Lines to my Remembrance:—

Hope waits upon the flow'ry Prime.

'Oh! replied he, you are in a poetical Vein; I thought you had been taking Notice of my Wall, it is the best in Ireland; when the Masons were building it, (as most Tradesmen are Rogues) I watched them very close, and as often as they could, they put in a rotten Stone, of which however, I took no Notice, till they had built three or four Perches beyond it; now as I am an absolute Monarch in the Liberties [*], and King of the Mob, my Way with them, was to have the Wall thrown down to the Place where I observed the rotten Stone, and by doing so five or six Times, the Workmen were at last convinced it was their Interest to be honest;'
or else, Sir, said I, your Wall 'would have been as tedious a Piece of Work as Penelope's Web, if all that was done in the Day was to be undone at Night:' 'Well, answered he, I find you have Poetry for every Occasion; but as you cannot keep Pace with me in walking; (for indeed I was not quite so light then, as I had been some Months before) I would have you sit down on that little Bank, till you are rested or I tired, to put us more upon a Par.'

I seated myself, and away the Dean walked, or rather trolled, as hard as ever he could drive. I could not help smiling at his odd Gait, for I thought to myself, he had written to so much in Praise of Horses, that he was resolved to imitate them as nearly as he could: As I was indulging this Fancy, the Dean returned to me, and gave me a strong Confirmation of his Partiality to those Animals; 'I have been considering, Madam, as I walked, said he, what a Fool Mr. P—n was to marry you, for he could have afforded to keep a Horse for less Money than you cost him, and that, you must confess, would have given him better Exercise and more Pleasure than a Wife:—Why you laugh, and do not answer me—is not it Truth?' 'I must answer you, Sir, with another Question; Pray how can a Batchelor judge of this Matter?' 'I find, said he, you are vain enough to give yourself the Preference:' 'I do, Sir, to that Species here, a Huyoniam, I would, as becomes me, give Place to: But, Sir, it is going to rain;'— 'I hope not, said he, for that will cost me Six-pence for a Coach for you, (this Garden being at some Distance from his House) come, haste: O how the Tester trembles in my Pocket!' I obeyed, and we got in a Doors just Time enough to escape a heavy Shower. 'Thank God, said the Dean, I have saved my Money; here, you Fellow, (to his Servant) carry this Six-pence to the lame old Man that sells Gingerbread at the Corner, because he tries to do something, and does not beg.'

The Dean shewed me into a little Street-Parlour, (where sat his Housekeeper, a matron-like Gentlewoman at Work) 'Here, says he, Mrs. Brent, take Care of this Child, meaning me) and see she does no Mischief, while I take my Walk out within Doors:' The Deanery-House has I know not how many Pair of Back-Stairs in it; the preceding Dean who built it being, it seems, extremely fearful of Fire, was resolved there should be many Ways to escape in case of Danger.

The Dean then ran up the Great-Stairs, down one Pair of Back-Stairs, up another, in so violent a Manner, that I could not help expressing my Uneasiness to the good Gentlewoman, lest he should fall, and be hurted; she said, 'It was a customary Exercise with him, when the Weather did not permit him to walk abroad.'

I told Mrs. Brent, 'I believed the Dean was extremely charitable;' 'Indeed, Madam, replied she, No body can be more so; his Income is not above six hundred Pounds a Year, and every Year he gives above the Half of it in private Pensions to decayed Families; besides this, he keeps five hundred Pounds in the constant Service of the industrious Poor: This he lends out in five Pounds at a Time, and takes the Payment back at twelve Pence a Week; this does them more Service, than if he gave it to them entirely, as it obliges them to work, and at the same Time keeps up this charitable Fund for the Assistance of many. You cannot imagine what Numbers of poor Tradesmen, who have even wanted proper Tools to carry on their Work, have by this small Loan, been put into a prosperous Way, and brought up their Families in Credit. The Dean, added she, has found out a new Method of being charitable, in which however, I believe, he will have but few Followers; which is, to debar himself of what he calls the Superfluities of Life, in order to administer to the Necessities of the Distressed; you just now saw an Instance of it, the Money a Coach would have cost him, he gave to a poor Man, unable to walk; when he dines alone, he drinks a Pint of Beer, and gives away the Price of a Pint of Wine; and thus he acts in numberless Instances.'

My Reader will, I hope, do me the Justice to believe I was quite charmed with this Account of the Dean's beneficent Spirit; and I no longer wondered so many of the Clergy endeavoured to depreciate him; for, as it is well known, there are not, in the general, a more voluptuous Set of Men living, this Doctrine of Self-denial. was enough to make them pour out all their Anathema's on him, and brand him with the Name of Atheist, Unbeliever, and such like Terms, as they in their Christian Zeal thought proper to bestow.

I before admired the Dean as a Person of distinguished Genius, but now I learned to revere him as the Angel of Ireland. The Dean running into the Parlour, threw a whole Packet of Manuscript Poems into my Lap, and so he did for five or six Times successively, till I had an Apron full of Wit and Novelty, (for they were all of his own Writing,) and such as had not then been made public, and many of them, I believe, never will. Mr. P—n coming, according to the Dean's Desire, to Dinner, found me deeply engaged, and sat down to partake of my Entertainment, till we were summoned to Table, to a less noble Part. 'Well, Mr. P—n, said the Dean, I hope you are jealous; I have had your Wife a good many Hours, and as she is a likely Girl, and I a very young Man, (Note, he was upwards of Threescore) you do not know what may have happened: Tho' I must tell you, you are very partial to her; for here I have not been acquainted with her above six Months, and I have already discovered two intolerable Faults in her; 'tis true, I looked sharp, or perhaps they might have escaped my Notice: Nay, Madam, do not look surprised, I am resolved to tell your Husband, that he may break you of them.' 'Indeed, Sir, returned I, my Surprize is, that you have not found out two and fifty in half that time; but let me know them, and I will mend of them, if I can.' 'Well put in, says he, for I believe you can't; but eat your Dinner, however, for they are not capital.' I obeyed, yet was very impatient to know my particular Errors; he told me, 'I should hear of them Time enough.'

The Things being taken away; 'Now, good Sir, said I, tell me what I do amiss, that I may reform;' 'No, returned he; but I'll tell your Husband before your Face to shame you the more:—In the first Place, Mr. P—n, she had the insolence this Morning, not only to desire to read the Writings of the most celebrated Genius's of the Age, in which I indulged her; but she must also, forsooth, pretend to praise or censure them,' as if she knew something of the Matter; indeed her Remarks were not much amiss, considering they were Guess-Work; but this Letter here of Mr. Pope's she has absolutely condemned; read it, (he did so;) take notice of it, said the Dean; she would also have had me explain that Latin Sentence to her, but I had some Modesty, tho' she had none you see.' 'Why, Sir, said I, sure Mr. Pope would not (especially to you) write any thing which even a Virgin might not read.' Now, Mr. P—n, 'said the Dean, is her Curiosity at work; I'll be hang'd if she lets you sleep tonight till you have satisfied it. But this is not all; she had the Vanity to affirm, that she thought herself preferable to a Horse, and more capable of giving you pleasure: Nay, she laugh'd in my Face for being of a different Opinion; and asked me how a Batchelor should know any thing of the Matter? If you don't take down her Pride, there will be no bearing her.'

'Indeed, Sir, said Mr. P—n, 'tis your Fault that she is so conceited; she was always disposed to be saucy, but since you have done her the honour to take notice of her, and make her your Companion, there is no such thing as mortifying her.' 'Very fine, said the Dean, I have got much by complaining to you, to have all your Wife's Faults laid at my Door.' 'Well, Sir, said I; all these Misdemeanors may be included under the Article of Pride: Now, let me know my other Crime:' 'Why, said he, you can't walk fast; but at present, I excuse you.' 'Well, Sir, if I can't mend my Pride, I'll try to mend my Pace.' Mr. P—n, said he, I 'have a mind to clip your Wife's Wit.' 'Indeed, Sir, said I, that's Death by Law, for 'tis Sterling.' 'Shut up your Mouth, for all Day, Letty, said Mr. P—n, for that Answer is real Wit.' Nay, 'said the Dean, I believe we had better shut up our own, for at this rate she'll be too many for us.' I am sure, if I was not proud before, this was enough to make me so.

The Dean guessed right, when he said, I would not let Mr. P—n sleep till he had explained to me the Latin Sentence in Mr. Pope's Letter; which, at my Request, he did. And, indeed, none but such a wicked Wit could have contrived to turn the Words of our blessed Saviour, so as to make them convey a very impure, as well as a most uncharitable, Idea to the Mind.

Feuds ran so high between my Mother and Mr. P—n, that my Life became very unhappy. So we determined to quit my Father's House for a little one of our own, which my Husband's Father made us a Present of; and which, by the Bounty of our Friends, who came a Housewarming to us, was soon elegantly furnished; there was a large Garden to it, which Mr. P—n laid out in a most beautiful Taste, and built a delightful Summer-house in it, fit indeed for a Nobleman; here we usually entertained our Friends; here also we both invoked the Muse. Mr. P—n coming in Curate, (by the Removal of Dr. Owens to a Living, of whose Behaviour to me in my Misfortunes, I shall have occasion to speak) and by having the Honour of being Chaplain to Lady Charlemont, with an annual Allowance I had from my Father, our Income was about one hundred Pounds a Year; so that having no Rent to pay, and having my Father's Coach and Table always at our Command, we could, in so cheap a Country as Ireland, live in a very decent Manner; as Dr. Swift mentions our doing in a Letter of his to Mr. Pope, now published amongst others.

The Dean came to dine with us in our Lilliputian Palace, as he called it, and who could have thought it? He just looked into the Parlour, and ran up into the Garret, then into my Bed-chamber and Library, and from thence down to the Kitchen; and well it was for me that the House was very clean; for he complimented me on it, and told me, 'That was his Custom; and that 'twas from the Cleanliness of the Garret and Kitchen he judged of the good Housewifery of the Mistress of the House; for no doubt, but a Slut would have the Rooms clean, where the Guests were to be entertained.'

He really was sometimes very rude, even to his Superiors, of which the following Story, related to me by himself, may serve as one Instance amongst a thousand others.

The last time he was in London, he went to dine with the Earl of Burlington, who was then but newly married. My Lord being willing, I suppose, to have some Diversion, did not introduce him to his Lady, nor mention his Name: 'Tis to be observed, his Gown was generally very rusty, and his Person no way extraordinary.—After Dinner, said the Dean, 'Lady Burlington, I hear you can sing; sing me a Song.' The Lady looked on this unceremonious manner of asking a Favour with Distaste, and positively refused him. He said, she should sing, or he would make her. 'Why, Madam, I suppose you take me for one of your poor paultry English Hedge Parsons; sing, when I bid you.' As the Earl did nothing but laugh at this Freedom, the Lady was so vexed that she burst into Tears, and retired.

His first Compliment to her, when he saw her again, was, 'Pray, Madam, are you as proud and as ill-natured now, as when I saw you last?' To which she answered with great good Humour,— 'No, Mr. Dean; I'll sing for you, if you please.'—From which time he conceived great Esteem for her. But who that knew him would take offence at his Bluntness? It seems Queen Caroline did not, if we may credit his own Lines, wherein he declares, That he

With Princes kept a due Decorum,

But never stood in Awe before 'em;

And to the present Queen, God bless her,

Would speak as free as to her Dresser;

She thought it his peculiar Whim,

Nor took it ill—as come from him.

SWIFT, on his own Death.

I cannot recollect that ever I saw the Dean laugh; perhaps he thought it beneath him; for when any Pleasantry passed, which might have excited it, he used to suck in his Cheeks, as Folks do when they have a Plug of Tobacco in their Mouths, to avoid Risibility. He frequently put me in mind of Shakespear's Description of Cassius:

He is a great Discerner, and he looks

Quite thro' the Deeds of Men—

Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort

As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his Spirit,

That could be mov'd to smile at any thing.

JULIUS CAESAR.

As the Dean, and, after his Example, Mr. P—n, were eternally satyrizing and ridiculing the Female Sex; I had a very great inclination to be even with them, and expose the Inconstancy of Men; and borrowing a Hint from a Story in the Peruvian Tales, I formed from it the following Poem; and I hope it will be acceptable to my fair Readers, as it is peculiarly addressed to them.
The STATUES: Or, the Trial of CONSTANCY. A TALE. For the LADIES.

IN a fair Island in the Southern Main,

Blest with indulgent Skies and kindly Rain;

A Princess liv'd, of Origin divine,

Of Bloom celestial, and Imperial Line.

In that sweet Season, when the mounting Sun

Prepares with Joy his radiant Course to run;

Led by the Graces, and the dancing Hours,

And wakes to Life the various Race of Flowers;

The lovely Queen forsook her shining Court,

For rural Scenes, and healthful sylvan Sport.

It so befel, that as in chearful Talk,

Her Nymphs and she pursu'd their Evening Walk;

On the green Margin of the oozy Deep,

They found a graceful Youth dissolv'd in Sleep,

Whose Charms the Queen survey'd with fond Delight,

And hung enamour'd o'er the pleasing Sight:

By her Command, the Youth was strait convey'd,

And, sleeping, softly in her Palace laid.

Now ruddy Morning purpled o'er the Skies,

And beamy Light unseal'd the Stranger's Eyes,

Who cry'd aloud, Ye Gods, unfold this Scene!

Where am I! What can all these Wonders mean?

Scarce had he spoke, when with officious Care,

Attendant Nymphs a fragrant Bath prepare;

He rose, he bath'd, and on his lovely Head

Ambrosial Sweets, and precious Oil they shed:

To deck his polish'd Limbs, a Robe they brought,

In all the various Dyes of Beauty wrought.

Then led him to the Queen, who on a Throne

Of burnish'd Gold, and beamy Diamonds shone:

But oh! what Wonder seiz'd her beauteous Guest!

What Love, what Extasy, his Soul possest!

Entranc'd he stood, and on his falt'ring Tongue

Imperfect Words, and half-form'd Accents hung:

Nor less the Queen the blooming Youth admir'd,

Nor less Delight and Love her Soul inspir'd.

O Stranger! said the Queen, if hither driven,

By adverse Winds, or sent a Guest from Heav'n,

To me the wretched never sue in vain,

This fruitful Isle acknowledges my Reign,

Then speak thy Wishes, and thy Wants declare,

And no Denial shall attend your Pray'r;

She paus'd and blush'd,—the Youth his Silence broke,

And kneeling thus the charming Queen bespoke:

O Goddess! for a Form so bright as thine,

Speaks thee descended of celestial Line;

Low at your Feet a prostrate King behold,

Whose faithless Subjects sold his Life for Gold;

I fly a cruel Tyrant's lawless Hand,

And Shipwreck drove my Vessel on your Strand.

But why do I complain of Fortune's Frowns?

Or what are Titles, Honours, Scepters, Crowns

To this sweet Moment? While in fond Amaze

On such transporting Excellence I gaze!

Such Symmetry of Shape! so fair a Face!

Such finish'd Excellence, such perfect Grace!

Hear then my only Wish, and oh! approve

The ardent Prayer which supplicates thy Love.

From Neptune know, O Prince, my Birth I claim,

Replies the Queen, and Lucida's my Name;

This Island, these attendant Nymphs he gave,

The fair-hair'd Daughters of the azure Wave!

But he whose Fortune gains me for a Bride

Must have his Constancy severely try'd.

One Day each Moon am I compell'd to go

To my great Father's wat'ry Realms below,

Where coral Groves coelestial red display,

And blazing Di'monds emulate the Day;

In this short Absence if your Love endures,

My Heart and Empire are for ever yours;

And hoary Neptune, to reward your Truth,

Shall crown you with immortal Bloom and Youth;

But instant Death will on your Falshood wait,

Nor can my Tenderness prevent your Fate.

Twice twenty Times in Wedlock's sacred Band,

My royal Father join'd my plighted Hand;

Twice twenty noble Youths, alas! are dead,

Who in my Absence stain'd the Nuptial Bed;

Your Virtues, Prince, may claim a nobler Throne,

But mine is yielded on these Terms alone.

Delightful Terms! reply'd the raptur'd Youth,

Accept my Constancy, my endless Truth,

Perfidious faithless Men! enrag'd, he cry'd,

They merited the Fate by which they dy'd;

Accept a Heart incapable of Change,

Thy Beauty shall forbid Desire to range;

No other Form shall to mine Eye seem fair,

No other Voice attract my list'ning Ear,

No Charms but thine shall e'er my Soul approve,

So aid thy Vot'ry, potent God of Love!

Now loud Applauses thro' the Palace ring,

The duteous Subjects hail their God-like King:

To feastful Mirth they dedicate the Day,

While tuneful Voices chant the nuptial Lay.

Love ditty'd Airs, hymn'd by the vocal Quire,

Sweetly attemper'd to the warbling Lyre;

But when the Sun descending sought the Main,

And low-brow'd Night assum'd her silent Reign;

They to the Marriage-bed convey'd the Bride,

And laid the raptur'd Bridegroom by her Side.

Now rose the Sun, and with auspicious Ray,

Dispell'd the dewy Mists, and gave the Day;

When Lucida, with anxious Care oppress'd,

Thus wak'd her sleeping Lord from downy Rest:

Soul of my Soul, and Monarch of my Heart,

This Day, she cry'd, this fatal Day we part;

Yet if your Love uninjur'd you retain,

We soon shall meet in Happiness again,

To part no more; but rolling Years employ'

In circling Bliss, and never fading Joy:

Alas! my boding Soul is lost in Woe,

And from mine Eyes the Tears unbidden flow.

Joy of my Life, dismiss those needless Fears,

Reply'd the King, and stay those precious Tears;

Should lovely Venus leave her native Sky,

And at my Feet, imploring Fondness, lie,

E'en she, the radiant Queen of soft Desires,

Should, disappointed, burn with hopeless Fires.

The Heart of Man the Queen's Experience knew

Perjur'd and false, yet wish'd to find him true:

She sigh'd retiring, and in Regal State,

The King conducts her to the Palace Gate;

Where sacred Neptune's chrystal Chariot stands,

The wond'rous Work of his celestial Hands:

Six harness'd Swans the bright Machine convey

Swift thro' the Air, or pathless wat'ry Way;

The Birds with eagle-speed, the Air divide,

And plunge the Goddess in the sounding Tide.

Slow to the Court the pensive King returns,

And sighs in secret, and in Silence mourns;

So in the Grove sad Philomel complains

In mournful Accents, and melodious Strains:

Her plaintive Woes fill the resounding Lawn,

From starry Vesper to the rosy Dawn.

The King, to mitigate his tender Pain,

Seeks the Apartment of the Virgin Train,

With sportive Mirth sad Absence to beguile,

And bid the melancholy Moments smile;

But there deserted lonely Rooms he found,

And solitary Silence reign'd around.

He call'd aloud, when, lo! a Hag appears,

Bending beneath Deformity and Years,

Who said, my Liege, explain your sacred Will,

With Joy your Sov'reign Purpose I fulfil.

My Will! detested Wretch! avoid my Sight,

And hide that hideous Shape in endless Night.

What! does thy Queen, o'er-run with rude Distrust,

Resolve by Force to keep a Husband just?

You wrong, reply'd the Hag, your royal Wife,

Whose Care is Love, and Love to guard your Life.

The Race of Mortals are by Nature frail,

And strong Temptations with the Best prevail.

Be that my Care, he said, be thine to send

The Virgin Train, let them my Will attend.

The Beldam fled—The chearful Nymphs advance,

And tread to measur'd Airs the mazy Dance;

The raptur'd Prince with greedy Eye surveys

The bloomy Maids, and covets still to gaze;

No more recals the Image of his Spouse,

How false is Man! nor recollects his Vows;

With wild Inconstancy for all he burns,

And ev'ry Nymph subdues his Heart by turns.

At length a Maid superior to the rest,

Array'd in Smiles, in Virgin Beauty drest,

Receiv'd his Passion, and return'd his Love,

And softly woo'd him to the silent Grove.

Enclos'd in deepest Shades of fullgrown Wood,

Within the Grove a spacious Grotto stood,

Where forty Youths, in Marble, seem'd to mourn,

Each Youth reclining on a fun'ral Urn:

Thither the Nymph directs the Monarch's Way,

He treads her Footsteps, joyful to obey.

There, fir'd with Passion, clasp'd her to his Breast,

And thus the Transport of his Soul confess'd.

Delightful Beauty! deck'd with ev'ry Charm

High Fancy paints! or glowing Love can form!

I sigh, I gaze, I tremble, I adore!

Such lovely Looks ne'er blest my Sight before!

Here, under covert of th' imbow'ring Shade,

For Love's Delights and tender Transports made,

No busy Eye our Raptures to detect,

No envious Tongue to censure or direct;

Here yield to Love, and tenderly employ

The silent Season in extatic Joy.

With Arms enclos'd, his Treasure to retain,

He sigh'd and woo'd, but woo'd and sigh'd in vain:

She rush'd indignant from his fond Embrace,

While Rage with Blushes paints her Virgin Face;

Yet still he sues with suppliant Hands and Eyes,

While she to Magic Charms for Vengeance flies.

A limpid Fountain murmur'd thro' the Cave;

She fill'd her Palm with the translucent Wave,

And sprinkling cry'd, Receive false Man, in Time,

The just Reward of thy detested Crime.

Thy changeful Sex in Perfidy delight,

Despise Perfection, and fair Virtue slight,

False, fickle, base, tyrannic, and unkind,

Whose Hearts, nor Vows can chain, nor Honour bind:

Mad to possess, by Passion blindly led;

And then as mad to stain the nuptial Bed:

Whose roving Souls no Excellence, no Age,

No Form, no Rank, no Beauty, can engage;

Slaves to the Bad, to the Deserving worst,

Sick of your twentieth Love, as of your first.

The Statues, which this hallow'd Grot adorn,

Like thee were Lovers, and like thee forsworn;

Whose faithless Hearts no Kindness could secure,

Nor for a Day preserve their Passion pure;

Whom neither Love, nor Beauty could restrain,

Nor Fear of endless Infamy and Pain.

In me behold thy Queen; for know with Ease

We Deities assume each Form we please;

Nor can the feeble Ken of mortal Eyes

Perceive the Goddess thro' the dark Disguise.

Now feel the Force of Heav'n's avenging Hand,

And here inanimate for ever stand.

She spoke—Amaz'd the list'ning Monarch stood,

And icy Horror froze his ebbing Blood;

Thick Shades of Death upon his Eyelids creep,

And clos'd them fast in everlasting Sleep;

No Sense of Life, no Motion he retains,

But fix'd, a dreadful Monument remains;

A STATUE now, and if reviv'd once more,

Would prove, no doubt, as perjur'd as before.

I doubt not but the World will expect to hear from me some of the Dean's Amours, as he has not quite escaped Censure, on account of his Gallantries; but here I am not able to oblige my Reader, he being too far advanced in Years, when I first had the honour of being known to him, for Amusements of that kind. I make no doubt but he has often been the Object of Love, and his Cadenus and Vanessa seem to assure us, that he was the Favourite of one Lady; but to speak my Sentiments, I really believe it was a Passion he was wholly unacquainted with, and which he would have thought it beneath the Dignity of his Wisdom to entertain. Not that I ever imagined he was an Enemy to the Fair; for when he found them docile, he took great pleasure to instruct them: And if I have any Merit, as a Writer, I must gratefully acknowledge it due to the pains he took to teach me to think and speak with Propriety; tho', to tell the Truth, he was a very rough sort of a Tutor for one of my Years and Sex; for whenever I made use of an inelegant Phrase, I was sure of a deadly Pinch, and frequently received Chastisement before I knew my Crime. However I am convinced, had he thought me incorrigibly dull, I should have escaped without Correction; and the black and blue Favours I received at his Hands, were meant for Merit, tho' bestowed on me. Yet tho', to my Shame I own it, I was fond of Admiration to a Fault, and a little too much upon the Coquette, for a married Woman, I would at any Time give up any Pleasure or Gaity, for the more rationaln Etertainment of the Dean's Conversation.

Five Years rolled insensibly away in a Kind of tolerable Happiness, as Lady Townly terms it; but that it seems, I was not much longer to enjoy: However, before I begin to speak of Offence and Trouble, I shall endeavour to enliven my Narration with all the little amusing Incidents I can possibly recollect.

The following Trifle, as it was productive of a handsome Letter to me from the Dean, and of more Honour than I could possibly expect from it, my Vanity will not let me omit. My Brother teized me one Evening to write some Verse as a School Exercise for him, I asked him what I should write upon; Why, said he pertly, what should you write upon but the Paper? So taking it for my Subject, I wrote the following Lines.

O spotless Paper, fair and white!

On whom, by Force, constrain'd I write,

How cruel am I to destroy,

Thy Purity, to please a Boy?

Ungrateful I, thus to abuse

The fairest Servant of the Muse.

Dear Friend, to whom I oft impart,

The choicest Secrets of my Heart;

Ah, what Atonement can be made

For spotless Innocence betray'd?

How fair, how lovely didst thou shew,

Like lilly'd Banks, or falling Snow!

But now, alas, become my Prey,

No Floods can wash thy Stains away.

Yet this small Comfort I can give,

That which destroy'd, shall make thee live.

As the Lines did not suit my Brother's Purpose, they lay carelessly on the Table, when a Lady of Distinction, who was going to England, came to take her leave of us: She would examine what I had been scribbling, and seemed so well pleased with my Rhymes, that she did them the Honour to put them in her Pocket-Book, and I never thought more of them.

About four Years after this, making a Visit to Baron Wainwright's Lady, she told me, she had got a very pretty Poem from London, wrote by the Lord Chancellor Talbot's Daughter, a young Lady of but twelve Years of Age, and desired I would read them for the Good of the Company; but how great was my Surprize, to find they were the above Lines! however, I went through my Task, and Mrs. Wainwright asked my Opinion of them, and seemed impatient at my Silence. I told her, the young Lady must have wrote them at least four Years before, because I had seen them so long ago. Upon which the Baron said, that he also remembered them, and that he was told by the Person he saw them with, that they were writ by a very young Girl, who was married to a Clergyman in Ireland. My smiling made them guess at the Person, and at the same Time excused me for being not over forward to praise them. When I returned home, I found a Letter from Mr. P—n, who was in London, with a News Paper inclosed, wherein the above Poem was printed. I related this to the Dean, who ordered me to send the Lines to him. The next Morning a Lady came to visit me, who told me, it being the Dean's Birth-Day, he had received a Book very richly bound and clasped with Gold, from the Earl of Orrery, with a handsome Poem, wrote by himself to the Dean, in the first Page, the rest being blank; and that Dr. Delany had sent him a silver Standish, with a complimentary Poem. 'Why then, said I, as the Dean is furnished with Paper and Ink, it is the least I can do to send him a Pen;' so having a fine Eagle's Quill, I wrapt it into the following Lines, and sent it to the Dean, and also the Bit of a News Paper, wherein the Lines on PAPER were printed in London. ‘’

On New-Year's-Day I received from the Dean the following Letter.

Deanery-House, Jan. 1. 1733-4.
Madam,

I Send you your Bit of a News-paper with the Verses, than which I never saw better in their Kind; I have the same Opinion of those you were pleased to write upon me, as have also some particular Friends of Genius and Taste, to whom I ventured to communicate them, who universally agree with me. But as I cannot with Decency shew them except to a very few, I hope, for both our Sakes, others will do it for me. I can only assure you I value your Present, as much as either of the others, only you must permit it to be turned into a Pen, which Office I will perform with my own Hand, and never permit any other to use it. I heartily wish you many happy New Years, and am with true Esteem,

Madam,
Your most obliged Friend and Servant, J. SWIFT,

But as I have mentioned Mr. P—n's being in London, I ought also to inform my Reader what Inducement he had to quit his Family for a whole Year, which was as follows. Dr. Swift had, in Queen Anne's Reign, been the first Promoter of Alderman Barber, who afterwards by many lucky Accidents rose to be Lord Mayor of London, which Station he filled with distinguished Abilities, and retained so grateful a Sense of the Dean's Fa•…ur to him, that he made him the Compliment of nominating a Chaplain to him; the Dean offered this Honour to Mr. P—n, who gladly accepted of it, and came home in high Spirits to acquaint me with his Preferment; but whatever Joy it brought to him, I was quite sunk in Sorrow at the Thoughts of parting for so long a Time with one I so dearly loved. All his Friends were against his going; and the late Primate Dr. Hoadly, then Archbishop of Dublin, remonstrated to him, that serving under a Person so remarkably disaffected as the Alderman, might very probably prejudice him in the Eyes of the Government; but all in vain. Mr. P—n was ever rash, obstinate, and self-willed; and should I add treacherous, cruel, and ungrateful, I should not wrong the Truth; but however unwilling I am to speak harshly of the Husband of my Youth, and the Father of my Children, I must draw his Character, wherein I will

—Nothing extenuate,

Nor set down aught in Malice.

Othello.

That he is both a Scholar, and a Man of Genius, all who know him must allow; but like Mr. Pope he is so plagued with Envy, that he even hated me because I could write, and took an invincible Aversion to Counsellor Smith, because he excelled him on the Harpsichord. It happened one Evening that this Gentleman sung and played to us the Oratorio of Queen Esther; unfortunately for me I was so charmed with it, that at the Conclusion of the Music I wrote the following Lines.
To JOHN SMITH, Esq

MUSIC once more her antient Pow'r displays,

Resistless now, as in Timotheus' Days;

Our varied Passions change at thy Command

Our correspondent Hearts obey thy Hand.

Who can untouch'd attend the awful Sound?

When swelling Notes proclaim Jehovah crown'd.

Borne on the hallow'd Strains our Souls arise,

Till Heav'n seems present to our ravish'd Eyes.

When to its Source thy Soul shall wing its Flight,

And with eternal Harmony unite,

Thy skilful Hand shall heav'nly Joys improve,

And add new Rapture to the Bliss above.

As the Lines were wrote off-hand, as, to say the Truth, every Thing of mine is, for I am too volatile to revise or correct any thing I write, Mr. Smith complimented Mr. P—n on having a Wife who could write better than himself, he supposing Mr. P—n to be so much the Lover, that he would be delighted with my Praise, and join in it. But, lack-a-day! he little knew what I was to suffer for the Superiority of Genius he was pleased to ascribe to me. I then was continually told with a contemptuous jibing Air, O my Dear! a Lady of your Accomplishments! why Mr. Smith says you write better than I; and to be sure he is a great Judge! But another unlucky Accident likewise happened: How fatal to me has Praise been! We supped at the Dean's, and I had been reading out, by his Command, some of his prosaic Work; he was pleased to say I acquitted myself so well, that I should have a Glass of his best Wine, and sent Mr. P—n to the Cellar for it. The Dean in the mean Time said to me, 'I would have every Man write his own English.' 'To be sure, Sir, said I, that would be best.' 'Ay, to be sure, Sir; you give me an Answer, and P—x take you, I am sure you do not understand my Meaning.' 'Very possible, Sir; but I certainly understand my own, when I have any.' 'Well then, what do you understand by writing one's own English?' 'Why really, Sir, not to confine one's self to a Set of Phrases, as some of our antient English Historians, Camden in particular, seems to have done, but to make use of such Words as naturally occur on the Subject.' 'Hush! says he, your Husband is coming; I will put the same Question to him.' He did so; and Mr. P—n answered, 'To be sure a Man ought to write good English.' 'Nay, but his own English; I say his own; what do you understand by that?' 'Why, Sir, said he, what should I understand?' 'P—x on you for a Dunce, said he; were your Wife and you to sit for a Fellowship, I would give her one sooner than admit you a Sizar.'

And now my Business was compleatly done. Mr. P—n viewed me with scornful, yet with jealous Eyes. And tho' I never presumed to vye with him for Preeminence, well knowing he not only surpassed me in natural Talents, but also had the Advantage of having those Talents improved by Learning; and was sensible the Compliments I received were rather paid to me as a Woman, in whom any thing a Degree above Ignorance appears surprizing, than to any Merit I really possessed; he thought proper to insult me every Moment. Indeed he did not beat me, which some of the good-natured Ladies have brought as an Argument that he was an excellent Husband; but how a Clergyman should strike a Wife, who never contradicted him, and who was the most remarkably gentle, even of her own soft Sex, I know not. Besides, I had then a dear and honoured Father to protect me. I am sure I may say with Ophelia,

My Violets all wither'd when he dy'd.

Then was I left defenceless to all the Injuries my Husband's subtle Cruelty could devise against open unsuspecting Innocence.

Another trivial Accident also offended my Husband. He was one Winter's Evening reading Horace, and said he would engage to write an Ode exactly in his Manner; so he directly set about it. The Fancy came into my Head to write one also, though I understood not a Word of Latin, nor knew no more of the Poet than from the English Translations. My Lines were as follow:
An ODE.

I Envy not the Proud their Wealth,

Their Equipage and State;

Give me but Innocence and Health,

I ask not to be great.

I in this sweet Retirement find

A Joy unknown to Kings,

For Scepters to a virtuous Mind,

Seem vain and empty Things.

Great Cincinnatus at his Plough,

With brighter Lustre shone,

Than guilty Caesar e'er cou'd shew,

Tho' seated on a Throne.

Tumultuous Days, and restless Nights,

Ambition ever knows,

A Stranger to the calm Delights

Of Study and Repose.

Then free from Envy, Care, and Strife,

Keep me, ye Powers divine;

And pleas'd, when ye demand my Life,

May I that Life resign.

As I had finished my Task first, I shewed it to Mr. P—n, who, contrary to my Expectation, (for I imagined he would be pleased) was very angry, and told me the Dean had made me mad, that the Lines were Nonsense, and that a Needle became a Woman's Hand better than a Pen and Ink. So to bring him into Temper I praised his Ode highly, and threw my own into the Fire. And here let me seriously advise every Lady, who has the Misfortune to be poetically turned, never to marry a Poet, but remember Swift's Lines:

What Poet wou'd not grieve to see

His Friends cou'd write as well as he;

And rather than be thus out-done,

He'd hang them every Mother's Son.

Her End when Emulation misses,

She turns to Envy, Stings and Hisses;

The strongest Friendship yields to Pride,

Unless the Odds be on our Side.

And if a Man cannot bear his Friend should write, much less can he endure it in his Wife; it seems to set them too much upon a Level with their Lords and Masters; and this I take to be the true Reason why even Men of Sense discountenance Learning in Women, and commonly chuse for Mates the most illiterate and stupid of the Sex; and then bless their Stars their Wife is not a Wit.

But if a Remark be true, which I have somewhere read, that a foolish Woman never brought forth a wise Son, I think the Gentlemen should have some Regard to the Intellects of those they espouse.

But to return from this long tho' necessary Digression, and take things a little more in their Order. Mr. P—n, contrary to every body's Advice, who had any Regard for him, went for England. I was very desirous of going with him; but he told me plainly he did not want such an Incumbrance as a Wife, and that he did not intend to pass there for a married Man; and that in short he could not taste any Pleasure where I was. As this was a Secret I did not know before, I received it with Astonishment; for amidst all his wayward Moods, I ever imagined till then that he loved me, and that the many ill natured Speeches he made me were rather the Effect of a bad Temper, than any settled Aversion he had taken against me; especially as I observed he treated every body with Contempt, even Persons every Way superior to him (the Dean alone excepted, to whom he paid even a servile Complaisance.) And tho' he now fairly plucked off the Mask, and let me see my Mistake, I could hardly give him Credit; so unwilling are we to believe Truth, when it runs counter to our Wishes.

The next Day he went on board the Yacht in Company with Mr. Edward Walpole, to whom he was recommended by a Man of Quality since dead, and left me and my three Children almost without an Adieu: So eagerly did he seek his own Destruction.

I am hardly able to describe the various Emotions with which my Heart was agitated on his Departure. Love, Grief, and Resentment for his last Speech, by Turns possessed it. However, I received a very kind Letter from him from Chester, which made me a little easy; and as my Friends seldom permitted me to be alone, I did not give much way to Melancholy.

I believe it will be expected from the general Reflections I have thrown out against the Clergy, that I should descend to Particulars, and expose by Name the Guilty; but this invidious Task I must decline: Besides, as Angelo says in Measure for Measure, when he is tempting a Virgin, and she threatens to expose him;

Who will believe thee, Isabel?

My unsoil'd Name, th' Austereness of my Life,

My Interest in the State, may vouch against you,

That you shall stifle in your own Report,

And smell of Calumny.

Besides, I should arm a formidable Body against me, who would not fail, sooner or later, to take ample Vengeance. As unforgiving as a Churchman, is become proverbial; so, as I am a Sort of a Priestess, I will, like a faithful Mother-Confessor, keep the Secrets of my ghostly Brethren.

I have another Inducement to Silence, not I must own quite so good-natured, which is, that I have a malignant Pleasure in keeping those in Awe, who awe all the World beside, which I should lose the Moment I had done my worst. I remember a certain Gentleman, who happening to be guilty of a venial Transgression with a mean Woman, it unluckily manifested itself: The Gentleman was young, and had a very severe Father, who gave him but a scanty Allowance, all of which did not satisfy the mercenary Wretch of a Woman, who hoping to gain more, went and told her Story to his Father; the Consequence of which was, that she never afterwards had a Shilling from either.

The dullest Genius cannot fail,

To take the Moral of the Tale.

So let the stricken Deer go weep,

The Hart ungall'd go play.

The Innocent cannot take Offence, and for the Guilty, I will for the present with the charitable Ghost in Hamlet,

Leave them to Heav'n,

And to the Thorn that in their Bosoms lodge,

To prick and goad them there.

But once more to gather up my Clue. I received so passionately tender a Letter from London from Mr. P—n, that I quite forgot all his Unkindness; and sitting down to answer it, without the least Intention of Rhyming, the following Lines flowed from my Pen:

These Lines, dear Partner of my Life,

Come from a tender faithful Wife;

Happy, when you her Thoughts approve,

Supremely happy in your Love:

O may the blissful Flame endure!

Uninjur'd, lasting, bright, and pure.

Thus far in Verse, but can the Muse

Descend so low as telling News?

Or can I easily in Rhime

Inform you how I pass my Time?

To sooth my Woe, and banish Care,

I to the Theatre repair,

Where, charm'd with Shakespear's lofty Scenes,

And pure inimitable Strains,

My Rapture rais'd so high appears,

It seeks to hide itself in Tears.

On Tuesday last all Day I stray'd

In Delville's sweet inspiring Shade;

There all was easy, gay, polite,

The Weather and the Guests were bright:

My lov'd Constantia there appear'd,

And Southern long for Wit rever'd,

Who like the hoary Pylian Sage,

Excels in Wisdom, as in Age

'Tis thus your Absence I beguile,

And try to make Misfortune smile;

But never can my constant Mind

A real Pleasure hope or find,

Till Heav'n indulgently once more

My Colin to my Eyes restore.

P. S.

Permit me here e'er I conclude

To pay a Debt of Gratitude;

To Worsdale, your ingenious Friend,

My Praises, and my Thanks commend;

Yet all are far beneath his Due,

Who sends me [*] what resembles you.

The Dean had given Mr. P—n Letters of Recommendation to several eminent Persons in England, and amongst the rest, one to Mr. Pope; who, no sooner received it, but he invited Mr. P—n to pass a Fortnight with him at Twickenham, he not being yet entered on his Office of Chaplain. I received from him from thence a Letter filled with Mr. Pope's Praises, and the extraordinary Regard he shewed him, introducing him to several Noblemen, and even oppressing him with Civilities, which he modestly attributed to Mr. Pope's Respect for the Dean, and handsomely acknowledged the Obligation. As I thought this a very proper Letter to communicate, I went directly with it to the Deanery. The Dean read it over with a fix'd Attention, and returning it to me, he told me, he had, by the same Pacquet, received a Letter from Mr. Pope, which, with somewhat of a stern Brow, he put into my Hand, and walked out into the Garden. I was so startled at his Austerity, that I was for some Minutes unable to open it, and when I did, the Contents greatly astonished me. The Substance of it was, that he had, in pure Complaisance to the Dean, entertained Mr. P—n; but that he was surprised he should be so mistaken, to recommend him as a modest ingenious Man, who was a most forward, shallow, conceited Fellow: That in the Hope of having an agreeable Companion, he had invited him to pass a Fortnight with him, which he heartily repented, being sick of his Impertinence, before the End of the third Day; and a great deal more, much to the same Purpose. By the time I had read it thro', the Dean returned, and asked me, what I thought of it? I told him, I was sure Mr. P—n did not deserve the Character Mr. Pope had given of him; and that he was highly ungenerous to caress and abuse him at the same time. Upon this the Dean lost all Patience, and flew into such a Rage, that he quite terrified me; he asked me, Why I did not swear that my Husband was six Foot high? And, Did I think myself a better Judge than Mr. Pope? or, Did I presume to give him the Lie? and a thousand other Extravagancies. As I durst not venture to speak a Word more, my Heart swelled so that I burst into Tears, which, he attributing to Pride and Resentment, made him, if possible, ten times more angry, and I am not sure he would not have beat me; but that, fortunately for me, a Gentleman came to visit him. As I was in a violent Passion of Tears, the Dean did not bring him into the Room where I was, but went to receive him in another, and I gladly laid hold of that opportunity of making my escape from his Wrath.

The next Morning early I wrote him a Letter, expressive of the Anxiety I was under, lest I had any way offended him; and assured him, which was Truth, my Tears did not flow from Pride, but from the Apprehension I had, that Mr. Pope might influence him to withdraw his Favour from us. I added on my own Part, that even if I was partial to Mr. P—n, I hoped it was the most pardonable Error a Wife could be guilty of; and concluded with begging, if he had any Regard for my Peace, he would honour me with an Answer. By the Return of the Messenger I received the following Lines:

Madam,

YOU must shake off the Leavings of your Sex. If you cannot keep a Secret, and take a Chiding, you will quickly be out of my Sphere. Corrigible People are to be chid; those who are otherwise, may be very safe from any Lectures of mine: I should rather chuse to indulge them in their Follies, than attempt to set them right. I desire you may not inform your Husband of what has passed, for a Reason I shall give you when I see you, which may be this Evening, if you will, I am very sincerely,

Your Friend, J. SWIFT.

Accordingly I waited on the Dean about five o'Clock in the Evening, an Hour I knew he would be free from Company. He received me with great Kindness, and told me, he would write a Letter of Advice to Mr. P—n; 'But, said he, should you acquaint him with this Letter of Pope's, he might, perhaps, resent it to him, and make him an Enemy.' How kind! how considerate was this! The Dean then shewed me the Poem he wrote on his own Death; when I came to that Part of it,

Behold the fatal Day arrive!

How is the Dean? He's just alive.

I was so sensibly affected, that my Eyes filled with Tears: The Dean observing it, said, 'Phoo, I am not dead yet—but you shall not read any more now.' I then earnestly requested he would let me take it home with me, which he did on certain Conditions, which were, that I should neither shew it to any body, nor copy it, and that I should send it to him by Eight o'Clock the next Morning; all which I punctually performed.

But the Dean did not know what sort of a Memory I had, when he intrusted me with his Verse: I had no occasion for any other Copy, than what I had registred in the Book and Volume of my Brain: I could repeat the whole Poem, and could not forbear delighting some particular Friends with a Rehearsal of it. This reached the Dean's Ear, who imagined I plaid him false, and sent for me to come to him. When I entered, he told me, I had broke my Word with him, and consequently forfeited all the good Opinion he had ever conceived of me. I looked, as I think he generally made me do, like a Fool; I asked what I had done? He told me, I had copied his Poem, and shewn it round the Town. I assured him, I had not. He said I lyed, and produced a Poem something like it, published in London, and told me, from reading it about, that odd Burlesque on it had taken rise. He bade me read it, aloud. I did so, and could not forbear laughing, as I plainly perceived, tho' he had endeavoured to disguise his Stile, that the Dean had burlesqued himself; and made no manner of scruple to tell him so. He pretended to be very angry, asked me, did I ever know him write Triplets? and told me, I had neither Taste nor Judgment, and knew no more of Poetry than a Horse. I told him I would confess it, provided he would seriously give me his Word, he did not write that Poem. He said, P—x take me for a Dunce. I then assured him, I did not copy his Poem; but added, when I read any thing peculiarly charming, I never forgot it; and that I could repeat not only all his Works, but all Shakespear's, which I put to this Trial; I desired him to open any Part of it, and read a Line, and I would engage to go on with the whole Speech; as we were in his Library, he directly made the Experiment: The Line he first gave me, he had purposely picked out for its singular Oddness:

But rancours in the Vessel of my Peace.

Macbeth.
I readily went on with the whole Speech, and did so several times, that he tried me with different Plays. The Dean then took down Hudibras, and ordered me to examine him in it, as he had done me in Shakespear; and, to my great Surprize, I found he remembered every Line, from Beginning to End of it. I say, it surprized me, because I had been misled by Mr. Pope's Remark,

That where Beams of warm Imagination play,

The Memory's soft Figures melt away.

Essay on Criticism.
To think Wit and Memory incompatible things. I told the Dean he had convinced me the old Proverb was false; and, indeed, I know not how any Person can be witty without a good Memory. When I returned home, I found I had not been mistaken in the Opinion I had conceived, that the Dean had burlesqued his own Poem. I had a Confirmation of it in a Letter from Mr. P—n, to whom he had sent it, to have it printed in London.

My Evening's Chat with the Dean furnished me with Matter of Speculation on that most amazing Faculty of the human Mind, Memory; which, according to my usual Custom, I threw into Rhime, and hope it will not be displeasing to my Reader.
MEMORY, a POEM.

IN what Recesses of the Brain,

Does this amazing Pow'r remain,

By which all Knowledge we attain?

What art thou, Memory? What Tongue can tell,

What curious Artist trace thy hidden Cell,

Wherein ten thousand diff'rent Objects dwell?

Surprising Store-house! in whose narrow Womb,

All Things, the past, the present, and to come,

Find ample Space, and large and mighty Room.

O falsely deem'd the Foe of sacred Wit!

Thou, who the Nurse and Guardian art of it,

Laying it up till Season due and fit.

Then proud the wond'rous Treasure to produce,

As Understanding points it, to conduce

Either to Entertainment, or to Use.

Nor Love, nor holy Friendship, without thee,

Could ever of the least Duration be;

Nor Gratitude, nor Truth, nor Piety.

Where thou art not, the chearless human Mind

Is one vast Void, all darksome, sad and blind;

No Trace of any thing remains behind.

The sacred Stores of Learning all are thine;

'Tis only thou record'st the faithful Line;

'Tis thou mak'st Human-kind almost divine.

And when at length we quit this mortal Scene,

Thou still shalt with our tender Friends remain,

And Time and Death shall strike at thee in vain.

Lord, let me so this wond'rous Gift employ;

It may a Fountain be of endless Joy,

Which Time, nor Accident, may ne'er destroy.

Still let my faithful Memory impart,

And deep engrave it on my grateful Heart,

How just, and good, and excellent thou art.

My Reader may now plainly perceive, I was most incorrigibly devoted to Versifying, and all my Spouse's wholesome Admonitions had no manner of Effect on me: In short, I believe this scribbling Itch is an incurable Disease; for tho' Horace says[*], taking some Physic in the Spring rid him of it, yet, as he even relates this in flowing Numbers, we have no Cause to give him Credit. He also declares, all Poets are visibly possessed, and mad. Shakespear seems to be of the same opinion, tho' he describes it with greater Elegance than even Horace has done, at least in the Translation.

The Poet's Eye, in a fine Frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from Heav'n to Earth, from Earth to Heav'n;

And as Imagination bodies forth

The Forms of Things unknown, the Poet's Pen

Turns them to Shapes, and gives to airy Nothing

A local Habitation and a Name.

The Truth of which he has fully verified, giving us in his divine Works a new Creation of his own, with a new Language also peculiar to the different Species and Orders of Beings he introduces to us. Milton had, studied him with Care, and, like the Bee, committed many sweet Thefts on his immortal Blooms. Whoever reads the Part of the Fairies in the Midsummer Night's Dream, may easily perceive how many beautiful Images Milton has borrowed thence to adorn his Masque of Comus. And really, I think, as Shakespear had plundered all Art and Nature, the visible and invisible World, it was but just to make Reprizals, and steal from his rich Store.

I hope my Reader will pardon me for so often running away from myself; I cannot say, I am Egotist enough to be much enamoured of such an unhappy Theme, and have often wished I could do it in reality; for I have been plunged in such Calamity, that I have even thought it impossible to be true, and vainly hoped to wake, as from some hideous Dream, to find a better Fate.

And as one travelling in a barren Waste, could not be displeased to be sometimes led out of the direct Road to view a more agreeable Prospect, I deal thus with my Readers, and turn them from the gloomy Vale of my Life, to relieve them with something more pleasing.

To amuse myself, •…d indeed with no other View, I wrote, in my Husband's Absence, all the following Poems; which, if they should not happen also to amuse my Readers, they are at their own Liberty, and may turn them over.
Advice to the People of Dublin in their Choice of a RECORDER.

IS there a Man, whose fix'd and steady Soul

No Flatt'ry can seduce, no Fear control;

Constant to Virtue, resolutely just,

True to his Friend, his Country, and his Trust:

Like Tully, Guardian of the Roman State,

Is Patriot, Lawyer, Orator compleat;

If such there be, O! let your noble Zeal

Advance him to defend the Public Weal.

Painters and Poets are in this alike,

Mean Artists oft a strong Resemblance strike;

And who can this unfinish'd Picture see,

But owns, O STANNARD! it was drawn for thee.

VERSES wrote in a LIBRARY.

SEAT for Contemplation fit,

Sacred Nursery of Wit!

Let me here enwrap'd in Pleasure,

Taste the Sweets of learned Leisure:

Vain, deceitful World, adieu;

I more solid Bliss pursue.

Faithful Friends, surround me here,

Wise, delightful, and sincere;

Friends, who never yet betray'd

Those who trusted in their Aid;

Friends, who ne'er were known to shun

Those by adverse Fate undone.

Calm Philosophy and Truth

Crown'd with undecaying Youth,

Glowing with celestial Charms,

Fondly woo me to their Arms.

Here immortal Bards dispense

Polish'd Numbers, nervous Sense;

While the just Historian's Page

Back recals the distant Age;

In whose Paintings we behold

All the wond'rous Men of old;

Heroes fill each finish'd Piece,

Once the Pride of Rome and Greece.

Nor shall Greece and Rome alone,

Boast the Virtues all their own;

Thou, Ierne, too shalt claim

Sons amongst the Heirs of Fame;

Patriots who undaunted stood,

To defend the public good;

Foremost in the sacred Line,

Ever shall the DRAPER shine:

Next be virtuous STANNARD plac'd,

With unfading Honours grac'd;

Godlike Men! accept my Praise,

Guard, and elevate, my Lays.

Learning can the Soul refine,

Raise from human to divine.

Come then, all ye sacred Dead,

Who for Virtue wrote or bled;

On my Mind intensely beam,

Touch it with your hallow'd Flame.

And thou chaste and lovely Muse,

Who didst once thy Dwelling chuse

In Orinda's spotless Breast,

Condescend to be my Guest;

Bring with thee the bloomy Pair,

Young-ey'd Health, and Virtue fair;

Here your purest Rays impart,

So direct and guard my Heart,

That it may a Temple be

Worthy Heav'n, and worthy thee.

FLAVIA's Birth-Day, May the 16th. To Miss HOADLY.

WHILST thy fond Friends their annual Tribute pay,

And hail thee Daughter of the fragrant May;

Whilst they behold, with Rapture and Surprize,

New Charms enrich thy Soul, and point thine Eyes.

Ah! let the Muse her secret Joy declare;

Attend her Transports, and her Words revere:

She looks on Time, and with prophetic Eyes,

Sees him, for thee, strew Blessings as he flies;

And, whilst all other Beauties he impairs,

Add new Perfection to thy ripen'd Years;

Till ev'ry Year, improv'd with ev'ry Grace,

You shine unrival'd both in Mind and Face.

So the same Sun, with unresisted Pow'r,

Burns the wide Lawn, and animates the Flow'r;

Bids it unfold its Beauties, and delight

With Sweets the Sense, with sunny Dyes the Sight;

Bids it, like you, each Hour new Grace assume,

And smile, unmatch'd, in Loveliness and Bloom.

‘’
SOLITUDE.

THE Sun had sunk his glitt'ring Head

In the fair Ocean's wat'ry Bed,

And Ev'ning came, that sooth'd the Pain

Of ev'ry toil-enduring Swain,

When faint from Noon's excessive Heat,

I sought a peaceful cool Retreat;

A deep impenetrable Shade,

Where not a Sun-beam ever stray'd.

O sacred Solitude, said I,

To thy calm Bosom let me fly;

O bless with thy seraphic Joys,

A Soul averse to Pomp and Noise;

Wisdom with Contemplation dwells,

In twilight Groves, and lonely Cells;

She flies the Proud, she shuns the Great,

Unknown to Grandeur, Wealth, and State.

Hail, Heav'n-born Virgin! deign to bless,

This sacred, silent, sweet Recess;

Give me, celestial Maid, to know

The Joys that from thy Presence flow;

Do thou instruct my Voice to sing

That God, from whom thou first did'st spring,

That God, at whose Almighty Call

From Nothing rose this beauteous All.

Then when the Morning Stars proclaim,

The Glory of Jehovah's Name,

When Praises ev'ry Tongue employ,

And Men and Angels shout for Joy,

Assist me with thy Aid divine,

In those blest Hymns my Voice to join.

‘’
A SONG.

STREPHON, your Breach of Faith and Trust

Affords me no Surprize;

A Man who grateful was or just,

Might make my Wonder rise.

That Heart to you so fondly ty'd

With Pleasure wore its Chain,

But from your cold neglectful Pride,

Found Liberty again.

For this no Wrath inflames my Mind,

My Thanks are due to thee;

Such Thanks as gen'rous Victors find,

Who set their Captives free.

To a very young Lady.

THY Genius, Beauty, Innocence command

This humble Tribute from the Muse's Hand;

A faithful Muse, who hears with secret Joy,

Thy early Virtues ev'ry Tongue employ.

O still thy Parents godlike Steps pursue,

Still keep their mutual Excellence in View;

So shall the wond'ring World with Transport see

All Virtue, all Perfection live in thee.

‘’

But however reluctantly I do it, I must return.

The following Ode of Horace bearing some Similitude to my then present Circumstances, I took the Liberty of paraphrasing, and sent it to my Husband, notwithstanding his former Lectures.
The Seventh Ode of the Third Book of HORACE paraphrased. Quid fles, Asterie?

ASTERIA, why will you consume

In Sighs and Tears your rosy Bloom?

No more your youthful Husband mourn,

He soon shall to your Arms return:

Propitious Winds shall waft him o'er,

Enrich'd from Britain's fruitful Shore.

In vain the Nymphs display their Charms,

To win him to their longing Arms:

Tho' strong Temptations court the Youth,

Doubt not his Constancy and Truth;

They fix'd as Rocks unmov'd remain,

While Winds and Waves assault in vain.

You only teach his Soul to know

The secret Pang, the tender Woe;

For you he feels a thousand Fears,

And oft bedews his Couch with Tears.

Ah! then in kind Return beware,

Lest tempting Words your Heart ensnare;

Avoid the Dusk and silent Shade,

Nor heed the plaintive Serenade:

Let Prudence, that unerring Guide,

O'er ev'ry Thought and Act preside;

So shall your Faith and Virtue prove

Worthy his matchless Truth and Love.

Mr. P—n, who loved me best at a Distance, wrote me a very kind Letter, wherein he told me my Verses were like myself, full of Elegance and Beauty; that Mr. Pope and others, whom he had shewn them to, longed to see the Writer; and that he heartily wished me in London. And this put the Fancy into my Head of going there; and as some of my Acquaintance intended for it, with whom I thought I could agreeably travel, I soon resolved to accompany them.

Mr. P—n had been absent nine Months; a tedious Time in a Lover's Reckoning. In three Months Time his Office expired; for every new Lord Mayor of London has a new Chaplain; so I thought I should have the Pleasure of passing the Winter in London, and then, if nothing better offered, we should return home together. London has very attractive Charms for most People, as our Irish Nobility and Gentry sufficiently evidence, by spending the greatest Part of their Time and Fortune there; and can it be wondered at, that a young lively Woman should be fond of taking the only Opportunity she might ever have of seeing its Magnificence in Perfection. Well! but how to execute my Project; for I was apprehensive if either my own Parents or Mr. P—n's were acquainted with it, they would prevent me; so I resolved to make but one Confidante, which was a very faithful Servant, who in the Evening put my Portmanteau aboard the Yacht. Next Morning, the Wind being fair, I went, under Pretence of seeing my Friends safe aboard, down the River with them, and into the Ship as it were out of Curiosity; but being then out of Danger of Pursuit, I told them my Intention, which some approved of, and some blamed• However, as I did not question a kind Re¦ception from my Husband, and knew my Children would be well taken care of by m• Parents, I was very chearful and easy, and little regarded what was thought of my Frolick; neither could I divine that any evil Construction would be put upon it.

We had a very safe Passage, and a pleasant Journey. I wrote to Mr. P—n from Parkgate, and he and Mr. W—e met me about four Miles Distance from London. So I took leave of my Fellow-Travellers for the present, and went into the Coach to them, which drove to Mr. W—le's. Mr. P—n received me very obligingly, and called me his little Fugitive and Run-away; but a Stranger would have thought Mr. W—le was my Husband, he welcomed me so kindly, and paid me so many Compliments. As I had been up at three o'Clock in the Morning, I was heartily fatigued, and desired Mr. P—n to take leave; but he whispered me to invite Mr. W—le home to Supper with us, which accordingly I did; and he was so transported with this Civility, he could not conceal his Joy; whatever I commended amongst his Paintings, he would force me to accept of; and putting as many Bottles of Wine into the Coach-Box as it would conveniently hold, we went to Mr. P—n's Lodging, which I found very handsome and convenient. Wine and good Chear entertained us till Midnight to our mutual Satisfactions.

When Mr. P—n and I were alone, he told me, that tho' he was very glad to see me, he was afraid I would have but a lonely Time of it in London, he being obliged to attend on the Lord Mayor, from Nine in the Morning till Six in the Evening, and from thence he always went to the Play, and afterwards to Supper to Mrs. Heron, one of the Actresses, of no very good Fame. Though I thought this but an odd Manner of Life for a Clergyman, I did not say so, being unwilling to offend him. I had heard it whispered, that he liked this Woman, but I resolved patiently to wait the Event.

The next Day, when he was going out, I put him in Mind that Mr. W—le said he would pass the Evening with us; but he laughed at my believing it; and said he was a Man so uncertain in his Temper, that perhaps I might never see him again while I lived. Just then a Lady who came over with me, called on us; and Mr. P—n and she had some private Chat. When she was gone he told me, she had brought him a Letter and some Poetry from the Dean, which he had ordered him to dispose of, and put the Money in his own Pocket; as he could not stay to read them, he took them with him to the Lord Mayor's.

However, Mr. P—n was mistaken in imagining Mr. W—le would fail in his Appointment; he came and told me Mr. P—n was at the Play, but would sup with us. He made use of his Absence to compliment me at an unmerciful Rate, and sung me all the tenderest Love Songs he could think of in the most pathetic Manner: In short, he exerted his Talents to entertain me, and behaved himself so much in the Stile of a Lover, that had I not been married, I should have imagined, he intended to address me. When Mr. P—n returned, he told him, he was certainly the happiest Man living, and wondered how he could be a Moment out of my Company, where he could stay for ever. Mr. P—n seemed much pleased with his Gallantry, and said, he hoped I would induce him to see us often. When we were alone, he told me, he believed his Friend was in love with me. I answered, if he thought so, I wondered he gave him so warm an Invitation. He said, he was a very generous Man, and that his liking to me, if well managed, might prove very profitable; for he valued no Expence where a Lady was in the Case. So, it seems, I was to be the Bait, wherewith he was to angle for Gold out of a Rival's Pocket: A Scheme which had a twofold Prospect of Gain annexed to it; for while a Lover has Hope, he seldom quits the Chace; and will even thank the Husband, for taking the friendly Freedom of using his Purse; and yet should the Gallant be detected in taking any friendly Freedoms with the Wife in return, the Law is all against him, Damages and Imprisonment must ensue. Which Consideration may serve as a Warning to all Men, not to invade Properties, or commit wilful Trespass on their Neighbour's Ground.

If my Readers are by this Time the least acquainted with my Spirit, they may judge, I looked on this Project with the Contempt it deserved; however I promised Complaisance, which indeed Mr. W—le's seeming Merits might well deserve. The next Day I was invited to the Lord Mayor's, who, on account of the resolute Opposition he had given to the Excise Act, was the Darling of the People. He was but indifferent as to his Person, or rather homely than otherwise; but he had an excellent Understanding, and the Liveliness of his Genius shone in his Eyes, which were very black and sparkling. He always treated me with great Complaisance, and gave me a general Invitation to his Table. As the Lord Mayor was a Batchelor, he had a Gentlewoman who managed his Houshold Affairs, and who, except on public Days, did the Honours of his Table. Mr. P—n told me she was violently in love with him, and was ready to run mad upon hearing I was come to London. How true this might be I know not; but as she was very civil to me, and was old enough to be my Mother, I was not the least disturbed with Jealousy on her own Account; tho' I can't help saying, she gave me a great deal of Uneasiness, by relating to me many Instances of my Husband's extraordinary Regard for the Player afore-mentioned: We went together to the Play on Purpose to see her; and to do her Justice, she was a graceful, fine Woman; at least she appeared such on the Stage, and had a peculiar Skill in dressing to Advantage. Mr. P—n and Mr. W—le were at the Play; they met us going out, and Mr. P—n committed me to the Care of his Friend, who had a Coach waiting to convey me home; but Mr. P—n went to his old Rendezvous to the Actress, to my very great Mortification; because I really preferred his Conversation to any other in the World: However, he was so complaisant, he used every Evening to send Mr. W—le to keep me Company, while he pursued his Pleasures; and, as I shall answer it to Heaven, he did every thing in his power to forward and encourage an Amour between his Friend and me.

One Instance, out of an hundred I could produce, I submit to the impartial Judgment of my Reader. One of the young Ladies, at whose House I first saw Mr. P—n, happening to be in London, and but in low Circumstances, came to visit me; she insisted on my passing the next Evening with her, and just as I was going Mr. W—le came in, and offered to accompany me, to which I gladly consented, hoping as he was then a Man of Interest, he might recommend her to some good Family, as a Governess to Children, or a Lady's Woman, when he knew how well qualified she was for either Place. As her Spirit was far above her Ability, I was concerned to see what Expence she had put herself to for my Reception, having provided a very genteel Supper, to which she would oblige us to stay. While she was giving Orders for it, I informed Mr. W—le of her Distress, who immediately gave me a Guinea for her, but entreated I would give it to her as Present from my self, which, as I knew it was the only Method to make her accept of it, I did.

When I came home, I related to Mr. P—n Mr. W—le's obliging and generous Behaviour; but little was he pleased with the Recital: What could I think of him, when he told me, I did very ill to introduce a new Woman to him, i. e. Mr. W—le; and that he hoped I would lose him; and that henceforth he would bestow his Favours on her? A Speech more proper for the Mouth of one of those abandoned Wretches, who live by the Sale of the Innocent, than for a Husband, a Gentleman, and one who ought to be a Christian. But I believe he was of Opinion that

Let the malicious World say what it please,

The fair Wife makes her Husband live at ease.

And, provided he sold me well, and put Money in his Purse, little regarded either my temporal or eternal Happiness.

Another Instance either of his extraordinary Confidence in my Fidelity to him, or rather Indifference about it, was, that he obliged me to go alone with his Friend to Windsor, though, as it was Winter, there was no Possibility of going there and returning the same Day, it being twenty Miles distant from London; so that we had not only two Days, but a Night also, to pass together. Could any Husband be more obliging to his Rival, than to give him such an Opportunity to accomplish his Wishes? Had mine but concurred, I had then been undone; for truly the Gentleman tried every Argument to win me to them, but in vain. My Husband's Misconduct in exposing me to such Temptation, stung me to the Quick; nay, I could not help believing they were both in a Plot to betray me to Ruin; and as we were at the top Inn in the Town, I started at every Noise of Horsemen who stopped there; and concluded, though falsly I believe, that Mr. W—le had given Mr. P—n a Direction where to find us; and as this Imaginatlion wholly possessed me, I little regarded either the Elegance of our Entertainment, or the Tenderness and Passion the Gentleman expressed in every Word and Look: His soft Endearments were all lost on one who regarded him as an Enemy. I was obstinately sullen, and pretended Weariness, on purpose to quit his Company; but I lost all Patience, when calling to the Maid to shew me to my Chamber, I found there was but one, nay, and but one Bed too, provided for two Guests; for, it seems, my Gentleman had so ordered it, hoping, no doubt, to supply my Husband's Place.

I was now in a manner convinced, there was Treachery intended against me, and reproached my desiring Swain in such bitter Terms, that he had no Way to prove his Innocence, but by retiring, tho' very reluctantly, to another Apartment; and I took special Care to barricade my own, not only double-locking it, but also placing all the Chairs and Tables against the Door to prevent a Possibility of being surprized.

I rose very early next Morning to take a Survey of what Curiosities Windsor afforded, as it was too late the Night before to see any thing; but found nothing worth Observation, except the Castle, whose eminent Situation and Gothick Grandeur, might very well, some Ages ago, make it esteemed a Non-pareil: But as it has frequently been described and celebrated, I shall only say, that considering it as the Palace of the Edwards and Henrys, I was touched with something like a religious Veneration for it, which no modern Building could inspire me with.

Mr. W—le attended me with great Respect, and excepting that he tenderly reproached me with what he called my Cruelty the Night before, gave me no farther Cause of Displeasure, but brought me safely home in his Chaise to Mr. P—n.

But pray, gentle Reader, suppose it had happened otherwise; that Night-Solitude, an agreeable and importunate Lover, should have prevailed on human, yielding Frailty, whom could my Husband so properly have blamed for it as himself? He who best knew our Frames, bids us avoid Temptation, as the surest Method, nay and perhaps the only one of avoiding Sin; for who so firm that may not be seduced? Why then should he, Mr. P—n, drive me into the Toils, unless he meant to have me made a Prey of?

I fairly confess this Action greatly sunk him in my Esteem; nay, it even did the same in Mr. W—le's, especially as he reaped no Satisfaction by it. I could scarcely after regard Mr. P—n as a Husband; but rather as a Man whose Property I was, and who would gladly dispose of me to the best Bidder. Shocking Thought!

And yet this Scheme was so artfully managed, as indeed all his against me have ever been, that I could not well reproach him for it; for he would have alledged, it was a Party of Pleasure intended by him for my Health and Recreation; and to have mentioned Mr. W—le's Attempt, why, to say the Truth, I looked upon it as a Thing which any Man in the same Circumstances might naturally be guilty of, even tho' he had no previous liking to, or Thought of the Woman. So, as there was no Harm done, I judged it most prudent to be silent. Besides, no Faults are so easily pardoned by our Sex, as those we believe to be occasioned by our own Charms, the eager Lover's constant Excuse, and which our Vanity is but too apt to admit as a reasonable one.

Of all Things in Nature, I most wonder why Men should be severe in their Censures on our Sex, for a Failure in Point of Chastity: Is it not monstrous, that our Seducers should be our Accusers? Will they not employ Fraud, nay, often Force to gain us? What various Arts, what Stratagems, what Wiles will they use for our Destruction? but that once accomplished, every opprobrious Term with which our Language so plentifully abounds, shall be bestowed on us, even by the very Villains who have wronged us.

O Heav'n that such Companions thou'dst unfold!

And put a Whip in ev'ry honest Hand,

To lash such Rascals, naked thro' the World,

Even from the East to the West.—

I am sure the whole Female Sex will join with me in a hearty Amen.

Mr. P—n's Year of Chaplainship being near expired, I hoped that he would return to I•eland; but he had entertained a Belief that Mr. Walpole would provide for him, and therefore determined to stay in London, so I was forced to return single; for as Mr. P—n's Income ceased with his Office, he chose to accept of an Offer from Mr. W—le to lodge in his House. For several Reasons I thought it most proper to revisit my native Country; the first and chief was the Affection I bore to my dear little ones; the next, to avoid both the Temptation and Scandal I must have suffered, by going into the House of a Person, who, with regard to Women, had an avowedly dissolute Character.

But however cautiously and prudently I acted in this Affair, it was not my good Fortune to escape Calumny; so far from it, that I was both traduced for going to London, and for returning from it; and the Wife of a certain B—, who invited me to dine with her a Day or two after my Return to Dublin, when we retired to our Tea, abused me in Language I should have scorned, in respect to my own Gentility, to have given to the meanest Servant I was ever Mistress of: And because my Husband had made me a Present of a few little Trinkets, all of which in the Expence amounted but to a Trifle, told me she was sure some Gallant had given them to me. But, as I have since been informed, she was ragingly jealous of me, although without any Reason, I can the more readily pardon her inhuman Treatment of me.

But as I did not chuse to bear Reproaches I did not deserve, I sent for a Chair, and, bursting into Tears, left the Room. In the Hall I met the B—, who was coming to drink Tea with the Ladies: He was surprized to see me so disordered, and tenderly laying hold of me, enquired the Cause. I desired he would ask his Lady, who had invited me, to use me ill: Which he said, he hoped she would not do, even in Regard to my Condition (being then pregnant). But, Heaven knows! had he but considered how cruel all barren Creatures naturally are, insomuch that I have seen a barren Ewe attempt to kill a young Lamb; he would rationally have judged what might have, even in Law, been my Protection, was the very Cause of her Hatred and Displeasure to me.

However, as this Lady was the first to attack my Character, I can do no less than return her these my public and grateful Acknowledgments; for though perhaps half the World cannot tell whom I mean; yet as it is more than probable the Person concerned may read over these Memoirs, she at least will know her own Portrait.

'Tis really a sad Misfortune, that the honest Liberty of the Press is so suppressed in Ireland: But, however, I promise all my Subscribe•s to oblige them with a Key to whatever Secrets I have been obliged to lock up; and many I have been obliged to strike out of my Work, otherwise I could never have had a single Line printed.

Vice in Power will command at least an outward Homage; and helpless Poverty dare not either oppose or expose it.

A few Days after my Return to Ireland, Sir Daniel Molineux said in French to my Brother in St. Ann's Church, that he was surprised to see me look so chearful, considering my Husband was in the Bastile. My Bro•her told it to me; but for my Life I could not guess what the Gentleman meant.

But too soon I was informed by the News-Papers, that Mr. P—n, Mr. Motte, and Mr. Gilliver, were all taken up on account of some treasonable Poetry, which Mr. P—n had given to the two latter to print; I then recollected the Papers aforementioned, delivered to him by one of my Female Fellow-Travellers.

Who was the Informer I know not, both Parties having violently accused each other; but in my Soul I believe Mr. P—n was innocent, and I am sure I have no Reason to be partial to him. But certain it is, his Character suffered so much that it almost broke my Heart, as it deprived me of any Hopes even of his having Bread for his Family. The Notion of his having betrayed Dr. Swift incensed the whole Kingdom of Ireland against him; and as I did not for many Weeks receive a Letter from him, I knew not how to justify him; and when called upon by the late Primate (Dr. Hoadly) to give him an Account of the Affair, I could only answer him with Tears, which, as both he and his Lady were exceedingly humane, pleaded his Cause as powerfully as the most moving Eloquence could have done; his Grace bade me be comforted, and write to my Husband to come over and mind his Duty, and he would still be a Friend to him; and generously added, that as many Persons busied themselves in bringing Stories to him to Mr. P—n's Disadvantage, I should be welcome to his Table every Day, which would discountenance those who endeavoured to prejudice him, when they saw it did not make him or his Spouse withdraw their Regard from me.

His Grace's Goodness affected me so much, that my Tears of Sorrow were converted to those of Gratitude; nor could I forbear falling on my Knees to pay my Acknowledgments to him and his friendly Lady, for the Relief their Kindness had given to a Heart overcome with Anguish.

At length I received a Letter from Mr. P—n, which he was obliged to inclose to a Gentleman for me, otherwise it would have been carried to the Castle, and there examined; so great Notice was taken of these Poems. He wrote me word he had been ill of the Rheumatism, and in great Trouble; that he would directly return to Ireland, but that he had not Money to bear his Expences. I made an Application to my Father for him, who bade me let the Fellow go to the West-Indies, and he would take care of me and the Children. But, unfortunately for me, I had too much Good-nature to take this wholesome Advice; so far from it, that I never ceased importuning him, but followed him from Morning till Night, like Niobe all Tears, till he give me a Bill of twenty Pounds to send to him, with which he came over to Ireland; but so pale and dejected, that he looked like the Ghost of his former self; and the Disregard he met with from every body went very near his Heart. Every Day there was a new Abuse published on him; my Father battled for him, and I did every thing in my power to chear and comfort his Spirits. Compassion wrought now the same Effects on me, as Love had done heretofore; and as he frequently wept, I could not forbear mingling my Tears with his; and, by way of Consolation, wrote to him the following Lines.

NO more, lov'd Partner of my Soul,

At Disappointments grieve,

Can flowing Tears our Fate control,

Or Sighs our Woes relieve?

Adversity is Virtue's School

To those who right discern;

Let us observe each painful Rule,

And each hard Lesson learn.

When wintry Clouds obscure the Sky,

And Heav'n and Earth deform,

If fix'd the strong Foundations lie,

The Castle braves the Storm.

Thus fix'd on Faith's unfailing Rock,

Let us endure a while

Misfortune's rude, impetuous Shock,

And glory in our Toil.

Ill Fortune cannot always last,

Or tho' it should remain,

Yet we each painful Moment haste

A better World to gain:

Where Calumny no more shall wound,

Nor faithless Friends destroy,

Where Innocence and Truth are crown'd

With never-fading Joy.

I should not have dwelt so long on every trivial Circumstance had I not been strangely traduced about this Affair, which, as I shall answer it to God, I have related with the utmost Truth and Exactness. I never had any Breach with Mr. P—n till our final Separation; and I am sure if my Father had suspected me of any Dishonour, he would sooner have joined with my Husband to prosecute me, than have given him a single Shilling to make up Matters between us.

Neither can I really imagine what I had done to merit all the cruel and scandalous Aspersions thrown on me, especially by the Ladies: It would be infinite Vanity to suppose Envy had any Share in their gentle Breasts; or that the Praises I received from the other Sex, on Account of my Writings, awaked their Displeasure against me: For though

They had no Title to aspire;

Yet, when I sunk, they rose the high'r.

But what I think most surprising, is, that Women, who have suffered in their own Reputations, are generally most cruel in their Censures on others. I could mention a Lady, who was so fond of a certain Colonel, that when he died, she was almost mad, though he was a married Man; and yet she was heedful of the main Chance, in prevailing on him to leave her his Estate from his Wife, whose Brother's Estate she had before secured to herself, he being married to her. I remember this Lady the whole Town-talk of Dublin, and yet, by having a large illgot Fortune, she procured a second Husband, commenced Prude, though not till Youth and Beauty were fled, and is, if she yet lives, one of the bitterest Eenmies to any Woman, who has ever committed even an Act of Indiscretion, that can be found in the World, as I have proved many Years ago by woful Experience.

So Flavia, full of inward Guilt,

Calls Florimel an arrant Jilt.

But enough of this. When Mr. P—n was once more settled in his Cure, I being very much inclined to a Decay, my Father said, nothing would more effectually restore my Health than the Country; so having often been invited to his Brother's at Cork, I resolved on going there for a few Months, where I was very kindly received. We took the Diversions of the Season at Mallow, where nothing remarkable happened to me, except that one Gentleman there took it into his Head to do, what they there call black-guard me incessantly. It was the reigning Humour of the Place, amongst the young Folks, to call Names, sell Bargains, and sometimes talk indecently, all of which I abhorred, and therefore this Gentleman singled me out as a Mark for this Sort of Wit; and the more he found it vexed me, the more he persisted in it. At last, I very seriously demanded of him, what I had done to provoke him to teize me in the manner he did? He said, he heard I was a Wit; and wished I would write a Satire on him. So, to oblige him, I sent him the following Lines, which obtained me a Truce from his anti-sublime Conceits.
The MIRROR.

STREPHON, since my Skill you task,

And so oft your Picture ask;

Lest my Colours prove too faint,

Such a various Mind to paint,

I, who ne'er descend to flatter,

And abhor to deal in Satire,

Have at length contriv'd a Way

Your Resemblance to display.

I have brought Truth's polish'd Mirror,

Which shall shew you ev'ry Error;

And, as faithful Glasses do,

Shall reflect your Graces too.

Barren Minds, like barren Soils,

Mock the Cultivator's Toils;

Tho' he sows the choicest Seeds,

The Produce is Chaff and Weeds;

Thine, with wild luxuriant Growth,

Yields us Corn and Thistles both.

Ev'ry Virtue to it's Side

Has a Neighbour Vice ally'd;

These, tho' sprung from diff'rent Roots,

So immix and blend their Shoots,

That we know not what to call

Products so equivocal.

All who know you, would admire

Your true Courage, Sense, and Fire;

Did not oft the Rude and Rash,

With these nobler Talents clash.

Bounteous Nature fram'd your Mind

Fit for Sense and Taste refin'd:

You her choicest Gifts refuse,

And the meanest Manner chuse;

If from thence you Merit claim,

Ev'ry Shoe-boy has the same.

How can you to Fame ascend,

If your Course you downward bend;

You, indeed, may hope in Time,

To atchieve the low Sublime:

And suppose the Bottom gain'd,

What but Filth could be obtain'd?

If my Freedom here offend you,

Think it kindly meant to mend you.

In your Mind are Seeds of Worth,

Call their latent Virtues forth:

Nor need you far from Wisdom roam,

Your best Examples are at home[*].

And here, gentle Reader, I must bid you take leave of the Hope of any farther chearful Amusement; here commences the mournfullest Tale which ever yet was either told or read.

The Winter's Return brought me to Dublin. My Husband met me about a Mile from Town, and took me and my Aunt Van Lewen's Sister, who came to Town with me, out of the Stage-Coach into a Hackney one. He entertained me with an Account of a violent Quarrel he had with my Father; and said, he hoped, if I had any Regard for him, I would never go with inside his Doors. This was a strange Command, and as strange did it appear to me, that he should quarrel with the best natured Gentleman in the World; his Father in Effect, as he treated him as his Son! I told him, I hoped he would excuse my once disobeying him; for I owed, if possible, a superior Duty to my Father, than a Husband could claim. Mr. P—n was very angry. This was on Thursday Night: The next Morning, at all Hazards, I went to wait on my Father, who received me with a Coldness, which struck me to the Heart. I asked him, if I had any way offended him? He said, Mr. P—n had used him so ill, he did not desire to see his Wife. 'Dear Sir (said I) am I not your Daughter?' 'Yes, (said he) and had you taken my Advice in letting the Villain go to the West-Indies, I should have regarded you as such; but, make much of him; and remember, the Hour will come, when you will wish you had followed your Father's Counsel.' My Aunt's Sister was with me, to whom he never once spoke, but walked to and fro in a sort of a distracted Manner, and looked so ill, that, imagining my Presence disturbed him, I asked him where my Mother was? He said, she was gone to take the Air; and that he had Company to dine with him, so that he could not ask me to stay. I took the Hint, and departed from him, in such inconceivable Sorrow, as I never in my Life experienced before, because I really loved him more than any thing in the World.

I passed the Remainder of the Day in Tears, for my Husband never came home till Twelve o'Clock at Night; so that I had full Liberty to indulge my Sorrow. I sent my Compliments on Friday and Saturday Morning to my Parents; they answered, they were very well; but they neither asked me to come to them, nor came to me.

On Sunday I was invited to Dinner to Mr. Dubourg's. I found myself so ill, that I could not go to Church; however, about Two o'Clock, I went to dine with my Friends, who looked on me with as much Surprize as if they had seen an Apparition. They had no sooner seated me, but they both went out of the Room, and held a long Consultation at the Door: Little did I think how deeply I was concerned in it. At length Mrs. Dubourg came in: I tenderly reproached her with her Coldness to me: She said, she was not well; and asked me, had I heard from Molesworth-street that Day? I told her, I had not. She asked me, if Mr. P—n would come to Dinner? I told her, he was engaged to preach at St. Peter's Church in the Afternoon, and therefore went to Mrs. Warren's, where they dined early. A little while after, Counsellor Smith came in; but they called him out, and held a long Conference with him. In short, every body behaved themselves so oddly to me, that I knew not what to make of it.

Just as Dinner was served up, Mr. P—n came in: 'My Dear (said I) you are better than Promise.' 'Why (says he) I am not come to dine, but to tell you your Father is stabbed.' Had he plunged a Dagger in my Heart, it could not have given me a deeper Wound.

It seems, this Accident, for such my Father declared it to be, happened at Nine o'Clock in the Morning; and so unkind were my Mother and Sister, they never sent me the least Notice of it. The Company I went to, had known of it some Hours before; and consequently were surprized to find me ignorant of what so nearly concerned me, and what, by that Time, all Dublin knew. None of them could find in their Hearts to tell me of it; and this was the Occasion of the many Consultations they held, which had appeared so strange to me. It would be tedious to my Readers, to relate every Difficulty I had even to see my Father. In respect to the Ashes of my Mother, I do not chuse to tell how ill I was used upon this Occasion; but as I owe no sort of Respect or Ceremony to my Sister, (if I may call her one, who by no means deserves that Title) I must proceed. I rose from the Table, had a Chair called, and went to my Father's: Three of the Servants sat in the Hall, and my Sister, excessively dirty, walked to and fro in it. She would willingly have kept me out; but however, the Servant knowing me, opened the Door. The first Noise which struck my Ear, upon my Entrance, was the deep and piercing Groans of my dear Father. When I attempted to go up Stairs to offer my Duty to him, my Sister by Violence pulled me down; but the Agony I was in for my Father, and the Resentment I conceived at her gross Usage of me, supplied me with Strength to get up in despight of her. When I opened the Dining-room Door, the Floor was all besmeared with Blood; my Mother, in an arbitrary Voice, asked me, what Business I had there? I told her, I had a Child's Right to pay my Duty to my Father. She said, if I spoke to him it would kill him. Upon which, for the first, and indeed the only Time that ever I gave her an impertinent Answer; I said, that if every Person about my Father had loved him with half my Tenderness, he would not have been reduced to the Condition I was then too sure he was in. Upon this, I offered to go into the Bed-chamber, but was not only forcibly withstood, but even beaten by my Mother, and again asked, if I intended to kill my Father? I made her no Reply but sat down, and assured her, that the first Person who opened that Door I would go in. In about three Minutes time Dr. Cope, Dr. Helsham, Mr. Nicholls, and in all seven Physicians and three Surgeons (as my Father was universally esteemed) came of their own Accord to visit him; when I heard them on the Stairs, I took that Opportunity to open the Bed-chamber Door, in which neither my Mother nor my Sister could well oppose me, as the Gentlemen were come into the Dining-room, before they were apprised of my Intention; but, Heavens! how shall I describe the Agony that seized me, when I beheld my dear Father pale as Death, and unable to utter any thing but Groans? those only who have loved a Father as well as I did mine, can judge of my Condition: I kneeled down by the Bedside: Weak as he was he kindly reached out his Hand to me: He asbed me if this was not an unhappy Accident. I begged he would not speak, because Mr. Nicholls had told me, his Lungs were wounded, and that every Word was detrimental to him; but as I had not ever knowingly offended him, I begged he would give me leave to pay my Duty to him, and that he would signify it, by laying his Hand on my Head, which he not only did, but desired I would not leave him. But here my Father gave me an impossible Task; for no sooner were the Gentlemen departed, but my Mother said she must speak with me; and whether she was really mad, or counterfeited to be so, I know not; but she insisted on my going to Bed with her, alledging that my Sister was younger and stronger than I, and better able to bear the Fatigue of sitting up. This seemed to carry the Appearance of Love and Tenderness; but Heaven knows it was far otherwise, as I afterwards found out; for the three following Days my Mother never permitted me to leave her; if I ever attempted it, she tore her Hair, and screamed like a Lunatick. The fourth Night I heard my Father ring a Bell, my Mother was asleep, and as my Thoughts were ever on him, I ran down Stairs to him undrest as I was. He seemed surprized to see me, having been told that I was in my own House, and would not undertake the Trouble of attending him. I found him in a very cold Sweat; it suddenly came into my Head, that if I could change that into a hot one, it might, perhaps, relieve him. So after assuring him, that I had not quitted him, nor had ever been out of the House, but was prevented by my Mother and Sister from attending on him, he said he was very dry, and asked me, what the Physicians had ordered for him to drink. As they all concluded he would not out-live that Night, they had ordered nothing, but left him to take what he pleased, as, in spight of all Precautions to the contrary, I had overheard. Upon this, I resolved so far to turn Physician myself as to tell him, they ordered him to drink some Hock and Sack made warm. Weak as he was he could not forbear smiling, and saying, he never heard of such another Prescription; 'Ten Gentlemen meet to order me some Hock and Sack mixed! said he; well, give it me: it must certainly be a Cure for a pleuretick Fever.' I did so; nay, I not only gave it to him that Time, but plied him with it every Time he called for Drink all Night, till it produced the Effect I desired, and threw him into a fine breathing Sweat, and a deep Sleep. It may now be demanded, where my Sister was all this Time? why, as she had not, if I may speak my Mind, half the Regard for my Father that I had, she was fast asleep in the Arm-Chair, nor could he awake her.

When the Physicians came in the Morning, they were agreeably surprized to find my Father's Fever quite gone, and his Eyes look very lively; he told them, their merry Prescription had done him gre•… •…rvice. I winked at them not to undeceive him; they understood me, and Dr. Helsham called me aside, under Pretence of giving me some Directions, but in reality, to enquire of me what I had administered. I told him, and he could not forbear smiling. He called the Gentlemen into the next Room to a Consultation, to which presently after I was summoned. As both Dr. Helsham and Dr. Cope were Men of Wit and Pleasantry, they rallied me agreeably on presuming to practise Physick, having never taken my Degrees; and assured me I should be called before the College of Physicians, and be prosecuted as an Empyrick.

I rose up, and making a low Courtesy, I told them, as the best Part of the College of Physicians were then present, they would, I hoped, have Candour enough to permit me to make my own Defence; to which they all assented by a gracious Nod, and bade me proceed; I then, making another Reverence, told them, that as to my Right of practising Physick, I held it extra judice, and smiling said, I supposed they all understood Latin—but as their proper Business was to destroy Life, I hoped they would not take it amiss, if I for once, in a Case which so nearly and deeply concerned me, had, to the utmost of my power, frustrated their Designs; neither had I presumed to interfere, till they themselves had assured me all Hope of my Father's Life was gone, and that he could not live till Morning. But, said I, making another Courtesy, I, with all respect to this honourable Board, humbly presume to believe,

They had rather chuse that he should die,

Than their Prediction prove a Lye.

Nothing, except my Father's being so very weak, and so very near to us, could have prevented the Gentlemen's laughing heartily at my fine Harangue. However, I was dismissed with Honour; and as my Father seemed now to want nothing but Restoratives, I was directed to make him some Viper Broth, Hartshorn Jelly, Chocolate, and other nourishing Aliments.

From this Time we entertained Hopes of my Father's Recovery. In a few Days he was so strong as to be able to sit up from Morning till Night. The whole Town seemed to participate in our Joy; and many who had never visited him before, came now to congratulate him and his Family on this happy Change. Whether it was owing to his having seen too much Company, or to his own over-Neatness in insisting on having his Chamber cleaned, I know not; but I received a Message from Mr. P—n, that he was taken very ill, and desired to see me. As I had flattered myself my Father was out of Danger, I obeyed the Commands of my Husband, and prevailed on Mr. Nicholls to come to visit him. He had got a Cold, and was a little feverish; Mr. Nicholls thought proper to take a little Blood from him, and I staid with him that Night and Part of the ensuing Day. Mr. P—n being much relieved, gave me leave in the Evening to go to my Father's, where I found all Things in Confusion, and he so ill that there was now not the least Hope of his Recovery: He coughed incessantly, was seized with what they call a galloping Consumption, and in a very few Days after expired, leaving me in inconceivable Sorrow. About an Hour before he departed, I left the Room being unable to see his last Agonies, and went up to my Mother, who was as fast locked up in Sleep as guiltless Labour. Some time after I heard the Windows thrown up, by which I knew his mortal Cares were ended.

We had that Evening engaged a Nurse Keeper, but did not dare to let her into my Father's Presence, lest he should say, as he once did, on proposing such a thing, that we were tired of him; but now her Assistance was absolutely necessary, tho' my Sister told me, she herself helped to wash and lay my Father out. I am sure I could have died sooner; but some Persons have uncommon Courage, or rather, as Swift observes,

Indiff'rence clad in Wisdom's Guise,

All Fortitude of Mind supplies.

About three o'Clock in the Morning, on New-Year's-Day, my Sister came into the Room, and desired me to come and help her to take my Father up, that he wanted to rise. Tho' I was certain he was dead, as I had not taken off my Cloaths, I went with her, and sent in the Maid to sit by my Mother. I asked my Sister on the Stairs, was my Father alive? She answered, No. So with a heavy Heart I went into the Dining-Room; but by no means could I summon up sufficient Spirits, to look upon the clay-cold Figure of him, who, under God, was the Author of my Being. My Heart fluttered; my Tongue refused it's Office; neither had I the poor Relief of Tears—no Wonder, when the very Spring and Fountain of my Life was stopt—the very Source of it was stopped, if the Streams thereon dependant, were for a while froze up and dead.

While I was lost in melancholy-musing, my Sister was very industrious in making the Tea-Kettle boil. I do not say this by way of Reflection on her; for tho' I was less assiduous about it, my own Mouth was perfectly parched with Thirst, and I was very glad of something to moisten it.

When the Tea was ready, unluckily we had no Sugar, nor was there any in the House, but what was in the Tea-Chest, the Key of which was in my Mother's Pocket under her Head. My Sister went up and waked her, telling her, my Father wanted a little burned Wine. She readily gave it, and prayed devoutly that it might do him good. My Sister came down laughing, to think how she had imposed on her. If any thing could have added Weight to the intolerable Burthen of my Sorrows, I now felt it, by considering how terrible my Mother's Surprize and Disappointment must be!

About six o'Clock, I thought is was proper to send the Chest of Plate into Dean Madden's, and to lock up whatever was valuable; a prudent Precaution, as it too soon appeared. After this I went into my Mother's Chamber; she asked me how my Father was. I told her he had been very ill in the Beginning of the Night, but was now very quiet. She said, she hoped Sleep would do him good. I answered, I trusted in God it had. So she arose, and would not put on her Shoes lest she should disturb him: Nay, so strong was the Force of her Imagination, that she even said, she heard him cough as we passed by his Chamber Door: But a sad Counterfeit was I; for when we came into his Dressing-Room, which opened to the Garden, as it was now Day-light, my Mother easily perceived the Concern in my Countenance; she shrieked when she looked at me, and with great Impatience asked me, what ailed me: 'O Lord! cried she, cannot you give me one Word of Comfort?' I answered very faintly, I wished it was in my Power: But alas! her worst Fears were but too true; all was over. I really thought she would now have run quite mad; scarcely could I prevent her going into his Chamber. I sent in for Dean Madden, who by Prayers and spiritual Advice, a little calmed her; but one Woe trod upon the other's Heels: Mr. Nicholls, who for the particular Regard he had for my Father, was his first Visitor, and whose Humanity during the whole Time of his Sickness, deserves a grateful Acknowledgment; which, if the surviving Part of his Family refuse, I think it incumbent on me to pay, so far at least as Words can do it, came into the Dining-Room; he guessed our Loss 'ere we could speak it, and seemed to bear a Part in our Sorrows. He asked me what Hour he should come to open my Father. I told him, he had left his Curse on any Person who attempted it. He said he was very glad of it; for as this dismal Operation must have fallen to his Share, it would, I am certain, greatly have shocked his Humanity. I would have had him go up to see my Mother: He said it would but renew her Trouble, and that when she was a little more calm he would make her a Visit.

I now thought it highly necessary to persuade my poor Mother to take, at least, a Dish of Tea, which I could not do, but by assuring her I was ready to faint. Just as it was prepared, a Servant, looking like a Ghost, opened the Door, and beckoned me to follow him; I did so, and upon coming down Stairs, found the House filled with Sheriff's Officers: One of them, whose Name was Williams, was most remarkably insolent, and abused me very grosly. I once more sent in for Dean Madden; I believe the worthy Gentleman thought his Words might prevail, but the Scoundrel Williams bade him, go talk in his Pulpit. However, I had Presence of Mind sufficient to write a Line to Counsellor Smith; he happened not to be at home; so I begged of the Dean to go to my Mother, least those licensed Robbers should plunder the House. About seven in the Evening Mr. Smith came; he found the Wretches very busy in taking an Inventory of the Furniture. They were full as rude to him, as they had been to the Dean; and at last carried it so far, as to insist upon arresting my Father's Body, just then laid in a Coffin. I, almost wild with Grief, ran after them; the Coffin was open, and I raised my dear Father in my Arms, and, as if he could have heard me, asked him, Would he not protect his Family? Mr. Smith had, in the mean Time, sent for the High-Sheriff; he was a young, good-natured Gentleman; and, after heartily reprimanding the Fellows, nay, and even making Williams beg pardon on his Knees, dismissed them all, except one, whom he ordered, not only to be civil, but also to do the Work of a Servant; assuring us, he would take an Inventory of the Things himself, as soon as the Funeral was over.

The next Day, being Sunday, we determined to have my dear Father buried, according to his own Directions, privately, at Twelve o'Clock at Night; and I easily prevailed on Mr. Smith, and his present Lady, to give their Company to my Mother, during the Time of this last sad solemn Ceremony. As my Mother wept incessantly, it made her sleepy; but the Noise made in carrying down my Father's Corpse, awak'd her; and as she had only slumber'd in her Chair, she started up, crying out, they were carrying her dear Husband to the Grave, and that she would go and be buried with him. We were obliged by Violence to restrain her; nay, and also to assure her he had been interred some Hours, and that the Noise she heard was only that of the Servants, who were setting Things in Order. Mr. Smith and his Lady, who, according to their Promise, came and passed the Evening with my Mother, said every thing that Reason, Christianity, or Humanity could dictate, to mitigate her Afflictions. Gratitude for their Kindness made her endeavour to supress the Anguish of her Soul; nay, out of Complaisance to them, she drank a Glass or two of Wine, which, as she had not done for some Weeks before, produced the Effect I desired, of making her sleep. Mr. P—n attended the Funeral Obsequies, which was the only Proof of Respect or Kindness he ever shewed to the Family.

Early the next Morning, I rose; and if, in the melancholy Situation of my Soul, any thing could have made me smile, the Cookmaid's Simplicity would certainly have done it; for, finding her Fire made, her Dishes washed, and every thing set in good Order, so well did the Bailiff, who was left in the House, obey the High Sheriff's Orders, in doing the Work of a Servant; and he having walked into the Garden; the Maid not recollecting there was any such Person in the House, stood crossing herself, and praying to the Blessed Virgin, and all the Saints in Heaven. I asked her, What was the matter? 'O my dear Madam! (says she) my Master was always neat; and see, for all he is dead, how he made the Fire, and cleaned up the Kitchen for me.'

I left the poor Girl in her Mistake, and went up to my Mother. It grieved me to awake her; yet knowing the High Sheriff would be early with us, and that the Inventory of what was in her Chamber must be taken, I thought it was most decent for her to be up, as her unhappy Situation could not authorize her taking on the State of a Lady of Quality, to lie in Bed a Month for Fashion's-sake.

She was not long up before the Gentleman came: From him I learned, that this Execution was laid at the Suit of the Widow Ford, who being Executrix to her Children, had asked my Father, where she could lay out their Money to Advantage. As Mr. Monck wanted Money, my Father immediately thought of him; but as his Estate was not liable to his Debts, my Father became Surety for him. This was enough for me; I immediately wrote to Mr. Monck; who, on Receipt of the Letter, came to Town, and, with great Honour, not only discharged his own Debt, but also paid the Sheriff's Fees, which in three Days amounted to Twenty Pounds.

This Gentleman was the late Henry Stanly Monck, of St. Stephen's Green.

My Sister, like all provident Persons, made the best of her Way to her Husband's Mother; who being assured, by Dean Madden, that he himself had married my Sister to her Son, which had been questioned, on Account of his abrupt Departure from her, soon after he had made her a Mother, was so kindly received by her new Parent, that for three Weeks after, she never either sent, or came, to know what was become of the old one.

As my Father had positively prohibited us from writing any Account to my Brother, then at Paris, of the Misfortune that had befallen him, I thought it not proper to disobey him; yet, at the same time, judged it highly necessary he should be apprized of the melancholy Situation of his Affairs at home; I therefore engaged a young Gentleman, an intimate Friend of my Brother's, to undertake the mournful Task, and advise him immediately to return to Ireland: But his best Speed could not overtake his Father's Life, who had been three Weeks buried e're he arrived. When he saw us in deep Mourning, and missed the dear Parent, who used ever to receive him with the Love of a Father, and the Freedom of a Companion, all his Resolution could scarce support it: and tho' he endeavoured to comfort us, 'twas but too visible he wanted it himself. My Heart bled for him; so disappointed in all his Hopes, which, as they had been high raised, were now the more depressed. In short, we were all mere Outside, each endeavouring, by a forced Chearfulness, to conceal their inward Anguish from each other.

As my Brother, soon after, sold off the Goods by Auction, and placed my Mother, who was left entirely dependant on him, to board at a Clergyman's House in the Country, after which I never saw her more; I returned to my own House.

Mr. P—n, having now no Expectation of a Fortune by me, he threw off all Disguise, and shewed himself in his proper Colours; he had, it seems, while I was in the Country, in a bad State of Health, got in League with the Widow W—rr—n, whom he intended, if I had died, as was expected, should supply my Place. However, he was resolved to gid rid of me at any rate; and as nothing but my Death, or a Divorce, could accomplish his Desires, the latter seemed the safer Method. To this End, he set all his Engines to work. His first Scheme I shall here relate.

One Morning pretty early, he sent for me to come to him to Breakfast in the Summer-house; as I thought he was alone, I ran to him quite undrest; but was confounded at the Sight of a Gentleman, whom I had never seen before, and who was drest out with the utmost Magnificence and Curiosity, rather in the Habit of a Birth-Night Beau, than a Morning Visitor. I was for retiring, but Mr. P—n obliged me to come in, and introduced him to me. I sat down with the best Grace I could; and made the Tea: Before it was half over Mr. P—n said, he was obliged to go visit a sick Person; but that he should return in half an Hour, engaging me not to let the Gentleman go till then; at the same time assuring him, I was very well qualified to entertain him agreeably. The Gentleman did not express the least Reluctance at complying with his Request; so far from it, that as soon as he was gone, he said, he was much indebted to Mr. P—n's Complaisance, for the favourable Opportunity he had afforded him of speaking his Wishes; and, laying hold of my Hand, he began to address me in a most bombastic Stile, with Fustian from exploded Plays. For my part, I thought he was mad, and growing angry at what I deemed a great Incivility to a married Woman, I assured him, if he persisted in such Impertinence, I would quit the Place. He then begged Pardon most humbly indeed, for he threw himself on the Carpet at my Feet, swearing he would never rise till I had forgiven him; which, not to be plagued with his farther Impertinence, I was forced to say, I did. He then wanted me to confirm it by a Kiss, but that I would by no means grant. In short, his Company was so tiresome, that I most impatiently longed for a Release; which, however, Mr. P—n was resolved not to give me: So finding the Gentleman was determined to prosecute me, I told him I was engaged to dine abroad, and hoped he would excuse my leaving him, as I expected a Lady to call upon me, which laid me under a Necessity of going to dress.

Upon this civil Dismiss, to my great Satisfaction he took his Leave, promising me, he would do himself the Honour of waiting on me again very speedily, to which I made no Reply.

I believe he went to Mr. P—n to give him an Account of what had past, who some time after returned, and seemed much offended, that I had suffered his Friend, as he called him, to go away; adding, that he was related to the Duke of Dorset, and might, by his Interest, get him a good Living. I answered, Let him be ever so well related, he was a very troublesome Coxcomb, and if he liked such Company, I did not.

A few Days after my youngest Child died, and that I might avoid seeing the Funeral, I retired to the Summer-House, where I sat weeping; when suddently this same fine Spark opened the Door. He told me, Mr. P—n had sent him to desire I would have some Coffee ready, and that he would be at home immediately. I desired the Gentleman to go with me to the Dwelling-House, not chusing to stay alone with him at so great a Distance from every Body. The Coffee was prepared, but no Mr. P—n came, so we drank it without him, and the Gentleman fell into his old Vagaries again. I then,

All smarting with my Griefs, being vex'd

To be so pestered by a Popinjay,

Shakespear.
Burst into Tears, and demanded of him, what he meant by such Insolence? He looked v•…y much confounded, and asked me, was I in earnest? I assured him I was, and that I would acquaint Mr. P—n with his Rudeness. He smiled at that Threat, and to my great Surprize, made me the following Speech. 'Madam, I am convinced by your Behaviour, that you are a Woman of Honour, and am very sorry I should be so unfortunate as to provoke your Tears: The best Recompence I can make you, is, to entrust you with a Secret; and I doubt not but you will have Discretion enough to make a proper use of it. Mr. P—n described you to me, as a Lady very liberal of your Favours, and begged I would be so kind as to make him a Cuckold, so that he might be able to prove it, in order to a Separation from you; promising to give me Time and Opportunity for it: He assured me, it would be no difficult Task; that I need but throw myself at your Feet, whine out some Tragedy, and you would quickly yield. But I am now convinced, that he is a very great V—n, and very unworthy of you.'

I leave my Reason to judge of my Astonishment. I could scarce give the Gentleman Credit; and yet it was but too evident that he spoke Truth, as it was now nine o'Clock at Night, and Mr. P—n not come home to his invited Guest.

When I had recovered Power to speak, I told him, I supposed Mr. P—n knew him to be a Person destitute of all Honour and Humanity, when he proposed such a Scheme to him as that of betraying any Woman. 'Faith, Madam, returned he, I never intended it; for had you made me happy, I would, like a Gentleman, have forsworn it, and also have given you a proper Caution: But I would not pay you so ill a Compliment, as not to assure you, the Bait was very illuring. I believe there are very few young Fellows who would have refused him the Favour he desired of me.' I then begged he would be so kind to leave me, which, accordingly, taking his Leave very respectfully, he did.

I went to Bed full of Disquietude; but the bitter Anguish of my Soul quite banished Sleep. I considered the Snares were laid for me, and that he who ought to be the Guardian and Protector of my Innocence, was the very first Person who sought to destroy it. I wept abundantly, and prayed heartily to God, to deliver me out of my Trouble; at length I fell into a Slumber, when methought my Father, just as I had seen him in his Coffin, drew open the Curtain, and muttered something to me very low and indistinct; but the Words Trouble, Sorrow and Shame, I very plainly heard. I started up, and turned the Head Curtain back; but seeing nothing, concluded the Trouble of my Mind produced such terrifying Dreams, and recommending myself to Heaven, once more addressed myself to Sleep; when suddenly, methought, I was in the midst of a Parcel of Ruffians who were fighting, and that I, though I knew not why, was the Occasion of their Quarrel. At last I thought one of them gave me a severe Blow over the Head, at which I screamed out, and Mr. P—n, who was now in the Chamber, waked me, and asked me, what was the matter? I told him, I had a very shocking Dream. 'Why, says he, you grieve so much after your Father, and your Brat, and take no Sustenance, that it is no Wonder you should be in the Vapours.' I desired he would be so kind as give me a little Water; for I was in a faint cold Sweat; but as he always kept some Cherry-Brandy in his Study, he made me take a little of it, which greatly revived me. I then told him Mr. H—d had been to see him. He asked me, how long he stayed? I answered, till I was weary of him. 'Why, did he offend you?' 'Indeed (returned I) he did.' 'How?' said he. 'By a great deal of Impertinence, not worth relating. I suppose (said he) the Coxcomb was repeating his Poetry to you.' 'No (returned I) he spoke nothing of his own; he had a proper Authority, I believe, for whatever he said.' I looked earnestly in Mr. P—n's Face, and could easily perceive he was in great Confusion; so he put out the Candle, and came to Bed without asking me any farther Questions.

Early the next Morning he went out of Town, without either leaving a Shilling to provide for his Family, which consisted of a Maid, a Footman, two Children, and myself, or any Person to serve his Cure; neither did I, for the Space of two Months, hear from him, or receive any Supply; till at last, by Accident, I learned he was with the Widow W—rr—n. For the Truth of this, the Reverend Dr. Bradford can bear Witness; I mean, so far as his going away without either asking his Permission, or substituting any Person to do his Duty.

But when a Lady's in the Case,

All other Bus'ness must give Place.

Gay's Fables.
Even in Religion itself.

I now beg leave to demand of every Person, who has been severe in their Censures of me, what Duty, Love, or Respect was due to such a Husband? When an honest Man is linked to a pe•sidious Woman, his Misfortun•s claim Compassion; b•… •…ure a voluntary Cuckold is the meanest Wretch in Human Nature, and deserves nothing from the World, but the utmost Contempt.

In the mean time the Parish was quite in an Uproar; nobody to visit the Sick, or read Six o'Clock Prayers. I related this Part of my Distress to my Brother, who prevailed on a young Gentleman, who had been his School-fellow and Companion, then newly ordained, to do Mr. P—n's Duty.

As for my two Children, I sent them to School, and they dined every Day with Mr. P—n's Father; the Servants were forced to run in Debt for Provision; and, for my own part, I quartered myself on my next Door Neighbours, Mr. Lindsay and his Spouse, where I always met a chearful and friendly Reception.

I must here observe, that because I loved reading, Mr. P—n took with him the Key of his Study, into which he had removed all my Books, Presents to me from my Friends before I was married. He also locked up the Garden, rather chusing it should be overgrown with Weeds, and the Plants and Flowers die for Want of Water, than that either I or the Children should have the Pleasure of amusing ourselves in it. The Tea-chest was also secured; so I was left like a tame Cat, with the Liberty of walking about through two or three empty Rooms.

When I had learned where Mr. P—n was, I wrote to him; but received no Answer. At length, one Saturday, about Twelve o'Clock at Noon, his Horse was brought home and a mangy Dog, of which I was ordered to take a particular care, which I did; and now expected the Master. But as his buxom old Widow (and old enough she was to be my Mother, and big enough to make four of me) came to Town with him, he stayed with her till Twelve o'Clock at Night. His first Question when he entered was, where was his Dog? with which having played about half an Hour, hugging, kissing, and calling it an Angel, he at last vouchsafed to come up Stairs. I sat in my Closet in a very pensive Posture; his first Salutation to me was, to ask me, how I had the Impudence to write to him about my Family Affairs? I asked him to whom else should I write? 'Very fine! (returned he) suppose Mrs. W—rr—n had opened my Letter!' 'I could not suppose that, Sir, because it is a Liberty I never took with you.' 'You took with me! why should you? 'Nay then (said I) why should she? 'I have (said he) great Patience, that I do not turn you out of Doors.' 'As soon as you please, Sir; I know my Way to St. Sepulchres, and late as it is, I dare say they will give me Admission.'

I believe he thought he had now gone too far, and was more than half afraid I would publish all his Villanies; so he fell into his old Trade of Dissimulation, in which he is a perfect Master; and taking me by the Hand, told me, he did not think so gentle a Temper as mine could be disturbed at any Thing; and that it was very unkind in me to be disobliged at his taking a little Recreation in the Country; adding, that he often wished for me there. I asked him why he did not take me with him? He said, he had proposed it to Mrs. W—rr—n; but that she had objected against it, telling him, I was a Woman of so bad a Reputation, that she would not for all the World countenance me. I must beg leave to ask my Readers, what Sort of Terms this Couple must be on, when she took the Liberty of traducing his Wife to him? She may be very chaste, for aught I know; but I verily believe many an unhappy Creature, who has even prostituted herself for Bread, would not have been guilty of her Crime.

Cursed be he that parteth Man and Wife is Part of our Ash-Wednesday Service, to which I say Amen, with all my Heart and Soul.

But to return: I told Mr. P—n, I was extremely obliged to the Lady; that most Men, even if they hated their Wives, would resent any Injury offered to them as being Part of themselves; but he was too good a Christian for that. So I arose, and was for leaving the Room. He asked me, where I was going? I answered, 'To sleep with my Children; for why should I, Sir, go to bed to a Man, in whose Person, Mind, or Fortune, I have no longer a Share; and who has actually divorced himself from me, as the Law can do!'

However he insisted on my staying with him, which accordingly I did. We both rose pretty early; and the Children coming in to ask his Blessing, he whipt his Daughter severely, because, as he said, she resembled my Mother; though indeed she was infinitely more like his own: And, to shew his Impartiality, he whipt the poor little Boy, for being like himself.

When this Scene was over, the Children were turned down to the Kitchen, and the mangy Dog, which it seems was given him by Mrs. W—rr—n, invited to a good Plate of Toast and Butter and half a Pint of Cream for his Breakfast; so well did he fulfil the old Proverb, Love me, love my Dog.

After these Holy Exercises, he went to the Communion; which indeed I had intended to do, but as he had really vexed me past my Patience, I could not compose myself sufficiently for the worthily receiving those sublime Mysteries.

Thus we may see it is in the power of a bad Man, not only to destroy our temporal, but also our eternal Happiness.

I saw no more of him till Midnight; buxom Joan engaging him till then, or in other Words, the Widow W—rr—n.

Mr. P—n's Father hearing he was in Town, came the next Morning to see him, and demanded of him the Money he had paid for his Childrens Tuition; upon which he turned to me, with an Air of great Contempt, and told me, he thought when he had married so accomplished a Lady, she might have taught her Children to read, write, work, &c. and at least have saved him the Expence of their Education. I told him, and indeed it was Truth, that I should never desire a more delightful Employment than that of cultivating their Minds; but that he ought to consider, he left no Support for our Bodies, and consequently I was obliged to go abroad every Day to seek for Food, and could not encumber such Company, as I might be welcome to, with my Children. Here Mr. P—n's Father interrupted me, by saying, I might always have been welcome to him. Indeed I doubt it not, for he was a good-natured Man; but as he kept an Alehouse, it was no very agreeable Place for me to pass my Time in.

Next Morning buxom Joan came in her own Coach for her Chaplain; a Right which most Widows of Fortune claim. I looked at her, and she hid her Face. Mr. P—n soon waited on her, and away they went together, leaving me just as desolate as I was before.

Mr. P—n has often alledged, in order to prove me an Adultress, as I was with Child when we parted, that he had no manner of matrimonial Commerce with me for four Years. I was but just four and twenty Years of Age when we were separated; and, as my Reader may observe, he would not permit me to have a separate Bed, whether what he not only said, but swore, was true or false, I do not see how he could gain any Honour by it.

For as the Spanish Friar says, when old Gomez boasts that his Wife was a spotless Virgin for him;

A fine Commendation truly!

The Church did not put you together for that.

And here, gentle Reader, give me leave to drop the Curtain. To avouch mine own Innocence in a Point, where Appearances were strong against me, would perhaps little avail me: The supreme Judge of Hearts alone will at the last great Day clear or condemn me; to whose unerring Justice and boundless Goodness I submit my Cause.

When Snares and Limed-Twigs are spread for a poor Bird, it cannot well escape. Yet I may say with the condemned Duke of Buckingham, in Shakespear's Henry the Eighth,

We both fell by our Servants;

Therefore, this receive as certain:

Where you are lib'ral of your Loves and Counsels,

Be sure you are not loose; for those you make Friends,

And give your Hearts to, when they perceive

The least Rub in your Fortune, fall away

Like Water from ye, never found again,

But where they mean to sink ye

A proper Caution to both Sexes, to be duly on their Guard against Confidants.

I could reckon up numberless Instances of Mr. P—n's Aversion to me; one in particular I cannot pass over. One Day, at Dinner, the Pin in the Robing of my Gown, pricked my Breast; as there was no body but my Husband and Children present, I made no Scruple of uncovering my Bosom, to examine what had hurt me; upon which Mr. P—n rose from Table, and said I had turned his Stomach. As I really had a fine Skin, and was then a most remarkably neat Person, I thought he only jested; and merrily told him, he should kiss my Breast and make it well: But alas! it was not like Prior's Lover's Anger, where when the Lady complains, that

An ugly hard Rose-bud has fall'n in my Neck,

It has vex'd me, and plagu'd me to such a Degree!

Look here now; you'll never believe one, pray see,

I' th' Left Side of my Breast what a Mark it has made!

So saying, her Bosom she careless display'd:

That Seat of Delight I with Wonder survey'd,

And forgot ev'ry Word I design'd to have said.

For he told me, he was sure he should faint if I came near him; and either pretended to throw up his Dinner, or did it in reality. After which polite Compliment, he drank a large Glass of Cherry-brandy, to settle his Stomach; and repaired to his usual Haunt, i. e. to buxom Joan.

About Twelve at Night, he returned, and awaked me out of a sweet Sleep, by telling me, I was a most expensive extravagant Woman. I asked him in what? He said, in putting on clean Linen every Day; whereas Mrs. W—rr—n, who had a Thousand Pounds a Year, assured him, she never shifted herself but once a Week, and shewed him Half-sleeves, which she wore, to save the Expence of washing. I answered him very carelesly, that I supposed that was what charmed him; and therefore, Dirt to Dirt.

I beg leave here to remark, that my Husband's Complaints were very different from those of most married Men; their general Excuse for going astray is, that their Wives are dirty, slothful, ignorant, &c. the very Reverse of which swinish Qualities made my good Man hate me.

Well, grant me guilty, which never yet was proved;

Yet I do think, if Wives do fall, it is their Husbands Fault.

Say, that they slack their Duty, and pour our Treasure into foreign Laps,

Or else break out in peevish Jealousy,

Throwing Restraint on us: Or say, they strike us;

Or scant our former Having, in Despight.

Why, we have Galls; and though we have some Grace,

Yet we have some Revenge. Let Husbands know,

Their Wives have Sense like them: They see and smell,

And have their Palates both for sweet and sour,

As Husbands have. What is it that they do,

When they change us for others? Is it Sport?

I think it is. And doth Affection breed it?

I think it doth. Is't Frailty that thus errs?

It is so too. And have not we Affections?

Desire for Sport? and Frailty, as Men have?

Then let them use us well; or let them know,

The Ills we do, their Ills instruct us to.

Shakespear.

And in one of the Sermons on Social Duties, published lately by a real Divine, he makes this Observation, That he believes, very few Women have either been so weak, or so wicked, to wrong the Marriage-bed, but when they have been provoked to it, either by the ill Treatment they received from their Husbands, or in Revenge to their prior Falshoods.

If I have not delivered the most worthy Author's Sentiments with his own Elegance of Style, I am sure he will pardon me, as I only quote from Memory, not being Mistress of his admirable Works.

I do assure my Reader, I do not, by those Quotations, mean to countenance Vice,

Or to arm my Pen

Against the Sun-clad Power of Chastity.

Milton.
So far from it, that in my Opinion, Nothing can excuse the Breach of it; and a Female

Should strip herself to Death, as to a Bed,

Which, longing, she'd been sick for,

Rather than yield her Body up to Shame.

All I intend is this; the World has been pleased to say, I had a most excellent Husband; and therefore have thought proper, not thinking their Bill of Accusation large enough, to add Ingratitude to every other Vice and Folly they are pleased to attribute to me.

But so many Yards of Prunella and a Bit of clear Cambrick, properly placed under the Chin, it seems make a Holy Man.

Yet, let's write Good Angel, on the Devil's Horn,

'Tis not the Devil's Crest.

And so an outward Sainted Priest, may

In all his Dressings, Titles, Caracts, Forms,

Be an Arch-villain; and his Filth being cast,

Appear a Pond as deep as Hell.

Shakespear.

I hope Mr. P—n will return his Acknowledgments to me, for making him publicly known; for, as I hear, his Poems have suffered the Fate of all Things mortal; and, to use his own Lines,

Since he and his Writings so soon are forgotten,

E'er his Carcass become, like his Principles, rotten;

My Muse shall forbid it, transmitting his Merits,

As the Curious, for Shew, preserve Monsters in Spirits.

P—n's Elegy on the Rev. Mr. Graffan, written many Years before the Gentleman's Death.
And so if my Quondam Husband arrives at Fame, or ever goes to Heaven, either of which I very much doubt, I think he must still rest my Debtor.

For Fame has but two Doors, a white and a black one,

The worst you say, he's stole in at the back one.

And that Cuckolds go to Heaven, no body ever yet disputed. Were he one, he ought to thank me that helped to send him thither. If I have bestowed on him Fame in this World, and Salvation in the next, what could a reasonable Man desire more from his Wife? But some Folks are never to be satisfied!—But whether he is entitled to the Horn or not, must always be a Secret: I hope some curious Commentator will hereafter endeavour to find out the Truth of it; for my Mind gives me,

That I, like the Classics, shall be read

When Time, and all the World are dead.

And if a Scotch Barber, one Allan Ramsay, promises himself so much, in a Sort of Burlesque on Horace, why may I not be indulged in equal Vanity, the ruling and darling Passion of our Sex? Tho' I shall never carry it to such an unnatural Height, as Dr. Young makes a Lady do, when she is dying,

Odious, in Woollen! 'twould a Saint provoke!

Were the last Words that dying Flavia spoke!

No, let a charming Chintz, and Flander's Lace,

Shade my pale Corse, and deck my lifeless Face.

One wou'd not sure, look ugly when one's dead;

And—Betty, give my Cheeks a little red.

I must beg my Reader's Pardon for these numerous Quotations; but, as Swift says, 'those anticipating Rascals the Ancients, have left nothing for us poor Moderns to say:' But still to shew my Vanity, let it stand as some sort of Praise, that I have stolen wisely.

At length the fatal Hour arrived, when Mr. P—n's Machinations wrought the Effect he so long desired, namely, my Destruction; and, as he never did Things by Halves, that of his own Children also; to whom his Barbarity has exceeded any thing I ever either heard or read of; but that in due Place.

I own myself very indiscreet in permitting any Man to be at an unseasonable Hour in my Bed-Chamber; but Lovers of Learning will, I am sure, pardon me, as I solemnly declare, it was the attractive Charms of a new Book, which the Gentleman would not lend me, but consented to stay till I read it through, that was the sole Motive of my detaining him. But the Servants, being bribed by their Master, let in twelve Watchmen at the Kitchen Window, who, though they might have opened the Chamber-Door, chose rather to break it to pieces, and took the Gentleman and myself Prisoners.

For my own Part, I thought they had been House-breakers, and would willingly have compounded for Life, when entered Mr. P—n, with a Cambric Handkerchief tied about his Neck, after the Fashion of Mr. Fribble, and with the Temper of a Stoic, bid the authorized Ruffians not hurt me: But his Christian Care came too late; for one of them had given me a violent Blow on the Temple, and another had dragged two of my Fingers out of Joint. The Gentleman, at the Sight of Mr. P—n, threw down his Sword, which he observing, made two of the Watchmen hold him, while he most courageously broke his Head.

After this heroic Action, he told me, who stood quite stupified between Surprize and Pain, that I must turn out of Doors; but observing that I was fainting, he brought up a Bottle of Wine, and kindly drank both our Healths. He would fain have prevailed on us to pledge him; but we were not in a Temper to return Civility. Upon which he took my Hand, and very generously made a Present of me to the Gentleman, who could not in Honour refuse to take me, especially as his own Liberty was not to be procured on any other Terms. Mr. P—n kindly dismissed our Guards, and assured us, as soon as ever he had obtained a Divorce, he would with great Pleasure, join us together in holy Matrimony. At the Door the Gentleman's Sword was delivered to him. Mr. P—n offered to kiss me at parting, which mean Piece of Dissimulation, so much in the Stile of Jack Ketch, gave me the utmost Contempt for the V—n.

It was by this time two o'Clock in the Morning, and we knew not where to steer our Course: However, the Gentleman's Servant always sat up for him, and therefore he judged it more adviseable to go to his own Lodging, than to search for any other, and, truly, I little cared where I went.

And here, I sincerely assure my Reader, that neither of us even entertained a Thought of any thing like Love, but sat like Statues till Day-break; when recollecting that I had nothing to change me with, I wrote a Letter to Mr. P—n to desire he would send me my wearing Apparel, or at least some clean Linen.

He complied with my Request, and wrote me a long Letter, wherein he seemingly expressed an infinite Concern for my Loss, but as I had most strenuously recommended our Children to his Care, he gave it then under his Hand that he was perfectly convinced they were his own, and that I might depend on his Tenderness to them; but at the same time, as he was determined to be legally divorced, he expected I would not give him any Opposition in it.

Before I received this Letter, I had taken a Lodging in Abbey-street up two pair of Stairs, where my Clothes were brought to me, together with it; but not a single Shilling to assist me, my Watch, my Books, and even what few Jewels I possessed before Marriage, were detained from me, which threw me quite dependant on the Courtesy of the Person I was accused with.

But Mr. P—n was so highly provoked at our not cohabiting together, as he wished, that he forced the Gentleman to fly, who having Notice that there was an Action taken out against him, made the best of his way to London, leaving a Letter with five Guineas enclosed in it for me, in the Hands of a Dissenting Minister, who very faithfully discharged his Trust.

Curiosity made me go to the Gentleman's Lodging to enquire of his Landlady what she knew relating to him; the Gentlewoman was very obliging, but could give me no Satisfaction or Light into the Affair: However, she made me drink Tea with her, and we sat together till near nine o'Clock at Night.

At my return to my own Lodging, the Maid told me my Room was Let; I said that was odd, as it was taken by the Week, and one not then expired, to Let it without giving me Warning to provide myself, which, at that Hour, in a Winter's Night, it was impossible for me to do.

The Maid, to whose care this House was entrusted, for I know not who was Landlord, told me, I might if I pleased lie in the first Floor, as the Family were not come to Town, and there were only their Servants in the House, whom she could dispose of into worse Beds; but, to my great Surprize, I found the Lock had been taken off the Bed-chamber Door, which I will remembered had been on it in the Morning, as I had some Difficulty to open it to take thence some China.

I asked her the meaning of it? She insisted positively that there never had been a Lock on it, which knowing to be a Falshood, I began to be apprehensive some foul play was intended, nor was I mistaken.

I then asked her for a young Woman, whom she had told me was a Servant out of Place, that lodged in the back Parlour; she said she was a Bed in the Garret, and that my Trunk was there also; this gave me a sufficient Excuse, as there was no Lock on the Trunk, to go up to her; and as she had been a Lady's Woman, and very well knew who I was, I told her all my Apprehensions, and she readily consented to quit her own Bed and come to mine.

We brought down the Trunk between us, and placed it against the Chamber-Door; as the Maid was busied with her new Guests, she took it for granted I was alone, and therefore resolved to provide me with a Male Bed-fellow, as a proper Consolation for a Person in my unhappy Situation.

About seven o'Clock in the Morning, not then clear Day, she very furiously pushed open the Chamber-Door, and told me, one Mr. B—k desired to breakfast with me, who was a Member of P—t, and a Man of Fortune, and the Person who had taken the House. I told her I never wished to see any human Creature, and should be glad I could hide myself even from myself; but she, supposing me to be alone, directly introduced a Man, full six Feet high, and of the most disagreeable Aspect I ever beheld—Perhaps it was my Terror that painted him so to my Imagination.

I started up and threw my Gown about me, but I was not quite so quick in putting on my Clothes as the Gentleman was, in taking his off, resolving, without the least Ceremony to come to Bed to me, I pulled my Companion, who asked him what he meant; why, who the D—l are you, you old B—ch said he: This Lady, meaning me, is publickly known thro' all the Coffee-houses in Dublin. Had the Gentleman been studying how to disappoint his own Intentions, he could not more effectually have done it, as he brought all the Horror of my Condition full upon my Mind. And as I had no Protector, no Friend, no Guardian, I burst into Tears, and told him, if he was a Gentleman, he would not insult Misery. 'Do I occasion Tears, Madam?' 'You do, Sir, and and therefore I desire you will depart.' 'Well, Madam, said he, I beg pardon, I had a full History of you from the Maid of the House, who said, she believed a Companion would not be disagreeable to you, especially as she was apprehensive you had no Money.' 'Sir, said I, she is mistaken, I have at least enough to discharge my Lodging, which I will immediately do; and once more I desire you to withdraw, which accordingly he did.'

I then prevailed on the young Woman who was with me to take a Lodging for me, and in about half an Hour I went to it.

But now came the general Slander Charge

Which some invent, the rest enlarge.

So from my Heart, I wrote the following Lines.
SORROW.

WHILE sunk in deepest Solitude and Woe,

My streaming Eyes with ceaseless Sorrow flow,

While Anguish wears the sleepless Night away,

And fresher Grief awaits returning Day;

Encompassed round with Ruin, Want and Shame,

Undone in Fortune, blasted in my Fame;

Lost to the soft endearing Ties of Life,

And tender Names of Daughter, Mother, Wife;

Can no Recess from Calumny be found?

And yet can Fate inflict a deeper Wound!

As one who in a dreadful Tempest toss'd,

If thrown by Chance upon some desert Coast,

Calmly a while surveys the fatal Shore,

And hopes that Fortune can inflict no more;

Till some fell Serpent makes the Wretch his Prey,

Who 'scaped in vain the Dangers of the Sea;

So I who hardly 'scap'd Domestic Rage,

Born with eternal Sorrows to engage,

Now feel the poisonous Force of sland'rous Tongues,

Who daily wound me with envenom'd Wrongs.

Shed then a Ray Divine, all Gracious Heav'n,

Pardon the Soul that sues to be forgiv'n,

Tho' cruel Humankind relentless prove

And least resemble thee in Acts of Love;

Tho' Friends who shou'd administer Relief,

Add Pain to Woe, and Misery to Grief,

And oft! too oft! with Hypocritic Air,

Condemn those Faults in which they deeply shaer.

Yet thou who dost our various Frailties know,

And see'st each Spring from whence our Actions flow,

Shalt, while for Mercy to thy Throne I fly,

Regard the lifted Hand and streaming Eye.

Thou didst the jarring Elements compose,

Whence this harmonious Universe arose;

O speak the Tempest of the Soul to Peace,

Bid the tumultuous War of Passion cease;

Receive me to thy kind Paternal Care,

And guard me from the Horrors of Despair.

And since no more I boast a Mother's Name,

Nor in my Children can a Portion claim,

The helpless Babes to thy Protection take,

Nor punish for their hapless Mother's sake:

Thus the poor Bird when frighted from her Nest

With agonizing Love, and Grief distress'd,

Still fondly hovers o'er the much lov'd Place,

Tho' strengthless, to protect her tender Race;

In piercing Notes she movingly complains,

And tells the unattending Woods her Pains.

[*]And thou once my Soul's fondest dearest Part,

Who schem'd my Ruin with such cruel Art,

From human Laws no longer seek to find,

A Pow'r to loose that Knot which God has join'd,

The Props of Life are rudely pull'd away,

And the frail Building falling to Decay,

My Death shall give thee thy desir'd Release,

And lay me down in everlasting Peace.

I believe Mr. P—n would say with old Sir Paul Plyant, when he finds a Love: Letter from a Gentleman to his Wife, signed, your dying Ned Careless, 'Ads bud, I wish it were true!' But,

My kind Companion never fear,

For tho' you may mistake a Year,

Tho' your Prognosticks run too fast

They'll certainly prove true at last.

Swift.
But I had a Fellow-Lodger, one Mr. Donnellan, an Ensign, who it seems knew me so well, that he thought proper to bring the late Earl of R—sse, of facetious Memory, and several other Persons of Distinction, to break open my Lodging. On hearing them coming up Stairs, I ran into the Dining-Room, and locked myself in. When those worthy P—rs could not find me, they threatened to kick the Landlady; and one of them putting his Mouth to the Key-hole of the Dining-Room, cried, 'Do, my Dear, open the Door; by Heaven! it is nobody but I, D—g, the Fiddler.' I made no Reply; so being disappointed, they were forced to decamp, cursing and vowing Revenge against the Woman of the House.

This Accident so terribly alarmed me, that I resolved to quit this Lodging the next Day; but Mr. D—n was determined not to permit me to depart in Peace; for, being a military Man, he stood Centinel at the Door of my Chamber all Night, frequently intreating me to let him in; but truly had I been amorously inclined, the Sight of the various Medicines in his Apartment would have

Damp'd all Passion sympathetic.

For, as I had a back Room, when this Gentleman was abroad, I frequently, for Variety, went into his, which looked into the Street.

However, at last he went to Bed; and early next Morning he told the Landlady that I had kept him awake all Night, and that I was a most notorious common S—t.

'Arah, by my Shoul (said the old Dame) you would make her one, if you could: What Business had you, and all those Lords with her? One of them bid the Devil to breake my own Neck; but I hope he will be hanged first.'

While my Landlady, to whom I had never told my Name, related this to me, I heard somebody enquire for Mrs. Pilkington, so I desired to know who it was, and up came a very well drest matron like Female of about Fifty; she expressed great Concern for my Misfortunes; said, my dear Father had saved her Life, and that she was at present House-keeper to the Earl of A—m, who was extremely troubled for his Rudeness to me, and hoped I would give him an Opportunity of begging my Pardon. I told her, as I did not know whom to blame, I wanted no Apology; it was my wretched Fate to be subject to the Insolence of every Fellow.

She then urged, what I own was a prevailing Argument to one not worth a Shilling, that my Lord was very generous, and would, she was sure, make me a handsome Present, in Recompence of the Terror he had put me into. As I looked on my present Circumstances to be quite desperate, being near Lying-in, and having nothing to assist me, I agreed to see him any where, except at my own Lodging. Upon which the artful old Crone told me of a House in the Neighbourhood, a very reputable one according to her Account, where my Lord would meet me in the Evening.

Accordingly I went; but let any one judge of my Surprize, when instead of the Earl, I met a Gentleman whom I had never seen before: So I instantly departing left him to his Contemplations. And in Process of Time it came to light, that the venerable House-keeper of the Earl, was neither better or worse than the celebrated Mother Brown: And indeed I received many Visits from Ladies of her sublime Calling.

And what most surprised me, was, that they were generally employed by sober married Men, and such as to my own Knowledge, lived very well with their Wives; but these Ladies assured me, their Husbands hated them, and would rather have any other Woman. So I found I was not alone in my Misfortune. And if every married Man, who has ever attacked me, does not subscribe to my Memoirs, I will, without the least Ceremony, insert their Names, be their Rank ever so high, or their Profession ever so holy.

I'll dash the proud Gamester from his gilded Car;

Bare the mean Heart, that lurks beneath a Star.

And the more formal Villains, who, in the Robes of Sanctity, commit worse Frauds then Highwaymen, surely ought not to remain unexposed.

For me, while Heav'n affords me vital Breath,

Let them behold me, as their Scourge, till Death;

Them, thro' their Serpent Mazes, I'll pursue,

And bring each latent Vice to public View:

And, what their Cunning studies to conceal,

Shall be my constant Pleasure to reveal;

Till warn'd Mankind shall from their Mischiefs fly,

And hate them more, if possible, than I.

Ay, my little good Lord Cardinal!

I'll scare you worse than did the Midnight Bell,

When the brown Wench lay kissing in your Arms[*].

I once was acquainted with a Prelate, who had certain stated Prices for all his Sins; as thus:

l.

s.

d.

For Adultery

1

7

0

For Simple Fornication

0

10

6

For Venial Transgressions

0

5

0 each

And,

Yet he was a B—p, and he wore a Mitre,

Which, in all in good Time, may be

Surrounded with Jewels of Sulphur and Nitre.

How nearly this B—p my B—p resembles!

But his has the Odds, who believes and who trembles.

What I thought most cruel in him was that he never gave a Farthing to the poor Women themselves. But to make up Matters with Heaven, he took up ten Bastards every Year; fed, clothed, and apprenticed them; hoping, no doubt, as his Dealings were pretty promiscuous, some one of them might belong to him. So

How could his Charity be better shewn,

Or whom should he provide for, but his own?

As I do not chuse to be guilty of Scandalum magnatum, if nobody can guess who I mean, I will fairly acknowledge myself to be as arrant a Dunce as any B—p or Parson in the World, and really that is speaking largely;

Considering what Dulness reigns

Amongst our P—s, Priests and Deans.

And as Milton observes on the Devil's breaking into Paradise:

So since into God's Fold

Climb Thieves, and Ruffians, and lewd hireling Slaves,

Turning the Sanctuary of th' Almighty

Into a Den.

And it were to be wished that our Blessed Saviour would once more come, and drive those Money-Changers out of the Temple.

I was again once more obliged to change my Lodging, and knew not how to provide for the approaching Calamity: I wrote to Mr. P—n, who generously sent me Sixpence by my eldest Son, to put me above the Temptations to which Want exposes our helpless Sex; for so he expressed himself in a long Epistle he wrote with it.

But when things are at the worst they generally mend; for who should arrive from London but Mr. W—le. He no sooner heard of my Misfortune, but he came to visit me, and as he had a strange Ambition to be thought a Poet, he assured me, if I would devote my Genius to his Service he would liberally reward me; to which I gladly consented, as an easy and honourable Method of getting a Subsistence.

I really would not be so ungenerous to strip the Jack-Daw of his borrowed Plumes, but that his Usage of me in London was so inhuman, that it merits a worse Punishment from me, than meerly exposing his Vanity, and the World may conclude,

That of all the fine Things which he keeps in the Dark,

There's scarce one in ten, but what has my Mark.

Though Mr. P—n and Harry C—ry were his two Subalterns, or under Strappers in poetical Stock-jobbing. As Mr. W—le was a musical Man, my first Task was to write a Song for him, which I performed in the following manner.

STELLA, Darling of the Muses,

Fairer than the blooming Spring;

Sweetest Theme the Poet chuses,

When of thee he strives to sing.

While my Soul with Wonder traces

All thy Charms of Face and Mind,

All the Beauties, all the Graces,

Of the Sex in thee I find.

Love, and Joy, and Admiration,

In my Breast alternate rise;

Words no more can paint my Passion,

Than the Pencil cou'd thine Eyes.

Lavish Nature thee adorning,

O'er thy Lips and Cheeks hath spread,

Colours that might shame the Morning,

Smiling with celestial Red.

Would the Gods, in blest Condition,

Our Requests indulgent view,

Sure each Mortal's first Petition

Would be to resemble you.

Mr. W—le shewed this Ballad to Mr. P—n, who thought proper to alter the last Verse, giving it this prophane and nonsensical Turn;

Cou'd the Gods, in blest Condition,

Aught on Earth with Envy view,

Lovely Stella, their Ambition

Wou'd be to resemble you.

As for the Gods envying Mortals, and wishing to be like them, it has neither Sense, English, nor even Novelty to recommend it; nor is it agreeable to the Dictates of Reason or Religion; for even a Heathen Author stands condemned for setting Cato in a Light superior to the Gods; but a Christian Divine may say any thing, and so much for an old Song.

I thought my Circumstances might have secured me from any farther Attacks from the Male World; but it seems I was to have no more Rest than the Patriarch's Dove had; for I had a furious Onset from

A Tinsel Babler Blunderbuss of Law.

Newburgh's Hiena.
One C—n, a Person not otherwise known, than by his being acquainted with all the Tricks and Roguery of the Courts; who, because I treated him with the Contempt he deserved, railed at me wherever he went, insomuch that I was obliged to compliment him with the following Lines. ‘’

This did not happen to silence the Fellow, who now carried his Impudence so far, as to declare to all the Lawyers at the Rose Club, that I made Love to him; so, recollecting a Story his Nephew, who was married to my Sister, had related to me, of a vile Use to which he adapted three large Folio Volumes of his Uncle's Philosophy, I wrote the following Ballad, and pacquetted Mr. T—ffe with it, at a Time I knew several Lawyers would be assembled at the Tavern aforementioned; and threatened Mr. T—ffe, if he did not read it out for the Amusement of the Company, he should be my next Subject for Satyr; but no body so earnestly insisted on seeing the Song as C—n himself. To oblige him and entertain the Company, Mr. T—ffe sung it to the Tune of Chevy Chace.

YE Sons of Science mourn with me

In sad and doleful Strains,

The Loss which fair Philosophy

And Literature sustains.

Three Volumes of enormus Size,

O C—n had penn'd,

And lent them, for to make him wise,

To an ingenious Friend;

Who on the puzzling Pages por'd

Three live-long Summer Days;

But cou'd not understand one Word:

For so my Author says.

He, thro' the palpable obscure,

Grop'd out his uncouth Way,

Where neither Truth, nor Reason pure,

Had shed one Friendly Ray.

In Newton, Bacon, Locke, and Boyle,

He found celestial Light;

Whose sacred Beams o'er-paid his Toil;

But here reign'd deepest Night.

In fam'd Laputa's floating Isle,

As Gulliver has taught,

They swallow Learning like a Pill,

Without Expence of Thought.

This Way he try'd, but all in vain,

Those Writings ne'er ascend;

They Gravitation's Laws maintain,

And to the Center tend.

Enrag'd to find all Methods fail,

These Works, he surely said,

May be adapted to the Tail,

Tho' never to the Head.

These Sybil Leaves, Oh Spight and Shame!

In Pieces torn he takes,

And wip'd a Part not fit to name,

And plung'd them in a Jakes.

Wake C—n thy noble Heart,

Explore that hoary Deep;

Nor suffer thine immortal Part

In Silence there to sleep.

Or on the Orifice all Day

Thy nether End expose,

By whose inspiring Fumes you may

New Systems yet compose.

Henceforth be scorn'd great Maro's Tomb,

And eke the Delphic Shrine;

For that fam'd Privy-House, whose Womb

Contains thy Works divine.

I have been credibly informed that this Song made C—n blush, which was more than any thing had ever done before. However he took a Copy of it, which he promised to publish; but finding he has not been as good as his Word, I must even be at the Expence of doing it my self.

But to return: Mr. W—le came to me, and told me, he had been so unfortunate to disoblige a Lady of Distinction; for not being apprized that she understood French, and being asked in that Language, how he liked her? he said, she was an indifferent Picture of her Sister: But he easily perceived, by an Alteration in her Countenance, that she too well understood him, and that he was out of Hope of obtaining her Pardon, unless something pretty could be wrote upon the Subject by way of Apology; so I raised his Spirits in about half an Hour after, by sending him the following Lines.
To Miss PL—KETT.

A Thousand diff'rent Arts I try'd,

To vary Celia's Face;

And at each Alteration spy'd

Some new resistless Grace.

Now chearful Mirth with gay Delight

Shines in her Eyes confess'd;

Now Sorrow clouds their beamy Light,

And heaves her snowy Breast.

Each diff'rent Turn of Mirth or Spleen

Still gave the Maid new Charms;

Anger alone remain'd unseen,

Which ev'ry Nymph disarms.

Fair one, can you forgive the Art

Which did your Wrath provoke;

Alas! far distant from my Heart

Was that rash Word I spoke.

And know, this Passion only shew'd

New Graces to my Sight,

Your Cheeks with brighter Beauties glow'd,

Your Eyes flash'd keener Light.

Like Semele's my daring Aim,

Wou'd on Jove's Lightning gaze,

But sunk amidst the fatal Flame,

And perish'd in the Blaze.

In the Evening Mr. W—le returned, and told me, the Lines had made up all Matters; that the other young Lady said, she wished he had affronted her, so he had made her such a pretty Apology. 'I must beg of you now, said he, to improve that Hint, and write me some Lines for her Sister.' I readily writ for him these.
To Miss BETTY PL—KETT.

WHY, Fair one, shouldst thou wish thy Friend

Thy matchless Sweetness to offend;

Alas! thy Beauty need not use,

This Method to engage his Muse:

Since nought could keep her mute so long,

But Fear thy Loveliness to wrong.

When other Nymphs my Song require,

And bid me strike the sounding Lyre,

To gratify the vainest she,

I tell her, she resembles thee.

But not a Bard since Milton's Days,

However elegant in Praise,

Possess'd that Dignity of Thought,

To draw an Angel as he ought.

The Lines had the desired Effect, and both the Ladies were reconciled to the supposed Author.

My next Task being a charitable one, I could by no means refuse; which was to write the following Prologue, for the Benefit of a distressed Person in Jail.
A PROLOGUE, spoke at the THEATRE in Smock-Alley.

THIS Land for Learning, and Religion fam'd,

In antient Times the Isle of Saints was nam'd.

And Heav'n-born Charity, prime Grace, once more

Shall this bless'd Title to its Sons restore.

A fitter Object Pity ne'er cou'd find,

For this divinest Virtue of the Mind,

Than honest Industry, and Worth distress'd,

And suff'ring Innocence by Fraud oppress'd,

By pale-ey'd Wa•t, and sallow Sickness pin'd,

Within a Prison's dismal Gloom confin'd,

Where everlasting Sighs and Anguish reign,

And each sad Moment seems an Age of Pain.

'Tis yours to raise him from his dreadful Care,

To soften Anguish and remove Despair;

The Great and Pious in the Task combine,

And glorious emulate the Power Divine;

Mercy her white Celestial Wings displays,

And to the Throne of Grace your Zeal conveys;

Whence thick as Dew from Heav'n shall Joys descend,

And endless Blessings on your Race attend.

Mr. W—e now began to make some Figure; and tho' he kept me pretty fully employed, he drove an underhand Trade with Mr. P—n. And as he was not willing that either of us should believe him incapable of Writing, he used to shew Mr. P—n's Work to me, and swear it was his own; and in return, he, with the same modest Assurance, presented mine to him; but we were too well acquainted with each other's Stile to be deceived. At last, Mr. P—n, not satisfied with all the Expence he put him to in London, made a Demand on him for fifty Pounds; but as Mr. P—n had before made the best Penny of me to him he possibly could, and W—le finding what I wrote passed every Jot as well his, he thought it most convenient, if he did disburse any thing, to give it to me, as thinking I most wanted it; so I was now full of Poetical Business, by which my Poverty was relieved, and my Mind amused.

Mr. P—n was so vexed at losing his Chap, that in Revenge he endeavoured to insinuate that we conversed unlawfully together; but this met no Credit, as I very seldom saw him, and never alone.

In the mean time he carried on a vigorous Prosecution against me in the Spiritual Court, in which I gave him no opposition; as he solemnly declared he would always allow me a Maintenance to the utmost of his Ability; and to live with him, I by no means desired.

For never cou'd true Reconcilement spring

Where Wounds of deadly Hate so deep were fix'd.

But no sooner had he obtained a Separation from me, but he retracted every Word he had said; not only refusing to give me any Assistance, but also abusing me, in the most unchristian, false, and scandalous manner, and publickly triumphed in having over-reached me. Upon this I was advised to lodge an Appeal against him, which made him quite mad. He abused his Advocate Proctor, and the Judge himself, as all doing him Injustice; and tho' I knew none of them, insisted on it, they were Confederates with me against him.

But this outragious manner of Proceeding rather injured himself than me; the Delegates were appointed; and as every body whom he consulted, assured him, he would be cast, his haughty Spirit was willing to capitulate; but nobody would undertake to deliver his Message to me, least he should scandalize them for it; so at length with great Entreaty he prevailed on W—le to make a Proposal from him, to me, of giving me a small Annuity, and thirty Pounds in Money, which, in regard to my Children, I rather chose to accept of, than ruin their Father, as I certainly had it in my power to do.

W—le, who has really a good deal of Humour, came to me one Morning after my being a Week without seeing him, and in a Theatrical manner delivered the following Speech: ‘ Before I speak the Message of the Priest; first give me leave to glory in the Title of his Ambassador.’

I wondered what odd Whim had now taken W—le; and begged he would deliver himself like a Man of this World.

He then related the Proposal aforementioned, on which I desired two Days time to consider, and then acquiesced, and withdrew the Appeal, like an easy Fool as I was.

Dearly have I since repented it, as no Articles of the Agreement were kept, altho' I thought they were as strongly assured to me, as the Law could make them; in which there are so many Loop-holes, that even Persons conversant with it may be deceived; how then should a Female be sufficiently on her Guard, against the Professors of a kind of unintelligible Jargon, whose Skill is to puzzle the Cause, or a Science where,

Endless Tautologies and Doubts perplex;

Too harsh a Study for our softer Sex!

Of the Thirty Pounds, I never received but Fifteen, and those Mr. W—le assured me he advanced out of his own Pocket, and never was paid, as I can prove under his own Hand.

But Heav'n knows, as I had every thing to provide for a Child, and myself, and Rent also to pay, this Sum lasted not long, especially as I had no Friend near me.—No; nor any honest Person; for my Landlady, of whom before I had conceived a good Opinion, when she found I was in Labour, insisted either on my paying double the Rent I had engaged for, or quitting her House, which, as it was then too late for me to do, I was necessitated to comply with her exorbitant Demand, which made her very complaisant.

Before I had received even this small Relief I wrote to many Ladies, to whom my Father had been Physician, and who once seemed to be my Friends; but to no purpose; their constant Answer was, that I deserved nothing; to which general Rule, I never met with but two Exceptions.

I wrote also to the B—p of C—, who after long Deliberation, picked out of his Purse half a Piece, which extraordinary Bounty, he by the Force of Imagination doubled; and also declared that I had sent to him for it, a Woman who had been whipt thro' the Town; who, as she really was a Gentlewoman of good Character, but of low Fortune, had it not been for my Persuasion to the contrary, would have sued his L—p for Defamation.

But as he was so kind to give my Son, who is his God-son, Five Shillings in small Change in London, which he told the Youth was a Crown Piece, who knowing there was such a Coin as a Five Shilling Piece of Gold, searched amongst the Halfpence narrowly to find it, tho' without Success, I think I must pardon him; especially, as on my threatning to expose him since I came to Ireland, he, to bribe me to Secrecy, sent me one Pound, a remarkable and unaccountable Charity from his Lordship, to any Person of whom he had not Carnal Knowledge.

And tho' in a Letter of his, he assures me he desires no public Praise for what he has done, and makes as long and learned a Disquisition between the Law of our Members and the Law of our Minds, as he once did between Graminervous and Carniverous, which, as I do not understand Latin, I may very possibly mispel, tho' their Signification is, I believe, Grass or Flesh devouring Animals; of the later of which, I believe his L—p would make the best Meal. The antient Priests were never permitted to burn Flesh, but as a Sacrifice to the Almighty; but it is reported, that one of them turning a Stake, when it was a little too hot, burned his Finger, on which he licked it, and found it so savory, that he devoured that part which was intended for the Gods; and as the Laity beheld him, to their Opinion, breaking the Law in eating Flesh, he assured them, that he had an immediate Revelation, that it was lawful for him to eat the prime Part of the Flesh, and leave the Garbage for the Laity. Thus we may see how early Priestcraft began; from the very first, they were Fleshmongers; and Priests of all Religions are the same. Those who want to look farther into the Deceits of Priesthood, may trace it up even to the Nile, from whence Superstition and the Crocodile first sprung, both alike destructive to Mankind.

It is known to every learned Divine, that the Priests engrossed the whole Country of Egypt, as the eldest Son of every Priest was born a Priest, and was therefore intitled to a tenth part of the Land; upon which Joseph, who was not only an admirable Man but an excellent Politician, and had a Divine Revelation that the Land should suffer Famine ten Years, ordered the Priests to pay in all their Subsidies to the King, whereby, in those ten Years of Dearth, the King purchased, at so low a Rate as giving the People a little Corn, all the Lands in Egypt. These are Remarks of the admirable Lord Shaftsbury, whose inimitable Style and clear Manner of Reasoning carry Conviction with them.

I never knew any Clergyman who quoted him but to his Prejudice, except Dr. Turnbull: And yet I cannot see why Morality, or the Preaching of it, should in any wise be offensive to a Christian; since there is a certain Beauty in Holiness, which, tho' it were never to be hereafter rewarded, gives a sincere Satisfaction and Quietude of Mind in this Life,—And therefore Virtue does still,

With Scorn the mercenary World regard,

Where sordid Minds do Good, and hope Reward,

Above the worthless Trophies Men can raise

She seeks not Honour, Fame, or empty Praise,

But with herself, herself the Goddess pays.

All I would infer from this rambling Digression is,

That Authority, tho' it errs like other,

Bears yet a kind of Medicine in itself,

To skin the Sore on the Top.

And that Subtilty and Avarice have been almost inseparable from the Priesthood ever since the World began.

But to return. Having at length passed the Pain and Peril of Child-birth, by the Care and Humanity of Dr. Arbuckle, I was in great Distress. It is true, Mr. P—n kindly advised me to leave my Child, which was a Female one, upon the Parish; and as he would willingly have done the same, or worse, to those whose Legitimacy he never questioned, I had the less Reason to blame him; but such a Piece of Inhumanity I from Soul abhorred, nor could any thing prevail on me to put it in practice.

Mr. W—le went to Mallow, where at his Request I sent to him the following Poems.
The HAPPY PAIR. A BALLAD.

AT dewy Dawn,

As o'er the Lawn,

Young Roger early stray'd,

He chanc'd to meet

With Jenny sweet,

The blooming Country Maid;

Her Cheeks so red

With Blushes spread,

Shew'd like the breaking Day,

Her modest Look

The Shepherd took;

She stole his Heart away.

With tender Air,

He woo'd the Fair,

And movingly addrest;

For Love divine,

Can Clowns refine,

And warm the coldest Breast;

Her Eyes he prais'd,

And fondly gaz'd,

On her inchanting Face,

Where Innocence,

And Health dispense,

Each winning rosy Grace.

Young Jenny's Breast,

Love's Pow'r confess'd,

And felt an equal Fire;

Nor had she Art,

To hide her Smart,

Or check the soft Desire.

Hymen unites,

In blissful Rites,

The fair, the matchless two;

And Wedlock ne'er

Could boast a Pair

More lovely or more true.

Ye Rich and Great;

How seldom Fate

Gives you so mild a Doom;

Whose wand'ring Flames,

And wanton Dames,

A mutual Plague become;

While Coach and Six

Your Passion fix,

You buy your State too dearly;

Ah, courtly Folks!

You're but the Jokes

Of those who love sincerely.

MALLOW WATERS, Written for Mr. W—le, who was chosen Poet Laureat to the Honourable Society of Ladies and Gentlemen erected there.

NOT fam'd Pieria's hallow'd Spring,

Near which the sacred Sisters sing,

Could more deserve the Poet's Lays,

His softest Song, his choicest Praise,

Than Mallow's sweet inspiring Stream,

The Source of Health, the Muse's Theme.

Thy Draughts, Nepenthe like, remove

All Sorrows, but the Pains of Love;

And on thy Banks such Nymphs appear,

That none escape that Passion here.

While Art, in vain, attempts to shew

Their Features, and celestial Glow;

Thy smooth, expanded, liquid Glass,

Lively reflects each beauteous Face,

And shews them that transcendent Bloom,

Which from thy Bounty they assume.

If all be true which Poets dream,

There dwells a Nymph in ev'ry Stream;

Sweet Naiad that inhabit'st here,

In crisped Brook, or Fountain clear,

O teach me, in exalted Verse,

The matchless Charmers to rehearse,

And as you gently glide along,

To distant Fields convey my Song.

First sing our Queen, sublimely grac'd,

With Breeding, Elegance, and Taste;

And Blaney, with each Charm replete,

Which decks the Worthy, or the Great;

In Dunscomb's faultless Form and Mind,

A thousand winning Charms we find;

And graceful Bond, whose easy Air

Bespeaks the unaffected Fair.

O Lysaught! such a Form as thine,

In Homer's deathless Lays should shine;

Since he, who Helen's Beauties drew,

Alone can give thy Charms their due:

From thee I turn my dazzl'd Sight,

And lo! where radiant Plunkett bright,

As Noon-tide Sun in Summer Skies,

Wounds with new Light my aking Eyes.

Ah Mallow! what avail thy Shades?

If tyrant Love their Peace invades;

Not all thy Groves and wooded Hills,

Thy cooling Streams, or healing Rills,

Can guard us from his piercing Rays,

Or give the burning Anguish Ease;

Thy Waters quench each meaner Fire,

But make this Heav'n-born Flame mount high'r.

In Jepson's blooming Form we meet

The Gay, the Sprightly, and the Sweet;

While Smith, with Virgin Beauty crown'd,

Shall with her Sisters be renown'd

Thro' Time, and leave a deathless Name,

Fair as their virtuous Mothers Fame.

Not Philomel's melodious Throat,

Can equal Brusted's warbled Note;

Soft Syren! whose enchanting Strains,

Fetter the prison'd Soul in Chains.

With Rapture on the Dance we gaze,

When Purcell swims th' harmonious Maze.

How many Charmers yet remain!

Well worthy the sublimest Strain!

What Hearts unnumber'd shall be won,

By Colthurst, Harper, Knap, and Dun!

And thou, agreeable Codroy,

The noblest Poet might'st employ.

What blooming Beauties smile around!

Thick as the Flow'rets paint the Ground,

When warmer Suns and genial Rain

Make them to deck the verdant Plain;

Thick as the Stars their Beams display,

Which join to form the Milky Way.

Ah, fair ones! Language is too faint,

The Graces ye possess to paint;

Happy, if my aspiring Strain

Your judging Ears may entertain:

The Verse, believe me, is well meant,

However short of the Intent:

Smile then on my ambitious Aim,

And give your Poet endless Fame.

A SONG.

LYING is an Occupation,

Us'd by all who mean to rise;

Politicians owe their Station,

But to well concerted Lyes.

These to Lovers give Assistance,

To insnare the Fair one's Heart;

And the Virgin's best Resistance

Yields to this commanding Art.

Study this superior Science,

Would you rise in Church or State;

Bid to Truth a bold Defiance,

'Tis the Practice of the Great.

In Return, he sent me the following Lines, which he assured me were his own. ‘’ ‘’

Who wrote those Lines I know not; but as I am certain the Author need not blush to acknowledge them, I hope he will not only pardon my Vanity in making them public, but also subscribe to my Writings.

I can only assure the World, I believe Mr. W—le never wrote a poetical Line in his Life; and therefore I am indebted to some humane and ingenuous Person, who, supposing me guilty, makes an almost divine Apology for me.

But as it was impossible for me to subsist meerly on Praise, I made one strong Effort to deliver myself out of Calamity, which was, to beg Mr. P—n to send me some Money, to bear my Expences to London, assuring him I was weary of Ireland; which indeed was true: for I am of the same Opinion with the pleasant Lady Dorchester, that Dublin is a Place of the least Sin, and the most Scandal, of any City in the World.

Perhaps the Reverse would have better pleased her, as the Lord Chief Justice says to Falstaff:

Ld. Ch. Just.

Your Waist, Sir John, is very great, and your Means very slender.

Falst.

Wou'd it were otherwise, my Lord; that my Means were greater, and my Waist slenderer.

This Text wants no Comment.

But if my learned Husband will oblige me with one, I shall be his very humble Servant. He has threatened to give a true and impartial Narrative of my Proceedings to the Public; and I wonder why he, who rides so fast, has not got the Whip-hand of me: I fear his Appeal comes half an Hour too late:

But, Courage my Spouse; tho' it cannot be said,

That on• cloven Tongue ever sat on your Head;

I'll hold you a Groat, and I wish I could see't,

If your Stockings were off, you could shew cloven Feet.

I am a sad digressive Writer; by which my Readers may plainly perceive I am no Methodist.

Mr. P—n agreed to my Proposal; and as he was fully determined never to give me any more, sent me nine Pounds, for which, as he said, he sold my Diamond Ring to Mrs. Dubourg, and the Chain of my Watch, which cost six Guineas, to Mrs. W—rr—n, for the Promise of forty Shillings; for which I suppose Mr. P—n and she have since accounted. A good-natured Man will easily be satisfied with a Lady that will return him a Toy for a Trinket.

Nothing that ever she got vexed me so much as Mr. P—n's giving her my Father's Snuff-box, which he borrowed from me, under Pretence, that taking a little Snuff preserved him from catching Sickness in Places he was obliged to go to. He declared to me he had lost it; but I afterwards saw it with her, as also several other Things belonging to me.

But he is not the first Man who has plundered his Wife to oblige his —. As this Lady was, I may say, the principal Cause of a Separation between the Parson and me, I thought I had a Right to demand a Subscription from her; which, since my Return to Ireland, I did in very civil Terms. And I think myself in Duty bound to give my learned Readers a Taste of her excellent Style, in answer to me.

WHOOSOMDEVER yow aree, I aboar yow and yowr Filthy Idyous; I submit my Cows to the Devil, and fear nout hiss Enemoys, whileoust I a• undder hiss Preteckshon. As to the Par¦son yow metown, tis wile nowne what he• iss; he ruinged my Sun by his Ungrait¦fullnesse. It is not in your Power to defa¦matonous my Corector in your wild Mem¦boirs. So I am, wythh harti Prawours fo• yowr speedi Deformation,

Yours —

I really took great Pains to find out th• Meaning of this elaborate Epistle; what i• is, future Critics (who are better skilled i• broken English) may decide. But I do assure the Public it is genuine; which, if they doubt, I can produce it in the Lady's own Scrawl. This Lady sent a Captain of a Ship to me, when she heard I was going for England, to hurry me out of the Kingdom; which Circumstance made me stay in it six Months longer than I intended. And having not yet done with her, I cannot forbear remarking that one L—ty, a Painter, a rude Fellow, a few Nights after my Separation from the Parson, took the Liberty, on not readily finding him in his own House, of breaking open his Bed-chamber Door, to which the Maid pointed, where the Lady and Gentleman were administering Christian Consolation to each other: Ill-bred as he was, when he found how Matters were, he begged Pardon for spoiling Sport; 'But Parson, (said he) I did but follow your own Example.' So he retired without drinking (though invited) Share of the Punch, of which stood a large Bowl before them; but Gold can work Miracles,

Make Base, Noble; Old, Young; Cowards valiant;

Ha! this, ye Gods! will lug your Priests and Servants from your Sides!

This yellow Slave!

Will knit and break Religions; bless the Accurst;

Make the hoary Leprosy ador'd!

This it is, that makes the wappen'd Widow wed again;

She, whom the Spital House, and ulcerous Sores,

Would cast the Gorge at, this embalms and spices

To th' April Days again.

But I suppose this Widow was willing to have a Taste before Matrimony. And I am certain Mr. P—n could not possibly have any other Motive for liking this Woman, but merely that she was rich.

I still continued scribbling for Mr. W—le, to whom I sent to Mallow, the following Poems on several Occasions, as he demanded them.
A SONG. Set to Musick by Mr. ARNE.

TO melancholy Thoughts a Prey,

With Love and Grief opprest;

To Peace a Stranger all the Day,

And all the Night to Rest.

For thee, disdainful Fair, I pine,

And wake the tender Sigh;

By that obdurate Heart of thine,

My balmy Blessings fly.

O look to yon celestial Sphere,

Where Souls in Rapture glow,

And dread to want that Mercy there,

Which you refus'd below.

‘’
To a LADY who defended the Author's Character.

WHILE other Females trifle Life away,

In Dress and Scandal, Equipage and Play;

Stella, with Sense exalted and refin'd,

And each superior Grace adorns her Mind

There Friendship, Honour, Truth, and Virtue live,

With all the Charms that Art or Nature give.

O how shall Words my Tenderness impart!

Or speak the Dictates of a grateful Heart!

To thee, fair Patroness! who could'st descend,

My Character thus nobly to defend.

Who would not wish to have sustain'd a Wrong,

To have their Cause supported by thy Tongue?

So disappointed Malice drops its Aim,

And what was meant to sink, exalts my Fame.

The WISHES. A Song.

O Love! by thy almighty Pow'r,

Transform me to that new-blown Flow'r,

Which, fram'd for Sweetness and Delight,

Attracts my lov'd Almeria's Sight.

Behold, in vernal Beauty drest,

It decks the lovely Virgin's Breast;

Whence it superior Grace assumes,

And with unrival'd Beauty blooms.

Why am I not that gentle Air,

Which flutters, fans, and cools the Fair!

Too happy Zephyr! balmy Gale!

That Fragrance from her Breath you steal;

See, while your Pain you softly sigh,

And on her snowy Bosom die;

Thy Goddess, Flora, jealous grows,

And with divine Resentment glows.

Why am I not that Bird, whose Note,

Sweet warbling in his liquid Throat,

Bids ev'ry Grove and Vale rejoice;

His tender, soft, melodious Voice,

Nightly with his enchanting Strain,

Does, in the Woods, my Love detain,

Ti•l, list'ning, she forgets to fear

The Dangers that may threaten there.

When Phoebus darts direct his Beams,

Almeria seeks the cooling Streams;

The River-God with Pride receives

Almeria to his azure Waves;

With murm'ring Joy they round her move,

And take her for the Queen of Love.

Ye Gods! were I that happy Stream!

How should my fierce, my rapid Flame—

Pardon, thou bright, thou matchless Fair!

The bold Presumption of my Pray'r.

Gladly would I my Being change,

Gladly from Form to Form I'd range;

Might I, in any Shape, delight

Almeria's Sense, or please her Sight;

Or might those Variations prove

The Truth of my unalter'd Love.

These and fifty others, of which I have no Copy, did this Gentleman get from me, almost for nothing.

In the mean time, having received an unexpected Bounty from a Gentleman of very high Rank and distinguished Honour, I wrote to him the following Lines.
To the Honourable Mr. ****.

ADMIRE not, if the grateful Muse,

With fond Affection, still pursues

Thee, Pride and Glory of a Race,

Whom ev'ry Muse and Science grace!

They in thy gen'rous Bosom shine,

And lighten from thy Eyes divine!

Thus raptur'd, I the Strain essay'd,

And begg'd Apollo's pow'rful Aid.

The angry God in Rage reply'd,

Go check thy Insolence and Pride;

Not that I blame thy happy Choice,

But 'tis too lofty for thy Voice;

Who pine like thee, with Want oppress'd,

Forsaken, comfortless, distress'd:

In vain attempt sublimer Lays,

The beauteous Work of Minds at Ease.

What tho' in early Hours of Life,

'Ere yet a Mother or a Wife,

I tun'd thy infant Voice to sing,

And plac'd thee near my hallow'd Spring

My fav'rite Swift thy Numbers prais'd,

Cou'd mortal Worth be higher rais'd?

Yet I'll no more thy Wants supply,

Since Fortune leaves you, so will I.

Thy Laurel Chaplet now resign,

Let mournful Yew and Cypress twine

Around thy melancholy Head,

'Till thou art number'd with the Dead:

Nor dare to let thy Female Pen

Profane the first, and best of Men:

As well, when with Meridian Rays

I give the Summer Noon-tide Blaze,

Might'st thou expect to add new Light

To Beams intolerably bright,

As hope to heighten ****'s Fame,

Or add new Lustre to his Name.

Whate'er adorns the Wise and Good,

By him is truly understood;

Nor lives he for himself alone.

But Humankind his Bounty own.

Convinc'd, abash'd, I drop'd my Suit;

Wonder and Sorrow held me mute;

Yet tho' I wake the String no more,

Silent thy Virtues I adore.

O! let thy just superior Sense

Forgive this last, this fond Offence.

Led by Despair, the Hand of Death

Must quickly stop this vital Breath:

His fatal Pow'r alone can part

Thy Image from my grateful Heart.

At the Gentleman's own Request I omit his Name; but when I say he is the elder Brother of the greatest Man in this Kingdom, he may, perhaps, be guessed at.

This worthy Gentleman soon afterwards fell sick, on which I sent him the following ‘’

Mr. W—le had the Conscience to write to me, to desire I would, by the Return of the Post, send him a hundred Ballads of my own Composition, as he had already begun to take in Subscriptions for them; and on the Receipt of them, he would order a Gentleman to pay me two Guineas. I suppose he thought I could write as fast as the Poet, whom Horace describes standing on one Leg, while he wrote a thousand Lines: And because I was unable to comply with this Request, he sent me the following most strange Epistle.

To Mrs. P—N.

D—N you! sink you! G—d fire you! I have beggared myself between your scoundrel Husband and you, all to support a little dirty Vanity. When I want any thing from him, his d—ned Spirits are sunk: Nor has he given me any think worth a Farthing, for the monstrous Sums he has drawn out of me. I could write before I ever saw either of your ugly Faces, tho' not quite so well—and d—n me, if I ever write another Line of Verse—You understand me—I shall be in Town, so as to meet the P—t. The Eyes of all Europe are on me, and d—n me, if you do not send me the Ballads, but I will despise, and defy you for ever.

Yours, J. W.

P. S. By G—, I cannot stir out, for my Landlady has beat me through the Town with a hot Shoulder of Mutton, which she snatched from the Fire, Spit and all, only for catching me a little familiar with her Daughter.

I concluded by this Letter, that the poor Man's Head was turned, and therefore, thought it not worth answering, being now seriously determined to leave Ireland; for, though I led the Life of a Recluse, I had every Day some new Story invented of me. If I went out to take a little Air, they said, I had great Impudence to shew my Face; and if I staid at Home, I was then in Keeping with some Man who confined me; and, in short, I could please nobody: Which gave rise to the following Lines.
EXPOSTULATION.

O God! since all thy Ways are just,

Why does thy heavy Hand

So sore afflict the wretched Dust,

Thou didst to Life command?

Thou speak'st the Word, the senseless Clay

Was quick'ned with thy Breath,

Chearless to view the Beams of Day,

And seek the Shades of Death.

Thro' ev'ry Scene of Life distress'd,

As Daughter, Mother, Wife;

When wilt thou close my Eyes in Rest,

And take my weary Life.

To the past, present, and to come,

Are ever-more the same;

Thou knew'st of all my Woes the Sum,

'Ere I my Thoughts cou'd frame.

'Twas thou gav'st Passion to my Soul,

And Reason also gave,

Why didst thou not make Reason rule,

And Passion be its Slave?

O pardon me, thou Pow'r Divine!

That thus I dare presume

At thy Correction to repine,

Or murmur at my Doom.

Lord, give me Penitence sincere

For ev'ry Error past,

And tho' my Trials are severe,

O give me Peace at last.

So these were the last Strains I sung in Ireland; which, ill-used as I was in it, I could not quit without very great Regret; and as the Coach drove by Mr. P—n's Door, I thought my very Heart would split with Sorrow; for there indeed was all the Treasure of my Soul enclosed; namely, my dear little ones. Many a Sigh and Tear they cost me; many a Prayer did I offer up to the Almighty for their Preservation; and had he not been an infinitely more gracious Father to them, than their earthly one proved, long long ago had they been finally lost!

My Eyes, even after I went on board the Yatch, were evermore turned to the Shore of Ireland, resting there as on their last Period; till finding myself observed, and that some of the Passengers, Colonel Dalway in particular, wanted to see my Face, which I concealed, I pretended to be Sea-sick, and desired the Steward to shew me a Cabin.

He left me for a few Minutes; and returning, told me, all the Beds were engaged; but however, there was a Gentleman on board, who said, he would sooner sit up, than a Lady be unprovided for. I returned my Compliments, without ever so much as enquiring to whom I was obliged.

The Sickness I feigned proved presently true; for no sooner was the Ship under Sail, but I grew violently Sea-sick; when the Steward once more entered the Cabin, and told me, the Gentleman, to whom it belonged, desired a Moment's Chat with me. I begged him to make my Apology, as indeed, what with Sickness and Sorrow, I was little in Temper to receive any Person.

However, the Gentleman resolved not to be so easily dismissed; for following the Steward into my Cabin, he told me, he knew me to be Mrs. P—n; that, he could not sit up all Night; and therefore, he hoped I would not refuse him the Liberty of sleeping in his own Bed.

I answered, I would not, provided he would be so kind as to leave me for a few Moments; on which, weak as I was, I sprung out of Bed, and, as I had not undressed myself, soon met him upon Deck.

Who this fame Gentleman was, may, in due Season, be revealed: I can only assure my Readers, that, I believe had I accepted of the Offers he made me, Poverty would never have approached me, as he was a Man of Honour, or at least appeared to me as such: A Man of Fortune he certainly is; and I doubt not but he has enjoyed many a lovely Lady, without promising them any Reward, or offering them a Settlement for Life, as he really did me.

I dined with him at Parkgate; and I hope Virtue will be rewarded; for though I had but five Guineas in the World to carry me up to London, I yet possessed Chastity enough to refuse fifty for a Night's Lodging, and that too from a handsome well-bred Man, whose Name if I should insert, all the World would acknowledge I spoke but Truth of him.

I shall scarcely ever forget his Words to me, as they seemed almost prophetic. 'Well, Madam, (said he) you do not know London; you will be undone there.' 'Why, Sir, (said I) I hope you do not imagine I will go into any bad Course of Life?' 'No, Madam, (said he) but I think you will sit in your Chamber, and starve;' which, upon my Word, I have been pretty near doing; and, but that the Almighty raised me one worthy Friend, good old Mr. Cibber, to whose Humanity I am, under God, indebted both for Liberty and Life, I had been quite lost.

I dare say, nobody will imagine he served me from any carnal Views; since,

If Truth in Spite of Manners must be told,

Why really Seventy-six is something old.

So here I close the First Volume; and as it has been industriously and maliciously reported, that I had in reality nothing to publish, I hope this will convince the World, that Mrs. Pilkington was never yet reduced to the Meanness of Falshood or Tricking. And if this Volume meets with a favourable Reception, I can assure my Readers, the next will be infinitely more entertaining, and is now ready for the Press.

End of the FIRST VOLUME.

Notes

*
See Swift's Libel on Lord Carteret.
↵

*
Liberties belonging to the Dean.
↵

*
My Husband's Picture.
↵

*
See his Art of Poetry.
↵

*
His Father Colonel Murray, and his second Wife Lady Blaney.
↵

*
Mem. My Husband, who was then suing for a Divorce.
↵

*
Mem. My Maid on the Carpet.
↵

MEMOIRS OF Mrs. Laetitia Pilkington, WIFE TO THE Rev. Mr. Matthew Pilkington.

Written by HERSELF.

Wherein are occasionally interspersed, All Her POEMS; WITH Anecdotes of several eminent Persons, Living and Dead. Among others, Dean Swift, Alexander Pope, Esq &c. &c. &c.

DUBLIN Printed; London Reprinted: and Sold by R. Griffiths, at the Dunciad in Ludgate-street, and G. Woodfall, at the King's Arms at Charing-Cross. 1748.

TO Sir ROBERT KING, Bart.

SIR,

TIS a very great Pleasure to me, in an Age where Vice is looked on as a Kind of fashionable Accomplishment, to hear of one young Gentleman, who is not ashamed of being singularly good; who has a Tear for Pity, and a Hand open as Day for melting Charity, without any sinister Views; and who has happily united the Fine Gentleman to the Good Christian.

These, Sir, are unfading Honours! these shall embalm and sanctify your Name on Earth; and, when this transient Scene is past, be a sweet and acceptable Sacrifice to God.

That your Virtues may long adorn and bless this World, and receive a full and glorious Recompence in the next, is the ardent Prayer of,

SIR,
Your most obliged, and most obedient Servant, L. PILKINGTON.

PREFACE.

IT is usual with all Authors to write Prefaces, either to beg the Applause of the Public, or else,

By Way of filling,

To raise their Volume's Price a Shilling.

As a most eminent Poet is said to have done.

I own, if the Merit of any Writer is to be judged by the Number of Sheets they have written, I have very little Pretence to Favour: But as

Multum in Parvo,

is an Expression of an ancient Poet, I hope my Readers will excuse me, as I would rather have them rise from Table with an Appetite, than glut them; a Rule of Temperance equally conducive to the Health of our Minds as of our Bodies.

I once had the Misfortune of writing for a Printer, who never examined the Merit of the Work, but used to measure it, and tell me, it would not do at all, except I could send him half a Dozen Yards more of the same Stuff: And, as Dr. Young remarks, on large Folios, well gilt and bound, very proper to adorn a Library, whether the Owner of it can read or write, or not:

So Tonson, turn'd Upholsterer, sends home

The gilded Leather to adorn the Room.

If I am obliged to send my Work in a blue Paper Covering, let them look on the Inside, which, I flatter myself, will at least amuse them.

As I wrote these Memoirs in England, the describing particular Places or Customs peculiar to Ireland, in order to make the Work intelligible to the English Readers, will, I hope, be excused; for all Countries vary from each other in many Points.

So neither servilely fearing Censure, nor vainly hoping Applause, I refer my Readers to the ensuing Pages.

In the Press, and speedily will be Published, VOL. II. of this WORK, Which will conclude the Whole.

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Title statement

Memoirs: of Mrs. Lætitia Pilkington, wife to the Rev. Mr. Matthew Pilkington. Written by herself. Wherein are occasionally interspersed, all her poems; with anecdotes of several eminent persons, living and dead. Among others, Dean Swift, Alexander Pope, ... [pt.1]

Pilkington, Laetitia, 1712-1750.

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http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5269

ID [isbn10]

1106022688

ID [isbn13]

9781106022684

ID [TCP]

K111040.001

ID [BIBNO]

CW3302373845

ID [ECHG]

0095100801

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— Memoirs: of Mrs. Lætitia Pilkington, wife to the Rev. Mr. Matthew Pilkington. Written by herself. Wherein are occasionally interspersed, all her poems; with anecdotes of several eminent persons, living and dead. Among others, Dean Swift, Alexander Pope, ..., Pilkington, Laetitia, 1712-1750.. viii,302,[2]p. ; 12⁰. [London] :: Dublin printed; London reprinted: and sold by R. Griffiths, and G. Woodfall,. 1748.. [Volume 2 was published in 1749 and a third volume, edited by John C. Pilkington in 1754.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [Teerink, 1329] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT141022.] [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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