LETTER I. Against LOVE.

I Was in earnest, and am so still, and have too much reason to be so, and desire nothing but a clear Stage, and no Quarter. I shall begin my At­tack on that which is the very Foundation of all your Sexes Pride, and the Dotage and Folly of our own, and that's LOVE, [Page 2]which I undertake to prove, none but a Fool can e'er be guilty of. I know you'll ask me presently, whether I never knew a wise Man in that Condition? I grant, many that are esteem'd wise, may have had a shaking or two on't, or have at least thought fit to pretend something like it, to hold their Necks o' one side, and look like Fools, that they might not be out of the Fashion, as our Grandsirs wore Ruffs, our Grannys Far­thingales, and your selves now, such Aerial Monumental Topknots; which tho' you all acknowledge little less ridiculous than a Cap with a Bell at the Top of it, yet it the Seven-Wise-Mistresses should rise agen, they'd rather never be kiss'd, than be one Barly-Corn short of the Fashion. But you'll say, they don't all dissemble; for if wise Men han't bin really in Love, why do they marry? A shrowd Argument. And who ever did so that was well in his Wits? 'Tis true, that Men of the greatest Sense may sometimes overstrain their Heads with think­ing, and get a little delirious, and in that Fit, Nature falls upon them like a Coward, when they are down, and pops 'em into Matrimony; and when once their Horns are fast in the Brake, let 'em get out agen how they can. That this is true, you your selves must grant, or your great Admirers, the Athenians, if you'd either of ye be so ingenious as to resolve me one Question, and that is—Whether you ever knew any [Page 3]of those celebrated Wisdoms, who did not play the Fool egregiously in some one great In­stance of their Lise, and in this I'm sure as much as any other. You have heard, I suppose, of one of their Sagacities, who when he had marry'd his Maid, frankly own'd that there was no reason below the Girdle, and he never gave a more righteous Judgment. And perhaps 'tis necessary that those great Men shou'd have some such remarkable Blemish that others may know them, and they know themselves to be but Men, as the Spots in the Sun and Moon, are enough to keep any but Sots from wor­shipping 'em; and as the old Romans, not­withstanding their long Beards, convinced the Gauls at last, that they were not Gods, because they were capable of passion as well as themselves. Suppose then, at worst, that a wise Man should have bin in Love, 'tis as a Fool, not a wise Man: He for the time parts with his Wisdom, puts off his Politic, and appears in his Personal Capacity, unless you'll rather say, that as the Gods are fabled to have done, he dis­guises himself to descend among Mortals. This I still affirm, 'tis no part of his wisdom; he's dr [...]wn into't by a meer Trick and Fallacy of Nature; 'tis what he wou'd, if he cou'd, avoid, like sleeping, or other less handsome Actions. 'Tis certain, no wise Man wou'd ever be in Love, if he knew how to help it, because it makes him look so like a Fool, [Page 4]that the two Sosia's are hardly less distin­guishable. For must not any Man in his right Senses, (which besure is no Lover) must he not own that upon a fair and equal Ballance, the Inconveniences of that Passion infinitely outweigh that scratching sort of a Pleasure, which some say is to be found in't. Wou'd any wise Man, I'd fain know, bring a thousand Mischiefs up­on himself, which he might keep clear of, or make anothers Misfortunes his own, as if he had not already sufficient to tor­ment him? But he that's not in Love is half an Angel to the Wretch, who is condemn'd to row in that Ship of Fools, chain'd to some other Fellow-Slave, to have and to hold with a Vengeance, like those poor Creatures, whom the Tyrant fastned to Dead Carcasses, that they might stink and rot together. The Story of Pan­dor's Box is doubtless mistold by the Poets: 'Twas the Dressing Box, which Nature presented to all your Sex, con­taining, as I hope to prove, I know not how many hundred Kinds of Poysons, Mischiefs and Miseries, intrusted all in your Hands, to punish and plague Man­kind. I'd fain know to what peice of Mid­wifry a Man must have recourse, to find all the Diseases of your Bodies only, (since these of your Minds are granted innumera­ble) with which, if a Man has the hard Fate not to be choakt or poyson'd the first Night, [Page 5]as a certain King they talk of used to serve his Wives, yet how many a tedious Moon and Year, and Age, must he lan­guish with some frightful Hag rustling by his side, unless he takes a Dose of Opium to break the Charm, and give him his Ha­beas Corpus to an easier, and more comfort­able Bed in the Dust? 'Tis one of the least and most tollerable Inconveniences of that whimfical Passion, that it turns the Brains of all it seizes, and makes 'em so ridiculous, that 'tis impossible to pity 'em, without laughing at 'em.

And the worst of it is, that this Madness is infectious too, and better come near any other Venemous Creature than a Lover:— For not only his Bite, or his Sight, is mor­tal, but 'tis almost equally dangerous to hear him. His Sighs kill as certainly as the Breath of a Serpent, and infuse the same Poison into others, which he himself was so full of, that it runs over. To speak truth, he's not only a public Nuisance, but a common Enemy, and deserves as well to be expell'd a regular Commonwealth, as the Poets from Plato's, or as that Trage­dian, who put a whole City into a Fever, by reciting a Famous Tragedy. All wise Law-givers have taken a peculiar Care to punish those very severely, who have bin Corrupters of Manners, and by their bad Examples, debauch'd the Commonwealth, and infected it with Riot and Lewdness. [Page 6]But nothing effeminates a Man more than this sickly Passion; nay, it makes him de­spise or hate all who are healthier and wiser, and will have it a mark of Dullness and Nonsence, not to play the Fool, and is as angry with those who do not, as the Sybarite with the poor honest Fel­low, who was hard at work; which so highly displeased him, that he was like to have beaten him, because it made him sweat to look upon him. The subject is so copious, that I find 'tis easier to say too much than enough upon't; I shall there­fore add no more, but one just Remark, that 'tis easie to observe what an useful and innocent Passion we ought to esteem it, when we find nothing more common than for the Ravisher, the Incestu­ous, the Adulterer, and sometimes the Mur­derer, to plead Love, to excuse them, which therefore shou'd seem not only a Pretence for the blachest Villanies, but even the Cause of them.

Letter II. Against the Sexes Pride and Vanity.

A Vast Sea to Launch into, and not more wide then 'tis unfathomable: They are indeed but one, tho distinguish'd by differ­ent Names, or at least have a mutual Inter­course and flow into each other. But for more exactness I'll discourse of them di­stinctly, and describe the dangerous Rocks and Sands and Shelves, that are every where scatter'd round 'em, that tho you are re­solv'd to sink your selves, others at least may beware of 'em.

And first, your Pride, which you know was your Fall, as well as that of your dear confident, who perswaded you to it. 'Tis hard to say, where you show it most, in your Conversation with us, or with your selves, or with one another.

While you have Eyes, you will have Pride, you have sufficient in your selves to feed that, and your vanity, tho no other living Eye shou'd ever see you. Is it for your Husbands, or so much as your Lovers, or for the sake of the rest of the World, [Page 14]that's all this Patching and Painting, and Curling and Dressing, and Fooling? No, I must clear you from all these; 'Tis as much for your own dear selves you do it, as for all the rest together. We fancy the Pea­co [...]k spreads his fine Train to oblige the Spectators, but it's a great mistake, for he does it often enough, and stares on himself, and admires his glaring Train, when he knows not he has any Witnesses to admire him.

Thus wou'd you do, if in a room by your selves, and you were sure neither to re­ceive or make any visits; you'd yet rustle, and ftrut, and look back on your Train, and mend your Curles, and make Court to your own amiable selves, for a whole day together.

However, as to your outside you have of­tentimes somewhat that may at least give a pretence to your Vanity, but what have you to say, for your minds? What show or shadow of Reason, for being Proud of what is so perfectly Contemptible, and there's so little hopes, or it may be possibility, of their ever amending? You are even Proud of your own Pride, when you can find nothing else, and you thus make a sort of an infinite Pro­cess in Vice and Folly. Your Sex reconciles a thousand Contradictions, which is it self the greatest, your minds are weak and yet stubborn, loose and dissolv'd, and open to such pleasing sophistry as you are sure will ruine [Page 15]you, and yet at the same time impregnable against the utmost efforts of sober reason, mighty full of your selves, and yet as noto­riously empty as those shapes of Men, who so much admire you. I shall find you a Glass, e'er I've left ye, better then Mrs. Behn's, and much truer; and which, if you'd look upon't half as often as on your own, there would be some hopes you might a little rectify these mental De­formities; but I'm perswaded you are much more inclin'd to break it, for you never yet endur'd one that told you your Faults, any more then a Gown that shows your Ill shapes, you dearly Love to be bol­ster'd, and he or none must have your Heart that flatters and abuses ye.

But I'm slipt from your Pride to your Vanity, which seems to respect others, while the former is often terminated on your selves; Tho 'twill be as difficult to sepa­rate one from t'other, as you from ei­ther, and therefore I must now consider 'em promiscuously, and take that which comes uppermost.

And if ever either of 'em show'd them­selves, 'tis in your pretences to equality with your Lord and Soveraign; that No­bler Creature, whom you were made to serve and obey, a sort of an Appendix you are to Mankind, a Crutch to his Mortal Nature, made (one wou'd be tempted to think) on Pravision of the Fall (had not [Page 16]you your selves been the Principal Actors in it,) without which one can scarce ima­gine there had been any need of you. How­ever, made you were, for another, and yet have the Vanity to flatter your selves, that he was rather form'd for you, and that all Mankind are to bow down and Worship ye. O! How hard it goes to pay a little pre­tended bodily obedience, but if it once comes to the mind, you'll no more yeild any Su­periority then a begging Spaniard; to a No­bleman of any other Nation. There you are perfect Levellers, as fit to rule as any, and as much right to't, tho you may as well say your Bodies are as strong, and can undergo as much Fatigue as ours.

How many poor Husbands d' you make weary of their Lives by the Pride, the Ʋn­easiness, and the Vanity of your Tempers, and what Bunches of 'em have strung them­selves on this occasion?

And no wonder, if you seldom miss trying your skill with them, after you have clos'd them, at the safe Lock of Matrimo­ny, when you are generally so well practis'd in Domineering before you are Marry'd. Your Lovers are your Slaves, from the very first sight, and you rule 'em more absolute­ly when once Chain'd to your Bed, then the Algereens theirs, when fasten'd to their Gally-Benches. Your concern is not so much, what subjects you have, as how many; nor how they live, as how they serve, nor how [Page 17]you come by 'em, as how you may preserve 'em. You have the Vanity to believe all that these say of you, all the gross Flatte­ries wherewith they load you, with which Tyrants are generally pleas'd, because they think greater things of themselves, then they can hear from others. How many per­juries are you Guilty of? Both all your own, and theirs too, who are so unfortunate, to be enslav'd by your fatal artifices. They must be deeply forsworn to please you, and protest you have ten thousand charms they never dreamt of, tho your Faces be as mean as your minds. And if these happen to be Blasphem'd, if any whom you are grown weary of, and have cast 'em off for the sake of beloved variety, happens to take the ungenteel Freedom to slander you with the greatest Truth, what attonement present­ly but his Blood, and what Sacrifice less then humane, to appease your Savage Deity! One Rival is presently hired with smiles and hopes, and all the Witchcraft of your Sex, to cut the Throat of another, to gratify your infernal Pride, and insatiable revenge: Whereby you have often a dou­ble advantage; you get rid of two Lovers at once, and make room for more, while one of 'em is hang'd and the other murther'd.

Nor have your own Sex much fairer Quarter from you then ours. No Truth, nor Justice, nor Friendship, you are all in Hobbs his State of Nature, Independent Empires of [Page 18]your selves, and at profess'd Wars with all the World. Your very Cloaths, your Gowns, much more your Faces are Rivals: You'd scarce one of ye, give another an Inch of preheminence, tho 'twas upon the Edge of a precipice, and to save both your Lives; so much less wit have you then the two poor Goats, who meeting upon a narrow Bridge, and finding it impossible to pass by one another, or to return with­out falling into the River, one of 'em very politickly and humbly laid himself down, and the other went over him, by which both got safely whither they in­tended. And did they not Act far more like rational Creatures, then the two Good Wives of Paris t'other day, who met in a narrow street and complimented till Night, getting both Dinner and Supper in their Leathern-Tabernacle; rather then either of 'em wou'd lessen the Grandeur of their Family by going backward, and leav­ing the other in possession.

You show us, how little Beauty is to be really valu'd by the low esteem you have of it in any but your selves. Some fault you are sure to find in the most re­gular Face, and then, none but all the World knows it.

‘Yes, truly, she's a pretty sort of a Wo­man enough, for what there is of her, for a little Apple Childish Face. Or else, on my word a proper Dame, and abun­dant [Page 19]shape she has to recommend her, she'd make a good handsome Man enough, that's the Truth on't. Or the contrary, were she not a thought to slender, a little d'ye call't, ( crys another Erynis), why she's a MEER SPIDER, a perfect INSECT, two Pyramids set together. Or, she has a good Complexion, Nay, set down in­different, 't has a notable Eye of the WALL in't; either DOUGHBAK'T, or the OVEN OVER-HEATED. Or—For her FINE EYES all the World ADMIRE her, yes, they have a Languishing cast with 'em, she is a little CIRCUM­SPECT, and has the advantage, that she can throw one of 'em on her LOVER, and the other on her HUSBAND, at the same time, without altering her PO­STURE, and look equally amorously on both. Well, but hastn't Madam A—a very graceful presence? Yes, and a fine ROL­LING-PIN-FACE. She's tall, as a BELL-ROPE, Lovely WHITE TEETH, and a mouth like an—O YES! CURI­OUS HAIR, with an Eye of GOLD in't. Round plump SNOWY HANDS, and you see she's not a little PROUD of SHOWING 'em. Charming EYE­BROWS, why you may see the LEAD SHINE upon 'em. A GOOD FOR­TUNE, Those always come SHORT on the telling, or weigh less after Mar­riage. Of an UNSPOTTED REPU­TATION,— [Page 20]Pretty well since she broke off with my Lord R—or after HAND­SOMEG—had left her—or where she's not WELL KNOWN;—or—Nay, we ought to hope the best-still;—Many have bin ABUSED, and we live in a MALICI­OUS WORLD. She TALKS WELL, but affected: Very good HUMOUR'D, but FOOLISH; a great deal of WIT, and ILL NATURE.’

The plain Meaning of all which is just thus, if you wou'd but speak out.

‘I'm so PROUD, that I hate any shou'd be thought a FINER WOMAN than m [...] self, or so much as equal with me. I'm the prettiest, littlest, softest, roundest, plumpest, properest, gracefullest Creature that I ever set my Eyes on. Have the most Virtue, Beauty, Wit and Re­putation. The finest EYES, the best Presence, the prettiest Ways, the loveli­est Hair, the evenest Teeth, the most ensnaring FINGERS, the most surpriz­ing Foot, the best Shaped:—The most charming Elbow, and Tip of an Ear, of any in CHRISTENDOM.’

— Well, Madam, You are, I see, so ravish'd with Admiration of your self, that 'tis pitty now to disturb you, or wake you out of such a pleasing Dream; and therefore, at present, there I leave you.

LETTER III. Being an Essay in Defence of the present Fashions of the Female Sex.

THo' I have bin something negligent, as to Time, yet the Subject you have impos'd on me to treat of, doth sufficiently demon­strate the Power you have over me: When laying aside all the curious Thoughts, flowing from all the noble Subjects of Heaven and Earth, you have bound me up to a Woman (forgive me mine own Sex:) And to that which is tax'd as the greatest Vani­ty, ever committed by 'em; I mean the Extravagancy of their present Fashions, amongst which, that of their Heads seems to be vainest; Their unreasonable Toppings: And to which they seem so united, that 'tis not in the power of Reason or Ridi­cule to make 'em part with them. Other Fashions have their short Continuances here, and then they go off the Stage; this the settled Possession. They are never weary, never will be asham'd of this, tho' it pre­vails [Page 28]beyond all measure, and is become so Troublesome and Chargeable, that it has forc'd 'em to lift up the Tops of their Doors, and of their Coaches, to admit 'em.—But I forget my Province, which was to defend, not to accuse the soft and tender Sex: And indeed I speak but the Lan­guage of the Vulgar, and (amongst 'em) of the rudest of either Sex, who only are Enemies to these Dresses, and Expose 'em. As for the Gentile, and Ʋnderstanding, the liveliest, and well Educated part of Man­kind, they scruple not to approve 'em, by using of them. Indeed, few or none have defended 'em by the Pen; a Sign that their Enemies are so illiterate, that they cannot read; nor had I undertaken this need lest Task, had it not been in Obedience to your Commands; and in order to this▪ I shall speak of Dress in general, and first, Prove it be no Sin or Folly, and then secondly, Shew the Advantages of it, and that it has some positive Good in it; and then lastly, apply all to the present Head-Tires of Lad [...]es in particular.

To begin then, I lay this down as [...] Principle: That there is nothing Uggly or B [...]tiful in it self, but with respect t [...] the or [...]inary Rule, and Customs of Na tions. Th [...]re be two outward Things ob­servable in a D [...]dy; the Figure or Shape and the Form [...] of it: For th [...] [...], it is w [...]ely contriv'd [...]nt [...] [Page 29]that which nature produces, and that which is Redundant, or Deficient, is said to be Monstrous or deform'd, not that 'tis so in it self, but in respect of its deviation from the common Standard, that nature proposes to its self to build up the Body of Man in. And as Figure; so Form (by which I mean Colour) depends upon the customary Draughts of Nature. And we count a mixture of White and Red Beau­tiful, because it has Anciently been count­ed so; Whereas the Blacks (they say) have ether and contrary Notions of Beauty. A plain Demonstration that Beauty is sounded in Custome, not Nature, and that nothing is originally and simply ugly.

2. And as the Form and I ashion of the Body, so the Form and Fashion of those Garments that cover it, are all Judg'd handsome or ugly, by the Rules that Cu­stem have proscrib'd to it: For there be two ends of Cloaths; The first Natural, to defend the Body from Cold, &c. The other Civil, to distinguish Sexes, and the several degrees of each Sex, and to set it off and adorn it. And tho in the first of these a certain Fitness and Proportion of the Gar­ment to that Member it is design'd, or to the whole Body for the use aforesaid, is the probable Rule it ought to be made by; yet in those that distinguish the Sexes, and degrees of each Sex, (as some always must be own'd to have the only Authority). And [Page 30]this is the Reason that several Fashions that appear at first sight strange, if not Monstrous, shall become so agreeable by Cnstome that we fall in Love with 'em, and admire 'em, and cannot think those we doted on before tollerable: 'Tis true, great Persons having always claim'd the Richest works of the Richest Materials; such habits have been usual signs that they were known by. And wrought Gold and Garments of diverse Colours, are the out­ward Indications of Persons of Honour, Greatness and Riches. And meaner Stuff and Workmanship for the Inferior sort. Thus it has ever been. But we speak not of the Materials, but Figure of the Distinguish­ing Garment, and therefore for those of Ornament, which is the last end of Gar­ments, I must lay down these General Rules.

1. That as every Creature is bound by the Law of Nature, to build up and re­pair his Body by Nutritions, so to adorn it and set it off in the best manner he can, by the Ornaments necessary thereunto; which is in effect, but to set off Gods work, and make it appear more Illustrious and wor­thy of him.

2. The particular way to do this is not fixt, but guided by Fancy. That is, we first try one way and then another, according to our several Fancies and Opinions. And having experienc'd one way, perhaps in [Page 31]time we like it not, and fall to another, and so to a Third, and so on till perhaps we fall into some of the Old again, when either they are forgotten, or our Fancy al­ters, and we think it again conduceable to that end: And so, tho' we differ from our selves, in the Methods and Means of Adorning our Bodies, yet we agree in the end. The Means are only Trials, wherein we are guided by our Fancy. They are Essays of poor imperfect Man, to compleat himself, which is the end of Human Nature.

3. We have an Estimation for Things we have not try'd, and for Persons of Ho­nour, and true Worth, and the first is the occasion of the Inventors of new Fashions, and the second, of those that follow 'em. Every one wou'd improve his Body, and make it appear as perfect as he cou'd; but every one cannot tell how. The Rich and Great are those that contrive these outward Embellishments; which having try'd and prov'd, others (that have a great Veneration for what they do) imi­tate 'em: So that there is cause in Na­ture, Viz. Perfection, for the Invention of new Fashions, and for the Vulgars follow­ing 'em. As likewise for their Change; when we find by Experience that we have mist this end, and therefore are enclin'd to try another,

And lastly, When a Dress is grown com­mon, or us'd by vile and ordinary Persons, it has lost its Distinguishing and Adorn­ing Quality; and so the End being lost, 'tis fit it should be laid aside, and another assum'd, till Authority shall be pleased to Appropriate Garments and Fashions to the several Sorts and Degrees of Sexes: So that 'tis the want of such a good Law, that brings a necessity of Change of Fa­shions. 'Tis necessary Persons of Quality shou'd be known, that they might have their due Honour: And seeing every ordi­nary. Creature will break in upon a Fashi­on, and dress like 'em, and Authority will not interpose to make an Inclosure, what can, nay, what shou'd they do but fall into another Mode for distinction? So that the Original of Fashions, and the Changes thereof, is founded partly in our naturaldesire of Perfection, and Attempts towards it, and partly in that Order and Distinction, which shou'd be amongst Mankind, with­out which, all things will fall into Confu­sion.

These things being premis'd and agreed to (as I suppose they must be) I wonder why Man (unreasonable Man, that is guil­ty of the same Crime, if it be one) shou'd rally upon poor Ladies for the pretended Extravagancies of their Dresses. Do they pretend they are uggly or monstruous? Why! there is nothing so in its self; and [Page 33]Custom reconciles every thing, and is the Rule of Decency; that is decent, which the tried and approv'd Customs of well-educated Persons have made so.—is it because they change and alter? Why! this is nothing but a continued Essay, to render themselves Beautiful and Compleat in Body, as well as Mind; the Work of Humane Nature. We are sent hither to Adorn and perfect both the Body and Mind, as far as we may. Education and Study is the Means to the one, and Dres­sing to the other.

Each are to be dress'd, tho' in a diffe­rent way. The Body must be adorn'd with such Improvements as it is capable of; and he that doth neglect it, is a Slo­ven, and a Sinner against the Law of Na­ture. I do not here make any Compari­son betwixt the Body and the Mind; I am willing to prefer the last, and its Ac­complishments, (and wou'd to God it was more minded) yet I say also, that whilst these are done, the other ought not to be left undone. Let the Lady be as long as she will in her Closet, at her Dressing-Box, provided she be not longer there than at her Prayers. I will not blame her Endeavours, to adorn her Body, if it doth not take up the necessary time of Adorning the Mind. Why! doth not every thing strive at Perfection; and if it fails in one Attempt, try another? Do we not every day [Page 34] Eat and Drink, tho' we have try'd it so often, and have found it will cure the Disease call'd Hunger, for some time only? Is it a Sin, to render God's Workmanship beautiful, and try every Method of Art or Nature to effect it? To leave the Dresses as well as Company of the Vulgar, and to lay aside a Garment when it can distinguish us no longer? Ladies wou'd keep to their Fashions, if others wou'd keep from them: But the Inferior sort break in upon 'em: What hurt is it then to forsake the Room? If Authority will not keep up Decorum, but render all common; yet let Ladies be more prudent and regular: And tho' hard-hearted Mankind will not afford their Honour a Protection; yet I hope the Wo­men will do themselves Justice.

The Sum of all is this— God makes, and Apparel Shapes, &c.—Every Man and Wo­man is born in a poor Squalid Condition, and Imperfect in Form and figure, till by Nutrition the Body has attain'd its due Proportion, Magnitude, and Beauty; and even then it is so mean a Figure, that it is not fit to be seen Naked, nor can it distin­guish the several Orders of Mankind, and therefore Nature has taught all Nations to conceal their Imperfections under Cloaths, and to distinguish one from another by them. And because Beauty is the Creature of Fancy, and that the ordinary sort con­tinually break in upon the distinguishing [Page 35] Fashions of the Nobility and Gentry; The Form and Mode of Garments are forc'd to be changed as often as there is an occa­sion.

And if there may be given a sufficient reason, not only for the Adorning of our Bodys, but for the often changing the out­ward Mode, or Fashion of its Ornaments, who can deny this to our Female Sex; who ought to keep up the Advantag [...]s Na­ture has bestowed on us, over Men, in Soft­ness, Sweetness and Beauty. Who are either Married or (I speak only of the Sex in Ge­neral, and not of every particular Woman, who may find reasons to resolve the Contra­ry) to be Married, and who deservedly stand upon our Beauties, as well as Merits, or other Accomplishments to Command Love and Respect, and preserve it when obtain'd. Why therefore shou'd Envious Man, grudge us a little time to fit our selves for them? Especially seeing they themselves are the Causes of it?

But you may say our Detractors are of both Sexes, and we are Indicted as Offenders, Not so much against the Laws of Decorum as Religion: Indeed if this were so, 'tis but time to undress and lay aside for ever all our Ornaments, and wear nothing but Sackcloth. But this is a mistake; Religi­on doth not forbid it, nor will the Soul be injur'd by the Ornaments of the Body, its dear Associate; And the objections are [Page 36]founded upon Ignorance, Mistake, and Sw­perstition, as will appear if we consider them.

1. We are accus'd of Pride, but this common and popular Accusation will signi­fy nothing to those that consider what Pride is; That it is not any thing about the Body, but is resident in the mind, and consists in an over valuing a Mans self, or in [...]hinking better of our selves then indeed we deserve, or in boasting of our Endowments, as tho they were our own, and not derived to us from Above. And how can Cloath­ [...]ng and Adorning our Bodies (which is no­thing else but covering and hiding the De­ [...]ects of our Carcass) be any Indication of the Pride of our minds? Indeed Cloaths are nothing else but a tacit confession of our Native Impersections, and Ornaments seem to confess that the Body it self wants them —And what Fool can be Proud of that which is not his own, but what he must be beholden even to the Beasts of the Feild for? And if any Lady when she has drest up her self with the utmost care and Curi­ [...]sity, can really think her self better then she was before in her Night Cloaths, I must own she has a mighty Fancy, but little Rea­son, and I cannot believe that there is any of our Sex (as foolish as we are) that can think so.

2. There be two places of Scripture, th [...] to the Slovenly Zealote seem to bear [Page 37]hard upon us; the first in the Old Testa­ment, the second in the New.

That in the Old Testament is Isa. 3.17. and so forward; where there is an Anti­quated Inventory of the Womans Ornaments; Such as Interpreters know not well how to render in Euglish, and these are threar­ned to be taken off the Daughters of Zion, and they forc'd to submit to their contraries. But then these Ornaments are not there Con­demn'd as Sinful in themselves; But the Sin consisted in their Pride, Wantonness, and Luxury. V. 16. They were haughty and disdainful, and overlook'd their Equals. Be­sides, they had the Aspect and Gestures of Harlots: Their Wanton Eyes, and their Nice and Tripping Gate, Symptoms of the sensuality of their minds; For these Crimes it was, that God threatens to Strip 'em of their Ornaments, by which it wou'd fol­low, that Ornaments are not a Curse but a Blessing, and the being depriv'd of 'em, a Punishment.

The other Text is 1 Pet. 3.3. To which I willingly Subscribe, that the Principal Or­nament of a Virtuous Christian Wife, is not the outward ones of the Head-Tire, or Gold Chains, or putting on Apparel, but that of a Meek and Quie: Spirit. This is an Orna­ment indeed, and that which excels all Ex­ternal Ornaments, and yet it is not exclu­sive of 'em, unless you wou'd have the Woman lay by not only her Gold, but go [Page 38]with her Hair about her Ears, and use no Apparel. And to conclude all on this Head, I dare Appeal to the most Slovenly and Mo­rose of either Sex, who rail at Pride and the Fashion, because they cannot come up with it; Whether Dresses, even the most Richest and most Curious are not Lawful? When God himself is said to be the Dresser, and to Adorn his adopted Daughter Jeru­salem, after the most exquisite Fashion of those Times, Vide Ezek. 16.10, 11, 12. Whether Precious things were not made for our use? And if so, why they may not be used? Whether a Christian hath not as good a Title to the best things as others? And lastly, Whether we may not wear 'em un­der these conditions.

1. That we come by 'em Lawfully.

2. That they are Suitable to our State and Condition of Life.

3. That we be not Fond or Proud of them, or unreasonably think our selves the better for 'em. And Lastly, that we be willing to part with 'em upon the Account of Necessity, Justice and Charity. I say, if these considerations are duely weighed, I dare make our Enemies of either Sex, our Judges in this Affair, and Stand to their own Arbitrament.

And thus I have, I hope, with some clear­ness, Vindicated the Lawfulness of using Ornaments, and of changing and following the Mode, which fancy (to distinguish the [Page 39]several Degrees of Life, and Adorn all) First invents, and Custome reconciles and renders decent: Give me leave now to add this positive Good of this suppos'd Vanity: For surely none will deny—That our Eng­lish in constancy and change of Fashions (how much Lightness and Vanity soever it is charg'd with) doth yet advance.

1. Ingenuity and Invention.

2. Industry, and that it is a great Ene­my to that which is the Vehicle of all Temp­tations (I mean) Idleness. And then,

3. Trade, and keept many Thousands, which won'd otherwise Starve or Invade o­thers Callings, and so justle others out of a Living, and Strave 'em. And

Lastly, Charity, by inclining Ladies to give away their Cloaths to their Attendance, by reason of the change of the Mode. And these convey 'em to their Inferiors, and so they go through several hands before they be worn out. And so tho we have lost the Old Hospitality of the English Nation, and House-keeping is Retrench'd, yet there is still a Communication of Cloaths, which can be attributed to nothing but this Volubility of the Fashion. So great a good proceeds from this suppos'd Evil.

I shou'd now descend to our particular Dresses, and those of the Head especially, the Subject of so much Wit, Mirth and Rai­lery, for their excessive heights and other extravagant Circumstances; Against this [Page 40]all sorts of People have level'd their Laughter and Indignation, and yet they have kept their Station in spight of 'em all; so that they seem to have the Fate and deserve the Motto of the Palm Tree.

Depressa resurgo.

The more they are rail'd at, the more they stick to the Forehead, and grow the higher; a sure Indication at last that our Sex can be sometimes constant. I shall upon the former Grounds assert of 'em, that they have no necessary Immoral Conse­quences; and therefore are in themselves in­different; and if they have lifted up the Tops of the Coaches and Chariots, they have put many to work, and so preserv'd Lives, and caus'd Money to Circulate. If these are high, 'tis because every one wou'd at least seem Proper and Tall, and what hurt is in that? And as Monstrous as they are re­presented, yet Custome has reconcil'd 'em, and made 'em handsome, and a Woman without her Toppings is now a very odd Crea­ture. I shall only add this of them (1.) That a Head once drest is soon on and off; and so doth not take up so much time as formerly, and so Ladies have so much the more leisure to serve God and do Good to the Publick. (2.) That many thousands get an Honest Livelihood by 'em—But I perceive It have exceeded all Measure in this Letter, and bestowed too many words on a matter of so little concern. It was on­ly [Page 41]in obedience to your Injunction; for I am your very

LETTER IV. That Blushing' s no Sign of Modesty.

AMong all the Tinctures and Paints that the Pride of your Sex ever invented, none so cunning as that of Blushing: I [Page 62]know you'd have it thought Natural, but I'm satisfied 'tis no more so, than 'tis a sign of Grace or Modesty. You are grown excellent Proficients in the Arts of Dis­sembling.

You are Mousers almost as soon as you can creep abroad, and play with you Fans. You learn to Blush, as you do to Weep and Feign, without any Teacher,— a Dis­position 'tis in you, that may indeed be much improv' [...] by Art and Practice, and one wou'd not think what vast Progress you'll make in a few Years. Formerly in the al­most forgotten days of Virtue and Inno­cence, to have a good Hand at Blushing, went as far to the marrying a young Girl as a good Portion. It lookt like a Red Flag of Defiance, hung out, which makes a Man of Courage more eager for the On­set. It appear'd wholsome at once, and pleasing; 'twas so like an Apple next the Sun, or a fine Streaky Katherine Pear, that every Body's Mouth water'd at it. It look'd like a lovely Sun-shiny Evening, or any of the fine things, to which an A­morous Poet compares his Mistress.

But those Days are gon—We are now come to an Age of much more sinful Knowledge. Your Sex, even yours, is improv'd in Deceit, and ours in Caution. And when we see a young Thing hanging down her Head, and her Face cover'd with Blushes, how are we uncharitable when we think there's [Page 63]some reason for't? You were therefore as good leave this Trick; which, like all others, now 'tis found out, can be no longer useful, and which has not the least Shadow of Reason to be so highly esteem'd, both by your Sex, and ours, as it has bin formerly. For when you Blush, either you have done somewhat, for which you ought to be asham'd, or you have not: If the latter, as you say, it often happens, why d'ye Blush at all? If the former, how come you so ill Dissemblers, to confess it,—and what are you the better for't? or what Satisfaction is't for an Ill Action? Or if for some little innocent Mistake, or Misfor­tune, you have still less Reason.

A modest Assurance is after all, the best Token of Innocence; but as for Blushing, the Players themselves can do it; and those who have yet a less honest Name, in the greatest Perfection.

LETTER V. Against Vizard Masques.

AN Over-grownblack Patch! I'm as Zea­lous against the Mother, as an old Pu­ritan wou'd be against all the abominable Daughters. Be as ugly as you will, let us see you, but you're too wise, for then 'tis ten to nothing, we avoid you.

Yet there are some of you have indiffer­ent Saleable Faces, and what reason have those to hide 'em? Is't for fear they shou'd blush and tell Tales, put on your Masque for once when you read this, least Mur­ther shou'd out before you are aware on't.

If you are really handsom, you imjure both your selves and us, by clapping this Potlid-Face between us and you. If you are not, and talk pertly to us, how many Thousand Lies are you the occasion of? How well are we all o'th' sudden acquaint­ed, tho we ne're saw one another before in our Lives? How sure are we, that we are intimately acquainted with that Chin, and those Eyes: 'Tis impossible we shou'd be [Page 67] mistaken either in the Leer of one, or the Dimple of the other; besides that ini­mitable soft Charming Voice of yours, to which, we cou'd make Affidavit, and know it as well as our own Nurses.

Well, after all this Chatt, which has last­ed 2 or 3 Scenes, up goes the Curtain, and a very Sycorax stares us in the Face, so Frightful perhaps and Ghastly, that if Mac­beth's a Playing, we are teady to take you for one of the Witches, vanish'd from the Stage into the Pit or Gallerys, then we Nauseate all our own compliments, start at the thoughts of a Succubus, and wou'd not stay a moment longer with you, tho like one of the wayward Sisters before menti­on'd, you would give us a Kingdom for our reward.

And yet what honest meaning can you have by thus putting out the Lights? Some dark work sure you have a mind to be em­ploy'd in, and by this stratagem you can defy Day it self, and make it Night whenever you please.

They talk of Witches calling the Moon out of Heaven, but you have found a way to call the Sun thence, or which is the same thing, make it shine in vain, and never re­proach your crimes, or hinder your satis­factions.

Truth, indeed, seeks the Light, and hates all Disguises, but what's that to Women, who are never more like themselves, then [Page 68]when they're Incognito, and who have this still to say for't, that they can't appear in a worse shape then their own.

And now we talk of Truth, I wonder how the old doating Moralists, came to make that, and all the other Virtues of the Feminine Gender. Fortitude it self, or Man­hood, tho it carries the Nobler Sex in its Na­ture, in most Languages, me yet is reckon'd of the other. If there were no Virtues, but what were to be found in that Sex, 'twou'd almost tempt one to be of their doating opinion; who pretend Virtue and Vice are both the same, and differ only in Name, and Imagination,

But I think, they reckon the seven dead­ly Sins too of the same Gender, and in that I confess, they have made some amends.

And there's hardly any of 'em that your Mask wou'd not fit, for what some of your Flatterers have said of some of your Sex, that if virtue were to take a visible shape, 'twou'd certainly appear in theirs, may with more Justice and Reason be said of Vice, at least as to a great part of you, who when once you give your minds to 't, infi­nitely exceed Mankind, and are more ex­quisitely wicked.

But you wear not this Velvet scurf for nothing. No, 'tis that the Amorous Sun mayn't look upon you; nor the wind kiss you so close till it Chap your pretty Lips; [Page 69]or for fear Apollo himself and all the Ze­phirs shou'd fall in Love with you.

But if that be your Fear, throw your masks by, for 'tis natural to desire what's unknown; the Philosophers tells us, that Black drinks in the Rays of the S [...], more greedily then any other Colour: That sub­tle Chymist makes Gold in the deepest Ca­verns of the Earth, however he seldom or never exposes it, without some thin Crust over it, and who knows but through such a Feeble Curtain, he may more easily trans­form your Faces, at least into the same Complexion? He may double-Gild you, or at worst, Lackar you over, tho he'll not be at the Charges to finish the Process; or go quite thorow with his Transmutation.

However, of this you can't be ignorant, that the closer you keep vout selves from him, the more close he sticks t'ye, when once he gets you at an advantage; while those who are always exposed to his Court­ship, and are not so squeamish as you. he requites 'em with a natural Mask, which can defy all Weathers, and will last 'em as long as their Lives.

LETTER VI. That Women are more cruel than Men.

WHich will appear beyond Contradic­tion by an Induction of Particulars. You are evidently more cruel to Enemies, [Page 74]and even to Friends: To your Rivals, and your lovers, and your very own dear selves, which wou'd make one less wonder at your Barbarity to all the rest.

And first for your Enemies, whom if you conquer'd by Right of War, and only made use of the Advantages which Fortune gave you, as did your strapping Amazonian Predecessors, when they rambled about the World, and carry'd Slaughter & Destruction with 'em where ever they came; this wou'd be somewhat more excusable: But a Co­ward no more dares be Brave, than Merci­ful, nor is therefore likely to Attack open­ly one he hates. You have more Sure and Private Methods of Destruction: You out­do the very Crocodile, who is said to weep over her Prey; for you kill smiling, and destroy embracing, like the Tyrant's Daugh­ter, as he call'd her; who had an Engine dress'd up like a Beautiful Woman, to whom he led those he had a mind to be rid of, who advancing to Salute her, she immediately closed her Arms, and Crush'd 'em to Death.

'Tis a common Observation, that we ne­ver hear of any remarkable Mischief, rarely of any Bloody Murther, but there's a Wo­man at one end on't; and that you exceed the most Barbarous Thieves and Banditti in Thirst of Blood, those poor Travellers feel, who fall into the Hands of such Peo­ple, when they have any of your Sex among [Page 75]them. You have all a Touch of the Wild-Irish in ye. You do ten times more Mis­chief than the Men; and if Candles are to be made of Heretical Tallow, or a Sprawling Child or two to be roasted, who but a Woman to dip her Hands in the Grease of one, and Spit and Baste the other?

And if you can do this in Cold Blood, and from an Innate Love to Cruelty, with little or no Provocation, what is the Viper then when his Spirits are enrag'd? What a Figure d'ye make when possess'd with your own proper Spirit (for you need no worse) that I mean of Malice and Revenge? How amiable do you all look when you're an­gry? How sweetly are all your Museles turn'd? How mild your Eyes? How soft your Voice, and how like Incarnate Wo­men all over?

The Worm turns a Serpent, and that a Dragon; you breathe as many Knives as a Juggler ever swallow'd; you von [...] Ropes as he does Ribbons, and have as many sorts of Poisons as he brings Liquors from the Spunge between his Teeth; you run-a-muck at all Mankind, Ranverse Nature, and [...]ire the World.

This in ordinary Cases, but if you are once wrought to the heighth, if your [...]ea­lousie or your Ambition urges you on new Methods of Ruin; if your Desires are de­feated, or your Loves refused, or your Crimes [Page 76]exposed, you are then a thousand times worse than I've yet describ'd; more Nests of Hells and Furies swarm within you; you are more Venemously, more rancorous­ly implacable; all Blasting, Lightning, and Hurricane. In short, so superlatively bad, that none but you your selves can Conceive or Describe it.

Tho' after all, I think, you are less dan­gerous when you appear thus in your own proper Shapes, than when disguis'd, al­most past Knowledge, in those of Love and Friendship: For then you perfectly drill us to Death, and murther us, as they say Witches do, by turning us into Pin­cushions, and sticking us all over with Nails and Bodkins, like an Orange with Cloves, or Bergerac with his Flies, to give us the more lingring Torments.

Or else, to return to Witches agen, when you have once Metamorphosed a Man into that Brute of a Lover, you strait clap a Broom­staff behind him, and switch him thro'thick & thin in all your Aerial Journeys, which way soever the Vane happens to turn, the unac­countable Jaunts, and endless wild Goose Chases of your own Jack-a-Lent Fancies, and unaccountable Humours.

A famous Doctor is of Opinion, that Spirits, tho' separate, have yet a Plastic Power over Matter, and can mould a Body into whatsoever Form or Shape they please, as we can a bit of Wax: For Example—A [Page 77] Man into a Pudding,—a Woman into a Snake or Cat, or any other Mischievous Creature. An old Man, and a Child into a Cockle, or an Oyster; which last may the more easily be brought about, if that will but hold, which is very positively as­serted by another Grave Philosopher, that their Souls are the same already, or that he can hardly imagin any Difference between 'em. But whether or no one word of this be true, 'tis sure enough, you make us what you please, and most maliciously al­ter the very Form and Figure of many a poor Lover; sometimes you draw out his Neck, till by Virtue of a loosning Plai­ster of Hemp, 'tis as long as the Glutton wish'd his own: But much oftner his Ears to that prodigious length, that Midas was a meer Roundhead to him.

At one time you skrew his Face into a thousand Antic Forms, at another his whole Body, which looks Asquint af­ter you have once overlook'd him, as much as those Eyes which did it. His Chap falls, he hears with his Mouth, and only eats with his Eyes; his Hands dangle, if they don't happen to fall cross one ano­ther; and in a word, you steal him away from himself, and leave a perfect Chang­ling in his Room; and if there can be a higher or baser Instance of barbarous Cru­elty, than not only to do this, but to Tri­umph in it; and when you have adorn'd [Page 78]your Courts and Anti-chambers with such Brutes of your own transforming, as Circes Palace was stock'd with, to divert your self, with setting the poor Creatures to­gether by the ears, to tear one anothers Hearts out. I say, if you can show me any thing more brutally cruel than this, which is your constant Practice; why, then I must own your Sex has one Reserve of Mischief, wherewith I was never yet ac­quainted.

But it's in vain for Man to expect bet­ter Quarter, when your own Sex, if any thing handsome, are as implacably hated by you as old Age, or a foolish faithful Friend, that tells you all your Faults, in hopes to make you better. You wou'd all be Eleanors if you had R [...]samonds to deal with, and what maze so intricate, that you have not a Model on't in your own Minds? Pulling Quoifs is nothing,— ‘Tear out the Jades Eyes; off with her Nose (tho' war' Coventry;) stamp her under Feet; she have my Man; she seduce my Hus­band; she pretend to be as handsome as me; I'll eat her Heart; I'll gnaw her Soul; I'll grind her till she's invisible.’

Nay, Your Cruelty is extended, even to your selves as dearly as you dote upon 'em: Never were there elsewhere any Cannibals so fierce, as to eat them­selves, and feed on their own Flesh, tho' they perhaps might now and then [Page 79]make a luscious Feast on a fat Friend, or Enemy. Envy makes you gnaw your own Intrails, defeated Malice or Revenge sets you oftentimes quarrelling with your selves, and wreaking your Spite on your own Minds or Bodies, because you can't reach others: But Pride is the most vexatious Devil of all your Tormentors.

To this you are half Martyrs; for this 'tis that you so often wear a Scotch Boot all over ye. The Thumbkin's a Jest to't, and no more than a strait pair of Gloves. You are so far from allowing your selves room to Eat, that you care not whether you can breathe or no, so you can but look fine, and have your admirable Shape com­mended. What a Bastile of Whalebone you drag about with you? You are more th [...] chain'd, for you are both Pinion'd and Ma­nacled, and can stir no otherwise than a poor Reynard, caught in a Trap, which he drags after him;—tho' subtle as you are, his Cunning here goes beyond ye; for he'll gnaw off his own Leg to get out of Prison, but you wou'd do the same, rather than be deliver'd,—any more than S—n in the Jakes, on his own Sabbath; and since you are so fond of your Cage, 'twere, I think, pity to disturb you, and there I leave ye.

LETTER VII. That in a Dishonourable A­rnour the Woman's most to blame.

THat you were the first Tempters of Man­kind, I think you won't deny, and 'twou'd be to as little purpose, to pretend that you han't follow'd that Trade ever since. But supposing that now and then it shou'd be otherwise, yet 'tis certain, if you'd never yeild, none wou'd ever tempt you, which it may be they begin often in Jest, when you catch 'em at their word, and yield in earnest.

However, I doubt not to prove, that whoever begins such an Intrigue, the women are always most in fault in the managing it, for they have the Restraints of Modesty, and Shame and Nature, or if they shake off these, a strong byass of Interest and Custom, They run much the greater hazard in their Person and Reputation. They know all this, [Page 86]they have heard a thousand times, that those Oaths on which they force our Sex in those mac [...]ers, are reckon'd but things of course, and [...] Obligatory then their own [...] Erernal Friendship. They see their Neighbours ruin'd every day, it may be their Kindred, their Sisters, their Friends, or their near Acquaintance: Yet they'll on in the same Road, 'tis Green and Pleasant, they have agrecable company in 't, and it hu­mours their Vanity, they are admir'd and prais'd, and kneer'd and sung to, and treat­ed and caress'd, and for this they part with two Worlds, and think they have a good bargain.

Nay, how can they deny but they tempt their Tempters? For how frequently does it so fall out, and yet they expect to be pity'd for what they are ruin'd for. What is't they Dress and Dance, and Patch and Paint, and Sing and Sigh, and Ogle, and lay all the Love-Nets with which they are furnish'd, either by Art or Nature, what's all this ado for, but to please, and why wou'd they plcase but to be ruin'd? They dress them­selve irresistably, and then complain that they ca [...]e resist others: They triffle in the Flame till they burn their silken wings, and then buzz unpity'd about the Room, or creep into some chink or corner, and are starv'd to Death.

The Man has generally none to govern him, or to advise him better, but you have [Page 87]a Father, a Friend, a Guardian, or it may be a Husband. But I ask your pardon, since on better thoughts the odds rather lies there on your side; the very apprehension of re­straint is sufficient, to make any true woman break her Neck to get loose, and she'll ten times rather chuse to fall, then to accept of any such Friendly hands to support her.

Again, how equal soever they may be in the Crime, it's certain that custom makes a wide difference in the Disgrace and Disreputation. It ruines the Woman, but which of you likes the Man ever the worse? I wish I need not say, you often like him the better. However, a Slip of youth co­vers all, but it stands you in stead to set your Foot firm, for if you fall, Farewel for ever!

And is there not some reason, that the greater weight of shame shou'd be cast on the Woman, since there's so much depends on her Fidelity and Honesty? The Estate, if she's false, is carry'd into another Blood, and the true heirs irrecoverably injur'd. Be­sides the Disgrace that lights on the Hus­band, his Honour not being in his own keep­ing, but inclos'd in as slender a viol as Fran­eion allots, to something that requires equal care to preserve it.

LETTER VIII. Against Romances.

I Thought I had done with Love; but 'tis such a Pertinacious Devil, that tho' conjur'd down never so often, 'twill still rise agen, and disturb the World. Now it appears in the Shape of some distressed Damsel, or Pensive Knight, and erects its Trophys on as many Sacks full of Roman­ces, as ever the old Woman and the Cu­rate Sacrific'd to the Flames, when they clear'd Don Quixot's Study, and b [...]oke him for a Speculative Knight Errant; and had they sent all the rest after, and t' had bin Death for any Scribbler to have plagu'd the World with any more of the same Brood, t' had bin a happy thing for us all: But especially for you Women, whose Li­braries one might almost venture to reck­on up, and swear to, without ever seeing 'em.— Almahide, Ariana, Aristotle's Pro­blems, Astraea, Clelia, Cleopatra, Culpep­per, 'twou'd make a Catalogue indeed, to [Page 93]run thro' the whole Alphabet, and wou'd tire the Brazen Lungs of a Stentor, or a Jeffrys, to repeat one quarter of 'em.— And if among the Crowd there shou'd happen to be one stray Solitary Prayer-Book, or Practice of Piety, it's sure to have a Cobweb woven cross the Leaves, in­stead of a pair of old-fashion'd Strings or Ribbons. There it lies, and has never bin disturb'd since the last great Thunder: You Women, for your parts, know how to imploy your Time much better, at least more to your Satisfaction. In some brisk new airy Romance you find both your Mattins and Evensongs:—That's your Epi­stle, and Gospel and all; your first and last Employment. For this you part with Sloth it self; nay, your darling Pride can hardly Rival it; for you'll rather grow old for want of Sleep; nay, venture firing the House, and bring your self Spitchcockt in the middle on't, then leave off before you've done the Story.

Which that you may be sure not to for­get, you make all the haste you can to Transcribe it into your own Life and Acti­ons; Spirit away every Lady or Knight that you most fancy, and make 'em all your own; nor are you more transform'd from your true Selves, in your Bodies, when you appear in publick with borrow'd Cheeks, or Teeth, or Eyes, then your Minds are Metamorphosed by the Transfusion [Page 94]of these Fooleries;— And when a Woman does change, there's little need of proving 'tis for the worse. The Lover must be the sweet Knight, Montelion; the Mistress, the most Chaste and Virtuous Damsel Dulci­nea, Asteria, Statira, Hortensia, Valeria, and so down to Calia and Phillis. The old Bawd of a Confident, nothing better or worse than the Sage Ʋrganda; every little Gobetween, some Dwarf or Wizzard; and it may be, the Father himself, or Relati­on, and best Friend she has, some wicked Enchanter, or cruel Jaylour; and the Ri­val to be sure, no less than the confound­ed Gyant Pandafilando. Nay, worse than all this, we shall find few of those Books but have some fighting Lady or other, a First- [...]ate Heroine in the Story, who ei­ther in Disguise, or else bare-faced, with her Bever up, and sometimes her Hair about her Ears, shall rush into the Battle, lay about her like the Amazonian Dame, Penthesilie, and kill ye for a Breakfast some Forty or Fifty Men. Now, what a dangerous Pre­sident this is to their Sex, and of how ill Consequence to ours, I leave to the practi­cal Judgment of any poor Confessor or M [...]yr in Matrimony, who has often found [...] honour'd and obey'd with a Three­foo [...] [...], or a Ladle, while he's forc'd to wor [...] Rampant Spouse in the strictest Sence o [...] [...] Word, fall upon his Knees, to save his S [...]ulders, and Adore his Wife Incarnate, as the Indian does other Fiends, [Page 95]meerly in his own Defence, and for fear they shou'd devour him.

And all this they can do, because they dare. From the E [...]y [...]ng Examples they learn from their [...]ad [...]es, and read in Ro­mances, as Modern Regicides and Debau­chees are hardned, by reading the At­chievments of their Predecessors in former Ages. And if they fai [...] to inspire 'em with a Fighting Familiar, they do at least with a loving one, which it may be will prove more importunate, aod trouble [...] [...] the former: This renders 'em imper [...]ment, vain, and uneasie to themselves and others. They form Ridiculous and Impossible No­tions, and attempt as Absurd Actions. 'T [...]s true, the Defenders of these sort of Wri­tings will tell you they must draw their Herce something bigger than the Life, be­cause some A [...] wance must be made for Distance; but granting this, yet what need of so vast and unnatural a disproportion, as we almost always find between a Romantic and a [...] Historical Herce? You'll say true History affords not near so much Diversi­on as a well penn'd Roman [...] But can your Sex be pleased with [...] but Lies? or [...] there not [...] noble, as well as instructive in [...]ory, (were that your Province of which, more before you and I part) It's a strange Green-Sick [...]ss sort of Appetite, which generally and almost universally reigns in the Minds of your Sex, [Page 96]that nothing will down with you but Trash and Wall, Trifles and Bawbles, while you turn up your Noses, and pout at whol­some Food. 'Tis true, were you always Children, or would you but think your selves what you really are, 'twou'd be the best Excuse that cou'd be brought for your doting so much on these sort of wri­tings, which a witty Man says may be of very good use to Children, to allure 'em to Reading, and the Study of better things: But you seem to make these the very Top and End of your Learning, and neither go any further, nor desire to do so: The great Children are still in their Hornbooks, and very well pleased with 'em too; or if they do take out, 'tis to something a Form lower than A [...]sop's Fa­bles. An infallible Proof of what has bin often asserted by your humble Dotards, that you have equal Capacity with those whom Nature has justly made your Ma­sters, and who leave you to take up with those Exercises, when you come to what shou'd be your Years of Discretion, which they soon after their Infancy learnt to de­spise, leaving the reading Romances, the making [...]irt-Pyes, and playing with your Sex altogether.

LETTER IX. That a Black-a-moor Woman is the greatest Beauty.

TAke 'em as they come, for I don't pre­tend Power of Creation, and none who is without it can bring any order out of a Sex that's all confusion. This Bomb is levell'd directly against one Angle of your Pride, and I hope will lay it low enough. You generally show that Judgment for which some so much admire you, in being most pleas'd with the vainest and most ridiculous things you can think of, among which I may justly reckon your complexions: I call 'em yours on supposition you came honestly by 'em, and that they were fairly bought and paid for: But supposing for once you shou'd be beholden to Nature only for 'em, and Art had nothing to do in their Compo­sition, han't you, think you, great reason to be Proud of what a Tulip enjoys in so much [Page 102]greater perfection, and yet a stinking us [...]ess Flower after all; Good for nothing, but like your selves, to be set a top of a Cup­bord, or adorn a Chimney? Nature has how­ever in one thing been so civil to mankind, that we can't but admire both her Kindness and her Justice. She has generally given you a mark, that the you flatter your selves, you may not be able to deceive us, and the Fairer you are—I'll only say, we know you are not the wiser. But after all, since there will be some womaniz'd Fools of our own Sex, that can't be kept from run­ning mad for the outside of a skin, and doat­ing on a fine Complexion, I shall prove, to mortify their Pride and yours, that a despis'd Mooress is really a greater Beauty then all your Finieal chalky-fac'd European Ladies; The Sun has but half-baked you, you are not arriv'd to the perfection of Mullattos, much less are such finish'd pieces, such double refin'd Earthen ware as the charm­ing Negro Ladies.

D'ye start at the very thoughts of such a Comparison, and Pray what reason? You are all Blacks as soon as the Impartial Night has drawn her Veil over the World, and clapt her Velvet Mask on the Face of Na­ture. And who knows whether you are not so by day too? Nothing more deceitful then Colour, your Hearts are hardly greater cheats then your Faces: You more proper­ly [Page 103] appear to be then are, and all your Red and White may have no more reality then the gawdy Colours of the Rainbow: And wou'd you be perswaded to part but with as much of your skin, as you cover with one indifferent patch, I can't tell but a good Microscope wou'd show so much deformity in't, that it might almost make you out of Love with your selves. How Yellow and Tawry might it appear? What an odious scurf upon it? How many Ar­mies of Living-Creatures might we there discover? Most of which inconveniences, 'tis very probable a Darker Face never has, for 'twou'd be but black [...]ill, and perhaps much smoother and s [...]fter then yours. If you don't in your own Judg­ment give the Garland to a Black Beauty, why are you all so fond of Patches? If 'tis an addition to your Charms to have a part of your Face of that Colour, must you not yield to theirs who are so all o­ver? 'Tis true, they have some among 'em, Born much after the same manner that you are drest, some motly fac'd Crea­tures; with sick unwholesom Complexi­ons: But then these are hated and ab­horr'd amongst 'em. They reckon that the Leprosy or the Plague, which you af­fect and admire: They make these their Conjurers and Witches, and with Congrui­ty enough to their opinion, that the De­vil [Page 104]himself is white, and accordingly they paint him in that manner; and I believe all our European World are so far of their mind, that they believe there's more dan­ger in white-Witches and white-Devils (tho old Wives say, nothing that's hurtful can appear in that Colour) then in the black­est, ugliest, smoak-dry'd Hag or Fiend, that ever yet frighted the World.

Nor can you deny, that their Complexi­on is infinitely more lasting then yours, the consequence whereof seems to be that 'tis also more perfect. A Fright, a fit of Sickness, a cold, an Ague changes yours, disturb'd and alter'd like these lower Regi­ons, while theirs are like the pure Aether above, free from all Storms and Alterati­ons; or rather like the space beyond the World, there's something in it that's ve­nerable and almost divine, and it re­mains undisturb'd in the Serenity of Dark­ness.

But surely there are the Beauties of the mind too, as well as of the Body, and those as much more Charming, as well as lasting, then the other, as you think your Faces beyond a Negro's: But if you once come to a Comparison there, Paris him­self wou'd give it against you. What is there that makes a Wife handsomely-hu­mour'd, but Industry, Fidelity, Humility, and Obedience? And where can Europe show us any thing of these, like what we find in he African Ladies?

Even the poor Slaves enjoy these Virtues to Admiration. One of 'em shall be more useful, and do more work then a whole Se­raglio of Lazy, white-liver'd Europeans. In­deed they are good Slaves, and consequently Answer the end for which Nature invented their Sex: Will patiently endure Hunger, Cold, or any Hardship: No Gossipings to torment ye, no costly Lyings-in, or Church­ings to Plague and Ruine ye, but as soon as Pickaninny's Born, and soundly sowst in the next cold water they meet with, up it goes upon the Mothers Back, and no further trouble about it.

Then they are the humblest, dociblest, most obedient Creatures; O, that every Eng­lish Lady-wife had one of 'em in her House, for an Example, or wou'd but often look upon Behus Imoinda for the same reason. It may be, it might work some good upon ye, and the poor Heathens might shame ye into Duty and Obedience. When I wonder, shall we see one of you so meekly, so gently hold out your Necks, like innocent Lambs, when your Lord and Husband intimates his will and pleasure, that you shou'd resign your Lives to his Disposal? But I can't tell how far such bright Examples may work upon ye: You may have something of Generosity, some Sparks of noble Emulation yet remain­ing, and I'll not yet despair of ye, but that in time you may all come to be Imoinda's, In every thing but her End.

LETTER X. Against Naked Breasts.

I Am scarce well resolv'd, whether I shou'd reprove this fulsome Vanity, which so ma­ny of your Sex are guilty of, or let it quite alone, since it may be the best way to keep Men from venturing on you in a Lump, wou'd be to show 'em such a Nauseous Sample.

However, on second thoughts, since you lay your Baits so fair, I think it may be of some service to let the unwary know what Poison lies hid under 'em, and to set up a mark near the dangerous Rocks of such mis­chievous Land-Syrens, who not content with those broad Signs, hung out in their Eyes and Faces to force a Trade, must ex­pose their Goods too upon the very Stalls, that all may know what they deal in. And are these the only remains of your Grandmo­thers Innocency? Is your meaning, in throw­ing off a part, to perswade us you cou'd if [Page 112]you pleas'd, as easily be without the whole, and that you are really willing to turn Ada­mites, if you cou'd but have any Encou­ragement to renew the fashion? Or rather to imitate your Painted Ancestors, differing but in this, that you dawb your Faces on­ly, while they laid it on equally, and blush'd all over?

If you want a President in this Age, you may find enough among the Africans and Cannibals, who have even outdone you in this instance of Civility and good Breeding, you uncover a great part, while they keep as little co [...]er'd.

Were you oblig'd to such an hardship as this, by the Laws of God or Man, and forc'd to expose those tender parts to the Incle­mencies of the weather, and the rough [...]a­lutes of our Northern Air, there wou'd need no more to exasperate you to the last de­gree, to make you all turn Atheists and Rebels.

What was cloathing made for? And why d'ye thus Lure, and tempt mankind to your mutual Destruction? Why d'ye ex­pose those fatal Glasses to burn our Eyes out, to blind and enslave and ruine us?

How contrary is this to the custom of all modest and virtuous women, I mean those who would pass for such, in all Places and Ages? The very Africans Veil themselves from Head to Foot, and their Cozen-Ger­mans, the Spaniards, are not less careful: [Page 113]While we, who have more need of cover­ing in our climate, unveil as much as for shame, we are able.

There's scarce any Creature, but is Veil'd by Nature with something or other, to Learn us that piece of modesty, but you are per­verse Schollars, and don't much regard her Instructions: Nay, she has given you Hair, which if you'd cherish, wou'd it may be sufficiently hide you: If you are then for appearing purely as Nature made you, let that but hang dishevell'd about your Ears, and 'twill be some relief to our Eyes, and not put such an apparent Rape upon our Sexes modesty.

In what other thing can you pretend to be either like Truth, or Innocence, but that you are so very fond of appearing in the same manner?

If shame does naturally attend Naked­ness, when there's yet any the least Foot­steps left of native Ingenuity and Modesty; unless you have either no guilt or no shame, Learn to blush and to amend.

LETTER XI. Against Painting, and other Artificial Beauty.

WHat — are you not content with your Native Mischiefs? Those Poysons that are born with you; your Eyes, your Voice, your Faces; but you must be be­holding too to Art for our undoing, and attack us with Auxiliary Destructions? Where will your Malice end, and what can keep pace with it but your Pride and Va­nity?

Wou'd you give us once some Infallible Mark, to know you from your selves — I mean what parts of you are Real, and what Ascititious, and Unnatural; for 'tis the oddest Idolatry in the World to bow down to the Excrements of a Worm, to adore Spanish VVool, and Chalk, and Ver­milion.

What a high degree of Pride is it to find Fault with what Nature has made you, to mend the Work of the great Artificer? So Scandalous and Ill-sounding a Practice, that I'd fain hope most Honest and Virtuous Women were now asham'd on't.

And yet tho' there's few of your Sex but find it necessary to pretend at least to those Characters, how many of 'em are there who lay it on as thick on their own Faces, as the old Painters did on the Co­pies of others; you wou'd think they made use of a Trowel instead of a Pencil, and make such strong Work, you were al­most as good touch a new-plaister'd Wall as one of their Faces.

Either you are already as handsome as you think your selves, or as errand Dow­dies as every Whoremaster thinks his own VVife, or else indifferent;—a Layr of one with t'other, neither Foul enough to have the same Effect with Antimony, on touch­ing you, nor so wickedly Charming, as to drive your poor Vassals to Hemp and Dag­gers; and in which soever of these Forms you'll rank your selves, I see no need of this Dawbing, nor what advantage you can propose by it.

If ynu are handsome already, you may learn from all the Court Ladies who use it, that Painting is the readiest way to make you Grandams before your times; you must expect to look old, at least Twenty Years sooner.

'Tis like mending deep ways with Dirt, you must be perpetually laying on, Load after Load, or the unfashionable VVrinkles will devour all your Labour.

You know your selves it poisons the Skin, and ruins the Complexion, and yet you'll not be beat off on't, so fond you are of mending Nature, and of a Beauty that can endure neither Fire nor Air, Heat nor Rain, which lasts not so long as a Flower's; and which, as it soon withers it self, so will wither you too when it leaves you.

If you are Indifferent, be contented, and thank Nature, for neither having made you a Monster of Deformity nor Beauty: For your Gigantick Beauty is certainly monstrous in Execss, as well as others in Defect, and like the poor Gyants in Roman­ces, must be sure to be Mown o'rethwart, or Cleft downright,—sooner than any in all the Army.—Since then you have already all you can reasonably desire, and are in a more happy Condition than either of the Ex­treams; for what reason is't that you'd ven­ture such an Alteration, as must by Turns ex­pose ye to both the Opposite Inconvenien­ces? You'll at first, it may be, think you look very Charming, which will loo all the real or supposed Beauties about your Ears, and "She Paints—is the Word of Battle, which they'll all whisper round, tho' they have it on so thick themselves, that their Faces are like to stick to one another.

But after this aukard Flourish, which it may be, for a little while you may make by this Artificial Beauty, you at last find [Page 119]your self on the sudden, tumbling into the lowest Class of all,—that of Real Deformity.

And well remember'd for poor Dowdy, who was in danger of being quite forgot­ten:—There she sits, tearing her Face, breaking her Glasses, shovelling it on, and rendring her self a thousand times more ghastly than when she was first Cubb'd.— Like the poor VVench that came to a Country Painter on a Fair-day, resolv­ing to be a little finer than Ordinary, and gave the Fellow a Shilling to Paint her, which the Rogue did with a Vengeance; making her a blue Nose, black Lips, Green Cheeks, scarlet Eyebrows, and the rest pro­portionable; that when she came abroad, she scar'd all the Fair, as if one of the Tygars or Lyons had broke loose amongst 'em.

And pray, Madam, why can't you be satisfy'd with all the Ʋggliness you were born with? 'Twas a fair Portion. and one wou'd think you shou'd not be so over-co­vetous, to augment it.

Nothing will ever go well that's un­dertaken in spite of Nature: The Beau may as well set up for a Philosopher, the Bully for a General, or your Holbourn-Heck for a Statesman (or what's next door to't, an Alderman) as you be a Beauty, without asking Nature leave; and the more like you are without being one, you are still the more deform'd. Those Monkey Affectations will [Page 120]render you still more Ridiculous and Odious.

Endeavour then to set your Mind strait, which is in your own Power; make that well-complexion'd and beautiful, and thus render your self desirable and amiable, which you may obtain with more Certainty than if you had the finest Body in the World.

For after all, Ladies, nothing is more demonstrable than that 'tis not a fine Face only that either obtains Love, or preserves it, which takes off your last Pretences for these Artificial Meliorations, as you call 'em, that you use 'em out of an honest Intent, to get good Husbands, or to hold fast their Hearts, when you have 'em once in your Clutches: Nothing of that will cure a rambling Mind; the likeliest way to do it is, by being quiet and oblige­ing, which at least will make you your self more Easie and Happy.

But I forgot I had quarrell'd with your whole Sex, for which Reason you ought not to expect to have any of this good Advice from me: However, I imagin 'twill be much the same thing, and that you are more VVomen than to make any use on't.

LETTER XII. Against Women 's Managing Business.

THAT House is likely to stand very firm whose Foundation is on a Weather­eock, and that Family or Estate to be won­derfully well managed, which is left to a Woman's Prudence: Yet tho' they have nei­ther Capacity for Business, nor Resolution to go thorough with 't, they'll still be med­dling with it, and 'tis as impossible to keep 'em from it, as 'tis a Bee from a Honey-pot, tho' like him, they're sure to chain their Wings up, and to be lost in the pleasant Quagmire: But yet more excusable is the Animal that carries its Sting behind only, than the other, who is a perfect Amphisbe­na; for the former has its Sense to gratifie, and it may be its Hunger; and if it once gets out, carrys home its sweet Plunder, and is profitable to the whole Commonwealth: But the latter, out of an empty Ambition, and for the dear pleasure of Ruling, of being necessary, of giving Orders, and disposing [Page 130]Affairs, values not how much the World is embroyl'd by their Foolish manage­ments.

Were they but half as sufficient when they come to Action, as in their own Theo­ry, and mighty conceit, there wou'd be no such People in the World as they, no such Solicitors, or Polititians, or Councellors, or Embassadors: But alas, when once they Embark in Affairs of this Nature, they are like Phaeton between the Claws of the Scorpion, stewing in sweat, as black as that which frightned him and his Horses. The poor Ass, that thinks himself a Stag, when he comes once to leap over a Ditch, is forc'd to own he's as errand an Ass as ever. The Burden is too large for your shoul­ders. You were never made sor't, nor that for you. Try first whether you can list it, before you pretend to run away with't.

You have an habitual as well as an actual unfitness for any matter of moment. Triffling's your Province, and both your first and second Nature.

You may be sometimes great in little things, but you must of necessity be little in greater: You have neither Fund, nor Credit, nor Skill, nor Industry, to make any matters out in your way of Trading: Ha­berdashes of Business, little under-Springs and Letter-carriers, you may make ashift at, but with Wholesale you'll never do.

Your very Knowledge and Privity in any matter of great concern, is enough to ruine it: Nay, even in mischief it self, which is more your Element; and the reason why so few Plots ever take effect, may very well be, because there are women ingag'd in 'em. Their Natural Love to mischief makes 'em first embark in 'em, and their as Natural Folly to discover 'em: Nor need we wish our worst Enemies any greater misfortune, then to have a Parliament of women to direct 'em.

A Temper resolv'd almost to obstinacy, is required in the happy Transaction of any considerable concern.

But when were you so long in the same mind, that it might be so much as taken notice of? Any more then we can say of any determinate part of a rapid stream, Here it is, when in the very Breath that 'twas said, 'tis irrecoverably past us.

There's need of a long head, a deep reach, an extraordinary foresight, to bend things, when they are stubborn, and will not easily ply as we'd have 'em. We'll find Men of various Tempers and Interests and Opinions; and there 'tis not easy to mould and sof­ten, and bring 'em all into the Train of thoughts that may be well laid, and to ma­nage 'em with that dexterity that they shall do their own Business, at the same time they are dispatching ours. Your Sexes way of thinking is well known, 'tis Fore-right, [Page 132]like some other Creatures, when the object is before you, you drive at it immediately. Sence leads you, your passions drive you, your Humor hurries you; these are your Councellors, and you Act accordingly. You think as the Ephemeris lives, ‘the present only is your Lot,’ you are born half Epi­cures, for past and future never trouble you. You are above taking warning either by your own, or others Example.

Smart it self won't make you wise, and yet that, one wou'd think, were the most proper way to instruct you, to make ad­dresses to your sence, when so perfectly deaf to all Reason.

I complain'd just now of your want of Firmness, sufficient for any matter of mo­ment, yet I never thought of Scandalizing you with want of obstinacy; I know you possess it in the highest degree, but this is as far from true Courage, as that is from Rash­ness, or Good nature from Folly. Prudence will teach us, when to bend, and when to stand firm, tho we ought to take advise of Honesty together with it. Your Firmness is like that of melted Iron, 'tis Brittle, tho 'tis hard, 't will rather break all to pieces then confess the least Ductility; while that of a wise man, is more like Steel, it has an Elastic Power in't, which will make it give way for a while, and when there's any real occasion, but 'tis only to return again afterwards to its first Place and Form, with greater vigour.

Had Hannibal attempted either to have gone strait forward, over the horrid preci­pice he found in the Alps, or to have cut directly through the Rock that oppos'd his Passage, without making any turnings or windings in it, he must have bury'd his Ar­my in those vast Snows, and all he had got wou'd have been their Ruine.

The strange Variety of your Sex! For tho you are sometimes in a Humour to keep State, and sit on the Cub-board, like other brittle ware, and be no more seen then a Persian Lady, yet at other times, when the Tide of whim flows t'other way, you are all Black-Acres, you have as many Papers in your Hands as ever had at the—Table—and just to as much purpose, you must be in the wrong, for you carry the false Byass within you. I can't say, you are willful­ly mistaken neither, every time you err, but that you are so, is owing to one grand error, which may be in your Power to rectify, and that is, 'That you are always in the Right. If there's any hopes of cu­ring you, I shall give you a short receipt. ‘A way with your Pen and Ink, back to your Stitching, and remember you are Women.’

LETTER XIII. Against Old Maids.

BUT I wish I were sure of being out of their Reach before I begun with 'em, for they have terrible Fangs; and if they get me within 'em, I must be forc'd to compound for one Eye and Ear, to save the others.

Nay, 'tis dangerous venturing so much as within sight of 'em, for Anacreon's De­scription, even of a Beauty, agrees to 'em in some Sense, tho' widely different from that wherein he intended it.

But the greatest Fear of all is, lest, like some other sort of Serpents, they shou'd dart themselves, twine about the unwary Traveller, and Sting him to Death.

As charming a Sight doubtless as Don Quixot in his short Shirt, and full as in­vincible. Fate it self holds not faster than one of these loving Furies. The Story of the Gorgons I'm apt to believe was no­thing else but three old Maids, who liv'd together so long till they frighted Man­kind almost into Marble whenever their loathsome Faces, and snaky Hairs peep'd thro' the Casement.

And yet one wou'd wonder how so de­spicable a Creature cou'd be so terrible: Is there any thing in Nature so mean, so useless, so contemptible?—An old Moth is worth a Regiment of 'em: But I ask their pardon, for on better Thoughts I be­lieve they set up all the Match-brokers and Fortune-tellers in Christendom, and are constant and liberal Benefactors to those two noble Societies. As credulous they are, as he must be, who will believe the thousandth part of the Stories they tell of their youthful Amours:— When they might have bin marry'd, they'd have you know, (and lick their Lips at the luscious Imagination) so long since, and so often, in such and such a King's Reign, to that Parson, and this Lawyer, and t'other pretty Gentleman. Thus wou'd they talk over another Age; and if any thing cou'd make 'em young agen, besides what they dream of every Night, certainly this Dis­course wou'd do it. Thus far however [Page 141]you may venture to believe 'em, that they have had many fair Proffers in their time, since they themselves have made 'em.

But one good Quality they have; they are not Envious, any more than an elder Sister, when the younger is marry'd before her: Nor Malicious, any otherwise than an African Lady to one who refuses her: Nor Talkative, Ten-Fulling-Mills may make a shift at least to keep pace with one of their Modest Clacks, if not to silence 'em, and make 'em as dumb as a Para­queet.

Add to this the Gravity of their Beards, the Decency of their Mustachio's; the pleasant Downy, charming Mossy Substance, that usually adorns their Lips and Chins, and qualifies 'em so admirably well for the Honour of being the Countess of Trifaldi's Waiting-Gentlewomen.

Had they all as many Hands as Briareus, and every one arm'd with as many Twee­zers, there wou'd be full Employment for 'em all, in eradicating this Malicious Ex­crement; which if it grew a little closer, they might perhaps make a Virtue of Ne­cessity, and find some ingenious Contri­vance, to matt it into a sort of a Velvet Mask, and hide it self as well as their Faces.

An old Maid in a Commonwealth is much such another Impliment as an Eunuch in [Page 142]a Seraglio; [...]ll out as Jealous and Spiteful as he, and much for the same Reason.

'Tis not easie to know for what else she was design'd (since it looks harsh to grant that Sature made any thing in vain) unless to be a Sister in an Hospital, having spent so mu [...]h [...] [...]wn Life among Issues and Plaisters. Sure, there's a sort of Sym­pathy between a S [...]re Leg, and this Lump of Diseases: Whilst her Gummy Eyes overflow her Spec [...]acles, poor Ʋrsula weeps whether she will or no, and has the good Fortune to be reckon'd Compassionate when she's only Infirm, and her Eyes are troubled with a Diabetes.

How rank this sort of Creatures are, and what an odd sort of Perfume they wear about 'em, one wou'd guess 'em all of the Race of the Jews, by that, as well as by their Complexion.

And yet as vain still, as errant, errant Women, in spite of the Song, even at the same time they're Birds of ill Omen; as Proud, Prying, Conceited, Curious, Mis­chievous, Liquorish, Confident, Imperti­nent, Lazy, Noisie, Empty, Senceless, Ri­diculous Creatures, as their Mothers were at Sixteen.

An old Spider loves young Fli [...]s, and now poor Souls, they are forc'd to peach for Lovers; sometimes we see they truss up a foolish Apprentice; at others a poor nee­dy [Page 143]Tradesman, away with 'em into their Holes, and immediately devour 'em.

They say the [...]e's some here in Foreign Countrys a subtle Beast, th [...] comes by Night to their Village-Houses, and ex­actly counterfeits a Woman's Voice, making pittiful Moan for Admittance, or crying out for Help, as some of our Trepan­ners; whom if the fond Credulity of the Inhabitants can once be prevail'd upon to admit, they pay dear for their good Nature, one of the Company at least be­ing sure to make their new Guest a Sup­per.

But these She-Cannibals, these Flesh-Crows, these Man-Catchers, these Old Maids, are even with him for Scanda­lizing their Sex, and do more than coun­terfeit the Hyaena.

LETTER XIV. Against Forwardness, and Fondness in Women.

AMong the other Discourses, I've for­merly maintain'd with your Nimble-Tongue Ladyship, you know I blam'd your Sexes Forwardness and Fondness; and I think I justly blam'd 'em, which I now in­tend to prove, and that I may please you, I'll do it very Methodically, first the mat­ter of Fact it self, and then the mischief and Folly and Inconvenience of it, to your selves as well as others.

And that you are Fond, that your whole Sex is fond and forward, and have been coming above these 5000 years, and steal­ing back to your Ribb again, sure you your selves will scarce deny. We have no more Instances of it, then there have been Indi­viduals of your teizing Sex since the Cre­ation.

I have said enough on't I suppose alrea­dy, and have satisfy'd you, as to old Wo­men and old Maids, which let me tell you, make up a great part of your Corporation, being preserv'd amongst you, as the Egyp­tians do their Grandmothers, dry'd and sap­less, for I know not how many Generati­ons. Now if even these make a shift to keep a Colts Tooth, when they have hardly had more then Stumps in their Heads, since the Camp at Tilbury, what a fine set may we believe are in yours, that are as wild as the wind, and all your youth and blood about ye? Even they are ready to over-run poor Mankind, and then sure you must be like to run into 'em. You must own your selves fond or cruel, for you are always in extreams, the latter you dare not, lest we shou'd take you at your word, and therefore we may take the Li­berty to conclude the former. Is it not fondness with a Witness to leave your Parents, to run away from your Friends and Guardians; to straddle over Garden-walls, and fly in the Air like Witches, and ride over House-Tops like Cats; to rush through Darkness, and wade through Moats, and almost run through Fire as well as Water? And what is all this for? Is it not for Man, that Charming Creature, Man, whom when you're in an ill humour you'll not afford a good word, and d'ye do all this, think ye, with­out [Page 150]some little kind of Inclination, some sort of kindly call from Nature, like that of the Land-Crabbs; who most amorously crawl over Churches and Houses, or whate­ver else happens to stand in their way, that they mayn't fail the Assignation made 'em, with those of their own Species, who come from Sea, I know not how ma­ny Leagues to meet 'em?

What an infinite of Paper d'ye spoil in a Year? How many Heydleberg-Tuns full of Ink do you Squander away, in answer­ing Billet-doux, and Love-Letters;—or rather, in sending 'em, and challenging all Mankind to do the worst they can at your Persons and Reputations?

But you need not write, you can speak enough, and you have many ways to do it: Your Eyes, your Hands, your every Motion, sufficiently express how unwilling you are to be thought Man-haters.

And tho' our poor Persecuted Sex shou'd endeavour to keep out of sight, how many different subtle Ways have you to ensnare us?

Sometimes you get a tame Man, as the Fowler does a Duck, or the Master of the Elephants one of the same Species, to de­coy us from our Native Freedom, into your fatal Noose. Sometimes a He, tho' oftener a She-Friend, because you can serve 'em agen in the same manner. I have heard of many, who have meerly bin talkt [Page 151]into your Snares, and of some few that have bin beaten, and fairly cudgell'd into an Amour.

And these, and a thousand ways have you more, as various as your Hearts and Dispositions, to obtain and secure your Lovers, tho' you know you have already over-rul'd us in a very great Point, as to those Matters:—You make us the Aggres­sors, that you may have the Honour, and the Pleasure, to see us at your Feet, and hug your selves at the Excellency of your own Dissimulation. What Hypocrisie, af­ter all, when you love a Man more than even your Sloth, or Ease, or Vanity, to hold off still, and pretend you are not as willing as he? No, you are made of more refin'd Mould: Another sort of Flesh and Blood you'd have us think, from what we are compos'd of. Hence the eternal Teizings, the Put-offs, the Fetches, the Doubles, wherewith your poor Dog in a String, that does not know you must be a long while tormented:— And yet 'tis all Fondness still, tho' in another Shape, as they say the Tune-seen Ladies bite hardest, when they are most furiously pleased. 'Tis to keep us from discovering the Cheat as long as you can; for after a while you know 'tis too late:—for when you once have obtain'd what you desire, you are ten thousand times fonder and madder than ever:—And well remembred of the [Page 152]Mischiefs that follow this Burdock Temper. In the first place, you know, that we know your- Sex in general; and that if you don't dissemble very artificially, you miss what you aim at, your Forwardness being so odious, that you lose us before you have us. Nothing can be imagin'd more nau­seous than your perpetual Siege, and chil­dish Kindness. Were you all Nector and Ambrasio, you'd tire us with cramming us thus every day. Have you any occa­sion to make your selves cheaper than you are already, or more disagreeable? Guess but by your selves whether such a Temper can please, and if it's possible, cure your selves of it, and avoid it. For you'd scarce take it well your selves to be kiss'd to Death.

Do you know any thing in the World so tiresome and impertinent as a downright doting Lover, even while there's yet some rellish in him, and before he's a Husband? He haunts ye like your Shadow, and will hardly give you room to breathe, especially if you let him have the least Encourage­ment; for then there's no enduring him. He'll follow ye to the Garden, to your Chamber, when you are a visiting: Hound him off never so frequently and earnest­ly, the importunate Cur will still be a hanger on, lie upon your Petticoats, lick your Hands,—ay, your Lips too if he can come at 'em, with as much Savour, [Page 153]and as good a Grace as the Ass did his Master's. If you wou'd scarce be pleased with this, you shou'd take Care to avoid a resembling Practice. Beware of a hoit­ing foolish Behaviour; been't ambitious of Conquests; if you get one that's worth a keeping, show your Discretion in re­taining him, and above all things, nei­ther tire him, nor kill him with Kindness.

For if you resolve to persist in these Ex­travagancies, and of one side Insult and Triumph over your Adorers, while on the other Extream you so visibly doat upon 'em, that you are ready to suck their Eyes out; you ought to take Heed that you don't at last tire our Patience, and make us perfectly desperate, the Conse­quence whereof might be worse than you can imagine; for do but consider what a Condition you'd be in, shou'd you once provoke us to turn all He-Amazons, and set up a Commonwealth of our own Sex, with Exclusion of yours.

LETTER XV. Against Dancing.

WEre one of our Europeans cast any where on a Barbarous shore, and shou'd he be saluted at his Arrival with the diverting sight of a Ring of Savages, capering about with their Gimminy-Gomminy till they foam'd and dropt down on the Spot, would he not have reason to think 'em all, all either Drunk or Mad?

And just the same, 'tis very probable, wou'd be the opinion of one of them, shou'd we show 'em one of our Balls or [Page 158] Dancing Schools, for the best we can say for 'em is, that there's some method in this Madness.

I dare almost be confident, that 'twas some Woman first invented Dancing, 'tis so odd, so Whimfical, so Ridiculous an Exercise. Standing still, turning round, now on one Leg, then t'other, running full-drive, step­ping Stately; down to the Ground, up to the Branches forward, backward, sideways, every way, joyning hands, parting 'em, patting, kissing, ogling, touching, whispering, grasping, be­sides all that follows, enough to ruin an Angel, for sure if those Spirits were ever pickt up by your Sex, as some of the Learned have fancy'd, 'twas Dancing first Debauch'd 'em.

You have us here just as you desire, you give us a look like a flash of Lightning, and away again, so quick and short you move, that we han't time to discover your real imperfections, but are dazled with your appearing Beauties.

We are warm'd before with the violent motion, and then 'tis no great matter for you to kindle us, especially when we have such a deal of Tinder, so many rich Silks Rustling on every side of us.

A convenient School, really to instruct Youth, and a very happy occasion to bring many a Loving pair together.

Especially your Masks and Balls, where modesty and virtue are hardly so much as [Page 159]pretended to. Where the Lady may meet her Gallant, and walk off with him, tho her Husband stands within two steps of her. Where the Curtains are as good as drawn, as soon as they come thither, and an infallible cure for blushing, if there shou'd be any sparks of modesty left.

I wou'd ask how many have been ru­in'd at these places? were it not much more easy to Answer me, how many who have constantly frequented em, did ever escape Ruine.

I don't at all wonder that Witches are said to use this Dancing, so constantly at their Detestable Sabbaths and Midnight Re­vels, since 'tis a Diversion as Wild and as Fantastical as their Imaginations. But I can't be satisfy'd why any Persons shou'd practice it, nay dote upon it, who pretend to Sense, Sobriety and Virtue.

'Tis indeed so foolish a custom, and car­ries so many ill Consequences with it, that Judicatures of far different Nations, and in other matters of very opposite opinions have agreed to Condemn it. The Inquisition and Geneva are both of one mind in this matter, at least the one has forbidden a Sarabrand, as the other all manner of Dancing.

Yet I don't think it strange, that the French shou'd be so much fonder on't then all the other Nations of Europe. They speak, and walk, and talk, and [Page 160]sing, and preach, and I fancy, are almost Born and dye Dancing.

There's a Palsey sure in their Imaginati­on, a sort of a natural imprest motion on their Minds and Bodys, which will no more let 'em cease to move then cease to be. One wou'd think every one of 'em carry'd a large Bladder of Quicksilver in their Bel­lies, and that they Danc'd about as that will before the Fire, or as a Leaf is canted round in a Whirlwind, by a purely involun­tary motion.

When the French Court some time since fell upon that Mad Frolick, whose Relati­on Historians have left us, and wou'd Dance in the shape of wild Horses, on all four, with abundance of Flax instead of Manes, in one of which a spark of a Flambeau lit, and set 'em all a­fire, I wonder the Maskers did not rather chuse to be burnt to Coals then neglect to Dance out their Dance, and how they cou'd ever be brought to admit of the La­dys Petticoats for Extinguishers, tho 'twas to save their Lives.

LETTER XVI. Against Platonick Love and Friendship in different Sexes.

YOu know who says,

And wou'd you for once be ingenuous, you must own your selves of the same mind. As all your Sex is one great Hypo­crite, so this is one glareing Instance of their Prevarication: You may as well talk of Love without Loving as without defir­ing, and when you can show the Love-let­ters between a pair of Souls, or the Histo­ry of the Angelical Amours of Nakar and Damilcar, or can tell me the taste of those Immaterial kisses which your Famous Dut­chess [Page 165]talkt of, then I shall begin to believe that you believe your selves, when you talk of these matters, and that you are full as Spiritual as you tell us; tho sure you wou'd not have us take you at your word.

Not but that I verily believe your Love may still be enough Platonical, and full as pure, as was that of the Philosopher, who gave it the Name, who if he were not ve­ry much wrong'd, never lov'd Virtue so refinedly, as to like or Court her so Passion­ately in a foul, or homely Habitation, as he did in those that were more Beautiful and Lovely.

One of these two things then you can't hardly deny; either that 'tis only an emp­ty Name, or else a sort of a Vizard to something more homely: He that denys what he really is, makes us sometimes vio­lently suspect him what he is not, and as often find out what he takes such over-care to conceal.

Who that's wise wou'd attempt to Drink out of a Vial, which he knows has either nothing at all in it, or if any thing, the surest and most subtle Poyson in the World? If you say, there's a mean, and virtuous Love may be thus disguis'd, I'd fain know what need on't? Neither Love, nor Truth, nor Virtue need seek Corners, not so much as the former, if he comes in Company with the latter. He ought therefore to be uncased, as Aphrodisius in Psyche, and tho [Page 166]as finely dress'd as he, of whom that Di­vine Poet.

Yet you ought to be sure, that you em­brace not a Serpent, instead of a God, or that he hides not a Satyrs deform'd and shaggy Figure, under the Wings of an Angel. The Shipwrack of so many before you, one wou'd be apt to think, shou'd make you affraid of the dangerous Voyage to Mrs. Behns Island: The Bones that you see, and the Skulls so near the Cave of this Sleeping-Lyon, shou'd keep you from venturing with­in his Paws, tho he sheaths 'em never so Artificially. Platonick Love has ruin'd half your Sex, and you can't but know as much, and therefore seem to admit the pretences of it, only with a desire to be undone more plausibly, and to retain the shadow of Innocence, when the substance i [...] vanish'd. You Guild your Poyson, and then fancy 'tis good Food, or Physick, you are told so before, you are parties against your selves, who can save you?

If you were but willing to escape De­struction, and to come back from the brink of the precipice, it may be, it might not yet be impossible. Discover the Viper be­fore [Page 167]he has play'd himself into your Bo­soms, and then there's at least a perhaps left that you may avoid him.

Pray do but perswade any of these re­fin'd Sparks to admire you at a distance, not to come near you, or if they do, at least tantalize 'em, so as never to let 'em steal a Grasp or a Touch, and try if they can live on such Airy Diet. The purer any Flame is, the less aliment it needs to support it. Let 'em by this make a Tryal of theirs: Let 'em live a year, on not so much as a sigh of pity: Let 'em converse with your Souls only, and make Love to them, for which alone they pretend so great a Passi­on; but let 'em not so much as throw a look on your Body; nor their Eyes fasten one Glance on yours. For what has the In­tuition and Embraces of Souls to do with these dull Material Organs.

But if neither they nor you can be con­tent with such mortifying Diet, if you feel a sort of a pain, and displeasure, and un­easiness under such a practice, and find this a force upon your Inclinations, and you be­gin to sigh, and wish, and think your selves unhappy: Then beware stings, for there's certainly no better nor worse then meer Flesh and Blood at the Bottom. For these passions seem not so properly seated in the mind, as the Body, or only in the sensible Soul, which is hardly different from it.

The mind it self is pure and Spiritual, Reason is a clam and a Noble Principle, it admits of no Emotions, or Perturbations; and thus the Angels love Mankind and one another: Whereas, if we believe Mr. Mil­ton (who might know as much of that mat­ter as any Heywood of 'em all,) a fallen An­gel may [...] descover'd through all his Dis­guises, by the violent motions and visible changes which will appear in him, through the most Glorious Forms imaginable, and thus may you, if you please, make a certain Judg­ment of your selves and others.

And much the same may be said of Friendship between persons of different Sex­es, another cant you have very near akin to Platonick Love: Which at the beginning may in some Instances be innocent, at least on one side, if not in both.

But Love's an insinuating Devil, and if he gets but the tip of his Wing into your Heart, all the rest quickly follows.

His Aguish Train of Pains and Joys, and Inquietudes, his huge Bow and Quiver, and a thousand Poyson'd Arrows, and if you once talk of driving him out again, tho he lurks there only under the Pretence and Mask of Friendship, how will the lit­tle Villain storm and rave, how big will he look, and try to be terribly angry, and then by turns will flatter and fawn again, and hang about you so very importunately, that you can hardly your self be yet so [Page 169]blind but you'll take notice on't. Since,

No Friendship e're languish'd, or lookt half so kind. And then, or never, if it ben't yet too late, work for your self, strug­gle for Life, assist the Crisis, for if this mo­ment is gone, never expect another.

You strive for a Noble Empire, no less then that of your own mind and Body too, at the long run, as it almost always hap­pens. Despair has made Cowards brave, and what wou'd one not do for Liberty, and what have not Women done on less oc­casions? Nor are you without Auxilaries, and those very strong and powerful, as well as your Enemies, Virtue, and Honour, and Reason, and the Good wishes, and good words of all Good Men, which are lost, for ever lost, as well as you with 'em, when ever you abandon your selves to the fatal Deceiver.

And pray remember this one short ob­servation more, before we part with this Subject.

That Honour and Virtue must needs be things in themselves, very desirable and amia­ble, when Vice and Lewdness are so fond of sheltring themselves under their Names and Colours, tho at the same time they do it, they thereby become the most formidable Enemies.

LETTER XVII. That Women are not more Re­ligious then Men.

AND one wou'd think none shou'd ever pretend they were, nor will your Sex, I suppose, think themselves much oblig'd by such a Compliment, since the very thoughts of it must be as uneasy to you, as hereafter is to the Atheists, and will go near to sowr all your mirth. If you wou'd be thought Religious, some say you must not Patch nor Paint, but all are agreed that you must not trick, nor dissemble, nor lure in such Flights of Lovers, nor admit a Gallant, nor abuse your Husbands; and what a condition wou'd you be in, if all this shou'd be struck off together? They tell a pleasant story of a Georgian Woman; who having liv'd such a Life as is common enough with your Sex, and entertain'd a great many Friends, as was notoriously [Page 178]known to all her Acquaintance; when she was stopt in the midst of her Career by a violent Fit of Sickness, sent for her Con­fessor for Ghostly Counsel, and promis'd faithfully she wou'd live a chast Life, and forsake all her old Friends, if ever she reco­ver'd: ‘No, says the conscionable Father, that's too much to promise, and I know you'd never be able to perform it: I'd advise you therefore, he went on, to keep to two or three only, if you shou'd reco­ver, and this wou'd be a good step to your thorough Amendment.’ Such Religion as this perhaps might do well enough with you, 'twou'd sit much more jaunty and easy, and for that reason I wonder you are not all Catholicks, unless it be the fear of Hair-Cloth, and going Barefoot that keeps you from their Communion.

Who, you not Religions? Why, what signs of it wou'd we have? You go to Church as fine and as often, and clap the Pue-Door as hard, and repeat the Responses as loud as any: You say your Prayers when it Thunders; and tremble at the sight, or but the News of a Blazing Star, or a Cat with two Heads, or a Foal with a Top-knot, or a Whale rolling up the Thames, or any other [...]rodigy. You don't go so often to the Taverns, as Men, nor get Drunk, nor Swear nor Quarrel like them, nor Fight for Punk, nor run one another through the Lungs, poor injur'd Creatures! As inno­cent [Page 179]as a New kindled Viper. As if in the first place you knew not how better to improve your Time, then to go to Church only out of pure Devotion.

Alas, you have great business there, which you think of greater moment: A Spark to meet, or a great many to stare at, till you grow giddy with turning round so often to throw kind looks at 'em, or squinting over your shoulder. Can you deny that this is the most usual place of Assignations, or that such thoughts as these are entertain'd and welcom'd, most of the time that you shou'd be better employ'd? 'Tis time e­nough you think, to be Religious and For­mal when you grow old, when the diversi­ons and pleasures of youth are past, and you have no further relish for such matters, and when the Practice of Piety, and the London Dispensatory will be good Compa­ny for you, and for one another.

But in the mean time, any one may read your Devotion both in your Dress and your Eyes, your Looks and your Gesture, and your whole Behaviour, when you wou'd be thought in your greatest Fits of Piety and Goodness: And 'tis not difficult to guess at the Deity you come thither to Worship.

If you give not Billets about to your Lovers instead of Bills to the Reader, you have yet a well known way of discoursing with 'em: A Look upon one, a half-smile [Page 180]on another, a whole one to the third, a nod to the fourth, your Fine Teeth show'd to the fifth, your Hand to the sixth, a Lan­guishing Glance to the seventh; And so on as many as will come, for you cou'd dispatch 'em all, if there were a hundred.

There may be, you'll perhaps reply, some vain young Creatures that employ themselves after this manner; But no Re­flection on those who do otherwise, whose behaviour is grave and scrious, and whose thoughts are fix'd on something better then such Foolleries.

Be it so then, and we'll take this excuse as you have laid it; but first, you must show one of these Saintlike Ladies, if never so little a pretender to Youth and Beauty, who won't leave all these grave thoughts, if she sees but a Spark she likes, fixing his Eyes intently on hers, who will not be pleas'd with it, and return it, and split Glances with him, and say, by your leave Devotion, on such an occasion?

You do indeed come to Church, especial­ly in the Afternoons, as soon as you are Drest, when 'tis fair weather, when there's a Preacher you like, when 'tis not very hot, nor very cold, nor you han't a Cough, or like to be throng'd in your Seat, or Mr. Thimbleman's Wife does not sit above ye, of you have no Visitants at home, or no new Play, or Novel, or can't sleep there as conveniently, or out of Complaisance, or [Page 181]because all the Street besides does it, or when you have an Assignation, or hopes of seeing one you like, or your next Neigh­bours New Gown, or Triumphant Topping. Nay, to Judge the most Charitably, when you know there's fine Musick, or a delicate Anthem. And if you can find any better Reasons which bring the bigger half of your Sex thither, I'll freely own 'em all as de­vout as St. Katharine.

But supposing you have no business there, neither with Lads nor Lasses, supposing your meaning as good, and Intention as pure as you'd desire, nay, pick out the very best of your Sex, chuse you Representatives in every Church in Town, and let us see how they'll behave themselves. Their first work is certainly to throw their Eyes all round, to fish out their Acquaintance, and when once they find 'em, nothing but dopping and curtsying for a Quarter of an Hour. They are wonderful civil to all the Guests, only mythinks they'd do well not to forget the Master of the House for altogether.

Tho I can't tell how they shou'd do o­therwise, when if they happen to be awake, 'tis Chat and loud Whispers, and Laughter that keeps 'em so. They wou'd not be guilty of so rude a thing as to hearken to the Par­son for a whole half hour, they are better bred then to mind what he says; They are not such Fools as to need his Homilies.

Well, when they have half chatted, and half nodded out the Sermon, and once get to the joyful Door again, you'll see more of their Religion in their abundant Cha­rity; and if they have any, here's indeed a very convenient place to show it, in the worst sence of the word. The small pence fly about, that you'd think it a Coronation, and there's at least a brazen shower, if not a Silver one, among the poor thirsty Mum­pers: But no more of this, lest we shou'd discourage you from this little Kind of Goodness, which wou'd be a great deal better, if Vanity did not lie at the Core; a Worm which Cankers the fairest Fruit, and makes it good for nothing.

'Tis a violent suspicion that the Vessel is very empty, which makes so loud a Noise: That all this Art and Paint is to cover some great Deformity. Why so much Pa­rade and Clutter, and Pretence, if all were right? Religion is modest, and Calm and Si­lent; It dwells retired in the deepest re­cesses of the mind: It will, it's true, some­times break out, and shine Gloriously, like the M [...]n from behind a Cloud, but its lusture is not fierce, nor glaring: 'Tis sweet, and natural, and is seen whether it will or no, but 'tis contented to shine alone, 'tis equally beautiful when no Eye sees it, it has no need of spectators, nor does it ever desire 'em. Compare this with yours, and see whether you know it.

Superstitious you are, we must own, to the very heighth, and consequently you wou'd have been Religious among the Hea­thens, who use the same word to signify both. You made excellent Bacchanals, but I can't tell whether so good Christi­ans. O! The Devotion of your Brass Kettles, when you taber'd upon 'em with such abundant Zeal, to wake poor Dame Luna when she fell into a Fit of the Mother. Horrid Musick indeed! But rarely well fitted to the Gods, and to the Worshippers.

How has your tattling Sex debauch'd mankind in their very Cradle! How ma­ny ridiculous foolish Hobgoblin-Tales have you invented, and so often repeated 'em till you your selves believ'd 'em, with which in all Ages, you have prepossess'd us in our Infancy, the only time when you can impose upon us, without our leaves, and endeavour'd to render our minds as Weak and Timorous as your own, which tho some grow out, by a happy Genius, and peculiar strength of Nature, yet it gives others a sort of kickets in their un­derstandings, which they never get shut off after.

Some Crimes, it's true, you are not so frequently guilty of as our Sex, for which there are several Reasons, Murders you need not Act your selves, for you have Bravo's enough to perform 'em without [Page 184]your appearing in 'em. From others your way of Life secures you, and you are good, if we may therefore call you so, because you can't help it; as a Rob­ber, or a Pick-pocket are very honest, (all but their minds) when they are Loaden with Irons. But still you make a hard shift to break out now and then, as they say those People do from Prisons, to ex­ercise their Art, and return to that sanctu­ary unsuspected, yet you are sometimes snapt, however they get off, and we need but observe every Sessions Paper, and rec­kon whether is the greater Number, of your Sex or ours, who are there Month­ly Condemn'd, to form an infallible Judg­ment how far yours excells, both in Hon­esty and Goodness.

LETTER XVIII. That Uggliness is most desira­ble in a Wife.

'TIS but a Cowardly sort of Virtue, that's forc'd to wink, in order to avoid a Beautiful Enemy:— Nor will I so much as make use of your own Arms against you, that this Beauty that makes such Ashes of us all, is only in the Imagination:— Let it be in the Sense too if it will, but I'm resolv'd it shall never domineer over my Reason. Nay, I'll not only think it, but even look it into an Indifference, and the Subtlest, the Loveliest, the Veriest Woman of ye all shall no more debauch my Judg­ment, than one of your Predecessors cou'd the Person of that honest Philosopher. You may say, if you think fit, as she did, that I'm a Stone, and not a Man, but I'll prove my Reason beyond Contradiction, by despising such Irrational Creatures as you are. Nay, never Dress, nor Patch, nor Pow­der, nor Twire, nor Brustle up at me thus; [Page 194]for you'll all lose your Labour. My Choice is made; and if I must have a Wife, I'm resolv'd a good convenient Parcel of Ʋg­gliness shall be her principal Recommen­dation.

And a thousand Conveniences shall I meet with by this honest Policy. First, I shall vex you, and mortifie your vain Sex a little, which will do me more Good than a Thousand Guineas more in her Portion,— and it may be you may be the better for't too; at least, 'twill be your own faults, if you be not: For there might be some Hopes of you, if we cou'd but once make you humble.

But order you Matters as you please, for I'll still go on with my Story.

In the next place, I shall need no Se­raglio, no Black or White Eunuchs, to keep that safe, which no Body but my self will meddle with. Who wou'd dis­quiet himself for the vain Satisfaction of having what's left of a Beauty, when he may be so much more happy, with one of a different Character. A thousand Tow­ers, and Looks, and Bars, and Fathers and Husbands can't preserve an Alemena, or a Danae: What Eternal Catterwawling there is about one of these Pestilent Beau­ties; what purring o' one side, and scratch­ing o' t'other? How often a Man may have bin Skin-pinckt, for presuming but to lead home his own natural Wife? With what [Page 195]Fear and Reverence must he Salute her How tenderly must he touch such China Ware, and how slight a matter reduces it to its Primitive Earth again? Give me a good plain Earthen Platter, that will en­dure a sound Bang, and while I eat in't, I'm safer from Poyson, then if all my Meat were serv'd up in Ʋnicorns Horns.

A fine VVoman must be conceited, if she has any Eyes, and consequently be pleas'd her self, that she pleases others. Then shou'd I have a thousand Fop-doodles, Primeing, and Cocking, and Dressing, and Singing at her, and Corrupting all my Ser­vants, and if by Miracle he shou'd at last, beyond my Expectation and his own, find her honest, he takes care to prefer her to one of the Boxes in the next Lampoon, or so publickly abuse her, that I must be forc'd to slit his Windpipe, or he mine, in attempting her Vindication.

No, since our Honour is by the abun­dant Civility of our Countrey, in our VVives keeping, I wou'd have my Cabinet made as plain and as strong as possible, that none shou'd attempt to break it open, or if they did, might lose their La­bour.

And as I shan't be troubled from o­thers, so neither from her self. My Dear Joan and I shall agree well enough toge­ther. She can't be Proud; for what has she to be Proud of, except of my affecti­ons? [Page 196]She can't be Ill-natur'd, for she has nothing but the Agreeableness of her Temper to retain my Heart. Nay, she can't be so much as Jealous, for she shall know I chose her before a Beauty, because I liked her better. She'll be content with any thing, because she's humble, and Name me one Beauty that ever had that Virtue; she'll not trouble me, or ruine me in Ex­pences. Not in Cloaths, because she shall be so superlatively Ʋgly (if my kind Stars wou'd but send me such a Jewel) that no Finery shall make her better. Nor in House­keeping, because she'll not care for much Company; nor in Journeys for the same Rea­son. She must Love me entirely, because none else will Love her, and that must needs make me Love her again, and how ardently shall I embrace her Fair Soul, through her homely Body? And how quiet and happy shall we sit at home, and pity the Miserable Beauties, and those who possess 'em, as Jove did Semele in the midst of Storms and Thunder; while their Repu­tations are Blasted, their content Banish'd, their Estates Ruin'd, their Hearts Tor­mented, and in a few Years, or perhaps Hours, that which was the occasion of all this, is no more: The fatal cause is ceas'd, but the effects still remain. The Beauty is gone, but the Woman still Lives and Hangs on ye, and wou'd fain be a Beau­ty still, and when all the World is weary, [Page 197]you must begin, and Cringe and Court as much as ever.

Whilst my dear Dowdy has such a Face that she defys Age, nay, Death it self to hurt it. 'Tis as invulnerable as the heel of Achilles, and by the looks on't you'd think it had been dipt in the same Water. Time must have a good stomach if he meddles with't. It must be meerly for the sake of Malice, and therefore I hope, he'll let her alone as well as all the rest of Mankind: For my own use I'd have her, and what shou'd I care whether she pleases others? she'll be a Guard to my House, her Face will fright Theves away, and my Children need no other Raw-head and Bloody-bones, to keep 'em in order. What pretty Cubbs they'll be, and how like their own dear Father and Mother?

LETTER XIX. Against a She-wit.

She's such an Heterogeneous Creature as Africa ne're produced, for Nature will have her Fegaries too, now and then, in these colder Regions. The French have made it a Question, whether there can be such a thing as a Wit of the Breed of some Na­tions: I think they'll allow it with much adoe, once or twice in an Age amongst us Insularies; not that we have any great reason to thank them for it, any more than those who first transported other Wild-Beasts into our Island. But above all the Forrest, defend me from a She-wit, and a She-Ty­ger, tho' of the Two, I should think the former the more terrible, and that I was scarce safe, tho' the wooden Bars in the Tower kept the Peace between us. Her Face I shou'd not much quarrel with, tho' generally cut out of the same piece with the He wit's, nor so much as her Tongue, [Page 207]tho' as melodious as a Cornet: But it's her Teeth and Nails that I'm afraid of, for they rankle at the least touch, and are more furiously venomous than can be imagin'd. Besides, she's as dangerous at a distance, as at baudy-blows; she's stuck round with Pens, as a Porcupine with Quills, and can dart 'em more speedily and inevita­bly.

The Turkish Spy tells us of a rare Fel­low that cou'd shoot Twenty-five shot within the compass of a Penny, out of a little Pocket-Cross-bow; but the French spoil'd his sport, and got him assassinated, for fear of the worst, and because he might do 'em a mischief. You She-wits will shoot faster, and farther, and deeper, and make use of poyson'd Arrows, and yet you live under so mild a Government, that it takes no care to prevent the mischiefs you may occasion, does not so much as make you find Sure­ties for your good Behaviour: However, a­buse not its Lenity, lest it should turn in­to Fury, and at last order your Arms to be seiz'd, like those of other dangerous and disaffected Persons.

But if you have Beauty added to your Wit, the Poison is still stronger, and the Infection more mortal; you fight then as unlawfully, as those who wear Charms a­bout; 'em; [...]ou can kill every body else, and are your selves invulnerable. Besides, you are the Representatives of all your Sex, the [Page 208]Treasurers of all its Pride and Vanity, its Revenge and Malice, and there wou'd be danger of your Monopolizing 'em, had you not such an inexhaustible Fund amongst ye; Potozis and Mexico's pil'd one upon t'other, whose bottom it's as hard to find, as that of the King of Spain's Treasure: Nor have you any need of a Flota to con­voy it home; 'tis your native growth, and spreads incredibly; it lies on the very Sur­face, and kills whatever is near it.

There's indeed no touching one of those sort of Creatures, nor so much as ventur­ing safely within sight of you: It's as dan­gerous approaching you, as 'tis to disturb a Painter when he's about some extraor­dinary piece of Work; a Man must expect as soon as 'tis finished, to see his Face on some Devil's Shoulders: He's sure to fill a Gap in your next Lampoon, or furnish a Character in your new Comedy; for if he gives way to the Stream, and lets you have all the Discourse, he's a Dull Fel­low, and for that must be made an Exam­ple; if he ventures to put in a word now and then, he's impertinent, and hinders you from pleasing your self, and entertain­ing the Company with your agreeable Con­versation.

But above all, woe to the Wretch that's in love with you, for his Torment is such, that nothing can equal it. The Fantastick Devil will be sure to will-o-the wisp him [Page 209]about, till he's not able to stir, and it may be give him at last a dirty Ditch or Quag­mire to rest in. He must be the veriest Fetch-and Carry, the most arrand Lover, the gentlest, tamest, Creature that ever was good for nothing but to make a Husband. Everlasting Teizing is his Portion; some­times you'll no more let him approach ye, than a Persian Bride, and it may be, a Mi­nute hence, the Wind changes, and you stifle him to Death with your kind­ness.

Now you are all Thunder, by and by nothing to be heard but gentle Murmurs; and presently you are changed into Tehee and Laughter; but to be sure your merry Humour comes when he's grave, and if the Lover's pleasant, for that very reason you can once be silent.

You'll wink upon his Rival before his Eyes, and yet he shan't dare complain, nay, not so much as sigh, or look dis­pleased, unless he'd eternally lose you. And yet still you find a way to twist your selves about his Heart again, that it shall neither be in his power to hate or forsake you, though he knows not how to love you. Away he flies, when you have provok'd him beyond measure, but you can lure him down again, stroke him and please him, make him shut his blew Broad Eyes, and sleep in your Bosom.

And then if you do pinion him, when you have him at such an advantage, whom can he blame but his own easiness and folly?

What shou'd you do with wit? it always oversets you, your Sail is unproportionable to your Ballast, when a Storm comes, you must down with all, or inevitably to the bottom.

I know no good it does ye, or ever can, or what you are the better for't, unless that it teaches ye to despise your Hus­band, and to dispute with 'em, instead of obeying 'em.

Well rest the Ghost of poor Milton, who when you had blinded him, like his own Sampson, yet made a shift to give you one Sparring Blow, before he dy'd. For thus he compliments you, and instructs us in his Sampson Agonistes.

And now we are fall'n upon Poetry, pray how many honest Poetesses can you reckon among ye? From Granny Sappho, down to [Page 211] Mother Behu? If Boccalin been't too grave an Author for ye, pray be at the trouble to read a very edifying Story in him—'Tis the 22d Advertisement, ‘That the Gentle­men of Parnassus having, contrary to their ancient Laws, admitted into their Acade­my, several virtuous Lady-Poetesses, they were at first wonderfully applauded by the Virtuosi, and what with Emulation, and what with Love, never were there finer Performances in their publick Schools. But within a little while, Apollo smelt out some doings amongst 'em, which did not at all please him; on which he imme­diately call'd a Parliament, and order'd all the Poetesses to be banished out of his Territories, as Plato served the Poets, ma­king a strict Law, that never any more of 'em should be admitted afterwards, giving this Reason, worthy his wisdom for so severe a Decree, because he had found by experience, that Womens best Poetry was in their Distaff and their Needle, and that their Exercises in common with the Virtuo­si, was like Dogs Play, which generally ends in getting upon one another's Backs.’

They tell a Story of a little pigmy sort of a Poetaster, who was so very light, he was forc'd to wear Lead in his Shoes, to prevent his being whiskt round like a Straw, and blown away by every blast of Wind. You Lady Poets, are often said to be obliged to our Sex for assistance in your [Page 212]Composures; but if one of you cou'd but have stolen this little Fellow's Shoes, and had others made by their Model for all your Sisterhood, 'twou'd have done you more service than the best Plot or pair of Verses that any of your Sex ever made bold with from the works of your Neighbours.

LETTER XX. Against Womens Jealousy.

WHen 'tis your own case, you have a ready excuse for the basest Infideli­ty, and when you have given us the broad­est Signs of your Falsehood, and we must pull out our Eyes if we would not see them yet forsooth, we legitimate all your Injustice by daring to suspect it: And wou'd you be willing to have this turn'd upon you, or where is the Equity, that you'll al­low this to be very fair o' your side, but not of ours? There's nothing more vexa­tious nor more common amongst you then this Tormenting Vice of Jealousy: 'Tis almost as natural t'ye as Pride and Peevish­ness, for 'tis an apparent mixture of born. It argues the meaness of your Tempers too, as well as, too often, your own Infidelity. Little minds are most apt to [...]u [...]p [...]ion, (of which Argus is a notable [...] which the great and [...] much rather be ill [...] [Page 220]then causelessly suspect any Injury. Guilt it self is the most Jealous thing in Nature: 'Tis a sore suspition you have been formerly in the Oven, by your peep­ing so often into't. There's no possibility of satisfying a Jealous Woman; were you Marry'd to an Eunuch, you would scarce trust him out of your sight, any more then the Famous Turkish Emperor: I wonder you have never yet invented Male Pad­locks, since you'd gladly keep the Men up as close as the Easterlings do their Women: And when they have escaped Prison for an hour, or a day, ne're a Prince in Europe has more Spies about him then a poor Hus­band: Who shall scarce look on another Woman, but his own hears on't almost as soon as the Glance is over; but if he dares proceed so far as a civil Salute, he's a gon Man, and I know not how he'll dare lift up his Face any more before his Lady Wife: Alas, poor Husband! This is his condition, and so much worse that one can scarce con­ceive it without the hazard of a very dan­gerous experiment, and actually entring in­to the Noose to Learn what 'tis. How many Lives have been sacrific'd to that in­satiate Fiend, a Female Jealousy, and what Hecatombs wou'd be sufficient to appease it! You are all Medaea's and Circe's, and Poi­sons and Daggers are your mildest presents on such occasions, and the very suspition of one Crime in the Man, shall too often be [Page 221]follow'd with the Perpetration of many much blacker from his implacable Gover­ness.

Or if you are not quite so outragious, you make it out, as far as you are able, in lesser, but perpetual Vexations! As impor­tunate you are as Flies in July, and like them, as impotent as you appear, you can yet draw Blood where e're you settle. You 'wurry us with your Peals, as your foresaid Friend complains of one of your Predecessors. What an incredible Copia you have? How came you by such an In­exhaustible stock of words, and so much Natural Eloquence? Here you display all your Figures, and envy us none of your Rhetorick. You are never at a stand unless when you are out of Breath, or Chap-fall'n with too violent motion; and what haste ought an honest man to make in such a case for a Surgeon, to get all set right again?

Even Night it self, the Easer of all o­ther Cares, brings no benefit to the mise­rable wretch that's haunted with such a Domestick Fieud: What makes up all o­ther Breaches only widens theirs: The Sun may set and rise, and set again, but she's no Changeling: The Bed's her Chap­pel, and she says her Prayers there, but 'tis as Witches do, all backward.

She has an admirable Memory, that's the Truth on't, and shall run ye back ten, or [Page 222]twenty years, and give the poor Man as exact a Catalogue of all his Sins, as if she had been his Evil Genius, that tempted him to commit 'em. He rests, but 'tis as the Saint did upon Gridirons: When she's tired, which may be about Cock-crowing, and sleep with much a ado Tongue-bolts her for a few moments, he's still but little the better, and even she is her own Tor­mentor; she dreams every moment that she surprizes him in anothers Arms, Scree­ches out and snatches after him, till she wakes him in as great a fright as her self; unless he's disturb'd and starts up before, at her terrible shape, that still creeps in through her closed Eyelids, and repeats all the Lectures she had just been giving him.

Even the Church is no Sanctuary to him from her intolerable vexation, she accompa­nys him thither more out of Spite then De­votion, watches him as sharp as an old Ʋ ­surer his Rich Hieress, keeps her Eye as intently fix'd on his, as if she were duel­ling him, and if it ever chance to fall on any Female Face in the whole Company, she's ready to unsheath her Talons, fly out of the Seat at her, and fasten like a Catt, to the Destruction of her innocent rigging. And here's abundant matter for Repetition, when they get home again, as well as for Invention and Malice a long time after. She's such a deepsighted Polititian, that, with her, whatever may be, always is; she [Page 223]never wants Circumstances to set off her Venemous Imaginations, she Poisons the fairest Fame with but breathing on't. All Woman­kind, in her opinion, is one great Strum­pet, and she's Jealous of 'em all, lest her Grand Signior shou'd reduce 'em into one Seraglio.

Nay, she's Jealous even of her self, lest he shou'd think of others while he's em­bracing her, and not content of Persecu­ting him in this World, wou'd fain carry her cruelty even beyond the Grave. She's Mortally affraid of dying first, lest he shou'd Marry again, she thinks Second Mar­riages but another sort of Adultery, and absolutely unlawful, and if any thing cou'd make her content to leave him, 'twou'd be the hopes of haunting him in the time of his Second Wife, drawing the Curtains, glaring in upon 'em, pulling off the Cloaths from 'em, and sliding in cold between 'em. And earnestly wishes for the Enchanted Ring they talk of, which made one of the French Kings so mad for his Mistress, and doat upon her very Car­cass.

LETTER XXI. That a True Wife 's Incorri­gible.

I don't mean that she ought not to be cor­rected, but that if she be, she'll be ne­ver the better for't, and that she's so con­summately perverse, that there's no man­ner of way to work upon her. A Tyger may be tam'd, a Lion may have his Teeth knockt out, and Claws pared, and any o­ther sort of Viper its Sting pulled out; but do all this to a Woman, she'll be a meer Woman still: If you knock out her Teeth, she'll mumble you with her implacable Gums; nay, if you pull out her Tongue, she'll certainly scold with the stump on't, while the least bit is left. A Ducking Stool is but a sort of Chair of State with 'em, when enthron'd there, they are at the top of their Preferment: The Water is so far from cooling a season'd Scold, that she is more likely to heat the Water; she sizzes [Page 230]as she goes down, and makes it at least Summer about her. She's like Achilles dipt in Styx, perfectly invulnerable, and con­tracts as much additional hardness as Steel, by being quench'd in Water. The whole Sex are akin to the Taylor's Wife, they'll be snapping their Fingers as soon as they rise, sink 'em as deep as ye will; and when you see an Anvile the softer for being ham­mer'd every Day, you may hope the same good effect from disciplining a Woman, whose depraved Stomach turns not only Food, but wholesome Physick into the rankest Poyson.

Were I to direct a Painter to draw the Labour in vain, he should throw aside the old Story of Lathering the Blackmoor, and in­stead of it, should paint the Taming of the Shrew, which is scarce probable enough to make a Play of it, because none can affirm 'tis a true Image of Life. An Opera indeed might be made on't, such another business as the Tempest, but the Characters would be as incredible, and much stranger than the two Cubbs begot by an Incubus.

There's a dark sullenness, a black rooted obstinacy in all the Sex, the same keen stur­diness that we find in the Blacks, and tho' ye should cut the Snakes all to pieces, e­very little bit of 'em would fly in your Face.

Well, will fair means do any better with 'em? will kindness and lenity work on their [Page 231] good Natures? Yes, just as much as 'twill upon a Wolfs, whom ye have saved from the Tree, and brought home to make a House Dog of him: Have at your Mutton, if he can any ways get a fling at it, and if he once breaks loose, he's ten times worse than ever.

Whoever knew a Woman the better for being kindly us'd? No, 'tis your Duty, you ought to do no less; nay, you dare do no otherwise, and who should thank you only for paying them their own?

This 'tis to be so very well opinion'd of themselves, they have such an abundant stock of Conceit, that they merit more than all; they are out of reach of Civility, and 'tis impossible to oblige them.

It shows indeed the Generosity of their Temper, that the more they are lov'd, the more still they insult. They have then a Handle, an Excuse for domineering, the couchant Husband or Lover must bid Fare­wel to the Reins and Saddle, know his distance, and learn obedience.

But your Patience shall prevail as little as your Love: Who would not tread upon a Footstool? And the more you have born already, the more you are like to bear, as you are the better able. Your Brains lie in your Shoulders, for there is all your Wisdom. It's pity such excellent Vertues should rust, for want of due Exercise and Employment [...] Doubtless, Matrimony is a [Page 232]state of great Perfection, it has in it so much Mortification.

Be the Wife Virtuous or False, 'tis much the same thing as to the Man's Ease and Happiness, for if she's incorrigibly Vir­tuous, there's nothing in the World so im­perious and assuming; and because she is not a Whore, expects you can do no less than fall down and worship her; tho' it may be, 'tis want of Beauty or Opportunity that keeps her—I won't say honest, but as she is. An Honest Shrew there's as little hopes of, as of a Precise Hypocrite. They stand upon their Honour, and are both so good, you know not how to mend 'em; and they neither envy the World the know­ledge of their Virtues, for you never need fear but you shall hear of 'em. ‘Ah— did I serve you as other Women do their Hus­bands, and keep a brace or two o'Gal­lands under your Nose, I shou'd not be us'd thus. I shou'd not wear such a Toad of a Gown here, not fit to make Shoe-Clouts: I shou'd have more respect and Benevolence, and Worship, and Obe­dience.’

O'tother side, if she's a Grain too light, tho' you throw in whole Mountains, you cou'd not turn the Scale. You must not believe your own dear Eyes in those cases, much less your Ears, tho' your Dishonour be peeling in [...] every moment. Base, Jea­lous, Suspicious. Dog in a Manger, are it [Page 233]may be, some of the finest Salutations the poor humble wretch must expect, to make his Horns sit easie; or if she once fear he begins to use his Eyes, and resent it in earnest, then all the Sexes Magazine is pre­sently open'd, the Dressing-Box of their Minds, which they can paint too, when they please, and disguise beyond know­ledge, as well as their Faces. The Sobs, and Tears, and Smiles, and Fits, and cun­ning half Confessions, and impudent stur­dy Denials, as occasion serves, and she finds it most convenient, and according as his Heart is unguarded, and his soft side lies open. Milton will once more show 'em their Picture, and they can't deny but 'tis to the Life.

Like to a Miracle; for if he doats on, and believes heartily, they are safe enough, and just as much alter'd as the Sea is by the shining of the Sun, or the Motion of the Wind. The Surface is a little varied, but the unfathomable bottom is still the same, the Water as salt and bitter as ever, and the Waves as dangerous and unconstant. What it loses in one Place, it gains in another; and tho' it can't dash the Rock in pieces at one stroke, 'twill wear it by degrees, and in time it may make it moul­der away to nothing.

And thus 'tis, if a Man arms himself with never so much Resolution against his vexa­tious Spouse, she will find a way to get with­in him some way or other, and trip up his Heels, though never so much upon his Guard. Shee'll weather out even his Pa­tience, and make him as weak and pee­vssh as her self, if he han't a sharp Eye upon her, and observe how ugly it looks in her, and how ill a Physitian he must needs be esteemed, who is himself in­fected by that Disease he pretends to cure.

Nay, tho' he help himself with his Wit, though he takes never so many dif­ferent Methods, turns his Thoughts never so many ways, she'll easily countermine him; the natural vanity of a Woman renders all ineffectual. The Symptoms change every Hour, and then there's little likelihood of so much as discovering the Distemper, much less removing it. The Wind roars round the Compass every Glass, and then the most skilful Steersman in all the Watry World, must needs be at a loss.

There are so many Mazes in a Female Mind, that they often lose themselves in 'em; much more may they lose us. I de­spair to find a Clue to conduct me quite through it, and therefore here I leave it, without venturing any farther.

LETTER XXII. Against Plays.

YES, here you're in your Element, and 'twou'd be a more difficult matter to make you renounce Plays, then to em­brace the Alcoran, and you like 'em the better for what Pryn tells you of 'em, that they were formerly expressly reckon'd a­mong the Pomps and Vanities of the World; nor will it much move you, that Satan and they were us'd to stand and fall together. The Play-house is your Church, and you had much rather be Excommunicated from dear St. Brides it self, then from that yet more convenient place of Assignation. Here you Learn all that you think is necessary for your Sex to know, and yet more, see it put in practice at least, if you don't just then do it your selves. To disobey your Parents, disoblige your Friends, ogle, and then bilk your Lover, cheat your Husband, talk pertly and lewdly, and laugh at all that's graver and better then your selves. [Page 243]This is the rare Academy to form your minds, or rather to ruine 'em, and often your Estates and Bodys with 'em. How many Modern Plays can you show me without a more then moderate share of Im­piety and Lewduess. The best are patterns of Revenge and Foolish Love, that eithe [...] weaken the mind or mislead it: The most I'm sure are so unfit for any civiliz'd Coun­trey, that I've often wondred how any of your Sex, who are not Profess'd—could have Impudence to sit 'em out, or read 'em, or their Authors to set their Names to 'em: For them indeed, they have an excuse, which you best know the Truth of, that the Stage is an Image of Life, and that they only represent things as they find 'em, and Wo­men just what they are; which if true, is very much for your Sexes and the present Ages Reputation. For your selves, they have either taught you the way, or you have Learnt it from Mother Nature, to set out as fulsom stuff as N. Lees, Princess of Cleve, without Blushing. You don't under­stand it, pretty Innocents! No more then a Viper does Poison, which is his daily Food, and almost the Air he breaths; for there's a great harmony, it seems, between Sabina's sences and your understandings.

But suppose, for once, there cou'd a modest play be found, I mean in the Expressions, what are we the better if the whole Action, as it generally happens, insinuates nothing [Page 244]but looseness and lewdness? Are you all such Vestals to be proof against the Allurements of Musick, and the more fatal Witchcraft of Poetry and Example, when it may be at the same time a Bevy of Fops hang about your Ears, (as Milton says, the old Traitor did at Eves, tho in a little more proper shape,) and prodigally squander their Wit and Souls, and all, striving who shall damn theirs fastest to perswade you to damn yours.

Not that I'd scandalize 'em with being always witty neither: No, they seldom offend against that rule of Mr. Cowley, and are well enough pleas'd with following his ad­vice; Rather then all be wit, let none be there. For I'm apt to believe the greatest part of their Conversation is just such as pleases you, and such as you're capable of, as dull as you cou'd hear in e're a Countrey Church in Christendom.

But your wise discourse has carry'd me off from the Play; which is the only good it does in the Theatre, where your chat can hardly be worse then the Actors, and there­fore the lowder the better.

How often is't you there see Virtue pros­perous, and vice unhappy? So far from it that the Play-wrights tell you now positive­ly, 'tis none of their business to make 'em so. They have got possession, they make their own Rules, and you must take their Herces as you find 'em.

Or if they do now and then kill a Don John, or a Maximinian, to thin the Stage a lit­tle, and turn off some over-grown Villain, they yet generally take a particular care not to let him repent; they kill him while he's in an ill mind, staring and blaspheming at such a rate, that even when he falls, you must think him an even-match for Hea­ven.

But what's this still to common Life, where Vice is expos'd indeed, but only in order to Imitation. A little Atheism, or whoring, tho with the Aggravation of In­fidelity, Incest, and all the Fowlest Black­est Names that cou'd raise blushes in a very Heathen, shall break no squares: The Spark still shall obtain his beautiful and wealthy Mistress, three or four of his last conveniences soder'd up again, and marry'd to some plodding Countrey Gentleman, and all's as well as ever.

They tell you 'tis a sign he Repents when he Marrys, if they had said this brought him in a fair way to't, they had said some­thing, but as 'tis, they are for the most part a Mouth or two short of the mark.

After all, one wou'd wonder how dull­ness cou'd be so Charming, were it not a lit­tle set off with Lewdness, and how the same heavy Tale, only a new turn of words, it may be, and a silly nasty Song, or two, chopt in at the opening of a Scene, with perhaps some ingenious Dance of Devils [Page 246]and Hobby-Horses; how such stuff as this should be heard, or read with so much as patience, much more with diversion. For I dare affirm, that some hundreds of our Mo­dern Plays have the very same Plot at bottom, either stol'n from some of the Ancients, or a Spanish Novel, or from one another. The Squire and the Lady talk always alike. Tell me the Character, I'll as surely tell you their Conversation, as from one of— Rymes I'll guess at another, and wou'd any one be at the pains to make a Scrutiny through all our Comedys, there would be much fewer distinct Characters then he'd imagin, tho we have the advantage of humour too above all the World.

But you can Learn more, you say, some­times by one Play then by 10 Sermons; and that may be too, as you may manage the matter, you sometimes hearken to one, but you sleep out all the other.

There may indeed, some good Herbs be found among so many Poisonous Weeds, but when they grow all together, and ten of the deadly plants to one that's wholesome, who that regarded their Life or Health, wou'd go in blindfold amongst 'em, and ga­ther promiscuously to make a Sallad, in hopes only to meet with those that would not hurt him?

They may many of 'em appear inviting, but never the less dangerous, any more then the Manchinel, or Eve's Apple in the [Page 247] Indies, is a good Fruit, because it looks Tempting and Glorious, but you ought to make your Will before you taste it; which you may do if you are of their wise opi­nion, who are resolv'd to try all things be­fore they conclude against any.

I shall not torment you any more, or teize you any longer for what I'm affraid you'll never part with; I'd only ask you one reasonable question before I leave you, whe­ther you ever found your selves really the wiser, or better for reading any of these Modern Comedys (Farces rather, for the most of 'em now are no other)? I ask again those who have any sence of Sobriety and Modesty, what sort of relish you find they generally leave on your minds; whether they make you love Virtue, or Honour, or Chastity, or your Parents, or other Relatives, more then you did before you read 'em?

If you find quite the contrary, (and if you don't, you have very good Fortune, or a very happy temper,) then pray be perswad­ed to leave 'em to the Seeing and Reading of such sort of Persons only as are usually describ'd in 'em.

LETTER XXIII. To an Old Gentlewoman about to marry a Young Man.

HAd it been any Lady of ordinary Years and Character that had made an at­tempt of this Nature, I should not so much have wonder'd at it: But for you who have been the Standard at least this 40 Years, and have had the best School-Mistress in the World, much longer to instruct you; for you, I say, to endeavour to Ogle in a poor young Fellow, that never did you any harm, and no more thought of making Love to you, than to his own Grandmother: 'Tis this Madam, that stupifies me, amazes me, and confounds me to that degree, that I can't speak a word more, till I have sate still a quarter of an Hour, knaw'd my Pen, snuff'd my Candle, and look'd on the Picture of your Ladyship which I have just here before me.

It's true Madam, that your Shape is in­differently well, tall and strait, you have been only a little too much of the Heroine, [Page 255]and if you begin to bend a little now a­bout those ample Shoulders of yours, we ought not to think 'tis any Decay of Na­ture, or Sympathy with the Earth, either in Disposition or Complexion; but rather the mildness and goodness of your Temper, a sort of a Condescention to the Stature of that blooming Lad, whom like a Cartha­ginian God, you would fain take up in your Arms to make him happy.

Doubtless Madam, there is a most inimi­table Leer in that admirable Face of yours, such a Harmony between all its Parts, both with one another, and the whole Frame of your Venerable Structure, that I believe 'tis as difficult for any to look upon't, or see you Show with't (as the Sun does with his,) without feeling some extraordinary Motions, as 'tis to conceal those Motions when once we feel 'em.

VVhat Art have you to make your pretty Chin and Nose keep time so exactly toge­ther? scarce one of your Temples beats truer to one another; without Controver­sy, they are both very Harmonious.

Such is—Madam, I most heartily ask your Pardon; I've forgot what transported and amaz'd; O your Chin—but such a Lip (for the thickness on't) such Teeth, only this Roguy Painter, has serv'd you as his Bro­ther did the Gentleman, who bid him draw a Dog in a Castle. When one looks for 'em, you always shut your Mouth and hide 'em. Nor is there any heed to be given to the Malicious World, who say you have made Pills of 'em, or swallow'd 'em all Twenty Year since for the Cholic, to save the Charge of Golden Bullets. However, if there be any thing in't, who knows but your pretty Teeth might be of that Substance too, as well as Co­lour, like the Silesian Lads? which if they were, t'had been worth the while to have raked for 'em again, as the Jews at the Seige of Jerusalem (but pray let no Body see you) to string 'em all, for 'tis possible they might be Hollow, and make a Gold Necklace of 'em, which would have excellently set off that scarce Fairer Neck of yours.

No, I must not, before I have endea­vour'd to do Justice to the inestimable Jewel, shut up in that fair Cabinet—a Tongue as sweet, as soft as Innocence, as quiet as an Angel's. 'Tis understood, not heard; or if it does speak, 'tis like Lovers Whispers, or gentle Murmurs, or falling Streams, or the Tide go­ing through Bridge, or Infant Thunders. (I mean when the Stream is even, and the Thunder a great way off.)

And after that Thunder, it's very likely we shall have Rain, as Socrates said to your Predecessor, the most accomplish'd Xantip­pe. And it comes from those fine Hands of yours, in liberal and plentiful Showers to refresh the Earth. You have no Poor near you; 'tis impossible they should con­tinue so; you will not let 'em bear that Name; you won't see 'em want; some may think this a bad President, and that 'twill encourage Laziness, but I'm satisfy'd there wou'd soon be not a Beggar left in England, were all but as willing as you to relieve 'em.

Nothing certainly is a more bewitching thing than graceful motion: 'Tis a great part of a good Mind, if not the same with it. What shall I say then of yours, which if [Page 258]you are dancing, appears sometimes as swift as the Wood-Nymphs, or that of Venus her self clambring over Hedge and Ditch, thro Brakes and Bryars after her fair Adonis, as you now after yours. At other times you move like the Earth, on your own Axis, so equally, that 'tis insensible, or, as Ovid says, the Gods do, with both your Feet together, so imperceptibly, one wou'd think you never stirr'd an Inch out of your Place. They may talk of Posture-Clark while they will, but if ever he cou'd mimic so exactly, or handle a Broom-staff so handsomly, or show the Changeling so naturally, or raise his Shoul­ders so prodigiously, or shrink in one Hip so profoundly, as I have seen some do it, that shall be nameless, and who it may be, don't value themselves so much on those Qualifi­cations, as many others—why then, may I ne­ver have the diversion of seeing the like again.

Then for your Youth; for that Eternal Youth that hovers round you. That spite of Nature says you shan't grow old—What Nectar is't that still preserves it flourishing as ever?

No Must, no Tarnish, not the least Corrup­tion.

Hardly so much as renders Venison grateful. Sure you've found out a way to Pot your self up, and keep the Presumptuous Air from e­ver kissing those Sacred Lips only reserv'd for him you honour with your Love.

And whose mouth wou'd not water after such a Marmalade Face as yours (for sweet­ness to be sure I mean).

But we must all dye, there's no remedy: Feladon's the Man, for him you dress, you dance, you dye, you come to Life again, you live and love and tread your years all back­ward, and you say you will Marry him.

You defy Coughs, Catarrhs, Sore Eyes, no Teeth, a Demiculverin Breath, and tell Time and Death they have nothing to do with you yet these twenty years. Buy him you will, you have Money enough, he's a Jewel fit only for your wearing, and nothing but the Sexton shall ever part you. Dear Nine and Fifty! Let me be plain with thee; for I have now Complimented long enough.

What shou'd that Skull of a Face, those Cabidg-stump Arms, that Mummy of a Car­cass do with a Husband, especially such a young lively Fellow as thou haste most ungraciously pitcht upon? 'Tis absolute Incest for certain, for him so much as to come near thee. 'Tis the worst, the most unnatural Villany? Thou art dead, all but one sence stark Dead, a Dozen year since, nay, thou haste scarce so much as the sence of Scolding left: Thy very Tongue begins to have the Palsey, with long and frequent use and hard Labour. It retains only a weak [Page 260]sort of an unheeded motion, like the Ringing of a Bell long after the stroke; besides, thy Clapper is worn, and the Bell crackt, and then it's easy to guess thou art like to make good Musick.

Leave him, leave him for shame; un­twine thy Clammy Arms from his Neck and Bosom, or we'll infallibly have thee burnt for a Witch, for getting up poor Young Men and Sucking their fresh Blood to fill thy old Wrizzled Veins, after this inhu­mane manner.

Mind thy Prayers, buy thee a Coffin, throw away thy whole Pothecaries Shop of Druggs, and Paints, and Slops, and Washes, out with thy Cart Loads of Pride and Va­nity. Death will be here by and by, lie down and be forgotten!

LETTER XXIV. Against the Sexes Prodigality.

THE Fryars and the Mint wou'd be very thinly tenanted, did not the good Wives send their Husbands thither in such Shoals, that there's hardly room enough to receive 'em: Those Places are e'en over-stockt, as the Church-yards were in the Plague-time; and there need new Holes to pile up the Cart­loads that come thither; and one wou'd think the Women were in Fee with the Heads of those Famous Societies, they make such hast to transplant their Families into their Territories.

You can meet a Woman at no Place, no Age, no Circumstances, but she's expensive enough to ruine a Midas: In her Education. In Court­ship, whether you Marry or Bury her, or Church her, at the middle and both ends of her Life. For which reason the Greek Epi­grammatist is visibly partial to your Sex, when he says, A Man has two good Hours with ye, that of Day of Marriage, and Day of Death, since even the latter of 'em is a bitter-sweet, and the Expence a Man is at in covering you safely, does almost coun­tervail the Convenience.

You cost ten times more than you are worth in rearing: You'll never pay for your keeping, and we were e'en as good let ye run wild, and trust Nature with you.

Besides the difference in the Education of one of your Sex and one of ours, there's some com­fort in what is expended for a Man, because we may hope to see some good on't; but all that is bestow'd on one of your unprofitable kind, is cast on such a Barren Soil, that we give it for lost.

A Man may seek and make his Fortune, but scarce one Woman in Ten Thousand. What they have must be given 'em, and unless there's good booty allow'd, they'll never off. The Exchange runs high with 'em, none will ac­cept 'em without great Discount. They are such bitter Pills, that no wonder they won't go down well without gilding.

And yet the mischief is, we must pay, as well as pray, for our own undoing. Not a few have been at such vast Expences in the Courtship of their Wives, as were never re­imburs'd by their Fortunes. Eternal Treats and Presents. Art must be tired, and Ima­gination jaded in Ministring to their Luxury and Prodigality: Now they shew us a Sample of themselves, and by the Mistress we may learn the Wife. A Lord Mayor's Officer scarce eats more Custard in a Twelve Month than they'll devour in one Evening at a Spring-Garden. One wou'd think it went into a Bottomless-bag, and slipt out again as glibly as it went in.

And this even the poor Prentice knows by sad Experience, who, when he marches out to — in Triumph with his Greasie Beloved, as soon as he has seen her seated in an Arbor, and the Cheescake appears before him, stands a­maz'd to see what dreadful Dilapidations she makes amongst 'em in a quarter of an hour. 'Tis then time to feel the weight of his Pouch, and consider how the Ready stands affected; and when he finds she has almost eat to the bottom of his Pocket, how does his poor Heart beat, and he thinks a piece of it goes away every new Cake she breaks, lest he shou'd be forc'd to pawn his Gloves and Cane for the Postscript of the Reckoning?

And thus it is, in Proportion, when the Amour is in an higher Sphere; for the greater the Quality, the greater still the Expences. Masques, and Balls, and Musick, and Equi­pages, and Entertainments without number. The Mistress is a great Abyss, and all about her, Horse-leaches feeding on its Banks. You must make a Golden Bridge (which is hard) for your Enemy to come to you, whereas none wou'd think much if 'twere to get shut of such troublesome Company. Every Servant is daub'd round with Bird-lime, or if you will, stuck with Tenter-hooks, to Gaunch you in your Fall, and pull out each a piece of your Flesh in your passage by 'em. A Lover runs the Gauntlet amongst his Mistresses Ac­quaintance, every one will have a stroke at him, unless he Fees 'em all round.

And when that's over, then comes the Wedding-Feast, the odious Sack-Posset, the Ragged Regiment of Tartarian Musicians, that smell ye out next Morning, as if you were a dead Horse, and all the Matrimonial Expences, which we'll dwell no longer upon, because 'tis such a Melancholy Subject.

And now the Ʋnfortunate Creature may make his Will when he pleases, for he has the Incurable Cancer, the Live Wolf in his Breast, that must at last carry him off (I need not say, I mean a Wife) after t' has drain'd every drop of moisture from his fright­ful Carcass, and left him a Spectacle and Ex­ample to all Desperate Husbands.

She expects to be a Mistress still, to Com­mand like one, to be treated in the same man­ner, and with the same Expence and Vanity.

The Sex are all Miranda's, and tho' every Husband had the Philosophers Stone, he cou'd not transmute Lead into Gold, so fast as they wou'd change that into Rich Furni­ture, Magnificent Hangings, and Extrava­gant Dresses and Entertainments.

Glorious Coaches, and a vast Retinue abroad, Plate and Jewels at home, without measure, and without end.

You must not hope any thing mean or vul­gar can please so nice, and so refin'd a Fancy. If Gold were cheap, she'd not esteem it: She's of the same mind the English King was in, about his Hose.

It often enough falls out, to make a Hus­band compleatly Happy, that the Wife's pos­sess'd [Page 5]with the Devil of Building too, and then away go Twenty Coach and Horses and Suits of Cloaths at one clap. ‘This part of the House is inconvenient, that's too low, t'other is not uniform. I hate such a sneak­ing Stair-Case. What Fools our Fore fathers were to build us such Hovels of Houses. Pray Sir—let me have this stack of Chim­neys pull'd down. Here's a Dining-Room wou'd make a pretty good Pantry. I have no manner of Conveniences in these Cham­bers; it's a shame they shou'd be seen by any thing of Quality. And without Doors 'tis all like the rest. There stands a Coach-House hardly fit for a Dog-Kennel.’

‘Certainly these Gardens were design'd for a Dunghill. Grub me up those canker'd Trees, that have stood rotting there, Sir R— ever since your Great Grandmother. Level that awkward Mount. Let me have three or four handsom Tarrass-walks run up in the room on't. Some Grotto's and Green Houses wou'd do well in that corner, and here you might have as fine a Visto as any in Europe.’

Well, let's suppose all finish'd to her heart's content, the Old House pull'd down, and a new one erected, and Vario's Hand in every Room, and as very a Paradice as Burleigh-House, or Windsor. Perhaps this may please for two or three Months, but think not a Woman shou'd continue in the same mind much longer. The Air is sharp, or unwhol­some, the Water is not good: There's no [Page 6] Wood nor Parks about it; or if there are, it hinders the Prospect, and keeps the Vapours from getting up. Or if none of these, yet 'tis at too great a distance from the Town, and we have no good Neighbours. E'en sell it, Sir R— and let's go Build at your other Seat, or buy one, as we easily may, that's more convenient.

And if all this han't yet quite drain'd him, what think you of one Plague more, that of Gaming? If this wont do his Business, he's inexhaustible. Dear Basset! who wou'd not leave a snoring Husband Twenty Nights toge­ther for thy Charming Entertainment? Do we call the Indians Inhumane, for Playing away their Wives and Children, and staking themselves at last, either for so many Years Slavery, or for Life, when nothing else is left? And shall we be more partial towards those that are nearer us, who set their Joyn­tures, Husbands, Bodies, and Souls some­times, on one Chance of a Die? And when those gone, are yet so besotted with the sense­less Love of Gaming, that cou'd they retrieve 'em again, or had they any thing more pre­cious, they wou'd still venture in the same manner.

I have read somewhere of a mad Fellow, who, when he and several of his Camerades were for some Misdemeanor, forc'd to cast Lots for their Lives, when a white one fell to his share, and one of his Companions that was yet to draw, was very much afraid, he sold him his Lot for a small matter, and [Page 7]ventur'd his Life a second time, and had as good Fortune as before, tho' he little deserv'd it. Few Gamesters come off as he did, tho' all run little less hazards.

Shou'd I run out in the foolish Prodigali­ties that are the perpetual Appendages of this vain Sex, and which they think as necessary as their Food and Rayment, all the clutter of Child­bed, Christnings, and the like, you'd say, I had transcrib'd all the Batchclor's Banquet.

To leave this therefore, and come to a little more comfortable Subject. Suppose for once a Woman her self shou'd be so good-natur'd as to think of some way to make you amends for all this Vexation; in short, to keep ye no longer in suspence, shou'd be so kind to make a Dye on't, why yet here you are n't rid of her, she has a sting in her Farewel, whose stroke is often Mortal, like other such Crea­tures, even after she her self is dead. The Charge of her Burial will serve as a sound alloy to the satisfaction of your fair parting, and either break you or the Tradesinen, as Cromwel's did before.

And this you can no way avoid, without drawing the full cry of the Women against you. This is the best way for a Widower to make his Court, or pave his way to a Second Fortune; for such is the Vanity of that Sex, that if they were put to their Choice, whether they'd live handsomly, or have a Magnificent Funeral, I verily believe they'd most of 'em rather take the latter, whatever shift they made while they were living.