THE CHARACTER Of a True ENGLISH Protestant Soldier; With That of a Doublet-Pinking Bully-Hec, OR, A Cowardly-Spirited ANIMAL, Who dares not Venture his LIFE in the Service of his COUNTRY.  
A Soldier, however Born, is a Gentleman by his Profession; and that which undeniably proves him so, is, that he values his Honour above his Life. He is too Jealous of slippery Fame, to trust her so long on the ticklish Precipice of a doubtful Succession; and therefore with his own merit, he either supports the Credit of an Ancient Family, or lays the Foundation of a new one: he thinks it not sufficient to say his Forefathers were Valiant, unless himself be so too; and would suspect his own Mother's Fidelity, did he not find himself in possession of his Father's Courage.  
The Politician calls the Soldier, The Bulwark of a Nation; and whilst I behold ours in their ruddy Apparel, methinks every one looks like a contributing Brick, to those Impregnable Walls; for they are Cemented with Loyalty instead of Lime; and whilst they stand in defence of their King and Country, we need not doubt but they will easily undergo the fiercest shock of the most Potent Enemy. The Sea and These, look like a Tautology, where Illiterate Nature might have spared the first, since she has been so liberal in the latter. They were certainly such Stones as these, which (like Epicurean's wanton Atoms) Danced to the Jig at Thebes, and by an accidental hit, settled there into a Wall, as the other into a World. However I am confident ours will prove so Flinty a one, that they who storm it, must strike that Fire which will revert to their own Destruction.  
But not to digress:—  
A Soldier is one, who (as Heaven has given him a Soul, so he) knows how to use it: He is sensible of the difference between Honour and Infamy, so that the horrid apprehensions of a base Life, drives him from the Fire to the Field; where carried on by an undaunted resolution, he many times obtains at once, the Soldiers three grand Utinams, Fame, Preferment, and Victory: whilst others by the silent Rhetoric of an insipid Life, seem to make good Charroon's indifferency about Sense and Reason—  
If any man may be compared to the Soldier, it is (excepting himself) the best of Men, the Philosopher; for they both carry their chiefest Treasures about them, Courage and Learning, the One current in the Town, the Other in the Field. The Soldier thinks not himself in want when his Money fails, but when his Spirit fails him; and then he knows he cannot suffer long, for his death must immediately follow. Sterling-Valour is the only Coin that passes in Glory's Forum, and he who has that shall be sure either to purchase Dominions, or at least the favour of him that rules them.  
As Summer calls the Husbandman, so War beckons the Soldier into the Field; that alone's his time of Harvest, his Sword is his Sickle, and out of men cut close down and well thrashed, he maintains both himself and his Family; nor is he so prodigal of his dear-bought Reputation, as to exhaust it all in his life-time, but as one never weary of doing good, by a continuance of generous Actions, still keeps up the old Stock; which ere his Death being put into the safe Repository of some Chronicle or History, he afterwards dying, bequeathes it as a Legacy to his emulating Successors.  
Of all sights in the World, the Backside of a Coward is most hateful to him: he had rather charge the Devil in the Teeth, than him in the Posteriors. A Flying Foe he looks on, as the worst quest he can follow, because generally the Game's not worth the hanging, when 'tis caught. His Courage and Reason have made a Marriage, whereof a Succession of Noble Actions are the commendable Issue; these like Epaminondas his two Victories, he may worthily call his Daughters; and need not fear the harsh attacks of Time, so long as they shall assuredly live, and rescue him from the assaults of Oblivion.  
If his Birth be obscure, yet it is his comfort to think, that all Families have had a time for their rise; and that no Ages have been fruitful in such Productions, as those of War, wherein the meanest Soldier has sometimes outstripped his General; and by a swift Progression in the Race of Honour, has at length come to command even his Commander.  
No man is so liable to Advancement, as himself: He has the whole World for his Scene; and till all its Inhabitants fall asleep together, he need not fear want of Employment. The first day he ●ists himself, he bids fair for Preferment, and runs as great a hazard of Knighthood, as of Death in every attempt. Let him look which way he will, he finds no room for Fear; for if his time be come, he thinks no place so fit to expire in, as the Field, which is the Bed of Honour; but if the Thread of his Life be not yet wound up, he knows it lies not in the reach of any Accident to shorten it. In the Time of War, he looks on the World as reduced to a Lottery, where he that has the greatest Courage, is sure to draw the richest Prize. This it is, that makes him strut in Rags, and rate himself not according to his Habit, but his Heart; as long as that's good, his Fortune cannot be otherwise, so that how low soever he is at present, he looks on himself as a Commander in Futuro.  
A Soldier is certainly the best Logician; for as he seldom or never disputes, but in a good Cause, so he generally carries the Conclusion in his Scabboard. Like the choicest Physics, his worth may be undervalved, during the wanton Interval of a Kingdom's Health; but if her Politic Body, like our Natural Ones, through an excess of Ease and Luxury, reel in Sickness, 'tis he alone is the known Antidote against the Pestilence of Dissension: Like Fire, he cures by Sympathy, driving out one Sword with another; and by the extraordinary heat of his own Courage draws out That of his Enemies. He holds it next to his Creed, That no Coward can be an Honest Man. He knows the hazard of Battles, not the Pomp of Ceremony, are the Soldier's best Theatre; and looks not on himself indebted to the multitude, but to his own Actions, for his Glory.  
In short, He is One who is deaf to Dangers, in whose Ears the Calls of Honour out-roar a Cannon, and the Invitations to Glory drown a Demiculverin. Next to his KING, he is his Country's Guardian; and She owes her welfare to his Courage and Conduct. Lastly, When the Fertility of his Actions have folded him up in Peace, he leans his Silver-Head towards the Golden Sceptre, and dies happily enveloped in his Princes Arms.  

The Character of a Coward, or Bully-Hec.  
BUT a Coward is certainly the shame of his Species. He is Human Nature Travestied, or the mock man, who (Munkey-like) would undervalue the real one, by resembling him. His Heart, like a Pigeon's Gall, lies in his Guts; and nothing under a Gallon of Usque-Baugh, or Kilderkin of Ale, can chase it up to his Stomach. He is never Quarrelsome till he is Drunk; for than he knows his weakness, like a woman's, is his sure Protection. When he is come home, he shows his manhood in Swearing at, or perhaps fight with his Wife, Maid, or Children; and when he wakes next morning, runs the hazard of a Consumption in contemplating ●he danger he went, by his last Night's Valour.  
Though he is naturally an Epicure; yet he often curses the Custom of Eating, because there are generally Knives used in it; and fore-swears drinking out of a Quart-pot, because the Mouth of it looks so like the muzzel of a Musket.  
Like silly Children, he thinks the whole Firmament is composed of Smoak, and concludes he can live no where, but under that part of it which was composed by his own Chimney: Like a Fish, he breathes his destruction out of his own Element, and nothing under a Sub-poena can drag him out of his Native Country. His greatest pique against England is, that it is an Island, and thinks there is danger enough in a Battle beyond Sea, without an unnecessary hazarding of one's Life to go to it. He had rather be covered with Newgate at home, than with a Coat of Male abroad; because the Stone is the more sure Defence, and is situate in less danger.  
To conclude, he is at best but the skin of a man stuffed with Cowardice; like a Cinnamon Tree, his Bark is more valuable than his Bulk; so hollow-hearted, that if he strikes but his hand on his breast, it sounds like a Drum, and his shirt runs the hazard of a Contamination, at the mere apprehension of a War. He looks like one of Prometheus his Images unfired; like one of Nature's Cast-by's, whom fearing he should take up another's room, she huddled up in a hurry, and produced with such dispatch, that the hasty Midwife was forced to pluck out his body with such speed, that she left his soul in his Mother's Womb.  
FINIS.    

With Allowance,  
LONDON, Printed by E. W. for J. Gibbs. 1689.