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THIS BOOK
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But Books I find, if often lent.
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1767

L E T T E R S
Suppoſed to have paſſed
Β Ε Τ W Ε Ε Ν
M. De St. EVRE MOND
A N D
MR. W A L L E R.
VOLUME .

Langhorne, John
L E T T E R S
Suppoſed to have paſſed
Β Ε Τ W Ε Ε Ν
M. De St. E VREMO N D
A N D
MR. WA
W A L L E R.
Collected and publiſhed
By the EDITOR of the Letters between
Theodofus and Conftantia.
In TWO VOLUME S.
V O L U M E 1.
DUBLIN:
Printed for P. and W. WILSON, H. SAUNDERS,
W. SleATER, B. GRIERSON, D. CHAMBER-
LAINE, J Potts, J. WILLIAMS, C.
INGHAM, and J. PORTER,
M.DCC.LXIX.

L E T T E R S
BE T W E EN
M. De St. Evremond and Mr. Waller.
L E T T E R I.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND.
G
NRAMMONT once told Rocheſter, that
if he could by any means diveſt himſelf
of one half of his Wit, the other half would make
him the moſt agreeable Man in the World. This
Obſervation of the Count's did not ſtrike me
much when I heard it, but I have often remarked
the Propriety of it ſince. Laſt Night I ſupped
at Lord R-'s, with a felect Party On
ſuch Occaſions he is not ambitious of ſhining-
He
A 3

6
L E T T E R I.
He is rather pleaſant than arch He is, com-
paratively, reſerved; but you find ſomething in
that Reſtraint which is more agreeable than the
utmoſt Exertion of Talents in others. The Re-
ſerve of Rocheſter gives you the Idea of a copious
River, that fills its Channel, and ſeems as if it
could eaſily overflow its Banks, but is unwilling
to ſpoil the Beauty and Verdure of the Plains.
The moſt perfect Goodhumour was ſupported
through the whole Evening, nor was it in the
leaſt diſturbed, when, unexpectedly, towards the
End of it, the King came in *. Something has
vexed him, ſaid Rocheſter; he never does me
this Honour but when he is in an ill Humour.
The following Dialogue, or ſomething very like
it, enſued.
The KING.
How the DI have I got here? The Knaves
have ſold every Cloak in the Wardrobe.
ROCHES T E R.
Thoſe Knaves are Fools. That is a part of
Dreſs which, for their own fakes, your Majeſty
ought never to be without
The KING.
Pſhaw! I am vexed.
ROCHES T E R.
* No unuſual thing with Charles II.

Dunning
Werten LETTER I.
af 16-48
7
62.274. ROCHEST E R.
Your Ma-
I am glad of it. I hate ſtill Life.
jeſty is never ſo entertaining as when
Where 35+ -
The KING
Ridiculous!--I believe the Engliſh are the
moſt untractable People upon Earth.
ROCHESTER.
I moſt humbly beg your Majeſty's Pardon, if
I preſume, in that Reſpect .
The KING,
in
You would find them ſo, were you
Place, and obliged to govern:
my
· ROCHEST E R.
Were I in your Majelty's Place, I would not
govern at all.
The KING
How then?
ROCHES T E R.
I would ſend for my good Lord of Rocheſter,
and command him to govern.
A A
The

LETTER I.
The King
O! but the ſingular Modeſty of that Noble-
man!
ROCHEST ER.
He would certainly conform himſelf to your
Majeſty's bright Example - Huw gloriouſly
would the two grand ſocial Virtues flouriſh un-
der his Auſpices !
The KING
O priſca Fides! What can thoſe be?
ROCHESTER.
The Love of Wine and Women.
The KING
God bleſs your Majeſty!
ROCHESTER.
Thoſe Attachments keep the World in good
Humour, and, therefore, I ſay they are ſocial
Virtues Let the Biſhop of Saliſbury deny it
if he can.
The KING.
He died laſt Night -
fucceed him?
Have you a mind to
ROCHESTER

LET TER I.
ROCHESTER,
On Condition that I ſhall neither be called up-
on to preach on the Thirtieth of January, nor on
the Twenty-ninth of May..
The KIN G.
Thoſe Conditions are curious --- You obje&t.
to the firſt, I ſuppoſe, becauſe it would be a mea
lancholy Subject; but the other
ROCHESTER.
Would be a melancholy ſubje&, too.
The KING.
That is too much
ROCHEST ER.
Nay, I only mean that the Buſineſs would be
a little too grave for the Day. Nothing but the
Indulgence of the two grand ſocial Virtues could
be a proper Teſtimony of my joy on that. Oc-
caſion.
The KING.
Rocheſter, thou art the happieſt Fellow in my
Dominions - Let me periſh, if I do not envy
thee thy Impudence !
A.5
It

LET TER I.
It is in ſome ſuch Strain of Converſation gene-
rally that this Prince paſſes off his Chagrin, and
he never ſuffers his Dignity to ſtand in the way
of his Humour. If Happineſs be the End of
Wiſdom, I know not who has a right to cenſure
his Conduct,
LETTER

[11]
L E T T E R II:
5
il St. EVREMOND to Waller.
UNISHMENTS. are diſtributed ſo
very une
qually in this World, that I have often
thought it would afford a fair Argument at leaſt
for the Probability of Retribution, and a more:
equal Diſpenſation of Juſtice in the next. The
Fault, if it may be called ſuch, that forced me
into Exile, was of a much more favourable Com-
plexion than Rocheſter's, in the Liberties he took
with his King, or even yours in repeating them.
Monſieur De Neuville once ſaid to me; that if
the French and the Engliſh could make an Ex-
change of Monarchs, both the People and ihe
Princes would find their Advantage in it. It is
certain that the Humours of Charles, would not
ſo much expoſe his Dignity in the Court of
France. He would be ſecure in the Secrecy, the
Fidelity and Obſequiouſneſs of his Courtiers,
Even when he was there in no Character at all,
he had always more Reſpea paid him, than the
Engliſh have ſhewn him ſince he was reſtored to
his Kingdom. I have many times remarked,
that the People of England in general treat their
Kings as they do their Wives Very fond of
them

12
L ETTER II.
them at firſt; afterwards they neither love nor
reſpect them, yet are violent in the Defence of
their Honour, and will ſuffer none to uſe them
ill but themſelves. The Matrimonial Conduct
of Henry the Eighth was not unlike the Political
Conduct of the Engliſh under Charles the Firſt.
At firſt they adored him; afterwards they grew
jealous; and, to crown all, they cut off his
Head. The Mode of Government that followed
might not improperly be compared to a State of
Keeping, wherein the ſelfiſh, ſubtle, and ambi-
tious Miſtreſs artfully draws you in to that Sub-
miſſion and Servility that would never have been
exa&ted by the faithful Wife. Yet what Arts of
ingenious Blandiſhment were exerted to ſoothe the
Uſurper, and to ſoften the Idea of Uſurpation! I
remember that the Aneſt Poet of the Age lent his
perſuaſive Powers to effect theſe Purpoſes. I
own, I do not envy the Reputation he acquir-
ed by it, when I conſider that there are, in the
next World, ſuch People as Minos, Rhadaman-
tbus, and Æacus.
LETTER

[ 13 ]
I. E T T E R HI.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
T
HE beſt method of anſwering the Strica
tures contained in the concluding Part of
your Letter, is to begin, where you end, in the
Infernal Regions. The Hero of the Æneid, you
know, in order to ſecure a favourable Recepti.
on in thoſe Quarters, is commanded to gather
the golden Bough, and preſent it as a Douceur to
the Empreſs of the Shades. Do not you under-
ſtand this Allegory? -- You have made a bad
Uſe, indeed, of your Poetical Reading. This
Golden Branch, ſo grateful to the ſubterranean
Juno, is nothing more than Praiſe.
Hoc fibi pulchra fuum ferri Proſerpina munus
Inftituit
Obſerve how beautifully the Poet ſhadows forth
the Difficulties that attend this delicate Gift!
how nicely it lies concealed!
Latet arbore opaca,
Aureus et foliis, et lento vimine ramus.
Huns

14
L ET TER III.
Hunc tegit omnis
Lucus, et obfcuris claudunt convallibus umbra.
The Propriety of its being ſacred to the Fe.
male Character !
Junoni Infernæ di&tus facer --
But the Beauty and Conſiſtency of the Allegory
are peculiarly ſtriking, when the Hero is dire&ed
in his Search by the Doves of Venus. "Who does
not ſee that Softneſs and Complaiſancy of Man-
ners, the Ground of pleaſing Addreſs, and agree-
able Flattery, depi&tured in thoſe Doves?
Maternas agnofcit aves, lætufque precatur,
Eſte duces
on.
But Venus herſelf is to aſſiſt on this great Occaſi-
Softneſs and Complaiſance, without Ele-
gance and Beauty, will not rightly attain to this
perfuaſive Compliment. It muſt be
ritè repertum,
and therefore the Goddeſs of Elegance and Beau-
ty is invoked ;
Tuque, o, dubiis, ne defice, rebus,
Diva Parens
There

LETTER III.
IS
There is not in any Part of Virgil's Works,
perhaps not in all Antiquity, a more beautiful or
better-wrought Allegory than this.
But has it not its Uſe too, as well as its Beau-
ty? Has not the Poet left us an inftru&tive Lefa
fon in what Manner we are to deal with difficult
Men in difficult Times? If Pluto, or the Wife
of Pluto, is to be appeaſed, and rendered acceſſible
by this Golden Branch, I ſhould have but an in-
different Opinion of that Man's Diſcretion who
would not go in Queſt of it. For my own
Part, whenever I am called upon to attend her
Elyſian Majeſty, I will not fail to carry this along
with me, and then, though I may have written
forty Panegyrics on Cromwell, I ſhall have no
Occaſion to be afraid of Minos.
LETTER

[ 16 ]
L E T TER IV.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
WER
ERE it poſſible to prevent Gallantry
from running into the Spirit of Intrigue,
nothing certainly could be more agreeable ; but
the two Ideas are hardly to be ſeparated before
that Period of Life which you and I have attain..
ed. Nothing, indeed, can be more inoffenſive
than the Gallantry of our Years. It is the harm,
leſs Offspring of Memory and Fancy, amuſing
itſelf with the Shadows of Pleaſures that are paſt.
Let gay Youih, and graver Age count this ridi-
culous; if we find the Tædium Vitæ in
any
Des
gree diverted by it, we have a Right to indulge
it. The Recollection of former Enjoyments is.
all that Age has to ſubſiſt upon. To treat with
Courtlineſs, and contemplate with Pleaſure, fuch
Obje&s as once afforded us Delight, is the Reli-
gion of Nature - 'Tis a Sacrifice of Gratia.
tude - 'Tis a Teſtimony of Content. --
Beſides, I know not whether by theſe Attach-
ments we may not lengthen as well as lighten.
Life.
Wallery

LET TER IV.
17
Waller, qui ne ſent rien des maux de la vieillege,
Dont la vivacité fait honte a jeunes gens,
S'attache à la Beauté pour vivre plus long temps,
Et ce qu'on nommeroit dans un autre foibleſje
Ef en ce rare Eſprit une fage tendreſſe,
Qui le fait reſiſter a l'injure des ans.
Your Friend Rymer has given a better Turn
to theſe Lines:
Vain Gallants, look on Waller and deſpair,
He, only be, may boaſt the grand Receipt;
Of Fourſcore Years he never feels the Weight;
Still in bis Element when with the Fair;
There
gay and freſh, drinks in the roſie Air:
There happy, be enjoys bis leiſure Hours,
Nor thinks of Winter wbilft amidſt the Flowers.
The Gallantry of the preſent Times ſeems to
be of a Genius very different from that which
prevailed in our better Days. It is fallen back
into the Original Barbariſm of Nature. The
Affair of poor Shrewſbury is a ſhocking Inſtance
of this. There is nothing extraordinary in the
Duel between him and the Duke of Buckingham;
though it was expected that his well known In-
difference about Lady Shrewſbury's Commerce
with his Grace, would have ſaved him from the
Folly of thinking his Honour concerned in the
Affair:

18
LETTER. IV.
prove victo-
Affair: But in the Condu&t of that bold and a-
bandoned Woman, there was ſomething that for-
bids one to think of her without Deteftation
You have been informed, that, during the En-
gagment, ſhe held the Duke's Horſes, in the Ha.
bit of a Page. I have lately been told that ſhe
had Piſtols concealed, and that ſhe had pledg-
ed her Honour to ſhoot both Shrewſbury and
herſelf, if the Huſband ſhould
rious. It was a Weakneſs and Want of Honour
in the Duke to expoſe his Antagoniſt to ſo
unfair, and ſo contemptible a Death; but it was
a ſtill greater Weakneſs to be capable of loving
a Woman, who wanted the Characteriſtics of her
Sex, Tenderneſs and Delicacy. The Genius of
bold and vulgar Proſtitution! What a depraved
Spirit! what a groveling Soul muſt he have, who
can mix his Paſſions with any thing ſo odious ! A
maſculine Woman is my immortal Averſion!
Maſculine in Perfon, or in Spirit, ſhe is equally
dreadful ! Courage in that Sex is to me as diſ-
guftful as Effeminacy in ours. I cannot bear to
find even their Sentiments of the Male-Kind-
A Female Divine, a Female Lawyer, a Female
Hiſtorian, a Female Politician, are all in ſupport-
able Monſters! Out of Sex! Out of Character!
Out of Nature! Loſt to the very Idea of Pro-
priety! and always affe&ted to the laſt Exceſs of
Abſurdity!
How

LET TER IV.
19
How different from ſuch is one whom we
have had the Honour to know, and the Happineſs
to converſe with, the amiable, and gentle
HAMILTON! Though Nature has given her a
Capacity equal to the moſt arduous Attainments,
with what Addreſs does ſhe manage her excellent
Talents, and turn them to that Kind of Culture
only which embelliſhes and endears the Female
Character! But, as a laſt Proof of her
Merit, ſhe has fixed irrevocably the fickle, the
volatile, the various Grammont! You knew his
long Attachment to her At length, he
has married her. In this Meaſure, however,
though he has ſhewn both Senſe and Honour,
yet he proceeded on a Principle, of which even
you, who know him, will have no Idea. And
here, too, you will find another Inſtance of the
pernicious Spirit of Modern Gallantry. Though
Grammont believed himſelf that he intended abfo-
lutely to eſpouſe the fair Hamilton, yet when
every thing ſeemed to be ſettled, and the criti-
cal Event drew near, the Dæmon of Gallantry
took
up
his Part He played the Character
of Hymen, and rendered it ſo inſupportably ridi-
culous, that Grammont could no longer bear the
Idea of Marriage. The Time appointed for the
Nuptials was at hand -
The Lover flew up-
on the Wings of the Wind to the Coaſt
of France. This Deſertion was received with a
bard
proper

20
LETTER IV. .
(
proper Indignation. A Brother of the fair Ha-
milton's, a Youth about Sixteen or Seventeen,
purſued and overtook him almoſt as ſoon as he
had arrived. “ Grammont, (ſaid he,) you bluſh
$6 to ſee me
You have Reaſon You
66 know me well Return this Moment with
me to England, and do yourſelf the Honour to
eſpouſe my
Sifter
If that is an Honour
you chooſe to decline, I am the youngeſt
" of ſeven Brothers, and if I fall by your Hand,
“ know, that there are ſtill ſix living, whoſe
66 Arms are ſtronger and more experienced than
mine, and who ſcorn, as much as I do, to ſur-
« vive the Honour of a Sifter.” The Count
ſtood ſilent for a while, and ſmiled upon the
beardleſs Champion But it was not a ſmile
of Contempt. I have heard him ſay, that he
never felt the Senſe of Honour ſo ſtrongly as at
that Moment. The Phantom of falſe Gallantry
diſappeared. “ Let us return, (ſaid he,) my
" brave Friend I bluſh to think of my
Folly --I deſerve not the Honour of being
" allied to your Family; but I will hope to be
“indebted for it to your kind Interceſſion.”
This was certainly very great. It was a Re-
turn of Reaſon; a Recovery from a State of In-
ſanity. What is true Honour but the Exerciſe
of right Reaſon? All elſe is falſe and frivolous.

L ET TER IV.
21
Is Courage Honour? What a ſtrange Confuſion
of Ideas! A Man of Honour would, in that Caſe,
make a very deſpicable Figure, if put in the ſame
Scale with a Ruſſian Bear. Young Hamilton be.
haved with a true Senſe of Honour His
Conduet was reaſonable. It had the Protec-
tion of a Siſter for its Object. But what ſhould
we have thought of Grammont, had he acted a
different Part? In what Light would he have
appeared, had he lived to pierce the Heart of
the Woman that he loved, through the Hearts
of ſeven Brothers--- The very Idea is Horror !
Yet this he certainly muſt have done, at leaſt
have attempted, had he placed Honour in Cou-
Tage rather than in Reaſon.
Had Shrewſbury a right Senſe of Honour when
he challenged Buckingham? More than half the
Court will tell you that he had — But, how ridi-
culous! Is the Defection of an infamous Woman
a Diſgrace to the Man fhe forſakes? Far other-
wiſe--. It is rather a Mark of his Integrity. The
Antipathy that Vice has to Virtue is a Proof of
this. It was rank Cowardice, Pufillanimity it-
ſelf, that provoked Shrewſbury to the Challenge.
He was afraid that his Courage ſhould be doubt-
ed, if he omitted it.
Yer

22
LET TER IV.
Yet how univerſal is this Idea of falſe Ho-
nour! In one of the Campaigns I made with the
Duke D'Enguien, an Officer, who had lost his
Miſtreſs, thought it neceſſary to fight for her.
When he applied to the Duke for Permiſſion, the
latter aſked him whether it was on Account of
the Love he had for her, and whether he wanted,
by killing his Rival, to recover her. "No, (re-
plied the Officer,) “ but if I do not fight, my
Courage will be doubted.”
6C if that is all,
(ſaid the Duke,) “ you may be eaſy about the
“ Matter. I ſhall give you an Opportunity of
putting that out of queſtion; for, To-morrow,
“ I intend to fight myſelf.”
66
LET TER

[ 23 ]
बन
LETTER V.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
I
Now write to you from the Earl of Devon-
fire's, where I have been for this Fortnight
paſt paying my Devotions to the Genius of Na.
ture. Nothing can be more romantic than this
Country except the Region of the Valois; and
nothing can equal this Place * in Beauty but the
Borders of the Lake.
It was not, however, ſo much the Defire of
ſeeing natural Curioſities that drew me down hi-
ther. There is a certain moral Curioſity under
this Roof which I had long wiſhed to ſee, and
my Lord Devonſhire had the Goodneſs to indulge
me by a very kind Invitation.
I need not tell you that I mean the great Phi-
loſopher, Mr. Hobbs, ſo diſtinguiſhed for the Sin-
gularity of his Sentiments and his Diſpoſition.
I arrived a little before Dinner, notwithſtand-
ing which the Earl told me he believed I was too
late
Chatſworth.

24
LET TER V.
late to ſee Mr. Hobbs that Day. “ As he does
not think like other Men, (ſaid he) it is his
“ Opinion that he ſhould not live like other Men.
“ I ſuppoſe he dined about two Hours ago,
and
c he is now ſhut
up
for the reſt of the Day;
your only Time to ſee him is in the Morning;
66 but then he walks ſo faſt up thoſe Hills, that,
“ unleſs you are mounted on one of my ableſt
“ Hunters, you will not keep Pace with him.'
92
It was not long, however, before I obtained
an Audience extraordinary of this literary Poten-
tate; whom I found, like Jupiter, involved in
Clouds of his own raiſing. He was entrenched
behind a regular Battery of Ten or Twelve
Guns, charged with a ſtinking Combuſtible call.
ed Tobacco. 'Two or Three of theſe he had
fired off, and replaced them in the ſame Order.
A fourth he levelled ſo mathematically againſt
me, that I was hardly able to maintain my Poſt,
though I aſſumed the Character and Dignity of
Embaſſador from the Republic of Letters
“ I am ſorry for your Republic, (faid Hobbs,)
“ for if they ſend you to me in that Capacity,
they either want me, or are afraid of me.
“ Men have but two Motives for their Applica-
tions, and thoſe are Intereſt and Fear. But
“ the latter is, in my Opinion, moſt predomi-
“ nant.” I told him, “ That my Commiſſion
extended
<<

LE T T E R V.
25
C6
66
66
“ extended no farther than to make him their
" Compliments, and to enquire after his
“ Health ” “ If that be all, (replied the Phi-
loſopher,) " your Republic does nothing more
" than negotiate by the Maxim of other States,
" that is, by Hypocriſy. All Men are necel-
ſarily in a Stale of War; but all Authors hate
“ each other upon Principle. For my Part, I
" am at Enmity with the whole Corps, from the
Biſhop of Saliſbury down to the Bellman. ---
Nay, I hate their Writings as much as I do
" themſelves. There is nothing ſo pernicious as
Reading. It deſtroys Originality of Senti-
ment. My Lord Devonſhire has more than
“ Ten Thouſand Volumes in his Houſe. I en-
" treated his Lordſhip to lodge me as far as pof-
“ſible from that peſtilential Corner. I have but
one Book, and that is Euclid ; but I begin to
66 be tired of him. I believe he has done more
" Harm than Good - He has ſet Fools a rea-
ſoning.” “ There is one thing in Mr.
“ Hobbs's Condua, (aid Lord D-----,) “ that
“I am unable to account for - He is always
railing at Books, yet always adding to their
" Number.” " I write, my Lord,” (an-
fwered Hobbs, to ſhew the Folly of Writing-
" Were all the Books in the World on board one
Veſlel, I ſhould feel a greater Pleaſure than
" that Lucretius ſpeaks of, in ſeeing the Wreck."
B
mo“
22
52
66
C But

26
LET TERV.
66 but ſtill it cannot in itſelf be looked upon with
" “ But ſhould you feel no Tenderneſs for
your own Productions ?”_ “ I care for no-
" thing, (added he,) but the Leviathan, and
S that might poſſibly eſcape by ſwimming.”
As he had frequently changed his Political
Principles, I did not think it of Conſequence to
enquire into his Ideas of Goveróment. But, in
the Courſe of Converſation, I found that he look-
ed upon the principal Engine of Adminiſtration
to be Fear. “ All Government, (ſaid he) is in
" itſelf an Evil. "Tis nothing but the continual
Impoſition of Terror, and Infli&tion of Puniſh-
ment. It muſt be owned, that it is an Evil
" which the natural Depravity of Men has ren-
" dered neceſſary to the Exiſtence of Society ;
is an
66
any other Senſations than ſuch as are excited
by the View of its ſeveral Inſtruments, the
Scourge, the Gibbet, and the Gaol. The
“ Sight of Majeſty inſpires me with no other
Ideas, than ſuch as ariſe when I ſee the loweſt
“ Executioner of the civil Power." -- " That is,
(ſaid Lord Devonſhire,) “ you have the ſame
« Reſpect for the King as for the Hangman.'
Pardon me, my Lord,”! (returned Hobbs, re-
recolle@ing himſelf,)“ the King is a very worthy
6 Gentleman - You know I had the Honour to
6* teach him Philoſophy at Paris.”—“O Mr.
« Hobbs!
92

LET TER V.
27
" Hobbs! in that Reſpect, (replied his Lordſhip)
your Royal Pupil * does you much Honour."
You have known this fingular Man for ſome
time. He ſaid little concerning you, but that
my Lord Devonſhire ſometimes made him angry
by telling him that you made better Verſes than
himſelf. “ Poetry is a fooliſh thing,” (faid
Hobbs,)“ but I hate to do any thing that is better
** done by others.”
* Charles II.
B 2
I. ETTER

[ 28 ]
L E T TER VI.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND.
THERE will be ſuch Men as Hobbes, fo
lares
long as the World endures, and perhaps it
is neceſſary that there ſhould be ſuch. It is
for the Intereſt of Truth that Sceptics and In-
fidels ſhould occaſionally ſtart up and give the
Alarm to Society. Thoſe Countries that conti-
nue longeſt in the Enjoyment of Peace, are in
the greateſt Danger either of loſing their Liber-
ties through domeſtic Encroachments, or of be-
coming a Prey to the Power of foreign Invaſion.
The Reaſon of this is partly the Weakneſs and
Effeminacy which long Relaxation brings on all
Orders of Men, and partly the Incapacity of De-
fence ariſing from the Diluſe of War. So it
is in the State of Moral and Religious Truth.
While their Intereſts are unagitated, they be-
come leſs attended to, leſs underſtood In Pro-
ceſs of Time, that Knowledge which ſhould be
general, becomes the Property of a few — Hence
arbitrary Tenets, and Theological Prerogative!
Hence Truth unexerciſed, in darker Times, was
roon ſo covered with the Ruſt of Superſtition,
that ſhe loſt the very Principles and Springs of
her

LET TER VI.
29
her Being. It is the Spirit of Enquiry that keeps
her in a proper Condition of Defence, that
poliſhes, brightens, and refines her.
Hobbs, therefore, ſo far as he may be confi-
dered as an Oppoſer of Truth, is an uſeful Mem-
ber of Society. But he is too feeble an Enemy
to be of much Service in the Conteſt. The
Syſtem of his Philoſophy is purely conſtitutional,
calculated for the Meridian of his own proper
Being. Hobbs is naturally deſtitute both of Cou.
rage and Fortitude; and, of Courſe, he thinks
that Fear is an univerſal Principle of Moral Adi-
on. — With regard to Intereſt, which he aſſoci-
ates with Fear, it can only be conſidered as a
Modification of that Paſſion; for, in his Opini-
on, it conſiſts in nothing more than perſonal
Eaſe and Security. — His Ideas of Government
are ſtill of leſs Conſequence than his Opinions of
Moral Principles. The Light in which he
views it, always changes with the Change of his
Affairs. He is now full of Fears that he ſhall
ſuffer for the Publication of his Opinions. - If
the People in Power are ſo wrong-headed as to
puniſh him, it is not the Badge of Tyranny he
ought to give them — It is the Cap of Folly.
B 3
LETTER

[ 30 ]
L E T T E R VII.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
T
THIS Freedom, Waller, is a delightful
thing. This ingenuous and unreſtrained
Expreſſion of ones Feelings and Opinions, this
Gaol- Delivery of the Mind is the moſt happy
Privilege.
Yet, methinks, I cannot enjoy it as I would.
----A Man who, like St. Evremond, has been
accuſtomed to live in Courts, where the groſſeſt
Adulation and Infincerity are ſo neceſſary, ac-
quires an Habit of artificial Expreſſion Where
Nature is no longer left to the Force of her own
Perceptions, to conceal our real Sentiments, and
to ſubflitute others, is ſtudied as a Science. Thus
long Habits of Diſlimulation deprive us of the
Natural Love of Truth, as thoſe Animals we con-
fine for our Amuſement loſe the Deſire of Li-
berty.
In good time, ſure, was I diſmiſſed from theſe
Scenes of Artifice and Deluſion, before the
Seeds of Native Ingenuity were totally corrupt-
ed.

LETTER VII.
3.1
ed. I have yet fome Pleaſure in the Indulgence
of Veracity; and it affords me no unreaſonable
Conſolation, when I reflect, that the ſame At-
tachment to Truth, which occaſioned my Banish-
ment, might have been utterly loſt, if I had ftill
enjoyed my. Country.
Yet that Country, Waller, (I muſt confeſs
my Weakneſs,) that Country ftill hangs upon my
Heart, and I never read the
Repetenda que nunquam
Vale, Terra, dixi +
of Ovid, without Emotions, which I know not
vow to ſubdue - Be it yours, my Friend,
and courtly Philoſopher, to fortify iny Soul a-
gainſt theſe painful Affections, You who
can apply. Philoſophy to every thing, and make
every thing Philoſophy, teach me a little of that
happy Accommodation. Tell me how I may
reconcile Inconſiſtencies
bow I
the Country I have loft, and be ſatisfied with a.
nother.
Be
may love
B4
* Yet he was labouring through his whole Life to :
be reſtored to them; but this is no unuſual Incon-
ſiſtency.
+ Ovid Met. Lib. XII.

32
LET TER VII.
Be it yours, likewiſe, to inſtruct me in the
Cultivation of that Sincerity which, till this Mo-
ment, has been the Object of my Thoughts, and
let me gain ſomething at leaſt by the Loſs of
Place and Favour. The Soil you have to work
upon, is, I hope, not ablolutely barren, though
it may have been over-run with Weeds: The
Climate will aſſiſt you in your Culture, and I
cannot wiſh you better Succeſs, than that he
who was St. Evremond in France may become
IVuller in England,
LETTER

.
[ 33 ]
L E T T E R VIII.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND,
INCERITY! Ingenuity of Expreſſion!
Sincerity peculiar to the Engliſh! What a con-
temptible Opinion muſt you have of us! Do
you look upon us as in a State of Nature ? Are
we not formed into Societies, poliſhed and refin-
ed? And what can fuch a People have to do with
Sincerity ? It is the ſavage Chara&teriſtic of ſa-
vage Life, the natural Effect of wild and uncivi-
lized Qualities.
It may prevail anongſt the
Hords of Tartary, or the Indians of North Amte-
rica, but in cultivated Societies it cannot poſſi-
bly exiſt.
Sincerity! the moſt unfociable of Qualities !
Of all that is called Virtue the moſt un profitable!
Were it abſolutely to take place, Man could ne-
ver be reconciled to Man. It is upon the daily
Sacrifice of Sincerity that the Good-humour
of Life ſubfifts. It is by the Exerciſe of a con-
B 5
trary

34
L E T T E R VIII.
trary Quality that the Harmony of ſocial Inter-
courſe is preſerved.
Man is too vain a Creature to allow the free
Commerce of Truth. As ſhe approaches his
Self-Love is alarmed, and meets her as an In-
vader. What, in this Caſe, are we to do ? Shall
we not accommodate ourſelves to the Weakneſs
of our Nature?
Happy are the Effeets of that Complaiſance,
which, aſſuming the fair and graceful Appear-
ance of 'Truth, reje&s her rigid Qualities;
and, finding an open and eaſy Paſſage to the
Heart, ſcatters Flowers along the Avenues as
ſhe goes!
To what Purpoſe is it that ſhe cannot boaſt
of her Alliance to Sincerity, while ſhe may be
allowed to derive her Origin from Benevolence ?
While her only End is our Satisfaction, where-
fore ſhould we cenſure the means whereby ſhe
cffe&ts it?
Miſtake me not, St. Evremond! I would not
have thoſe Means unlimited Groſs Adulati-
on is a dangerous thing, and is, in its Opera-
tion, like thoſe Poiſons, which, while they
are

LE T T ER VIII.
35
are delicious to the Palate, burn up the
Heart.
*
*
*
I am interrupted.. I will ſay more to you
To-morrow.
LETTER

[ 36
L E T T E R IX.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
YO
OU are miſtaken, my good Friend! You
are not ſo much inclined to Sincerity as
you might imagine. Is it poſſible St. Evremond
could be ſincere, when he complimented Wal-
ler with the Taſk of inſtructing him in Philo-
ſophy ?
As well might fair Carliſle, whoſe conquering Eyes
Pierce to the Soul, and make the Soul tbeir Prize,
In all ber Majeſty of Charms array’d,
Bow to the Beauties of a Village-Maid.
But though I ſmile at all this, and at your
ſerious Obſervations on Sincerity, I cannot, with-
out Compaſſion, hear your Complaints. Your
Exile, I perceive, is ſtill painful to you, and
could I help you to a little of that accommodat-
ing Spirit you fo frankly, and perhaps archly,
aſcribe to me, I am perſuaded you would find
your Account in it.
I
This

LETTER IX.
37
This Spirit, however, is not to be obtained
while we indulge the Influence of certain Affe&ti-
ons; and to teach you how to love your Coun-
try, without lamenting the Loſs of it, is a Talk
beyond my Abilities.
But wherefore ſhould we cheriſh thoſe Affec-
tions that will not let us live at Peace? 'The
Queſtion is obvious, and not eaſy to be anſwered
You will ſay, perhaps, that ſuch Affe&ions
as have been implanted by Nature, or have taken
Root in Habit, are not to be overcome. You
will plead for mechanical Influences, and invo-
luntary Senſations From my Soul do I for-
give thoſe Philoſophers who maintain ſuch Doc-
trines : They contribute to reconcile us to oura
ſelves, by providing us with Apologies for a
thouſand Weakneſſes: But, for my own Part,
I muſt evermore be of Opinion, that by the
Indulgence of fanciful Refle&ions, by a kind
of mental Intemperance, and Luxury of Ima-
gination, we lay up for ourſelves the greateſt
Part of our troubleſome Attachments and uneaſy
Defires.
What reaſonable Claim has France to ſuch a
Regard from St. Evremond as ſhould inſpire him
with

38
LET TER IX.
with reftlefs Longings, and wear out his Peace?
Has Nature irrevocably implanted this Attach:
ment? But will Nature do any thing in-
conſiſtent with the Principles of Reaſon? Is it of
Conſequence either to her general Laws, or to
her appropriated Inſtincts, that we ſhould have
an excluſive Affection for that particular Pro-
vince, or Country, where Chance gave us Birth
It is to Nature we owe our Being, but it is
where Choice or Accident direct our Parents,
that we are born
An Attachment to the
Place, therefore, muſt be the Effect of Whim
or Humour, rather than of Reaſon, or Na..
ture,
But let us ſuppoſe that Habit has created
what Nature did not inſpire.
Our Attach-
ment to every Scene and Object increaſes in
Proportion to the Continuance of our Acquain-
tance with it Even things that are at.
firſt beheld with Diſguſt and Averſion find
their Way into our Favour by Time; and thoſe
Affe&ions, which Nature her ſelf ſeems to have
ſhut up from certain Objeĉts, are inſenſibly
drawn towards them by the Influence of
Cuſtom
But

LET TER IX.
39
But neither Reaſon nor Nature have any thing
to do in theſe Effe&s; for Reaſon continues in:
fenfible to their whole Proceſs and Operation,
and Nature frequently finds her own Inſtin&ş
counteracted by them.
The Attachments. of Habit, therefore, have
neither Merit nor Virtue; they have no Excel-
lence, either moral or natural, they receive no
Sanction from original Inſtincts; and they are
no Effe&ts of rational Choice.
Awake, my St. Evremond! my Friend! my
Philofopher! ſhall Dreams delude thee?
Vane Sembianze!
Imagini del Di, guaſte e corrotte
Da l'ombre de la notte !
Citizen of the World ! Shall Dreams delude
thee? What elſe is this Attachment to France ?
Vain and irrational as the Defires of capricious
Infancy! Idle as our Morning Wiſhes for thoſe
Scenes that Fancy has preſented to us in the
Night! Citizen of the World, awake! Conſider
all the Human Children of Nature gathered in-
to one vaſt Society: This Portion of the Uni-
verſe

40
LET TER IX.
verſe we call the Earth is our common Coun-
try: It is true, this Portion is divided into many
Shares: But ſhall we be ſo childiſh as to hold
our own in peculiar Eſtimation? Or is there
any one indeed, that we can properly call our
own? If it was our Lot to be born in a
Country where Liberty is not a Birth-right, we
have, literally ſpeaking, no Country. Had St.
Evremond been born in Britain, he might have
called it his Country, becauſe he would have
been born to the free Enjoyment of its general
Privileges; but a Frenchman has no Country.
He is an unfortunate Dependant, liable to Death
or Baniſhment, as the capricious Inclinations,
or the ill-informed Judgment of his Maſter ſhall
determine. An Engliſhman muſt be baniſhed
by his Country; a Frencbman is baniſhed by
his King--- The former has a Country from
which he may go into Exile, the latter has
none.
Grieve not at the Thought of loſing what
you never enjoyed. Rejoice in that Protec-
tion and Freedom, that Liberty even of Sen-
timent, which this Iſland will afford
in which you ſo juſtly expreſs your Satisfac-
you, and
tion,
When

I E T T E R IX.
41
When I ſate down to write to you I intend-
ed to have ſaid ſomething on that Subject;
but I have been drawn beyond my Bounds, and
muſt continue indebted to you for all I had to
fay.
SK
LETTER

[ 42 ]
LETTER X.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
Am angry
1
you your Faults
You have abuſed my Coun-
try, and I will have my Revenge. I will
tell
You are the moſt
ſingular of your fingular Nation.
It is true,
you have more Wit and a better Underſtanding
than Half the People in your Iland, and yet it
is very ſeldom that you make any valuable Uſe
of either. The former you throw away upon
Women, whom you make vain without Affec-
tion, and upon Courtiers, who, while they have
ſomething more ſubſtantial in View, hardly envy
you the Enjoyment of it. The latter can only
be compared to a faithful Mirror, which refle&s
every Object in the trueſt Light, without re-
ceiving any Impreſſion.
You feem not to have any determining Prin-
ciples of Conduct
You are carried
away by accidental Circumſtances - You
commit yourſelf wholly to Chance, live with-
out. Reſolution, and think without Choice.
What you do To-day you will avoid To-mor-
row, and repeat it the Day following; yet will
you

L E T T E R X.
43
you not once be at the Trouble of giving your-
felf a Reaſon either for what you do, or for
what
you
avoid. IF
you may be allowed to have
any
Motive of Aation at all, it is merely a tem-
porary Inclination, the tranſient Ofspring of
Chance, or Fancy.
Yet what ſhall I ſay of thee? thou Friend of
many Colours, but beloved and adraired in all!
Shall I endeavour to imitate thy Indifference,
thy happy. Flexibility, thy undifſipated Diffi-
pation?
Teach me, dear Waller, like thee, to ſail down
the Current of Life, without Fear or Diſorder,
obedient to every Gale, and complying with eve-
ry Tide! Teach me, like thee, on whatever
Shore I am thrown, 10 make it my optata Arena.
- Horace, and Ariſtippus, and Epicurus, thoſe
Philoſophers of Common Senſe, ſhall aſſiſt you
in the Work of Converſion.
I believe I have yet Life enough left for ſuch
an Acquiſition. I am not ſo old as Socrates was
when he learned to dance, nor near ſo old as Cato
when he learned a Language; and certainly the
Attainments I have in View are of much great-
er Importance than either, a Poem, or a Pyrrhic
.
Dance.
Teach

44
L ET TER X.
Teach me, then, to be as happy, that is, to be
as much at Rest, as you are.
Withdraw my
Heart from every Object but yourſelf, and let
me not think any thing of ſo much Confequence
to my Repoſe that it ſhould break it either in
the Preſervation, or the Purſuit of it. Is not
ſuch the Doctrine I am to learn? If ſuch it be,
I deſpair: for I could not, without much Sorrow, ,
loſe even the Privilege of this idle Correſpon-
dence.
LETTER

[ 45 ]
L E T T E R
XI.
WALLER to St. EYREMOND.
I
Should have a hopeful Pupil of you. Firſt
you reproach your Maſter, then apply for
your Leſſon. You cenſure me for a&ing-with-
out Principles, and you would learn my Princi-
ples of A&tion. You accuſe me of making no
valuable Ufe either of
my
Wit or Underſtand-
ing ; you repreſent me as an Example by no
Means imitable, yet I am to be the Pattern of
your Conduct. Be contented, my ſage St. Evre-
mond, for once to be thought as inconſiſtent as
your Friend!
Still you will be only like the reſt of the
World; for there is no ſuch thing as Conſiſtency
in Human Nature. Man is a duaile and a
changeable Creature, It is rarely that he acts
upon ſettled Principles. The greateſt Part of
his Life is directed by Chance, and he is, for the
moft Part, influenced by caſual Impullis, and
accidental Circumſtances ------- Iperceive this to
be the Condition of Humanity, and I conform
myſelf to it. I am ſenſible that thoſe Contin-
gencies over which we have no Power, occa-
fion

40
LET TER XI.
fion ſo many Changes, and have ſo much In-
fluence over our Lives, that the very Attempt
to live uniformly or ſyſtematically would be as
abſurd as to row againſt the Current, when to
ſuffer yourſelf to be borne down with it, would
convey you' as ſafely, and much more eaſily, to
the End of your Voyage.
The End of all Philoſophy is to ſet the Heart
at Eaſe. If I find that Compliance and Accom-
modation will anſwer this Purpoſe the moſt
effe &tually, they are the very Means I ought to
adopt. I comply with Fortune upon the ſame
Principles as I would with any other Miſtreſs, to
keep her in Good-humour. If
you
tell me that
Fortune is quite as ideal as the reſt of my Mil-
treſſes, then I reply, that it is to keep myſelf in
Good-humour; and that certainly is no unim-
portant End.
You ſeem to be of the ſame Opinion, when,
in your abundant Humility, you profeſs your-
ſelf my Diſciple. But you have an extenſive
Proceſs to go through, before you can be capa-
ble of thoſe Do&rines you propoſe to learn. Yet
be not alarmed. I do not mean that you ſhould
diveſt yourſelf of your warmeſt Attachments, or
ſacrifice the Love of Glory, Fame, or Pleaſure.
I think thoſe are falſe Philoſophers, who, to ex-
empt

LETTER XI.
47
empt us from the troubleſome Effects of our Paſ-
fions, would deprive us of the Paſſions them-
ſelves. They are like thoſe deſperate Surgeons,
who for the flighteſt Wound would have Re-
courſe to Amputation. Let Love, Fame, and
Glory be ſtill the Objects of your Purſuit; but
remember thiat every Object of Human Attention
is uncertain and evaneſcent. Enjoy the Chace
while it laſts -
---- If you are thrown out, ſmile
at the Diſappointment, and ſtart fome other
Game.
LETTER

[ 48 ]
L E T T E R
XII.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
O be reconciled implicitly to every Event,
and to paſs through Life without Anxiety
or Diſappointment, is certainly a moſt valuable
Effe&t of Philofophy. This is the Object of
your Ambition, and this is what you would learn
from me No, no, St. Evremond, do not de-
ceive yourſelf. You would not be without your
Anxieties; you find a Charm in your-Diſap-
pointments that Matters your Vanity, when you
conſider the Hardiſhips of ſuffering Merit; and
your Misfortunes ferve to ſhew us how elegantly
you can complain.
Would you
loſe the Pleaſure of painting 10
the Ducheſs of Mazarin, in ſuch delicate Colours,
your mutual Misfortunes ? Would you be de-
prived of the Honour of being a Fellow. fufferer
with ſuch a Woman? A Similarity of Sufferings
makes People Friends. It draws them together,
not only becauſe they expect the mutual Privi-
lege of uttering their Complaints, but becauſe
thoſe Complaints are beſt underſtood, and most
effe&ually felt. They look upon the World
with

LETTER XIL.
49
with equal Jealouſy. They conſider Fortune as
their common Enemy, and as ſuch they conſpire
againſt her.
This Conſpiracy begets Friendſhip,
and Friendſhip Affe&tion. So
If I had your Wit and brilliant Fancy, I would
write ſuch an Eulogium on your Misfortunes as
ſhould perfealy reconcile you to them, without
the Afliſtance of Philoſophy. I would ſhew you,
how much your Fame, your Wit, your Merit
is indebted to them: I would convince you how
much unmerited Sufferings contribute to exalt
us in the Opinion of the World. I would de-
ſcribe your Reputation ſtretching beyond the Li-
mits of one Nation, and by its increaſing Luſtre
caſting a Shade on your Diſgrace. I would re-
preſent the latent Seeds of Fortitude as animated
and called forth by this trying Event, which, in
a Series of uninterrupted Felicity, might have
been totally deſtroyed. I would give its due En-
comiums to that Magnanimity which could ſtill
look with Kindneſs on the Scene of its Sufferings.
I would: aſcribe the tender Paſſions and milder
Sentiments, the Influence of Pity and Benevo-
lence, the Prevailings of Modeſty and Diffidence,
to the occaſional Exerciſes of Amiation. The
Imagination ſhould be found to have profited
no leſs than the other Faculties. It ſhould ap-
pear to be enriched, and to have caught new Im-
С
preſſions

50
LETTER XII.
preſſions from Variety of Sentiments and Situa-
tions; to be ſoftened and ſubdued by affecting
Senſations: Laſtly, it ſhould be employed in em-
belliſhing Misfortune itſelf, and pour its har-
monious Complaints in the Ear of ſympathiſing
Beauty. The Ducheſs of M_ſhould be the
Objeâ addreſſed, who, being ſomething more
than a mere Mortal, might well aſſume the Cha-
racter and Compaſſion of a Guardian Angel.
LETTER

[51]
LET TER XIII.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
S.
O kind and yet ſo perplexing, ſo engaging
yet
ſo volatile a Friend have I never found.
From the Beginning of your laſt Letter I ex-
peeted nothing leſs than a ſerious Le&ture in
Practical Philoſophy - But we have hardly
got to the End of one Sentence, till the Philoſo-
pher, inſtead of inſtructing his Friend how to
bear with Misfortune, writes an Encomium on
Misfortune itſelf.
Indeed, had I reafon to believe but Half of
what you have advanced in favour of that
Monſirum horrendum, I ſhould, at the ſame time,
have ſufficient Reaſon to acquieſce in it. But
alas! my dear Waller! your Colourings are too
high. The Zeal of Friendſhip has over borne
your Reaſon; has deſtroyed your Sagacity in the
Diſcernment, and your Ingenuity in the Expreſ-
ſion of Truth. Were I certainly either wiſer or
better for my Misfortunes, they would hardly de-
ſerve thao Name; but that Time which I ſhould
have devoted to the Acquiſition of Knowledge,
and
С 2

52
L E T T E R XIII.
and the Improvement of the Mind, has been,
for the moſt Part, ſpent in uſeleſs Regret.
It muſt be confeſſed, notwithſtanding, that
what you have charged me with drawing from
my Diſappointments to ſoothe my Vanity, is
not far from the Truth; but I believe it is
chargeable on all Mankind. And ſurely Nature
acted altogether from her Wiſdom and Benevo-
lence, when ſhe lent us Self-love as an Antidote
to Deſpair.
How artfully do you ſoothe and flatter me,
when you mention the Ducheſs of M -in
ſuch an intereſting and affe&ing manner! – Oh,
Waller! how well you know the Heart! For that
I at once forgave you all your Levities, your ex-
travagant Compliments, and ironical Praiſe.
You may ſmile, if you pleaſe ; you may en-
joy, with Complacency, the Power of your Ad-
dreſs; but I muſt confeſs to you, I was utterly
unable to reſiſt the Inclination of ſhewing your
Letter to Madam Mazarin.
It was imprudent in the laſt Degree: my Vani-
ty overacted its Part. Inſtead of giving me Cre-
dit for the Compliments you paid me, her whole
Attention was turned from the Subject to the
Writer,

L E T TER XIII.
53
Writer, and I was in Danger of finding a Rival,
where I hoped to have found a Friend.
Yet this produced one agreeable Effe&. I told
her Grace you was under an Obligation to teach
me your accommodating Philoſophy. She im-
mediately profeſſed a Deſire to become your Pu-
pil; and ſhe hereby lays her indiſpenſible Coin-
mands upon you to furniſh us with
your
Lec-
tures.
C 3
LETTER

[ 54 ]
LET TER XIV.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
THER
HE Charm that bound Proteus, and com-
pelled him to propheſy, could not be more
powerful than that you have found out to make
me philoſophize. For as Proteus, though, poſ-
ſibly, ſomething more of a God, was not, by
your Account, more volatile than myſelf, no-
thing leſs than the Magic in the Name of Maza-
rin could have fixed me to the ſober Point of
Philoſophy.
You may remember I told
you,
that
you
had
an extenſive Proceſs to go through, before you
could arrive at that State of Mind which is im-
mediately reconciled to every Event. I meant
not that you ſhould facrifice your Paſſions, or
diſmiſs your Defires. I did not propoſe to re-
duce you to a State of Indifference to every Ob-
ject, for that would have been to cut off the
Sources of Pleaſure; and I am of Opinion that
our Friend Horace was never more out in his
Philoſophy, than in the following Couplet :
NAL

LET TER XIV.
55
* Nil admirari prope res eſt una, Numici,
Solaque qua poteft facere, et ſervare beatum.
For though to admire nothing may be a
Means of preventing Regret, it can be no Means
of Happineſs, at leaſt of that Kind of Happineſs
which obtains in my Creed; for that is Pleaſure.
If Eaſe be Happineſs, If an Exemption from Evil
alone may be termed ſo, the Dead have the beſt
Claim to it, and the Inhabitants of Vaults and
Charnels are more to be envied than the Living.
But this was never the Purpoſe of Nature.
The Portion ſhe gives her Children is the Enjoy-
ment of their Exiſtence, and thoſe are the moſt
undutiful who moſt negle&t or depreciate this
her firſt and greateſt Law.
Nothing that is not dear to us can be enjoyed :
For this Reaſon Nature has given us Attach-
ments, Affections, and Defires.
The
C4
66
* Thus tranſlated by Creech:
“ Naught to admire is all the Art we know
To make Men happy, and to keep them ſo."
Pope has borrowed this Tranſlation, becauſe he
could not find a better; and then very ungratefully
laughs at poor Creech for lending him it.
“ So take it in the very Words of Creech.”

56
L E T TER XIV.
The End of theſe Gifts was to promote our
Happineſs; when they are retained longer than
that Purpoſe can be anfwered; when they are
extended to Objects out of our Power, it is not
Nature that errs; we alone are to blame, who
miſapply her Gifts.eu
While we are attached to particular Objects,
that Attachment conſtitutes our Happineſs, ſo
long as they are in our Power. When that
ceaſes to be the Caſe; when this Law of Na-
ture is obliged to give Place to the Contingencies
of Fortune, or is ſuperſeded by ſome other Law
of her own, then are we not to imitate Nature
herſelf in this Caſe, and make the Leſs ſubmit to
the Greater? No we will not yield to this.
We are determined to retain our Attachments
when their Objects are vaniſhed; we cheriſh
what is altogether fuperfluous ; and what was
given us for our Pleaſure we pervert to a Tor-
ment.
It is not neceſſary to ſpecify the ſeveral Ob-
jects I allude to: I mean whatever is the End of
our Purſuits, Affections, Paſſions, and Deſires.
Whether Love or Friendſhip, Fame, Place, or
Power, or whatever elſe may be the Subjeđ, the
Rule is ſtill the ſame. While either Hope, or
Deſire can be reaſonably exerciſed, we follow
our

L E T TER XIV.
57
our Happineſs in the Paths that Nature has
pointed out to us; but when Hope is cut off,
our Purſuits are Madneſs; and when Deſire
can no longer be gratified, the Indulgence of it
is Folly.
Theſe Speculations, you will ſay, are eaſy,
and the Charge may be juſt; but is it ſo eaſy to
overcome an Attachment which is grown into
Habit, and has been confirmed by Time? Cera
tainly, I anſwer, there can be no Difficulty in
doing what Nature intended we ſhould do. -
Were it unnatural it might be difficult. Our
Love of Life lafts as long as Life itſelf, becauſe
it was ſo long neceſſary for the Preſervation of
our Being ; yet this Love of Life cannot poſſibly
ſurvive its Object, and that is the General Law
which Nature has given to all our Attachments.
She never meant that they ſhould laſt longer than
the tranſient Subjects that occaſioned them; and
if ſhe never meant it, it cannot be difficult for
us to a& in Conformity to her original Pur-
poſes.
It is generally a Diſpoſition to act contrary to
Nature which occaſions our Miſery in this, as
well as in almoſt every other Reſpe&. It is
from her Bounty we derive the Objects of En-
joyment; but with this we are not ſatisfied; we
C5
want

L ET TER XIV.
want to preſcribe the Terms and the Duration
of that Enjoyment ourſelves. When ſhe has
lent us the Play-things of Pleaſure for our
Amuſement, like Children, we cannot part with
them without Petulance and Tears. No;- it
muſt be the laſt Bauble, or nothing. In vain
The offers us ſomething elſe She has taken
the Bells from us; and the Whiſtle ſhe holds
out to us we ſnatch, and dath it to the Ground.
Thus we a& like Children, and it is like Chil-
dren we ſuffer. Could we but perſuade our-
ſelves quietly to give up one Toy, and take an-
other, how much Miſery, occaſioned by Obſti-
nacy and Abſurdity, might we avoid!
It would, moreover, be no very ineffe&tual
Means of inducing us to part unreluctantly with
what we have enjoyed, if we ſhould then begin
to view the Object in the inoſt unfavourable
Light. Nothing more probable than that we
ſhould find it a Toy! We often admire without
Attention, or the Exerciſe of Reaſon; and it is
neceſſary we ſhould; for were we to examine
minutely every Object that ſhould engage our Af-
fections, or exerciſe our Deſires, we ſhould find
ſo much Weakneſs, ſuch inſignificant Proper-
ties, or ſuch contemptible Qualities, that Deſire
and Affection would for ever be ſuſpended, and
we

LE T TER XIV.
59
we ſhould languiſh through Life without Enjoy-
ment or Delight. Then is the Time to look
up-
on an Object in the leaſt favourable Point of
View, when it is
gone
from us, and would carry
our Hearts along with it --While it laſts, let us,
for our own Sakes, always contemplate it in the
moſt agreeable Light; let us caſt a Shade over its
Imperfections, and cheriſh in our Imagination
thoſe pleaſing Qualities, whether real or ideal,
that firſt drew us towards it.
This is a very profitable, and a very pardona-
ble Theft of Happineſs; a Species of Self-decep-
tion, which ought, by all means, to be encou-
raged, becauſe it foothes the Mind without cor-
rupting it.
There are ſome Species of Self-deception,
which it may be dangerous to indulge. The
Cauſe of Social Virtue may ſuffer where it be-
comes the Support of inequitable Principles; but
where it is admitted only in aſcribing imaginary
Perfections to the Objects of our Regard, it is
produ&tive of Happineſs without any moral In-
convenience.
By this, then, or by any other unexceptiona-
ble Means, let us cheriſh our Attachments while
their Objects are in our Power. - When they are
no

60
LETTER XIV.
no longer ſo, let us withdraw the Veil that hid
their Weakneſs from us, and when we ſee their
Imperfections, learn to be ſatisfied with their
Loſs,
“ Ungrateful, and unfeeling Waller! (at this
“ Moment exclaims the Ducheſs of M :)
“ What, then, is there no Tenderneſs due to
" the Memory of what has afforded us Pleaſure?
“ Shall we not beſtow a Sigh, a Tear, upon the
" Remembrance of what was dear to us? How
" annaturally fage is ſuch cold Philoſophy! Nay,
“how very ungrateful!”-
Ungrateful,” ſaid your Grace? Ungrateful
to whom, or to what?
“ To thoſe who, of all others, have the greateſt
“ Claim to our Tenderneſs, to the Dead."
Ungrateful to the Dead,” Madam! Is it
poſible? Do you ſuppoſe them to be attentive to
our Conduct?
“ I ſee no Reaſon why they ſhould not be ſo.”
But even ſuppoſing them to be mindful of the
Living, would they be offended at ſuch a Con-
du&t as I have preſcribed ? If they retained any
real Regard for us, would they not rejoice that
we

LETTER XIV.
61
we conſulted our own Happineſs by every
Means
in our Power; even though it were by reflecting
on their paft Foibles and Frailties? Either this
muſt be allowed, or it muſt be taken for granted
that they are the ſame weak and vain Creatures
in their diſembodied State that they were before.
*
A Billet from Lady G---!
EN
LETTER

[ 62 ]
L E T T ER XV.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND.
mire
OW happy, my dear St. Evremond, are
the true and dutiful Children of Philoſo-
phy! No ſooner had I folded up my laſt Letter,
than I had Occaſion to pra&tiſe the ſevereſt Pre-
cepts
I had been preaching
In happy Ex-
pectation, I flew to Lady C.'s, promiſing myſelf
all that Luxury of Converſation which we find
in the uninterrupted Enjoyment of thoſe we ad-
She was utterly inacceſſible----A
Crowd of Coxcombs had ſhut up every Avenue.
I had Aſſurance enough to aſſume an Air of
Gloom and Diſſatisfaction, at which I perceived
ſhe was piqued, though ſhe affected to enjoy it
- I made a ſhort Viſit, and ſet my Heart at
Eaſe with the following Reflections: “ How
« abſurd (ſaid I) to hope, from ſo vain, and ſo
“ variable a Creature as Woman, any
Cer-
“ tainty of Happineſs, or Enjoyment! The Sen-
“s timents of that Sex are fo lightly taken up,
“ and ſo fuperficially impreft, that they are diſper-
“ ſed and ſwept away by the ſlighteſt Breath of
66 Chance. Their Reaſon, if they have any,
“ (for even that has been diſputed) is a vague,
volatile,

L E T TER XV.
63
volatile, and flexible Principle, whoſe Office
“is never to direct their Inclinations, but to de-
“ fend and apologiſe for them when purſued.
“ Nature apparently, intended them for little
more than one Purpoſe, and we fooliſhly put
'it in their Power to plague us, by expecting
more from them than they were meant to
give.”
27
was
Do not you believe that, after theſe Reflecti-
ons, my Heart was at Reſt? Be aſſured that it
- I plainly perceived that Lady C-
had invited me purely to enjoy her own Impor-
tance in my Mortification. When I conſidered
this, I pitied her Weakneſs as much as I had in-
dulged her Vanity, and made them both toge-
ther a Motive for my Repoſe.
My charming Catullus! my happy, my ele-
gant Philoſopher! with what an intereſting Plea-
ſure did I then recolled theſe thy beautiful
Lines.
Miſer Catulle, definas ineptire!
Et quod vides periſe, perditum ducas.
Fulsére quondam candidi Tibi foles,
Cum ventitabas, quà Puella ducebat,
Amata nobis, quantum amabitur nulla.
Ibi illa multa tam jocoſa fiebant

64
LET TER XV.
Qua Tu volebas, nec Puella nolebat.
Fulsêre verè candidi Tibi foles.
Nunc jam illa non vult; Tu quoque impotens, noli,
.
Nec
quæ fugit ſectare; nec miſer vive:
Sed obftinata mente perfer, obdura:
Vale Puella: jam Catullus obdurat.
Nothing was ever more perfe&ly agreeable to
my own Sentiments - This, St. Evremond,
is the very Doctrine I have been preaching; let
us try how well it will fit upon myſelf.
Wretched Waller! fool no more:
Give thy idle Paſſion o'er :
Charming all that once might be,
Think it loſt, if loſt to Thee.
Thine were Paths beſtrew'd with Flowers,
Golden Suns, and ſmiling Hours;
When thy conſtant Feet would ſtray
Along the Love-enchanted Way;
Led by her, that in thy Heart
No Nymph has left an equal Part.
When each Joy thy Soul could ſhare
Was ſnatch'd from no unwilling Fair,
Thine were Paths beſtrew'd with Flowers,
Golden Suns and ſmiling Hours.
Now the Nymph is kind no more,
Give thy idle Paſſion o'er :
Why,

LETTER XV.
65
Why, inconſtant if the be,
Should it make a Wretch of thee?
Tell her that her Arts are vain,
Waller is himſelf again.
in humalasan
Nature had undoubtedly very wiſe Ends in
rendering that beautiful Creature ſo very imper-
feet, and ſo deficient in all but perſonal Accom-
pliſhments. Had the charms of the Female
Mind borne any Proportion to thoſe of the Fe-
male Form, that Idol alone would have engroff-
ed our Attention, and the other Beauties of
Creation would have paſſed unnoticed -- But
Nature, willing to be admired through the Va-
riety of her Works, has thrown into each ſome-
thing that might diſpoſe us to turn from it, and,
after a ſhort Attention, to ſeek for new Ob-
je&ts,
Thus, in the Vegetable Creation, many
Flowers that are adorned with the fineſt and moſt
glowing Colours, are either totally deſtitute of
Smell, or in ſome meaſure diſagreeable. We
admire their Beauty, and paſs from them to be
relieved by the Fragrance of others.
Nature is perfe&ly wiſe in all her Diſpenſati-
ons, and it is our beſt Wiſdom to conform to her
apparent Purpoſes. Had the intended Woman
to

66
LET TER XV.
to be the fole Object of Man's Attention, ſhe
would have given her Qualities of Power enough
to fix his conſtant Regard. But, from this ſhe
ſeems to have had Views entirely different. She
has given ſo much Levity and Vanity, ſo much
Fickleneſs and Inconſiſtency, ſuch a wandering
Head, and ſuch a trifling Spirit, to the Female
Character, that ſhe certainly never meant fo
variable a Creature to be the Object of an inva-
riable Attachment. Such are my preſent
Sentiments, and I find that they are of no little
Uſe to me,
LETTER

[ 67 ]
L ET TER
XVI.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
Y 01
OU and De l'Enclos are the moſt extraor-
dinary Philoſophers I ever knew. You
do not confine yourſelves to the Rules of for-
mer Sages, nor indeed to any Rules at all.
You make your own Laws ex poft facto. You
purſue devoutly your Inclinations. If they are
gratified, all is well: It is upon the Principles of
Nature that you act; and, for living agreeably to
her Dictates, ſhe rewards you with Enjoyment.
If they are deluded, though then, perhaps, all is
not ſo well, yet you will range through the whole
Moral and Natural World to account for the
Diſappointment. Your Search is not in vain.
You never fail to find the Cauſe in Nature.
Certain Imperfe&ions ſhe left in her Works, for
very wiſe Purpoſes. You muſt be perfe&tly re-
conciled to her Adminiſtration ; for you find
your
Happineſs in following her Precepts !
An excellent Philoſophy, this, and perfeâly
convenient! It removes every Subject of Self-
Reproach, and all the Moral Cauſes of Diſcon-
tent vaniſh into nothing. You fit ſerene bepeath
the

68
LET TER XVI.
the Banners of Wiſdom and Rectitude. Reaſon,
Prudence, and Propriety charge you with no
Tranſgreſſions Your Hopes and Deſires al-
ways move within the Circle deſcribed by Truth
and Nature -- You are always, therefore, in your
own Opinion, entitled to what you enjoy, and
by this commodious Philoſophy you are recon-
ciled to what eſcapes you.
That theſe
may
be very convenient Principles,
I will not deny; but their 'Truth, I apprehend,
and even their Juſtice, muſt, frequently, be dif-
putable.
Againſt their Truth it muſt be alledged, that,
to refer Moral Inconveniencies to Natural Cauſes,
would conſequently lead us to charge Nature
with all the Evils and Irregularities that the Fol-
ly or Depravity of Man might bring upon him,
and, in many caſes, with the Breach of her own
obvious Laws, which would be abſurd.
With reſpect to their Juſtice, it muſt be fre-
quently problematical; for as it is one of your
firſt Principles to remove every Shadow of Error
from your own Conduct, it will follow, as a ge-
neral Conſequence, that you will not be too ten-
der in your Opinion of others; and thus, either
Nature, or the Works of Nature, or both, will
ſuffer from the Imputation,
As

LETTER XVI.
69
As to your Un-Waller-like Treatment of the
Ladies, I muſt tell
you that I had put on Shield
and Buckler to ſtep forth their redoubted Knight,
but Bouillon vowed ſhe was able to encounter
ſo puny a Paynim herſelf, and you may there-
fore
prepare to meet her Lance.
LETTER

[ 70 ]
LETTER XVII.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
I e Non for your pred viabe der let core
SEND
you
the incloſed without the leaſt Com.
paſſion for you : You have deſerved a more
ſevere Chaſtiſement, and you will be too much
honoured in falling by ſo diſtinguiſhed a Hand.
Advenit qui veſtra dies muliebribus armis
Verba redargueret. Nomen tamen baud leve
Patrum
Manibus boc referes, telo cecidiſſe CAMILLÆ!
Madam DE BOUILLON to Mr. WALLER.
I HAVE the Pleaſure of being obliged to Mr.
Waller for a more agreeable Opinion both of my-
ſelf and of my whole Sex, than I have ever be-
fore dared to entertain. St. Evremond, either to
gratify his own Spleen, or to excite mine, ſhew-
ed me a Letter, which, but for certain Circum-
ſtances, I could never have believed to be writ-
ten by the gallant Mr. W-
The unmer-
ciful Cenſures in that invidious Letter, thrown
indiſcriminately

LET TER XVII.
71
indiſcriminately on the whole Female World,
awakened, I muſt confeſs, my keeneſt Reſent-
ment. What! ſaid I, are we then ſuch weak,
ſuch inſignificant Creatures, born for no Pur-
poſe but the loweſt of all Purpoſes ? The
Diſdain I this Moment feel at my Soul, tells me
that the Charge is not leſs groundleſs than mali-
cious. For no nobler Purpoſe than But
you ſhall find, Waller, that I can be cool; and
that a Woman has Fortitude enough to repel an
injurious Attack with Calmneſs.
But you
If Nature intended us for nothing more than
the Preſervation of her favourite Boys, why did
ſhe give us any other Powers than ſuch as were
neceſſary merely for that End ?
will ſay, ſhe has not given us any other --You
diſpute with us even the Privilege of Reaſon-0
Blindneſs of Prejudice! Vain and arrogant Par-
tiality! What is Reaſon but the Power of diſ-
tinguiſhing Right from Wrong, the Capacity
of drawing juſt Concluſions from known Princi-
ples? And will you dare to deny that we have
this Power? Let the noble Inſtances of Recti-
tude, Virtue, and Intrepidity; let the ſhining
Powers of Mind, the Fire of Genius, the Deli-
cacy of Taſte, the Vivacity of Penetration, and
the Clearneſs of Underſtanding, that have diſ-
tinguiſhed Numbers of illuſtrious Women, make
you

72
L E T TER XVII.
you think of your Cenfure with filent Bluſhes!
Shall I mention the ſeveral Characters
which at once occur to my Memory ? No, Sir!
I will not pay ſo ill a Compliment to yours.
But if, after all, you ſhould have Charity
enough to allow us this ſame Faculty of Reaſon,
it muſt not be without Limitations Limita-
tions almoſt as diſgraceful as the total Excluſion
of it! " The Reaſon of a Woman is a flexible
Principle, whoſe Office is never to direct her
Inclinations, but to defend them when pur-
“ ſued.” I wiſh, with all my Heart, Waller,
that this were leſs the Condition of Human Rea-
ſon in general; but that it is more particularly ſo
with the Female World, I believe no candid Ob-
ſerver of Chara&ters will allow. Are
Are many of us
remarkable for Abſurdities, for Levities, Incon-
ſiſtencies, and inſignificant Purſuits ? Let it be
ſuppoſed But have not you, too, your
Wrong-heads, your inſipid Triflers, your fickle
and frivolous Characters ? Though a Woman
ſhould make uſe of her Reaſon to defend her
Follies, is ſhe therefore more deſpicable, or
more ridiculous than he whoſe Condu& is equal-
ly exceptionable, but who has not Modeſty or
Ingenuity ſufficient to apologiſe for it? Are we
deftitute of Virtue? You will not dare to ſay it
- And are you not Philoſopher enough to
know,

LETTER XVII.
73
know, that Virtue is the Effect of Reaſon? If
Virtue be the Effect of Reaſon, and if Women
are not deſtitute of Virtue, neither can they be
deſtitute of Reaſon; of Reaſon in its utmoſt Per-
fe&ion; for it is that alone which is productive
of Virtue?
But we are vain and variable !” Thanks to
that unbounded Adulation of yours,
and that
fickle Diſpoſition to which we owe both theſe
Qualities ! It is to your Diſſimulation, or your
Servility, or both, that we are indebted for the
greateſt Part of our Vanity: and you know too
well
your Paſſion for Variety, to be ignorant of
the Motives why we are given to Change.
It is this Neceflity we find of aſſuming different
Appearances, and of varying our Conduct in
Compliance with your Taſte, that has furniſhed
you with your curiouſly careleſs Obſervation,
that“ our Sentiments are lightly taken up, and
ſuperficially impreſt.” We can think, Sir,
with as much Depth, as much Firmneſs and
Solidity, as any MASCULINE MIND - But what
a ſuperficial Obſerver muſt you be, who could
not at once ſee into the Reaſons you give us for
this Variety of Sentiment, as well as of Con-
du&t? Be ingenuous, Waller! be frank, and
D
conſtant ;

74
LET TER XVII.
conſtant; and the Woman who ſhall treat you
with Levity, will deſerve your Reproaches.
I cannot help thinking, that
you
and
your
Friend Catullus are like two truant School Boys,
who, after they have been properly chaſtiſed, af-
fect to laugh and play upon their Puniſhment, but
always return to their Maſter with Fear and
Trembling
Nothing ſo fine as your ſpeculative Alluſions to
the Oeconomy of Nature! Nothing ſo ſlight, or
ſo ſoon blown away! Gently Thou curious
Texture, let me behold thy delicate Frame! -
Hold! 'Tis gone, like the Goſſamer! Gone for
ever! and not a Film remaining!
LETTER

[ 75 ]
L ET TER XVIII.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER,
Y
OU have uſed me cruelly, in not intro-
ducing me ſooner to the Acquaintance of
Mr. Cowley, To find, at my Time of Life,
that there is a Pleaſure which I might have en-
joyed for ſome Years, is a very mortifying thing,
I am ſenſible of this Lofs. Mr. Cowley has con-
vinced me, that I had an Affection, which want-
ed only to be called forth and exerciſed, to add
to my Stock of Happineſs. He has taught me to
love him, or rather to love ſomething that is in
his Genius and Turn of Mind, with a Degree of
Senſibility that is very delightful to me. His
pleaſant, eaſy Manners, the Enthuſiaſm of his
Fancy, the Luxuriancy of his Imagination, have
a certain Charm in them, which ſeems to com-
municate itſelf by Sympathy. When he ſpeaks
of Rural Life, and the retired Enjoyment of Na-
ture, he carries me, without Reluctance, into
the Scenes that he deſcribes; and though I know
frome Experience, that I could not live two whole
Days in the Country, I wonder, for the time,
that I ſhould live any where elſe. Mr. Cowley's
Love
D 2

76
LETTER XVIII.
Love of Nature appears ſo perfe&tly unaffe&ed,
that it creates a kind of Reverence for him. It
inſpires one with ſomething like thoſe Senſations,
which we may ſuppoſe the ancient Poets felt,
when they believed and deſcribed the Exiſtence
of Genii and tutelary Powers in the ſeveral De-
partments of Nature.
Let me aſk you if you
have not often regretted the Loſs of that Doc-
trine. I am not aſhamed to own, that I have
lamented the Abolition of it with great Sincerity,
Could any thing be more delightfully affe&ing,
more calculated to inſpire a noble and dignifying
Enthuſiaſm, than thus to walk with Gods? -
To ſee Nature full of Divinities? — Nothing thus
is inanimate or unintereſting. Every Grove,
every River has its Conſequence, when accompa .
nied with the Idea of its peculiar Deity. How
much muſt it have heightened the Fancy, and
harmonized the Numbers of the Poet, when he
could ſuppoſe himſelf attended by liſtening Dryads
by Naiads that had left their Fountains to hear
the Muſic of his Lays; perhaps by Apollo him-
ſelf, the God of Melody and Fancy, habited like
ſome Shepherd, or ſome wandering Herdſman!
I am fincerely ſorry for the Loſs of this
Theology!
LETTER

[77]
LET TER XIX.
WALLER to Sr. EVREMOND.
I
Twould have given me Pleaſure to have
been of your Party with Mr. Cowley. No-
thing could have entertained me more than the
Raptures you expreſſed on the Idea of Retire-
ment. I know you both, and am ſatisfied that
the World has not two Men in it who are ſo
little capable of living alone. You, indeed, ac-
knowledge it; but poor Cowley has my Com-
paſſion. He miſtakes the Chagrin of Diſappoint-
ment for an Averſion to Public Life ; and I
grieve to think, that he muſt find himſelf un-
happy in the Miftake - I have obſerved, that
Men who have the greateſt Reſources in them-
felves are the leaſt able to live in Solitude. It is
not difficult to account for this. It is owing to
an Exceſs of Sentiment. Evacuation is as neceſ-
ſary in the Mental as in the Corporal Fun&ions.
A Mind that overflows with Ideas, if it wants the
accuſtomed Means of Communication, will lan-
guiſh and find itfelf oppreſt. Books are of no
great Service in this Reſpea. They pour in
freſh Supplies, and draw but little off. Some.
thing, indeed, may be ſpent in Reflection; but
that
D3

78
LET TER XIX.
that is a kind of Diſcharge, which, like the
ebbing Tide, goes off to return with the ſame
Force and Fullneſs. The Pen is the only Relief
in ſuch Situations as theſe. The great Raleigh
found it ſo during his infamous Impriſonment.
Had he been capable of bearing Solitude, we
ſhould probably never have ſeen his Hiſtory of
the World. But no Man can write always. It
is a ſevere kind of Exerciſe, which will not fail
to weaken the Mind, if taken too frequently,
too long. Therefore, where Retirement becomes
an Object of Neceſſity rather than of Choice,
which, to the Shame of the World be it ſpoken,
is the Caſe with Mr. Cowley; it were to be
wiſhed, as you obferve, that the ancient Theolo-
gy could be revived, and that there were a Poſſi-
bility of converſing with Ideal Beings. I fancy
that you, who are a true Catholic, might, with-
out much difficulty, reconcile this Do&rine to
Orthodoxy and right Faith. I often think, that
the ſubaltern Deities in the Heathen Bible were
conſidered only as ſo many Symbols of the Attri-
butes of the Univerſal Parent. Thus Ceres,
Flora, and Pomona, with the reſt of that Tribe,
repreſent his Beneficence in its various Operati-
ons. Pan, Pales, Sylvanus, and their aſſociate
Powers, imperſonate his Providential Care in the
Animal and Vegetable Creation. In ſhort, it
ſeems

LET TER XIX.
79
ſeems to me, that you may recall, without Im-
propriety, this Enthuſiaſm of Antiquity, and that
in all your Excurſions you may walk with
God!
D4
LETTER

( 80 )
L E T TER XX.
Sr. EvreMOND to WALLER.
IT
She is gone
T is with me, as with thoſe unhappy Deb-
tors, who, when they have no Hope of re-
trieving their Affairs, diſcover their Diſtreſs to
their Creditors, and bid them, in Deſpair, take
the little that is left Time has a long Ac-
count againſt me, and, now that I have nothing
left worth holding, I am willing to ſettle with
him O Waller! I have lived too long
I have ſurvived myſelf
that elegant, that enchanting Woman, is gone
for ever Thoſe Lips, that never opened
without pouring Perſuaſion into the Soul; that
ſmiled into ſuch Meanings as no Language could
expreſs -- Merciful God! they are filent, ſenſe-
leſs —I ſaw them quiver in the Agonies of
Death; and then, even then, when her Eye was
half raiſed to meet mine, a tremulous Smile hung
upon them for a Moment That was the
laſt Sign of Senſibility, and in a Moment more
ſhe expired, in ſuch a Manner as an Angel may
be imagined to fall aſleep. - I am very ſick of
this World. Nothing that is good, or valuable,
will

LET TER XX.
81
will live in it. I find myſelf alone, in the midſt
of a vaſt, unfeeling, regardleſs Circle of Beings,
with whom I have no Mutuality of Intereſt or
Concern. Every thing around me ſeems to have
loſt its Conſequence. My Hopes and Deſires,
my very Will itſelf all are in a State of
Suſpenſion; and thoſe things which uſed to give
me Pleaſure, by exciting my Attention, are now
perfe@ly indifferent to me. Even the Faculty
of Speech ſeems to have forſaken me, and if I
have any Indulgence left, it is in a kind of ſombre
Silence.
Et, ceſſant de parler, je remets à mes pleurs
Le ſoin de faire voir l'excès de mes douleurs.
Dans un lieu frequente, dans un lieu folitaire,
Le plus aimable objet ne fait que me deplaire;
Inſenſible toujours aux clartes du Soleil,
Plus inſenſible encore aux douceurs de fommeil.
knew not that my Happineſs fo totally de-
pended on the Obje&t I have loſt. I ſuſpected
not that ſhe was ſo neceſſary to my Peace, to
my very Exiſtence -—'Tis true, I loved her ;
but how unpardonable was that Ignorance !
I ought to have known the Confequences of lof-
ing her before I felt them I ſhould then
have formed a truer Eſtimate of her Importance
DS

82
LET TER XX.
to me
How painful is the Anguiſh of
too late a Gratitude!. How wretched to be
for ever learning what we ſhould for ever know!
LETTER

[ 83 )
L E T TER XXI.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
S
poor
at laſt from the Malice of her Fate!
Good Heaven! that the moſt beautiful and moſt
agreeable Objects in the Creation ſhould thus
ſuffer, and periſh ! How has the fell Satyr, Mis-
FORTUNE, purſued that fair and amiable Wo-
man, from her very Entrance into the World !
And has the Chace, then, only ended in
the Grave? Alasl my St. Evremond, I feel for
you, for myſelf, for Human Nature. But
let us change our Grief into Indignation
Let us remember, that this loved, lamented
Victim fell at the Shrine of SUPERSTITION
and
* The Superſtition of the Duke De Mazarin,
and the ridiculous Circumſtances of his fanatical
Conduct, rendered it impoſible for a Woman of
the Ducheſs's Spirit and Temper to live with him.
Unhappily, however, ſhe had no Alternative, but
to ſtarve without him. Yet ſhe preferred even
that to Slavery, and the Debaſement of the Mind.
Mr. De St. E vre mond was among thoſe who contri-
buted to her Support in Engiand.
SITE

84
LETTER XXI.
and pour our heavieſt Curſes on her detefted
Head - Join me, St. Evremond! - Lend me your
aſſiſting Hand, and we will cruſh her into Atoms -
Let us purſue her through all her horrid Haunts,
her diſmal Retreats - The injured Ghoſt
of Mazarin ſhall lead the Way, and ſcare her
from the meditated Taſk of Murder.
There is a ſuperfluous kind of Generoſity pe-
culiar to liberal Spirits, which makes them, upori
the Loſs of thoſe who were dear to them, la-
ment that they have been deficient in Friendſhip
or in Kindneſs. This, I find, is amongſt the
things that affli& you ; but this is a Superkition
of the Moral Kind, which you muſt not indulge.
I know that Madame Mazarin had the greateſt
Obligations to your Friendſhip. You enlivened
her unhappy Fortunes with your good Humour;
you mitigated them with your Philoſophy; you
relieved them out of an Income hardly ſufficient
for yourſelf. Remember theſe things, and the
Reflections which now give you Pain will bring
very different Senſations along with them. The
Idea of Mazarin will be accompanied by a pen-
five but pleaſing Tenderneſs, which, though it
may bear the Name of Sorrow, you will be un-
willing to part with.
There is a kind of Luxury
in lamenting the Death of thoſe we have loved.
Our

LET TER XXI.
85
Our Affections themſelves ſupply the Place of
their Object. We enjoy the Exerciſe of them
again; and thus there is a period of Mourning
that has its Charms,
LETTER

[ 86 )
I LETTER XXII.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
I
REMEMBER to have been much pleaſed in
my Youth with a Deſign and Motto of the
Duke of Florence, The Emblem was a fine
ſpreading Tree, full of innumerable thriving and
Howery Branches: The Device,
Primo avulſo, non deficit alter Aureur.
The long Succeſſion of that illuſtrious Houſe,
the Idea of being communicated through a Series
of Deſcendants, and renewing Life, only in diffe-
rent Forms, gave Occaſion to many pleaſing and
flattering Reflections. Alas! St. Evremond,
they were the Dreams of young and unmortified
Hope. Now, when I want them moſt, they
have the leaſt Weight with me. I ſhall, indeed,
leave Children behind me, Branches that ſpring
up from the decayed Stock of the Body
But, the incommunicable Mind Of that I
find no Traces in thoſe who are to follow me.
They may, poſſibly, bear my Name to the Dif-
tance of a few Centuries ; during which Time
it may acquire the Appendages of every Infir-
mity

LETTER XXII.
78
mity in Human Nature; be ſtigmatized with
Diſhoneſty, Vanity, and Stupidity !
Yet how unaccountably prevalent is the Fond-
neſs of preſerving a Family-Name! Could we
impreſs the Features of the Soul; could
we,
like
the Grecian Architect, give ſome internal Charac-
ter, that might be a laſting Honour to us, this
Ambition would have ſome Shadow of Reaſon
for its Support. But I find myſelf, and I believe
the greateſt Part of thoſe who are moſt ſtrongly
bent on this Method of preſerving a Name, to be
in the ſame Circumſtances with Ptolemy Philadel-
phus, when he built his celebrated Pharos. His
principal Intention was, that this Building ſhould
convey his Memory to the remoteſt Poſterity; and,
therefore, that future Times might have no Mo-
tives to deſtroy it, he took Care that it ſhould be
of Public Utility, and ſerve both as a Land-mark
and as a Light to all that uſed thoſe Şeas. The
Ambition of the Prince, however, was defeated
by the Cunning of the Archite&. The Name
of Ptolemy was cut upon a thin Shell, behind
which was artfully concealed a ſolid Square of
White Marble, with the following Inſcription:
Softratus of Gnidos, the Son of Dexiphanes; To
" the Gods Protectors, for the Safeguard of Sai-
« lors."
Time did Juſtice to the Artiſt, and
brought him to the Enjoyment of his proper
Fame.

LITTER XXII.
Fame. It is this Fame only that a reaſonable
Man ſhould make his Obje&. The Paſſion of
conveying a Name through a Series of Generati-
ons is ridiculous even in thoſe who have no Me
rit to make themſelves remembered.
LETTER

[ 89 ]
L E T TER XXIII.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
tell me,
I Am much afili died with what
AM much affiliated with what
you
concerning the Death of De Neuville : for
though I have not ſeen him theſe many Years, I
believe he once had a Regard for me, and I muſt,
therefore, bear a Tenderneſs to his Memory.
The worſt Loſſes we ſuſtain, are in the Death
of thoſe that love us. Every kind Sentiment in
our Favour is a Treaſure of the greateſt Value:
It is the Approbation of a rational Being, and is
the moſt pardonable Kind of Flattery in which
we can indulge ourſelves. The Deſire of hav-
ing many Friends, in all the Extent and Confi-
dence of the Idea, would be followed by great
Inconveniencies; but to wiſh for the Eſteem, or
even the Love, of many People, has nothing un-
reaſonable in it. There are moral Advantages
to be derived from it. Every one, whoſe Eſteem
or Affe&tion is of Conſequence to us, becomes,
on that Account, a Guardian of our Virtue. To
ſuch we voluntarily make ourſelves anſwerable
for our Condu&, and our caution will always be
in Proportion to the Eſteem we ſuppoſe ourſelves

90
LETTER XXIII.
to poſſeſs. I would not have this Idea extended
to that Popularity which is purſued, and ſome-
times obtained, by Men of courtly Talents and
public Appointments. Favour, like every thing
elſe, when it grows common, loſes its Confe-
quence. Its moral Influence, at leaſt, no longer
remains; for though the Eſteem of Individuals
makes us careful to preſerve that Virtue that at-
tained it, Popularity has no ſuch Effe&t. There
is ſomething unintereſting, or ſomething intoxi-
cating ; ſomething that infatuates, or ſomething
that cloys in the Poſſeſſion of public Favour.
Thoſe who enjoy it moſt, are never ſolicitous
to hold it long. From the fligheſt Motives, and
frequently from none, they ađ in Oppoſition to
thoſe very Principles, which procured them the
Applauſe of their Fellow-Citizens *. If it ſhould
fare with Poets, then, as with Politicians, popular
Admiration would be no deſirable thing. Indeed,
there are few Minds that are capable of ſuſtaining
it as they ought. The cordial Eſteem of one
private Friend is more valuable, becauſe lefs
dangerous, than the loudeſt Echoes of public
Applauſe. If thoſe Praiſes are heard, they are
ſeldom heard with Safety. They are apt to de-
ſtroy
* Had Mr. Waller lived nearer our own Times, he
would not have found it ſo difficult to account for
the Change of Conduct in popular Patriots.

LET TER XXIII.
91
ftroy that Equanimity which is the Support of
Wiſdom and Virtue. Believe me, St. Evremond,
were I always fure of enjoying the Approbation
of a few ſuch Friends as yourſelf, I ſhould think
that Share of Reputation alone ſufficient. But
Death and Fortune have uſed me cruelly in that
Reſpect.
LETTER

[ 92 ]
L ET TER XXIV.
St. EvREMOND to WALLER.
Am almoſt perſuaded to think, with the
Philoſopher of Chatſworth, that it is a right
thing to avoid Reading Not from the Fear
of having my own Sentiments adulterated by the
Introduction of others: I have no Affectation of
that Kind. But where is the Page that is not
full of the Follies and Miſeries of Men? Who-
ever goes into a Library, finds himſelf in the
ſame Circumſtances with Æneas amongſt the
Pictures at Cartbage. The Lacrymæ Rerum
occur to him every where. If he opens a Book,
he is preſented with the Hiſtory of Human Mil-
fortunes, perhaps with his own. The Annals
of later Times are ſo filled with Death and Ruin,
that I paſs over them with the Fears of a Child,
that thinks of Ghoſts and Spectres as it wanders
through the Dark. The Image of ſome brave
Friend ſtill ſtarts up before me, points to his
bleeding Wounds, and bids me curſe the Rage
of Faction and Ambition. Oh Waller! what
Deſtruction of the Human Species have you
and
I lived to behold!
What Havock of our
Cotemporaries, of our Friends! Of what
miſerable

LET TER XXIV.
93
miſerable Times do we ſtand the melancholy
Monuments! The Storm that tore up the Foreſt
ſtill left our folitary Trunks unbroken!
To what Purpoſe ? To drop the Tears of
Pity and Anguiſh on the Ruins that lie beneath
us!
The Concluſion of your laſt brought before
me all that I had ſuffered in the Deſtruction of
my Friends. I laboured to oppoſe the growing
Refle&tions I took up an ancient Author
Merciful God! the Book opened at the
following Paſſage: Accipe, mi Commilito;
ede ; non enim tibi gladium præbeo, fed
panem — Accipe rurſum et bibe; non enim tibi
ſcutum, fed poculum trado : ut fove tu me interficias,
five ego te, moriamur facilius: atque ut ne me
enervatâ atque imbecillâ manu occidas, aut ego te.
Hæ nofiræ funt exequiæ, nobis adhuc viventibus.
He who can read this with dry Eyes ---- He
who can think of it without execrating the Au-
thors of Civil Diſſenſions, cannot bear the Heart
of a Man in his Boſom. I need not tell you
that this is recorded in the Life of Vitellius.
When, in the Civil Wars between that Prince
and Veſpaſian, the Army of the former was
fupplied with Proviſions by their Women, they
conveyed Part of them by Night into the Camp
of Veſpaſian, to refreſh their Countrymen, whom
they

94
.
LETTER XXIV.
eat it -
66
en
66
they were to fight the following Day. The
Manner in which they deliver them, the Lan-
guage they uſe to remove their Apprehenſions,
is more affe&ting than any thing I ever met with
of the Kind: “ Take this, Fellow-Soldier, and
'Tis not my Sword I put towards
you, it is Bread
This, too, take, and
66 drink it It is not my Shield I am holding
out to you; it is a Cup. Whether
you
fall
“ by my Hand, or I by yours, this Refreſhment
“ will make Death more eaſy. It will ſtrength-
the Arm that gives the deciſive Blow, and
ſhall not die ſlowly by a feeble Wound.
" Theſe,, Fellow-Soldier, are the only Funeral
“ Rites we ſhall have. Let us thus celebrate
do them while we live." In what a deteſt-
able Light do thoſe Wretches appear, whoſe
Competitions could lead theſe brave and merciful
Men to the Slaughter of each other ! Surely ſome
Curfe of peculiar Bitterneſs is reſerved for thoſe
diabolical Spirits, who, for private Gratificati-
ons, break the Bonds of Society! Is there no
Place of Puniſhment for theſe Demoniacs? I
would ſooner believe there is no Heaven for the
Virtuous.
we
LETTER

( 95 )
U
L E T T E R XXV.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND.
YROMWELL once obſerved to me, when wa
were lamenting the Loſs of ſome brave
Men, who had fallen in the Civil Wars, that as
it was the Property of God to bring Good out
of Evil, Man might ſometimes be unblameably
inſtrumental in doing that Evil for the Production
of the enſuing Good. I am ſenſible, added he,
that St. Paul ſpeaks ſomewhat differently on this
Subject, but he does not ſeem to have intended
that his Precept ſhould affe& Political Matters.
It is thus that the Diſturbers of Society reaſon,
when they want to effe @ their Purpoſes by per-
nicious Means. Cromwell was certainly a great
Man, an able Negociator, a deep Politician; but,
without Ingenuity, without Humanity, without
any Affection for Truth or Honour, he made
uſe of the worſt and cruelleſt of all Political En-
gines, Fanaticiſm. I have often been aſtoniſhed
at his Command of Face, and Expreſſion of Sanc-
tity, when he liſtened to the vileſt Nonſenſe that
ever tortured the Ear of a rational Creature.
Not one Look, or Glance, or Feature bore any
Marks of that Contempt which he felt at his
Heart.

96
LET TER XXV.
Heart. It ſeemed to me that he had two Souls,
one directing his Countenance, Attitude, and
Motion; the other, more retired, charged with
his
proper and private Sentiments; one that fe-
cretly planned and watched over the deep-laid
Schemes of Political Ambition; another that
received its Orders from within, and went
through the external Drudgery of carrying thoſe
Schemes into Execution.
-I received many
Favours from him, partly becauſe I had the Ho-
nour to be related to him, and partly on Account
of the Panegyric I wrote upon him
I muſt,
therefore, beg for ſome Indulgence to his Memo-
ry. —Save, at leaſt, one of his Souls, the pious
and innocent Subaltern, that was employed in
Prayers, and Praiſes! that waited for the Lord,
and would rebuke him for his Delay! that lay
violent Hands upon the Throne of Grace, and
cried, Come, come quickly! -
Surely, St.
Evremond, this Soul ſhould be fayed: The other
we muſt give up to the Allotment of De-
moniacs!
your
End of the First VOLUME.

盛​燕​臺​盡​杂​盡​意​盡​急急急​盡​無盡​蟲蟲​蟲蟲​蟲
​L E T T E R S
Suppoſed to have paſſed
B E T W E EN
M. De St. EV RE M O N D
A N D
MR. WA L L E R.
V O L U ME II.
響​愛愛愛愛愛愛愛愛愛愛愛寧​寧寧寧​寧寧寧
​
L E T T E R S
Suppoſed to have paſſed
Β Ε Τ W Ε Ε Ν
M. De St. E VRE MOND
AND
MR. W A L L E R.
Collected and publiſhed
By the EDITOR of the Letters between
Theodofius and Conſtantia.
In TWO V O L U ME S.
V O L U M E I.
DU B L I N:
Printed for P. and W. Wilson, H. SAUNDERS,
W. Sleater, B. GRIERSON, D. CHAMBER-
LAINE, J. Potts, J. WILLIAMS, C.
INGHAM, and J. Porter,
Mdcc.lxix.

Hur
L E T T E R S
B & T W E L N
M. De St. Evremond and Mr. Waller.
L E T T E R I.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND,
N.
O, my St. Evremond, it is 'Time to clofe
the idle Purſuits of Poetry. I am now
deſcending from the little Eminence of Life, and
muſt ſoon drop into thoſe dark, unfathomed
Waters that lie at the Bottom. - The Im-
preſſions of Fancy are never indulged without
Danger. They leave the Mind in a fu&uating
and unſettled State. They withdraw its Atten-
tion
E3

102
LET TER I.
tion from fixed Principles and Points of View,
They confuſe its clear and ſimple Lights, by
mingling them with Shadows and fantaſtic Ap-
pearances. Are ſuch Circumſtances proper for
declining Years? where all ſhould be ſteady,
conſiſtent, and uniform where we ſhould
tread only on the firm Ground of Philoſophy -
ſhall we ſtep aſide like Children to gather Flow-
ers? Believe me, St. Evremond, to pay a ſerious
Court to the Mules would now be as abſurd,
as it would be to addreſs any other Miſtreſs on
the ſame Terms. The Attempt would be e-
qually fruitleſs and ridiculous :
The Muſe that caught from Sidney's Eyes her
Fire,
In Sidney's Aſhes felt the Flame expire.
Poetical Ground, like every other Soil, becomes
barren and unfruitful by too long Exerciſe.
There is a Period in Life beyond which Poets,
in particular, ought not to think of writing.
Fancy is not the Gueſt of Age; andy therefore,
old Men rarely ſucceed in Works of that Nature.
Thoſe depend principally on Enthuſiaſm; and
that is, almoſt peculiarly, the Growth of young
and vigorous Minds. We grow cold to the Love
of Nature, after a long Acquaintance with her,
and it is that Love to which poetical Enthuſiaſm
owes

LET TER I.
103
owes its very Exiſtence. Nor is it eaſy to ſub-
ftitute any thing of equal Energy in its Place.
It is not many Years fince I attempted ſome
Poems on divine Subje&s, thinking thoſe moſt
ſuited to my. Age and Condition. But I cannot
boaſt of Succeſs, not even of Satisfaction in
thoſe Performances. They may be pleaſing to
devout Minds; but there is ſomething wanting,
It is the Vis Ingenii, the Vigour of Imagination
and Expreſſion that has failed. You will conſi-
der theſe frank Acknowledgments as an unanſwer-
able Apology for the Silence of what you
call
my
Mufes. Yours are of a more elaſtic Kind; and,
like the Nymphs of your Country, they will
dance till they die.
uten
off sa to v
ST' - b
E A
LETTER

[ 104 ]
BIL E T T E R IL
store about the
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
in die
T was uſual, I think, amongſt the ancient
Hebrews, when they had paſſed the Period of
Sixty, to make a Feaſt for their Friends, and
ſing the Songs of Sion, There was ſomething
truly rational and philoſophical in this chearful
Cuſtom. It was the natural Tribute of good
Senſe and Gratitude. A People who believed
the Mortality of their Exiſtence, could not but
look upon the Prolongation of it as an Effe&t of
the divine Benevolence, and every Teſtimony of
their Joy was, on that Principle, an Aą of Re-
ligion. - What is the Reaſon that we have
conceived ſuch
very
different Ideas of the proper
Deportment of Age? We have impoſed upon it
a Gravity of Manners, and a Severity of Studies.
We add to the Weights that Time hangs upon
that Period. The lighter Amuſements are
deemed improper, and the Indulgence of Fancy
muſt be utterly excluded. - I own I am unable
to diſcover the Wiſdom, or even the Propriety
of this. What! becauſe I have the Promiſe
but of a few Years before I muſt be locked up
n the Grave, is the Work of Death to begin al-
ready?

LETTER II.
IOS
-ſhut up every
ready? Shall it not be left to Nature? Am I to
die through my beſt Parts and Faculties before
ſhe gives the Summons ? Muſt I now part with
my Vivacity, my Fancy?
Source of Amuſement, becauſe they muſt infal-
libly be taken from me at laſt? is it the Art of
Accommodation I am to learn? Is any Art ne-
ceſſary for fleeping in the Grave? Were it ſo,
the Cave of Trophonius would, indeed, be a pro-
per School. But if my Sleep will be the ſame,
whether I am called from thence, or beckoned
from the Circle of the Muſes and the Graces, I
cannot entertain a Doubt to which of thoſe
Scenes my proper Happineſs ſhould lead me. I
have always admired the Death of Bucbanan,
He was willing to go to Reſt with agreeable Ideas,
and therefore retained to the laſt the Image of:
that Obje&t, which, in Life, had given him the
greateſt Pleaſure.
Cynthia prima fuis miſerum me cepit ocellis
Contactum nullis ante cupidinibus.
With that Couplet of Propertius he cloſed the
Scene; and, though his Death was more poetical?
than pious, he certainly was right in his firſt
Principle. To what Purpoſe, Waller, ſhould
we affect a cold and ſombrous Gravity of Tem-
per ? Our little Fires will too ſoon be extinguſha.
ed.
E5

106
LETTER II.
8 m.
bers. We may not ſtrike the Lyre with the Vi-
vacity of Youth, but we may yet call from it
ſome ſoothing Notes to divert the Idea of eternal
Silence.
US
ET ON
as TATO rana
a)
e
Remos lo balono delle divi
unatel ons but mod
lister
LETTER
Sett diabars
Chi tôi đi thi ... Tin - C
>

( 104 )
L ET TER III.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND.
IF
F there ſhould be no greater Impropriety in
giving the Faculty of Speech to the Vegetable
than to the Animal Creation, many fine Morals,
I think, might be drawn from Fables deſigned in
that Part of Nature. For my own Part, I am
fond of animating every thing around me; and
there is hardly a Tree or Flower of any Note in
my Garden, which is not, in my Idea, inveſted
with ſome peculiar Deſign or Quality; which
has not ſome relative Intereſt, Conſequence, 'or
Purſuit. It was under the Influence of this Kind
of Fancy, that the following little Piece was
written; which may not improperly be called
the Lady's Moral.
The TULIP and the MYRTLE.
II.
"TWAS on the Border of a Streams are
A gayly-painted Tulip ſtood, ó*
And, gilded by the Morning Beam, 837
Survey'd her Beauties in the Flood.
II. And

10$
LETTER III.
II.
And ſure, more lovely to behold,
Might nothing meet the wiſtful Eye,
Than Crimſon fading into Gold,
In Streaks of faireft Symmetry.
asjon
III.
The beauteous Flower, with Pride elate,
si Ah me! that Pride with Beauty dwells!
Vainly affe&ts ſuperior State,
(And thus in empty Fancy ſwells.
SED
otis
" O Luftre of unrivalld Bloom !
si : " Fair Painting of a Hand divine !
Superior far to mortal Doom,
«« The Hues of Heaven alone are mine:
IV.
ELE
1
baliać o vigor di Jo Vont lid w
“ Away, ye worthleſs, formleſs Race! 1
“ Ye Weeds, that boaſt the Name of Flowers!
“ No more my native Bed diſgrace,
“ Unmeet for Tribes ſo mean as yours !
VI.
* Shall the bright Daughter of the Sun,
“ Aſſociate with the Shrubs of Earth?
" Ye Slaves, your Sovereign’s Preſence fun!
Refpe&t her Beauties and her Birth.
VII.
“
And

LETTER IIT.
109
VH.
“ And Thou, dull, fullen Ever-green!
“ Shalt Thou my ſhining Sphere invade?
My Noon-day Beauties beam unſeen,
“ Obſcur'd beneath thy duſky Shade!”
VIII.
" Deluded Flower l” the Myrtle cries,
“ Shall we thy Moment's Bloom adore ?
~ The meaneſt Shrub that you deſpiſe,
66 The meaneſt Flower has Merit more.
IX.
“ That Daiſy, in its ſimple Bloom,
“Shall laſt along the changing Year;
“ Bluſh on the Snow of Winter's Gloom,
« And bid the ſmiling Spring appear.
X.
“ The Violet, that, thoſe Banks beneath,
Hides from thy Scorn its modeſt Head,
“Shall fill the Air with fragrant Breath,
“ When thou art in thy duſty Bed.
XI.
“ Ev'n I who boaſt no golden Shade,
“ Am of no ſhining Tints poffeft,
“ When low thy lucid Form is laid,
“ Shall bloom on many a lovely Breaſt.
XII.
" And

IIO
L ETTER III.
XII.
" And he, whoſe kind and foſtering Care
“ To thee, to me, our Beings gave,
" Shall near his Breaſt
my
Flowrets wear,
“ And walk regardleſs o'er thy Grave.
XIII.
“ Deluded Flower! the friendly Screen,
" That hides thee from the Noon-tide Ray,
“ And mocks thy Paſſion to be ſeen,
“ Prolongs thy tranſitory Day.
XIV.
“ But kindly Deeds with Scorn repaid,
“No more by Virtue need be done:
“ I now withdraw my duſky Shade,
" And yield thee to thy darling Sun.”
XV.
Fierce on the Flower the ſcorching Beam
With all its Weight of Glory fell;
The Flower exulting caught the Gleam,
And lent its Leaves a bolder Swell.
XVI.
Expanded by the ſearching Fire,
The curling Leaves the Breaſt diſclos'd;
The mantling Bloom was painted higher,
And ev'ry latent Charm expos’d.
XVII. But

LETTER III.
XVII.
But when the Sun was fliding low,
And Ev’ning came, with Dews ſo cold;
The wanton Beauty ceas'd to blow,
And ſought her bending Leaves to fold,
XVIII.
Thoſe Leaves, alas, no more would cloſe;
Relax’d, exhauſted, ſickening, pale;
They left her to a Parent's Woes,
And fled before the riſing Gale.
I think there cannot be any great Impropriety
in the Indulgence of Poetical Amuſements of this
moral Nature, even at my far advanced Time of
Life. You found ſome Difficulty, notwithſtand-
ing, to bring me over to this Opinion; and I
cannot yet think that an old Man can ſpend his
Time
very properly in what you call the Circle
of the Muſes and the Graces. There is one
John Milton, an old Commonwealth's Man,
who hath, in the latter Part of his Life, written
a Poem intitled Paradiſe Loſt; and to ſay the
Truth, it is not without ſome Fancy and bold
Invention. But I am much better pleaſed with
fome ſmaller Productions of his in the Scenical
and

I12
LET TER III.
and Paſtoral Way; one of which, called Ly-
cidas, I ſhall herewith ſend
you,
that
you may
have ſome Amends for the Trouble of reading
this bad Poetry
la idol nA
staat
0 IST
akantot noge. ba? 0
Psicot bon za !
I bet voted as
Det er
2015 tavs ai?
123
elle Doll ar dert on.
cena 0 bar tal
Shad been
sri bino 1976 Bottom
LETTER

[113]
LET TER IV.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
THANK you
IT
Tave long
for your Vegetable Fable, and
have long thought as you do, that a very
beautiful Colle&tion of moral Poems of the ſame
Kind might be drawn from that Part of Nature.
The Enthuſiaſm that would be excited by the
Scenery in general, and the Pleaſure which might
ariſe from the minuter Beauties of Deſcription,
would give to Compoſitions of this ſort many
evident Advantages. Nature is a much better
Moralift than Seneca or Epi Eletus, and gives her
Leſſons both more agreeably and more effec-
tually.
The Poem called Lycidas, which you ſay is
written by Mr. Milton, has given me much Plea-
ſure. It has in it what I conceive to be the true
Spirit of Paſtoral Poetry, the old Arcadian Enthu-
ſiaſm. Your Engliſh Poets have been ſtrangely
miſtaken, when they have thought it poſſible to
accommodate the Genius of this Poetry to the in-
elegant Simplicity of your Clowns. Your Spen-
Jer, in other Reſpects an agreeable Painter of
Nature,

114
LETTER IV.
Nature, is, in his Ruſtic Paſtorals, inſupportable
.
It is not to be denied, however, that Theocritus,
is, in ſome Places, quite as vile as Spenſer, and
Virgil almoſt as vile as Theocritus, But the lat-
ter, I think, ſeems to have written beneath the
Dignity of Poetry with Reluctance. The Lan-
guage of his Taſte was always,
Sylvæ fint Conſule dignæ!
But his Reverence for his Model led him into
an Imitation of his Defe&ts.
The great Error ſeems to have ariſen from an
Inattention to this Do&rine, that every Species
of Poetry is under the Patronage of the Graces.
How the Greeks ſhould, at any time, forget this,
is ſomewhat difficult to account for ; as the
Muſes and the Graces are with them, very of-
ten, ſynonymous Terms, and their Word Cha-
rites is uſed indifferently for either. Yet it is
certain that ſome of their beſt Poets have fre-
quently forgotten in whoſe Temple they were
worſhiping.
It is not the moſt unadorned Simplicity that
is improper in any Species of Paſtoral Compo-
fition; for Simplicity is the Ground of every
thing
Oooo
0503
067706
OS SRO

L E T TER IV.
115
thing that is graceful. It is the Introduction of
Objects or Ideas that are in themſelves low and
inelegant, which ſpoils the Beauty of Paſtoral
Imagery. Taſte is always attended with a pe-
culiar Delicacy, and will be diſguſted with every
Work of Art, where that is wanting.
But if your Spenſer is too groſs, your Dryden
is too trim, and too full of low Conceits in his
Paſtoral Scenery. Nothing can be a ſtronger
Proof of this than the following Couplet,
For thee, gay Month, the Groves Green Liveries
wear,
If not the firſt, the faireſt of the Year.
It is hardly poſſible to conceive any thing more
contemptible than the Idea of dreſſing the Woods
in Livery; yet I doubt not that this Couplet has
had its Admirers. Sure I am, that Malberbe
has been praiſed for a thouſand Verſes as vile.
Shall we praiſe the Italian Paſtoral? How is
it poſſible? Even the celebrated Paſtoral Comedy
of Guarini is, with all the Profuſion of Genius,
a moſt abſurd Performance. He is right in the
Locality of his Piece, but his great Misfortune
is, that Love is not a local thing. Neither
is it romantic; though, by ſetting the Ideas
afloat,

116
LET TER IV.
afloat, it ſometimes gives People a Turn to what
we call the Romantic. Neither will it bear
to be bound up in Allegory. We hate the very
Idea of Demi-Gods and Satyrs. Unleſs we held
the Religion that bred them, it would be impoſſi-
ble to conſider them otherwiſe than in a farcical
Light. In the Buſinels of Love, therefore,
they will not go down, becauſe Love is a ſerious
thing
What pleaſes me in fobn- Milton's Poem, be.
fides the true Paſtoral Enthuſiaſm and the Sceni.
cal Merit, is the various and eaſy Flow of its
Numbers. Thoſe Meaſures are well adapted to
the tender kind of Imagery, though they are not
expreſſive of the firſt ſtrong Impreſſions of
Grief.
A little Poem of this kind was lately put into
my Hands, which, as it has not been printed, I
will tranſcribe for you.
A MONODY

LETTER IV.
117
A
A
Μ Ο Ν Ο D Y
Inſcribed to my worthy Friend J. S. being written
in bis Garden at Amwell, in Hertfordſhire,
the Beginning of the Year 1669.
I.
FRIEND of my Genius! on whoſe natal
Hour,
Shone the fame Star, but ſhone with brighter
Ray;
Oft as amidſt thy Amwell's Shades I ſtray,
And mark thy true Taſte in each winding Bower,
From
my full Eye why falls the tender Shower ?
While other Thoughts than theſe fair Scenes
convey,
Bear on my trembling Mind, and melt its
Powers away.
II.
Ah mel my Friend! in happier Hours I ſpread
Like thee, the wild Walk o'er the varied Plain ;
The faireſt Tribes of Flora's painted Train,
Each bolder Shrub that grac'd her genial Bed,
When old Sylvanus, by young Wiſhes led,
Stole to her Arms, of ſuch fair Offspring vain,
That bore their Mother's Beauties on their
Head.
III. Like

118
LETTER IV.
III.
Like thee, inſpired by Love 'twas Delia's
Charms,
'Twas Delia's Taſte the new Creation gave:
For her my Groves in plaintive Sighs would
wave,
And call her abſent to their Maſter's Arms.
IV.
She comes - Ye Flowers your faireft Blooms
unfold!
Ye waving Groves, your plaintive Sighs for-
bear!
Breathe all your Fragrance to the amorous Air,
Ye ſmiling Shrubs whoſe Heads are cloath'd with
Gold!
V.
She comes, by Truth, by fair Affedion led,
The long-lov’d Miſtreſs of my faithful Heart!
The Miſtreſs of my Soul, no more to part,
And all my Hopes, and all my Vows are ſped.
Vain, vain Deluſions! Dreams for ever fled!
Ere twice the Spring had waked the genial Hour,
The lovely Parent bore one beauteous Flower,
And droop'd her gentle Head,
And ſunk, for ever ſunk, into her filent Bed.
VI. Friend

LETTER IV.
119
VI.
Friend of my Genius ! Partner of my Fate!
To equal Senſe of painful Suffering born!
From whoſe fond Breaſt a lovely Parent torn,
Bedew'd thy pale Cheek with a Tear ſo late ; -
Oh! let us mindful of the ſhort, ſhort Date,
That bears the Spoil of human Hopes away,
Indulge ſweet Memory of each happier Day!
No! cloſe, for ever cloſe the Iron-Gate
Of cold Oblivion on that dreary Cell,
Where the pale Shades of paſt Enjoyments
dwell,
And, pointing to their bleeding Boſoms ſay,
On Life's diſaſtrous Hour what varied Woes
await!
VII.
Let Scenes of ſofter, gentler Kind
Awake to Fancy's ſoothing Call,
And milder on the penſive Mind,
The ſhadowed Thought of Grief ſhall fall.
Oft as the ilowly-cloſing Day
Draws her pale Mantle from the Dew-ſtar's
Eye,
What Time, the Shepherd's Cry
Leads from the paſtured Hill his Flocks away,
Attentive to the tender Lay
That

I 20
LET TER IV.
That ſteals from Philomela's Breaſt,
Let us in muſing Silence ftray,
Where LEE beholds in Mazes ſlow
His uncomplaining Waters flow,
And all his whiſpering Shores invite the Charm
of Reſt.
Loots
LETTER
Beton gli aonesha
och ose

[ 121 ]
L E T T E R V.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
I
Was much pleaſed with a Converſation, which
I overheard a few Days ago, between the
King and an honeſt Worceſterſhire Baronet, who
was lately elected for a Borough in that County,
The good-natured Man came up to take his Seat
among us, and, as he lived in the Neighbourhood
of the Royal Oak, he ſuppoſed that he could
not pay a better Compliment to his Majeſty than
by bringing him a Branch of his old Aſylum.
Who is that Antique (ſaid the King,) with a
withered Branch in his Hand?
It is Sir
Tbomas ****, Member for ****.
The KIN G.
Sir Thomas, I am glad to ſee you : I hope you
can give a good Account of our Friends in Wor,
ceſterſhire.
Sir 'T HOMAS ****
I wiſh I could, pleaſe your Majeſty; but there
is a Blackſmith's Wife -
F
The

I 22
LETTER V.
The KING
No matter for her
I enquired only after
the Health of your Family.
Sir THOMAS
1 ' Thank God! in good Health ---- But this
Woman, pleaſe your Majeſty
The KING.. visist 2013
What of her?
Sir THOMAS.
Has ſworn a Child to your Majeſty.
The K I N G
I am glad of it -:I do remember that i
met a Woman, when I went a Wood-cutting
with Farmer Penderell.
SL,
Sir THOMAS. I
A rofy Complexion, pleaſe your Majeſty!
The K ING.
No Matter! What is become of the Woman,
and her Child?
Eur
Sis

LETTER V.
123
Sir THOM A S.
She is very well taken Care of, pleaſe your
Majeſty! The Church-wardens are my Tenants, ,
and I ordered them to allow her an upper Sheet.
The KING.
Fye! Fye!
Sir THOM A S.
Pleaſe your Majeſty, I was near loſing my
Election by it. Some of that Pariſh were Free
Men, and they ſaid that I, as a Magiſtrate, ought
to have ſent a Warrant to your Majeſty, to give
a Bond to the Pariſh, or to pay Ten Pounds.
The KING
Why did you not do your Duty ?
Sir THOM A S.
Becauſe, pleaſe your Majeſty, I thought it my
Duty not to do it. Your Majeſty has been at a
great Expence of late.
The KING
True; very true, Sir Thomas ! What is that
Branch in your Hand? Some Token, I ſuppoſe,
by which
you
hold
Sir
your Lands
F 2

LETTER V.
Sir THOMAS.
No; 'tis ſomething by which your Majeſty
holds your Lands 'Tis a Branch of that
bleſſed Oak which preſerved your Majeſty's pre-
cious Life.
The KIN G.
This is a wooden Compliment; but it is
honeſt, and I thank you for it You have
Wit, Sir Thomas; why do not we fee
you
oftener
at Court?
Sir THOM A S.
I can do your Majeſty much more Service
in the Country, by keeping up a Spirit of Loyal-
ty and Good Will towards you amongſt my
Neighbours.
The KING.
And how do you manage that Point ?
Sir THOM A S.
I give them Beef, and bid ’em fall to without
the long Grace of the Roundheads. Then I
give 'em (trong Beer, and they cry God bleſs your
Majeſty
The

LETTER V.
125
The KING.
If that is the Toaſt, Sir Thomas, you are
the King; and, in Truth, I think you govern
with profund Policy. Could I adopt the ſame
Meaſures, I ſhould have much leſs Trouble;
but there is no finding Beef enough for that
hungry Circle which
you
ſee there.
Sir THOM A S.
God bleſs your Majeſty! I have ten fat Oxen
in Worceſterſhire; and Nine of them are heartily
at your Majeſty's Service.
* * *
* * *
* * *
This bountiful Offer of the honeſt Baronet's
made the King laugh ſo violently, that it put
an End to the Converſation. His Majeſty
told us, with great Good Humour, what we
had to expe&t, and added, that he hoped every
Member of the Houſe would be as ready to
give as Sir Thomas ****
**, that he might be
able to find Wine for the Feaſt. This
is a Meaſure which I will promote with all my
Power; for the King's Neceſſities are truly
deplorable. Conſidering his extreme Poverty,
his
F 3

I 26
LET TER V.
his Good Humour is aſtoniſhing. I believe
there never was a Prince at the ſame Time ſo
pleaſant and ſo
poor,
LETTER

[ 127 1
L E T T E R VI.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND.
0
Vales of Penſþurft, now ſo long unſeen!
Forgot each fecret Shade, each winding
Greep;
Thoſe lonely Paths what Art have I to tread,
Where once young Love, the blind Enthuſiaſt, led ?
Yet if the Genius of
your
conſcious Groves
His Sidney in my Sachariffa loves;
Let him with Pride her cruel Power unfold:
By him my Pains let Evremond be told.
The Loves of THYRSIS and SACHARISS A.
Related by the Genius of Penſhurſt.
WHATE’ER hath met mine Ear of Tale or
Song,
Since he of Arcady firſt ſtole the Reed
Of Hermes, and made every Shepherd ſcorn
His Evening Slumbers, heedleſs have I heard,
Yet Pity for the gentle Tbyrfis drew
Me frequent from the moſſy Breaſt of Sleep;
And when beneath the cold Moon's ſhadowy Light,
Like
F 4

128
LET TER VI.
Like that fond Bird which courteth Silence beſt,
He thus complain'd harmonious, I have figh’d,
And felt his Sorrow through my Depth of Shades.
'THYRSIS at Penſhurſt.
WHILE
ILE in the Park I fing, the liſtening Deer
Attend my Paſſion, and forget to fear.
When to the Beeches I report my Flame,
They bow their Heads as if they felt the ſame :
To Gods appealing, when I reach their Bowers
With loud Complaints, they anſwer me in
Showers.
To thee a wild, and cruel Soul is given,
More deaf than Trees, and prouder than the Hea-
ven.
Love's Foe profeſt, why doſt thou falſely feign
Thy ſelf a Sidney? from which noble Strair
He ſprung, that could ſo far exalt the Name
Of Love, and warm our Nation with his Flame,
That all we can of Love, or high Defire,
Seems but the Smoke of amorous Sidney's Fire.
Nor call her Mother, who fo well does prove,
One Breaſt
may hold both Chaſtity and Love.
Never can ſhe, that ſo exceeds the Spring
In Joy and Bounty, be ſuppoſed to bring
One

LETTER. VI.
[ 29
One fo deftru&tive; to no human Stock
We owe this fierce Unkindneſs, but the Rock,
That cloven Rock produced thee, by whoſe Side
Nature to recompenſe the fatal Pride
Of ſuch ſtern Beauty, placed thoſe healing Springs,
Which not more Help than that Deftru&ion
brings.
Thy Heart no ruder than the rugged Stone,
I might, like Orpbeus, with my numerous Moan
Melt to Compaſſion now my traiterous Song
With thee conſpires to do the Singer wrong.
While thus I ſuffer not myſelf to loſe
The Memory of what augments my Woes:
But with my own Breath ſtill foment the Fire
Which Aames as high as Fancy can aſpire.
This laſt Complaint th’indulgent Ears did pierce
Of juft Apollo, Preſident of Verſe:
Highly concerned, that the Muſe ſhould bring
Damage to one whom he had taught to fing;
Thus he adviſed me; On yon aged Tree
Hang up thy Lute, and hie thee to the Sea,
That there with Wonders thy diverted Mind
Some Truce at leaſt may with this Paſſion find.
Ah, cruel Nymph! from whom her humble
Swain,
Flies for Relief, unto the raging Main;
And
FS

130
L E T T ER VI.
And from the Winds and Tempeſts does expect
A milder Fate than from her cold Neglect :
Yet there he'll pray that the Unkind may prove
Bleſt in her Choice, and vows this endleſs Love
Springs from no Hope of what ſhe can confer,
But from thoſe Gifts which Heaven has heap'd
on her.
Thus ſung he plaintive, and full ſore I grieved
That the fair Miſtreſs of theſe flowery Plains,
Where Love and Nature triumph, Foe to Love,
Tho' born of Sidney's Race, in ſuch high Scorn
Should hold his gentle Prayer; yet, Shepherd, ceaſe
Theſe vain Complaints of Cruelty, I cried,
And Threats of raſh Deſpair: Theſe only feed
The Female Pride; they ſoften not their Hearts.
Would you ſucceed, let ſoothing Blandiſhments
Of careleſs Praiſe, as from a Mind at Eaſe,
That calls for no Reward, invade their Ear.
Eager they drink the golden Draught that flows
From this unnoted Source, and yield that Love,
That rich Reward, which, firſt ſolicited,
Were harder to be won; for Flattery fails not,
Save when her thin Veil ſhews the hated Form
Of ſelfiſh Hope behind. Obedient thus
The Swain reſumed his Song.
THYRSIS

LETTER VI.
131
THYRSIS at Penſhurſt.
HAD
AD Sachariffa lived when Mortals made
Choice of their Deities, this ſacred Shade
Had held an Altar to her Power that
gave
The Peace and Glory which theſe Alleys have.
Embroider'd fo with Flowers where ſhe ſtood;
That it became a Garden of a Wood:
Her Preſence has ſuch more than human Grace,
That it can civilize the rudeſt Place;.
And Beauty too and Order can impart,
Where Nature ne'er intended it, nor Art,
The Plants acknowledge this, and her admire.
No leſs than thoſe of old did Orpheus' Lyre.
If ſhe ſit down, with Tops all towards her bow'd,
They round about her into Arbours crowd;
Or if ſhe walk, in even Ranks they ſtand
Like ſome well marſhalld, and obſequious Band.
Amphion ſo made Stones and Timber leap
Into fair Figures from a confuſed Heap:
And in her Symmetry of Parts is found
A Power, like that of Harmony in Sound.
Ye lofty Beeches tell this matchleſs Dame
That if together ye fed all one Flame,
It could not equalize the hundredth Part
Of what her Eyes have kindled in my Heart.
Go,

132
L E T T ER VI.
Go, Boy, and carve this Paſſion on the Bark
Of yonder Tree, which ſtands the ſacred Mark
Of noble Sidney's Birth, when ſuch benign,
Such more than mortal-making Stars did ſhine;
That there they cannot but for ever prove
The Monument and Pledge of humble Love:
His humble Love, whoſe Hope ſhall ne'er riſe
higher
Than for a Pardon that he dares admire.
And did no Smile, good Thyrfis, no kind Look
On theſe ſoft Numbers fall? - yes, more pre-
cious
Than all the Treaſures that the Lydian Wave
Sweeps from his Sands of Gold; but, coldly
pleaſed,
Theſe Strains of Art and Fancy, ſhe replied,
Fantaſtic Minds amuſe: They love the Errors
That live in Poets' Creeds, their vain Divinities,
And idle Adorations ; ſtrange to me,
Who love no Language but of Truth and Nature!
Yet, gentle Thyrfis, other Hopes are thine.
This haughty Fair the Love of Power may charm,
And yield her to thy Wiſh; ſome other Miſtreſs,
Some Obje&t of a former Flame muſt bleed
A Vi&im on her Altar --She muſt know,
Muſt ſee the Sacrifice, thyſelf unſeen,
Unconſcious

LET TER VI.
133
Unconſcious that ſhe finds the flattering Bait.
Haſte then, and leave it in theſe lonely Walks,
Where oft ſhe wanders, when the Star of Eve
the Hour of Love.
Lights up
THYRSIS to AMOR E T.
FAIR, that you may truly know
What you unto Thyrfis owe;
I will tell you how I do
Sacbarifa love and you.
Joy falutes me when I fer
My bleſt Eyes on Amoret :
But with Wonder I am ftruck,
When I on the other look.
If ſweet Amoret complains,
I have Senſe of all her Pains;
But for Sacbariſa I
Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myſelf is mine;
Lovely Amoret, is thine;
Sachariſſa's Captive fain
Would untie his Iron Chain;
And

134
LETTER VI.
And thoſe ſcorching Beams to ſhun,
To thy gentle Shadow run.
If the Soul had free Eleation
To diſpoſe of her Affection,
I would not thus long have born
Haughty Sachariſſa's Scorn:
But 'tis ſure ſome Power above,
Which controuls our Will in Love.
1
outrom our wat in
If not Love, a ſtrong Deſire
To create and ſpread that Fire,
In my Breaſt ſolicits me,
Beauteous Amoret, for Thee.
'Tis Amazement more than Love,
Which her radiant Eyes do move;
If leſs Splendor wait on thine,
Yet they ſo benignly ſhine,
I would turn my
dazzled Sight
To behold their milder Light.
But as hard ʼtis to deſtroy
That high Flame as to enjoy:
Which how eaſily I may do,
Heaven, as eaſily ſcaled, does know.
Amoret,

LETTER VI.
135
Amoret, as ſweet and good
As the moſt delicious Food,
Which, but taſted, does impart
Life and Gladneſs to the Heart.
Sachariſſa's Beauty's Wine
Which to Madneſs doth incline:
Such a Liquor as no Brain
That is mortal, can ſuſtain.
Scarce can I to Heaven excuſe
The Devotion, which I uſe
Unto that adored Dame;
For 'tis not unlike the ſame,
Which I thither ought to fend,
So that if it could take End;
Twould to Heaven itſelf be due
To ſucceed her, and not you,
Who already have of me
All that's not Idolatry ;
Which though not fo fierce a Flame,
Is longer like to be the ſame.
Then ſmile on me, and I will prove
Wonder is ſhorter-lived than Love.
BENEATH

136
L E T T ER VI.
BENEATH the ſacred Shade of that fair Tree,
From Sidney's Birth that marks the. Flight of
Time,
Thus framed the Bard his eaſy artful Lay,
And left, as heedleſs, there. From waſting Dews
The Doves of Venus with their ſheltering Wings
The ſoft Impreſſions ſaved; till the fair Star,
That lights the Hour of Love, and lonely muſing,
Led Sachariſa on her wonted Way
To Sidney’s ſacred Tree - She ſaw, ſhe read;
And twice ſhe felt the foothing Charm of Power,
And twice the Senſe of Conqueſt on her Cheek
Sate in an Orient Blush. Even Jealouſy
She ſeem'd to feel, when in his cloſing Strain
Her Captive feign’d to fly - Ah, Shepherd, then,
For Thee what Triumph! - Triumph -- ſhort
and vain !
'Tis Art, ſhe cried; O Inſolence of Art,
And ſmooth Deſign, to catch the wareleſs Ear
Of unſuſpecting Virgins! ſoothing Strains,
Inſidious Flattery, hence! From her fair Hand
The folded Paper fell -- yet, parting Sighs
Swelld her fair Bofom, and with Voice more
foft
Than Echo's, when ſhe caught the dying Plaint
OF young Narciſſus, parting, the reſumed
But

LETTER VI.
137
But for Sachariſſa I
Do not only grieve, but die.
From the deep Covert of a lonely Shade,
Where rambling wild Vines bound the Ofier
Spray,
Th' impatient Lover ſprung - Ah, deſperate
Youth !
Sure Ruin follows that raih Deed - Unmark'd
By Thee, the ſweet Infection ſhould have ſtolen
Through her unconſcious Heart -awaked,
alarm’d,
The Magic works no more: With ſwifter Steps
Not Daphne fled from thy miſtaken Maſter,
Like Thee precipitately loft — Yet ſtill
One Hope remains: Defend her injured Fame:
The Love of Power, the Love of Pleaſure yields
To that prevailing Honeſty of Pride
Which ſpurns at Envy’s Falſhood
On the Miſreport of SACHARISS A's being
painted.
AS
when a ſort of Wolves infeſt the Night
With their wild Howlings at fair Cynthia's
Light,
The

138
LETTER VI.
The Noiſe may chaſe ſweet Slumber from our
Eyes,
But never reach the Miſtreſs of the Skies:
So with the News of Sacharifa’s Wrongs,
Her Servants vexed blame thoſe envious Tongues;
Call Love to Witneſs, that no painted Fire
Can ſcorch Men ſo, or kindle ſuch Deſire:
While unconcerned, ſhe ſeems moved no more,
With this new Malice, than our Loves before;
But from the Height of her great Mind looks
down
On both our Paſſions, without Smile or Frown:
So little Care of what is done Below
Hath the bright Dame whom Heaven affe&teth fo.
Paints her, 'tis true, with the ſame Hand which
ſpreads
Like glorious Colours o'er the flowery Meads
When Javiſh Nature with her beſt Attire
Clothes the gay Spring, the Seaſon of Deſire.
Paints her, 'tis true, and does her Cheek adorn
With the ſame Art, wherewith ſhe paints the
Morn:
With the ſame Art wherewith ſhe gildeth ſo
Thoſe painted Clouds that form Traumantia's
Bow.
Defunt cætera * * * * *
LETTER

[ 139 ]
L ET TER VII.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
ΤΗ
HE Statue of the Cretan Jupiter was with-
out Ears; and the Reaſon one of the
ancient Mythologiſts gives for it is, that the Go-
vernor of the Univerſe, whoſe Care is over the
Whole, ſhould not be ſuppoſed to be particularly
attentive to any Individual. Had that Mytholo-
giſt lived in theſe Times, and heard the Prayers
of our Bigots, our Enthuſiaſts, and Fanatics, he
might have aſſigned a much better Reaſon for
Jupiter's Deafneſs. The Father of Gods and
Men, might he have ſaid, was ſo harraſſed by the
latter with vain, ſelfiſh, impudent, abaſing, and
abſurd Addreſſes, that he ordered Mercury to
convey to them his Image without Ears; there-
by ſignifying how little they had to hope from
their impertinent Petitions.
It is obfervable that God is never fo much
blaſphemed as when Men are moſt religious. It
is then that they ſo liberally inveſt him with their
peculiar Follies, Paſſions, and Prejudices. The
Creator of the Univerſe rnuſt be of a Party, a
Seat, or Faction. He muſt be particularly their
God,

140
L E T TER VIT.
God, or he is no God. His Attributes and Qua-
lities muſt be ſuch as are moſt likely to ſerve
their proper Purpoſes: If their way be through
Heaps of Slain, he muſt go before them. The
Blood of his Creatures muſt be ſhed for his
Glory; and he who has declared that his Delight
is in Mercy more than Sacrifice, is not allowed
to be ſerved or gratified in his own Way. The
Scots Fanatics, after the Loſs of a Battle, gave
him a very warm Reception. They remonftra-
ted with great Spirit againſt his Condu&t towards
the Saints, and intimated, that whatever Right
he might have to their Allegiance as the Lord,
he was but a poor Politician, and had
Very
little
Idea of his own Intereſt. “ For our Parts,
(faid they,) it is but a ſmall thing for us to loſe
our Lands and Inheritance; but for the Lord's
Flock to be leſſened, his Glory ſet at nought,
and his People trodden under Foot; this ſhews a
ſtrange Negligence ſomewhere.”
Prayers and Addreſſes conceived in ſuch a
Spirit as this, ſurely approach very near Blaſphe-
my; but it is true in religious as well as in fo-
cial Life, that too much Familiarity begets Con-
tempt. The Lord muſt not look for
Reſpe& from thoſe with whom he vouchſafes
to be ſo intimate.
very much
The

LET TER VII.
141
The Marquis of Halifax uſed to ſay, that the
common People would not believe in God at all,
unleſs they were permitted to believe wrong in
him. I doubt not the Truth of his Obſervation;
but I am of Opinion, that there are ſome Modes
of Faith worſe than Infidelity, and that Fanati-
ciſm is a more dangerous thing than Irreligion.
LETTER

[ 142 )
L ET TER VIII.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
9
ΤΗ
you once
HE Ducheſs of R
whom
pleaſed ſo much by telling her that ſhe
was deſcended from Leda, has lately given us a
Proof that you miſtook her Anceſtry, and that
ſhe is more nearly allied to Medea. While ſhe
amuſed herſelf with harmleſs Extravagancies,
with Dreams of Knight-Errantry and heroic
Love, her Follies were entertaining. Nothing
more pleaſant than to find her by Moonlight re-
poſing under an Oak near the old Caſtle, with a
flaming Creſcent on her Head, in the Character
of Dian; while my poor Lord Duke, under the
Burden of his Infirmities, was condemned to
to her, and perſonate Endymion.
Theſe are things which, as the Poet ſays, Jove
laughs at. One of her late Adventures was of a
more ſerious Caſt.
hobble up
A certain itinerant Philoſopher, a profound
Adept in the occult Sciences, recommended to
her the Merit of his Art, and found no great
Difficulty in perſuading her, that it was in
his Power to reſtore her to Youth and Beauty.
The

LET TER VIII.
143
The Proceſs he recommended was ſomewhat
different from the Operation that Æfon was fup-
poſed to undergo. A fat, well-growing, well-
looking young Fellow was to be found out for
the Purpoſe, drawn, quartered, and diſtilled, into
the Quinteſſence of Juvenility. A Son of one of
her Grace's Tenants was pitched upon as a pro-
per Subje&, but the Philofopher deemed him not
quite fat enough, he was put up for a ſhort Time
to feed. The richeſt Food of every Kind was
procured for him, and he was confined to an A-
partment juſt large enough to contain his Bed,
that he might not impair his Corpulence by Ex-
erciſe. The poor Man's Curioſity was naturally
excited by ſuch extraordinary Inſtances of her
Grace's Goodneſs, and one Day ſeeing the
Duke's Fool before his Window, he aſked him
the Meaning of it. " Do not you ſee that
Turkey in the Coop? (ſaid the Fool;) you are
kept here for the ſame Purpoſe. The Ducheſs
"is fick of Fiſh and Butchers Meat, and the in-
tends to eat you.” This Information had ſuch
an Effect upon the intended Victim, that he
preſently pined away, and the Philoſopher, think-
ing him an improper Subject, he was diſmiſſed.
Another was ſoon fixed upon, but the King be-
ing informed of the Matter, and fearing the Con.
ſequence of her Grace's Abſurdity, commanded
her

144
LET TER VIII.
her to give up her Chemiſtry, and her Philofo-
pher to be hanged.
This ridiculous Affair has led me into many
ſerious Reflections on the Errors of the Mind.
"..me.
'Tis obvious from this, as well as a thouſand
other Inſtances, how much every Species of En-
thuſiaſm deſtroys the Power of moral Reaſon.
From that Source ſprung all this poor Woman's
Abſurdities. Her Paſſion for the high Romance
abſorbed every
other Principle. The Senſe of
Juſtice, Honour, Truth, and Decency was to-
tally overborn. So it is in Religious, ſo it is in
Political Syſtems: Let us once become Enthu-
ſiaſts; there is nothing ſo wicked we will not do
for Religion, nothing ſo impolitic we will not at-
tempt for our Country.
LETTER

( 145 )
LETTER IX.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND,
I
Never think of the glorious Fate of ancient
1 Genius, without a Sigh that riſes from the
moſt ſenſible Part of my Soul. You have an
Expreſſion in your Language, Fe meurs d'Envie,
which is deſcriptive of what I feel. To be car-
ried down the Current of Time, my St. Eure-
mond, undeſtroyed by the Wrecks of Two Thou-
ſand Years! To have our beſt Productions, the
Productions of the Mind, confirm and maintain
their Exiſtence in the Souls of ſurviving Ages;
when our Aſhes have been ſo long the Sport of
Winds, that even the Winds cannot find them!
Heavens! what Glory is in the Hope! My Soul
is on Fire at the Profpe&! The Spirit of this
Ambition is irreſiſtible! It is Inchantment: It is
Magic!
But oh! my Friend, it is Deluſion; it is Va-
nity! The fugitive State of modern Language
forebodes Deſtruction to every thing that is
conveyed in it. Your Wit, your Elegance of
Thought, your Vivacity of Imagination will ſhare
the ſame Fate with my trifling Strains, and be
G
involved

146
L E T TER IX.
involved in the impenetrable Maſs of obſolete
Expreſſion.
Your Language ſeems, indeed, to be ſome-
what nearer a Period of Perfection than that in
which I am obliged to write. You begun more
early to refine, and Phraſeological Criticiſm was
more cultivated in your Country. Yer the Time,
I apprehend, is at no great Diſtance, when our
harſher and heavier Periods will loſe the Stiffneſs
and Formality of their March, and acquire an
Air of Grace and Delicacy, without being im-
paired in their Strength. Whenever that Æra
ſhall arrive, the Engliſh Language will be in a State
of comparative Excellence, beyond which it will
be hazardous for it to go. For, ſhould it once
depart from its characteriſtic Simplicity, and af-
fect a pompous and inflated Di&tion, that will
prove a certain Symptom of its Decay.
he is to be fara
It is to be feared that our Language will have
the fame Fate which that of Rome had formerly.
Men of vain Minds and weak Judgments will
think it a Merit at leaſt to be ſingular. For this
Purpoſe they will depart from Nature, and, in-
ſtead of purſuing her plain and eaſy Walks, will
ride like Sancho and his unfortunate Maſter
through Sulphur, Smoke, and Clouds.
The

LET TER IX.
147
The Genius of your Language ſets this Dan-
ger at a greater Diſtance from you; but when
ill. judging Writers riſe up amongſt us, I am
afraid that it will be the Fate of the Engliſo
Tongue to periſh, like Samſon, by a fatal Exer-
tion of its own Strength,
31 ibubaan dat
bers from silicone
tad esi 01 ninobsesbian
W nasi
orta todo
to boston 12 Nis si ou
Hoolt i molt derare
G2
LETTER

[ 148 ) 72
LET TER X.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
WHO
HEN the Prince of Condé was in Pri-
fon, the Princeſs headed his Party in
Normandy; and as that great General amuſed
himſelf in a little Garden adjoining to his Apart-
ments, he uſed to ſay pleaſantly, that whilſt he
was watering Pinks, his Wife was making War.
My Occupations, ſince I quitted thoſe of the
Field, have, I think, been of much the ſame
Conſequence, and have anſwered much the ſame
Purpoſe. When I had done with making War,
I betook myſelf to making Songs, and making
Love. When they would no longer let me fight
in France, I ſate down to write Veiſes in England,
and took up the belle Paſſion for the ſole End of
inſpiriting and embelliſhing my Poetry.
At firſt I looked upon my Exile as the worſt
of Evils; but for theſe many Years paſt I have
been in Doubt whether, on the whole, my Life
has been a Loſer by it or not. If the Purſuits
of Wealth, of Court Diſtinctions, and military
Glory have nothing more important in them than
thoſe of Poetry and Love, I have even profited
by

LETTER X.
149.
by the Exchange. For the Labours, the Anxie-
ties and Difficulties neceſſarily attending the for-
mer darken many an Hour that might otherwiſe
have paſſed, if not in Pleaſure, at leaſt in Tran-
quillity.
If the Delight I have experienced in the Culti-
vation of a ſucceſsful Amour has not been equali
to that of a General after Vi&ory, neither was.
it attended with thoſe painful Reflections, which-
the
very
Means and Circumſtances of Conqueſt,
muſt give to a Mind that has the leaſt Senſibility:
For
my own Part, when I bore Arms, though 1:
never went into the Field of Battle without Plea-
fure, I never quitted it without Tears. A ſtrange,
ferocious kind of Joy that muſt be, which ariſes
from beholding the Bodies of the Brave, either in
Death, or in Chains. The glorious Man I have
juſt mentioned uſed to ſuffer the greateſt Diſtreſs,
when he ſaw a gallant Enemy mortally wounded.
My Vi&ories, he would ſay, give me more Pain
than the fevereſt Duties of Command.
From theſe, and many other Inconveniencies,
I was ſet free, when I was no longer retained in
the military Service of France. The Abuſe and
Ingratitude that FORTUNE meets with in the
World are utterly indefenſible. How often have
I accuſed her of Severity, in Inſtances where ſhe
was moſt effe&tually ſerving me! In the Protec-
tion
G 3

150
LETTER X.
tion and Beneficence of a Monarch, I have, in
this happy Country, long enjoyed both Security
and Support. When deprived of every
Poſt of
Profit and Honour in my own Nation, the Tran-
ſition was only from a Life of Labour and Service,
to a State of Eaſe and Freedom; where my
Hours
were my own, and I was left to the Purſuit of
ſuch Objects as might amuſe me moſt. I found
in the refined Philoſophy of Taſte and the Belles
Lettres, in the Cultivation of Wit and Gallantry,
in the Religion of Love and Beauty, and in the
Converſation and Favour of the moſt diſtinguiſh-
ed Perſons of the Age, Materials of Happineſs
ſufficient for the whole Circle of Time.
ale and Freedom; where
Yet in the Language and Memory of thoſe
few Friends I have in France, I am ſtill pauvre
St. Evremond! comment malheureux! You will
be happy when I aſſure you, that, whatever I
might once have wiſhed, there is not one of theſe
compaſſionate Perſons with whom I would
change my Station,
horas LETTER

[ 151 )
Ε Ε Τ Τ Ε R XI.
WALLER to St. EVREMOND.
TH
HERE is a Paſſage in Ariſtotle concern-
ing the Iſland of Sicily, which I never re-
colle& without the greateſt Pleaſure. It is ob-
ſervable, ſays the Philoſopher, that the Earth
and Air of this Country are ſo impregnated with
the Odour of its Flowers, that the Dogs have
no Power to trace the Scent in hunting. Enter
into the Heathen Theology, and this gives you:
quite a new and moſt amiable Idea of the Queen
of Flowers. Suppoſing her to be one of the tute-
lary Deities of the Iſland, ſhe is thus concerned
for the Preſervation and Security of the innocent
Animals that inhabit it.
I never had any enthuſiaſtic Enjoyment fo
great as this, and many other Circumſtances
attending this once celebrated Country, inſpired
me with. When I was upon the Continent, iny
Curioſity naturally led me to viſit a Place which
had been the Repoſitory of Arts and Arms, the
Granary of the World, the Prize of contending
Empires, the Seat of the Muſes, but particularly
the Birth-place of Paſtoral Poetry.
Of
G4

152
LETTER XI.
Of theſe fair Scenes what Monuments remain ?
A burning Mountain, and a barren Plain!
Yet there are ſome few Parts of the Iſland that
ſtill bear the Marks of its ancient Fertility and
Beauty; particularly that Part which anſwers to
the beautiful Deſcription of Theocritus, where an
extenſive Lawn of Paſturage ſtretches from the
Mountains to the Sea. I imagined that I had
found the very Rock, under the Shadow of which
his Shepherd is repreſented ſitting with his Shep-
herdeſs in his Arms, and looking with Compla-
cency on his Flocks, as they fed towards the
Sea. Enchanted with the Idea, I was carried
headlong into Verſe, and carved upon a neigh-
bouring Beech ſomething like the Stanzas that
follow:
SWEET Land of Muſes ! o’er whoſe favour-
ed Plains
Ceres and Flora held alternate Sway;
By Jove refreſh'd with Life diffuſing Rains,
By Phæbus bleft with every kinder Ray!
O with what Pride do I thoſe Times ſurvey,
When Freedom, by her ruſtic Minſtrels led,
Danced on the Green Lawn many a Summer's
Day,
While Paſtoral Eaſe reclined her careleſs Head,
In

LETTER XI.
153
In theſe ſoft Shades; ere yet that Shepherd Aled,
Whoſe Muſic pierced Earth, Air, and Heaven
and Hell,
And call’d the ruthleſs Tyrant of the Dead
From the dark Slumbers of his Iron Cell.
His Ear unfolding caught the Magic Spell:
He felt the Sounds glide foftly through his
Heart;
The Sounds that deign’d of Love's ſweet Power :-
to tell;
And as they told, would point his Golden Dart.
Fix'd was the God; nor Power had he to part,
For the fair Daughter of the Sheaf-crown'd.
Queen,
Fair without Pride, and lovely without Art,
Gather'd her wild Flowers on the daiſied
Green.
He ſaw; he ſigh’d; and that unmelting Breaft,
Which arms the Hand of Death, the Power of:
Love confeſs’d.
G5
LETTER

[ 154 ]
L E T T E R XII.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
"THE
HE Letter I wrote to poor Mazarin, to
diſſuade her from entering on the Con-
ventual Life, has not yet been in any other
Hands. That, and the Stanzas on the ſame Sub-
jea, I have reſerved amongſt thoſe private Pledges
of Tenderneſs and Friendſhip which the Memory
of a beloved Objeâ makes of much Conſequence
to ourſelves, though they may be of little or none
to others. I will give them up to you, notwith-
ſtanding; but on Condition that you ſhall make
them fomething better than they are, by return-
ing them cloathed in your own Language.
* This Letter, and the Stanzas that follow it,
are the only Pieces in this Collection that have ap-
peared before
Mr. Waller's Tranſlation has never
been printed ; and the Originals do ſo much Ho-
nour to St. Evremond, that the Editor thought he
ſhould conſult both his Reputation, and the Enter-
tainment of the Public, by inſerting them.
LETTRE

L ET TER XII.
155
L E T T R E.
A Madame la Ducheſſe MAZARINE,
Sur la defein qu'elle avoit de ſe retirer dans un
Couvent.
* *
***
Comment eſt-il poſlible que vous quittiez des -
gens que vous charmez et qui vous adorent,
des amis que vous aiment mieux qu'ils ne s'ai--
ment eux mêmes, pour aller chercher des incon-
nus qui vous deplairont, et dont vous ſerez peut-
être outragée? Songez vous, Madame, que.
vous vous jettez dans un Couvent, que Madame
la Connetable avoit en horreur. Si elle y rentre,
c'eſt qu'il y faut rentrer ou mourir; la captivité.
preſente, toute affreuſe qu'elle eſt, lui ſemble
moins dure que cet infortuné ſejour; et pour y
aller, Madame, vous voulez quitter une Cour où.
vous etes eſtimée, ou l'affe&tion d'un Roi doux
et honnêre vous traite ſi bien, ou toutes les
per-
ſonnes raiſonnables ont du reſpect et de l'amitié
pour vous.
Le jour le plus heureux que vous
paſſerez dans le Couvent ne vaudra pas le plus
triſte
que vous paſſerez dans votre maiſon.
Encore

156
LET TER XII.
Encore ſi vous etiez touchée d'une Grace par-
ticuliere de Dieu, qui vous attachât a ſon ſervice,
on excuſeroit la dureté de votre condition, par
l'ardeur de votre zele qui vous rendroit tout ſup-
portable: mais je ne vous trouve pas perſuadée,
et il vous faut apprendre à croire celui que vous
allez ſervir ſi durement. Vous trouverez toutes
les peines des Religieuſes, et ne trouverez point
cer Epoux qui les conſole. Tout Epoux à vous
eft odieux, et dans le couvent et dans le monde.
Douter un jour de la felicité de l'autre vie eſt aſſez
pour deſeſperer la plus ſainte fille d'un couvent;
car la Foi ſeule la fortifié, et la rend capable de
fupporter les mortifications qu'elle ſe donne.
Qui ſait, Madame, ſi vous croirez un quart-d'-
beure ce qu'il faut qu'elle croye toujours, pour
n'être pas malheureux ? Qui fait ſi l'idée d'un
bonheur promis aura jamais la force de vous foû-
tenir contre les ſentimens de maux preſens.
Il n'y a rien de plus raiſonnable à des gens veri-
tablement perſuadés que de vivre dans l'auſterité,
qu'ils croyent neceſſaire pour arriver à la poſſeſ-
ſion d'un bien éternel; et rien de plus fage à ceux
qui ne le ſont pas, que de prendre ici leurs com-
modités, et de goûter avec moderation tous les
plaiſirs ou ils ſont ſenſibles. C'eſt la raiſon
pourquoi les Philoſophes qui ont crû l'immorta-
lité de l'ame, ont compté pour rien toutes les
douceurs

LET TER XII.
157
douceurs de ce monde; et que ceux qui n'atten-
doient rien après la mort, ont mis le ſouveraine
bien dans la volupté. Pour vous, Madame, vous
avez une philoſophie toute nouvelle. Oppoſée à
Epicure, vous cherchez les peines, les mortifica-
tions, les douleurs. Contraire à Socrate, vous
d'attendez aucune récompenſe de la vertu.
Vous vous faites religieuſe ſans beaucoup de reli-
gion: Vous mépriſez ce monde ici, et vous ne
faites pas grand cas de l'autre.
vous n'en ayiez trouvé un troiſiéme fait pour
vous, il n'y a pas moyen juſtifier votre conduite.
A moins que
Il faut, Madame, il faut ſe perfuader avant
que de ſe contraindre: Il ne faut pas ſouffrir ſans
ſavoir pour qui l'on ſouffre. En un mot, il faut
travailler ſerieuſement à connoiire Dieu avant
que de renoncer à foi-même. C'eſt au milieu
de l'univers que la contemplation des merveilles
de la nature vous fera connoître celui dont elle
depend. La vûe du foleil vous fera connoître la
grandeur et la magnificence de celui qui l'a for-
mé. Cet ordre, ſi merveilleux et ſi juſte, qui
lie et entretient toutes choſes, vous donnera la
connoiſſance de ſa ſageſſe. Enfin, Madame,
dans ce monde que vous quittez, Dieu eſt tout
ouvert, et tout expliqué à nos penſées. Il eft fi
reſſerré dans les monaſteres, qu'il ſe cache au
lieu de fe decouvrir; ſi deguiſé par les baſſes et
indignes

158
L ET TER XII.
indignes figures qu'on lui donne, que les plus
éclairés ont de la peine à le reconnoitre. Cepen-
dant une vieille ſupérieure ne vous parlera que
de
lui, et ne connoîtra rien moins: Elle vous com-
mandera des ſottiſes, et une exacte obeiſſance
ſuivra toujours le commandement, quelque ridi-
cule qu'il puiſſe etre. Le Dire&teur ne prendra
pas moins d'aſcendant ſur vous, et votre raiſon
humiliée ſe verra ſoumiſe à une ignorance pre-
ſomptueuſe. La Raiſon, ce caractere ſecret,
cette image de Dieu que nous portons en nos
ames, vous fera paſſer pour rebelle, ſi vous ne
reverez l'imbecillité de la nature humaine en ce
dire&teur. De bonnes ſoeurs trop ſimples vous
degoûteront; des libertines vous donnerent du
ſcandale : vouz verrez les crimes du monde:
Helas! vous en aurez quitté les plaiſirs.
Juſqu'ici vous avez vécu dans les grandeurs,
et dans les délices; vous avez été élevée en
Reine, et vous meritiez de l'être.
Devenue
heritiere du Miniſtre qui gouvernoit l'univers,
vous avez eu plus de bien en mariage, que tou-
tes les Reines de l'Europe enſemble n'en ont
porté aux Rois leurs epoux. Un jour vous a
enlevé tous ces biens; mais votre merite vous a
tenu lieu de votre fortune, et vous a fait vivre
plus magnifiquement dans les pays etrangers que
vous n'euſſiez vécu dans le nôtre. La curioſité,
la

L E T T E R XII.
159
la delicateſſe, la propreté, le ſoin de votre per-
ſonne, les commodites, les plaiſirs ne vous ont
pas abandonnée; et ſi votre diſcretion vous a de-
fendu des voluptés, vous avez cet avantage, que
jamais faveurs n'ont été fi deſirées que
les votres.
Post
Que trouverez vous, Madame, ou vous allez?
Vous trouverez une defence rigoureuſe de tout
ce que demande raiſonnablement la nature, de
tout ce qui eſt permis à l'humanité. Une cel-
lule, un inéchant lit, un plus deteſtable repas,
des habits ſales et puants remplaceront vos délices.
Vous ſerez ſeule à vous ſervir, ſeule à vous plaire,
au milieu de tant de choſes que vous deplairont;
et peut-être ne ſerez vous pas en état d'avoir
pour vous la plus ſecrette complaiſance de l'amour
propre; peut-être que votre beauté devenue
toute inutile, ne ſe decouvrira, ni à vos yeux, ni
à ceux des autres.
Cependant, Madame, cette beauté fi merveil-
leuſe, ce grand ornement de l'univers, ne vous
a pas
été donnée pour le cacher.
le cacher. Vous vous de-
vez au public, à vos amis, à vous-même. . Vous
étés faite pour vous plaire, pour plaire à tous,
pour diſliper la triſteſſe, inſpirer la joie, pour ra-
nimer generalement tout ce qui languit. Quand
les laides et les imbécilles ſe jettent dans les cou-
vens, c'eſt une inſpiration divine qui leur fait
quitter

160
LETTER XII.
quitter le monde, ou elles ne paroiſſent que pour
faire honte a leur Auteur. Sur votre ſujet, Ma-
dame, c'eſt une vraie tentation du Diable, lequel,
envieux de la gloire de Dieu, ne peut fouffrir
l'admiration que nous donne ſon plus bel ouvrage,
Vingt ans de Pſeaumes et de Çantiques chantés
dans le choeur ne feront pas tant pour cette gloire,
comme un ſeul jour que votre beauté ſera expolée
aux yeux des hommes. Vous montrer eſt votre
veritable vocation: c'eſt le culte le plus propre
que vous puiſſiez lui rendre. Si le temps a pou-
voir d'effacer vos traits, comme il efface ceux
des autres, s'il ruine un jour cette beauté
quié
nous admirons, retirez vous alors ; et apres avoir
accompli la volonté de celui qui a formée, allez
chanter ſes louanges dans le couvent. Mais ſui-
vez la diſpoſition qu'il a faite de votre vie; car ſi
vous prevenez l'heure qu'il a deſtinée pour votre
retraite, vous trahirez ſes intentions, par une fe-
erette complaiſance pour ſon ennemi,
Un de vos grands malheurs, Madame, ſi vous
ecoutez cet ennemi, c'eſt que vous n'aurez à
vous prendre de tous vos maux qu'à vous-même.
Madame la Connétable rejette les ſiens ſur la vio-
lence qu'on lui fait. Elle a les cruautés d'un
mari qui la force, l'injuſtice d'une cour qu’ap-
puye
ſon mari: elle a mille objets, vrais ou faux,
qu'elle peut accuſer. Vous n'avez que vous,
Madame,

LETTER XII.
161
Madame, pour cauſe de votre infortune. Vous
n'avez a condamner que votre erreur.
Dieu
vous explique ſes volontes par ma bouche, et
vous ne m'ecoutez pas. Il ſe ſert de mes raiſons
pour vous fauver, et vous ne conſultez que vous
pour vous perdre. Un jour accablée de tous les
maux que je vous depeins, vous ſongérez, mais
trop tard, à celui qui à voulu les empêcher.
Peut-être étés vous flattée de bruit
que
fera
votre retraite, et par une vanité extravagante,
vous croyez qu'il ni a rien de plus illuſtre
que de
derober au monde la plus grande beauté qu'on y
vit jamais, quand les autres ne donnent à Dieu
qu’une laideur naturelle, ou les ruines d’un viſage
tout effacé. Mais depuis quand préferez vous
l'erreur de l'opinion a la réalité des choſes? Et
qui vous a dit, apres tout, que votre reſolution ne
paroitra pas auſſi folle qu'extraordinaire? Qui
vous a dit qu'on ne la prendra pas pour le retour
d'une humeur errante et voyageuſe? qu'on ne
croira pas que vous voulez faire trois cens de
lieues
pour
chercher une avanture, celeſte, ſi vous
voulez, mais toujours une eſpece d'avanture?
Je ne doute point que vous n'eſperiez trouver
beaucoup de douceur dans l'entretien de Madame
la Connétable; mais, ſi je ne me trompe, cette
douceur la finira bientôt. Apres avoir parlé trois
Ou

182
LE T TER XII.
ou quatre jours de la France, et de l'Italie, apres
avoir parlé de la paſſion du Roi, et de la timidité
de Monſieur votre oncle, et de ce que vous avez
penſé etre, et de ce que vous etes devenue: apres
avoir epuiſé le ſouvenir de la maiſon de Monſieur
le Connétable, de votre ſortie de Rome, et du
malheureux ſuccés de vos voyages, vous vous
trouverez enfermée dans un couvent; et votre
captivité, dont vous commencerez à fentir la ri-
gueur, vous fera ſonger à la douce liberté, que
vous aurez goûtée en Angleterre. Les choſes
qui vous paroiſſent ennuyeuſes aujourd'hui, ſe
preſenteront avec des charmes; et ce que vous
aurez quittée par degoût, reviendra folliciter votre
envie. Alors, Madame, alors, de quelle force
d'eſprit n'aurez-vous pas beſoin, pour vous con-
foler de maux préſens et des biens perdus?
Je veux que mes pénetrations foient fauſſes et
mes conjectures malfondées; je veux que la con-
verſation de Madame la Connétable ait toujours
de grands agréments pour vous: mais qui vous
dira
que
vous en pourrez jouir librement ? Une
des maximes des couvens eft de ne ſouffrir aucuno
liaiſon entre des perſonnes qui ſe plaiſent, parce
que l’union des particuliers eſt une eſpece de de-
tachement des obligations contractées avec l'ordre,
D'ailleurs, les ſoins de Monſieur le Connétable
pourront

L E T TER XII.
163
pourront bien s'étendre juſqu'à empêcher une
communication qui fait tout craindre à un homme
ſoupçonneux qui a trop offenſé. Je ne parle
point des caprices d'une ſuperieure, ni des ſecret-
tes jalouſies des religieuſes, qui voudront nuire à
une perſonne, dont le mérite confondra le leur.
Ainſi, Madame, vous vous ſerez faite religieuſe
pour vivre avec Madame la Connétable, et il ar-
rivera que vous ne la verrez preſque pas. Vous
ſerez, donc, ou ſeule avec vos triſtes imaginations,
ou dans la foule, parmi les ſottiſes, et les erreurs,
ennuyée des ſermons en langue que vous ſera peu
connue, fatiguée des Matins qui auront troublé
votre repos, laſſée d'une habitude continuelle du
chant des Vêpres, et du murmure importune de
quelque Roſaire.
Quelle parti prendre, Madame ? Conſervez
votre raiſon: Vous vous rendrez malheureuſe
ſi vous la perdez. Quelle perte de n'avoir plus
ce diſcernement fi exquis, et cette intelligence fi
rare! Avez-vous commis un ſi grand crime con-
tre vous, que vous devez vous punir auſli rigou-
reuſement que vous faites ? Et quel ſujet de
plainte avez vous contre vos amis, pour exercer
fur eux une fi cruelle vengeance ? Les Italiens
aſſaſſinent leurs ennemis: mais leurs amis ſe ſau.
vent de la juſtice ſauvage qu'ils ſe veulent faire.
Mademoiſelle

164
LETTER XII.
Mademoiſelle de Beverweert et moi avons
déja eu les coups mortels: la penſée de vos maux
a fait les nôtres, et je me trouve aujourd'hui le
plus miſére de tous les hommes, parceque vous
allez vous rendre la plus malheureuſe des toutes
les femmes. Quand je vais voir Mademoiſelle de
Beverweert les Matins, nous nous regardons un
quart-d'heure ſans parler; et ce triſte filence eſt
toujours accompagné de nos larmes. Ayez pitié
de nous, Madame, ſi vous n'en avez de vous-
même. On peut ſe priver des commodités de
la vie pour l'amour de ſes amis: nous vous de-
mandons que vous vous priviez des tournmens,
et nous ne ſaurions l'obtenir. Il faut que vous
ayez une dureté bien naturelle, puiſque vous etes
la premiere a en reſſentir les effets. Songez,
Madame, ſon gez ſerieuſement à ce que je vous
dis: vous étes ſur le bord du precipice ; un pas
en avant, vous étes perdue; un pas en arriere,
vous étes en pleine ſûreté. Vos biens et vos
maux dependent de vous. Ayez la force de vou-
loir être heureuſe, et vous la ſerez.
que je
Si vous quittez le monde, comme vous fem-
blez vous y preparer, ma conſolation eft
n'y demeurerai pas long-temps. La nature, plus
favorable que vous, finira bientôt ma triſte vie.
Cependant, Madame, vos ordres previendront les
fiens,

LETTER XII.
165
ſiens, quand il vous plaira; car les droits qu'elle
ſe garde ſur moi ne vont qu'après ceux que je
vous y a donnes. Il n'eſt point de voyage que je
n'entreprenne; et ſi pour derniere rigueur, vous
n'y voulez pas conſentir, je me cacherai dans un
déſert, dégouté de toute autre commerce que le
Là, votre idée me tiendra lieu des tous
objets: là je me detacherai de moi-même, s'il eſt
permis de parler ainſi, pour penſer eternellement
à vous : là, j'apprendrai à tout ce monde ce
qu'auront pû ſur moi, le charme de votre merite,
et la force de ma douleur.
entona
votre.
SENTIMENS de Madame la Ducheſſe MA-
ZARIN, qui ſe conſacre à Dieu.
S T A N C E S.
SAINTS. et ſacrés ennuis, ſalutaire triſteſſe,
Dégoûts dont mon Eſprit eſt occupé ſans ceſſe,
Challez les vains deſirs qui reſtent dans mon cœur;
Eteignez dans mon ſein le ſentiment des vices;
Eteignez l'appétit de mes fauſſes delilices,
Et faites que le Ciel aujourd'hui ſoit vainqueur.
C'eſt pour lui deſormais que j'ai deſſein de vivre.
Vous m'attirez, Seigneur; Seigneur, il faut vous
fuivre;
Vous

166
L E T TER XII.
Vous aurez tous mes ſoins, vous aurez mon
amour :
2 1
A vos loix ſeulement je vais être aſſervie; 7
Et je veux bien donner le reſte de ma vie
09
Au Dieu dont la bonte m'a sû donner le jour. ***
Ce Dieu qui me forma ſi charmante et fi belle,
A borné ſes faveurs, et me laiſſe mortelle.
Malgré tout le pouvoir qui donne à mes appas,
Le temps effacera les traits de mon viſage;
Et l’Eſprit, de ce Dieu la plus vivante image,
Echappera lui ſeul aux rigueurs de trepas.
Quelle bonheur eſt certain d'une longue durée ?
VI
Quelle condition nous peut-être aſſuére
Qui peut nous garantir des injures du ſort?
On ne poſſede rien qui ne ſoit périſſable:
Souvent le plus heureux devient ſi miſerable,
Qu'il ſemble avoir beſoin du ſecours de la mort.
J'ai connu tous les biens qu'apporte la fortune
J'ai connu la grangeur, et ſa pompe importune;
En amour, pour les Moins, j'ai connu les deſires ;
Des fauſſes vanités j'ai fait l'experience;
Et je connois enfin qu'une heure d'innocence
Vaut mieux qu'un ſiecle entier de frivoles plaiſirs.
2 in
Faites,

LET TER XII.
167
Faites, faites, Seigneur, que vos ſaintes lumières
Diſſipent l'ignorance, et les erreurs groſſiéres
Dont mon eſprit confus étoit enveloppé.
Le monde eſt un trompeur; Dieu ſeul eſt véri-
table,
Je n'eſpere qu'en lui, je ne ſuis plus capable
De me laiſſer ſurprendre à ce qui m'a trompé,
Temps ou ſe doit fixer ma longue incertitude,
Lieux qui devez finir ma triſte inquiétude,
Quand me donnerez-vous ce repos ſouhaité?
Je delibere encor, jour et nuit je conſulte
Si je dois préférer vos douceurs au tumulte:
C'en eſt fait, lieux ſacrés, vous l'avez emporté.
O
vous,
Maître abſolu de la terre et de l'onde,
Vous, dont l'ordre ſecret gouverne tout le
monde,
Voudrez vous bien, Seigneur, devenir mon
epoux ?
Celui qu'on me donna n'eſt pas digne de l'être,
C'eſt vous ſeul aujourd'hui qui je veux recon-
noître.
Mes liens ſont rompus, et je fuis toute à vous.
Vieux et triſtes liens, cauſes de tant de larmes,
Peut-être que fans vous le monde eut eu ſes
charmes;
Mais

168
LETTER XII.
Mais le monde avec vous eſt aiſément vàincu.
Je ferai deſormais en quelque ſolitude,
D'un doux et ſaint repos une paiſible étude,
Et compterai pour rien le temps que j'ai vécu.
Palais, meubles, habits, folle magnificence,
Jeu, repas, vains ſujets de luxe et de dépenſe,
Je vous dis maintenant'un eternel adieu:
Beaux cheveux, doux liens ou s'engageoient les
ames,
Qui prenoient en mes yeux les amoureuſes
Aâmes,
Beaux cheveux, je vous coupe, et vous conſacre
à Dieu.
So
Un voile pour jamais va couvrir mon viſage,
Et ma beauté cachée y perdra tout uſage
De ce charme trompeur qui ſait flatter les ſens:
Un amant y perdra la ſujet de ſa peine : **
Je vais perdre les noms d'ingrate et d'inhumaine,
Et les maux qu'en ſecret, moi-même je reſſens.
Je vous degage, amans, des loix de mon em-
pire :
Pour des objets nouveaux ſi votre coeur ſoupire:
Je ne me plaindra point d'une infidélité:
J'aimerois

LE T TER XII.
169
J'aimerois mieux pourtant
que
les femmes ſont
vaines!
J'aimerois vous voir au ſortir des mes chaines,
Jouir paiſiblement de votre liberté.
J'aimerois mieux encor que votre ame fidèle
De la premiere ardeur formât un nouveau zèle,
Qui nous tiendroit unis même apres le trépas.
De ce nouvel amour ſentez l'heureuſe atteinte;
Vous m'aimâtes profane, aimez-moi comme
our fainte, lidi jegos
Et ſuivez mes virtus au lieu de mes appas.
Mais des adieux ſi longs aux amans que l'or
51 Iquitte, un Go To
Montrent notre foiblefie, ou marquent leur
que mérite: 1391 702053311
C'eſt un reſte ſecret des profanes amours,
Permettez, Lieux divins, quelque humaine ten-
dreſſe, istoj porus
Pour ceux qui m'ont aimée, et qu'aujourd'hui je
laiſle,
Ils ne me verront plus, et vous m'aurez tujours,
H:
A Monf.
re

170
LET TER XII,
risirr olan
A Monf. de St. EvREMOND.
SUJET, trife ſujet, qui pleurez mon ab.
fence,
Pourquoi me plaignez-vous, quand mon bonheur
commence,
C'eſt à vous ſeulement que vous devez des
pleurs;
Je ne menerai plus cet vie incertaine mémo!
Dont vous fûtes témoin; et finiſſant ma peine,
Je vous donne un exemple à finir vos mal-
heurs.
motivate b
La retraite à vôtre âge eſt toujours néceſſaire;
Avec tant de beauté vous me da voyez faire, iso
Et vous iriez encor vous traîner dans les cours !
Que ſi la voix du Ciel de tout autre écoutée
Sur le bord de cercueil eſt par vos rejettée,
De la morale, au moins écoutez le diſcours.
Le Ciel eſt impuiſſant, et la raiſon timidė
Sur vos durs ſentiments trop foiblement préſide;
Mais vous devez encor reconnoître ma Loi:
Retirez-vous, vieillard; c'eſt moi qui vous l'or-
donne ;
Voici l'ordre dernier qu'en Reine je vous donne;
Vieillard, quittez le monde en même temps que
moi.
ST

LET TER XII.
17T
ST. EVREMOND.
MA Reine me verroit'a ſon ordre fidèle,
Mais la mort où je cours m'empêche d'obêïr;
Il m'eſt plus aiſé de mourir
Que de vivre un moment ſans elle.
H 2
LETTER

[ 172 ]
L E T T E R XIII.
WALLER to ST. EVREMOND.
TH
HE moſt perfect and moſt perſuaſive
Piece of Eloquence that ancient or modern
"Times have produced, would require a more
maſterly Hand than mine to do it Juſtice in a
Tranſlation. In paſſing from one Language to
another, every Work ſuffers; but Works of
Wit more than others. The peculiar Felicities
of Expreſſion are moſt commonly incommunica-
ble, and the Taſk of the Tranſlator is ſomewhat
like that of the Iſraelites in Egypt, who were o-
bliged to make the ſame kind of Bricks with
Stubble that had uſually been made with Straw:
It is like that of an Architect, who is to imitate
with Exa&tneſs his Model, and yet muſt build
with different Materials, which, by means of
Weight or Lightneſs, will give his Work a dif-
ferent Air. ---I am not mentioning theſe Dif-
advantages without the Expectation of Indul-
gence. Your Letter and Verſes will not appear
in their original Beauty, but I have endeavoured,
as much as poſſible, to preſerve your Ideas.
TO

LET TER XIII.
173
To the Ducheſs of MAZARIN, on her Deſign of re-
tiring into a Convent.
Is it poſſible, then, Madam, that you ſhould
quit that Society, of which you are ſo juſtly
the Admiration and Delight? Abandon the
Friends that adore you! for whom ? for Stran-
gers, who want even the Capacity of giving you
Pleaſure; for Strangers that will give you Diſ-
guſt? Reflect, Madam, that you are about to
enter upon a Life which your illuſtrious Sifter
could not look upon without Horror., If ſhe re-
tires into a Convent, it is becauſe the Alternative
is Death. Her preſent Confinement, dreadful as
it is, ſeems, in her Opinioni, preferable to that
wretched Retreat. But your Situation, how
different! For, is it a Priſon you exchange for a
Nunnery? Is it not a Court, where you are uni-
verſally reſpected; where you enjoy the trueſt
and tendereſt Affe&tion of a Monarch, and where
all the liberal and the ſenſible World receive
you into their Friendſhip and Eſteem? The hap-
pieſt Day that a Convent will afford
you,
not be worth the leaſt enlivened Hours you paſs
at preſent.
13
Were

174
LE T T E R XIII.
Were it the Influence of ſome prevailing
Grace that attached you wholly to religious Du-
ties, the Severities of the Life you lay before you,
might find ſome Apology, in the Ardor of that
Zeal, which would render them more ſupportable.
But, far from the Poſſeſſion of Grace, you have
not even Faith: You have yet to learn to be-
lieve in that Maſter, for whom you are about to
engage in fo painful a Service. You will expe-
rience all' the Hardſhips of religious Retirement,
without finding that Spouſe, by whoſe Conſolati-
ons they are alleviated. The very Name of
Spouſe is odious to you, whether in a Convent or
in a Court. To entertain the leaſt Shadow of
Doubt concerning the Happineſs of a future Èxif-
tence, were ſufficient to deſtroy the Peace of the
moſt pious Siſter. It is Faith alone that ſupports
her, and reconciles her to the voluntary Mortifi-
cations of her Life. But is it certain, Madam,
that you ſhall believe, even for one Moment,
what your Happineſs requires that you ſhould be-
lieve always ? Is it certain that your Confidence
of future Felicity will be ſufficient to ſupport you
under the Senſe of preſent Sufferings?
For the Family of Faith, nothing can be more
reaſonable, than to endure thoſe Auſterities which
they believe to be neceſſary to their eternal Wel-
fare,

LETTER XIII.
175
fare. But, for thoſe who are of different Senti-
ments, a different Oeconomy is neceſſary. It is
their proper Happineſs to embrace the Conve-
niences of Life, and to purſue, with Moderation,
thoſe Pleaſures that are adapted to their Nature.
I was upon this Principle, that thoſe Philoſo-
phers, who believed the Immortality of the Soul,
depreciated the Delights of this Life; and that
thoſe, who entertained no Opinion of a future
Exiſtence, placed the Sovereign Good in Plea-
ſure. But you, Madam, have a Philoſophy
of a Species altogether uncommon. Contrary
to the Doctrine of Epicurus, the Objects of your
Purſuit are Pains, and Sufferings, and Sorrows.
Inconſiſtent with the Principles of Socrates, you
have no Belief in the Rewards of Virtue. You
engage in a religious Life, without Religion.
You ſet this World at naught, and yet you
have
no Idea of the other. It is at leaſt neceſſary
that a third ſhould be created for your Purpoſe,
were it but to juſtify your Condua.
It is abſolutely neceſſary that you ſhould be
Keve, before you engage. It is neceſſary you
ſhould know for whom you ſuffer, before you
enter upon your ſufferings. In ſhort, it is ne-
ceſſary to obtain a proper Knowledge of God,
before you give up to him the Intereſt of your
Life.
H4

176 LETTER XIII.
Life. It is in the viſible Creation that the Con-
templation of the Wonders of Nature will bring
you acquainted with her ſublime Author. It is
the Sight of the Sun that muſt give you an Idea
of the Magnificence of Him that made it. It is
that Order which is preſerved in the great Chain
of Created Being, that muſt inſpire you with pro-
per Sentiments of the aſtoniſhing Wiſdom of the
Creator. It is in that World you are about to
forſake, where God is to be found. It is in his
Works you are to read an Account of his Being.
Is he to be found in the narrow Precincts of a
Monaſtery? Far from being diſcovered there, is
he not concealed ? So diſguiſed by low
and unworthy Images, that he is hid even from
that Intelligence he has given?
Yet ſhall you continually hear of him from
fome aged Abbeſs, who will talk to you concern-
ing him, and know nothing of bim. She will
command you to do the abſurdeſt things, and
her Commands muſt be implicitly obeyed.
Your Confeſſor will have equally the Aſcendant
over you, and your humbled Reaſon muſt ſub-
mit to the Tyranny of preſumptuous Ignorance.
Reaſon! that hidden Chara&ter! that Image of
the Deity impreft upon the Soul, will make you
conſidered in the Light of a Rebel, if you pay
not

LETTER XIII.
177
not the moſt abje& Deference to the Weakneſs
of human Nature in the Perſon of that Confeffor.
The good Siſters will diſguſt you with their Infi-
pidity ; the Libertines will expoſe you to Scandal.
You will find yourſelf ſurrounded by the Infira
mities of Life; and, alas! you will find that you:
have parted with its Pleaſures.
Hitherto you bave lived in Luxury and in:
Grandeur. You have had the Education of a
Queen, and you were juſtly entitled to it. The
Heireſs of a Miniſter who governed the World;
your Marriage Portion exceeded the united For-
tunes of all the Queens in Europe. One fatal:
Day deprived you of your Poſſeſſions, but your
Merit ſupplied the Place of Fortune, and eſta-
bliſhed you in that Magnificence in a Land of
Strangers, which you had hardly known in your
own Country. A Love of Elegance, a natural
Delicacy, a Regard for Perſonal Ornament, the
Conveniences of Situation, and the Pleaſures of
Life, have not forſaken you; and if your Difcre-
tion has preſerved you from other Indulgences,
your Virtue has the greater Merit; for never:
were Favours more ſolicited than yours.
What is it, Madam, that you will find in a
Convent? What, but a rigorous, Abſtinenet
from
H5

178
LET TER XIII.
from every innocent Indulgence that Nature may
require, or Reaſon allow? A Cell, a wretched
Bed, a more wretched Diet, and the vileſt Dreſs
will take place of the preſent Elegancies of your
Life. No Servant to attend you! no Companion
to entertain you! It is yourſelf alone that muſt
Pleaſure amidſt a thouſand Objects that
will give you Diſguſt. And yet it is far from
certain that you will retain even this Complai-
ſance for yourſelf. When Captivity ſhall have
deprived that Beauty of its Uſe, will the fair
Poffeffor any longer find a Pleaſure in it?
give you
But was, then, that wonderful Beauty, the
Ornament, the Boaſt of Human Nature, was it
given you to be concealed ? Do not you ſtand
accountable for it to the World, to your Friends,
to yourſelf? Formed, as you are, to diffuſe uni-
verſal Pleaſure, to diſpel the Gloom of Melan-
choly, and call forth every Idea of Joy! Let the
Ugly and Infirm be ſhut
up
in Convents. The
Inſpiration that directs them thither is divine.
It is the Voice of Nature, that bids them retire
from that Society where they do no Honour to
their Creator. But, in your Caſe, Madam, this
is abſolutely a Temptation of the Devil, who,
envious of the Glory of God, cannot endure that
Admiration with which we behold the faireſt of
his

LET TER XIII.
179
his Works. Believe me, twenty long Years of
Pfalm-finging will not contribute ſo much to that
Glory, as the expoſing your Beauties one ſingle
Day to the Eyes of the admiring World. Your
proper Religion is to appear in Society. It is
the beſt Worſhip you can pay to your Creator.
If thoſe Charms, like common Beauties, muſt
ſubmit to the Devaſtations of Time, then may
you retire; and after having fulfilled the Deſign
of Him that made you, may you ſing his Praiſes
in the Retreat of a Convent. But, follow the
Scheme that his Providence has laid down for
your Life; for, if you withdraw from Society,
before the Time he has appoinfed, you will fruf-
trate his Intentions to gratify his Enemy.
Should you liſten, after all, to the Inſinuations
of that Enemy, it will not be one of your leaft
Misfortunes, that you have none but yourſelf to
charge with the Evils that fall upon you. Your
illuſtrious Siſter may lay the Blame of her Suffer-
ings on the Violence with which ſhe has been
treated; on the Cruelty of a Huſband who com-
pelled her, and on the Injuſtice of a Court, which
ſupported that Huſband. She has a thouſand
Cauſes, real or imaginary, on which ſhe may
charge her Misfortunes. You have only one,
and that one is yourſelf. You fall not by the
Error, or the Injuſtice of others, but by your
OW13,

180
LETTER XII.
f my
you,
but when your
own. I am the Voice of the divine Intentions,
and you will not hear me. Providence avails
itſelf of Reaſon to ſave
Ruin is in the Queſtion, you will conſult only
yourſelf. Yet the Day will come, when, over-
born by all the Evils I have deſcribed, you will
think, but too late, of him who would have pre-
vented them.
Poſſibly, you may be Aattered by the Voice of
public Fame and popular Curioſity, which your
Retirement will undoubtedly excite. By an Ex-
travagance of Vanity you may be induced to de-
prive the World of the greateſt Beauty it can
boaſt; while others conſign to the Retreats of
Piety nothing more, than either their natural De-
formity, or the Ruins of a departed Face. But,
are the Errors of Opinion, then, to take Place of
Truth and Nature? And who, after all, has had
the Hardineſs to aſſure you,
that
your
Reſolution
will not appear as abſurd as it is extraordinary?
Is it clear that the Reſolution itſelf is any thing
more than a tranſient Humour ? A Piece of holy
Knight-Erranty? ſhall we not be apt to ſay,
that the Ducheſs of Mazarin is going Three
hundred Leagues in queſt of an Adventure? Of
a heavenly one, if you pleaſe; but ſtill it is a
Species of Adventure.
I doubt

LET TER XIII.
181
I doubt not that you hope for much Happineſs
in the Converſation of your illuſtrious Siſter.
But, if I am not miſtaken, that Happineſs will
be of ſhort Continuance. After having ſpent
three, or four Days, in Converſation about France
and Italy; concerning the Paſſion of the King,
and the Pufillanimity of your Uncle; on what you
might have expected to be, and on what you
now are; after having run through every Idea
of the Family of Colonna, of your Removal from
Rome, and the ill Succeſs of your Journies, you
will find yourſelf in the Captivity of a Convent;
and that Captivity will be rendered more painful,
by the Remembrance of that delightful Liberty
you enjoy'd in this Land of Freedom. Even
thoſe things which you now behold with Indiffe-
rence, will then have their Charms; and what
you now abandon through Diſguſt, will then
excite your Envy. What Fortitude, what Force
of Mind, will be ſufficient to ſupport you?
to ſupport you under the Senfe of preſent Suffer-
ings, and Bleſſings that are loft.
Be it ſuppoſed, my Apprehenſions may be
vain, and my Conjectures ill-founded! Be it
ſuppoſed, you may ſtill find a Charm in the Con-
verſation of your Sifter, that ſhall compenſate for
all the Evils of your Confinement; yet is it ſure
that

182
LETTER XIII.
that
you fhall have free Acceſs to it? It is a
Maxim in Convents to ſuffer no Conne&tions or
Intimacies, becauſe the Union of Individuals is
conſidered as a kind of Revolt from the Obliga-
tions contracted with the Order. Befides, the
Induſtry of the Prince may exert itſelf in this
Reſpect, and prevent that Communication which
muſt appear formidable to a ſuſpicious and inju-
rious Huſband. I paſs over the Caprices of an
Abbeſs, and the ſecret Jealouſies of the Siſter-
hood, ever induſtrious to oppreſs that Merit
which obſcures their own. Thus, it can only be
for the Society of your Siſter that you enter on
the religious Life; and yet, perhaps, that Sifter
you will hardly ever ſee. Your Life, therefore,
will either paſs in the folitary Indulgence of
own ſad Thoughts, or in a Society pregnant with
Follies and Abſurdities; where you will be wea-
ried with Sermons in a Language that is un-
known to you, harraſſed with Matins that will
diſturb your Reſt, ſickened with the dull Chant-
ing of the fame Round of Veſpers, or teaſed
with the troubleſome Murmurs of ſome indu-
ftrious Rofary:
:
your
What is it, then, you have to do, Madam?
Make a right Uſe of your Reaſon: If you attend
not to it, you are undone. What a Loſs! ſhould
you

L ET TER XIII.
183
you no longer find the Uſe of that exquiſite Dir-
cernment, that unrivaled Senſe! What Crime
have you committed that can juſtify ſo ſevere a
Sentence againſt yourſelf? What Crime have
your Friends , committed, that they muft feel
the Effects of the fame Severity ? It is uſual for
the Italians to aſſaflinate their Enemies; but their
Friends are free from the favage Juſtice and the
Vengeance they aſſert.
Madam De Beverweert and myſelf are truly
miſerable. The Senſe of
your
Misfortunes
affects us extremely; and I am at this Moment
the moſt wretched of Men, becauſe you are re-
folved to make yourſelf the moſt unhappy of
Women. In my Morning Viſits to Madam De
Beverweert we ſit looking on each other in melan-
choly Silence, and that Silence is always accom-
panied with Tears. Have ſome Compaſſion for
us, Madam, if you will have none for yourſelf.
For the Advantage of our Friends do we not
willingly deprive ourſelves of the Comforts and
Conveniences of Life? Your Friends intreat you
only to give up your Miſeries for their Sakes, and
their Intreaties are vain.
Yet notwithſtanding this more than natural
Obduracy, refle&, Madam, I intreat you, on
what

184
LETTER XIII.
what I have already laid before you. You are
now on the Brink of a Precipice -
One Step
forward, and you periſh unavoidably,
One
Step backwards, and you are in perfea Safety.
Your Happineſs and Miſery are in your own
Diſpoſal. Only reſolve to be happy, and you
will be fo.
However, ſhould you abandon the World,
which ſeems at preſent your Intention, I have
one Conſolation left, that I ſhall not ſtay long in
it. Nature, more merciful than you, will ſoon
put an End to my wretched Being; yet ftill
your Commands will take Place of her’s; and the
Right ſhe has over me will be but ſecondary to
that I have given you. I am prepared to go
whenever I ſhall have my Summons; and if
you,
as a laſt Inſtance of your Cruelty, ſhall refuſe, I
will hide myſelf in ſome ſolitary Deſert, and
ficken at the Thought of all Society but yours.
Your Idea ſhall take Place of every other Object,
and I will retire even from myſelf, that I may
for ever think of you. Such are the Proofs I will
exhibit to the World of the Power of your
Charms, and the Force of my Deſpair.
Tube

L ETTER XIII.
185
The Ducheſs of Mazarin, on her retiring into
a Convent.
Y E holy Cares that haunt theſe lonely Cells,
Theſe Scenes where falutary Sadneſs dwells;
Ye Sighs that minute the flow waſting Day,
Ye pale Regrets that wear my Life away;
O bid theſe Paſſions for the World depart,
Theſe wild Defires, and Vanities of Heart.
Hide every Trace of Vice, of Follies paſt,
And yield to Heaven the Victory at laſt.
purſue.
To that the poor remains of Life are due,
”Tis Heaven that calls, and I the Call
Lord of my Life, my future Cares are thine,
My Love, my Duty greet thy holy Shrine.
No more my Heart to vainer Hopes I give,
But live for thee, whoſe Bounty bids me live.
The Power that gave theſe little Charms their
Grace,
His Favours bounded, and confin'd their Space.
Spite of thoſe Charms ſhall Time, with rude
Eſſay,
Tear from the Cheek the tranſient Roſe
away.
But the free Mind, 'Ten-thouſand Ages paſt,
Its Maker's Form, ſhall with its Maker laſt.
Uncertain

186
LET TER XIII.
Uncertain Objects fill our Hopes employ;
Uncertain all that bears the Name of Joy!
Of all that feels the Injuries of Fate
Uncertain is the Search, and ſhort the Date.
Yet even that Boon what Thouſands wiſh te
gain?
That Boon of Death, the ſad Reſource of Pain!
Once on my Path all Fortune's Glory fell,
Her vain Magnificence, and courtly Swell:
Love touch'd my Soul at leaſt with ſoft Deſires,
And Vanity there fed her Meteor Fires.
This Truth at laſt the mighty Scenes let fall,
An Hour of Innocence was worth them all.
Lord of my Life! O, let thy ſacred Ray
Shine o'er my Heart, and break its Clouds away!
Deluding, flattering, faithlefs World adieu!
Long haſt thou taught me, GOD IS ONLY TRUE!
That God alone I truſt, alone adore,
No more deluded, and miſled no more.
Come, ſacred Hour, when wavering Doubts
ſhall ceaſe!
Come holy Scenes of long Repoſe and Peace!
Yet ſhall my Heart, to other Intereſts true,
A Moment balance 'twixt the World and you?
Of penſive Nights, of long-refle&ing Days,
Be yours, at laſt, the Triumph and the Praiſe !
Great,

LETTER XIII.
187
Great, gracious Maſter, whoſe unbounded
Sway,
Felt thro' Ten-thouſand Worlds, thoſe Worlds
obey;
Wilt thou for, once thy awful Glories ſhade,
And deign t'eſpouſe the Creature thou haſt
made?
All other Ties indignant I diſclaim,
Diſhonour'd thoſe, and infamous to name!
O fatal Ties, for which ſuch Tears I've ſhed,
For which the Pleaſures of the World lay dead?
That World's ſoft Pleaſures
you
alone diſarm;
That World without you, ſtill might have its
Charm.
But now thoſe Scenes of tempting Hope I cloſe,
And ſeek the peaceful Studies of Repoſe;
Look on the paſt as Time that ſtole away,
And beg the Bleſſings of a happier Day.
T
Ye gay Saloons, ye golden-veſted Halls,
Scenes of high Treats and heart-bewitching
Balls !
Dreſs, Figure, Spleodor, Charms of Play, fare-
well,
And all the Toilet's Science to excel !
Even Love that ambuſh'd in this beauteous Hair,
No more ſhall lie, like Indian Archers, there.
Go, erring Love! for nobler Objects given!
Go, beauteous Hair, a Sacrifice to Heaven!
Soon

188
LETTER XIII:
Soon ſhall the Veil theſe glowing Features hide,
At once the Period of their Power and Pride!
The hapleſs Lover ſhall no more complain
Of Vows unheard, or unrewarded Pain;
While calmly ſleep in each untortured Breaſt
My ſecret Sorrow, and his Sighs profeſt,
Go, flattering Train! and, Slaves to me no
more,
With the fame Sighs ſome happier Fair adore !
Your alter'd Faith, I blame not, nor bewail
And haply yet, (what Woman is not frail ?)
Yet, haply, might I calmer Minutes prove,
If he that loved me knew no other Love!
Yet were that Ardour, which his Breaſt in-
ſpired,
By Charms of more than mortal Beauty fired;
What nobler Pridel could I to Heaven reſign
The Zeal, the Service that I boaſted mine !
O, change your falſe Deſires, ye flattering Train!
And love me pious, whom ye loved profane!
Theſe long Adieus with Lovers doom'd to go,
Or prove their Merit, or my Weakneſs ſhew;
But Heaven, to ſuch ſoft Frailties leſs ſevere,
May ſpare the Tribute of a female Tear,
May yield one tender Moment to deplore
Thoſe gentle Hearts that I muſt hold no more.
To

LET TER XIII.
189
To M. DE ST. EVREMOND.
SHALT thou, ſad Servant of my darker Days,
Bewail that Fortune fairer Hours diſplays?
Go, Witneſs of the wandering Life I led,
And ceaſe thoſe Tears, for Thee more juſtly ſhed.
See the long Series of my Sufferings o'er !
Avoid the Storm, purſue, partake the Shore.
Declining Years ſhould ſtill in Silence cloſe,
And hide their human Weakneſs in Repoſe.
Shall I in Life’s, in Beauty's Bloom retire?
Grown old in Courts, ſhall EvREMOND expire ?
Far from thoſe Courts, tho' every Call divine !
Yet, Reaſon, Senſe and Fortitude are thine.
Are theſe unheard? In Habit's powerful Reign
Does Reaſon wield her little Arms in vain?
Yet ſhalt thou yield to my ſuperior Sway:
Thy Queen commands thee; EVREMOND, obe:
Sick of the World, ſhe quits the painful Scene,
And calls Thee thence, if yet ſhe calls, thy
Queen.
Mr.

190
LETTER XIII,
Mr. DE ST. EVREMOND.
O, fill my Sovereign, whoſe unrival'd Sway,
*Tis yet my Pride, my Pleaſure to obey.
I come - I fy-No!--- Death that Duty ends,
Deprived of Thee, the laſt, the beſt of Friends!
pode ser
e ile blonde
LETTER

v [ 191 ]
Start L ET TER XIV.
to ab
THERE
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
blo
che alta
WHERE are two Sets of Men againſt whom
a Writer of any other Country than their
own ſtands but an ill Chance of preſerving his
Reputation. ... Theſe are Dutch
Authors and
Dutch Bookſellers. They divide you, Body, and
Soul, between them. The former ſteal your
Works: the latter your Name. The Authors
publiſh your Writings as their own Producti-
ons: The Bookſellers publiſh the Productions of
others as yours. They treat you like the Pirates
of Algiers. You no ſooner fall into their Hands,
than they ſtrip you naked, and ſet you to hard
Labour. I ſpeak of their Cruelty by Experience.
An honeſt Bookſeller of Rotterdam has not only
publiſhed ſeveral of my Pieces in the Names of
his Day-labouring Authors, but has ſet me
work on Subje&s, of which I am at leaſt as igno-
rant as the People that wrote in my Name. He
has made me Author of a Treatiſe on the Longi-
tude, though there are not above two Stars in
the Sky that I know by Name. I ftand on the
Title-Page of Chymical Aphoriſms, though I
do

192
LET TER XIV.
ut whathe Chara&ter of Field-
do not know an Alembic from a Dark-lantern.
I am Author of a Treatiſe againſt the Antino-
mians, of whom I know as much as I do of the
Antediluvians: But what is moſt provoking, he
has introduced me in the Character of Field-
Marſhal of France, and has made me write a
Narrative of a Battle, in which I was forced to
run away. On
To Drus cabra
This is certainly worſe Treatment than that
which made Diagoras turn Atheift. We are told,
that when a Plagiary had ſtolen and fathered his
Book, he would no longer believe there were any
Gods, becauſe they did not puniſh the Thief
with a Thunderbolt. For my own Part, I do
not find that the Impunity of theſe Caitiffs has
made any Alteration in my Faith. A
All I am
afraid of is, that the Devil has too much Senſe
to let Bookſellers come into his Dominions ; for
as he has the Chara&er of a Genius, it would not
be long before they gave him the Fool's Cap of
an Author
I am very confident that my honeſt Friend at
Rotterdam, were he to carry on Trade in his
Kingdoms, would have no manner of Scruple to
make him Author of a Treatiſe on Original Sin.
This Publication would ſoon be followed by
Diſſertation on the medical Effects of Brimſtone,
Auctore

LETTER XIV.
193
Auctore Sereniſſimo Diabolo, M. D. or a Narrative
of the Battle between himſelf and Michael, in
which, like the poor Maríhal De St. Evremond,
he was put to the Rout.
I
LETTER
)

( 194 )
L E T TER XV.
WALLER to Sr. EVREMOND.
I
Have often thought that there is a great
Similarity of Genius between Ovid and our
Mr. Cowley. They have the ſame Fondneſs
for pointed Expreſſion, and minute Painting.
Their Enthuſiaſm and their Fancy, and their
Turn of Verſe, which is ſometimes eaſy,
clean, and natural, and ſometimes quaint, have
all of them the greateſt Reſemblance of each
other. And, what is no leſs obſervable, their
Diſpoſitions and Tempers are, in many In-
ſtances, alike. Mr. Cowley's Complaint has
the very fame Spirit and Features with Ovid's
melancholy Elegies written during his Exile ;
and I am afraid, too, that it will have no better
Effect.
It always gives me Pleaſure to obſerve the
Coincidence of Genius, and Tafte. For this
Purpofe, when I have the Favour of Mr. Cow-
ley’s Company, I very often take up Ovid's
Metamorphoſes, and read ſuch Paſſages to him

LETTER XV.
195
as I think will ſtrike him moſt. What he prin-
cipally admires in the Story of the Rape of Pro-
ſerpine, was her Grief for the Loſs of the Flow-
ers ſhe had gathered.
Collecti flores tunicis cecidere remiffis.
Tantaque ſimplicitas puerilibus adfait annis;
Hæc quoque virgineum movit jactura dolorem.
Had he written on the ſame Subject, 1 verily
believe that he would have had the ſame
Thought.
In reading the Story of Pyramus and Thiſbe,
we both concluded that there muſt be ſomething
wrong in the following Paſſage:
Tempore crevit amor, tædæ quoque jure coiſ.
ſent,
Sed vetuere patres, quod non potuere vetare.
æquo captis ardebant mentibus ambo.
Ex
Sed vetuere patres, quod non potuere vetare, is cer-
tainly Nonſenſe. Yet ſo it ſtands in all the
Editions I have met with, undiſturbed by Com-
mentators, who paſs it over in facro filentio.
Nothing
1 2

196
LET TER XV.
Nothing, however, is more eaſy than to remove
the Error, which lies only in the Punctuation.
Let the Paſſage ſtand thus, and it is reſtored to
Senſe.
Tædæ quoque jure coiffent,
Sed vetuere patres. Quod non potuere vetare,
Ex
æquo captis ardebant mentibus ambo.
There is, if I am not miſtaken, another Error
in the ſame Story.
Conſcius omnes abeft; nutu figniſque loquun-
tur.
If every Spy is at a Diſtance, why ſhould they
have . Recourſe to Nods and Signs, to convey
their Sentiments? That could only be neceſſary,
admitting the Caſe to be quite otherwiſe. Sup-
poſe then we read
Conſcious omnis adeft; nutu figniſque loquun-
tur.
This Alteration is by no means violent, and
it at once brings the Paſſage to Senſe and Con-
ſiſtency.

LETTER XV.
197
ſiſtency. However, I am not ſo hardy as to
ſay, Sic lege meo periculo. I only offer this to
you by way of Conjecture; but the firſt, I am
ſatisfied, muſt be right.
LETTER

[ 198 ]
LETTER XVI.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
T is ſaid of the Mouſe of Armenia, that, ſuch
is her Paſſion for Cleanlineſs, ſhe will ſooner
die than come out of her Hole, if the Mouth of
it is by any means made dirty. I own I have
often admired the Decency of this good Mouſe,
though I deſpair of imitating it. 'The Love of
Purity is one of the natural Virtues, and it grieves
me to think how ſtrangely I have degenerated
from it. Ever fince I quitted my Marſhal's
Batoon, I have had, as you lately told me, the
leaſt Attachment to this Virtue of
any
Man
living. When I went from France, I left their
Neatneſs to the Men, and took with me the
Slovenlineſs of the Women. This Diſpoſition
was abundantly encouraged by a long Reſidence
in Holland; for the People of that Country, like
your Engliſh Hogs, keep their Sleeping-places
neat, but their Perſons dirty. A daily and fami-
liar Intercourſe with Dogs and Cats, of which
I have always a numerous Family, completes
the reſt. This is a Commerce which no Conſi-
deration whatever could induce me to part with.
It gives me as much Conſequence as belongs to
the

LETTER XVI.
199
Exerciſe to my
the Man who has a large Family to provide for,
or a Province under his Care. It is a conſtant
Benevolence, which a Man, who,
like
me, is without ſocial Connections, muſt al-
ways be in Danger of loſing.
Without any
Servant of my own Species, I live with the Mag-
nificence of a Prince, who has a large Retinue;
and, what no Prince in the World can ſafely
aſſert, I am convinced that my Domeſtics are
unexceptionably faithful.
I amuſe myſelf by
preſerving a good Underſtanding, and maintain-
ing the Balance of Power between the two Spe-
cies of Animals that attend me. They know
their reſpective Provinces, and make no En-
croachments on each other. My Cats have the
Territory of the Shoulders, my Dogs of the Lap.
I love to keep up the Dignity of Anceſtry,
and I dine, as I ſuppoſe, in the ſame Style and
Manner with my firſt Parent, before his Expul-
fion from Paradiſe. I have ſeen a Painting of
Tintorets, repreſenting him at Dinner, ſurround-
ed by a Variety of his Fellow Creatures; to ſuch
of which as were capable of partaking with him,
he was diſtributing his Bounty. In this reſpect
I find another Satisfaction in the Society I ſpeak
of. I gratify myſelf by diſtinguiſhing and reward-
ing Merit. Modeſty goes a great way with me;
and the Animal that is leaſt importunate is al-
ways

200
LETTER XVI.
ways fed the firſt. You will hardly believe what
an Effe & this has had upon the Teaſers. Ob-
ſerving the Rewards of Diſtance and Modeſty,
they have totally changed their Conduet. I took
the Liberty of mentioning this to the King. -
“ My Dogs, (faid he) St. Evremond, are more
incorrigible than yours: They will never give
over teaſing, till they get the Bone,”
LETTER

[ 201 ]
L E T TER XVII.
ST. EVREMOND to WALLER.
B
EFORE the infamous and diſgraceful
Peace of the Pyrenées, a political Writer of
conſiderable Name in France, propoſed, upon the
Neceſſity of military Reinforcements, that the
Eccleſiaſtics ſhould be called to the Diſcipline of
Arms; that the Monaſteries, like ſo many
Graves at the General Reſurrection, ſhould give
up their Dead'; ---and that a Set of Men, who
were a Burden to Society and to themſelves,
ſhould be made Uſe of in the Preſervation of
Civil Property. The Cardinal Premier was ſo
enraged at this Propoſal, that had not the Author
made a ſeaſonable Viſit to another Country, he
would ſoon have become as uſeleſs a Subject to
France, as thoſe whoſe Confinement was volun-
tary.
Nevertheleſs there was ſomething very rea-
ſonable in what he advanced; and it is really
aſtoniſhing, that in a Country, diſtinguiſhed for
the Cultivation of Civil and Political Knowledge,
there ſhould be the leaſt Remains of any Inſtitu-
tion ſo abſurd as that of cutting off a Number of
Men

202
LET TER XVII.
Men from the Service of their Fellow-Creatures
for the Glory of God. Certainly the beſt and moſt
acceptable Services we are capable of rendering
to the Creator of the Univerſe, muſt be thoſe that
ariſe from the Diſcharge of the Social Duties:
And it has often been Matter of ſerious Amaze-
ment to me, how Eccleſiaſtics came by the Idea,
that they ſhould do the greateſt Honour to God
by renouncing all Intercourſe with his Works.
But I ſuppoſe there might be Reaſons of pri-
vate Indulgence, ſecret Intrigue, and uninſpected
Growth of Power. Theſe Neſts of holy Loun-
gers
the Church muſt have conſidered as a Corps
de Reſerve, that would be ready to defend that
Power which ſupported them in Indolence, in
Caſe of unforeſeen or dangerous Invaſions. IC
is plain that your Henry the Eighth looked upon
them in this Light, when he had the good Senſe
and the good Policy to extirpate them from his
Dominions,
Chriſtianity, with reſpeĉ to the Support of
ſuch Inſtitutions as theſe, is a Syſtem more bur-
denſome and leſs ſerviceable than Mabometiſm,
or even Druidiſm. The Druid would retire to
his Groves for the Exerciſe of his ſuperſtitious
Devotion; but if his Country were attacked by

LETTER XVII.
203
an Enemy, he failed not to be in the Front of
Battle,
In Proportion to the Progreſs of Philoſophy
and the Advancement of moral Knowledge, it
might have been expected, that the Idea of ren-
dering the Body of Eccleſiaſtics uſeful to Society,
ſhould have been more effe&tually attended to.
But, perhaps, there never was a Time, when
they were leſs ſerviceable than at preſent.
When
your
Richard the Firſt was at War with
France, he found a formidable Enemy in Philip,
Biſhop of Beau-vieu, who annoyed his Coaſts
with diſtinguiſhed Valour and Intrepidity. The
Biſhop, however, was at length taken by Richard
in a Skirmiſh. The Pope demanded his Diſ.
miſſion as an Eccleſiaſtical Perſon, and bade the
King reverence his Son's Coat. Richard imme.
diately ſent the Biſhop's Coat of Mail to the
Pope, with theſe Words engraven upon it:
~ See whether this be thy Son's Coat, or not."
End of the SECOND VOLUME.

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