"I have, 'tis true, but to no purpose, retir'd to Oxford, to see if Books, and learned men would bring me any Relief, but I find Philosophy is of no power to root out a Passion that is once admitted, whatever it may to defend us from an Invasion."
— Gildon, Charles (1665-1724)
Author
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
The Post-boy rob'd of his Mail: or, the Pacquet Broke Open
Date
1692
Metaphor
"I have, 'tis true, but to no purpose, retir'd to Oxford, to see if Books, and learned men would bring me any Relief, but I find Philosophy is of no power to root out a Passion that is once admitted, whatever it may to defend us from an Invasion."
Metaphor in Context
Madam,
'Tis not Absence, which your Cruelty has commanded, that can efface that lovely Image your Eyes have form'd in my faithful Bosom. I have, 'tis true, but to no purpose, retir'd to Oxford, to see if Books, and learned men would bring me any Relief, but I find Philosophy is of no power to root out a Passion that is once admitted, whatever it may to defend us from an Invasion. I tell you, Madam, Love in my Breast is with greater difficulty remov'd, than Foreign Aids out of the distressed Kingdom they are call'd in to assist; Love has subdued me all, and I am entirely a Slave. Despise not my Stature, Madam, for tho' my Body be dwarfish, my Soul is greater than that of the six-foot-high Lover; it actuates this little World with more free Agility, and my Perceptions, and Operations of Mind are less confin'd, and clogg'd; there is a nearer correspondence betwixt my Heart, the Seat of Life, and Love, and the other subservient parts of my Body. In short, I can imagine no advantage the big men have over me, unless it be the damming up the nobler part of Man, the Soul, with a greater quantity of heavy and lumpish Clay, which renders its Passions, and Vertues less perfect, Wit, Courage, and Love being all more languid in them than us. Big men are very often Cowards, and very seldom witty, and ingenious. I confine these Observations, Madam, to the Men, since the composition, and matter of a Woman is of a finer, and more delicate Mould, nearer a-kin to the Essence of her Soul; and I venerate that quality in your self, Madam, it rendring you more like to Heaven, since I lift up my longing Eyes to both, tho' my Prayers soar no higher than your self, the glorious Image of the bright Empyreal; besides, the difference of your Stature would demonstrate your Authority, and Rule over me; for I desire to be eternally your Slave. Oh that your Compassion, and Justice would let me sacrifice my person on the fair Altar of your lovely Bosom, as I have already my Heart on those of your Eyes. If Love be Merit, none deserves you more; and sure whatever we may the other, the heav'n of Woman is gain'd by Merit. Your Rigour makes me bold, and vain, it forces me to boast, that as I deserve you better than any man, so that none shall bear you from me, whilst there is a Soul within the despised Body of your Faithful Slave,
Rob. Petite
(pp. 95-6)
'Tis not Absence, which your Cruelty has commanded, that can efface that lovely Image your Eyes have form'd in my faithful Bosom. I have, 'tis true, but to no purpose, retir'd to Oxford, to see if Books, and learned men would bring me any Relief, but I find Philosophy is of no power to root out a Passion that is once admitted, whatever it may to defend us from an Invasion. I tell you, Madam, Love in my Breast is with greater difficulty remov'd, than Foreign Aids out of the distressed Kingdom they are call'd in to assist; Love has subdued me all, and I am entirely a Slave. Despise not my Stature, Madam, for tho' my Body be dwarfish, my Soul is greater than that of the six-foot-high Lover; it actuates this little World with more free Agility, and my Perceptions, and Operations of Mind are less confin'd, and clogg'd; there is a nearer correspondence betwixt my Heart, the Seat of Life, and Love, and the other subservient parts of my Body. In short, I can imagine no advantage the big men have over me, unless it be the damming up the nobler part of Man, the Soul, with a greater quantity of heavy and lumpish Clay, which renders its Passions, and Vertues less perfect, Wit, Courage, and Love being all more languid in them than us. Big men are very often Cowards, and very seldom witty, and ingenious. I confine these Observations, Madam, to the Men, since the composition, and matter of a Woman is of a finer, and more delicate Mould, nearer a-kin to the Essence of her Soul; and I venerate that quality in your self, Madam, it rendring you more like to Heaven, since I lift up my longing Eyes to both, tho' my Prayers soar no higher than your self, the glorious Image of the bright Empyreal; besides, the difference of your Stature would demonstrate your Authority, and Rule over me; for I desire to be eternally your Slave. Oh that your Compassion, and Justice would let me sacrifice my person on the fair Altar of your lovely Bosom, as I have already my Heart on those of your Eyes. If Love be Merit, none deserves you more; and sure whatever we may the other, the heav'n of Woman is gain'd by Merit. Your Rigour makes me bold, and vain, it forces me to boast, that as I deserve you better than any man, so that none shall bear you from me, whilst there is a Soul within the despised Body of your Faithful Slave,
Rob. Petite
(pp. 95-6)
Categories
Provenance
C-H Lion
Citation
Charles Gildon, The Post-boy rob'd of his Mail: or, the Pacquet Broke Open. Consisting of Five Hundred Letters, to Persons of several Qualities and Conditions. With Observations Upon each Letter. Publish'd by a Gentleman concern'd in the Frolick. Licens'd and Entred, according to Order (London: Printed for John Dunton, 1692). <Link to EEBO-TCP>
Date of Entry
06/30/2013
