TO RICHARD NORTON, OF SOUTHWICK IN HANTSHIRE, ESQUIRE.
Honour’d Sir,
Eminent Wit, Sir, no more than Eminent Beauty, can escape the Trouble and Presumption of Addresses; and that which can strike every body with Wonder, can never avoid the Praise which naturally flows from that Wonder: And Heaven is forc’d to hear the Addresses as well as praises of the Poor as Rich, of the Ignorant as Learned, and takes, nay rewards, the officious tho’ perhaps impertinent Zeal of its least qualify’d Devotees. Wherefore, Sir, tho’ your Merits meet with the Applause of the Learned and Witty, yet your Generosity will judge favourably of the untaught Zeal of an humbler Admirer, since what I do your eminent Vertues compel. The Beautiful will permit the most despicable of their Admirers to love them, tho’ they never intend to make him happy, as unworthy their Love, but they will not be angry at the fatal Effect of their own Eyes.
But what I want in my self, Sir, to merit your Regard, I hope my Authoress will in some measure supply, so far at least to lessen my Presumption in prefixing your Name to a Posthumous Piece of hers, whom all the Men of Wit, that were her Contemporaries, look’d on as the Wonder of her Sex; and in none of her Performances has she shew’d so great a Mastery as in her Novels, where Nature always prevails; and if they are not true, they are so like it, that they do the business every jot as well.
This I hope, Sir, will induce you to pardon my Presumption in dedicating this Novel to you, and declaring my self, Sir,
Your most obedient
and most humble Servant,
S. Briscoe.