'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 kiss my chain And ne'er think more of liberty again.[4] It is said, some of the letters of which we have been speaking, were published from the copies returned him at his request, by Mrs. Oldfield, and that she delighted to read them many years after they were printed, as she also did the judicious essay at the end of them, which is called a Discourse upon Comedy, in Reference to the English Stage; but what gives a yet more natural and lively representation of our author still, is one among those letters, which he calls the Picture, containing a description and character of himself, which we should not now omit transcribing, if his works were not in every body's hands.