MISCELLANIES IN PROSE and VERSE: By Mr. DENNIS.
IMPRIMATUR.
MISCELLANIES IN Uerse and Prose.
By Mr. DENNIS.
LONDON, Printed for Iames Knapton, at the Crown in St. Paul's Church-Yard. MDCXCIII.
TO THE Right Honourable, &c.
I Presume to Dedicate the following Trifles to you; which, if you were one, who judg'd by the Volume, would yet have more the appearance of Trifles. Let them be what they will, they are the most valuable things that I have to offer: and the Obligations which I have to your Lordship are so extraordinary, that to endeavour to make no return, would be down right Ingratitude. Your Lordship will be inclin'd to think me bold to excess, when you hear me [Page] boasting of Favours receiv'd from you, tho perhaps you have never so much as heard of me. Yet, I desire leave to repeat it, the Obligations which I have to you are altogether Extraordinary. For it is owing to your Lordship that I have pass'd some moments of a melancholy Life with inexpressible pleasure. For as reading has always been my chief diversion, your Lordships admirable Writings have been able to give me joy in spight of ill Fate. Your happy and commanding Genius never fail'd to controule my evil weaker one, and seem'd still to cry out to it, Whilst I am by, he must not be unhappy.
Nor have I only the obligation to your Lordship of your own incomparable Writings, but of most of the productions of the best Writers of our Age. 'Tis from your Generous Approbation, that [Page] they have deriv'd that spirit which renders their Works Immortal. For when ever a Man who is so truely great as your Lordship, shall vouchsafe to look with a favourable aspect on Poetry, it will not fail to flourish, tho all the Stars look malignantly. Ev'n I, My Lord, who am no Poet, have notwithstanding found that the desire of pleasing so accomplish'd a Iudge, has more than once inspir'd me with that noble warmth, which Heaven and Nature deny'd me. When Heaven sent Mecoenas into the World to be first Minister to the Commonwealth of Rome and of Learning, then arose Virgil and Horace, and the rest of those extraordinary Men, whose very single Names are grown to be entire and glorious Panegyricks. When several Ages after him, Cardinal Richlieu was establish'd in France in his double Capacity, the Muses were invited [Page] to pass the Mountains, and breath the sweetness of the Gallick Air. After Mecoenas and Cardinal Richlieu, your Lordship will stand eternally recorded by Fame, as the last in succession of that Illustrious Triumvirate, and it will always stand recorded together by the same everlasting Register, That in your Lordship's time England had more good Poets, than it could boast from the Conquest to Yo [...] before. By animating and exciting the very best of which, you will for ever oblige all those who are to receive Delight and Instruction from them. Thus is your goodness grown so diffusive, that its influence extends to thousands whom you never heard of. Titus was the Delight and Ioy of mankind, but your Lordship is, and for ever will be so. You have found out a better way than either Mecoenas or Richlieu, to oblige not only the present Age, but [Page] ev'n remotest Posterity. For if we cherish Mecoenas his Memory, tho we know that he endeavour'd at the same time to polish and enslave the World; if the Memory of Richlieu be dear to us, tho at the same time that he treated the Muses magnificently, he laid the cursed design of Europe's Captivity: with what blessings must not we mention your Lordship, when we consider that we owe at once our Delight and our Safety to you? For at the very time that you are the Delight and Ioy of your Age, and Ornament of your Country, at the very time that you exalt the Honour of England by your own admirable Writings, and the Labours of those Excellent Men, whom your authentick applause inspires; at the same time by giving wholesome Counsels to our August Monarch, you become instrumental in the defence of our Liberties, [Page] and the general security of the Christian World. Mecoenas and Richlieu protected the Muses, but their Protection was partly at least political, and necessary for the gaining or softning some unruly Spirits, who would have been else too turbulent for the New Yoak. But your Lordship's Patronage proceeds from no sinister end, no unjust design on our Liberties; but purely from the greatness of your noble Mind, and a Godlike principle of inbred Beneficence.
Thus, My Lord, have I been guilty of a fault which is common to all the most supportable Dedications. For I have hitherto told the Publick nothing concerning you, but what I learnt from the Publick before. There is no Man but knows that of all the Nobility your Lordship has been always the most true and most candid [Page] Friend to the Muses. Whilst others are imploy'd in finding their faults, it is your prerogative to pardon them, and approve their Beauties. This is what is known to every one. But every one does not know that to find faults requires but common Sense; but to discern rare Beauties, requires a rare Genius. Thus if your Lordship will pardon so poetical a Similitude, when one of the glories of the fairer Sex, one who was fram'd and design'd by Providence to bless some Man who is greatly good, and give an earnest of Heaven below to him; when such a one is at any time seen amongst us, the vulgar Spectators, those Criticks in Beauty, are busie in censuring some Mole or some Blemish, or some inconsiderable Irregularity, which Nature industriously perhaps contriv'd with intention to set off her great Masterpiece. But when [Page] a Man who has a Soul that in creating was form'd to be mov'd by Beauty, that is, a beautiful Soul, when he contemplates her, he gazes, admires, and loves in a Moment; then follow transporting impatient wishes to return that happiness he receives from the lovely Object. Your Lordship could never be the Muses best Friend, if you were not the Man who understood them best. If you had not heighth of Genius, and largeness of Soul to comprehend all their Excellencies: If you did not sensibly feel their elevation of thought with all its warmth, its force and its delicacy; which you could never fully discern, if you did not throughly understand their Tongues, if you had not skill to judge of its finest Grace, its Vigour, its Purity, its judicious Boldness, its comprehensive Energy, and all its glorious attractive ornaments. Your Lordship could never [Page] be compleatly skill'd in those ornaments, if you had not a piercing and a delicate Eye; and Eye that can readily judge betwixt tawdry Trimming and proper, that can discern betwixt gay and curious Colours, and can distinguish vaingawdy Pageantry, from pompous richness and true Magnificence. You could never converse with the Muses so freely as to understand them fully, if you did not perfectly speak that language of the Gods, in all its Sweetness, all its Abundance in all the power of its various Numbers, and in all its [...] Majesty. No, My Lord, you could never be pleas'd to a height with the Writings of others, if in writing, your self you had not felt those happy Enthusiasms, those violent Emotions, those supernatural transports which exalt a [...] above mortality, give delight and admiration to all the World, but shak [...] and ravish a [...] Soul with insupportable pleasu [...].
[Page] But it is high time to take leave of a Subject which throws me into a heat, which is very inconsistent with the respect that is due to your Lordship's Character.
Otherwise it would be no hard matter to prove from the same affection which you bear to the Muses, that your Lordship's Virtue shines as bright as your Genius.
But there is small need of proving that Virtue which all men discover by its own light. Your Lordship's Genius shines but to a fe [...], to none but those happy few, who have some particles in their breasts of the same eternal Fire. For inspiration alone can capacitate a Mortal to behold Celestial [Page] Beauties. The Vulgar discern it as they do a fix'd Star, they see that it is, they see that it shines: but the Rays that it casts at that infinite distance, can but just reach their benighted Souls thro the horrid gloom that surrounds them; and it is with pleasing wonder that they hear the Sons of Art proclaiming its prodigious Grandeur, its amazing Glory. But all men have a clear Idea of Virtue, tho few have a just notion of Genius. Your Virtue, My Lord, like the Sun, is nearer to them, tho that too is at a mighty distance, yet not so remote but that at the time that it cherishes them, it casts more light upon them, than their Souls can directly [...]ear.
Who does not admire your Goodness, your Charity, your generous Condescension, your greatness of Mind, your noblest Friendship; and to crown all, your [Page] Passionate Concern for your Countries welfare? These are the qualities which have caus'd your Lordship to be belov'd universally, nay, and belov'd too with as much warmth as if you were neither much esteem'd nor respected, yet at the same time so profoundly esteem'd, and in that awfull manner respected, as if you were not belov'd. The news of your late Promotion was receiv'd with the universal acknowledgement, That your Lordship was an honour to that most noble Order, which is an honour to Kings; and we all cryed out unanimously with your own Horace, ‘Mecoenas equitum decus!’
But I must be forc'd to stop short in this full career, lest proceeding I should please all Readers but you, whom of all Readers I would least displease. [Page] Before I conclude, I think fit to acquaint your Lordship, that I omitted the prefixing your name to this bold Epistle for several reasons: the chief of which is that I might not be liable to the accusation which one of our greatest Wits has some time since brought against dedicating Authors; which is, that they paint so grosly, that it were impossible to know for whom the Dawbers design'd their Pictures, if they did not, to inform us, set their names on the Top. I appeal to all those who shall happen to read this, if before they found you nam'd, they did not conclude that what has been said all along could be addrest to no man, and justly applyed to no man, but my Lord Dorset alone. I am,
THE PREFACE.
THE Verses composing this little Volume, were Writ on such various Subjects, that many of them requir'd quite different Spirits, and quite oppose Characters. Some of them demanded the Enthusiastick Spirit; and all that others were capapable of was a little good Sense, and an air of Gaity. The first were the most difficult to handle by much; which yet, if they should chance to be manag'd aright, would make me an ample a mends for my toil. For tho [Page] mear Enthusiasm is but Madness, nothing can be more noble than that which is rightly regulated; and nothing can come nearer that which I fancy to be a true description of Wit; which is a just mixture of Reason and Extravagance, that is such a mixture as reason may always be sure to predominate, and make its mortal Enemy subservient to its grand design of discovering and illustrating sacred Truth. When I writ the Pindarick Ode, the high Idea that I had of the Subject and of the way of writing, made me resolve to spare for no Pains before I set Pen to Paper, that I might form a design which might have something great and Pindarical. For the skilful Reader will easily discern, that the disorder in that Ode is studied, and that the Transitions which appear so wild and so foreign, tend directly to shew what I design'd to prove, viz. That [Page] the happiness of England, and the Success of the Confederacy depended on the King's Person. How I have succeeded I must leave to the Readers to judge; yet not to every Reader. For the Pindarick way, if you'l give credit to a great Master, is dangerous both to Writer and Reader. The first must have some qualities at the time of writing, which are rarely to be found together, as Precipitation and Address, Boldness and Decency, Sublimeness and Clearness, Fury and Sense; the last inust have Fancy to see his flights, and Skill to judge of their Art. He who mounts the Pindarick Pegasus may be compar'd to a man a Hawking, who rides at all upon a headlong Hunter, with his Eye still fix'd on a towring Game, so that he must not only have something of Art, but of Happiness besides, to escape a Fall. Let my Fortune be what it will, my comfort is this, That England, [Page] since, Mr. Cowle ys time, has not seen many Pindarick Odes, whose Authors have reason to boast of their kind reception.
I should now say something of the Verses upon the Sea-Fight, and one or two Copies more. But tho they have something in them that seems bold to presumption; yet they have already met with such kind entertainment in the World, that the consideration of that in some measure assures me.
But since almost a third of this little Book consists of Burlesque Composures, and since Burlesque, at present, lies under the disadvantage of having two great Authorities against it, viz. Boileau's, and Mr. Drydens: I think my self oblig'd not only upon that account, but upon consideration too of that wonderful pleasure which I have so often receiv'd from Butler, to vindicate Burlesque from [Page] the scandal that is brought upon it, by the Censures of two such extraordinary Men.
The charge of Boileau is in his Art of Poetry, Chant pre in these Lines.
Which in English paraphrastick Prose, is thus: Whatever you write, let a Gentleman's manner appear in it; The lowest stile of the man, who knows how to write, will still have a noble Air with it. But rightly to observe this rule, you must be sure to decline Burlesque, which not long since insolently [Page] appear'd in contempt of Reason, and pleas'd at the expence of good Sense: it pleas'd indeed a while, but pleas'd only as it was a fantastick novelty: It debas'd the dignity of Verse by its trivial Points, and taught Parnassus a Billingsgate Dialect.
This indeed is a violent charge, and may hold very good against Scaron, and the French Burlesque; but there is not one Article of it but what will fall to the Ground, if it comes to be apply'd to Butler. Scaron's Burlesque has nothing of a Gentleman in it, little of good Sense, and consequently little of true Wit. For tho there may be good Sense found without Wit, there can be no true Wit, where there is no good Sense. For a Thought that is really witty, must necessarily be true, and have something in it that's Solid; So that Quibbles and all Equivocals can have little or nothing of true Wit in them. Wit is a just mixture of Reason and Extravagance, [Page] and the Extravagance must be there, only in order to give the Reason the more lustre. Now that there is little of Reason and good Sense in Scaron's Burlesque, all who are accquainted with him, very well know; Instead of it there are equivocals and trivial points in abundance. His language is so very mean that it may well be call'd le language des Hales. Scaron therefore pleas'd but a while (by his Burlesque, I mean, for his Novels will certainly please eternally) and I do not remember that he has been imitated by any one of the famous French Wits. It is no wonder if his manner with all these ill qualities, has been rejected by the French Court, and condemn'd by this judicious Poet and Critick.
But the contrary of whatever has been said of Scaron, is certainly true of Butler? There is seen much of a Gentleman in his Burlesque; There [Page] is so much Wit and Goodsense to be found in him, and so much true observation on mankind, that I do not believe there is more, take Volume for Volume in any one Author we have, the Plain-Dealer only excepted; Besides, there is a vivacity and purity in his Language, whereever it was fit it should be pure, that could proceed from nothing but from a generous Education, and from a happy Nature. And further Butler's Burlesque was certainly writ with a just design, which was to expose Hypocrisie. Scaron's Burlesque, was writ either with no design, or but with a very scurvy one. For the only design that can be imagin'd of his Virgil Travesty, was to ridicule Heroick Poetry, which is the noblest invention of human Wit. Since then, Butler excell'd in so many things in which Scaron is defective, we may very well conclude, That Boileau's accusation reaches not our English [Page] Poet. Which Sir William Soames saw very well, when he translated this Art of Poetry, for he was so far from declaring against Burlesque, that he ventur'd, tho it was foreign from his Author, to propound Butler as a model to those who had a mind to write it. The late Lord Rochester, who was very well acquainted with Boileau, and who defer'd very much to his Judgment, did not at all believe that the censure of Boileau extended to Butler: For if he had, he would never have follow'd his fashion in several of his masterly Copies. Nor would a noble Wit, who is a living Honour to his Country, and the English Court, have condescended to write Burlesque, if he had not discern'd that there was in Butler's manner something extreamly fine, as well as something extreamly sensible in very many of his Thoughts.
[Page] I now come to examine Mr. Dryden's objections to Butler, which I shall do with all the submission and deference that is due to the judgment of that extraordinary Man. And therefore I have reason to hope that I shall give no offence to him nor to any Man, by undertaking my own defence. For to plead the Cause of Butler is at present to maintain my own. For if he who is so admirable an Original, is rightly reprehended for writing in Burlesque: I who am but his follower, and can never pretend to come near his excellence, ought much more severely to be censur'd. I must confess that in Mr. Dryden's accusation of Burlesque, there are no such murdering Articles, as there are in that of Boileau against Scaron; For Mr. Dryden allows Butler to have shewn a great deal of good Sense in that way of writing; so that we have here gain'd one considerable [Page] Point, which Boileau seem'd not to allow us, which is that good Sense is consistent with Burlesque. Mr. Dryden's quarrel is to the numbers of Butler: he says that he might have chosen a better sort, affirming that he would equally have excelld in all.
Whether he would have practised all sorts of Numbers with equal felicity, is what I have not now time to examine. But granting that, it is more than probable that he chose aright. For I would fain ask any man one question; Whether he thinks Nature had given Butler a Talent to treat of the adventures of Hudibras? For if any one grants that she had given him such a Talent, I will not stick to affirm that it could not fail to suggest to him the properest means for the carrying on his design.
[Page] Mr. Dryden's objections to the Numbers of Butler are two, the first is to the Measure, the second to the Rhymes. The Verse of eight Syllables he says is too scanty, and there is not room enough for the Thought to turn it self with ease in it. But how vain a thing is it to argue against experience? For Butler has not only as many and as beautiful thoughts as most Authors, but he is as clear a Writer. Besides, Mr. Dryden may be pleas'd to remember that the most sensible Copy of Verses in all Waller, is in the measure of eight Syllables, which is that which begins, ‘Anger in hasty words or blows.’
Mr. Dryden himself in his Preface to the second part of the Sylvae, advises all who attempt the Pindarick way, to confine themselves chiefly to Lyrical Numbers: and Numbers [Page] which are truly Lyrical are seldom to be extended beyond the eight syllable. His practice too is very agreable to his precept in his incomparble Translation of Tyrrhena Regum Progenies. Now it is plain that in the Pindarick way the Thoughts rise, and the Soul swells more, if I may have leave to use that expression, than in any other sort of writing. Whereas in Satyr the thoughts ought to be more simple, and the expressions less magnificent. It follows from what has been said, that if the measure of eight syllables is agreeable in Pindarick Verse; it is much more agreeable to Burlesque, which is a kind of Satyr. Besides it is apparent that in Burlesque, the measure is often extended to the ninth and sometimes to the tenth syllable.
But it is high time to say something of the Rhymes. Mr. Dryden complains that they return too thick [Page] upon us: but then the thoughts have the quicker turns, and I never can be persuaded that succinctness can be a fault in writing, unless it be destructive of perspicuity. It is objected that double and treble Rhymes are effeminate, and debase the dignity of Verse below manly Satyr. But this objection will be in force too against Tassone, whose manner Mr. Dryden seems to approve of: For he has writ his Satyr in double and treble Rhymes too, but with this difference from Butler, that Butler makes use of them but sometimes, and Tassone does it perpetually. Nay the great Tasso has written his Heroick ▪Poem in them. I shall find another time to speak at large of the Gierusalemme: but this I can say at present, which is remarkably to the purpose, That some parts of that Poem are so far from being effeminate, that they have incomparably more gravity than any [Page] long winded Poem which has been writ by the Moderns, if you only except some passages of the Paradise lost of Milton.
Mr. Dryden himself in his own Satyrs has sometimes made use of double and treble Rhymes, ev'n in Heroick Verse. And in the Character of Zimri, which Mr. Dryden prefers to any part of Absalom and Achitophel, there are two couplets in the space of eight Lines, which are writ in double Rhymes, and those two couplets are two of the very best in all that admirable Character.
There is more than one considerable advantage that we have by our Burlesque Rhymes. For first, they show the power and plenty of the English Tongue. For neither Italian nor French have a sort of Rhymes for their Burlesque, which is different from those which they have for their other kinds of Verse. Nor [Page] have they in either of those Tongues any of those odd Rhymes, to the making up of which two or three words conspire. These Rhymes thus constituted (which is another advantage of our English Burlesque) seem to me to be as peculiarly becoming of a Jest, as a roguish Leer, or a comical tone of a Voice; and that it may plainly appear that this is no Whimsie, let the best Versifier in England turn these two Lines of Butler.
Let any one I say turn these two Lines into other Rhymes and other Measures, and I dare engage that the [...]est shall loose considerably.
Before I take my leave of Burlesque [...] Butler, I think fit to say something of the latter, which has not so direct a reference [Page] to his way of writing (tho that too is indirectly commended by it) as to the incomparable genius of the Man. It is this that if any one would set the Common places of Tassone and [...]oileau's Lutrin against those of Butler, it would appear for the Honour of England, that neither the French man nor Italian could stand before us. The most diverting thing in all the L [...]trin is the Battle at Barbin's Shop. Chan [...]: 5. Yet that, if it is compar'd with the Battle in the second Canto of the first part of Hudibras, tho it is so diverting when we read it alone, will appear to be perfectly insipid.
Before I conclude I have two things to say farther. The one is, that the Verses to Flavia were writ by a Friend of mine and only Corrected by me, and it is by my friends leave that they are here inserted. The other thing is this, that tho I may expect to have this little Book severely [Page] examined, because I have attack'd several great men, who are all of them many degrees above me, yet I shall not at all repent of any thing I have writ by way of Criticism, if I do but in any measure obtain what I design'd by it, which was nothing but to advance Polite Learning amongst us. Not that I believe my self capable of performing it, but I thought that the consideration of my impotency might excite some generous spirits whom Nature and Education have capacitated for so noble a work. There is no man should be more glad to see it carried on than my self. I love my Country very well, and therefore should be ravished to see that we out did the French in Arts, at the same time that we contend for Empire with them. For Arts and Empire in Civiliz'd Nations have generally flourish'd together.
Miscellany Poems, &c.
A Pindaric Ode on the KING, written
Aug. 2. 1691.
Vpon our Victory at Sea.
Wish for the Kings Safety, in the Summers Expedition of 1692.
To Flavia who fear'd she was too kind.
The Tenth Ode of the Second Book of Horace.
FABLE in Burlesque.
The Pig, the Goat, and the Sheep.
Moral.
The Second Epistle of the first Book of Horace. To a Friend.
FABLE.
Of the Aunt and the Grashopper.
Moral.
FABLE.
The Fox and the Grapes.
Moral.
The Fourth Satyr of Boileau.
The Fifth Epistle of Monsieur Boileau, to Monsieur Guillerague Secretary of the Kings Cabinet.
A Letter sent with the following Speech.
I Have here sent you inclos'd, what I promis'd you by the last Post, and I think my self oblig'd to give you some account of it. In the late Appendix to the new Observa [...]or, I find the Author reasonably complaining of the corruption of History by the French, and giving a very reasonable guess, how false the History of this Age (as far as it is writ by them) is like to come out in the next. And particularly what Mounsieur Pelisson's History of the present King of France is like to be, which he is now writing by that King's own order. Monsieur Boileau, who writ the enclos'd, has at least as great a share in that History as Monsieur Pelisson: And therefore you have in the enclos'd, in the which he has very artfully inserted a Panegyrick [Page 55] of his Prince, a pattern of what his part of the History will be. For having flatter'd his Master in this small Panegyrick, we have all the reason in the world to believe That he will flatter him too in his History. And that he has flatter'd him here, you will plainly find; not only by exaggerations, which are in some measure to be allow'd to an Orator; but in affirming things which are directly contrary to the truth: Such are those two remarkable passages of the French King's offering Peace to the l [...]e Confederacy, for the general good of Christendom, (which not so much as a Frenchman who has common Sense, believes) and of his Bombarding Genoa, only to be reveng'd of its Insolency and of its Perfidiousness, which every man who has heard the Story of Mr. Valdryon, must laugh at. Now since it is to be presum'd, that Monsieur Boileau will flatter him in his History, because it is plain that he has flatter'd him in his Panegyrick; What are we to expect from Monsieur Pelisson, whose sincerity is by no means so much talk'd of as the other's? [Page 56] I thought to have concluded here: but it comes into my mind to make two reflections upon the Panegyrical part of the enclos'd. The first is this, that since Monsieur Boileau, who is in the main a man of sincerity, and a lover of truth; could not but flatter Lewis the Fourteenth when he commended him: we may conclude that it is impossible to give him a general commendation without flattery. For, where a Satyrick Poet paints what other man must not daub? The second Reflection is this, that since this Panegyrick is scarce to be supported, notwithstanding the most admirable genius of the Author, which shines throughout it; and an art to which nothing can be added (remember that I speak of the Original) and beyond which nothing can be desir'd; you may easily conclude how extreamly [...]ulsome the rest of the Panegyricks upon Lewis the Fourteenth must needs be, whose Authors fall infinitely short of Boileau's, either Genius, or Art, or Virtue.
The Speech of Monsieur Boileau, upon his admission into the French Academy.
THE Honour this day conferr'd upon me is some thing so great, so extraordinary, so little expected; and so many several sorts of reasons ought to have for ever excluded me from it, that at this very moment in which I return my acknowledgements, I am doubtful if I ought to believe it. Is it then possible, can it be true, Gentlemen, that you have in effect judg'd me worthy to be admitted into this illustrious Society; whose famous Establishment does no less honour to the memory of Cardinal Richlieu, than all the rest of the numerous wonders of his matchless Ministry? And what must be the thoughts of that great man? What must be the thoughts of that wise Chancellour, who after him enjoy'd [Page 58] the Dignity of your Protectorship; and after whom it was your opinion, that none but your King had right to be your Protector? What must be their thoughts, Gentlemen, if they should behold me this day, becoming a part of this Glorious Body, the object of their eternal care and esteem; and into which by the Laws, which they have establish'd; by the Maxims which they have maintain'd, no one ought to be receiv'd, who is not of a spotless Merit, an extraordinary Wit, and comparable even to you? But farther, whom do I succeed in the place which you are pleas'd to afford me here? Monsieur de [...] Is it not a Man who is equally renown'd for his great Employments, and his profound Capacity? Is it not a Magistrate who fill'd one of the foremost Seats in the Council; and who in so many important Occasions has been Honoured by his Prince, with his strictest Confidence: A Magistrate, no less Wise than Experienc'd, watchful, laborious; and with whom the more I compare my self, the less Proportion I find.
[Page 59] I know very well, Gentlemen (and who can be ignorant of it,) that in the choice which you make of men who are proper to supply the vacancies of your learned Assembly, you have no regard either to Place or to Dignity: That Politeness, Learning, and an acquaintance with all the more gentle Arts, have always usher'd in naked Merit to you, and that you do not believe it to be unbecoming of you, to substitute in the room of the highest Magistrate, of the most exalted Minister, some famous Poet, or some Writer, whom his Works have rendred Illustrious; and who has very often no other Dignity, than that which his desert has given him upon Parnassus. But if you barely consider me as a man of Learning, what can I offer you that may be worthy of the favour, with which you have been pleas'd to honour me? Is it a wretched Collection of Poetry, successful rather by a happy temerity and a dexterous imitation of the Ancients, than by the beauty of its thoughts, or the richness of its expressions? Is it a translation that falls so [Page 60] far short of the great Master-pieces with which you every day supply us; and in the which you so gloriously revive; Thu [...]ydidis, Xenophon, Tacitus, and all the rest of the renown'd Heroes of the most learn [...]d Antiquity? No, Gentlemen, you are too well acquainted with the just value of things, to recompence at a rate so high, such low Productions as mine, and to offer me voluntarily upon so slight a foundation, an Honour, which [...] knowledge of my want of Merit, has discourag'd me still from demanding.
What can be the reason then, which in my behalf has so happily influenc'd you upon this occasion? I begin to make some discovery of it, and I dare engage that I shall not make you blush in exposing it. The goodness which the greatest Prince in the World has shown in employing me, together with one of the first of your illustrious Writers, to make one Collection of the infinite number of his Immortal Actions; the permission which he has given me to do this, has supply'd all my defects with you.
[Page 61] Yes, Gentlemen, what ever just reasons ought to have excluded me for ever from your Academy; you believed that you could not with justice suffer, that a man who is destin'd to speak of such mighty things, should be depriv'd of the utility of your Lessons, or instructed in any other School than in yours. And by this, you have clearly shown, that when it is to serve your August Protector; whatever consideration might otherwise restrain you, your Zeal will not suffer you to cast your eyes upon any thing but the interest of your Master's Glory.
Yet suffer me, Gentlemen, to undeceive you, if you believe that that great Prince, at the time when he granted that favour to me, believ'd that he should meet within me a Writer, who was able to sustain in the least, by the Beauty of Style, or by the magnificent Pomp of Expression, the Grandeur of his Exploits. No, Gentlemen, it belongs to you, and to Pens like yours, to shew the World such Master-pieces; and he never conceiv'd so advantageous a [Page 62] thought of me. But as every thing that he has done in his Reign is Wonderful, is Prodigious, he did not think it would be amiss that in the midst of so many renown'd Writers, who with emulation describe his Actions in all their Splendour, and with all the Ornaments of the sublimest Eloquence; a man without artifice, and accus'd rather of too much sincerity than of flattery, should contribute by his labour and by his advice, to set to show in a proper light, and in all the simplicity of the most natural Style; the truth of those Actions, which being of themselves so little probable, have rather need to be faithfully related, than to be strongly exaggerated.
And indeed, Gentlemen, when Poets and Orators, and Historians who are sometimes as daring as Poets or Orators, shall come to display upon so happy a Subject, all the bold strokes of their Art, all their force of Expression; when they shall say of Lewis the Great, more justly than was said of a famous Captain of old, that he [Page 63] alone has atchiev'd more Exploits than other Princes have read; that he alone has taken more Towns, than other Monarchs have wish'd to take: When they shall assure us, that there is no Potentate upon the face of the Earth, no not the most Ambitious, who in the secret prayers that he puts up to Heaven, dares presume to Petition for so much Glory, for so much Prosperity as Heaven has freely grated this Prince: When they shall write that his Conduct is Mistress of Events; That Fortune dares not contradict his designs: When they shall paint him at the Head of his Armies, marching with Gigantick Strides, over great Rivers and highest Mountains; thund [...]ring down Ramparts, rending hard Rocks, and tearing into ten thousand pieces every thing that resists his impetuous Shock: These expressions will doubtless appear great, rich, noble, adapted to the lofty Subject; but at the same time that the World shall wonder at them, it will not think it self oblig'd to believe them, and the Truth may be easily disown'd or mistaken, [Page 64] under the disguise of it pompous ornaments.
But, when Writers without artifice, and who are contented faithfully to relate things; and with all the simplicity of Witnesses who depose, rather than of Historians, who make a Narration, shall rightly set forth, all that has pass'd in France, ever since the famous Peace of the Pyrenees; all that the King has done in his Dominions, to re-establish Order, Discipline, Law: when they shall reckon up all the Provinces which he has added to his Kingdoms in succeeding Wars, all the Advantages, all the Victories which he has gain'd of his Enemies; Holland, Germany, Spain; all Europe too feeble all against him alone, a War that has been always fruitful in prosperity, and a more glorious Peace. When Pens that are sincere, I say, and a great deal more careful to write the Truth, than to make others admire them, shall rightly articulate all these Actions, dispos'd in their order of time, and attended with their real circumstances; who is it [Page 65] that can then dissent from them, I do not say of our Neighbours, I do not say of our Allies; I say of our mortal Enemies? And tho' they shou'd be unwilling to acknowledge the truth of them, will not their diminish [...]d Forces, their States confin'd within stricter Bounds, their complaints, their [...]ealousies, their furies, their very invectives in spight of themselves convince them? Can they deny that in the very year in which I am speaking, this Prince being resolv'd to constrain them all to accept of a Peace which he had offer'd them for the good of Christendom; did all at once, and that at a time, when they had publish [...]d that he was intirely exhausted of Men and Money: that he did then, I say, all at once in the Low Countries, cause to start up as [...]twere out of the ground two mighty Armies, each of them consisting of Forty Thousand Men; and that he provided for them abundant subsistance there, notwithstanding the scarcity of Forrage, and the excessive drought of the Season? Can they deny that whilst with one of [Page 66] these Armies, he caus [...]d his Lieutenants to Besiege Luxembourgh, himself with the other, keeping as it were block'd all the Towns of Brabant and Hamault; That he did by this most admirable Conduct, or rather by a kind of Enchantment, like that of the Head so renown'd in the antient Fables, whose aspect transform'd the beholders to Stones; render the Spaniards unmov'd spectators of the taking of that important place, in the which they had repos [...]d their utmost refuge. That by a no less admirable effect of the same prodigious Enchantment, that obstinate Enemy to his Glory, that industrious contriver of Wars and Confederacies, who had labour'd so long to stir up all Europe against him, found himself, if I may use the expression, disabled and impotent, tyed up on every side, and reducd to the wretched vengeance of dispersing Libels; of sending forth Cries and Reproaches. Our very Enemies, give me leave to repeat it, can they deny all this? Must not they confess that at the time when these wonders were executing [Page 67] in the Low Countries, our Fleet upon the Mediteranean, after having forc'd Algiers to be a Suppliant for Peace; Caus'd Genoa to feel, by an example that will be eternally dreadful, the just chastisement of its Insolence and of its Perfidiousness; burying under the ruines of Palaces and stately Houses that proud City, more easie to be Destroy'd than be Humbled? No, without doubt, our Enemies dare not give the lye to such known truths, especially when they shall see them writ with that simple and natural Air, & with that character of sincerity and probability, with which whate're my defects are, I do not absolutely despair to be able at least in part to supply the History.
But since this very simplicity, all enemy as it is to Ostentation and Pageantry, has yet its Art, its Method, its Beauties; from whence can I better derive that Art, and those Beauties, than from the source of all delicacies, this fam'd Academy, which has kept possession, for so many years, of all the Treasures, of all the Riches, of [Page 67] our Tongue? These, Gentlemen, are the things which I am in hopes to find among you, this is what I come to study with you: this is what I come to learn of you. Happy, if by my assiduity in frequenting you, by my address in bringing you to speak of these matters, I can engage you to conceal nothing of all your most secret skill, from me. Your skill to render Nature decent and chast at the very time when she is most Alluring; and to make the Colours and Paint of Art, appear to be the genuine Beauties of Nature. Thrice happy! if by my respects and by my sincere submissions, I can perfectly convince you of the extream acknowledgement, which I shall make all my life time for the unexpected Honour you have done me.
FABLE.
The Fox and the Crow.
Moral.
FABLE.
The Wolf and the Horse.
MORAL.
To Mr. E. H. Physician and Poet.
To a Young Gentleman, who was blam'd for marrying Young.
Vpon the same Subject, in imitation of Anacreon's Manner.
Advice to Women, against Female Pride.
Vpon a Ladys Picture.
To a Painter Drawing a Lady's Picture.
FABLE.
The Lyon and the Ass a Hunting.
Moral.
Some Moral Reflections concerning Vanity, Written upon the occasion of Burlesquing the Fable of the Ass and the Lyon.
FABLE.
The Wolf and the Crane.
MORAL.
Vpon the Fle [...]t then [...]itting out. Written in 1682.
The Prosopoeia of Ostend.
FABLE.
Of the Cock and the Fox.
MORAL.
FABLE.
Of the Dunghill Cock.
MORAL.
FABLE.
Of the Wolf and the Fox.
Juvenals Eighth Satyre, Frag.
Lyons, October 15. 1688.
I Do not question but that you have for this month expected a Letter from me, and that perhaps with a little impatience: Since this is a time which may afford variety of News, of which who must not be now desirous? But all the time I was at Paris, I had so much Sickness, that that might well supersede any obligation I lay under. For let a promise be never so binding, and never so much a Debt; who could take care of paying so trifling a one, when a most severe and importunate Creditor, Nature, was calling for hers. Nor now when at length that excuse is wanting to me, are you like to receive such a Letter, as perhaps might be most welcome to you in this Conjuncture. For if I should send you the truth in disguise, perhaps you might not discover her. And is this a time to expose her naked to the World: [Page 126] When her nakedness which is only the effect of her Innocence, by many would be mistaken for Lewdness, and by more for Barbarity. I will then say nothing of the Affairs of Europe nor ours, tho I could find much to say of them both. For I now converse with a People who are as full of Talk as they are Inquisitive. But since I am taking my leave of that People, I will confine my Discourse to them. But before I begin, I will use plain dealing with you, (a thing which they never did yet with any one) and tell you that I mortally hate them. Yet neither shall my Native nor acquir'd Antipathy suborn me to say any thing false of them. I will do like a Painter, who will draw the true resemblance of the Face that is most provoking. But then I must give you this Caution, that what I have to say, tho it be true in some measure of all of them; yet it is chiefly to be consin'd to the middle so [...]t of the Nation. For besides that I have most convers'd with them, as a Stranger must of necessity be suppos'd to do, the Genius [Page 127] of a Nation most plainly appears in the middle sort of its People. For great Education, which attends high Birth, or high Fortune, very often improves or corrupts or sophisticates Nature, whilst in those of the middle State she remains unmix [...]d and unalter'd. These then I have found in the first place excessively vain. Every Man is here a Narcissus, and in the fl [...]ttering glass of his own false imagination is eternally gazing upon himself, or at least upon what he takes for himself. For in this their errours are different, for as that melancholy Boy took himself for another, these merry Fools take something else for themselves. For nothing in Nature is more unlike than the Picture which a Frenchman draws of himself. It would be needless to insist longer on this. For they have so long made sport for their neighbouring Nations, by extravagant and absurd commendations of their own, that to endeavour to bring proofs of their Vanity, would be something [Page 130] more ridiculous than that. Now this is certain, that he who abounds in Vanity can want no affectation. For affectation is nothing but a fruitless attempt to counterfeit and falsi [...]ie Nature, when a Man impotently endeavours to appear what he really is not, or what he is incapable of being. Nature grows impatient, and struggles to be freed from the constraint that is put upon her, and in the strife there appear'd something so odious that all who are lovers of her, cannot but hate that person who endeavours so rudely to force her. Now Nature in man is various. She is Gay in one, and Froward in another: She is Delicate in a third, in a fourth she is Gross; and there is not a Man in a Million whom Heaven made fit for all things: yet how many are there, alas! who by senseless Self-love intoxicated, believe themselves sit for all things, and will be offering at all things. Now such have been always, and will be always affected. And such are the people with whom I have [Page 129] lately convers'd; and I have more particularly remark'd in some of their Provincial Gentlemen, that in their endeavours to shew their admiration mingled with a gentle Passion, they are guilty of affectations so monstrous, that an English Fop is not capable of them. Another necessary effect of their vanity is their assurance, or in our Language, their Impudence. For modesty is nothing but the fear of displeasing, when a man believes or at least, suspects that he is defective; and it naturally includes in it a mistrust of our selves, and an esteem of others; which is the reason that renders it lovely to all, when ever it is joyn'd with good qualities. For it flatters and sooths our Self-love, of which no Man can wholly divest himself; by assuring us that we are esteem'd and preferr'd. Now how can any one have this fear of displeasing, who imagines himself all Perfection, and who swell'd with the [Page 130] venom of Pride, like the Toad in the Fable, believes himself greater than those with whose greatness he holds not the least proportion. The French then are affected and impudent, which are but the necessary effects of that National Vice, their Vanity. But then have they one very good quality, which proceeds from the same vanity. And that is their extraordinary civility to Strangers. For they are civil to us, not for our satisfaction, but their own; not as they imagine it a duty, but an accomplishment. 'Tis to please himself that a Frenchman is officious to me, and 'tis to honour himself that he bows to others. I am pretty confident that I am not deceiv'd here. For I have found by some observation, and some thinking, That there is little good Nature amongst them, For they will deceive or betray you at the very same time they oblige you. Thus have I giv'n you an imperfect account of such of their qualities, [Page 131] as are most conspicuous in them. There are some which lye more hidden. But I have said enough to tire my Self and You.
Turin, Octob. 25. 88.
I Have here sent you a Journal of my Journey from Lyons hither, in which you will find that account of the Alpes, which you so earnestly defi [...]ed of me, before I came out of England. I have taken no notice of the Towns in Savoy; nor so much as the Rock of Montmelian, but have confin'd my self to a Subject which you seem'd to affect so much.
On the nineteenth of October, we set out from Lyons, and came that night to V [...]pellier, thro a fair Plain, which was sometimes Arable, and sometimes Pasture, and bounded with Rows of Hills at that just distance, as gave tho not a large, an agreeable Prospect.
Octob. 20. We came by Noon thro the same Plain, which grew to be sometimes a Marsh to a Bourg, call'd Tour Du Pin. From thence, after Dinner, we continued our way, thro whole [Page 133] Groves of Walnut and Chestnut Trees to Pont Beanvoisin, being the Bridge that separates France and Savoy.
Octob. 21. We entred into Savoy in the Morning, and past over Mount Aiguebellette. The ascent was the more easie, because it wound about the Mountain. But as soon as we had conquer'd one half of it, the unusual heighth in which we found our selves, the impending Rock that hung over us, the dreadful Depth of the Precipice, and the Torrent that roar'd at the bottom, gave us such a view as was altogether new and amazing. On the other side of that Torrent, was a Mountain that equall'd ours, about the distance of thirty Yards from us. Its craggy Clifts▪ which we half discern'd, thro the misty gloom of the Clouds that surrounded them, sometimes gave us a horrid Prospect. And sometimes its face appear'd Smooth and Beautiful as the most even and fruitful Vallies. So different from themselves were the different parts of it: In the very same place [Page 134] Nature was seen Severe and Wanton. In the mean time we walk'd upon the very brink, in a litteral sense, of Destruction; one Stumble, and both Life and Carcass had been at once destroy'd. The sense of all this produc'd different motions in me, viz. a delightful Horrour, a terrible Joy, and at the same time, that I was infinitely, pleas'd I trembled.
From thence we went thro a pleasant Valley bounded with Mountains, whose high but yet verdant Tops seem'd at once to [...]bid and invite Men. After we had ma [...] [...] for a League thro the Plain, we arriv'd [...] the place which they call La Cave; whe [...] the late Duke of Savoy in the Year Seven [...], struck out a Passage thro a rocky Mountain that had always before been impassible: Performing that by the force [...] Gun-powder, which Thunder-bolts [...] Earthquakes could scarce have effected. This Passage is a quarter of an English Mile, made with incredible labour, and the expence of four Millions of Livers. At the Entrance into it is the following pompous Inscription.
At Chambery we din'd, the Capital Town of Savoy. In our way from thence to Montmelian, Nature seem'd quite to have changd her Face. There craggy Rocks look'd horrid to the Eye, and Hills appear'd on every side of so stupendous an heighth, that the Company was divided at a distance, whether they should believe them to be sunny [...]ouds, or the Snowy tops of Mountains. Here appear'd a Hill with its top quite hid in black Clouds, and beyond that Hill, & above those Clouds some higher Mountain show'd its hoary Head. With this strange entertainment by the way, we came that Night to Montmelian.
[Page 136] On the 22. we set forward in the morning. The Mountains appear'd to grow still more Lofty. We din'd that day at Aiguebelle. In the Afternoon we proceeded on our way, sometimes thro the Plain, and sometimes on the side of the Alps; with which we were hemm'd in on all sides. We then began th [...]t day to have the additional diversion, of a Torrent that ran sometimes with fury beneath us, and of the noise of the Cascades, or the down fall of Waters, which sometimes came tumbling a main from the Precipices. We lay that night at La Chambre.
On the 23. The morning was very cold, which made us have dismal apprehensions of Mount Cenis, since we felt its influence so severely at so great a distance. We arriv'd by Noon at St. Michel. In the Afternoon we continued our Journey mostly upon the sides of the Mountains, which were sometimes all cover'd with Pines; and sometimes cultivated, ev'n in places where one would swear the thing were impossible, for they were only not perpendicular. We lay that [...]ight at Modane.
[Page 137] Oct. 24. Modane is within a dozen Miles of Mount Cenis, and therefore the next morning we felt the Cold more severely. We went to Dinner at Laneburgh, situate at the foot of Mount Cenis.
As soon as we had din'd, we sent our Horses about, and getting up upon Mules began to ascend the Mountain. I could not forbear looking back now and then to contemplate the Town and the Vale beneath me. When I was arriv'd within a hundred Yards of the Top, I could still discern Laneburgh at the Bottom, distant Three tedious Miles from me. What an amazing distance? Think what an impression a place must make upon you, which you should see as far under you as 'tis from your House to Hampstead. And here I wish I had force to do [...]ight to this renown'd Passage of the Alpes. 'Tis an easie thing to describe Rome or Naples to you, because you have seen something your self that holds at least some resemblance with them; but impossible to set a Mountain before your eyes, that is inaccessible almost [Page 138] to the fight, and wearies the very Eye to Climb it. For when I tell you that we were arriv'd within a hundred yards of the Top: I mean only the Plain, thro which we afterwards pass'd, but there is another vast Mountain still upon that. If these Hills were first made with the World, as has been a long time thought, and Nature design'd them only as a Mound to inclose her Garden Italy: Then we may well say of her what some affirm of great Wits, that her, careless irregular and boldest Strokes are most admirable. For the Alpes are works which she seems to have design'd, and executed too in Fury. Yet she moves us less, where she studies to please us more. I am delighted, 'tis true at the prospect of Hills and Valleys, of flowry Meads, and murmuring Streams, yet it is a delight that is consistent with Reason, a delight that creates or improves Meditation. But transporting Pleasures follow'd the sight of the Alpes, and what unusual transports think you were those, that were mingled with horrours, [Page 139] and sometimes almost with despair? But if these Mountains were not a Creation, but form'd by universal Destruction, when the Arch with a mighty flaw dissolv'd and fell into the vast Abyss (which surely is the best opinion) then are these Ruines of the old World the greatest wonders of the New. For they are not only vast, but horrid, hideous, ghastly Ruins. After we had gallop'd a League over the Plain, and came at last to descend, to descend thro the very Bowels as it were of the Mountain, for we seem'd to be enclos'd on all sides: What an astonishing Prospect was there? Ruins upon Ruins in monstrous Heaps, and Heaven and Earth confounded. The uncouth Rocks that were above us, Rocks that were void of all form, but what they had receiv'd from Ruine; the frightful view of the Precipices, and the foaming Waters that threw themselves headlong down them, made all such a Consort up for the Eye, as that sort of Musick does for the Ear, in which Horrour can be joyn'd with Harmony. [Page 140] I am afraid you will think that I have said too much. Yet if you had but seen what I have done, you would surely think that I have said too little. However Hyperboles might easily here be forgiven. The Alpes appear to be Nature's extravagancies, and who should blush to be guilty of Extravagancies, in words that make mention of her's. But 'tis time to proceed. We descended in Chairs, the descent was four English Miles. We past thro Novalese, situate at the Foot of Mount Cenis on the side of Italy, and lay that Night at Suse. We din'd the next day at Villane, and thro a pleasant Valley came that Night to this place.
Rome Decemb. 1. 1688.
TO perform the promise which I made you in my last, I venture to say something of the Ancient and Modern Italians, tho you do not consider that when you made that request to me, you put me upon a necessity of disobliging my Friend by a refusal, or exposing my self by treating of a Subject for which I am wholly unqualified. It is true, when I was at Lyons in compliance with your desire, I ventur'd to say something of the French. But besides that I had been longer in France than I have in Italy, the French lye so open, that a Man who will observe them, may as well venture to give their Character in a Months time, as he may in several years. For they who are excessivly vain, take as much pains to show themselves, as a Stroler at a Fair does a Monster. 'Tis the constant business of their Lives to paint out their Virtues to you; nay, and their Defects which their Vanity mistakes for their Virtues. But the Italians are as reserv'd to Strangers as the French are open: and one would wonder how they who show much Flegm before they are very well acquainted, should be able afterwards, in so strange a manner, to animate Conversation. But to come to my business, 'tis wonderful you say, that the Modern Italians should appear so different from the Ancient, since they breath the same Air, and are nourish'd by the same Soil. For since the affinity [Page 142] is so near betwixt the Soul and the Body, and they work so strongly upon each other, you say it is but reasonable to believe that the Climate which helps to give the Body its Complexion, should help to give the Mind its Temper. Now since you have reason, you say, to suppose that the Climate of Italy is very near the same at this day, that it was two Thousand Years agoe, you cannot but wonder that the Modern Italians should appear so different from the Ancient. The French are the very same now that Caesar described them formerly, excepting that they are grown a more polish'd sort of Barbarians. The Carthaginians were fam'd for their Cruelty & their Perfidiousness; and those two Vices are at present, inseparable from the Inhabitants of the Coasts of Barbary. But the Italians, you say, are at present renown'd for several extraordinary Vices, which w [...]re utterly unknown to the Ancient Romans, to whose Virtues the Modern are utterly Strangers.
In answer to this, give me leave to tell you that you are mistaken in part of your Assertion. For the Vices which are to be found at this day in Italy, were the Vices of the Ancient Romans. Their Empire ow'd its Rise to the same Crimes which dissolv'd it, and there were proportionably as many Villains in the Rome of Romulus, as there are in that of Innocent the Eleventh. Consider the Factions of Marius and Sylla, and the two Triumvirats following, and you will find infinitely more examples of black Revenge than you can amongst Modern Italians. What can be more bloody than [Page 143] those times? Or more treache [...]ous and base than those of Tiberius? 'Tis true from the time of the first Consuls, to the end of the Punick War, there flourish'd a continual Race of Heroes, with whom if you compare the Modern Italians, they seem to be Men of quite different frames, and Inhabitants of a different part of the World. A capacity to practise those glittering Virtues which the World so much admires, depends very much upon force of mind, which depends in some sort on the Complexion, as that does in some sort on the Climate. But then is it certain that there is the very same force of mind requir'd to be prodigiously wicked, that is required to be heroically Virtuous. Weak people are but wicked by halves, but whenever we hear of high and enormous Crimes, we may conclude, that they proceed from a power of Soul and a reach of Thought, which are altogether extraordinary. So that the Modern Italians, who by your own confession are skill'd in all the ways of exquisite wickedness, come into the World with as much natural capacity to exer [...] heroick Virtue, as ever the Ancient Romans did.
Force of Mind makes a Man capable of great Virtues, or of great Vices; but it determines him to neither. Education, Discipline and Accidents of Life constitute him either a great Philosopher, or an illustrious Libertine.
As strongest bodies cannot be secure from Infection in pestilential Seasons, so Minds that have most force are apt to be tainted by the Contagion of Epidemick Vices.
[Page 144] The two most glittering Virtues that shin'd amongst the ancient Romans, were greatness of Mind and heroick Fortitude: 'Twas that greatness of Mind that made one of their Generals reject with disdain, the offer that was made him to poyson the most formidable Enemy to their State: whereas the modern Italians have at every turn recourse to Stilletto and Poyson, which are almost their only offensive Weapons.
Do but compare the happy and flourishing state of the old Commonwealth, with the wretched condition of the modern Italians, and you will soon find the reason why the Romans were Brave and Honourable Enemies; and why the Italians at present are base ones. For this is most certain, That no Man can basely offer violence to another without doing some to himself. From whence it follows that no Man will do it, unless in some measure he believes it necessary. No Man then will take a base revenge of another who believes that he can take an honourable one. No Man will ever have recourse to Treachery who is confident of prevailing by open force. Now great success most commonly infuses great Thoughts, and inspires a noble Presumption▪ which renders Men Brave and Magnanimous: whereas we frequently see that Men with their Fortunes and Liberties lose their very Spirits and Souls, according to the observation of the Comick Poet. Vt res nostrae sint, ita nos magni [...]tque humiles sumns.