to see her pretty widow, so she was pleased to call me, and
that name I got in a little time in public. Now, as fame and
fools make an assembly, I was here wonderfully caressed, had
abundance of admirers, and such as called themselves lovers;
but I found not one fair proposal among them all. As for their
common design, that I understood too well to be drawn into
any more snares of that kind. The case was altered with me:
I had money in my pocket, and had nothing to say to them. I
had been tricked once by that cheat called love, but the game
was over; I was resolved now to be married or nothing, and
to be well married or not at all.
I loved the company, indeed, of men of mirth and wit, men of
gallantry and figure, and was often entertained with such, as
I was also with others; but I found by just observation, that the
brightest men came upon the dullest errand–that is to say, the
dullest as to what I aimed at. On the other hand, those who
came with the best proposals were the dullest and most
disagreeable part of the world. I was not averse to a tradesman,
but then I would have a tradesman, forsooth, that was
something of a gentleman too; that when my husband had a
mind to carry me to the court, or to the play, he might become
a sword, and look as like a gentleman as another man; and not
be one that had the mark of his apron-strings upon his coat,
or the mark of his hat upon his periwig; that should look as if
he was set on to his sword, when his sword was put on to him,
and that carried his trade in his countenance.
Well, at last I found this amphibious creature, this land-water
thing called a gentleman-tradesman; and as a just plague upon
my folly, I was catched in the very snare which, as I might say,
I laid for myself. I said for myself, for I was not trepanned,
I confess, but I betrayed myself.
This was a draper, too, for though my comrade would have
brought me to a bargain with her brother, yet when it came to
the point, it was, it seems, for a mistress, not a wife; and I kept
true to this notion, that a woman should never be kept for a
mistress that had money to keep herself.
Thus my pride, not my principle, my money, not my virtue,
kept me honest; though, as it proved, I found I had much better
have been sold by my she-comrade to her brother, than have
sold myself as I did to a tradesman that was rake, gentleman,
shopkeeper, and beggar, all together.
But I was hurried on (by my fancy to a gentleman) to ruin
myself in the grossest manner that every woman did; for my
new husband coming to a lump of money at once, fell into
such a profusion of expense, that all I had, and all he had
before, if he had anything worth mentioning, would not have
held it out above one year.
He was very fond of me for about a quarter of a year, and
what I got by that was, that I had the pleasure of seeing a great
deal of my money spent upon myself, and, as I may say, had
some of the spending it too. ‘Come, my dear,’ says he to me
one day, ‘shall we go and take a turn into the country for about
a week?’ ‘Ay, my dear,’ says I, ‘whither would you go?’ ‘I
care not whither,’ says he, ‘but I have a mind to look like
quality for a week. We’ll go to Oxford,’ says he. ‘How,’ says
I, ‘shall we go? I am no horsewoman, and ’tis too far for a coach.’
‘Too far!’ says he; ‘no place is too far for a coach-and-six. If
I carry you out, you shall travel like a duchess.’ ‘Hum,’ says
I, ‘my dear, ’tis a frolic; but if you have a mind to it, I don’t
care.’ Well, the time was appointed, we had a rich coach, very