K/ 
 
 , 'V * 
 
 "'? 0n^}aSSSSSSSS3i
 
 ELOISA El 
 
 epistle t 
 traits oj 
 4to, //' 
 
 Fine copy. 
 
 "This prof 
 attributed to I 
 Lowndes. 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 SEELEY W. MUDD 
 
 and 
 
 GEORGE I. COCHRAN MEYER ELSASSER 
 
 DR.JOHNR. HAYNES WILLIAM L. HONNOLD 
 
 JAMES R. MARTIN MRS. JOSEPH F. SARTORI 
 
 t tk* 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SOUTHERN BRANCH 
 
 celebrated 
 ithfifiefor- 
 h-d. Small 
 
 I erroneously 
 o quote it." 
 
 JOHN FISKE
 
 il>5iVb. 

 
 AJ'tnxd. J'ir 
 
 L 
 
 Oof Jar tifulK! 
 
 \J/f^S^-/Lr^^J,u{sP
 
 E L O I S A 
 
 EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 ^* Moore, in his Life of Byron, says that this piece was really 
 ' composed by Col. John Matthews of Herefordshire.
 
 E L O I S A 
 
 EN DISHABILLE: 
 
 BEING 
 
 A NEW VERSION 
 OF THAT LADY'S CELEBRATED EPISTLE TO 
 
 A B E L A R D. 
 
 DONE INTO FAMILIAR ENGLISH METRE 
 BY 
 
 A LOUNGEFx. 
 
 TO WHICH IS PUErlXED 
 
 A DEDICATORY ADDRESS. 
 
 TO THAT RESPECTABLE FRATERNITY, OF WHICH THti 
 AUTHOR HAS THE HONOUR TO BE AN 
 
 UNWORTHY MEMBER. 
 
 Projicit ampullas ft sesquipedalia verba Hor. 
 
 LONDOS: 
 
 PRINTED BY J. WRIGHT, 
 
 Denmark-Court, Strand. 
 
 1801. 
 
 86()*J8
 
 .-- Cf -a .4 V
 
 A I E^ 
 
 TO THE 
 IL MOST HONOURABLE AND WORSHIPFUL TRATERNITY 
 
 <S COMMONLY CALLED 
 
 THE LOUNGERS 
 
 OF 
 
 cc 
 
 Oi 
 
 H 
 
 GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND. 
 
 CD 
 
 .5 My Lords and Gentlemen, 
 
 JlERMIT me with the utmost deference to lay this 
 little Foem on your sofas, as you alone are the proper judges 
 of its merit, and the most able patrons to afford it necessary 
 protection. Although it is so much my interest to conciliate 
 your favour, I scorn to attempt it by the hackneyed ai^ts of 
 common dedicators. I will not, therefore, say one word 
 more in your praise than (what even your enemies must
 
 allow) that you are the most ancient, most opulent, and 
 most numerous society, now existing in these kingdoms. 
 With regard to antiquity , the free masons themselves cannot 
 pretend to vie with you : from the clearest calculations it 
 must appear, that your united property is far more consi- 
 derable than that of the renowned association of the 
 
 county of Y : and as to your numbers, they will be 
 
 found infinitely superior to the still more famous one lately 
 
 assembled in^ St. G 's Fields. I am not ignorant that 
 
 it has been suggested by some prejudiced writers*, that 
 your order is a mere modern institution .- and though some 
 have been content to deduce your origin from the sages of 
 Greece, others have had the assurance to assert that it was 
 first established at one of the learned universities, and no 
 longer ago than the beginning of the present century : but 
 
 Vide Spectator, No. 54.
 
 a very little examination into the matter will effectually cor- 
 rect both these mistakes. It may perhaps he true, that the 
 title by which you are now distinguished, might be as- 
 sumed about the period your adversaries mention ; but the 
 order itself, my Lords and Gentlemen, I will Jiot scruple 
 to declare, is coeval with mankind : our first parent, in his 
 delightful state of indolent felicity, being, to all intents 
 and purposes, the first Lounger. The immense wealth 
 and incredible numbers of the society, at this day, must he 
 obvious to every body, who is at all acquainted with His 
 Majesty's dominions in general, or this great metropolis in 
 particular. Such is the flourishing condition of this ho- 
 nourable fraternity in the British isles ; nor shall we find it 
 in less estimation among the different nations upon the con- 
 tinent. In America, indeed, it must be owned that your 
 ordinances, like some others, are not much attended to ; so
 
 vntractahle is that stubborn generation. But the Eastern 
 World affords a ?nore agreeable prospect : if we may believe 
 the reports of historians and travellers; those wise people have 
 ever been, and continue to this day, in the genuine practice 
 of your customs and manners, or have even refined upon 
 them. 
 
 So much for the order in general : I now descend to 7ny- 
 self From experience, I well know your mortal antipathy 
 to prefaces, introductions, and, in short, every species of 
 prolegomena, by which an author settles preliminaries with 
 his reader. I shall therefoix take leave to insert here every 
 thing necessary to he premised, in hopes that, as it is par^ 
 ticularly addressed to yourselves, it may perchance attract 
 your attention. Let not your Lordships and Worships be 
 alarmed : I shall study all possible brevity, having as much 
 aversion to the fatigue of writing, as you can have to that
 
 of reading. In the first place, then, I assure you that this 
 bagatelle was composed solely for jour use ; nor do I desire 
 any other reader whatever to proceed a step farther in the 
 perusal. If after this notice. Critics will shock their ears 
 with the uncouthness of my versification, ar the zealous ad- 
 mirers of Mr. Tope will undergo the mortification of seeing 
 his fine thoughts barbarously murdered, they must take it 
 for their pains. Let nobody, however, rashly conclude 
 that I have any enmity to that immortal hard. Cotton 
 might, perhaps, admire Virgil's beauties, though he chose 
 to burlesque him ; and Hogarth certainly did not mean to 
 disparage, his own performance of Paul before Felix, when 
 he painted the same subject in the ridiculous manner of 
 Hembrandt. In general, I may venture to assert, that your 
 . Lordships and Worships have no great relish for the sub- 
 lime : Pope's Epistle of 'Ei.ois a is, undoubtedly, a pretty
 
 poem; and its sentiments might afford you some amusement 
 while under the hands of the friseur, if divested of that 
 serious air they wear at present, and adorned with that 
 nonchalance of which you are so fond. To afford you this 
 gratif cation, I have dared to break through one of the esta- 
 blished rules of your illustrious order; and I have only to 
 hope, that my good intentions may procure me your pardon 
 for the flagrant offence of putting pen to paper, 
 I have the Honour to be. 
 
 With the greatest Respect, 
 
 My LORDS and GENTLEMENy 
 Your Lordships and Worships' 
 Most obedient. 
 
 Most humble, and 
 
 Most devoted Servant, 
 THE AUTHOR,
 
 ELOISA 
 
 EN 
 
 DISHABILLE; 
 
 BEING 
 
 A NEW VERSION 
 
 OF rff^r LADY'S CELEBRATED EPISTLE TO 
 
 ABELARD.* 
 
 Immur'd in this prison, so dull and so moping, 
 Where vows and high walls bar all hopes of eloping, 
 Where close-grated windows scarce shew us the sun. 
 What means this strange itch in the flesh of a nun ? 
 Why wander my thoughts in the midst of devotion ? 
 Why feels my fond heart its long smothered emotion ? 
 
 Still 
 
 In general the author endeavours to stick as close as possible to the original j wherever he vandcrs, 
 tJie reader will please to observe, that cither Elois A uses the same sentiment in some other part of the 
 epistle, or he takes the liberty of putting wonis into her mouth, which might naturally be expected from 
 a young lady in her situation.
 
 POP E'S 
 
 E L O I S A 
 
 TO 
 
 A B E L A R D. 
 
 In these deep solitudes and awful cells, 
 Where heav'nly pensive Contemplation dwells, 
 And ever-musing Melancholy reigns ; 
 What means this tumult in a vestaFs veins ; 
 Why rove my thoughts l^eyond this last retreat ? 
 Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat ? 
 
 D Yet
 
 9 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 Still, still love prevails ! this unquenchable flame 
 Blazes fresh at the sight of my Abelard's name. 
 
 Dear name ! fatal source of my pain and my pleasure ! 
 Let me hide it as close as a miser his treasure : 
 Coop it up in my heart, where those birds of a feather, 
 Warm love, warm devotion, sit perching together. 
 Already I've wrote it ! alas, Fd forgot it : 
 ril weep on the paper in streams till I blot it : 
 Spite of tears and of prayers, my feelings so teaze me. 
 That my hand, too complying, endeavours to ease me. 
 
 Thrice dismal retreat! where, *midst gloom everlasting, 
 Our amusements are sighing, and fretting, and fasting. 
 Ye walls, full of cracks, though not ravaged by time. 
 By yellow-fac'd virgins youre robb'd of your lime !* 
 Ye busts of old fathers, whose damp-streaming faces 
 Seem to pity my own and my lover's disgraces ! 
 Tho' as stupid as you, I so steadfast look at you, 
 My feelings convince me I'm not quite a statue. 
 
 No 
 
 It appears that the monastcrj-, to which Eloisa retreated, was built bj' Abelard himself, conse- 
 quentiy the iujuries douc to " Paraclete's white Malls" are not unnaturally accounted for.
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 9 
 
 Yet, yet I love! from Abelard it came, 
 And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. 
 
 Dear fatal name ! rest ever unreveal'd, 
 Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd : 
 Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, 
 Where, mix'd with God's his lov'd idea lies : 
 
 write it not, my hand the name appears 
 Already written wash it out my tears ! 
 
 In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, 
 
 Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. 
 
 Relentless walls ! whose darksome round contains 
 Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains : 
 Ye rugged rocks ! which holy knees have worn ; 
 Ye grots and caverns, shagg'd Avith horrid thorn ! 
 Shrines ! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep. 
 And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep ! 
 Though cold, like you, unmov'd and silent grown, 
 
 1 have not yet forgot myself to stone. 
 
 All
 
 JO ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 No still my blood boils, my passion still rages, 
 Notwithstanding my fasting and weeping for ages. 
 
 When I open thy letters, how trembles my frame ! 
 How I sigh, how I w eep at the sight of thy name ! 
 When my own meets my eyes, the same tremors I feel 
 Some woful misfortune treads close at its heel. 
 Through what painful extremes of sensation I run ! 
 Now broiling a lover, now freezing a nun. 
 
 Yet let me, ah ! let me conjure thee to wTite all 
 Thy woes, for I long for the shocking recital ; 
 That sighs sympathetic with yours may combine. 
 And tears ever-flowing may water each line. 
 Does Abelard hear my request, and yet lingers ? 
 The close-clipping villains at least left thy fingers ! 
 If love demands weeping, oh ! why should I spare 
 Those floods, which of course must be lavished elsewhere*! 
 To happier tasks my swol'n eyes bid adieu. 
 Bereft of the pleasure of gazing on you. 
 
 By 
 
 * Eloisa here seems to allude to the well-known Greek Inscription on an ancient marble, still to b 
 seen iu the Medicean gardens: Gifxu^ ivK^i QiXts ivir'ts. Above it is an elegant figure in alto 
 relievo, which the best connoisseurs suppose to be the repri sentation of the melting Siobe, and tlat the 
 fragment formerly belonged to one of the folding doors of the temple of Apollo Pal atinus.
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 10 
 
 All is not HeavVs while Abelard has part, 
 Still rebel nature holds out half my heart; 
 Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain, 
 Nor tears for ages taught to flow in vain. 
 
 Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose, 
 That well-known name awakens all my Avoes. 
 Oh, name for ever sad ! for ever dear ! 
 Still breathed with sighs, still usher'd with a tear. 
 I tremble, too, Avhene'er my own I find. 
 Some dire misfortune follows close behind. 
 Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, 
 Led through a sad variety of woe ; 
 Now warm in love, now withering in my bloom. 
 Lost in a convent's solitary gloom ! 
 There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame, 
 There died the best of passions, love and fame. 
 
 Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join 
 Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine; 
 Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away : 
 And is my Abelard less kind than they? 
 Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare. 
 Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r : 
 
 E 4 No
 
 11 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 By sharing thy griefs, then, give ease to thy soul : 
 Alas ! sharing's too little ah, give me the whole ! 
 Heav'n first, in its mercy, taught mortals their letters 
 For ladies in limbo, or lovers in fetters. 
 With genuine heat they describe our desires. 
 Nor lose the least spark of our soul-melting fires : 
 At once on the delicate subject we rush. 
 Without e'en the trouble of seeming to blush : 
 Our souls they unite, though our bodies can't join. 
 And waft a warm sigh from the pole to the line. 
 
 You know how fond Love, in the artful disguise 
 Of Friendship's fair form, caught my soul by surprise: 
 Angelic I thought thee some spirit ethereal ! 
 Nor dream'd that the transports I felt were venereal !* . 
 Delusion so gross I too soon understood. 
 Nor was griev'd to change spirit for warm flesh and blood. 
 
 When 
 
 1 have scarcely occasion to take notice, that this word is used in i[s poetica/f noi itt ckirurgica/, 
 signification.
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. H 
 
 No happier task these faded eyes pursue ; 
 To read and weep is all they now can do. 
 
 Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; 
 Ah, more than share it, give me all thy grief. 
 Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, 
 Some banished lover, or some captive maid ; 
 They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires. 
 Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires ; 
 The virgin's wish without her fears impart, 
 Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart ; 
 Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, 
 And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole. 
 
 Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame. 
 When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name ; 
 My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind. 
 Some emanation of th' all-Bounteous mind. 
 Those smiling eyes attemp'ring every ray. 
 Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day. 
 Guiltless I gaz'd ; Heaven listen'd while you sung ; 
 And truths divine came mended from that tongue.* 
 
 From 
 
 * He was her preceptor in philosopby and divinitj-.
 
 12 EIX)ISA EN DISHABILEE. 
 
 When youVe press'd me to marriage, how oft have I said, 
 What megrim has Abelard got in his head ? 
 How oft have I sworn how egregiously stupid 
 Are laws, neither founded by nature or Cupid ! 
 So free is the god, if you once aim to bind him. 
 He flies like a wretch with ten bailiffs behind him ; 
 Let dull married dames boast of honour and riches, 
 
 I care not a fig for such phlegmatic ;* 
 
 Enslav'd by no prejudice, dup'd by no fashion. 
 
 My object alone is the genuine passion. 
 
 If the world's mighty monarch should wedlock propose. 
 
 At himself and his world I would toss up my nose : 
 
 I hate drowsy joys betwixt waking and sleeping 
 
 No let my dear Abelard take me in keeping ! 
 
 O state 
 
 It ii rather e!ctraordin<iry that our heroine, when she speaks of the pure part of the sex, should be 
 betrayed into a warmth, which prevents her from finishing the sentence, especially when we consider tlie 
 peculiar mildneis of their strictures on the misfortune of any frail sister, which hapiiens lo come to 
 their knowledge.
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. X2 
 
 From lips like those what precepts fail to move ? 
 Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love : 
 Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran, 
 Nor wish'd an angel whom I lov*d a man. 
 Dim and remote the joys of saints I see ; 
 Nor envy them that heav'n I lose for thee. 
 
 How oft, when pressed to marriage, have I said, 
 Curse on all laws but those which love has made ; 
 Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, 
 Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies ; 
 Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame, 
 August her deed, and sacred be her fame ; 
 Before true passion all those views remove ; 
 Fame, wealth, and honour ! what are you to love ? 
 The jealous god, when we profane his fires, 
 Those restless passions in revenge inspires, 
 And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, 
 Who seek in love for aught but love alone. 
 Should at my feet the world's great master fall, 
 Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn them all : 
 Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove ; 
 No, make me mistress to the man I love ; 
 
 p If
 
 13 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 O state full of bliss ^happy, charming condition. 
 Where exquisite freedom gives zest to fruition ! 
 Each heart with the other in unison beating ! 
 In silent effusions, souls melting and meeting ! 
 Each craving allay 'd, and brim-full ev'ry void ! 
 Such such were the raptures which once we enjoyM. 
 
 Alas ! how we're chang'd, what dire horrors appear ! 
 See the flint-hearted rascals are seizing my dear ! 
 Stark naked fast bound stop, bloodhound, thy knife ! 
 Ah ! spare the swe^t source of the balsam of life ! 
 Oh ! why was not I at the butchering scene ? 
 This hand in a moment had rush'd in between : 
 This hand too was guilty sure that might atone. 
 And save his dear flesh at the expence of its own. 
 But what am I writing ? the subject must *hore ye : 
 Too well you're acquainted with all the sad story. 
 
 That 
 
 This word has happily survived the usual period of these EpArmeriiles of the fashionable vocabularj* ; 
 '}<', however, the Beau Monde should at length think fit to banish it, before this voik itscliis buried in 
 
 oblivion,
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 13 
 
 If there be yet another name more free, 
 
 More fond than mistress, make me that to thee ! 
 
 Oh ! happy state ! when souls each other draw. 
 When love is liberty, and nature law : 
 All then is full, possessing and possest, 
 No craving void left aching in the breast ; 
 E*en thought meets thought ere from the lips it part, 
 And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. 
 This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be), 
 And once the lot of Abelard and me. 
 
 Alas, how changed ! what sudden hoiTors rise ! 
 A naked lover bound and bleeding lies ! 
 Where, where was Eloise ? her voice, her hand. 
 Her poniard had opposed the dire command. 
 Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain; 
 The crime was common, common be the pain. 
 I can no more ; by shame, by rage suppress'd, 
 Let tears and burning blushes speak the rest. 
 
 Canst 
 
 oblivion, let it be remembered, that between tlic years 1772 and 17 , the proper mode of expressing a 
 dislike to any noun substantive, whether masculine, feminine, or neuter, was to pronounce him, her, or 
 it, a monstrous Sore; which immediately conveyed the sentiuients of the speaker with great brevity and 
 precision ; whereby the intolerable fatigue of circumlocution was avoided. The verb in the the text sig- 
 nifies of course, to effect luith di%agruable sensations. The derivation 1 leave to more able Etymologists.
 
 14 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 That day you remember, so solemn, so grievous, 
 When kind mother church op'd her arms to receive us ; 
 When warm in my blood to the altar I drew. 
 The shrines seem'd to tremble, the lamps to bum blue. 
 The heavenly choir looked down with surprise. 
 And saints scarce could credit their ears or their eyes. 
 My vows not by grace, but thy love, were decreed, 
 And if I lose that, I'm a bankrupt indeed ! 
 
 Then come ease my woe with thy converse enchanting ; 
 Strong Fancy shall furnish whate'er may be wanting. 
 Once more let our limbs in fond rapture entwine. 
 And thy love-darting eyes shoot their beams into mine : 
 Whilst snatching ambrosial kisses I melt, 
 Thy loss at that moment will scarcely be felt. 
 Ah, no ! thou shalt teach me my hours to employ 
 In mild contemplation of heav'nly joy. 
 Pure beauties celestial set full in my view, 
 And convince me they're more to be valu'd than you. 
 
 Ah,
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 14, 
 
 Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, 
 When victims at yon altar's foot we lay ? 
 Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell. 
 When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewel ? 
 As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil. 
 The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale : 
 Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd. 
 And saints Avith wonder heard the vows I made; 
 Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, 
 Not on the cross my eyes were fix'd, but you : 
 Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call ; 
 And if I lose thy love, I lose my all ! 
 Come ! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe ; 
 Those still at least are left thee to bestow. 
 Still on that breast enamoured let me lie, 
 Still drink delicious poison from thy eye. 
 Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be prest : 
 Give all thou canst and let me dream the rest^ 
 Ah, no ! instruct me other joys to prize, 
 With other beauties charm my partial eyes ; 
 Full in my view set all the bright abode, 
 And make my soul quit Abelard for God. 
 
 o Ah!
 
 15 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 Ah, think on thy flock, if more motives are wanting, 
 Neglect not to bend the young twigs of thy planting : 
 In the shape of dull spouses they scorn'd to obey men ; 
 To the church they retreated, too precious for laymen. 
 In vain the false world might attempt to beguile em 
 With thee the dear girls found a harmless asylum. 
 Eden seem'd to be opened beneath thy protection, 
 E'en Envy must own 'twas a noble erection ! 
 Mistake not my meaning I speak of the building 
 Here is seen no profusion of painting or gilding. 
 But rais'd plain and neat from your private finances, 
 AVithout chousing rich sinners with pious romances, 
 Or teaching the wretches that purchasing prayers 
 Would amply compensate for starving their heirs. 
 
 Here lock'd up for ever, thy presence supply'd *era 
 With a sweet succedaneum for pleasures deny*d 'em. 
 But now they're quite alter'd some pitiful mourner 
 Sits sobbing or pouting in every corner. 
 See how I make use of my friend's supplication. 
 Like souls laid to bleach in the fires of purgation. 
 
 But
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 15 
 
 Ah ! think at least thy flock deserves thy care, 
 Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r. 
 From the false world in early youth they fled, 
 By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. 
 You rais'd these hallow'd walls ; the desert smil'd,* 
 And Paradise was open'd in the wild. 
 No weeping orphan saw his father's stores 
 Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors ; 
 No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, 
 Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n : 
 But such plain proofs as piety could raise, 
 And only vocal with the Maker's praise. 
 In these lone walls, (their day's eternal bound) 
 These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown 'd. 
 Where awful arches make a noon-day night. 
 And the dim windows shed a solemn light ; 
 Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray. 
 And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day. 
 But now no face divine contentment wears, 
 'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears. 
 
 See 
 
 He founded the Monastery.
 
 16 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 But why should I use these poor arts to conjure you ? 
 
 For who, if I fail, shall attempt to allure you ? 
 
 No more, then, I'll trust to the interest of others 
 
 Come, thou dearest of friends, most beloved of brothers ! 
 
 With the fondest, the humblest of names I'll assail! 
 
 Let thy sister, thy daughter, thy servant prevail. 
 
 More than these, as thy love I'll implore then I've done 
 
 AVhich is each tender title united in one. 
 
 Tlie pines, which so tall shoot oblique from the mountains, 
 
 The grottos and clefts, with their chrystalline fountains. 
 
 The soft dying zephyrs, that pant on the groves, 
 
 All give me some hint of our ill-omen'd loves. 
 
 So ingenious is grief in augmenting its woes, 
 
 Each object around me disturbs my repose. 
 
 Blue devils, curst crew, perch in crowds on the trees, 
 
 Flap their wings o*er the grave-stones, and howl in the 
 
 breeze : 
 Or else in sad silence, these envious powers 
 Strip the green of its hue, of their lustre the flowers, 
 On every face spread an air of dejection. 
 And tinge evVy scene with their hateful complexion. 
 
 Yet
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. IQ 
 
 See how the force of others' pray'rs I try, 
 
 (O pious fraud of amVous charity !) 
 
 But why should I on others' pray'rs depend ? 
 
 Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend ! 
 
 Ah ! let thy handmaid, sister, daughter, move, 
 
 And all those tender names in one, thy love 1 
 
 The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd 
 
 Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind ; 
 
 The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills. 
 
 The grots that echo to the tinkling rills. 
 
 The dying gales that pant upon the trees, 
 
 The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze ; 
 
 No more these scenes my meditation aid, 
 
 Or lull to rest the visionary maid. 
 
 But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, 
 
 Long sounding aisles and intermingled graves. 
 
 Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws 
 
 A death-like silence, and a dread repose ; 
 
 Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene. 
 
 Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green, 
 
 Deepens the murmur of the falling floods. 
 
 And breathes a browner horror on the woods. 
 
 H Yet
 
 17 EIX)ISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 Yet here must I pine to the end of mj life : 
 In obedience a mistress shall cope with a wife. 
 When death shall have granted a friendly quietus, 
 And the scurrilous world shall no longer maltreat us ; 
 When you too have reach'd the full length of your tether. 
 No uncles shall bar us from pigging together. 
 Tho' close with fierce rapture no more we shall glow, 
 But lie like old Austin embracing his snow.* 
 
 Whilst living, however, in spite of my vows. 
 My heart still revolts at a spiritual spouse. 
 On the spot where pale Chastity, queen of decorum, 
 Holds her fortress, her citadel, Sanctum Sanctorum., 
 Where outworks abandoned, she often retires. 
 Love fixes his standard, and lights up his fires. 
 'Tis true, I lament, but, alas ! I must own 
 Not my fault, but thy loss, is the object alone. 
 No less vain are my pray'rs ; my wild wishes defeat *em : 
 AVhilst I weep for my crimes, I am ripe to repeat em. 
 
 If 
 
 Saint AucusTiN invented thisdroll method of allaj-ing Ms obstreperous passions. The curious may 
 be informed of more minute particulars, by applying at the Saint's Cave, in Earl Temple's Gardens at 
 Stow,
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 17 
 
 Yet here for ever, ever must I stay ; 
 Sad proof how well a lover can obey ! 
 Death, only death, can break the lasting chain ; 
 And here, e'en then, shall my cold dust remain, 
 Here all its frailties, all its flames resign. 
 And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine. 
 
 Ah, wretch ! believ'd the spouse of God in vain, 
 Confess'd within the slave of love and man. 
 Assist me, heav'n ! but whence arose that pray'r ? 
 Sprung it from piet}^ or from despair ? 
 E'en here, where frozen Chastity retires, 
 Love finds an altar for forbidden fires. 
 I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought ; 
 I mourn the lover, not lament the fault ; 
 I view my crime, but kindle at the view, 
 Repent old pleasures, and solicit new ; 
 
 Now
 
 |g ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 If I think on the sin to excite my contrition, 
 
 Each pulse in my frame beats alarm to fruition. 
 
 To forget the dear guilt is a hopeless endeavour ; 
 
 The girl who once tastes, must remember for ever. 
 
 Then aid me, ye casuists, some means to discover 
 
 To hate the vile passion, yet doat on the lover : 
 
 A conquest so hard there's no female can boast. 
 
 Who, pierc'd to the quick, and in ecstacy lost, 
 
 Like poor Eloise has been destin d to prove 
 
 The heart-thrilling shock of the arrow of love. 
 
 Before such a soul its lost peace can regain, 
 
 How oft must it love, and how often disdain ! 
 
 Now hoping, despairing, and constantly fretting. 
 
 Regretting, resenting, but never forgetting ! 
 
 But if once they've a call, how they're chang'd in a minute. 
 
 So quick, you would swear some enchantment was in it ! 
 
 Those souls, which by love were converted to tinder. 
 
 Catch flame at religion, and burn to a cinder. 
 
 O come, by thy precepts I'll shun ev'ry evil. 
 
 And set at defiance the flesh and the devil : 
 
 From my heart the dear image thyself shalt erase. 
 
 And heal up the wound with the balsam of grace : 
 
 None
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 18 
 
 Now turn d to heaven, I weep my past offence, 
 Now think of thee, and curse my innocence. 
 Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 
 Tis sure the hardest science to forget ! 
 How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, 
 And love th* offender, yet detest th' offence ? 
 How the dear object from the crime remove, 
 Or how distinguish penitence from love ? 
 Unequal task ! a passion to resign. 
 For hearts so touched, so pierced, so lost as mine. 
 Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state. 
 How often must it love, how often hate ? 
 How often hope, despair, resent, regret. 
 Conceal, disdain do all things but forget ? 
 But let heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir*d ; 
 Not touched, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspirdi 
 Oh come ! oh teach me nature to subdue, 
 Renounce my love, my life, myself and you, 
 Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he 
 Alone can rival, can succeed to thee. 
 
 I How
 
 ig ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 None else for the task can equivalent be, 
 It shall fall, like tough Ajax, afelode se. 
 
 In a convent secluded, how happy the maid. 
 Whom no recollections of folly upbraid. 
 Her tranquil repose there, no passions can shock. 
 But torpidly snug, as a toad in a rock. 
 By no soft seducer she's tempted to err. 
 Nor cares for the world more than it cares for her. 
 Mere forms of the place are her sighing and weeping. 
 Blest visions seraphic amuse her when sleeping : 
 Eden's rose, ever gay, crowns the favoured adorer. 
 And fluttering cherubs shed essences o*er her. 
 For nuptials divine preparation appears, 
 And Epithalamia resound in her ears. 
 Whilst heav'nly harps tune their sprightliest strain, 
 She melts without languor, and sighs without pain. 
 
 I, too, have my visions ; but not such as these 
 Are the raptures that solace the lost Eloise. 
 Tliose jewels, which vengeance had thirsted to sever, 
 Rise fair to my view more engaging than ever ! 
 
 Then 
 
 # 
 
 ?
 
 ELQISA TO ABELARD. ig 
 
 How happy is the blameless vestal's lot ? 
 The world forgetting, by the world forgot : 
 Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind ! 
 Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resigned : 
 Labour and rest that equal periods keep ; 
 Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep ; 
 Desires composed, affections ever even ; 
 Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heav'n. 
 Grace shines around her with serenest beams. 
 And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams. 
 For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms. 
 And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes ; 
 For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring ; 
 For her white virgins hymeneals sing ; 
 To sounds of heavenly harps she dies aw^ay, 
 And melts in visions of eternal day. 
 
 Far other dreams my erring soul employ : 
 Far other raptures of unholy joy : 
 AVhen at; the close of each sad, sorrowing day. 
 Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away. 
 
 Then
 
 20 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 Then conscience from nature exacts no submission : 
 Unshackled I spring to the dear apparition ! 
 
 Night, by thy veil what manoeuvres are hidden ! 
 How poignant the relish of pleasures forbidden ! 
 From my soul I believe that the father of lies 
 
 Sends his imps to provoke me like * huge Spanish flies. 
 
 1 see you, I hear you, my arms then I glue t ye, 
 And rove with delight o'er each masculine beauty. 
 On the margin of pleasure ecstatic I revel, 
 
 When away flies the shade whence it came to the devil. 
 
 Once more I compose me, in hopes to recover 
 
 The charming illusion that brought me my lover ; 
 
 Once more I behold him, but not as before, 
 
 Kind flattering Fancy deceives me no more. 
 
 For now, dreary wastes, and bleak mountains among, 
 
 We wander, and weep, as we tramp it along : 
 
 Now round some old mouldering ruin we ramble, 
 
 Then up the steep cliffs of the ocean we scramble : 
 
 From 
 
 Eloisa's idea is strikingly similar to that of ihegreat Dt>ctorBA ynyard, who held tliede^il himself 
 in p: ofrid perso/ia, to be no other than a great bouncing Cantharis, Vid. Trist. Sh.ind. VoU V.
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. gO 
 
 Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free, 
 All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee. 
 
 curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night ! 
 How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight ! 
 Provoking daemons all restraint remove, 
 And stir within me ev'ry source of love. 
 
 1 hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms. 
 And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms. 
 I wake no more I hear, no more I view, 
 
 The phantom flies me, as unkind as you. 
 1 call aloud ; it hears not what I say : 
 I stretch my empty arms ; it glides awa}'. 
 To dream once more, I close my willing eyes ! 
 Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise ! 
 Alas, no more ! methinks we wandering go 
 Thro' dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe. 
 Where round some mould'ring tow'r pale ivy creeps, 
 And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps. 
 
 K Sudden
 
 21 ELOISA EN DISIIx\BILLE. 
 
 From the top on a sudden you mount in the air ! 
 Clouds close round the phantom I'm left in despair : 
 Winds howl, and waves roar ; then from tortures ideal, 
 I wake at the tumult, to those that are real. 
 
 For thy comfort the Fates, in severity kind. 
 When they punish'd thy body, gave ease to thy mind : 
 Thy blood, half-congeal'd, can no longer inspire, 
 Like mine, the fierce blaze of unsated desire, 
 So sluggish it creeps, in such slow, even streams, 
 Night ne'er tantalizes w ith liquorish dreams ; 
 Each morn you may meditate clerical duties, 
 Undisturb'd by the spur of a * signum salutis. 
 
 Then why, my dear friend, is this distance between us ? 
 You're dead in the eye of the statutes of Venus : 
 Her genial warmth you're unable to feel : 
 Nature, spite of the proverb,f' is conquer'd by steel. 
 
 Religion 
 
 * As Abelard liad instructed his fair pfipil in the lenrnecT languages, and in philosophy, natural as 
 well as moral, we are not to be surprised at lier displaying a degree of knoivleJge uncommon in tiie fair sex. 
 
 } " Naturam expelles furca, tamen usque recurret." I think no apology necessary for inserting this 
 very common adage in an explanatory note, as it may ha\e escaped the memory of some of my readers. 
 
 Some
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 21 
 
 Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies ; 
 Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise, 
 I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find. 
 And wake to all the griefs I left behind. 
 
 For thee the Fates, severely kind, ordain 
 A cx)ol suspense from pleasure and from pain : 
 Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose ; 
 No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. 
 Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow. 
 Or moving spirit bade the waters flow ; 
 Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n, 
 And mild as op'ning gleams of promised heav'n. 
 
 Come Abe LARD ! for what hast thou to dread ? 
 The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. 
 Nature stands check'd ; Religion disapproves ; 
 E'en thou art cold ^yet Eloisa loves. 
 
 Ah! 
 
 Some late writers liave been blamed for exhibiting their own erudition in a prolixity of annotation, in 
 utter contempt pt" /;4V readers' sagacity. This censure I hope to avoid. If I were 'troubled wKli tljc fa- 
 co'elhes annotandi, I liave here a fine opportunity of indulging myself in an elaborate dissertation to prove 
 ^hat Ho race's /or4 was not, in fact, a tuooden one : but this,i> a matter I am very liltle anxious aliout. 
 ' When two handles are presented to us, we are at liberty to seize that which happens to be most 
 con\ cnient."
 
 22 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 Religion and nature conspire to dash one. 
 
 Yet still Eloisa sticks firm to her passion ; 
 
 Flames equally fruitless and lasting are mine 
 
 As those, which surround a dead saint in his shrine. 
 
 Thy image pursues me wherever I rove. 
 From the grove to the cell, from the cell to the grove : 
 At the altar itself the prophane would surmise 
 Strange thoughts in my breast, if they look'd at my eyes. 
 Curs'd concatenation each anthem that's sung. 
 Brings back to my fancy thy musical tongue ; 
 Then tapers, priests, altars, no more can I see ah ! 
 They vanish at once at thy charming idea. 
 In reverie rapt, flaming oceans confound me, 
 Regardless of all that is passing around me. 
 
 Whilst weeping, and prostrate in penitence humble, 
 A glimpse of grace dawning, in ashes I tumble, 
 Come here, if thou dar'st, so bewitching and winning. 
 Blot out ew'ry trace of this hopeful beginning ; 
 
 With
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 22 
 
 Ah, hopeless, lasting flames ! like those that burn 
 To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn. 
 
 ^ What scenes appear where'er I turn my view ! 
 The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue. 
 Rise in the grove, before the altar rise, 
 Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes ; 
 I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee ; 
 Thy image steals between my God and me ; 
 Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear ; 
 With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear. 
 When from the censor clouds of fragrance roll. 
 And swelling organs lift the rising soul. 
 One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, 
 Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight : 
 In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd, 
 While altars blaze, and angels tremble round. 
 
 While prostrate here in humble grief I lie, 
 Kind, virtuous drops just gathering in my eye; 
 AVhile praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, 
 And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul : 
 
 L Come,
 
 23 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 With a glance, in a moment, dissolve into air 
 The fruits of my sorrow, the hopes of my prayV ; 
 Stop me short in my way to the mansions above, 
 And help the young devils to give me *a shove. 
 
 No fly me, to farthest antipodes fly me F 
 Neither write to me, think of me, much less come nigh me. 
 I renounce all your promises, oaths I annull 
 Of evVy demand here's a quittance in full. 
 Ah ! sweet tempting looks (even now I've an eye t'ye) 
 Religion prevails, and I bid a good bye t'ye. 
 Come Grace, ever tranquil, come heavenly Virtue ! 
 No carnal alloy for the future shall hurt you ; 
 Faith and Hope, with your samples of pleasure celestial, 
 Vouchsafe in my purified bosom to rest ye all ! 
 
 See 
 
 It may not be antiss to inform my fair readers, who may l.appen to find themselves in Eloisa's 
 case, thut the most excellent Baxtei, that truly pious writer, has opposed his Herculean shoulders to 
 the rfibrts of this mischievous rjce, in a work which he euiphaticaliy entitles, his " Shove to heavy 
 ^'d Ciiristians.*'
 
 .ELOISA TO ABEURD 33 
 
 Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art 1 
 Oppose thyself to heav'n, dispute my heart ; 
 Come, with one glance of thy deluding eyes, 
 Blot out each bright idea of the skies ; 
 Take back that grace, those sorrows and those tears ; 
 Take back my fruitless penitence and prayVs ; 
 Snatch me, just mounting, from the bless'd abode ; 
 Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God ! 
 No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole ; 
 Rise Alps between us ! and whole oceans roll ! 
 Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me, 
 Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee. 
 Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign, 
 Forget, renounce me, hate whate er was mine. 
 Fair eyes, and tempting looks, (which yet I view !) 
 Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu ! 
 O Grace serene ! oh Virtue heav'nly fair! 
 Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care ! 
 Fresh-blooming Hope, gay daughter of the sky ! 
 And Faith, our early immortality ! 
 Enter each mild, each amicable guest ; 
 Receive and wrap me in eternal rest ! 
 
 See
 
 24 ELOISA EN DISHABILLB. 
 
 See sad Eloise sitting squat on a tomb, 
 Uneasy support for a delicate b ! 
 Fix'd here, as I watch'd the dim lamps all alone, 
 Methought a low voice broke beneath from the stone : 
 " Come, sister," it cried, " here, sister, thy place is ; 
 " No longer sit sobbing and making wry faces. 
 " From thyself up to Eve, our first mother, inclusive; 
 " We have all had a goiit for those apples delusive. 
 " Thy fate and my own have exactly resembled ; 
 " I prayed, yet I long'd, then I tasted and trembled ; 
 " But now with these follies no longer we're tainted, 
 " Under earth we're at rest, and on earth we are sainted." 
 
 Kind voice, I obey Bring your palms and your roses 1 
 I long for th' asylum where endless repose is. 
 May'st thou, my dear friend, the last duties bestow. 
 And smooth my descent to the regions below. 
 Even then, as you've oft, mark the roll of my eyes. 
 From my quivering lips catch my soul as it flies ! 
 And to finish the whole with a spice of thy function. 
 Give my last languid motion love's ultimate unction ! 
 
 ~Ah!
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 2^ 
 
 See in her cell sad Eloisa spread, 
 Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead. 
 In each low wind methinks a spirit calls, 
 And more than Echoes talk along the walls# 
 Here as I watch'd the dying lamps around, 
 From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound. 
 " Come, sister, come!" (it said, orseem'd to say), 
 " Thy place is here, sad sister, come away ! 
 " Once, like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray*d,) 
 " Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid : 
 " But all is calm in this eternal sleep ; 
 " Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep ; . 
 " E'en superstition loses ev'ry fear ; 
 " For God, not man, absolves our frailties here." 
 
 I come, I come ! prepare your roseate bow rs, 
 Celestial palms, and ever blooming flow'rs. 
 Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go, 
 Where flames refinM in breasts seraphic glow : 
 Thou, Abelard ! the last sad office pay, 
 And smooth my passage to the realms of day ; 
 See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll, 
 Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul ! 
 
 M Ah!
 
 25 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 Ah ! no that's impossible, surely I rave 
 Far away be such thoughts from the brink of the grave. 
 In solemn canonicals gravely array *d 
 Mayst thou draw near the bed where thy mistress is laid, 
 At distance respectful then mournfully stand, 
 Whilst a torch (but not Cupid's) shall shake in thy hand ; 
 See the last rosy tint in my countenance deaden ! 
 My eyes, once thought piercing, now perfectly leaden ! 
 Convulsive emotions, that us'd to delight you, 
 Now chang'd to contortions that freeze you and fright you ! 
 To gaze on such charms at this horrible time 
 Must be surely a lesson, instead of a crime. 
 When you in life's * opera reach the Jinale, 
 May no agonies writhe you, no terrors appal ye : 
 On a chariot of clouds may bright cherubims place you, 
 And canoniz'd virgins descend to embrace you ; 
 
 One 
 
 * Life has often been compared to tragedy, comedy, and farce ; the author flatters Iiimself that the 
 simile of an Optra, considering ABEi.ARi>'s utuation, will be thought mure apposite thao any other 
 tjiecies of the drama.
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 25 
 
 Ah, no in sacred vestments mayst thou stand, 
 The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand. 
 Present the cross before my lifted eye, 
 Teach me at once, and learn of me to die. 
 Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see ! 
 It will be then no crime to gaze on me. 
 See from my cheek the transient roses fly ! 
 See the last sparkle languish in my eye ! 
 Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er ; 
 And e'en my Abelard be lov'd no more. 
 O Death, all eloquent ! you only prove 
 What dust we doat on, when 'tis man we love. 
 
 Then, too, when Fate shall thy fair frame destroy, 
 (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy). 
 In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd. 
 Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round ; 
 From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine. 
 And saints embrace thee with a love like mine. 
 
 May
 
 26 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 One social tomb our cold relics shall hide, 
 Each name down Time's current tocrether shall crlide 
 And in some future age if their whimsical lot 
 Should guide two fond lovers to this sacred spot, 
 On this monument leaning they'll sigh tSte-d-tete, 
 Shed floods of warm tears for our terrible fate, 
 Then mutually cry,^ " Whate er evil attend us, 
 " From the knife of a *Fulbert kind Venus defend us !" 
 In the midst of high mass if some wandering eye 
 Should stray to this marble and heave a soft sigh. 
 One would hope a weak female might soon be forgiv'n. 
 If these stones for a moment should steal her from heav'n. 
 'And in Time's teeming womb if a bard should be found, 
 Whose soul feels like mine an incurable wound ; 
 Who passions as keen too susceptibly knows. 
 Let him paint iA -f- sad numbers our heart-breaking woes : 
 
 Then 
 
 * Eloisa's uncle. 
 
 f All puns on this me/ancko?j line arc hereby forestalled. Caveat Criticus .'
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 26 
 
 May one kind grave unite each hapless name, 
 And graft my love immortal on thy fame ! 
 Then ages hence, when all my woes are o*er, 
 When this rebellious heart shall beat no more ; 
 If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings 
 To Paraclete^s white walls and silver springs. 
 O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads, 
 i\nd drink the falling tears each other sheds ; 
 Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd, 
 " Oh may we never love as these have lov*d V 
 From the full choir when loud hosannas rise. 
 And sAvell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice, 
 Amid that scene, if some relenting eye 
 Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie. 
 Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heav'n. 
 One human tear shall drop, and be forgiv'n. 
 And sure, if Fate some future bard shall join, 
 In sad similitude of griefs to mine. 
 Condemned whole years in absence to deplore. 
 And image charms he must behold no more ; 
 Such if there be, who loves so long, so well. 
 Let him our sad, our tender story tell ; 
 
 N The
 
 27 
 
 ELOISA EN DISHABILLE. 
 
 Th6ii to sooth my pale ghost as an offering bring 'em ; 
 He, who feels *eni the strongest, is fittest to sing Vm. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 ;iiiiMiiiiiiiiiif
 
 ELOISA TO ABELARD. 
 
 27 
 
 The well-sung woes will sooth my pensive ghost : 
 He best can paint 'em who shall feel 'em most. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 S G S
 
 ^ 
 
 1
 
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 i158 00836 02^ 
 
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 17 
 
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 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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 JUN 04 1987 
 
 Form L9-Series 444
 
 LdJ 
 
 E1.01SA en Dishabille : being a new version of that lad 
 ipistle to Abelard, London, 1801, in-4, demi rel. mar. br^ 
 
 ,3 1158 00836 02^, 
 
 Celebre jeu d'esprit, imprime 4 peu d'exemplaires. Celui-ci est mscnTr" JSo '^~~""" 
 
 15, for Richard Heber Esq., from W, Fillingham." 
 
 -ij^ 
 
 (Armand) Histoire des Amours et des Infortunes d' Abelard et 
 d'Eloise, inise en vers Satiri-Comi-Burlesques 
 
 Cologne, P. Marteau, 1724 
 ^ Contains two burlesque pieces at the end of the volume, only 
 found in some few copies. 
 
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