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ing, I hope, will inable him to brush through the college. He is allwayes gratefully acknowledging your fatherly kindnesse to him ; and very willing, to his poore power, to do all things which may continue it. I have no more to add, but only wish the eldest may also deserve some part of your good opinion, for I believe him to be of vertuous and pious inclinations ; and for both, I dare assure you, that they can promise to themselves no farther share of my indulgence then while they carry themselves with that reverence to you, and that honesty to all others, as becomes them. I am, bonourd Sir, your most obedient servant and scholar, John Drvden.

Sir, C1683O

IF I could have found in my seise a fitting temper to have waited upon you, I had done it the day you dismissed my sonn from the college; for he did the message, and, by what I find from Mr Meredith, as it was delivered by you to him; namely, that you desired to fee me, and had somewhat to say to me concerning him. I observed likewise somewhat of kindnesse in it, that you sent him away that-you might not have occasion to correct him. I examin'd the business, and found it concern'd his huveing been Custos foure or five dayes together. But if he admonished, and was not believed because other boyes combined to discredit him with false witnesseing, and to save themselves: perhaps his crime is not so great. Another fault it seems he made, which was going into one Hawkcs his house, with some others ', which you haphing to fee, sent your servant to. know who they were, and he only returned you my sonn's name: so the rest escaped. I have 00 fault to find with my sonn's

Original Letters, ly DrycIenT

punishment, for that is, and" ougnt to'
be, reserved to any mailer, much more
to you who have been his father's*.
But your man was certainly to blame
to name him oncly ; and 'tis enely my
respect to you that I do not take no-
tice of it to him. My first rash reso-
lutions were, to have brought things
past any composure, by immediately
sending for my sonn's things out of
the college; but upon recollection, I
find I have a double tye upon me not
to do it: one, my obligations to you
for my education ; another, my great
tendernesse of doeing any thing offen-
sive to my Lord Biihop of Rochester f,
as cheife governour of the college. \
It does not consist with the honour I
beare him and you to go so precipi-
tately to worke; no, not so much as
to have any difference with you, if it <
can possibly be avoyded. Yet, as my
sonn stands now, I cannot fee with
what credit he can be elected; for,
being but sixth, and (as you arc. plea-
sed to judge) not deserving that nei-
ther, I know not whether he may not:
go immediately to Cambridge, as well
as one of his own election went to
Oxford this ycare by your consent.
I will say nothing of my second sonn,
but that, aster you had been pleased"
to advise me to waite on my Lord
Bishop for his favour, I found he
might have had the first place rf you
had not opposed it; and I likewise,
found at the election, that, by the
pains you had taken with him, he in
some sort deserved it. I hope, Sir,
when you have given yourselfe the
trouble to read thus farr, you, who
are a prudent man, will consider, that
none complalne, but they desire to be
reconciled at the fame time; there is
no mild expostulation at least, which
does not intimate a kindness and. re-
spect in him who makes it. Be plea.-'

* Our Poet, John, was elected from Westminster-school to Trinity College* Cambridge, in 16 ;o; his cousin, Jonathan, in 1656. Of the "two sons" men- * tioned in this letter, Charles, admitted to the school in 16.10, went off to Christ Church in 1681; John, admittedin 1682, to Trin. Coll. iu 168,5. J- *»'•

f Dr JohnDoloeu.

Marriage os the Duke osGu\k.-^-/t true Story. 2t%

fed, if there be Do merit on my fide, be guilty if it be possible. I shall add to make it your own act of grace to no more, but hope 1 (hull be so satis

be what you were formerly to my font). I have done something, so iarr to conquer my own spirit as to ask it: and, indeed, I know riot with what face to go to my- Lord Bilhop, and to tell him I am taking away both my senns j for though I Ihall tell him no occasion, it will look like a disrespect to my old Master, of which I will not

fyed with a favourable answer fiom you, which I promise to rayselfe from your goodndse and moderation, that I shall still have occasion to continue,


Your most obliged humble servant,.

John Drydeh.

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r* ti unnecessary here to enter into the history of the family of the Duke of Guise, the particulars of which are so Well known. Charles dc Lorraine, the eldest son of Henry the celebrated Duke of Guise, who was assassinated in the castle of Blois, hy the order of Henry the Third of trance, was made prisoner on the same day,, and confined in the castle of Tours j from whence he escaped in August 1591, and rejoined the faction called the LeagUc, whose violence had so long desolated France; and who, after the death of Henry the Third, opposed that excellent monarch and amiable man Henry the Fourth. When this league was brok«n, by his having become " the conqueror of his own," he generously forgave, and even took into his favour the Duke of Maine, who had been its leader; whose nephew, the young Duke of Guise, was received at court at the fame time, and entrusted with the government of l'rovence. After the asiassination of Henry the Great, the Duke of Guise still held sonic places of trust under his son Louis the Thirteenth; but the house of Guise was so much the object of envy and suspicion, on account of its former power, and the illustrious men it had produced, that care was taken not to raise it again too high by honours and emoluments : and at length. Cardinal Richelieu grew so dissatisfied with the Duke of Guise, that he obliged him to quit France. He retired to Florence, and died in the Sirnois in 1640, leaving several children by hii wife Henrietta Catharine de Joyeuic, onlv daughter of Henry de Joveuse, Marechai of France, and widow os Henry de Bourbon, Duke dc Mompensier. His son, Henry dc Lorraine, born ia 1 j 14, hi >:a£ne (by Uw death os his el.VouVJi: Ndft. F

deft brother) Duke of Guise. He seemed to inherit the spirit, as well as the personal perfections of his grandfather, the celebrated Duke of Guile. His figure and his exploits, which were those us an hero of romance, made him very acceptable to the ladies; while his inconstancy and perfidy punished many of them for their partiality. He had been originally designed for the church, and possessed, by a fort of ecclesiastical succession peculiar to the house of Guise, the archbishopric oF Rheims, and some of the richest abbicji in the kingdom; though he had never taken any degree or vow, to qualify himself for those dignities. His first attachment was to Anne d'Mantoue, who was his relation, and who was afterwardi married to the Palatine of the Rhine. Cardinal de Richelieu, who foresaw that a. marriage between this lady and the DuV* of Guile would be prejudicial to the interests of France, divided them, by putting her into a convent, from whence, however, (he escaped, and when the Duke os Guise joined the party of the Count d? Soissons (which party, under pretence of delivering the kingdom from the administration of the Cardinal, covered more dangerous projects) slie found means to follow him, in man's apparel, and overtook him at Cologne. But the Duke, either really apprehensive for her safety, or perhaps cured of his love by the ralA fondness of his mistress, resosed to let her continue with him, and insisted on her returning to Paris; under pretence that his tenderness would not allow him to let her hazard her person among the da ger* and inconvenience* to wiiich the lervice he was upon exposed him.

The Duke now entered with his usual impetuosity into the cenjjvracy, wlii.:h i '' took took a very alarming form, andwa«sa«v> tioned by the specious name of " The Ijeapuc iormtd to preserve the peace of Christendom." A»ArchbifuopdiR}K"imsf he was the first spiritual peer, and as Duke of Guise, the most ancient temporal peer of France; but these ties he broke through, and was declared General of the armies of the League.

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The King prosecutedhimfor rebellion j and by an arm lie was declared guilty of treason, sentenced to be beheaded, and his effects confiscated j which sentence was executed on him in effigy a few days afterwards, and all his property seized by the Crown.

The Duke went to Brussels, where he took upon him the commandos tli* troops, jwhich were sent thither by the Emperor and the King of Spain. There he iound his aunt, the Dutchels of Chevreuse, who }iad been obliged to quit France for her intrigues against Cardinal Richelieu; and at her house he became acquainted ■with the Countess de Bossu, a young and beautiful widow, whose vivacity and pertonal attractions Were more than sufficient to inflame a heart so susceptible of the power of beauty as was that of the Duke of Guise.

The anecdotes of that time give an account of their acquaintance and its consequence; which is perhaps somewhat heightened by the lively imagination of *he writers, who, to bring truth nearer to romance, have embellished it »(ith their own colouring. However, as there are no other accounts of the commencement of this connection, it must be related in their manner.

The Duke of Guise having often seen the Countess of Rossu at the house of the Diitchess of Chevreuse, was equally 'charmed by her beauty, and amused with her vivacity. The lady, on her part, thought sucti a conquest as that of the handsomest and most accomplished man ■ in Europe, deserved all her attention, and that stie might forgive herself even some unusual advances to secure it. These, however, she conducted with so much art, that the Duke grew every <toy more in love; and when Madame de Bossu thought he wa» enough so to refuse 'her nothing, she spoke to him of marriage j to which the Duke answered, that he desired nothing so much os to unite "his destiny with hers:—but if Madame de Bossu had known more of his real character, she might have perceived, that he would not thus readily have entered into engagements, had he thought them

binding; and that he only wished to i* muse himself during his exile. She knew enough to doubt the performance of his promise; but, flattered by the hope of seeing in her fetters him for whom so many vainly sighed, stie pretended to be the dupe of his ready profession, while she in fact meditated how to make him hers. With tliis view, as it was now the finest part of the year, she made * party to go to a beautiful seat she ha J, i league from Brussels, where Oie contrived to amuse the Duke for some days, with every thing she thought agreeable to him. The Duke, flattered by her attention, spoke to her more passionately than he had yet done; to which the Countess answered, that if he was sincere in hit professions, if his love was as great as he pretended, he would hasten the completion of their marriage. The Duke protested that there was nothing he so ardently desired as to be united for ever with so amiable a person. Madame de Bossu, who was in hopes she should bring him to that declaration, then told him, he might immediately convince her of his veracity, and secure tire happiness he seemed so much to desite, for that she had a priest and a notary ready, who would instantly perform the ceremonies. The Duke, who certainly did not believe a marriage under such circumstance* would be binding to him, consented with as much apparent satisfaction as if he had been sincere. Manselle, the almoner of the army, was called in, who gave them a dispensation, for want of the proper banns, and then the nuptial benediction. The next day the Duke returned to Brussels, leaving the Countess de Bossu extremely happy, at being, as she imagined, Dutches* of Guise, And wife to thr most charming mart of the age.

Whatever care had been takm to keep this transaction secret, it became in a few weeks the conversation of Brussels: the Duke d'Elbeuf, and the Dutches* de Chevreuse, both spoke to the Duke open it in a style of severity he vw by Ho means disposed to bear. His respect for his aunt, Madame d'Chevrcuse, made him listen to her reproaches with fame appearance of patience; but hrsfieryMnper could ill brook the remonstrances cs the Duke d'Etbeus, whom he answered in terms so full of rage and indignation, that a challenge passed between them j and they were prevented fifth ting enty 'by the interposition of the Archduke. •

'Extremely irritated to think that any one should dare to pry into and bluse

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nified to her, and enforced by' the remonstrance of the Duke of Guise; who told her, that all his endeavours and intreaties would be ineffectual to preserve her from insult, and even from personal danger, if she did not comply with it. Under such circumstances the unfortunate Countess was obliged to submit, and returned broken-hearted to her Him ther. The Duke, giving himself up to intrigue, and to the warmth of his ungovernable temper, soon after got intn a ?' [uarrel with the Count de Coligni: they ought in the midst of the Court, and the Duke of Guise dangerously Wounded and disarmed his antagonist. His mother was perpetually apprehensive for his safety, which he continually hazarded; slie dreaded lest the old animosity should lie renewed between him and the house of Conde, with whom the house of Guise had long been at variance; a renewal of which, she foresaw, would be attended with the most fatal events: she was, therefore, very desirous that the Duke should marry Mademoiselle de Longuevrlle, rdere to the great Conde. But the Duke had fallen in love with Mademoiselle de Pons; and as this new attachment was, if possible, more violent than any he had yet felt, he positively refused to listen to any overtures in regard to Mademoiselle de Longueville. As he determined to marry Mademoiselle de Pons, it became necessary for him'to inquire how far his marriage with the Countess de Bossu might prevent the completion <jf his wishes; and he found, that it would raise such impediments to his designs, as he should find it extremely difficult to obviate: this consideration", and the trouble he received from the Attorney-general (who prosecuted him for his offence against law and order, bv fighting publicly with the Count de toKgni), determined him to go himself to Rome; •where m? hoped to obtain the dissolution of his engagements with Madame Cs 15ostu. At this time the civil war of Naples, occasioned by the heavy imposts laid on the people, broke ouf; Mazzienello, who was the leader of the tumult, /being destroyed, the rebels had recourse to the Duke of Guise, who, by his descent, had a sort os claim to the kingdom of Naples. The Duke no sooner received the proposal of becoming their General, than with his usual impetuosity he accepted it; and. making hjs way through the fleet commanded by Don John of Austria, he arrived at Naples, 'and became Generaliffimo of-the rebel M#< \

army. It is unnecessary here to relate the various events that occurred wiiile he continued on this command. The charms of Mademoiselle de Pons, which had induced him to ^o to Rome, in hopes of being allowed to marry her, were loon forgotten, amid the attractions of the Neapolitan beauties : but his generaigallantrics among the lowrft of the people, and his attachment to the daughter of a tailor in particular, disgusted those who had at first beheld him with admiration and relp A ; and at length his usual rashness made him'commit ;m'indiscretion, which put the town into the hands of the Spaniards. He had then recourse to flight; but was pursued, taken, and sent prisoner to Spain.

While this w*s passing, the unfortunate Countess of Bossu was sued by the Duke's creditors! and her effects, at well as the dower me poss"fied from her first husband, seized to satisfy their demands. Notwithstanding which, and all his neglect and cruelty, (he no sooner heard of his imprisonment, than see quitted the house of her mother, with whom she was obliged to reside, and went into France, meanine to pass from thence into Spain, to solicit his release, or (hare his confinement. Her friends, however, represented to her, that her journey would be absolutely fruitless; and prevailed upon her to retnrn into Flanders. By the interposition of the great Conde, who then served the King of Spain against his native country, the Duke was soon after released: fbe Spanish court, indeed, gave him his liberty the more willingly, as they hoped that his turbulent and restless spirit would create new troubles in- France. He was no sooner at liberty, than he disclaimed all obligations to the Prince of Conde", and complained loudly of the treatment he had received at Madrid. The rashness of his character seemed to have gained strength by his confinement; his polities an<s his love assumed* more violent cast j the passion he hid felt for Mademoiselle de Pons, seemed to return with more ardour than ever i and he do termined to make her his, at whatever price. But when he learned, too certainly, that during his absence she had received as a favoured lover Monsieur de Malicorne, a private gentleman, rage and indignation stifled all the emotions of tenderness he had seft for her { he treated her with rudeness and insult, and insisted on her returning a pair os car*rine9» valued at a thousand crown*, which 1*

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