Mr. POPE's Literary Correſpondence.
VOLUME the THIRD
With LETTERS To, and, From
- The Duke of SHREWSBERRY,
- Lord LANSDOWNE,
- Biſhop of ST. ASAPH,
- Sir BERKELEY LUCY,
- WILLIAM WALSH, Eſq
- Lady CHUDLEIGH,
- Mrs. MANLEY,
- Mrs. THOMAS, &c.
LONDON: Printed for E. CURLL, at Pope's-Head, in Roſe-Street, Covent-Garden. M.DCC.XXXV.
To the SUBSCRIBERS.
[]MR. Pope's Project to uſher his Letters into the World by my Means, was the Foundation of this Scheme of A Literary Cor⯑reſpondence; which has been ſo well re⯑ceived, that it ſhall be continued while People of Taſte approve of it: And that will be as long as People of Taſte, who have valuable Performances in this Kind in their Power, contribute their Stores to the Emolument of Mankind. Not but that I am always ready and willing to pur⯑chaſe any Genuine Pieces from ſuch Poſ⯑ſeſſors as expect a Premium.
The ſecond Volume of this Work pro⯑miſed (beſides Mr. Pope's) to contain Let⯑ters to and from Lord Somers, &c. notwith⯑ſtanding which, Mr. Pope, in his Spleen, has employed his Sifters to talk his Senſe of the Matter to me; particularly 'Squire Brocade, whoſe Objections, intermixed with my Anſwers, make a very notable Scene, to the following Effect, viz.
Mr. Curll, how comes it that you call this Second Volume Mr. Pope's Correſpon⯑dence, when there is ſo much more of other Peoples: This is a mere Impoſition upon the Town.
Sir, be pleaſed to read the Title-Page. I began this Collection chiefly upon what re⯑main'd of Mr. Pope's, and beſides finding moſt of my Cuſtomers eager to ſee the Minds of Men, eſpecially in the Caſe of Epiſtolary Writing; and having conſiderable Supplies of the Kind, I publiſhed a Second Volume, as you ſee; and have Materials of equal Value, and ſufficient in Quantity, to make a Third and Fourth.
D—n me, I do not deſire to read any Man's Writings but Pope's; he's the only Writer of the Age; his Equal never lived in any Time or Country. There's nothing worth reading in either of your Volumes but what is his.
Sir, It is not my Buſineſs to ſet up my Opinion againſt that of Gentlemen who do me the Favour to call at my Shop, but ſome of my Cuſtomers, whoſe Judg⯑ment is much eſteemed among their Ac⯑quaintance, [v] have ſaid that Mr. Pope's Share in this Second Volume is the very worſt Part of the Book.
Z—s! what do you mean by that? Will you pretend to name any Writer in Competition with Mr. Pope.
Sir, they do pretend to ſay, that the Pieces of Biſhop ATTERBURY in this Vo⯑lume, are ſomething beyond Mr. Pope's Compaſs: His Style in Proſe, his Judgment in the Critical-Taſte, his Heroic Love of his Country, his Vindication of Lord Cla⯑rendon's Hiſtory from an unatteſted Ca⯑lumny, and his ABSALON & ACHITOPHEL, tho' done when he was a Youth at the Uni⯑verſity, are all inimitable by Mr. Pope.
Your Judges are Blockheads, there's not a polite Man about the Town reads any Thing but what is Pope's. How imper⯑tinent is it to publiſh that Abſalon & Achi⯑tophel in Latin, without getting it tranſlated for the Ladies, if it be good for any Thing? What a Pox, do you think Gentlemen muſt be at the Slavery, like School-boys, of con⯑ſtruing it to them in Engliſh? It would be well for you if you could pacify Mr. Pope, perhaps if he and you were Friends, he might be prevailed on to take a hundred Guineas to do it for you.
Sir, I preſume you have ſeen the Poem, in its Engliſh Original, by Mr. Dry⯑den. I doubt whether the Public would deſire Mr. Pope's finiſhing Hand to that Piece.
Dryden was a tolerable Poet in his Time, but nothing in Compariſon to Pope. There's Le Neve's Will and Creed, I like well enough, becauſe they contain partly my own Religion: But there's his Epitaph in Latin, why is not that tranſlated?
Becauſe, Sir, it contains ſome Parti⯑culars that cannot be ſo well expreſſed in any other Language.
Sir, I think as I pleaſe; but what do you mean by thoſe Political Letters of Addiſon, Prior, Harley, and the reſt; there is not any Wit in them, ſurely?
I grant it, Sir, becauſe the Wri⯑ters of them did not intend it: But I am told there is much Good Senſe in them; that they open the Scene of the famous Partition Treaty, and the Deſigns of France upon the Death of King CHARLES II. of Spain; that they diſcover the Importance of a Man who is truſted with Affairs, and how mere un homme ſans conſequence a Man may be, with a great Employment, if the Conduct of the ſecret Springs of Action is placed in other Hands: With many other uſeful Leſſons.
Why, Mr. Curll, you are a great Politician.
Very little of a Politician truly, Sir: But ſince there are ſome Gentlemen inclined to adore a ſingle Name among the polite Writers, to the Prejudice of all the reſt, and to point me out as Heretical, for being of a different Opinion, it is neceſſary I ſhould be able to give ſome Reaſon for my Diſſent; and that, I apprehend, is done to the Purpoſe, if I am able to ſhew the Ex⯑cellency, the Superiority, of many others over Mr. Pope, in this Epiſtolary Taſte eſpecially.
Pray, Mr. Curll, have you ſorted your Materials for your Third Volume.
Yes, Sir.
Do you make it a Secret, or may we be informed what the principal Parts are to be.
Sir, I'll inform you with Pleaſure; it is no Secret at all, I aſſure you. There are more of Mr. Pope's Letters to Ladies, particularly her Grace the Ducheſs of Buck⯑inghamſhire: Some very pretty Letters of Mrs. Manley, full of true Humour, perfectly pictureſque, in a genteel unaffected Style, natively pleaſant, and, as Horace ſays, ſim⯑plex munditiis.
There are excellent ones of the late Lord Lanſdowne: They convince the Reader of [viii] the Patriot, the Engliſhman, the Chriſtian, the Tenderneſs of the moſt humane Mind, the Politeneſs of the fineſt Gentleman, the Dignity of the Britiſh Peer, are here united, and ſhine forth with full Luſtre in the utmoſt Propriety and Perſpicuity of Language.
You flouriſh abundantly, Curll; why Lanſaowne was a Jacobite.
Now, Sir, you are quite out; read his Lordſhip's Character of Queen CAROLINE. My Lord was indeed very young when he wrote ſome of theſe Letters, and the Prince of Orange was not then landed. But, I preſume, had it been ſo, a Jacobite might poſſibly be a Man of Wit; for Mr. Pope is allowed to be ſo, tho' he owns himſelf a Papiſt. But here are Letters of my Lord's, that ſhew other Sort of Sentiments at a riper Age, with Regard to the Revolution Settlement.
Well, are there any other Writers in your Third Volume.
Yes, yes, Sir, we are only got for⯑ward 110 Pages, and then we preſent you an invaluable Tract of Mr. Walſh's: Be pleaſed, Sir, to read Mr. Dryden's Opinion of him and of this Piece.
Sir, I pay no Regard to Mr. Dryden's Flattery.
Wycherley and Pope for That! But hear, Sir, how Mr. Pope ſings:
And, in his Epiſtle to Arbuthnot, he prides himſelf that,
Well, I ſee it appears by Mr. Pope, that Mr. Walſh was a very great Man. Are we to have any Thing more?
Yes, Sir, The Hoſpital of Fools is an Imitation of Lucian, by Mr. Walſh, and Gentlemen of the beſt Taſte among my Cuſ⯑tomers agree, that Lucian wrote nothing equal to it. I had forgot to mention a Letter concerning Aſſes, containing abun⯑dance of Wit. The reſt of the Book will conſiſt of Dr. Atterbury's Pieces tranſlated, Letters of Lady Chudleigh, Mrs. Thomas, and others of great Character for Wit, or Literature, or both. And there will be ſome curious Anecdotes concerning that indefatigable Antiquary, the late Mr. Thomas Hearne of Oxford, and his Writings: And relating to that moſt exemplary, as well as moſt noble Princeſs, the late Ducheſs of Ormonde, with a fine Copy of Verſes in her Praiſe, by a greater Man than Mr. Pope.
Ay, who is that, pray?
One John Dryden—Sir—
Curll, you are really impertinent.
Sir, you are really conceited; and I would adviſe you to enter yourſelf of Tim. Lancet's Society, and read the Dunciad on Sundays, as he ſays he conſtantly does. I cannot loſe any more Time, Sir, in ſuch trifling De⯑bates; you are reſolved not to like any Writer but Mr. Pope; and I am reſolved to carry on this Scheme of a Literary Correſpondence, ſo long as Works of real Worth are ſent me by the polite and judicious Part of Mankind. My Reſpects, Sir, to Mr. Pope, when you ſee him.
N.B. The FOURTH VOLUME of our LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE will open with a Collection of Hiſtorical Letters, be⯑ginning 1688, and ending 1730, wherein the moſt important Points of the Britiſh Affairs are diſcuſſed. By an Old Whig. Printed from an Original Manuſcript. With which I received the following Letter, from a very eminent Gentleman, of the Long-Robe, upon his reading the Sheets of this Third Volume, as they came from the Preſs.
To Mr. CURLL.
[]I Have read the Three Volumes of your Li⯑terary Correſpondence with Satisfaction. A Collection of good Letters is much wanted in our Language. The French have ſeveral; and I think they outdo us in no other Article of polite Literature. Ar⯑tificial Letters, written on Purpoſe to be publiſhed, are apt to fall ſhort of the vivid Force and Openneſs found in the unboſom⯑ing of Friend to Friend; therefore it is ex⯑treamly difficult to imitate well, as it alſo is to obtain the Papers of a valuable real Cor⯑reſpondence.
If Gentlemen could be ſatisfied, there would be no Endeavours to know how Letters came to the Preſs, I am perſuaded, our free, learned, polite Age and Country, might eaſily find you a genuine Collection in the beſt Taſte.
For my own Part I will not have any Doubt of your Conduct in this Reſpect; therefore you now receive incloſed the very Mind of a Man of Senſe and Rank in his Country, upon public Affairs, from the Re⯑volution to the Year 1730. Moſt of them were Letters to the late Biſhop Atterbury, [xii] and the reſt, to an intimate Friend of his, who died before him.
The Biſhop, a few Months before his Death, lent them to a Nobleman in France (from whom I had them) and at the ſame Time he told him, they were written by the honeſteſt Whig of his Acquaintance; that he differ'd from the Writer upon ſeveral Points, but look'd upon him to be a good Engliſh⯑man in the main; that he (the Biſhop) had been cenſur'd by his Enemies as a hot Par⯑ty-man, but that he could always reliſh the Correſpondence of a Perſon of Sincerity and Honour, though of different Sentiments in Politics or Religion; and that if he did not live to aſk for theſe Letters again (as he found himſelf in a declining Condition) he deſired they might not be loſt, becauſe there was much Truth and good Senſe in them; but inſiſted, that if they went abroad, it would be in ſuch a Manner as not to prejudice the Writer of them in any Branch of his Family, which might have Occaſion for the Counte⯑nance of Men in Power.
If you think it agreeable to your Scheme, you may publiſh them; if not, I wiſh you Supplies more to your Purpoſe, and am,
E. CURLL ad A. POPE.
S. P. D.
[]THAT our Name and Fame may be equally tranſmitted to Poſterity, in this our Literary Correſpondence, moſt ear⯑neſtly deſiring; A faithful Regiſter of Mat⯑ters of Fact, will be the beſt Method for obtaining theſe deſirable Ends.
Having given Notice in the St. James's Evening-Poſt of Saturday July 12th, that the SECOND Volume of Literary Correſpon⯑dence would be publiſhed on Monday the 14th: You was pleaſed, in the London Ga⯑zette, of Tueſday the 15th to inſert an Ad⯑vertiſement which I ſhall here paraphraſti⯑cally re-inſert for the true Information of the Public, viz.
Whereas ſeveral Bookſellers (Printers and Publiſhers, viz. L. Gilliver, T. Cooper, and J. Watſon) have printed ſeveral ſurreptitious and incorrect Editions of Letters as mine, ſome of which are not ſo, (being written by thoſe Perſons to whom they are by E. Curll juſtly aſcribed) and others interpolated; (by the Editor of thoſe ſix hundred Copies ſold [xiv] by the Reverend Mr. R. Smythe, purſuant to the Direction of his Couſin P.T. (both Agents of mine) to the aforeſaid E. Curll) and whereas there are daily Advertiſements of SECOND and THIRD Volumes of more ſuch Letters, particularly my Correſpondence with (Dr. FRANCIS ATTERBURY) the late Biſhop of Rocheſter; (the ſaid SECOND and THIRD Volumes being now publiſhed) I think my⯑ſelf under a Neceſſity to publiſh ſuch of the ſaid Letters as are genuine (not hitherto pub⯑liſhed) with the Addition of ſome others of a Nature leſs inſignificant, eſpecially thoſe which paſſed between the ſaid Biſhop (ATTER⯑BURY) and myſelf, or were any way relating to him, which ſhall be printed with all con⯑venient Speed (and which will likewiſe be faithfully re-printed by E. Curll, as a Sup⯑plement to the THREE VOLUMES of Lite⯑rary Correſpondence by him publiſhed and carried on with the univerſal Approbation of the Public.)
A. POPE.This, Sir, muſt be underſtood to be the true Meaning of the foregoing Advertiſe⯑ment, and which ſhall be, by me, literally made good.
As to R. Smythe, whom you have been pleaſed to inform me, was only a pretended Clergyman; againſt, therefore, this nominal [xv] R. Smythe, excluſive of his Function, I have exhibited a Bill in Chancery to hold him to his Contract of delivering to me ſix hundred printed Copies of the Firſt Vo⯑lume of your Letters, (printed by your own Direction to compleat your Correſpondence with Mr. Wycherley, as Lawton Gilliver hath himſelf acknowledged, whom, with yourſelf, I have made Parties to my Bill againſt R. Smythe, not in the leaſt doubting, but from ſuch an equitable Triumvirate I ſhall obtain Juſtice.)
For, with you, Sir,
This Vice, Sir, is as mean as it is baſe; and as you have found, in all Debates be⯑tween us, has been the Abhorrence of,
P.S. As I am pretty converſant with thoſe Authors whoſe Works I print, in re⯑viſing [xvi] viſing my old Friend VOITURE for a new Edition; I find you have very politely pil⯑laged his Letters: Your Firſt, To a Lady, with a Book of Drawings, is evidently taken from One he wrote to Madame Rambouillet, in the Name of Callot the Engraver, pre⯑ſenting a Book of his Prints. Your Second is, I find, a Compliment to our Friend Parſon Broome, and Mrs. Betty Marriot of Sturſton-Hall in Suffolk. And laſtly, the Compliments in thoſe Letters of this Vo⯑lume to Miſs B. are tranſplanted from what VOITURE wrote to Madame Rambouillet, M. Vigean, and other Ladies of the Court of France.
ERRATA.
LETTER 3d to Miſs B. Line 1. for Liberty, read Liberality. Belluchi, mention'd in the Letter to the Ducheſs of B—, was a Painter, not a Statuary.
TO Mr. EDMUND CURLL, Bookſeller, In Roſe-Street, Covent-Garden.
[]THE Characteriſticks whereby the Author of the incloſed Let⯑ters may be known, are too many and glaring to need any mentioning of his Name. Were there no other Arguments to confirm this, his own Pen betrays him. But for your far⯑ther Satisfaction, I muſt inform you, that I found them among ſome Papers of a de⯑ceaſed Friend, with ſeveral others of a Na⯑ture more inſignificant, which therefore I [xviii] would not tranſcribe. The Gentleman's Wife, before ſhe was ſo, is known to have been perſonally acquainted with your Ad⯑verſary, which puts the Matter paſt Doubt.
With many Thanks for your two former Volumes, theſe are at your Service for your third, which I find you are about.
LETTERS OF Mr. POPE to Miſs BLOUNT.
[]To Miſs B**** † on the Death of her Brother.
HAving no leſs Admiration for your Courage and good Nature, than Sympathy with your Grief; I am ſo highly ſenſible of both the one and the other, that if I were capable to render you thoſe Com⯑mendations which were juſtly due to you, and that Comfort whereof you ſtand in need, I muſt confeſs I ſhould be much [xx] troubled where to begin; for what Obli⯑gations can be more equally inforcing, than to render to ſo eminent a Virtue the Ho⯑nour it merits; and to ſo violent Affliction the Comfort it requires? But I am to blame to put a Diſtance between theſe two things, ſince Charity has ſo perfectly united them, that the fond Aſſiſtance you afforded your late Brother, ſhould now prove an extra⯑ordinary Comfort to you, ſince God will beſtow that on you out of Juſtice, which others obtain out of his Indulgence; his in⯑finite Goodneſs being ſuch, as will not ſuf⯑fer, unrewarded, ſo exemplary an Act of Tenderneſs, as what, thro' a Contempt of your own Life, engaged you in the Offices of the beſt and tendereſt Siſter in the World, beyond the Limits of all Obligations; and by an admirable Conſtancy, made you aſ⯑ſur'd amidſt a Danger that terrifies the moſt daring.
Upon this Account am I confident that he will preſerve you from it*, and will ſhower on you, as a Reward of your Vir⯑tue, the Bleſſings which are wiſhed you, by,
To the SAME.
[xxi]I Here ſend you the Elegy*, which you have but too often demanded of me, and which heretofore hath indeed been heard by others, but, till now, hath not been read by any.
It is my Wiſh, that the ſame Fortune may in this happen to me as hath befallen you; who, after you have for ſo long time concealed the nobleſt things in the World, have in the Diſcovery of it, dazled all thoſe that have ſeen it. But it is an over-great Fondneſs for my own Verſes, to wiſh them that Advantage, nor indeed ſhould I wiſh them better, ſince they were not made for you: If you think them very ill, you are ſo much the more obliged to me for them, in that knowing it as well as you, yet I have not forborn ſending them to you. And, to deal freely with you, a leſs Power than what you have within theſe few Days gained upon me, would not have been ſuf⯑ficient [xxii] to have prevailed with me to do it: And, without your Command, Madam, they had never known any other Place than that of my own Memory. But it is high time it were delivered of them, to make room for ſomething more delightful; I mean that which Mrs. **** had the Grace to acquaint me with the other Day, and which fills it ſo much at preſent, that I doubt whether there be Place for any thing elſe.
I perceive, Madam, that where it was my Deſign to ſend you a Letter of Excuſe and Compliment, I am fallen into one of Love; but I wiſh all the other Defects you ſhall find in it, were as pardonable as that. In the mean time let me aſſure you, that I have not of a long time been ſo engaged, and that there are many in the World to whom I would not ſay ſo much, even tho' they held a Dagger at my Throat.
But, ſince there is no fear of any Scan⯑dal, you are obliged, Madam, at leaſt in my Opinion, to look favourably on thoſe Elements of Affection, were it but to ſee, how I ſhould behave myſelf, if I ſhould fall in Love; and, if I were permitted, what might be the Conſequence of it.
To the SAME.
[xxiii]THO' my Liberty were, as you ſay, greater than Alexander's, it were more than recompenced by the Thanks you have been pleaſed to return it. Even his Ambition, as inſatiable as it was, would, by ſo extraordinary a Favour, have been li⯑mited. He would have valued this Honour more highly than the Perſian Diadem, and he would not have envied Achilles the Praiſes of Homer, might he have Yours. In like manner, Madam, conſidering the Reputation you do me, if I envy his, it is not ſo much that which he hath acquired, as what you have beſtowed on him, and he hath received no Honours which I do not look upon below my own, unleſs it be that you do him, when you call him your Gal⯑lant. Neither his own Vanity nor his Flat⯑terers have ever advanced any thing ſo ad⯑vantageous to him, and the Quality of the Son of Jupiter Ammon was not ſo glorious as that. But, if nothing can cure me of [xxiv] the Jealouſy I have of it, yet, Madam, knowing you as I do, I am confident, if you do him that Favour, it is not ſo much becauſe he is the greateſt of Mankind, as becauſe it is Two Thouſand Years ſince he was.
However it be, we may ſee, in this, the Greatneſs of his Fortune, which not able to forſake him ſo many Years after his Death, adds to his Conqueſts a Perſon which cele⯑brates them more than the Wife and Daugh⯑ter of Darius, and hath re-infuſed into him a Soul greater than that of the World he hath ſubdued.
I ſhould fear, by your Example, to write in too high a Stile, but can a Man aim at one too high, ſpeaking of you, and Alexan⯑der? I beſeech you, Madam, to aſſure your ſelf I have for you the ſame Paſſion which you have for him, and that the Admiration of your Virtues ſhall ever engage me to be, Madam,
To the SAME.
[xxv]I Could never believe it poſſible that the Receipt of a Letter from you ſhould add to my Affliction, or that you could have poſſibly ſent me ſuch bad News, as that you could not comfort me at the ſame time.
I thought my Unhappineſs at ſuch a Point as could not admit of any Addition, and that ſince you were able ſomething to ſtrengthen my Patience to endure the Ab⯑ſence of your Mother and You, there could not be any Misfortune which You could not have encouraged me to ſuffer. But give me leave to tell you, that I have found the contrary in the Affliction I have for the Death of Mrs. A****, which hath been heavy enough to cruſh me, and want⯑ed not much to ſpend the Remainder of my Patience.
[xxvi] You may eaſily judge, Madam, what an exceſſive Grief it muſt needs be to me to have loſt a Friend ſo good, ſo ſprightly and ſo accompliſhed as ſhe, and one that hav⯑ing always given me ſo many Expreſſions of her Affection, would needs do ſome⯑thing when ſhe had not many Hours to continue here. But tho' I reflected not on my own Concernments, yet could I not but infinitely regret a Perſon by whom you were infinitely beloved; and who, among many particular Endowments, had that of knowing you as much as may be, and eſteeming you above all things. Yet I muſt confeſs, if this Diſturbance can admit of any Remiſſion, it is to reflect on the Con⯑ſtancy ſhe expreſſed, and the Fortitude wherewith ſhe hath ſuffered a Thing whereof the Name would make her trem⯑ble at any time.
I am extremely comforted to underſtand, that at her Death, ſhe had thoſe Qualities which only ſhe wanted in her Life, and that ſhe ſo opportunely found Courage and Reſolution. When I conſider it ſeriouſly, it is ſomewhat againſt my Conſcience to bemoan her, and methinks it ſpeaks an over-intereſted Affection, to be ſad becauſe ſhe hath left us to better her Condition, and is gone into the other World, (from [xxvii] whoſe Bourne no Traveller returns *) to find that Quiet ſhe could never meet with in this.
I very heartily entertain the Exhortations you give me thereupon, which is, often to con over a Leſſon ſo profitable and neceſ⯑ſary, and to prepare myſelf for the like one Day; I know how to make my Advantage of your Remonſtrance. The Miſeries we have run thro' all this while is no ſmall Preparation for it: There's no better Lec⯑ture to inſtruct a Man how to die well, than not to take much Pleaſure in living.
But if it be not impoſſible for the Hopes that Fortune propoſes to prove effectual; if after ſo many Years, we may preſume to expect ſome few fair Days, be pleaſed to give me leave, Madam, to entertain Thoughts more diverting than thoſe of Death; and if it be likely that we are ſhortly to ſee one another, let me not fall out with my Life.
Where you ſay, You think me deſtined to great Things, you give ſo great Security of my Life, and ſo happy a Preſage of the Adventures that ſhall happen to me, that I ſhall not be ſorry for its Continuance yet [xxviii] a while. For my part, if Deſtiny doth promiſe me any thing that is good, I aſſure you I will do my utmoſt to get it. I will contribute all I can thereto, that your Pro⯑pheſies may be fulfilled. In the mean time, I beſeech you to be confident, that of all the Favours I can beg of Fortune, what I moſt paſſionately deſire is, that ſhe would do for you what ſhe ought, and for myſelf, only afford me the Means to acquaint you with the Paſſion which obliges me to be ſo much,
N.B. The WORKS of VOITURE, Tranſlated from the laſt PARIS Edition, and Addreſſed by Mr. POPE to Miſs BLOUNT, in Two Volumes, is Printed for Mr. Curll. Price 6s.
AN EPISTLE FROM Mr. POPE* to Mr. GAY, Occaſioned by Two STANZAS in his BALLAD of Black-Ey'd SUSAN. 1726.
[xxix]To her GRACE CATHARINE,* DUCHESS of Buckinghamſhire,
[]I THINK myſelf obliged by your GRACE's many Conde⯑ſcentions of Goodneſs to me, in particular your informing me by a Line of Dr. Ch—'s† State of Health. I am really impatient to hear further of him.
[2] The Morning I left the Town, I went with Mr. Jervas to Belluchi's,* but part⯑ing in Haſte, I had not his Opinion at large; only he aſſures me, he thinks the Figures will not be too ſmall, conſidering that thoſe which are neareſt the Eye, are, at leaſt, as large as the Life. I can't but be of Opinion, that my Lord Duke's and your Grace's, ought to be made Portraits, and as like as poſſible; of which they have yet, no Reſemblance. There being no Pic⯑ture (as I believe) of the Duke in Profile, it might be well, I fancy, if Belluchi copied the Side-Face from chat Buſto that ſtands in the Salon.
I beg your GRACE's Pardon for the Freedom with which I write to you: And I ought to ask it, (now I think on't) on another Occaſion, in which I have uſed too much Freedom: Having a great Eſteem for the famous Bononcini, not only from his great Fame, but from a Perſonal Knowledge of his Character; and this being increaſed [3] by the ill Treatment he has met with here, I ventured, among other Perſons of the firſt Diſtinction, who ſubſcribed to me for his Compoſures, newly ingraved, to ſet down the Name of your Grace. When I did this, your Grace was at Bath, and I forgot ever ſince to tell you of it, 'till now, when the Book's* coming out, put me in Mind of it.
If you can excuſe this Fault, I ſincerely think I ſhall not err this Way again, 'till ſuch another great Man as Bononcini ariſes, (for whenever that happens, I doubt not the Engliſh will uſe him as ſcurvily) but that your Grace needs not apprehend, during our Lives. I am, with the ſincereſt Reſpect,
To Mr. C****
[4]I Have complied with your Requeſt ſo far as I am able: Mr. Dryden was not born (but bred) here, as the Inſcription itſelf ſhews. The more common Tradition is, that he was Born at Aldwinckle, mentioned in the Inſcription: But even this is uncertain. So wiſhing Succeſs to your Undertaking,*
THE INSCRIPTION ON THE Monument Erected to the Dryden-Family in the Church of Tichmarſh in Northamptonſhire.
[5]And it is with Delight, and humble Thankfulneſs, that I reflect on the Chara⯑cter of my pious Anceſtors, and that I am now, with my own Hand, paying my Duty to Sir Eraſmus Dryden, my Great-Grand⯑father, and to Eraſmus Dryden, Eſq my honoured Uncle, in the 80th Year of my Age.
JAMES MOORE, Eſq TO Dr. SEWELL.
[9]I Am, as you will find by the Date of this, deep in Solitude; and dividing the Empire of a Country-Village with the Author of the ATALANTIS.* The bright Contagion, as our Friend YOUNG calls it, of that Lady's ROMANCE, has ſpread it ſelf thro' this whole Place. Every thing moves in that Spirit. Horſes are Palfryes; Sweet⯑hearts, Paramours; and Weſt-Winds, Ete⯑ſian-Gales. The Women all take their Names from Grand CYRUS, and the general Joy here at the Commitment of URGANDA to [10] Bridewell, has been ſeverely check'd by PAR⯑THENISSA's ſtanding in a white Sheet.
I began an Epiſtle in GAY's Manner, to welcome you here.
You will forgive an Impromptu, which was only meant to ſhew you, that I can be Gay when I am alone. How much would it add to my good Humour, if I could ſee you either at this Place or Oxford.
I hope Diſtreſſed Mother PHILIPS will give us an entire Copy of his HUMPHREY; for [11] what I've ſeen, appears, by the Number of Daſhes, to be a Tragedy taken down in Short-hand.
Notwithſtanding his huge anticipating Character, and his little Arts for Succeſs, might give it a Run in the Repreſentation, it muſt ſure make as ill a Figure as the Conſcious Lovers in the Cloſet, where no⯑thing but true Merit can ſupport it. Pray let me know if there be any thing in it, which you can approve, that might tempt me to look it over again. In the mean time, Peace be to the Manes of his BRITON.
I demand a Letter by the next Poſt, to inſtruct me, what other Hiſtorian can give me an Account of Clarence, beſides Holingſ⯑head; how you would have him killed; or whether I may condemn the Duke of Nor⯑folk? I expect this immediately to atone for the faſhionable Banter of your laſt, and am,
Dr. SEWELL, TO JAMES MOORE, Eſq
[12]N.B. This Piece was left unfiniſhed by Dr. Sewell, and never ſent to Mr. Moore.
AN EPISTLE TO A GENTLEMAN, WHO Wrote an EPISTLE.*
[15]AN Original Letter from his Grace the late Duke of Shrewsberry, relating to a Manuſcript Copy of the Lord Holles's Memoirs, in Anſwer to a Letter ſent his Grace by Mr. Curll the Bookſeller.
To Mr. CURLL.
[18]THeſe Memoirs go no farther than the Parliament's reſolving to treat no more with the King. My Lord Holles was of the Presbyterian Party, zealous at firſt, to take Arms againſt the King, but would not have carried it ſo far as the Independents did; he writes very virulently againſt them, gives Inſtances of Cromwell's and Haſlerig's Cowar⯑dice, as may be ſeen in the annexed Ta⯑ble;* mentions Lord Savile as an Impoſtor, who accuſed himſelf and others.
[19] This Book is an Apology for the Scots and Engliſh Presbyterians, and a Satire againſt the Army and Independents, but wrote in ſo an⯑gry and declaiming a Stile, that it does not pleaſe me; it treats only of public Facts known to every body, and tells none of thoſe ſecret Intrigues, Schemes, Conferen⯑ces, &c. which are what is moſt valuable in theſe ſort of Books.
TO Mr. CURLL, Bookſeller, &c.
[20]I Am very glad it was ever in my Power to do you any good Office,* and ſhould be ready to do the ſame again, eſpecially in a Cauſe of Juſtice and Truth. But your Author, in his Defenſe of the CLA⯑RENDON-FAMILY† muſt not Appeal to me on Account of any Interpolations in the Characters of that Famous Hiſtory, for [21] I have no ſuch Originals, nor ever ſaw any.†
I have great Reaſon to believe that That Work was as faithfully publiſhed as ever any Poſthumous Piece was, which, I believe, will ſhortly be made evident to the Public by a more able Hand.*
TO Sir BERKELEY LUCY, Bart.
[22]WHAT Mr. Nelſon, in his Life of Bi⯑ſhop Bull, ſays of that learned Pre⯑late, may with the ſtricteſt Veracity be ap⯑plied to Mr. Collins, viz. ‘"He hath receiv⯑ed ſo great a Brightneſs from his own Pen, that it needs no auxiliary Light to increaſe its Luſtre;"’ and his Character is ſo ſecure, from the Example of his Life, that all Calumnies raiſed againſt it, fly like Chaff before the Wind.
By a Letter from King's-College, Cam⯑bridge, I am informed, ‘"that Mr. Collins was bred at Eton, in quality of an Oppidane; where he was very remarkable, even while a Boy, for a good Taſte of the Claſſics, &c. He was admitted a Fellow-Commoner of King's-College, July 8, 1693, where, under the Tuition of Dr. Hare, he was ſoon perceived to grow in⯑defatigable in the rougheſt Tracts of Phi⯑loſophy, particularly the Ars Cogitandi: [23] He was almoſt a ſingular Example a⯑mong thoſe of his Station. Rarus ferme communis ſenſus in illa fortuna, ſays Horace, is as applicable to a Man of flouriſhing Circumſtances, as to the Patriot; and tho' it has been much controverted what was the Poet's View, yet in both Lights Mr. Collins has been thought to be an Exception."’
Since Mr. LOCKE hath declared, that he conſidered Mr. COLLINS as a Philoſopher, and a Chriſtian, all the ſneering and lucra⯑tive Sarcaſms of Eccleſiaſtics ought to be held in the utmoſt Contempt. His Chara⯑cter is ſo ſecure from the Example of his Life, that I am the leſs concerned for my own Inability, to embalm his Memory; eſpecially as the Weight and Importance of the Matter will make ſome Amends for thoſe Defects which may ariſe from the Manner of handling it.
That Part of Biography, Sir, which records Men famous in the Republic of Letters, is generally acceptable to the Learned, be⯑cauſe it attempteth to gratify a Curioſity, which prevaileth much, and is nouriſhed among them; whereby they are prompted to ſearch for, and enquire after the minuteſt Circumſtances, which relate to ſuch Authors, who are no otherwiſe known to them, than by the Works they have left behind them.
[24] And now, Sir, as the beſt, and moſt firm Baſis I can lay, for the Support of my Superſtructure, give me Leave to mortify the wrangling Prieſthood, by ex⯑hibiting the ſincere Sentiments Mr. Locke had of Mr. Collins's Virtues and Abilities: A Character which I am certain, with all thoſe who knew his intrinſic Worth, will turn the Balance even againſt the Conſtitu⯑tions of Popes, the Decrees of Councils, or the Cavils of Convocations.
"You have exceedingly obliged me (ſays Mr. Locke to Mr. Collins) in the Books, of Yours, that you have ſent me; and (continues our immortal Chriſtian Philoſopher) I am over-joyed with an Intimation I have re⯑ceived alſo, that gives me Hopes of ſee⯑ing You next Week. You are a cha⯑ritable good Friend, and are reſolved to make the Decays and Dregs of my Life the pleaſanteſt Part of it; for I know nothing calls me back to a pleaſant Senſe of Enjoyment, and makes my Days ſo gay and lively, as your good Company. Come then, and multiply happy Mi⯑nutes upon, and rejoice in the Good you do me; for I am, with a perfect Eſteem and Reſpect,"
[25] Upon Mr. Collins's Return to Town, 1703, after paying the Viſit mentioned in the foregoing Letter, Mr. Locke returns him the following Acknowledgment.
I owe you my Thanks, for the greateſt Favour I can receive, the Confirmation of your Friendſhip, by the Viſit I lately re⯑ceived from you.—In ſome other Letters he thus expreſſes himſelf.
There is one Mr. Collins, with whom if I deſire to live upon equal Terms, it is not that I forget how much he is ſuperior to me in many Things, wherein he will always have the Precedency.—You make my Life, ſince I have had your Friendſhip, much more valuable to me than it was before.—Tho' my Friendſhip be of very little Va⯑lue or Uſe, yet being the beſt Thing I have to give, I ſhall not forwardly beſtow it, where I do not think there is Worth and Sincerity: And therefore, pray pardon me the Forwardneſs wherewith I throw my Arms about your Neck; and holding you ſo, tell you, you muſt not hope, by any Thing that looks like Compliment, to keep one at a civiller and more faſhionable Diſtance.—Yours of the 16th Inſtant* makes me love and value you, if it were poſſible, more than I did before; you having there⯑in, [26] in ſhort, ſo well deſcribed, wherein the Happineſs of a rational Creature in this World conſiſts: Tho' there are very few who make any other Uſe of their half-em⯑ployed and undervalued Reaſon, but to bandy againſt it. 'Tis well, as you obſerve, that they agree as ill with one another, as they do with common Senſe. For when by the Influence of ſome prevailing Head, they all lean one Way; Truth is ſure to be borne down, and there is nothing ſo dan⯑gerous, as to make any Enquiry after her; and to own her, for her own ſake, is the moſt unpardonable Crime.—'Tis no ſmall Advantage to me to have found ſuch a Friend, at the laſt Scene of my Life; when I am good for nothing, and am grown ſo uſeleſs, that I cannot but be ſure, that in every good Office you do me, you can propoſe to your ſelf no other Advantage, but the Pleaſure of doing it.*—Give me leave to deſire you, to beſtow ſome of your ſpare Hours on the Epiſtles to the Corinthians, † and to try whether you can find them intelligible or no.—If I regret my old Age, it is you that make me, and calls me back to the World juſt as I was leaving of it, and leaving it as a Place that had very little valuable in it: But [27] who would not be glad to ſpend ſome Years with you?—He that has any thing to do with you, muſt own, that Friendſhip is the natural Product of your Conſtitution, and your Soul, a noble Soil, is enriched with the two moſt valuable Qualities of human Nature, Truth and Friendſhip. What a Treaſure have I then in ſuch a Friend, with whom I can converſe, and be en⯑lightened about the higheſt Speculations!
Souls, Sir Berkeley, endowed like Mr. Locke's, Mr. Collin's, or your own, were made to converſe with each other only, far very far, removed from the Inſolence of Prieſts or the Pedantry of Schools! ſuch ſtoical Apathy as they were, and you are poſſeſſed with, put Mr. Addiſon upon leav⯑ing us this perpetual Memento in his Cam⯑paign.
Theſe Characteriſtics given of Mr. Col⯑lins, by Mr. Locke, will ſurely make every little, or indeed the greateſt Canonical Pe⯑dagogue, dread to attack the Memory of [28] our dear Friend, eſpecially when they find the Eſteem he had for him reached even beyond the Grave;* and with which Teſtimonial I ſhall cloſe what I have to offer on this Head for the preſent.
"The Knowledge I have of your Vir⯑tue of all Kinds, ſecures the Truſt, which, by your Permiſſion, I have placed in you:*—May you live long and happy, in the Enjoyment of Health, Freedom, Content, and all thoſe Bleſ⯑ſings which Providence has beſtowed on you, and your Virtue intitles you to. I know you loved me Living, and will preſerve my Memory, now I am Dead. All the Uſe to be made of it, is, That this Life is a Scene of Vanity, that ſoon paſſes away; and affords no ſolid Satis⯑faction, but in the Conſciouſneſs of doing well, and in the Hopes of another Life. This is what I can ſay, upon Experience; and what You will find to be true, when You come to make up the Account. Adieu. I leave my beſt Wiſhes with you."
A LETTER To Mr. P***
[29]REJOICE with me, my Friend, there is Probability of mine Ad⯑vancement, this is the Reign of Expectancy. Never, if not now, ſhall I become conſidera⯑ble: Places of National and mighty Truſt, are given to thoſe the World will truſt no longer. Emulous of the Roman Simplicity, our Nobility, like ſo many CINCINNA⯑TUS's, ſeem to be taken from the Plough; our Clergy, repreſenting the Mechanic Piſ⯑catory Founders of Chriſtianity, are Men of mean Deſcent, and altogether as emi⯑nent for their Ignorance. But as the uninterrupted Succeſſion of their Apoſtle⯑ſhip is moſt undeniable, the Lord in⯑ſpire theſe with thoſe. Saul from a Ten⯑der [30] of his Father's ASSES, became a ten⯑der Father to the People Iſrael, and left his former Care. Caeſar too was called to be a King, but he retained his ASSES; ſome he made Judges, ſome Biſhops, and ſome Ambaſſadors, which occaſioned the Scoffers to ſay, that Caeſar only wore the Lion's Skin. What led me, I believe, to this Subject, was the hearing of Papers now crying about the Streets, intitled, The Con⯑greſs of Aſſes; which naturally brought to my Remembrance, many Folks and Occur⯑rences, both at Home and Abroad. We have a Poet Laureat here, Thanks to my Lord Chamberlain, now grown old, who is twice a-Year brought forth to be kicked at by his Brethren.
If Dean B— or Doctor S— pride themſelves too highly on the Linguoſe Fa⯑culty, may not the Ass of Balaam ſerve for their Reproof, as well as he did for that of his Maſter. Nothing ſeems to me more unjuſt, than the Contempt which is offered to this noble ANIMAL by the Vul⯑gar, who miſtake his ſolemn Majeſty for Dullneſs. Should this Epiſtle ever appear in Public, as I hope it never will, I am ſenſible it would be thought an inſinuating [31] Artifice of mine, to get a Place at Court, or recommend myſelf to Somebody in Power; whereas, I have no ſuch Intention, I aſſure you, but ſhall diſintereſtedly, and without Flattery, as far as I am able, take away part of the Burden from the Back of this generous Beaſt: For, What is heavier than an ill Name? in doing which, I have only imitated the renowned Osborn's and Walſingham's of theſe our Times, whoſe Labours I muſt acknowledge to be as far ſuperior to mine, as they are more diffi⯑cult: But to proceed; ASSES formerly were not contemptible, their Names were not made a Reproach; they ſometimes were cloathed in Furs like our Aldermen, and ſometimes in Scarlet, and Cloath of Gold, and King's and Princes uſed to ride upon them. Midas, a Phrygian Monarch, had himſelf the Ears of an Ass, which was in thoſe Days, held an uncommon Thing. Kings will not, out of brotherly Affection, deſpiſe them, moreover this ſtately Beaſt is not to be prevailed upon by Blows; the venerable Diſpenſers of our Laws are not endowed with more Gravity; all the Holy-gifted ones, ſhould reſpect him as an Elder, and one of themſelves; for he once ſpoke by the ſame Divine Power, they would be thought to ſpeak by: Beſides, he has that in him, which is well Worthy of [32] their Imitation, I mean his Patience. Both Sacred and Profane Hiſtory have emble⯑matized Strength and Heroiſm by the Ass, than which, nothing can be more natural, noble, beautiful, or juſt. Jacob, when he bleſſes his Sons, ſays, Iſſachar is a ſtrong Ass, crouching down between two Burdens. And Homer, in the Eleventh Book of the Iliad, compares Ajax, making a noble Retreat, to one of theſe Animals forcing his Way into a Field of Corn, there ſatisfying his Hunger, and then retiring with a tardy ſullen Intrepidity, Maugre the Oppoſition of a Troop of Boys,
Had I nothing elſe to offer in their Behalf, the above-mentioned Inſtances are ſufficient to abate all Ridicule, and draw Reſpect from the viperous Tongue of Calumny itſelf.
But farther, the moſt eminent Poets, Orators, Hiſtorians and Naturaliſts, have not thought it beneath them to treat of the Ass, either in Metaphor, Simile, or De⯑ſcription Narrative. Pliny Lib. 11. Cap. 37. gives large Account of him, deſcribes his Na⯑ture, Paſſions, &c. and ſhews us what Judg⯑ment we are to form of the pricking-up, and what from the limber and half-erected Poſition of his Ears. Virgil mentions him but ſparingly. Horace more frequent, the [33] Thirteenth Epiſtle of his Firſt Book, is wrote Ad Vinnium Aſellum, whom he banters on his Name. He was to preſent Horace's Poems to Auguſtus, who deſires, if they are too burthenſome to him, that he will caſt them away, and not bear them like Panniers, to be laugh'd at, and get the Surname of Ass, be⯑cauſe his Paternal one was ASELLA. Cicero ſpeaks of one Aſellius Sempronius, an Hiſto⯑rian, by which we know this Name to have been conſiderable with the Romans. There are likewiſe two Stars in Cancer, called the ASELLI; and Silenus, the Foſter-Father of Bacchus, according to Ovid, was always mounted upon an Ass. I ſhall here re⯑peat ſomething truly Poetical, ſpoken of the Ass in our own Language, not inferior to any thing of the Ancients. It is taken from the DUNCIAD, where no leſs than a Goddeſs proclaims ſeveral Sorts of Games, and promiſes a Drum to him of all her Favourites, who ſhall out-voice the Ass.
Firſt having encouraged her Children, they begin the Sports; the Goddeſs thus giving the Word of Command,
[35] Scarce do I know whether the Ass is more indebted to the Poet for this excellent Deſcription of him, or the Poet to the Ass, for thoſe Qualifications of his, which were the Occaſion of it: But certain I am, that every Language is enriched with ma⯑ny terſe Sayings, Proverbs and Sentences, drawn from the known Qualities of this Quadrupede, fait en dos d'Aſne, ſignifies any Thing done with Cunning. Aſinus Antro⯑nius is a Lob-Cock. Aſinus ad Lyram, and [...] in the Greek, are Proverbs which ſeem to reflect upon the Ass for his Unskilfulneſs in Muſic; whereas the con⯑trary is manifeſt, for this Animal pays an extraordinary Attention to every ſort of Wind-Muſic, as may be eaſily diſcover'd by the pricking-up of his Ears, his ſimpering Geſture, his frolic Spurning of the Heels, attended by the Clangor of his own Pipe, with a ſeeming Deſire to bear a Part. It is moſt unqueſtionable, that he has the Ad⯑vantage of all other Beaſts, the Sounds he utters being more articulate: And many learned Critics agree, that no living Pipe ſo nearly reſembles the Hautboy, Bagpipe, or that more admired new-invented Water-Muſic, the French-Horn; the Perfor⯑mers upon which Inſtruments, if he does [36] not excel every body, will readily allow, it is not for want of Ear.
Sir Richard Blackmore was ſneered at by the Critics; but what will not Critics ſneer, for applying the Word Bray to the Sound of Armour, War, &c. which muſt needs have been right in him; for if the Hero himſelf is juſtly likened to an Ass, there is, as it were, a Chain of Propriety, in com⯑paring the Noiſe of Arms and Clangor of the Battle, to Braying:* There are others alſo, who reflect upon the Ass for his Ears, which is whimſical indeed; and I doubt not but that this Clamour proceeds from thoſe only who have loſt their Own. While I treat of this Subject, methinks I feel ſome of that Aſſiſtance which the Poets ſo often call for; I am hurried away, a Flood of Fire pours itſelf upon me, Nature is over⯑power'd violently. Thou, O Art, aſſiſt me to reſtrain her Force, lo! I again ſubſide, ſteady is my Seat, and tight my Rein. How copious is the Theme I handle! ſure⯑ly [37] the World could not contain the Volumes which might be wrote upon it! What I can ſay is nothing, it would not be eſteemed as a Sentence in the great Folio: twelve Books, each twelve Times bigger than Doomſ⯑Day-Book, are to be wrote ſolely upon the Milk of this Animal. It is Mother's Milk to half the Nation. It is the Kettle of Me⯑daea, the Waters of Aganippe; to this is owing our remarkable Progreſs in the libe⯑ral Sciences and polite Literature; to this is owing the Politics ſo nobly defend⯑ed by Walſingham and Osborne; to this is owing the Hiſtories of the Burnets, the Cookes, and the Oldmixons, the Divinity of the Henleys and the Foſters, the Phyſic of the Miſaubins and the Wards, the Poetry of the Fieldings and the Savages: And to this is owing theſe my Labours. To this alſo, but whether am I going, thoſe of our Par⯑ty already mention'd, are ſufficient. How greatly have they laboured to be thought Aſſes, and how greately have they ſucceed⯑ed—Here I muſt take Notice of a remark⯑able Inſtance of the Ass's Principles, if that Expreſſion may be permitted me, when our immortal Deliverer landed at Torbay, the vociferous Acclamation of a congre⯑gated Drove was heard by Multitudes of his Followers; and if I am not miſinform⯑ed, the famous Dr. Burnet aſſured them, [38] it was a happy Omen; and I doubt not, but that upon the Publication of the ſecond Volume of his Hiſtory, we ſhall find that he, after his uſual pious Manner, has diſ⯑cover'd Providence to be eminently inte⯑reſted in favour of that Undertaking, from the Declaration theſe Animals made as a ſort of joining with their own Party.
I have already exceeded the Limits of a Letter, and ſhall conclude, after I have inter⯑preted two Fables, famous for their Anti⯑quity.
Firſt, Oenus, a Rope-maker in Hell, had an Ass always ſtanding by him, who as faſt as he twiſted the Cord, bit it aſunder; his Labour was thereby rendered abortive, eternally renewed, eternally fruſtrated.
Oenus reſembles thoſe helliſh Miniſters, who thro' their evil Counſels make Ropes to bind the People in Slavery. By the Ass is meant the honeſt Patriot, who, ever watch⯑ful for the public Safety, deſtroys his Schemes, diſcovers his Deſigns, drives him to invent new Miſchief, which he ſtill renders ineffectual by his Vigilance.
Secondly, An Ass being honoured with carrying on his Back the Statue of Iſis, the People bowed, fell on their Knees, and worſhipped the Goddeſs: The Ass thinking his Merit to be the Cauſe of their Adoration, grew inſolent and proud: [39] But when he was unloaded, they convinced him by Blows, it was not him they reſpec⯑ted.
By the Ass you are to underſtand, all ſuch as have Places at Court; what Re⯑ſpect they meet with, is not paid to them, but to their Office; from which, when they are once diſcarded, every Man carries a Cudgel, which will convince them of the Truth of what I ſay. I am, my dear Friend, in all Shapes, comforted with Hopes and Expectations,
LOVE LETTERS BY Mrs. MANLEY.
[]ADVERTISEMENT.
THIS ſmall Packet of Letters, tho' written un⯑der the Fatigue of Travelling, is a delightful Proof of the true Taſte both of the Thoughts and Senſe of their inimitable Author. All who had the Happineſs of her Converſation, were ſoon convinced how free ſhe was from the general Frailties of her Sex; what a Nobleneſs and Generoſity of Temper ſhe poſſeſſed; how diſtant her Views from the leaſt Appearance of Self-Intereſt, or mean Deſign! How often have I heard her compaſſionately regretting the Miſeries of Mankind, and never her own, but when they prevented her extenſive Charity to Others!
Never was ſhe Vindictive againſt the moſt inve⯑terate Enemy; the innate Softneſs of her Soul, ren⯑dered her Deportment equally obliging to Friends and Foes, and never did ſhe reſent but with the ſtricteſt Juſtice.
[41] A Journey to Exeter was undertaken by her (on account of a Law-Suit) in the Year 1694, and two Years afterwards, theſe Letters were made public, without her Leave, by J.H. * Eſq ſo highly was ſhe diſguſted at this ungenerous Treatment, that ſhe cauſed them to be ſuppreſſed.
The Copy from which this Edition is re-printed, I received from her own Hands, near twenty Years ago, with this poſitive Injunction, That it ſhould never more ſee the Light, till the Thread of her Life was cut.
LETTER I.
[42]I Am got, as they tell me, ſixteen Miles from You and London; but, I cannot help fancying, it is ſo many Degrees. Tho' Midſummer to All beſides, in my Breaſt there is nothing but frozen Imaginations. The Reſolutions I have taken of quitting Lon⯑don (which is, as much as to ſay, the World) for ever, ſtarts back, and aſks my gayer Part if it has well weighed the Senſe of Ever? Nor does your Letter, which I re⯑ceived this Morning, taking Coach, leſs influence me, than when I firſt formed the Deſign. You ſhould have uſed but half theſe Arguments, and they had undoubted⯑ly prevailed. It is of the lateſt now to aſk me why I leave the crouded Market, and retire to ſtarve alone in Solitude? Whereas you quote the Poet.
I am too much afraid Sloth and Sadneſs are going to be my Eternal Companions; and you know my Soul is unfitted for ſuch Gueſts, till upon the Road to Execution: I fancied—Dying to the World. Horace, Cowley, all thoſe Illuſtrious Lovers of Solitude, debauch'd my Opinion, againſt my Reaſon; and I took Coach with Mr. Granville's* Words in my Mouth,
Yet you ſee how great a Change two Hours has produced: All my Conſtancy is not Proof againſt the Thought that I am going to have no Lover but myſelf for ever. The green inviting Graſs (upon which I promiſed to paſs many pleaſing ſolitary [44] Hours) ſeems not at all entertaining: The Trees, with all their blooming, ſpreading Beauties, appear the worſt ſort of Canopy; becauſe, where I am going, they can offer their Shade to none but Solitary Me. But it is not reaſonable my Dulneſs ſhould ex⯑tend to You, who have every thing in your Nature juſt and pleaſing. You aſked, and I eagerly engaged (becauſe you deſired me) to give an Account of myſelf and Travels, every Stage. I have not forgot, when I told you it was too often, how you anſwered, Not for a Mind ſo fruitful as mine in Varie⯑ty of Inconſtant Thoughts. You find at pre⯑ſent, they run all upon melancholy Appre⯑henſions, which have ſo wholly poſſeſſed me, I have not had Time to obſerve my wretched Fellow-Travellers, only a pert Sir in the Company, that will make him⯑ſelf be taken notice of by his Dullneſs.
They moſt unmercifully ſet us to Dinner at Ten o' Clock, upon a great Leg of Mut⯑ton. It is the Cuſtom of theſe Dining Stages, to prepare one Day Beef, and ano⯑ther our preſent Fare: It is ready againſt the Coach comes; and tho' you ſhould have a perfect Antipathy, there is no Re⯑medy but Faſting: The Coachman begs your Pardon; he would not ſtay dreſſing a Dinner for the King, (God bleſs him) ſhould he travel in his Coach. I have left [45] the Limb of the Sheep to the Mercy of my Companions, (whoſe Stomachs are, thus early, prepared for any Digeſtion) to tell you, with what unfeigned Reſpect I ſhall be ever
LETTER II.
[46]I Am got ſafe to Hartley-Row, and in a little better Humour than when I wrote my laſt. Our Landlord is a perfect Beau, and moſt exquiſitely performs the Honours of his Houſe. I am in pain for his Aſſidui⯑ty: I cannot fetch a Step, no not to the Window, from the Table, &c. but he is Squiring me; and ſo dreſſed, and ſo con⯑ceited, that nothing but ſerving a looſe Apprenticeſhip, could have ſet him up a Maſter in the Trade of Foppery. He was a Goldſmith's 'Prentice, where he ſtudied more his Pleaſures, than Profit. This Houſe fell to him, and he wiſely reſolved to keep it himſelf, with the Help of his Siſter, who is a neat, houſewifely, obliging ſort of Woman. I ſuppoſe it is, by much, the beſt Entertainment this Road affords. They have a tolerable Cook; and I was glad to find ſomething I could eat at Three o'Clock, for we came in here at Two, and I can give you a little better Account of my Fellow-Travellers. The Sir, I ſpoke [47] of, is a Baronet's Son, as he has carefully given me to underſtand: I take it for gran⯑ted, he likes me, and would have me do the ſame by him. As he came in, he put off his Travelling Suit, for a Coat and Veſt, deſigned to dazzle the Curate and all his Congregation. The Way I took to morti⯑fy his Foppery, was, not to ſpeak a Word of the Change; which made him extream uneaſy: At length, cut of all Patience, he deſired my Opinion, if his Taylor had uſed him well? What the Brocade was worth a Yard? How many Ounces of Silver-Fringe? And recommended to my Curio⯑ſity the exquiſite Workmanſhip of the Loops; and then gave me the Sum Total of his Coſt. I anſwered him, That Finery was loſt upon me; I neither was, nor pre⯑tended to be a Judge. He pertly anſwer⯑ed, He perceived by my Sullenneſs, that I had a great deal of Wit; tho' I underſtood he had but little by his Remark. Well, all this did not do: He would fain have had me enquired into his Family, Intrigues, and Fortune; which when he perceived I had no Curioſity for, 'Faith Madam, (ſays he) I beg your Ladyſhip's Opinion, if I am not the moſt unfortunate Man breathing: I'll tell you a very mortifying Adventure. Nay, you muſt hear me. I vow, this In⯑differency does not look natural to you; [48] your Eyes promiſe us much more Fire. I'll ſhut 'em, thought I, for ever, rather than ſuch a Fop ſhall find any thing to like them for. What! no Anſwer, Madam, (ſays he) I perceive your Attention by your Silence. 'Gad, I love a Perſon of your Breeding, that know themſelves better than to inter⯑rupt a good Story. Perhaps Madam is not well with her Journey, anſwered Mrs. May⯑oreſs of Totneſs. Alas! I wonder Riding in the Coach ſhould not have got you a better Stomach. Poor Gentlewoman, ſhe has ſcarce eat any thing. I'll recompence that by a Feaſt of the Mind, anſwered my Fop. How ſay you, Madam, ſhall I be⯑gin the Regalio? I had as good conſent, quoth I: With or without my Leave, I ſee you are reſolv'd upon it. Well then, Ma⯑dam, ſays he, ſince you are diſpoſed to be delighted, I'll about it inſtantly.
It happened at Oxford three Months ago (where I often came, my Father's Eſtate being not far diſtant) I ſaw a Lady, and fell in Love with her; ay Gad, Madam, down⯑right in Love with her. She was a Perſon genteely bred, and had ſeen the Beau-Monde, made the Tour of all the Places of Gallan⯑try, ſhined in the Drawing-Room, languiſh⯑ed in the Boxes, adorned the Park; in a Word, was all a Man of my Circumſtances [49] could deſire in one he was reſolved to make an Oblation of his Heart to. But as her Honour was my Care, and not marrying my Deſign, I ſearched for a dexterous Pre⯑tence to viſit, and be happy. I took Mr. Slye with me, a Gentleman of the Town, who had a Wife: To give you the Character of my Friend, He was naturally amorous, had a handſome Perſon, and Strains of natural Wit beyond whatever I ſaw in the moſt Acquired; and your Ladyſhip muſt allow me to be a Judge of Wit, by ſo dexterouſ⯑ly finding out yours, maugre your Silence. I bowed for this extraordinary Compli⯑ment; and thought I could not more agreeably return it, than by continuing my Silence; and as the Poet has it, left him to his dear Miſtake. Mr. Slye, continued he, was to propoſe a Marriage between me and my Lady Conqueſt, to the old People her Relations, whom ſhe was juſt come to live with: But as ſoon as he ſaw her, if I was her Firſt Oxford Victim, he was certainly the Second; and, as I found, preſently took with her. She had a very fine Hand, which Mr. Slye, according to the Country Liberty, kiſſed; and then, with Cleveland, ſaid,
[50] She gave him a Look, which ſeemed to ſay, ſhe wondered in that Place at ſuch a Piece of Gallantry; and then purſuing with her Wit the Victory of her Eyes, charm'd my Friend to that Degree, that he told me, he muſt enjoy her, or die. 'Gad, Madam, was not this a very odd Turn? I carried him to ſpeak for me; and he comes to make me the Confidant of his Deſigns? We agreed tho', as Friends ſhould, to keep our mutual Confidence ſecret from her, and to endeavour each of us to make him⯑ſelf happy, and faithfully to relate the Pro⯑greſs of our Amours. But becauſe the Country is much given to Tatling, the Pretenſions of Marriage went on. Lady Conqueſt was Airy and Coquet; loved Com⯑pany and Gallantry, if they could be pur⯑chaſed with Safety: But ſhe knew ſo well how to manage every body, that none durſt ſpeak to her, more than ſhe had a mind to hear. I was one of the awed Fools. 'Gad! would you believe, Madam, that Love could make ſo great an Aſs of a Man of my Under⯑ſtanding? And yet it was not altogether that neither, my Pride was concerned; I was reſolv'd not to ſerve for her Diverſion, till I was ſure ſhe was conſenting to be mine; but could no more keep out of her Company, than I could hang myſelf. I deſired her to walk: She conſented, with a [51] Crony ſhe picked up, upon Condition I would engage Mr. Slye of the Party. I was jealous, but to no Purpoſe; either my Rival's Company, or not my Miſtreſs's. Slye pretended Fear of his Wife, that he durſt not appear in public with any other Woman; for ſhe already began to have Ap⯑prehenſions of my Lady Conqueſt, whoſe Way of Living was remote to thoſe of Country-Gentlewomens; and therefore he was reſolved to think no more of her; tho' infinitely pleaſing to him; for his Fortune depended, in a great meaſure, upon his Wife's Mother. I came back with this doleful News to Lady Conqueſt. Go tell him, anſwered ſhe, he who has pretended to love me, ſhould fear nothing more than not being beloved; and that I command him to meet us at the appointed Place. I ran, like a Fool, to do her Meſſage, which I believed Raillery, becauſe ſhe ought to have been more cautious of a married Man's Love, if ſerious. Slye wanted but Intreaty: He conſented, and we met, but not to my Com⯑fort; tho' the Expence was mine, he had the Profit: She was not eaſy unleſs he ſat nigh her; ſhe talked to him, ſtared at him, did every thing to ſhew ſhe was pleaſed; whilſt I, by a Notion of Pride, would pre⯑tend nothing, for fear I ſhould not have all: For 'Gad, Madam, I do not love being baulked thus. Several Times we met, but all [52] as little to the Purpoſe. Undoubtedly, ſhe ſaw I loved her, but would not ſee, becauſe I was of Uſe in her Affair with Slye. The whole Town talked of our approach⯑ing Wedding, and I began to be Fool enough to reſolve on it, thro' Slye's Perſuaſion, who continually extolled her Honour and Virtue, and tickled my Pride with the News of her Love; but that ſhe wanted a Declaration from me, before I could ex⯑pect a Confeſſion from her. I told him, I would think on it; and ſo we parted. That Night (as Chance would have it) I paſſed along by the Houſe where ſhe lived, and I found the Gate open: I know not what Devil of Curioſity carried me in; and when in, to go to her Chamber: I did both unſeen, and concealed myſelf behind the Bed, which I ſaw ſitted for Night. I reſolved to wait till ſhe ſhould be in Bed, and then to take Advantage of her Woman's Abſence, (who lay in the Anti-Chamber) and there to declare my Love, and offer her Marriage. Long I had not waited, (tho' 'Gad, Madam, I was very im⯑patient, and thought every Minute Seven) when the charming Fair came from her Dreſſing-Room, with nothing on but her Night-Gown and Slippers, which were ſoon thrown off, and the Goddeſs appeared more beauteous than the naked Queen of Love. The happy Bed ſoon received her; [53] and ſhe cryed, Haſte, and bring my Lover to me. At theſe Words her Woman went into the Anti-Chamber, and returned ſoft⯑ly with Slye; who flew to her Arms, ſigh⯑ed, kiſſed, and died there.—Imagine my Surprize! 'Twas ſo great I could not in a long time ſhew myſelf to interrupt 'em: At length, ſeeing him undreſs for Bed, 'Gad, Madam, my Patience was quite ex⯑pired; Traytor, ſays I, ſhewing myſelf, Is it thus thou preſerveſt thy feigned Duty to thy Wife? I laid my Hand upon my Sword, and he did the like on his; and we had certainly drawn, had not the Amorous Fair thrown herſelf out of Bed between us, and conjured us on her Knees to make no Noiſe, elſe ſhe was loſt for ever. I raiſed her naked Beauties, and carried them whence they came, but complained at my hard Fortune, which had made me the Inſtrument of my own Ruin. She ſaw I was extreamly touched at it, and after her Shame and Surprize was a little over, You have no Reaſon, Sir, (ſaid ſhe) to complain of me: I could have no Engagements with a Man who never pretended to love me. Tho' you have given me the Glory of refuſing you as a Huſband (in the Eyes of the Town) it could not but nettle me, to know there was nothing ſerious on your Side, but done like a Gentle⯑man, to ſecure my Reputation amongſt ill-bred [54] Fools, who know not the Charms of Conver⯑ſation, and will not permit it (without Cen⯑ſure) to thoſe that do. But 'Gad, Madam, (anſwered I) your Ladyſhip is not ſo dull, but to know I loved you: All my Aſſiduities, Uneaſineſs, Sighs, and Ogleings, muſt have informed you. Our Sex dares hardly believe yours (ſhe replied) when you take Pains to ſpeak: And ſure it were an unpardonable Va⯑nity to draw ſuch Conſequences without it. Theſe Circumſtances you pretend, I have found common to all Gentlemen: Therefore muſt I conclude the whole World is in Love with me; and deny myſelf thoſe who tell me they are my Servants, for the vain Imagina⯑tion that another is ſilently ſo? 'Gad, Madam, (anſwered I) I cannot poſſibly forgive the Preference of a dull, ſilly, ſober, married Man, to an airy, well-dreſſed, young, amorous One. I will be gone to London by Break of Day, for fear I ſhould not conceal my Reſentments, and ſo injure your Ladyſhip irreparably: For 'Gad, Madam, I muſt repeat again, you were to blame to ſlight all the Pains I took to breed you for nobler Game. This laſt, I con⯑feſs, broke my ſplenetic Silence, and I could not hold laughing heartily; which amply paid my Squire for the Pains he had taken in his Relation. He con⯑cluded it with telling me his Journey to London, and ſhort Stay there, only to ac⯑couter; [55] his Deſign of viſiting a Lady-Si⯑ſter, married into Devonſhire: And cloſed with Lauds to his good Fortune, that had thrown him into a Coach with a Lady of my Charms and Senſe, to whom he had ſacrificed the Relicks of Lady Conqueſt the firſt Minute that he ſaw me. I anſwered him, That I found Experience had made him reſolve againſt loſing a Second Miſtreſs for want of ſpeaking. He had Manners ſufficient (or rather Conſcience) to think he had given me enough of his Beau-ſelf for one Day, and withdrew.
I could not forbear, late as it was, ſend⯑ing you an Account: If you laugh in your Turn, I am paid for my Pains, as well as the Squire. It is now paſt Eleven, and they will call us by Two: Good Night; I am going to try if I can drown in Sleep that which moſt ſenſibly affects me, the cruel Separation we have ſo lately ſuffered.
LETTER III.
[56]DO not you think I am more conſtant than your Friendſhip could hope, or mine pretend to? I think it a great Proof of it, amidſt the Fatigues of a Weſt-Country Journey, to give you thus duly an Account of my inſignificant ſelf, and Travels. We parted from Hartley-Row at Three this Morning, thro' a Croud of Beggars who watch our Coach for Alms; and will never leave it unbleſſed. Hence my Beau took Occaſion of Simile; bid me to obſerve how wakeful thoſe Wretches were for ſmall Charities, that he would do the like, in hopes of greater; and that my divine Idea had ſo filled his Sight, he could not reſolve to let Sleep intrude, for fear of ſhutting me out. I perceived he took Pains to be thought uneaſy, and I have more good Manners than to diſappoint him. Mrs. Mayoreſs, now ſhe is acquainted, has all the low, diſagreeable Familiarity of Peo⯑ple of her Rank. She entertained us all the Morning with a ſorry Love-buſineſs [57] about her Second Huſband; Stuff ſo im⯑pertinent, I remember nothing of it. Beau continues in his Aſſiduities: I think none was ever ſo plagued with dying Eyes; his are continually in that Poſture, and my Oppoſites, that I am forced to take a good deal of Pains to avoid them. The two other Fellow-Travellers were never ſo pro⯑moted before, and are much troubled their Journey is to laſt no longer, and wiſh the four Days four Months. I hope every Jolt will ſquaſh their Guts, and give them enough of it: But they are Proof againſt any ſuch Diſaſters, and hugely delighted with what they are pleaſed to call Riding in State. After this ridiculous Account, you need not doubt but I am thoroughly mortified. The Trouts are juſt brought upon the Table, which are the only good Thing here; they look inviting, and will not ſtay for cooling Compliments. I hope Time will ſhew none, to ſay,
LETTER IV.
[58]I Cannot give myſelf any Reaſon why theſe Coach-men are ſuch unrea⯑ſonable Rogues: They make us riſe at Two in the Morning, to bring us into our Inn at the ſame Hour in the After⯑noon. After we were repoſed a little, Beau ſhined again (as Yeſterday) and waited upon me to Evening-Prayers. I need ſay nothing to you of Salisbury Cathe⯑dral: If in a foreign Country, as the LADY in her Letters of Spain, * I could entertain you with a noble Deſcription; but you have either ſeen, or may ſee it; and ſo I will ſpare my Architecture. There are abun⯑dance of pretty, innocent-looked Women, genteel enough; but I have loſt my Heart to a'handſome Churchman. I never thought before that Dreſs was tolerable; but ſo wore, it ſeems a mighty Ornament. He was placed behind me; but I turned my Devotion, and kneeled to him, imagining him no leſs than (as in Antique Days) ſome [59] High Prieſt of the Sun. The Canon gave me Cauſe to think he had dined too well, and was obliged to his Snuff, more than Religion, for keeping him awake. Well, Devotion done, I was forced to break up mine, and leave him without a Knowledge of his Conqueſt. As we were walking to our Inn, I aſked Beau what we ſhould do to paſs the next Day without being very weary of each other, for Sunday does not per⯑mit Travelling. He (you may be ſure) did not fail to tell me, he could never be wea⯑ry of me, tho' (himſelf) expiring by my Sight and Cruelty. I waved his Compli⯑ment, and told him my Deſign of engaging the People in the Exeter Coach (if they ſeemed worth it) to live with us for the Time. When we returned, we were told it was not yet come in, occaſioned by the breaking of the Axle-tree five Miles off; but that a Fellow was gone to mend it, and they were expected every Moment. My Chamber-Window anſwered the Court; I roſe to it at the Noiſe of the Coach, and preſently ſaw alight, a tall, bluſtering, big⯑bon'd, raw Thing, like an over-grown School-Boy, but conceited above any Thing. He had an Appurtenance, called a Wife, whom he ſuffered to get out as well as ſhe could. As long as he had lain by her, he did not think her worth the Civility of his Hand. [60] She ſeemed a Giant of a Woman, but ve⯑ry fine, with a right Cit's Air. He bluſter⯑ed preſently for the beſt Lodging, which he ſaw taken up by her that held the fine Fan before her Face: You may gueſs this was your humble Servant. The Cham⯑berlain told him, it was their Cuſtom, firſt come, firſt ſerved; but that there were very good Chambers beſides. The reſt of the Company were two Things that looked pert and aukward; Tradeſmens Daughters I judged them. But methoughts, caſting my Eyes upon a Gentlewoman and her Servant, that came out laſt, I found ſome⯑thing pleaſed me; whether it were becauſe ſhe really deſerved it, or that the Stuff ſhe was with ſet her off. I had a Baſin of fine Heart-Cherries before me, juſt come from the Garden: I cauſed them to be brought after me into the Gallery, and deſigned them as a Bait to the Woman whom I was to begin the Acquaintance with; for Beau deſigned to ſet up to get a Fortune in Devonſhire, and was unwilling to ſhew any Irregularity; and I thought myſelf above their Reflec⯑tions. The firſt that appeared was the Wife, with a riſing Belly: This ſeemed a good Hint; I offered them to her, not knowing but ſhe might long. The Sight (I ſuppoſe) did not diſpleaſe her, for ſhe readily accep⯑ted, and eat very greedily. The Genteel⯑looked [61] Lady had much to do to be perſuad⯑ed. As for the other two, they were gone to chuſe a Lodging. We preſently grew acquainted, taking Travellers Liberty, and ſupped together. But, ſhall I tell you! the Wife grew jealous of me. It ſeems, her Temper was ſuch; and her Huſband (no ſmall Man in his Country, though him⯑ſelf juſt ſet up in Merchandizing at London; his Father, one of the Canons at Exeter:) thought he might carry all Hearts before him, as well as the Country-Laſſes. They were come from viſiting their Friends, and returning to their Houſe in London. Mrs. Stanhope (for that was the Lady's Name whom I liked) told me, I was not to count upon the Conqueſt, for he had given her Douceurs all the Way, and made her ex⯑tream uneaſy, becauſe his Wife appeared to be ſuch. We grew into an Intimacy, and left the Company. My Beau was to me faithleſs and inconſtant. One of the aukward little Things I told you of, and who had a tolerable Face, was a Goldſmith's Daughter of Exeter, and acquainted with his Lady-Siſter; that began their Acquain⯑tance. She ſeemed free and fond: He took the Hint, and applied himſelf to her; which I was very glad of. Mrs. Stanhope went with me to my Chamber; and after much Diſcourſe, offered Friendſhip, and [62] mutual Knowledge of each other; ſhe gave me this Account of her laſt Adven⯑ture:
I came now from Falmouth, (ſays ſhe) where I have been ever ſince the Begin⯑ning of the Spring, to viſit a Brother and his Wife who live there. Until within theſe ſix Weeks I ſaw nothing that pleaſed me: At laſt it was a Captain of a Man of War had the Chance; my Brother brought him to his Houſe: And for my Excuſe, I muſt tell you, he is a very pretty, genteel young Gentleman, of a good Family and Education, and in Proſpect of coming to very good Fortune. They talked of the Town and Country Beauties: At laſt, a young Creature was named, whom I had not ſeen; but the Captain ſet her before every thing he had. I was concerned at his Opinion, and aſked him his of the Ducheſs of Grafton? He gave her due Praiſe; but yet in his Eſteem, this ex⯑ceeded. I could not but think him ex⯑treamly in the Wrong; and was angry when I heard him wiſh himſelf a Man of mighty Fortune, to deſerve her. He ſailed that Night; and after ten Days Cruiſe, came in again. His firſt Viſit was to me. I aſked him if he had ſeen his Miſtreſs? He ſaid he had none. I remembred him of what he had ſpoke. He anſwered, that I [63] had taught him better. He continued his Applications, viſited me three Times a Day: And becauſe I was ſtill jealous of his Words, I had him watched, and an Account brought of all his Viſits. The young La⯑dy's Uncle made a Ball; but becauſe my Brother and he were not well together, there was no Hopes of my being invited; which my Lover very well knew, and therefore ſaid, he would not be there, ha⯑ving received Orders to ſail. He took his Leave with tranſporting Sorrow; and had the Glory to find mine was real. How⯑ever, I would not loſe the Ball, becauſe I deſired to ſee my reputed Rival. I for⯑got to tell you he had never ſeen her but once, when he praiſed her to that Degree; and dexterouſly told me, a ſecond Sight had undeceived him. I dreſſed myſelf like a Farmer's Wife, with a Baſket on my Arm; and by the Help of one of the Ser⯑vants, was placed like a Country Gazer at the Corner of the Room. I needed not to be told my Rival, a thouſand dazzling Charms diſtinguiſhed her; and tho' I look⯑ed with jealous Eyes, muſt acknowledge I never ſaw any Beauty more perfect. All my Hopes lay in a certain Softneſs, which did not promiſe much Wit. In a little Time my Traytor (whom I imagined in the wide Ocean) came to the Ball, danced [64] with his Miſtreſs, and was as aſſiduous as ſhe deſerved. I was ſo well pleaſed at the Diſcovery, I ſtayed not for any more, for fear I ſhould not eſcape myſelf. About Midnight he came (for a Minute) to ſee me, and told me he was juſt come aſhore, the Ship under Sail; yet without another Sight, it was impoſſible for him to depart. I confounded him with telling him what had ſo lately paſſed at the Ball: Yet he drew himſelf out of the Embarraſs, and ſaid every thing to make me think he loved me; and we were ſeriouſly treating upon the Affair of Matrimony. I told him he muſt get my Father's Conſent who lived at London, where I was going. He begged me to defer my Journey till he came in; which I too readily promiſed; and ſo we parted. I knew my Fortune fairer than my Rival's, and began to be perſuaded I had the better of her. For, what elſe could draw him to addreſs me? When I ſaw him return, it was with mutual Joy: But he was ordered that ſame Night to ſail to Ply⯑mouth, and did not expect to be back in a Week; therefore we agreed upon my Jour⯑ney. He ſwore an inviolable Love, and would have contracted himſelf, if I durſt, without my Father's Conſent: He intended to write to his Friends above to aſk it. And thus we once more parted, but not till he [65] had ſeverely exclaimed againſt any Deſigns upon my Rival, before a whole Crew of Town-Goſſips, that I was ſure would tell her. You may conclude we agreed upon Writing. I took my Journey, and ſtay⯑ed at an Aunt's Houſe in Exeter Ten Days; where I heard that within Four of my Departure, my Lover returned; and in three more was publickly married to my Rival. I wrote to thank him for ridding me of a knaviſh Huſband, wiſh⯑ed him Joy, took Coach, and reſolved againſt too eaſily believing any Man again.
The Poſt has juſt brought me a Letter from you: I find you curſe me with the Continuation of Egham Uneaſineſs, till I re⯑turn to (the World in) London. Methinks it is unreaſonable to impoſe the continued Slavery of Writing: I aſſure you, I ſhall take Truce with it till at my Journey's End, unleſs ſomething happen worth your Notice. General Talmaſh's Body was brought in here this Evening: His Secretary I am acquainted with, and have ſent to deſire the Favour of his Company To-morrow at Dinner; and if any Thing in his Relation be entertaining, you ſhall not fail of it, from
LETTER V.
[66]THE Account of ſo great a Man's Death as General Talmaſh * (in the middle of all his Enterprizes, when For⯑tune ſeemed to promiſe him much greener Laurels than he had yet gathered) has ſo added to my Melancholy, that I will not deſcribe his Misfortune to you, for fear it be contagious; but rather ſuffer you to ex⯑pect the public Account: For I am one of thoſe that eſteem you more than to make you uneaſy; as I think none can be other⯑wiſe that hears the Particulars of his Loſs. Something there was extreamly touching.
After this doleful Subject, methinks my Beau may juſtly complain I have ſo long a time neglected his moſt ſingular ſelf. We parted this Morning from our Sunday Ac⯑quaintance. Fop told me (when I gently reproached him for Inconſtancy,) 'Gad, Madam, it is but to make myſelf the newer [67] to your Ladyſhip To-morrow. I rather thought it was to keep me ſuch to him. He has given me a Relation of his Succeſs with the Damſel. She treated him (in her Chamber) with Roſa Solis, and what he calls Sucket. The reſt he could willingly have acquainted me with, but I recom⯑mended Diſcretion in Ladies Affairs; and he (almoſt burſting) is yet forced to be ſi⯑lent. How long he will keep ſuch I do not know, for he has often offered at breaking his moſt painful Penance. We have paſſed Dorcheſter and Blandford To-day, but I found nothing in either Place worth your Notice. The Toils of the Body influence the Mind: I ſuppoſe by my Dullneſs, you find I ſpeak woeful Truths. We are lodged at Bridgeport, and very ill; but it is but for a Night. Here is juſt come into the Inn an Acquaintance of Beau's, who pro⯑miſes yielding Matter for To-morrow's Let⯑ter. This was infected in the Beginning by General Talmaſh; and the moſt uneaſy Journey as dully concludes it.
LETTER VI.
[68]BEAU is now grown ſo inſipid, that I ſhall ſay very little of him for the future; and I have Reaſon to believe my⯑ſelf ſuch to him; for theſe two laſt Even⯑ings (contrary to Cuſtom) he has not re⯑dreſſed: The Fatigue which he ſeems more ſenſible of than any of us, has tarniſhed the Luſtre of his Eyes; and inſtead of any farther Ogleing, drowns all his amorous Pretenſions in as profound Sleep as the un⯑eaſy Jolting of the Coach will permit. This is what I can never be ſo happy to gain. But to tell you ſomething of our laſt Night's Entertainment: Whilſt Supper was getting ready, the Gentleman I told you of, at Beau's Intreaty, gave us an Account of what Affairs were carrying him to London: The ſhort of it is this,
Your Ladyſhip (ſays he) may ſoon per⯑ceive by my Accent, that I am a Foreigner. I had the Glory of following the Prince of Orange (now our auſpicious King) in his [69] Expedition into England. We landed in the Weſt, with all thoſe Particulars, which are needleſs to repeat. During our Stay at Exeter, I rendered my conſtant Devotion at the Cathedral; and in coming thence one Evening, an old Woman (with a Look as mean as a Beggar) preſented me a Letter; which when I had opened, I found from an Unknown, who ſtiled himſelf my Friend, and gave me this Advice, that a Lady of good Country-Quality and Fortune (and who was then in Exeter) was going to be diſpoſed of by her Mother to a Man ſhe no way affected: But that ſhe had been heard to ſay, If the handſome Switzer were in his Place, ſhe ſhould obey without Reluctancy. And concluded the Letter with giving me Advice, like a good Friend, to improve my growing Fortune; for ſo conſiderable an one as Twelve Thouſand Pounds was not every Day thrown into a Soldier's Lap. I had forgot to tell your Ladyſhip the Letter was writ in French, the Lady's Name, and Directions to her Lodgings. My Heart gave me a ſecret Preſage that the Matter would not be lucky to me, which I follow⯑ed, and therefore took no Notice of the Letter. Three Days after, the ſame old Woman brought me another, much more preſſing: Upon which I gave myſelf blind⯑ly up to my Deſtiny. I viſited, and found [70] the Lady, tho' not a Beauty, yet genteel and taking. It was eaſy to gueſs by my Reception, that the Letters came from her. I will omit the Diſcourſe we had, and only reſt upon Matter of Fact. She obliged me to leave my Command, and go with her to her Eſtate. Her Mother looked upon me with an evil Eye, but my Miſtreſs was tranſport⯑ingly kind, and much concerned that none of the Miniſters round durſt marry us, for fear of the old Lady. Whereupon we con⯑cluded I ſhould pretend to take my Leave, as deſingning for London; but inſtead of that, go directly into Cornwall, where ſhe had a conſiderable Eſtate, and would meet me. The Matter happened as we agreed; but for fear her Mother ſhould purſue us, ſhe conſented to take me for her Husband, before the Parſon could be got to make us ſuch. That happy Night I had all the Reaſon in the World to believe myſelf agreeable to her; and all was confirmed in the Morning by the Prieſt. Thus careſſed and bleſſed, we returned to her Houſe. The old Lady (who had no Command of her Daughter's Fortune, and ſaw the Buſineſs beyond Re⯑medy) was one of the firſt to make her Court to me, and wiſh me Joy. Three happy Months I had all the Satisfaction that innocent Marriage and exceſſive Love in a Bride, could give me. Then I began [71] to conſider a little my Affairs, and propoſed to my Wife my being naturalized, that I might look after hers. She ſwooned at the Name; and when ſhe recovered, ſhe ſnatched a Bayonet of mine, and wounded herſelf under the Left Breaſt, but not much. I cannot expreſs my Surprize: We huſhed the Matter for fear of her Mother; and I employed ſome of my Soldiery Skill to cure it, which had the Effect. I enquir⯑ed into the Reaſon of this Extravagancy. She told me the Diſcovery of Intereſt in me, when ſhe had believed Love was the only Motive of our Marriage. Some Days paſ⯑ſed, and as often as I offered at it, ſhe re⯑ceived ſuch mighty Diſguſt, that I reſolved to get it done without her Notice; for ſhe took me not as a Huſband, but a Lover. It was true, I was received as a Gueſt, but not a Maſter; and my Circumſtance (hav⯑ing left my Command) required that. I got her Leave for my Journey: She ſhew⯑ed ſuch extravagant Paſſion at our Separa⯑tion, that I ſwore a ſpeedy Return; and reſolved to leave my Naturalization depend⯑ing, look after my other Affairs and return within a Fortnight to her: But before that Time I had a dangerous Fit of Sickneſs at London. I wrote often to her, and gave her an Account that the Act was paſſed, and I could now happily call myſelf an [72] Engliſh Husband. She only anſwered, She knew how to interpret it; but ſhe was out in her Cunning, if I ſhould find an Engliſh Wife at my Service, who knew not the true Value and Uſe of one. This Letter damped me; but truſting to the Greatneſs of that Power Love had given me in her Heart, I did not queſtion but my Preſence would make all Things eaſy. I took Poſt, my Impatience would not ſtay the Coach, tho' the Remains of my Fever ſeemed to expect it. I gave myſelf no Reſt during the whole Journey. I ſent to give her No⯑tice of my Arrival: but what was my Sur⯑prize, to find all ſhut at home! I called under her Window where I perceived Light: It was a heavy Night of Rain: I knocked at the Gates, and ſtormed, but all to no Purpoſe; I was glad to take up my Lodging in the Porch. At Six in the Mor⯑ning an Under-Servant appeared: I aſked for her Lady. She told me ſhe was gone none knew whether, and had conveyed away her Plate, &c. ſo that, if I pleaſed, an empty Houſe was at my Service. I calmly bore all this, imagining it but a Tryal, ſought her round the Country, but in vain; ſhe often ſhifted Places, and went diſguiſed. Not long after, ſhe commenced a Proceſs againſt me, and by a Pretence (which will for ever make her notorious) [73] rendered me to the Court as Incapable. I was ſtill ſo tender of her Fame, as to ſuffer the Aſperſion. Common Law ſeparted us: She got the better, by my refuſing to vin⯑dicate myſelf; and I Fifteen Hundred Pounds of her Fortune and the Charges of the Court. It is ſince laſt Auguſt that this has happened. I have vainly tried to remove her implacable Averſion, or to learn the Cauſe of it: But I ſee my Endeavours are all fruitleſs; and I am now going to leave England (I think) for ever.
I complimented him upon his Misfor⯑tunes, and really, in my Opinion, he could not be deſerving of them. 'Gad, Madam, (ſays Beau) ſee what inconſtant Things you Ladies are! I happened to be at this Gentleman's Houſe when he was firſt married, and never ſaw any thing ſo fond of him as his Wife. 'Gad, I do not be⯑lieve whatever Woman I make happy, tho' her Eſteem be equal to my Merit, ſhe can poſſibly be fonder.
I am now got ſafely, weary into Exe⯑ter; and I thank God, rid of the Imper⯑tinency of my Fellow-Travellers, Beau excepted, who will ſee me ſafe home, tho' diſtant from his. The Cathedral here is very fine; the Biſhop's Seat, in it, ſur⯑paſſes Salisbury; tho' ſhort in every thing [74] elſe. Forgive me for leaving you thus abruptly, ſince it is more pleaſingly to en⯑tertain myſelf with a Letter of yours juſt brought to me.
LETTER VII.
[75]IF I have omitted anſwering your Three laſt, it proceeded from nothing but the Deſire of doing ſomething new; and you know it is extremely ſo in me, not eager⯑ly to ſhew you all Teſtimonies of Friend⯑ſhip. My Solitude is much more pleaſing than I fancied it: As yet I am not weary of that happy Indifferency, which leaves me nothing either to hope or fear.
I have moſt foppiſh Letters from Beau, who parted with a World of ſeeming Re⯑gret; and yet I hear he is endeavouring at a Miſtreſs: I ſuppoſe I may bid his Imper⯑tinence farewel for ever. I think I bid you hope (in one of mine) to hear no more of him; I know not how I am fallen upon the nauſeous Repetition. Themiſtocles re⯑fuſed Simonides, when he would have taught [76] him the Art of Memory; pertinently ſay⯑ing, He had more need of Forgetfulneſs than Memory. I remember what I would not, but I cannot forget what I would. My Study has fallen upon Religion; I am ſearching into all Sorts: You ſhall not fail to hear what that Chance-Medley produ⯑ces. I can now with cold Indifferency ſhake Hands with all Things beyond this Solitude. How long the extraordinary Hu⯑mour may laſt, I cannot inform you. At preſent, I repeat with Stoical Pride,
LETTER VIII.
[77]I Am ſorry I cannot make good my Pro⯑miſe to ſo indearing a Friend as your⯑ſelf. Looking over my Papers, I find but one of Colonel PACK's Letters in Imitation of the Portugal NUN's: I certainly had Three, which he ſent to me for my Opi⯑nion; but Two are loſt, which I very much regret; and the more, becauſe I know not where he is, to repair it. I would hear how you approve his Stile. I think Imi⯑tation the hardeſt Part of Writing: It con⯑fines a free-born Genius, which naturally loves untrod Wilds; at leaſt, if I may gueſs at another's by my own. And now I am ſpeaking of that, let me tell you all thoſe romantic Ideas of Retirement, which view⯑ed at a Diſtance, give a raviſhing Proſpect, now I am wedded, and bedded to, prove the worſt ſort of Matrimony; but it is only to ſuch a particular Friend as yourſelf, that I dare complain; to the remoter Sort I aſſume a Stoical Appetite and Air—Tell them, The World, with all its gaudy Pleaſures, are but rich Deluſions, which at once corrupt [78] our Senſes and our Fame: That the little Spot of Earth I have choſe to fix my Fate in, has more ſolid Entertainments, more real in⯑nate Delights, than the Glories of a Court. Then ſigh, and ſeem to pity the more ele⯑vated Part of the World, that can bury themſelves in Noiſe and Crowd. But let me tell you, there is no real Satisfaction without Converſation. I have had ſo much of the Dead ſince I ſettled here, and (as I may ſay) nothing of the Living, (for I find none deſerves the Name) that I wiſh for the conjuring Art; and would rather con⯑verſe with the Ghoſts of the Departed, than always with their Books, or with myſelf. But I forget, I detain you from better Com⯑pany; I mean the incloſed. Write to me ſtill, but nothing of News; I deſire to hear none till I ſee London again; and when that will be, I have not the Pleaſure ſo much as to imagine: It will be new (to lie for⯑gotten, and forgetting, and as it were, be born with Underſtanding) to all the Vani⯑ties and Virtues (if any) of that Hydra.
P.S. I incloſe Colonel Pack's Imitation of the Nun's Love Letters to a Cavalier.
A LETTER FROM A NUN in Portugal, TO A GENTLEMAN in France.
[]OH my fled Heart! and he that ſo un⯑juſtly keeps it from me! Was not your barbarous Reſolution ſufficient that I ſhould never poſſeſs Yours; but you muſt add the Uſe of all your beſt Art to keep me from my Own? In what Diſorder do I ſpeak and write, for want of a poor tender Heart! That is gone a Pilgrimage to Love, and (the unkind Heavens not hearing its Prayer) has thro' Diſtraction loſt its Way, and never will return again? Fire fets on [80] Fire: Why then does not my Flame make you burn? It is a falſe Maxim: Extremity of Cold ſcorches. Had I at firſt put on a Behaviour more cool and remote to your pretended Affection, and treated you with Unkindneſs, how many Bows and Vows would you have offered at Love's-Altar? With what Ardency would you have con⯑tinued your Proteſtations? Who would have thought that a Fire (at firſt) ſo well kindled as yours, ſhould need Fanning with an infectious Blaſt to preſerve its Heat? Or that the wholſome Sun ſhould put it out? But that alas! was my Miſ⯑fortune: My Burning was the greater, and drew yours away.—How can I then with any Confidence blame you, for what I myſelf was truly and principally the Oc⯑caſion of? You too eaſily perceived how earneſtly I was wont to watch your Eyes, that they looked not on others; as if mine took it unkindly they were not gazed on altogether. How perverſe are our Fates! Why elſe was it not contrived that you might be as happy in me, as it was poſſible for me to be in you? Say what you will, you was to blame. What Care you took to aſſault my Affections, was ſufficiently diſcoverable in the conſtant Ardour and Formality of your Approaches; contriving to appear at all Times as engaging as poſ⯑ſible. [81] Your Conqueſt was not ſo great: You could not well have met with a Heart leſs fortified for a Defence: Ye Gods! that I ſhould yield upon your very firſt Sum⯑mons; and ſo diſhonourably, that I was not allowed Flying Colours! Nay, what is yet more, that I ſhould bear ſo mean, ſo low, and ſo contemptible a Spirit, as to take in⯑finitely more Delight in my own Captivity and Vaſſallage, than in the moſt flouriſh⯑ing Tranquillity! What do I thus rave up⯑on? What would I have? If I am happy in my Condition, why do I not reſt and retain my Senſes like others of my Sex? But that ſtill (and I fear ever) I have the ſame ſad Tune to ſing;
‘My Conqueror (whom I adored for being ſo) is gone; and my Cloyſter is now as much a Priſon to me, as it was Heaven, and Liber⯑ty, and all Things, when I had him there. It was an unworthy Thing to ſteal my better Part, my Soul, away, and not think this little Frame, its old Companion, worth taking with you. But what you had got, you thought was of light Carriage, needed little Stowage, paid no Freight, and (I dare ſtake my Life) was the All you ever intended to have of me: And to be ſo ſerved, is (it ſeems) the All I am ever likely to expect from you. How groſly did I flatter myſelf, and abuſe you, [82] whenever I imagined you would be kind and true to me! You that are ſo cruel, that could you reduce any other Woman into my ill Cir⯑cumſtances, if there was a Third in the World, you would certainly leave the former, and there feign freſh Adorations. If there was not, yet purely to gratify your Inhumanity to her, even I, now ſlighted and neglected, ſhould then have your Company; for you could not brook being put by a Pleaſure of that Kind, though it coſt you the Trouble of going to one who loved you more than the World.’
How very odd (and as tho' you were writing to ſome public Place of Intelligence) was that Diſcourſe of yours in your laſt Letter! concerning the great Lightning and Thunder which you ſay happened in your Parts! Alſo, you deſire to know what Wea⯑ther we have had here. Are theſe proper Enquiries for a Love-Letter? Truly it might have Thundered, Lightened, and Rained, or it might have been very plea⯑ſant delightful Weather for aught I know; for I am not capable of making any Re⯑marks of that kind: But this I can inform you, being too ſure of the Truth of it, that it has been very ſtormy Weather in my Eyes ever ſince your Departure; and until you return (the only Sun, whoſe Influence [83] can diſperſe theſe Clouds) I fear it will ever be Tempeſtuous. This Account (it may be) pleaſes you more than if I had ſent you Word the ill Weather had reached our Country, demoliſhed our Monaſtery, ſet me at Liberty, and I was in Purſuit of you. Then, then, how I would glut my Revenge by the Incurſions of my Love! For it ſhould hunt you in all Places and all Countries. And ſince it wore ſo much the Viſage of an evil Spirit in your Con⯑ceit here, as to make you quit the Spot, I would try whether Change of Air would alter its Complection and Features, ſo as to force you into a better Opinion of it, and be thoroughly revenged on you that Way: For to love, I find is the Unhappineſs you would avoid above all other things: But your Appetite and Taſte is as much depraved as my Project is vain and imprac⯑ticable: I find the Sour of France gratifies your Palate above the Sweets of Portugal; and a French LADY (with her diſtant Re⯑gards to your Addreſs, and, at laſt, coun⯑terfeit artificial Acceptance) ſhall engage you much more than the Loyalty, Integri⯑ty, Truth and Freedom of my unlimited Paſſion. Will not the World ſwear we are both mad? You for preferring a Counter⯑feit, (becauſe it gliſters, before the true Metal itſelf, which is known to every [84] Child by its Weight:) I for my Fidelity to ſo much Ingratitude. But let the World blame us as it pleaſes, I am reſolved to be as true to you, as you to your natural In⯑conſtancy. To what a Degree of Bliſs ſhould I be advanced, if I could find you complaining of the Remiſſneſs of my Love, and admiring the Intenſeneſs of your own: Then I ſhould be but too happy if that Fault was not found on your Side, as alas! to all the World too viſibly it is: And the ſame Conceptions you make of an Immen⯑ſity, will but juſt ſerve you to fathom my Zeal, which (although cheriſhed and pru⯑ned after the moſt careful Manner) is pro⯑ductive of nothing but the moſt bitter, ſour, and unpleaſant Fruits imaginable.—Your unkind Dealings and Actions to me, are the Fruits of my extraordinary Paſſion. What Soul could imagine ſuch diſſonant Notes ſhould ſtrike, to interrupt the Har⯑mony of my Affection? In what had you been the worſe, had you retaliated my ex⯑tream Kindneſs with but a little of yours; and although more than a little be my Due, yet with the leaſt Grain I could have wrought my own Contentment: But you are ſo unjuſt to deny all, and leave me to a racking and a miſerable Deſpair; one Hour's Torment of which, I would not wiſh you ſhould endure Ages to come, to [85] be ſet free myſelf; and yet no otherwiſe fond of my Condition, but as it is a Gift of yours, and which (for any Thing leſs than your Love) I will never part with. O! barbarous, barbarous Man! to deny me that which you take more Pains to throw away upon another, than I can do to ob⯑tain it. You ſhall not uſe me thus; indeed you muſt not: It is I ſay it, but you re⯑gard not that, ſo inſenſible are you of my Condition; which though never ſo unfor⯑tunate as to my own particular, yet is ag⯑gravated with Cares for your Welfare, who are the ſole Cauſe of my Unhappineſs. How you will reliſh this Letter I know not; I fear you will think there are too many Invectives againſt your Tyranny; in which I will agree with you myſelf, and aſk your Forgiveneſs: But alas! they are as gentle as I could poſſibly perſuade my Pen to drop; for ſince you take ſo much Pleaſure in a hard Heart, I would not for the World any ways croſs you, by making you leſs ob⯑durate; ſo tenderly I value your Satisfac⯑tion, and ſo little (for your ſake) my own. But oh! the infinite Pleaſures you would find in Love, if you thought them worth the looking after! Love (as it is, or is not mutual) is the trueſt Epitome of the ſuper⯑natural States: If mutual, the Joys are la⯑ſting, and never cloy; if not, the Tor⯑ments [86] are intolerable, yet muſt be endur⯑ed. Oh! that any thing I could ſay might diſſolve you to a Senſe of my miſerable Life; or, indeed rather your own! And yet if it could in the leaſt enter into my Thoughts, that you are altogether at Repoſe, I aſſure you, I would never interrupt you; no Noiſe of my Afflictions ſhould ever be your Diſtur⯑bance: But I am very much miſtaken, if you are altogether without Remorſe for the Sufferings you have brought upon me. I remember you once was flexible, and of a compaſſionate Nature, and your Behaviour very like a Gentleman; whatever has miſ⯑guided you to the Abuſe of my Favours, which (if I have Knowledge of my Heart) were at firſt, much more for your ſake than my own, you were the Aggreſſor, and not I; and whatever Kindneſs I ſhewed you, was more to make me happy, than your⯑ſelf; that by Charity to a Serpent, I at laſt was ſtung. It is ſaid that venomous Crea⯑tures have a balſamick Quality in them⯑ſelves, to cure the Wounds they make: But you (more unnatural than all the reſt) have none; at leaſt, moſt cruelly you with⯑hold it from me. Oh Heaven! that I had but Power to contain myſelf! that I had but Temper to be a little calm! But it is a Condition I have long ſince abandoned, and (till I ſee you again) will never re-aſ⯑ſume. [87] In the Rage I am in, I could think in you as many Unkindneſſes, as by and by the Fury of Love would find a Taſk to un⯑ravel; for if one Half Hour I blame you, in the next I call it Injuſtice. So careful am I, that no ill Thought of you appear deſerving, that were you worſe than you are, my Pleaſure would conſiſt in being flattered that you are better than I think you: Nay, ſometimes I perſuade myſelf that you are a Man of the greateſt Juſtice in the World; and that it is not even in your Nature (wilfully) to do an unequal Thing. But it is moſt certain, I am doom⯑ed to a fruitleſs Love, without the leaſt Poſſibility of a Deliverance. Indeed, for⯑merly I had a faint Proſpect (as I thought) of being in ſome meaſure reſtored; but I looked through falſe Opticks, that preſent⯑ed me with a wrong Object; and ſince that, I have done the great Work, of lear⯑ning to be well ſatisfied with my intolera⯑ble Condition. Did my Love run parallel with what is commonly found in the World, it would not be ſo deſperate.—Happy they, who (in a Pet, or upon ſome ſmall Diſguſt) can recede from their Paſ⯑ſions, and ſet up for new Ones elſewhere; and whatever they pretend, Self-Intereſt is the greateſt Thing. This is the Way of Amouring moſt in Faſhion: This is that [88] Impoſture which prevails upon ſo many tender Hearts: And in Caſes of Denial, very artificially can uſurp languiſhing Eyes, want no expreſſive Inſinuations, counter⯑feit Melancholy and Diſtraction; and all to ſerve ſome baſe Bye-End. If this had been the Quality of my Love, the Ven⯑geance you aſſign me had then been me⯑rited. I verily believe, if it had had but the leaſt Tincture of Treachery, I ſhould have won your Heart, ſhould have made you jealous: And that Temper would have been very inconſiſtent with your Reſolu⯑tions to make a thorough Conqueſt: No⯑thing leſs than which (to a Man of Proweſs like you) could have been a real Pleaſure. Yes, yes; it is very plain, if my Paſſion had been forged, and bore a falſe Accent, it would certainly much better have agreed with yours, as being much nearer related; but the fatal Conſequence (of a true Fer⯑vency, returned with fair Aſſurances, and foul Actions) none knows but the wretch⯑ed, ſolitary I. Upon the whole, I think verily I love you, becauſe you make me miſerable. If that be true, go on, be ſig⯑nalized to the World for your Unkindneſs, that the more I may be ſo, for my unac⯑countable Affection. That I love you, Heaven knows; you know elſe I ſhould ſee you here again, cringing out the feigned [89] Allegations of your Sincerity, though much more diſtant than we are. O, that we were to begin again! What Courſe would I then take! I fear, even fool myſelf, as I have done; for ſince I know no greater Pleaſure than the Love of you, I ſhould too willingly run the Riſque of any Diſad⯑vantage that could happen by it. I die a thouſand Deaths every Hour, and ſtill re⯑vive, to die them over again: Adieu. What could I not endure for your ſake? I have at this Moment ſo lively an Idea of you, that I almoſt fancy you here in Perſon. Methinks, how very kind you are! How affectionately you condole me for the Tor⯑ments I have ſuffered in your Abſence; and how thankful I am to you for them! How you preſs my Hand, and ſwear you will never part with me! And Ah, Monſieur! How I believe you, for being hitherto ſo faithful!—Once more Adieu. I think I never writ Letters to you in my Life, but their Length made them ſtayed for. The Poſt (at my Requeſt) has waited a great while, and I am now ſent to; I wonder elſe, when I ſhould give over. You may judge a little of my Condition, when you ſee even hurrying-Poſt-haſte itſelf can ad⯑mit of a Delay to pleaſe me. The Actions of all People that ſee me, are deſignedly kind, and of a Deſire to divert me. One takes [90] me by the Hand, begging of me to be chearful, and leave my unprofitable Think⯑ing; ſhewing me good Reaſon for it: But, alas! I find Reaſon and Love two very ſe⯑parate Things, not at all influencing each other. To-day a Siſter brought me Varie⯑ty of the beſt Fruits; of which, nothing but a Piece of a Pomgranate, could I be per⯑ſuaded to eat. I might thank her, but I am not ſure I had ſo much Manners: Eve⯑ry body excuſes my ill Breeding, but much wonder at my Alteration. The Rigour and Severity of our Religion can diſpenſe with many great Faults in me, that it will not allow in others. What ſhall I do? Well, I have only one Thing more (be⯑ſides a Thouſand) to ſay to you; which is, That if you can have Regard for any one Sentence in this long Letter; it may be to this laſt, I implore you to let me ſee you in Por⯑tugal before I die. Adieu, Adieu.
[] LETTERS Of the HONOURABLE GEORGE GRANVILLE, Eſq
[]M. [...] Gucht sculp.
To the Hon. Mr. BERNARD GRANVILLE, at the Earl of Bathe's, St. James's.
YOUR having no Proſpect of ob⯑taining a Commiſſion for me, can no way alter or cool my Deſire at this important Junc⯑ture, to venture my Life in ſome Manner or other, for my King and my Country.
I cannot bear living under the Reproach of lying obſcure and idle in a Country Re⯑tirement, [92] when every Man, who has the leaſt Senſe of Honour, ſhould be preparing for the Field.
You may remember, Sir, with what Reluctance I ſubmitted to your Commands upon Monmouth's Rebellion, when no Im⯑portunity could prevail with you to permit me to leave the Academy; I was too young to be hazarded; but give me Leave to ſay, it is glorious at any Age to die for one's Country, and the ſooner, the nobler the Sacrifice.
I am now older by three Years; my Uncle Bathe was not ſo old, when he was left among the Slain at the Battle of Newbury: Nor you yourſelf, Sir, when you make your Eſcape from your Tu⯑tors, to join your Brother at the Defence of Scilly.
The ſame Cauſe is now come round about again: The King has been miſ-led; let thoſe who have miſ-led him be anſwer⯑able for it: Nobody can deny, but he is Sacred in his own Perſon, and it is every honeſt Man's Duty to defend it.
You are pleas'd to ſay, it is yet doubt⯑ful, if the Hollanders are raſh enough to make ſuch an Attempt: But be that as it will, I beg Leave to inſiſt upon it, that I may be preſented to his Majeſty, as one, whoſe utmoſt Ambition it is to de⯑vote [93] his Life to his Service, and my Coun⯑try's, after the Example of all my An⯑ceſtors.
The Gentry aſſembled at York, to agree upon the Choice of Repreſentatives for the County, have prepared an Addreſs, to aſ⯑ſure his Majeſty, they are ready to ſacrifice their Lives and Fortunes for him, upon this, and all other Occaſions; but at the ſame Time, they humbly beſeech him to give them ſuch Magiſtrates, as may be agreeable to the Laws of the Land; for at preſent, there is no Authority to which they can legally ſubmit.
They have been beating for Volunteers at York, and the Towns adjacent, to ſup⯑ply the Regiments at Hull, but nobody will liſt.
By what I can hear, every body wiſhes well to the King, but they would be glad, his Miniſters were hang'd.
The Winds continue ſo contrary, that no Landing can be ſo ſoon as was ap⯑prehended; therefore, I may hope, with your Leave and Aſſiſtance, to be in Rea⯑dineſs before any Action can begin.
I beſeech you, Sir, moſt humbly and moſt earneſtly, to add this one Act of In⯑dulgence more to ſo many other Teſti⯑monies, which I have conſtantly received [94] of your Goodneſs; and be pleas'd to be⯑lieve me always, with the utmoſt Duty and Submiſſion, Sir,
N.B. The above Letter was wrote before his Lordſhip was 22 Years old.
TO WILLIAM-HENRY, Earl of Bathe, &c.
[95]WHILST you are purſuing Ho⯑nour in the Field, in the earlieſt Time of your Life, after the Example of your Anceſtors, I am commanded by the Queen, to let you know, ſhe has declared you her Lord-Lieutenant of the County of Cornwall; the Earl of Rocheſter to act for you till you are of Age.
You will do well to write your moſt humble Thanks to her Majeſty, for ſo gra⯑ciouſly remembring you, unſollicited, in your Abſence: You ſhould likewiſe do the ſame to my Lord Rocheſter, for accepting the Trouble.
This, my dear Lord, is a Preparative to bring you upon the Stage with ſome Luſtre at your firſt Appearance in the World. You [96] are placed at the Head of a Body of Gen⯑try, entirely diſpos'd in Affection to you, and your Family: You are born poſſeſs'd of all thoſe amiable Qualities, which cannot fail of fixing their Hearts: You have no other Example to follow, but to tread in the Steps of your Anceſtors: It is all that is hoped or deſired from you.
You are upon an uncommon Foundation in that Part of the World: Your Anceſtors, for at leaſt five hundred Years, never made any Al⯑liance, Male or Female, out of the Weſtern Counties: Thus there is hardly a Gentle⯑man, either in Cornwall or Devon, but has ſome of your Blood, or you ſome of theirs. I remember, the firſt Time I accompany'd your Grandfather into the Weſt, upon hold⯑ing his Parliament of Tinners, as Warden of the Stannaries, when there was the moſt numerous Appearance of Gentry of both Counties, that had ever been re⯑member'd together; I obſerv'd there was hardly any one but whom he call'd Couſin; and I could not but obſerve, at the ſame Time, how well they were pleaſed with it. Let this be a Leſſon for you, when it comes to your Turn to appear amongſt them. Nothing is more obliging, than to ſeem to retain the Memory of Kindred and Allian⯑ces, tho' never ſo remote: And by Conſe⯑quence, nothing more diſobliging, than a [97] Forgetfulneſs of them; which is always imputed to an affected, diſdainful Superio⯑rity and Pride.
There is another Particular, in my Opi⯑nion, of no ſmall Conſequence to the Sup⯑port of your Intereſt, which I would re⯑commend to your Imitation; and that is, to make Stowe your principal Reſidence. I have heard your Grandfather ſay, if ever he liv'd to be poſſeſs'd of New-Hall, he would pull it down, that your Father might have no Temptation to withdraw from the ancient Seat of his Family. From the Conqueſt to the Reſtauration, your An⯑ceſtors conſtantly reſided amongſt their Countrymen, except when the public Ser⯑vice call'd upon them to ſacrifice their Lives for it.
Stowe in my Grandfather's Time, till the Civil Wars broke out, was a Kind of Academy for all the young Men of Family in the Country: He provided himſelf with the beſt Maſters of all Kinds for Educa⯑tion; and the Children of his Neighbours and Friends ſhared the Advantage with his own. Thus he, in a Manner, became the Father of his Country; and not only en⯑gaged the Affection of the preſent Genera⯑tion, but laid a Foundation of Friendſhip for Poſterity, which is not worn out at this Day.
[98] Upon this Foundation, my Lord, you in⯑herit Friends without the Trouble of make⯑ing them, and have only to preſerve them: an eaſy Taſk for you, to whom Nature has been ſo liberal of every Quality ne⯑ceſſary to attract Affection, and gain the Heart!
I muſt tell you, the Generality of our Countrymen have been always Royaliſts; you inherit too much Loyal Blood to like them the worſe. There is an old Saying amongſt them, That a Godolphin was never known to want Wit; a Trelawney, Courage; or a Granville, Loyalty. Wit and Courage are not to be miſtaken; and to give thoſe Fa⯑milies their Due, they ſtill keep up to their Character: But it is the Misfortune of Loyalty, not to be ſo clearly underſtood or defined. In a Country, ſubject to Revolu⯑tions, what paſſes for Loyalty To-day, may be Treaſon To-morrow; but I make great Difference between Real and Nomi⯑nal Treaſon. In the Quarrel of the Houſes of York and Lancaſter, both Sides were pro⯑claimed Traitors, as the other prevailed: Even under Cromwell's Uſurpation, all who adhered to the King were proclaimed Traitors, and ſuffered as ſuch; but this makes no Alteration in the Thing itſelf: It may be enacted Treaſon to call black, black; or white, white: But black will [99] be black, and white will be white, in Spite of all the Legiſlators in the World.
There can be no Doubt about Allegi⯑ance, unleſs Princes become Tyrants, and then they ceaſe to be Kings: They will no longer be reſpected as God's Vicegerents, who violate the Laws they were ſworn to protect. The Preacher may tell us of paſ⯑ſive Obedience; that Tyrants are to be pa⯑tiently ſuffer'd, as Scourges in the Hands of a righteous God, to chaſtiſe a ſinful Na⯑tion; and to be ſubmitted to, like Plagues, Famines, and ſuch like Judgments from above. Such Doctrine, were it true, could only ſerve to miſlead ill-judging Princes in⯑to a falſe Security; Men are not to be rea⯑ſon'd out of their Senſes: Human Nature, and Self-Preſervation, will eternally arm againſt Slavery and Oppreſſion.
It is therefore not to be ſuppoſed, that even the weakeſt Prince would run that Hazard, unleſs ſeduced by Advice, wicked⯑ly palliated by evil Counſellors. Nero himſelf, under the Influence of a good Mi⯑niſtry, was the mildeſt, the moſt gracious, and beſt beloved of the Emperors: The moſt ſanguinary, the moſt profligate, and the moſt abhorr'd under a bad one. A Prince may be deceiv'd, or miſtaken in the Choice of his Favourites; but he has this [100] Advantage, he is ſure to hear of it from the Voice of the Public: if then he is deaf, he ſeems to take upon himſelf the Blame and Odium of thoſe Actions which were chargeable before but upon his Adviſers.
Idle Murmurs, groundleſs Diſcontents, and pretended Jealouſies and Fears, the Ef⯑fect of private Prejudice and Reſentments, have been, and will ever be, under the wiſeſt Adminiſtrations: We are peſter'd with them even now, when we have a Queen, who is known to have nothing ſo much at Heart, as the Contentment of her People: Theſe are tranſitory Vapours, which ſcatter at the firſt Appearance of Light: The Infection ſpreads no farther than a particular Set of four, ſplenetic Enthuſiaſts in Politics, not worth minding or correcting. Univerſal Diſcontent can never happen but from ſolid Provocations.
Many well-meaning Perſons however, abounding in Zeal, have been often unwa⯑rily caught by popular Pretences, and not undeceived, till it was too late. Have a Care, my dear Couſin, of ſplitting upon that Rock: There have been falſe Patriots, as well as falſe Prophets.
To Fear God, and Honour the King, were Injunctions ſo cloſely tack'd together, that they ſeem to make but one and the ſame Command: A Man may as well pretend [101] to be a good Chriſtian, without fearing God, as a good Subject without honouring the King.
Deo, Patrice, Amicis, was your Great-Grandfather Sir Bevil's Motto: In three Words he has added to his Example a Rule, which in following you can never err in any Duty of Life. The brighteſt Carriage, and the gentleſt Diſpoſition, is Part of the Lord Clarendon's Character of him; ſo much of him you may have begun to ſhew us already; and the beſt Wiſh I can make for you, is to reſemble him as much in all—but his untimely Fate.
TO WILLIAM-HENRY, Earl of Bathe.
[102]EVery living Creature, my dear Lord, is entitled to Offices of Humanity: The Diſtreſs, even of an Enemy, ſhould reconcile us to him: If he thirſts, give him Drink; if he hungers, give him Food; overcome Evil with Good. It is with this Diſpoſition I would have you enter into the Exerciſe of that Authority, [Lord-Lieute⯑nant of Cornwall] with which her Majeſty has honoured you over your Countrymen. Let no body inſpire you with Party-Preju⯑dices and Reſentments. Let it be your Buſineſs to reconcile Differences, and heal Diviſions; and to reſtore, if poſſible, Har⯑mony and good Neighbourhood amongſt them: If then there ſhould be any left to wiſh you ill, make them aſham'd and confounded with your Goodneſs and Mo⯑deration: [103] Not that I would ever adviſe you to ſacrifice one Hair of the Head of an old Friend to your Family, to gain fifty new ones; but if you can encreaſe the Number by Curteſy and Moderation, it may be worth the Trial.
Believe me, my dear Lord, Humanity and Generoſity make the beſt Foundation to build a Character upon: A Man may have Birth, and Riches, and Power, Wit, Learning, Courage; but without Genero⯑ſity it is impoſſible to be a great Man: Whatever the Rich and Powerful may think of themſelves, whatever Value they may ſet upon their Abundance and Gran⯑deur, they will find themſelves but the more hated and deſpis'd for the ill Uſe they make of it.
You ſhould look upon yourſelves but as Stewards and Truſtees for the Diſtreſſed: Your Over-abundance is but a Depoſit for the Uſe and Relief of the Unhappy; you are anſwerable for all Superfluities miſpent: It is not to be ſuppoſed that Providence would have made ſuch Diſtinctions among Men, ſuch unequal Diſtributions, but that they might endear themſelves to one ano⯑ther by mutual Helps and Obligations. Gra⯑titude is the ſureſt Cement of Love, Friend⯑ſhip, and Society.
[104] There are, indeed, Rules to be obſerv'd, and Meaſures to be kept, in the Diſtribu⯑tion of Favours. We know who have both the Power and Inclination to do Good, but for Want of Judgment in the Direction, they paſs only for good-natur'd Fools in⯑ſtead of generous Benefactors.
My Lord—will grudge a Guinea to an honeſt Gentleman in Diſtreſs, but rea⯑dily give twenty to a common Strumper. Another ſhall reſuſe to lend fifty Pounds to his beſt Friend without ſufficient Security, and the next Moment ſet his whole Fortune upon a Card or a Die; a Chance, for which he can have no Security. My Lord—is to be ſeen every Day at a Toy-Shop, ſquandring away his Money in Trinkets and Baubles; and at the ſame Time leaves his Brothers and Siſters without common Neceſſaries.
Generoſity does not conſiſt in a Con⯑tempt of Money, in throwing it away at Random, without Judgment or Diſtinction; tho' that indeed is better than locking it up, for Multitudes have the Benefit of it; but in a right Diſpoſition to proper Objects, in Proportion to the Merit, the Circumſtan⯑ces, the Rank, and Condition of thoſe, who ſtand in Need of our Service.
Princes are more expoſed than any others to the miſplacing their Favours: Merit is [105] ever modeſt, and keeps its Diſtance: The Forward and Importunate ſtand always neareſt in Sight, and are not to be put out of Countenance, nor thruſt out of the Way.
I remember to have heard a Saying of the late King James, That be never knew a mo⯑deſt Man make his Way in a Court. David Floyd, whom you know, being then in wait⯑ing at his Majeſty's Elbow, reply'd blunt⯑ly, Pray, Sir, whoſe Fault's that? The King ſtood corrected, and was ſilent. If Princes could ſee with their own Eyes, and hear with their own Ears, what a happy Situation it would be both for themſelves and their Subjects? To reward Merit, to re⯑dreſs the Injured, to relieve the Oppreſſed, to raiſe the Modeſt, to humble the Inſolent; what a God-like Prerogative, were a right Uſe made of it!
How happy are you, my dear Lord, who are born with ſuch generous Inclinations, with Judgment to direct them, and the Means to indulge them! Of all Men moſt miſerable is he, who has the Inclination, without the Means. To meet with a de⯑ſerving Object of Compaſſion, without hav⯑ing the Power to give Relief, of all the Cir⯑cumſtances in Life is the moſt diſagreeable: To have the Power is the greateſt Plea⯑ſure.
[106] Methinks I ſee you ready to cry out, Good Couſin, why this Diſcourſe to me? What Oc⯑caſion have I for theſe Lectures? None at all, my dear Lord; I am only making my Court to you, by letting you ſee, I think as you do.
But one Word more, and I have done.
In Truſt, Intimacy, and Confidence, be as particular as you pleaſe: In Humanity, Charity, and Benevolence, univerſal.
To my Nephew, Mr. BEVIL GRANVILLE, Upon his entring into Holy Orders.
[107]WHEN I look upon the Date of your laſt Letter, I muſt own myſelf blameable for not having ſooner return'd you my Thanks for it.
I approve very well of your Reſolution of dedicating yourſelf to the Service of God; you could not chuſe a better Maſter, pro⯑vided you have ſo ſufficiently ſearch'd your Heart as to be perſuaded you can ſerve him well: In ſo doing you may ſecure to your⯑ſelf many Bleſſings in this World, as well as a ſure Expectation in the next. There is one thing which I perceive you have not thoroughly purg'd yourſelf from, which is Flattery: You have beſtow'd ſo much of that upon me in your Letter, that I hope you have no more left, and that you meant it only to take your Leave of ſuch Flights of Fancy, which, however well meant, oftener put a Man out of Countenance than oblige him.
[108] You are now become a Searcher after Truth: I ſhall hereafter take it more kind⯑ly to be juſtly reprov'd by you, than to be undeſervedly complimented.
I would not have you underſtand me, as if I recommended to you a ſour Preſbyte⯑rian Severity; that is yet more to be avoid⯑ed. Advice, like Phyſick, ſhould be ſo ſweeten'd and prepar'd, as to be made pala⯑table, or Nature may be apt to revolt againſt it. Be always ſincere, but at the ſame Time always polite: Be humble without deſcending from your Character; reprove and correct without offending good Manners: To be a Cynick is as bad as to be a Sycophant: You are not to lay aſide the Gentleman with your Sword, nor to put on the Gown to hide your Birth and good Breeding, but to adorn it. Such has been the Malice of the World, from the Beginning, that Pride, Avarice, and Am⯑bition, have been charg'd upon the Prieſt⯑hood in all Ages, in all Countries, and in all Religions. What they are moſt oblig'd to combat againſt in their Pulpits, they are moſt accus'd of encouraging in their Con⯑duct. It behoves you therefore to be more upon your Guard in this, than in any other Profeſſion: Let your Example confirm your Doctrine; and let no Man ever have it in [109] his Power to reproach you with practiſing contrary to what you preach.
You had an Uncle, Dr. Dennis Granville, Dean of Durham, whoſe Memory I ſhall ever revere; make him your Example: Sanctity ſate ſo eaſy, ſo unaffected, and ſo graceful upon him, that in him we beheld the very Beauty of Holineſs: He was as chearful, as familiar, and condeſcending in his Converſation, as he was ſtrict, regular and exemplary in his Piety: As well bred and accompliſh'd as a Courtier, as reverend and venerable as an Apoſtle: He was indeed in every Thing apoſtolical, for he abandon'd all to follow his Lord and Maſter.
May you reſemble him; may he revive in you; may his Spirit deſcend upon you, as Elijah's upon Eliſha; and may the great God of Heaven, in guiding, directing, and ſtrengthening your pious Reſolutions, pour down his beſt and choiceſt Bleſſings upon you.
You ſhall ever find me, dear Nephew, your moſt affectionate Uncle, and ſincere Friend, &c.
TO The QUEEN.*
[110]A DIALOGUE Concerning WOMEN, BEING A DEFENCE of the SEX. Written to EUGENIA. By WILLIAM WALSH, Eſq
[]TO THE READER.
[]THE Peruſal of this DIA⯑LOGUE, in DEFENCE of the FAIR SEX, written by a GENTLEMAN of my Ac⯑quaintance, much ſurprized me: For it was not eaſy for me to ima⯑gine, that one ſo young, could have treated ſo nice a Subject with ſo much Judgment. It is true, I was not ignorant that he was naturally ingenious, and that he had improved himſelf by Travelling; and from thence I might reaſonably have ex⯑pected [116] that Air of Gallantry, which is ſo viſibly diffuſed thro' the Body of the Work, and is indeed the Soul that animates all Things of this Na⯑ture: But ſo much Variety of Read⯑ing, both in ancient and modern Authors, ſuch Digeſtion of that Read⯑ing, ſo much Juſtneſs of Thought, that it leaves no Room for Affecta⯑tion, or Pedantry, I may venture to ſay, are not overcommon amongſt practiſed Writers, and very rarely to be found amongſt Beginners. It puts me in Mind of what was ſaid of Mr. Waller, the Father of our Eng⯑liſh Numbers, upon the Sight of his firſt Verſes, by the Wits of the laſt Age, that he came out into the World Forty Thouſand ſtrong, before they had heard of him. Here, in Imita⯑tion of my Friend's Apoſtrophes, I hope the Reader need not be told, that Mr. Waller is only mentioned for Honour's ſake, that I am deſirous [117] of laying hold on his Memory, on all Occaſions, and thereby acknow⯑ledging to the World, that unleſs he had written, none of us could write. I know my Friend will forgive me this Digreſſion; for it is not only a Copy of his Stile, but of his Can⯑dour. The Reader will obſerve, that he is ready for all Hints of com⯑mending Merit, and the Writers of this Age and Country are particular⯑ly obliged to him, for his pointing out thoſe Paſſages which the French call Beaux Endroits, wherein they have moſt excelled. And tho' I may ſeem in this, to have my own Intereſt in View, becauſe he has more than once mentioned me, ſo much to my Advantage, yet I hope the Reader will take it only for a Parentheſis, becauſe the Piece would have been very perfect without it. I may be ſuffered to pleaſe myſelf with the Kindneſs of my Friend, [118] without valuing myſelf upon his Partiality: He had not Confidence enough to ſend it out into the World, without my Opinion of it, that it might paſs ſecurely, at leaſt amongſt the fair Readers, for whoſe Service it was principally deſigned. I am not ſo preſuming, to think my Opi⯑nion can either be his Touchſtone, or his Paſſport: But I thought I might ſend him back to Arioſto; who has made it the Buſineſs of al⯑moſt Thirty Stanzas in the Begin⯑ning of the 37th Book of his Orlan⯑do Furioſo, not only to praiſe that beautiful part of the Creation, but alſo to make a ſharp Satire on their Enemies; to give Mankind their own, and to tell them plainly, that from their Envy it proceeds that the Vir⯑tue and great Actions of Women are purpoſely concealed, and the Fail⯑ings of ſome few amongſt them ex⯑poſed with all the aggravating Cir⯑cumſtances [119] of Malice. For my own Part, who have always been their Servant, and have never drawn my Pen againſt them, I had rather ſee ſome of them praiſed extraordinarily, than any of them ſuffer by Detrac⯑tion: And that in this Age, and at this Time particularly, wherein I find more Heroines than Heroes. Let me therefore give them Joy of their new Champion: If any will think me more partial to him than really I am, they can only ſay I have returned his Bribe: And the worſt I wiſh him, is, that he may receive Juſtice from the Men, and Favour only from the Ladies.
SOME ACCOUNT OF WILLIAM WALSH, Eſq
[121]THE AUTHOR of the following excellent Treatiſe, was
"He wrote A DIALOGUE concerning WOMEN; Being a Defence of the FAIR SEX, and addreſſed it to EUGENIA, 1691."
"He alſo wrote another ſmall Piece, intitled, Letters and Poems, Amorous and Gallant, 1692."
[122] Mr. Wood will have it, that the LADY characterized by Mr. Walſh under the Name of EUGENIA, was his Miſtreſs. For this he could not have any other ground than his own malevolent Conjecture. But that our Author was a Gentleman very ſuſceptable of the ſoft Paſſion, appears plainly from his own Pen; ſending forth his Love-Letters and Poems with the following Addreſs to the Public:
[123] As for three Amours I have had in my Life-time, (ſays Mr. Walſh *) I valued the one Miſtreſs after I left loving her; I loved another after I left valuing her; I love and value the third, after having loſt all Hopes of her: So that, methinks, according to the Courſe of my Paſſions, I ought to love and value the next, after having obtained her. However, from this time forward, upon what Follies ſoever you fall, be pleaſ⯑ed, for my ſake, to ſpare thoſe of Love; being very well ſatisfied, there is not one Folly of that kind (except Marriage) which I have not already committed. I have been, without Railery, in Love with the Beauty of a Woman whom I have never ſeen; with the Wit of one whom I never heard ſpeak, nor ſeen any thing that ſhe has written; and with the heroic Virtues of a Woman, without knowing any one Action of her Life, that could make me think ſhe had any.—Cupid will have it ſo; and what can weak Mortals do againſt ſo potent a God? Adieu; live pleaſantly, that is, philoſophically; and guard your Heart from the Pains of Love. Such were the Sentiments of our Author when about Thirty Years of Age.
[124] Mr. Walſh purſued the Advice he gave his Friend, and left Cupid in the Lurch, wholly gave himſelf up to a Literatum Otium, became one of the beſt of Subjects to his Soveraign, King WILLIAM, whom he has immortalized in his inimitable Verſion of that Ode of Horace, begininng,
And his immortal Succeſſor Queen ANNE conſtituted Mr. Walſh her Maſter of the Horſe.
This Gentleman was, in the Opinion of Mr. DRYDEN*, ‘"the beſt Critic of our Na⯑tion in his time."’ And, Mr. Pope, ſpeak⯑ing of the Earl of Roſcomon, thus concludes his Eſſay on Criticiſm, viz.
In the Year 1714, the Public were obli⯑ged with a ſmall Poſthumous Piece of Mr. Walſh's, intitled, AESCULAPIUS: Or, The Hoſpital of FOOLS. An Imitation of LUCIAN; hereunto ſubjoined.
A DEFENCE OF THE FAIR SEX.
To EUGENIA.
[]IT is a dangerous thing, MADAM, it muſt be confeſſed, this Con⯑verſing with fair Ladies; and it draws us into Inconveniencies, of which we do not at firſt ſee the Conſequences. I little thought, when I talked with your Ladyſhip, of the Vir⯑tues of your Sex, that you would have commanded me to have given my Senti⯑ments upon that Subject in Writing. I grant you, Madam, you might have ſpo⯑ken [126] to ſeveral of your Acquaintance, who would have undertaken the Buſineſs at firſt Word, with all the Courage imaginable; but to me, who never durſt take Pen in Hand to write any thing beyond a Billet, the Enterprize ſeems very terrible. I con⯑feſs, when you ſpoke to me of it firſt, I was well enough pleaſed with the Deſign; for I thought a Defence of the Sex, would be a Means of obliging all of the Sex, who were worth defending; and therefore look'd upon it as the writing a Circular Love-Letter to all the fair Ladies in the King⯑dom. But as Men generally mix Intereſt with Honour, ſo, upon ſecond Thoughts, I conſidered what I ſhould get by it, be⯑ſides Fame, if it ſhould ſucceed; and I found, if I perſuaded all Men to be as paſ⯑ſionate Servants to the Ladies as myſelf, I ſhould make but a very indifferent hand of it: Thus, Madam, you would engage me in a Controverſy, where it would be a Scandal to be vanquiſhed, and a Diſadvan⯑tage to overcome: For I, who could never ſucceed in an Amour where there was any Fool pretended beſides myſelf, ſhould have great Hopes indeed, when I had perſuaded all Mankind to be my Rivals. After all, Madam, there were your Commands to encourge me to it; and the Commands of a fair Lady are to me beyond all the Ar⯑guments [127] in Nature; I therefore reſolved upon the Undertaking. But as it is no new thing to ſee People undertake a Buſineſs that they are altogether unable to perform, ſo I muſt own, I found a thing of this Nature quite beyond my Strength: You may believe, Madam, I was very melan⯑choly at it, and it was then that a Friend coming into my Chamber, asked me the Occaſion. As I never love to conceal any thing that afflicts me from a Friend, ſo I preſently told him the Buſineſs, That a Lady had commanded me to write her a Treatiſe in Defence of Women. If that be all (ſays he briskly) I am come to your Deliverance; for this very Morning have I been at a Converſation, where the Que⯑ſtion concerning the Virtues and Vices of that Sex, has been handled as fully as can be deſired. Thou appeareſt to me, my dear Friend, (ſaid I, embracing him) like my better Genius, and therefore, without any farther Ceremony, ſit down, and give me an Account of the Conference.
Taking a Walk (ſays he) this Morning in St. James's Park, with ſeveral of my Acquaintance, there was one among the reſt who was all the while, either gazing upon the Ladies as they came by, or ſpeak⯑ing with that Indifference to us, that made [128] us very plainly ſee, he did not mind the Subject of our Diſcourſe, tho' we talked of all the moſt conſiderable Things that offer themſelves in ſuch Converſations. (A very ſtrange Man this, Madam, who was think⯑ing upon ſome Miſtreſs, I warrant, when they were raiſing Taxes, and beating the French.) Another, who was a Perſon of excellent Senſe, and had a particular Friend⯑ſhip for this, tho' they would often diſpute about their ſeveral Thoughts of Women, in which Point they could never agree; (I wonder they ſhould diſpute about that, Madam, for the greateſt Diſputes in thoſe Caſes are, when they do agree) began to rally him upon this Subject; which he did ſo handſomely, that he pleaſed the reſt of the Company very well, without diſpleaſing his Friend in the leaſt. PHILOGYNES (which was the Name of the firſt, as MISOGYNES was of the other) (Here, Madam, I muſt confeſs, I fancied my Friend put falſe Names upon me; for beſides, that I re⯑member neither of theſe Families in Eng⯑land, the one, you muſt know, ſignifies a Woman-hater, and the other, a Woman-lover) cried to MISOGYNES, Tho' I allow you to rally me as much as you pleaſe, and am glad of any Occaſion I can give you, to exerciſe a Talent you poſſeſs in ſo eminent a Degree, yet I hope you do not in earneſt [129] think the Converſation of Women ſo ridi⯑culous as you would make us believe. Ten times worſe, ſaid MISOGYNES, than I can repreſent it; and ſince we have often had ſlight Skirmiſhes upon that Occaſion, and we have now Time enough to fight it out, if you have the Courage to loſe one Morn⯑ing's gazing at them, I challenge you to the private Walk by the Canal-ſide, to de⯑fend their Cauſe; and theſe Gentlemen, if they pleaſe, ſhall be our Judges. Tho' I am very unwilling, anſwered PHILOGYNES, to loſe a Morning that has called out all the beſt Company of the Town, yet ſince it is in Defence of the Ladies, and you ſo boldly challenge me, I take you at your Word, upon Condition, that if I get the better in the Judgment of theſe Gentlemen, you ſhall engage to be in Love by To-mor⯑row Morning. Upon Condition, that if I overcome, ſaid MISOGYNES, you will en⯑gage to be out of Love by the ſame Time, I agree. That is no equal Stake, replied PHILOGYNES, for it is to lay Happineſs againſt Unhappineſs; however, I am ſo well ſatisfied of my Cauſe, that I will undertake you, even upon thoſe Odds.
Upon this Agreement we walked all to the other ſide of the Park, full of Expecta⯑tion of the Event of the Debate; when we were come thither, we found we had [130] the whole Walk to ourſelves, and ſo MISO⯑GYNES who gave the Challenge, began in this manner:
The Propagation of Mankind being the only Way to preſerve it from Extinction; and the Copulation with Women being the only Means that Nature has ordained to that End; there is no doubt but all Common⯑wealths ought to give any reaſonable En⯑couragements to it; I have therefore al⯑ways admir'd the Wiſdom of thoſe Go⯑vernments that incited, or compelled their Subjects to marry, as a Thing ſo much more neceſſary to Mankind in general, than pleaſing to any one in particular; but that a Man ſhould, out of a mere Act of Judg⯑ment, run after Women; that he ſhould find Delight in their Company, is ſo very extraordinary, that the wiſe Men of old thought it hardly poſſible, otherwiſe they had had no need of making ſuch ſevere Laws to force them to it, as they did.
Your Ladyſhip, who is ſo well verſed in Greek and Roman Authors, knows, that amongſt the * Spartans, they who lived long Batchelors were condemned to igno⯑minious Puniſhments, and debarred the Privileges of other Citizens. That the † Cretans had a Law to compel all the [131] handſomeſt young Men to marry; as the * Thurians had to invite them to it, both by Honours and Rewards. That † Plato ordains, that whoever lived a Batchelor to the five and thirtieth Year of his Age, ſhould be capable of no Honour in his Commonwealth: And that the‡ Romans did not only take all Care imaginable, to encourage People to Marriage, but fright⯑ned them into it by Puniſhments, if they refuſed.
Notwithſtanding this, had you a Deſign of marrying them, I ſhould not altogether ſo much condemn you; nay, had you but a Deſign of enjoying them without it, there might be ſomewhat ſtill alledged in your Excuſe. How unjuſtifiable ſoever ſuch a Deſign may be, as to the moral Part, the Action itſelf is very agreeable to the natu⯑ral. But to pick them out only for the Benefit of their Converſation, to fall in Love with their Underſtandings, and to leave the Company of wiſe Men for hand⯑ſome Women, is juſt the ſame Thing, as if you ſhould chuſe rather to eat Jays and Parrots, than Woodcocks and Partridges, becauſe the Feathers of the former make the finer Shew.
[132] It is a very good, as well as a very ge⯑neral Way, to gueſs at People by the Com⯑pany they keep; and thus we may give a great Judgment of the Female Sex, by a View of thoſe with whom they are the moſt pleaſed of our own. Well, let them appear then; what do you find? Fine Coats, large Cravat-ſtrings, and good Per⯑riwigs, I muſt own, but for any Thing elſe, they, and their Perriwig Blocks are Critics alike. It is true, to do them Juſtice, they talk moſt learnedly of Points and Ribbons; have moſt mathematical Heads for the erecting of Ladies Top-knots, make as con⯑ſiderable Figures, talk as loud, and laugh more than any in Drawing-rooms and Play⯑houſes; and thoſe who know nothing of their Language, would take them, by their Geſtures, to be the wittieſt Perſons in Chriſtendom; but if unluckily you under⯑ſtand them, you will find it only falſe Fire, and that all this violent Laughter is pro⯑duced by no Jeſt. Then take them out of their own Element, begin a Diſcourſe of any Thing that is worth knowing, they are dumb; out of Modeſty? No; but they hate to talk of Things that are groſſier; and the Pedantry of Scholars, and Gravity of Men of Buſineſs, is utterly unfit for a Gentleman.
[133] Were it nothing but the Company of ſuch ſort of Creatures as theſe, it would be enough, I ſhould think, to frighten a Man of Senſe from them. Can you ſee theſe Fops, as much as you are uſed to them, without laughing? except it rather makes you bluſh to think you ſhould bring yourſelf into Competition with ſuch Tools as they are: I am far from blaming them for fol⯑lowing the Ladies: They avoid the Com⯑pany of Men who deſpiſe them, for that of Women who admire them: Nor do I find fault with the Ladies, for being pleaſed with them; for ſince Likeneſs, they ſay, breeds Love, what Wonder is it they are fond of thoſe Men whoſe Follies make them moſt like themſelves? but for a Man who has ſome Pretences to Wit and Learning; for one who might be acceptable to Men of Senſe, to run after them; nay, for a Man who ſpends all the Morning in the Study of Homer and Ariſtotle, to ſpend the Afternoon among the Impertinencies of Women, puts me in mind of the Moun⯑tebank Stages in Naples, where the Jeſuits and Jackpuddings entertain the Spectators by Turns.
It is poſſible, you will ſay, that all this makes for you; that the Faults of your Rivals render your Virtues the more re⯑markable, and that there is no doubt, but [134] a Man of Merit may ſucceed in any Place where a Man of no Merit may pretend; but, alas! Sir, you deceive yourſelf very much, if you encourage that Opinion. Had you fit Judges, there is no doubt but you were in the right: But if the faireſt Lady in Chriſtendom were amongſt the Indians, where they paint the Devil of her Colour, do you expect they ſhould do her Beauty Juſtice? Or if a ſlender Man were among the Muſcovites, do you think they would admire him for being well ſhaped, where they thought none but big-belly'd Men to be ſo? Credit me, Sir, a Man who leaves his Parts to the Judgment of Women, is very near the ſame Circumſtances: Will you not believe me in that Caſe, becauſe I profeſs an Enmity to them? You do well: but will you believe themſelves? View all the Town, take good Notice: Among all the young Heireſſes who run away from their Guardians, is there any one who does it with a Man of Senſe? Among all thoſe Widows who ruin themſelves by ſecond Marriages, is there any one who does it with a Man of Senſe? Among all thoſe Ladies who cuckold their Husbands, is there any one who does it with a Man of Senſe? We ſee them do theſe Things every Day, with Chaplains, Dancing-maſters, Butlers, and Footmen. Who are the Men that ſhew [135] the tender Billets received? What are they who boaſt of the Favours of all the fineſt Women in Town? Are they not the moſt deſpicable of Mankind? Are they not ſuch whoſe Converſation is the Jeſt of Men of Senſe? And have they above one Thing about them, that diſtinguiſhes them from the other Sex?
After all, Sir, are not the Women in the right in this Point? Or do they ever ſhew more Judgment, than when they pitch upon ſuch Men? What do they look for in a Husband, but one who will admire them, who will be governed by them, and upon whom all their little Tricks will paſs? And who but Fools are fit for that? What do they propoſe in a Gallant, but giving them Pleaſure without Scandal? And to the for⯑mer Part they have a received Notion of the Ability of Fools: Then for the Scan⯑dal, who ſo likely to give none as thoſe Men, whom the World will hardly believe were favoured by them, tho' they took their Oaths upon it? For notwithſtanding Experience teaches us the contrary, yet People are apt to fancy, a Man of Senſe muſt ſucceed before a Coxcomb; and will rather believe the former are favoured, tho' they ſwear they are not; than the latter, tho' they ſwear they are.
[136] But, alas! Sir, Men of Senſe they think know them, and that they take, as well as I do, to be a ſure Means to hinder their being in Love. It was upon this Account that 1 Solomon gives ſuch ſevere Cha⯑racters of them in his Proverbs; that 2 Eu⯑ripides repreſented them ſo faithfully, as to get the Name of the Woman-hater; that 2 Simonides has diſtinguiſhed them into ſo many ſorts of evil Things; that 3 Lu⯑cian has ſo naturally deſcribed their Tricks; that 4St. Chryſoſtom has made ſuch a ſe⯑vere Invective againſt them; that 5 Ju⯑venal has given his Friend ſuch Counſel againſt having any Thing to do with them; and, in fine, it is upon the ſame Account that all the Epigrammatiſts, Comic Poets, and Satiriſts are ſo continually expoſing them to the World, making their Follies ridiculous, and their Vices odious. It is upon the ſame Account likewiſe, that to call a Man Effeminate, has always been reckoned ſuch a Reproach; and that to ſay a Man is governed by a Woman, has been one of the worſt Characters you could give of his Underſtanding.
[137] See here a dreadful Army, Madam, againſt us. I aſked my Friend what theſe Gentlemen had ſaid upon this Occa⯑ſion? He told me, Juvenal had written a very ſevere Satire (the XIth) againſt Women, which I ſhould ſee very much to its Ad⯑vantage, if I would conſult Mr. Dryden's Tranſlation of it. For Simonides, he told me, he had written Iambics againſt them, in which he divides them into ten Sorts. The firſt he ſaid was deſcended from a Sow, (you will find very noble Families among them, Madam) and ſhe was ſluttiſh: The ſecond from a Fox, and ſhe underſtands every thing, and has a great deal of Good in her, and a great deal of Ill too: The third from a Dog, and ſhe is prying about, and ſnarl⯑ing at every Body: The fourth is made of the Earth, and ſhe underſtands nothing but how to fill her Belly, and ſit by the Fire-ſide: The fifth of the Sea, and ſhe is changeable and inconſtant; ſometimes in a Calm, and then on a ſudden in a Storm: The ſixth is made of Aſhes, and a Labour⯑ing Aſs, (an odd Compoſition you will ſay) and ſhe is ſcarce driven to her Buſineſs with Threatnings or Force, but crams herſelf Night and Day, and lies with every one that comes; (now whether ſhe takes this Quality of lying with all who come, from the Father's-ſide, or the Mother's-ſide, I [138] cannot abſolutely determine.) The ſeventh was deſcended from a Pole Cat, and ſhe is nauſeous and ſtinking: The eighth from a Mare, and ſhe never cares to do any Work, and minds nothing but appearing neat and fine: The ninth from a Monkey, and her Ug⯑lineſs is a Jeſt to every body: The tenth from a Bee, and ſhe makes an excellent Wife. 1 There is a Story alſo of this Simonides, that being aſked about a Wife, he ſaid, ſhe was the Shipwreck of Man, the Tempeſt of a Houſe, the Diſturber of Reſt, the Priſon of Life, a daily Puniſhment, a ſumptuous Conflict, a Beaſt in Company, a neceſſary Evil. And 2 St. Chryſoſtom, beſides the Homily upon the beheading St. John Baptiſt, which is almoſt all an In⯑vective againſt Women, ſays in another Place, What is a Wife? The Enemy of Love, the inevitable Pain, the neceſſary Evil, the natural Temptation, a deſirable Calamity, a domeſtical Peril, a pleaſing Da⯑mage. Thus you ſee theſe Ancients, Ma⯑dam, had a very commendable Faculty of calling Names: What think you, might not the Matrons of Billinſgate improve in their Converſation? But it is natural, [139] when People cannot convince our Reaſon, to endeavour to move our Paſſions.
I know you will object againſt theſe, Ana⯑creon, Theocritus, Catullus, Tibullus, Ovid, Horace, Propertius, and all thoſe Poets and Wits, ancient and modern, who pleas'd themſelves, whilſt they lived, in the Purſuit of Women, and have render'd themſelves immortal after their Death, by the Tro⯑phies they raiſed to them. It is confeſſed, that ſpending their Time upon the Sex, they ought to know them beſt: But on the other ſide, to excuſe their own ſpending their Time, ought to repreſent them as fa⯑vourably as poſſible; and yet, pray what is the Account they give us of them? Do they not all with one Conſent complain, either of the Cruelty, or Falſhood of their Miſ⯑treſſes? Are not their Books full of Quar⯑rels, Picques and Jealouſies? and do they not ſhew the Levity, Perjury, and Lewd⯑neſs of the Sex? Does not 1 Anacreon, and a hundred more, tell you, they mind nothing but Wealth? (This Com⯑plaint of the Love of Wealth, and In⯑vectives againſt it, has been very ancient, and very general amongſt the Poets; [140] beſides this Greek, 1 Horace, 2 Ovid, 3 Tibullus, and 4 Propertius, make them, amongſt the Romans; 5 Marino, [141] 1 Guarini among the Italians; 2 Conde de Villa Mediana, and 3 Que⯑vedo amongſt the Spaniards; 4 Ronſard among the French; and 5 Cowley a⯑mongſt us: For you muſt know, Ma⯑dam, theſe Poets were a ſort of People, who were never very remarkable for their making large Jointures; their Eſtates ge⯑nerally lye upon Parnaſſus, where Land lets worſe than it does in Ireland: Nor do I remember to have read in any Hiſtory, of Poets who deferr'd the Enjoyment of their Miſtreſſes for the drawing of Writ⯑ings.) Does not 6 Theocritus make con⯑tinual Complaints of the Cruelty of his [142] Miſtreſs? Does not 1 Catullus tell you, that his Leſbia lay with all the Town? and 2 that what any Woman ſays to her Lover, ought to be writ in Wind, or run⯑ning Streams? Does not 3 Tibullus com⯑plain, that he had taught his Miſtreſs to deceive her Guards ſo long, that ſhe learnt to deceive him too? Does not 4 Ovid lye at his Miſtreſs's Door all Night, whilſt an inconſiderable Fellow has got into her Arms? Does not Horace complain of the 5Cruelty of two Miſtreſſes, and the 6Perjury and Inconſtancy of three or four more? And does not 7 Propertius, beſides his own Cynthia's Falſhood, cry out [143] of the Incontinence of the Sex in general? I know not what your Succeſs in Love may have been; but till you tell me the con⯑trary, I can hardly believe it better than theſe Mens. For what Qualification can there be to make a Woman kind and con⯑ſtant, that they had not? Anacreon ap⯑pears to be one of the gayeſt humour'd Men that ever was born; Theocritus the moſt tender and natural in his Poems; Catullus was without a Rival the greateſt Wit of his Age; Tibullus was not only the ſmootheſt and delicateſt of the Roman Poets, but alſo the moſt beautiful Perſon of his Time; Ovid and Propertius, as nei⯑ther of them wanted Love, ſo never had any a more ſoft and tender Way of ex⯑preſſing it; and Horace, beſides the Talent of crying up his Miſtreſſes, and pleaſing their Vanity that Way, had the pleaſanteſt Manner of expoſing the Follies of this Ri⯑vals, and the ſevereſt of revenging the 1Falſhood or Unkindneſs of his Miſ⯑treſſes, of any Man in the World. And yet none of all theſe could, by their own Confeſſion, keep a Woman to themſelves, or even teach them Cunning enough to jilt them ſo, that they ſhould never find it [144] out; which 1 Ovid tells us frankly, was all he deſir'd from them.
From this, Madam, you may pleaſe to obſerve, that Jilting is no ſuch new Thing as ſome People would make us believe, tho' methinks theſe Poets are dangerous Per⯑ſons to jilt, ſince it is remember'd againſt their Miſtreſſes; near two thouſand Years after.
And in Effect, what but Ruin and De⯑ſolation proceeds from them? Who was the Betrayer of 2 Samſon, but Dalilah? Who was the Cauſe of the Deſtruction of 3 Troy, but Helen? Of 4 Agamemnon's Death, but Glytemneſtra? Of 5 Hercules's, but Deianira? Who adviſed the burning of 6 Perſepolis, but Thais? Who ruin'd 7 Hannibal's Army, but the Capuan Wo⯑men? Who loſt 8 Mark Antony the World, but Cleopatra? Why ſhould I bur⯑den [145] you with Inſtances, when every Coun⯑try can furniſh Examples enow of their own? What made ſuch Confuſion in 1 Juſtinian's Court, but Theodora? What cauſed the Revolt in the Low Countries, but the Government of the 2Princeſs of Parma? Who made ſuch dreadful Diſtur⯑bances in 3 Scotland, as their Queen Mary? And who raiſed the greateſt Perſecution for Religion, that ever England ſaw, but our own Queen of the ſame Name?
But certainly they muſt have ſome very great Perfections to make Amends for all theſe Faults: Well then, let us ſee what they are! Let us view theſe pleaſant Com⯑fits that are to make the Poiſon go down: Let us enjoy a little of that Converſation, that is diverſitive enough to make People neglect all their Danger. Sit in one of their Drawing-Rooms all Day; obſerve the Diſcourſe which paſſes; is it not a tedious Repetition of the ſame Impertinencies over and over again, to every new Viſitant? And is not one Half of that ſpent in cenſuring all the Town, and the other Half in rail⯑ing at thoſe who cenſure? Do they not in⯑veigh againſt the Lampooners, and at the ſame time talk as ſcandalouſly as they can [146] write? The horrid Affectation, the ridi⯑culous Vanity, the groſs Diſſimulation, and the inveterate Malice that appears in all their Diſcourſes, are Things for which I ſhould think all the Paint on their Faces could not make Amends. For my own part, I confeſs, I have been Fool enough to be in Love too, and have follow'd Wo⯑men upon that Account, but to another ſort of End, than you ſay you do: But when that End was once ſatisfied, to talk with them afterwards, was as great a Pe⯑nance to me, as it would be to ſit in a greaſy Cook's Shop, when my Belly was full.
This MISOGYNES is a very rude Fellow, and I am ſure your Ladyſhip will be of my Opinion, that his laſt Simile was very ful⯑ſome. It is a Sign he hates Women; for had he converſed with them, they would have taught him better Manners.
But there are doubtleſs, you will ſay, Women of Underſtanding: Pray where are they? Is it your prudent Woman, your good Houſewife, who is plaguing all the World with her Management, and in⯑ſtructing every body how to feed Geeſe and Capons? Or is it your Politician, who is always full of Buſineſs, who carries a Se⯑cretary of State's Office in her Head, and is making her deep Obſervations upon every [147] Day's News? Or is it your learned Woman' who runs mad for the Love of hard Words' who talks a mixt Jargon, or Lingua Franca' and has ſpent a great deal of Time to make her capable of talking Nonſenſe in four or five ſeveral Languages? What think you, Sir, do you not wiſh for your Viſitant again, as the more tolerable Folly of the two? Do not you think Learning and Po⯑litics become a Woman as ill as riding aſtride? And had not the Duke of 1 Brit⯑tany Reaſon, who thought a Woman knowing enough, when ſhe could diſtin⯑guiſh between her Huſband's Shirt and his Breeches?
Do not you, in Anſwer to theſe, fetch me a Sapho out of Greece; a Cornelia, the Mother of the Gracchi, out of Rome; an Anna Maria Schurman out of Holland; and think that in ſhewing me Three learned Women in Three thouſand Years, you have gained your Point; and from ſome few particular Inſtances, proved a general Con⯑cluſion: If I ſhould bring you half a Do⯑zen Magpies that could talk, and as many Horſes that could dance, you would not, I ſuppoſe for all that, chuſe out the one to converſe with, or the other to walk a Corant.
[148] But would you ſee them to their beſt Advantage? Would you have their Wit, Courage, and Conduct diſplay'd? Take them upon the Buſineſs of Luſt; that can make Sapho witty, Aloiſia eloquent, a Country-wife politic; that can humble 1 Meſſalina's Pride to walk the Streets; can make tender 1 Hippia endure the In⯑commodities of a Sea-Voyage; can ſupport the Queen of 2 Sheba in a Journey to So⯑lomon, and make 3 Thaleſtris ſearch out Alexander the Great: In this Particular, I muſt confeſs, we ought to ſubmit to them, and with Shame allow them the Prefe⯑rence. I cannot reflect upon the Stories of 4 Sewiramis's lying with all the hand⯑ſomeſt Men in her Army, and putting them to Death afterwards; of her offering her Son the laſt Favour; of 5 Meſſalina the Empreſs's proſtituting herſelf in the public Stews; and of Queen 6 Joan of Naples providing a Bath under her Win⯑dow, where ſhe might ſee all the luſtieſt young men naked, and take her Choice out [149] of them, without ſuch an Admiration as their heroic Actions deſerve. 1 Sapho, as ſhe was one of the wittieſt Women that ever the World bred, ſo ſhe thought with Reaſon it would be expected ſhe ſhould make ſome Additions to a Science in which all Womankind had been ſo ſucceſsful: What does ſhe do then? Not content with our Sex, ſhe begins Amours with her own, and teaches us a new Sort of Sin, that was follow'd not only in 2 Lucian's Time, but is practiſed frequently in 3 Turkey at this Day. You cannot but be ſenſible, Sir, that there is no Neceſſity of going ſo far for Inſtances of their Lewdneſs, and were it civil to quote the Lampoons, or write the Amours of our own Time, we might be furniſhed with Examples enough nearer Home.
Here, Madam, I could not forbear tel⯑ling my Friend, that his Diſputant grew ſcurrilous. He told me, conſidering him as a Woman-hater, he thought it was no more than his Character required; and that if I compared his Diſcourſe with what others had ſaid againſt them, I ſhould think him a very well-bred Man.
[150] After this to talk of their Levity or Bab⯑ling, what were it but trifling? All the Lovers and Poets who have had any thing to do with them, can furniſh them⯑ſelves with Inſtances enough of the firſt; and any Man who will give himſelf the Trouble of reading any one Hiſtory, ſhall find Inſtances enough of the other, if his own Wiſdom has hindered him from make⯑ing them at his own Coſt. 1There be⯑ing a Senate called in Rome, upon ſome very extraordinary Occaſion, one of the Se⯑nators was deſired by his Wife to tell her what it was? He reply'd, He was obliged to Secrecy; ſhe ſwears it ſhall never be known to any one by her Means; upon that Promiſe he informs her, that there was a Lark ſeen flying over the Senate-Houſe with a golden Helmet on his Head, and a Spear in one of his Claws, and that they had thereupon called the Soothſayers together, to know what it portended. No ſooner was the Huſband gone, but the Wife tells it too, under a Vow of Secrecy to her Maid; ſhe to another who was her Fel⯑low-Servant, who told it to her Lover; ſo that, to be ſhort, it ran ſo faſt, that as ſoon as the Senator came into the Market-Place, one took him aſide, and told it him for a great Secret; aways goes he, and tells [151] his Wife ſhe had undone him, in divulging what he had truſted with her: She denies it, with a true feminine Impudence: How could it come to be known then? ſays he. Alas (reply'd ſhe) are there not three hundred Senators, and might it not come from any of them as well as you? No, ſays he, for I invented it on a ſudden, to ſatisfy your Cu⯑rioſity, and thus had I been ſerved, if I had truſted you with the Secret. It is ſuch another Story they tell us of young Papi⯑rius to his Mother, who aſking him what had been debated that Morning in the Se⯑nate, told her, They were making a Law for Men to have a Plurality of Wives. But it is ſomewhat a more tragical Relation Plutarch gives of Fulvius. Auguſtus com⯑plained to him, that he was diſſatisfied with what he had done, in adopting Livia's Sons, and diſinheriting his own Nephews; Fulvius goes home, and tells it his Wife, ſhe tells it to the Empreſs, who upbraids the Emperor with it. Auguſtus, when he ſaw Fulvius next, checked him for it; by which he perceived himſelf ruined, and therefore went immediately, told his Wife what ſhe had done, and that he reſolved to ſtab himſelf: But certainly the Wife's Anſwer was very ſufficient; Nor did you deſerve leſs, ſaid ſhe, who having lived ſo [152] long with me, did not know I could not keep a Secret.
But omitting theſe, whoſe Actions are recorded to their Infamy, let us ſee a little of thoſe who are quoted as the Glories of their Sex. And who more cry'd up amongſt them than 1 Judith? What Action more celebrated than her murdering Holofernes, when he had treated her with all the Kind⯑neſs and Reſpect imaginable in his Tent? For my part, I muſt own my Virtue does not arrive to ſo high a Pitch; and ſhould rather have ſuffered my Town to have been ruin'd, than have been guilty of an Action that appears to me ſo barbarous; but I confeſs that of 2 Jael is yet worſe, to invite a Man into her Tent, promiſe him Protection, and when he had truſted his Life in her Hands, to murther him whilſt he was aſleep. What ſhall we ſay to Penelope, who is inſtanced as a Pattern of Chaſtity, and conjugal Love? I will not with 3 Ovid and 4 Virgil (if the Priapeia [153] are his) make malicious Reflections upon her trying her Lovers Strength in a Bow; but take the Story as it lies in the Odyſſes, I am ſure ſhe would hardly paſs for ſuch a Saint in our Days; and if a Lady had her Houſe full of Lovers for twenty Years of her Husband's abſence, and if her Husband were forced to fight all theſe before he could have his Wife again, it is poſſible the Lam⯑pooners of the Town would not have re⯑preſented her Caſe ſo favourably as Homer has done. But what ſhall we ſay to * Ly⯑cophron even amongſt the Greeks, who ſpeaks of her as a moſt profligate ſort of Woman, or to † Duris Samius, who aſſerts her to have been ſo very common, as to have lain with all Comers during her Husband's Ab⯑ſence, from whoſe promiſcuous Copulations Pan was born, and therefore took the Name. (Pan, your Ladyſhip knows, in Greek, ſignifies All.) For Lucretia, I ſhall [154] not inſinuate, as a *great Wit ſeems to do, that ſhe ſtabbed herſelf, rather than return to the Embraces of a Husband, after hav⯑ing been ſo much better pleaſed by a Gal⯑lant; but if ſhe were one who valued her Chaſtity ſo much, and her Life ſo little, as they would make us believe, it is ſomewhat odd that ſhe ſhould rather let Tarquin en⯑joy her alive, than a Slave lie in the Bed with her when ſhe was dead; and that ſhe ſhould chuſe to commit the Sin, rather than bear the Shame.
But let us forgive them all theſe Things I have mentioned; and ſince † Le Chambre aſſures us, that there is no Beauty in a Woman, but what is a Sign of ſome Vice; let us attribute it to Nature's Fault, not theirs; and reckon that the more vicious they are, the nearer they come to the Per⯑fection of the Sex; and indeed, not ſpend⯑ing much Time in their Converſations, I will pardon them all their Levity, Babling, Malice, and Impertinence; and, being un⯑married, ſhall not be ſo ſevere upon their Luſts and Adulteries; provided they will ſtop there. Let Helen run away from her Husband with a handſomer Man; but let her not ſuffer all Troy to be ruined for the [155] keeping her there: Let Clytemneſtra lye with another Man, during her Husband's Abſence; but let her not murder him for it when he comes home: Let † Semiramis make uſe of all the handſomeſt Fellows of her Army; but let her not put them to Death for fear they ſhould tell Tales: And tho' I would forgive her, yet her own Sex would never pardon her being the firſt Maker of ‡Eunuchs: Let Phaedra and Fauſta invite their Husbands Sons to ſupply their Fathers Defects; but let them not ac⯑cuſe them, and have them put to Death for refuſing: Let Joan of Naples make uſe of all the Men in her Kingdom; but let her not ſtrangle her Hushand for his Im⯑perfections in a Point that he could not help: That Cruelty and Barbarity, I con⯑feſs, is what provokes me ſo much againſt the Sex: I can ſee Tibullus's Miſtreſs jilt him, for a Fool who is not half ſo hand⯑ſome; I can ſee Ovid waiting all Night at his Miſtreſs's Door, whilſt another Man is in her Arms; and I can ſee half a Score impertinent Women plaguing you with nonſenſical Stories, and be very well di⯑verted all the while: But I confeſs I can⯑not hear of Medea's cutting her Brother in Pieces, and ſtrewing his Limbs in the Way [156] to ſtop her purſuing Father, without Hor⯑ror and Dread; nor of her treating her own Children after the ſame manner, to revenge herſelf upon Jaſon, without a like Emotion: I know not how other People may bear ſuch Things; but for my Part, when I ſee all the Murders and Barbarities they commit, to revenge themſelves on their inconſtant Lovers, to get rid of their Husbands for ſome one they like better, or to prevent the Diſcovery of their Lewdneſs; but my Hair ſtands on end, my Blood ſhrinks, and I am poſſeſs'd with an utter Deteſtation of the Sex. Go but one Cir⯑cuit with the Judges here in England; ob⯑ſerve how many Women are condemned for killing their Baſtard Children; and tell me if you think their Cruelties can be equalled; or whether you think thoſe who commit ſuch Actions fit for your, or for any civil Converſation. But I ſee by your Looks you are convinced, I ſee you abandon your Cauſe, and I ſhall ceaſe to expoſe any farther a Sex, of whoſe Patronage you ſeem already aſhamed.
Here MISOGYNES left off, and PHYLO⯑GYNES began to anſwer him: But I muſt beg your Pardon, Sir, ſaid my Friend, for my Time is come, and I muſt neceſſarily be gone. The Devil you ſhall, ſaid I; you would engage me in a pretty Affair; I pro⯑miſe [157] a Lady a Defence of her Sex, and you will make me ſend her a Satire againſt it. Truly, my dear Friend, ſaid he, I deſigned to have told you all, but it is later than I thought, and I have Buſineſs waits for me. No Buſineſs, ſaid I, can be ſo conſiderable to you, as the ſatisfying a fair Lady is to me, therefore ſit down, and bring me fairly off what you have told me already, or you and I ſhall be Friends no longer. After all, Madam, to tell you the Truth, tho' there is no great Matter in this Speech of MISO⯑GYNES, yet I can hardly believe he made it upon a ſudden; 'tis poſſible tho', they two having diſcourſed the Matter as they told us before, might have provided themſelves each with Arguments. But ſuppoſing that, I can ſcarce believe one Man would be ſuf⯑fered to talk ſo long without Interruption; at leaſt I am ſure, ſome who we know were none of the Company. But it is poſſible, that he who told me, might leave out all that was ſpoke by others, for Brevity ſake, being as you ſee in haſte.
If you are as apt to be miſtaken in your Judgment of Things as of Looks, replied PHILOGYNES, it is no wonder you ſhould make ſuch ſtrange Concluſions. Whatever Seriouſneſs you may ſee in my Face, does not, I'll aſſure you, proceed from any Diſ⯑truſt of my Cauſe, but an Aſtoniſhment at [158] what ſtrange Arguments the Invention of Man can ſuggeſt againſt the beſt Things that are. I ſay, the Invention of Man, for I am far from believing you in earneſt in this Point; I have too juſt an Opinion of MISOGYNES, to think he does any Thing but put on this Humour for a Trial of Skill; and I no more believe you a Hater of Wo⯑men, for the Invective you have made againſt them, than I believe Eraſmus a Lover of Folly, for the Encomium he has writ upon it. If you have therefore any thing more to urge, forbear it not upon any ſup⯑poſed Conviction you ſee in my Counte⯑nance; for, notwithſtanding that I think you have handled the Subject as fully as any one who has undertaken it, yet I will aſſure you I cannot ſubmit to your Argu⯑ments; and therefore am very ready to hear any thing you have further to urge. No, ſays MISOGYNES, I am ſenſible I have troubled the Company long enough about a Trifle, and it is very fit you ſhould have your Turn of ſpeaking now. Part of the Company was already convinced by his Arguments, the other Part thought he had ſaid as much as the Matter would bear, and therefore both agreed in deſiring PHI⯑LOGYNES to ſpeak what he had to ſay, which he did in this Manner:
[159] I confeſs, Sir (ſaid he ſmiling) when I ſaw the Aſſociates you allotted me at firſt, I began to deſpair of my Cauſe; I own I was aſhamed of my Company, and reſolved to pack up Baggage inſtantly, and quit a Trade in which none but Fops and Fools were engaged; but when I ſaw the Ana⯑creons, the Ovids, and all the Wits, antient and modern, in the ſame Circumſtances, I even took Heart again. Courage, ſaid I, the Buſineſs is not ſo bad as I thought, and it is poſſible his Heart may relent, and al⯑low us ſome better Company than he con⯑demned us to at firſt. At leaſt, thought I, if it is a Folly to converſe with Women, it is ſome Comfort that he owns it to be a Folly of which the greateſt Wits of the World have been guilty before us: And when I ſaw all Greece, and the greater Part of Aſia venturing their Lives for One Wo⯑man, I thought I had ſomewhat the Ad⯑vantage of them, whilſt I ventured nothing but my Rhetoric for them All together. And when you named Samſon, Achilles, Hannibal, and Mark Anthony, I enquired who thoſe Gentlemen were; for certainly, thought I, if they were ſuch brave Men, and great Soldiers, as I have heard them repreſented, we have no Reaſon to deſpair of the Victory when we have them to lead us on.
[160] You might have ſpoken more generally of them too, if you had pleaſed; you might have told us, that there never was a great Soldier who was not as famous for his Amours, as his Battles; that a Poet was ſcarce thought free of his Trade, who had not paid ſome Duties to Love *; and you might have ad⯑ded to theſe all the Wiſe-men and Philoſo⯑phers of the World: You might have in⯑formed us, that David, tho' a Man after God's own Heart, was not contented with⯑out ſome Share in the Womens: That Solomon, who knew the Virtue of every Plant, from the Cedar of Libanus, to the Hyſop that grows upon the Wall, took as much Pains to have as general a Knowledge of the Ladies: That † Socrates, who was the uglieſt as well as the wiſeſt Man of his Time, would in ſpite of Nature aim at Love too, and, not terrified by one ill Wife, would try to mend his Hand in another: That † Plato, whom Antiquity has called Divine, did not ſpend all his Time in erect⯑ing Commonwealths, but that ſome of it was beſtowed upon the Xantippe's and Archeanaſſa's: That † Ariſtotle, whom Phi⯑lip made Governor to Alexander, made himſelf a Slave to his Miſtreſs; that this [161] was not an Effect of his Paſſion alone, but of his Reaſon; *That he ſaid, Love was not only upon the Account of Copulation but Philoſophy; and commands his Wiſe⯑man to be in Love, before he bids him meddle with the Commonwealth: And in fine, that this great Man, who fathomed all Arts and Sciences, who has given us the beſt Rules of Philoſophy, Politics, Poetry, &c. did alſo not think it unbecom⯑ing his Gravity to write one Treatiſe of Love, and four Amatory Theſes. You might have mingled Sacred Story with Pro⯑fane: You might have told us that St. Peter was married, that St. Paul defended the leading about a Siſter; that we owe one of the moſt celebrated †Fathers of the Church to the Endeavours and Converſion of a Woman; and that St. Jerom had ſo great an Eſteem for the Sex, as to dedicate a great Part of his Works to ſome of them. You might have added to theſe a thouſand more, which you ſee I purpoſely omit to avoid Prolixity, and mention none but whom you will allow to be the moſt celebrated of their Profeſſion, without doing your Cauſe and Injury in the leaſt; for after all, it is [162] but ſhewing us a Drawing-room of Fops, reading a Dialogue out of Lucian, ſeeing a Scene of a Play, quoting a Sentence out of Solomon's Proverbs, ſearching all Hiſtory for two or three ill Women, and the Buſi⯑neſs is done, the Cauſe is gained, let the Trumpets ſound, and Io Poean be ſung for the Victory.
I am ſorry, Sir, that I cannot be as civil to you, as you have been to me: It goes againſt my Conſcience to place you with ſo bad Company, conſidering with what you have obliged me; and of thoſe few great Men whom you have ſeduced to your Party, I am concerned that I muſt take better Part from you. I fancy, after what I have al⯑ready ſaid of Solomon, after reflecting upon his Hiſtory, you cannot think him a true Friend to your Cauſe; and therefore will not, I hope, depend too much upon him. I ſhall ſay nothing of his Wives and Con⯑cubines, I ſhall not ſo much as mention his Canticles, which * Grotius, as well as I, affirms to be a Love-Poem, and which [163] * Rapin reckons both the firſt and beſt of Paſtorals; but I ſhall attack you at your own Weapon; I ſhall oppoſe Proverb againſt Proverb; if he has been ſevere in them upon ill Women, whoſe Cauſe I do not undertake, he has ſpoken as favourably of the †Wiſe and the Good: for whom we appear: In like manner, if Euripides has repreſented Women ſo in his Tragedies, as to get the Name of the Woman-hater, I appeal from his Writings to his Life and Converſation, which ſhew him far other⯑wiſe. If Simonides gives you ſevere Cha⯑racters of ſeveral Women, he gives you one at laſt that makes amends for all; one in whom no Fault can be found; and if you think that is not enough to take him off from your Party, if you are ſtill ſo very fond of him, we will tell you, that Men who are deformed and ugly, as ‡ Simonides was, naturally declare themſelves Enemies to Women, becauſe they fancy Women are Enemies to them; and upon that Account, not upon the Account of his Wit, we will allow him to you. As for St. Chryſoſtom, tho' we have all the Reſpect imaginable for a Father of Church, and upon that Account [164] ſhall not enter into the Merits of the Cauſe betwixt *him and the Empreſs Eudoxia; yet this we ſhall ſay, Sir, that as Fathers of the Church are ſubject to Paſſions, as well as other Men; ſo it is no Wonder that a Man, who is uſed very ill by one Wo⯑man, and converſes with few elſe, ſhould conclude them all alike. Thus after hav⯑ing taken two of your Patriots from you, and if not taken, at leaſt diſabled the other two from being very credible Witneſſes, you are reduced to Lucian and Juvenal. For the former, if I ſhould quote you what the old Fathers ſay of him, if I ſhould tell you, that he did not only abuſe the Chri⯑ſtian Religion, but even his own; that he rallied all the Philoſophers, Orators, and Hiſtorians of his Time; that not content with that, he falls foul upon thoſe his own Religion taught him to worſhip as Gods; I fancy you would not think what ſuch a Man ſays of any great Weight; but truly, Sir, there is no need of that in this Caſe: What does this Lucian do, pray? Why †he deſcribes the Bawds griping, covetous, and encouraging their Daughters in Lewd⯑neſs; his Courteſans falſe, jilting, and true Courteſans throughout. And what of all this, pray? what does this make for you? [165] It is not the Cauſe of Bawds, or Courteſans that we undertake; tho' even amongſt them he repreſents a great part eaſy, loving, good-natur'd Fools, and us'd accordingly by their Lovers. But does Lucian pretend that there are no good Women? Does he fall upon the Sex in general? or does not he bring in * Charicles in one place defending them, and does not he make the greateſt En⯑comium that can be of Panthaea in another, and ſpeak with abundance of Eſteem of ſe⯑veral other Women in the ſame? And if he does introduce Callicratides in one of his Dialogues railing at the Sex, in Oppoſition to Charicles, he does it in the Defence of a Sin, which I am ſure you will ſcarce think it civil to name. What ſhall we ſay to Ju⯑venal, but what Plato did to Xenocrates, bid him ſacrifice to the Graces. He is al⯑ways violent, always declaiming, always in a Paſſion; and what Wonder if he falls upon the Women in one of his Fits? After all, you will make no great Matter of him; for if he has writ one Satire upon the Wo⯑men, he has writ fifteen upon the Men. For the comic Poets and Satiriſts, whom you mention in general, when you name them in particular, I ſhall give them par⯑ticular Anſwers. And now truly, Sir, ſee yourſelf reduced to a miſerable Equipage; [166] ſome old Huſbands, and jilted Lovers; ſome Men with ill Faces, and worſe Miens, may poſſibly ſtick to you ſtill; but that is all: I am ſorry to ſee a Man ſo well made, of ſo much Wit, and who has been ſo ſuc⯑ceſsful amongſt the Ladies, rank himſelf with ſuch a Tribe; but you do it, I ſup⯑poſe, by way of Variety only; and ſo let Miſogynes appear, at the Head of his Regi⯑ment, that makes a worſe Figure than Sir John Falſtaffe's; let them be encouraged with ſtummed Wine and muddy Ale; let them give Fire to their Mundungus, and ſo let the Battel begin, whilſt we with all the Heroes, Wits, and Philoſophers, ſee how we can defend the Cauſe we have un⯑dertaken.
I am ſenſible, Sir, that I have broken the Order of your Diſcourſe, and I beg your Pardon for it: But I thought it was neceſſary to diſtinguiſh our Enemies from our Friends, before the Armies joined, that ſo we might know whom to attack, and whom to ſpare; and having done that, I ſhall now confine myſelf to your Method, and follow the Courſe that you pleaſe to lead me.
Though I perfectly agree with you in the Eſteem of the Laws made for the En⯑couragement of Marriage, and conſequent⯑ly cannot but regret the Want of them [167] amongſt ourſelves; yet I muſt beg your Pardon, Sir, if I wholly diſſent from you, in the Inference you would draw from it: For it is very apparent to me, and to any unbyaſſed Perſon elſe, I ſuppoſe, that thoſe Laws were never made, as you fancy, for the forcing Men to the Love of Women, to which all Countries were naturally enough enclined; but for the reſtraining them to Particulars; that whilſt they fol⯑lowed the general Pleaſures of the Sex, they might not loſe the uſeful Part, which was the Procreation of Children. Had there been ſo few Virtues amongſt them, as you pleaſe to imagine, there had been no Need of this; When we have but one Diſh of Meat that we like, we fall upon that with⯑out any Deliberation; but when the Fancy is diſtracted with Variety of Dainties, we often loſe more Time in the making our Choice, than would otherwiſe be requiſite to the ſatisfying our Appetites.
It is true, Sir, it is a very good Way to judge of People by the Company they are fond of; but it is not a certain Way to judge of People by the Company that is fond of them. There was a Taylor in Love with Queen Elizabeth, but it does not neceſſarily follow that Queen Elizabeth was in Love with a Taylor. If there are ridiculous Fellows who follow the Ladies, [168] before we run down the Ladies for it, let us ſee if they do not laugh at them as well as we our ſelves. And I cannot think their purſuing them any Reaſon at all for Men of Senſe to avoid them. You would think it very hard, that Alexander and Caeſar ſhould quit the Art of War, becauſe ſome Thraſoes and bragging Bullies pretended to it as well as they; and Virgil and Horace would take it very ill, that you ſhould damn all Sorts of Poetry, becauſe of the Bavius's and Maevius's, who ſet up for it; and whatever Reaſon you would give againſt the being a Miniſter of State, I dare ſay, Sir Politic Woudbee's aiming at it would be none. (Here Philogynes ſeems to me not to underſtand the right Uſe of that conſi⯑derable Part of Mankind call'd Fools; For it is only the Half-Wit that is intolerable, and a true Fool, is next a true Wit the beſt Company in the World; for as a no⯑ble Author has extreamly well obſerved,
[169] After this I need not tell you, Sir, that it is very ill judging of People by their Out-ſide; and as I laugh at thoſe who like a Man only for his being well dreſſed, ſo I fancy you will allow them to be as ridicu⯑lous, who run him down only for the ſame Reaſon. It was objected againſt * Ariſtotle and † Cicero, that they were too ſumptu⯑ous in their Apparel, and overcurious in their Dreſs; and without doubt there were deep ‡Critics in thoſe Times, ſaid they minded nothing but making themſelves fine; who yet, without any Offence to their Learning, we may ſuppoſe, could not give ſo good an Account of their Studies, as theſe two great Men have done of theirs.
(Courage! there are two good Precedents for the Beaux.)
After all, Sir, I know there are a great many of theſe gay Coxcombs, of theſe eter⯑nal Pretenders to Love; and I have nothing to ſay in their Behalf; let them even ſhift for themſelves amongſt the Thraſoes, and Bavius's. But they do not only pretend (you ſay) they are ſucceſsful too. It is very poſſible, Sir; I do not know but there may [170] be Fools enough of the other Sex, to like the Fools of ours. But it is with the beſt Sort of Women too (you ſay) that they ſucceed. And who tells you ſo, pray? They themſelves. I ſwear, Sir, though I have a very great Eſteem for thoſe Gen⯑tlemen, yet I muſt beg their Pardon for my Faith in this Point; I can never think a Woman, whoſe Wit we all allow, can be fond of a Man whoſe Folly we all ſee. On the other ſide, I know how natu⯑ral it is, for every one to avoid Contempt; and when a Man is deſpiſed in one Place, what ſo reaſonable as to make you believe he is eſteemed in another. And I hope the Gentlemen themſelves will take it for a Compliment, when I tell them I do not believe a Word they ſay in this Point; ſince certainly a Man of Honour would rather of the two, tell a Lye to the Prejudice of a Woman who uſes him ill, than a Truth to the utter Ruin of one who grants him all the Favours he can aſk.
But let us judge them by their Actions, ſay you! Do not moſt of the young Heireſſes run away with the pitiful Fel⯑lows? If they do, Sir, it ſhould rather deſerve your Pity than your Anger; or if you muſt be angry, be angry with the Guardians whoſe Severity frighten them away, and yet hinders them the Sight of [171] any Men of Merit to run away with. It is no Wonder that one who has never ſeen any Town, but where he was born, ſhould think that the fineſt in the World; and you cannot blame a Woman for being in Love with a Man who does not deſerve her, if ſhe never ſaw any who did. All that we can reaſonably expect in that Point is, that ſhe ſhould make ſome Satisfaction when ſhe ſees the World better; and if ſhe ſhews her Contempt of her Choice then, it is as much (if not more) than can be re⯑quired. In like manner you cannot ſay a Widow makes an ill choice, except you prove ſhe was offered a better. If a Man, who is obliged to ride a Journey, does it upon an ill Horſe, you will be very well ſatisfy'd certainly, when he tells you, it is the beſt he could get. (I confeſs, Madam, this ſeems to me but a very indifferent Ex⯑cuſe for the Widows; for he would make us believe, it is but next Oars with them; and ſo I told my Friend; but he reply'd, I muſt conſider, it is only thoſe Widows who make an ill Choice, about which he is to ſpeak; and as he cannot ſay of them, as of the young Maids, that it was for want of ſeeing the World; ſo they muſt be con⯑tented with this Excuſe, or make a better for themſelves.) For the Wives, who you ſay cuckold their Huſbands, there may be ſome⯑what [172] more to be ſaid. Modeſty being almoſt an inſeparable Quality of Wit, there is no Wonder that a Man who is poſſeſſed of that, ſhould ſo ſeldom ſucceed in theſe Under⯑takings; whilſt Fools, by their natural Impudence puſh on the Thing; and mar⯑ried Women are a ſort of Forts that are ſooner taken by Storm than Treaty. So that this ſhews rather the great Confidence of the Man, than the little Judgment of the Woman; who it is forty to one had much rather a Man of Senſe was poſſeſſed of her, if he would take the ſame Methods to gain her as the other had done.
(After all, Madam, I think none of theſe Excuſes extraordinary; therefore if I were worthy to adviſe the Ladies, they ſhould rather make Uſe of Men of Wit in all theſe Capacities, than put their Friends to the Trouble of inventing ſuch pitiful Defences for them.)
Now, Sir, as I cannot ſee any Reaſon why Women ſhould naturally love Fools more than Men of Wit, ſo I ſhall very hardly be brought to believe they do. In a Huſband I ſuppoſe they propoſe a Man whoſe Converſation ſhall be agreeable as well as his Perſon; and who ſhall have Wit to entertain them, as well as Wiſdom to direct them; and in whom can this be found, but in Men of the beſt Senſe? If in [173] a Gallant, as you ſay, they propoſe Plea⯑ſure without Scandal, tis very hard the Heat that warms a Man's Brain, ſhould ſo en⯑tirely ſettle there, as to render him inca⯑pable of pleaſing them otherwiſe; though it is poſſible, by reaſon of his having Varie⯑ty of Thoughts to divert him, he may not give himſelf ſo entirely up to thoſe Plea⯑ſures, as People leſs capable of thinking do: And for the Scandal, who ſo proper to hinder that, as thoſe who have Prudence to manage Things ſo as not to be found out, and Wit enough to turn it off if they are? Whilſt a Fool by his Want of Senſe ſhall quickly make the Thing public, if there be an Intrigue, or by his Vanity brag of one, though there be none. Add to this, that when a Woman ſeems pleaſed with a Man of Wit, every body is apt to attribute it to the Pleaſure of his Converſa⯑tion; whereas, when ſhe is fond of a Man, in whom we can ſee nothing to be liked, we naturally ſuppoſe ſhe likes him for ſomething that we do not ſee: And though it is poſſible it may be only Want of Judg⯑ment in the Lady, yet the World is apt to compliment her Underſtanding in that Caſe, to the Prejudice of her Reputation. And to conclude, Sir, though I do not believe all thoſe Men ſucceſsful who ſay they are not, yet I am very much inclined to believe [174] all thoſe Men not to be ſucceſsful, who ſay they are.
For your Examples of Women-haters, I have ſufficiently I think reply'd to them already; and for your other Arguments, if it be an Affront to call a Man effeminate, I hope you do not think it any great Com⯑pliment to tell a Woman ſhe is maſculine; and had that Argument been urged againſt you, I dare anſwer for you, you would have ſaid, that that only proved the Perfections of the Sexes different; and as Man was made for the ruder Labours, it was requi⯑ſite he ſhould be ſtrong and coarſe; and the Women, being made for the eaſier Things, ought to be ſoft, tender, and de⯑licate: And as for Mens being governed by their Wives, though the being hector'd by them is not ſo commendable; yet it * was obſerved by † Cato of the Romans, that they governed all the World, and that their Wives governed them: Amongſt the ‡ Aſſyrians it was a Cuſtom introduced by Semiramis, (who had ruled that Kingdom with ſo much Glory) that the Wives ſhould have Dominion over the Huſbands: The ſame Cuſtom prevailed likewiſe among [175] the * Sauromatae; and the † Aegyptians had an expreſs Law to that Purpoſe. We know how much the ‡ Spartans (the braveſt Men of the World) were com⯑manded by their Wives, and that all the Care and Management of domeſtic Affairs was committed to them. So that I can⯑not imagine how a Thing ſhould be ſo very ſcandalous, that was practiſed by moſt of the braveſt People under the Sun.
Here are very good Precedents for mar⯑ried Women, which it is to be hoped they will lay up in their Hearts, and practiſe in their Lives and Converſations.
I have as great a Veneration for thoſe Poets you mention, as any Man can; and upon that Account I ſhall not believe all the Ill they ſay of their Miſtreſſes, becauſe I ſuppoſe they would not have me: As I have been a Lover myſelf, ſo I know very well that People are apt in thoſe Caſes to take Suſpicions for Realities, and Surmiſes for Matter of Fact. Does not ‖ Aurengzebe call Indamora faithleſs, and ingrate? And yet I believe he would be very angry that you ſhould call her ſo too; [176] and would not any one who came in when he was in one of his Rants, conclude, a Man who loved ſo well, would not be en⯑raged againſt a Miſtreſs at that rate, unleſs her Falſhood was very apparent? And yet when we come to examine the Cauſe of this Diſorder, what is it, but Morats giv⯑ing him his Life at her Requeſt, or his leaning upon her Lap when he died. I rather mention this than any of the Poets you ſpoke of, not only becauſe all the Mo⯑tions and Paſſions of a Lover are deſcribed with as much Art and Delicacy, as in any of thoſe Antients, but alſo, that ſeeing the whole Buſineſs before you, you may judge of every little Cauſe of his Diſorder, as well as he himſelf, which in Odes and Elegies you cannot do. You ſee the Lover there in a Fury, but what Cauſe he has to be ſo, there is no body to tell you, but he who is in it. Add to this, that a Man often feigns Jealouſy of his Miſtreſs, to binder her from being ſo of him, and will upbraid her Falſhood to defend his own. (That is a Thing, now I confeſs, Madam, which I can hardly believe.) And it is evident, they had not really any ſuch bad Opinion of Women, ſince with all this they did not ceaſe to run after them. However, if you think theſe general Anſwers not ſufficient, let us ſee what we can ſay to Particulars. [177] For the Complaints of Cruelty and Scorn. I look upon them as Things of Courſe; and therefore, ſhall ſay nothing to them. If Anacreon's Miſtreſs did aſk him nothing but Money, why did he chuſe one whoſe Neceſſities drove her upon it. And if other Men have made Complaints of the Wo⯑mens minding Wealth more than Love; I deſire to know whether Women have not as much Reaſon to make the ſame Com⯑plaints of the Men. And for thoſe who talk of their Miſtreſſes Inconſtancy, let us ſee firſt whether they were conſtant to them. For Ovid, he does not pretend to put it upon you, but complains in *one Place of his being in Love with two at once, and tells you frankly in †another, that he was in Love with all the Town. For Horace, Suetonius, (or whoever it was that writ his Life) informs you that he was intemperately given to Women; and what Wonder then, that a Man who try'd ſo ma⯑ny, ſhould find one or two falſe. Tibul⯑lus had two ‡Miſtreſſes whom he cele⯑brates by Name, and there are ſome more Elegies that it does not appear whether they are writ to them or others; and though [178] he tells us the * Report was, that his Miſtreſs was kind to other Men; yet the Report gave him ſo much Torment, that he deſired it ſhould be ſtifled; if therefore you have any Friendſhip for him, endea⯑vour to fulfil his Deſire in that Point. For Propertius, beſides his † intemperate Love of all Women, he tells you his ‡ Miſtreſs caught him with two Wenches at the ſame Time; and confeſſes that he rails at the Incontinence of Women, only becauſe ſhe upbraided him with his. Thus whatever Qualifications thoſe great Men had, Con⯑ſtancy, you, ſee was none; and though we allow you, each of them had Merit enough for any one Woman, yet one Man can hardly have enough for half a Score.
Now if Ruin and Deſolation has come to great Men, and States, from Women, it ſhewed they had a good Opinion of the Sex in general, that they would ſuffer for them; and had they not been ſenſible the greateſt Part were good, they could never have been impoſed upon by the Bad. Then as for thoſe ill Women whom you have [179] mentioned, as I ſuppoſe you will not un⯑dertake to defend all the Actions of Ty⯑rants and Murderers; ſo I do not think my⯑ſelf at all obliged to defend all the Women who have been guilty of ſome of their Crimes. The Diſpute is not whether there have been any ill Women in the World, but whether there are not more Good. And when I have told you that the Book that condemns Dalilah, cries up De⯑borah and Jael: That if Homer has repre⯑ſented Helen guilty of ſome Faults (for you will ſee that Homer does not repreſent her Cauſe ſo violently bad) he tells us of Hecuba and Andromache, and a Thouſand others who were very good ones; That if Clytemneſtra was falſe to Agamemnon, Penelope was as famous for her Truth to Ulyſſes; and ſo put you Example againſt Example, which I forbear to do, only becauſe it is ſo very ea⯑ſy; ſhould I, I ſay, do but this, you could not complain that your Arguments were unanſwered. But truly, Sir, we might carry the Thing much farther; we might defend ſome of thoſe Women you mention⯑ed, and excuſe the reſt. For Dalilah I ſhall ſay ſay nothing, out of Reſpect to the Scripture, that repreſents her as an ill Woman; it is poſſible, were ſhe alive, ſhe might tell you in her own Defence, that what Account you have of her, is from [80] her profeſſed Enemies: That however taking the Thing as they tell it; if ſhe did commit a Piece of Treachery, it was againſt an Enemy of her Country; and that it was very hard ſhe ſhould be ſo much run down for the ſame Thing they have ſo much admired in Jael and Judith, as well as every body elſe did in Marcus Bru⯑tus; ſhe would perhaps puſh her Defence further, and tell you, that though ſhe de⯑liver'd Samſon to the Philiſtines to be kept Priſoner, yet ſhe neither drove a Nail through his Head, nor cut it off. But for Helen, give me Leave to tell you, it is a great Diſpute amongſt the Hiſtorians, whether ſhe was forced away by Paris, or went by her own Conſent; ſeveral are of the former Opinion; and * Hoelztzim ſays plainly, he wonders Homer will put ſuch a ridiculous Story upon the World, as to make her the Occaſion of the Trojan War. (Menelaus, it muſt be confeſſed, Madam, if the Story be true, was a very eaſy good⯑natur'd Huſband, who would be at ſo much Pains and Charge to fetch back a Wife who run away with another Man. I do not remember in my own Memory, to have known above five or ſix Examples like it). And Plato in Phaed. ſpeaks as if [181] the belying her were the Cauſe of Homer's Blindneſs, as well as of Steſichorus's; but that the latter underſtood the Way of ex⯑piating his Fault better, and made his Re⯑cantation to this Effect, That there was not a Word of Truth in the Story of her going to Troy. If Clytemneſtra was conſenting to her Huſband's Death, yet it was Egiſt⯑hus, a Man, who gave the Blow: And if Thais did adviſe the burning Perſepolis, yet it was no leſs a Perſon than Alexander the Great who put it in Execution. And as for Deianira and Cleopatra, whatever Fata⯑lity arrived to their Lovers from them, may certainly be very well excuſed upon the Innocence of their Intentions, and their Pu⯑niſhment of themſelves afterwards, the one hanging, the other poiſoning herſelf. If the Capuan Women deſtroyed Hannibal's Army, they deſtroyed a Body of Enemies that all the Men in Italy could not. In like manner, for your other Inſtances we might tell you, that Procopius, who tells thoſe terrible Stories of Theodora, Anecdota, is ſo very paſſionate all along, and mixes ſuch ridiculous Fables with what he tells, that there is no great Credit to be given to him. (This Procopius was a Soldier un⯑der Juſtinian, and has writ, amongſt other Things, a ſecret Hiſtory of thoſe Times: In this he repreſents the Empreſs Theodora [182] more like a Devil than a Woman; he makes her and the Emperor converſe frequently with Spirits, and makes her put them to an Employment, that ſavours more of the Fleſh than the Spirit.) Though granting ſhe was as lewd as he repreſents her, what Wonder is it, that one who had been a ſtro⯑ling Play-wench, and common Strumpet before the Emperor married her, ſhould not turn Saint after? If the *Princeſs of Parma embroiled Flanders, ſhe did it by the Command of Philip, for whom ſhe go⯑verned. And as for your two Queen Mary's, Cauſſin, in his Holy Court you know, makes a Saint of the One, and Parſons, of the Other, with whom I leave you to fight it out, not thinking our Diſpute very much concerned in it.
Then, Sir, if there are Impertinents, if there are ridiculous Perſons of the other Sex, I hope you do not think they are all Platos, nor all Ariſtotles of our own; And I will undertake, for every Woman who plagues you with her Buſineſs, for every woud-bee Politician, and for every Pedant amongſt them, to bring you double the Number of the Men. If Olivia is imper⯑tinent in the Plain-Dealer, I hope there are Novels and Plauſibles who keep her [183] Company; And if I ſhould carry you to a City Coffee-Houſe, and there ſhew you a Parcel of People talking of Things that they underſtand nothing at all of; and ſettling the Governments of Countries, which they never ſaw as much as in a Map: From thence to a Play-Houſe, and ſhew you the pert and inſipid Railery of the Sparks upon the Vizard-Maſks: From thence to a New-Market Courſe, and enter you at a Table, where you ſhould hear nothing talked of but Dogs and Horſes: From thence to a Tavern, and ſhew you a Set of Men in their drunken Frolics: I fancy you would wiſh yourſelf in your Drawing-Room again, as a more agreeable Folly than any of thoſe I have mentioned. And I appeal to you, whether Lucian in his Ti⯑mon, Boileau in his eighth Satire, and my Lord Rocheſter in his upon the like Sub⯑ject, ſay not as much againſt Mankind, and make them as ridiculous as you can do the Women. And I will aſſure you, Sir, I am far from being of the Duke of Bri⯑tanny's Mind, that Learning is unfit for a Woman; and ſhall, without any Offence, either to him or you, continue of the ſame Opinion, till you have anſwer'd Anna Ma⯑ria Schurman's Arguments in their Be⯑half, and till you have taken away her⯑ſelf, who is one of the beſt Arguments.
[184] (This Anna Maria Schurman was a Dutch Lady of Utrecht, of whom you will hear more anon. There was a long Diſpute between her and Rivetus, Whether Learning was fit for Women? 'Tis printed in her Works in Latin. Here, Madam, there follows a tedious Chapter, of Women who have been famous for Wit and Learning; which though it may be convenient for thoſe who queſtion their Abilities that Way, yet I do not ſee of what Uſe it can be to your Ladyſhip, or to any who have the Honour of being acquainted with you; therefore if you pleaſe, Madam, we will caſt off here, and take Hands again at the Bottom.)
Nor indeed you fear that I ſhould ſearch three ſeveral Countries, and three ſeveral Ages, to furniſh me with a learned Wo⯑man apiece. No, Sir, even Greece itſelf, to go no further, had nine Muſes, nine Siblys, and nine Lyric Poeteſſes, if you are delighted with the Number Nine, which is three times three. And if you have more Mind to Particulars, we will ſhew you there * Megaloſtrate the Miſtreſs of Alcman, who had a Gift of Poetry as well as he; the Daughters of † Steſichorus, who [185] were as good Poets as their Father. We have alſo an Eretrian Sapho, as well as ſhe who was in Love with Phaon; Erinna, and Demophila, the firſt the Miſtreſs of Sapho, the other equal to her, who flou⯑riſhed all four in the ſame Time. After theſe we have Theano, the Wife of Pytha⯑goras, who undertook his School when he was dead, with two others of the ſame Name (if you will believe Suidas) whereof one was a Lyric Poeteſs, the other a Thurian, who writ of Pythagoras. We have alſo about the ſame time Cleobulina (the Daugh⯑ter of Cleobulus, one of the ſeven Wiſe Men of Greece) a Poeteſs, and Corinna who had the Surname given her of The Lyric Muſe. We have preſently after Teleſilla, an Argive Poeteſs, not only famous for her Wit, but for her inſpiring her Country-women with ſo much Courage, as to make them put to Flight the Spartiates, who came upon them in the Abſence of their Husbands. At the ſame time lived Praxilla, one of the nine Lyrics, and of whom we have a Copy of Verſes to Calais yet extant; What will you ſay to Aſpatia Mileſia, who is celebrated as a Sophiſtreſs, (you know the Word * So⯑phiſter was not then abuſed) a Teacher of Rhetoric, and a Poeteſs? There was alſo Heſtiaea, mentioned by Strabo; Antyte, by [186] Tatian; and Nyſſis, by Antipater Theſſalus; of the two laſt of which there are ſome Things yet extant. If you have a Mind to ſee what they did after they turned Chri⯑ſtians, we will produce Eudocia, the Wife of Theodoſius, inſtructed in all ſort of Learn⯑ing, and who writ ſeveral Treatiſes, very much cried up by Photius. I have not ſaid a Word here of Laſthemia the Mantinaean, nor Axiothea the Phliaſian, tho' they are mentioned amongſt the Diſciples of Plato, by Diogenes Laertius; and I own I forgot Hipparchia, whoſe Life he writes, and commends both as a Philoſopher and a Wri⯑ter of Tragedies, and Hedyle the Poeteſs, whom Athenaeus quotes, and * Voſſius it ſeems has forgot them as well as I. I queſtion not but there are ſeveral others whoſe Names we want, and I queſtion not but there are ſeveral named whom I remember not: However this is enough to let you ſee we are not ſo hard put to it as you ima⯑gine, ſince one little Country can furniſh us with all theſe. What ſay you, Sir, are you yet ſatisfied there are Women of Wit and Learning? or ſhall we fetch you the † Cornelia you mentioned, ‡ Sempronia, [187] * Corniſicia, Polla Argentaria the Wife of Lucan, and who aſſiſted him in his Poem; Sulpitia, Proba Falconia, Helpine the Wife of Boetius, from among the Latins? Or if theſe are not enow, ſhall we bring up our Reſerves of Italian, Spaniſh, French, Ger⯑man, and Engliſh? And if you are not yet contented, becauſe I fancy every Body elſe is, I ſhall refer you to Jacobus a Sancto Carolo's Library of Women, illuſtrious for their Writings; or to Anna Maria Schurman, who was indeed a Library herſelf, ſince you mention her. Pardon me, Sir, if I detain you a little longer than ordinary with this Woman; and though you may think it loſt Time, becauſe you knew it before, yet it is poſſible every Body does not know, that ſhe was very well skilled in the Hebrew, Chaldee, Syriac, Arabic, Turkiſh, Greek, Latin, French, Engliſh, Italian, Spaniſh, German, Dutch, and Flemiſh Languages; that ſhe had a very good Faculty at Poetry and Painting; that ſhe was a perfect Mi⯑ſtreſs of all the Philoſophies; that the greateſt Divines of her Time were proud of her Judgment in their own Profeſſion; and that when we had this Character of her, ſhe was not above thirty Years of Age. What think you, Sir, is not this Woman ſufficient of herſelf? Or ſhall we refer you to Ma⯑demoiſelle [188] * Gournay among the French, or † Lucretia Marinella among the Italians, who have both writ in Defence of their Sex, and who are both Arguments them⯑ſelves of the Excellency of it? I ſhall not as much as mention any of thoſe Ladies whoſe Wit Balzac and Voiture ſo much ad⯑mire; I ſhall ſay nothing of the Meſde⯑moſelles Scuderie and Le Fevre, to the firſt of which we do not only owe ſeveral ex⯑cellent Treatiſes publiſhed under her own Name, but who is ſaid alſo to have had a great Share in thoſe that appear under her Brother's; and to the latter of which we are obliged for ſo many admirable Verſions, and judicious Obſervations upon moſt of the Greek and Latin Poets. I ſhall not as much as trouble you with our own Country-Women. I ſhall ſay nothing of Sir Thomas More's Daughters, about whoſe Education ‡ Eraſ⯑mus has written; I ſhall paſs by Sir Nicholas Bacon's, who were as learned as they; ſhall ſay nothing of Sir Philip Sidney's Lady Pem⯑broke; nor as much as mention Mrs. Phi⯑lips, or any of the reſt of our Engliſh Poeteſſes; but I can hardly forbear ſaying ſomething of the Lady Jane Gray, of whom all Nations elſe ſpeak, and whoſe Fame is [189] more celebrated in Italy, both for her Learning and Piety, by the Account that Michael Angelo has given them of her, than it is here at home. Should I reckon up all thoſe Ladies whoſe Wit and Learning has been celebrated by our own Poets; ſhould I but enter upon the Praiſes of Queen Eliza⯑beth of England, or Mary of Scotland, in that Particular, I ſhould never have done. But I can hardly omit two Ladies who are Strangers, and however I am ſtraitned for Room, yet methinks I ought to be juſt to thoſe who were civil to me; ſince there⯑fore I received particular Favours from the Procurator Cornara, during my Stay at Venice, let me not paſs over in ſilence his Daughter, for whom moſt of the greateſt Princes, and Learned Men of Europe have teſtified ſuch an Eſteem. This Lady, be⯑ſides her Skill in Rhetoric, Logic, Muſic, and Aſtronomy, writ and ſpoke perfectly well ſeven ſeveral Languages; and made the Courſe of all the ſpeculative Sciences with ſo much Succeſs, that ſhe might very well profeſs herſelf a Miſtreſs of them; and all this before ſhe was thirty Years of Age. Her Siſter, whom I had the Honour to ſee (ſhe herſelf being dead ſome Time before) is likewiſe a Perſon of very ſingular Endowments; and all this whilſt they are one of the beſt Families of a Town, where [190] the Nobility ſeem almoſt as proud of their Ignorance, as their Liberty. The other I ſhall mention, is Chriſtina Queen of Sweden, a Princeſs whoſe Accompliſhments are ſo generally known, that it is enough to have named her; a Lady of that true Judgment, that ſhe knew how to eſteem Wit and Learning at the ſame Time that ſhe de⯑ſpiſed Crowns; and ſeemed to be born as a ſufficient Recompence to the Common⯑wealth of Letters, for all the Miſchiefs her Predeceſſors the Goths and Vandals had done it before; I am ſatisfied it is impoſſible for me to add any Thing to a Glory ſo eſta⯑bliſhed as that of this Princeſs is; yet as I never paſſed any Time either with greater Benefit, or greater Satisfaction, than what I paſſed in her Converſation, ſo I am very well pleaſed, methinks, with any thing that gives me Occaſion to call it to my Remem⯑brance. There might be as advantageous Characters, perhaps, given of ſome Ladies of our own Country now living, did not their Modeſty, that inſeparable Quality of Wit and Women, deter me from it.
We might tell you farther, Sir, that this Modeſty too often hinders them from make⯑ing their Virtues known: That they are not of thoſe eternal Scriblers who are con⯑tinually plagueing the World with their Works; and that it is not the Vanity of [191] getting a Name, which ſeveral of the greateſt Men of the World have owned to be the Cauſe of their writing, that is the Cauſe of the Womens. Had not Sapho been ſo much in Love, it is poſſible we had never heard any Mention of one of the greateſt Wits that ever was born; had not Cicero and Quintilian given us Accounts of Cor⯑nelia, and the Daughters of Laelius, and Hortenſius, they had never done it them⯑ſelves; had not Jane Gray been put to Death, her Virtues had never been ſo much taken notice of; had not the Portugueze Nun been deſerted by her Gallant, we had miſſed ſome of the moſt paſſionate Letters that theſe latter Ages have pro⯑duced; and had not Anna Maria Schur⯑man's Works been publiſhed by a Friend, without her Conſent, we had loſt the Be⯑nefit of them. We may tell you too, that it is not only in reſpect of their own Sex that they are admired, but even of ours. That of thoſe two Odes we have yet of Sapho, we owe one to Dionyſius Halicar⯑naſſaeus, the other to Longin, the two beſt Critics of Greece, who choſe them out for Examples to their Rules, before any of the Mens: That the Epiſtle of Sapho to Phaon, which is eſteemed the moſt delicate of Ovid's, is ſuppoſed to be taken out of her Writings: That Corinna was five Times [192] victorious over Pindar, the beſt Lyric Poet of our Sex. And were we here in England as forward in printing Letters, as they are in France and Italy, we might furniſh Vo⯑lumes of them written by our own Ladies, that would make all the Women-haters bluſh, or make all Men elſe bluſh for them.
(Here, Madam, I muſt own to you I grew jealous, for I could not imagine that PHILOGYNES would have ſaid this, without having ſeen ſome of your Ladyſhip's Let⯑ters.)
We may tell you too, that granting the equal Capacities of both Sexes, it is a greater Wonder to find one Learned Woman, than a hundred Learned Men, conſidering the Difference of their Educations. If you ſhould go into Greece, and, ſeeing the Ig⯑norance is among them at preſent, tell them their Countrymen were incapable of learn⯑ing, would you not be very well ſatisfied, when they told you of the Platos and Ari⯑ſtotles of Antiquity? And that if they had not as famous Men now, it was becauſe they have not the ſame Advantages they had then? And pray why may not the Women be allowed the ſame Excuſe? Will you by your Laws and Cuſtoms en⯑deavour to keep them ignorant, and then blame them for being ſo? And forbid all [193] Men of Senſe keeping them Company, as you do, and yet be angry with them for keeping Company with Fools? Conſider what Time and Charge is ſpent to make Men fit for ſomewhat; Eight or Nine Years at School; Six or Seven Years at the Uni⯑verſity; Four or Five Years in Travel; and after all this, are they not almoſt all Fops, Clowns, Dunces, or Pedants? I know not what you think of the Women; but if they are Fools, they are Fools, I am ſure, with leſs Pains, and leſs Expence than we are.
Upon ſecond Thoughts I hope, Sir, you will allow, that Women may have Wit and Learning; for their Courage and Con⯑duct we may poſſibly ſay more anon. But for Heaven's ſake, do not aggravate their Faults always at that Rate; for whatever Sapho's Life and Converſation were, there is nothing in her Writings, but what re⯑preſents the moſt tender, and delicate Paſ⯑ſion in the World: And as for Aloiſia Sigaea, (I give you Thanks for putting me in mind of * Aloiſia Sigaea,) who was as remarkable for her Wit and Learning as any of the other, I am very well aſſured you do not believe that infamous Book which goes un⯑der her Name, to have been written by her; † all who ſpeak of it aſſure us the [194] contrary; and that ſhe was ſo far from writing it, that ſhe † never publiſhed any Thing: On the other ſide, all Hiſtorians repreſent her as remarkable for her Virtue as her Learning. For the Queen of Sheba, there is no mention in Scripture of her Travelling for any Thing but to be ſatiſ⯑fied with the Wiſdom of Solomon; however, if you will believe ſhe went to him, for the ſame Reaſon that ‡ Thaleſtris did to Alexander the Great; it was no ſuch great Matter, in Countries where is was thought no Sin, if the one had a Mind to have a Child by the wiſeſt Man in the World, and the other by the braveſt. After all, we muſt own if there are lewd Women, they endeavour to conceal their Lewdneſs, they do not brag of it, nor fly openly in the Face of Religion; and if they once come to be publicly diſcovered, they are rendered infamous to all the World, and their neareſt Friends and Relations avoid their Company: Whilſt there are ſeveral Men who boaſt of their Iniquities, value themſelves upon their being thought lewd, and what is worſe, find others to value them upon it too; nay, by their Incitements and Encouragements to Wickedneſs, often bring themſelves to that Paſs, that the leaſt [195] Part of the Sins they are to anſwer for, are what they have committed themſelves. But not a Word more, I beſeech you, of Sapho, nor her new Crime, let Lucian be forgot⯑ten for putting us in mind of it, and let it be cloiſtered up within the Walls of a Turkiſh Seraglio; I ſpeak not this in Behalf of the Female Sex, but of our own; for if they ſhould once hear of this Argument, and fall upon us with * Socrates, † Plato, and all thoſe Heroes of Antiquity whom Plutarch and Lucian produce in Defence of a like Sin in our Sex; ſhould they mention Anacreon, Tibullus, Martial, and all thoſe Poets who have eternized their Infamy in their Writings; and after that ſhew you what Progreſſes this Crime has made, not only in the Turk's Dominion, but even in Spain and Italy, I am ſure, Sir, you would wiſh you had ſaid nothing of a Point, that may be ſo ſeverely made uſe of againſt our ſelves.
Now tho' you are pleaſed to quote the Lampoons, yet you think, as well as I, that ſuch Things are not worth any bodies take⯑ing notice of; we both know there are a ſort of People about this Town, who pleaſe themſelves with Defamations: One of theſe, [196] if they ſee a Man ſpeak to a Woman, make their little Signs, their politic Winks, and poſſibly when they meet him, in their in⯑ſipid Way of Railery, tax him with it: If he is angry at them, then he is piqued, and afraid the Intrigue ſhould be found out; If he ſays nothing (as it deſerves nothing) then he is out of Countenance, and cannot ſay a Word; and if he laughs at them (which is all the Anſwer a Man would make to ſuch Stuff) then he is pleaſed with the Thing; ſo that every Way the poor Lady's Reputation ſuffers; and theſe Sparks ſhall not fail to blow it about Town, that there is an Amour; not that they think ſo of you, but that you may return the Com⯑pliment, and ſay ſo of them, when they ſpeak to any Lady themſelves.
For their Garrulity, if you would ſee Things which are againſt you, in that Treatiſe of * Plutarch, from whence you bring two of your Inſtances, you might have been furniſhed with enow of the Mens. But tho' it is lawful to forget Stories that are not for you, yet methinks you ought to tell out thoſe you do mention; and when we have heard that the Wife of Fulvius, ſeeing what ſhe had done, ſhewed her Huſ⯑band the Way to avoid the Conſequences of it, by ſtabing herſelf firſt; we muſt cer⯑tainly [197] own, that ſuch a Woman had Vir⯑tue enough to make Amends for all her Faults. And if in Anſwer to the Inſtances you bring, I ſhould mention the * Melitiſh, or the Saxon Women, who tho' they were all engaged in Plots with their Husbands, yet not one diſcovered it; If I ſhould ſhew you † Leaena at Athens, or ‡ Epicharis at Rome, who being both engaged in Plots, one againſt the Tyrant Piſiſtratus, the other againſt Nero, yet could not by all their Tortures, be brought to diſcover them; and that the former, for fear her Torments ſhould make her reveal it, bit off her Tongue; certainly, Sir, you would have a better Opinion of their Taciturnity. But we need not go ſo far for Inſtances; our own Country, and our own Time, will furniſh us with enow. In all the Plots we have had continually on foot, tho' we have had Women engaged and accuſed; tho' there was one pilloried in the firſt, three executed in another, and ſixteen or ſeven⯑teen excepted in a General Pardon; though there have been ſeveral ſeized upon like Accounts ſince, yet, you ſee, there has not been one of them who ever made a Diſ⯑covery. [198] Give me leave, Sir, to commend them for their Virtues at the ſame Time that I am far from defending their Faults; and though I have a very good Opinion of thoſe Men who diſcover a Conſpiracy upon Remorſe of Conſcience, yet I muſt take leave to believe that there are ſome, at leaſt, who do it upon another Account; and without any Sorrow at all for their Deſign, except that it did not ſucceed, think to ſave their own Lives, by the Sacrifice of other Peoples; and make Amends for their Treaſon againſt the Government, by their Treachery to their Friends.
But no Wonder you are ſo ſevere upon the Faults of modern Women, when you fall upon thoſe whom all Antiquity has reverenced. It is hard that Jael and Ju⯑dith, whoſe Actions have been ſo long ad⯑mired, ſhould be called to Account for them ſo many thouſand Years after. It would be an Injury to their Cauſe, to ſay any Thing in their Defence; and a Pre⯑ſumption in me to juſtify Actions, that the Scripture has celebrated ſo much. But muſt poor Penelope fall under your Diſplea⯑ſure too? I am ſenſible how much ſhe is like to ſuffer, who is defended by ſo dull a Fellow as Homer, againſt thoſe moſt inge⯑nious Gentlemen, who are the Lampooners of our Age: However, as their Ability in [199] Scandal needs no foreign Aid; and as I am ſatisfied they would think it a Diſparage⯑ment to them to be reckoned with Virgil and Ovid, let us free them, pray, from ſuch unworthy Companions. For the for⯑mer, I believe you are fully ſatisfied the Priapeia are none of his; and as fully ſa⯑tisfied that the Authority of ſuch ſort of Verſes is not extreamly much to be depend⯑ed upon: And for Ovid, if in the Perſon of a Bawd, who he tells you was a Liar, he gives you a Reflection upon Penelope; yet he makes her very ſufficient Amends, when * he ſpeaks in his own Perſon. And taking the Story as it lies, that her Houſe was always full of Lovers whom ſhe could by no Means get away; Laertes being too old, Telemachus too young to encounter them; it certainly ſhews her Virtue ſo much the more: For as there is no great Cou⯑rage required to keep a Fortreſs in the Time of Peace, ſo a very little Virtue is ſufficient to preſerve that Chaſtity which no Body ever thought it worth his While to attempt. Now if Lycophron and Duris Samius repre⯑ſent her as a lewd Woman, as I underſtand not how they ſhould come to know it, all [200] the Writers who lived before them giving ſo very different an Account; ſo for Ly⯑cophron, it is no great Wonder a Greek and a Poet ſhould lye; or that Duris Samius, ſeeing the Etymology of the Word Pan come ſo pat, ſhould feed us with a Story upon it, of his own Invention. (Pan you remember, Madam, in Greek ſignifies All, and who would not tell a Lye for ſo pretty a Conceit?) You may obſerve alſo, that this Author was not of ſo eſtabliſhed a Re⯑putation as Cicero would make us believe, ſince * Plutarch, who quotes him once, does it only to contradict him in a Point of Hiſtory, that he ought to have known better than this. For Lucretia, obſerve of Sir Charles Sidley, as of Ovid before, that he only makes the Bawd ſay it; and if you conſider the Fear in which ſhe was, you will find that that Paſſion often makes Peo⯑ple run into a greater Danger to avoid a leſs, of which you have Inſtances enow in our own Plantations, of the † Slaves who hang themſelves, to avoid their being beat.
After all this, Sir, if you ſtill think with Le Chambre that Men have a greater natu⯑ral Inclination to Virtue than Women, yet I hope you will grant they have taken a very becoming Care to overcome that Inclina⯑tion; [201] and if Nature has not given ſo large a Talent to the other Sex, yet they have improved that Talent much better than we have done ours. Then for your In⯑ſtances of ſome few ill Women, I tell you, as I did before, that the Cauſe in general is not at all concerned in them; and when I ſhew you an Atreus cutting his Brother's Children in Pieces, and giving them to him to eat; a Phalaris roaſting People alive in a brazen Bull; a Buſyris murdering all his Gueſts; a Nero ripping open the Womb of his Mother, to ſee the Place where he had lain; and ſo for every Crime of that Sex, ſhew you how far they have been outdone by ſome of our own, as that * Italian Lady I mentioned does in her Treatiſe upon a like Occaſion, I am ſure you will find a very great Diſadvan⯑tage of your Side. But I take you at your Word, let us go a Circuit with the Judges, and if you find not ſix Men condemn'd for one Women, I will pay the Charges of the Journey. It is true, indeed, as moſt of the Women who are condemn'd, are ſo, for a Crime which they commit to pre⯑vent their Shame; ſo the Care of that, and Hypocriſy, are two Faults of which out Sex is not ſo generally guilty. Now though [202] I do not think myſelf obliged to ſay one Word for any one of thoſe Women you have condemned; and ſhall therefore leave Phoedra and Fauſta to your Mercy, though neither of them expected the Cruelty of their Husbands ſhould have carried Things ſo far; and ſhall not argue much for Se⯑miramis, though certainly her having all the Bravery, Wiſdom, and Virtues of our Sex in the greateſt Perfection, might move you to forgive her the having ſome of our Faults; and for her putting Men to Death, I am contented that every one who boaſt of Ladies Favours ſhould be ſerved in the ſame Manner; (Here, Madam, I cannot at all agree with Philogynes, becauſe it might be ſevere upon ſome honeſt Gentlemen, whom all the Laws againſt Adultery and Fornication would never reach.) Yet me⯑thinks I have an Inclination to ſay ſome⯑what for Queen Joan of Naples, becauſe ſhe is generally repreſented ſo very ill. The common * Story is, that having married Andreoſſa an Hungarian, and her Kinſman; and not finding him ſo capable of ſatisfying her, as his Youth and Beauty promiſed, ſhe cauſed him to be ſtrangled in a Silk Cord of her own making. The firſt and chief Author of this Story is Villani, a Flo⯑rentine, [203] (for * Collenuccio takes it from him, though, as ſuch Things uſe, it has loſt no⯑thing in his Hands) who tells you that he had it from a †Relation made to his Bro⯑ther by a certain Hungarian, who had been a Servant of Andreoſſa's; and in his Return to Hungary, paſſed through Florence. Now the Author of this Story being an Hunga⯑rian, one of thoſe of whom Petrarch writes ſo much ill, and alſo a Servant of the dead King, he ought to ſpeak paſſionately againſt the Queen, of whom they were profeſſed Enemies: You may obſerve alſo, that the ‡Letter which Lewis the Brother of Andreoſſa writes to her at the Time that he came with a potent Army to revenge his Brother's Death, ſpeaks of her being privy to it, as a Thing that was ſuſpected, rather than a Thing that did plainly ap⯑pear. On the other ſide, ‖ Boccace, who lived a great while in that Court, throws all the Blame of the Action upon the Con⯑ſpirators, and none at all upon the Queen. After all, believe as you pleaſe, and do as you pleaſe with all theſe Women who have [204] offended you: If Helen runs away from Menelaus, let all Greece arm, and fetch her back again; If Clytemneſtra conſents to the killing Agamemnon, let Oreſtes kill her for it; If Semiramis puts the Men ſhe has made Uſe of to Death, let her own Son ſerve her in the ſame Manner; If Joan of Naples cauſes Andreoſſa to be ſtrangled, let Durazzo cauſe her to be ſtrangled in the ſame Place; Let not your Severity ſtop there, but let their Infamy live when they themſelves are dead; and let the Euripides's, the Juvenals, and the Miſogynes's, ſet out their Actions in their true Colours. But let the Buſineſs go no farther, I beſeech you. Let not Hecuba, nor Andromache ſuffer, becauſe Helen is a wanton Woman; nor Penelope be run down, becauſe Clytemneſtra is an ill Wife; and if Joan of Naples ſtrangles her Husband, let not all thoſe who have died for theirs, fall under the ſame Condemnation. It is one of the chiefeſt Ends of Puniſhments to diſtinguiſh the Good from the Bad, do not you there⯑fore by Puniſhments confound them. If Tibullus and Ovid's Miſtreſſes jilt their Lovers, let it be remembered againſt them two thouſand Years after; and if Miſogy⯑nes's ſerve him ſo, let him ſhew his Re⯑ſentment in as ſevere a Manner as he pleaſes. Let him diſdain the mean Revenge of ma⯑licious [205] Whiſpers, and nameleſs Lampoons, and the much meaner Way of railing at all, becauſe one has injured him; but let him boldly hunt her out from the Herd; let him publiſh her Infamy in laſting Charac⯑ters; though ſhe is free from Conſcience, let her be plagued with the Stings of Shame; and let all Women be terrified by her Ex⯑ample from being falſe to Men of Wit, or kind to Fools. But let him have very full Sa⯑tisfaction of the Matter of Fact firſt; let him not go upon dubious Grounds, nor jealous Surmiſes; let him not believe the Vanity of ſome, nor the Malice of others; let him conſider the Stories of * Bradamante in Arioſto, of Aureſtilla in Conſalo de Cepedes, of Othello in Shakeſpeare, and let him ſee how far Jealouſy may ſeem reaſonable, whilſt nevertheleſs the Perſon of whom they are jealous may be innocent. After all, I give you even in that greater Power than I ſhould care to take myſelf; I would rather by other Peoples Faults correct my own, and ſhould think the nobleſt Re⯑venge a Man could take upon a Woman who injured him, would be the doing ſome Action that would make all the World ad⯑mire him; I would have every body up⯑braid her with my Wrongs, whilſt I myſelf was ſilent: It is true, if by the Injuries ſhe [206] did me, there were any Aſperſions caſt upon my Reputation; there Juſtice to myſelf would oblige me to make the Story public: But I would certainly endeavour to reclaim her by Mildneſs, before I made Uſe even of that Severity; and as I ſhould ſcorn any Favour that was the Effect of Fear, ſo if I once broke into an open War, all the Sub⯑miſſion ſhe could make ſhould never bring me to an Amity again, though perhaps my own Good-nature might in Time prevail upon me for a Forgiveneſs.
This, Sir, is what I thought neceſſary to reply to what you ſaid; in which I ſee we have quite exceeded the Bounds of a Dia⯑logue, and turn'd that into Declamation, which was intended only for Converſation. I have troubled the Company ſo much al⯑ready, that I dare treſpaſs no farther upon their Patience, and ſhall therefore omit ſome other Things, which I intended to have ſaid upon this Occaſion.
You are like thoſe People, cry'd Miſogy⯑nes, who when they have provided all the Dainties they could get, make an Apolo⯑gy at the End of the Treat, for their hav⯑ing got no more: If I am not altogether convinced of the Goodneſs of your Cauſe, yet I am very well convinced that you have ſaid all the Cauſe will bear.
[207] Tho' perhaps I ſhould have no great Mercy upon you, replied Philogynes, yet I have too much for theſe Gentlemen, to detain them ſo long, as to hear all that I could ſay upon ſo glorious an Occaſion. Should I make a Collection of what is writ⯑ten by the beſt Authors of Antiquity in their Praiſes; ſhould I but refer you to what Stobaeus has collected for them, ſince you mention what he has done againſt them; ſhould I but tranſcribe what 1 Plu⯑tarch, 2 Lodovicus Vives, 3 Speron Spe⯑rone, the moſt Learned of his Countrymen, 4 Ribera, 5 Hilarion de Coſtè, 6 Scu⯑derie, and a thouſand others have ſaid of them in Treatiſes written expreſly in their Praiſes: ſhould I but ſearch all the Biblio⯑theques for a Catalogue of thoſe who were famous for their Writings; Should I after⯑wards tell you of thoſe who were remark⯑able for their Piety, conjugal Affection, Penitence, and Contempt of worldly Va⯑nities; ſhould I but repeat the Names of [208] thoſe who have died for the Preſervation of their Chaſtity; ſhould I ſhew you a *Country even at this Day, where they cannot by any Severity hinder Women from burning themſelves with the Bodies of their deceaſed Husbands: Should I mention the Women of † Cios, amongſt whom for ſeven hundred Years there never was the leaſt Mention of any Adultery, or Fornication; ſhould I tell you that the firſt of thoſe Sins was ſo little known amongſt the Spartans, that they did not think it worth their while to make any Law againſt it: (Now, ſaid my Friend, whether this were not as good an Argument of the Mens Chaſtity as the Womens, I leave you to judge; but really I think not, Madam; for beſides Intrigues with their own Sex, which were common enough amongſt the Men in thoſe Eaſtern Countries; I do not doubt but the Men, being Men of Honour, would ask; though the Women, being Women of Honour, would deny.) Should I but give you a Liſt of the Martyrs of that Sex, from thoſe who ſuffered under Tiberius, to thoſe who ſuf⯑fered under our own Queen Mary, I fancy I ſhould make you aſhamed of your Simo⯑nides, your Juvenal, and all your Satiriſts [209] put together. Should I after this defend them in the Virtue to which they are thought to have leaſt Pretences, which is, Courage; ſhould I but name thoſe who have been famous for their warlike Atchieve⯑ments; ſhould I tell you of Deborah, Pen⯑theſilaea, Thaleſtris, Camilla; ſhould I ſhew you a Country * of Amazons, even in our own Time: Should I carry you into France, and ſhew you a warlike Virgin (at leaſt an unmarried Woman) whoſe Memory is ſtill annually celebrated by one of their chiefeſt † Towns, and who, beſides her Fame in their Chronicles, has given a Subject to one of the moſt famous ‡ Heroic Poems which that Nation has produced; would you not, after all, confeſs they might very eaſily be defended, even in this Point too? But I ſhall wave that; I am ſatisfied with the Care univerſal Cuſtom has taken of them; and as Seamen in a Storm, to preſerve their Things of greateſt Value, throw away thoſe of leſs; ſo I am very well pleaſed that Mankind ſhould be expoſed to the Hazards of War, whilſt the Fair Sex is preſerved in Safety at Home, whoſe Smiles are the nobleſt Reward a brave Man can [210] deſire for all the Hazards and Fatigues he has endured in a Campagne.
But it is generally agreed that all Virtues are requiſite for thoſe who govern well; and ſince there are ſome Countries where Women are excluded from the Throne, and no Country where they are not poſt⯑poned, it would be convenient, methinks, to ſee what they do, when by Accident they are placed upon it. I ſhall not trouble you here with Deborah, nor Eſther, nor as much as mention Semiramis, though you have mentioned her upon another Occa⯑ſion; and yet certainly the Bravery of moſt of her Actions ought to make us forget the Faults of ſome few; but I ſhall confine myſelf within the Bounds of our own Country.
*At a Time when the Britons groaned under the Servitude of the Romans; when the King, by thinking to oblige the Em⯑peror, gave him an Opportunity of pillag⯑ing his Country; and that their Patience under their Sufferings, was only a Means of making them more; When their Houſes were robbed, their Wives and Daughters raviſhed, and their Sons taken away from them; then Boadicea aroſe, and by her Courage, as well as Eloquence, inſpired [211] her diſpirited Countrymen with a Reſolu⯑tion of throwing off that Yoke which was grown intolerable to be born. It is true, indeed, the End was not anſwerable to the Succeſſes of the Beginning; nor to the Glory ſo heroic an Undertaking deſerved; however as it was neither Want of Courage nor Conduct in her, ſo we ought to render her that Veneration which is due to ſo reſolute an Enterprize.
But as one of the greateſt Attempts the Britons made for their Liberty was whilſt they were led by a Woman, ſo we muſt own the greateſt Glory our Nation could ever boaſt, was under the Government of one of the ſame Sex. It was in the Time of Queen Elizabeth that this Iſland arrived at that Pitch of Greatneſs, to which it had been aſcending for ſeveral Ages, and from which it has been declining, till very lately, ever ſince: It is the Name of this Princeſs that is dearer to all Engliſhmen, than the Names of all the Monarchs ſince the Con⯑queſt beſides, and the only one whoſe Birth⯑day has been celebrated after her Death, by the voluntary Gratitude of the People.
But however we may forget Things that are paſt, let us not overſee that which lies before our Eyes; and ſince the Occaſion is ſo very fair, I know not how we can omit the ſhewing our Senſe of thoſe Virtues, of [212] which the whole Nation has demonſtrated ſo grateful an Acknowledgment by the Body of their Repreſentatives; and never were they more truly their Repreſentatives before. Yes, Sir, without going to foreign Countries, without ſearching the Hiſtories of our own, we have even in our own Time, and our own Country, a Princeſs who has governed to their general Satiſ⯑faction, a People the moſt curious to pry into the Faults of their Governors, of any People under the Sun. A Princeſs, who though ſhe never ſhewed any Fondneſs of Vain-glory, or Authority, yet when the Neceſſity of the Kingdom called her to the Helm, managed Affairs with that Dexte⯑rity, which is very rarely found in thoſe who are the moſt ambitious of Command. Every Thing during that little Time of her Government, was ordered with that Cou⯑rage, Conduct, and Prudence, that her greateſt Friends cannot find Eloquence enough to commend, nor her greateſt Enemies the leaſt Pretences to condemn. Though ſhe had a Husband venturing his Life in another Country, with a Bravery equal to what has made us ſuſpect the Sto⯑ries of Antiquity; tho' our Fleet, the Bul⯑warks of the Nation, was managed in a Manner the Courage of the Engliſh Seamen was utterly unacquainted with; tho' a [213] Monarch, who thinks himſelf able to con⯑tend with all Europe together, ſeemed to make his utmoſt Efforts againſt a Princeſs, who had nothing but the univerſal Hearts of her Subjects to defend her; tho' all Chriſtendom was in Suſpence to ſee the Event of the Undertaking, and every little Prince had forgot his own Danger to con⯑template hers; even at this Time did we ſee her look with all the Unconcern ima⯑ginable, and whilſt every Body elſe was alarmed for her Safety, ſhe only ſeemed to have known nothing of the Danger. Not that this Unconcern proceeded from any Ignorance of her Condition, or unreaſon⯑able Contempt of her Adverſary; no, ſhe provided againſt their Attempts with all the Prudence could be wiſhed for, at the ſame Time that ſhe looked upon the Danger with all the Courage in Nature.
But however great theſe Virtues may appear, when they are ſet off by the Luſtre of a public Command, yet they are in Effect much greater, when they teach Peo⯑ple to deſpiſe all ſuch dazling Trifles. Here it is, Sir, that we have a freſh Field for Eloquence, when we ſee a Lady diſſatisfied at that Glory which ſhe had to every Bodies Satisfaction beſide, and grudge herſelf that Authority, which ſhe owed to the Abſence of a Husband whom ſhe loved ſo much [214] better than that. What think you, Sir, of that Alacrity, of that Joy with which ſhe reſigned up the Government? Does it not put you in mind of the old Roman Gene⯑rals, who quitted their Plough to command an Army, and when the Victory was gain'd, returned with greater Content to their Plough again? This is that Wiſdom which we ſhould admire; this is that Virtue which we ſhould adore; and we ought to deſpiſe all thoſe little Pretenders to Buſineſs, who thruſt themſelves into the Management of Affairs againſt every Bodies Will but their own; and having neither Virtue nor Pru⯑dence enough to retire from it at the uni⯑verſal Murmurs of the People, are gene⯑rally made Sacrifices at laſt to the juſt Re⯑ſentment of an enraged Nation.
Theſe are thoſe blazing Comets, whoſe fatal Glories portend Deſtruction to a Go⯑vernment, whilſt the Virtues of the others, like thoſe of the Sun, give it Life and Heat, by their benign Influence. Much more, Sir, might be ſaid in Defence of the Sex, which I ſhall purpoſely omit, becauſe I am ſatisfied I can never conclude with a more illuſtrious Example.
AESCULAPIUS: OR, THE HOSPITAL of FOOLS.
AN Imitation of LUCIAN.
[]MAKE the Third Proclamation, Mercury.
O—Yes! O—Yes! O—Yes! Whereas daily Complaints are made by all the World, of the innumerable Follies of Mankind, by reaſon of which they are neither happy themſelves, nor will ſuffer others to be ſo: The great Jupiter, out of his fatherly Compaſſion to Mankind, has ſent Aeſcula⯑pius to apply Medicines to them. Who⯑ever therefore there is, that is troubled [216] with Folly of what kind ſoever, let him re⯑pair hither, and he ſhall be cured without any Fee.
What ſhou'd be the Meaning of this? Every particular Man complains of the Fol⯑lies that are in the World; and when we come hither to apply Medicines to them, there is not one Man that offers himſelf to be cured.
If I might be allowed to adviſe Aeſcula⯑pius in Points relating to Phyſic, I would tell him there is one Thing in this Diſeaſe of Folly, different from all other Kind of Diſeaſes; which is, that the Men can eaſily find the leaſt Symptom of it in other Peo⯑ple, yet there is no Man that perceives the greateſt in himſelf. I think it therefore adviſable to make Proclamation, that every Man ſhould give Notice of what other Peo⯑ple he knows, who are troubled with this Diſeaſe.
Let it be as you ſay.
O—Yes! O—Yes! O—Yes! Who⯑ever has any Relation, Friend, or Ac⯑quaintance, [217] that is troubled with Folly of whatever Kind, let him bring him hither, and he ſhall be cured without any Fee.
See! ſee! What Crouds are getting to⯑gether! Every Man ſeizes his next Neigh⯑bour, without any Deliberation at all; and they come willingly too, becauſe every Man ſeems ready to accuſe the other.
Here, Sir, I have brought you a Fool to be cured.
Pray, Sir, take this firſt, for he is danger⯑ouſly ill.
Take Pity upon this, good Sir, for he has a Complication of Folly upon him.
Pray, Gentlemen, have a little Patience: You ſhall be all cured, one after another.
Nay, for my Part, I have no Occaſion for myſelf.
How! no Occaſion, Neighbour; I wiſh, for your own ſake, you had not. For my Part, indeed—
Prithee, good Neighbour, hold thy Tongue. What, cuckolded and hen-pecked, and pretend to be free from Folly?
Mercury, Keep the Croud off with your Caduceus; and bring the Patients up in Order.
Stand off there, Gentlemen, and do not preſs upon us ſo. Here, you old Fellow, come in here with your Patient: Make your Reverence to Aeſculapius, and tell him what you would have.
An't pleaſe you, Sir, this young Man is a Kinſman of mine. He came very young to a great Eſtate, half of which he has made a Shift to ſquander away already; and he is in great Danger of doing ſo by [219] the reſt in a ſhort Time, if you do not cure him of his Folly. I have taken a great deal of Pains in adviſing him, but all in vain. If he could not live upon his whole Eſtate, I aſked him how he hopes to live upon the Half? And if he ſpent his Eſtate when he was young and able to get one, what would become of him when he was old, and paſt getting one? But when I talk to him, he laughs at me, and that is all the Thanks I have for my Pains.
Mercury, put him in the Hoſpital; Care ſhall be taken of him.
I deſire, Sir, that you would pleaſe to hear me firſt, and judge whether it is this old Man or I who have moſt need of your Medicines. I confeſs, indeed, that what he ſays is true. But pray conſider, that I ſpend this Eſtate in pleaſing myſelf; and were it not a great Folly to debar myſelf of Plea⯑ſure for the preſent Moment, which is all I am ſure of, for fear of not having Means to enjoy them in a future Time, to which I have no Security that I ſhall ever arrive. But, granting, I were certain of Life, Is it not a Madneſs to waſte all my Youth, which [220] is the only Time we are capable of Plea⯑ſure, to lay up Wealth, which we are to make Uſe of in an Age when we are not capable of any Pleaſure at all. But this old Man, who has the Confidence to ac⯑cuſe me, does ten times worſe. He did not only heap up Wealth all his Youth, but he continues to do ſo ſtill; and though his Age, and the Infirmities of his Body give him hourly Notice that he can hardly live one Year longer, yet is he at his Uſury, his Extortion, and a hundred Ways to hoard up Wealth, as if he were to live ten Thouſand Years.
A very palpable Folly indeed. Mercury, put him aſide too.
I did not doubt, Sir, but that I ſhould convince you at laſt. I may go away now?
How, Friend! Does that Man's being a Fool hinder you from being a Fool too. If it be a Folly in him to heap up Money that he can never probably live to ſpend; Is it not a Folly therefore in you to ſquander away that Money which probably you will [221] live to want. Take Care, Mercury, that they may be both put in the Hoſpital.
It ſhall be done. In the mean time here are ſome others.
Well, Gentlemen, what have you to ſay?
This, Sir, is a Friend of mine, an honeſt, good-natur'd Man as lives; but he has a Wife who makes him the greateſt Fool in Nature; and though ſhe abuſes him in the groſſeſt Manner imaginable, inſomuch that half the Town laugh at him, yet is he him⯑ſelf blind to that in his own Houſe, which any Stranger ſees. Here is one who has been often found with her, and who can tell you more, if you examine him.
Well, Sir, and what can you ſay?
All that I can ſay, Sir, is, that the Gen⯑tleman is a very worthy Gentleman; and his Lady a very fine Lady. He has often, [222] indeed, bragg'd to me of the Happineſs of a marry'd Life. I thought the beſt Way to find out this Happineſs, was in going to his Lady, who has fully convinced me of all her Husband ſaid. But as I have a perfect Friendſhip for the Gentleman, I muſt confeſs, Sir, I am as well ſatisfied with his having a fine Wife, as if I had one myſelf.
He has a fine Time on't, the mean while.
I confeſs, Sir, I have nothing to ſay in Contradiction to theſe Gentlemen. All that the one ſays, and the other would in⯑ſinuate, may be true for aught I know; nor do I think it much worth my While to enquire after it. Half the Town, the firſt ſays, laugh at me for being a Cuckold; and he would have me make it public, that the other Half might laugh at me too. But pray let us conſider how much wiſer he acts: He marry'd a Wife, who by the way is not extreamly taking; and yet you cannot imagine what Care, what Con⯑trivances, what cunning Stratagems, this wiſe Perſon made Uſe of to ſearch out a Thing, which, after all, he did not care to [223] find. And though with all his Buſtle he could find out nothing that really made againſt her, yet he has caſt her off with Infamy and Shame, chiefly indeed to him⯑ſelf, for uſing a Wo man ill who never gave him Occaſion for it. If there be ſo many who laugh at me for a tame Husband, let him hearken after his own Concerns, and he will find a much greater Number who rail at him for a baſe and ill-natur'd one.
Now for this briſk Monſieur here, for this finiſhed Gentleman, who can with ſo much Delicacy rally the poor Fools that marry! So very ingenious a Perſon, no doubt, acts much more wiſely himſelf. Lord, how is his Eſtate divided? One Part upon Taylors; another upon Milli⯑ners; a third upon Perfumers; a fourth upon Perriwig-makers. All his Time ſpent between the Toilet, the Play-houſe, the Park, and Drawing-Room. And upon what noble Deſign, pray, is all this Time and all this Money waſted? Even, Gen⯑tlemen, that this moſt charming Perſon of his, may attain that with all this Coſt which I received Twenty Thouſand Pound for doing. Would his Niceneſs be con⯑tented with the Meat that had been tum⯑bled, and cold upon my Trencher? Tru⯑ly, Sir, his Happineſs is little more than [224] this, I that am the Fool, come to her when I will, ſtay with her as long as I will, and command her as I will; while this wiſe Gentleman is waiting a froſty Night under her Window, breaking his Brains for Songs and Billets for her; bribing her Women, loſing his Reſt, and venturing the being abuſed, kicked down Stairs, and having his Throat cut whenever he happens to be found out.
Very great Fools, truly, all Three! Is it not ſtrange, Mercury? One would think every Man wiſe, when we hear him talk of other Peoples Concerns; and yet we find them all Fools when we look into their own.
Alas, Aeſculapius, how ſhould it be other⯑wiſe? when a Man is told of his Folly, he does not conſider whether it be true, and endeavour to mend it: He only conſiders whether the Man who tells him of this, be not guilty of ſome Folly too; and if he find he is, as I doubt we ſhall find few who are not, he reſts as well ſatisfied in laughing at him, as if he were abſolutely free from all ſort of Folly himſelf.
Well, old Gentlewoman! What is it you have to ſay againſt that young Man?
An't pleaſe you, Sir, this young Man is my Huſband: He made fair Pretences to me before Marriage, but now he neglects and deſpiſes me for every other Woman. Now I appeal to you, Sir, and to all the World, whether it be not a very great Fol⯑ly, for a Man to tye himſelf, during Life, to a Woman he does not love?
Yes, without doubt, it is. Mercury put them both up.
An't pleaſe you, Sir, it is I who make the Complaint.
Very good, Miſtreſs. And if it be a Folly in him to marry a Woman that he does not love, was it not a Folly in you to marry a Man without knowing firſt whe⯑ther he loved you or no?
Here are ſeveral other Wives who com⯑plain of their Huſbands, and Huſbands who complain of their Wives.
Put them in all, without farther Deli⯑beration. For though People may be al⯑lowed to be as critical in their Choice as they pleaſe before Marriage, yet when that is once done, it is a great Folly to complain.
Here are a vaſt Quantity more of both Men and Women, brought upon Account of their Marriage.
It were an endleſs Work to hear of every one who play'd the Fool in Marriage. To ſave Time, therefore, we will put up all the married People at a Venture; and if there be any one who can give us ſatisfac⯑tory Reaſons, to prove that he did not play the Fool in it, we will let him out again.
No, Sir, I will not go in: No one can ſay I committed any Folly in marrying.
How, Friend, marry and commit no Folly! What Wife have you, pray?
One who has Wit, Beauty, Virtue, Riches, and is of a very conſiderable Family.
It is very much to be ſuſpected that thou art guilty of Folly in having this Opinion of her. A Woman with Wit and Beauty, marry an odd diſagreeable Fellow, and not cuckold him! However, Friend, if it be ſo, you may go away, but be ſure you ſend your Wife in your Place.
Do you reckon it a Folly then in a Wo⯑man not to cuckold her Huſband?
No, Friend, we do not tell you ſo. But when a Woman who finds by her Conſtitu⯑tion that ſhe ſhall make any Huſband a Cuckold, takes one who is very fit for that Purpoſe, there are ſome wicked People who think ſhe does as wiſely as a Woman [228] in her Circumſtances could. But when a Woman marries a Man who is fit for no other Uſe than to make a Cuckold of, with⯑out a Deſign of putting him to any Uſe, that that Woman commits a Folly, there was never any one yet could doubt.
But ſee what vaſt Crouds are waiting for Audience; and with how much Eagerneſs are they ſet upon diſcovering the Follies of one another? It is impoſſible for us to hear all the particular Follies of which particu⯑lar Men are guilty. It ſeems to me there⯑fore by very much the eaſieſt Way, to pick out the wiſe Men firſt, and when we have done that, we may apply general Medi⯑cines to the reſt, without enquiring far⯑ther into their particular Diſtempers. Make Proclamation therefore, Mercury, that Peo⯑ple may no longer trouble themſelves with bringing the Fools of their Acquaintance, but henceforward let them bring none but the Wiſe Men.
Alas, Aeſculapius! Art thou no better ac⯑quainted with the Nature of Mankind than this? Believe me, if we ſtay here till one Man accuſes another of being wiſe, we [229] may ſtay till the End of the World. No, Aeſculapius, no: In ſearching the Follies of Mankind, it was neceſſary to have an Ac⯑count of them from others, and not from themſelves: But if you would ſearch for Wiſe Men, you muſt not aſk Mens Opinion of one another, but take what every Man thinks of himſelf.
Thou art better acquainted with the Hu⯑mours of Mankind than I am; do there⯑fore as thou wilt.
O—Yes! O—Yes! O—Yes! Let all thoſe that are Wiſe range themſelves upon the Right Hand, and diſtinguiſh themſelves from the reſt.
What is the Meaning of this? Every Man places himſelf on the Right Side, but one; and they joſtle one another for Room with the greateſt Violence imaginable! Here you Sir, What are you, pray, who appear ſo very confidently in the very Head of the Wiſe.
Who I, Sir? I am a Poet.
Well; and pray, Mr. Poet, what Pre⯑tence have you to place yourſelf ſo con⯑fidently before all the reſt?
Can Aeſculapius know I am a Poet, and aſk that Queſtion? As much as a Man is above a Beaſt, ſo much is a Poet above another Man. It is we who converſe with the Gods, and deſpiſe the reſt of Mankind. It is we who elevate ourſelves above the tranſitory Things that the Vulgar are fond of; who deſpiſe Riches, Glory and Ho⯑nour, and ſeek for nothing but Fame and Immortality.
I think there is no great Need of con⯑vincing Aeſculapius, how little that Man deſerves the Title of Wiſe, ſince he him⯑ſelf has been pleaſed to prove it ſufficiently already. I will not ſay any Thing to the Man himſelf, or enquire what Pretences he has to the Title of a Poet; but taking it for granted that he is as good as he fan⯑cies himſelf, yet can any Thing be ſo ri⯑diculous as the very Deſign he propoſes. He does not pretend that Poetry makes People happy in this World, becauſe we very plainly ſee the contrary; but he pleaſes himſelf with a vain Reverſion of imaginary Honours that he is never to enjoy till he himſelf is inſenſible of them. It will be a very great Satisfaction, doubtleſs, to a Man when he is in the Grave, to think his Verſes run as ſmoothly as ever; and one muſt be an Infidel to doubt but that the Author of a fine Poem will be extreamly conſidered in the other World.
I do not ſay this out of any Malice to the Profeſſion of a Poet, nor would I pre⯑tend to take a Title from them, though they do not deſerve it, but in order to ſhew you thoſe who do. Do you aſk me then who it is that deſerves the Title of a Wiſe [232] Man? Whom ſhould I anſwer, but him who knows how to govern the State. If particular Perſons of a Community think they have any Title to Wiſdom, how much more muſt they allow that Title to thoſe who are capable of governing the Com⯑munity? It is they, certainly, who can move Aſſemblies, who can adviſe Kings, who can govern Commonwealths, that deſerve the Title of the Wiſe. How con⯑ſiderable a Figure does ſuch a Man make in a Government? How much is he fol⯑lowed and careſſed? What Advantages does he get to himſelf and Family? And how much is he flattered and adored by theſe very Poets who would vainly arro⯑gate the Title of Wiſe to themſelves?*
Though I am of a Profeſſion that do not trouble themſelves with the Trifles of the World, yet I cannot, I confeſs, be pleaſed to ſee People take a Title to themſelves, to which they have not the leaſt Pretence. I might obſerve here, that conſidering how Kings are for the moſt part adviſed, and Commonwealths governed, a Man has no great Reaſon to boaſt of his having a Hand in either. But I ſhall wave all that as to [233] my Particular, and ſpeak to the Employ⯑ment of a Stateſman in general. Is there then any Thing ſo ridiculous as for a Man to pro⯑poſe the making himſelf Great, as the End of all his Actions? The only End a Wiſe Man propoſes, is the making himſelf happy; how ridiculous then muſt he appear, who makes himſelf miſerable, in order to make himſelf Great? Who ſeeks the Contempt of the Wiſe, that he may get the Admiration of Fools? Who leads a falſe diſſembling Life; fawning upon thoſe who treat him inſolently, and treating thoſe inſolently who fawn upon him? Who values himſelf upon the bearing other Peoples Burdens, for which the only Thanks he gets, is Envy, or Contempt: Envy if he ſucceed, and Contempt if he fail? Should a Man, who came late to an Inn, inſtead of taking the Reſt that was requiſite to refreſh him for the next Day's Journey, enter into Cabals, form Deſigns, and manage Intrigues to get the beſt Room in the Houſe, which would make him very uneaſy if he fail'd of it; and from which, tho' he ſucceeded, he muſt neceſſarily depart the next Morning; would not this Man appear ridiculouſly fooliſh, and contemptible to all the World? And when we ſee a Man in a World from which he muſt neceſſarily depart in a very ſhort Space of Time, inſtead of preparing [234] himſelf for what is to follow, waſte all that little Time in ſenſeleſs Cabals, in vain De⯑ſigns, and in ridiculous Intrigues, to make himſelf Great and Powerful; which, if he do not attain it, makes him uneaſy; and which, if he do, he muſt leave immediate⯑ly again: Is not this Man ten Times more ridiculous, and more fooliſh than the other? The Man who by his Folly loſes his Reſt one Night, will without doubt grow wiſer, and take a double Share of Reſt the next: But, alas! in the other Caſe, it is quite different; there is no ſecond Opportunity of correcting the firſt; and he who has ſpent one Life fooliſhly, will never be truſt⯑ed with another to employ better.
Wiſely urged, O incomparable Stoic! The Folly of this ſort of Men is very palp⯑able; and you, certainly, who can ſo ſagely find out their Infirmities, can eaſily diſco⯑ver to us the Men who are ſubject to no Infirmities at all.
You judge right, divine Aeſculapius! it is among us, and only us, that you muſt expect to find a real Wiſe Man. And our Leaders have taught us, upon a due Con⯑ſideration [235] of the World, to pronounce all Men Mad beſide. 'Tis true, their Extra⯑vagance does not appear, perhaps, to the Vulgar; but as in a Mad-houſe, one of the Patients does not perceive that Madneſs in his Companion, which is preſently found out by a ſober Stander-by: So in this uni⯑verſal Madneſs which poſſeſſes the World in general, tho' they do not diſcover it in one another, yet it is at firſt Sight apparent to the Eyes of the Sage. Do you ask me then, who is this Wiſe Man that I have mentioned? It is he who places not his Felicity in his Beauty, his Wealth, or his Learning; who deſires no Pleaſure, who fears no Pain: Whom the Frowns of For⯑tune cannot deject, nor her Smiles exalt: Who is happy in Priſons, in Baniſhments, in Torments: Who, if he were broiling in Phalaris's BULL, would cry out, How plea⯑ſant is this! It matters not how many Ar⯑rows Fortune aims at him, ſince he is im⯑penetrable to them all. As there are ſome Stones ſo hard, that the Iron cannot touch; as Diamonds can neither be cut nor broken, but reſiſt the ſtrongeſt Force; as Rocks in the Sea break the Fury of the Waves, and, beaten upon ſo many Ages, retain no Marks of its Rage; ſo is the Soul of a Wiſe Man, ſolid and firm; and has collected ſo much Strength, that it remains as ſafe from all [236] Injuries, as any of the Things I mentioned. But what will you ſay; is there no one then who will attempt the injuring a Wiſe Man? Yes, they will attempt it, but they cannot perform it: He is elevated ſo much above the Vulgar, that none of their ill Deſigns can arrive at him. When that fooliſh King darkened the Day with his Arrows, there was not one of them which reached the Sun; when the Chains were caſt into the Sea, they could not bind the Waves; and thoſe who deſtroy the Tem⯑ples, do no Injury to the Divinity: In like Manner, whatever is done proudly, mali⯑ciouſly, or inſolently, againſt a Wiſe Man, (who is in nothing different from a God, but in Point of Time) is but attempted in vain.
O ſage! O wonderful! O incomparable Stoic! This, this is a Wiſe Man indeed! Is it poſſible that People can continue Slaves to their Follies, when Wiſdom propoſes ſuch ſublime, ſuch noble Rewards to her Fol⯑lowers? But deſcend a little from this high Region, in which you are placed; con⯑form yourſelf to the Weakneſſes of others; and convince their Stupidity by living Ex⯑amples of this high Pitch of Wiſdom you have ſo nobly deſcribed to them. But what [237] is the Matter with that Man to laugh ſo? You, there, who ſtand by yourſelf on the left Side, while all the reſt are gotten upon the right.
Alas! Sir, who can forbear laughing, to ſee Men hope by their Pride and Vanity, to exempt themſelves from thoſe Infirmities, to which all Mankind are naturally ſubject? This ſage, this wonderful, this incompar⯑able Stoic, after all his noble and high-flown Similies, is neither ſo hard as a Diamond, ſo firm as a Rock, nor ſo elevated as the Sun. This mighty Man, who would laugh in Phalaris's BULL, yet is liable to Pain and Anguiſh, as well as the meaneſt of the People; the moſt vulgar Weapon ſhall hurt him; and the moſt ordinary Strength ſhall reach him. This contemplative Perſon, who has found out the Follies of all Man⯑kind, has one of his own that he does not ſee, ten Times more extravagant than any of theirs: Since there is no Folly, ſure, ſo extravagant, as for one who labours under all the Frailties, and Weakneſſes, and In⯑firmities of Mankind, to think himſelf in any wiſe comparable to the Perfection of a God.
Well, Friend, what are you then, who dare accuſe the Stoics of Folly, who accuſe all the World beſide?
Alas! Sir, I am a Fool too, and am ſo well convinced of it, that you ſee I keep by my ſelf on the Left Side, when all the reſt go to the Right; and were I not con⯑vinced my ſelf, I have given ſufficient Rea⯑ſon to convince any one elſe, by troubling myſelf with correcting the Follies of others, while I have ſo many Follies of my own that are uncorrected ſtill.
What are become of all the Wiſe Men then; are there none left?
If you take every Man's Opinion of him⯑ſelf, never were there ſo many; if you take their Opinions of one another, never were there ſo few.
Are all Men then alike?
No, there are ſome who are called Wiſe, and ſome who are called Fools; not but that the wiſeſt Man has a ſufficient Stock of Folly too. But the beſt Method I can propoſe to diſtinguiſh Mankind, is by call⯑ing thoſe Men Wiſe, who know themſelves to be Fools; and thoſe Men Fools, who think themſelves to be Wiſe.
Mercury, thou art a ſwift Meſſenger, haſte away to Jupiter, inform him of what we have done, and know his further Plea⯑ſure in the Matter: You may tell him, that upon a full Survey of Mankind it appears, that every one has ſuch a ſufficient Share of Folly, that he has no Reaſon at all to com⯑plain of his Neighbours having more. That in Anſwer to thoſe who think their Folly obſtructs their Happineſs, it is very plain, that the Happineſs of Mankind is ſo com⯑plicated with this Folly, that it is impoſſi⯑ble to cure them of the one, without endan⯑gering the other too. Should we convince the Fool who ſquanders away his Money, that he might live to want it; ſhould we convince the Fool who heaps up Treaſure, that in a little Time he muſt die, and have [240] all his Treaſure taken from him; ſhould we convince the Husband, who places his Happineſs in his Wife and Children, that the one cuckolds him, and the other are none of his; ſhould we convince the Man who does Things to be eternally famous, that after Death he will have no Senſe of Fame, or of whatever is ſaid of him; we ſhould make them all miſerable and wretch⯑ed. On the other Side, by taking away their Folly, we ſhou'd take away one of the moſt uſeful Qualities in the World, ſince it is very evident, that Mankind live upon the Follies of one another. Were there not Fools who ſell Eſtates, what would become of the Fools who buy them? Were there not Fools who marry, human Kind would come to an End. Were there not Fools of Buſineſs, how would the Fools that meddle with no Buſineſs be managed? Were there not fighting Fools, who would protect the Fools, that would not fight, from Oppreſſion? And were there not Writing Fools, what would the Reading Fools do for a Diverſion? So that upon the whole Mat⯑ter I think we had even as good leave the World as we find it. However, if he thinks there ought to be ſomewhat done in this Matter, after having made ſo much Noiſe about it; the moſt general Folly in Men being that of ſhewing Severity to other [241] Peoples Faults, while they neglect thoſe they commit themſelves; He may order a ſolemn Proclamation to be made, That no Man ſhall have the Privilege of cenſuring the Follies of other People, till he can bring a Certificate, under the Hands of three judi⯑cious Neighbours, that he has none at all of his own.
LETTERS BETWEEN THOMAS UVEDALE, Eſq And the Celebrated Mrs. ELIZABETH THOMAS.*
[]IF any Thing could render the Solitude of a Country Retire⯑ment agreeable to my Temper, certainly it would be the Op⯑portunity of receiving your ob⯑liging Letters, which next to your ingeni⯑ous Converſation, give me the greateſt Sa⯑tisfaction in the World; but ſince my Af⯑fairs will not at preſent permit me to enjoy that Happineſs, I muſt beg the Continu⯑ance [2] of an Epiſtolary Correſpondence. I pro⯑teſt, Madam, it is the higheſt Piece of Cha⯑rity imaginable, to throw away a friendly Hour, in writing to a poor Wretch con⯑demn'd to live threeſcore Miles from Lon⯑don, amongſt a Parcel of ſour, unſociable Animals, who have nothing but their out⯑ſide Forms by which a Man would take them to be rational; for, indeed, their Humours and their Underſtanding favour much of the Brute. I have made ſome Obſervations on the Inhabitants, and I find the Gentlemen to be a Miſcellany of Ideots and Madmen, and the Ladies a Mixture of Coquet and Home-bred, which being odly blended together, makes a wretched Compoſition of Affectation and Ill-Man⯑ners, ſo that out of mere Neceſſity, I am forced to converſe with the Dead, and make my Study the chiefeſt Entertainment of my Hours. Though I cannot oblige you with a Sample of Wincheſter Wit, as yet, becauſe either our Rhymſters are aſleep, or want a Subject to work on; but to re⯑turn our Favour of thoſe excellent Verſes on MUSIDORA, * I preſent you with two Copies of my own home-ſpun † Poetry, by which you'll ſee what it is you're to [3] truſt to, if you trade with me in Verſe, and how great a Loſer you will be at the Year's End; for whoſoever trafficks with me in ſuch Sort of Ware, will make as indifferent a Bargain as the Indians hereto⯑fore, who barter'd Gold for Spaniſh Glaſs. If this tireſome Scrawl has not frighted you, Madam, from writing to me, be pleas'd to direct your Letter to Captain Brown's, in Hyde-Street, and it will ſafely be receiv'd, by,
A SONG FOR St. Caecilia's Feaſt.
Set to Muſic by Mr. Richardſon, Or⯑ganiſt of Winton, and performed at the Biſhop's Palace, 1702.
[4]TO THOMAS UVEDALE, Eſq
[8]THOUGH I receiv'd your generous Preſent two Days after the Date, yet the Affairs of my Parents, and the Commands of a noble Lady,* have harraſs'd me ſo much, that I could not get Time to return my Thanks ſooner. I doubt you'll quickly be convinc'd you have formed a very unjuſt Idea of me; for I proteſt, on a Self-Examination, I can't find one of thoſe good Qualities you lay to my Charge. However, 'tis highly obliging in you, to fancy me ingenious and agreeable, 'till you know the contrary; as ſuch, I accept the Compliment, and acknowledge your un⯑common Candor. The Queſtion now is, Whether I ought not to ſtop here, and pre⯑ſerve your favourable Opinion by my Silence, rather than hazard it by a farther Diſcovery of my Ignorance? The firſt is certainly moſt prudent, but the latter, being more juſt, I think it a Point of Honour to undeceive you, and diſpel the falſe Charms of an imaginary Proſpect. Your American Simile [9] would have been proper enough for me, but I can by no Means allow you to make Uſe on't, neither can I admit of a Barter ſo exceedingly diſadvantageous to my Cor⯑reſpondent. No, Sir, I'll preſerve your finiſh'd Poems as a Standard of good Verſe, but I ſhall not pretend to traffic with you, becauſe I never wrote any Thing that pleas'd myſelf; and ſurely if an Author can't ſatisfy her own Judgment, 'tis in vain to expect ſhe ſhould pleaſe others.
I hope you'll be contented with this Anſwer, becauſe 'tis Truth; and I hope alſo, that if I ſhould not ſend ſo quick a Return to your Letters, as you may expect, or as they deſerve, you will not preſently accuſe me of Diſreſpect; for, what with the continued Weakneſs of my Grand⯑mother, and the neceſſary Concerns of Life, I have ſo little Time at my own Diſpoſal, that I dare not promiſe a conſtant Corre⯑ſpondence, leſt I ſhould engage for more than I can perform. I conjure you, by your moſt beloved Muſe, never more to call any Thing of mine excellent, ſince, in my Opinion, unmerited Praiſe is no better than civil Lampoon. I ſhould pity your hard Fate in living among ſuch unſociable Ani⯑mals, did I not believe that a wiſe Man ſcorns to be beholden to Fortune for a pre⯑carious Happineſs; and that you are this [10] Philoſopher, I no more doubt, than that you imitate the Elder SCIPIO, and improve your Lucky Idleneſs. However, ſince you ſeem too Modeſt to own the Happineſs you find in Solitude, and again think fit to de⯑ſcend to Complaint, I will alſo confeſs, that I join in your juſt Reſentments, (for I have had the ſame Account of the ill-natur'd Wintonians by another Hand) and am now ſenſible, that what I took for a Satire, was no more than a Character well drawn. But is it poſſible the Inhabitants ſhould be all of a Piece? Is there no ſhining Exception, no generous Mind who has Fortitude enough to reſiſt the malig⯑nant Particles of its native Air? Yes, yes, you will confeſs, I know you will, that Mrs. Martland has Learning, Virtue, Wit, and good Humour, ſufficient to atone for the Vices, Folly, and Ill-nature of a much larger City than Wincheſter. How then can you complain of Solitude? or how can you call that Place dull, where our Engliſh SAPHO reſides? SAPHO was the Name Mr. CROMWELL choſe for her, and not unde⯑ſervedly, her excellent Verſes requiring a nobler Epithet, if the Records of Time had afforded it. I know not whether you have the good Fortune to be acquainted with this incomparable Lady; if you are, and find a convenient Opportunity, I would [11] intreat you to give her my beſt Reſpects, and to aſſure her that I have been many Years very ambitious of ſubſcribing myſelf her unfeign'd Admirer. I have alſo ano⯑ther Requeſt, which is this, that you would ſend me the Title of that Book wherein is DURFY's Lampoon on Mr. DRYDEN's Marriage, or do me the Fa⯑vour to tranſcribe it from your own Me⯑mory. I am,
To Mrs. THOMAS.
[12]INſtead of convincing me that I have form'd a very unjuſt Idea of you, your laſt Letter has but the more confirm'd my Opinion of your Worth and Goodneſs: and tho' an Unwillingneſs of owning the ſhining Qualifications of your Mind, and the diſtinguiſhing Character of true Merit, has conjur'd me never to uſe the Word excellent for any thing of yours, yet I muſt and will ſay, that I never ſaw any of your Writings, but what deſerv'd that Title; neither can I admit of your excuſive Arguments for ſolid Reaſons, why you ſhould deny me the Advantage and Satisfaction of a Poetical Merchandiſe, but only take them to be a modeſt Refuſal of my Offer, upon the Account of my Inſufficiency to become your Correſpondent in ſo precious a Com⯑modity as Verſe. Tho' I have been ſome⯑what ſlow in anſwering your Letter, yet do not accuſe me of Diſreſpect or Negli⯑gence, ſince it is not deſign'd as a premedi⯑tated Silence, for indeed I have been ſeiz'd with ſo ſevere a Fit of Melancholy, that for the Space of ten Days I have not had [13] the Heart to apply my Mind to any thing but the unſociable Companions of an uneaſy Being, Sorrow and Diſcontent; and how long it would have continu'd upon me, had not the prevailing Thoughts of Fair CORINNA rous'd me from that Lethargy of Temper, I cannot well determine. Stu⯑pidity and Inſipidneſs are the Epidemical Diſtempers of our Town; therefore it is no Wonder that my Spirits, naturally prone to Dullneſs, ſhould ſo ſoon catch the reigning Contagion. LUCIUS FLORUS, in his Hiſtory of the Second PUNIC WAR, gives us an Account, how HANNIBAL in his Nonage was ſworn ROME's eternal Foe: In like manner, do I verily believe, that the Wintonians, in their Infancy, fretfully reſolv'd to be everlaſting Enemies to Mirth and Senſe; for at the leaſt Appearance of either, they ſtart like wild Beaſts at Fire-Arms, and raiſe all their Poſſe of Malice and Ill-nature to ſuppreſs whatever bears the Face of Wit or Diverſion. Tho' I am a Stranger, Madam, to Mrs. Martland's Perfections, yet ſince you are pleaſed to beſtow ſo high an Elogy on her Learn⯑ing, Virtue, Wit, and Good-humour, I believe her to be an extraordinary Lady, and on your Commendation, am very de⯑ſirous of her Acquaintance, but how to introduce myſelf to her is the Point; for [14] you muſt know, that our Ladies here, like Snails, keep every one in their own Shell, and are wond'rous ſhy of Men Viſitants. How far a Perſon of ſuch fine Notions, and ſuch an exalted Mind as the Elder SCIPIO was, might improve the Minutes of a ſolitary Retirement, I am not able to judge; but ſure I am, that one of my ſlender Underſtanding, deſtitute of Books, and ingenious Converſation, can reap no other Advantage from a Country Life, than what DOMITIAN did from killing of Flies, paſſing away time in an idle Employment: Whatever Pleaſures that renowned Hero found in Solitude, were certainly owing to his Choice; but my Retirement is only the Reſult of invincible Neceſſity, which gives a Tincture of Bitterneſs and Diſguſt to all the Pleaſures of a rural Life. I am concern'd that my Memory cannot oblige you with neither the Title of the Book, nor the Lampoon on Mr. DRYDEN's* Mar⯑riage, [15] for either 'twas never heard of, or elſe wholly forgotten, by,
THE Moſaic Creation.
[16]Lady CHUDLEIGH, TO Mrs. THOMAS. 1720.
How generouſly condeſcending and good⯑humour'd were you, when you wrote that Letter of the 10th, and how peeviſh and ſplenatic in that of the 12th: But I ought to be the laſt who ſhould arraign you, ſince I know, by un⯑happy Experience, it is not always to be avoided, nor will I ever complain of the [23] Style when you take the Pains to write, and are not abſolutely angry. What Pity it is, that the brighteſt Genius ſhould not inhabit the ſtrongeſt Conſtitution; and that our Intellects muſt ſympathize with thoſe crazy Machines our Bodies, which, like Barome⯑ters, are affected with every Change of Air; but 'tis always ſo, the richeſt Jewels are ſet in the moſt malleable Metals, and Braſs and Iron ſerve for Implements of com⯑mon Uſe. It is very rare that one ſhall meet with a fine Genius, in a Herculean Fi⯑gure; and I am often induced to compare ſuch Perſons to great Houſes, where the Garrets are generally the worſt furniſh'd.
I muſt confeſs, however, they have an Advantage which the others wants, they are pleas'd better cheap, and as they have leſs Delicacy, they find no Difficulties to their Satisfaction. For it is certainly a Misfor⯑tune to have a Taſte too refined for the Age one lives in, and to ſpin ſuch Cobweb No⯑tions of Excellence, as 'tis probable one may never find but in one's own Treaſury of Ideas.
I have often endeavour'd to correct in myſelf this Reſearch, after what Reaſon would perſuade me was a Non-Entity; but I could never make my Reliſh deſcend to the Common, the Modiſh Entertainment of Life; I have at laſt ſound the Phoenix [24] I deſpair'd of, and met with a Perſon whoſe Sentiments and Delicacy moſt exactly tally with mine, and entirely happy ſhould I be in ſuch a Friendſhip, had He, Madam, but a little more Steadineſs; but alas! when I conſider his Paſſion for Novelties, * I muſt own I ſuffer all the Torments of a final Separation.
P.S. I incloſe ZENOBIA.
ZENOBIA.
[25]PIECES written by Mr. POPE.
[]THE CHALLANGE. A COURT BALLAD.
EPIGRAMS, Occaſion'd by An Invitation to Court.
[32]THE SPEECH Of the Reverend FRANCIS ATTERBURY, D.D.
On the Day of his Admiſſion to the Deanry of Chriſt-Church, OXON. 1711*.
[]MOST Excellent Youth, this your Reception of me, in the Entrance of your Court, with your oblig⯑ing Oration, is truly acceptable. I rejoyce not ſo much that I am, as that this Houſe is adorned thereby; which has always been eſteemed the Nur⯑ſery of ingenuous Education; and I am with Pleaſure induced to believe, that your Cotemporaries are in all Things like your⯑ſelf: In which Expectation, if I am not deceived, you may with Confidence aſſure yourſelves of ſuch Incouragment and Re⯑wards as I have Power to beſtow.
[35] Your Congratulation, ſelect Batchelour, and that of your Society, is the more plea⯑ſing to me, for that it proceeds from thoſe who are grown up to a Maturity of Judg⯑ment, enlarged and perfected by the Pre⯑cepts and Inſtructions of Philoſophy, and other various Kinds of Learning. I wiſh I was altogether the Man, which I under⯑ſtand from you, they take me to be. He I truly am, who with the utmoſt Satisfaction behold a Learned Body of young Men hap⯑pily preſſing after whatever is praiſe-worthy, and who cannot therefore but greatly en⯑courage the growing Commendation of your Houſe. I know I ſhall hear much concern⯑ing your Love of the profound Sciences, the commendable Courſe of your Studies, and the Progreſs of your Learning, from that worthy Man the Sub-Dean of this Houſe; whoſe Vigilance and Induſtry if I can any ways aſſiſt, he will find in me, when Occaſion offers, an active Sharer of his Care and Counſel.
Moſt Eloquent Reader of Rhetoric, you indeed ſhew yourſelf well fitted to that your Province, which you have ſuſtained for many Years with Reputation; when hav⯑ing ſo ſlender a Subject to work upon, you dignify and enlarge it, with a plentiful Flow of Words, and all the forceful Charms of Eloquence. Both I myſelf am but too [36] conſcious, and you, notwithſtanding the great Things you ſay of me, cannot be inſenſible how little I deſerve theſe Com⯑mendations; yet with what Ingenuity and Modeſty do you treat me, when not judg⯑ing it convenient to admoniſh me publick⯑ly, you have Recourſe to thoſe Rules of your Art which ſay, That an Exhortation is then moſt effectual, when you extol him whom you mean to excite. If any there⯑fore, led away by this Kind of Speech, ſhould imagine that the Virtues recited are mine, great is his Miſtake; it was deſigned to a different Intent, that whilſt you thus diſcharged your own Duty, you might re⯑mind me of mine; and your whole Endea⯑vour was, that the Auditors of this Pane⯑gyrick might underſtand not who I am, but what he ought to be that has the Ho⯑nour to preſide in this flouriſhing College; who being placed over ſo numerous a Body of thoſe already Learned, and others yet a Learning, ſhould be ever mindful to defend the Cauſe of Religion, cultivate good Man⯑ners, and promote ſound Literature; truly a very difficult Undertaking! however, you ſhew me the Way to make it eaſier, for even at this Inſtant, we cannot but remem⯑ber thoſe worthy Men my Predeceſſors in this Truſt; from which Remembrance you readily hit upon all thoſe Perfections re⯑quired [37] to compoſe a Picture, highly finiſhed, of the Greateſt Man, and the moſt Skilful Governor.
However, when I think of filling this Poſt, now fallen to my Lot, and conſider my own Abilities, there ariſes a Dread and Diffidence ſufficient to confound and over⯑whelm me; nor am I ever ſo diſpirited or out of love with myſelf, as when Fell and Aldrich, thoſe two great Luminaries of your Commonwealth of Letters, preſent themſelves to my Remembrance; for who has not Reaſon to dread treading in the Paths they trod, who (being endowed with the choiceſt Gifts of Nature, furniſhed with a great Variety of Arts, exerciſed in a long Tract of Academical Employments) brought this Houſe, which ever had its Share of Glory, ever illuſtrious for its Praiſe of Learning, to the utmoſt Pitch of Splendor and Perfection.
Both of them were eagerly ſtudious of Knowledge, and earneſtly diſpoſed to culti⯑vate the liberal Sciences: Both of them were poſſeſſed with extraordinary Candour, ſo as to cheriſh every Appearance of Virtue that preſented itſelf, ever interpreting fa⯑vourably and to the milder Senſe, whatever bore the Face of Doubt: Both of them were noble and generous, not carried away with the Thirſt of Riches or of Honours: [38] They were careleſs of their private Affairs, but vigilant for the Public Good: No Man ever loved his Family more ardently, or cheriſhed it with more Affection, than both of them did this Houſe: No Man's Country was ever dearer to him, than this Univerſity to them: By their own Labour, by their own Coſt, to increaſe the Art of Printing, to repair, to rebuild theſe Walls; as it was always a Care to them, ſo was it a Pleaſure: With theſe Thoughts, with theſe Deſires were they employ'd when liv⯑ing, nor was there any Intermiſſion to the Hour of their Deaths. You are not un⯑acquainted with the Things I ſpeak of, which ſo lately were, and ſtill are in your Sight and Hearing; but be they rivetted ever ſo ſtrongly in your Minds, the Repeti⯑tion of them will always be a Pleaſure, and the Remembrance of them delightful, who excelled in every Qualification that could be in Man. The Image of that moſt humane Man can never be forgot by me or you, by whoſe Demiſe this Houſe, as tho' it were deprived of a Parent, now lies in Mourning and in Sorrow: God grant that now, by my coming among you, it may in ſome meaſure be refreſhed and comforted. To him nothing was wanting which indulgent Nature could beſtow, either to the propa⯑gating or Embelliſhment of Learning; no⯑thing [39] which could excite either the Love or Admiration of thoſe over whom he preſid⯑ed: What Perſpicuity, what Strength of Thought, what a ready Utterance was he endowed with, applying himſelf to different Kinds of Learning, with Eaſe and Quick⯑neſs! Never at a Loſs, nor a Stranger to any Sort of Literature that was laid before him: Whatſoever he undertook in any Art, was performed to Exactneſs; ſo that one might ſay, he was alone born for that Part which he then ſuſtained, and that all his Time and Labour had been imployed there⯑in: Whether he followed more ſerious Studies, or delighted himſelf with thoſe of leſs Conſequence; whether he treated of divine or moral Subjects, you could not per⯑ceive which he was more capable to per⯑form, this or that: But then, in his Ad⯑dreſs and Converſation, in his Receſs and Buſineſs, how genteel was his Behaviour, how plain and open was his Mind! What Integrity in his Life, what Truth in his Words, what Modeſty in his Countenance, what Gracefulneſs in his Front! Adorned with theſe Gifts of Nature, that which often ſeems moroſe and ſevere in abſtraſe Learning, he was wont to allay, with a wonderful Pleaſantneſs; ſo that he could mould and form the Minds of young Be⯑ginners, not barely by his Precepts and In⯑ſtructions, [40] but by his Aſpect and engaging Manner, to the Love of Learning and all the Praiſes of Humanity. In this Man were many Things admirable, many Things excellent, but nothing more ſo, than that he held the Memory of bleſſed Fell in ſingular Regard and Veneration, looking upon him, and declaring him to be the unerring Guide and Pattern of all his public Actions, the beſt Maſter for the Inſtruction and Govern⯑ment of Youth, a Reſtorer of that Diſci⯑pline which was interrupted amongſt us in the Times of Diſtraction; and, in a Word, the Guardian Eſtabliſher of this ſpacious Building: And, truly, ever ſince a Way was opened for the Return of true Religion and ſound Learning to this Place, from whence it was driven. Whatſoever this Houſe hath contributed to the Help of Science, or the Increaſe of Piety; whatſoever Benefit hath accrued from it to the Church or State, all flows from the Labour, Care, and Coun⯑ſels of that moſt holy Prelate: By him was laid the Foundation of our Praiſes; by him were ſown the Seeds of Virtue, Induſtry and Learning, which even now flouriſh, and which from him, both living and dead, hath ſo often ripened into a plenteous and joyful Harveſt.
As often, therefore, as I conſider this Body ſtill flouriſhing by the Inſtructions of [41] Fell, methinks I ſee that well planted Field, which Cyrus formerly ſhewed Lyſander, where, if I may ſay ſo, one might admire the Height, Ranks, and regular Diſpoſi⯑tion of Trees, the Ground cultivated, ſmooth and clean, with the ſweet and flagrant Odor wafted from the Flowers, but above all, the Diligence and Induſtry of him by whom they were thus planted and de⯑ſigned.
Happy that Huſbandman of ours, who can truly ſay with Cyrus, All theſe have I thus diſpoſed, mine is the Order, the De⯑ſign is mine; many of theſe Trees have I alſo planted with my own Hands, for the Benefit of this, and, perhaps, of the coming Generation. To me therefore, in the Diſ⯑charge of this Office (ſhall I ſay it was a Happineſs or a Misfortune, immediately to ſucceed ſuch eminent Men) what now re⯑mains, but that I, who am diffident of my own Abilities, ſhould rouſe myſelf up by the Contemplation of thoſe Virtues with which they excelled, and that thoſe beſt of Maſters whom I profitted by, when living, I ſhould copy after when dead, and look on them as Examples to be followed in all Things according to my Ability.
They truly, by their excellent Endow⯑ments obtained this, that they were ſingu⯑larly ſerviceable to you, which I too well [42] know I can never attain to. There is one Thing, however, which I boaſt to ſhare in common with them. It is a certain un⯑ſpeakable Degree of Love and good Will, which I bear towards this Houſe, by which I have at Heart, you and all your Intereſts. In this I truſt never to be out-done by any of thoſe my Anceſtors, with ſome of whom, in nothing elſe am I worthy to be com⯑pared.
On the DEATH of that Excellent Young Man, Mr. SHIRLEY, Junior.
AN ODE On the DEATH of Biſhop ATTERBURY.
[]IMPARTIAL MEMORIALS OF THE LIFE and WRITINGS OF Thomas Hearne, M.A. By ſeveral HANDS.
[]Parr [...]
LONDON: Printed in the YEAR. M.DCC.XXXVI.
LETTERS ſent to Mr. CURLL.
[]AS you intend to publiſh the Life of that eminent Antiquary Mr. Tho⯑mas Hearne, it is to be wiſhed that it might be compleat and juſt; not in that Manner as it was ſet out about four Years ago, by a Chaplain of All-Souls College, which was intended rather as a Sneer upon Mr. Hearne * than to give us an impartial Account of his Life and Writings.
Among the Manuſcripts he has left, is A DIARY of his LIFE, inter⯑ſperſed [ii] ſperſed with many curious Paſſages, Characters, and his whole Converſation and Correſpondence till within a few Days of his Death.
I Received yours much too late, and after a ſolemn Promiſe, to the Gentle⯑man you mentioned, not to communi⯑cate aught without Permiſſion relating to him: This I could not but comply with (as yourſelf well know the Friendſhip and long Correſpondence between us) ſo that I muſt not contribute, but if called upon by any who may hereafter do him the Honour deſigned by you, as I hope nothing elſe is, or that any Thing mean, trifling, or injurious will be handed into the World.
AS to the Gentleman's Character you intend to attack, I muſt deſire to be excuſed, if I don't concern myſelf: He is dead, and has anſwered elſwhere, and how far his Cenſures are juſt, I know not; he cannot now defend himſelf: De Mortuis nil, niſi bonum. As to the Gentle⯑man to whom the MSS are left, I will not encourage you, or any Body, to apply to him. By the WILL, you'll find he has Directions from the Teſtator as to that Affair, and he is a Man of too nice Ho⯑nour not to ſtrictly adhere to them; ſo that all manner of Application, there, will be ineffectual.
Our Correſpondent A.B. is very tena⯑cious of the Antiquary's Character. We hope he will not find any Thing mean, [iv] trifling, or injurious; unleſs doing Juſtice* may be miſtakenly ſo deemed.
As to the good old Caution he gives§, it were to be wiſhed that Mr. Hearne had had more Regard to it himſelf, but nei⯑ther he, nor his Predeceſſor Wood, had any the leaſt Regard either for the Characters of the Living, or the Memory of the Dead; the Writings of both being over loaded with Calumny.
A Catalogue of Mr. Hearne's Works is annexed to moſt of the Books he has pub⯑liſhed; among which we cannot point out any Thing uſeful, unleſs it be his Ductor Hiſtoricus, and his Index to the Earl of Clarendon's Hiſtory.
THE LIFE OF Mr. Thomas Hearne.
[]THAT He, may never be forgotten, who has raked the Repoſitaries of Antiqui⯑ty, and been indefatigable in fetching Learning from Places where many would not have ſought after it; a few Memorials of his Life, and ſome Obſervations on his Writings, will, we hope, redound to his Credit.
In the Pariſh-Regiſter of Abbots, or White-Waltham, a Village about ſix Miles [2] diſtant from Windſor, it ſtands upon Re⯑cord that he was baptized by the Name of Thomas, Son of George Hearne and Edith his Wife on the Eleventh of June, 1678. His Father, we have been in⯑formed, was a conſiderable Antiquary of the lower Claſs; and was Sacriſtan of that Parochial Church to the Day of his Death. So that Mr. Hearne, in all pro⯑bability, received his great Propenſity to the Study of Antiquity as it were ex Traduce.
It is agreed on all Hands that his early Inclination to Letters firſt diſcovered it⯑ſelf among the Tumuli of his own Pariſh Church-yard; over which he was obſerved to be continually plodding lmoſt as ſoon as he was Maſter of the Engliſh Alphabet. To this ſoon after adding a little Wri⯑ting, he grew impatient after Antiquity: reſolved never to be unprepared for col⯑lecting Materials that might be ſervice⯑able hereafter, and accordingly ſtuffed his Diary (which was his conſtant Compa⯑nion) with every Occurrence worthy his Notice. This he prudently foreſaw would turn to a good Account in his more ad⯑vanced Years; Vacancies in his future Labours might be ſupplied with a Story from his Journal; and tho' it might not [3] be very methodical, or perhaps not at all to his Purpoſe in Hand, yet the Deſign of preſerving it might ſufficiently juſtify its Publication.
This was the advantageous Method he purſued all his Life Time: He co⯑pied Monuments and Inſcriptions; Original Letters and venerable Ballads of Antiquity; Stories of honeſt John Roſs and Peter Langtoft; Robert of Brune and St. Thomas Cantilupe: Men! who had not Mr. Hearne lived, might have lain for ever buried in an ignoble Obſcurity. The Preſervation of theſe Things may be aſcribed to his Col⯑lectanea which are now ſwelled to a pro⯑digious Size.
It is difficult indeed to determine to what particular Number theſe MSS Vo⯑lumes are now grown, becauſe they are kept with as ſtrict and ſacred a Care from the Eyes of Mankind as the * Oracles of the Sibylls depoſited in the Capitol. The higheſt Number we have yet ſeen quoted by himſelf is cxxiii, in his Preface to the [4] * Annals of John of Trokelowe. So that notwithſtanding there can be no certain Calculation made of an exact Number, yet there is ſome room for a Conjecture that they are not fewer than five Hun⯑dred.
Several Paſſages there are in his †XCV Volume which enough convince us of his not being then arrived at Years of Diſcre⯑tion, notwithſtanding he had filled ſo ma⯑ny of them: If therefore his Induſtry was as great in his advanced Years as in his Youth (which we believe all will allow when they conſider the uninterrupted State of Health he all along enjoyed) we think we may be allowed not to have ex⯑ceeded the Number, but rather to have fallen ſhort of it. This however we only took Notice of to ſhew what an ineſtima⯑ble Loſs the World muſt ſuſtain, ſhould this prodigious Treaſure periſh with its Collector.
This Digreſſion we hope the Reader will pardon; and ſo, without dwelling on the firſt eight or ten Years of his Life, we ſhall follow him to the School, where we [5] are told he laid the Foundation of his fu⯑ture Greatneſs.
It was happy for him as well as the World that he fell into the Hands of a good *Maſter at Bray School: it being a ma⯑lancholly Thing to conſider how many great Genii have either been cramped or utterly ſpoiled thro' the Ignorance or In⯑dolence of trifling Pedagogues. Here he ſoon maſtered the Rudiments of Learning, and by a gradual but ſpeedy Progreſs be⯑came acquainted with the Roman and Greek Hiſtorians.
Thus encouraged by the Pregnancy of his Parts, his aſſiduous Induſtry and Profici⯑ency in School Learning, his liberal Friend †thought them ſufficient Motives to the Continuance of his Bounty, and ſent him accordingly in the Year MDCXCV (with a conſiderable Addition) to the Univerſity of Oxford. Fortune here again (if we are rightly informed) ſeemed particularly fond [6] of him: The Vicar* of the Pariſh where his Benefactor lived was at that Time a conſiderable Tutor in Edmund Hall, and in the Study of Antiquity moſt eminently remarkable. Thro' this Gen⯑tleman's Means he was admitted into this Place, and uſed more like a Son than barely a Pupil by him.
A few Years being ſpent in Academical Learning, by the Help of which he had improved his Propenſity to Antiquity; He gave the World a Specimen of his fu⯑ture Deſigns. In the Year MDCCII (but ſe⯑ven Years from his Matriculation) he pub⯑liſhed a copious Index of the principal Paſſages in Sir Roger L'Eſtrange's Tran⯑ſlation of Joſephus; which ſeems to have met with ſo good a Reception, that the ſame was reprinted not long after in an Octavo Edition. In MDCCIII he obliged the World with (or at leaſt occaſioned the Publication of) the Reliquiae Bodleianae, or ſome genuine Remains of Sir Thomas Bod⯑ley, adding the ſame Year, to his other La⯑bours. Pliny's Epiſtles and Panegyric, with various Lections and Annotations; not to mention his Edition of Eutropius, with [7] many other Things publiſhed all in this Year. In MDCCIV and V came out that laborious Work called Doctor Hiſtorious, in two Volumes, 8vo, being a ſhort Sy⯑ſtem of Univerſal Hiſtory, and an Intro⯑duction to the Study of it.
It would be almoſt endleſs to expatiate particularly on his Labours, or to give an Account of the Product of every Year; for which Reaſon we muſt refer the Reader to his own printed Catalogue of them, inſerted at the End of every Book, he publiſhed, ſince they became numerous.
During this Period however it is obſer⯑vable that his Vindication of Thoſe who take the Oath of Allegiance, was writ⯑ten, which loudly ſpeaks in the Behalf of Mr. Hearne's Induſtry, and ſhews the early Application he had made to Books. The many juſt Quotations in it from ſa⯑cred Hiſtory as well as Profane, from Acts of Parliament and Lawyers of the greateſt Name, we flatter ourſelves will ex⯑cuſe our writing a Panegyrick, and its Author's Name recommend it enough to the Peruſal of Mankind.
In MDCCIII, on the 3d of July, he took the Degree of Maſter of Arts, and had [8] no ſooner compleated it, but the Eyes of the whole Univerſity were upon him: His Induſtry was almoſt become a Proverb, and (notwithſtanding a little Surlineſs of Temper which it is thought he brought into the World with him, and which pro⯑bably increaſed with his ſevere Studies) he met with Friendſhip in a great many, and much Reſpect from all Men,
I ſhould have mentioned indeed before this, the Encouragement he had from the *Head Librarian, who (acquainted with his Diligence) made him Underkeeper of the Bodleian Library. There he had Room enough for his Inquiſitive Genius to range in; of which he made ſo good a Uſe, that the Product of every Year afterwards may juſtly be aſcribed to the Acquiſitions he had made in this Treaſure of Learning.
After ſome Years ſpent in this Way, of printing Indexes, Itineraries and Collectanea, his Labours met with an additional Re⯑ward; being on the 19th of Jan. 1714-15, elected Architypographus of the Univerſity and ſuperior Beadle of Civil Law † This we find him acknowledging with Pleaſure and Humility to be an Honour, which [9] he took the firſt ‘'Opportunity of menti⯑oning to the World, on purpoſe that his Gratitude might be made known to Poſterity. And notwithſtanding he was conſcious to himſelf that the Univerſity Favours were conferred upon One who every way undeſerved them, in reſpect of Learning, and other requiſite Quali⯑fications, yet ſtill he had very good Reaſon for accepting them upon this Account amongſt others, as they ſea⯑ſonably aſſiſted and relieved one of their Members who had for many Years led an obſcure and retired Life, and was at that Time reduced to a neceſſitous Con⯑dition thro' the great Expence he had been at in carrying on many public Deſigns.'’
In this happy Poſture of Affairs one would have imagined he might have been eaſy and ſatisfied: But neither Friendſhip nor Preferment could put a Stop to his Enquiry after Truth. Soon after this Pro⯑motion he acquired better Reaſons (to Himſelf at leaſt) for Non-Compliance with the Oaths which were neceſſary for keeping it, than he had before for the Acceptance of it; and accordingly reſigned that ad⯑vantageous Poſt, which the Univerſity had ſo lately conſered on him, as incon⯑ſiſtent [10] with his Conſcience, or at leaſt, his Manner of Thinking.
Ever ſince he ſteadily adhered to the Principles of a Non-juror; ſpent his Time in annually obliging the World with ſome⯑thing relating to the Hiſtory of England, or with ſome other Affairs as they accidental⯑ly have fallen in his Way, both for the Be⯑nefit and Pleaſure of Mankind. Here we think he might have been left ſtill labour⯑ing at the Oar, deſerving the Favour and Compliments of the Learned upon his yearly Revival of ſomething (as it were) loſt to every one but himſelf. * Singulis fe⯑re Annis Cl. Hearnius aliquid e MSS. eruere quod ad Hiſtoriam Anglicanum ſpectat, idque Praefationibus ac Appendicibus pro⯑lixis ſaepe longe aliena complexis ſive ornare ſive onerare.—† Hearnius doctus Antiquarius & Induſtriae ſummae. Hic Talpa eruditus egregia e Tenebris eruit; multum ſcalpſit, corraſit, & occultus ipſe Literaturae Cumulos, Naſo ſatis acuto, in Lucem edidit.—Hearnium alterum verbis mutilatis totum incumbentem, fortiter, ob⯑ſtinate, contractis Superciliis infixum, & Temporibus ſuis hoc e Saxo Ingenii ſui Vi [11] vel Duritie pot ius, Lumen elidentem videor videre. Theſe Paſſages, how much ſoever they may look like Ridicule to Men who deal only in Polite Learning, are ſtill un⯑doubted Confirmations of Mr. Hearne's Induſtry, and will ever be thought ſo by Perſons of deeper Penetration.
Amongſt many Qualities remarkable in him, his ſtrict and unſhaken Integrity is none of the leaſt. No Regard for any one's Merit could ever prevail with him to con⯑nive at their Errors: He choſe rather to break off the ſtricteſt Friendſhip, than to be led aſide by it in his Search after Truth; Nay his very Gratitude, when it interfered with his Integrity, was at once renounced as no longer binding. * Operae Pretium eſt (ſays he) Lectorem monere me nulla alia de Cauſa à Richardſono diſſen⯑tire, niſi quod Veritatem aliis quibuſcunque Amicitiis anteferendam eſſe cenſeam. And in another Place, † Ed collineat Operum noſtrorum Scopus, ut Veritatem pro virili aſſeramus, cui litavimus.
There is one Thing indeed relating to Univerſity College (to which Society he § declares himſelfe indebted) which it [12] would really be a Fault in us not to take Notice of, becauſe we are poſitive his Ve⯑ritatis Amor can never be reconciled with it.
During the late unhappy Conteſt in that Houſe, occaſioned by the Death of Dr. Charlett, Mr. Hearne publiſhed Peter Langtoft's Chronicle; at the End of the Se⯑cond Volume of which, he adds a Gloſſary upon Engliſh Words. Upon the Word Writ he has it thus: We commonly underſtand by Writ (the ſame with the Latin Breve) a written Order or Precept from the King or Court of Judicature, by which any thing is commanded to be done relating to Suit or Action.
Had he left off here he had done very well: * Sed ad Agendum Nati ſumus are his own Words; upon which Principle we ſuppoſe he proceeded in this Place. Of this kind (he tells us) is that remarkable one relating to Univerſity College of King Richard the Second, with his Seal an⯑nexed, which he juſt ſaw and haſtily run over.
[13] Whether he ever ſaw this Inſtrument we ſhall not ſcruple at preſent, but whether there is any Seal to it, or has been, within the Compaſs of Mr. Hearne's Years, we leave to the Enquiries of the Fellows of that Society.
The ſame he tells us was done after⯑wards expreſly by King Henry VI, in a Writing quoted from the Muniments of the ſame College by *Mr. Twyne. The thing will appear beſt to the Reader if we produce the Paſſage printed by Mr. Twyne, and the Tranſlation of it by Mr. Hearne.
Nam cum Temporibus Henrici Sexti inter Guilielmum Abbatem de Oſney, & Ri⯑chardum Witton illius Collegii Magiſtrum eſſet Controverſia, &c. And then follows the Inſtrument itſelf, which is only a com⯑mon Form in the Caſe of a Law-Suit drawn by ſome Attorney, which Mr. Hearne, without the leaſt Authority what⯑ever, makes to be one of theſe Writs or Precepts from the King or Court of Judi⯑cature relating to the depending Suit be⯑tween the Abbot of Oſney and Richard Whitton then Maſter of the College.
[14] How he came to tranſlate Temporibus Hen. VIti, by the Order of Henry the VIth, looks more like Deſign than Blunder; tho' we would not ſuggeſt that he had any Intent of giving a Turn to a Cauſe then depending in ſome Meaſure upon ſuch Inſtruments as he would have made this.
The Annals of this College lately pub⯑liſhed by Mr. Smith we find gave our An⯑tiquary ſome Diſtaſte; but upon what Bot⯑tom this Anger is raiſed, a little Enquiry (if the Reader will permit) will ſoon diſ⯑cover.
In his Preface to * Dr. Sprott we find this Gentleman a very great Favourite of Mr. Hearne's; whoſe Character there gi⯑ven is Vir per-eruditus & benevolus: But we are afraid his Temper grew four and moroſe as he advanced in Years. In his Preface to the Life of Richard II, we have another Account of Mr. Smith: viz. Scriptor ille ferreus atque mendax Guli⯑elmus Faber de Joh. Roſſo tam maligne paſ⯑ſim locutus eſt.—Haec in Gratiam Guli⯑elmi Fabri Eccleſiae Anglicanae (quod vix [15] credas) Sacerdotis, qui multum Temporis in iſto uno [ſcil. Antiquitatis] Studio conſum⯑ſit, nuperque (jam pene Octogenavius) Li⯑brum prolixum, Annales Collegii Univer⯑ſitatis, Verbo haud ſatis apto, appellatum, Lingua vernacula conſcripſit (ne dicam con⯑ſcribillavit) & in publicum protruſit.
We cannot but obſerve here, that Mr. Smith's Age is made a part of his bad Character; when old Age, by ſome more ſacred Writers than Mr. Hearne, is thought honourable rather than ſcandalous. Ma⯑ny other Sentences there are in this Pre⯑face, which abound with the ſame ſort of Language of this Reverend old Gentle⯑man, which the Veritatis Amor can never juſtify.
*One Paſſage there is reſpecting Sprott (whoſe Authority we own we have ſome Reaſon to ſcruple) which proves, that Mr. Hearne had either not kept up to his avowed Regard for Truth, or elſe had unhappily blundered in a Point of Chro⯑nology, tho' he abuſed Mr. Smith for it in the very ſame Caſe. His Words are theſe: Sprottus floruit An. Dom. 1274, longe ni⯑mirum citius quam exoptat Guil. Faber, [16] qui [...] immemor, audectar falſo⯑que retulit, Ranulphum Higdenum primum omnium fuiſſe qui de Scholis Aluredianis aliquid tradidit, &c.
It is obſervable here, in the fifth place, that Sprott lived (according to Mr. Hearne's own Confeſſion) in 1274, which was in the Reign of Edward the Firſt; that he Studied in ea parte Aedis Chriſti quam vulgo vocant Quadrangulum Cantuari⯑enſe, and that he wrote of Canterbury College, and left a Book behind him con⯑cerning it, is evident from the above-cited Preface to Sprott's Chronicle.
This is a very ſurpriſing Canterbury Tale indeed; and that would make Sprott (provided it could be proved) more Famous than the Samian Philoſopher, who, by the Help of Tranſmigration, paſſed thro' two or three Succeſſive Stages of Generation, but never under the ſame Name.
Sprott, who lived in 1274, in the Reign of Edward the Firſt, ſtudied in Canterbury College, which was not built till 1363, and therefore agreeable to this Account, muſt either have lived about 89 Years before he was born, or at leaſt written [17] of a Place as many Years before it was built.
This Miſtake we would have accounted for in our Author's Behalf, had it been in our Power; but as it was not, we left it to himſelf, who was better qualified to reconcile Difficulties of this Nature.
Another Slip of this kind appears in Page 302 of his Collection of Curious Diſcourſes. Academia (ſays he) ſcripſit Guilielmo Wykham Epiſcopo Winton: ut il⯑lis accommodaret Machinas, quarum Ope Scholam Theologicam Voltis & Fornicibus exornarent. It is very well known that the Divinity School (for which this Loan was deſired) was built in the Year 1476, by Tho. Kempe Biſhop of London. This Mr. Hearne allows in the Page preceding the Place before cited. * William of Wikham Bp. of Winton died the 27th of Sept. 1404. ſo that, according to this Aſ⯑ſertion, the Univerſity ſent to him ut illis accommodaret Machinas, &c. 60 Years after his Death. † Rymer in his Foedera tells us, that Hen. Beaufort Bp. of Winton died the 3d Id. of April 1447. and was ſucceed⯑ed by William Waynflete, who lived in [18] Poſſeſſion of the ſame till 1486. So that if for Wikham we read Waynflete, as the Perſon petitioned to by the Univerſity, we ſhall come within the Time of building the Divinity School, and ſet Mr. Hearne right in his Chronology. This we believe was an Alteration of no Deſign, but only a ſimple, thoughtleſs Blunder. Miſtakes of this ſort we ſhall conclude with an Aſ⯑ſertion of his relating to Univerſity College, where he makes William of Durham to have ſtudied in the Great Hall, which was not bought for the Uſe of William of Durham's Scholars till 124 Years after his Death.
As for the Cenſure paſſed upon Mr. Smith in the Paſſage above-cited (which really is too ſevere without better Grounds for it) we may venture to ſay it is Unjuſtifi⯑able. For ſuppoſing that Sprott's Book was written before Higden's, yet ſtill Mr. Smith (who had never ſeen or heard of it till he had finiſhed his Annals) might un⯑doubtedly ſay, and conſiſtent with Truth too, that Ralph Higden was the firſt he ever had met with quoted as a Friend to the weak Cauſe of K. Alfred's Halls, and who ſeemed firſt to have introduced this Novelty into the World.
[19] Mr. Hearne therefore in the former Caſe ſeems to deſerve the Sentence of be⯑ing [...] immemor; and int he lat⯑ter to be very Ungenteel, to make no worſe of it. * ‘'Utinam igitur Auctor Noſter (to uſe almoſt his own Words) Errores expungat, Librumque Retracta⯑tionum ipſe confeſtim edat, Crimenque ne⯑fandum, quod Clerico huic digno intulit, pro virili eluat. Hoc enim non extorſit Veritatis Amor.'’
Whilſt we are thus impartially conſider⯑ing our Antiquary's Character, by ſetting him right in his Miſtakes, as well as com⯑mending his Virtues, one thing occurs which we ſhould have been glad never to have had the Opportunity of correcting. About twenty Years before the Publica⯑tion of the Life of Richard II (which was wrote by one of the Monks of Eve⯑ſham, our Author, in his †Preface to the ſeventh Volume of Leland's Itinerary, expreſſes a hearty Concern for the juſt Rights of the Crown, in Oppoſition to thoſe, ‘'who, in Order to advance and maintain Republican Principles, ſtrain [20] their Inventions to give a wrong Turn to and pervert the true Meaning of our beſt Hiſtorians; and ſtudiouſly aſperſe, blacken and deſame, the Memory of King Charles the II (as others with leſs Mo⯑deſty have done that of K. Charles the I.) What he has ſaid upon theſe Points he hoped no Ingenuous or Impartial Perſon will think Uncharitalle or Unbecoming.’
Theſe are ſounding Words, and expreſs a great deal of Loyalty to the Memory of thoſe Princes. But ſuch fickle Things are our Memories, that ſometimes they ſeem to take Pleaſure in expoſing us. Hence doubtleſs it was that Mr. Hearne lately run counter to his own above-cited Declarations. It muſt be Forgetſulneſs (we hope ſo at leaſt) that will ſuffer a Man to draw his own Character in an infamous I Light; and whether he has not done it to the Life, let the Reader judge when he has heard the Accuſation, and is referred to the Place where he may ſoon inform himſelf.
At the latter * End of the Life of Richard the 2d, there is a Letter printed and Mr. (Hearne ſays an Original one) of [2] Charles the Firſt when Prince of Wales: It is directed to the Duke of Buckingham, and interpreted by the Publiſher of it, as carrying on an Affair of Gallantry. Be the Letter what it will, Original or not, He ought to have given a better Reaſon for making it publick. He was apprehen⯑ſive (he tells us) that if ſuch a Letter ſhould be ſtifled, ſome Perſons might interpret it an Inſtance of Partiality, and be apt to make baſe Reflections upon it. Let us ex⯑amine this kind of Reaſoning a little. The ſtifling this Letter would have been thought an Inſtance of Partiality; The Reaſon of which muſt be this; Becauſe Mr. Hearne was neceſſarily obliged to pub⯑liſh every Thing he met with. And then, he ſays, that ſome Perſons would be apt to make baſe Reflections on it: On the Letter we ſnppoſe, which if ſtifled, they might never ſee or hear of: Or if he meant thoſe Gentlemen who communi⯑cated it to him, he again forgot his Ve⯑ritatis Amor, becauſe they never intended it ſhould be printed. That it might eſcape therefore all Cenſure he publiſhed it in a heap of Appendixes and Curae ſecvndae, and made it a hundred Times more eaſy for baſe Reflections to be caſt on it than it was before.
[22] This is the Reaſon given for publiſhing this Letter. In the next Book printed by him, which was Trokelowe's Annals of Edward the 2d) we have an Apology in his Preface for the very ſame Thing. The Letter became the Subject of almoſt every one's Diſcourſe, and a Reflection caſt up⯑on a Prince, remarkable for his uncommon Chaſtity, could not but be taken Notice of by many of his Friends. Whether it had like to have diſcontinued any of his Subſcriptions, or whether he had more maturely conſidered the Matter, we cannot ſay; this however is plain, that his Apo⯑logy was deſigned to give a ſofter Turn, than was hinted in his Explanation of the Let⯑ter; and that he had rather have it thought, that the Prince was unwarily miſled, than inclined to this Gallantry.
It had been more prudent (and we may add leſs officious) in Mr. Hearne, whilſt he was thus endeavouring to clear himſelf, to have firſt got leave for the Printing this Letter from the Gentleman who ſhewed it him, and who, we are informed ſince, ſo highly reſents it, that he broke off a Friendſhip with him, which had been kept very ſtrict for many Years. We muſt ſubjoin by the way, that it is certainly a greater Inſtance of Partiality to publiſh a [23] Letter as an Original, which the Editor could not at that Time, nor afterwards, prove to be ſo.
The Apology will appear, upon a little Conſideration, not at all inferior to his Reaſon for printing it; eſpecially if we obſerve, that tho' he did not know what the Intrigue was, yet he happily conjec⯑tured, by making the Prince to be inticed like Joſeph by the Importunity of a lewd Miſtreſs; tho' we do not remember that Joſeph ever wrote to a third Perſon about his Affair. Nay, it may be remarked farther, that Mr. Hearne makes the * Wife of Pharoah the importunate Woman, when the Scriptures aſſure us, it was Potiphar's Spouſe that was ſo deeply ſmit⯑ten with the Comelineſs of the Hebrew. But a Man may poſſibly forget his Bible, who is ſo very much taken up with Adam de Domerham, and the black Book of the Exchequer, &c.
Had this unfortunate Prince lived ſome hundred Years before he did, Mr. Hearne's Love for Antiquity might probably have [24] engaged him in his Defence rather than in expoſing him. We find him, in the * Ap⯑pendix to Leland's Collectanea, very angry with Tyrrel the Hiſtorian for ſtaining the Reputation of Ethelred and his firſt Queen: There he ſays ‘'it is a great Crime to ſcan⯑dalize any Perſon; the Heinouſneſs of it increaſes according to the Dignity of the Perſon, of whom the Scandal is raiſed: But this (ſays he) may be wiped off by a public Retraction.'’
This was good Doctrine, had not a Preface to Canden's Queen Elizabeth ſhewed, that Men do not always practiſe as they adviſe: But a public Retracta⯑tion which (from the ingenuouſneſs of Mr. Hearne's Dpoſition) we had Reaſon to think he would make, might wipe off the Blemiſh he may have contracted, either in the Caſe of Prince Charles, or the inde⯑cent Language given Mr. Smith. His Pretence to ſtrict Integrity, we were almoſt confident, would prevail with him to do it, in a better Manner than diſguiſing it in a trifling Apology; and as he was a ſtrict En⯑quirer after Truth, and is, by this Time, convinced it was wrong to publiſh the Letter, or abuſe the aged Divine, we do not [25] doubt but that he retracted what he had ſaid in both Caſes, and fruſtrated the Ex⯑pectations of ſome People who thought he delighted in Abuſe, tho' we hope he acowledged our Friendſhip in ſetting him right.
Thus have we conſidered one of his ex⯑cellent Qualities; the next is his Fidelity as an Editor.
One Rule which we have been informed he at firſt laid down, and generally ſpeak⯑ing cloſely obſerved, was always to fol⯑low his Authors religiouſly. Their Miſ⯑takes by this means were punctually copied and ſacredly preſerved: Nay, the very Blunders of Tranſcribers were faith⯑fully penned down for the Amuſement of Poſterity. Prurigo emendandi ac com⯑mutandi a Nobis plane abſit, are his own Words in the Notes after the Appendix of John of Trokelowe's Annals of Edward the Second. And again in * Leland's Itinerary he declares, that he was ſo nice in this Affair, that ‘'I obſerved (ſays he) Mr. Leland's Way of Spelling, and o⯑mitted nothing, not ſo much as the Aſ⯑terisks, and other Notes of that Nature [26] which had been inſerted by him: Nor did we leave out even thoſe Words that are plainly redundant, nor pretend to alter thoſe which are manifeſtly wrong, and occaſioned by the Haſte the Author was in, or elſe by the Defect of his Memory.'’
This Method is very obſervable through⯑out the numerous Volumes he has obliged the World with. Sic MS. he has noted perhaps in the Margin to ſhew that he was not ignorant of the Error in the Copy. Delenda ſunt ut opinor may poſſibly be ſeen at the Bottom of one Page, and lege, &c. at another. Here perhaps may be a Deſunt, &c. and there a Subintellige, &c. But ſtill amidſt all theſe Regulations, the Text is generally kept purely corrupt, and ſcarce a Blunder thro' the whole, but what is very induſtriouſly preſerved. Nay, ſo great a Regard had he for the old Way of Spelling, that the following Epiſtle (which we have printed as like the Original as poſ⯑ſibly we could) is a ſtanding Proof of it.
There are indeed a few Caſes in which he has varied from this Rule, * which might have been concealed, ‘'had we not been apprehenſive (to uſe his own Words [27] in another Caſe) that ſome Perſons, if ſuch Slips ſhould be ſtifled, might have interpreted it a great Inſtance of Parti⯑ality, and made baſe Reflections upon it.'’ One of this Nature we muſt not paſs by, leſt his Character ſhould prevail (as probably it might) with ſome Men here⯑after to eſtabliſh his Errors for Truths.
*Dr. Leonard Hutton, in his Anti⯑quities of Oxford, has quoted a Line from Shepreve's Life of †Dr. Claymond, con⯑cerning a Shed which formerly ſtood in the Corn-Market, built to skreen the Corn from the Weather. Upon this there was an Inſcription, and the Copy from whence he tranſcribed it, had it thus, viz.
In this Verſe there appears a palpable Error, which a Reader of no extraordi⯑nary Capacity might have diſcovered and corrected. But ſee the Misfortune of not following an old Rule. By an unhappy Conjecture he has wandered from his Copy, and to make better Senſe of it he has acted the Critic's Part, and mended [28] ſircum with circum. But we think the Al⯑teration of this Letter makes but little Difference in the Senſe. The Lines (as we copied them from the Manuſcript Life, now in the Muſaeum at Oxford) run thus, viz.
Whether this Miſtake aroſe from his not having an Ear for the Monkiſh Muſic, an Error of the like Nature may ſerve to determine.
*In the Catalogue of his Works, an⯑nexed to the Hiſtory of Glaſtonbury, he has publiſhed an Inſcription in the fol⯑lowing manner, now to be ſeen in the Remains of Rewly.
Mr. Wood ſaw this intire; but afterwards it was broken, and unskilfully placed in a Wall of one of the lower Rooms of † Rewly, where Mr. Hearne ſays he has [29] often ſeen it, and that it is very legible. In this ancient Inſcription we find there is a Jingle too; and had it been ſo legible as he declares it was when he ſaw it, we are ſurpriſed that He, of all Men, would be ſo inaccurate a Copyer a Trade he fol⯑lowed all his Life) as to tranſpoſe one Word and add another, inſtead of tak⯑ing it as it really is,
The Word Longeſpe, inſerted in his Ac⯑count of it, is not upon the Stone, how legible ſoever he aſſerted it to be; and the Spelling of Werwick quite altered by him, without the leaſt Authority whatever but his own.
This Blunder may in ſome Meaſure be accounted for in this Manner.—There is now in the Anatomy School (which was formerly under the Care of Mr. Hearne) a Stone found at Rewly, (probably the Foundation-Stone of a Chapel there) bear⯑ing this Inſcription—ELE LONGESP COMIT: WAREW: HANC CAPELLAM FECIT: This no doubt had often been peruſed by our Antiquary, as well as the other before mentioned; and perhaps the [30] truſting too much to Memory, might raiſe a confuſed Notion of both Inſcrip⯑tions, and corrupt the Monkiſh Jingle in the former Caſe.
Theſe few Miſtakes then having taken their Riſe from not ſticking cloſely to his Copy: we ſhall take Notice of but One more, which was occaſioned by following it too cloſely; and it may be ſeen in his Edition of that valuable *MS. which is ſaid to have belonged formerly to Venerable Bede.
Let it be obſerved in the firſt Place, that this MS. is in very old Capital Letters, and each Page divided into two Co⯑lumns: The firſt contains the Latin, the Greek is wrote collaterally in the other. Thro' the Oſcitancy of the Scribe, the Latin Sentence is frequently carried be⯑yond the Bounds of its own Column, by which means it becomes intermixed with the Greek. The Text as he has printed it ſtands thus: viz.
At the Bottom of his Page (not contented [31] with Dr. Mills's Reading.) he adds ſic plane in Codice noſtro non [...] ut a⯑pud Millium; tho' it will appear beyond all Diſpute upon any one's Enquiry, that the Doctor was not in the leaſt to be blamed. For, as we obſerved before, thro' the Care⯑leſsneſs of the Scribe, the Latin Line be⯑ing carried beyond its due Bounds into the Greek Column, and the Words MENTE and MEN TE conſiſting of five Capital Let⯑ters, juſt the ſame in both Languages, un⯑happily led Mr. Hearne into this Miſtake. So that by defalcating one Word from the Latin, and converting it into two Greek ones of no Signification at all, he ſpoiled the Senſe of the one, and made the other quite ſuperfluous.—But ſome Faults ſure are pardonable in ſo voluminous a Writer.
To be particular in ſhewing his Talent at Reaſoning would, we fear, be making too free with our Reader's Time: We might quote three Parts of his Diſcourſe on the Stunsfield Pavement, had not Mr. Peyntr thoroughly conſidered it already; and give ſuch Inſtances of it which nothing but Envy or Ill-Nature could find Fault with: But the following Epiſtle prevents our dwelling upon this Excellency, it being a Maſter-piece of its kind, and what the Reader, we hope, will be greatly delighted with.
[32] But let the Epiſtle ſpeak for itſelf: There is one Paragraph in his *Preface to Sprott's Chronicle, which really ſeems to be a new Method of Reaſoning, ſuch as no Writer but himſelf, we believe, dares lay any Claim to. He is there ſpeaking in Sprott's Praiſe, and his Words are theſe—‘Adeo ut non videam cur mihi ſit Detri⯑mento, ſi publice declarem me opinari de A⯑cademia noſtra Oxonienſi Opus etiam juſtum ac diſtinctum contexuiſſe:’ And then comes the Reaſon in the very next Sentence, viz. ‘Opinioni favet Auctoris Pietas. Quod ſi Tu aliter ſentias, Ego in Sententia non perſtabo nec quorſum recidant quaecunque animadverti magnopere laborabo, ſi modo il⯑lud conceſſeris de Collegio Cantuarienſi Opus poſt ſe reliquiſſe, in quo multa itidem de to⯑ta Academia è Monumentis praeclaris obiter notaverit.’
This is the Argument produced to prove that the Author of that lean Chro⯑nicle (whether Sprott or ſome other) it not clearly appearing that Sprott was the Au⯑thor of it, compoſed many other valuable Books, not at all inferior to the Chronicle which is publiſhed. Great Pity indeed! that ſuch profitable Works ſhould be bu⯑ried [33] in Obſcurity; and doubtleſs was there not ſome Hope of their being ſtill recoverable, Sprott's Admirers (how in⯑flexible ſoever in other Caſes) would la⯑ment greatly under their Loſs in this.
Agreeable to this new Method of Rea⯑ſoning we find an uncommon Conjecture in his Preface to the Sixth Volume of Le⯑land's Itinerary, which very few Writers would ever have made. From a Medal of Carauſius bearing this Inſcription, VICTORIA CEA, he endeavours to prove, that the Brogue of the common People is the true Standard of the Roman Dialect and Pronunciation. The Word Caeſar, ac⯑cording to this curious Remark, is not to be pronounced as it generally is by People of Faſhion and Breeding, Ceſar, but a⯑greeable to the broad Manner of ſpeak⯑ing uſed by the moſt ruſtic of Mankind, and as it ſtands upon the Coin, CEASAR.
We acknowledge the Obſervation to be a very curious one, and to ſtand upon the Authority of a Medal, but if it ſhould ever be diſcovered, that it proceeded from an Error of the Mint-Maſter, from a ſimple Literal Tranſpoſition, or from any other Accident (as poſſibly it might) the Re⯑mark will then ſink into its Value; The [34] Coin indeed may be curious upon the Ac⯑count of the Blunder, but is no more an Argument to aſcertain the Truth of Dia⯑lect or Pronunciation, than that ſpurious Halfpenny of his preſent Majeſty, would be a Standard in the next Age for pro⯑nouncing GEOGIVS inſtead of GEORGIVS.
It would waſte too much of the Reader's Time probably, to offer here a Collection of all the Poetical Fragments ſcattered thro' his Labours; the Preſervation of which by Printing them, we muſt ob⯑ſerve, ſhews no ſmall Deſire to be uſeful to Mankind, as theſe Rhythmes contain either Leſſons of Oeconomy; ſuch as,
Or an Account of an ancient local Cuſtom.
Or elſe an Illuſtration of a Pedigree:
Thus have we collected ſome Memorials of Mr. Hearne's Life, and have taken the Liberty to correct ſome few Miſtakes in his Writing. In a Thing of ſuch Mo⯑ment we have been very careful not to of⯑fend any impartial Reader: we have a⯑voided Flattery on the one Hand, and Scandal on the other. We have deſcribed his good Qualities as they occurred, and rectified ſuch as muſt be acknowledged to have been groſs Errors; and ſuch as he would not paſs over in any Author that fell in his way either Living or Dead. Nay, if any Perſon differed from Him, but in his own private Opinion, it was Ground ſufficient for him to let looſe the Reins of his utmoſt Vengeance; a flagrant and very unjuſtifiable Inſtance of which we ſhall here produce.
In the Year 1726, Mr. Hearne, in the Catalogue of Trifles of which he had been the Editor, ſubjoined to one of his moſt [36] trifling ones * in mentioning Mr. Dod⯑well's Diſſertation De Parma Equeſtri Woodwardiana, printed at Oxford 1713, 8vo, our Author thus harangues;
‘Mirum certe nemini videri debet, non⯑nullorum invidiam ſibi ipſi (Dodwello) con⯑citaſſe, qui ſane incredibili odio proſeque⯑rentur. Verum hi impii fere erant, qualis equidem & ſcriptor ille nuperus fuit, Gual⯑terus Moyleus armiger, cujus opera poſt⯑huma (nam auctor ipſe ad plures abiit) omnes boni procul a ſeipſis arcere debent, quippe in quibus de auctoribus praeſtantiſſimis optimiſ⯑que pleriſque, tam veteribus quam recenti⯑bus, contumaciter arroganterque ſcripſerit, nequidem ipſis Sanctis Patribus exceptis, de quibus haec pro more fidenter protulit [Vol. 11. Pag. 183.]’ As for the modern Caſuiſts, I ſhall only produce Biſhop Sanderſon, who had more LOGIC and Judgment than all the Fathers put together.—‘Sed pudet piget (que) hunc authorem nominaſſe. Atque ut verum fatear, ideo potiſſimum piget, quod in ejus operibus compareat Dodwelli Epiſtola, ſatis prolixa linguaque vernacula concepta, (de Dialogo, Luciano vulgo adſcripto, titulus Philopatris) miſere [37] tamen decurtata ac luxata, multiſque men⯑dis ſcatens gravioribus, digniſſima profecto, quae vel ſeorſim edatur, vel ſaltem in auctoris ipſius operibus ſimul collectis accurate di⯑vulgetur. Haec breviſſime de Gualtero Moyleo, viro leviter docto, qui (ex odio in Clerum Clerique amicos) Scriptores optimos viroſque praeſtantiſſimos libere, pro modulo ingenii, inſectatus eſt, cujus tamen vitupe⯑ria ut omnes boni valde contemnent, ita & encomia ab ejuſmodi calamo provenientia non eſt quod quis magni faciat.’
‘Pag. 651. Jam ſi objicias, de re noſtra antiquaria anglo Britannica eximie diſſeru⯑iſſe Moyleum, ſummatim reſpondeo, faſtum, mea plane ſententia, paſſim comparere, raro peritiam, rarius animi candorem, rariſſime (fatente etiam, ut videtur, ipſo Editore) quod tantopere crepat, acre judicium. Pue⯑riliter, (ne dicam ſemidocte) omnia de In⯑ſcriptione Bathonica. Alioqui (ut alia ta⯑ceam) non pronunciaſſet Fabricienſis (idem proculdubio quod Fabricenſis) Julii Vitalis cognomen ſive agnomen fuiſſe; Fabrice (quod idem plane eſt quod Fabricae) vocem compen⯑diariam eſſe pro Fabricenſium; Collegium antiquitus nunquam aedificium ipſum, quo vivebatur, ſed ſemper ſocietatem ſive ſodali⯑tium denotare, & ad initium Inſcriptionum Sepulchralium Ethnicarum. D. M. ſive Diis [38] Manibus nunquam non eſſe ſculptum. Imo & pueriliter etiam (ne quid dicam de objec⯑tione abſurdiſſima contra Actorum Diurno⯑rum Romanorum Fragmenta, quae authen⯑tica eſſe viri longe maximi Stephanus Vi⯑nandus Pighius, Thomas Reneſius, Iſaacus Voſſius, Henricus noſter (Dodwellus, alii⯑que rectiſſime judicaverant) de Clypeo votivo Woodwardiano (de quo ea qua licuit brevi⯑tate & nos in Livio noſtro egimus, locutus eſt.) Sed hoc de argumento audi, quaeſo, quod ipſe doctiſſimus Woodwardus per literas ad me ſcripſit, Londini datas Junii 30. MDCCXXVI. Sic nimirum vir clariſ⯑ſimus.’
‘'You form a right judgment of Mr. Moyle's Works—As to my Clypeus Voti⯑vus, for ſuch the beſt Antiquaries judge it to be, Mr. Moyle paſſes ſentence upon it, without ever having ſeen it, from two very imperfect Sketches of Dr. Clarke and Drakensberg, and without having conſulted Mr. Dodwell's excellent Book de Parma, &c. where he might have ſeen the Queſtion of the Theatres fairly diſcuſſed in order to the aſcertain⯑ing the true Antiquity of the Shield. That truly learned Man is far from carrying the Antiquity of it up to the time of the Sacking of Rome by the [39] Gauls. So that Mr. Moyle in demoliſh⯑ing that Notion, only demoliſhes a mere fancy of his own. But that it was anti⯑ent is agreed by the beſt Judges of all Nations, and the Baron Spanheim, and Mr Abednego Sellers, two of the moſt learned Men of the laſt Century, thought it ſo conſiderable, that they had both begun to write Diſſertations on it, but were both prevented finiſhing them by Death.'’
This Treatment of Mr. Moyle, was, by Mr. Curll, a Bookſeller in London, very juſtly reprehended; who, with an Edition he had printed of Mr Moyle's Works pub⯑liſhed in his Life time, ſent the following Letter to Anthony Hammond Eſq as an Apology for his Friend Mr. Moyle, ſome Account of whoſe Life and Writings he had juſt then publiſhed.
Let us a little conſider, Sir, (ſays Mr. Curll) the Antagoniſts Mr. Moyle has met with through the Management of Mr. Serjeant. * As to the Attacks of Meſſ. Whiſton and Woolſton, relating to the Thundering Legion, their Guides are ſo very [40] bad, that I dare ſay their Followers will be very few; I ſhall therefore content my ſelf with what Monſieur Le Clerc obſerves upon a particular Occaſion. † ‘'Mr. Ad⯑diſon is of Opinion, ſays he, that the Figure of Jupiter Pluvius, ſending down Rain on the fainting Army of Marcus Aurelius, and Thunderbolts on his Ene⯑mies, is the greateſt Confirmation poſ⯑ſible of the Story of the Thundering Legion: This learned Man would ap⯑parently mean to ſay, that this Figure is a Monument of the Shower which fell on the Roman Army, and of the Thun⯑der which confounded the Germans; for as to the Thundering Legion, the Learned are agreed that it had that Denomination long before this Circum⯑ſtance; and that there is no Probability that it was intirely made up of Chriſtians. See Henry de Valois upon Euſebius, Lib. 5. Cap. 5. and Father Pagi upon the Year CLXXIV.'’
Thus, with Monſieur Le Clerc, I leave this Thundering Legend. And, may it ſtill continue to lead up the Van of Miracles in the Romiſh Church; for as Mr. Moyle well Remarks, as it took its Name from [41] Paganiſm *, it is moſt proper that it ſhould end in Popery.
I ſhall by and by incur the ſame Cenſure as Mr. Moyle has undergone; for I freely acknowledge, that I have the ſame Opi⯑nion of Archibiſhop Tillotſon, which he had of Biſhop Sanderſon, That He had more Judgment than all the Fathers put to⯑gether. And I believe the ſame Character might juſtly be given of Biſhop Taylor, Biſhop Pearſon, Dr. Barrow, and that truly great Man you have named, Biſhop Stilling fleet, and ſeveral other of our Engliſh Divines.
Before I mention any part of Mr. Hearne's Charge, I ſhall give a Summary of Mr. Moyle's Religious Principles in his own Words, viz. ‘'If Men, ſays he, would but conſider, that it is not only our Duty, but our Intereſt to be Virtuous, one would think this were no hard Task to perform, viz. reforming the Manners of the People, and reſtoring them to their antient Sobriety and Virtue. Among a thouſand Advantages that Chriſtianity has, above all other Religions, this is none of the leaſt, that it has united our In⯑tereſt [42] and our Duty together. Would not a wiſe Man be Chaſte for the ſake of Health; Honeſt for the ſake of Profit; Temperate for the ſake of Pleaſure, and all Three for the ſake of Fame? For Vice was never yet ſo triumphant as to be in greater Reputation than Virtue. Theſe Conſiderations, together with the innumerable Miſchiefs and Inconveni⯑encies which attend a vicious Courſe of Life, ought in Reaſon to reclaim Men from all unmanly Exceſſes. One would think in a Chriſtian Nation, that Reli⯑gion and Conſcience; our own Hopes and Fears; the Proſpect of eternal Hap⯑pineſs or endleſs Miſery, ſhould be Con⯑ſiderations ſtrong enough to lay an effec⯑tual Reſtraint on the moſt violent Luſts and Appetites.—One of the greateſt Obſtacles, in my Opinion, to the Re⯑formation of Manners, is, that too many Men place all Virtue and Religion in warmly adhering to the Intereſt of this or that particular Sect or Party: As if a fiery Zeal for the Church, or the Meet⯑ing-Houſe, could atone for Lewdneſs and Debauchery; or as if vicious and immoral Men could be of any Chriſtian Church or Community'*’
[43] Now Sir, tho' I ſhould be as far from interrupting the indefatigable Labours of Mr. Hearne in his Hiſtorical Studies as any Man living; yet I think no Man ought to be indefatigable in Slander, and that the Unchriſtian Temper he has ſhewn ought to be reprehended. And it gives me no ſmall Concern to find the grave Style of an Antiquarian changed to the foul-mouthed Language of the moſt aban⯑doned Proſtitute. Neither can I by any means agree, that whatever unguarded Expreſſions Mr. Moyle may have dropt, can be juſt Grounds of Provocation for ſuch Scurrility, as I believe never before fell from the Pen of any Controvertiſt. But Mr. Moyle has himſelf hit the right Nail on the Head in the Paſſage above cited. Mr. Moyle was a profeſſed Whig, and a hearty Well-wiſher to his Country. Mr. Hearne is a profeſſed Non-Juror, and a fiery Bigot to thoſe of his own Principles. With him, Pope Clement the XI, and Mr. Dodwell were equally Infallible, and, in the true mean⯑ing of the Word, I believe ſo too. Mr. Moyle, as a Whig, muſt be a Republican, a Con⯑temner of Religions; one who had a natural Antipathy to the Clergy and their Friends, a meer Ignoramus, and, in good Eccleſi⯑aſtical Charity, gone to the Devil. I can⯑not [44] help therefore asking you, Sir, whe⯑ther you really think the Poſitions advanced by Mr. Moyle in his Leſcard-Charge, or any part of his Conduct to which you were ever a Witneſs, could deſerve ſuch Treatment, eſpecially from one who never knew him otherwiſe than by his Writings.
As to the Critical Diſpute, I ſhall be as ſilent as I reſolve to be about the Legendary one above mentioned. Yet I cannot help obſerving, that what Dr. Woodward ſays, is very merrily dogmatical. For, he will have it that Mr. Hearne forms a right Judgment of all Mr. Moyle's Works,—becauſe the beſt Antiquaries have judged his Shield to be a Clypeus Votivus. And Mr. Moyle is highly criminal, and paſſes Sentence upon it, without ever having ſeen it, otherwiſe than by two Draughts. Now I would only ask the learned Doctor one plain Queſtion; If I ſee the Picture of a Horſe, am I to believe the living Animal it repreſents to be a Bear? But indeed he deſcends a little, and ſays, That the Ba⯑ron Spanheim and Mr. Sellers intended to write Diſſertations upon it, and that ſome other Antiquarians really believed it to be an Antique; (anglice) the Back of an Old Sconce, which I have been credibly in⯑formed he bought in Rag-Fair.
[45] As to that Piece of Mr. Dodwell's, which Mr. Hearne complains is imper⯑fectly printed, it is to be hoped he will oblige the learned World with a more correct Copy; tho' this Imputation does not lye againſt Mr. Moyle, but againſt the Perſon who tranſmitted that Piece to him.
May Mr. Hearne hereafter retain a more Chriſtian Temper. May his uſeful Studies, as you are pleaſed to call them, meet with all the Succeſs he can expect, and may the ſcurrillous Cavils, both of him and every other Writer, meet with that juſt Contempt which is due to ſuch Performances. This is the hearty Wiſh of,
Upon this Occaſion Mr. Curll alſo wrote the following Letter to Mr. Hearne, viz.
YOUR late Invective againſt Mr. Moyle I ſhall prove to be wholly Groundleſs and therefore it turns upon yourſelf.
[46] In the firſt place you will have it, that all who diſſent from Mr. Dodwell are a ſet of abandoned Wretches, and ſuch indeed was Walter Moyle Eſq whoſe Poſthumous Works all good Men ought to lay aſide; for Reaſons hereafter to be conſidered. As to Mr. Dodwell, I had above twenty Years intimate Correſpondence with him, and always believed him to be a learned, and very pious Man. But at the ſame time, all, who knew him, will allow that Mr. Dryden's Character of a certain Peer, in Abſalom and Achitophel, too much re⯑ſembled Mr. Dodwell; for he truly was, what the Poet aſſerts,
The Firſt Book I ever printed was the preſent of a Manuſcript he made me, in Defence of his, now ſufficiently exploded, Doctrine of the Divine Imortalizing Spirit transfuſed by Baptiſm *. And if you will, undertake to vindicate every Notion he advanced, God ſpeed the Plough. Secondly, you will have it, that Mr. Moyle treats [47] with great Contumacy and Arrogance many of the beſt and moſt excellent Authors as well ancient as modern, (tho' you name none but your Doctiſſimus Woodwardus vir Clariſſimus, of whom more in the ſequel) and, you add, he does not ſpare even the Holy Fathers, of whom he confi⯑dently aſſerts that Biſhop Sanderſon had more Judgment than all of them put together. And I am as confident that every Man of Judgment in Europe believes this Article of Mr. Moyle's CREED.
Now ſince your Breaſt is animated with ſo much Heat in behalf of theſe Venerabi⯑lia, the Fathers, I deſire to know by what better Authority, than a Popiſh Canoniza⯑tion, are they inveſted with the Epithet of Holy? If indeed, all the Libertiniſm of Youth be ſufficient to confer that Title, and all the Impotence of Age, be ſufficient to confirm it, the Plea is good, and the Precedents produced may be St. Auguſtine, St. Origen, and that notorious Saint, of Creed-making Memory, St. Athanaſius. Who in their Works may ſay of each o⯑ther—
Therefore, as to their Sacredneſs, I think it [48] may be fairly ſaid to be extinct. Upon theſe Conſiderations indeed, you ought to be ſorry and aſhamed to mention Mr. Moyle as you have done.
Thirdly, With what Face, other than that of an aſſuming Arrogance, can you ſay that Mr. Moyle was but a ſuperficial Writer, after Dean Prideaux, (with whom certainly you will have the Modeſty to own you cannot ſtand in Competition) has thanked him for the Pains he had taken about his Connection? And declares, that he ſhould have been glad of the Aſſiſtance of ſo Learned a Friend near him, to whom he might have communicated that Hiſtory be⯑fore it was printed.* You farther add, with an equal ſhare of Confidence and Falſhood, (as will appear from the Senti⯑ments of learned Men) that, he was one, who on account of his Hatred to the Clergy, and their Friends, has boldly, according to the meaſure of his Underſtanding, (I hear⯑tily wiſh yours was either as deep or as honeſt) railed againſt the beſt Writers, and the moſt excellent Men. (But, latet An⯑guis in Herba, the Men you here hint at, are the profeſſed Enemies of our Conſti⯑tution both in Church and State, and as [49] ſuch only were oppoſed by Mr. Moyle.) What you farther, with the greateſt Diſ⯑ingenuity inſinuate againſt him, may be ſtrictly applied to your own Temper, that, as all good Men muſt deſpiſe the Cenſure of ſo ſcurrilous an Antagoniſt, ſo they muſt, upon the ſame Principles, have but a very ſlight Opinion of thoſe Perſons whoſe Encomiums are drawn by your Pen.
Mr. MOYLE's wayward-Editor, you have indeed juſtly reprehended; but as to your Cavils concerning the Bath In⯑ſcription, they are equally diſingenuous. Does he not tell Dr. Muſgrave, whom he allowed to be a ſuperior Judge, with all the becoming Modeſty of a well bred Gentlemen, that, he could pretend to no great Skill in theſe Matters; but ſince you ask my Opinion (ſays he to the Doctor) I will give it with my uſual Frankneſs, not doubting but you will receive it with your uſual Candour *. This is correſponding like Men of Senſe and Integrity!
As you began with Mr. Dodwell, I am ſorry to conclude, that you are guilty of [50] the Charge he brings againſt his Oppo⯑nents, in the Piece I printed for him abovementioned, pag, 143. It is my great Unhappineſs, ſays he, that I have to do with Adverſaries, who will not be con⯑fined to the Subject of our principal Diſpute, without deviating to perſonal Reflections, wherein the Reader is not any Way con⯑cerned. This is the Bane of all Contro⯑verſy, and I hope for the future you will avoid it.
Laſtly, As to your Vir Clariſſimus Woodwardus Doctiſſimus, he moſt learn⯑edly follows the Low-bell of your Scan⯑dal, and ſhields himſelf under your Senti⯑ments of his Clypeus Votivus. But I would adviſe neither of you to be too fond of your own confined Speculation, and reſt aſſured that there has already been more Thouſands ſold of Mr. Moyle's Works, than ever there will be Hundreds either of your Monkiſh Chronicles, or his Foſſilarian-La⯑bours, including his late Fardle of Self-conceit, prefix'd to his Self-defence (againſt the Objections of the learned Camerarius) which was written by himſelf, tho' he has franked it under the Cover of his Tranſlator Holloway. And to my other Wiſhes for your Welfare, may you, du⯑ring [51] Life, reign unrivalled, Legendary⯑grubber to the Univerſity of Oxford.
P.S. That the Public may be fully convinced how different the Sentiments of the truly Learned are from thoſe Self-conceited Scioliſts who have attacked Mr. Moyle's Writings, it will be ſuffi⯑cient to produce the Judgment given by Monſieurde la Roche * of The whole Works of Walter Moyle, Eſq (publiſhed by himſelf.)
‘'Wit, good Senſe and Learning are equally conſpicuous in the Works of the late Mr. Moyle; and therefore it was very proper to reprint thoſe Pieces which were publiſhed by the Au⯑thor himſelf, at ſeveral Times; by which Means, we have now in Three Volumes all the Works of that Ingenious and Learned Gentleman. He being a very honeſt Man, was always very zealous for the Liberty of his Country; and that noble Character appears in many Parts of his Works. When he came in⯑to [52] Parliament he always acted a very honourable Part. He was a Perſon of an uncommon Beneficence and Hu⯑manity. A more extenſive Charity, and a truer Love for his Country, was ſcarce to be found in any Man. It appears he had a great Eſteem for the Clergy, and was admirably well qualified for Critical Enquiries'*.’
Now leſt we ſhould be thought partial, as to what we have written concerning the Triflings of this notable Antiquary, we ſhall here produce what Mr. Alex⯑ander Pope of Twickenham, in the County of Middleſex, hath noted concerning him, viz. ‘'I can never enough praiſe my very good Friend the exact Mr. Thomas Hearne, who if any Word occur, which to him and all Mankind is evidently wrong, yet keeps he it in the Text with due Reverence, and only remarks in the Margin, Sic MSS. or Sic Orig'.’ And in another Place, he thus delivereth him⯑ſelf; ‘'Our own Antiquary Mr. Thomas Hearne hath publiſhed many curious Tracts which our Poet hath to his great Contentment peruſed.'’
[53] [In Gloſſar. to Rob. of Gloceſter] Ar⯑tic. BEHETT; others ſay BEHIGHT, pro⯑miſed, and ſo it is uſed excellently well by Thomas Norton, in his Tranſlation into Metre of the 116th Pſalm, verſe 14.
‘'Where the modern Innovators, not underſtanding the Propriety of the Word (which is truly Engliſh from the Saxon) have moſt unwarrantably altered it thus,I to the Lord will pay my Vows, With Joy and great Delight.’
V. Ibid.— ‘'HIGHT] In Cumberland they ſay to hight, for to promiſe or vow; but HIGHT uſually ſignifies was called; and ſo it does in the North even to this Day, notwithſtanding what is done in Cumberland.'’
V. 183. AREDE] ‘'Read or Peruſe; tho' ſometimes uſed for Counſel; READE THY READ, take thy Counſaile. Thomas Sternholde in his Tranſlation of the firſt [54] Pſalm into Engliſh Metre, hath wiſely made uſe of this Word,The Man is bleſt that hath not lent To wicked READ his Ear. 'But in the laſt ſpurious Editions of the ſinging Pſalms, the Word Read is changed into Men. I ſay ſpurious Edi⯑tions, becauſe not only here, but quite throughout the whole Book of Pſalms, are ſtrange Alterations, all for the worſe! And yet the Title-page ſtands as it uſed to do! And all (which is abominable in any Book, much more in a ſacred Work) is aſcribed to Thomas Sternholde, John Hopkins, and others! I am confi⯑dent were Sternholde and Hopkins now living, they would proceed againſt the Innovators as Cheats. A Liberty which, to ſay no more of their intole⯑rable Alterations, ought by no means to be admitted or approved of by ſuch as are for Uniformity, and have any Regard for the old Engliſh Saxon Tongue. HEARNE, Gloſſ. on Rob. of Gloc. Art. REDE.'’
We do herein agree with Mr. Hearne. Little is it of Avail to object, that ſuch Words are become unintelligible. Since [55] they are truly Engliſh, we ought to un⯑derſtand them; and ſuch as are for Uni⯑formity ſhould think all Alterations in a Language, Strange, abominable and un⯑warrantable. [SCRIBLERUS Not. in DUNC.]
This is all Ironicè and Scriblerian-Rai⯑lery; and as ſuch only, is it here produ⯑ced. Of all ſuch Antiquaries therefore, as Mr. HEARNE, well hath Mr. POPE de⯑cribed them.
Well likewiſe might he ask this Queſ⯑tion, viz.
[56] With equal Juſtice hath Mr. Pope finely rallied another Species of theſe poring Wretches, the mere Medaliſts, who are wholly ignorant of the true uſe of thoſe Coins which they ſeem ſo intenſely to ſtudy, viz
It is now high Time to take Leave of ſuch Gloſſographers and Medalliſts as [57] theſe ſo juſtly cenſured by Mr. Pope. For, according to Mr. Hearne's very ſilly De⯑fence of Sternholde and Hopkins, our Lan⯑guage ſhould not have admitted of any Improvements, but have continued in the obſolete Guiſe of Geoffrey of Monmouth and Chaucer; nor is it to be doubted but Mr. Hearne was full in Opinion, that Mr. Dryden had injured Chaucer's Diction, as much as thoſe he calls the Innovators up⯑on the Pſalms.
We ſhall next conſider our Antiquary's Political and Religious Principles.
Mr. Hearne wrote a Letter to his Pa⯑tron, Mr. Cherry, in Vindication of thoſe who took the Oath of Allegiance to King William; * and we cannot think it any bad Part of a Man's Character to give his Reaſons for complying with that Oath, [58] which others refuſed. The Point was diſputable, and Cenſures no Doubt were paſſed upon the Jurors as well as Non-Jurors. His Reaſons for Compliance (how weak ſoever in the Eyes of thoſe of a dif⯑ferent Perſuaſion) were doubtleſs good in his own; and if he diſcovered better afterwards for refuſing the Oath, than he before gave for the taking it, we think, and with ſtrict Juſtice, that he ought to have produced them for the Benefit of the Public and clearing the Point in Diſpute. How he became diſſatisfied in this Affair, is not the Buſineſs of our Inquiry.
What Mr. Hearne could mean by pub⯑liſhing a Letter of King Charles I, when Prince of Wales (therefrom inſinuating, that his Royal Highneſs had then an In⯑trigue upon his Hands, and the Duke of Buckingham played the Part of Pimp up⯑on the Occaſion) is a Myſtery which we believe his Fautors will have much ado to unravel. But at the earneſt Requeſt of many Friends, we have here reprinted that Letter, to ſhew what little Grounds there were for ſo ill a Conſtruction as has been put upon it. It is as follows, viz.
I Have nothing now to wryte to you, but to give you thankes bothe for the good councell ye gave me, and for the Event of it. The King gave mee a good ſharpe potion, but you tooke away the working of it, by the well reliſhed Comfites ye ſent af⯑ter it. I have met with the Partie that muſt not be named, once alreddie: and the cullor of wryting this Letter ſhall make me meete withe her on Saturday, although it is written the Day being Thurſday. So aſſuring you that the Buſines goes ſafelie onn, I reſt,
I hope ye will not ſhow the King this Letter, but put it in the ſafe Cuſtodie of Miſter Vulcan.
On the Back this: ‘Pr. Ch. to the Duke.’ Without Date.
[60] Thus after waſting, not employing, a Life of Fifty odd Years, on the Tenth Day of June 1735, this Studier and Preſerver of Monkiſh-Trumpery gave up the Ghoſt.
He was a moſt ſordid poor Wretch; had an univerſal Miſtruſt of the Generality of Mankind; lived in a ſlovenly, nig⯑gardly Manner, and died poſſeſſed of what he had not the Heart to enjoy *.
A TRUE COPY Of the LAST WILL and TESTAMENT OF Thomas Hearne, M.A.
Extracted from the Regiſtry of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury.
[]IN the Name of GOD. Amen. I Thomas Hearne, Maſter of Arts, of the Univerſity of Ox⯑ford, being of perfect Mind and Memory, make and or⯑dain this my laſt Will and Teſtament [62] (all written with my own Hand) in Manner and Form following, revoking all other Wills by me formerly made.
Imprimis, I commend my Soul to Al⯑mighty God who gave it me, truſting to be ſaved through the alone Merits of my Bleſſed Saviour and Redeemer Jeſus Chriſt; and for my Body, I com⯑mend it to the Earth, and deſire that it may be buried in a Chriſtian and Decent, but (as beſt becomes Duſt and Aſhes) in a plain humble Manner, in the Church-yard of the Pariſh in which I happen to die.
Item, As touching the Diſtribution of my Worldly Goods and Effects, I diſpoſe of them as followeth. Firſt, I give and bequeath to Mr. William Bed⯑ford of London, Son of my late Friend Mr. Hilkiah Bedford, all the MSS. and other Books, that Doctor Thomas Smith left me, and are ſtanding together in a Preſs, with this Requeſt, that he would punctually obſerve what I have writ⯑ten at the Beginning of ſome of them. Alſo I give and bequeath to the ſaid Mr. William Bedford, all MSS of my own Collection and Writing, and all [63] printed Books by me collated with MSS, or that have MSS Notes of mine in them.
Item, I give to the ſaid Mr. William Bedford, all my other MSS, whatſoever now in my Poſſeſſion.
Item, I give to the ſaid Mr. William Bedford, my Box or Cabinet of Coins, Medals, and all other Things contained in it.
Item, I do hereby make, ordain, conſti⯑tute, and appoint my two Brothers William and Edmund Hearne, and my Siſter Anne Hearne (the Wife of Thomas Field) of Woburn in Bucks, joint Executors of this my laſt Will and Teſtament; To whom I give and bequeath all the Reſt of my Goods and Effects whatſoever not here⯑in mentioned, to be equally divided be⯑tween them, Share and Share alike, de⯑ſiring that they would all three loving⯑ly agree together, and take effectual Care, that what I have given to Mr. William Bedford be moſt faithfully de⯑livered to him, and not expoſed to the View of others.
[64] And my Will further is, Firſt, That Mr. Bedford would take ſpecial Care of the MSS and Books I have bequeathed to him; particularly of Dr. Smith's, and of thoſe written, collated and no⯑ted by my ſelf, ſo that they be all kept together, and that they fall into none but good Hands. Secondly, That Mr. Bedford would act the Part of a Super⯑viſor or Overſeer of this my laſt Will and Teſtament, and aſſiſt my Execu⯑tors to the beſt of his Power, in which, as I rely upon his Prudence and Con⯑duct, ſo at the ſame Time I hope they will readily follow his Advice.
In Witneſs of all which, I have here⯑unto ſet my Hand and Seal, this Four⯑teenth Day of February, in the Year of our Lord One thouſand ſeven Hundred and twenty nine.
- Andrew Hanly, Sen.
- Andrew Hanly, Jun.
N.B. Confirmed alſo by the Affida⯑vits of Richard Rawlinſon, L.L.D. and James Weſt of the Inner Temple, Eſq
My Brother William being dead, I give all his Share to his only Child, my Nephew Thomas Hearne, born after the making of the above-written Will; and I charge my two ſurviving Executors, Edmund and Elizabeth not to wrong him.
I deſire no other Epitaph than this:
Remember the Days of old, conſider the Years of many Generations: ask thy Father, and he will ſhew thee, thy El⯑ders, and they will tell thee.
Enquire, I pray thee, [of the former Age, and prepare thy ſelf to the Search of their Fathers,—(For we are but of Yeſterday, and know nothing, becauſe our Days upon Earth are a Shadow)—Shall they not teach thee, and tell thee, and ut⯑ter Words out of their Heart?]
- William Legard
- Peter St. Eloy
- Henry Stevens
A SHORT MEMORIAL, AND CHARACTER, OF THAT Moſt Noble and Illuſtrious Princeſs MARY Dutcheſs of ORMONDE.
[]King sc.
THE INTRODUCTION.
[]ONE muſt have but little Know⯑ledge of human Nature, not to be ſenſible of that Curioſity which prompts Mankind to be acquainted with the Hiſtory of Perſons diſtinguiſhed by their extraordinary Vir⯑tues and Qualifications, and who have experienced many uncommon Varieties of Life. In reading their Tranſactions, we become agreeably intimate with the Characters which have raiſed our Admi⯑ration; we attend them in the different Scenes thro' which they paſs, and are ſenſible of a ſecret Longing to imitate the ſhining Parts of their Conduct: They frequently teach us an eaſy Moderation in Proſperity, and are no leſs ſucceſsful in reconciling us to the ſevere Diſpenſa⯑tion of Providence.
[2] THE Impreſſions we receive from per⯑ſonal Characters, are more lively and affecting than ſuch as are imparted to us by moral Precepts; and thoſe Virtues, which Inſtitutions of Philoſophy might give us but a languid Invitation to imi⯑tate, are altogether irreſiſtable, when they are ſet off by the Conduct of Perſons of Elevation; and they muſt be thrown into Action, in order to give them their laſt Poliſh and Refinement.
THIS may be one Reaſon why Bio⯑graphy has generally met with ſuch a fa⯑vourable Reception, and we may venture to affirm, that if the Authors who engage in this Kind of Writing, would ſelect ſuch Characters as are entertaining, and inſtructive at the ſame Time, they would have no Cauſe to complain of any Diſ⯑regard from the Public.
THE noble Lady, who is the Sub⯑ject of the following Memoirs, has made ſo conſpicuous and engaging a Figure, thro' the ſeries and Viciſſitudes of a long Life, that ſhe may be juſtly reputed an Honour to her own Sex, as [3] ſhe has always been the Admiration of ours.
IF a Deſcent from an illuſtrious Race of Britiſh Nobility, a polite and generous Education, an early Familiarity with the moſt amiable Accompliſhments, an inchanting Harmony of Perſon and Mind, a Virgin Purity of Youth, and a taintleſs Fidelity of conjugal Life, have any Charms in the ſofter Sex, they have all lent their full Luſtre to the late Dutcheſs of ORMONDE.
IT ſhould ſeem as if Providence intend⯑ed to guard this Lady from every Impu⯑tation that could be formed againſt her by envious and detracting Minds, and therefore would not confine her Virtues to Scenes of Satisfaction and Proſperity; ſhe had long convinced the World of her Ability to act an unexceptionable Part in ſuch a Situation, but ſomething ſtill remained to give her Conduct its full Perfection. The appointed Period ar⯑rived; this incomparable Perſon was de⯑prived of the deareſt of all her Enjoy⯑ments: She ſaw herſelf for ever ſepa⯑rated from her darling Conſort, and her former Affluence contracted into a very [4] moderate Limitation: Her Sunſhine of Happineſs darkened with Adverſity; but that Adverſity only gave her an Oppor⯑tunity of charming all who knew her, by her inimitable Reſignation to the Decrees of Heaven.
AS there was Reaſon to believe the Public would be curious to know the Particulars of a Life ſo diverſified by ſuch unuſual Events, all poſſible Care has been taken to collect every authen⯑tic Circumſtance that could make ſuch a Relation uſeful and entertaining; and, we preſume, that the Impartiality with which we have proceeded, on this Oc⯑cation, will intitle this Performance to a candid Reception from thoſe who are pleaſed to favour it with their Peruſal.
THE LIFE Of Her GRACE MARY Dutcheſs of ORMONDE.
[]THE Dutcheſs of ORMONDE, whoſe Life we propoſe to write, was the Elder ſurviving Daugh⯑ter of Henry Duke of Beau⯑fort, by his Dutcheſs Mary, Daughter of that unfortunate Patriot, the Lord Capel, whoſe ſteady Attachment to his diſtreſſed Soveraign, King CHARLES, I. de⯑prived him, in 1648, of a Life which deſerved a much happier Period.
[6] THE moſt noble Houſe of Beaufort, as it was auguſt in its Original, ſo it has been perpetuated by a Train of Deſcen⯑dants, who have been juſtly eſteemed the Ornaments of their Country. And the great Plantagenets, who founded this illuſtrious Family, have tranſmitted their Virtues thro' a long Series of their Po⯑ſterity, and adorned the Kingdom with a Progeny, of both Sexes, which will be ever remembered with Honour.
THE Dutcheſs of ORMONDE was born at Beaufort-Houſe, near Chelſea, Anno 1665; and, in her early Years, preſented ſuch a Dawn of amiable Qua⯑lities to her noble Parents, as convinced them that the Luſtre of their Family would receive no Diminution from their lovely Daughter. Animated by this Perſuaſion, they were particularly care⯑ful to cultivate, by a ſuitable Education, the Virtues which had already ſprung up in her Mind with ſuch a luxuriant Bloom. Their Cares ſucceeded to their Wiſh, and there was no Accompliſhment neceſ⯑ſary to give Perfection to her Sex, but what appeared with all its Charms in the Conduct of this young Lady.
[7] NATURE ſometimes preſents us with a great deal of Inequality in her Produc⯑tions; and it is no uncommon Thing to ſee a very diſagreeable Exterior allotted to a finiſhed Mind; but ſhe now determined to be uniform in her Operations, and prepared, for the Duke of Beaufort's Daughter, a Form as amiable, as the Soul which was to claim it, for her Habi⯑tation.
IT would require a Pen, much more maſterly in Deſcription than mine, to give the Reader a competent Idea of this engaging Lady; the inchanting Harmo⯑ny of her Shape, the Luſtre and Viva⯑city of her Eyes, which inſpired all who beheld them with unutterable Impreſſions; the glowing Bluſh of the Roſe, which was blended in her Cheeks with the Virgin Purity of the Lilly, the flowing Shade of Hair which wantoned in a Profuſion of Ringlets, that no Pencil could imitate; the delicate Turn of her Face, and the bewitching Softneſs which diffuſed itſelf thro' every Feature; the panting Snow of her Boſom, and the taper Whiteneſs of her Arms; with a thouſand other Beauties which perpetually played around her, formed ſuch an Aſſemblage of Perfection, [8] that was to be reſiſted by nothing but Inſenſibility itſelf.
WE believe we ſhall not be taxed with Falſhood, when we affirm, that ſuch a Prodigality of Charms were capable, without any other Aſſiſtance, of capti⯑vating a thouſand Hearts; but we have already intimated that Nature diſcarded all Partiality in her Plan, and made this irreſiſtable Form the Reſidence of a Soul which was altogether as attractive as its lovely Manſion: The moſt refined Poig⯑nancy of her Wit was contraſted by the ſedateſt Judgment; and each of theſe fine Qualifications were ſo beautifully ſoftened by her native Sweetneſs of Tem⯑per, that her Pleaſantry never gave Pain, and none ever thought themſelves inſult⯑ed by her ſuperior Penetration.
THE Happineſs of her Memory facili⯑tated her Improvement, by thoſe Books and Induſtry, with which ſhe was daily converſant; and, in a few Years, it proved ſuch a Treaſury of Knowledge and Po⯑liteneſs, as few Ladies of her Age were ever enriched with: The little Levities of the Sex, and thoſe refined Deviations from Sincerity and Sanctity of Manners, which are become ſo faſhionable a Part [9] of modern Education were altogether un⯑known to her. True Virtue is certainly amiable in herſelf, but ſhe puts on re⯑doubled Charms when ſhe ſhines in the Conduct of a blooming Virgin.
SUCH was the Lady we are deſcrib⯑ing; her Mind was as immaculate as her Face, and every Year that added to her Youth, preſented her with new Perfec⯑tions, and awaken'd a general Curioſity to know what happy Man was to be bleſs'd with the Endearments of her nup⯑tial Love.
IT is not to be imagined in what Manner that pleaſing Expectation influ⯑enced ſome of the nobleſt of the Britiſh Youth. A virtuous young Lady of Rank and Beauty is a publick Bleſſing, ſhe civi⯑lizes the Souls of her Admirers more than all their Academical Inſtitutions, and fires them to aim at a proper Simili⯑tude of Accompliſhments. Innocence, Purity and Honour appear ſo perſuaſive in the Fair-One, that it is no Wonder if ſhe daily increaſes the Number of their Votaries, and brings them freſh Acceſ⯑ſions of Homage.
[10] AMONGST the ſhining Crouds of Adorers who wiſhed to inſpire her with the ſoft Senſibility of Love, none made ſo conſpicuous a Figure as the Duke of Ormonde; he was deſcended from a very antient and illuſtrious Family that had given many Heroes to their Country, and, in the Perſon of the Duke, had pre⯑ſented it with an Ornament that did not a little contribute to its Luſtre. Death had for ſome Time deprived him of his firſt Lady (who was the eldeſt Daughter of the Earl of Rocheſter) and left him a Widower in the full Bloom of his Youth. His endear⯑ing Behaviour to his deceaſed Dutcheſs, warmed many of the faireſt with ſecret Wiſhes to ſucceed her in his Embraces. His Perſon was ſuch as might impart the ſofteſt Impreſſions to the chaſteſt Heart, and was ſet off by ſuch a winning Singu⯑larity of Sweetneſs, Generoſity, and eve⯑ry other Quality which conſtitutes the fine Gentleman, that it was almoſt impoſſible for him to be long conſidered with In⯑difference by any Lady to whom he breathed his Paſſion. We may add to this, that he poſſeſſed ſuch a Princely Eſtate, that Fortune ſeemed to contend with Nature which of them ſhould be his greateſt Benefactor. It is true, the Duke [11] only valued the Favours of the former, as they enabled him to diſtinguiſh him⯑ſelf by numberleſs Acts of Humanity, and indulged him in his natural Propen⯑ſity to Benevolence. And if the Goddeſs has not of late been ſo liberal to many others, it may have proceeded from their being deſtitute of his Inclinations to com⯑municate her Bounties to their Fellow Creatures.
AFTER the Account I have attempt⯑ed to give of theſe two illuſtrious Per⯑ſons, it will be natural to conclude, that they were formed for each other; and therefore, without entering into the Par⯑ticulars of that tender Intercourſe which Love, and a Similitude of Diſpoſitions, eſtabliſhed between them, it will be ſuffi⯑cient if we acquaint the Reader, that his Grace was ſo fortunate in his Addreſſes, as to prevail on the Duke of Beaufort's charming Daughter to conſent to be the lovelieſt Bride in England.
THE Number of the young Dutcheſs's Admirers was not diminiſhed by her Mar⯑riage, and tho' they found themſelves re⯑ſtrained from diſcloſing to her the Senti⯑ments with which her Charms had in⯑ſpired them, yet there were ſeveral who [...] [14] merited that Friendſhip by a Number of amiable Qualities.
IT often happens, that Men of Wit, thro' too much Partiality to themſelves, are apt to fancy that a Lady's Satisfac⯑tion in their Converſation, muſt create a Fondneſs for their Perſons, and the Earl did not fail to impute to the Dutcheſs, Impreſſions in his Favour, which ſhe her⯑ſelf was never ſenſible of; and conſe⯑quently he was always ready to improve every Inſtance of her Complacency too much to his own Advantage. The Opinion he entertained of his being more agreea⯑ble to her than he really was, made him look on the diſhonourable Conduct he was meditating againſt the Duke, as a Crime that was capable of a very eaſy Vindication, he thought it more hon⯑ourable to ſucceed with the Dutcheſs, than to preſerve Fidelity in his Friend⯑ſhip to her Lord; and to ſuch an Infa⯑tuation was he hurried by his guilty Love, that he imagined it to be the moſt criminal Action in the World to neglect the Happineſs which his Vanity repre⯑ſented the Dutcheſs inclinable to afford him.
[15] IN Conſequence of this Perſuaſion, as he had the Honour one Evening to lead her Grace from the Drawing Room, he ſlipt a Letter into her Hand, as ſhe was ſtepping into her Coach, and then retired with a profound Reverence. The Lady believed the Paper contained ſome agreeable Piece of Poetry, in which the Earl, as we intimated before, was very happy, and was impatient to read this new Product of his Capacity: But who can deſcribe her Confuſion and Reſent⯑ment, when ſhe found it to be a Decla⯑ration of Love, and her Diſpleaſure was the greater, as ſhe was conſcious that no Part of her Conduct could poſſibly give that Nobleman any Pretentions to the indecent Preſumption with which he treated her; and tho' it was late at Night, ſhe reſolved to acquaint the Dutcheſs her Mother with the Affront that had been offered to her Virtue.
SHE accordingly ordered her Coach⯑man to drive to the Dutcheſs of Beau⯑fort's Houſe, and, at her Arrival there, went into her Grace's Bed-Chamber, and intreated her, with a Flood of Tears, to read the Letter ſhe put into her Hands. The Dutcheſs was not a little ſurprized [14] [...] [15] [...] [16] to ſee her Daughter in a Diſorder of Mind intirely new to her, and immedi⯑ately read over the Letter, with an Aſto⯑niſhment natural to ſuch an Event. ‘Is it poſſible, Madam, ſaid the Dutcheſs of Ormonde, that any Man can dare to think he has a Privilege to treat me in this diſ⯑honourable Manner! I can appeal to Hea⯑ven and Earth, that my Conduct has hither⯑to been without Reproach, which makes this Violation of the Reſpect due to me, ſo inſupportable.’
THE Dutcheſs of Beaufort was as much diſſatisfied with this Adventure, as her Daughter, and was juſtly apprehen⯑ſive that it might be attended with very fatal Conſequences; to prevent which, all imaginable Diſcretion was neceſſary.
WHILST they were deliberating what Steps were moſt proper to be taken in ſo delicate an Affair, a Lady of great Quality, and a near Relation to them both, came in very ſeaſonably to aſſiſt at the Conſultation; and after ſhe had heard a particular Account of the whole Affair, ſhe gave it as her Opinion, that ‘it would be moſt proper for the Dutcheſs of Ormonde to diſſemble her Reſentment, and treat the amorous Peer with ſuch an [17] Air of Indifference, as would effectually mortify his Vanity, and diſcourage him from perſiſting in his criminal Deſires: The Lady added, that if ſuch a Courſe of Behaviour ſhould not have the Effect that might be reaſonably expected, ſhe would undertake to diſcloſe the Affair to the Duke of Ormonde, in ſuch a Light as ſhould en⯑gage him to come into a Scheme ſhe had formed for making this new Lover the Di⯑verſion of the whole Town.’
THIS Advice was allowed to be juſt, and, after ſome farther Conſideration, the Dutcheſs of Ormonde took her Leave, with a Determination to conduct herſelf according to her Relations Sentiments. It was not long before the young Earl ſaw her, and, as he was pleaſed to flat⯑ter himſelf, that the Graces of his Wit and Perſon were irreſiſtable, he was not a little ſurpriſed at the negligent Man⯑ner in which the Dutcheſs heard all the fine Things he ſaid to her; and as he found that he had not made the leaſt Impreſſion on her Heart, he began to imagine ſhe might poſſibly not have read his Letter, for he could not believe that ſo much premeditated Wit and Tenderneſs as it contained, could prove ineffectual; and therefore reſolved to be certain that [18] his next Letter ſhould be read by the Dutcheſs; for which Purpoſe, he found Means to gain, as he imagined, one of her Women to his Intereſt; he made her a Preſent of a large Purſe of Gold, ac⯑companying it with a ſecond Billet, which he intreated her to deliver into her La⯑dy's Hands, and, at the ſame Time, gave her to underſtand, that if ſhe ac⯑quitted herſelf of the Confidence he re⯑poſed in her, to his Satisfaction, there was nothing ſhe might not promiſe her⯑ſelf from his future Bounty.
THE Dutcheſs's Woman performed her Commiſſion, and gave the Letter to her Lady, with a particular Account of the Earl's Liberality, and all the large Promiſes he had made her. The Dutch⯑eſs, after ſhe had read the Letter, made her Mother, and the other Lady, who had inſtructed her how to behave, acquainted with the Contents; upon which they thought it now a proper Time to make the Duke of Ormonde privy to the Secret. This they did, in ſuch a Manner as ea⯑ſily diſpoſed his Grace to come into their Meaſures, to make his Rival as ridicu⯑lous as his Vanity ought to render him. To accompliſh which, it was agreed a⯑mong them, that the Dutcheſs ſhould an⯑ſwer [19] her Lover's Letter, and it is eaſy to imagine, that an Epiſtle dictated by ſuch Perſons, and on ſuch an Occaſion, was artful enough to deceive, even a Gen⯑tleman of the Earl's Penetration. It would be no diſagreeable Entertainment to the Reader, could I repeat all the plea⯑ſant Things, and the diverting Contri⯑vances that were invented by this illu⯑ſtrious Company, to expoſe the preſum⯑ing Lover. The Dutcheſs of Ormonde was for having him ‘privately admitted in⯑to the Houſe, and ſhut up in ſome Place where he might be half frozen, before he ſhould be ſet at Liberty:’ But the Duke replied, ‘That would be a Management of too low a Turn for the Earl's nice and de⯑licate Taſte,’ and then recollecting, that his Garden Wall was of a very conveni⯑ent Heighth, he thought it would be beſt ‘for the Lover to climb over it, in order to come to his Lady, the Danger and Diffi⯑culty only tending to compleat the Glory of ſuch a gallant Adventure; beſides, added he, we ſhall by this Means ſee whether his Lordſhip is in earneſt, and dare ha⯑zard his fine Perſon in the Proſecution of his Amour.’
THIS Propoſal meeting with the Ap⯑probation of all the Ladies, they went [20] into the Garden to examine the Wall, and, obſerving a Place that had Hooks, which a Ladder might be commodiouſly faſtened to, the Dutcheſs's Woman had Directions to deſcribe this convenient Situation to the Earl; but it was not done till ſeveral Letters had paſſed be⯑tween him and the Dutcheſs, and he be⯑came perſuaded, that his Addreſſes were as ſucceſsful as he could wiſh. And now the Dutcheſs's Woman acquainted him, ‘he had made all imaginable Impreſſions on her Lady, and that ſhe expected the Plea⯑ſure of his Company with the greateſt Im⯑patience, but then, continued ſhe, it will be impoſſible for your Lordſhip to paſs by the Porter in any Diſguiſe; and you are not inſenſible what Regard is due to a Lady's Reputation, in an Affair of this Nature, and therefore ſome Expedient muſt be thought of, to prevent any Diſcovery of your being admitted into my Lady's Apart⯑ment.’
THE Earl, upon this, gave her the ſtrongeſt Aſſurances of his ſtrict Regard for the Dutcheſs's Honour; ‘and there⯑fore, ſaid he, I am deſirous of being intro⯑duced in any Manner you can contrive, to prevent my being diſcovered by any of the Servants, and there is no Danger, that I [21] will ever decline to accompliſh my Happi⯑neſs, with all the Privacy my lovely Dutch⯑eſs can poſſibly deſire.’
THE Gentlewoman finding him in ſuch a Reſolution, thought it then pro⯑per to acquaint him, ‘That no Way would be more effectual, to prevent the Affair from being detected, than for his Lordſhip to climb over the Garden-Wall,’ and then ſhe deſcribed that particular Part of it, where the Hooks were faſtened; ‘your Lordſhip, added ſhe, is too gallant, to heſitate at a⯑ny little Danger that you may be expoſed to, on ſuch an Occaſion, and you are like⯑wiſe to conſider, that you could not have a more favourable Opportunity of convinc⯑ing my Lady, that your Paſſion for her, can make you deſpiſe every Hazard and Diffi⯑culty that may lie between you and the Happineſs you are in Purſuit of, and there⯑fore, if your Lordſhip has no Objection to what I have been propoſing, I will be, at Eleven this Night, in the Garden to re⯑ceive you.’
HIS Lordſhip was ſo animated, with the Hopes of his imagined Joys, that he told the Gentlewoman, in a Kind of Tranſport, ‘That he thought Fortune was very propitious to him, in giving him ſuch [22] an Opportunity of convincing her Lady how much his Paſſion could ſurmount eve⯑ry Danger and Impediment;’ upon which he took his Leave, with a ſolemn Pro⯑miſe to be punctual to the appointed Time; and then went to pay a Viſit to the Duke of Ormonde, by whom, as was before obſerved, he was treated with the greateſt Friendſhip and Intimacy.
THE Duke received him with his uſual Affability, and after ſome Conver⯑ſation, walked with him in his Garden, where he could not forbear ſmiling to himſelf, to obſerve, with what a curious Eye his Viſitor examined rhe Wall he was to ſcale that Evening. After they had taken a few Turns, the Earl took his Leave, and went to his own Houſe, where he paſſed the Remainder of the Day with all the impatient Deſires, natural to a Lover, who expects the happy Period of all his Wiſhes. The appointed Hour was, at laſt, come, and his Lordſhip did not fail to be exactly punctual at the Place agreed on, where he found the Ladder of Ropes thrown over the Wall, by the Means of which he mounted to the Top, with wonderful Activity, and from thence, as nimbly deſcended into the Garden: But, alas! how frequently [23] do Diſappointments and Diſgrace attend the fineſt Schemes of poor Mortals; and how common is it for Men to meet with the moſt diſagreeable Accidents, in the very Inſtant that he promiſed him⯑ſelf nothing but Rapture, and the moſt perfect Felicity! The adventrous Peer had no ſooner ſet Foot on the fatal Ground, than the Gardener, who hap⯑pened to be a very ſturdy Fellow, pre⯑tending to miſtake him for a Perſon who intended to rob the Houſe, fell upon him with Herculean Force, and gave him ſuch a vigorous Drubbing, that he was ob⯑liged to cry out for Aſſiſtance. The Noiſe alarmed the Houſe, and the Duke, with all the Company, who were then at Supper with him, came out in a ſeeming Surpriſe to know the Occaſion of the Clamours they heard. Any one will ima⯑gine, that the unfortunate Lover made no very graceful Figure in ſuch a Con⯑juncture; and, as it was impoſſible for the Spectators of his Diſgrace, to keep their Countenances, he grew ſenſible, that this had been a premeditated Scheme to expoſe him. But, as he had a peculi⯑ar Preſence of Mind, and was, likewiſe, one of thoſe Philoſophic Lovers, who never run diſtracted at the Diſappoinment of their Paſſion, he asked the Duke's [24] Pardon for the Folly he had committed, deſiring his Grace to impute it to a youthful Inconſideration he would no longer indulge; after which, he joined with the Company in their Mirth, and rallied himſelf very pleaſantly for the Diſcipline he had received from the ho⯑neſt Gardiner.
THE Earl's ill Succeſs in his Amour, ſoon became public, and was, for a conſiderable Time, the Entertainment of all the gay Company about the Court; and beſides this, it entirely extinguiſhed the Hopes of all who ſighed for the amiable Dutcheſs in Secret. They were convinced, that her Vertue was impreg⯑nable, and that it was poſſible for a La⯑dy to be the faireſt of her Sex, and, at the ſame Time, capable of preſerving an untainted Fidelity to her Nuptial Vow.*
ANY one will eaſily believe, that the Duke, after this amiable Proof of his Lady's Virtue, could not but cheriſh ſuch a Treaſure with the utmoſt Fond⯑neſs, and, indeed, our noble Pair lived in ſo mutual an Intercourſe of Endear⯑ments, as rendered them the Envy and [25] Admiration of the Age. I ſay, the En⯑vy, becauſe there have been People ma⯑licious enough to declare, that the Dutcheſs, ſome time after her Marriage, entertained ſuch a Fondneſs for Cards, as in a great Meaſure alienated the Duke's Affection from her for a conſiderable Time. But whilſt ſome have been ſo ungenerous as to propagate ſuch a Re⯑port, and others ſo weak as to believe it, all muſt acknowledge this to be the only Frailty that was ever imputed to that Lady, and even this has been aggravated much beyond the Reality of the Fact. The Truth is, Cards being at that Time, as well as now, the faſhionable Amuſement of the Fair, it was impoſſi⯑ble for the Dutcheſs, whoſe Houſe was continually filled with the beſt Company in the Kingdom, to do otherwiſe than comply with the Inclinations of her Vi⯑ſitors in that Diverſion; and it may be true, that ſhe might ſometimes ſit up late at Play to oblige her Company, and we will not deny, that the Duke might be ſenſible of ſome Uneaſineſs to find his Lady compelled by the reigning Deco⯑rum among the Great, to be abſent more Hours from him, than were agreeable to her Inclinations. But, at the ſame Time, in Juſtice to the Memory of that incom⯑parable [26] Lady, we muſt affirm, That the Moment ſhe was ſenſible of the leaſt Uneaſineſs in her Lord on that Account, ſhe never after would ſuffer Play to de⯑tain her from him, to any late or un⯑ſeaſonable Hour. A ſingular Inſtance this, of a Lady, who could reſolve to ſacrifice what was then thought an innocent Amuſement, to the Repoſe of her Con⯑ſort; whereas the ſame Motive now, is frequently inſufficient to make Numbers of the Sex reſign Pleaſures that are really criminal and injurious to their own and their Husband's Reputation. But to re⯑turn to this noble Pair.
WHEN the Duke was conſtituted Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, the Dutcheſs undertook that Voyage; and her Recep⯑tion and Return is ſo truly, and ſo ele⯑gantly deſcribed by Mr. Dryden, in his Addreſs to her Grace*, that it would be Injuſtice to his Memory to omit it, on this Occaſion, viz.
The World was deprived of this moſt incomparable PRINCESS, of whom it was no longer worthy, Anno 1733.
Biſhop Atterbury's Defenſe of the Earl of Clarendon is an irrefragable Anſwer to the latent Lye hatched, and propagated by Meſſrs. Ducket and Oldmixon; for I believe (the dead Man) Smith, wholly innocent.
See the Clarendon-Family Vindicated. Printed for E. Curll, 8vo. 1732.
Sir Richard, we ſee, was but a later Copieſt of this Beau⯑ty; he, it ſeems, ſtole it from Milton, who ſtole it from Ho⯑mer, who ſtole it from the Ancients, his Predeceſſors, who copied from Nature.
This Lady was born at Sea, between Jerſey and Guernſey and chriſtened by the Name of De la Riviere Manley. She' wrote theſe Letters to her Nameſake and Kinſman, John Manley, Eſq they fully expreſs what kind of Eſteem ſhe had for him.
The Life of Mrs. Manley, written by herſelf, is printed for Mr. Curll.
1. Song for St. Caecilia's Feaſt.
2. The Moſaic Creation.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3660 Mr Pope s literary correspondence Volume the third With letters to and from the Duke of Shrewsberry Lord Lansdowne pt 3. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5C08-5