π1r π1v

Advertisment.

Letters of Love and Galantry,
and several
other Subjects; All written
by Ladies: With the Memoirs,
Life and Adventures
of a young Lady; written
by her Self.

Vol. I.

A1r

Letters
of

Love and Gallantry
And several other Subjects.

Written by Ladies.

Vol. II

With a dialogue between
love
and reason: shewing,

The Reasonableness and Unreasonableness
of love; The Nun’s Letter to
the Monk; Characters and Pictures of
several Ladies and Gentlemen; with other
Pssionate Letters, that passed betwixt both
Sexes, in Town and Country.

Dedicated to the Beaux.

London, Printed for .S. Briscoe, at the Corner of
Charles-street in Russel-street, Covent-Garden, 16941694.

A1v A2r

The
Epistle Dedicatory
to the
beaux.

Since we are satisfied of
your Friendly readiness
to Publish our Favours, even
before you have receiv’d ’em,
we thought our selves oblig’d A2 by A2v
by so much good nature, to
give you once a just occasion
for’t, and present you with our
Letters. Some fill their Dedications
with nothing but
Apologys for their making ’em:
Some cunningly place the name
at the bottom of the Picture,
to try if our Wit could guess at
what they meant by the Daubing
above: Others, as ’twere
on design, write you asleep in
the beginning, to convince you
they’re in Love, as they tell
you, at the latter end: while
this Geographically Witty ever
treats you with a Fool of such
or such a Climate, and Travelsvels A3r
for business to Japan,
or Arragon, when God knows,
and you may convince him,
we have as much, as he can
turn his hand to, at Home:
Nay, some, tho’ they were Addressing
to you, would have
the impertinence to bring in
Latin and Greek. Thus all,
like true Lovers, talk least of
the thing they come about:
but we, skill’d in Men, are
too sensible how pleasing ’tis
to know we are admir’d, to
entertain you with any thing
but your selves; and shall
clear our selves from the Suspicion
of Flattery in such A3 cases, A3v
Cases, when you know our
Complement to you is an account
of a Quarrel that lately
happen’d among us about you;
and sure you can’t believe
we flatter, when it comes to
that: To make short, meeting
the other Day at ―― after
the usual Entertainment of
Modes and Dressing, we naturally
fell into Discourse of
you; when each singled out her
Man, and strove to set him
uppermost; one was prais’d
for his way of Dress, another
for the throw of his Periwig,
this for a pretty Face, and
and that for the Airy managementnagement A4r
of an ugly one: the
Dispute was hotly maintain’d
a great while, but finding no
end could be made in this,
because there was thought to
be no Standard for Beauty;
we unanimonusly resolv’d to determine
the business by their
Writing: Much was said on
all hands, and many shrewd
Criticisms made: This Man’s
Verses were arraign’d for Nonsence;
and that many Plays
for having in ’em more Bawdy
than Wit.

Another’s A4v

Another’s Songs were condemn’d
for having nothing in
’em; but because ’twas universal
with such Writers, the
Remark was not taken notice
of; She that accus’d ’em
growing angry that She could
not come in for her Share
of abusing, fell foul on the
Author’s Person, and said that
he mov’d by the same Rules
that he Writ, that every
thing was so stiff about him
that nothing was out of
Form, and that there was nothing
but Form, that he
minc’d all his Words, to make
’em come fine from him: and A5r
and to make us the better
understand her the other day,
said She, when a common
Man would have said, “’Twas
a rude thing,”
turning to
me, his Face and Body in
one Motion, “Madam,” said
he, “I protest ’twas most disingagingly
done:”
Was there
ever such an Ape? Nay, tho’
he be the most ugly of them
all, yet in his Songs is ever
dying for Love. The Patient,
She that admir’d him,
cou’d hold no longer, but advanc’d
to revenge the abuse
of his Person and Parts on
her Head-dress; the rest of us A5v
us thought our Cause as worthy
Defending, and each drew
out against her, that had abus’d
it, when C―― coming
in, put a stop to the War.

Memoirs B1r

Memoirs
of the
Fair Eliosa, a Nun,
and
Abelard a Monk.

In order the better to understand all
the Beauties of the following Letter,
it is necessary to know the
Characters of Eliosa and Abelard, as also
what sort of Commerce the held together,
and consequently to give an
Abridgement of both their Lives.


Abelard liv’d in the Year 1170., under
the Reign of Lewis the Young, and was B very B1v 2
very famous for his Wit and Gallantry.
He is reported to be the Inventor of
Scholastic Philosophy, which is a very
difficult Amusement. Others say, that
he was also the Author of the Romance
of the Rose
, a very agreeable description
of Love. The said Romance being in
Vogue to this very day, and the said Philosophy
still profess’d, might suffice to
give us a very great and Noble Idea of
him. But besides that, he has shown
in most of his Works, and in the whole
Conduct of his Life, a surprising clearness
of Mind, an Universal Capacity, a
greatness of Soul which nothing could
overcome, much delicacy in the Passions,
and a great deal of firmness in his
Misfortunes: In fine, that which composes
the best and most Excellent part of
the merit of great Men, is the true Character
of Abelard.

Eloisa was a Gentlewoman of a very
good Family, about Eighteen Years of
Age, very Witty and Sprightly, who
had Beauty enough to move the most Insensible:
Her Parents being very Rich,
resolv’d to add an extraordinary Education
to those Natural Endowments. An
Uncle of hers, who was Canon of the Church B2r 3
Church of Paris, apply’d himself most
carefully about it; and as he Lov’d her
intirely, he spar’d neither cost nor care
to effect it; and prov’d so successful
therein, that the World was fill’d with
the Praise of his Niece’s Beauty and Accomplishments.

Such Admirable Qualifications soon
Captivated the Inclinations of all those
that knew her. Abelard was one of the
first that felt the Power of her Charms,
and became passionately in Love with
her. His Philosophy was not capable to
defend his Heart against those Perfections
he has describ’d himself under the
Name of Beauty in his Romance of
the Rose
; neither did he in the least endeavour
to contend with his Passion.
On the contrary, being wholly taken
up with his Love, he abandon’d himself
intirely to it, and only study’d how
to declare it to the Person he Ador’d.
He being very well shap’d, Young, and
having a high Reputation in the World,
did not question but his Declaration
would meet with all the Success he could
expect, he tells us himself, “Tanti quippe
tunc nominis eram, & juventutis & formæ
præeminebam, ut quamcunque feminarum B2 nostro B2v 4
nostrodignarer amore, nullam vererer repulsam.”

That whatever Woman he could have
fallen in Love with at that time, he has
reason to hope for every thing, and to
undertake all, without the least fear of
Refusal.

Being thus confident of success, he
only long’d for an opportunity to make
his Addresses to that Lovely Maid. He
flatter’d himself, that if he could once be
introduc’d into her Uncle’s House, by
some of his Friends, he would soon obtain
the end of all his Wishes. He apply’d
himself immediately about it; and
the Friends he made use of, easily obtain’d
what he desir’d of Fulbert, (that
was Eloisa’s Uncle’s Name) who was
extreamly Covetous, and yet desir’d no
thing so much as the advancement of
his Niece, by reason that he could not
possibly give her a better Master, or one
that was less self-interested than Abelard.
Therefore he receiv’d him joyfully into
his House, and committed Eloisa to his
Tuition and Care, desiring him, as if
he had design’d to serve him in his Love
to take an absolute Empire over his
Niece, and to allow towards her Education
all the time he could spare from the Publick B3r 5
Publick, to be with her Day and Night,
to have a continual Eye upon her Conduct,
and even to make use of the Authority
he gave him, whenever he should
find her remiss, or disobedient. Fulbert
show’d a simplicity without Example in
all this; since that by confiding thus in
young People, and furnishing them himself,
with a thousand Opportunities; it
was almost impossible for them not to
fall in Love with one another. But the
Uncle’s affection towards the Niece was
so strong and so blind; and Abelard’s
Reputation was so well establish’d
throughout the Kingdom, that not harbouring
the least suspition of their Vertue,
he thought himself absolutely secure.

Abelard, who easily promis’d whatever
Fulbert requir’d of him, did not fail
to improve the liberty he had of seeing
the Lovely Eloisa at all convenient hours,
and Moments. He acquainted her with
his Passion and did it so well, that she
hearken’d to it with pleasure. It is easie
to persuade a Young Maid about Eighteen
to Love; and Abelard was too
Charming, and had too much With, not
to make a considerable progress in her B3 Heart B3v 6
Heart in a short time. She soon Lov’d
him so tenderly that she could no longer
refuse him any thing: Insomuch that
being wholly taken up by a thousand Reciprocal
Caresses, in the injoyment of
those Delights the Passion he had inspir’d
her with afforded him, being continually
with her, he often forgot his most serious
and most Important Affairs. A
Philosopher in Love, is no wiser than another
Man; and however desirous to
preserve his Reputation, he sooner or later
commits faults that are blam’d by every
Body, though every Man would
be guilty of the same.

The World soon perceiv’d this Intrigue
between the Master and the Schollar,
so great an Assiduity in their Conversation,
together with the Tenderness and
Passion that appear’d in all their Actions,
soon discover’d that Philosophy was
not always their Theme.

Fulbert was the only Person that had no
Eyes to see what every Body else perceiv’d;
and whatever Advices he receiv’d
about it, he was so prepossessed
with a good Opinion of Abelard and
Eloisa’s Vertue, that it made no manner
of impression upon him. Finally our Lovers B4r 7
Lovers keeping no measures in their
Love, things went so far through their
imprudence, that the Uncle, being at
last undeceiv’d, resolv’d to part them, to
prevent the ill consequences of their Intrigue.
But it prov’d too late, for Eloisa
soon discovering something extraordinary
in her self, she acquainted Abelard
therewith, who thereupon came back
immediately to Paris, and stole her by
Night, in order to Marry her privately,
until her Relations would allow it publickly.

Fulbert, who Lov’d Eloisa to that degree
that he could not live without her,
was extreamly troubl’d at her Flight;
and being moreover very sensible of the
affront Abelard had put upon him in abusing
the Liberty he had given him, he
was transported to that excess of Rage,
that he swore to be reveng’d of him. Abelard,
who was conscious of the Guilt,
and could not forbear looking upon his
own behaviour, as a piece of Treachery,
resolv’d to go back to Paris, in order to
use his utmost Endeavours to appease Fulbert’s
Fury. To that end he made use of
all the Entreaties, Submissions, and Promises
he could think on. He begg’d of B4 him B4v 8
him above all things to reflect on the force
of Love, and on the Faults that that Tyrant
of our Souls has often caus’d the
greatest Men to commit. Fulbert dissembl’d
his resentment, and pretended
to be overcome by his Reasons, and to
consent to all. He even Embrac’d him
closely, the better to deceive him, and
to secure his own Revenge.

Abelard being overjoy’d at Fulbert’s
consent, went back to the place where
he had left his Dear Eloisa, whom he
Marry’d; but with so much Repugnancy
on that fair one’s part, that it prov’d
a very difficult Task to perswade her. As
her Sentiments were very nice, she
could not indure the necessity she should
be under of Loving him, nor the injury
he was going to do himself by Marrying
her. She could not indure to think he
should be indebted to any thing for the
Love she bore him, but to Love it self,
and his Quality of Philosopher seem’d
to her so inconsistent with the design of
Marrying her, that she had rather a
thousand times be look’d upon as his Mistress,
than to become his Wife at the
cost of his Reputation and Glory. And
whereas Abelard had represented to her, that B5r 9
that it would be the only way to appease
Fulbert’s Anger, and to avoid the Revenge
he meditated; she assur’d him
that he flatter’d himself in vain, and that
knowing her Uncle as well as she did, she
could safely swear to him, that it was
impossible to appease him, and that
sooner or later he would endeavour to
ruine him. However these Reasons not
being able to perswade Abelard, she
yielded to his Desires, only out of fear
of displeasing him by her resistance. And
it was not without Tears and Sighs that
she consented to Marry a Man she
Lov’d beyond expression, and by whom
she was as tenderly belov’d.

Eloisa was not deceiv’d in the Opinion
she had of her Uncle. That Cruel
Man still persevering in his design of
Vengeance against Abelard, notwithstanding
his Marriage with his Niece,
found means to corrupt one of his Servants
to admit Ruffians into his Master’s
Chamber, who drawing near his Bed,
while he was a asleep, at one stroke divided
the Man from the Lover. That
Action was too black and too Tragical
to remain unpunish’d. The Uncle’s Estate
was Confiscated by a Decree from B5 the B5v 10
the Court; and one of the Assassinats together
with the Servant who had admitted
him were Condemn’d to lose their
Eyes, and to suffer the same Punishment
by the Hangman’s Hand, which they
had dared to attempt upon another. After
such a Misfortune, our Philosopher
in order to take such measures as were
most suitable to the wretched Condition
to which he was reduc’d, lock’d himself
up in a Monastery, and caus’d Eloisa to
retire into a Convent; and whither out
of Jealousie, or Love; engag’d her to
enter into Orders, before he had resolv’d
to do the same himself.

In the mean time, to keep up the Reputation
he had acquir’d of being the
most Learned Man of Europe, he explain’d
the Acts of the Apostles to the
Monks of the Abby of St. Dennis among
whom he liv’d. And happening to have
an occasion to speak of that Saint, he
chanc’d to say, whither accidentally, or
out of a Capricio, “That Denis the Areopagite
never was in France”
. It is very
well known, that to entertain any Sentiments
in those Days contrary to that of
the Monks, was sufficient to be reputed
an Apostate or Heretick. Learning could Autho- B6r 11
Authorize nothing, and those who soar’d
a little above the common level, as soon
as it was known were forc’d to condemn
themselves to a voluntary Exile to avoid
the publick Persecution of the Monks.
St. Bernard was one of thos that declar’d
against Abelard, not for the same reason
for which the Monks of St. Denis did it,
but only because so much Wit, joyn’d to
a worldly conduct seem’d dangerous to
him. He concluded, That “a Man’s Wit
must needs be tainted, when the Heart was not
pure”

During this Storm; Abelard who really
possess’d all the Qualifications that compose
great Men, but yet was not so perfect
as to be a Saint; incens’d by so many
Misfortunes and Injuries, resolv’d to
fly from the Monks, and to retire into a
Desart near Nogent. The Learned were
scarce in that Age, and the desire of
Learning began to spread. For that reason
Abelard was sought after in his Exile;
and being found out, was loaden with
Presents by those who were desirous to
hear his Lessons. Those Presents were
so considerable as to enable him to build
a House, and a Chappel, which he Dedicated
under the Name of Paraclet, the first B6v 12
first that ever had that Name in France:
Which was represented by some as a
Novelty which might have dangerous
Consequences, though in reality it was
only a Monument of the Consolations
he had receiv’d from the Grace of God
in that place, by a more serious application
to his Study, and a more absolute
resignation of his Mistress. But Men of
Merit, though never so retir’d are nevertheless
exposed to Envy. He was hardly
well settl’d in his Solitude, when he was
accus’d of Caballing. In order to justifie
himself, he desir’d leave to quit it, and
intreated the Archbishop of Troy, to
permit him to settle some Maids there,
and to assign his Chapel and his Estate
to them. This Settlement being promis’d,
he sent for Eloisa to Govern the Monastery,
which having comitted to her
Care, he retir’d elsewhere. Happy if
he had still been able to fly her.

It was during that absence that a Letter
which he wrote to a Friend near Paraclet,
in which he gave him a large account
of the Persecutions he had endur’d,
fell accidentally into the hands of that
new Abbess. She open’d it, and finding
a thousand things in it, in which she was highly B7r 13
highly concern’d, she took an occasion
from that to write the following Letter
to him, to complain of his Conduct
and to ask him, Whither it was just for a
Nice Lover to abandon her to the false
Idea’s
which so long a silence might create
in her. “That Letter” (says she who has
Collected the Works of Abelard) “is very
proper to show how far a Womaun is capable
to carry the Sentiments of her Heart,
when she joyns a Violent Passion to a good
Education.”

Eloisa to Abelard.

Letter I.

’Tis to her Master, and to her Father;
’tis to her Brother, and to
her Husband, that a Maid, a Daughter,
a Sister , a Wife, and to include in one
word, all that is Sublime, Respectful,
Tender and free in those Names; ’tis to
her Abelard Eloisa writes.

A Letter of Consolation written by
you to a Friend, lately fell into my hands.
Knowing the Character, and being in Love B7v 14
Love with the Hand, my Heart joyning
with my Curiosity, forc’d me to open
it. To apologize for the Liberty I took,
I flatter’d my self with the Sovereign
Right I ought to have over all that comes
from you, and I made a scruple to believe
that there could be any Laws of
Decorum I ought to observe when I had
the means in my power to hear from
you. But my Curiosity cost me very
dear! What Anguish did it expose me
to! And what could equal my Surprise
when I found that Letter only contain’d
a sad and long account of your Misfortunes!
I found my Name a hundred
times in it: I never met with it without
fear: Some Misfortune ever follow’d it.
I also read yours in it which was no happier.
Those Fatal and Dear Idea’s disturb’d
me to that degree, that I thought
you did too much to comfort a Friend,
to whom you did write about some Inconsiderable
Afflictions, in giving him a
particular account of our Misfortunes
and Crosses. Heavens! What Reflexions
did I not make that moment? I
began a new to reflect upon my self, I
was seiz’d with the same Grief that overwhelm’d
me when we began to be Unhappy.happy B8r 15
And though time ought to have
lessen’d the smart of our Misfortunes,
seeing them written by your Hand,
was sufficient to make me feel it afresh to
the very bottom of my Heart. No, nothing
will ever blot out of my mind what
you have suffer’d to defend your Sentiments.
I shall ever remember the Envy
of Alberick and Lotulf against you. I
shall for ever behold a Cruel Uncle, an
Abus’d Lover, and an Assassinate. I
shall never forget how many Enemies
your Wit created you; and how many
were jealous of your Glory. I will ever
call to mind that high Reputation you
had so justly acquir’d, which expos’d you
to the Hatred and Malice of the Pretenders
to Learning. Your Book of Divinity
was publickly Condemn’d to the
Flames. You were threatned with a
perpetual Prison. It was in vain for you
to plead your Innocence, and to prove
that you were impos’d upon, and that
you were accus’d of things you had never
said, or thought. You Condemn’d
them your self, but yet all this avail’d nothing
towards your Justification, they
would needs have you to be an Heretick
right or wrong. Those two false Prophets,phet B8v 16
who inveigh’d so bitterly against
you at the Council of Rheims, omitted
nothing to ruine you. What Scandals
did they not fix on the Name of Paraclet
which you gave to the Chappel you did
Build? What Storm did the Treacherous
Monks you honour’d with the Name of
Brothers, raise against you? That Chain
of Misfortunes has drawn Blood even
from the very bottom of my Heart. My
Tears which I could no wise stop, have
blotted part of your Letter. I could wish
they had been able to blot out all the
Characters of it in the same manner, to
send it you back thus. If I could but
have kept it a little longer it would have
satisfy’d me; but it was taken too soon
from me.

However, it is most certain and I
own it to you, that I was much Calmer
before I had read it; but as soon as I
had run it over, all my griefs renew’d.
I have been too long, cry’d I, I have
been too long without Complaining.
Since the Rage of our Enemies is still
alive; Since Time which commonly
disarms the most mortal hatred, cannot
disarm them; since your Virtue must
needs be persecuted till the Grave serves you B9r 17
you for a shelter, tho’ perhaps even
there their Rage will Rake your Ashes,
I will keep your misfortunes for ever
present to my mind. I will publish
them throughout the World, to disgrace
this Age that has not understood you. I
will hope for nothing, since all things are
against you; and that the World takes a
delight in persecuting your Innocence.
What? my Memory ever full of your
past Misfortunes; must I still dread to
see you involv’d in new ones! Must my
Dear Abelard never be mention’d without
Tears! Shall his Name never be
pronounc’d without a Heart-breaking
Sigh! Pray consider the condition to
which you have reduc’d me. Wretched,
Afflicted, without the least Consolation,
unless it comes from you.
Therefore I do conjure you, do not refuse
it me; but give me a faithful Account
of all that relates to you. I desire
to know it, tho’ never so sad or
moving. Perhaps the mixture of my
Sighs with yours will ease you, if it be
true as it is commonly reported, that
Afflictions that are shar’d by others, become
the more Supportable.

Do B9v 18

Do not tell me for an excuse that you
are willing to spare our Tears. The
Tears of Recluse Maids in a Mournful
abode of Penitence are not to be spar’d
Besides, should you tarry to write to us
until you had some agreeable news to
send us, you would tarry too long. Fortune
seldom sides with the Virtuous;
and she is so Blind, that it is not to be
expected she should distinguish one Wise
Man among a Crowd of Fools. Therefore
write to us without expecting those
kind of Miracles: They are too rare,
and we are destin’d to too many Misfortunes
to expect a Change. I proposed
to my self a world of satisfaction in opening
one of your Letters, tho’ it were
only to convince me that you have not
forgot me. Seneca (which you have often
made me Read) was so sensible, tho’
a Stoick, of that kind of Joy, that whenever
he open’d any from Lucilla, he fancy’d
he enjoy’d all the same pleasure, he
did when with her.

I have observ’d since our absence, that
we are much more delighted with
the Pictures of those we love, when at a
great distance from us, than when they
are nearer. Nay more, the farther they are B10r 19
are from us, their Pictures seem to me to
become the more like them: at least our
Imagination, which draws them continually
out of a desire to see them again,
makes them appear so to us. By an
effect which is peculiar to Love, vain
Colours, and a little Cloth seem animated
to us as soon as the belov’d object
returns. I have your Picture, and never
pass by it without stopping before it;
whereas I hardly minded it when you
were here. If Painting, which is but
a mute representation of Objects, affords
so much Pleasure: What Joys do not
Letters Inspire? The are Animated;
they speak; they have that Genius which
Explains the Motions of the Heart; they
Inclose within them the fire of our Passions;
they make them as sensible as when
we see one another; they express whatever
we could say, that is Soft and Tender
when we are together; and being
sometimes somewhat bolder, they utter
more.

We may write to one another; that
Innocent Pleasure is not forbidden us.
Let us not, by our own Neglect, lose the
only satisfaction we have remaining, and
which perhaps is the only one our Persecutorssecutors B10v 20
cannot deprive us of. I will say
that you are my Husband; You shall
behold me speak like a Wife; and in
spight of all your Misfortunes, you shall
be whatever you please in a Letter. Letters
were Invented for the relief of Recluse
Persons like my self: Having lost
the real Pleasure of seeing and possessing
you, I will find it again in some measure,
in those you shall write to me. I shall
read your most secret Thoughts in them;
I will carry them continually about me:
Infine, if you are capable of any Jealousie,
let it only be by the Caresses I shall
make to them; and never grow a Rival
unless it be the happiness of your Letters:
And to avoid all manner of constraint,
write to me without Application,
and with Negligence. I would have
your Heart speak to me, and not your
Wit. I cannot live unless you tell me
that you love me still. That Language
must needs be so Natural to you, that
I do not think you could utter any other
to me without Violence: Besides, it is
very reasonable you should close up those
Wounds, by some marks of a Constant
Affection, which you have open’d again
in my Soul, by the doleful account you gave B11r 21
gave your Friend: Not that I blame the
Innocent Artifice you have us’d to comfort
one in Distress, by comparing his
Misery to a greater. Charity is Ingenious,
and Praise-worthy in those Pious
slights: But do you not owe somewhat
more to your self than to that Friend,
whatever Friendship you may have contracted
with him? We are call’d your
Sisters; we call our selves your Daughters;
and if there were more engaging
Terms in Nature we would use them to
Express our being devoted to you, as
also what you owe unto us. Altho’ a
prudent Silence should cloak our Just
acknowledgments, this Church, these
Altars, and these Places would declare
it sufficiently. But, without suffering
Stones and Marble to speak, I confess,
and will ever be proud to tell the World,
that you are the only Founder of this
House. Your coming to this place has
render’d it famous, whereas it was only
known before for the Robberies & Murders
that were committed in it. It was
a Den of Thieves and Rogues; but you
have made it a House of Prayer. These
Cloisters are not beholding to publick
Alms. The sins of Publicans are not fix’d B11v 22
fix’d on their Walls, nor their Vices buri’d
in their Foundations. The God
whom we serve in this Place, beholds
nothing there but Innocent Riches and
Simple Maids, wherewith you have fill’d
it. And therefore this young Plantation
is wholly indebted to you for what it is:
You ought to Cultivate it, and to afford
it all your Cares: You ought to make
it one of the principal applications of
your Life. Although the Grace of Devotion
seems to be intail’d upon it on all
parts, by our Cloisters and our Vows:
Tho’ the points of our Grates are so many
Bulwarks to defend the approaches
of it; yet whereas the Bark is only cover’d
in us, that sap of Adam, which
rises imperceptibly in the Heart, produces
Distempers, which wither, and absolutely
ruin the Trees which seem to promise
most, unless they be continually
grafted. Virtue among us, remains
ever grafted upon Nature, which is weak
and Inconstant. To Plant the Vine of
the Lord
, is not an ordinary piece of
work: it requires more than a Day;
and when it is once planted, it requires
all our application to preserve it. Does
not the Apostle, as great a Workman as B12r 23
as he was, tell us, That he has Planted
that Appollos has Water’d, and that God
has Bless’d the Work, and has made it
to grow? Paul had planted the Faith
among the Corinthians, by Holy and fervent
Predications; Apollos, a zealous Disciple
of that Great Master, cultivated
that Faith, by mild and frequent Exhortations;
and the Grace of God, which
their continual Cares solicited so powerfully
to descend upon that People,
answer’d their expectation.

This example ought to regulate your
Conduct towards us, I am sensible that
you are not idle; but tho’ you Labour,
you do not Labour for us. You Labour
for People whose Thoughts are wholly
bent on Earth, and never soar above it;
and you refuse your assistance to Persons
of a nicer Taste, who are reeling, and
do use their utmost endeavours not to
fall. You throw the Riches of the Gospel
before Swine, in speaking to People
that are fill’d with the Riches of this
World, and fatten’d with the juice of
the Earth; and at the same time neglect
Innocent Sheep, who, as nice as
they are, would follow you into Desarts
and over Mountains. Why do you Labour B12v 24
Labour so much for ingrateful Persons?
and forget poor Maids, who would never
thing themselves sufficiently grateful?
Must I be afraid to speak in my own
Name, and must I imploy other Prayers
than my own, to obtain something
of you? The Augustins Tertullians, Jeromes
have written to Eudoxa’s, Paula’s
and Melanie’s; and when you read
those Names, tho’ Saints, can you forget
mine? Would it be a crime for you
to direct me like St. Jerome, to Preach
to me like Tertullian, and to discourse of
Grace to me with St. Augustin? Your
Learning and your Sence ought not to
be a barren Soil for me. In writing to
me, you writ to a Wife: a Sacrament
has render’d that Commerce lawful:
And since it is in your Power to satisfie
me without committing the least scandal,
why should you not do it? I have
a barbarous Uncle, whose Inhumanity
only serves to indear you to my Heart.
It serves me instead of all, that the tenderness
and remembrance of our Pleasures
could inspire us with, to make us
love each other. You are no longer to
be fear’d, do not fly me. Hearken to
my Sighs, your being a Witness of them will C1r 25
will suffice. If I have put my self into
a Cloister! out of Reason, persuade me to
tarry in it out of Devotion. You are
the cause of all my Sufferings, how should
another ease me.

You must needs remember, for those
that have lov’d can never forget, with
what delight I spent whole Days in
hearing you? How I us’d to steal away
from every body, when we were not together,
to write to you? What disquiets
did a Billet cost me, before it came to
your hands? And what shifts were we reduc’d
to, to gain People to be our Confidents?
I am sensible these particulars do
surprise you. You dread to hear the sequel;
but I do no longer blush at it, since my
Passion for you has no bounds. I have
out-done all this for you this day; I have
shared my self to love you. I have lost
my self here to make you live in quiet.
Nothing but Virtue joyn’d to a Passion,
free from sensuality, could produce such
Effects. Those who love Pleasures love
the Living, not the Dead. We are soon
weary of Burning for those that are no
longer in a condition to burn for it. My
cruel Uncle was sensible of this. He
imagin’d that being like other Women C I C1v 26
I lov’d your Sex better than your Person,
but his Crime is vain. I love you
more than ever, I am reveng’d of him
by overwhelming you with all my stock
of tenderness. If the Passion I formerly
had for you, was not so pure as it is at
present. If at that time the Mind and
Body divided in me the pleasure of loving
you; I have told it you a thousand
times, I have always been more pleas’d
with the possession of your Heart, than
with the enjoyment of all that which
is the object of the Felicity of our Sex;
and of all what was in you, Man was
not that which pleas’d me most.

You ought to be sufficiently convinc’d
of it, by the great repugnancy I express’d
for Marriage. For tho’ I was sensible
that Name was August among Men
and Holy in Religion, the thought of
ceasing to be free by it, hindred me from
finding any charms in it. The Bonds of
Marriange, tho’ never so Honourable,
are attended with a necessary Ingagement,
whose ties seem to ravish the Glory
of Loving; and I was desirous to free
a Man, who perhaps would not always
love me, from the necessity of loving. I
despis’d the name of Wife to live happy with C2r 27
with that of a Mistriss. Those niceties
of a Maid who lov’d you, with so much
tenderness, and yet not so much as she
desir’d, were not unknown to you, since
you entertain’d your Friend with them
in the Letter I have surpriz’d. You told
him very well, that I found nothing but
what was very insipid in all those publick
Ingagements, that form Bonds which
nothing but Death can break, and create
a dismal necessity of Life and Love:
but you did not add, that I have protested
to you a thousand times, that it was
infinitely more pleasing to me to live with
Abelard as his Mistress, than to be Empress
with Augustus; and that I preferr’d
the happiness of obeying you, before
the captivating of the Master of the
Uninverse Lawfully. Riches and Grandeur
are none of the Charms of Love.
A real Passion divides the Lover from
what is not himself, and lays aside his
Fortune, his Rank, his Imployments,
to consider him only.

Those, who seek for an Estate and
Dignities, in the cold embraces of a careless
Husband, do not Love. They aim
much more in such a Marriage, to satisfie
their Ambition than their Love. C2 I C2v 28
I grant that such a mercenary Ingagement
may be attended with some Honour
and Fortune; but I can never believe,
that it is possible thus to enjoy
the sensible Pleasures of a tender Union
or to feel the secret and charming emotions
of two Hearts, that have been
long in search of each other to unite
themselves. The Martyrs of Marriage
hourly sigh for better settlements, which
they think they have lost. The Wife
sees Husbands richer than her own. The
Husband, Wives with better Fortune
than his. Mercenary Ingagements create
Regrets, and those Regrets Discord.
They design to be parted, or at least
they wish it. That insatiate devouring
desire, is the Avenger of Love, which
they injure in expecting to meet a happiness
by Love, besides Love it self. If
there be any real Felicity on Earth, I
am persuaded, that it is only to be found
in the Union of two Persons, who love
each other with freedom, whom a secret
Inclination has joyn’d, and whom
an equal Merit has satisfy’d. Then
there is no vacuity in their Hearts. All
is at rest there, because all is contain’d.

Could C3r 29

Could I believe you were as well persuaded
of my Merit, as I am of yours,
I would tell you, that there was a time
in which we might have been reckon’d
in the number of those Happy ones.
Ah! How could I chuse but be persuaded
of your Merit? Tho’ I had been
willing to question it; the universal Esteem
the World had for you, would
have convinc’d me. Is there a Country,
Province or City, that has not desir’d
to have you? Did you ever remove
from any place, without being attended
with the Heart and Eyes of those you
left behind you? Every body was proud
of saying, “I have seen Abelard to day.”
The very Women, notwithstanding the
rigid Laws the World has impos’d upon
them, could not forbear expressing,
that they felt something for you beyond
common Essteem. I have known some,
who prais’d their Husbands exceedingly
and yet were jealous of my Joys, and
show’d sufficiently that you might have
expected every thing from them. And indeed,
who was capable to resist you? Your
Reputation which flatter’d the Vanity of
our Sex; Your Air; Your Behaviour;
Those lively Eyes in which your Soul C3 was C3v 30
was so admirably Drawn; Your Conversation,
which a natural simplicity and
delicacy render’d so agreeable, and insinuating;
In fine, every thing spoke in
favour of you. Very different, in that
from those who by knowing too much
have not Art to trifle agreeably; and
who with all their Wit cannot gain the
Heart of Women, who have not near
so great a share of it as they.

With what Ease did you compose Verses?
and yet those learned Amusements
which only serv’d to refresh you after a
more serious Study, are the Delight of
the most Ingenuous; and there are none
among them, who do not judge you
worthy of that Rose you have so ingenuously
explain’d. Even the most inconsiderable
Songs, and other Trifles you
have written for me, have a thousand
Charms, and a thousand Beauties in
them. I will make them last, while
Love endures. Thus what you only
design’d for me, will be Sung for others;
and those Words, so natural and so tender,
which were witnesses of your
Love in slight Verses, and little Songs,
will serve otthers to explain themselves
much better than otherwise they could have C4r 31
have done. How many Rivals have
those kind of Gallantry’s created me?
How many Beauties have endeavour’d
to apply them to themselves? It was an
Homage which Self-Love render’d to
their Charms. How many I have seen
who declar’d themselves for you by their
Sighs, when they were told, after an ordinary
Visit you had made them, that they
were the Silvia’s of your Verses? Others
out of despair have often reproachfully
told me, That I had no other Beauty
but what your Verses gave me, nor any
advantages over them, but that of being
belov’d by you. Nothwithstanding Self-
Love, which is so natural in all Women,
I thought my self happy in a Lover
to whom I was indebted for all my
Charms; and I was transported with
Joy to think, that I was serv’d by a
Man who had the power to make a
Goddess of his Mistriss. Flattering my
self with your Glory, I read, with complaisance,
the Charms you gave me, and
often without consulting, found my self
what you were pleas’d to speak me, the
better to please you.

But alas! that time is past; I now
weep for the loss of my Lover, and the C4 only C4v 32
only thing that is remaining of all my
Joys, is but a Remembrance which kills
me. You who were jealous of my happiness,
know that he whom you envy’d
me, is no longer for you, nor for
me. I have lov’d him; my Love
is his Crime, and has occasion’d his Ruine.
My small Perfections had charm’d
him; pleas’d with each other, we liv’d
happy, and quietly, and pass’d the fairest
of our Days. If it was a Crime to
live thus, that Crime pleases me still, and
my only Despair is to find my self Innocent.
But my misfortue is to have had
unjust Parents, whose Rage and Hatred
have disturb’d the Calm in which we
liv’d. Had those Barbarians call’d back
their Reason, I should now be in quiet
with my Husband. What cruelty could
equal theirs, when a blind Fury ingag’d
them to hire a Murtherer to surprize you
asleep? Had I been with you, I would
have defended you at the cost of my
own Life. My Cries alone would have
stopp’d his Arm. But in this place
Love is offended, and my Modesty joyn’d
to my despair, stops my Tongue. It is
not proper for me to say all I think upon
that Subject; and tho’ it were lawfulful C5r 33
I could not do it. Besides, there is
agreat deal of Eloquence in silence,
when misfortunes are too great to be
expres’d.

Tell me only, for this is one of my
greatest afflictions, why you have begun
to neglect me, since my Profession?
You know that I had no other inducements
for it but your misfortunes, nor
other consent for it but what you gave
me. Let us hear the Cause of your
coldness, or at least permit me to discover
my Thoughts to you. Is it not
perhaps, that Pleasure only was your
aim, in applying your self to me, and
that my Passion which left no room for
Desires in you, has diminish’d your
Flame? Thou didst please unfortunate
Eloisa, when thou didst not desire to
please: thou didst deserve assiduites
when thou oughtst to have rejected
them, and Incense, when thou didst
push back that Arm that offer’d it to thee.
But since thy Heart has suffer’d it self to
be mov’d; is grown soft, and has surrender’d
it self, since thou hast sacrific’d
thy self, since thou hast bury’d thy self
alive, thou art forsaken, thou art forgotten.
A woful Experience has convinc’d C5 me, C5v 34
me, that People fly those they are too
much oblig’d too, and that the greatest
Favours sooner create coldness in Men
than Gratitude. And indeed, this weak
Heart made too slight a defence to be
long dear to you. You took it with ease,
you quit it in the same manner. But
ingrateful as you are, I will never consent
to it; and tho’ I ought not to have
a Will in this place, I have nevertheless
preferv’d that of being belov’d by you.
In pronouncing my sad Vows, I had the
Last Billet you writ to me about me;
by which you assur’d me, you would
ever be mine, and that you would only
Live to Love me. Therefore it was to
you I offer’d my self: You had my
Heart: I had yours, do not require any
thing back from me, and suffer my Passion,
as a thing that is yours, and which
you cannot part from.

Alas! How weak am I to talk thus?
Our Object here is a God, and I only
speak of a Man. You force me to it,
Cruel! by your behaviour: You are the
only cause of my fault. False Man!
Was it Just thus to cease to love me
all of a sudden? Why did you not
deceive me awhile, instead of abandoninging C6r 35
me absolutely? Had you only given
me some weak signs of a dying Passion,
I should have endeavour’d to deceive
my self, to believe you had some
constancy. But after the rate you use
me, what Opinion can I have of you?
What can I think of a forgetfulness like
yours? And by a forgetfulness of this
Nature, do not you even take away from
me all means of wrting to you? I passionately
desire to see you; but if I am
forbidden to hope it, I will content my
self with a few Lines from your hand.
Is it then so hard a task to write to what
we love, if it be true that you still love
me? I desire none of your learned Letters,
on which your Reputation depends.
I only desire some of those Billets
that proceed from the Heart: which the
Pen can hardly follow, and Wit has nothing
to do with. How was I deceiv’d,
when I thought you wholly mine, in
receiving the Veil, and by engaging my
self to live Eternally under your Laws.
For in making my Vows, I only meant
to be entirely yours; and I voluntarily
submitted to the desire you express’d to
see me lockd up for ever. Therefore,
nothing but Death can make me abandon C6v 36
abandon the place in which you plac’d
me. Nay, my very Ashes will remain in it
in expectation of yours, or the longer
to shew you my Obedience. Why should
I conceal the secret of my Vocation?
You know it: it was neither my Zeal
nor my Devotion that plac’d me in a
Cloister. Your conscience it too faithful
a Witness of it for you to disown
it. Yes, it was the Flesh and not the Spirit,
that transported me into this place.
I am in it; I Live in it; I remain in it;
an unfortunate Love, and cruel Parents
condemn me to it; and if I have not
the continuation of you Cares, if I
lose your Friendship, what will be the
Fruit of my Prison? What recompence
can I hope for? The unfortunate consequences
of a Criminal Conduct, and
your particular Disgraces, have cover’d
me with a chaste Habit, but not with
the sincere Desire of a real Repentance.
Thus I combat and labour in vain. I
am among the Spouses of a God, the
Servant of a Man; Among the generous
Slaves of his Cross, the weak Captive
of a prophane Love. I am at the
head of a community of Nuns, only
devoted to Abelard. My God: Why do C7r 37
do you not direct me? Is it your Grace
that makes me speak these Words, or
is it only my Despair that forces them
from me? At least I feel my self in the
Temple of Chastity only cover’d with
the Fire that has Inflam’d us. I view
my self in it. I confess like a Sinner;
but one who far from weeping for her
Sins, only weeps for her Lover, and
who through a weakness unworthy of
her present condition, only calls to mind
her past actions, not being able to reflect
on any others.

Oh Heavens! What dismal Reflexions
are these? I upbraid my self with
my faults, I accuse you of yours: and
why all this? Veil’d as I am what disorders
do you occasion? It is a cruel task
always to struggle for Duty against Inclination.
I am very sensible of what
I owe to the Veil that covers me; but I
feel much better yet, what a long habit
of Loving can effect on a sensible Heart.
I am subdu’d; I am Vanquish’d by my
Inclination. My Passion disorders my
Mind and Will. One Moment I listen
to the Sentiments of Piety that arrise
within me, and the next I suffer all the
Charms of my Tenderness to Reign in my C7v 38
my Imagination. I tell you now a thousand
things I would not have told you
yesterday. I was resolv’d no longer to
Love you; I consider’d that I had made
Vows; that I was Veil’d, dead, and as
it were buried; But there arises by degrees
from the bottom of my Heart a
Trouble which destroys all those Sentiments,
and clouds my Reason and my
Piety. You Reign in Places so conceal’d,
and so Imperceptible in that
Heart, that I cannot attack you in them;
and when I think of breaking the Bonds
that Engage me to you, I flatter my
self, and all the efforts I am capable of,
only serve to tie ’em closer. Oh! for
pity sake, assist a Wretch to renounce
her desires, her self, and you if Possible.
If you are a Lover, if you are a Father,
Succour a Mistress, Comfort a Daughter.
Cannot those Names, those Tender
Names, move you? Yield, Oh
yield, to pity, or to Love! If you consent
to it, I am ready to be a real Nun,
and will no longer prophane my Vocation.
I am ready to humble my self
with you before the Richess of the Providence
of my God, who makes use of
all things for our Sanctification, who through C8r 39
through an effect of his Grace purifies
whatever is Vicious and Corrupted in
our Principles, who through an abundance
of Inconceivable Mercy, worthy
of him alone, almost forces us, and opens
our Eyes to give us a glimpse of
so many favours which we refus’d to
know.

I design’d to end here; but while I am
angry with you, I must disburthen my
Heart, and tell you how far it suspects,
how much it Upbraids you. I must
needs confess to you, that it shook my
very Soul to find, that, after we had
both resolv’d to consecrate our selves to
God, you engag’d me to do it, before
you. What? said I, does he fear to see
the Example of Lot’s Wife, who look’d
behind her in quitting Sodom, reviv’d in
me? If my Youth, and my Sex, could
make you fearful that I might go back
to the World, especially Paris not being
yet on Fire, nor reduc’d to Ashes, my
Behaviour, my Fidelity, and this Heart,
which you too well knew, ought to have
cur’d you of all those sorts of Suspicions.
That suspicious Precaution touches me
sensibly. What? cry’d I, heretofore
my bare word suffic’d to assure him, and now C8v 40
now can nothing less than a God and
Vows secure him that I will be true.

What cause have I ever given him to
suspect me of the least Fickleness? I
never refus’d to meet him at all his Rendezvous;
and should I scruple to follow
him in Houses of Sanctity! What? I,
who have made my self the Victim of
pleasure to satisfie him, could I have refus’d
to be an Oblation of Honour to
obey him! Has Vice then such Charms
over well born Souls, that after having
drank in the Cup of Sins, one could not
receive the Chalice of Sanctity without
regret? Or else did you think your self
a better Master for Vice than for Virtue?
Did you think that it was Easier to persuade
me to the first than to the latter?
No, that doubt would be too Injurious
to us both. Virtue is too beautiful not
to Embrace it where it is met; and Vice
is too Ugly not to shun it, when you
make it known. All things are Charming
to me which you desire: Nothing
is dreadful or difficult to me when you
appear. I am only Weak when you do
not guide me. Therefore ’tis in your
Power to mould me as you please. Had
you any thing to fear, you would be less C9r 41
less Negligent. I have done too much,
and I must now Triumph over your Ingratitude.
While we Liv’d happy, you
might have reason to doubt, whither it
was not Pleasure that Engag’d me to
you, rather than Friendship. But now
the Place from whence I write decides
it. I Love you here at least as much
as I did in the World. Had I been in
Love with Voluptuousness, after your
Misfortune, I might easily have found
wherewith to hav satisfy’d my self. I
was then but 20 Years of Age, and there
were still Men enough remaining whom
I might have hop’d to please; but Abelard
was gone, and I desir’d no other:
Therefore ’tis only for your sake, that
in an Age so proper for Love, I Triumph
over Love it self, by burying my
self alive in a Monastery. It is to you I
Dedicate these remainders of Beauty
which the Solitary Days and Nights I
pass hasten to Ternish: But since you
cannot Enjoy them, I take them back
from you, to offer them to God, and
thus make him a second Present of my
Heart of my Days, and of my Life.

I enlarge a little too much in this
Place, and I ought not to put you so much C9v 42 much in mind of your Misfortunes, and
of what I suffer for your sake. We
Ternish the Splendor of the greatest
Actions when we make the Tedious
Panegyrick of them our selves; But
that when we are to deal with Persons
who are doz’d by a base Ingratitude
we can never repeat what we have done
for them too much. Were you of that
Number that Reproach would tell you
a World of things. But I do not direct
it to you, lest you should prove one of
them. Wavering as I am, I am sensible
that I love you still. However I can
hope for nothing. I have renounc’d
Life. Yet tho’ depriv’d of all, I feel that
I have not renounc’d Abelard in losing
my Lover. I preserve all my Love in
a Monastery where I keep all my Vows.
Our Rigid Laws have not depriv’d me
of Humanity. You have not turn’d me
into Marble by making me change my
Habit. My Heart is not harden’d , tho’
you are absent from me. I am as sensible
as I was heretofore, and yet I ought
no longer to be so. Suffer, without
blemish to your Empire, that my Lover
may Exhort me to Live under your
Laws. Your Yoke will be Lighter, if his C10r 43
his Hand supports it. Our Exercises
will become Lovely to me, if he will
vouchsafe to shew me the Usefulness of
them. Retirement, Solitude, you will
be no longer dismal, If I may hear that
Ihave a place in his Remembrance.
A Heart that has been so sensible as
mine cannot easily resolve to grow Indifferent.
We Hate, we Love, several
times before we can attain Tranquility;
and we still preserve some distant hopes
of not being absolutely forgotten.

Yes, Abelard, I do conjure thee, by
the Chains I drag in this Place, to ease
the weight of them, and to render them
is pleasing to me as I could wish them.
Give me Maxims of holy Love. After
having quitted thee, I am proud of being
the Spouse of a God; my Heart adores
that Title, and disdains all others.
Teach me how that Divine Love is bred,
maintain’d, and purifies it self more and
more. When we were both in the Sea
of this World, your Vein was continually
Imploy’d to acquaint the World with
our Joys and Pleasures; But now we
are in the Harbor of Grace, is it not reasonable
you should speak with me of my
Happiness, and teach me what may Increasecrease C10v 44
it? Have the same complaisance
for me in my present Condition, as you
had in the World. Without changing
our Hearts, let us change our Object
Laying aside prophane Songs, let us sing
Divine Hymns. Let us Elevate our
Hearts to God; and let us have no
Transports, but for his Glory.

I expect this from you, as a thing
you cannot refuse. Heaven has a peculiar
Right over the hearts of the Great
Men he has form’d. Whenever he
touches them he Transports them, and
they Languish for, and talk of nothing
but him. Until that moment of Grace
arrives, think on me, and do not forget
me; Remember my Affection, my
Fidelity, and my Constancy. Love a
Mistress, Cherish a Daughter, a Sister, a
Spouse. Consider that I love you still,
and that I Combat no longer to Love
you. Heaven? What a word is this?
What design? I Tremble; my Heart
Revolts against my Words, and being
ready to blot them out, I conclude this
long Letter, bidding you, if you desire
it (and would to God I could do it my
self) Farewel for Ever.

My C11r

My Lady C―― to her Cousin
B―― of the Temple, Esq;

After having received from him a Copy
of Verses on her Beauty.

Letter II.

Cousin,

Ireceived yours with the Verses enclosed,
and here return you my
hearty thanks for the Face, the Shape,
the Meen, which you have so generously
bestow’d upon me. From looking upon
your Verses I went to my Glass, but
Jesu! the difference, tho’ I bought it to
Flatter me, yet compared to you, I
found it a Plain-Dealer. It shew’d me
immediately; that I have been a great
deal more beholden to you, than I have
been to Nature; for she only formed
me not frightful, but you have made
me Divine. But as you have been a great C11v 46
great deal kinder than Nature has been
to me; I think my self obliged in requital,
to be a good deal more liberal than
Heaven has been to you, and to allow
you as large a share of Wit, as you have
given me of Beauty. Since so honest
a Genteleman as your self, has stretched
his Conscience to commend my Person
I am bound in Gratitude to do violence
to my Reason to extol your Verses.
When I left the Town, I desir’d you to
furnish me with the News of the Place
and the first thing that I have receiv’d
from you, is a Copy of Verses on my
Beauty, by which you dextrously inferr
that the most extraordinary piece of
News which you can send me, is, to tell
me that I am handsom: by which ingenious
inference you had infallibly
brought the scandal of a Wit upon you
if your Verses had not stood up in
your justification. But (tell me, Cousin),
Could you think I should prove
so easy a Creature, as to believe all that
you have said of me? How could you
find in your Heart to make such a fool
of me, and such a cheat of your self,
to intoxicate me with flattery, and
draw me into truck my little stock of C12r 47
of Wit and Judgment for a meer imagination
of Beauty, when the real thing
too falls infinite short, of what you
would make me exchange for the fancy
of it? for (Cousin) there is this
considerable difference, between the
merit of Wit and Beauty, that Men
are never violently influenc’d by Beauty,
unless it has weaken’d their Reason, and
never feel halfe the force of Wit, unless
their Judgments are sound; the principal
time in which those of your Sex
admire Beauty in ours, is between Seventeen
and Thirty, that is, after they
are past their Innocence, and before
they are come to their Judgments:
and have not you now (Cousin) been
commending a very pretty quality, to
admire which, as I have just shewn you,
supposes, not only a corrupted Will,
but a raw understanding: besides, How
frail, How transitory is it! Nature deprives
us of it at Thirty. If Diseases
spare it till then; by which constant
proceeding she seems to imply, that
she gives it, as a Gugaw, to please us in
the Childhood of our Reason, and takes
it from us, as a thing below us, when
we come to years of discretion. Thus Cousin, C12v 48
Cousin, you have been commending a
quality which hath nothing of true Merit
in it: and of which I have no greater
a share, than to keep me from being
scandalous. so that all that I could have
got by your kindnesse, if I had parted
with my Judgment, in order to reap the
benefit of it, had been nothing but
wretched Conceit, and ridiculous Affectation.
If I though you had enough
of the Gallant Man in you, to take what
I say in good part, I would advise you
to engage no further in Poetry. Be
ruled by a Woman for once, and mind
your Cook upon Littleton: rather Pettifog
than Flatter. For if you are resolved to
be a Cheat, you will shew at least some
Conscience, in choosing rather to chowse
People of their Money, than to bubble
them of their Understanding: Besides
Cousin, you have not a Genius which
will make a great Poet, and be pleased
to consider that a small Poet is a scandalous
Wight, that indifferent Verses
are very bad ones, and that an insipid
Panegyrick upon another, is a severe
Libel on your self. Besides, there will
start up a Satyrist, one day, and then
woe be to cold Rhymery: Old England D1r 49
isnot yet so barren, but there will arise
some generous Spirit, who, besides
a stock of Wit, and good Sence (which
are no very common qualities) will not
only be furnished with a sound Judgment,
which is an extraordinary Talent,
but with a true Taste for Eloquence and
Wit, which is scarce any where to be
found, and which comprehends, not
only a just discernment, but a fine Penetration,
and a delicate Criticism; such
a Satyrist as this, Cousin, must arise,
and therefore, you had best take care
by a judicious silence, that whenever he
appears, he may be sure to divert you,
and not afflict you.

I Am

D From D1v

From a Lady in the Country,
to a Gentleman in Town.

Letter III

Dear, the unkind, Sir

Had the Torment of Separation
been equal on both sides, you could
not have forgot me so long, nor continued,
silent to my melancholy Complaints.
Absence, is one of the hardest
Penalties Love has to undergoe; and
would be intolerable, were it not eas’d
by the Comfort of mutual Letters;
which since I have been so long bereav’d
of, I leave it to your self to imagine (if
you have a Heart like mine to judge
by) How disconsolately I spin out the
tedious Hours of weary Life; for since
the only Comfort the World affords
me, is Absent, What can I find that
it should be worth while to live for?
since my Life is no longer valuable to
me, than ’twill be pleasing to you. There
are a Thousand Thoughts conspire againstgainst D2r 51
a Lovers Quiet, and every thing
contributes to make Absence unhappy.
How often upon the fear of your Unconstancy,
have I sate down and wept
at the Imagination, then pleaded the
cause of Love between us, and persuaded
my easie Heart, that you would
ne’r be false? How often have Sigh’d
at the dreadful apprehension, that some
more happy Lover had taken you from
the Thoughts of me? Then lookt into
my Heart upon your lovely Image, and
fancy’d ’twas still the same, still constant
and loving as before? Thus do I
plead in your behalfe, and study to convince
my Heart, that our Loves will never
have an end but with our Days;
thus do I wear away the tedious Days,
taking delight in none, but in the hopes
of that which will let us meet again, and
make me once more happy,

Who am
Your entirely
Affectionate, and Constant Lover
.

The Sorrows of our Absence have made
me Poetical

D2 How D2v 52

I.

How well I always Lov’d you know,

Since first your Charms did move;

But what for you I undergoe,

None knows but I and love.

Could you but see the endless smart

Which wretched Cælia bears,

Those Eyes which set on fire her Heart,

Wou’d quench it with their Tears.

II.

But distance from her Love keeps

Poor Cælia’s in cruel pain,

And she laments, and Sighs, and weeps,

His Absence, but in vain

The doom you gave my Heart to prove,

I know have doubled found.

You only left it burnt in Love,

But now in Tears ’tis Drown’d

From D3r 53

From a Lady to a Gentleman,
who after a long Converse
with her, and Promises of an
entire and lasting Affection,
was going to be Married to
another.

Letter IV.

Dear Sir,

For how can I forget those soft
Names by which my Affection has
taught me to call you; or how can I
alter my Language since I have never
known how to speak to you in any, since
our first Converse, but that of Love? But
possibly now you understand it not, or
are willing to forget that e’er you did;
and cannot bear the Remembrance of
that unfortunate Woman whose Crime
was not that she Lov’d, but that she D3 Lov’d D3v 54
Lov’d too well. Yet I shall not at all
complain of your Unkindness, nor tax
you with falshood for breaking Promises
which, may be, you ne’r intended should
be kept; but bend all my loud Sorrows
against the Injustice of my Fate, which
has given me so large a stock of Love,
and been so scanty in Deserts, as not to
allow me wherewithal to merit a Return.
Nor can I blame your new Choice, being
a Person every way Meritorious;
yet give me leave, when I hear she is in
Possession of that Happiness which I
was so frail to hope once would be mine
for ever, give me leave to Sigh to my
self, and say to my Heart with a relenting
Thought, Is this the end of all my
glorious Hopes? and are my delightful
Expectations terminated thus? Must my
entire Affection serve for nothing but an
Instrument of my Misery, and was my
Passion ever true, only that I might be
made Eternally unhappy? Then if my
crowded Sorrows break forth in Tears,
give me leave to mourn to my self, and
deny me not the Privilege of Grief, who
have for ever taken from me all hopes of
Joy: My Sighs will not reach your
happy Ears, nor disturb the peaceable Enjoyment D4r 55
Enjoyment of your new Love; nor do
I desire they should; there is some satisfaction
even in being unhappy, since
it pleases you I should be so; and I will
study to bear my Misery with what Patience
I can, since you have thought fit
to Doom me to it, and ever acknowledge
that there is a Crime in loving too
well: The worst Wish I have for you
is, that the Lady may Love you as well
as I did, and when you find your self
happy in such Affection, give me leave
to hope that sometime or other you will
think, (however our cruel Stars ordain’d
it) that such a Lover deserv’d a Better
Fate; and if ever you cast away a
Thought upon so Unfortunate a thing
as my self, remember that as I always
Lov’d you above the World, so I must
continue to my Grave.

Your still Constant,
tho’ Unhappy, Lover.

D4 D4v 56

Phryne to Eugenia against
Marriage.

Letter V.

Ireceiv’d yours, my Eugenia, by the
last Post, in which you give me an
Account of the Addresses of Lysander.
You might have spar’d your Character
of him; he’s too well known to our
Sex in this City to want his Picture to
be sent us out of the Country; his Wit,
his Gaiety, fine Person, and all his other
Accomplishments have made more, than
you, sigh for him in spight of his being
Married. Whatever Sentiments a Lady
has of the Addresses of a Married Man,
before she sees him, she yet wishes for
those of Lysander, as soon as she beholds
or hears him speak. You have therefore
a happiness beyond thousands in having
captivated his Heart, and if you deny
your self the use of it, you owe your own D5r 57
own Misery to your own foolish and
capricious humour. Ah! How many
Ladies of my Acquaintance sigh for, and
have in vain endeavour’d to gain that Advantage,
Fortune has voluntarily thrown
into your Arms! But he’s Married you
say, and therefore you can’t be happy,
you can’t Enjoy your Wishes without a
Crime; you can’t be his Wife, and
you resolve you’l not be what you disdain
to Name. I know not what influence
Custom may have on you; but
I’m not at all mortified at those ignominious
Notions the Vulgar have, of having
an Intrigue with a Man without the
Priests Licence. For my part, Eugenia,
I think the desire of Marriage is more
Unreasonable and Unnatural, than that
of Traytors, for ’tis immediately, and
knowingly to conspire against our own
Liberty, and Happiness. Love sows the
gilded Paths of Youth, with a thousand
soft and melting Pleasures; but Marriage
comes, and with one fatal blast blows
them all away, and it makes us Old in
the very dawn of Youth; for not to
Love is to be Old, and to Marry is the
certain way not to Love. If Love’s a
Golden Dream, why should we quit the D5 dear D5v 58
dear Delusion, (when in our own
power to avoid it) to Wake to Horror,
Misery and Distraction? That is, why
should we Marry? ’Tis true, we read
in Novels, and Romances of Lovers
faithful and constant, nay obstinate
Adorer of the Wishing fair one,
in spight of all the obstacles of
Fortune, Friends, or Rivals; but Eugenia,
these Politick Writers lead ’em no
farther than Marriage in that humour.
When they have brought the Knight
and the Damsel to the Noose, they there
leave ’em; all the Golden Scenes of
Love are over, and there remains no
more happiness to describe. If they
cou’d shew us any persevering Lover
after Marriage, they would do wonders;
tho’ ’twould be so unnatural, ’twould pass
for downright Farce. Marriage in my
mind is at best but like the drunken
Feasts of the Lapithites; the Mirth, Jollity,
and Pleasure of the Pompous Banquet
soon degenerates into Strifes and
Combats. Love and Constancy have
their Reign before Marriage, but the
very Words that seek to tye us faster together,
immediately (like the Medicines
of Quacks) have a quite contrary Operation,ration, D6r 59
and Eternally divide us. Fortune
and your own Heart has chose you
an object of your desires, whom you
can’t, according to Custom, Marry, such
a sure provision has Fate made for your
Happiness; and you like a froward
Child slight the mighty gift. But you’re
affraid of the Curse and Infamy of an
Old Maid; first I shall little value the
opinion of the World, if they think me
what, to my own real experimental
knowledge, I am not; Next, where’s
the necessity of acting so imprudently,
as to hinder your Marriage hereafter?
Nature has given us Desires and Appetites,
and added a vast Pleasure to the
very Act of their Satisfaction, which
shews it can be no ill. All the dictates
of Nature are easie, sure, and plain, and
we comply with ’em with Pleasure; but
the inventions of Whimsical Men, that
oppose these, are not follow’d without
pain, without constraint, and a thousand
inquietudes; by this judge of the Good
or Ill of complying with our Inclinations.
This is no plea for Prostitution,
for then is pleasure, the constant Companion
of Natural Actions lost. There
are no more Raptures, no more Tranportingsporting D6v 60
Joys, and Melting Languishments;
all is dead, heavy, and insipid,
if not Painful and Nauseous. A moderate
Exercise affords Pleasure and Delight,
but continutal Toil and Labour is not
undertaken without Necessity. The
same will hold in all things. ’Tis Nonsense
to imagine, that, if Love will not
make you happy, a few Canonical
Words will do the feat. But I have been tedious,
if this don’t please you; and long
enough if it does; ’tis in your power to be
Happy if you will, for how long I know
not; but this I know, if we must seek
no Happiness here, but what’s lasting,
we may be Miserable all our Lives; for
the most permanent we can’t grasp a
Minute longer than Fate pleases.

My dear
Eugenia, Adieu.

From D7r 61

From a Lady to a Gentleman,
confessing her Love, which
had for some time pass’d under
the name of Friendship.

Letter VI.

Sir,

The acquaintance I have had with
the Generosity of your Temper
has made me hope, that you will pardon
me a fault I cannot help committing;
and excuse what I write; since
’tis in obedience to an Affection that I
have not power to resist. Pardon,
if I tell you, the Friendship that has been
between us has on my side, chang’d its
name, and is become something that I
dare not trust my Tongue to tell you;
yet I doubt not but my frailty has too
plainly discover’d it self, and something
beyond Friendship has appear’d in all
my Actions; which I hope you will construe
no farther, than that your poor Friend D7v 62
Friend has only sinn’d against the Rules
of her Sex, and committed a Crime
which carries its own punishment along
with it: Yet, if Love be a Crime, I
am so vain to hope, you will give me
leave to be guilty of it, and not condemn
me for a fault, which the Charms
of your own Person have made me
commit. If this open confession of a
Frailty, which ought to have been conceal’d,
be an offence, which Generosity
cannot pardon, I am doubly miserable;
and wish it still lay buried in that unhappy
Breast which gave it Birth; that
I might rather carry it with me silently
to Death, than let it appear to molest
the Peace of one I love above the World:
yet be not troubled, Sir, for if the
Heart, which bears your Image, be so unfortunate,
as not to be so acceptable to
you; leave it to it self, and ’twill soon
revenge your quarrel, and punish it self
for the crime of Loving, which yet it
will be guilty of till death, and when e’er
it dies, carry to the Grave an Affection
that cannot end but with the unhappy
Life of,

Your more than
Loving Friend, &c.

From D8r 63

From a Lady to her Friend,
sent with the following Dialogue.

Letter VII.

Itgrieves me very sensibly, my
Dear Child, that the Sympathy,
which is betwixt us in every thing else,
should be wanting in that which concerns
me most nearly: that whilst I am
doom’d Eternally subject to the Laws
of Love, you shou’d maintain so fierce
a War against ’em, and not allow the
least share of Reason to those who are
govern’d by him. It can’t satisfie me
that you make an exception for me; I
must reconcile you to my fellow Slave,
before I believe you have the charity to
think I have preserv’d my Reason with
my Love: For I know Fate has not
done a Miracle for me; and you must either D8v 64
either believe I am out of my Wits, or
that Love and Reason are consistent,
Don’t think I have any design against
your Liberty. I own that Freedom is
more pleasing than the noblest Captivity,
and I wou’d not deprive you of
yours, even for the sake of having you
agree with me in all things. All I desire
of you, is, to own that you shun
Love more for uneasiness, than the folly
of it. And sure you can’t deny me that,
when I have allow’d you so much: but
that I may not give you a new Argument
against me, by endeavouring to
bring you over to a party, without convincing
you of the Injustice of it: despairing
to do it with my own Reasons,
I have been at the pains to Translate
the Dialogue, which I send you enclos’d.
If you understood the Original, perhaps
it might have a better effect upon you:
but tho’ I cou’d not imitate the Authors
Wit, and that pretty, easie, gentile way
he has of Writing, I have done my part
to give you his Sence. ’Twas, writ in
French by Monsieur le Pays, whom you
have often heard me commend, and
wish you understood him; there is so
much Flame and Spirit in his Letters, and D9r 65
and most of his Verses, and yet they
are written in such a natural and unaffected
Stile, as shews him to be a Man
of a great Genius: his design in this Dialogue
is to justifie Love in those things
which seem most extravagant and unreasonable;
and sure, if there is any
colour of excuse for them, you can’t
but be reconcil’d to those who ground
their Affections well? ’Twas sent by
the Author to one of his Mistrisses,
whom he calls Calista: and since all he
says in it of her is due to you, give me
leave to apply it, and to hope that since
Reason never forsakes you, and that you
create Love in all that see you, so frequent
a communication may make ’em
less Enemies to one another. With this
expectation I leave you to be better entertain’d
by Mr. le Pays; and so make
haste to tell you, Dear Calista, that
whatever effect he may produce upon
you, you shall always share my Heart
with Cl――n. and that as long as I am
O――a. I shall be

Your, &c.

A D9v 66

A
Dialogue
Betwixt
Love and Reason.

Reason.

It was very difficult for us, agreeable
Enemy, to meet in any place but
at Calista’s: you always fly me so obstinately,
and I have endeavour’d so unsuccessfully
to accost you, that I could
never have obtain’d my wish, if Fate
had not conducted you to her; but ’twas
impossible to shun me there, for I never
abandon her, and now I’m resolv’d not
to lose so favourable an occasion. Whilst
I have you here, I will tell you a hundred
things that lye at my Heart; I
will ask you, why you hate me so violently,
and if there be no means for
us to be reconcil’d.

Love D10r 67

Love.


I don’t know, Madam, what cause
you have to complain; I do not flie
you; I am not your Enemy; and I
never, that I can remember, was out
of your company; much on the contrary,
I always make you my Judge in
all my Quarrels; I bring you to justifie
my Conduct; and in fine, I make
use of you in every thing I undertake.

Reason.

How dare you maintain so great a
falshood to me? you, who chace me
from every place where you enter;
who are never satisfi’d whilst I take up
the least part of a Soul which you
wou’d subject: you, who grow angry
when I resist you, and who despise me
so much, that you will not hear me
speak, when I complain of the disorders,
and of the violence you do me.

Love.

Yes, Madam, I maintain what I have
said: Is’t not making you a Judge of my
Quarrels, when I oblige a Lover who
loves without being belov’d, to appeal to D10v 68
to you for the injustice which is done
him? Is’t not appealing to you to justifie
his Conduct; when he says ’tis reasonable
to love that which is lovelyflawed-reproduction1 word
and is’t not making use of you in his
actions, when in stealing a Kiss, or
some other Favour, he maintains that
Reason counsels to pay ones self, with
the fortune of one who refuses to pay.

Reason.

I grant indeed, that you sometimes
make use of my Name, but never of my
Self. Since I am welcome in all places
which are not infected by you, or the
other Passions that I am almost always
desir’d, and that you are as much
dreaded as I am wish’d for. You are
glad to employ my Name when you
wou’d enter any where, that you may
the sooner gain admittance; but as soon
as ever you are admitted, you easily discover
that I’m not with you, and that
you hardly know me, or if you do
all the use you make of your knowledge
is to fly from me, or to drive me from
you. If at any time I resolve to combate
you, when you have attack’d on
that I govern’d; your flatteries immediatelydiately D11r 69
prevail with the Senses to revolt
against me: You intrench your self in
their Post, and then their support makes
you so bold, and yours makes them so
wrong, that all my Darts are broke or
blunted, without wounding you in the
least. ’Tis to no purpose I stir and
make a Noise; call Honour and Duty
to my aid; all my resistance becomes
vain, I sink in the end, and must resign
the place to you.

Love.

You tell me, Madam, that I sometimes
make use of your name, but never of
your self; and I answer to this, and to
all the other Reproaches which you
make me, that on the contrary I often
Combat the Name, but I never Combat
you. ’Tis true, in many Hearts I
find false Maxims, dangerous Opinions,
and ridiculous abuses, which having assum’d
your Name, have also the insolence
to resist me, and to deny me entrance
into those Hearts, which they have
possess’d themselves of. Then knowing
’em to be Enemies that have taken your
Name, tho’ they do not belong to you,
I do my utmost endeavours to destroy ’em. D11v 70
’em. I neglect no advantage; and
seeing that they seek Protectors in their
Quarrels, that they always interress in
their party evil Custom, stupid Shame,
and false Glory: By their Example I
engage the Senses and the Pleasures to
my aid, who have lov’d me long, and
who are inseparable Friends. With this
support I undertake the Combat, and
am almost always certain of Victory:I
rout my Enemies, who without wearing
your Livery, have the Insolence to pretend
they belong to you, and to engage
against me under false Ensigns. So that,
Madam, I revenge your Quarrel, as well
as my own.

Reason.

You are ingenious in defending your
self; but yet your excuses are very weak.
How can you know, that the Enemies
you Combat with are not of my Retinue,
since you don’t know my Livery,
and that perhaps you don’t know me,
who am always at the head of those you
call false Maxims, dangerous Opinions,
and ridiculous abuses? but you are a
Young rash one, that strike without
knowing who; who neither considers Honour, D12r 71
Honour, Duty, nor Justice; and who
call, all those your Enemies, that oppose
your Pleasures.

Love.

Since I fight against you without
knowing you; you ought not to be displeased
with me for it: but is it possible,
Madam, it should be you that I always
see at the head of so many false Maxims,
which oppose themselves to my designs?
Really I might easily be deceiv’d in it:
after having heard that you were the
finest and the most Judicious Person in
the World, I should never have known
you under the appearance of an old
quarrelsome Woman, who is always out
of humour; who Preaches eternally against
pleasure, and who is Natures Enemy
as well as mine. I should know you,
Madam, if you did put on a Face more
gay; If you were of a less severe hummour;
if you did agree better with Nature
and with me; and if, in fine, you
wou’d furnish us sometimes with Counsels
proper for our designs.

Reason. D12v 72

Reason.

I understand you, my little Minion;
to stand upon good terms with you, I
must be at odds with my self; or rather
I must not be what I am, if I
would make a Peace with you. But do
not flatter youur self, that I will be guilty
of so mean a thing: ’Tis more just that
Love should conform to Reason, than
that Reason should condescend to Love;
and I will have you know, that there’s
no comparison betwixt one that is Blind
like you, and one so clear-sighted as I;
betwixt a little rash Boy, and one that’s
Prudent. If I seek after you, ’tis because
I am naturally good, an Enemy
to disorders, and careful to set those
right who are out of the way. But you
are unworthy of my goodness; you
are a little Hair-brain’d Boy, not sensible
of the kindness one wou’d do you,
nor of the good advice one gives you.

Love.

What! You condemn me for my
Transports, and you fall into the fault
you blame. You load me with reproaches,
you are angry, you are transported your
self, and Reason is within a little of seeminging E1r 73
unreasonable. I perceive, Madam,
that I must oblige you to retract to day,
and to make you own, that my Extravagancies
are better than your Prudence.
To which end, since you have now
made me some Complaints in general,
I desire you to come to particulars;
and you shall see that I will satisfie you
in every Article, and that Love has his
Reasons, which are better than those of
Reason her self.

Reason.

I begin to have better hopes since I
see you Inclin’d to satisfie me. ’Tis no
little matter to have reduc’d Love to
reason the case; tho’ his Reasons, should
prove very ill ones; ’tis however to have
converted him in some measure: for hitherto
he has been an Enemy to all that
was call’d Reason. Let us take the advantage
then of the humour you are in,
Reasonable Love (for at this time you
deserve that Name) let us see what particular
reasons you will give for every
particular complaint I have to make to
you. I am going to begin with one,
which I believe will be hard for you to
answer. Tell me a little, when I have E taken E1v 74
taken possession of the Soul of a Young
Person, when I have subjected her to
the will of a Father, who has commanded
her to love some one, and to look
upon him as one that must be her Husband;
Why do you often make use of
your Power to make her Love another,
contrary to the Obedience which she
owes her Parents? Why do you take
pleasure in making her find a thousand
defects in the Husband that’s propos’d
to her, and a thousand Perfections in
the Lover which you offer her? Why
do you chase me from her, when I put
her in mind of her Duty? Cannot the
Obedience due to Parents which seems
reasonable to all Nature beside, pass
with you for a Reason? If you were
reasonable, as you wou’d be thought,
would you not make her Love what a
Father Enjoyns her to Love? Would
not you side with Duty, and would not
you give her the same Counsels that I
do? But ’tis enough that I advise her
any thing to oblige you to counsel the
contrary. You wou’d think you dishonoured
your self, if you had any Sentiments
conformable to Reason.

Love E2r 75

Love.

Tho’ what you complain of does not
happen every day, yet I own that I do
sometimes occasion it: but in that it
happens that ’tis not I, but the Father
that wants Reason. If he took care as
he ought to consult me before he made
such a command, he should not find me
excite revolts against his will. If he
were reasonable, he wou’d not anticipate
my Right, or pretend to act my
part in the Heart of his Daughter. I
am jealous of my Prerogative and of
my Power; and when any Body does
Incroach upon them, ’tis but just I shou’d
make use of them for my Revenge. I
know that the Obedience due to Parents
is reasonable; but it ceases to be so, when
’tis to the prejudice of my Authority.
The Obedience due to me ought to be
preferr’d, when a Father’s Counsel and
mine disagree. Reason must grant the
Counsels of a God are to be follow’d
before those of a Man. Besides mine
being always agreeable to the taste of
those I advise; their end is only to
plant tranquility in a Soul that follows
’em; and the advices of a Father, which E2 oppose E2v 76
oppose mine, cause always an intestine
War in the heart of those that receive
’em. So that Reason preferring Peace
to War, will have my Counsels follow’d,
even when they are contrary to a Fathers.

Reason.

There is some appearance of Reason
in your excuse; but what can you answer
for your malice in making one Person
to be belov’d by many rivals. If you were
reasonable, you wou’d not wound several
Hearts with the same Dart. You
wou’d give but one Lover to each Mistriss;
and but one Mistriss to each Lover.
By this means you would hinder
the fatal effects that jealousie produces
every day; and you wou’d not be the
cause of a thousand Quarrels, and a
thousand Murders, which we see happen
among Rivals. For you can’t deny that
you are the Author of those Disorders,
since they would not happen, if you
wou’d be content to make each Beauty
be belov’d by one Lover only.

Love E3r 77

Love.

’Tis not so difficult as you imagine to
prove that I am in the right in what you
condemn so much. I know very well,
that ’tis against common sense to endeavour
to make that pass for reasonable,
which is condemn’d by Reason. But,
Madam, I must tell you now, what I
should have told you at first, that it is
because you are a being which has never
been well known: You put on different
Faces to different Persons, and yet every
one of these Faces will pass for Reason.
You give divers counsels according to
the Persons you advise: among those
that contradict each another in all their
actions, every one maintains that Reason
counsel’d him his. ’Tis thus, that
many Lovers love one Mistriss, because
all of ’em finding her Lovely, they say
that Reason bids them all Love her;
though it does not appear reasonable to
those that don’t Love her. ’Tis thus,
that a Lover follows the dictates of his
Reason, when he frees himself from a
Rival that’s an obstacle to him, in the
pursuit of what he Loves. ’Tis thus, in
fine, that those Actors of disorders, whom E3 you E3v 78
you blame with so much violence, believe
they have follow’d your Counsels,
when they commit Murders: because
you advise those, who love to do and
undertake all things, to possess what they
Love; tho’ those that don’t Love say,
that Reason teaches that what the others
do, is altogether unreasonable; and that,
as I have told you, because you give different
advices to the different Persons
whom you counsel.

Reason.

If there is no solidity, at least there is
Wit in the Reoasons you have given: but
what expedient will you find to justifie
your self when you drive Reason from
the mind of an Old Man; when you
make him renounce Wisdom to love a
Young Person when he might be her
Grandfather. I pardon you easily enough,
when you are content to subject
Young People to your Empire;
for they hardly having known mine, I
have no great regret to see them willingly
submit to yours. But may I not complain
when you come to rob me of my
faithful Subjects; those who have so long
rever’d me; those, in fine, who are grown E4r 79
grown gay under my conduct; for ’tis
what you do, when you slide into the
Heart of an Old Man: when the Sentiments
you give him are opposite to those
which I inspire. Is it not doing me a
cruel outrage, when you turn topsy-turvy
a Mind which I had settled with so much
care and pains? What chagrin do you
think it gives me to see an Old Man
perverted by your Counsels, leave me
to follow you; become a Beaux in his
Old days; shave his Beard, wear little
Shoes; dress himself in the gayest colours;
become a Slave to the Fashion;
read with Spectacles what you call Billet
doux
, and gallant Verses; play the
Child by a Young Person; whisper her
in the Ear; go to Balls, Plays, and
publick Feasts; and do, in fine, all the
Fooleries which I can hardly excuse even
in Youth. What ――

Love.

If I did not interrupt you, I believe
you wou’d never cease complaining upon
this Chapter; tho’ if I had nothing
to answer but that I made use of the
right of reprisal, when I slide into the
Heart of an Old Man, I think I shou’d E4 not E4v 80
not want Reason; for tho’ I don’t complain
of it here, you sometimes rob me
of my Slaves, as I sometimes rob you
of yours. Very often, when I think myself
Master of a Young Heart, you know
how to take a time when it has some
disdain, some coldness, or some distast,
and then seizing on the occasion you
drive me from it with a great deal of
sharpness and scorn: So that ’tis not
without Reason, that I too sometimes
observe the time when an Old Man
has most disposition to leave you, and
that with the Fire of some bright Eyes
I melt his Ice, and warm the blood
which was frozen in his Veins. I confess
’tis making your own Subjects revolt
from you: But don’t you use me in the
same manner when you excite Young
People to Rebel against me. If this Reason
appear weak to you, I’m sure you
can’t answer what I am going to add:
You complain that I sometimes make
Old Men in Love with Young Women;
and you pretend that nothing is so far
remov’d from Reason; but I say that
there is nothing more reasonable, since
by the result of what you have said, a
Man should be the wiser the Older he is, E5r 81
is, he ought to love that which in reason
is the most Lovely; and who is more
reasonably lovely than a young Person.
Wou’d an old Man make use of his Reason,
if he shou’d love one of his own
age, whre there is neither Beauty nor
Comliness, where there’s no Fire that can
heat him, nor no Charms that can
please him? And is it not more reasonable
him for to love a young person, which, one
may say, makes one young again, and
whose Humour and Gayety excites one
to Joy and Pleasures? For the rest don’t
think it strange that he observes in his
Actions and Dress all the Gallantries of
Youth; since as old as he is, he becomes
young, when he becomes amorous.
Tho’ he minds Fashions, tho’ he
does all that you call fooleries, he does
it with Reason; since, being a Lover,
he must endeavour to please the young
person he loves; and he knows that the
way to please Youth, is to live like ’em:
shew the same Desires, and the same
Inclinations. Wou’d he be welcome to
his young Misstriss, if he came Preaching
the Vanity and Inconstancy of the
Age, railing at Balls and other Diversions,
and finding something to say E5 against E5v 82
against all the pleasures of Youth?
Wou’d this be a fine way of making himself
belov’d? and has not he Reason
when he practices the contrary?

Reason.

There is always a great deal of subtility
in your Answers; but what can you
say to justifie the Crimes you commit,
when you oblige one that’s Marri’d, to
love another besides her Husband? Why
do you snatch her Heart from him, who
is the lawful Master of it, to give it to
a stranger, who ought to have no pretence
to it? Why do you separate two
Persons whom the Laws have joyn’d,
to unite Two others, who can’t be united
without a Crime? Do you think
your self more reasonable than the
Laws.

Love.

Yes Madam, I am more reasonable
than those Laws, which do not so much
as consult Reason, in those Marriages,
which generally are the Works purely
of Chance, of Ambition, which
sometimes mix Fire and Water in joyninging E6r 83
two persons, who have no disposition
to love one another: have they
any shadow of Reason? And has not
a Woman more, who finds her self subjected
in that manner, to give her Heart
to a Gallant that loves her, than to a
Husband that hates her; to a Gallant
well Fashion’d both in Body and Mind,
who thinks of nothing but how to
please her, than to a Husband ill made
and humorsome, who is Eternally grumbling
in the House?

Reason.

But tell me, since you are reasonable
sometimes, Why are not you always so?
I’le allow that you are in the right, when
you unite two persons; but are you so
again when you separate ’em? If Thyrsis
had reason to love Phillis, is he in the
right too, when he ceases to love her?
Is he in the right, when he leaves Phillis
for Calista? What excuse can you find
for his inconstancy; after having brought
me to be pleas’d with his Love, How
can you make me love his change? Is
it reasonable to despise what he did
esteem, and so throw down those Altars
upon which he has so often sacrific’d,
to sacrifice upon new ones?

Love E6v 84

Love.

It is true, that sometimes Lovers are
Inconstant, but they are not without
reason in their Inconstancy. When an
Objects seems lovely to them, they have
reason to love it; but when the same
Object appears to them no longer so,
they are in the right too, to give away
their Love. Thyrsis had reason to love
Phillis, because he hop’d to be belov’d
by her; he had reason to employ for
her all the cares, and all the assiduity
that a fair Person deserves: but he had
reason to leave her, when he saw that
his Cares were in vain, and that his
Hopes were without any Foundation.
Besides, is it not reasonable to leave the
less for the more; to abandon Phillis,
who all charming as she is, is however
infinitely inferior to Calista? ’Tis thus,
that every Lover is reasonable in his Inconstancy;
tho’ he had no other reason
for ceasing to love an Object, than because
it ceases to appear lovely to him.

Reason.

Tho’ I am not fully convinc’d of
what you have said, I will not however lose E7r 85
lose time in answering you, because I
have something to ask you that touches
me very nearly. How comes it, unjust
Love, that you slide often between Persons
of an unequal condition; and so
unequal, that sometimes, by your Injustice,
we have seen Queens in love with
Slaves, and Princes in love with Servants?
I willingly pardon you, when you
unite persons that are equal. Nay more,
I approve your Conduct, I authorize
it with all my Power. But how wou’d
you have me suffer to see, a Woman of
Quality prefer to a Gentleman, accomplish’d
both in Mind and Body, some
gross Peasant, in whom there appears
nothing that’s lovely? How can I forbear
to murmur, when Princes or
Lords chuse, to the prejudice of
many Ladies as considerable for their
Beauty, as Birth; a country Girl or Servant,
who has nothing in her that’s fine
or agreeable, but in the imagination of
that Prince or Lord, your Malice has
abus’d? Must not we condemn your irregularities
in such occasions? May not
we accuse you of overturning your own
Principles, since Sympathy which
ought to be the principle of all your E7v 86
your Actions, does not meet in such
Loves? For in fine, what sympathy can
you find between a Princess and a Slave,
between a Prince and a Servant? Meanwhile
these are the Loves we see many
examples of; and that convinces all the
World that you are altogether my enemy.

Love.

I never do what you accuse me of,
I own that sometimes Princes have lov’d
Slaves; but it does not follow from thence,
that I have joyn’d two Persons so unequal.
When I kindle such a Love, I
raise the Slave equal to the Princess, or
I humble the Princess to the Slave: and
to me they seem always equal, tho’ they
do not appear so to those, that are ignorant
of my Power and mysteries. I observe
that Sympathy always, which you
say I renounce, for Simpathy is not as
you seem to think it, a conformity of
Birth, of Riches, and of Honours: it is
rather a conformity of Birth under the
same Planet; to be of one temper, and
to have the same inclinations. And may
not this Conformity be found sometimes
between two persons, which the differencerence E8r 87
of Riches and Honours have render’d
unequal. I cou’d explain it to you
more clearly, and let you see that this
Simpathy is sufficient to make all the
World equal. But ’tis a Knowledge that’s
reserv’d only for me: and my Policy
teaches me, that, for the good of my Empire,
it ought to be unknown to reason
that Simpathy that hinders equality, those
secret Knots, those invisible Chains, that
fetter Hearts, and tye Souls, are the
foundations of all my Strength and Power:
or rather, ’tis I that take pleasure to
appear only in my Effects, and scarcely
ever in my Cause. And ’tis that, which
renders my Empire very different from
yours; for you Command nothing with
absolute Authority, since you are oblig’d
to give a Reason for every thing.
But for me, I act as a Soveraign, and
only give a reason when I please. And
to tell you the truth, ’Tis a Maxim I
have established over all my Empire,
that they who Reason well, do not Love
well; and that they Reason ill, who
Love well.

Reason. E8v 88

Reason.

I see plainly by your last words, cruel
Enemy, that my Conversation begins
to be tiresome; you are not us’d to
Reason so long: you suffer too much violence
in such a Discourse; and tho’ I
have many things still to ask you, I
must make an end, since I grow troublesome
to you; I am also sensible that
I lose my labour, and that it is impossible
for us ever to be reconciled. I
hop’d that meeting at Calista’s, we
might have contracted an Union, that
has never been known between us: and
that in the presence of so charming a
Person, I shou’d have made Love more
reasonable.

Love.

Be comforted, Madam, there is something
better happened than what you
had undertaken. If Reason has not made
Love reasonable, I will believe that in
the Presence of Calista, Love has made
Reason amorous.

To E9r 89

To a Lady he had Entertain’d
in the Park in a Masque.

Letter VIII.

You told me last Night, my lovely
Moor, when we parted, that I
should forget you before Morning; but
to let you see how great an impression
you have made upon my Heart, I do
assure you, that even Morpheus’s Kingdom
could not protect me from you;
for I dreamt of you all Night, saw your
lovely Motions, and that bewitching Air
which you do every thing with; heard you
speak all those pretty things over again,
which you said to me, and blusht to see
my self out done by you in Repartees;
nay, and had like to have broke my
Man’s Head for waking me this Morning,
tho’ ’twas for business of concern:
thus have you won me, bewitching
Charmer, altho’ I had but halfe an hours
conversation with you, and in a Masque: too E9v 90
too: and I assure you, if you had not
been so Gracious, as to let me know
where to write to you, I had been desperate
e’re this time: I conjure you
then, even by that Heavenly Beauty
which shines through all the Velvet
to Honour me with a Line from your
fair Hand this Night, to let me know
where I shall see you to Morrow: for
I do assure you, I shall do such pennance
in the mean time, as shall have
power to make atonement for all the
Sins which ever were committed by

Your Humble Servant.

My Man hath Orders, to bring me
your Billet to the Park, where I
shall be sitting on that dear Bench I
found you at.

The E10r 91

The Ladies Answer.

Letter IX.

After a long dispute with my self,
whether I had best go on in this
folly, or make an honourable Retreat,
I at last perceived that I had not left my
self a fair one, I mean, according to
those Romantick Rules of Virtue taught
us by our secular Mothers; and therefore
was resolved to gratifie my humour
a little further, altho’ at the expence of
some few Blushes; and especially when
I consider that I shall take such care, as
that you shall never know more of me
than you did last Night; and that you
may perhaps see me hereafter in such a
place; where my Complaisance will
oblige me to rally the Masks as smartly
as any of the Old Fashion’d Company.
After all this, assure your self, that I
meant no harm, only to have a little innocentnocent E10v 92
Chat with you, which I perceive
you are very good at. I therefore Challenge
you to meet me to morrow at
Seven in the Morning, at the same
Bench, and with the same Weapons
in lieu of which I shall bring my Tongue
and Mask; the last of which will, I
hope, defend my Reputation, as much
as the ugly Face under it will do my
Chastity,

Adieu.

The E11r 93

The Ladies Address to the
whole Assembly of Beaux, at
Hippolito’s Chocolate-house:

Letter X.

Where should a Distress’d Damsel
be so likely to find Succour,
as from you Young Lords, Knights, and
Squires: To all such therefore I address
this my Petition in behalf of a poor
Lady, to whom Nature has given something
a larger stock of sence than to most
of her Sex; and not being willing to conceal
this Talent, she wou’d fain exercise
her good Genius: But alas! in this stupid
Age in which all sort of Gallantry
is as sophisticated, as French Wines, she
has found it impracticable; not then
having been so fortunate, as to meet
with any single Spark, that did not either
want will or Capacity to hold up an agreeable E11v 94
agreeable War of Wit; she sends this
as her last Effort to the whole Society;
Hoping that is such a Numerous Assembly,
some one will be Valiant enough
to accept this proffer’d Challenge; and
in such Cases let them chuse their own
Weapons, and if they think Love a theme
too Threadbare for their Pen, let ’em
endeavour to defend her ground as long
as possible; and if Vanquish’d she’l fairly
acknowledge it, and own her self
oblig’d to the courteous Victor, who did
not think it beneath him to wage a
Writing War with a poor Woman.

Direct yours for Flora, to be left at
Mr. Hardings a Booksellers in Newport-street,
and let me know how to
send to you again.

The E12r 95

The Two following Letters
were desired to be Printed
by a Fair Lady.

To Acme before I had seen her.

Letter XI.

Ihope, Madam, you’l forgive the
Impatience, that Love begets, since
I have (tho rack’d with the most eager
and Violent of Desires) waited so many
tedious Minutes and Hours for a favourable
Answer to my Humble Suit (of
being admitted to a sight of you, if not
to the transporting Happiness of your
Conversation) If, at last, I again trouble
you with a Repetition of it.

Will not the Justice, and tender Compassion
that should fill that Heavenly
Bosom, grant so much to the most Uncommoncommon E12v 96
of Passions? Can all that Beauty,
all that Immense Power be without Pity
and Justice?

But you say, Madam, you can’t take
my former Letter for any thing but a
meer Banter; believe me, Divine Charmer,
I wou’d sooner Banter my Lawyer,
when my Estate depended on my Sincerity,
or my Physitian, when my Life lay at
stake, than Banter You, the Goddess of
my Heart, in whom a Happiness centers
of far greater Import than Estate or Life:
’Twould be a sort of Sacrilege to trifle
with the Divinest of her Sex, and with
an impudent Hypocrisie pretend a Devotion
to that absent Power, which
all that are Present Adore.

Ah Madam! though Absent, I am
too sensible of your Power, to presume
to dally with, and abuse it, who, tho I
never yet beheld your Face, (except in
Imagination, and in Dreams,) feel all
the Racks, and Sighing Pangs of a Poor,
longing, tortur’d Lover; and if the
Uncommonness, and Extravagance of
my Passion, bring its Reality into Question,
I ought, Madam, the more to be
Pity’d, being by that means depriv’d
of my best Plea, my Love; and, Madam, to F1r 97
to doubt that is such an affront to the
Immensity of Your Beauty, that I can’t
suffer it with Patience, ev’n from you.

I am sufficiently, Madam, satisfy’d,
that I err’d not in the former direction
of my Passion to you, and you will
I hope, remove all doubts of the Reality
of my being

Madam,
For ever

Septimius.

F To F1v 98

To Acme.

Letter XII

Isent the Inclosed yesterday, but the
Bearer, by a mistake, brought it
back again, and I had sent it again, had
I not been inform’d that you were gone
abroad. Ah lovely Charmer! Cast off
this ungrateful Veil of Cruelty, that
sullies all your Glories, for Cruelty is
a Monstrous Ingratitude, returning Disdain
for Love; for Services Contempt,
and for Merit, Disgrace. The mistaken
Fair indeed, affect it as a Virtue;
but Charming Maid, ’tis not to be
found in that Noble List; for ’tis neither
Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, nor
Temperance. Fortitude bears unavoidable
Ills with Courage, and repells hurtful and
unlawful Force or Injury. But Love
is so far from being an Ill, that it’s a
Supream Good. It can never therefore be
consistent with Prudence, to reject the
offer’d Blessing, since Prudence regulates our
Actions by the Rules of Reason. Justice
gives to every one his due and consequently
the belov’d to the Lover, crowning F2r 99
crowning the Constant and Deserving.
Temperance denies not just Pleasures (for
they are founded in Nature, and our
Right by its Fundamental Laws) but
an ill Choice and hurtful Excess.

Thus, Madam you see this Idol, your
Sex Sacrifices so many Precious, Unreturning
Minutes to, is not to be found
among the Glorious Rank of Virtues,
but is of an opposite Nature, and consequently
a black Compound of the
most ungenerous Vices. Cruelty may well
be compar’d to Fortune, both being
Blind, and the Reverss of a Noble Mind;
for whilst they neglect the past Pleadings
of Merit, this rewards it even in
Rags. Fly therefore this pernicious
Vice, so unworthy your Beauty, so unworthy
your Youth; for it often brings
down those Curses of Despair, that
blast all the Glories and Pleasures of the
Obdurate Nymphs, which, kind Heaven
defend the dear charming Acme from,
and make her avert the impending
evil consequence of Cruelty, by being
propitious to my Flame, and sending
me one Line or two, which shall be kept
like a Fairy Treasure, in the Bosom of

Your Devoted Slave,

Septimius.

F2 To F2v 100

To a Friend who was going
to Travel.

Letter XIII.

How comes this Unkind Silence,
Viridomar? I hop’d your own
Friendship, without the addition of my
repeated Desires, wou’d not have let
you miss one Post without Writing to
your Sorrowful Friend; but here are
two past, and not a Word from you.
Do you begin to break off a Correspondence
with Artemisa before you leave
England? That looks Ominous, as if you
resolved quite to forget her, as well as
never to see her more. Your last, I
hope, was not intended for a Final
Adieu; No, I must hear from you
more than once yet e’er you go,
and have an Account what your
Designs are, and where you intend to
Retire, or I shall never forgive you;
You ought to give this Proof of Friendship
to my Concern and Grief for you,
which is more than you can imagine. My F3r 101
My Sister tells me I was never so much
a Widow as now in my Life; and I
think there is a great deal of Reason for
it, no Relation whatsoever being so near
as a Faithful Friend, and such I esteem
Viridomar to be. Indeed I know not
what to do with my self: alone I dare
not be, then I am almost out of my Wits;
all Company I hate; if I sit down to
Write, and think I shall not have my
Viridomar to write to, I am ready to Die;
Working is my Aversion; Reading it
self does not ease me, for I know not
whether I read Sense or Nonsense. I
am fit for nothing but a Dark Room in
Bedlam, only there they make too much
Noise for me; Darkness and Silence being
the only things that can please me, where
I can Weep my fill; nor have I any
Prospect of any thing will bring rest to
my Mind, but the worst of Remedies,
the only Catholicon on this side the
Grave, Time. But how tedious will
that Remedy be? And how do I regret
the Thoughts that Viridomar and I must
Forget each other? No, sure that must
never be! No, no, Time, nor Absence which destroysThe Cares of Lovers, and their Joys. F3 Must F3v 102
Must not, cannot have that Effect upon
a well-grounded, Tender Friendship. That’s a Weak Love that Absence can defaceFriendship’s Immutable by Time or Place.
And ours, I hope, will be so. Yet I must
Never see nor Converse with you more.
Oh that Thought is Unsupportable!
Is not the Doom Reversable? Sure,
Viridomar, it is. One of your Acquaintance,
who I thought Lov’d you, and
who I knew you had a Tenderness for,
wou’d now be Dearer to me than all
my own, with whom I might freely
Converse, and Talk of you; and from
whom I might have an Account of all
Accidents that my befall you, which
my unacquaintance with all your Friends
will deprive me of, when you are at so
great a Distance. What I Write is
strangely Confused and Distracted, (but
all my Thoughts are so) if I had never
Writen to her, sure you wou’d never have
coveted a Correspondence with Artemisa,
but you know the Cause, and must Pity
your

Most Faithful, and
Disconsolate Friend,

Artemisa.

From F4r 103

From the same, upon the same
Subject.

Letter XIV.

When I sent away my last Letter,
I had not time for fear of
losing the Post, to Answer yours of the
22d, or hardly to Read it, something
I did say, but I know not what; for
yours put me into a great concern, which
I have not yet Recovered; and could
you see the Part I bear in your Troubles,
you wou’d not think I cast you off,
because of your Misfortunes; No, before
we Part you shall confess Artemisa’s
Heart is of another Temper. It is my
Opinion, that where there is the least
Cause to imagine ones Friendship is Desir’d
or Priz’d, after an Engagement in
it, there is hardly any Cause will justifie
the Deserting a Friend; but to do it becauseF4 cause F4v 104
he is Unfortunate is a Crime of the
blackest Nature, and would rank me
among the worst and most Flagitious of
either Sex; it being as Base and Detestable
even as Prostitution it self. If I have
Sinn’d against your Friendship (which
is very dear to me) by Misjudging of
you, I heartily Repent of it, and beg
your Pardon; my Mind was in very
great Disorder, my Friendship grew
very Tender, and was sensible of the
least cold Blast. I found your Letters
quite of another Nature, and different
Stile from what they had been; the
more of Kindness I express’d, the more
Cold and Indifferent were your Returns,
without the least Air of Friendship or
Kindness, which at first I attributed to
the Troubles and Disappointments you
had met with; but when I receiv’d yours
of the --07-088th of July, wherein you Question’d
whether there were such a thing
as Solid Love? Then I no longer doubted
but I was again Disappointed of
what I value above all things, viz. a
True Friend. For, certainly, Friendship,
(if Real) is a Solid Thing, nor
can there be an Union of Souls without
the greatest and most Substantial Love; I F5r 105
I grant all other Love is but Flashy and
soon over, and therefore does not Deserve
to be call’d by that Name; but a well
plac’d Friendship in Generous Hearts I
should think can never Decay; at least
I will answer for my self, that nothing
shall abate mine, but the loss of yours;
while that continues you may rest confident,
that neither Time, nor any Accident,
shall alter me, but I will be your
Friend, both in spite of Fate, and of
your self too, who are so willing to give
me a Dismission; therefore, Viridomar,
henceforth never Judge of my Friendship
by any thing but your own; let
that rise to as high a degree as you will,
mine shall keep Pace with it.

I know not whether You or I have
the Truest Notions of Friendship, but I
know I should not do by you as you
have done by me: were I in any great
Affliction, I should not be so Generous
to desire you to Leave me, and to Enjoy
your self; and bid you be happy in
a more Fortunate Friend; No, I should
then endeavour to Retain you, for if any
thing will Sweeten our Troubles,
and make them Easie, it must be the
Consideration, that one has a Friend to F5 whom F5v 106
whom we are very Dear, who Sympathizes
with, and bears a part in all our
Griefs; and wou’d, if it lay in his Power
Redress them, nor can any one merit
the Name of Friend that does not share
in all our Joys, and Sorrows, the first
are redoubled, and the last very much
lessen’d by the Concern one so Dear to
us takes in them. It may be you will
say, this is Self-Love, but in it I desire
nothing more from my Friend than I
will (nor can I help it) return, and assure
your self I am as heartily sensible
of your Troubles, as if they were my
own; and wish it lay in my Power to
bring you out of them, you should then
find that Artemisa’s is not only a Verbal
Friendship.

I hope, Viridomar, you can Forgive
the Errors of your Friend, you will the
sooner do it, if you call to mind how I
have been once Treated by an Ungrateful
Friend, and will allow something to
my Fears of such another Defeat; I
have laid my Heart open before you, as
to my Confessor, if you find any Errata’s
there, use the Authority of a Friend,
and Correct ’em, give me Rules of Friendship
both from your self and Cicero, and see F6r 107
see if I do not Observe and Practice ’em;
for I would have mine as Perfect and
Compleat as possible; but tho’ you
Chide me, do not cast me off, and take
your leave of me, that goes nearer to me
than all the rest; but you shall not be
rid of me so, for now till you tell me
you do not Value me, nor think me
worthy to be your Friend, I will look
upon my self as such, and deal with you
accordingly. I am in Pain till I am set
right in your Thoughts, and therefore
have writ this Post, I send it enclos’d to
my Sister, who will send it you by the
Penny Post. Yours, which you say you
writ last Thursday, I have not receiv’d; I
suppose it was an Answer to that I writ
giving an account of this Place and People,
I am sorry I have lost it, but hope
you have a Copy. Viridomar, what
thoughts soever you have of me, still
think me your Friend, and then you
will think Justly of her, who is

Your True and
Faithful Servant

Artemisa.

Picture F6v 108

Picture of Orontes.

Orontes is a middle siz’d Man, very
well proportioned to his Heigth,
but very stiff and Affected; his Face is
the worst part about him. I cannot
compare his Temper better than to the
Character of Sir Courtly, whose Original
he seems to be. He is exceeding
Civil and Well Bred, and would not
be guilty of a Solecism in good manners
for all the World. He is a pretender to
Wit and Poetry, and passes for the first
upon many, for which he is Indebted
to good Company and a good Memory:
And as Intrigue is the Essential part of
a Beaux, he is a great admirer of it;
but only beats the Bush for others. He
looks like a Toper, but is none; yet
loves Company, but hates Noise and
Clamour, for he is the softest Creature
in Nature. He understands French enough,
to pervert the Sence of an Author, and F7r 109
and is seldom, or never without a French
Book in his Pocket, of which he is a
great admirer. In the main, he is a
very honest Gentleman, and very much
in favour with the fair Sex: for he will
sit you a whole Afternoon with Ladies,
and talk of nothing but the Newest
Fashions, the most becoming Dresses
and Colours,&c. Cajoles and Flatters,
sets the Ladies in a Flame, then leaves
them to the next Pretender, Trudges
to the Coffee-house, and sets up for
Politicks.

A F7v 110

A Letter or Apology of the late
M. Du Ryer of the French
Academy, Translator of the
Works of Cicero and Seneca,
and of many other Books,
to which Poverty has not allow’d
him to give all the
Perfection he was capable of
giving them, and would have
done otherwise.

Letter XV.

How, do you praise my Translation
of Seneca! That may Pass with
others, but you will never catch me at
it again. Know, Sir, that I did it in Six
Months time, and that it requires Six
Years to do it, as it should.
be. My Translation is one of Villeloin’s. An Ill Translator.
The only diffe- F8r 111
difference between us, is, that he is very
well pleas’d with what he does, and
can do no better: But for my part I
know my Faults and could mend them.
Yes, I have the Vanity to believe, that
I could be d’Ablancourt, or Vaugelas,
and I am become Marolles.
Another Ill French Author.
Oh Fortune, Fortune!
It is an Effect of thy Rigour.
Thou hast compell’d me, against
my Will, to Sacrifice my Reputation to
thee; but thou shalt never force me to
make thee a Sacrifice of my Honour;
and I will not deceive my Friend. This,
Sir, is an Avowal I owe to you, for the
kindness you do me sometimes in lending
of me Money: I send you the
Twenty Pistols you last lent me. My
Bookseller came Yesterday to our Village,
and brought me Two hundred Crowns.
I gave them immediately to my Spouse,
who is overjoy’d, and makes me
happy in my Misfortune. She thinks my
Translations as Excellent, as you seem
to believe them; and as she is an Eye
Witness of my Dispatch; She cannot
apprehend how a Mortal can be capable
of performing such Wonders with
so much ease, and fancies that there is some- F8v 112
something in me tha surpasses Human
Nature. You have heard of poor B――
he had Marry’d an English Gentlewoman,
who Cudgel’d him when he did not
Work so much as she thought he should
do. But mine is neither an English
Woman, nor yet a Gentlewoman; she
is a very good Housewife, that Loves
me Tenderly, and honours me with an
Incredible Respect. She keeps my little
Parlour and my Alcove as neat and as
bright as two Looking-glasses; She
makes my Bed so well, that I am of
opinion, no Prince lies more at his ease:
and above all things, she never fails to
provide me an excellent Soup. I cannot
imagine in my turn, how it is possible,
with so little Pelf, to make so good
a Cheer. So that in spight of Fortune,
we pass out Life in admiring each other.
She admires my Genius for Translations,
and I admire hers for Huswifery.
Mrs. B.―― came along with my good
Friend C―― to bring me the Two
hundred Crowns, which were remaining
due to me for my Translation of Cicero’s
Orations, which I will send you in a few
days. That subtle Woman was set out
to the best advantage, and saluted me with F9r 113
with so good a Grace, that I am sensible
that a Bookseller’s Shop is as good a
School, as the Court, to teach young
Women the new Method of saluting
People, which the Gallantry of our
Nation has lately introduc’d in the
World. In a word, Mrs. B.―― has
won my Heart; and has offer’d to advance
me the Sum of One hundred
Pounds upon my Titus Ligvius, which
is very forward. My Spouse immediately
whisper’d to me, take her at her
word, my dear Husband; I believ’d
her, and the said Sum was forthwith produc’d
in beautiful Gold and Silver, to
poor Du Ryer, who for fear of tiring
of you, will trouble you no farther,
and will endeavour to do better for the
future, than he has done hitherto. I can
safely promise it you now, finding my
self worth, besides what I have paid you,
upwards of Four hundred Crowns;
who, since I have known my self, never
was so Rich; or rather, never less
Poor. Farewell, Dear Sir, do not
lose this Letter, which I Desire you
to publish for my Justification, at the
head, or at the end of the first of my Books F9v 114
Books that will be Reprinted. I am as
I us’d to be, that is, with great Affection
and Gratitude.

Sir,
Your most Humble Servant,

Duryer.

Picture of Alcidamas.

Alcidamas is of a low Stature,
but very well made, Brave and
Witty, True and constant to his Friend,
Sober and Discreet, and a great admirer
of the Fair Sex, a Qualification
which is inseparable from that of a Hero;
his Discourse is solid, and his Conversation
easie. He is very well read in
History, and neither wants Memory nor
Judgment. He loves Poetry, and
writes a Song or Sonnet very prettily.
He has a great Genius for Dressing, and Intrigue F10r 115
Intrigue, for which he is admir’d and
imitated by most Fops in Town, who
are not able to reach his other accomplishments.
Mars and Venus have divided
his younger Days, and still are
the Darlings of his Soul. He has been,
and still is famous for Ogling from
Church to Playhouse, &c. He admires the
Creator in his Creatures, and is the
True Abstract of Modern Gallantry.

Almeria to Philander upon
his resolving to leave her
to go beyond Sea.

Letter XVI

Cruel Philander, Is it then possible
that you are resolved at last to forsake
the unfortunate Almeria? Can you,
after so many reiterate Protestations,
Oaths, and Vows of Eternal Love and
Constancy, resolve to leave a wretch,
who can no longer live without you?
Ah; Why did you take so much pains
to Charm, and to undo me, since you were F10v 116
were resolv’d to leave me expos’d to all
the Racks and Horrors of Absence and
Despair? What injury have I ever done
you, to make me so miserable? Sure
you never lov’d me; and only seduc’d
my Heart to triumph over it. And
these, oh Heaven! are these the Felicities
I flatter’d my self with, when my
Soul was full of your dear Image, when
my Heart could hardly contain its Joy
in hopes of being united to you for ever
then, then to hear of Parting, Oh! that
dreadful Word, Parting, and for ever
That Fiend that haunts and torments
me perpetually: That Word contains
Death and Hell in it! Sure there can
be no Sin in an innocent Affection;
Why then am I punish’d with an Eternal
Separation? Oh barbarous Philander
Could you not have conceal’d that cruel
circumstance of my Affliction from
me, for ever, it would have been time enough
to let me know, that I must never
see you more after some years had inur’d
me to your Absence. But why do I blame
you? It is the nature of Mankind: I
should curse my selfe, my Fondness, and
my easie Nature, which persuaded me
to believe what I wish’d. You seem’d to F11r 117
to love me sincerely; I thought my self
oblig’d to you for it, and thought I
could do no less than to reward you
with my Heart. I was proud to be belov’d
by a Man of your Sence and Reputation,
and pitty’d all my Sex. But
now my Joys, my fatal Joys, are dash’d
with a never, never to see you more.
Whither are you going? Why do you
fly me? What can induce you to leave
the wretch’d Almeria? Is it Honour forces
you from me? No, Honour bids
you stay to save my Life; Gratitude
will not permit you to leave a wretch
that languishes for you, and who had
rather die a thousand Deaths, that barely
think of leaving you. Think on
your Oaths, think on my Despair, and
remember that my Life depends on
your Resolution. Sure you could never
think to leave me, and this was only
a trial of my Love, but I ought not
to have out-liv’d it; if you have the least
niceness in you, you ought never to
forgive it: It calls my Love in question,
and I mortally hate my self for it. I am
on the Rack, and nothing but your
Presence can ease my Pain. Return
then, Oh! Return to my longing Arms. Yet F11v 118
Yet do not, Why should I desire to see
the only Author of my Misery? Fly
where your Honour calls you, and boast
that you left the wretched Almeria lost.
Imploy that false protesting Tongue to
undo more credulous Maids; but let
me never hear it more. I will strive to
forget you, or if ever I think on you,
it shall be only for my wrongs. I’ll
hourly call to mind your Falshood,
Perjuries, and Treachery, and that perhaps
may cure me. Oh Heavens! I am
but too sensible of the falseness of that
Sentiment; No, it is impossible, I do
not wish it; I had rather be unhappy
in loving you, than to resume my former
indifference. I impute my misfortune
to the excess of my Passion.
I ought to have consider’d that my
Pleasures would end sooner than my
Love, and that you would never forsake
your Fortunes for my sake. I neither
know what I do, or what I am,
nor what I desire. Can any one imagine
so deplorable a Condition? I love
you to Distraction, yet you will leave
me. Do, Cruel, go, I shall not long
out-live your Hate; for sure you hate
me or else you could never use me thus. But F12r 119
But my Death will for ever disturb your
Mind. It invades my Heart already,
my Senses are all confus’d, and I can
only add, that in spight of your Ingratitude,
as I liv’d, so I die,

Yours.

Sylvia’s Picture.

Silvia’s Neither Tall nor Low, She’s
Fair and Comly, yet not Handsome,
and has the Air of an Hostess.
She is not Witty, yet Subtle and Cunning,
and neither Loves, nor is Belov’d
by any of her Sex; but in recompense,
She has been lavish of her Heart
flawed-reproduction1 wordand has receiv’d the Addresses of
many a Spark. She is Imperious, Proud
and Haughty, Ill-natur’d and Surly, and
can dissemble exquisitely. She never
misses Prayers, tho’ not out of Devotion.
She seems fond of her Endimion,
even to uneasiness; tho She only adores
his Wealth. She has got an absolute Empire F12v 120
Empire over him, and knows how to
use it. He seems to hug his Chain, and
to be fond of his Bondage, tho’ some
are of opinion, that he only acts the
part of a prudent Turtle.

From a Lady to her Admired,
who is in Love with an Old
Woman.

Letter XVII.

Cruel Sir

For what can I call you but Cruel
and Unkind? who neglective of
my Love, can hear my Sighs with no
resentments. I have often (you know)
when in our company, signify’d the
esteem I have for you, and by many
Letters made known to you, the frailty
of my Affection, which I was never
guilty of to any but to you; However,
it was my first Experiment, and
if it proves fatal to me, I shall endeavourvour G1r 121
to endure it, as a thing coherent
to my Misfortunes. I write not these,
that I would force your Love; all that
I propose is, to remind you of the excess
of mine; which as you have slighted,
and think not worthy your acceptance,
yet at least, give leave to the unhappy
to complain. There is Liberty
in Love, for Womens Tears; and Cupid
gives us leave, when he unkindly
wounds our Heart, to make our Moan.
You had with you, when I saw you last,
an aged Woman; who, I am since inform’d,
has the possession of your
Heart; at this I wonder’d, and was sorry:
thinking it pity that those Worlds
of Charms, which always in your Eyes
I saw, should lose their Lustre in that
ruin’d Face, that weather-beaten Age
of Time, in whose despairing Years
Cupid sits melancholy and alone; Oh!
If you are not for me design’d, yet may
you be joyn’d to some more happy
Mate, and not fade your blooming Roses
in her wither’d Trunk. Pardon me,
Sir, that I can’t praise what you admire;
Could I doe e’ry thing I ought, you
should have been forgotten long since;
but ’tis impossible; you are so fast withinG in G1v 122
my Heart, that when I strive to pull
you out, I make it bleed; whence to
my Sorrow I am forc’d to tell you,
that in spight of all your unkindnesses,
I cannot blot you out, but with my
unhappy Life; in which, as long as I
remain, I shall be always,

Yours.

From G2r 123

From a Lady to a Gentleman,
who promising her Marriage,
Debauch’d her, and then
left her, taking a Journey
beyond Sea.

Letter XVIII.

Cruellest of all your Sex.

Iwrite not now that I’de re-mind
you of your forsaken Vows, for sure
you need not these as a reproach to your
past Crimes, which always will remain
in you, as an opprobrious Object to
your future Reflections, that you have
wrought an unhappy wretch to Ruin;
One, who unskill’d in Mankind’s
Falshood, has this in her Fate; that
she was too loving; whence comes the
cause of all my Misfortunes: my tender
Heart unwarily ran out, and lodg’d G2 it G2v 124
it self with you, which, rifl’d of all its
Treasure, you have sent home bleeding,
and full of Wounds, which your unkindness
made, and left it nothing but
the Experiment. How wretched have
you made me; Ah! Could you have
return’d me all, how many Sighs and
Tears would you have sav’d me? But
Oh! ’tis out of Nature’s reach, and as
I was then forsaken by my good Angels,
I am likewise left by you for ever.

Yet as you are going, I will not trouble
you with my Sorrows, nor any farther
make known to you, how miserable
Love has made me. Let my ――
go, and with him goe all the kind Stars,
no matter what becomes of me; of
whom you have no farther use, than
only to remember, as an Example,
how you may ruine more; Go then,
and if in all your Travels you meet
a wretch so frail, and so unfortunate
as I, think with a relenting Thought
of me again, and save the fond Believer
from the Ruin I am in, who, tho’
undone, by you, yet cannot help,
Subscribing my self,

Yours for ever.

From G3r 125

From a Lady to Her Husband
in the Camp.

Letter XIX

My Dear Strephon,

Ireceived your kind Letter, and return
you thanks for the Satisfaction I
enjoy’d in reading you were well, in
whose Safety alone depends the stock
of all my future Joy; And now, all I
have to return you is, that my self, and
your little Son are well also; whom I
have taught to speak your Name, which it
repeats hourly, as if like me it wanted
you at Home; but vain, alass! are all
it’s Cry’s, and my Wishes, since Cruel
Wars have rob’d us of you, and made
the case uncertain whether I shall ever
see you more, unless in the beloved
Image of your Dear Child; and in his G3 Face G3v 126
Face, his Eyes, his every Feature, do
I see you Daily, and feed upon the
thought when we may meet again: But
when I think of Fights and dangerous
Battles, my frighted apprehension makes
me fear that you are hurt, and oft I
wish that I was there, to dress your
Wounds. Thus anxious of your Fortune
I lead my Melancholly Life, and
have no Pleasure in your absence, save
that part of Joy only, which I have
horded, and keep ready for the time
when you shall come again. No Pastimes,
no Recreations are pleasing to
me, but rather inducements to my uneasie
Mind, to chide our Fate that makes
us Live asunder: Think then on my
precautious Fears, and hazard not your
Dear Life too far; and though you regard
it not, yet love it for the sake of
mine. Oh! How many Sorrows are
in that word Death! Which should I
hear of you, every Letter in that Fatal
Word, would open a Wound within
my bleeding Heart, to let my Miserable
Life out. But cease my Prophetick
Fears, my Strephon is yet alive, and
Heaven protect and keep him so, which
sure, it wou’d could it behold him with my G4r 127
my Eyes, or half the tenderness of my
Heart, which for ever is always, his as
is my Obligation, who am

Your most Obedient,
and Loving Wife,

A. M.

Letter XX.

Madam,

How unhappy is the Man that
strives with difficulties equal unto
mine! Passionate Love prompts me to
pursue a Happiness guarded by Innocency
and Honour, the Last of which,
is only a Vain Notion to deprive us of
true Felicity; a word contriv’d to
create Desire, and fill us with a Nobler
Esteem for what we wish; but why must I
be the only Miserable Person that’s baffled
with what I know to be but an Empty
Name? or do you covet a formal
Siege, that the Victory may be greater G4 Can G4v 128
Can you forget the Charms of Friendship,
and the Endearments that attend
those who truly Love? Do you find a
Chilness run through your Veins, occasioned
by a Chimera of Fear? or do you
apprehend you know not what? No,
(my Dearest) by all that’s Just I will be
faithfully Secret, act Honourably by you,
may Swear never to Violate my Word.
what have I left Unsaid, Unsworn, that
may gain your Favour? Is your Heart
impregnable to the Addresses of one that
really Admires you? Can you deny him
that is yours and only yours? Or do you
take a pride in seeing me ruined? Who
am

Your most
Affectionate Friend.

Letter G5r 129

Letter XXI.

Sir,

Moreunhapy is that Woman,
who knows not what Path to
Tread; my Life is yours already, and
must my Honour too? Can nothing
serve but an entire Conquest, over that
which when gain’d, you’l soon despise?
the pleasure of every action is in Desire,
and a Generous Heart’s is above wishing
what may make another Miserable. How
can I yield, When I know the Moment:
I surrender my Virtue I’m undone? It’s
that now which alone Buoys me up amidst
my greatest Afflictions: methinks
I can look my best Friends in the Face
without a Blush, whilst I am Innocent;
but alas! When I am ruin’d, nothing but
Shame can attend each look and thought:
Your Arguments might prevail with another,
whose Charms might secure
your Constancy: She might yield; but
I have nothing but Virtue to secure your G5 Friend G5v 130
Friendship, which as I prize beyond
Expression, I must never part with that
which would Infallibly occasion the loss
of it. I freely own that you have made
deep Impressions on my Heart, and
that it is Death to me to refuse you any
thing; but when I consider that I must
lose you if I yield, my Weakness Vanishes,
and I have courage enough left
to say, I cannot, will not, grant your
Request, and yet I am,

Affectionately Yours.

Letter G6r 131

Letter XXII.

Madam,

Ionce could command my Hand
with such a freedom that I seldom
writ in Vain; But alas! What a change
do I find, now I am Penning a Letter
to your Dear self, my Lines are faint,
my Arguments not perswasive, and every
thing seems to contradict my Love:
Nay, my very Wishes are imperfect, and
the moment I press forward, I expect a
repulse; a sence of your Honour bids
me desist, and an Ardency of Affection
reminds me of the Felicity I shall Enjoy
in the Arms of my Dearest Creature.
Why were you made so infinitely good,
except you’d dispence your Favours to
those that passionately Admire you? Or
were you only born to make me Miserable?
Does my Dearest distrust the
continuance of my Passion, or fear a fading G6v 132
fading of my Flame? Do you expect
that I again repeat Vows of Secrecy and
Faithfulness? Or have you sworn never
to yield to my Desires? If so, Heaven
surely will forgive a Perjury so tender,
and forget a Crime that produc’d such
effects. Indeed, I acquiesce to those
Noble Expressions your Letter is compos’d
of, and own the worth of each
Line; but why should you so strenuously
plead against my being made Happy,
or use such Solid Reasons to deprive me
of Bliss; since on your complyance depends
wholly my Eternal Misery or
Felicity,

Yours.

Letter G7r 133

Letter XXIII.

Sir,

Ifwords Express the Sentiments
of the Mind, and are the only true
means to confirm the sincerity of our Intentions,
surely then there remains nothing
more to say, for I have given you
such Reasons against your Love, as
would have satisfied any but your self;
and I should not again write on so
nice a Subject, but that the tyes of
Friendship, and the obligations I lye
under to you, will not allow a Silence.
I fancy your Pretensions are only for a
Proof of my Virtue; and that my Honour
is more Sacred to you, than the
Humour of being Immodest can be pleasant;
neither do I imagine you can
forget, that Men always slight what they
possess, and despise what is easily gain’d.
Methinks I foresee my ruin, and can look G7v 134
look through all your Vows of Constancy,
with Protestations of Faithfulness;
and you’l believe it, if you’l remember
how cold you appear, to some
you have heretofore passionately Lov’d;
and must I expect a better Fate, who
less deserve your Affection? No, no,
my dearest Friend, I must preserve that
which you so much Covet, and never
part with what cannot be recall’d: If
my Life will serve you, pray command
it, for I’ll continue Virtuous, whilst I
am &c.

Urania G8r 135

Urania to Theophrastus, in
Vindication of Age and Impotency.

Letter XXIV.

You say I’m Old, yet give me no
reason, why you think me so: but
you’d say I am young indeed; if you
knew what I can do ―― Yes, I
know what I mean, I can ―― answer
an Assignation, or ―― &c. perhaps
you’d expect some greater matters in
this, than a bare vindication of the calumny
of Age; which at this time a-
day I think there is but a very small
occasion for; Since you have so little
Faith, as to believe me Old and Impotent,
because my Body is deform’d:
Nay, to believe it too, when I have the
prospect of ―― letting you see the
contrary in facto. Don’t mistake me, Sir G8v 136
Sir, I don’t intend you shall see it, only
I wou’d have you imagine so. ――
that my Deeds are much more compleat
than my Person: For a green
Apricock at best (you know) is but
palatable on one side: but a rip’nd
Peach never fails of pleasing. And howe’r
you may be displeas’d at my manner
of Writing, I am sure you can’t
dislike the subject. For as there are many
Women write what they don’t
think; so I think what I don’t write.
This, you’ll say, is an odd sort of an expression;
but I will assure you, a true
one. So when I have finish’d this abortive
Brat, I’ll disown it, because ’tis only
an imperfect Idea of my Thoughts,
For as I must confess, ’tis much against
my inclinations to make Cripples, so
tis much against my nature to Nurse
them ――. Yet in my own defence, I
will say this is both Lame in Stile and
Thought, beause you shan’t say, I am
a Cold, as well as Old

Admirer.

Letter G9r 137

Letter XXV.

My most kind Pa, Pa.

Heaven knows the rack I have endur’d
e’er since I last receiv’d
your Blessing, for want of an opportunity
of being happy again. And for
that wish’d for Moment, I here avow
freely to offer up my Soul, and all that’s
dear, a Sacrifice to thee my only Deity.
But like the Damn’d, at present I am
Chain’d to Torments, the kind Powers
above grant like theirs, they mayn’t be
lasting. Dearest Angel, I have receiv’d
all your Lines, and must confess, Fate is
equally unkind, my Love’s as great as
yours, and consequently my Sufferings
are no less; but assure your self, the
first opportunity we will be Blest and
Happy; therefore I intreat you to be
neither Restless nor Hopeless, so long as
you are entirely Belov’d,

INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that cb is unmatched.


By
Your Sighing, Wishing,
Panting, Kissing
Dear Girl,
Loriana.

Letter G9v 138

Leetter XXVI.

Still Charming, and ever Dear.

Iam so unhappy as to disappoint my
Self, and you, by not meeting to
Morrow, as I sincerely intended, for
as soon as I came home, I was unfortunately
surpriz’d in being Commanded
out of Town for Three days to
Epsom; which will seem Three tedious
Ages, there being nothing more desir’d
by me, than your most admir’d and
agreeable Conversation. May I enjoy it
innocently; for whatever you may imagine
by my free Carriage, from my
Soul I abhor any thing that in the least
favours of Rudeness, or Nicely touches
upon immodesty, and esteem Virtue
and Reputation more than Pleasure or
Life. The Liberty you took, when I
was last with you, was the occasion of
my not seeing you since, and I had
made a resolution never to come in company G10r 139
company with you more, tho’ at the
same time I barr’d my self from my
greatest Happiness; for I Declare, if
you can relish my Conversation in so
Virtuous a way, as I offer, I shall willingly
embrace ever opportunity to
be with you, being unfeignedly,

Your Admirer,
And
Eternal Adorer


Amatonta.


A G10v 140

Letter XXVII.

Withhorror I remember the
accursed Moment when I first
gave you the occasion to believe that I
lov’d you, since you have improv’d it
according to the Greatness of your own
incomparable ill Nature: A return, I
confess, I cou’d not but expect from the
Gratitude inspir’d by your Wit, that
prides it self in exposing the weakness
of those, whom it had deluded. This
indeed is so natural to you, that you
ought not to be blam’d for it: For, you
can no more avoid it, than you can
your impious Desires of the ruin of our
Sex; to which you are as directly and
impulsively led, as other poisons are to
their destructive ends. So that to lead
you false, were to be injurious to you
since you were ever true to your own ruinous G11r 141
ruinous purposes: Thou barbarous Murderer
of my Peace and Fame! What
Curse can reach the Merit of thy Crime!
But my satisfaction is , that I need not
Curse you: For you are a certain
Curse to your self; and your daily Actions
are so many industrious Attempts
towards your own eternal Misery: when,
at the same time, I am in hopes, and not
without reason, that my Crime was
expiated in the very Commission of it;
since it carry’d along with it its own punishment,
in the sacrificing me immediately
to the insults of your Scorn and
Ingratitude; which (doubtless) is a
site of Damnation on this side Hell,
proportionable to any impiety whatever,
except yours.

How have I lost a real Heaven for a
counterfeit one, that you promis’d me!
my continual Peace of Mind for a moments
flattery! O! Had I retain’d any
pity for my self; I had shewn no compassion
to you. Wou’d to God, you had
perish’d in an actual despair, e’er I had
suffer’d such exquisite Torment! Fool
that I am! What despair do I think on?
Thine? Pretence, Painted Anguish;
not to be felt, but by the wretched commise- G11v 142
commiserating Spectators. Hereafter,
may’st thou be truly, as thou wou’dst
seem; passionately in love with some
fair unbelieving Creature; that shall
damn thee to a Real Despair; and so,
of course, descend to those everlasting
Torments that wait the Ungrateful and
Faithless. And may’st thou at thy very
last moment, continue remorseless, and
impenitent of thy Injuries to me; That
thy Soul may appear all spotted over
with thy Ingratitude and Perjuries, no
desire nor room left for Mercy; that I
may be reasonably assur’d (for I hope
and wish to out-live thee) that thou are
like to be as Eternally wretched, as I am
now; nay, more if possible! O Vengeance!
Grateful and Sweet as successful
Ambition to our Sex, Pursue, pursue
the Monster! And inspire him at
last, in utter and inexecrable Perdition,
with a just Sense of all my wrongs,
that his then unfeigned sorrow for ’em,
may prove one of his greatest Tortures.
Then may the loss of me, whom thou
hast most offended, aggravate thy less
Plagues of Fire, Confusion, and other
Scenes of Horror, in the vast instant of
Eternity I know you Will, and I would have G12r 13443
have you
Laugh at this; lest you should
unhappily prevail against the just and
hearty Prayers of ――

Letter XXVIII.

What pains (my Lord) you have
taken to make me susupect you! yet
(I vow) the Entertainment was very diverting.
You acted the Fool and Madman
to the Life! so passing like, that
it was, nay, and I believe it is impossible,
to think you were otherwise, than
as you endeavour’d to appear! ’Twas,
in short, an elaborate Scene, and you
shew’d a great deal of Mastery in it.
Besides, it was perform’d without Imitation,
or Affectation: For, no Man can
play anothers Character so well, as he
whom it belongs to. And, as it is an
Original, it is new; of a different Cast
from any I have ever seen on the
Stage, or in my Conversation in Town.
And all this for my sake, to persuade
that you love me; which I
believe as earnestly and stedfastly, as
that you love Partridge and Quail, which G12v 144
which can gratifie your Appetite, only
in their Destruction; or, rather as you
love Oisters, which you devour alive.

Had Madam E―― been here;
what a deep, affected Melancholy you
had put on! A much more dangerous
Madeness, and (as the Physicians say)
more difficult to be cur’d, than the Raving,
Roaring, and Bellowing Frenzie,
that seiz’d you last night. For my part,
I’m of Opinion, that the different,
Beauties and Tempers of Women, influence
the same spark with different
Humours in Love. With Her, you
us’d to be as melancholy as a Cat; with
me, you are generally as Mad as a
March Hare. To me, it is now, “Prithee
Jenny )tell me roundly,”
&c. To her it
was, “Like the Damned from the Fire”, &c.
You see you don’t Dance in a Net.
What wou’d you give now for a Copy
of the last Damning Letter she sent you?
For, I know you have made but a very
ill use of what you receiv’d from her,
I suppose that’s Torn and Burnt, as
once you unhappily made her believe
your Heart was Torn and Burnt, in despair
and Love of her. She may wish
it had met with the Fate of her Letter, which H1r 145
which-soever it be, long before you had
seen her ―― But ―― Lord! ―― I
can’t but think, How, in less than a
Minute after, I was grown weary and
angry with my self, for my little Petulancy
and Gaiety of Humour, you cou’d
change your Note, and sigh out in a
dismal lamentable Key ―― “I still must
love on, though I dye in despair”
&c. Now,
this you must know, was the only way
to bring me to my pleasant Humour
again. O! that I cou’d by any means
be positively assur’d, that you do passionately
love me! ’Twou’d (undoubtedly)
be the greatest satisfaction and
obligation that you could do me. For,
you can’t imagine how fond and pleas’d
I am with a whining, despairing, and
dying Lover: But still he must continue
so, even to the last gasp of his Breath:
when he ceases to despair at least, I shall
never endure a Thought of him more.
And now (My Lord!) Let me see if
you dare Love

F.H.

H Letter H1v 146

A Character of a Coquet.

Letter XXIX.

If I were not persuaded that you are
not so severe a Critick, but the Partiality
of Friendship may prevail with
you, to pass a favourable Censure, where
it is not deserv’d, I could not with any
Face, trouble you with this Trifle, which
falls so every way short of Wit or Diversion;
’tis an Error only of well-meant
Obedience, or at most a rash Sally of
that Ill Nature, I could no longer contain.
But now to my business; My
thoughts beat fast, and Increasing Malice
sports within my Veins, and by the
help of your Unkindness I am Improving
as fast as I can, in that Excellent
Talent call’d Railing, and God knows
when I shall have done with it: Come,
now, I’ll be as good as my word after
this Preamble; A Woman that is Singulargular H2r 147
for any Perfection in Dress, Meen,
or Person, presently is honoured with
the Title of a Coquet Lady, or a Belle
Femme
; there are other Extraordinary
Qualities to the making her such; let me
see, an Affected Carriage, Confident
Discourse, and nothing at all to the purpose;
mighty Pretensions to Wit, tho’
she never in her Life said any thing to
Procure the Reputation of it, and excessive
Censoriousness; which is not altogether
to be Imputed to Ill Nature, but
to her want of knowing what to do;
First you must sit still by the hour, to
hear her talk with a disagreeable Noise,
against all the absent she or you know;
then she fancies her self to have abundance
of Sense, because she talks much,
and ill of every Body: But if it happen,
that you have a kindness for my Lady
such a one’s Daughter, and she knows
you have, perhaps (while you are in
Company) she’l turn her humour, and
praise her Mantua, or say that she is a
dear Woman, dresses moderately Pleasing,
and has a tolerable good Humour; but
wonders she’d be seen with such a Gentleman,
or that she will be acquainted H2 with H2v 148
with Unhappy, and Undiscreet Mistriss
such a one, for it can no ways be to her
advantage. The very Gentlemen that
are Lewd with her are not at all beholden
to her; for she Rails at them, that no
body else should like them, or that she
might not be suspected of liking them
her self; then she’l flear to the Play, and
can’t sit down for half an Hour after
she comes in, for making of Conges, her
Acquaintance is so general, and yet declares
in her Visits, she’s as unacquainted
with them, as a Lawyer will be to a
Cause, when there is nothing to be got
by it. She continues in pretty good
Equipage for some Years, till her Person
and that has had as much wearing
as her Chamber-Maids Scarf, or an Old
Communion Cloath in a Countrey
Church. A little time after, she perceives
her Gallants abate their Respects,
by pretending business, when she has
some for them; they sleight her by telling
her she’s grown the Refuse of the Town,
and bring it to an absolute Quarrel, by
laying a Disease to her Charge; then she
pretends to go off with flying Colours,
as having left him, and so grieves, and keeps H3r 149
keeps her Chamber, gives out the occasion
of it, is a dear Friend of hers that’s
dead; to carry on the humour, she Sighs,
and cries ah! she was the best of her Sex;
when the Town and she knows, the true
reason is, she’s Melancholly, dissatisfy’d
with her self and the World, and Wishes
that and her self were in flames; In
greater or more Violent ones she could
not, than perhaps she’s in her self: and
now she’s going off the Stage apace;
for now she is come full drive to the
Jilting in Hackney-Coaches, and in a
little time grows a Scandal to all the little
reaking Petticoats, that frequent the
Chocolate House; and being past Pleasure
of pleasing in her own Person, she
employs her self in bringing People together,
who want only an opportunity
of Undoing one another. Bawds are
now company for Women of Quality,
and by their Garbs and dependance
can’t be distinguish’d. You must know,
notwithstanding her Nauseous and Libidinous
Life, she has some little Reputation
amongst those who are so Unhappy,
as not to have heard of her; then
in Company she’l let nothing be mention’dH3 tion’d H3v 150
but the honourable Intrigues of
her Younger Days, (tho’ she never had
any that was so) the many Adorers she
has had, with the several effects, (as she
would make you believe) of their desperate
Passions, and by what Stratagems they
us’d to obtain her Ladiships most Reserv’d
affections: Oh! She’s in her Kingdom
when you talk of Love; yet never will
allow any Modern Amour, to be brought
into Comparison with those of her
Days. At last she Marries a Soldier that
beats her, first gets all she has (which is
but little) and then Runs away and
leaves her to the wide World; she Repents
of her ill spent Life; makes a general
Lamentation to all her Relations,
who usually are of the best Quality;
she finds nothing from them but Contempt,
who scornfully cry, she’s an Old
Fool, and deserv’d her present unhappy
Condition, for Marrying a Young Fellow,
and a Soldier to boot: She goes
off the Stage with a Reputation as rotten
as her Person; passes the remaining
part of her deplorable Life, in a tatter’d
Old Mantua, carrying News about from
one acquaintance to another, for a Meals Meat H4r 151
Meat, or a Glass of Wine. ―― This
is uncorrect as it falls from my Fancy,
and I wish it were better for your Diversion,

Yours, &c.

Alexander is Acted to Day, being Friday,
by Mr. Betterton: If you’l go
in disguise I’ll meet you there betimes,
Pray send me word by Twelve a Clock
if you will go, where you will sit.

H4 Let- H4v 152

A Character of a Country
Lady.

Letter XXX.

You say I’ve a very ill Opinion of
the Squires, a worse than they deserve,
I can’t; so that what already
I have said of them is nearer to Praise,
than what I could; and to their being
deceiv’d in their Wives Fortunes, I
could not suspect it, since the Kind Proverb
protects them against all such Mischiefs;
I wish my self in the Circumstance
of their Estate, but I hardly envy
any other of their Circumstances. I
have Experimented none of their Misfortunes,
(as you say) I generally prevent
them at the Expence of anothers
Unhappiness, not my own. Since my
last, about a Country Esquire, gave you
some Diversion, I hope this about
a Country Lady in Town may be Receiv’d
with equal Satisfaction: This Petticoat
time has brought up abundance; according H5r 153
according to the Antient and Laudable
Custom amongst them; they lie conceal’d
two or three Days, in which they
Mob it about to their acquaintance,
(whose unhappy time ’tis be trac’d)
and to the Exchange they go, or to Round
Court
; one place to know whether Comodes
continue in that vast Height, or
whether any alteration is made in them;
since they had their last, those being
worn out long since, by often washing:
In the other, they go from Shop to Shop,
and at last pitch upon the most Unfashionable,
Gawdiest, Gayest Silk, which
the Second-handed Mercer sells at an
Under-rate, for fear her Allowance
from her Father, the Broad or New Money
she has pick’d up at Cards, or sav’d
through Good Housewifery, will scarce
reach to a better Priz’d one; Then she,
to undervalue it, and so by consequence
to lessen the Price, crys it Old Fashion’d,
though a New one would not please her
so well; then the Mother halls the
Daughters by the Sleeve, as if she would
carry them to another Shop; the Fellow
knows they won’t go, he tells them
there is no fresher Silk in Town; he
makes it up in a sort of Mantua Sleeve, H5 crys, H5v 154
crys, did you ever see Colours better
Mingled; Lord! How it sets off the
Complexion! sure there can’t be a better
Natur’d Silk; the Mother crys to
the Daughter, Do you like it? Does it
please you? Yes, Madam, with a Courtesie;
Well, says she to the Fellow, pray
Cut it off, good Measure pray, and you
must bait the Odd Money; they Pack
up their things, come to their Lodgings,
carry it to their Maid, and to the Mistriss
of the House, to shew their Pennyworth;
they tell it cost more than it did, to
have the Reputation of affording it; If
any happen to dislike it, as very few do
otherwise, they cry they’ve no fancy,
and nothing can please them; they
snatch it out of their Fists, and are angry;
the Mother to appease them, crys
what’s matter who likes it, you are to
wear it Daughters. In all this Splendor,
the first place they appear Ridiculous
in is the Church, and by their shuffing
and Pushing get a good place in it: I
must needs say they are more attentive
at the Ceremony, than our Town Ladies
are, because they are more Custom’d
to’t; they Sing Psalms that you may
hear their Untuneable Voices to the fartherther H6r 155
end of the Church; they cry up
the Man that Preach’d, for a very
Learned Man, because they don’t understand
him; they Impose upon some
Young Fellow of their Acquaintance to
carry them to a Play; they face it in the
Box, with their Pockets and Hands full
of Oranges, which they buy at the best
hand out of the House; they pull out
their Handkerchiefs that either smell of
Ill Soap, or Lavender and Roses, and
spread it over the Box to lean upon, to
save their Ruffles or Sleeves: If they
spy any Body they know, cry to their
Mother, as if they were frighted; (Oh
Leminis!) There is Mr. such a one, shall
I bow to him: he coming to them looks
as silly as they do, and waits to the leading
them out. They generally order their
Maid with a Magazine of Sweetness to
sit under the Box, ty’d up in one of
their Course Genting Handkerchiefs, to
tell who they are, if any happens to ask.
If the Maid happens to be Prettier than
the Mistriss, some Gentleman or other
talks to her, and she with much Put-on-
Coyness, and feign’d Scorn, crys, Lord
you have mistook the Woman, I am none H6v 156
none of that Lewd sort; he finds her
stink most Holiday-like of Oranges, and
thinks her not worth his while, and leaves
her. These Ladies, when they are at
Home, stand in the Balcony continually,
as if they had taken no other part in the
House; Comes by some Covent-Garden
Beaux, a general designer of Ruining
Young Women, like’s her, and let’s
her know it, gets her out upon an excuse
of shewing her the Queen, the
Court, or Bedlam; Carries her out to
some place, Debauches her as easily as
he got her out. In a little time she finds
her self with Child, trys all the tricks her
Acquaintance can furnish her to prevent
it, but all in vain; is carry’d down in
haste into the Country; ’tis given out
the Town does not agree with her, or
that they are afraid she’l get the Small
Pox. She offer’d to the Person, with
the Encouragement of a little Ready
Money, or sent to a Corporation Town
to Match with some Alderman’s Son;
and these Misfortunes have happen’d
very often to Country Misses. If my
humour of Railing continues, and you
have Patience enough, I may give you the H7r 157
the Carriage or way of a Town Coquet;
This is Just as Country Ladies behave
themselves in Town, found out by
my Observation, and Illustrated but a
little by my Invention. The length of
this I’m afraid will tempt you to fling it
by unread, Judging it not worth the
loss of so much time, as the reading it
will require,

Yours.

To H7v 158

To her Lover, a moment after
his having left her.

Letter XXXI.

Ibegin to Write to you, as soon as
you have left me. Could my
Thoughts be taken up with any thing
but you, in the moments that succeed
those which we have pass’d together?
Ah! My Dear! May I believe the
Transports I have observ’d in you, as
tender, and as sensible as mine. No,
no living Creature ever had Transports
like to mine, some Months past, and
Love, in order to recompence my Sufferings,
has made new Pleasures for me.
The Impression they have made upon
my Sences, is so Lively, that I have
not dar’d to shew my self to any body.
It would be yet easie to read the
Secrets of my Soul, but my Husband
is just entring. God! It is very cruel to H8r 159
to be oblig’d to see the Object of our Hatred
in the moment we are parted from
that we Love. I must recall the Fear
and Modesty which you had banish’d.

Letter XXXII.

Two Hours after it.

Theconversation I have been
forc’d to undergo, is the Thorn
of Roses. Good Gods, what can be
more cruel, than to be oblig’d to Entertain
a Man in cold Blood, when we
are all in a Flame! Being full of you, and
of the Remembrance of our pleasures,
What could I say to him? I told him in
few words, that I had been in-dispos’d
all the Afternoon, and fell immediately
to Singing; without minding the contradiction
between those Starts of Joy,
and what I had just told him. How
should it be possible for me to be wise to
day, and to think on any thing but you.
But you, Dear Charmer, tell me how H8v 160
how are your Thoughts imploy’d this
moment. For my part I think on
you, in the same Place, where you
have sworn an Eternal Constancy
to me. Nothing can equal the pleasure
of triumphing thus over the Vigilancy
of the Jealous. Heaven! what
could equal their Rage, if they know
our Happiness. Yet in my Opinion,
there is still something wanting to our
Happiness, since they have not the
grief to know how we deceive them.
Let us acquaint them with it to be reveng’d
of them; but no, Let no body
enter into the mystery of our Pleasures,
besides our selves. Let us use our utmost
endeavours, that the World may forget
us, as much as I have forgot it. I fancy
the Universe contain by you and I, and
I do no longer see any thing, but what
relates to my Love. Farewel, Reflection
increases real Pleasures, and I am
glad they should appear in all my Actions.

Letter. H9r 161

Letter XXXIII.

Are your Brains turn’d since I saw
you last; you then seem’d reasonable
to me, and now I find you the maddest
and most unjust of Men. Have you
forgot the Reasons I have to deny what
you desire? Is it possible that you would
hazard your Reputation and my Honour
for a moment’s Pleasure? Ah!
tho’ they have not been capable to
banish Love from my Heart, it is not
reasonable that the same Love should Triumph
absolutely over them; and I am
so persuaded, that a Mistriss without
Honour can have no Charms for a
nice Lover, that you shall never prevail
with me to do a thing that will absolutely
ruin my Reputation, in going to
the place you propose to me. If I could
but hazard my Life without my Honour,
to see you, I would not scruple it
one moment; my Passion is proof against H9v 162
against any thing but Infamy: You will
own it your self, if I can be so happy
that the Rendezvous of to Morrow may
succeed. I tremble for fear of flattering
my self in vain, with the pleasure of
seeing you alone. I expect it with a
sensible impatience. Methinks, that
since the Conversation we had last together
in the Park, I have not entertain’d
you sensibly enough of my Love;
I fancy I had a presentiment of the long
Silence, in which I was going to be condemn’d.
I never spoke to you more
Tenderly, nor with more Boldness; for
I own it to you, I often want confidence
when I see you, I am only familiar
as yet with your Idea, &c.. I say
things to you, when I do not see you,
which I dare no longer utter when you
can hear them. Come then, Dear Tormentor,
come to inspire more boldness
in me, and to Triumph over a
small remainder of modesty, which
deprives you of hearing me say, Whatever
can be inspir’d by a most violent
Passion, and which often costs you the
Grief of being oblig’d to upbraid me
with being more Passionate in my Letters,
than in my Conversation.

Letter H10r 163

Letter XXXIV.

Madam

You have (doubtless) the greatest
and justest reason in nature, to encourage
your desire of Revenge; which,
so far, as lies in me, I will be sure to
promote. You seem to be fully persuaded
that he loves me passionately, and
I am really glad of it, for your sake:
For, this his fond mistake shall be as
much improv’d to his Torment, as I
can contrive, or you desire. But I
am strangely oblig’d to your Ladyship,
For supposing and wishing, that I may
be hapypy in the most ungrateful Monster,
that ever was sent for the disgrace
and ruin of so many of our Sex.
However, I find your wonted Good Nature; H10v 164
Nature; or (perhaps) Christian Charity
begins to exert it self on his behalfe.
Since you seem not to deny
there is a possibility that you shall hereafter
endeavour to wish him happy. I
am unwilling (Madam!) to discourage
such Religious and Pious inclinations
in you; tho’ I am persuaded, that
a like injury done to me, wou’d have
brought upon his accursed Head, all the
real Plagues within my Prayers and
Performances, even to his last gasp:
But there I wou’d leave him.

When next you are pleas’d to engage
your self in the trouble of an Answer
to this; be pleas’d to send me positive
and particular Orders, how I shall proceed
in this Affair: For, if you truly
Thirst for Revenge, believe me, you
shall not want it, since I will sooner
sacrifice my self to him, bound in the
strong and durable ―― (What d’ye
call ’em) Bonds of Matrimony. This
you must needs own, is none of the
least Indications of a sincere Zeal for
the service of you; if not, of my self:
(unhappily) his Vanity (which you
will by no means approve of) will be apt H11r 165
apt to flatter him, that it was intended
in some measure for his sake. Strictly
therefore consult your own most
secret Inclinations; call ’em to a severe
account, and advise with ’em what
Instructions you had best send by the
next, to

F.H.

Letter. H11v 166

Letter XXXV.

Madam,

Iam still at a loss to think what return
I shall make you for so great an
Obligation, as you were lately pleas’d
to confer on me: I am sure, to my fsorrow,
there can be none proportionable
to it in my capacity: No, not though
I were the most Adorable Creature
breathing, and should grant you the utmost
favour, you cou’d ask of me; supposing,
as Heaven be praised that you are
not! of t’other most Perfidious and Ungrateful
Sex; so much I prefer the
hopes of my Revenge on that Perjur’d
Wretch to all other considerations whatsoever,
here on Earth: O! He has so
Vitiated my Inclinations, that I can
rellish no pleasure but what proceeds from H12r 167
from a prospect of Revenge. This
Passion is more advanc’d and unhappily,
stronger in me than ever Love was, or
cou’d be; because it has more Reason
to encourage it, and more ill-natur’d
Circumstances to back it, than that
foolish mistake of my Youth cou’d have
had Obligations to enforce it. To you
(Madam) I find, therefore, I am like
to owe the greatest satisfaction that my
Soul can receive from Heaven, whose
kind Instrument of this you may be to
me: For he loves you most ruinously, to
himself, I mean, tho’ if you should descend
to any kindness for him, the ruin
would undoubtedly prove your own.
However, if by misfortune, he has, or
shall hereafter give you any impression
of tenderness for him; I doubt not that
you are so well arm’d by you own discretion,
and by my miserable Example,
as well as by the hard fate of others,
that you will defend and secure your self
from the danger of any assault or surprize.
But if you must needs yield to
his Vigorous and Fierce Attacks (for
such they are indeed) may it be, as I
know it will, upon the most honourable
conditions that you can propose; and H12v 168
and then, though you surrender, you
will have an equal Victory; which may
you still maintain, and be for ever happy
in him! Then (it may be) I shall
endeavour to wish him the same happiness
with you: But all this is impossible,
for he wou’d as certainly prove Ungrateful,
tho’ Married to you, Madam,
as ever he was to

M. F.

Let- I1r 169

Leetter XXXVI.

Sent to Madam G.

Dear Madam,

If love be the Sweetest Passion of the
Mind, why causes it all these Convulsions
of the Heart to us Lovers;
Why am I on the Rack for you, there
is not a Moment but I think on you and
in Dreams, I have enjoy’d that long’d
for Moment, but striving to grasp that
Sweet Pleasure, it flew swifter than the
Northern Wind; Oh! could I but have
had the happiness, that wretched Fate
hath deprived me of, How much above
a common Mortal should I esteem my
self? But you are resolv’d to be lost to
me, as you told me when we were
last together, and that I must not enjoy
one happy Minute again. Oh! fatal
cruel Love, Why hast thou depriv’d
me of that which is more dear than
my Life and Soul, and the Sight of
you, which is more to me than either, I and I1v 170
and why all at once, as if you design’d
to make a Bankrupt of me, or throw me
into utter Ruine; I have no hopes left but
this of your, of reserving one corner
of your Heart, that you intend for one
that should be absent from you; give me
leave to make use of your own Words,
tho’ they are cruel, Heart-breaking ones,
to one that loves you above the World,
and all that’s in it; I can’t compare my
self to any thing, except to a condemned
Criminal, at the place of execution,
that dallies with that which must put
him out of pain; your unkindness may
have done the work in Two days more;
Let me hear from you, I expect my
Sentence, or send me a Reprieve by a
Letter, or I dye,

Your Martyr.

Letter I2r 171

Letter XXXVII.

It may be that you will think I have taken
time enough to consider of your Request;
but I must tell you, all the ground
you have gain’d, is, that if I comply, it is
purely as the unjust Judge did with the
Widow, lest you weary me with your
importunity, and which will be too upon
conditions, which if you agree to, I
will no longer deny you. First, you
must promise me, that no Person whatsoever,
without exception, shall ever
know who Silvia is, but that if it be
known you have any acquaintance with
me, still Silvia may remain undiscovered;
for if you visit me, I will appear
without disguise to you, not understanding
what belongs to Clandestine
Assignations, nor having any fear you
should hear any thing wherewith to reproach
me from my past Actions; this
being the most Townish one I was ever I2 guilty I2v 172
guilty of. Another thing I shall peremptorily
stand upon, is, that I must know
who you are, of whom, being you tell
me I shall have the true account from
your self, I will enquire of no one else;
yet will not I insist so hard upon it, that
you should, (if you have any Reason
to the contrary) send it me in Writing,
if you engage to let me know it, without
deceit, when I see you; for, I must tell
you, that tho’ I am not suspitious by
Nature, yet if I am once deceiv’d, I am
lost for ever, nor can I ever be brought
to Trust again. If you will Sign to
these Articles, in my next you shall
know when, and where you shall see
Silvia.

You ask my Thoughts of a thing, the
least known and practised of any thing
in the World, viz. Platonick Love, or
Pure, Tender Friendship; that Denomination,
I suppose, being only given
it, when it is between Persons of a different
Sex; I confess, for a great while,
my Ignorance, (while I judge of others
by my self) made me think it, as the
finest, so the easiest thing in the World,
but I have now got more knowledge of
Mankind, and have fouunnd to my great vexation I3r 173
vexation, that, that is the most fallacious
way of Judging imaginable. Yet still
my Thoughts of that sort of Love, (which
I know is possible, tho’ hardly practicable)
are the same, nor do I think any
other Love merits to be call’d by that
Heavenly Name,
“Only the Soul, ’cause that can Love againDeserve’s a Love, Deserve’s a Lover’s Pain.”
And besides, I think Friendship distinguishes
us from Brutes, far more than
our boasted Reason does, in which, many
Animals out do the most of Men,
and act with far greater Sagacity; But
this Pure Divine Love, this Union of
Souls, the Beasts are not capable of;
especially, if strictly maintained between
a Man and a Woman, and exalts us so
far above them, that it almost equals us
with Angels; the very imagination has
transported me above the Clouds, but
I must descend to Earth again; and tell
you, for all your pretences to it; I fear
this Brutal Age will never furnish us
with one example of this Angelical State.

I am afraid, in my late vindication
of my self, I have done some prejudice
to your Friend, which I shall be very I3 sorry I3v 174
sorry for, not designing any such thing,
and therefore I beg of you not to take
this advantage, to break with him upon
my account, he having done you no
injury in the World; but when you reflect
on his Faults, at the same time rememeber
(if that will weigh any thing
with you) that he was the occasion of
your knowing Silvia, who you profess to
have a value for; and let him be upon
his good behaviour, till he offend again,
for I cannot endure to be injurious to
any Person whatsoever. I have not assurance
enough to impose a Name upon
you; Viridomar is a Name uncommon,
and one I Love, tho’ I had rather
you should please your self. But I must
not forget how you are imploy’d, and
therefore I will give you no farther interruption,
but subscribe my Self

Your Servant,

Silvia.

Of I4r 175

Of Friendship

Letter XXXVIII.

’Twas to prevent your losing your
Labour, as you did last Night,
that I desir’d to know before-hand of
your coming; for my stay in Town being
but short, I am more abroad than I
use to be.

As to the other Grievance you complain
of, ’tis what I know not how to
Redress; for the more I think of it, the
worse I like it. You would Impose a
new sort of Friendship upon me, I understand
not, and which favours more
of the Body than the Mind; I fear your
Notions of Friendship are much too
gross for me; and by asking too great
Liberties, you will teach me to deny all.
An entire Confidence I own there must
be, or it is no Friendship; but then that I4 must I4v 176
must only relate to the Soul, of which
there is no difference of Sex’s, and not
entrench upon Flesh and Blood, and
expose both my self and Friend to a
Temptation may be too hard to overcome;
and in this I betray no greater
a Distrust of you than my self; and
tho’ I think I am so well acquainted
with my own Temper not to fear much
on that side, yet I will not part with
my Guard. Besides, were I of a humour
to grant such Favours, Prudence
would not permit it, till by long Converse
I had (if it were possible) found
your Temper and mine to be alike. If
you leave me to my self I shall be as
Free as Decency will allow; but if you
persist in these Demands, I shall be very
shy, tho’ I fear not turning a Friend into
a Lover, for I am not cut out for a
Mistress.

As to what you have urg’d from Sir
William Davenant’s Platonic Love, I shall
only say, it may do very well in a Play,
where the Representation must always
out-do the thing Represented: But
should any Woman Act in that manner,
I know what wou’d quickly become of
her Reputation; and she that slights that has I5r 177
has already Forfeited her Modesty, and
has but one step to lose her Innocence,
and all that is valuable in Woman-Kind.

In short, if you wou’d be Amilcar’s
Successor, as you must avoid his Crimes,
so you must Practice what was pleasing
to me in him; and there was nothing
did more Indear him to me than his
Compliance in this matter; for to give
him his Due, I must acknowledge, that
he never gave me cause to Chide him
for his desiring any thing I was unwilling
to grant; and he has often Protested,
that in my most Intimate Converses
with him, he never so much as
thought I was a Woman. To Morrow
I will be at home to receive you, and
am if you please

Your
Friend,

Silvia.

Finis.

I5v

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