Letter I.

I am got (as they tell me)
sixteen Miles from you
and London, but I can’t
help fancying ’tis so many
Degrees. Tho’ Midsummer to
all besides, in my Breast there’s
nothing but frozen Imaginations.
The Resolutions I have
taken of quitting London (which
is as much as to say, the
World) for ever, starts back,
and asks my gayer Part if ’t has
well weigh’d the Sense of Ever?
Nor does your Letter, which I
receiv’d this Morning, (taking B Coach) B1v 2
Coach) less influence me, than
when I first form’d the Design.
You shou’d have us’d but half
these Arguments, and they had
undoubtedly prevail’d: ’Tis of
the latest now to ask me why I
leave the crowded Market, and
retire to starve alone in Solitude?
Whereas you quote the
Poet, “All your Beauty no more Light will
have Than a Sun-Dial in a Grave.”
I am too much afraid Sloth and
Sadness are going to be my Eternal
Companions; and you
know my Soul’s unfitted for such
Guests, till upon the Road to
Execution: I fancy’d Dying to the B2r 3
the World; Horace, Cowley, all
those Illustrious Lovers of Solitude,
debauch’d my Opinion,
against my Reason: I took
Coach with Mr. Granvill’s Words
in my Mouth, “Place me, ye Gods, in some obscure
Retreat: Oh! keep me innocent: Make
others Great; In quiet Shades, content with Rural
Sports, Give me a Life, remote from guilty
Court: Where free from Hopes and Fears,
at humble Ease, Unheard of, I may live and die in
Peace.”
Yet you see how great a Change
two Hours has produced: All B2 my B2v 4
my Constancy is not Proof against
the Thoughts, I am going
to have no Lover but my
self for ever. The green inviting
Grass (upon which I promised
to pass many pleasing solitary
Hours) seems not at all
entertaining: The Trees, with
all their blooming, spreading
Beauties, appear the worst sort
of Canopy; because, where I
am going, they can offer their
Shade to none but solitary me.
But ’tis not reasonable my Dulness
shou’d extend to you, who
have every thing in your Nature
just and pleasing. You
ask’d, and I eagerly engag’d
(because you desir’d) to give
an Account of my self and Travels,
every Stage. I have not forgot, B3r 5
forgot (when I told you) ’Twas
too often, how you answer’d,
Not for a Mind so fruitful as
mine in Variety of Inconstant
Thoughts. You find at present,
they run all upon melancholy
Apprehensions, which have so
wholly possess’d me, I have not
had time to observe my wretched
Fellow-Travellers, only a
pert Sir in the Company, that
will make himself be taken notice
of by his Dulness. They
most unmercifully set us to
Dinner at Ten-a-Clock, upon a
great Leg of Mutton. ’Tis the
Custom of these Dining Stages,
to prepare one Day Beef, and
another our present Fare; ’tis
ready against the Coach comes:
And tho’ you shou’d have a B3 perfect B3v 6
perfect Antipathy, there’s no Remedy
but Fasting: The Coachman
begs your Pardon; he’d
not stay dressing a Dinner for
the King, (God bless him)
shou’d he travel in his Coach.
I have left the Limb of the
Sheep to the Mercy of my
Companions, (whose Stomachs
are thus early prepar’d for any
Digestion) to tell you, with
what unfeigned Respect I shall
be ever

Letter II.

I am got safe to Hartley-
Row, and in a little better
Humour than when I writ
my last. Our Landlord is a
perfect Beaux, and most exquisitely
performs the Honours of
his House. I am in pain for his
Assiduity: I can’t fetch a Step,
no not to the Window, from
the Table, &c. but he is Squiring
me; and so dress’d, and so
conceited, that nothing but
Serving a loose Apprenticeship,
cou’d have set him up a Master
in the Trade of Foppery. He
was a Goldsmith’s Apprentice,
where he studied more his Pleasures,
than Profit. This House B4 fell B4v 8
fell to him, and he wisely resolv’d
to keep it himself, with
the Help of his Sister, who is a
neat, houswifely, obliging sort
of Woman. I suppose ’tis, by
much, the best Entertainment
this Road affords. They have a
tollerable Cook; and I was glad
to find something I cou’d eat at
Three-a-Clock, for we came in
here at Two, and I can give you
a little better Account of my
Fellow-Travellers. The Sir I
spoke of is a Baronet’s Son, as
he has carefully given me to understand:
I take it for granted,
he likes me; and wou’d have
me do the same by him. As
he came in he put off his Travelling
Suit, for a Coat and
Vest, design’d to dazzle the Curaterate B5r 9
and all his Congregation.
The Way I took to mortifie his
Foppery, was, not to speak a
Word of the Change; which
made him extream uneasie: At
length, out of all Patience, he
desired my Opinion, If his Taylor
had used him well? What
the Brocade was worth a Yard?
How many Ounces of Silver-
Fringe? And recommended to
my Curiosity the exquisite Workmanship
of the Loops; and then
gave me the Sum Total of his
Cost. I answer’d him, That
Finery was lost upon me; I neither
was, nor pretended to be
a Judge. He pertly answer’d,
He perceiv’d by my Sullenness,
that I had a great deal of Wit;
though I understood he had but little B5v 10
little by his Remark. ―― Well,
all this did not do: He wou’d
fain have had me enquir’d into
his Family, Intrigues, and Fortune;
which when he perceiv’d
I had no Curiosity for, “’Faith,
Madam,” said he, “I beg your Ladyship’s
Opinion, if I am not the most
unfortunate Man breathing: I’ll
tell you a most mortifying Adventure
―― Nay, you must hear me ――
I vow, this Indifferency does not
look natural to you; your eyes promise
us much more Fire.” I’ll shut
’em, thought I, for ever, rather
than such a Fop shall find any
thing to like them for ―― “What!
no Answer, Madam,” said he; “I perceive
your Attention by your Silence.
Gad, I love a Person of your Breeding,
that know themselves better than B6r 11
than to interrupt a good Story.”
“Perhaps Madam is not well with her
Journey,” answer’d Mrs. Mayoress
of Tatness ―― “Alas! I wonder Riding
in the Coach shou’d not have
got you a better Stomach ―― Poor
Gentlewoman, she has scarce eat any
thing.” “I’ll recompence that by a
Feast of the Mind,” answer’d my
Fop. “How say you, Madam?
Shall I begin the Regalio?” ――
“I had as good consent,” quoth I:
“With or without my Leave, I see
you are resolv’d upon’t.” “Well then,
Madam,” said he, “since you are disposed
to be delighted, I’ll about it
instantly.”

“It happen’d at Oxford three
Months ago, (where I often
came, my Father’s Estate being‘ing B6v 12
not far distant) I saw a
Lady, and fell in Love with
her; Ay Gad, Madam, down
right in Love with her. She
was a Person Gentilely bred,
had seen the Beaux Monde,
made the Tour of all the Places
of Gallantry, shin’d in the
Drawing-Room, languish’d in
the Boxes, adorn’d the Park ;
in a Word, was all a Man of
my Circumstances cou’d desire ,
in one he was resolv’d to make
an Oblation of his Heart to ,
But as her Honour was my
Care, and not Marrying my Design,
I search’d for a dexterous
Pretence to visit, and be happy.
I took Mr. Sly with me, a Gentleman
of the Town, who had
a Wife: To give you the Character‘racter B7r 13
of my Friend, He was
naturally amorous, had a handsom
Person, and Strains of natural
Wit beyond whatever I
saw in the most Acquir’d; and
your Ladyship must allow me
to be a Judge of Wit, by so
dexterously finding out yours,
Maugre your Silence.” I bow’d
for this extraordinary Compliment;
and thought I cou’d not
more agreeably return it, than by
continuing my Silence; and, as
the Poet has it, “left him to his dear
Mistake.” “Mr. Sly,” continued he,
“was to propose a Marriage between
me and my Lady Conquest,
to the old People, her Relations,
whom she was just come
to live with: But as soon as he
saw her, if I was her first Oxford-Victim,‘ford- B7v 14
he was certainly
the second; and, as I found,
presently took with her. She
had a very fine Hand, which
Mr. Sly, according to the
Country-Liberty, kiss’d; and
then, with Cleveland, said, ‘So soft, tis Air; but once remov’d, Tender, as ’twere a Jelly Glov’d.’
She gave him a Look, which
seem’d to say, she wonder’d in
that Place at such a Piece of
Gallantry; and then pursuing
with her Wit the Victory of
her Eyes, charm’d my Friend
to that Degree, that he told
me, he must enjoy her, or die.
Gad, Madam, was not this a very
odd Turn? I carried him to speak ‘for B8r 15
for me; and he comes to make
me the Confident of his Designs?
We agreed, tho’ as Friends
shou’d, to keep our mutual
Confidence secret from her,
and to endeavour each of us to
make himself happy, and faithfully
to relate the Progress of
our Amours. But because the
Country is much given to Tattling,
the Pretensions of Marriage
went on. Lady Conquest
was Airy and Coquet; lov’d
Company and Gallantry, if
they cou’d be purchas’d with
Safety: But she knew so well
how to manage every body,
that none durst speak to her,
more than she had a mind to
hear. I was one of the aw’d
Fools. Gad! Wou’d you believe,‘lieve B8v 16
Madam, that Love cou’d
make so great an Ass of a Man
of my Understanding? And yet
’twas not altogether that neither,
my Pride was concern’d;
I was resolv’d not to serve for
her Diversion, till I was sure
she was consenting to be mine;
but cou’d no more keep out of
her Company, than I cou’d
hang my self. I desired her to
walk: She consented, with a
Crony she pick’d up, upon Condition
I wou’d engage Mr. Sly
of the Party. I was jealous,
but to no purpose; either my
Rival’s Company, or not my
Mistress’s. Sly pretended Fear
of his Wife, that he durst not
appear in publick with any other
Woman; for she already began ‘to C1r 17
to have Apprehensions of my
Lady Conquest, whose Way of
Living was remote to those of
Country-Gentlewomen’s; and
therefore he was resolv’d to
think no more of her, tho’ infinitely
pleasing to him; for his
Fortune depended, in a great
measure, upon his Wife’s Mother.
I came back with this
doleful News to Lady Conquest.
‘Go tell him,’ answer’d she, ‘He
who has pretended to love me,
shou’d fear nothing more than not
being belov’d; and that I command
him to meet us at the appointed
place.’ I ran, like a
Fool, to do her Message, which
I believ’d Raillery, because she
ought to have been more cautious
of a Married Man’s Love, C ‘if C1v 18
if serious. Sly wanted but Intreaty:
He consented, and we
met, but not to my Comfort;
tho’ the Expence was mine, he
had the Profit: She was not easie
unless he sat nigh her; she
talk’d to him, star’d at him, did
every thing to shew she was
pleas’d; whilst I, by a Notion
of Pride, wou’d pretend nothing,
for fear I shou’d not have
all: For, Gad, Madam, I don’t
love being baulk’d thus. Several
times we met, but all as little to
the purpose. Undoubtedly, she
saw I lov’d her, but wou’d not
see, because I was of Use in her
Affair with Sly. The whole
Town talk’d of our approaching
Wedding, and I began to
be Fool enough to resolve on’t ‘through C2r 19
through Sly’s Persuasion, who
continually extoll’d her Honour
and Vertue, and tickl’d
my Pride with the News of her
Love; but that she wanted a
Declaration from me, before I
cou’d expect a Confession from
her. I told him, I wou’d think
on’t; and so we parted. ――
That Night (as Chance wou’d
have it) I pass’d along by the
House where she liv’d, and I
found the Gate open: I know
not what Devil of Curiosity
carry’d me in; and when in, to
go to her Chamber: I did both
unseen, and conceal’d my self
behind the Bed, which I saw fitted
for Night. I resolv’d to
wait till she shou’d be in Bed,
and then to take Advantage of C2 ‘her C2v 20
her Woman’s Absence (who
lay in the Antichamber) and
there to declare my Love, and
offer her Marriage. Long I
had not waited, (Though, Gad,
Madam, I was very impatient, and
thought every Minute Seven,)
when the charming Fair came
from her Dressing-Room, with
nothing on but her Night-
Gown and Slippers, which were
soon thrown off, and the Goddess
appear’d more beauteous
than the naked Queen of Love.
The happy Bed soon receiv’d
her; and she cry’d, ‘Haste, and
bring my Lover to me.’ At these
Words her Woman went into
the Antichamber, and return’d
softly with Sly; who flew to
her Arms, sigh’d, kiss’d, and dy’d C3r 21
dy’d there. ―― Imagine my Surprize!
’Twas so great, I cou’d
not in a long time shew my self,
to interrupt ’em: At length,
seeing him undress for Bed,
Gad, Madam, my Patience was
quite expir’d; ‘Traytor’, said I in
shewing my self, ‘Is it thus thou
preservest thy feign’d Duty to thy
Wife?’ I laid my Hand upon my
Sword, and he did the like
on his; and we had certainly
drawn, had not the Amorous
Fair thrown her self out of Bed
between us, and conjur’d us on
her Knees to make no noise;
else she was lost for ever. I
rais’d her naked Beauties, and
carry’d them whence they came,
but complain’d at my hard Fortune,
which had made me the C3 ‘In- C3v 22
Instrument of my own Ruin.
She saw I was extreamly touch’d
at it; and after her Shame and
Surprize was a little over, ‘You
have no Reason, Sir’, said she, ‘to
complain of me: I cou’d have no
Engagements with a Man who never
pretended to love me. Tho’
you have given me the Glory of
refusing you as a Husband (in the
Eyes of the Town) it cou’d not
but nettle me, to know there was
nothing serious on your side, but
done like a Gentleman, to secure
my Reputation amongst Illbred
Fools, who know not the
Charms of Conversation, and
won’t permit it (without Censure)
to those that do.’ ‘But, Gad, Madam,’
answer’d I, ‘your Ladiship
is not so dull, but to know I lov’d ‘you: C4r 23
you: All my Assiduities, Uneasiness,
Sighs and Oaglings must
have inform’d you.’ ‘Our Sex dares
hardly believe yours,’ she reply’d,
‘when you take pains to speak:
And sure ’twere an unpardonable
Vanity to draw such Consequences
without it. Those Circumstances
you pretend, I have found common
to all Gentlemen: Therefore must
I conclude the whole World is in
Love with me; and deny my self
to those who tell me they are my
Servants, for the vain Imagination
that another is silently so?’
‘Gad, Madam’, answer’d I, ‘I can’t
possibly forgive the Preference of a
dull, silly, sober Married Man, to
an Airy, Well-dress’d, Young, Amorous
one. I’ll be gone to London
by Break of day, for fear I shou’d C4 ‘not C4v 24
not conceal my Resentments, and
so injure your Ladyship irreparably:
For, Gad, Madam, I must
repeat again, you were to blame
to slight all the Pains I took to
breed you for nobler Game.’” This
last I confess, broke my Splenetick
Silence, and I cou’d not hold
laughing heartily; which amply
paid my Squire for the Pains he
had taken in his Relation. He
concluded it with telling me his
Journey to London, and short Stay
there, only to accouter, his Design
of visiting a Lady-Sister,
marry’d into Devonshire: And
clos’d with Lauds to his good
Fortune, that had thrown him
into a Coach with a Lady of my
Charms and Sense, to whom he
had sacrific’d the Relicks of Ladydy C5r 25
Conquest the first Minute that
he saw me. I answer’d him, That
I found Experience had made him
resolve against losing a second
Mistress for want of speaking. ――
He had Manners sufficient (or rather
Conscience) to think he had
given me enough of his Beaux-
self for one Day, and withdrew.

I cou’d not forbear, late as it
was, sending you an Account: If
you laugh in your Turn, I am
paid for my Pains, as well as the
Squire. ’Tis now past Eleven,
and they’ll call us by Two: Good
Night; I am going to try if I can
drown in Sleep that which most
sensibly affects me, the cruel Separation
we have so lately suffer’d.

Letter III.

Don’t you think I am more
constant than your Friendship
cou’d hope, or mine pretend
to? I think it a great Proof of
it, amidst the Fatigues of a
West-Country Journey, to give
you thus duly an Account of my
insignificant self, and Travels.
We parted from Hartley-Row at
Three this Morning, through a
Croud of Beggars, who watch
your Coach for Alms; and will
never leave it unbles’d. Hence
my Beaux took Occasion of Simile;
Bid me to observe how
wakeful those Wretches were for
small Charities; That he wou’d
do the like, in hopes of greater; And C6r 27
And that my Divine Idea has so
fill’d his Sight, he cou’d not resolve
to let Sleep intrude for
fear of shutting me out. I perceiv’d
he took pains to be thought
uneasie, and I have more good
Manners than to disappoint him.
Mrs. Moayoress, now she is acquainted,
has all the low, disagreeble
Familiarity of People
of her Rank. She entertain’d
us all the Morning with
a sorry Love-business about her
Second Husband; Stuff so impertinent,
I remember nothing
of it. Beaux continues his Assiduities;
I think none was ever so
plagu’d with dying Eyes; his are
continually in that posture, and
my Opposites, that I am forc’d
to take a good deal of pains to avoid C6v 28
avoid ’em. The two other Fellow-Travellers
were never so promoted
before, and are much
troubl’d their Journey is to last
no longer, and wish the four
Days four Months. I hope every
Jolt will squash their Guts, and
give’em enough on’t: But they
are Proof against any such Disasters,
and hugely delighted with
what they are pleas’d to call Riding
in State. After this ridiculous
Account, you need not
doubt but I am throughly mortify’d.
―― The Trouts are just
brought upon the Table, which
are the only good thing here;
they look inviting, and won’t stay
for Cooling Complements. I hope
Time will shew it none, to say,

Letter IV.

I can’t give my self any Reason
why these Coach-men
are such unreasonable Rogues:
They make us rise at Two in the
Morning, to bring us into our
Inn at the same Hour in the Afternoon.
After we were repos’d
a little, Beaux shin’d again, as
yesterday, and waited upon me
to Evening-Prayers. I need say
nothing to you of Salisbury-Cathedral:
If in a Foreign Country,
as the Lady in her Letters
of Spain, I cou’d entertain you
with a noble Description; but
you have either seen, or may
see it; and so I’ll spare my Architecture.
There are abundance of C7v 30
of pretty, innocent-look’d Women,
genteel enough; but I have
lost my Heart to a handsom
Church-man. I never thought
before that Dress was tolerable;
but so wore, it seems a mighty
Ornament. He was plac’d behind
me; but I turn’d my Devotion,
and kneel’d to him, imagining
him no less than (as in
Antique Days) some High Priest
of the Sun. The Canon gave
me Cause to think he had din’d
too well, and was oblig’d to his
Snuff, more than Religion, for
keeping him awake. ―― Well,
Devotion done, I was forc’d to
break up mine, and leave him
without a Knowledge of his
Conquest. As we were walking
to our Inn, I ask’d Beaux what we C8r 31
we shou’d do to pass the next
day without being very weary
of each other, for Sunday does
not permit Travelling. He, you
may be sure, did not fail to tell
me, He cou’d never be weary of
me, tho’ (himself) expiring by
my Sight and Cruelty. I wav’d
his Complement, and told him
my Design of engaging the People
in the Exeter-Coach (if they
seem’d worth it) to live with us
for the time. When we return’d,
we were told it was not
yet come in, occasion’d by the
breaking of the Axle-tree five
Miles off; but that a Fellow was
gone to mend it, and they were
expected every Moment. My
Chamber-Window answer’d the
Court; I rose to it at the Noise of C8v 32
of the Coach, and presently saw
alight a tall, blustring, big-bon’d,
raw Thing, like an over-grown
School-Boy, but conceited above
any thing. He had an Appurtenance,
call’d a Wife, whom
he suffer’d to get out as well as
she cou’d; as long as he had
layn with her, he did not think
her worth the Civility of his
Hand. She seem’d a Giant of a
Woman, but very fine, with a
right Citt Air. He bluster’d presently
for the best Lodging,
which he saw taken up by her
that held the fine Fan before her
Face: You may guess this was
your humble Servant. The
Chamberlain told him, ’Twas
their Custom, First come, first
serv’d; but that there were very good D1r 33
good Chambers besides. The
rest of the Company were two
Things that look’d pert and awkard;
Trades-men’s Daughters
I judg’d ’em. but methoughts,
casting my Eyes upon a Gentlewoman
and her Servant that
came out last, I found something
pleas’d me; whether it
were because she really deserv’d
it, or that the Stuff she was with
set her off. I had a Basin of fine
Heart-Cherries before me, just
come from the Garden: I caus’d
’em to be brought after me, into
the Gallery, and desig’d ’em
as a Bait to the Woman whom
I was to begin the Acquaintance
with; for Beaux design’d to set
up to get a Fortune in Devonshire,
and was unwilling to shew D any D1v 34
any Irregularity; ―― and I
thought my self above their Reflections.
The first that appear’d
was the Wife, with a Rising Belly:
This seem’d a good Hint;
I offer’d ’em to her, not knowing
but she might long. The
Sight, I suppose, did not displease
her, for she readily accepted, and
eat very greedily. The Gentile-
look’d Lady had much to do to
be persuaded. As for the other
two, they were gone to chuse a
Lodging. We presently grew
acquainted, taking Travellers Liberty
and Sup’d together. But,
shall I tell you? The Wife grew
jealous of me. It seems, her
Temper was such. And her Husband
(no small Man in his Country,
tho’ himself just set up in Mer- D2r 35
Merchandizing at London; his
Father one of the Canons at Exeter;)
thought he might carry
all Hearts before him, as well as
the Country-Lasses. They were
come from visiting their Friends,
and returning to their House in
London. Mrs. Stanhope, for that
was the lady’s Name that I lik’d,
told me, I was not to count upon
the Conquest, for he had
given her Douceurs all the Way,
and made her extream uneasie,
because his Wife appear’d to be
such. We grew into an Intimacy,
and left the Company. My
Beaux was to me faithless and
inconstant. One of the awkard
little Things I told you of, and
who had a tollerable Face, was
a Goldsmith’s Daughter of Exeter,D2 ter, D2v 36
and acquainted with his Lady-Sister;
that began their Acquaintance.
She seem’d free and
fond: He took the Hint, and
apply’d himself to her; which I
was very glad of. Mrs. Stanhope
went with me to my Chamber;
and after much Discourse, offer’d
Friendship, and mutual Knowledge
of each other; she gave
me this Account of her last Adventures,

“I came now from Falmouth,”
(said she) “where I have been
since the Beginning of the
Spring, to visit a Brother and
his Wife that lives there. ’Till
within these Six Weeks I saw
nothing that pleas’d me: At
loast, ’twas a Captain of a Man ‘of D3r 37
of War had the Chance; my
Brother brought him to his
House: And for my Excuse, I
must tell you, he is a very pretty,
genteel young Gentleman,
of a good Family and Education,
and in prospect of coming
to very good Fortune.
They talk’d of the Town and
Country-Beauties: At last, a
young Creature was nam’d,
whom I had not seen; but the
Captain set her before every
thing he had. I was concern’d
at his Opinion, and ask’d him
his of the Dutchess of Grafton?
He gave her her due Praise;
but yet, in his Esteem, this exceeded.
I cou’d not but think
him extreamly in the wrong;
and was angry when I heard D3 ‘him D3v 38
him wish himself a Man of
mighty Fortune, to deserve her.
He sail’d that Night; and after
Ten Days Cruise, came in
again. His first Visit was to
me. I ask’d him if he had seen
his Mistress. He said, he had
none. I remember’d him of
what he had spoke. He answer’d,
That I had taught him
better. He continu’d his Applications,
visited me Three
Times a Day: And because I
was still jealous of his Words,
I had him watch’d, and an Account
brought of all his Visits.
The young Lady’s Uncle made
a Ball; but because my Brother
and him were not well together,
there was no Hopes of
my being invited; which my ‘Lover D4r 39
Lover very well knew, and
therefore said, he wou’d not be
there, having receiv’d Orders
to Sail. He took his Leave
with transporting Sorrow; and
had the Glory to find mine
was real. However, I wou’d
not lose the Ball, because I desir’d
to see my reputed Rival.
I forgot to tell you, he had
never seen her but once, when
he prais’d her to that Degree;
and dexterously told me a second
Sight had undeceiv’d him.
I dress’d my self like a Farmer’s
Wife, with a Basket on my
Arm; and, by the help of one
of the Servants, was plac’d like a
Country-Gazer, at a Corner of
the Room. I needed not to be
told my Rival, a Thousand dazlingD4 ‘ling D4v 40
Charms distinguish’d her;
and, though I look’d with jealous
Eyes, must acknowledge,
I never saw any Beauty more
perfect. All my Hopes lay in
a certain Softness, which did
not promise much Wit. In a
little time, my Traytor (whom
I imagin’d in the wide Ocean)
came to the Ball, danc’d with
his Mistress, and was as Assiduous
as she deserv’d. I was so
well pleas’d at the Discovery, I
stay’d not for any more, for
fear I shou’d not ’scape my self.
About Midnight he came (for
a Minute) to see me; and told
me, he was just come Ashore,
the Ship under Sail; yet without
another Sight, ’twas impossible
for him to depart. I confounded‘founded D5r 41
him with telling him
what had so lately pass’d at the
Ball: Yet he drew himself out
of the Embarrass, and said every
thing, to make me think he
lov’d me; and we were seriously
treating upon the Affairs of
Matrimony. I told him, he
must get my Father’s Consent,
who liv’d at London, where I
was going. He beg’d me to
defer my Journey till he came
in; which I too readily promis’d;
and so we parted. I
knew my Fortune fairer than
my Rival’s, and began to be
persuaded I had the better of
her. For, What else cou’d
draw him to address me?
When I saw him return, ’twas
with mutual Joy: But he was ‘order’d D5v 42
order’d that same Night to sail
to Plimouth, and did not expect
to be back in a Week;
therefore we agreed upon my
Journey. He swore an inviolable
Love; and wou’d have
contracted himself, if I durst
without my Father’s Consent:
He intended to write to his
Friends above, to ask it. And
thus we once more parted, but
not till he had severely exclaim’d
against any Designs upon
my Rival, before a whole
Crew of Town-Gossips, that I
was sure wou’d tell her. You
may conclude, we agreed upon
Writing. I took my Journey,
and stay’d at an Aunt’s House
in Exeter Ten Days; where I
heard, that within four of my ‘Depar- D6r 43
Departure, my Lover return’d;
and in Three more was publickly
married to my Rival. I
writ to thank him for ridding
me of a Knavish Husband,
wish’d him Joy, took Coach,
and resolv’d against too easily
believing any Man again.”

The Post has just brought me
a Letter from you: I find you
curse me with the Continuation
of Egham-Uneasiness, till I return
to (the World in ) London.
Methinks ’tis unreasonable to
impose the continu’d Slavery of
Writing: I assure you, I shall
take Truce with it till at my
Journey’s End, unless something
happen worth our Notice. General
Talmash’s Body was brought in D6v 44
in here this Evening: His Secretary
I am acquainted with, and
have sent to desire the Favour of
his Company to Morrow to Dinner;
and if any thing in his Relation
be Entertaining, you shall
not fail of it from

Letter V.

The Account of so great
a Man’s Death as Mr. Talmash
(in the middle of all his
Enterprizes, when Fortune seem’d
to promise him much greener
Lawrels than he had yet gather’d)
has so added to my Melancholy,lancholy, D7r 45
that I will not describe
his Misfortune to you, for fear
it be contagious; but rather suffer
you to expect the publick Account;
for I am one of those
that esteem you more, than to
make you uneasie; as I think
none can be otherwise, that hears
the Particulars of his Loss.
Something there was, extream
touching. ――

After this doleful Subject, methinks
my Beaux may justly complain
I have so long a time neglected
his most singular self. We
parted this Morning from our
Sunday-Acquaintance. Fop told
me (when I gently reproach’d him
for Inconstancy,) “Gad, Madam,
’tis but to make my self the newer to
your Ladyship to Morrow.” I rather thought D7v 46
thought ’twas to keep me such
to him. He has given me a Relation
of his Success with the
Damsel. She treated him (in
her Chamber) with Rosa Solis,
and what he calls Sucket. The
rest he wou’d willingly have acquainted
me with, but I recommended
Discretion in Ladies Affairs;
and he, almost bursting,
is yet forc’d to be silent. How
long he will keep such, I do not
know, for he has often offer’d at
breaking his most painful Penance.
We have pass’d Dorchester
and Blandford to Day, but
nothing I found in either worth
your notice. The Toils of the
Body influence the Mind: I suppose,
by my Dulness, you find I
speak woful Truths. We are lodg’d D8r 47
lodg’d at Bridgport, and very ill;
but ’tis but for a Night. Here’s
just come into the Inn an Acquaintance
of Beaux’s, who promises
yielding Matter for to Morrow’s
Letter. This was infected
in the Beginning by General Talmash;
and the most uneasie Journey
as dully concludes it.

Letter VI.

Beaux is now grown so insipid,
that I shall say very little
of him for the future; and I have
Reason to believe my self such
to him; for these two last Evenings,ings, D8v 48
contrary to Custom, he
has not Re-dress’d: The Fatigue,
which he seems more sensible of
than any of us, has tarnish’d the
Lustre of his Eyes; and, instead
of any further Oagling, drowns
all his Amorous Pretensions in as
profound Sleep as the uneasie
Jolting of the Coach will permit.
This is what I can never
be so happy to gain. But to tell
you something of our last Night’s
Entertainment: Whilst Supper
was getting ready, the Gentleman
I told you of, at Beaux’s
Intreaty, gave us an Account of
what Affairs were carrying him
to London: The short of it is this.
“Your Ladyship,” said he, “may
soon perceive by my Accent ‘that E1r 49
that I am a Foreigner. I had
the Glory of following the
Prince of Orange, (now our Auspicious
King) in his Expedition
into England. We landed in
the West, with all those Particulars,
which are needless to repeat.
During our Stay at Exeter,
I render’d my constant Devotion
at the Cathedral; and
in coming thence one Evening,
and old Woman (with a Look
as mean as a Beggar) presented
me a Letter; which, when I
had open’d, I found from an
Unknown, who stil’d himself
my Friend, and gave me this
Advice, That a Lady of good
Country-Quality and Fortune,
(and who was then in Exeter)
was going to be dispos’d of by E ‘her E1v 50
her Mother, to a Man she no
way affected: But that she had
been heard to say, ‘If the handsome
Switzer were in his place, she
shou’d obey without Reluctancy.’
And concluded the Letter with
giving me Advice, like a good
Friend, to improve my growing
Fortune: For so considerable
an one as Twelve Thousand
Pounds was not every
Day thrown into a Soldier’s
Lap. I had forgot to tell your
Ladyship the Letter was writ in
French, and Directions of the
Lady’s Name and Lodgings.
My Heart gave me a secret Presage
that the Matter wou’d not
be lucky to me, which I follow’d,
and therefore took no
notice of the Letter. Three ‘Days E2r 51
Days after, the same Old Woman
brought me another much
more pressing: Upon which, I
gave my self blindly up to my
Destiny. I visited, and found
the Lady, tho’ not a Beauty,
yet Genteel and Taking. ’Twas
easie to guess by my Reception
that the Letters came from her.
I’ll omit the Discourse we had,
and only rest upon Matter of
Fact. She oblig’d me to leave
my Command, and go with
her to her Estate. Her Mother
look’d upon me with an evil
Eye; but my Mistress was
transportingly kind, and much
concern’d that none of the Ministers
round durst marry us,
for fear of the Old Lady.
Whereupon, we concluded I E2 ‘shou’d E2v 52
shou’d pretend to make my
Leave, as designing for London;
but instead of that, go
directly into Cornwall, where she
had a considerable Estate, and
wou’d meet me. The Matter
happen’d as we had agreed;
but for fear her Mother shou’d
pursue us, she consented to take
me for her Husband before the
Parson cou’d be got to make
us such. That happy Night I
had all the Reason in the World
to believe my self agreeable to
her; and all was confirm’d in
the Morning, by the Priest.
Thus caress’d and bless’d, we
return’d to her House. The
Old Lady (who had no Command
of her Daughter’s Fortune,
and saw the Business beyond‘yond E3r 53
Remedy) was with the
first to make her Court to me,
and wish me Joy. Three happy
Months I had all the Satisfaction
that innocent Marriage
and excessive Love in a Bride
cou’d give me. Then I began
to consider a little my Affairs,
and propos’d to my Wife my
being Naturaliz’d, that I might
look after hers. She swounded
at the Name; and when she recover’d,
she snatch’d a Bayonet
of mine, and wounded her self
under the Left Breast, but not
much. I can’t express my Surprize:
We hush’d the Matter,
for fear of her Mother; and I
employ’d some of my Soldierly
Skill to cure it, which had the
Effect. I enquir’d into the ReasonE3 ‘son E3v 54
of this Extravagancy. She
told me, the Discovery of Interest
in me, when she had believ’d
Love was the only Motive
to our Marriage. Some
Days pass’d and as often as I
offer’d at it, she receiv’d such
mighty Disgust, that I resolv’d
to get it done without her Notice;
for she took me not as a
Husband, but a Lover. ’Tis
true, I was receiv’d as a Guest,
but not a Master; and my Circumstance
(having left my
Command) requir’d that. I
got her Leave for my Journey:
She shew’d such extravagant
Passion at our Separation, that
I swore a speedy Return; and
resolv’d to leave my Naturalization
depending, look after ‘my E4r 55
my other Affairs, and return
within a Fortnight to her: But
before that time I had a dangerous
Fit of Sickness in London.
I writ often to her, and
gave her an Account, that the
Act was Pass’d, and I cou’d
now happily call my self an
English Husband. She only
answer’d, ‘She knew how to interpret
it; but she was out in her
Cunning, if I shou’d find an English
Wife at my Service, who knew
not the true Value and Use of one.’
This Letter damp’d me; but
trusting to the Greatness of that
Power Love had given me in
her Heart, I did not question
but my Presence wou’d make
all things easie. I took Post,
my Impatience wou’d not stay E4 ‘the E4v 56
the Coach, tho’ the Remains
of my Fever seem’d to expect it.
I gave my self no Rest during
the whole Journey. I sent to
give her notice of my Arrival:
But what was my Surprize, to
find all shut at home! I call’d
under her Window, where I
perceiv’d Light: ’Twas a heavy
Night of Rain: I knock’d at the
Gates, and storm’d, but all to no
purpose; I was glad to take up
my Lodging in the Porch. At
Six in the Morning an Under-
Servant appear’d: I ask’d for
her Lady. She told me, ‘She was
gone none knew whither, and had
convey’d away her Plate, &c. So
that, if I pleas’d, an empty House
was at my Service.’ I calmly
bore all this, imagining it but ‘a Trial; E5r 57
a Trial; sought her round the
Country, but in vain; she often
shifted Places and went disguis’d.
Not long after, she
commenc’d a Process against
me, and by a Pretence, (which
will for ever make her notorious)
render’d me to the
Court as Incapable. I was still
so tender of her Fame, as to
suffer the Aspertion. Common
Law separated us: She got the
better, by my refusing to vindicate
my self, and I Fifteen Hundred
Pounds of her Fortune,
and the Charges of the Court.
’Tis since last August that this
has happen’d. I have vainly
try’d to remove her implacable
Aversion, or to learn the Cause
of it: But I see my Endeavours ‘are E5v 58
are all fruitless; and I am now
going to leave England, I think
for ever.”

I complemented him upon his
Misfortunes, and really, in my
Opinion, he cou’d not be deserving
of them. “Gad, Madam,”
speaks Beaux, “See what unconstant
Things you Ladies are! I happen’d
to be at this Gentleman’s House
when he was first marry’d, and never
saw any thing so fond of him as
his Wife. Gad, I don’t believe,
whatever Woman I make happy, tho’
her Esteem be equal to my Merit,
she can possibly be fonder.”

I am now got safely, weary,
into Exeter; and, I thank
God, rid of the Impertinency of
my Fellow-Travellers, Beaux excepted,cepted E6r 59
who will see me safe
home, tho’ distant from his. The
Cathedral here is very fine; the
Bishop’s Seat in it surpasses Salisbury,
tho’ short in every thing else.
Forgive me for leaving you thus
abruptly, since ’tis more pleasingly
to entertain my self with a Letter
of yours just brought to me.

Letter VII.

If I have omitted answering
your Three last, it proceeded
from nothing but the Desire of doing E6v 60
doing something new; and you
know ’tis extreamly so in me, not
eagerly to shew you all Testimonies
of Friendship. ―― My Solitude
is much more pleasing than
I fancy’d it: As yet I am not
weary of that happy Indifferency,
which leaves me nothing either
to hope or fear. “Thus empty, and thus Idle do I
live, Nor Lov’d, nor Loving, can nor take,
nor give.”

I have most Foppish Letters
from Beaux, who parted with a
World of seeming Regret; and
yet I hear he is endeavouring at
a Mistress. I suppose I may bid
his Impertinence Farewell for ever: E7r 61
ever: I think I bad you hope (in
one of mine) to hear no more
of him; I know not how I am
fallen upon the nauseous Repetition.
Themistocles refus’d Simonides,
when he wou’d have taught
him the Art of Memory; pertinently
saying, “He had more need
of Forgetfulness than Memory. I
remember what I wou’d not, but I
cannot forget what I wou’d.” My
Study has fallen upon Religion;
I am searching into all sorts:
You shall not fail to hear what
that Chance-Medley produces.
I can now with cold Indifferency
shake Hands with all Things
beyond this Solitude. How long
the extraordinary Humour may
last, I can’t inform you at present.
I repeat with Stoical Pride, Keep E7v 62 “Keep me, ye Bounteous Gods, my
Caves and Woods In Peace: Let Tares and Acorns be
my Food.”

Postscript. I forgot to leave Orders with
the Jew about the Chocolate:
Pray, take care that it be
sent me, and excuse the Trouble.

Letter VIII.

I am sorry I can’t make good
my Promise to so indearing
a Friend as your self. Looking
over my Papers, I find but one
of Colonel Pack ’s Letters in Imitation
of the Portugal-Nuns: I
certainly had Three, which he
sent to me for my Opinion; but
Two are lost, which I very much
regret; and the more, because I
know not where he is, to repair
it. I wou’d hear how you approve
his Stile. I think Imitation
the hardest Part of Writing:
It confines a Free-born Genius,
which naturally loves Untrod
Wilds; at least, if I may guess
at anothers by my own. And now E8v 64
now I am speaking of that, let
me tell you, all those Romantick
Ideas of Retirements, which
view’d at a distance, gives a
ravishing Prospect, now I am
Wedded, Bedded too, prove the
worst sort of Matrimony; but
’tis only to such a particular
Friend as your self, that I dare
complain; to the remoter Sort
I assume a Stoical Appetite and
Air: ―― Tell them, the World,
with all its gaudy Pleasures, are
but rich Delusions, which at once
corrupts our Senses, and our
Fame: That the little Spot of
Earth I have chose to fix my
Face in, has more solid Entertainments,
more real Innate Delights,
than the Glories of Kensington:
Then sigh, and seem to pity F1r 4965
pity the more Elevated Part of
the World, that can bury themselves
in Noise and Crowd. ――
But, let me tell you, there’s no
real Satisfaction without Conversation.
I have had so much of
the Dead since I settled here, and
(as I may say) nothing of the
Living, for I find none deserves
the Name, that I wish for the
Conjuring Art; and wou’d rather
converse with the Ghosts
of the Departed, than always
with their Books, or with my
self.―― but I forget I detain
you from better Company; I
mean, the Inclosed. Write to
me still, but nothing of News;
I mean to hear none, till I see
London again; and when that
will be, I have not the Pleasure F so F1v 5066
so much as to imagine: ’Twill
be new (to lie forgotten, and
forgetting, and, as it were, be
born with Understanding) to all
the Vanities and Vertues (if any)
of that Hydra.

A Second Letter from a supposed
Nun in Portugal, to a Gentleman
in France, in Imitation of
the Five Letters in Print, by Colonel Pack.

Omy fled Heart, and he
that so unjustly keeps it from F2r 5167
from me! Was not your barbarous
Resolution sufficient, that I
shou’d never possess yours; but
you must add the Use of all your
best Art to keep me from my
own? In what Disorder do I
speak and write, for want of a
poor tender Heart? That’s gone
a Pilgrimage to Love, and (the
unkind Heavens not hearing its
Prayer) has, through Distraction,
lost its Way, and never
will return again. Fire sets on
Fire: Why then does not my
Flame make you burn? ’Tis a
false Maxim: Extremity of Cold
scorches you. Had I at first
put on a Behaviour more cool
and remote to your pretended
Affection, and treated you with
Unkindness, how many Bows F2 and F2v 5268
and Vows wou’d you have offer’d
of at Love’s Altar? With
what Ardency wou’d you have
continu’d your Protestations.
Who wou’d have thought that
a Fire (at first) so well kindled
as yours, shou’d need Fanning
with an infectious Blast, to preserve
its Heat? Or that the
wholsome Sun shou’d put it out?
But that, Alas! was my Misfortune:
My Burning was the
greater, and drew yours away. ――
How can I then with any Confidence
blame you for what I my
self was truly and principally the
Occasion of? You too easily
perceiv’d how earnestly I was
wont to watch your Eyes, that
they look’d not on other; as
if mine took it unkindly they were F3r 5369
were not gazed on altogether.
How perverse are our Fates!
Why else was it not contriv’d
that you might be as happy in
me, as ’twas possible for me to
be in you? Say what you will,
you was to blame. What Care
you took to assault my Affections,
was sufficiently discoverable
in the constant Ardour and
Formality of your Approaches;
contriving to appear at all Times
as Engaging as possible. Your
Conquest was not so great: You
cou’d not well have met with a
Heart less fortified for a Defence:
Ye Gods! that I shou’d
yield upon your very first Summons;
and so dishonourably,
that I was not allow’d Flying
Colours! Nay, what’s yet more, F3 That F3v 5470
That I shou’d bear so mean,
low, and contemptible a Spirit,
as to take infinitely more Delight
in my own Vasslage and
Captivity, than in the most flourishing
Tranquillity! What do I
thus rave upon? What wou’d I
have? If I am happy in my
Condition, why do I not rest,
and retain my Senses, like others
of my Sex? But that still (and, I
fear, ever) I have the same sad
Tune to sing:
“My Conqueror (whom
I ador’d for being so) is
gone; and my Cloyster is
now as much a Prison to me,
as ’twas Heaven, and Liberty,
and all things, when I
had him there. ’Twas an unworthy
Thing to steal my ‘better F4r 5571
better Part, my Soul, away;
and not think this
little Frame, its old Companion,
worth taking with
you. But what you had got,
you thought, was of light
Carriage, needed little Stowage,
paid no Freight, and (I
dare stake my Life) was the
All ever you intended to have
of me: And to be so serv’d,
is (it seems) the All I am ever
likely to expect from you.
How grosly did I flatter my
self, and abuse you, whenever
I imagin’d you wou’d be kind
and true to me! You that are
so cruel, that cou’d you reduce
any other Woman into
my ill Circumstances, if
there was a Third in the F4 ‘World, F4v 5672
World, you wou’d certainly
leave the former, and there
feign fresh Adorations. If there
was not, yet purely to gratifie
your Inhumanity to her, even
I, now slighted and neglected,
shou’d then have your
Company; for you cou’d not
brook being put by a Pleasure
of that kind, tho’ it cost
you the Trouble of going to
one who lov’d you more than
the World. ――”

How very odd (and as tho’
you were writing to some publick
Place of Intelligence) was
that Discourse of yours, in your
last Letter, concerning the great
Lightning and Thunder which
you say happen’d in your Parts!
Also, you desire to know what Weather F5r 5773
Weather we have had here. Is
this fit to stuff in a Love-Letter?
Truly, it might have thunder’d,
lighten’d and rain’d, or it might
have been very pleasant, delightful
Weather, for ought I know;
for I am not capable of making
any Remarks of that kind: But
this I can inform you, being too
sure of the Truth of it, that it has
been very stormy Weather in
my Eyes ever since your Departure;
and until you return (the
only Sun, whose Influence can
disperse these Clouds) I fear ’twill
ever be tempestuous. This Account
(it may be) pleases you more
than if I had sent you Word the
ill weather had reach’d our Country,
demolish’d our Monastery,
set me at Liberty, and I was in pursuit F5v 5874
pursuit of you. Then, then how
I wou’d glut my Revenge by the
Incursions of my Love! For it
should haunt you in all Places and
Countries. And since it wore so
much the Visage of an Evil Spirit
in your Conceit here, as to make
you quit the Place, I wou’d try
whether Change of Air wou’d alter
its Complection and Features,
so as to force you into a better
Opinion of it, and be throughly
reveng’d on you that Way: For,
to love, I find, is the Unhappiness
you wou’d avoid, above all other
Things: But your Appetite and
Taste is as much deprav’d, as my
Project is vain and impracticable:
I find the Sowr of France gratifies
your Palate above the Sweets of
Portugal; and a French Lady (with her F6r 5975
her distant Regards to your Address,
and (at last) counterfeit artificial
Acceptance shall engage
you much more than the Loyalty,
Integrity, Truth and Freedom
of my unlimited Passion. Will
not the World swear we are both
mad: You for preferring a Counterfeit,
(because it glisters) before
the true Metal it self, which is
known to every Child, by its
Weight: I for my Fidelity to so
much Ingratitude. But let the
World blame us as it pleases, I
am resolv’d to be as true to you,
as you to your unnatural Inconstancy.
―― To what a Degree of
Bliss shou’d I be advanc’d, if I
cou’d find you complaining of
the Remisness of my Love, and
admiring how intense was your own F6v 6076
own: And I shou’d be but too
happy, if that Fault was not found
on your side, as (Alas!) to all
the World too visibly it is: And
the same Conceptions you make
of an Immensity will but just serve
you to fathom my Zeal, which
(altho’ cherish’d and prun’d after
the most careful manner) is productive
of nothing but the most
bitter, sowr and unpleasant Fruits
imaginable. ―― Your unkind Dealings
and Actions to me are the
Fruits of my extraordinary Passion.
What Soul cou’d imagine
such dissonant Notes shou’d spring
up, to interrupt the Harmony of
my Affection? In what had you
been the worse, if my extream
Kindness you had retaliated with
but a little of yours; and altho’ more F7r 6177
more than a little be my due, yet
with the least Grain I cou’d have
wrought my own Contentment:
But you are so unjust to deny all,
and leave me to the harassing of
a miserable Despair; one Hour’s
Torment of which I wou’d not
wish you shou’d endure, Ages to
come, to be set free my self; and
yet no otherwise fond of my
Condition, but as it is a Gift of
yours, and which (for any thing
less than your Love) I will never
part with. Barbarous, Barbarous!
to deny me that, which
you take more pains to throw
away upon another, than I can
do to obtain it. You shall not
use me thus; indeed, you must
not: ’Tis I say it, but you regard
not that, so insensible you are F7v 6278
are of my Condition; which,
tho’ never so unfortunate as to
my own particular, yet is aggravated
with Cares for your Welfare,
who are the sole Cause of
my Unhappiness. How you will
relish this Letter. I know not, I
fear you will think there are too
many Invectives against your
Tyranny; in which I will agree
with you my self, and ask your
Forgiveness: But, alas! they are
as gentle as I cou’d possibly persuade
my Pen to drop; for, since
you take so much pleasure in a
hard Heart, I wou’d not for the
World any ways cross you, but
making you less obdurate; so
tenderly I value your Satisfaction,
and so little (for your
sake) my own. But, Oh! the infinite F8r 6379
infinite Pleasures you wou’d find
in Love, if you thought them
worth the looking after! Love
(as it is, or is not mutual) is
the truest Epitome of the Supernatural
States: If mutual, the
Joys are lasting, and never cloy;
if not, the Torments are intolerable,
yet must be endur’d. Oh,
that any thing I cou’d say might
dissolve you to a Sense of my
miserable Life; or, indeed, rather
your own! And yet, if it
cou’d, in the least, enter into my
Thoughts that you are altogether
at Repose, I assure you, I
wou’d never interrupt you; no
Noise of my Afflictions shou’d
ever be your Disturbance: But
I am very much mistaken if you
are altogether without Remorse for F8v 6480
for the Sufferings you have
brought upon me. I remember,
you once was flexible, and
of a compassionate Nature, and
your Behaviour very like a Gentleman;
whatever has mis-guided
you to the Abuse of my Favours,
which (if I have Knowledge
of my Heart) were (at
first) much more for your sake,
than my own, you were the Aggressor,
and not I; and whatever
Kindness I shew’d you, was
more to make me happy, than
your self; that by Charity to a
Serpent, I at last was stung.
’Tis said, that venomous Creatures
have a Balsamick Quality
in themselves, to cure the
Wounds they make: But you
(more unnatural than all the rest) have G1r 81
have none; at least, most cruelly
with hold it from me. O Heaven!
That I had but Power to contain
my self! That I had but Temper
to be a little calm! But ’tis a Condition
I have long since abandon’d,
and (till I see you again)
will never re-assume. In the
Rage I am in, I cou’d think you
as many unkindnesses, as, by
and by, the Fury of Love wou’d
find a Task to unravel; for if
one Half Hour I blame you, in
the next I call it Injustice. So
careful I am that no ill Thought
of you appear deserving, that
were you worse than you are,
my Pleasure wou’d consist in being
flatter’d that you are better
than I think you: Nay, Sometimes
I persuade my self that you G are G1v 82
are a Man of the greatest Justice
in the World; and that ’tis not
even in your Nature (wilfully)
to do an unequal Thing. But
’tis most certain, I am doom’d
to a fruitless Love, without the
least Possibility of a Deliverance.
Indeed, formerly I had a faint
Prospect (as I thought) of being
in some measure restor’d; but I
look’d through false Glasses, that
presented me with a wrong Object;
and since that, I have done
the great Work of learning to
be well satisfied with my intolerable
Condition. Did my Love
run parallel with what is commonly
found in the World it
wou’d not be so desperate. ――
Happy they, who (in a Pett, or
upon some small Disgust) can recede G2r 83
recede from their Passions, and
set up for new ones elsewhere;
and whatever they pretend, Self-
is the greatest Thing. This is the
Way of Amouring most in Fashion:
This is that Imposture that
prevails upon so many tender
Hearts: And in Cases of Denial,
very artificially can usurp Languishing
Eyes, want no expressive
passionate Insinuations, counterfeit
Melancholy and Distraction;
and all to serve some base by-
End. If this had been the Quality
of my Love, the Vengeance
you assign me had then been
merited. I verily believe, if it
had had but the least Tincture of
Treachery, I shou’d have won
your Heart, shou’d have made
you jealous: And that Temper G2 wou’d G2v 84
would have been very inconsistent
with your Resolutions to
make a thorough Conquest:
Nothing less than which (to a
Man of Prowess like you) cou’d
have been a real Pleasure. Yes,
yes; ’tis very plain, If my Passion
had been forg’d, and bore
a false Accent, it wou’d certainly
much better have agreed with
yours, as being much nearer related;
but the fatal Consequence
(of a true Fervency, return’d
with fair Assurances, and foul
Actions) none knows, but the
wretched, solitary I. Upon the
whole, I think verily I love you
because you make me miserable.
If that be true, go on, be signaliz’d
to the World for your
Unkindness, that the more I may be G3r 85
be so, for my unaccountable Affection.
That I love you, Heaven
knows; you know, else I shou’d
see you here again cringing out
the feign’d Allegations of your
Sincerity, tho’ much more distant
than we are. Oh, that we were
to begin again! What Course
wou’d I then take! I fear, e’en
fool my self, as I have done; for,
since I know no greater Pleasure
than the Love of you, I shou’d
too willingly run the Risk of any
Disadvantage that cou’d happen
by it. I die a Thousand Deaths
every Hour, and still revive, to
die them o’er again: Adieu.
What cou’d not I endure for
your sake! I have at this Moment
so lively an Idea of you,
that I almost fancy you here in Person G3v 86
Person. Methinks, how very
kind you are! How affectionately
you condole me for the Torments
I have suffer’d in your
Absence; and how thankful I
am to you for them! How you
press my Hand, and swear you
will never part with me! And,
Ah, Monsieur! How I believe
you, for being hitherto so faithful!
―― Once more, Adieu.
I think I never writ to you in
my Life, but their Length made
’em stay’d for. The Post (at
my Request) has waited a great
while, and I am now sent to; I
wonder, else, when I shou’d give
off. You may judge a little of
my Condition, when you see
even hurrying Post-haste it self
can admit of a Delay, to please me. G4r 87
me. The Actions of all People
that see me, are designedly kind,
and of a Desire to divert me.
One takes me by the Hand, begging
of me to be chearful, and
leave my unprofitable Thinking;
shewing me good Reason for it:
But, Alas! I find Reason and
Love two very separate Things,
not at all influencing each other.
To Day a Sister brought me
Variety of the best Fruits; of
which, nothing but a piece of a
Pomgranate cou’d I be persuaded
sua to eat. ’Tis possible, I
might thank her, but am not
sure I had so much Manners:
Every Body excuses my Ill Breeding,
but much wonder at my
Alteration. The Rigour and
Severity of our Religion can dispence G4v 88
dispence with many great Faults
in me, that it will not allow in
others. What shall I do! Well
I have only one thing more (besides
a Thousand) to say to you;
which is, That if you can have
regard for any one Sentence in
this Letter, it may be too this
last, I implore you to let me see
you in Portugal before I die.