All the Town was melancholy upon the News'; buc' efpecially thofe who are in the Interefts of Beauty, lamented as heartily, as fome pious People do, when they hear of a Chriftian Town fall'n into the Hands of the Infidels. And that we fear is your Cafe; for if a Man has no other Way of fhewing his Faith but by his Works, 'tis concluded by all Sides, that your Lot is fall'n upon a Person who is as nearly related to an Infidel, as an Informer is to a Villain.

I have lately read over fome of the old Martyrologies, where innumerable Instances are to be found, of Perfons of both Sexes, who, in a Fit of Devotion, practis'd strange Austerities; but none of them come up to you, even of those, who, for the fingular Mortification they enjoyn'd themselves,have been advanc'd to the Kalendar by Holy Church.

We meet with frequent Inftances of young Virgins, that have leapt into the Flames to make Profeflion of their Belief, and courted Death in its most terrible Mien, as eagerly as other Women do a Coronet and a Title. Some have attended the Sick in Hofpitals, and in the Midft of Affluence and Plenty have deny'd themselves the Conveniencies of Life, and mortify'd in Sackcloth. Some, after the Prieft has done his Office, have refus'd to receive the lawful Tribute of Matrimony; and fome have oblig'd themfelves to a perpetual Silence, which is certainly Self-denial enough in a Woman. Others have injur'd their own Beauty, to preferve themselves from the Courtship of their Lovers, or from the Luft of Tyrants. But, alas! what Proportion does this bear to what you have done? Death puts a Period to all our Miseries; but you have given a greater Proof of your Conftancy, by refolving to live. You have confin'd yourself to a walking Infirmary, and nothing but Providence can give you a Difcharge. You have facrific'd your Youth and Beauty to one that can enjoy neither, nor will fuffer others to do it for him, like the modern Library-keeper of St. James's; he will neither pe

rufe

rufe your Manufcript, the fairest in the World, nor lend it to others, who can make a better Ufe of it. In fhort, there's never a Ghost in Glanville or Aubry, if he met him in a Church-yard, but would take him from his Brother Spectre. You, and your Hufband, between you, really undergo two of the fevereft Punishments which Antiquity believ'd to be in Hell. He, like Tantalus, fees the Fruit everlastingly before him, which he is not in a Capacity of tafting. You, like Sifiphus, take an infinite deal of Pains to no Purpofe, to roll. a Stone every Night, which is no fooner up, but it falls down of itself, and will do fo to the End of the Chapter.

Tho' I need not exaggerate your own Torments to you, who are fo well acquainted with them; yet, as a Divine fometimes explains the Effects of Drunkenness to his Parish, that know them as well as himself, give me Leave to lay down Part of the Perfecution you undergo before your Eyes, that through you the World may know what you endure.

The Night approaches; but the Night which bountifully rewards the Pains of other Lovers, proves but the Beginning of your Mifery. Even the Bed, where all the marry'd World befides find Happiness, or at least a Relaxation from their Pain, is the Scene where you fuffer moft emphatically. That old folemn Piece of Antiquity, call'd your Husband, leads you to this Place of real Martyrdom, but no Execution, with his Head muffled up in an Infinity of Caps; and his Lungs, left Mufick fhould be wanting to the Entertainment, are fure to ferenade you all Night Jong. Thus he difturbs your Repofe; but has nothing about him to reward you for keeping you awake. If he has got his Cargo of Wine in his Guts, he fnores by your Side as heartily, as Garagantua and the Monks in Rabelais do, after they have rock'd themselves afleep with finging the Penitential Pfalms. But if in Spite of Impotence and Age,

he

The pretends to difturb you with his Vigour, his Shot fcarce reaches the Walls of the Fortress. Thus your Fate is just the Reverse of Semele, the generously expir'd in the Arms of the Thunderer, whereas your Fumbler chills you with his warmeft Embraces; his very Flames give you an Ague-Fit, and, like the Weather we have had of late, his Summer has a Spice of Winter in it. The Mifchief on't is, that every Day leave him a worfe Practitioner than other; and Time, which uses to foften other Hardships, will daily make yours inore infupportable.

What is it then that could induce your Ladyship to pitch upon fo rigorous a Penance, which your very Enemies (were it poffible for you to have any) would never have impos'd upon you? Since your Body can be no Gainer by this wicked Match, one would imagine you did it for the Benefit of your Soul; but Religion produces no fuch Miracles in this Age, whatever it has done formerly. 'Tis enough now if People ftick to it while they ger by the Bargain; for few, very few, even of thofe that wear her Cloth and eat her Bread, will be Lofers for her.

'Tis, in fhort, the Defire of unrighteous Mammon, that has drawn this Servitude upon you. You took this naufeous Pill only for the Sake of the Gilding. That pale-fac'd Metal, to purchase which our Merchants ranfack every Corner of the World, made you take up with this leaky batter'd Veffel; but with this Difference, that whereas they are at Liberty to shift their Climate as they fee fit, you have confin'd yourfelf to the Latitude of 70, and have fettled in a Čountry which is eternally cover'd with Snow, and affords no Profpect of a Spring. All that your humble Servant can do, is, to wish that your Tyrant's Reign may be but of fhort Continuance; which is the daily Prayer of

Lyfander.

A

A Confolatory Letter to Mr. F on his being a CUCKOLD.

SIR,

I

Am none of the beft Comforters in the World; however, yours is fo common and eafy a Cafe, that any one may fet up for a Doctor, and pretend to prefcribe Remedies for it. You fend me Word, you are a Cuckold, and defire my Advice upon the Matter: Why, is this a Time to complain of Cuckoldom? You ought to have reconcil'd yourself to that Point long ago, before you ventur'd into the holy State, and not to mortify with the Thought on't now, when you can't help yourself. A Soldier should confider before he lifts himself, how he can bear the Lofs of an Arm or Leg; if he meets with an unlucky Shot, 'tis but the Chance of War; and if he comes off in a whole Skin, 'tis more than he could expect, and Providence used him better than he deferv'd. The Oracle in Rabelais, to which you are no Stranger, long ago declar'd, That every marry'd Man either has been,or is, or will be a Cuckold; and could you ever hope to elude an Oracle? For my Part, 'tis no more than what I expected to hear of you every Poft: You have been long jealous of your Wife, and now it comes Home to you; for Jealousy does as naturally ripen into Cuckoldom, as a Caterpillar into a horned Infect, call'd a Butter-Fly. However, you have got this by the

Bargain,

Bargain, that it has cur'd you, God be thank'd, of your Jealoufy, which is one of the worst Torments a Man can have; and who wou'd not bear with a fawcy Companion, to get rid of the Devil? But after all, what you complain of, is no Difgrace; you share it in common with the Cafars and Pompeys, and most of the Heroes of former Ages, and with the N

M

and

of this, befides an infinite Number of Dukes, Marquelles, Earls, Bishops, Knights, Aldermen, Deans, Archdeacons, Heads and Governors of Colleges and Halls; and who would regret to be join'd in fo good a Company?

But, your Family's dishonour'd, and fo, perhaps, it has been twenty times fince the Conqueft. I told you before, I had no extroardinary Hand at Comforting. A thousand other Families have been ful ject to the fame Calamity; and why you should expect to fare better than your Neighbours, I don't understand. But if I had deferv'd it from my Wife. Why, fo much the better ftill: Other People use to comfort themfelves in their Misfortunes, by reflecting upon their Innocence, and why fhould not you? If your Wife has a Fancy to go to the Devil, let her ne'er lofe her Longing Rather than that should happen, do by her as Charles the Fifth is faid to do by a flying Enemy, build her a Bridge to go thither.

Weil, but what would you have me to do? You fay, Job, and Plutarch, and Seneca, have been fo often prefcrib'd to People in your Condition, that I won't offer them to you. My Advice is then, that you'd come to Town as foon as you can, and take a Lodging in Cheapfide, or near White-hall, and there, I'll pafs my Word for't, you'll be thought no Monster tho' you unmannerly Folks in the Country ftare at a Cuckold, as much as here we do at a King's Evidence juft after a new Plot; yet London's a civil Place, and we think him no Prodigy here. But if your Affairs won't give you Leave to come to Town, my Vol. IV.

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