TO THE
NOBILITY and GENTRY
OF
BRITAIN.

Right Honourable, &c.

HIS Work should have
been inscrib'd to the Lo-
vers of Learning, and the
Encouragers of Wit: But
when I reflect, first, that
Such are all truly Honourable ; and then,
That our Nobility and Gentry are gene-
rally Such, I omitted it in meer Aver-
fion to Tautology.

It is to do Justice to the present Age,
and not to flatter any, I shall take the
Freedom to say, That tho' the last pro-
duc'd a glorious Number of Men of Ge-
nius and Performance, yet the present
exceeds all that ever went before it,
especially in the true Taste of Reading;
and therefore it may be said, That tho'
A we

## The DEDICATION.

we do not flourish in Brighter Authors than they did, yet though we have, meet with greater Encouragement.

It is the just Character of the Nobility and Gentry of this Island at this Time, that they know how to relish, value, and reward, Men of Merit, at another Rate than their Fathers; and if we have no such, or so many Exquisite Writers as before, we have now more Exquisite Judges of Wit and Learning than they had. And this is the Reason why we see Men of Polite Parts snatch'd up from the Pen-Ink Labours to the greatest Employment in the Government, made Parliament Men, Commissioners, Secretaries of State, &c.

It is this glorious Genius that this Collection is brought to flow, and which the last Age knew not how to value, and therefore recommends it self now to a Generation of better Times; and without question the Treatment they shall meet with from this generous Polite Age, will differ so much from the Usage they had from our unfinished Forefathers, that if Letters could really be written from the Dead to the Living, I make no Doubt but

## The DEDICATION.

but Tom Brown, the best humour'd Man of Wit that ever liv'd, would let us hear from him in Acknowledgment of the good Treatment he met with.

Had the rough Days of K. Charles II. newly recover'd from the Confusion of a Civil War, or the tempestuous Time of King James the Second, had the fame of Sence of Wit as our Gentlemen now appear to have, the first Impressions of Milton's Paradise lost, had never been fold for waste Paper; the Inimitable Hudibras had never suffered the Miseries of a Neglected Cavalier; Tom Brown, the merriest and moft diverting'ft Man, had never expir'd so neglected: Mr. Dryden's Religion would never have loft him his Pension; or Mrs. Behn ever had but two Lines upon her Grave-stone; Sir Roger L'Eftrange would have been made a Commissioner of Enquiry, or some such valuable thing: Instead of an empty Knighthood, Sir John Denham would have been sent as an Ambassador rather than a Beggar into Poland; and the Incomparable Waller would have been a Secretary of State as well as Mr. Addison.

But the Times understood not the Value

The DEDICATION.

Value of those Men; the Gentry knew
not how to please, and therefore entertain'd no Notion of those that did.

Thank the Stars, that guide the Brains
of Men, the Cafe is alter'd now, the Nation's Genius is now alter'd, and polifhed by the Exercife of Books, the Names and Works of Men of Wit revive, and their Memory becomes truly immortal.

This happy Change has encourag'd this
Work, and we daily receive new Additions to our Design, by the Favours of some
Gentlemen who send us Valuable Pieces
of the Performance of the Politeest Men,
which the Unkindneſs of the Age they
liv'd in, juſtly provok'd them to SUPPREſs
in their Lives, as Sir Walter Raleigh did
his ſecond Volume of the Hiftory of the
World.

We bespeak the Gentlemen, as a Token of their Acceptance of this Work, that if they have any Remains left of like Kind, they would communicate them, in order to another Volume, affuring them ſuch acceptable Things ſhall be gratefully acknowledg'd to the Giver, all poffible Juitice be done to the Author's by

CO.

Firstt

Ralpho's
grove's
Mrs. Dam
Love-Letter
Mrs. Pr
A Song by
To Mrs. P
To Philan

CONTENTS.

<table><tbody><tr><td>To the same,</td><td>Page 33</td></tr><tr><td>To the perjur'd Philander,</td><td>p. 34</td></tr><tr><td>To the inconstant Philander,</td><td>p. 35</td></tr><tr><td>To the Earl of Kildare, diffusing him from marrying Moll Howard,</td><td>p. 36</td></tr><tr><td>To Mr. Hoyle, occasion'd by the Report of his too close Familiarity with Young Men: By Mrs. Behn,</td><td>p. 38</td></tr><tr><td>PS. An imperfect Enjoyment : By the same,</td><td>p. 39</td></tr><tr><td>Biblis's Passionate Love-Letter to her Brother, from Ovid's Metamorphosis : By Mr. Dennis,</td><td>p. 45</td></tr><tr><td>Reflections on Mr. Oldham,</td><td>p. 62</td></tr><tr><td>A Letter from Lyons : By the same,</td><td>p. 69</td></tr><tr><td>A Journey over the Alps : By the same,</td><td>p. 72</td></tr><tr><td>A Description of Rome,</td><td>p. 77</td></tr><tr><td>To his Miftresſs : By Sir John Denham,</td><td>p. 81</td></tr><tr><td>To Mrs. Hunt at Eſpom : By Mr. Congreve,</td><td>p. 82</td></tr><tr><td>A Letter to Walter Moyle, Eſq; By Anthony Hammond, Eſq;</td><td>p. 83</td></tr><tr><td>A Satyr againſt Poetry, to the Earl of Dorſet,</td><td>p. 85</td></tr><tr><td>To Charles Mountague Eſq;</td><td>p. 93</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Dennis to Walter Moyle, Eſq;</td><td>p. 101</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Wycherly at Cleve near Shrewsbury : By the same,</td><td>p. 105</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Wycherley to Mr. Dennis,</td><td>p. 109</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Dennis to Mr. Wycherley,</td><td>p. 112</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. — to Mr. Wycherley,</td><td>p. 115</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Wycherley to Mr. Dennis,</td><td>p. 116</td></tr><tr><td>To Mr. Wycherley,</td><td>p. 119</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Wycherley to Mr. — on the Lofſs of his Miftresſs,</td><td>p. 121</td></tr><tr><td>The Anſwer to Mr. Wycherley,</td><td>p. 123</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Wycherley's Letter to Mr. —</td><td>p. 124</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Dennis to Mr. Wycherley,</td><td>p. 126</td></tr><tr><td>Mr. Wycherley's Letter in Praſe of a Blockhead,</td><td>p. 128</td></tr><tr><td>To Mr. Dryden,</td><td>p. 131</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>To</td></tr></tbody></table>

CONTENTS.

<table>
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td>To the same,</td>
      <td>p. 133</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 34 Mr. Dryden's Letter to Mr. John Dennis,</td>
      <td>p. 136</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 35 A Letter from the Lady C— to her Cousin W—</td>
      <td></td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>marrying</td>
      <td>after she had receiv'd from him a Copy of Verses on her Beauty,</td>
      <td>p. 140</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 36 too cloſſ</td>
      <td>To Mr.— at Will's Coffee-house in Covent-Garden,</td>
      <td>p. 142</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>s. Behn</td>
      <td>p. 142 Mr. Dennis's Letter to Walter Moyle, Eſq;</td>
      <td>p. 146</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 38</td>
      <td>p. 146 Mr. Dennis's Letter to William Congreve, Eſq;</td>
      <td>p. 148</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 39</td>
      <td>To the ſame,</td>
      <td>p. 150</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>er, from</td>
      <td>p. 150 Mr. Congreve to Mr. Dennis concerning Humour in Comedy,</td>
      <td>p. 152</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 41</td>
      <td>p. 152 To Mr. Congreve at Tunbridge,</td>
      <td>p. 164</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 60</td>
      <td>p. 164 Mr. Congreve's Letter from Tunbridge,</td>
      <td>p. 165</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 61</td>
      <td>p. 165 Six Love-Letters to his Miftrefſs,</td>
      <td>p. 169 to 176</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 71</td>
      <td>p. 169 to 176 To Walter Moyle, Eſq;</td>
      <td>p. 177</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 8</td>
      <td>p. 177 Mr.— to Mr. Congreve,</td>
      <td>p. 179</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 8</td>
      <td>p. 179 Mr. Congreve's Anſwer to Mr.—</td>
      <td>p. 181</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>hony H</td>
      <td>p. 181 To Mr. Congreve at Tunbridge,</td>
      <td>p. 182</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 88</td>
      <td>p. 182 Mr. Moyle to Mr. Dennis,</td>
      <td>p. 184</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 89</td>
      <td>p. 184 Mr. Moyle to Mr. Dennis in Covent-Garden,</td>
      <td>p. 185</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 91</td>
      <td>p. 185 Mr. Moyle to Mr. Dennis,</td>
      <td>p. 186</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 101</td>
      <td>p. 186 To the Duke of York, occaſion'd by the Dutchefs's em- bracing the Roman Catholick Religion : By the Earl of Clarendon,</td>
      <td>p. 187</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 102</td>
      <td>p. 187 The Earl of Clarendon's Letter to the Dutchefs of York on the ſame Occaſion,</td>
      <td>p. 189</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 111</td>
      <td>p. 189 The Dutchefs of York's Anſwer to her Father, the Earl of Clarendon,</td>
      <td>p. 196</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 111</td>
      <td>p. 196 King Charles the Second's Letter to his Brother the Duke of York, in his Exile,</td>
      <td>p. 200</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 121</td>
      <td>p. 200 To the Earl of Middleton ; written by Sir George Etherege when he was Embaſſador at Ratisbone,</td>
      <td>p. 201</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 122</td>
      <td>p. 201 Sir George Etherege's ſecond Letter to the Earl of Middleton,</td>
      <td>p. 204</td>
    </tr>
    <tr>
      <td>p. 123</td>
      <td>p. 204</td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>

An

CONTENS.

An Inversion of Mr. Dryden's Answer to Sir George
Etherege's Letter to the Earl of Middleton; by
Way of Essay, p. 206

Memoirs of the Fair Nun and Abelard the Monk:
By Sir Roger L'Éfstrange, p. 211

The Nun's Love-Letter : By Sir Roger L'Éfstrange,
                                   p. 219

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 Isle of
Man, p. 238

The D. of Buchingham's Letter to the Right Honourable
the Earl of Arlington, Principal Secretary of State
to his Majesty. Written by his Grace when he was
Ambassador at the Court of France, p. 239

To the Lord Berkley, p. 240

A Letter from Sir George Etherege to his Grace the
Duke of Buckingham, p. 241

A Letter to his Friend on the Ruins after the Fire of
London, p. 245

A Letter with his Picture, p. 246

A Letter of Thanks for a Poem received. By Mr. Tho.
Flatman, p. 251

A Consolatory Letter on the Death of a Friend, p. 253

A Letter to the Right Honourable Lord Privy-Seal at
Windsor: A Relation of the dreadful Fire of Lon-
don, Sept. 2d. 1666. being a Short Survey of the
Ruins; written five Days after it began, by Mr.
Clifford. p. 255

A

2

HUDIBRAS'S EPISTLE

Oh! Madam, this strange Passion Love,
All Remedies, but One's above,
And if that One be but deny'd,
All other Means are vain beside.
Love the World's great Preferment is,
The only Source of human Blifs ;
It stands above the Reach of Fate,
Gives Life a long, or shorter Date ;
Breaks down all Fences and all Bounds :
And often Right with Wrong confounds.

Happy was Rome when Men could feize
Their Spouses, and do what they pleafe,
And not like us, sneak, figh, and pine,
In Hopes to carry their Deſign.
Oh! Heav'ns, were you to be the Prize,
How I all Dangers would deſpife :
Were I fierce Trulla to encounter,
Inſpir'd by you I'd soon diſmount her:
Magnano and Crowdero too,
Should both be ſacrific'd for you :
Not ev'n that Wizard SYDRAPHEL,
Nor all the Pow'r of Earth or Hell,
Dear charming Saint, as God ſhall mend me,
Should from my longing Arms defend ye.
But, deareſt Widdow, left I stray,
Too far from Love's old beaten Way ;

Ac-

To the Widow BLACKGROVE.

3

Accept this Letter, writ in Haste,
That brings my Thanks for Favours past,
Chiefly for that which I must own,
The greatest e'er to Knight was done.

I were a gracelefs Churl indeed,
Should I forget in Time of Need,
How you were pleas'd to condescend,
Best of your Sex, to be my Friend :
Ingratitude's a crying Sin,
That Knighthood is unpractic'd in,
And he's unworthy of the Name,
That brands it with so foul a Shame.

But, Fairest, don't mistake your Slave,
You such immense Perfections have ;
Such Beauty, Wit and Heavenly Parts,
That at first Sight you charm all Hearts.
I would not seem to compliment,
But you have such a pleasing Scent
Where e're you go, that you excel,
The Primrose and the Daffodil,
And then your balmy Hands are such,
There's no refitting of your Touch.

Dear Charmer, I shall never forget,
That fatal Night when Cold and Wet,

Ac-

B 2

And

4

HUDIBRAS'S EPISTLE

And fadly brus'd and beat befide,
What Remedies you then apply'd:
'Twas then with Sov'reign Palms you rub'd,
The Hide of Errant Knight fore drub'd,
Reviv'd him too with *Aqua Vitæ*,
For which he never can requite ye.

He never can enough exprefs,
Y'ur unexampl'd Tendernefs,
To One whom Fate had funk as low,
As poffibly a Knight could go :
When I ftark naked ftood before ye,
Oh! for fuch Goodnefs I adore ye,
How tenderly did you fearch round
To fee that ev'ry Part was found.
I blufh, dear Widow, when I tell,
How to avoid a worfer Smell;
With Noftrils ftuff'd with Leaves of Yew,
You bath my foul Pafterious View;
A friendly Office I muft own,
Was ne'er before to Knighthood done.

How kindly did you blame your Maid,
When she cry'd out this Knight's bewray'd,
And ftinks so curfedly, God blefs him,
I wonder how you can undrefs him ;

Sure

To the Widow BLACKGROVE.

Sure if they're oft in the fame Plight,
Old Nick would not be Errant Knight.

Why truly, Widow, not to flatter,
The Damfel judges right the Matter;
For when poor Knights by adverse Fate,
Are doom'd to be unfortunate;
When they are drub'd from Head to Foot,
And, as 'twas said, bewray'd to boot;
There cannot be in humane Nature,
A more defpis'd or wretched Creature.

Knighthood's a Thing that more or lefs,
Depends so much upon Succesfs;
That if the Stars don't help him out,
Altho' the Knight be ne'er so ftout,
Maugre his Prowefs and his Vigour,
He makes a very fcurvy Figure.

Succesfs is what no Martial Wit,
No Pow'r on Earth, no Art can hit:
Not Vows o'th' Saints, nor Pray'rs o'th' Pious,
Can gain us what the Stars deny us:
Whate'er we do or perpetrate,
W'are ſtill entirely ſteer'd by Fate,
And all the Godly to a Man
Value him beſt, that beſt goes on;

Sure

B 3

Tho'

6 HUDIBRAS'S EPISTLE

Tho' by the Way 'tis my Opinion,
They make Success too much their Minion.

Success we see oft' disinherits,
The Braveft and the Nobleft Merits;
Nor are great Actions always Sons,
Of greatest Refolutions:
No (Lady) we have oft' indeed,
Seen Fools and Cowards to succeed,
Whilft Valiant Actions have brought forth,
Events unequal to their Worth;
And as in Arms so 'tis in Love,
As we succeed the Ladies move.

But, Faireft, to come nearer to
The Busineſs betwixt me and you;
Your Charms have fetter'd me so cloſe,
I cannot, if I wou'd, get loofe :
I own I've try'd to break the Chain,
But ſtill I find 'tis all in vain;
My Soul's ſo much with you poffeſt,
I cannot get a Moment's Rest:
Where e'er I go, what e'er I ſay,
Your Image ſtill is in my Way,
And if you don't afford Relief,
I muſt deftroy myſelf in brief.

Now

To the Widow BLACKGROVE.

7

Now as to that which happen'd when,
You was so kind to make me clean;
Never was Errant Knight more ready,
To own the Kindneſs, worthy Lady ;
For what your Maid obſerv'd, 'tis true,
I muſt refer myſelf to you;
But not without this Obſervation,
That you'd firſt ballance the Occafion.

As RALPH and I our Courſe did ſteer,
Not thinking an Adventure near;
We chanc'd to meet with ſturdy Vicar,
With Clerk, attended, full of Liquor.
We had not jogg'd together far,
Before the Knave began to jar,
To call hard Names, to Swear, and Curſe,
The Round Heads and Committees worſe.
Fye, Fye, quoth Ralph, Friend, to my Thinking,
You talk as if y' had been a Drinking,
There's One behind you, I'll aſſure ye,
If he ſhou'd hear you, wou'd ſecure ye,
At which the ſurly Knave replies,
I take you for a Brace of Spies:
I'll warrant this is that Vile Aſs,
That's lately dub'd Sir *Hudibras*,
And you're the Thieving Taylor Ralph,
That are his 'Squire and go his Half.

B 4

Have

No

8

HUDIBRAS'S EPISTLE

Have you not seen a gall'd Horfe winch,
When bit by Flyes, or Pannels pinch;
Ev'n so it happen'd to our 'Squire,
Who could no more contain his Ire.
But e'er that he could lug out Bilbow,
The Clerk had reach'd him such an ill Blow
With Crab-Tree Cudgel on the Crown,
That from his Steed he fetch'd him down.
Now, Lady, as I thought this Sight wou'd
Bring a Reflection upon Knighthood,
I quickly put myself in Order,
To rescue Ralph, who cry'd out Murder.
But see how Fate does Things determine,
Before that I could reach the Vermin,
Vicar with Fift Ecclefiaftick,
Gave me a Box inſtead of a Stick,
Full on the Ear with ſuch a Force,
That I fell headlong from my Horſe:
When we were down I need not tell,
What afterwards to us befel,
How we from Top to Toe were whip'd,
And after in a Horſe-Pond dipp'd.

This was our State, and let me tell ye,
'Twill raſe ſtrange Ferments in the Belly.

To

To the Widow BLACKGROVE.

9

To be so us'd, in such a Cafe,
The ftouteft Knight can't rule his Arfe,
And oft' thro' Fear and Apprehension,
Does many Things not fit to mention.

I grant indeed your Maid's i'th' Right,
Nothing ftinks worfe than Errant Knight,
And yet altho' the Knight's befhit,
The Character's not hurt a Bit:
If Knighthood wou'd not bear a Turd,
Who'd wear a Dagger or a Sword;
Or who'd attempt a Lady's Heart,
If he muft lofe her for a Fart.

In ſhort, no Cautions can prevent,
The Frailties of the Fundament;
Nothing can hinder now and then,
Commotions in the Abdomen:
Befides, when any Danger's nigh,
'Tis almoſt natural to let fly.
Sure, Lady, you muſt needs have read,
Of Lovers that have foul'd the Bed,
And of a Monarch once that was
Befhit as bad as Hudibras.

'Twere needleſs, and perhaps too long,
To tell how erſt impal'd in Dung,

T

B 5

An

10 HUDIBRAS'S EPISTLE

An Alderman of mighty Fame,
Renowned *Atkins* was his Name,
For Twenty Hours stinking fate,
To hear his Brother Saint's Debate,
Among some other trivial Things,
The Fate of Monarchy and Kings.

Sure, you have heard, with flaming Noſe,
How Noll came to the Yea's and No's,
And how the Speaker in his Chair,
Bewray'd himſelf for very Fear;
As many a Knight and Squire has done,
As well as he ſince Forty one,
Which Lady, with Submiffion, I
Will leave as my Apology.

Thus having freely eas'd my Mind,
I hope you'll deign to be so kind,
To grant me Liberty to come,
From your ſweet Lips to hear my Doom;
In doing which without Delay,
Your humble Slave ſhall ever Pray.

The

[ II ]

The Widow's Answer to the Knight.

BY th' Butcher's Boy on Tuesday Night,
I had your Letter, worthy Knight,
And having read it o're and o're,
I could not rest all Night, I'm sure.
I thank your Worship for your Proffer,
Altho' I can't accept your Offer:
Yet gentle Knight, forbear a little,
The Hearts of Widows are but brittle,
And very often warp and vary,
As Things succeed, or Things miscarry.

What you infest upon, my Love,
At present I cannot approve,
And yet at the same Time I own,
I don't wish your Destruction:
If you should make yourself away,
The Godly would be apt to say;
Th' Invincible Sir Hudibras,
By th' Widow Blackgrove, murder'd was;
Which, with your Leave, I know would be,
Of evil Consequence to me:
And therefore if your Worship can
But pacify the outward Man;

Tis

12

The WIDOW'S ANSWER.

'Tis my Opinion, by my Troth,
It wou'd be better for us both.

Love-Tranports are at best but Strains,
Of wanton over-heated Brains:

By Turns like Agues cold and hot,
Unlefs for some Deſign they're brought;
There's nothing in 'em that I know,
Worthy ſo ſage a Man as you;
They're only Gewgays, empty Toys,
Fit for fond Girls or am'rous Boys.
And quite below the Tongue and Pen,
Of valiant, wife, or godly Men.

SIR, to be plain, this furious Paffion,
Begun upon ſo ſmall Occafion;
To me ſeems nothing but a Slight,
To ſhew you are an Errant Knight :
And as the Errant Knights of old,
As we by wicked Books are told,
Won Ladies Hearts in mortal Fray,
So you would take the ſelf-fame Way.

I've read of Dames that wou'd not yield,
Until their Gallants were half kill'd;
But when their Bones were drub'd ſo ſore,
They could not woe nor combat more

Their

The WIDOW'S ANSWER.

13

Their tender Hearts began to melt,
Subdu'd with Blows their Lovers felt:
And this you think will pafs upon,
A Widow turn'd of Thirty one.

SIR, with your Favour, I can't see,
That *Rome* could e'er the happier be,
Because at Pleasure they might feize,
Their Spoufes, and do what they pleafe :
Women were in a hopeful Plight,
If ev'ry Bragadocio Knight,
Might force us from our peaceful Dwelling,
To go with him a Colonelling.
To use your Words, as God shall mend me,
I wou'd with all my Might defend me,
'Gainst any Knight that should prefume,
To serve me as they did at *Rome*.

By talking thus, you more discover,
The brutal Ruffian than the Lover;
Or else betray a Want of Reafon,
To urge a Thing so out of Season :
If you're for snatching Wives avant,
I hate the Thoughts of such a Saint,
And rather than I'd truſt myself,
In Company with such an Elf,

I

Their

14

The WIDOW'S ANSWER.

I wou'd submit to be alone,
With any Cavalier in Town.

I'th' Lord's Name, can it be Fruition,
That puts you in this ftrange Condition ?
Or has the Vicar drub'd you so,
You don't confider what you do :
Tis very marvelous to me,
A Knight so fam'd for Chivalry;
Has ftood so many Knocks and Kicks,
And is so vers'd in Politicks,
Should after all submit to be
A Widow's Captive, verily.
If Love has theſe ſevere Effects,
I wiſh 'twas quite forbid our Sex :
I wiſh 'twas damn'd and interdiſted,
As diabolical and wicked,
And ſung, as out of Tune, againſt,
As Common-Prayer-Book by the Saints:
I find I've greater Reaſon for it,
Than e'er I had before, t' abhor it.

But plainly ſince you go so far,
'Tis my Opinion, am'rous Sir,
You talk of Love by Parables,
And in the main mean ſomething eſſe :

What's

The WIDOW'S ANSWER.

15

What's in the Widow Blackgrove's Face,
Can thus diffurb ftout Hudibras ?
Nothing unlefs it be her Dow'r,
That gives her this extenfive Pow'r:
You fancy that her Wealth is great,
And that provokes this am'rous Heat.
Money's the Vertue, Wit and Worth,
That you fo ve'mently fet forth:
I know your Aim, with House and Land,
You'd have a Wife at fecond Hand;
It is my better Part, my Riches,
And not my Person so bewitches;
For all you're so enamour'd now,
And sneak, and whine, and swear, and vow;
Did you my worldly Goods poffeſs,
My Body might go where I pleafe.
I know it cannot be my Person,
Your Stomach is so sharp and fierce on;
It can be nothing but my Fortune,
That you so earneſtly importune,
And if y' had that, my 'State in Taile,
Would but a little while prevail.

As to your Letter writ in Hafe,
Which brings your Thanks for Favours paff
I wonder, Sir, why you ſhou'd ſend it,
Since you no better recommend it,

What if

Then

16

The WIDOW'S ANSWER.

Than with the common Compliment,
Of balmy Hands and pleasing Scent:
Why, what the Dickens do y' suppoſe,
Fine Words will lead me by the Noſe?
I were a hopeful Dame, in Troth,
If I ſhou'd credit ev'ry Oath,
Which with as little Grace as Sence,
Moft of your Errant Knights diſpenſe.

But now to let this Matter lie,
And come more near to my Reply;
Tho' I believe you'd vow and ſwear,
As much t' an Hofteſs Dowager,
Grown fat and wealthy by Retail,
Of Pots of Beer and Bottl'd Ale;
Yet, foraſmuch as you have been,
Still active 'gainſt the Men of Sin,
And have ſince firſt the Wars began,
Oppos'd the Whore of *Babylon*;
Since you have ſtrove to propagate,
The Downfal of the Church and State,
Laid out your Spiritual Gifts to further,
The godly Caufe of Uſeful Murther :
For theſe and many other Things,
I have for you ſome Smatterings,
And when your Werſhip comes my Way,
If you'll call in and lodge, you may;

And

The WIDOW'S ANSWER.

17

And then, i' th' Name of th' Lord, we'll try,
To find some proper Remedy,
To eafe your Paffion, and refettle,
Your crazy Brains, and cool your Mettle.

The Knight's second Letter to the Wi-
dow Blackgrove.

By the fame.

AIR One, the Letter that you fent me,
You well may judge muſt discontent me;
I've read it twice, but cannot fathom,
What you'd be at, myſterious Madam:

Sometimes you bid me live, and then,
Next Moment bid me die again:

You seem to ſay the Saints would clamour,
If they ſhould understand our Amour;
Pray, what has any Saint to do,
With any Thing 'twixt me and you ?
I know no Saint among the Number,
Has any Title to incumber

My

And

18 HUDIBRAS'S SECOND EPISTLE.

My pious Love, that's grounded on,
The Work of Propagation :
Indeed what Saints may claim as due,
You may pretend a Title to,
And are, perhaps, as well endow'd,
As any Saint among the Croud.

There's scarce a Saint, as I can prove,
But has been, or wou'd be in Love,
And wou'd, like me, avow his Passion,
If he had half the Provocation.
Come, Widow, Saints are not so nice,
To winch at ev'ry petty Vice :
Which, fome will tell you, Love produces,
Tho' very oft' for diff'rent Ufes ;
As Oaths, and Vows, and Lies, and so forth,
More Words of Courfe, and Things of no Worth.
Thofe Saints whom Oaths and Vows oblige,
Know little of their Privilege,
Further than wifely carrying on,
Some small Advantage of their own.
And let me tell you, Oaths are vain,
Unlefs they're taken for our Gain ;
And then, all Perjury and Lying,
Is but a Sort of Self-denying:

In

HUDIBRAS'S SECOND EPISTLE.

19

In such a Cafe we can't forbear,
If there's Occasion for't, to swear,
And many Saints have broke their Word,
And yet have glorify'd the Lord.
In short, few Saints but have a Spice,
Of some, if not of ev'ry Vice:
Nor is there any Saint so foolish,
That will this Privilege abolisłł.

But, Widdow, that I may not amble,
Too far, and tire you with Preamble,
I only mention this, to shew,
What Saints may on Occasion do,
And sure, if Saints may go fo far,
Knights Errant ought to have no Bar ;
Especially an Errant Knight,
That can both Pray as well as Fight,
And is without the leaft Refstraint,
Both Errant Knight and Errant Saint.

Now, Madam, to your next Objection,
I anſwer thus, that my Affection
Is purely and intirely grounded,
Upon your Perſon uncompounded :
Y' have ſuch an absolute Controul,
O'er your eternal Slave, my Soul,

That

20 HUDIBRAS'S SECOND EPISTYLE.

That rather than of you be fham'd,
I'm fure 'twou'd venture to be damn'd:
And this and twenty Times as much,
I'd do, if 'twere come to the Touch,
Without all Profpect or Regard,
To Portion, Dowry or Reward.
Not that I'd have you, Lady bright,
Think that I'm fuch an Errant Knight,
To Noofe with any of your Sex,
Without firft knowing her Effects,
And if she was not well to pafs,
She is no Spouse for Hudibras.

No, Madam, this I would not do,
With any in the World but you;
But you have bound and link'd me so,
I muft do't where I will or no.
How oft' has Love been bought and fold,
Barter'd and truck'd away for Gold;
And Heirs and Heireffes for Fees,
Been rap'd away by their Truftees:
Thus Marriages, tho' made in Heaven,
Are ratify'd for what is given:
A Practice, tho' it looks but odly,
Is much in Vogue among the Godly,

And

HUDIBRAS'S SECOND EPISTLE. 21

And wou'd admit of strange Complaints,
Were't not so often us'd by th' Saints:
But as no Scandal can affect,
The Character of the Elect,
Nor no Difgrace can stick upon
The Sons of Reformation;
We'll let such little flight Offences,
Pafs 'mongst the reft of their Pretences.

But, to proceed, what you affert,
I will allow with all my Heart;
I mean, that House, and Land, and Riches,
The Lover very oft bewitches,
And sometimes soften, melt, and quell,
Hearts otherwife impregnable;
But having anfwer'd that before,
For both our Sakes, I'll fay no more.
In that which moves your next Complaint,
I will appeal to any Saint;
If Widows Hearts are sooner won,
By brisk, than formal coming on;
And if you sooner may oblige
Them to fubmit by Storm than Siege:
Why was Old Rome so much to blame,
When ev'ry Man might fnatch his Dame?

And

22 HUDIBRAS'S SECOND EPISTLE.

And why should you sofcold and rail,
As if a Wasp had ftung your Tail?

Madam, when Things can be no worse,
The defp'rat'ft is the wifeft Courſe,
And very oft' ſucceeds, when all,
Your long Harrangues to nothing fall.
Besides ſome Bickerings now and then,
Twixt Ladies and the Gentlemen,
In many Inſtances diſcover,
The real, not the brutal Lover;
Nor did I ever hear, in ſhort,
The Dame complain, that lik'd the Sport.

In fine, I'm not ſo much a Coward,
Because you ſeem a little froward,
So ſoon to quit an Enterprize,
In which my Prefervation lies;
No, Lady, I'm reſolv'd that I,
Will either take the Fort, or die.
I'd undergo Ten Thouſand Drubbings,
Wou'd you vouchſafe your Sov'reign Rubbings;
I'd be again in the ſad Plight,
That I was in that fatal Night,
Or any Sort of Wounds endure,
If you'll but undertake my Cure:
And ſo let what will come to pafs,
I'm yours for ever, HUDIBRAS.

RALPHO'S

When we
Shou'd try
And 'tis for
I ſend this

As for you,
I can't believe
They're both
I hardly think
And yet we
can't be for
Their Sha
Exactly if

LE.

[ 23 ]

RALPHO'S LOVE-EPISTLE to DAMARIS, the Widow BLACKGROVE'S Handmaid.

By the fame.

Ince your good Mistris and my Mafter
Are fall'n in Love by sad Difafter ;
I think 'twou'd not be much amifs,
If you and I, fair DAMARIS,
When we have nothing elfe to do,
Shou'd try to join our Giblets too :
And 'tis for that Intent, my Sweeting,
I ſend this Letter to you greeting.

As for your Lady and my Lord,
I can't believe they'll e'er accord ;
They're both so much upon the Catch,
I hardly think 'twill be a Match,
And yet two Whelps of the fame Litter,
Can't be for each other ſitter :
Their Shapes, their Minds and Intellects,
Exactly ſquare in all Refpects ;

And

ings;

RALPHO

24 RALPHO'S EPISTLE to DAMARIS.

And the fame inward Gifts and Graces,
May be observ'd in both their Faces :
In short, their Sanctity and Zeal,
For common Good, and Common-Weal,
Their equal Charity and Ardour,
For th' Saints confented CHARLES's MURDER,
And all their godly Actions since
Must any Soul alive convince,
That they are both without Refstraints,
The Quinteſcence of all the SAINTS.

But, DAMARIS, to come nearer to
The Bus'neſs betwixt me and you,
I biuſh to own, yet can't deny,
The Caufe of my Captivity.
Twas, fair One, if you ha'n't forgot,
Upon that diſmal Night, God wot,
When the great HUDEBRAS, and I,
As fam'd as he for Chivalry,
Were by fell Vicar and that Spark,
Who's vulgarly yclip'd his Clerk,
Smote Hip and Thigh, and forc'd to yield
To them the Glory of the Field.

'Twas then i' the very Depth of Diftrefs,
You and your ever loving Miftrefs;

Tho'

RALPHO's EPISTLE to DAMARIS. 25

Tho' we were hardly fit t'appear,
In any Place where Chriftians were;
With gentle Hands rub'd us both down,
From Sole o'the Foot to Head o'the Crown.

Oh! DAMARIS, your self-denying,
As you my Cod-piece were untying,
I'll ne'er forget, and 'tis from thence,
I own my Love did firft commence :
But now into my Breaft 'tis got,
And makes my Heart so flaming hot,
That, if you don't find Ways to hinder,
It quickly will be burnt to Tinder.

Then, don't permit me, Angel fair,
To linger thus in fad Despair.
To live in Hopes, tho' Hope's a Cure,
For all the Ills that Men endure;
I'd rather far be interdicted,
Than be so tortur'd and afflieted.
In short, there's nothing but Fruition
Can cure a Man in my Condition,
Unlefs I do, like the Lay-Elder,
Send inftantly for the Sow-Gelder,
To pare off the afflieted Part,
That's ſtill the Handle to my Heart,

C

There's

26 RALPHO'S EPISTLE to DAMARIS.

There's nothing else, I'm sure, can do,
Without some speedy Help from you.

But, DAM'RIS, DAM'RIS, sure, you won't
Be cruel, and infift upon't;
But, rather in a Day, or so,
Vouchsafe to send a Line, or two,
Directed thus: To Squire RALPH,
SIR HUDIBRAS's better Half:
In doing which, you will engage
Your Friend, in Hafe, from Age to Age.

Mrs. DAMARIS's Answer to SQUIRE RALPH.

By Mr. BUTLER.

S

Ure, RALPHO, never Knight and Squire,
Had Hearts so ready to take Fire;
Nor never Squire and Errant Knight,
Made Love in such a two-fold Plight:
If you had either Senfe or Grace,
I'm sure, you cou'd not have the Face

To

DAMARIS'S ANSWER to RALPHO.

27

To mention Love, who are, God knows,
Scarce fit to fright away the Crows,
And other Vermin from the Fruits
You cannot tafte yourselves, for Brutes.

What does that Fool, your Mafter, think,
He charm'd my Miftrefls with his Stink,
Or that, his nafty, fhrivell'd Carcafs
Can make amends for fuch a ftark Afs?
Bafe, wretched Lump of worn out Clay,
Deform'd, and fhapelefs ev'ry Way,
To think, my Lady does not know
What's fitter for her Turn, than fo.

What, tho' ſhe help'd him in's Diftrefs,
Does that conclude ſhe'll be his Miftrefs ?
Suppofe he be a Saint, at leaft,
As he pretends, he's ſuch a Beaſt,
No *Woman*, but a perfect *Harlot*,
Wou'd touch with Tongs ſo foul a Varlet.

His meagre Phiz, and grifl'd Chin,
His double Hump, and motly Skin;
His Battle-Nofe, and goggle Eyes,
Splay-Feet, and other Rarities,
Are fine Accomplifhments, 'tis granted,
To gain a *Widow* that's be-fainted.

C 2

Wer't

28 DAMARIS'S ANSWER to RALPHO.

Wer't mine, as 'tis my Lady's Cafe,
If e'er that Scoundrel HUDIBRAS,
Should venture to approach our Dwellitug,
When he rides forth a Colonelling;
The Horfe-Pond shou'd confirm the Vermin,
How I to fave his Life determin.

Bafe, fordid Wretch, that has no Notion
Either of Knighthood, or Devotion:
Wou'd he pretend to gain a Lady ?
Poor, shabbed Scrub! By him that made me,
He looks more like to One, that wou'd
Rob Hen-Roofts, than do Woman Good;
And you his Prick-Loufe Squire, that share
His Counter-Part, and stand your Share
In all his Projects, and inherit
An equal Portion of his Merit.
If ever you prefume to venture,
Upon these Premifes to enter :
I'd use thee worfe than Trulla did,
When she thy captive Back bestrid.

'Tis not thy Whining, nor thy Canting,
Nor thy Ungodly Covenanting,
Nor thy pretended Gifts and Graces,
Shou'd fave thy worft of Brazen-Faces ;

Altho'

34 LOVE-LETTERS. By Mrs.BEHN.

know I hate, Woman-like, can scorn you in my
Turn. Farewel! ungrateful perjur'd Wretch, Fare-
wel!

A. B.

To the Perjur'd PHILANDER.

HEY say, that every Passion begets its
Likeness, as Friendship Friendship,
Love begets Love, and cold Indiffe-
rence the fame: But that in my unfor-
tunate Life proves false. 'Tis true, you
lov'd at first, or well disembled the soft easie Paffi-
on: But soon the Fire extinguish'd in your Bofom,
and cold Indifference affum'd its Place. Oh! that I
could be indifferent too! and give thee back thofe
hated Slights you send! But thou inconftant! per-
jur'd! faithless Wretch! not only scorn my conſtant
Paffion, but glory in the unmanly Pain you give me!
A mighty Conqueſt you have gain'd! to triumph o'er
a poor weak Woman's Heart! Think'ft thou, that
all thy broken Vows to me will go unpunifh'd?
No! Some fair, obdurate She (I hope) thou'lt find,
that will revenge thofe anxions Pains I ſuffer! Then!
when thy Heart ſhall burn with ardent Wifhes, and
all thy Joy is fix'd upon the Object, may ſhe re-
quite thy Love, as thou haſt mine. Then thou wilt
truly find, what 'tis to feel the Scorn and Inſults of
unrequited Love.

A. BEHN.

LOVE-LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN. 35

To the Inconstant PHILANDER.

I

F Words cou'd paint my Paffion, I
might hope you wou'd believe my ach-
ing Heart: But my strong Love can
be no more defin'd than Wit, when thofe
that have it cannot well deſcribe it. But
if you have not banifh'd all Compaſſion from your
flinty Breast, take Pity on a wretched Woman's Love,
who cannot live, if not for you, and wou'd freely
die to give you any SatisfaCTION. The happy Time
is ſtill fresh in my Memory, when dear Philander
faid he truly lov'd, lov'd only me, and wou'd con-
tinue ſo 'till Death ſhou'd part us: Nay, after
Death, if there was Knowledge in the Grave. How,
have you then forgot thofe bleſſed Moments! If for
any Neglect of mine, or one unhappy, undefiſed
Glance caſt on another, tell me, but inform me of
my Fault, and I will give you the moſt ſevereſt Proof
of an unfeigned, unalterable Paffion. But what do
I ſay? Your Coldneſs proceeds from an Indifference
only, and I am, too ſure, the moſt unhappy Wretch
on Earth. If it be ſo, (to end your Triumph) ex-
pect to hear, that Death has put an End to all the
Sorrows of the too conſtant, too unhappy

SILVIA.

A Letter

36 LOVE-LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

# A Letter to the Earl of Kildare, dis-swading him from marrying MOLL HOWARD.

MY LORD,

E pity such as are by Tempeft loft,
And thofe by Fortune's blind Dispoſal
(Croft;
But when Men fee, and may the Dan-
(ger flun,
Yet headlong into certain Ruin run :
To pity such, muſt needs be Ridicule;
Do not (my Lord) be that unpity'd Fool.

There's a Report, which round the Town is spread,
The fam'd MOLL HOWARD you intend to Wed ;
If it be true, my Lord, then guard your Head :
Horns, Horns, by wholeſale, will adorn your Brows,
If e'r you make that rampant Whore your Spouse.
Think on the lewd Debauches of her Life ;
Then tell me, if she's fit to be your Wife.
She that, to quench her luſtful, hot Desire,
Has kifs'd with Dukes, Lords, Knights, and Coun-
(try Squire;
Nay, Grooms and Footmen have been claw'd off
(by her.
Whoring

H. N.

LOVE-LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

Whoring has all her Life-time been her Trade,
And D—fet fays, fhe is an exc'lent Baud:
But finding both will not defray Expence,
She lately is beconie an Evidence;
Swears againft all that won't her Luft fupply,
And fays, they're falfe as Hell to Monarchy.

You had a Wife; but, reft her Soul, fhe's dead,
By whom your Lordship by the Nofe was led:
And will you run into that Noofe agen,
To be the greatest Monfter among Men?
Think on the Horns that will adorn your Head,
And the Difeaſes that will fill your Bed :
Pox upon Pox, moſt horrid and moſt dire !
And Ulcers fill'd with Hell's Eternal Fire.

Forbear therefore, and call your Senſes home;
Let Reafon Love's blind Paffion overcome :
For, if you make this bafe Report once true,
You'l wound your Honour, Purſe, and Body too.

To

38

LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

To Mr. Hoyle, occasion'd by the Report
of his too close Familiarity with young
F——ws, &c.

ARDON me, dear Morforio, for that's
the Name I will now call you by, if, a-
mong many of your Friends, I have been
too hafty in crediting the Report which
is generally ſpread againſt you. I need
not tell you, how nearly I'm concern'd for your
Health and Reputation, both which muſt be loft
beyond Recovery, if there be one Word true in
what I have heard, with Wonder and Sorrow, ſo
frequently confirm'd. Good God! I am all over
Agonies and Confuſion; my Heart trembles,
and my Hand ſhakes, when I take the Pen to
repreſent to you the filthy Reſlections which the
whole Town begins to make upon your paſt Con-
duct. By Heavens! I cannot believe the Story, and
yet my fatal Sympathy ſeems to confirm it to me.
Oh Morforio! clear your ſelf inſ instanty from theſe
black Aſperſions, or you'll ſoon become a Jeſt or a
By-Word to all that know you: You begin already
to be the Averſion of the Fair-Sex, and will quickly
be the Scorn of your own too, unleſs you do ſome-
thing to ſtop theſe growing Reſlections. I cannot
bear to hear you every where reproach'd and vili-
fy'd, and yet I proteſt, at preſent, I cannot offer
any Thing in your Vindication. Dear Morforio, if
you have been trying beaſtly Experiments, which
I'm unwilling either to believe or mention, do
ſomething ſpeedily that may diſengage you from
the

LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

the scandalous Report. You are lost for ever if you
delay a Moment: Let me beg of you therefore, nay,
let me conjure you in the Name of Friendship, and
by all our paft Endearments, to think of some Re-
medy to retrieve your finking Reputation. I have
herewith enclos'd to you my ſhort Eſſay upon Imper-
fect Enjoyment: Read it over with your wonted Can-
dour, and fend me your impartial Sentiments. I'm
impatient till I fee you, that I may know from
your own Mouth what Grounds there are for this
abominable Rumour; till then, I'll ſuspend what
I have further to ſay, but that I am, deareft Mor-
forio, entirely yours. Adieu,

A. BEHN.

P. S. An Imperfect Enjoyment.

ONE Day the amorous Lyfander,
By an impatient Passion fway'd,
Surpriz'd CHLORIS, that lov'd Maid,
Who could defend her ſelf no longer :
All Things did with his Love confpire ;
The gilded Planet of the Day,
In his gay Chariot drawn by Fire,
Was now defcending to the Sea,
And left no Light to guide the World
But what from CHLORIS's brighter Eyes were hurl'd.

In

40 LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

In a lone *Thicket* made for *Love*,
Silent, as yielding *Maids* consent,
She with a charming *Languishment*
Permits his Suit, yet gentlyftrove :
His Hands her Bosom softly meet,
But not to put him back defign'd,
Rather to draw him on inclin'd;
Whilft he lay trembling at her Feet,
*Resistance* 'tis too late to shew,
She wants th' Power to fay, Ab! what do you do?

Her brighter Eyes, fweet, and yet ſevere,
Where *Love* and *Shame* confus'dly ſtrive,
Fresh Vigour to *LYSANDER'S* Fire,
And whispering softly in his Ear,
She cries, Ceafe, ceafe your vain Deſire,
Or I'll call out, what do you do,
My deareſt *Honour*, even to you?
I cannot, muſt not give; retire,
Or take that *Life*, whose chieſeſt Part,
I give you with the *Conqueſt* of my *Heart*.

But ſhe as much unus'd to fear,
As he was capable of *Love*;
The *blessed Minute* to improve,
Kiffes her *Neck*, her *Lips*, her *Hair*;

Each

LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

41

Each Touch her new Desire alarms,
His burning trembling Hand she preft
Upon her melting Snowy Breast;
Whilft she lay panting in his Arms,
All her unguard ed Beauties lie
The Spoils and Trophies of the Enemy.

And now without Respect or Fear,
He feeks the Object of his Vows,
His Love no Modesty allows,
By swift degrees advancing where,
His daring Hand that Altar feiz'd
Where Gods of Love do Sacrifice;
That awful Throne, that Paradice,
Where Rage is tam'd, and Anger pleas'd;
The living Fountains, from whose Trills,
The melted Soul in liquid Drops diſtils.

Her balmy Eyes encountring his,
Their Bodies and their Souls they join'd,
Were both in Transports unconfin'd,
Extend themſelves upon the Mofs :
CHLORIS half dead and breathleſs lay,
Her Eyes appear'd like humid Light,
Such as divides the Day and Night,
Or falling Stars, whose Fire decay :

And

Each

42

LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

And now no Signs of Life she shows,
But what in short breath'd Sighs returns and goes.

He saw how at her length she lay,
He saw her riling Bofom bare;
Her loose thin Robes, through which appear,
A Shape design'd for Love and Play.
Abandon'd by her Pride and Shame,
She does her softest Sweets dispence,
Offering her Virgin's Innocence,
A Victim to Love's sacred Flame;
Whilft the o're-ravish'd Shepherd lies,
Unable to perform Love's Sacrifice.

Ready to tafe a Thousand Foys,
The too transported hopelesſs Swain,
Found the vaſt Pleasure turn'd to Pain;
Pleasure, which too much Love deftroys.
The willing Garment by he laid,
And Heaven all open to his View;
Mad to poffeſs, himſelf he threw
On the defenceleſs lovely Maid:
But Oh! what envious Gods confpire,
To fnatch his Power yet leave him the Desire.

Nature's

LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

43

Nature's Support, without whose Aid,
and goes, She can no human Being give,
It now wants the Art to live;
Faintness, itsills, invades;
In vain th' enraged Youth effray'd,
To call his fleeting Vigour back,
No Motion will from Motion take,
Excess of Love his Love betray'd,
In vain he toils, in vain commands
Th' Inexpensible fell weeping in his Hands.

In this so amorous, cruel Strife,
Where Love and Hate were too severe,
The poor LYSANDER in Despair,
Renounced his Nature with his Life:
Now all the brisk and active Fire,
That should the noblest Part enflame,
Serv'd to increase his Rage and Shame,
And left no Spark for new Desire:
Not all the naked Charms could move,
Or calm that Rage that had debauch'd his Love.

CLORIS returning from the Trance,
Which LOVE and Soft Desire had bred,
Her timorous Hand she gently laid
(Or guided by Desire or Chance)

Upon

44 LETTERS. By Mrs. BEHN.

Upon that Fabilous Priapus;
That Potent God, as Poets feign;
But never did young Shepherdess,
Gathering of Thyme upon the Place,
More nimbly draw her Fingers back,
Finding (beneath the verdant Shade) a Snake.

Then CLORIS her fair Hand withdrew,
Finding that God of her Desire,
Disarm'd of all his powerful Fire,
And cold as Flowers bath'd in Morning Dew.
Who can the Nymph's Confusion gueſs;
The Blood forſook the kinder Place,
And ſtrew'd with Blushes all her Face,
Which both Disdain and Shame exprefs;
And from LYSANDER's Arms ſhe fled,
Leaving him fainting on the gloomy Bed.

Like Lightning from the Grove he flies,
Or Daphne from the Delphick God;
No print upon the graſſy Road
She leaves, t' inſtruct purſuing Eyes.
The Wind that wanton'd in her Hair,
And with her ruffled Garments play'd,
Discover'd in the flying Maid,
All that the Gods had made, was fair.

So

46

The Passion of BYBLIS.

At first she knew it not, unhappy Maid !
To impious Flames by Piety betray'd.
She frequently would kifs the beauteous Boy,
And thought her Duty what she found her Joy.
Her Love for Duty she mistook with eafe,
Yet was surpriz'd that Duty thus pleafe.
Her twining Arms his lovely Neck would clasp,
Fierce was each Kifs, and furious ev'ry Grafp;
Infusibly her Passion gathers Force,
And has to Female Stratagems Recourse.
About to visit Caunus, e're she goes,
Her skilful Maids her wanton Drels compofe;
And all the Ornaments of Art prepare
To fet forth all that Heav'n has giv'n the Fair,
Ten Thoufand Cupids in her Eyes, and Graces in
[her Air.
Then in her Glafs fh'explore what Pow'r there lies,
In a Majestick eafy Mien, and lovely glancing Eyes;
Practifes Smiles, fuch by which Souls are caught,
Great, God-like Spirits to Dependance brought,
The Magick by the great Enchantrefs Nature
[taught.
She envies ev'ry Face that's form'd to pleafe,
And wonders why, not knowing the Difeafe.
So Men in Hecticks, wafting for their Urn,
Hourly confume, yet feel not that they burn.

Pent

By Mr. DENNIS.

47

Pent in her inmost Breast the raging Fire,
Had not as yet flam'd up to high Desire;
Her Brother, now her Lord, her Dear she names,
And Kindred, Love thus tenderly disclaims;
Her Passion now she doubts, yet does controul,
No guilty Thought yet ftain'd her waking Soul,
On it, with Night, the black Pollution ftole.
A pleafing Dream t'her fide her Brother brings,
With panting Breast she murm'ring to him clings.
Strait in her Face offended Nature flies,
And Blushes dawn around her darkned Eyes,
She wakes, but hufh'd and wrap'd in fearful Won-
[der lies.
Her Dream at once can charm her and torment,
The airy Omen boads fome dire Event.
A long time mute she all her Sonl furveys,
And then its Grief in theſe wild Words diſplays.
What means the Vifion of the guilty Night?
Ah Wretch! what Horror! mix'd with what De-
[light.
Why did that lovely Shape break in upon my
[Sight ?]
'Tis true, ev'n Envy no Defeſt can find,
Or in the Beauties of his Face, or Graces of his Mind,
Ev'n Envy can contented on him gaze,
By likings fullyneſt amaze,
And learn to ſpeak a Foreign Language, Praife.
The

48

The Passion of BYBLIS.

The Gods have made him fit to be defir'd,
Have made him by themfelves to be admir'd.
But Oh! a Brother's once endearing Name
Is now the Foe that's fatal to my Flame.
Yet whilft awake I can continue chafte,
May ev'ry golden Dream be like the laft.
For what vain Fop the Sport of fuch a Bed
Can idly blab ? Or what dull Libel spread ?
Honour's fecure, whilft Pleafure I purfue,
And this falfe Blifs is furely worth the true.
Bright Queen of Love, and wing'd delicious Boy,
Soft, fweet, and fwift, as was my flitting Joy;
Into what Heav'n of Rapture was I caught ?
Too powerful Joys for Words, too vaft for Thought
By dying Sighs, and broken Murmurs, beft
When abſent mourn'd, and when enjoy'd expreſt.
The Viſion did ſuch quick Delight diſpence.
I fometimes doubt if Fancy were not Senſe.
I felt, perfectly felt, what I adore,
The God-like Touch gave Blifs unknown before.
Th'immortal Pleafure ran thro' all my Frame,
Thro' all my Bones, and inmoſt Marrow came,
That melted and ran pouring down before th'
[impetuous Flame].
For ever ſhall the charming Memory laſt
Of Transports, which, alas ! too quickly paſt !

By Mr. DENNIS.

49

For the malignant Goddeſs of the Night,
Envying my Bliſs, urg'd on her Head-long Flight.

Oh! could we but diffolve great Nature's tye,
How well we link'd inſtriter Bonds might lie?

Who could be fitlier pair'd than thou and I?

As thou no Maid can't e'er transport like me,
Who ſuch high Happineſs can give to thee ?

Ah Caunus ! that we ev'ry Night like this
Might lie entranc'd in vaſt exſtaſick Bliſs !

Curs'd be the Time when my great Father did
The Deed for me, which I'm with thee forbid ;

Would I had been [deriv'd from ſome poor Swain]

But the moſt loveſome ſhe upon the Plain :

What Nature muſt deny me now, the God might
[then obtain.

Ah! who muſt ravifh'd in thy Embraces be ?

Exalted above Goddeſſes is ſhe,

Faireſt of Men! who muſt b'embrac'd by thee.

I never can that full Content enjoy,

Thou, Brother! Thou! too dear, too charming
[Boy]

By being thus far mine, doſt all my Hopes deſtroy.

But what import, or what are then my Dreams,
The ſond Refuſts of Hypochondriack Streams ?

Or do they as divinely inſpir'd preſage ?

The Gods forbid ? The Gods repel this Rage !

The Gods this Fever of my Soul aſſuage!

D

Yet

The Passion of BYBLIS.

Yet Saturn of his Sifter made his Bride,
And in incestuous Fires the Thund'rer fry'd.
But Gods have high Prerogatives, and they
Who rule the World with Arbitrary Sway,
Are unconfin'd by Laws which we obey.
Laws, by thofe happy Beings, are difdain'd,
Who would b' imperfect if like us refrain'd.
Then from thy Breast expel theſe impious Fires,
Tho', with thy Love's, Life's genial Flame expires.

Yes: If all other Methods fail, I'll die,
Caunus will kifs me as I panting lie,
To his fweet Lips, as to its Heav'n. my parting
[Soul will fly.]

Yet fay thou should'ft indulge thy wild Defire,
T'accomplifh it does his Confent require.

What you thus wifh, and your chief Good eſteem,
To him may black and execrable ſeem.

Yet formerly, to quench a Sifter's Flame,
Macareus Conſcience did contemn, and Fame.

Ah Wretch! haſt thou reſolv'd upon the Deed!

Whence can theſe Thoughts, theſe curs'd Remarks
[proceed?

Oh, whither am I driv'n! Oh, whither toſt!

How in tempeſtuous Thought my Reaſon's loft ?

Hence ye obſcene Flames, ye Furies hence, go dwell
In your own native Soil, profoundeſt Hell.

Love

By Mr. DENNIS.

51

Love the sweet Youth, but love without a Fault,
And love him as the kindest Sifter ought.

But yet did he thus rave for *Byblis*, I
Could ne'er resolve to see my *Caunus* die.

I should compassion have of him; I fure
Should him, by humouring his Frenzy, cure.

Well! if thou should'st that easy Creature be,
Can't thou abandon'd be to that degree,
As to speak first? Can't thou for Favour fue ?

Thou art a Virgin, great, and modeft too.

Ah! we are modeft, but because we're frail,
O'er whom does not Almighty Love prevail ?

But yet th'Expedient which I mean to try,
Shall both with Bashfulneſs and Love comply.

A Letter ſhall my troubled Thoughts convey,
And by its black Contents my ſecret Fires betray.

This Refolution fix'd her doubtful Mind,
Then, on her Arm, her lovely Head reclin'd.

Yes, he ſhall know what torturing Pains I feel,
I can no more my desperate Cafe conceal,
Such Frenzy ſoon would its own Cauſe reveal.

O what infernal Flame! what Fury's this!

Gods! from what Height I plunge, to what Abyſs

Eternally farewel, O Honour, Virtue, Blifs !

D 2

Then

The Passion of BYBLIS.

Then with sad Looks and trembling Hand fh'indites,
Begins and doubts, nay damns what scarce she writes.
Yet to what now she blames, she ftrait returns ;
With Rapture now fh'invents, what now she burns.
Then what this Moment to the Flames she dooms,
The next she with a whirl of Thought resumes.
Inceffantly she turns her fev'rifh Mind,
Too difcompos'd ev'n her own Will to find.

Your Sifter, [Caunus!] thus at firſt she wrote,
Ah no! his Lover! Sifter thus I blot.
Your Lover ſends that Health he wants, for I
Unleſs you give me Health, muſt ſurely die.
As for my Name, O let it not be told,
Till promis'd Happineſs makes Byblis bold!
'Tis she who for you hourly waſtes away,
Heeding you might have ſeen this ev'ry Day.
Love ev'ry Day ſtill languifh'd in my Look,
Which Colour, Health, and ſprightly Joy forſook.
How often, when no cauſe of Grief was known,
Have I ſome inward deep diſturbance ſhown?
How oft did Tears ſteal from my mournful Eyes,
And in my Breaſts convulfive heaving rife?
Then on a ſudden, Sadneſs turn'd to Rage,
And my wild Arms did your ſoft Limbs engage.

As

By Mr. DENNIS.

53

As the luxuriant Tendrils of the Vine
Around the Elm with wanton Windings twine,
My springing Arms flew round and lock'd in thine
And when thy Lips to mine they fiercely brought,
My burning Lips at thine for Moisture fought.
No Sifter's faint Salute ! no taftlefs Kifs !
But piercing like a Dove's, and murmuring at its Blifs,
But yet tho' deep, ah deep ! the flaming Dart,
Piercing my burning Breast, transfix'd my Heart :
Alarm'd, like Wretches by nocturnal Fire,
And trembling at the terrible Desire,
Long time I strove its Fury to affwage,
And long time struggling Virtue stopt its Rage.
This Truth, O all ye chafter Powers atteft!
Ye saw the fearful Conflict in my Breast,
When Honour, Piety, Remorſe and Shame,
My very Vitals tore t' expel my Flame.
In Misery grown obſtinate, I bore
What never tender Virgin did before.
When what I suffer'd, other Maids but hear,
'Twill wound their gentle Hearts, and force a Tear
Retreating, long I fought th'unequal Field,
But now I turn to conquering Love, and yield.

D 3

I here

The Passion of BYBLIS.

54

I here my self his Slave and yours confefs,
And cry for Mercy in extream diftrefs;
But you alone can my fad State redrefs.
Her Life who loves you hangs upon your Breath,
And upon that, alas ! depends her Death.
I love to that degree, that neither Gods nor Fate,
If you pronounce my Doom, have pow'r t'extend
[my Date.
My Life or Death determine by your Voice,
Can you deliberate in fuch a Choice ?

Can you be proof againft fuch Words as thefe !
Thefe from the Perfon whom you hate might pleafe,
Me, Nature has begun to make your Friend,
What Nature has begun a God muſt end.

Unfatisfy'd, unbleſt by Nature's tye,
All Night I languifh, and all Day I die,
Till riveted by Love to your dear Breaſt I lie.

Let Dotards Slaves to muſty Morals be,
Auſterities and Impotence agree.

But in us two hot Youth and fierce Delle
To sublime Raptures furiously afpire,
And into right and wrong want leifure to enquire
Thus young we yet may Innocence pretend,
Or grant we know we Nature's Bounds tranſcend,
By great Examples of ourGods we gloriously offend.

All

By Mr. DENNIS.

55

All Letts t'Enjoymment are remov'd by Fate,

Unles's it be [forbid it Heaven!] thy Fate.

No rigorous Parents interpoſe to break

The Aſſignations we may hourly make :

Our frequent Meetings need no Scandal fear;

For Intimacy's honourable here.

What Spy can our delicious Thefts detest ?

Who can diſcloſe what none can e'er ſuppect ?

Should ſome bold Cenſurer our Conduſt blame,

A Brother's and a Sifter's awful Name,

Would anſw'ring ſtop the ſaucy Mouths of Fame.

We in publick kifs, embrace, and whisp'ring walk,

And Hand in Hand ſoft melting Things we talk.

When two like us in cloſe Embraces kifs,

Does there not ſomething uſe to follow this ?

Upon that ſomething [ah how very ſmall !]

Depends my Happineſs, my Life, my All.

Pity a Wretch, who thus much dares exprefs,

Who wrack'd by mortal Pangs, dares Love confefs:

Which, whilſt they all my nobler Pow'rs controul,

Tear forth the Secret of my tortur'd Soul.

If Nature's Law ſeems broke while this you read,

Think that for Happineſs, for Life I plead,

Here Nature's ſelf her Law muſt ſupersede.

D 4.

You

The Passion of BYBLIS.

You surely kill me if unkind you prove,
O barbarous Return of boundless Love!
Think how upon my Sepulchre 'twill found,
How ev'ry Heart thro' ev'ry Ear 'twill wound;
Here *Byblis* lies, a tender, wretched Maid,
By *Caunus* for her Love with Death repaid.

Thus all on Fire her working Mind indites,
Till ev'ry Page and Margents, full she writes.
Then she her Crime folds up, and shrowds from Sight,
And fealing, fhuts the monstrous Birth from Light.
Now she an old Domeftick calls by Name,
With Accents more than half Suppreft by Shame.
Thou art my very faithful Servant ſtill,
With Secrefy and Speed perform my Will.
Of this important Letter, here, take care,
On it my Life and Fame depend, go bear—
Here Grief and Confcious ſhame her Accents ſmother,
Then after a long ſad Paufe—
Go, bear it to, ſaid ſhe, ah God!—my Brother.

Now as ſhe from the fatal Writing parts,
It falls; ſhe trembling at the Omen, ſtarts:
Yet fondly to Deftruction on ſhe goes;
Her trusty Slave a fit Conjeſture choſe;

To

By Mr. DENNIS.

To Caunus his Apartment he repairs,
And to the noble Youth the dreadful Secret bears.

Rage, Horror, Wonder, feiz'd. him at the View,
From him the Letter furiously he threw.
Storming, his Hand upon his Sword he lays,
And to the trembling Meffenger he says :
Flagitious Pander to inceftuous Fires !
Slave ! thou fhouldst die, as thy bold Crime requires,
Did not the Honour of my House and Name
Tell me, thy Blood, if spilt, would spread our Shame.
But quick from my juft Reſentment fly,
Or that ſhall yet prevail, and thou fhalt die.
This to the Slave, with a ſtern Brow he faid ;
He pale at inſtant Death, and ſhudd'ring, ſled,
And with the mortal News ſtruck dying Byblis Dead.

An Icy damp, cold as the Dart of Death,
Thrill'd thro' her throbbing Breast and ſtopp'd her
[Breath.
Life's Flames o'er-pow'r'd in ev'ry other Part,
But ſtill Love's Fire maintains it at her Heart.

As soon as her returning Spirits gave
Juſt Strength to mourn, and Senſe enough to rave,

D 5

With

58 The Passion of BYBLIS.

With hollow Voice the trembling Air the wounds,
And softly sighs out these Afflicting Sounds.

Repell'd! disdain'd! nay, loath'd! could worse befal?

Thy Conduct and thy Crime deferve it all.

For why haft thou, O Wretch, to madneſs bold!

Thus rafhly thy prodigious Secret told ?

What Fool would Happineſs, Life, Fame commit?

To a fond Letter in Confuſion writ ?

Thou ſhouldſt in doubtful Terms have firſt addreſt,
Th' uneertain Depth have founded of his Breaſt.

Fool! thus prefumptuouſly to leave the Shore,
And not the Winds, nor the new Seas explore.

Thofe Winds now roar, and the mad Seas run high,
And all Things round look hideous to my Eye,
A raging Main, and black tempeſtuous Sky !

To Death I thro' furrounding Horrors go,
Now, now the Billows on the Rocks the bounding
[Veffel throw]

And yet by Omens certain and divine,

Thou wer't forbid to urge thy dire Design.

In the pronouncing how the Meſſage hung,

Foreboding Ruin on thy fault'ring Tongue !

Thy Genius whisper'd thee within, beware !

And from without some God cry'd out forbear !

Thy

By Mr. DENNIS.

59

Thy Letter by immortal Impulse fell,
As thou deliverdft it (thou faw'ft it well)
The Paper, mov'd by fome eternal Mind,
Th' accurfed Errant by its Flight declin'd :
O had thy Hope together fled, but Fate thy Doom
defign'd!
Thy Purpofe elfe, by Potents thus deterr'd,
Thou had giv'n o'er? giv'n o'er? ah no! deferr'd.
Who knows? upon fome happier Day perhaps thou
[hadft been heard.

Why wouldft thou this uncertain Method take,
When Life, and Soul, and All thus lay at ftake?
He from thy Lines not half thy Senfe coul know,
Thy Eyes thy Love in all its Fury fhow.
H'had ſeen them with ſuch piercing Glances rowl,
As might have ſhaken a Barbarian's Soul.
H'had heard the tender'ft Things, and in a tone,
That's fit t'exprefs a dying Lover's moan.
Round his reluctant Neck my Arms I'd flung,
And to his Breaſt with ſtrange Convulfions clung.
Then proftrate at his Feet h'had ſeen me lying,
There groaning, trembling, fainting, fwooning, dying.
If one of theſe to move his Heart had fail'd,
His barbarous Heart, they all had ſure prevail'd.

Perhaps

The Passion of BYBLIS.

Perhaps thy Servant caus'd thy ill Success,
By hafty Management without addrefs.
He might abfurdly chufe some buſe Hour,
Too rude and harſh for Love's ſoft tender Pow'r.
Therefore he fail'd the noble Youth to move,
Can one who has thofe Eyes inexorable prove?
His Breaſt of no impenetrable mold,
No Adamantine Bars his Heart infold.
He did not from a Tygrefs ſpring, no, he
Sprung from the fame ſoft yielding Nymph with me.
Come, he muſt yet be mine, I'll try once more,
Once more; a thouſand Times, I'll ne'er give o'er.

True, I could wifh, if Actions once begun,
By empty Wifhes were to be undone.
Then could I wifh, I never had indulg'd
This fluckleſs Love, at leaſt, had ne'er divulg'd.
But ſince what's paſt ev'n Fate can ne'er recall,
I now muſt through, whate'er Extreams befall.
He'll think, if I thus lightly could disclaim,
I lightly entertain'd th' inceſtuous Flame,
Perhaps he may ſuspect ſome cloſe Delign,
His Int'reſt with his Fame to undermine.

That

Ay Mr. DENNIS.

61

That specious Baits were for his Virtue laid,
To be to publick Infamy betray'd,
He'll fancy this some common, base Desire,
Whereas the God, the God, these Ravings does infpire.
His wrathful Breath incenses thus my Blood,
Drives on the liquid Fire, and rowls the stormy Flood.

Shouldst thou deft? the horrid Crime's conceiv'd,
And Innocence can never, never be retreiv'd.

Thy Guilt has reach'd a very dreadful Height,
What? so much Guilt? and for it no Delight?
Advancing, little can thy Guilt inhaunce,

And to the vaft Delight of Gods it Byblis may advance.

Thus as some eafe upon her Bed she fought,
Her lab'ring Fancy to Diftraction wrought,

Toffing, she fluctuates in tempeftuous Thought.

Her fickly Mind oppos'd Defigns revolves,

What it repents of to repeat resolves.

Her Brother obſtinately she purfues,

Often repuls'd, she oft th' Aſſault renews.

Her Flame, that found these Stops, more fiercely burn'd,

But at the laſt to mere Diftraction turn'd.

Poor.

62. *Reflections and Annotations.*

Poor, hapleſs Beauty! once thy conqu'ring Eyes
Could boaſt the nobleft Carian Hearts their Prize,
How mad she lies in Solitude, on Caunus raves and
[dies]

REFLECTIONS and ANNOTATIONS
on Mr. OLDHAM.

By the fame.

P. 5.

Ould I had been (deriv'd from
some poor Swain,) &c. The Latin
is,

Tu me vellem generofior eſſes.

Mr. Oldham renders it thus:

Would thou wer't Noble, I more meanly Born,
He makes her give this Reafon for her Wifh, vid.

Then guiltleſs I'd defpair'd, and ſuffer'd Scorn.

Whereas the Reafon that I make her give is just op-
poſite to it, vid. That I might guiltleſs have enjoyed
my Caunus. Ovid expresses no Reafon, but implies
one; for there is ſomething Pindarical in the Senſe of
this Paſſage, and the Connexion is left to be made by
the Reader, as we ſhall find anon. In the mean
while let us ſee, whither Mr. Oldham's Reafon or
mine

on Mr. OLDHAM.

63

ing Eyck
ir Prize
ves and
[dies].

TION

iv'd from
The Latin

es, es.

y Born,
id.
Scorn.

is just to
we enjoy
it implu
the Senſe
he made
the mea
Reason o
mine

mine is that of Ovid. To discover which let us
consider, which is most agreeable to good Sense, and
the Nature of her Passion, and most suitable to the De-
sign of the Poet. It does not seem to me to be con-
fident with good Sense, to make Byblis, who so vehe-
mently defir'd to enjoy her Brother, and who at the Same
Time saw the impossibility of it, and felt the Plague of
Despair, wish that ſhe had been of a more obscure
Descent, rather than that of her Brother's illuſtrious
Stock; only that with the fame vehement Desire ſhe
might have the fame Despair. Nor does this seem to be
confident with the Nature of Love. For they who are
throughly ſeiz'd with that Passion, place all their Felicity
in the beloved Object, and even in Despair most ardently
desire Poſſession. And ſuch can no more wish to be in a
Condition of Life, that might render them incapable
of enjoying what they love, than any Man or Woman
can truly wish to be miſerable. It had been therefore
more Conſonant to good Sense, and the Nature of her
Passion, to make her ſpeak thus: Had my Birth been
more lowly, and I had been tormented with the
fame Desire, though there had been an Improb-
bility of satisfying; yet confiding what a Leveller
Love is, there had not been then, as there is now,
an absolute Impossibility of innocently enjoying my
Caunus. To discover if this be not Ovid's Senſe, I
think fit with this Paffage to cite what immediately pre-
seedes and follows;

O ego, fi liceat mutato nomine jungi,
Quam bene, Caune, tuo poteram nurus eſſe Parenti !
Quam bene, Caune, meo poteras gener eſſe Parenti !
Omnia Dii facerent eſſent communia nobis
Præter avos, tu me vellem generofior eſſes.
Nefcio quam facies igitur pulcherrime matrem !

That

64 *Reflections and Annotations*

That is to say Could we but dissolve the Bonds of Nature, how well we might be join'd in Stricter! I wish that having every Thing else in common, we had had at least a different Lineage; would I had been inferior to Caunus, rather than thus have been equal to him. But alas! this is but a vain Wish, and therefore another must be the Happy She who must possess all that I languish for: I believe this will be allowed to be a just Explication of Ovid's Sense. For the last Verse by the Word Igitur must necessarily be an inference, from something expressed or implied in the last but one: Now that which is implied can be nothing but this. If you had been of a different Parentage, though you had been more nobly descended, yet there had then been a Possibility (such is the Force of Love) of my being left in innocently Possessing you; which Possibility now is destroyed by Relation. Therefore another &c. Besides, if we do but consider, that every Thing that precedes and follows Bybly's Wish, that her Brother had been more nobly descended, appears plainly to be spoke out of a furious Desire of enjoying him; we need make no doubt of that very Wish too proceeds from the same Desire.

P. 7. To his sweet Lips as to its Heaven, &c.

This is not the Thought of Ovid. Mr. Sands has touch'd upon it, but very faintly. Mr. Oldham has kept wide of it. But because no Thought that can ever be substituted, can make amends for that of the Original, I think my self obliged to do Ovid that Justice as to infert it here. The Latin is thus then :

Aut nostro vetitus de corde fugabitur ardor,
Aut hoc si nequeo, peream precor ipfa toroq;
Mortua componar; politæq; det ofcula frater.

That

On Mr. OLDHAM.

65

That is to say, Either I will expel this incestuous
Love from my Breast, or die in the Attempt, and be
laid out on the mournful Hearse. One would have
thought that there had been an End of her and her
Passion, when by an admirable and surprizing return of
it, she immediately adds, positæq; det ofcula Frater.
Let my Brother embrace me as I lye senfleſs there.
So that here she seems to make Provision for her Passion,
againſt a time when it can be no more, to anticipate the
Satisfaction of her Brothers embracing her in the Mo-
ment in which ſhe cannot be ſenſible of it, and, by
imagination in the fame Sentence, to extend her Love
beyond that Death by which ſhe propounds to end it.
This is indeed lively to paint the extreme Disorder of a
violent and irregular Passion. But what Hand muſt
give us a Copy of ſo divine an Original? Who muſt not
Despair of imitating ſuccessfully the wonderful Celerity
of this incomparable Turn?

P. 12. All Letts t'Enjoymment, &c. The Latin is,

Nee nos aut durus Pater aut reverentia famæ
Aut Timor impedit.

Mr. Oldham has render'd it thus:

> Let neither Awe of Father's Frowns, nor Shame
> For ought that can be told by blabbing Fame,
> Nor any ghaſtlier Fantom Fear can frame.
> Frighten or ſtop us in the Way to Blifs.

> So that he makes Byblis ſtart ſeveral Difficulties
> enough to frighten her Brother, if he were inclin'd to
> Compliance; and then exhorts him to go in Spight of
> them. Whereas the Deſign of Ovid, is to make her an-
> ſwer ſuch Objections as may probably be made by Caunus.

The

66 Reflections and Annotations

The Things that can chiefly be objected in such a Cafe,
are two; viz. The Rigour of Parents, and Apprehen-
sion of Infamy. Now neither of these have Reafon to
frighten us. For, says she, Dulcia fraterno sub nomi-
ne furta tegemus: That is, we shall conceal our in-
cestuous Love under the Disguise of fraternal Affection;
and tho' we appear never so fond to our Parents, and the
rest of the World, they will rather be apt to extol our
Piety, than to arraign our Incest. But this Ver-
Dulcia, &c. which Byblis speaks as a Reafon for what
preced it, looks in Mr. Oldham like the Introduction of
a new Propofition.

P. 19. Come he must yet be mine, &c. The Latin is

Vincetur: Repetendus erit, nec tædia cœpti.
Ulla mei capiam, dum fpiritus efte manebit.

Alive I'll pray, till Breath in Prayers be loft,
And after come a kind befeeching Ghoft.

Where he pushes Ovid's Thought a little too far, and
indeed beyond the Bounds of good Senfe. 'Tis true, I
have met with some Gentlemen, who admire this Paffage
very much, as something forfooth very soft: But like
will to like, says the Proverb; for indeed thofe Gent-
lemen may be said to be soft with a Vengeance. I would
fain ask them one Queftion: For what should this poor
Ghoft come a begging? For the Charity of the Fleſh? That
would be very pleasant: And yet the Charity of the
Fleſh is certainly the Busineſs in Queſtion.

P. 20

on Mr. OLDHAM.

67

P. 20. He'll think if thus, &c. The Latin is,
Vel quia defierim, leviter voluiffe videbor.

Which Mr. Oldham renders thus :

Should I desift, 'twill be believ'd that I,
By slightly asking, taught him to deny.

I wonder that a Man of Mr. Oldham's Sense and
Learning should mistake leviter voluiffe for slightly ask-
ing. By which Mistake he has run himself upon two
absurdities. For first he puts a sentiment into the mouth
of Byblis, that is altogether base, and unworthy of a Wo-
man of Honour, as if she were afraid of not being thought
impudent enough, or of not being thought in good earnest.
Secondly, He makes her bring that as an argument for
persisting in her design, which is directly conclusive of the
contrary. For what she says, in Prose, and in plain
English, is this: If I should now conquer this
Passion, and grow once more the virtuous Byblis, I
am afraid the World, who may come to know what
a civil Requeſt I made to my Brother, and after-
wards took the very first Denial, I am afraid this
ill-natur'd World will believe that I was but in jeſt.
Truly a very pleasant and very reasonable Fear. But
what does she call slightly asking? The fending ſuch a
Letter as her's? For my part I know but one way she
had to put the Busineſs more home to him. This cannot
be the Senſe of Ovid; for tho' Ovid is not the juſteſt
Man in the World in his thinking, (for juſtneſs is not
his Talent) yet he ſeldom thinks so prepoſterously, nor
could Mr. Oldham have done it, if he had not writ
this in a hurry. By leviter voluiffe then is meant
not slightly to have asked, but lightly to have inclin'd my
Will; and then the Meaning has not only ſomething

very

68 Reflections and Annotations, &c.

very sensible in it, but very extraordinary and very noble. For thus Byblis is made to assert her Honour, by her very perſisting in a most execrable Crime; for now the Senſe runs thus: 'If I ſhould now upon this firſt Re-pulſe give over, then Men will reaſonably conclude, that ſince it was in my Power ſo ſoon to deſiſt, it was in my Power not to have given way to this Paſſion at firſt; and that ſhe who could ſo easily ſtop its Progrefſs, might much more easily have pre-vented its very beginning; and conſequently the Advances which I have made to my Brother, will be imputed rather to my natural Inclination to ſuch horrible Wickedneſs, or ſome ſtrange and bafe In-firmity in me, than the Force of a Paſſion inſiſted by an oſſended God. But if after having ſhown ſo much Remorſe, and ſo much Reluctancy, I ſtill perſiſt, notwithstanding that Remorſe, notwithſtan-ding that Reluctancy, nay, notwithſtanding Deſpair; why then, my Brother, and all the World, muſt acknowledge that Byblis is not to blame; but that ſince ſhe does what doing ſhe diſapproves, and ſo-licites a Vice, the very Thought of which ſtrikes her with Horror, it is demonſtrably evident that her Paſſion is ſupernatural; and is not actuated by her own Will, but ſome more ſublime, ſome eternal, Principle which Mortals in vain reſiſt.

LYONS, S.

[ 69 ]

A LETTER from LYONS, &c.

By the fame.

SIR,

LYONS, Octob. 15. 1688.

Do not Question but that you have for
this Month expected a Letter from me,
and that perhaps, with a little Impat-
tience: Since this is a Time which may
afford Variety of News, of which, who
must not be now defirous? But all the Time I was
at Paris, I had so much Sickneſs, that that might
well Superſede any Obligation I lay under: For let
a Promife be never so binding, and never so much
a Debt; who could take care of paying so triffling
a one, whent a moſt ſevere and importunate Cre-
ditor, Nature, calls for hers? Nor now when at
length that excufe is wanting to me, are you like to
receive ſuch a Letter, as perhaps might be moſt wel-
come to you in this Conjuncture. For if I ſhould
ſend you the Truth in diſguſe, perhaps you might
not diſcover her. And is this a Time to expofe
her naked to the World, when her Nakedneſs, which
is only the Effect of her Innocence, by many would
be miſtaken for Lewdneſs, and by more for Bar-
barity ? I will then ſay nothing of the Affairs of
Europe nor ours, tho' I could find much to ſay of
them both; for I now converſe with a People who
are as full of Talk as they are Inquiſitive. But ſince
I am taking my leave of that People, I will confine
my

70 A LETTER from LYONS, &c.

my Discourse to them. But before I begin, I will
use plain dealing with you, (a Thing which they
never did yet with any one) and tell you that I
mortally hate them. Yet neither shall my Native
nor acquir'd Antipathy suborn me to fay any thing
falte of them. I will do like a Painter, who will
draw the true Resemblance of the Face that is moft
provoking. But then I muft give you this Caution,
that what I have to fay, tho' it be true in ſome
Meaure of all of them, yet it is chiefly to be
confin'd to the middle Sort of the Nation. For be-
fides that, I have moft convers'd with them, as
Stranger muſt of Necessity be ſuppos'd to do: The Ge-
nious of a Nation moſt plainly appears in the mid-
dle Sort of its People. For great Education, which
attends high Birth or high Fortune, very often in-
proves, or corrupts, or sophifticates Nature, which
in thofe of the middle State ſhe remains unmix'd
and unalter'd: Theſe then I have found in the fit
Place excejſively vain. Every Man is here a Narciſus
and in the flattering Glafs of his own falſe Imagina-
tion is eternally gazing upon himſef, or at leaſt up-
on what he takes upon himſelf. For in this their
Errors are different; for as that melancholly Boy
took himſelf for another, theſe merry Fools take
ſomething elfe for themſelves. For nothing in Na-
ture is more unlike than the Picture which a French-
man draws of himſelf. It would be needleſs to in-
fift longer on this: For they have ſo long made
ſport for their neighbouring Nations, by exdrava-
gant and abſurd Commendations of their own, that
to endeavour to bring Proofs of the Vanity, would
be ſomething more ridiculous than that. Now this
is certain, that he who abounds in Vanity can want
no Affectation: For Affectation is nothing but a
fruitleſs Attempt to counterfeit and falſify Nature,
whom

A LETTER from LYONS, &c. 71

when a Man impotently endeavours to appear what
he really is not, or what he is incapable of being.
Nature grows impatient, and struggles to be freed
from the Constraint that is put upon her; and in the
Strife there appear'd something so odious that all
who are Lovers of her, cannot but hate that Person
who endeavours so rudely to force her. Now Na-
ture in Man is various. She is Gay in one, and Fro-
ward in another : She is Delicate in a third, in a
fourth she is Grofs; and there is not a Man in a
Million whom Heaven made fit for all Things, and
will be offering at all Things. Now such have been
always, and will be always affected. And such are
the People with whom I have lately convers'd; and
I have more particularly remark'd in some of their
Provincial Gentlemen, that in their endeavours to
shew their Admiration mingled with a gentle
Passion; they are guilty of Affectations so mon-
ftrous, that an English Fop is not capable of them.
Another necessary effect of their Vanity is their Af-
surance, or in our Language their Impudence : For
Modefty is nothing but the Fear of displeasing, when
a Man believes or at least, suspects that he is De-
fective; which the Reason that renders it lovely to
all, when ever it is join'd with good Qualities. For
it flatters and soothes our Self-love, of which no Man
can wholly divest himself; by affuring us that we
are esteem'd and preferr'd. Now how can any one
have Fear of displeasing, who imagines himself all
Perfection, and who fwell'd with the Venem of Pride,
like the Toad in the Fable, believes himself greater
than thate with whose Greatnefs he holds not the
leadt Proportion. The French then are affected and
impudent, which are but the necessary Effects of
that national Vice, their Vanity. But then they have
one very good Qualitiy, which proceeds from the
fame Vanity. And that is their extraordinary civili-
ty

72 A Journey over the ALPES.

ty to Strangers. For they are civil to us, not for
our Satisfaction, but their own; not as they imagine
it a Duty, but an Accomplishment. 'Tis to please
himself that a Frenchman is officious to me, and 'tis
to honour himself that he bows to others. I am
pretty confident that I am not deceiv'd here. For
I have found by some Observation, and some think-
ing, that there is little good Nature amongst them,
for they will deceive or betray you at the very fame
time they oblige you. Thus have I giv'n you an
imperfect Account of such of their Qualities, as
are most conspicuous in them. There are some
which lye more hidden. But I have said enough
to tire my Self and You.

I am, &c.

A Journey over the ALPES.

By the fame.

SIR,

TURIN, Octob. 25. 1688.

Have here sent you a Journal of my
Journey from Lyons hither, in which
you will find that Account of the Alpes,
which you so earneftly desired of me,
before I came out of England. I have
taken no Notice of the Towns in Savey; nor so
much as the Rock of Montmelian, but have con-
fin'd my self to a Subject which you seem'd to affect
so much.

On

A Journey over the ALPS.

73

On the nineteenth of October we set out from Lyons, and came that Night to Verpellier thro' a fair Plain, which was sometimes Arable and sometimes Pasture, and bounded with Rows of Hills at that juft Distance, as gave, tho' not a large, an agreeable Prospect.

Octob. 20. We came by Noon thro' the fame Plain, which grew to be sometimes a Marsh, to a Bourg call'd *Tour du Pin*. From thence, after Dinner, we continued our Way, thro' whole Groves of Walnut and Chestnut-Trees, to Pont Beauvoisin, being the Bridge that separates France and Savoy.

Octob. 21. We entred into Savoy in the Morning, and paſs'd over Mount Aiguebellette. The Aſcent was the more eaſie, becauſe it wound about the Mountain: But as soon as we had conquered one half of it, the unusual Height in which we found our ſelves, the impending Rock that hung over us, the dreadful Depth of the Precipice, and the Torrent that roar'd at the Bottom, gave us ſuch a View as was altogether new and amazing. On the other ſide of that Torrent was a Mountain that equall'd ours, about the diſtance of thirty Yards from us. Its craggy Clifts, which we half diſcerned thro' the mifty Gloom of the Clouds that ſurrounded them, sometimes gave us a horrid Prospect, and sometimes its Face appear'd ſmooth and beautiful as the moſt even and fruitful Vallies; ſo different from them-ſelves were the different Parts of it: In the very fame place Nature was ſeen ſevere and wanton. In the mean time we walked upon the very Brink (in a literal Senſe) of Destruction: One Stumble, and both Life and Carcaſs had been at once deſtroy'd. The Senſe of all this produc'd different Motions in me, viz. a delightful Horror, a terrible Joy; and at the fame time that I was infinitely pleas'd, I trembled.

[Vol. II.]

E

From

74 A Journey over the ALPS.

From thence we went thro' a pleafant Valley
bounded with Mountains, whose high, but yet ver-
dant Tops, ſeem'd at once to forbid and invite Men.
After we had march'd for a League thro' the Plain,
we arriv'd at the Place which they call La Cave,
where the late Duke of Savoy, in the Year Seventy,
ſtruck out a Paſſage thro' a rocky Mountain that had al-
ways before been impaſſable; performing that by the
Force of Gun-powder, which Thunder-bolts or Earth-
quakes could ſcarce have effected. This Paſſage is a
Quarter of an English Mile, made with incredible La-
bour, and the Expence of Four Millions of Livres. At
the Enrance into it is the following pompous In-
fcription:

CAROLUS EMANUEL Secundus, Subaudia Dux,
Pedemontani Princeps, Cypri Rex, publicâ felicitate
partâ, ſingulorum commodis intentus, breviorem, ſe-
curiovemque hanc Viam Regiam, à naturâ occlusam,
Romanis intentatam, cæteris desparatam, everſis ſco-
pulorum repagulis, æquatâ montium iniquitate, quæ
cervicibus impendebant præcipitia pedibus ſubſternens,
æternis populorum commerciis pateſecit.

At Chamberry we din'd, the Capital Town of Savoy.
In our Way from thence to Montmelian, Nature
feem'd quite to have chang'd her Face. There crag-
gy Rocks look'd horrid to the Eye, and Hills ap-
peared on every ſide of ſo ſtupendous an Heighth,
that the Company was divided at a Diftance, whe-
ther they ſhould believe them to be funny Clouds,
or the ſnowy Tops of Mountains. Here appeared a
Hill with its Top quite hid in black Clouds, and be-
yond that Hill, and above thofe Clouds, ſome higher
Mountain ſhew'd its hoary Head. With this ſtrange
Entertainment by the Way, we came that Night to
Montmelian.

On

A Journey over the ALPS.

On the 22d we set forward in the Morning. The Mountains appear'd to grow still more lofty. We din'd that Day at *Aiguebelle*: In the Afternoon we proceeded on our Way, sometimes thro' the Plain, and sometimes on the side of the *Alps*, with which we were hemm'd in on all fides. We then began that Day to have the additional Diversion of a Torrent that ran sometimes with Fury beneath us, and of the Noife of the Cascades, or the Down-fall of Waters, which sometimes came tumbling amain from the Precipices. We lay that Night at *La Chambre*.

On the 23d the Morning was very cold, which made us have difmal Apprehensions of Mount Cenis, fince we felt its Influence so severely at fo great a Distance. We arriv'd by Noon at St. Michel. In the Afternoon we continued our Journey mostly up-on the fides of the Mountains, which were fome-times all cover'd with Pines, and fometimes culti-vated, even in Places where one would swear the thing were impoffible, for they were only not per-perpendicular. We lay that Night at Modane.

Oct. 24 Modane is within a dozen Miles of Mount Cenis, and therefore the next Morning we felt the Cold more severely. We went to Dinner at Laneburgh, Situate at the Foot of Mount Cenis.

As soon as we had din'd, we sent our Horſes about, and getting up upon Mules, began to ascend the Mountain. I could not forbear looking back now and then, to contemplate the Town and the Vale beneath me. When I was arriv'd within a hundred Yards of the Top, I could ſtill discern Laneburgh at the Bottom, diſtant three tedious Miles from me. What an amazing Distance! Think what an Imprefſſion a Place must make upon you, which you ſhould fee as far under you as 'tis from your House to Hampstead. And here I wish I had Force to do Right to this renown'd Paſſage of the *Alps*. 'Tis an eaſe thing

E 2

76 A Journey over the ALPS.

thing to describe Rome or Naples to you, because
you have seen something your self that holds at least
some Resemblance with them; but impossible to
set a Mountain before your Eyes, that is inaccessible
almost to the Sight, and wearies the very Eye to
climb it. For when I tell you that we were arrived
within a hundred Yards of the Top, I mean only
the Plain, thro' which we afterwards pafs'd, but
there is another vaft Mountain still upon that. If
these Hills were firft made with the World (as has
been a long time thought) and Nature design'd them
only as a Mound to enclose her Garden, Italy; then
we may well say of her, what some affirm of great
Wits, that her carelesf irregular and boldeft Strokes
are moft admirable, for the Alps are Works which
she seems to have design'd and executed too in
Fury: Yet she moves us lefs where she ftudies to
pleafe us more. I am delighted, 'tis true, at the
Profpect of Hills and Valleys, of flowry Meads and
murmuring Streams; yet it is a Delight that is con-
fiftent with Reafon, a Delight that creates or im-
proves Meditation. But transporting Pleafures fol-
low'd the fight of the Alps: And what unusual
Transports think you were thofe that were mingled
with Horrors and fometimes almost with Despair?
But if thefe Mountains were not a Creation, but
form'd by univerſa Deſtruction, when the Arch with
a mighty Flaw diffolved, and fell into the vaft A-
byſs (which furely is the beſt Opinion) then are
theſe Ruins of the Old World the greateſt Wonders
of the New, for they are not only vaſt, but horrid,
hideous, ghaſtly Ruins. After we had gallop'd a
League over the Plain, and came at laſt to descend,
to descend thro' the very Bowels as it were of the
Mountain (for we feem'd to be enclos'd on all ſides)
what an aſtonifhing Prospect was there! Ruins up-
on Ruins in monſtrous Heaps, and Heaven and
Earth