Honour'd Sir,
Eminent Wit, Sir, no more than Eminent Beauty, can escape the Trouble
and Presumption of Addresses; and that which can strike every body with
Wonder, can never avoid the Praise which naturally flows from that
Wonder: And Heaven is forc'd to hear the Addresses as well as praises of
the Poor as Rich, of the Ignorant as Learned, and takes, nay rewards,
the officious tho' perhaps impertinent Zeal of its least qualify'd
Devotees. Wherefore, Sir, tho' your Merits meet with the Applause of the
Learned and Witty, yet your Generosity will judge favourably of the
untaught Zeal of an humbler Admirer, since what I do your eminent
Vertues compel. The Beautiful will permit the most despicable of their
Admirers to love them, tho' they never intend to make him happy, as
unworthy their Love, but they will not be angry at the fatal Effect of
their own Eyes.
But what I want in my self, Sir, to merit your Regard, I hope my
Authoress will in some measure supply, so far at least to lessen my
Presumption in prefixing your Name to a Posthumous Piece of hers, whom
all the Men of Wit, that were her Contemporaries, look'd on as the
Wonder of her Sex; and in none of her Performances has she shew'd so
great a Mastery as in her Novels, where Nature always prevails; and if
they are not true, they are so like it, that they do the business every
jot as well.
This I hope, Sir, will induce you to pardon my Presumption in dedicating
this Novel to you, and declaring my self, Sir,
Your most obedient
and most humble Servant,
S. Briscoe.
THE UNFORTUNATE BRIDE: or, The Blind Lady a Beauty.
_Frankwit_ and _Wildvill_, were two young Gentlemen of very considerable
Fortunes, both born in _Staffordshire_, and, during their Minority, both
educated together, by which Opportunity they contracted a very
inviolable Friendship, a Friendship which grew up with them; and though
it was remarkably known to every Body else, they knew it not themselves;
they never made Profession of it in Words, but Actions; so true a Warmth
their Fires could boast, as needed not the Effusion of their Breath to
make it live. _Wildvill_ was of the richest Family, but _Frankwit_ of
the noblest; _Wildvill_ was admired for outward Qualifications, as
Strength, and manly Proportions, _Frankwit_ for a much softer Beauty,
for his inward Endowments, Pleasing in his Conversation, of a free, and
moving Air, humble in his Behaviour, and if he had any Pride, it was but
just enough to shew that he did not affect Humility; his Mind bowed with
a Motion as unconstrained as his Body, nor did he force this Vertue in
the least, but he allowed it only. So aimable he was, that every Virgin
that had Eyes, knew too she had a Heart, and knew as surely she should
lose it. His _Cupid_ could not be reputed blind, he never shot for him,
but he was sure to wound. As every other Nymph admired him, so he was
dear to all the Tuneful Sisters; the Muses were fired with him as much
as their own radiant God _Apollo_; their loved Springs and Fountains
were not so grateful to their Eyes as he, him they esteemed their
_Helicon_ and _Parnassus_ too; in short, when ever he pleased, he could
enjoy them all. Thus he enamour'd the whole Female Sex, but amongst all
the sighing Captives of his Eyes, _Belvira_ only boasted Charms to move
him; her Parents lived near his, and even from their Childhood they felt
mutual Love, as if their Eyes, at their first meeting, had struck out
such Glances, as had kindled into amorous Flame. And now _Belvira_ in
her fourteenth Year, (when the fresh Spring of young Virginity began to
cast more lively Bloomings in her Cheeks, and softer Longings in her
Eyes) by her indulgent Father's Care was sent to _London_ to a Friend,
her Mother being lately dead: When, as if Fortune ordered it so,
_Frankwit's_ Father took a Journey to the other World, to let his Son
the better enjoy the Pleasures and Delights of this: The young Lover now
with all imaginable haste interred his Father, nor did he shed so many
Tears for his Loss, as might in the least quench the Fire which he
received from his _Belvira's_ Eyes, but (Master of seventeen Hundred
Pounds a Year, which his Father left him) with all the Wings of Love
flies to _London_, and sollicits _Belvira_ with such Fervency, that it
might be thought he meant Death's Torch should kindle _Hymen's_; and now
as soon as he arrives at his Journey's end, he goes to pay a Visit to
the fair Mistress of his Soul, and assures her, That tho' he was absent
from her, yet she was still with him; and that all the Road he
travell'd, her beauteous Image danced before him, and like the ravished
Prophet, he saw his Deity in every Bush; in short, he paid her constant
Visits, the Sun ne'er rose or set, but still he saw it in her Company,
and every Minute of the Day he counted by his Sighs. So incessantly he
importuned her that she could no longer hold out, and was pleased in the
surrender of her Heart, since it was he was Conqueror; and therefore
felt a Triumph in her yielding. Their Flames now joyned, grew more and
more, glowed in their Cheeks, and lightened in their Glances: Eager they
looked, as if there were Pulses beating in their Eyes; and all
endearing, at last she vowed, that _Frankwit_ living she would ne'er be
any other Man's. Thus they past on some time, while every Day rowl'd
over fair; Heaven showed an Aspect all serene, and the Sun seemed to
smile at what was done. He still caressed his Charmer, with an Innocence
becoming his Sincerity; he lived upon her tender Breath, and basked in
the bright Lustre of her Eyes, with Pride, and secret Joy.
He saw his Rivals languish for that Bliss, those Charms, those Raptures
and extatick Transports, which he engrossed alone. But now some eighteen
Months (some Ages in a Lover's Kalendar) winged with Delights, and fair
_Belvira_ now grown fit for riper Joys, knows hardly how she can deny
her pressing Lover, and herself, to crown their Vows, and joyn their
Hands as well as Hearts. All this while the young Gallant wash'd himself
clean of that shining Dirt, his Gold; he fancied little of Heaven dwelt
in his yellow Angels, but let them fly away, as it were on their own
golden Wings; he only valued the smiling Babies in _Belvira's_ Eyes. His
Generosity was boundless, as his Love, for no Man ever truly loved, that
was not generous. He thought his Estate, like his Passion, was a sort of
a _Pontick_ Ocean, it could never know an Ebb; But now he found it could
be fathom'd, and that the Tide was turning, therefore he sollicits with
more impatience the consummation of their Joys, that both might go like
Martyrs from their Flames immediately to Heaven; and now at last it was
agreed between them, that they should both be one, but not without some
Reluctancy on the Female side; for 'tis the Humour of our Sex, to deny
most eagerly those Grants to Lovers, for which most tenderly we sigh, so
contradictory are we to our selves, as if the Deity had made us with a
seeming Reluctancy to his own Designs; placing as much Discords in our
Minds, as there is Harmony in our Faces. We are a sort of aiery Clouds,
whose Lightning flash out one way, and the Thunder another. Our Words
and Thoughts can ne'er agree. So this young charming Lady thought her
Desires could live in their own longings, like Misers wealth-devouring
Eyes; and e'er she consented to her Lover, prepared him first with
speaking Looks, and then with a fore-running Sigh, applyed to the dear
Charmer thus: '_Frankwit_, I am afraid to venture the Matrimonial
Bondage, it may make you think your self too much confined, in being
only free to one.' 'Ah! my dear _Belvira_,' he replied, 'That one, like
_Manna_, has the Taste of all, why should I be displeased to be confined
to Paradice, when it was the Curse of our Forefathers to be set at
large, tho' they had the whole World to roam in: You have, my love,
ubiquitary Charms, and you are all in all, in every Part.' 'Ay, but,'
reply'd _Belvira_, 'we are all like Perfumes, and too continual Smelling
makes us seem to have lost our Sweets, I'll be judged by my Cousin
_Celesia_ here, if it be not better to live still in mutual Love,
without the last Enjoyment.' (I had forgot to tell my Reader that
_Celesia_ was an Heiress, the only Child of a rich _Turkey_ Merchant,
who, when he dyed, left her Fifty thousand Pound in Money, and some
Estate in Land; but, poor Creature, she was Blind to all these Riches,
having been born without the use of Sight, though in all other Respects
charming to a wonder.) 'Indeed,' says _Celesia_, (for she saw clearly in
her Mind) 'I admire you should ask my Judgment in such a Case, where I
have never had the least Experience; but I believe it is but a sickly
Soul which cannot nourish its Offspring of Desires without preying upon
the Body.' 'Believe me,' reply'd _Frankwit_, 'I bewail your want of
Sight, and I could almost wish you my own Eyes for a Moment, to view
your charming Cousin, where you would see such Beauties as are too
dazling to be long beheld; and if too daringly you gazed, you would feel
the Misfortune of the loss of Sight, much greater than the want of it:
And you would acknowledge, that in too presumptuously seeing, you would
be blinder then, than now unhappily you are.'
'Ah! I must confess,' reply'd _Belvira_, 'my poor, dear Cousin is Blind,
for I fancy she bears too great an Esteem for _Frankwit_, and only longs
for Sight to look on him.' 'Indeed,' reply'd _Celesia_, 'I would be glad
to see _Frankwit_, for I fancy he's as dazling, as he but now describ'd
his Mistress, and if I fancy I see him, sure I do see him, for Sight is
Fancy, is it not? or do you feel my Cousin with your Eyes?' 'This is
indeed, a charming Blindness,' reply'd _Frankwit_, 'and the fancy of
your Sight excels the certainty of ours. Strange! that there should be
such Glances even in blindness? You, fair Maid, require not Eyes to
conquer, if your Night has such Stars, what Sunshine would your Day of
Sight have, if ever you should see?' 'I fear those Stars you talk of,'
said _Belvira_, 'have some Influence on you, and by the Compass you sail
by now, I guess you are steering to my Cousin. She is indeed charming
enough to have been another Offspring of bright _Venus_, Blind like her
Brother _Cupid_.' 'That _Cupid_,' reply'd _Celesia_, 'I am afraid has
shot me, for methinks I would not have you marry _Frankwit_, but rather
live as you do without the last Enjoyment, for methinks if he were
marry'd, he would be more out of Sight than he already is.' 'Ah, Madam,'
return'd _Frankwit_, 'Love is no Camelion, it cannot feed on Air alone.'
'No but,' rejoyn'd _Celesia_, 'you Lovers that are not Blind like Love
it self, have am'rous Looks to feed on.' 'Ah! believe it,' said
_Belvira_, ''tis better, _Frankwit_, not to lose Paradice by too much
Knowledge; Marriage Enjoyments does but wake you from your sweet golden
Dreams: Pleasure is but a Dream, dear _Frankwit_, but a Dream, and to be
waken'd.' 'Ah! Dearest, but unkind _Belvira_,' answer'd _Frankwit_,
'sure there's no waking from Delight, in being lull'd on those soft
Breasts of thine.' 'Alas! (reply'd the Bride to be) it is that very
lulling wakes you; Women enjoy'd, are like Romances read, or Raree-shows
once seen, meer Tricks of the slight of Hand, which, when found out, you
only wonder at your selves for wondering so before at them. 'Tis
Expectation endears the Blessing; Heaven would not be Heaven, could we
tell what 'tis. When the Plot's out you have done with the Play, and
when the last Act's done, you see the Curtain drawn with great
indifferency.' 'O my _Belvira_', answered _Frankwit_, 'that Expectation
were indeed a Monster which Enjoyment could not satisfy: I should take
no pleasure,' he rejoin'd, 'running from Hill to Hill, like Children
chasing that Sun, which I could never catch.' 'O thou shalt have it
then, that Sun of Love,' reply'd _Belvira_, fir'd by this Complaint,
and gently rush'd into Arms, (rejoyn'd) so _Phoebus_ rushes radiant and
unsullied, into a gilded Cloud. 'Well then, my dear _Belvira_,' answered
_Frankwit_, 'be assured I shall be ever yours, as you are mine; fear not
you shall never draw Bills of Love upon me so fast, as I shall wait in
readiness to pay them; but now I talk of Bills, I must retire into
_Cambridgeshire_, where I have a small Concern as yet unmortgaged,
I will return thence with a Brace of thousand Pounds within a Week at
furthest, with which our Nuptials, by their Celebration, shall be worthy
of our Love. And then, my Life, my Soul, we shall be join'd, never to
part again.' This tender Expression mov'd _Belvira_ to shed some few
Tears, and poor _Celesia_ thought herself most unhappy that she had not
Eyes to weep with too; but if she had, such was the greatness of her
Grief, that sure she would have soon grown Blind with weeping. In short,
after a great many soft Vows, and Promises of an inviolable Faith, they
parted with a pompous sort of pleasing Woe; their Concern was of such a
mixture of Joy and Sadness, as the Weather seems, when it both rains and
shines. And now the last, the very last Adieu's was over, for the
Farewels of Lovers hardly ever end, and _Frankwit_ (the Time being
Summer) reach'd _Cambridge_ that Night, about Nine a Clock; (Strange!
that he should have made such Haste to fly from what so much he lov'd!)
and now, tir'd with the fatigue of his Journey, he thought fit to
refresh himself by writing some few Lines to his belov'd _Belvira_; for
a little Verse after the dull Prose Company of his Servant, was as great
an Ease to him, (from whom it flow'd as naturally and unartificially, as
his Love or his Breath) as a Pace or Hand-gallop, after a hard, uncouth,
and rugged Trot. He therefore, finding his _Pegasus_ was no way tir'd
with his Land-travel, takes a short Journey thro' the Air, and writes as
follows:
_My dearest dear +Belvira+,_
You knew my Soul, you knew it yours before,
I told it all, and now can tell no more;
Your Presents never wants fresh Charms to move, }
But now more strange, and unknown Pow'r you prove, }
For now your very Absence 'tis I love. }
Something there is which strikes my wandring View,
And still before my Eyes I fancy you.
Charming you seem, all charming, heavenly fair, }
Bright as a Goddess, does my Love appear, }
You seem, _Belvira_, what indeed you are. }
Like the Angelick Off-spring of the Skies,
With beatifick Glories in your Eyes:
Sparkling with radiant Lustre all Divine, }
Angels, and Gods! oh Heavens! how bright they shine! }
Are you _Belvira_? can I think you mine! }
Beyond ev'n Thought, I do thy Beauties see,
Can such a Heaven of Heavens be kept for me!
Oh be assur'd, I shall be ever true,
I must----
For if I would, I can't be false to you.
Oh! how I wish I might no longer stay, }
Tho' I resolve I will no Time delay, }
One Tedious Week, and then I'll fleet away. }
Tho' Love be blind, he shall conduct my Road, }
Wing'd with almighty Love, to your Abode, }
I'll fly, and grow Immortal as a God. }
Short is my stay, yet my impatience strong,
Short tho' it is, alas! I think it long.
I'll come, my Life, new Blessings to pursue, }
Love then shall fly a Flight he never flew, }
I'll stretch his balmy Wings; I'm yours,--_Adieu_. }
_Frankwit._
This Letter _Belvira_ receiv'd with unspeakable Joy, and laid it up
safely in her Bosom; laid it, where the dear Author of it lay before,
and wonderfully pleas'd with his Humour of writing Verse, resolv'd not
to be at all behind-hand with him, and so writ as follows:
_My dear Charmer,_
You knew before what Power your Love could boast,
But now your constant Faith confirms me most.
Absent Sincerity the best assures, }
Love may do much, but Faith much more allures, }
For now your Constancy has bound me yours. }
I find, methinks, in Verse some Pleasure too,
I cannot want a Muse, who write to you.
Ah! soon return, return, my charming Dear,
Heav'n knows how much we Mourn your Absence here:
My poor _Celesia_ now would Charm your Soul,
Her Eyes, once Blind, do now Divinely rowl.
An aged Matron has by Charms unknown,
Given her clear Sight as perfect as thy own.
And yet, beyond her Eyes, she values thee,
'Tis for thy Sake alone she's glad to see.
She begg'd me, pray remember her to you,
That is a Task which now I gladly do.
Gladly, since so I only recommend }
A dear Relation, and a dearer Friend, }
Ne're shall my Love--but here my Note must end. }
_Your ever true +Belvira+._
When this Letter was written, it was strait shown to _Celesia_, who
look'd upon any Thing that belong'd to _Frankwit_, with rejoycing
Glances; so eagerly she perus'd it, that her tender Eyes beginning to
Water, she cry'd out, (fancying she saw the Words dance before her View)
'Ah! Cousin, Cousin, your Letter is running away, sure it can't go
itself to _Frankwit_.' A great Deal of other pleasing innocent Things
she said, but still her Eyes flow'd more bright with lustrous Beams, as
if they were to shine out; now all that glancing Radiancy which had been
so long kept secret, and, as if, as soon as the Cloud of Blindness once
was broke, nothing but Lightnings were to flash for ever after. Thus in
mutual Discourse they spent their Hours, while _Frankwit_ was now
ravished with the Receipt of this charming Answer of _Belvira's_, and
blest his own Eyes which discovered to him the much welcome News of fair
_Celesia's_. Often he read the Letters o're and o're, but there his Fate
lay hid, for 'twas that very Fondness proved his Ruin. He lodg'd at a
Cousin's House of his, and there, (it being a private Family) lodged
likewise a Blackamoor Lady, then a Widower; a whimsical Knight had taken
a Fancy to enjoy her: _Enjoy her did I say? Enjoy the Devil in the Flesh
at once!_ I know not how it was, but he would fain have been a Bed with
her, but she not consenting on unlawful Terms, (_but sure all Terms are
with her unlawful_) the Knight soon marry'd her, as if there were not
hell enough in Matrimony, but he must wed the Devil too. The Knight a
little after died, and left this Lady of his (whom I shall _Moorea_) an
Estate of six thousand Pounds _per Ann_. Now this _Moorea_ observed the
joyous _Frankwit_ with an eager Look, her Eyes seemed like Stars of the
first Magnitude glaring in the Night; she greatly importuned him to
discover the Occasion of his transport, but he denying it, (as 'tis the
Humour of our Sex) made her the more Inquisitive; and being Jealous that
it was from a Mistress, employ'd her Maid to steal it, and if she found
it such, to bring it her: accordingly it succeeded, for _Frankwit_
having drank hard with some of the Gentlemen of that Shire, found
himself indisposed, and soon went to Bed, having put the Letter in his
Pocket: The Maid therefore to _Moorea_ contrived that all the other
Servants should be out of the Way, that she might plausibly officiate in
the Warming the Bed of the indisposed Lover, but likely, had it not been
so, she had warmed it by his Intreaties in a more natural Manner; he
being in Bed in an inner Room, she slips out the Letter from his Pocket,
carries it to her Mistress to read, and so restores it whence she had
it; in the Morning the poor Lover wakened in a violent Fever, burning
with a Fire more hot than that of Love. In short, he continued Sick a
considerable while, all which time the Lady _Moorea_ constantly visited
him, and he as unwillingly saw her (poor Gentleman) as he would have
seen a Parson; for as the latter would have perswaded, so the former
scared him to Repentance. In the mean while, during his sickness,
several Letters were sent to him by his dear _Belvira_, and _Celesia_
too, (then learning to write) had made a shift to give him a line or two
in Postscript with her Cousin, but all was intercepted by the jealousy
of the Black _Moorea_, black in her mind, and dark, as well as in her
body. _Frankwit_ too writ several Letters as he was able, complaining of
her unkindness, those likewise were all stopt by the same Blackmoor
Devil. At last, it happened that _Wildvill_, (who I told my Reader was
_Frankwit's_ friend) came to _London_, his Father likewise dead, and now
Master of a very plentiful fortune, he resolves to marry, and paying a
visit to _Belvira_, enquires of her concerning _Frankwit_, she all in
mourning for the loss, told him his friend was dead. 'Ah! _Wildvill_, he
is dead,' said she, 'and died not mine, a Blackmoor Lady had bewitched
him from me; I received a Letter lately which informed me all; there was
no name subscribed to it, but it intimated, that it was written at the
request of dying _Frankwit_.' 'Oh! I am sorry at my Soul,' said
_Wildvill_, 'for I loved him with the best, the dearest friendship; no
doubt then,' rejoyned he, ''tis Witchcaft indeed that could make him
false to you; what delight could he take in a Blackmoor Lady, tho' she
had received him at once with a Soul as open as her longing arms, and
with her Petticoat put off her modesty. Gods! How could he change a
whole _Field Argent_ into downright _Sables_.' ''Twas done,' returned
_Celesia_, 'with no small blot, I fancy, to the Female 'Scutcheon.' In
short, after some more discourse, but very sorrowful, _Wildvill_ takes
his leave, extreamly taken with the fair _Belvira_, more beauteous in
her cloud of woe; he paid her afterwards frequent visits, and found her
wonder for the odd inconstancy of _Frankwit_, greater than her sorrow,
since he dy'd so unworthy of her. _Wildvill_ attack'd her with all the
force of vigorous love, and she (as she thought) fully convinc'd of
_Frankwit's_ death, urg'd by the fury and impatience of her new ardent
Lover, soon surrender'd, and the day of their Nuptials now arriv'd,
their hands were joyn'd. In the mean time _Frankwit_ (for he still
liv'd) knew nothing of the Injury the base _Moorea_ practis'd, knew not
that 'twas thro' her private order, that the fore-mention'd account of
his falshood and his death was sent; but impatient to see his Dear
_Belvira_, tho' yet extremely weak, rid post to _London_, and that very
day arriv'd there, immediately after the Nuptials of his Mistress and
his Friend were celebrated. I was at this time in _Cambridge_, and
having some small acquaintance with this Blackmoor Lady, and sitting in
her Room that evening, after _Frankwit's_ departure thence, in
_Moorea's_ absence, saw inadvertently a bundle of Papers, which she had
gathered up, as I suppose, to burn, since now they grew but useless, she
having no farther Hopes of him: I fancy'd I knew the Hand, and thence my
Curiosity only led me to see the Name and finding _Belvira_ subscrib'd,
I began to guess there was some foul play in Hand. _Belvira_ being my
particularly intimate Acquaintance, I read one of them, and finding the
Contents, convey'd them all secretly out with me, as I thought, in Point
of Justice I was bound, and sent them to _Belvira_ by that Night's Post;
so that they came to her Hands soon after the Minute of her Marriage,
with an Account how, and by what Means I came to light on them. No doubt
but they exceedingly surpriz'd her: But Oh! Much more she grew amaz'd
immediately after, to see the Poor, and now unhappy _Frankwit_, who
privately had enquir'd for her below, being received as a Stranger, who
said he had some urgent Business with her, in a back Chamber below
Stairs. What Tongue, what Pen can express the mournful Sorrow of this
Scene! At first they both stood Dumb, and almost Senseless; she took him
for the Ghost of _Frankwit_; he looked so pale, new risen from his
Sickness, he (for he had heard at his Entrance in the House, that his
_Belvira_ marry'd _Wildvill_) stood in Amaze, and like a Ghost indeed,
wanted the Power to speak, till spoken to the first. At last, he draws
his Sword, designing there to fall upon it in her Presence; she then
imagining it his Ghost too sure, and come to kill her, shrieks out and
Swoons; he ran immediately to her, and catch'd her in his Arms, and
while he strove to revive and bring her to herself, tho' that he thought
could never now be done, since she was marry'd. _Wildvill_ missing his
Bride, and hearing the loud Shriek, came running down, and entring the
Room, sees his Bride lie clasp'd in _Frankwit's_ Arms. 'Ha! Traytor!' He
cries out, drawing his Sword with an impatient Fury, 'have you kept that
Strumpet all this while, curst _Frankwit_, and now think fit to put your
damn'd cast Mistress upon me: could not you forbear her neither ev'n on
my Wedding Day? abominable Wretch!' Thus saying, he made a full Pass at
_Frankwit_, and run him thro' the left Arm, and quite thro' the Body of
the poor _Belvira_; that thrust immediately made her start, tho'
_Frankwit's_ Endeavours all before were useless. Strange! that her Death
reviv'd her! For ah! she felt, that now she only liv'd to die! Striving
thro' wild Amazement to run from such a Scene of Horror, as her
Apprehensions shew'd her; down she dropt, and _Frankwit_ seeing her
fall, (all Friendship disannull'd by such a Chain of Injuries) Draws,
fights with, and stabs his own loved _Wildvill_. Ah! Who can express the
Horror and Distraction of this fatal Misunderstanding! The House was
alarm'd, and in came poor _Celesia_, running in Confusion just as
_Frankwit_ was off'ring to kill himself, to die with a false Friend, and
perjur'd Mistress, for he suppos'd them such. Poor _Celesia_ now
bemoan'd her unhappiness of sight, and wish'd she again were blind.
_Wildvill_ dy'd immediately, and _Belvira_ only surviv'd him long enough
to unfold all their most unhappy fate, desiring _Frankwit_ with her
dying breath, if ever he lov'd her, (and now she said that she deserv'd
his love, since she had convinced him that she was not false) to marry
her poor dear _Celesia_, and love her tenderly for her _Belvira's_ sake;
leaving her, being her nearest Relation, all her fortune, and he, much
dearer than it all, to be added to her own; so joyning his and
_Celesia's_ Hands, she poured her last breath upon his Lips, and said,
'Dear _Frankwit_, _Frankwit_, I die yours.' With tears and wondrous
sorrow he promis'd to obey her Will, and in some months after her
interrment, he perform'd his promise.
NOTES: The Unfortunate Bride.
p. 401 _To Richard Norton._ This Epistle Dedicatory is only to be found
in the first edition of _The Unfortunate Bride; or, The Blind Lady a
Beauty_, 'Printed for Samuel Briscoe, in Charles-Street, Covent-Garden,
1698', and also dated, on title page facing the portrait of Mrs. Behn,
1700.
Southwick, Hants, is a parish and village some 1-3/4 miles from
Portchester, 4-1/2 from Fareham. Richard Norton was son and heir of Sir
Daniel Norton, who died seised of the manor in 1636. Richard Norton
married Anne, daughter of Sir William Earle, by whom he had one child,
Sarah. He was, in his county at least, a figure of no little importance.
Tuesday, 12 August, 1701, Luttrell records that 'an addresse from the
grand jury of Hampshire . . . was delivered by Richard Norton and
Anthony Henly, esqs. to the lords justices, to be laid before his
majestie.' He aimed at being a patron of the fine arts, and under his
superintendence Dryden's _The Spanish Friar_ was performed in the frater
of Southwick Priory,[1] the buildings of which had not been entirely
destroyed at the suppression. Colley Cibber addresses the Dedicatory
Epistle (January, 1695) of his first play, _Love's Last Shift_ (4to,
1696), to Norton in a highly eulogistic strain. The plate of Southwick
Church (S. James), consisting of a communion cup, a standing paten, two
flagons, an alms-dish, and a rat-tail spoon, is silver-gilt, and was
presented by Richard Norton in 1691. He died 10 December, 1732.
[Footnote 1: The house was one of Black (Austin) Canons.]
* * * * *
* * * *