Prefaces to Four Seventeenth-Century Romances

Αλλὰ γαρ ὧς τοίηπερ ἐοῦς᾽ ἐν νηυσὶ νεέσθω
μηδ᾽ ἡμῖν τεκέεσσί τ᾽ ὀπίσσω πῆμα λίποιτο, i. e.

But though She’s such, let her return, and make
An end of what we suffer for her sake.

I could easily name them, but that Labour is needless to such as know books: and to those which do not, I ought not, by making a Catalogue, to give notice of such as I could wish burnt. If they were, they would not be greatly miss’d, as to that propriety of speech unto which they lay claim, and for which they are magnified by their Readers; because the best Languages used in the world, may as well be learn’d from Authors that are as Elegant as Chaste.

For these reasons I think the Noble Mountaigne gave a great proof of his early wisdome, in that, as he saies, Quant aux Amadis, et telles sortes d’escrits, ils n’ont pas eu le credit d’arrester seulement mon enfance, i.e. Amadis and such like trash of VVriting; had not so much credit with him, as to allure his youth to delight in them. And upon the same considerations one may well judge some Excellent Wits thrown away in writing great stories of Nothing; and that others lose their unvaluable Time whilst they reade them. And the rather, because, besides the direct losse, they leave the Memory so full of fantasticall images of things which are not, that they cannot easily dismisse them: the Fancy being held in the amusement of those foolish Dreames, as we are in Sleep with the various representations of severall things, which never were nor will be in such Ridiculous Conjunctions. And when the Reader considers how prettily he hath abused himself, yet cannot he presently dispossesse his fancy of those vain Imaginations which he hath entertain’d, but is still haunted with them, and much indispos’d in Mind for more worthy Considerations; as troublesome Dreams often leave the Body not so well affected.

There is no doubt but that most Readers of such things, ingenuously examining what beneficiall use they could make of the gains reaped from their Studies, would find themselves hard put to it to name a better then the Great VVit was forc’d to, who said, when he thought to retire from his Extravagancies, and to repose his wearied Spirit, and it still pester’d him with an orderlesse rabble of troublesome Chimæras, he resolv’d to keep a Register of them, hoping by that meanes one day to make it asham’d, and blush at it self.

It is no wonder that these Fooleries are not easily thrown off, because of that deep impression which they make upon the affectionate part, through the cunning inveglements of Fancy. For men having indulg’d Imagination, and play’d carelesly with its Fantasms, unawares take vehement pleasure in things which they do not believe, and weep for such inconsiderable reasons, that afterward they laugh at themselves for it, and read Fables with such affections, as if their own or their friends best interest were wrapp’d up in them. What strong Expectation have they for the Issue of a doubtfull Design? How unsatisfied are they till the End of a paper-Combate? What fears possesse them for the Knight whose part they take? How passionately are they delighted with the Description of a Castle built in the aire? How ravish’d upon the conceit of Beauties which owe themselves only to the paint which came out of the Poets Ink-pot? How are they taken with pleasure and sorrow for the good and bad success of the Romantick Lovers? They are apt also to draw to themselves or their friends such things as they read in far-fetch’d references: if the resemblances suite in some little points, they seem to do and suffer such things; and what fits not they endeavour to patch up with some feign’d coherency.

But if in the midst of this busie Idlenesse they would admit a severe consideration of more important duties neglected the while, a few disentangled thoughts would rout the Troop of their fond Imaginations.

Some peradventure not altogether satisfied with that which I have said, may reply, What, then is Fancy uselesse? Is it not one of the naturall faculties of the Soul? Were any of them made to no purpose? Is there any more proper entertainment for it then the Conceit and Language of a well-form’d Romance? Many books, which pretend to declare better matters to us, do it so jejunely, that it is a work of more then ordinary patience to give them the reading; and we are put into a doubt, whether or no those who wrote them did intend any should make use of their Understandings in the perusall of them, or whether they were able to give that which others would expect as a reasonable satisfaction. Besides, we perceive many Books of grave Titles so afflicted with Disputes about troublesome niceties and trifling Capriccio’s, that wise persons find the books as little of kin to their Names, as the Contents are of small Furtherance to their best Concernments.

To these things I answer; Fancy is not uselesse, and may as lawfully be gratified with excellent forms of Invention, as the Eye may entertain it self with the Beauty of well-plac’d Colours, or the Sense of Smelling please it self with the odours of a delicious Rose. But though it be a Naturall Faculty, yet it is under discipline of the Supreme Governesse of Soul and Body, Reason; and when it wanders without its Keeper, out-staying its time in allowed diversions, or transgressing the limits of such Subjects as sound Judgement permits, it returns abus’d with hurtfull delight, and instead of being us’d decently, is unworthily prostituted: in whose behalf the Rationall Guide, which is not farre off, will take notice and complain, as it doth often, and whip the Vagrant, and not spare to reproach it with the cheap reward of foolish recreation, for the enjoyment of which she mispent the time which she took from her Prayers, and, it may be, for the reading of an Idle Story neglected the Examination of her Conscience; and afterward is made to understand that the same pleasure which was pretended to be sought abroad, is to be found at Home. For Reason is no such severe Mistresse as to detain us with Awe that is void of Love and Joy; but besides the solid Complacencies of Vertue, allows also the chearfull entertainments of Wit and Fancy. There are Books good store where Truths of greatest Importance are presented neither besmeared with loathsome Nonsence, nor blended with unprofitable Disputes, which adde nothing to Religion, but trouble and darknesse, and where Excellent sense and good words offer themselves in such lovely Embraces, that they are a perfect content to all beholders but such as cannot Fancy, Understand and Love. Wit and ability of mind do so shine in many Religious Discourses, that we cannot justly make that pretended defect an Excuse for our deferring of sober studies. Now God forbid that we should think his Gifts so imprudently thrown amongst men, that none should be able to get them that would use them to the adorning of that which most deserves it, Vertue; which, though by reason of its innate beauty it least needs any adventitious ornament, yet doth not scorn the light vaile of Romance, if it be of that fashion which I shall by and by describe.

It were a thing to be wondred at, that by many nothing is esteem’d witty, except Poetry and Romances, but that want of Judgement doth notoriously discover it self in those persons who are highly pleas’d with pittifull things. Divers of their admired Authors are so empty of true worth, that if the entire sense of their books were summ’d up, it would onely amount to some small matter as triviall as uselesse: And if most of them, whether Antient or Modern, were examined with a Judicious Eye, they would appear to be full of the grossest Indecorum’s of Invention, as odious misrepresentations of Divinity, unnaturall Descriptions of Humane Life, Improper and Prophane Allusions to Sacred Things, frequent and palpable Contradictions, Sottish stories, and in short, all the absurdities of wild Imagination. I need not verifie this by bringing together those great multitudes of Instances which abound in that sort of books written in the Greek, Latin, Italian and French Languages. If any desire, they may see it done largely in the Extravagant Shepheard, especially in the Speech of Clarimond in the 13th. book, not long since translated by Mr. Davies.

For my own part I do not desire that all books should be as dull as many are, and none compos’d, as all are not, to delight; but I would have that delight true, and the quicknesse not evaporate into Lightnesse and Vanity. Is there no joy but laughter? Doth nothing recreate but what is fabulous? Such as do not like true happinesse, because it is a serious thing, have a reasonable Soul bestowed upon them in vain, and would have been better pleas’d if God had made them worse, and more content if God had not design’d them to so Noble an End. But those which like nothing except what goes in a plain Rode of talk, may as reasonably desire every body to spell, when they read. Such as would not have Truth presented in ingenious Schemes of Discourse, do foolishly condemn the wisdom of the Antients, some of which we may not reprove without a kind of Blasphemy: and whilst they understand not the Excellent use of Apologues, Parables, and such like Modes of signification, they are sufficiently answer’d by the Confession of their own Ignorance. There are severall spirits in the World; some will take a thing one way, that will not another. A Physitian will not wisely quarrell with his Patient, because he refuseth to take the Pill unlesse it be guilded. There are also some persons that need to have some things told them, which because they are guarded with the stately Circumstance of Worldly Quality, one cannot so easily come near them as in a Disguise.

There are some brave minds, in whom Riches of Conceit are attended with incomparable Expression: and Truth is not unwilling to be dress’d by such; and those which revile them for their paines, are justly abhorr’d for their Envy, or pitied for their Ignorance. Its a mischief that distresses most little Capacities, impotently to desire that all others should be constituted after their size; and having passionately, but foolishly, wish’d such a thing a great while, at last they begin to believe that what they desire is so indeed.

It is an ungratefull folly and a pride to be laugh’d at, when men are unwilling that others should endeavour to further their Good, because they gave them not leave to prescribe them the way for doing of it: but they should consider, that there may be such in the world which understand that which themselves do not, and are delighted with such things as they contemn.

But some that mean well, and think they are not mistaken in the sense of their proposition, humbly desire that those Excellent Wits would lay their design of Romance deeper then the Shallows of Fancy; that so the Reader may not stick upon every Shelf of Fiction, and that the streams of Wit be made navigable for the Importation of such Wisdom as is necessary for our best life. The design to please is then as well accomplished; but not terminating in the surface of Recreation, it is improv’d into a higher advantage of those nobler faculties which God hath given us.

They think also that the Way to this End is miss’d, when the Authors account their Contrivance poor, unless they can sail under water too. As when there is no morall design of making men better, the Work is done but by the Halves, as we say: so if that lie under ground in such deep conceits as but few can dive into the bottom of them, their labour is so far only not lost, as that some who are more ingenious will take the pains to understand what they meant.

To conclude, I have not all this while spoke my own Hopes concerning what I have perform’d in this work, but my wishes were hearty that it might neither displease nor be unprofitable. Whereas I have in severall places reprov’d some things frequently found amongst Men, I only plead, that since they make no scruple of acting unworthily, I though: I might much more justly take liberty to talk of it. And since you have had the patience to be acquainted with what I would have done, if any body be pleas’d with that which is written, I shall not be discouraged, but if they be profited too, then I shall think that I have not laboured in vain.

SUCH AN ACCOUNT Of the following BOOK, Sent with it to a FRIEND; As may serve instead of a PREFACE

To convince you, Sir, how much more I am concern’d to have you think, I can Obey well, than Write well; I venture to send you the Account, (as imperfect and unpolish’d as it is) that you are pleas’d to command Of the last Hours of Theodora. But I must beg your leave to accompany it with another Account (though but a short one) how I came to meddle with this Subject; and why what I present you about it, is so much Maim’d, and has no more Uniformity.

Having had occasion many years ago to turn over a Martyrology, and some other Books, that related to the Sufferings of the Primitive Christians; I chanc’d to light on those of a Virgin, who, though (to my wonder) she was left unnam’d by the other Writers that mentioned her, seem’d plainly to be the same, that is by one of them expresly call’d Theodora: I own, I was not a little affected, at the reading of such moving and uncommon adventures as hers: and finding her story to be related, by the Author that nam’d both her and her Lover, not only very succinctly and imperfectly, but very dully too; I found my self tempted so to enlarge this Story, as that it might be contriv’d into a somewhat voluminous Romance: But upon second thoughts, it appeared incongruous to turn a Martyr into a Nymph or an Amazon: And I consider’d too, that (to omit what else might be objected against that sort of Composures) as true Pearls are Cordials and Antidotes, which counterfeit ones, how fine soever they may appear, are not; so True Examples do arm and fortify the mind far more efficaciously, than Imaginary or Fictitious ones can do; and the fabulous labours of Hercules, and Exploits of Arthur of Britain, will never make men aspire to Heroick Vertue half so powerfully, as the real Examples of Courage and Gallantry afforded by Jonathan Cæsar, or the Black Prince. But yet, thinking it great pity, that so shining a Vertue as Theodora’s should prove Exemplary, but to her own time, and to one City; and remembring, that soon after the Age which she Ennobl’d, it was counted among the Primitive Christians an act of Piety, to build fair Monuments, upon the formerly abject Graves of the Martyrs; to repay, by Honours done to their Memories, the indignities and Disgraces they had suffer’d in their Persons; I thought fit to try, if I could rescue from more unskilful Hands than even mine, a story that abundantly deserv’d to be well told.

But upon further thoughts, I soon foresaw, that this Task was not more worthy to be undertaken, than it would prove difficult to be well perform’d: For the Martyrologist having allow’d scarce one whole Page, to a Relation, that perhaps merited a Volume, had left so many Chasms, and so many necessary things unmentioned, that I plainly perceiv’d, I wanted a far greater number of Circumstances, than that he had supply’d me with to make up so maim’d a story tolerably compleat. And as the Relation deny’d me matter enough to work upon, so the nature of the Subject refus’d most of those Imbellishments which in other Themes, where young Gallants and fair Ladies are the chief Actors, are wont to supply the deficiences of the matter. Besides, my task was not near so easie as it would have been, if I had been only to recite the Intrigues of an Amour, with the liberty to feign surprizing adventures, to adorn the Historical part of the account, and to make a Lover speak as Passionately as I could, and his Mistress as Kindly as the indulgentest laws of decency would permit. But I was to introduce a Christian and pious Lover, who was to contain the expressions of his Flame within the narrow bounds of his Religion; and a Virgin, who, being as modest and discreet as handsom, and as devout as either, was to own an high Esteem for an excellent Lover, and an uncommon Gratitude to a transcendent Benefactor, without intrenching either upon her Vertue, or her Reservedness. And I perceiv’d the difficulty of my Task would be encreas’d, by that of Reconciling Theodora’s Scrupulousness to the humours of some young Persons of Quality of either Sex, who were earnest to engage my Pen on this occasion, and would expect that I should make Theodora more kind, than I thought her great Piety and strict Modesty would permit. But for all this; the esteem I had for the fair Martyrs Excellencies, and the compliance I had for those that desir’d to receive an account of so rare a Persons actions and Sufferings, made me resolve to try what I could do. Which I adventur’d upon with the less Reluctancy, because, though I esteem’d it a kind of Profaneness, to transform a piece of Martyrology into a Romance; yet I thought it allowable enough, where a Narrative was written so concisely, and left so unperfect, as That I had to descant upon; to make such supplements of Circumstances, as were not improbable in the nature of the thing, and were little less than necessary to the clearness and entireness of the Story, and the decent connection of the parts it should consist of. I suppos’d too, that I needed not scruple, to lend Speeches to the Persons I brought upon the Stage, provided they were suitable to the Speakers, and Occasions; since I was warranted by the Examples of Livy, Plutarch, and other Grave and Judicious Historians, who make no scruple to give us set Orations, of their own framing, and sometimes put them into the mouths of Generals at the head of their Armies, just going to give Battel: though at such times the hurry and distraction that both they and their Auditors must be in, must make it very unlikely, either that they should make elaborate Speeches, or their Hearers mind and remember them well enough to repeat them to the Historians.

Encourag’d by these Liberties, which I thought I might justly allow my self: I drew up, as well as I could, what you have been told I wrote about Theodora. This I thought fit to divide into two parts; in the first whereof, (which was less remote from being Romantick) I gave somewhat at large the Characters of them both. I mention’d the rise and progress of Didymus’s Love; the degeneracy of the then Christians, which provok’d Divine Providence, to expose them to a very Bloody Persecution: I declar’d, how Theodora being involv’d in it, was brought before the President of Antioch; how she resolutely own’d her Religion before him, answer’d His Arguments, and resisted both his Promises, and his Menaces; how thereupon the Judge doom’d her either to Sacrafice, or to be prostituted in the publick Stews. How she, after an eager Debate in her own mind, refusing to offer sacrifice, was, (notwithstanding her silence) led away to the infamous place; how being shut up there alone in a Room, she employ’d the little time, that was granted her to consider whether she would yet burn Incense to the Roman Idols, in fervent Prayer to the true God, for a rescue of her Purity, not her Life; in order whereunto, she design’d and hop’d by Resistance and Contumelies to provoke her first Assailant, to become her Murderer, rather than her Ravisher.

These were the chief Contents of the first Book. Those of the second, were more Historical; and consisted of an account of the last hours of her Life, and particularly of those Sufferings that ended in her and Didymus’s glorious Martyrdom. This piece having been perus’d by those for whose sake I wrote it; was so fortunate, that it having, without my leave, been ventur’d into several hands, as a Book of a nameless and unknown Author, it was lucky enough to be, by some indulgent Readers, attributed to One, and by some to Another, of the two Persons, that were at that time counted the best writers of disguis’d Histories. But among the many Hands it pass’d through, it seems it fell into some, out of which a great part of the loose sheets, (which were not bound in a Book, but only tack’d together) were not to be retriev’d: whether it were by the negligence, or the contempt, that some had of so unpolish’d a Work; or whether there were some fatality in the Business, that Theodora’s Sufferings should outlive her, and her Story be as ill us’d as her Person had been. This loss, (if it can deserve that name) I did not much regret: Since I intended not to make the lost Papers publick, and had receiv’d much greater approbation and thanks than they merited, from the particular Persons they were design’d for. But after I had for many years worn out, not only the sense, but the memory of this loss: It was made more troublesom to me, than ever it was at first, by the earnest solicitations of some eminent Persons, that had a great power over me, and some of them the repute of great Judges of this kind of Composures. For having seen several Sheets, that I accidentally lighted on, in tumbling over some long neglected Papers; they oblig’d me to cause those old rude sheets to be transcrib’d. And tho’ almost all the first Book was wanting, (upon which account, I could not be remov’d from my Resolution not to trouble my self about it) yet there was so much of the Second Book, but in parts no way Coherent, little by little retriev’d, that a pretence was afforded to press me to repair those Breaches, and restore out of my memory, or otherwise, a piece, which they would needs perswade me might do some good, by rendring Vertue Amiable, and recommending Piety to a sort of Readers, that are much more affected by shining Examples, and pathetical Expressions, than by dry Precepts, and grave Discourses.

If some of your more scrupulous Friends shall object, that I have mentioned Theodora’s Beauty more often and advantagously, and represented her Lovers Passion more Pathetically, than the subject of the story exacted, and the truth requir’d in History would warrant; I shall not altogether deny the Charge: Being rather content to have it thought, that a youthful and heated fancy transported my Pen, somewhat beyond the narrow bounds of History, than that so Pious a person as Didymus did not keep both his Flame, and the Expressions of it, within the limits of Reason and Religion. But though I pretend not to justifie, all that has been said in the strain of an Encomiast, or a Lover, yet I hop’d that I may much Extenuate, if not Excuse it, by representing such things as these.

That I have been careful, that Theodora should not be made to do, or say, any thing, that, the great Obligations she had to her Rescuer consider’d, do intrench either upon her Piety, or her Vertue, or so much as upon her Reserv’dness.

That as for Didymus; I might say, that probably he thought, those Celebrations that would have been Flattery to another Lady, were but Justice to a Person so Extraordinary, and so accomplish’d as his Mistress; and that he thought it allowable, not to suppress the chast effects of a Passion, that has not only been incident to Heroes, but perhaps help’d to make them such. But I will rather say, that those only are like to find much fault with his Expressions, who consider not how free they are from any degree of Prophaneness or Immodesty: And who are not accustomed to the reading of Stories, where Lovers are introduc’d, and made to Praise and Complement in a far more Bold and Romantick way, than I allowed my self in the following Paper. In which, all the Deference, wherewith Irene as well as Didymus treat Theodora, may be accounted for by this; That I remember’d to have, in some Author or other, found Mention made of a Person about Dioclesian’s time, Whom I took for our Martyr, that was intimated to be of high Quality, if not a Princess, which Title I had without scruple given Her, If I had been half as sure that she Was a Princess, as that she Deserv’d to be One.

That perhaps I was not unwilling, both to shew the Persons I wrote for, that One might have glittering Idea’s of Beauty, without being dazl’d by them; and also to convince them, that high Complements and passionate expressions, are no certain Marks of His being really Smitten (to speak in a Lovers Phrase) that can Imploy them; since I retain’d my wonted freedom of mind, while I was Writing; and presented them by the mouth of Didymus, but what Fancy, not Passion indited.

And lastly, I was induc’d to allow my self a more fashionable Stile, than would perhaps be suitable to a meer Sermon, or Book of Divinity, because I fear’d, that the Youthful Persons of Quality of both Sexes, that I was chiefly to regard, would scarce be sufficiently affected by unfortunate Vertue, if the interweaving of passages relating to Beauty and Love, did not help to make the Tragical story, Delightful, add the Excellent Sufferers Piety, Amiable.

If it be objected, that in some of the discourses of the two Martyrs, there are Passages that argue more Knowledge, than is likely to have been found in Lay Persons no Elder than they. I answer, that such Discourses indeed were somewhat strange, if they were ascrib’d to a young Gallant, and a younger Lady, of Our degenerate Times; wherein so many Persons of that sort, make Diversion their grand Business; and, having as little Leisure as Concern to mind any thing, but their Pleasures and petty Interests, think it their Priviledge to know little of Religion, and leave to meaner People the study of things Serious and Useful. But, though among this sort of Persons, it were so difficult to find many that would Emulate such Knowledge and Vertue as shin’d in Theodora, that I fear they would not so much as believe them; yet among better qualify’d Judges, the lately propos’d objection will be of no great force, if it be consider’d, that Didymus and Theodora liv’d in the Primitive and devout times of the Church, and in the Roman Empire, when the Christian Religion was as diligently Taught by Excellent Divines, as frequently Oppos’d by Arguments, and violently assaulted by Persecutions. Upon which scores, the zealous Candidates of Martyrdom, many of which obtain’d the Crown of it, even in their greener Age, were early and skilfully instructed in the truths of their own Religion, and furnish’d with good Arguments, both to Defend It, and Confute the Erroneous Opinions and Impious worships of their Heathen Adversaries. Nor is it any wonder, that they should think That Religion worth Studying, that they thought worth Dying for. I will not here examine, whether the Ignorance wont to be imputed to Women, be Their fault, or that of their Accusers, and whether it is any natural want of Capacity, or rather want of Instruction, that keeps most of them from Knowledge, though This regards not Sexes. But without inquiry, whether it be not our Interest, or our Envy, that Makes Women what we are wont to decry them for Being; I shall not scruple to own, that I have sometimes had the honour to converse with Ladys, that convinc’d me, That, to attain to a great proficiency in Knowledge, ’tis not necessary to be a Doctor of Divinity, or so much as a Man, since they discours’d of Divine things, with no less Wit than Piety. And to return to our Martyr, if we may judge by the Effects, we may reasonably suppose, that our Virgins Parents not only thought it their Duty, but took much Pleasure, to Cultivate so excellent and promising a Subject as their fair Daughter. Since great advantages of Nature and general Grace should rather Invite, than Excuse, Improvements by Education; as even the Garden of Eden, though an admirably fertile Soil, and planted by God’s own Hands, was not so left to itself, but that Adam was appointed to dress it, and to keep it. And if the Discourses of our Martyrs are sometimes less short than they might have been made; I hope it may be some excuse, that I was not unwilling, to lay hold now and then of the Rises afforded me by some occasions, to shew, that Romantick Subjects are not, as too many Persons of Quality think them, the Only ones, that may be treated of in a Gentleman-like stile; and that even some noble Questions in Divinity, and some of the severer Dictates of the Christian Morals, may be discours’d of, without the harshness of the School Terms, or the downright plainness of some better Meant, than Pen’d, Books of Theology and Devotion.

’Tis like Sir, you will think it strange, that I make so Pious a Person as Theodora, offer her Breast to Didymus’s Sword, and by soliciting him to Kill her, tempt him to an Action, which would make her guilty of a Murder, and make him greatly accessory to it. But possibly her Action would not appear very strange, if we were not too enclinable to estimate the Affairs of Past Times, and Remote Regions, by the Opinions and Customes of our own Age and Countrys. For, what ever we now justly think of the sinfulness of Destroying a Mans self, whether immediately or otherwise, yet I must not deny, but that divers of the Ancient Christians thought it not Criminal, when it was necessary for the preservation of Chastity. And, if I much misremember not, St. Jerom himself, where he speaks of the unlawfulness of Self-destroying, intimates, that he excepts the Case of an inevitable danger of a Rape. But my chief answer is, that having found the Virgin Martyrs proposal expresly deliver’d by the Author I was to follow, I judg’d it the part of an Historian not to suppress it; which I acknowledge, I the rather declin’d to do, because Theodoras offer was a noble evincement, both of her Gratitude and her Generosity. And therefore, instead of Omitting so considerable an Action of hers, I chose rather to Set my thoughts a work, to find a plausible Colour for it. Which whether I have happily done, by supplying her with the Example of a Prophet, who, though he would not cast Himself into the Sea, yet solicited Others to cast him, (and that having first bound him) I must leave You to judge.

I freely confess, Sir, that, if the following Piece had been written by One, that I were fond of Censuring, I could my self find enough in it to Criticize upon; and should object against it, besides the want of Uniformity throughout, That if judg’d of by the strict Rules of Art, it ought to pass for an Irregular Piece. And therefore I shall not wonder, if Nicer Criticks, and more vers’d in Exquisite Composures than I pretend to be, shall find fault with this Artless one of mine. But the reception that the following Papers met with, from the Persons for whom they were chiefly written, affords me the Consolation derivable from the ingenious saying of that excellent Wit, who declar’d, He had rather the Dishes serv’d up at his Treat, should please the Guests, than the Cooks. And I might say too, that some of the Passages that may meet with Censure, would perhaps escape it; if in writing this Book many years agoe, I had not had some Aims, that I then thought more fit to be Pursu’d, than I now do to be Declar’d. Yet I will not here dissemble, that I know it may be thought by some, that this Paper should have consisted less of Conversations, and more of Narratives. But I chose the way of Writing I have employ’d, partly because the Authors I met with furnish’d me with so very few matters of Fact, that if I would have confin’d my self to Relations; I must have compriz’d this piece in a very few Pages, and have finish’d it presently after I had begun it: And partly too, (and indeed much more) because (as I lately began to intimate) my chief design was not so much, to perform the Office of a meer Historian, as to take Rises from the several Circumstances I should relate, to convey unperceivedly, into the minds of those young Persons of Quality for whom I wrote, Sentiments of true Piety and Vertue. And these I thought would not so happily gain admittance and entertainment, it they were presented in a Scholar like Discourse, or a profess’d Book of devotion, as when they were taken, not from common places but from the Nature of the Things and Persons Introduc’d; and without formality Instill’d by the occasional discourses of a young Gentleman and fair Lady, for whom the Beauty and the Merit ascrib’d to the Speakers, had given the Hearers a great Esteem and Kindness. And I shall not scruple to own, that I, who value time above most other things, did not think it worth the expence of mine, to give my self the trouble of Writing a Book, only to give others a Divertisement in Reading it. And whilst I was Conversing with such Excellent Company, as our noble Martyrs, and Meditating on such Serious Subjects, as are Death, and the Worth of that Heavenly Religion for whose sake They despis’d It; I found my self Incited, and thought my self Oblig’d, to aim less at the Pleasing of some few Nice Exactors of Regularity, than to Possess many Readers with high and noble Sentiments of the Christian Religion, and the sublime Dictates of it; and thereby both Elevate their minds to a generous Contempt of all they can lose and suffer for it, and Fill them with bright Idea’s of Heroick Vertue, and of the much brighter Glories that will Crown it. By such Reflections, I was induc’d not to omit some Passages that seem’d likely to further the main Ends I pursu’d, though I forsaw, that perhaps some rigid Judges would say, that they might have been spar’d. For as I writ not a Romance, wherein Authors are wont to aim no higher, than to Delight the Delicate Readers, and Escape the Critical ones, by making their Composures Diverting and Regular; so I presum’d that to employ a more Useful, though less Fashionamble way of Writing, was allowable for Me, who ought to endeavour in such a piece as This, rather to propose Patterns of Vertue, than Models of Skill or Eloquence; and to think it more Successful, if the Readers shall upon perusing it, Imitate our excellent Martyrs Piety, than if they should only Applaud their History. Which both as to Stile and Reasonings, is freely submitted to your Judgment, by

Sir, your most &c.

notes

1

Parthenissa is reproduced, with permission, from the copy in the Henry E. Huntington Library, the other works from the copies in the British Museum.