The post-boy rob'd of his mail, or, The pacquet broke open consisting of five hundred letters to persons of several qualities and conditions, with observations upon each letter / publish'd by a gentleman concern'd in the frolick.

THE Pacquet Broke OPEN, In a LETTER to a Friend.

Volume I.

SIR,

I Know very well that you have often advis'd me against the Hurry, and Extravagance of the Town, and I know that your Advice was the result of not only your Friendship for me, but also of your real Sentiments, that is, of Reason: Nay, I am extreamly sensible how often you have silenc'd me, when I have ven∣tur'd to engage with you on this Subject, and that you prov'd beyond Controversy, That the preference ought to be given to a sedate and thoughtful Life: Yet, when I am absent from

you, I know not how it comes to pass▪ Whe∣ther by my forgetfulness of your Arguments, or my inclinations to converse, and company, the force and vigour of your Reasons vanish (for The words in which they were couch'd, I'm sure I still retain) which makes me flatter my desires, that it was rather the Awe of him that spoke, than the matter of the Discourse that per∣verted (for so ••ow I call it) my Opinion. Back'd with these Considerations, methinks I may own that I am relaps'd from those Resolutions you left me, and that I fancy I have some Diffi∣culties in Dispute, which you have not yet de∣cided; this makes me begin to imagine, that you are in the wrong to despise Conversation so much, since without doubt it polishes that imperfect Model of a fine Gentleman; which Books but begin, and generally leave very rough, and unfinished. Conversation does not only give us a better taste in Reading, but also improves our Thoughts to a good Practicable Habit, and our Words, and Discourse to a greater Elegance than all the stiff and laborious Trifles of the plodding Academics; and I must tell you, Friend, that you your self wou'd never have been ma∣ster of all that fineness of Sense, if you had not in your Youth been much conversant with the better part of Mankind.

Nay, I must proceed farther, and own, that the lighter Sallys of Youth appear not so crimi∣nal to me, as your nicer Reason represents them; 'tis true, I have not forgot what you us'd to urge against them, viz. That however diverting they might seem to those engag'd in a fond Attach∣ment to 'em, yet that their apparent Folly render'd them not only ridiculous, but odious to the more considering part of the World, and that it was im∣possible

they cou'd give real Satisfaction and Plea∣sure to a reasonable Man, being commonly the effect of a hot-headed Rashness, begot by the prevailing Fumes of the Bottle, when Reason has bid 'em good night, and thought less Accident assum'd the direction of all their Actions. Yet my Friend, you must pardon me, if I tell you, That as Fables of Cocks and Bulls, &c. seem but an odd sort of Divinity, or Philosophy, to employ the Thoughts of a man of sense, which yet have always had such a valuation with the Learned for their Mo∣rals, that it has given a Life to Aesop, almost thrice as long as that of Methusaleh; so ••tho the Extravagances of Witty Youth may seem but odd Lessons of Wisdom, yet I am sure there is not one without its excellent Moral, if that be but improved by a judicious Reflection; by this you'll find, I include not the Adventures of e'ry noisy Fop, or Bully, but of the Youths of true Witt, of which Sir, I can say with some as∣surance my conversation is composed, whose worst Extravagancies come not short of the practical Precepts of your old Friends the La∣cedemonians, in making their Slaves drunk for the instruction of their Youth, who by that sight cou'd gain but one half of the Knowledge that was requir'd to make them understand all the inconveniences of Drunkenness; they saw in∣deed what a ridiculous Figure the poor intoxi∣cated Wretches made, but they knew not but that it gave them a sufficient pleasure to re∣compence that appearance of Folly which was often put upon the Noblest of Actions of the Wisest of Men, they might have heard that the Abderites thought Democritus mad, when he was imployed in the search of Nature in the ••issection of Animals, till Hyppocrates convinc'd

them, by the Authority of his Word, of the contrary; besides many a man wou'd run the risque of looking like a Fool, for an hour or two, to enjoy a Pleasure for twice the time; especially an unexperienc'd pleasure, which is always magnify'd by Imagination. But if they had been permitted to be drunk themselves, the Pain and Sickness that attended it, would have instructed them, that it was none of the most desirable of Pleasures; the other punishments that are the consequences of this Vice, which wou'd have deter'd them from it, were want∣ing, that is, the spending of Estate, which brings the boon Companion to contempt and Infamy; for the Slaves of Sparta were made drunk at the publick Charge.

But not to dwell too much upon the Vindi∣cation of the worst of our Crimes, and which we our selves condemn, and are very seldom guilty of, I will by sending you a Relation of one of our Frolicks, convince you, that we make a better use of our extravagances, than you do imagine; and that they proceed from choice, not accident: For while your Virtuos•• are poring over the unaccountable Secrets of Dame Nature, we are busy in searching into full as intricate a Subject; The Humours, and Nature of Men, while they are conversing with Labour and Stu∣dy, with the Mineral, Vegetable, and Animal Kingdoms, our pleasure leads us in chase of the Secrets of the Rational World: Their Stu∣dies may have the Face of more harmless Inno∣cence; but I'm sure, our Delights are more pro∣fitable, and more to the purpose of Living. They are like our Travellers who ramble abroad to see Foreign Countries, before they know any thing of their own; for your great Naturalist

will seldom arrive to any knowledge in Man, and in Conversation, and in the Affairs of the World wou'd merit that Name in its worst sense. Mankind walks in a mist, and cannot be seen at a little distance; you must keep close to it, or you loose sight on't, at least till you have got a competent Knowledge to secure your self from the Assaults which are continually offer'd to the Innocent, that is, the Ignorant part. No man almost is what he appears to be; we are all Ianus's and have two or more Faces in all our Actions, as well as Designs, as you'l find by what I send you, which is part of those Letters which our Club in a frolick made bold to borrow of the Post. Perhaps you'll condemn our Frolick of a fault in prying into the Secrets of our Neighbour, and in doing them some damage in detaining those Letters from them, which perhaps requir'd a speedy dispatch, a minute being many times critical and irreparable; as to the first, my Friend, I must answer you, 'tis but a Vulgar Error••that makes that a Crime; for e'ry man ought to live so as not to be ashamed of his most secret Actions, and deserves to be exposed when he de∣serts that Justice or Wisdom which he stickles so much for in the Actions of others, without regard to them in his own. As to the second, I must inform you, that what Letters we found of that nature that had an honest End in the speed they requir'd, we took care to send as direct∣ed; the others I now by common consent make publick, to save them the trouble of writing a∣gain on the same subject, if they have not by their impatien••e prevented our Civility.

But before I present you with the Letters, it will not be altogether undiverting to give you

an account of the whole matter in the very man∣ner it sell out, and like a State Historian give you the Causes as well as the matter of Fact.

You may remember the Weather was lately very wet, and transform'd the Summer into an excentric Winter, which made very much for the advantage of H••ckney-Coach-men, and Vi••tners, obliging us to retreat to the Hospitable Bottle, when the inclemency of the Weather had driven us from all the Divertisments of the Season. Among others that chose to wash their in-sides with better Liquor than Heav'n wash'd their outsides, our Club, tho prorogu'd till next Win∣ter, made an extraordinary Sessions.

And here it will not be improper to gi••e you some Account of what Number our Club is compos'd, the Muses are Nin••, and therefore we have eq••al'd that number in the Membe••s of our So••iety, adding •• Tenth to complete the Kingdom of Wit, having ••••ill one as, President, or Apollo of the rest; but his Dignity, like the rest of humane Conditions, is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 short and transitory; for he is e'ry ••ight suc∣ceeded by a New ••lection, for our State being jealous of her Liberties, wil allow no longer time, for fear Ambition shou'd creep even into our ••reasts, and so aiming at Tyranny, disturb our Repose and Tranquillity. This is the admirable Policy of our Common-Wealth, not inferiour in my Opinion to any of the mighty Republicks of Old, or the ••esser busy Ones of the fresher Date. Now have I a strange fancy, that you won't be satisfy'd unless you know the Names of our Members too; and therefore I'll save you the labour, and my self the expence of a Letter upon that Subject. These are they, Mr. Tem∣ple, Mr. Church, Mr. Chappel, Mr. Grave, Mr. Brook, Mr. River, Mr. Fountain, Mr. Summer, Mr. Winter, and your very humble servant Timo∣thy

Weleter. Thus in full House we met by the same cause and occasion I have mentioned already.

But our Delight being not down right drink∣ing, like some of those walking Tunus of good Fellows that are never in their Kingdom, but when the Pint Bumpers are chased about the Table without intermission, as if their Pleasures consisted in nothing else but to see whose Cask was best hoop'd, or held most; nor the ramb∣ling and impertinent Discourse of senseless Rake∣hells, and politick Citts, when they Roar, or Chirp over a Bottle; there was a motion there∣fore made concerning some Adventure, which might afford us business during this sitting, but not yet coming to a Resolution, Mr. Chap∣pel pulls a Letter out of his Pocket, which he said he had just receiv'd by a mistake, as the Contents discovered; it being sent to another of the same Name, who often frequenting the same Coffe-house, gave occasion to the deceiving of the Porter. This other Gentleman to whom the better belong'd of right, was known to all our company, and had in the esteem of the World the Reputation of a man of great se∣verity of Life, both as to Justice in his Deal∣ings, and Chastity, which indeed his Age wou'd endeavour to persuade, unless the lewdness of his Mind out-liv'd that of his Body; but this Let∣ter discover'd him to be a Secret Sinner against both. It was from a Young Girle of a small For∣tune, who being committed to his charge by Will, he had not only cheated her of the greatest part of it, but very earnestly sollicited her to yield her tender budding Beauties to his shrivel'd Embraces, building his assurance of success on her Necessities, which he had brought upon her, by depriving her of the means of redress

in keeping her to so small an Allowance, that she co••'d not procure mony enough to purchase Friends, or Justice against him. Her Parents had given her a Vertuous Education in their lives time, or at least so well instilled good Principles into her, that they were not easily corrupted by the importunities of this Old Man, whose seeming Piety had gain'd the Tutelage of her from her deluded Parents, who it seems were too simply good to examine farther than the outward appearance, which sometimes in Religious Pre∣tenders ought to be understood, like Dreams, by contraries. The Letter I'll defer till we come to the rest, where you shall be sure to meet with it, only I shall here give you some Re∣flections we made upon it, which gave Rise to the Frolick I have mentioned.

As soon as we had perus'd the Letter three or four times over, that we might be sure of what we read, Mr. Chappel▪ cou'd no longer con∣tain, but propos'd to the compan•• to relieve the distressed Damsel, that nothing cou'd bet∣ter deserve the thoughts of true Knights of Ho∣nour, and Members of Chivalry. Whether he were serious or no, I won't determine; but Mr. Temple was of another opinion, assuring him the season of the Weather was not at all pro∣per ••or Feats of Arms, Rain bein•• a great Ene∣my to Noble Atchievements; for then must the Knight skulk unde•• a Hedge, for fear of wet∣ting his Armour▪ or spoiling his Plume. Mr. Church was of the same opinion, adding, That nothing was more agreeable to the doing of Justice, than Fair Weather. Mr. Grav•• waving all these Jocular Reflections, was for consider∣ing what use might be made of this Discovery for the present advantage of the Company, which

he back'd with this Observation. That the World being a Masquerade, where borrow'd Viz∣ors so disguised e'ry one, that none knew ev'n his own acquaintance, if not privy to his dress; Letters were the pulling off the Mask in a corner of the Room, to shew one another their Faces. Very well observed, said Mr. Foun∣tain, for we are apt to write that in a Letter to a Friend, which we would not have all the World know of, either our Concerns, or Incli∣nations. Thus, said Mr. River, we find Cicero, that in publick had extoll'd Caesar above all the great men before his time, making him not only the Father, but the Soul of his Coun••ry, without which it cou'd no longer live, yet in his Epistles to his Friend Atticus, not only rails at him, but declares that his Royalty (as he envi∣ously phras'd it) wou'd not be of half a years continuance. We need not go so far as Old Rome for a proof of this (pursu'd Mr. Brook) for 'tis obvious enough to any man that has con∣vers'd in the world, and given himself the trouble of diving into Affairs of this nature, as my Friend here—Hold—(interrupted Mr. Sum∣mer) if my Transgressions must be known, I had better generously declare 'em my self; you must therefore Gentlemen, know that dining at the Mitre about a Week ago with some grave Re∣lations, who love to get drunk by Day-light, I had got my load by four in the Afternoon, that is, as much as I car'd to drink, or cou'd carry off with Honour, and without a Foil; I gave the Old Gentlemen the slip, and leaving them to Politicks, and Vsury, steer'd my course to seek out one of you; going down St. Martins-lane, there justles me a blundring Fellow in great haste; I unable then to put up such an Insolence,

with my trusty stick laid my Gentleman o're the Pate, who being stunn'd let fall his ••acquet of Letters; (for you must know it was the Post∣man;) a sudden Revenge inspir'd me; I cap'd hold of as many as I cou'd, whipt into the next Coach, and made him drive away as if the Devil were in him, to Iack Brooks Lodging, whom I found in his Study reading of Voiture of the second Edition, I mean the Gentleman of six Foot high, as he ingeniously intimates to a glorious Vizor-mask. Prythee Iack, said I, cast aside this new Paradoxical Dogmatist, and here let us peruse Nature; and having here in its proper place I inform'd him of this Adventure, then in comes Ned Winter, and puts me to the fatigue of repeating it again, which done, we apply'd our selves to our business, and upon occular demonstration found five of the six Letters to be of some of our Acquaintance: But such a Discovery we made, that it surpriz'd us with several effects of Passion, one laugh'd, the nother swore, and the third preach'd. There were she Saints that had the Word of God in their mouths mornings, and evenings, most re∣ligious frequenters of Pews, and wearers out of Hassocks, found to be back-sliding Sisters, and that they had the Devil in their Tails. There was this protesting Friend, found a damn'd Ras∣cal, that sought nothing but his own advan∣tage, with the Wife of him he hug'd in his Arms, only caressing him that he might em∣brace her.

For my part, Gentlemen (said I) 'tis not fair, you shou'd only enjoy the Pleasure your selves, you ought either to produce your Letters for the good of the Company, or be particular in your Names, and account of the matter. No

'faith (return'd Winter) I made the Rogues have that Justice to write a Line of Advice under each Letter, and sealing 'em up, send 'em by the Penny Post to the place directed.

I know not (pursu'd Temple) whether you'l approve of my Thought or no; but I think we cannot have a more agreeable Entertainment, than such another Frolick, the Posts are now on the Road, let each man to his Horse; and two in a company go upon the Adventure, and ha∣ving got our purchase, meet all at the Bull-head, and divert our selves with the Scene of Hypo∣crisy uncas'd.

Gentlemen, for my part (said Winter) I am not extreamly fond of the Pillory, Gallows, or a swinging Fine: Nor do I think the pleasure this Adventure may afford us, will recompense the hazard we run to obtain it, especially since we are not us'd to the Pad. I am of your side, (pursu'd Grave) for tho I shou'd not be much displeas'd with the perusal of them, yet I am not for giving more for pleasure than 'tis worth, or for laughing for an hour, at the expence of an Age of Sorrow.

But these two Opposers were fain to acquiesce in the Judgment of the Company; and tho•• perhaps I might encline to the Opinion of the few, yet having a great Veneration for the Clergy, I chose to imitate them in siding with the strong∣est side. Things being thus concluded in the Affirmative, we immediately adjourn'd, and in the order above-mentioned, took Horse, per∣form'd our work, and met at the place appoint∣ed: River and my self were the first that ent∣red, and had not toss'd off our sober Pint, but Brook and Winter came in all over-bespat∣tered with dirt. Thus by degrees we found

our Company complete, tho' Summer and Tem∣ple, and Church and Chappel stay'd some time af∣ter the rest. We gave order for our Horses to be immediately rub'd down, and cloath'd, and thought it wou'd be safer to retreat to our several Lodgings, and new dress, before we proceeded to our Examination, or an account of our Adventure, all the Pacquets being con∣vey'd to my Chamber, and there to be put into a great Box or two, that we might con∣vey 'em ••p the Water to Summer's Country-house, where with the greater liberty and se∣curity we might peruse them, and make our several Remarks.

By that time we were all ready, his Barge was waiting for us, and in it, with our pur∣chase we row'd for Putney against Tide, which however turn'd for us by that time we got to Chelsey. And now we began to have time to run over each his several Fortune. But the greatest part of us met with nothing worth taking notice of, having done our work as de∣cently, as if we had serv'd a long Apprenti∣ship to the Road. But poor Winter and Brook having a little awkardly perform'd, and left the Post-boy his Horse, were ••ain to make more speed than they desir'd, and so through thick and thin were most neatly bedabl'd. And Tem∣ple and Summer, not contenting themselves with the Mail that was coming in, resolv'd to wait for that which was outward-bound, and had like to have spoil'd all for their Works of Superero∣gation; for the first Post-boy being according to Art dismounted aside of Illford in Essex, in the Forrest, they left him to take care of himself, whose Horse was gone on his Errand before him toward London. After this they be thought

them, that e'ry day was P••st downward on that Road, and therefore resolv'd, flush'd with good success, to venture to Chadwel, and there wait the coming of the other Post; but having stay'd a good while there to no purpo••••, they boldly set forward on the Road for London; they had not rode half a mile but they met the other Boy with two Gentlemen▪ however, they ven∣tur'd on them, and whilst Summer remov'd the Mail, T••mp••e secur'd the Sparks; but one of them whilst he was busy with the other, got by him, and made full speed back to Illford, which made them immediately strike over into the Forrest, and away crossing into Epping Road, as fast as their Horses cou'd bear them; but not being very perfect in the way, were op∣pos'd in their Passage with a pretty large Ditch, which was not so deep as muddy; Temple's Horse jumpt clear over, but Summer's Rising False came a little short, and so tumbled into the Ditch: This scurvy Adventure, cost them above a quar∣ter of an hour to disengage him, and his Horse, from these ill circumstances, which they cou'd not very well afford at that time, not doubt∣ing but by this time the Country were in pur∣suit of them. On which account being now mounted again, and on firm ground, they redoub∣led their speed, and spight of two or three other little Accidents, they got safe to the rest of us.

Chappel and Church who had taken the Kentish Road, met with no disturbance, but came cle∣verly off with their Prize by a very remarka∣ble Accident, the two Post-Boys meeting, just as they came up to them, they did their business at once, and so brought away both the Mails, tho' by riding further out of Town than the

rest, they made it something the longer before they return'd to the place of Rendezvous.

Having laugh'd, and run over our several Ad∣ventures, we got safe to Putney, by twelve a Clock at night: And then being all tir'd enough with the Fatigue of the day, we retir'd to our Beds. And get••ing up next morning very early, we retreated into the Summer-house in the middle of the Garden, and there enclosing our selves with some Bottles of good Wine to give us a Whet be∣twixt whiles; we began to open our several Pacquets, and according to Agreement, for our better diversion, we mixt them all together on the large Stone Table there.

But before I proceed to the perusal of these, I'll give that I promis'd you at the beginning of my Letter, which Mr. Chappel receiv'd by a mistake of Name: It was superscrib'd to Mr. Chappel, to be left for him at—s Coffee-house.

Mr. Chappel,

I Receiv'd yours yesterday by your man Ra••ph, in which I am extreamly troubl'd to find that you still persist in your Resolution of my undoing. But assure your self 'tis not all your Threats shall make me yield to your brutish Desires, and I question not but God will so far vindicate my Innocence and punish your Hyppocrisy, as to raise me some Friend to res∣cue me from your hands. But if you can en∣tertain such an Opinion of my Vertue, to think I wou'd part with it on the terms you pro∣pose, can you imagine I wou'd make so wretch∣ed a choise, as to sacrifice it to the Arms of an Old Man, when Nature has given me a

Face not the most contemp••ible, and one that need not dispair of more agreeable Conquests. Pray now consult your Glass, if you forget your Age, and there you'l see what wondrous Charms there are to win a fair Ladies ••eart. For shame, for shame, Mr. Chappel give o're such vain Thoughts, and now you are just dropping into your Grave, think not of adding to the Villanies of your Life, by betraying that trust my poor mistaken Parents so entirely repos'd in you, as not only to wrong her of the small Fortune they left her, but also, endeavour to rob her of her Honour. 'Tis not your keep∣ing me to such hard meat will do; for I have now a prospect of Relief, and of bring∣ing you to your just punishment. Your Kna∣veries to me have made me enquire into those things, I else shou'd ne're have thought of, which the more I do, the more I find your Guilt en∣creas'd; and the more hopes I have of satis∣faction for the Injuries you have done me. But it is not yet too late to do me Justice; restore me my Fortune, and I promise to for∣get all that's past, who shall then with some colour subscribe my self, but not till then,

Your obliged Servant, M. CHALYCANE.

The poor Girle (cry'd Church,) writes a good sensible Letter to him, but on my Conscience 'twoud have no more effect upon him than the last Sermon of Death and ••udgment had. However (persu'd Grave) let us all add a little wholsom Admoni∣tion, and it may have a bett••r Operation with him to find his Roguery discover'd, than a hundred such

〈◊〉〈◊〉 from▪ her, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beli••ves has neither the Power to do what she threatens, nor the ••ill to discover it to •• third person, that right assist her. For my part, up 〈◊〉〈◊〉 viewing the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I knew it, and therefore des•••••••• the ma••agement of that Affair my self, ass••ring them, I wou'd t••ke c••re to give him his just reward, if ••e persisted in his Villany. Vpon which Chappel deliver'd me the Letter, and after was as good as my word, made the Old Fornica∣tor cry ••eccavi, and m••ke an entire restitu••ion, had the thanks of the Lady; and I am afraid, she in return had too great a share of my heart.

But now I'll proceed to my Business in Order; we took the Letters out of the general heap, and read 'em: In the first was,

LETTER I.

From an Atheist or Modern Wit, Laugh∣ing at all Religion. With this su∣perscription. To Mr. Johnson, to be left at the Post-House at Chelms∣ford.

Dear Tom,

I Supt last night at ••ocketts with Frank, who tells me thou art grown a meer Bigot, and is afraid he shall see thee receive the Holy Dab, and put on the black Robe; I must confess thou hast a very Canonical Face, and hast been lewd enough to commence Parson; I think thou art too honest for that Trade, which I look upon to be the most impudent c••eat of all. Other Trades wou'd deceive us in things we pretend not to understand, e'ry one in his own way, he has serv'd so many years to; but the Pulpit Pad wou'd rob one of one's Reason, and impose up∣on us in that which e'ry one of common Sense is as good a Judge of, as himself. Prithee Tom, leave off the grimaces of Devotion, I know thy Phiz so well, that I'm sure thee must make so horrible a Figure, that it must put the Ecclesi∣astical Lady of thy Parish into the twitters, and make the Parson, by sympathy with his dear Spouse, forget his Text, and loose his serious ••ace in a loud laughter, till the Congregation mistake

the Church for a Bartlemew Booth, and the Par∣son for a Iack Pudding; therefore if thou hast not a mind to be Endited as the beau•• feu of the Parish, return to good Christian drinking; a Bottle, and a Balmy Harlot, take my word ••or't will never make thee loose the way to Heaven, for a Man is never on higher Ropes, than when elevated with the juice of the Grape, and the Embraces of a pretty smooth Darling obedient Wench. I always thought thee hadst too much rea∣son to be bubbl'd out of the certain Sweets of this Life, for the uncertain airy, visionary whims of the next▪ Nature shou'd be the best guide, it was once so I am sure, according to these de∣votes, and that directs us to pleasure, and self preservation; I know not why that shou'd be of less Authority with us than with the Patriarchs of old; Noah was not condemned for d••inking, nor Iuda for Whoring, nor can I understand, that this improvement of our Nature, by oblige∣ing us to ••e what we are not made, has at all increased the number of the Pious, it has only added to the Kindom of Hypocrisie. How canst thee with patience hear the Parson declaim with a thundring Voice on a Sunday morning against Drunkenness, when he has scarce recovered the Saturday Nights Debo••h of half a dozen Bottles for his share; or against Usury and Oppression, when he has squabl'd with his poor Parishioner the under Ale-Draper of the Village, for the Tithe Pigg, nay and tenth Egg too: Against Who∣ring, and incontinency, when he came seeking from his Amorous Spouse, or perchance from his Neighbours Wife, that hears all he says a∣gainst Adultery, as if it were an Alegory; to me there seems no greater Argument of the Imposture of Religion, than to see those that

te••ch it us, use God on the Sundays with so fa∣milar a C••mpellation, when they have acted against all his Precepts the whole Week about; for if they believed any thing of him, certainly they never durst presume to banter him so in the face of a full Assembly, the greatest part of which perhaps knows their Life and Conversa∣tion. Pox, you know I hate such a long Let∣ter, but I hate mo••e to loose the acquai••tance of an honest fellow that knows the relish of Vice; as well as any Man alive. I••ll tell thee one or two things, which I hope will engage thy Curiosity to come to To••n—there is latel•• a Prize of French Wine taken, which I know where to carry thee to the drinking of, and next—Mrs. Britain has got a s••t of new Face••, Plump, Beautiful, and fresh as a Rose in Iune, as soon as the Sun has ki••s'd the Dew from it, therefore if thou intendest to h••ve thy share of either, take Post, leave thy ill shap'd gravity behind thee, and a••••ume th•• old Jovial Humour, and then fly to thy Friend and

Humble Servant, R. Wilson.

We all confest there was something glitt••ring, and takeing in this Letter, that it was writ with a free air, and some Sparkles of a good Genius, but said Mr. Grave, I am of opinion that Wit consists no more in rediculing the Clergy, and laughing at Religion; thus Religion does in a starch'd Face, a forc'd Gogle at Church, a Tone through the Nose, and perpetual ••••••∣zing of every Company with the Mysteries of Faith, or a Map of the Kindom of the Devil. Methinks, (persued Mr. Winter) if he had been a Man of true

Reason that had writ it, he would not have inclined to the weaker side, ev'n according to the stress of his own Argument; for all his Letter seems to aim at the establishing the uncertainty of Religious affairs, but takes it for granted, there is a greater certainty in the course he Follows, tho' without Proof, there∣fore for all he has said what he prefers is fully as uncertain as the other, and Reason obliges her follow∣ers in things equally uncertain to lean to the safer side, now 'tis agree'd even by them, that if this which Religion commands and teaches, should be true, they ••re in none of the most pleasant conditions; if not, they can only say, 't••s an Error of less fatal conse∣quence, and that is, the loss of such Pleasures, which have generally a pain, Repentance and Punishment that attends them. An Atheist, I mean such as pass for such (said Fountain) is so far from being a Man of Sense, that he is a meer Idiot, for either he believes a God, or he does not, if he do, he must be something more than foolish to imagin that God has no Worship, and if he have a Worship, it may be that which he Ridicules for all that he knows, and therefore not to be ridiculed by him, without the highest madness in the World, for if running a∣gainst the Mouth of a Cannon when 'tis let off, merit that Name, much more does that of giving fire to the wrath of God, which must be pointed against his own Bosom with greater certainty of Death, and less probability of Escape than the other.

But if he believe there is no God, he is still more out of his Wits, for by what means does he ima∣gine this World he loves and enjoys, came to be made? If by another Being, that must be God, if from it self it must be Eternal, which is impossible; for that which is subject to change, will in time decay, and that which has Generation must have

Corruption: If by chance, What is this chance? Is it a Spirit, a body, or nothing but an empty Word, or Notion? If it be a Spirit, it must have the At∣tributes of a D••ity, and consequently the Worship. If a Body, they would do well to shew us the place of its ••bode, and its dimensions, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ca∣pable of working such a g••••at Work; i•• nothing, out of nothing, nothing is made, and by nothing, nothing can be made; but it would be endless to run through all that might be said on this Subject, especially since I am convinc'd, there is no Man li∣ving that does not really believe a Deity, Theodo∣rus one of the first that set u•• for an 〈◊〉〈◊〉, con∣vinc'd us at his death, he had only endeavour'd not to believe one, and the same may be said of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 o∣thers of that Principle, they will once betray them∣selves to have been the most fo••••ish of Hypocrites, in pretending to be greater Devotes to the Devil than they really were.

Nay (said River) he is not a Man of Ho∣nour, for he turns the Sword that is presented him on the breast of him that gave it, and that only for the benefit received; we call him a Rascal that speaks ill of his Bene••actor behind his Back, but he is something more that shall affront him to his face, and that without any cause.

More than that (pursued Brook) he is a Coward too, and the most foolish of Cowards, who' knows he dare not justify his Actions, and yet shall when he thinks himself secure, abuse the Being he trembles at the thought of. I know not (said Summer) but I confess, I think it more Wit, and Reason not to be saw••y with Divinity, since 'tis worse than jesting with edge Tools. The Wit indeed, (pursued Mr. Church) is like that of a Lampooner of Kings, or the ingenuity of a Clipper, and Coiner, Pillory and Death are all their Rewards;

I love not an unprofitable danger, nor do I believe in other Matters, Courage consists in Picking of Quarrels, or being in e'ry ••roil, to convince the Town, I'm so great a Coxcomb, I care not a fig for my Life, tho' I know not the Consequence of my Death, that is in plain English, that I am an in∣considering thoughtless Animal. Nay 'tis a great∣er madness (continu'd Mr. Temple) for here the best Swords Man will make little advantage of his Art, since he fences with an Almighty, whose word is death and Life. His F••ncing might preserve him (said Mr. Chappel) in his causeless Rancounters, but—a Clap of Thunder will drown all his Bul∣lying Oaths, and crush him in a moment. For my part (concluded I) I am of opinion if th••se sort of Prophan••sses are indications of Wit, every ••ool may be so at the expence of God Almighty, and I think this Letter like the rest of the Discourses of this Na∣ture, is beholding to a little pert jingle of Words, flashy, and positive Assertions, with a ramb••ing kind of Mirth to make the insipidness, and sterility of the Reason pass; in this Letter he seems to aim at Self Preservation, and yet takes the sure Path to destruction, in Body, Soul, and Estate.

LETTER II.

From a surely Misanthrope, who speaks ill of all Mankind, and of every thing, 'twas directed thus, To Mr. Hawks at Mr. Smith's House near Rye, Kent.

DICK,

I Writ to thee last Post to get all things in order against my coming down, that I might have some ease at home, who have met with none here in this damn'd Town, which is so thwack'd with Follies, that 'tis enough to make one out of love with Mankind▪ I can't stir along the Streets but I meet with a hundred things that give me a great deal of disturbance; here one recommends this Book to me to read, tho' the Sott never read farther then the Title Page, praising it up∣on trust, because a Block-head of his own acquain∣tance is the Author; another will needs have me divert my self with that Play, tho' he never understood the difference betwixt Ben. Iohnson and Fiecknoe; a third to appear a Schollar, pre∣fers this System of Phylosophy to my study, tho' the Ignorant Booby never read one syllable of ••ogie. I meet with one, and he pulls his Hat off to me to the ground, tho' I never saw ••im but once in a Coffee-house, and then he only 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me what it was a Clock, another Cries he's 〈◊〉〈◊〉 humble Servant, when I'm sure the Rogue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not lend me six pence; a third wou'd needs

borrow a Guinea of me, as if I had been his Friend, or he mine: One asks me to go to this Tavern, and swears there's incomparable Wine, tho' he knows my Palate no more than my Religion; another wou'd hawl me to that Farce tho' he knows no•• whether I have mirth enough to endure a good Comedy; a third wou'd drag me into this Bawdy-house, (tho' one can't lodge out of one in London) and vows there's the prettyest Rogue in the World, when she's a damn'd rotten pockify'd ••ho••e, with a Tauney face daub'd over thicker with Paint than her skeleton Care••••ss with Flesh, with a flat African Nose, a Wide Mouth, a Piggs Eye, and a stinking Breath. This old gouty Fellow will needs have me to this Church, because such a Doctor holds forth without consulting my Opinion, or the pre••ent state of my Devotion, which, for all that he knows, is not enough to keep me awake till prayer's done, and from S••oring in the face and to the Scandal of the whole Congregation. Thus I'm plagu'd if I stir out, and at my Lodging I have nothing to do but to Eat, Sleep, and Read, the first I want Stomack to, because I want my Country Recreation to divert me and to prepare my Appetite; the second the ratling, and perpetual hurry of the Town deny me; and the third is almost as bad, for I'm oblig'd to read nothing but Latin, so that if I were to stay here long, I shou'd forget my Mother Tongue, in which there is nothing writ now, but Farces, Mercuries, Iournals, Observators, and Gazets, except the Plain dealer, and that Play I don••t like be∣cause Manly's such a Fool to believe any Man his Friend; for I trust no man, nor believe any one, but such as I know will sin against their Interest, to lie, or betray me; I make none my Friends

but such as thee, who have a dependance on me, and who lose their lively-hoods by being Fools and Rascals; being thus therefore Fatigu'd abroad, and tir'd at home, I'm resolv'd for the Country by the next Week. Deliver the inclosed to Mrs. Widall, with all the privacy you can;

Your kind Master, J. SMITH.

The Inclosed.

Madam,

I Met your Husband in Town yesterday, with whom I drank two Bottles of Wine, and made him drunk; in his Liquor he was wondrous kind (as indeed he is always to me) and told me, he intended to stay this month here; this has made me resolve to hasten my Journy to you, that we may all that while enjoy an unin∣terrupted course of Love, and Joys, which you can best give, and I receive; who am Madam, your humble Servant,

I. SMITH.

I find, (said Temple,) tho he be so severe upon the Men, he has a Fellow-feeling for the Fair Sex; ••y for one of the Country (said Winter) for you find he abhors a Town-Whore: that's because 'tis a simple sin here (pursued Chappel) and he's for dealing in Adultery; his Neighbours Wife has more Charms in her awkard Garb, and her thousand Imper∣tinenc••es,

meerly for that cause, than a young Well∣bred, and well dress'd For••icatress here in Town. He sets up I find, for a hater of the Follies of the World (continued Grave) like a great many o∣thers, and discovers himself guilty of the greatest; first of ignorance of himself, else he might find so much of Fool within, not to be so severe on the rest of the World, which is f••lly as Ridiculous as the Boy in the Fable, that laugh'd at the decrepidness of Old Age, without considering himself must come to the same, if he liv'd to be old; 'tis but a mark of unaccountable Ill-nature, to condemn those Fooleries, whose genera∣lity gives one reason to imagine that there is some∣thing of necessity in them. The wisest Men of this World abound with Follies enough, he therefore that is learned in himself, will have but little reason to laugh at another. Besides this Gentleman has the least reason to dislike the rest of the World of any Man; because he is so plentifully furnished himself. First, he ought not to condemn any one for want of sincerity, since he cajoles the Man he abuses, which is the basest of Treacheries, which Ovid in the first Book of his Art of Love, condemns in this Dis••ick.

Tuta frequens{que} via est per Amici fallere nomen. Tuta frequens{que} licet sit via, Crimen habet.

A Friend by specious Friendship to betray, Is both a safe, and Common way; Let it be safe, and common still for me, I no're will thrive by Treachery.

Nay, it discovers less wit in cheating one that con••ides in us, than in over-reaching an Enemy, as is well observ'd in this Dis••ick.

Fallere difficile est Inimic••m, Amicus amicu•••• Fat••ere non Magno, Cyrne, labore potest.

Tis a Difficult thing to deceive an Enemy, but for a Friend to deceive a Friend is no such mighty matter.

Next, he has no great share of Morality in injuring his Neighbour in the most irreparable way in which he wrongs those that are not born, by palming a spurious Issue of his own upon the Estate, and Family of another. Nor is his Wisdom very great, to trust a Servant in an Intrigue he would have secret, who up∣on leaving him, with disgust may discover all; thus instead of avoiding that common abuse of a Friend, he makes his Servant his Ma∣ster. Thus when we set up for singularity instead of flying from common Follies, we add only greater to the Number we had be∣fore; Old Acasto in the Orphan said very well of these Sparks,

avoid the Man that's singular, his Brains unsound, his Spleen o're-weighs his Wit.

Thou hast made it evident (said Church) ho∣nest Grave, how easie 'tis to find fault, when thou hast already discover'd so many in this Man, that sets up I suppose for a Pattern to the rest of the World, for so he ought to be that can relish nothing but himself; or rather (replied Brook) how open does he lye to Censure that gives himself the liberty of censuring all others. Nay, he lays himself the more open (continued River) by making all mankind his Enemys, as he has declared himself theirs, who else perhaps had let his Follies pass in the heap. A great many

that I know (said Fountain) believe it a great demonstration of Wit to find fault; and I remember, reading a Book writ by one that professes himself a severe Critick on others, I found not a few Absurdities in his perfor∣mance, but the Bookseller instructed by In∣terest, and zealous for his property, con∣demn'd me of Ignorance in finding fault with that, which was approved by Mr. such a one, whom nothing could please, taking that for an infallible sign of the goodness of his Copy, which I took for just the contrary, for those that are so difficult to be pleased, commonly admire the most silly trifles of all, as most agreeable to their own Genius, as has appear'd, whenever they have ventur'd to give the World a view of their Performances. This dislike of e'ry one else (concluded I) dis∣covers a great deal of vanity, and self-esteem, which is the heighth of folly, according to that Maxim of Seneca, he that thinks himself at the top of the Hill of Wisdom, is indeed in the Abyss of Folly, and he that is the wisest, knows how little cause any man has to va∣lue himself upon his own particular Qualifi∣cations. And whereas this Gentleman ad∣mires the Plain-dealer so much, because he imitates his Character so ill, I profess, I more admire the good affable Humour of the Author of it, who, tho he has so much Wit, never calls any mans performances dull.

LETTER III.

From a mighty affecter of Similes to his Mistress, 'Twas directed to Mrs. Mary Reding at my La∣dy—s House near St. James's, London.

Thou more Charming than Fame,

YOu may as soon think to make a Spaniel not sawn upon you by kicking him, a Bully not truckle to you by thrashing him, or a Fool not caress you for exposing him, as me not to admire you for scorning me, and admi∣ring you, adore you, and adoring you, love you, as much beyond measure, as a Gyants Coat is for a Pigmy; a large Benefice for an igno∣rant Blockhead; a good round Pension for an Informer; a general Applause for a damn'd dull Farce; a Judges Robe for a Knavish Petti∣fogger; a Title of Honour for an A••satian spun∣ger; or a Generals Commission for a Page that was scarce ever a mile from his Ladies back-stairs. For I can no more refrain lov∣ing you with more ardor than a Quaker holds forth; or a Shopkeeper puts off his worst Wares for his best, or a Parson preach∣es against the sin he would Monopolize, than a Green-sickness Girl Chalk and Otmeal; a damn'd Jilt a free-bleeding Cully; a Usur∣er a young Heir apparent; or the Clergy Plu∣rali••ies.

Nor would I have you conjecture, by my Faith, that I shall prove a lazy Lover, for assure your self I'll be as gamesome as a Spar∣row; as Amorous as an Indian Bore (and that without the help of Cantharides, or an old letch∣er in a flogging Bawdy-House. I'll be as play∣full as a Kiten, or my Ladies young Lap-dog, or pretty Misses in the Nursery, or—or—or—or—By my faith, now I think on't, I'll tell you a story. You must know that it was once the custom among the Matrons of Anti∣quity, as often as they spy'd a Candle in a Chimny Corner, to say, God give us light ever∣lasting, among the rest there happened a ve∣nerable old Gentlewoman of a certain Village to come into her Neighbours House, and spy∣ing a brave roasting fire, Nose high (the No••∣turnal elu••ubrations of the good man of the House) that she might not be thought to ••all short of the exemplar piety of the rest of her Acquaintance, cry'd out, God send us fire ever∣lasting. Now, that I may save you the labour of guessing, I'll tell you the meaning of it my self, therefore thou must know thou more charming than a Simile, more diverting than a Heca∣tomb of pretty Stories, and sweeter than my own stile. You must know, I say, thou Lilly of the Vallies, (and oh that I was in the Val∣ley of thy Lillies, but thereby hangs a Tale) you must understand, I say once more my Phil∣lis, my Amarillis, my Dido, my Andro••ache, my Cleopatra, you must know, I say finally, and understand and conceive, that I wish we may have fire Everlasting, I mean the fire of Love. But to conclude where I would have no end, I subscribe my self thy very Faithful humble Servant, Richard Maise.

We were all pleas'd with the extrava∣gance of the humour (tho' none of us knew at what the Letter aim'd. This is the product of some unfledg'd Student (said I) of the Universities, or Inns of Court, or some raw callow Citt (said River) who not content with being a proficient in his Trade, sets up for a singularity of Wit. I rather think (pursued Chappel) 'tis some young Author, who is more in love with himself than his Mi∣stress, and therefore thinks the highest com∣plement he can make her, is to tell her, she••s sweeter than his own Stile. Let him be what he will I am sure (said Grave) he's a Coxcomb, if he could pen that Letter with any Opinion of a serious performance, and if he have no more judgment in his works, he's but a meet simile Monger at best, and his Wit lies in a Habit, and Jingle, without any design. Oh (said Fountain) there are abun∣dance of our modern Authors, who labour with Mr. Bays's Distemper of forgetting the Plott or design of what they write. And yet (said Temple) their idle productions shall ••ell a∣mong the best! But with the same ••ate (pur∣sued Church) with some of the French Scriblers mention'd by Boileau, who, tho' they were migh∣tily admir'd and bought up at first, yet they have lived to see themselves, and their Works forgot. This Letter (said Brook) shews that the force of Affectation draws a Veil before the Judgment, which else would govern Fancy according to Sense, and Reason. True (said Summer) Similes indeed, as Mr. Dryden observes, are the products of a Luxuriant Fancy, but this Author seems like Weeds, to be wholly

over-run with it. This is the more pardou∣able Affectation (concluded Winter) because the shorter, but some will continue the extrava∣gance to the extent of a Volume, without a∣ny satisfaction to the mind of the Reader, who can never be content with a meer laugh∣ter at folly ••or so long a time.

LETTER IV.

From a young Son of the Muses at the Vniversity, with Verses of his own Production, according to the Method laid down in a Book, entituled, Letters and Poems, am••••ous and gal∣lant, 'twas thus directed. To the In∣genious Author of the Gentlemans Iournal, to be left for him at the Latin Coffee-House in Ave Mary Lane, London, with great care and speed.

Most Ingenious Sir,

Among the great number of your Admirers of both Sexes, and Universities, which urely are the most able Judges of Wit, as

Mr. Langbain very well observes, I have the extream vanity to boast my self the greatest. You present us every Month with so much variety of Wit, that as the design was admi∣rable, so the performance appears not at all to come short of it. Not that I think my judg∣ment in your favour will make you vain, for a Man of so much sense can never be infected with so signal an oversight. tho' without Arro∣gance, I can say my opinion is not despised by the most topping Witts, not only of our Col∣ledge, but also of the whole University; the trifles I have attempted, have pleas'd here much beyond their desert, which makes me presume to offer some of the best of my en∣deavours to you, and shall be extravagantly proud, if they receive so favourable a judg∣ment from you, as to be admitted into your Journal. My modesty has made me defer send∣ing them till now, but some particular rea∣sons prevailing over that Virtue (which indeed is my fault) I have, after a severe perusal sent them to you, and tho' I cannot see any great Errors in them, yet since 'tis possible I may be thought too fond, and indulgent a Fa∣ther of my own Off-spring, I entirely sub∣mit it to your Judgment, and Correction, which I have some hopes will do me justice; I have therefore inclos'd in this Letter, two Riddles, (which sort of Enigmatick writing as it pleases the witty part of this Age, so I admire it a∣bove all but Love Verses) and a copy of love Verses which I have compos'd according to the Rules and Examples of that extraordinary Au∣thor, commended so much by an unknown hand in one of your Journals. And I must be bold to testify the good effects of his Pre∣cepts

in me; for often reading Waller and Cowley, and still attempting an imitation of them, I prov'd continually successless; I'm sure I was really in Love, and yet I could not think as they did, which made me conclude (especially when I had seen this incomparable Book, which I think the finest thing that has been published in our Language, as a great Judge and Critic observ'd at the Booksellers Shop) that these thoughts cou'd not be really the ef∣fects of Love, since the same cause must have the same effect; and if I durst say it with∣out the imputation of vanity. I should think this discovery made by this Author, was in the very s••me manne••; this I should not presume to say, if I had not found an extream Sym∣pathy betwixt our Judgments; I have taken care to avoid similes, conceits, and shining 〈◊〉〈◊〉, which I did with the more ease, be∣cause they are not obtained without difficulty. Ill begin with my Riddles, which according to the Nature of the thing, I have couch'd in a familiar phrase, tho' I leave it to your improvement, who am your most

Humble Servant, J. B.

Coll. Magd. Oxon. Iune, 1692.

The RIDDLE.

RIddle my Riddle, my ree, And tell me what my Riddle shall be; Long white and slender, Tickles Maids where they are tender; Lyes where Hair grows, And hath long slit under the Nose.

Second RIDLE.

COme up, come over, come under, I'll make thee believe I'll kill thee; I'll put that that's thine Into mine, And make thy Tail waggle behind thee.

I'll inform you what these two Riddles mean; for tho' they seem a little Roguish, the first is only a Bodkin, and the second the Milking of a Cow.

An ELEGY on the Power of a Fiddle, to his Mistress,

In imitation of the fourth Copy of Verses in a Book call'd, Letters, and Poems, Ama∣rous and Gallant.

WHile those bright Eyes what e're they please can wh••••dle, Nothing shou'd make them twinkle but a Fiddle;

What Youth so bold the Conquest e're to think of? Tho' to your Health he durst whole Gallons drink off. What Wealth so great to purchase such soft Bubbies? Sices are dirt, Georges themselves but Boobys. To none but Fiddle, that Priviledge Oh grant, Which can return your Love, with a Corant: Riches and Titles after Life can't tarry, Nay, ev'n in Life alone, can't make you merry. Fiddle can give you Mirth, 'tis Sorrows salve too, And after Death can play you to the Grave too; Embalm'd with Fiddle within your Amber Tomb-stone, You'll last immortal Mummy till a day of Doom's come. Fiddlers (like Conju••ers in a Lapland Cell, Restrain'd by nothing but their mighty Will.) Can here make Ladies frisk, there dance a Iigg, And as they please, make each a whirly Gigg. In vain sage Rats, in that same German Villag••, Skulk into holes with Bread, and Cheese, their Pillage. If fell Crowdero with his treacherous Fiddle, Can make them all like Fools dance into th' middle, Of murd'ring Pond, and punish those that did Ill. * 8.1 Oh have a care th••n, for her, that me contemns, I vow, and swear, I'll Fiddle into the Theams. But do not think I love you less for this, For ah! me! ah me! ah me! I long to Kiss, You behind rather then not at all, but ah that I (cou'd your Phiz.

The last line but one, Sir, I think is a Master∣piece of Love; for nothing can be more passionate than Ah me! 'tis a Sigh fetch'd from the bottom of the heart, which being repeated, still doubles the force of it: And then the last line is a great indication of an humble Eover, that wou'd be content with any favour, and 'tis always after a Rant in Love, necessary and natural that you fall into a Calm; and when you have huff'd you must beg a Favour, as this ingenious Author does, whom I have chose for my Pattern. I wou'd not imitate the rest of this Copy of Verses of this incomparable Author, because methinks he has deviated from the Rules he prescribes, in con∣cluding with such a long Simile, which shews, he had not much love, that cou'd exemplify so much on the Sun, and Sun beams. But I can easily pardon that oversight in him, since 'tis a common Fault of great Criticks never to come up to the incomparable Rules they set down, as if like Kings they were Laws made for us, not themselves. If this please you, you may assure your self of more, and also of the Name of him, that till then desires to remain

Your unknown Servant.

Sure (said Grave) the Author of the Gentleman's Iournal wou'd not have been brib'd by all these strain'd Compliments to insert such stuff as this? No, no, (return'd Temple) he has more sense than to return the Civility, which self-interest dict∣ates, at the expence of his Reputation. He's

us'd to these Complements from the Univer∣sities, and Inns of Court, so that this wou'd have been no more than what he receives e'ry day, and of very little influence with him. This Spark wou'd have one believe he has a great deal of Modesty, tho' his Vanity appears in e'ry line; the whole being a praise of himself; for he gives not those sugar words to the Gentle∣man he writes to, but to bribe him to a return. One thing I must remark, for judging of the unnaturalness of Cowley and Wallers thoughts by what he found in himself when in love, he con∣cludes them in the wrong, because his thoughts reach'd not up to theirs; for says he, The same cause will have the same effect, in which he ••s much mistaken: For if the Matter be chang'd, the effect may prove quite contrary; for beating with a Hammer, will form Metal into curi∣ous Figures, but break Stone or Glass all to pie∣ces. I know not what you may think, Gentle∣men, (interrupted Chappel) but I am of Opini∣on, this Letter is only a Banter, and writ with a design to Satyrize those young Fops of the University, whose Letters on such accounts, he must needs, have seen; and upon this new sort of Wit, call'd Aenigma's, which is in plain Eng∣lish a Riddle, the diversion of School-boys, and Greensickness-Girls, in a Chimny-corner, in the Winter-nights in a Country-Village; so we im∣prove in the Kingdom of Witt, and Learning, that we shall, I believe, next come to Capping of Verses in Print, or some 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Dutch inven∣tion. This Elegy is an excellent Burlesque up∣on that: Author, who has set up for a Refor∣mer of our Modern Love Poem••, as you may observe, if you will compare 'em. I have the Book in my Pocket, it being forc'd upon me

yesterday by a Friend of the Booksellers: I'll read the Original, do you (Church) read the Copy.

ELEGY

The Power of Verse to his Mistress.

WHile those bright eyes subdue what e're you will, And as you please can either save or kill; What Youth so bold the Conquest to design? What Wealth so great to purchase* 9.1 hearts like thine? None but the Muse that priviledge can claim, And what you give in love return in Fame. Riches and Titles with your Life must end; Nay, cannot ev'n in Life your Fame defend: Verse can give form; can fading Beauty save, And after death redeem 'em from the Grave? Embalm'd in Verse, though distant times they come, * 9.2 Preserv'd like Bees, within an Amber Tomb.

Prither Summer (reply'd Chappel) don't inter∣rupt us, for as soon as we have done, you shall be free to make your Observations.

Poets like Monarchs on an Eastern throne, Restrain'd by nothing but their will alone. Here can cry up, and there as boldly blame, And as they please, give Infamy or fame. * 9.3 In vain the Tyrian Queen resigns her life, For the bright Glory of a spotless Wife.

Here ignorant Ovid uses no threats, nor Ex∣amples that may intimate that Poets are Lyars (a strong Argument that the fair ought to love them) he only tells how many have got a name by loving of Poets.

Nos ••acimus placitae late praeconia formae, Nomen habet Nemesis; Cynthia nomen ••abet, Vesper, & Eoae novere Lycorida terrae Et multi quae sit nostra Corinna rogant.

That is in honest Prose, we celebrate the fair, and spread their fame, witness Nemesis, Cynthia, Lycoris, and Corinna. Ovid stops not here but ••rges another Argument, why the Sex should ra∣ther love a Poet, than an other.

Adde quod insidiae sacris à vatibus absunt, &c.

That is, Add that the sacred Poets are free from base Designs, &c. and thence proceeds to prove, that they are best qualifyed for Lovers,

whose desires are not divided like other Mens betwixt Ambition and Covetousness: He urges too as a proof of this the Constancy of a Man of Sense, or Poet (which this Author in one of his Letters condemns.)

Sed facile haeremus Validoque perurimur igne, Et nimium certa scimus amare fide.

That is, we are soon wounded with a beauteous Face, and our Flames are more violent, and last∣ing, than those of other Men; and after this he passes to the other forces of Verse; but here we have a great many Verses, and little to the pur∣pose.

LETTER V.

From a Gentleman of the Vniversity to his Friend in Town, to know whether he ought according to the Rules of Honour, fight a Man for a certain Affront receiv'd. It was directed thus,—To Mr. River, to be left at the Widdows Coffee-house without Temple-Bar, deliver with care and speed, London.

HOw, to me (said River, and would have snatch'd away the Letter) hold there, sweet Sir, (said Temple, putting him by) none of us must not be exempt from the Law we have imposed upon the rest of the Nation, all that's here is publick prize, and all secrets must out. Gad, for all that I know; I may have two or three here my self, so that I oblige you to no other Rule than what I'll submit to. I'll not be the only exception (said River, and smil'd) to so general a Rule.

Dear RIVER,

Chr. Oxon, Iune, 1692.

OUr mutual Friendship makes me trouble thee with the least Accidents of my Life, else methinks I shou'd wrong you in robbing you of the share you challenge in all I do or suffer; this has made me acquaint you with an Adven∣ture I met with to'ther day at my Uncles, where I found a certain Man of the Blade of London, with whom falling into dispute about King Charles the First, being pretty well vers'd in Rushworth's Collections, he presum'd to tell me, I was Impertinent; I resented the Affront then, but

the Company appeas'd me, and indeed I thought my Uncles House no proper place to quarrel with his Acquaintance in: I therefore defer'd it till I met him at Oxford, whither I understood he design'd in a few days. I desire you there∣fore (who, I know, are perfectly skill'd in all the points of Honour, and in e'ry thing that is the Duty of a Gentleman) to send me your O∣pinion, whether I ought to fight him, or let it die: I know you wou'd not have me engage in a ridiculous Quarrel, nor suffer any thing that may injure my Reputation. You have the Authority of a Father, or what's more, of a Friend over me: I therefore desire your im∣mediate Answer; who am

Your real faithful Friend, C. RICHARDSON.

Had I receiv'd this in private, I shou'd have communicated it to you (said River) for 'tis from a pretty ingenuous Youth I value, and esteem, as he indeed deserves, and whom I desire shou'd have as tender a value as he ought for his Re∣putation without a ridiculous Niceness, and (as he says) I wou'd have him avoid the Extreams of Cowardize, and Bullying. But I'll first have your opinions before I write an Answer. To me (said Temple) upon a serious Reflection, the whole business seems very ridiculous to put ones self upon an equal (nay, perhaps a much greater) hazard with the man, that has injur'd me; whereas in reason, I ought to punish his Offence with hazard to him alone, that was guil∣ty, else I only add an Injury to my self, to that I have receiv'd from another; and in this I think the Spaniard, and Italian more rational, for a rascally Offence (and such is e'ry design'd Affront, as much below a man of honour to

give as to take) ought to be punisht by a Ras∣cal, not a Gentleman, that pretends to any thing above a Hang man. For this Custom, and No∣tion of Honour sets up a private Tribunal of Life and Death in ev'ry man's Bosom, who, when he's satisfy'd of anothers Offence, as he has been the judge, will be the Executioner, and that, as if fond of Ignominy, with the risque of his own Life. But how can that (said I) be the Arbitration of Courage (for so is Tilting esteem'd) where a Coward that is perfect in his Sword, shall, ten to one, kill the stoutest Hero; or an arbitration of the Justice of a Cause, where the decision lyes upon the skill of the par∣ties Engag'd; and where the Injur'd may fall, and the Injurer triumph in a second Offence of a far higher nature than the first, and that with the consent of the party wrong'd. If your Friend (said Winter) be not expert at his Wea∣pon (a Colledge improving a man in Books, not Swords) 'tis not courage, but madness, tho' he receiv'd the Affront, to venture a Tilt with him, whose Trade it has been; that being to run upon certain Death without any prospect of Advantage, contributing more to his enemies than his own satisfaction. In such a case (said Chappel) I think a man had better imitate a Doctor of Physick of my Acquaintance, who meeting one that had a Pique against him on the Back-stairs at White-hall, with a great deal of patience let him give him the Lye; a Lord that follow'd him, ask'd him why he took the Lye: No, my Lord, said he, he wou'd indeed have fasten'd it upon me, but I wou'd not take it. The Doctor (said Summer) was in the right on't, I think, being better skill'd doubtless, in Recipes, than Ters and Quart; for a man in those

Circumstances may with as much Honour (if Ho∣nour be not repugnant to Reason, and com∣mon Sense) refuse the Combate, as avoid en∣gaging with half a dozen men at a time, the odds in this being greater. If I have a right Notion of Honour (said Church) it consists as much in not offering, as not suffering a base Action: But drawing upon a naked man is the meanest and basest of Actions, and to draw on him that is not skill'd in a Sword, which then can be no defence to him, is to draw up∣on one unarm'd. Nay, more than that, (said Brook) a man of Honour ought not only to be free ••rom Villany, but also from the suspi∣tion of it, which he can never be, if he takes those measures for the satisfaction of his Ho∣nour, by which in reality, he may deserve rather the name of a Bravo, than that of a Hero, for engaging with a man less skill'd than my self, is not a jot better than assassin∣ating him, which I take to be the Office of a Coward, and a Ruffian, not of a man of Ho∣nour, and Courage: And yet this is unavoid∣able in Duelling; so that I think 'tis far from being a proper Umpire of Honour or Courage. Come, come (said Fountain) you may talk as you please of the Reason of the thing, but I'm sure custom will over-weigh all your Reasons, and decide the business against you. 'Tis true, faith (said Grave) Custom, that senseless Refuge of non-plus'd Fools, will carry it, and the men of Reason must either be born down the Tide of that, or be piss'd on by ••e'ry Jackan••pes; but if there were but half so many men o•• sense as there are Fools, there wou'd be no such wretched Plea; for the most irrational of our Actions, for as Knaves have the great∣est

share of managing, if not making Laws, so have Fools in forming Customs. But methinks now Tilting is become the Practice of Play∣ers, and Citts upon their scandalous Quarrels; 'tis time for Gentlemen to leave it off, as the La∣dies formerly left of Mants, because e'ry Chamber-maid got into them.

But as for your Friend River, I think the first occasion being over, and the cause of Quarrelling so trifling, his skill in fencing (I suppose) not extraordinary, he maye'n drown the memory of it in the Ocean of Aristotle, or the World of Descartes, or the Morals of Plutarch, or Seneca; let him give himself to think∣ing whilst he may, and he'll meet with occa∣sions enough to shew his courage, when he comes to share in the thoughtless Broils of this Town. Upon the whole, Gentlemen, (concluded River) I find my Friend must keep his Dudgeon still in its Case; and I agree with you, tho I have known one Dear Caressing, Drinking Friend cut anothers throat, upon as slight a matter.

LETTER VI.

From an Author to his Friend that had condemn'd some of his perfor∣mances, it was directed to Mr. Roberts at the Sign of the three To∣bacco-pipes in Drury Lane.

Dear Iack,

Tunbridge, Iune 1692.

I Must confess I wonder'd at your late strange∣ness, in not coming to see me, when I wa•• nearer the Town, but I could nor think it the consequence of your guilt, as I am now apt to believe it was, being inform'd that you are very free in your Censures of my last Play. I can scarce imagine you can betray your Folly so much as to condemn that, which I am sure merits your praise: I think without vanity, I may say so, since the Town by the success of my attempts that way, has allowed my judg∣ment in writing: My Reputation is too well setled for the malice of my Enemies to destroy, I know some are not a little disquieted at the same I have got, but I value not their Efforts. I would have you keep me your Friend, as I yet am, tho

Injured, W. M.

This is but a concise product of Vanity, (said Chappel) the epidemic distemper of Au∣thors, most of whose happiness consists in ha∣ving a good esteem of their own performan∣ces, from the Laureat to Penny Chronicler. I know the hand and the Author too (pur∣sued Fountain) and can assure you, his Dis∣course always agrees with this Letter, espe∣cially since some success he has met with in a Dialogue of his Writing, hath nothing but Affectation and Vanity. I must say this (said Winter) in his Vindication (for his hand and stile must discover him to all this company I'm sure) that his Vanity is excusable, since he meets with so many Flatterers, that it is hard for him to think he has not a great deal of desert. True (said Church) the modestest man in the World cannot be so good proof against Self-esteem, as not to entertain a favour∣able Opinion of himself, when the World ap∣plauds his performance. Nay, I know a Gentle∣man (said Temple) that pretends to, and has I beli••ve, as much modesty as any Author, who tho he will never speak in commendati∣on of himself, shall yet with no little ardour and disturbance undertake a Defence of what he writes, if any one in his company chance to cavil at it. Vanity (said Brook) is so ge∣neral a failing, that I am of opinion, 'tis es∣sential to our nature; every man being infect∣ed with it as well as Authors, only some have the advantage of hiding it better than others. I confess (said I) we seem ev'n in our con∣demnation of this Author, to discover our selves tainted with the same we ac∣cuse in him, and that without the Tempta∣tion of the deference the Town, shews to

his Parts. We discover no more (pursued Summer) than the Conversation of the World does tolerate, which always makes bold with the absent; the Follies of all men, ex∣cept those of the present company, afford wonder, and laughter, but those are plac'd too nigh to be distinguish'd. They that can only see their own Defects (said River) I fancy not unlike the pur-blind, that can only read when the Book almost touches the Eye. I'm very confident (concluded Grave) we shew no great Arrogance, or Self-esteem in venturing to cen∣sure what is obvious to common sense, as the intollerable vanity of this Letter is, the over∣looking such gross Follies, in my opinion, gives a greater proof of our ignorance, than good Nature, or Wisdom.

LETTER VII.

From a Country Fellow, giving an account of London to his Cousin in the Country. It was directed to Thomas Stiles at Master Tom∣son's House near Taunton in So∣merset-shire.

Cousin TOM,

Lond. Iune, 1692.

HOping you are all well, as cham at this present Writing, thanks be to God; these are to let you know, that cham got zafe to London Zitty, where the Volk up and down e'ry day, thicker than at Taunton Vair, every door is a Zhop, zo that one wou'd strange that they cou'd live by one another, and yet they all go viner than the Justices Zon, and their Wiles and Daughters, than the Daughters of the last Mayor of Wells, the Streets are all hung as thick as e're they can thwack with Zigns, the worst ov'e 'em viner than Master Kilderins at the George a Horse-back. Then there's zuch a din night and day, that the Noise Iohn Tabour the Drummer of the Train'd-Bonds made, when he beat a point of War last Whitzund-ale at Gon∣mer-Zoules's, was nothing to't. You may zoon∣er hear zoftly Dick the Miller make love to

Ioan Black Ar•• just by the binn, Voor all the Clapper, than hear one another speak here; tho we stoud close together; nay, by all the vlesh o've of my Bones, if Zimon the Cleark of our Parish were to give out a Zalm in one of the groet Streets here, with as tearing a voice as he does on a Zunday at Evening Prayer, after he has din'd at the Parsons on good Beef and Pudding, and Turkies, and Chickens, and such special Vare, with a bouncing Grace-cup of hum∣ming Stout, at a little distance you'd zwear he did but wisper. Chave vound my Londlords house at last, with much ado, but they zaid when Cha was come thither, that he was gone to the Change; Chad a mind to zee that zame place, zoo che went with my Londlords mon, who zhew'd me the woy, 'twas a hugeous vine place indeed, with a Steeple higher than any in Zummerzet-shire; but O Zoes, when Chad enter'd it, the men stood thicker than they do at the choozing Knights of the Zheer; and there was zuch a buz, that if all the Bees in our Garden, nay, in all our Parish zhoud zwarm at a time they cou'd not make zuch a hum∣ming, we justl'd about zo from one to ano∣ther, that in the throng Chad like to a bin lost; therevore Che got my Londlords mon to zhow the way back to his Masters House, after my Londlord came home, Che paid him zome Rent, and you may tell Zicily Chave put off her two Brass half Crowns, and twice as many ov'e my own. These Londoners think themzelves woundy cunning, but chave chouc'd half a duzzen o've e'm vor all they gurn like your Masters Mare, when the worson Jade has a mind to play zome plaguy trick, to zee my Dress and Talk. My Londlord made me raize

my Rent, or a wou'd not zeal a new Lease; but Cha done him as good a turn, vor Chave got twice as good in lieu of the Rent, because Chad witt to do't, in that he did not under∣stond, and zo we were both pleaz'd, he in squeezing me, and che in over-reaching him. He zent his mon to zhew me the Town, and the virst place we came into was a Coffee-house where volk give a penny for a spoonful of whot Broth, like the Liquer in a Tanning Vat; but then vor that penny, you zitt down among Gentlevolk, cheek by Joul: There were a groe•• many wise men in that Coffee-house, where che was, and che took 'em vor Magistrates, they talk'd zo o've Kings and Princes, and govern∣ing o've the Nation; but my Londlords mon told me, they were nothing but Zhop-keepers; ••••d Trades-men; one zaid he is a Turner, a∣nother a Joiner, the third a Carpenter, and ••o nam'd half a score zuch Trades as we have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Country: Odds zoes, che zaid, zure they have zome other way of teaching their Trades than we have, vor a great many ••'••e zuch with us cou'd zcarce zay Boh to a Gouse; vrom thence we went to the Play, ••hich is indeed a groet deal better than a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, or any zuch thing; but there was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a chattering about one that che cou'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hear what they zaid that were upon the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, zo that che wish'd chad my Eighteen-••••nce again: vor che did not think the Zight 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the mony: Chave zeen a great many 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Zights: but upon the whole, cham o'th' 〈◊〉〈◊〉, thou hadst better keep whaure thee 〈◊〉〈◊〉, vor cham zure, thee cout not lye, zwear, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 steal, and gadsbodikins, unless thou canst

do twon ov'e 'em, thee mayst een blow thy Nails here. Cham thy loving Uncle,

OBADIAH WHEATSHEAR.

Winter happened to read this, but cou'd make nothing of it. But Chappel being of that Coun∣try, gave it a more natural Air on a secon•• perusal, which furnished us with a great deal 〈…〉〈…〉 and after that was over, I know 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (said Temple) what has engag'd your laughte•• Gentlemen, if it be the good grace of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in his mimicking the Boo••s of his Coun∣••••y; I agree with you, but if it be the fa••∣cy'd Folly of the Writer, I am much of a∣nother Opi••ion; for the oddness of the 〈…〉〈…〉 not so sel••-••idi••••lous as custom 〈◊〉〈◊〉: Nay, the truth on't is (pursued 〈◊〉〈◊〉) were his Language a little refin'd, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Fello•• might pass for a Witt here in Tow•• he's so well stor'd with Similes. No 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (return'd Church) he wou'd pass but for a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 here; for his Similes are natural, and to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 p••••pose, whe••••••s the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 using them 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for illustr••tion, but meer Tr••ppings, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mind their impertinence. Nature is as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 without doubt (said I) of her gift of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the Peasants, as to the loftyer part 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mankind, only they want the artificial Ad••••••∣tages of Education, and Conversation. There'•• nothing more evident from History, the great••est Auth••modoulet or chief Minister of State 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Persia, was a Shepherd, and the Emperor 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a Labourer. We grant it endless (inter∣rupted Fountain) to run through Histor•• for all the proofs that affords of this, sin••••

e'ry day we may observe in the Yeomanrys of the most barbarous Corners of the Nation good Natural Parts, which for want of a more generous Knowledge, are directed by the ge∣neral Instinct of Self-Interest. Thus far the Writer of this Letter (said Summer) is arriv'd, as you'll find by his Brass Half Crowns, &c. And to say truth, I never knew it, but the Country Grey-Coat was in bargain, in Affairs they understood, too hard for the Cit••. True (continued Grave) but they may thank their self-opinion, and their fancy, that because the Clown is ignorant, he must be silly, and ho∣nest. For my part (pursu'd River) I can't think ignorance the mother of Honesty any more than of Devotion, yet the Country by the fine Idea's the Poets have given of it carries the Bell of Innocence and Integrity from the Town. But (answered Chappel) Cow∣ly one of the greatest Admirers of it, was at last convinc'd of his Error, when he found how e'ry one of them cheated, and abused him in his Hay, and such other things he was not so well skill'd in. All that I shall observe (conclud∣ed Brook) is, that like the rest of man-kind, his appearance, and reality, are not very well acquainted, having the Face of Simplicity, but the Heart of a Knave.

LETTER VIII.

From a Lover to a Lady who had fled from his Addresses into the Country, it was directed to Madam Price in Medstone in Kent, with care de∣liver.

Madam,

London, Iune the 1692.

YOu need not have fled from me, since your command had been sufficient to have deli∣vered you from the sight of so great a Wretch as I am, and damn'd me to a perpetual absence, tho you had continu'd in Town. 'Tis true, I live but by seeing you, but it is worse than death, to see you at the expence of your ease, and satisfaction. The vain appearance of hope, which I flatter'd my self you once gave me, presented me with such an Idea of coming hap∣piness, that I cou'd not relish any thing of the o∣ther delights and Pleasures of life. Then, dear Madam, what must be the Torture I now en∣dure, by being convinc'd of the loss of all those transporting Joys in your Indignation? But alass you neither will, nor can be sensible of this, unless you lov'd to that degree as does your

Vnhappy Slave, C. Smithson.

Alas poor Damon (said Temple) there is too much submission, and respect in this Letter to prevail if thy Mistress be of the common mould of her Sex. And too much sense too (pursued Church) for most Women love their like, and hate a Man that can ••ither write English, or spell. True (said Brook) that makes so many senseless Irish Men, and other Foreigners prevail, tho the refuse of their own Country. What Man of sense then (pursued I) would do••e on such a trifle as that Sex, which tho it damn'd Man∣kind for the sake of tasting of the Tree of Know∣ledge of Good and Evil, can yet no better disti••∣guish betwixt them. For my part (answer'd Win∣ter) I am of Opinion that we are pretty equal with them, for our Love ending in our own satisfaction, we as little consult the merit of the Party belov'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they do. Prithee Love's but a specious name, (reply'd ••iver) a Chymera we build up, and no more in nature than the Monster in the Tempests, both Cubs of the Poets Brain. True (said Summer) and we carry on the humour or character of it in our Billet deux, and addresses only to gain our ends. I'm of opinion (an∣swer'd Fountain) that this Letter is the result of his real Sentiments, and that he is some raw young Spark newly come from the Vniversity, full of the Poetical Notions of the Ioys of Lov••. And has ne∣ver found (interrupted Chappel) by experience how much the Practice falls short of the Theory, and fr••ition of Expectation. Which makes it evident (concluded Grave) that the Soul is capable of framing greater Ioys, in the imagination, than any Nature has been capable of providing for the Body.

LETTER IX.

From a Whore to a young Spark that was forsaking her, on pretence of living soberly, with one inclos'd to the same, written to him by a grave Philosopher which he lost in a Bawdy House. It was thus directed, to Mr. Tims, to be left for him at the Post-House in Colchester in Essex, with care.

〈…〉〈…〉 Mr. Littlelet,

Lond. Iune 1692.

I Hope, tho' I have not heard of you, that your cruel Resolution of leaving me for ever continues not still, whatever motive you may p••e••end, I'm sure it must want the quality of good, since it persuades you to an ingratitude, in forsaking her that loves thee above all thy Sex. Your, scruples of Conscience might have been salv'd without dese••ting her you have sworn constancy to, for if the guilt of our Passion was no longer to be digested by you, the sin of our Embraces might have been ta∣ken away by Marriage, my Dear, Dear, Dear Dicky, you know I love you so, I should 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the faithfullest Wife in the World. But I sus∣pect

the Hypocrite that is the persuader of the breach of your vows to me, who, as the enclosed will discover, chooses the Evil in a much worse degree, than he wou'd draw you from. 'Twas given me by Mrs. Martha, who says it was dropt at Silences, being directed to you, I send it with this short Comment, viz. that the Resolution form'd by the influence of Hyprocrisie, and tending to ingratitude, can ne∣ver be less criminal, than the Passion, by it you forsake with her who is

'till death your Faithful E. Iohnson.

This is a good sensible Wench (said Chappel) those of her Character being generally as ill furnish∣ed with Wit, and Language, as with integrity. I'm ther••fore of opinion (pursued Temple) that this L••tter is not of the Whores Inditing, but of some Male Friend, who has an equal loss in the ••ully, for your kept Miss has always 'her secret drain, for her affections as well as money, whilst the kind Keeper is pleased with the Fools Paradise of her forc'd Embraces, and a well acted dissimulation is all he purchases with the ruin of his Purse, a•••• R••putation. There is nothing (added Grave) that is desirable in a Woman, which is not per∣verted by keeping. Her Youth and Beauty are em∣ployed to get new Adorers, being secure of her old her Wit to manage her Intrigues, and Cully, She's ••ither blind her self (said Church) or supposes her sweet dear to be so, when she betrays the standard of her Faith to him, by the correspon∣dence she keeps with Silence the Bawd. Which

in my mind (continued River) was a very i••∣prudent memento, when she design'd to cajole 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Cully into Matrimony; which by the way (a••∣ded Brook) is the last Card a Whore play•• being a sure sign that her Charms grow ineffect••∣al by the commonness of her Face. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (pursued Summer) there is such a kind 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the Keepers, that if the Whore do but moti∣on it, they seldom have the Power to deny her. As kind and good Natur'd as they are to then Iilting Mistresses, (answer'd Fountain) I have ob∣served, they have seldom much wit, more rare•• any honour, and scarce ever any generosity to a∣ny one else. No Faith, (said Fountain) thos•• sparks have seldom so large a stock of Sense, as would be necessary to set up Mountebank or Fortuneteller. For my part, (said I) I look upon the humour of keeping, to be a punishment due to, and proper for the vicious Inclinations, and sordid Principles, they are generally guilty off. True (concluded Winter) for the Fool, and the Knave are equally punished in it by Diseases, and Poverty. But let's see with what powerful Reasons the Philosopher furnishes his Friend against what he cannot resist himself.

LETTER X.

This was directed as the other.

Dear Friend,

YOU tell me you find your fits of fond∣ness return so often, and with that vio∣lence, that you fear 'twill be past the pow∣er of all my Philosophy, to make an abso∣lute cure upon you, I confess indeed, as there is no greater help to a Medicinal O∣peration, than a good Faith in the Pre∣scriber, so the contrary often obstructs the Skill of the Physician, yet I persuade my self, my endeavours will not be entirely ••ruitless, since you are so sensible of your Error, as to desire a Reformation.

Methinks a generous Indignation should break so hated a Chain, since 'tis so pre∣posterous and base, to make the Sov'raign of the mind, Reason, the Slave to every mo∣tion of the most inconsiderable part of our Body. I know you a great stickler for Li∣berty, and Property, but you ought first to pull down the domestick Tyranny before you set up for a Patriot; free your Soul from that senseless dotage on so unclean an

Animal as a Woman, and raise it to con∣templation. The Order, and Courses of the Heavenly Bodies, the Oeconomy, and Won∣ders of Nature, afford a far more generous and satisfactory pleasure to the Mind.

Certainty is the Essence of happiness, but the Love of a Whore is more uncertain, than the Feast of Damocles, for you are not only ignorant how soon you may lose the Bles∣sing, but you are not so much as sure you at all possess it, and are not deluded with a shadow, instead of a reality like the Anti∣feasts of the Romans; 'tis to your money she Sacrifices the enjoyment of her Person, which cannot purchase her real Affection. But suppose, which I can never gra••t, you were possessed of the Love, as well as Per∣son of a Whore, how can you imagine to secure them? When all her acquaintance is with such, whose Interests, and Employment it is to alienate her Affections, and persuade her to prostitution.

Fair words are no proof of fidelity, and she that protests the most to your Face, as soon 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your back is turn'd, shall laugh at you in the Arms of another, for a cred••lous Cox∣comb. 'Tis true as you are a slave to her, so is she to your Money, but what Man of sense would buy that satisfaction, at the Price of being known to be a Fool.

But perhaps you Fancy you may debauch so secretly, that you may avoid the Scandal. It must be then in a Cabalistical▪ Way with

some Aerial Demon; for 'tis impossible with a Woman, her own vanity and antipathy to Se∣crecy shall soon divulge your Disgrace.

Forsake therefore the false Hypocritical Sex, which if you give your self to hard Stu∣dy, you will not very much require. Poets by the usual Hyperboles of their Art; have to an extravagance beyond reality, magnifi'd the pleasures of Love; you must not therefore read them, for they will not extinguish but add Fuel to that fire, which finds but too much Matter within us. Philosophy both Natural, and Moral, will afford you more sub∣stantial satisfaction, which if you stick close to, will banish all these Chymera's, which now disturb your repose, and make you laugh with your Friend at the Fool that next falls into your Jilting Sylvii's Snare.

I am yours to command, THEO. PHIL.

This Leter (said Winter) shews us, That the cunning Jade had some reason to wheedle her Cully, since it inform'd her his Love for her was still alive, and strugling in his Bosom, and in short, only wanted her Letter to gain the field; for if we once admit a Parley in such a case, 'tis only to yield upon the first appearance of Recruits on the enemies side. Nay (pursu'd Chappel) her Letter convinces she's no Novice in her Trade, but understands the Art of Wheedling as well as any of them.

But cou'd one imagine (interrupted Temple) this man so well read in the Folly, and who can so well advise, shou'd not be able to save his own stake. So much easier 'tis to be wise in the Theory, than the Practice. I know the man (pursu'd Summer) and he has the reputation of a Cinic, and Woman hater, which makes me apt to think this some sham upon him. That's not at all likely (returned Grave) for how should a Whore forge his Hand so well as to deceive him, who doubt∣less is well acquainted with it, without a ••a∣miliarity with him; which still gains the point. The World may more easily be de∣ceiv'd, than this proof, (continued Fountain) For that Judges by appearances, and there∣fore most commonly erroneously. But he (added Church) that builds his Wit, Honesty, or Courage, on the opinion of the World, may really be a Fool, Knave or Coward, True (said Brook) for 'tis not the opinion of the World that can make that Lady a Whore, because she has a free Conversation, or that Whore an honest Woman, because she bor∣rows the face of one to enjoy the pleasure of Sin without the Infamy. Nor can the o∣pinion of the World make this man Rich be∣cause he makes a splendid Figure, at the ex∣pence of his Credit, and other mens Purses: nor that Usurer poor, because all the Cloaths on his back are not worth a Guinny: Right (pursued I) nor can the opinion of the World make this man a Coward, because he is not for flinging away his life as often, as any of his company wants either sense or manners: Nor that Bully a man of Courage, because he'll Damn and Tilt on e'ry word that's misunder∣stood.

The first may be brave in the Field in his Countreys Cause, in the visible face of Death and Destruction, whilst the other skulks behind a hedge for fear of a Cannon Ball, or stays at home to gain the Reputation of a Stout Man, upon easier terms, since his skill in his wea∣pon affords him a greater security, than in the proof of his Body against a Bullet. To come a little nearer our purpose (concluded Riv••r) the opinion of the World can't make this man a Philosopher or Lover of Wisdom, who has only the Language, but not the Life of one; or at least I can say this, that Philosophers are like Physitians, Giants for relief of others, but Pigmies in their own distress. And so much for the Philosopher: And now let's call a New Cause.

LETTER XI.

From one that design'd to supplan•• his Relation, to his Friend and Confident:—'Twas directed thus▪ To Mr. Jawl at his Chambers i•• Clifford's-Inn, London; with care and speed.

Dear DICK,

Surry, Iune, 1692.

MY Nephew designs for Town very sud∣denly; he seems to stagger in his re∣solutions, as if he suspected my intentions. The writings I hope, are ready, and drawn as I directed, unless he seals, part with never a a Farthing; get what you can of him, that you may be the easier to thy faithful Friend,

OB. SWEEPSTAKES.

A short and pithy piece of Villany, this (said Brook) nature, and honesty, made truckle to Interest, without much formality. 'Tis the

sum of the general practice (answered Chappel) Mony being Health, Beauty, Courage, Vertue, and every thing else, nothing being a Crime that fills the Purse, and nothing a Vertue that emp••ies it. Yet ev'n Villany is alleviated, (reply'd River) by circumstances; for to break the Laws of just and right, for a trivial matter, is unpardonable, and discovers a love ev••n of the guilt, but a mighty prospect of advantage, might be suppos'd to make us only forget it. True pursued Temple) we hear Caesar with pleasure rather than anger, repeating the Verse of E••∣ripides, which was to this sense:

If Right may be violated, it may for Empire, But in all things else be a lover of Vertue.

For at that time the Roman Empire pre∣sented a Noble Motive to his Ambition; but to see such contendings for it, when torn to pieces by the inundations of Barbarians in the time of Valentinian, raises our indignation when we read 'em. Right (added Church) for what∣ever the Antient might deserve, I'm sure those wretched Remains of the Majesty of Rome cou'd not merit so many Treasons, and Murders, to purchase them. Less still (said Fountain) does such a trifle, as a poor Country Estate deserve Damnation, both here, and hereafter. And this Estate (pursued Winter) perhaps is not a∣bove forty or fifty pound a year, which costs so many Bribes, Lyes, Forgeries, and Perju∣ries. 'Tis not the Quantity, but the Quality (said I) that allures us; we naturally covet what is not our due; the Fool is pleas'd to

be call'd a Witt, the Knave affects the Title of an honest Fellow, the Upstart is fond of Deference and Respect, the Coward fain wou'd be fear'd, and the Ugly lov'd, the precise wou'd be thought Saints, and the ignorant Learn'd. But 'tis strange, (return'd Grave) that sordid interest shou'd have so Universal a Charm as to engage most men to forget those Bonds of Nature, which the irrational Animals are most obedient to. But since 'tis not so strange as true (concluded Summer) e'ry man should stand on his guard, never trust a Re∣lation, or any other any farther than reason, and his own apparent interest allow.

LETTER XII.

From a Marryed Man to a Young Lady, to persuade her to yield her self up to his Embraces.—'Twas directed under a false Cover, To Mr. Fisted an Apothecary, at his House in—near Dowgate, London. The Inclos'd to the fair hands of the Charming Mistress Diana Easyt. These.

Charming CYNTHIA,

Exeter, Iune, 1692.

I Never thought Absence a cure for a true Passion, but I have found it adds to the violence of my Wishes, and sooner shou'd all business be neglected, and all things else the inferiour Concerns of my Life forgot, than the least of that Flame suppressed, which has so desirable a cause. I sigh, and languish each mo∣ment for you; and the busy Fools I deal with, take an ill omen, from these dubious Symp∣toms, fancying them the effect of some losses in Trade, which weakens my Credit with them, and makes them very cautious in their Bar∣••ains, never reflecting that ev'n in this Age, a man may be in love to distraction with one so beautiful as you. Ah! my adorable Cynthia!

How long will you suffer me to be thus wretch∣ed, when you have it in your power to make me the happiest man alive? You sometimes flatter me with hope, but still your Actions bid me Despair; for if you lov'd, how cou'd you be so cautious? Because my mistaken Friends marry'd me to one I was born to hate, must that deprive me of her I was created and destin'd to love, with an immortal and inviolable Faith? You tell me indeed; you pi∣ty me from your Soul, and that you wish For∣tune had left any way to my Happiness, with∣out trampling on your Honour. Ah Cynthia! let not empty words and senseless custom betray you to Ingratitude; Honour and Gratitude are inseparable, and 'tis a vulgar Error to think you can in••••re the first, by complying with the sacred Dictates of the latter. But to secure your Reputation in the Eye of the World, that always mis-judging Censurer, that shall equal∣ly be my care, since our mutual happiness de∣pends on it. Secrecy will enhance our Joys, which are still the greatest when they are stole from the view of the world: Ambition indeed loves Noise, and Spectators, but the Philoso∣pher's Love is never more gay and taking, than in sweet retreat. Ah! too charming Cynthia, why do you confess the sincerity and violence of my Passion Merits a return, unless you wou'd indulge that thought till it had master'd that prejudice against my happiness, begot by hated, nay a heathenish Custom? for this confinement to one Wise, my Cynthia is grounded, not on the Law of God, or Reason, but Old Ro••••, which with other Idolatrous Superstitions crept into those Christians, which lived under the awe of that Empire, those of Ethipia, and A∣frica,

to this day preserve their Christian Liberty of Plurality of Wives, which indeed is more agree∣able to Reason. Try, my lovely Charmer, how much stronger the Bonds of Love are, than 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Wedlock, the first are too strong to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dissolv'd by Ages, the last too weak to hold a day or hour. But Oh! I am too much in Love to study Arguments, to remove thy trif∣ling Doubts; my Love makes all things evident to me, and if you cou'd but love, you wou'd have no more Scruples. I have writ to thee, my dear Cynthia, e'ry post, and will continue to do so, till I return to London, which will be in ten days at farthest, when I hope to find thee more indulgent to my Love. Ah! give a loose to that sweet compassion, thy soft, and ••••••der Nature abounds with, for thou art an ••••gel within as well as without, which will ••••en permit me to breath out my languishing Soul into thy beauteous Bosom, who am your faithful Love,

W. L. R.

How powerful is the Corruption of Humane Nature (said Grave) which can pervert•• Rea∣son, its only Guide, and make it plead so much against its duty! Or rather (return'd Chappel) what a Proteus and Cameleo•• is Reason that thanges it's Shape, and Colour, almost in e∣very man? True (continued Brook) for there 〈◊〉〈◊〉 no 〈◊〉〈◊〉, but the Actor of it will set out a thousand Reasons in its justifications, if suc∣••••essful: Nor is there any Folly (pursued Temple) that may not have as many produc'd to ad∣vance it into the Class of Wisdom. There's

no Impiety (added Summer) that Reason will not sanctify, and no Opinion it will not render absurd; and the contrary, as Interest and Pow∣er persuades, and indeed the last Reason of Kings, is the general Guide and Director of Rea∣son, that is force and success. The Passion confess (said Church) that prevails, ranges all the Forces of Reason on it's side, so that Rea∣son seems rather the Mercenary Servant of the Passions, than their Guide. Here is another proof (interrupted Winter) of the truth of what you all seem to assert; 'tis a Letter from an Old Man to a young marry'd Lady, to per∣suade her to love him. He questions not her Age, I hope (pursued River) that is none of the best Arguments to prevail with a young Lurman, I'm sure. That you shall see (answer∣ed Fountain) upon the perusal of the Letter, for you know, Cicero says, There's nothing so ridiculous and absurd, but may be rendered pro∣bable by Argument or Reason. But words (con∣cluded I) are but very inefficacious Proofs; here your remote Arguments of Witnesses, Try∣al, &c. are more home in this point, than those drawn from the Topics.

LETTER XIII.

'Twas directed to Madam Justed, at her House in Bishopsgate-street, near the Sign of—, London.

Dear Madam,

Salisbury, June 1692.

I Got safe to Salisbury, where I have been drunk already with drinking nothing but your Health: Adad, I wish thy naughty Husband, who, I hear, is going for Holland, may be drowned in a Bowl of Punch, or dismember'd at Snicker-snee, for I am desperately in love with thee, as I have often told thee; Oh those pretty, black, languishing, dy∣ing Eyes! by my Faith, you little chit, you are in the wrong to despise me for my old Age, for an old man can be silent, when a young Coxcomb will be prating of your Favours in e'ery Coffeehouse, and Tavern. You may play the wag with an old man with safety, but a young one will, ten to one, give you an ugly Disease for all your kindness: A young man will pick your Husband's Pocket, but I'll ra∣ther drain my own. Lewdness and Interest provoke the Address of a young fellow, but an old man never has any motive but Love; young fel∣lows are fickle, old men constant; beside, a young ••••llow would rob thee of thy very Clothes, when I would give thee better. All these ways a young Rogue may damage thee, and thy Husband, but I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 do it no way: So that there's no cause, my de∣••••••clous, little, pretty, spicy, soft, melting Rogue you, why you should deny me. I'll not stir from

hence, till I hear from you, and if it be with any crumbs of Comforts, I'll take Coach immediately for London, and defer my Country Voyage till the next Age, for by my Knighthood. I love thee most infinitely, who am, you little chit you,

Your faithful Lover, G. Colts.

This is a pleasanter Lover (said River) than the former, and he minces not the matter a jot faith. He has enumerated a goodly company of Arguments (pursued Fountain) to raise his Merit: But none so powerful (replyed I) as the Promise of his Purse. Right, (continued Temple) that is so eloquent an Ar∣gument, that it seldom fails with the Fair. You might have said, (answer'd Church) which never fails, the whole Sex are Danaës they'l all spread their Laps for the Golden Shower. Nay faith, (said Brook) they are no more guilty of that than our selves, who can ill resist where that perswades. His Gold is young, and witty, (pursued Summer) and then no matter for the Impotence, and Impertinence of his person. Interest Indeed (said Chappel) is the general Bond of Love and Friendship; take away the prospect of Advantage and Amity soon grows cold. But how prepostero•••• (said Grave) is Man, that at an Age, when Deat•••• and Rottenness has laid one hand-upon him, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Thoughts can be employ'd upon the Dalliances of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as if he could, in the Embraces of Youth, secure hi••∣self against the Arrest of Death, which is a Credit•••• from whom no place can plead a Priviledge, or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 If it be a Defect in our Nature, (concluded Winte••) 'tis as much beyond remedy as Crookedness, wh•••••• though we may bolster up, to hide it from the Eyes of

others, it will still remain; besides these preposterous Pashions carry their own Punishment, Shame, and Ri∣dicule.

LETTER XIV.

From a Pluralist to his Patron; being a flattering Insinuation to gain the Advouson of a Third Living in his Gift, who had bestowed Two on him before. 'Twas directed to T. Prince Esq to be left for him at the Chri∣stian Coffee-house near Covent-Gar∣den, London:

Honoured Patron,

•• Have, with all the earnestness of a zealous Grati∣••••••tude, recommended you in my Prayers to the Most High, as indeed the great abundance of your Favour bestow'd upon me, obliges me, that He ••ould vouchsafe you his Protection on the Road, and in the City, from the visible, and invisible Ene∣••••••••; that lye perpetually in wait for those, that ••••••pect it not; but Heaven has a peculiar care of ••••ose, who like you, have been nursing Fathers of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Church, and will protect their Innocence from 〈◊〉〈◊〉 contagious Corruptions of the Town, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you cannot be in such eminent danger of, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 have laid so good a Foundation of Wisdom, as

the Fear of the Lord, as those who have not min∣ded their Creator in the days of their Youth, as you, Pious Sir, have done; there will perpetual Bles∣sing go with all your Actions, who have been so indulgent a Patron to me, the most unworthy of the Sons, and Ministers of the Church. And here, Sir, I cannot but take notice of what a rare Example of Christian Piety you are, in this pro∣fligate Age, when the very company of a Clergy∣man is almost a Scandal, you have espous'd our cause. Whilst other Youths are spending their Estates in the pursuit of Harlots, and the false En∣ticements of Sin, you take a delight in Goodness, and make the Clergy your Mistress, you being cha∣ritable, meek, and humble.—

—Nay, prithee pass over the panegyrical par•• (interrupted Temple) and come to the Question, and Demand; for we know 'tis a common Method to praise those we ask a Favour of, tho' perhaps they de∣serve that no more than we do the other. True, (con∣tinued River) the Praises of a Clergy-man like those of a Poet, are generally a Bribe for their own ad∣vantage; therefore supposing all the formal things 〈◊〉〈◊〉 can say so inspired, proceed to the business: Nay, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Truth on't is, (replyed Winter, who had read i••) here is a great deal to come of the same stamp, a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sheet of a Paper, in a small Hand, and close writ, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on all sides, scarce enough being left blank for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Superscription and Sealing.—Well, after a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 running over, he came at last to the Subject of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Letter, which was couch'd in a very little 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and then Winter read on.

—I had not touch'd upon all these admi∣••able Virtues you are embellish'd with in this place, but only to encourage my self to present my hum∣ble Request to you, which is this. I am inform'd, that Dr. Goodman is very ill, and that his Reco∣very is despair'd of; the Benefice is in your Wor∣ships Gift, and, dear Sir, you know what a Fami∣ly I have to maintain, what charge I have been at for Books, since the last Living you were pleas'd to bestow upon me, which has disabled my Charity, and Hospitality; and you know how apt these Peo∣ple are to disrespect the Character of the Clergy, If their Authority, and Reverence be not upheld by that means. But I need not repeat what I have often urg'd to you, and what I only now touch upon, to refresh your Memory, and therefore I hope you will be pleas'd to give me your Pro∣mise for it, or, at least, not to forget your most obliged Chaplain, and Servant,

Nat. Gold.

To say nothing of his ill-phras'd Encomium, (said ••happel) his Request is worded from the Book 〈◊〉〈◊〉, A Defence of Pluralities. That Author (said ••••ook) is not of St. Paul's mind, That the Clergy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be content with Food and Raiment; which Opinion of St. Paul, be maintains, is not calculated for this Age, when men take to the Ministry of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, for the sake of Mammon, and not of Christ; ••hich is the drift of most of his Conclusory Ar∣••••ments. He seems to make the Ministry indeed (con∣••••nued Fountain) a meer Temporal Calling, which ••one would take to, that could get Preferment of ••reater advantage, and interest. The truth is (said I) ••••••ce they are of opinion that Humility and Sanctity,

which gain'd Authority, and Veneration to the Apo∣stles and primitive Fathers, will at all avail them, 'tis fit they have Pluralities, and Riches to keep them from the Contempt of the People. This Author (pur∣sued Church) having made a meer political Affair of the Business, and Duties of the Clergy, 'tis no wonder he's not of the opinion of the Third, and Fourth Coun∣cils of Carthage, where 'twas decreed the Bishops themselves should have a plain, and mean Furniture of their Tables, and gain themselves Authority by their Faith and Integrity; nor of the mind of the Council of Chalcedon held under the Emperor Martian, which decreed, no Priests should have two Benefices. There are two great Oversights methinks in that Author, (said Summer) one where he says, That because there are a greater number of Inhabitants in a London-Parish, than in four, or five in the Country, that there∣fore a Country Incumbent might have more Benefices than one: Whereas he should have shewn, that the Ca∣ses were alike, which are very different, these Numbers being together, and near the Church, where the Mini∣ster is present to teach 'em all together, but those in the Country so divided, that it can't be, so I don't think one quarter in the year sufficient to apply himself to their Instruction. And next he should have shew'd•• that Five hundred Souls were not enough to employ the time of one man, to conduct them well to Heaven. The other Oversight is, That he will not allow Sixscor•• pound a year enough to furnish Books to a Minister, to qualifie him sufficiently for his Office, when there's scarce an Hundred Curates in England, that have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so much for maintaining their Families, and all; and yet he says, great part of them ar••-better qualified that the Incumbents. Well Gentlemen (concluded Grave) I must profes••, my value is such for learned men, that I think the Author of that Book has maintain'd a good Cause with excellent Wit, and Reason, the Authority

of which, all you have said has not at all shook with 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and therefore let us adjourn our Discourse to the ••••xt Cause.

LETTER XV.

From a young Lady to her She-Friend, disclosing her whole Breast, as to Marriage, Cloaths, and Characters of such and such pretty Gentlemen, who have discover'd some tender Affe∣ction for her. Directed to Madam Isabella Bright at Maidston in Kent.

My Dear,

Lond. June 1962.

I Have been so fatigu'd with the impertinent Ad-Addresses of the Men, that I could not find time to write to thee, my Love, last Post. I won∣der whether thee art of the same mind thee wert ••hen thee wrote thy last Letter, my Dear, such a ••••ghty Friend to Marriage. 'Tis true, I would ••••rry my self, but not yet, 'tis time enough when I come to be a stale Maid here, to retire into the ••ountry, and there take up with some grave Coun∣••••y Justice, where I may rule the Family, and the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 too. I shall grow weary of the Town, I fan∣••y, in five or six years time, but as yet the Gaie••y, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Gallantries of Love are, my Dear, very taking.

You counsel me against the danger of losing my Reputation by those Freedoms I grant, but you are mistaken, my Love, for the only way to lose that, is to be too sollicitous about it: Scandals in the Country are pieces of innocent Divertisement here, and one may as well pretend to live without Fine Cloaths, as without an Intrigue; I have half a score on my hands at this time, and I love 'em all alike, keep 'em in suspence, and da••ly, and play with them, give one a favourable Look, and another a Smile, a third my Hand to kiss; but then to keep them at their due distance, the next time I see them, I frown on the first, rail at the next, and wonder at the Sawciness of the third, if he presume to attempt the same Freedom again. Ah, my Dear, ••ou know not how pleasant a sight 'tis to see this Beau cringe, and screw his Body into an hundred forms, in hopes to appear amiable to you; that Spark look with a languishing dying Air, In hopes to make you sigh by simpathy; that Wit cracking his Brain to write taking Billet Deux to you, or Anagrams on your Name, beside Elegies after the new mode of Sir Courtly Voiture; but Wits are the most dangerous company a Woman can keep, they are commonly vain-glorious, and bragg of more than they obtain. That that vexes me most, my Mother is so covetous, she will let me have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Cloaths but twice a year, so that I am plagu'd to turn and twine them, that I may not be known by them: Fine cloaths have a wonderful charm with the Men, and one had as good ••e ugly as ill dress'd. But, my Dear, I'll give you a Catalogue of my ••o∣vers. I have a young Doctor of Physick that make honourable Addresses to me for Matrimony, but •• think not that an equal Ma••ch, unless I could po••••∣son him as easily as he can me. On the same pre∣tence I have a young Counsellor of the Temple, fur∣nished

with more Law, than Sence, and would, I be∣lieve, make a good Cuckold, but I'm not dispos'd that way as yet; besides, he may have Quirks enough in Law to chouse me out of my Jointure. I have also a young Doctor of Divinity, that seems to have a months mind to me, and tells me, he thinks me fairer, than a new System, or a good Bene∣fice; but I had rather have the whole Bible Apo∣cryphal, than that he should explain the Text, so as to make me a spiritual Madam. I have a young Merchant too, new set up for himself, finer than a Covent-Garden Beau, and more demure than your Chamber maid; he courts me not by Billet Deux, but Bills of Exchange, and Custom-house; but I have no mind to venture my self on Bottom-aree. So much for my Matrimonial Pretenders. I have of another sort, who are all for Love, and abomi∣nate the Pagan Confinement of Wedlock, as a de∣vice of the Priests to get Money, and destroy the free-born Joys of Love. Among these, is a young Lord, newly arriv'd to his Honour, and Estate, and wants another Qualification, of keeping a Mistriss with greater Grandeur, than ever he will his Wise: I receive his Lordship with the Air of Quality, seem pleas'd with his No-Jest, and blush at his Addresses, but never give him any encouragement of a favou∣rable reception, on so scandalous a motion; but he's obstinate, and, to say Truth, he is not better ••••ock'd with Estate, and Folly, than with Beauty; ••e's very handsom, dresses well, dances with an ••dmirable Grace, and I should like his company at 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Ball, in a Box in the Playhouse, in the Mall, or Hide Park, if it were not for fear of being ta∣••en for his Miss, for he really makes a good figure. But after all, my Dear, my Lord is really my Aver∣sion, he's not at all fit for an Intrigue. Next, I have a Beau of Tom Vrwin's Coffeehouse, a man of

War, he swears much, fights little, prays less, and is an irreconcileable Enemy to Sence, and Matri∣mony: I never admit him, unless when I have no other company; he's a very nauseous Fop. Next I have a Courtier, fully as finical, but he's mon∣strously in love, and protests, if 'twere not for the Scandal, he loves me so much, he could marry me; he's damn'd a thousand fathom, if there be any one of the Maids of Honour comparable to me. Among the rest, I have an ingenious younger Brother to a certain Knight of your acquaintance, that dresses neatly, but free from Foppery, that has a genteel Air, but not affected; with a Face that's handsom, and yet manly, a Voice soft, and melting, and a Tongue that would deceive a Vestal Virgin, that was sure to dye for yielding. This man, I must confess, my Dear, has such an ascendant over me, that I wish he were not so wild; and I fear I have heard him, say too much for my satisfaction, and content; but I endeavour to divert these Thoughts, by my own natural gaiety, and the abundance of Noise and Fool•• I am daily conversant with. My Paper won't hold no more, my Dear, so I am thy loving Bedfellow,

A. Langly.

This Lady has Wit enough (says Temple) to make me wish to be one of her Fools too. 'Tis•• pity (answer'd Church) so much Wit should be lost in so much coquetry as she expresses of her self. Pride, and Vanity makes•• her affect Addresses, and Company (said Summer) brings her to a volubility, and pertness in Discourse, and that passes down for Wit in a Woman. The truth•• ••••'t is (p••rsued Chappel) she's one of the Femal•••• Atheists, whose Wit lyes most in Ridicule of the sev••∣rer Virtues, great Church-goers, but little Prayers. Her Devotion (added Brook) is an inviting Glance, in return of a Bow from some of her Church-admirers, and

all she minds there, is the Song of Solomon, which she ••••rverts to a carnal sence. The Town, and Conversation (pur••••'d Winter) corrupts the noblest Pieces of Nature. But she's like to pay for it, I find (said Fountain) for she seems to be in Love, and then all these Freaks turn into Prostitution, and perpetual Iilting. True (said I) for when once a Woman of Wit's debauch'd, she's a per∣fect Messalina. And whatever Woman of Wit (added River) gives her self these liberties, seldom fails of losing her Honour. Right, (concluded Grave) like Flies they buz about the gaudy Light, till they burn themselves in the flame they have imprudently dallied with.

LETTER XVI.

From a conceited Fellow that affects to write fine Language, tho' he makes his Letter perfect Nonsense. 'Twas directed thus to the super-ingenious Hands of Mr. Absalom Rash at his Shop at the Sign of Lion Gradant, near Fleet-Ditch, London.

Obscenical Sir,

Scarborough, Iune 1692

I Could not recognize upon any Substance since I was so Malheureus in your transcendent Conver∣••••tion, which the Philosophy of the Cymerians mo•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 demonstrated, tho' I must confess, •• 〈◊〉〈◊〉

those Ecclarisments, and doubtful Disputations have no small Antiquity, yet the extraordinary Regre•• that Humidity, and Preter-natural turn of your Wit superseded them, makes me desire a fresh Excre∣ment from you to nourish my Intellectuals, which received the Veracity of the Negotiation, but to deny the grand Touer of the Punctuation of the Meridian of my Understanding. I shall therefore desire you to obliterate the Forgetfulness of the Transcript of a fresh Advice from the Exotic Re∣gions of learning within the Sphere of Activity of the Sedentary and Peripateric Universities, and the Inoculations of transcendent Posteriors of the City Wits, those will be royal, and despotle Disvertise∣ments here in this rural, and contignous abode. I am,

Sir,

your Supercillious humble Servant, Jehoiachim Balderdash.

If the Spark 'tis sent to (said Chappel) understand him no better than I, he might e'en have sav'd the charge of Postage. Oh, (said Brook) 'tis with these Coxco••bs as with Women, they shall understand one anothers Nonsense readier, than true Sense; as if (pur∣su'd Fountain) there were another Language of Cor∣respondence establish'd by Nature among Fools, and that intelligible, than among the rest of Mankind; there is (said Grave) a desire of being thought wiser than ones Neighbour, runs through the whole Race of Adam; and Fools being unable to attain it in reali∣ty (pursu'd Church) are pleased with what they think so. Right (continu'd Summer) and if they can say or write any thing that's not intelligible, they think themselves elevated above their Brother bruits the Mob. Now I dare sware (said River) this Letter is

from some Taylor, that by his plentiful Cuts, and Snips has got enough to make the Figure of a Gentle∣man in a Country Village: And (assum'd I) would seign make Cabbage of all the fine Words he meets with; but (pursu'd Winter) if he could have dispos'd the Purloinings of his Native Occupation no better, they wou'd but have made Fools Coats at best, patch'd particolour'd Dresses. This Disease of Affectation of fine speaking (concluded Temple) is very Epidemic, as if People were asham'd to be thought what they are, and yet won't take pains to be, what they desire to be thought.

LETTER XVII.

From Jone to Ralph, accusing him of Infidelity and breach of Promise, in staying so long in London. 'Twas directed for Ralph Saddler, at the Angel-Inn behind Clement's Church, London.

Dear Ralph,

I Wish yea wou'd be as good as your promise in bringing me the Vine Coifs and Ribond vor my Hat with yea, vor yea have not come home azzoon as yea zaid, yea have vorgot how ov•• yea told me yea lov'd me, yea have got Zome other Zweet-heart in thick Town of London, but I could be even with yea if I were Zo minded, vor Brisk George of the

Talbot suiters me now, and wou'd rather than his Life have me, he wou'd vain have kiss'd me tother day, I zaid no thee shatten'd Chil zaid he, shat∣ten'd zaid I, but he vorc'd one vrom me, and then I zaid what art the better vort now, vor my minds sake, zaid he, but Chil not come near him no more. Good zose I had forgot a gorget, O living heart, now Ralph if you don't buy me a Gorget I'll nere abide yea, but make hast home if thou lovst me, vor I think I shall be torn to pieces.

Ioan Sweeting.

Here's the Mercenary, and cunning of the Six (said Grave) in a russet Wastcoat, and steeple Hat. I believe (pursu'd Summer) Vices like the Parts, and Members of our Bodies, are spread thro' the whole Kind. Right (continu'd Chappel) and like them are only improv'd by difference of use, and breeding. Joan here has the wheedle of her designing Sex (said Fountain) tho' in a Home-bred-dress. Nature (said River) adapts the Dress to the Capacity of him that is to be gull'd. From whence 'tis apparent (said Temple) that the universal Principle Self-interest actuates the whole-World. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me (said Church) Self-interest of pri∣vate Men seems as rational and justifiable, as of States. Right, (said I) because e'ry Man is a little World. By this (answer'd Brook.) You wou'd place us naturally in the State of War, like Mr. Hobbs. I know not that (concluded Winter) but the general Practice of the World, without exception, shews us we are in the State of Rapine, in Love, Religion, Law, and Government.

LETTER XVIII.

From an Apprentice, complaining to his Mother of the Hardships he meets with in his Apprenticeship. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Tedder, at her House in Fothringham in Kent, with Care and Speed.

Dear Mother,

London, Iune, 1092.

I Am very much dissatisfy'd with my Master, he never gives me any time to go abroad to re∣create myself, all the Week I must be in the Shop, and on Sundays, I must be at Church, and from thence home again to read in the Bible, or some other Book, I am fobb'd off with any thing; there's ne're a Prentice in the Street but goes better dress'd than I, and has more liberty. I dine with the Maids, and that not till the Victuals are cold, and then I must tend one of my Master's Brats all the while, if I commit the least oversight I am thrash'd without mercy; in short, 'tis a Hell upon Earth, and if you don't take care to have me turn'd over, I'm resolv'd to run away to Sea, or any whether. Pray, dear Mother, send me a little Mony, for my Master takes away all my vails. I am,

Your Dutiful Son, Jonathan Tomsons.

This youn••ster, (said I) is sick of the Mother; for which (answer'd Brook) the Gallows is generally the Cure; the Observation (pursu'd Grave) is too true, for the Indulgence of the Parent, makes all the Methods of honest living uneasie to the Child; so that he only learns to spend (continu'd Winter) in his Prenticeship, and to steal when he comes for himself. No wonder (said Church) we seldom observe the Golden mean in our Lives, when our Parents are so unequal in our Educa∣tion. True (added Summer) for the exteams of se∣uerity, and fondness prescribe blind measures to them. Of the two (said Temple) Severity is the less dange∣rous. I am of the same mind (said Fountain) as well as your Friend Horace, who is for using Youth to Labour, and Hardship. That indeed (said Chappel) is the Mother of Vertues, whilst ease enervates the Soul, and Body too. It renders all Conditions uneasie (con∣cluded Brook) and makes this Lad like too many of his Station complain of that regularity of Life, they ought to be kept to; that Vertue with their Years might grow habitual, for a Habit in Vertue, or Vice is more durable than Precepts of right, or wrong.

LETTER XIX.

From a barren Woman to a Doctor, to desire his Advice what to do to Conceive. 'Twas directed to Dr. Ch.—at his Lodgings in Old—, near Charing-Cross, London.

This was inclos'd in another to Mrs. Bush, with Orders to give the Doctor his Fees.

Honoured Dr.

BY my Cousin I have sent you a Fee; I desire your Advice what Method to take, that I may bear a Child to my Husband, who seems much dis∣satisfy'd that I am Barren, and that I fear alienates his Heart from me, he having a good Estate, and no kindness for him that will next inherit it, if he die issueless; I am apt to think 'tis his fault tho' ha∣ving had the same Fate with a forme•• Wife, tho' he's as Promising a Man as one shall see. I am therefore resolv'd to try all means possible to gratifie him, and my self too in having a dear Babe, and being a Mother. Your Skill in these Affairs has made me address my self to you. who am Sir,

Your unknown Servant, E. B.

Alas! poor Lady (said Brook) the Skill of the Doctor is often nonplus'd in this Case: The truth out is (said River) her case is something desperate, and her Fee as good as thrown away. Ladies that have try'd Remedies for this (said I) have generally found the change of Bed-fellows more beneficial than the Bath or Wells. This Lady (answer'd Summer) seems to be, much of that opinion. Handsomly hinting (added Temple) that the defect lies in her Husband; and by cons••quence (said Fountain) that she hop'd she might improve under an ab••er Husbandman. She has furnish'd herself (said Chappel) with a good Plea for Cuckold∣ing her Husband, that is the consulting his desire, to wrong the next Heir of the Estate. If a Woman (said Winter) have a mind to a thing she'll soon ••••ad a Reason to justifie it, as well as a oppertunity to effect it. But supposing the best (sa••d Church) all that I can observe is, that she has a wondrous mind to be a Mother, because she is not so. 'Tis our Nature (con∣cluded Grave) to slight the present, and covet the absent Blessing; and so in a perp••tual Circle.

LETTER XX.

From a younger Brother to his Mi∣stress in Town, that had sent him word she was with Child by him, to advise her to lay it to another. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Sarah Ruth∣land, a Semptress, at the Sign of the ... in the Strand, London. With Care and Speed.

Dear Flesh and Blood,

YOu send me word you are afraid you are with Child, you foolish Chit, cou'd you not play with more discretion, but since 'tis so, if you love me or your self provide for the worst, you know, or might know, all my subsistance is upon an old Aunt, that is so plaguily Religious, that she would cashier me quite if she shou'd know me guilty of this little Venial slip, her allowance is short enough already, as you know to your cost. Therefore ad∣mit of the Addresses of the old Hypocrite, that has made such Broad-sides to you, by that means you'll provide both for the Child, and its Mother too. Be not over squemish, what, tho' he has not been able to get a Child since the days of our Fore∣fathers, he's rich, and has a mind to be nibling de∣fer his Appetite no longer, but take my advice, who am thy ever faithful Loving,

R. Robinson.

Here's good Husbandry in whoring (said Temple) Ay, and good Contrivance too (replied Chappel) his Mi∣stress finds him Linnen doubtless, and he you see (pur∣su'd Summer) supplies her with a good Father to a Child of his own begetting. How Prudence and Gratitude (said Brook) march hand in hand! 'Tis a common practice (said Fountain) for Ladies of her Station to have two Fathers to their Off-spring, a natural, and adopted. Inverting the Roman custom (said I) for, here the Child adops the Father. The holy Fornicacor (said River) in the mean while is like to pay sa••ce for the Back-s••iding. 'Tis sit Hypocrisie (said Church) shou'd purchase the Vanity it gains in the Esteem of the World, at the expence of its private Idol Mammon. They are such in∣timate Friends (pursu'd Winter) that methinks they shou'd rejoice to support one another, on••y the Friend∣ship of Iniquity is not very cordial. Thus e'ry Vic•• and Folly (concluded Grave) has a train of secret Punishments, linck'd fast to it.

LETTER XXI.

From a Iealous Wife, to her Hus∣band in Town. 'Twas directed to Mr. Smith, to be left for him at the Sun Coffee-house in the Strand, London. With Care.

Mr. Smith,

I Wonder what detains you in London thus long, I'm very sure the business you went about might have been finish'd in one quarter of the time; but I suppose you delay your return, to be the longer out of my hated company with your Harlots. Well, well, Mr. Smith, you must pretend no more to the name of a Gentleman, when you came a wooing to me, you swore a thousand Oaths 'twas for love of my Person, and not my Mony, but you have not only broke all them, but your Marriage Vow too. I receiv'd a hypocritical Letter from you t'other day, but I found it seal'd with another Body's Seal. In short, Mr Smith, either reform, or I protest I'll not live with you, and if you return not quickly, I'll come to Town, and rout you out of your holes. What, tho' I am a little older than you, I am amiable enough in other Eyes, and if I were so minded, I could revenge my self in another way, but I scorn the thought on't, and only wish you could be as constant, and vertuous as my self, who am your faithful, tho' injur'd Wife,

Mar. Smith.

This Gentleman (said Winter) is Wiv'd, or I'm mi∣staken. He had his choice (answer'd Brook) you find by this Letter. True (said I) Mony, and Age. 'Tis fit therefore (pursu'd River) he have his punish∣ment for perverting the end of Matrimony; that is (added Summer) a scold, and jealous. She that's jealous (said Fountain) must be a scold. But (said Chappel) I cannot understand why one of our Poets calls Iealousie the Ia••ndice of the Soul, that Di∣stemper holding no Analogy with it; that renders the Body heavy, weak, and drousie. Right, but Iea∣lousie (pursu'd Temple) makes the mind active, stir∣ring, and perpetually in motion. He scarce deserves pitty (said Church) since he cou'd expect no other when he marry'd, and he that sees a Danger, and will not avoid it deserves to perish in it; and truly (con∣cluded Grave) the speady way to ruine, is such a Wife, who affords no ease at home, but condems her Husband torments there, or the Fate of the Jews abroad, rambling. But here is another has a mind to venture into the Noose. Here's Love in abundance, whatever there is of Wit.

LETTER XXII.

From a Dwarf, to a tall Lady, with whom he was in Love. 'Twas dire∣cted to Madam Carew, at Mr. Bar∣ral's, in the Pall-Mall, London.

Madam,

Oxford, June 1692.

'TIS not Absence, which your Cruelty has com∣manded, that can efface that lovely Image your Eyes have form'd in my faithful Bosom. I have, 'tis true, but to no purpose, retir'd to Oxford, to see if Books, and learned men would bring me any Relief, but I find Philosophy is of no power to root out a Passion that is once admitted, whatever it may to defend us from an Invasion. I tell you, Madam, Love in my Breast is with greater difficul∣ty remov'd, than Foreign Aids out of the distressed Kingdom they are call'd in to assist; Love has sub∣dued me all, and I am entirely a Slave. Despise not my Stature, Madam, for tho' my Body be dwar∣sish. my Soul is greater than that of the six-foot-high Lover; it actuates this little World with more free Agility, and my Perceptions, and Operations of Mind are less confin'd, and clogg'd; there is a ••earer correspondence betwixt my Heart, the Seat of Life, and Love, and the other subservient parts of my Body. In short, I can imagine no advan∣tage the big men have over me, unless it be the damming up the nobler part of Man, the Soul, with a greater quantity of heavy and lumpish Clay, which

renders its Passions, and Vertues less perfect, Wit, Courage, and Love being all more languid in them than us. Big men are very often Cowards, and very seldom witty, and ingenious. I confine these Observations, Madam, to the Men, since the com∣position, and matter of a Woman is of a finer, and more delicate Mould, nearer a-kin to the Essence of her Soul; and I venerate that quality in your self, Madam, it rendring you more like to Heaven, since I lift up my longing Eyes to both, tho' my Prayers soar no higher than your self, the glorious Image of the bright Empyreal; besides, the diffe∣rence of your Stature would demonstrate your Au∣thority, and Rule over me; for I desire to be eter∣nally your Slave. Oh that your Compassion, and Justice would let me sacrifice my person on the fair Altar of your lovely Bosom, as I have already my Heart on those of your Eyes. If Love be Merit, none deserves you more; and sure whatever we may the other, the heav'n of Woman is gain'd by Merit. Your Rigour makes me bold, and vain, it forces me to boast, that as I deserve you better than any man, so that none shall bear you from me, whilst there is a Soul within the despised Body of your Faithful Slave,

Rob. Petite.

The little Gentleman (said Chappel) seems to be extreamly in Love, tho' his descant upon tall men, me∣thinks, is not so proper a Topic to a Lady that lyes un∣der the same circumstance, left she should turn it to her self. But he has taken care of that (answered Temple) by a handsom applying the Defect in Man to a Perfe∣ction in Woman. The truth on't is, (said Summer) his little Body seems to be well fill'd with Spirit. And by his Indignation one would think (pursued

Brook) that he had the character Statius gives of Tydeus, in hismind, Major in exiguo regnabat corpore virtus; that is, The greater Soul the lesser Body fill'd. I can never blame that Assurance he expres∣ses, (said I) since it is not the effect of Vanity, but Necessity; for a Woman that slights a Lover for his Modesty, is generally won by the contrary quality. Right (continued Winter) and a man that is too sensible of his own Defects, will never gain the Lady he pre∣tends to. He may well pretend (said Grave) to me∣rit her, when the depraved Appetite of Woman is such, that she will not ••ilk the variety and extravagance of her Pleasure, if an Hobgoblin were the Object, had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but some imperfect shape of Man, or the most de∣form'd disguise of Body, to hide the Terror of the Spi∣rit. You have always a good word for the fair Sex, (said Church) but I can't think your Reflection just, since without doubt it reaches not all that soft Comfort of Mankind. That's granted (answer'd Fountain) but still the merits of Form, or Fancy prevails with the Sex, more than those of Wit, and Parts. But (concluded River) we labouring under the same Er∣ror, can't condemn them without including our selves. However, I wish the Merits of the Mind of this little Gentleman may prevail, tho' I confess, a little Hus∣band seems to have been taken out of the side of a tall Wife, and not she out of his.

LETTER XXIII.

From a young Lady, that had been be∣tray'd by Love to the Embraces of a young Gallant, who had got her with Child, to whom she sends this Letter, to desire him to save her Honour, and by some means help her to something that may cause Abortion. 'Twas di∣rected to Mr. Richards, at his Cham∣ber in the—Temple, Lon∣don.

My dear False one,

••omfret, 1692.

WHY did you betray me by so many Vow••, and Sighs, to believe you lov'd me? O••, why did you pursue my Ruin because I lov'd you? ••s Mankind so strange a Creature that we cannot love him without Ruin, nor hate him without the imputation of Hypocrisie, and Cruelty? Sure you have bewitch'd me, to make me still love him that I perceive has not only u••done me, but con∣temns me for what he treacherously betray'd my easie Heart to grant! Ah, if you have no Love▪ shew some Regard to my Misfortune, of which your self are Author, and send me some Medicine to procure Abortion, that so, at least by adding a fresh Crime to my former, I may secure my Repu∣tation,

tho I have lost my Innocence. Your own Safety is concern'd in this, as well as my Happi∣ness, for you may be sure my Brother will never forgive the Injurer of the Honour of his Family. I can no more at present for crying, to find what a condition my fond Credulity has brought me to, I am, false man, cruel, unkind, dear man, thy unhappy

E. R.

Well, did Periander say (cry'd Grave) that Consi∣deration was all in all? True (continu'd Winter) for that would redeem Mankind from all its Follies, if he weigh'd but the inconveniencies of all his actions. This poor Lady (said Church) indeed, perhaps, would have sav'd her self a lasting trouble by that means. She is one of the million of daily Examples (said Ri∣ver) of the forsaken, believing Sex. Consideration (said Brook) would have told her, that Man gene∣rally seeks that with earnestness which he quits with ease, when once obtain'd. And that (pursu'd I) in Ambition as well as Love: Thus Dioclesian, that waded through Blood to Empire, when he was in the securest enjoyment of it, forsook it. So violent (said Summer) and inconsiderate are all our Passions, and so changeable our Desires However equal the Folly, and Crime may be, (said Temple) in the wanton Dal∣liances of Love, I'm sure the Woman goes away with the Shame, as well as Pain. 'Tis pity (said Foun∣tain) that there is that Ignominy attends the propa∣gation of our kind, that those whom Heav'n has made fruitful, should be obliged to desire its Curse Barrenness, for that Blessing, as this Lady does. As for her, (concluded Chappel) I find by the Letter her Honour may be salv'd, and her Child sav'd, since there's a violent Brother in the case, who commonly ••••kes the inconstant man pay his Liberty for his Fro∣lic.

LETTER XXIV.

From a Lady, who consents to a De∣bauch, upon condition that her Hus∣band agreed to't. 'Twas directed to Mr. Wealby, at his House near Brumly in Kent.

SIR,

London, June 1692.

YOU have so importun'd me with Letters, and Ad∣dresses, that in my own defence I must send you an Answer, in which is my final Resolve: I am not so cruel to neglect his Sufferings, which I have caus'd, or to slight a man that I have reason to think values me; I shall therefore do any thing to satisfie your Passion, that I can do without pre∣judice to my Husband, but if he consent, there can be no Injury done him. Perhaps this Pro∣posal is not so extravagant as it may seem, for Mony is his God, and his Love too: So that if I am worth the purchasing, I dare say, he'l scarce overvalue me. This Sir, I hope, will free me from your Addresses, or else satisfie your Desires, which I wish with all my Heart, who am

Yours to command, Bab. Rock.

This is one of the oddest sort of conditional Consents to a Debauch (said Temple) I ever met with in my life. Nay, if she will yield (said Winter) to her Lover, with the consent of her Husband, he has cause enough to believe she won't long resist without it. For my part (said Chappel) I rather take it for a Banter, than her real meaning. The truth on't is (answer'd Summer) 'tis not very reasonable to think the Hus∣band will ever consent to his own cuckoldom. Oh! you're under a great mistake (replied Fountain) for there's many a man will put his Horns in his Pocket, if they are but Silver-gilt. Nay, the Air of the Letter (continu'd Church) seems to intimate the Husband's consent already obtain'd. Right (pursu'd Brook) on the condition aforesaid mony will do all things. The City of London (said I) has not been barren of Exam∣ples of this nature, to my knowledge. In short, (said River) the Letter is so cunningly-worded, that she comes off with credit if the Gallant be stingy, and gains her point if the Mony be forth-coming. Nay, where Vice is to be manag'd with dexterity (conclu∣ded Grave) commend me to a Woman, especially when she has either Pleasure, or Profit in it.

LETTER XXV.

From a poor Sine-Cure to a young Heir newly come to his Estate, who had a Benefice in his Gift; for a little pre∣sent Relief, and also for a Benefice. Directed to Th. Ch..., Esq to be left at Will's Coffee-house in Bow-street near Covent-Garden.

Honour'd Sir,

Stafford, 1692.

I Would send you the Benediction of the Church, if I thought you would value it from the hands of a poor Sine Cure, as much as I shall the Blessing I desire from you. However, the Honour I had to be so intimate with you at the University, gives me the assurance of my Coat, to beg the favour of you to bestow something of your Bounty on me, for 'tis my fortune to be at present Journyman-Curate to your Parson, who saves the expence of his Journy out of the Allowance he gives me, and therefore by the by, Sir, I hope you'l give me the Advouson, that if the old Gentleman be gather'd up to his Fa∣thers, at the Bath, whither he's gone for the cure of his Body, not Mind, I may officiate with the greater zeal, when the Advantage flows into my own Purse. The Scripture says, That he that takes to the Altar, must live by the Altar. Truly, I wish your Worship would put me into a capacity of com∣plying

with this Precept; for if there were no bet∣ter Altars than mine in the Nation, the Clergy might dwindle down to crape Gowns, and Small Beer, and be as out at Heels as

Your humble Servant, Iosiah Wittis.

A witty fellow this (said Temple) but none of the most pious. One would think his Poverty, and Affli∣ction (continu'd Fountain) should have taken away his jocose humour. No, no, a man that is-that way ••nclin'd (answer'd River) if he were dying, would have his Iest like Sir Thomas Moor, on his Beard. What, (said Chappel) when he took his Beard, when he was laying down his Head on the Block, and told the Executioner his warrant was to cut off his Head, and not his Beard? If he'd have his Iest, (pursu'd Brook) he might have learnt in the School of Affection to be a little more devout. Oh, that's a vulgar Er∣ror (return'd Summer) to think that Devotion springs from Poverty, with any more Certainty than Repentance from a Death-bed Sickness. No, no, (con∣tinu'd Church) Affliction seldom meliorates our Lives, and most men under them are like Boys only hardn'd by Severity. And contrive rather to encrease their crimes (added Winter) to ease their Necessities, than by a better, and more regular life. Too many of the Clergy (said I) make a Iest of Religion, both in their practice, and words. There is this to be said for the excuse of this man (concluded Grave) because his Necessity obliges him to take that method in wri∣ting, which may please the lewd Humor of his Pa∣tron.

LETTER XXVI.

From a Citizen to one in the Country, who had his Bastard to maintain. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Gosted at her House near Rumfo••d in Essex.

Dear Mrs. Gosted,

HAve a little patience, I protest, as soon as I can get a little Mony, without my Wifes know∣ing it, I'll send it you: I have sent you Twenty shillings by the Rumford Coachman, I would not have it known for the World: I hope the Child is well, you need not fear your Mony, I'll omit no opportunity of getting it up, and that with all the speed I can: Come, come, 'twas a delicious slip of Nature, and if Grace be wanting, and such a tempting Creature opportune, come, there is none, tho more precise than my self, but would do the same. Therefore, good Mistriss Gosted, have a care of my little Bantling, it may chance to be my Heir if I outlive my Wife, for 'tis a finer Boy than any she has had by me. Dear Mistriss Gosted, I have sent you a dozen of Gloves for a present. I am

Yours to command, Dan. Rab.

Here's a Hen-peckt Slave (said Temple) has ven∣tur'd upon Adultery. Tho he can't purlion (added Chappel) enough from his Lady-wife to pay for the keeping of his Bastard. How epidemic, and powerful is Lust (said Grave) against which no station almost can secure us. The Divine steals time (pursu'd Win∣ter) from the Apocalyps, to reveal his frailty to a whore. The Lawyer (continu'd Church) that cheats in his Study, is bubbl'd in a Bawdy-house. The Phi∣losopher (added Fountain) retires from the disquisiti∣on of the Mineral Kingdoms, to find out the way of a young man with a maid. Which is a difficult search (said River) if we believe Solomon. The very busie trading Citt (assum'd I) can find his leisure hours from Oppression, for this Peccadillo. The Poor, (said Summer) and the Rich fall within the Observation. And the Tyrants of their Familys (concluded Brook) as well as the obedient Husbands, of this Spark's Kidney.

LETTER XXVII.

From a Lawyer to his Knight of the Post, about a Cause he was to swear in, with Instructions in the case. This Letter was wrote in Characters, but the company at last decipher'd it thus:

'Twas directed to Major Bince, to be left for him at the Hand Coffeehouse in White-Fryers.

Dear Major,

Wil••shire, Iune 169••

BE sure you be not out of the way by the first day of the next Term, for then the Cause comes on; I have told you what you are to swear, be sure you remember all the Circumstances, and Directi∣ons I gave you, use your self to assert it in the mean time in company, and by their Objections you may find how to strengthen your Evidence on the day of Trial. If you, and your Creature do the Work effectually, I'll add ••ten Guineas to what we have agreed for; if we baff••le the Plaintiff this bout, I know his Abilities so well, that he can ne∣ver be able to bring it about again, and when I have him at my mercy, never fear, I'll secure him from ever attempting it. I have sent a Token to you by my man Dick, who left Croom a fortnight since, so I suppose you have received it. Let me 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from you, if you want my Advice in any thing of the matter, who am your faithful Friend,

W. H.

Here's a pure piece of Knavery, (cry'd out Rivers) the Law that is ordain'd for the security of our Proper∣ty, is manag'd by the Sons of Belial to the ruin of Hundreds. 'Tis as dangerous (said I) to venture to engage with a Lawyer in a Suit of Law, as with a Fencing-master in a Duel; Death, and Rain's the consequence. The Fable of the Dog, and the Sheep (pursu'd Brook) is his parallel, the Vultures, Kites, and Wolves, all give in evidence against the defence∣less Sheep. So that our Estates are upon a ••cklish point (said Church) for if there can be no Law against a Knavish Lawyer, they'l be our own no longer, than till they can get a Finger in them. True (continu'd Fountain) he that has the power, and the will to do an Injury, will easily find an occasion. This Spark is perfect in his Trade (said Chappel) for he has give•• him the Receipt of a Lyar, to tell his Story so often over, that at last he asserts it as if he really believ'd it himself. In short, (said Grave) the whole Affair is a Iuggle, and he that pretends to get by the Law, must be none but a Lawyer; for let the Plaintiff, and Defendant have never so good a Cause, the Counsels run away with the Bone from both. Their numero••s Volumes of Interpretation of Statutes, and Prece∣dents, &c. (said Temple) have only served to con∣found the whole, and make it as doubtful as the true Religion. As the old man that consulted three Lawyers on a point in Law, found it (pursu'd Summer) you have earn'd your Fees, said he, for you have encreased my Ignorance, and I am farther to seek now, than I was at first. But methinks (concluded Winter) •• Lawyer that is a Knave, and prophanes the Sanctuary of the wrong'd, deserves Death and Torments with∣out Mercy, and is far more injurious to the Common∣w••alth, than a whole Band of Robbers.

LETTER XXVI••I.

From a Lady in the Country to ano∣ther in London; giving an account of a Dream she had. 'Twas di∣rected to Madam Lock, at her House in Charle's-street, West∣minster.

Dear Madam,

I Was extreamly surpriz'd to hear the News of your Daughters Marriage to Mr. Softstead, for the very night before I had this Dream, methought I was walking out into the Meadow just above my Cousin Iohnson's House, all alone, and of a sudden I heard a great deal of Music, but cou'd see no body, though methought I heard a great many Men and Women. After that methought my dead Husband was alive, and brought me home a whole Cargo of Dia∣monds, Rubies, and precious Stones, I was so o're joy'd at the Treasure, that I awak'd, and your Son arriv'd here, and told me his Sister was to be Mar∣ry'd that very day; but having Company here I could not come, but I hope my Dream may presage her Wealth, and Content, my Drea••s are always om••nous. Little Betty is very bad of an Ague, this Kentish Air does not agree with her, and I begin to be weary of the Country; and wish for your good Company, whom am,

Your humble Servant, Ruth Fall.

Now can't I for my Life (said Summer) find what Analogy this Dream has to the Wedding. Full as much (answer'd Temple) as most Dreams have that pass for Omens. Right (pursu'd Fountain) for what likeness has a Tree to Empire, yet the Dream of Astya∣ges, was so enterpreted to him. I am of Opinion (said Chappel) that most of those Prognostic Dreams we find in History were made after the Event like the Pro∣phecies of these latter days. I'm not of your Opini∣on (answer'd River) for 'tis certain that Dreams of old were the Informations of Heaven, for when Saul came to the Witch of Endor, he complain'd that God neither spoke to him by Dreams, nor, &c. Fancy the Queen of Dreams (said I) rules most of the World more, than reality when awake, so that I know not whether they may not be as material a part of our Lives as that which is transacted when awake. Job seems to have as great a concern (pursu'd Winter) for it, and puts it in balance with the other, Cap. 7. Vers. 17. I'm sure (said Grave) there is so great a shar•• of our Lives spent in sleep, that we must desire it should be as sedate, and quiet as may be. Nay (pur∣su'd Brook) the Visionary Bliss, and Happiness, and Treasure of Dreams, for that reason, are as desira∣b••e then, as the real ones when waking. Nay, the truth on't is (concluded Church) if there be so great an un∣certainty in our Knowledge of our being asleep or awake, that it was worth the Disquisition of so great a Philosopher as Des Cartes, with so solemn a face of Seriosity, I know not whether there be so material a Distinction betwixt our Dreams, and being awake, as the generality of the World imagines.

LETTER XXIX.

This Letter the Company could not De∣cypher, but I ••ope by that time the next Volume is printed we may find it out. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Fox, near Bow in Essex.

716 16 208 5 12 21 20 8, 6 17 20, 4 16 22 21, 2 11 5 14, 19 16 12 21, 24, 7 22 11 11 14, 11 19, 5 20 125 7, 24 12 21, 13 2, 14 11 8 21. 8 11 22 17 20 ••6 20 87, 10 11 20 137, 720 12 21, 6 17 20, 4 17▪ 11 14 20, 23 11 3, 2 248 19 51 14 14 2, 6 20 24 14 21, 510,—16, 24 13, 2 11 58, 14 11 5 16 12 18 7 16 76 20 8▪ 13 ••4 82, 19 11 3.

LETTER XXX.

From a Prisoner almost starv'd, to his cruel Creditor. 'Twas directed to Alderman Stage, at his House near Dover in Kent.

SIR,

Wood-street-Counter, 1692.

I Know not but this may be the last time I shall be able to trouble you; I have had nothing but the Common Basket to live upon this half Year, and we are so numerous that that is not sufficient to find us subsistance. You know I never was extravagant, and that you are my only Creditor that confine me to this hated place, if I were at liberty, I would with all my heart give all that I can earn, more than what will keep me alive, toward the satisfacti∣on of your self, for the rest will stay till you are discharg'd, my Death can do you no good, but my Life, and Liberty may. I desire your speedy An∣swer, for else it may come too late, Sickness and Imprisonment will soon make an end of me, and then you'll lose all your Money. I am

Your unfortunate Debtor, James Truehest.

This is one of the most barbarous Customs (said Church) in the World, and which scarce any other Nation is guilty of, to permit such as are not able to pay to be kept in Prison. 'Tis foolish, and pre∣posterous (said Temple) as well as barbarous, for in∣stead of the Creditors getting the Debt, it only makes sure that he shall never have it. How much better is the Custom of France (said River) where the Debtor's Goods, and Books are feiz'd upon, and two parts divided among his Creditors, and a third left him to begin again. A Debtor here in England (said Brook) is in a worse Condition than a Felon, who by burning in the Hand may come off with Life and Liber∣ty, or at worst, after a time to prepare himself by Death, freed from a Goal Right (pursu'd Fountain) but a Deb∣tor is for his life confin'd to a loathsome Prison, and the Tyranny of pro••••igate Rascals, that will f••eece the poor Unfortunates of ev'n that wretched Remainder that's left them. We punish Poverty (said Grave) as if 'twere a Crime, and honour Wealth as if 'twere Vertu•• And if a Prince by an Act of Indulgence (said I) attempt the relief of the most necessitous, their very ne∣cessity shall be the only cause they shall not have the benefit of it. True (added ••happel) for the Fees of the merciless Goalers must be got tho' hundreds of the wretches can't rais•• the tenth part of 'em. And then these Acts are generally perverted; (said Summer) for the Men of the Law, who have the Regu∣lation of 'em ••are 'em monstrously to gratifie the spightful Creditors. Malice, Revenge, Cruelty and Pride (concluded Winter) dispose our Actions in this as well as other Affairs of the World. We are made up of various Nations, which I think makes us delight in such cruelty to one another.

LETTER XXXI.

From a Superstitious old Gentleman to a Clergy-man, about disposing of some Estate to a Pious use. 'Twas directed to Dr. B—, at his House in Watling-stree••, Lon∣don.

Reverend Dr.

Epsom, June▪ 1692.

SInce I left London I find my self worse, and these Epsom-waters are of no effect, the time of the Lord is coming I find, and if it be his bles∣sed Will to take me away, his will be done, only I de••ire that you wou'd dispose of the two thousand Pounds I ordered my Goldsmith to pay you if I die, to some Pious u••e. That as I have received plentifully from the Lord I may return it in some measure to him in good Deeds. I commend my self to your good Prayers, and those of all your Congregation. I would not have my undutiful Daughter Betty, that marry'd without my Consent have one Farthing of it, if she want it she may thank herself, 'tis fit she be punish'd for her Diso∣bedience. Pray send me your wholesome Admo∣nitions, that it may wean my thoughts from this World, and prepare me for a better. I have al∣ways been an honourer of the Clergy, a lover of my King and Country, and therefore I hope the

Lord will have Mercy on my Soul, which I com∣mend to your Prayers, whom am Sir,

Your faithful humble Servant, J. Grevil.

To read the beginning of this Letter (said Grave) one would think this Man is in perfect Peace with the World, who is so ready, and willing to appear before the dreadful Tribunal of God, and yet we find before be reaches half way this short Letter, his Rancour breaks out against his own Child, for so trivial a Fault too (continu'd Temple) as the following her own Inclinations, which doubtless he had indulg'd till then himself. For all his Piety (said I) he can die in hatred and anger against his own Child; yet blaspheme God (pursu'd River) with a boast of his Innocence; but you find he reckons not his Duty to his Children any part of his Iustification, thinking the per∣fection of Christian Life consists in honouring the Clergy, the King, and Country, without regard to any private Duties. Oh! for all the breach of those, (an∣swer'd Summer) like others of his City Tribe, he'll 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by giving largely to God, who had given large∣ly to him; as if it were not giving to God (said Fou••tain) to relieve the necessities of his own Flesh and Blood. No, no, the force of Bigottry, and Super∣stition (reply'd Winter) have prevail'd on the con∣trary. The Clergy, like Father Dominic in the Spa∣nish Fryar concluding that they that are so charitably▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 can have no private Transgressions to be redress••d. Bigottry (said Chappel) is a Devotion form'd by the Passions of Mankind, and is Hood-winked by Fancy, beyond the light of Religion to direct, and in mat∣ters of this nature 'tis very like Hypocrisie, setting up publick Monuments of Man's Righteous••ess, at the expence of his private Obligations. Well may our

silly City be guilty of this (said Brook) when I find so wise a Man as Xenophon under the same Dilemma, giving the greatest part of what he had got in his Asiatic Expedition to Megnbyzus, Priest of Diana, to make an Image of that Goddess; and afterward, in his retirement at S••illuns, by the Advice of the Oracle, and the Priest laid it out in a Purch••se of Land to be consecrated to that Goddess. I know not (concluded Church) we talk against Bigottry in Religion, but we discover it in all our Actions, and e'ry motion of our Vnderstanding, not to the Dictates of the Clergy only, but to the Opinion ••f others, for if some reputed Wit either condemn or praise any thing, his Iudgment makes it run the same fate where e're it goes. I plead not for Bigotry by this, but only shew that 'tis a Vice in o••r Natur••▪ ••nd therefore easier found fault with than mended.

LETTER XXXII.

From a Vsurer to his Son▪ to take care of getting in the Interest of his Moneys▪ &c. 'Twas directed to Mr. Wely the younger, next door to the Sign of the Cock in Sice-lane, London.

DIC,

From Epping-Forest, Iune 1692

I Charge you on my Blessing to lay out no Money on Cloaths, you have had that Suit but a Year, and ••alf, and I can make a Suit serve me ten Year••, go to Mr. Pendal, at Greys-Inn, Mr. Gamell, at his Lodging in the Strand, and to Mr. Port in Sobo-Square, and tell 'em if I have not forbearance paid down immediately I'll take the For••eiture of my Mortgages. I charge you hearken no more to the Shams of the Lace-man, but arrest him imme∣diately, and bring an Execution on his Body and Goods, for I have a Judgment; I shall lose Two hundred Pounds before it has got me twice its va∣lue else. Be quick in your dispatch, and make haste into the Country, for the Town is chargeable now you cannot di••e at home. Good Dick, make haste to;

Your poor Old Father, R. Gold.

This Man (said Church) is another of the City Tribe. True (pursued Temple) and Gold is his God, as well as Name. Fool (answer'd Grave) is his true Name, for he's not so much a Philosopher as the Dungil-Cock in Aesop, who wou'd not give himself the needless trouble of preserving, that he could make ••o use of. But Man (said Winter) pursues what he should avoid, and avoids what he should pursue. Right (assumed I) none else wou'd for a wretched Debauch, and a Bottle bring himself into the Clutches of these Misers, their Statutes (added River) their Banks, and Warrants. Man (said Church) is certainly a very stupid kind of Animal, that all the Examples of Follies punish'd in the Fore-fathers, should not correct the Posterity to more Sense. True (continu'd Fountain) but like People on a full car∣rier on the Ice, all slide directly into the same bole they saw their Companion sink into just before them. So many ••••ttring Beaux (said Summer) being reduc'd too greazy Alsatian Sharpers, one would think should ••ake the rest better Husbands. No, no (concluded Brook) this Blindness, and Folly is necessary for the circulation of Estates, as Trade is for that of Money, Nature turns private Vices to put publick Advan∣tages.

LETTER XXXIII.

Of Courtship from a Quaker; direct∣ed to Tabitha, the Daughter of William Goyle, at his House near Chelmsford in Essex.

Tabitha,

I Have told thee that the Spirit mov'd me to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thee to my Bosom, and make thee turn the Vessel to me, that I might raise up Seed to the Lord, and his holy one, yea verily when I see 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my heart does yearn like the Daughters of Sio••▪ when they lost their Beloved▪ Have a care Tabit••••▪ let not the wicked Spirit enter thy Tabernacle, and ••o defile the vessel of thy Body, which was ma••e for the Godly, Ha-a-um—Ta••itha, Friend William, thy Father according to the Flesh is full of the Spirit, and when he begot thee he begot a Daughter to Sion as stately as the City of Ierusalem, and as pleasant as the Mountains of Gilead, thy Breath as sweet as the Cedars of Olybanum, thy Belly is like the Downs, where the Lambs of the Lord should skip and frisk, and play. Ah! Tabitha, my Spirit is mightily troubl'd within me, and the outward Man cannot rest till Tabitha receive him in the way of the Godly on her Bosom, which is softer than the Lillies of the Vallies. The third

Day of the Seventh's Month I will come to see thee. Who am thy Friend,

Eliachim Snush.

Certainly a Quaker in Love (said I) is like a Monkey sick. The Figure I confess (said Brook) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 needs be very odd. In their most serious Actions (said Winter) one would think them mad; what then (interrupted Temple) must their foolishness be? The truth on't is (said Summer) they never look like Men, but in their Shops. Why so (interrupt∣ed Fountain) because they cheat with a Face of 〈◊〉〈◊〉? No other reason can I perceive (said ••••appel.) They are proud (said River) in the Ha∣•••••• of Humility, Professors of Patience in Injuries, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the most violent Revengers of what they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so. And preposterous (added Church) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in their Aff••ctation of Humility, in a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 plain 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mant and Peticoat, condemning the Country 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in her Bone-lace Coif. In his Conversation 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Grave) a Hypocrit••, in Religion a 〈…〉〈…〉 Love most certainly a Fool.

LETTER XXXIII.

From Mrs. Brittaign to her Correspon∣dant in the Country. Twas di∣rected to Mrs. Grummet, a Mili∣ner in Canterbury, in Kent.

Mrs. Grummet,

WInter now coming on, the Town will fill 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from beyond Sea, and the Nobility out of the County, pray see to send me up some delic•••• fresh Country Lasses, let them be very pretty, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shap'd and limbed, no matter how mean, a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Dress, and a little Instructions will make 'em 〈◊〉〈◊〉, I have had those off from a Common▪ in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 who have rais'd their Fortunes under me, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 been Companions ••or Knights, and Lords, ••ay 〈◊〉〈◊〉 marry'd some of them too after they had do•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 good Service; let them be very young, just 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Man, then they'll be most tractable, and bes•• form'd into a gentile Habit and Air.

Your Friend, Brittaign.

Subscrib'd (said Church) like a Bawd of Quality. As inde••d she is (pursu'd Temple) for it cost her no less in Intelligence of this nature all over the Nation than Four hundred Pounds a Year. At her House (continu'd River) you need never want fresh Faces, as long as you have Money, nor fresh Lasses neither (said Winter) at this rate. But e'ry good thing when 'tis perverted to a Trade (said Brook) is soon corrupt∣ed, and so is this; for the same Woman shall be sold to twenty Lords, Knights, and Squires, for a Maid, Each paying (said Summer) the price of her Vir∣ginity? Ev'n so (answer'd Fountain) Cheats in all Traffic you know Summer. Nay, to say truth on't, (said Chappel) this Lady by the assistance of the In∣dian Women can help a Man to Beauty, and Quali∣ty; nor is any Man's Wife safe (said I) that is hand∣some, so many shapes do her Agents take to insinuate ••••to their Companies, and delude 'em into Opportuni∣ties, and as Almahide says, opportunity half of our Sex are undone by thee. Bawds I think (concluded Grave) deserve Death more than any Animal beside, they are the Corruption of Families, and rob a Man not ••nly of his Wives, and Daughters Affecti∣ons, but Vertue, Honour, and Reputation.

LETTER XXXIV.

From a City Wife to her Prentice, enviting him to Epsom upon his Master's absence. 'Twas directed to Mr. Young, to be left at the Hand, and Pen in Billeter-Lane, London.

My dear Boy,

YOur Master designs next Week for the West, and therefore I expect you once a Week at farthest with me; you need not let any know whe∣ther you go, come out of Town on Saturday Even∣ings, so that you may get to Epsom by night. I'll remove my Lodging to the place I was at last Year, do not fail, and there we'll enjoy one another with∣out Interruption.

A. M.

Here is a Lady (said I) that can be lewd without the expence of a Bawd. One of the City-strain (pur∣su'd River) that had rather embrace her smooth young Prentice, than the Old doting Alderman. I know not (said Grave) but the Women will always have some pretenc•• for their Lewdness. Right (said Win∣ter) if her Husband be old he's impotent, and morose. If young (continu'd Chappel) he's wild, and spends all his Stock abroad, and so to the end of the Chap∣ter. This way of taking up with the Prentice (said

Fountain) is very frugal, I confess True, (pursu'd Brook) and very convenient. And therefore (added Church) very common. Which is commonly (said Summer) the ease, and ruine of the Prentice. And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (concluded Temple) they can't resist the Tempta∣tion, if the Mistress be handsome as thy Story may 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you. There was one of these City Wives catcht i•• this manner by the Husband, who civilly repre∣••••nding the Prentice, charg'd him, it should be so is more, but finding that Admoni••ion of little force 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sent for the Parson of the Parish, to preach up 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••einousness of the Offence to him; which made 〈◊〉〈◊〉 young Sinner in his own Vindication say, his Mistress envited him to do it; But you should imi∣••ate Joseph, (answer'd the Man of God) who ran 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his Mistress, and left his Garment in her hands. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was the wonder of that, replied the Prentice, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from the Embraces of an ugly Gypsie, but he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 have been hang'd before he would have left 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pretty a Mistress as mine. Which answer con∣••••••'d the Parson that 'twas in vain to preach Re∣••••tance to Youth, who pe••ve••ted ev'n the Scripture 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••atter its failings.

LETTER XXXV.

From a young Heir newly come to a great Estate, to one of his Comrades here i•• Town. 'Twas directed to Mr. Snow, to be left for him at Richard's Coffee House, near Temple-Bar.

Dear Iack,

MY old Dad has thought good to quit 〈◊〉〈◊〉 world in search of a better, tho' 'twere 〈◊〉〈◊〉 long while first. 'Tis a folly to grieve sor't, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 an hypocrisie, since he was a morose Gentlem•••• while he liv'd, and kept his Money as if 'twere 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be touch'd, but dying left it all to me near Tw••••••ty thousand Pounds Iack▪ the shining Dirt I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 would not keep him alive that lov'd it so well, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Faith I am resolv'd not to be so fond of that, 〈…〉〈…〉 good Wine, an honest Fellow, and an obedie•••• balmy Girl. As soon as the ceremonious Formal••∣ties of the Funeral are over, and Affairs settled 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a good Posture, I'm for delicious London, where intend to wound the Ladies tender, in my Gla•••• Chariot, and carouse, and frolic with my Friend•••• whilst Youth lasts; Old Age, or Death I find wi•••• overtake us in time; 'tis therefore good to mak•• sure of the present Joys; the Possession of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Friendship is not the least of them to thy Friend,

Du. Charleton▪

Here's one of the Race of Fools (said Grave) who thinks Happiness consists in drinking, and who∣••ing. And so he will think▪ (pursu'd Winter) till the Pox, and Poverty convince him, he's in an as great an Error as his parcimonious Father was; in li••ing miserable (pursu'd I) to leave such a Block∣••••ad an Estate. We are of such an odd Composure (said Temple) that we can't perswade our selves to observe a Moderation in either Plenty, or Want. Right, ••nd most Men are Ph••••gians (added Church) never wise till it be too late to reap any benefit of their Wis∣••••••. 'Tis the Fate of Misers I think (said Summer) ••••ways to have Sons, that hate them, and spend that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 profuseness in Vice, which they got by Oppression, 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and Niggardliness. And I'm out in my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (added Fountain) if this ••ovial Spark 〈◊〉〈◊〉 live to do penance for his undutifulness to his 〈◊〉〈◊〉: So goes on the Circle of things (said 〈◊〉〈◊〉) Sin begets Sin; and Sin produces 〈◊〉〈◊〉; And the son of a Knave (pursu'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉) is commonly rain••d by Fools, and Knaves. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shews Iustice in Providence (concluded 〈◊〉〈◊〉) to punish the Offence by the means 'twas 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

LETTER XXXVI.

From a Father, on the Death of his Son, to his Friend. 'Twas directed to Mr. Moore, Woollen-Draper, at his House in Wattling-street, London.

Mr. Moore,

Abington 1692.

I Write to you upon a more doleful Subject, than the last time, for poor Ned dy'd yesterday of a Feaver: 'Twas the best natur'd, and most dutiful Child ever unhappy Father lost, but I hope I shall not long survive him; he was my delight, and my safe-guard, he manag'd all my Affairs with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 care, and faithfulness, that he was the Love and Ad∣miration of all that knew him, he was temperate, and studious, never loving Idleness, nor any Vice 'Tis true, he was too good for this wicked World, and for me his unhappy Father; I had just built him a pretty Appartment against his Wedding-day, which as I sent you word would be soon; but alas, he is wedded to his Grave; but my comfort is, a happy Eternity will celebrate his Nuptials. Dear Sir, send me Fourscore Yards of your finest black Cloth for Mourning by the first opportunity, to Abington. I can write no more, my Grief is so great. But I am yours whilst in this Life,

Iohn Summer.

Here's that, that is rare (said Summer) filial Duty and paternal Love meeting together. A ten∣der Father (pursu'd Fountain) and yet a deserving Son. Your Character of him (said I) is true, for Jack Summer was known to us all. Nature, that all the world about in other Families (said Temple) seem'd to be compos'd of preposterous Iarrings, seem'd here to discover her primitive Beauty. True, (pursu'd River) where the Son enquired not into the Father's Years; nor the Father (added Chappel) imper∣tinently troubl'd himself about the Son's Actions. How agreeable to Reason has he liv'd, and what a Triumph ••as he gain'd (said Grave) whose Memory's embalm'd, with the Tears of him that begot him. And whose Vertue (continu'd Winter) is confess'd the Sup∣port of the Life of him that gave him Life. 'Tis ••ity such an Example (said River) should be ravisht from the prevacariting World. The Prince of this World (concluded Brook) saw that the force of one 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Example would in time reform Mankind, and so banish the Supports of his Empire's Strife, and D••∣struction.

LETTER XXXVII.

From a plesant Gentleman to his Mistress, to satisfie her he lov'd her; directed to Madam White, at her House in Abby-street, near Westminster.

Madam,

I Protest I can't tell what you would have me do, I have swore to you a thousand times, that I

love; if you expect any heroic Madness to con∣firm it, I profess I am not ambitious of that Ho∣nour; hanging, and drowning and stabbing, are is my mind no more proofs of Love, than Courage, being opposite to the end of both, Courage being the supporting of Misery, and the utmost effects of Fortune, without sinking under them, and the end of Love is to enjoy the Object belov'd; but in the Arms of the living f••ir One, for as for the Elyzian Fields, 'tis too Chymerical, and Spiritual a Happiness for a Man of Sense, and Flesh and Blood to depend on. ••et me therefore, Madam, meet with the Death of a happy Lover in your white, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Bosom, and then if I be'nt the ara••test Cooing. Turtle, and most faithful fond-doting Lover in the World, discard me for a lying perjur'd Son of a Who••e. G••d sweet Lady, I think my Proposal is 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and I hope will work upon your Obstinacy so 〈…〉〈…〉 not again to require any test of the Sincerity of my Passion, so that at my return you will be ready with open Arms to receive,

Madam,

your faithful humble Servant, C. North.

If this Spark be in Love (said River) the Passion is more Iocund, and gay than usual. H••'s like some Men (pursu'd Chappel) who dispatch a great deal of business playing, and without any concern; whi••st o∣thers (assum'd Fountain) are poring perpetually over less. So you fancy (said Temple) that one Man can be really much in Love, and yet merry, and gay; And that (assum'd Summer) when his Mistress doubts of his Affection? whilst another (pursu'd Brook) for so it must be, to ran on the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, shows all

the Marks of Despair in his Face, Actions and Dis∣course. For my part (said Church) there is such an Air of Indifference in his Letter, I think he can't be possess'd with the most violent of Passions. And Amou∣•••••• perhaps (said I) a transient gliding Flame, that can be extinguish'd in the next Puddle he comes to. The general ••ust (said Grave) after the whole Sex, for, that a great many of our Beaux take for Love, when ever desire is rous'd by a beautiful Object. But I can never yield (concluded Winter) that a real Passion can admit of those Pleasantries, which this Writer, as well as the Author of Letters, and Poems, amorous, and galla••t are so very ••ond of.

LETTER XXXVIII.

From a Jew to a Christian, recriminating upon him. 'Twas directed to Mr. Farby, Tobacconist in Broad-street, London.

SIR,

Norwich, Iune 169••.

I Receiv'd your Letter last Week, but the Con∣tents of it being so impertinent, I once thought to give you no Answer, but least you should take my Silence for a Confession of my Guilt; I shall, in short, tell you, that you not only accuse me wrongfully, but also rail without any pretext to Sense, or Reason. First you are under a neglectful or wilful mistake, in saying I twice charg'd to you the same Hogshead of Spanish Tobacco; whereas if you consult but your own Books you'll find I

have charg'd you with no more, than I ought, I having furnish'd you with two Hogsheads since I was last clear'd; one on the 25th of May, and a∣nother on the 1st of this present Month. Then for all your Nonsensical Abuse of my Religion, 'tis like the other gross Actions of your Life, the effect of brutal Instinct without consulting the Faculties of a Man; Else you would have remembred that I was of the Race of Abraham, whom you Christians confess the Progenitor of your Messias, and there∣fore merited a better Treatment from you, you might also remember that you Christians confess us to have been once the pecul••r People of God, and I can see no reason we have not to think our selves so still, unless we will suppose he can either forget his Promises to Abraham, or that he can be Changeable, as Man is: Finally if your Religion teach you better Morals than ours (which I deny even from the Mouth of Iesus, who when he laid down the chief Precept of his Law of, Do as you would be done by, added, for this is the Law and the Prophets) the greater Sha••e you are so far ••e∣hind us in Practice, who cheat not one another as you do, or cut anothers Th••oats, for we know not what. We are not undutiful to our Parents, nor negligent of our Children to gratifie the Pride, and Revenge of our selves, or second Wives; but if I should run the Parallel, as far as I might, 'twou'd easily be seen who are the People of God, since you must grant the Tree is known by its Fruit. I shall return home in a few days, and then shall con∣vince you of the Injury you have done.

Ephraim Ben Ezra.

The Jew in my mind (said Brook) has recrimina∣ted with a great deal of Reason. We have (said Winter) a sort of sordid Animals among us, who think themselves very happy, and excellent by being Christians, tho they lead Lives more tewd and kna∣vish, than the worst of Heathens; And have no more Morals in their dealings (pursu'd Church) than the Bannians. It may be doubted indeed (said Grave) whether these People are animated with any other Soul than that of a Beast, they are so wholly lead by Sense. They discover so little of thought, I must confess (added Temple) in their Actions, that one might almost believe it without Heresie; True (as∣sum'd River) for the Soul of Man is a Cogitative Essence. You wrong 'em (said I) for they are very thoughtful to Circumvent the Ignorant. So are Dogs (answer'd Fountain) thoughtful, as their Dreams will convince; But (interrupted Chappel) their Knaveries are so natural, that there is no necessity to suppose them capable of a rational Thought any more, than a Cat that watches, and feigns her self asleep to catch her Mice. For my part (concluded Sum∣mer) I think if Morality be justly observ'd, there will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Man of what Religion so ever be Damn'd for controverted doubtful Points.

LETTER XXXIX.

From a Gentleman of some Quality, to a Cre∣ditor of his. 'Twas directed to Mr. Wood∣ford at his House in Maiden Lane, near the Strand, London.

SIR,

Wilts, Iune 1692.

I Am sorry I must still put you off, since you have pressed me with so much earnestness for your Mony; I have retir'd from Town on purpose to retrench my Expences, that I may be able to dis∣charge all my Debts, but as yet I am not able to spare so much as your Bill amounts to, tho I hope it will not be long before I shall send to you, to your satisfaction. As for what you desir'd me to buy you, I have sent it by the Carrier, but you must pardon me if I refuse to put it to account, I freely present you with it, who am

Sir, your Friend, and Servant, J. Bowlestre.

The Writer of this Letter (said Chappel) is no less than a Baronet, born to Two thousand a year: And writes such a servile Letter (pursu'd Temple) to a Taylor, for such is this Woodford. I know him (said Brook) by the experience of his plagu•• Bills. This shews (said Grave) that by being in debt, one makes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 self the Slave of the Creditor. Debt (pursued

Winter) makes a Mechanic familiar, and sawcy with Quality. But Quality (answer'd Church) has a Receipt of humbling that Saw••iness, by never paying. And yet (pursu'd ••iver) some of the Mechanics had rather have the honor of working for Quality, tha•• the Mony of the meaner sort. I knew a Dutch Shoe∣maker (added Fountain) of that humor, and for his Work he talk'd Politics with them at the Coffee-house. Their Pride (continu'd Summer) makes way for the others wronging 'em of their due. But (concluded Winter) their Quality is not much honor'd is shar∣ping on the Vices of their Inferiors.

LETTER XL.

From an old Woman in love with a young Man. 'Twas directed to Mr. Scuthbo∣rough, to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for him at Hypolito's in Bridget-street near the Theatre Royal, London.

Dear Mr. Scuthborough,

Oxfordshire, Iune 1692.

YOur repeated Letters to my Daughter, tho she has assured you of her Pre-engagement, con∣vince me that you are not in••ensible of Love, but I have often told you of your fruitless Endeavours there, and how much you were her Aversion; I have also told you, there was another Lady in the World, who would receive your Address with a

more favourable Ear, and said enough, I thought, to make you understand whom I meant, if my Eyes had not been sufficient to have betray'd the Secret to you. I am unwilling to think my Age, or Fortune so contemptible, as to be slighted by you; and therefore I hope this confession of my Love will be look'd upon as a modest assurance in my own Deserts, and not an overfondness of you; tho ingranting I love you, I grant you worthy of that Fondness. I hope you are a man of Honor, to make no use of this to my Prejudice. Remember that Youth is the Seat of Deceit, and fickle Incon∣stancy, its wishes, and desires are rambling, no more to be bounded than a Torrent, and Inundati∣••n, but Age (I mean Maturity, past which, I pre∣sume, you can't suppose me) is more fixt, as well as more violent in Love, continues pleas'd with its choice, and neither desires nor thinks of any change. If Youth has more of the sparkling gau∣diness of Beauty, it has also the less care, as well as skill to please. And I think, without vanity, my Face has not lost all its charms, when my Heart ad∣mits of new Fires. In short, pray let us see you here, as soon as your occasions will permit; I in∣tend for the Town in the Winter, who am

Your humble Servant, Eugenia Allson.

This Letter is writ (said Chappel) with the Soul of a Woman, in which Passion, and Pride are so min∣gled, that it discovers not a little Cunning. Cun∣ning (said Winter) in Folly! Yes, (return'd I) there may be a great deal of Cunning us'd in compassing that which perhaps may be a Folly. True, (pursu'd Tem∣ple)

for 'tis no better than Folly, for a woman that is old, to think to divert a passion from a young Lady to her self. And yet, you see, she aims at it in this Letter, (interrupted River) with a great deal of Art. Right (continu'd Summer) by first presenting him with despair of the desired Object. And then (added Fountain) presenting with an Object of Inte∣rest, which is commonly taking with a man that is disappointed of his Love. And lastly, (said Church) by proposing the difference betwixt the two, with the Advantage to the latter. Woman (concluded Gra••e) is exorbitant, and irregular in her Lusts, and Desires, but regular, and skilful to gratifie them.

LETTER XLI.

From an Irish-man to his Creditor. Directed to Mr. Russel a Peruque-maker in Drury∣lane, London.

Dear Ioy,

Tunbridge, June 1692.

BY my Shoulwasion Ee was in hopes before nu indeed to have pleas'd thee sweet Faash of thee, bee St. Patric, with some Mony for the two last Perriwigs, but bee Chreest, and St Patric, Ee was indeed disappointed of mee Bills of Exchange, from mee Steward in Ereland, dear Joy, but bee mee Shoulwasion, Ee will turn him out of his Plaash indeed when Ee return home. Mee good Lady, your Weef, indeed, can tell you the truth of these, for Ee have shew'd her a Letter of it,

which came bee, me veree good Friend indeed, Teague Mack Allon, that was Mashor-General, bee mee Shoul washion, when Ee was Under-Marshal of France, and bee Chreest, mee good Friend, he is a very good Paymaster, if thee canst but get him to bee thee Customer. Chreest bless thee sweet Faush indeed, commend me to thee sweet Spouse, she is a very good Woman, bee mee Shoulwasion, dear Joy. Thee maist direct to me, at a Housh, bee Chreest, about the meedle of a Street in Tunbridge, mee Landlord's Daughter, bee Chreest, and St. Patric, married the Miller's Son of a Village within a mile of this place; his great Grandmother was a Gen∣tlewoman, bee mee Shoulwasion, and sold Wine at the Wells; and his Grandfather bee the Mothers ••ide was call'd Honest Dic, and wore Leather-Breeks indeed; and Ee remember, when Ee was in Ere∣land, dear Joy. Ee was us'd to reede a hunting in Leather-Breeches, and Leather-Boots too. Ee am, bee mee Shoulwasion,

Thee veree humble Servant, Teague O Donnel.

Bee Chreest, and St. Patric, Ee had forget; the best thing for your cold is Bonniclabar, and the best thing in the World for the Gout is Bonniclabar, and indeed, dear Joy, Bonniclabar is good for e'ery thing.

I love not National Reflections (said Temple.) But the dulness (pursu'd Winter) of this Nation is so reallly, and literally true, and general, that—'Twould be a Lye (interrupted Brook) to call them my thing but Fools: Bragging •• yars (added Chap∣pel) and Cowards. To this you might (said River) have added superstitious ••igo••s. And yet (continu'd Summer) ignorance makes 'em not devout. True (pursu'd Church) for they live generally by Fornica∣tion, and Adultery; And the Spoils (added Foun∣tain) of believing Tradesmen. Well (said Grave) I grant you, for the generality of the original Irish, your character agrees with them, both as Fools, and Cowards; but I must weeds say, those who have had the advantage of a foreign Education, and of a Gen∣tleman's Birth, w••nt not Bravery, tho they are seldom 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with Sence. Ireland indeed (concluded I) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Fate of ••oëtia, a fertile Soil, but barren 〈◊〉〈◊〉, to which Subjection, and the Consequences of 〈…〉〈…〉, added. But we have Follies enough of 〈…〉〈…〉 that render as not much behind them, tho 〈◊〉〈◊〉 blind our Eyes.

LETTER XLII.

From a Widow to a Lady, who advised her against a Second Marriage. 'Twas dire∣cted to Madam Loe, at her House near Rochester, Kent.

Dear Madam,

London, June 1692.

I Received your kind Letter, in which indeed you discover a great deal of Zeal for my Hap∣piness; I must grant I was once of your mind, tho I have at present far other Sentiments. I know your Observation to be true, that these second Matches have very often ill luck, but yet there's no general Rule without an Exception; and I have known some to this, and seen second Husbands kinder than the first. Besides, the ill success of these Matches proceeds commonly from the Indis∣cretion of the Lady, who understands not to chuse well. Fluttering Beaux, and impudent Rakehells generally take with our Sex, who have no Merit, but what's due to their own Braggs. But I have made choice of one whose Modesty is his only fault, which secures me of that, which you urge with a great deal of ardour, viz. that I shou'd remember how long I have been my own Mistriss, and then con∣sider how pleasant it must be to submit to the Will of another. But the modest man is seldom an Usurper, and if he claim no more than his due, I shall never think my Liberty infring'd: that's only to be fear'd from an assuming conceited Coxcomb, that thinks nothing a Fault but Modesty. You

say 'tis too great a Blessing to meet with two good Husbands, and that I, having far'd so well at fi••st, should have a care of wrecking my content in a se∣cond adventure; but I must tell you, where the Hal••yon's Sense, and Modesty have built their Nests, there's no great fear of a Storm. For my part, I never set up for the superstitious Niceties of the Ephesian Matron, and therefore need not fear a Punishment like hers, of shame, and infamy: if I continued a Widow thus long, 'twas but to meet with a choice agreeable to my Reason, her violent Resolutions were not Proof against the Assaults of the most inferior, and commonly the worst quali∣fied of men; but I was always of opinion, that no Woman ought to pretend to that, which their after-frailty would discover to be so ill grounded. My Children are all provided for, by the care of their Father, and I know no reason why I should not also provide for my self, and gratifie my De∣sires, when I find my self overcome by a prudent Passion. In return of your good Advice, I wish you may soon meet with as good a Husband as I am confident Mr. Hall will prove, Madam, to

Your humble Servant, Elizabeth Moon.

To see the strength of Desire (said Grave) in this Woman, which turns all Difficultys into Advantages. True, (pursu'd Winter) and musters all the Reasons she can, to put a specious gloss upon her Failing. And to represent that a happy Certainty (added Church) which she desires should be so. I know not, (said Brook) but she discovers a great deal of Sence, and a generous Temper in what she writes. And I am

sure (pursu'd Temple) she has tak••n the best Road to Happiness, if she place it in Marriage, in chusing a Modest Man: and a Man of Sence. Very true (ad∣ded River) for the Gentlem••n of the contrary Kidny think all Rewards of the highest vertue, their due. And are therefore (continu'd Fountain) negligent, and unconcern'd for e'ery thing but themselves. But there is (said Summer) a modest diffidence in Virtue that thinks e'ery thing above its des••rt. If the Ladys (said I) would follow this method, they would sel∣dom buy Repentance so dear, as they generally do, by preferring the' forward Boldness of a Fool to the humble ••odesty of a man of Sence. But (concluded Chappel) 'tis hard to distinguish, especially in Sence, Love re••dring all things as they ought to be in the Ob∣ject bel••v'd; and there is no Virtue, but a Hypocrite can frame a Vizzor like it.

LETTER XLIII.

From a Gentleman to his Wives Mother-in-Law, who had been a true Step mother to her. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Nicholson, in Gracechurch-street, London.

Madam,

Essex, June 1692.

FInding that you return'd a Denial to my Wives Letter, I thought my self oblig'd to let you know, that tho you had not so much Regard to the only Daughter of your deceased Husband, as to lend her Ten pound till Lady-day, to deliver her from

the greatest Necessities (tho her Father left you a Legacy of One hundred pounds, a better Husband than Father; besides your Joynture, and the House∣wi••••y Elucubrations of your own Industry, to the t••••e of five times that sum) yet I am so good a Christian to return you Good for Evil, and there∣fore resolve to immortalize your Name, and thus force from your Gratitude a Present of twice the value she desir'd only to borrow, for a Dedication I suddenly design you. I have a Book in the Press of The Folly of Eu••kolds, and the good-natur'd Tricks of Stepmothers, and the Delights of Hypocrisie. These Subjects being so adapted to your several qualifications, I design you as a Patron of it, and in the Epistle I'll vindicate you, as well as mat∣ter of Fact will bear, from those odious Imputations your Enemies lay on you; for, who that knows your tender compassionate nature can believe you, coud whip the only Child you ever had to Death, when 'twas but eighteen months old. This therefore, as well as the rest that follows, must be a notorious defamation, viz. That upon your second Husbands death, you wisely convey'd away several pieces of Plate, which else would have come to his unhappy Orphans. But were this true, I cant see where the Crime lyes, since without doubt you only did it to keep those precious Reliques of the dead man you lov'd alwaies in your sight, as a melancholy M••men∣t•• of Mortality, that you might not forget your se∣cond Love, nor admit the Addresses of a third, else you could never have had the Heart to have held out against the O••sets of my Wives Father, till he had engag'd to turn all his children out of doors as soon as he married you; and that, sweet Lady, was the effect of Wisdom, which Love is too great an Enemy to. But I suppose, 'twill not be worth my while to clear you of the next point, since it

will not be much resented by the World, that you should be so providential a Lady, as upon my Wives Fathers Death to keep your Room warm with two pair of Hangings, and would not gratifi•• the prying Executor (tho 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the way he was but a Coxcomb for not forcing you to't) to let him see your Cham∣ber, to convince him that you had nothing there but your due; that you had hid Pewter under the Faggo••s in the Garret, and a great many more such odious Calumnies, too long to be repeated here.

Perhaps I may not be able to clear you of all these Imputations, yet I'll warrant you I'll do you this Kindness, that your Name shall be known from the Sheriffs, to the Porter, and from my fine Lady Mayoress, to the little the Oysterwench, in her lawful and virtuous Occupation at the Tavern door. Oh, how will you be esteem'd as a Pattern of the best of Mother-in-laws, so tender, and loving of your fond Husbands Off-spring, that you'd not part▪ with Ten pound to keep 'em in this wicked World, tho you were sure of your Money again! Garagantula him∣self, nor any of the terrible Race of the Hobgoblins, shall be more rever'd by children, than your Name: For to shew you, that my zeal for the exaltation of your Honor, and Glory is not confi∣ned to the narrow compass of a Nuneupatory Epi∣stle, Ile bring you acquainted with the Beaux of the Pit, in a Comedy I'm writing, and with the re∣ligious Multitude, in a Ballad just now in the Mint, to the celebrated Tune of Chevy Chase, by which you may be sure no County of this spacious Land, nor Village, or Fair, but shall hear the Glories of your Faith, and Nature, sounded with the vocal Harmony of Male, and Female Ballad-singers. But that you may have no cause of Offence, I'll use you as we Authors do our Patrons, take your Silence for Consent, and without 〈…〉〈…〉 ado, print your name

at the front of my Epistle. Madam, you can't ima∣gine how happy a thing 'tis to oblige us Scriblers, for we have a rare Art of immortalizing our Friends, as well as Enemies, tho in a different manner. Perhaps you'l be so modest now for I know you abound in all sorts of Virtues) as to wish you had comply'd with my Wife, and prevented this Honor; but Madam, I am confident a Lady of your admirable Qualifications can't but delight to see them expos'd to the World in their proper colours, which must not be pleasant to you alone, but also to your whole Parish, that must be proud of such a Parishioner. But I have been so tedious, that I must here conclude, because my Paper will not let me say any more, unless I have recourse to an Endorsement; I'll leave off therefore betwixt Necessity, and Desire, and make my Exit like Prince Volcius in the Rehearsal, with one Boot on, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 another off; who am,

Your extreamly-oblig'd Son-in-law, R. Illford.

Here's a true Character (said I) of one of those ••••digious Monsters in Nature, a Stepmother. True, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Brook) all the old Stories reviv'd, and their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Quality, combin'd in one. Strange preposterous 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (said Grave) in Man, that for the sake of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thought a fond doting Husband, should merit the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of a Knave, Fool, and Cuckold! Right 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Winter) and forget all the Bonds of Nature for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that discovers so little value for him, to hate his 〈◊〉〈◊〉, True, (said River) and so endeavour'd to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his Name, and Family. A just Reward 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Fountain) on him, that could be such a Fool,

To clap his Reason (interrupted Chappel) under his 〈…〉〈…〉. The Gentleman (said Summer) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ingeniously rally'd her, without incurring the Law. But all he'll get by't, (answer'd Church) is but a great••r Certainty of her Hate. Which I think (con∣cluded Temple) was no great matter, since he was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of that before, by her Denial, and women of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Kidny seldom relent, or grow better, the Curse of Hy∣pocrisie, and Cruely pursuing them to final 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

LETTER XLIV.

From a Gentleman to his Friend, relating what several great things his Mony had effected for him. 'Twas directed to Mr. Norris Merchant, London.

Dear Sir,

Amsterdam, June 16••••

SInce I left you, and England, I have expende•• all that Money I return'd over hither by you and therefore desire you to do me the same 〈◊〉〈◊〉 again, the other Thousand pound may 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to gain my point, if, as intend, I apply it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to that use; what I have spent already, has con∣vine'd me, that Mony will do any thing; as a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of which, I here send you a little of my great Ex∣perience in this Affair. Upon my first arrival, 〈◊〉〈◊〉

brought over some prohibited Goods, and had the ill fortune to have 'em found out by the Tyde-Wai∣ters, but less than half the value into their own Pockets, secured them from the public; so that their Oath, and Trust were not Proof against Gold. Next, coming to quarter at a Merchants House, to whom I had Letters of Recommendation, I found he had a Wife, beautiful, young, and chas••, as she was generally thought, but by Gold I gained admittance to her Bed, where being caught by the Husband, Gold soften'd his Indignation, and gave me a more secure, and free access to her: But wea∣ry of that, I posted to some neighbouring Courts, upon the Negotiation you wrot of, and there I found Gold open the Secrets of Princes, debauch the Honour of Ladies, the Religion of Devotes, and the Integrity of Servants, oblig'd to their Masters for their very Life, and Bread. Meeting with some Controversies in my Dealings, I found always the Judge on my side, as well as the Advocate, for I open'd the justice of my Cause in a Golden shower: Wanting Revenge, and the Heart to ven∣ture my self in a Duel, I for my Gold, found those that made no more of a Murder, than I do of cut∣ting my Nails. In short, Mony has made me beau∣tiful, tho I am deform'd, honest tho a Knave, stout tho a Coward, virtuous tho an Atheist; and yet I'm as good as the rest of the World, who have no more of either, than the outside, and he that can best disguise his own Failings, is the best man; In∣terest is the God of this World, who will be sacri∣ficed to by Hypocrisie, for Plain-dealing will never gain its Favour. Fail not therefore to send me the Mony I write for; Mony, that purchases Honours, Trusts, Friendships, Beauty, Love, and Courage; send me this divine Elixir, and assure your self of

the Success of our mutual Profit, and Interest; who am

Yours to command, J. Palson.

'Tis a strange thing to me, (said River) whence Gold has this bewitching Power. It shews (said Grave) the meanness of our Being, that is subject to such an inanimate Creature; That has (assum'd Winter) all its noblest Faculties, its Vertues, and all its greater, as well as lesser Movements, dependant on dead Metal. 'Tis indeed the blind Guide of the World, (said Church) and that Goddess of humane kind, Fortune. Well observ'd (pursu'd Fountain) for if we are succesless at Court, at Law, in Love, or any other Affair, we cry out, We have no Fortune. That is, (interrupted Temple) we have no Mony. True, (continu'd Chappel) for if you want not that, the Designs of Court are unravell'd, that oppos'd your Rise. The Lawyers Mouth (added I) and the Iudges Eyes are open'd to see your Cause plainer, and the cruel Ny••ph proves more easie, and tractable. The Mystery of Mony (concluded Summer) I find is great, its power is not known to its self, nor the reason of it to Mankind, who is sensible of its Dominion, but not the Iustice, or Cause of it.

LETTER XLV.

From a Black to a fair Woman, with whom he is in Love. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Mary, at Madam Brent's House in the Pal-Mall, London.

Mrs. Mary,

Epsom, June 1692.

I Have been very uneasie since I saw you last, for fear some other should possess your Heart, be∣fore I have prevail'd against the Prejudices you have conceiv'd against my colour. If I am black, so is the Night, which delights you with pleasant 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and to whose confidence you commit the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of your Actions, and the most transport••ng of your Love; Night is conscious of all your De∣••••••es; Night sees you unveil those killing Beauties which you hide by Day. I will not prefer my co∣lour to white, because you are so, else I could tell you, that the Spouse in the Canticles was black, and the Sun had look'd too much upon her; she was black, and yet beautiful. Add to this, that I can ne'r betray your Thefts of Love by foolish B••nshes, my colour is constant as my Heart, which is not of so changeable a nature, as the white men. Besides, believe me, I am of a softer make within, and more sensible of Love, as well as my Body is without, than the white men; they are too rough 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for these tender Arms, too unconstant to pos∣sess such Beauties, and too proud to value the Fa∣vour. Let not Prejudice plead against me, and you'll find Jett not less amiable than Ivory. Try

me, and you'll find my Words, and my Heart agree, make me happy, and I'll always adore you, who am

Your faithful Slave, George.

How prompt Nature is (said Grave) to what is un∣lawful! I can see no reason (answer'd Chappel) for that exclamation. Nor I (said Brook) since what∣ever the cause of our different colour be, I'm sure we'•• all of human Race. Right (pursu'd Temple) and therefore 'tis but Fancy, and Custom that make Peo∣ple think the conjunction of White, and Black un••••∣tural, or unlawful. If it be Fancy (said River) 'tis my Fancy, that Nature has set that visible Bar betw•••• our Embraces. The Woman (replied Winter) for a ••ager, is of another Fancy. The more (add•••• Church) because 'tis thought unnatural. Prith•• (assum'd ••ountain) have a more favourable opin•••• of the Sex: Or he never deserves (said I) to have an•• Favour from it. I'm sure (concluded Summer) I•••• keep at peace with it in thought, word, and deed, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I could find a more re••sonable, and more safe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of War.

LETTER XLVI.

From a young Spark, discovering the Debau∣cheries of the Town. 'Twas directed to Mr. Tomlins, at his House near Dover, Kent.

Dear Rogue,

London, June 1692.

YOU desire to know how I spend my time, now you have fled from the Arms of a Friend, to those of a Wife; I won't remark the disadvantage of the change, but I'll only let you know how I now 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and that will make you long for the Joys you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 voluntarily banish'd your self from. The Night, whilst you in conjugal fear are confin'd to your Spouse's Arms, I am carousing it with half a dozen Friends, over a brisk Bottle, which has no Deceit, but gives us fresh Vigor, and elevates our Thoughts above the brutish, drowsie World; some∣••••mes perhaps, for variety, we admit a do••il super∣••••rogatory Harlot, lewd for our Diversion, not se∣rious Embraces, who for an honest George, and her Do••e of Liquor, and a little Victuals to her empty Stomach, shall give a present view of all the My∣steries of the Kingdom of mighty Lust. Having supplied the want of the S••ns cheering Influence, by no less cheering Wine, all the Night, I retire to Bed, to sleep away that time the rest of senceless 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••udge up and down, to circumvent one ano∣ther. From Bed I retreat to Sylvia's neat Abode, ••here I revel in her Arms till Play-time, where, if 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be a dull one, I pursue some wand'ring Game in

the Pitt, or Gallery, with whom I frolick, and play till our usual time of rendezvous at the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Sometimes I'm in pursuit of Maidenheads, and in all under Fifteen; to this I bow with an awful re∣spect, to gratifie her Pride; to that I swear a hun∣dred foolish, passionate Oaths, to salve her unseaso∣nable Scruples; a third I gain with Presents; •• fourth, by rallying to humour her Caprice, that likes no love but that of Catts scratching, and fighting: With the silent, and languishing, I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 like a cooing Turtle; with the coquet, a••d buxom I frisk, talk loud, and laugh; and ••o with all gain my point, and walk at large, wh••lst thou, poor wretch, art confin'd. These are some part of the Pleasures I take, whilst you, like a Mi••l-horse, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on in your daily drudging round, to day a Wise▪ to morrow the same, and so on till Fate, the kind dissolver of the Cares of a married Life, deliver her, or you, which I wish thee with all my Heart, who am thy Friend, and Servant,

Ed. Watson.

What a thoughtless Life (said Winter) is 〈◊〉〈◊〉? Hurry, and Noise supply the place (pursu'd Grave) ••f Thought, and Divertisement. If the Italian Prov•• be true (said Church) that he's a Fool that's not melancholy once, or twice a day, this Gentleman (assum'd Summer) must be something more True, (pursu'd River) for he never intends to think till ei∣ther his Health, or his Purse deny him any farther use of this sort of ••ife. And then (added Temple) Thought comes too late. Or is of small duration (con∣tinu'd Fountain) and little force. The Pleasures of Youth (said Chappel) are not to be condemn'd, any more than avoided, provided they be us'd with mode∣ration. I agree with you (pursu'd Brook) but wh••••

they once transgress the mean, they degenerate into Vice, and Folly. I'm sure then (concluded I) they are of more general power than their contraries, Vir∣tue, and Wisdom.

LETTER XLVII.

From a great News-monger, to his Correspon∣dent in Holland. 'Twas directed to Mynheer Van Schelshate, in the Great∣street in Amsterdam.

SIR,

London, June 1692.

I Receiv'd the last News very timely, but you might have had less regard to the severity of Truth, for if it be any thing near it, it will do full as well, especially if it be current with the Vogue of the People. 'Tis true, I can enlarge upon it my self, and therefore, as to the nicest matter, I should desire the best account, because I know who to gra∣tifie with the one, and who with the other; but your additional Comment from Report will save me a great deal of labour, for whatever goes down with you, I'm sure; can't ••ail here, our People being fully as desirous of News. As to the business of Dau∣phine, I wish it were magnified more than really 'tis; but as for News against us, that also some∣times ought to be set off in the most dreadful chara∣cters it gives the better relish to the good News that follows it. I am yours to command,

R. Luist.

These News-mongers (said I) in my opinion, are the most dangerous Vermin of the State. And ought, I think (pursu'd Winter) to be us'd like such. They spread false News (continu'd Temple) to serve their own Interest. And live (added Chappel) like the Devil, by Lyes. They gratifie Factions (said Sum∣mer) And keep up Animosities (pursu'd Brook) stir up Fear, and Iealousies, (continu'd Fountain) Or hush us too much in Security (added, Church.) The very Design of them (said River) seems to affront the Government supposing that da••es not, or can't publish all, that is fit, and necessary to be known in the Gazet. In short, (concluded Grave) Man in general is cove∣tous of News, and the English most voracious; that makes e'ery thing go down, where they hope to find it.

LETTER XLVIII.

From a Relation that was angry with ano∣ther, to a Gentleman that interceded for him. 'Twas directed to Mr. Claypool, at Mr. Buck's near Dowgate, Lon∣don.

SIR,

Suffolk, June 1692.

I Wonder, after so many Denyals, you still urge so ungrateful a Subject, as the reconciliation with my Cousin, whom you may assure from me, that whatever Civility I may in any company, for my own sake, shew him, I will never have any thing

to do with him more, nor assist him if perishing, let him know what it is to disoblige a Friend. His Afflictions shall furnish me with Pleasure, for there is nothing in Nature I hate and abominate more than I do him; nay, and all such as pretend to espouse his Interest so far, as to speak to me in his behalf.

Obadiah Alstone.

Anger (said I) is an ill Dissembler. But Hate (pursu'd Winter) is worse. Right, (added Temple) Hate is the Opposite to Love, and can't be conceal'd; Words, and Actions will discover it. I have observed (said Grave) that your greatest pretenders to Godli∣ness, are generally the hardest to be reconcil'd. And the easiest offended (added Church.) They are so taken 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with the Name of God (pursu'd Summer) that they forget his Nature, Mercy, and Iustice; Neither if which (continu'd River) is the measure of their I••dignation. Nay, (assum'd Brook) they forget his Precepts too, of Forgive your Enemies, do good to them that have done ill to you. They either never say the Lord's Prayer, (said Temple) or always skip forgive us our Trespasses, &c. Their Passion's their God, (reply'd Fountain) and the Gratification of that is their Zeal. True, (concluded Chappel) that's the only God the Angry, and Envious sacrifice to using the Face of Religion as a Pimp to their Vices

LETTER XLIX.

From a proud man, to his Friend. 'Twas directed to Mr. Walters, near the Blew Ball in Airs-street in Picadilly, Lon∣don.

Honour'd Sir,

York, June 1692.

I Hope I have better deserv'd from you, than for you to think I keep such mechanic Company as you write about; a man of my Quality, who h••s had an Education answerable, ought to be allow'd to know his Distances to keep with all the inferior sort. I look upon a Gentleman to be as good as a Lord, or indeed better since the King may give Nobility, but not Gentility; Favour may gain T••∣tles, but Merit, and Virtue only that of a Gentle∣man. And as Virtue gains the Name of a Gentle∣man, so methinks little mechanic Conversation ought to loose it. Here abundance of the sordid Gent•••• shall ••it check by ••owl, over a Glass of Stout, with Farmers. Assure thy self, I know my Quality better, than to yield in the least Nicety. I advise you to avoid the Bouncing Captain, he's certainly one of the Vainest, Proudest Men under the Copes of Heaven, fi••ical, and phantastical to boot, pre∣serve thy Friendship unsully'd, for him only that de∣serves it.

H. Marshal.

This Gentleman, (said Summer) like old Rome, will suffer none to be Proud but himself. Right, (said Winter) for the Learned, and Ingenious Ci∣cero himself glories in the destruction of Carthage, and Corinth, those proud Cities. Tho' much inf••∣rior (added Church) to Rome, in that qualificati∣on. The Niceties of Birth, and Quality, methinks, (said Grave) might be numbred among the Vulgar Errors. True (said River) there is no more real Excellence due to them, than there is to a Player, that acts a King on the Stage, but is no better than the rest within the Scenes: So the Grave, when 〈◊〉〈◊〉 withdraw after the Farce of this life, will equal all men. So that 'tis a Folly (added Fountain) to be proud of that which lasts but so short a time. But as it is absolutely necessary (answer'd Temple) that the other Players should shew him that respect on the Stage, as if ••e were really more excellent than them. So (assum'd Brook) on the Stage of the World 'tis as necessary for the Order, and Oeconomy of the Vniverse, that there should be a difference observ'd of Quality, and Dignity. Nay, (pursu'd Chappel) I'm of opi∣nion, that there is a real distinction here, as well as above in Heav'n. I must confess (concluded I) it seems not irrational, that there is a difference of Ex∣cellence of Souls, but I very much question that of Quality.

LETTER L.

From a severe Melancholy Philosopher to his jovial Friend. Directed to Mr. Hooke, to be left for him at the Nags-head-Tavern in Newgate street, London.

SIR,

I Received your rallying Letter, but wonder what pleasure you can find in that Mirth, all your Words, and Actions abound with▪ Laughing me∣thinks is such an 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Quality, that Men of Sense should be asham'd of too great a use of it left they should be thought to border too much upon the Nature of that Beast. I can never think 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a wise Man, that had so ill a Notion of the Affairs of this World, to think they merited no∣thing but a foolish Laughter; which was only to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 one Folly with another. Heraclitus cer∣tainly had a much better Idea of the desperate condition of humane life, when he gave himself over to Tears for the daily Miseries 'twas subject to. Christ himself was often seen to Cry but ne∣ver to Laugh. What a melancholy Prospect does each part of this World afford? the Elements, the Seasons of the Year, are subject to strange vici••••i∣tudes the Affairs of Man much more: The strong∣est, and best design'd Policies, can scarce produce a few Years public Peace, or Success to any Nation. We find that the Roman Empire, which was of such strength as to subdue the greatest, and most formidable Empires of the Earth; is now no more

but an empty Name, less than the Ghost of the departed Power. In the time of Galienus, when it seem'd to feel the greatest Convulsions, Sapo∣res, King of ••ersia having taken the Emperor Valerianus Prisoner, Bellosu••, who stil'd himself King of Kings, writing to Sapores, upon his Victo∣ry says; that if he thought the Roman Empire could be overcome he should reioice in his Suc∣cess, firmly believing it should be eternal, as the rest of this Letter testifies; but we have lived to see it no more thought of as a Terror, but a Prey to all Nations, so fading is the Glory of the World. I tell thee Friend thou art a stranger to thought, thou couldst not laugh else whilst Death was besieging thy brittle Careass on every side with the irresisti∣ble Artillery of a thousand Accidents. Oh, leave that lewd thoughtless Town, and come, and join Sorrows with thy Friend, figh out the remainder of thy days for the many trifling Merriments thou hast lost thy self in. Believe me, this is not only a Duty, but a Pleasure. Sorrow is natural to a Man, he has a taste of it when he first springs from his Mother's Womb, and is therefore more agr••eeble to his Constitution; the Soul seems to be at ease when 'tis cloth'd in its Native 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Tears and Sadness, and is not weary, as 'tis when it has been entertain'd with Mirth, and Laughter. How can you be so much pleas'd in the Tempest of the World, where Sickness, Poverty, Disgrace, and Death toss thy little Bark with such impetuous Fu∣ry? 'tis ten to one if one, or all of 'em do not pre∣vail; retire therefore to me, and to this sad Con∣templation; sorrow's our Portion, and our Satisfacti∣on; I wish thee therefore not like the Friends of this World Joy, but multiplicity of Sorrow, who am thy real Friend,

D•• Holton.

Here's a dismal Letter indeed (said Chappel) e∣nough to make a Man fall asleep to read it. He would have us (pursu'd Temple) all like the Son of the Emperor Philip, that succeeded Gordianus, who was never seen to smile. He's one of our moder•• Cinics (added Brook) who thinks Wisdom, and De∣votion lies in Ill-nature, and Pale-faces. 'Tis true (said Summer) 'tis visible that all Humane things are subject to change, but for that reason must I vex and cry to no purpose? But (added River) he obliges us to a Certainty, and Constancy of sorrow whilst every thing else is upon the swift Whirle of Fate, and alters eve∣ry moment. Right (pursu'd Fountain) the Vicissi∣tude of Things methinks should rather perswade us to a vicissitude of Temper, and to mix seriousness, and mirth in our Lives; According to the Advice of Solo∣mon (said Church) and the Practice of the Italians. He is like the rest of the World, spight of his Phi∣losophy (pursu'd Winter) so unreasonable as to cen∣sure all, that are not of his mind; which proceeds (added Grave) from the defect of his Constitution, and Complexion. True (concluded I) because that en∣clines him to Melancholy he would have Nature in∣verted, that all Contraries might meet in his Hu∣mour.

LETTER LI.

From a poor Gentleman to his rich old Friend that is sick. Directed to Mr. Loid, at his House in Graves-End, in Kent.

Honour'd Sir,

London, Iune 1662.

WE have once been very intimate Friends, till Fortune was pleas'd to divide us, you she mounted up to the topmost spoke of her revolving Wheel (and Death I find has a mind to save•• you from falling from it) me she cast down to the bot∣tom, and no wonder therefore, that we could not hear, and converse with one another at such a di∣stance: But now Death is going to lay you a de∣gree lower, than Fortune has me; I hope, since you can no longer use the benefits of Fortune you'll part with a small pittance to him, you once pro∣fess'd to Love. I shall value that more, than your Heir shall all you'll leave him. Therefore since Wealth cannot be convey'd to the next Life, but by Bills of Exchange, 'tis best to take the surest way, and send by God (I mean his Friends the Poor) and not by the Devil leaving more to them, who have too much already. This Advice will be profitable to both of us, to you hereafter, and to me at present, who am

Your Friend and Servant, C. G.

The Maxim of Periander (said I) to thy Friends be the same in Prosperity, and Adversity, is of very little force in our days, whatever it was then. It had then (answer'd Grave) the fate of all good Pre∣cepts, a great many Admirers but few Observors. True (pursu'd Winter) the Example of Tim•••• may prove that. Nay, I was always of Opinion (said Church) that it was only a vulgar Error, that Vices were more numerous, now than in days of old. The lo••••er Writers of those Ages (assum'd River) as Ca∣tullus, Petronius Arbiter, &c. Evince the truth of that; nay, that if there be any difference (pursu'd Foun∣tain) the advantage is on our side. Our Writer of this Letter (said Temple) would have found Fortune could 〈◊〉〈◊〉 divided him from his Friend, in the days of the Philosophers and Prophets, as well as now. He de∣serves relief, the (replied Chappel) from him since he was so civil, as never to ask it of him till he found his Friend could have no farther use of it him∣self; but it is ten to one (answer'd Brook) whether 〈◊〉〈◊〉 gains it or no. True (concluded Summer) for they that misuse their Wealth in their Lives, seldom men•• their Management at their Death, custom having per∣swaded them of the Wisdom, Iustice, and Generosity of their Actions, tho contrary to all th••es.

LETTER LII.

From a young Lady, who resolved ever to continue a Maid, with her Reasons for it. Directed to Mrs. Dorothy Wood, at Mr. Tompsons, near Holbourn bars, London.

Dear Madam,

Cheshire, Iune 1692.

YOU send me word, that you now begin to think of Marriage le••t you should be look'd on as an old Maid; that is the Reason I'll never marry, because I would be one of those few wi••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that merit that Name, who have never been polluted with the Embraces of Mankind. I sean the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Virgins will not be very numerous in the next World, any more than in this. Chastity is so rare a Gi••t among us, that we think it a great∣er Scandal, than Prostitution; and the Daughter of Iephtha deplor'd not that state more heartily, than the Women of this Age would in the same Cir∣cumstances. I love the Vertue that is not com∣mon, and would be one of the Heroines of my Sex, which I can never be in the vulgar way of Wife, my Temper is too impatient of controul, and I had rather be a slave to my own will, than to that of another. Besides I have a fancy that there is a real Preference of a Virgin-state to that of Marriage, if the Example of Christ may prove it, and the Words of St. Paul: which makes me very uneasie to hear the Successors of the Apostle,

the Clergy, villi••ying that seraphic Vertue, ren∣dring all that affect it odious under scandalous Names. I must needs say I am so much a Papist (tho in nothing else) as to think celibacy more con∣ducing to the Service of God, than a marry'd State: thereis less of Flesh, and Blood, and less of In∣terest mingled with the Service of Heav'n. The common Objection is nothing in my mind, that 'tis better to marry than burn, since 'tis certain, 'tis better that none should be admitted to the Clergy but such as could live chastly, and have no other Spouse but Christ, and 'tis hard if out of so many Millions as compose a Nation, there should not be sound enough to officiate without Bribe of a Wise▪ But I digress, tho not much from the purpose, since I have by it only shew'd my Value for the State I choose. I fancy I shall enter Eternity un∣corrupted, as the Angels themselves, with any carnal Impurity: In short 'tis a noble Amb••tion to emulate the Perfection of Heav'n, and its glorious Inhabi∣tants. Quit thy foolish thoughts of Matrimony my Dear, and leave the Town that Enemy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 chast resolves, and let us lead a single and plo••s Li••e together, the Envy of our Sex; we have both Youth, and Beauty, which will shew our de∣sign the effect of Consideration, not Necessity. I am, my Dear,

Thy Faithful humble Servant, Phillis Evans.

Her Letter (said Church) shews she has Sense; Ay, and Youth, and Beauty (pursu'd Winter) if you believe her. Notwithstanding she would have us think her Aversion to Marriage grounded on her Love to Chastity (said Summer) yet Nature breaks out, and discovers the main Cause to be the gratifying her own Humour, which delights in Freedom from con∣troul. I am of Opinion (added Grave) that few take to any Vertue for the sake of that Vertue, but to please the Caprice of the most predominate Folly, or Vice. Nay, here is we find (said Temple) the Affectation of Singularity, which has no little Charm with her. Right (pursu'd Brook) for she has not a mind to go to Heaven like the rest of her Sex. We may rail at Flesh (said Chappel) but the Best of our Actions re∣lish of it, and our Passions have a great share in our most religious Choices. We may as well pretend (added I) to live without food, as to live in a Body without the effects of it. For my part (said Fountain) I am almsot of her Opinion, that 'tis more convenient, if not better to have a single, than marry'd Clergy. So am not I (concluded River) Nature will have vent, and a black Gown is no proof against Temptation.

LETTER LIII.

From a Poetaster that would foolishly rhime on e'ry thing to his Friend in Town. Directed to the Maecenas of the Age, Mr. Thomas Patshal, Prentice to Mr.—a Mercer in Pater-noster-Row, London.

Witty Sir,

BElieve me, th••' I am Poet, I don't ••eign my Affection ••or—

To feign Affection's ••••se, The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that does is it an 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 I con••ess is the Life of 〈◊〉〈◊〉,

We feign 〈◊〉〈◊〉, we feign Adventures, As City Scriveners do Indentures; We for the Fair do feign Grimaces, And for the ugly, a thousand Graces, Tho' they've no Noses to their Faces.

But Sir, as I said before, I scorn to feign Affe∣ction, I relish your Appetite, your Judgment, and your Wit Monceur, my Heart,

The Heart is the Seat of Life, Then why should we give that to our Wife? No, let a Friend enjoy mine, Whilst I lay it a soak in good red Wine.

Well, I protest I never think of you but I'm inspir'd by the Muses from their sacred Hill, A Hill that is two horned, And ne're will be suborned, To side with Fools, and Knaves, They may still blow their Nails And rub their Tails, They still will be but slaves. A Poets born, and not made by art, Whoe're would be a Poet so he is not worth one fart.

But Sir, to stint these Effuviums of the sacred Heliconian Raptures, I must tell you that I want your charming Conversation, as the Bee does the flow'ry Meads, Crura Thymo Plena,

The Meads, the flowry Meads all crown'd with gawdy Flowers, The Bees suck Honey, and the Nymphs deck bowers.

Now methinks I wish you, and I were in the sacred Eli••z••an Fields, with the great Bards of Yore,

How would the Groves, how would the Thickets ring a Whilst thou, and I did our past Actions singa, Destructive Chaos would to peace incline••a, And Europe list'n as well as Greece and China; All glorious Nature from her wondrous Bed, Would raise her bright astonish'd Head To hear our wondrous Songs, would gaze and stare Like Country Clown at shew of Barth' l'mew-fair.

Well, but I profess my Maecenas, I can't live no longer without thee, but that thou knowest Love is a Tyrant that will separate the dearest Friends;

my kind indulgent Mistress will not part with me till she has certain Advice by the extraordinary Conveyance of the near approach of her Husband. I made these following Verses from Horace to her t'other day, I design'd it for a Serenade, but she was satisfy'd with my Intentions; 'tis part of that Ode o•• Horace, Extremum Tenaim si biberes Lyce. Ode. 10. lib. 3.

I begin with the second Stanza, because the first was nothing to my purpose, my Lyce being kind you know. None of the Translations I have met with (from whom I must confess to you I took the Sense) come near m••ne. But here it is,

Dear Bud, I prethee prick thy Ears up, And hearken how the Tempest bears up. Hark! how the Winds break out in clusters; Hark how old bully Boraas blusters; Hark how thy rotten Chamber totters, As if 'twould tumble all to shatters; The silent Trees may too in one sort Be said to all to hold sad Consort.

Sad Consort ••ndeed (interrupted Temple) Prethee, no more of this wretched stuff. Nay, prithee, (answer'd I) lets have an end of the Letter, for I find there are not many more Verses, Well, well, proceed (said all.)

My dear Maecenas, if ever I was inspir'd, 'twas certainly when I wrote these Verses, Description is the life of Poetry, and he that excels in that must be the best Poet, and if I may judge of my own, I think it far excels this of Spencers; which I have seen quoted for an Excellence,

The joyous Birds shrouded in cheerful shade, Their Notes unto the Voice attemper'd sweet, Th' Angelical soft trembling Voices made, To th' Instruments divine Respondence meet; With the base Murmurs of the Waters fall, The waters fall with difference discreet: Now soft, now loud unto the Wind did call The gentle warbling Winds low answered to all. He makes the warbling Wind, &c.

Which is absolete as Trunk hose, but to make the silent Trees keep sad Consort.—The Trees you know Sir are certain mute Animals, and to make them keep sad Consort is surprizing, and ••ew. I'll tell you what Mr. Watts said, he said, I had better have made my Trees have kept time to my ••••sical Tempest, I laugh'd and told him we were ••ot all born Poets. I told him I improv'd Horace, ••ho only call'd it murmur'd betwixt the beautiful ••uildings. I have no room left, I would else have ••••nt you the rest of my Serenade in design or posse,

Who am,

dear Sir, and sweetest Maecenas,

Your most humble Servant, Nicholas Enas.

Sure (said Church) since the Crispinus of Horace, and the Eumolpus of Petronius Arbiter there ne∣ver was such a M••nster? Yes indeed (replied Winter) most of our modern Authors, especially of this Gentle∣man's Cl••ss, are eternal Versi••••ers. True (pursu'd Brook) from their Mistresses commode to the Shadow of her Shoe-tye; and from their Friend in In••en∣tures (added River) to their Patron-master absolute of the Shop, there's nothing ••an escape a Stanza, or Distich. The Muses as well as other Ladies of Pleasure (continu'd Chappel) breed Vermine, and they are your City-wits. This Spark (said Sum∣mer) is not the only that has set up for a Son of Horace's, meerly by the help of those wretched Translations, we are oblig'd to some of the Vni∣versity for, and turn'd him (concluded Grave) in to ridicule when they meant the contrary. But I think such 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Inter••••yers in Wit ought to be us'd more severely than the more honest In∣t••••••opers into the East-India, and Guinea Com∣panies Properties.

LETTER LIV.

From a Philosopher, broaching new No∣tions, that Birds, and Beasts may be more excellent Creatures than Man. Directed to Mr. Sharp, at his Chambers in the Inner-Temple, London.

Honour'd Sir,

Oxford, Iune 1692.

I Receiv'd yours dated Tuesday last, in which you desire to know my Sentiment about the Birds, and Beasts. The Motive of your Curiosity you tell me was some dispute you lately happen'd into about the Reason of Brutes. Sir, I am not desirous to set up for the Leader of a new Sect (tho' this is no new Opinion) yet for your private Satisfaction, I'll give you my present Opinion, with liberty tho' of retracting upon better proof. I desire my Letter may be private, at least my Name.

I must freely therefore confess that I know not whether that Preference we commonly give to hu∣mane Kind above all other sublunary•• Beings, be really just or no, because upon a serious Considera∣tion, I cannot see any advantage Man has above them, for if we conclude the other Creatures made for Man, because he, when he has the advantage of Power, or Stratagem over them, turns them to his use; the same will prove that Man was made for the Service of Birds, and Beasts; if we eat them dead, they do the same by us when they can catch 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the same Condition: If some Beasts are em∣ploy'd

for the Service of Man by Man; most Crea∣tures, beside (nay, and they too) live by the sweat of Man's brow. They neither plow, sow, reap▪ nor manure the Earth, but like Lords of the Soil reap the Benefits of humane Toil; So that it may be a sort of Impiety, or Rebellion to kill them for∣•••••••• I know.

Some, I know, urge, that no Creature is fram'd for Society but Man. Which I deny, as is obvious to e'ry one that has consider'd the Kingdom of Bees, the troups of Birds, especially Ravens, who observe all the effects of Conversation, Government, and Policy; Cicero and Pliny report, that the Cranes observe a regular, and successive Order in their flight, which must be the effect of the Word of Com∣mand. I have seen two talk together a little, and presently one of 'em separate, and pass to the next and so on till at last they have all given a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Raa, and taken their flight to some adjacent Field, or perhaps farther. The very Sheep under| stand their several Tones of Beat, and move ac∣cordingly. 'Tis true, the Language of most Beasts is not so numerous, as ours, nor is that of Hebrew so stock'd with Words, as the more Westernly Tongues.

Again, I am more than half of Opinion, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they have the use of Reason, so they have immor∣tality of Soul: For it seems to me irrational to think God Almighty could make so many Millions of Beings only for a moment's time, and after that never to be no more, methinks all the Works 〈◊〉〈◊〉 an eternal Being should continue to Eternity, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 would else insinuate, that the Creation of those things being the effect of his Power, and Wisdom had not participation enough of the Power, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 created them to make 'em Immortal. I'm sure as 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Text of Scripture, which says, Who feedest the Ra∣vans,

that call upon thee! Proves not only a Lan∣guage of Birds, but the highest Work of Reason, Prayer, and Contemplation, so do these following more than intimate, that there is no such material difference betwixt us, and our fellow Creatures. Ecclesiastes, Chap. 3. vers. 18. I said in my Heart concerning the Estate of the Sons of Men that God might manifest them, and they might see that them∣selves were Beasts. Vers. 19.—For that which befal∣l••th the Sons of Men, befalleth Beasts, even one thing befalleth them, as the one dieth, so dieth the other, yea they have all one Breath, so that a Man has ••o Pre••eminence above a Beast, for all his Vanity. Vers. 20. All go to one place, all are of Dust, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 return to Dust again. These are my extempore thoughts of the Matter, but I will now give my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to a more serious Consideration of it, I will only add, that I am apt to think Pythagoras ha∣••ing been in Iudea, and instructed in the Law might from this draw his Opinion of the Mitemp∣ficasis. I am

SIR,

Your humble Servant, C. D.

Our Philosopher (said I) has for got what Philo∣••••••atus tells of Apollonius Tyanaeus, and others of Pythagoras, that they understood the Language of the Birds. The same (answer'd Church) is reported of some others of the Antient Philosophers, whose mo∣ral Precepts could not teach their Followers not to lye, and to love truth better, than the magnifying their Founder by Falsities. I rather therefore (pur∣su'd Temple) approve his Method in sticking only to

Reason, and Experience, letting weaker Tradition shift for its self. But as for what he proves (said Brook) about the Language of Birds, and Beasts, methink•• he might have spar'd his labour, for what advan∣tage has Mankind by Conversation? Right (pursu'd River) unless Cheats, Rapine, Perjuries, Plagues; Wars, and Famine, and Desolation the Effects of So∣ciety be Benefits? which made the wisest, and most holy of Mankind (added Fountain) the Philosophers, and Fathers, withdraw themselves from that to S••∣litudes, and Desarts. The Birds, and Beasts (said Winter) keep up to the holy Dictates▪ and Laws of Nature, which Man in all things deviates so much from. True (return'd Chappel) what think you the•••• if these are the Progeny of the Golden Age, tra•••• form'd to secure them from the greater Bestialities •• Humane Race? The Birds indeed (said Summ••r) might be thought to be that innocent Race, Me••••∣morphos'd, that they might soar above that Earth they excell'd, and nearer that Heaven they serv'd. I know not what to make of this your new Syst•••• (concluded Grave) but I'm sure the Argument fr•••• Reason, which the Philosopher makes use of to pro•••• the Immortality of Birds, and Beasts will never hold more for them, than for e'ry Leaf of Grass, or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the Sea, which are equally the Work of an ete••∣nal Being.

LETTER LV.

From a little Parson that had seen the Queen, and falls in Love with her, and desires his Friends Advice what to do in the Case. Directed to Mr. Hockley, a•• Chelmsford, Essex.

I Find that my little Body is capable of grea••, and nob••e F••res; I was to see the Queen at Dinner, but I found her the Queen of Beauty, as well as the Queen of England, and I must own I s••ek'd in a Poyson from her Eyes, which I know not how to find an Antido••e for. The boldness of ••y Passion is grown to that extravagance, to wish •• ••ould make her know her new Adorer, thinking love like its Brother plague infectious, and because I love so much she must love so too; perhaps you may think me mad, but if I am 'tis glorious-Ra∣ving, and I desire not to be sober in your humble Sense, let me love a Qu••en, tho my Love cost me my Life, a Prince would be glad to die her Martyr; my Pen I use in her Cause with the greater Ardor, and when I preach I turn the Gospel into an En∣o••mium upon her▪ I desire dear Sir your Advice what I shall do in this case, how to manage a Love of this nature, to the Satisfaction of, Sir,

Your most humble Servant, Thomas Spicer.

As Pedro says, in the Spanish Fryar (said Temple) I think if I never was to die till my Flesh, and Blood rebel••'d against our Sovereign Lady, that way I should be free from Tybourn this many a fair Year.

In the midst of our Mi••th, at the Extravagance of this Letter we heard a ver•• great Knocking at th•• Court-yard-gate, and upon the opening of it, a great noise in the House, which did not a little surprize us, for fear it had been some in pursuit of us, having go•• intelligence either from our Ian, whither they migh•• have dogg'd us, or from the Water-men, who might have overheard some of our Discourse in the Boat which made us presently to send Summer out to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what the matter was, and to gain us time to dispo•••• of our Letters into a more secret part of the Summer house, which we did with all the speed imaginable shuffling them all into our Box, and placing that a∣mong the Gardiners Tools, and Vtensils under 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Summer-house; after which placing the Bottle, a•••• Glasses, regularly in the midst of us, we were resolv•••• to expect our Fate, as Epicure did Death that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 each Man with his Glass in his hand. We had not drank above two rounds whe•• Summer sent his Va∣let to us, to inform us, that it was my Lord—come to pay him a Visit; and a little ••fter h•• ga•••• his Lordship the slip, and came to us, to let us kno•• he was afraid he should not get rid of his Lordship till after dinner, unl••ss Grave came into his rescu•• with his starch'd and surly Morals, to which his Ho∣nour was a mortal Foe. Grave therefore by comm•••• consent was deputed for the delivery of Summer, from the obsession of Quality, and restore us to our pleasant Enquiries; he obey'd, and we in the mean time fetch'd up our Cargo, and began to sort 'em a∣gain, seperating those we had read from those we had

••ot; and by that time we had done that, and taken 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Glass apiece, Summer and Grave came to us, ha∣ving dispatch'd his Lordship to Dinner to some of his Brother Peers.

We were all desirous to know the Adventure before ••e proceeded; which Summer gave us in these few words, My Lord, (you know Gentlemen) is one that values himself so much upon his Quality, and Wit, that he can bear no disrespect to either, and he esteems it a disrespect to his Quality, if your whole behavi∣•••••• be not as solemn, and ceremonious, as an Audience ••f an Ambassador, or an interview of two Princes, and to his Wit, if you oppose the absurdest thing he says; this being his Honors genius, Grave here, whose Face would perswade one he were a Surly, or Manly, per∣••••ates a rough uneasie Temper, contradicts all my Lord said, scarce aloud him a Bow, never laugh'd at his Iest, nor admir'd his Dress, or Liveries. My Lord grew presently uneasie, and tho' he at first pre∣••••••ded to dine with me, made his excuse, that he was ••••lig'd to dine with my Lord—and like Sir ••opling cries Hey, Page, my Coach, wither with a great deal of Ceremony, I attend him, whilst Grave ••akes a stop at the Parlor door, and bids his Lord∣ship plainly good buy, his Lordship return'd him ••o answer, but asked me what ill bred Clown I kept Company with? I told him a Country Cousin that was not yet polish'd enough for his Lord∣ship's Conversation, and so with an hundred sensless Bows, and Cringes we parted, my Lord into his Coach, and I to my Friend Grave here, and having given order for delaying of Dinner till two or three a Clock. We came, you see Gentlemen, to this honourable B••nch; let us therefore proceed. Happy ••e the Omen (said Chappel) the first I light on is the Hand of one of

the fair Sex, ••nd (having broken it open) which is a wonder concise, I'll read it if I can for the ill spell∣ing with an audible Voice.

LETTER LVI.

From a fair Lady being a Profession of Con∣stancy in Friendship. 'Twas directed to Mr. Englith, to be left at the Raven in the Poultrey till call'd for.

Dear Sir,

London, Iune 1692.

I Receiv'd a Letter, and Copy of Verses from you, and shall at present answer you only in your own words, viz. to assure you, distance of Place, change of Air, or Fortunes, or length of time shall never alter that real respect I have for you, who am,

Your true, and real Friend, Parmenia.

Here is a great deal in a little (said Grave) a great Miracle of the Sex, both in Constancy (added Winter) Wit, and Brevity. Pliny (said Temple) says Nature is ever greatest in her least Productions, and so is Wit, for then 'tis improv'd by Iudgment, a rare Qualification in a Woman. Nature (said Sum∣mer) is sometimes as prodigal of her Favours to one, as she is nigardly of them to another, and here I assure you (said I) she has been lavish; to Youth, giving the Iudgment of Age, to Beauty, the Wit of the Vgly, to a Woman the Constancy, and Stability of Man. Nay, there (interrupted River) you injure her for the Constancy of Man extends no farther, than pros∣perity, as his Friendship reaches no farther than Words or Self-interest. Right (pursu'd Church) but ••ers not only in profession, but reality was not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to Times, Places, or any accident of Fortune 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (continu'd Winter) were these Professions made i•• the Sun-shine of a happy State, but when the Man 〈◊〉〈◊〉 actually under a Cloud. The only time (added Brook) that words of that nature are meant as they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 spoke. May she therefore (concluded Chappel) always meet with Sincerity in her Friends, Constancy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her Lovers, and Success in her Wishes, and Desires. May she be always beautiful, and young, and witty, is she now is. For sure nature may work Miracles for such a Miracle in nature.

LETTER LVII.

From a Relation, giving advice to another. 'Twas directed to Mr. Long, at his Lodgings at the twisted Posts in Sulfolk-street, London.

Cousin,

Norfolk, Iune 1692.

I Am sorry to hear you so much pervert your Fa∣ther's Indulgence, as to throw away both your time, and mony in pursuit of Women: If you don't reform, some malicious, or officious Person, or other may chance to acquaint your Father with it, and you know your Mother-in-Law would be glad of a pretence to alienate his Affections from you. Take my Advice, who really love you, and wean your self from ill Company, who love your Money, not you, as you'll find too late, if you still pursue the thoughtless Dictates of Vice, and Youth. I wish you health of Mind, and Body▪ that you may know your false Friends from your true ones, as is your loving Cousin,

Isa. Richards.

Tho' this Letter (said Winter) shew a great deal of reality, yet I dare say 'twill afford much more of disguist than pleasure to him 'tis sent to. Because (answer'd Church) Youth drown'd in Wine, and the pursuit of Pleasures hates the cautious Admonitions of Wisdom. No, no (said Brook) because unask'd advice, th•• never so good is always suspected of Self-interest. I can see no cause for that Suspicion here (return'd Sum∣mer) where the Benefit accrues wholly to him that is advis'd. Ah (said I) are you so ignorant in Man, as not to know that the Prejudices of Passion, and Pre∣engagement, never consider Reason? or at least (ad∣ded Grave) forge Reasons out of Air, and Imagina∣tion to flatter the Folly they are bound to. Small in∣deed is the number of those (said River) who are ca∣pable of giving a disintress'd Advice; and vastly less (pursu'd Temple) of those that will take it. Self-esteem (said Fountain) is the cause of the last, and Self-interest of the first. I am of opinion (conclu∣ded Chappel) that our Passions set things in so false a Light, that we easily misjudge of them, that are not extreamly self-evident, and Advice depend∣ing generally on Events is seldom so.

LETTER LVIII.

Of Entreaty, desiring a Favour of a Friend. Directed to Mr. Goff, at his House in Duck-Lane, London.

Dear Friend,

Plimouth, Iune 92.

I Am sorry that the first time, you hear from me, must inform you of the Misfortune of your Friend. We set Sail, on the Monday after I left you, from Weymouth, and had a good fresh Gale, which bore us over nearer the French Coasts, th••n we desir'd; and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 next day about seven in the Evening a Vessel made up to us, which upon our making away gave us Chace with all the Sails she could, and fir'd two or three Guns at us, and being within shot, brought our Main-mast by the Board In short, we were took, but the Night coming on, my Cousin Iohn, and I, and two more of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ crew got the Boat over-board, and so stole into it, and cutting the Cable, put off to Sea, and ply'd ou•• little Sail, and Oars with such success, that tho' they fir'd at us, we before day got out of sight, and by next Morning came near a Man of War of our own, whom we inform'd of the Privateer, and having had from us as good directions as we could give, sending us as••oar to Plimouth, went after the 〈◊〉〈◊〉. I am now in a strange place, and with∣out Money; I desire therefore you would send me five Pounds, which I promise to repay you as soon as God enables me; you may remember when I did you a far greater Kindness, and in less likely Cir∣cumstances

of being ever able to return it, which makes me think, I shall not write in vain to you in this Exigence, whom am,

Your unfortunate Friend, R. Isaacs.

I dare engage (said Chappel) this Man receives not so obliging a Letter in his distress, as that of the Charming PARMENIA. Pity (replied Grave) is the Vice of the Nature of that Sex. Prethee Grave (said I) remember thy Mother was a Woman, and have a little more tenderness for them, and not pervert that which is an Excellence in the Sex. Right (pursu'd Temple) for 'tis the Vertue, not the Vice of their Nature. But (said Winter) this Man has taken a wrong method to prevail, in putting him in mind of a greater Favour receiv'd formerly. For (pursu'd Brook) we t••••e no pleasure in prosperity in a grate∣ful Remembrance of a past Obligation. Especially (added Church) if we are put in mind of it, by the ••ecessity of our Benefactor. As if (said Summer) his misfortunes had cancell'd our Duty. 'Tis true, (said Fountain) we are not pleas'd to be told of an Obligation by him that oblig'd us, because it seems to lessen our Gratitude, in returning it, by making that a Duty, which we would have thought the effect of our Generosity. No, no (concluded River) we are only angry at the unpleasant Memento, because it stares us in the face, and tells us we are Monsters if we 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and so leaves us no place for excuse.

LETTER LIX.

A Complement from a fair Lady to a Gentleman, that had sent her some Verses. 'Twas directed to Mr. Abbot, in Cornhill.

SIR,

I Should begin my Letter with those Encom••••••s your Wit justly merits, should I follow my own Inclinations, and fill this Letter with your Praises, but that for fear your Modesty would make you look on those Commendations (really due to your Wit) as Complements. But alas! were that rea∣son remov'd, I know not where to begin, nor where to end, for your Verse has this advantage beyond all others, that it is not only above Flattery, but above Praise. You have by that discover'd your self so great a Critic, that the fear of being too just∣ly counted a Fool forces me unwillingly, tho sin∣cerely to subscribe my self,

SIR,

Your affectionate Friend and Servant, Cleona.

These Letters of Complement (said Grave) are but Essays, to see how a man can bear an Abuse un∣der a title of Civility. 'Tis true (added Winter) 'tis but a general way of lying, and therefore very natural, and proper for a Woman. But who (said I) would not be proud of being flatter'd by the Sister of Parmenia, for so is this Lady, that wrote this Let∣ter. Right, (pursu'd Chappel) to be esteemed wor∣thy the Thought of the fair Cleona, so much, as to make her take the pains ev'n to abuse one, if her Praise can be call'd so; Which (added Brook) like that of Kings, confers Merit where 'tis not. If Cleona (said Temple) be the Sister of Parme∣nia, they are nearer ally'd in Wit, than Blood. Right (pursu'd Fountain) they are so much the same. Beauty, and Wit are seldom 〈◊〉〈◊〉, (said Ri∣ver) but in these Sisters inseparable. Nay, that which is more (added Summer) Nature spreads her Favours through the whole Sisterhood. 'Tis pity (concluded Church) such Excellence should stamp so fair a mark on Complements, where she's so much for Reality her self.

LETTER LX.

From a Friend proffering his Service. 'Twas directed to Mr. K••ash, to be left for him at Man's Coffee-house near Whitehall, London.

SIR,

Darby, June 1692.

HEre is a Discourse, that you have a Design to make your address to Sir Roger's Daughter; If you have any such Thoughts, I desire you would lay your Comman•• upon me, who, by my intima∣cy with him, can make an easie access to her. My Kindness for you, and the memory of the Obliga∣tions I have had to your Father, makes me take hold of the first opportunity, of desiring thus to satisfie you of the Gratitude, and Friendship of

SIR,

Your humble Servant, J. Green.

I find (said Temple) there is still some Gratitude in the World. Few remember a past Benefit, (said I) or depend much upon the future, the present Advantage is the most charming to the major part of Mankind. 'Ti•• rare indeed (said Winter) we meet with a Re∣turn when we desire it. But here (assum'd Church) 'tis offer'd before ask'd. But that which should ren∣der

it the more acceptable in Reason, (pursu'd Brook) will perhaps make it neglected. The singularity of it (added River) will make one suspect the Sincerity of the Proffer. As 'tis Imprudence (said Grave) blindly to follow Advice, without bringing it to the test of our Reason. So (assum'd Summer) 'tis not Wisdom pre∣sently to accept of a proffer'd Kindn••ss; Because (pur∣su'd Fountain) Self-interest is generally so predomi∣nant, that there are few in their Advice, and Ser∣vice, have not regard to it. But perhaps (co••cluded Chappel) this Gentleman, like Sir Jolly Jumble, has so particular a delight in bringing Couples together, that he makes his Gratitude but the Pimp to his Lea∣••hery of procuring. We generally choosing our Virtues a•• they agree with our over-ruling Vices.

LETTER LXI.

To a false Friend. 'Twas directed to Mr. Jones, to be left for him at the Rose Tavern near Temple••Bar.

SIR,

Monmouth, June 1692.

AS I did not expect so much foul-dealing from you, so it the more surpriz'd me, when I un∣derstood how much you had oppos'd my Interest in the very Affair, you pretended to negotiate for me; your Obligations, your Oaths, and Prote∣stations, I find, are soon forgot, which shall learn me for the future to confide in no man that makes

such wondrous Professions, since I have had such a dear Error in paying for the knowledge of your perfidiousness.

R. Morgan.

This Gentleman's Wisdom, (said Temple) like that of most young men, is bought at his own expence. Young, or old, (return'd Winter) we often, by our Vnskilfulness in Men, cherish a Snake in our Bosom; And pour our Favours on those (added Church) who on the first opportunity to serve their own separate In∣terest, turn the Benefit against the Benefactor. This (said Grave) is too often the Fate of Princes, who make Favourites rather by Fancy, than the Merits of the Person. Or (added I) the Dictates of their own Reason. We ought certainly (said Summer) if we would not repent of our Actions to no purpose, never to let it be in any man's power to betray our Interest. At least (assum'd Chappel) by our over-confidence in him. Then you would (said Fountain) destroy all Friendship. No (reply'd River) the Practise of the World now renders, that you call Friendship a mee•• Notion, and Theory. Right, (concluded Brook) for Interest is the Cement of Friendship; and since 'tis possible that may divide the dearest, 'tis Prudence to secure ones self, by a cautious distrust.

LETTER LXII.

From an Author to his Bookseller, haggling for more Copy-mony. 'Twas directed to Mr.—at the Golden Ball in Corn∣hil, London.

SIR,

Richmond, June 1692.

YOU were so hard with me, that tho I under∣took this first part at your rate, because I both wanted business, and Mony, yet I must needs tell you, that I cannot go on with the Undertaking, unless you are a little more generous, for this will scarce find me Bread whilst I am writing it; but I leave it to your own Reason to think, whether a little more Copy-mony would not turn for your own advantage; for the greater Encouragement I have, the more Pa••ns I shall take, and the more cause I shall have to do so. I therefore leave it to your consideration, who am

Your Friend, and Servant, J. S.

This Author (said I) is not well vers'd in his Pro∣fession, since he thinks to get any thing from the gene∣rosity of a Bookseller. He might as well have left it (pursu'd Chappel) to the generosity of an Vsurer. Right (added River) a Bargain is a Bargain with them. And tho Necessity oblige the Author (continu'd

Winter) to comply with their hard Agreement, yet they'l ne'r have regard to that, tho he live upon a clov•• of Garlick, like a Spanish Don. They make no di∣stinction (said Brook) betwixt a man of Parts, and Learning, and one that in spight of Education, and Nature, assumes the Name of Author; And will (con∣tinued Temple) murder a good subject like a Bravo of Sence, for a George. Apostates (added Church) from the honest Mechanics, to be a plague to M••n of Sence. Both Authors, and Readers plague (pursu'd Foun∣tain) and the Bookseller's Tool. Who had rather st••rve∣at the foot of Par••assus (said Summer) than get Mony in their natural station. I find (concluded Grave) that all a Man's Study at School, and at the Vniver∣sity, and all the Gifts of Nature besides, only qualifies him for a Slave to the Booksellers, if Fortune be wan∣ting.

LETTER LXIII.

From an Admirer of Platonic Love. 'Twas directed to Madam Field, to be left at Mr. Williams's House near Deal in Kent.

Honour'd Madam,

London, June 1692.

'TIS with a great deal of regret I have been thus long kept in this busie sensless Town, so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from the happy conversation of a Lady of your Per∣fections; but, Madam, as our Souls, I'm confident, meet when we sleep, and enjoy each other, so when

we wake, methinks we should employ our Thoughts about each other, when we are not contemplating Virtue, which I envy you, for the hurry, and noise of this place deprives me of those sedate Thoughts your agreeable Converse, and the calm of a Coun∣try Retreat us'd to inspire.

The mistaken World condemns your Sex for want of Judgment, and of being govern'd by the blind Dictamens of your unruly, and criminal Passi∣ons, but I, that have the honour to know you, dear Lady, find their ill-natur'd Error, in fixing the Crime of a few on the whole Sex; but let these Self-esteemers shew me two of the Philosophers re∣gular, as You, in their Affections, and Lives, except the divine Plato

Ah Madam, how happy are we in so pure, and undefil'd a Love, by which Souls mingle e'ery mi∣nute, in the highest extafie of Union, without the impeding help (if I may use that seeming contradi∣ction) of our Bodies! Immortal must our Flame be, since the immortal part of us is only interested in it. The cause of Inconstancy in Common Love, is the Body, which being of so changeable a nature, 'tis impossible it should retain any thing long, which has the least dependance upon it: But the Soul, that is still the same, must still persevere in the affection it has once made choice of. Wonder not at the Expression, Madam, for our Loves are the effects of Choice, not Fancy; Virtue, and Wit engage us, but Beauty, and Vice them, both frail, and fading, as the Joys they bring

But ours, Madam, is the Love of Angels, sacred Sympathy unites our Souls, and mutual Virtues ce∣ment our holy Vows, not only till Death, but even to the next Life of Glory; for it being a Native of Heav'n, it cannot lose its Being by returning thi∣ther, but rather improve it to a greater degree than

it could attain here, oppos'd by the cloggs of gross material bodies; for, like Fruits transplanted from a warm to a colder Climate, 'tis less perfect here, tho it still retain its form, tast, and other Excellen∣cies of its Heav'•••••• Nature, tho not in so exalted a degree.

Uninterrupted Joy is the Product of our Passion, (if it merit so gross a Name) without any mixture of Pa••n; 'tis like the Vestal Fire, burning without material Fuel; whereas the other dyes, and is soon extinguish'd, if depriv'd of its Fuel Beauty; and the auxiliary Bellows of Strifes, and petty Squabbles, so small, and so unhappy is their Pleasure, that they can't arrive at, or relish it, unless they first, and of∣ten tast of Pain. Satiety attends their Success, and Quarrels serve for Exercise, to gain them a fresh Appetite. 'Twould be endless to run through all the Advantages we have above them, and imperti∣nent to you, who are so sensible of them. Nor need I caution you how to preserve the Empire you have obtain'd over your Body, since you know the Body is a true Coward, where it has the mastery, being a Tyrant, but where 'tis overpower'd, easily kept in serv••le awe. I shall therefore only now sub∣scribe my self,

Madam,

Your Admirer, and zealous Lover, A. James.

My Life on't (said Chappel) this is some antiqua∣ted Batchelor, whose Sins of his Youth have made him abominate Matrimony. Or rather (interrupted Brook) disabled him from Matrimonial Performances; and therefore prudently (pursu'd Temple) hides his

bodily defect under the Mask of Platonic Love. And she some super animated Matron (said River) that has been neglected in a carnal way, even by her own Coach∣man. Right (assum'd Grave) a Woman never for∣gets the Flesh, till her Skin's turn'd into Buckram by Age. Nor then neither (added Winter) if she can ••ake it subtile, and smooth to some younger Brother by her Fortune. This Lady therefore (said Summer) must be poor, as well as old, she would never else take up with empty Alms of Passion, meer words. 'Tis well (said I) she can make a Virtue of Necessity, and fly to the Spirit, when she can't make use of the Flesh. Platonic Love, (said Church) if we may judge by the Founder's words, is not without its secret Heaut∣••••ust of the Flesh; I'm sure Plato seems to relish the Kiss of Agatho, with all the fire of the most amorous Debauchee. Right, (concluded Fountain) 'tis only a demure Bawd to secret whoring, they being the grea∣test Friends to the Flesh in a Corner, who espouse the Spirit so much in the face of the World.

LETTER LXIV.

From one beyond Sea, expressing his desire of returning to his own native Country. 'Twas directed to Mr. Gregory, at his House in Charles-street, Westminster, London.

Honour'd Master,

Hague, June 1692.

THE Obligations I have to you, engage me to return my Thanks, as often as I may without being too chargeable, or too troublesome to you.

I am asham'd to let you know on how ill-deservi•••• a Subject you have plac'd all your Favours; for must confess, I had rather be confin'd to my nati•••• low condition in my own Country, than have th•• Place of Preferment you were so generously plea•••• to obtain for me. The Splendor of the Court whe•• 'tis here, nor the Civilities of the Natives, or m•• own Countrymen; nay, scarce the Advantages •• Interest can make amends for the loss of old E••∣gland, the hopes of seeing which, after the Cam••••pagn is over, keeps me alive. With my Respect•• and Duty to my Mistriss, and your self, I subscrib•• my self,

SIR,

Your ever oblig'd, humble, and faithful Servant, John Robinson

Here's one (said Grave) eaten up with the Epide∣mic Distemper of Mankind: The doting (adde•• Brook) on ones own Country; Which is better (re∣ply'd Temple) in my mind, than that Contempt 〈◊〉〈◊〉 men shew for the place of their birth. The love of one native Country (pursu'd River•• has such a sw•••• ascendant over us, that it will not let us forget it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the greatest plenty, nor in the remotest parts of the World. True, (continu'd Fountain) and we mea∣sure the fulness of our Happiness by the distance, or near••ness it sets us in from thence. The Pleasures, an Grandeur of old Rome were scarce Bribes enough (sai•••• Church) to win the Captives from a desire of the•• own barren Country. There's no greater Proof of thi•• (added Summer) than the Inhabitants of some of th•• most Northern parts of Norway, where one would wo••••

〈◊〉〈◊〉 any of human race should endure to live, the inso∣••••nce of the winds being there so great, that it blows way the tops of Houses, and Trees up by the Roots, at the People chuse rather to live there in Caves like ••easts, than to seek some more Hospitable abode. Espe∣••••ally (said Chappel) since the World is so wide, and •• much of the finest Country in the World uninhabited •• some parts of America. But (pursu'd I) this is ••ot so terrible, as to live near the Mountains Vesa∣••ius, or Aetna; the very reading of the account Pliny 〈◊〉〈◊〉 younger gives of the fiery Inundation, in his twen∣••••eth Letter of his sixth Book to Cornelius Tacitus, ••ould make a man have a care of coming within some ••agues of it. But this ••ondness of the Country we are ••orn in (concluded Winter) seems to me a piece of ••igottry, since it goes so far beyond what Reasin re∣••uires, and since the whole World is the Country of a ••ise man.

LETTER LXV.

From a Coward to his intimate Friend, to assist him to gain the Reputation of a man of Courage, by parting him in a Duel be must be engag'd in. 'Twas directed to Mr.—at Mr. Herd's near Tun∣bridge-wells in Kent. With care, and Speed.

Dear NED,

London, June 1692.

THE confidence I put in you, when you read this Letter, which is to desire your imme∣diate return to London, for I happen'd to be in com∣pany last night with Bully Hack—, some words past betwixt us, about Arabella, 'twas in such company, that I know I shall be stigmatiz'd for a Coward, if I don't challenge him; but you know I have often told you, I durst not venture upon a Duel, 'tis the fault of my Constitution I think, and therefore I can't help it, nor am I asham'd to own it to such a Friend, as I have always found thee to be. I'll de∣fray the charge of your Journy, and present thee with Ten Guineas more if you come away imme∣diately, that you may be near the place where we meet, and so interpose, and save both my Life, and the credit of thy faithful, humble Servant,

E. Rouse.

This Letter (said Winter) ought immediately to be dispatch'd, to save the Reputation of a Coward. Well, 'tis natural (said Temple) for e'ery one to endeavour to hide his own Failing, if he be sensible of it. He makes the right use of his Mony (added Brook) to bubble the World out of a Reputation of Courage he deserves not. At least, for Duelling, (assum'd Grave) and thus many a Spark passes that Test of Courage with little danger. Right, (pursu'd Foun∣tain) for there is many a man that will quarrel in the Pit, or in the Street, where there's a certainty of be∣ing parted, that will never venture out behind Southampton-House. But they sometimes (reply'd River) meet with a thrust through the Heart, before their hoped Rescue come. Which shews (said Church) that 'tis but a Folly to attempt any thing above our abilities. Right, (added I) for we generally reap nothing but Contempt, and Misery, or Ridicule, and Laughter. Let e'ery one therefore (said Chappel) that has not a Resolution to go through with a Quar∣rel, affect Peace, and learn to avoid Affronts, and give none. And then (concluded Summer) he may pass for a stanch Duellist, tho' he be none, as a Fool that holds his Tongue, does sometimes for a Philoso∣pher.

LETTER LXVI.

From a Servant, giving an account to his Mistriss of all his Master's Failings in his absence from her. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Smithies, in Canterbury, near the Market, Kent. With care.

Honour'd Madam,

London, June 1692.

SInce my last, I have not much Variety to send you, my Master keeping on in the old course, the Evening he spends at the Park, in pursuit of one Whore, or another; or at the Spring-Garden, after Citizens Wives: All night he spends in Drinking, at the Tavern. The other day we took a walk into Red-Lion-Fields, and he order'd me to stay at the end of Kingstreet, or to go home to his Lodgings, for he should have no occasion for me. I staid till he was gone a little way, and keeping him in sight, I saw him meet a Woman, and with her turn'd toward Maribone; I follow'd at a di∣stance, till they were hous'd, whither I also went, and finding the Room they were in, I peep'd thro' the Key-hole, and there discover'd him very fami∣liar with one of the prettiest young Creatures that ever my Eyes beheld. I could not blame my Ma∣ster methought. But just as I was peeping, the Drawer came up, and caught me, gave me a Box o'th' Ear, and if I had not run for't, had discover'd me to my Master, by making me his Prisoner, and as he swore ducknig me in the Horse-pond; but

trusting to my heels, I got safe away, tho my Master since has examin'd me where I was then, the Drawer having given him an account of my Livery. I hope Madam, you'l remember your faithful Servant,

Will. Foot.

'Tis pity (said Summer) the Master should not be inform'd of his worthy Servant. Why (reply'd Win∣ter) he's trusty to one half of his Master. Yes, yes, (pursu'd Grave) to the worst half, the Woman. Nor to her neither (added Church) Right (assum'd Brook) for 'tis to himself he's only true, betraying his Master for the advantage he gets by it. Which we find (said River) he'l not forget to claim; as the end of his Letter shews. If he be a Rascal (said Fountain) I'm sure the woman is a Fool, to purchase a Trouble ••e can't perhaps redress. Prithee (pursu'd Temple) 'twas the Folly of her Grandame Eve, her curiosity of knowing damn'd us all. Right, (added Chappel) 'tis fit therefore that the same Crime shou'd be inherent in the Sex, for their perpetual Punishment. But per∣haps (concluded I) this Lady may have her End in it, either in a pretence for the like Extravagance her self, or by that means to make him the more submissive to her will, when he finds his Failing discover'd to her.

LETTER LXVII.

From a great Wagerer. Directed to Mr. Brown, at the Nags-head-Inn near Cripplegate, London.

Dear SAM,

Bristol, June 1692.

I Long to hear how Wagers go about Pignerol, the Descent, the retaking of Namur, or any other public Affair. I have laid Five hundred pound there will be a Descent into France, by the English, before August; and I've laid Fifteen hundred pound on the contrary, and if you can get me any more on that account, I'll make it up Two thousand: They are wholly possess'd with the Descent here, and I can easily, I believe, if I'll make it my busi∣ness, get Wagers enough here, but I had rather have them in London, because I shall be present there to demand them. By way of Policy I have recei∣ved Five pound a piece, from above Twenty, to make it Ten, if there be no Descent before the time agreed on. I wish you good Success in your Wa∣gers, who am

Your Friend and Servant, R. Hare.

Tho' this be a new sort of dealing, (said I) sprung up since our present wars, yet 'tis arriv'd to a perfecti∣on of cheating, as well as the old-standing Trades. You are just in your observation (pursu'd Chappel) for I think 'tis arriv'd to such a perfection of cheating, 'tis nothing but a Cheat. True, (added River) for here is one man of Ability is at the expence of good Intelligence from the place of Action. Right, (assu∣med Temple) and by that taking his measures, he and his Agents disperse themselves to several Coffee-houses; And there (continu'd Fountain) according to the Inclinations of the Company, frame their wa∣gers. That is, (said Church) if the News be agree∣able to the company, they lay small wagers to the con∣trary of what they suppose will come to pass; And the fame of these wagers laid by them (said Brook) shall ••ngage twice as many to lay on the same account. There (added Summer) they have their secret Agents to take 'em up, and so for the loss of One hundred get ••en. But (said Winter) if the News be opposite to the Inclinations of the Company, they lay boldly, ne∣ver fearing Betts, no body being easily brought to be∣lieve contrary to what he desires. 'Tis a sure Card, (concluded Grave) for Desire is most commonly blind, and we lose a Certainty in pursuit of that we have no probability of, but what Fancy furnishes us with.

LETTER LXVIII.

From one that advises his Friend to Dissimu∣lation in all his Actions. 'Twas directed to Mr. Johnson, at his Lodging at Mr. Moudy's in Thredneedle-street, London.

SIR,

Rutland, June 1692.

YOU send me Letter on Letter, of complaint of the Perfidiousness of your Friends, and the Villany of Men, who still deceive you; and I must tell you, Sir, you may thank your self for it. You are for Plain-dealing; you love not to say one thing, and think another; and you reap the Fruit of what you love, that is Ruin, and Contempt in the end. All that I can do, is only to advise you to alter your methods, and live as other men do; that is, never be what you seem to be. If you would injure a man, profess a great deal of Friend∣ship for him, and so he'l not be upon his Guard, and you may strike home. If you'd seem honest, talk much of Religion, but observe but little Mo∣rality: And so in all your actions put on another Face, than what they tend to, and by that means you may chance to rub through the sharping World. As my Advice is the best Service I can do you, so is this the best Advice I can give you, who am

Yours to command, S. Grimault.

This Gentleman (said Winter) is learn'd in Man∣kind. True, (pursu'd Church) for Dissimulation is so general, that 'tis become necessary. Right, (added Temple) for he that knows not how to dissemble, knows not how to live. If you can't live temperate∣ly, (said Summer) sin at least with caution; so that if you are not free from Vice, you may at least be so from the scandal and punishment of it. Once failing to dissemble, (said Brook) cost Claudius's Life, as well as the good Emperor Probus. 'Twould be end∣less to run through all that History presents us with (added River) it gave occasion to Nero, to exercise his Cruelty on his nearest Relations; And (pursu'd Fountain) to Jugurtha, to destroy the Son of him that had made him Co-heir in the Kingdom of Numi∣dia. It seems not only necessary (said I) for life, but ev'n to afford a pleasure too; For we shall observe it practis'd very often without any need. Right, (ad∣ded Chappel) for why else should this Fo•• come a mile out of his way to see me, only to tell me a Lye, that he loves, and admires me, when before he has turn'd his back, he ridicules e'ery word, and action I said, or did in his company, and so on. Well there∣fore (concluded Grave) may all the world be said to perform the part of an Actor, since e'ery body represents another, not himself.

LETTER LXIX.

To a Friend that advised him to overcome a Passion, where he had so little Hopes; gi∣ving an account of the present state of his Love; and his Resolves to endeavour at a Complyance with his Friend's Wishes. 'Twas directed to Mr. Ed. James, at his House near Harwich, Essex.

My Friend,

I Received your Letter last night, in which indeed you discover the Zeal of a Friend, but little Consideration for the Frailties of a Lover. Hast thou never been in Love thy self, that thou shouldst think Advice of any force with those that are so? I confess, indeed, the Arguments you have us'd car∣ry enough of Truth to prevail with my Reason, to banish this fatal Passion from my Heart, if it was in the power of Reason to do so, but alas, it has taken Reason captive, and domineers o'er e'ery Faculty of my Soul; and therefore to little purpose you tell me, there are three Obstacles that obstruct my Happiness in the Embraces of the divine BELVI∣DERA, Marriage, Modesty, and Poverty. You urge, that being marry'd, I can't make her my Wife; that being modest, and diffident in my self, I can't suppose I can prevail on any other Terms, since 'tis Assurance, and Impudence that gain the Sex in that way; and lastly, that being Poor, I ought never to think of Hope, since no Advantage

can be reap'd from an Intrigue with me. Mony (you add) may gain the fairest, noblest, most reli∣gious and most chast of all the Sex, but that Wo∣man seldom commits a Crime without some pro∣spect of Interest. Ah, my Friend▪ I wish you had in these enumerated all the Difficulties, I find I should then have hopes of success: For I might presume, she being a Lady of incomparable Sence, and Judgment, and no Bigott, would be perswaded of this Truth, That one Wife was no more than Custom, and national Law, and not of force enough to make the Embraces of a married man criminal in the face of Heaven, whose Laws are not subservient to those of Men; besides a Thou∣sand Arguments more to that purpose. As for my Modesty, I confess 'tis a great fault in Love; but BELVIDERA strikes such an Awe into me, that I love her with such a profound Venera••ion, that I fear it approaches too near Idolatry: But yet I have often heard the charming Angel condemn the forward confidence of one that admir'd her, (for, ah! there's none that sees her, but must do so, wheree'er she passes the dazled Throng, stand still, and gaze, as if she were something more than mor∣tal) and when I have told her, Impudence was the way to gain the Pair she has, my Friend, she has declar'd that ne'r should take with her. Lastly, Poverty would never harm my dear Pretence, for she's not made of vulgar Mould, her Soul is charm∣ing as her Body. BELVIDERA has Wit, my Friend, but not the flashy noise, tattling Wit of Co∣quets, which dwells on Sounds, and Words, no, she has solid Parts, knows Nature, knows Reason, and builds not her Judgment of things on vulgar Noti∣ons, or common Practices, like the rest of the Sex; her Soul's above the contagion of a mercenary Thought, so that if a poor Lover had but Merit,

she would ne'r oppose the guilt of Fortune to his Happiness. Had I therefore Merit to plead, I should not despair, but alas, I have none—but Love,—and, ah! that every one that sees her may plead without a Lye. My Friend, you are mista∣ken in calling her Yielding a Crime, (kind Heaven makes her yield, to convince the erring World, that 'tis not so, for she can do no ill, and her Exam∣ple would be the strongest Argument). Prithee, if thou wouldst leave Bigottry, leave it for good, and all, and rail not at it in this, or that, and caress it in another thing. It was no Crime, when natural Religion rul'd the World, till State-Politics, and Priest-Craft made it so. Thus you see Love has de∣stroy'd all the Difficulties your Friendship rais'd. You ask me, whether I have ever told her of my Passion? I answer, No;—unless my tell-tale Eyes, or Sighs, have betray'd the Secret; for when I've sate wrap'd up in contemplation of her, she has ask'd me what was the cause of my Melan∣choly; I d••rst not tell the Truth, my Friend, but ly'd even to my own Prejudice; and hence arises one of the Difficulties greater, than you propos'd.—BELVIDERA has declared, she'l ne'r confess it, tho she lov'd with all the Extreams of Passion; nor dare I discover mine, tho I love to raving.

I go once, or twice a week, (for I can't refrain her sight) and steal a thousand Looks, run ore her wondrous Beauties with my Eye, and ••udge of those unseen, by what obliging custom lays open to our view.—Nay, in my fond Imagination I commit a pleasing Rape upon her, and ah methinks, my Friend, methinks I am dying on her Snowy pan∣ting Bosom, till from my sacred Dream her Tongue awakes me. Her Voice is Harmony, fair BEL∣VIDERA, speaks soft as the melting Sighs of Lo∣vers: But I am lost in the ravishing Thoughts of

her, till my Paper denies me to tell thee the greater Obstacle, which yet remains; and I am glad, my Friend, I cannot do it, lest if my Love should cast my Honour, thou shouldst be able to upbraid me, I had once done a thing I should not. But I will try the common Medicine of unhappy Lovers, Ab∣sence; I have not seen her these many Ages, called a fortnight, and if 'tis possible, will not above this fortnight longer. These are my present Thoughts; but oh! I fear the next minute will condemn my Resolution as a Falseness, and make me forswear all Thoughts of Cure. I am, my Friend, at least all of me I can call my own,

Thy poor unfortunate Friend, C. G.

Who••ver reads this Letter (said Winter) may easi∣ly grant the Writer of it in love. Then I'll declare him a Fool (replied Grave) that can make so serious •• matter of such a Trifle, as woman. Ah, you know ••ot BELVIDERA, (said I) else with all your Cinic nature you'd mollifie into that Fool you laugh ••t. Right, (pursu'd Chappel) for she is Beauty in all its awful Majesty. Features (added Brook) form'd by the considering hand of Providence; And express (pursu'd Temple) the affability of her nature, the severity of her Principles, the Iudgment, and Charms of her Mind. 'Tis with regret indeed (said Fountain) I see Beauty possess'd by a Fool, and Wit by a Knave. Such a form (said Summer) would Truth, or Wisdom take, if they would make them∣selves visible to human Eyes. I know (concluded River) the writer of this Letter thinks her all this, and much more, loving her to the extravagance of

Romance. I know him too, constant by Nature, se∣cret, humble, and modest, and no Fool. May she not thereby be wedded so much to mistaken Virtue, as to prefer a national Chastity, unvalu'd in reality by e'ry one, to the secret Relief of the most faithful, secret, and loving of Men.

LETTER LXX.

From a Debauchee that had a mind to lead a penitent Life. Directed to Dr. W—, to be left for him with Mr. T—, Bookseller, at Grays-Inn-Gate, Lon∣don.

Reverend Dr.

Buckingham, Iune 1692.

I Have follow'd your Advice, and now begin to find the benefit of it, and to see that ev'n an in∣veterate habit in Vice is not such an insuperable difficulty, but that it may be overcome by Resolu∣tion, and Prayer. My Whoredoms, my Adulte∣ries, my Drunkenness, Swearing, and ••ther Vices, in which woeful Complication my poor Soul was a long time bury'd, carry now another face. Those that once seem'd Gallantries, and venial Peccadil∣lo's of Youth, seem now heinous Sins against the most high God. Such wonderful effects have your pious Exhortations had upon the greatest of Sin∣ners: I confess indeed, with shame, and contriti∣on of Heart, that I have fall'n back sometimes to

my Vomit; but never without plentiful Repentance after it was over, and firm Resolutions never to be guilty of the like again, which I hope I shall now keep, and for which I ardently pray to the Lord both day, and night, and for which I earnest∣ly desire the Concurrence of your good Prayers too, who am,

Your penitent Child in the Lord, T. B.

I must confess (said Chappel) I am something in∣credulous of these wondrous Conversions. From that (said Brook) which nature pleads were not such hei∣••ous Crimes, I plead not for Adultery, Drunkenness, nor swearing—But (interrupted Temple) for a little delicious Fornication? I must needs say (pur∣su'd River) I can't conceive how that which was once no ill in its self, should ever be so afterward. I wish (said Church) he had put his Name at length, that I might have seen this Miracle of our Age? for so you think (assum'd Summer) a repenting De∣bauchee? with such an entire flinging off the old Man (answer'd Fountain) as this Gentleman ••xpres∣ses. True (pursu'd Winter) for Naturam expellas furca licet u••que recurret, Nature will return, tho' you force it back, Especially (continu'd Grave) when back'd with such inveterate Custom. This you find (concluded I) our penitent confesses he found true; but the help of such a Guide as his will do Miracles; that Doctor is an extraordinary Man, he preaches Charity, and acts more than he preaches, and I can scarce perswade my self to think that Man can be guilty of an ill thing, who makes that Virtue his ••arling.

LETTER LXXI.

Giving an account of the Resolutions, of the Passengers that had like to have been cast away at Sea. 'Twas directed to Mr. Thomas, at his House in Eagle-street, near Red-Lion-Square, London.

Dear NED,

AFter a hard Passage we are arriv'd safe at Har∣laem, whence I fear I shall never be able to get your Cousin Iack to return again for England, not for the love of the place, but the fear of the Sea. We were so near casting away, that all pre∣par'd themselves for certain Death. The Master and Ships-crew giving us for gone, the Vessel be∣ing leaky, the Tempest strong, and the Pump broke; the general Resolutions of all to lead better Lives, were very loud, and extraordinary, but none was so vehement in their Repentance, as Iack, and I think none sooner forgot his Resolutions when on shore. After we had in rumminging about found a new Sucker for the Pump, and by the carefulness of the Sea-men, had hopes of Life, but not out of fear of Death we all agreed to go to Church••, and give thanks to God for our deliverance, as soon as we came on shoar; tho' instead of the Church the whole Company run to the Tavern to wash their insides, as the Sea had their out, from whence Iack was soon in pursuit of a Dutch Bona ro••••, and none remember'd their Resolutions, but to

laugh at them, as the effects of Bigotry and Fear. I intend for London again in a Month, if I dis∣patch my business with Min heer Van Stoopsdare. I am dear Ned,

Thy loving Friend, Sam. Mercy.

This shews (said Grave) how fickle the Converts made by fear are. And how extream some Men are (added Winter) in all their Actions. Right (pursu'd Church) extravagant in their Vows, and Resoluti∣ons when in danger, as well, as i•• their breach of them when safe. Because they promise Impossibilities (continu'd Summer) they perform nothing. The old Proverb has a general Truth in't (said Temple) when the Devil was sick, &c. Well may we be (said Brook) unsincere to Men, when (assum'd River) we can dissemble with Heaven. Heaven (said I) is a distant, unknown place, and we soon lose the thoughts of it in present visible Objects. Right (added Chappel) most Men are for a Bird in the Hand; and suit their Devotion according to the present Circumstance. There are (concluded Fountain) a great many of that Man's mind, who had rather trust God with their Souls, than Man with their Interests.

LETTER LXXII.

From a Lady in the Country to another in Town; about the Fashions. 'Twas di∣rected to Mrs. Dugdale, at the Sign of the Myrtle-Tree in the inner Walk of the New Exchange in the Strand, London.

Mrs. Dugdale,

Northampton, Iune 1692.

I Desire you would send me down all the new Fashions, and to let me know whether they wear all Passes this Summer, and in what man∣ner they dress their Commodes, for I'm loath to be at the charge of new, if the Fashion don't very much vary from what it was last Summer, pray send me an account how many Knots they wear, and in what manner plac'd, I would not for the World, but you should be exact in this. Let me know whether they wear Tippets this Summer very much, and whether Lace, or Feather-tippets; and what Alterations have been made in the Man∣tua's that my Taylor may not fob me off with an old Fashion for a new one; and if you can get any Patterns of Silk, to send me; by all means I would have you send me some of your best Ribbons of the newest and most gay, that I may consult which will best agree with my Face. I had almost for∣got Shoes and Fans, pray buy me two Pair of the best Shoes you can get for twelve Shillings a Pair;

I would have you change your Shoe-maker, for methinks the last I had were made by a meer bung∣ler. Dear Mrs Dugdale, be exact in all that is here desir'd of you, by

Your Friend to Command, Ephelia Ross.

Here's one (said Grave) of the true Stamp of Woman kind. More concern'd (added Winter) for the having her Dress Alamod••, than her mind im∣prov'd with the least Reason. Thence perhaps (said Church) some Men have thought Women have had no Souls. Because (assum'd Fountain) their whole thoughts, and time are employ'd on the Body. How great a part of Mankind (said I) might come under that censure if that were a sufficient Reason? Right (pursu'd Summer) for there is not one in a hundred of us that dedicate any time to the Improvement, or Pleasures of the Mind. The Beau (added Chappel) is more busify'd with Dress than a Woman. The Drun∣kard (continu'd River) has no other regard to his Mind than the Elevating his Spirits, as he phrases it, with a chirping Bottle. The Trades-man (said Temple) the States-man, the Soldier, nay, and the great part of the Divines too, are wholly intent on the Exaltation of the Body, for Riches and Honours ter∣minate there. Well then (concluded Brook) may we allow Women a little more than ordinary share in this so Epidemic a Distemper, especially since their care contributes to the satisfaction of some by the setting off their Beauty.

LETTER LXXIII.

From a vain-glorious Man, boasting of some of his good Actions. 'Twas di∣rected to Mr. Phillips, at Mr. Newme••s in the old Palace-yard, Westminster, London.

SIR,

Dor••et, Iune 1692

I Receiv'd your Letter, and you have chosen well when you address'd to me to speak in your be∣half, for I make it my business to do good to Man∣kind, especially my Friends. I will therefore speak to the worthy Squire in your behalf; if he be deaf I'll do something for you my self, for, I set apart so much of my Estate to good uses e'ry Year; the whole Country knows my way, and I seldom want those that make use of my generous Tem∣per. I am

SIR,

Yours to Command, H. Mould.

The vain-glorious Man (said Grave) will never want Flatterers; Nor Spungers neither (pursu'd Temple) 'tis the most pardonable of faults (said Fountain) what (assum'd Church) because it brings advantage to a great many. Right (added Brook) for a vain glorious Man, will attempt all the good he can for the sake of his own Reputation. That is (interrupted Winter) if his vain glory lie that way. True (pursu'd River) for there are a sort of Men that are penurious in action, and yet take a great deal of pains not to be thought so. Others (added I) are only vain-glorious of their Wit; which has no benefit (continu'd Chappel) to recompence the nau∣seousness of the Fault. There is a lawful assuming (concluded Summer) due to merit, in what kind so∣ever; the Great Men have express'd it in their Wri∣tings without fear of censure, as Cicero, Ovid, Pliny the younger, &c. and I never blame Cicero for plea∣sing himself so much in the delivering his Country from Ruine; it shews a noble Soul, that's pleas'd in do∣ing great Actions, and I think a Man ought to take pleasure, and discover it too, in Actions which contri∣bute to the good of the Publick; or of others pri∣vate Capacities it shews one is sensible he is not born for himself alone.

LETTER LXXIV.

From a Gentleman, giving an account of the Enmity, and Disagreement of Poets, and Authors with one another. 'Twas directed to Mr. Beedle, at his Hous near Brentwood, in Essex.

Dear Brother,

London, Iune 1692.

I Supp'd last Night with Mr. Chappel, at the blew Posts; and there happen'd to be one of the new celebrated Authors in our Company: But cer∣tainly whatever his Writings were, his Conversa∣tion was the worst I ever met with; there was no discourse to be admitted but of Plays, and that of his only, and no other of his Brother's of Parnas∣sus were permitted to have one good word allow'd 'em but this Self-esteem, and Enmity at the rest I find is not his fault alone, but generally all theirs who set up for Wits, and Authors. They are so full of themselves, they are angry all the World are not as much taken up with them. I sent my Man to Mr. Sawbridge's for one of Sir Roger's Aesops, who is not of this Humour I assure you, I'll send it to you by the Brentwood-Coach to Mor∣row. My Love to my Sister, and all my little Cousins, I am

Your Loving Brother, Nic. Beedle.

Fame is the Mistress (said Winter) of these Scriblers, as they pretend, and they squabble about her like Bullies for a Whore. And like Bullies (pursu'd Summer) rail at one another be∣hind their backs, each thinking (said I) by the villi∣••ying another to enhance his own Reputation. I have observ'd (said Grave) that in the chase of Fame our young Authors have found a short road to Repu∣tation, that is to condemn or attaque some great Man of establish'd ••it. True (added Chappel) for the World is pleas'd with detraction, and hugs Scan∣dal closer than Wit, and Merit. And they are se∣cure from him, they abuse (continu'd Fountain) since a Man of Sense ought not to turn at e'ry little Cur that barks at him. Right (assum'd River) their hap∣piness generally being to find themselves worthy to be taken notice of: Nor ought we (said Church) to de∣grade our Reason as oft as e'ry Fool in our Company does his. You are under a mistake (said Temple) if you think they disagree for empty Fame, for 'tis for its present advantage they hate one another. Right (concluded Brook) for the Authors of Antiquity had a better Correspondence, when the Roman Wits were so ready to correct one anothers Performances; as is evident from the Advice of Horace in his Art of Poetry. And from Pliny's Epistles, Book 3d. Ep. 15. Book 4. Ep. 14. Ep. 26. Book 5th. Epist. 10. and 11. and 13. and several other places of his Letters, in which we find both him submitting his Works to the Correction of others, and Tacitus, and others re∣quiring the same Office of him. 'Twere to be wish'd for the good of the Publick, that this were still ob∣serv'd, we should not be pester'd then with so many impertinent Pamphlets.

LETTER LXXV.

Giving an Account of a Funeral. Direc••••ed to Mr. Dorm, near Sennock Kent.

Loving Cousin,

Gracechurch-stree•• June 169••

SR. Peter was bury'd last Night in St. Gile's in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Fields, with no less Solemnity, than he lay 〈◊〉〈◊〉 State a Fortnight before. There were the Heral•••• with their Coats of Arms; six Men on Horse-〈◊〉〈◊〉 with Flags, and all the Hearse adorn'd with Srea••••ers, and Escuteons. I counted an hundred, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ten Coaches, forty with six Horses, and ninetee•• with four, and the rest with two. A great Doct•••• preach'd his Funeral Sermon, but I do not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 know his Name. There is to be they say a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 famous Tomb erected over him out of hand. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 much for the dead, and now for the living, if tho•••• may be call'd so that are dead to you. Two 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your Tenants in Spittle-fields went off yesterd•••• into the Mint, and got off most of their Good•• but my Son coming by prevented the rest, whic•• is something tho' of small value. My Sister B••••∣r••ughs is very ill, nor am I very well, who am ••

SIR,

Your Loving Kinsman, Lemuel Kidder.

Of all the Vanities of Mankind, (said Winter) ••••rtainly there is none more vain than this affectation 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Pomp, and Splendor, ev'n after death. Right (ad∣••••ed Grave) when we are no longer sensible of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the admiration of the Vulgar brings us. There 〈◊〉〈◊〉 some excuse (said Church) for our Ambition whilst 〈◊〉〈◊〉 live. True, (added Summer) for we may be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of a pleasure, to see our self serv'd, lov'd, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by our Brother-Mortals. But (pursu'd Tem∣••••e) after the cold hand of Death has damp'd all those 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Enjoyments, to serve up our Carcass with such a ••••••remony to the Worms, is unaccountable. For my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (said I) I shall never be sollicitous what becomes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my Body, when my Soul has left it. Nor I, (pur∣••••••d Brook) the Survivers will, for their own sakes, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••are to bury me. Methinks (said Chappel) 'tis 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••illy, to go with all that Formality to our Goal; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 we are (added Fountain) only to rott. This 〈◊〉〈◊〉, (concluded River) as 'tis the last, so 'tis of a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with the rest of the Glories of Mankind, a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 amusement.

LETTER LXXVI.

••••om a young Student, about an Apparition. Directed to Mr. Molins, to be left for him at Jonathan's Coffee-house near the Royal Exchange, London.

Honour'd Sir,

Cambridg, June 1692.

Here was a strange thing happen'd last night in our College, which was this: A very sober 〈◊〉〈◊〉 man sitting late up to study, about One a

Clock saw his Candle burn blew, and in a minute went out. At the same time he heard a Noise at his Door, like the snarling of three or four Doggs; presently after the Door burst open of its own ac∣cord, and there came in with Flambeaux in their Hands, three, or four Boys in a green Livery; af∣ter them follow'd a Huntsman with his Horn, and his Pack of Hounds, and after them a Gentleman on Horseback, who seem'd to pass over his Study, out of the Window, as he supposes, for he sunk qui••e down out of his Chair for fear; but he was not come to himself again above two minutes, when thinking to run into the next Chamber, he was stopt at the Door by a lusty Fellow, that had Horns, and Hair much like the Description we have of the Furies; struggling to get from him, he beat hard against the Door, which rouz'd two of his next Neighbors, who calling to him, and he answering but very faintly, they both came out to him, and found him in a Swoon, but saw nothing; being brought to himself, he gave ••em this account, and afterward I had the same from his own Mouth. What to think of it I know not, whether it be the effect of his own melancholy Imagination, or a real Apparition, but there are four of us are resolv'd to sit up with him to night, and then you may expect a better account of the matter, from him who is

SIR,

Your humble Servant, and obliged Nephew, R. Molins.

These Apparitions (said Chappel) are wholly unac∣countable things to me. And to me too (added Fountain.) That the Dead, or the Devil (said Tem∣ple) should have nothing to do, but to play Jac Pud∣ding Tricks, is something strange. And that (added Brook) only to fright Fools, and old Women, with∣out any advantage to either the Living, or the Dead. Right, (pursu'd Summer) for the state of the Dead being either eternally happy, or eternally miserable, what Ease, or advance of Glory can it be to them, to ••••form some Slip of theirs in Mortality? But if Op∣pression (continu'd Church) Cheats, and the like, were suffici••nt to make the Dead walk, to make Re∣stitution, why does not all the Knaves that dye so, return, and put an end to their Villanies? That in∣deed (said River) would save many a Law-suit; And ••ake many an honest Family happy, (said Winter) which else are fain to save themselves from starving, by the Charity of others, or their own Industry, tho' not b••rn nor bred to labour. I must confess (said I) that the Proofs Mr. Glanvil brings, being from the con∣fession of old doting Women, and ignorant Laplan∣ders, seem not very convincing, yet when I hear a learned Roman assuring us of Matter of Fact, it al∣••ost perswades me to believe it, tho like him I am to seek the Cause, and Reason of it; I mean Pliny the younger, who in his Epistle to Sura gives an account of 2, or 3 Apparitions. Tho ev'n so learned a man as the Phi∣losopher he mentions, might be deceiv'd, since I was ac∣q••ainted with a Doctor of Divinity, who tho in his ••••turnal Studies he had seen something in the shape of a Woman come, and draw open his Curtains, and stare upon him, and shutting them again, retire, yet would 〈◊〉〈◊〉 believe, but that it was the effect of Fancy only. But the account that Pliny gives of the Apparitions he mentions (concluded Grave) is so very circumstan∣tial,

that it could not be the effect of melancholy Thoughts, form'd out of our Fear. To omit therefore the business of Curtius Rufus, which might be a boast of his own, like the Egerla of Numa, I'll proceed to the two more remarkable.

There was (says he) in Athens a noble, and spa∣cious House, which was haunted, for in the dead of Night there was the noise of Iron, and if you hearkened a little, you might perceive it to be the rattling of Chains, first at a distance, but approa∣ching nearer, and nearer; after which appeared an old man, worn out with Grief, and Sadness, with a long Beard hanging down, and Hair all staring, his Legs, and Arms were bound with Chains, which he shook: This made the House be deserted. But the Philosopher Athenodorus coming to Athens, and see∣ing a Bill on the Door, demands the Rent, which being very small, gave him some suspicion, and there he enquir'd into the ma••ter, and had it all related to him, which made him the more earnest to take the House. As soon as Evening came, he order'd his Bed to be made in the fore part of the House, and his Books, and Pen, and Ink, and Can∣dle to be placed there, and sends the rest of his Family to their Rest in the inner part, and taking his Pen in his Hand, he set himself to write with all the Intention imaginable, lest the Account he had heard should, by the help of Fear, form those Ima∣ges in his Mind, if not employ'd. The noise first began at a distance, then approach'd nearer; the rattling of Chains was heard, but he kept still to his writing, but the noise approaching by degrees, and now seeming within the Chamber, he turn'd about, and saw the Spectre he had heard describ'd; it seem'd to beckon him, but he making a sign with his Hand, bid him stay a little, and then re∣turns to his Writing, but the Spectre upon that came

and shook his Chains over his Head, upon which he look'd back once more and observing it beckon again, he took up his Light, and follow'd it; it went slowly before him, as if oppress'd by Chains, but in the Garden it suddenly disappeared: Athe∣nodorus with some Herbs, and Grass, mark'd the place; next day, having inform'd the Magistrates of it, desires them to order that place to be dug, where was found the Bones of a Man in Chains, his Flesh being eat off by the Worms; which being ta∣ken up, and buried according to custom, the House was never troubled afterward.

This is something long, but 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so extraordinary a Subj••ct, 'twill not be amiss to add what happen'd ev'n in the same Pliny's own House. He had a Freeman call'd Marcus, a man, as he says, not unlearned, with whom his younger Brother lay, in the same Bed, he thought he saw somebody sitting on the Bed, and cutting off his Hair close to the Head. At day-break he was found to be shav'd, and the Hairs all lay down about him. A little time after, a Boy sleep∣ing in a Dormitory, among a great many other, saw two in white enter the Window, and cut off all his Hair, which was found in the same manner the next morning.

Here were evident Proofs of the Matter of Fact; but now to the next.

LETTER LXXVII.

From a Gentleman, to a Fop that desir'd to know how he should salute, and comple∣ment his Mistriss. 'Twas directed to Mr. Tipping, to be left at Sarah's Coffee-house near Queen-street in Cheapside, London.

Poor Lover,

Leicester, June 1692.

I'M sorry I should just go out of Town as you ar∣riv'd thither on the account of Matrimony, and Courtship. You tell me you want me, to instruct you how you should complement, and entertain your Mistriss, when you wait on her; but I can give you choice Instructions, at this distance, in the matter, which if you follow, you will gain the Reputation with the Lady, of a very accomplish'd Spark; 'tis the newest Mode of Wooing. You must be sure to carry a piece of Crape in your Pocket, to wipe the Dust from your Shoes before you approach her, and to have your Comb ready to adjust your Wig. If you sit, be sure place your self where you may look in the Glass, and be very-diligent in giving the genteel turn to the Curles of your Perruque, or the Ribbons of your Cravat-string, and seem not to take much notice of your Mistriss; admire your own Dress, your own Person, and Parts; for to tell her she's pretty, is to make her proud, and so stand off the longer. If you don't sit, and indeed Mo∣tion is more natural for a Lover, so it be but grace∣ful, you must be continually upon the trip, often

visiting the Glass, asking your Mistriss how she likes this Ribbon, that Cutt of the Sleeve, this Stocking, that Cravat, and which she thinks becomes you best. This will give her occasion to praise your Shape, your Legg, your Face, or some, or all the parts about you; then strike in, and tell her they are all at her service, that you are wondrously smitten with her, and so the Suit is over. I wish you good Success, which you can't fail of, if you observe the Directions of,

SIR,

Your Friend, and Servant, R. Arnold.

A pritty Method (said Winter) to win a fair Lady; And yet this Method (reply'd Grave) shall win more fair Ladies than Senc••, and Reason. Right, (pursu'd Church) this they call an airy modish Beau. An accomplish'd Gentleman (added Brook) learned i•• Dress, and Meen. They hate the whining Lover, (said Summer) except in a Play or Romance. They will have (added Temple) this airy way, as they call it, more natural, Because (assum'd Fountain) more ••ensless; Which is (continu'd River) doing Business without any regard to it, or minding quite another thing. I know not (said I) but we are equal with them there too. Right (concluded Chappel) for a noisy Coquet shall gain a Train of Admirers, with her ugly Face, when a modest charming sensible Lady shall scarce have enough to keep her from l••ading Apes in Hell.

LETTER LXXVIII.

From a Husband to his Wife, against absence. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Orkney, at Mr. Lovel's House near Tunbridge in Kent.

Dear Love,

London, June 1692.

I Never was more dissatisfied with business, than when it hinder'd me from going with thee to Tunbridge, especially since you we••t thither ill; for now I desire to be with thee, that I may see how you gather Strength, and what advantage you reap from the Waters. You send me word you are troubl'd at my absence, and that for me you cares my Books, and put them in my place in the Bed; thy desire of me is very pleasing to me, as well, as the satisfaction thou takest in any thing that's mine. On the other side, I often read over thy Letters, as if but just receiv'd, but that fires me the more with a longing for thy company, which can't but afford a great deal of Delight, when your very Letters yield so much Sweetness, and Content. Write therefore often to me, tho thy Letters give me a Pleasure that's mingled with a great deal of Pain, both for thy Absence, and Health. 'Tis incredible how I long to see thee, which proceeds chiefly from my Love, and next from our seldom being separate; and therefore I desire the time of our present se∣paration may be as short as possible, who am

Thy faithful loving Husband, S. Orkney.

Sure this must be Honey-moon (said Winter) with this Couple, that they express such a mutual Fondness. It may be not (answer'd Grave) for Expressions of Kindness in absence is often the Cover of other designs, which each has a mind to conceal. Ay, ay, (added Summer) the Mysteries of Matrimony are not easily div'd into. If it be possible (said Temple) to have Plain-dealing, and Sincerity among Mankind, and this be so, 'tis no unhappy state. Right, (added Ri∣ver) for that which baulks our Happiness, is want of Confidence in one another. The Interest of married People being the same, (pursu'd Church) methinks it should not be impossible to find that there. I am of opinion (said Brook) that Interest is not the only Hinge on which the Affairs of the World turn. Right (added Chappel) for we have Passions that will often be gratified to the prejudice of our Interest. And these seldom concurring (pursu'd Fountain) 'tis no won∣der Wedlock wants so often mutual confidence, with∣out which it can't be a happy state, as you affirm. This Letter seems to carry the Air (concluded I) of Sincerity, though 'tis the most difficult thing in the World, to distinguish betwixt Reality, and Dissim••∣lation.

LETTER LXXIX.

In answer to a Letter of Praise. Directed to Mr. Brook, to be left at Nando's Coffe-house near Temple-bar in Fleet-Street, London.

How, for me (said Brook)! and would have got it away. Hold there, (said I) your Vote pass'd but now for a free Communication, without Reserve, and are you already for transgressing your Act, like a Par∣liament-man drinking French Wine in a Taver••, when he had voted it down in the House? Prithee (re∣turn'd Summer) we are never willing to stand to the Law we prescribe another. But (said Chappel) 'tis more than arrogant for a Parliament-man not to be content to break the Law establish'd by common con∣sent, in a Tavern; but to bring his Ponta•• into the very House of Commons, and drink it about there, among his Brethren. Right, (pursu'd River) and therefore let him be Fi••'d that presumes to en∣fringe our Decree for the future, for I was oblig'd to lead the way to you. Agreed, (said all) proceed therefor? Vpon which I read it out to them, but Brook stood close by me, ready to snatch it away, if it had been what he suspected, a Letter from a fair Lady.

Honour'd Sir,

Oxford, June 1692

IN your Letter I receiv'd last from you, dis∣cover'd how much you deserv'd Praise, whilst you prais'd me, by your Wit being able to make so worthless a Subject seem fine, even to him that has the most despicable Opinion of it, that is my self. But this effect your undeserv'd Praise will have, th•••• I shall endeavour to merit it, and turn your Complement into a Reality, that so I may be able to repay your Bribe. I shall only in the mean time subscribe my self what I am, without Re∣serve,

SIR,

Your obliged humble Servant, R. Codrington.

What, my Friend Brook, are you in for a Comple∣menter, (said Winter) who was but now so free in your Censure of it? Prithee (return'd Brook) we are all guilty of the Faults we condemn here of other men. Right, (said Chappel) Grave here, who has so many good words for t••e Sex, keeps a pretty Girl is a corner; And yet (added Temple) can rail at Hypocrisie. And Summer (pursu'd I) can censure the fondness of the Married; And yet (continu'd Ri∣ver) ne'r suspect his own. Prithee (answer'd Grave) who doubts it, but we have all our Vices, but we see 'e•• not in our selves, as we do in another. Right, (added Summer) they have private Beauties near, which are hid in Deformities afar off, like some sorts of Painting. Re't as 'twill (said Fountain) 'tis not

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civil, to tell us when we like not the squinting of another, that we are guilty of the same. In short, (concluded Church) this I'll say in vindication of Brook, He could scarce say any thing in praise of this Gentleman, which he deserves not.

LETTER LXXX.

From a Chymist that had ruin'd himself by it, to a Gentleman, to perswade him to Chymistry. 'Twas directed to Mr. Raw near.—

Honour'd Sir,

I Would not have you discourag'd from your In∣clinations to the noble Art of Chymistry, by the Perswasions of the Ignorant; certainly I that have spent so fair an Estate in the search of Nature by Fire, should know what can be done in this Art. 'Tis demonstrable, even to a very mean Understan∣ding, that the great Hermetic Work may be per∣formed; nay, it may be made out, that not one half of the Gold that is used in Europe, and tran∣sported thence to the East Indies, was e'er dug out of the Mines, or taken up in the Rivers in Africa, or America. 'Tis true, a Philosopher should not be fond of Wealth, and that makes me not affect Pomp, and Splendor, I could else convince the World, that I had not spent all my time to no purpose. Be not therefore discourag'd, and remember, that the Ope∣rations in this kind are tedious, yet that the Trea∣sure

that attends them more than answers the ex∣pence of Time, and Mony. I am

Your Friend, and Servant, R. Simmons.

This has been a Cheat of so many Ages (said Chap∣pel) That one would think (assum'd Summer) it should be worn threadbare by this time. Oh, (said Grave) it has such a Support, that it is no Wonder at all. True, (pursued Church) as long as we are possest with insatiable Desire after Riches, We shall (added Winter) grasp at e'ery appearance of so large a Gain. The wonder of this is, (said I) that all these Pretenders are poor when they have such a Trea∣sure in their power. Oh (answerd River) they would have you think that their Poverty is the effect of choice. Right (added Temple) as more agreeable to the life of a Philosopher. But yet (said Brook) the end of their Philosophy being the gaining this Art, and the use of the Art contradictory to the end of the Philoso∣pher, it hangs not well together. Nay, farther, (con∣cluded Fountain) they pretend none but a Philosopher can obtain it, which is only, we shall never have it till we care not for it, and ought not to use it; and yet they perswade others to the prosecution, by the hopes of Gain, which I can imagin to be nothing but the Ex∣cellence of Poverty, or the Art of being content with a little when a great deal cannot satisfie.

LETTER LXXXI.

From one that had stoln a Marriage, giving an account of Hony-moon, &c. Directed to Mr. Arnway jun. at the sign of the Golden Serpent in Tuly-street, South∣wark.

Dear Sam,

Bristol, Iune 1692.

YOU us'd to laugh at the extravagance of my Passion, but now I can laugh too, being pos∣sess'd of dear Clemene, whom you thought I could never obtain. She came out of her Father's House to me, with her trusty Maid, after Ten at night, when all the orderly Family was a-bed, and by the help of a Canonical man, we were joyn'd at an un∣canonical hour. We revel'd in each others Arms most part of the night, before day she left me bles•• with the sweetest Joys in Nature, and return'd to her own Bed: And thus by stealth she comes each night to her longing Arms, more beautiful, gay, and loving by Enjoyment. I wanton in my Happiness all night, and borrow of the day for Rest. Two months are already past in these lawful Thefts of Love, and now she begins to find her self with Child, she's infinitely fonder than ever. Her Father will therefore suddenly be acquainted with it by some common Friends to both, and that with suc∣cess I hope; at least, it will not be in his power to hinder me from being one of the happiest men alive in a Wife; which Blessing, I confess, I deser∣ved not, having so often condemn'd, and ridicul'd a

married life, but to attone, by imparting the Pleasures of it, I'll make a thousand Converts of such as thee, dear Sam. I am in hast, it being now near Ten,

Thy fortunate Friend, Jo. Man.

A happy Man, (said Grave) content with his pre∣••••t Fortune; And yet perhaps, before the revolving year comes about, (pursu'd Winter) he may sing ano∣ther Tune. True, (added Church) for now it bears so much the Face of Whoring, that it makes him pleas'd with it, as if 'twould always be so. They had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 yet (said Fountain) known the Contradictions of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 anothers Humors. Nor had he yet (added Tem∣ple) known the insipidness of one Object continually day, and night to dwell on. We are all violent in the first Transports (said Summer) of a new-married life; But after a little time Satiety comes on, (ad∣ded Chappel) and then you find no relish of your best pleasures; No Novelty (pursu'd Brook) in her 〈◊〉〈◊〉, no new Charms in her Face, all familiar, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉. But it discovers want of Iudgment (said I) to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 changeable in our Affections; And (concluded Ri∣ver) to imagin the absent Pleasure greater, than the present.

LETTER LXXII.

From an Hermaphrodite to a Female Lover. 'Twas directed to Mrs. Kates, at her Lodging at the white Posts in Panton-street near Leicester-fields, London.

My lovely Amoret,

CErtainly Jealousie is the Child of Love, for I'm sure I love thee with all the extravagance in Nature, and yet I'm afraid, lest in my absence some deluding man should alienate thy dear Affections; but have a care, my Amoret, for that Sex is false, and entirely compos'd of Ingratitude; Men seek nothing at the expence of a thousand Perjuries, and the ruin of the fair ones, they swear they love, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a minute's satisfaction to their Curiosity, not Lust, or Love; they only aim at the vanity of b••agging they have lain with this, or that Lady, without any farther regard to them. Believe me, my Amoret, to whom Nature has given a share in both Sexes, for I can best judge of their faults: that part of me that is divine Woman, softens, and improves the other, which would else engage me in a thousand Villanies; but I have the Love, and Fondness of a Woman, and the Vigor of a Man, by which I bring thee the pleasure of Love, and Enjoyment, without any hazard to thy Reputation, tho an hundred should see me in bed with thee, but the co••••agion of a man's Embrace brings certain Ruin, and Pain to her that yields. You have a Happiness in me that is not common; Nature has made us scarce

like all extraordinary Beings, intended only for a Blessing, for such of her Darlings as thee art, my Dear, my Amoret, my Angel, my Goddess, for so thou'lt be, till polluted by the infamous touch of Man; which I'll cease to fear, lest that Fear should make me cease to be happy, as to subscribe my self thy faithful, loving, doting

More.

I can't conceive (said Chappel) the nature of these ••mphibious Creatures: Nor before now (pursu'd Temple) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I believe there were any such. They are not the effect of Nature (answer'd Winter) but Accident. Right (added Grave) for they are not born so, accor∣ding to the account Montaigu gives us. True, (pur∣sued Church) for I never heard of any of them, that were so much men, as to get a Child. I must confess my Ignorance in the matter (said I) but if I may be∣lieve those that have better Skill, they are distinctly Man, and Woman. All that I can say of the business (said Fountain) is, That if all are like this, 'tis an Animal of a very amorous nature. It ought (answer'd Brook) since it has both Sexes, to have the Lust of ••••th. True, (added Summer) and therefore Nature has furnish'd it with the means of satisfying both. 'Tis the Emblem of the Hypocritical World, (conclu∣ded River) the visible appearance of Woman deceives the Eye, and makes one imagin the Petticoat hides no more than it does for the rest of that Sex; which renders its dalliances indeed very secure, and un∣suspected.

LETTER LXXXIII.

From a Lady, to know the meaning of a Pro∣phecy she had found in old Parchment. Directed to Dr. Wet—n of Chri—near Foster-lane, London.

Reverend Sir,

RAking out a secret hole in my House t'other day, I found an old Worm-eaten tatter'd piece of Parchment, which upon my Son's perusal prov'd to be a Catalogue of Prophecies, but none of them legible but this,— The number 8 is won∣drous in all its parts, and wondrous Events shall happen when 'tis doubled, Changes of King∣doms, Ruins of Families, Power broken, and Woes, and Desolations shall reign, but Pea••e, and Plenty ••ollow, when the Wolf's caught in the Co••k's Ginn, and the Lion trembles 〈◊〉〈◊〉 more at the neighbouring Cock's Crow. I desire, Sir, your Judgment of this, which will oblige

Your humble Servant, E. Wausel.

Now by my Soul (said Grave) I could never attri∣bute the silencing of Oracles to the Excellence of our Religion; because (assum'd Summer) in the place of that of Delphos, and two, or three more, e'ery Na∣tion is now fill'd with them. E'ery Almanac-maker (said Winter) with his Prognostics, usurps the Office of the Devil of Delphos: Nay, and e'ery zealous En∣thusiast (pursu'd I) sets 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Ravings of his distem∣per'd Brain for Prophecies: And all the old Matrons,

and ignorant Plebeians have more Faith in 'em (said Church) than in the Word of God. Ay, and have a greater Veneration for 'em (added Brook) than for the Bible. Particularly those of Nostradamus (pur∣su'd Fountain) which have the Honour to be plac'd in the Studies of some that ought to have more wit. They are (continu'd River) the plague of a Common∣wealth. They put the People in mind (said Chappel) of Novelties; And tho they have no other ground (concluded Temple) but fancy set them a madding after them.

LETTER LXXXIV.

From a Baud to a Iustice's Clerk. Di∣rected to Mr. Thomas Jacques, to be left at the Barber's-Shop at Epsom, Surrey.

Mr. Thomas,

St. Gile's, Iune 1692.

I Wonder how it comes to pass, that because I gave you not my Quarteridge just at the time, I had my House disturb'd last Night by a Warrant from your Master, where an impudent Quean of a Wife, found her Husband a Bed with an honest Girl, who is sent to Bride-well up••n it, and I my self was feign to make an escape with the loss of all my Houshold-Goods; and for all't I know of my honest livelihood. You'll get nothing by't I'm sure, for there'll never come a civiller Person in

my place. But if you would secure me better, •• don't know but I may make Friends among my good Customers to furnish me up another House within your Preci••ct; I hope your self will con∣tribute to setting up old Mother

Forby.

Here's another Mystery of Iniquity (said Winter) reveal'd; the near Relation (continu'd Chappel) betwixt the Breakers and the Preservers of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 'Tis a Policy (said Temple) our Iustices of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Peace, or their Clerks learn of the Venetians; that is (added Brook) to squeeze out Subsidies out of the dealers in F••rnication. I•• this (replied Fountain) they do their Duty still, in keeping the King's 〈◊〉〈◊〉 People in security in their several Occupations. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (continu'd Church) for the careful Bawd need 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fear disturbing as long as the Iustice denies his War∣rant. But you find (said Summer): the unfaithful 〈◊〉〈◊〉 upon the first default of payment leaves her to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mercy of the Multitude: That is (replied Grave) because the Bawd was poor; Else (added River) her Castle had not been demolish'd. 'Tis with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (concluded I) as Seneca observes of Thieves, the little Robbers of private Men are hang'd, whilst the Robbers of the Public live in Purple. So had 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Bawd been a dealer in greater Matters she had thriv'd by her Sin, and not been ruined.

LETTER LXXXV.

To the Maid that was to manage the In∣trigue with the Mistress. Directed to Mrs. Bridget Dod, to be left at Mr. Dod's, a Ioyner in Thieving-Lane, near Westminster-Abby, London.

Prety Mrs. Bridget,

Cornwal, Iune 1692.

I Have directed this Letter to your Brothers, in whom you say, you can confide. Be careful of my Affair, and you shall find me faithful to my Promise. Five hundred Pounds, Mrs. Bridget, will marry thee to a substantial Country Gentle∣man; nay, what's more I'll engage to get thee a good Husband into the Bargain, if thou wilt but first provide me a Wife. Mind exactly my Di∣rections, to time your speaking to thy Mistress and mine of me, and Love. Take her in a Morning, when she has all the remembrance of pleasing Dreams, with their Impressions on her, before ill∣humour, and moroseness are awake; or else when she's newly got to Bed, her severer Thoughts being long since gone to rest, tir'd out with the hard Duty of the Day. Watch her softest hours, when her Soul's in Tune to join with the Harmony of Love: After her Mind has been employ'd in Ro∣mances, Plays, and Novels, then nought but sweet ideas fill her Soul, and Love can't be denied ad∣mittance,

those having so well prepar'd its way. Send me exact Advice of what Progre••s you make. I'll be in Town, as soon as I have dispatch'd my busi∣ness here. When I return you must so contrive it, that I may once more have a private Interview with her; but so as if it were not design'd by you, the last was extreamly well order'd: But we'll bet∣ter consult of that when I see you; in the mea••time, dear Mrs. Bridget, be not forgetful of

Thy humble Servant, P. Wexford.

The Spark (said Summer) is learn'd in Woman∣kind; and gives not better rules (continu'd Temple) to steal upon the Affections of the Mistress, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he takes (added Brook) to win the Maid to his In∣terest. A good Portion (said Grave) and a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Husband; with the Appendix (assum'd Chappel) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Gentility too is enough (pursu'd Winter) to make 〈◊〉〈◊〉 waiting Maid in Christendom sell a hundred ••••∣stresses. Nay almost (said Fountain) her own Soul▪ if she ha•• any. Tho' this Gentleman (said Church) seem to deserve her for his Ingenuity. He seems ••••∣deed very well qualify'd (pursu'd River) for a hap∣py marry'd Man, that is so well skill'd in the Nature of Woman, that he can't be at a loss to manage it to his own content. That is (concluded I) if he know himself as well.

LETTER LXXXVI.

From a poor Scholar, in answer to one that invited him to London, complaining of the small Regard that's had to Learn∣ing there. 'Twas directed to Mr. Jackson, to be left for him at Man's Coffee-house, near White-hall, London.

Honour'd Sir,

Cambridge, Iune 1692.

YOU press me in your Letter, to forsake this sacred retreat of Learning, and come to Lon∣don again. I confess your Conversation, is a mighty 〈◊〉〈◊〉, to draw me to that hive of Noise, and Nonsense, Ignorance, and Villany. But your com∣mand (for so is your request to me) I should not be proof against, had I not too fresh an Expe∣rience of the servile Condition a Man of my little Circumstances must be in there; whereas my small Fellowship affords me ease and content here in conversing with Men of Learning, Wit, and Ho∣nesty; who for many a year have not forsook this blessed abode of the Muses, for all the Baits of In∣terest, and Preferment, but content, sate down with ••••envy'd Arts and Sciences, whilst the rest of the mad World were scrambling for Riches, and Dominion. 'Tis true they are not very learn'd in the Practice of the World, nor desire to be so; having no other insight into Man, but what their Books afford them; and chiefly for that reason I covet their Company, that I might forget what I know of Hu∣mane

mane kind, and return to the first Innocent, tho' false Idea I had of it, before I was made sensible of my Error at so dear a rate as Experience. The practical Knowledge of Man may be curlous in∣deed; but I'm sure 'tis a filthy curiosity, that ob∣liges us perpetually to pore in Excrement, and cor∣ruption with little, or no advantage. For what am I the better for knowing that a Fool in a gay Coat shall be set at the upper end of the Master's Table, whilst a Man of Sense shall be put off with a scrap at the lower end of the Servants? Or that a bold tatling Ignorant shall pass among the great∣est part for a Scholar, whilst a modest Scholar shall be censur'd for a Dunce? Or what advantage have I, by knowing that this young Spark, that owes the little Embelleshments of his Mind, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 has to my care, and industry at the University•• shall be asham'd to be seen in my Company, because I've not a daub'd lac'd Coat, or Wastcoat, for fear of scandal to his Fops, and Beaux's, that now per∣vert with ease what I with such pains had been so long establishing.

I can't sit spunging at a Tavern with a pa•••• of Knights and Squires, and for my Club 〈◊〉〈◊〉 oblig'd to laugh at, and praise their insipid 〈◊〉〈◊〉, ries, and think my self honour'd in their Conver∣sation. Nor can I with a parasitial Face, creep to this Lord's Table till I'm affronted by the very Foot-men. In short I can't make my self the Jack∣pudding of the Company, to make a Set of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 laugh till their Eyes are liquor'd like their Throats; and because Fortune has made me poor, fling away the Blessings of Nature and make my self a Fool to save the Charges of my Club. To conclude Sir, I can do nothing that's taking with the Town, and

therefore I desire you'd hold me excus'd if I keep from it. Who am

SIR,

Your very humble Servant, J. Bowls.

This Spark (said Grave) has Iudgment, as well as Wit, contenting himself with his present Condition, rather than hazard a certainty, for an uncertainty. Nay (pursu'd Winter) a Man of Wit, and Learning pursues a certainty of Poverty in the World, whilst he puts in for the prize of Fortune with Fools, and K••aves. True (added Church) for Learning like Honesty is very much extoll'd but very poor. Villa∣••••, and Ignorance (continu'd Summer) gain Wealth, and Honesty, and Learning starve. But if Fools and Knaves (said Brook) have a momenta∣ry Reign, the Man of Sense triumphs over them to after Ages. I like his Expression (said Temple) of Scrambling for Riches, and Dominion, for in the World Men like Sir Bartholomew Coake in Bar∣th••l••mew-Fair, scramble for the gilded Ginger bread, and Apples Fortune throws among 'em, without re∣gard to the Order, and Decency of their Habit, Qua∣lity, Age, or Station. Here a judge casts off his formal Gravity to sooth a great Court Lady to make 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Interest for•• the great Seals. Right (pursu'd River) and there a precise Doctor throws aside his sanctified Grimaces, to flatter a supple Favourite for a Bishoprick. And that antient Lord (added Chap∣pel) lets fall his paternal Coronet, whilst he's scramb∣ling for the Prize with an up-start petty Fogger. But

the medly of Mankind (said Fountain) is endless; and the Dance in the Rehearsal gives the best Idea of it of any thing I've seen, and therefore by the Critics leave, I think that Dunce better Writ than an hun∣dred of their ineffectual Precepts. The Anatomy therefore of Man (concluded I) both as to Mind, and Body is a filthy Curiosity, as he observes, where one must besmeer ones self with Blood to trace the intricate Menaders of each Nerve, and Motion, and all the private Kingdom of Veins, and Arteries; by which the Mind as well as Body moves, and subsists.

LETTER LXXXVII.

From an old Maid. Directed to Mr. Ni∣cholls, at the Sign of the Sugar-Loaf, in Tower-street, London.

Dear Mr. Nicholls,

Stains, Iune 1692.

I Wonder you should question my Love to you, when I have given you so many marks of my Sincerity; I say not this to shew you that I am very fond of you, for I need not have liv'd a Maid to these years, if I had been so forward to be mar∣ry'd; the Men have been wooing me this dozen Years to it. Dear Mr. Nicholls, don't fail coming to Stains next Saturday; that you and I may go to Church together on Sunday. You may believe me, I wish we were never to be asunder more: But no∣thing should have gain'd this Confession from me,

but your repeated assurances of honourable Love to her, who is without reserve,

SIR,

Yours to Command, Rebecca Bond.

This poor Lady (said Chappel) is in a great fear of leading Apes in Hell. Right (pursu'd Brook) she takes a great deal of pains to keep this only hopes of her Salvation; and (added Temple) to convince him of what perhaps he sees too plainly already, viz. the reality of her Love; or doting (said Winter) nay if you seem in the least (said Church) to doubt the Love of an old Maid, tho but by way of course she'll be giving you a thousand nauseous for••d assu∣rances of it. Till (added Fountain) she is more in∣tolerable, than two or three Irish men making Love to a Coffee-woman, with a damn'd perpetual noise (pursu'd Summer) of singing out of Tune, and a curss'd voice, till the besieg'd Damse•• (continu'd Ri∣ver) is forc'd to give 'em a Glass of cool Tea, or Vs∣que••a•• to stop their mouths. Quisque suos pati∣mur Manes (said I) we have each our several Faults. And Men as well as Women (concluded Grave) are most fond of Pleasure, and Riches, when they are past the right use of 'em.

LETTER LXXXVIII.

From a Doctor of Trinity Colledge, Cambridge, to a Gentleman, to per∣swade him to neglect the vulgar Sollici∣tudes of a busie Life, to raise to himself a Name hereafter. 'Twas directed to Mr. Bens, to be left for him at Child'•• Coffee-house in St. Paul's-Church-yard, London.

Honour'd Sir,

Cambridge, Iune 1692.

I Want to know how you spend your time, Whe∣ther the Diversions, and Business of the Town still monopolize your Thoughts? Prithee bid a∣d••eu to the hurry of the thoughtless part of Man∣kind, that live here only to scrape together a little shining Dirt, with a great deal of trouble, and of∣ten injustice, to furnish their Children with Sup∣plies to their 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and Profusion. 'Tis be∣low a Man me 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to live only for the day of the short of Life. We are immortal in the Rowls of Eternity, and ought, in my mind, not to let our selves die here, till the Rowls of Fame are shut up in those of Eternity. Fortune has been ••ind to you in placing you in the happy Mean, tempt her not to destroy the Happiness she has given you. Na∣ture is content with a little. Leave therefore the sordid care of Gain to those that will die like the rest of the numerous Millions, that the World ne∣••er heard of their being in it, whilst you return

to your Country House here near your Alma Mater, and devote your self to your Studies, where you may form some great thing, which will be always your own. Your Estate and Moneys, tho' ne'••e so much, by the K••averies of some, inspight of the Security of the Law, after your Death, may fall into as many hands, as the Conquest of Alexander, with a worse fate, for none will so much as remem∣ber that they once were yours, but the Products of your Learning will be yours for ever. I know the Ability of your Genius, I should not else endea∣vour to drive you from the common road; try only to have as good an Opinion of your own Parts, as e'ry body else has and that will soon prevail with you to comply with the Desires of him, who is

Your Friend, and humble Servant, R. Nalson.

I am of this Gentleman's mind (said Church) that the chase of Honours, and Riches are not worth the time of a Man of Sense. Thus far (answer'd Grave) he's in the right, for the perfection of Happiness is Certainty; But the Glories of Honours, and Riches (assum'd Winter) are supported by such brittle B••••∣tresses, that the Arbitrary Whim of a Prince, or the the more giddy Humour (added River) of the Mob casts it down. 'Tis true (said I) we pursue Happiness before we consider where to find it; Mistaking its seat (assum'd Temple) to be in Dignities, and Wealth, because (added Summer) they are dazling; and (continu'd Fountain) under their false Glory conceal their Troubles and Vexations. Whereas (said Chappel) in Study we find present content, and (concluded Brook)

same hereafter, when the Memory of wealth, and Ho∣nour is forgot.

LETTER LXXXIX.

Of Consolation to one that griev'd very much for the Death of his Wife. 'Twas directed to Mr. Monson in Bloomsbury-Square, London.

Dear Cousin,

Newcastle, Iune 1692.

I Receiv'd your melancholy Letter, and confess you have had a great loss in losing a good Wife, that being so rare a Jewel in this Age: You say you have liv'd with her these nine and thirty Years, without any falling out, she always paying you that deference, and respect due to a Husband, and that her you love, and indulgence due to a Wife; but methinks it ought to be a great com∣fort to you, that you possess'd such a Treasure as this so many Years, when so many Accidents, and Distempers threatens our Lives e'ry moment. Un∣happy I confess are the Joys of Love if they could he extinguish'd by the Death of either, but the Memory of the deceas'd is a Balm for that Sore, and keeps her Image still a live. Besides you have Children the more lively Pictures of her; he fond of them, and be not such a devote to grief, for what can't be recover'd, as to neglect your Duty to your self, and your own Off-spring. 'Tis to no

purpose to use many Arguments, Grief being the best cure to it self. But I would not have you ever forget her, that you may still remember your Chil∣dren she bore you. I only desire you to be mode∣rate in your grief, who am

Your loving Kinsman, Jer. Pool.

For my part (said Church) I look upon this to be but a piece of Ceremony, for I can't think any Man so fond a Husband as to extend his Love beyond the Grave. At least (added River) to that degree as really to want these auxiliary Consolations. I have known some (said Chappel) to my cost, that have ap∣pear'd as much concerned for their Wifes; who have yet marry'd within a Year or two, and forgot them so much (added Temple) as to turn her Children out of door, to make room for new Wifes. But there is a great deal (said Grave) owing to the length of time they have liv'd together. True (assum'd Summer) for we are troubl'd at the loss of a domestick Dog we have had any time; much more (pursu'd Brook) at the Death of one we had so long caress'd in our bo∣som. Besides (continu'd I) it presents us with a near prospect of Mortality. Right (continu'd Foun∣tain) to have death make so near an Approach to us, is cause enough of Melancholy. But that's a Melan∣choly (concluded Winter) that they soon forget in the Arms of another young Spouse.

LETTER XC.

From a Gentleman, justifying his much praising his Friends. 'Twas directed to Mr. Chappel, at his Lodgings at Mr. Best's in Bow-street, near Covent-Garden, London.

To me (said Chappel) starting: Well, well, read it out, 'tis from some poor dying loving Creature, I ••arrant. No, no, (said River) 'tis from some male Friend. I assure you, have but a little patience, and you'll be satisfy'd in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 P••int.

My Friend,

Worcester, Iune 1692.

YOU send me word that some in your Com∣pany were condemning me for magnifying all the Gentlemen of my a quaintance, with whom I have the Happiness of any Intimacy. I'll never de∣ny the Accusation I glory in. For what Crime can be more pardonable, than that of generous kindness for the Men I profess to value. But do these Gentlemen that condemn me pretend to know my Friends better than my self? But if they do, ler '••m not envy me my happy Error; if they are not so deserving as I declare them•• yet I'm happy in thinking them so. Let them therefore bestow their ill natur'd Remarks somewhere else, for there are enough who think it a point of Iudgment to carp and ridicule their Friends, they shall never perswade me that I can love mine too much, who am

Thy Friend and Servant, Wal. Kalesby.

He's eternally praising all his intimates (said Chappel) and 'tis enough to be of his acquaintance to be a Man of Honour, Wit, and Courage, and all the dispers'd Merits of Mankind. 'Tis the effects of a generous Nature (replied I) and I wish he never have a cause to alter his Mind. He says very true (said Temple) that Ill-nature is plentiful enough in the World in censuring all it keeps company with True (pursu'd Winter) he's look'd upon as an Ass that can't find more Faults, than Vertues in his absent Friend. He errs (said Church) of the ho∣nest, tho most dangerous side. I rather attribute it (return'd River) to his Youth, than Vertue. True (assum'd Summer) for most young Men, that are ignorant of the Town, and the general Rogueries of Mankind, are guilty of an over confidence in all that profess a kindness for them. Till to their cost (con∣••••nu'd Fountain) Age better instructs them. Age ••ay instruct them (answer'd Grave) not to be over confident in any Man, but can never justifie their abusing particulars without a particular cause, which (concluded Brook) if it be sufficient for abuse, is sufficient to break off Friendship; for 'tis unaccount∣••••le that we should affect the Conversation of 〈…〉〈…〉 ••e contemn, or hate.

LETTER XCI.

From a young Lady to her Gallant, to whom she had yielded, and who was still constant. 'Twas directed to Mr. Polly, to be left for him at Sander'•• Coffee-house, near the Dog Tavern in Drury-Lane, London.

Dear Sylvio,

THO' my Mother has oblig'd me to go into the Country with her, yet I will avoid hated ab∣sence, by keeping thy dear Image, my lovely Boy•• always in my sight; for I can find no Crime 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what we have done to make me afraid to think o••t with all the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Joy we met with in our first 〈◊〉〈◊〉, we were both young, and both 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with equ••l 〈◊〉〈◊〉; Where was then the fault if 〈◊〉〈◊〉 follow'd the dear instinct of Passion, and satisfy each others Longing? It had been a Si•• against Nature, and Reason, as well as Love, to have kept our selves in pain for the meer Niceties, the hypo∣critical World stands upon in Words, tho' not in Deeds; 'tis enough we are cautious in our Joys, and keep them to our selves. My happiness in thy Constancy my Sylvio, convinces me I have done nothing but my Duty; which makes me think my self the happiest of all my Sex, as long as I can subscribe my self thy Love, and Constant

Eptaelia.

Here's a pretty, constant, innocent Tit (said Chappel) one (assum'd B••ook) that has not lost her Innocence with her Maidenbead. What says our mo∣rose Grave (said Temple) to this pretty Rogue? ••y, ay (pursu'd Summer) does she come within the Crimes of the Sex? if not within their Crimes, Yet (answer'd Grave) yet she may in good time Gentle∣men; for she's already (added Winter) got within the Verge of the greatest of their Follies Love. Which degenerating into Lust (pursu'd Church) leads her into their Crimes with ease, and speed. I'm sure 'tis pity (said Fountain) she shou'd ever be less happy, because she has so much wit (assum'd I) to plead so well for her Love. Her wit (concluded River) is that which will pervert her Constancy, and certain∣ly destroys her Happiness.

LETTER XCII.

Of Recommendation. Directed to Captain Nasbey, to be left for him at Tom Urwin's Coffee-house in Russel, near Covent-〈◊〉〈◊〉, London.

Honour'd Captain,

Portsmouth, Iune 1692.

I Have a particular Kindness for my Cousin Tom, beside the Obligation of Nature, and shall do all that I can for him my self, but I think I can in nothing contribute more to his good, than by recom∣mending

him to your charge, when you set Sail; I question not but he'll so behave himself, so as to merit your Esteem if I had not sent this to engage you before hand, by the interest I have in you. I know him of a grateful, and generous Nature, and will always remember a Favour receiv'd. In short, there is nothing you can oblige me more in than in a kind Reception of him. I am

SIR,

Your Friend and Servant, G. Rooksby.

This Gentleman (said I) is a Miracle—Tr•••• (assum'd Summer) a Relation, and a Friend. A Recommendation indeed (said Temple) is as hard to be got from Relations, as Money. 'Tis a greater test of Love (answer'd Grave.) Right (pursu'd Winter) for by this you venture your Interest in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you esteem, and that can oblige you; and in your Mo∣ney (added Church) you hazard but a little solitary Cash, without any Appendix of worser consequences, if a Recommendation be such a test of Love (said Brook) the accepting of it is as great. True (con∣tinu'd Fountain) for he runs a double hazard having two to please in one. Let us dispatch this (said Chappel) that we may not hinder a good Office They are so few (concluded River) 'tis pitty it should be with any Obstacle, from parties unconcern'd.

LETTER XCIII.

From a French Dancing master, to one of his Scholars. Directed to Mr. Crofts∣man, at his Chambers in the Temple.

Ma deer Monsieur Croftsman,

Epsom, Iune 1692.

ME vow'd no have you neglect a your dancing v••••stt mee be in de Country, vor me hava left one of de varie rare Artists in de ••noble Mysterie, who vil make you de varie perfect accomplish'd Gautlehomma begar ofe all de Englis Nation. Here be de one, two, tree of devary curious Dammoisels be∣gar. Pray dear Mestre Croftsman give prettee Mestress I••nny one, two, tree kisses foor me, and begar ive you vill ven mee coma to Town again, me vill give her one, two, tree hundred kisses vor you, and one tousand someting else begar ive she'll letta me. Me be Monsieur begar in a varie great deal ove hast, and me therefoore subscribe mee selve,

Your humble Esclage and Vassal, Jacque de Baordeaux.

Sure (said Grave) we are the Bubles of the World; And that (added Winter) is the S••um of all Nati∣ons, as if an English-man could not have a grac••eful Motion, without a French Dancing-master? for my part (said Church) I could never understand the use of Dancing, or at least (assum'd Brook) how it can be so necessary a Qualification of a Gentleman. 'Twas a∣mong the Romans (said Temple) the business of Play∣ers, and that (added Fountain) 'tis a f••r more excel∣lent Nature. Right pursu'd River) for in the time of Nero, a Dancer represented so many things by meer silent motion, and that in measure, that an Asian King there present begg'd him of the Emperor, to be his En∣terpreter, to the several Nations he rul'd, or had to do with, so naturally he represented e'ry thing, that he seem'd to have found out an universal Language without speaking, dancing int••lligible Words to all Nations: But our dancing (said Chappel) consists only in a Caper, and a few insignificative turns of the Feet or Body. And then (pursu'd Summer) Plu••arch men∣tions the Samian Dancers by way of Contempt, and as the most infamous of Whores. I must confess (con∣cluded I) I think C••stom is the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Plea for the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 present Dancing.

LETTER XCIV.

To a Friend in Town, who had promis'd to come, and eat some of his Country fare at a certain time. 'Twas directed to Mr. Mathews, at his Lodgings at the Star and Garter in York buildings, in the Strand, London.

Dear NED,

Surrey, Iune 1692.

YOu promis'd to come to dinner to me last Tuesday, accordingly I prepar'd some Country fare, Beef, ••••d Pudding, Sallades, and what else unsophistica∣ted Nature yields, without the corruption of your French Cooks. You are like to pay your shot, for staying away, unless you redeem your Transgressi∣on by coming next Tuesday; you have a Horse, so that nothing but the Will was wanting. But per∣haps you were engag'd at Lockets, the Blew Posts, or Pontacs, with more exquisite Dishes. True, you might have a more modish Entertainment, but ne∣ver a more hearty. Therefore put not me off with Excuses, unless you intend to excuse me from writing myself what I am,

Your Friend and Servant, S. Willis.

Here's a Feast (said Grave) in my mind bet∣ter than all, that of Trimalicon in Pe••••onl∣us Arbiter. Gluttony (said Temple) is the most unmanly of Vices. True (pursu'd Brook) to live only, or chiefly to Eat, is the Life of a Hog. It clogs the Vnderstanding (said Winter) and hinders the Operation of the Faculties of the Mind. In which (added Church) we chiefly differ from meer Bruits. So that we sin against our noblest part (continu'd River) by being devotes to Eat∣ing. He therefore (said I) that wish'd himself the Neck of a Crane, for the prolongation of the plea∣sure of taste, merited to be turned into a Beast, for his brutal as well as ignorant Wish. Na∣ture's best satisfied (said Summer) with a little, but is oppress'd with a great deal. And generates Distempers (pursu'd Chappel) and so puts an end to the infamous Pleasure, and Life too. Thus as well as other faults (concluded Fountain) it b••∣gets its own punishments.

LETTER XCV.

Advising his Friend to turn Quack. 'Twas directed to Mr. Stones, to be left for him at the Pye-Coffeehouse, in Parker's Lane in Drury-lane, London.

IM sorry to hear of thy poor condition, and have to my ability comply'd with your desire, and sent you a Guinea by the Coachman. You have a pregnant Wit, and have been bred a Scholar, me∣thinks you might find some way of living, without these Necessities you complain of: How many ••••ockheads set up for Physicians, and Divines? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 turn Quack in one, or the other capacity. Tho' the first I think more proper to thy Genius, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 well as more gainful, there being more Foo's ••••an Devotees, and e'ry Fool will take more care of his Body than Soul, and bleed freelier to the Doctor, than the Parson. 'Tis but getting two, or three Books of Physic, to furnish thee with. Terms and half a dozen old Wives Receipts, to ••ell at thy 〈◊〉〈◊〉 price, and also some easie Tract of Astrology, that may instruct you in the Art of bantering the ordulous, and those that are mad for Futurity, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ambiguous words, and hard Terms above their C••pacity of Understanding; any Scratches will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for a Scheme, and the Names of the Plane••s, which you may learn from an Almanac, get you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 reputation of a profound Artist. Let your 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be worded ••illyer than Saffolds, or his Succes∣••••, and all the Fools in Town will come by sym∣pathy

to thee, and so we shall have thee dye as Alderman. This Advice I look upon a hundred times more worth than the Guinea I send you. The Event will shew how much I am thy re•••• Friend,

S. Gilman.

Good wholsome Advice this (said Chappel) Right (assum'd Brook, and smil'd) for he's to deal 〈…〉〈…〉 Health of the People. A Quack (said Temple) may be thought of the same Class with Sin, for he has the same wages, Death. But (answer'd Fountain) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Death, that's the wages of Sin, a man can't live by as the P••rson observ'd True, (assum'd Summe••) but Death, the wages of a Quack, brings in a very good Livelihood. These Quacks (said Grave) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Pest, and Shame of the Common-wealth, who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 five pound can purchase a Licence to kill, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the People. They are rather (reply'd I) the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the Common-wealth, clear••ng it of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Di∣stempers, for they destroy none but Fools. But 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Winter) they are but ineffectual Purgations 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for they leave a great deal of the Disease behind. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (replied River) is because Fools are of such a spread∣ing quality, that they have diff••••••d themselves thro•••• the whole Body politic, and therefore incurable. Be∣sides, (concluded Church) if they made a 〈…〉〈…〉 they must poyson themselves too, after they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 lost the Trade of the whole Tribe. But I am of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Physic being of so uncertain, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nature, that the most learned seldom 〈…〉〈…〉 the Disease, 〈…〉〈…〉.

LETTER XCVI.

From a Gentleman in Town, to his Friend in the Country, complaining of the Spungers that thrust themselves into his Gompany. 'Twas directed to Mr. Alford near Fu∣thringham in Kent.

Dear Sir,

London, June 1692.

NOT the Knaveries, nor Lewdness of the Town, you have so much urg'd against my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 stay here, has given me this Resolution of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 into the Country, but the intolerable 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Spungers, which like the Locusts of ••••ypt, are blown on me by I know not what wind. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Vermin will soon eat up my Estate, if grea∣•••• than 'tis; and whilst I feed them with substan∣•••••• Meat, and Drink, they feed me with empty 〈◊〉〈◊〉, or nauseous Jests. I believe, sometimes ••••••y think, because I have an Estate, I ought to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 them that have none, but they are mistaken, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not yet arriv'd to that Christian Perfection of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 all, and giving it to the Poor, or if I were •• ••••••uld never chuse Sots, Buffoons, and Bullies, the partakers of that Distribution. In short, since 〈◊〉〈◊〉 there is no Remedy to keep free from these 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that stick so close to Quality, and men of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, but by being as impudent as them, (which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be) or leaving the place where they grow, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 resolv'd to marry, and retire to a good peace∣able,

able, quiet, Country Life. I know you'l be pleas'd with my Resolution, whatever is the cause of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and that was the reason I gave you this Trouble, who am,

Sir,

your Servant, Wanly.

Spunging is such a slavish low thing, (said Temple) that a man of any spirit can ne'r be guilty of it. Right (pursu'd River) to sneak to e'ery Fool for a little Meat, and Drink, to cringe to e'ery menial Ser∣vant, of those he spunges on, rather than endeavour to get a generous, and unprecarious Living by his own Industry, since Nature is not so veracious, as to require more than a man is able to provide. I had rather (said Chappel) dine at a Three-penny Ordinary, at my own expence, than at a Lord's Table Spungers indeed (said Brook) are a lazy sl••thful Generati••••, and yet, like the Devil, they are continually rovi••g about to seek whom they may devour. Impudence i•• their chief Qualification, (pursu'd Church) and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that is not harden'd to all Affronts in Nature, will never live by't. True (added Fountain) he must be the patient Subject of all the I••sts of the Company. Yet (said Winter) they shall drink as much, eat as much and call in as much at a Tavern, as any in the Com∣pany, but for paying, they are ••our humble Servant. They like Vermin (said Gr••ve) suck the Venom of S••∣ciety, and live upon the Superst••ities of Conversatio••. They must (pursu'd I) flatter Fools, and Knaves, and study Iests to tickle the Conceit of this Esq and th•••• overgrown Alderman. True, (concluded Summer••) but indifferent ones will serve; for one of these 〈…〉〈…〉 (for such many of this Class pass for) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to a Lord's to Dinner, having labour'd his Brai•• hard

••ll the way for a Iest, to pay for his Treat, he seem'd s••mething dull. How now Tom? (says the Lord) what's the matter with you? I'm like a Door (re∣••••••ed the Wit.) Like a Door (quoth the Lord) pray explain. Why I'm off the Hinges (return'd the ••it.) The Lord laugh'd till his sides crack'd, the Wit 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and got a good Dinner, and a Flask of good Cl••ret in his Gutts; and the damn'd Iest has plagu'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Town e'er since. And to say truth, he's a Door off the ••inges still, and ever will be, as well as all of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

LETTER XCVII.

From a Country Parson to his Friend in London; that desir'd him to write an Elegy, for nothing, upon the Death of one of his Relations, that dy'd, and left him a good Estate. 'Twas directed thus, To Monsieur Boleau, Bookseller, at his House in the Pall-mall, London.

Monsieur,

WITH all the Humility, and Submission ima∣ginable, as becomes a poor Country Parson, towards a London Gentleman, of the newest edition. I congratulate the occasion of your Gentility, not be••ng at all surpriz'd, that the largeness of your Mind bears such proportion to that of your Estate. But

is it possible you should honour your poor quo••da•• Drudge, and Author with not only demanding an Elegy from him on your late, kind, deceased Rela∣tion, but even to accept it gratis too? Well, it had been incredible in any but a Soul so surprizing∣ly great as yours. Send it? Yes, with all the Pas∣sion, the Ferment, the Eagerness, the Salt, the Flame, the Fire of my Soul, I'll send it,—it shall come, yea, even now, (unless Dinner abruptly talk) before my Pen dare lift it self from the Paper; and I shall therein endeavour, pedetentim, to follow those curious hints you give me in your last for my dire∣ction.—Have-at it then this very minute. NO, Muse! in vain is all Apology; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 must, you shall produce an Elegy: Don't hang an•• A—, I tell the donnet, Nor simp'ring cry I can't, I wonnot. 'Tis Boleau calls, a man of Quality, Fam'd for Great Soul, and Liberality, Who late, deny it he that can, By a strange chance turn'd Gentleman. Fortune, no more we'll blame thy blindness, Since thou hast shown him so much kindness: Thou, and that blest, that lovely Creature, That Miracle of Art, and Nature, Who last of the long-winded dozen,* 103.1 Dy'd to oblige so kind a Cozen, For which he vows in deathless Verse (Which nothing costs) t'adorn her Herse. Ah! who, alas, without Anxiety. Can think o'th fall of so much Piety? Beauteous as Bolean's self, or Sary, As my Emi••ia, wise, and wary; Grave, and resolv'd, and action slow of, As is the Great young man you know of.

And what among 'em all's the best, lye Full as good-natur'd as—Jack Wheatly. Iudge if her worth were not uncommon; But Man is mortal, so is Woman. Ah! had not Death with Gall mixt Hony, And try'd to bribe our Grief with Mony, ••rought cheerful Gold to gild sad Sable, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 had been intol—* 103.2 intolerable; But tis that wise consideration Claps a Curb-Bridle on our Passion, And makes us with some patience bear This Gain, and Loss,—this heavy Cross, Of Five good hundred pounds a year.

Vouz avez, Monsieur Boleau,

Mayn't you clearly see by this what an awe your ••ew Gentility strikes one with, for I cannot for my Life towre above doggrel, when I think of you. However, I'll try to forget the Gent. Boleau, and ••emember one honest Smugle, a poor trudging Worm, of a Bookseller, my Acquaintance, and see ••hat I can do for him.

An Elegy upon the Death of M^rs. Susannah Boleau.

HAS powerful Beauty then forgot her Charms? Have Piety, and Innocence no Arms? Is Heaven unjust? Are all the Stars unkind? Or is Death grown, as well as Fortune, blind; That nothing excellent must long remain, But all our Vows, and all our Prayers in vain? This, lovely Virgin! by thy Loss we know, And little less, with Grief, than Marble grow. Thy Piety, while here, was so refin'd, We hardly thought thee less than perfect Mind: And yet thy outward form so made for Love, We wonder why the Soul would thence remove. Thee all who knew deplore. Thee all lament, But most Tom Boleau's Mind to Grief is bent; With real Grief does his own Ga••n co••dole; Heavy ••t sits upon his mighty Soul: Take all the Dross, he cries, that Fortune gave, And Heaven, so you'll restore her from••the Grave. Then thinks he sees agen her much-lov'd Face, And starting, runs from her desir'd Embrace. O give me Rest, he cries, then on the Bed, Distract with Cares, he leans his aking Head. But even in Dreams her lovely Face appears, He wakes, and finds his Cheeks all drownd wit•• Tear•• What shall he do, his eating Griefs to shun? Shall he to Deaths cold Arms for Succour••run? But lazy Death doth its kind Aid deny; Nor, ah! must he have so much Ease, to dye.

Yet he'll not live, but like sad Biblis stand, And deluge with his Tears his native Land. While Sighs▪ like Earthquakes, heave his troubled Breast, Till down he sinks to find eternal Rest.

This is an elymosinary Essay (said I) of an Author, for his Bookseller. There's Humour in the first (pur∣su'd Grave) and the Sadness of Elegy in the last. There's enough of all Conscience (added Brook) for Love. Right, (continued Chappel) Mony might have made the Poet enlarge. That inspires the Au∣thor (said Winter) in his double Capacity, as Poet as well as Priest: So indeed (added Summer) his Letter declares him. I fear the Bookseller (said Temple) was more beholden to Death, than to his she-Rela••ion. He would not else (added River) have grudg'd the paying for her Elegy. Oh, had he paid his Author (said Fountain) for it, the Joy of the Reward had depriv'd him of the melancholy, and sor∣rowful Thoughts his Subject required. Booksellers Pay (concluded Church) is never so prodigal, as to raise an Author above a doleful Ditty.

LETTER XCVIII.

From a Lover to his Mistriss, in absence. 'Twas directed to Madam Winton, at Mr. Glassrock's in St. Mary-Ax, London.

Oh my Dear,

'TIS now almost four days since I saw thy Face, tho not so many nights; for no sooner has sweet Sleep hush'd my projecting Soul to peaceful Slumbers, but thy lovely Image presents its self to the Embraces of my Fancy, as a superabundant Re∣ward of all my anxious waking hours.

But, oh! 'tis not Ideas alone, and empty sh••∣dows of a distant bliss, can satisfie my longings, who have so violent a Passion for the Real Substance.

But why, alas, should I seek, or desire to involve thy sweet Content, and Tranquility in my Misfor∣tunes? Why should I hinder what I cannot make, that is your Happiness? 'Tis true, Reason, and Ju∣stice require that I should rather perish, than see you any more. But Love comes in, and disdains their tyrannous Impositions, and will have me pe∣rish at your Feet, and I hope without violence. I send thee ten thousand Kisses. Adieu,

Poor Charles.

Absence in Love (said Temple) is like the death of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Body, the Object of Love being, •• like the Soul, ra∣vish'd from the Lover. I'm not of your mind (replied Grave) Absence attones for the thousand Impertine••∣••••s the presence of her I love betrays me to. And that which is more conducing to our satisfaction (pursu'd Winter) it gives a greater relish to our Ioys when we meet. It keeps those Pleasures alive (continu'd Church) which fruition, and continual presence would destroy. For as the incomparable Mr. Dryden says, All Objects lose by too familiar view, certainly (said Chappel) Absence to him that truly loves must be the greatest of Torments, as Love is the most violent of Passions. As 'tis excellently describ'd by old Chaucer (pursu'd I) in his Knights Tale:

His Sheep, his Meat, his Drink is him bereft, That lean he waxeth, and dry, as a Shaft; His Eyes hollow, and grisly to behold; His New pale, and Ashen to unfold. And solitary he was, ever alone, And waking all the night, makin ••moan

Here indeed (said Brook) are all the effects of a desperate ••••ssion, natural, and beautiful, tho' dreft in so anti∣••••ated a phrase. Spencer (pursu'd Summer) is of your mind Chappel, when he says,

Nought under Heav'n so strongly doth al'ure The Sense of Man, and all his Mind possess, As Beautys loveliest Bait, that doth procu••e Great Warriou••s Rest, their Rigor to suppress, And mighty Hands forget their Manliness.

These Poets (said River) drew their Picture from Nature; since 'tis evident Love triumphs over our other passions, Ambition it self being forc'd to submit, when once Love opposes it. Our modern Volture (conclu∣ded Fountain) views Nature then through another Glass, for he makes it the meanest, and most indifferent of passions, (and by consequence Absence no great pain) urging, that Pastorals, because the lowest of Verse, are the fittest for the expression of Love.

LETTER XCIX.

From a Robber to his Comrade, that had wrong'd him of part of his Share. 'Twas directed to Mr. N—, to be left for him at the C. Ta—, &c.

NED,

I Have been inform'd you have play'd the Villain, in sinking some of our last Prizes, and wrong'd both me, and your other Brothers, of our Due, and Share. If you clear not your self of this, you de∣serve to be shot the next time you attempt the Road, for a man without any Principles of Honour, or Justice.

R. D.

That men (said Grave) who live by the breach of the Laws of Nations, and Nature, should expect any secure Tye of Iustice betwixt each other! O yes, (re∣turn'd River) for the Bonds of Vice are stronger than those of Virtue. Necessity (pursu'd Chappel) forces them to an observation of them to each other, since else they could not subsist. Besides (said Brook) the Laws of Right are as much transgressed by Armies as by private Robbers. That was the Opinion indeed (replied Temple) of the Pyrate that was brought be∣fore Alexander the Great. But I believe (pursu'd Summer) that the Laws of Morality were not made for the regulation of public, but only private affairs, if at least we may judge by the practice of the World. True, (continu'd Church) for the Teachers of those ••aws, the Clergy, have in all Ages justified the greatest ••reaches of them when successful. By that (said Win∣ter) you would make the Sword the only Arbiter of Right betwixt Nation, and Nation. They would ••ake it no more (replied Fountain) than 'tis, for the success of that gives Equity to the Cause; The Victor ••eing never in the wrong, (concluded I) and the Vanquish'd never in the right.

LETTER C.

From one Friend to another, in answer to a Letter that upbraided him with a Service done, in bayling him for Debt, which he had not discharged. 'Twas directed to Mr. Roley, to be left for him at the Ja∣maica Coffeehouse in Cornhil, London.

SIR,

YOU tell me you found what you expected; but I answer, that I have found what I did not expect; and I know not what you call Civily putting me in mind, for I always took them for Dunns; they were not indeed noisy, and might therefore be termed civil Dunns: But your hecto∣ring Letter rouz'd me to say what I did; nor am I asham'd of the Testimony you can bring, but can, and will justifie it before any equitable Judge; for all men know that doing a Kindness one minute, and cutting ones Throat the next, is not very cordial, and any one that knows the least in the Laws of Morality, knows, that such Proceedings abundantly cancel the highest Obligations. You accuse me of want of Justice, in not giving you a Counter-Secu∣rity; you might have had it when you would, it was your fault in not asking, for I was always rea∣dy to give you all reasonable satisfaction. If I could get the Mony to morrow, I would pay it. You say these things always end in Quarrels; if so, 'tis be∣cause the obliger thinks much of what he has done, and requires Impossibilities. But, Sir, what need

all this heat? If I could do this, I would, but it is not in my power; had you been troubled for this Mony, nay, paid it, you could do no more than you have. I can say no more, but that if you can make any reasonable Proposition for your satisfacti∣on, and theirs, I will make it my utmost endeavors to comply with it; but I can do no more than I can, if you write till Dooms-day, and I'll do what I'm able, if you write never a word. If you persist to desire any more, I think I'm the injured Friend not you. I can say no more, having said enough to satisfie any reasonable man, especially one that stiles himself a Friend, as I do also,

Your Friend, and Servant, God••. Carvel.

From Suretiship, (said Summer) good Lord desiver us. Right, (pursu'd Church) for if thou art Surety for any one, take care to pay the Debt. You would then (said I) destroy the greatest Act of Friendship, who have condemn'd the World for neglecting the Offi∣ces of a Friend, and of deserting the dearest Friend in distress. Nay, to advance that Maxim, (continu'd Temple) were to destroy the chief hinge of Trade, Credit. True, (assum'd River) for that supplies the place of a great many millions of Mony. The very yearly Revenue of England having been esteemed four∣score millions, to pay which there's not, as has been computed, above eleven millions of Cash, all the rest turning upon Credit, which must be wanted before such

a small Sum can circulate to so many Offices. If my Friend (said Chappel) wanted Mony, I'd give him what I could possibly spare, but I'd neither lend him Mony, nor be bound for him. True, (assum'd Brook) for though you are a Friend when you lend, or are bound, yet when the day of Payment comes, and you e••pect a Return on his side, you are an Enemy; as may appear from this Letter. We alwaies (said Grave) prize a Favour more before we obtain it, than after we have receiv'd the benefit of it. On the other hand (replied Winter) there are a great many men, who over-value their Services, and think, because they did a Friend a Kindness once in distress, that his whole Life, and all his Endeavours, are not sufficient to make a tolerable return, especially in this case, as this Letter expresses, if the Friend oblig'd be not in •• capacity to take off his Security, he is more invetera••e than the Creditor. Which shews, (concluded Foun∣tain) that ••e did not that kindness by the Dictates of Friendship, since upon his Friend's greater Distress, he's unwilling to run the least hazard for him.

LETTER CI.

From a Gentleman who, confessing the incon∣stancy of his Temper, desires to know how he may attain a stability of his Wishes. 'Twas directed to Dr. M—ly, to be left for him at the King's-head-Tavern in Kings-street near Guildhall, London.

Honour'd Doctor,

YOU know 'tis not long since I left the Town, with all the earnest longing in the World for the Country, and yet I find my self quite tir'd with this irksom Retirement already. I want my Bottle, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Friend, and all the pleasing Thoughts of ••••nocence, and peaceful Quiet of a Country Life, that ingag'd me to seek it, seem now but ignorant Bruta∣••••ty, and a dead, and unactive Sloth. Prithee, dear Doctor, prescribe me some Medicine for this ••••easie Distemper of the Mind, for I know you as well skill'd in that, as in the Body. Has Philosophy to cure for this troublesome Inconstancy of my Temper? Is there no way of making me happy in Stability, and rendring that a Pleasure to me to morrow, which I thought so yesterday? I have some hopes there may, because I can persevere in my esteem of you, and hope I shall always be able to write my self

Your real Friend, and humble Servant, T. Kemish.

This Distemper (said Grave) is of a larger extent, than this Gentleman. Right, (assum'd Winter) for few men are able to distinguish betwixt a real Good, and a real Ill. Which is the cause of this Inconstancy, (continu'd River) for they pursue that for a real Good, which when obtain'd, they find a real Ill. Or, at••least (added Church) far short of the extravagant Idea they had fram'd of it. The cause of this (said I) is that Cloud of Ignorance that blinds the Eye of our Mind, Reason, that it can't distinguish better. Alas, (replied Summer) we seldom consult our Reason is what we either hope, or fear, for did we consult▪ Rea∣son in our Desires, we should never be inconstant. This makes us (pursu'd Temple) sollicite Heaven, with our V••ws, and Prayers for our certain Ruin, instead of a Blessing. And mock God (added Fountain) very of∣ten with Thanksgivings for our successful Villanies. Thus (continued Chappel) we hunt after Wealth, to ••ncrease our own Sollicitudes, Fears, and Guilt. And damn our selves both here, and hereafter (con∣cluded Brook) by Ambition, Lust, and 〈…〉〈…〉 to Rogues, and Whores.

LETTER CII.

To a Member of the Athenian Society. Directed to Mr. S—, to be left for him at Smith's Coffeehouse in the Stocks••mar∣ket, London.

Dear Sir,

YOU have been so long vers'd in answering Que∣stions, that now sure none can come amiss to you: I therefore desire you to answer me, For what reason your Society is silenc'd, since you have so often, and with such supererogatory Zeal defended the present establishment? 'Tis a Mystery to the World, and in answering it, you'l gratifie all your Friends, nay, and all your Enemies too. I hear you are retir'd into the Country, to your beloved Algebra; 'tis a knotty Study, and requires indeed such a Head as yours, but I question whether my Query is not a degree beyond the most difficult of them. Kissing goes by Favour, and I've seen an ugly Fellow embrac'd by a pretty Lady, whom he sligh∣ted, when a proper, handsom, young man, with Lantinus his Parts, was dying for love for her, without regard to his Merit, Passion, or Services. My humble Service to your Lady, and tell her I long to hear she's with Child, for certainly when a Muse is pregnant, she must bring forth no less than an Orpbeus. I am,

Dear Sir,

Your affectionate Friend, and Servant, C. Richardson.

It had been much indeed, (said Grave) if in our search here we had not met with some Enqui∣ries to this Society.—True, (pursu'd Winter) ••ut—

Just here Madam Summer, enter'd, and would permit us to go no farther, assuring us that Dinner cool'd on the Table. We could not controvert a fair Ladys Will, especially in her own House; we therefore placing our things in due order, retir'd to Dinner, not at all dis∣satisfied at the time we had thus spent.

THE PACQUET broke Open.

BOOK II.

IT was so late before we went to Din∣ner, that before we had half din'd, a whole Company of Summer's Ac∣quaintance came and surpriz'd us, and as soon as the Cloth and Lady was remov'd, engag'd in drinking. I found there would be hot work; and therefore I whisper'd Grave, and River to steal away, which in the hurry of Company we easily did, and unperceiv'd of any but Chappel, who un∣willing to drink follow'd after, whether we had retir'd, viz. To the Summer-house, to proceed in our Enquiries, for I confess my Impatience of diversion from it. Being Seated, the first we light'd on was;

LETTER I.

From a Bawd that desires a Habitation for the Exercise of her Profession. 'Twas di∣rected to Madam—at her House in St. Peter's-street in Rome.

Madam,

SO Copious is the Information which you give me of the great Liberty which the Vicious en∣joy at Rome, that I have a great desire to re∣move thither. Particularly I understand what pri∣viledges Lust is allow'd under the Purple Habit, as being honour'd with the Protection of a Nephew of his Holinesses. I have recanted my erroneous Conceit that was infus'd into me by those that ag∣gravated in my Ears their daily Practice of most execrable Uncleannesses, and their Contempt of Women in Comparison of Baby-fac'd Boys. But conformable to what you have suggested to me, I know the Falshood of this Calumny, and find that they give a hearty Entertainment to all man∣ner of Debauchery. The Women also have their dispatches, and to speak the Truth to a Man that understands ••rap, a double Card plays best at my Lady's Hole. And 'tis a great Advantage to falsifie a Card; now that Men are so singularly desirous to be pleas'd with Delusions and Appearances. What greater pleasure can there be to a Man that loves to enjoy a brutish Sin, then that he can be sure to make a Change of the Hand, and when he has a Woman in his Arms to be able to turn her

into a Male, as his Sensuality inspires him. Peace be to Venice, where delicacy of Appetite, with less Scandal, practises this form of Satisfaction. By which means, neither are Women depriv'd of their Advantages, nor Men of their Pleasures. In short, I am singularly pleas'd to understand that there is a free stage at Rome for all manner of Lasciviousness; which makes me resolve to breath the Air of that City in my Old age. I hope to set up for a Baud, and live well by my Trade: For where the Cli∣mate disposes Men to Lasciviousness, there is the less Trouble in our Calling. I hope in a short time to obtain the Favour of all the Cardinals, in re∣gard I shall be sure to have always at hand what∣ever they shall desire. I hope to add to the List of Harlots, those few that preserve their Honesty to stuff Tenis-balls: And I should wish to die, when I fail'd in my undertaking to make the chastest of Matrons melt in the Obdurac••. Pray se••k me out a good Habitation in a convenient Post, and you shall find me always ready to serve you to the ut∣most of my Power.

She has mistaken her place, quoth Chappel, while she designs to set up for a Baud in Rome, where the Traffic of Lewdness has no need of any Brookers. She may be serviceable, reply'd River, if not to the Grandees of the Purple Robe, yet to the poor Fryars and Priests; of which the Rabble are Tyranniz'd over by their Superiors, or hinder'd from taking their ••ull swinges. Hence it is, reply'd Grave, that they are forc'd to exercise by themselves, and to carry their Affairs very privately too, for fear of the Pain and ••••ril that may come thereof. Pish,—concluded I▪ there's no such need of so much Caution; for all sorts of other Vi••••s he••d so in common toge∣ther

with the Sin of Whoring, that every one i•• there a good Merchant for himself, and knows how to pro∣cure his own Advantages in view of all the World.

LETTER II.

From a Iesuite who confesses the Errors of his own Order. 'Twas directed to Father P—'s, at his Lodgings in Abble-ville.

Certainly this Letter, said Grave, will contain the Interests of some Princes, discover'd by this good Father in the Anti-chamber of some great Personag••. And why not in their own Cabinets? reply'd River, It seems you have but little Experience of the Man∣ners of these sort of Cattel, especially of their usual Qualities, of rather coveting the Privacy with Princes, then Familiarity with Christ. They stick close to that Saying, Non erubesco Evangelium; and to that o∣ther, L••tera non Erubesc••••, whi••e not only as Peo∣ple in Holy Orders, but Pretenders to Learning, with Br••ken Foreheads, they thrust themselves into all Places.

Most dear Brother in Christ,

I Am inform'd by your last Letter, that there is no Body that offers to relieve our Tottering Congregation, unless the Almighty Hand of God

afford us Aid. Where the Conflagration over∣spread it self, whole Deluges of Tears become least prevalent, and the Threatning Ship-wrack can hardly be repaid with the pleasure of the Harbour. Behold Neb••chadnizzar's miserable Statue, whose golden Head in the Emulation of Superior Man, denoted Coelestial Original. Nor were the Progresses of our Vertue less set forth in Silver Pu∣rity, then in the Strength of Brass and Iron. But at length our sublimity declining to the Feet, meets with the frail and brittle Substance; and that be∣comes the occasion of our Ruine, from which we expected our Establishment. Behold our Pas∣sions and Affections, which wallowing in the Mud of worldly Affairs, not plac'd in Heaven as they ought to be, bring forth those Plants, which being eradicated together with our Vertue, our whole Fe∣licity is ne're quite levell'd with the Ground. Our over-greedy Desire of Gain, which makes us so sedulous to creep into the Courts of Princes, de∣monstrates an insatiable Appetite, no way resem∣bling the Poverty of Christ. Now it appears, that we are the Superiors of great Men, not the Se••∣vants of Christ. And hence it is, that we depress our selves, the higher we endeavour to soar. Our extraordinory Diligence dazles the World in Rear∣ing magnificent Structures, whose marble Beauty, and glittering Splendor of Riches, exalt the Tro∣phies of prostrate Humility to Heaven. Woe be to us, who glorying in our magnificient Piles con∣fine Vertue within narrow Limits: So much the more poor in Spirit, by how much the more we delate our worldly Pomp. We envy secular Persons their Honours, usurp their Estates, and rumi••ating still greater Advantages, we decay more and more every day. In vain is that Hypocrisie, which with a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Neck, down cast Eyes, and a set Counte∣nance,

always muttering Scraps of Prayers, still shows our Hands fast grasping Crowns, while our works abolish Holiness, but advance Affections quite contrary to Vertue. Hence it is, my dear Brother; that we are become contemptible in general, not by Apostolic Will, but by compulsion of our own Vices. This is not the way of the Saints; nor did they who left us our Precepts, leave us these Foot∣steps to follow. And how can we expect a Socie∣ty to last for many Ages, if wandring from the Truth before one Age be at an end, we hasten to the Brinks of Precipices? In Spain where we were first brought forth, took root and blossom'd first, our Vigour is dry'd up, and all our Glories wasted in the Womb whence we first deriv'd our first Ori∣ginal, threaten us with the Sepulcher, where we must lie wrapt up in the Shrouds of Oblivion. The Dominican Order is there preferr'd before ours, and deservedly we who contemn all other Religious So∣cieties, are by all our selves despis'd. In France we have restor'd our Fortune not recover'd it. I•• Germany, if we do not go backward, 'tis certain we make no Progresses forward: And those same pious Frauds are all to no purpose, with which our audacious Brethren abus'd the Favour of the Em∣peror deceas'd. In Italy, banish'd out of the V••∣netian State. In other parts ejected, rejected, and of little Esteem, but that we enjoy the Benefi••s of our Contempt. And even here in England are we despis'd. What remains, but only that we set up the Trophies of our Glories in the Indies, and a∣mong Chineses, where they flourish in those Desarts, that wither in the Gardens of Europe? Yet there they also ••ade and lose the Pomp of their ancient Verdure. In the midst of a Flood of Tears I sore∣tell our Funeral Obsequi••s: For what can we expect but Death at hand, when the whole Body is in such

a languishing Condition, before the Expiration of one Age. Heaven avert those wickednesses which call down the Judgments of Heaven upon us, and repel those Calamities, that the Thunder-showers which are justly to be fear'd, may be in Mercy remov'd.

Look ye, quoth Chappel, Hert's the Conf••ssion of the good Father, who with an extraordinary Sin∣cerity has laid open the common Faults of his Or∣der. He would have done ill, reply'd Grave, not to have made a true Confession, who teaches others to be exact. As if, reply'd River, they did not by their Precepts daily exhort others to Piety and God∣liness, and live as vertuously and piously themselves! Some do not believe otherwise. Certainly, reply'd I, these good Fathers can never be said to live other∣wise then well, who are no less luxarious in their eat∣ing and drinking, then Princes; and in other par∣ticulars enjoy all the Pleasures and Delights of Cardi∣nals. I understand ye, said Grave, but we have enough of 'em for this time.

LETTER III.

Against the Nuns. 'Twas directed to Mr. Gebe••, at his House in Finch-Lane London.

Dear Friend,

Rome, Iun•• 24.

AT our last parting, I remain'd beso••••ed with the Love of that Nun, with whom you are well acquainted. I was quite entangl'd in Comple∣ments, but at length I threw off my Shackl•••• with so much difficulty, that I may well affirm this odd Affection to be a sort of Bird-lime. 'Tis a kind of slimy Defilement that 〈◊〉〈◊〉, intr••∣gues, and with every the least Sparkle kindles a Flame not to be extinguish'd. Let him that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 describe the Windings and Turnings of the most Artificial Labyrinths, wherein at every step you meet unwarily with some Springe or Net, he must of necessity acknowledge the Mazes more in∣tricate, wherein the Affections are intangled, if once you set your Foot within those Iron Gate••. Consider the Condition and Quality of ••hat Love, which must be imprison'd as soon as born; and let him hope that can, for fortunate Progresses in it, while he can only boast the first beginnings of it in a Prison. Those Grates resemble very nere the Enclosure of a Cage, wherein however there is much of Folly which locks up the Freedom of the Heart, to be made the Companion of an indiscreet Beast, whose only Entertainment it is both to de∣light

and rorment fond Lovers. Whilst these Nuns are shut up in Holy Places, there seems to be in 'em a Soul of Vertue, but we must believe 'em to be dead Carcasses, so that in associating with 'em, we feel the most cruel Torments that the most spiteful Fury of the most barbarous Tyrants ever could invent. I assure ye, my dear Friend, that who∣ever would put the Hang-men under Cupid's Disci∣pline, should assign 'em the Cloysters of the Nuns for their Schools, where with a particular Sedulity is profess'd the Exquisiteness of despising and be∣traying him that falls into the Nets of their Allure∣ments. The Multitude of Lovers admitted by the Greediness of those Harlots, is by them procur'd so much the more impudently, by how much their Pleasures, or rather Delusions are more common at the same time to several. By changing Place they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Passions and Discourses with one, and from him still 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to others, use the same Replies, and make the Scene it self of their usual Fictions ••••alterable. With all, they are prodigal of all the Delights which the Nature of the Place will permit 'em, making it their Glory to entice fond Men, who esteem it the Height of Pleasure to have the Priviledge of feeling a hand of theirs, to get a Kiss, which is stollen for the most part through the Grates, or but to see the Coat Card, upon which the Lover would willingly venture his whole For∣tune: Not considering the quickness of the Change leaves him no other Consolation, then the ••••crease of his Desire. If she carries on the Corres∣pondence by affording him the Operations of her hands, conformable to the show which is made, the Fingers of the beloved Lady operating no less eff••••tually upon the Do••ard, those are the most bewitching Charms of this Amour, and the most ••morous Artifices with which he composes his De∣lights.

Here all the most sweet Enjoyments ter∣minate, and Opportunity begins to authorize the most refin'd of Frauds. All this while those Fruits, the Taste of which is so highly valu'd in Conceit, are terminated in the presence of a Lover, or per∣haps already sold to the Affection of another. The Intention dishonours the Deed; and therefore he must be a great Fool, who believes her design'd for himself, and repays her at great Expences in the ready Coin of Affection and Treatments. The Customs of the Histri••'s are again renew'd, whose Representations consisted in Shews and Gestures; while in these Amours every Lover seems to erect a Scene of what is most pleasing to himself, and to act with his hands according to his own H••∣mour. The Comedies are lovely to the sight, but the Acts are defective, because there is no getting into the Theater, and the Eyes are only satisfy'd with Appearances. They are Violences too cruel, that necessitate a Man to think of nothing but ex∣tenuating and destroying himself, and to wish him∣self so spiritualiz'd, that he might shoot through the Grates to enjoy the beloved Object that so co••∣strainingly ravishes him to her Embraces. In these Fooleries, I must confess, I have often ensnar'd my self, when I plac'd my Paradise in these Con∣tentments. I thought the days too short that were consum'd in adoring one of these Fatal Sister••••, who cut the Thread of amorous Death though they have not the Spindle in their hands. I was always fix'd to those Grates, that I might suck in the Air of her Breath; and to approach the Flames that wanton'd in her Cheeks▪, I was ambitious to accustom my self to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Prison: I wish'd at least I could have been a∣ble to have devou••'d the Iron which impri∣soning my Goddess, forbid me the Enjoyment of

her. Having my Sun so near me, yet de∣priv'd of the Opportunity of embracing her, I suffer'd the Rigor of a Winter Season, and some∣times the amorous Serpent would make a vigorous effort, to thrust himself into the Den of her soft ••ips, denoting his desire to get shelter in another 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for his Tayl. I have obtain'd some satisfa∣ction in Appearance, with offer of better, when a more favourable opportunity gave us the Liberty to laugh at the Impediments of a close Confinement. There was a necessity also for me to comply with her Avarice, extreamly greedy after Presents: So that while she ply'd me with Gifts of no value, I was forc'd to correspond with others of great price. I affirm, there is more of Interest in these Amours, than Charges in the Lusts of Harlots, while repea∣ting their Presents, they make exchanges with great Advantages of Usury. Besides that, a man can no more dispose of himself, than of his Mony; which being ravish'd from him by their Delusions, is presently consecrated to a Deity, that never thinks her self sufficiently gratify'd. By means of their study'd Alurements, they deceive so covertly, that it is so much the more difficult to avoid their Snares, because their Nets are so much the more accurately spread. In this their Retirement, as they supply their own Unchastity with artificial Instruments of Glass, and Tongues of Lap-doggs, so with Thoughts no less busily employ'd, they study among them∣selves variety of Forms, and Manners, which way to abuse their Admirers: But let all Trouble, and Expence give way to the necessity of standing all day in the Stocks, only to serve their Curiosity, and help to pass away their Time. Their Discourse is all about the Quarrels, Emulations, and envy reign∣ing in the Cloysters; or else concerning the amo∣rous Shiverings that benumb the poor Creature who

stands fasten'd to the Grates, like a Statue. If the•••• Slave ••e missing but a moment, then nothing but Chidings, and severe Repremands; so that there 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a necessity of remaining stedfast in the Fetters 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Chain which bind him to their Dalliances, an•• the more entangle him in their Wiles. Upon 〈◊〉〈◊〉 slight absence you are sure to be ply'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Messengers, and Billet-douxt's, which are all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Exchange, to beg something; or else they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with their vain Impertinences, and idle 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of their dissembl'd Affection. But I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thrown off the Yoke at length, aware of my ex∣travagant, that both delighted me, betray•••• me, and tyranniz'd over me with her Char•••••• and Alurements, sollacing her self at the same 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with three, or four more perhaps as pleasing coax'd as my self. These Women given up to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 most licentious Debaucheries, either solace them∣selves with an intimate 〈◊〉〈◊〉-Friend, or else mak•• Sport alone in their particular Cells; and havi•••• thus allay'd their present Itch, and staid their S••∣ma••chs with a relishing bit, away they trip to the•• Lovers, whom with their dissembl'd Dalliances the cause to swallow their Morsels, the hardness 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which they can but ill digest. In a word, the whol•• consists in Fictions; or if they do not seign, th•••• remains nothing for the Men, but compendi•••• Torments, while there is a necessity of endur•••••• the Stings of an Appetite that cannot be sati•••••••• There is nothing to be got more, but two or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Tasts of her Hand, which are no nourishing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to satisfie the cravings of Desire, while men are ke•••• from dressing their Meat in the amorous Furna•••• it self. There can be no Stamp of amorous Co••∣placency, without the compression of Embraces, a•••• impression upon the Lips; so that the touches ••••••demn'd the Hand have only I know what kind of superfici••••

••••pearance of Pleasure. Heav'ns defend us from 〈◊〉〈◊〉 incumbrance of these Amours, which as it is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in Women, and strongly infus'd into 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Imagination, that always will be framing re∣••••aches against the Female Sex, is punctually ••••rning of the Nuns. This may also serve for a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to your self, whose Infelicity I would ••••••llingly prevent by the example of my own, mis∣••••u••e••, as being willing you should meet with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Content you can wish for, at my expences, ••hich I desire may be your good hap, and so I ••••nclude, remaining, &c.

If the Nuns (quoth Chappel) were instituted in ••••tation of the Vestal Virgins, it cannot be gainsaid ••ight to keep the Lamp full, and to entice ye to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 either with their Fingers, or with any thing 〈◊〉〈◊〉. The Light never to be extinguish'd, (quoth 〈◊〉〈◊〉) which was preserv'd by them, seems appropriated 〈◊〉〈◊〉 these Nuns, in their unsatiable desires, that are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be quenched. They ought then to be buried 〈◊〉〈◊〉, (replied I) like the fornicating Vestals, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 little enough to take away the stench, with which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 foul Incontinencies nauseate the present Age. ••nhappy is the Earth (quoth Grave) where-ever they ••••uld be enforced to reside; so that if they should be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 under ground, their insatiable Voraciousness ••ould devour whatever could spring or bo••rge up from 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

They would have proceeded in the due Reproaches and Reproofs of ••omen, who in a Profession of Holiness, contaminate the Order and the Place, when Chappel signified, that the Impertinencies of the Fathers were more to be blam'd, who by

main sorce buried these Virgins in Cloysters: Whence it comes to pass, that they, being coopt up and enflamed with the fire of youthful Lust, lay those Contrivances, at the scandal of which both past and present Ages stand aghast, and which strangely destroy the Reputation both of Families and Nunneries. While they were bla∣ming therefore these sort of Violences, from which tho' sometimes a good effect may proceed, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 rarely becomes durable, they ceased to reprove the Women, who usually corrupting apparent Good∣ness, through want of discretion, most imp••∣dently turn the worst of Creatures. Vpon this they forbore any farther to aggravate this Mis∣fortune, deplorable in the most glorious of Cities, where such a Cloyster of Nuns is more to be abhor'd than the ancient Brothel houses and comm•••• Stews among the ancient Romans.

☜ For the three foregoing Letters of this Second Book, mark'd LETTER I, II, III. read LETTER CIII, CIV, CV.

LETTER CVI.

Against the Vices of the French Court. 'Twas directed to Mr. Richard Bordfield, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Three Blackbirds in Fanchurch-street.

Kind Sir,

'TIS necessary to have a Friend, to whom•• man may disclose his own Passion, for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 asswaging of his Sorrows, so much the more 〈◊〉〈◊〉,

by how much the more they lye coopt up in the Breast. Which enforces me to trouble your Worship with this Letter, to evaporate the Hu∣••ors of this Wound, wherein my pa••ns are met, by making a relation of 'em to him who will at least be so favourable to me, as to have some fellow-feeling of my Sufferings. I am at the French Court, and thats sufficient to let you understand the Hell that entertains me, and the Devils that torment me. I am within those narrow Enclosures, where the most doleful Vexations triumph, protected by the Au∣thority of great persons, who there support 'em to the cost of those unfortunate Persons that serve 'em. Good God! when I reflect upon my being in a place where Gold hanging down from the magnificent Ceilings, threatens death with the Fall of it, I well perceive after what manner more splendid Gran∣deurs are the Landmarks of miserable Precipices. That Splendor, of which another fond, believes he has found a Sun, is a Lamp that terrifies, denoting the nearness of approaching Thunder. In short, all that, which otherwise contributes to the pomp of an extraordinary Felicity, being enchanted within the circle of Figur'd Majesty, is transform'd into the essential cause of all Misfortunes. Unhappy he who is misled into the Society of Men, who are en∣forc'd by Necessity to employ themselves in Wic∣kedness, imbrew'd with every other the most ma∣lignant Qualities, to corrupt all People that live near them! It may be said, that he enters into a School of Frauds and Treachery, which they the rather learn, because they see 'em in part more lamenta∣bly practis'd upon their own Fortunes. Perfidious Obligation! which too severely tyrannizes over a rational mind, compell'd to act against Humanity, unless it would be worse us'd by Brutes! A Truth too much to be deplor'd, yet which a multitude of

Examples preserves from being condemn'd for a Falshood, while persons sublime in Virtue, or in Merit, are seen ready to starve, and evil entreated at this Court, where Beasts are cramm'd with plen∣tiful Tables, and environ'd with numerous Atten∣dants. Buffoons, Flatterers, and other vicious Persons, worse than Beasts, are treated after such a manner, that their Prosperity is envied; whereas otherwise their Torments might occasion Terrou••. How deservedly is this Court resembled to a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and craggy Mountain, to the top of which there is no ascending, but by narrow windings and by-ways, while private Villanies are the only Path which leads men to the desired station of Great mens ••••∣vour. Both the crooked Turnings of various Cha••∣ces and Revolutions of Fortune, made smooth and level by Adulation, Men make it their business 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to comply with anothers Will, more especially if they find they must be forc'd to lay aside their pi∣tiful Cringes and sordid Condescentions, whi••h are easily avoided by those that see themselves tra••∣pled under foot by too much contempt. Some∣times the necessity of screwing a mans self into the Affection of a private person, who being a gre•••• Prince's Favurite, with a disdainful loftiness stands so stifly upright, that you may sooner reach th•• Sky with your Fingers, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 obtain a courte•••••• glance from his disdainful Worship; and indeed, unless you will condescend to lick their Feet, 'tis impossible to avoid the being trampled under 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by the most sordid here. A Courtier may think his Exaltation may resemble the ascent of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which is easily blown away, but on the other side accompanied with the necessary consequence of Fire, which burns and consumes. How many hardships must a poor Creature undergo, who ••••∣solves to attempt the raising of his Fortunes, by 〈◊〉〈◊〉

Parasice, Fidler, Lame, and sometimes Baboon, or Mongrel Curr? He must of necessity stand like a Statue all the day long, in an Anticham∣ber, or move in the Train like an Ox under the Yoke, which draggs the Chariot, where the Pride of the Grandee sits complemented on every side: He must be the Butt of the Affronts of him that ••eeps him down, or of the Buffooneries of him that pretends to make his Lord merry, with the Scoffs and Frumps which he puts upon him. In short, the life of a Courtier in France requires a Soul with∣out rational Spirits, a Heart depriv'd of Sence, or at least feigning to have no feeling of the Stings of malicious Revilers and taunting Scu••rility of Bus∣••oons, and of the slaughter which envious Ma∣llgners make of the Reputation of Men, if it step there. If a man's applying himself to such an Exercise did not deserve to be blamed, yet his constancy in abiding insensible, would merit great applause, while he is afflicted in so many parts. Nevertheless, this Truth is necessarlly made out in him, who from his Birth has been design'd the Tro∣phy of so cruel a Destiny; or else from his first en∣trance into the Net, discovers the Penalty ordain'd of an impossibility that the Fault of his Inadver∣••••ncy should escape. He that withdraws from this Court, gives us occasion to believe some fault com∣mitted, the fear of which quite crushes him; or a diffidence in some great Parsonage, by whom he does not think his Services sufficiently rewarded; concei••s the one abhorr'd by a noble and generous Soul; the other prejudicial, by reason of the Rigor of him who will not have his fraudulent dealings condemn'd. This is the Chain, with which the wisest men being fettered, make the practise of Li∣ving contradict the Theory of Instruction: So that they remain hanging by the Threads of hopes, in

such a condition, till those Threads are twisted at length by the various turns of Chance into a Rope, with which being strangled at last, they perish mi∣serably. Such an end of my Service do I also ex∣pect, despairing of a better Destiny, since many years of care and ••arking in this French Court, have acquired me no more than the opportunity of ad∣monishing others to beware of those Mischiefs which I my self could not avoid. May Heaven deliver all men from such a condition, which the Pains and Torments that attend it render such as only could be outdone by the exchange of a perpetual Hell. Compassionate my condition, dear Friend, and for∣give the tediousness of these my over-long Com∣plaints of this my last Misfortune, but greater per∣haps than the rest, which is proper to Courts, not to have any person in whom a man may entrust the Secrets of his Breast; nor with whom to exhale the Grief that gnaws his Bowels, when it cannot be sent to be exposed by the Tongue. Be mindful of our Friendship, though you are not in a condition to tast the fruits of it, while I am so miserable to be an Enemy to my self.

This is Music for us (quoth Chappel) according to which every one may make his own descant upon the Book of his Life. 'Twill be a Cromatic piece (re∣plied I) composed of mournful Notes, such as are us'd for Elegies and Funerals. I think (quoth River) the Similitude of Music so proper, to express our Con∣dition, that we cannot make use of a better compari∣son; for as Music makes a man wast his Breath to please others, so Courtiers consume and wast their Lives and Spirits to please the Grandees that are their Superiors. Add to this (replied Chappel) the ne∣cessary imitation of Music in rising Note by Note; for

as a man is forc'd to feign with his Voice, when he comes to the shrill Treble, so Fawning and Dissimula∣tion are the highest strains with which a Courtier can advance his Fortunes. But you must have a care of leaving out the Flatts and Sharps (quoth River) which make but bad Music in a Prince's Ears. You ••ay as well (quoth Grave) leave out the Ascents of Fourths, Fifths, and Sixths, seeing many men are advanc'd in France without Merit, or any obser∣vance of Order, meerly according to the pleasure of the reigning Prince, who is often aptest to favour the least deserving. More remarkable (quoth Chappel) are the descents of the Octave, that with a deep resound∣i••g tone may seem to resemble the Terrors of the misera∣ble, thrown headlong of a sudden, from a tow'ring Sublimity without any fault by them committed. All 〈◊〉〈◊〉 well (quoth River) with the comparison hither∣to, since there are no Rests nor sighing Pauses wanting in this Music, to him that sings within Book, and ••••eps b••fore his Eyes the evi•• Entreatments of the French Grandees, and those common Miseries that take up a spacious Field in the Courts of the French King.

LETTER CVII.

Giving an account of an amorous Intrigue at Luca. 'Twas directed to Mr. Filsted, at his House in Drury-lane.

SIR,

Luca, June 1692.

I Have chang'd my station, but not my condition of Servitude, which remains constant in the desire I have to obey your Commands. I fell in love at Luca, where I resided for some time, as you well know, with a married Woman, who cor∣responded with my Amours, and gratified the Ap∣plications of my Affection with the Reward of En∣joyment. Her Husband was a poor-spirited Fellow, which gave us the more leisure to make him a Cuc∣kold. One day he observ'd his Wife walking at her Country House in my Cloaths, which sometimes in a fantastic humor she would put on; he conje∣ctur'd that I had let her know where I laid my Cloaths, and that I had given admission to the person that wore my Habit; and thence he be∣gan to conceive in his mind the Spoils that I had won by triumphing over his Honour: Horn∣mad therefore, to be thought what he could not be denied to be, he departed for Rome, though with a C••u••tenance not yet free from those Blushes due to so much Infamy, nor yet having the Courage to race out his Infamy with his Sword. This gave me the liberty to pursue my Pleasures with a full career,

and like a River in its Channel, I met with no Banks that oppos'd my rapid course into the deep Ocean of my Delights. But Fortune betray'd me in the sight of my Felicities, while a Brother of my Mistriss began to take upon him to uphold the Re∣putation of his Family. However, being a Native of the same Country with the Husband, he had not a Resolution sufficient for an honourable Revenge. He accused me therefore to the Secretaries, with a Protestation never to forsake his own Interests, and therefore desired 'em to take some course to re∣pair his Brothers Honour, for fear he should be necessitated to commit some extravagant Act. To please him therefore, I had orders to unkennel, and depart Luca. Upon which I went to the Ladies Country House, where in pursuance of my public chastisement, I many times made choice of a voluntary Death, but as frequently rose again, according to the custom of Lovers, and confin'd my self a Prisoner to her Bosom, that I might the more patiently pay my subjection to the cruel Sentence. And now I enjoy my self in this place, where the Honour of your Injunctions is the grea∣test Felicity I can wish my self.

The Lucchesi Gentlemen (said Chappel) are pru∣dent, and couragious; but their Prudence makes them take the safest way to facilitate their Revenge. An Accident of the same nature (quoth River) happen'd to my self, while I enjoy'd a Widow that was my Neighbour, once at Luca, at what time the Catchpoles of the City were sent by her Parents to remove me out of the City, but I forc'd 'em to keep a looff off, and made Horns at 'em with my Fin∣gers.

Alas a-day! (replied I) such a place as that has but few Heads, and consequently few Hearts, and therefore for their own preservation it behoves them to be careful of their Lives. There is a necessity they should have good Head-pieces, for the Government (quoth Grave) which require a weighty Iudgment, and well-pois'd Resolutions, and therefore they never refuse the ponderosity of a good pair of Horns. Let us not trouble our selves with these Gentlemen, (replied I) for they now stand excommunicated, and quite out of His Holi∣ness's Favour: Besides that, the public Reputa∣tion which they have acquired by the management of this Affair, is sufficient to bury any other pri∣vate Ignominy that can disgrace their City.

LETTER CVIII.

From a conceited Scrivener.—'Twas di∣rected to my L—S—in Sohoe-Square.

Most Illustrious and Excellent Sir,

AS when the Sun is not seen, 'tis an Argument that he is hid by the Clouds, or else it is con∣cluded to be Night, since he is a Planet which is the Fountain of Light; a Luminary, where all Splendours originally lie conceal'd, a Biere that continually carries obscurity, not half dead, but quite extinct, which can never be robb'd of his wonted Value, nor ever defraud the Heaven of his Glory, that issues from his Sphere with a swift, ••ut pompous march; who then beholding himself in the spacious Mirror of the Sea, and fancing him∣self to be a new Narcissus, while he falls enamour'd with his own Reflection, seems to dig his own Grave in the Waves; from whence to the univer∣sal dammage of the Universe, languishing upon a Scaffold of Darkness, he wou'd be seen to bewall his own Funeral; so your Lordship may assure your self in some measure, that altho' I do not fre∣quently present my self to your Honour, with de∣monstrations of my Servitude, it does not therefore follow, that the obsequious Devotion of my Affecti∣ons is decay'd; And with this assurance, obliging your Lordship that I may not be depriv'd of your Favour, I conclude and kiss your hands.

Cursed be he (quoth Chappel) that taught this Coxcomb the way to write. He seems to me like an Ass in a Elbow Chair, with his from thence's and from hence's, reforming the impertinent Inditings of Cieco de Adria, or the writings of Zuectu. Sure (reply'd River) he should have learnt from some modern SPARK, who professes himself to be some Noble Man's Iester. I rather think (said I) that he has patch'd together a Rhapsody of Bombast, robb'd from some Old Academy of Compliments, on purpose to compound a Mishmash of Extravagancies: and perhaps may be one of those who having a high Conceit of his Parts, believes himself as learned as a Master of Art if he can but scrible over a peice of Paper. I was wont to say (cry'd Grave) of these same Sir John Lack-Latins, who have only the Gowns of Doctors, that they are Men in so many Bags, out of which there is nothing can come forth but that which is in it. What says the Proverb there∣fore most applicable to these sort of People; have a care of Buying a Pig in a Poke; that is, beware of being gull'd by the outward shews of these Pop∣doodles and Pretenders to Learning.

At this they all laugh'd, while Chappel recall'd the Curiosity of the Company to listen to a Letter that was written to a Lady, which at first dash seem'd to be endited by a Person, that had been scorn'd by his Mistress. If the Gentleman, said they, don't write like a Milk-sop; there may be wit in it—Read on.

LETTER CIX.

From a morose Gentleman, exposing the Frailties of Women. 'Twas directed to Mr. Flaquet, at the White Horse, in Little Minories.

Ingrateful,

THE Reproaches which I left behind instead of Complements at my last parting, are not sufficient: For a just Anger is not so easily to be appeas'd. My Tongue, the Harbinger of my wrong'd Affections that denounce the Resentments of my perplexed Heart, must now display it self against thee. I was unquiet in my self, that my Revenge would not permit me also the use of my hands. But in regard it is an unbecoming base∣ness to strike or hurt a Woman, I thought it ne∣cessary to comply with my self, and wound thee only with my Pen. If thou art capable of such a Wound, as being all compos'd of Rags of Infamy, and the shatter'd Reliques of Reproaches and Shame. I know thou laugh'st at my deserved Wrath: as being a Woman that never grieves, but when she weeps drops of Blood; whose usual Tears are the Distillations of Fraud, and the En∣tertainments of Dissimulation. Nevertheless, I shall rejoyce to publish the Occasion, which having render'd thy Sex abominable to me, has enforc'd me to proclaim a Palinode of Reproaches, such as thou wouldst see in the ensuing Lines, wer't thou

not as mad, as thou art void of Reason. From thy Ingratitude, the utmost Limit of wicked Habits, I have understood, that Woman has nothing of Hu∣mane about her but her Countenance, to lye tho' she never speaks, and to let us find by experience that nothing but Fraud and Deceit is to be expected from one whose face is deceit itself. She has this in common with Man, that she is of the same kind, with all appropriating to herself all manner of Be∣stiality that can be said to be in a living Creature. But as to that which differences Man from other Creatures, she has not a jot of Reason, for that without Wit or Sence she acts like a Beast, that never could pretend to Reason. In short she has no agreement with Man, but only in the Declining of Hic and Haec; to shew that you Women are only joyn'd with us, to debase our Grandeur, and in∣terrupt our Felicity.

Then again, if we look upon Sphynx's, Panthers, Tygers, and other Savage Monsters, one Woman is sufficient to sh••w us all those cruel Beasts, and the most bestial Natures living all at once in one Body. In thy Sex there is to be found no other prevailing Power but that of the Will, and that too so over∣rul'd by Passions, that it may be affi••m'd as an In∣fallible Maxim, that Woman is altogether void of Judgment. Hence, how unbridl'd in their Lust! How irregular in their Fury! there is no Medium, by Vertue of which we may infer a Conclusion of their being Humane. Or if their mute Appea∣rances, their tender Dalliances, their glozing man∣ners may give us to believe they have pilfer'd from us some seeming Signs of Humanity, their Allure∣ments ravish'd from the Siren, their frauds which they practise in imitation of other Beasts; furnish 'em with Tricks and Wiles to accomplish their Treacheries. The Pourcontrel, that changes itself

into the Colour of a Rock, the more easily to en∣snare his Prey, is not so witty as a Woman, that under the Appearance of humane Shape lays her Ginns and Traps to catch poor credulous Man.

And what is the reason that Lovers, in their actions, are necessitated to circumscribe their own Being within certain Limits which denote a Pri∣vation of the Understanding? Whence comes it to pass that they live without Law, because they are without reason▪ Deserving nevertheless, the more to be pardon'd their Miscarriages, as being mad and void of understanding. Certainly from no other cause, but for that they have the Hearts of their beloved Mistresses, by the force of an a∣morous Translation, fix'd in their own Breasts. And how indeed can it be, that having Hearts no way concern'd with intellectual Life, they should live performing acts of Reason? Miserable is that Man, who having a Woman to be his Soul, makes his own Substance obnoxious to the Qualities of Bestiality, and the Effects of Folly. 'Tis to be believ'd that she who is always practising from her Birth her natural Property of applying her self to Evil, would be sure to take the worst of the two Urns that were plac'd by the Throne of Iove, and empty it all into her Bosom. Whence com∣ing to vary the Dependence of the Intellect and Will according to the many Changes of Obsti∣nacy, while the Woman sway'd by her own disor∣derly Customs betakes her self to the worse, of necessity, the Man must approve that only which is contrary to reason.

The Seeds of Prudence which are sow'd in humane Minds, when they are scatter'd in Wo∣man, are invested with a contrary Nature so cor∣rupted, that they produce Fruits quite different

from the Original. But if the truly wise Person sits enthron'd upon a Four-square Stone, to shew the Reward of unshaken Constancy, which is the immoveable Basis of Eternity due to his Merit; the Female Sex can have no Seat among such Glo∣ries as these, a Sex so ••ickle and inconstant, that Fortune, which causes such Convulsions in the World, is clad in Female habit, to denote the Re∣semblance between that Sex and her.

But the granting in Women that Understanding, which makes it not to be deny'd, but that they have a Soul individual from our Species, obliges us to believe according to the Doctrine of Pytha∣goras, that the Understanding is our Genius, so that Woman may be call'd the Evil Genius, in op∣position to the Good Genius. And if the Title of Evil Genius be appropriated to Devils, ordain'd to disturb our Felicity, and direct us to precipices, the same may well be appropriated to Women, by whose Misguidance all Men running headlong, be∣hold their Glory and their Grandeur scatter'd in the deep Abysses, where they miserably fall. And that I may not suffer my Discourse to totter upon a weak Foundation, tell me, when it was other∣wise known, but that Women were a Moving-Hell, but too stable a Jurisdiction of Miseries and Mis∣fortunes to continue the Pains and Torments of Men.

In their Youth, if they are amiable, they tor∣ment us; if they are deformed, they annoy us; if they love, they tyrannize; if they do not love, they kill us. If they live at a distance, they pinch up and strengthen our desires; if Neighbours, they make us sensible of many Sorrows. That which renders 'em acceptable, makes 'em proud: If they have not where-withal to make 'em proud, they prove contemptible. When they are fair, they

are cruel; when ugly, lascivious: Whence it comes to pass, that he who courts 'em, languishes: He that desires 'em, weeps, plagu'd with the Im∣portunity of their Persecutions. If they are not inhumane, yet they are both haughty and covetous; and if they do not suck your Veins, they drain your Purses: And tho' they hate to be seen them∣selves, like Carkasses lying at your feet, they glo∣ry to have Men their prostrate Suppliants.

In their Old age, with a greater prejudice to Reason, they proportion the Perverseness of their Humours to the swift Progressions of Time, which hastens on restraining in the Wrinkles of their Faces, those alluring Garnishments, which per∣swaded the unwary that they were the Theat••rs of our Felicity, and the Fertile Field of our Con∣tent. As they grow farther in years, either in∣creasing the Infamies of their Profession, or else defaming more and more the Infamy of their own desires, they shew the Deformity of their Faces, only wrumpl'd up within their narrow Furrows, to reinforce and strengthen the wicked Qualities of their aged Wantonness. Being made the Em∣bassadres••es of amorous Intreague, they presently display the Profoundness of their Judgments, which being matur'd by time, gave them that honourable Imployment in the Kingdom of Debauchery. They discover by what inveterated Customs they came to purchase the Silver of their hoary Locks, to spend it in the Tribute of Dishonesty, as before they scatter'd profusely the Gold of their Am∣ber Curles. Then for their jugling Tricks, their Illusions and Superstitions, being become Cabinet Ministers in the Kingdom of the Devils, they make appear that extraordinary Merit, which readily advances them as they grow in years to

the particular Favour of such a Prince as governs those Dominions.

When together with their youthful Years they have lost those Beauties that give 'em Authority to rend and tear the Hearts of Men, they become ad∣herents to the Furies, that they may be enabled with greater force to procure the Detriment to o∣thers. And true it is, that those Circe's, Medea's, Med••sa's and Megera's, if they were not Women, were the true Images of those Resemblances which Women wear about 'em. This the Prudence of the Ancient Romans well knew; who seeing a Wo∣man appear in the public Piazza's before the Tri∣bunals, were affrighted as at the sight of some o∣minous Prodigy, and presently had recourse to the Oracle for the Remedy against so great a Terror. For that Women, being the worst of Creatures, beyond all the unhappy Auguries of Crows por∣tend no other to Men but Misery and Disaster.

I have always commended the Comparison of a Woman with a Vine: Which is only to be valu••d for its Fertility, not having any other priviledge in the World, but only to be reserv'd for the Flames; From hence it is, that a Woman while she lives, is so given to weep; perhaps, out of those Waters preparing Deluges to extinguish those Ardors, which she knows how to merit. And all this while, this aptness of your Sex to weep, is only to find a Ford of Dissimulation, where the Hardness of others may Shipwrack, or else to bring themselves to the Haven of their Desires. And I believe in Allusion to this Similitude it was, that the Romans punish'd their Citizens with Rods of Vine-Twigs, following perchance the Docu∣ments of Heaven, which to Men, the Citizens of this World, is never represented in the Act of Punishment with more cruel Scourges, then those

of these living Vines; there being no greater tor∣ment to us than our being joyn'd to a Woman. Nor can she be deny'd to be a Vine, while clasping and embracing us, as the Vine does Neighbouring-Trees, she becomes all Nets and Ropes, which only serve to bind and hamper Mankind. And therefore being a Fellow-sufferer in these Chains, she is enforc'd by necessity to procure her self a Support, that she may not remain depriv'd of all value and esteem. Unfortunate Women, who if they were not sustain'd by Man, would have no support of their own weakness, but would every moment be stumbling like blind People, into a thousand Precipices. This the Tartarian Women understood, who lookt upon the most precious Ornament which they could wear upon their Heads, to be a Dressing in the Shape of a Man's Foot, to signifie that a Woman being without Brains and void of Wit, has no greater thing to glory in, then her Subjection to Man. With the Ensigns and Marks of this Subjection, as if they had been trampl'd under feet, they honour'd the most no∣ble Part of themselves; not such Fools as others, that trick up their empty Sculls with the Treasures of a robb'd Sepulcher, laid out in Commodes and Top-knots; or else load 'em with Chains of Pearl; all sparkling with Diamonds and Rubies.

But notwithstanding all this, Ingrateful and Ty∣rannesses as they are, if they cannot obtain the Government over Man by any other means, they ••ound a haughty Command upon the Empire of Flee••ing Beauty, to subdue him under the Yoak of their indiscreet Commands. Fickle and Incon∣stant, they drag at the Tails of their imperious Wills those Hearts which by some malignant In∣fluence are oblig'd to be subject to their despiteful Rigor. 'Tis not easie to set bounds to those Re∣proaches

which Female wickedness deserves, so much the more wicked, by how much more, be∣ing vail'd under Flattering lies, and hypocritical Sincerity they betray the most Faithful Affections. From your Conversation Madam, I have learnt to confess what a scarcity there is of Accusations, Chidings, Reproaches, Brandings and ••pbraiding in the greatest Plenty that a just Provocation can invent, when a Woman is to be condemn'd. But I shall enlarge my self no farther, not that I have sufficiently satisfy'd my Anger, but because I am u••willing to keep my thoughts any longer in that Tumult and Hubbub, with which the Remem∣brance of thy Treacheries disturbs and ruines all my Quiet. I have set down the Reasons why thy Sex ought to be abhorr'd, that thou mayst be as∣sur'd of my real Intentions to hate thee. Since with that peace in thy Mind, which thy Ingratitude has left me; and may the pains be perpetual with which my Torments, tho' but short, are able to upbraid thee.

At length (said Chappel) we are come to the end of this long Bill of your Orator humbly complain∣ing sheweth, full of as many Truths, as there are Accusations against the Women. All Men (said Ri∣ver) accuse the Women, but I meet with no body that condemns 'em: they may be all well enough included in the Parable of the Adultress in the Gospel. The Reason's at hand (quoth I) for the Women have an easie way to bribe the Men, so that like corrupt Iudges they are willingly perswaded to salsifie the Sentence.

These Men (reply'd Grave) are like Cats, that hide their Excrements in the Coles. They that are the greatest Lovers of Women, hide the Miscarriages of their Amours under the Semb••ance of Wrath. Hence

it comes to pass (reply'd Chappel) that some great Men in Italy, that boast of more Authority and Wisdom then others, to avoid the being oblig'd to a rigorous Repentance for the same Error, place their Affections upon the other Sex. Go too (quoth River) let us not enter Rome, that is, not into a Discourse of Arsey Versey Love.

At the ••ame instant he cast his Eyes upon a Letter directed to Sir William—in San Marino.

LETTER CX.

Every one believe•• their Curiosity would receive here that Satisfaction which was expected. So they read on—To the Illustrious—

Here's a Mistake at the beginning (quoth Chappel) he should have wrote to the Right Worshipful—What then (reply'd River) you believe this Republic to be as proud as the Republic of Geno••a?—These plain Gentlemen, that are more concern'd in Good Husband••y, then in Ambition, and are more desirous of Rain, then Serenity. Never deride these Gentlemen (quoth I) who in their Badges equal the Roman Dictators: the one had Axes carry'd before 'em, and these carry Axes themselves to cut their Wood and lop their Trees as occasion offers. And don't you remember (reply'd Grave) certain Kings of Babylon that carry'd a Plough at the top of their

Scepters: So that every one of these Gentlemen ought to be a King; for you may see 'em holding Plough-tails every day in the Field I cannot forget, in advancement of their Grandeur (reply'd Chappel) that some of the Ancient Emperors rose from the Spade to the Scepter, from Agriculture to Sove∣reign Command. And therefore all the Ministers of this Republic ought to be acknowledg'd for Emperors, seeing 'tis a usual thing among them to go from the Plough to the Council-Chamber. They would have enlarg'd their Iokes upon this Republic of Farmers, but finding it a Letter that requir'd great hast they fall to reading of it in the following Words;

Illustrious Sir,

I Understand by a Friend of yours, that you are about to provide your self with a Pacing-Mare for the Recreation of your Youth. I therefore thought it a Debt of Friendship to write you some Instructions concerning this matter, approv'd by Experience, and dictated by Affection always de∣sirous to assist you. I suppose that this desire arises in you from the Seemliness of your Legs which inclines ye to ride in Boots, and walk arm'd with good sharp Spurs. If you have not a Leg so hand∣somly shap'd, lay aside those thoughts, for that o∣therwise your riding will be but a shame or a trouble to ye. You must never be tyr'd, and to run leaping into the Saddle is an evident Counter∣sign that you have learnt the Tricks of a good Horse-man.

To make use of a young Col••, resembles the more graceful Exercise of a young Fantastick, and has some signs of Grandeur, as being in imitation of several Persons of great worth. But the danger of being thrown, and least the Horse should get

the mastery of ye, as being untamable, and high∣metal'd, will not suffer me to perswade ye to take that course; perpetual restlesness, continual neigh∣ing, lofty prancing, and an high Trot, I number among those Qualities in riding that pay a grea∣ter tribute to Ambition than Pleasure.

Chuse a Race Nagg, of which you may make use after several manners to all your Content. A good ordinary Pace is much to be valu'd for that, if at any time, for the change of motion you desire a wracking pace, 'tis easily brought about. Have a care that your Horse be not one of those that are wont to run away with their Riders, in regard that by riding such sort of Beasts a man hazards the breaking of his Neck: You must never make use of him in a Tilt-yard, nor to run at the Ring, in regard that the prolonging a Journey of Plea∣sure is to make happy, by the privation of Incon∣venience, those Delights, which never by their good will would be at their Journeys end.

The Qualities of a good Courser I shall not re∣commend to you, as not being so well skill'd, be∣cause it would require a large description; and therefore you ought to have no other aim, but only to chuse a good Crupper, and a Horse that ambles neatly, which makes it a Pleasure to ride. Let him not be so fat, and fleshy, as that you should be afraid to gallop, for fear of seeing him weep Tears of Sweat; nor let him be so lean, as to look as if his Skin were buried in a Charnel-House: Let him be well proportion'd, and nimble, far from such a sloathfulness, that you must be forc'd to call Archimedes to Life, to give him motion, nor so nimble neither, as if he seem'd to fly in the Air upon the Wings of Crows.

Be sure you never make choice of a Pacer that has been in the Service of any great Person; for, besides that, their keeping will be more expen∣sive, you may sometimes meet in 'em the Pro∣perty of Beucephalus, who would be bestrid by no body but Alexander the Great. Some Coursers, as if they had suckt in the Ambition of the persons that rid 'em, together with their high-metal'd fierceness, love a lofty Behaviour, when others are about to back 'em. At least, I have this Prejudice against 'em, that being accustom'd to little labour, they will be denying to give that satisfaction to the desires of the present Enjoyer, which is required from them that are to be truly serviceable to their Wills.

Bear in mind the intention of making the best advantage of your Desires upon all Accidents, in whatsoever manner, or at whatever time the whim∣sie takes ye, to render 'em more delectable, and agreeable to your humour. Then, that you may have her ready for all Services, remember that she be young, yet not of such an age, that for want of being well manag'd, she shall refuse to hold the Bridle in her Mouth; I call that a Disturbance ra∣ther than a Pleasure, to be constrain'd to manage a high-me••al'd Jade, that knows no Government of Bitt, and to be forc'd to back an untam'd Col•• upon the plough'd Lands, when the desire of Ri∣ding requires the practical part it self, at that very instant, and the Fruits of that labour.

'Tis also to be consider'd, and well to be obser∣ved, what Faults she has, which tho it be difficult to do, yet Knowledge and Experience acquires an aptitude to correct those Faults, or to escape the Damage. These sort of Cattel are strangely ap∣prehensive of the Mistakes of an ignorant Rider, and generally trayl after 'em an inclination prone

to the worst. Be sure therefore never to lend your Beast to any body living, for fear of exposing your self to this hazard, and for fear of being defrauded of your pleasure, by reason that your own Beast be∣ing over ridden by another, becomes unfit for your Service. Never trust the Farriers, and such other sneaking Rascals, who are but the Brokers in sort of Horse-matches, a••d for that robbing for them∣selves, and mistaking to your loss, are the main points of their juggling Deceits. Never be fond of the ••olour, for outward appearances are delusive; in outward Beauty alwaies corrupts the Fortune of such Practices, not considering that your Beast ought to be serviceable to every thing but the Eyes. A Body well shap'd, with all the signs of strength, with assurance of youth, must be the aim of your choice, without expecting manifold ways to be de∣luded in other superfluous Qualities: Much less would I have you to be affected with a rich Saddle, or a gilded Curb, for these Ornaments are oft-times design'd to put an high price upon a Hackney J••de, and to make you swallow a bitter Pill under a gol∣den Cover.

Observe that she be free from all Windgalls, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and all other Distempers, which the more 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they lye, the more dangerous they are; ••nd these are usually most frequent where appearan∣ces otherwise beautiful allure the Sight. In short, this is a business to be wisely and warily consider'd, for when you ride, you may commit your self into the power of a Beast, that may bury ye in a Ditch, or throw ye into some Quagmire, whence you shall ••ever be able to get out agen. Remember also to moderate your riding, in regard too much riding 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a man, and brings those Diseases and In∣••••mities upon him, that deprive him of the choicest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of his substance. Tho' the Beast being vigo∣rous

and bold, will carry ye as oft as ye please, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 abstain, and consider that your Judgment ought 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be superiour to the Genius of an Animal.

Let a good Switch serve you instead of a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Command, in regard that Spurrs in the A••t 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Riding are Toys for sight, and not to gall. Let 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be your care to accustom her to understand 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Commands, to the end she may exactly 〈◊〉〈◊〉 them•• Nor is she to make no distinction 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your Jurisdiction, and the Authority of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to whom tho' she is to be in submission, yet is 〈…〉〈…〉 no claim to her Obedience. Through the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of observing this Document, it comes to pass, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 some of these Creatures being at the will and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the Servant, will kick and winch at the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Lastly, be sure to keep your Beast mild and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 there lying the center of that Liberty of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you are to make your advantage to your 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Upon every motion of your Hand, whenever 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ride, make her know how to turn, gallop, stop, ••••vance, and retire without bounding or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 carrying her Head low; let her also walk 〈◊〉〈◊〉 were blindfold. And thus you must teach 〈◊〉〈◊〉 observe your Commands, of which the Bridle 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be your Interpreter.

Dear Friend, if ever you intend to lay out 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mony well, you must observe these Instructi•••••• For my part, I desire only that the sincerity of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Affections may find that Credit with you which deserves. However, I expect that your 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will give 'em that reception which is their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and so most affectionately I kiss your Hands.

He shews himself (quoth Chappel) to have ••∣xperience in Horsemanship, and therefore of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 must have applyed himself very young to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉

No question (replied River) but he enter'd the tilting place very young, and so might have an oppor∣tunity to learn those Qualities which he describes, as far as the Masters of the Art requir'd it from him. In my Opinion (replied Grave) he is short in one thing, That he does not teach the manner of Riding, by tea∣ching the necessity of keeping the Bitt firm in the Mouth of the Beast which he rides, the time when to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him give a spring forward, to try his Metal, the proportion and distance which he ought to ob∣serve in carrying his Legs, neither so close as to make him cut, nor so wide as to render his Going unsightly. He also should have taught his Scholar, when he met with a capricious Horse, how to make him carry his Tail and his Head, bend his Crest, and raise his Crup∣••••••. No more, no more, (said I) for the Lecture by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by will enlarge it self beyond the Doctrine of the letter.

But another Letter, accompanied with a lit∣tle Box wrapp'd up in a Cloth, set 'em all a tiptoe. They thought at first they had been Jewels, but that suspicion was soon remov'd by the slightness of the Boxes be∣ing put up, but the Paper undeceiv'd 'em, and shew'd 'em the substance of the Let∣ter; which was as follows.

LETTER CXI.

In defence of Cuckolds. 'Twas directed 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mr. Remford, at his House in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 This deliver with speed.

Honour'd Sir,

YOur being in such a heat against the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 well-meaning Gentleman that makes his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 common, affords me an occasion to stand up 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his defence. I know I shall be laught at, and ••••••haps acquire to my self a Title of The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Advocate; however, this will be my honour, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I shall have Clients generally over all the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and be in a post wherein I may be able to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my Friends. Besides that, contrary to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of other Advocates, to flea their Clients, I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 have the advantage of giving 'em Horns to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Skins. And, to say Truth, I know not by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Law this Dishonour is enacted, only grounded 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on the Humor of the Vulgar, and an 〈◊〉〈◊〉 proper to Lovers, that are jealous to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which they possess. Love, being always afraid 〈◊〉〈◊〉 losing the pleasing Object, has oppos'd this Pre∣tence, as a Rampler against whoever pretends 〈◊〉〈◊〉 usurp it, or at least to communicate it: Now is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 person, remarkable for his Learning, or his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be subjected to the will of a young 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Boy, or is he to second the Fears of a disarmed 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Permit that poorness of Spirit to young 〈◊〉〈◊〉

••ho being tyranniz'd over by this Passion, make a ••oman their Idol, and that they may have her in∣••••parable, so as to adhere to no body else, chain 〈◊〉〈◊〉 up with these Fetters of Honour. And let 'em 〈◊〉〈◊〉 use of that lye, to prove retiredness necessary 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a Woman, that she may not assume to her self 〈◊〉〈◊〉 lawless Pride, to refuse both Bridle and Yoak, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 may be reduced by the terror of Disgrace, with∣•••• the Hands of due subjection.

Moreover, he is a noble and couragious Person, ••ho knows how to encline a Woman to his Will, ••ho falls in love with a Woman, but not so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as to break his Neck for her, and omits 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vain Ceremonies, which oblige him to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his Reputation in a frail Woman, which the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 knock breaks presently to pieces. Every time 〈◊〉〈◊〉 upon the Truth of this, I cannot but 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Folly of him that set up this for a Law, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 laugh at the Simplicity of him who put it first 〈◊〉〈◊〉 execution.

And where was it ever taught, that the Goods of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Mind had any dependance upon the corporeal 〈◊〉〈◊〉, whereas the contrary should rather be true? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it self, as a Virtue, has no relation to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the Members, though there be a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of their being both together. Shall only 〈◊〉〈◊〉 then be conjoyn'd with the Body, and with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Body, as is that of a Worm, and to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of a Gem so precious as that, in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and Dirt of a filthy Morasse.

Your Goats, from whose natural Properties the Title of Cuckolds was translated to married men, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 suffer their Wives to be freely enjoy'd by others, as those Creatures leave their Females at 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to copulate with others of different kinds; and receiv'd this Precept from a tameness of Na∣ture, which is practis'd in the Simplicity of Lambs.

Incapable of anger▪ they deny it to be a true in∣centive to Wrath, for them to see another usurp that which is common and which being u••urp'd, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 far from being lost. Shall it be judg'd a Dishonour to imitate a Mildness celebrated by all Authors, and to be like a Creature taken universally for the Sym∣bol of Perfection. And why did Nature priviledge that Creature, by granting that Virtue only to the Blood of a Goat; but because she would reward the best disposition of Creatures with a singular Fa∣culty, to make him superior to the most precious of her Works?

If any object, that there is a great difference in the comparison, by reason of the Ties of Matrimo∣ny, between Man and Woman, whereas there are no such things among Beasts, the points of Disho∣nour are then reduced to breach of Faith, and the prejudice of interchangeable Obligation: But i•• that hold true, 'twill be a Dishonour also 〈…〉〈…〉 Adulterer's part, who lies with a Woman, in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the conjugal Duty; and then this sort of ••••∣proach would be universal in the World, especially among Rioto••s men, seeing there are very few 〈◊〉〈◊〉 observe their Words, or maintain the reality 〈◊〉〈◊〉 their Promises.

Upon this consideration the divine Law-giv•••• made the Crime equal, as well in reference to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Man as the Woman, the Crime being alike, so long as the transgression of a Duty which is equal is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 same. Men perhaps in this particular imitate your Grandees, who deny submission to the Law, de••••∣ing to be subj••ct to this Law of Dishonour, as su••••∣riour to Women, by whom it was enacted. W••∣men therefore, as they condemn this Opinion, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 relation to Princes, so they reject it in the partic••∣lar of married men. Hence it follows, that not be∣ing under any Obligation, they shew the Law to be

vain, in regard that partial or particular Laws ne∣ver oblige in common Interests. Thus the Lawyers determin it, by whom a Woman is acquitted, tho' married, that meerly for Love surrenders her Body to another. An evident consequence, which re∣moves those rigorous Impositions of Scandal from marry'd men, who permit that liberty, since no 〈◊〉〈◊〉 can be absolv'd, to the prejudice of the Party ••nterested. And therefore I would not have you be so rigorous in condemning your Friend, very ••••dicious in not contending always to keep the Key•• of his Wives Lock, for fear her Reputation should 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a gadding. Nor would a man be willing al∣ways to be breaking his Brains to chain up the free will of his Wife, which, as some Opinions hold, has a free dispensation from above. By my Faith, I ••••ould always chuse to converse with Gentlemen of this humour, and should profess my self to be their humble Servant. He that has any Sence, is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this opinion; and he that will live without di∣••••bance, confirms the same by Experience, imi∣••••••ing those great men, who are the Exemplars of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and happy Life. He that cannot bring his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to conform to this opinion, let him forbear ••••rylng: Nor let him be a Slave to the Humour of the blind Vulgar, which when they undertake to b•• your Guides, lead ye into Precipices. If you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not satisfied with my Reasons, excuse the ••••akness of my Wit, and the misfortune of a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, which cannot be made publick, because 〈◊〉〈◊〉 men are so blind, as not to see it. Excuse my 〈◊〉〈◊〉, in presuming to contradict ye, and when 〈◊〉〈◊〉 acknowledge this Boldness to be an Effect of ••y Confidence, assure your self, that as I preserve 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Memory of your Favour to confide in it, so it is my Care to maintain my Obligations. In con∣formity

to which, being desirous to serve ye, I shall attend your farther Commands.

This man's Doctrine (said Chappel) has many Disciples, as being practis'd chiefly in the most re∣markable Cities. Much good may't do him (re∣plied I) who has a Head that is able to bear the weight of his Horns, without complaining.

So they left this Subject, as being too hard, and difficult to be argued, and took a new Field, wherein to expatiate with more Delight.

LETTER CXII.

From a Lady that disswades her Friend from the Love of Men. 'Twas directed to Madam Emet, at her House in Chel∣sea: This deliver with Care, and Speed.

Dear Madam,

YOur Confidence in entrusting me with your amorous Intrigues, with such a Gentleman, invites me by way of a friendly Revenge, to confide in you, that we may be at liberty to reprove your Affections. Good God!—What yearnings of Compassion have accompanied the certainty of this your Misfortune. The Impulses of my Friendship hurried me to forbode ye any other condition, though miserable, than that of a Lover. A Wo∣man bewitch'd to a Man, is a voluntary Prisoner in 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a kind of Hell, whom the Tyranny of Torments 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and rend with so much the more despightful torture, by how much the Heart of a Woman is most soft and tender. Our Dalliances avail not to bend the harden'd haughtiness of an indiscreet Pride. Our enticing Alurements are despised by Petrified Hearts, and impenetrable to the Impres∣••ons of amorous Passion. With Souls of Ada∣mant they correspond with our Lives, encount'ring our Affections with peevish and wayward Scorn. And have you admitted the Frauds of an amorous

Appearance of an assiduous Courtship, or an affe∣ctionate Assignation, which however he avoids? Silly Belief, to which we bow our Understandings! as if our Desires were made plyable by our natural Tenderness▪ Unhappy she, that subjects her mind to an humble Salute, to a simpering Lip, opens her Heart to a Glance that represents Dissemble-adora∣tion, and authorizes petty Favours to oblige her•• Miserable we, in whom the Pleasures we afford are only belov'd! those Delights which Nature has de∣posited in us, to the end we might not be more shamefully contemn'd by these ingrateful Wretche••, who love, who serve, who idolize, but at the very moment that their fleeting Pleasures terminate, put an end to the ostentation of their Affection, and have no other Aim, but the hopes of Enjoyment, at the instant that they begin to enjoy. Shall a Woman then submit her self to amorous Cares, torment her self to meet the Genius of a Man, grant him the Empire of a coelestial Beauty, when at the very point of knitting the Knot of all Content∣ments, it comes to be unloos'd, and all her Pleasures are precipitated, when you would think 'em conso∣lidated by Embraces.

If she entertains a man as a Lover, she embra•••••• a Tyrant; if she receives him as a Husband, he be∣comes an individual Hangman. The Miscarriages with which they refuse not to give entrance to the satisfaction of their Desires, carry a Trumpet before 'em, which sounding a Retreat to our Reputation, serves only to publish our Ignominy. They ascribe to themselves, as a Glory, wicked Imps as they are, to have triumph'd over us with their Fictions. They openly vaunt, to have set up their Standards in our Fields, and to have ravish'd from us the Ensigns of our Honour. And not content to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it with these Trophies, they proclaim themselves

happy in the opportunities of humbling the Ma∣jesty of our Deserts, characteriz'd with particular marks of Divinities which they call haughty superb∣ness: They think to register an Act worthy▪ the Memorials of Eternity, when breaking both their Oaths and Promises, they betray us; or when lay∣ing aside all Humanity, they use us worse than B••utes. They call Inconstancy a Virtue; the change of Affections they dignifie with the Title of Pru∣dence, and preach it up for a Resolution proceeding from great Judgment, to treat us with all manner of Scorn and Contempt. He is boasted to be a man of great Wisdom, who knows how to tyrannize over us with the rigor of his Commands; and he is cried up for a man of great Honour, who for one fault, and that many times imagin'd only, resolves to murder us.

Can there be any Lady so simple to resign her self to the Indiscretion of a man, who by the per∣verseness of such Maxims, gives us but too clearly to understand how corrupt his Sentiments are? And you, dear Friend, will you destroy your own Heart, to make a Sacrifice of it to a man that shall feign a superlative love of your Person, till he comes to enjoy ye? Undeceive your self, dear Friend, by reflecting upon those Epithetes with which those Imps are wont to abuse the Dignity of our Sex. Consider that they are only a reassumption of those Attributes, which punctually describe their own Customs. Consider whether it be convenient to c••ress a Tyger, to look upon a Basilisk, and love a Harpye. Lay aside that amorous Heart, observing by the Rule of these considerations, how much it behoves us to be perfect Rocks, that we may be proof against the painful bitings of those wild Beasts. Avoid their Snares by the flight of Liber∣ty, considering the nature of those Nets, wherein

when once we are taken, we fall into a fellow-suffe∣ring of all Miseries. Let these Perswasions, dear Friend, suffice, to raise within ye those Thoughts by which the Customs of Men will be represented to your mind, ready to court, obsequious in their veneration, affectionate in wantonizing and dalli∣ance, but so much the more impious to betray us. I should take it for a singular good Fortune, if your mind, being infertiliz'd with such good Documents as these, should bring forth a Resolution never to save, by which you would reap the advantage of escaping those Torments that must attend the con∣tinuance of these Amours. Heaven 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you this Felicity, and me the Favour of being 〈◊〉〈◊〉 way assi∣stant to your content.

Would to Heaven (said River) that her Desires might be fulfilled, that there might not be a loving Woman to be found, by which means Mankind no longer would be subject to those Precipices into which they hurry our Reputations. I don't applaud your Wishes (replied I) since Man would be depriv'd of one of the chief Contents which he enjoys, in causing a Lady that loves him to languish.

Chappel, who was in Love himself, was not pleas'd with these Discoures, and there∣fore interrupted their prattle, by opening another Letter, which they found written to this purpose.

LETTER CXIII.

Relating the Qu••lities of the Venetian Curtesans. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 directed to Mr. Biscol, at the Horse-shoe, in Wood-street, London.

Honour'd Sir,

I Was lately at Venice, where the Curiosity of ma∣ny delights detain'd me. I shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 relate the Particulars of a City so much exalted by public Fame, and celebrated with so many singular Titles over all the World. The great Plenty of Enjoy∣ments entangles every Heart; so that you must of necessity unloosen your l'urstrings, to wid'n the streightness of these T••amels. I was a Novice in the Knowledge of these Delights, but soon grew old, adhering to the Experience of him that in a few days accustoms himself to a well-grounded Practise. And this is a Point of great Felicity, that your Amours are begun and ended at the same time without any long Cares, embitter'd with the Hardships of a tedious Servitude. The great number of Curtesans is the reason that Women, as they deserve, are treated like Beasts, while among ma∣ny, she is only made choice of that most pleases. 'Tis a Content not a little to be valu'd, that a Man may find of a suddain, when his Appetite serves, a Bank to stop the Fury of his Desires. The Price has its bounds; a Condition which greatly facilitates the putting forward the Key of the

Work. There are Wares of all Prizes, and every one may proportion his expences as he pleases himself; then only greatest, when a Man lays out for a piece of Cloth, that is a like on both sides, and may be turn'd every way without any prejudice to the Nap. The Graces, the Dalliances, the Ca∣resses of these Women are not imitated in any o∣ther place. They are Mistresses of the true Art of framing amorous Sweetnesses, having all the Rules of Motion, as well streight as oblique, enough to make their Lovers believe themselves in Heaven, where Motion occasions the delightful Harmony of the Spheres. They suffer no part of their Bodies to lie idle, roiling all their principal Members to multiply Pleasures. You never meet here with the least Hair of the Beard, it being their care to take away all roughness that may offend the Delicacy of such a Pleasure. And their curiosity is admirable in cleansing the Streets, to the end they may not be ••oul'd and worn out by frequent Concourse. In a word, he that loves sport, let him study to ad∣vantage his desires where his lascivious Itch may transport him, and never complain of his want of Satisfaction, which exceeds as much as can be desir'd.

On the other ••ide, you must be well inform'd of the Frauds, Treacheries, Diseases, which in great abundance overload with continual Vexation those that suffer themselves to be too far hamper'd in their Intreagues. The Pestilence is Health in re∣spect of their Blains and Bubo's, which they pre∣sent as the Tokens of their Love, and for Fairings to those that enjoy 'em. They have a Custom to ••aint; and let that suffice to inform ye what de∣lusive appearances they are when they willingly transform themselves into Pictures. Take notice also how like rotten Sepulchers within side they

whiten and varnish over the outside, to make them∣selves appear like Mausoleums; to the end that be∣ing betray'd by the outward appearance, you may not behold the Terror of that Horridness within.

There is no voraciousness comparable to their rav'nous Avarice; and they pick your Bones with such a Softness of Caresses, that fools, after they have nothing left 'em but their Bones, resign their Marrow to 'em also. They have the true Touchstone to know at first sight a credulous Gull, or a Giddy-headed Fool; and they lose no opportunity to get the Coxcombs into the Cage, whom become the sport of any that will riot at their cost. Presently they empty their Chests, pull down the Hangings, hide their Money, bury their fine Cloaths, to in∣troduce the Face of a Counterfeit Poverty, on pur∣pose to move Widgions to Compassion. This is the Custom of the fairest or most fantastical, who knowing their power to bind a Man, believe they can make a good prize of him when they have him in their Nets Others quite of another humour, make a general Sack of the Iews Trippery, to cloath themselves and furnish their Houses, for which they pay the Interest of greater Miseries. By that means they set a value upon the defect of those Talents, which make a Woman to be e∣steem'd, in hopes to exact a greater price, upon the Advantages of their Gaudery. Nor do they fa••l to make use of Liberality by way of Traffic for greater gain, casting a golden Hook to catch a more considerable Prey; tho' many times they are deceiv'd like the Country-man who let his Spade fall in the Water, that so it might be turn'd into Gold. Then, let the Tribute of Praise be given to them that deserve it; since it cannot be deny'd, but that there is an excess of graceful Manners, genteel Carriage, and noble Converse, in such as

maintain a principal Post in this Science. They have those Qualities which may be desirable in a Lady of far greater worth, and a fit March for a Prince. Their Pride is Majestic, but not Superior, their genteel Demeanor ravishes, and obliges to give, tho many times they have no intention to receive. In short, Love may be said to have been born at Venice, strengthen'd by the Multitude of most beautiful Venus's that nourish him in that City. For my part I know not where a Man can better fix his Scepter to take possession of pleasing Contentments. He may extend the Dominion of his amorous Joys, for that the Vassalage of Love is there very great; where, tho' not in many yet in one successively, good Qualities may be enjoy'd in heaps, such as may give our Appetites sufficient cause of Triumph. Excuse the Vehemence of my Affection which has permitted my Pen perhaps to take too long a flight. This Information may serve you to make choice of any pleasure, when you re∣solve to visit that delicious Paradise, where the Darts of Love make a Nest of Tenderness, but ne∣ver pierce the Breast to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it. A Hand full of Gold, is a remedy for every wound, with which those Coelestial Beauties can afflict the Heart. If you want any other Advertisements to direct ye to your pleasures, as I am covetous of your Feli∣city, I shall not fail in my Duty to serve ye, in Conformity to which I most earnestly wait for the Opportunity.

The Inditer of this Letter (said Grave) has not practis'd the Delights of Rome: For then he would have retracted the high Encomiums which he gives to the Enjoyments of Venice. His simplicity (said River) will not admit into the Roll of true Delights, those unbeseeming Pleasures, which are there made use of. In good Faith (reply'd Chappel) they play with the same Cards in both Cities, tho' the Game be more honourable in Rome; by reason of the Quality of the Persons that play at it. This is a Subject (said I) worn too thread-bare, and too obnoxious to the vulgar Proverb, the more you rake in a Dunghill,—and so saying he broke open the following Letter.

LETTER CXIV.

Of Impertinences to the Purpose. 'Twas directed to Mr. Kaford, Merchant, in London.

Honour'd Sir,

Padua, Iune 92.

A Sna••l coming Post t'other day from the King of Transilvania, gave an Occasion for several Discourses. He brought along with him a great Pormanteau full of Shadows and Chimera's, a pre∣sent, usually sent to him, who having an empty Scull, builds Castles of imaginary Grandeur in the Air. He had a Box full of smoaky Thoughts,

which drew tears from the Eyes of him that held his Nose over 'em. And this was said to be part of the Mind of some Grandee, who was always forming of Engines, to the prejudice of those that liv'd nere him. He had in a Girdle certain Drams, which were those, for want of which to make good weight, the Goldsmiths and Pothecaries accomplish their Thieveries. The Courier said, there was a great Chest of Ounces and Pounds, in reference to other Merchants; but that it was left behind, through the great Concourse of those who were ambitious to usurp the greatest part. No other∣wise, as he inform'd us, it had befallen a great Load of Violences, Rapines and Cruelty put in practise by Tyrannic Princes; Wares which he had put off in his Journey, being impor∣tun'd on ever side by Tyrants or their Ministers. He reserv'd to himself a bag of Cucumbers for the principal Cities of Italy, where are a great num∣ber of ignorant Dunces that are extreamly delight∣ed with their ra••••e, and therefore have 'em serv'd to their Tables for Salates. There, he also ex∣pected to be a great gainer by certain Pills made of Wind, as there are many who from Ambition seek both their Nourishment and Physic, pu••t up with nothing else but the pleasing Gales of Pride and Ostentation. He had a good Trade among some of our People for salted Eagles, very de∣lightful to those that exercise their Taloons in ra∣vishing Gammeds. Of no less advantage to him was a Bag of Wolves Teeth pickled in Vinegar, good against the Corruptions of our Age, being of great use to soften the Cruelty of those that with a spightful Voraciousness devour all before 'em. He was also very sorry that he had not kept some in∣visible Horns for our Countries, excusing himself through the necessity that constrain'd him to leave

'em in Germany. He had not as yet unty'd a Bun∣dle of Voices that were bound up very hard with Sin and Cords, which were the Bowels of some that under distress and oppression, suffer them∣selves to be disbowell'd rather then break out into loud Complaints of their Torments; as being pla∣gu'd by great Personages, and therefore choosing to die in silence. He had some Yards of Linnen-Cloth made of the Fibers of Parrots Tongues, which was to make Collar-Bands for some that with the Ostentation of their Prittle-prattle appear Fortunate; especially in Courts, where Parasites, Comedians, Musicians and others of the same Ca∣naglia, meet with most lucky Hits. He had like∣wise a piece of Cloth both sides alike, that was wov'n with the Hair of a Bufalo's Nostrils; It was to make Habits of great value for Flatterers, to wear either side outermost, and to be always ser∣viceable to the Humour of the Prince. Above all, he was in hopes to vend a great number of Basi∣lisks Kye-brows, since he was sure all the Ladies would buy 'em up to make Vails for their own Eyes. In like manner he thought some Ribs of Grashoppers would be acceptable to many, whose Brains are full of those skipping Animals, to cause a Spring in their own Meadows. Four Teeth of a Flea, were reserv'd for a malicious Inhabitant somewhere, who delighted to bite undiscover'd. They would have had 'em to have been kept in this City, where there was no want of Persons of the same Humour. But he excus'd his refusal, for that they were sent to a particular Person, af∣firming that he could have sold 'em in several places, and could hardly preserve 'em from the greedy Clutches of the Grandees, whose Custom it is privately to suck the Blood of others. He was very sorry he had not made a good Provision of

Eels Marrow, for some that have a Humour to fetch Water out of Stones, and to extract Sub∣stance out of nothing. I would not have exceed∣ed the Bounds of Conciseness necessary in a Let∣ter, but I was willing to give your Worship a pun∣ctual Accompt of what the Snail brought with him. Upon your arrival in this place, which will be sud∣dainly, when you go to the common Post-Office you will be better inform'd of the Wonders I have related. In some little Boxes of most accurate Frauds, superfine Knaveries, cloak'd Treacheries, painted Fictions, wicked Hypocrisies, vilanous Cu∣stoms, he has bundles of great value which he in∣tends to open in this City, where such Gallantries are in great Esteem. I wish you may not be in∣toxicated with certain Capriccio's and cursed Plagues so neatly interwoven, that their Attractive∣ness render's 'em desirable. Those are the Gran∣deurs of Col••s, and the Beauties of Women, in which while we outwardly put our trust the ha∣zard of our Sins and Estates, we plunge our selves into Misfortunes, and procure our own Deaths. Nor be inamour'd of some little Stations, built in the Air, at the request of him that with a haughty Ostentation vaunts himself in a high Post. Since both the Habitation and the Inhabitant, will un∣expectedly become the Sport of the Wind, and the Game will end in an utter downfal. Your prudence has no need of farther warning; and I am oblig'd at length to put an end to this Dis∣course.

The greatest Extravagance that I find in this Let∣ter (said Grave) is that the Writer made choice of a Snail for the Post, at a time, when the wisest Men set their Extravagancies a flying as swift as Pigeons. In regard he was to make manifest certain Truths, tho' under disguise (reply'd the Marquiss) he could not will make use of any other Courier then a Snail, for that Truth can walk no other then a slow pace in the World, being persecuted as it is by the Grandees. For this reason (reply'd Chappel) it behov'd the In∣diter of this Letter to fain himself a Fool, that not being fit that others should discover the Truth; and for Men of Iudgment, they lie under an Obliga∣tion to conceal it, for fear of precipitating themselves into the Indignation of Tyrant Princes. In confor∣mity to this, 'tis convenient that all honest Men should in imitation of Snails, walk under a good Shield, and have a hole to retire into, and preserve themselves from those rubs with which they frequently m••et, notwithstanding the slowness of their pace through the Maturity of their Wisdom. By Vertue of this Comparison, merily (said River) twould be as convenient that all Men should have Horns. 'Twould be no great Burthen (said I) to carry such a small Proportion; but what said the Philosophers, Every like is not to run upon four Feet: Which agrees so much the more directly with my Comparison; because a Snail neither runs; and is so far from having four 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that it has none at all. 'Tis fit (said Chappel) that a Letter of Impertinences should conclude with an Impertinence: And therefore having paid the Gen∣tleman his Debt, let 〈◊〉〈◊〉 proceed to some new Matter: And so saying he open'd the following Letter.

LETTER CXV.

Being an amorous Letter of a Lady. 'Twas directed to Mr. Parmed, at his House in Queen-street.

My dear Heart,

I Am confounded when I consider the Sinister Fame, which has acquired to our Sex the Frauds of many Women, who with their Treache∣ries discredit the Sincerity of others. I am afraid, that by comparing me with other Women, you judge me a Dissembler in my Affection toward ye, which denies me the Felicity of that mutual Ex∣change from your self which the Ardor of my Love requires. Good God! Preserve me Heav'n, from so great Misfortune. I will sooner not only to be a Woman, but to be at all then prejudice my desire of being belov'd. If I cannot separate from the Degree of Woman the Imagination of Frauds and Treachery, I will deprive my self Life, for ever to abandon those Conditions, by which being made an unfortunate Lover, I shall become more miserable then the Damned. Beware, my only Joy, of giving way to Ingratitude or Cruelty, un∣der pretence of such a Belief, otherwise unjust, while in the Purity of a faithful Mind common Failings may easily be discover'd to be quite abo∣lish'd. Your Countenance may convince you, that

Treacheries are far remote from her that adores ye▪ to sacrilegious, when they shall offend the Divinity of that fair Person, for whose sake that Woman must be without a Soul, that presumes to live and yet despise you. By how much the less frequent, by so much the more valuable is the Love of a Woman, proportionable to the Objects that enhaunce the Price, for want of Number. Who∣ever loves, can never fancy a Beauty which can∣not be belov'd. I deem you unapt to conceive the Vehemency of my Passions, which by labour∣ing in the Contemplation of your Countenance, turn about my Soul to admire the Perfection of all substantial Beings. Assure your self this Love cannot be Female, that is to say inconstant, which has for the Basis of it a Firmament of Stars; such as are your Coelestial Beauties. The Affecti∣on cannot be corrupted or consum'd, which has for the Seat of it, the Heaven of your Face, and for the Sphere wherein it moves, the Light of your Vertue. Resolve then not to make me de∣spair of my Contentments, while you have reason to hope for all the Satisfaction you can desire for imploying the Ornaments of your Mind in loving me. To which I would oblige ye under the pretence of a Debt, with which the Fervency of my Soul engages ye to a mutual Correspondence, while it destroys itself in adoring ye. But I know a divine Object cannot be obliged, nor the greatness of your Merit be bound but with a Duty of Charity a∣greeable to my Torments. From that it is, that I beg the Cure of my Wounds, which as they were inflicted by the Rays of your Beauty, so must they be heal'd by the Excess of your Generosity.

This Letter (said Chappel) requires an Authen∣tic Testimony to confirm the Truth of what the Lady writes. Otherwise it is hard to believe so much Love in a Woman. As if the Vice of an un∣bridl'd Passion (reply'd River) were not usual in a Woman, as well as any other Failing that is pro∣per to the Sex. Whoever condemns Love (reply'd I) gives us marks of more irregular Affections; those îdle Notes, wherewith our Minds compose the rest∣lesness of our various Thoughts and Wills, not bet∣ter concerting in any other sort of Harmony. I understand ye (said Grave) smiling, and I am well aware, that while you call Love Harmony, you have an Eye upon the Spheres, whose Harmony in Heav'n is the most perfect of any other upon Earth.

But Chappel interrupted their Discourse, by open∣ing and reading the following Letter.

LETTER CXVI.

Of a Mother that gives Documents to her Daughter. 'Twas directed to Mrs. T—at the Crown Coffee-house, near the Blew-Cross in Venice.

Dear Daughter,

London, Iune 1692.

•• Have endur'd your absence, since you departed from 〈◊〉〈◊〉 this City in the Company of the Gentleman your ••ervant, with a Reinforcement of lucky Hope, from ••hence I promis'd my self a great Advancement of ••our Fortunes. I assur'd my self, that the place where ••ou are, is a very good place to vend those Wares ••hich you have to put off. The great number of ••raders of your Sex, avails not now to bring down ••he price of the Commodity, but by the multitude 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Examples to teach the best Rules, which 〈◊〉〈◊〉 well observ'd, you can never go amiss. And ••herefore I cannot but wonder to hear the Affairs 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your Shop go ill, knowing you, upon other oc∣••asions to be a Woman of Judgment, so well-bred, ••nd so well-condition'd, that I could not fear but 〈◊〉〈◊〉 all your Imployments would meet with good ••ortune. I also lookt upon it as a farther good 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that you were come of a hopeful Stock, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whence your two Sisters, and I your Mother 〈◊〉〈◊〉 descended, have acquir'd great Reputation 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Applause for deserving in our Profession; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whence I could never suspect that your pro∣••esses would in the least degenerate. I fear me

these Prejudices arise from your not observing the Precepts of the Art, which ought to be so much the more accurately taken notice of, in regard the Conditions of this Trade are variously regulated by several others. The Wares which you sell are al∣ways the same, and therefore it behoves ye to be Industrious to supply the want of that Variety, which is the only attractive of humane Content. The Methods also which you are to make use of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your advantage, are likewise still the same without any alteration: And therefore 'tis a difficult thing to satisfie all People; while various humours covet, some more, some less. Let it be your care not to be so reserv'd, that others may have reason to com∣plain of their Bargaining with you, nor so prodigal as to traffic to your loss. A moderate Post will be more successful for you, it not being convenient for you to be defective in that rigorous strictness, with which you would have encounter'd a Man upon your first setting up. The making good measure is no Precept for your Trade; wherein the more pinching you are, the more you will encrease your Gains. Be sure to lay open always two Bundles; the one of which being publickly laid upon the Stall, may serve for ordinary Persons that have but little Money to spend. The other you are not to produce, but after many Intreaties, which assuring you of a covetous and imperuous desire, may se∣cure you your own price. To great Persons who know the value of the Ware, and have where-withal to pay, present your Bundle freely; for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the profit will be greater, and the Risco less. To vulgar People, or such as have no Judgment, and know not the Price of such Counterband Goods, offer such Cloth as uses to lie upon the Stall for shew. However let both the one and the other be well kept, so that whoever Trafficks with you may

not be offended with the sight of nothing but Moths and Worms. And therefore you must always keep your Shop clean and neat, not so much as suf∣fering a Spider's Web in the Room to accuse ye of Slut•• corners. Let no Fools or Simpletons scape ye, if you find they have Money in their Pockets, for they are easily drawn in, and coax'd with good words, so that you may squeeze 'em at your plea∣sure. Use 'em tenderly, and have a particular piece of Dalliance for them, being a sort of Fish, that deserve a golden Hook. Banish all your Swash∣bucklers in fine Cloaths, who carrying all they have about 'em in spruce Habit, a lascivious Countenance, and a lofty Behaviour, display their whole Riches at once, within their Plumes of Feathers are up∣on the Wing together with their Brains; and their Purses so light, that they may ride upon the Wind. They are very expensive in Prittle-prattle, that dis∣solves into Air, but affords nourishment to those that hear it. That's no Coin for you, Daughter, who are not to be so foolish in keeping your Fist close, as if ye had lit upon a good Prey, when you have nothing in your hand. There follows also another prejudice, that they taking up so much room in your Shop, hinder others that would be more profitable, and perhaps would be trading with you in private. Only you may endure such a piece of impertinent Opportunity in a Person of Quality who tho' he spends nothing, yet brings Reputati∣on to your Shop. Many Widgeons run to the Net, when they find Persons of Quality fallen into the same Snares. When you meet such Persons, cry up your good Fortune, for Ambition joyn'd with Lasciviousness is a greater provocative to Expence. As to what remains, dismiss every body with a chearful Countenance at their go••••g out of your Shop, after they have bought your Commodity:

making choice of them only whom you know you can fleece. You are oblig'd to kind and curteou•• Expressions, but always the Rules of Interest are to be preferr'd. Humble your self according to the humour of all your Customers, with amorous and winning Behaviour, but not so as to fall with a slight push. Let your Friendship persist, as they say, Vsque adaras. This Altar is to be your Bed; to which when you come to conclude your Bar∣gain, then laying aside all Courtesie, stand upon the Rigor of your Contract. Let no body stir out of your Shop till he has paid his Money. For that your Trade will not permit ye to trust. You may do well to keep some body in your Shop to carry on your Trade in your absence, that so you may not lose that sort of Pride, which is in some mea∣sure requisite to keep up your Calling, by stooping to some abject forms of dealing that betray the Poverty of the Shopkeeper. To which purpose you may keep a brisk Journey-woman, the sight of whose Looks, will be as good as a Hook to catch several Chance-customers. But let her not Trade upon her own accompt by no means: For that were the way to break in such a City as this. E∣very one would be offering her his Stock to trade withal, so that in a short time she would be able to set up for herself, and get away all your Custom. I remember no more at present that I can add to help forward the good Success of your Trade. The Experience of the Country, and Knowledge of those that trade are two Points from whence you may draw Instructions to carry on your own Trade, by treading the Steps of common Custom. In your Shop are bought and sold delightful Commo∣dities; and the variety of Pleasures varies also the Price. The Hook ought to be thrown with much Artifice, and tho' it sometim••s returns back empty,

you are not therefore to drown your self by run∣ning violently to catch the Fish that does not swal∣low the Bate willingly. Have a care of holding the Angling-Rod too long in your Hand, for fear of be∣ing pull'd to the bottom by some Fish, much stronger than your self, through the Power of Love. Avoid this Rock, the only cause of Shipwrack to those that scowre the Seas of Lasciviousness to find the Heaven of Gain. Be sure to hold the Helm strait, but-like good Pilots, put it behind your Shoulders, valuing it no otherwise then as a thing which you may easily turn between the Legs, ha∣ving your Mind fix'd upon other Objects, but more especially upon the Compass of the Purse that guides ye to the Light of the Gold, and the North-Star of Interest; that so you may make a fortunate Voyage. If in conformity to my Counsels and Desires you advance your Fortunes, I am resolv'd to come and comfort my decrepit Years with the fight of your Grandeur. In the mean while Hea∣ven showre down upon you those favourable Influ∣ences that may prosper all your Endeavours.

Most excellent Education of a Mother! (said Chap∣pel.) 'Tis the Priviledge of our Age (reply'd the Count) that wickedness is ingrafted into the Chil∣dren by the Parents themselves. However it was superfluous to send such Instructions to Venice (reply'd River) where there are not wanting Masters of Vice. You imagine there a multitude of Masters (said I) knowing that 'tis one of the Pastimes of the Gran∣dees, to keep Boys; and almost all of them teach A∣bomination. 'Tis very true (reply'd Chappel) since the number of the Iesuites Colledges encrease the num∣ber of the Schools, and such sort of Masters are very common. If you enter under the Discipline of those

Masters, you must be towring among such high No∣tions, as if you were always turning about the Spheres. Certainly you ought to fear least your Post should be prepossest; for those ascents are en∣vy'd to all others but themselves, tho' wrongfully, in regard the Spheres are in Common, and for pub∣lic Benefit. If ye are soaring so high remember the Fall of Icarus; for the Wax will be melted by the Fire, if not by the Sun, and so your downfall will be miserable. Heavens be prais'd (reply'd River) that Remorce of Conscience leads ye to Repentance, at least out of fear of deserved Punish∣ment.

While they were thus discoursing, Here cry'd Grave, here's a Love-Letter, ha∣ving already broken the Seal and disco∣ver'd the Secrets of the Paper, which he held in his hand. Thereupon they all prepar'd to listen with a willing Attenti∣on, while he read on as follows,

LETTER CXVII.

Being an amorous Letter to a Lady. 'Twas directed to Madam Reddridge, at her House in Clerkenwell-green.

Most dear Mistress,

OH Heavens! what torments have I endur'd since your Presence no longer gave Life to the Contents of my Heart. Did you but know, my dearest, what troubles perplex my Soul, which lives only by you, and with an Obligation still to beg Life from that Image, of which my jealous Aff••ctions permit me no Consolation, but in be∣holding it. Did you believe the Excess of those Sorrows, which I feel through the Loss of my Enjoyments, the real body of true delights be∣ing transform'd into Shadows form'd by the Ima∣gination, I assure my self you would compassionate if not love me. Ah dearest, how far different do I find the Being sooth'd by your Fondnesses, to be miniardiz'd by your Lips, to be caress'd by your Embraces, and imparadiz'd in your Bosom, from seigning to my self the vain Chimera's of a favour∣able Glance from your absent Eyes, or a flatt'ring Smile from your far distant Lips. And my tor∣ment is so much the more in seeking to please my self with your Effigies which I carry in my Breast, in regard that being all this while ravish'd with such lovely Appearances only, and under a necessi∣ty to comply with those Violences, I run to

clasp a shadow and embrace nothing. Good God! Presently I cry, why cannot I with a rapid Flight conveigh my self in a moment to my beloved He∣lena! Might I at least but have the Fortune of Icaru••, or leave to put on Wings, which carrying me to your self, altho' they melted then, I could not fall; when fix'd in the Heaven of your Bosom. Then, in my amorous Enthusia••ms I might have one of those white Hands to cool my Ardors with that lovely Snow. There would I deposite my kisses, I would unbend the Joints, and there lodge my Con∣tents, which tho confin'd within the hollow of her hand, would enlarge my Felicity to the compleat Satisfaction of my Desires. Behold my Condition, enforc'd to confine within so small a part those En∣joyments, that had a free Field in the full extent of your Body. What a disadvantagious Passage of my Pleasures is this, from being seen every day in the C••••dle of the Bed between the Swathing-bands of the Sheets, nourish'd with the Milk of your Lilly white Skin, at present so hunger-starv'd, that they would take it for a singular Favour to li••k but one of your hands. Dearest Helena! a Name which as it was always accompany'd with extraordinary Beau∣ties, so it carries intolerable Flames about it. Could the Times of Paris but have coasted the Possession of you; Venus would have fix'd upon no other Helena but your self, as a present sutable to a Deity covetous of bestowing Beauties, supposing she had not been prepossess'd by the Ravishment of Iupiter.

In some measure is my Heart concern'd to Coun∣terpoise with its Ardors the Constagrations of a Kingdom sacrific'd to that Gracian Beauty, since no less tributes are due to the Countenances of the Helena's. Willingly I consume my self, my dear∣est: For certainly my Ashes will come to life again

under the Rays of you, my all chearing Sun. I most solicite my return to see you again, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my self in that same Bosom, where between two most lovely Tea••s, the Rivers of Sweetness are 〈◊〉〈◊〉, then, the most swiftly running, when the hard ••ank appears to stop them. I will then repeat the reading of my wonted pleasures in that Book, the leaves of which by turning backward and for∣ward, and by reading the Characters over and over again, I could never yet discover any thing else but happiness. But no longer my beloved will I en∣tertain my self with these imaginary Chimera's, which cause me to languish, not being accompany'd with the Reality of Effects. Nor can I any longer hold my Pen, which desires to be held by a hand where near the Purity of your Snowy whiteness it might better be able to express the Sincerity of my Affection, I must therefore follow the Impulses of my Pen, of a suddain quite besides my self, as being entranc'd in the Contemplation of your Beauty, which makes me conclude with a thou∣sand Kisses and Embraces.

Heaven knows (said Chappel) what Pen this Man had between his Fingers when he wrote this Letter. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my Opinion he seems to be one of those unwary Youngsters, that give themselves up as a Prey to the Wiles of Curtesans. And who would not be diluded by their Frauds (reply'd River) when they flatter a Man with a Face that breaths Divinity in the Beauty of it, when they shew ye a Paradise in their Graces, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 when ye approach 'em turn about their backs: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Aff••••tation that greatly tyrannizes over Lovers, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with all, more strongly ravishes. 'Tis no wonder, (said I) that their Artifices make use of that same 〈◊〉〈◊〉 about; for the force of Magic is princip••••••••

restrain'd with the Compass of Circles; and therefore they make these Circles before those whom they desire to inchant, that may the more easily prevail by 〈◊〉〈◊〉 own proper Violences. For the performance of In∣chantments (reply'd Grave) two things are requisite, the Wand and the Globe; therefore to compleat 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Inchantment of Love, when a Man holds forth 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Wand and the Globe, of necessity the Women 〈◊〉〈◊〉 comply. How ready is the Tongue (reply'd Chappel) where the Appetite is prone. And so saying, with∣out giving time for the Company to make any re∣turn he fell a reading the ensuing Letter.

LETTER CXVIII.

Being a Letter in Burlesque. 'Twas di∣rected to Mr. Paford, at the Three Pidgeons in Thames-street.

Dear Friend,

CRab-fish shall have no longer to do with the Moon. Snails have got Teeth, and Tortoises Wings. All Beasts have laid aside their Brains, and Men have lost 'em. An Ass but t'other day cat up the Brains of a great Doctor already purri∣fy'd; so that when he came to dispute de Casi•••••• Infirmorum, he tumbl'd heels over-head ad Sepul∣••••ra Mortuorum. Your worship may creep upon all ••our to the Heels of Atlas, to the end that if it

should happen, that he should sink under the Weight of the World, you may thrust your Nose ••n his Tail, as was done to Morgante in the Third of the Odysses. You will do well to take with you a great Horn, and if you cannot tell where to get one, go to the Houses in Germany, and you may have as many as you please. I give you this Advice be∣cause there is a Proclamation sometime since pub∣lish'd, forbidding all Cuckolds to pass the Stygian Lake in Charon's Boat, but over a Bridge of Horns. Hence it is that the poor old Ferry-man has lain idle a long time, and is like to be starv'd to Death, for want of his Fees, while every one brings his own Horn. T'other day with an Astrolobe, I lookt for your Worships Nativity, which lies in the Quadrature of a Cucumber, in the Sex∣••ile of the two Twins, that always go in the Shade. Guard your self from the Horse-flies, and never tire your self to become a Prey to the Gnats, be∣cause the Nets are not good, and Tantalus, who ought to mend 'em, lies rowling and tumbling up and down to get a Snap at the Apples. The Dra∣gon's-Tail is unfortunate to your Worship, and therefore be sure to sow in a Circle, when Harti∣chokes begin to beard. I desire your Worship to make your Advantage of these few Advertisements, and that you may find the expected Effects, afford∣ing you an opportunity to command any farther Demonstrations of my Service, which you shall think fit to require.

This would be a rare Astrologer (said Chappel) if he had but good luck in his Predictions of Ex∣travagancies. Methinks (said River) he speaks truth in some Particulars already, whereas your A∣strologers never tell any other then lyes. I am apt to belieue (reply'd I) this Man has spent all the best of his Talent in the Composition of this Letter. By your dwelling upon this subject (said Grave) there seems to be a Sympathy between you and these Extrava∣gants. Let's see the next.

LETTER CXIX.

Containing Instructions how to drive a good Trade. 'Twas directed to Mr. Soper, at his House in Brumly, Kent.

Honour'd Sir,

I Deem it a Debt of mine to impart to your Worship every thing that concerns my Prefer∣ment, assuring my self that it will be very accept∣able news to your Worship to hear of the fortunate Progresses of your Servant. The Wife of a cer∣tain rich Merchant in this City, having buried her Husband some Months since, sent to me t'other day some of her Friends to treat with me about joyn∣ing my Stock with hers. She is not willing to mar∣ry again, but desires only that our Interests may go hand in hand. I accepted of the Offer, consi∣dering

the advantageous Conditions that were pro∣pos'd. I surrender'd to her all my Stock, with a Covenant however that it was only barely lent, and that I might call it in again at my pleasure, without any loss or diminution: On the other side she allow'd me the use of her Ware-house, of which I was to keep the Keys my self; nevertheless with Condition that I was to lock it and unlock it, when¦ever she requir'd me. In the business and trouble of Trade we have both an equal share, and they that best manage it, enjoy the Fruits of their La∣bour without being oblig'd to complain that ei∣ther took pains in vain. She keeps the Money in the Shop, that is paid to and fro in driving the Trade, very careful in keeping it and giving me my proportion from time to time. There arose a difference between us, because I pretended by my Contracts to the keeping the Key of a Press, that stood behind the Shop, and where lay the Wares of greatest value. Hitherto she has refus'd to com∣ply with me. Nevertheless I hope that in time and by fair means and good words I shall obtain the good Fortune which I so earnestly thirst after. I assure you, Sir, I never tasted so much Felicity as now I enjoy, being rais'd from my low Condition to the unexpected Possession of so fair a Shop, and no less wealthy; since Widows, after the Death of their Husbands, growing more reserv'd in their Expences, and abstaining from their wonted Feasting and Jollity, lay up Money apace; and therefore well fare the Man that is so lucky as to share in their frugality.

I protest that I never penetrated the Rules of driving a good Trade, before I came to practise with this Partner of mine. I have learnt the way of true Commerce, which must be carry'd on with strict Covenants at first, to procure the ad∣vantage

to your self. Ceremonies are convenient at the beginning, with some limits of Civility which I know not how to express. Then again the Merchandize requires, that when the Contract is in a good Posture, that the Trade be pusht for∣ward with all the Sedulity imaginable, never mind∣ing whither the other Party complain or no, as not being content with the Bargain. Let the Trader have always good Witnesses, to the end there may be no failure in the Covenants. It behoves him always to know the Disposition of the Person with whom he Trades, and whither she be slow or vi∣gorous, he must be conformable. For then the Business is likely to have a good Issue, when it comes to be concluded by both Parties at the same time. Otherwise their Interests languish, when the one growing cool, refuses to encourage the Resolutions of the other, with the Fomentations of recipro∣cal Heat. There is no need of trading by dumb Signs, nor to exceed in idle Twittle-twattle. Both Words and Deeds are requir'd in this sort of Com∣merce; and indeed 'tis a great Point gain'd to be able to make use of the Lips and the Tongue. The Advantage of a Trader, chiefly consists in not be∣ing contented with a small gain, by stopping and dealing only in one particular Commodity. Let him always be turning and winding, and winding and turning his Stock, for that great profit arises by keeping his Cash in such perpetual Motion. I have chiefly learnt, that 'tis the part of a good Trader, not to be squeamish or nice in any manner of way, for the defiling a Man's Hands is no detriment, when the gain that comes of it is worth the while. Let him that will trade lay aside all Scruples; since they frequently become Bankrupt, that make not the best of their Opportunities. Sometimes it would not be amiss to make his Correspondent in

Trade a little drunk; for that in point of Trade a Man is to turn and transform himself into every shape: And then a little Wine turns to a great profit, if you can get the Party to Seal new Co∣venants at the same time. When the Contract is made let the Knot of Co-partnership be maintain'd entire and firm. As to what remains, there is a way to preserve your Friendship for Profit, by Dissimulation, Caresses and several other laudable Artifices and Deceits. Above all things let a Trader beware, that he never leave in any other Trade except his own, any more then the Money which is usually expended in the Management of such Affairs. These Documents I have learnt from this Woman, who has sworn to me, that she will ne∣ver admit any Trader to enter her Shop, who trades after any other manner: For which reason they stoop their heads under the door it self, and the more Money they offer the more she refuses to sell 'em her Wares, prosessing to prize the true Rules of Commerce, above the Dictates of a greedy A∣varice. Others must of necessity count their gains upon their Fingers; for that not knowing how to trade, they are excluded out of her Shop. I am endeavouring to meet her Genius, that I may be able to deliver my self as well from the one as the other inconvenience, that I may be Master of the Shop at my own pleasure. If this same change of my Condition may empowre me to serve your Worship, I shall acknowledge a greater Obligati∣on to that good Fortune which enables me: And so concluding most affectionately I kiss your hands.

In good faith, (said Chappel) this same Spark, by his trading with women, may chance at length to be stript to his Skin: I know he shall have Wares in ex∣change, but not much to his satisfaction. You say very true, (reply'd River) for Womens Shops are a sort of Traps, into which he that enters, comes out again with little advantage. They are so wide (re∣ply'd I) that there is a way for a man to come off without a wound, if he make a good defence. Oh, (said Grave) there is that Fire and Fury within, so that there is no 'scaping some scurvy Impression or other. You understand the Trade I see, (reply'd Chappel) and therefore of necessity you must have more than once have been a dealer in this sort of Merchandice. But no more of this, lest we have the Women and their Merchants about our Ears. Vpon which they fell a reading the following Epistle.

LETTER CXX

Containing Instructions for the bringing up of young Boys. 'Twas directed to Mr. Whit∣church, at his Hous•• in Clements-Lane.

Reverend Sir,

I Understand by your last, the Resolution you have taken to apply your self to the education of young Boys, and by endoctrinating 'em, and main∣taining 'em at their own charges, to get Victuals, and satisfie your Appetite without scandal. I ap∣prove your design, as being proper for a man that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 already settl'd, and not being oblig'd to wander up and down, acquires applause, by supporting him∣self in his own House by his Industry. Add to this the Necessities of your Brother, who as you write 〈◊〉〈◊〉 word, lies in a manner Bedrid, in a languish∣ing and infirm condition; or if he rise, 'tis with an Appetite that must be fed with choice and par∣ticular Viands, no way satisfied with ordinary Dyet. These young Boys that you will have in your House, with the Money they will offer ye to your content, will afford ye the means to satisfie his De¦sires, as Brotherly Affection commands, especially considering his condition. Nay, perhaps by their diligent Service, and the Pastime of their Sports, they will raise him from his Bed, and restore him to a good state of Health. Now, because I know 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whether you are duly prepar'd for this Em∣ployment,

I thought it the Duty of my Affection to lay ye down some Instructions drawn from the Foundations of Experience, that you may not mis∣carry in the Road of your Employment.

In the first place, be sure not to take Children that have hardly digested their Mothers Milk, as the Saying is; for though they seem more fit to suck from the Breasts of your sound Documents every thing that is good and proper for their Lear∣ning, yet their want of Capacity will not bend and bow with that readiness, as a universal conformity to every thing requires. They are more for kna∣vish Tricks, than any thing of solidity, so that you would receive into your House a Garboile of Noise, a Confusion of Bawling, rather than the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Entertainments of Repose. And in regard you are to feed 'em, it behoves ye to make choice of 'em at those Years that they may have good Teeth to chew a piece of Sinew-flesh, and gnaw a Bone, otherwise being oblig'd to feed commonly with Capons, Jellies, and such other Delicacies, they will be rather a Loss than any Advantage to your Purse. If it should happen sometimes, that you must be forc'd to put their Meat i'their•• Mouths, make you best of this Simplicity of theirs, and ne∣ver trouble your self to teach them better, to the end they may learn the particulars of all good man∣ners.

Let 'em be of good Age, that they may be able to dress and undress themselves, that you may not be forc'd to keep a Servant to wait upon ev'ry one. Let 'em be at Years of Discretion, that they may know how to eat their Bread and their Meat asun∣der. And as for your part, be not wanting in your Duty; take notice, in the first place, not to look any one in the Face, but to keep alwaies behind their Backs, taking care at the same instant that

they may receive your Commands. Order it so, that first of all they may feel with their Hands the point of the Doctrine which you desire to teach 'em, that they may not be scar'd with the first Proposal of a difficult Subject, hard to be understood; nor obstinately persist on a resolution to make 'em un∣derstand all of a sudden whatever you propound, otherwise you will expose 'em to a necessity of weeping and whining, as if they were quite un∣done. Let 'em not therefore accustom themselves to cry, and take on at the first sight of the Rod or Cudgel, for this same over-timerousness is a Fault that will never suffer ye to attain your ends. Pra∣ctice Mildness and Discretion with him that has not a Capacity answerable to the Talent which you expend, insinuating at leisure, and by degrees, what one would think they would never be able to learn. Allow 'em Play and Pastime, that in the greater heat of study they may be allur'd themselves with some Delight; by which means they will com∣ply more ardently with your Desires, and will learn from Custom to run and embrace your Doctrine. Practice in publick the same usage with all: Let your Partiality towards some be private, whom you shall find to be more genteel in their Manners, and more tractable to your Satisfaction. Exercise all in general, or at least the better part, in regard that by fixing alwaies behind one, it will be a great trouble and vexation to him, and little profit to your self. Endeavour to make 'em lively and cou∣ragious, to the end they may not receive what you imprint into 'em, like Statues. Let 'em be of a brisk airy Temper, that by managing 'em with a tenderness, which is very delightful, they may be willing to repeat to their Companions the Lessons which you teach 'em. Your Brother also, by re∣warding the Kindnesses which they do him, al∣waies

coaxing and flatt'ring 'em, may be very useful in taming 'em by gentle means, if you per∣haps out of your magisterial Authority, should be forc'd to practise Rigor. In this Profession it be∣hoves you to be judicious and discreet; for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 loses his labour, who knows not the right me∣thods of doing his Business. You will find 〈◊〉〈◊〉 convenient not to gorge your Appetite, le••t running sometimes with too much greediness to the Cup∣board, you expose your self to the liazard of being choaked. These Meats are hurtful to those To•••••• that suffer 'em to go cross-waies down their Throats, whence they receive a greater Punishment than Pleasure. I know, that you being habitua•••••• in this Art, will learn not to mistake the 〈◊〉〈◊〉. 'Tis therefore sufficient for me to have recall'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your mind what our Friendship has suggested 〈◊〉〈◊〉 me, as necessary for your good Progress: For 〈◊〉〈◊〉 advancement of which, I desire to co-operate 〈◊〉〈◊〉 you upon all occasions, wherein I desire you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 employ me, as your most ready Servant, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I kiss your Hands.

This Gentleman (said Chappel) is an excell•••• Sheph••rd for these little Lambs, and if he would 〈◊〉〈◊〉 set up a Chair in Rome, 'tis my opinion, he might rival it with the best of the Profession. They 〈◊〉〈◊〉 there (replied River) the way to keep Sheep, and not Lambs, as a Doctrine more necessary for the g••∣vernment of Souls. You mean, (replied Grave) Th•••• teach the way how to fleece 'em. Forbear (said I) you will grate too hard upon some of our side by and by. And so saying, he propos'd another Letter to this purpose.

LETTER CXXI.

Containing several Accidents which happened to a young man in Rome. 'Twas di∣rected to Mr. Dungaven, at the Rose in Budg-row, London.

Honour'd Sir,

IN good faith, my Dear Signior Francisco, I am got out of a very intricate Labyrinth, although I am no Theseus, befriended by an Ariadne, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it in her power to bind or loosen my Liberty with a Thread. 'Tis a long time since you recei∣ved any Testimonies of our Friendship, in any Let∣t••rs of mine. By this you will understand the oc∣c••sion of my omission, being made partaker of the S••ccesses of my Fortunes.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 withdrew my self, a Fugitive from the Domi∣••••••n of my Father, some months since, being pro∣vok'd to this Resolution by a fantastick humor of Youth, which refus'd to endure the Bridle of Pa∣••er••al Authority. A Thought thus born without the Midwife of Judgment, could not but prove a mis-shapen Birth, accompanied with very few good Events. I departed well provided with Mony, as I thought, not only for my Necessities, but to give me Wings to second the flight of my capri••••ous Fancy; I took the Road for Rome, as having heard several times, that that same City was fortunate for Fools, and for him that never thinks to do

well. Being thus enroll'd under these Ensigns, I conceited my self in the Capitol, where I imagin'd that I saw my self already triumphant. Having also understood, that every thing went there in a per∣petual Round, I had suck'd in particular hopes, that I should there find the Wheel of my Fortune. Nor was I deceived in one point, but sinister In∣terpretation falsified the ••und and conjecture of these Imaginations.

Away went I to Florence, where being come▪ I understood that Beardless Youths, comely and handsome Striplings to see to, are a sort of wild Game, in very great esteem; but after which, there is no peculiar Hunting set apart, because every one is at liberty to provide his own Wild-fowl, other∣wise there would follow great Disorders, by pro∣hibiting those greater Delights, which the Influen∣ces of Heaven make 'em covetous of seeking after. I was no sooner beheld, but many such-like Hunts∣men, or rather Fowlers, began to level their Arms at me, and shew'd, that their Pieces were ready to fetch me from the Bough. Some were very observent to see where I stopp'd, with a resolut••∣on to take up my rest. They thought perhaps to catch me by surprize, not believing me to be as yet so wary, as to sleep with my Eyes open, like a Hare. They fl••ck'd in shoals to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 where I had taken up my Lodging, which put me in mind of the crowding of the Sodomites to Lot's House, when he entertained the Angels under the appearances of delicate Young men: They ran af∣ter me like Dogs after a Bone, but I resolv'd not to stir out of my Lodging, for fear of falling into their ••lu••ches: At length an old shagged Curr, much us'd ••to this sort of Game, came into my Chamber, to in••••ite me in the name of his Lord, whom he call'd his Patron; he told me, That his Master be∣ing

a great Honourer of Nobility, of which my Countenance and Pre••ence seem'd to boast, and the ••••aceful Behaviour of a genteel Appearance was re∣solv'd to serve me, so long as I staid in the City. I retaliated these expressions of a Gentility, that offer'd so much Kindness with Returns of affected Thanks, protesting probable Excuses for the refu∣sing so much Honour, the more to be valu'd, by how much the less deserv'd. On the other side be continued his Importunities, resolv'd to fetter me in a compliance with the person that sent him, but I was as obstinate altogether, in denying to correspond with his Indiscretion, so that he de∣parted with his Tail between his Legs, being fairly given to understand, that he must find some other Nest for his Master to lay his Eggs in than mine. Heaven had no sooner deliver'd me from this Im∣pertinent, but I was assail'd by a Pretender, that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in person to prey upon me, believing his Servant not well grounded in the Curiosities that belong'd to the Science. He spent a great deal of time in many Ceremonies, wriggling himself in by vertue of these, to feel my Hand, to squeeze it, and to give me fair notice of what he would be at. After several Enquiries to fish out my Quali∣ty, my Country, and several other Particulars, up∣on which he enlarged his Discourse, to encrease his familiarity, he endeavour'd to get me home to his House, assuring me of all the kind Entertain∣ment I could expect. In a word, he pusht forward his Complements, and his Protestations, as far as they would go, but I repulsed him with a majestick ••••igor, which gave him to understand, that Sen∣timents of Reputation had spoil'd his Market, and hinder'd his subduing me to his will. In short, I left him with a Wen upon his Nose, to be clipp'd off by other Sizzars than mine. I then found,

that the Oh—Oh's—so frequently repeated by the Inhabitants of this City, in their Discourse, is a Tribute which, in speaking, they offer to the itch of their Genius. I departed the next day, be∣fore Aurora got out of her Bed, and yet there were some too nimble for me, who with their imperti∣nent Embraces, and Huggs of Concup••sce••••e, made way to feel my Hands, and fastening me in their Gripes, endeavour'd to fix me the mark of their looser Imaginations.

I continu'd my Journey without any other con∣siderable Accident that befel me, but only the want of Mony; and now I began to repent of my unadvised Resolution, which it was too late how∣••ver to recant, whatever Inconveniencies I endu∣red. I was two days Journey from Rome, unpro∣vided to go on, and in a worse condition to return. One Evening, as I lay quite over-burthen'd with the thoughts of this my deplorable condition, through which I found my self necessitated to pawn my self in the House where I was, a Company of strowling Mendicants arriv'd there, to take up a Lodging, for such I found 'em afterwards to be, and thought my self a thousand times beholden to Fortune for meeting with 'em. Some of these compassionating my Sorrows, which appear'd in my outward Behaviour, presently div'd into the cause of my Grievances, and offer'd to ease me of my Pains; I discover'd to 'em the bottom of my Adversity, making the same use of my Tongue as Dogs do, to ••ick all their Sores whole: They en∣tertain'd me civilly, assuring me Plenty of all things, provided I would run the same Fortune with them. Do you guess, Sir, now whether this Offer of Bread were to be refus'd by one that was like to starve: I subscribed to any Condition which my Necessity demanded: Besides that, the Plea∣sures

of a luxurious Life, such as that Canaille leads, was sufficient to entice me forward. So I leagu'd my self to them, and in their company got to Rome, still more and more contented that I had hapned into the Society of a jolly sort of People, who liv'd a happy and a merry Life, though their Profession were ignominous. I was introdu∣ced the first Evening into their Convocation-house, where the Miracles of the Lame that were cur'd, the Blind that recover'd their Sight, maim'd Limbs that were set streight, were so numerous that they amaz'd me. When every one had offer'd me a part of his Gain, there was a new Scene, while laying aside their palled Countenances, and strip∣ping off their Rags, they made up a whole Act of a Comedy, divided into Periods of Musick and Dan∣cing, and the Epilogue of a delicious Supper.

They propos'd to me several Employments to make me an idle Minister of their Profession; and finding I was not cut out for Stealing, and as little given to Lying, besides that, I was but little skill'd in their canting Gibbrish, they set me to an Exer∣cise, whererin a dumb man might have been per∣swaded to promote their Interests. For my first initiation therefore, I was to be one of those who counterfeiting themselves lame, were to pick the Pockets of the compassionate. Early in the mor∣ning the Elders of the Society adorn'd me with the Ensigns of their Calling, honouring me with a Ha∣bit, which was a tatter'd Standard, in ostentation of their Trophies, then bending my right Arm, they bound it to my Shoulders, and with I know not what mishmash of Paste, which they made them∣selves, they laid such a Plaister upon my Elbow, as made People believe the rest of my Arm had been newly wounded; and after they had bedaub'd my left Leg after the same manner, they made it look

like a Pedestal of Sores and Ulcers; afterwards with Swaths and ragged Clouts they made up a Figu••e, where Beggary was compassionated, if the Disease it se••f were not pittied; and lastly, perfuming my Cheeks with Brimstone Smoak, they made me look as if I had escaped out of a Sepulchre; you would have thought, at least, that Death had pursu'd me, as a Prey that had fled from his clutches, while I look'd more like one that lay expiring, than like a living Creature. Lastly, my Hair towz'd, and staring as if it had never been comb'd time out of mind, they turn'd under a nasty Linnen Bag, as black as a piece of smoak'd Bacon. And thus they drest me up in the shape of Horror, a Spectacle ra∣ther to fright Folks, than move their Pity. After all this, I had my Post assigned me at the Door of a Church, whither I went, but fail'd the Expectati∣ons of my Companions, while I met with an Acci∣dent that drew me into utter despair: The Blushes of my Shame, to see my self become so desp••cable out of a Humour, surpassed the Artifices of my counterfeit paleness, so that there was something of Gentility to be discover'd through the dreadful disguise of my Cheeks: In my Countenance also there was something of a lively aire and a juvenile briskness in my Eyes, which accus'd the Falshood of those resemblances of Mortality: Presently a great man, as he went to hear Mass with a nume∣rous Train at his Heels, cast an Eye upon me, and by and by, as it were in contemplation of my Mi∣series, fixing his Looks more seriously upon me, survey'd all the parts of my Countenance, where his Appetite found the desirable Conditions which his Satisfaction sought for; which done, with half a glance and a smile, he mark'd me out to one of his Attendants, one, without question, who under∣stood the nature of those Delights, which his Ma∣ster

used to put in practise; and with that, with a majestick seriousness on his Face, as if it had been an effect of his Compassion and Charity, he gave order to have me carried to his own Palace, commanding his Servants to be very careful of me, and seeming extreamly desirous to restore me to my Health. I saw my self now caught in a Trap, where I could not avoid the surprize of an Act of Charity, that came too quick upon me. The Commands of the Grandee were performed, who designed me to digest a hardness that lay upon his Stomach, which was not to be concocted without a fomentation of young Flesh. I was laid upon soft Feathers, the more to assure me, that the Master would not have disdain'd the softness of the same Bed. I knew not how to brazen out these Dangers, but by heightning Pains with Lamenta∣tions that would have brought the Damned about me, while I made People believe my Torments were worse than theirs. Every time they touch'd me, though never so slightly, I cry'd out, Oh my Arm! Oh my Leg!—as if I had been stark wild. By that means I was in hopes of getting off, by being troublesome, to the end the impertinence of my Crys and Exclamations might have delivered me from that Entanglement. And I was in a fair way to have enjoy'd the good Success of my De∣signs, for that the Servants, quite tyred out with my bellowing and yawling, endeavour'd to have been rid of me, saying, that I was a Disturbance to the Family, and an Annoyance to all the House.

But the Affection of the Grand••e prevented this good luck of mine, who at his return honour'd me with a Visit in his own person. He reinforc'd his Commands, which were to redouble their diligence, in supplying whatever I wanted. And he had a

fresh Argument to invite him to be more amo∣rously fond of me, while the opportunity of my be∣ing naked in Bed, presented to him, in some parts of my Body, such a whiteness, as made him con∣j••cture he should have a good Meal, when he came to feast at the Table of his Desires. There came two Chyrurgions to view my Sores, and apply con∣ve••ent Remedies. Then was the chief point of all my Distresses, which I knew would reduce me to a necessity of discovering the Fraud that confin'd me within his Nets. I made a hideous outcry therefore, to prevent the unbinding of my Leg, and with a stout resistance withstood their obstina∣cy, while they preaching over me, how much it would conduce to my cure perswaded me to en∣dure the pain. I begg'd that I might be carried to the Hospital, where my Infirmity being attri∣buted to Nature or Chance, I might have got off upon less-troublesom Conditions. I affirm'd, that my Sores not being accustomed to lenitive Medica∣ments, would but grow angry, and be the more festered by unwonted Applications. On the other side, the Chvrurgions aff••ighted at the sh••ilness of my loud Yellings, laid aside all thoughts of unbin∣ding that intricate Bundle that wrapt up all my ••••es. But then they began to consult the cutting off the whole affected part, which by the symp∣toms that I made appear, must of necessity be pu∣trefied, which was a certain preludium of approa∣ching death, if by Amputation they did not pre∣vent the putr••fied Member from communicating the Infection to the rest of the Body. They de∣ferr'd till the next day the putting this Consulta∣tion in execution, perhaps to give me time to alter my resolution, which they thought the terror of such a blow would hasten. I had no mind to consi∣der, nor resolve upon any thing, being in a streight

of excessive confusion, which made me sometimes encline to imita••e the Spartan, that rather chose to suffer the loss of his Thigh, than discover his stea∣ling the Fox. In like manner my Courage per∣swaded me to endure the Torture threatned me▪ rather than detect the Frauds of my new Profes∣sion.

But at length Fortune sent me Relief, after these Fooleries of hers had afforded her sufficient Pa∣stime. My Companions had understood what had befallen me, with no good Omen to themselves, as being afraid le••t the halting of my Lyes should have hastened the downfal of their Calling: There∣upon having taken their final Resolution, they sent to the House where I was, a person who ••eign∣ing to be my Brother, should rescue me from the Jaws of him that detained me, that he might have a bit to swallow at the request of his greedy Appe∣tite: He went with the state and train of a Cava∣liero, and in a garb that shew'd him to be newly come to Town. He spoke with the Master of the House, and gave him an account of my flight, and the infamous Crew with which I had leagu'd my self, that is to say, as far as he could understand, with a Herd of strowling Mendicants, who had drest him up in that habit of Sickness and Infirmity, to delude the Affections of devout Compassion. He gave him to understand the nobility of my Birth, adding withal great importunities to have me back along with him, to rechear my Father, who had been almost overwhelmed with Sorrow ever since my flight. The Grandee was all in an amaze, and with courteous Replys conducted the Knight to the Lodging where I lay tormented even to despair: At the sight of him I took Heart-a-grace, yet soon relaps'd again, to ••ear my self upbraided with the In••amy of my new Profession, as one that had so

basely degenerated from my Ancestors. Lay aside (said he) these Fictions that counterfeit Infirmity, you having no reason to complain of any other Distem∣per than want of Wit. At these Rebukes of a person who condemn'd an Act, of which himself had been one of the main Co••trivers, and Promoters, I stood amaz'd; but at last upon his naming my Brother, and intimating his design to carry me back to my Father, I smoak'd the Cheat; therefore to comp••y with what he said, and blushing not a little to dis∣cover my Miscarriage, I endeavour'd to walk along the Room; I recover'd my Arm, let loose my Leg, and dishevell'd my confused Locks, entangling so much the more the Affections of the Grandee, who repented he had not bestowed his Charity sooner upon me, as lame as I was, that he might have boasted the satisfaction of his Desires; for when I came to discover my self, lovely as I was, in a full vivacity of Youth, disguised under false appearan∣ces, he felt the stings of an extraordinary compun∣ction, for having neglected an opportunity so hap∣pily offer'd to tast upon my Table the Pleasures which he so earnestly thirsted after. He endea∣vour'd to have detained me, but my feigned Bro∣ther was importunate for my departure the same day, urging it for a main Argument, that he would not prolong my Father's Sorrows. On the other side, the Ch••at of Demonstrations of Affection pre∣vailing obtain'd me one advantage more, which was the change of a noble Suit of Clothes for my Tatters, which the Grandee presented me, under pretence, that it was not fit for me to appear before my Father in Rags, and Mony in both Pockets, to carry me home. And thus the poor silly Gull was meerly trapann'd, as indeed he truly deserv'd, since his self-ended Charity tended meerly to the satisfa∣ction of his own forbidden Pleasures. Being thus

got loose from the Grandee, I slipp'd my compa∣ny, and hastened out of Rome with all the hast I could, and am now at home once more under my Father's Wings. I hope you will not be offended with the prolixity of this relation, since you may boast to have recover'd a Servant, of whose conti∣nued Affection you may be now secure. Knowing then where I am, 'tis but sending your Commands to him that takes it for his greater Honour to be employ'd in your Service.

And what think ye (said Chappel) of these great Acts of Charity which are us'd at Rome, and by means of which the Grandees certainly make great ostentation of their Charity? When such opportunities as these present themselves (replied River) prodigal beyond measure, they scatter their Estates, leaving the Virt••••so, and other persons of great worth in misery, and ready to starve. Let us referr it to the Ecclesia∣sticks, (said I) to discourse of Acts of Charity, as pro∣perly belonging to their Function. What Observations then shall we make upon this long Letter (replied Grave)? Would you ••ave us enter upon the Cheats of the strowling Beggars? By no means (replied Chappel) in regard they cannot be ill handled, with∣out a fling at some he ought to rev••rence. Enough of this, (replied Chappel) we make nothing of talking out of our Spheres.

And so having another Letter ready in his Hand, he read on as follows.

LETTER CXXII.

From a Thief in Paris. 'Twas directed to Thomas Rivert, to be left for him at the Post-house in Harwich, till call•• for.

Dear Brother,

THis is no longer any Country for us. The Thieves, who in Paris have too many Rivals, and Spriggs of our Profession, sprout forth there in great abundance, that it behoves us to stand upon our defence, for fear of being rob'd our selves, rather than to be watching opportunities to despoll others. We must observe the common Precept, to give way to our Superiors, or else we must certainly depart, since we are much inferiour in this Art to the French Citizens themselves; Experienc'd Locusts of the Country, that cease not to devour Forreigners in those Fields, where formerly I know not whi∣ther the Spring or we were most merry, and rejoyced most at our Purchases. I assure ye, I cannot keep this Post assigned me by my Companions, for that the Besiegers multiply, and being more ready at Surprizes than my self, frustrate all my Designs. I am resolv'd to depart, being afraid they will rob me of my Halter, which however I shall willingly resign among 'em, to the end I may freely leave 'em that Reward, which they so earnestly labour to gain, by the multiplication of their Thefts. I shall endeavour to find ye out when I return for

England, that we may consult together, as we were wont to do, where to meet with better Fortune.

Those French Citizens are to be excus'd for their Robberies (said Chappel) if it be true, that there is no fault to be ascrib'd to natural Qualities or Passi∣••ns. Add to this (replied River) that the Subjects of a Prince who despoils them, are necessitated to exercise themselves in robbing others, to repair their Losses, or at least to preserve themselves from sinking under their burthens. I have observ'd (replied I) that in the Cities under the Dominion of this French King, the Profession of Thieves flourishes in great re∣putation, and the exercise of Rapines; so that he may well boast that his Vassals are as good as himself. They have before 'em (said Grave) the Examples of their Lord, or at least of his Ministers; so that they would be much to be blamed, if they did not conform as Subjects to the grand Exemplar of their Sove∣raign.

Grave had no sooner pronounc'd those words, but our Comrades (viz. Sum∣mer, Temple, Church, Fountain, and Win∣ter, whom we had left behind us in the House, carousing it with Sum∣mer's Friends) return to us agen, and asking us what Entertainment we had met with in their absence, we answer'd 'em with a short account of how many we had read, de∣claring

to 'em withal, That we had been highly pleased with the variety of Humors, multitude of Follies, and diversity of Fancies and Capri∣cio's which had come to our know∣ledge in so many and different Letters.

These words were hardly out of our Mouths, when Chappel falling out into a fit of Laugh∣ter, raised the curiosity of the Company. He had already open'd a Letter, to see the Secrets that were contained in it. I laugh, said he, at the novelty of the Titles which this Fool has invented. Upon which the whole Com∣pany viewing the Paper, they found a Most Illustrious Sir, in the Fron••ispiece of a piece of Simplicity.

LETTER CXXIII.

Of amorous Accidents. 'Twas directed to the most illustrious Knight Sir Henry—at his House near Abbots-Aston in Bucks. Humbly present.

Most Illustrious Sir,

LET all the celebrated Labours of Hercules give way to the Undertaking, by means whereof I have put a good end to the Amours of a Lady, to which your Worship was privy, as being the person from whom I cannot conceal the Secrets of my Heart. I might now call to mind the vehemency of my Passion, by which being tormented, you and I together bemoa••'d my Pai••s, to asswage the bit∣ter Sorrows that oppress me. Those wanton T••icks of the young Boy, that sporting wounds, conti••ued some time after your departure; and your Frie••d∣ship, together with the possession of my Goddess, in the enjoyment of your Conversation, drew me into greater Snares: For in counterpoise of my Desires, there was the jealous and watchful Eye of her Husband, which pulled down my hopes on the one side, as much as the Scale wherein the Con∣tents of Love had all their weight, ascended on the other. I could not assure my self of the Cor∣respondence of my Beloved, because I had no con∣venience to seek it, nor ground to hope it. She was, I know not whether so cautious or so chast,

that the familiarity between us left no sign of Fer∣tility that could give to our content; which gave me to understand, that only Stratagem could afford me that opportunity I wanted.

The Summer Season being an Incentive to mature my Thoughts to make common the Harvest of my Contents with the Crop which the most vile enjoy; I took the advantage of the morning Breezes, to facilitate my Passage to a happy Opportunity; I invi∣ted both the Husband and the Wife both together, to a Country-house of mine, not far distant from the City, to entertain 'em with the Delights of the Place; there it was that I had woven my Net to catch this Ven••s, and bind my self close to her, without fearing the disturbance of any malicious Vulcan: Of one large Room I made two, with no other Partition than only that of Tap••stery Hangings, which also extended their O••namen•• into the re∣maining part; in the space of four spa••••s above the Ground, I joyned together two Tables pargetted like the Wall, to remove all suspicion from the jealous circums••ection of the Husband: Con••iguous to the counterfeit Partition were two Beds, one of each side, with no other ••nterval but that of the Ornament which conceal'd the Fraud; in the one I designed the Guests should lye, the other, which was not perceiv'd, I made the Post of my Ambush∣ment, where I was to lye in wait to fulfil the satis∣faction of my desires. After Supper, during which I had administer'd a Somniferous Drink, which as∣sured me I should not be molested by the vigilancy of my Rival, they retir'd to the Entertainments of that night, which I was to employ in my Pleasures. Silently I convey'd my self to my own Post, not with any thoughts of taking rest: I listen'd to all their Discourse, which made me but so much the more eager after the forbidden Fruit, while she

wanting the Fidelity of her Chastity, and he dis∣covering the Iealousie of his Affection, my mind suggested to me so much the greater Glory from my Enterprize, to triumph over both. The Po∣tion began to work its effects, tho' but slowly up∣on the Husband, so that preventing his Wife in undressing himself, he also fell asleep before her. Then lifting up the Curtain of the Tapestry, I en∣ter'd upon the Stage where I desir'd no Spectators. I put my self in the middle between the Husband and the Wife, and deem'd it an Undertaking sin∣gularly Glorious to enjoy a Lady in the same Bed with her Husband, in derision of the jealous Watch∣fulness of the one, and in scorn of the profess'd Chastity of the other.

The next Morning I went a Hunting with the Husband, whom I had order'd to be wak'd be∣times; and when I return'd I try'd my Fortune a∣gain in the City, laughing at the Jealousie of her Husband, which was such that I could not pro∣mise my self to succeed in my undertaking by any other then delusive means. One day discoursing with him, and protesting to be the most cordial Servant he had in the World, I gave him a most devilish false Testimony of my faithful Friendship, by discovering to him a Design, as I pretended, of some Gentlemen to enter his House by Night, and violently to ravish from his Bosom his dear••y be∣loved Wife, so much the more enamour'd of her Beauty, by how much they saw him so chary of her. The next night said I to this, is appointed for the Execution of this Design; which put the good Man into such a Confusion of Mind, that he stood still as if he had been Thunder-strock. Nor could ye blame him; for indeed, 'twas no less then the loss of a Treasure that was his very Heart which

made him lead a careful Life, for fear least any other should share in his Happiness.

To me therefore as his Oracle, he betakes him∣self, and begs me that I would be the propitious Nu∣men, who as I had made known the threatning Mischief, would also prevent the danger. I or∣der'd him exact secresie, so that no body in the House, no not his Wife should know of the Busi∣ness. But least the Lady might have any suspicion I order'd him to undress himself as he was wont to do, and go to Bed to her, but after she was a∣sleep, to slip out of the Bed, and to come where I would stay for him, with a remedy proper to prevent the danger. Now you must know there are two Doors to the House, one to the Street, the other at a good distance from it leading into a Garden encompass'd with a Wall. Thither in the Dusk of the Evening I conveigh'd certain Fellows well arm'd, with one part of which I set the Husband there to watch, remaining with the rest to secure the Street door, so that we might he certain to se∣cure both Entrances; and they that were assign'd to the Garden Post, had orders not to stir till. I gave 'em the Sign. All things being dispos'd ac∣cording to agreement, the happy Hour for me approach'd, at what time the ••ady being become the Prey of Sheep, the good Man came down without his Doublet, but laden with Arms to counterpoize the Weight of his Fear. He obey'd my Orders by repairing to the place appointed, with a pro∣mise not to budge till I came to relieve him.

No sooner was he gone to his ••'ost, bu•• away went I, with a dark Lanthorn in my hand, enter'd the Chamber, and so pass'd into the Bed, where his Lady was, and robb'd him of all that could en∣rich me with content, not caring whither Fidelity were injur'd, or Frie••dship violated. In the height

of Enjoyments, transported beyond my self, I let slip an Ay me, an expressive Note of extraordinary pleasure, that discover'd my Thievery The Lady was soon sensible of the difference of my Voice, which I conceal'd before, either by my silence, or falsifying the Tone of it in short Accents. Which now being let loose to their natural Tone discover'd that I was not her Husband; at first she began to cry out, as if she had been betray'd, making a heavy Stir, according to the Custom of her Sex, not able to satisfy their Anger or Revenge by force.

I leapt out of the Bed, and putting my self full in the Light, I offer'd my Life to attone her fury. I held the Lanthorn in one hand, and my Dagger in the other, with the point turn'd upon my breast, showing my resolution to strike▪ if she refus'd me her Compassion. For certain, said I, this Dagger shall pierce my Heart, if my Death will be a greater satisfaction to ye than my Love. Then Lady, make use of your Prudence, and make it no•• your glory to publish your Failings in your Re∣venge of my Affection. The House is full of my own Souldiers, from whose fury you must expect the Slaughter of all that oppose my escape, which I value not however, as being content to fall a Victim to your Divinity, if you think your self injur'd by him that adores you.

So saying, I made as if I would give my self the fatal Stab, when she stretching forth her hand. Hold, said she, dear Friend; since it behoves me not to carry it to height of Cruelty, the Dissimu∣lation of that Anger which we Women pretend against those that enjoy us by stea••••h.

The Lady by means of these so kind and win∣ning Tendernesses being become more dear to me then before, I embrac'd her with an excess of Kind∣ness; and to satisfie her Curiosity I related to her the whole manner of my contrivance, and gave her an accompt of the Stratagem that I had pra∣ctic'd at my Country-house.

Our further Discourses were interrupted by a Noise occasion'd by the Motion of armed Men. For that certain Persons coming to the little Door in the Garden, suppos'd to be Thieves, put the Guard in an uproar. And this gave credit to all my Fictims, while the Husband thought them, to have been the Thieves that were come to rob him of his Perian Wealth. And I forsook my Beatitude, to hasten to his assistance, of which there was no need, for that the Thieves being frighted at the noise of People stirring, ran away of themselves. Thus ended the Comedy, with this Advantage for me, that being become the Good Man's Confident, my Conversation was free from all suspicion. On the other side the prudent Wife found out a thou∣sand Excuses for opportunities to make me happy in her Company. This was the Issue of my A∣mours, of which I willing to give your Worship an Account, to gratifie that common Itch of Lovers, who are never so well pleas'd with their Thieveries, as when they are publickly known. Ascribe to my Passion the Tediousness of the Letter, and in exchange of Kindness, honour me with a propor∣tionable share of your Commands, which you will find obey'd with all imaginable Compliance.

Behold (said Fountain) the end of Friendship in our Age, wherein our most familiar Acquaintance are they alone, that chiefly betray our Reputation. I o••serve (said Chappel) that the Heart is the Sym∣bol of true Friendship, in regard those Creatures mu∣tually assist each other in their swimming over the River; whereby is express'd the necessary Condition of true Friends, which oblig••s 'em to reciprocal As∣sistance of each other in the greatest Dangers.

But as Co••ly well observes, There's fewer Friends on Earth than Kings; and so sa••ing he read the following Letter.

LETTER CXXIV.

Upon the Custom of paying Harlots. 'Twas directed to Mr. Ralf Banford,—at his House in Uxbridge. With Care and Speed.

Honour'd Sir,

I Cannot but enlarge upon a Custom which is chiefly observ'd among the great Men of this World. This is the Custom, I know not by whom Introduc'd, of paying Harlots, so much to the pre∣judice of Man, and the Superiority of the Mas∣culine

Sex, constrain'd to pay for that, which Wo∣man as his Inferior is oblig'd to give him freely as a Debt due to his Contentments. For to what end was Woman made, if not to be subservient to our Pleasures? Shall he then suffer a Monster to live in the World under his own shape, that shall render Manhood contemptible, and his chiefest Glories despicable, by acting contrary to Reason and Judg∣ment? Shall he endure the Insolencies of his Slave, to the forming of whom while he gave a Rib, he bound her with a Chain of Bondage, as being bought with his own Flesh? Shall he bend under so great a Misfortune as to have enliven'd In••elici∣ty, a living Tyranny, and Hell in Epitom, all com∣bin'd together in a walking Frame? And when he thinks to enjoy those Pleasures in the use of her for which alone she was born, must he be forc'd to pay through the Nose for 'em? Must a Man be forc'd to humble himself with a paltry Serv••l••ty, even to Adoration, to be subject to Mult••plicity of Cares, to weary his Mind in the Government of his Passions, and turmoil his Body with amorous Fa∣tigues, and instead of a Reward for all this, shall he forc'd to purchase his Refreshments? Good God! how blind is this World, and how bewitch'd are unhappy Mortals, who are fai•• to buy their own Mis••ries, and the worst of Curses which they in∣cur in common by conversing with Harlots, wast∣ing the choicest of their Substance, and consuming their Wealth! This was certainly an A••••ifice of the Devil, the deadly Enemy of the Contentments of our Sex, among which those of our Lascivious∣ness being the most desirable, he would embitter 'em with the Expence of that which is to us more necessary and grateful. Can Men in reason envy the Condition of Brutes, and desire that Authori∣ty which advances the Masculine Sex above the Fe∣male

in every individual Creature, that whenever his Appetite excites him, has the Gratification of it without bargaining to pay for his Pleasures. A poor Lover shall be worst us'd than a Dog, and if he have no Money shall be depriv'd of those Pleasures that are not refus'd to a Beast. Ac∣••u••s••d Custom, in Conformity to which the amorous Dance is regulated and govern'd by the Chinking of the more precious Mettals, while there is a Tribute laid upon those Pleasures that Nature so freely and abundantly affords us! And what afflictions does not a Lover suffer, yet not able to satisfie his Desires through the Covetous∣ness of his Goddess, whose common Exercise it is, to tear his very Skin from his Flesh? There is a Decree of one of the Popes, which prefixes for the Payment of a Harlot no more then will Suffice her for one days Victuals.

If this Law were observ'd, these devour∣ing Wolves would not exact such Treasures for a thing in it self both vile and abominable, and ra∣ther imagin'd for Delight, then really found to be So. Or at least, as in well regulated Cities, where whatever is sold, there is hut so much gain in the Price, so there should be no more then such a gain allow'd in the Price of Harlots Flesh, which being the worst of all Flesh, would be very cheap if it were valu'd to its worth. Otherwise to suffer their Indiscretion to run at Random, is to multiply the Number of Whores, since every covetous Woman, though naturally not prone to Dishonesty, would turn Whore for Gain's sake; so that we should see all the Women running a drift in the Sea of Lasciviousness, nor would there be a chast Matron left in any of the Cities of Europe. I wish I might not say of the World. These dissolute Bag∣gages live in all manner of Luxury, splendid in

their Furniture, their C••o••••hs and their Tables, insomuch that Vice being made a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Commo∣dity, will make use of its attractive Violences to ravish the Inclinations of every Woman prone enough to follow it of themselves. Kind Hea∣ven afford convenient Remedies to these disor∣ders for the Benefit of the Masculine Sex and the Relive of poor lovers.

This Fool (said Summer) never considers▪ that Men, were they not restrain'd with the Curb of Payment, would run with so much fury to satia•••• their Appetites even to the bursting of their Belli••s, as we say, that they woold kill themselves with lying Scotfree at Rack and Manger. Besides (said River) that some Princes would loose a part of their Re∣venues, as having a considerable Tribute out of the Games of the Harlots. I know of no Princes (re∣ply'd I) who have any such Tribute unless it be the Grand Duke of Florence, and the Pope, into whom the Sharpness of the Climate infus'd that fine-sp•••• Peice of Policy to lay a Tax upon the Brothel-houses. I remember (said Winter) I have many times traded with Brook in the Streights; at which the whole Company laught; and to the end there might be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 farther reply, they presently fell a reading the following Letter.

LETTER CXXV.

From an Advocate to his Friend. 'Twas di∣rected to Mr. Sliford, at his House in Canterbury.

SIR,

I Have unplum'd the Bird: I send it your Lord∣ship, together with another of my own, tho' of mother sort, to the end you may pull off the Skin. The Suit so tediously by me prolong'd as it was pos∣sible, to the end I might squeeze it as long as there was any thing coming, is now at last sent back by the Gentleman you know of to yonder place. I consign the Handling of it to you, as well for the sake of our ancient Friendship, as also, to the end that lighting upon an Advocate more discreet then I, he may have no Cause to complain of my Extor∣tions. Be mindful also of my Interests, and when you have flead off the Skin, send it me back again if possible, that I may try my Wits to pick the Bones of it: And so concluding, I must affectio∣nately kiss your hands.

See (said Summer) how some of these Beasts of Advocates use their Clients, like Tennis-balls, send∣ing 'em from Post to Pillar, and tossing them back∣ward and forward, till they are quite out of breath.

Rather (said River) till they see their very Skins hang in Rags about their Bodies. And therefore 'twas well said of one, that suits were the Hell of this World; since there cannot be found more spite∣ful

Devils then some Advocates, who with a mon∣strous Cruelty squeeze their Clients till they press out the Blood. In short (said I) He that made Mercury the God of Sciences, and the God of Thieves both to∣gether, had an eye only upon those Men, whose knowledge only serves 'em to ravish and steal. This is an evi∣dent Truth (replied Grave) and therefore needs no other Comments. And so a new Letter was open'd to be read.

LETTER CXXVI.

Containing an Information of Parnassus against the modern men of Learning. 'Twas directed to Sir Tho.—at his House in Wendover.

SIR,

YOur Worship repeats your Importunities, that I would send you some News. I have no way to comply with your Desires, in regard the hurry of the Wars prevent me there of a speedy convey∣ance: Nor would they afford me an opportunity, but only to accumulate a company of Lyes, which every body forges, according to their own Fanci••s. I shall therefore only tell ye of an Accident, of which Par••assus was not many days ago the Thea∣ter; there has been brought out of that Country Esculapius, Physician to Apollo's Majesty; he came into this City to cure a Spaniard, who from a very mean Extraction, being rais'd to Preferment, tho'

〈◊〉〈◊〉 not the greatest importance, was troubl'd with a ••••••eightness of his Breast, not being able to breath 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the swelling of his Ambition, augmented by the ••ind of his new Honours.

This Esculapius gave us an account in what man∣••••r Apollo was pleas'd to divert himself with the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of a sumptuous Banquet, upon the late 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of certain Princes at his Court; having several times heard of the Excellency of the modern learned 〈◊〉〈◊〉, who are the Cooks of Parnassus, he was 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to ascertain himself of the Truth upon this op∣portunity, whereupon he set forth an Order, That every one, with his particular Viands, should 〈◊〉〈◊〉, out the Messes for this Table: Every one will∣••••gly embraced the occasion, to make known his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Virtue, wherein every one presum'd, tho' the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Scribler, a glorious Advantage above the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but his Majesty resolved to see the Prepara∣•••••••••• before the Invitation, that he might not be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at by such great Personages. He thought 〈◊〉〈◊〉 himself, that there were many Fools, who am∣••••tiously thrust themselves into the Roll of Virtu••s••; that he imagin'd there would some unlucky Ex∣••••vagance happen, if, as he foresaw it was likely to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 out, he did not provide against the Inconve∣••••ence.

To this purpose he was conducted by his Cham∣••••lain into a spacious Hall, where upon several Ta∣•••••• the Dishes were set in order, that were to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 up at this splendid Feast. At the first sight 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Basons of Radishes offer'd themselves, when of sudden Apollo smiling, I know, said he, whose Dish 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is; that though I understood not the quality the Food, this would demonstrate to me the ••••sture wherein he who has presented it with his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Pride, would have the rest proceed. I won∣••••••, added he, that the Spaniards alwaies bringing

this for the last course, it should be number'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 among the Provocatives to Appetite.

Your Majesty is to understand, replied the Assi∣stant, that this is their Food, which serves for all Beginnings of their Feasts. There are other Places presented by the same Nation, which are to be serv'd up at the changes of every course. These are the Spanish Books, many in number, but few that have any substance; they carry like Radishes a great Periwig of Leaves, in a surplusage of ill-composed words, but underneath appears nothing but the Head of a Winter-Radish without any Brains. Or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 any one has any thing of a sharpness, that bites, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so unfavoury, as not to be eaten without Salt. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 'em be set upon a Muck-hill, said Apollo, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 upon a Table which is to be crowned with so many Princes.

There followed in order, not to give disgust i•• point of precedency, an Olla podrida of Books that come from Spain, worthy of great esteem, but the confusion of Learning and prittle prattle, buries th•••• good Substance in undistinguishable 〈…〉〈…〉 many times creates a na••feating before you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 'em. 'Tis good Food, cried Apollo, but not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 appear upon a Table of Delicacies.

To these succeeded certain French Soops, very delicate indeed, but overcharg'd with the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Vain words, out of which you fish'd some Sopp•••• of ordinary Conceits, but you were not suffer'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fish in the main Sea, to pyrate any thing of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Nevertheless they were not rejected by Apollo, being such things as would please some mens, Appe∣tites. And some there were, who having the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of diving to the bottom, would fish up somethin•• that pleased their Tasts, which others never 〈◊〉〈◊〉 any notice of.

At a little Table apart behind these, stood a High German, who had dish'd up a great number of seve∣ral sorts of Pottage, upon which Apollo, in a kind of chase cried out, Surely this fellow thinks we are in a Convent of Franciscans. With submission to your Majesty, said the Assistant, this is a Nation that knows not how to make any thing that is good, and therefore their sole profession is to be drunk. Let him herd with the Scullions in the Kitchin, replied his Majesty, he'l make a Cook good enough for them.

So saying, he passed on to view a great Table ••••••ll of several Pies, at what time the Assistant ta∣king notice, that he wonder'd at the number; These (said he) are Romances of the learned Italians; which under the Covert of simple Paste included the solid Substance of hidden wisdom in fabulous Dress; and this sort of Writing has acquired so ••reat a Reputation, that it is now the business of every Tuscan Writer. Apollo, curious to penetrate into the nature of these Pies, and to measure their Encomiums and Condemnations by the Rule of Reason, caus'd some to be cut up, but more espe∣cially one, which outwardly made a shew, but re∣ceiv'd the principal Credit which it h••d from the Person that presented it, and assigning it for a sin∣gular Dainty, exalted it above all the rest; his Ma∣jesty thought to have found some most delicate In∣gredient, not knowing the Person to be no less vain-glorious than ignorant; but the Meat within it was only Beef, which felt so hard at first, that it might have been easily taken for a piece of an old Bull. The Arrogance of the Person provok'd Apollo to that degree, that he caus'd the Pye, Pye-plate and all, to be thrown away, and the Cook to be punish'd, for his Presumption. Here is another piece of Beef of the same sort, quoth the Assistant. Let 'em both, replied his Majesty, be given to the Hoggs.

His Majesty was curious to see the Intrails of another, which shewing withoutside the Head, Tail, and Wings of a Partridge, made him believe that the Fowl within was a precious Bit; but he was much deceiv'd, for the inside contain'd no more than Fish. How! cry'd Apollo, what means this fellow, to promise us a Bird, and give us Fish? These, said the Assistant, are a sort of people that promise in their Romances Historical Truth, and good Sence, to vant themselves men of great wit. But after all, are discover'd to be full of Fables and Parabolical Mish∣mashes, wherein if there be any one particular Truth, it changes both its Substance and its Na∣ture.

There was another which made a great shew, but with several Lidds one above another, of Episodis and fiddle-faddles, so that there was hardly any coming to see what was in it: But at last they made a shift to cut it up, and found it so full of Abstrus•• Conceits, that Apollo order'd it to be made up into Pellets, to feed his Ostridges.

Apollo, by this time cloy'd with so many Pyes the goodness of which lay all in a Crust, slightly 〈◊〉〈◊〉 over the rest, when there was one that presented self to his view, of a more curious form than the rest, neatly garnish'd and set out, and having all the sig•••• of good seasoning and exactness of Cookery. Pre∣sently he order'd it to be cut up, and found it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 within with Marrow, and I know not what sort 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Brains. These are delicate Morsels indeed, said his Majesty, but which are buried in a very great Coff••••, considering the smallness of the quantity. However, I cannot admire, that having put all the Brains withinside, he knew not how to make use of '•••• without. In short, of all that were upon this T••∣ble, he made choice for his own of no other tha•• some few small Ielly-pyes, wherein the variety

Sawces, in a small compass, concluded in a good savour.

From hence he went to visit the Preparations of the Butchers Meat, where he found little satisfacti∣on, for the boil'd Meats were altogether insipid, and so black, as if they had been in Mourning for the deceased Merits of the persons that cook'd 'em. They were so homely and slovenly order'd, as if they had been drest for Beggarr, all the Products of Igno∣rance, not fit for the Grandees of Parnassus. A∣mong the rest there was a stately Capon, or at least one that had been such, but so cook'd, that Apollo shrug'd up his Shoulders, to see the simplicity of the Cook. This, said the Assistant, is a Book of Histo∣ries, which according to the Rules of a new Refor∣mer, are oblig'd to make a shew of such a perfect na∣••edness, that you are allow'd no Salt for fear they should lose their unsavoriness. Away with these P••∣••ants, said his Majesty, publishers of new Reforma∣tions, they must not think to introduce such Disorders to the public detriment, because they know not how to season their own Writings as they should do. Is it seemly, that dry unsavoury Meat, fit only for Broom∣men and Chair-mtnders, should be brought to the Ta∣bles of great Personages and tow'ring Wits?

After this there was a Duck, I will not say bu∣r••ed, but rather engulph'd, under a Mountain of Onions, and certainly he stood in need of his na∣tural Qua, Qua, to let ye know where he was, otherwise it had been impossible to find him, tho' he lay before their Noses. Such are the Writings of those that multiply Digressions and Repetitions, and frequently use obscure Sentences, by which means they build up a heap of Confusions rather than Periods: So that whatever is good in 'em, be∣ing utterly buried, they lose that Merit which otherwise they might boast of.

Nor did the Roast-meat please Apollo any better, of which the greatest part was blood-raw, and the reason of it was, because they had laid down too much at a time; and moreover, by reason of the disproportion of the Joynts: So that some were parched up to that degree, that a Hatchet would not enter 'em. There were several Sawces prepar'd for these Dishes, two sorts of which would have been very well approv'd, if the stink of the Steam had not render'd it nauseous at a distance, and that the other at first sight had not appear'd too full of Salt, so that his Majesty was constrained to say, That surely that same fellow had the Palate of a Cuc∣kold, and had season'd it to his Appetite; he can have no Salt in his Brains that has put it all in his Sawcepan.

While he was continuing his visitation, he saw a great steam, which rising from a Platter, hinder'd him from seeing what was in it. Ne'er trouble your self, an't please your Majesty, said the Assistant, to satisfie your Curiosity, for this Dish is the Composition of a good Wit, but so full of Ambition, that no body can endure to see him, not so much as in his Works. So that with the Steam of that Pride he darken•• those Lusters which otherwise would be able to dis∣play his Merit; his Majesty therefore would have this Dish exterminated from his Table, abhorring such a Pride that made a man stand in his own light.

At the same time there was presented to Apollo a certain Cook, who by his being in his Drawers, and by his sweating, shew'd himself to have been hard at work. He had once been happy in making some Fritters, which got him great Applause. 'Twas thought tho, that he had stoln 'em from some body else, because he never could produce the like in other Works of his of the same nature. When

his Majesty beheld him low of stature, deformed in his Face, and only rich in Ambition, Surely, said he, this is some Bum••-bailiff, no learned man. Your Majesty is not much out of the way, quoth the Assi∣stant, for he is a public Spy. He brought a Pye along with him, just ready to go to the Oven, for that having heard but late of Apollo's Commands, he he had not time to bake it, but only to make it up. He farther told his Majesty, that he came to shew it his Majesty, that he might be assur'd of one substan∣tial Dish. Then he began a Series of Encomiums, which begot a greater Scorn of his Presumption than Admirations of his Parts. But the Pye being o∣pen'd was found full of Trash, that smelt very rank withal, as being a Composition consisting of the Accidents of antient History, disembowell'd, with a small Addition of his own, but nothing good. ••e had the Honour to be well kick'd, besides that he was commanded to throw his Pye into the Fire.

From thence he went and took a slight View of the preparations of Fruit, which were all the Offer∣ing•• of the Potts. But they had not the good fate ••o please him any more then the rest, either be∣cause the Vanity of Poetry is all comprehended in Trifles of little moment, or because the usual Po∣verty attending Poetry would not permit 'em to be at more expenees, or else because that the Poets of our time are not so excellent as to appear with Offers of value, Thistles, F••nnel, Tansey, and other such like Herbs, which are least pleasing to the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, resemble the Works of the Poets, the Sub∣stance of which is easily dissolv'd into little or no∣thing. Some Sparagus and H••rtichokes, might be ••ccompted the greatest Daint••es in that Course, and were the Presents of some few that were singular 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Profession.

Just as Apollo was going away, after he had made choice of his Dishes, appear'd blind Britti with a little Cup, given him by an Apothecary in Venice for a Copy of Verses made upon a Whore of his; he excus'd his long stay, and laid the fault of it ••pon his not being able to get a guide sooner. He told Apollo that having heard of the Proclamation that had Summon'd all the Poets to their Duty, he came also to bring his Mite, as being enroll'd in the Number. His Majesty not without a S••rdonit Smile, severely rebuk'd his rashness for daring to enrol himself among the Learned. Blind Britti reply'd, that he was perswaded to it, by seeing so many Princes Honour with their Favours, under the Title of Virtuosi's, so many Musicians, Come∣dians, Buffoons, and such like Rascallians, to whom he thought himself nothing inferior. To which he added, that many crouded themselves into the Number of Virtuosi, who could not build any foun∣dation of Merit, but only upon some pieces of waste Paper, stuft with what they had fil••h'd out of other Books, whereas in his Conceit he was a Poet of himself, and not by Vertue of Flourishes robb'd from other Men. Apollo could not deny this to be true, but he refus'd to countenance his boldness, and caus'd him to expell'd Pa••nass••s. And so he return'd to meet his royal Guests.

Esculapius added no more, believing it sufficient that he had given a full Accompt of the Ma•••••• which the Virtuoso's of our Age had given of them∣selves. I hope your Lordship will excuse me if I have been too tedious, and look upon it as Penance which your own Importunity has occasion'd, by repearing your earnest Sollic••tations for News, &c.

The Invention of this Information of Parnassus, (said Chappel) is ancient, yet not ill accomodated to the Learned, who in the Entertainments of great Men, are lookt upon as a kind of Cooks, who for the reward of a long toiling Service, are fed with Smoak. You may add (said Fountain) that these nimble Wits, like Cooks, delights to be among the Pots and the Pipkins, and to be thrusting their Noses into the most delicate Sauces. While they were thus discoursing I stopt their Mouths by reading the e••∣suing Letter.

LETTER CXXVIII.

From a blunt Fellow, who desires the Fa∣vour to be made a Hangman. 'Twas directed to George Farmer, Esq at his House in Stepney; With Care and Speed.

Worthy Sir,

I Know that my Family has always acknowledg'd all the Avancement it has enjoy'd to have been founded upon the Favours receiv'd from your self. And therefore, that the Obligations of my Posterity may continue in the same Channel, I have deter∣min'd to address my self to your Worship upon this lucky Opportunity that presents it self for the t'other Advancement of my Fortunes. By a Gentle∣man of my acquaintance, I understand that the Employment of publick Hangman is like to be va∣cant by the Death of the present Incumbent, who I hear lies very sick. I desire to succeed in that Important Preferment: Nor could I promise my self the hopes of obtaining my desires by the Sollicita∣tions of any other Person then your Worship, whose Power and Authority I know to be more then sufficient to Honour me with this Promotion, and the wonted Effects of whose Generosity are still the same as ever. I shall expect this Honour as great as it is, as one that will be always most ready to exchange Favour for Favour, with this

reserve, that it be within the reach of my Abili∣ty; and so with reverence concluding, I kiss your Hands.

Had he written (said Church) with this reserve, that it be within the Verge of my Profession, it had been a genteel Promise to hang his Friend upon the first Opportunity. What a happy Conclusion is this! (quoth they, laughing altogether) for they were now at last to discover the Trafficquing of such a noble Ambition. Never wonder at it (said I) for such Dignities as these, find many Competitors in every Country. Some years ago I was in Milan, when a Vacancy of this nature fell, I understood that there were presented to the Senate no less then eighteen Petitions of Pretenders to the Place.

LETTER CXXIX.

Sent with the Picture of a Lady.—'Twas directed to Mr. Wansfort, Merchant, in Bristol. This deliver with Care and Speed.

Honour'd Sir,

I Send you the Picture of the Lady, who gain'd that Authority over ye, as to be the absolute Mistress of your Affections, while you staid in London: Thus you see the performance of your Commands which you laid upon me at your depar∣ture. I know not whither you will be so faithfully serv'd by the Limner, as I have endeavour'd to serve you my self. The Art deserves to be ex∣cus'd if it mistook in drawing into a small Com∣pass a Face, wherein Nature her self had epitomiz'd all Perfection. Those Beauties cannot be contain'd in a small piece of Brass, for which the whole Compass of the Sun's Sphere is too narrow. That Heaven can never be describ'd without a ne∣cessity of adding the Motto of Heaven it self, Pulchriora Latent; since no Pencil can express that Beauty by which the possibility of any greater Beauty is quite extinguish'd. In Pictures the Sha∣dows give Life to the Colours, but how can Sha∣dows here appear in the Face of the Sun. There can be no proper Air provided for this Likeness, for that being Angelical, it enjoys no other Sun, but that of Paradise. Let your Worship but con∣sider

the transcendent Value of her Heart, and your Will she could not be drawn more artfully, since a divine Object ill suits with the Workmanship of a terrestrial Hand. Pity the Painter, who could not outdo himself, muchless surpass Nature and Hea∣ven. Accept of my good Will in solliciting the fi••lshing of the Piece, and gratifying your De∣sires, I shall ever approve my self to be

Your hearty humble Servant, Jonathan Holligood.

While this was reading Temple, who was the youngest in the Company, and consequently the most enclin'd to Love, curious, or rather desirous to behold this Celebrated Portraiture, in great hast untied the Bundle, and had lit upon, and open'd the Box by that time they had done reading the Letter; and there was a necessity for him to impart to the Com∣pany a sight of the Picture, of which he was al∣most become Iealous, and sain would have appro∣priated to himself. Their Encomiums were the Hyperboles of Lovers, since all other Expressions were below the Commendations which the Face deserv'd. They were also short, in regard the Lady who in the Picture seem'd alive, and actually to speak com∣manded the rest to hold their Tongues. And there∣fore they stood all like stupid Admirers, I know not whither out of a deluded Belief, that she was alive, and therefore thinking themselves oblig'd to a modest Reverence and a reverent Silence; or whi∣ther b••sied in a Tacit Devotion, to thank that good Fortune which had granted 'em the Favour to be∣hold

hold a Beauty so transcendant, that tho' in Painting only deserv'd no l••ss then the Adoration of all Eyes. All the Company stood as immoveable, as if they had been stro••k with Thunder, more especially Church and Winter, who was older then the rest, staring and gaping with Amazement upon the Picture, till they had star'd so long that they could not see to read any more; which as it was one reason why the Company broke up, so there was a second, be∣cause they were weary, and the late Hour of the Night call'd them to Bed.—And now I think 'tis proper to give you a breathing time, and reserve our farther Account till the next Opportunity, by these you'll find as I told you, that our Extravagancies are not without their Morals. I am

Dear SIR,

Your very humble Servant, C. G.

The End of the First Volume.

Notes

• * 8.1

  I thought good to add this beyond what the ingenious Author I imitate, has said; for he only in a kind of Innuendo threatens her, to make her pass for a Whore, as Virgil did Dido, if she yield∣ed not to him; but I know Plain Dealing in love was most natural, and therefore have spoke it out in plain English what she has to trust to, if sh•• slights my Love: Besides, I know most of the Young Gentlewomen about Oxford, had rather be Lampoon'd than kill'd; so that I drew my Argu∣ment •• fortiore, and have, I hope, out-done my Original.
• * 9.1

  It ought (said Chappel) to have been a heart like thine, else it seems there might be wealth great enough to purchase her heart, being but one, tho not enough to purchase more of the same value.
• * 9.2

  Of all the sweet meats in the World (interrupted Summer) I hate preserv'd Bees, in his Preface (for I have read his Books) he's a∣gainst for fetch'd Similes, and here he has got one, that agrees in nothing with the thing he ap∣plies it to, first they are embalmed like Bees, then preserv'd like 'em in an Amber Tomb. I never knew of any Bees preserv'd in a Tomb, unless in this new model'd Poetry, A Hive and a Tomb be all one. I think the Oxonian has extreamly mended this,

  Embalm'd with Fiddle within your Amber Tomb-stone, You'll last immortal Mummy till day of Doom's come.
• * 9.3

  Nay, there (interrupted Fountain) the Ar∣gument be brings, destroys the proof he brings it for, since 'tis evident by his Verse, that Dido's Virtue lives even to our time, for about two thousand six hundred and twelve years, in spight of Virgils En∣deavours to sacrifice her Reputation to the Honour of his Hero, and his Mistress might well answer she had little cause to fear his Poetry, if the Prince of Poets could do no more toward the defaming of a Woman. Nay, (said Winter) if one must needs threaten ones Mistress, I think the Oxonian much more in the right ••n't, his Example being less to be excepted against, for tho' some Authors will have it, that this was a Piper, yet they differ, others affirming him to have been a Fidler. Nay then (said Chappel) we have done (for all this while Chappel read the Authors Lines, and Church read the Oxonians) and therefore I'll clap up my Original piece of Poetry. And I'll lay aside (said Church) my Vniversity Comment. How different (said I) is this Argument handled by Ovid in his third Book of his Art of Love, from whence he seems to have borrow'd the hint, Ovid in his de Tristibus, and de Ponto, has more on the same Subject, tho he professes such a value for the Antients in his Act of Love. It begins,

  Garmina qui facimus mittamus Carmina tantum, Hic Chorus ante Alios aptus amare sumus.
• * 103.1

  A 〈◊〉〈◊〉 number, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it'•• no mat∣ter for bei•••• very exact.
• * 103.2

  Here sigh, and take breath.