Core Course: III

Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
William Shakespeare
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?
But sad mortality o’er-sways their power, O fearful meditation! where, alack,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Shall time’s best jewel from time’s chest lie hid?
Whose action is no stronger than a flower? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
Against the wrackful siege of batt’ring days, O, none, unless this miracle have might,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout, That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
Critical appreciation of Shakespeare's "Sonnet 65" : In his "Sonnet 65", William Shakespeare presents 'time' as a great 'destroyer' and 'creator' and;
'mortality' as a 'powerful giant' who exists in all human and natural thing including brass, stone, the earth and even the sea and make them vanished with
course of time.
According to the poet, time is the powerful destructive force which spoils everything. Nothing can resist the attack of time. Time devours youth and
beauty mercilessly. They have no power to protect themselves from the attack of time as they are so soft and delicate like flowers. The poet is extremely
afraid of looking at the actions being done by time against the human beings and the natural things. The stones and steels which are often considered as the
strongest of all objects are too unable to protect themselves from the fearful attack of time. The poet is greatly desperate thinking how his beloved could
survive in this situation where every strong, powerful things are unable to keep standing in front of time. "How, how could my dear live?", being worried
the poet questions himself. He feels no one can resist from this giant and it will force to decay everything. There is no strong hand that can hold back the
swift foot of time and nobody is in the whole Universe who can forbid the time's spoil of beauty. Thus the poet is caught by an intense despair and it leads
him to a nostalgic feeling.
In the last couplet, the poet searches for a medium through which his beloved could be immortalized by defeating the sad mortality and the fearful
destructive giant i.e. time. Finally, he discovers that it is verse that can serve as a miracle in fulfilling the intense desire of the poet. Then, he feels great
happiness, joy and he gets very much excited for being able to find out the proper way to make his dear friend and the sweet memories alive forever
through his writings. His grief, worries, despair that made him suffered in the past have suddenly vanished while he has succeeded to immortalize his
beloved and the memories of their lives that expected since many years back in the past.
It is a beautiful sonnet in which William Shakespeare tries to depict the power of mortality and time, and the power of writings by using different imagery
mostly taken from the world of nature. He has beautifully personified 'mortality' as a 'ferocious giant' and 'time' as a great 'destroyer' and 'creator' of all
human and natural things. The victory of creative writings over the time and mortality is presented in an interesting manner in this sonnet. Because of the
universality and superb portrayal of the theme, the "Sonnet 65" composed by William Shakespeare has placed among the great sonnets of the world.
Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
William Shakespeare
That time of year thou mayst in me behold In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Which by and by black night doth take away,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Summary: Sonnet 73
In this poem, the speaker invokes a series of metaphors to characterize the nature of what he perceives to be his old age. In the first quatrain, he tells the
beloved that his age is like a “time of year,” late autumn, when the leaves have almost completely fallen from the trees, and the weather has grown cold,
and the birds have left their branches. In the second quatrain, he then says that his age is like late twilight, “As after sunset fadeth in the west,” and the
remaining light is slowly extinguished in the darkness, which the speaker likens to “Death’s second self.” In the third quatrain, the speaker compares
himself to the glowing remnants of a fire, which lies “on the ashes of his youth”—that is, on the ashes of the logs that once enabled it to burn—and which
will soon be consumed “by that which it was nourished by”—that is, it will be extinguished as it sinks into the ashes, which its own burning created. In the
couplet, the speaker tells the young man that he must perceive these things, and that his love must be strengthened by the knowledge that he will soon be
parted from the speaker when the speaker, like the fire, is extinguished by time.
Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
 As any she belied with false compare.
Summary and Analysis Sonnet 130: Sonnet 130 is a parody of the Dark Lady, who falls too obviously short of fashionable beauty to be extolled in
print. The poet, openly contemptuous of his weakness for the woman, expresses his infatuation for her in negative comparisons. For example,
comparing her to natural objects, he notes that her eyes are "nothing like the sun," and the colors of her lips and breasts dull when compared to the red
of coral and the whiteness of snow.
Whereas conventional love sonnets by other poets make their women into goddesses, in Sonnet 130 the poet is merely amused by his own attempt to
deify his dark mistress. Cynically he states, "I grant I never saw a goddess go; / My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground." We learn that her
hair is black, but note the derogatory way the poet describes it: "black wires grow on her head." Also, his comment "And in some perfumes is there
more delight / Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks" borders on crassness, no matter how satirical he is trying to be. The poet must be very
secure in his love for his mistress — and hers for him — for him to be as disparaging as he is, even in jest — a security he did not enjoy with the
young man. Although the turn "And yet" in the concluding couplet signals the negation of all the disparaging comments the poet has made about the
Dark Lady, the sonnet's last two lines arguably do not erase the horrendous comparisons in the three quatrains.
Sonnet 154: The Little Love-god
William Shakespeare
The little love god lying once asleep This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand, For men discased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
The fairest votary took up that fire Came there for cure and this by that I prove,
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed, Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
And so the general of hot desire Sonnet 154: Translation to modern English
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed.
Core Course: IV
The Rape of the Lock: Canto 1
Al exander Pope
Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos;
Sedjuvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.
(Martial, Epigrams 12.84)
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle?
I sing—This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due: O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view: Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, In tasks so bold, can little men engage,
If she inspire, and he approve my lays. And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage?
 Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day;
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,
And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow press'd,
Her guardian sylph prolong'd the balmy rest:
'Twas he had summon'd to her silent bed
The morning dream that hover'd o'er her head;
A youth more glitt'ring than a birthnight beau,
(That ev'n in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow)
Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay,
And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to say.
"Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd care
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!
If e'er one vision touch'd thy infant thought,
Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught,
Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen,
The silver token, and the circled green,
Or virgins visited by angel pow'rs,
With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs,
Hear and believe! thy own importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below.
Some secret truths from learned pride conceal'd,
To maids alone and children are reveal'd:
What tho' no credit doubting wits may give?
The fair and innocent shall still believe.
Know then, unnumber'd spirits round thee fly,
The light militia of the lower sky;
These, though unseen, are ever on the wing,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the Ring.
Think what an equipage thou hast in air,
And view with scorn two pages and a chair.
As now your own, our beings were of old,
And once inclos'd in woman's beauteous mould;
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair
From earthly vehicles to these of air.
Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled,
That all her vanities at once are dead;
Succeeding vanities she still regards,
And tho' she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards.
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive,
And love of ombre, after death survive.
For when the fair in all their pride expire,
To their first elements their souls retire:
The sprites of fiery termagants in flame
Mount up, and take a Salamander's name.
Soft yielding minds to water glide away,
And sip with Nymphs, their elemental tea.
The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome,
In search of mischief still on earth to roam.
The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair,
And sport and flutter in the fields of air.
Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste
Rejects mankind, is by some sylph embrac'd:
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.
What guards the purity of melting maids,
In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades,
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring spark,
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,
When kind occasion prompts their warm desires,
When music softens, and when dancing fires?
'Tis but their sylph, the wise celestials know,
Though honour is the word with men below.
Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face,
For life predestin'd to the gnomes' embrace.
These swell their prospects and exalt their pride,
When offers are disdain'd, and love denied:
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain,
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping train,
And garters, stars, and coronets appear,
And in soft sounds 'Your Grace' salutes their ear.
'Tis these that early taint the female soul,
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll,
Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to know,
And little hearts to flutter at a beau.
Oft, when the world imagine women stray,
The Sylphs through mystic mazes guide their way,
Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue,
And old impertinence expel by new.
What tender maid but must a victim fall
To one man's treat, but for another's ball?
When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand,
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?
With varying vanities, from ev'ry part,
They shift the moving toyshop of their heart;
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive,
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
This erring mortals levity may call,
Oh blind to truth! the Sylphs contrive it all.
Of these am I, who thy protection claim,
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.
Late, as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air,
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star
I saw, alas! some dread event impend,
Ere to the main this morning sun descend,
But Heav'n reveals not what, or how, or where:
Warn'd by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!
This to disclose is all thy guardian can.
Beware of all, but most beware of man!"
He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long,
Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue.
'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true,
Thy eyes first open'd on a billet-doux;
Wounds, charms, and ardors were no sooner read,
But all the vision vanish'd from thy head.
And now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd,
Each silver vase in mystic order laid.
First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores
With head uncover'd, the cosmetic pow'rs.
A heav'nly image in the glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side,
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here
The various off'rings of the world appear;
From each she nicely culls with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here and elephant unite,
Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white.
Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rises in her charms,
Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face;
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy Sylphs surround their darling care;
These set the head, and those divide the hair,
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown;
And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own.
 The Rape of the Lock: Canto 2
Al exand er Pop e
Not with more glories, in th' etherial plain,
The sun first rises o'er the purpled main,
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams
Launch'd on the bosom of the silver Thames.
Fair nymphs, and well-dress'd youths around her shone,
But ev'ry eye was fix'd on her alone.
On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as those:
Favours to none, to all she smiles extends;
Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide:
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.
This nymph, to the destruction of mankind,
Nourish'd two locks, which graceful hung behind
In equal curls, and well conspir'd to deck
With shining ringlets the smooth iv'ry neck.
Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,
And mighty hearts are held in slender chains.
With hairy springes we the birds betray,
Slight lines of hair surprise the finney prey,
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair.
Th' advent'rous baron the bright locks admir'd;
He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize aspir'd.
Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way,
By force to ravish, or by fraud betray;
For when success a lover's toil attends,
Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends.
For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implor'd
Propitious Heav'n, and ev'ry pow'r ador'd,
But chiefly love—to love an altar built,
Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt.
There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves;
And all the trophies of his former loves;
With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre,
And breathes three am'rous sighs to raise the fire.
Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes
Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize:
The pow'rs gave ear, and granted half his pray'r,
The rest, the winds dispers'd in empty air.
But now secure the painted vessel glides,
The sun-beams trembling on the floating tides,
While melting music steals upon the sky,
And soften'd sounds along the waters die.
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play,
Belinda smil'd, and all the world was gay.
All but the Sylph—with careful thoughts opprest,
Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast.
He summons strait his denizens of air;
The lucid squadrons round the sails repair:
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe,
That seem'd but zephyrs to the train beneath.
Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold,
Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold.
Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight,
Their fluid bodies half dissolv'd in light,
Loose to the wind their airy garments flew,
Thin glitt'ring textures of the filmy dew;
Dipp'd in the richest tincture of the skies,
Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes,
While ev'ry beam new transient colours flings,
Colours that change whene'er they wave their wings.
Amid the circle, on the gilded mast,
Superior by the head, was Ariel plac'd;
His purple pinions op'ning to the sun,
He rais'd his azure wand, and thus begun.
"Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear!
Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Dæmons, hear!
Ye know the spheres and various tasks assign'd
By laws eternal to th' aerial kind.
Some in the fields of purest æther play,
And bask and whiten in the blaze of day.
Some guide the course of wand'ring orbs on high,
Or roll the planets through the boundless sky.
Some less refin'd, beneath the moon's pale light
Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night,
Or suck the mists in grosser air below,
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow,
Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main,
Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly rain.
Others on earth o'er human race preside,
Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide:
Of these the chief the care of nations own,
And guard with arms divine the British throne.
"Our humbler province is to tend the fair,
Not a less pleasing, though less glorious care.
To save the powder from too rude a gale,
Nor let th' imprison'd essences exhale,
To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow'rs,
To steal from rainbows e'er they drop in show'rs
A brighter wash; to curl their waving hairs,
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs;
Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow,
To change a flounce, or add a furbelow.
"This day, black omens threat the brightest fair
That e'er deserv'd a watchful spirit's care;
Some dire disaster, or by force, or slight,
But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night.
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law,
Or some frail china jar receive a flaw;
Or stain her honour, or her new brocade,
Forget her pray'rs, or miss a masquerade;
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball;
Or whether Heav'n has doom'd that Shock must fall.
Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge repair:
The flutt'ring fan be Zephyretta's care;
The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign;
And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine;
Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav'rite lock;
Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock.
"To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special note,
We trust th' important charge, the petticoat:
Oft have we known that sev'n-fold fence to fail,
Though stiff with hoops, and arm'd with ribs of whale.
Form a strong line about the silver bound,
And guard the wide circumference around.
"Whatever spirit, careless of his charge,
His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large,
Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins,
Be stopp'd in vials, or transfix'd with pins;
Or plung'd in lakes of bitter washes lie,
Or wedg'd whole ages in a bodkin's eye:
Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain,
While clogg'd he beats his silken wings in vain;
Or alum styptics with contracting pow'r
Shrink his thin essence like a rivell'd flow'r.
Or, as Ixion fix'd, the wretch shall feel
The giddy motion of the whirling mill,
In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow,
And tremble at the sea that froths below!"
He spoke; the spirits from the sails descend;
Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend,
Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair,
Some hang upon the pendants of her ear;
With beating hearts the dire event they wait,
Anxious, and trembling for the birth of fate.

Sir Roger at Church

Joseph Addison
(First, in obedience to thy country's rites, Worship the immortal Gods. — Pythagoras)
I AM always very well pleased with a country Sunday; and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it would be the
best method that could have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country-people would soon degenerate
into a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet together with their
best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one another upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and join
together in adoration of the Supreme Being. Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their minds the notions of
religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure
in the eye of the village. A country-fellow distinguishes himself as much in the churchyard as a citizen does upon the Change, the whole parish
politics being generally discussed in that place either after sermon or before the bell rings.
My friend Sir Roger, being a good church-man, has beautified the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing: he has likewise
given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the communion-table at his own expense. He has often told me, that at his coming to his estate he
found his parishioners very irregular; and that in order to make them kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of them a hassoc and a
Common Prayer Book; and at the same time employed an itinerant singing-master, who goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct them
rightly in the tunes of the psalms; upon which they now very much value themselves, and indeed out-do most of the country churches that I have
ever heard.
As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it besides himself; for if
by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees anybody
else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his servant to them. Several other of the old knight's particularities break out upon these
occasions: sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing-psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it;
sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces Amen three or four times to the same prayer; and sometimes
stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing.
I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was
about, and not disturb the congregation. This John Matthews, it seems, is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his
heels for his diversion. This authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a
very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see anything ridiculous in his behaviour; besides that the general good sense and
worthiness of his character, make his friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities.
As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir till Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down from his seat in the
chancel between a double row of his tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side; and every now and then he inquires how such an one's wife,
or mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at church; which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that is absent.
The chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechising-day, when Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, he has ordered a
Bible to be given him next day for his encouragement; and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has likewise
added five pounds a year to the clerk's place; and that he may encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect in the church-service, has
promised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according to merit.
The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his chaplain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remarkable, because the
very next village is famous for the differences and contentions that rise between the parson and the 'squire, who live in a perpetual state of war.
The parson is always at the 'squire, and the 'squire, to be revenged on the parson, never comes to church. The 'squire has made all his tenants
atheists and tithe-stealers; while the parson instructs them every Sunday in the dignity of his order, and insinuates to them, almost in every
sermon, that he is a better man than his patron. In short, matters are come to such an extremity, that the 'squire has not said his prayers either in
public or private this half year; and that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his manners, to pray for him in the face of the whole
congregation.
Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, are very fatal to the ordinary people; who are so used to be dazzled with riches, that they
pay as much deference to the understanding of a man of an estate, as of a man of learning; and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how
important so ever it may be, that is preached to them, when they know there are several men of five hundred a year who do not believe it.
The Spectator Club
Richard Steele
Ast alii sex
Et plures uno conclamant ore.
Juvenal, “Satires,” vii. 166.
Six more at least join their consenting voice.
THE FIRST 1 of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, of an ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Roger de Coverley. His great-
grandfather was inventor of that famous country-dance which is called after him. All who know that shire are very well acquainted with the parts
and merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is very singular in his behavior, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, and are
contradictions to the manners of the world, only as he thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humor creates him no enemies, for he does
nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being unconfined to modes and forms makes him but the readier and more capable to please and
oblige all who know him. When he is in town he lives in Soho Square. It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was crossed in love by
a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often
supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked bully Dawson in a public
coffee-house for calling him youngster. But being ill-used by the above-mentioned widow, he was very serious for a year and a half; and though,
his temper being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself and never dressed afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and
doublet of the same cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humors, he tells us, has been in and out twelve times
since he first wore it. It is said Sir Roger grew humble in his desires after he had forgot his cruel beauty, insomuch that it is reported he has
frequently offended with beggars and gypsies; but this is looked upon, by his friends, rather as matter of raillery than truth. He is now in his
fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house both in town and country; a great lover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful
cast in his behavior, that he is rather beloved than esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young women profess love
to him, and the young men are glad of his company. When he comes into a house, he calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way
upstairs to a visit. I must not omit that Sir Roger is a justice of the quorum; that he fills the chair at a quarter-session with great abilities, and
three months ago gained universal applause, by explaining a passage in the Game Act.
The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple, a man of great probity, wit,
and understanding; but he has chosen his place of residence rather to obey the direction of an old humorsome father than in pursuit of his own
inclinations. He was placed there to study the laws of the land, and is the most learned of any of the house in those of the stage. Aristotle and
Longinus are much better understood by him than Littleton or Coke. The father sends up every post questions relating to marriage-articles,
leases, and tenures, in the neighborhood; all which questions he agrees with an attorney to answer and take care of in the lump. He is studying
the passions themselves, when he should be inquiring into the debates among men which arise from them. He knows the argument of each of the
orations of Demosthenes and Tully, but not one case in the reports of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool; but none, except his
intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested and agreeable. As few of his thoughts are drawn
from business, they are most of them fit for conversation. His taste for books is a little too just for the age he lives in; he has read all, but
approves of very few. His familiarity with the customs, manners, actions, and writings of the ancients, makes him a very delicate observer of
what occurs to him in the present world. He is an excellent critic, and the time of the play is his hour of business; exactly at five he passes
through New-inn, crosses through Russell-court, and takes a turn at Will’s till the play begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered
at the barber’s as you go into the Rose. It is for the good of the audience when he is at the play, for the actors have an ambition to please him.
The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew Freeport, a merchant of great eminence in the city of London; a person of indefatigable industry,
strong reason, and great experience. His notions of trade are noble and generous, and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of jesting,
which would make no great figure were he not a rich man) he calls the sea the British Common. He is acquainted with commerce in all its parts,
and will tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion by arms; for true power is to be got by arts and industry. He will often
argue that, if this part of our trade were well cultivated, we should gain from one nation; and if another, from another. I have heard him prove
that diligence makes more lasting acquisitions than valor, and that sloth has ruined more nations than the sword. He abounds in several frugal
maxims, amongst which the greatest favorite is, “A penny saved is a penny got.” A general trader of good sense is pleasanter company than a
general scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natural unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives the same pleasure that wit would in
another man. He has made his fortune himself; and says that England may be richer than other kingdoms by as plain methods as he himself is
richer than other men; though at the same time I can say this of him, that there is not a point in the compass but blows home a ship in which he is
an owner.
Next to Sir Andrew in the clubroom sits Captain Sentry, a gentleman of great courage, good understanding, but invincible modesty. He is one
of those that deserve very well, but are very awkward at putting their talents within the observation of such as should take notice of them. He
was some years a captain, and behaved himself with great gallantry in several engagements and at several sieges; but having a small estate of his
own, and being next heir to Sir Roger, he has quitted a way of life in which no man can rise suitably to his merit, who is not something of a
courtier as well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament that, in a profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, impudence
should get the better of modesty. When he has talked to this purpose, I never heard him make a sour expression, but frankly confess that he left
the world because he was not fit for it. A strict honesty and an even regular behavior are in themselves obstacles to him that must press through
crowds, who endeavor at the same end with himself, the favor of a commander. He will, however, in his way of talk excuse generals for not
disposing according to men’s dessert, or inquiring into it; for, says he, that great man who has a mind to help me has as many to break through to
come to me as I have to come at him: therefore he will conclude that the man who would make a figure, especially in a military way, must get
over all false modesty, and assist his patron against the importunity of other pretenders, by a proper assurance in his own vindication. He says it
is a civil cowardice to be backward in asserting what you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in attacking when it is your duty.
With this candor does the gentleman speak of himself and others.The same frankness runs through all his conversation. The military part of his
life has furnished him with many adventures, in the relation of which he is very agreeable to the company; for he is never overbearing, though
accustomed to command men in the utmost degree below him; nor ever too obsequious, from an habit of obeying men highly above him.
But that our society may not appear a set of humorists, 2 unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, we have amongst us the
gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentleman who, according to his years, should be in the decline of his life; but having ever been very careful of his
person, and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but a very little impression either by wrinkles on his forehead, or traces on his brain.
His person is well turned, and of a good height. He is very ready at that sort of discourse with which men usually entertain women. He has all his
life dressed very well, and remembers habits as others do men. He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. He knows the history of
every mode, and can inform you from which of the French king’s wenches our wives and daughters had this manner of curling their hair, that
way of placing their hoods; whose frailty was covered by such a sort of a petticoat, and whose vanity to show her foot made that part of the dress
so short in such a year. In a word, all his conversation and knowledge have been in the female world. As other men of his age will take notice to
you what such a minister said upon such and such an occasion, he will tell you when the Duke of Monmouth danced at court, such a woman was
then smitten, another was taken with him at the head of his troop in the park. In all these important relations, he has ever about the same time
received a kind glance, or a blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a-one. If you speak of a young
commoner that said a lively thing in the House, he starts up, “He has good blood in his veins; Tom Mirable begot him; the rogue cheated me in
that affair; that young fellow’s mother used me more like a dog than any woman I ever made advances to.” This way of talking of his very much
enlivens the conversation among us of a more sedate turn, and I find there is not one of the company, but myself, who rarely speak at all, but
speaks of him as of that sort of a man who is usually called a well-bred fine gentleman. To conclude his character, where women are not
concerned, he is an honest worthy man.
I cannot tell whether I am to account him, whom I am next to speak of, as one of our company; for he visits us but seldom, but when he does, it
adds to every man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a very philosophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of life, and the
most exact good breeding. He has the misfortune to be of a very weak constitution, and consequently cannot accept of such cares and business as
preferments in his function would oblige him to; he is therefore among divines what a chamber-counsellor is among lawyers. The probity of his
mind, and the integrity of his life, create him followers, as being eloquent or loud advances others. He seldom introduces the subject he speaks
upon; but we are so far gone in years that he observes, when he is among us, an earnestness to have him fall on some divine topic, which he
always treats with much authority, as one who has no interest in this world, as one who is hastening to the object of all his wishes, and conceives
hope from his decays and infirmities. These are my ordinary companions.