A Description of ROME.

77

Earth confounded. The uncouth Rocks that were
above us, Rocks that were void of all Form, but
what they had received from Ruin; the frightful
View of the Precipices, and the foaming Waters
threw themselves headlong down from them, made
all such a Confort up for the Eye, as that fort of
Musick does for the Ear, in which Horror can be
joyn'd with Harmony. I am afraid you will think
that I have said too much; yet if you had but seen
what I have done, you would surely think that I
have said too little. However, Hyperboles might
easily here be forgiven. The Alps appear to be Na-
ture's Extravagancies; and who should blush to be
guilty of Extravagancies in Words that make men-
tion of hers? But 'tis time to proceed. We defcnd-
ed in Chairs, the Deftcent was four English Miles.
We paſ'd thro' Novaleſe, ſituate at the Foot of Mount
Cenis on the fide of Italy, and lay that Night at Sufe.
We din'd the next day at Villane, and thro' a plea-
fant Valley came that Night to this Place.

I am, &c.

A DESCRIPTION of ROME.

SIR,

ROME, Dec. 1. 1688.

O perform the Promise which I made
you in my last, I venture to say some-
thing of the ancient and modern Ital-
ians, tho' you do not confider that when
you made that Request to me, you put
put me upon a Necessity of disobliging my Friend

E 3

by

78

A Description of ROME.

by a Refusal, or exposing my self by treating of a
Subject for which I am wholly unqualified. It is
true, when I was at Lyons, in Compliance with your
Defire, I ventured to say something of the French:
But besides that I had been longer in France than I
have in Italy, the French lie so open, that a Man
who will observe them, may as well venture to give
their Character in a Month's Time, as he may in fe-
veral Years; for they who are excessively vain, take
as much pains to show themselves, as a Stroler at a
Fair does a Monster. 'Tis the constant Business of
their Lives to paint out their Virtues to you; nay,
and their Defects too, which their Vanity mistakes
for their Virtues. But the Italians are as reserved to
Strangers as the French are open: And one would
wonder how they who show much Flegm before
they are very well acquainted, should be able after-
wards in so strange a manner to animate Conver-
tion. But to come to my Business. 'Tis wonderful,
you say, that the modern Italians should appear so
different from the ancient, since they breathe the
same Air, and are nourished by the same Soil. For
since the Affinity is so near betwixt the Soul and the
Body, and they work so strongly upon each other,
you say it is but reasonable to believe, that the Cli-
mate which helps to give the Body its Complexion,
should help to give the Mind its Temper. Now
since you have Reason, you say, to suppose that the
Climate of Italy is very near the same at this Day
that it was two thousand Years ago, you cannot but
wonder that the modern Italians should appear so
different from the ancient. The French are the very
same now that Cæsar described them formerly, ex-
cepting that they are grown a more polish'd fort of
Barbarians. The Carthaginians were fam'd for their
Cruelty and their Perfidiousness; and those two Vi-
ces are at present inseparable from the Inhabitants
of

A Description of ROME.

of the Coafs of Barbary. But the *Italians*, you say,
are at preſent renowned for ſeveral extraordinary
Vices, which were utterly unknown to the ancient
*Romans*, to whose Virtues the modern are utterly
Strangers.

In answer to this give me leave to tell you, that
you are miſtaken in part of your Aſſertion. For the
Vices which are to be found at this Day in *Italy*,
were the Vices of the ancient *Romans*. Their Em-
pire ow'd its Rife to the fame Crimes which diſ-
folv'd it; and there were proportionably as many
Villains in the *Rome of Romulus*, as there are in that
of *Innocent* the Eleventh. Conſider the Factions of
*Marius* and *Sylla*, and the two Triumvirates follow-
ing, and you will find infinitely more Examples of
black Revenge than you can amongſt the modern
*Italians*. What can be more bloody than thofe
Times ? or more treacherous and bafe than thofe of
*Tiberius* ? 'Tis true, from the time of the firſt Con-
fuls to the end of the *Punick* War, there flouriſh'd a
continual Race of Heroes, with whom if you com-
pare the modern *Italians*, they ſeem to be Men of
quite different Frames, and Inhabitants of a different
part of the World. A Capacity to practise thofe
glittering Virtues which the World ſo much admires,
depends very much upon Force of Mind, which de-
pends in ſome fort on the Complexion, as that does
in ſome fort on the Climate. But then, it is certain
that there is the very fame Force of Mind requir'd
to be prodigiously Wicked, that there is required to
be heroically Virtuous. Weak People are but wick-
ed by halves; but whenever we hear of high and
enormous Crimes, we may conclude that they pro-
ceed from a Power of Soul, and a Reach of Thought
which are altogether extraordinary. So that the
modern *Italians*, who by your own Conſeſſion are
skill'd in all the ways of exquifite Wickedneſs, come

E 4

into

80 A Description of ROME.

into the World with as much natural Capacity to exert Heroick Virtue, as ever the ancient *Romans* did.

Force of Mind makes a Man capable of great Virtues, or of great Vices, but it determines him to neither. Education, Discipline, and Accidents of Life, constitute him either a great Philosopher, or an illustrious Libertine.

As strongest Bodies cannot be secure from Infection in pestilential Seasons, so Minds that have most Force are apt to be tainted by the Contagion of Epidemick Vices.

The two most glittering Virtues that thin'd amongst the ancient *Romans*, were Greatness of Mind and Heroick Fortitude. 'Twas that Greatness of Mind that made one of their Generals reject with Disdain the Offer that was made him to pay him the most formidable Enemy to their State: Whereas the modern *Italians* have at every turn recourse to Stiletto and Poyson, which are almost their only offensive Weapons.

Do but compare the happy and flourishing State of the old Commonwealth, with the wretched Condition of the modern *Italians*, and you will soon find the Reason why the *Romans* were brave and honourable Enemies, and why the *Italians* at present are base ones. For this is most certain, that no Man can safely offer Violence to another without doing some to himself. From whence it follows that no Man will do it, unless in some measure he believes it necessary. No Man then will take a base Revenge of another, who believes that he can take an honourable one. No Man will ever have recourse to Treachery, who is confident of prevailing by open Force. Now great Successes most commonly infuse great Thoughts, and inspires a noble Prefumption, which renders Men Brave and Magnanimous; whereas we frequently see, that Men with their Fortunes

A LETTER by Sir J. DENHAM. 81

tunes and Liberties lose their very Spirits and Souls,
according to the Observation of the Comick Poet :
Ut res noſtræ ſint, ita nos magni atque humiles
fumus.

To his MISTRESS.

By Sir JOHN DENHAM.

O, Love-born Accents of my dying Heart,
Steal into hers, and sweetly there impart
The boundleſs Love with which my

[Soul does ſwell,

And all my Sighs there in soft Echoes tell :
But if her Heart does yet repugnant prove
To all the Blesſings that attend my Love,
Tell her, the Flames that animate my Soul
Are pure and bright, as thofe Prometh'us ſtole
From Heav'n; tho' not like his by Theft they come,
But a free Gift by the eternal Doom.

How partial, cruel Fair One, are your Laws,
To reward the Effect, yet condemn the Cauſe !
Condemn my Love, and yet commend my Lays !
That merits Love more than These merit Praife :

E 5

Yet

A LETTER by ANTH. HAMOND, Eſq; 83

ful She-Afs. Balaam was allow'd an Angel to his
Afs; I'll pray, if that will do any good, for the
fame Grace. I would have fet out upon my Afs to
have waited upon you, but I was afraid I should
have been a tedious while in coming, having great
Experience of the Slownefs of that Beaſt: For you
muſt know, I am making my Journey towards Health
upon that Animal, and I find I make ſuch flow
Advances, that I deſpair of arriving at you, or any
great Bleſſing, till I am capable of uſing ſome more
expeditious means. I could tell you of a great In-
duſement to bring you to this Place, but I am ſworn
to Secreſy; however, if you were here, I would
contrive to make you of the Party. I'll expect you,
as a good Chriſtian may every thing that he devout-
ly prays for. I am

Your everlaſting Adorer,

W. CONGREVE.

A Letter to WALTER MOYLE, Eſq;

By ANTHONY HAMOND, Eſq;

EAR MOYLE, bleſſ'd Youth, whose

[forward *Wit* purſues.

The noble Pleaſures Reaſon bids thee

[chooſe;]

Reaſon, which ruling by the Laws of Senſe,
Does a juſt, eaſie Government diſpenſe ;

E 5

Quitting

84 A LETTER by ANTH. HAMOND, Esq;
Quitting those Laws, turns Tyrant, wildly reigns
By reveal'd Projects of distemper'd Brains.
Dear Moyle, what shall I fancy now employs
Thy Time ? what prudent, what well-chosen Joys?
Doft thou with Speed the flying Fair purfue ?
Beauty leads on, and Pleafure's in thy view ;
Oh ! boldly follow, ſhe's reſcu'd for You.
Retiring Modesty and triumphant Love,
In her warm Breaſt a doubtful Combat move :
She yields, ſhe yields; I fee, the blushing Maid,
Storm'd from without by you, within betray'd
By her own Heart, no longer can hold out,
The Victor enters now the long-maintain'd Redoubt.
Or to this Joy do choiceſt Books ſucceed,
Which you with Judgment chooſe, with Judgment
[read ;
Searching the antient Stores of Greece and Rome,
And bring from thence their uſeful Treafures home?
Or does ſome honeſt, ſome delightful Friend,
With eafie Converſation, recommend
The sparkling Wine, while Wit and Mirth attend?
CONGREVE, the matchleſs, riling Son of Fame,
Whom all Men envy, tho' they dare not blame ;
HOPKINS, whose Mind and Mufe, both without Art,
Gives him a well-fix'd Title in your Heart ;
DUNKAN,

86 A SATYR against POETRY.

SHADWEL and TATE I here forbear to name,
Condemn'd to Laurel, tho' unknown to Fame;
Recanting SETTLE brings the tuneful Ware,
Which wiser Smithfield damn'd to Sturbridge-Fair,
Protefts his Tragedies, and Libels fail
To yield him Paper, Penny-Loaves, and Ale;
And bids our Youth, by his Example, fly
The Love of Politicks and Poetry,
And all Retreats, except New-Hall Refuse,
To shelter tuneful DURFEY's Jocky Mufe.
Is there a Man to these Examples blind,
To chinking Numbers fatally enclin'd,
Who by his Mufe wou'd purchafe Meat and Fame,
And in the next Mifcellanies to plant his Name?
Were my Beard grown, the Wretch I'd thus advife;
Repent, fond Mortal, and be timely wife;
Take heed, be not by gilded Baits betray'd,
CLIO'S a Jilt, PEGASUS a Jade.
By Verfe you'll ftarve, * JOHN SAUL could never live,
Did not the Bell-Man make the Poet thrive?
Go rather to fome little Shed near Paul's,
Sell Chevy-Chafe, and Baxter's Salve for Souls;

Cry

* The Cambridge Bell-Man, a Poetafter.

A SATYR against POETRY.

87

Cry Raree Shows, sing Ballads, transcribe Votes;
Be Car, or KETCH, or any thing but OATS.

Hold, Sir, (some Bully of the Muses cries)
Methinks you're more Satyrical than Wife :
You rail at Verse indeed, but rail in Rhime,
At once encourage and condemn the Crime.
True, Sir; I write, and have a Patron too,
To whom my tributary Songs are due :
Yet, with your Leave, I'd honesty diffuade
Thofe wretched Men from Pindus' barren Shade,
Who, tho' they tire their Muse, and rack their Brains
With bluff'ring Heroes and with piping Swains,
Can no great patient-giving Man engage
To fill their Pockets and their Title-Page.

Were I like thefe by angry Fate decreed,
By Penny Elegies to get my Bread,
And want a Meal, unlefs GEORGE CROOM and I
Could ftrike a Bargain for my Poetry,
I'd damn my Works to wrap up Soap and Cheefe,
Or furnifh Squibs for City 'Prentices,
To burn the Pope and celebrate Queen Beſſ.
But on your Ruin ftubbornly purfue,
Herd with the little hungry, chiming Crew,

Obtain.

88 A SATYR against POETRY.

Obtain the airy Title of a Wit,
And be on free Coft noify in the Pit;
Print your dull Poems, and before 'em place
A Crown of Laurel and a meagre Face;
And may juft Heaven thy hated Life prolong,
Till thou, blefs'd Author ! seeft thy deathlefs Song,
The dufty Lumber of a Smithfield-Stall,
And find'ft thy Picture ftarched to ftubborn Wall,
With Johnny Armstrong and the Prodigal.

And, to compleat the Curſe—

When Age and Poverty come fafter on,
And ſad Experience tells thee thou'rt undone,
May no kind Country Grammar-School afford
Ten Pounds a Year for Lodging, Bed and Board;
Till void of any fixt Employ, and now
Grown uſeleſs to the Army and the Plough,
You've no Friend left but truſting Landlady,
Who ſtows you in kind Truckle, Garret-high,
To dream of Dinners and curſe Poetry.

Still I've a Patron, you reply : 'Tis true;
Fate and good Parts, you ſay, may get one too.
Why Faith e'en try ; write, flatter, dedicate ;
Your Lord's and his Fore-fathers Deeds relate :

Yet

A SATYR against POETRY.

89

Yet know, he'll wifely strive ten thousand Ways,
To shun a needy Poet's fulsome Praife;
Nay, to avoid thy Importunity,
Neglect his State, and condescend to be
A Poet, tho' perhaps a worse than thee.
Thus from a Patron he becomes a Friend,
Forgetting to reward, learns to commend;
Receives your long fix Months successfuls Toil,
And talks of Authors Energies and Style;
Damns the dull Poems of the scribbling Town,
Applauds your Writings, and repeats his own.
Thou Wretch, in Complaisance oblig'd must fit,
Extol his Judgment, and admire his Wit:
Tho' this Poetic Peer perhaps scarce knows
With jingling Sounds to tag infidel Profe,
And should be by some honest MANLY told,
He'd lost his Credit to secure his Gold.

But if thou'rt blefs'd enough to write a Play,
Without the hungry Hopes of kind Third Day,
And he prefumes, that in thy Dedication
Thou'lt fix his Name, bargain for his Station;
My Lord his uselefs Kindness then affures,
And vows to th' utmost of his Pow'r he's Yours;

Likes

90

A SATYR against POETRY.

Likes the whole Plot, and praiseth ev'ry Scene,
And, play'd at Court, 'twould ftrangely please the
Queen:
And you may take his Judgment, sure, for he
Knows the true Spirit of good Poetry.
All this you see and know, yet ceafes to shun,
And seeing, knowing, ftrive to be undone.
So kidnap'd Slave, when once beyond Gravefend,
Rejects the Counsel of recalling Friend,
Is fold to dreadful Bondage he muft bear,
And sees, unable to avoid the Snare.
So practis'd Thief, if taken, ne'er difmay'd,
Forgets the Sentence, and purfues the Trade;
Tho' yet he almoft feels the fmoaking Brand,
And fad T. R. fstand fresh upon his Hand.

The Author then with daring Hopes would ftrive,
With well-built Verfe to keep his Fame alive,
And ſomething to Pofterity preſent,
That's very new, and very excellent;
Something beyond the uncall'd drudging Tribe,
Beyond what B E N could write, or I deſcribe:
Should in ſubſtantial Happineſs abound,
His Mind with Peace his Board with Plenty crown'd:

No

A SATYR against POETRY.

91

No early Duns should break his learned Reft,
No fawcy Cares his nobler Thoughts moleft,
Only th' entring God should shake his lab'ring Breaft
In vain we bid dejected SETTLE hit

The Tragic Flights of tow'ring SHAKESPEAR's Wit :
He needs muſt mifs the Mark, who's rept fo low
He has not Strength enough to draw the Bow.
In vain from our ſtarv'd Songſters we require,
The Height of COWLEY's and ANACREON's Lyre.

In vain we bid them fill the Bowl,
Large as their capacious Soul,

Who, ſince the King was crown'd, ne'er taſted Wine,
But write at Eight, and know not where to dine.
DORSETT, indeed, and ROCHESTER might write
For their own Credit, and their Friends Delight ;
Shewing how far they could the reſt outdo,
As in their Fortunes, in their Writings too.

There was a time when ORWAY charm'd the Stage,
OTWAY, the Hope and Sorrow of the Age ;

When the full Pit with pleas'd Attention hung,
Charm'd on each Accent of CASTALIO's Tongue.

With what a Laughter was his SOLDIER read ?

How mourn'd we when his JAFFIER ſtruck and bled ?
Yet this great Poet, who with ſo much Eafe
Still drew his Pen, and ſtill was ſure to pleafe ;

The

92 A SATYR againſt POETRY.

The Light'ning is leſs lively than his Wit,
And Thunder-Claps leſs loud than thofe o'th' Pit;
Had of his many Wants much earlier dy'd,
But that kind Banker Batterton ſupply'd,
And took for Pawn th' Embryo of a Play,
Till he cou'd pay himſelf the next full Third Day.

Were SHAKESPEAR's ſelf alive again, he'd ne'er
Degenerate to a Poet from a Player;
For now no SIDNEYS will Three Hundred give,
That needy SPENCER and his Fame may live.
None of our poor Nobility can ſend
To his King's-Bench, or to his Bedlam Friend.
Chymiſts and Whores by this great Lord were ſed,
(Theſe by their honeſt Labours earn'd their Bread)
But he was never ſo expenſive yet,
To keep a Creature merely for its Wit.
But now your Yawning prompts me to give o'er;
Your humble Servant, Sir---I've done---no more.

A COL-

The Epistle Dedicatory.

94

When I look upon my self, I find I have reason to beg Pardon for my Prefumption: But when I consider those Gentlemen, I am encourag'd to hope that you will not be offended to find your self at the Head of no Vulgar Company; a Company whose Names and Desert are universally known; a Company rais'd far above the Level of Mankind by their own extraordinary Merit, and yet proud to do Hume to yours. They are Gentlemen, 'tis true, who are divided in their Iuterefts, and who differ in their Politick Principles, but they agree in their Judgments of Things, which all the World admires, and they always confent when they speak of You.

In presenting this little Book to you, I only design'd to shew my Zeal and my Gratitude; but they allure me unanimously, that I have likewise shewn my Judgment. Tho' indeed, Sir, the Number of the Great who caft a favourable Eye upon human Learning, is not so considerable, but that a Man who would Addreſs any thing of this Nature to one of them, may soon determine his Choice. Proficients in other Arts are encouraged by Profit, which is their main Deſign; but he who beſtows all his Time upon human Studies, is incited by Glory alone, and the World takes care that he ſhould have no more than he ſeeks for. The Enthusiast, the Quack, the Pettifogger, are rewarded for torturing and for deſluding Men; but Humanity has met with very barbarous Usage, only for pleafing and for inſtructing them. The very Court, which draws moſt of its Ornament from it, has but too often neglected it. There Learning in general has been disregarded: For none but Great Souls are capable of Great Deſigns; and few Courtiers have had Greatneſs of Mind enough to procure the Promotion of Science, which is the Exaltation of Human Nature, and the Enlargement of the Empire of Reafon. Our Minifters of State have formerly

The Epistle Dedicatory.

95

formerly behav'd themselves with so much Indifference,
as if it would have leffen'd them to have taken any
Care of Letters: They have ſhewn themselves as
perfectly unconcern'd, as if not one had diſcover'd,
that at a time when our Neighbours are grown ſo
knowing, the Publick Safety depends on the Progrefs
of Learning, and that to patronize Science, is to
take care of the State. Befides, too many of our
Stateſmen have been engag'd in unjuſt Deſigns. Moſt of
our Politicians have done their Endeavour to encroach
on the Crown, or to attempt on the People. Few have
had Capacity and Integrity enough to keep the Bal-
lance ſo ſteady, as to maintain Prerogative at once,
and to aſſert Privilege; to ſerve the King Zealouſly,
and their Country Faithfully, to poſſeſs at the fame
time the Favour of the one, and the Hearts of the
other, to ſuch a degree as to be courted by the Peo-
ple to ſerve as their Repreſentative, at the very time
that they are employ'd by the King in Matters of the
higheſt Importance. Inſtead of that, moſt of them
have had reaſon to be aſſaid of the King, or the
Commons; and Men who have been ſollicitous for
their own Safety, have ſeldom appear'd concern'd
for the Good of others. Few then have been and
are in a Condition to be Protectors of Learning, and
therefore thoſe happy ſew deflecte all the Honours
which we are able to pay them. Of thoſe, Sir, you
appear in the foremoſt Rank, and are to the Com-
monwealth of Learning what you are to the State, a
great Defence and a ſhining Ornament. You have
warmly encourag'd all forts of Studies, but have been
juſtly and nobly partial to thoſe for which the State
has made no Provision: Which is enough to gain
you the Eſteem of all who have any regard for
Learning; and to win the very Souls of all, who,
like me, are charm'd with the ſofter Studies of Hu-
manity; for which your Zeal has been ſo diffuſive,
that

96 The Epistle Dedicatory.

that it has extended it self even to me, tho' a bare
Inclination to cultivate Eloquence and Poetry was
the only thing which could recommend me to you:
Yet even this has been encourag'd by the Promife of
your Protection, and by the Humanity of your Re-
ceiving me. The Acces's which I have had to you,
has been the greatest Obligation that you could lay
upon a Man who has still valued Metit above all the
World, and who has fought his Improvement more
than he has his Advancement. When I have at any
time approached you, I have found in you none of
thofe forbidding Qualities, of which they accufe the
Great: Inſtead of thoſe, I have found an attraſtive
and a human Greatneſs ; the generous Sincerity of the
Man of Honour, join'd with the Grace and Com-
plaisance of the Courtier ; and a Deportment Noble
without Pride, and Modeſt without Dcfcending.
Nature has made me ſomething averſe from making
my Court to Fortune: But I am proud to attend upon
real Greatneſs ; and to wait upon you, ſince you firſt
encouraged me, has been at once my Duty and my
Ambition.

The Permiſsion which you gave me to approach
you, was ſo great an Incitement to me, that I believe
it might have brought me to write well, if I had not
a very juſt Reaſon to refolve to attempt it no more.
You had given me one great Encouragement before
I had the Honour to ſee you, and that was, by leav-
ing off Writing your ſelf; For Vanity is a greater
Incitement to Poets than Penſions; and even Want
deprefſes the Spirits leſs than the thought of being
furpaſſed. Therefore while Mr. Montague ſung, he
ſung alone. We admir'd indeed our Conquering
Monarch, but we admir'd in Silence. We rever'd
the Greatneſs of your Genius, and neglected our Ta-
lents. Indeed the Strength and Sweetneſs of your
Voice was fit to charm us alone, and we who fol-
lowed

The Epistle Dedicatory.

97

lowed were only fit for the Chorus. But you have
left a Province which you have made your own, to
the Administration of those who are under you, and
are gone on in your victorious Progrefs to the Ac-
quifition of new Glory: From which I am ſenſible
that I detract by detaining you; for your Actions
are your beſt Encomiums, and the loud Conſent of
the Nation your beſt Panegyrick. It was a glorious
one that was ſpoken to you by the People of Weſt-
minſter, in the Requeſt that they made to you to
ſerve as their Member in the preſent Parliament, at
a time when they were Caballing all over the King-
dom, and Gentlemen were depriving Peaſants of
their little Reafon, in order to obtain their Voices.
Mr. Montague's Merit, while he was ſilent, ſollicited
for him ſo importunately, that it prevail'd upon a
number of confiderable Inhabitants of the politer
Parts of the Town, to come and make it their hum-
ble Requeſt to you to honour them by repreſenting
them; which puts me in mind of a Saying of De la
Bruiere, That the People are then at their Height of
Happineſs, when their King makes choice for his Conſi-
dents, and for his Minifters, of the very ſame Perſons
that the People would have choſen if the Choice had been
in their Power. This, at preſent, is our own Caſe:
For doubtlesſs the ſame People, who, without any
Brigue or the leaſt Corruption, came voluntarily to
entreat you to ſuffer them to place you in the Great
Council of the Kingdom, would, if the Choice had
been in their Power, have plac'd you in the Privy-
Council; and they who frankly offer'd to truſt you
with the Diſpoſal of the Money which is in their
Houſes, would have truſted you, had it been in their
Power, with the Intendency of that in the Treasury.
So that the People's proſer to choſe you, ſeems to
me to be a loud Approbation of the Choice, which
the King had made before of you, and of your Mi-
niftration

[Vol. II.]

F

nſtration

100

To the READER.

Pliny amongst the Ancients, and amongst the Moderns of Balzac and Voiture: To have shewn that Cicero is too simple and too dry, and that Pliny is too affected and too refined; that one of them has too much of Art in him, and that both of them have too little of Nature. That the Elevation of Balzac was frequently forced, and his Sublime affected; that his Thoughts were often above his Subject, and his Expression almost always above his Thoughts; and that whatsoever his Subjects were, his Style was seldom altered. That Voiture was easie and unconstrained, and natural when he was most exalted; that he seldom endeavour'd to be witty at the Expence of right Reason; but that, as his Thoughts were for the most part true and just, his Expression was often defective, and that his Style was too little diversify'd. That for my own part, as I came infinitely short of the extraordinary Qualities of these Great Men, I thought my self oblig'd to endeavour the rather to avoid their Faults; and that consequently I had taken all the care that I could, not to think out of Nature and good Sense, and neither to force nor neglect my Expressions; and that I had always taken care to suit my Style to my Subject, whether it was Familiar, or Sublime, or Didactique; and that I had more or less varied it in every Letter. All this and more I designed to have said at large, which I have only hinted now in a hurry. I have nothing to add, but to desire the Reader to excuse my bad Performance, upon the account of my good Endeavour, and for striving to do well in a manner of Writing, which is at all times useful; at this time necessary; a manner in which the English would surpass both the Ancients and Moderns, if they would but cultivate it, for the very same Reason that they have surpassed them in Comedy. But, methinks, I have a Title to the Reader's Favour; for I have more than made amends for the Defects of my own Letters, by entertaining him with thofe of my Friends.

A

to WALTER MOYLE, Esq;

103

in mind, that he went before but to lead them the
Way; so Will's Departure from this miserable Life,
this lewd Covent-garden Life, and his Ferrying from
Somerset-flairs to the infernal Shore of Alsatia, should
be a Memento to the rest of the Wits, that he is but
gone whither they all must follow.

To leave off Poctical Similies, this Body Politick
is in a curved Condition, and cannot keep long to-
gether without a Head. The Members are at pre-
tent in a grave Debate how to get one. To Morrow
the whole House will resolve it self into a grand
Committee, to confult about Ways and Means of
making Provision for the common Necessities. Some
talk of an Excife upon May-Dew and Rasberry-
brandy: That there will be a Poll is strongly af-
serted, in which every Man is to pay according to
his respective Condition. To Morrow it will be
known to how much each Man's Quota amounts.
As for Example: How much a Poet is to pay, how
much a Wit, how much a Politician, and how much
a Critick. A Critick did I say? I beg your Par-
don: They have voted Nemine Contradicente, that
they will Cefs no Critick till Mr. Moyle return.

I have given them my Sentiments upon the fore-
mentioned Poll, which were, that it was something
hard to make a Man pay for being call'd, Wit, Poet,
or Critick; that they saw by Experience lately in
the State, that poor Dogs grumbled to pay for their
Titles. How then could they think that People
would be contented to be tax'd for their Nick-
names? That in settling this Tax, they were to
take a quite contrary Method, to that which was taken
upon settling a Tax in the State. That in the
State, sometimes a Man paid for what he really
had: As for Example, when a Country 'Squire
paid for his Land or his Money; and sometimes
for what he really had not, as when a Cit that is

F 4.

twice

Mr. DENNIS

twice dubb'd Knight by the King, and Cuckold by
his Wife, pays for his Honour, and for his Children.
The Firſt of which is but as it were his, for it is
really the King's; and the Second of which are but
as it were his, for they are really the Courtiers,
who help'd him to his Title. In the State too a
Man is made to pay for ſomething which he does,
or for ſomething which he does not. As a Jacobite
pays ſo much for Swearing when he's Drunk,
and ſo much for not Swearing when he's Sober. But
that in our Cafe, if we would be exaſtly Juſt, we ſhould
make People pay neither for what they have, nor
for what they have not; nor for what they do,
nor for what they do not; but ſhould oblige them
to pay only for pretending to have what they really
have not, or offering to do what they are utterly
incapable of doing. That thus the Tax would cer-
tainly fall upon the moſt ſolvent Part of the Body.
For how ridiculous would it be to tax a Man for
having Poetry and Wit, when they are almoſt al-
ways Signs that he has not a Farthing to pay? On
the other ſide, how abſurd would it be to tax him
for a bare want of thofe Qualities? Since when a
Man is dull without Pretending, 'tis ten to one but he is
Poor, for Riches make Men vain, and Vanity
makes them affected. But he who is not much at
his Eafe, is hardly at leifure for Affectation; and
I have often seen, that when Vanity has thrown a
Pop out of Nature, Necessity has brought him back
again: But a rich Rogue will be ſure to be always
Pretending. Fortune takes Pleaſure in making thofe
Vain, whom Nature before made Impotent, and
both of them often confpire to ſinſh a Coxcomb.
Thus I would have none pay but they who put
Gravity upon us for Wifdom, Vifions for Politicks,
and Quibbles for Wit; and I would have no Man
at any Expence for being call'd a Poet, a Wit, or a

Critick,

106

Mr. DENNIS

confels, that I have no great Opinion of that which
Men generally call Humility. Humility in moft
Men is want of Heat; 'tis Phlegm, 'tis Impotence,
'tis a wretched Necessity, of which they who lie un-
der it, vainly endeavour to make a Virtue. But in
a Man of Mr. Wicherley's Make, 'tis choice, 'tis force
of Mind, 'tis a good, 'tis a generous Condescention.
And what Force of Mind is there not requisite to
bend back a Soul by perpetual Reflection, which
would be always riling, and eternally aspiring by
virtue of its in-born Fire? Yet your's, notwith-
standing all its Power, cannot wholly deprefs it
felf, nor descend in every part of it. At the time
that your Will vouchsafes to ftoop, your under-
standing foars; your Writings are as bold as your
Converfation is modeſt, (though thofe are bold, as
this is modeſt with Judgment) and he who would
do you Juftice, muſt needs confels, that you are a
very ambitious Writer, though a very humble Man.
Yet your very Ambition has oblig'd Mankind: It
has exalted Humane Nature, in raiſing your own by
its moſt noble Efforts; and that without boafing
Preheminence. And ſurely it muſt be for this very
Reaſon that we feel a ſecret Pride, when we but
read the Discoveries which you have made. Thus
I cannot ſay what you are, without Vanity, for never
was Man exempt from it; but I can ſay, that you
have made uſe even of Vainity to humble you by
way of Reflection, and that you have avoided that
dangerous Effect of it, Vain-glory, the Rock upon
which ſeveral great Wits before you have been ſeen
to ſplit. For you have always wifely confidered,
that Vain-glory in the Vulgar may be ſupportable,
nay, may be diverting; but that in great Men it
muſt be intolerable. That whereas in the firſt, 'tis
Want of Discernment, 'tis Folly, 'tis the Extrava-
gance and Blindneſs of Self-Love; in the laſt, 'tis
Crime,

to Mr. WYCHERLEY.

107

Crime, 'tis Malice, 'tis a secret and proud Deign to
Mortifie and Infult over the reft of Men, over whom
they have so much Advantage: That it is for this
very Reafon, that we so deeply refent, and so fe-
verely revenge the mortal Affronts we receive from
it. Great Wits were by Heav'n predeftin'd to rule,
to rule the Mind of others, the nobleft Empire;
but when they grow outwardly Vain they grow Ty-
rants, and then their discontented Subjects rebel, and
then they depofe thofe Kings as Uſurpers, whom be-
fore they obey'd as their lawful Monarchs. But a mo-
derate, a good, and a gracious Prince, like you,
commands their Hearts, as well as their Under-
standings, and under one whom they love so well,
they grow as proud as they are pleas'd to obey. Our
violent Inclinations make us belong to you, and
therefore 'tis the Intereft even of our Pride, that
you should long continue in the Place which your
extraordinary Deſert has attain'd. Did we nothing
but eſteem you as much as we do, we should cor-
tainly envy you, if we did not hate you; for bare
Eſteem is always forſe'd upon us, whereas Inclina-
tion is much more voluntary: Befides, as a ju-
dicious Frenchman obſerves, Eſteem is foreign, and
comes from abroad, and is therefore received with
Grumbling; but Inclination is our own, and born
in our Breaths, and is therefore Careſ'd and Cherifh'd.
I might add, that upon this Account it is hard to
wifh well to thofe whom we very much eſteem, if
they have not likewife the Skill to make themſelves
be belov'd; becauſe barely to eſteem, deprefſes the
Spirits, as much as to Love very much exalts them;
it brings the Soul to a lanquid Temper, and gives it
at once too horrid Views of another's Excellencies,
and of its own Infirmities; but Affection gives it
Agitation and Warmth; and in the View of a
Friend's Deſert, it takes too much Pleasure and too
much

108

Mr. DENNIS

much Pride to consider its own Defects. 'Tis true,
that you are esteemed at this high rate, you owe to
your Wit and your Penetration; but that you are
esteem'd without Envy, that you are with Joy and
Gladneſs esteem'd, you owe to this, that while the
Force of your Fancy and Judgment makes all the
World admire you, you remain yourſelf unmov'd by
it; that while your Excellence fills all Mouths but
yours, you alone appear to be unaquainted with it.
Thus, while by the Merit of your extraordinary
Qualities, you are known to ſurpaſs all others, it
plainly appears, that you have beyond all this, a
Greatneſs of Soul, from whence you look down on
your own Merit: An infallible Sign, that the Ta-
lents which we admire in you, are no Illusions but
real things, things that were born with you, and
have been improv'd by you, and which you have
not acquir'd: For Men are found to be Vainer, up-
on the Account of those Qualities which they fond-
ly believe they have, than of those which they
really have; and hereditary Greatneſs gives Men
leave to be humble, whereas Preferment occasions
Pride. None but ſuch real Greatneſs as yours, can
capacitate a Man to be truly humble; for the Soul,
which by Nature is not ſeated high, can hardly be
faid to descend. If I have infliſted too long on this
ſhining Subject, a Subject which is ſo confpicuous in
you; if you look upon this tedious Letter, as one
of those various Perſecutions which every eminent
Virtue provokes; I deſire you to consider, that I
have ſo many Obligations to this very Humility,
that I look'd upon myſelf as oblig'd by Gratitude,
to ſay as much as I have done. For to what I
owe the Happineſs which I have frequently received
in your Converſation, to that I owe the preſent Satis-
faction, which your Permiſſion to write to you giſes
me; and to that I am indebted for the Hopes of
your

to Mr. WYCHERLEY.

109

your Answers: When I have received them I shall
then believe what you were pleas'd to tell me when
I saw you laft, that you are much more humble in
the clear Air on your Mountain at Cleve, than when
you are in a Fog and Sulphurous Smoak in Bow-
freet. But at the fame time, the Satisfaction of
thinking that Distance does not make you forget
me, will render him very Proud, who is at present,

S I R, Your very Humble Servant,

JOHN DENNIS.

Mr. WYCHERLEY to Mr. DENNIS.

Dear S I R,

O U have found a Way to make me
fatisfy'd with my Absence from London :
nay, what is more, with the Distance
which is now betwixt you and me.
That indeed uses to leffen Friendship,
but gives me the greater Mark of yours, by your
kind Letter, which I had mifs'd if I had been
nearer to you: So that I, who receive no Rents
here, yet muft own if I did I could not receive
greater Satisfaction than I had from yours, worth
even a Letter of Exchange, or Letters Patents; for
I value your Friendship more than Money, and am
prouder of your Approbation, than I should be of
Titles: For the having the good Opinion of one
who knows Mankind so well, argues some Merit in
me, upon which every Man ought to confider him-
felf more than upon the Goods of Fortune. I had
rather

TO

Mr. WYCHERLEY

rather be thought your Friend in proof of my Judgment and good Sense, than a Friend to the Muses; and had rather have you than them thought mine. If I am, as you say, at once Proud and Humble, 'tis since I have known I have had the Honour to please you; tho' your Praife rather humbles than makes me (tho' a damn'd Poet) more Vain: For it is so great, that it rather seems the Raillery of a witty Man, than the Sincerity of a Friend; and rather proves the Copiousnefs of your own Invention, than justifies the Fertility of mine. But I fear I am forfeiting the Character of the Plain-Dealer with you; and seem, like vain Women or vainer Men, to refuse Praife but to get more; and so by returning your Compliments, shew my self grateful out of Interest, as Knaves are punctual in some Payments, but to augment their Credit. And for your Praife of my Humility (the only Mark of my Knowledge, since it is a Mark of my knowing my self) you have prais'd that to its Deftruction, and have given me so much, you have left me none; like those Admirers, who prais'd a young Maid's Modesty till they deprive her of it. But let me tell you, 'tis not to my Humility that you owe my Friendship, but to my Ambition, since I can have no greater than to be eftzeem'd by you, and the World, your Friend, and to be known to all Mankind for,

Dear SIR, Your Humble Servant,

W. WYCHERLEY

POST-

to M. DENNIS.

III

POSTSCRIPT.

My Dear Friend,

I Have no way to shew my Love to you in my Absence, but my Jealousie: I would not have my Rivals in your Friendship, the Congreves, the Drydens, the Wemandefes, and the rest of your Tavern-friends, enjoy your Conversation, while I cannot: Tho', I confes, 'tis to their Interest to make you dumb with Wine, that they may be heard in your Company; tho' it were more the Demonstration of their Wit to hear you, than to be heard by you. For my own part, I am ambitious of your Company alone in some Solitude, where you and I might be all one. For I am sure, if I can pretend to any Sence, I can have no Instruption or Satisfaction of Life, better than your Example, and your Society.

My Service, pray, to all my Friends; that is, to all yous whom I know, and be charitable (as often as you can) to the Absent, which your good Wits seldom are; I mean be charitable with your Letters to.

Your Humble Servant.

POSTSCRIPT.

PRAY let me have more of your Letters, tho' they would rally me with Compliments underv'd, as your last have done; for, like a Country Squire, I am in Love with a Town-Wit's Conversation, tho' it be but at a Distance that I am forced to have it, and tho' it abfuses me while I enjoy it.

Mr.

112

Mr. DENNIS

Mr. DENNIS to Mr. WYCHERLEY.

Dear SIR,

OT long after I writ my last to you, I
was hurried up to Town by a kind of
a Cholick, which was ended in a De-
fluxion upon one of my Feet. You
know, Sir, a Defluxion is a general
Name which some pleasant French Men have given
an Infant-Gout, too young to be yet baptiz'd. But
tho' the Diftemper rag'd in each Hand, I would in
fpite of it anfwer your admirable Letter; a Letter
which I had certainly known to be yours, tho' it
had been ſent me without a Name, nay, and tran-
fcrib'd by a Chancery-Clerk in his own hideous
manner of Copying. But I muſt confefs I was ſur-
priz'd to hear you ſay in it, that you took the Sin-
cerity of a Man who ſo much eſteems you, for Rai-
lery; yet tho' you declare it, you can never believe
it. I am willing to believe you exceeding humble;
but you can never be humble to that degree, unleſs
your Mind, which reſembles your Eye in its Clear-
neſs, its Livelineſs, and in its piercing Views, ſhould
be also like it in this, that plainly diſcerning all
things eſſe, it wants a Sight of it ſelf: But in this it
does not reſemble it; for it beholds it ſelf by Re-
flections, and, like a lovely Maid, at her Glafs, is
charm'd with the Sight of its own Beauty. This is
a Sight in which you take Pride as well as Pleasure;
but yours, I muſt confefs, is a guiltleſs Pride, it be-
ing nothing but firſt Motion, which it is impoffible
for Man to avoid. You have both the Force to sub-

due

to Mr. WYCHERLEY.

113

due it immediately, and the Art and Goodnefs to
conceal it from us. That it plainly appears from
what I have faid, that you do not believe I had any
Defign to rally you. I am confident, that through
all my Letter there appears an Air of Sincerity. But
that is a Virtue which has been so long and so pe-
culiarly yours, that you may perhaps be jealous of it
in your Friends, and difclaim some Virtues which
they commend in you, only to monopolize that.
You had given me at least an occasion to think so, if
the Railery in yours had not been so very apparent,
that even I had Eyes to discern that you have been
to blame in it, tho' I am doubly blinded with Love
of you and my self. Yet if you writ it with a defign
to mortifie me, influre your self that I shall fortify
my Vanity with that very Artillery with which you
have begun to attack it. If Mr. Wycherley rallies me, it
is certain that I have my Defects; but it is full as
certain, that he would never condescend to abuse
me at such a distance if he wholly despis'd me.
Thus, Sir, you see I am as reasonable with my
Friend, as a Ruffian Spouse is with her Husband, and
take his very Railery for a mark of Esteem, as she
does a Beating for a proof of Affection. The very
worst of your Qualities gain our Affections: Even
your Jealousy is very obliging which it could never
be unlefs it were very groundlefs. But since your very
Suspicion is obliging, what Influence must your Kind-
nefs have on our Souls? The wish that I were with
you in some Retirement, is engaging to that degree,
that I almost repent that I so eagerly defir'd your
Conversation before; for if it were possible, I would
augment that Desire, as a grateful Return to yours.
To be with you in Solitude would make me perfect-
ly happy. Tho' it were in the Arcades, I would not
with my self removed to any happier Climate; no,
not even to that which contained my absent Mil-
trefs.

trefs.:

114

Mr. DENNIS to, &c.

tref's: All that I could do for her on that occasion,
would be to wish her with me. In that Retirement
what should I not enjoy? Where I should be admi-
rably instructed without Trouble, and infinitely de-
lighted without Vice; where I should be glorious
at once with Envy and Quiet: For what could be
more glorious than to be the Companion of your
Retreat? My very Ambition instructs me to love
such Solitude; tho', properly speaking, there can be
no Solitude where you reside; Immortal Company
still attends you; and the Virtues, the Graces, and
the Charming Nine, who love the Groves, and are
fond of you, follow you to remoteft Retirements.
The Comick Mufe is more particularly yours; and
it is your peculiar Praise to allure the moſt ravil-
ing of all the Sifters after you into Retirement; to
make that Goddeſs forſake the Crowd with you,
who loves it moſt of the Nine: You have been con-
ſtantly her Darling, her beſt Belov'd. Thus in Re-
tirement with her and you, I ſhould have the Con-
verſation of Mankind; I ſhould enjoy it with all
its Advantages, without its leaſt Inconveniences. In
the Philosophy of your Actions and Words, I ſhould
fee the Wife, the Good, and the truly Great; in
your Observations and in your Railery, the Men of
Senſe and the Men of Wit; and in your Satyr, ſe-
verely pleafant, the Fools and Raſcals expos'd by it.
In the Poſtſcript to my laſt, I made an Apology for
uſurping a Style ſo foreign from this way of Writing.
I have once more run into the fame Fault in this;
but the very Thought of Mr. Wycherly ſpreads a ge-
nerous Warmth thro' me, and raiſes my Soul to Rap-
ture; and when a Man writes, his Soul and his Style
of neceſſity rife together. In my next, I have ſome-
thing with which I muſt trouble you, that will re-
quire another manner of Writing.

I am, &c.

Mr.

[ 115 ]

Mr. ______ to Mr. WYCHERLEY.

Dear SIR,

Have been very ill ever since I took my
Leave of you, so that I parted in one
Night from all that I valued moft,
that is, from my Health and you.
However, Nature was kind, in not

failing to supply me with Vigour, till Fortune had
depriv'd me of your Converlation, and I was got
amongst People with whom I had small occasion for
Vigour. Yet even here, in spight of Sicknes and
Abfence, I have made a shift to Converfe with you:
For I thought that your Works were the only
things that could make me full amends for the Loſs of
your Company : By them you have been able to
give me Joy even in the Midft of my Pain. For
the Country Wife, and the Plain-Dealer are Stores of
Delight, which you have laid up by a noble Chari-
ty, to supply the Poor in Spirit through all Pofteri-
ty. So that I believe that to be one of the Reaſons
of Fortune's Pique to you, that you have put it out
of her Power for the time to come, to prosecute
her Quarrel to Men of Sence effectually ; for by
having recourse to you in your Works, they are
fure to become more happy than Fools, even at the
Time when they are leſs ſuccesful. But I can hold
up my Head no longer at preſent ; as ſoon as I am
better, you may expect a longer Letter from me.

I am Yours, &c.

Mr.

116

Mr. WYCHERLEY

Mr. WYCHERLEY to Mr. DENNIS.

Dear SIR,

Have received yours, of the 20th of November, and am glad to find by it, that however your Friends are Lofers by your Absence from the Town, you are a Gainer by it, of your Health, which every one you have left behind you (but Ch——) may be thought a Friend to; and the more each Man is your Friend, the more he is satisfy'd with your Absence, which, tho' it makes us ill for want of you, makes you well for want of us: Your taking no Leave of me (which you would excuse) I take to be one of the greatest Kindnesses you ever shew'd me; for I could no more see a Departing Friend from the Town, than a Departing Friend from this Life; and sure 'tis as much Kindness and good Breeding to steal from our Friends Society unknown to 'em, (when we must leave 'em to their Trouble) as it is to steal out of a Room, after a ceremonial Visit, to prevent trouble to him, whom we would Oblige and Respect; so that your last Fault (as you call it) is like the rest of your Faults, rather an Obligation, than an Offence; tho' the greatest Injury indeed you can do your Friends, is to leave 'em againft their Will, which you must needs do. You tell me you converse with me in my Writings; I must confefs, then you suffer a great deal for me in my Absence, which (tho' I would have you love me) I would not have you do; but for your truer Diversion, pray change my Country—

Wife.

to Mr. DENNIS.

117

Wife for a better of your own in the Country, and exercise your own *Plain-Dealing* there, then you will make your Country 'Squire better Company, and your Parson more sincere in your Company than his Pulpit, or in his Cups: But when you talk of store of Delights, you find in my *Plain-Dealer*, you cease to be one; and when you commend my *Country-Wife*, you never were more a Courtier; and I doubt not but you will like your next Neighbour's Country-Wife better than you do mine, that you may pafs your time better than you can do with my *Country-Wife*; and like her Innocence more than her Wit, since Innocence is the better Bawd to Love; but enjoy my Wife and welcome in my Absence, I shall take it as civilly as a City Cuckold: I was forry to find by you that your Head ach'd while you writ me your Letter; since I fear 'twas from reading my Works (as you call them) not from your own Writing, which never gave you Pain, tho' it would to others to imitate it. I've given your Service to your Friends at the Rose, who, since your Absence, own they ought not to go for the Witty Club; nor is Will's the Wit's Coffee-House any more, since you left it, whose Society for want of yours, is grown as Melancholy, that is, as dull as when you left them a Nights, to their own Mother-Wit, their Puns, Couplets, or Quibbles; therefore expect not a Witty Letter from any of them, no more than from me, since they nor I have conversed with you these three Weeks. I have no News worth fending you, but my next shall bring you what we have. In the mean time, let me tell you (what I hope is no News to you) that your Absence is more tedious to me, than a Quibbler's Company to you; so that I being Sick yestерday, as I thought without any Caufe, reflected you were forty or fifty Miles off, and then found

118 Mr. WYCHERLEY to, &c.

found the Reason of my Disposition, for I cannot
be well so far from you, who am,

My Dear Mr. DENNIS,

Your obliged Humble Servant,

W. WYCHERLEY.

POSTSCRIPT.

PARDON pardon me that I have not sooner an-
fwer'd your Letter, for I have been very bufie
this last Week about Law-Affairs, that is very Dull
and Idle, tho' very Active. Your Friends of the
Coffee-Houſe and the Rofe, whether Drunk or Sober,
Good Fellows, or Good Wits, ſhow at least their
Senſe, by valuing you and yours, and ſend you all
their Service; and never are more Wits and leſs
Poets, that is, leſs Lyars, than when they profefs
themselves your Servants.

For News, W— lives soberly, Ch— goes to
Bed early; D'Urfey ſing, now like a Poet, that is,
without being ask'd: And all the Poets, or Wits-at-
wills, ſince your departure, ſpeak well of the Ab-
fent. Ball— ſays his ill Looks proceed rather
for want of your Company, than for having had
that of his Miftrefs; even the Quibblers and Poli-
ticians have no double Meaning when they ſpeak
well of you.

To

[ 119 ]

To Mr. WYCHERLEY.

Dear S I R,

HE Sight of your Letter reviv'd me :
It appear'd like the Rays of the new
Sun, to one who has Winter'd under
the Pole, and brought with it Light,
Warmth, and Spirit. The Raillery in
it was very obliging ; for the Luft of Praife is as
powerful with Men, as the Itch of Enjoyment is
with Women ; and it is as hard for us to think that
our Friends ridicule us when they commend our
Wit, as it is for them to believe that their Gallants
abufe them when they extol their Beauty. Yet ge-
nerally in both Cafes, whatever is faid, is faid for
the Satisfaction of him that fpeaks it. But then, as
he delights in Deceiving, the Person to whom he
speaks is deceiv'd with Pleafure, and both Parties
are satisfied. But Mr. Wycherley is to be excepted
from this general Rule, who commends his Friend
for his Friend's Sake. You never are witty to pleafe
yourself, to whom Wit has fo long been habitual,
that you are often hardly mov'd yourself when you
fay thofe admirable Things with which we are tranf-
ported. Not that I am io far betray'd by Vanity,
as to take your Compliments at the Foot of the Let-
ter, or to fuppoſe that you believ'd all that you
faid ; but I am willing, for your ſake, to believe
that you meant ſomething of it ; and that not being
without Kindneſs for me, (which is only owing to
the Sweetneſs of your Nature, that is, to your Me-
rit, and not to mine;) your Reaſon, as the Duke
de la Rochefoucaut ſays, has been bubbled by your Af-
fection. And here, Sir, I have much the Advan-
tage

tage

120

To Mr. WYCHERLEY.

tage of you; for when I declare that I have the great-
test Opinion in the World of you, none will miftiust
my Sincerity, and all will applaud my Difcernment
but you cannot exprefs your Zeal at so high a rate
for any Friend, but it muſt considerably leſſen the
World's Opinion of your Judgment. But if it is
Mr. Wycherley's peculiar Praife, never to have ſhewn
want of Judgment in any thing, unleſs in that only
thing in which Error is honourable: How few are
they who are capable of Erring at your Rate!

Vellem in amicitia ſic erraremus, & ifti
Errori virtus nomen poſuiffet honestum.

And how happy is the Man who has a Friend ſo ac-
complifh'd, that Error in him is Virtue? I am that
happy Man, and am ſo far exalted by my Happi-
nefs, that I am never leſs humble, than when I ſub-
cribe my ſelf,

Dear SIR,

Your most Humble
and Faithful Servant.

Mr.

[ 121 ]

Mr. WYCHERLEY to Mr.
on the Loss of his Miftresſs.

Dear SIR,

Have had Yours of the 31st of March,
to which I should sooner have returned
an Anſwer, had I not been forced to
take a little turn out of Town; but
your Letter to me brought me not more
Satisfaction than your laſt to Mr. Moyle gave me Dif-
quiet for you; ſince by that I find how uneaſie you
are. You know, my Friend, from one ſufficiently
experienced in Love-diftaſters, that Love is often a
kind of losing Loadam, in which the Loſer is moſt
often the Gainer. If you have been depriv'd of a
Miftrefſs, confider you have loſt a Wife, and tho' you
are diſappointed of a ſhort Satisfaction, you have
likewise eſcaped a tedious Vexation, which Matri-
mony infallibly comes to be one way or another;
ſo that your Misfortune is an Accident which your
true Friends ſhould rather felicitate than commi-
ſerate. You told me in your laſt, that you were no
more Maſter of your ſelf: Then how ſhould I help
rejoicing at the Reſtoration of your Liberty? A
Man might as reaſonably be ſorry for his Friend's
Recovery from Madneſs, as for his Recovery from
Love, (tho' for the time a pleafant Frenzy;) ſo
that your Miftrefſs's Father has rather been your
Doſtor than your Enemyp And you ſhould not be
angry with him, if he cures you of your Love-
Diftemper, tho' by a Means a little too violent;
for next to his Daughter's Cure of Love, his may

[Vol. I.]

G prove

122 Mr. WYCHERLEY to, &c.

prove the best. Well, pray be not angry, that I
can be pleas'd with any thing that can so much dif-
please you : I own my Friendship for you has a lit-
tle Selfishneſs in it; for now you cannot be so happy
as you would in the Country, I hope you will make
us as happy as we can be in the Town, which we
ſhall be as soon as we have your Company : For
know, my Friend, Change of Air after a Love-
Diftemper may be as good as 'tis after a Fever; and
therefore make haſte to Town, where a great ma-
ny Doctors have engaged to compleat your Cure.
Your Friends will do any thing to root out the Re-
mains of your Paffion : The Witty Club will grow
grave to inſtruſt you; and the Grave Club will
grow gay to delight you; Wh--- will turn a Philo-
fopher; and I will grow a Good-Fellow, and ven-
ture my own Health, for the Recovery of your
good Humour; for I had rather be ſick in your
Company, than for want of it; who am,

Dear S I R,

Your most unalterable Friend,
and humble Servant,

W. WYCHERLEY.

POSTSCRIPT.

PRAY pardon me for not writing to you be-
fore, or rather for writing to you so dully now,
which I hope will be my best Excuse for my not
writing sooner. All your Friends of the Coffee-
house are well; and what is no News to you, are,
in ſpight of your Absence, your conſtant humble
Servants.
The

[ 123 ]

# The Answer to Mr. WYCHERLEY.

DEAR SIR,

Have a colourable Excuse for my Silence; for when you went out of Town, you gave me the hopes of receiving a Letter from you, as soon as you arriv'd at Cleve; besides, since that I have been a Month in Northamptonshire. But the Inclination which I have to converse with Mr. Wycherley, is too violent to receive any Check from Punctilio's. But, alafs! I was retrain'd by too juft an Impediment; for ever since I saw you, I have been so rack'd by a cruel Passion, that I have had no Power to do any thing but to complain; and your Portion of Melancholy is not so small, that you have need to be troubled with another Man's Spleen. I would be sure to communicate my Happineſs to my Friend; nay, I could be but half happy if I did not communicate it: As in Love I never could be pleas'd to a height with my own Pleasure, if I did not find that it added to that of my Miftrefs. But I should impart my ill Humour to my Friend, if I found that it were not in his Power to eafe me, and that it were much in his Inclination, with as much Regret as I should acquaint him with his own ill Fortune, if I were clearly convinc'd that it were not in my Power to affiſt him. You would not advise me to ſtifle this Passion: You are too well acquainted with Love and me to do that: You know that that would be to perſuade me to a thing, which you are already ſenſible that I am very willing, and very unable to

G 2

do.

124 *Mr. WYCHERLEY to Mr.*

do. I blush while I shew this Weakneſs; but sure
there is some Force of Mind requir'd to shew some
forts of Weakneſs. You remember the Maxim of
the wife Duke: *La meme fermete qui fert a refister
à l'Amour, fert auſſi quelque fois à le rendre violent &
durable.* If that be true, I beſeech you to believe
that this obſtinate Lover is a conſtant Friend too,
and unalterably,

Dear Sir,

Your moſt humble Servant.

*Mr. WYCHERLEY's Letter to Mr.*

DEAR SIR,

Lately received from you so kind and
so witty a Reproach for my not wri-
ting to you, that I can hardly repent
me of my Fault, ſince it has been the
Occafion of my receiving so much Sa-
tisfaction.

But you have had a reasonable Excuse
for your Silence, ſince you ſay I promis'd to write to
you firſt, which is very true; and I had kept my
Promife, but for my Conjeſure that you could
not ſtay so long out of Northamptonſhire; nor was I,
it ſeems, miſtaken in that. But be affur'd, dear Sir,
I think there can be no better End or Deſign of my
Writing, than in its procuring me the Satisfaction of
receiving ſomething of yours; especially ſince I have
no other way left me now of converſing with you.
But, it ſeems, you forbear to relieve me out of Cha-
rity, ſince you ſay your Trouble was so great, that
you were unwilling to communicate it to me, left
you

Mr. WYCHERLEY to Mr. ----

125

you should increase mine. I see your Wit can do
any thing, make an Omission of a Kindness a
greater Obligation; and if you complain but to
your Miftres, as wittily as you do to your Friend,
I wonder not at her Cruelty, nor that she should
take Pleasure to hear you complain so long. But,
my Friend, have a care of complaining to her,
with so much true Senfe, left it should difparage
your true Love; and indeed, that I fear is the only
Cause you are suffer'd to complain so long, without
the Successes which is due to your Merit. Love and
Wit, from one who, you say, has her self so much;
which, with your Pardon, I shall hardly believe,
who' you are her Voucher, if she does not do what
you would have her; that is, do you and herself
Reafon as faft as she can; since she must needs be-
lieve you a warm and sincere Lover, as much as I
believe you a zealous and a true Friend. And I am
so well acquainted with Love and you, that I be-
lieve no body is able to alter your Love, or advife
your Reafon; the one being as unalterable as the
other infallible; and you (for ought I know) are
the only Man who at once can love and be wife.
And to the Wife you know a Word is enough, espe-
cially since you gave me a Caution againft oppofing
your Paffion, because it would be in vain. If Love
be in you, as in other Men, a violent Paffion, it is
therefore a short Frenzy, and should be cur'd like
other Diftempers of that kind, by your Friends hu-
mouring it, rather than oppofing it. Yet pardon
me, if I preſcribe the common Remedy of curing
one Love with another. But whether you will let
me be your Doctor or no, I muſt at least wifh you
well, who am,

Dear Sir, your most obliged affectionate
Friend and humble Servant,

W. WYCHERLEY

G 3

POST-

126

Mr. DENNIS to

POSTSCRIPT.

PRAY thank my Friend Mr. W— for putting his Surtout of a Letter over yours of a finer Stuff, as the Lining of a Garment is often finer than the Outside. Pray give all the honest Gentlemen of the Coffee-house, of my Acquaintance and yours, my humble Service; whom, with you, I hope to see again, within these three Weeks, at London.

Mr. DENNIS to Mr. WYCHERLEY.

Dear Sir,

Man who has the Vanity of pretending to Write, must certaikly love you extremely well, if he does not hate you after he has received from you such a Letter as yours: And he must undoubtedly shew a great deal of Friendship, when he affures you, he does not envy you the very Lines by which you commend him. A Man had need be very well acquainted with the Goodnefs of your Nature, to be satisfied that you do not praise with a wicked Design to mortify. There are few Writers so humble, whom Mr. Wycherley's Commendation would not render vain; but then there are few Writers so proud, whom the Wit that Mr. Wycherley shews in commending them, would not humble. So that a Man who did not know you, would be apt

to

Mr. WYCHERLEY.

to believe, that whenever you write to Praise, you
do but like a Wreftler, who lifts People up on pur-
pose to throw them down, and the higher he raiſes
them, makes their Fall the greater. Your Com-
mendation is to a modet Man, what the ſecond Bot-
tle is to a ſober Man; it raiſes his Vigour while he
is ſwallowing it; but the Wit is as fine to make the
one Melancholy upon mature Reſection, as the Wine
is certain to leave the other Spiritleſs after the third
Concoction: But our Infirmity cannot be your Fault,
to whom we are oblig'd for your generous Inten-
tions, which give you ſuch a peculiar Diftinction
from ordinary Men of Wit. Indeed, by a juſt and
a noble Confidence, which you may repofe in your
ſelf, you may always very safely commend, becauſe
you may be always ſure to ſurpaſs. 'Tis prudent
and noble at once in a Conqueror to extol the Con-
quered: To praisc the Excellence which he o'er-
comes, is but to commend himſelf: Befides, it wins
the very Heart and Soul of him that is overcome, if
he has but Virtue enough to be ſo ſubdued; and
makes him willing to leave his laſt Retrenchment.
It would long ſince have had that Effect upon me,
if the reſt of your good Qualities had not pre-
vented it; which have ſo cloſely and ſo entirely
tied me to you, that whenever I receive a Letter
from you, my Vanity is ſure to gain on the one ſide,
what it is certain to loſe on the other: For if I am
mortified as to my own Wit, I do not fail to value
my ſelf upon yours.

I am, &c.

G 4

To

128

To Mr. WYCHERLEY

To Mr. WYCHERLEY in Praise
of a BLOCKHEAD.

Dear SIR,

HE last time I was at Will's, I had the
Mortification to hear, that our Friend
Mr. —— had met with a Disappoint-
ment in ——; at which, fome who
were prefent, were glad, affirming,
That Succefs would have thrown him out of his
Element; for that a Man of Wit is not qualified for
Busineſs so well as a Blockhead: I have ſince had
fome Thoughts concerning that Matter which I here
fend you, and of which I deſire your Opinion.

Upon Reflection I have found out the following
Reaſons, why Blockheads are thought to be ſitteſt
for Busineſs, and why they really ſucceed in it.

First, As their Brains are a great deal colder than
thofe are of Men of Wit, they muſt have but very
ſtrait Imaginations, and very barren Inventions;
from whence it follows, that they have but very
few Thoughts, and that a few Objects fill their Ca-
pacities.

Secondly, It is reaſonable enough to believe, that
ſince they are uncapable of many Thoughts, thofe
few which they have are determin'd by their Ne-
cessities, their Appetites, and their Deſires, to what
they call their Fortunes and their Eſtablishments.

Thirdly, It is not very hard to conceive, that ſince
a Blockhead has but a few Thoughts, and perhaps
but one all his Life-time, which is his Interest, he
should have it more perfect, and better digeſted,
than

in Praife of a BLOCKHEAD.

129

than Men of Wit have the fame Thought, who
perhaps have a thousand every Hour.

*Fourthly,* It is easy to comprehend, that since such a one has but a few Thoughts, or perhaps but one, which by often revolving in his Mind, he has divested, and brought to Perfection, he should readily pass from Thought to Action. For he must grow weary of thinking so often of one and the same Thing; and since the Nature of the Soul requires Agitation, as soon as his little Speculation ceases, he must of Necessity act to divert himself.

*Fifthly,* It will be certainly found, that as a little Thought often makes a Man active in Business, so a little Judgment often makes him diligent; for he may well be eager in the Pursuit of those Things, on which, seduced by Passion and vulgar Opinion, he sets an exorbitant Value; and concerning whose Natures and Incertainty, he is not very capable of making solid Reflections. For though Prudence may oblige a Man to secure a Competency, yet never was any one by right Reason induced to seek Superfluities.

*Sixthly,* Penury of Thoughts supposes Littlenefs of Soul, which is often requisite for the succeeding in Business. For a Blockhead is forbidden to descend to Trick and Artifice, which in Business are often necessary to procure Success; unless they are more than supplied, by a Prudence deriv'd from a consummate Experience, or from a great Capacity.

Thus have Iendeavour'd to give the Reason, why a Fool succeeds better in Business than a Man of Wit; who has a multitude of Thoughts, and which fly at the noblest Objects; and who finds that there is something to pleasing, and to noble, in Thinking rightly, and more especially in the sublime Speculations of exalted Reason, that he finds it intolerably irksome to descend to Action, and abhors the

G 5

very.

130 To Mr. WYCHERLEY in, &c.

very Thought of being diligent in Things, for
which he has an extream Contempt.

Thus you see, that in some measure a Fool may
be said to be better fitted out for Busineſs than a
Man of Wit. But it is high Time to diftinguish :
For, firſt, when I ſay that a Blockhead is fitted for
Busineſs, I mean only for little Busineſs: For to af-
firm, that he is qualified for Affairs that require Ex-
tent of Capacity, would be a Contradiction in
Terms. Secondly, When I affirm, that a Man of
Wit is leſs capacitated for Busineſs, I mean, that he
is leſs ſo, as long as he keeps in his natural Temper,
and remains in a State of Tranquility: But if once
he comes to be thrown out of that by the Force of
a violent Paſſion, and fir'd with Zeal for his Coun-
try's Service, or enflam'd by Ambition, and Busineſs
can be made ſubſervient to the gratifying of thoſe
Paſſions, then I dare boldly affirm, that one Man of
Wit will go farther than a thouſand of thoſe who
want it. Of which it would be eaſie to give more
than one Inſtance amongſt our preſent Minifters.
But I will be contented with putting you in mind,
that none of the Romans had more Wit than Cæsar,
and none of the French than Richelieu.

Before I conclude, I must give you a Caution,
which is, that by the Word Blockhead, I do not
mean one that is ftupid, but that I apply that Word
according to the Language of you Men of Wit, to
one who thinks but a little: And that on the oth-
ſide, by a Man of Wit, I do not mean every Coxcomb
whoſe Imagination has got the Ascendant of his little
Reaſon; but a Man like you, Sir, or our moſt
ingenious Friend, in whom Fancy and Judgment are
like a well-match'd Pair; the firſt like an extraordinary
Wife, that appears always beautiful and always
charming, yet is at all times decent, and at all
times chaſte; the ſecond like a prudent and well-
bred

To Mr. DRYDEN.

131

bred Husband, whose very Sway shews his Com-
plaisance, and whose very Indulgence shews his
Authority. I am,

Dear SIR,

Your most humble Servant,

JOHN DENNIS.

To Mr. DRYDEN.

SIR,

H O' no Man writes to his Friend with
greater Eafe, or with more Cheerful-
nefs, than my self; and tho' I have
lately had the Prefumption to place
you at the Head of that small Party,

neverthelefs I have experienc'd, with Grief, that in
writing to you, I have not found my old Facility.

Since I came to this Place, I have taken up my
Pen several times, in order to write to you, but have
conftantly at the very beginning found my self
damp'd and disabled; upon which I have been apt
to believe that extraordinary Efteem may sometimes
take the Mind as impotent as a violent Love does
the Body, and that the vehement Desire we have to
exert it extreamly decays our Ability. I have heard
of more than one lusty Gallant, who, tho' he could
at any time, with Readineſs and Vigour, poffeſs the
Woman whom he lov'd but moderately, yet when
he has been about to give his Darling Miftrefſs, whom
he has vehemently and long defir'd, the firſt laſt
Proof of his Paffion, has found on a ſudden that

his

To Mr. DRYDEN.

his Body has jaded and grown refty under his Soul,
and gone backward the fafter, the more he has
fpurr'd it forward. Efteem has wrought a like Ef-
fect upon my Mind; my extraordinary Inclination
to shew that I honour you at an extraordinary rate,
and to shew it in Words that might not be altoge-
ther unworthy Mr. Dryden's Perusal, incapacitates me
to perform the very Action to which it incites me,
and Nature finks in me under the fierce Effort. But
I hope you will have the Goodneſs to pardon a
Weakneſs that proceeds from a Cauſe like this, and
to confider that I had pleas'd you more if I had ho-
nour'd you leſs. Who knows but that yet I may
pleafe you, if you encourage me to mend my Fault?
To which, if you know but the Place I am in,
Charity would engage you, tho' Juitice could not
oblige you: For I am here in a Defart, depriv'd of
Company, and depriv'd of News; in a Place where
I can hear nothing at all of the Publick; and what
proves it ten times more a Defart, nothing at all of
you: For all who are at preſent concern'd for their
Country's Honour, hearken more after your Prepara-
tives, than thofe for the next Campaign. These
laſt may poffibly turn to our Confuſion, fo uncertain
are the Events of War; but we know that whatever
you unde take, muſt prove glorious to England;
and tho' the French may meet with Succeſs in the
Field, by you we are ſure to conquer them. In War,
there are a thouſand unlook'd-for Accidents which
happen every Day, and Fortune appears no where
more like her ſelf; but in a Combat of Wit, the
more humane Contention, and the more glorious
Quarrel. Merit will be always ſure to prevail: And
therefore, tho' I can but hope that the Confederate
Forces will give Chafe to De Lorge and Luxemburg,
I am very confident that Boileau and Racine will be
forced to submit to you. Judge therefore, if I, who
very

To Mr. DRYDEN.

133

very much love my Country, and who so much
efteem you, muft not with a great deal of Impa-
tience expect to hear from you. I am,

SIR,

Your most humble Servant.

To Mr. DRYDEN.

Dear SIR,

O U may see already by this prefump-
tuous Greeting, that Encouragement
gives us as much Affurance to Friend-
ship, as it imparts to Love: You may
see too, that a Friend may sometimes
proceed to acknowledge Affection, by the very fame
Degrees by which a Lover declares his Passion.
This laft, at firſt, confesses Eſteem, yet owns no Paſ-
ſion but Admiration: But as ſoon as he is animated
by one kind Expression, his Look, his Style, and
his very Soul, are altered: But as Sovereign Beauties
know very well, that he who confesses he eſteems
and admires them, implies that he loves them, or is
enclin'd to love them; a Person of Mr. Dryden's
exalted Genius can diſcern very well, that when we
eſteem him highly, 'tis Reſpect reſtrains us if we
fay no more. For where great Eſteem is without
Affection, 'tis often attended with Envy, if not
with Hate; which Paſſions detract, even when they
 commend, and Silence is their higheft Panegyric.
'Tis indeed impoſſible that I ſhould refuse to love
a Man, who has ſo often given me all the Pleafure
that

To Mr. DRYDEN.

134

that the moſt infatiable Mind can deſire: When at
any time I have been dejeſtéd by Diſappointments,
or tormented by cruel Paſſions, the Recourſe to your
Verſes has calm'd my Soul, or rais'd it to Tranſports
which made it contemn Tranquillity. But tho' you
have ſo often given me all the Pleaſure I was able
to bear, I have Reaſon to complain of you on this
Account, that you have confin'd my Delight to a
narrower Compafs: *Suckling, Cowley, and Denham,*
who formerly ravish'd me in every part of them,
now appear taſtleſs to me in moſt; and *Waller* him-
felf, with all his Gallantry, and all that admirable
Art of his Turns, appears three quarters Proſe to
me. Thus 'tis plain that your Mufe has done me an
Injury; but ſhe has made me Amends for it: For
ſhe is like thofe extraordinary Women, who, be-
fides the Regularity of their charming Features, be-
fides their engaging Wit, have ſecret, unaccountable
enchanting Graces, which tho' they have been long
and often enjoy'd, make them always New, and al-
ways Deſirable. I return you my hearty Thanks for
your moſt obliging Letter. I had been very unrea-
ſonable if I had repin'd that the Favour arriv'd no
fooner: 'Tis allowable to grumble at the delaying
a Payment; but to murmur at the deferring a Bene-
ſit, is to be impudently ungrateful beforehand. The
Commendations which you give me, exceedingly
footh my Vanity: For you with a Breath can be-
ſtow or confirm Reputation; a whole numberleſs
People proclaims the Praife which you give, and the
Judgment of three mighty Kingdoms appear to de-
pend upon yours. The People gave me ſome little
Applaſe before; but to whom, when they are in
Humour, will they not give it? And to whom, when
they are Froward, will they not ſefuſe it? Reputa-
tion with them depends upon Chance, unleſs they
are guided by thofe above them: They are but the
Keepers

To Mr. DRYDEN.

Keepers as it were of the Lottery which Fortune
fets up for Renown; upon which Fame is bound to
attend with her Trumpet, and found when Men
draw the Prizes. Thus I had rather have your Ap-
probation than the Applause of Fame; Her Com-
mendation argues good Luck, but Mr. Dryden's im-
plies Desert. Whatever low Opinion I have hi-
therto had of my self, I have so great a Value for
your Judgment, that, for the fake of that, I shall
be willing henceforward to believe that I am not
wholly defertlefs; but that you may find me still
more fupportable, I shall endeavour to compensate
whatever I want in thofe glittering Qualities, by
which the World is dazled, with Truth, with Faith,
and with Zeal to serve you; Qualities which, for
their Rarity, might be Objects of Wonder, but that
Men dare not appear to admire them, becaufe their
Admiration would manifestly declare their want of
them. Thus, Sir, let me affure you, that tho' you
are acquainted with several Gentlemen, whose Elo-
quence and Wit may capacitate them to offer their
Service with more Addrefs to you, yet no one can
declare himſelf with greater Cheerfulness, or with
greater Fidelity, or with more profound Respect
than my ſelf,

S. I. R.

Your moſt, &c.

Mr.

136

Mr. DRYDEN to

Mr. DRYDEN to Mr. DENNIS.

My Dear Mr. Dennis,

HEN I read a Letter so full of my
Commendations as your laft, I cannot
but confider you as the Mafter of a
vaft Treasure, who, having more than
enough for your ſelf, are fore'd to ebb
out upon your Friends. You have indeed the beſt
Right to give them, ſince you have them in Pro-
priety ; but they are no more mine when I receive
them, than the Light of the Moon can be allowed
to be her own, who ſhines but by the Reſlection of
her Brother. Your own Poetry is a more powerful
Example to prove that the modern Writers may en-
ter into Comparifon with the Ancients, than any
which *Perrault* could produce in *France* ; yet neither
he, nor you, who are a better Critick, can perſwade
me that there is any room left for a ſolid Commen-
dation at this time of Day, at leaſt for me. If I
undertake the Tranſlation of *Virgil*, the little which
I can perform will ſhow at leaſt, that no Man is fit
to write after him in a barbarous modern Tongue :
Neither will his Machines be of any Service to a
Chriftian Poet. We ſee how ineffectually they have
been try'd by *Tasso*, and by *Arioſto*. 'Tis uſing them
too dully if we only make Devils of his Gods: As
if, for Example, I would raife a Storm, and make
uſe of *Æolus*, with this only Difference of calling
him Prince of the Air, what Invention of mine
would there be in this? Or who would not ſee *Vir-
gil* thorough me, only the fame Trick play'd over
again.

Mr. DENNIS.

137

again by a bungling Jugler? Boileau has well observed, that it is an eating matter, in a Christian Poem, for God to bring the Devil to Reasson. I think I have given a better Hint for new Machines, in my Preface to Juvenal, where I have particularly recommended two Subjects, one of King Arthur's Conquest of the Saxons, and the other of the Black Prince in his Conquest of Spain. But the Guardian Angels of Monarchies, and Kingdoms, are not to be touch'd by every Hand. A Man must be deeply conversant in the Platonick Philosophy to deal with them: And therefore I may reasonably expect that no Poet of our Age will presume to handle those Machines, for fear of discovering his own Ignorance; or if he should, he might perhaps be ungrateful enough, not to own me for his Benefactor. After I have confess'd thus much of our modern Heroick Poetry, I cannot but conclude with Mr. Rym—, that our English Comedy is far beyond any thing of the Ancients. And notwithstanding our Irregularities, so is our Tragedy. Shakefspear had a Genius for it; and we know, in spite of Mr. Rym—, that Genius alone is a greater Virtue (if I may so call it) than all other Qualifications put together. You see what succeeds this learned Critick has found in the World, after his blapheming Shakefspear. Almost all the Faults which be has discover'd are truly there: Yet who will read Mr. Rym—, or not read Shakefspear? For my own Part, I reverence Mr. Rym—'s Learning, but I detest his ill Nature and his Arrogance. I indeed, and much as I, have Reasson to be afraid of him, but Shakefspear has not. There is another Part of Poetry in which the English stand almost upon an equal Foot with the Ancients; and 'tis that which we call Pindarick; introduced, but not perfected, by our famous Mr. Cowley: And of this, Sir,

138

Mr. DRYDEN to

Sir, you are certainly one of the greatest Maesters:
You have the Sublimity of Senfe as well as Sound,
and know how far the Boldneſs of a Poet may law-
fully extend. I could wifh you would cultivate this
kind of Ode, and reduce it either to the fame Mea-
fure which Pindar us'd, or give new Meaſures of
your own. For, as it is, it looks like a vaſt Traſt
of Land newly diſcover'd: The Soil is wonderful-
ly fruitful, but unmanur'd, overſtock'd with Inhabi-
tants, but almoſt all Savages, without Laws, Arts,
Arms, or Policy. I remember poor Nat. Lee, who
was then upon the Verge of Madneſs, yet made a
fober and a witty Anſwer to a bad Poet, who told
him, It was an eafe thing to write like a Madman.
No, ſaid he, 'tis very difficult to write like a Mad-
man; but 'tis a very eafe matter to write like a Fool.
Otway and he are ſafe by Death from all Attacks,
but we poor Poets Militant (to uſe Mr. Cowley's Ex-
pression) are at the Mercy of wretched Scribbers;
and when they cannot faſten upon our Verſes, they
fall upon our Morals, our Principles of State and
Religion. For my Principles of Religion, I will
not justify them to you; I know yours are far dif-
ferent. For the fame Reaſon, I ſhall ſay nothing
of my Principles of State: I believe you in yours
follow the Dictates of your Reaſon, as I in mine do
thofe of my Conſcience. If I thought my ſelf in
an Error, I would retraſt it; I am ſure that I ſuffer
for them; and Milton makes even the Devil ſay,
That no Creature is in love with Pain. For my Mo-
rals betwixt Man and Man, I am not to be my own
Judge; I appeal to the World if I have deceiv'd or
defrauded any Man: And for my private Converſa-
tion, they who ſee me every Day can be the beſt
Witneſſes, whether or no it be blameleſs and inof-
ſenſive. Hitherto I have no Reaſon to complain
that Men of either Party ſhun my Company. I
have

Mr. DENNIS.

139

have never been an impudent Beggar at the Doors
of Noble Men: My Visits have indeed been too
rare to be unacceptable, and but just enough to
testify my Gratitude for their Bounty; which I have
frequently receiv'd, but always unask'd, as them-
felves will witness. I have written more than I
needed to you on this Subject: For I dare say, you
justify me to your self. As for that which I first
intended for the principal Subject of this Letter,
which is my Friend's Passion, and his Design of
Marriage, on better Consideration I have chang'd
my Mind: For having had the Honour to see my
dear Friend Wycherley's Letter to him on that Occa-
sion, I find nothing to be added or amended. But
as well as I love Mr. Wycherley, I confess I love my
self so well, that I will not shew how much I am
inferior to him in Wit and Judgment, by undertak-
ing any thing after him. There is Moses and the
Prophets in his Counsel. Jupiter and Juno, as the
Poets tell us, made Tirefias their Umpire, in a cer-
tain merry Dispute which fell out in Heaven betwixt
them: Tirefias you know had been of both Sexes,
and therefore was a proper Judge; our Friend
Mr. Wycherley is full as competent an Arbitrator: He
has been a Batchelor, and Marry'd Man, and is now
a Widower. Virgil says of Ceneus,

Nunc vir, nunc Fæmina Ceneus,
Rurfus & in veterem fato revoluta figuram.

Yet, I suppose, he will not give any large Com-
mendations to his middle State; nor, as the Sailor
faid, will be fond, after a Shipwreck, to put to Sea
again. If my Friend will adventure after this, I can
but wish him a good Wind, as being his; and,

My Dear Mr. Dennis, your most Affection-
ate and most Faithful Servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.

A

140

A Letter from the Lady C—

A Letter from the Lady C— to her Cousin W—; after she had received from him a Copy of Veres on her Beauty.

COUSIN,

Received yours with the Veres in-
clos'd, and here return you my hearty
Thanks for the Face, the Shape, the
Mien, which you have so generoufly
beftow'd upon me. From looking up-
on your Verſes, I went to my Glafs: But, Jefu! the
Difference! Tho' I bought it to flatter me, yet com-
par'd to you, I found it a Plain-Dealer: It ſhow'd
me immediately, that I have been a great deal more
beholding to you, than I have been to Nature; for
ſhe only form'd me not Frightful; but you have
made me Divine. But as you have been a great
deal kinder than Nature has been to me, I think my
ſelf oblig'd, in Requital, to be a good deal more
liberal than Heav'n has been to you, and to allow
you as large a Stock of Wit as you have giv'n me of
Beauty: Since ſo honeſt a Gentleman as your ſelf
has ſtretch'd his Conſcience to commend my Perſon,
I am bound in Gratitude to do Violence to my Rea-
ſon to extol your Verſes. When I left the Town,
I deſir'd you to furnifh me with the News of the
Place, and the firſt thing I have received from you
is a Copy of Verſes on my Beauty; by which you
dextrouſly infer, that the moſt extraordinary Piece
of News you can ſend me, is to tell me that I am
hand-

to her Cousin W—

141

handsome. By which ingenious Inference, you had
infallibly brought the Scandal of a Wit upon you,
if your Veres had not ftood up in your Justification.
But tell me truly, Cousin, could you think that I
fshould prove so eafie a Creature as to believe all
that you have faid of me? How could you find in
your Heart to make fuch a Fool of me, and fuch a
Cheat of your felf, to intoxicate me with Flattery,
and draw me in to truck my little Stock of Wit and
Judgment for a meer Imagination of Beauty; when
the real Thing too falls to infinitely fhort of what
you would make me exchange for the very Fancy of
it? For, Cousin, there is this confiderable Difference
between the Merit of Wit and Beauty; That Men
are never violently influenc'd by Beauty, unlefs it
has weaken'd their Reafon; and never feel half the
Force of Wit, unlefs their Judgments are found.
The principal Time in which thofe of your Sex ad-
mire Beauty in ours, is between Seventeen and
Thirty; that is, after they are paft their Innocence,
and before they are come to their Judgment. And
now, Cousin, have not you been commending a
pretty Quality in me; to admire which, as I have
juft fhewn you, fuppoſes not only a corrupted Will,
but a raw Understanding: Besides, how frail, how
tranſitory is it! Nature deprives us of it at Thirty,
if Difeaſes ſpare it till then: By which conſant
Proceeding, ſhe seems to imply, that ſhe gives it us
as a Gugaw to pleafe us in the Childhood of our
Reaſons; and takes it from us, as a thing below us,
when we come to Years of Discretion. Thus, Cou-
fin, have you been commending a Quality in me,
which has nothing of true Merit in it, and of which
I have no greater a Share, than to keep me from
being fcaandalous. So that all I could have got by
your Kindneſs, if I had parted with my Judgment,
in order to reap the Benefit of it, had been nothing
but

142 A Letter from the Lady C— to, &c.

but wretched Conceit, and ridiculous Affeſtation.
If I thought you had enough of the gallant Man in
you, to take what I ſay in good part, I would ad-
vife you to engage no further in Poetry : Be rul'd by
a Woman for once, and mind your Cook upon Little-
ton. Rather Pettifog than Flatter : For if you are
reſolved to be a Cheat, you will ſhow at leaſt ſome
Conſcience, in reſolving rather to chouſe People of
their Money, than to bubble them of their Under-
ſtandings. Befides, Couſin, you have not a Genius
which will make a great Poet, and be pleafed to
confider, that a ſmall Poet is a ſcandalous Wight;
that indifferent Verſes are very bad ones ; and that
an inſipid Panegyric upon another, is a fevere Libel
upon your ſelf. Befides, there will ſtart up a Satyr
one Day, and then Woe be to cold Rhimers. Old
England is not yet ſo barren, but there will arife
ſome generous Spirit, who, befides a Stock of Wit
and good Senſe, which are no very common Quali-
ties, will not only be furniſhed with a ſound Judg-
ment, which is an extraordinary Talent, but with a
true Tafte 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 Criticifm. Such a Satyriſt as this,
Couſin, muſt arife, and therefore you had beſt take
care, by a judicious Silence, that whenever he ap-
pears, he may be ſure to divert you, and not afflict
you.

I am, &c.

To

[ 143 ]

To Mr. ______ at WILL'S Coffee-house.

Received your Panegyrick upon Puns,
which I so approve of, that I am re-
folved to get it printed, and bound up
with Erazmus's Praife of Folly. Yet to
confess a Truth, I was something diffa-
tisfied to see Quibbling commended with so much
Wit; For nothing can be writ with more Wit, than
your Letter to the Referve of the Quibbles; which
I suppofe you inferted amongſt so many Things
which are so finely faid, left theſe ſhould have ren-
der'd you too vain, or too much have mortify'd me;
But pray, after this Panegyrick upon Quibbles, give
me Leave to ask you the fame Question that the
Lacedemonians ask'd the Sophifter, who harangu'd in
the Praife of Hercules: By the way, did you ever
expect to hear a Quibble compar'd to Hereules ?
There's a Simile for you, I think, as Novel ſays,
that's New. You, who are cry'd up for so great a
Wit, tell me, without Envy, could you ever have
thought upon that? But to return to my Question:
Here you have ſpent a great deal of Time in the
Defence of Quibbles. Who ſaid a Word againſt
them ? The Devil a Syllable did I mention of them
in mine. It is true, I cited honeſt Mr. Sw—;
but it is a hard Cafe, if the Quoting an Author,
muſt be conſtrued the Condemning his Works: I
have a great Reſpect and Kindneſs for Mr. Sw—,
as I have for all who have any Excellence. And
truly, I think, that for the Management of Quib-
bles and Dice, there is no Man alive comes near him.
And let me tell you, Sir, for all your new Emula-
tion,

To Mr. — at

144

tion, he is a better Quibbler than you. But it is
high time to give over Railery: For if you were
my Father a thousand times, let me die if I would
not rigorously examine that part of your Letter
which pretends to defend Quibbling. You say that
I am too nice, and that my Aversion has something
in it that is very like Affection. But here you
must give me Leave to turn your own Simile upon
you: Can a Man be justly accus'd of Niceness or
Affection, because he appears offended at a Stink?
When I tell you that Quibbling is extreamly foolish,
you know it is foolish enough, you reply; but it is
a foolish thing that diverts. And do you think this
Knowledge of it will excuse the Folly? Give me
Leave to resume the afore-mention'd Simile: Suppose a Fellow who breaks Wind should say to the
Company, while they are cajoling their offended
Noles with Snuff, Look you, Gentlemen, I know I
am a brutal Dog for this, this is very nafty, but Begad it is very diverting. Would the Excuse, think
you, be current? A Quibble diverts: Right, and so
does a Hobby-horse, which in my Mind, for those
who can be diverted without Reason, is the better
Bawble of the two. A Quibble diverts: Jefu! That
this should be spoken at Will's? Can there be a
more damnable Satyr upon Wit, than that so many
Gentlemen who have so very much of it, should
be forc'd to play the Fool to divert one another?
But, for God's fake, what do you mean when you
say a Quibble diverts you? It makes you laugh I
warrant: Why the greatest Coxcomb about the
Town shall out-do you in Laughing at any time.
Nature, who has dealt impartially with her Children,
and who has given them but two Distinctions
from Beasts, Reason and Laughter, has, where she
has beftow'd the more of the one, conferr'd the
less of the other: And therefore a Coxcomb will
laugh

WILL'S Coffee-house.

145

laugh at nothing. Ay, that indeed, say you, is a
Sign of a Fool. Well, my dear Friend, I have so
much Kindneſs for thee, that out of thy own Mouth
thou ſhalt not be judged: For if a Quibble is not
Wit, it is nothing. But it is at as great a Diftance
from Wit, as an Idol is from the Deity; and I will
no more believe naufuous Equivocals to be Wit, be-
caufe ſome Sots have admir'd them than I will be-
lieve Garlick to be God, becaufe the *Egyptians* a-
dor'd it: Nay, it is a more damnable Sign of Stupi-
dity in an *English* Man, to make Wit of a Quibble,
than it was in the *Egyptians* to make a God of their
Garlick. But to return from whence I digreffed; I
have never appear'd ſo much a Stoick, but that I
have been as much for Diversion as any of you:
But then am I for the Diversion of reaſonable Men,
and of Gentlemen. If there be any Diversion in
Quibbling, it is a Diversion of which a Fool and a
Porter is as capable as is the beſt of you. And
therefore Ben. Johnson, who writ every thing with
Judgment, and who knew the Scum of the People,
whenever he brings in a Porter or a Tankard-
bearer, is ſure to introduce him Quibbling. But if
Punning be a Diversion, it is a very ſtrange one:
There is as much Difference between the filly Satis-
faction which we have from a Quibble, and the ra-
vifhing Pleasure which we receive from a beautiful
Thought, as there is betwixt a faint Salute and Fru-
ition. But what would you have us do? you cry.
Men of the greatest Parts are no more to be found
with Wit always about them, than rich Rogues
with always the Ready. Why, look you, Sir, as
the firſt Step to Wifdom is to be freed from Folly,
ſo the firſt Approach to Wit is a Contempt of Quib-
bling. If it happens at any time that you have not
your Wit about you, we will either have Patience
till ſuch time as you have, or take good Senſe in the

[Vol. I.]

H

lie.

To WALTER MOYLE Esq;

147

to Mr. Bays his Parthenope. For the Major-General
is a very honest Fellow, who sells Ale by the Town-
Wall: We had the Satisfaction to see that the Town
was taken, and the whole Siege was carried on as
Sieges generally are, with a great deal more Noife
than Mischief. On Monday last, which was the fe-
cond of September, I travell'd into the City, where
I had the Satisfaction to see two very ridiculous
Sights. The first was a Bawd carted for an Action
which had some Relation to that memorable Day:
For she was convicted of being an Accomplice in
fetting Fire to an ancient and venerable Pile of the
City; that is, she was found guilty of being in-
ftrumental in the Clapping an Alderman. I stood
in a Bookseller's Shop to see her pafs, which
Bookseller was packing up some Scoundrel Authors,
to send them away to the Plantations. These Au-
thors are Criminals, which being sentenc'd to be
burnt here, have at last found Grace, and got off
with Transportation. You remember the terrible
News that we heard at P—, which, as it sprung
from a ridiculous Occasion, that is, my Lady
Mayorefs's Goffipping, has had a comical Confe-
quence. For the Common-Council have made an
Order, by which my Lady Mayorefs is dispens'd,
during the Wars, from seeing those Children born in
the City which are got in the Suburbs; that is, from
being present at one of their Wives' Labours. But
this time to return to the Fair. Last Night I took a
turn in the Cloyfters, where I was entertain'd with
a great many Dialogues between Vizour and Val-
lancy Wig, upon which I leave you to be Judge,
whether my Eyes or my Ears were the better enter-
tain'd of the two: For I heard a great deal of un-
intelligible Language addrefs'd to a great many in-
visible Faces: As if, because the Women had re-
fovd not to be seen, the Men had determin'd not

H 2

to

148

To Mr. CONGREVE.

to be understood; and had in Revenge eclips'd the
Light of their Understanding by Fuſtian, as the
others had obſcur'd the Luſtre of their Eyes by Vel-
vet. Formerly the Ladies made use of White and
Red to attract; but within these thirty Years Black
has succeeded, and the Devil is found more tempt-
ing in his proper Colour. I have neither Time nor
Place for any more; you shall have the reſt by the
first Opportunity.

Yours, &c.

To Mr. CONGREVE.

Dear SIR,

I

HAVE now read over the Fox, in
which, tho' I admire the Strength of
Ben. Johnson's Judgment, yet I did not
find it so accurate as I expected: For,
first, the very Thing upon which the
whole Plot turns, and that is, the Discovery which
Mofca makes to Bonario, seems to me to be very un-
reasonable. For I can fee no Reason why he ſhould
make that Discovery which introduces Bonario into
his Maſter's Houſe. For the Reason which the Poet
makes Mofca give in the ninth Scene of the third
Act, appears to be a very abſurd one. Secondly,
Corbaccio, the Father of Bonario, is expos'd for his
Deafneſs, a Perſonal Defect, which is contrary to
the End of Comedy-Inſtruction: For Perſonal De-
fects cannot be amended; and the expofing ſuch
can never divert any but half-witted Men. It cannot
fail to bring a thinking Man to reflect upon the Mi-
fery

To Mr. CONGREVE.

149

fery of human Nature, and into what he may fall
himself without any Fault of his own. Thirdly,
The Play has two Characters which have nothing to
do with the Design of it, which are to be look'd
upon as Excrefcencies. Laftly, The Character of
Volpone is inf confident with it self : Volpone is like Ca-
tiline, Alieni appetens, fui profusus; but that is only a
Double in his Nature, and not an Inconfi stence.
The Inconfi stence of the Character appears in this,
that Volpone in the fifth Act behaves himfelf like a
giddy Coxcomb, in the Conduct of that very Affair
which he manag'd ſo craftily in the first four.
In which the Poet offends, first, againſt that fam'd
Rule which Horace gives for the Characters,

Servetur ad imum,
Qualis ab incepto procefferit, & sibi conflet.

And, Secondly, Againſt Nature, upon which all the
Rules are grounded : For ſo ſtrange an Alteration in
ſo little a time, is not in Nature, unleſs it happens
by the Accident of ſome violent Paſſion; which is
not the Cafe here. Volpone on the ſudden behaves
himſelf without common Diſcretion, in the Con-
duct of that very Affair which he had manag'd with
ſo much Dexterity for the Space of three Years to-
gether. For why does he diſguife himſelf? Or, why
does he repofe the laſt Confidence in Mefca ? Why
does he cauſe it to be given out that he's dead ?
Why, only to plague his Bubbles. To plague them,
for what ? Why only for having been his Bubbles.
So that here is the greateſt Alteration in the World,
in the Space of twenty four Hours, without any ap-
parent Cauſe. The Design of Volpone is to Cheat ; he
has carried on a Cheat for three Years together with
Cunning and with Succeſs ; and yet he, on a ſudden.

H 3

in

150

To Mr. CONGREVE.

in cold Blood, does a thing which he cannot but
know muſt endanger the ruining all. I am,

Dear S I R,

Your moſt humble Servant.

To Mr. CONGREVE.

Dear S I R,

Will not augment the Trouble which I
give you, by making an Apology for
not giving it you sooner. Tho' I am
heartily forry that I kept such a Trifle
as the Inclos'd, and a Trifle writ Ex-
tempore, long enough to make you expect a labour'd
Letter. But becaufe in the Inclos'd I have spoken
particularly of Ben. Johnson's Fox, I defire to fay
three or four Words of ſome of his Plays more ge-
nerally : The Plots of the Fox, the Silent Woman,
the Alchymift, are all of them very artful. But the
Intrigues of the Fox and the Alchymift ſeem to me
to be more dexterouſly perplex'd, than to be happily
difentangled. But the Gordian Knot in the Silent
Woman is untied with ſo much Felicity, that that
alone may ſuffice to ſhew Ben. Johnson no ordinary
Heroe. But then, perhaps, the Silent Woman may
want the very Foundation of a good Comedy, which
the other two cannot be faid to want; for it ſeems
to me to be without a Moral. Upon which Absur-
dity, Ben. Johnson was driven by the Singularity of
Morofe's Character, which is too extravagant for In-
ftruction, and fit, in my Opinion, only for Farce.
For this ſeems to me to conftitute the moſt eſential
Difference betwixt Farce and Comedy, that the Fol-
lies

To Mr. CONGREVE.

151

lies which are expos'd in Farce are singular, and
thofe are particular which are expos'd in Comedy.
These laft are thofe, with which fome part of an
Audience may be fuppos'd infected, and to which
all may be fuppos'd obnoxious. But the first are fo
very odd, that, by reafon of their monſtrous Extra-
vagance, they cannot be thought to concern an Au-
dience; and cannot be fuppos'd to inſtruct them.
For the reft of the Characters in these Plays, they
are for the moft part true, and moft of the Hu-
morous Characters Mafter-pieces. For Ben. Johnson's
Fools ſeem to ſhew his Wit a great deal more than
his Men of Senſe: I admire his Fops, and but bare-
ly eſteem his Gentlemen. Ben. ſeems to draw De-
formity more to the Life than Beauty: He is often
fo eager to purfue Folly, that he forgets to take Wit
along with him. For the Dialogue, it ſeems to
want very often that Spirit, that Grace, and that no-
ble Railery, which are to be found in more modern
Plays, and which are Virtues that ought to be inſe-
parable from a finiſh'd Comedy. But there ſeems
to be one thing more wanting than all the reſt, and
that is Paſſion, I mean, that fine and that delicate
Paſſion, by which the Soul ſhews its Politenefs, ev'n
in the midft of its Trouble. Now, to touch a Paſ-
fion, is the ſureſt way to Delight; for nothing agi-
tates like it: Agitation is the Health and Joy of the
Soul, of which it is ſo entirely fond, that even then,
when we imagine we ſeek Repoſe, we only ſeek
Agitation. You know what a famous modern Cri-
tick has ſaid of Comedy:

> Il faut que ses Acteurs badinent noblement,
> Que son Nœud bien forme ſe denoue aisement ;
> Que l'Action Marchant ou la Raison la Guide,
> Ne ſe perde jamma dans une Scens guide,

H. 4.

Qui

152

Mr. CONGREVE

Que son Stile humble & doux se releue a propos,
Que ses discours par tout fertiles en bons mots,
Soient pleius de Passions finement manies,
Et les Scenes toujours l'une a l'autre liee.

I leave you to make the Application to John-
son — whatever I have said my self of his Com-
dies, I submit to your better Judgment. For you,
who, after Mr. Wycherley, are incomparably the best
Writer of it living, ought to be allowed to be the
best Judge too.

I am Yours, &c.

Mr. CONGREVE to Mr. DENNIS,
on HUMOUR in COMEDY.

DEAR SIR,

Y
O U write to me, that you have entertained your self two or three Days with reading several Comedies of several Authors; and your Observation is, That there is more of Humour in our English Writers, than in any of the other Comick Poets, ancient or modern. You define to know my Opinion, and at the same time my Thought of that which is generally call'd Humour in Comedy.

I agree with you, in an impartial Preference of
our English Writers in that Particular. But if I tell
you my Thoughts of Humour, I must at the same
time confess, that what I take for true Humour, has
not been so often written even by them, as is gene-
rally believed : And some who have valued them-
felves,

to Mr. DENNIS.

153

felves, and have been eſteem'd by others for that
kind of Writing, have ſeldom touch'd upon it. To
make this appear to the World, would require a
long and labour'd Diſcoursſe, and ſuch as I neither
am able nor willing to undertake. But ſuch little
Remarks as may be contain'd within the Compafs of
a Letter, and ſuch unpremeditated Thoughts as may
be communicated between Friend and Friend, with-
out incurring the Cenſure of the World, or ſetting
up for a Dictator, you ſhall have from me, ſince you
have enjoin'd it.

To define Humour, perhaps, were as difficult as
to define Wit; for, like that, it is of infinite Va-
riety. To enumerate the ſeveral Humours of Men,
were a Work as endleſs as to ſum up their ſeveral
Opinions. And in my Mind, the Quot homines tot
Sententie might have been more properly interpreted
of Humour; ſince there are many Men of the fame
Opinion in many Things, who are yet quite dif-
ferent in Humours. But tho' we cannot certainly tell
what Wit is, or what Humour is, yet we may go
near to ſhew ſomething which is not Wit, or not
Humour, and yet often miſtaken for both. And
ſince I have mentioned Wit and Humour together,
let me make the firſt Diſtinction between them, and
obſerve to you, that Wit is often miſtaken for Hu-
mour.

I have obſerved, that when a few Things have
been wittily and pleafantly ſpoken by any Character
in a Comedy, it has been very uſual for thofe, who
make their Remarks on a Play, while it is acting,
to ſay, Such a Thing is very humorouſly ſpoken; There
is a great deal of Humour in that Part. Thus the
Character of the Perſon ſpeaking, may be, ſurpri-
ſingly and pleafantly, is miſtaken for a Character of
Humour; which indeed is a Character of Wit:
But there is a great difference between a Comedy,

H 5

wherein

154

Mr. CONGREVE

wherein there are many Things humorously, as they
call it, which is pleasantly spoken, and one where
there are several Characters of Humour, distinguish'd
by the particular and different Humours, appropriat-
ted to the several Persons represented, and which
naturally arise from the different Constitutions, Com-
plexions, and Dispositions of Men. The faying of
humorous Things does not distinguish Characters;
for every Person in a Comedy may be allow'd to
speak them. From a witty Man they are expected,
and even a Fool may be permitted to stumble on
them by chance. That I make a difference betwixt
Wit and Humour, yet I do not think that humorous
Characters exclude Wit: No, but the manner of
Wit should be adapted to the Humour. As for In-
ftance, a Character of a Splenetick and Peevish
Humour, should have a Satyrical Wit; a Jolly and
Sanguine Humour, should have a Facetious Wit:
The former should speak politively; the latter care-
leffly: For the former observes and shews Things
as they are; the latter rather overlooks Nature, and
speaks Things as he would have them; and his Wit
and Humour have both of them a lefs Alloy of
Judgment than the others.

As Wit, so, its Opposite, Folly, is sometimes mista-
ken for Humour.

When a Poet brings a Character on the Stage,
committing a thousand Aflurdities, and talking Im-
pertinencies, roaring aloud, and laughing immod-
rately, on every, or rather upon no Occafion; this
is a Character of Humour.

Is any thing more common, than to have a pre-
tended Comedy ſtuff'd with ſuch Groteſque Figures,
and Farce-Fools? Things that either are not in Na-
ture, or if they are, are Monſters and Births of
Miſchance; and conſequently, as ſuch, ſhould be
ſtifled, and huddled out of the way, like Sooierkins,
that

to Mr. Dennis.

155

that Mankind may not be shock'd with an appearing Possibility of the Degeneration of a God-like Species. For my part, I am as willing to laugh as any body, and as easily diverted with an Object truly ridiculous: But at the fame time, I can never care for seeing Things that force me to entertain low Thoughts of my Nature. I don't know how it is with others, but I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a Monkey without very mortifying Reflections; tho' I never heard any thing to the contrary why that Creature is not originally of a distinct Species. As I don't think Humour exclusive of Wit, neither do I think it inconscient with Folly; but I think the Follies should be only such, as Mens. Humours may incline them to, and not Follies entirely abstracted from both Humour and Nature.

Sometimes Personal Defects are misrepresented for Humours.

I mean, sometimes Characters are barbarously exposed on the Stage, ridiculing natural Deformities, casual Defects in the Senes, and Infirmities of Age. Sure the Poet must both be very ill-natur'd himself, and think his Audience so, when he propofes, by fhewing a Man deform'd, or deaf, or blind, to give them an agreeable Entertainment; and hopes to raise their Mirth by what is truly an Object of Compassion. But much need not be faid upon this Head to any body, especially to you, who in one of your Letters to me concerning Mr. Johnson's Fox, have justly excepted againſt this immoral Part of Ridicule in Corbaccio's Character; and there I must agree with you to blame him, whom otherwife I cannot enough admire, for his great Maſtery in true Humour in Comedy.

External Habit of Body is often mistaken for Humours.

By External Habit, I do not mean the ridiculous Dreffs or Cloathing of a Character, tho' that goes a good

156

Mr. CONGREVE

good way in some received Characters; (but undoubtedly a Man's Humour may incline him to drefs differently from other People) but I mean a Singularity of Manners, Speech and Behaviour, peculiar to all, or moft of the fame Country, Trade, Profession or Education. I cannot think that a Humour, which is only a Habit, or Dispoſition contracted by Use or Cuftom; for by a Disuſe or Compliance with other Cuftoms, it may be worn off, or diverſified.

Affectation is generally miftaken for Humour.

These are indeed io much alike, that, at a diſtance, they may be miftaken one for the other: For what is Humour in one, may be Affectation in another; and nothing is more common than for some to affect particular Ways of ſaying and doing Things peculiar to others, whom they admire and would imitate. Humour is the Life, Affectation the Picture. He that draws a Character of Affectation, ſhews Humour at the ſecond-hand; he at beſt but publishes a Translation, and his Pictures are but Copies.

But as these two laſt Diftinations are the niceſt, ſo it may be moſt proper to explain them by particular Inſtances from some Author of Reputation. Humour I take either to be born with us, and ſo of a natural Growth; or else to be grafted into us by some accidental Change in the Conſtitution, or Revolution of the internal Habit of Body; by which it becomes, if I may ſo call it, Naturaliz'd.

Humour is from Nature, Habit from Cuftom, and Affectation from Induſtry.

Humour ſhews us as we are.

Habit ſhews us, as we appear, under a forcible Impreſſion.

Affectation ſhews what we would be, under a voluntary Difguife.

Tho'

to Mr. DENNIS.

157

Tho' here I would observe by the way, that a
continued Affection may in time become a Ha-
bit.

The Character of Morose in the Silent Woman,
I take to be a Character of Humour. And I choofe
to instance this Character to you, from many others
of the fame Author, becaufe I know it has been
condemn'd by many as Unnatural and Farce: And
you have your self hinted some Diffike of it, for
the fame Reafon, in a Letter to me, concerning
fome of Johnson's Plays.

Let us fuppoſe Morose to be a Man naturally Sple-
netick and Melancholy: Is there any thing more of-
fenſive to one of ſuch a Diſpoſition, than Noife and
Clamour? Let any Man that has the Spleen (and
there are enough in England) be Judge. We fee
common Examples of this Humour in Little every
Day. 'Tis ten to one, but three Parts in four of the
Company that you dine with, are diſcompos'd and
ftartled at the cutting of a Cork, or scratching a
Plate with a Knife: It is a Proportion of the fame
Humour, that makes ſuch or any other Noife offen-
ſive to the Perſon that hears it; for there are others
who will not be diſturb'd at all by it. Well; but
Morose, you will ſay, is ſo extravagant, he cannot
bear any Diſcourſe or Converſation above a Whif-
per. Why, it is his Exceſs of this Humour that
makes him become ridiculous, and qualifies his Cha-
acter for Comedy. If the Poet had given him but
a moderate Proportion of that Humour, 'tis odds
but half the Audience would have ſided with the
Character, and have condemn'd the Author for ex-
poſing a Humour which was neither remarkable nor
ridiculous. Besides, the Diſtance of the Stage re-
quires the Figure repreſented to be ſomething larger
than the Life; and ſure a Picture may have Fea-
tures larger in Proportion, and yet be very like the

Ori-

158

Mr. CONGREVE

Original. If this Exactneſs of Quantity were to be
obſerved in Wit, as ſome would have it in Humour,
what would become of thoſe Characters that are
design'd for Men of Wit ? I believe if a Poet
ſhould ſteal a Dialogue of any length from the ex-
tempore Diſcourse of the two wittieſt Men upon
Earth, he would find the Scene but coldly receiv'd
by the Town. But to the Purpofe :

The Character of Sir John Daw in the fame Play
is a Character of Affectation : He every where dif-
covers an Affectation of Learning; when he is not
only conscious to himſelf, but the Audience alſo
plainly perceives, that he is ignorant. Of this kind
are the Characters of Thraſo in the Eunuch of Te-
rence, and Pyrgopolinices in the Miles Gloriosus of
Plautus: They affect to be thought Valiant, when
both themſelves and the Audience know they are
not. Now, ſuch a boafing of Valour in Men who
were really valiant, would undoubtedly be a Hu-
mour; for a fiery Diſpoſition might naturally throw
a Man into the fame Extravagance, which is only
affected in the Characters I have mentioned.

The Character of Cob in Every Man in his Hu-
mour, and moſt of the under Characters in Bartho-
lomew-Fair, diſcover'd only a Singularity of Man-
ners, appropriated to the ſeveral Educations and
Professions of the Perſons repreſented. They are
not Humours, but Habits contracted by Cuftom. Un-
der this Head may be ranged all Country Clowns,
Sailors, Tradesmen, Jockeys, Gameſters, and ſuch
like, who make uſe of Cants or peculiar Dialeſts in
their ſeveral Arts and Vocations. One may almoſt
give a Receipt for the Compoſition of ſuch a Cha-
racter : For the Poet has nothing to do, but to col-
lect a few proper Phraſes and Terms of Art, and to
make the Perſon apply them by ridiculous Metaphors
in his Converſation with Characters of different Na-
tures.

to Mr. DENNIS.

159

tures. Some late Characters of this kind have been
very fucceſſul; but in my Mind they may be paint-
ed without much Art or Labour; ſince they require
little more, than a good Memory and ſupernical
Obſervation. But true Humour cannot be ſhown
without a Diſſection of Nature, and a narrow Search
to diſcover the firſt Seeds from whence it has its
Root and Growth.

If I were to write to the World, I ſhould be obli-
ged to dwell longer upon each of theſe Diſtinſtions
and Examples; for I know that they would not be
plain enough to all Readers: But a bare Hint is ſuſ-
ficient to inform you of the Notions which I have
on this Subjed; and I hope by this time you are of
my Opinion, that Humour is neither Wit, nor Folly,
nor Perſonal Deſeſt, nor Affectation, nor Habit ;
and yet, that each, and all of theſe, have been both
written and received for Humour.

I ſhould be unwilling to venture even on a bare
Description of Humour, much more to make a De-
ſinition of it; but now my Hand is in, I'll tell you
what ſerves me inſtead of either: I take it to be,
A ſingular and unavoidable manner of doing, or ſaying
any thing, peculiar and natural to one Man only; by
which his Speech and Actions are diſtinguish'd from thofe
of other Men.

Our Humour has relation to us, and to what pro-
ceeds from us, as the Accidents have to a Subſtance :
It is a Colour, Tafte, and Smell, diſtufed thro' all;
tho' our Actions are never ſo many, and different in
Form, they are all Splinters of the fame Wood, and
have naturally one Complexion; which tho' it may
be diſguſed by Art, yet cannot be wholly changed :
We may paint it with other Colours, but we cannot
change the Grain. So the natural Sound of an In-
ſtrument will be diſtinguish'd, tho' the Notes ex-
preſſed by it are never ſo various, and the Diverſions
never

160

Mr. CONGREVE

never so many. Diffusion may, by degrees, become more easy to our Practice; but it can never absolutely transubstantiate us into what we would seem: It will always be in some Proportion a Violence upon Nature.

A Man may change his Opinion, but I believe he will find it a Difficulty to part with his Humour; and there is nothing more provoking than the being made sensible of that Difficulty. Sometimes one shall meet with those, who perhaps, innocently enough, but at the same time impertinently, will ask the Question, *Why are you not merry? Why are you not gay, pleasant and cheerful?* Then, instead of answering, could I ask such one, *Why are you not handsome? Why have you not black Eyes, and a better Complexion?* Nature authors to be forc'd.

The two famous Philosophers of *Ephefus* and *Abdera* have their different Sects at this Day; some weep, and others laugh at one and the same thing.

I don't doubt, but you have observed several Men laugh when they are angry; others who are silent; some that are loud: Yet I cannot suppose that it is the Passion of Anger which is in it self different, or more or less in one than t'other; but that it is the Humour of the Man that is predominant, and urges him to express it in that manner. Demonstrations of Pleasure are as various; one Man has a Humour of retiring from all Company, when any thing has happen'd to please him beyond Expectation; he hugs himself alone, and thinks it an Addition to the Pleasure to keep it secret. Another is upon Thorns till he has made Proclamation of it; and must make other People sensible of his Passions, before he can be so himself. So it is in Grief and other Passions. Demonstrations of Love, and the Effects of that Passion upon several Humours, are infinitely different: But here the Ladies, who are

bound

to Mr. DENNIS.

161

bound in Servants, are the best Judges. Talking of the Ladies, methinks something should be observed of the Humour of the Fair Sex, since they are sometimes so kind as to furnish out a Character for Comedy. But I must confess, I have never made any Observation of what I apprehend to be true Humour in Women. Perhaps Passions are too powerful in that Sex to let Humour have its Course, or may be, by reason of their natural Coldness, Humour cannot exert itself to that extravagant degree, which it often does in the Male Sex: For if ever any thing does appear comical or ridiculous in a Woman, I think it is little more than an acquir'd Folly or an Affectation. We may call them the weaker Sex; but I think the true Reason is, because our Follies are stronger, and our Faults are more prevailing.

One might think that the Diversity of Humour, which must be allowed to be diffused throughout Mankind, might afford endless Matter for the Support of Comedies. But when we come closely to consider that Point, and nicely to distinguish the difference of Humours, I believe we shall find the contrary. For though we allow every Man something of his own, and a peculiar Humour, yet every Man has it not in Quantity to become remarkable by it; or, if many do become remarkable by their Humours, yet all those Humours may not be diverting. Nor is it only requisite to distinguish what Humour will be diverting, but also how much of it, what Part of it to shew in Light, and what to cast in Shades; how to let it off by preparatory Scenes, and by opposing other Humours to it in the same Scene. Through a wrong Judgment, sometimes, Mens Humours may be opposed when there is really no specific Difference between them, only a greater Proportion of the same in one than another, occasion'd by having more Phlegm or Choler, or whatever

162

Mr. CONGREVE

ever the Constitution is, from whence their Humours derive their Source.

There is infinitely more to be said on this Subject, tho' perhaps I have already said too much; but I have said it to a Friend, who I am sure will not expose it, if he does not approve of it. I believe the Subject is entirely new, and was never touch'd upon before; and if I would have any one to see this private Essay, it should be some one who might be provoked by my Errors in it, to publish a more judicious Treatise on the Subject. Indeed I wish it were done, that the World being a little acquainted with the Scarcity of true Humour, and the Difficulty of finding and shewing it, might look a little more favourably on the Labours of them, who endeavour to search into Nature for it, and lay it open to the publick View.

I don't say, but that very entertaining and useful Characters, and proper for Comedy, may be drawn from Affectations, and those other Qualities which I have endeavour'd to distinguish from Humour: But I would not have such imitated on the World for Humour, nor esteem'd of equal Value with it. It were perhaps the Work of a long Life to make one Comedy true in all its Parts, and to give every Character in it a true and distinct Humour. Therefore every Poet must be beholding to other Helps, to make out his Number of ridiculous Characters. But I think such a one deserves to be broke, who makes all false Mifters; who does not shew one true Humour in a Comedy, but entertains his Audience to the end of the Play with every thing out of Nature.

I will make but one Observation to you more, and have done; and that is grounded upon an Observation of your own, and which I mention'd at the beginning of my Letter, viz.: That there is more of

Hu-

to Mr. DENNIS.

165

Humour in our English Comick Writers, than in any others. I do not at all wonder at it, for I look up on Humour to be almost of English Growth; at least it does not seem to have found such Increase on any other Soil: And what appears to me to be the Reason of it, is the great Freedom, Privilege and Liberty, which the common People of England enjoy. Any Man that has a Humour, is under no Restraint, or Fear of giving it Vent: They have a Proverb among them, which, may be, will shew the Bent and Genius of the People, as well as a longer Discourse: He that will have a May-pole, shall have a May-pole. This is a Maxim with them, and their Practice is agreeable to it. I believe something considerable too may be ascribed to their feeding so much on Flesh, and the Groans of their Diet in general. But I have done, let the Physicians agree that. Thus you have my Thoughts of Humour, to my Power of expressing them in so little Time and Compals. You will be kind to shew me wherein I have err'd; and as you are very capable of giving me Instruction, so I think I have a very just Title to demand it from you; being, without Reserve,

Your real Friend,

and humble Servant.

W. CONGREVE.

To

162

ev

[ 164 ]

To Mr. CONGREVE at Tunbridge.

Dear SIR,

R. Moyle and I have impatiently expected to hear from you. But if the Well which you drink of had sprung up from Lethe, you could not have been more forgetful of us. Indeed, as the *Tunbridge* Water is good for the Spleen, it may be said in some manner to cause Oblivion. But I will yet a while hope that Mr. Moyle and I are not of the Number of Things that plague you: However, I am so senible of your being mindful of me in Town, that I should be ungrateful, if I should complain that you do not remember me where you are. Mr. Moyle tells me that you have made a favourable mention of me to a certain Lady of your Acquaintance, whom he calls — But then to mortify the Old Man in me, or indeed rather the Young, he affur'd me, that you had given a much better Character of him. However, for that which you gave of me, I cannot but own my self obliged to you, and I look upon your Kindness as so much the greater, because I am senible that I do not deferve it. And I could almost wish that your good Qualities were not quite so numerous, that I might be able to make you some Return in Specie: For commending you now, I do you but Justice, which a Man of Honour will do to his Enemy; whereas you, by partial Praife, have treated me like a Friend. I make no doubt, but that you do me the Justice to believe that I am perfectly yours; and that

Mr. CONGREVE to, &c. 165

that your Merit has engag'd me, and your Favours
oblig'd me, to be all my Life-time,

Dear SIR,

Your humble Servant,

J. DENNIS.

bridge.

Mr. CONGREVE to Mr. DENNIS.

Dear SIR,

I is not more to keep my Word, than to
gratify my Inclination, that I write to
you; and tho' I have thus long deferr'd
it, I was never forgetful of you, nor of
my Promife. Indeed I waited in Ex-
pectation of something that might enable me to re-
turn the Entertainment I received from your Letters ;
but you represent the Town so agreeable to me, that
you quite put me out of Conceit with the Country,
and my Designs of making Observations upon it.

Before I came to Tunbridge, I proposed to my self
the Satisfaction of communicating the Pleasures of
the Place to you: But if I keep my Resolution, I
must transcribe, and return you your own Letters;
since I must own I have met with nothing else so
truly delightful. When you suppose the Country
agreeable to me, you suppose such Reasons why it
should be so, that while I read your Letter, I am of
your Mind; but when I look off, I find I am only
charm'd with the Landskip which you have drawn.
So that if I would see a fine Prospect of the Coun-
try, I must desire you to send it me from the Town :

As

166

Mr. CONGREVE

As if I would eat good Fruit here, perhaps the best
way were to beg a Basket from my Friends in Covent-
Garden. After all this, I must tell you there is a
great deal of Company at Tunbridge, and some ve-
ry agreeable; but the greater Part is of that Sort
who at home converse only with their own Rela-
tions; and consequently, when they come abroad,
have few Acquaintance but such as they bring with
them. But were the Company better or worse, I
would have you expect no Characters from me; for
I profefs my self an Enemy to Detraction: And who
is there that can justly merit Commendation? I
have a mind to write to you, without the Pretence
of any manner of News, as I might drink to you
without naming a Health; for I intend only my
Service to you. I wish for you very often, that I
might recommend you to some new Acquaintance
that I have made here, and think very well worth
the keeping; I mean Idlenefs and a good Stomach.
You would not think how People eat here; every
body has the Appetite of an Ostrich, and as they
drink Steel in the Morning, so I believe at Noon
they could digest Iron. But sure you will laugh at
me for calling Idlenefs a new Acquaintance, when,
to your Knowledge, the greatest part of my Busineſs
is little better. Ay, but here's the Comfort of the
Change; I am idle now without taking Pains to be
fo, or to make other People fo; for Poetry is nei-
ther in my Head, nor in my Heart. I know not
whether these Waters may have any Communication
with Lethe, but sure I am, they have none with the
Streams of Helicon. I have often wondered how
those wicked Writers of Lampoons could crowd to-
gether such Quantities of execrable Verſes, tag'd
with bad Rhimes, as I have formerly seen ſent from
this Place. But I am half of Opinion now, that
this

*A

to Mr. DENNIS.

167

this Well is an Anti-Hippocrene. What if we should
get a Quantity of the Water privately convey'd in-
to the Cistern at Will's Coffee-house for an Experi-
ment ? But I am extravagant—Tho' I remember
Ben. Johnson, in his Comedy of Cynthia's Revels,
makes a Well, which he there calls the Fountain of
Self-Love, to be the Source of many entertain-
ing and ridiculous Humours, I am of Opinion,
that something very Comical and New might be
brought upon the Stage from a Fiction of the like
Nature. But now I talk of the Stage, pray if any
thing new should appear there, let me have an Ac-
count of it; for tho' Plays are a kind of Winter-
Fruit, yet I know there are now and then some
Wind-falls at this time of the Year, which must be
presently served up, left they should not keep till
the proper Season of Entertainment. 'Tis now the
Time when the Sun breeds Infects, and you must ex-
pect to have the Hum and Buz about your Ears of
Summer-Flies, small Poets. Cuckows have this
Time allow'd them to sing, tho' they are damn'd to
Silence all the rest of the Year. Besides, the ap-
proaching Feast of St. Bartholomew both creates an
Expectation, and bepeak's an Allowance of unnatu-
ral Productions and monstrous Births: Methinks the
Days of Bartholomew-Fair are like so many Sabbaths,
or Days of Privilege, wherein Criminals and Male-
factors in Poetry are permitted to creep abroad.
They put me in mind (tho' at a different Time of
the Year) of the Roman Saturnalia, when all the
Scum, and Rabble, and Slaves of Rome, by a kind
of Annual and limited Manumiffion, were suffer'd
to make abominable Mirth, and prophane the Days
of Ju'lee, with vile Buffoonry, by Authority. But
I forget that I am writing a Poft-Letter, and run in-
to Length like a Poet in a Dedication, when he
for-

[ 169 ]

LOVE-LETTERS.

*Written by—*

Dear MADAM,

NOT believe that I love you! You
cannot pretend to be so incredulous.
If you do not believe my Tongue, con-
fult my Eyes, confult your own. You
will find by yours, that they have
Charms; by mine, that I have a Heart which feels
them. Recal to mind what happen'd last Night :
That at least was a Lover's Kils. Its Eagernefs, its
Fiercenefs, its Warmth, exprefs'd the God its Pa-
rent. But oh! its Sweetnefs, and its melting Soft-
nefs, exprefs'd him more. With Trembling in my
Limbs, and Fevers in my Soul, I ravish'd it: Con-
vulsions, Pantings, Murmurings, shew'd the mighty
Disorder within me: The mighty Disorder increas'd
by it. For those dear Lips shot through my Heart,
and thro' my bleeding Vitals, delicious Poifon, and
an avoidlefs, but yet a charming Ruin. What can-
not a Day produce? The Night before I thought
my self a happy Man, in want of nothing, and in

[Vol. I.]

I


faireft

LOVE-LETTERS.

171

ftrain me from loving: No, I will love thee in
fpight of all Oppofition. Tho' your Friends and
mine prove equally averfe, yet I will love thee with
a Conftancy that fhall appear to all the World, to
have ſomething ſo noble in it, that all the World
fhall confefs that it deferv'd not to be unfortnnate.
I will forſake even my Friends for thee: My honeſt,
my witty, my brave Friends, who had always been,
till I had ſeen thee, the deareſt part of Mankind to
me. Thou ſhalt ſupply the Place of them all with
me: Thou ſhalt be my Boſom, my beſt-lov'd
Friend; and at the fame time my only Miſtrefs, and
my deareſt Wife. Have the Goodneſs to pardon
this Familiarity: 'Tis the tendereſt Leave of the
faithſuleſt Lover; and here to ſhew an Over-
ſ respectſulneſs, would be to wrong my Paffion. That
I love thee more than Life, nay, even than Glory,
which I courted once with a burning Deſire, bear
Witneſs all my unquiet Days, and every reſtleſs
Night, and that terrible Agitation of Mind and Bo-
dy, which proceeded from my fear of loſing thee.
To loſe thee is to loſe all Happineſs; tormenting
Reflection to a ſenſible Soul! How often has my
Reaſon been going upon it? But the Sons of Rea-
ſon would be but too happy upon the Loſs of thee;
ſince all the Advantage that I could draw from its
Preſence, would be to know my ſelf miſerable.
But the Time calls upon me; I am oblig'd to take
an odious Journey, and leave thee behind with my
Enemies. But thine ſhall never do thee Harm with
me. Adieu, thou deareſt, thou lovelieſt of Crea-
tures! No Change of Time or Place, or the Re-
monſtrances of the beſt of Friends, ſhall ever be
able to alter my Paffion for thee. Be but one quar-
ter ſo kind, ſo juſt to me, and the Sun will not
ſhine on a happier Man than my ſelf.

I 2

Dear

172

LOVE-LETTERS.

Dear MADAM,

A Y. I presume to beg Pardon for the Fault I committed ? So foolish a Fault, that it was below not only a Man of Senfe, but a Man ; and of which nothing could ever have made me guilty, but the Fury of a Paffion with which none but your lovely ſelf could infpire me. May I presume to beg Pardon for a Fault which I can never forgive my ſelf ? To purchase that Pardon, what would I not endure ? You ſhall see me proftrate before you, and uſe me like a Slave, while I kifs the dear Feet that trample upon me. But if my Crime be too great for Forgivenefs, as indeed it is very great, deny me not one dear parting Look ; let me ſee you once before I muſt never ſee you more. Chriſt ! I want Patience to ſupport that accurſed Thought, I have nothing in the World that is dear to me but you. You have made every thing else indifferent : And can I resolve never to ſee you more ? In ſpight of my ſelf I muſt always ſee you. Your Form is fix'd by Fate in my Mind, and is never to be remov'd. I ſee those lovely piercing Eyes continually, I ſee each Moment those ravifhing Lips, which I have gaz'd on ſtill with Desire, and ſtill have touch'd with Tranſport; and at which I have ſo often flown with all the Fury of the moſt violent Love. Jefus ! From whence and whither am I fallen ? From the Hopes of blifsful Extaſies to black Despair ! From the Expectation of immortal Tranſports, which none but your dear ſelf can give me, and which none but he who loves like me could ever ſo much as think of, to a Complication of cruel Paffions, and

LOVE-LETTERS.

173

and the most dreadful Condition of human Life.
My Fault indeed has been very great, and cries
aloud for the severest Vengeance. See it inflicted
on me: See me defpair and die for that Fault. But
let me not die unpardon'd, Madam; I die for you,
but die in the most cruel and dreadful manner. The
Wretch that lies broken on the Wheel alive feels
not a quarter of what I endure. Yet boundlesſ
Love has been all my Crime; unjuſt, ungrateful,
barbarous Return of it! Suffer me to take my eter-
nal Leave of you; when I have done that, how
eaſy will it be to bid all the rest of the World
Adieu.

Dear MADAM,

HIS is the third Letter that I have
fent you since I came hither: Thoſe
which went before it were all the
Overflowings of a Heart more full of
Paſſion than ever was Man's before. It
is impoſſible for me to be diſtant from you, but I
muſt ſend to you by every Occafion. And yet you
can reſolve to take no Notice of all my Tenderneſs :
Yes, my deareſt, inhuman Creature, you can. You
have been ſick, nay dangerouſly ſick, and have ne-
ver ſent to me. Have I left all the World for you,
and could you reſolve to leave the World without
me; nay, without ſo much as giving me the leaſt
Notice of it? Chriſt! Could you reſolve to leave
me to Deſpair and to endleſs Miſery, without ex-
pressing the leaſt Concern for me! And can I perſiſt
in loving one ſo ungrateful! Is there ſuch another
ungrateful Creature alive! No, there lives not ſo ur-
grate.

13

grate.

LOVE-LETTERS.

174

grateful a Creature, but there lives not one so
charming.

Dear MADAM,

A N you be angry still with your poor
Penitent ? You cannot have the ill Na-
ture, fure ? Yes, but you can, you fay,
since he could have the Prefumption to
be angry with you. But, my Deareft,
there is this Difference betwixt your Anger and
mine; mine was caus'd by the Cruelty of your SUP-
pos'd Infidelity; and yours by the Kindneſs of your
Lover's Reſentment; for if I had not been fond of
thee to the laſt degree, I had not been so incens'd
againſt you. Yet even when I was moſt so, I could
fooner have pluck'd out an Eye, than have resolved
to have parted with thee: Nay, I could sooner have
torn out both Eyes, if the Loſs of both would not
have for ever depriv'd me of the dear, the ravifh-
ing Sight of thee. But if you ſtill think that my
Anger had Guilt in it, and that I ought to ſuffer for
it, the Means to puniſh me with utmoſt Severity,
and to make me my own Tormenter, is to tell
me you love me: Then I ſhall curse my ſelf and
my Rage, and feel all the Plague of Remorſe for
having offended thee; I ſhall look upon my ſelf as
the baſeſt, the moſt ungrateful of Men, for abusin
thy Goodneſs and thy charming Tendeſns. I ſhall
believe that I can never humble my ſelf enough, and
never ſuffer enough to deferve Forgivenefs. Thus,
Madam, you have your Revenge in your Power. It
is a falſe Modeſty which refrains you from taking
it: It order to it, you have nothing to do but to
prove your ſelf tender, and to ſhew your ſelf grate-
ful.

LOVE-LETTERS.

175

ful. If you must be aşham'd, blush at your Cruelty, blush at your Inhumanity: But Gratitude is Reasón, and Love is Nature; never be aşham'd of thofe. Do but consider, there was a Time when I was happy in your Eſteem; yes, there has been a Time in which I was thought not altogether void of Reasón by you: How then can you blush at the owning a Paffion, which you command with an absolute Sway, at the very time that it tyrannizes over me.

Dear MADAM,

Y Friend's Stratagem gave me an Opportunity of seeing you, by finding Fault with you. It must proceed from Defect or Madneſs if I find fault with thee: Thy lovely Face is the very fame that fet all my Blood in a Flame; and I am sure my Heart can never be alter'd. How it trembled in my Breast when I saw you laſt, and by its Trouble confes'd its Conqueror! How it has burnt ever ſince with redoubled Fury! When I ſhall be free from this Flame, Heav'n only knows, for the Hour of my Death Heaven only knows: 'Tis a Flame that has incorporated with that of my Life, and both will go out together. In vain I invoke my Reasón to refist my Senſes: My Reasón finds you more loveſly than my Eyes did before; ſhews me all the Graces of thy beauteous Mind, and grows pleas'd and prides it ſelf in its own Captivity. You accuse me, they ſay, of ſome extraordinary Crime: A Crime againſt whom? Againſt you whom I love! Againſt you for whom I could die! Strange Accuſation! Yet at the fame time you refuse to fee me,

I 4

you

176 LOVE-LETTERS.

you refuse to receive my Letters: And must I be con-
demn'd unheard? Robbers are allow'd to speak be-
fore they are sentenc'd; Murderers have the Privi-
lege to plead for their Lives; and shall the ten-
dereft Love be denied the Privilege which is granted
to the blackeft Malice? I have been guilty of no-
thing but too much Love, if too much Love be a
Fault. Why have you given Credit to my Enemies,
before you have heard me? I may indeed be con-
vinc'd of an Error, but I can never be convicted of
a Crime against you. The Man must be mad, nay,
desperately mad, who can design to injure himself;
and thou art by much the better, the dearer Part of
me. Give me Leave to see you once more before I
depart: Let me see once more that Face which has
andone me, yet charms me even in Ruin :

O Face indusftriously contriv'd by Heaven,
To fix my Eyes and captivate my Soul!

Nay, I will see you, if it be but to upbraid you
with your barbarous Wish: If at the Time that you
made it, you had struck a Dagger in my Heart, you
had given it a gentler Wound.

The only Wish that I have to make, is to be
happy in thee; if that succeeds not, I have ano-
ther, and that is, to lie at reft in my Grave.

The End of the LOVE-LETTERS.

Ts

[ 177 ]

To WALTER MOYLE Esq;

Dear SIR,

OUR long Silence made me conjecture,
that you are so intent upon being Bur-
gefs of Bodmyn, that you had forgot
the Citizens of Covent-Garden : At last
I received an agreeable Letter from
you. You had beſt have a care of talking in Corn-
wal at the rate that you write to your Friends. If
you do, the Corniſh Men may not think you rightly
qualified to repreſent them. When you left the
Town, you talk'd of a critical Correſpondence be-
tween us: But Idlenefs on your Side, and ill Hu-
mour on mine, have baulked a very hopeful Deſign.
But an Accident has lately happen'd, which obliges
me to provoke you; for there has juſt been a Play
acted, called, *The Mock-Marriage*; the Author of
which, whose Name I have forgot, aſſerts dogmati-
cally in his Preface; That he who writes by Rule,
ſhall only have his Labour for his Pains. I know
not what this Author can mean by this: For, whom
does he pretend to perſwade by this fine Aſſertion ?
Not Mr. Moyle, and me at leaſt. We know indeed
very well, that a Man may write regularly, and yet
fail of Pleaſing; and that a Poet may please in a
Play that is not regular. But this is eternally true,
That he who writes regularly *cateris Paribus*, muſt
always please more, than he who tranſgreſſes the
Rules. Nothing can please in a Play but Nature ;
no, not in a Play which is written againſt the Rules;
and the more there is of Nature in any Play, the

I 5

more

178 To WALTER MOYLE Esq;

more that Play must delight. Now the Rules are
nothing but an Observation of Nature: For Nature
is Rule and Order it self. There is not one of the
Rules but what might be us'd to evince this. But I
shall be contented with shewing some Instances of
it, even in the Mechanical Rules of the Unities:
And first for that of Place: It is certain that it is in
Nature impoffible for a Man who is in the Square of
Covent-Garden, to see the Things that at the fame
time are transfacted at Westminster. And then for
that of Time, a reasonable Man may delude him-
self so far, as to fancy that he fits for the Space of
twelve Hours without removing, eating or sleeping;
but he must be a Devil that can fancy he does it for
a Week. What I have said may evince a Necessity
of observing the Unities of Time and of Place, if
a Poet would throughly write up to Nature. And
then the Unity of the Action follows on courfe:
For, that two Actions that are entire, and indepen-
dent, should happen in the fame short Space of
Time, in the fame little Compafs of Place, begin
together, go on together, and end together, with-
out obſtructing or confounding one another; this in-
deed may be done upon the Stage, but in Nature it
is highly improbable. Well then, ſince the Rules
are nothing but Nature it self, and nothing but Na-
ture can pleafe, and ſince the more that any
Play has of Nature, the more that Play muſt
delight, it follows that a Play which is regularly
written, cateris Paribus, muſt pleafe more than a
Play which is written againſt the Rules, which is a
Demonſtration. Rule may be ſaid to be a Play ;
what Symmetry of Parts is known to be to a Farce ?
The Features may be regular, and yet a great or a
delicate Air may be wanting: And there may be a
commanding or engaging Air in a Face whole Fea-
tures are not regular. But this all the World muſt
allow

180 Mr. — to Mr. CONGREVE.

have rather sat there than in the House of Commons. Would to God I could laugh with you for one Hour or two at all the ridiculous Things that have happen'd at Will's Coffee-house since I left it; 'tis the merriest Place in the World: Like Africa, every Day it produces a Monster; and they are got there just as Pliny says they are in Africa, Beasts of different Kinds come to drink, mingle with one another, and beget Monsters. Present my humble Duty to my new Lord, and tell him, that I am preparing an Address to congratulate his Accession to the Throne of the Rabble. Tell the Lady, who was the Author of the Hue and Cry after me, she might have sent out a hundred Hues and Cries before she would have found a Poet. I took an effectual Course not to be apprehended for a Poet, for I went down clad like a Soldier, with a new Suit of Cloaths on, and, I think, there could not have been a better Disguise for a Poet, unless I had flol'n Dr. B—'s Coat. Mr. Dennis sent me down P— M—'s Parodie. I can say very little of the Poem; but as for the Dialogue, I think 'twas the first time that M— suffer'd any body to talk with him; though indeed here he interrupts Mr. Bcileau in the midft of the first Word. My humble Service to Mr. Wycherley: I desire you would write me some News of the Stage, and what Progreſs you have made in your Tragedy. I am

Your most affectionate

Friend and Servant.

Mr.

[ 181 ]

# Mr. CONGREVE'S Answer.

DEAR SIR,

Can't but think that a Letter from me
in London to you in C—, is like some
ancient Correspondence between an In-
habitant of Rome and a Cimmerian.
May be my Way of Writing may not
be so modeftly compared with Roman Epistles; but
the Refemblance of the Place will juſtify the other
part of the Parallel: The subterraneous Habitations
of the Miners, and the Proximity of the Bajſe, help
a little; and while you are at B— let B— be
Cumæ, and do you ſupply the Place of Sibylla. You
may look on this as Railery, but I can aſſure you,
nothing leſs than Oracles are expected from you in
the next Parliament, if you ſucceed in your Election,
as we are pretty well aſſur'd you will. You wifh
your ſelf with us at Will's Coffee-house; all here
wifh for you, from the President of the Grave Club,
to the moſt puny Member of the Rabble: They
who can think, think of you, and the reſt talk of
you. There is no ſuch Monster in this Africa that is
not ſenſible of your Absence; even the worſt natur'd
People, and thofe of leaſt Wit, lament it; I mean
half Criticks and Quiblers. To tell you all that
want you, I should name all the Creatures of Co-
vent-Garden, which, like thofe of Eden-Garden,
would want ſome Adam to be a Godfather and give
them Names. I can't tell whether I may juſtly com-
pare our Covent-Garden to that of Eden, or no; for
tho' I believe we may have Variety of ſtrange Ani-

mals

To Mr. CONGREVE.

183

promis'd to write to me from that Place; but it
would be unreasonable indeed to expect it. For
W— takes up his Afternoons; and his Mornings,
I suppoſe, are ipent in Contemplation at the Croſs-
Bath. Moſt of your Friends of the Coffee-houſe
are diſpers'd; ſome are retreated into the Country,
in hopes of ſome Favours which they expect from
the Mufeſ; two or three of them are retir'd in
Town, to ruminate on ſome Favours which they
have receiv'd from their Miſtreſſes.

So that the Coffee-houſe is like to grow into Re-
putation again. For if any one gives it the ſcanda-
lous Denomination of the Wits Coffee-houſe, he
muſt call it ſo by Antiphraſis, becauſe there comes
no Wit there. Here are two or three indeed, who
ſet up for Wits at home, and endeavour to pafs for
Wife at the Coffee-houſe; for they hold their
Tongues there. Indeed the Coffee-houſe is general-
ly the Exchange for Wit, where the Merchants meet
without bringing the Commodity with them, which
they leave at home in their Warehouſes, alias their
Cloſets, while they go abroad to take a prudent
Care for the vending it. But you are of the Num-
ber of thoſe happy few, who ſo abound in heredi-
tary Poſſeffions, and in rich Returns from Greece and
from Italy, that you always carry ſome of it about
you to be liberal to your Friends of that which you
ſell to Strangers. Mr. — babbles eternally ac-
cording to his old rate, and as extravagantly as if he
talk'd to himſelf; which he certainly does, if no
body minds him any more than I do. He has been
juſt now enquiring what ſort of Diftemper the Spleen
is; an infallible Sign that he is the only Man in Co-
went-Garden who does not know he is an Aſs. To
make him ſenſible what the Spleen is, I could find
in my Heart to ſhew him himſelf, and give it him.
If any thing reſtrains me from being reveng'd of
his

[ 187 ]

To the Duke of YORK; occasion'd by
the Dutchess's embracing the Roman
Catholick Religion.

By the Earl of CLARENDON.

SIR,

Have not prefumed in any manner
to approach your Royal Prefence,
fince I have been mark'd with the
Brand of Banifhment; and I would
ftill with the fame Awe forbear this
Prefumption, if I did not believe my
felf bound by all the Obligations of Duty to make
this Addrefs to you. I have been too much ac-
quainted with the Prefumption and Impudence of
the Times, in raising falſe and ſcandalous Reproaches
upon innocent and worthy Perſons of all Qualities
and Degrees, to give Credit to thofe bold Whifpers
which have been too long ſcatter'd abroad concern-
ing your Wife's being ſhaken in her Religion. But
when thofe Whifpers break out into Noife, and pub-
lick Perſons begin to report that the Dutchefs is be-
come a Roman Catholick: When I heard that many
worthy Perſons of unqueſtionable Devotion to your
R. H. are not without ſome Fear and Apprehenſion
of it; and many Reflections are made from thence
to the Prejudice of your Royal Perſon, and even of
the King's Majeſty's; I hope it may not misbecome
me, at what Diftance ſoever, to caſt my ſelf at your

Feet,

188 A Letter to the Duke of YORK.

Feet, and beſeech you to look to this Matter in
time, and to apply ſome Antidote to expel the
Poison of it. It is not poffible your R. H. can be
without Zeal and entire Devotion for that Church,
for the Perity and Prefervation whereof your bleſsed
Father made himſelf a Sacrifice; and to the Reſto-
ration whereof you have contributed ſo much your
ſelf, and which highly deferves the King's Pro-
tection and yours, ſince there can be no poffible De-
fection in the Hearts of the People, while due Re-
ference is made to the Church. Your Wife is ſo ge-
nerally believ'd to have ſo perfect Duty and entire
Reſignation to the Will of your H. that any De-
fection in Her from her Religion, will be imputed
to want of Circumſpect ion in you, and not uſing
your Authority, or to your Connivance. I need not
tell the ill Conſequence that ſuch a Mutation would
be attended with in Reference to your R. H. and
even to the King himſelf, whose greateſt Security
(under God) is in the Affection and Duty of his Pro-
reſtant Subjects. Your R. H. well knows how far I
have always been from wifhing that the Roman Ca-
tholicks ſhould be proſecuted with Severity; but I
leſs wifh it ſhould ever be in their Power to be able
to proſecute thoſe who differ from them, ſince we
well know how little Moderation they would or
could uſe.

And if this which People ſo much talk of, (I
hope without Ground) ſhould fall out, it might ve-
ry probably raife a greater Storm againſt the Roman
Catholicks in general, than modeſt Men can wifh;
ſince after ſuch a Breach, any Jealousy of their Pre-
ſumption would ſeem reaſonable. I have written to
the Dutchefs with the Freedom and Affection of a
troubled and perplex'd Father. I do moſt humbly
beſeech your R. H. by your Authority, to reſcue her
from bringing a Miſchief upon you and her ſelf,
that

A Letter to the Dutchefs of YORK.

189

that never can be repair'd, and to think it worthy
your Wifdom to remove and dispel thofe Reproaches
(how falfe fooner) by better Evidence than Con-
tempt, and hope you do believe that no Severity I
have or can undergo, fhall in any degree leſſen or
diminifh my moſt profound Duty to his Majeſty and
your R. H. but that I do with all imaginable Obe-
dience ſubmit to your good Pleafure in all Things.

God preſerve your R. H. and keep me in your
Favour.

SIR,

Your R. H. moſt humble
and obedient Servant,

CLARENDON.

The Earl of CLARENDON's Letter
to the Dutchefs of YORK.

OU have much Reaſon to believe
that I have no mind to trouble you,
or diſpleafe you, eſpecially in an Ar-
gument that is ſo unpleaſant and grie-
vous to my ſelf: But as no Diſtance of
Place that is between us, in reſpect of our Reſi-
dence, or the greater Diſtance in reſpect of the high
Condition you are in, can make me leſs your Father,
or abſolve me from performing thofe Obligations
which that Relation requires from me; ſo when I
receive any credible Advertiſement of what reſ reflects
upon

K.

Matter in
xpel the
I. can be
Church,
ir bleſſed
ne Reſto-
uch your
ing's Pro-
ſible De-
due Re-
e is ſo ge-
nd entire
any De-
imputed
not uſing
need not
on would
R. H. and
ſt Security
f his Pro-
how far I
Roman Ca-
ty, but I
to be able
, ſince we
would or

alk of, (I
might ve-
he Roman
can wifh ;
their Pre-
written to
ction of a
t humbly
refcue her
l her ſelf,
that

190 A Letter to the Dutchesses of YORK.

upon you, in Point of Honour, Conscience, or Dif-
cretion, I ought not to omit the informing you of
it, or adminiftring such Advice to you, as to my
Understanding feems rea Reasonable, and which I muft
still hope will have fome Credit with you. I will
confefs to you, that what you wrote to me many
Months ſince, upon thofe Reproaches which I told
you were generally reported concerning your De-
fection in Religion, gave me ſo much Satisfaction,
that I believ'd them to proceed from that ill Spirit
of the Time that delights in Slanders and Calumny :
But I muſt tell you, the fame Report increaſes of
late very much, and I my ſelf ſaw a Letter the laſt
Week from Paris, from a Perſon who faid the Eng-
lish Ambaſſador aſſur'd him the Day before, That
the Dutchefls was become a Roman Catholick; and,
which makes greater Imprefſion upon me, I am af-
fur'd that many good Men in England, who have
great Affection for you and me, and who have
thought nothing more impoffible, than that there
ſhould be ſuch a Change in you, are at preſent un-
der much Affliaſion, with the Obſervation of a great
Change in your Courſe of Life, and that conſtant
Exerciſe of that Devotion which which was ſo no-
torious; and do apprehend from your frequent Dif-
courſes, that you have not the fame Reverence and
Veneration, which you uſe to have, for the Church
of England, the Church in which you were bap-
tiz'd, and the Church the beſt conſtituted, and the
moſt free from Errors, of any Chriſtian Church this
Day in the World; and that ſome Perſons, by their
Inſinuations, have prevail'd with you to have a bet-
ter Opinion of that which is moſt oppoſite to it,
the Church of Rome, than the Integrity thereof de-
ferves. It is not yet in my Power to believe that
your Wit and Understanding ( with God's Blesſing
upon borh ) can ſuffer you to be ſhaken farther than
with

A Letter to the Dutchess of YORK. 191

with melancholic Reflections upon the Iniquity and
Wickedness of the Age we live in, which discredits
all Religion, and which, with equal Licence,
breaks into the Professors of all, and prevails upon
the Members of all Churches, and whose Manners
will have no Benefit from the Faith of any
Church.

I prefume you do not entangle your self in the
particular Controversies between the Romanists and
us, or think your self a competent Judge of all Dif-
ficulties which occur therein; and therefore it must
be fome fallacious Argument of Antiquity and Uni-
verfality, confidently urg'd by Men who know lefs
than many of thofe you are acquainted with, and
ought lefs to be believ'd by you, that can raife any
Doubts or Scruples in you; and if you will with
equal Temper hear thofe who are well able to in-
form you in ſuch Particulars, it is not poffible for
you to fuck in that Poifon which can only corrupt
and prevail over you, by stopping your own Ears,
and flutting your own Eyes. There are but two
Perſons in the World who have greater Authority
with you than I can pretend to, and am sure they
both ſuffer more in this Rumour, and would ſuffer
much more if there were Ground for it, than I can
do; and truly I am as unlikely to be deceiv'd my
ſelf, or to deceive you, as any Man who endeavours
to pervert you in your Religion: And therefore I
befeech you let me have ſo much Credit with you,
as to perſwade you to communicate any Doubts or
Scruples which occur to you, before you ſuffer them
to make too deep an Impression upon you. The
common Argument, That there is no Salvation out
of the Church, and that the Church of Rome is that
only true Church, is both irrational and untrue;
there are many Churches in which Salvation may be
attain'd as well as in any one of them; and were
many

192 *A Letter to the Dutchess of YORK.*

many even in the Apostles Time, otherwise they
would not have directed their Epistles to so many
several Churches, in which there were different Opin
ions received, and very different Doctrines taught.
There is indeed but one Faith in which we can be
faved, the ftedfaft Belief of the Birth, Affusion, and
Refurrection of our Saviour; and every Church that
receives and embraces that Faith, is in a State of
Salvation. If the Apostles preach'd true Doctrine,
the Reception and Retention of many Errors does
not destroy the Essence of a Church; if it did, the
Church of Rome would be in as ill, if not in a worse
Condition, than most other Christian Churches, be-
cause its Errors are of a greater Magnitude, and
more destructive to Religion. Let not the canting
Discourse of the Univerfality and Extent of that
Church, which has as little of Truth as the reft,
prevail over you: They who will imitate the
greatest Part of the World, must turn Heathens, for
it is generally believ'd that above half the World
is possefs'd by them, and that the Mahometans po-
fels more than half the remainder. There is as lit-
tle queftion that of the reft which is inhabited by
Christians, one Part of four is not of the Commu
nion of the Church of Rome, and God knows in
that very Communion there is as great Discord in
Opinion, and in Matters of as great Moment, as is
between the other Christians.

I hear you do in publick Discourfes diflike some
Things in the Church of England, as the Marriage
of the Clergy, which is a Point that no Roman Ca-
tholick will pretend to be of the Essence of Religion,
and is in uſe in many Places which are of the Com-
union of the Church of Rome; as in Bohemia, and
thofe Parts of the Greek Church which ſubmit to
the Roman: And all Men know, that in the late
Council of Trent, the Sacrament of both Kinds,
and