but they may be much more fo from the Danger of his fucceeding, toward which they give him an helping Hand, if they diffwade her with Bitterness; for there is a fantastical Generosity in the Sex, to approve Creatures of the leaft Merit imaginable, when they fee the Imperfections of their Admirers are become Marks of Derifion for their Sakes; and there is nothing fo frequent, as that he who was contemptible to a Woman in her own Judgment, has won her by being too violently oppofed by others. Grecian Coffee-house, July 27. In the feveral Capacities I bear, of Astrologer, Civilian, and Physician, I have with great Application ftudied the publick Emolument : To this End ferve all my Lucubrations, Speculations, and whatever other Labours I undertake, whether nocturnal or diurnal. On this Motive am I induced to publish a never-failing Medicine for the Spleen: My Experience in this Distemper came from a very remarkable Cure on my ever worthy Friend Tom Spindle, who, thro' exceffive Gaiety, had exhausted that natural Stock of Wit and Spirits he had long been bleffed with He was funk and flattened to the lowest Degree imaginable, fitting whole Hours over the Book of Martyrs, and Pilgrims Progrefs; his other Contemplations never rifing higher than the Colour of his Urine, or Regularity of his Pulle. In this Condition I found him, accompanied by the learned Dr. Drachm, and a good old Nurse. Drachm had prescribed Magazines of Herbs, and Mines of Steel. I foon dif Cover'd cover'd the Malady, and defcanted on the Nature of it, till I convinced both the Patient and his Nurse, that the Spleen is not to be cured by Medicine, but by Poetry. Apollo, the Author of Phyfick, fhone with diffufive Rays the best of Poets as well as of Phyficians; and it is in this double Capacity that I have made my Way, and have found, fweet, easy, flowring Numbers, are oft fuperior to our noblest Medicines. When the Spirits are low, and Nature funk, the Muse, with sprightly and harmonious Notes, gives an unexpected Turn with a Grain of Poetry, which I prepare without the Ufe of Mercury. I have done Wonders in this Kind; for the Spleen is like the Tarantula, the Effects of whofe malignant Poifon are to be prevented by no other Remedy but the Charms of Mufick: For you are to understand, that as fome noxious Animals carry Antidotes for their own Poisons ; so there is something equally unaccountable in Poetry For tho' it is fometimes a Disease, it is to be cured only by it felf. Now I knowing Tom Spindle's Constitution, and that he is not only a pretty Gentleman, but also a pretty Poet, found the true Cause of his Diftemper was a violent Grief that moved his Affections too strongly For during the late Treaty of Peace, he had writ a moft excellent Poem on that Subject; and when he wanted but two Lines in the last Stanza for finishing the whole Piece, there comes News that the French Tyrant would not fign. Spindle in a few Days took his Bed, and had lain there still, had not I been fent for. I immediately told him, there was great Cc 2 great Probability the French would now fue to us for Peace. I faw immediately a new Life in his Eyes; and knew, That nothing could help him forward fo well, as hearing Verfes which he would believe worse than his own; I read him therefore the Bruffels Poftfcript. After which I recited fome Heroick Lines of my own, which operated fo ftrongly on the Tympanum of his Ear, that I doubt not but I have kept out all other Sounds for a Fortnight; and have Reafon to hope, we fhall fee him abroad the Day before his Poem. This you fee, is a particular Secret I have found out, viz. That you are not to chufe your Phyfician for his Knowledge in your Distemper, but for having it himself. Therefore I am at Hand for all Maladies arifing from Poetical Vapours, beyond which I never pretend. For being called the other Day to one in Love, I took indeed their Three Guinea's, and gave them my Advice; which was, to fend for Æfculapius. 7 fculapius, as foon as he saw the Patient, cries out, 'Tis Love! 'Tis Love! Oh! the unequal Pulfe! These are the Symptoms a Lover feels fuch Sighs, fuch Pangs, attend the uneasy Mind; nor can our Art, or all our boafted Skill, avail Yet O Fair! for thee Thus the Sage ran on, and owned the Paffion which he pitied, as well as that he felt a greater Pain than ever he cured: After which he concluded, All I can advise, is Marriage: Charms and Beauty will give new Life and Vigour, and turn the Course of Nature to its better Profpect. This is the new Way; and thus fculapius has left his beloved Pow ders, ders, and writes a Recipe for a Wife at Sixty. In short, my Friend followed the Prescription, and married Youth and Beauty in its perfect Bloom. Supine in Silvia's Snowy Arms he lies, From my own Apartment, July 27. Tragical Paffion was the Subject of the Dif courfe where I laft vifited this Evening; and a Gentleman who knows that I am at prefent writing a very deep Tragedy, directed his Difcourfe in a particular Manner to me. It is the common Fault (faid he) of you, Gentlemen, who write in the Buskin Style, that you give us rather the Sentiments of fuch who behold Tragical Events, than of fuch who bear a Part in 'em themselves. I would advise all who pretend this Way, to read Shakespear with Care, and they will foon be deterred from putting forth what is ufually called Tragedy. The Way of common Writers in this Kind, is rather the Defcription, than the Expreffion of Sorrow. There is no Medium in thefe Attempts; and you mult go to the very Bottom of the Heart, or it is all mere Language; and the Writer of fuch Lines is no more a Poet, than a Man is a Phyfician for knowing the Names of Diftempers, without the Causes of them. Men of Sense are profeffed Enemies to all fuch empty Labours: For he who pretends to be forrowful, and is not, is a Wretch yet more contemptible than he Cc 3 who who pretends to be merry, and is not. Such a Tragedian is only maudlin drunk. The Gentleman went on with much Warmth; but all he could fay had little Effect upon me: But when I came hither, I fo far obfery'd his Counsel, that I looked into Shakespear. The Tragedy I dipped into was, Harry the Fourth. In the Scene where Morton is preparing to tell Northumberland of his Son's Death; the old Man does not give him Time to speak, but says, The Whiteness of thy Cheeks Is apter than thy Tongue to tell thy Errand; Even fuch a Man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, fo dead in Look, fo Woe Be gone. Drew Priam's Curtain at the Dead of Night, And would have told him Half his Troy was burnt: But Priam found the Fire e're he his Tongue, And I my Percy's Death e're thou report'st it. The Image in this Place is wonderfully noble and great; yet this Man in all this is but rifing towards his great Affliction, and is still enough himself, as you fee, to make a Simile: But when he is certain of his Son's Death, he is loft to all Patience, and gives up all the Regards of this Life; and fince the last of Evils is fallen upon him, he calls for it upon all the World. Now let not Nature's Hand On |