Familiar Letters: VOL. I.

Written by the Right Honourable, Iohn, late Earl of Rochester, TO THE Honourable Henry Savile, Esq And other LETTERS by Persons of Honour and Quality.

WITH LETTERS Written by the most Ingenious Mr. THO. OTWAY, AND Mrs. K. PHILIPS.

Publish'd from their Original Copies.

With Modern LETTERS by THO. CHEEK, Esq Mr. DENNIS, and Mr. BROWN.

The Second Edition with Additions.

London: Printed by W. Onley, for S. Briscoe, at the Corner of Charles-street, in Russel-street, Covent-garden, 1697.

TO Dr. RADCLIFF.

I Have presumed, tho' I knew at the same time how hainously I trespass'd against you in doing so, to Inscribe your Name to the following Colle­ction of Letters. As you were no Stranger to that Excellent Person, whose Pieces Composes, by far, the most valuable part of it, so I was satisfied that every thing, from so celebrated a Hand, wou'd be acceptable and welcome to you; and in that Confi­dence, made bold to give you the Trouble of [...]his Address. My Lord Rochester has left [...]o established a Reputation behind him, that he needs no officious Pen to set out his Worth, especially to you, who were acquainted so per­ [...]ectly well with all his Eminent Qualities, [...]hat made him the Delight and Envy of both Sexes, and the Ornament of our Island. In every thing of his Lordship's writing, [Page] there's something so happily express'd, the Graces are so numerous, yet so unaffected, that I don't wonder why all the Original Touches of so incomparable a Master, have been enquired after, with so Publick and General a Concern. Most of his other Com­positions, especially those in Verse, have long ago bless'd the Publick, and were received with Vniversal Delight and Admiration, which gives me Encouragement to believe, that his Letters will find the like Reception. Tho' most of them were written upon pri­vate Occasions, to an Honourable Person who was happy in his Lordship's Acquain­tance, with no intention to be ever made publick; yet that constant good Sence, which is all along visible in them, the Iustice of the Observations, and the peculiar Beauties of the Style, are Reasons sufficient, why they should no longer be conceal'd in private Hands. And indeed, at this time, when the private Plate of the Nation comes a­broad to relieve the present Exigences, it seems but just, that since the Dearth of Wit [...] is as great as that of Money, such a Trea­sure of good Sence and Language shou'd no longer be buried in Oblivion. With thi [...] difference, however, That whereas our Plate before it can circulate in our Markets, mus [...] [Page] receive the Royal Stamp, must be melted down, and take another Form, these Vnva­luable Remains want no Alterations to re­commend them; they need only be taken from the Rich Mines where they grew; for their own Intrinsick Value secures them, and his Lordship's Name is sufficient to make them Current.

As for the Letters by other Hands, that make up this Volume, some of them were written by Gentlemen, that are wholly Stran­gers to me, and others belong to those that are so much better known in the World than myself, that I can say nothing upon this Oc­casion, but what falls vastly short of their Merit. But I cannot forbear to say some­thing of Mr. Otway's: They have that In­imitable Tenderness in them, that I dare op­pose them to any thing of Antiquity; I am sure few of the present Age can pretend to come up to them. The Passions, in the rai­sing of which, he had a Felicity peculiar to himself, are represented in such lively Co­lours, that they cannot fail of affecting the most insensible Hearts, with pleasing Agi­tations. I cou'd wish we had more Pieces of [...] the same Hand, for I profess an intire Veneration to his Memory, and always look­ed upon him as the only Person, almost, that [Page] knew the secret Springs and Sources of Na­ture, and made a true use of them. Love, as it is generally managed by other Hands, is either raving and enthusiastical, or else dull and languishing: In him alone 'tis true Na­ture, and at the same time inspires us with Compassion and Delight. After this, I will not venture to say any thing of my own Trifles that bring up the Rear. Some of 'em were written long ago, and now huddled in haste; the rest had a little more Care and Labour bestow'd upon them. If they contri­bute in the least to your Entertainment, which was my only Design in publishing them, I have attain'd my Ends: I have some others by me, which I may, perhaps, publish hereafter, if these meet with any to­lerable Success.

I need not, and I am sure I cannot make you a better Panegyrick than to acquaint the World, that you were happy in my Lord Rochester's Friendship, that he took plea­sure in your Conversation, of which even his Enemies must allow him to have been the best Iudge, and that in the Politest Reign we can boast of in England. The Appro­bation of so impartial a Iudge, who was, in his Time, a Scourge to all Blockheads, by what Names or Titles soever dignisied, or [Page] distinguish'd, is above all the Incense that a much better Hand than mine can presume to offer: Shou'd I put out all the Dedica­tion Sails, as 'tis the way of most Authors, I cou'd soon erect you into a great Hero, and Deliverer; and tell how often you have triumph'd over inveterate Distempers, and restor'd the Sick to that only Blessing, that makes Life supportable. I cou'd tell how, by your single Merit, you have ba [...]led a Faction form'd against you with equal Ma­lice and Ignorance; I cou'd tell what Marks of Munisicence you have left behind you, in the Place that was honour'd with your Edu­cation, and how generously ready you are to serve your Friends upon all Occasions. But after all, the highest thing I will pretend to say of you her is, That you were esteem'd, and valu'd, and lov'd by my Lord Rochester. 'Tis true, as there never was any Conspicuous Merit in the World, that had not, like Her­cules, Monsters to encounter, so you have had your share of them; but, Heaven be prais'd, your Enemies, with all their vain Endea­vours, have only served to six your Interest, and advance your Reputation: Tho' I know you hear of nothing with more Vneasiness, than of the Favours you do; yet I cannot omit to tell, and indeed I am vain upon it, [Page] that you have condescended so low, as to di­vert those Hours you cou'd steal from the Publick, with some of my Trifles, that you have been pleased to think favourably of them, and rewarded them. For all which Obligations, I had no other way of expressing my Gratitude but this; which, I am afraid will but inflame the Reckoning, instead of paying any part of the Debt: But this has been the constant Vsage in all Ages of Par­nassus, and, like Senators that take Bribes, we have Antiquity and Vniversality to plead in our Excuse. But I forget that you are all this while in pain, till the Dedication re­leases you: Therefore I have nothing but my Wishes to add, That you, who have been so happy a Restorer of Health to others, may ever enjoy it yourself, that your Days may be always pleasant, and your Nights easie, and that you'll be pleas'd to forgive this Presumption in

Your most humble and most obliged Servant, T. BROWN.

THE Bookseller's Preface.

HAving, by the Assistance of a Wor­thy Friend, procured the follow­ing Letters that were written by the late Incomparable Earl of Rochester (the Ori­ginals of all which I preserve by me, to satisfie those Gentlemen, who may have the Curiosity to see them under his Lord­ship's hand) I was encouraged to trouble others of my Friends, that had any Let­ters in their Custody, to make this Col­lection, which I now publish.

Indeed the Letters that were written by the abovemention'd Honourable Per­son, have something so happy in the Manner and Stile, that I need not lose my Time to convince the World they are genuine. I may say the same of Mr. Ot­way's Letters, that they are full of Life and [Page] Passion, and sufficiently discover their Author. And that this Collection might be compleat, I got some that were writ­ten by the Fam'd Orinda, Mrs. Katherine Phillips, to be added to the rest; together with others by some Gentlemen now li­ving, that the Reader might have a Va­riety of Entertainment.

Our Neighbouring Nations, whom I don't believe we come short of in any re­spect, have printed several Volumes of Letters, which meet with publick Ap­probation; I am satisfied, that if the Gen­tlemen of England wou'd be as free, and Communicative to part with theirs, we might show as great a Number, and as good a Choice as they have done. It has been used as an Objection against pub­lishing things of this Nature, That, if they are written as they ought to be, they shou'd never be made publick. But I hope this Collection will disarm that Ob­jection; for tho' the Reader may not un­derstand every particular Passage, yet there are other things in them that will make him sufficient Amends.

I have only a word more to add: Up­on the Noise of this Collection, several Gentlemen have been so kind, as to send [Page] me in Materials to compose a Second, which is now printed; and, on the Print­ing the Second, I have procured as many of the Lord Rochester's the Duke of Buck­ingham, and Sir George Etheridge, which will almost make a third Vol. which if I can compleat, it shall be publish'd next Trinity-Term; and therefore those Gen­tlemen that have any Curious Letters by them, written by those Honourable Per­sons, and are willing to oblige the Pub­lick, by letting them come abroad, are desired to send them to me, who will take care to have them faithfully Tran­scrib'd for the Press, and Printed in the third Vol. which will be intirely theirs, and no modern one mixt with them.

SAM. BRISCOE.

A TABLE Of all the Letters in this Volume.

SEveral Letters by the late Earl of Roche­ster, to the Honourable Henry Savil, Esq from
p. 1. to p. 50.
The Earl of L—'s Letter to the Honourable Algernoon Sidney,
p. 51.
Algernoon Sidney's Letter against Arbitrary Government,
p. 60.
Two Letters by another Hand, to Madam— from
p. 67. to p. 72.
Love-Letters by Mr. Otway, from
p. 73. to 87.
A Letter from — to Mr. G—
p. 88.
A Letter to the Duke of Vivone, by the Fam'd Monsieur Boiliau. Translated by Thomas Cheek, Esq
p. 91.
A Letter by Mr. Dennis, sent with Monsieur Boi­leau's Speech to the Academy of Paris, upon his Admission,
p. 102.
Monsieur Boileau's Speech to the Academy. Tran­slated [Page] by Mr. Dennis,
p. 106.
Letters of Courtship to a Woman of Quality, from
p. 118. to 133.
A Letter of Reproach to a Woman of Quality,
p. 134.
A Letter of Business to a Merchant's Wife in the City,
p. 136.
Letters by the late celebrated Mrs. Katherine Phillips, from
p. 137. to 152.
A Letter to Mr. Herbert,
p. 153.
A Letter to C.G. Esq in Covent-garden,
p. 156.
To the Perjur'd Mrs. —
p. 163.
To the Honourable — in the Pall-mall,
p. 168.
A Letter to my Lady —
p. 173.
A Consolatory Letter to an Essex-Divine, upon the Death of his Wife,
p. 179.
A Letter to the fair Lucinda at Epsom,
p. 183.
To the same at London,
p. 185.
To W. Knight, Esq at Ruscomb, in Berkshire,
p. 189.
To a Gentleman that fell desperately in Love, and set up for a Beau in the 45th Year of his Age,
p. 197.
The Answer,
p. 200.
A Letter to his honoured Friend, Dr. Baynard, at the Bath,
p. 202.
A Letter to Mr. Raphson, Fellow of the Royal Society, upon occasion of Dr. Conner's Book, entituled, Physica Arcana, seu Tractatus de Mystico corporum Statu; to be Printed by Mr. Briscoe,
p. 213.
A Letter to the Lord North and Grey,
p. 218.
To a Friend in the Country,
p. 221.

Familiar Letters, By the Right Honourable, JOHN, LATE Earl of ROCHESTER. VOL. I.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

Dear SAVILE,

DO a Charity becoming one of your pious Principles, in preserving your humble Servant Rochester, from the imminent Peril of Sobriety; which, for want of good Wine, more [Page 2] than Company, (for I can drink like a Hermit betwixt God and my own Con­science) is very like to befal me: Re­member what Pains I have formerly ta­ken to wean you from your pernicious Reso­lutions of Discretion and Wisdom! And, if you have a grateful Heart, (which is a Miracle amongst you Statesmen) shew it, by directing the Bearer to the best Wine in Town; and pray let not this highest Point of Sacred Friendship be per­form'd slightly, but go about it with all due deliberation and care, as holy Priests to Sacrifice, or as discreet Thieves to the wary performance of Burglary and Shop-lifting. Let your well-discerning Pallat (the best Judge about you) travel from Cellar to Cellar, and then from Piece to Piece, till it has lighted on Wine sit for its noble Choice and my Approbation. To engage you the more in this matter, know, I have laid a Plot may very probably betray you to the Drinking of it. My Lord — will inform you at large.

Dear Savile! as ever thou dost hope to out-do MACHIAVEL, or equal ME, send some good Wine! So may thy wearied [Page 3] Soul at last find Rest, no longer hov'ring 'twixt th' unequal Choice of Politicks and Lewdness! Maist thou be admir'd and lov'd for thy domestick Wit; belov'd and cherish'd for thy foreign Interest and In­telligence.

ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

YOU cannot shake off the States­man intirely; for, I perceive, you have no Opinion of a Letter, that is not almost a Gazette: Now, to me, who think the World as giddy as my self, I care not which way it turns, and am fond of no News, but the Pro­sperity of my Friends, and the Con­tinuance of their Kindness to me, which is the only Error I wish to continue in 'em: For my own part, I am not at all stung with my Lord M—'s mean Ambition, but I aspire to my Lord L—'s generous Philosophy: They who would be great in our little Government, seem as ridiculous to me as School-boys, who, with much en­deavour, and some danger, climb a Crab-tree, venturing their Necks for Fruit, which solid Pigs would disdain, if they [Page 5] were not starving. These Reflections, how idle soever they seem to the Bu­sie, if taken into consideration, would save you many a weary Step in the Day, and help G—y to many an Hours sleep, which he wants in the Night: But G—y would be rich; and, by my troth, there is some sence in that: Pray remember me to him, and tell him, I wish him many Mil­lions, that his Soul may find rest. You write me word, That I'm out of fa­vour with a certain Poet, whom I have ever admir'd, for the disproportion of him and his Attributes: He is a Rari [...]y which I cannot but be fond of, as one would be of a Hog that could fiddle, or a singing Owl. If he falls upon me at the Blunt, which is his very good Wea­pon in Wit, I will forgive him, if you please, and leave the Repartee to Black Will, with a Cudgel. And now, Dear Harry, if it may agree with your Affairs, to shew yourself in the Country this Summer, contrive such a Crew toge­ther, as may not be asham'd of passing by Woodstock; and, if you can debauch Alderman G—y, we will make a shift to delight his Gravity. I am sorry for [Page 6] the declining D—ss, and would have you generous to her at this time; for that is true Pride, and I delight in it.

ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

Dear SAVILE,

THIS Day I receiv'd the unhappy News of my own Death and Bu­rial. But, hearing what Heirs and Successors were decreed me in my Place, and chiefly in my Lodgings, it was no small Joy to me, that those Tydings prove untrue; my Passion for Living, is so encreas'd, that I omit no Care of myself; which, before, I never thought Life worth the trouble of taking. The King, who knows me to be a very ill-natur'd Man, will not think it an [...]asie matter for me to die, now I live chie­fly out of spight. Dear Mr. Savile, af­ford me some News from your Land of the Living; and though I have little Curiosity to hear who's well, yet I would be glad my few Friends are so, of whom you are no more the least than the lean­est. I have better Compliments for you, [Page 8] but that may not look so sincere as I would have you believe I am, when I profess myself,

Your faithful, affectionate, humble Servant, ROCHESTER.
Adderbury, near Banbury, Feb.ult

My Service to my Lord Middlesex.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

I Am in a great straight what to write to you; the stile of Business I am not vers'd in, and you may have forgot, the familiar one we us'd hereto­fore. What Alterations Ministry makes in Men, is not to be imagined; though I can trust with confidence all those You are liable to, so well I know you, and so perfectly I love you. We are in such a setled Happiness, and such merry Secu­rity in this place, that, if it were not for Sickness, I could pass my time very well, between my own Ill-nature, which inclines me very little to pity the Mis­fortunes of malicious mistaken Fools, and the Policies of the Times, which expose new Rarities of that kind every day. The News I have to send, and the sort alone which could be so to you, are things Gyaris & carcere digna; which I [Page 10] dare not trust to this pretty Fool, the Bea­rer, whom I heartily recommend to your Favour and Protection, and whose Qua­lities will recommend him more; and truly, if it might suit with your Chara­cter, at your times of leisure, to Mr. Bap­tists's Acquaintance, the happy Conse­quence would be Singing, and in which your Excellence might have a share not unworthy the greatest Embassadors, nor to be despis'd even by a Cardinal-Legate; the greatest and gravest of this Court of both Sexes have ta [...]ted his Beauties; and, I'll assure you, Rome gains upon us here, in this Point mainly; and there is no part of the Plot carried with so much Secresie and Vi­gour as this. Proselytes, of consequence, are daily made, and my Lord S—'s Im­prisonment is no check to any. An account of Mr. George Porter's Retirement, upon News that Mr. Grimes, with one Gentle­man more, had invaded England, Mr. S—'s Apology, for making Songs on the Duke of M. with his Oration-Consolatory on my Lady D—'s Death, and a Politick Dis­sertation between my Lady P—s and Capt. Dangerfield, with many other wor­thy Treatises of the like nature, are things worthy your perusal; but I durst not [Page 11] send 'em to you without leave, not know­ing what Consequence it might draw up­on your Circumstances and Character; but if they will admit a Correspondence of that kind, in which alone I dare presume to think myself capable, I shall be very in­dustrious in that way, or any other, to keep you from forgetting,

Your most affectionate, obliged, humble Servant, ROCHESTER.
White-hall, Nov. 1. 79.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

Dear SAVILE,

WEre I as Idle as ever, which I shou'd not fail of being, if Health per­mitted; I wou'd write a small Romance, and make the Sun with his dishrievel'd Rays guild the Tops of the Palaces in Lea­ther-lane: Then shou'd those vile En­chanters Barten aud Ginman, lead forth their Illustrious Captives in Chains of Quicksilver, and confining 'em by Charms to the loathsome Banks of a dead Lake of Diet-drink; you, as my Friend, shou'd break the horrid Silence, and speak the most passionate fine things that ever He­roick Lover utter'd; which being softly and sweetly reply'd to by Mrs. Roberts, shou'd rudely be interrupted by the envi­ous F—. Thus wou'd I lead the mournful Tale along, till the gentle Rea­der bath'd with the Tribute of his Eyes, the Names of such unfortunate Lovers— [Page 13] And this (I take it) wou'd be a most excellent way of celebrating the Memo­ries of my most Pockey Friends, Compa­nions and Mistresses. But it is a miracu­lous thing (as the Wise have it) when a Man, half in the Grave, cannot leave off playing the Fool, and the Buffoon; but so it falls out to my Comfort: For at this Moment I am in a damn'd Relapse, brought by a Feaver, the Stone, and some ten Diseases more, which have depriv'd me of the Power of crawling, which I happi­ly enjoy'd some Days ago; and now I fear, I must fall, that it may be fulfilled which was long since written for Instru­ction in a good old Ballad,

But he who lives not Wise and Sober,
Falls with the Leaf still in October.

About which time, in all probability, there may be a period added to the ridiculous being of

Your humble Servant, ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

Dear SAVILE,

IN my return from New-market, I met your Packet, and truly was not more surprized at the Indirectness of Mr. P.'s Proceeding, than overjoy'd at the Kindness and Care of yours. Mi­sery makes all Men less or more dishonest; and I am not astonish'd to see Villany industrious for Bread; especially, living in a place where it is often so de gayete de Coeur. I believe, the Fellow thought of this Device to get some Money, or else he is put upon it by Some-body, who has given it him already; but I give him leave to prove what he can a­gainst me: However, I will search into the Matter, and give you a fur­ther account within a Post or two. In the mean time you have made my Heart glad in giving me such a Proof of your Friendship; and I am now [Page 15] sensible, that it is natural for you to be kind to me, and can never more de­spair of it.

I am your faithful, oblig'd, humble Servant, ROCHESTER.
Bishop-Stafford, Apr. 5. 80.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE, Embassador in FRANCE. Begun, White-hall, May 30th, 79.

Dear SAVILE,

'TIS neither Pride or Neglect (for I am not of the new Council, and I love you sincerely) but Idleness on one side, and not knowing what to say on the other, has hindred me from Writing to you, af­ter so kind a Letter, and the Present you sent me, for which I return you at last my humble Thanks. Changes in this place are so frequent, that F— himself can now no longer give an account, why this was done to Day, or what will ensue to Morrow; and Accidents are so extrava­gant, that my Lord W— intending to Lie, has, with a Prophetick Spirit, once told truth. Every Man in this Court thinks he stands fair for Minister; some give it [Page 17] to Shaftsbury, others to Hallifax; but Mr. Waller says S— does all; I am sure my Lord A— does little, which your Excellence will easily believe. And now the War in Scotland takes up all the Discourse of Politick Persons. His Grace of Lauderdale values himself upon the Rebellion, and tells the King, It is very auspicious and advantageous to the drift of the present Councils: The rest of the Scots, and especially D. H— are very in­quisitive after News from Scotland, and really make a handsome Figure in this Conjuncture at London. What the D. of Monmouth will effect, is now the general expectation, who took Post unexpectedly, left all that had offer'd their Service in this Expedition, in the lurch; and, being attended only by Sir Thomas Armstrong, and Mr. C— will, without question, have the full Glory as well of the Pruden­tial as the Military Part of this Action entire to himself. The most profound Politicians have weighty Brows, and care­ful Aspects at present, upon a Report crept abroad, That Mr. Langhorn, to save his Life, offers a Discovery of Priests and Iesuits Lands, to the value of Four­score and ten thousand Pounds a Year; [Page 18] which being accepted, it is fear'd, Par­tisans and Vndertakers will be found out to advance a considerable Sum of Mony upon this Fund, to the utter Interruption of Parliaments, and the Destruction of ma­ny hopeful Designs. This, I must call God to witness, was never hinted to me in the least by Mr. P— to whom I beg you will give me your hearty Recommenda­tions. Thus much to afford you a taste of my serious Abilities, and to let you know I have a great Goggle-eye to Business: And now I cannot deny you a share in the high satisfaction I have receiv'd at the account which flourishes here of your high Prote­stancy at Paris: Charenton was never so Honour'd, as since your Residence and Mi­nistry in France, to that degree, that it is not doubted if the Parliament be sitting at your return, or otherwise the Mayor and Common-Council, will Petition the King you may be dignified with the Title of that place, by way of Earldom or Duke­d [...]m, as his Majesty shall think mo [...]t proper to give, or you accept.

Mr. S— is a Man of that tenderness of Heart, and approv'd Humanity, that he will doubtless be highly afflicted when he [Page 19] hears of the unfortunate Pilgrims, tho' he appears very obdurate [...]o the Complaints of his own best Concubine, and your fair Kins­woman M— who now starves. The Packet inclos'd in your last, I read with all the sence of Compassion it merits, and if I can prove so unexpectedly happy to succeed in my Endeavou [...]s for that Fair Unfortunate, she shall have a speedy ac­count. I thank God, there is yet a Harry Savile in E [...]gland, with whom I drank your Health last Week at Sir William Co­ventry's; and who, in Features, Proportion and Pledging, gives me so lively an Idea of yourself, that I am resolv'd to retire into Oxfordshire, and enjoy him till Shiloe come, or you from France.

ROCHESTER.
Ended the 2 [...] th of June, 1679.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

ANY kind of Correspondence with such a Friend as you, is very agree­able; and therefore you will easily be­lieve, I am very ill when I lose the oppor­tunity of Writing to you: But Mr. Povy comes into my Mind, and hinders far­ther Compliment: In a plainer way I must tell you, I pray for your hapyy Resto­ration; but was not at all sorry for your glorious Disgrace, which is an Honour, considering the Cause. I wou'd say some­thing to the serious part (as you were pleas'd to call it) of your former Letter; but it will disgrace my Politicks to differ from yours, who have wrought now sometime under the best and keenest Statesmen our Cabinet boasts of: But, to confess the Truth, my Advice to the La­dy you wot of, has ever been this, Take your Measures just contrary to your Rivals, [Page 21] live in Peace with all the World, and easily with the King: Never be so Ill-natur'd to stir up his Anger against others, but let him forget the use of a Passion, which is never to do you good: Cherish his Love where-ever it inclines, and be assur'd you can't commit greater Folly than pretending to be Iealous; but, on the contrary, with Hand, Body, Head, Heart and all the Faculties you have, contribute to his Pleasure all you can, and comply with his Desires throughout: And, for new Intrigues, so you be at one end, 'tis no matter which: Make Sport when you can, at other times help it.— Thus, I have giv'n you an account how unfit I am to give the Advice you propos'd: Besides this, you may judge, whether I was a good Pimp, or no. But some thought otherwise; and so truly I have renounc'd Business; let abler Men try it. More a great deal I would say, but upon this Subject; and, for this time, I beg, this may suffice, from

Your humble and most affectionate faithful Servant, ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

Dear SAVILE,

'TIs not that I am the idlest Creature living, and only chuse to imploy my Thoughts rather upon my Friends, than to languish all the Day in the tedi­ousness of doing nothing, that I write to you; but owning, that (tho' you excel most Men in Friendship and good Na­ture) you are not quite exempt from all Human Frailty, I send this to hinder you from forgetting a Man who loves you very heartily. The World, ever since I can remember, has been still so insuppor­tably the same, that 'twere vain to hope there were any alterations; and ther [...]fore I can have no curiosity for News; only I wou'd be glad to know if the Parliament be like to sit any time; for the Peers of England being grown of late Years very considerable in the Government, I wou'd make one at the Session. Livy and Sick­ness [Page 23] has a little inclin'd me to Policy; when I come to Town I make no questi­on but to change that Folly for some less; whether Wine or Women I know not; according as my Constitution serves me: Till when (Dear Harry) Farewel! When you Dine at my Lord Lisle's let me be re­membred.

Kings and Princes are only as Incom­prehensible as what they pret [...]nd to repre­sent; but apparently as Frail as Those they Govern.— This is a Season of Tri­bulation; and I piously beg of Almighty God, that the strict Severity shewn to one scandalous Sin amongst us, may Expiate for all grievous Calamities.— So help them God, whom it concerns!

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

IF Sack and Sugar be a Sin, God help the Wicked; was the Saying of a merry fat Gentleman, who liv'd in Days of Yore, lov'd a Glass of Wine, wou'd be merry with a Friend, and sometimes had an unlucky Fancy for a Wench. Now (dear Mr. Savile) forgive me, if I confess, that, upon several occasions, you have put me in mind of this fat Person, and now more particularly, for thinking upon your present Circumstan­ces, I cannot but say with myself, If loving a pretty Woman, and hating Lautherdale, bring Banishments and Pox, the Lord have mercy upon poor Thieves and S—s! But, by this time, all your Inconveniences (for, to a Man of your very good Sence, no outward Acci­dents are more) draw very near their end; For my own part, I'm taking [Page 25] pains not to die, without knowing how to live on, when I have brought it a­bout: But most Human Affairs are carri­ed on at the same nonsensical rate, which makes me, (who am now grown Su­perstitious) think it a Fault to laugh at the Monky we have here, when I com­pare his Condition with Mankind. You will be very good-natur'd if you keep your Word, and write to me some­times: And so good Night, dear Mr. Sa­vile.

ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

WHether Love, Wine, or Wisdom, (which rule you by turns) have the present Ascendant, I cannot pretend to determine at this distance; but Good-nature, which waits about you with more diligence than Godfrey himself, is my Se­curity, that you are unmindful of your ab­sent Friends: To be from you, and for­gotten by you at once, is a Misfortune I never was criminal enough to merit, since to the Black and Fair Countess, I villa­nously betray'd the daily Addresses of your divided Heart: You forgave that upon the first Bottle, and upon the second, on my Conscience, wou'd have re­nounc'd them and the whole Sex; Oh! That second Bottle (Harry!) is the Sin­ [...]rest, Wisest, and most Impartial Down­right Friend we have; tells us truth of o [...]rselves, and forces us to speak Truths [Page 27] of others; banishes Flattery from our Tongues, and distru [...]t from our Hearts, sets us above the mean Policy of Court-Prudence; which makes us lie to one ano­ther all Day, for fear of being betray'd by each other at Night. And (before God) I believe, the errantest Villain breathing, is honest as long as that Bottle lives, and few of that Tribe dare venture upon him, at least, among the Courtiers and Statesmen. I have seriously consi­der'd one thing, That the three Businesses of this Age, Women, Politicks, and Drink­ing, the la [...]t is the only Exercise at which you and I have not prov'd ourselves er­rant Fumblers: If you have the Vanity to think otherwise; when we meet, let us appeal to Friends of both Sexes, and as they shall determine, live and die their Drunkards, or entire Lovers. For, as we mince the Matter, it is hard to say which is the most tiresom Creature, loving Drunkard, or the drunken Lov [...]r.

If you ventur'd your fat Buttock a Gal­lop to Portsmouth, I doubt not but thro' extream Galling, you now lie Bed-rid of the Piles, or Fistula in Ano, and have the lei­sure to write to your Country-Acquain­tance, [Page 28] which if you omit I shall take the Liberty to conclude you very Proud. Such a Letter shou'd be directed to me at Ad­derbury, near Banbury, where I intend to be within these three Days.

From your obedient humble Servant, ROCHESTER.
Bath, the 22d of June.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

Dear SAVILE,

WHether Love or the Politicks have the greater Interest in your Jour­ny to France, because it is argu'd among wiser Men, I will not conclude upon; but hoping so much from your Friend­ship, that, without reserve, you will trust me with the time of your stay in Paris, I have writ this to assure you, if it can continue a Month, I will not fail to wait on you there. My Resolutions are to improve this Winter for the Improve­ment of my Parts in Foreign Countries, and if the Temptation of seeing you, be added to the Desires I have already, the Sin is so sweet, that I am resolv'd to em­brace it, and leave out of my Prayers, Libra nos a Malo— For thine is, &c.

ROCHESTER.
Oxford, Sep­temb. 5.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

'TIS not the least of my Hap­piness, that I think you love me; but the first of all my Pretensions is to make it appear, that I faithful­ly endeavour to deserve it. If there be a real good upon Earth, 'tis in the Name of FRIEND, without which all others are meer fantastical. How few of us are fit stuff to make that thing, we have daily the melancholly experience.

However, dear Harry! Let us not give out, nor despair of bringing that about, which, as it is the most difficult, and rare Accident of Life, is also the best; nay, (perhaps) the only good one. This Thought has so entirely possess'd me since I came into the Country, [Page 31] (where, only, one can think; for, you at Court think not at all; or, at least, as if you were shut up in a Drum; as you think of nothing, but the Noise that is made about you) that I have made many Serious Reflecti­ons upon it, and, amongst others, ga­ther'd one Maxime, which I desire, shou'd be communicated to our Friend Mr. G—; That, we are bound in Mo­rality and common Honesty, to endea­vour after Competent Riches; since it is certain, that few Men, if any, uneasie in their Fortunes, have prov'd firm and clear in their Friendships. A ve­ry poor Fellow, is a very poor Friend; and not one of a thousand can be good natur'd to another, who is not pleas'd within himself. But while I grow in­to Proverbs, I forget that you may impute my Philosophy to the Dog-days, and living alone. To prevent the In­conveniences of Solitude, and many o­thers, I intend to go to the Bath on Sunday next, in Visitation to my Lord Treasurer: Be so Politick, or be so Kind, (or a little of both, which is better) as to step down thither, if [Page 32] famous Affairs at Windsor, do not de [...]tain you. Dear Harry! I am

Your Hearty, Faithful, Affectionate, Humble Servant, ROCHESTER.

If you see the Dutchess of P— ve­ry often, take some opportunity to talk to her about what I spoke to you at London.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE [...]

Dear SAVILE,

IF it were the Sign of an honest Man, to be happy in his Friends, sure I were mark'd out for the worst of Men; since no one e'er lost so many as I have done, or knew to make so few. The Severity you say the Dutchess of P— shews to me, is a proof, that 'tis not in my power to deserve well of Any-body; since (I call Truth to Witness) I have never been guilty of an Errour, that I know, to her: And this may be a Warn­ing to you, that remain in the Mistake of being kind to me, never to expect a grateful Return; since I am so utterly ignorant how to make it: To value you in my Thoughts, to prefer you in my Wishes, to serve you in my Words; to observe, study, and obey you in all my Actions, is too little; since I have per­formed all this to her, without so much [Page 34] as an offensive Accident. And yet she thinks it just, to use me ill. If I were not malicious enough to hope she were in the wrong; I must have a very melan­cholly Opinion of myself. I wish your Interest might prevail with her, as a Friend of her's, not mine, to tell how I have deserv'd it of her, since she has ne'r accus'd me of any Crime, but of being Cunning; and I told her, Some­body had been Cunninger than I, to per­swade her so. I can as well support the Hatred of the whole World, as Any­body, not being generally fond of it. Those whom I have oblig'd, may use me with Ingratitude, and not afflict me much: But to be injur'd by those who have oblig'd me, and to whose Service I am ever bound; is such a Curse, as I can only wish on them who wrong me to the Dutchess.

I hope you have not forgot what G—y and you have promis'd me; but within some time you will come and fetch me to London: I shall scarce think of coming, till you call me, as not ha­ving many prevalent Motives to draw me to the Court, if it be so that my Ma­ster [Page 35] has no need of my Service, nor my Friends of my Company.

Mr. Shepheard is a Man of a fluent Stile and coherent Thought; if, as I suspect, he writ your Postscript.

I wish my Lord Hallifax Joy of every Thing, and of his Daughter to boot.

ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

YOu, who have known me these ten Years the Grievance of all prudent Persons, the By-word of Statesmen, the Scorn of ugly Ladies, which are very near All, and the irreconcilable Aversion of fine Gentlemen, who are the Ornamen­tal Part o [...] a Nation, and yet found me seldom sad, even under these weighty Oppressions; can you think that the lo­ving of lean Arms, small Legs, red Eyes and Nose, (if you will consider that Trifle too) can have the Power to depress the natural Alacrity of my careless Soul; especially upon receiving a fine Letter from Mr. Savile, which never wants Wit and Good-nature, two Qualities able to transport my Heart with Joy, tho it were breaking? I wonder at M—'s flaunt­ing it in Court with such fine Clothes; sure he is an alter'd Person since I saw [Page 37] him; for, since I can remember, nei­ther his ownself, nor any belonging to him, were ever out of Rags: His Page alone was well cloath'd of all his Fami­ly, and that but in appearance; for, of late he has made no more of w [...]aring Second-hand C—ts, than Second-hand Shooes; tho' I must confess, to his Ho­nour, he chang'd 'em oftener. I wish the King were soberly advis'd about a main Advantage in this Marriage, which may possibly be omitted; I mean, the ridding his Kingdom of some old Beau­ties and young Deformities, who swam, and are a Grievance to his Liege People. A Foreign Prince ought to behave him­self like a Kite, who is allow'd to take one Royal Chick for his Reward; but then 'tis expected, before he leaves the Country, his Flock shall clear the whole Parish of all the Garbage and Carrion many Miles about. The King had ne­ver such an opportunity; for the Dutch are very [...]oul Feeders, and what they leave he must never hope to be rid of, unless he set up an Intrigue with the Tartars or Cossacks. For the Libel you speak of, upon that most unwitty Gene­ration, the present Poets, I rejoyce in it [Page 38] with all my Heart, and shall take it for a Favour, if you will send me a Copy. He cannot want Wit utterly, that has a Spleen to those Rogues, tho' never so dully express'd. And now, dear Mr. Sa­vile, forgive me, if I do not wind up my self with an handsom Period.

ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

Dear SAVILE,

THO' I am almost Blind, utterly Lame, and scarce within the rea­sonable hopes of ever seeing London a­gain, I am not yet so wholly mortified and dead to the taste of all Happiness, not to be extreamly reviv'd at the receipt of a kind Letter from an old Friend, who in all probability might have laid me aside in his Thoughts, if not quite forgot me by this time. I ever thought you an extraordinary Man, and must now think you such a Friend, who, be­ing a Courtier, as you are, can love a Man whom it is the great Mode to hate. Catch Sir G. H. or Sir Carr, at such an ill-bred Proceeding, and I am mistaken: For the hideous Deportment, which you have heard of, concerning running naked, so much is true, that [Page 40] we went into the River somewhat late in the Year, and had a Frisk for forty Yards in the Meadow, to dry our­selves. I will appeal to the King and the Duke, If they had not done as much; nay, may Lord-Chancellor and the Arch­bishops both, when they were School-boys? And, at these Years, I have heard the one Declaim'd like Cicero, the others Preach'd like St. Austin: Prudenter Per­sons, I conclude, they were, ev'n in Hanging-sleeves, than any of the flashy Fry, (of which I must own myself the most unsolid) can hope to appear, ev'n in their ripest Manhood.

And now, (Mr. Savile) since you are pleas'd to quote yourself for a grave Man of the Number of the Scanda­liz'd, be pleas'd to call to mind the Year 1676, when two large fat Nudi­ties led the Coranto round Rosamond's fair Fountain, while the poor violated Nymph wept to behold the strange De­cay of Manly Parts, since the Days of her dear Harry the Second: P— ('tis confess'd) you shew'd but little of; but for A— and B—, (a fil­thier [Page 41] Ostentation! God wot) you ex­pos'd more of that Nastiness in your two Folio Volumes, than we altogether in our six Quarto's. Pluck therefore the Beam out of thine own Eye, &c. And now 'tis time to thank you for your kind inviting me to London, to make Dutch-m [...]n merry; a thing I would a­void, like killing Punaises, the filthy Savour of Dutch-mirth being more ter­rible. If GOD, in Mercy, has made 'em hush and melancholly, do not you rouze their sleeping Mirth, to make the Town mourn; the Prince of O­range is exalted above 'em, and I cou'd wish my self in Town to serve him in some refin'd Pleasures; which, I fear, you are too much a Dutch-man to think of.

The best Present I can make at this time is the Bearer, whom I beg you to take care of, that the King may hear his Tunes, when he is easie and pri­vate, because I am sure they will di­vert him extreamly: And may he ever have Harmony in his Mind, as this Fel­low will pour it into his Ears: May [Page 42] he dream pleasantly, wake joyfully, love safely and tenderly, live long and happily; ever prays (Dear Savile) un Bougre lasse qui era toute sa foutue reste de Vie,

Vostre fidelle, amy & tres humble Serviteur, ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

THAT Night I receiv'd by Yours the surprizing Account of my Lady Dutchess's more than ordinary In­dignation against me, I was newly brought in dead of a Fall from my Horse, of which I still remain Bruis'd and Bedrid, and can now scarce think it a Happiness that I sav'd my Neck. What ill Star reigns over me, that I'm still mark'd out for Ingratitude, and on­ly us'd barbarously to those I am oblig'd to! Had I been troublesom to her in pinning the Dependance of my Fortune upon her Solicitations to the King, or her Unmerited Recommendations of me to some Great Man; it would not have mov'd my Wonder much, if she had sought any Occasion to be rid of a use­less Trouble: But, a Creature, who had already receiv'd of her all the Obligations [Page 44] he ever could pretend to, except the con­tinuance of her good Opinion, for the which he resolv'd, and did direct every step of his Life in Duty and Service to her, and all who were concern'd in her; why should she take the Advantage of a false idle Story, to hate such a Man; as if it were an Inconvenience to her to be harmless, or a Pain to continue just? By that God that made me, I have no more offended her in Thought, Word, or Deed, no more imagin'd or utter'd the least Thought to her Contempt or Prejudice, than I have plotted Treason, conceal'd Arms, Train'd Regiments for a Rebel­lion. If there be upon Earth a Man of Common Honesty, who will justifie a Tittle of her Accusation, I am contented never to s [...] her. After this, she need not forbid me to come to her, I have little Pride or Pleasure in shewing myself where I am accus'd of a M [...]anness I were not capable of, even for her Ser­vice, which would prove a shrewder Tryal of my Honesty than any Ambi­tion I ever had to make my Court to. I thought the Dutchess of P— more an Angel than I find her a Woman; and as this is the first, it shall be the most mali­cious [Page 45] thing I will ever say of her. For her generous Resolution of not hurting me to the King, I thank her; but she must think a Man much oblig'd, after the calling of him Knave, to say she will do him no farther Prejudice. For the Countess of P—, whatever she has heard me say, or any body else, of her, I'll stand the Test of any impartial Judge, 'twas neither injurious nor un­mannerly; and how severe soever she pleases to be, I have always been her humble Servant, and will continue so. I do not know how to assure myself the D. will spare me to the King, who would not to you; I'm sure she can't say I ever injur'd you to her; nor am I at all afraid she can hurt me with you; I dare swear you don't think I have dealt so indis­creetly in my Service to her, as to doubt me in the Friendship I profess to you. And, to shew you I rely upon yours, let me beg of you to talk once more with her, and desire her to give me the fair hearing she wou'd afford any Footman of hers, who had been complain'd of to her by a less-worthy Creature, (for such a one, I assure myself, my Accuser is) unless it be for her Service, to wrong the most [Page 46] faithful of her Servants; and then I shall be proud of mine. I would not be run down by a Company of Rogues, and this looks like an Endeavour towards it: Therefore (dear Harry) send me word, how I am with other Folks; if you visit my Lord Treasurer, name the Calamity of this Matter to him, and tell me sin­cerely how he takes it: And, if you hear the King mention me, do the Office of a Friend, to

Your humble Servant, ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

Dear SAVILE,

THE Lowsiness of Affairs in this Place, is such (forgive the un­mannerly Phrase! Expressions must de­scend to the Nature of Things express'd) 'tis not fit to entertain a private Gentle­man, much less one of a publick Chara­cter, with the Retail of them, the general Heads, under which this whole Island may be consider'd, are Spies, Beggars and Rebels, the Transpositions and Mixtures of these, make an agreeable Variety; Bu­sie Fools and Cautious Knaves are bred out of 'em, and set off wonderfully; tho' of this latter sort, we have fewer now than ever, Hypocrisie being the only Vice in decay amongst us, few Men here dis­semble their being Rascals; and no Wo­man disowns being a Whore. Mr. O— was try'd two Days ago for Buggery, and clear'd: The next Day he brought [Page 48] his Action to the Kings-Bench, against his Accuser, being attended by the Earl of Shaftsbury, and other Peers, to the number of Seven, for the Honour of the Prote­stant Cause. I have sent you herewith a Libel, in which my own share is not the least; the King having perus'd it, is no ways dissatisfied with his: The Au­thor is apparent Mr. —, his Patron my L— having a Panegerick in the midst; upon which happen'd a hand­som Quarrel between his L—, and Mrs. B— at the Dutchess of P—; she call'd him, The Heroe of the Libel, and complimented him upon having made more Cuckolds, than any Man a­live; to which he answer'd, She very well knew one he never made, nor never car'd to be imploy'd in making. — Rogue and Bitch ensued, till the King, taking his Grand-father's Character upon him, became the Peace-maker. I will not trouble you any longer, but beg you still to Love

Your faithful, humble Servant, ROCHESTER.

TO THE Honourable HENRY SAVILE.

HARRY,

YOU are the only Man of England, that keep Wit with your Wisdom; and I am happy in a Friend that excels in both, were your Good Nature the least of your Good Qualities, I durst not presume upon it, as I have done; but I know you are so sincerely con­cern'd in serving your Friends truly, that I need not make an Apology for the Trouble I have given you in this Affair.

I daily expect more considerable Ef­fects of your Friendship, and have the Vanity to think, I shall be the better for your growing poorer.

In the mean time, when you please to distinguish from Prosers and Wind­ham, and comply with Rosers and Bull, [Page 50] not forgetting Iohn Stevens, you shall find me

Your most Ready and most Obedient Servant, ROCHESTER.
The End of the late Earl of Rochester's Letters.

THE E. of L—'s LETTER To the Honourable Algernoon Sidney.

DIsuse of Writing hath made it un­easie to me, Age makes it hard, and the Weakness of Sight and Hand, makes it almost impossible. This may excuse me to Every-body, and particularly to you, who have not invited me much unto it, but rather have given me cause to think, that you were willing to save me the labour of Writing, and yourself the trouble of Reading my Letters: For, after you had left me sick, solitary and sad, at Penshurst, and that you had re­solved to undertake the Employment wherein you have lately been, you nei­ther came to give me a Farewel, nor [Page 52] did so much as send one to me, but only writ a wrangling Letter or two concern­ing Mony, and Hoskins, and Sir Robert Honywood's Horse; and though both be­fore and after your going out of Eng­land, you writ to divers other Persons, the first Letter that I received from you, was dated, as I remember, the 13th of September; the second in November, wherein you take notice of your Mo­ther's Death; and if there were one more, that was all, until Mr. Sterry came, who made such haste from Penshurst, that coming very late at Night, he would not stay to Dine the next Day, nor to give me time to Write. It is true, that since the Change of Affairs here, and of your Condition there, your Let­ters have been more frequent; and if I had not thought my Silence better both [...]or you and myself, I would have writ­ten more than once or twice unto you; but though, for some Reasons, I did for­b [...]ar, I failed not to desire others to write unto you, and with their own, to convey the best Advice that my little In­telligence and weak Judgment cou'd af­ [...]ord; particularly not to expect new Au­thorities nor Orders from hence, not to stay [Page 53] in any of the Places of your Negotiation, not to come into England, much less to ex­pect a Ship to be sent for you; or to think, that an Account was, or wou'd be expected of you here, unless it were of Matters ve­ry different from your Transactions there; that it wou'd be best for you presently to di­vest yourself of the Character of a Publick Minister, to dismiss all your Train, and to retire into some safe place, not very near nor very far from England, that you might hear from your Friends some­times. And for this I advis'd Hamburgh, where I hear you are, by your Man Powel, or by them that have received Letters from you, with Presents of Wine and Fish, which I do not reproach nor envy.

Your last Letter to me had no Date of Time or Place; but, by another at the same time to Sir Iohn Temple, of the 28th of Iuly, as I remember, sent by Mr. Mis­sonden, I guess that mine was of the same Date: By those that I have had, I per­ceive that you have been misadvertiz'd; for though I meet with no Effects nor Marks of Displeasure, yet I find no such Tokens or Fruits of Favour, as may give [Page 54] me either Power or Credit for those Un­der [...]akings and good Offices, which, per­haps, you expect of me.

And now I am again upon the Point of retiring to my poor Habitation, ha­ving for myself no other Design, than to pass the small remainder of my Days in­nocently and quietly; and, if it please God, to be gathered in Peace to my Fa­thers. And concerning you, what to resolve in myself, or what to advise you, truly I know not: For, you must give me leav [...] to remember of how little Weig [...] [...] [...]pinions and Counsels have bee [...] [...]ith you, and how unkindly and unfriendly you have rejected those Ex­hortations and Admonitions, which in much Affection and Kindness I have gi­ven you upon many Occasions, and in almost every thing, from the highest to the lowest, that hath concerned you; and this you may think sufficient to dis­courage me from putting my Advices in­to the like Danger: Yet, somewhat I will say: And, First, I think it unfit, and (perhaps) as yet, unsafe for you to come into England; for, I believe, Powel hath told you, that he heard, when he [Page 55] was here, That you were likely to be ex­cepted out of the General Act of Pardon and Oblivion: And though I know not what you have done or said here or there, yet I have several ways heard, That there is as ill an Opinion of you, as of any, even of those that condemned the late King: And when I thought there was no other Exception to you, than your being of the other Party, I spoke to the General in your behalf, who told me, That very ill Offices had been done you, but he would assist you as much as just­ly he could; and I intended then also to speak to Some-body else, you may guess whom I mean: But, since that, I have heard such things of you, that in the doubtfulness only of their being true, no Man will open his Mouth for you. I will tell you some Passages, and you shall do well to clear yourself of them. It is said, That the University of Copenhagen brought their Album unto you, desiring you to write something therein, and that you did scribere in Albo these words,

Manus haec inimica Tyrannis,
Ense petit placida cum Libertate quie­tem:

[Page 56] And put your Name to it. This can­not chuse but be publickly known, if it be true. It is said also, That a Minister, who hath married a Lady Laurence here of Chelsey, but now dwelling at Copen­hagen, being there in Company with you, said, I think you were none of the late King's Judges, nor guilty of his Death, meaning our King. Guilty! said you; Do you call that Guilt? Why, 'twas the justest and bravest Action that ever was done in England, or any where else; with other words to the same effect. It is said also, That you having heard of a Design to seize upon you, or to cause you to be taken Prisoner, you took notice of it to the King of Denmark himself, and said, I hear there is a Design to seize upon me: But who is it that hath that Design? Est [...]e nostre Bandit. By which you are un­derstood to mean the King.

Besides this, it is reported, That you have been heard to say many scornful and contemptuous things of the King's Person and Family; which, unless you can justifie yourself, will hardly be for­given or [...]orgotten: For, such Personal Offences make deeper Impressions than [Page 57] Publick Actions either of War or Trea­ty. Here is a Resident, as he calls him­self, of the King of Denmark, whose Name (as I hear) is Pedcombe; he hath visited me, and offered his readiness to give you any Assistance in his Power or Credit with the Embassadour, Mr. Al­field, who was then expected, and is now arrived here, and hath had his first Audience. I have not seen Mr. Pedcombe since; but, within a few Days I will put him in mind of his Pro­fession of Friendship to you, and try what he can or will do. Sir Robert Ho­nywood is also come hither; and, as I hear, the King is graciously pleased to admit him to his Presence, which will be somewhat the better for you, because then the Exceptions against your Em­ployment and Negotiation, wherein you were Colleague, will be removed, and you will have no more to answer for, than your own particular Behaviour. I believe Sir Robert Honywood will be in­dustrious enough to procure Satisfaction to the Merchants in the Business of Mo­ny, wherein he will have the Assistance of Sir Iohn Temple; to whom I refer you for that and some other things.

[Page 58]I have little to say to your Complaints of your Sister Strayford's unequal Re­turns to your Affection and Kindness, but that I am sorry for it, and that you are well enough serv'd for bestowing so much of your Care where it was not due, and neglecting them to whom it was due, and I hope you will be wiser here­after. She and her Husband have not yet paid the Thousand Pounds, where­of you are to have your part, by my Gift; for so, I think, you are to under­stand it, tho' your Mother desired it; and if for the Payment thereof your be­ing in England, or in some Place not far off, be necessary, as some pretend, for the Sealing of some Writings, I think that, and other Reasons, sufficient to perswade you to stay a while where you are, that you may hear frequently from your Friends, and they from you. I am wholly against your going into Italy as yet, till more may be known of your Condition, which, for the present, is hard; and, I confess, that I do not yet see any more than this, that either you must live in Exile, or very privately here; and (perhaps) not safely; for [Page 59] though the Bill of Indemnity be lately passed, yet if there be any particular and great Displeasure against you, as I fear there is, you may feel the Effects there­of from the Higher Powers, and receive Affronts from the Inferiour: Therefore you were best to stay at Hamburgh, which, for a Northern Situation, is a good place, and healthful. I will help you as much as I can in discovering and informing you of what concerns you; though, as I began, so I must end, with telling you, That Writing is now grown troublesome to

Your Affectionate Le—
London, Aug. 30. 1660.

The Honourable Algernoon Sidney's LETTER, AGAINST BRIBERY, AND Arbitrary Government. Written to his Friends, in Answer to Theirs, perswading his Return to England.

SIR,

I Am sorry I cannot in all things con­form myself to the Advices of my Friends; if theirs had any joint concern­ment with mine, I would willingly sub­mit [Page 61] my Interest to theirs; but when I a­lone am interested, and they only advise me to come over as soon as the Act of Indemnity is pass'd, because they think it is best for me, I cannot wholly lay aside my own Judgment and Choice. I confess, we are naturally inclin'd to de­light in our own Country, and I have a particular Love to mine; I hope I have given some Testimony of it; I think that being exil'd from it is a great Evil, and would redeem myself from it with the loss of a great deal of my Blood: But when that Country of mine, which us'd to be esteem'd a Paradise, is now like to be made a Stage of Injury, the Liberty which we hoped to establish oppress'd, all man­ner of Prophaneness, Loosness, Luxury and Lewdness set up in its heighth; in­stead of the Piety, Virtue, Sobriety, and Modesty, which we hoped God, by our Hands, would have introduc'd; the Best of our Nation made a Prey to the Worst; the Parliament, Court and Army corrup­ted, the People enslav'd, all things ven­dible, and no Man safe, but by such evil and infamous Means as Flattery and Bri­bery; what Joy can I have in my own Country in this Condition? Is it a Plea­sure [Page 62] to see all that I love in the World sold and destroy'd? Shall I renounce all my old Principles, learn the vile Court­arts, and make my Peace by bribing some of them? Shall their Corruption and Vice be my Safety? Ah! no; better is a Life among Strangers, than in my own Country upon such Conditions. Whil'st I live, I will endeavour to preserve my Liberty; or, at least, not consent to the destroying of it. I hope I shall die in the same Principle in which I have lived, and will live no longer than they can preserve me. I have in my Life been guilty of many Follies, but, as I think of no meanness, I will not blot and defile that which is past, by endeavouring to provide for the future. I have ever had in my Mind, that when God should cast me into such a Condition, as that I can­not save my Life, but by doing an inde­cent thing, He shews me the time is come wherein I should resign it. And when I cannot live in my own Country, but by such means as are worse than dy­ing in it, I think He shews me, I ought to keep myself out of it. Let them please themselves with making the King glorious, who think a Whole People may justly be [Page 63] sacrific'd for the Interest and Pleasure of One Man, and a few of his Followers: Let them rejoice in their Subtilty, who, by be­traying the former, Powers, have gain'd the Favour of this, not only preserv'd, but advanc'd themselves in these dangerous Changes. Nevertheless (perhaps) they may find the King's Glory is their Shame, his Plenty the Peoples Misery; and that the gaining of an Office, or a little Mony, is a poor Reward for destroying a Na­tion! (which, if it were preserved in Li­berty and Vertue, would truly be the most glorious in the World) and that o­thers may find they have, with much Pains, purchas'd their own Shame and Misery, a dear Price paid for that which is not worth keeping, nor the Life that is accompanied with it; the Honour of English Parliaments have ever been in making the Nation glorious and happy, not in selling and destroying the Interest of it, to satisfie, the Lusts of one Man. Miserable Nation! that, from so great a heighth of Glory, is fallen into the most despicable Condition in the World, of having all its Good depending upon the Breath and Will of the vilest Persons in it! cheated and sold by them they trust­ed! [Page 64] Infamous Traffick, equal almo [...]t in Guilt to that of Iudas! In all preceeding Ages, Parliaments have been the Pillars of our Liberty, the sure Defenders of the Oppressed: They, who formerly could bridle Kings, and keep the Ballance e­qual between them and the People, are now become the Instruments of all our Oppressions, and a Sword in his Hand to destroy us: They themselves, led by a few interested Persons, who are willing to buy Offices for themselves by the Mise­ry of the whole Nation, and the Blood of the most worthy and eminent Persons in it. Detestable Bribes, worse than the Oaths now in fashion in this Mercenary Court! I mean, to owe neither my Life nor Liberty to any such Means; when the Innocence of my Actions will not pro­tect me, I will stay away till the Storm be overpass'd. In short, where Vane, Lambert and Haslerigg cannot live in Safe­ty, I cannot live at all. If I had been in England, I should have expected a Lodg­ing with them; or, tho' they may be the first, as being more eminent than I, I must expect to follow their Example, in Suffering, as I have been their Companion in Acting. I am most in Amaze at the [Page 65] mistaken Informations that were sent to me by my Friends, full of Expectations, of Favours, and Employments. Who can think, that they, who imprison them, would employ me, or suffer me to live, when they are put to death? If I might live, and be employ'd, can it be expected that I should serve a Government that seeks such detestable Ways of establish­ing itself? Ah! no; I have not learnt to make my own Peace, by persecuting and betraying my Brethren, more inno­cent and worthy than myself: I must live by just Means, and serve to just Ends, or not at all, after such a Manifestation of the Ways by which it is intended the King shall govern. I should have re­nounced any Place of Favour into which the Kindness and Industry of my Friends might have advanc'd me, when I found those that were better than I, were only fit to be destroy'd. I had formerly some Jealousies, the fraudulent Proclamation for Indemnity, encreas'd the imprison­ing of those three Men; and turning out of all the Officers of the Army, contrary to Promise, confirm'd me in my Reso­lutions, not to return.

[Page 66]To conclude, The Tide is not to be diverted, nor the Oppress'd deliver'd; but God, in his time, will have Mercy on his People; he will save and defend them, and avenge the Blood of those who shall now perish, upon the Heads of those, who, in their Pride, think nothing is able to oppose them. Happy are those whom God shall make Instruments of his Ju­stice in so blessed a Work. If I can live to see that Day, I shall be ripe for the Grave, and able to say with Joy, Lord! now lettest thou thy Servant depart in Peace, &c. [So Sir Arthur Haslerigg on Oliver's Death.] Farewel; my Thoughts, as to King and State, depending upon their Actions. No Man shall be a more faithful Servant to him than I, if he make the Good and Prosperity of his People his Glory; none more his Ene­my, if he doth the contrary. To my particular Friends I shall be constant in all Occasions, and to you

A most affectionate Servant, A. SIDNEY.

A Letter by another Hand.

To Madam —

I Have News to tell you: You got a new Subject yesterday; tho', after all, (perhaps) it is no more News to you, than it would be to the Grand Seignior, or the French King: For you (Madam) either find or make Subjects where-ever you go. It is impossible to see you, without surrendring one's Heart to you; and he that hears you talk, and can still preserve his Liberty, may (for ought I know) revive the Miracle of the three Children in Daniel, and call for a Chamlet Cloak to keep him warm in the midst of a Fiery Furnace. But re­ally (Madam) I am none of those Mi­racle-mongers; I am true Flesh and Blood, like the rest of my Sex; and, as I make no Scruple to own my Passion to you, so you (Madam) without incur­ring the Danger of being question'd by the Parliament, may pretend to all the Rights and Priviledges of a Conqueror. My Comfort is, that all Mankind, soon­er [Page 68] or later, must wear your Chainr; for you have Beauty enough to engage the nicest Heart, though you had no Wit to set it off: And you have so plentiful a share of the last, that were you wholly destitute of the former, as I have already found to my Cost, you have but too much, you could not fail of harming the most Insensible. For my own part, I confess myself an Admirer, or, if you please, an Adorer of your Beauty: But I am a Slave, a meer downright effectual Slave to your Wit. Your very Conver­sation is infinitely more delicious than the Fruition of any other Woman.

Thus, my Charming Sovereign, I here profess myself your devoted Vassal and Subject. I promise you eternal Du­ty and Allegiance: It is neither in my Power nor Will to depose you; and I am sure it is not in your Nature to affect Ar­bitrary Sway. Tho' if you do, (Madam) God knows, I am a true Church of Eng­land-man; I shall never rebel against you in Act or Thought, but only have recourse to Prayers and Tears, and still stick to my Passive Obedience. Per­haps, Madam, you'll tell me, I have [Page 69] talked more than comes to my share; but, being incognito, I assume the Li­berty of a Masquerader, and, under that Protection, think myself safe. But, alas, did you know how I languish for you, I dare swear (my charming Sylvia!) you would bestow some Pity upon

AMYNTAS.

To Madam —

I Have never had the Happiness of your Conversation but once, and then I found you so very charming, that I have wore your lovely Idea ever since in my Mind. But it is not without the least Astonishment, that I receiv'd the News of what befel you t'other Day; it still makes me tremble, and leaves a dis­mal Impression behind it, not easie to be imagin'd. For Heaven's sake, Madam, what could urge you to so cruel a Reso­lution, that might have prov'd irrepa­rably fatal to yourself, and matter of per­petual Affliction to your Friends? What Harm have I, and a Thousand more of your Adorers done you, that you should so terribly revenge the supposed Infide­lity of another upon them? Or, Why should you, whom Beauty and Wit have put in a Capacity to subdue our whole Sex, lay to Heart the Unkindness of one Lover, who may proceed to a new Ele­ction when you please? If I had Vanity [Page 71] enough to aspire to be your Privy-Coun­sellour, I wou'd e'en advise you to bury the remembrance of what is past, and either to punish all Mankind, as you ea­sily may, though I need not instruct you how; or else to chuse some happy Fa­vourite out of the Throng of your Ser­vants, and showre your Favours upon him. If Sincerity and Truth may bid for the Purchase of your Heart, I can help you to one that thoroughly under­stands your Worth, and accordingly va­lues it; that would be damn'd before he would abandon you for the greatest Princess in the Universe; that would chearfully die for your sake, and yet only lives out of Hopes, that he may one day merit your Esteem by his Services. I fancy, Madam, you now demand of me, where this strange Monster of Fidelity is to be found? Know then, that he lives within less than a Hun­dred Miles of Red-Lyon-Square; and that his Name is, (Oh! pardon the In­solence of this Discovery) his Name is

AMYNTAS,

[Page 72]There is another Letter that accom­panies this, and was written a Week ago; which I had not Courage enough to lay at your Feet till now.

LOVE-LETTERS,

BY Mr. Thomas Otway.

To Madam —

My TYRANT!

I Endure too much Torment to be si­lent, and have endur'd it too long not to make the severest Complaint. I love you, I dote on you; Desire makes me mad, when I am near you; and Despair, when I am from you. Sure, of all Miseries, Love is to me the most intolerable; it haunts me in my Sleep, perplexes me when waking; every me­lancholly Thought makes my Fears more powerful; and every delightful one makes my Wishes more unruly. In all other Uneasie Chances of a Man's Life, [Page 74] there is an immediate Recourse to some kind of Succour or another: in Wants, we apply ourselves to our Friends; in Sickness, to Physicians: but Love, the Sum, the Total of all Misfortunes, must be endur'd with Silence, no Friend so dear to trust with such a Secret, nor Remedy in Art so powerful, to remove its Anguish. Since the first Day I saw you, I have hardly enjoy'd one Hour of per­fect Quiet: I lov'd you early; and no sooner had I beheld that soft bewitching Face of yours, but I felt in my Heart the very Foundation of all my Peace give way: But when you became ano­thers, I must confess, that I did then rebel, had foolish Pride enough to pro­mise myself, I would in time recover my Liberty: In spight of my enslav'd Nature, I swore against myself, I would not love you: I affected a Resentment, stifled my Spirit, and would not let it bend, so much as once to upbraid you, each Day it was my chance to see or to be near you: With stubborn Sufferance I resolv'd to bear and brave your Power; nay, did it often too, successfully, Ge­nerally with Wine or Conversation I di­verted or appeas'd the Daemon that pos­sess'd [Page 75] me; but when at Night, return­ing to my unhappy self, to give my Heart an account why I had done it so unna­tural a Violence, it was then I always paid a treble Interest for the short Mo­ments of Ease which I had borrow'd; then every treacherous Thought rose up, and took your part, nor left me till they had thrown me on my Bed, and open'd those Sluces of Tears that were to run till Morning. This has been for some Years my best Condition: Nay, Time itself, that decays all things else, has but encreas'd and added to my Longings. I tell it you, and charge you to believe it as you are generous, (which sure you must be, for every thing except your Neglect of me, perswades me that you are so) even at this time, tho' other Arms have held you, and so long trespass'd on those dear Joys that only were my Due; I love you with that tenderness of Spi­rit, that purity of Truth, and that since­rity of Heart, that I could sacrifice the nearest Friends or Interests I have on Earth, barely but to please you: If I had all the World, it should be yours; for with it I could be but miserable, if you were not mine. I appeal to yourself for [Page 76] Justice, if through the whole Actions of my Life I have done any one thing that might not let you see how absolute your Authority was over me. Your Com­mands have been always sacred to me; your Smiles have always transported me, and your Frowns aw'd me. In short, you will quickly become to me the greatest Blessing, or the greatest Curse, that ever Man was doom'd to. I cannot so much as look on you without Confusion; Wishes and Fears rise up in War within me, and work a curs'd Distraction through my Soul, that must, I am sure, in time have wretched Consequences: You only can, with that healing Cordial, Love, asswage and calm my Torments; pity the Man then that would be proud to die for you, and cannot live without you, and allow him thus far to boast too, that (take out Fortune from the Ballance) you never were belov'd or courted by a Creature that had a nobler or juster Pretence to your Heart, than the Unfortunate and (even at this time) Weeping

OTWAY.

To Madam —

IN value of your Quiet, tho' it would be the utter ruine of my own, I have endeavoured this Day to perswade myself never more to trouble you with a Passion that has tormented me sufficiently alrea­dy, and is so much the more a Torment to me, in that I perceive it is become one to you, who are much dearer to me than my self. I have laid all the Reasons my di­stracted Condition would let me have re­course to, before me: I have consulted my Pride, whether a [...]ter a Rival's Posses­sion I ought to ruine all my Peace for a Woman that another has been more blest in, tho' no Man ever loved as I did: But Love, victorious Love, o'erthrows all that, and tells me, it is his Nature never to re­member; he still looks forward from the present Hour [...] expecting still new Dawns, new rising Happiness, never looks back, never regards what is past, and left behind him, but buries and forgets it quite in the hot fierce pursuit of Joy before him: I [Page 78] have consulted too my very self, and find how careless Nature was in framing me; seasoned me hastily with all the most vio­lent Inclinations and Desires, but omitted the Ornaments that should make those Qualities become me: I have consulted too my Lot of Fortune, and find how foolishly I wish possession of what is so precious, all the World's too cheap for it; yet still I Love, still I dote on, and cheat myself, very content because the Folly pleases me. It is Pleasure to think how Fair you are, tho' at the same time worse than Damnation, to think how Cruel: Why should you tell me you have shut your Heart up for ever? It is an Argu­ment unworthy of yourself, sounds like Reserve, and not so much Sincerity, as sure I may claim even from a little of your Friendship. Can your Age, your Face, your Eyes, and your Spirit bid de­fiance to that sweet Power? No, you know better to what end Heaven made you, know better how to manage Youth and Pleasure, then to let them die and pall upon your Hands. 'Tis me, 'tis only me you have barr'd your Heart a­gainst. My Sufferings, my Diligence, my Sighs, Complaints, and Tears are of no [Page 79] power with your haughty Nature; yet sure you might at least vouchsafe to pity them, not shift me off with gross, thick, home-spun Friendship, the common Coin that passes betwixt Worldly Interests: must that be my Lot! Take it Ill-natur'd, take it; give it to him who would waste his Fortune for you; give it the Man would fill your Lap with Gold; court you with Offers of vast rich Possessions; give it the Fool that has nothing but his Mony to plead for him; Love will have a much nearer Relation, or none. I ask for glorious Happiness; you bid me Welcome to your Friendship, it is like seating me at your Side-table, when I have the best Pretence to your Right-hand at the Feast. I Love, I Doat, I am Mad, and know no measure; no­thing but Extreams can give me ease; the kindest Love, or most provoking Scorn: Yet even your Scorn would not perform the Cure, it might indeed take off the edge of Hope, but damn'd Despair will gnaw my Heart for ever. If then I am not odious to your Eyes, if you have Charity enough to value the Well-being of a Man that holds you dearer than you can the Child your Bowels are most fond [Page 80] of, by that sweet [...]ledge of your first softest Love, I charm and here conjure you to pity the distracting Pangs of mine; pity my unquiet Days and restless Nights; pity the Frenzy that has half possest my Brain already, and makes me write to you thus ravingly: The Wretch in Bedlam is more at Peace than I am! And, if I must never possess the Heaven I wish for, my next Desire is, (and the sooner the better) a clean-swept Cell, a merciful Keeper, and your Compassion when you find me there.

Think and be Generous.

To Madam —

SInce you are going to quit the World, I think myself obliged, as a Member of that World, to use the best of my En­deavours to divert you from so ill-natur'd an Inclination; therefore, by reason your Visits will take up so much of this Day, I have debarr'd myself the opportunity of waiting on you this Afternoon, that I may take a time you are more Mistress of, and when you shall have more leisure to hear, if it be possible for any Argu­ments of mine to take place in a Heart, I am afraid too much harden'd against me: I must confess it may look a little extraordinary for one under my Circum­stances to endeavour the confirming your good Opinion of the World, when it had been much better for me, one of us had never seen it: For Nature disposed me from my Creation to Love, and my ill Fortune has condemn'd me to Doat on one, who certainly could never have been deaf so long to so faithfull a Passion, [Page 82] had Nature disposed her from her Crea­tion to hate any thing but me. I beg you to forgive this Trifling, for I have so many Thoughts of this nature, that 'tis impossible for me to take Pen and Ink in my Hand, and keep 'em quiet, e­specially when I have the least pretence to let you know you are the cause of the severest Disquiets that ever touch'd the Heart of

OTWAY.

To Madam —

COuld I see you without Passion, or be absent from you without Pain, I need not beg your Pardon for this re­newing my Vows, that I love you more than Health, or any Happiness here or hereafter. Every thing you do is a new Charm to me; and though I have lan­guish'd for seven long tedious Years of Desire, jealously and despairing; yet, e­very Minute I see you, I still discover something new and more bewitching. Consider how I love you; what would not renounce, or enterprize for you? I must have you mine, or I am miserable; and nothing but knowing which shall be the happy Hour, can make the rest of my Life that are to come tolerable. Give me a word or two of comfort, or resolve never to look with common goodness on me more, for I cannot bear a kind Look, and after it a cruel Denial. This Minute my Heart akes for you; and, [Page 84] if I cannot have a Right in yours, I wish it would ake till I could complain to you no longer.

Remember poor

OTWAY.

To Madam —

YOU cannot but be sensible, that I am blind, or you would not so openly discover what a ridiculous Tool you make of me. I should be glad to discover whose satisfaction I was sacri­fic'd to this Morning; for I am sure your own ill Nature could not be guilty of inventing such an Injury to me, meer­ly to try how much I could bear, were it not for the sake of some Ass, that has the Fortune to please you: In short, I have made it the Bus'ness of my Life to do you Service, and please you, if pos­sible, by any way to convince you of the unhappy Love I have for seven Years toil'd under; and your whole Bus'ness is to pick ill-natur'd Conjectures out of my harmless freedom of Conversation, to Vex and Gall me with, as often as you are pleased to Divert yourself at the Expence of my Quiet. Oh, thou Tormenter! Could I think it were Jea­lousie, how should I humble myself to [Page 86] be justify'd; but I cannot bear the thought of being made a Property ei­ther of another Man's good Fortune, or the Vanity of a Woman that designs no­thing but to plague me.

There may be Means found some­time or other, to let you know your mistaking.

To Madam —

YOU were pleased to send me word you would meet me in the Mall this Evening, and give me further satis­faction in the Matter you were so unkind to charge me with; I was there, but found you not, and therefore beg of you, as you ever would wish yourself to be eased of the highest Torment it were possible for your Nature to be sensible of, to let me see you sometime to Morrow, and send me word, by this Bearer, where, and at what Hour, you will be so just, as either to acquit or condemn me; that I may, hereafter, for your sake, either bless all your bewitching Sex; or, as of­ten as I henceforth think of you, curse Woman-kind for ever.

Mr.— to Mr. G—

Dear G—,

AS I hope to be sav'd, and that's a bold word in a Morning, when our Consciences, like Children, are al­ways most uneasie; when the Light of Nature flashes upon us with the Light of the Day, and makes way for the calm re­turn of Thought, that Eternal Foe to Quiet; but, I thank my Stars, I have shook that Snake out of my Bosom, and made Peace with that Domestick Enemy Conscience, and so much the more dan­gerous by being so—

—But, as I was going to say, your Letter has put new Life into me, and re­viv'd me from the Damp, that Solitude and bad Company has flung me into; 'tis as hard to find a Man of Sense here, as a handsom Woman: A Company of Country 'Squires round a Table, is like a Company of Waiters round a dead Corps, [Page 89] they are always ridiculously Sober and Grave, or, which is worse, impertinently Loud: Wine, that makes the gay Man of the Town brisk and sprightly, only serves to pluck off their Vail of Bashful­ness, a Mask that Fools ought always to wear; and which, once off, makes 'em as nauseous, as a bare-fac'd Lady of the Pit; they are as particular in their Stories, as a Lawyer in his Evidence, and husband their Tales, as well as they do their Moneys: In short, as Madam Oli­via says, They are my Aversion of all Aversions.

You may easily imagine, I have too much of the Men, but on my word, I have too little of the Women: Full of Youth, Vigour and Health I lye fallow, and, like the Vestal Virgins, am damn'd to Cold­ness and Chastity in the midst of Flames. God knows what hard shifts I use, my Right-hand often does, what (like Acts of Charity) I'm asham'd my Left-hand shou'd know. As much as I despise the Conversation of these Fops, I court it out of an apprehension of being alone, not daring to trust myself to so dangerous a Companion as myself. 'Tis in these cool [Page 90] Intervals of Solitude, that we conspire Cuckoldom against our Friend, Treason against the State, &c. for the Devil of Lust and Ambition, like other Evil Spi­rits, only appears to us when we are alone.

The Talking of the Devil, puts me in mind of the Parsons: I had the Benefit of the Clergy this Week; I mean the Company of two honest unbigotted Par­sons; I drank a Bowl to the Manes of our immortal Friend, one that was as witty as Necessity, and discover'd more Truths, than ever Time did: One that was born to Unchain the World, that struggl'd with Mysteries as Hercules did with Monsters, and, like him, too fell by a Distaff.

After so mournful a Subject, I'gad I'll make you Laugh— The Duce take me, if I did not, last Week, assist at the Cere­mony of making a Christian; nay, more Sir, I was, Honos sit Auribus, a Godfa­ther, who am

your Affectionate Friend, and Servant, &c.

Mons. BOILEAV's LETTERS,

TRANSLATED By THO. CHEEK, Esq

To the Duke de Vivone, upon his Entrance into the Haven of Mes­sina.

My LORD,

KNow you not, that one of the su­rest ways, to hinder a Man from being pleasant, is, to bid him be so: Since you fo [...]bad me being serious, I ne­ver found myself so grave, and I speak nothing now but Sentences. And, be­sides, your last Action has something in it so great, that truly it would go against [Page 92] my Conscience to write to you of it o­therwise, than in the Heroick Style: However, I cannot resolve, not to obey you, in all, that you command me; so that in the Humour that I find myself, I am equally afraid to tire you with a se­rious Tri [...]le, or to trouble you with an ill Piece of Wit.

In fine, my Apollo has assisted me this Morning, and in the time that I thought the least of it, made me find upon my Pillow, two Letters, which, for want of mine, may perhaps give you an agree­able amusement: They are dated from the Elysian Fields; the one is from Bal­zac, and the other from Voiture, who being both charm'd with the Relation of your last Fight, write to you from the other World, to congratulate you. This is that from Balzac; you will easily know it to be his by his Style, which cannot express things simply, nor de­s [...]end from its heighth.

From the Elysian Fields, June the 22d.

My LORD,
THe Report of your Actions, re­vives the Dead; it wakens those, who have slept these thirty Years, and were condemn'd to an eternal Sleep; it makes Silence itself speak: The Brave! The Splendid! The Glorious Conquest that you have made over the Enemies of France! You have restored Bread to a City, which has been accu­stom'd to furnish it to all others: You have nourish'd the nursing Mother of Italy; the Thunder of that Fleet, which shut you up the Avenues of its Port, has done no more than barely saluted your Entrance; its Resistance has detained you no longer, than an over civil Recep­tion: So far from hindring the Rapidi­ty of your Course, it has not interrupted the Order of your March; you have constrain'd, in their Sight, the South, and North Winds to obey you, without cha­stizing [Page 94] the Sea, as Zerxes did; you have taught it Discipline; you have done yet more, you have made the Spaniard humble. After that, what may not one say of you? No, Nature, I say, Nature, when she was young, and in the time that she produc'd Alexanders and Cae­sars, has produc'd nothing so great, as un­der the Reign of Louis XIV, she has gi­ven to the French, in her declension, that which Rome could not obtain from her in her greatest Maturity. She has made appear to the World, in your Age, both in Body and Soul, that perfect Valour which we have scarce seen the Idea of in Romances and Heroick Poems. Beg­ging the Pardon of one of your Poets— he had no reason to say, That beyond Cocitus Merit, is no more known: Yours, my LORD, is extoll'd here, by the common Voice, on both sides of Styx. It makes a continual remembrance of you, even in the Abodes of Forgetfulness: It finds zealous Partizans in the Country of Indifference. It puts Acheron into the Interests of the Seine. Nay more, There is no shade amongst us, so prepossest with the Principles of the Porticus, so hardned in the School of Zeno, so fortified [Page 95] against Joy and Grief, that does not hear your Praises with pleasure, that does not clap his Hands, and cry, A Miracle! at the Moment you are named, and is not ready to say with your Malherb,
A la fin, c'est trop de silence,
En si beau suject, de parler.
As for me, my LORD, who know you a great deal better, I do nothing but meditate on you in my Repose; I fill my Thoughts intirely with your Idea, in the long Hours of our leisure; I cry continually, How great a Man is this! And if I wish to live again, 'tis not so much, to return to the Light, as to enjoy the Sovereign Felicity of your Conver­sation, and to tell you Face to Face, with how much respect, I am from the whole extent of my Soul,
My LORD,
Your Lordship's most humble, and most obedient Servant, BALZAC.

[Page 96]I Know not, my LORD, whither these violent Exaggerations will please you; and whither you will not find, that the Style of Balzac is a little corrupted in the other World; however it be, (in my Opinion) he never la­vish'd his Hyperboles more to the pur­pose; 'tis for you to judge of it: But first read, (if you please) the Letter from Voiture.

From the Elysian Fields, June the 22d.

My LORD,

‘THo' we poor Devils, who are dead, do not concern ourselves much in the Affairs of the Living, and are not exceedingly inclin'd to Mirth: Yet I cannot forbear rejoycing at the Great Things you do over our Heads. Seriously, your last Fight makes the De­vil and all of a Noise here below; it has made itself heard in a place, where the very Thunder of Heav'n is not heard; and has made your Glory known in a Country where even the Sun is not known. There are a great many Spa­niards come hither, who were in the Action, and have inform'd us of the Par­ticulars. I see no reason why the People of that Nation shou'd pass for Bullies; for I can assure you they are very civil Persons, and the King sent 'em hither t'other Day very mild and quiet. To tell you the truth, my LORD, you have ma­nag'd [Page 98] your Affairs very well of late. To see with what speed you fly o're the Mediterranean-Sea, wou'd make one think you absolutely Master of it: There is not at present, in all its extent, one single Privateer in safety, and, if you go on at this rate, I can't see how you'd have Tunis and Algiers subsist. We have here the Caesars, the Pompeys, and the A­lexanders; they all agree, That you ex­actly follow their Conduct in your way of fighting: But Caesar believes you to be superlatively Caesar. There are none here, ev'n to the Alaricks, the Gense­ricks, the Theodoricks, and all the other Conquerors in icks, who don't speak ve­ry well of this Action; and in Hell it self (I know not whether you are ac­quainted with that Place) there is no Devil, my LORD, who does not con­fess ingenuously, That at the Head of an Army you are a greater Devil, than himself: This is a Truth that your ve­ry Enemies agree in. But to see the good that you have done at Messina, for my part, I believe you are more like an An­gel, than a Devil, only Angels have a more [...]airy shape, and do not carry their Arms in a Scarf. Railery apart, [Page 99] Hell is extreamly byass'd in your Fa­vour. There is but one thing to be ob­jected to your Conduct, and that is the little care, that you sometimes take of your Life. You are so well belov'd in this Country, that they don't desire your Company. Believe me, my LORD, I have already said it in the other World, a Demi-God, is but a very little thing, when he is dead; he's nothing like what he was, when he was alive. And as for me, who know already, by expe­rience what it is to be no more, I set the best Face on the Matter I can; but to hide nothing from you, I die with Im­patience to return to the World; were it only to have the Pleasure to see you there; in pursuance of this intended Voyage, I have already sent several times to find out the scatter'd Parts of my Body to set 'em together, but I cou'd never recover my Heart, which I left at parting with those seven Mistresses, that I serv'd, as you know so faithfully, the whole seven at once. As for my Wit, unless you have it, I'm told, 'tis not to be found in the World. To tell you the truth, I shrewdly suspect, that you have at least the Ga [...]ety of it: For I have [Page 100] been told here four or five Sayings of your Turn of Expression, which I wish, with all my Heart, I had said, and for which I would willingly give the Pane­gyrick of Pliny, and two of my best Letters. Supposing then, that you have it, I beg you to send it me back as soon as possibly you can; for indeed you can't imagine how inconvenient it is [...] not to have all one's Wit about one, especially when one Writes to such a Man as you are; this is the Cause that my Style, at present, is so alter'd: Were it not for that, you shou'd see me mer­ry again, as formerly, with my Com­rade le Broch [...]t. And I should not be reduc'd to the necessity of ending my Letter trivally, as I do in telling you, that I am,’

My LORD,
Your Lordship's most Humble and Obedient Servant, VOITURE.

THese are the two Letters, just as I receiv'd 'em: I send 'em you writ in my own Hand, because you wou'd have had too much trouble to read the Characters of the other World, if I had sent 'em you in the Original. Do not fancy, my LORD, that this is only a trial of Wit, and an imitation of the Style of these two Writers. You know very well, that Balzac and Voiture are inimitable. However, were it true, that I had recourse to this Invention to divert you, shou'd I be so much in the wrong of it, or rather ought I not to be esteem'd, for having found out this way to make you read the Praises, which you wou'd never have suffer'd otherways? In a word, cou'd I better make appear with what Sincerity, and with what Respect I am,

My LORD,
Yours, &c.

A LETTER Writ by Mr. DENNIS, Sent with the following SPEECH.

SIR,

I Have here sent you inclos'd, what I promis'd you by the last Post, and I think myself oblig'd to give you some account of it. In the late Appendix to the new Observator, I find the Author reasonably complaining of the corrup­tion of History by the French, and gi­ving [Page 103] a 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 Monsieur Pelisson's History of the present King of France is like to be, which 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 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 late Confederacy, for the general good of Christendom, (which not so much as a Frenchman, who has common Sense, be­lieves) and of his Bombarding Genoa, [Page 104] 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 [...]latter'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? 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 [Page 105] be desir'd; you may easily conclude how extreamly fulsom 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 Vertue.

THE SPEECH OF Monsieur BOILEAV, Upon his Admission into the French Academy.

Translated by Mr. DENNIS.

GENTLEMEN,

THe Honour this Day confer'd upon me, is something 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 [Page 107] Acknowledgments, 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 Chan­sellour, who after him enjoy'd 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 Besons. Is it not a Man who is equally renown'd for his great Employments, [Page 108] and his profound Capacity? Is it not a Magistrate who fill'd one of the formost 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; with whom the more I compare myself, the less Proportion I find.

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 exal­ [...]ed Minister, some famous Poet, or some Writer, whom his Works have rendred Illustrious, and who has very o [...]ten 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 [Page 109] 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 far short of the great Master-pieces with which you every day supply us; and in the which you so gloriously revive Thucydides, 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 offer me voluntarily upon so slight a foundation, an Honour which the 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 shewn in employing me, together with one of the first of your [Page 110] 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.

Yes, Gentlemen, whatever just Reasons ought to have excluded me 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 shewn, that when it is to s [...]rve your August Protector, whatever Consideration might otherwise restrain you, your Zeal will not suffer you to cast your eyes upon an [...] 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, [Page 111] it belongs to you, and to Pens like yours, to shew the World such Master-pieces; and he never conceiv'd so advantageous a 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 shew 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, [Page 112] that he 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 granted this Prince: When they shall write, that his Condust 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 the highest Mountains; thundring 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 itself oblig'd to believe them, and the T [...]uth may be ea­sily disown'd or mistaken, under the dis­guise of its pompous Ornaments.

[Page 113]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 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, disposed in their order of time, and attended with their real circum­stances; who is it that can then dissent from them, I do not say of our Neigh­bours, I do not say of Allies; I say of our mortal Enemies? And tho' they shou'd be unwilling to acknowledge the [Page 114] truth of them, will not their diminish'd Forces, their States confin'd within stricter Bounds, their Complaints, their Jealousies, their Furies, their very Inve­ctives, in spight of themselves, convince them? Can they deny that in that very Year, of 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 whil'st with one of these Armies, he caus'd his Lieutenants to besiege Luxemburgh, himself with the other, keeping as it were block'd all the Towns of Brabant and Hainault: That he did, by this most admirable Conduct, or, rather [...] by a kind of Enchantment, like that o [...] the Head so renown'd in the [Page 115] ancient 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 reduc'd to the wretched Vengeance of dispersing Libels; of sending forth Cries and Reproaches: Our very Enemies, give me leave to repeat it, can they they de­ny all this? Must not they confess, That at the time when these Wonders were executing in the Low-Countries, our Fleet upon the Mediterranean, 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 [Page 116] dare not give the Lie to such known Truths, especially when they shall see them writ with that simple and natural Air, and with that Character of Sincerity and Probability, with which, whate'er my Defects are, I do not abso­ly despair to be able at least in part to 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 [...]am'd Academy, which has kept possession, for so many Years, of all the Treasures, of all the Riches, of 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 f [...]equenting 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 chaste at the very time when she is most alluring; and to make the Colours and [Page 117] 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 Acknowledgment, which I shall make all my Life-time for the un­expected Honour you have done me.

Letters of Courtship TO A Woman of Quality.

IF it be a Crime in me, Madam, to love, 'tis your fair Self that's the oc­casion of it; and if it be a Crime in me to tell you I do, 'tis myself only that's faulty. I confess, 'twas in my Power to have forborn writing, but I am satis­fy'd I cou'd never have seen you, but the Language of my Looks wou'd have dis­closed the secret; and to what purpose is it to pretend to conceal a Flame that will discover itself by its own Light? In my mind there's more Confession in disorder­ed Actions, frequent Sighs, or a com­plaining Countenance, than in all the artful Expressions the Tongue can utter; I have been strugling with myself this three Months to discover a thing which [Page 119] I now must do in three words, and that is, that I adore you; and I am sure if you'll be just to yourself, you cannot be so un­just to me, as to question the reality of this Discovery, for 'tis impossible for you to be ignorant of the Charms you possess, no body can be rich, and yet unacquainted with their Stores. And therefore, since 'tis certain, you have every thing wonder­fully engaging, you must not take it ill that my Taste is as curious as another's, I shou'd do an injury to my own Judg­ment if it were not; I am not, Madam, so vain as to believe, that any thing I can act or utter shou'd ever perswade you to retain the least kind regard, in recompence of the pain I suffer; I only beg leave and liberty to complain: They that are hurt in Service, are permitted to show their Wounds; and the more gallant the Con­querour, the more generous is his Compassi­on. I ventur'd last Night to faulter out my Misfortune, 'twas almost dark, and I at­tempted it with greater boldness, nay, you yourself (cruel and charming as you are) must needs take notice of my disor­der; your Sentences were short and re­proving; your Answers cold; and your Manner (contrary to your usual and pe­culiar [Page 120] sweetness) was severe and for­bidding, yet in spight of all the Awe and chill Aspect you put on, you must always appear most adorable to,

MADAM,
Your most lost and unfortunate humble Servant
.

By the same Hand.

YOu need not have laid an Obligation on me of writing, who am so incli­nable of my own accord, to tire yo [...] with Let [...]ers; 'tis the most ag [...]eable thing I can do, and cou'd wish you thought it so too; but when I reflect upon the [...]a [...]sh­ness of my Expressions, I must needs conclude, I have a greater regard to my own satisfaction in writing, than to your patience in reading; the only way I know to make me write better, wou'd be to receive more frequent Letters from you, which would instruct me to do it; and I shou'd think it the greatest perfecti­on of my Pen to imitate even the faults of yours (if there were any.) I have the sa­tisfaction left me, that I am writing to one, that, though her Judgment be nice and discerning, her Interpretation is easie and candid; ONE that has not only the brightness of Heaven to make me adore her, but also the goodness of it to forgive my offences; else I shou'd despair of Par­don for this too long Letter.

[Page 122]I confess, if I were to make a recital of your Divine Qualities, an Age would be too small a time to be employed in the Work: I shou'd indeavour to paint your gay airy Temper, and yet shadow it with all the Modesty and cautious Reserv'd­ness; you have an Humour so very taking, that, as it fires the serious, and dull, so it checks, and restrains the too forward; and as your Charms give encouragement, so your wakeful Conduct creates despair. If the Paper and your Patience wou'd not fail me, I cou'd live upon this Subject; but whilst I do Justice to your Vertues, I of­fend your Modesty; and every Offence a­gainst you, Madam, must be avoided as much as possible by him, all whose Hap­piness depends on pleasing you, as does that of,

MADAM,
Your humble Servant.

By the same Hand.

AS I cannot reflect upon the melan­choly Appearance of things on Sun­day and Munday last, without an Afflicti­on inexpressible, so I cannot think on the happy Change without the most grate­ful Pleasure. Heavens! how my Heart sunk, when I found the tenderest part of my Soul seiz'd with an Indisposition, her Colour faded, the usual Gaiety of her Temper eclipsed, her Tongue faultering, her Ayr languishing, and the charming Lustre of her Eyes setting and decay'd! Instead of kind Expressions full of Love and Endearments, I could hear nothing but Complaints, and the melancholy Ef­fects of a growing Illness. 'Tis true, (my dearest Life) tho' you are as beautiful as Light, tho' sweet and tender as a Flower in Spring, tho' gay and cheerful as dawn­ing Youth, yet all these Perfections, that captivate others, cannot secure you against the Tyranny of Distempers; Sickness has no regard to your Innocence, but the same [Page 124] ruffling Tempest that tears up the common Weeds, blasts also the fragrant blushing Rose: But now, to the Eternal Peace of my satisfied Mind, [...]he Feaverish Heat is extinguish'd, and your Charms recover their usual heavenly Brightness; I am the Vnhappy Wretch that feels their force, and consumes of a Feaver never to be ex­tinguish'd, but with the Life of,

MADAM,
Yours, &c.

By the same Hand.

THIS Morning I discover'd the happy Signal at your Window, which was as welcome to me as a Cordial to fainting Spirits: Heavens grant the Design be real, Love is ne­ver free from Fears; and my presa­ging Mind bids me not be too confi­dent. If there be any Sympathy in our Souls, as there is in our Manners and Humours, I am sure you must be very much indispos'd; for, all Night long, dreadful Fancies haunted me, and drove all soft and pleasing Idea's from me: The same Rest which guil­ty despairing Wretches and Feaver­ish Souls find in the midst of their Ago­nies, was my Lot all Night long: I could not, durst not slumber; and, as my Love grew more outragious, my Ap­prehensions about you were more di­stracting. I cannot be well till I see you, which, if it be with your usual [Page 126] Charming Gayety, I shall be the most bless'd of Mortals: But if pale Sick­ness sit upon your Lips, Heavens grant it may also freeze the Blood of

Yours.

By the same Hand.

IF Distraction be an Argument of Love, I need no other to convince you of my Passion: All my past Actions have discover'd it, since I had the honour to know you; tho' not any so sensibly as my Behaviour on Sunday-night: My Re­flection on it, gives me more pain than I can express, or you imagin [...]; tho' in my Mind those Actions may be forgi­ven, that proceed from Excess of Love. My Letter will discover the Loss of my Senses, which I never had so much oc­casion for as now, especially when I presume to write to one of so much Iudgment as yourself; but you, my dear­est Creature, must look upon the Infirmi­ties and Distress of a Love-sick Wretch, with the same Candour and Mildness that Heaven does upon you; and let all my Faults be forgiven by your tender Heart, that is design'd for nothing but Compas­sion, and all the gentle Actions of softest Love. Whil'st I am preaching up Pity, [Page 128] I must remember to practise it myself, and not to persecute you with more Words, th [...]n to tell you, that I love you to Death, and, when I cease to do it, may Heaven [...]us [...]ly punish my broken Vows, and may I be as mis [...]rable as now I think myself happy. But as the greatest Passions are discover'd by Silence, so that must di­rect me to conclude.

Yours.

By the same Hand.

I Am troubl'd, at the Soul, to find my Dearest Life express herself with so much Concern: I am sure, till Death makes me cold, I shall never be so to one whose I entirely am, not so much by Vows as by the sincerest Passion and Inclination. No, my kind Dear, engaging Creature, sooner than utter one Sigh which is not for You, I would chuse to be the Con­tempt of Mankind, and an Abhorrer of my own loath'd Being. Your Person is too charming, your Manner too winning, your Principles too honourable, ever to let a Heart escape, that you have once made entirely your own; and, when mine is not so, may it fester in the Breast of

Yours.

By the same Hand.

TO express the grateful sense of the Obligation I have to you, can­not be effectually done, unless I had your Pen. If you observe my Style, you will have reason to conclude, I have not received your ingenious Letter of Yesterday, which shou'd have been a Precedent to me, and a Rule to write by; I assure you I am as well satisfy'd of the R [...]ality of the Contents of it, as I am of its Ingenuity. Your Sense is clear, like your Actions; and that Spirit that glows in your Eyes, shines in your Lines. I may venture to say, that Wri­ting is not the least of your Excellen­cies, and if any thing cou'd perswade me to stay longer than Friday or Sa­turday here, it wou'd be in Expectation of a second Letter from you. 'Tis my greatest pleasure to hear you are well, and to have the happiness of possessing in Thought, what is deny'd to my Eyes; [Page 131] desiring the Continuance of them for no other end, than to gaze upon my dear Conqueress, who, after a most enga­ging manner, has the way of kindly killing

Her humble and eternally obliged Servant.

By the same Hand.

I Hope, my dearest Life, will excuse this Impertinence, tho' I received her Commands not to write; but when I tell h [...], that the Tumult of my Mind was so extream, upon the reflection of my late Folly, that I cou'd not rest, till I had acknowledg'd my Rashness; I hope she'll continue her usual Good­ness of forgiving one, that cannot for­give himself. When I think of my un­worthiness, I rave. I have been treated by the dearest and best of Creatures, with all the Honour and Sincerity ima­ginable, and my Return has been Bru­tality and ill Manners. 'Tis you alone, Madam, that have sweet engaging Ways peculiar to yourself, you are easie with­out Levity; Courteous and Affable with­out Flattery; you have Wit without Ill-nature, and Charms without being vain. I cannot think of all your Hea­venly Qualifications, without upbraid­ing myself for making such barbarous [Page 133] and unjust Returns. I cannot think of what I have done, without a Just Ab­horrence; I loath and detest myself, and must needs own, I ought not to subscribe myself by any other Title, than,

MADAM,
Your Vngrateful.

A Letter of Reproach to a Woman of Quality.

MADAM,

I Am sorry I must change my Style, and tell you I am now fully satisfied that your Ladiship never will be so; I al­ways fear'd your Desires wou'd exceed your Returns: But when I heard you were supply'd by three Nations, I thought you might have been modestly content­ed. And I have even yet good nature enough to pity your unfortunate Condi­tion, or rather Constitution, that obli­ges half the Town of necessity to de­cline all sorts of Commerce with you; I cou'd have wish'd you had had Repu­tation enough left for me to have justi­fied, tho' you have cruelly robb'd me of the Joy of Loving, without making yourself any reasonable Advantage of it; had your Soul consulted my Desti­ny, I should have had fairer play for my Passion, and not have been thus sacrifi'd to your most Egregious Follies; yet, [Page 135] since better late than never, take, Ma­dam, this time, now the Town is dis­banded, the Season moderate, and your Ladiship's common Practice prorogued, to consider if there be any way left you, in some measure, to save the Confusion of yourself, and that of,

MADAM,
Your real humble Servant.
August the 10 th, 95.

A Letter of Business to a Merchant's Wife in the City.

MADAM,

I Can forgive you the Difficulty you made of passing an Ev'ning with me; nay, even the affected Indifference you entertain'd me with, when you might have imploy'd your time much better; I knew your Character, and guess'd what wou'd be the end of our first Meeting, but desire it may not be the beginning of the Second; for the future, prithee, dear Hypocrite, (do not forget yourself) and so often ingage me to Love tenderly, and yet conjure me to hope for no Return; but do me the Favour to make a better use of the next Opportunity, lest your car­ry on too [...]ar the unnatural Jest, and con­trive to force yourself out of the Inclinati­ons of,

Madam,
Your real humble Servant.

LETTERS, By the late Celebrated Mrs. Katherine Phillips.

The Fam'd Orinda, to the Honour­able Berenice.

YOur Ladiship's last Favour from Col. P—'s was truly obliging, and carried so much of the same great Soul of yours, which loves to diffuse it self in Expressions of Friendship to me, that it merits a great deal more Acknow­ledgment than I am able to pay at my best Condition, and am less now when my Head akes, and will give me no leave to enlarge, though I have so much Sub­ject and Reason; but really if my Heart ak'd too, I cou'd be sensible of a very great Kindness and Condesc [...]ntion in [Page 138] thinking me worthy of your Concern, tho' I visibly perceive most of my Letters have lost their way to your Ladiship. I beseech you be pleased, first, to believe I have written every Post; but, secondly, since I came, and then to enquire for them, that they may be commended into your hands, where alone they can hope for a favourable residence; I am very much a Sharer by Sympathy, in your Ladiship's satisfaction in the Converse you had in the Country, and find that to that inge­nious Company Fortune had been just, there being no Person fitter to receive all the Admiration of Persons best capable to pay them, than the great Berenice: I hope your Ladiship will speak me a real Servant of Dr. Wilkins; and all that Con­verse with you, have enrich'd all this Summer with yours. I humbly thank your Ladiship for your Promise of Mr. Boyle's Book, which indeed merits a pub­lick, not View only, but Universal Ap­plause, if my Vote be considerable in things so much above me. If it be possi­ble, oblige me with the sight of one of them, which (if your Ladiship com­mand it) shall be very faithfully return'd you. And now (Madam) why was [Page 139] that a cruel Question, When will you come to Wales? 'Tis cruel to me, I con­fess, that it is yet in question; but I hum­bly beg your Ladiship to unriddle that part of your Letter, for I cannot under­stand why you, Madam, who have no Persons alive to whom your Birth hath submitted you, and have already by your Life secur'd to yourself the best Opinion the World can give you, should create an Awe upon your own Actions, from imaginary Inconveniencies: Happiness, I confess, is twofac'd, and one is Opini­on; but that Opinion is certainly our own; for it were equally ridiculous and impos­sible to shape our Actions by others Opini­ons. I have had so much (and some sad) Reason to discuss this Principle, that I can speak with some Confidence, That none will ever be happy, who make their Happiness to consi [...]t in, or be govern'd by the Votes of other Persons. I deny not but the Approbation of wise and good Per­sons is a very necessary Satisfaction; but to forbear innocent Contentments, only because it's possible some Fancies may be so capricious as to dispute, whether I should have taken them, is, in my Belief, neither better nor worse than to fast al­ways, [Page 140] because there are some so supersti­tious in the World, that will abstain from Meat, upon some Score or other, upon every day in the Year, that is, some up­on some days, and others upon others, and some upon all. You know, Madam, there is nothing so various as Vulgar Opi­nion, nothing so untrue to itself: Who shall then please, since none can fix it? 'Tis a Heresie (this of submitting to every blast of popular extravagancy) which I have combated in Persons very dear to me: Dear Madam, let them not have your Authority for a relapse, when I had almost committed them; but consider it without a Byass, and give Sentence as you see cause; and in that interim put me not off ( Dear Madam) with those Chymera's, but tell me plainly what inconvenience is it to come? If it be one in earnest, I will submit, but otherwise I am so much my own Friend, and my Friend's Friend, as not to be satisfied with your Ladiship's taking measure of your Actions by others Opinion, when I know too that the se­verest could find nothing in this Journey that they could condemn, but your ex­cess of Charity to me, and that Censure you have already supported with Pati­ence, [Page 141] and (notwithstanding my own consciousness of no ways deserving your sufferance upon that score) I cannot beg you to recover the Reputation of your Judgment in that particular, since it must be my Ruine. I should now say very much for your most obliging Commands to me, to write, and should beg frequent Letters from your Ladiship with all pos­sible importunity, and should by com­mand from my Lucasia excuse her last Rudeness (as she calls it) in giving you account of her Honour for you under her own Hand, but I must beg your pardon now, and out-believing all, I can say up­on every one of these accounts, for really, Madam, you cannot tell how to imagine any Person more to any one than I am,

Madam,
Your Ladiship's most faithful Servant, and passionate Friend, ORINDA.
June the 25th, Priory of Car­digan.

[Page 142] Lucasta is most faithfully your Servant: I am very glad of Mr. Cowley's success, and will concern myself so much as to thank your Ladiship for your endeavour in it.

To the Honourable Berenice.

Dear MADAM,

I Have been so long silent, that I pro­fess I am now asham'd almost to beg your Pardon, and were not Confidence in your Ladiship's Goodness a greater re­spect than the best Address in the World, I should scarce believe myself capable of remission; but when your Ladiship shall know more fully than Papers can express, how much and how many ways I have suffered, you will rather wonder that I write at all, than that I have not written in a Week; when you shall hear that my Dear Lucasia, by a strange unfortunate Sickness of her Mother's, hath been kept from me, for three Weeks longer than I expected, and is not yet come: I have had some difficulty to live, and truly, Madam, so I have, and more difficulty to be silent to you, but that in earnest my disorder was too great to write: Dear Madam, pardon and pity me, and, to ex­press [Page 144] that you do both, be pleased to ha­sten hither, where I shall pour all my Trouble into your Bosom, and receive thence all that Consolation which I never in my Life more needed than I now do. You see, Madam, my Presumption, or rather Distraction to leap from Confes­sions into Petitions, and those for advan­tages so much above my merit: But what is that, that the dear Great Berenice can deny her faithful Orinda? And what is it that Orinda would not do or suffer, to ob­tain that sweet and desired Converse, she now begs of you? I am confident my Lucasia will suddenly be here to, thank you for your Charity which you will, by coming, express to me, and the Obligation you will put upon her by it; both which shall be equally and constantly acknow­ledged (if you will please to hasten it) by

Your faithfully affectionate Friend, and humble Servant, ORINDA.
Nov. 2 1658.

To the Honourable Berenice.

I Must confess myself extreamly trou­bled, to miss a Letter from your La­diship in a whole Fortnight, but I must beg you to believe your silence did not oc­casion mine; for my Ambition to con­verse with you, and advantage in being allow'd it, is too great for me to decline any opportunity which I can improve to obtain so much happiness: But really the Box of Gloves and Ribbons miss'd a conveniency of going, and a Letter that attended them partak'd in the same misfortune; by this time and some days before it I hope they have reach'd you, for they were sent away above a Week ago; and if so, all that I can tell you of my Desires to see your Ladiship will be repetition, for I had with as much earnestness as I was capable of, begg'd it then, and yet have so much of the Beggar in me, that I must redouble that Importunity now, and tell you, That I gasp for you with an Impatience that [Page 146] is not to be imagin'd by any Soul wound up to a less concern in Friendship than yours is, and therefore I cannot hope to make others sensible of my vast desires to enjoy you, but I can safely appeal to your own illustrious Heart, where I am sure of a Court of Equity to relieve me in all the Complaints and Supplications my Friend­ship can put up: Madam, I am assured you love me, and that being once grant­ed, 'tis out of dispute, that your Love must have nobler circumstances than mine, but because the greatness and reality of it must be always disputed with you, by me there must of necessity remain the obligingness of your Love to weigh down the Ballance, and give you that advan­tage over me in friendship, which you un­questionably have in all things else, and if this reasoning be true, (as sure there are all Sciences in Friendship, and then Logick cannot be excluded) I have ar­gued myself into handsom necessity of being eternally on the receiving hand, but let me qualifie that seeming mean­ness, by assuring you, that even that is the greatest testimony of my esteem for your Ladiship, that ever I can give; for I have a natural pride (that I cannot [Page 147] much repent of) which makes me very unwilling to be obliged, and more cu­rious from whom I receive kindnesses than where I confer them; so that being contented to be perpetually in your Debt, is the greatest Con [...]ession I can make of the Empire you have over me, and really that Priviledge is the last which I can submit to part with all, to be just done in Acts of Friendship, and that I do not on­ly yield you in all my Life past, but can beg to have it continued by your doing me the greatest favour that ever I receiv'd from you by restoring me my dear and honoured Berenice; this, Madam, is but one Action, but, like the Summ of an Account, it contains the Value of all the rest, and will so oblige and refresh me, that I cannot express the satisfaction I shall receive in it; I humbly thank your Ladiship for the assurance you have given me, that you suddenly intend it, and that you were pleased to be account­able to me for your stay till Christmas, which being now at hand, I hope you will have neither Reason, Importunity, nor Inclinations to retard the Happiness you intend me: Really, Madam, I shall and must expect it in these Holidays, and [Page 148] a disappointment to me is the greatest of Miseries; and then, Madam, I trust you will be convinc'd of this necessity there is of your Life and Health, since Heaven it self appears so much concern'd in it, as to restore it by a Miracle: And, truly, had you been still in danger, I should have look'd upon that as more ominous than the Blazing-star, so much discours'd of; but you are one of those extraordinary Blessings which are the Publick Concernments, and are, I trust, reserv'd to be yet many Years an Example of Honour and Ornament to Religion.

Oh, Madam, I have abundance to tell you and ask you, and if you will not hasten to hear it, you will be almost as cruel as Arsaces; but you will come, and, if you find any thing in this Letter that seems to question it, impute it to the continual distrust of my own Merit, which will not permit me easily to be­lieve my self favoured: Dear Madam, if you think me too timerous, confute me by the welcome Experiment of your Company, which, really, I perpetually long for, and again beg, as you love me, and claim as you would have me [Page 149] believe it; I am glad your Ladiship has pitch'd on a place so near me, you shall be sufficiently persecuted with Orinda. I know you will pardon me, for not ac­quainting you with the News you heard from other hands, when I tell you, there is nothing of it true, and the Town is now full of very different Discourse; but I shall tell you more particularly, when I have the honour to see you; and, till then, cannot with conveniency do it. I easily believe Dous factious; but, in those Disputes, I think he discovers more Wit than Wisdom, and your Ladiship knows they are inseparable; I shall lose the Post, if I do not now hasten to sub­scribe, what I am always ready to make good, that I am more than any one li­ving,

Your Ladiship's most Faithful and most Passionate Friend and Servant, ORINDA.
Decemb. 30. 1658.

To the Honourable Berenice.

WIth the greatest Joy and Confusion in the World, I received, Dear Madam, your Ladiship's most obliging Letter from Kew, and thus far I am recon­ [...]il'd to my own Omissions, that they have produc'd a Shame which serves me now to allay a Transport, which had otherwise been excessive at the knowledge that I am to receive, that notwithstanding all my Failings, you can look upon me with so generous a Concern: I could make many Apologies for myself, and with truth tell you, That I have ventured Papers to kiss your Ladiship's Hand, since I receiv'd one from it, but really, Madam, I had rather owe my restitution wholly to your Boun­ty, than seem to have any pretence to it myself, and I will therefore allow myself utterly unworthy of having any room in your Thoughts, in that I have not perpe­tually begg'd it of you, with that Assidui­ty as is suitable to so great and so valu'd a Blessing; and I know that tho' a Sea have [Page 151] divided our Persons, and many other Ac­cidents made your Ladiship's Residence uncertain to me, yet I ought to have been restless in my Enquiries how to make my approaches to you; and all the Varieties and Wandrings and Troubles that I have undergone since I had the honour to see your Ladiship, ought not to have distract­ed me one moment from the payment of that Devotion to you, which [...] if you please, I will swear never to have been one jot lessen'd in my Heart, as ill and as seldom as I have express'd it; but now, that my good Fortune has brought me once mor [...] so near your Ladiship, I hope to redeem my Time, by so constant and fervent Addres­ses to you, as shall both witne [...]s how unal­terably I have ever lov'd and honour'd you, and how extreamly glad I am still to be preserved in so noble and so priz'd a Heart as yours; and, that I may the soo­ner be secur'd of that and restor'd to your Converse, I must beg your Ladiship to find some occasion that may bring you to London, where I may cast mysel [...] at your Feet, both in repentance of my own Faults, and acknowledgment of your Goodness, and assure you that neither Lucasia, nor a­ny other Person, ever had the Will, the [Page 152] Power, or the Confidence to hinder the Justice of my most affectionate Service to your Ladiship, and though you fright me with telling me how much you have con­sidered me of late, yet I will venture upon all the Severity that Reflection can pro­duce; and if it be as great as I may rea­sonably fear, yet I will submit to it for the Expiation of my Failings, and think my­self sufficiently happy if after any Pen­nance you will once more receive me into your Friendship, and allow me to be that same Orinda, whom with so much good­ness you were once pleased to own as most faithfully yours, and who have ever been, and ever will be so; and, Dear dear Madam,

Your Ladiship's most affectionate humble Servant and Friend, K. Phillips.

This was wrote but a Month before Orinda died.

To Mr. Herbert.

I Receiv'd your two Letters against Hy­pocrisie and Love, but I must tell you, they have made me no Convert from, Women, and their Favourite; for who like Simonides, wou'd give nine scandalous Origins to Womankind, for one good one, meerly because the Follies and Vices of that Sex deserve it, and yet hope ever to make your account of them? or who, with Petronius Arbiter, would tell the Lawyers,

Quid faciunt Leges ubi sola pecunia regnat?
Aut ubi paupertas vincere nulla potest,
Ipsi qui Cynica traducunt tempora cena,
Nonnunquam Nummis vendere verba so­lent,
Ergo judicium, nihil est nisi publica Merces
At (que) eques in causa qui sedet empta probat.

Thus English'd by Mr. Barnaby.

Laws bear the Name, but Money has the Power;
The Cause is bad when e'er the Client's Poor:
[Page 154]Those strict-liv'd Men that seem above our World,
Are oft too modest to resist our Gold.
So Iudgment, like our other Wares, is sold,
And the Grave Knight that nods upon the Laws,
Wak'd by a Fee, Hems, and approves the Cause.

That the Bar is but a Market for the Sale of Right, and that the Judge sits there only to confirm what the Bribe had se­cur'd before, and yet hope ever to escape when you come into their Hands? Or what Man that has his Interest before his Eyes wou'd tell this dangerous Truth, That Priests of all Religions are the same?

No, no, Plain-dealing must be left to Manly, and confin'd to the Theatre, and permit Hypocrisie and Nonsence to prevail with those pretty Amusements, Women, that like their own Pleasure too well, to be fond of Sincerity. You declaim against Love on the usual Topicks, and have scarce any thing new to be answer'd by me, their profess'd Advocate, if by Re­pentance you mean the Pain that accom­panies Love; all other Pleasures are mixt [Page 155] with that, as well as Love, as Cicero ob­serves in his second Book de Oratore, Om­nibus rebus, voluptatibus maximis fastidium finitimum est: In all things where the greatest Pleasures are found, there borders a sa­tiety and uneasie pain: And Catullus, Non est dea nescia nostri, quae dulcem curis miscet amaritiem: Nor am I unknown to that bright Goddess, who with my Cares min­gles a sweet pleasing Bitter. But I take this pain in Love to proceed from the imper­fection of our Union with the Object be­lov'd, for the Mind forms a thousand en­trancing Idea's, but the Body is not ca­pable of coming up to that satisfaction the Mind proposes; but this Pain is in all o­ther Pleasures that we have, none of which afford that fulness of Pleasure, as Love, which bears some proportion to the vehemence of our Desires: Speak therefore no more against Love, as you hope to die in the Arms of Sylvia, or not perish wretchedly in the Death of a Pumpkin. I am

Your Friend, &c.

LETTERS

BY Mr. Tho. Brown.

To C. G. Esq in Covent-Gar­den.

MAy I be forced to turned News-monger for a wretched Sub­sistence [...] and beat up fifty Coffee-houses every Morning, to gather Scraps of In­telligence, and fatherless Scandal; or, (to Curse my self more emphatically) may I live the restless Life of some gay younger Brother's starving Footman of the Temple, who, between his Master's Debts and Fornication, visits once a Day half the Shopkeepers in Fleet-street, and half the Whores in Drury-lane, if I am [Page 157] not as utterly weary of hunting after you any longer, as ever Statesman was of serving the Publick, when the Pub­lick forgot to bribe his private Interest. Shou'd I but set down how many tire­some Leagues I have travell'd, how of­ten I have shot all the City-gates, cross'd Lincolns-inn Fields, pass'd the two Tro­picks of the Old and New Exchange, and doubled the Cape of Covent-garden Church to see you, I shou'd grow more voluminous than Coryat; and you'd fan­cy yourself, without doubt, engaged in Purchase's or Hackluyt's Itineraries. As you are a Person of half Business and half Pleasure, (which the Wise say, is the best Composition in the World) I have con­sider'd you in your two Capacities, and order'd my Visits accordingly. Some­times I call'd upon you betimes in a Morning, when nothing was to be met in the Streets, but grave Tradesmen, stalking in their Slippers to the next Cof­fee-house; Midnight-drunkards, reeling home from the Rose; industrious Har­lots, who had been earning a Penny over Night, tripping it on foot to their Lodgings; Ragmen, picking up Mate­rials for Grubstreet; in short, nothing [Page 158] but Bailiffs, Chimney-sweepers, Cin­derwomen, and other People of the same early Occupations, and yet, as my ill Stars contriv'd it, you were still gone out before me. At other times I have call'd at Four in Afternoon, the Sober Hour, when other discreet Gentlemen were but newly up, and dressing to go to the Play; but to as little purpose as in the Morning. Then, towards the Evening, I have a hundred times examin'd the Pit and Boxes, the Chocolate-houses, the Taverns, and all places of publick resort, except a Church, (and there, I confess, I cou'd no more expect to meet you, than a right Beau of the last Paris Edition in the Bear-garden) but still I failed of you eve­ry where, tho' sometimes you 'scaped me as narrowly as a Quibble does some mer­ry Statesmen I cou'd name to you. Is it not strange, thought I to my self, that every paltry Astrologer about the Town, by the help of a foolish Telescope, shou'd be able to have the Seven Planets at a Minute's warning, nay, and their very Attendants, their Satellites too, tho' some of them are so many hundred thousand Miles distant from us, to know precise­ly when they go to Bed, and what Ram­bles [Page 159] they take, and yet that I with all my pains and application shou'd never take you in any of your Orbits, who are so considerably nearer to me? But, for my part, I believe a Man may sooner find out a true Key to the Revelations, than discover your By-haunts, and solve every Problem in Euclid much easier than yourself. With all Reverence be it said, Your Ways are as hard to be tra­ced as those of Heaven; and the Dean of P—, who in his late History of Pro­vidence has explain'd all the several Phoe­nomena's of it, but his own Conversions, is the fittest Person I know of in the World to account for your Eclipses. Some of your and my good Friends, (whom I need not mention to you) have cross'd the German Ocean, made the Tour of the Low-Countries, seen the Elector of Bavaria and Prince Vaudemont, and might, if they pleas'd, have got drunk with a dozen of German Princes, in half the time. I have been beating the Hoof up and down London, to find out you; — so that at last, after a World of mortifying Disappointments, taking a Martial in my hands, I happen'd to light upon an Epi­gram of his, address'd to Decianus, a very [Page 160] honest Gentleman it seems, but one that was as hard to be met with as yourself: And this Epigram, suiting my own case exactly, I here send you a Paraphrase or Imitation of it, call it which you please.

Ne valeam, si non totis Deciane Diebus.
Lib. 2. Ep. 2.
In some vile Hamlet let me live forgot,
Small-beer my Portion, and no Wine my lot.
To some worse Iilt in Church-Indentures bound,
Than ancient Job, or modern Sh— found,
And with more Aches visited, and Ills,
Than fill up Salmon's Works or Tilburgh's Bills:
If 'tis not still the Burden of my Prayer,
The Day with you, with you the Night to share.
But, Sir, (and the Complaint, you know, is tr [...]e)
Two damn'd long Miles there lye 'twixt me and you:
And these two Miles, with little Calcula­tion,
Make four, by that I've reach'd my Habita­tion.
[Page 161]You near Sage Will's, the Land of Mirth and Claret,
I live, stow'd up in a White-chappel Gar­ret;
Oft, when I've come so far your Hands to kiss,
Flatter'd with Thoughts of the succe [...]ding Bliss,
I'm told, you're gone to the Vexatious Hall,
Where, with eternal Lungs, the Lawyers bawl,
Or else stole out, a Female Friend to see;
Or, what's as bad, you're not at Home for me.
Two Miles I've at your Service; and that's civil,
But to trudge four, and miss you, is the De­vil.

And now, if you are not incurably lost to all sence of Humanity, send me word where it is you pass your Evenings, or in one of your beloved Catullus's Expres­sions,

Demonstres ubi sunt tuae tenebrae.

But if you think that too hard upon you, for I wou'd not be thought to invade your Privacies, appoint some common [Page 162] meeting-place, the Grffin, or the Dog, where, with two or three more select Friends, we may pass a few Hours over a Righteous Bottle of Claret. As you ever hope that Heaven will be merciful, or Sylvia true to you, let this happy Night be some time this Week.

I am your most obliged Servant, T. BROWN.
London, June 20. 1695.

To the Perju [...]'d Mrs. —

THis Morning I receiv'd the News, (which, knowing you to be a Woman, I confess, did not much startle me) that is, spight of all your Promises, your Vows, and Obligations, nay, and in spight of your Interest too, (which you Women so seldom sin against) you had sacrificed my worthy Friend Mr. —, and are to be married next Week to that nauseous, that insup­portable, that everlasting Beast —. Upon which I immediately repair'd to my Friend's Lodgings, and, because I knew but too well how nearly he had taken you into his Heart, I carried him to that blessed Sanctuary of dis [...]ppointed Lovers, a Tavern, the better to pre­pare him for the News of your Infideli­ty; I plied him warmly with the Juice of the generous Grape, and entertain'd him all the whi [...] with the most horrible Stories of your Sex, that my Malice cou'd suggest to me, which, Heaven be [Page 164] prais'd, was fruitful enough upon this occasion; for I don't believe I forgot one single Instance of Female Treache­ry, from Mother Eve, of wheed­ling Memory, down to your virtuous self. At last, when Matters were ripe, I disclosed the unwelcome Secret to him —. He raved and wept, and, after some interval, wept and raved again; but, thanks to my pious Advice, and the kind Influence of t'other Bottle, it was not long before the Paroxysm was over. I cou'd almost wish you had been by, to see how heroically he threw off your Chains; with what Alacrity he tore you from his Bosom; and, in fine, with what a Christian Self-denial he renounc'd you; more heartily, I dare swear, than his Godfather abjur'd the Devil for him at his Baptism.

And now, Madam, tho' I confess you have prevented my Curses, by your choice of such a Coxcomb, and 'tis not good Manners to solicite a Judgment from Heaven on every such Accident at this, (for Providence wou'd have a fine time on't, to be at the expence of a Thunder­bolt, for every Woman that forswears [Page 165] herself) yet so much do I resent the ill usage of my Friend, that I cannot for­bear to give you this conviction, how earnestly I can pray, when I set my self to't. Therefore give me leave, Madam, to throw these hearty Ejaculations at your Head, now, since I shall not have the honour to throw a Stocking at you on the fatal Night of Consummation.

May the Brute, your Husband, be as Jealous of you, as Usurpers are of their new Subjects, and, to shew his good opinion of your Judgment as well as your Virtue, may he suspect you of a Commerce with nothing of God's ma­king; nothing like a Gentleman that may serve to excuse the Sin, but lowsie Bush-begotten Vagabonds, and hideous Rogues in Rags and Tatters, or Mon­sters that stole into the World, when Nature was asl [...]ep, with Ulcers all over them, and Bunches on their Backs as large as Hillocks. May you never actu­ally Cuckold him, (for that were to wish you some Pleasure, which, God knows, I am far from being guilty of) but what will serve to torment him as effectually: May the Wretch imagine, you've injur'd [Page 166] him that way; under which preposses­sion may he never open his Mouth, but to Curse, nor lift up his Hands, but to Cha­stise you. May that execrable Day be for ever banished out of the Almanack, in which he does not use his best endeavours to beat one into your Bones; and may you never go to Bed without an appre­hension that he'll cut your Throat: May he too have the same distrust of you. Thus may your Nights be spent in Eter­nal Quarrels, and your Nuptial-sheets boast of no honourable Blood but what's owing to these Nocturnal Skirmishes. May he lock you up from the sight of all Mankind, and leave you nothing but your ill Conscience to keep you company, till at last, between his penurious allow­ance and the sense of your own guilt, you make so terrible a Figure, that the worst Witch in Mackbeth wou'd seem an An­gel to you. May not [...]ven this dismal Solitude protect you from his Suspicions, but may some good-natured Devil whi­sp [...]r into his Ear, That you have com­mitted Wickedness with a Bedstaff, and, in one of his frantick Fits, may he beat out your Brains with that supposed In­strument of your Lust. May your Hi­story [Page 167] be transmitted to all Ages in the Annals of Grubstreet, and, as they fright Children with Raw-head and Bloody-bones, may your Name be quoted to deter Peo­ple from committing of Matrimony. And, to ratifie all this, (upon my Knees, I most devoutly beg it) may Heaven hear the Prayers of,

T. BROWN.

To the Honourable— in the Pall­mall.

SIR,

LAst Night I had the following Ver­ses, which, for my part, I confess, I never saw before, given me by a Gentle­man, who assur'd me they were written by my late Lord Rochester; and, know­ing what a just Value you have for all the Compositions of that incomparable Person, I was resolv'd to send 'em to you by the first opportunity. 'Tis indeed very strange how they could be continued in private hands all this while, since the great care that has been taken to print every Line of his Lordship's Writing that would en­dure a publick view: But I am not able to assign the Reason for it. All that you need know concerning the oc­casion of them, is, that they were writ­ [...]en in a Lady's Prayer-book.

[Page 169]
Fling this useless Book away,
And presume no more to pray;
Heav'n is just, and can bestow
Mercy on none but those that mercy show.
With a proud Heart, maliciously inclin'd,
Not to encrease, but to subdue Mankind.
In vain you vex the Gods with your Pe­tition;
Without Repentance and sincere Contri­tion,
You'r in a Reprobate Condition.
Phillis, to calm the angry Powers,
And save my Soul as well as yours,
Relieve poor Mortals from Despair,
And Iustifie the Gods that made you fair;
And in those bright and charming Eyes
Let Pity first appear, then Love;
That we by easie steps may rise
Through all the Ioys on Earth, to those Above.

I cannot swear to their being genu­ine; however, there's something so deli­cate in the Thought, so easie and beauti­ful in the Expression, that I am without much difficulty to be perswaded, that they belong to my Lord. Besides, I can­not imagine with what prospect any Gen­tleman [Page 170] should disown a Copy of Verses which might have done him no ill Service with the Ladies, to father them upon his Lordship, whose Reputation was so well establish'd among them beforehand, by a numerous and lawful Issue of his own begetting. The Song that comes along with them was written by Mr. Gl—of Lincoln's-Inn; and, I believe, you'll ap­plaud my Judgment, for seeking to en­tertain you out of my Friend's Store, who understands the Harmony of an English Ode so well, since I have nothing of mine own that deserves transcribing.

I.
Phillis has a gentle Heart,
Willing to the Lover's Courting;
Wanton Nature, all the Art,
To direct her in her Sporting:
In th' Embrace, the Look, the Kiss,
All is real Inclination;
No false Raptures in the Bliss;
No feign'd Sighings in the Passion.
II.
But, oh! who the Charms can speak,
Who the thousand ways of toying,
When she does the Lover make
All a God in her enjoying?
[Page 171]Who the Limbs that round him move,
And constrain him to the Blisses?
Who the Eyes that Swim in Love,
Or the Lips that suck in Kisses?
III.
Oh the Freaks, when mad she grows,
Raves all wild with the possessing!
Oh the silent Trance! which shows
The Delight above expressing.
Every way she does engage,
Idly talking, speechless lying:
She transports me with the Rage,
And she kills me in her Dying.

I could not but laugh at one Passage in your Letter, where you tell me, That you, and half a dozen more, had like to have been talk'd to death t'other day, by— upon the Success of his late Play. For my part, I don't pity you at all; for why, the Devil should a Man run his Head a­gainst a Brick-wall, whe [...] he may avoid it? On the other hand, I wonder why you Gentlemen of Will's Coffee-house, who pretend to study Pleasure above o­ther People, should not as naturally scam­per out of the Room when your Persecu­t [...]r appears, as Monsieur Misson tells us, [Page 172] the Dogs in Italy ran out of Church as soon as ever they see a Capuchin mount the Pulpit. I find by you, that the abovementi­on'd everlasting Babillard plagued you with his Songs, and talked of outdoing Don Quixot of Melodious Memory; so far I a­gree with him, that if he has any Genious, it lies wholly in Sonnet. But (Heaven be prais'd) notwithstanding all the feeble Ef­forts of his Enemies to depose him, Mr. D'Vrfey still continues the only Legal, Rightful and Undoubted King of Lyric­land, whom God grant long to Reign over all his Hamlets, and may no Gallic At­tempts against his Crown or Person ever prosper. So wishes

Your most obliged Servant, T. BROWN.

To My Lady—

I Found a Letter of your Ladiship's own Hand left for me last Night at my Lodgings. This Morning a Porter visited me with another of the sort, and just now going to dine with some Friends at the Blew-posts, you send me a third to refresh my Memory. I vow to God, Ma­dam, if you continue to draw your Bills so [...]ast upon me, I must be forc'd to pro­test them in my own defence, or fly my Country. But, with submission, methinks the Language of all three was very sur­prizing: You complain of my absence, and coldness, and the Lord knows what, tho' 'tis but four days ago since I gave you the best convictions of my Love I cou'd, and you flatter'd me strangely, if you were not satisfied with them: May I be as unacceptable to all Womankind as an old Eunuch with Io. Haynes's Voice, if there's a Person in the Universe whom I adore above yourself; but the devoutest Lover upon Earth may sometimes be [Page 174] without an Offering, and then certainly he's excused by all Love's Cannon-Law in the World, for not coming to the Al­tar. There are People I know that love to hear the rattling of the Boxes, and show themselves at the Groom-Porter's, when they have not a Farthing in their Pockets; but for my part, I cou'd never endure to be an idle Looker on. I have a thousand Obligations to your Ladiship, and till I am in a capacity to repay them, shou'd be as uneasy to see you, as any o­ther Creditor when I have no Money to send him going. I am so very honest in my own nature, that I wou'd not put you off with half Payments, and if I were not, your Ladiship is so discerning, that I might much easier palm clipt Mony upon a Jew, than succeed in such a trick with so nice a Judge. Perhaps, Ma­dam, you are scrupulous in this mat­ter even to a Fault. 'Tis not enough for you, that your Mony is Parlia­mentary, and that other People wou'd be glad on't, for if it is not of the largest size, or wants one grain of its due weight, you reject it with indignation. But, what is the hardest case of all, (and you must pardon me, Madam, if I take this [Page 175] occasion to reproach you with it) you are for engrossing a Man's whole Cash to your self, and, by your good will, wou'd not leave him one solitary Testar to distribute among the Needy else­where, tho' you don't know what Objects of Charity he may meet abroad. This, in truth, is very severe usage: 'Tis the same as if the Government shou'd only take care to pay off the Soldiers in Flan­ders, and suffer the poor Seamen to starve. Even the Royal-Oak Lottery, who are fit to be imitated by you in this particular, never strip a Man intirely of all, but let him march off decently with a Crown or two to carry him home. If this Example won't work upon you, pray learn a piece of Tartarian-m [...]rcy; they are none of the best bred People in the World, I confess, but are so civil when they come to a place, not to Eat out the Heart of the Soil, but, having serv'd a pre­sent turn, shift their Quarters, and forbear to make a second Visit till the Grass is grown up again. Nay, a Nonconformist Parson, who is a kind of a rambling Church Tartar, but of the worser sort, after he has grazed a beloved Text as bare as the back of one's Hand, is glad [Page 176] for his own convenience, to remove to another. Both these Instances, you'll say, look as if I advised you to supply my defect in another place; I leave that to your own discretion, but really your humble Servant's present Exigences are such, that he must be forced to shut up his Exchequer for some time.

I have a hundred times wished, That those unnatural Rogues, the Writers of Romances, had been all hanged, ( Mon­tague before me did the same for the Sta­tuaries) for giving you, Ladies, such wrong Notions of things. By represent­ing their Heroes so much beyond Nature, they put such extravagant Idea's into your Heads, that every Woman, unless she has a very despicable Opinion of her own Charms, which not one in a Mil­lion has, expects to find a Benefit-Ticket, a Pharamond, or an Oroondates, to come up for her share, and nothing below such a Monster will content her. You think the Men cou'd do infinitely more, if they pleased; and, as 'tis a foolish Notion of the Indians, that the Apes wou'd speak, if it were not for fear of being made Slaves to the Spaniards; so you, forsooth, ima­gine, [Page 177] that we, for some such reason, are afraid of going to the full length of our Abilities. We cannot be so much de­ceived in our hopes of your Constancy, as you are disappointed in our Perfor­mances; so that 'twere happy for the World, I think, if Heaven wou'd either give us the Vigour of those Brawny long­liv'd Fellows, our Ancestors, or else a­bridge the Desires of the Women: But, Madam, don't believe a word, that those Romance Writers, or their Brethren in Iniquity, the Poets tell you. The latter prate much of one Hercules, a Plague take him, that run the Gantlet through fifty Virgin-sisters in one Night. 'Tis an impudent Fiction, Madam. The Devil of a Hercules, that there ever was upon the Face of the Earth, (let me beg of you therefore, not to set him up for a Knight of the Shire, to represent the rest) or, if part of his History is true, he was a downright Madman, and prosper'd ac­cordingly; for you know he died raving and impenitent upon a Mountain. Both he and his whole Family have been extinct these two thousand Years and upwards. Some Memoirs tell us, That the Country rose upon them, and dispatch'd them all [Page 178] in a Night, as the Glencow-men were served in Scotland. I wont justifie the truth of this; but, after you have tried the whole Race of us, one after another, if you find one Man that pretends to be related to this Hercules, tho' at the di­stance of a Welch Genealogy, let me die the Death of the Wicked.

Therefore, Madam, take my Advice, and I'll engage you shall be no loser by it. If your Necessities are so pressing, that you can't stay, you must e'n borrow of a Neighbour; since Cheapside fails you, a God's Name, try your Fortune in Lom­bard-street. But if you cou'd order Mat­ters otherwise, and allow me a Week or so longer, to make up my Sum, you shoul'd then be repaid with Interest, by

LYSANDER.

A Consolatory Letter to an Essex-Divine upon the Death of his Wife.

OLD FRIEND,

A Gentleman, that lives in your Neighbourhood, told me this Morning, after we had had some short Discourse about you, that you have buri­ed your Wife. You and I, Doctor, knew one another, I think, pretty well at the College; but being absolutely a stranger to your Wife's Person and Character, the Old Gentleman in Black take me, if I know how to behave my self upon this occasion; that is to say, whether to be Sad or Merry; whether to Condole, or Congratulate you. But, since I must do one or t'other, I think it best to go o [...] the surer side; And so, Doctor, I give you Joy of your late great Deliverance. You'll ask me, perhaps, why I chose this Par­ty? To which I shall only reply, That your Wife was a Woman, and 'tis an hundred to one that I have hit on the [Page 180] right. But if this won't suffice, I have Argument to make use of, that you can no more answer, than you can consute Bellarmine. I don't mean the Popish Car­dinal of that Name, (for, I believe, you have oftner laid him upon his Back, than Mrs. Mary, deceased) but an ungodly Vessel holding about six Gallons, which, in some Parts of England, goes by ano­ther Name (the more's the pity 'tis suf­fer'd) and is call'd, a Ieroboam. — And thus I urge it. — Mrs. Mary, de­funct, was either a very good, or a ve­ry bad, or an indifferent, a between Hawk and Buzzard Wife; tho' you know the Primitive Christians, for the four first Ages of the Church, were all of Opinion, that there were no indiffe­rent Wives [...] however, disputandi gratia, I allow them here. Now, if she was a good Wife, she's certainly gone to a [...]etter place; and then St. Ierome, and St. Austin, and St. Ambrose, and St. Ba­sil, and, in short, a whole Cart-load of Greek and Latin Fathers (whom 'tis not your Interest, by any means, to disoblige) say positively, That you ought not to grieve. If she was a bad one, your Rea­son will suggest the same to you, with­out [Page 181] going to Councils and Schoolmen. So now it only remains upon my hands to prove, that you ought not to be concern'd for her Death, if she was an indifferent Wife; and Publick Authority having not thought fit as yet, to oblige us to mourn for Wives of that denomination, it follows, by the Doctrin of the Church of England, about things indifferent, that you had better let it alone, for fear of giving Scandal to weak Brethren.

Therefore, Doctor, if you'll take my Advice, in the first place, Pluck up a good Heart; secondly, Smoak your Pipe, as you used to do; thirdly, Read mode­rately; fourthly, Drink plentifully; fifthly and lastly, When you are distri­buting Spoon-meat to the People next Sunday from your Pulpit, cast me a Hawk's Eye round your Congregation, and, if you can, spy out a Farmer's Daugh­ter plump and juicy, one that's likely to be a good Breeder, and whose Father is of some Authority in the Parish, (be­cause that may be necessary for the Sup­port of Holy Church) say no more, but pelt her with Letters, Hymns and Spiri­tual Sonnets, till you have gain'd your [Page 182] Carnal Poi [...]t of her. Follow this Coun­sel, and I'll engage your late Wife will rise no more in your Stomach; for, by the unerring Rules of Kitchin-Physick, which, I am apt to think, is the best in all cases, one Shoulder of Mutton serves best to drive down another. I am

Yours, T. BROWN.

To the fair Lucinda, at Epsom.

MADAM,

I Wish I were a Parliament-man for your sake. Another now wou'd have wish'd to have been the Great Mogul, the Grand Seignior, or at least some Soveraign Prince, but you see I am no ambitious Person, any farther than I aspire to be in your good Graces. Now, if you ask me the Reason, why I wish to be so; 'tis nei­ther to bellow my self into a good Place at Court, nor to avoid paying my Debts; 'tis to do a Publick Service to my Coun­try, 'tis to put the fam'd Magna Charta in sorce: In short, Madam, 'tis to get a Bill pass, whereby every pretty Woman in the Kingdom, (and then I am sure you'll be included in it) shou'd under the severest Penalties imaginable, be prohi­bited to appear in publick wi [...]out her Mask on. I have often wonder'd, why our Senators flatter us with being a free People, and pretend they have done such mighty things to secure our Liberty, when [Page 184] we are openly plunder'd of it by the La­dies, and that in the Face of the Sun, and on His Majesty's Highway. I am a sad Instance, Madam, of this Truth. I that, but twelve Hours ago, was a free as the wildest Savage in either Indies, that Slept easily, Talk'd cheerfully, took my Bottle merrily, and had nothing to rob me of one Minute's Pleasure, now love to be alone, make Answers when no Body speaks to me; Sigh when I least think on't; and, tho' I still drag this hea­vy lifeless Carcase about me, can give no more account of my own Movements, than of what the two Armies are doing this very moment in Flanders. By all these wicked Symptoms, I terribly su­spect I am in Love. If that is my case, and Lucinda does not prove as Merciful as she is Charming, the Lord have Mer­cy on poor

MIRTILLO.

To the same at London.

MADAM,

AT last, but after a tedious Enquiry, I have found out your Lodgings in Town, and am pleas'd to hear you're kept by — who, according to our last Advices from Lombard-street, is Rich and Old, two as good Qualities as a Man cou'd desire in a Rival: May the whole World (I heartily wish it) consent to pay Tribute to all your Conveniences, nay, to your Luxury; while I, and none but I, have the honour to administer to your Love. Don't tell me your Obliga­tions to him won't give you leave to be complaisant to a Stranger. You are his Sovereign, and 'tis a standing Rule a­mong us Casuists, that under that capa­city you can do him no wrong. But you imagine he loves you, because he presents you with so many fine Things: After this rate, the most impotent Wretches wou'd be the greatest Lovers; [...]or none are found to bribe Heaven or [Page 186] Women so high, as those that have the most defects to attone for. You may take it for granted, that half the Keep­ing-Drones about the Town, do it ra­ther to follow the Mod [...], or to please a vain H [...]our, than out of Love to the Party they pretend to admire so, and this foolish A [...]fectation attends them in other things. I [...]'d tell you of a cer­tain Lord, that keeps a Chaplain in his House, and allows him plentifully, yet this Noble Peer is a rank Atheist in his Heart, and believes nothing of the mat­ter: I know another, that has a fine Stable of Horses; and a third, that va­lu [...]s hims [...]lf upon his great Library, yet one of [...] ou [...] but once in half a Year, and t'other never looked on a Book in all his Life. Admit your City-Friend l [...]ved you never so well, yet he's old, which is an incurable Fault, and looking upon you as his Purchase, comes with a Secure, that is with a sickly Ap­petite; while a vigorous Lover, such as I am, that has honourable Difficulties to pass through, that knows he's upon his good B [...]haviour, and has nothing but his Merits to recommend him, is nothing but Rapture, and Extasie, and Devotion. [Page 187] But oh, you a [...]e afraid it will come to Old Limberham's Ears; that is to say, You apprehend I shall make Discoveries; for 'tis not to be supposed you'll turn Evi­dence against yourself. Prithee, Child, don't let that frighten you. Not a bribed Parliament-man, nor a drubb'd Beau, nor a breaking Tradesman; n [...]y, to give you the last satisfaction of my Secresie, not a Parson that has committed Simony, nor a forraging Autho [...] that has got a private Stealing-place, shall be half so secret, as you'll find me upon this occasion. I'll always come the back-way to your Lodg­ings, and that in the Evening, with as much prudent religious Caution, as a Ci­ty Clergyman steals into a Tavern on Sundays; and tho' it be a difficult Lesson for Flesh and Blood to practise, yet, to convince you, Madam, how much I va­lue your Reputation, above my own Plea­sure, I'll leave you a Mornings before Scandal it self is up; that is, before any of the censorious Neighbourhood are stir­ring. If I see you in the Street, or at the Play-house, I'll know you no more, than two Sharpers, that design to bob a Country-fellow with a dropp'd Guinea, know one another when they meet in the [Page 188] Tavern. I'll not discover my Engage­ments with you by any Overt-acts of my Loyalty, such as Drinking your Health in all Companies, and Writing your Name in every Glass-window, nor yet betray you by too superstitious a Care to conceal the Intrigue.

Thus, Madam, I have answered all the Scruples that I thought cou'd affect you upon this Matter. But, to satisfie your Conscience farther, I am resolved to visit you to Morrow-night; therefore muster up all the Objections you can, and place them in the most formidable po­sture, that I may have the Honour to at­tack and defeat them. If you don't wil­fully oppose your own Happiness, I'll convince you, before we part, that there's a greater Difference than you imagine, between your Man of Phlegm, and such a Lover as,

MIRTILLO.

To W. Knight, Esq at Ruscomb in Berkshire.

Dear SIR,

YOu desir'd me, when I saw you last, to send you the News of the Town, and to let you see how punctually I have obey'd your Orders, scarce a Day has pass'd over my Head since, but I have been enquiring after the freshest Ghosts and Apparitions for you, Rapes of the newest date, dexterous Murders, and fantastical Marriages, Country Steeples demolish'd by Lightning, Whales strand­ed in the North, &c. a large Account of all which you may expect when they come in my way, but at present be pleas'd to take up with the following News.

On Tuesday last, that walking piece of English Mummy, that Sybil incarnate, I mean my Lady Courtall, who has not had one Tooth in her Head, since King Charles's Restauration, and looks old e­nough to pass for Venerable Bede's Grand­mother, was Married — Cou'd you be­lieve [Page 190] it?—To young Lisanio. You must know I did myself th [...] Honour now and then to make her Ladiship a Visit, and found that of late she affected a youthful Air, and spruc'd up her Carcase most egre­giously; but, the Duce take me, if I su­spected her of any lewd Inclinations to Marry; I thought that Devil had been laid in her long ago. To make my Vi­sits more acceptable, I us'd to compliment her upon her Charms and all that [...] where by the by, my dear Friend, you may take it for a general Rule, that the Uglier your Women are, and the Duller your Men, they are the easier to be flat­ter'd into a belief of their Beauty and Wit. I told her, she was resolv'd to act Sampson's part, and Kill more People in the last Scene of her Life, than other La­dies cou'd pretend to do in the whole five Acts of theirs. By a certain awkard Joy, that display'd itself all over her Counte­nance, and glowed even through her Cheeks of Buff, I cou'd perceive this nau­seous Incense was not unwelcome to her. 'Tis true, she had the Grace to deny all this; and told me, I rallied her, but de­dy'd it so, as intriguing Sparks deny they have lain with fine Women, and some [Page 191] Wou'd-be Poets deny their writing of Fa­therless Lampoons, when they have a mind at the same time to be thought they did what they coldly disown. I cou'd not but observe upon this, and several o­ther occasions, how merciful Heaven has been to us, in weaving Self-love so closely into our Natures, in order to make Life palatable. 'The Divines indeed arraign it as a Sin; that is, they wou'd make us more miserable than Providence ever de­sign'd us, though were it not for this very Sin, not one of them in a hundred wou'd have Courage enough to talk in publick. For my part, I always consider'd it as the best Friend, and greatest blessing we have, without which, all those merry Farces that now serve to entertain us wou'd be lost, and the World itself be as silent and melancholy as a Spanish Court. 'Tis this blessed Vanity that makes all Mankind easie and chearful at home, (for no Body's a Fool, or a Rascal, or Ugly, or Imper­tinent in his own Eyes) that makes a Miser think himself Wise, an affected Coxcomb think himself a Wit, a thriving gay Villain think himself a Politician, and, in short, that makes my Lady Court-all believe herself agreeable. But to quit [Page 192] this Digression and pursue my Story.

On the Day abovemention'd, this dry Puss of Quality, that had such a furious longing to be Matrimonially larded, stole out of her House with two of her Grave Companions, and never did a Country Justice's Oatmeal-eating Daughter of Fifteen use more discretion to be undone with her Father's Clark, or Chaplain. Gray's Inn Walks was the place of Ren­dezvous, where, after they had taken a few Turns, Lisanio and she walked sepa­rately to the Chappel, and the Holy Ma­gician Conjur'd them into the Circle. From thence they drove home in several Coaches, Din'd together, but not a Syl­lable of the Wickedness they had com­mitted, till towards Night, because then I suppose their Blushes were best conceal­ed, they thought fit to own all. Upon this some few Friends were invited, and the Fiddles struck up, and my old Lady frisk'd about most notably, but was as much overtopp'd, and put out of Counte­nance, by the Young Women, as Somer­set-house with the New Buildings. Not to enter into a Detail of all that happen'd, this rusty Gammon of Bacon at last was [Page 193] dished up between a pair of clean Sheets, soon after the Bridegroom follow'd, go­ing to act Curtius's Story, and leap alive into a Gulf. Let others envy his fine E­quipage, and brace of Footmen, that think it worth the while; as for me, I shall always pity the Wretch, who, to fill his Guts at Noon, obliges himself to work in a Mine all Night. A poor Knight of Alsatia, that Dines upon good whol­some Air in the Temple-Walks, is a Prince to him.

I met Lisanio this Morning at the Rain-bow, and whether 'twas his Pride, or ill Humour, since Marriage, I can't tell; but he looked as grum as a Fanatick that fancies himself to be in the State of Grace. I have read somewhere, that the Great Mogul weighs himself once a Year, and that the Courtiers rejoyce or grieve, ac­cording as the Royal Body increases or di­minishes. I wonder why some of our Nice Beaux that are Married, don't do the like, to know exactly what Depreda­tions a Spouse makes upon the Body Na­tural. As for Lisanio, I wou'd advise him never to do it, because if he wastes proportionably to what he has done this [Page 194] Week, a Skeleton will out-weigh him by the Year's End. But this is not half the Mortification that a Man must expect, who, to shew his Courage, ventures up­on a Widow. Though he mounts the Guard every Night, and wears out his Carcase in her Service, till at last, like Wi­therington, in the Ballad, he fight's upon his Stumps, yet he's never thanked for his pains; But labours under the same ill Cir­cumstances with a King that comes after one that is deposed, for he's sure to be told of his Predecessor upon all occasions. The second Temple at Ierusalem, was, with­out question, a Noble Structure, and yet we find the old Fellows wept, and shook their Heads at it: Every Widow is so far a Jew in her Heart, that as long as the World lasts, the second House will fall short of the Glory of the first. And in­deed I am apt to imagine the Complaints is just, for a Maid and Widow are two different things; and how can it be ex­pected that a Man shou'd come with the same Appetite to a Second-hand Dish, as he brought with him when it was first serv'd upon the Table?

[Page 195]And now Mr. Knight, I am upon the Chapter of Widows, give me leave to add a word or two more. A true Widow is as seldom unfurnish'd of an Excuse to Marry again, as a true Toper is without an Argument for Drinking. Let it rain or shine, be hot or cold, 'tis all one, a true Son of Bacchus never wants a good Reason to push about the Glass. And so a Widow, if she had a good Husband, thinks herself obliged, in meer Gratitude to Providence, to venture again; and if he was a bad one, she only tries to mend her hand in a second Choice. It was not so with the People of Athens and Rome. The former had a King that lost his Life in their Quarrel, and they wou'd have no more, because he was too good for them [...] as the latter, because theirs was an ill one. But Common-wealths, you know, are Whymsical things. I have on­ly one thing more to say before I have done, which though it looks like a Para­dox at first sight, yet after you have con­sider'd a while upon it, I fancy you'll grant to be true: 'Tis in short this, That a Man is the decay of his Vigour, when he begins to mistrust his Abilities, had [Page 196] much better Marty a Widow than a Maid, For, as Sir Iohn Suckling has long ago observed, a Widow is a sort of Quag­mire, and you know the finest Racer may be as soon founder'd there, as the heavi­est Dray-horse. I am

Your most obliged Servant. T. BROWN.

POSTSCRIPT.

I believe I shall see you in the Country, before you hear from me again. Lest I should come down a Barbarian to you Fox-hunters, I have been learning all your noble Terms of Art for this Month; and now, God be praised, am a great Proficient in the Language, and can talk of Dogs and Horses half an Hour, without committing one Solecism. I have liv'd as sober too all this while as a Parson that stands Candi­date for a Living, and with this Month's Sobriety in my Belly, design to do Wonders among you in the Country.

To a Gentleman that fell desperate­ly in Love, and set up for a Beau, in the 45th Year of his Age.

I Never was a Predestinarian before, but now begin to think better of Ze­no and Iohn Calvin than ever, and to be convinc'd there's a Fatality attends us. What less cou'd have made — once the Gay, the Brave, the Witty (six Months ago I shou'd have added the Wise) at the approach of Gravity and Gray Hairs forfeit his Character, fall in Love with Trash, and languish for a green Codling, that sticks so close to the Stem, that he may sooner shake down the Tree, than the Fruit? 'Tis true, the foo­lish Hours of our Lives are generally those that give us the greatest share of Pleasure, but yours is so extravagant, so unreason­able a Frolick, that I wonder you don't make your Life all of a piece, and learn at these Years to jump through a Hoop, [Page 198] and practise other laudable Feats of Acti­vity. Oh, what a Conflict there is in your Breast, between Love and Discretion [...] [...]Tis a motly Scene of Mirth and Compassi­on, to see you taking as much pains to conceal your Passion from the prying ma­licious World, as a bashful young Sinner does to hide her Great Belly, and to as lit­tle purpose, for 'twill out.—You must be a Touchwood-Lover, forsooth, and burn without Blaze or Smoke. But why wou'd you feel all the Heat, yet want the Com­forter Light? Such sullen Fires may serve to kindle your Mistress's Vanity, but ne­ver to warm her Heart. Well, Love I find operates with the Grave, like Drink with Cowards, it makes 'em most valiant, when least able. But why's the Hair cut off? Can you dock any Years with it? Or are you the Reverse of Sampson, the stronger for shaving? If so, let me see you shake off these Amorous Fetters to shew your power. But you are Buccaneering for a Prize, and wou'd surprize a Heart under false Colours. Take my word for't, that Stratagem won't do, for the Pin­nace you design upon, knows you have but a crasie Hulk, in spight of your new Rigging and Careening. Wearing of Pe­rukes, [Page 199] like advancing more Standards than there are Troops in an Army, is a stale Artifice, that rather betrays your weakness to the Enemy, than alarms them: For tho' powder'd Vallancee, like Turkish Horse-tails, may at a distance make a terrible shew of Strength, yet, my dear Friend, like them too, they are but very unserviceable Weapons at a close Engagement. After all, if you're resol­ved to play a French Trick, and wear a Half-shirt in Ianuary, to shew your Cou­rage, have a little of the Frenchman's Prudence too, and line it with a Swanskin Wastcoat: That is, if you must needs at this Age make Love to shew your Vigour, take care to provide store of Comforters to support your Back.

The Answer.

WEll, but heark you, Friend Harry! And do you think now that forty Years (if a Man shou'd ever come to it) is as fumbling a doting Age in Love, as Dryden says, it is in Poetry? Why then, what will become of thee, who hast made such wicked Anticipations upon thy Na­ture's Revenue, that thou art utterly non-solvent to any Matrimonial Expectations? Thou that in thy Post-haste of Town-Riot and Excess, overleapest all the Mea­sures of Time, and art got to be Fifty in Constitution, before thy Age writes Thir­ty! Enjoy thy acquir'd Iubilee, accord­ing to thy wonted Course, but be assur'd no Body will ever be able to enjoy thee. The Woman- Prodigals, feed upon Husks, when they have any thing to do with thee, thou empty'd, raky, dry Bones. My Rheumatical Person, as such, will be al­low'd some Moisture, and Gray Heirs on­ly tell you, the Sap is gone down to the Root, where it shou'd be, and from whence [Page 201] thine has been long since exhausted into every Strumpets Cavern about the Su­burbs; confound your Widows, and put your own Farthing Candle lighted at both ends, under one of their Bushels, if you please: I find I have Prowess enough for the best Maidenhead in Town, and resolve to attempt nothing under that honourable Difficulty. And so much for the Women —

To his Honoured Friend, Dr. Bay­nard, at the Bath.

My Dear DOCTOR,

I Have not writ to you these two Months, for which I expect to be se­verely reprimanded by you, when you come to Town. And yet why shou'd you wonder at such a poor Fellow as I am, for being backward in my Pay­ments, if you consider 'tis the Case of Lombard-street, nay of the Bank, and the Exchequer it self (you see I support myself by very honourable Examples) at this present melancholy juncture, when, with a little alteration of Mr. Cow­ley's Words, a Man may truly say,

Nothing of Ready Cash is found,
But an Eternal Tick goes round.

However, to make you some amends for so long a Delay, I come to visit you now, like Noah's Dove, with an Olive-branch in my Mouth; that is, in plain [Page 203] English, I bring you News of a Peace, of a firm, a lasting, and a general Peace, (for after this merry rate our Coffe-house Politicians talk) and pray do but consider, if 'twere only for the Pleasure of such an Amusement, what will be the happy Effects of it.

In the first place, this Peace will soon beget good store of Money, (the want of which, though we are sinful enough in all Conscience, is yet the most Crying Sin of the Nation) and this Money will naturally end in a great deal of Riot and Intemperance; and Intemperance will beget a jolly Race of brave Diseases, with new Names and Titles; and then, My dear Doctor, you Physicians will have a Blessed Time on't.

As for the Lawyers, who, were it not for two or three Noble Peers, some of their never-failing Clergy-Friends, a few well-disposed Widows, and stirring Sol­licitors, that keep up the Primitive Dis­cipline of Westminster-hall, wou'd per­fectly forget the Use of their Lungs, they too will see glorious Days again. I was told a melancholy Story t'other Day of two hopeful young Attorneys, who, up­on the general Decay of their Profession, [Page 204] were glad to turn Presbyterian Divines; and that you'll say is a damn'd Time in­deed, when Lawyers are forced to turn Peace-makers. But as the World grows richer, People will recover by degrees out of this State of Laziness; Law Suits will multiply, and Discord make as splendid a Figure in the Hall as ever. Head­strong Squires will Rebel against their Lady Mothers, and the Church no long­er connive at the abominable Sacrilege of Tythe-Pigs and Eggs converted to Lay Uses.

And then, as for the honest Good-fel­lows of the Town, whose Souls have mourn'd in Secret, ever since the un­righteous Abdication of Claret; how will they rejoyce to see their old Friend sold at Twelve-pence a Quart again? What Matter of Joy will it be to his Ma­jesty's Liege-people, that they can get Drunk with half the Cost, and conse­quently with half the Repentance next Morning? This will in a particular man­ner, revive the drooping Spirits of the City Sots; for nothing goes so much a­gainst a true Cheapside Conscience, as an expensive Sin. As times go now, a young­er Brother can hardly peep into a Tavern [Page 205] without entailing a Week's Sobriety up­on himself; which, considering what Oc­casions there may be to drink away the Publick and Private Calamities, is a sad Mortification. Wine indeed is grown a sullen Mistress, that will only be enjoy'd by Men of some Fortune, and not by them neither, but upon solemn Days; so that if these wicked Taxes continue, Canary it self, tho' a Confederate of ours, is like to meet the Fate of condemn'd Criminals, to return to the dismal Place from whence it came, an Apothecary's Shop; and to be distributed about by discreet Nurses in the Primitive sneaking Gill. 'Tis true, the Parliament, as it became those to whom the People had delegated their Power, thought to obvi­ate these Grievances, by the Six-penny Act, and laying a Five hundred Pound Fine upon Cellar-Adultery; but the Vint­ners, an impudent Generation, broke through these Laws as easily as if they had been Senators themselves; nay, had the Boldness to raise new Exactions up­on the Subject: This obliged one half of the Town, at least, to come down a Story lower, and take up with dull Eng­lish Manufacture, so that half our Wit [Page 206] lies buried in execrable Flip, or fulsome Nottingham. To this may be ascribed all those phlegmatick, sickly Compositi­ons, that have loaded of late both the Theatres, most of which puny Butter-prints, like Children begot by Pockey Parents, were scarce able to endure the Christening; and others, with mighty pains and difficulty, lived just long e­nough (a Methuselah's Age!) to be Crown'd with Damnation on the third Day. But when Money circulates mer­rily, and Claret is to be had at the old Price, a new Spirit will appear abroad, Wit and Mirth will shake off their Fet­ters; and Parnassus, that has made such heavy returns of late Years, will trade considerably. It would be too tedious to reckon up all the other Advantages that the Kingdom will receive by this joyful turn of the Scene; but there are some behind, which I must not omit, because the Publick is so nearly concern'd in them. We have a World of Married Men now, that, to save Charges, take St. Paul's Advice in the Literal Sence, and, having Wives, live as if they had none at all, and so defraud both them and the Government; but upon the hap­py [Page 207] Arrival of Peace, they'll vigorously set their Hands to the Plough again, and the Stale Batchelors too will find Encou­ragement to Marry, and leave behind them a pious Race of Fools, that, within these Twenty Years, will be ripe to be knock'd in the Head, in defence of the Liberty of the Subject, and the Prote­stant Religion.

We hear there's such a thing as New Money in the City, but it only visits the Elect, for the Generality of People are such Reprobates to the Government, that they may sooner get God's Grace, than a Mill'd Crown-piece. To inflame our Reckoning, tho' there's so little Sil­ver stirring in the Nation, that Dr. Cham­berlain is in greater hopes than ever of making his Paper-project take, yet the World was never so unseasonably scru­pulous. What an Usurer wou'd have leap'd at in King Charles's Time, our ve­ry Porters now reject; which is full as ridiculous, as if in the present Difficulty of raising Recruits, a Captain shou'd resolve to take no Men but such as were eight Foot high, or a Gentleman in the last Ebb of his Fortune, when he can scarcely pay for Small-beer, shou'd then, [Page 208] and never before, fall in Love with Champagen. The last Year we had Mo­ney enough, such as it was, merrily Cir­cumcised, the Lord knows, however it made a shift to find us Wine and Harlots: Now 'tis all silenc'd, and in the room of it, (but that too, will soon suffer Cir­cumcision) Faith passes for current, and never was there a Time of more Uni­versal Chalk, since the Apostolical Ages. This, among other Evils, cannot but have an ill Effect, My dear Doctor, upon the Gentlemen of your Profession; for People at present, are so taken up with the Publick Transactions, or their own Losses, that they have no leisure, or are so poor, that they have no fancy to be Sick. The Generality of those that are, Christen a Distemper as they do Ship­wracks in Cornwall, by the Name of God's Blessing, and tho' a Legion of Di­seases invest them, don't think it worth the while to send for a Physician to raise the Siege: If they do, 'tis for none of the College, 'tis for some Half-Crown Chirurgeon, who has cheated the World into an Opinion of his Skill, by putting Greek into his Sign, or for a Twelve-penny Seventh Son, that preaches on [Page 209] Horseback in the Streets; but in the Case of Chronical Diseases, let the World rub, is the general Language. Men put off the mending of their Bodies, as they do of ill-tenanted Cottages, till they have Money to spare. There's a venerable Bawd in Covent-garden, that had her Windows demolished last Shrove-Tuesday, and she won't repair them nei­ther, till there's a General Peace.

I believe no Body in the Nation will be averse to it, but only our Friends in Red, and these find their Account so vi­sibly in the continuance of the War, that if they ever pray, which, I believe, is but seldom, we must excuse 'em if 'tis against that Petition, Da pacem Domine in Diebus nostris. Some of 'em quitted Cook upon Littleton, and some aban­don'd other Stations to go into the Ser­vice; and these upon a Change of Af­fairs, must either turn Padders upon A­pollo's, or the King's high Road, and ei­ther turn Authors, or Grands Voleurs, in their own defence. But Paul's will be built in a short time, and then a Low-Country Captain will make as busie a Figure in the Middle Isle, as ever his Predecessors did in the Days of Ben. [Page 210] Iohnson. Some of them may fight o­ver the Battels of Steenkirk and Landen in Ordinaries, or demonstrate how Na­mur was taken, by scaling the Walls of a Christmas Pye; and others set up Fen­cing Schools, to instruct the City Youth. The latter, indeed, will act most natu­rally; for I observe, that when People are forc'd to change their Professions, they keep to 'em as nigh as they can, tho' they act in a lower Sphere: So for instance, a batter'd Harlot makes a dis­creet Bawd, and a broken Cutler an ex­cellent Grinder of Knives. As for the Poets, I believe they are the most indif­ferent Men in the Kingdom as to what happens: They have lost nothing by the French Privateers since the Revoluti­on; nor are like to do, if the War lasts Seven Years longer, so it may be suppo­sed they will not be angry to see the on­ly Calumny of their Profession, I mean their Poverty made universal; and in­deed, if to pay People with fair Words, and no Performance, be Poetical, there's more Poetry in Grocers-hall, than in Par­nassus it self.

But, My dear Doctor, after all this mighty Discourse of a Peace, for my [Page 211] part, I shou'd believe as little of it, as I do of most of Mr. Aubrey's Apparition Stories, but that we have not Money e­nough to carry on this great Law Suit, much longer, (for in effect, War is no other, only you must Fee more Coun­cil, and give greater Bribes) and the Lord have Mercy, say I, on a Man that Sues, or a Prince that fights for his Right in Forma Pauperis. This, and nothing but this, makes me imagine we shall have a Peace, and not the Christian Piety of one or t'other side. And to say the truth, half the Vertue in the World, if traced to the Cradle, will be found to be the lawful Issue of meer Necessity. People lay aside their Vices, to which their Vertues succ [...]ed, just as they do their Cloaths, sometimes when they are Un [...]ashionable, but generally when they are worn Thread-bare, and will hang about them no longer. A Godly Rascal of the City leaves off Cheating, when the World will Trust him no longer; and a Rakehell turns Sober, when his Purse fails, or his Carcase leaves him in the Lurch: And lastly, which word [...] I don't doubt, sounds as comfortably to you, as ever it did to a hungry Sinner [Page 212] in a long-winded Church; 'tis for want of more Paper, more Ink, and more Candle that I persecute you no longer, who am

Your most humble Servant, T. BROWN.

To Mr. Raphson, Fellow of the Royal Society.

I Send you by the Bearer hereof, Mr. Aubrey's Book, that you have so much long'd to see: 'Tis a Collecti­on of Omens, Voices, Knockings, Appa­ritions, Dreams, &c. which whether they are agreeable to your System of Theology, I cannot tell. And now I talk of Dreams, I have often wonder'd how they came to be in such request in the East: Whether their Imaginations in those hot Countries are more rampant than ours, or whether the Priesthood, for their own ends, cultivated this Su­perstition in the People, which I am ra­ther inclined to believe; yet 'tis certain, that Affairs of the last Consequence, have been determin'd by them. An Interpre­ter of Dreams, was, in some sort, a Mi­nister of State in those Nations [...] and an Eastern King cou'd no more be without one of that Profession in his Court, than an European Prince without his Chap­lain, or Confessor. Homer too, the Fa­ther [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page 214] of the Bards, had a great Venerati­on for Dreams. [...]. He makes them all Iure Divino you see; had he liv'd in Archbishop Laud's Time, he cou'd not have said more for Monarchy, or Episcopacy. If you can pardon this foolish Digression, (for which I can plead no other Excuse than the Dog-days) I have something of another Nature to communicate to you, which I am confi­dent will highly please a Gentleman of your Curiosity.

Dr. Connor, o [...] the College of Physi­cians, and Eellow of the Royal Society, hath now Published in Latin, his Evan­gelium Medici, seu Medicina Mystica de Suspensis Naturae Legibus, sive de Miracu­lis. He designs in this Book, to show by the Principles of Reason and Physick, as likewise by Chymistry and Anatomy, that the natural State of any Body can never be so much over-turned, or the Scituation of its parts so extreamly al­ter'd, but it may be conceiv'd in our Mind. He treats of Organical Bodies, and the Human in particular: But be­cause some Persons, who never gave themselves the Trouble, to be fully in­formed of what he means, have been [Page 215] pleas'd to censure his Undertaking as ve­ry extravagant, I have his leave to lay open his Tenets before you, who are own'd by all that know you, to be so great a Master in all parts of Learning, and chiefly the Mathematical. Now the chief Heads of the Matters that he treats of, are as follows.

  • I. Of the Nature of a Body, particu­larly an Organical one, where the Structure and Natural State of the Human Body is explain'd.
  • II. How many ways the Natural State of the Human Body, is said to have been Su­pernaturally alter'd.
  • III. Of the Laws of Motion, and of the three different Suspensions of the same, in order to explain all Miracles.
  • IV. How it can be conceived, that Water can be changed into Wine.
  • V. How it can be conceived, that a Hu­man Body can be Invulnerable, Immortal, and can live for ever without Meat, as af­ter the Resurrection.
  • VI. How a Human Body can be conceived to be in a Fire without Burning.
  • VII. How we can conceive that an Army can pass through the Sea without Drowning, or walk upon the Water without Sinking.
  • [Page 216]VIII. How it can be couceived, that a Man can have a Bloody Sweat.
  • IX. Of the different Ways a Human Body can come into the World; where is given an Account of its Generation by Concourse of Man and Woman.
  • X. How we can conc [...]ive a Human Body can be form'd of a Woman without a Man, as Christ 's.
  • XI. How to conceive a Human Body to be made without Man or Woman, as Adam 's.
  • XII. How to conceive a Human Body dead, some Ages since, to be brought to Life again, as in the Resurrection.
  • XIII. How many ways it cannot be con­ceiv'd, that a Human Body can be Intire and Alive in two Places at the same time.
  • XIV. Of the Natural State of the Soul, and its Influence upon the Body.
  • XV. Of the Supernatural, or Miracu­lous State of the Soul united to the Body.

The Doctor desires, and I am sure you'll own, 'tis a very reasonable Re­quest, that Gentlemen wou'd be pleas'd to suspend their Judgments, till they see his Reasons, which he will ingenuously submit, without any Presumption on his side, to their better Und [...]rstanding. He is the more encouraged to publish his [Page 217] Thoughts about these Matters, because some of his Friends, to whom he has communicated his Reasons, have told him, That none but such as will not rightly understand him (and People of that Complexion, are never to be con­vinc'd) cou'd deny what he maintains; because his Reasons are not grounded upon any Metaphysical Abstract, or Hy­pothetical Notions, but entirely upon the visible Structure of the Human Body. When your Affairs will permit you to come to London, you and I will take an Opportunity to wait upon the Doctor, who I know will give you what farther Satisfaction you can desire.

And now, Mr. Raphson, I hope you have finish'd in your Country Retire­ment, your Treatise de Spatio Infinito, Reali, which the Learned World has so long expected from your Hands. All your Friends here earnestly long to see you in Town, and particularly my self, who am

Your most Obliged Friend, and Servant, T. BROWN.

TWO LETTERS BY Capt. AYLOFFE.

To the Lord North and Grey.

MY LORD,

YOu seem to wonder, what should be the reason that Men, in Matters of Gallantry, generally have incurr'd the Cen­sure of Inconstancy, when Women prove faithful even to an Inconveniency. One reason I believe is, that we hate to be long confin'd, and their Conversation soon palls; tho' what may be assigned, with greater plausibleness, I think is, that those very Favours a Woman grants to her Lover, increase and continue her Affection, but withal lessen his. Mens [Page 219] Passion almost always extinguish with possession; and what is the Parent of a Woman's Tenderness is the Paricide of ours: We seldom adore longer than we desire, and what we aim at most can be conferr'd but once. In our Sex there is not that fatal distinction: but as a Vir­gin, after yielding, has dispossess'd her­self of that Jewel which every one was willing to have purchas'd, and only courted her for. I believe the Demon­strations of Love from Women, are more real than ours; there being too frequently more of Vanity than Verity, more of Study than Affection in our Pre­tences: But it's no small Wound in a Woman's Heart, that constrains her to speak, and I really am of opinion, that she can hardly love more violently, who confesses she loves at all. A Word some­times drops from their Mouths, which, as it was undesign'd, gives a clearer evi­dence of a growing Inclination, than all the elaborate Actions and affected Lan­guishings, the greatest part of Gallants put in practice. A lovely Face is cer­tainly the most agreeable Object our Eyes can behold, and the very Sound of the Voice of one we dearly love, is be­yond [Page 220] the softest Harmony: Yet, by I know not what Fate, I have seen the Juncture when both were without any effect, and this more than once. The Latitude (I fancy) which we take in our Addresses, makes the Impression but feeble: Variety of Objects distracts the choice, and we conserve our Liberty while we are pitching upon a Tyrant. The indulgence of one Woman, who is not extreamly charming, makes some sort of reparation for the slighted Vows we vainly offer'd to a cruel Beauty. Few Men are so much in love, as to be Proof against the continued Scorn of the most agreeable Phillis: We ask to obtain, not to be deny'd; and he that can find the [...]ame satisfaction in every place, will hardly [...]e long confin'd to any one. Not but that Women, speaking generally, are not so perfidious as Men; and it is Iniustice, as well as Malice, in us to treat 'em as we do. They deserve really more than Policy will permit us to shew 'em they do.

Your Lordship's Humble Servant, AYLOFFE.

To a Friend in the Country.

YOu have now, at length, left scour­ing the Watch, and teizing the Exchange-women, bid adieu to Bour­deaux, and taken up with Barrel-ale. You are all the Morning galloping after a Fox; all the Evening in a smoaky Chim­ny-corner, recounting whose Horse leap'd best, was oftenest in with the Dogs, and how readily Lightfoot hit the cooling Scent, and reviv'd your drooping Spi­rits with a prospect of more diversion; which some Men, who think themselves as wise in the enjoyment of this World, as all the Men in Oxford-shire, are pleas'd to term meer fatigue. And I believe your own Footman would not ride so far and so hard to fetch a good Dinner, as both of you do to see the Death of a stinking Beast. Has not the Rose as good Accommodation as your Catherine-wheel Inn? And does not a Masque give a more Christian-like chase, and conclude in more satisfaction than the Animal you [Page 222] wot of? I saw your Letters to some of our Club, and laugh'd not a little at the strangeness of your Style; it smelt of fil­thy Tobacco, and was stain'd with your dropping Tankard. You acquainted 'em at large with the Scituation of your Man­sion-house; how a knot of branching Elms defended it from the North-wind; that the South-sun gave you good Grapes, and most sort of Wall-fruits; your Me­lons came on apace, and you had hopes of much good Fruit this Summer. After all, in Covent-gard [...]n Market, we can buy, in one quarter of an Hour, better Plants than your's, and richer Melons, for Groats a piece, than you have been poring over this three Months. You thank'd 'em for some News, that was so old we hardly could imagin what you meant, till Tom, who has all the Gazetts and Pamphlets lock'd up in his Heart, as David did the Commandments, disclos'd the Mystery to us. I pity your new State indeed: Your Gazetts are as stale as your Drink; which, tho' brew'd in March, is not broach'd till December. The chief Topicks of Discourse, (for Conver­sation you have none) are Hawks, Hor­ses, and Hounds; every one of 'em as [Page 223] much God's Image as he that keeps 'em, and glorifies the Creator in a greater de­gree, and to more purpose. This you call a seasonable retreat from the Lewd­ness of London, to enjoy a calm and quiet Life: Heaven knows you drink more there, and more ignoble and ungenerous Liquors than we in Town; for yours is down-right Drinking: Your Whoring I will allow safer, but it is meer Brutali­ty too; there is no such thing as Intrigue in all your County, which is like an ex­quisite Sawce to good Meat, qualifying the Palate more voluptuously. Well, 'tis Six, and I must to the Club, whereas we will Pity your Solitude, and Drink your Prosperity, in a Cup that is worth a Stable of Horses and a Kennel of Hounds So adieu.

The End of the First Volume.

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