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then, after a walk in the fine gardens, we went to Mrs. Browne’s,
where Sir W. Pen and I were godfathers, and Mrs. Jordan and
Shipman godmothers to her boy. And there, before and after the
christening, we were with the woman above in her chamber; but
whether we carried ourselves well or ill, I know not; but I was
directed by young Mrs. Batten. One passage of a lady that ate
wafers with her dog did a little displease me. I did give the midwife
10s. and the nurse 5s. and the maid of the house 2s. But for as
much I expected to give the name to the child, but did not (it being
called John), I forbore then to give my plate.
December 26th, 1662.—Up, my wife to the making of Christmas
pies all day, doeing now pretty well again, and I abroad to several
places about some businesses, among others bought a bake-pan in
Newgate Market, and sent it home, it cost me 16s. So to Dr Williams,
but he is out of town, then to the Wardrobe. Hither come Mr
Battersby; and we falling into discourse of a new book of drollery in
use, called Hudibras, I would needs go find it out, and met with it at
the Temple: cost me 2s. 6d. But when I come to read it, it is so silly
an abuse of the Presbyter Knight going to the warrs, that I am
ashamed of it; and by and by meeting at Mr Townsend’s at dinner, I
sold it to him for 18d. ...
February 6th.— ... Thence to Lincoln’s Inn Fields; and it being too
soon to go to dinner, I walked up and down, and looked upon the
outside of the new theatre now a-building in Covent Garden, which
will be very fine. And so to a bookseller’s in the Strand, and there
bought Hudibras again, it being certainly some ill-humour to be so
against that which all the world cries up to be the example of wit; for
which I am resolved once more to read him, and see whether I can
find it or no....
November 28th.— ... And thence abroad to Paul’s Churchyard,
and there looked upon the second part of Hudibras, which I buy not,
but borrow to read, to see if it be as good as the first, which the world
cry so mightily up, though it hath not a good liking in me, though I
had tried by twice or three times reading to bring myself to think it
witty. Back again and home to my office....
May 11th, 1667.—And so away with my wife, whose being
dressed this day in fair hair did make me so mad, that I spoke not
one word to her, though I was ready to burst with anger.... After that
... Creed and I into the Park, and walked, a most pleasant evening,
and so took coach, and took up my wife, and in my way home
discovered my trouble to my wife for her white locks [false hair],
swearing by God several times, which I pray God forgive me for, and
bending my fist, that I would not endure it. She, poor wretch, was
surprized with it, and made me no answer all the way home; but
there we parted, and I to the office late, and then home, and without
supper to bed, vexed.
12th (Lord’s Day).—Up and to my chamber, to settle some
accounts there, and by and by down comes my wife to me in her
night-gown, and we begun calmly, that, upon having money to lace
her gown for second mourning, she would promise to wear white
locks no more in my sight, which I, like a severe fool, thinking not
enough, began to except against, and made her fly out to very high
terms and cry, and in her heat told me of keeping company with Mrs
Knipp, saying, that if I would promise never to see her more—of
whom she hath more reason to suspect than I had heretofore of
Pembleton—she would never wear white locks more. This vexed
me, but I restrained myself from saying anything, but do think never
to see this woman—at least, to have her here more; but by and by I
did give her money to buy lace, and she promised to wear no more
white locks while I lived, and so all very good friends as ever, and I to
my business, and she to dress herself.
August 18th (Lord’s Day).—Up, and being ready, walked up and
down to Cree Church, to see it how it is: but I find no alteration there,
as they say there was, for my Lord Mayor and Aldermen to come to
sermon, as they do every Sunday, as they did formerly to Paul’s....
There dined with me Mr Turner and his daughter Betty. Betty is
grown a fine young lady as to carriage and discourse. I and my wife
are mightily pleased with her. We had a good haunch of venison,
powdered and boiled, and a good dinner and merry.... I walked
towards Whitehall, but, being wearied, turned into St Dunstan’s
Church, where I heard an able sermon of the minister of the place;
and stood by a pretty, modest maid, whom I did labour to take by the
hand ...; but she would not, but got further and further from me; and,
at last, I could perceive her to take pins out of her pocket to prick me
if I should touch her again—which seeing, I did forbear, and was glad
I did spy her design. And then I fell to gaze upon another pretty maid,
in a pew close to me, and she on me; and I did go about to take her
by the hand, which she suffered a little, and then withdrew. So the
sermon ended, and the church broke up.
John Dryden, famous alike for his verse, prose and drama, shows
his wit in biting, stinging satire.
Equally caustic are his epigrams, save one—the immortal lines on
Milton.
ON SHADWELL
All human things are subject to decay,
And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey.
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was called to empire, and had governed long.
In prose and verse was owned, without dispute,
Through all the realms of Nonsense absolute.
This aged prince, now flourishing in peace,
And blest with issue of a large increase,
Worn out with business, did at length debate
To settle the succession of the state;
And pondering which of all his sons was fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with Wit,
Cried: “’Tis resolved; for Nature pleads that he
Should only rule who most resembles me.
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dulness from his tender years;
Shadwell alone of all my sons is he
Who stands confirmed in full stupidity.
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval,
But Shadwell’s genuine night admits no ray;
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
And seems designed for thoughtless majesty—
Thoughtless as monarch oaks that shade the plain,
And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign.”
The original of these fine lines was probably a Latin distich written
by Selvaggi at Rome, which has been thus translated:
Greece boasts her Homer, Rome her Virgil’s name,
But England’s Milton vies with both in fame.
PHILLIS’ AGE
How old may Phillis be, you ask,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
To answer is no easy task:
For she has really two ages.
FRENCH HUMOR
The first French humorist of note in the seventeenth century was
Cyrano de Bergerac. His History of the Moon and History of the Sun
are of the nature of Gulliver’s Travels.
We laid ourselves along upon very soft quilts, covered with large
carpets; and a young man that waited on us, taking the oldest of our
philosophers led him into a little parlor apart, where my Spirit called
to him to come back to us as soon as he had supped.
This humor of eating separately gave me the curiosity of asking
the cause of it. “He’ll not relish,” said he, “the steam of meat, nor yet
of herbs, unless they die of themselves, because he thinks they are
sensible of pain.” “I wonder not so much,” replied I, “that he abstains
from flesh, and all things that have had a sensitive life. For in our
world the Pythagoreans, and even some holy Anchorites, have
followed that rule; but not to dare, for instance, cut a cabbage, for
fear of hurting it—that seems to me altogether ridiculous.” “And for
my part,” answered my Spirit, “I find a great deal of reason in his
opinion.
“For, tell me is not that cabbage you speak of a being existent in
Nature as well as you? Is not she the common mother of you both?
Yet the opinion that Nature is kinder to mankind than to cabbage-
kind, tickles and makes us laugh. But, seeing she is incapable of
passion, she can neither love nor hate anything; and were she
susceptible of love, she would rather bestow her affection upon this
cabbage, which you grant cannot offend her, than upon that man
who would destroy her if it lay in his power.
“And, moreover, man cannot be born innocent, being a part of the
first offender. But we know very well that the first cabbage did not
offend its Creator. If it be said that we are made after the image of
the Supreme Being, and the cabbage is not—grant that to be true;
yet by polluting our soul, wherein we resembled Him, we have
effaced that likeness, seeing nothing is more contrary to God than
sin. If, then, our soul be no longer His image, we resemble Him no
more in our feet, hands, mouth, forehead, and ears, than a cabbage
in its leaves, flowers, stalk, pith, and head—do not you really think
that if this poor plant could speak when one cuts it, it would not say,
‘Dear brother man, what have I done to thee that deserves death? I
never grow but in gardens, and am never to be found in desert
places, where I might live in security; I disdain all other company but
thine, and scarcely am I sowed in thy garden when, to show thee my
good-will, I blossom, stretch out my arms to thee, offer thee my
children in grain; and, as a requital for my civility, thou causest my
head to be chopped off.’ Thus would a cabbage discourse if it could
speak.
“To massacre a man is not so great sin as to cut and kill a
cabbage, because one day the man will rise again, but the cabbage
has no other life to hope for. By putting to death a cabbage, you
annihilate it; but in killing a man, you make him only change his
habitation. Nay, I’ll go farther with you still: since God doth equally
cherish all His works, and hath equally, divided the benefits betwixt
us and plants, it is but just we should have an equal esteem for them
as for ourselves. It is true we were born first, but in the family of God
there is no birthright. If, then, the cabbage share not with us in the
inheritance of immortality, without doubt that want was made up by
some other advantage, that may make amends for the shortness of
its being—maybe by an universal intellect, or a perfect knowledge of
all things in their causes. And it is for that reason that the wise Mover
of all things hath not shaped for it organs like ours, which are proper
only for simple reasoning, not only weak, but often fallacious too; but
others, more ingeniously framed, stronger, and more numerous,
which serve to conduct its speculative exercises. You’ll ask me,
perhaps, whenever any cabbage imparted those lofty conceptions to
us? But tell me, again, who ever discovered to us certain beings,
which we allow to be above us, to whom we bear no analogy nor
proportion, and whose existence it is as hard for us to comprehend
as the understanding and ways whereby a cabbage expresses itself
to its like, though not to us, because our senses are too dull to
penetrate so far?
“Moses, the greatest of philosophers, who drew the knowledge of
nature from the fountain-head, Nature herself, hinted this truth to us
when he spoke of the Tree of Knowledge; and without doubt he
intended to intimate to us under that figure that plants, in exclusion of
mankind, possess perfect philosophy. Remember, then, oh, thou
proudest of animals, that though a cabbage which thou cuttest
sayeth not a word, yet it pays in thinking. But the poor vegetable has
no fit organs to howl as you do, nor yet to frisk about and weep. Yet
it hath those that are proper to complain of the wrong you do it, and
to draw a judgment from Heaven upon you for the injustice. But if
you still demand of me how I come to know that cabbages and
coleworts conceive such pretty thoughts, then will I ask you, how
come you to know that they do not; and how that some among them,
when they shut up at night, may not compliment one another as you
do, saying, ‘Good-night, Master Cole-Curled-Pate! Your most humble
servant, good Master Cabbage-Round-Head!’”
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