A Letter to the Dutchess of YORK. 193

and Liberty of the Clergy to marry, was very paſſionately preſs'd both by the Emperor and King of France for their Dominions; and it was afterwards granted to Germany, tho' under ſuch Conditions as made it ineffectual; which however ſhows that it was not, nor ever can be, look'd upon as Matter of Religion. Chriſtianity was many hundred Years old before ſuch a Reſtraint was ever heard of in the Church; and when it was endeavour'd, it met with great Oppoſition, and was never ſubmitted to. And as the positive Inhibition ſeems absolutely unlawful, ſo the Inconveniencies which reſult from thence will, upon a juſt Diſquifition, be found ſuperior to thoſe which attend the Liberty which the Chriſtian Religion permits. Thoſe Arguments which are not ſtrong enough to draw Perſons from the Roman Communion into that of the Church of England, when Cuſtom and Education, and a long ſtupid Reſignation of all their Faculties to their Teachers, uſually ſhuts out all Reaſon to the contrary, may yet be abundant to retain thoſe who have been baptiz'd and bred, and inſtructed in the Grounds and Principles of that Religion, which are in Truth not only founded upon the clear Authority of the Scriptures, but upon the Conſent of Antiquity, and the Practice of the Primitive Church; and Men who look into Antiquity, know well by what Corruption and Violence, and with what conſtant and continual Oppoſition, thoſe Opinions which are contrary to ours crept into the World; and how unwarrantably the Authority of the Bifhop of Rome, which alone ſupplies all the reſt, came to prevail, who has no more Pretence of Authority and Power in England, than the Bifhop of Paris or Toledo can as reaſonably lay Claim to, and is ſo far from being Matter of Cathoſlick Religion, that the Pope has ſo much, and no more to do in France or Spain, or any other Cathoſlick

[Vol. I.]

K

194 *A Letter to the Dutchefs of YORK.*

lick Dominion, than the Crown, and Laws and
Constitutions of several Kingdoms gave him Leave;
which makes him so little (if at all) confider'd in
France, and so much in Spain: And therefore the
English Catholicks which attribute so much to him,
make themfelves very unwarrantably of another Re-
ligion than the Catholick Church professes; and
without doubt they who defert the Church of Eng-
land, of which they are Members, and become
thereby disobedient to the Ecclefiaftical and Civil
Laws of their Country, and therein renounce their
Subjection to the State, as well as to the Church,
(which are grievous Sins) had need of a better Ex-
cufe than the meeting with fome Doubts which they
could not anfwer; and lefs than a manifeft Evi-
dence that their Salvation is desperate in that Com-
munion, cannot ſerve their turn: And they who
imagine they have ſuch an Evidence, ought rather
to ſuſpect that their Understanding has forfaken
them, and that they are become mad, than that the
Church, which is replenifh'd with all Learning and
Piety requisite, can betray them to Perdition. I
befeech you to confider, ( which I hope will over-
rule thofe ordinary Doubts and Objections which
may be infuſed into you) that if you change your
Religion, you renounce all Obedience and Af-
fection to your Father, who loves you ſo tenderly,
that ſuch an odious Mutation would break his Heart;
you condemn your Father and your Mother, ( whofe
incomparable Virtue and Piety, and Devotion, has
placed her in Heaven) for having impiouſly educa-
ted you; and you declare the Church and State, to
both which you owe Reverence and Subjeſtion, to
be in your Judgment Antichriftian: You bring irre-
parable Difhonour, Scandal and Prejudice, to the
Duke your Husband, to whom you ought to pay all
imaginable Duty, and whom I preſume is much
more

A Letter to the Dutchefs of YORK. 195

more precious to you than your own Life; and all
possible Ruin to your Children, of whose Company
and Converfation you must look to be depriv'd; for
God forbid that after such an Apoftacy, you should
have any Power in Education of your Children.
You have many Enemies, whom you herein would
abundantly gratify; and some Friends, whom you
will thereby (at least as far as in you lies) perfectly
destroy; and afflict many others who have deferv'd
well of you.

I know you are not inclin'd to any part of this
Mischief, and therefore offer those Considerations,
as all those Particulars would be the infallible Con-
sequence of such a Conclusion. It is to me the fad-
deft Circumftance of my Banifhment, that I may not
be admitted, in such a Season as this, to confer
with you; when I am confident I could satisfy you
in all your Doubts, and make it appear to you, that
there are many Absurdities in the Roman Religion
inconfident with your Judgment and Understanding,
and many Impieties inconfident with your Con-
science: So that before you can submit to the Obli-
gations of Faith, you must divest your self of your
natural Reafon, and common Senſe, and captivate
the Dictates of your own Conſcience, to the Impo-
ſitions of an Authority which has not any Pretence
to oblige or advife you. If you will not with Free-
dom communicate the Doubts which occur to you
to those near you, of whose Learning and Piety
you have had such Experience, let me conjure you
to impart them to me, and to expect my Anſwer be-
fore you ſuffer them to prevail over you.

GOD bleſs you and yours.

K 2

The

[ 196 ]

The Dutchess of YORK's Answer to the Earl of CLARENDON.

Hereas I have been ever from my In-
fancy bred up in the English Proteftant
Religion, and have had very able Per-
fons to inſtruſt me in the Grounds
thereof; and I doubt not but I am
expoſed to the Cenſure of an infinite Number of
Perſons, that are aſtoniſh'd at my quitting of it, to
embrace the Religion of the Roman Catholicks, from
which I have ever profefſed a great Averſion: And
therefore I have thought fit to give ſome Satisfaſion
to my Friends, by declaring unto them the Reaſons
upon which I have been mov'd to do it, without
engaging my ſelf in long and unprofitable Diſputes
touching that Matter. I proteſt therefore before
God, that ſince my coming into England, no Perſon,
either Man or Woman, hath at any time perſwaded
me to alter my Religion, or hath uſed any Diſcourſe
to me upon that Subject. It hath been only a par-
ticular Favour from God, who hath been graciously
pleafed to hear the Prayers I daily made unto him,
both in France and Flanders, whilſt I was there, That
he would vouchſafe to bring me into the true
Church before I died, in caſe I was not in the Right.
And it was the Devotion I obſerved in the Catho-
licks there which induced me to make that Prayer;
altho' my own Devotion, during all that time, was
very ſlender. I did notwithstanding, during all the
Time I was in thofe Countries, believe I was in the
true Religion; neither had I the leaſt Scruple of it,
until November laſt; at which time, reading Dr. Hey-
lin's

The Dutchess of YORK's Answer.

197

lin's History of the Reformation, which had been highly recommended to me, I was so far from finding the Satisfaction I expected, that I found nothing but Sacrileges; and looking over the Reasons therein set down, which had caused the Separation of the Church of England from that of Rome, I read three there which, to me, seemed great Impieties.

The First was, That King Henry VIII. had caft off the Pope's Authority, becaufe he would not permit him to quit his Wife, and marry another.

The Second, during the Minority of Edward VI. his Uncle, the Duke of Somerset, who then govern'd all, and was the Principal in that Alteration, did greatly enrich himself with the Goods of the Church, which he engroſſed.

And the Third confiſted in this, That Queen Elizabeth not being Rightful Heir to the Crown, could not keep it, but by renouncing a Church which would never have allow'd of ſuch Injuſtice. I could not be perſwaded the Holy Ghoſt would ever have made uſe of ſuch Motives as theſe were to change Religion; and was aſtoniſh'd that the Bishops, if they had no other Intention but to Reſtablifh the DoCTRine of the Primitive Church, had not attempted it before the Schiſm of Henry VIII. which was grounded upon ſuch unjuſtifiable Preſences.

Being troubled with theſe Scruples, I began to make ſome Reſlections upon the Points of DoCTRine wherein we differ'd from the Catholicks, and to that Purpofe had Recourſe to the Holy Scripture: And tho' I pretended not to be able perfectly to understand it, I found notwithstanding ſeveral Points which to me ſeem'd very plain, and I cannot but wonder that I remain'd ſo long time without taking notice of them. Amongſt theſe were the real Preſence of our Saviour in the Sacrament, the Infallibility

K 3

lity

198 The Dutchess of YORK's Answer.

lity of the Church, Confession, and Prayers for the Dead. I treated of these Particulars feverally with two of the most learned Bishops of England, and discourting upon these Subjects, they both told me, That it was to be wished that the Church of England had retained several Things it altered : As for Example, Confession, which without doubt is of Divine Institution. They told me also, That Prayer for the Dead had been used in the Primitive Church during the first Centuries; and that they themselves did daily observe those Things, tho' they desired not publicly to own these Doctrines. And having pressed one of them something earnestly touching these Things, he frankly told me, That if he had been bred up in the Catholick Religion, he should not have left it; but now, being a Member of that Church which believed all the Articles necessary to Salvation, he thought he should do ill to quit it, because he was beholden to that Church for his Baptism, and he should thereby give Occasion of great Scandal to others. All these Discourtes were a Means to increase the Desire I had to embrace the Roman Catholick Religion, and added much to the inward Trouble of my Mind; but the Fear I had to be hafty in a Matter of that Importance, made me act warily, with all Precautions necessary in such a Case: I pray'd incessantly to God, that He would be pleased to inform me in the Truth of these Points whereof I doubted. Upon Christmas-Day, going to receive at the King's Chapel, I found my self in greater Trouble than ever I had been in; neither was it possible for me to be at quiet, until I had discovered my self to a certain Catholick, who presently brought me a Priest. He was the first of them with whom I ever conversed; and the more I conversed with him, the more I found my self to be confirmed in the Refolution I had taken. It was,

I

199

I thought, impossible to doubt of these Words,
This is my Body; and I am verily perfwaded that
our Saviour, who is Truth it self, and hath promi-
sed to continue with his Church to the World's end,
would never suffer these holy Mysteries to be com-
municated to the Laity only under one kind, if it
were inconsistent with his Institution of that Sacra-
ment.

I am not able to dispute touching these Things
with any body; and if I were, I would not go a-
bout to do it: But I content my self to have wrote
this, to justify the Change I have made of my Re-
ligion; and call God to Witnesses I had not done it,
had I believ'd I could have been faved in that
Church, whereof till then I was a Member. I pro-
teft seriously, I have not been induced to this by
any Worldly Intereft or Motives; neither can the
Truth of this my Proteftation be rationally doubted
by any Person, since it was evident that thereby I
loft all my Friends, and very much prejudiced my
Reputation: But having seriously confider'd with
my self, whether I ought to renounce my Portion in
the other World, to enjoy the Advantages of my
prefent Being here; I assure you, I found no Diffi-
culty at all to refolve the contrary; for which I
render Thanks to God, who is the Author of all
Goodnefs.

My only Prayer to him is, That the poor Catho-
licks of this Kingdom may not be perſecuted upon
my Account; and I beſeech God to grant me Pa-
tience in my own Afflictions; and that what Tribu-
lations ſoever his Goodneſs has appointed for me,
I may ſo go through with them, as that I may here-
after enjoy a Happineſs for all Eternity.

Given at St. James's, the
20th of August, 1670.

K 4

King

[ 201 ]

To the Earl of MIDDLETON.

Written by Sir GEORGE ETHERIDGE,
when he was Embassador at Ratisbon in
Germany, June 10. 1686.

Ince Love and Verse, as well as Wine,
Are brisker where the Sun does shine,
'Tis something to lose two Degrees,
Now Age it self begins to freeze :

Yet this I patiently could bear,
If the rough Danube's Beauties were
But only two Degrees less fair
Than the bright Nymphs of gentle Thames,
Who warm me hither with their Beams.

Such Pow'r they have, they can dispense
Five hundred Miles their Influence :

But Hunger forces Men to eat,
Tho' no Temptation's in the Meat.
How wou'd the ogling Sparks despife
The darling Damfel of my Eyes,
Shou'd they behold her at a Play,
As she's trick'd up on Holy-day ;

K 5

When

202 To the Earl of MIDDLETON.

When the whole Family combine,
For publick Pride, to make her ſhine.
Her Locks, which long before lay matted,
Are on this Day comb'd out, and plaited.

A Diamond Bodkin in each Trefes,
The Badges of her Noblenefs :

For every Stone, as well as ſhe,
Can boast an ancient Pedigree.

These form'd the Jewel erſt did grace
The Cap of the firſt Grave o' th' Race,
Prefer'd by Graffin Marrian,
T' adorn the Handle of her Fan ;
And, as by old Record appears,
Worn ſince in Renigunda's Ears.

Now ſparkling in the Frokin's Hair ;
No Serpent breaking in the Air,
Can with her ſtarry Head compare.

Such Ropes of Pearl her Arms incumber,
She ſearce can deal the Cards at Ombre :

So many Rings each Finger freight,
They tremble with the mighty Weight.

The like in England ne'er was ſeen,
Since Holben drew Hall and his Queen.

But, after these ſantaſtick Flights,
The Luftre's meaner than the Lights.

The

To the Earl of MIDDLETON.

203

The Thing that bears this glitt'ring Pomp
Is but a tawdry, ill-bred Ramp;
Whose brawny Limbs, and martial Face,
Proclaim her of the Gothic Race,
More than the painted Pageantry
Of all the Fathers Heraldry.

But there's another fort of Creatures,
Whose ruddy Look, and grotesque Features,
Are so much out of Nature's Way,
You'd think 'em ftampt on other Clay.

No lawful Daughters of old Adam,
'Mongft these, behold a City Madam,
With Arms in Mittins, Head in Muff,
A dapper Cloak, and a reverend Ruff:

No Farce so pleafant as this Maukin,
The pretty Jet she has in Walking,
And the soft Sound of High-Dutch Talking.

Here, unattended by the Graces,
The Queen of Love in a fad Cafe is.
Nature, her active Minifter,
Neglects Affairs, and will not ftir;

Thinks it not worth the while to please,
But when she does it for her Eafe,

Ev'n I, her moft devout Adorer,
With wand'ring Thoughts appear before her.

And,

To the Earl of MIDDLETON.

205

In such a sneaking idle Place,
Where Vice and Folly hide their Face,
And, in a troublesome Difguise,
The Wife seems honest, Husband wife :
For Pleasure here has the fame Fate
Which does attend Affairs of State ;
The Plague of Ceremony infects,
Ev'n in Love, the softer Sex,
Who an Essential will neglect,
Rather than lose the least Respect.

In regular Approach we form,
And never visit, but in Form;
That is, sending to know before
At what a Clock she'll play the Whore.
The Nymphs are constant, Gallants private,
One scarce can guefs who 'tis they drive at.
This seems to me a fcurvy Fashion,
Who have been bred in a free Nation,
With Liberty of Speech and Passion :
Yet I cannot forbear to spark it,
And make the best of a bad Market.
Meeting with one, by chance, kind-hearted,
Who no Preliminaries started ;

I en-

to Sir Geo. Etheridge's *Letter, &c.* 207

Your Mufe, grown old in Pagan Strains,
*Rome* with young Venom fills your Veins,
And makes you to your Country shew
The Rancour of a *Boutefeu*.

Like mighty *Rablais*, you duel
Ad *Hudibras*, ad *Pantagruel*;
And *Bellarmine* himself outdo
*Cum Gladio Poetico*.

A Work of wonderous Merit (tro, )
So much pretend, so little do;
And all to vend new canting Farce,
Where Sound of *Dryden* is mine A—se.
More you'd atchieve, had you been fent
As far as *Don Diego* went,
To preach Converſion to the Moon a,
And done the Buſineſs full as soon a;
That might prove real Charity,
Since there perchance *Moor* Calves do lie,
Gaping for Nonſenſe from the Sky :
But here, alas, your ſpotted Sun
's too dark for our cleer Horizon.

What Barber's Shop i' th' Town so dull,
That's not of your Adventures full ?

Alcides

208 *An Inversion of Mr. Dryden's Answer*

Alcides gave (so fung old Mob)
Blows Plenty from his Crab-tree Club.
But, spight of all such old Poke-farters,
He ne'er beat up Johannes Quarters:
No, that was left in Time's due Space
To be performed by his Grace,
Who broke your Pate with as much eafe
As his Rehearfal tore your Bays.

From Hesiod, and the Heathen Gods,
Lucretius, Machiavel, and Hobbs,
You now aspire to Popish Jobs;
To join in one (sans Care who know it)
An Atheist, Popish Priest, and Poet.
Now Romish Legends wash the Round,
With holy Bays your Muse is crown'd,
And Scarlet Conclave is so jolly,
There will be made, for your Sake solely,
An Order new of Poets Holy,
With many a lufty rhiming Fryar,
But John the Abbot, or the Prior.

These cloifter'd Glories mention'd laft
Us'd not to pleafe your free Taft :

Yet

to Sir Geo. Etheridge's Letter, &c.

209

Yet, since a Saintship's for you voted,
Who would not be like you bigotted ?
Nor need that Name your Wonder breed ;
For now you are a Saint indeed,
For holy Rhiming, holy Lying ;
A Saint in every thing but dying.
What if you sometimes faft and pray ?
(Tho' 'gainft your Will I dare well fay )
Gold can that Grievance take away.

But fee, the Men of Goſpel Leaven
Will needs be pulling you from Heaven :
Nay wifh, ſince now new Plays are ſcarce,
You of your ſelf would make a Farce :
Or that, like Mariton Latroon,
You'd your own Saintſhip's Life make known.
This may perhaps ſtir up your Paſſion,
But would oblige a certain Nation
Next to a Tiburn Expiation.

Or, if you think it too great Shame,
Has not a Wight of equal Fame,
The pious Guzman, done the fame ?
If that you do not care for Spain a,
Take Meaſures from your Friend Elcana.

For

212

L'ESTRANGE's *Memoirs*

difficult Amusement. Others say, that he was also
the Author of the Romance of the *Rose*, a very
agreeable Description of Love. The said Ro-
mance being in Vogue to this very Day, and the
said Philosophy still profels'd, might suffice to
give us a very great and noble Idea of him. But
besides that, he has shown in moft of his Works,
and in the whole Conduct of his Life, a surprising
Clearneſs of Mind, an Universal Capacity, a Great-
neſs of Soul, which nothing could overcome, much
Delicacy in the Paffions, and a great deal of Firm-
neſs in his Misfortunes. In fine, that which com-
poſes the beſt and moſt excellent part of the Merit
of great Men, is the true Character of *Abelard*.

*Eloisa* was a Gentlewoman of a very good Family,
about eighteen Years of Age, very witty and ſpright-
ly, who had Beauty enough to move the moſt in-
fenſible: Her Parents being very rich, reſolv'd to
add an extraordinary Education to thoſe natural En-
dowments. An Uncle of hers, who was Canon of
the Church of *Paris*, apply'd himſelf moſt care-
fully about it; and as he lov'd her entirely, he ſpar'd
neither Coſt nor Care to effect it, and prov'd ſo suc-
cessful therein, that the World was fill'd with the
Praife of his Niece's Beauty and Accompliſhments.

Such admirable Qualifications ſoon captivated the
Inclinations of all thoſe that knew her. *Abelard*
was one of the firſt that felt the Power of her
Charms, and became paſſionately in Love with her.
His Philosophy was not capable to defend his Heart
againſt thoſe Perfections he has deſcrib'd himſelf
under the Name of *Beauty* in his Romance of the
*Rose*: Neither did he in the leaſt endeavour to con-
tend with his Paffion. On the contrary, being
wholly taken up with his Love, he abandon'd him-
ſelf entirely to it, and only ſtudy'd how to declare
it to the Person he ador'd. He being very well
ſhap'd,

of the MONK and NUN.

213

fhap'd, young, and having a high Reputation in
the World, did not question but his Delaration
would meet with all the Success he could expect;
he tells us himself, Tanti quippe tunc nominis eram,
& juventutis & forma præminebam, ut quamcunque
feminarum nostro dignarer amore, nullam vererer repul-
sam. That whatever Woman he could have fallen
in Love with at that time, he had reason to hope
for every thing, and to undertake all, without the
least fear of a Refusal.

Being thus confident of Success, he only long'd
for an Opportunity to make his Addressees to that
lovely Maid. He flatter'd himself, that if he could
once be introduc'd into her Uncle's House, by some
of his Friends, he would soon obtain the End of all
his Wishes. He apply'd himself immediately about
it; and the Friends he made use of, easily obtain'd
what he defir'd of Fulbert, (that was Eloisa's Uncle's
Name) who was extreamly covetous, and yet defir'd
nothing so much as the Advancement of his Niece,
by reason that he could not possibly give her a better
Master, or one that was less self-interested than
Abelard. Therefore he receiv'd him joyfully into
his House, and committed Eloisa to his Tuition and
Care, defiring him, as if he had design'd to serve
him in his Love, to take an absolute Empire over
his Niece, and to allow towards her Education all
the Time he could spare from the Publick, to be
with her Day and Night, to have a continual Eye
upon her Conduct, and even to make use of the Authority
he gave him, whenever he should find her
remifs, or disobedient. Fulbert show'd a Simplicity
without Example in all this; since that by confiding
thus in young People, and furnishing them himself,
with a thousand Opportunities, it was almost impossible
for them not to fall in Love with one another.
But the Uncle's Affection towards the Niece

was

rs

was also
a very
said Ro-
, and the
fuffice to
him. But
is Works,
burkring
a Great-
me, much
of Firm-
which com-
the Merit
belard.

God Family,
and spright-
moft in-
evolv'd to
atural En-
 Canon of
moft care-
, he spard
v'd fo suc-
d with the
ifishments.
tivated the
. Abelard
ver of her
with her
l his Heart
'd himfelf
nce of the
our to con-
ary, being
don'd him-
to declare
very well
fhap'd,

214

L'ESTRANGE's *Memoirs*

was so strong and so blind, and *Abelard's* Reputation was so well established throughout the Kingdom, that not harbouring the least Suspicion of their Vertue, he thought himself absolutely secure.

*Abelard*, who easily promis'd whatever Fulbert required of him, did not fail to improve the Liberty he had of seeing the lovely *Eloisa* at all convenient Hours and Moments. He acquainted her with his Passion, and did it so well, that she hearken'd to it with Pleasure. It is easy to perfwade a young Maid about eighteen to love ; and *Abelard* was too charming, and had too much Wit, not to make a considerable Progreſs in her Heart in a short time. She soon lov'd him so tenderly, that she could no longer refuse him any thing; infomuch that being wholly taken up by a thousand reciprocal Careſſes, in the Enjoyment of those Delights the Passion he had inſpir'd her with afforded him, being continually with her, he often forgot his moſt serious and moſt important Affairs. A Philosopher in love, is no wiser than another Man; and however defirous to preserve his Reputation, he sooner or later commits Faults that are blam'd by every body, though every Man would be guilty of the fame.

The World soon receiv'd this Intrigue between the Maſter and the Scholar, so great an Affiduity in their Converſation, together with the Tenderneſs and Paffion that appear'd in all their Actions, soon diſcover'd that Philofophy was not always their Theme.

*Fulbert* was the only Perſon that had no Eyes to see what every body else perceived; and whatever Adviſes he receiv'd about it, he was so prepoſſeſs'd with a good Opinion of *Abelard* and *Eloisa's* Virtue, that it made no manner of Impreſſion upon him. Finally, our Lovers keeping no Meaſures in their Love, Things went so far through their Imprudence, that

of the MONK and NUN.

215

that the Uncle, being at last undeceiv'd, resolv'd to part them, to prevent the ill Consequences of their Intrigue. But it prov'd too late, for Eloisa soon discovering something extraordinary in her self, she acquainted Abelard therewith, who thereupon came back immediately to Paris, and stole her by Night, in order to marry her privately, until her Relations would allow it publickly.

Fulbert, who lov'd Eloisa to that degree that he could not live without her, was extreamly troubled at her Flight; and being moreover very senible of the Affront Abelard had put upon him in abusing the Liberty he had given him, he was transported to that Excefs of Rage, that he fware to be reveng'd of him. Abelard, who was conscious of the Guilt, and could not forbear looking upon his own Behaviour as a piece of Treachery, resolv'd to go back to Paris, in order to use his utmoft Endeavours to appeafe Fulbert's Fury. To that end he made use of all the Intreaties, Submiſſions, and Promiſes, he could think on. He beg'd of him above all things to reflect on the Force of Love, and on the Faults that that Tyrant of our Souls has often caus'd the greatest Men to commit. Fulbert diſſembled his Reſeutment, and pretended to be overcome by his Reaſons, and to confent to all. He even embrac'd him cloſely, the better to deceive him, and to feeſure his own Revenge.

Abelard being overjoy'd at Fulbert's Conſent, went back to the Place where he had left his dear Eloisa, whom he marry'd; but with so much Repugnancy on that fair one's Part, that it prov'd a very difficult Task to perſwade her. As her Sentiments were very nice, she could not endure the Necessity she should be under of loving him, nor the Injury he was going to do himſelf by marrying her. She could not endure to think he ſhould be indebted to any

216 L'ESTRANGE's *Memoirs*

any thing for the Love she bore him, but to Love it
self; and his Quality of Philosopher seem'd to her
so infidelent with the Design of marrying her, that
she had rather a thousand times be looked upon as
his Mistrels, than to become his Wife at the Cost of
his Reputation and Glory. And whereas *Abelard*
had represented to her, that it would be the only
way to appease Fulbert's Anger, and to avoid the
Revenge he meditated; she affur'd him that he
flatter'd himself in vain, and that knowing her Un-
cle as well as she did, she could safely swear to him,
that it was impossible to appease him, and that
fooner or later he would endeavour to ruin him.
However, these Reafons not being able to perfwade
*Abelard*, she yielded to his Desires, only out of
Fear of displeasing him by her Refistance. And it
was not without Tears and Sighs that she consented
to marry a Man she lov'd beyond Expression, and
by whom she was as tenderly beloved.

*Eloisa* was not deceiv'd in the Opinion she had of
her Uncle. That cruel Man still perfevering in his
Design of Vengeance against *Abelard*, notwithstanding
his Marriage with his Niece, found Means to
corrupt one of his Servants to admit Ruffians into
his Master's Chamber, who drawing near his Bed,
while he was asleep, at one Stroke divided the Man
from the Lover. That Action was too black and
too tragical to remain unpunish'd. The Uncle's
Estate was confiscated by a Decree from the Court;
and one of the Affaffinats, together with the Servant
who had admitted him, were condemn'd to lofe
their Eyes, and to suffer the fame Punishment by
the Hangman's Hand, which they had dared to at-
tempt upon another. After such a Misfortune, our
Philosopher, in order to take such Measures as were
most suitable to the wretched Condition to which he
was reduc'd, lock'd himself up in a Monastery, and
caus'd

of the MONK and the NUN.

217

caus'd Eloisa to retire into a Convent, and (whether
out of Jealousie or Love) engag'd her to enter into
Orders, before he had resolv'd to do the fame him-
felf.

In the mean time, to keep up the Reputation he
had acquir'd of being the moſt Learned Man of Eu-
rope, he explain'd the Aſts of the Apoſtles to the
Monks of the Abby of St. Dennis, among whom he
liv'd. And happening to have an Occafion to ſpeak
of that Saint, he chanc'd to ſay, whether acciden-
tally, or out of a Capricio, That Dennis the Areopa-
gite never was in France. It is very well known,
that to entertain any Sentiments in thofe Days con-
trary to that of the Monks, was ſufficient to be re-
puted an Apoſtate or Heretick. Learning could au-
thorize nothing, and thofe who ſoar'd a little above
the common Level, as ſoon as it was known, were
forc'd to condemn themſelves to a voluntary Exile
to avoid the publick Perſecution of the Monks. St.
Bernard was one of thofe that declar'd againſt Abe-
lard, not for the fame Reaſon for which the Monks
of St. Dennis did it, but only becauſe ſo much Wit,
joyn'd to a worldly Conduct, ſeem'd dangerous to
him. He concluded, That a Man's Wit muſt needs
be tainted, when the Heart was not pure.

During this Storm, *Abelard*, who really poffeſs'd all
the Qualifications that compoſe a Great Man, but
yet was not ſo perfect as to be a Saint; incens'd by
ſo many Misfortunes and Injuries, resolv'd to fly from
the Monks, and to retire into a Defart near *Nogent*.
The Learned were ſcarce in that Age, and the De-
ſire of Learning began to ſpread. For that Reaſon
*Abelard* was ſought after in his Exile; and being
found out, was loaden with Preſents by thofe who
were defirous to hear his Lefſons. Thofe Preſents
were ſo confiderable as to enable him to build a
Houſe, and a Chapel, which he dedicated under

L

the

218 L'ESTRANGE'S *Memoirs*.

the Name of *Paraclet*, the first that ever had that Name in *France* : Which was represented by some as a Novelty which might have dangerous Consequences, though in reality it was only a Monument of the Confessions he had received from the Grace of God in that place, by a more serious Application to his Study, and a more absolute Resignation of his Mistres. But Men of Merit, though never so retir'd, are nevertheless expos'd to Envy. He was hardly well settled in his Solitude, when he was accused of dangerous Designs against the Government. In order to justify himself, he desired Leave to quit it, and intreat the Archbishop of *Troye* to permit him to settle some Nuns there, and to assign his Chapel and his Estate to them. This Settlement being proposed, he sent for *Eloisa* to govern the Monastery; which having committed to her Care, he retired elsewhere. Happy if he had still been able to fly her.

It was during that Absence that a Letter which he wrote to a Friend near *Paraclet*, in which he gave a large Account of the Persecutions he had endur'd, fell accidentally into the Hands of that new Abbefs. She open'd it, and finding a thousand Things in it, in which she was highly concerned, she took an Occasion from that to write the following Letter to him, to complain of his Conduct, and to ask him, Whether it was just for a Nice Lover to abandon her to the false Idea's which so long a Silence might create in her. That Letter (says he who has collected the Works of *Abelard*) is very proper to show how far a Woman is capable to carry the Sentiments of her Heart, when she joyns a violent Passion to a good Education.

The

[ 219 ]

The NUN'S LOVE-LETTER.

Translated by Sir ROGER L'ESTRANGE.

'T IS to her Mafter, and to her Father;
'tis to her Brother, and to her Huf-
band, that a Maid, a Daughter, a Sifter,
a Wife, and to include in one Word, all
that is Sublime, Respectful, Tender and
Free in thoſe Names;' tis to her *Abelard Eloisa*
writes.

A Letter of Confolation written by you to a
Friend, lately fell into my Hands. Knowing the
Character, and being in Love with the Style, my
Heart joyning with my Curiosity, fore'd me to open
it. As an Apology for the Liberty I took, I flatter'd
my ſelf with the Sovereign Right I ought to have
over all that comes from you, and I made a Scruple
to believe that there could be any Laws of *Decorum*
I ought to obſerve when I had the Means in my
Power to hear from you. But my Curiosity coſt me
very dear! What Anguifh did it expofe me to!
And what could equal my Surprize, when I found
that Letter only contain'd a ſad and long Account of
your Misfortunes! I found my Name a hundred
Times in it: I never met with it without Fear:
Some Misfortune ever follow'd it. I alſo read yours
in it which was no happier. Thoſe fatal and dear
Idea's diſturb'd me to that Degree, that I thought
you did too much to comfort a Friend to whom you
did write about ſome inconfiderable Afflictions, in

L 2

giving

220 Love-Letter from a NUN.

giving him a particular Account of our Misfortunes
and Crosses. Heavens! What Reflexions did I make
that Moment? I began anew to recollect my self, I
was feiz'd with the same Grief that overwhelm'd
me when we began to be unhappy. And though
Time ought to have leffen'd the Smart of our Misfortunes,
the seeing them written by your Hand, was
sufficient to make me feel it afresh to the very Bottom
of my Heart. No, nothing will ever blot out
of my Mind what you have suffer'd to defend your
Sentiments. I shall ever remember the Envy of Alberick
and Lotulf againſt you. I shall ever behold a
cruel Unkle, an abus'd Lover, and an Aſſaſſin. I
ſhall never forget how many Enemies your Wit cre-
ated you; and how many were jealous of your Glo-
ry. I will ever call to mind that high Reputation
you had ſo juſtly acquir'd, which expos'd you to the
Hatred and Malice of the Pretenders to Learning.
Your Book of Divinity was publickly condemn'd to
the Flames. You were threatned with a perpetual
Prifon. It was in vain for you to plead your Inno-
cence, and to prove you were impos'd upon, and
that you were accus'd of Things you had never faſd,
or thought. You condemn'd them your ſelf, but yet
all this avail'd nothing towards your Juſtification,
they would needs have you to be an Heretick right
or wrong. Thoſe two false Prophets, who inveigh'd
ſo bitterly againſt you at the Council of Rheims,
omitted nothing to ruine you. What Scandals did
they not fix on the Name of Paraclet which you
gave to the Chapel you built? What Storm did the
treacherous Monks you honour'd with the Name of
Brothers, raife againſt you? That Chain of Misfortunes
has drawn Blood even from the very Bottom
of my Heart. My Tears, which I could no ways
ſtop, have blotted Part of your Letter. I could wifh
they had been able to blot out all the Characters of
it

Love-Letter from a NUN.

223

it in the fame Manner, to send it you back thus. If I could but have kept it a little longer, it would have satisfy'd me; but it was taken too soon from me.

However, it is most certain, and I own it to you, that I was much calmer before I read it; but as soon as I had run it over, all my Griefs renew'd. I have been too long without complaining; since the Rage of our Enemies is still alive; since Time, which commonly disarms the most mortal Hatred, cannot disarm them; since your Virtue must needs be per-secuted till the Grave serves you for a Shelter, though perhaps even there their Rage will rake your Affairs, I will keep your Misfortunes for ever present to my Mind: I will publish them throughout the World, to difgrace this Age that has not underftood you. I will hope for nothing, since all Things are againft you; and that the World takes a Delight in perfe-cuting your Innocence. What? must my Memory be ever full of your past Misfortunes? Must I still dread to see you involv'd in new ones? Must my dear Abel-lard never be mention'd without Tears? Shall his Name never be pronounced without a Heart-breaking Sigh? Pray consider the Condition to which you have reduc'd me. Wretched, afflicted, without the least Conſolation, unless it comes from you. Therefore I do conjure you, do not refuse it me, but give me a faithful Account of all that relates to you. I define to know it, tho, never so far or moving. Perhaps the mixture of my Sighs with yours will ease you, if it be true as 'tis commonly reported, that Afflictions that are far'd by others, become the more ſupportable.

Do not tell me for an Excuse that you are willing
to spare our Tears: The Tears of Recluse Maids in
a mournful Abode of Penance, are not to be spar'd.
Besides, should you tarry to write to us until you

had

L 3

Misfortunes
id I make
my self, I
erwhelm'd
and though
our Misfor-
Hand, was
e very Bot-
er blot out
efend your
envy of Al-
er behold a
Afflaffin. I
ur Wit cre-
f your Glo-
Reputation
to the
Learning,
ondem'n'd to
a perpetual
your Inno-
upon, and
never said,
felf, but yet
Juitification,
eretick right
to inveigh't
of Rheims,
candals did
which you
form did the
Name of
of Misfor-
very Bottom
ild no ways
I could with
Characters of
it

222 Love-Letter from a NUN.

had some agreeable News to fend us, you would tar-
ry too long. Fortune seldom fides with the Virtu-
ous; and fhe is fo blind, that it is not to be expe-
ed fhe fhoufd diftinguifh one Wife Man among a
Crowd of Fools. Therefore write to us without ex-
pefting thofe kind of Miracles: They are too rare,
and we are deftin'd to too many Misfortunes to ex-
pect a Change. I propofe to my felf a World of
Satisfaction in opening one of your Letters, tho' it
were only to convince me that you have not forgot
me. Seneca (which you have often made me read)
was fo fenfible, tho' à Stoick, of that kind of Joy,
that whenever he open'd any from Lucilla, he fan-
cy'd he enjoy'd all the fame Pleafure, he did when
with her.

I have obſerv'd ſince our Abſence, that we are
much more delighted with the Pictures of thofe we
love, when at a great Diftance from us, than when
they are nearer. Nay more, the farther they are
from us, their Pictures ſeem to me to become the
more like them; at leaſt, our Imagination, which
draws them continually out of a Deſire to ſee them
again, makes them appear ſo to us. By an Effect
which is peculiar to Love, vain Colours, and a little
Cloth ſeem animated to us as ſoon as the belov'd Ob-
ject returns. I have your Picture, and never pafs by
it without stooping before it; whereas I hardly
minded it when you were here. If Painting, which
is but a mute Repreſentation of Objeſts, affords ſo
much Pleaſure: What Joys do not Letters inſpire?
They are animated; they ſpeak; they have that
Genius which explains the Motions of the Heart;
they incloſe within them the Fire of our Paffions;
they make them as ſenſible as when we ſee one anot-
her; they exprefs whatever we could ſay, that is
loft and tender when we are together; and being
fometimes ſomewhat bolder, they utter more.

We

Love-Letter from a NUN.

We may write to one another; that innocent Plea-
fure is not forbidden us. Let us not, by our own
Neglect, lose the only Satisfaction we have remaining,
and which perhaps is the only one our Persecutors
cannot deprive us of. I will say that you are my Huf-
band; you shall behold me speak like a Wife; and
in spite of all your Misfortunes, you shall be what-
ever you please in a Letter. Letters were invented
for the Relief of Recluse Persons like my self: Har-
ving loft the real Pleasure of seeing and posseffing
you, I will find it again, in some Meaure, in thofe
you shall write to me. I shall read your moft fe-
cret Thoughts in them; I will carry them continual-
ly about me. In fine, if you are capable of any
Jealousie let it only be by the Careles I shall make
to them; and never grow a Rival, unlefs it be to
the Happineſs of your Letters: And to avoid all
manner of Conſtaint, write to me without Appli-
cation, and with Negligence. I would have your
Heart ſpeak to me, and not your Wit. I cannot live,
unleſs you tell me that you love me ſtill. That
that Language muſt needs be ſo natural to you, that
I do not think you could utter any other to me with-
out Violence: Befides, it is very reaſonable you
ſhould close up thofe Wounds, by ſome Marks of a
conſtant Affection, which you have open'd again in
my Soul, by the doleful Account you gave your
Friend: Not that I blame the innocent Artifice you
have us'd to comfort one in Diftrefs, by comparing
his Misery to a greater. Charity is ingenious, and
Praife-worthy in thofe pious Flights: But do you
not owe ſomewhat more to your ſelf, than to that
Friend, whatever Friendship you may have con-
tracted with him? We are call'd your Sifters; we
call our ſelves your Daughters; and if there were
more engaging Terms in Nature, we would uſe
them to exprefs our being devoted to you, as alſo

what

224 Love-Letter from a NUN.

what you owe unto us. Altho' a prudent Silence
should cloak our juft Acknowledgments, this Church,
these Altars, and these Places, would declare it suffi-
ciently. But, without suffering Stones and Marble
to speak, I confefs, and will ever be proud to tell
the World, that you are the only Founder of this
House. Your coming to this Place has render'd it
famous, whereas it was only known before for the
Robberies and Murders that were committed in it.
Is was a Den of Thieves and Rogues; but you have
made it a House of Prayer. These Cloifters are not
beholding to publick Alms. The Sins of Publicans
are not fix'd on their Walls, nor their Vices bury'd
in their Foundations. The God whom we serve in
this Place, beholds nothing there but innocent
Riches, and simple Maids, wherewith you have fill'd
it. And therefore this young Plantation is wholly
indebted to you for what it is: You ought to culti-
vate it, and to afford it all your Cares: You ought
to make it one of the principal Applications of your
Life. Altho' the Grace of Devotion seems to be
intail'd upon it on all Parts, by our Cloifters and
our Vows, Tho' the Points of our Grates are so ma-
ny Bulwarks to defend the Approaches of it; yet
whereas the Bark is only cover'd in us, that Sap of
Adam, which rifes imperceptibly in the Heart, pro-
duces Diftempers, which wither, and absolutely
ruin the Trees which seem to promife moft, unleffs
they be continually grafted. Virtue among us, re-
mains ever grafted upon Nature, which is weak and
inconftant. To plant the Vine of the Lord, is not an
ordinary Piece of Work, it requires more than a
Day; and when it is once planted, it requires all
our Application to preferve it. Does not the Apoftle,
as great a Workman as he was, tell us, That he has
planted, that Apollos has water'd, and that God has
blefs'd the Work, and has made it to grow. Paul
had

Love-Letter from a NUN.

225

had planted the Faith among the *Corinthians*, by ho-
ly and fervent Predications; *Apollos*, a zealous Difci-
ple of that Great Mafter, cultivated that Faith, by-
mild and frequent Exhortations; and the Grace of
God, which their continual Cares sollicited so pow-
erfully to descend upon that People, anfwer'd their
Expectation.

This Example ought to regulate your Conduct to-
wards us, I am fenible that you are not idle; but
tho' you labour, you do not labour for us. You
labour for People whose Thoughts are wholly bent
on Earth, and never foar above it; and you refuse
your Affiftance to Perſons of a nicer Tafte, who are
reeling, and do uſe their utmoſt Endeavours not to
fall. You throw the Riches of the Gofpel before
Swine, in ſpeaking to People that are fill'd with
the Riches of this World, and fatten'd with the
Juice of the Earth; and at the fame time neglect in-
nocent Sheep, who, as nice as they are, would fol-
low you into Defarts, and over Mountains. Why
do you labour ſo much for ingrateful Perſons, and
forget poor Maids, who would neither think them-
felves sufficiently grateful ? Muſt I be afraid to ſpeak
in my own Name, and muſt I employ other Prayers
than my own, to obtain ſomething of you ? That
*Augustins*, *Tertullians*, *Jeromes*, have written to Eu-
dox's, *Paula's* and *Mélieie's*; and when you read
thofe Names, tho' Saints, can you forget mine ?
Would it be a Crime for you to direct me like
St. *Jerome*, to preach to me like *Tertullian*, and to
discourse of Grace to me with St. *Augustin* ? Your
Learning and your Senſe ought not to be a barren
Soil for me. In writing to me, you write to a Wife;
a Sacrament has render'd that Commerce lawful :
And ſince it is in your Power to ſatisfie me without
committing the leaſt Scandal, why ſhould you not
do it ? I have a barbarous Uncle, whoseſe Inhumanity

only

L 5

Silence
Church,
it suffi-
Marble
to tell
of this
der'd it
for the
ed in it.
you have
are not
publicans
es bury'd
ſerve in
innocent
ave fill'd
s wholly
to culti-
u ought
s of your
ters and
re ſo ma-
' it; yet
at Sap of
art, pro-
ſolutely
ſt, unleſs
ing us, re-
weak and
is not an
e than a
uires all
the Apoſſle,
t he has
God has
W. Paul
had

226 Love-Letter from a NUN.

only serves to endear you to my Heart: It serves me
instead of all that the Tenderneſs and Remem-
brance of our Pleaſures could infpire us with, to
make us love each other. You are no longer to be
fear'd, do not fly me. Hearken to my Sighs, your
being a Witneſs of them, will ſuffice. If I have
put my ſelf into a Cloifter out of Reaſon, perſuade
me to tarry in it out of Devotion. You are the
Caufe of all my Sufferings, how ſhould another eafe
me?

You muſt needs remember, for thofe that have
lov'd can never forget, with what Delight I ſpent
whole Days in hearing you ? How I us'd to ſteal a-
way from every Body, when we were not together,
to write to you? What Difquiets did a Billet coſt
me, before it came to your Hands ? And what Shifts
were we reduc'd to, to gain People to be our Confi-
dents? I am ſenſible theſe Particulars do ſurprize
you. You dread to hear the Sequel, but I do no
longer bluſh at it, ſince my Paffion for you has no
Bounds. I have out-done all this for you this Day;
I have hated my ſelf to love you. I have loft my
ſelf here to make you live in quiet. Nothing but
Virtue join'd to a Paffion, free from Senſuality, could
produce ſuch Effects. Thofe who love Pleaſures,
love the Living, not the Dead. We are ſoon weary
of Burning for thofe that are no longer in a Con-
dition to burn for it. My cruel Uncle was ſenſible
of this: He imagin'd, that being like other Wo-
men, I lov'd your Sex better than your Perſon, but
his Crime is vain. I love you more than ever, I am
reveng'd of him, by overwhelming you with all my
Stock of Tenderneſs. If the Paffion I formerly had
for you, was not ſo pure as it is at preſent: If at
that Time the Mind and Body divided in me the
Pleasure of loving you; I have told it you a Thou-
fand Times, I have always been more pleas'd with
the

Love-Letter from a NUN.

the Affection of your Heart, than with the Enjoyment of all that which is the Object of the Felicity of our Sex; and of all that was in you, Man was not that which pleas'd me most.

You ought to be sufficiently convin'd of it, by the great Repugnancy I expreſs'd for Marriage. For tho' I was ſenſible that Name was August amongst Men, and holy in Religon, the Thought of ceaſing to be free by it, hindred me from finding any Charms in it. The Bonds of Marriage, tho' never ſo honourable, are attended with a neceſsary Ingagement, whose Ties ſeem to ravish the Glory of Loving; and I was defirous to free a Man, who perhaps would not always love me, from the Necefity of Loving. I deſpis'd the Name of Wife, to live happy with that of a Miftrefſs. Thoſe Niceties of a Maid who lov'd you, with ſo much Tenderneſs, and yet not ſo much as ſhe deſir'd, were not unknown to you, ſince you entertain'd your Friend with them in the Letter I have ſurpriz'd. You told him very well, that I found nothing but what was very inſipid in all thoſe publick Ingagements, that form Bonds which nothing but Death can break, and create a diſmal Necefity of Life and Love. But you did not add, That I have proteſted to you a Thouſand Times, that it was infinitely more pleaſing to me to live with Abelard as his Miftrefſs, than to be Empreſs with Augustus; and that I preferr'd the Happineſs of obeying you, before the captivaſting of the Maſter of the Univerſe in Matrimonial Letter. Riches and Grandure are none of the Charms of Love. A real Affion divides the Lover from what is not himſelf, and lays aſide his Fortune, his Rank, his Employments, to consider him only.

Thoſe who feek for an Eſtate and Dignities, in the cold Embraces of a careleſs Husband, do not love. They aim much more in ſuch a Marriage, to ſatisfie

228 Love-Letter from a NUN.

fatisfie their Ambition than their Love. I grant
that such a mercenary Ingagement may be attended
with some Honour and Fortune; but I can never be-
lieve, that it is possible thus to enjoy the sensible
Pleasures of a tender Union, or to feel the secret
and charming Emotions of two Hearts that have
been long in Search of each other to unite them-
selves. The Martyrs of Marriage hourly fight for
better Settlements, which they think they have loft.
The Wife sees Husbands richer than her own. The
Husband, Wives with better Fortunes than his. Mer-
cenary Engagements create Regrets, and those Re-
grets Discord. They design to be parted, or at least
they wish it. That infatiate devouring Desire, is
the Avenger of Love, which they injure in expect-
ing to meet a Happineſs by Love, besides Love it
ſelf. If there be any real Felicity on Earth, I am
perſwaded, that it is only to be found in the Union
of two Perſons, who love each other with freedom,
whom a ſecret Inclination has joyn'd, and whom an
equal Merit has ſatisfy'd. Then there is no Vacuity
in their Hearts; all is at least there, because all is
contain'd.

Could I believe you were as well perſwaded of
my Merit, as I am of yours, I would tell you, that
there was a Time in which we might have been
reckon'd in the Number of those Happy Ones. Ah!
How could I chuse but be perſwaded of your Merit?
Tho' I had been willing to question it, the univer-
sal Eſteem the World had for you, would have con-
vinc'd me. Is there a Country, Province or City,
that has not defir'd to have you? Did you ever re-
move from any Place, without being attended with
the Heart and Eyes of those you left behind you?
Every Body was proud of ſaying, I have ſeen Abe-
lard to day, The very Women, notwithstanding the
nigid Laws the World has impos'd upon them, could
not

Love-Letter from a NUN.

not forbear expressing, that they felt something for
you beyond common Esteem. I have known some,
who prais'd their Husbands exceedingly, and yet
were jealous of my Joys, and show'd sufficiently that
you might have expected every Thing from them.
And indeed, who was capable to refight you? Your
Reputation, which flatter'd the Vanity of our Sex;
your Air, your Behaviour, those lively Eyes in
which your Soul was so admirably drawn; your
Conversation, which a natural Simplicity and Delicacy
render'd so agreeable and infinuating: In fine,
every Thing spoke in Favour of you. Very different,
in that from those who by knowing too much,
have not Art to trifle agreeably; and who with all
their Wit cannot gain the Heart of Women, who
have not near so great a Share of it as they.

With what Ease did you compose Veres? And
yet those Learned Amusements which only serv'd
to refresh you after a more serious Study, are the
Delight of the most Ingenious; and there are none
among them, who do not judge you worthy of that
Rose you have so ingeniously explain'd: Even the
most inconsiderable Songs, and other Trifles you
have written for me, have a Thousand Charms, and
a Thousand Beauties in them. I will make them
last, while Lovers endure. Thus what you only
design'd for me, will be sung for others; and those
Words, so natural and so tender, which were Wit-
neffes of your Love in Couplets, and little Songs,
will serve others to explain themselves much better
than otherwife they could have done. How many
Rivals have those kind of Gallantries created me?
How many Beauties have endeavour'd to apply them
to themselves? It was an Homage which Self-love
render'd to their Charms. How many have I seen
who declare themselves for you by their Sight, when
they were told, after an ordinary Visit you had
made

230 Love-Letter from a NUN.

made them, that they were the Sylvia's of your Verses? Others out of Despair have often reproachfully told me, That I had no other Beauty but what your Poetry gave me, nor any Advantages over them, but that of being beloved by you. Notwithstanding Self-love, which is so natural in all Women, I thought my self happy in a Lover to whom I was indebted for all my Charms; and I was transported with Joy to think, that I was served by a Man who had the Power to make a Goddeſs of his Miftresſs. Flattering my self with your Glory, I read, with Complaisance, the Charms you gave me, and often without confulting, found my self what you were pleas'd to ſpeak me, the better to please you.

But alas! that time is past; I now weep for the Lofs of my Lover, and the only Thing that is remaining of all my Joys, is but a Remembrance which kills me. You who were jealous of my Hapineſs, know that he whom you envy'd me, is no longer for you, nor for me. I have lov'd him; my Love is his Crime, and has occafion'd his Ruine. My ſmall Perfections had charm'd him; pleas'd with each other, we liv'd happy and quietly, and pafs'd the faireſt of our Days. If it was a Crime to live thus, that Crime pleafes me ſtill; and my only Despair is to find my ſelf Innocent. But my Misfortune is to have had unjuſt Parents, whose Rage and Hatred have diſturb'd the Calm in which we liv'd. Had thofe Barbarians call'd back their Reafon, I ſhould now be in quiet with my Husband. What Cruelty could equal theirs, when a blind Fury engag'd them to hire a Murtherer to ſuprise you aſleep? Had I been with you, I would have defended you at the Coſt of my own Life: My Cries alone would have ſtopp'd his Arm. But in this Place Love is offended, and my Modesty join'd to my Despair, ſtops my Tongue. It is not proper

Love-Letter from a NUN.

231

proper for me to say all I think upon that Subject; and tho' it were lawful, I could not do it. Besides, there is a great deal of Eloquence in Silence, when Misfortunes are too great to be exprefs'd.

Tell me only, for this is one of my greatest Afflictions, why you have begun to neglect me, since my Profession? You know that I had no other Inducements for it, but your Misfortunes; nor other Consent for it, but what you gave me. Let us hear the Caufe of your coldneſs, or at least permit me to discover my Thoughts to you. Is it not, perhaps, that Pleaſure only was your Aim, in applying your ſelf to me, and that my Paſſion which left no Room for Desires in you, has diminish'd your Flame? Thou didſt please unfortunate Eloisa, when thou didſt not desire to please: Thou didſt defervе Affiduities, when thou ought'st to have rejected them; add Incenſe, when thou didſt push back the Arm that offer'd it to thee. But since thy Heart has ſuffer'd it ſelf to be mov'd, is grown soft, and has ſurrendred it ſelf; since thou haſt sacrifi'd thy ſelf, since thou haſt bury'd thy ſelf alive, thou art forfaken, thou art forgotten. A woful Experience has convinc'd me, that People fly those they are too much oblig'd to, and that the greatest Favours sooner create Coldneſs in Men, than Gratitude. And indeed, this weak Heart made too flight a Defence to be long dear to you. You took it with ease, you quit it in the fame manner. But, ingrateful as you are, I will never consent to it; and tho' I ought not to have a Will in this Place, I have nevertheless preferv'd that of being belov'd by you. In pronouncing my ſad Vows, I had the Laſt Billet you writ to me about me; by which you afſur'd me you would ever be mine, and that you would only live to love me. Therefore it was to you I offer'd my ſelf: You had my Heart; I had yours, do

232

Love-Letter from a Nun.

do not require any thing back from me, and suffer
my Passion, as a Thing that is yours, and which
you cannot part from.

Alas ! How weak am. I to talk thus ? Our Object
here is God, and I only speak of a Man : You force
me to it, Cruel ! by your Behaviour : You are the
only Cause of my Fault. False Man ! Was it just
thus to cease to love me all of a sudden ? Why did
you not deceive me a while, instead of abandoning
me absolutely ? Had you only given me some weak
Signs of a dying Passion, I should have endeavour'd
to deceive my self, to believe you had some Con-
ftancy. But after the Rate you use me, what Opi-
nion can I have of you ? What can I think of a
Forgetfulneſs like yours ? And by a Forgetfulneſs of
this Nature, do not you even take away from me all
Means of writing to you ? I passionately desire to
see you ; but, if I am forbidden to hope it, I will
content my self with a few Lines from your Hand.
Is it then so hard a Task to write to what we love,
if it be true that you still love me ? I desire none
of your Learned Letters, on which your Reputation
depends. I only desire some of those Billets that
proceed from the Heart, which the Pen can hardly
follow, and Wit has nothing to do with. How was
I deceiv'd, when I thought you wholly mine, in re-
ceiving the Veil, and by engaging my self to live
Eternally under your Laws. For in making my
Vows, I only meant to be entirely yours; and I vo-
luntarily submitted to the Desire you expreſs'd to
see me lock'd up for ever. Therefore nothing but
Death can make me abandon the Place in which you
plac'd me : Nay, my very Affairs will remain in it,
in Expectation of yours, or the longer to shew you
my Obedience. Why should I conceal the Secret of
my Vocation ? You know it; it was neither my
Zeal, nor my Devotion that plac'd me in a Cloister.

Your

Love-Letter from a NUN.

233

Your Conscience is too faithful a Witneſs of it for
you to diſown it. Yes, it was the Fleſh, and not
the Spirit, that transported me into this Place. I
am in it; I live in it; I remain in it; an unfortu-
nate Love, and cruel Parents condemn me to it; and
if I have not the Continuation of your Cares, if
I lose your Friendship, what will be the Fruit of
my Prifon? What Recompence can I hope for?
The unfortunate Conſequences of a criminal Con-
duct, and your particular Difgraces, have cover'd me
with a chafte Habit, but not with a ſincere Desire
of a real Repentance. Thus I combat and labour in
vain. I am among the Spouses of a God, the Ser-
vant of a Man; among the generous Slaves of his
Croſs, the weak Captive of a prophane Love. I
am at the Head of a Community of Nuns, only
devoted to Abelard. My God! Why do you not di-
reſt me? Is it your Grace that makes me ſpeak these
Words, or is it only my Despair that forces them
from me? At least I feel my ſelf in the Temple of
Chaſtity only cover'd with the Fire that has in-
flam'd us. I view my ſelf in it, I confess like a
Sinner; but one who far from weeping for her
Sins, only weeps for her Lover, and through a Weak-
neſs unworthy her prefent Condition, only calls to
mind her paſt Actiens, not being able to reflect on
any others.

Oh Heavens ! What diſmal Reflexions are these ?
I upbraid my ſelf with my Faults, I accuse you of
yours ; and why all this ? Veil'd as I am, what Dif-
orders do you occafion ? It is a cruel Task always to
fruggle for Duty againſt Inclination. I am very
ſenſible of what I owe to the Veil that covers me;
but I feel much better yet, what a long Habit of
Loving can effect on a ſenſible Heart. I am ſub-
du'd; I am vanquifh'd by my Inclination. My
Paſſion diſorders my Mind and Will. One Moment

I

234 Love-Letter from a NUN.

I listen to the Sentiments of Piety that arise within me, and the next I suffer all the Charms of my Tenderneſs to reign in my Imagination. I tell you now a Thousand Things I would not have told you Yesterday. I was reſolv'd no longer to love you; I consider'd that I had made Vows, that I was veil'd, dead, and, as it were, buried: But there arises by degrees from the Bottom of my Heart, a Trouble which destroys all those Sentiments, and clouds my Reafon and my Piety. You reign in Places so conceal'd, and so imperceptible in that Heart, that I cannot attack you in them; and when I think of breaking the Bonds that engage me to you, I flatter my ſelf, and all the Efforts I am capable of, only serve to tie 'em closer. Oh! for Pity fake, aftift a Wretch to renounce her Desires, Her ſelf, and You, if possible. If you are a Lover, if you are a Father, ſuccour a Miltrefſs, comfort a Daughter. Cannot those Names, those tender Names, move you? Yield, Oh yield to pity, or to Love! If you consent to it, I am ready to be a real Nun, and will no longer prophane my Vocation. I am ready to humble my ſelf with you before the Riches of the Providence of my God, who makes use of all things for our Sanctification, who through an Effect of his Grace purifies whatever is vicious and corrupted in our Principles, who through an abundance of Inconceivable Mercy, worthy of him alone, almost forces us, and opens our Eyes to give us a Glimpse of so many Favours which we refus'd to know.

I design'd to end here; but while I am angry with you, I muſt disburthen my Heart, and tell you how far it ſuspects, how much it upbraids you. I muſt needs confefs to you, that it ſhook my very Soul to find, that, after we had both reſolv'd to confecrate our ſelves to God, you engag'd me to do it, before you. What? ſaid I, does he fear to fee the

Love-Letter from a Nun.

the Example of Lot's Wife, who look'd behind her
in quitting Sodom, reviv'd in me ? If my Youth, and
my Sex, could make you fearful that I might go
back to the World, especially Paris, not being yet
on Fire, nor reduc'd to Ashes, my Behaviour, my
Fidelity, and this Heart, which you too well knew,
ought to have cur'd you of all those Sorts of Suſ-
picions. That ſuspicious Precaution touches me
fensibly. What ? cry'd I, heretofore my bare Word
ſuffic'd to affure him, and now can nothing leſs than
a God and Vows ſecure him that I will be true.

What Cause have I ever given him to ſuſpect me
of the leaſt Ficklenefs ? I never refus'd to meet him
at all his Rendezvous ; and ſhould I ſcruple to fol-
low him in Houſes of Sanctity ! What ? I who
have made my ſelf the Victim of Pleaſure to ſatísſe
him, could I have refus'd to be an Oblation of Honour
to obey him ! Has Vice then ſuch Charms over well-
born Souls, that after having drank in the Cup of
Sins, one could not receive the Chalice of Sanctity
without Regret ? Or else did you think your ſelf a
better Maſter for Vice than for Virtue ? Did you
think that it was eaſier to perſwade me to the firſt
than to the latter ? No, that Doubt will be too in-
jurious to us both. Virtue is too beautiful not to
embrace it where it is met ; and Vice is too ugly not
to flun it, when you make it known. All Things
are charming to me which you deſire : Nothing is
dreadful or difficult to me when you appear : I am
only weak when you do not guide me : Therefore
'tis in your Power to mould me as you pleafe. Had
you any Thing to fear, you would be leſs negligent.
I have done too much, and I muſt now triumph over
your Ingratitude. While we liv'd happy, you might
have Reaſon to doubt, Whether it was not Plea
ſure that engag'd me to you, rather than Friend-
ship : But now the Place from whence I write de-
cides

236 Love-Letter from a NUN.

cides it. I love you here at least as much as I did
in the World. Had I been in Love with Voluptu-
oufneſs, after your Misfortune, I might easily have
found wherewith to have ſatisfied my ſelf. I was
then but 20 Years of Age, and there were ſtill Men
enough remaining whom I might have hop'd to
pleafe; but *Abelard* was gone, and I defir'd no o-
ther: Therefore 'tis only for your ſake, that in an
Age ſo proper for Love, I triumph over Love it ſelf,
by burying my ſelf in a Monaſtery. It is to you I
dedicate these Remainders of Beauty which the ſo-
litary Days and Nights I pafs, haſten to Terniſh :
But ſince you cannot enjoy them, I take them back
from you, to offer them to God, and thus make
him a ſecond Prefent of my Heart, of my Days, and
of my Life.

I enlarge a little too much in this Place, and
ought not to put you so much in mind of your Mif-
fortunes, and of what I ſuffer for your ſake. We
terniſh the Splendor of the greateſt Actions, when
we make the tedious Panegyrick of them our ſelves:
But that when we are to deal with Perſons who are
doz'd by a bafe Ingratitude, we can never repeat
what we have done for them too much. Were you
of that Number, that Reproach would tell you a
World of Things. But I do not direct it to you,
left you ſhould prove one of them. Wavering as
I am, I am ſenſible that I love you ſtill. However
I can hope for nothing; I have renounct Life: Yet,
tho' depriv'd of all, I feel that I have not renounct
*Abelard* in losing my Lover. I preſerve all my Love
in a Monaſtery, where I keep all my Vows. Our
rigid Laws have not depriv'd me of Humanity.
You have not turn'd me into Marble by making me
change my Habit. My Heart is not harden'd, tho'
you are abſent from me. I am as ſenſible as I was
heretofore, and yet I ought no longer to be ſo.

Suffer,

Love-Letter from a NUN.

237

Suffer, without Blemish to your Empire, that my
Lover may exhort me to live under your Laws. Your
Yoke will be lighter, if his Hand supports it. Our
Exercifes will become lovely to me, if he will
vouchsafe to shew me the Uſefelneſs of them. Re-
tirement, Solitude, you will be no longer diſmal,
if I may hear that I have a Place in his Remem-
brance. A Heart that has been ſo ſenſible as mine,
cannot easily reſolve to grow indifferent. We hate,
we love, ſeveral Times before we can attain Tran-
quility; and we ſtill preſerve ſome diſtant Hopes of
not being absolutely ſorgotten.

Yes, *Abelard*, I do conjure thee, by the Chains I
drag in this Place, to eafe the weight of them, and
to render them as pleafing to me as I could wifh
them. Give me Maxims of holy Love: After ha-
ving quitted thee, I am proud of being the Spouse
of a God; my Heart adores that Title, and diſ-
dains all others, Teach me how that Divine Love
is bred, maintain'd, and purifies it ſelf more and
more. When we were both in the Sea of this
World, your Vein was continually employ'd to ac-
quaint the World with our Joys and Pleaſures;
but now we are in the Harbour of Grace, is it not
reasonable you ſhould ſpeak with me of my Happi-
neſs, and teach me what may increafe it? Have the
ſame Complaifance for me in my preſent Condition,
as you had in the World. Without changing our
Hearts, let us change our Objeſt. Laying alide pro-
phane Songs, let us ſing Divine Hymns. Let us
elevate our Hearts to God, and let us have no Tranſ-
ports but for his Glory.

I expeſt this from you, as a Thing you cannot
refuſe. Heaven has a peculiar Right over the Hearts
of the Great Men he has form'd: Whenever he
touches them, he tranſports them, and they lan-
guifh for, and talk of nothing but him: Until that

Moment

238 *Lord DERBY'S Letter*

Moment of God arrives, think on me, and do not
forget me: Remember my Affection, my Fidelity,
and my Conftancy. Love a Miftrels, cherifh a
Daughter, a Sifter, a Spouſe. Confider that I love
you ſtill, and that I combat no longer to love you.
Heaven! What a Word is this? What Deſign? I
tremble; my Heart revolts againſt my Words, and
being ready to blot them out, I conclude this long
Letter, bidding you, if you deſire it (and would
to God I could do it my ſelf) Farewel for e-
ver.

A LETTER ſent from the Right Honourable JAMES Earl of DERBY, to Commiſsary General IRETON, in Answer to the Summons ſent the Earl to deliver up the Island of MAN.

SIR,

HAVE received your Letter with In-
dignation, and with Scorn return you
this Answer, That I cannot but won-
der, whence you ſhould gather any
Hopes, that I ſhould prove like you,
treacherous to my Sovereign. Since you cannot be
ignorant of the manifeſt Candor of my former
Actings in his late Majesty's Service, from which
Principles of Loyalty I am no whit departed. I
ſcorn your Proffer; I diſdain your Favour; I abhor
your Treafon; and am to far from delivering up
this Island to your Advantage, that I ſhall keep it
to the utmoſt of my Power, and, I hope, to your
De-

to General IRETON.

239

Deftruction. Take this for your final Anſwer, and
forbear any further Sollicitations; for if you trouble
me with any more Meflages of this Nature, I will
burn your Paper, and hang up your Meſſenger. This
is the immutable Reſolution, and ſhall be the un-
doubted Practice of him who accounts it his chief-
eſt Glory to be, his Majeſty's moſt Loyal and O-
bedient Subjeſt,

DERBY.

From Castle-Town
this 12th of July,
1649.

The Duke of BUCKINGHAM's
Letter to the Right Honourable the
Earl of ARLINGTON, Princ-
pal Secretary of State to his MA-
JESTY.

Written by his Grace when he was Ambassador
at the Court of FRANCE.

St. Germain's, August 15. 1670.

My LORD,

I

I had had the good Fortune to bring
my Lord Faulconbridge's Secretary with
me, he would have entertain'd your
Lordship with a whole Sheet of Pa-
per full of the Particulars of my Re-
ception here; for I have had more Ho-
nours done me, than ever were given to any Subjeſt.
You will receive in two or three Days, a Proposition
from

240 *Duke of BUCKINGHAM's Letter, &c.*

from this Court, concerning the making War upon
Holland only, which you may enlarge as you please.
Mounfier de Lionne shew'd me the Model of it last
Night, and I shall see the Particulars before they
are sent.

In the mean time, having not your Cypher, I
shall only tell you in general, that nothing but our
being Mealy-mouth'd can hinder us from finding our
Accounts in this Matter: For you may almost ask
what you please. I have written more at large in
Cypher to my Lord Ashley, and when you have
difcoursed together, if you think my Stay here will
be of Use to his Majefty, let me know it; if not, I
will come away.

I am, my Lord,
Your Lordship's most Humble,
and most Faithful Servant,
BUCKINGHAM,

To my Lord BERKLEY.

My LORD,

My LORD,

Muſt needs beg you Lordſhip's Excuse,
for not waiting upon you next Sunday
at Dinner, for two Reaſons; the firſt
is, because Mrs. —— refuseth to hear
me preach; which I take to be a kind
of Slur upon ſo Learned a Divine as I am: The
other, That Sir Robert C— is to go into the Coun-
try upon Monday, and has deſired me to ſtay within
to morrow, about ſigning ſome Papers, which muſt
be dispatch'd, for the clearing ſo much of my E-
ſtate, as (in ſpight of my own Negligence, and
the

242

Sir GEORGE ETHEREGE

You may guefs by my last, whether I don't paſs
my Time very comfortably here; forc'd, as I am
by Character, to ſpend the better Part of my Time
in Squabling and Deliberating with Perſons of Beard
and Gravity, how to preſerve the Balance of Chri-
ſtendom, which would go well enough of it ſelf, if
the Divines and Minifters of Princes would let it a-
lone: And when I come home ſpent and weary
from the Diet, I have no Lord D—t's, or Sir Charles
S—y's to ſport away the Evening with, no Madam
I—, or my Lady A—s; in ſhort, none of
thofe kind charming Creatures London affords, in
whofe Embraces I might make my ſelf amends for
ſo many Hours murdered in impertinent Debates;
ſo that not to magnify my Sufferings to your Grace,
they really want a greater Stock of Chriſtian Pa-
tience to ſupport them, than I can pretend to be
Maſter of.

I have been long enough in this Town (one
would think) to have made Acquaintance enough
with Perſons of both Sexes, ſo as never to be at a
Loſs how to paſs the few vacant Hours I can allow
my ſelf: But the terrible Drinking that accompa-
nies all our Viſits, hinders me from converſing with
the Men ſo often as I would otherwife do; and the
German Ladies are ſo intolerably referv'd and vir-
tuous (with Teares in my Eyes I ſpeak it to your
Grace) that 'tis next to an Impoffibility to carry on
an Intrigue with them: A Man hath ſo many Scru-
ples to conquer, and ſo many Difficulties to ſur-
mount, before he can promife himſelf the leaſt Suc-
cefs, that, for my part, I have given over all Pur-
fuits of this Nature: Befides, there is ſo univerſal a
Spirit of Cenſorioſneſs reigns in this Town, that a
Man and a Woman cannot be ſeen at Ombre or
Picquet together, but 'tis immediately concluded
ſome other Game has been played between them;
and

To the Duke of BUCKINGHAM.

and as this renders all manner of Acces to the Laries almost impracticable, for fear of expofing their Reputation to the Mercy of ill-natur'd Neighbours, fo it makes an innocent Piece of Gallantry often pafs for a Criminal Correspondence.

So that to deal freely with your Grace, among so many Noble and Wealthy Families as we have in this Town, I can only pretend to be truly acquaint-ed but with one: The Gentleman's Name was Monsieur Hoffman, a frank, hearty, jolly Companion; his Father, one of the moft Eminent Wine Merchants of the City, left him a confiderable Fortune, which he improved by marrying a French Jeweller's Daughter of Lions: To give you his Character in short, He was a fenible ingenious Man, and had none of his Country Vices, which I impute to his having travelled abroad and seen Italy, France and England. His Lady is a moft accomplifh'd ingenious Person, notwithstanding she is come into a Place where so much Formality and Stiffneſs are prætised, keep up all the Vivacity, and Air, and good Humour of France.

I had been happy in my Acquaintance with this Family for some Months, when an ill-favour'd Accident robb'd me of the greatest Happineſs I had hitherto enjoy'd in Germany, the Lois of which I can never sufficiently regret. Monsieur Hoffman, about three Weeks ago, going to make merry with some Friends (at a Village some three Leagues from this Place) upon the Danube, by the Unskilfulneſs or Negligence of the Water-men, the Boat wherein he was, unfortunately chanc'd to overſet, and of some twenty Perfons not one escaped to bring home the News, but a Boy that miraculously faved himſelf by holding faſt to the Rudder, and fo by the Rapidity of the Current, was caſt upon the other Shore.

M 2

I was

244 Ssr GEORGE ETHEREGE

I was sensibly afflicted at the Destiny of my wor-
thy Friend, and so indeed were all that had the Ho-
nour of knowing him; but his Wife took on so ex-
travagantly that she (in a short Time) was the on-
ly Talk both of City and Country; she refus'd to
admit any Visits from her neareft Relations, her
Chamber, her Anti-chamber, and Pro-anti-chamber
were hung with Black; nay, the very Candles, her
Fans and Tea-Table, wore the Livery of Grief;
she refus'd all manner of Suftenance, and was so a-
verse to the Thoughts of Living, that she talk'd of
nothing but Death. In short, you may tell your in-
genions Friend Monsieur de Saint Evremont, that
Petronius's *Epheſian* Matron, to whose Story he has
done so much Justice in his noble Translation, was
only a Type of our more obſtinate, as well as un-
happy *German* Widow.

About a Fortnight after this cruel Lofs (for I
thought it would be Labour loft to attack her Grief
in its firſt Vehemence) I thought my ſelf oblig'd, in
Point of Honour and Gratitude to the Memory of
my deceas'd Friend, to make her a ſmall Visit, and
condole her Ladyſhip upon this unhappy Occafion :
And tho' I had been told that she had refus'd to
ſee ſeveral Perſons who had gone to wait on her
with the fame Errant, yet I prefumed ſo much upon
the Friendſhip her late Husband had always exprefs'd
for me, (not to mention the particular Civilities I
received from her ſelf) as to think I ſhould be ad-
mitted to have a fight of her : Accordingly I came
to her Houſe, ſent up my Name, and Word was im-
mediately brought me, that if I pleas'd, I might go
up to her.

When I came into the Room, I fancy'd my ſelf in
the Territories of Death, every thing look'd ſo gloo-
my, ſo diſmal, and ſo melancholy. There was a
grave *Lutheran* Minifter with her, that omitted no

Argu-

to the Duke of BUCKINGHAM. 245

Arguments to bring her to a more compoſed and
more Christian Dispoſition of Mind. Madam (ſays
he) you don't confider, that by abandoning your ſelf
thus to Defpair, you actually rebel againſt Provi
dence. I can't help it, (ſays ſhe) Providence may
e'en thank it ſelf, for laying ſo infuſportable a Load
upon me. O ſie, Madam, (cries the other) this is
down-right Impiety: What would you ſay now, if
Heaven ſhould puniſh it by ſome more exemplary
Viſitation? That is impoſſible, replies the Lady ſigh-
ing; and ſince it hath robb'd me of the only Delight
I had in this World, the only Favour it can do me,
is to level a Thunder-bolt at my Head, and put an
End to all my Sufferings. The Parfon finding her in
this extravagant Strain, and feeing no likelihood of
perſwading her to come to a better Temper, got up
from his Seat, and took his Leave of her.

It came to my Turn now to try whether I was not
capable of comforting her, and being convinced by
ſo late an Inſtance, that Arguments brought from
Religion were not like to work any extraordinary
Effects upon her, I reſolved to attack her Ladyſhip
in a more ſenſible Part, and repreſent to her the great
Inconveniencies (not which her Soul, but) her Body
received from this inordinate Sorrow.

Madam, ſays I to her, next to my Concern for your
worthy Husband's untimely Death, I am grieved to
ſee what an Alteration the Bemoaning of his Lofs
has occaſion'd in you. These Words raiſing her Cu-
riofity to know what this Alteration was, I thus con-
tinued my Diſcourſe: In endeavouring, Madam, to
extinguſh, or at leaſt to alleviate your Grief, than
which nothing can be more prejudicial to a beauti-
ful Woman, I intend a publick Benefit; for if the
Publick is intereſted, as moſt certainly it is, in the
preferving a beautiful Face, that Man does the Pub-
lick no little Service who contributes moſt to its Pre-
fervation.

M 3

This

M 3

246 Sir GEORGE ETHEREGE

This odd Beginning operated so wonderfully upon her, that she desired me to leave this general Road of Complements, and explain my self more particularly to her. Upon this (delivering my self with an unusual Air of Gravity, which your Grace knows I seldom carry about me in the Company of Ladies) I told her, That Grief ruines the finest Faces sooner than any thing whatever; and that as Envy it self could not deny her Face to be the most charming in the Universe, so if she did not suffer her self to be comforted, she must soon expect to take her Farewell of it. I confirm'd this Affertion, by telling her of one of the finest Women we ever had in England, who did her self more Injury in a Fortnight's Time by lamenting her only Brother's Death, than Ten Years could possibly have done; That I had heard an eminent Physician at Leyden say, That Tears, (having abundance of saline Particles in them) not only spoiled the Complexion, but haftoed Wrinkles. But, Madam, concluded I, why should I give my self the Trouble to confirm this by Foreign Instances, and by the Testimonies of our most knowing Doctors, when, alas! your own Face so fully justifies the Truth of what I have said to you.

How! reply'd our disconsolate Widom, with a Sigh that came from the Bottom of her Heart, And is it possible that my just Concern for my dear Husband has wrought so cruel an Effect upon me in a short Time! With that she order'd her Gentlewoman to bring the Looking-glafs to her; and having survey'd her self a few Minutes in it, she told me she was perfectly convinced that my Notions were true; but, cries she, what would you have us poor Women to do in these Cafes? For something, continues she, we owe to the Memory of the Deceased, and something too to the World, which expects at least the common Appearance of Grief from us.

By

to the Duke of BUCKINGHAM. 247

By your leave, Madam, says I, all this is a Mistake,
and no better; you owe nothing to your Husband,
since he is dead, and knows nothing of your Lamen-
tation: Besides, could you shed an Ocean of Tears
upon his Hearse, it would not do him the least
Service; much less do you lie under such Obligations
to the World, as to spoil a good Face only to
comply with its Tyrannick Customs: No, Madam,
take care to preserve your Beauty, and then let the
World say what it pleases, your Ladyship may be
revenged upon the World when'er you see fit. I am
refolved, answers she, to be intirely govern'd by
you; therefore tell me frankly what sort of a Courte
you'd have me steer? Why, Madam, says I, in the
first place forget the Defunct; and in order to bring
that about, relieve Nature, to which you have been
so long unmerciful, with the most exquisite Meats,
and the most generous Wines. Upon Condition you'll
fup with me, cries our affixed Lady, I will submit
to your Prescription. But why should I trouble your
Grace with a Narration of every Particular! In short,
we had a Noble Regale that Evening in her Bed-
chamber, and our good Widow push'd the Glafs so
frenuously about, that her Comforter (meaning my
self) could hardly find the Way to his Coach. To
conclude this Farce (which I am afraid begins now
to be too tedious to your Grace) this Phenix of her
Sex, this Pattern of Conjugal Fidelity, two Mornings
ago was marry'd to a smooth-chin'd Ensign of Count
Trautmandorf's Regiment, that had not a Farthing
in the World but his Pay to depend upon. I affixed
at the Ceremony, tho' I little imagin'd the Lady
would take the Matrimonial Receipt so soon.

I was the easier perfwaded to give your Grace a
large Account of this Tragi-comedy, not only becaufe
I wanted better Matter to entertain you with at this
lazy Conjuncture, but also to show your Grace, that

M 4.

not

248 *Sir GEORGE ETHEREGE, &c.*

not only *Ephesus* in ancient, and *England* in later
Times have afforded such phantaſtical Widows, but
even *Germany* it ſelf; where, if the Ladies have not
more Virtue than thofe of their Sex in other Coun-
tries, yet they pretend, at leaſt, a greater Manage-
ment of the outſide of it.

By my laſt Pacquet from England, among a Heap
of naufeous Traſh, I receiv'd the Three Dukes of Dun-
ſtāble, which is really ſo monſtrous and inſipid, that
I am forry Lapland or Livonia had not the Honour of
producing it; but if I did Penance in reading it, I
rejoyced to hear that it was ſo ſolemnly interr'd to
the Tune of Catcalls. The 'Squire of Alſatia, how-
ever, which came by the following Poſt, made me
ſome amends for the curled Impertinence of the
Three Dukes; and my witty Friend, Sir C—S—y's
Bellamira, gave me that intire Satisfaction, that I can-
not read it over too often.

They tell me my old Acquaintance Mr. Dryden has
left off the Theatre, and wholly applies himself to
the Study of the Controverſies between the two Chur-
ches. Pray Heaven! this ſtrange Alteration in him
portends nothing diſaſtrous to the State; but I have
all along obſerved, That Poets do Religion as little
Service by drawing their Pens for it, as the Divines
do Poetiy by pretending to Verſification.

But I forget how troublousome I have been to your
Grace, I ſhall therefore conclude with afluring you,
that I am, and to the laſt Moment of my Life ſhall
be ambitious of being,

My L O R D,
Your Grace's moſt Obedient,
and moſt Obliged Servant,
G. ETHEREGE.

A L E T-

[ 249 ]

A LETTER to his Friend on the Ruins
after the Fire of LONDON.

My Worthy and Honour'd Master,

IS a strange Thing to confider how in-
senfibly the Omiffion of Three or Four
Intercourfes of Letters indifpofes a
Man to fet to it again; nothing else
I am confident, could have so long
kept you from the Trouble of my Pa-

pers: For, as for my Heart you know it defervedly
yours; my Hand too has had its Pride in doing you
fome Service formerly; and therefore its Ambi-
tion's lefs mortal. 'Twas my Hap, Sir, by a ſud-
dain Emergency to be exempted from the Number
of the Spectators of the late great Calamity, I was
then in Suffolk, and have not been above Ten Days
here ſince my Return; Time, truly, little enough
for a Man to recollect his Spirits after ſo diſmal and
amazing Spectacle. Ah, Maſter! Fuit Ilium, and
the very Ruins of that beautiful City appear not un-
lovely; there is ſomewhat of Grandeur in its Rub-
bisſh, and of Surprizal, as well as Horour, in its
Aſhes. Pleaſe you, Sir, to accept of this Letter in-
ſtead of a Superſcription to my next; for I am juſt
now haſten'd to go about a Picture; and thus
hoping for more Time againſt next Return, I can
at preſent ſend you, and my dear Scholar, my hear-
ty.

ty

250 Mr. FLATMAN'S Letter with his Picture.
ty Thanks and Respects; and without Trope or Fi-
gure, conclude my self,

Honoured Master,

Your Humble Servant,

T. FLATMAN

PS. Pray, Sir, favour me in your hext, with one
Word concerning Mr. Briet, what's become of him,
when he returns, &c.

A LETTER with his PICTURE.

Honoured Mafter,

H O' I am not so vain to think my Face
worth drawing, nor my Picture worth
hanging amongst your other Rarities,
yet (such a one as 'tis) I have made
bold to send it, hoping it may serve,
at least, for a Foil to the rest. Pray,
therefore, be pleased to accept it, and entertain it
kindly ; for though there be little of Attraction or
Pleasure in the Features, yet there is, I assure you, a
great deal of generous Kindness and humble Defe-
rence for you in the Heart of,

June 24.

1669.

SIR,

Your real Affectionate
And Thankful Friend and Servant,

T. FLATMAN.

PS. I

252 A LETTER of Thanks for a POEM.

what Operation your Poefy has on me; it puts
me into a Condition, which truly I cannot more
aptly reſemble to any Thing, than that of them,
whom the Oracle of old had inſpir'd, beginning
with a Phrenſie, and ending with a Rapture: So
that (to continue the Allegory) if I be hereafter
dumb, 'tis you have ſilenc'd me; and if you ſhould
hear that I renounce my beloved Colours, if it be
not voluntary (as the *Mahumetans* put ou: their
Eyes when they have ſeen their Prophet's Tomb)
you may conclude me dazled with your Perfections,
and ſo rendred unfit for an Employment that re-
quires unaſtoſonish'd Eyes. And now, Madam, I
think I have troubled you and my Maſter enough of
all Conſcience, for one Time. 'Twould take up a
great deal of Time and Paper to excufe my Bold-
neſs in prefuming to write to a Lady ſo every
Way accomplish'd; therefore I think 'twill be as
well taken, if I leave that to another Opportunity,
and at preſent only preſent her with my beſt Ser-
vice, and aſſure her I am ſtill

Her moſt Humble Servant,

T. FLATMAN.

A Con-

[ 253 ]

# A Confolatory LETTER on the Death of a FRIEND.

Honoured Master,

O convince you that neither Honour,
nor Happineſs, adverse or prosperous
Fortune, can make any Alteration in
the Breaſt of the poor and meaneſt
Servant, you ſee I muſt continue your
Weekly Trouble, even when, in-
deed I have leaſt lift, and am the moſt un-
qualified Perſon in the World. Ah, Maſter ! a-
mongſt all my Misfortunes, and the Varieties of
Perplexities I have run through, this laſt Week has
burthen'd me with one too inſupportable. Friends
are, without all question, Treasures invaluable, the
ſweeteſt Satisfactions of our Lives, and the only A-
lexipharmaca againſt all the ſaddeſt Caſualties we
are born to; living Friends are ſo: But when the
Objects of our Loves and Admiration, become
thoſe of our Pity and Averſation; when the Necef-
ſity of Nature makes us ſtand at a Diftance from
thoſe we could inſeffantly gaze on, and paſſionate-
ly embrace; certainly the Impreſſions muſt be great,
and the Conſuſions very many. Not to hold you
any longer in ſuſpenſe, my Noble, my Generous
Friend, the Glory of the Sea, the Aſtoniſhment of
all the World, is dead. When I have told you
this, you cannot be ignorant of the Perſon I mean ;
he has a Name too big to be concealed from any
body that ever heard of Wonders on the Deep, or
underſtands what 'tis to be brave, to be valiant, to

254 A Consolatory LETTER, &c.

be loyal, to be kind and honourable, more than all
this is too little to describe Sir Christopher Myngs.
Guels, my Dearest Master, the Disturbance so irre-
parable a Lof's must create in one often honour'd
with his Converfation, and many Ways oblig'd by
him. We have nothing left of him now, but poor
farrowful Syl. Taylour, that other Half of his Soul,
who is now resolved for Retirement, and will run
no more Hazards at Sea. Many more Things I
might misemploy you with, but this great load must
be first removed, which, I think, will not be, till I
have vented my Grief in a Pindarique, and done
the last Office of Kindness for the Dead. If I
can make my Sorrows any thing legible, expect
to bear a Part in them. My dear Master, your
Self and worthy Lady, must give me leave to
give you now all the Services and Respects, I had
for my dead Friend; and I'll assure you, I know
no Persons living that can rob you of the least
Particle of my Soul, which I must acknowledge,
' spite of Philosophy, was once divided. This fe-
minely faid, I hope you believe me,

London, June 15.
1666.

Your most heartily

Humble Servant

THOMAS FLATMAN.

To

256 A Survey of the Fire of LONDON.

Standing; all Colemanstreet burnt; but from Moregate to Broadstreet secured by London-Wall. Broadstreet and Bishopsgate-street not burnt; but at the South-end at Leaden-Hall the Fire had a Check, which fav'd all that End of the Town towards Aldgate. Gracious-street consumed, and so down Fanchurch-street to New Mark-Lane: Nothing on Towerhill standing but Barkin-Church: All within this Compals, both Houses, Halls, Churches, Exchange, Prisons, and all Wood and Lead consumed, to the Amazement of the Beholders, it's so prodigious. We talk of Fire-balls and Fooleries, but sober Men find nothing in it but the immediate Hand of God; yet I fear we have been too cruel to some French and Dutch; God fit us for whatsoever he is pleased to lay upon us, and then all is welcome that he fends. I am,

London, Sept. 8.
1666.

My LORD,

Your Honour's most Obedient Servant,

MAT. CLIFFORD.

FINIS.