To Walter Moyle, Esq;

YOU know that a Grave Fellow assures us, that upon the Cessa­tion of Oracles, Lamentable Crys were heard in the Air, pro­claiming along the Coasts the Death of the Great Pan: And have not you upon this dearth of good Sense, and this Cessati­on of Wit? tell me truly; have not you heard

[...]one is the Universal Lord of Wit! He [Page 2] to whom all the Wits paid Homage; For whom his Subjects set a Tax upon Words, and laid exorbitant Customs on Thoughts. He's Dead, alas, He's Dead!

Dead I mean, Sir, in a Legal Capa­city, that is, Out-law'd and gone into the Fryars; to go into which is once more to Out-law himself. He has done it Sir, and and ill Fortune has brought him to be a Felo▪ de se that way. For since the Law thought it but Just to put Will out of its Protection, Will thought it but prudent to put himself out of its Power. And since the Law could use him with so much C [...]n­tempt, as to declare to all the World that it does not care for Will E—, Will, who is extreamly stout in Advers [...]ty, has declar'd by his Actions that he does not care for the Law. Virgil tells us in his Sixth Book, that the Souls in Hell were busied about the same things in which they were employed upon Earth; Even so does Sage Will use the same Nutmeg- [...]rater, and the same Tea-Pot in the Fryars, that he handled before in Bowstreet. Thus has he left the Wits, without any sorrow, thô he loves them, and without taking any leave of them. For Will thinks they cannot be long from him, and he says, he expects that in a very little time his Old Company should be constant [Page 3] at his New House. And dost not thou think that they too have reason to expect the very same thing. For as the Death of any Man ought to put [...]ll his Friends in mind, that he went before but to lead them the way; so Will's departure from this Mi­serable Life, this lewd Covent-Garden-Life, and his Ferrying from Somerset-stai [...]s to the Infernal Shore of A [...]satia, should be a M [...] ­mento to the rest of the Wits, that he is but gone whither they all must follow.

To leave off Poetical Similies, this Body-Politick is in a Cursed Condition; and cannot keep long together without a Head. The Members are at present in a Grave De­bate how to get one. To morrow the Whole House will resolve it self into a Grand Committee, to consult about Ways and Means of making Provision for the Common Necessities. Some talk of an Ex­cise upon May-D [...]w, and Rasberry-Brandy: That there will be a Poll is strongly asserted, in which every Man is to pay according to his respective condition. To morrow it will be known to how much each Man's Quota amounts. As for Example; How much a Poet is to Pay, how much a Wit, how much a Politician, and how much a Critick. A Critick did I say? I beg your pardon. They have voted Nemine Contra [...] [Page 4] dicente, that they will cess no Critick till Mr. Moyle returns.

I have given them my Sentiments upon the fore-mentioned Poll, which were, That it was something hard to make a Man pay for being call'd, Wit, Poet, or Critick; That they saw by Experience lately in the State, that Poor Dogs grumbled to pay for their Titles. How then could they think that People would be contented to be Tax'd for their Nick-Names? That in setling this Tax they were to take a quite contrary Method, to that which was taken upon Setling a Tax in the State. That in the State, sometimes a Man paid for what he really had; As for Example, when a Coun­try Squire paid for his Land or his Money; and sometimes for what he really had not, as when a Cit that is twice dub'd, Knight by the King, and Cuckold by his Wife, pays for his Honour, and for his Children. The first of which is but as it were his, for it is really the Kings; and the Second of [...]hich are but as it were his, for they are really the Courtiers who help'd him to his Title. In the State too a Man is made to pay for something which he does, or for something which he does not. As a Iaco­bite pays so much for Swearing when he's Drunk, and so much more for not Swear­ing [Page 5] when he's Sober. But that in our case, if we would be exactly Just, we should make People pay neither for what they have, nor for what they have not; nor for what they do, nor for what they do not; But should oblige them to Pay only for pre­tending to have what they really have not, or for offering to do, what they are utter­ly incapable of doing. That thus the Tax would certainly fall upon the most Solvent Part of the Body. For how ridiculous would it be to Tax a Man for having Po­etry and Wit, when they are almost always signs, that he has not a Farthing to Pay? On the other side how absurd would it be to Tax him for a bare want of those Qua­lities? since when a Man is Dull without pretending, 'tis ten to one but he is Poor, for Riches make Men Vain, and Vanity makes them Affected. But he who is not much at his Ease, is hardly at leisure for Affectation, and I have often seen, that when Vanity has thrown a Fop out of Na­ture, necessity has brought him back again: But a Rich Rogue will be sure to be always pretending. Fortune takes pleasure in making those Vain, whom Nature before made Impotent, and both of them often conspire to finish a Coxcomb. Thus I would have none Pay, but they who put [Page 6] Gravity upon us for Wisdom, Visions for Politicks, and Q [...]ibbles for Wit; and I would have no Man at any Expence for being call'd a Poet, a Wit, or a Critick, un­less i [...] be by himself. It would be equally hard to lay a Tax upon any one, for his Ill Fortune, or for his Ill Nature, since they are things of which no Man is Master. But what? A Sot cannot help his Vanity. Agreed. But then it makes him so much happier than he deserves to be, that he may well be contented to Pay for it.

To Mr. Wycherly at Cleve near Shrewsbury.

WHile I venture to write these Lines to you, I take it to be my Interest not to consider you, as I hitherto always have done▪ and as for the future I always shall viz. as Mr. Wycherly, as the greatest Co­mick Wit that ever Engl [...]nd bred, as a Man sent purposely into the World, to Charm the Ears of the Wittiest Men, and to Ravish the Hearts of the most Beautiful Women: No, Sir, that in wri [...]ing to you I may assume some Spirit, I shall at pre­sent only consider you as the Humble Her­mit at Cleve; Humble even in the full Posses­sion of all those extraordinary Qualities, the knowledge of which has made me Proud. I must confess, that I have no great Opini­on of that which Men generally call Hu­mility. Humility in most Men is want of Heat; 'tis Phlegm, 'tis Impotence, 'tis a Wretched Necessity, of which, they who lye under it, vainly endeavour to make a Virtue. But in a Man of Mr. Wycherly's [Page 8] make, 'tis Choice, 'tis Force of Mind, 'tis a Good, 'tis a Generous Condescension. And what Force of Mind is there not re­quisite to bend back a Soul by perpetual Reflection, which would be always Rising, and eternally Aspiring by virtue of its in-born Fire? Yet yours, notwithstanding all its Power, cannot wholly depress its self, nor descend in every part of it. At the time that your Will vouchsafes to stoop, your Understanding soars, your Writings are as bold as your Converastion is Modest, (though those are bold, as this is Modest with Judgment) and he who would do you Justice, must needs confess that you are a very Ambitious Writer, though a very Humble Man. Yet your very Ambition has oblig'd Mankind: It has exalted Hu­mane Nature, in raising your own by its most noble Efforts; and that without boasting Preheminence. And surely it must be for this very reason that we feel a Secret Pride, when we but read the Discoveries which you have made. Thus I cannot say that you are without Vanity, for never was Man exempt from it; but I can say, that you have made use even of Vanity to hum­ble you by way of Re [...]lection, and that you have avoided that dangerous Effect of it, Vain-Glory, the R [...]k upon which se­several [Page 9] great Wits before you have been seen to split. For you have always wise­ly considered, that Vain-Glory in the Vul­gar may be Supportable, nay may be Di­verting; but that in great Men it must be Intollerable. That whereas in the First 'tis want of Discernment, 'tis Folly, 'tis the Extravagant Blindness of Self-Love; in the Last, 'tis Crime, 'tis Malice, 'tis a Se­cret and Proud Design to Mortifie and In­sult over the rest of Men, over whom they have so much advantage; That it is for this very reason, that we so deeply resent and so severely revenge the Mortal Affronts we receive from it. Great Wits were by Heaven predestin'd to rule, to rule the Minds of others, the Noblest Empire; but when they grow outwardly Vain they grow Tyrants, and then their discontented Subjects rebell, and then they depose those Kings as Usurpers, whom before they O­bey'd as their Lawful Monarchs. But a Moderate, a Good, and a Gracious Prince, like you, commands their Hearts as well as their Understandings, and under one whom they love so well, they grow as Proud, as they are pleas'd to Obey. Our violent Inclinations make us belong to you, and therefore 'tis the Interest [...]ven of our Pride, that you should long continue in the [Page 10] place which your extraordinary desert has at­tain'd. Did we nothing but esteem you as much as we do, we should certainly envy you; if we did not hate you; for bare esteem is al­ways forc'd upon us, whereas Inclination is much▪ more Voluntary; Besides, as a Judicious Frenchman observes, Esteem is Foreign, and comes from Abroad, and is therefore re­ceived with Grumbling; but Inclination is our own and born in our Breasts, and is therefore Caress'd and Cherish'd. I might add, that upon this account, it is hard to wish well to those whom we very much esteem, if they have not likewise the Skill to make themselves be belov'd; because barely to esteem depresses the Spirits, as much as to love very much exalts them, it brings the Soul to a Languid Temper, and gives it at once too horrid Views of a­nothers Excellencies, and of its own Infir­mities; but Affection gives it Agitation and Warmth; and in the View of a Friend's d [...] ­sert, it takes too much pleasure, and too much pride to consider its own Defects. 'Tis true, that you are esteemed at this high rate, you owe to your Wit and your [...]enetration; but that you are esteem'd without Envy, that you are with Joy and Gladness esteem'd, you owe to this, that while the force of your Fancy and Judg­ment [Page 11] makes all the World admire you, you remain your self unmovd by it; that while your Excellence fills all mouths but yours, you alone appear to be unacquainted with it. Thus while by the Merit of your ex­traordinary Q [...]alities, you are known to surpass all others, it plainly appears that you have beyond all this a Greatness of Soul, from whence you look down on your own Merit. An infallible s [...]gn that the Talents which we admire in you are no Illu­sions, but real things, things that were born with you, and have been improv'd by you, and which you have not acquir'd: For Men are found to be Vainer, upon the account of those Qualities which they fondly believe they have, than of those which they really have; and Hereditary Greatness gives Men leave to be humble, whereas Pre [...]erment occasions Pride. None but such real Greatness as yours can Capa­citate a Man to be truly humble; for the Soul which by Nature is not seated High, can hardly be said to Descend. If I have insisted too long on this shining Subject, a Subject which is so conspicuous in you; if you look upon this tedious Letter, as one of those various Persecutions which every eminent Virtue provokes; I desire you to consider, that I have so many obligations [Page 12] to this very Humility, that I look'd upon my self as oblig'd by gratitude to say as much as I have done. For to that I owe the happiness which I have frequently re­ceived in your Conversation; to that I owe the present Satisfaction which your Permis­sion to write to you gives me; and to that I am indebted for the Hopes of your An­swers; when I have received them I shall then believe what you were pleas'd to tell me when I saw you last, that you are much more Humble in the Clear Air on your Mountain at Cleve, than when you are in Fog and Sulphurous Smoke in Bowstreet. But at the same time, the Satisfaction of thinking that Distance does not make you forget me, will render him very proud, who is at present,

Mr. Wycherly's Answer to Mr. Dennis.

YOU have found a way to make me satisfyed with my absence from Lon­don, nay, what is more, with the distance which is now betwixt you and me. That indeed uses to lessen Friendship, but give [...] me the greater Mark of yours by your kind Letter, which I had miss'd if I had been nearer to you: So that I, who receive no Rents here, yet must own if I did, I cou'd not receive greater Satisfaction than I had from yours, worth even a Letter of Ex­change, or Letters Pattents; For I value your Friendship more than Money, and am Prouder of your Approbation than I should be of Titles; For the having the good opinion of one who knows mankind so well, argues some merit in me, upon which every man ought to consider himself more, than upon the goods of Fortune. [Page 14] I had rather be thought your Friend in proof of my Judgment and good Sense, than a Friend to the Muses; and [...]ad rather have you than them thought mine. If I am as you say, at once Proud and Humble, tis since I have known I have had the honour to please you; thô your praise rather hum­bles than makes me (thô a damn'd P [...]et) more vain. For it is so great, that it rather seems the Railery of a witty Man, than the Sincerity of a Friend; and rather proves the Copiousness of your own Invention, than justifies the Fertility of mine. But I fear I am forfeiting the Character of the Plain­dealer with you; and seem like vain Wo­men or vainer Men, to refuse praise, but to get more; and so by returning your Compliments, shew my s [...]lf grateful out of Interest, as Knaves are pu [...]ctual in some payments, [...]ut [...] to augment their Credit. And for your Praise of my Humility, (the only mark of my Knowledge, since it is a mark of my knowing my self) you have prais'd that to its Destruction, and have gi­ven me so much, you have left me none. [...]ike those Admirers who praise a young Maids Modesty till they deprive her of it. But let me tell you, tis not to my humility that you owe my Friendship, bu [...] to my Ambition, since I can have no g [...]eater than [Page 15] to be esteem'd by you, and the World, your Friend, and to be known to all Man­kind for,

My Dear Friend, I have no way to show my Love to you in my Ab­absence, but by my jealousie. I would not have my Rivals in your Friendship the C—s, the D—s, the W—s, and the rest of your Tavern Friends enjoy your conversation while I cannot; Thô I confess, 'tis to their interest to make you dumb with Wine, that they may be heard in your company; tho' it were more the Demonstration of their wit to hear you, than to be heard by you. For my own part, I am Ambitious of your Company alone in some Solitude, where you and I might be all one.

For I am sure if I can pretend to any Sence, I can have no Instruction or Satisfaction of Life, better than your example and your Society.

My Service pray, to all my Friends, that is, to all yours whom I know, and be chari­table [Page 16] (as often as you can) to the absent; which you good Wits seldom are; I mean be charitable with your Letters to

Pray let me have more of your Letters, thô they should rally me with Compli­ments undeserv'd as your last has done; for like a Countrey Esquire I am in love with a Town Wit's Conversation, thô it be but at a Distance that I am forced to have it, and thô it abuses me while I enjoy it.

From Cleve near Srewsbu [...]y February the 4th 1693/4.

To Mr. Wycherly.

NOT long after I writ my last to you, I was hurried up to Town by a kind of a Cholick, which has ended in a De­fluction upon one of my Feet. You know Sir, a Defluction is a general name which some pleasant Frenchmen have given an infant Gout, too young to be yet Baptiz'd. But thô the distemper rag [...]d in each hand, I would in spight of it, answer your admi­rable Letter, a Letter which I had certain­ly known to be yours, thô it had been sent me without a name, nay and transcrib'd by a Chancery Cle [...]k in his own hideous man­ner of Copying. But I must confess I was surpriz'd to hear you say in it, that you took the sincerity of a man who so much esteems you for Railery, yet thô you declare it, you can never believe it. I am willing to be­li [...]ve you exceeding humble; but you can never be humble to that Degree, unless your Mind which resembles your Eye, in [Page 18] its Clearness, its Liveliness, and in its pierc­ing Views, should be also like it in this, that plainly discerning all things else, it wants a sight of it self; but in this it does not resemble it: For it beholds it self by Re­flections, and like a lovely Maid at her Glass, is Charm'd with the sight of its own Beauty. This is a sight in which you take Pride as well as Pleasure; but yours I must confess is a guiltless Pride, it being nothing but first motion, which it is impossible for Man to avoid. You have both the Force to sub­due it immediately, and the Art and Good­ness to Conceal it from us. Thus it plain­ly appears from what I have said, that you do not believe I had any design to rally you. I am confident that through all my Letter there appears an Air of Sincerity. But that is a Virtue which has been so long and so peculiarly yours, that you may perhaps be jealous of it in your Friends, and dis­claim some Virtues which they commend in you only to Monopolise that. You had given me, at least an occasion to think so, if the Railery in yours had not been so very apparent, that even I had Eyes to dis­cern that you have been to blame in it, thô I am doubly blinded with Love of you and my self. Yet if you writ it with a de­sign to Mortifie me, assure your self that I [Page 19] shall fortifie my Vanity with that very Ar­tillery with which you have begun to at­tack it. If Mr. Wycherly rallies, me it is cer­tain that I have my defects; but it is full as certain, that he would never condescend to abuse me at such a distance if he wholly despis'd me. Thus, Sir, you see I am as reasonable with my Friend▪ as a Russian spouse is with her Husband, and take his very Railery for a mark of Esteem, as she does a Beating for a proof of Affection. The very worst of your Qualities gain our Af­fections. Even your Jealousie is very o­bliging, which it could never be unless it were very groundless. But since your ve­ry Suspicion is obliging, what influence must your kindness have on our Souls? The wish that I were with you in some Re­tirement, is engaging to that degree, that I almost repent that I so eagerly desir'd your Conversation before. For if it were possible I would augment that desire as a grateful return to yours. To be with you in Solitude would make me perfectly hap­py. Thô it were in the Orcades, I would not wish my self remov'd to any happier Climate; no, not even to that which con­tain'd my absent Mistress; all that I could do for her on that occasion, would be to wish her with me. In that Retiremen [...] ▪ what [Page 20] should I not [...] enjoy? Where I should be admirably instructed without trouble, and infinitely delighted without Vice, where I should be glorious at once with Envy and Quiet. For what could be more glorious, than to be the Companion of your retreat; My very Ambition instructs me to love such Solitude. Thô properly speaking, there can be no Solitude where you reside. Im­mortal Company still attends you, and the Virtues, the Graces, and the Charming Nine who love the Groves, and are fond of you, follow you to remotest Retirements. The comick Muse is more particularly yours; and it is your peculiar praise to allure the most ravishing of all the Sisters after you into Retirement. To make that Goddess forsake the crowd with you, who loves it most of the Nine. You have been con­stantly her Darling, her best belov'd. Thus in Retirement with her and you, I should have the Conversation of Mankind; I should enjoy it with all its Advantages, without its least inconveniencies. In the Philosophy of your Actions and Words, I should see the Wise, the Good, and the truly Great; in your observations, and in your rai [...]ery, the Men of Sense, and the Men of Wit; and in your Satyr severely p [...]easant, the Fools and Rascals expos'd by [Page 21] it. In the Postscript to my last, I made an Apology for usurping a Style so Foreign from this way of writing. I have once more run into the same fault in this, but the very thought of Mr. Wycherly spreads a generous warmth through me, and raises my Soul to rapture. And when a Man writes, his Soul and his Style of necessity rise together. In my next I have some­thing with which I must trouble you, that will require another manner of writing.

To Mr. Wycherly.

I Have been very ill ever since I took my leave of you, so that I parted in one Night from all that I value most, that is, from my Health and You. However, Nature was kind in not failing to supply me with Vigour, till Fortune had depriv'd me of your Conversation, and I was got amongst People with whom I have small occasion for Vigour. Yet even here in spight of Sickness and Absence I have made a shift to converse with you: [...]or I thought that your Works were the only things that could make me full amends for the loss of your Company. By them you have been able to give me Joy even in the midst of my Pain. For, the Country Wife, and the Plain Dealer are stores of Delight, which you have laid up by a Noble Charity, to supply the Poor in Spirit thrô all Posterity. So that I bel [...]eve that to be one of the Rea­sons of Fortune's Pique to you, that you have put it out of her power for the time to come, to prosecute her Quarrel to Men [...]f Sense effectually. For by having re­course [Page 23] to you in your Works, they are sure to become more happy than Fools, even at the time when they are less successful. But I can hold up my Head no longer at present, as soon as I am better you may expect a longer Letter from me.

To Mr. Dennis.

I Have received yours of the 20th of November, and am glad to find by it, that however your Friends are losers by your Absence from the Town, you are a Gainer by it; of your Health, which every one you have left behind you, (but Ch—) may be thought a Friend to; and the more each Man is your Friend, the more he is satisfy'd with your Absence, which thô it makes us Ill for want of you, makes you well for want of us: your taking no leave of me (which you would excuse) I take to be one of the greatest Kindnesses you ever shew'd me; for I could no more see a Departing Friend from the Town, than a Departing Friend from this Life; and sure 'tis as much kindness and good breed­ing to steal from our Friend's Society un­known to 'em, (when we must leave 'em to their Trouble) as it is to steal out of a Room, after a Ceremonious Visit, to pre­vent trouble to him, whom we would Oblige and Respect; so that your last Fault (as you call it) is like the rest of your [Page 25] Faults, rather an Obligation than an Offence, thô the greatest Injury indeed you can do your Friends, is to leave 'em against their Will, which you must needs do. You tell me you converse with me in my Writings▪ I must confess then you suffer a great deal for me in my Absence, which (thô I would have you love me) I would not have you do; but for your truer Diversion, pray change my Country-Wife for a better of your own in the Country, and exercise your own Plain-Dealing there, then you will make your Country Squire better Com­pany, and your Parson more sincere in in your Company than his Pulpit, or in his Cups: But when you talk of Store of Delights you find in my Plain-Dealer, you cease to be one; and when you commend my Country-Wife, you never were more a Courtier; and I doubt not but you will like your next Neighbour's Country Wife bet­ter than you do mine, that you may pass your time, better than you can do with my Country-Wife; and like her Innocence more than her Wit, since Innocence is the better Bawd to Love; but enjoy my Wife and welcome in my Absence, I shall take it as civilly as a City Cuckold; I was sorry to find by you that your head ak'd whilst you writ me your Letter. Since I fear 'twas [Page 26] from reading my Works (as you call them) not from your own Writing, which never gave you Pain, thô it would to others to imitate it, I've given your Service to your Friends at the Rose, who since your absence own they ought not to go for the Witty Club, nor is Wills the Wits Coffee-House any more, since you left it, whose Society for want of yours is grown as Me­lancholly, that is as dull as when you left 'em a Nights, to their own Mother-Wit, their Puns, Couplets, or Quibbles; there­fore expect not a Witty Letter from any of them, no more than from me, since they, nor I have conversed with you these three Weeks. I have no News worth sending you, but my next shall bring you what we have; in the mean time let me tell you (what I hope is no News to you) that your Absence is more tedious to me, than a Quib­bler's Company to you; so that I being sick yesterday, as I thought without any cause, reflected you were Forty or Fifty Miles off, and then found the reason of my Indisposition, for I cannot be well so far from you, who am

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

For News, W—lives Soberly, Ch—goes to bed Early; D'Vrfy sings now like a Poet, that is, without being ask'd: And all the Poets or Wits-at-Wills, since your departure, speak well of the Absent. Bal—says his ill Looks proceed rather for want of your Company, than for having had that of this Mistress; even the Quibblers and Politicians, have no Double-meaning when they speak well of you.

To Mr. Wycherly.

THE sight of your Letter reviv'd me. It appear'd like the Rays of the New Sun, to one who has Winter'd under the Pole, and brought with it Light, Warmth, and Spirit. The Raillery in it was very o­bliging; for the Lust of Praise is as Power­ful with Men, as the Itch of Enjoyment is with Women; and it is as hard for us to think that our Friends ridicule us when they commend our Wit, as it is for them to believe that their Gallants abuse them when they extol their Beauty. Yet gene­rally in both cases, whatever is said, is said for the satisfaction of him that speaks it. But then, as he delights in Deceiving, the Person to whom he speaks is deceiv'd with Pleasure, and both Parties are satisfied. But Mr. Wycherly is to be excepted from this general Rule, who commends his Friend for his Friend's sake. You never are Witty to please your self, to whom Wit has so long been habitual, that you are often hardly mov'd your self when you say those admirable things with which we are trans­ported. [Page 29] Not that I am so far betray'd by Vanity, as to take your Compliments at the Foot of the Letter, or to suppose that you believ'd all that you said; but I am willing for your sake to believe that you meant something of it, and that not being without kindness for me, (which is only owing to the Sweetness of your Nature, that is to your Merit, and not to mine;) your Reason, as the Duke De la Rochefou­caut says, has been bubbled by your Affe­ction. And here, Sir, I have much the Ad­vantage of you; for when I declare that I have the greatest Opinion in the World of you, none will mistrust my Sincerity, and all will applaud my Discernment; but you cannot express your Zeal at so high a Rate for any Friend, but it must conside­rably lessen the World's Opinion of your Judgment. But it is Mr. Wycherly's pe­culiar Praise, never to have shewn want of Judgment in any thing, unless in that only thing in which Error is Honourable. How few are they who are capable of Er­ring at your Rate!

[Page 30]And how happy is the Man who has a Friend so accomplish'd, that Error in him is Virtue. I am that Happy Man, and am so far exalted by my Happiness, that I am never less humble, than when I Subscribe my self,

Mr. Wycherly's to Mr.—

I Have had yours of the 31st of March, to which I should sooner have returned an Answer, had I not been forced to take a little turn out of Town; but your Let­ter to me, brought me not more satisfaction than your last to Mr. Moyle gave me disqui­et for you. Since by that I find how un­easie you are. Yet know my Friend from one sufficiently experienced in love disast­ers, that Love is often a kind of losing Loadam, in which the loser is most often the gainer. If you have been deprived of a Mistress, consider you have lost a Wife, and thô you are disappointed of a short sa­tisfaction, you have likewise escaped a te­dious vexation, which Matrimony infalli­bly comes to be, one way or another; so that your Misfortune is an accident which your true Friends should rather Felicitate than Commiserate. You told me in your [Page 32] last, that you were no more Master of your self. Then how should I help rejoycing at the restoration of your Liberty? A Man might as reasonably be sorry for his Friend's recovery from Madness, as for his recovery from Love, (thô for the time a pleasant Frenzy;) so that, your Mistress's Father, has rather been your Doctor than your Ene­my. And you should not be angry with him, if he cures you of your love distemper, th [...] by a means a little too violent, for next to his Daughters cure of love, his may prove the best; well, pray be not angry, that I can be pleas'd with any thing that can so much displease you. I own my Friendship for you has a little Selfishness in it, for now you cannot be so happy as you wou'd in the Countrey, I hope you will make us as hap­py as we can be in Town, which we shall be as soon as we have your company: For know, my Friend, change of Air after a love distemper, may be as good as 'tis af­ter a Fever; and therefore make hast to Town, where a great many Doctors have engaged to compleat your Cure. Your Friends will do any thing to root out the remains of your Passion. The witty Club will grow grave to instruct you, and the grave Club will grow gay to delight you. Wh. will [Page 33] turn a Philosopher, and I will grow a good fellow, and venture my own health, for the recovery of your good Humour; for I had rather be sick in your Company, than for want of it (who am,

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

London, April 11. 1695.

To Mr. Wycherly.

I have a colourable excuse for my Silence, [...]or when you went out of Town, you gave me the hopes of receiving a Letter from you, as soon as you arriv'd at Cleve. Be­sides, since that, I have been a month in Northamptonshire. But the Inclination which I have to converse with Mr. Wycherly, is too violent to receive any check from Punctil­lo's. But, alas, I was restrain'd by too just an Impediment. For ever since I saw you, I have been so rackt by a cruel Passion, that I have had no power to do any thing but to complain. And your portion of Me­lancholly is not so small, that you have need to be troubled with another Man's Spleen. I would be sure to communicate my happiness to my Friend, nay I could be but half happy if I did not communicate it. As in love I never could be pleas'd to a height with my own pleasure, if I did not find that it added to that of my Mistress. But I should impart my ill humour to my Friend, if I found that it were not in his power to ease me, and that it were much in his inclination, with as much Regret, as [Page 35] I should acquaint him with his own ill For­tune, if I were clearly convinc'd that it were not in my power to assist him. You would not advise me to stifle this passion. You are too well acquainted with Love and me to do that. You know that that would be to perswade me to a thing which you are already sensible, that I am very willing and very unable to do. I blush while I show this weakness, but sure there is some force of Mind requir'd to shew some sorts of weakness. You remember the Maxim of the wise Duke; La memê fermeté qui sert a resister al'amour, Sertaussi queque fois a le rendre violent et durable. If that be true, I beseech you to believe that this obstinate Lover is a constant Friend too, and unalte­rably,

Mr. Wycherly's Letter.

I Lately received from you so kind, and so witty a Reproach for my not writing to you, that I can hardly repent me of my fault, since it has been the occasion of my receiving so much satisfaction: But you have had a reasonable excuse for your silence, since you say I promis'd to write to you first, which is very true; and I had kept my promise, but for my Conjecture that you could not stay so long out of Northamp­tonshire; nor was I it seems, mistaken in that. But be assur'd, Dear Sir, I think there can be no better End, or Design of my writing, than in its procuring me the satisfaction of receiving something of yours; especially, since I have no other way left me now of conversing with you. But it seems, you forbear to relieve me out of Charity, since you say your trouble was [Page 37] so great, that you were unwilling to com­municate it to me to mine. I see your Wit can do any thing, make an omission of a kindness a greater obligation, and if you complain but to your Mistress, as wittily as you do to your Friend, I wonder not at her Cruelty, nor that she should take plea­sure to hear you complain so long. But, my Friend have a care of complaining to her, with so much true Sense, lest it should disparage your true Love; and indeed, that I fear is the only cause you are suffer'd to complain so long, without the success which is due to your Merit, Love, and Wit, from one who; you say has her self so much, which with your Pardon, I shall hardly be­lieve, thô you are her Voucher, if she does not do what you wou'd have her, that is, do you and her self Reason as fast as she can; since she must need believe you a warm and sincere Lover, as much as I believe you a Zea­lous and a true Friend. And I am so well acquainted with Love and you, that I be­lieve no body is able to alter your Love, or advise your Reason; the one being as Un­alterable as the other infallible, and you (for ought I know) are the only Man, who at once can Love and be Wise. And to the Wise, you know, a word is enough, espe­cially since you gave me a caution against [Page 38] opposing your passion; because it would be in vain. If Love be in you as in other Men, a violent Passion, it is therefore a short Frenzy, and should be cur'd like other Di­stempers of that kind, by your Friend's humouring it, rather than opposing it. Yet pardon me, if I prescribe the common remedy of curing one Love with another. But whether you will let me be your Do­ctor or no, I must at least wish you well, who am,

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

Cleve near Shrewsbury, August the 31st 1695.

Mr. Dennis to Mr. Wycherly.

A Man who has the Vanity of preten­ding to write, must certainly love you extreamly well, if he does not hate you after he has received from you such a Letter as yours: And he must undoubted­ly shew a great deal of Friendship, when he assures you he does not envy you the very Lines by which you commend him. A Man had need be very well acquainted with the goodness of your Nature, to be satisfied that you do not praise with a Wicked Design to mortifie. There are few Writers so humble, whom Mr. Wycherly's Commendation would not render vain; but then there are few Writers so Proud, whom the Wit that Mr. Wycherly shews in commending them would not humble. So that a Man who did not know you, wou'd be apt to believe that whenever you write to Praise, you do but like a Wrestler who lifts People up on purpose to throw them down, and the Higher he raises them, makes their fall the Greater. Your Com­mendation is to a Modest Man, what the [Page 40] Second Bottle is to a Sober Man; it raises his Vigour while he is swallowing it; but the Wit is as sure to make the one Melan­cholly upon mature Reflection, as the Wine is certain to leave the other Spiritless after the third Concoction: But our Infirmity cannot be your fault; to whom we are o­blig'd for your generous Intentions, which give you such a peculiar Distinction from or­dinary Men of Wit. Indeed, by a Just, and a Noble Confidence, which you may repose in your self, you may always very safely commend; because you may be al­ways sure to surpass. 'Tis Prudent and Noble at once in a Conqueror to extol the Conquered. To praise the Excellence which he o'ercomes, is but to commend himself. Besides, it wins the very Heart and Soul of him that is overcome, if he has but Virtue enough to be so subdued; and makes him willing to leave his last Retrenchment. It would long since have had that Effect upon me, if the rest of your good Qualities had not prevented it; which have so Closely and so Entirely tied me to you, that whenever I receive a Letter from you, my Vanity is sure to gain on the one side, what it is certain to lose on the other: For if I am mortified as to my own Wit, I do not fail to value my self upon yours.

To Mr. Wycherly.

THE last time I was at Wills, I had the Mortification to hear, that our Friend Mr.—had met with a Disappointment in—; at which, some who were pre­sent were glad, affirming, that Success would have thrown him out of his Element; For that a Man of Wit is not qualified for Business so well as a Block-head: I have since had some Thoughts concerning that matter which I here send you, and of which I desire your Opinion.

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

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

Secondly, It is reasonable enough to be­lieve, that since they are uncapable of many [Page 42] Thoughts, those few which they have, are determin'd by their Necessities, their Ap­petites, and their Desires, to what they call their Fortunes and their Establishments.

Thirdly, It is not very hard to conceive, that since a Block-head has but a few Thoughts, and perhaps but one all his Life­time, which is his Interest, he should have it more perfect, and better digested, then Men of Wit have the same thought, who perhaps have a thousand every hour.

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

Fifthly, It will be certainly found, that as a little Thought often makes a Man active in Business, so a little Judgment often makes him Diligent; for he may well be eager in the Pursui [...] of those things, on which, se­duced by Passion and Vulgar Opinion, he sets an exorbitant Value; and concerning whose Natures and Incertainty he is not [Page 43] very capable of making solid Reflections. For thô Prudence may oblige a Man to se­cure a Competency, yet never was any one by right Reason induced to seek Superflui­ties.

Sixthly, Penury of thought supposes Littleness of Soul, which is often requisite for the Succeeding in Business: For a Block-head is Sordid enough to descend to Trick and Artifice, which in Business are often necessary to procure Success, unless they are more than supplied, by a Prudence de­riv'd from a Consummate Experience, or from a great Capacity.

Thus have I endeavour'd to give the rea­son, why a Fool succeeds better in Business than a Man of Wit, who has a Multitude of thoughts, and which fly at the Noblest Objects; and who finds that there is some­thing of pleasing, and so noble, in thinking rightly, and more especially in the sublime Speculations of exalted Reason, that he finds it intollerably irksome to descend to Action, and abhors the very thought of being diligent in things, for which he has an extream Contempt.

Thus you see, that in some measure a Fool may be said to be better fitted out for Business, than a Man of Wit. But it is high time to distinguish. For first, when [Page 44] I say that a Block-head is fitted for Business, I mean only for little Business: For to af­firm, that he is qualified for Affairs that re­quire Extent of Capacity, would be a Con­tradiction in Terms. Secondly, when I af­firm, that a Man of Wit is less capacitated for Business, I mean that he is less so, as long as he keeps in his Natural Temper, and remains in a State of Tranquility. But if once he comes to be thrown out of that by the Force of a Violent Passion, and fir'd with Zeal for his Country's Service, or en­flam'd by Ambition, and Business can be made subservient to the gratifying of those Passions, then I dare boldly affirm, that one Man of Wit will go further than a Thousand of those who want it. Of which it would be easie to give more than one Instance a­mongst our present Ministers. But I will be contented with putting you in mind that none of the Romans had more Wit than Caesar, and none of the French than Riche­lieu.

Before I conclude, I must give you a Caution: Which is, that by the Word Blockhead, I do not mean one that is stu­pid, but that I apply that word according to the Language of you Men of Wit, to one who thinks but a little: And that on the other side, by a Man of Wit, I do not [Page 45] mean every Coxcomb whose Imagination has got the Ascendant of his little Reason; but a Man like you, Sir, or our most Inge­nious Friend, in whom Fancy and Judg­ment are like a well-match'd Pair; the first like an extraordinary Wife, that appears always Beautiful, and always Charming, yet is at all times Decent, and at all times Chast; the Second like a Prudent and well­bred Husband, whose very Sway shews his Complaisance, and whose very Indulgence shews his Authority.

To Mr. Dryden.

THô no Man writes to his Friends with greater Ease, or with more Chearful­ness, than my self; and thô I have lately had the Presumption to place you at the Head of that small Party, nevertheless I have experienc'd with Grief, that in writing to you I have not found my old Facility.

Since I came to this place I have taken up my Pen several times in order to write to you, but have constantly at the very Beginning found my self Damp'd and Disa­bled; upon which I have been apt to be­lieve that extraordinary Esteem may some­times make the Mind as Impotent as a Vio­lent Love does the Body, and that the ve­hement Desire we have to exert it, extremely decays our Ability. I have heard of more than one lusty Gallant, who, thô he could at any time with Readiness and Vigour▪ possess the Woman whom he lov'd but moderately, yet when he has been about to give his darling Mistress, whom he has ve­hemently and long desir'd, the first last [Page 47] Proof of his Passion, has found on a sudden that his Body has Jaded and grown resty under his Soul, and gone backward the faster, the more he has spurr'd it forward. Esteem has wrought a like effect upon my Mind. My extraordinary inclination to shew that I honour you at an extraordinary rate, and to shew it in words that might not be altogether unworthy Mr. Dryden's Perusal, incapacitates me to perform the very action to which it incites me, and Nature sinks in me under the fierce Effort: But I hope you will have the Goodness to pardon a Weakness that proceds from a Cause like this, and to consider that I had pleas'd you more if I had honour'd you less. Who knows but that yet I may please you, if you encourage me to mend my Fault? to which if you knew but the Place I am in, Charity would engage you, thô Ju­stice could not oblige you. For I am here in a Desart, depriv'd of Company, and depriv'd of News; in a Place where I can hear nothing at all of the Publick, and what proves it ten times more a Desart, nothing at all of you: For all who are at present concern'd for their Countrey's Honour, hearken more after your Prepara­tives, than those for the next Campaigne. These last may possibly turn to our Confu­sion, [Page 48] so uncertain are the Events of War; but we know that whatever you undertake must prove Glorious to England, and thô the French may meet with Success in the Field, by you we are sure to Conquer them. In War there are a thousand unlook'd for accidents which happen every day, and Fortune appears no where more like her self; but in a Combat of Wit, the more Humane Contention, and the more Glori­ous Quarrel, Merit will be always sure to prevail: And therefore, thô I can but hope that the Confederate Forces will give chase to De Lorges and Luxemburgh, I am very confident that Boileau and Racine will be forced to submit to you. Judge therefore if I, who very much love my Country, and who so much esteem you, must not with a great deal of Impatience expect to hear from you.

To Mr. Dryden.

YOU may see already by this Presump­tuous greeting, that Encouragement gives as much Assurance to Friendship, as it imparts to Love. You may see too, that a Friend may sometimes proceed to ac­knowledge Affection, by the very same De­grees by which a Lover declares his Passion. This last-at first confesses Esteem, yet owns no Passion but Admiration. But as soon as he is Animated by one kind Expression, his Look, his Style, and his very Soul are altered, But as Sovereign Beauties know very well, that he who confesses he Esteems and Admires them, implies that he Loves them, or is inclin'd to Love them; a Per­son of Mr. Dryden's Exalted Genius, can discern very well, that when we esteem him highly, 'tis Respect restrains us if we say no more. For where great Esteem is with­out Affection. 'tis often attended with En­vy, if not with Hate; which Passions De­tract even when they Commend, and Si­lence is their hig [...]est Panegyric. 'Tis indeed [Page 50] impossible, that I should refuse to Love a Man, who has so often gi [...]en me all the pleasure that the most Insatiable Mind can desire; when at any time I have been Dejected by Disapointments, or Tormented by cruel Passions, the recourse to your Verses has Calm'd my Soul, or rais'd it to Transports which made it contemn Tranquillity. But thô you have so often given me all the pleasure I was able to bear, I have reason to complain of you on this account, that you have confin'd my Delight to a narrow­er compass. Suckling, Cowley and Denham, who formerly Ravish'd me in ev'ry part of them, now appear tastless to me in most, and Waller himself, with all his Gal­lantry, and all that Admirable Art of his [...]urns, appears three quarters Prose to me. Thus 'tis plain that your Muse has done me an injury; but she has made me amends for it. For she is like those Extraordinary Women, who, besides the Regularity of their Charming Features, besides their en­gaging Wit, have Secret, Unaccountable, Enchanting Graces, which thô they have been long and often Enjoy'd, make them always new and always desirable. I re­turn you my hearty thanks for your most obliging Letter. I had been very unreason­able if I had Repin'd that the Favour ar­riv'd [Page 51] no sooner. 'Tis allowable to grum­ble at the delaying a payment, but to murmur at the deferring a Benefit, is to be impu­dently ungrateful beforehand. The Com­mendations which you give me, exceeding­ly sooth my Vanity. For you with a breath can bestow or confirm Reputation; a whole Numberless People Proclaims the praise which you give, and the Judgments of three mighty Kingdoms appear to depend upon yours. The People gave me some little applause before, but to whom, when they are in humour will they not give it, and to whom when they are froward will they not refuse it? Reputation with them depends upon Chance, unless they are gui­ded by those above them. They are but the keepers as it were of the Lottery which Fortune sets up for Renown; upon which Fame is bound to attend with her Trumpet, and Sound when Men draw the Prizes. Thus I had rather have your Approbation than the applause of Fame. Her commen­dation argues good luck, but Mr. Dryden's implies desert. Whatever low opinion I have hitherto had of my self, I have so great a value for your Judgment, that, for the sake of that, I shall be willing hence-for­ward to believe that I am not wholly desert­less; but that you may find me still more [Page 52] Supportable, I shall endeavour to compen­sate whatever I want in those glittering Qualities, by which the World is dazled, with Truth, with Faith, and with Zeal to serve you; qualities which for their rarity, might be objects of wonder, but that Men dare not appear to admire them, because their Admiration would manifestly declare their want of them. Thus Sir, let me as­sure you, that thô you are acquainted with several Gentlemen, whose Eloquence and Wit may capacitate them to offer their ser­vice with more Address to you, yet no one can declare himself, with greater Chearful­ness, or with greater▪ Fidelity, or with more profound Respect than my self.

Mr. Dryden to Mr. Dennis.

WHen I read a Letter so full of my Commendations as your last, I cannot but consider you as the Master of a vast Treasure, who having more than e­nough for your self, are forc'd to ebb out upon your Friends. You have indeed the best right to give them, since you have them in Propriety; but they are no more mine when I receive them, than the Light of the Moon can be allowed to be her own, who shines but by the Reflexion of her Brother. Your own Poetry is a more Powerful Example, to prove that the Mo­dern Writers may enter into comparison with the Ancients, than any which Per­rault could produce in France; yet neither he, nor you who are a better Critick, can persuade me that there is any room left for a Solid Commendation at this time of day, at least for me. If I undertake the Tran­slation of Virgil, the little which I can perform will shew at least, that no Man is fit to write after him, in a barbarous Mo­dern [Page 54] Tongue. Neither will his Machines be of any service to a Christian Poet. We see how ineffectually they have been try'd by Tasso, and by Ariosto. 'Tis using them too dully if we only make Devils of his Gods: As if, for Example, I would raise a Storm, and make use of Aeolus, with this only difference of calling him Prince of the Air. What invention of mine would there be in this; or who would not see Virgil thorough me; only the same trick play'd over again by a Bungling Juggler? Boileau has well observed, that it is an easie matter in a Christian Poem, for God to bring the Devil to reason. I think I have given a better hint for New Machines in my Pre­face to Iuvenal; where I have particularly recommended two Subjects, one of King Arthur's Conquest of the Saxons, and the other of the Black Prince in his Conquest of Spain. But the Guardian Angels of Mo­narchys and Kingdoms, are not to be touch'd by every hand. A Man must be deeply conversant in the Platonick Philosophy to deal with them: And therefore I may rea­sonably expect that no Poet of our Age will presume to handle those Machines, for fear of discovering his own Ignorance; or if he should, he might perhaps be Ingrate­ful enough not to own me for his Benefa­ctour. [Page 55] After I have confess'd thus much of our Modern Heroick Poetry, I cannot but conclude with Mr. Rym—that our English Comedy is far beyond any thing of the Ancients. And notwithstanding our irre­gularities, so is our Tragedy. Shakespear had a Genius for it; and we know, in spite of Mr. R—that Genius alone is a greater Virtue (if I may so call it) than all other Qualifications put together. You see what success this Learned Critick has found in the World, after his Blaspheming Shake­spear. Almost all the Faults which he has discover'd are truly there; yet who will read Mr. Rym—or not read Shakespear? For my own part I reverence Mr. Rym—s Learning, but I detest his Ill Nature and his Arrogance. I indeed, and such as I, have reason to be afraid of him, but Shake­spear has not. There [...] another part of Po­etry in which the English stand almost up­on an equal foot with the Ancients; and 'tis that which we call Pindarique; intro­duced but not perfected by our Famous Mr. Cowley: and of this, Sir, you are cer­tainly one of the greatest Masters. You have the Sublimity of Sense as well as Sound, and know how far the Boldness of a Poet may lawfully extend. I could wish you would cultivate this kind of O [...]e; and [Page 56] reduce it either to the same Measures which Pinder us'd, or give new Measures of your own. For, as it is, it looks like a vast Tract of Land newly discover'd. The Soil is wonderfully Fruitful, but Unma [...]ur'd, o­verstock'd with Inhabitants; but almost all Salvages, without Laws, Arts, Arms, or Policy. I remember Poor Nat. Lee, who was then upon the Verge of Madness, yet made a Sober, and a Witty Answer to a B [...]d Poet, who told him, It was an easie thing to write like a Madman: No, said he, 'tis a very difficult to write like a Madman, but 'tis a very easie matter to write like a Fool. Otway and He are safe by Death from all Attacks, but we poor Poets Mili­tant (to use Mr. Cowley's Expression) are at the Mercy of Wretched Scri [...]b [...]ers: And when they cannot fasten upon our Verses, they fall upon our Morals, our Principles of State and Religion. For my Principles of Religion, I will not justifie them to you. I know yours are far di [...]ferent. For the same Reason I shall say nothing of my Prin­ciples of State. I believe you in yours follow the Dictates of your Reason, as I in mine do those of my Conscience. If I thought my self in an Error I would re­tract it; I am sure that I suffer for them; and Milton makes even the Devil say, [Page 57] That no Creature is in love with Pain. For my Morals, betwixt Man and Man, I am not to be my own Judge. I appeal to the World if I have Deceiv'd or Defrauded any Man: And for my private Conversa­tion, they who see me every day can be the best Witnesses, whether or no it be Blame­less and Inoffensive. Hitherto I have no reason to complain that Men of either Party shun my Company. I have never been an Impudent Beggar at the Doors of Noblemen: My Visits have indeed been too rare to be unacceptable; and but just enough to testifie my Gratitude for their Bounty, which I have frequently received, but always unask'd, as themselves will Witness. I have written more than I need­ed to you on this Subject: for I dare say you justifie me to your self. As for that which I first intended for the Principal Sub­ject of this Letter, which is my Friend's Passion and his Design of Marriage, on better consideration I have chang'd my Mind: For having had the Honour to see my Dear Friend Wycherly's Letter to him on that occasion, I find nothing to be added or amended. But as well as I love Mr. Wy­cherly, I confess I love my self so well, that I will not shew how much I am inferiour to him in Wit and Judgment; by undertaking [Page 58] any thing after him. There is Moses and the Prophets in his Counsel. Iupiter and Iuno, as the Poets tell us, made Tiresias their Umpire, in a certain Merry Dispute, which fell out in Heav'n betwixt them. Tiresias you know had been of both Sexes, and therefore was a Proper Judge; our Friend Mr. Wycherly is full as competent an Arbitrator. He has been a Batchelor, and Marry'd Man, and is now a Widower. Virgil says of Ceneus,

Yet I suppose he will not give any large commendations to his middle State: Nor as the Sailer said, will be fond after a Ship­wrack to put to Sea again. If my Friend will Adventure after this, I can but wish him a good Wind, as being his and

Written for My Lady C. to her Cou­sin R—. of the Temple. By Mr. Dennis.

After she had received from him a Copy of Verses on her Beauty.

I Received yours with the Verses inclos'd, and here return you my hearty thanks, for the Face, the Shape, the Meen, which you have so generously bestow'd upon me. From looking upon your Verses I went to my Glass. But, Jesu! The difference! Thô I bought it to Flatter me, yet Compar'd to you, I found it a Plain-Dealer. It show'd me immediately that I have been a great deal more beholding to you, than I have been to Nature. For she only form'd me not Frightful, but you have made me Divine. But as you have been a great dealkinder than Nature has been to me, I think my self o­bliged in Requital, to be a good deal more Liberal than Heav'n has been to you, and [Page 60] to allow you as large a Stock of Wit as you have giv'n me of Beauty. Since so Honest a Gentleman as your self, has Stretcht his Conscience to commend my Person, I am bound in Gratitude to do Violence to my Reason, to Extol your Verses. When I left the Town, I desir'd you to furnish me with the News of the Place, and the first thing I have receiv'd from you, is a Copy of Verses on my Beauty. By which you Dext [...]rously infer, that the most extraor­dinary piece of News you can send me, is to tell me that I am Hansome. By which ingenious Inference, you had Infallibly brought the Scandal of a Wit upon you, if your Verses had not stood up in your Justification. But tell me truly Cousin, could you think that I should prove so easy a Creature as to believe all that you have said of me? How could you find in your heart to make such a Fool of me, and such a Cheat of your self? To Intoxicate me with Flattery, and draw me in to Truck my little Stock of Wit and Judgment, for a meer Imagination of Beauty; when the Real thing too, falls so infinitely short of what you would make me exchange for the very Fancy of it. For, Cousin, there is this considerable Difference between the Merit of Wit and Beauty; that Men [Page 61] are never Violently Influenc'd by Beauty, unless it has weaken'd their Reason. And never feel half the force of Wit, unless their Judgments are Sound. The principal time in which those of your Sex admire Beauty in ours, is between Seventeen and Thirty, that is, after they are past their Innocence, and before they are come to their Judg­ments. And now Cousin, have not you been Commending a pretty Quality in me, to Admire which, as I have just shewn you, supposes not only a Corrupted Will, but a raw Understanding. Besides, how Frail, how Transitory is it! Nature deprives us of it at Thirty, if Diseases spare it till then. By which constant proceeding, she seems to Imply, that she gives it us as a Gugaw to please us in the Childhood of our Reasons; and takes it from us as a thing below us, when we come to years of Discretion. Thus Cousin, have you been commending a Qua­lity in me, which has nothing of true Me­rit in it, and of which I have no greater a share, than to keep me from being scan­dalous. So that all I could have got by your kindness, if I had parted with my Judgment, in order to reap the benefit of it, had been nothing but wretched Conceit, and ridiculous Affectation. If I thought [Page 62] you had enough of the Gallant Man in you, to take what [...]say in good part, I would advise you to engage no further in Poetry. Be rul'd by a Woman for once, and mind your Cook upon Littleton. Rather Pettifog than Flatter. For if you are resolved to be a Cheat, you will show at least some Conscience, in resolving rather to chouse People of their Money, than to Bubbl [...] them of their Understandings. Besides, Cousin, you have not a Genius which will make a great Poet, and be pleased to consider, that a small Poet is a scandalous Wight, that indifferent Verses are very bad ones, and that an Insipid Panegyric upon another is a severe Libel upon your self. Besides, there will start up a Satyr one day, and then woe be to Cold Rimers. Old England is not yet so Barren, but there will arise some generous Spirit, who, besides a Stock of Wit and good Sense, which are no very common Qualities, will not only be furnished with a sound Judgment, which is an Extraordinary Talent; but with a true tast for Eloquence and Wit, which is scarce any where to be found, and which Comprehends not only a just Discernment, but a fine Penetration, and a delicate Criticism. Such a Satyrist as [Page 63] this, Cousin, must arise, and therefore you had best take care, by a Judicious Silence, that whenever he appears, he may be sure to divert you, and not afflict you.

To Mr—at Will's Coffee-house in Covent-Garden.

I Received your Panegyrick upon Pun's▪ which I▪ so approve of, that I am re­solved to get it Printed, and bound up with Erasmus his praise of Folly. Yet to con­fess a Truth, I was something dissatisfied to see Quibbling commended with so much Wit. For nothing can be writ with more Wit, than your Letter to the Reserve of the Quibbles; which I suppose you inserted a­mongst so many things which are so finely said, lest these should have render'd you too Vain, or too much have Mortify'd me [...] But pray, after this Panegyrick upon Quib­bles, give me leave to ask you the same Question that the Lacedemonians ask'd the Sophister, who harangu'd in the Praise of Hercules. By the way, did you ever expect to hear a Quibble compar'd to Hercules? There's a Simile for you. I think, as Novel says, that's New. You, who are cry'd up for so great a Wit, tell me, without Envy, could you ever have thought upon that? But to return to my Question. Here you [Page 65] have spent a great deal of time in the De­fence of Quibbles. Who said a Word a­gainst them? The Devil a Syllable did I mention of them in mine. It is true, I cited honest Mr. Sw—but it is a hard Case, if the Quoting an Author must be construed the Condemning his Works. I have a great Respect and Kindness for Mr. Sw—as I have for all who have any Excellence. And truly, I think that for the Management of Quibbles and Dice, there is no Man alive comes near him. And let me tell you, Sir, for all your new Emulation, he is a better Quibbler than you. But it is high time to give over Rai [...]lery: For if you were my Father a Thousand times, let me die if I would not rigorously examine that part of your Letter which pretends to defend Quib­bling. You say that I am too Nice, and that my Aversion has something it in, that is very like Affectation: But here you must give me leave to turn your own Simile up­on you. Can a Man be justly accus'd of Niceness or Affectation, because he appears offended at a Stink? When I tell you that Quibbling is extreamly Foolish; You know it is Foolish enough, you reply; but it is a Foolish thing that diverts. And do you think this knowledge of it will excuse the Folly? Give me leave to resume the afore­mention'd [Page 66] Simile. Suppose a Fellow who breaks Wind, should say to the Company, while they are cajoling their offended Noses with Snuff, Look you Gentlemen, I know I am a Brutal Dog for this, this is very Nasty, but Begad it is very Diverting▪ Would the Excuse think you be currant [...] A Quibble diverts: Right; and so does [...] Hobby-Horse, which in my mind, for those who can be diverted without reason, is th [...] better Bawble of the two. A Quibble di­verts! Jesu! That this should be spoke [...] at Will's? Can there be a more Damnabl [...] Satyr upon Wit, than that so many Gen­tlemen who have so very much of it, shoul [...] be forc'd to play the Fool to divert one ano­ther? But for God's sake, what do yo [...] mean when you say a Quibble diverts yo [...] It makes you Laugh, I warrant? Why [...] greatest Coxcomb about the Town sha [...] out-do you in Laughing at any time. N [...]ture who has dealt Impartially with he [...] Children, and who has given them [...] two distinctions from Beasts, reason an [...] Laughter, has, where she has bestow'd th [...] more of the One, conferr'd the less of th [...] Other: And therefore a Coxcomb will Laug [...] at nothing. Ay, that indeed, say you, [...] a sign of a Fool. Well! My Dear Frien [...] I have so much kindness for thee, that [...] [Page 76] out of thy own Mouth, thou shalt not be Judged: For if a Quibble is not Wit, it is nothing. But it is at as great a Distance from Wit, as an Idol is from the Deity; and I will no more believe nauseous Equi­vocals to be Wit, because some Sots have admir'd them, than I will believe Garlick to be God, because the Aegyptians ador'd it. Nay, it is a more Damnable sign of Stupidity in an Englishman, to make Wit of a Quibble, than it was in the Aegypti­ans, to make a God of their Garlick. But to return from whence I digressed; I have never appear'd so much a Stoick, but that I have been as much for Diversion as any of you. But then am I for the Diversion of Reasonable Men and of Gentlemen. If there be any Diversion in Quibbling, it is a Diversion of which a Fool and a Porter is as capable as is the best of you. And therefore Ben. Iohnson, who writ every thing with Judgment, and who knew the Scum of the People, whenever he brings in a Porter or Tankard-Bearer, is sure to introduce him Quibbling. But if Punning be a Diversion, it is a very strange one. There is as much difference between the silly Satisfaction which we have from a Quibble, and the ravishing Pleasure which we receive from a Beautiful Thought, as [Page 68] there is betwixt a Faint Salute and Fruition. But what would you have us do, you cry. Men of the greatest Parts are no more to be found with Wit always about them, than rich Rogues with always the Ready. Why, look you, Sir, as the first Step to Wisdom is to be freed from Folly, so the first Approach to Wit is a Contempt of Quibbling. If it happens at any time that you have not your Wit about you, we will either have Patience such time as you have, or take good sense in the lieu of it; If you are not in a Condition to Delight us, we will be contented to be instructed; we will make your Instruction nourish our Vanity, so turn even that to Delight. Nay there is something Noble in right Reason, and consequently something Delightful. Truth is so divinely Beautiful, that it must please Eternally; but falshood is base, and must shock all generous Minds, and every Equivocal is but ambiguous Falshood, that is the Pittiful'st, the Bafest of Falshoods.

To Walter Moyle, Esq

THô you are already indebted a Let­ter to me, yet I think fit to give you credit for another; thô perhaps you may little desire to run into Debt this way: But it is for two Reasons that I give you the trouble of this. For, in the first place, I am taking a turn for a little time into the Countrey, and I design that the Preven­tion of this should make some amends for the Delay of my next. In the Second place, I have made some provision of Scandal, which I am willing to make use of, before it grows stale upon my hands. Just after I writ my last, I thre [...] my self into a De­tach'd Party, which march'd from Wills to Namur; with the same Design that the [Page 70] Volunteers went to Brest, to keep out of the Fray, and be Spectators of the Action. However, before they were come to Blows▪ I went amongst the Tents, and had some discourse with Major-General R—whom I found to be Father to Mr. Bays his Parthe­nope. For the Major-General is a very Honest Fellow, who sells Ale by the Town Wall: We had the Satisfaction to see that the Town was taken, and the whole Siege was carried on as Sieges generally are▪ with a great deal more Noise than Mis­chief. On Monday last which was the Se­cond of September, I travell'd into the City, where I had the Satisfaction to see two very ridiculous Sights. The First was a Bawd carted for an action which had some relation to that memorable Day. For she was convicted of being an Accomplice in setting Fire to an Ancient and Venera­ble Pile of the City, that is, she was found Guilty of being instrumental in the Clap­ping an Alderman. I stood in a Book­seller's Shop to see her pass, which Book­seller was packing up some Scoundrel Au­thors to send them away to the Plantations. These Authors are Criminals, which being se [...]enc'd to be burnt here, have at last found Grace and got off with Transporta­tion. [Page 71] You remember the terrible News that we heard at P—which, as it sprung from a ridiculous Occasion, that is, my Lady Mayoresses Gossipping, has had a Comical Consequence. For the Common-Council have made an Order, by which my Lady Mayoress is dispens'd during the Wars, from seeing those Children born in the City, which are got in the Suburbs; that is from being present at one of their Wive's Labours. But 'tis time to return to the Fair. Last Night I took a turn in the Cloisters, where I was entertain'd with a great many Dialogues between Vizour and Vallancy Wig, upon which I leave you to be Judge, whether my Eyes or my Ears were the better Entertain'd of the two. For I heard a great deal of Unintel­ligible Language, address'd to a great many Invisible Faces. As if because the Wo­men had resolv'd not to be Seen, the Men had determin'd not to be Understood; and had in revenge Eclips'd the Light of their Understanding by Fustian, as the others had obscur'd the Lustre of their Eyes by Velvet. Formerly the Ladies made use of White and Red to atract, but within these Thirty Years black has suc­ceeded, and the Devil is found more [Page 72] tempting in his proper Colour. I have neither time nor place for any more. You shall have the rest by the first Opportu­nity.

To Mr. Congreve.

I Have now read over the Fox, in which thô I admire the strength of Ben. Iohnson's Judgment, yet I did not find it so accurate as I expected. For first the very thing up­on which the whole Plot turns, and that is the Discovery which Mosca makes to Bona­rio; seems to me, to be very unreasonable. For I can see no Reason, why he should make that Discovery which introduces Bo­norio into his Masters House. For the Reason which the Poet makes Mosca give in the Ninth Scene of the third Act, ap­pears to be a very Absurd one. Secondly, Corbaccio the Father of Bonario is expos'd for his Deafness, a Personal defect; which is contrary to the end of Comedy Instructi­on. For Personal Defects cannot be amend­ed; and the exposing such, can never Divert any but half-witted Men. It can­not fail to bring a thinking Man to reflect upon the Misery of Human Nature; and into what he may fall himself without any [Page 74] fault of his own. Thirdly, the play has two Characters, which have nothing to do with the design of it, which are to be look'd up­on as Excrescencies. Lastly, the Character of Volpone is Inconsistent with it self. Vol­pone is like Catiline, alieni appetens, sui pro­fusus; but that is only a double in his Na­ture, and not an Inconsistence. The Incon­sistence of the Character appears in this, that Volpone in the fifth Act behaves himself like a Giddy Coxcombe, in the Conduct of that very Affair which he manag'd so Craf­tily in the first four. In which the Poet of­fends first against that Fam'd rule which Horace gives for the Characters.

And Secondly, against Nature, upon which, all the rules are grounded. For so strange an Alteration, in so little a time, is not in Nature, unless it happens by the Accident of some violent passion; which is not the case here. Volpone on the sud­den behaves himself without common Dis­cretion, in the Conduct of that very Affair which he had manag'd with so much Dex­terity, for the space of three Years toge­ther. For why does he disguise himself? [Page 75] or why does he repose the last Confidence in Mosca? Why does he cause it to be given out that he's Dead? Why, only to Plague his Bubbles. To Plague them, for what? Why only for having been his Bubbles. So that here is the greatest alteration in the World, in the space of twenty-four hours, without any apparent cause. The design of Volpone is to Cheat, he has carried on a Cheat for three years together, with Cun­ning and with Success. And yet he on a sudden in cold blood does a thing, which he cannot but know must Endanger the ru­ining all.

To Mr. Congreve.

I will not augment the Trouble which I give you by making an Apology for not giving it you sooner. Thô I am hear­tily sorry that I kept such a trifle as the in­clos'd, and a trifle writ Extempore, long enough to make you expect a labour'd Let­ter. But because in the Inclos'd, I have spoken particularly of Ben. Iohnson's Fox, I desire to say three or four words of some of his Plays more generally. The Plots of the Fox, the silent Woman, the Alchimist, are all of them very Artful. But the Intrigues of the Fox, and the Alchimist, seem to me to be more dexterously perplexed, than to be hap­pily disentangled. But the Gordian knot in the Silent Woman is untyed with so much Felicity, that that alone, may Suf­fice to show Ben Iohnson no ordinary Heroe. But, then perhaps, the Silent Woman may want the very Foundation of a good Come­dy, which the other two cannot be said to want. For it seems to me, to be with­out [Page 77] a Moral. Upon which Absurdity, Ben Iohnson was driven by the Singularity of Moroses Character, which is too extrava­gant for Instruction, and fit, in my opinion, only for Farce. For this seems to me, to Constitute the most Essential Difference, betwixt Farce and Comedy, that the Fol­lies which are expos'd in Farce are Singu­lar; and those are particular, which are expos'd in Comedy. These last are those, with which some part of an Audience may be suppos'd Infected, and to which all may be suppos'd Obnoxious. But the first are so very odd, that by Reason of their Mon­strous Extravagance, they cannot be thought to concern an Audience; and cannot be supposed to instruct them. For the rest of the Characters in these Plays, they are for the most part true, and Most of the Humo­rous Characters Master-pieces. For Ben Iohnson's Fools, seem to shew his Wit a great deal more then his Men of Sense. I Admire his Fops, and but barely Esteem his Gentlemen. Ben seems to draw Deformity more to the Life than Beauty. He is o [...]ten so eager to pursue Folly, that he forgets to take Wit along with him. For the Dia­logue, it seems to want very often that Spi­rit, that Grace, and that Noble Railery, which are to be found in more Modern Plays, [Page 78] and which are Virtues that ought to be In­separable from a finish'd Comedy. But there seems to be one thing more wanting than all the rest, and that is Passion, I mean that fine and that delicate Passion, by which the Soul shows its Politeness, ev'n in the midst of its trouble. Now to touch a Passion is the surest way to Delight. For nothing agi­tates like it. Agitation is the Health and Joy of the Soul, of which it is so entirely fond, that even then, when we imagine we seek Repose, we only seek Agitation. You know what a Famous Modern Critick has said of Comedy.

I leave you to make the Aplication to Iohnson—Whatever I have said my self [Page 79] of his Comedies, I submit to your better Judgment. [...] For you who, after Mr. Wicher­ly, are incomparably the best Writer of it living; ought to be allowed to be the best Judge, too,

Mr. Congreve, to Mr. Dennis.

Concerning Humour in Comedy.

YOU write to me, that you have En­tertained your self two or three days, with reading several Comedies, of several Authors; and your Observation is, that there is more of Humour in our English Writers, than in any of the other Comick Poets, Ancient or Modern. You desire to know my Opinion, and at the same time my Thought; of that which is generally call'd Humour in Comedy.

I agree with you, in an Impartial Pre­ference of our English Writers, in that Particular. But if I tell you my Thoughts of Humour, I must at the same time con­fess, that what I take for true Humour, has not been so often written even by them, as is generally believed: And some who have valued themselves, and have been esteem'd by [Page 81] others, for that kind of Writing, have seldom touch'd upon it. To make this appear to the World, would require a long and la­bour'd Discourse, and such as I neither am able nor willing to undertake. But such little Remarks, as may be continued with­in the Compass of a Letter, and such unpreme­diated Thoughts, as may be Communicated between Friend and Friend, without incur­ring the Censure of the World, or setting up for a Dictator, you shall have from me, since you have enjoyn'd it.

To Define Humour, perhaps, were as difficult, as to Define Wit; for like that, it is of infinite variety. To Enumerate the se­veral Humours of Men, were a Work as endless, as to sum up their several Opinions. And in my mind the Quot homines tot Sen­tentiae, might have been more properly in­terpreted of Humour; since there are many Men, of the same Opinion in many things, who are yet quite different in Humours. But thô we cannot certainly tell what Wit is, or, what Humour, is yet we may go near to shew something, which is not Wit or not Humour; and yet often mistaken for both. And since I have mentioned Wit and Humour together, let me make the first Distinction between them, and observe to you that Wit [...] often mistaken for Humour.

[Page 82]I have observed, that when a few things have been Wittily and Pleasantly spoken by any Character in a Comedy; it has been very usual for those, who make their Remarks on a Play, while it is acting, to say, Such a thing is very Humorously spoken: There is a great Deal of Humour in that Part. Thus the Character of the Person speaking, may be, Surprizingly and Plea­santly, is mistaken for a Character of Hu­mour; which indeed is a Character of Wit. But there is a great Difference between a Comedy, wherein there are many things Humorously, as they call it, which is Plea­santly spoken; and one, where there are several Characters of Humour, distinguish'd by the Particular and Different Humours, appropriated to the several Persons repre­sented, and which naturally arise, from the different Constitutions, Complexions, and Dispositions of Men. The saying of Humorous Things, does not distinguish Characters; For every Person in a Comedy may be allow'd to speak them. From a Witty Man they are expected; and even a Fool may be permitted to stumble on 'em by chance. Thô I make a Difference be­twixt Wit and Humour; yet I do not think that Humorous Characters exclude Wit: No, but the Manner of Wit should be a­dapted [Page 83] to the Humour. As for Instance, a Character of a Splenetick and Peevish Humour, should have a Satyrical Wit. A Jolly and Sanguine Humour, should have a Facetious Wit. The Former should speak Positively; the Latter, Carelesly: For the former Observes, and shews things as they are; the latter, rather overlooks Nature, and speaks things as he would have them; and his Wit and Humour have both of them a less Alloy of Judgment than the others.

As Wit, so, its opposite, Folly, is some­times mistaken for Humour.

When a Poet brings a Character on the Stage, committing a thousand Absurdities, and talking Impertinencies, roaring Aloud, and Laughing immoderately, on every, or rather upon no occasion; this is a Chara­cter of Humour.

Is any thing more common, than to have a pretended Comedy, stuff'd with such Grotesques, Figures, and Farce [...]ools? Things, that either are not in Nature, or if they are, are Monsters, and Births of Mischance; and consequently as such, should be stifled, and huddled out of the way, like Sooterkins; that Mankind may not be shock'd wi [...]h an appearing Possibility of the Degeneration of a God-like Species▪ For my part, I am as willing to Laugh▪ as [Page 84] any body, and as easily diverted with an Object truly ridiculous: but at the same time, I can never care for seeing things, that force me to entertain low thoughts of my Nature. I dont know how it is with others, but I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a Monkey, without very Mortifying Reflections; thô I never heard any thing to the Contrary, why that Creature is not Originally of a Distinct Spe­cies. As I dont think Humour exclusive of Wit, neither do I think it inconsistent with Folly; but I think the Follies should be only such, as Mens Humours may in­cline 'em to; and not Follies intirely ab­stracted from both Humour and Nature.

Sometimes, Personal Defects are misre­presented for Humours.

I mean, sometimes Characters are bar­barously exposed on the Stage, ridiculing Natural Deformities, Casual Defects in the Senses, and Infirmities of Age. Sure the Poet must both be very Ill-natur'd himself, and think his Audience so, when he proposes by shewing a Man Deform'd, or Deaf, or Blind, to give them an agreeable Enter­tainment; and hopes to raise their Mirth, by what is truly an object of Compassion. But much need not be said upon this Head to any body, especially to you, who in one [Page 85] of your Letters to me concerning Mr. Iohn­son's Fox, have justly excepted against this Immoral part of Ridicule in Corbaccio's Character; and there I must agree with you to blame him, whom otherwise I can­not enough admire, for his great Mastery of true Humour in Comedy.

External Habit of Body is often mistaken for Humour.

By External Habit, I do not mean the Ri­diculous Dress or Cloathing of a Character, thô that goes a good way in some received Characters. (But undoubtedly a Man's Humour may incline him to dress different­ly from other People) But I mean a Sin­gularity of Manners, Speech, and Behavi­our, peculiar to all, or most of the same Country, Trade, Profession, or Education. I cannot think, that a Humour, which is only a Habit, or Disposition contracted by Use or Custom; for by a Disuse, or Com­plyance with other Customs, it may be worn off, or diversify'd.

Affectation is generally mistaken for Hu­mour.

These are indeed so much alike, that at a Distance, they may be mistaken one for the other. For what is Humou [...] in one, may be Affectation in another; and nothing is more common, than for some to affect particular [Page 86] ways of saying, and doing things, pecu­liar to others, whom they admire and would imitate. Humour is the Life, Affectation the Picture. He that draws a Character of Affectation, shews Humour at the Second Hand; he at best but publishes a Transla­tion, and his Pictures are but Copies.

But as these two last distinctions are the Nicest, so it may be most proper to Explain them▪ by Particular Instances from some Author of Reputation. Humour I take, ei­ther to be born with us, and so of a Natu­ral Growth; or else to be grafted into us, by some accidental change in the Constitu­tion. or revolution of the Internal Habit of Body; by which it becomes, if I may so call it, Naturaliz'd.

Humour is from Nature, Habit from Cu­stom; and Affectation from Industry.

Humour, shews us as we are.

Habit, shews us, as we appear, under a forcible Impr [...]ssion.

Affectation, shews what we would be, under a Voluntary Disguise.

Thô here I would observe by the way, that a continued Affectation, may in time become a Habit.

The Character of Moro [...]e in the Silent Woman, I take to be a Character of Hu­mour. And I choose to Instance this Cha­racter [Page 87] to you, from many others of the same Author, because I know it has been Condemn'd by many as Unnatural and Farce: And you have your self hinted some dislike of it, for the same Reason, in a Let­ter to me, concerning some of Iohnson's Plays.

Let us suppose Morose to be a Man Natu­rally Splenetick and Melancholly; is there any thing more offensive to one of such a Disposition, than Noise and Clamour? Let any Man that has the Spleen (and there are enough in England) be Judge. We see common Examples of this Humour in lit­tle every day. 'Tis ten to one, but three parts in four of the Company that you dine with, are Discompos'd and Startled at the Cutting of a Cork, or Scratching a Plate with a Knife: It is a Proportion of the same Humour, that makes such or any other Noise offensive to the Person that hears it; for there are others who will not be disturb'd at all by it. Well; But Morose you will say, is so Extravagant, he cannot bear any Discourse or Conversation, above a Whisper. Why, It is his excess of this Humour, that makes him become Ridicu­lous, and qualifies his Character for Come­dy. If the Poet had given him, but a Mo­derate proportion of that Humour, 'tis odds [Page 88] but half the Audience, would have sided with the Character, and have Condemn'd the Author, for Exposing a Humour which was neither Remarkable nor Ridiculous. Besides, the distance of the Stage requires the Figure represented, to be something larger than the Life; and sure a Picture may have Features larger in Proportion, and yet be very like the Original. If this Exact­ness of Quantity, were to be observed in Wit, as some would have it in Humour; what would become of those Characters that are design'd for Men of Wit? I believe if a Poet should steal a D [...]alogue of any length, from the Extempo [...]e Discourse of the two Wittiest Men upon Earth, he would find the Scene but coldly receiv'd by the Town. But to the purpose.

The Character of Sir Iohn Daw in the same Play, is a Character of Affectation. He every where discovers an Affectation of Learning; when he is not only Conscious to himself, but the Audience also plainly perceives that he is Ignorant. Of this kind are the Characters of Thraso in the Eunuch of Terence, and Py [...]gopolinices in the Miles Gloriosus of Pla [...]tus. They affect to be thought Valiant, when both themselves and the Audience know they are not. Now such a boasting of Valour in Men who were [Page 89] really Valiant, would undoubtedly be a Humour; for a Fiery Disposition might na­turally throw a Man into the same Extra­vagance, which is only affected in the Cha­racters I have mentioned.

The Character of Cob in Every Man in his Humour, and most of the under Characters in Bartholomew-Fair, discover only a Sin­gularity of Manners, appropriated to the several Educations and Professions of the Persons represented. They are not Hu­mours but Habits contracted by Custom. Under this Head may be ranged all Coun­try-Clowns, Sailers, Tradesmen, Jockeys, Gamesters and such like, who make use of Cants or peculiar Dialects in their several Arts and Vocations. One may almost give a Receipt for the Composition of such a Character: For the Poet has nothing to do, but to collect a few proper Phrases and terms of Art, and to make the Person apply them by ridiculous Metaphors in his Conversa­tion, with Characters of different Natures. Some late Characters of this kind have been very successful; but in my mind they may be Painted without much Art or Labour; since they require little more, than a good Memory and Superficial Observation. But true Humour cannot be shewn, without a Dissection of Nature, and a Narrow Search, [Page 90] to discover the first Seeds, from whenc [...] it has its Root and growth.

If I were to write to the World, I should be obliged to dwell longer, upon each of these Distinctions and Examples; for I know that they would not be plain enough to all Readers. But a bare hint is sufficient to inform you of the Notions which I have on this Subject: And I hope by this time you are of my Opinion, that Humour is neither Wit, nor Folly, nor Personal defect; nor Af­fectation, nor Habit; and yet, that each, and all of these, have been both writte and received for Humour.

I should be unwilling to venture even on a bare Description of Humour, much more, to make a Definition of it, but now my hand is in, Ile tell you what serves me instead of either. I take it to be, A singular and unavoidable manner of doing, or saying any thing, Peculiar and Natural to one Man only; by which his Speech and Actions are distinguish'd from those of other Men.

Our Humour has relation to us, and to what proceeds from us, as the Accidents have to a Substance; it is a Colour, Taste, and Smell, Diffused through all; thô our Actions are never so many, and different in Form, they are all Splinters of the same Wood, and have Naturally one Complexi­on; [Page 91] which thô it may be disguised by Art, yet cannot be wholly changed: We may Paint it with other Colours, but we cannot change the Grain. So the Natural sound of an Instrument will be distinguish'd, thô the Notes expressed by it, are never so va­rious, and the Divisions never so many. Dissimulation, may by Degrees, become more easy to our practice; but it can never absolutely Transubstantiate us into what we would seem: It will always be in some proportion a Violence upon Nature.

A Man may change his Opinion, but I believe he will find it a Difficulty, to part with his Humour, and there is nothing more provoking, than the being made sensible of that difficulty. Sometimes, one shall meet with those, who perhaps, Innocently enough, but at the same time imperti­nently, will ask the Question; Why are you not Merry? Why are you not Gay, Pleasant, and Cheerful? then instead of answering, could I ask such one; Why are you not hand­some? Why have you not Black Eyes, and a better Complexion? Nature abhors to be forced.

The two Famous Philosophers of Ephesus and Abdera, have their different Sects at this day. Some Weep, and others Laugh at one and the same thing.

[Page 92]I dont doubt, but you have observed se­veral Men Laugh when they are Angry▪ others who are Silent; some that are Loud▪ Yet I cannot suppose that it is the passio [...] of Anger which is in it self different, [...] more or less in one than t'other; but tha [...] it is the Humour of the Man that is Predo­minant, and urges him to express it in that manner. Demonstrations of pleasure are as Various; one Man has a Humour of re­tiring from all Company, when any thing has happen'd to please him beyond expe­ctation; he hugs himself alone, and think [...] it an Addition to the pleasure to keep it Se [...]cret. Another is upon Thorns till he has made Proclamation of it; and must make other people sensible of his happiness, be­fore he can be so himself. So it is in Grief▪ and other Passions. Demonstrations of Lov [...] and the Effects of that Passion upon several Humours, are infinitely different; but here the Ladies who abound in Servants are the best Judges. Talking of the Ladies, me­thinks something should be observed of the Humour of the Fair Sex; since they are some­times so kind as to furnish out a Character for Comedy. But I must confess I have never made any observation of what I Apprehend to be true Humour in Women. Perhaps Passions are too powerful in that Sex, to let [Page 93] Humour have its Course; or may be by Reason of their Natural Coldness, Humour cannot Exert it self to that extravagant Degree, which it often does in the Male Sex. For if ever any thing does appear Comical or Ridiculous in a Woman, I think it is lit­tle more than an acquir'd Folly, or an Af­fectation. We may call them the weaker Sex, but I think the true Reason is, because our Follies are Sronger, and our Faults are more prevailing.

One might think that the Diversity of Humour, which must be allowed to be dif­fused throughout Mankind, might afford endless matter, for the support of Come­dies. But when we come closely to consi­der that point, and nicely to distinguish the Difference of Humours, I believe we shall find the contrary. For thô we allow eve­ry Man something of his own, and a pecu­liar Humour; yet every Man has it not in quantity, to become Remarkable by it: Or, if many do become Remarkable by their Humours; yet all those Humours may not be Diverting. Nor is it only requisite to distinguish what Humour will be diver­ting, but also how much of it, what part of it to shew in Light, and what to cast in Shades; how to set it off by preparatory Scenes, and by opposing other humours to [Page 94] it in the same Scene. Thrô a wrong Judg­men, sometimes, Mens Humours may be op­posed when there is really no specific Diffe­rence between them; only a greater pro­portion of the same, in one than t'other; occasion'd by his having more Flegm, or Choller, or whatever the Constitution is, from, whence their Humours derive their Source.

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

I dont say but that very entertaining and useful Characters, and proper for Comedy, may be drawn from Affectations, and those other Qualities, which I have endeavoured to [Page 95] distinguish from Humour: but I would not have such imposed on the World, for Hu­mour, nor esteem'd of Equal value with it. It were perhaps, the Work of a long Life to make one Comedy true in all its Parts, and to give every Character in it a True and Distinct Humour. Therefore, every Poet must be beholding to other helps, to make out his Number of ridiculous Cha­racters. But I think such a One deserves to be broke, who makes all false Musters; who does not shew one true Humour in a Comedy, but entertains his Audience to the end of the Play with every thing out of Nature.

I will make but one Observation to you more, and have done; and that is grounded upon an Observation of your own, and which I mention'd at the beginning of my Letter, viz, That there is more of Humour in our English Comick Writers than in any others. I do not at all wonder at it, for I look upon Humour to be almost of English Growth; at least, it does not seem to have found such Encrease on any other Soil. And what appears to me to be the reason of it, is the great Freedom, Privilege, and Liberty which the Common People of Eng­land enjoy. Any Man that has a Humour, is under no restraint, or fear of giving it Vent; they have a Proverb among them, [Page 96] which, may be, will shew the Bent and Ge­nius of the People, as well as a longer Discourse: He that will have a May-pole, shall have a May-pole. This is a Maxim with them, and their Practice is agreeable to it. I believe something Considerable too may be ascribed to their feeding so much on Flesh, and the Grossness of their Diet in general. But I have done, let the Physicians agree that. Thus you have my Thoughts of Humour, to my Power of Ex­pressing them in so little Time and Com­pass. You will be kind to shew me where­in I have Err'd; and as you are very Ca­pable of giving me Instruction, so, I think I have a very Just title to demand it from you; being without Reserve,

To Mr. Congreve, at TUNBRIDGE.

MR. Moyle and I have impatiently ex­pected to hear from you. But if the Well which you Drink of had sprung up from Lethe, you could not have been more forgetful of us. Indeed, as the Tunbridge-Water is good for the Spleen, it may be said in some manner to cause Oblivion. But I will yet a while hope that Mr. Moyle and I are not of the Number of things that plague you. However I am so sensible of your being mind­ful of me in Town, that I should be Un­grateful, if I should complain that you do not remember me where you you are. Mr. Moyle tells me that you have made a Favourable mention of me, to a certain Lady of your Acquaintance, whom he calls—But then to mortifie the Old Man in me, or indeed rather the Young, he assur'd me, that you had given a much better Character of him. However, for [Page 98] that which you gave of me I cannot but own my self obliged to you, and I look upon your Kindness as so much the greater, because I am sensible that I do not deserve it. And I could almost wish that your good Qualities, were not quite so numerous, that I might be able to make you some Re­turn in specie. For commending you now, I do you but Justice, which a Man of Ho­nour will do to his Enemy; whereas you, by partial Praise, have treated me like a Friend. I make no doubt, but that you do me the Justice to believe that I am per­fectly yours; and that your Merit has en­gag'd me, and your Favours oblig'd me to be all my Life time,

Mr. Congreve, to Mr. Dennis.

IT is not more to keep my Word, than to gratifie my Inclination, that I write to you; and thô I have thus long deferr'd it, I was never forgetful of you, nor of my Promise. Indeed I waited in Expectation of something that might enable me to re­turn the Entertainment I received from your Letters: but you represent the Town so agreeable [...] me, that you quite put me out of Conceit with the Country; and my Designs of making Observations from it.

Before I came to Tunbridge, I proposed to my self the Satisfaction of Communicating the Pleasures of the Place to you: But if I keep my Resolution, I must transcribe, and [Page 100] return you your own Letters; since I must own I have met with nothing else so truly Delightful. When you suppose the Country agreeable to me, you suppose such Reason [...] why it should be so, that while I read your Letter, I am of your Mind; but when I look off, I find I am only Charm'd with the Landskip which you have drawn. So that if I would see a fine Prospect of the Coun­try, I must desire you to send it me from the Town; as if I would eat good Fruit here▪ Perhaps the best way were, to beg a Bas­ket from my Friends in Covent-Garden. After all this, I must tell you, there is [...] great deal of Company at Tunbridge; and some very agreeable; but the greater part [...] is of that sort, who at home converse onl [...] with their own Relations; and consequent­ly when they come abroad, have few Ac­quaintance, but such as they bring with them. But were the Company better, or worse, I would have you expect no Cha­racters from me; for I profess my self [...] Enemy to Detraction; and who is there▪ that can justly merit Commendation? I have a mind to write to you, without the pretence of any manner of News, as I might drink to you without naming a Health [...] for I intend only my Service to you. I wis [...] for you very often, that I might recommend [Page 101] you to some new Acquaintance that I have made here, and think very well worth the keeping; I mean Idleness and a good Sto­mach. You would not think how People Eat here; every Body has the Appetite of an O [...]strich, and as they Drink Steel in the Morning, so I believe at Noon they could d [...]gest Iron. But sure you will laugh at me for calling Idleness a New Acquaintance; when, to your Knowledge, the greatest part of my Business, is little better. Ay, But here's the Comfort of the Change; I am Idle now, without taking pains to be so, or to make other People so; for Poetry is neither in my Head, nor in my Heart. I know not whether these Waters may have any Communication with Lethe, but sure I am, they have none with the Streams of Helicon. I have often wonder'd how those wicked Writers of Lampoons, could crowd together such quantities of Execrable Ver­ [...]es, tag'd with bad Rhimes, as I have formerly [...]een sent from this place: but I am half of Opinion now, that this Well is an Anti-Hypocrene. What if we should get a Quantity of the Water privately convey'd into the Cistern at Will's Coffee-House, for an Experiment? But I am Extravagant— Thô I remember Ben. Iohnson in his Comedy of Cynthia's Revels, makes a Well, which he [Page 102] there calls the Fountain of Self-Love, to be the Source of many Entertaining and Ridicu­lous Humours. I am of Opinion, tha [...] something very Comical and New, might be brought upon the Stage, from a Fiction of the like Nature. But now I talk of the Stage, pray if any thing New should appear there, let me have an Account of it: for thô Plays are a kind of Winter-Fruit, ye [...] I know there are now and then, some Wind­falls at this time of Year, which must be presently served up, lest they should not keep till the proper Season of Entertainment. 'Tis now the time, when the Sun breeds In­sects; and you must expect to have the Hum and Buz about your Ears, of Summer Flies and small Poets. Cuckows have this time allow'd 'em to Sing, thô they are damn'd to Silence all the rest of the Year. Besides, the approaching Feast of St. Bartholomew both creates an Expectation and bespeaks an Al­lowance of unnatural Productions and Mon­strous Births. Methinks the Days of Bar­tholom [...]w-Fa [...]r are like so many Sabbaths, or Days o [...] Privilege, wherein Criminals and Malefactors in Poetry, are permitted to Creep abroad. They put me in mind (thô at a different time of year) of the Roman Saturnalia, when all the Scum, and Rabble, and Slaves of Rome, by a kind of Annual [Page 103] and limited Manumission, were suffer'd to make Abominable Mirth, and Profane the Days of Iubilee, with Vile Buffoonry, by Authority. But I forget that I am writing a Post Letter, and run into length like a Poet in a Dedication, when he forgets his Patron to talk of himself. But I will take care to make no Apology for it, lest my Excuse (as Excuses generally do) should add to the Fault. Besides, I would have no appearance of Formality, when I am to tell you, that

NOT believe that I love you? You cannot pretend to be so incredu­lous. If you do not believe my Tongue, consult my Eyes, con­sult your own. You will find by yours, that they have Charms; by mine, that I have a heart which feels them. Re-call to mind what happen'd last Night. That at least was a Lover's Kiss. Its Eagerness, its Fierceness, its Warmth, express'd the God its Parent. But oh! Its Sweetness, and its [Page 106] melting Softness express'd him more. With Trembling in my Limbs, and Feavers in in my Soul I Ravish'd it. Convulsions, Pantings, Murmurings shewd the mighty Disorder within me. The mighty Disor­der encreased by it. For those Dear Lips sh [...] through my Heart, and through my bleed [...]ing Vitals, Delicious Poison, and an avoid­less but yet a Charming Ruine. What can­not a day produce? The Night before, I thought my self a Happy Man. In want of nothing, and in fairest expectation of For­tune; Approv'd of by Men of Wit, and Applauded by others; Pleased, nay Char­m'd with my Friends, my then Dearest Friends; Sensible of e [...]'ry Delicate pleasure, and in their turns possessing all. But Love, Almighty Love, seems in a moment to have remov'd me to a Prodigious distance from every Object but you alone. In the midst of Crowds I remain in Solitude. Nothing but you can lay hold of my Mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you. I appear Transported to some Foreign De­sert with you, (Oh that I were really thus Transported,) where abundantly supplied with ev'ry thing in thee, I might live out an Age of uninterrupted Extacy. The Scene of the World's great Stage, seems suddenly and sadly chang'd. Unlovely Objects are [Page 107] all around me, excepting thee. The Charms of all the World appear to be Translated to thee. Thus in this sad, but Oh too plea­sing State, my Soul can fix upon nothing but thee. Thee it Contemplates, Admires, Adores, nay, depends on; trusts in you a­lone. If you and Hope forsake it, Despair and endless Misery attend it.

THIS I send by the Permission of a Se­vere Father, I will not say a Cruel one, since he is yours. What is it that he has taken so Mortally ill of me? That I die for his Daughter is my only Offence. And yet he has refused, to let me take ev'n my Farewell of you. Thrice happy be the O­men! May I never take my Farewel of thee, till my Soul takes leave of my Body. At least, he cannot restrain me from Loving. No, I will Love thee in spight of all opposi­tion. Thô your Friends and mine prove equally Averse, yet I will Love thee with a Constancy that shall appear to all the World, to have something so Noble in it, that all the World shall confess, that it de­serv'd not to be unfortunate. I will for­sake even my Friends for thee. My Honest, my Witty, my Brave Friends; who had always been till I had seen thee, the Dearest [Page 109] part of Mankind to me. Thou shalt sup­ply the place of them all with me. Thou shalt be my Bosom my Best-Lov'd Friend, and at the same time, my only Mistress, and my Dearest Wife. Have the good­ness to pardon this Familiarity. Tis the tenderest leave of the Faithfulest Lover; and here to shew an over Respectfulness would be to wrong my Passion. That I Love thee more than Life, nay, even than Glory, which I courted once with a burn­ning Desire, bear Witness all my unquiet Days, and every restless Night, and that Terrible Agitation of Mind and Body, which proceed from my fear of losing thee. To lose thee is to lose all Happiness: Tor­menting Reflection to a Sensible Soul! How often has my Reason been going upon it? But the loss of Reason would be but too hap­py upon the loss of thee. Since all the ad­vantage that I could draw from its presence, would be to know my self Miserable. But the time calls upon me. I am oblig'd to take an Odious Journey and leave thee be­hind with my Enemies. But thine shall never do thee harm with me. Adieu thou Dearest, thou Loveliest of Creatures! No change of Time of Place, or the remon­strances of the best of Friends, shall ever [Page 110] be able to alter my Passion for thee. Be but one quarter so Kind, so Just to me, and the Sun will not shine on a hap­pier Man than my self.

MAY I presume to Beg pardon for the Fault I committed? So Foolish a Fault, that it was below not only a Man of Sense, but a Man; and of which nothing could ever have made me Guilty, but the Fury of a Passion with which none but your lovely self could inspire me. May I presume to beg Pardon for a Fault which I can never forgive my self? To purchase, that Pardon what would I not endure? You shall see me prostrate before you, and use me like a Slave, while I kiss the Dear Fee [...] that Trample upon me. But if my Crime be too great for Forgiveness, as indeed it is very great, deny me not one dear parting Look; Let me see you once before I must never see you more. Christ! I want Pati­ence to support that accursed Thought. I have nothing in the World that is Dear to me, but you. You have made every thing else indifferent. And can I resolve never to see you more? In spight of my self I must always see you. Your form is fix'd by Fate in my Mind, and is never to be remov'd. [Page 112] I see those lovely piercing Eyes continually, I see each Moment those ravishing Lips, which I have gaz'd on still with desire, and still have touch'd with Transport; and at which I have so often flown with all the Fury of the most Violent Love. Jesus! From whence, and whither am I fallen▪ From the hopes of Blissful Extasies to black Despair. From the Expectation of Immor­tal Transports, which none but your Dea [...] self can give me, and which none but he who loves like me, could ever so much [...] think of, to a Complication of Cruel Passi­ons, and the most Dreadful Condition of Humane Life. My Fault, indeed, has bee [...] very great, and cries aloud for the Severe [...] Vengeance. See it inflicted on me. See [...] Despair and Die for that Fault. But let me [...] die Vnpardon'd. Madam I Die for you, but Die in the most Cruel and Dreadful manner▪ The Wretch that lies broken on the Wheel alive, feels not a Quarter of what I endure▪ Yet Boundless Love has been all my Crime▪ Vnjust, Vngrateful, Barbarous return of it▪ Suffer me to take my Eternal leave of you▪ When I have done that, how easie will it be to bid all the rest of the World Adie [...].

THis is the Third Letter that I have sent you since I came hither. Those which went before it were all the Over­flowings of a Heart more full of Passion than ever was Man's before. It is impossible for me to be distant from you, but I must send to you by every Occasion. And yet you can resolve to take no Notice of all my Ten­derness. Yes, my Dearest, Inhumane Crea­ture, you can. You have been Sick, nay dangerously Sick, and have never sent to me. Have I left all the World for you, and could you resolve to leave the World with­out me; Nay, without so much as giving me the least Notice of it? C [...]rist! Could you resolve to leave me to Despair and to endless Misery, without expressing the least concern for me! And can I persist in loving one so Ingrateful! Is there such another In­grateful Creature alive! No, there lives not so Ingrateful a Creature, but the [...]e l [...]v [...]s not one [...]o Charming.

CAN you be angry still with yo [...] Poor Penitent? You cannot have the Ill-N [...]ture sure. Yes, but you can, you say, since he could have the Presumption to be angry with you. But, My Dearest, there [...] this Difference betwixt your Anger and [...] Mine was caus'd by the Cruelty of your suppos'd Infidelity, and Yours by the Kind­ness of your Lover's Resentment: For if I had not been Fond of thee to the last de­gree, I had not been so Incens'd against you▪ Yet even when I was most so▪ I could sooner have pluck'd out an Eye, than have resolved to have Parted with thee. Nay, I could sooner have torn out both Eyes, if the Loss of both would not have for ever de­priv'd me of the Dear, the Ravishing sight of thee. But if you still think that my Anger had Guilt in it, and that I ought to suffer for it, the means to punish me with utmost Severity, and to make me my own Tormentor, is to tell me, you Love me▪ Then I shall Curse my self and my Rage, and feel all the Plague of Remorse for ha­ving [Page 115] offended thee. I shall look upon my self as the Basest, the most Vngrateful of Men for abusing thy Goodness, and thy Charming Tenderness. I shall believe that I can never humble my self enough, and ne­ver suffer enough to deserve Forgiveness. Thus, Madam, you have your Revenge in your Power. It is a False Modesty which restrains you from taking it. In order to it, you have nothing to do, but to prove your self tender, and to shew your self Gratefull. If you must be asham'd, blush at your Cruelty; blush at your Inhumanity: But Gratitude is Reason, and Love is Nature, never be asham'd of those. Do but consider, there was a time, when I was happy in your Esteem; yes there has been a time, in which I was thought not altogether void of Reason by you. How then can you Blush at the owning a Passion, which you Com­mand with an absolute Sway, at the very t [...]me that it Tyranniz [...]s over me.

MY Friend's stratagem gave me an op­por [...]unity of seeing you by finding Fault with you. It must proceed from Design or Madness if I find fault with thee▪ Thy Lovely Face is the very same that set all my Blood in a Flame; and I am sure my Heart can never be alter'd. How it trembled in my Breast when I saw you last, and by its trouble confess'd its Conqueror! How it has burnt ever since with redoubled Fury! When I shall be free from this Flame [...] Heav'n only knows, for the Hour of my Death Heaven only knows. 'Tis a Flame that h [...]s incorporated with that of my Life, and both will go out together. In vain I invoke my Reason to resist my Senses. My Reason finds you more Lovely than my Eyes did be­fore; shews me all the Graces of thy beau­teous Mind, and grows pleas'd and prides it self in its own Captivity. You accuse me, they say, of some extraordinary Crime. A Crime against whom? Against you whom I love! Against you, for whom I could die! [Page 117] Strange Accusation! Yet at the same time you refuse to see me, you refuse to receive my Letters: And must I be condemn'd Vn­he [...]rd? Robber [...] are allow'd to speak be­fore they are sentenc'd: Murderers have the Privilege to plead for their Live [...]: And shall the Tenderest Love be denied the Privilege which is granted to the Black­est Malice? I have been guilty of nothing but too much Love if too much Love, be a Fault. Why have you given credit to my Enemies, before you have heard me? I may indeed be convinc'd of an Error, but I can never be convicted of a Crime against you. The Man must be Mad, nay, despe­rately, Mad, who can design to injure him­self, and Thou art, by much the Better, the Dearer part of me. Give me leave to see you once more before I depart. Let me see once more that Face which has Vndone me, yet Charms me even in Ruine.

Nay, I will see you, if it be but to up­braid you with your barbarous Wish. If at the time that you made it, you had struck [Page 118] a Dagger in my Heart, you had given it a Gentler wound.

The only Wish that I have to make is to be happy in thee; if that succeeds not, I have another, and that is, to lye at rest in my Grave.

To Mr.—

I Received yours, which was the more Welcome, because it came without In­vitation. I take it very kindly that you would write to me, more kindly than if you had made me a Present: For we cer­tainly shew most Kindness for any one, in that which we do for him contrary to the Bent of our Natural Tempers. Now I have observed that you have been con­stantly less inclin'd to shew your Parts than your Generosity. At the very time that you have been Prodigal of Pelf, you have been a Niggard of Wit. By a Greatness of Mind you have squander'd the first, as a very worthless thing; and by a just Discern­ment been thrifty of the last, as a very va­luable Treasure. But your Letter has gi­ven me some hopes, that you begin to take the Advice which I have so often given you; and that is, that for the Conveniency of Life, you would grow a little more fru­gal [Page 120] of Gold, and a little more free of your Sense. And I begin to imagine that you have till now been covetous of the Latter, only because you were laying in a Stock, that for the time to come you may be never without the Ready. I was sorry to hear my Friend—Quibble, thô, to give the Devil his Due, it was not the worst that ever I heard. But I was in hopes that Quibbles and Puns, might have been cry'd down with the White Farthings. And I have been credibly inform'd that Will Er­win has refus'd to take Cannudrums of S— for Vsquebaugh any longer; thô one would Swear that Irish Wit might go for Irish Li­quor. I wish you had sent me some more News, thô I can make you but small Return in spi [...]ie. My humble Service to Mr. Con­greve, tell him that I wish him good Luck, and expect that he should reconcile Fortune to Merit.

To Mr.—

THou it seems hast a mind to pass for a Wit, by the very same means that Aes [...]p [...] Iack-Dam thought fit to set up for a Beaux. (By the way I must tell you, that the Transformation of Beau to Wit, has something more of the Miracle in it▪ than the change of Iack-daw to Beau) Yes, B—, with borrow'd plumes hast thou imp'd thy wings. But I took more par­ticular notice of a couple, that were pluck­ed from a certain Bird of night; which if we give Credit to W—the knower is a ve­ry filthy obscene Animal; from which ominous Creature, may Heav'n def [...]nd us. Mortals, that is, we in the Country here, call him Bell, but the Gods, that is, those in Covent-Garden, have named him Break-a-day. But it is time to begin to speak plain English, for you, if I am not mistaken, pretend to no other Language. But then, [Page 122] as you have writ for the Witty Club, the Witty Club may understand for you. I look upon your last to be the Act and Deed of them all. And you shall henceforward be Secretary to them, as Iulian was to their Mistresses. Thô I must tell you by the way, that the Affection which some of them show for the Muses, is not unlike th [...] merry passion, which put the little French Parson into an Amourous Fit for the Queen. Return them all thankt in my name, for the Hono [...]r they have done me, in offering to admit me in my absence, a Member of their Noble Society. But, Domine, non sum Dignus. However, I think my self oblig­ed to make them as extraordinary a Com­pliment, as the Morocco Ambassador would have thought himself engaged to return the University of Oxford, if in the midst of their extream civility, they had offered to make him D. D. But to speak to that part of your Letter which concerns your self. I do not wonder, that you go to the Play-house only for the sake of your Mistress; but methinks, at the Musick-meeting the Italians Voice might have Charms for you. But as you go thither too, you say, only for the sake of your Mistress, I will believe to oblige you, that she does not go for the Eunuch's. Now I go to your Comedy here, [Page 123] purely for the Comedy sake, which is a politick Country Club; and partly for the Musick sake I go to our Musick-meeting, which is a pack of Shrill mouth'd Beagles for Treebles, and a pack of deep mouth'd Bumkins for Bases. And whenever our Consort begins, half the Men in Bucks, in spight of their Souls, are our Audience. Once more I salute the Witty Club. Tell them, that they little deserve that name, if they have not more Wit, than to take any thing ill I have said. Assure them, that I know how to respect their Good Quali­ties, and that I shall endeavour to set of their Bad, which is a Friends part.

In your first Letter you ga [...]e me notice of some Gentlemen who designed to write to me. The Post before that, I had a very [Page 124] very Witty Letter from one of them. It is no hard matter to guess that it was from Mr. Wycherly. But Ch—Wit, if he sent any, either went astray or came short. Who should wonder at either;

To Walter Moyle, Esq at Bake in Cornwall.

YOUR long silence made me Conject­ure, that you are so intent upon be­ing Burgess of Bodmyn, that you had forgot the Citizens of Covent-Garden. At last I received an agreeable Letter from you. You had best have a care of talking in Cornwall, at the rate that you write to your Friends. If you do, the Cornish-men may not think you rightly Qualified to Represent them. When you left the Town, you talk'd of a Critical Correspondence between us. But Idleness on your side, and ill Humour on mine, have baulked a very [...]opeful design. But an accident has late­ [...]y happened, which obliges me to pro­ [...]oke you. For there has just been a Play [Page 126] Acted, called The Mock-Marriage, the Au­thor of which, whose name I have forgot, asserts Dogmatically in his Preface, that he who writes by rule shall only have his La­bour for his Pains. I know not what this Author can mean by this. For, whom does he pretend to perswade by this fine assertion? Not Mr. Moyle, and me at least. We know indeed very well, that a Man may write regularly, and yet fail of plea­sing; and that a Poet may please in a play that is not regular. But this is Eternally true, that he who writes regularly cete [...] paribus, must always please more, than he who transgresses the rules. Nothing can please in a Play but Nature, no not in a Play which is written against the Rules, and the more there is of Nature in any Play, the more that Play must Deligh [...] ▪ Now the Rules are nothing but an obser­vation of Nature. For Nature is Rule and Order it self. There is not one of the Rule [...] but what might be us'd to evince this. But But I shall be contented with showing some instances of it, even in the Mechanical Rules of the Unities. And first for that of place; it is certain that it is in Nature im­possible, for a Man who is in the Squa [...] in Covent-Garden, [...]o see the things, that at the same time are transacted at Westm [...]nst [...] ▪ [Page 127] And then for that of Time, a Reasonable Man may delude himself so far, as to fan­cy that he sits for the space of twelve hours, without removing, Eating or Sleep­ing, but he must be a Devil that can Fancy he does it for a Week. What I have said may evince a necessity of observing the Unities of Time and of Place, if a Poet would throughly write up to Nature. And then the Unity of Action follows on course. For, that two Actions that are Entire, and Independent, should happen in the same short space of time, in the same little com­pass of Place, begin together, go on toge­ther, and end together, without Obstruct­ing or Confounding one another, this indeed may be done upon the Stage, but in Nature it is highly improbabl [...] Well then, since the Rules are nothing but Nature it self, and and nothing but Nature can please, and and since the more that any Play has of Nature, the more that Play must Delight, it follows, that a Play which is regularly Written, ceteris Paribus, must please more than a Play which is written against the Rules, which is a Demonstration. Rule may be said to be a Play; what Symme [...]y of parts is known to be to a Face? The Fea­tures may be Regular, and yet a Great or a Delicate air may be wanting. And there [Page 128] may be a Commanding or Engaging air, in a Face whose Features are not Regular. But this all the World must allow of, that there can never be seen any Soveraign Beauty, where air and Regularity of Fea­tures are not United. Thus is Reason a­g [...]inst this Author, but the mischief is, that experience is against him too. For all your Dramatick Poets must confess [...] the Plays which they have writ with [...] have been they whic [...] [...] most. I must trouble you [...] Dramatical Criticism, but not [...] next opportunity.

Mr.—to Mr. Congreve.

I Came home from the Lands-End Ye­sterday, where I found Three Letters from Mr. Dennis, and one from you with a humerous Description of Iohn Abassus, A Country Poet. since the dubbing of Don Quixote; and the Coronation of Petrarch in the Capitol, there has not been so great a Solemnity as the Consecration of Iohn Abassus. In all the Pagan Ritual, I never met with the Form of Poetical Orders; but I believe the Ceremony of Consecrating a Man to Apollo, is the same with devoting a Man to the Dii Manes, for both are Martyrs to Fame. I believe not a Man of the Grave-Club durst assist at this ridiculous Scene, for fear of laughing out-right. W. was in his Kingdom, and for my part I would [...]ave rathe [...] sate there than in the House of Commons. Would to God I could [...]augh with you for one hour or two at all [Page] the ridiculous things that have happen'd at Wills Coffee-House since I left it, 'tis th [...] merriest place in the World. Like Afri­ca, every day it produces a Monster; and they are got there just as Pliny says the [...] are in Africa, Beasts of different kind [...] come to drink, mingle with one ano­ther and beget Monsters. Present my humble Duty to my new Lord, and tell him, that I am preparing an Address to Congratulate his Accession to the Throne of the Rabble. Tell the Lady who was the Author of the Hue and Cry after me, she might have sent out a hun­dred Hues and Crys before she would ha [...] found a Poet. I took an effectual Cou [...] not to be apprehended for a Poet, for [...] went down clad like a Soldier, with [...] new Suit of Cloaths on, and, I think there could not have been a better Dis­guise for a Poet, unless I had stol'n [...] B—'s Coat. Mr. Dennis sent [...] down P—M—Parodie. I can say very little of the Poem, but as for the Di [...] ­logue, I think, 'twas the first time tha [...] M—suffered any body to talk with him, though indeed here he inertupt [...] Mr. Boileau in the midst of the first word My humble Service to Mr. Wych [...]rly, [...] desire you would write me some News [...] [Page] the Stage, and what Progress you have made in your Tragedy.

Mr. Congreve to Mr.—

I Can't but think, that a Letter from me in London, to you in C—is like some ancient Correspondence between an Inhabitant of Rome and a Cimmerian. May be, my way of Writing may not be so mo­destly compared with Roman Epistles; but the resemblance of the Place will justi­fy the other part of the Parallel. The Subterraneous Habitations of the Miners, and the Proximity of the Bajae help a little and while you are at B-let B-be Cumae, and do you supply the Place of Sybilla. You may look on this as raillery, but I can as­sure you, nothing less than Oracles are ex­pected from you, in the next Parliment, if you succeed in your Election, as we are pretty well assured you will. You wish your self, with us at Wills Coffee-house; and all here wish for you, from the president of the Grave Club, to the most puny Member of the Rabble; they who can [Page] think, think of you, and the rest talk of you. There is no such Monster in this Africa, that is not sensible of your absence, even the worst natured People, and those of least Wit lament it, I mean, Half Cri­ticks and Quiblers. To tell you all that want you, I should name all the Creatures of Covent-Garden, wich like those of Eden-garden would want some Adam to be a Godfather and give them Names. I can't tell whether I may justly compare our Covent-garden, to that of Eden, or no; for tho' I believe we may have variety of Strange Animals equal to Paradise, yet I fear we have not amongst us, the Tree of Knowledge. It had been much to the disadvantage of Pliny, had the Coffee-house been in his days; for sure he would have described some who frequent it; which would have given him, the reputation of a more fabulous Writer then he has now. But being in our age it does him a Service, for we who know it, can give faith to all his Monsters. You who took care to go down into the Country unlike a Poet, I hope will take care not to come up again like a Politician; for then, you will add a new Monster to the Coffee-house, that was never seen there before. So you may come back again, in your Souldiers Coat, for [Page] in that you will no more be suspected for a Polititian, than a Poet. Pray come upon any terms, for you are wished for by every body, but most wanted by your

Mr. R—. to Mr. C—.

I Receiv'd your Letter, and give you thanks for your News. In requital I shall send you some concerning our Friend: In doing which, I comply both with his desire and yours. He has been sick almost ever since he came hither, tho, excepting once, he has liv'd with exact Regularity. He says, he believes the Devil restrain'd his Surfeit from breaking out till he was reconcil'd to Sobriety, to render it odious, and set them afresh at varience. I remember when I was at Paris▪ there was a Young-Nun, whose Circumstances in some measure resembled our Friends. She had a Pox broke out up­on her immediate after she had taken her Vow of Chastity. He bids me tell you, that he has been once Drunk since he came to this place, and once witty, and a damna­ble Sot ever since. Our Friend, I suppose, rallies. But one thing is certain; that Wine is as sure to exalt Wit, as Paint is to heighten Beauty, but then as the Devil will have it (hearken to this and tremble Tom) they both decay the very things they em­bellish, even while they are giving them [Page] Lustre. But Tom, he bids me tell you, [...] must not believe him vain because he say [...] he was witty. For he says it was among [...] such prodigious' Squires, that none but a [...] would have been witty in such Company [...] Our Friend, methinks, has reason. For [...] is as much more scandalous to be witt [...] with Fools, than it is to be dull among [...] Men of wit, as an Error in Judgment [...] more ridiculous than a Defect in Fancy. H [...] says, he has a hundred times since he cam [...] to this place regretted the Rabble, nay, he has regretted the Grave Club; Nay, he has wished himself even in the Witty Club, which he believes is by this time erected. He begins to look upon Ball—as a great Man, upon Iack G.—as a Prodigy, and upon W—as a Demi-god. Indeed a days we do well enough here. For a days we converse with the living dead; that is, with those who being dead yet speak: but the Night, Tom, the Night, in which we are doom'd to the dead living, that is, to those who being alive, say nothing, is insupport­ably irksome, Darkness in Greenland is not more grievous to the Wretch that is left there, than it is dismal to us in Bucks.

To Mr. Gabriel B—

WHen thy last was written, thou hadst put on the Lyons Skin, and▪ mad'st a wonderful Comical Figure in it. But I did not think to incense thee, nor the rest of the Rabble, quite contrary I thought to divert you. You say, you take it ill, that I should upbraid you with Understanding no Language but English. Why, what a Pagan Apprehension hast thou Gabriel? The Devil a jot did I up­braid thee. Quite contrary, I commend­ed thee for being willing to understand no Language but plain English. And that as I take it, has quite a different meaning. With what unreasonable Wights have I had to do? Who are offended at my endeavour to please them, and take my Commendations for Injuries. I am accus'd, you say, of ill Breeding for that Letter. Why, Prethee, Gabriel, every Man has not had the Breeding that thou hast. I wish you had sent me the Names of the Sparks who would reconcile Punctilio to Satyr. It has been a damn'd inveterate Quarrel, and requires wise Mediators. [Page] But now I talk of Satyr, that you say is the Disease of some Peoples Minds. Alas, poor Devil, thou doest not know that it is a Maxim in Physick, that some Diseases shew the Health and Strength, and Vig­our of the Party affected. If we believe Hyppocrates, Hunger is a Disease; nay reason tells us the same thing. For like other Distempers, it shews a defect in Nature. But where it shews a defect it shews a force too, and when that Dis­ease is pretty acute, the Patient is sure to do well, I will let the Application alone. For in writing to one of thy Communi­cative Spirit, a Man is sure to write to some body who can understand. But this I will say, that if Satyr be a Disease, the acuter it is, the better. But why do I talk of Diseases to thee? For indeed Ga­briel (without Satyr) thou art no Phy­sitian.

To Mr. Congreve at Tunbridge.

MY Business and my Thanks for your Kindness, you will find in the en­clos'd, which I had sent by the last Post, had not an Accident hinder'd it. All the Return that I can make you at present is, to acquaint you with such News as we have. Our Friend, Mr.—went last Friday to the Bath. He promis'd to write to me from that place, but it would be unreasonable indeed to expect it. For W—takes up his Afternoons, and his Mornings, I suppose, are spent in Con­templation at the Cross Bath. Most of your Friends of the Coffee-House are disper'd; Some are retreated into the Country in hopes of some Favours, which they expect from the Muses: Two or Three of them are retir'd in Town to ruminate on some Favours, which they have receiv'd from their Mistresses.

So that the Coffee-House is like to grow into Reputation again. For if any one gives it the scandalous Denomination of [Page] the Wits Coffee-House, he must call it so by Antiphrasis, because there comes no Wit there. Here are two or three indeed, who set up for Wits at home, and endea­vour to pass for wise at the Coffee-House. For they hold their Tongues there. In­deed the Coffee-House is generally the Ex­change for Wit, where the Merchants meet without bringing the Commodity with them, which they leave at home in their Ware-houses, alias their Closets, while they go abroad to take a prudent care for the vending it. But you are of the number of those happy few, who so abound in Hereditary Possessions and in rich returns from Greece and from Italy▪ that you always carry some of it about you to be liberal to your Friends of that which you sell to Strangers. Mr.—bab­bles eternally according to his old rate, and as extravagantly as if he talk'd to himself, which he certainly does, if no body minds him any more than I do. He has been just now enquiring of me, what sort of Distem­per the Spleen is; an infallible sign that he is the only Man in Covent-Garden, who does not know he is an Ass. To make him sensible what the Spleen is, I could find in my heart to shew him himself and give it him. If any thing restrains me from [Page] being reveng'd of his Impertinence this way, 'tis the Consideration that it will make him wiser. This Coxcomb natu­rally puts me in mind of the Stage, where they have lately acted some new Plays; but had there been more of them, I would not scruple to affirm, that the Stage is at present a Desart and a barren place, as some part of Africa is said to be, though it abounds in Monsters. And yet those prodigious Things have met with Success. For a Fool is naturally fond of a Monster, because he is incapa­ble of knowing a Man. While you drink Steel for your Spleen at Tunbridge, I par­take of the benefit of the Course. For the gaiety of your Letters relieves me con­siderably. Then what must your Con­versation do? Come up and make the Experiment; and impart that Vigour to me which Tunbridge has restor'd to you.

Mr.—to Mr. Dennis.

NAmur taken, and a Letter from Mr▪ Dennis, were two of the most agree­able Surprizes I 'ever met with. And no­thing but the Reflection, how dear the Conquest will cost us, I mean, the in­numerable ill [...]oems it will produce, could allay the Pleasure. A—has watch'd for a Victory a long time, and will not miss this Oppertunity to mortify the Day of Thanksgiving, and Scribble a way the publick Joy. The Devil take Wills Coffe-house. I could be the easiest Man in the World under my Calamity, if it were not for some of the Company there; who are now the greatest Enemies I have in the World, worse than the Company from which I am just now Stol'n to write this Letter. Among the rest is a Country Gentleman who dictates Politicks abund­antly, for with us as well, as at Old Rome we take Dictators from the Plow, but ours are such as ought never to re­move their Hands from it.

Mr.—to Mr.—Dennis,

WHile you are happy in the Politicks of the Grave Club,^* and the Puns of the Rabble, you have no regard to the forlorn State of your poor Friend. Be­fore I left London, I fained an hundred agreeable Melancholy Pleasures, with which I might Fool away a Retirement, but now I destest being alone, and que­stion whither Mankind or Solitude be the fitter Subject for a Satyr. Of this, I am sure, that God Allmighty rather than be alone Created the Devil, and Man rather than be alone chose a Wife. Whatever advantage I have lost by my Country Life, I believe, I have gain'd the gift of Prophesy in the Wilderness, for I foretold the Poem with which A—has visited us.

Mr.—to Mr. Dennis.

TO your Business hereafter,^* but first lets have a Dance, as Mr. Bays says. When I came home from the West, where I had passed a Fortnight, I found your three Letters full of Wit and Humor. I was charm'd with the Scandal you writ in the first, and enclosed in the last, viz. A's Poem. I found the Preamble before the Poem to be like a Suterkin before a Dutch Child. I read it over in great haste, in hopes to be pleased at last with the end of it, but this is the first time I ever dislik'd his Conclusion. For he threatens strange things. I hope, 'tis only in terrorem, if not, I hope God in his goodness will send us a Peace, and prevent his Songs of Tri­umph. Certainly, since the Devil was Dumb there never was such a Poet.

I Presume to lay at your Majesty's Feet this last Poem, which was written by my deceas [...]d Husband. The Obligations which he had to the King and Your Maje­sty are of that high Nature, that all I can do, is to take this Occasion of Humbly ac­knowledging the Mighty Debt. My Hus­band so truly Honour'd You living, that if he has now any Sense of what is done here below, I cannot do a more grateful thing for him, than in giving him an opportu­nity [Page 130] of appearing before You after his Death, and entertaining you in a Form, which I hope will not seem frightful to you. I have often heard him say in his life time, that Wit, wherever it grows in your Ma­jesty's Dominions, ought, no less than Silver or Gold to be a Royal Mine, unless as it happen'd lately in Wales, the Noble Ore has too great a mixture of baser Meta [...] That Wit, which is nothing but Gay Wis­dom, is no less than Gold Subservient to Government, and when it is made current by the Royal Stamp, contributes no less to the Publick Prosperity. That the end of the Drama was to reform mankind, which as Tragedy attain'd by purging the passions, Comedy arriv'd at by Correcting the Humours, which thô they may no [...] lead Men into great Crimes immediately, yet when they are irregular, they most ce [...]tainly prepare the way to them. Tha [...] Comedy never fails to make a good Subject▪ whenever it makes a good Man. That more particularly, the Humours which are ex [...]pos'd in this Comedy, were at this Con­juncture utterly inconsistent with the Duty of a good Subject. That the Vicious Fol­lies of these times were very prejudicial to your Majesty's Service. That the Affecta­ [...]ions of F [...]ance, had done England more [Page 131] harm than all its Matchivillian Principles. That where these last had made ten bad Subjects, by rendering them Interested or Discontented, the former had made a Hun­dred by making them Fops and Beaus. En­glish Gentlemen he us'd to say, in the times of our Brave Ancestors; were always the Flower of English Armies, in [...]imes, when to die bravely in the Service of King and Country, was esteem'd a desi­rable Fate, and more than Recompenc'd with Eternal Fame. But now said he, our Gen­tlemen either go not to the Wars, or if they go, they very often make us heartily wish that they had sta [...]d at home. What indeed can be expected from a degenerate Race, whose worthiest Ambition is either to be Wicked with a good Grace, or to be dex­trously Foppish? Who emulating one a­nother spend their live times in dressing, to see who shall run away with the Immortal Reputation of having the profoundest Ca­pacity for a Valet de Chambre. He has often told me, that the design of this Comedy was to reclaim them, if they were not in­corrigible, and that what was writ with such an immediate regard to your Maje­sty's Service, should be Dedicated to none but your Majesty. According to his intenti­on, I here with all Humility Present it to you. [Page 132] You, Madam, who have so much of Hea­ven in you, will, like that, accept this of­fering from me, thô it was yours before▪ and thô it is made by a Disconsolate Wi­dow. Yes, Madam, your Universal good­ness, your Clemency and Compassion on all in Affliction give me Assurance that you wil [...] accept it. Qualities, for which you are so Renown'd, that I have often heard these Noble Verses of Waller very justly apply'd to your Majesty.

This, Madam, is the language of the Gods, applyed to so Divine a Subject, that nothing but the Language of Gods, can [Page 133] express it with Dignity. And therefore your Majesty will have no Patience to hear me speak, after one who can speak so well.

Colonel D. to my Lady D.

Written in the beginning of King James his Reign.

THô your last was extreamly Obliging, yet the Praises which you so hand­somely gave me, did not so much prove my Merit, as shew your own. Your praise of my imaginary Virtues declar'd but my want of real ones. For the Politeness of your Letter made me so sensible of the Defects of mine; that at the same time that it loaded me with Praise, it cover'd me with Shame. And therefore, Madam, let me tell you a­gain, that in what I said of you, I was not Generous but Just: And here you have dri­ven me upon a tender Point, viz. of De­rogating from my own Praises, and de­tracting from that Action which you im­pute [Page 189] to me as an extraordinary Virtue. But I hope you will be convinced, that the Air of the Court has not yet blasted my Native sincerity, nor giv'n me Gallantry at the Expence of Truth, since I have the Rudeness to contradict you. The Repeti­tion of your invitation, more than makes amends for the Coldness of my Brothers: But at the same time that it obliges it trou­bles me to think that I cannot accept of it. I passionately love the Country; but can­not possibly come thither, thô both the Spring and your self invite me. Methinks the Vilest Insect which Nature has lodg'd in the Fields, is in a more desirable State than we are, whom our Employment chains to the Town. The very Serpent still re­mains in that Paradise out of which it has cast us: For if it had not been for the De­ceit of the First Serpent, there had been neither Soldier nor City. Thus you see, Madam, to what a Condition my Unhappy Circumstances reduce me; viz. of envy­ing a Creature which Humane Nature ab­hors: For that about this time can leave its Hole, to lye basking on Sunny and Flowry Banks, and throwing off its Old one can assume a Coat as fresh and gay as the Season. But I must despair of getting o [...]t of the Town, and my old Honourable Li­very, [Page 190] (which I hate yet more) to enjoy a free Air, and as free a Prospect: So that I almost esteem it a Blessing to be drawn out some times to Hide-Park, for the Diversion of the King and the Rabble. But here I am sensible I▪ have err'd in indulging Thoughts and Expressions, purely Poeti­cal: Yet since my Subject requir'd it, I am confident you cannot but Pardon me. For to speak as one should do, who must not speak in extraordinary terms of th [...] Country, of the Spring, and of you,