ed. The author of
Mrs. Oldfield's life says, that she has often heard her mention some
agreeable hours she spent with captain Farquhar: As she was a lady of
true delicacy, nor meanly prostituted herself to every adorer, it
would be highly ungenerous to suppose, that their hours ever passed in
criminal freedoms. And 'tis well known, whatever were her failings, she
wronged no man's wife; nor had an husband to injure.

Mr. Farquhar, encouraged by the success of his last piece, made a
continuation of it in 1701, and brought on his Sir Harry Wildair; in
which Mrs. Oldfield received as much reputation, and was as greatly
admired in her part, as Wilks was in his.

In the next year he published his Miscellanies, or Collection of Poems,
Letters, and Essays, already mentioned, and which contain a variety of
humorous, and pleasant sallies of fancy: There is amongst them a copy of
verses addressed to his dear Penelope, upon her wearing her Masque the
evening before, which was a female fashion in those days, as well at
public walks, as among the spectators at the Playhouse. These verses
naturally display his temper and talents, and will afford a very clear
idea of them; and therefore we shall here insert them.

'The arguments you made use of last night for keeping on your masque, I
endeavoured to defeat with reason, but that proving ineffectual, I'll
try the force of rhyme, and send you the heads of our chat, in a
poetical dialogue between You and I.'

You.

Thus images are veil'd which you adore;
Your ignorance does raise your zeal the more.

I.

All image worship for false zeal is held;
False idols ought indeed to be conceal'd.

You.

Thus oracles of old were still receiv'd;
The more ambiguous, still the more believ'd.

I.

But oracles of old were seldom true,
The devil was in them, sure he's not in you.

You.

Thus mask'd in mysteries does the godhead stand:
The more obscure, the greater his command.

I.

The Godhead's hidden power would soon be past,
Did we not hope to see his face at last.

You.

You are my slave already sir, you know,
To Shew more charms, would but increase your
woe,
I scorn an insult to a conquer'd foe.

I.

I am your slave, 'tis true, but still you see,
All slaves by nature struggle to be free;
But if you would secure the stubborn prize,
Add to your wit, the setters of your eyes;
Then pleas'd with thraldom, would I k