several Ways, you’ll often see a Man of this Temper ashamed to be clean, and setting up for Wit only from Negligence in his Habit.  Now I am upon this Head, I can’t help observing also upon a very different Folly proceeding from the same Cause.  As these above-mentioned arise from affecting an Equality with Men of greater Talents from having the same Faults, there are others who would come at a Parallel with those above them, by possessing little Advantages which they want.  I heard a young Man not long ago, who has sense, comfort himself in his Ignorance of Greek, Hebrew, and the Orientals:  At the same Time that he published his Aversion to those Languages, he said that the Knowledge of ’em was rather a Diminution than an Advancement of a Man’s Character:  tho’ at the same Time I know he languishes and repines he is not Master of them himself.  Whenever I take any of these fine Persons, thus detracting from what they don’t understand, I tell them I will complain to you, and say I am sure you will not allow it an Exception against a thing, that he who contemns it is an Ignorant in it.

  I am, SIR,
  Your most humble Servant,
  S. P.

  Mr.  SPECTATOR,

I am a Man of a very good Estate, and am honourably in Love.  I hope you will allow, when the ultimate Purpose is honest, there may be, without Trespass against Innocence, some Toying by the Way.  People of Condition are perhaps too distant and formal on those Occasions; but, however that is, I am to confess to you, that I have writ some Verses to atone for my Offence.  You profess’d Authors are a little severe upon us, who write like Gentlemen:  But if you are a Friend to Love, you will insert my Poem.  You cannot imagine how much Service it will do me with my Fair one, as well as Reputation with all my Friends, to have something of mine in the Spectator.  My Crime was, that I snatch’d a Kiss, and my Poetical Excuse as follows: 

  I. Belinda, see from yonder Flowers
        The Bee flies loaded to its Cell;
        Can you perceive what it devours? 
        Are they impar’d in Show or Smell?

  II.  So, tho’ I robb’d you of a Kiss,
        Sweeter than their Ambrosial Dew;
        Why are you angry at my Bliss? 
        Has it at all impoverish’d you?

  III.  ’Tis by this Cunning I contrive,
        In spight of your unkind Reserve,
        To keep my famish’d Love alive,
        Which you inhumanly would starve.

  I am, Sir,
  Your humble Servant,
  Timothy Stanza.

  Aug. 23, 1712.

  SIR,

  Having a little Time upon my Hands, I could not think of bestowing it
  better, than in writing an Epistle to the SPECTATOR, which I now do,
  and am,

  SIR, Your humble Servant,
  BOB SHORT.

  P. S. If you approve of my Style, I am likely enough to become your
  Correspondent.  I desire your Opinion of it.  I design it for that Way
  of Writing called by the Judicious the Familiar.