That I, who never testify’d much esteem for the fair sex, should at this

time address myself to them, will without doubt be thought strange; but

if necessity breaks laws, it ought also to cancel aversion, and excuse

me for seeking protection amongst a sex I have so often despised, being

compelled to it by a thousand injuries done to my memory. Therefore I

now ask pardon of the ladies; and am perswaded I do them no little

honour, (since there has seldom been a more extraordinary woman than I

was) in owning myself one of the female kind. _First_, I may boast of

all the advantage of a glorious birth, being daughter of the _Great

Gustavus Adolphus_, who did not only fill the north, but all the

universe with admiration; and of _Mary Elianor_ of _Brandenburgh_, the

worthy wife of such a husband. If I was not as handsome as _Helen_, and

those other beauties, whom the poets have from age to age recorded in

the book of fame, yet all the world own’d me a woman of incomparable

parts. I was queen at five years of age, and even so early took upon me

that important trust, which but few men are capable to discharge, and

which fewer would covet, if they knew the troubles that attend it; yet I

supported the weight of all affairs with such a grace and prudence, that

my crown did not seem too heavy for me. As soon as reason had made me

sensible of my power, my only thoughts were how to make myself worthy of

it. To this end, I invited to my court those I thought the most capable

of improving it; which was no sooner known by the beggary _French_, but

_Stockholm_ swarm’d with masters of all sciences. Among the rest I had a

pack of hungry poets; but he that took the most pains, was not the best

rewarded, because he did not resemble _Boileau_, who can in half an hour

make a saint of a devil. In my green years, I seem’d only addicted to

grandeur and virtue; for I studied like a doctor, argued like a

philosopher, and gave lessons of morality to the most learned; so that

every body imagin’d I should eclipse the most famous _heroines_. But I

had not yet heard the voice of a certain deity, whose language I no

sooner understood, but it poison’d all my former good dispositions; for

whereas till then I had been charm’d with the conversation of the dead,

I began now to have passionate inclinations for the living. But not to

undeceive the world, which thought my conduct blameless, I was forc’d to

put a curb to my desires, or at least to pursue them with more

precaution, whether the trouble to find myself so inclin’d, or my

grandeur, which wou’d not allow of those liberties I sigh’d for, oblig’d

me to punish the flatterers of my passion, I know not; but I committed

many barbarities. As my desires were insatiable, so ’twas not in my

power to confine them; and this gave my subjects too many opportunities

to discover several indecencies in my management; and because I wou’d

not be tumbled headlong from my throne by them, I very prudently

condescended, and put my cousin _Charles Adolphus_ in my place. Then did

I, under pretence of visiting the beauties of _France_, take large doses

of those joys I durst no longer take at _Stockholm_. I was treated every

where as a queen, had palaces at my command, and I made at

_Fountainbleau_, which was before a bawdy-house, a slaughter-house also

before I left it.

_Fate justly reached the prattling fool,_

_For telling stories out of school._

_Was’t not enough I stoop’d so low,_

_On him m’affection to bestow?_

_To clasp him in my circling arms,_

_And feast him with love’s choicest charms;_

_But must the babbling fool proclaim,_

_His queen’s infirmity and shame?_

_Of all the sins on this side hell,_

_The blackest sure’s to kiss and tell._

_’Tis silence best becomes delight,_

_And hides the revels of the night._

_If then my spark has met his due,_

_For bringing sacred mysteries to view._

_E’en let him take it for his pains,_

_And curse his want of gratitude and brains._

But I know not whether the monarch of _France_ had long ears like his

brother _Midas_, or some little familiar whisper’d it in his ear; but

what I thought could never be detected, was publickly discoursed at

court. Perceiving this, I resolved on a voyage to _Rome_, and the

rather, because I thought the _Romish_ religion most commodious for a

woman of inclinations, and that it would illustrate my history, to

abjure the opinion of _Luther_ at the feet of the pope; tho’ I had as

little believed and followed the doctrine of the _Reformed_, as I have

since the absurdities of the _Roman_ church. _Italy_ seem’d to me a

paradice, and I thought my past troubles fully recompensed, when I found

myself in that famous city, which has been the mistress of this world,

without subjects to controul me; saucy chattering _Frenchmen_ to revile

me, and amongst a mixture of strangers, which made all my actions pass

unregarded. ’Twas enough for me to be esteemed a saint, that I was

turn’d Papist in a place where debauchery is tolerated; and you’ll find

me, perhaps, one day canonized by the _Roman_ clergy. ’Tis true, I was

not so rigorous to them as others for the pope, cardinals, legates,

bishops, abbots, priests, and monks, composed my court, where

licentiousness reign’d most agreeably. Not that I had renounced the

company of young virgins; for I was intimate enough with some of them,

to have it said, I was of the humour of _Sappho_; and as I liv’d at

_Rome_, so I thought myself obliged to practise their manners. But the

chief reason of my writing, is to desire you to protect me against those

ignorant coxcombs, who endeavour to put me among the number of the

foolish virgins; for I began and finished my course, as I have told you,

and will now leave you, to judge if there can be any probability in such

a scandalous story. My good friend the pope, to whom I had been

wonderfully civil, solemnly swore, that whenever I left this world, I

mould not languish in Purgatory, tho’ he knew very well I should go to

another place. But as it was the promise of a tricking _Jesuit_, so I

did not much credit it, nor was much surpriz’d to see myself turn’d into

a sty, among a company of boars and old lascivious goats, a sort of

animals I had formerly been well acquainted with at my palace in _Rome_,

and who came then grunting and leaping to embrace me. I cannot in this

place hear of the poor gentleman whom I murthered; I asked one of my

he-companions concerning him, who knows no more of him than I do;

therefore I verily believe he is among the martyrs.

_The Answer of a young_ Vestal _to the_ Queen.

Good Heavens! Madam, how piously did your majesty begin your letter! and

what pleasure did I take to see such hopeful dispositions to virtue! But

what was that enchanting vice that put you out of the good road? Was it

the Devil? If so, why did you not make use of holy-water? For we, poor

creatures, oppose no other buckler against the darts of _Satan_, when he

conjures up the frailty of the flesh to disturb us: but I beg your

pardon, you were then a _Lutheran_, and holy-water has no efficacy, but

only for true _Catholicks_. My confessor has so often preached charity

to me, that I cannot but bewail the fate of the poor gentleman you lov’d

so dearly, and treated so barbarously. Oh, my dear St. _Francis_! What

sort of love was that! And how unfortunate are those precious souls that

have parts of pleasing you! One may very well perceive, by that piece

of barbarity, you neither believed Purgatory, or fear’d Hell; and I

would not have been guilty of such an action for all your excellent

qualities and grandeur. I hear you talk’d of sometimes, and in such a

manner, that it makes me often sigh, pant, and pull down my veil; and I

feel a terrible fit coming upon me by reading your confession.

_Madam, I much rejoice to hear,_

_You’ll take a stone up in your ear;_

_For I’m a frail transgressor too,_

_And I we the sport as well as you,_

_But then I chuse to do the work._

_Within the pale of holy kirk:_

_For absolution cures the scars_ }

_Contracted in venereal wars,_ }

_And saves our sex a world of prayers._}

_Had you this ghostly counsel taken,_

_You might till now have sav’d your bacon._

_’Tis safe intriguing with a flamen_ }

_Who sanctifies their work with Amen,_ }

_Then who would trust ungodly laymen?_ }

_Do, Madam, as you please, but I_ }

_None but with priesthood will employ,_ }

_With them I’ll live, with them I’ll die._}

_Who like the_ Pelion _spear are sure,_

_With the same ease they wound to cure_.

But ’tis easy to judge your conscience is as large as the sleeve of a

[42] _Cordelier_, since you began in the spirit, and ended in the flesh.

Notwithstanding what I have merrily own’d in rhime, more to entertain

your majesty, than express my true sentiments, there are certain hours

when I could willingly follow your example; and if you would obtain from

the holy father a dispensation of my vows, which now grow burthensome to

me, I would break a lance in your quarrel: this I am sure of, that the

world will think it less strange to see a nun renounce her convent, than

a queen her crown.

FRANCIS RABLAIS, _to the_ Physicians _of_ Paris.

It is in vain for your flatterers to cry you up for able doctors, for

you will never arrive at my knowledge; and I am asham’d every hour to

hear such asses are admitted into the college. Do not believe ’tis a

sensible vanity that induces me to say this, but the perfect knowledge I

have of my own worth; and tho’ I was design’d for a more lazy

profession, yet that does not in the least diminish my merit. You know I

was born at _Chinon_, and that my parents, hoping I should one day make

a precious saint, put me, in my foolish infancy, into a convent of

_Cordeliers_: but that greasy habit, in a little time, seem’d to me as

heavy and uneasy as the armour of a giant; so that by intercession made

to Pope _Clement_ VII. I was permitted to change my grey frock for a

black; so I quitted the equipage of St. _Francis_ for that of St.

_Benedict_, and that I was as weary of in a short time as of the other.

As I had learnt a great deal of craft, and but little religion, during

my noviciate in those good schools, so I found a way to get loose from

that cloyster for ever, and took to the study of _Hippocrates_. Besides

that I had a subtle and clear genius; my comrades discover’d in me an

acute natural raillery, which made me acceptable to the best companions,

Cardinal _Bellay_, who made me his physician, took me to _Rome_ with him

in that quality, where the sanctity of the triple crown, the ador’d

slipper, and all-opening key, could not hinder me from jesting in the

presence of his holiness. ’Twas _Paul_ III. before called _Alexander

Fernese_, who then fill’d the apostolical chair, and was more remarkable

for his lewdness than piety. I had the good fortune to please him with

the inclination he found in me to lewdness; and he gave me a bull of

absolution for my apostacy, free from all fee and duties, which I think

was a gracious reward for a foreign, atheistical buffoon. After I had

compil’d a catalogue of his vices, to make use of as I should find an

opportunity, the cardinal, my patron, return’d to _Paris_, and I with

him, where he immediately gratify’d me with a canonship of St. _Maur_,

and the benefice of _Meudon_. Hiving all I could desire, I liv’d

luxuriously; and the love of satire pleasing me much more than the

service of God, after I had wrote several things without success, for

the learned, I composed the history of _Gargantua_ and _Pantagruel_; for

the ignorant, things which some call a cock and a bull, and others the

product of a lively imagination. I know most men understand them as

little as they do _Arabick_; and as it is not to our present purpose, so

do not I intend to explain that stuff to them, but will now, since ’tis

more _a propos_, give you some advice concerning the malady of your

blustering monarch. The residence I made at the court of _France_, in

the reign of _Francis_ I. makes me more bold in judging of the nature of

those distempers. You conceal the virulency of _Lewis_ XIVth’s disease,

because you dare not examine into the bottom of the cause, and are more

modest in proposing remedies, than he has been in contracting the

distemper. Yet every one talks according to his interest, and the

news-mongers always keep a blank to set down the manner of his death. If

he does not tremble, he must be thorow-pac’d in iniquity, for he has

several reckonings to make up with Heaven, which are not so easily

adjusted; and as he has often affronted the majesty of several popes, he

will scarce obtain a pass-port to go scot-free into the other world. We

are told here, by some of his good friends, he begins to putrify, and

has ulcers a yard in length, where vermin, very soldier like, intrench

themselves. There is no other remedy for this, according to old

_Æsculapius_, but to make him a new man, by a severe penitential

pilgrimage into some of the provinces of _Mercury_ and _Turpentine_. If

he still fears the danger of war, let him go in disguise; and if at this

age he cannot be without a she-companion, let him take his old friend

_Maintenon_ along with him, she is poison-proof, and may, to save

charges, serve him in three capacities, _viz._ as a bedfellow, nurse,

and guide; keep him also to a strict diet; scrape his bones, and purge

him thoroughly, and all may be found again but his conscience. You

cannot imagine how merrily we gentlemen of the faculty live at _Pluto_’s

court: I am secretary to the same _Paul_ III. who pardon’d me _gratis_

the violation of my vows, my irreverence for the church, and my want of

respect for him; _Scaramouch_ is his gentleman-usher, _Harlequin_ his

page, and _Scarron_ his poet laureat. Don’t suppose I was such a

blockhead as to kiss his sweaty toe, when I visited him in the

_Vatican_; he had nothing from me, but such an hypocritical hug, as your

monks give each other at the ridiculous ceremony of high-mass. This old

goat still keeps his amorous inclinations; and I, who have so often made

others blush, am often asham’d to hear his ribaldry. He would certainly

make love to _Proserpine_, but our sultan would not be pleas’d with his

courtship; and besides, his seraglio is as well guarded as the grand

seignior’s, otherwise we might have a litter of fine puppies betwixt

them. Little hump-shoulder’d _Luxembourg_, lately mareschal of _France_,

is the captain of her guards, and so damnably jealous, that he will not

suffer any to come near her; at which _Pluto_ is very well pleas’d, and

does not mistrust him, thinking it impossible for any body to be in love

with such a lump of deformity. But to return to our friend _Paul_, he

scorns to copy after the Devil, who turn’d hermit when he was old; and I

am now making another collection of his impieties and amours, which will

be ready to come out with a _Gazette Nostradamus_ he has been composing

since the year 1600. That sly conjurer is so earnest upon the matter,

that he lifts not up his head, tho’ _Pluto_’s black-guard boys are

continually burning brimstone under his nose. However, I do not know but

this mountain may bring forth a mouse; for to speak freely, I put as

little faith in those prophets, who, like sots, lose their reason in the

abyss of futurity, as the honest whigs of _England_ do in the oaths and

treaties of your swaggering master. As for you, brother doctor, cut,

scarify, blister, and glyster, since ’tis your profession; but take this

along with you, that they who do the least mischief, pass with me for

the ablest men. But I would advise you not to suffer any longer those

barbarous names of assassins, poisoners, closestool-mongers, factors of

death, _&c._ the world gives you. I have had high words with _Moliere_

on your account, and I expect that fine rhiming fellow, _Boileau_, will

give him a wipe over the nose in one of his satires. For tho’ I have

made bold to talk freely with you, yet I do not mean all the world

should take the same liberty.

_The Answer of Mr._ FAGON, _first Physician to_ LEWIS XIV. _to_

FRANCIS RABLAIS.

You are a very pretty gentleman, friend _Rablais_, to boast of yourself

so much, and value the rest of your fraternity so little. Do not you

know that I am of the tribe of _Judah_, and perhaps related to some of

the kings of _Israel_? Had you heard me preach in a synagogue, you wou’d

soon be convinc’d whether I am an illiterate fellow or no. Is it such an

honour to be of your college? Or wou’d it be any advantage to be like

you? You have been, by your own confession, a most horrid rake-hell; and

I would not, for all the mammon of unrighteousness in my king’s coffer,

transgress one point of the law. You ought not to be astonished at my

greatness, for I concern myself with more than one trade, and no man was

ever in such favour, and grew so rich, by only applying warm injections

to the backside. If you enjoy’d a prebend, and other benefices, you

must, I know, have assisted cardinal _Bellay_ in his amours. For my

part, I boast of having been a broker, sollicitor, and, under the rose,

_Billet-deux_ carrier and door-keeper, because all employments at court

are honourable, especially in that great concern of _S----y_. Do not

you think you were the first that thought of the remedy you speak of; we

had several learned consultations about it, but know not which way to

mention it, for Madam _Scarron_, who is very tender of her reputation,

and reigns sovereignly at court, will say we accuse her of bringing the

_Neapolitan_ distemper to _Versailles_, and have us sent to the gallies,

or hang’d for our good advice. I have often reflected on the scandalous

bantering stuff of those they call wits, have said, and do say of us;

and wish with all my heart, the first brimstone they take for the itch,

and mercury for the pox, may poison ’em; but for us to stir in’t, would

bring ’em all about our ears; and we know the consequence of that from

a neighbouring [43] country, where they have mumbled a poor physician

[44], and one that can versify also, almost as severely as a troop of

hungry wolves would a fat ass. However, we thank you for your zeal; but

at the same time advise you not to make a quarrel for so small a

business; and I, in a particular manner, kiss your hand, and desire you

will give my service to _Nostradamus_. I cannot beat it out of my head,

but that he has put me into his [45] centuries; and that an ingenious

man might discover me there. I own ’tis looking for a needle in a bottle

of hay; but you know I sprung up like a mushroom, and that he foretels

nothing but prodigies.

_The Duchess of_ Fontagne _to the_ Cumean Sibyl.

I desir’d _Mercury_ to call, _en passant_, at your cave; and as he has

wings at his feet, and complaisance in heart, so he will, I don’t doubt,

go a little out of his way to oblige me, by delivering you this letter:

I have from my infancy had you in my mind, and heard my nurse, when I

lay squawling in shitten clouts in my cradle, tell frightful stories of

you. As soon as I began to prattle, my maids taught me to call all old

wrinkled women wither’d sibyls; and the idea of the den you were

confin’d in, fill’d me with fear. But since I have been inform’d of the

truth of your history, that fear is chang’d into veneration, and I now

look upon your cell as a sacred place. To assure you of my respect and

the confidence I repose in you, I will consult you about some future

events, and tell you one part of my griefs. I am nobly born, handsome

and young enough to inspire and receive the softest love. The _French_

king, who had spoil’d the shape, and wore out the charms of several

mistresses, long before I appear’d at his court, had a mind to do the

same by me. Being naturally proud and wanton, and tempted by the fine

compliments of a great and vigorous prince, and title of duchess, (a

temptation none of us women can resist) I soon yielded to his desires;

which so mortify’d the haughty _Montespan_, that she, with a ragoo

_a-la-mode d’Espagne_, dispatch’d me out of the world, before I could

get a true taste of greatness, or the pleasures of a royal bed. Alas!

What a mighty difference there is between you and me; your years are

innumerable; you are still mentioned in history; your voice still

remains, and you enjoy the divine faculty of prediction; but I was

murther’d in my bloom, when ripe and juicy as the luscious grape; and

that ungrateful perjur’d man, who rifled my virgin treasures, has not so

much as thought or spoke of me since. He dotes on nothing but old age;

and could you appear in something more solid than air, I do not doubt

but he’d make his addresses to you: I believe his being born with teeth

presag’d he would always be a tyrant to his people, and in his latter

days the cully of such a tough piece of carrion as Mrs. _Maintenon_.

_Morbleu!_ Have I barbarously been sacrific’d; and must a miss of

threescore and fifteen live unpunish’d, and be treated better than I was

in the greatest heighth of that prince’s passion, and warmth of my

desires, when capable both of receiving and giving joy? It really

distracts me! And I conjure you, in the name of _Apollo_, who never

refus’d you any thing, to let me know by one of your oracles, if I shall

never return to _France_ again. You came hither, I know, with the brave

_Æneas_, (but stay’d no longer than you lik’d the place) and I have

heard some people say, that knight-errant diverted himself extremely

upon the road, and made a great deal of hot love to you; but I take that

to be a meer story, because _Virgil_, who would not have let slip so

pleasant a passage, has said nothing of it. However, could I return but

a short time to dislodge _Maintenon_, and take a frisk with my former

lover, if he be not too old for that business; or were I but your

shadow, provided I liv’d, I should be pretty well pleas’d; for ’tis a

melancholy thing to think that the fates should spin such a long thread

for an old lascivious ape [46], who never was to be compared with me;

and that there should remain no more of poor _Fontagne_, than an

unfortunate name, over which oblivion will in a little time triumph. At

the writing of this, in came a courier from _Versailles_, who brings us

word, that _Lewis the Great_ has undertook such a piece of work, that

the weight and consequence makes him sick of the world: that Mrs.

_Maintenon_ has wore out his teeth; that legions of vermin devour him,

and that we may suddenly expect him in these dominions; which, if true,

will be some satisfaction to me; and tho’ he be toothless, worm-eaten

and rotten: I will grant him the same liberty he often took with me on a

couch at the _Trianon_, to get him again under my empire, that I may at

leisure revenge myself for his forgetfulness.

_Oh! wou’d it not provoke a maid,_

_By softest vows and oaths betray’d,_

_Her virgin treasures to resign,_

_And give up honour’s dearest shrine?_

_Then when her charms have been enjoy’d,_

_To be next moment laid aside._

_But why do I lament in vain,_

_And of my destiny complain?_

_Had I been wife as those before me,_

_I should have made the world adore me;_

_Not to one lover’s arms confin’d,_

_But search’d and try’d all human kind._

But I believe this foolish constancy was only owing to my want of

experience; and if I had liv’d a little longer, I should have had the

curiosity to try the variety of human performance, like the rest of my

neighbours. You have been, my dear _demi-goddess_, in love, and have

been belov’d; therefore, I beseech you, give me some healing advice, or

consolation, as my case requires.

_The_ Cumean Sybil_’s Answer to the Duchess of_ Fontagne.

Is it possible that so charming a beauty should think of such an old

decrepid creature as I am! I was desirous to talk with _Mercury_ about

you, but he flew away like a bird. It extremely troubles me, dear

child, that I am oblig’d, in answer to your letter, to tell you there is

no hopes of your returning to _Versailles_; for you must consider that

when I conducted _Æneas_, I was then living, and that ’tis impossible

for any under a _Hercules_ to fetch you from whence you are; and where

shall we find one now? The bravest _Boufflers_ in _France_ is but a

link-boy in comparison to him. Your lover, _fair lady_, is so fast

link’d to his old [47] _Duegna_’s tail, that he thinks no more of you

and your complaints are insignificant.[48] She that hurried you out of

the world in the flower of your youth, with a favourable dose of poison,

is now neglected, and grown so monstrous fat and lecherous, by living

lazily in a nunnery, that she’s not a fit companion for any creature

that has but two legs to support it. You know not what you do, when you

envy my destiny, for I’m sometimes so teiz’d and tir’d with answering

the _virtuosos_ and _beaux_, that it turns my very brain. I own, ’tis a

sad thing to dye at eighteen, in the heighth of one’s greatness and

pleasures, because nature always thinks she pays her tribute to death

before-hand. I would willingly divert you a little, but I know not which

way, unless this little history I send you, which a traveller gave me

not long since, and which has novelty to recommend itself, will do it.

Do not believe, good lady, the scandalous story some ignorant rhiming

puppy has made of _Æneas_ and me; he was not so brisk as that comes to;

and I can assure you, never put the question to me. Ask _Dido_, she can

tell you more of him than I can; and as modest as _Virgil_ describes

her, yet she was forc’d to take this _Trojan_ prince by the throat to

make him perform the duty of a gallant; by this you may judge of his

constitution: besides, had he been never so amorously inclin’d, yet not

knowing my inclinations, he might think his courtship would displease

me, and so disoblige _Apollo_, for whose assistance he then had

occasion. Therefore laugh at all those idle railleries of impertinent

people, and turn your eyes and thoughts on the following dialogue.

[Illustration: _The Mitred Hog and Ladys_

_Vol: II. p. 101._ _E Kirkall Sculp._

]

_The MITRED HOG: A Dialogue between Abbot_ FURETIERE _and_ SCARRON.

_Furetiere._ Oh! Have I found you at last, old friend? Tho’ I were

certain you were here, and desir’d earnestly to see you; yet being

gouty, and tir’d with walking, I began to have no more thoughts of

searching after you. How many troublesome journeys I have made, and

leagues have I travell’d, and all to kiss your hands, tho’ I am a

virtuoso, I cannot tell; for in truth, I am quite out of my element, and

confounded ever since I have lost sight of sun and moon.

_Scarron._ Who are you, and please ye? What’s your name? For the dead

having neither beard nor bonnet, nor any thing else to distinguish them

by, I know not exactly what, or who you are; but by your language and

mien, suppose you some mungril of the _French_ academy.

_Furet._ Well guess’d; I am call’d Monsieur _l’Abbé Furetiere_,[49]

alias _Porc de bon Dieu_, who has long, but in vain, been gaping and

scraping at _Versailles_ for a mitre, that I might wallow in peace and

plenty like a hog. But alas! what a left-handed planet was I born under?

A debauch with stummed wine, setting an old pox, which lay dormant in my

bones, into a ferment, soon carry’d me off, almost in the heighth of my

desires, and when I bad fairest for the bishoprick.

_Scar._ I am sorry for your misfortune; but am at the same time heartily

glad to see you, Monsieur _l’Abbé_. You will not, perhaps, meet with all

these conveniencies here, you enjoy’d at _Paris_; but, in recompense,

you will meet with much honester dealing. For my part, I must own myself

infinitely happy; for now I am neither troubled with lawyers,

physicians, apothecaries, collectors of taxes, priests, nor wife, the

plague and torment of men’s days when on earth. But how have you had

your health since you have been in the country.

_Furet._ Thanks to our master _Pluto_, I have not yet felt any cold. I

was so very tender and chill for six months in the year at _Paris_, that

tho’ I was loaded with ermins, and always had a dram of the best _Nantz_

in my pocket, I could scarce keep my blood from freezing in my veins.

_Scar._ That’s an affliction you will not meet with here, take my word

for’t; for ’tis something hotter than under the _torrid zone_, and the

nicest wits of your academy, need not fear spoiling their brains, by

catching cold here. It is not long since I met with the illustrious

_Balzac_, who does not complain now of the cold in his head, as he did

when he liv’d on the pleasant banks of the _Charante_. But, what news

have you?

_Furet._ I don’t doubt, by your inquisitiveness, but you are very

desirous to hear some news of your wife.

_Scar._ May pox and itch devour the nasty jade! I know but too much of

her by mareschal _d’Albert_ formerly, and lately, by my likeness

Monsieur _Luxemburg_; yes, I know she’s a duchess; that she’s one of the

privy-council; and she serves _Lewis_ the XIV. in the same capacity as

_Livia_ did _Augustus_. But why did not the prostitute make her poor

deform’d husband a duke? I should not have been the first duke and peer

of _France_, that had been a cuckold.

_Furet._ By your discourse, Mr. _Scarron_, one would think you had lost

your senses and memory: But you cannot surely have forgot how, instead

of laurel, she adorn’d your learned brow with horns, before she was

taken notice of at court; Indeed how could a pretty, witty, buxom, young

woman, forbear making such an infirm, deform’d _Æsop_ as you a cuckold?

_Scar._ I should not have much valued that, because I had brethren

enough to herd with, if the damn’d whore had but got my pension

augmented; but the confounded jade, instead of that, gave me the

cursed’st garrison to maintain, that ever poor husband was mortify’d

with: To appease which, I was forc’d to have recourse to _Unguentum

contra pediculos inguinales_, &c. But prithee let’s discourse of

something else, for the thoughts of the duchess of _Maintenon_, will

disturb my brain, and easily put me into a fever, which is dangerous in

this warm climate.

_Furet._ I’ll tell you but three or four words more of this famous

duchess, and conclude. _First_, That she has kick’d her patroness, Madam

_Montespan_ out of the royal bed: And _Secondly_, That she is very great

with the pious jesuit, father _la Chaise_, the monarch’s confessor.

_Scar._ Oh! oh! by my troth, I don’t wonder at the lascivious harlot,

for closing with him! as there is no feast like the misers, so there is

no gallantry like those monks. When those hypocrites undertake that

business, they do it all like heroes. But you have said all, by saying

he is a jesuit, since those gallants have been in reputation, they have

engrossed all good whoring to their society, especially in _France_, and

more particularly at _Paris_, where they have so well behav’d

themselves, that they have chang’d an antient authentick proverb,

_Jacobine en [50] chair, Cordelier en [51] chœur, Carme en [52] cusine,

& Augustine en [53] bordel_, for now they say, _Jesuit en bordel, &c._

But so much for those gentlemen, pray what are you a doing now in the

_French_ academy?

_Furet._ There are as many follies committed there, as in any society in

the universe; judge of the whole by this one example. That company was

never so highly honour’d as it is at present, by the particular care

that great monarch takes of it; for which he is repaid in flattering

panegyricks. Nevertheless, these insipid, florid, gentlemen, scold and

scratch like so many fish-women in an alehouse. The other day the great

_Charpentier_ fell into such a passion about a trifle, that he

reproach’d the learned _Taleman_, of being the son of a broken

apothecary at _Rochel_; to which _Taleman_ with as much heat reply’d,

_Charpentier_ was the son of poor hedge ale-draper at _Paris_. From this

_Billingsgate_ language they came to blows. _Charpentier_ threw

_Nicot_’s dictionary at his adversary’s head, and _Taleman_ threw

_Morery_’s at _Charpentier_’s. We all wish’d heartily we could have

recall’d you from the dead, to write the various accidents of this

battle, in your comical and satyric style.

_Scar._ Ha, ha, ha, had I been there, they should have beat the academy

dictionary and _Morery_’s too in pieces about each other’s ears, before

I would have parted them. But I hope these two sputtering coxcombs did

each other justice; I declare, whoever hinder’d it, deserv’d to be

severely fined. Pray how did you behave yourself during this combat?

_Furet._ I happen’d not to be there; for you must know, there has been

such a difference between those gentlemen and me, concerning a

dictionary I have publish’d, that it came at last to a contentious

law-suit; but what was laid on either side, only made the world laugh at

both, and is not half so diverting as the epigram you made upon an, old

lady that went to law with you: I think I still remember it.----

_Thou nauseous everlasting sow,_

_With phiz of bear, and shape of cow,_

_With eyes that in their sockets twinkle,_

_And forehead plow’d with many a wrinkle._

_With nose that runs like common-shore,_

_And breath that murders at twelvescore:_

_What! thou’rt resolv’d to give me war,_

_And trounce me at the noisy bar,_

_Though it reduces thee to eat,_

_Thy smock for want of cleanlier meat:_

_Agreed, old beldam! keep thy word,_

_’Twill soon reduce thee to eat a t----d._

_Scar._ May that be the fate of _Taleman_, _Charpentier_, and the rest

of those reformers of the alphabet, and in a more especial manner of

that thieving flattering rogue [54] _Despaux_, who has made a faithless

poltron, a _Mars_, and a super-annuated lascivious adultress, a saint.

So much for that ---- But give me some little account now of your clergy,

I mean the great plump rogues, the hogs with mitres on their heads, and

crosiers on their shoulders, those janizaries of antichrist.

_Furet._ I know your meaning---- Never was nickname given with more

justice to any society of men. In _Normandy_, and those parts they call

all the minor clergy, as the fat monks, canons, abbots, _&c._ who are

not mitred, _Jesus Christ_’s porkers; which distinction is not very

fantastical, if we allow the other expression. But no more of those

gentlemen, ’tis dangerous.

_Scar._ Prithee, dear abbot, be not so mealy-mouth’d; when I was in the

world, the greatest pleasure I had, was in attacking those gentleman’s

vices, and exposing them to the hereticks, that still-born generation of

vipers, as they call them, and therefore let us be free now; ’tis the

only enjoyment we can have. Pray what says your _Monthly Mercury_ of

those gentleman, whom the earth is more oblig’d to for bodies, than

heaven for souls?

_Furet._ Never fuller of who made such a man a cuckold, and who pox’d

such a woman, as now; neither were ever the women half so impudent; no

not in the reigns of _Caligula_ and _Nero_. Never was debauchery so much

in fashion; nor never were the whores so often cover’d with purple.

_Scar._ Is there not in your herd, such a thing as a tame gentle

weather? or what _Virgil_ calls _Dux Gregis_? you understand me.

_Furet._ A weather! oh, fy, fy! not such a creature among them, I can

assure you. The most christian king would not suffer such an impertinent

scandalous animal, so much as at shew his head in his seraglio. ’Tis as

easy to find there a pretty woman chaste, or hair in the palm of your

hand, as an emasculated beast among the mitred hogs: for the _Dux

Gregis_, _Virgil_ speaks of, we have one at the head of our prelates,

who has all the qualities requisite for so great an honour, tho’ he has

neither beard nor horns: and should I name him, you’d be of my opinion.

_Scar._ Wou’d I recollect my memory, and their virtues, I cou’d guess

within two or three; but pray save me that labour.

_Furet._ Do you not remember a famous song you made in praise of a sick

wanton goat. _Creque fait & defend l’archeveque de Roüen._

_Scar._ Oh, dear! oh, dear! the right reverend _Francis Harley_,

archbishop of _Paris_! my most renowned friend! a worthy chief!

_Furet._ The very same, and ’tis a precious jewel, both for body and

soul. A hedgehog has not more bristles than this prelate has

mistresses, and there’s not a stallion in _France_ that leaps oftner.

_Scar._ You rejoice my heart Mons. _Furetiere_. He was, I remember,

always at _Paris_, when archbishop of _Rouen_: no man fitter for that

employment. To be free, if _Paris_ be the hell of hackney horses, ’tis

the paradice of whore-masters and hackney-whores. I can guess at what he

does now, by what he did formerly. Several ladies also of our

neighbouring countries are witnesses of his prowess; but more especially

some of the fair _English_ ladies; the luscious morsels of a lustful

monarch. But on to the rest.

_Furet._ I am willing to satisfy your curiosity, Mr. _Scarron_, but to

run thro’ the whole herd, would be too tedious at present, tho’ they all

deserve to be chronicled: so I will only, _en passant_, give you the

history of those you have heard preach, both at _Paris_ and the court,

with wonderful applause; and who, for their modesty and regular lives,

had the reputation of saints, whilst they were only fathers of oratory.

_Scar._ Take your own method, Mons. _l’Abbé_; but let me tell you one

thing, by the way, this place is call’d the _wits corner_, but by some

late guests, because of the smoak and liquor, the _wits Coffee-House_.

Now you know the wits of all countries laugh at the clergy in their

poems and plays; and that the clergy, to be reveng’d of them, and keep

up their own reputation with the ignorant, call them atheists; therefore

you may freely give a true description of them. All here are their

enemies; and a priest would as soon venture his carcass in _Sweden_ as

in this place; he dreads a poet, as much as dogs do a sow-gelder.

_Furet._ Still a merry man, Mr. _Scarron_. But to return to your mitred

hogs; do you remember father _le Bone_, and father _Mascron_. The first

is now bishop of _Perigueux_, and the other bishop of _Agen_.

_Scar._ How! are these two famous preachers, those scourgers of pride

and immorality, got into the herd of the mitred hogs? by my troth, I

always took them for credulous humble weathers, believers of what they

preached; tho’ I know most priests seldom believe what they profess.

_Furet._ Well, Mr. _Scarron_, tho’ you can see as far thro’ a mill-stone

as any man, yet I find you are not infallible.

_Scar._ Faith, a man sees as far thro’ a mill-stone, as a priest’s

surplice, tho’ ’tis reckon’d the emblem of purity. But, Mons. _l’Abbé_,

what _Montaigne_ said formerly of the women, I now say of the priests:

_Ils envoyen leur conscience au bordel, & tiennent leur countenance en

regle_: they send their conscience to the stews, and keep their

countenance within rule.

_Furet._ ’Tis even as true of one, as of the other, Mr. _Scarron_, and

my following discourse will verify it. What virtue there is in a mitre,

I know not, for I could never obtain one; I was thought too good a

christian in the bottom; but before I had bad adieu to _Paris_, your

innocent believing apostles were become too as rampant and fine coated

hogs as any of the herd. The reverend father _le Bone_, bishop of

_Perigueux_, has so bravely plaid the county boar, that there’s not a

pretty nun in his diocese but has been with pig by him; as I have been

credibly informed by persons of honour.

_Scar._ Oh! the excellent apostle: I remember a story of him when he was

bishop of _Agde_, which will not be unpleasant to you, if you can bear

with a pun, and a poet’s making merry with several languages, a thing he

can no more avoid than flattery. This worthy prelate not meeting with

that plenty at _Agde_ his voluptuousness required, made his monarch this

compliment: Sir, _Je suis né gueux, j’ay vecu gueux, benais s’il plait a

votre majeste, je voux Perigueux_.

_Furet._ Faith, a very comfortable reward for a very filthy pun; I have

said forty pleasanter things to the king, and never could get beyond

Mons. _l’Abbé_, which makes me believe there is a critical minute for a

wit, as well as love: an excellent _Roman_ poet was sensible of it, when

he said,

_Hora libellorum decima est, Eupheme, meorum,_

_Temporat ambrosias cum tua cura dapes,_

_Est bonus æthereo laxatur nectare Cæsare._

There’s a _Latin_ quotation for you, to shew you I understand it; and

that I have been an author as well as you.

_Scar._ Believe me, Mons. _l’Abbé_, you’ll fare much the better for it

here; and tho’ those gentlemen made us poor poets pass for scoundrels

and impious ridiculers of piety in the other world, yet we have much the

whip-hand of them in these quarters, therefore take comfort. Tell me

pray how the pious _Julius Mascaron_ behaves himself at _Agen_, where he

meets with greater plenty than he did at _Thute_.

_Furet._ Oh! the acorns and chesnuts of _Agen_ have made him so plump

and wanton, ’twould rejoice your heart to see him. All the females of

the town caress him, and strive which shall yield him most delight; and

he out of zeal and gratitude, and to preserve peace and charity among

them, like a holy prelate, has given to each her hour of rendezvous,

which they keep as regularly as the clock strikes.

_Scar._ Very well! there’s nothing so commendable as good method in

whoring.

_Furet._ But his favourite is a pretty gentle _nun_, with whom he often

goes to _Beauregard_, there _tete a tete_, or rather _ne a ne_, under

the shady limes, do they both act that which will one day procure a

third. There are forty other better stories of these two prelates; for

they value not what common report says. They are above it: But if you

will listen to the exploits of the bishop of _Laon_, now cardinal

_d’Estrée_, I will shew you what a mitred hog is capable of.

_Scar._ As I am acquainted with the strength of his genius, so I do not

doubt of the greatness of his performances. You have now named a man

that would make a parish bull jealous.

_Furet._ The history I shall give you, will justify your opinion of him.

Know then that the cardinal _d’Estrée_ being passionately in love with

the marchioness _de Cœuvres_, who was supposed to have granted the duke

_de Seaux_ the liberty of rifling her placket, was resolv’d to put in

for his snack. To compass this, he acquainted his nephew, the marquis

_de Cœuvres_, with the scandalous familiarity that was between the duke

and his wife. Upon which their parents met at the mareschal

_d’Estrée_’s, where it was concluded to send the young adultress into a

convent; but the old mareschal, made wiser by long experience, was

against it. In good faith, said he, you are more nice than wise; had not

our mothers plaid the same wanton trick, not one of us had been here. I

know very well what I say; there’s not a handsome nose nor leg in the

company, but has been stole; and not a farthing matter from whom,

whether prince or coachman, it has mended our breed: therefore we have

more reason to praise those, who discreetly follow the examples of their

grandmothers and mothers, than banish ’em, and so render them fruitless.

Do not suppose, when I married my grandson _de Cœuvres_, to young

mademoiselle _de Lionne_, that I consider’d her riches, or that her

father was a minister of state; such thoughts are beneath a man of my

age and experience. My great hopes were, that she being young and

handsome, will still support the grandeur of our family, which as you

all very well know, has been made more considerable by the intrigues of

the women, than by the valour of the men. I’m sure I never discourag’d

what I now maintain; and why my grandson should be more squeamish than

I, or his forefathers have been, I take it to be unreasonable:

therefore, since the marchioness _de Cœuvres_ is only blam’d for having

tasted those pleasures which nature allows, and which are customary in

our family, I declare my self her protector. Yet I would not have this

be the talk of the court; I would not have it pass my threshold; because

the world might say of one of us, as of a fine curious piece of

clock-work, that a great many excellent workmen had a hand in it.

_Scar._ In this generous and considerate speech, do I plainly discover

the inclinations of the famous _Gabriele d’Estrée_, _Harry_ the fourth’s

mistress. But I am in trouble for the poor marchioness; I know a convent

must be insupportable to a woman that has tasted the pleasures of a

licentious court.

_Furet._ The cardinal was against publishing his niece’s wantonness, as

well as the mareschal, and took upon him the care of reprimanding her,

and bringing her into the path of virtue: to which the marquis _de

Cœuvres_ readily consented, not imagining he deliver’d the pretty lamb

to the ravenous wolf. This being agreed on, the lustful prelate went

immediately to his niece; I come, Madam, said he, from doing you a very

considerable piece of service: all our family has been in consultation

against you, and could think of no milder punishment for you than a

convent, with all its mortifications, _viz._ _Praying, fasting,

whipping, and abstaining from the masculine kind_, &c. I know, dear

niece, this was as unjust as severe; but, in short, it had been your

doom, had I not been your friend. Such a piece of service as this,

beautiful niece, deserves a suitable return, and I believe you too

generous to be ungrateful: but I shall think this, and all the other

services I can render you, highly recompenc’d, if you’ll but permit me

to see you often, and embrace you.

_Scar._ A very pious speech! I hope that which is to follow will answer

this excellent beginning. Now do I imagine a place formally besieged;

the next news will be of the opening the trenches.

_Furet._ We proceed very regularly, Mr. _Scarron_; the place makes a

noble defence, and does not surrender till a breach is made. To be thus

unjustly accused, said the marchioness, is a very great misfortune; and

tho’ I will not disown my obligation to you, yet you must permit me to

say, that your proceeding destroys that very obligation: if you will not

have any regard to my virtue, and the fidelity I owe to my husband, you

ought, nevertheless, to remember your character, and how nearly we are

related. But I know the meaning of this; you believe the scandalous and

malicious story that has been raised of me, and design to make your

advantage of it. What can be more injurious than this attempt! Tho’ you

thought me a whore, had you but thought me still virtuous enough to

abhor your beastly, incestuous proposition, I should have had some

reason to esteem you--

_Scar._ Poor prelate! Egad, I pity thee; thou hast receiv’d such a

bruise in this repulse, that I cannot think thou wilt have the courage

to return to the attack.

_Furet._ Have patience; you are not acquainted with the craft and

courage of a _mitred hog_. The prelate, who by this resistance, was

become more amorous, resolv’d to watch so narrowly his niece’s conduct,

that he would oblige her to do that out of fear, which all his rhetorick

and protestations of love could not tempt her to. To be short, he

managed so well this important affair, that he surpris’d the duke _de

Seaux_ in bed, between Madam _de Lionne_ and the marchioness _de

Cœuvres_ her daughter: and to magnify charity, as well as other virtues

in this matter, he took Monsieur _de Lionne_ along with him. I will

leave you to imagine the confusion of these two ladies; the first to see

her husband, and the other the man she had so vigorously repuls’d. The

marchioness thinking wisely, her compliance would yet conceal her

intrigue; taking the cardinal by the hand, and gently squeezing it,

said, If you’ll promise to appease my father, and by your ghostly

authority, make my mother and him good friends again, and keep this

frolick from my husband, you shall, whenever you please, find me

grateful, and sensible of your affection.

_Scar._ What said Monsieur _de Lionne_? The surprise of a poor cuckold,

who finds a handsome, brawny young fellow in bed with his wife and

daughter, surpasses my imagination.

_Furet._ If, like _Actæon_, he had been immediately metamorphosed into a

stag, he could not have been more surprized.

_Scar._ How did the prelate behave himself after this charitable brave

exploit? The breach is now made, there has been a parley; the

preliminaries are agreed on; nothing now is wanting, but taking

possession of the place.

_Furet._ You move very soldier like, Mr. _Scarron_. The prelate being

resolv’d to perform all the articles of the treaty, like a man of

honour, first preach’d on charity, and then forgiveness of crimes; then

on human prudence, policy, the reputation of their family, and quoted

some of the old mareschal’s remarks; which altogether so prevail’d on

the poor cuckold, that he consented to put his horns in his pocket, and

forgive his daughter. Then did the prelate, under the pious pretence of

correcting his faulty niece, lead her with a seeming austere gravity

into his chamber, where he summon’d her to the performance of articles

on her part; which, on a couch, were reciprocally exchanged; she not

daring to refuse it, for fear he should acquaint her husband with her

intrigue with the duke _de Seaux_.

_Scar._ Oh brave hog! worthy prelate! pious cardinal. What a fine way of

mortification is this! Well, for sincerity, humility, charity, sobriety,

_&c._ commend me to a prelate.

_Furet._ The cardinal, tho’ he had obtained his desires, yet could not

but be sensible that fear, not love, made her consent; therefore

doubting she would return to her first amours, or that he should have

but little share of her, so contriv’d it, that her husband sent her to a

house he had in the cardinal’s diocese, and not far from his palace.

This had a very good effect; because the cardinal, for the love of her,

resided always in his diocese. Thus did the cardinal and his niece live

very lovingly for two or three years; but the intrigues of the court

calling the prelate out of the kingdom, ambition stepp’d into the place

of love, and put an end to an incestuous commerce, to which the

marchioness had first consented, purely in her own defence.

_Scar._ I find there are hogs with cardinal caps, as well as mitres. But

I believe they are not so numerous; that dignity, perhaps, is a kind of

curb to their licentiousness.

_Furet._ You mistake the matter, Mr. _Scarron_, inclination never

changes; the only reason is, there are more bishops than cardinals, and

most of them reside at _Rome_, at glorious _Rome_, which is but one

entire stew; _Sodom_ was not what _Rome_ is now. Have you forgot the

famous cardinal _Bonzi_? He is as absolute in _Montpelier_, as the grand

signior in his seraglio; he needs but beckon to the dame he has a mind

to enjoy. The brave cardinal _de Bouillon_, notwithstanding his court

intrigues is as well known in all the bawdy-houses of _Paris_, as a

young debauch’d musqetteer, or _garde de corps_. The cardinal _de

Furstenburg_ too was as wicked as his purse would allow him before I

left the town.

_Scar._ I verily believe it, Monsieur _l’Abbé_: But pray give me leave

to reckon your dignities upon my fingers, that I may not forget them.

First, There is your porkers of _Jesus Christ_; then your _mitred hogs_;

and lastly, your _purple hogs_. ’Tis wondrous pretty! pray how must we

distinguish the Pope, who is chief of this herd? Must we call him the

swine-herd? Some of them, ’tis true, were swine-herds before they took

the order of priesthood, as _Sixtus Quintus_, who was swine-herd to the

village of _Montaste_: But there is another thing that puzzles me worse

than all this: you know _Lewis_ XIV. calls himself the eldest son of

St. _Peter_, _Lewis the Great_ then, for all his ambition is the son of

a swine-herd. Well, I know not how to settle this point; therefore pray

continue your history.

_Furet._ I’ll make an end of my history, if you are not already glutted

with the infamy of the afore-mentioned prelates; with that of the

archbishop of _Rheims_.

_Scar._ How! Monsieur _l’Abbé_, how! Is he a hog too? I have heard him

call’d by some of our new guests a horse.

_Furet._ You are in the right of that: the mareschal _de la Feuillade_

was his god-father, and one day honour’d him with the title of

coach-horse.

_Scar._ A horse is a degree of honour above a hog---- Has _la Feuillade_

the privilege of distributing titles at the court of _France_? Has he

more wit than in cardinal _Mazarine_’s days, who always greeted him in

these words, Monsieur _de la Feuillade, All your brains would lie in a

nutshell_.

_Furet._ ’Tis true, there is no more substance in his brains, than in

whipt cream; and as that fills up the desart, and serves to cool and

refresh the stomach after a plentiful dinner; so does he serve to unbend

and divert the mind, after solid conversation and business. To prove

this, I will tell you how he made the king to laugh very heartily,

concerning the archbishop of _Rheims_.

_Scar._ As a wise politick lady, when she has not the fool her husband

to divert her, will have her monkey; so must the great statesman have

his buffoon. He is the same to the politician as a clyster is to the man

that’s costive. But go on with your story.

_Furet._ He being one day with the king, looking out at a window of

_Versailles_, that faces the great road to _Paris_, and observing the

passengers, the king at last discover’d a coach with more, as he

thought, than six horses; and turning to _la Feuillade_, praising the

equipage, ask’d him if it was not the archbishop of _Rheims_’s livery:

yes, Sir, said _la Feuillade_. I can discover but seven horses, reply’d

the king: Oh! Sir, said _la Feuillade_, the eighth is in the coach. But

I pretend to degrade this archbishop, and prove that he’s but a _mitred

hog_ as well as the rest of his brethren.

_Scar._ Ah dear Monsieur _l’Abbé_, for the love of Monsieur _le

Tellier_, who has render’d his king and country such great service, take

not from him the honour _la Feuillade_ conferr’d on him, and with the

king’s approbation.

_Furet._ Plead not so earnestly for him, but hear me with patience. I do

not say but the archbishop of _Rheims_ is a brute, a very animal, a

coach-horse, _per omnes casus_; but yet he pursues the affairs of love

with as much zeal, and as little conscience, as any prelate in _Europe_,

therefore must not be distinguish’d from his brethren. Besides, if you

take him from his lawful title of _mitred hog_, you will hinder his

preferment.

_Scar._ Oh! by no means. I have read that _Caligula_ honour’d one of his

horses with the title of senator; why then may not the Pope, who is the

successor of that emperor, call into his senate your coach-horse?

_Furet._ With all my heart. Nevertheless, I’ll call him if you please,

_mitred hog_, as I did the bishop of _Loan_ before he was cardinal

_d’Estrée_. Now to matter of fact. The duchess _d’Aumont_ having

surpris’d one of her chamber-maids in a very indecent posture with the

marquis _de Villequier_, her son-in-law, turn’d her out of her service.

The poor wench, distracted to find herself separated from her lover,

told him, out of pure revenge, that the archbishop of _Rheims_ lay with

the duchess every time the duke went to _Versailles_. How! my uncle! Ah!

I cannot believe it; thou say’st this out of malice.

_Scar._ Oh fie! oh fie! The archbishop of _Rheims_ debauch the duchess

_d’Aumont_, his brother-in-law’s wife! Do not you plainly perceive this

jade’s malice? If the duchess had but suffer’d her intrigue with the

marquis, she would not have open’d her mouth. Oh, horrible! Oh,

horrible!

_Furet._ As much as you seem to wonder now, and abhor the thoughts of

such doings, you were not formerly so nice, nor incredulous.

_Scar._ Be not angry, good Monsieur _l’Abbé_; I do believe as bad of a

priest, as you can desire to have me; therefore pray continue.

_Furet._ By what follows you’ll find that the spirit of revenge

discover’d a most luscious intrigue. Since you will not believe what I

say, reply’d the wench to her gallant, I will, the next time the duke

goes to _Versailles_, make your eyes convince you. The duchess, you must

know, had imprudently given her leave to stay three or four days in her

house. As it happen’d, the duke went that afternoon to court, who was no

sooner gone, and the marquis plac’d in a dark room leading to the

duchess’s bed-chamber, but by comes the archbishop, muffled up with a

dark-lanthorn in his hand. This convinced the young marquis, and was

enough to convince a more incredulous man than your worship.

_Scar._ It was perhaps some phantome, or some amorous Devil, who to do

himself honour, had taken the archbishop’s goodly form and sanctify’d

mien.

_Furet._ Still excusing the priests! You were not such an advocate of

theirs in the other world, witness your answer to your parish-priest,

some few hours before you pack’d up for this place.

_Scar._ I have since drank a swinging draught of _Lethe_’s forgetful

stream; I remember nothing of it: You would, perhaps, scandalize me.

_Furet._ It was thus, Sir, the grave hypocrite administring the last

idolatrous ceremonies, asked if you knew what you received; to which you

made this short answer: _The body of your God carried by an ass_.

_Scar._ ’Tis true, ’tis true, Monsieur _l’Abbé_; pray who can endure to

be disturb’ by an impertinent coxcomb, when he’s going to take a long

voyage? But go on, I will not speak one word more in their behalf.

_Furet._ The marquis, convinced by what he had seen, went the next

morning to _Versailles_, and told all the young nobility of his

acquaintance what had pass’d; which by being buzz’d about, in four and

twenty hours became the talk of all the court.

_Scar._ Oh brave archbishop of _Rheims_! Was no body worthy of being

made a cuckold by you, but your brother in-law?

_Furet._ Again mistaken, Mr. _Scarron_, for the charitable archbishop

has assisted his nephew too, as well as his brother-in-law, and intends

to go round the family.

_Scar._ The Devil! This is the most insatiable hog I ever heard of! He

devours both the hen and her chickens. Pray excuse me, Monsieur

_l’Abbé_: I cannot but think you wrong him now.

_Furet._ You may judge of that by the following relation. The archbishop

being passionately in love with Madam _d’Aumont_ his niece, and the

marquis _de Crequi_’s wife, was resolv’d, the better to insinuate

himself with her, to make her jealous of her husband, which he found no

difficult matter to do. This done, he went to visit her, and finding her

melancholy, said, Madam, I know no reason you have to be so much

concern’d at your husband’s infidelity, since it lies in your power to

be reveng’d. If he has a mistress, why don’t you get a gallant? I know

no injustice in it; and it is the only recompensing counsel I can give

you.

_Scar._ Ah! _Marchioness_, have at you; I find the hog grows

rampant---- Go on, good Sir, this is like a brave metropolitan.

_Furet._ The young marchioness did not listen to this proportion; but on

the contrary, was surpris’d to find her uncle, an archbishop, make a

motion, which had she been inclined to follow, he ought to have given

her more virtuous advice. Perceiving her aversion to his proposition, he

suspected she might suppose he only said it to try her inclinations,

therefore he was resolved to declare his mind in more intelligible

terms; which he did in so amorous a style, that the marchioness plainly

perceiv’d the archbishop intended to have a share in the revenge. But

the young lady, tho’ she would not have made any scruple of it, had it

not been for his character, was infinitely concerned at it.

_Scar._ Notwithstanding all this, do I see the purple victorious, and

the poor victim prostrate.

_Furet._ As the archbishop made her frequent presents, and she expected

great advantages at his death, so she did not think it prudence to

mortify him too much; this filled him with hopes, and made him more

amorous: therefore, to blind the husband, and have a better opportunity

of lying with his wife, he proposed taking them into his palace, and

defraying all their charges.

_Scar._ Money is the sinew of love as well as war. The poor marquis, I

don’t doubt, was blinded with this fine proposal. More men are made

cuckolds by their own follies than by their wives.

_Furet._ So it proved by our cuckold, who was so transported at the

bounteous offer of the archbishop, supposing it an uncle’s kindness, not

a lover’s, that he every where boasted of it, that is to say, he thought

himself oblig’d to his uncle for lying with his wife at that price. The

mareschal _de Crequi_, his father, had quite another opinion of that

matter, and was affronted at the excessive liberalities of the

archbishop, knowing that the most devout and zealous of their tribe were

adulterers, incestuous, and sodomites. He complain’d of it to the

marquis _Louvois_, who told him, covetousness was the reason of his

complaint. The mareschal not satisfied with this answer, went to the

king, who immediately commanded the archbishop to retire into his

diocese. The disconsolate archbishop, whilst all were preparing for his

journey, went to visit his niece, and with tears desired her ever to

remember, that it was for the love of her he was banish’d.

_Scar._ Could the afflictions of the living affect me, I shou’d be

mightily concern’d for the grief this poor prelate, who was oblig’d to

leave so dear, so pretty a niece; a niece that afforded him so much

pleasure and delight. Have not you left behind you other _mitred hogs_,

whose lives and conversations are worthy your remembrance? Those you

have already been so kind to relate, have been a banquet to me; and I

heartily wish I may always meet with such entertainment.

_Furet._ Your servant, Mr. _Scarron_, I am extremely pleased they have

diverted you; and that you may promise yourself such another

entertainment, nay, twenty such; be assur’d, that there is not a bishop,

archbishop, or cardinal, that is not as very a hog, as either the

archbishop of _Rheims_, or cardinal _d’Estrée_, except the bishop of

_Escar_, who lives in a barren soil, and can scarce afford himself a

bellyfull of chesnuts above once in fifteen days. Poverty is a kind of

leprosy, not a fair sleek female will come near him. The reason why I

entertain you with the histories of these two prelates, rather than of

the archbishop of _Paris_, the bishop of _Meaux_, the bishop of

_Beauvais_, the bishop of _Valence_, and all the other bishops, is,

because having heard the famous actions of those worthy metropolitans,

faithfully related some few days before my departure, those ideas are

the most present and lively. But in time, and with a little rubbing up

my memory, I may be able to give you the lives of all the _mitred hogs_.

Besides, as we have now settled three couriers weekly from this place to

_Versailles_, because of the importance of affairs now on foot, I expect

now and then a pacquet; so I don’t doubt of keeping my word, and often

diverting you with stories of the like nature, and of fresher date.

_Scar._ ’Tis very obliging, Monsieur _l’Abbé_: But your last paragraph

has put an odd whim into my noddle. This place, as I told you before, is

now call’d the wits coffee-house; none but authors are sent hither. What

think you if we should join our heads together, and digest all your

stories and intelligence into form; if we should compile a book of them,

we could make it very diverting, having able men both for verse and

prose, whose very names would give it the reputation of a faithful

history, because the dead neither hoping nor fearing any thing from the

living, cannot be suspected of flattery and partiality, as they justly

were when in the world.

_Furet._ I protest, a noble thought! The lives of the _Roman_ prelates

will make a most curious history. We have a famous history of the

_Roman_ emperors; and why should we not then have another of the _Roman_

prelates, since they as justly deserve to be transmitted to posterity?

_Beau_ NORTON, _to his Brothers at_ HIPPOLLITO_’s in_

Covent-Garden. _By Captain_ AYLOFF.

_Dearly beloved Brothers of the Orange-Butter-Box._

You will soon be satisfy’d what mighty changes we suffer by death; and

that there is no two things at more distance from one another, than to

be and not to be. You know how, _Roman_ like, I took pett, and dar’d to

die! for time had bejaded me a little, and to renounce the tyranny of

the fickle goddess, I was oblig’d to renounce your light. Since my

arrival at the grim _Tartarian_ territories, I have received the usual

compliments of the place; and tho’ the most accurate courtiers that

ever was bred at _Versailles_, and all the wits of the most gallant

courts in the universe, are here in whole shoals; yet to my great wonder

and amazement, not one of them said a genteel thing to me. But with a

strange familiar air, that favour’d much of our bear-garden friendship,

some a hundred or two, hall’d me by the ears, and puffing out thick

clouds of flaming sulphur, cry’d all with a hoarse and dismal voice,

well, _Doily_, this was kindly done of thee, to take _pas avance_ of

destiny, and shew the world, that no man need be miserable, but who is

afraid to die.

I was (amongst friends) as much out of countenance at this saucy

proceeding, as when our old friends, _Shore_ and _la Rocha_, refus’d to

lend me five paultry guineas, after I had equipp’d them with more than

one thousand apiece. I wonder’d at the roughness of their _acueil_, and

they burst out a laughing at the impertinency of my astonishment. Well,

gentlemen, give me leave to tell you, that if I had but suspected a

quarter part of this inhuman and ungentleman-like reception, I would

have suspended the honours of my self-sacrifice, and have chosen rather

to wait the fatal period of life in a more contracted orb, than thus

suddenly have plung’d myself into such a disappointment. After having

allotted me my portion for my vanity and foppery, and I had been put

into possession of my shop, you cannot conceive how heavy it lay upon my

spirits; but suffer it I must; and if it had not been the odiousest and

most abominable, most nauseous, and most execrable function I could have

laboured under, they would not have been so merciful as to have enjoin’d

it me. ’Twas long before I could obtain leave to insinuate thus much to

you; for they are no ways here below inclined to grant any the minutest

thing imaginable, that may contribute to the benefit of mankind. _Jo.

Haines_ came to me, (and his breath had as much augmented its stench, as

light is different from darkness: In a word, there was as great

disproportion for the worse, as between us and you) and with a displayed

pair of chaps, told me, I must not have any correspondency with the

upper regions, for it might tend to the dispeopling the _Acherontic_

territories; and that I was a bubble to think they had not as much of

self-interest here below, as any merchant, statesman, lawyer, or

nobleman in all the dominions above. But seeing my and your old

acquaintance, (gentlemen) I took heart a little, and held my nose; and

after some usual ceremonies, (to which he made but a scurvy return) I

told him, look you Mr _Haines_, you know, as well as I, that those

powder’d members of the vain fraternity are all of them incorrigible;

present smart and future fear affects them not; they are out of the

reach of good advice; reason was never their talent; for if they were

ever in election to have a thought, as it would be the first, so would

it be the fatalest too. Could any glass but shew them to themselves as

really they are, they would all despair like me, and die like me. A sly

young whelp of the second class of _Pluto_’s footmen, said, well, Mr.

_Haines_, there may be much in what he says, he came last from thence,

therefore let him make an end of his epistle, it may turn to better

account than we are aware of. I thank’d the gentleman for his civility,

and would have administred a half-crown; but you know (my worthy

brothers) that the last twelve shillings I had was laid out in three

glasses of _Ratifia_, and a bottle of _Essence_; with which, I first

comb’d out my wig, then clean’d my shoes, and then oil’d the locks of my

pistols, and so set out for this tedious and lugubrous journey: and that

you may see, that _Pluto_’s skip-kennels are not so insolent as yours

are, the fellow told me, with a malicious smile, that if the powder’d

gentry of the other world were so very despicable animals, as I

represented them, he would take a small tour with me, and then I might

have something material to communicate to them.

We had not walk’d so far as from the chocolate-house to the _Rose_, but

in a narrow, obscure, obscene alley, there hung out a piece of a broken

chamber-pot, upon which was written in sulphurous characters, _Fleshly

relief for the sons of_ Adam. I had hardly made an end of reading this

merry motto, but the door open’d, and what should my eyes behold, but a

reverend lady, of illustrious charms, that gave us too visible proofs of

the depredations of time: I recollected her phiz, as engineers tell by

the very ruins, whether the fabric were _Doric_ or _Ionic_, &c. and who

should this be but the celebrated fair _Rosamond_; her present

occupation was to be runner to this bawdy coffee-house. Queen _Eleanor_,

her mortal enemy, sells sprats, and has

[Illustration: Mark Antony _teaching yᵉ Dogs to Dance_ Oliver Cromwel

_turn’d Rat Catcher_

_Vol. II. p. 121._]

her stall in _Pluto_’s stable-yard. In my peregrination, I met several

things unexpected, and therefore surprising; I shall not give you the

trouble of every particular dark passage we went thro’, but in general

terms relate the most memorable things that occurred during a very

considerable walk that we had together. Taking a solitary walk on the

gloomy banks of _Acheron_, I met a finical fellow, powder’d from top to

toe, his hands in his pocket, _a-la-mode de Paris_, humming a new

minuet; and who would it be, but _Gondamour_, that famous _Spaniard_.

_Helen_ of _Greece_ cry’d kitchin-stuff, and _Roxano_ had a little

basket of tripe and trotters; _Agamemnon_ sold bak’d ox-cheek, hot, hot;

_Hannibal_ sells _Spanish_-nuts, come crack it away; the so famous

_Hector_ of _Troy_ is a head-dresser; the _Decii_ keep a coblers-stall,

in the corner of the _Forum_, and the _Horatii_ a chandler’s-shop;

_Sardanapalus_ cries lilly-white-vinegar, and _Heliogabalus_ bakes

fritters, in the _via appia_ of this metropolis; _Lucius Æmilius Paulus_

is a bayliff’s follower, and the famous queen _Thomyris_ proportions out

the offals for _Cerberus_; _Tarquin_ sweeps his den, and _Romulus_ is a

turnspit in _Pluto_’s kitchen; _Artaxerxes_ is an under scullion, and

_Pompey_ the magnificent, a rag-man; _Mark Anthony_, that disputed his

mistress at the price of the whole universe, goes now about with

dancing-dogs, a monkey and a rope; _Cleopatra_, that could swallow a

province at one draught, when it was to drink her lover’s health,

submits now to the humble employment of feeding _Proserpine_’s pigs:

that luxurious _Roman_, who was once so dissolv’d in ease, as that a

very rose-leaf doubled under him, prevented his rest, is now labouring

at the anvil with a half hundred hammer; _Oliver Cromwell_ is a

rat-catcher, and my lord _Bellew_ a chimney-sweeper.

There was besides these, a list of people nearer hand; but you may

easily guess upon what score they are left out of the list. We needed

not have gone so far back in the records of persons and things, to have

met instances of barbarity, luxury, avarice, lust of dominion, as well

as of sensuality. Malversations of government in sovereigns and

subjects; publick justice avoided, private feuds fomented, every thing

sacrificed to a _Colbert_, _Maintenon_, or a _Loüis_.

There is somebody hollows most damnably on the other side of _Styx_, and

lest I lose this opportunity, I shall only relate some memorable things

to you: Therefore pray pardon me that I cannot dilate upon every

particular. In short then, _Alexander_ the Great is bully to a

guinea-dropper; and cardinal _Mazarine_ keeps a nine-holes; _Mary_ of

_Medicis_ foots stockings, and _Katherine_, queen of _Sweedland_ cries

two bunches a penny card-matches, two bunches a penny; _Henry_ the

fourth of _France_ carries a rary-show; and _Mahomet_, muscles; _Seneca_

keeps a fencing-school, and _Julius Cæsar_ a two-penny ordinary;

_Xenophon_, that great philosopher, cries cucumbers to pickle; and

_Cato_ is the perfectest Sir _Courtly_ of the whole _Plutonian_ kingdom;

_Richelieu_ cries topping bunno; and the late pope, any thing to day;

_Lewis_ the thirteenth is a corn-cutter; _Gustavus Adolphus_ cries

sparrowgrass, with a thousand more particulars of this nature. You must

allow the scenes to be mightily alter’d from their former stations; but

alas! Sir, this change we suffer, and as pleasure is the reward of

virtue, so disgrace and infamy is of cruelty, pride, and hypocrisy. What

can be more surprising than to see the renowned _Penthefilea_, queen of

the _Amazons_, crying new almanacks, and _Darius_ gingerbread, _van

Trump_ cries ballads, and admiral _de Ruyter_ long and strong

thread-laces.

This disproportion is their punishment; for it must be anxious to the

last degree, to fall so low even beyond a possibility of rising again.

That is the advantage of moving in an humble sphere; they are not

capable of those enormities that the great ones can hardly avoid; for

temptation will generally have the better of mankind.

_I rest_,

_Yours in haste._

[Illustration]

PERKIN WARBECK _to the pretended Prince of_ Wales. _By Capt._ AYLOFF.

_Dear Cousin Sham_,

We had a fierce debate here on the 13th _passato_, between my lord

_Fitz-Walter_, Sir _Simon Mountford_, Sir _William Stanley_, and myself;

whether by a parity of reason, _England_ might not once more have the

same card trumpt up upon them? In a word, we were consulting your

affairs, and they were most of ’em of opinion, that there could not be

any good success expected from your personal endowments, and princely

qualifications. For you must give me leave to tell you, _Cuz_, that I

was a smart child, and a smock-fac’d youth; I had not the good luck to

kill a wild boar at your years, but I could sit the great horse before I

could go alone, I had all the advantages of friends that you have, and

the interest of my good aunt the duchess or _Burgundy_, let me tell you,

was as capable of seconding me, as the house of _Modena_ is you: Nay, I

had the _Scotch_ on my side, assistance from _Ireland_, and not without

a party, you see, even in _England_ too. But the _English_ mob is the

most giddy, wretched, senseless mob of all the mobs in the world. How

they crowded into me at _Whitsand-Bay_, and in their first fury fought

well enough before _Exeter_: But when they heard of an army coming

against ’em, the scoundrels ran away and left me; all my blooming hopes

and fancied kingdoms dwindled away in a sanctuary, that I exchanged for

a prison, and brought my _Habeas Corpus_, and so turn’d myself over to

_Tyburn_, and am now in the rules of _Acheron_. Our kinsman _Lambert

Simnel_ and I, drank your health t’other morning in a curious cup of

_Styx_, and the arch sawcy rogue, said, how he should laugh to see his

brother of _Wales_ succeed him in this great employment at court;

continually turning a spit would harden and inure you, and so prepare

you for these smoaky and warmer climates: not but that there is matter

of speculation in it too. The turning a spit is an emblem of the

vicissitude of human affairs. But before I take my leave, good cousin,

I must offer a little of my advice to you, if it be possible any ways to

meliorate your destiny; and that is, that you would make a campaign or

two in _Italy_: Marshal _Villeroy_ will shew you what it is to be well

beaten; and till then you’ll never be a great general. But _Charon_ is

just landing a multitude of _French_ from those parts; I must go see

what news, and inform myself further of your welfare and prosperity.

_Adieu._

_Mr._ DRYDEN, _to the Lord_---- _By Capt._ AYLOFF.

_My lord_,

On the 25th _passato_, there happen’d a very considerable dispute in the

_Delphick_ vale; the _literati_ had hard words, and it was fear’d by

_Pluto_ himself, that the angry shades would come to somewhat worse. It

may be you in those grosser regions, do not believe that we here below

lose nothing of ourselves by death, but the terrene part: nay, the very

soul itself retains some of those unhappy impressions it receiv’d from

flesh and blood. Here _Cæsar_ bites his thumbs when _Alexander_ walks

by; frowns upon _Brutus_, and blushes when he talks of king _William_:

The great _Gustavus Adolphus_ only wishes himself upon earth again, to

serve a captain under him: _Turenne_ wants to be in _Italy_, and

_Wallesteen_ assures him that prince _Eugene_ of _Savoy_ would have had

the same glorious success against him, as _Catinat_ and _Villeroy_.

_Hannibal_ own’d that his march over, or rather thro’ the _Alpes_, was

not so honourable an action as the prince’s; and tho’ arts and

experience may make a general, yet nature can only inform an _Eugene_.

Surly _Charon_ had been so plagu’d with the _French_ from those parts,

that he has been forc’d to leave whole shoals of them behind. Once they

crowded in so fast, as they almost overset the boat, and still as they

press’d forward, cry’d _Vauban, Vauban_: But the old gentleman,

unwilling to hazzard himself, push’d a multitude of them back with his

sculls, and so put off---- However, this is not the business I design’d

to mention; something more particular, and of more weighty consequence

is the occasion of this letter. The real wits refus’d to take notice of

prince _Arthur_, and king _Arthur_, who were walking hand in hand; some

shallow-pated versificators would resent the indignity put upon ’em.

This was very disgusting to the _literati_, and it is inconceivable what

a horrid stench they made with uttering those verses. The more robust

spirits were almost choak’d; you may then judge what condition the

delicate and nice stomachs of the men of wit were in; but while every

one was wishing for their cloaths of humanity again to be less sensible

of this execrable smell, a worthy _literati_ came in from _London_, who

being informed of the occasion of that terrible inconveniency, repeated

a few commendatory verses, and immediately the air grew tolerable, and

the brimstone burnt serene. _Job_ himself did confess, that had he been

in the flesh again, he was terribly afraid he should have murder’d the

doctor: When a merry spirit standing at his elbow, said, it was no such

wonderful thing to have a sirreverence of a man be mine arse of a poet.

But _Charon_ waits, I must conclude; and as conveniency serves, shall

inform you of what passes in those gloomy regions.

_A Letter from Mr._ ABRAHAM COWLEY, _to the_ Covent-Garden

_Society. By Capt._ AYLOFF.

The shatter’d lawrels of the _Acherontic_-walks, owe not so much of

their misfortune to the shallowness of _Aganippe_, as to the ungenerous

procedure of the sons of _Helicon_. Either the hill of _Parnassus_ is

fortify’d, and what with antient and modern wit, even you, gentlemen of

real parts, have none of you that applause, which in a thousand

occasions you have so justly merited. These melancholy reflections,

gentlemen, add a new thickness to the gloomy sulphur; and we cannot

enjoy a perfect quiet here, seeing there is so great and so dangerous a

misunderstanding between you on the other side of _Phlegethon_. Why

should there be so many pointed satires against one another? Why mould

you shew the very blockheads themselves where you men of sense are not

quite such as you would pass upon the world for? Your invidious

criticisms only shew others where you are vulnerable, and give an

argument under your own hand against your own selves. There is a charity

in concealing faults; but to make them more obvious, has a double

ill-nature in it. Can’t _Arthur_ be a worthless poem, but a squadron of

poets must tell all the world so? Is there honour in rummaging a

dunghil, or telling the neighbours where there is one? The bee gathers

honey from every flower, ’tis the beetles that delight in horse-dung. Is

it not much more preferable to make something ones self useful to

mankind, than only to shew wherein another is a coxcomb? Partisans in

wit never do well; they only lay the country waste; they gratify their

own private spleen, it may be, but they do not help the publick. Unite

your forces, gentlemen, against ignorance, that growing and powerful

enemy to you and us. Erect triumphal arches, to one another, and do not

enviously pull down what others are endeavouring to set up. Your mutual

quarrels have shaken the very foundation of wit and good humour. ’Tis

the faction a man is of, determines what he is, not his learning and

parts; we cannot hear, gentlemen, of those intestine dissensions,

without a great concern and displeasure; and must take the liberty to

tell you, we apprehend the muses may shortly be reduced to the necessity

of shutting up the _Delphic_ library, and write upon the doors, _Ruit

ipsa suis Roma viribus_.

CHARON _to the most Illustrious and High-born_ JACK CATCH, _Esq; by

Capt._ AYLOFF.

_Most worthy Kinsman and Benefactor_,

I cannot but with the last degree of sorrow and anguish, inform you of

our present wretched condition; we have even tired our palms, and our

ribs at slappaty-pouch; and if it had not been for some gentlemen that

came from the coasts of _Italy_, I had almost forgot to handle my

sculls. There came a sneaking ghost here, some a day or two or three

ago, and he surpriz’d me with an account, (I may call it indeed a

terrible one) that you have had a maiden-sessions in your metropolis.

Was it then possible that _Newgate_ should be without a rogue, or our

patron, the most worshipful Sir _Senseless Lovel_ without any execution

in his mouth? You talk of having hang’d _Tyburn_ in mourning: Why cousin

_Catch_, upon my sincerity, and for fear you should question my

veracity, by the thickest mud in _Acheron_, I swear, it is almost high

time that my boat was in mourning. What, he upon the bench and no man

hang’d! Well, as assuredly as the blood of the horses will rise up in

judgment against our friend _Whitney_: this maiden-sessions shall rise

up in judgment against him. Such shoals as I have had from time to time,

meer sacrifices to his avarice or his malice, that unless his conscience

begins to fly in his face, I cannot comprehend what should occasion this

calm at the _Old-Baily_: For give me leave, dear cousin, to tell you,

that formerly he never sav’d any man for his money, but hang’d another

in his room; trading was then pretty good, cousin, and there was a penny

to be got; but indeed, on your side it is very dull: nay, in _Flanders_

too, that fertile soil of blood and wounds, there has not one leg nor

one arm been brought us all this summer. Prithee be you _Charon_, and

let me be recorder, I’ll warrant you somewhat more to do.

_From Sir_ BARTHOLOMEW---- _to the Worshipful Serjeant_ S----. _By the

same Hand._

The friendship that was between us formerly, equally obliges me to give

you a relation of my travels, and assures me of its welcome. Since my

peregrination from your factious regions, I have palled over various and

stupendious lakes; the roads are somewhat dark indeed, but the continued

exhalations of those amazing streams, make the travellers able to pass,

without running foul of one another. But ’tis equally remarkable,

considering the length and darkness of the passage, that no person was

ever cast away on this river _Styx_, as I am credibly inform’d by the

ferryman, who has ply’d here time out of mind. The dogs are pretty rife

in this country, and full as insufferable as ever they were among you: I

unfortunately forgot my lozenge-box, and have much impair’d my lungs;

but they assure me, that these defluxions of rheums never kill. ’Tis

prodigious, I protest, brother, to see how soon we learn the language,

or rather jargon of the place! how fast they come in from all parts of

the habitable world! And yet there is but one boat neither, and that no

bigger than above-bridge-wherry. At my coming ashoar, I was very

familiarly entertain’d, and directed to an apartment in _Cocytus_: But

there was not one corner in all my passage, but I met some or other of

the wrangling fraternity of _Westminster_. I immediately suggested to

myself, that there might be (peradventure) a call of serjeants by his

majesty _Pluto_, who is sovereign of these gloomy regions; and who

besides his general residence here, has a most magnificent palace about

twenty miles off, at _Erebus_, on the side of the river _Phlegethon_. He

is one of a somewhat stern aspect, not easy of access; haughty in his

deportment, and barbarous to the last degree in his nature. There is no

sort of people he sets so much by, as those of our profession, tho’ I

have not heard of any lawyer that had the honour to be in his cellar as

yet. Our old friend and fellow-toper judge _D_---- has very good

business here, upon my word, as likely to be preferr’d, as vacancies

happen; for ’tis always term-time in this kingdom throughout; and

besides, when he had his _quietus_ sent him by the hands of Sir

_Thin-chops Mors_, you and I remember very well, that he had not the

best reputation for a man of parts. In the crowd of our pains-taking

brethren in the litigious school, I remark’d an innumerable quantity

that I was not quite an utter stranger to their faces, more

particularly, Mr. _Fil_----, who, you know, did not want for sense, wit,

law, and good manners; and yet had so profound a genious, that he could

dispatch more business, and more wine in one night’s time, than _Bob.

Weeden_ would have wish’d for a patrimony: He very humanly accosted me,

and after a million of mutual civilities, he forced me to accept of my

mornings draught with him. At night you know, I never refuse my bottle;

but for morning tippling, it was always my aversion, my abomination, my

hatred, my _noli me tangere_: Besides, the dismal prospect of the place,

gave me many shrewd suspicions, that those taverns were not furnish’d

with the best accommodations, neither for man’s meat, or horse meat

either; not that I had the vanity to take my coach with me neither, but

’tis to use an old proverb, that as yet I have not blotted out of my

memory. I had hardly disengag’d myself from his civilities, but Mr.

_Nicholas Hard--_ mighty gravely admonish’d me of his former

familiarity, and with an air that was no ways contumelious, desir’d to

know how _F_---- preach’d, and _Burg_---- pray’d; whether the grave Dr.

_W_---- continued his pious endeavours to convert the martyr’d men of

his parish from the crying and heinous sin of _ebriety_; and yet at the

same instant almost, to contrive plausible ways and means of perverting

the modest and chaste propensities of their respective wives; and while

they would not quietly let their husbands be (by accident of good

company, or good wine) beasts, for but a few transitory nocturnal hours,

could yet drive to make them so beyond a possibility of redress; for

amongst friend, (brother) what collateral security can an honest,

prudent, wary, wise, good, upright, understanding, cautious, indulgent,

loving husband take, when that same godly man in black twirls his

primitive band-strings, and with his other hand has your dear spouse,

your help-mate, the wife of your bosom, the partner of your bed, by the

conscience, and somewhat else that begins with the same letter? ’Twas

not want of leisure, (for alas! and alack) we have supernumerary hours

here; but pretended curiosity, (the last thing that dies with us but

hypocrisy) made me cut short the harangue, that this precise attorney

seem’d by his demureness to expect from me: So, in short, I told him,

that his fellow-companions at six o’ clock prayers had not forgot him;

and by what I could understand from those that were last with me, the

pew-keeper lamented his loss extreamly: nay, was inconsolable, for now

he was forced to use a pailful of water extraordinary once a week more

in the church than formerly; because he had gotten to such a perfection

in hypocrisy, that what his knees did not rub clean, his eyes always

wash’d clean: but for his father’s comfort, since he was got clear of

his _super-tartarian_ concern, money was fallen, and his dearest darling

sin of all, extortion, was not a little under the hatches: but that he

might not be quite cast down, there was some seeds of it left still,

that would always keep old _Charon_ well employ’d. I had hardly bless’d

myself for having got rid of him, but a merry fellow (not to say

impertinent and sawcy to one of my capacity, volubility, and eloquence;

character, conduct, and reputation) pull’d me by the coif; but as in

strange places ’tis prudence to pass by small affronts and indignities,

because want of acquaintance is worse than want of knowledge; and the

law, you know brother, is not so expensive, as it is captious in the

main; not but that our industry does help it mightily to the one, if we

find it to be the other. Now who should this _Caitiff_ be, but _Harry

C----ff_ the attorney; and all his mighty business was to know how his

laundress did; and if the maid got the better of her in the legacy he

gave her for her last consolations. Before I could recollect the secret

history of his amours, I was very courteously address’d by Mr. Common

Serjeant _C----p_, who likewise in a florid stile, requested me to

inform him, if any of his modern bawds, that so punctually attended him,

had suffer’d any prejudice by his absence: He was mightily in doubt of

their success, because experience had taught him, that _paupers_ in

matters of law proceed but heavily; however, he could but wish them

well, because that tho’ they were bad clients, he had always found them

good procurators---- My lady _Tysiphone_ made a sumptuous entertainment,

and the countess of _Clotho_ danc’d smartly; the king of _Spain_

resented mightily that so many _English_ were there, and had almost bred

a quarrel; but _Don Sebastian_ king of _Portugal_, made up the matter,

by declining the _Spanish_ faction, and said, it was highly unjust that

the _English_ should be male-treated in their universal interest,

because he was a fool, and the cardinal that made his will a knave, and

the king of _France_ a tyrant. But the catastrophe of this fit of the

spleen of the supercilious _Spaniard_ was comical enough; for in the

crowd that was come together upon the notice of his heart-burning, who

should stumble upon one another but _Godfrey Wood_---- the attorney, who

you may remember (brother) was committed for saying to a certain lord

chancellor, that he was his first maker; tho’ the truth of the matter

was, their intimacy at play made him presume to beg the small favour of

his lordship, to pass an unjust decree in favour of his client. Well,

Sir, said the attorney to his lordship, now you are without your mace, I

must tell you, that had not you invited me to supper the same day you

sent me to the _Fleet_, I should have taken the freedom to have let you

known, that in this king’s dominions we are all equal. I left ’em hard

at all-fours for a quart of _Acheron_, where they bite their nails like

mad, and divert others with their passion and concern---- But the

postillion is mounting, and I must defer the rest of my adventurers to

the next opportunity.

_The End of the first Part._

[Illustration]

LETTERS

FROM THE

DEAD _to the_ LIVING.