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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


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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

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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 crease 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


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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.
 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


text: 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


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whenever he appears, he may be sure to divert you, and not afflict you.
 D From D1v
 From a Lady in the Country, to a Gentleman in Town.
 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 gainst 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
 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.
 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.
 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


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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.
 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


text: 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 ration, 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


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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 porting 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.
 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


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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.
 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


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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
 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
 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.
 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.
 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


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Favour, he maintains that Reason counsels to pay ones self, with the fortune of one who refuses to pay.
 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 diately 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.
 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.
 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


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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.
 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
 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.
 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 ing 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.
 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


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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
 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


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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.
 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
 ’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.
 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


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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 ――
 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


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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?
 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.
 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 ing 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?
 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


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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
 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.
 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.
 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


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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 rence 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
 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.
 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.
 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,


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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
 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
 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 nocent 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,
 The E11r 93
 The Ladies Address to the whole Assembly of Beaux, at Hippolito’s Chocolate-house:
 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


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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.
 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 common 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


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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
 F To F1v 98
 To Acme.
 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
 F2 To F2v 100
 To a Friend who was going to Travel.
 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


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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.
 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


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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 cause 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


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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
 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


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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.
 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-


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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


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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.
 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.


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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,
 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.
 Cruel


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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 vour 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 in 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,
 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.
 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


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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,
 From G3r 125
 From a Lady to Her Husband in the Camp.
 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,


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who am
 Your most Obedient, and Loving Wife,
 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
 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,
 Letter G6r 131
 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


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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,
 Letter G7r 133
 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.
 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:


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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
 Letter G9r 137
 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,
 For Sir Timothy Squeze in Park-Prospect in Westminster, London.
 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


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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.
 For Prince Prettyman, at the Chocolate-house in Bridges Street, Covent Garden, London.
 A G10v 140
 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


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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 ――
 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


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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
 H Letter H1v 146
 A Character of a Coquet.
 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 gular 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