WEclcome, my dear Lucy! I have long'd to see you.

Sweet Amy! I have had no less impatience for your dear Company. Lord! how you're alter'd, methinks you seem more beautiful than ever: A very Angel!

Fie, Lucy, do you begin to abuse me thus already?

No, I vow; you appear such in my eye, really.

Perhaps my new Mantua adds to my little Beauty: You like the Fashion then? 'Tis the newest Stuff.

As I live, I never saw any thing more pretty; sure 'tis all Spanish Wool.

Yes, yes, the Wool is Spanish, but it was Dyed at Venice.

There is no Silk can wear neater— And what a delicate Colour!— For Hea­ven's sake, from whence had you this No­ble Present?

From whence, Lucy? From whom should a Vertuous Wife receive it but from her Husband?

Oh happy you, who have such a Husband! wou'd I had Married a Cobler when I met with my Bargain.

How now, Friend! do you repent already?

How is it possible I shou'd do other­wise? do you see these Rags, and how I am dizen'd? Thus it goes with my Hus­band's Wife. Let me dye, if I am not ashamed to appear in Publick, when I per­ceive how genteel other Women go, whose Husbands are much inferior to mine born for Quality and Estate.

The true Ornament of Wives does not consist in Apparel, or Dress, as we are taught by St. Peter, (for I heard this of [Page 5]Mr. Fleet—d lately in a Sermon) but in chast and modest Behaviour, and in the imbellishments of the Mind. Let the taw­dry Misses of the Times seek, by their gay Dress, to attract the admiration of many Eyes; we, that are Marry'd, ought to esteem our selves fine enough if we please our Husbands only.

But, in the mean time, my good Man, tho' he be so very penurious to his Wife, is other ways sufficiently profuse in wasting that fair Estate which I brought him.

In what?

In those Debauchees which are most pleasing to his wicked nature, Wine, Dice, and Whores.

Oh! good words.

'Tis even so, Amy: And when, at length, after a tedious expectation on my part, he comes home between One and Two in the Morning, Drunk as David's Sow, he lyes by me the rest of the Night snorting like a Bear. Sometimes he Vo­mits in the Bed; not to say more.

Hold, hold, you have said too much already; and I must tell you Lucy, you disparage your self in disparaging your Husband.

As I hope to breath, I had as good have a Broom-staff to my Bedfellow as such a Man.

And do not you Scold when he comes home thus?

Ay, and reason good, I think; he finds I want no Tongue.

And what does he?

Why, at first, he answer'd me a­gain in the same manner, thinking, I sup­pose, to Silence me with high Words and Rhodomontades.

And did all this stir never end in blows?

Once we were both so well heated, that we were just ready to fall to't.

What do I hear!

He flourish'd his Cane, and huff'd after a very tearing rate.

Did not you fear?

Not at all: I snatch'd up a Buffet-Stool for my defence, and had he touch'd me with one finger, he shou'd have found I wanted not hands.

A pretty kind of New-fashion Shield, had you had but your Distaff in­stead of a Launce—

He shou'd have found me a very Amazon.

Alas, alas, my Lucy, this is not the way.

What way wou'd you have me take with him? If he respects me not as a Wife, neither will I respect him as a Hus­band.

But St. Paul Teaches, That Wives ought to be subject to their Husbands with all reverence: And St. Peter proposes to our imitation the Example of Sarah, who call'd her Husband Lord.

I know all this; and besides that, the same Paul commands, That Husbands love their Wives, as Christ loved his Church. Let him remember his Duty, and I will not forget mine.

But where Affairs are in that posture that both cannot Rule, 'tis fit that the Wife yield to the Husband.

But how can he be call'd a Hus­band, who regards me only as a Ser­vant?

But tell me, Lucy, did he then forbear striking?

Yes, he forbore; and he did wise­ly, otherwise he had been soundly beaten.

But you, I warrant, did not for­bear Scolding.

You may swear it.

What did he in the mean time?

Sometime he seem'd to sleep Dogs-sleep, sometimes he wou'd laugh and neg­lect me; then he wou'd take up an old rotten Lute, on which there was hardly left three whole strings, yet he wou'd Fum, sum, on that damn'd Instrument, only to drown my noise.

This enraged you.

So far Amy, that I can hardly ex­press my Passion; much ado had I to hold my hands.

My dear Lucy, will you permit me to speak freely to you?

Most willingly.

You shall have the same liberty with me. And thus much seems due to our old friendship, which was first contracted, as I may say, in our very Cradle.

True, Amy; nor is there any of my Acquaintance more dear to me than your self.

You must know then, that what­soever your Husband proves, there is no means of changing. Of Old, indeed, there was a thing in use, for a Remedy in this case, call'd a Divorce; but Autho­rity hath Abrogated that Custom. There is now no Remedy, but that you must be his, and he yours, during Life.

Our Superiors did ill to remove that good Law of Separation.

Oh, forbear such expressions, it was Christ's Will and Pleasure.

I cannot think it.

'Tis so; there remains therefore nothing now, but that both Parties endea­vour a mutual Peace and Concord, and that they strive which shall conform most to each others Humour and Inclination.

But may not I endeavour to make and mold him as I see fitting?

I know not what you call making and molding; but of this I am confident, that most Husbands, how bad so ever they are, owe much of the occasion to their Wives.

It seems all goes well between you and yours.

The very heighth of Peace and Quiet.

But was it always in the same calm from the beginning?

We never had what I may call a Storm! 'Tis true, some little Clouds (such as are natural to all Mankind) might, per­haps, sometimes gather, and seem to threaten foul Weather, unless prevented by discretion. Every Man hath his pecu­liar humour and fancy: And in truth, Lu­cy, [Page 10]every Woman hath her peculiar De­serts; which things ought always, espe­cially in Matrimony, to be known and ob­served, but not hated.

You are in the right.

It happens frequently, that Affe­ction decays between Husband and Wise before they sufficiently know one another: Have a care therefore in the beginning, for Conjugal Love being once shatter'd, is hardly ever well united again, especially where there have been bitter Reproaches between them; where things are but new glued together they are easily disjointed, but if you let them fix till the Glue be well dried, they become as strong as if all of a piece. Nothing therefore ought to be omitted between the new Marry'd in the beginning, that so their actual kindness may the better fix and settle; and this ought chiefly to be sought by obsequious and complacent Endearments, for that Affection which depends only on Beauty is seldom lasting.

But tell me, I beseech you, by what unknown Arts have you wrought over your Husband to so much Compla­cency.

I will tell you, that you may use the same method.

If I am able.

There is no difficulty, if you are but willing, neither is it too late, you are both young enough; and if I am rightly in­form'd, it is less than a Year since ye were Marry'd.

'Tis very true.

I will tell you therefore, but you must mind me.

Most attentively.

My principal Care was to appear to my Husband always in a good humour, that so I might give him no occasion of dis­quiet; I observ'd his Affections and Incli­nations; I observ'd proper times, and me­thods, by which he was most apt to be appeas'd, or offended; just as those do who reclaim your Elephants, and Lions, and such like Creatures, which are not to be overcome with force.

Even such a Beast have I at home to deal with.

Men appear not before Elephants in White, nor before Bulls in Red, in re­gard these Colours have been observed to exasperate those Creatures, just as the sound of a Timbrel or Drum is said to en­rage the Tiger, so far as that he will tear his own Flesh for madness. So those that manage Horses, they speak them fair, they [Page 12]smack their Mouths, they stroke them, and clap their Necks; and by such means, they become as gentle as a Lamb. How much rather ought we to observe these Arts to­wards our Husbands, to whose constant Society, both at Bed and Board, we are fatally obliged for our whole Life?

Go on.

These things premised; I con­form'd my self to him, shunning all occa­sions of offence.

As how?

First, in the Affairs of the Family, (which is indeed the pecular Province of a Wife) I not only took care that nothing should be wanting, but that all things might be to his humour, even in the most criminal Matters.

Name some.

For Example: Suppose he loves this or that Dish more than other, or his Diet thus or thus order'd, or his Bed made or furnish'd after this or that man­ner.

But how could you behave your self to such a Husband who is never at home, unless Drunk?

Permit me and I'll tell you. If my Husband appear out of humour, I observe the time; I neither laugh nor jest, as is [Page 13]the indiscreet Custom of some Wives, but put on a Countenance suitable to his, very serious and grave. A good Glass repre­sents her Face exactly who looks in it, so shou'd a good Wife that of her Husband, when affected either with Joy or Sorrow; when he is sad, she ought not to appear pleased, or laugh when he laments. When he is angry, she ought either to sweeten him with soft Language, or in Silence sub­mit to his Passion, till she find a more pro­per opportunity either to vindicate her self, or to admonish him. Thus did I, if at any time my Husband came home in Drink; I used no Language but what was pleasant, and forced him to Bed with all the little Tricks of Love and Fondness.

Unhappy is the condition of us Wives, if we must thus submit to all the Extravagancies of Cholerick and Drunken Husbands.

As if the Sufferance were not Mu­tual: Come, come, Lucy, Wives have ma­ny faults which Husbands are compell'd to bear with; yet there's a time, when, in a serious manner, a Wife may Lawfully ad­vise her Husband, if the occasion be of weight, but if it be about a Trifle, she ought not to contest it.

Well, proceed.

Thus, when she finds his Mind at liberty, neither Troubled, nor Pensive, nor Drunk, then is the time, in private, and with obliging Language, to advise, or ra­ther intreat him, that in this or that parti­cular he wou'd more consider his Estate, Health, or Reputation. Yet, as I said, this Admonition must be deliver'd in a pleasant and obliging manner, or else it will do more harm than silence. I have used sometimes to make a long Apology by way of Preface, that he wou'd not be offended, if I, Silly Woman as I am, think my self concern'd for his Honour, Health, or good Condition. At other times, when in few words I had advis'd him of such things as I thought convenient, I have immediately, of my own accord, broke off the Discourse, and found out a more pleasing Subject. It is almost a general fault in our Sex, my Lucy, that when we have once begun to speak of any thing, we can never tell when to give over.

Men say so.

But, above all things, I give you this Caution, That you never contest with your Husband before Company, and that you never complain abroad of what's done at home; the Breach that happens between [Page 15]two without Witness, is not hard to be composed, but in case any thing shou'd happen of such nature, that the Wife can neither endure with patience, nor prevent by all her intreaties, Civility requires that she complains to the Parents or Relations of her Husband, rather than to her own, and that in such a modest temper of Lan­guage, that it may appear she is only dis­pleas'd at her Husbands Vice, and not his Person. Nor wou'd I have her discover all, for by this means her very Husband will candidly acknowledge, and love her Civi­lity.

The Wife that can do this, Amy, must be a perfect Philosopher, a very Sto­ick in her Passions.

By such Behaviour, we win our Husbands to the like Civility and Com­plaisance for us.

But there are some Men whom no good Offices can oblige.

I am not of your Opinion. But suppose there be, consider thus: Your Husband, be he what he will, yet he is your Husband, and you are tyed to him for Life; it is therefore much more tolera­ble to endure his humour, such as it is, or by fair means to render it something more easie, than by ill Language to make [Page 16]him worse. What say you, if I produce Examples of some Husbands who have used this method in reclaiming their Wives? How much more convenient is it then, for us to observe towards our Husbands?

You will produce an Instance of a quite different Nature from my Husband.

There is a Gentleman of my Ac­quaintance, one of singular Learning, and very accomplish'd Parts, who not many years since marry'd a handsom young Girl of about Sixteen years of Age: She had been constantly Educated at home in the Country, where you know the Gentry de­light most to abide for the conveniency of Hunting and Hawking. He had always desired a Wife of that condition, Un­taught and Innocent, that so he might with less difficulty form her to his own humour. They were no sooner Marry'd, but he be­gan to Instruct her in Grammar, Musick, and such like Arts, that might be of future advantage. These things were new to her, who having been bred at Ease, and unac­quainted with all Conversation or Diver­tisements, but what she had been used to among her Fathers Servants, found her self quickly tired with her Husband's Docu­ments. She began to be stubborn, and when he urged her to her Duty, she wou'd [Page 17]weep bitterly, and take on in such an ex­travagant manner, that sometimes she wou'd cast her self on the ground, as im­patient of Life. When her Husband saw there was no end of this unreasonable Beha­viour, dissembling however his disgust, he invites her to accompany him to her Fa­thers in the Country, for the Divertise­ment of a Summers Journey. This mo­tion was very grateful to her; being ar­riv'd there, he Rides out one Morning to Hunt with the Father, leaving his Wife at Home with her Mother and Sisters. Be­ing in the Field, he draws the Father from the other Company, and complaining, tells him, That he hoped to have found in his Daughter no small Comfort and Ease to the remaining part of his Life, but that he had found her, much against his expecta­tion, continually in Tears, always Discon­tented and discontenting him, and Deaf to his Advice; he desires him therefore, to use his Authority toward the Reformation of her untractable Humour. The Father replies, That he had given up his Daughter wholly to his Government, and that if he found his Words ineffectual, he shou'd use what other means he pleased, and reduce her by force. I know my Power, and what I may do, says the Son-in-Law, but [Page 18]I am unwilling to use such extremity to one that I love so tenderly as I do your Daugh­ter; I desire rather that she should under­stand her Duty from your Perswasions, and the Authority of a Parent. Within two or three days after this, the Father finds his Daughter alone, and, with many frowns, begins with reminding her how, that she having so little Beauty of either Mind or Body to recommend her, that he often had dispair'd of ever getting her a Hus­band; that having now procured her such an Invidious Match, and made her happy with much Industry, yet she, not consider­ing what he had done for her, nor the va­lue of such a Husband, who, had he not been of a wonderful good Nature, would hardly have received her into the number of his Servants; and she to Rebel thus! In short, he seem'd so moved, that he hardly forbore striking: For you must know, this Father was a Man of such a ready Wit, and such quick Parts, that he would Personate any Character or Passion as he pleas'd. The Daughter hereupon, partly overcome with Fear, and partly with a true sence of her own Guilt, casts her self at her Fathers Knees, begs his Par­don for the past, and assures him of her future Duty; on those Conditions he Par­dons, and Promises his Affection.

Well, but how was this perform'd?

The Girl being parted from her Father, returns to her Husbands Cham­ber, where finding him alone, she falls at his feet, with these expressions: Sir, I have not hitherto known either you or my self as I ought, but for the future you shall see me nothing less than what I have been; I beg you would forget my past Behaviour. At these words the Husband rais'd her with a Kiss, and promis'd mighty Matters on her amend­ment.

And did she alter her Behaviour?

Never was any Woman more hum­ble all the following part of her Life; there was nothing her Husband could de­sire, but she flew to obey him with the greatest alacrity imaginable: So great, and so intire, was their Affection from that time. Within a few years after this, she freely acknowledged her self infinitely Happy in such a Husband; and that with­out him, she had been the most wretched of Women.

Such Husbands as this, are as rare as Black Swans or White Crows.

I'll tell you now another passage, which happen'd but lately in this City— But I fear you are tir'd with this Subject.

Oh, not at all: Your Discourse, my dear Amy, can never tire the Hearer.

Away, away, you Railly—There is a Person of no mean Quality, but he shall be Nameless, who being much addicted to Hunting, as most are of his condition, met accidentally, one day, with a Country Girl of Exquisite Beauty, which, by the Poverty of her Mother, was not at all diminish'd. The Jolly Hunter sell des­perately in love at the first sight, he fre­quented those Parts continually on the account of this Passion, tho' his pretence was Hunting. His Wife, a Lady of sin­gular Virtue and Discretion, suspecting something, without much difficulty found out the Intrigue. She takes occasion to see the House, she views their Beds, tasts their Drink, enquires into their Diet, and finds nothing of Furniture, nothing of Con­veniency, but all signs of a miserable Penu­ry and Want. She returns home, and the next day brings with her an excellent Silk Quilt, a Treat of Sweet-Meats, Drinking-Plate, and Silver Dishes; these she left at the Country Cottage, with some Money, requesting the Old Woman, that whenever the Gentleman came, she should Treat him with more Ceremony, dissembling her self, in the mean time, to be his Sister, and [Page 21]not his Wife. Some few days after this, the Husband gives his Country Mistress a Stoln Visit; he is amazed to see the Poor Hovel furnish'd after so unusual a manner, and so many rich Moveables in every Corner. He inquires the surprizing Cause, and is told, That a certain Lady of Quality, a Relation of his, but whose Name they knew not, had sent them all in, with Or­ders to Treat him after a more Honourable fashion than formerly. He begins to sus­pect his Wife had a hand in this, and at his return questions her upon the Point; she confesses all. He demands further, How she came to be so wondrous kind to Ac­commodate that House with such Furni­ture? My Dear, says she, you having been always used to Splendid and Noble Entertainments, and I finding how poorly you were received there, I thought it my Duty to take Care, that when you are minded to make those Visits, they might be able to give you a Reception more suitable to your Quality.

Oh! Miracle of a good Wife! Had I been concern'd, instead of a Quilt I would have brought him a Truss of Thorns and Briers to lye on.

Hear the conclusion: The Hus­band discovering, by this Action, such a [Page 22]sweet and obliging Nature in his Wife, did, of himself, forbear all his old Debauchery, and became the most faithful Husband ima­ginable.— I presume you know Sir Bazill.

Very well.

He, as you know, being in the prime flourish of his Youth, Marry'd a Wife of declining Years.

You mean he Marry'd a good Estate, not a Wife.

Let it be so then. Soon after the Marriage, he began to be weary of his Wife, and fell desperately in love with a young Beauty of the Town, at whose Lodgings he frequented continually, rare­ly either Eating or Sleeping at Home. What wou'd you have done in this case?

I wou'd have drag'd her by the Hair about the Streets. And for him, had I seen him going on such a Visit, I wou'd have Crown'd his Head with a full Cham­ber-Pot; and in that Ornamental Pickle he shou'd have sought a Mistress.

But his Wife acted more discreetly. She invites her Rival to her own House; she receives her in the most obliging man­ner imaginable. Thus she procured her Husbands Company, without any other Charm than that of seeing his Mistress at [Page 23]his own House; and in case he shou'd some­times Sup with her abroad, his Wife wou'd not fail to send them some good Treat, and bid them be Merry.

I wou'd sooner dye than be my Husbands Bawd.

You do not consider, Lucy, that this way is much more secure and easie, than by injurious Language to exasperate him still more, and give occasion of a lasting Quarrel for Life.

I confess it the less Evil, but I cou'd never be able to act with so much Pa­tience.

I will give you one Example more, and I have done with particulars. Our Neighbour here at the next Door, an ho­nest good Man as breaths, but a little too subject to Passion, happen'd t'other day, in a sudden heat, to strike his Wife, a Wo­man of a sweet temper, who, without de­lay, retires to her Closet, and there weeps most bitterly; the only way she used to vent her Sorrow. It was not long after, that some occasion or other brought her Husband thither, who finding her in that posture, What means (says he) these Baby tears? leave for shame. Her answer was prudent and obliging; Your unkindness is of that nature, that I am forced either to regret it [Page 24]thus, or (like other Women) in Clamour and Reproaches: I choose this way, Sir, as most consistent with your Honour and my own Love. With these Words she touch'd her Husbands very Soul, who, in a thousand kind ex­pressions, made a solemn Promise never to be guilty in that nature again; nor was he.

I have often desired thus much of my Husband for many reasons.

Yet you are still at variance with him.

What wou'd you have me do?

In the first place, consider calmly with your self the nature of those things which you complain of, and you will find you ought not to resent them so heinously, but rather pass them over in silence; and be assured, his Mind will, of necessity, be reform'd by obliging Behaviour; you will certainly wholly subdue his temper to your desires, or, at least, you will live much more comfortably than at present.

He is so Salvage, that no good Offices can ever oblige him.

Oh, say not so: The wildest Crea­tures that are may be reclaim'd by Endea­vours; Dispair not then of any Man. Try the Experiment but some Months, and then blame me if you find my Counsel [Page 25]unfuecessful. There are some faults which you ought to avoid with more particular Care: Above all, take especial heed that you never quarrel in Bed, let all there be kind and obliging; for if that place, which is in all Nations esteem'd Sacred to Love and Pleasure, become profaned with Hate and Discord, you lofe the best means of renewing lost Affection. There are some Wives of such unquiet temper, that in the most ravishing Enjoyment they cannot for­bear to Scold and Wrangle, changing very Pleasure it self into Wormwood, and by their implacable Behaviour, corrupting that good Medicine which is usually the best Cure for Discontent.

I must confess I have done thus of­ten.

A Wife ought, at all times, to avoid any action that may be unpleasant to her Husband; but chiefly in Love's softest Minutes.

True, to a Husband: But Amy, I have to do with a very Brute.

Fie, fie, forbear ill Language; most bad Husbands, as I said before, owe much of the occasion to their Wives. But to proceed: Those who are Vers'd in the old Poetick Fables, tells us of Venus Cestus, which was a Girdle, in which was Quilted, [Page 26]with abundance of exquisite Art, all that was powerful in procuring or restoring Love; and this Girdle she wore continu­ally when she enjoy'd her Husband.

I know the Fable.

But know the Moral too.

Speak it.

We are Taught by this old Tale, Lucy, that a Wife ought to employ all her Faculties most assiduously to oblige her Husband in Bed, by which means she will infallibly heal all breaches, or decays of Conjugal Affection, and expel all Clouds of Neglect or Displeasure that may be ga­thering in his thoughts.

But where can we poor Women procure this Divine Castus?

You need not Conjure for it. There are no Charms requisite to obtain it, but only those of Behaviour, and a sweet obli­ging Temper.

'Tis impossible for me to comply with such a Husband as I am Curs'd with.

'Tis your own fault that he is such. Suppose it were in your power (as they say of Circe) to transform your Husband to a Brawn or Bear, wou'd you do it?

'Tis a hard Question: I know not what to answer.

How! Not know? What, had you rather have a Brawn for your Bedfel­low than a Man?

No sure; I'd rather have a Man.

But suppose further, that you were able, by some Circaean Art, or otherwise, to reform your Husband from a Drunkard to a Man of Morals, from a profuse Pro­digal to a Purchaser, and from an idle Drone to an industrious Bee, wou'd you not do it?

Undoubtedly I wou'd: But who will teach me these Arts?

You need no Teacher, the Art is yours already, you only want a Will to use it. Never think whether you shou'd respect your Husband as such, he is such whether you will or not; but how to make him better, that shou'd employ your thoughts. They say all things have two Handles: You regard only your Husbands faults and imperfections, which your own aversion does continually aggravate; by this Handle you always take him up, but thus you can never hold him. View ra­ther, and consider his Accomplishments and Virtues, by this Handle you may hold him fast; thus, if you take him, he's your own for ever, the proper time to search into his faults, had been before you Married.

'Tis now too late to accuse his faults, but not too late to cure them.

What Woman ever Married, or chose a Husband by her Ears, I wonder?

She Marries by her Eyes, who takes a Man only for Shape and Beauty; but she who guides her love by what she hears of his good Name and Reputation, chooses a Husband by her Ears, and acts much more discreetly.

You advise well; but 'tis too late, Amy.

Not at all too late to endeavour to mend a bad Husband; I wish you had a Child by him, that wou'd conduce much to make up the breach.

I have a Child.

How! a Child! Since when?

Long enough.

Prithee how old?

Almost seven Months.

Why this is wonderful; do you breed Children in three Months time?

No. Why?

You must of necessity, if we com­pute the time from your Wedding.

That's true.—But—you must know, I had had some Discourse with him before we Marry'd.

Discourse, Lucy! I never knew be­fore that Children were got by Discour­sing.

I'll tell you all. During our time of Wooing, he happen'd one day to find me alone in my Chamber, where, not dreaming of his Visit, I had set my self close to Work on my Bed-side; he seeing the opportunity fair, began to play the Rogue, and tickle me, in a jesting man­ner. Now you must know, I am extream ticklish, and not being able to endure his Fingers, I fell all along as in an extasie; he, it seems, pursued his point, and almost smothered me with Kisses. What he did beside I do not well know, but I'm sure that soon after I found a great alteration, a thousand Qualmes, and all the signs of a breeding Woman.

A very famous History! But how can you, Lucy, find in your heart to hate that Man, who can get you with Child in a jesting manner? What cou'd he do think you, when he applies himself to Work in earnest?

Nay, I'm with Child again alrea­dy.

Brave, I protest! You see a good Plowman, and a rich apt Soil, make a quick Harvest.

Ay, ay, he performs this way bet­ter than I desire.

Few Wives are of your Mind. But tell me one thing more, is the Conju­gal Debt duly paid at present?

No, I have stopp'd all Payments.

He is the less then to be blamed for Rambling. Is your Child Male or Fe­male?

A delicate Boy.

That Boy ought to make you Friends; and it will be effected undoubt­edly, if you wou'd but yield a little. What do other People say of your Hus­band? What Character has he abroad?

He is reported abroad to be of a most obliging Behaviour, kind, liberal, and an excellent Friend to those that love him.

Thus far there's hope: I see he is without Door what you cou'd wish him.

But to me only he is quite other­wise.

However, be you such to him as I advised, and if you do not find him become the same Man to you too, never give me credit. Your Husband is but young, (I guess him about four and twenty) he cannot yet know well what it is to be a House-keeper, and all the Duties that belong to that Name. Think thus, Lucy, and do not think of Separa­tion.

I cannot forbear it, my Life is so uneasie.

'Tis impossible you shou'd desire it, if you wou'd but rightly consider what a wretched Creature a Wife is when parted from her Hus­band, and how Excellent her Cha­racter who Loves and Obeys. Na­ture requires, and God commands, that the Wife depend wholly on her Husband. Be assured, a Husband is just like an Estate; you have both one, and if you lose that, you must starve, or live without any. In the last place, think of your poor Child, [Page 32]the Common Interest of both his Parents. How wou'd you dispose of him? Wou'd you take him with you? Then you dispossess and rob his Father. Wou'd you leave him behind you? Then I know you re­linquish the dearest Treasure you have. Pray answer me one Questi­on; have you any back Friends, that wou'd rejoyce to see you mise­rable?

Yes, some. I have a true Mother-in-Law for one; and to match her, there is my Husbands Mother as very a Devil as her self.

Are they very malicious?

I believe they have wish'd me ruin'd a thousand times.

And wou'd you gratify their Malice? You do it abundantly in a Separation. What thing can be more pleasing to them than to see you live forsaken; a Widow: Nay, worse than a Widow; for Widows may Love, and Marry again where [Page 33]they fancy, which you can never hope for.

I approve your Counsel, my dear Amy, and wou'd practise it, but I am discourag'd to think of such a tedious labour.

You have a pretty Parrot here, that speaks some Words ex­ceeding plain; have you been long in teaching him?

O Lord, aye; the Bird has cost me a World of Pains and Pa­tience.

And can you think the un­dertaking tedious, when you endea­vour to reclaim a Husband, in whose Society you may spend your whole Life with Pleasure? Can you take pains to teach a Parrot, and not en­deavour to win a Husband by kind Language? What pains do some Men take to break a Horse, and make [Page 34]him easie? Be assured, Lucy, it de­serves more pains to make your Husband kind.

What wou'd you have me do?

I'll tell you in few Words. Take care that all things within Doors be neat, and in good order, that so he may not be Sick of Home. Let your Behaviour be affable and familiar, yet always within the li­mits of that Reverend esteem you owe a Husband. Be neither too sad, nor airy; neither too Coy, nor Wan­ton. Let his Diet be Choice, and well Dress'd. Observe what he likes best, and provide that often. Ob­serve what Company he most fa­vours, and Invite them continually; Treat them, and Oblige them often. Let all such Entertainments be gen­tile and pleasant, nothing to be then wanting; but least of all, Mirth and good Humour. And when at any [Page 35]time you find him Merry with a Glass too much, or so, if he begins to Tune his Lute, be you also ready with your Voice, to make a Con­sort. Thus, by degrees, you will teach him to delight to be at Home, and consequently, to avoid a World of needless Expences; for he must of necessity, in a short time, consider thus: Am not I a Mad-man to be so often abroad, Debauching away both my Estate and Reputation, among a Company of rotten Whores, filthy Crea­tures, equally unsound in Mind and Body, when I have here at Home a Wife of such a temper, so infinitely be­yond them all for Beauty, Touth, and Wit; and what is more considerable, a faithful Wife, and one that loves me so entirely, and in whose Company I can enjoy what delights I please, with­out Scandal or Hazard?

Well, suppose I shou'd act thus as you Advise, yet I fear Suc­cess.

Trust to me: I'll take it up­on my self if you fail. In the mean time, I'll go and begin with him; I'll teach him his Duty too.

I love you for that; but for God's sake, take heed our Consulta­tion be not discovered. If he shou'd smoak us, he'd run into all the Ex­travagancies of Bedlam.

Fear not that, you shall see I will manage my Words with such Cunning, that himself shall begin the Discourse, and tell me all your Discords: Then will I handle him in such a manner, and use such Ar­guments, that I doubt not but to leave him in a better humour for your advantage than I found him. I will only mention you by the by, [Page 37]as one that I hear loves him with a perfect Affection.

Prosper th' Event sweet Hea­ven.