This last Letter is written with so urgent and serious an Air, that I
cannot but think it incumbent upon me to comply with her Commands, which
I shall do very suddenly.
T.
This letter, signed
Parthenia
, was by Miss Shepheard,
sister of Mrs. Perry, who wrote the Letter in
, signed
Leonora
.
Contents
|
Saturday, August 11, 1711 |
Steele |
... Migravit ab Aure voluptas
Omnis ...
Hor.
translation
In the present Emptiness of the Town, I have several Applications from
the lower Part of the Players, to admit Suffering to pass for Acting.
They in very obliging Terms desire me to let a Fall on the Ground, a
Stumble, or a good Slap on the Back, be reckoned a Jest. These Gambols I
shall tolerate for a Season, because I hope the Evil cannot continue
longer than till the People of Condition and Taste return to Town. The
Method, some time ago, was to entertain that Part of the Audience, who
have no Faculty above Eyesight, with Rope-dancers and Tumblers; which
was a way discreet enough, because it prevented Confusion, and
distinguished such as could show all the Postures which the Body is
capable of, from those who were to represent all the Passions to which
the Mind is subject. But tho' this was prudently settled, Corporeal and
Intellectual Actors ought to be kept at a still wider Distance than to
appear on the same Stage at all: For which Reason I must propose some
Methods for the Improvement of the Bear-Garden, by dismissing all Bodily
Actors to that Quarter.
In Cases of greater moment, where Men appear in Publick, the Consequence
and Importance of the thing can bear them out. And tho' a Pleader or
Preacher is Hoarse or Awkward, the Weight of the Matter commands Respect
and Attention; but in Theatrical Speaking, if the Performer is not
exactly proper and graceful, he is utterly ridiculous. In Cases where
there is little else expected, but the Pleasure of the Ears and Eyes,
the least Diminution of that Pleasure is the highest Offence. In Acting,
barely to perform the Part is not commendable, but to be the least out
is contemptible. To avoid these Difficulties and Delicacies, I am
informed, that while I was out of Town, the Actors have flown in the
Air, and played such Pranks, and run such Hazards, that none but the
Servants of the Fire-office, Tilers and Masons, could have been able to
perform the like. The Author of the following Letter, it seems, has been
of the Audience at one of these Entertainments, and has accordingly
complained to me upon it; but I think he has been to the utmost degree
Severe against what is exceptionable in the Play he mentions, without
dwelling so much as he might have done on the Author's most excellent
Talent of Humour. The pleasant Pictures he has drawn of Life, should
have been more kindly mentioned, at the same time that he banishes his
Witches, who are too dull Devils to be attacked with so much Warmth.
Mr.
Spectator1,
'
Upon a Report that
Moll White had followed you to Town, and was to
act a Part in the
Lancashire-Witches, I went last Week to see that
Play
2. It was my Fortune to sit next to a Country Justice of the
Peace, a Neighbour (as he said) of Sir
Roger's, who pretended to shew
her to us in one of the Dances. There was Witchcraft enough in the
Entertainment almost to incline me to believe him;
Ben Johnson was
almost lamed; young
Bullock narrowly saved his Neck; the Audience
was astonished, and an old Acquaintance of mine, a Person of Worth,
whom I would have bowed to in the Pit, at two Yards distance did not
know me.
If you were what the Country People reported you, a white Witch, I
could have wished you had been there to have exorcised that Rabble of
Broomsticks, with which we were haunted for above three Hours. I could
have allowed them to set
Clod in the Tree, to have scared the
Sportsmen, plagued the Justice, and employed honest
Teague with his
holy Water. This was the proper Use of them in Comedy, if the Author
had stopped here; but I cannot conceive what Relation the Sacrifice of
the Black Lamb, and the Ceremonies of their Worship to the Devil, have
to the Business of Mirth and Humour.
The Gentleman who writ this Play, and has drawn some Characters in it
very justly, appears to have been misled in his Witchcraft by an
unwary following the inimitable
Shakespear. The Incantations in
Mackbeth have a Solemnity admirably adapted to the Occasion of that
Tragedy, and fill the Mind with a suitable Horror; besides, that the
Witches are a Part of the Story it self, as we find it very
particularly related in
Hector Bœtius, from whom he seems to have
taken it. This therefore is a proper Machine where the Business is
dark, horrid, and bloody; but is extremely foreign from the Affair of
Comedy. Subjects of this kind, which are in themselves disagreeable,
can at no time become entertaining, but by passing through an
Imagination like
Shakespear's to form them;
for which Reason Mr.
Dryden would not allow even
Beaumont and
Fletcher capable of
imitating him.
But Shakespear's
Magick cou'd not copy'd be,
Within that Circle none durst walk but He3.
I should not, however, have troubled you with these Remarks, if there
were not something else in this Comedy, which wants to be exorcised more
than the Witches. I mean the Freedom of some Passages, which I should
have overlook'd, if I had not observed that those Jests can raise the
loudest Mirth, though they are painful to right Sense, and an Outrage
upon Modesty.
We must attribute such Liberties to the Taste of that Age, but indeed by
such Representations a Poet sacrifices the best Part of his Audience to
the worst; and, as one would think, neglects the Boxes, to write to the
Orange-Wenches.
I must not conclude till I have taken notice of the Moral with which
this Comedy ends. The two young Ladies having given a notable Example of
outwitting those who had a Right in the Disposal of them, and marrying
without Consent of Parents, one of the injur'd Parties, who is easily
reconciled, winds up all with this Remark,
... Design whate'er we will,
There is a Fate which over-rules us still.
We are to suppose that the Gallants are Men of Merit, but if they had
been Rakes the Excuse might have serv'd as well.
Hans Carvel's
Wife
4 was
of the same Principle, but has express'd it with a
Delicacy which shews she is not serious in her Excuse, but in a sort
of humorous Philosophy turns off the Thought of her Guilt, and says,
That if weak Women go astray,
Their Stars are more in fault than they.
This, no doubt, is a full Reparation, and dismisses the Audience with
very edifying Impressions.
These things fall under a Province you have partly pursued already,
and therefore demand your Animadversion, for the regulating so Noble
an Entertainment as that of the Stage. It were to be wished, that all
who write for it hereafter would raise their Genius, by the Ambition
of pleasing People of the best Understanding; and leave others who
shew nothing of the Human Species but Risibility, to seek their
Diversion at the Bear-Garden, or some other Privileg'd Place, where
Reason and Good-manners have no Right to disturb them.'
August 8, 1711.
I am, &c.
T.
This letter is by John Hughes.
Shadwell's Play of the
Lancashire Witches
was in the bill
of the Theatre advertised at the end of this number of the
Spectator
.
'By her Majesty's Company of Comedians.
At the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, on Tuesday next, being the 14th
Day of August, will be presented, A comedy call'd the Lancashire
Witches, Written by the Ingenious Mr. Shadwell, late Poet Laureat.
Carefully Revis'd. With all the Original Decorations of Scenes,
Witche's Songs and Dances, proper to the Dramma. The Principal Parts
to be perform'd by Mr. Mills, Mr. Booth, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Bullock,
Sen., Mr. Norris, Mr. Pack, Mr. Bullock, Jun., Mrs. Elrington, Mrs.
Powel, Mrs. Bradshaw, Mrs. Cox. And the Witches by Mr. Burkhead, Mr.
Ryan, Mrs. Mills, and Mrs. Willis. It being the last time of Acting in
this Season.'
Prologue to Davenant and Dryden's version of the
Tempest
.
In Prior's Poem of
Hans Carvel
.
Contents
|
Monday, August 13, 1711 |
Steele |
following Letters being Genuine
, and the Images of a Worthy
Passion, I am willing to give the old Lady's Admonition to my self, and
the Representation of her own Happiness, a Place in my Writings.
August 9, 1711.
Mr.
Spectator,
'I am now in the sixty seventh Year of my Age, and read you with
Approbation; but methinks you do not strike at the Root of the
greatest Evil in Life, which is the false Notion of Gallantry in Love.
It is, and has long been, upon a very ill Foot; but I, who have been a
Wife Forty Years, and was bred in a way that has made me ever since
very happy, see through the Folly of it. In a Word, Sir, when I was a
young Woman, all who avoided the Vices of the Age were very carefully
educated, and all fantastical Objects were turned out of our Sight.
The Tapestry Hangings, with the great and venerable Simplicity of the
Scripture Stories, had better Effects than now the Loves of
Venus and
Adonis or
Bacchus and
Ariadne in
your fine present Prints. The Gentleman I am married to made Love to
me in Rapture, but it was the Rapture of a Christian and a Man of
Honour, not a Romantick Hero or a Whining Coxcomb: This put our Life
upon a right Basis. To give you an Idea of our Regard one to another,
I inclose to you several of his Letters, writ Forty Years ago, when my
Lover; and one writ t'other Day, after so many Years Cohabitation.'
Your Servant,
Andromache.
August 7, 1671.
Madam,
'If my Vigilance and ten thousand Wishes for your Welfare and Repose
could have any force, you last Night slept in Security, and had
every good Angel in your Attendance. To have my Thoughts ever fixed
on you, to live in constant Fear of every Accident to which Human
Life is liable, and to send up my hourly Prayers to avert 'em from
you; I say, Madam, thus to think, and thus to suffer, is what I do
for Her who is in Pain at my Approach, and calls all my tender
Sorrow Impertinence. You are now before my Eyes, my Eyes that are
ready to flow with Tenderness, but cannot give relief to my gushing
Heart, that dictates what I am now Saying, and yearns to tell you
all its Achings. How art thou, oh my Soul, stoln from thy self! How
is all thy Attention broken! My Books are blank Paper, and my
Friends Intruders. I have no hope of Quiet but from your Pity; To
grant it, would make more for your Triumph. To give Pain is the
Tyranny, to make Happy the true Empire of Beauty. If you would
consider aright, you'd find an agreeable Change in dismissing the
Attendance of a Slave, to receive the Complaisance of a Companion. I
bear the former in hopes of the latter Condition: As I live in
Chains without murmuring at the Power which inflicts 'em, so I could
enjoy Freedom without forgetting the Mercy that gave it.'
Madam, I am
Your most devoted, most obedient Servant.
Tho' I made him no Declarations in his Favour, you see he had Hopes
of Me when he writ this in the Month following.
Madam, September 3, 1671.
'Before the Light this Morning dawned upon the Earth I awaked, and lay
in Expectation of its return, not that it cou'd give any new Sense of
Joy to me, but as I hoped it would bless you with its chearful Face,
after a Quiet which I wish'd you last Night. If my Prayers are heard,
the Day appeared with all the Influence of a Merciful Creator upon
your Person and Actions. Let others, my lovely Charmer, talk of a
blind Being that disposes their Hearts, I contemn their low Images of
Love. I have not a Thought which relates to you, that I cannot with
Confidence beseech the All-seeing Power to bless me in. May he direct
you in all your Steps, and reward your Innocence, your Sanctity of
Manners, your Prudent Youth, and becoming Piety, with the Continuance
of his Grace and Protection. This is an unusual Language to Ladies;
but you have a Mind elevated above the giddy Motions of a Sex insnared
by Flattery, and misled by a false and short Adoration into a solid
and long Contempt. Beauty, my fairest Creature, palls in the
Possession, but I love also your Mind; your Soul is as dear to me as
my own; and if the Advantages of a liberal Education, some Knowledge,
and as much Contempt of the World, join'd with the Endeavours towards
a Life of strict Virtue and Religion, can qualify me to raise new
Ideas in a Breast so well disposed as yours is, our Days will pass
away with Joy; and old Age, instead of introducing melancholy
Prospects of Decay, give us hope of Eternal Youth in a better Life. I
have but few Minutes from the Duty of my Employment to write in, and
without time to read over what I have writ, therefore beseech you to
pardon the first Hints of my Mind, which I have expressed in so little
Order.
I am, dearest Creature,
Your most Obedient,
most Devoted Servant.'
The two next were written after the Day of our Marriage was fixed.
September 25, 1671
Madam,
'It is the hardest thing in the World to be in Love, and yet attend
Business. As for me, all that speak to me find me out, and I must
lock myself up, or other People will do it for me. A Gentleman asked
me this Morning what News from Holland, and I answered, 'She's
Exquisitely handsome'. Another desir'd to know when I had been last
at Windsor, I reply'd, 'She designs to go with me'. Prethee, allow
me at least to kiss your Hand before the appointed Day, that my Mind
may be in some Composure. Methinks I could write a Volume to you,
but all the Language on Earth would fail in saying how much, and
with what dis-interested Passion,
I am ever Yours.
September 30, 1671.
Seven in the Morning.
Dear Creature,
Next to the Influence of Heav'n, I am to thank you that I see the
returning Day with Pleasure. To pass my Evenings in so sweet a
Conversation, and have the Esteem of a Woman of your Merit, has in
it a Particularity of Happiness no more to be express'd than
return'd. But I am, my Lovely Creature, contented to be on the
obliged Side, and to employ all my Days in new Endeavours to
convince you and all the World of the Sense I have of your
Condescension in Chusing,
Madam, Your Most Faithful,
Most Obedient Humble Servant.
He was, when he writ the following Letter, as agreeable and pleasant
a Man as any in England.
October 20, 1671.
Madam,
I Beg Pardon that my Paper is not Finer, but I am forced to write
from a Coffee-house where I am attending about Business. There is a
dirty Crowd of Busie Faces all around me talking of Mony, while all
my Ambition, all my Wealth is Love: Love which animates my Heart,
sweetens my Humour, enlarges my Soul, and affects every Action of my
Life. 'Tis to my lovely Charmer I owe that many noble Ideas are
continually affix'd to my Words and Actions: 'Tis the natural Effect
of that generous Passion to create in the Admirer some Similitude of
the Object admired; thus, my Dear, am I every Day to improve from so
sweet a Companion. Look up, my Fair One, to that Heaven which made
thee such, and join with me to implore its Influence on our tender
innocent Hours, and beseech the Author of Love to bless the Rites he
has ordained, and mingle with our Happiness a just Sense of our
transient Condition, and a Resignation to his Will, which only can
regulate our Minds to a steady Endeavour to please him and each
other.
I am, for Ever,
your Faithful Servant.
I will not trouble you with more Letters at this time, but if you
saw the poor withered Hand which sends you these Minutes, I am sure
you will smile to think that there is one who is so gallant as to
speak of it still as so welcome a Present, after forty Years
Possession of the Woman whom he writes to.
June 23, 1711.
Madam,
I Heartily beg your Pardon for my Omission to write Yesterday. It
was of no Failure of my tender Regard for you; but having been very
much perplexed in my Thoughts on the Subject of my last, made me
determine to suspend speaking of it 'till I came to myself. But, my
Lovely Creature, know it is not in the Power of Age, or Misfortune,
or any other Accident which hangs over Human Life, to take from me
the pleasing Esteem I have for you, or the Memory of the bright
Figure you appeared in when you gave your Hand and Heart to,
Madam,
Your most Grateful Husband,
and Obedient
Servant.
They are, after the first, with a few changes of phrase and
the alteration of date proper to the design of this paper, copies of
Steele's own love-letters addressed to Mrs. Scurlock, in August and
September, 1707; except the last, a recent one, written since marriage.
Contents
|
Tuesday, August 14, 1711 |
Steele |
It is an unreasonable thing some Men expect of their Acquaintance. They
are ever complaining that they are out of Order, or Displeased, or they
know not how, and are so far from letting that be a Reason for retiring
to their own Homes, that they make it their Argument for coming into
Company. What has any body to do with Accounts of a Man's being
Indispos'd but his Physician? If a Man laments in Company, where the
rest are in Humour enough to enjoy themselves, he should not take it ill
if a Servant is ordered to present him with a Porringer of Cawdle or
Posset-drink, by way of Admonition that he go Home to Bed. That Part of
Life which we ordinarily understand by the Word Conversation, is an
Indulgence to the Sociable Part of our Make; and should incline us to
bring our Proportion of good Will or good Humour among the Friends we
meet with, and not to trouble them with Relations which must of
necessity oblige them to a real or feigned Affliction. Cares,
Distresses, Diseases, Uneasinesses, and Dislikes of our own, are by no
means to be obtruded upon our Friends. If we would consider how little
of this Vicissitude of Motion and Rest, which we call Life, is spent
with Satisfaction, we should be more tender of our Friends, than to
bring them little Sorrows which do not belong to them. There is no real
Life, but chearful Life; therefore Valetudinarians should be sworn
before they enter into Company, not to say a Word of themselves till the
Meeting breaks up.
is not here pretended, that we should be always
sitting
with Chaplets of Flowers round our Heads, or be crowned
with Roses, in order to make our Entertainment agreeable to us; but if
(as it is usually observed) they who resolve to be Merry, seldom are so;
it will be much more unlikely for us to be well-pleased, if they are
admitted who are always complaining they are sad. Whatever we do we
should keep up the Chearfulness of our Spirits, and never let them sink
below an Inclination at least to be well-pleased: The Way to this, is to
keep our Bodies in Exercise, our Minds at Ease. That insipid State
wherein neither are in Vigour, is not to be accounted any part of our
Portion of Being. When we are in the Satisfaction of some Innocent
Pleasure, or Pursuit of some laudable Design, we are in the Possession
of Life, of Human Life. Fortune will give us Disappointments enough, and
Nature is attended with Infirmities enough, without our adding to the
unhappy Side of our Account by our Spleen or ill Humour. Poor
Cottilus
, among so many real Evils, a Chronical Distemper and a
narrow Fortune, is never heard to complain: That equal Spirit of his,
which any Man may have, that, like him, will conquer Pride, Vanity and
Affectation, and follow Nature, is not to be broken, because it has no
Points to contend for. To be anxious for nothing but what Nature demands
as necessary, if it is not the Way to an Estate, is the Way to what Men
aim at by getting an Estate. This Temper will preserve Health in the
Body, as well as Tranquility in the Mind.
Cottilus
sees the World in a
Hurry, with the same Scorn that a Sober Person sees a Man Drunk. Had he
been contented with what he ought to have been, how could, says he, such
a one have met with such a Disappointment? If another had valued his
Mistress for what he ought to have lov'd her, he had not been in her
Power. If her Virtue had had a Part of his Passion, her Levity had been
his Cure; she could not then have been false and amiable at the same
time.
Since we cannot promise ourselves constant Health, let us endeavour at
such a Temper as may be our best Support in the Decay of it.
Uranius
has arrived at that Composure of Soul, and wrought himself up to such a
Neglect of every thing with which the Generality of Mankind is
enchanted, that nothing but acute Pains can give him Disturbance, and
against those too he will tell his intimate Friends he has a Secret
which gives him present Ease:
Uranius
is so thoroughly perswaded of
another Life, and endeavours so sincerely to secure an Interest in it,
that he looks upon Pain but as a quickening of his Pace to an Home,
where he shall be better provided for than in his present Apartment.
Instead of the melancholy Views which others are apt to give themselves,
he will tell you that he has forgot he is Mortal, nor will he think of
himself as such. He thinks at the Time of his Birth he entered into an
Eternal Being; and the short Article of Death he will not allow an
Interruption of Life, since that Moment is not of half the Duration as
is his ordinary Sleep. Thus is his Being one uniform and consistent
Series of chearful Diversions and moderate Cares, without Fear or Hope
of Futurity. Health to him is more than Pleasure to another Man, and
Sickness less affecting to him than Indisposition is to others.
I must confess, if one does not regard Life after this manner, none but
Ideots can pass it away with any tolerable Patience. Take a Fine Lady
who is of a Delicate Frame, and you may observe from the Hour she rises
a certain Weariness of all that passes about her. I know more than one
who is much too nice to be quite alive. They are sick of such strange
frightful People that they meet; one is so awkward, and another so
disagreeable, that it looks like a Penance to breathe the same Air with
them. You see this is so very true, that a great Part of Ceremony and
Good-breeding among Ladies turns upon their Uneasiness; and I'll
undertake, if the How-d'ye Servants of our Women were to make a Weekly
Bill of Sickness, as the Parish Clerks do of Mortality, you would not
find in an Account of seven Days, one in Thirty that was not downright
Sick or indisposed, or but a very little better than she was, and so
forth.
It is certain that to enjoy Life and Health as a constant Feast, we
should not think Pleasure necessary, but, if possible, to arrive at an
Equality of Mind. It is as mean to be overjoyed upon Occasions of
Good-Fortune, as to be dejected in Circumstances of Distress. Laughter
in one Condition is as unmanly as Weeping in the other. We should not
form our Minds to expect Transport on every Occasion, but know how to
make it Enjoyment to be out of Pain. Ambition, Envy, vagrant Desire, or
impertinent Mirth will take up our Minds, without we can possess our
selves in that Sobriety of Heart which is above all Pleasures, and can
be felt much better than described. But the ready Way, I believe, to the
right Enjoyment of Life, is by a Prospect towards another to have but a
very mean Opinion of it.
great Author of our Time has set this in an
excellent Light, when with a Philosophick Pity of Human Life, he spoke
of it in his
Theory of the Earth
, in the following manner.
For what is this Life but a Circulation of little mean Actions? We
lie down and rise again, dress and undress, feed and wax hungry, work or
play, and are weary, and then we lie down again, and the Circle returns.
We spend the Day in Trifles, and when the Night comes we throw our
selves into the Bed of Folly, amongst Dreams and broken Thoughts, and
wild Imaginations. Our Reason lies asleep by us, and we are for the Time
as arrant Brutes as those that sleep in the Stalls or in the Field. Are
not the Capacities of Man higher than these? And ought not his Ambition
and Expectations to be greater? Let us be Adventurers for another World:
'Tis at least a fair and noble Chance; and there is nothing in this
worth our Thoughts or our Passions. If we should be disappointed, we are
still no worse than the rest of our Fellow-Mortals; and if we succeed in
our Expectations, we are Eternally Happy.
sit
Ed. Amsterdam, 1699, p. 241.
Contents
|
Wednesday, August 15, 1711 |
Steele |
... Nôris quam elegans formarum
Spectator siem.
Ter.
translation
Beauty has been the Delight and Torment of the World ever since it
began. The Philosophers have felt its Influence so sensibly, that almost
every one of them has left us some Saying or other, which has intimated
that he too well knew the Power of it. One
has
us, that a
graceful Person is a more powerful Recommendation than the best Letter
that can be writ in your Favour. Another
desires the Possessor of it
to consider it as a meer Gift of Nature, and not any Perfection of his
own. A Third
calls it a short liv'd Tyranny; a Fourth
, a silent
Fraud, because it imposes upon us without the Help of Language; but I
think
Carneades
spoke as much like a Philosopher as any of them,
tho' more like a Lover, when he call'd it Royalty without Force. It is
not indeed to be denied, that there is something irresistible in a
Beauteous Form; the most Severe will not pretend, that they do not feel
an immediate Prepossession in Favour of the Handsome. No one denies them
the Privilege of being first heard, and being regarded before others in
Matters of ordinary Consideration. At the same time the Handsome should
consider that it is a Possession, as it were, foreign to them. No one
can give it himself, or preserve it when they have it. Yet so it is,
that People can bear any Quality in the World better than Beauty. It is
the Consolation of all who are naturally too much affected with the
Force of it, that a little Attention, if a Man can attend with Judgment,
will cure them. Handsome People usually are so fantastically pleas'd
with themselves, that if they do not kill at first Sight, as the Phrase
is, a second Interview disarms them of all their Power. But I shall make
this Paper rather a Warning-piece to give Notice where the Danger is,
than to propose Instructions how to avoid it when you have fallen in the
way of it. Handsome Men shall be the Subject of another Chapter, the
Women shall take up the present Discourse.
Amaryllis
, who has been in Town but one Winter, is extreamly
improved with the Arts of Good-Breeding, without leaving Nature. She has
not lost the Native Simplicity of her Aspect, to substitute that
Patience of being stared at, which is the usual Triumph and Distinction
of a Town Lady. In Publick Assemblies you meet her careless Eye
diverting itself with the Objects around her, insensible that she her
self is one of the brightest in the Place.
Dulcissa
is quite
of
another Make, she is almost a Beauty by
Nature, but more than one by Art. If it were possible for her to let her
Fan or any Limb about her rest, she would do some Part of the Execution
she meditates; but tho' she designs her self a Prey she will not stay to
be taken. No Painter can give you Words for the different Aspects of
Dulcissa
in half a Moment, whereever she appears: So little does
she accomplish what she takes so much pains for, to be gay and careless.
Merab
is attended with all the Charms of Woman and
Accomplishments of Man. It is not to be doubted but she has a great deal
of Wit, if she were not such a Beauty; and she would have more Beauty
had she not so much Wit. Affectation prevents her Excellencies from
walking together. If she has a Mind to speak such a Thing, it must be
done with such an Air of her Body; and if she has an Inclination to look
very careless, there is such a smart Thing to be said at the same Time,
that the Design of being admired destroys it self. Thus the unhappy
Merab
, tho' a Wit and Beauty, is allowed to be neither, because
she will always be both.
Albacinda
has the Skill as well as Power of pleasing. Her Form is
majestick, but her Aspect humble. All good Men should beware of the
Destroyer. She will speak to you like your Sister, till she has you
sure; but is the most vexatious of Tyrants when you are so. Her
Familiarity of Behaviour, her indifferent Questions, and general
Conversation, make the silly Part of her Votaries full of Hopes, while
the wise fly from her Power. She well knows she is too Beautiful and too
Witty to be indifferent to any who converse with her, and therefore
knows she does not lessen herself by Familiarity, but gains Occasions of
Admiration, by seeming Ignorance of her Perfections.