INTRIEGUE I.

THERE was a very pretty young Virgin Gentlewoman, whose whole Patrimony was her Face, together with a very handsome competency of Wit, the bounty of Nature on one part, and a genteel Education bestow'd her by her Friends on the other. For to tell Truth, Providence had not been over generous in any other world­ly Capacity: Not but that so much Beauty de­served a fair and ample Fortune, suitable to her other Accomplishments, and indeed she was Born to such a one, had not the over pro­fuseness of a prodigal Parent (her Fathers sower Grapes) imbitter'd her unlucky Circumstances, and thereby intail'd some Frowns in the World upon her, her forementioned Education being indeed the whole Portion she had left her.

This young Lady a little turn'd of Sixteen, (an Age that generally furnishes the fair Sex with some little speculative Knowledge into the great Work of their Creation, the End they were Born for,) felt an extraordinary Passion for a young Gentleman on this side Twenty, a very zealous Adorer of hers; and one that (not to render the conquer'd Virgin a Prize too easie) had fairly Sieged her Heart, and had as nobly won it.

But for another Persecution of Fortune; this Gentleman a younger, or rather youngest Bro­ther, of not an over-Rich, though otherwise Ho­nourable Family, had as little to trust to, or ex­pect from the unkind World as his Mistress. For as she had only her Eyes and Charms to raise her Fortunes in it, so he had little else but his Sword to raise his; a Commission abroad, or perhaps some Court-favour at home, being in­deed the whole Foundation of his Hopes.

These unhappy Obstacles to their Felicity be­ing duly considered, especially on the Ladies side, (not but she lov'd him to a hight, even to run all Hazards for his sake;) she durst not, or rather would not Marry him, out of a principle of pure Affection; as well remembring an old Proverb, That when Poverty comes in at the Door, Love creeps out at the Window; insomuch that, that only Check, viz. Her loving him too well to run the risque of loving him less, restrain'd her Inclinations from so dangerous a push as Ma­trimony.

All Things being thus duly weigh'd, she took an occasion one day with her kind Arms round his Neck, and a dropping Pearl in her Eye, to burst out into an extravagant Complaint against the cruelty of their Stars, that such true Love as theirs should be excluded from the Bed of Ho­nour, Marriage: That she was intirely his own, her Love, her Life, and what not. However, she cou'd no ways consent to a long miserable Life, (for that wou'd be their Nuptial Portion) only for a few short liv'd Bridal Joys—with infinite more tender Expressions upon this Me­lancholy Subject.

The young Lover who in all his Passion for so darling a Mistress, was still Master of some Rea­son also, cou'd not but acquiesce in the Justice of her Complaints and the mutual Resentments of both their Misfortunes, under this cruel Bar to their Felicities.

Some little Time after it happen'd that a very eminent Merchant in Lime-street, of the reverend Age of Fifty Eight, was Captivated with this young Fair One; a Man of a true City Com­plexion, Naturally very Jealous, and as Natu­rally Covetous, being a Person of a very low Extract, though otherwise blest with the extra­ordinary Smiles of the World, having heaped together more than double an Aldermans E­state.

This superannuated Inamorato, being now entred into the Rivals List to our young Gallant, makes his bold and open Addresses to the fair Phillis (let that pass for her Name:) For though [Page 4]the disparity of their Age might have rendred him a more modest Intruder; Nevertheless, as Wealth never wants Front, the consideration of that single Advantage so amply atoned for all other Imperfections, that well knowing his En­dowments that way, he accosted her with all the Courage of an Heroick Lover.

This new Victory was no sooner obtain'd, but her first Io pean was sounded in her young Gallants Ears: She immediately run to her dear Strephon (for so we'll call him) big with the Tri­umph of so doughty a Conquest as her new Lime-street Captive. As formidable a Rival as his City Figure might make him; nevertheless, so anti­quated a Pretender to so young a Bed-fellow, created no great Jealousies on the young Strephon's Side. But to shorten this heaviest part of our Hi­story, the young Lovers in an Amorous Consult between 'em, come to this Resolve, viz. That the Man of Gold shall carry the Dame: She shall Marry our grave Citizen, and her contented Strephon wear the Willow. However, not to make a too mortifying Divorce between the young Lovers, 'tis agreed; that the Virgin Prize, viz. The First-Fruits of Love shall be Strephon's, and the old Gentleman shall only be admitted Tenant to her Reversion. In short, she'll condescend to make a City Husband of one, and a Court Friend of the other; the good old Gentleman, the titular Lord of the Soyl, like old Jupiter, shall shower Gold into her Danae's Lap, and Strephon shower Love.

Accordingly all reasonable Advances are made on her side, to her Small-Ware Merchant, her Lime-street humble Servant. His Addresses are favourably heard, his Suit received, and the Preliminaries soon fettled for the great, and now easy, Work of Consummation; easy in­deed, for the happy Strephon has opened the Blooming-Rose, done his aged Rival that Fa­vour, that the Bridal Night Drudgery, is not like to be too hard a tug for his Fifty eight. Thus whilst all three Parties are rapt up in equal Felicities, the young Wantons in their substantial Joys, and the old Fondling in his imaginary Paradice, the nuptial Day and the bridal Robes are all fixt and prepared: Our Strephon and Phillis having first Sworn an invi­olable Correspondence, the Golden Fleece to be at his faithful Service, as often as 'tis possible to lull the watchful Dragon to give 'em the Op­portunity.

To pass over the matrimonial Ceremony; for indeed 'tis little else but Ceremony; at least on the feminine side: After she has received all the congratulary Compliments from the most emi­nent City Matrons, and took her Seat of Honour amongst them, suitable to the Dignity of the fair Partner of Magistracy, the Bride of such an Honourable Metropolitan-Member; After her first due provision of all Perquisites of State, Equipage and Grandeur, equal to her Cha­racter; The next and indeed most important Study, is the performance of Covenants with her dear Strephon, for as to her Vows at Home, [Page 6]she left them at the Altar. Love is resolved to make strong Work here, whatever Cobweb Lawn it makes there.

But now under her nuptial Yoke she sees a great part of her Hopes defeated; 'tis almost impossible for her to find that happy Minute of meeting her Strephon: For her doating City Sir Politick is so fond, or at least so cautious of such young Flesh, that he is never out of her Sight. 'Tis true, she keeps a Coach, but she can never go abroad in it, without his Luggage to load it: If she pretends to go to Church, he is in earnest with her there; and whatever Pow­ers she prays to, he resolves she shall never be upon her Knees without him. If she pretends a Visit to any Relation of what Degree or Sex soever, 'tis a downright Affront to his Years and Person to be left behind her; so that she must either carry him along with her, where­ever she goes; Or, plainly tell him, she is either ashamed of him, or has Designs upon him, which is neither consistent with her Ho­nour, nor the great Game she has to Play; for the Hope of a Rich Widowhood will not per­mit her to put any Slights upon him, lest it might endanger his Death-Bed good Graces, and a kind last Will and Testament. In fine, it was a full Month (which Lovers call an Age) before she could have one half Hour with her dear Strephon, and that very difficultly ob­tained.

What use was made of the short Minutes, the Reader may guess. But more particularly [Page 7]they laid this Plot together, that her Spark being of a perfect Beau shape, fair Complexion'd, and as yet wholly Beardless, he should Dress himself in Womens Apparel, and by passing for a dear Country she-Cozen of hers (to whose admission it should be her Business to pave his way) he should be received into her House; and by Living under her Roof, have all the private Hours of stoln Delight, that their own Hearts could Wish. This Design so well laid was decreed for speedy Execution, the Lady equip­ing him with a fair Yellow-lined Purse (a small Token of her brighter Golden Favours in store) to furnish him with all the Feminine Accoutre­ments requisite, &c.

Accordingly, about Six Days after, by which time the young Spark had not only rig'd him­self Capapee for a Virago, but also practised some necessary Graces in his Looking glass, more cleverly to carry on the Masue; and likewise his kind Phillis had rapt up her be­lieving Spouse into wonderful expectations of a visiting Cozen of hers shortly look'd for in Town: With this preparation the bonny Lass makes her Entry into our Alderman's Roof, with all the welcome Reception imaginable. Her-Lodging Apartment is immediately very Respectfully, and no less Prudently provided, being a large Room on the same Floor, only a Stair-head between that and her new City Co­zen's the Alderman's Bed-chamber. By this Do­mestick freedom how many riotous Joys were tasted, though no set Feasts of Love, but only [Page 8]so many running Banquets (a snap and away) may easily be imagined. However, as our Phillis's whole Extasies were all bounded in her Stre­phons Embraces, it was a little shackle upon her Delights, to think that she could no ways fur­nish out more plentiful Revels, viz. A whole Nights Regale in those darling Arms. How­ever, the two Lovers contriv'd a very pretty Stratagem to gain that Enjoyment. For which purpose one Evening by a small slight of Hand she conveyed a small quantity of Jallop into the Alderman's Supper-broth, which Operating as soon as ever he came to Bed, the poor Man was forced to rise several Times in the Night, which unseemly mischance made him so asha­med, as well as surprized at the suddenness of the Indisposition, that with a kind of a Blush, to have so tender and Nice a Stomach as his young Brides offended by so unsavory a Society, as his at present is; he desired her to make bold with her Cozens Bed for that Night, whilst his Servants sat up with him, and some learned Assistance was called from abroad to take care of him.

The poor young Lady with a great deal of Tenderness for him, and passionate concern at this sudden Irruption, was very hardly prest to desert him in this Condition, till his abso­lute Commands compelled her to withdraw: and accordingly, she trips over to her expecting Strephon, where we'll leave her to as little Sleep as her sick Man she left behind her, the opera­tions of warm Love on this side affording as [Page 9]little time for Rest here, as the Jallop does there, 'Tis true she has the Misfortune now and then to hear some unmusical Gruntings and Grumblings, from the tother side of the Stair­head, a very melancholy Discord to her tender Ears, had not some sweeter Harmony in her Strephons Embraces a little softened those un­grateful sounds, together with the private Ti­tillation of so successful an Intrigue.

All Matters thus go on rarely: This ravish­ing Night on the young Lovers side has eased a great many hideous Sighs and Longings, now all amply satisfied by this favourable occasion. In short, not a shadow of Suspicion disturbs their mutual Joys. Nay, not only the old Gentle­man's, but likewise another younger and more penetrating Rival's Eyes are deluded by this Fe­male Masque of the happy Strephon. For I had forgot to tell my Reader, that our Phillis's Charms had captivated our Merchant's elder Prentice, a young Spark within Three Months out of his Time, and by Birth a Gentleman, a very accomplisht Youth; who to tell the Truth, from the first Day of his Masters Mar­riage, had not only entertained an extraordi­nary Veneration for his fair young Mistress, but likewise naturally imagining that such dry Bones as her old Husband, could not be over-extraordinary satisfactory to such young Veins; had one Day assumed the confidence to Breathe a few passionate Sighs to her, and to throw himself a perfect Adorer at her Feet. 'Tis true the Fair Offended gave him but a cold Answer, [Page 10]and perhaps repremanded him very severely for so bold an Attempt, against so much Virtue and Honour, as could not but be highly pro­faned by such insolent Language. However, this Repulse had not wholly dasht him; but that he both continued his Devoirs, and per­haps not wholly despaired of a more smiling Beam, that might one Day shine a little warmer upon him; not at all doubting, but as louring an Ascendent as her rigid Virtue yet held, that still she was Flesh and Blood, and that the pre­sent fond Hony-moon of her cold Fifty Eight, would not last always.

As prying a Hawks Eye as this more dan­gerous Critick might have upon her; yet still, as I said before, neither our young Strephon's Behaviour or Deportment had any thing that in the least look'd like Masculine; so very art­fully was the fair Imposture carried on.

One Afternoon a little time after, it fell out, that the young Lady was called to a City Ma­trons, an eminent Neighbours Labour. And as this particular occasion gave her the freedom of going abroad, unhaunted by her trouble­some Persecutor; she whispered her dear Stre­phon in the Ear, that as in all likelyhood she should return pretty late in the Night, when the good Man would be asleep, so in Compli­ment to him, she was resolved at her return to slip to Bed to her dear Cozen, upon pretence that at so unseasonable an Hour, she was afraid she might hazard the Waking him, and so break­ing his Rest.

The fair Cozen to make all due preparation for so dear a Bed-fellow, took the occasion that Evening to pretend some small Indisposi­tion, and so went to Bed a little sooner than ordinary, with a design to have taken a short Sleep before hand, to be the better Fortified for those sprightlier waking Hours she should have occasion to melt in Raptures after­wards.

The young Strephon having thus bid good Night; it fell out that a young Girl a Neice of the old Gentleman's, that lived somewhere towards Westminster, a very honest poor Crea­ture, whose whole Fortunes depended upon her rich Uncles gracious Favour, came to pay her Duty to her honourable Uncle and Aunt, the Aunt being at that time abroad, and con­sequently that part of her duteous Devoirs yet unpaid, the old Gentleman resolved she should stay all Night, as being uncertain of her Aunts return. And not to make any Ceremony with making another Bed for her, by way of good Husbandry and saving that trouble, he re­solved to make bold with his Wives Cozen's, who was just gone to Bed before; being withall charged that she should disturb the young Ladies Rest as little as possibly she could, because she was gone a little Indisposed to Bed.

The poor Innocent Girl, without any more Attendance than a Candle in her own Hand to light her up, accordingly prepares for Bed, where entring very softly, she finds the young [Page 12]Lady faln fast asleep, and therefore in Obe­dience to her Commission, the Bed being large, and the young Lady lodged on the further side, she pulls off her Cloaths and puts out her Light, and creeps very silently into Bed, as cautious of Waking the sleeping Lady.

By this time the whole Family were all gone to Bed, excepting a small Domestick that waited below for the return of the Mistress from her Christian Visit abroad. The young West­minister Lass was no sooner in Bed, but, what by Virtue of a good Supper of somewhat better Fare than her own Commons at home, toge­ther with the Fatigue of a long Foot-walk from Charing-cross to Lime-street, was faln into a very sound Sleep. At this time the young Strephon waking, and his roving Arms being the first Member that moved, he felt a soft Bedfellow lodged by him; hereupon being not only Tran­sported to find his dear Phillis so near him, not Dreaming a Mistake, but likewise hearing by her Breath, that she was faln asleep, not­withstanding his impatience for the unutte­rable Joys, however he was resolved he would not Wake her too rudely; and therefore first gently stealing his warm Hand into her Bosom, the soft Temptation soon grew so powerful, that he could not forbear rambling it a little farther still, to which her sound Sleep gave him all the free Accesses his most libertine Fancy could reach. These preliminary Blisses having now intirely fired him all over for more sub­stantial Extasies, he could not forbear clasp­ing her round in his Arms, when with those [Page 13]burning Kisses sealed to her Lips, and Em­brancing her so close, her Face happening to lye towards him, and not so much as the least Bar between the nearest touch of all her softest Chrams; (for his own roving Hand before had removed and unveil'd all interposing Skreens) these too ardent Arms about her, and some other yet more surprizing pressure so very near her tenderest Virgin Treasury, the poor Girl was immediately startled out of her sleep, into that hideous Terror, that she presently shriek'd out, crying, Help, Murder, Help, I am Be­tray'd, I am Ruin'd; and so leapd' from him out of the Bed, the poor Strephon's Amazement no ways hindering her flight (for the change of the Voice soon distinguish'd his fatal mistake, and put him into no small Disorder and Astonish­ment.) This uproar of the poor frighted Mai­den alarm'd the whole House, insomuch that not only the Husband from his Bed, but likewise several of the Servants from theirs (particularly the Elder Prentice we spoke of, who run down from his Chamber above in his night Gown,) all bolted into the Room where the poor Girl, under little less Apprehension than downright Ravish­ment still continued her Outcry; when her Uncle asking her waht was the Reason of all this noise, Oh Sir, says she, you have put me to Bed to a Man, a filthy, lewd, wicked, lascivious, wild Man. Lord have Mercy upon us, reply'd the old Gravity, a Man! Yes Sir, cryes the young thing, this impu­dent pretended Neece of yours, is a He Devil in Petticoats, a meer Tarquin, a downright Ramp­ant Limb of Lucifer.

Just in the height of all this dismal Outcry (the poor Stephon being little less than Thunder-struck, and having only time to leap out of the Bed, and skreen himself in a large Night Gown that lay upon the Table,) it happend that the gossiping Lady was just returned home too, and entred in the nick, full in the middle of the whole hideous Impeachment against her poor discover'd Sham-Neece, to her no little Mortifi­cation and Confusion. However with a little more Presence of Mind, and somewhat a larger Talent of Assurance than the poor mute Strephon, she fell very Magisterially upon this clamorous young Roarer, and askt her with what Impu­dence she durst talk at this wild rate, or what Bedlam Frenzy had possest her, to run on with all this Noise and Nonsense? Nay Madam, answered the Girl, dont think to fright me out of my Reason; what I say is Truth: I say again, and again, 'tis a Man; and though I thank my Stars, I am a pure spotless Virgin; yet I am not so Igno­rant at these years, but I have my feeling about me, and know what's what, Madam. And if I had not had Grace enough to cry out as I did, but been as willing as he, I might have been Ravish'd before this time. In short, if I under­stand a Spindle from a Wheel, or a Pestle from a Mortar, or any thing in this World; nay, if there be a Cock Sparrow in all the Hedges between High-Gate and Hamstead, or a Whoremaster be­tween Aldgate and Westminster, I tell you once more, this impudent She Cozen of yours, is a down­right He Rogue, Madam.

Before the Lady cou'd make answer to this crying Charge against her dear Strephon, the old Gentleman took up the Alarm; She Cozen! with a Pox, cries he, Any, I am He-cozen'd and She-cozen'd too in the Devils Name; betwixt your Ladyship, and your Ladyship's Neece, I am sweetly brought to Bed, I thank you; I have nurst a Snake with a Sting in his Tail indeed. Yes, you Jezabel, with your Mr. Horner in Petticoats, I have been finely Cornuted.

Before the poor Lady cou'd speak in her Justi­fication (as indeed it was but a very barren Sub­ject) the poor Elder Prentice, who by this time had fully smelt the whole Intrigue, and saw his dear Mistress in this inextricable Plunge and Labyrinth, very generously fell down uypon his Knees, beseeching Pardon both from Heaven and his Master, when his own Guilt and Confusion must unravel this whole Mystery of Iniquity, and unfold the whole Riddle that had occasion'd all this Alarm and Distraction: And hereupon with a great deal of Pentience and Shame, he very formally told them, That he himself was the true and only Tarquin, the intended Ravisher, that the young Woman had accused, and who had made all this wicked Assault upon her Vir­gin Innocence, and that by an unahppy, tho' no less guilty Mistake; for what through the Insti­gation of the Devil, and his own Brutal Lust, he had a long time conceived a Design upon the Chastity of his Mistress's fair and vertuous Co­zen, and this Night intending to put his wicked Purposes in Execution, he had sotlen down [Page 16]from his own Bed to surprize her in her sleep, and not knowing of this Stranger's being Lodged with her, through the darkness of the Night he had mistaken his Prey, and only through his Bestil violence, had been the whole and sole Author of all this Disturbance. And though at the young Gentlewoman's first Out-cry he had leap'd out of the Bed again, and stole back into his own Chamber; yet his own, now too ac­cusing Conscience had made him return to con­fess his intended Villany, and implore all their Forgiveness. The old Man who had scarce Pa­tience to hear out the Story, notwithstanding the satisfaction it gave him in clearing his dear Spouse's and Cozens' Innocence, nevertheless cou'd not forbear a great deal of very violent and opprobarious Language against his wicked Servant for this outragious Fault. But his good Lady, who by a private wink to her kind Deli­verer, had partly acknowledged his wity and ge­neous Ingenuity in this defence of her endanger'd Honour, very modestly reprimanded her Hus­band's too vehement Indignation. She told him, That truly she had as much, or more Reason to be angry than he, for her Virtue and Reputation lay at stake; not but her Cozen, if occasion had been, should have strain'd a Point of Virgin Modesty, even to a more ample Demon stration of her true Sex. But as Heaven had been pleased to clear the innocent without any such unseemly proofs, and the Criminals true Penitence had made some part of an Expiation for his Fault, it was their Christian Duty to endeavour both to forget and forgiven.

All Parties being thus fully convinced, and all Clouds intirely dissipated, the fair She-cozen (was likewise graciously pleased to grant her Padon to the penitent Offender, for now we may restore her her feminine Epithite) declar­ing, That she was heartily sorry, that she should carry any of those fatal Charms in her Eyes, as could have power to provoke any such lewd Attempts against her Virtue; not but had the young, too Violent, Gentleman addrest him­self to her by any Modest and Honourable Ten­ders of Passion towards her, perhaps upon fair and virtuous Terms, she might not have been wholly insensible nor invincible.

All Things thus hush'd, the good old Man took his harmless and spotless Lady to his Em­braces, and his Westminister Neece lay down again by her late Ravishers side, who took care to play the Lucrece not the Taquin, the re­mainder of the Night.

The next Day our fair Guest, took an occa­sion to take her leave of the Family, in order to her pretended return into the Country, out of a Point of Virgin Honour, as not seemly for her to remain any longer under that Roof, and so near that Person by whom such Violence had been only offer'd to her.

Though her Strephon's absence was highly re­gretted by his dear Phillis, yet she was forced to consent to it, as not willing to have so dange­rous a Spy upon her Actions, as the Rival Pren­tice, who she was now satisfied was no longer a stranger to her whole Masquerade. However she comforted her self, that this dangerous Ri­val [Page 18]had not above two Months to serve, and then she might have fairer Liberty for her dis­guis'd Strephon's safe return again to her Em­braces.

No sooner was the false Cozen and true Stre­phon departed, but the poor blushing Phillis, out of a principle of Gratitude, took an oppor­tunity to make some farther acknowledgments to the kind Prentice for her protected Honour in that unlucky Exigence. To which he re­ply'd, That truly as he had had the Fortune to relieve a Distressed Lady, he hoped her Good­ness and Smiles (for he was so far mercenary) would be pleased to reward his Service: And now if he was so impudent a Beggar, as to ask a return of Love from her, however the bold­ness of such a Petitioner was so far excusable, that the niceties of Virtue cou'd be no Bar to his Ambition, and nothing but her Aversion, cou'd deny him that Bliss. To conclude, he preset the Subject so home, that notwithstand­ing her vow'd Fidelity to her dear Strephon, she cou'd not tell hwo to refuse him: She was Conscious to her self, that her Frailty was dis­covered, and (if for no other Reason) she ought to consult the preservation of her Honour, by hushing the Silence of the Discoverer, though at no less price than her last Favours; besides the Merit of the Service he did her, in sheild­ing both her self from inevitable Ruin, and her dear Strephon from eternal Exposure and Shame, demanded her kindest Retaliation; and there­fore the Invasion of her Strephon's Right, was at least in this Case, a venial Trespass.

INTRIEGUE II.

AN Eminent high City Mercer, much such another doughty Yoke-mate to a young Bride, as our Lime-street Merchant, having much in the like nature, taken To have and to hold a wet Eel by the Tale, call'd a Wife, a Girl of high Sanguine, just on this side Twen­ty; was Conscious to himself, that his natural Abilities stood fairer for a Deputy of his Ward, than a Family Duty-man at Home; having in­deed over-match'd his reverend and superannu­ated Manhood in the Choice of a Spouse. How­ever, though so fair and fruitful a Soyl, was but weakly and poorly Till'd at Home, he took all the necessary Care to keep off all Foreign Hands from the Plough, as resolving to have it lie Lay, rather than bear any Crop but his own; and accordingly made all the Fences to secure it, that Caution and Safety cou'd invent.

In the first Place, he debar'd her all Visits Abroad, without his own Personal Attendance. Secondly, To keep her from Sloth and Idleness, the general Nurses of Wantonness and Vanity; he introduced her into his Business in the Shop, her Station behind the Counter, being her six days Labour; so that from Morning till Night [Page 20]she was kept imploy'd; This Projection carry­ing a double advantage along with it, as being likewise a promotion of Trade; for such lovely White and Red within Doors, is a greater at­traction of Custom, than a gilt Sign without Doors, the Town Gallants being always invited to buy their rich Mercery from so fair a Hand.

And Lastly, To guard all safe at Nights; be­sides his Chains and Bolts, and all the Iron work of his Doors, of which he himself always kept the Keys, his constant Custom every Night, under pretence of seeing that no Thieves were sculk'd or stoln into any part of his House, was to search every Room in it before he went to Bed; though in reality, the dangerous Pick­locks of Her Cabinet-treasury, more than his own, were the Thieves and Sculkers he resolved to secure against; and though the English Cu­stom wou'd not permit him to hang a down­right Italian Padlock upon it, however he wou'd not be wanting in a true Italian Watch and Ward set o're it.

This poor young Thing being kept as his Cage-bird, with only two Pearches in her Aviary, from her Chamber to the Shop, had only the Conversation of the Young and the Gay, the generality of her Husbands Custo­mers, with the envious Bar of a Counter be­tween them; however she had a great many fond Eyes upon her, for she was posted at a very fair Stand to wound Hearts en passant, though she had no convenience of Ministring a Cure to them.

Amongst her thus distant Admirers, was a very handsome young Gentleman, who very often bought Goods at the Shop, and would always deal only with the Mistress. This young brisk Fellow that never had an opportunity, beyond a little cursory Rallery, however had made those Amorous Glances, and met those kind encourag­ing Returns, that he sought an occasion one day of meeting her Maid abroad, and broke his Mind to her in a hundred protestation of Passion for her Lady. The Girl, who profest her self a faithful Confident of her Mistress's, promised him all her best Assistance to gain him Access, which having gratefully requited with a Brace of Guineas, and desired the conveyance of a Let­ter, He came the next day before Dinner, (as appointed) and buying some rich Brocade for a Wast-coat, this Billet Doux was stoln into his Hand.

The Spark accordingly in a very scrubbed Dress comes at the Hour, where the Maid was ready to receive him, and guide him up Stairs: He was conducted into a very fair Chamber one pair of Stairs backward, the Room hung with Tapistry; the Maid being furnisht with all In­structions, told him in few Words her Masters Jealousy: That at present he was abroad up­on Business at a neighbouring Coffee-house, but in less then half an Hour would return; that having a great Cold he was this Night to take a Sweat; for which reason his Lady for this Night lay from him in this Chamber; that considering the old Gentlemans Custom of search­ing the House, she had no place to hide him in, but a great Clock-case in the Room that was large enough to hold him, and into which her Master would never look; that he must wait possibly an Hour or two there with Pa­tience, where she would lock him in, till her Mistress came to Bed.

The impatient Lover was very willing to undergo so small a Pennance, as an Introdu­ction to so sweet a Paradise, &c. and took his Post accordingly being squeez'd and lock'd into his narrow Wooden Walls.

The Husband soon returning, it was about an Hour and a Half before he prepared for Bed, when entring into this Room, Lord! my Dear (says he) our Clock stands sure, or else goes near two Hours too slow, for the Hand is but just turned of Seven, and tis now as much past Nine. [For the Reader must understand that [Page 23]the Gentleman's being squeez'd into it, had stopt the Weights and so hindred the Move­ments of the Clock] However, says the old Gentleman, I'll wind it up. The Lady was strangely startled at this, and indeavoured to divert him by some little Dalliances. Fye, my Dear, says he, be not troublesome but let me wind up the Clock. No matter for the Clock, answered she, have you not a Watch in your Pocket? No, my Dear (answered he) it is gone to the Watch-makers to be mended, and I must set the Clock a going to know how many Hours I must Sweat. The Lady was almost at her Wits-end, at this Accident, and could no ways stop him; when missing the Key, the Maid made a blind Excuse that she had un­happily lockt it, and carried the Key into the next Room, for which her Master heartily Chid her, and bid her fetch it again: The Maid returned, and made answer that she had look'd, but could not possibly find it; at this the old Gentleman catches hold of the Knot or Button of the Door to pull it open by force: When the Spark within finding he would be certainly discovered, prest forward as the old Man pull'd, and threw the whole Clock-case down upon him; at which the Ladies Candle being dasht out, the old Man cried out to the Maid, to run into his Room for her own Candle which she had left there; and in the mean while the Spark stole out of the Chamber, where the Maid at the Stair-head handed him down to the [Page 24]foot of the Stairs almost into the Shop, and then run in for her Candle.

The old Mans crazy Bones, though none of the Strongest, yet by good Fortune got no harm by the Fall: 'Tis true he complained that the Clock-case fell very heavy, insomuch that he thought a piece of the House had faln with it, which only gave him a slight Brush, and did him no great Mischief. The Lady seem'd a little concerned at the Accident, but withal was much pleased that he had received no hurt. And the old Man did not so much wonder at the fall of it, by Reason it was but slightly tacked up against the Wall, and nailed only into the soft Hangings, the Clock it self, which remained unshaken, being fastned with Iron work above into the massy Wall, and which continued undamaged: So that they set it all to rights again, and would it up, and so the old Man returned into his own Chamber; where being put to Bed to take his Sweat, and suita­ble Attendance planted about him, the Lady retired into the back Room, whither the Gen­tleman with his Shoes taken off, was by the kind Damsel convey'd softly up Stairs to Bed to her Mistress; and then she shut the Door upon them, and attended her Master in the other Room.

The two Lovers being both gone to Bed, no doubt but they Sympathized with the old Gen­tleman; for 'tis shrewdly to be suspected that they made Sweating Work too. For warm Love must have warm Effects; where we'll [Page 25]leave 'em to all the Delights of Velvet Kisses, the best and softest Mercery in the whole House.

As the Curtains were carefully drawn round them, and all his Cloaths as carefully laid un­der the Bolster, it was the Maids Post to be watchful in the Morning when the Husband rose (for he was always an early Man) that he should not go in there for fear of waking her Mistress. But there was no danger of that, for the first thing he did was to go down into his back Shop, and there in a small Closet or Counting-house to settle his Shop-books. At this Opportunity the young Gallant made hast to rise, and was led down by the Maid. The Master happening then to be in the Fore-Shop, very hastily askt her who she had got there? To which the Maid dropping a low Courtesy, made answer, only a Corn-cutter, Sir. When came he hither reply'd the old Spark? I brought him in, Sir, answered the Wench; when you went first into your Counting-house, for some occasion I had for him. A Corn-cutter Re­plied the old Spark, you are come in good time, Friend; I shall use you my self: I have a troublesome Corn on my left foot, and a Toe-nail that grows into the Flesh.—But take him up again, Hussey, and give him a Glass of our Drink, till I finish my Accounts, and come up to him. Ay and thank you noble Master, replied the Spark in Quirpo; I was Prentice to old Stephens, and I thank Heave am as able to serve you with a whip and a flash at a Foots [Page 26]End, as neatly as any Man in Towne. And so the Maid carried him up Stairs.

As soon as he got up again he was under some present Consternation how to behave him­self, for he fancied himself but a damnable awkward Corn-cutter, and as bad provided with Tools for it. However a sudden thought came into his Head, to carry it off very he­roically, and therefore he desired the Maid to get him a Penknife, for one of his Corn-cutting Tools. But above all to help him to a piece of Plastering, which the House at that time not furnishing, she presently be thought her of two large Velvet Temple Patches that she wore for the Head ach; for which, the Gentleman immediately dismantled a large Snush-box of half an ounce of Spanish, and clapping in the two Plaisters, was intirely ac­commodated with a Salvatory, and indifferently well set up for the Manual Management.

Our young Corn-cutter was no sooner equipt with his necessary Implements, but up came the old Gentleman, and sitting down in an Elbow-chair, as he pull'd of his Shoe and Stocking, he began to ask him some Questions. Well Friend (says he) what Country-man art thou?—Northwest Sir, answers our Corn-cutter.—Northwest Friends!— Corn. Ay Sir, I was born at Pancrass.—Old Gen. Pan­crass: From Cheapside! Troth I think that's Northwest indeed. But Friend, thou say'st thou wert Stephens's Prentice; does thy Occu­pation take Prentices?—Prentices Sir, re­plied [Page 27]the Corn-cutter; ay, and all the reason in the World. Lord, Sir, we intend to peti­tion the King for a Charter, build a Hall, and set up a Corporation of the Right Worshipful Corn-cutters.—Nay Friend (answers the Don) I believe thou art Stephens's Prentice in­deed; he was just such another joking Wag as thou art.—Ay Sir (says he) my Master be­fore me was an ingenious Dog, and I am a true Whelp of his own Breeding.— Old Gent. But Friend, are you Master of his Art too.— Corn. Never fear Sir, my Master was too good a Commonwealths-man, to let his Ta­lent dye with him. And tho' I say't as should not say't, I scorn to turn my Back to the best manual Operator in the whole Mystery.— Old Gent. Most learnedly spoken; then you are sure you are very dextrous at Corn-cutting.— Corn. Dextrous at it! Ay Sir, I'll cut your Corns and pare you Horns, with the best Ma­ster of the Art in Kent or Christendom.—Old Gent. My Horns? Friend.— Corn. Your Nails, Sir, your Nails; Horns and Nails are of the same natural homogeneal Growth, as the famous Paracelsus, the great Doctor of our Chair, has very learnedly observed in his Trea­tise of Anatomy.—Why this Fellow (replies the Lady that stood by) talks like a Philoso­pher.— Corn. Ay Madam, I have Read Ari­stotle's Problems. If your Ladyship never saw it, I'll lend it you.— Lady. Nay, troth, this is a merry Fellow indeed.— Corn. Merry Madam, why 'tis the best Tool of my Trade; [Page 28]my Master got half his Estate by it.—Estate! reply'd the Mercer; I thoguht he had dy'd in Sutton's Hospital.— Corn. Ay Sir, no mat­ter for that, he had good Lands and Livings to my Knowledge.— Old Gent. Lands and Livings, prethee in what part of the World?— Corn. Why in Gypsey Land. We Corn-cutters are mungril Gypsies.

Lady. Troth my Dear, I like this Fellow well, I care not if I come under his Hands.— Corn. Truly Madam, I shall use you very gently, for I have a very neat Hand at Womens Work.— Lady. Now I think on't I have a kind of a soft Corn on the inside of one of my great Toes that dos so pain me.— Corn. A Pain between your two great Toes! You are not the first fair Lady that has been troubled with that Malady. But Madam, if I don't presently ease you.— Lady. Sayst thou so; then call some Morning towards the end of the Week, and I'll take a Cast of your Office.

By this time, the old Gentleman was ready for the manual Operation, and had shew'd where his Grievance lay. Well Sir, says the Corn-cutter, shall I go through stitch with you, and take out your Corn, Root and Branch; or shall I leave some few strings of it behind me, to have your Custom another time? Nay Friend, [Page 29]replies the Don, if you have an Art to take it off Root and Branch that it will never grow again; pray use your best Skill, though I pay you double Fees for't.— Corn. Why then I'll tell you; I have a Plaister here in my Box, that will so ripen it in one 24 Hours, that by to morrow Morning when I shall come again, I'll make such clever Work on't, that I'll lay my Life to a half penny worth of Butter-milk, you shall never hear more on't.— Old Gent. Sayst thou so! Then prithee lay on thy Plaister. But what, a Velvet Plaister?— Corn. Ay Sir, I al­ways suit my Surgery to my Customers. Your Worship has past your Brass Chain, and your plush Jerkin, and your rich Batchelorship, and may live to be an Alderman: And so a Velvet patch to a Velvet jump, is all secundum artem.

Having reserved the Corn-Cure for the Mor­row, the old Gentleman however desired the other part of his Office, viz. The paring of his Nails; but our Corn-cutter (to shorten the Sto­ry) excused that too, till to morrow Morning, for want of an extraordinary Tool that he said, he had at the Grinders, which he would bring with him, and which shou'd do it much more easily than any of his present Implements he had about him. And so the old Spark stealing a Shilling into his hand, the young Artist went off with flying Colours.

The next Morning our young Spark, sent a more able Operator, whom he rewarded with a brace of Crowns to go in his stead, and make an excuse for him, that he was faln Ill, and was [Page 30]afraid of the new Fever, and for that Reason, had sent his Deputy.

One Evening at the end of the Week, the Ladies Maid came to his Lodging from her Mi­stress, to tell him, That the morrow Morning following, the Coast would be clear, for her Husband was to be out the whole Forenoon: And therefore she desired his Company, re­membring him withal, to bring his Tools along with him. Ay Chicken, reply'd the Spark, I never go to a fair Lady without 'em. Nay, re­ply'd the Girl, I mean your Corn-cutting Tools, for you must come in that Habit again. So the Gentleman repaying her former Favours, he presented the Girl with ten Guineas, and pro­mised to be punctual at the Assignation, &c.

The next Morning he made his Visit at Eight, when the Lady in a loose Dress, a Dishabilee, only her morning Gown, &c. and in her own Chamber was ready to receive him: And here he continued till near Noon, for the Lady had ve­ry private and important Affairs with him; for her Fondness would not yield to part with him, till the last Minute when she was forced to lose him; nor was he Idle all the while, for no doubt she found Work enough for so dear an Ope­rator.

Between Eleven and Twelve the Husband returned, and the Corn-cutter was dismis'd, the Maid attending him down to the Shop door. It happened that the Husband had brought home with him a very eminent Citizen, a Bank­er in Lumbard-street, who seeing a Face pass by [Page 31]him that he was so very well acquainted with, catch'd hold of our young Spark; why how now, crys the Cash-broker? What have we got here, my good old Friend Sir William in Mas­querade? Sir William, Sir! answer'd the Land­lord, somewhat surpriz'd; why Sir, do you know this Man? Know him, Sir! reply'd the Banker; ay Sir, I think I have Reason to know him, for I have Six Thousand Pounds of his in my Hands. Lord have Mercy upon us, (crys the old Man, lifting up his Eyes to Heaven, and turning as pale as Death,) a Sir William! and Six Thousand Pound, and my Wives Corn-cutter, Oh! I a Sir William! (answer'd the young Spark) and Six Thousand Pound; faith Master woul'd you would make your words true; I gad, if I had but half that Mony, I'd build one of the Steeple's of Pauls. I beg your Par­don honest Fellow, reply'd the Goldsmith, (finding he had done Mischief, and smelling a Trick,) now I hear thee speak, I find my mi­stake; thou hast a Face as like a Bedfordshire Ba­ronet, as one Apple's like another; but thy Voice is no more like his, than a Bagpipe to a Recorder. And so the young Spark scrap'd him a Leg, and march'd off.

Lord Sir, continu'd the Banker, how two Faces may be alike. I remember I read a Story of a Shooe-maker of Maidstone in Kent, in Harry the Eighths Reign, that was so like the King, that he was sent for up to Court; and in one of the King's Vests, past through the whole Court at Whitehall saluted for the King, and [Page 32]undiscovered by all his Guards; and coming to the King's Presence, the King saw his own Picture so exactly, that he ask'd the fellow Jo­cosely, If his Mother had never been at Court? No, reply'd the noble Cordwainer, but my Fa­ther has been there.

The King was so very well pleased with so smart and ingenious a Repartee, that he setled a very fair Estate upon his Royal Representative, and made him that little Prince of a Crispin, a Degree above his Awle or his paring Knife.

The good old Gentleman was mightily pleased with this Story, thanked the kind Banker for the Relation, laugh'd at his own groundless sur­prize, making all the due Application of the Story to his own Case; and went off with all the intire Satisfaction and Peace, like a true City Husband, with full Faith and Confidence in his innocent Yoke-mate, and her honest Corn-cutter.

INTRIEGUE III.

ABOVE a year before the Revolution, a young Gentleman, whom wee'll call Pere­grine, of very Honourable Birth and Education, the second Brother to an eminent Baronet in the West of England; fell passionately in Love with a young Country Gentlewoman, the Off­spring of a Father, who (bating his over-much Inclination to Avarice, even to a Fault,) was a very accomplish'd Man, and the Master of many eminent Virtues. It unhappily fell out, (if we may venture to Arraign the distribution of Pro­vidence) that this young Lover, though with the too slender Fortune of a younger Brother, was a Person of that Gallantry, Wit, Spirit and Courage, so much beyond the weaker Me­rit, and the more cloudy Intellects of his elder Brother, that swept the whole Estate from him; that 'tis much to be pitied that no other Title, but the start of a year into the world before him, should load this Saturnine elder Birth with above Two Thousand per Annum, and the Sprightlier younger Brother should car­ry little more than as many Hundreds.

This young Lover with the foremention'd Ac­complishments, made a very fortunate Attack upon the young Ladies Heart, with a success, even to his own utmost Wishes; and when the mutual Faith was plighted, and not till then, (there remaining nothing now but Obedience to be consulted) the Fathers consent was ask'd to the Marriage, being now told that he had long lov'd his Daughter, the fair Ʋrania, (for that shall be her Name) and there was nothing wanting but his paternal Assent and Blessing to Crown their mutual Felicity. The Father seem'd much surpriz'd at this Narration, and fell in­to a very great Passion at the Boldness of his Daughter, to receive and encourage a Suiter, without giving him an earlier Account of the Matter; urging, that it was the highest Breach of her filial Duty to keep any thing of this kind conceal'd from a Parent, it being his equal Right to have a concurrence, as well in the disposal of her Heart, (nay, even her very Looks) as of her Person. In short, here was the paternal Authority infringed, and nothing could pacify the angry Father.

But all this Out-cry (which indeed was but the pretence) was really Founded upon a more heinous Disgust: Neither the Quality nor Per­son of the young Lover were any ways Faul­ty, nor the private Commerce of Love so long manag'd betwixt the young couple was the true capital Crime: No, her Father was able to give her half Five Thousand Pound Portion, and the poor young Gentlemans worldly Circum­stances [Page 35]did not deserve such a Fortune. If the elder Brother, 'tis true, had been her humble Servant, the infringement of the paternal Power had then been a more venial Sin: A Baronet, and Two Thousand a year, might have woo'd, won, nay, and worn her too, without half this Quarrel.

To shorten this part of my History, 'tis enough to tell you, that the Father is wholly Inexorable, and the Daughter being all Duty, dares not Rebel, though to be the happiest Wo­man in the World, as such the Embraces of her dear Peregrine had undoubtedly made her: Insomuch, that her Fathers consent being ut­terly unconquerable, there's nothing but De­spair and Misery before their Eyes; for possi­bly never was Love so Passionate, as between the languishing Peregrine, and the mourning Ʋrania; Mourning indeed, for that melan­choly Epithite was intirely her own, under her infinite Griefs at her hard Fathers Cruel­ty.

The defeated Lovers, under all the Agonies imaginable, nevertheless renew'd their eternal Engagement of Fidelity; the Lady on her part made a solemn Vow, that she would never Marry any Man whilst her Peregrine liv'd; and he, with as many hearty Oaths bound himself under the same Obligation. All their Hopes, if any, were, that possibly her Father, or his Brother might die, and by that means, either the Command of her Fortunes in her own hands would render her Mistress of her self; or the [Page 36]advance of his would mollify an obdurate Fa­ther, who in spight of all his other Pretensions, she was very well satisfied had no true Obsta­cle to bar their Happiness, but the slender Pa­trimony of her dear Peregrine.

After this inviolable Contract between 'em, the poor Gentleman in tenderness to the Peace of his darling Mistress, (being sensible if he stay'd in England, he should be eternally hover­ing about her, even possibly to the ruin of her very Freedom, under the Jealousie of an en­raged Father, or some other paternal Frowns that his Presence might pull down upon her) resolved to take the opportunity of Travelling Abroad with a young English Nobleman, his Re­lation and intimate Friend.

In his Absence according to mutual Promises, a Correspondence was held between 'em by Let­ters, the most Tender and Passionate that all the Inspirations of Love could dictate; which for the safer conveyance to her hand, was agreed between them, they should be all di­rected to her Maid (her particular Confident) who constantly attended the Post-house in the Town for their Receipt, to prevent any Inter­ception. The Father after his Departure, who was no Stranger to his Absence, nor that Coast of the World where-ever he rambled, (for his Suspicion made him set up for a Spy, and keep Intelligence on that very Account) took an oc­casion one day to present his Daughter with a very rich Scrutore, to which he had provided a double Set of Keys. This noble Present, was [Page 37]soon made the young Ladies Closet-favourite, the Cabinet where the greatest Treasure of her Life, her Peregrines Letters were reposited; to which the Father, at favourable opportunities, by the help of his false Keys, had all the Access he desired; and there was not that Secret of their Souls, at least, that they trusted to Black and White, that he was a Stranger to: For he read both Peregrines and his Daughters Let­ter the innocent Lady keeping the Copies of her own, as well as the Originals of her dear Peregrines, under the same Lock and Key.

The Father now plainly perceived the Vows and Contracts made between 'em, which he likewise sound inviolable; not only by their mutual Protestations, but likewise by daily Ex­perience: For in less than half a Years time, the Fair Ʋrania's Beauty (for she had no com­mon Stock of Charms) had attracted her more than half a Score new Idolaters, some of them of the highest Estates and Quality, but all de­spised and slighted: Nay, the very Commands of a Father, all rejected, she being utterly Deaf to all Arguments, Reason, or any Authority whatever, on that Subject.

This Discovery gave the Father a great deal of disquiet, who saw his whole Ambition fru­strated, in all his endeavours for the happy Disposal of his Daughter; nevertheless, to con­ceal all Suspicions from his Daughter of any Discovery whatever, in all his resentments against her continued Deafness and Obstinacy, he took care not to let drop a Word that should [Page 38]intimate his least knowledge of her Correspon­dence with Peregrine.

About this time it hapned that the Father took a particular Fancy to leave his Country Residence, and take a great House in Linclon's-Inn Fields; whither the greatest part of his Goods and Furniture was removed, and his whole Family transplanted to London. The young Lady who gave her Lover Advertise­ment of her removal, continued her foreign Correspondence with her Pregrine. About the time of her arrival at London, her Peregrine had then Travell'd through all france, visited several Courts in Italy, and was settled for the whole Winter Season at Rome.

As the fair Ʋrania carried her Charms to London, so she made her new Conquests there. And amongst a Crowd of Gazers upon so ce­lebrated a Beauty, it happen'd that a very rich Merchant, dignified with a Knighthood, was made one of her Captives. 'Tis true, he was a Widower, had several Children, and was aged about Fifty, almost old enough for Ʋrania's Grand father; but still he had a vast Estate, was a Man of no mean parts; and to manage his Addresses to so young a Lady, with the true arts of Policy, he made his strongest Attack upon the Father; and to bribe him to his Party, nay, and possibly endear the young Lady too, by so generous an Offer, he propo­sed to settle her a Jointure more than doubly answerable to her Fortunes, and yet receive not one Penny of Portion with her; giving [Page 39]her Father free leave to dispose of that to the bettering his younger Childrens Portions. This wonderful Generosity carried a high sway with the Father; and though God knows but little influence upon the Daughter, how­ever her acknowledgment of so frank a Lover, kept her in the bounds of somewhat more than ordinary Civility towards him. Besides, though in all her Coldness to all the tenders of Love from any thing but her dear Peregrine, both her Prudence and good Breeding always gave a ve­ry Courteous Reception to all her Adorers, how coldly soever she received the Adoration: And even her very Refusals, nay her coyest Disdain, had a peculiar Grace and Air in it, that spoke her the Mistress of an admirable Wit and Address.

Her Father, who now grew almost enamour'd of his rich and generous Merchant-pretender, nevertheless daily found both by his Daugh­ter's and Peregrine's Letters (for he kept the old Custom of prying into her Cabinet) that neither Time, Distance, nor Absence, could shake her Engagements with Peregrine; and consequently whilst that inviolable League held firm, all other Hopes or Attempts were wholly Fruitless: And therefore began to think of some Plots or Stratagems, if possible, to cut this fatal Gordian.

Accordingly, as Mischeif never wants a Prompter, he soon furnisht himself with edge Tools for that illnatur'd Work: For first he went to the grand Post-office, and there cor­rupted [Page 40]one of the Post-officers to stop all Fo­reign Letters directed to such a young Woman so named— viz. His Daughters Confident, which by Virtue of a Golden Bribe was rea­dily granted him; and for a Fortnights time together, all Peregrine's Letters which innocent­ly continued that Superscription, were de­tain'd at the Post office, and received by the Father: After this, he feigned a very long Let­ter (which received the Post-mark) as from the young Nobleman, dated from his very Lodgings near the Vatican (from whence Pere­grine had always dated before, and which much contributed to the Credit of the Contents) di­rected to the Young Lady her self, preparing her first with a great many artful and tender Expressions, for the Reception of the melan­choly Relation he was going to make. In fine the long doleful Epistle concluded with the deplorable Account of the Death of her dear Peregrine, who dyed of an Apoplexy; and that having had the Honour of his particular Friend­ship and Confidence, he made bold to be this ungrateful Messenger, whilst mixing his own Tears for so dear a Friend, with those from her own fair Eyes for so faithful a Lover, who as he lived, died only Hers; he promised her to take care of all her Letters, which as so many Reliques, he had Sealed up, together with some smull Jewels and Rarities design'd by the kind Peregrine, for a Present to his ado­red Ʋrania; and which being not so portable by the publick Post, should with all imagi­nable [Page 41]Speed be convey'd to her fair Hands by some properer way.

I need not tell my Reader how fatally this Paper Thunder-bolt struck the poor afflicted Ʋrania, who, sweet Innocence, not in the least suspecting the Forgery, sunk under that Load of Grief, that was almost inexpressible. Her Father, inquiring the Fountain-head of all these sudden floods of Tears, she very frankly shewed him the fatal Letter, as having now no farther occasion of Privacy or Reserves, confessing her whole Correspondence and En­gagements (as much as her Sighs would give her utterance) with her dear Peregrine. The Father very cunningly, not in the least re­senting her Disobedience in such a Confession, joyn'd with her in her very Tears, and exprest himself little less a Mourner than her, assuring her that his Pity for his unfortunate Death, had made a very great Conversion upon him, and much soften'd a great many hard Thoughts which he had formerly very unkindly conceived against him.

During her daily repeated Sighs for her truly lamented Peregrine, her Father was a con­stant Condoler with her, till at last, telling her how 'twas impossible to combat the Decrees of heaven, he besought her to bury her Griefs in her Peregrine's Grave; and as her Vows of Fidelity were now cancell'd in his Death, to think of some less melancholy Subject; and if she tendered either her own Felicity, or her Fathers Satisfaction, she would condescend to [Page 42]lend a kind Ear to her kneeling City Knight, and Reign both the Mistress of so faithful a Heart, and so ample a Fortune.

The fair Mourner you may well believe con­ceived but very little Harmony from so ungrate­ful a Tune as Love; however, taking her Pil­low, which she every Night water'd with a Thou­saned melting Tears; amongst the Reflections of her present Misery, she began to consider of the disposal of her future mourning Hours of Life, under the Loss of her never to be for­gotten dear Peregrine. She well knew there would be no long Resistance against a com­manding Father: For how little soever the Tast of Love would relish with her, she must at last be forced to sit down with that unpala­table Feast called Matrimony. And truly, if she must have a Husband, she reflected that the best Choice she could ever make would be her City Merchant. For as all Fondness or De­light died with her Peregrine, she thought that her cold Embraces could now be no where bet­ter bestowed, than upon reverend Five and fifty, viz. her Widower Knight, her Ice and his Age being the most suitable Match. For to Marry any Gentleman of Birth, Youth and Honour, she thought would be a kind of Cheat and Delusion (which her Candor and Integrity utterly abhorred) by lodging so heartless a lump of Wedlock in the Bosom of Desert and Worth, that both required and merited a more cheerful Mate than such a drooping Turtle should ever make. Besides, what was yet the [Page 43]strongest Obligation; she stood so much en­debted to the Love and Memory of her dear­est and only dear Peregrine, that she fancied it an open Violation of her very Vows to that only Lord of all her plighted Faith (a Bond that even Death could never Break) to Sleep in any young and charming Lovers Arms; being re­solved to pay that Pious Duty to his very Name, as never to tast the true Joys of Life, which nothing but Peregrine could, or at least no Man else shall ever give her. And therefore if she Marries, it shall be to her antiquated humble City Servant, whose Person and Age being both so very little agreeable, she thought it so far from a Blemish or Reproach to her In­fidelity, or any Invasion of her Peregrine's ever sacred Right, that on the contrary she rather esteem'd it as no other than giving up her self a perfect Sacrifice, even to her dear Pere­grine's ever darling Memory, by tying her Youth and Beauty, to so tastless a Wedlock Bed, a Pennance more than Pleasure; and con­sequently a kind of voluntary Oblation even of her whole Peace of Life (under so mortifying a shackle) to the very Ashes and Name of Pe­regrine.

This generous, though a little Romantick Resolution, being spurred on by her Fathers daily Importunities, so prevail'd at last, that in less than a Month she Married her Knight; where we'll leave her in her Wedding sheets, in all the Embraces, though not all the Tran­sports of Wedlock; and make a short Visit to [Page 44]her poor Traveller at Rome.—Above a Month (an Age in a Lovers Calendar) had now past, since he received one Line from his Ʋrania: An Hundred melancholy Reflections he made upon so strange a Silence: Sometimes he fan­cied she might be Indisposed; but then he con­sidered her Maid would have written for her: Her Silence he durst not impute to any False­hood or Infidelity, for he had too good an Opinion of such inviolable Truth. Possibly then her Father had discover'd their Correspon­dence, or intercepted his Letters; and there­fore he sent a Letter to her, inclosed in another to a Merchant his Friend, in London; with a particular Charge of a private Delivery.

He need not have given him so strict a Com­mission in that Point. For coming to deliver a Letter from a young Spark to a Married La­dy, (as such indeed he found her) he thought it high Prudence to use the best Caution and Privacy in such an Errand. Accordingly he took the opportunity of meeting her Abroad one Morn­ing with no Company but that of her Maid, as she was going to Church to Prayers. He no sooner gave her the Letter, and she saw but the Superscription, but well remembering the Hand, she turned as Pale as Death, and looking almost Frightfully in the Messengers Face, she askt, From whence comes this? From Mr. Peregrine—replyed the Merchant, Sir Peregrine, I should say: For his Brother's newly Dead, and we hope we snall see him in England, to take possession of—Before he could finish his short Speech, the La­dy [Page 45]fell down Dead in a Swoon into her Wo­mans Arms, letting drop the Letter from her Hand: The poor Maid very much concern'd at her Ladies Indisposition, and more at the fatal cause of it; immediately call'd a Coach, into which, with some help, she got her poor Mistress; and having secured the Letter, she bid the Coach-man drive softly to the next Fields, as prudently thinking it the best Policy, not to drive home immediately, but first a lit­tle to recompose her sad Ladies surprizing Afflictions, and recover her lost Senses; so much the more cautiously to manage this fatal Accident, to the prevention of raising any jea­lous ill Blood at home: For the Knight was ut­terly a Stranger to the whole History of this darling Rival.

As the Coach drove through Moor-feilds (for they set out from the Change) the Lady by the Care of her Maid, was brought a little to her Senses again: And the Coach-man being or­der'd to drive very slowly, she turned her drowned Eyes to the Reading of her Pere­grine's Letter, the Subject possibly the tende­rest that the most transported Passion cou'd write. He began first in a few mourning Tur­tle murmurs to tell her, That above a whole Month had past in which he had not received one Line from his Divine Ʋrania: But that he cou'd impute only to some unhappy Acci­dent, not to any Coldness or Forgetfulness, for his Soul was too full of the darling Virtues of his dear Ʋrania, to apprehend even but a [Page 46]shadow of a Change, in such unshaken Con­stancy, Faith, Honour, Love, and every Charm of Heaven, all joyn'd in his Ʋra­nia.

But now to reward his long, long Sighs and Tears, he told her he had newly received a Letter with an Account of his Brothers Death, by which the whole Estate and Honour of his Family devolv'd upon him, and that he was immediately following his Letter, which was only sent with the Olave-branch before him: That he was posting with all the Wings of Love to the Arms of his Ʋrania; for now he doubted not but he should be able to melt down her obdurate Father into Justice and Mercy. In short, he run on with so many hundred Transports and Extasies upon the prospect of his approaching Felicity, in the Embraces of his Ʋrania, as if he had seen no less than the Clouds opening, and the Angels descending, and all the whole Joys of Heaven pouring down upon his Head.

Oh do but think, what an Epistle was here written, and what Eyes were here to read it! 'Tis true, she read it out, and I dare not say either with a more than Womans strength or courage she out-liv'd the reading it. For though the poor Fidelia, her Maid, made a hard shift to prevent her relapse into her former swoon­ing Fit; however 'twas only to suffer the Tor­ments of a more lingering Death. For no­thing was so killing as this Language from her dear Peregrine, and nothing so miferable as the [Page 47]wretched and hardfated Ʋrania, that lives be­yond the reading it. It is impossible to express the Flood, the Torrent, nay, the Deluge of Tears, that followed this fatal Discovery of the inevitable Miseries, Despair and Ruin, that now lay before her.

But not to hold my Reader too long in this melancholy Relation, Fidelia at length prevail'd that they should drive home, and 'twas agreed between 'em, that whatever indisposition at­tended her unhappy Mistress, (for this shock was enough to stagger a stronger Heart) that the Cause of her Affliction should be concealed with all the Caution and Care imaginable. Ac­cordingly she returned home, where she gave her self up to all the most violent Transports of Grief that a breaking Heart could utter. The poor Knight at home was infinitely surpriz'd at the red Eyes of his dear Lady; but Fidelia had a nimble excuse to salve all, by telling him that 'twas an Indisposition of her Mistress's, that had attended her from her very Youth. The good Man immediately posted away a Messen­ger for a Physitian; but Fidelia stop'd him, desiring (and Ʋrania join'd in her request) that no Doctor might be sent for, but Fidelias Bro­ther (at that time a young Practitioner in Phy­sick, living not far off.) The kind Husband who was all Obedience to the Commands of his dear young Lady, could not deny her any thing; and therefore the young Esculapius being sent for, Fidelia very cunningly managed the Matter, that the Doctor gave in his Report [Page 48]of his Ladies Distemper, as the Maids, not the Mistress's Pulse beat; nay, the whole Re­cipes of her Cure, were all of her own pre­scription: For the young Doctor very readily (as tutor'd by his Sister) declared that the Na­ture of her Disease, required Silence and Rest; that it was absolutely necessary she should lie alone, till her Recovery. The poor Man, tho' with much Regret, submitted to the Sentence of being excluded from his dear Spouse's Arms for some few widow'd Nights: However im­posing a Confidence in her young Doctor's Skill and Judgment, he prayed for his success in the restoration of her Health; and so resign'd her to the care of Heaven, and into the hands of Art.

This Project was very useful in the poor Lady's Circumstances; for lying alone, with Fidelia in a Pallate-Bed by her, 'twas not only some ease to her Sorrows that she could in­tirely give her self up to her Sighs for her Peregrine; but likewise she had rid her self of the ungrateful Embraces of a Tyrant and an Usurper, for as such she look'd upon the pre­sent possessor of her Bed, as only mounted thither by Cheats, Plots, Forgery, Treason and Delusion. In all her apprehensions of Shame and Confusion at the return of her Pe­regrine, (for see him she is resolv'd, though she die at his Feet) she has this only dawn of hopes of one kind beam of Pity and Pardon from him; when in all the Miseries her bar­barous Father has heap'd upon her, her very [Page 49]Choice of a Husband, and the Reasons of that choice, should convince him, that she had Truth even in her Falshood. For since an irresistible Power, had compell'd her into the Bonds of Matrimony, she had chosen a Shackle, not a Bracelet, by a Match of that inequality of Age to her Youth and Charms, as might suf­ficiently testifie that, 'tis true, the Right even of her dead Peregrine might be supplanted by Constraint and Force, but never alienated by Delight, Desire and Inclination.

The Father, as you may imagine, was strangely mortify'd at the News of his Daughter's Ilness, but more at the unhappy cause of it; and al­most trembles to approach the fair Ruins he was now sensible himself had only made. 'Tis true, the poor Lady received him with all the filial Duty and Respect, far beyond the common For­giveness of such Unpardonable Injuries: 'Tis true, she Charged her whole Destruction, and she much fears her Death, upon his unnatural Cruelty; however, she freely forgives him; and would make it even her last dying Com­mand, or at least her dying Prayer (for her Com­mands she feared had now no Power) to her wrong'd Peregrine, to seal him that same Par­don, and to bury all Resentments against the unkind Father, in the unhappy Daughters Grave.

This infinite Goodness of the sweet Ʋrania, struck him so near the Heart, if possible, be­yond the shock of her very Sufferings and his own Injustice; insomuch, that there never [Page 50]was a more hearty Mourner, and a truer Peni­tent, than her unfortunate Father.—But to leave him to his Sorrows, and to bring over our young Traveller, rap'd up even in Para­dice it self, with those Dreams, those Hopes and all those dazling Visions, of almost more than mortal Happiness in his Ʋrania's Arms: Think what a Phaeton's Fall must here be; when little less than dash'd down from Heaven, his very first Salute on the English Shore, (if Ravens Croaks, and Mandrakes Groans can be Salutations) is the whole Story of his Ʋrania's Marriage. For such prudent care was taken both by the lady and the Father, that Atten­dance lay ready at his Transport from Callais to Dover, (for in pure Expedition, he crost the Alpes, and came Post by Land, arriving in England in five days after his Letter) on pur­pose to prepare him for the whole mournful Narrative, thereby to prevent those too vio­lent, and possibly those too fatal Transports of Fury, that otherwise, upon any other Ir­ruption of the ungrateful News, might have broken out. Besides, it was both high Pru­dence and Justice, to have the whole Tale de­livered in all its true Circumstances; as well for the Vindication of the poor Ladies Inno­cence, as for some little alleviation of the poor Gentlemans Peace, when the whole Tra­gical Scene of his lost Ʋrania set forth in its true Light, would appear to have more the Hand of Fate in it, than Infidelity.

Besides, this preparation (the whole Story being faithfully related, and as generously be­lieved) in some measure a little paved the way for the interveiw of the two unfortunate Lovers, which the next morning after his arrival in London, by the management of Fidelia, was made between 'em. When Peregrine meeting the still charming Eyes of his ever adored Ʋra­nia, (for though Sickness and Sorrow had emp­tied half their Quiver, yet still they had Darts enough to kill) instead of Revilings, Upbraid­ings or Reproaches at any thing of Levity, Forgetfulness or Inconstancy, in the too hasty Marriage of his lost Ʋrania: On the contrary, here was nothing but wet Eyes, bent Knees, a prostrate Lover thrown dying at her Feet, and the languishing and breathless Ʋrania, at the same time falling dead into his Arms; that 'twas almost a Question in all the Agonies of Grief on one side, and Tenderness on the other, which held fastest, the Embraces of Love, or those of Death between 'em.

When they had both recovered Life enough for Breath, and Breath enough for Words, and recollected Sense enough to find a Tongue be­tween 'em; what Torrent of Murmurs were here pour'd forth, and all against their cruel Stars, but a more cruel Father; the over-ruling Powers that had fated their Destruction! For their whole Misery lies at no other Door: The generous Peregrine has no complaint at any thing but Destiny: The Eyes of Love can see no­thing but Faith and Virtue, in that sweet delud­ed [Page 52]Innocence his dear Ʋrania; and even Hea­ven it self may be Faulty, when she cannot.

'Twas in this kind of Entertainment, that the Conference lasted a whole Afternoon be­tween 'em, when they only Adjourned till to morrow after Dinner, to renew the same Mur­murs, and all the same Raptures over again. For here is only the beginning, to what must never have an end: For the complaints of un­happy Lovers are Number less.

The good-natured Knight at home, had na­turally a great stock of Faith, and therefore was not over-jealous of the innocent Liberties his young Lady took. Besides, her Doctor in Ordinary, had given in his Judgment, That Diversion and walking Abroad, would be high­ly instrumental in the restoration of her Health; which gave her all the unquestion'd Freedom of going Abroad, and meeting her Peregrine as often as she pleased. These meetings were very often repeated, and were wholly made up of nothing but Love. Peregrine amongst a hun­dred other Protestations, made a solemn Vow which he bound with all the most vehement Im­precations, that he would live and die hers and only hers; that he would tire out the whole Malice of his Stars, and wait the very Death of her Husband, for the possession of Ʋrania; for he made an absolute Abjuration to all the Sex beside. This Protestation, and indeed a hundred more, were all graciously received by the kind Ʋrania, who wanted no returns of In­clination and Love, to so devoted an Adorer.

And though with all the imaginable endear­ments between 'em, these private Visits were almost daily renew'd; however the unsatisfied Peregrine, began to repine at the Felicities of his envied Rival; and though they never met but they melted into all the Tenderness of twining Embraces, and their Souls met a hundred times over, not only at their languishing Eyes, but even at their burning Lips, a liberty the Amo­rous Peregrine dayly more and more encroach'd upon the languishing Ʋrania; however not con­tented with all these Favours, he could not for­bear openly murmuring, even at those yet more charming Blisses she bestow'd on his happier Ri­val, who in all his pretended lawful Possession, had not half the just and equitable Right of Peregrine. Ʋrania, reprimanded him for so unkind a Reproach, assuring him, that if he knew how those Blisses, as he was pleas'd to call them, were extorted from her, even with the whole coldness of a Lucretia, he would be far from envying the poor Possessor, that little despicable Thief, that only rifled an empty Ca­binet; his very Embraces being the perfect Pi­cture of Slavery, all Violence and Arbitrary Power on one side, and nothing but Non-resi­stance and Passive Obedience on the other. No, Peregrine, continued she, never envy the Sacri­ficer at so cold an Altar of Love, where he may bring Fires, but never find any. This De­claration was so very kind, that he threw him­self at her Feet, to thank the fair obliging good­ness, which the sweet Ʋrania would by no [Page 54]means suffer, but gently raising him up with her fair hand, she told him; That Posture and these Acknowledgments were more than he ow'd her; for there are no Thanks due for Duty. If she was all this coldness to that Possessor he so unjustly envy'd, it was but a just Debt she paid, even to the dead, and much more to the living Peregrine.—This second Declara­tion rapt him into new Transports; and now instead of his bending Knees at her Feet, he threw his grasping Arms about her Neck, and pour'd his melting Soul into those charm­ing Lips that delivered such ravishing Oracles.

As the daily Conversation continued, and a hundred more and more passionate Vows and Endearments past between 'em, the amorous unsatisfied Peregrine could not forbear telling her; That there were yet infinitely diviner Blessings in her Power, and which, if she would give him leave to remonstrate his Sufferings, he had some Plea even to ask of her. (For tho' he found a rising Crimson in the Cheeks of his Blushing Ʋrania; however, he conjured her to give him the Favour of hearing him out:) He desired her therefore, continuing the Subject, to call to remembrance their first mutual Vows of Fidelity made between 'em, that had sworn and sealed their plighted Souls; what new Vows he had since made of all Ab­jurations to the whole Sexe's Charms but his Ʋrania. How that if there was a fatal Marriage knot that seem'd to bar his Joys; however, what Villany, Treason and Injustice, [Page 55]tied that Knot; and how venial must the Con­cession even of her highest Favours be, under so honest and just a Reprisal, from so much Rapine and Tyranny as had torn her from his Bosom. That as he had contracted himself her very Husband, and only waited an Usur­pers Death; why not some little Anticipation of his rightful Joys, and not so tedious an At­tendance only for the Reversion of Felicity? Why should they postpone that Happiness to long long Years to come; possibly a whole Age distant, when the present Golden Minute smiled before 'em? Nay, granting some sha­dow of a Fault, a Weakness, or Frailty, in the Concession; which either her too nice Virtue, or scrupulous Fears might raise against him; however, taking the whole heap of their ac­cumulated Wrongs together, nothing sure cou'd be more excusable than Peregrine and Ʋrania. A great many other Arguments he urged, which were all answer'd by the invincible Virtue of Ʋrania. The chiefest Objection was the An­ger of an offended Heaven, which she durst not incurr; she trembled but at the very Thought of the broken Sleeps and distracted Peace, that the violation of her Virtue would undoubtedly pull down upon her, telling him, That he ought to content himself with the Favours (even to a Profuseness) she had already granted him, and wait the pleasure of Providence, which one Day might more amply crown his Joys. She besought him to take it as some additional Favour too, that she could hear him urge so [Page 56]immodest and unreasonable a Petition, with so much Patience and Forgiveness, for she can­not be angry even at an offending Peregrine. Nay, (throwing her white Arms about his Neck) my dear, dear, Peregrine, she cried; think what 'tis you Ask and what I must Deny. For believe me, Ʋrania's Heart is moulded all of the same Love as Peregrine, and I give you leave to think, there is not that warmest Wish, his melting Soul can form, but is met, returned and answer'd by Ʋrania. She desired him then to rest satisfied that nothing but her Honour, which she must never Violate, held the Flaming-sword that barr'd both His Paradice and Hers. And after all this frank Confession, she con­jured him by all that's Sacred to desist from that Suit which she hears with a Pain, denies with a greater; and yet the Grant were the greatest, under the pangs of a bleeding Virtue, and therefore must be denied. The amorous Peregrine, in all the Raptures of this generous Confession, was contented to cease the Subject, at least for the present. But upon several Meetings afterwards, the Subject was revived: But not to particularize the whole Arguments on both sides, let it suffice, that he wrought that impression upon the yeilding Ʋrania, that at last she confest, that both Virtue and Honour were stormed and vanquish'd, and nothing but the excess of her very Love refused him; that last impregnable Retrenchment against him. How, Love! Answered the amaz'd Peregrine. Yes, Love, replied the sighing Ʋrania, I Love [Page 57]so well, that I neither dare make my self nor my Peregrine happy; for from that Hour my tottering Virtue shakes, as proudly as my Peregrine may wear the present Trophy, yet if that Day should come, when my Usur­pers Death, and my happy Widowhood might open my lawful Arms to his Embraces, he would then look back upon the cheap Favours I had given him, and under the common Re­proach of that easy Creature a Wanton, start from so poor and so dishonour'd a Thing, and disdain so low-priz'd a Bliss as the Arms of Ʋrania, for his honourable bridal Joys. In short, she told him she loved to such a height, that the ties of her Favours must be a Seal for Life, and therefore she dares not be guilty of a Weakness that may hazard even the remotest Loss of her Peregrine, though for all the most exalted Felicities that his utmost Love can give her. For she cannot think of living Blest in his Arms, without being secure of dying Blest there too. And for that, and indeed that only Reason, she must deny him.

This last generous Argument, was immedi­ately as generously answered by the passionate Peregrine; who told her, their Case was ut­terly different from the common Breaches of the Marriage-bed; or indeed was rather no Breach at all. The whole true Right was in the Lover, not the Husband. That though, its true, it was always reputed not only an ignoble, but a hazardous Condescension in a Man of Honour, to Marry those easy Fools, that before Mar­riage [Page 58]would be so weak as to yeild their cheap unlicensed Favours, and much more those Li­bertine Rovers, that could break through the sacred Bonds of Matrimony; as too dangerous trusting to such brittle Bridal Fidelity. But his Ʋrania's Condescension on the quite con­trary was rather a conjugal Consummation than Violation: That nothing but invincible Tyran­ny had ravish'd her from him; that he should esteem her Concessions as not the least Weak­ness, but Justice, no less on that very sacred Consummation; and be so far from refusing her a formal Marriage, when the Death of her Tyrant should entitule him to that Ceremony, that he should think himself an absolute Apo­state both from Love and Honour at the very thought of such a Refusal. In fine, he had so much to say upon this copious Subject, and bound it all with so many Oaths of eternal Truth and inseparable Bonds between 'em, that even that last impregnable Retrenchment can hold out no longer.

And now for the happy Peregrine's Instalment in the Throne of Love, or rather his transla­tion to Immortality; (for Empire and Para­dise are both in Ʋrania's Arms, and no Rap­ture of Bliss can express his Felicity) first there's a solemn Pacta Conventa Sworn on his part, of no less Contract and Obligation than a Seal for Life. And then for the Consumma­tion between the happy Lovers, 'tis agreed on the Ladies side, that she'll find an Excuse to be absent the whole Day to Morrow from Seven [Page 59]in the Morning till Ten at Night; against which time the amorous Peregrine engages to provide a Bridal-Bed (for that's the Name he gives it) not at his own House, for the Ladies Honour must be guarded; and not any of his Servants must be trusted with so important a Secret: And therefore he provides a Chamber very richly Furnish'd in the Middle Temple, whi­ther the Lady convey'd by Water, in a Disa­bilee and a Mask, is received at the Temple-stairs by the waiting Peregrine, and handed up to the Palace of Cupid.

Here she finds a Bed-chamber and a Bed all richly Persumed, a Table spread in the Dining Room with great variety of Rarieties, but all cold Dishes, Flasks of rich Wine, and a Pile of Sweetmeats, &c. But that's the least part of the Feast: No 'tis Love, his Nectar and Ambrosia, the Regale of Gods, must furnish this Banquet. 'Tis true, they were a little stinted in one part of the hymeneal Ceremony: What other Pomp and State was not wanting, yet still here were no Bride-maids to dismantle the Bride. And here a little amorous Contest arose between 'em: The blushing Ʋrania, she by all means desired the permission of undressing her self; but Peregrine he was for supplying both the Bride-maid and the Bridegroom, making a Hundred passionate Intreaties to have the Charm of disrobing his Ʋrania, or rather unclouding his dear Divinity: For so he was pleased to call it. At last the supplicating Pe­regrine prevail'd, that that favour should be [Page 60]granted him; the fair Ʋrania yeilding only in this Point, viz. That she came to his Arms as a Wife not a Mistress; and therefore her part was Submission and Duty, and he the Lord of her Love and her Life, 'twas his part to Command and be Obey'd: All she beg'd of him, was, that he would be so kind even to her Modesty, as not to exceed the Liberties of a Bride-maid, or offer the least Indecencies that might put her to a feminine Blush: For what­ever Blushes she might afterwards receive in his Arms, those she would hide in his Bosom. The generous Peregrine conceded this Point, and promised her faithfully he would not trans­gress the Limits prescribed, but act the very Virgin Bride-maid, &c. But oh, when he came to perform the Virgin Office; (for, up­on the aforesaid Articles, she submitted her whole Dis-robement to his Hand) when by de­grees, nearer and nearer, and all with a thou­sand new discover'd Beauties, he had unveild her almost to her naked Charms, Gods! what a check, what a restraint was it to be burn­ing Peregrine, now all on fire, to see the repri­manding Eye of his Ʋrania, (for all the while he undrest her, she aw'd him with that Look as reminded him that he was yet but a Bride-maid) debar him even the least preliminary Freedom, though not three Minutes distant from the most unbounded exalted Felicities.

When he had put her to Bed, and scarce a Minutes time had thrown him into her Arms, (for his Joys, were too Rapid to make much Ce­remony in undressing himself) Oh! in what a [Page 61]Torrent of Blisses, did melting Love pour forth his highest Raptures! In short, I can on­ly tell my Reader, That such were the Trans­ports, even of one short Minute, as if they resolved the Joy of an Hour should repay the Sighs of an Age; and the long-suffering Years behind 'em be utterly forgotten. In these, I may say, almost continued Extasies between 'em (for the very Intervals of Rapture had so much Endearment as wanted but very few degrees, even of the highest Beatitude) they continued till Noon: At which time by a consenting Parly between the Amorous Combitants, it was agreed on both sides, they should Furle up the Colours, give a Cessation of Arms, and quit the Field for short Quarters of Refreshment.

Accordingly they each of them slipt on a Night Gown, &c. and retired into the Dining Room, where they made a short Repast, tho' indeed a double Banquet. For the grateful re­membrance of their late mutual Joys carried so charming a Thought with it, that whether they Eat or Drank, still at the same time they feasted their very Eyes too, so many languish­ing Glances, and dying Looks there past be­tween 'em; for whilst their Lips were now other wise employ'd, they continued the Lan­guage of Love at their Eyes.

After this short Cessation of Arms, or rather Recruits for new Forces, they both returned to their Colours, viz. to Bed again; where we'll leave 'em Engaging and Rallying, with all the open Arms and utmost Efforts of Love, till [Page 62]about Nine at Night; at which time making a drawn Battle between 'em, the Amorous and now Fatigu'd Combatants retired, having made a new Challenge of another select Day of meet­ing in the same Quarrel.

After this mutual Conquest (for both sides come off Victors in the Battles of Love) I will not enlarge upon this part of my History any more, than to tell my Reader, That the happy Pair very often met, and the Scene of Felicity, always the same Chamber in the Temple, where the several Meetings were little less than so ma­ny new Bridals; for they Loved at that rate both of Ardour and Constancy, that Length of Enjoyment put out no Spark of the Fire.

In a very little time after, the fair Ʋrania be­gan to have some very apparent or rather Preg­nant Symptoms, of her fulfilling the First, (how much soever the nicer Casuists may accuse her of breaking one of the other Commandments) viz. That Original great Work of her Creation, Increase and Multiply; for she was pretty far gon with Child. At this time Summer coming on, she went up to her Country-House at Rich­mond, where the greatest part of the Week (as much as his Absence from Change would permit) she was Visited and Attended by her Half-Bed­fellow, (though Heaven knows not Quarter-sharer) her fond Cit.

At this Place she mannag'd a Project of con­tracting an Acquaintance between her Knight and her Baronet. For the Knight being a great Bowler, it was resolved that her Peregrine should [Page 63]amongst the other crowd of Gentry, come down to Richmond; and by being a constant Gamester at the Bowling-green, should screw himself into a particular Familiarity with the Husband, &c. which succeeded to their Whishes. For the Baronet took several occasions of Chal­lenging the Knight at Rub and a good Cast; nay, very often play'd Booty, on purpose to encou­rage his winning Hand; which begot such a Fa­miliarity between 'em, that the Baronet was soon made an invited Guest to his House: Which Admission gain'd the Point.

This Initiation of a Country Friendship be­tween 'em, opened a fair Door for his City Ac­quaintance too: Which gave him occasion of many publick Visits; in all which, however our young Lovers managed their Looks and Civilities so, as to give no shadow of Jealousie.

Not long after, the joyful Knight was saluted the Father (a Titular one) of a young Squire, a Son and Heir, to his no small Pride; and per­haps some little City Honour. For though, 'tis true, he had several Daughters by his first Lady, However this was the First-born Male Issue; which gain'd him perhaps a Reputation of ex­traordinary Prowess among the kind well-be­lieving Gossips, to be the Father of so lusty a Boy at his Years.

The Fair young Teemer, the Mother of this young Templar (for so I may venture to call him) in less than another Year, brought forth another Branch of the same fair Fruit-full Stock, a young Daughter. At her uprising from this [Page 64]last Labour, it happened that she was invited by her Father down to Salisbury, to accompa­ny a marry'd Sister of hers, that at that time was just upon lying In of her first Child, be­ing Married to a Gentleman of considerable Fortunes there. Though she could not well refuse such an Invitation from so near and dear a Relation; yet it was with some Regret that she must be separated from her much dearer Peregrine, for at least 6 or 8 Weeks, (for she could not well propose to return much sooner.) Before her departure, she took her leave of her dear Peregrine at his Temple-chamber, and could not forbear a stream of Tears on so melancholy an Account, even in the very warmest Arms of Love. However, it gave them an occasion of renewing their former Vows of eternal Fidelity, it being mutually engaged between 'em, that this Part­ing shall be only a continued mourning time of Widowhood, till Love shall restore them to each others Arms.

The fair Ʋrania was no sooner set forwards for Salisbury, but our City Knight had an un­expected Guest, his eldest Daughter, (bred up at a rich Aunts at Norwich) that came up to London. This young fair One, was Mistress of a more than common Portion of Beauty, an extraordinary sweat Creature, about the Age of Seventeen: And though her coming to Town, unsent for, was a little surprize to the Father, yet such a Darling of his Heart could never be Unwelcome. The true Cause [Page 65]of her coming was indeed the common Cause of the Young and Fair, viz. Love.

These lovely Eyes had Charm'd the Heart of a young Country Gentleman of some hun­dreds a Year, though possibly, at a Smithfield Bargain, not altogether full weighty enough, in the Worldly Ballance, answerable to what her Father was able, or indeed design'd to give her. These fair Eyes had not only darted Flames into this young Gentlemans Heart, but as generously receiv'd some little Sparks of the same Wild-fire into her own; for here was Love for Love, between 'em, the young La­dy having contracted a very passionate Esteem for him: And to tell Truth, she had in a man­ner stoln up to Town, (her Lover being like­wise come up with her) on purpose to watch the opportunity, under the Smiles of a ten­der Father, of introducing him as her profest humble Servant, and smoothing all the way possible to a happy nuptial Knot between 'em.

As this young Daughter arrived in the absence of her young Mohter-in-law (whom yet she had not seen) it happen'd at that time that Peregrine came to Visit the worshipful Knight her Father. For though his dear Ʋrania, the fair Charmer, that drew him to the House, was gone; however, in Prudence or rather Cun­ning he continued his constant Visits there; it being supposed, inded by the whole Family, that the Friendship of the Knight, not the Love of the Lady was the foundation of the [Page 66]Acquaintance, and which a Cessation of his cu­stomary Civility, might have render'd a matter of Wonder, if not worse, Suspicion.

I dare not say what capricious Planet reign'd, that the unfortunate Peregrine discover'd some extraordinary Attractions both in the Person, Air, Wit, and whole Conversation of the sweet Angeline (for so we'll name her) not only to a common Admiration, but to a little yet nearer Touch: For he not only saw such Charms in her Eyes, but felt 'em too. And what contributed to his dayly growing Pain, who should the Knight choose out, to usher her to the Park, the Plays, the Musick-meetings, and indeed the whole Entertain­ments of the Town; but Sir Peregrine? The young Lady had had her whole Nursery in the Country, and therefore must be treated with all the Diversions of London; and han­ded round only by Sir Peregrine; so intire a Confidence he reposed in a Man of his Ho­nour, and consequently trusts his best Jewel in his Hands.

This daily and almost hourly Post of Ho­nour to attend the fair Angeline, in a little time put him upon a very tormenting Rack; he found himself gone almost before he felt him­self going, now not only stagger'd but Faln; Not but so lost had been otherwise a Pleasure and Delight: But now his Bed of Roses, the Charms of the fair Angeline, has too ma­ny pricking Thorns; when Ingratitude and Infidelity stare him in the Face, and the re­membrance [Page 67]of the wrong'd Ʋrania strikes both a shame and terrour to his Soul.

His Resentments of this last Barbarity had gon a great way towards the recalling his wan­der'd Reason, and repairing th Breaches these fair Eyes had made through his Truth, Vows and Honour. But another more spightful Mis­chief started up, which was, That at this time he had some honourable Relations come to Town, who dayly and hourly teized and tired him with the Invitations of Marriage, urging that great Argument, the Preservation of his very Name; for without Heirs, his whole E­state and Honour devolved into another Name and Family, a Collateral half Blood, the next Relation to both of 'em. Nay, some of the bolder of his Friends prest him so far, as to tell him plainly, They much feared, he play'd the private Libertine, and his refusals of such Virtuous Counsel must proceed from some se­cret darling Vice; the cherishing of which, would end in his double Ruin, both here and hereafter. In short, betwixt Preaching and Advising, Intreaties and Perswasions, he was at last so worried of all sides, that what with the irresistible Charms of his new Conqueror, he began to listen to the Enchantment. He con­sider'd too with himself the distance and hazard, and uncertain Lottery of all his Hopes of Mar­rying Ʋrania, the Disparity of his Own and her Husbands Years, being no true Ensurance of Life; his Youth and the others Age being in the Hands of an inscrutable Power: Be­sides, [Page 68]whatever gawdy Visions of Innocence the flatteries of Love might fancy in the Un­licensed Embraces of his Ʋrania, 'twas much to be feared, when weighed in a higher Ballance, that Flattery would be found too light; for whatever Severity of Providence it appear'd to have that deluded Sweetness betray'd into such a fatal Wedlock; yet such was the Decree of Providence, and the great Dispenser was Ab­solute. And therefore in the Divine as well Humane Canons of Marriage, Quod fieri non debet, factum valet; and Marriage whether a Fetter or a Bracelet, is still a Bond; and con­sequently his happiest Embraces were all but so many Criminal Violations of Honour.

These and a hundred Reflections being made, his new Conquerour carried the Cause, and in short, he very boldly makes honourable Love to the fair Angeline. The young Lady was strange­ly startled at such an humble Servant, and how cold soever were her Denials, like Wind to Fire they only enflam'd him the more; and con­sidering here must be Expedition in the Case before Ʋrania's return; To make quicker Work of it, he Attack'd the Father, and of­fer'd to settle a very large Joynture, and re­mit all pretensions to a Portion with her. The Father who indeed, desired no better a Son-in-Law, and perhaps had contracted this in­timate Conversation betwixt his Daughter and him, partly from such some hopes; very readily listen'd to so honourable a Professour, and im­mediately lay'd his absolute Commands upon [Page 69]his Daughter to Embrace the Happiness of such a Husband. The poor Lady was almost mor­tally Afflicted at that Command; for whatever Desert she might otherwise have found in such a Lover, yet here was a Heart already disposed, and consequently not in her Power to recall.

The young Country Rival had at this time made some Tenders to the Knight a a Suitor to the fair Angeline, and the Lady seem'd inclinable to him; (for 'twas agreed between 'em not to own any Pre engagement, fearing it might breed ill Blood, and be interpreted an Inva­sion of his paternal Authority, in daring to contract Love, and the Father not called to the Consult.) But whatever Inclinations the Father might otherwise have had towards this Country Pretender, from that Minute that Peregrine set up for an Addressor, he would not so much as hear him Named. The whole Dead weight was on this side, and the Baronet intirely weigh'd down the Squire; and there­fore 'tis resolved, that nothing but Sir Pere­grine must, and shall be the favour'd Lover, the Husband Elect; and consequently the fair Ange­line is bid to prepare without any dispute for a Ladyship, &c.

The poor Lady in this Distress, endeavour'd all that was possible to Fence and Sheild against this impending Storm: She beg'd the cruel Peregrine with wet Eyes and almost bended Knees, to desist his hopeless Suit. 'Tis true, she durst not tell him plainly her Heart was not her own, because she would not, and indeed [Page 70]durst not, trust a Secret of that Importance to a Rival, as dreading some fatal use that might be made of it, if told to a resenting Father. And though the Baronet was otherwise a Man of great Honour, yet still as all Ho­stilities are thought Lawful in Rivalship, she durst not put such a dangerous Discovery in­to his Power.

All these continued Repulses, could not daunt our bold Lover, who still persues the flying Fair, being resolved to push on the Siege, as invincible as she seem'd to hold out against him; till at last the young Lady Persecuted by Love on one Hand, Commands on the other (for Reasons that the sequal of our Sto­ry will discover) received the adoring Pere­grine with a little kinder Aspect; nay, made him those advances of her Favour, that in three days more Courtship she struck the Flag, and received him as the Conqueror.

I will not describe the Triumphs the happy Peregrine made, upon so charming a Victory, the Glory of which was not a little heightned by the opposition and obstinacy he met in his first Assaults; it is enough to tell you, That the yeilding Lady on her part, to caress the Man, she has now made happy; having now no reserves of Coyness or Coldness, told him very kindly, That it was her Duty now to contribute every thing in her Power to their mutual future Happiness; and therefore she must communicate one extraordinary Secret to him, which was, That her Father, what­ever [Page 71]ever his outward Aspect, or rather Disguise to the World might be, was in his Heart, the most hearty and unshaken Zealot for King James, possibly in the Kingdom: That as her Peregrine (for now she'll call him so) was al­ready a Favourite so near his Bosom, and in a little time might be yet nearer, she thought that nothing could be more adviseable for him, than to take some private opportunity of caressing her Father upon that Subject; for as much as her Father already Loved and Honour'd him, there could be no excess in Love: And it would only make the Bonds the more inviola­ble, and the approaching Alliance yet more grateful, if he should let drop any Expressions of his own Inclinations that way, to transport him with that new Satisfaction and Pleasure, viz. That he was like to have a Son-in-Law of his own Principle and Constitution, &c.

The kind Peregrine received this generous Information with a hundred Thanks, and pro­mised there should be sought a very speedy opportunity of obeying her Commands. 'Tis true, as he might open his Soul to his dear Angeline, he confest, that his Pulse beat very little that way; However, that was but a civil Complaisance to strain a Point, upon so im­portant an Account as the endearing in all kinds a Person, whom he had so many Obligations of the highest Duty to Respect and Honour.

Peregrine, who very wisely, was for imbrace­ing the first smiling Minute that offer'd so fair for Happiness, immediately attended the [Page 72]Knight, with some Io peans of his Conquest, and then desired his permission of engaging his Lawyer with the first expedition of drawing the Joynture; all which you may imagine was gratefully accepted and granted by the Joy­ful Don Senior. And the very next Night the Baronets gay Coach and Livery were order'd to attend the Aldermans Door, to invite him forth to his Man of Law at his Chambers in the new Square in Gray's-Inn; where coming about 20 Minutes before the Hour appointed, the Clerk received them with a great deal of Re­spect, told them his Master was ready with­in call, at another Brothers of the Robe in the Inn, from whence he was commanded to call him; and therefore desired their Pardon for a Moments Patience, till he could fetch his Master.

Peregrine now remembring his dear Angeline's last Commands, and this being the first pri­vate opportunity, himself and the Knight be­ing then all alone in a large Chamber, began first to tell him how Blest he should be in the Embraces of so charming a Creature as the fair Angeline, and not only so but doubly Blest in the Alliance to a Family of such true Worth and Virtue.

For Sir, continued her, believe me 'tis no little pleasure to my Soul to think that this happy Knot will tye me so near to a Person of that more than common Merit and Cha­racter, that his Loyalty shines equal, nay, if possible, beyond his other Virtues. My Loy­alty! [Page 73]reply'd the Alderman. Yes Sir (inter­rupted he) I know you honour our great Ma­ster, are a true and pious Mourner for his Wrongs; and if the Infinite Goodness would but graciously please to withdraw his too long Indignation that hangs Louring o'er these poor Kingdoms, and restore our dear Prince to his Throne—Lord Sir, answer'd the Knight, what do you mean! (holding up his Hands in an Amazement:) Nay Sir, reply'd the Baro­net, I see you are surpriz'd, I know I have crept into the secrets of your Heart; but never doubt your ever obedient humble Servant; my Silence shall keep a very faithful Key to so rich a Cabinet. And to secure you, my Dis­covery shall never turn to your prejudice in so sacred a Trust: I beseech you to rest satisfied that I am as nearly related to your Virtues, at least in that Point, as I hope I shall be to your Blood. For to deal plainly with you, not to be vain of what's no more than my Duty; there is not that honest Subject in the Nation, more in the Interests of that unfortunate Prince than my self; and when that blessed Day shall come when I may shew the World—Here Mr. Lawyer came in, and broke off the Dis­course; when the Baronet calling for the Writings, they were immediately brought out of his Closet, all ready for Signing and Seal­ing.

When the Writings were produced, the first Word the Knight Spoke was to ask the Lawyer, what the Writings must cost.— [Page 74]Cost! Sir, answered the Son Elect, a little amaz'd. Ay Cost! (says the Don) the Pur­chase of 'em I mean: I suppose Mr. Lawyer must have his Fee; Law and Gospel are both Goods and Chattels that must be Bought and Pay'd for, as Justice and Divinity go now. The Knight still prest the Lawyer to tell him what he must have for the Writings; for no Man shall pay for 'em but himself.— Per. Lord bless me Sir! What do you mean?—Kt. Lord bless us all, for 'tis a very wicked World we now live in. Once more Mr. Lawyer, what must I pay you? Lawy. Nay Sir, since 'tis your plea­sure, I deserve Five Pounds.—Kt. Let every Man have his Deserts, I say, and give the Gal­lows her due.—There's your Mony (throwing down five Guineas.) And here's your Joynture (throwing it upon the Fire, and stamping his Foot upon it.) Marry my Daughter to a Son of Belial, a Tory, a Rapparee, a Jacobite! What do you see in my Face! And what have I seen in yours, to be thus long deluded? What a false Snake have I all this while lodged in my Bo­som! Look you Sir Peregrine, or Sir Monster, which is your properer Title, I defy your Devil, your Pope, your French King, and all their Works: And henceforward pray take care to fol­low your great Jacobite Leader, and abdicate my House and Family; for I am a Magistrate, an Alderman, and a Justice of the Peace; and I shall make bold to tell you, My Roof harbours no Re­bels; and there's a great House near Snow-Hill fitter for you.

The poor Peregrine was absolutely Thunder­struck at all this irruption of Fire and Venge­ance, and could hardly return a word; but in­deed the Alderman stop'd his Mouth, for he would hear nothing. And so bolting out of the Room, with his Hands up to Heaven, and this short Ejaculation, From Sedition, Conspiracy and Rebellion, good Lord deliver us; he called a Hackney Coach, and drove home like a Jehu.

The very first Out-cry he made, was to call his dear Angeline, and to tell her the whole Story; what a Deliverance she had, and what Ruin she had escaped. The poor Lady fell up­on her Knees, and thanked Heaven for her Pre­servation: And just in the height of his whole Triumph for so happy a Discovery of the Cloven-foot, the Fiend, the Lucifer, the Jaco­bite, and what not! Who should luckily enter, but the poor discarded Norfolk Squire, who laying hold of so favourable a Minute, renew'd his Addresses of Love with that success, that before they parted, the old Spark very frankly received him into Favour, and admitted him a Servant to his Daughter; and in three Days time the Planets of Love so smil'd upon them, that Portion, Settlement, Joynture, and the whole Match was concluded to the young Couple's no little Satisfaction, and no common Joys between 'em.

The very next Day the fair (I may say) al­most forgotten Traveller, return'd from Sa­rum. Her first Entertainment, after a conjugal [Page 76]Salutation from her Knight, and the Embraces of her fair Daughter-in-Law, was the whole Story at full length of Sir Peregrine's Defeat, and the fair Angeline's Triumph. The poor Lady was ready to sink Dead at the Relation; which the Alderman observing, the Lady ex­cused her change of Colour by telling him, She did not believe there could be such Incarnate Devils in the World; and was sorry to think a Man of such profest Honour as Sir Peregrine, should be such a Monster. This encouraged the Knight to finish the whole Narrative, which you may imagine was set forth in the blackest Hew; till the poor Ʋrania was forced to feign an Indisposition, to get a little Privacy with her Fidelia, (who Travelling with her Lady to Sarum, was as great a stranger to what had hap­pen'd at London as her Mistress) to vent her just Resentments against the Infidelity and Apostacy of the perjur'd Peregrine. I will not describe the Agonies the poor Lady felt at this Occasion; when just at this interim, comes a Messenger to Fidelia with a Letter from Sir Peregrine, who, poor Gentleman, under no little Shame and Con­fusion, desired the favour of speaking with her at his Lodgings. Her Mistress at first, would very hardly consent to let even a Servant of hers, hold any Correspondence with so much Barbarity, Ingratitude and Falshood: But her Maid requesting that favour of hearing what the poor Gentleman had to say for himself, at last she obtain'd her Mistress' leave of calling upon him the morrow Morning.

In the mean while this very Evening, by a particular Commission from his fair Angeline, our young Norfolk Lover, was sent to the Ba­ronets Chamber to make a piece of an Apolo­gy for the innocent Imposture she had put up­on him, &c. The young Lover found him within, and accordingly beg'd his Excuse for the Message that the fair Angeline's Commands had enjoyn'd him to deliver. The Baronet very readily lent his Attention, when the Squire as frankly told him his whole Engage­ments and Contracts with that young Lady at Norwich; and though otherwise he had all the Reason in the World to dread so formidable a Rival as the honourable Sir Peregrine; yet the fair Angeline being all Truth and Virtue, 'twas to that only Obligation he owed the Conser­vation of her Heart, and the approaching Fe­licities he was now going to receive in her Bridal Embraces: However, she had a little Trouble and Shame lay upon her, to think how she had been forced to such a piece of fe­minine Artifice and Delusion imposed upon a Person of such Desert as Sir Peregrine; never­theless, she besought his Pardon for a Fault, so much the more Venial, as being really no other than a Stratagem of Virtue, to coun­termine the Cruelty of a commanding Father, and to Fence against so powerful an Invader as Sir Peregrine. In short, 'twas in the Cause of Truth and Love; and if there could be an in­nocent Fraud, she hoped he would excuse it as such; desiring him to believe, That she should [Page 78]ever carry a very great Esteem and Veneration for a Person of his Quality, that had honour'd her with that Love which she was no ways worthy of, and which she hoped would soon find a fairer and more deserving Object.— The Baronet very civilly returned Answer, That the young Lady was highly commenda­ble for that Cardinal Virtue TRƲTH in LOVE; and he heartily wish'd he had been as great a Master of that Perfection himself. As for his part he heartily forgave the fair De­luder, on so honourable an Account; and had no Resentment left against her, but only, That she was a little too unkind in so far doubting his Honour, as not to dare to trust him with the secret of her Pre-engagement; declaring that if she had given him the least hint of such a Confession, as well in Tenderness both to her Peace and Vows, he should have thought himself in all Duty Bound, though with never so much Pain to himself, to desist from so un­just a Persecution. For as much a Jacobite as the Lady had made him; he had a little more Tenderness to Right and Property, and more Veneration for Oaths and Contracts, than to admit of a Dispensing Power. And therefore he heartily wishes her Joy in the Disposal of her Hand and Heart, by a more rightful Title, to his happy, though never so much envy'd, Rival.

The next Morning Fidelia came to wait up­on him, where (to shorten my Story) he de­sired her to be the faithful Messenger of his [Page 79]whole Pains, Confusion and Horrours to the wrong'd Ʋrania; relating at full length the whole Persecution of his tiresome Relations, that had hurried and plung'd him into all this Infidelity: For which he beg'd a thousand of Pardons, humbly beseeching the injur'd Ʋrania to make her self the Phoenix of her Sex, by a Mercy and Forgiveness extended to so hainous a Transgressour, &c.

Several other Conferences past between Pe­regrine and Fidelia, before his Tears and Pe­nitence could prevail (in which the kind Fide­lia was a hearty Intercessour) to obtain a sight of the fair Ʋrania, which after three Weeks Prayers was granted him. At their meeting the poor Peregrine so trembled at the sight of her, and fell into that melting Passion, as to even Unman himself. The generous Ʋrania not to triumph over a blushing Shame, gave him very few Reprimands; only told him it was a degenerate World; and she was Sorry, that there was not a perfect Character in it; Peregrine was the Man of the Creation she thought came the nearest to a Perfection, but there are Spots even in the Sun; and even that Pere­grine has his Faults. This generous Rebuke toucht him so near, and so charm'd him, that if possible, he discover'd new Graces in her Eyes: For whether his Repentance inflamed him to a warmer Devotion; or that the repa­ration of Injuries oblig'd him to a treble satis­faction, the sense of his Infidelity only height­ned his Adoration; and never was Ʋrania so [Page 80]lovely as now. The Breach in his Faith that the unhappy Angeline had made, was now no more than a divided Water, where the Dam was broke down, the Torrents rejoyn'd; and not so much as a Mark of the separation re­main'd.

This the amorous Peregrine endeavour'd by an hundred Protestations to convince her; and though Protestations, she had but too much Reason to remember, had been only Sampson's Cords; however, he besought her to enjoyn him a Pennance though never so severe, that might wash him White again; which he would Obey without a Murmur or Di­spute.

Then reply'd the fair Ʋrania, I take you at your Word; from this Hour forward never ask me a forbidden Favour. If you can live contented within the Bounds of Virtue, and make that noble Test of your Love, as to quite all Libertine Pretentions whatsoever, I'll be­lieve you that passionate Convert you profess your self, and from this Minute Sign your Pardon. Nor believe 'tis my Cruelty that pronounces this Sentence: No Peregrine, 'tis my Kindness. Love Innocently, dear Peregrine, and be happy; for 'tis they only can hope for Blessings who deserve them. Madam, reply'd the sighing Peregrine, I embrace my Doom; to atone my Ingratitude, and merit my Pardon from you, I'll give you Proofs beyond Profes­sions. For from this Day forward, I'll Love my divine Ʋrania for the Glory of Love; [Page 81]I'll serve without Pay, and run the whole Race of Truth without the Reward. Grant me but now and then a Meeting Eye, and sometimes a melting Lip, just enough to keep a starving Wretch alive; and till the Seal of Heaven shall make you mine (for sure Heavens pitying Ear will hear at last) I'll never ask you more. Here the kind Ʋrania pour'd forth a hundred grateful Thanks for so noble a Profession; and cherish'd her dear Peregrine's virtuous Re­solution with all the tenderest Arguments ima­ginable, and now desired of him her Pardon, as she had granted him his; beg'd him to for­get the past Frailties that so bewitching a Se­ducer had extorted from her; and look for­wards to a Beam of that smiling Providence, which would one Day amply pay their Patience and their Sufferings.

To conclude, these mutual Articles were Ratified, and as infringibly performed: Pere­grine continued above half a Year in Town, contenting himself with the innocent Visits of his dear Ʋrania; and at last the Importunities of his Friends giving him new Solicitations and Troubles upon the old hated Argument, Mar­riage; to be rid of their tiresome Imperti­nence, he resolved to go a Volunteer for Flan­ders; a Divorce not a little mourn'd by the tender Ʋrania: However, as it was all for her sake, she submitted to the generous Cause that carry'd himthither.

Here Peregrine made Glory his Angeline, viz. his new Mistress, and continued Three whole [Page 82]Campaigns without one Return for England: In all which time a great many tender Letters past between 'em, which was the whole Came­leon Food, that both their Loves had now to live upon.

From this last Campaign, instead of taking up his Winter Quarters in Flanders, he took a Ramble round the Provinces of Holland, and visited the Capital Cities of that High and Migh­ty Common wealth; where his short stay at any one Place, not permitting the continuance of Letters from his Ʋrania, it was six Weeks since he last heard from her; however, he re­solves to make himself amends by Transport­ing himself from the Brill to Harwich, and give himself the Blessing of those fair Eyes, after so long a Separation.

Upon the Road near London, it was his for­tune to meet a Herse in great Pomp going down into the Country, the Arms of whose Scutcheons he had somewhere remembred; his Curiosity therefore led him to enquire of the Black-robed Attendants, whose Honourable Remains of Mortality they were, so Usher'd with all this Mourning Cavalcade; to which the Answer was made him, 'Twas such a Right Worshipful deceased Merchant and Alderman of the City of London, whose Corps were car­rying to Norwich. Good Heaven! reply'd the transported Peregrine, in an extasie to himself, the Husband of Vrania! Is the Usurper, the Tyrant Dead! In fine, this surprizing News [Page 83]put Spurs to his Horse, and Wings to his Love to Post him to London.

The Laws of Widowhood were not so rigid, but such a Visitant might gain Admission, even to a Closet Mourner: For he took no longer time than to put himself into a Funeral Weed, before he visited the lovely Mourner. I need not tell you how her Mourning became her; but you may easily believe that this ruefull Dress was the true Habit of Night; for on this Occasion, to Peregrines Eyes, it had all the Stars of the Firmament.

'Tis much to be suspected that this Visit of Peregrine's after near three Years Absence might add a new Current to the wet Eyes of the fair Afflicted, only from a different Fountain, viz. Tears of Joy. And truly to do the fair Mourner Right, she divided her respective Gratitude to the Living and the Dead; and as far as the decency of her Sable and Cypress would permit, she was not wanting in a suitable Welcome to such a Visitant. As for Peregrine's part, he made bold in a very little time to joyn his Compliments of Congratulation with those of Condolence, to Wayle her for what she had lost, a Husband; and Joy her for what she had found, Liberty. And now the days of Widowhood move with flow Hours and tedi­ous Sands to the impatient Peregrine; he fancies a few Months Dispensation might be very par­donable in her Mourning Ceremony; for to say Truth, the fair Ʋrania her self can hard­ly deny but the three whole last Years have [Page 84]been a sort of a Widowhood; and indeed the whole conjugal Fires between the Knight and the Lady, her happy Peregrine has this pleasure to believe have burnt but faintly; for he has the satisfaction of seeing the fair Fruit of her first two Years, in a young Heir and Heiress ( viz. under his own warm Reign) and a whole Bar­ren Field for the three last, under the Usur­pers colder Administration. Nay, he could not forbear telling the lovely Widow, That she ought in pure Charity, if only to those two pretty Infants, to throw off her Veil a little sooner than ordinary; for really it was a lit­tle regret to him, that these two young Pratlers might not call him Father yet. Ah Peregrine, reply'd the fair Mourner with half a Smile, those two young Pratlers as you call 'em, may please You when they call You Father; but by some very shrewd Signs in their Faces, I fear they'll shame Me when they call You so. In sine, the languishing Peregrine had so many Turtle murmurs to make at the slow Approaches of his long wish'd Felicity, that the poor Lady was forced to take him to Mercy in the half way Stage, viz. in bare six Months Widowhood; when the now truly and compleatly happy Pere­grine, fulfills all his Vows in the consecrated Knot, the bridal Embraces of his Ʋrania, and Possesses the whole Joys of Life, in Loves fair Bed of Honour.

INTRIEGUE IV.

A young spruce Linnen Draper, not long set up, took a Ramble in a long Vacation as far as Newberry. Here he fell in Love with a very pretty young Virgin Gentlewoman; and made all the passionate Addresses imagina­ble: Not that the young Girl cou'd have any Aversion to his Person; however the Conquest was not so easily to be accomplish'd, as in that short time his Business in London wou'd per­mit his stay in the Country; besides there were Friends in the Case, who must now be satisfi­ed too, in his more substantial Merit, than that of his outward Appearance, to carry such a Beauty, and such a Fortune.

Being forced up to Town, he continued his Addresses by very ingenious Letters twice or thrice a Week, for near four Months; in which her Relations having duly inquired into his worldly Capacities, and the young Lady ex­treamly delighed with such eloquent Black and White, having entertain'd a very tender Thought for him; the Marriage was soon af­ter consummated, and the Lady seated a fair Citizen's Wife in a very rich Shop in Cheap­side.

This young Bridegroom, contrary to our foregoing Histories, in a manner, kept open House to all the young Beaus of the Town, as being naturally so vain of his own personal Accomplishments, (for indeed he was a very handsome Man) that he fear'd no danger from the most formidable Rival; and consequently no Company nor no Entertainments, publick or otherwise, were debarred her; rather Priding himself in so many dayly Visitants, as he thought cou'd rather prove so many envious Spectators, than Invaders of his Felicity, which Thought was his no small Delight and Titilla­tion.

The young Lady, 'tis true, was a very fond and dutifull Houshold-dove; not that she wanted a Cage to keep her so: Rather the Freedom he allowed her, made a stronger im­pression of Love and Confirmation of her Fi­delity, according to the true Saying,

Being a very Airy, Facetious and Ingenious Woman, she was more Charm'd with Wit, than any other Perfection and Conversation, and had made this Observation upon her Husband, viz. That she thought him much more Eloquent at his Pens-end, than his Tongues; for, reflect­ing upon his Wooing Letters, she thought there was a great deal more Ingenuity in the Air of his Writing, than that of his Discourse, tho' that too was not disagreeable.

However, as lovingly as they lived together, a Mischance fell out, that one day prying into a Closet, of her Husbands, she found in a small Desk (which through) negligence he had left open) a bundle of Papers tied up together, which her Curiosity inviting her to read, she found 'em all to be the Originals of her Hus­bands Letters to her, and all in a strange Hand, which presently confirmed her, that all the In­genuity that had Conquer'd her, was only a Crutch to a Cripple, an Assistant Supporter from some abler Pen-man's Hand than his own.

You cannot imagine what a mortifying damp this struck: An hundred untowardly Reflections presently started up, not much to his Advan­tage; to think what notorious Cheats the World was Guilty of; and that a Man who had such a little stock of Wit of his own, as she now plainly found he had, should be so Impudent as to borrow abroad so egregiously as he had done. Nay, she could not forbear reflecting, even upon the very Discovery it self, as almost a greater Crime than the other, concluding it a piece of Folly, of the two the more unpar­donable: For though a Blockhead might bor­row help on so important an occasion as the winning a Mistress; yet the keeping those Ori­ginals, those Testimonies and Records of his own Witless shame, was such incorrigible Stu­pidity as not to be match'd.

In short, from this Discovery she conceiv'd so poor and despicable a Thought of him, (such is the Caprice of Woman) as at last grew up [Page 88]to a downright Aversion to him. Not that she publish'd her Resentments, or outwardly made any change in her Conversation, or seem­ing Respect towards him: But this was the more dangerous Rancour, far above any such trivial Womans Anger that vents it self in a few peevish Words. No, she began in a manner absolutely to loath him; and if she forced her self to any Complacence or Civility towards him, 'twas only to carry on a more for midable Re­venge, as so notorious an Injury she thought de­served; for Imposture and Villany were the most favourable names she cou'd give so poor a Delusi­on, thinking it the most barbarous Imposition for Woman of her Wit and Sense to be so Snared and Yrapaned into the Embraces of a Fool.

What Execution this Wedlock Revenge, this Feminine Malice propense must end in, the Reader may guess. For performance of which Revenge Occasion dayly offer'd, in very plenti­ful choice of Visitants, all her humble Servants, and none but wou'd have been proud of so fair a Lady's Favours, had she but made the least ad­vance towards the Encouragement of such a Presumption. However, though she made so unlucky a choice of a Husband, she was resolv'd to be more curious and more cautious in choosing a Gallant; for if she play'd the Wanton it should be there, where her wants at home ( viz. Wit and Sense) cou'd be more amply furnish'd abroad. Now it happen'd that one bold Spark among the rest, a frequent Guest in the Family, took the opportunity one day to make downright and hearty Love to her, which the Lady (for [Page 89]the foregoing Reasons) not much repremanding, she made answer, That truly if ever she vouch­safed to confer her good Graces upon any Man, it must be where she found Wit as well as other Charms to deserve 'em; and of which she must have very evident Proofs too.

The young Lover highly pleased with such a Declaration, and upon further Harangue be­tween 'em upon this Text, finding what fort of Abilities in that Faculty would best prevail; frankly told her, that if that was the Intro­duction to her Favours, he hoped he might stand as fair for that Happiness, as any of his Rivals: for though it did not so well become him, to magnify his own Parts, yet since he had no other Test for his Qualifications to her Smiles, he was the more confident to tell her, he pretended to some little Talent of Wit, as being indeed a Brother of the Muses: For in short he profest himself a Poet.

A Poet, reply'd the Lady, mightily pleased, Poetry! the only Wit in the World she delight­ed in: She had made it the whole Study of her Youth, having indeed neg lected both the Needle and the Dancing-school, for the di­versions and improvement from her Cowley, her Dorinda, her Dryden and what not, &c. In fine, it came to this Issue, he should give her Demonstration in that only Point of Merit, and then trust to her Goodness to reward it.

Then, Madam, I'll tell you, replies the Spark, not a little elevated with his prospect of Felicity: I am a Member of the honourable [Page 90]Society of Archers, a fair Regiment upon oc­casion, to grace a Lord Mayors Day. Now we had a good old Knight, a famous Archer, call'd Sir William Wood, sometimes our Servant as the Marshal of our Company, who lately dying, the Company were pleased to give him a very honourable Interment in Clarkenwell Church-yard, with three Flights of whistling Arrows over his Grave. Nay, resolving like­wise to bestow a Monument upon him too, we set a Town Poet, a Fellow that makes it his Bread, to write him an Epitaph; which if you please, I'll recite you as follows:

Now, Madam, continues the young Archer, this insipid dull Stuff was offer'd us by this Hack­ney [Page 91]Scribler. But, Madam, to shew you how much more Acute the Air of a Gentleman is, that Writes for his Diversion, above a Hireling Scribler; these following Lines are of my Com­position; Ex pede Hercules: But I should not talk Latin to Ladies. By this Sample you'll guess at my Poetical Talent.

Lady. Well Sir, and this piece of Heroick was a fair Issue of yours? Gent. All my own I assure you. Lady. And made choice by the whole Body Corporate for Sir William's Monu­ment. Gent. All in Capitals I can assure you. But dear Madam your Judgment? Lady. Then to tell you my frank Opinion upon it, Your learned Doctors of Archery and my Senti­ments are quite different. I thank my kind Stars, I never desire to hear a more Sense­less pack of Rhime, (for Poetry I dare not call it) then this Heroical Wit-sample of yours, as you are pleased to Style it: In [Page 92]the first place, [In's time in Archery] is such a Botch, and [Lament] and [Monument] two such wretched Tags of Verse, that a lower Form Boy at Westminster would be whipt for. Then for [ His owing his long Life only to his Bowe] 'tis next door to Atheism. Did nothing but his Bowe (no God ha mercy Providence) preserve him alive to the Age of Eighty Two? And then did your whistling Arrows eternize his Me­mory? A very low prized Immortality, if a never dying Name can be purchased so cheap, as three Flights of School-boys Arrows. Be­sides in my little Sense, Immortal Names are obtained by our own Merits, not by other Folks; and so how your Arrows eternized him, is some­thing unaccountable. In fine, Sir, your Compa­ny of Archers have more Pretensions to the Feather than the Quill; and truly Sir, as to your own Genius in Poetry, 'tis a little Kin to the Head of one of your own Arrows, the Leaden end of it.

Well, this shallow Dabler in Helicon, is none of the Apollo for her Lute; he has play'd the Sir Martin, and marr'd all. But in some few Days after, a very in­genious young Spark, a celebrated Wit, made his Addresses with better success, whilst about ten Days Courtship carried the Lady. And whatever Titillati­on, whether of Revenge or Love, or both together heightned her Raptures, he was such a darling Gal­lant, that never was Passion, Endearments and Ca­resses so fond as hers. This Intrigue continued in its full Zenith for about three Months; at which time a young Cozen of hers, a Country Gentleman, near Newberry, had a Father dy'd, who left him Heir to [Page 93]above a 1000 I per Annum. This young Gentleman in his miserable Fathers days, was bred up more like a Slave, than such an Heir; if he could read English 'twas all, but he could not write his own Name: And in truth, tho' otherwise a comely Per­son, he had no over-great Portion of Sense, and less of Literature. This Cozen had a handsome Sister with a considerable Fortune; now our Lady's own Brother, a Neighbour of this rich Cozen and Heir, (his Country Seat not three Miles off him) made Love to this She-cozen; and to expedite his A­mour, had requested his fair City Sister, to come down into the Country, to be a Spokes-woman for him; she to Court the Brother (for her Fortunes were in his Hands) whilst he Courted the Sister, and all to make sure work in the Match by Ploughing with the fair Heifer. Her Husband he was as fond of sending down his Wife upon such an Errand, as the Brother cou'd, and immediately lay'd his Commands upon her to post away in the Name of Cupid, a kind Advo­cate to the young Spark on her Brothers behalf.

The Lady who could no ways refuse this Negotia­tion, met her Lover at his Chamber, taking her leave with her kindest Embraces, mixt with a Deluge of Tears for this cruel Divorce; complaning most pite­ously, to think how she must leave such Wit, such charming Conversation, and all that was dear in the World, to go to Court a Fool, a Dunce, an illiterate Blockhead. But 'tis her hard fate, and she must sub­mit; and promising him her speediest return, she con­jured him to believe she left her Soul behind her; and that the Absent days she now borrow'd from his Arms, should be repaid with Interest; for nothing in the World should be so faithful as she, and as nothing ever parted with so much Sorrow, so nothing should equal the Joys of her return.

The Lady accordingly sets forward the next Morn­ing for Newberry, where in less than a Fortnights time she so gain'd the Ascendent of the Country Squire, that the Match was concluded, solemnized, and what not? However, here was no News of her return; her very Husbands Commands could not drag her back again; some Excuse or another was made to all his Letters, insomuch that 14 Weeks past before she saw London again. And who should Gallant her to Town, but the Country Squire? The poor Lover at London, who had thus long languish'd for her, amongst the rest of the Congratulators, came to welcome her happy re­turn; where the brisk Lady loudly laughing with her Country Cozen, rose up from her Seat, dropt him a short Courtesie, turn'd him her Cheek for a Salute, and then squatted down into her Chair again, to finish her Laugh with the Squire. The poor Celadon (for that's his Name) was strangely surprized at this cold Reception; and it was three Weeks (she was so danced abroad by the Squire) before he could obtain one private Word with her: When all she had to say, was, That she had bid adieu to all such Vanities, had taken an un­atlerable Resolution of dispensing no more Favours; not that any scruple of Virtue, or fit of Conscience (for that particular Question was ask'd her) had been the Cause; but such a Resolution was taken, and never to be retracted: Her Friendship was at his Service, but beyond that he must expect no more. The poor Celadon, tho' otherwise Master of a great deal of Wit, however was Fool enough to be strangely con­cern'd at this amazing Change.

He would not willingly believe the Squire had out rival'd him, the whole gay Humour possibly on that side being the effect of the late new and nearer Alliance between the Families. Matters held thus, two Months, when Letters came out of the Coun­try from the new Couple, to invite their Sister down [Page 95]again, for 6 or 8 Weeks, in the Country; which Re­quest was so seconded by the Cozen, that two Places were taken in the Stage Coach for the Lady and the Squire.—The Day before their Journey a great deal of Company were invited to Dinner to take their Leave, &c. Amongst the Crowd, Celadon made one; at Dinner the Lady was strangely out of Humour: For her Cozen had been gone a Week down to Chelmsford to Visit a Knight his Relation, and had promised her to return three Days ago; and there­fore she was certain he was come to some Mischeif. Answer was made by some of the Company, That 'twas but 25 Miles, and the Knight undoubtedly knew of his Journey to Morrow, and would not part with him till the last Day he had to stay in London. All this would not satisfy her, for he had promised her to be in Town, and 'twas not Knights not Lords could make him break his promise with her. Celadon, who heard all this had a sudden Fancy came into his Head, upon which he pretended some earnest Business, that would hold him half an Hour; at which time he would return to the company, who were pretty for­ward in a chearful Glass. He immediately posted to a Scrivener, and made him write a Letter to the Hus­band in the Squires Name, to this purpose: That by an unhappy fall from his Horse, between Chelms­ford and Burntwood, he had broke his right Arm; that he was under Cure with such a Physitian; that he desired his She-cozen would continue her inten­ded Favour to her Brother and Sister at Newberry; that he doubted not in a very short time to Kiss her fair Hand, being in the mean time her humble Ser­vant and Cripple.

This he gave to a Porter whom he well pay'd; ordering him to bring it almost half a quarter of an Hour after him, and say it came up by such a Carrier. Celadon immediately posted back to his Company, and [Page 96]the Porter came soon after him, and gave the Letter as instructed. When it was publickly read in the Dining-room, the Lady fell downright raving, The Villain, naming the Knights Name, had made her dear Cozen, drunk; which had thrown him from his Horse; that he was in his young Blood; 'twould cast him into a Fever, cost him his Life, and she should never see him more. The Husband himself cry'd out Shame against this Extravagant Passion, telling her, He himself had his Arm broke ten Years ago, and was not Dead yet. No, says she. The Devil can't Kill you; and so bolted away from the Company, and lock'd her self up in her Closet; where the Husband (resenting the Slight she put upon his Friends) broke open the Door, and forced her back again. Here she endeavour'd to compose her Books, though Sullen ones; when some of he Company, discanting upon who should write the Letter, the Lady made Answer, Whoever wrote it, no matter, I am sure 'tw is of his Dictating, the Style is so Witty.

She had scarcely made answer, when the Squire came in, excusing the resistless Command of the Chelmsford Knight, who in spite of his Promise had forcibly detain'd him thus long. He had not time to speak half his Speech, before the Lady had flew into his Arms, and kist him over and over, wondering to see him safe return'd, and all his Bones whole. The Squire was strangely alarmed at this salute; but the Letter being produced, it was made a Jest to every one round but Celadon, who had now unridled all. None in the Company could guess at the Author of this Let­ter; but the Lady singling out Celadon, sitting alone in the corner of the Room, pass'd negligently by him, and dropt this Half-whisper in his Ear, 'Twas you writ this Letter. No, Madam, reply'd Celadon, it can be none but your Squires, the Style is so Witty.