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Romeo and Juliet, as originally in Shakspeare; it will be necessary to recite more out of the play than he spoke, to have a right conception of what Peer did in it. Marius, weary of life, recollects means to be rid of it after this manner:

I do remember an apothecary

That dwelt about this rendezvous of death!
Meagre and very rueful were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones.'

When this spectre of poverty appeared, Marius
addresses him thus:

I see thou art very poor,

Thou may'st do any thing, here's fifty drachmas,
Get me a draught of what will soonest free
A wretch from all his cares.'

did not a little contribute to the shortening his days; and, as there is no state of real happiness in this life, Mr. Peer was undone by his success, and lost all by arriving at what is the end of all other men's pursuits, his ease.

I could not forbear inquiring into the effects Mr. Peer left behind him, but find there is no demand due to him from the house, but the following bill:

For hire of six case of pistols,

A drum for Mrs. Bignall in the Pil-
grim,

A truss of straw for the madmen,
Pomatum and vermillion to grease
the face of the stuttering cook,

When the apothecary objects that it is unlaw- For boarding a setting dog two days
ful, Marius urges,

Art thou so base and full of wretchedness
Yet fear'st to die! Famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression stareth in thy eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang on thy back;
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's laws:
The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.'

Without all this quotation the reader could not have a just idea of the visage and manner which Peer assumed, when in the most lament able tone imaginable he consents; and delivering the poison, like a man reduced to the drinking it himself, if he did not vend it, says to Marius,

My poverty, but not my will, consents; Take this and drink it off, the work is done.'

to follow Mr. Johnson in Epsom
Wells,

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For blood in Macbeth,

Raisins and almonds for a witch's
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£ 8 d

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This contemporary of mine, whom I have often rallied for the narrow compass of his singular perfections, is now at peace, and wants no further assistance from any man; but men of extensive genius, now living, still depend upon the good offices of the town.

nights.

this day, being the fifteenth of June, the PlotI am therefore to remind my reader, that on ting Sisters is to be acted for the benefit of the author, my old friend Mr. d'Urfey. This comedy was honoured with the presence of It was an odd excellence, and a very particu-king Charles the Second three of its first five lar circumstance this of Peer's, that his whole action of life depended upon speaking five lines My friend has in this work shown himself a better than any man else in the world. But this master, and made not only the characters of the eminence lying in so narrow a compass, the play, but also the furniture of the house contrigovernors of the theatre observing his talents to bute to the main design. He has made excellie in a certain knowledge of propriety, and his lent use of a table with a carpet, and the key of person admitting him to shine only in the two a closet. With these two implements, which above parts, his sphere of action was enlarged would, perhaps, have been overlooked by an orby the addition of the post of property-man. dinary writer, he contrives the most natural This officer has always ready, in a place ap- perplexities (allowing only the use of these pointed for him behind the prompter, all such household goods in poetry) that ever were retools and implements as are necessary in the presented on a stage. He has also made good play, and it is his business never to want billet-advantage of the knowledge of the stage itself; doux, poison, false money, thunderbolts, dag. for in the nick of being surprised, the lovers are gers, scrolls of parchment, wine, pomatum trun- let down and escape at a trap-door. In a word, cheons, and wooden legs, ready at the call of the any who have the curiosity to observe what said prompter, according as his respective uten- pleased in the last generation, and does not go sils were necessary for prompting what was to to a comedy with a resolution to be grave, will pass on the stage. The addition of this office, find this evening ample food for mirth. Jolinso important to the conduct of the whole affair son, who understands what he does as well as of the stage, and the good economy observed by any man, exposes the impertinence of an eld their present managers in punctual payments, fellow, who has lost his senses, still pursuing made Mr. Peer's subsistence very comfortable. pleasures, with great mastery. The ingenious But it frequently happens, that men lose their Mr. Pinkethman is a bashful rake, and is sheepvirtue in prosperity, who were shining charac-ish without having modesty with great success. ters in the contrary condition. Good fortune Mr. Bullock succeeds Nokes in the part of indeed had no effect on the mind, but very much Bubble, and in my opinion is not much below on the body of Mr. Peer. For in the seventieth him: for he doos excellently that sort of folly year of his age he grew fat, which rendered his we call absurdity, which is the very contrary figure unfit for the utterance of the five lines of wit, but, next to that, is of all things the above-mentioned. He had now unfortunately properest to excite mirth. What is foolish is lost the wan distress necessary for the counte- the object of pity; but absurdity often proceeds nance of the apothecary, and was too jolly to from an opinion of sufficiency, and consequently peak the prologue with the proper humility. It is an honest occasion for laughter. These is thought this calamity went too near him. It characters in this play cannot choose but make

it a very pleasant entertainment, and the deco- | raged or esteemed, merit the detestation and rations of singing and dancing will more than abhorrence of all honest men. And in the last repay the good nature of those who make an place, I design to show, that under the pretence honest man a visit of two merry hours to make of advancing liberty and truth, they do in his following year unpainful. reality promote the two contrary evils.

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As to the first point, it has been observed that it is the duty of each particular person to aim at the happiness of his fellow-creatures; and that as this view is of a wider or narrower extent, it argues a mind more or less virtuous. Hence it follows, that a liberty of doing good actions which conduce to the felicity of mankind, and a knowledge of such truths as might either give us pleasure in the contemplation of them, or direct our conduct to the great ends of life, are valuable perfections. But shall a good man, therefore, prefer a liberty to commit murder or adultery, before the wholesome restraint of divine and human laws? Or shall a wise man prefer the knowledge of a troublesome and afflicting truth, before a pleasant error that would cheer his soul with joy and comfort, and be attended with no ill consequences? Surely no man of common sense would thank him, who had put it in his power to execute the sudden suggestions of a fit of passion or madness, or imagine himself obliged to a person, who, by forwardly informing him of ill news, had caused his soul to anticipate that sorrow which she would never have felt so long as the ungrateful truth lay concealed.

THERE is a restless endeavour in the mind of man after happiness. This appetite is wrought into the original frame of our nature, and exerts itself in all parts of the creation that are endued with any degree of thought or sense. But as the human mind is dignified by a more comprehensive faculty than can be found in the inferior animals, it is natural for men not only to have an eye, each to his own happiness, but also to endeavour to promote that of others in the same rank of being: and in proportion to the generosity that is ingredient in the temper of the soul, the object of its benevolence is of a larger and narrower extent. There is hardly a spirit upon earth so mean and contracted, as to centre all regards on its own interest, exclusive of the rest of mankind. Even the selfish man has some share of love, which he bestows on his family and his friends. A noblerings of the free-thinkers. From what giants and mind hath at heart the common interest of the society or country of which he makes a part. And there is still a more diffusive spirit, whose being or intentions reach the whole mass of mankind, and are continued beyond the present age to a succession of future generations.

Let us then respect the happiness of our species, and in this light examine the proceed

monsters would these knight-errants undertake to free the world? From the ties that religion imposeth on our minds, from the expectation of a future judgment, and from the terrors of a troubled conscience, not by reforming men's lives, but by giving encouragement to their vices. What are those important truths of which they would convince mankind? That there is no such thing as a wise and just Provi. dence; that the mind of man is corporeal; that religion is a state trick, contrived to make men honest and virtuous, and to procure a subsistence to others for teaching and exhorting them to be so; that the good tidings of life and immortality, brought to light by the gospel, are fables and impostures; from believing that we are made in the image of God, they would de

The advantage arising to him who hath a tincture of this generosity on his soul, is, that he is affected with a sublimer joy than can be comprehended by one who is destitute of that noble relish. The happiness of the rest of mankind hath a natural connexion with that of a reasonable mind. And in proportion as the actions of each individual contribute to this end, he must be thought to deserve well or ill, both of the world, and of himself. I have in a late paper observed, that men who have no reach of thought do often misplace their affec-grade us to an opinion that we are on a level tions on the means, without respect to the end; and by a preposterous desire of things in themselves indifferent, forego the enjoyment of that happiness which those things are instrumental to obtain. This observation has been considered with regard to critics and misers; I shall now apply it to free-thinkers.

Liberty and truth are the main points which these gentlemen pretend to have in view; to proceed, therefore, methodically, I will endea vour to show in the first place, that liberty and truth are not in themselves desirable, but only as they relate to a farther end. And secondly, that the sort of liberty and truth (allowing them those names) which our free-thinkers use all their industry to promote, is destructive of that end, viz. human happiness: and consequently that species, as such, instead of being encou

with the beasts that perish. What pleasure or what advantage do these notions bring to mankind. Is it of any use to the public that good men should lose the comfortable prospect of a reward to their virtue; or the wicked be encouraged to persist in their impiety, from an assurance that they shall not be punished for it hereafter?

Allowing, therefore, these men to be patrons of liberty and truth, yet it is of such truths, and that sort of liberty, which makes them justly be looked upon as enemies to the peace and happiness of the world. But upon a thorough and impartial view it will be found, that their endeavours, instead of advancing the cause of liberty and truth, tend only to introduce slavery and error among men. There are two parts in our nature: the baser, which consists of our

senses and passions, and the more noble and ra- | her majesty's spruce and loving subjects, and tional, which is properly the human part, the other being common to us with brutes. The inferior part is generally much stronger, and has always the start of reason, which if in the perpetual struggle between them, it were not aided from heaven by religion, would almost universally be vanquished, and man become a slave to his passions, which, as it is the most grievous and shameful slavery, so it is the genuine result of that liberty which is proposed by overturning religion. Nor is the other part of their design better executed. Look into their pretended truths: are they not so many wretched absurdities, maintained in opposition to the light of nature and divine revelation by sly inuendoes and cold jests, by such pitiful sophisms and such confused and indigested notions, that one would vehemently suspect those men usurped the name of free-thinkers with the same view that hypocrites do that of godliness, that it may serve for a cloak to cover the contrary defect?

that is a humour they have got of twisting off your buttons. These ingenious gentlemen are not able to advance three words until they have got fast hold of one of your buttons; but as soon as they have procured such an excellent handle for discourse, they will indeed proceed with great elocution. I know not how well some may have escaped, but for my part I have often met with them, to my cost; having I be lieve, within these three years last past been argued out of several dozens; insomuch, that I have, for some time, ordered my tailor to bring me home with every suit, a dozen at least of spare ones, to supply the place of such as from time to time are detached as a help to discourse, by the vehement gentlemen beforementioned. This way of holding a man in discourse, is much practised in the coffee-houses within the city, and does not indeed so much prevail at the politer end of the town. It is likewise more frequently made use of among the small politicians, than any other body of men; I am therefore something cautious of entering into a controversy with this species of statesmen, especially the younger fry; for if you offer in the least to dissent from any thing that one of these advances, he immediately steps up to you, takes hold of one of your buttons, and indeed will soon convince you of the strength of his argumentation. I remember, upon the news of Dunkirk's being delivered into our hands, a brisk little fellow, a politician and an able engineer, had got into the middle of Batson's coffee-house, and was fortifying Graveling for the service of the most Christian king, with all imaginable expedition. The work was carried on with such success, that in less than a quarter of an hour's time, he had made it almost impregnable, and in the opinion of several worthy citizens who had gathered round

I shall close this discourse with a parallel reflection on these three species, who seem to be allied by a certain agreement in mediocrity of understanding. A critic is entirely given up to the pursuit of learning; when he has got it, is his judgment clearer, his imagination livelier, or his manners more polite than those of other men? Is it observed that a miser, when he has acquired his superfluous estate, cats, drinks, or sleeps with more satisfaction, that he has a cheerfuller mind, or relishes any of the enjoy ments of life better than his neighbours? The free-thinkers plead hard for a licence to think freely; they have it: but what use do they make of it? Are they eminent for any sublime discoveries in any of the arts and sciences? Have they been authors of any inventions that conduce to the well-being of mankind? Do their writings show a greater depth of design, a clearer method, or more just and correct rea-him, full as strong both by sea and land as Dunsoning than those of other men?

There is a great resemblance in their genius; but the critic and miser are only ridiculous and contemptible creatures, while the free-thinker is also a pernicious one.

No. 84.]

Wednesday, June 17, 1713.

Non missura cutem nisi plena cruoris hirudo.
Hor. Ars Poet. ver. ult.
Sticking like leeches, till they burst with blood.
Roscommon.

To the Honoured Nestor Ironside, Esq.
* Middle Temple, June 12.

'SIR,-Presuming you may sometimes condescend to take cognizance of small enormities, I here lay one before you, which I proceed to without farther apology, as well knowing the best compliment to a man of business is to come to the point.

There is a silly habit among many of our minor orators, who display their cloquence in the several coffee-houses of this fair city, to the no small annoyance of considerable numbers of

kirk ever could pretend to be. I happened, however, unadvisedly to attack some of his outworks; upon which, to show his great skill likewise in the offensive part, he immediately made an assault upon one of my buttons, and carried it in less than two minutes, notwithstanding I made as handsome a defence as was possible. He had likewise invested a second, and would certainly have been master of that too in a very little time, had not he been diverted from this enterprise by the arrival of a courier, who brought advice that his presence was absolutely necessary in the disposal of a beaver,* upon which he raised the siege, and indeed retired with some precipitation. In the coffeehouses here about the Temple, you may ha rangue even among our dabblers in politics for about two buttons a day, and many times for less. I had yesterday the good fortune to receive very considerable additions to my know ledge in state affairs, and I find this morning, that it has not stood me in above a button. In most of the eminent coffee-houses at the other

wood, a linen draper, who was the writer of a letter in *The person here alluded to was a Mr. James Heythe Spectator, signed James Easy.

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To suffer scandal (says somebody) is the tax which every person of merit pays to the public; and my lord Verulam finely observes, that a man who has no virtue in himself, ever envies virtue

But though I can bear with this kind of orator, who is so humble as to aim at the good-in others. I know not how it comes to pass, will of his hearer by being his valet de cham- but detraction, through all ages, has been found bre, I must rebel against another sort of them. a vice which the fair sex too easily give in to. There are some, sir, that do not stick to take a Not the Roman satirist could use them with man by the collar when they have a mind to more severity than they themselves do one persuade him. It is your business, I humbly another. Some audacious critics, in my opinion, presume, Mr. Ironside, to interpose that a man have launched out a little too far when they take is not brought over to his opponent by force of upon them to prove, in opposition to history, that arms. It were requisite therefore that you Lais was a woman of as much virtue as beauty, should name a certain interval, which ought to which violently displeasing the Phrynes of those be preserved between the speaker and him to times, they secretly prevailed with the histowhom he speaks. For sure no man has a right, rians to deliver her down to posterity under the because I am not of his opinion, to take any of infamous character of an extorting prostitute. my clothes from me, or dress me according to But though I have the greatest regard imagin his own liking. I assure you the most becom- able to that softer species, yet am I sorry to find ing thing to me in the world is in a campaign they have very little for themselves. So far are periwig, to wear one side before and the other they from being tender of one another's reputacast upon the collateral shoulder. But there is tion, that they take a malicious pleasure in dea friend of mine who never talks to me but he stroying it. My lady the other day, when Jack throws that which I wear forward, upon my was asking, who could be so base to spread such shoulder, so that in restoring it to its place I a report about Mrs. -, answered, None, lose two or three hairs out of the lock upon my yon may be sure, but a woman.' A little after, buttons; though I never touched him in my Dick told my lady, that he had heard Florella whole life, and have been acquainted with him hint as if Cleora wore artificial teeth. The reathese ten years. I have seen my eager friend son is, said she, because Cleora first gave out in danger sometimes of a quarrel by this ill cus-that Florella owed her complexion to a wash. tom, for there are more young gentlemen who can feel, than can understand. It would be therefore a good office to my good friend if you advised him not to collar any man but one who knows what he means, and give it him as a standing precaution in conversation, that none but a very good friend will give him the liberty of being seen, felt, heard, and understood all at

once.

I am, sir, your most humble servant, 'JOHANNES MISOCHIROSOPHUS.

'P. S. I have a sister who saves herself from being handled by one of these manual rhetoricians by giving him her fan to play with; but I appeal to you in the behalf of us poor helpless

men.'

June 15, 1713.

I am of opinion, that no orator or speaker in public or private has any right to meddle with any body's clothes but his own. I indulge men in the liberty of playing with their own hats, fumbling in their own pockets, settling their own periwigs, tossing or twisting their heads, and all other gesticulations which may contribute to their elocution; but pronounce it an infringement of the English liberty, for a man to keep his neighbour's person in custody in order to force a hearing; and farther declare, that all assent given by an auditor under such constraint, is of itself void and of no effect.

NESTOR IRONSIDE.

·

Thus the industrious pretty creatures take pains by invention, to throw blemishes on each other, when they do not consider that there is a profligate set of fellows too ready to taint the character of the virtuous, or blast the charms of the blooming virgin. The young lady from whom I had the honour of receiving the following letter, deserves or rather claims, protection from our sex, since so barbarously treated by her own. Certainly they ought to defend innocence from injury who gave ignorantly the occasion of its being assaulted. Had the men been less liberal of their applauses, the women had been more sparing of these calumnious censures.

To the Guardian.

'SIR, I do not know at what nice point you fix the bloom of a young lady; but I am one who can just look back upon fifteen. My father dying three years ago, left me under the care and direction of my mother, with a fortune not profusely great, yet such as might demand a very handsome settlement, if ever proposals of marriage should be offered. My mother, after the usual time of retired mourning was over, was so affectionately indulgent to me, as to take me along with her in all her visits; but still not thinking she gratified my youth enough, permitted me further to go with my relations to all the public, cheerful, but innocent entertain.

with this consideration, that those who talk thus of her know it is false, but wish they could make others believe it true. It is not they think you deformed, but are vexed that they themselves were not as nicely framed. If you will take an old man's advice, laugh, and be not concerned at them; they have attained what they endeavoured if they make you uneasy; for it is envy that has made them so. I would not have you wish your shape one sixtieth part of an inch disproportioned, nor desire your face might be impoverished with the ruin of half a feature, though numbers of remaining beauties might make the loss insensible; but take courage, go into the brightest assemblies, and the world will quickly confess it to be scandal. Thus Plato, hearing it was asserted by some persons that he was a very bad man, 'I shall take care,' said he, to live so, that nobody will believe them.'

ments, where she was too reserved to appear | pondent is, That she ought to comfort herself herself. The two first years of my teens were easy, gay, and delightful. Every one caressed me; the old ladies told me how finely I grew, and the young ones were proud of my company. But when the third year had a little advanced, my relations used to tell my mother, that pretty miss Clary was shot up into a woman. The gentlemen began now not to let their eyes glance over me, and in most places I found myself distinguished; but observed, the more I grew into the esteem of their sex, the more I lost the favour of my own. Some of those whom I had been familiar with, grew cold and indifferent; others mistook by design, my meaning, made me speak what I never thought, and so by degrees took occasion to break off all acquaintance. There were several little insignificant reflections cast upon me, as being a lady of a great many quaintnesses, and such like, which I seemed not to take notice of. But my mother coming home about a week ago, told me there was a scandal spread about town by my ene-matter of fact. A gay young gentleman in the mies, that would at once ruin me for ever for a beauty; I earnestly entreated her to know it; she refused me, but yesterday it discovered itself. Being in an assembly of gentlemen and ladies, one of the gentlemen who had been very facetious to several of the ladies, at last turning to me, And as for you, madam, Prior has already given us your character,

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"The mulcibers who in the minories sweat,
And massive bars on stubborn anvils beat:
Deform'd themselves, yet forge those stays of steel,
Which arm Aurelia with a shape to kill."

I shall conclude this paper with a relation of

country, not many years ago, fell desperately in
love with a blooming fine creature, whom give
me leave to call Melissa. After a pretty long
delay, and frequent solicitations, she refused
several others of larger estates, and consented
to make him happy. But they had not been
married much above a twelve-month, until it
appeared too true what Juba says,

'Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in the eye, and palls upon the sense.'

Polydore (for that was his name) finding him-
self grow every day more uneasy, and unwil-
ling she should discover the cause, for diversion
came up to town, and, to avoid all suspicions,
brought Melissa along with him. After some
stay here, Polydore was one day informed, that
a set of ladies over their tea-table, in the circle
of scandal, had touched upon Melissa-And
was that the silly thing so much talked of!
How did she ever grow into a toast! For their
parts they had eyes as well as the men, but
could not discover where her beauties lay. Po-
lydore upon hearing this, flew immediately
home and told Melissa, with the utmost trans-
port, that he was now fully convinced how num-
berless were her charms, since her own sex
would not allow her any.

This was no sooner over, but it was easily discernible what an ill-natured satisfaction most of the company took; and the more pleasure they showed by dwelling upon the two last lines, the more they increased my trouble and 'Button's Coffee-house. confusion. And now, sir, after this tedious ac- 'MR. IRONSIDE,-I have observed that this count, what would you advise me to? Is there day you make mention of Will's coffee-house, no way to be cleared of these malicious calum- as a place where people are too polite to hold a nies? What is beauty worth that makes the man in discourse, by the button. Every body possessor thus unhappy? Why was nature so knows your honour frequents this house; therelavish of her gifts to me, as to make her kind-fore they will take an advantage against me, ness prove a cruelty? They tell me my shape is delicate, my eyes sparkling, my lips, I know not what, my cheeks, forsooth, adorned with a just mixture of the rose and lily; but I wish this face was barely not disagreeable, this voice harsh and unharmonious, these limbs only not deformed, and then perhaps I might live easy and unmolested, and neither raise love and adThe young poets are in the back room, and miration in the men, nor scandal and hatred intake their places as you directed.' the women. Your very humble servant,

"CLARINA.'

and say, if my company was as civil as that at Will's, you would say so therefore pray your honour do not be afraid of doing me justice, be. cause people would think it may be a conceit below you on this occasion to name the name of your humble servant,

DANIEL BUTTON.*

* Daniel Button kept a coffee house on the south side of Russel-street, about two doors from Covent-garden.

The best answer I can make my fair corres-Here it was that the wits of that time used to assemble.

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