day, June 4, 1712. No. 396. like the Tail of a Comet, predominates least about the Wednes Fire, but resides behind, and fills the fragrant Receptacle above-mentioned. Besides, 'tis farther observable, that the delicate Spirits among us, who declare against these nauseous Proceedings, sip Tea, and put up for Critic and Amour, profess likewise an equal Abhorrence for Punning, the ancient innocent Diversion of this Society, After all, Sir, tho' it may appear something absurd, that I seem to approach you with the Air of an Advocate for Punning, (you who have justified your Censures of the Practice in a set Dissertation upon that Subject) yet, I'm confident, you'll think it abundantly attoned for by observing, that this humbler Exercise may be as instrumental in diverting us from any innovating Schemes and Hypothesis in Wit, as dwelling upon honest Orthodox Logic would be in securing us from Heresie in Religion. Had Mr. W--n's Researches been confin'd within the Bounds of Ramus or Crackanthorp, that learned News-monger might have acquiesc'd in what the holy Oracles pronounced upon the Deluge like other Christians; and had the surprising Mr. Ly been content with the Employment of refining upon Shakespear's Points and Quibbles, (for which he must be allowed to have a superlative Genius) and now and then penning a Catch or a Ditty, instead of inditing Odes, and Sonnets, the Gentlemen of the Bon Goust in the Pit would never have been put to all that Grimace in damning the Frippery of State, the Poverty and Languor of Thought, the unnatural Wit, and inartificial Structure of his Dramas. A -Ovid. S the Stoick Philosophers discard all Passions in general, they will not allow a Wise Man so much as to pity the Afflictions of another. If thou seest thy Friend in Trouble, says Epictetus, thou may'st put on No. 397, a Look of Sorrow, and condole with him, but take Thursday, care that thy Sorrow be not real. The more rigid of June 5, 1712. this Sect would not comply so far as to shew even such an outward Appearance of Grief; but when one told them of any Calamity that had befallen even the nearest of their Acquaintance, would immediately reply, What is that to me? If you aggravated the Circum stances of the Affliction, and shewed how one Mis fortune was follow'd by another, the Answer was still, All this may be true, but what is it to me? For my own part, I am of Opinion, Compassion does not only refine and civilize Human Nature, but has something in it more pleasing and agreeable than what can be met with in such an indolent Happiness, such an Indifference to Mankind as that in which the Stoicks placed their Wisdom. As Love is the most delightful Passion, Pity is nothing else but Love softned by a degree of Sorrow in short, it is a kind of pleas ing Anguish, as well as generous Sympathy, that knits Mankind together, and blends them in the same common Lot. Those who have laid down Rules for Rhetorick or Poetry, advise the Writer to work himself up, if possible, to the pitch of Sorrow which he endeavours to produce in others. There are none therefore who stir up Pity so much as those who indite their own Sufferings. Grief has a natural Eloquence belonging to it, and breaks out in more moving Sentiments than can be supplied by the finest Imagination. Nature on this Occasion dictates a thousand Passionate things which cannot be supplied by Art. It is for this Reason that the short Speeches or Sentences which we often meet with in Histories, make a deeper Impression on the Mind of the Reader, than the most laboured Strokes in a well written Tragedy, Truth and Matter of Fact sets the Person actually before us in the one, whom Faction places at a greater Distance from us in the other. I do not remember to have seen any Ancient or Modern Story more affecting than a Letter of Ann of Bologne, Wife to King Henry the No. 397. Eighth, and Mother to Queen Elizabeth, which is still 1712. Shakespear himself could not have made her talk in a Strain so suitable to her Condition and Character. One sees in it the Expostulations of a slighted Lover, the Resentments of an injured Woman, and the Sorrows of an imprisoned Queen. I need not acquaint my Reader that this Princess was then under Prosecution for Disloyalty to the King's Bed, and that she was afterwards publickly beheaded upon the same Account, though this Prosecution was believed by many to pro ceed, as she herself intimates, rather from the King's Love to Jane Seymour, than from any actual Crime in Ann of Bologne. 'Queen Ann Boleyn's last Letter to King Henry. Cotton Lib, Sir, Your Grace's Displeasure, and my Imprison Otho C. 10. ment, are things so strange unto me, as what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me to confess a Truth, and so obtain your Favour) by such an one, whom you know to be mine ancient professed Enemy, I no sooner receiv'd this Message by him, than I rightly conceived your Meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a Truth indeed may procure my Safety, I shall with all Willingness and Duty perform your Command. But let not your Grace ever imagine, that your poor Wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a Fault, where not so much as a Thought thereof preceded. And to speak a Truth, never Prince had Wife more Loyal in all Duty, and in all true Affection, than you have ever found in Anne Boleyn; with which Name and Place I could willingly have contented my self, if God and your Grace's Pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forget my self in my Exaltation, or received Queenship, but that I always looked for such an Alteration as now I find; for the Ground of my Preferment being on no surer Foundation than your Grace's Fancy, the least Alteration I knew was fit and sufficient to 1712. to draw that Fancy to some other Subject. You have No. 397, chosen me, from a low Estate, to be your Queen and Thursday, Companion, far beyond my Desert or Desire. If then June 5, you found me worthy of such Honour, good your Grace let not any light Fancy, or bad Counsel of mine Enemies, withdraw your Princely Favour from me; neither let that Stain, that unworthy Stain, of a Disloyal Heart towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a Blot on your most Dutiful Wife, and the Infant-Princess your Daughter. Try me, good King, but let me have a lawful Tryal, and let not my sworn Enemies sit as my Accusers and Judges; Yea let me receive an open Tryal, for my Truth shall fear no open Shame; then shall you see either mine Innocency cleared, your Suspicion and Con science satisfied, the Ignominy and Slander of the World stopped, or my Guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open Censure, and mine Offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at Liberty, both before God and Man, not only to execute worthy Punishment on me as an unlawful Wife, but to follow your Affection, already settled on that Party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose Name I could some good while since have pointed unto, your Grace being not ignorant of my Suspicion therein. But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my Death, but an Infamous Slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired Happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your great Sin therein, and likewise mine Enemies, the Instruments thereof; and that he will not call you to a strict Account for your unprincely and cruel Usage of me, at his general Judg ment Seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear, and in whose Judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the World may think of me) mine Innocence shall be openly known, and sufficiently cleared. My last and only Request shall be, that my self may only bear the Burthen of your Grace's Displeasure, and that it may not touch the innocent Souls of those poor Gentlemen, who (as I understand) are likewise in strait Imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found Favour 1712, No. 397. in your Sight, if ever the Name of Ann Boleyn hath Thursday, been pleasing in your Ears, then let me obtain this June 5, Request, and I will so leave to trouble your Grace any further, with mine earnest Prayers to the Trinity to have your Grace in his good Keeping, and to direct you in all your Actions. From my doleful Prison in the Tower, this sixth of May Your most Loyal and ever Faithful Wife, L No. 398. CYN Ann Boleyn.' Friday, June 6, Insanire paret certa ratione modoque.-Hor. YNTHIO and Flavia are Persons of Distinction in this Town, who have been Lovers these ten Months last past, and writ to each other for Gallantry sake, under those feigned Names; Mr. Such a one and Mrs. Such a one not being capable of raising the Soul out of the ordinary Tracts and Passages of Life, up to that Elevation which makes the Life of the Enamoured so much superior to that of the rest of the World. But ever since the beauteous Cecilia has made such a Figure as she now does in the Circle of charming Women, Cynthio has been secretly one of her Adorers. Laetitia has been the finest Woman in Town these three Months, and so long Cynthio has acted the Part of a Lover very aukwardly in the Presence of Flavia. Flavia has been too blind towards him, and has too sincere an Heart of her own to observe a thousand things which would have discovered this Change of Mind to any one less engaged than she was. Cynthio was musing Yesterday in the Piazza in Covent Garden, and was saying to him self that he was a very ill Man to go on in visiting and professing Love to Flavia, when his Heart was enthralled to another. It is an Infirmity that I am not constant to Flavia; but it would be still a greater Crime, since I cannot continue to love her, to profess that I do. To marry a Woman with the Coldness that usually indeed comes |