ge

_Your humble Servant_,

MELISSA.

_Picadilly, October_ 31, 1711.

_SIR,_

I am joined in Wedlock for my Sins to one of those Fillies who are
described in the old Poet with that hard Name you gave us the other
Day. She has a flowing Mane, and a Skin as soft as Silk: But, Sir, she
passes half her Life at her Glass, and almost ruins me in Ribbons. For
my own part, I am a plain handicraft Man, and in Danger of breaking by
her Laziness and Expensiveness. Pray, Master, tell me in your next
Paper, whether I may not expect of her so much Drudgery as to take
care of her Family, and curry her Hide in case of Refusal.

_Your loving Friend_,

Barnaby Brittle.

_Cheapside, October_ 30.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

I am mightily pleased with the Humour of the Cat, be so kind as to
enlarge upon that Subject.

_Yours till Death_,

Josiah Henpeck.

P.S. You must know I am married to a _Grimalkin_.

_Wapping, October_ 31, 1711.

SIR,

Ever since your _Spectator_ of _Tuesday_ last came into our Family,
my Husband is pleased to call me his _Oceana_, because the foolish old
Poet that you have translated says, That the Souls of some Women are
made of Sea-Water. This, it seems, has encouraged my Sauce-Box to be
witty upon me. When I am angry, he cries Prythee my Dear _be calm_;
when I chide one of my Servants, Prythee Child _do not bluster_. He
had the Impudence about an Hour ago to tell me, That he was a
Sea-faring Man, and must expect to divide his Life between _Storm_ and
_Sunshine_. When I bestir myself with any Spirit in my Family, it is
_high Sea_ in his House; and when I sit still without doing any thing,
his Affairs forsooth are _Wind-bound_. When I ask him whether it
rains, he makes Answer, It is no Matter, so that it be _fair Weather_
within Doors. In short, Sir, I cannot speak my Mind freely to him, but
I either _swell_ or _rage_, or do something that is not fit for a
civil Woman to hear. Pray, _Mr_. SPECTATOR, since you are so sharp
upon other Women, let us know what Materials your Wife is made of, if
you have one. I suppose you would make us a Parcel of poor-spirited
tame insipid Creatures; but, Sir, I would have you to know, we have as
good Passions in us as your self, and that a Woman was never designed
to be a Milk-Sop.

MARTHA TEMPEST.

L.

[Footnote 1: Odes, I. 16. ]

[Footnote 2: In the Timae