London printed for R: Bentley in Covent Garden And R: Sare at Grays-Inn Gate in Holborn 1689  
P. P. Boúche. sculp:   

TWENTY TWO Select Colloquies OUT OF ERASMUS ROTERODAMUS; Pleasantly Representing Several Superstitious LEVITIESES That were crept into the Church of Rome In His Days.  
The Second Impression Corrected and Amended; with the Addition of two Colloquies to the Former.  
By RO. L' ESTRANGE, Kt.  
— Vtile Dulci.  
LONDON: Printed for R. Bentley in Russel Street in Covent-Garden, and R. Sare at Grays-Inn-Gate in Holborn. 1689.   

TO THE READER.  
YOU will find that at the Writing of These Colloquies the Church of Rome stood in great need of Reforming; even in the judgement of Erasmus Himself, who was an Eminent Member of That Communion. You will find Reason also, from the Candour and Moderation of our Learned Author, to Distinguish even betwixt the Romish Doctors Themselves. You will perhaps find matter enough of Diversion besides, to mollify the Evil Spirit, and to turn some Part of the Severity and Bitterness of the Age, into Pity and Laughter.  
But when you shall have found all This in the Dialogues Themselves, you have no Obligation yet for any Part of it to the Translator▪ who made Choice of this Piece, and of this Subject, for his Own Sake, and not for Yours. 〈◊〉 will have him to be a Papist in masquerade, for going so far; Others again will have him to be too much 〈◊〉 Protestant, because he will go no further: So that he is crushed betwixt the Two Extremes, as they hung up Erasmus himself, betwixt Heaven and Hell. Upon the sense of This Hard Measure, he has now made English of These Colloquies; and in This last Edition added two more to the Number; partly as a Prudential Vindication, and partly as a Christian Revenge.   

THE CONTENTS.  

1. THE Shipwreck. 1  
2. The Religious Pilgrimage. 11  
3. Of Rash Vows. 48  
4. The Soldier's Confession. 53  
5. The Inns. 58  
6. The Religious Treat. 66  
7. The Marriage Hater. 112  
8. The Penitent Virgin. 124  
9 The Rich Beggars. 128  
10. The Soldier and Carthusian. 145  
11. The Apotheosis of Capnio; or the Franciscan's Vision. 153  
12. The Funeral. 162  
13. The Exorcism, or Apparition. 185  
14. The Horse-Courser. 198  
15. The Alchemist. 204  
16. The Abbot, and the Learned Woman. 215  
17. The Beggar's Dialogue. 222  
18. Cyclops, or the Gospel-Carrier. 228  
19 The False Knight. 237  
20. The Seraphic Funeral. 247  
21. Hell broke lose. 265  
22. The Old Man's Dialogue. 273    

THE SHIPWRECK.  
COL. I.  
The Description of a Tempest. The Religious Humour of People in Distress. The Superstitious Practice of Worshipping Saints, Censured, and Condemned. Adoration belongs to God Alone.  ANTONIUS, ADOLPHUS. An. 
A Most dreadful Story! Well! If This be Sailing, I shall have the Grace, I hope, to keep myself upon dry Ground.  Ad. 
Why all this is no more than Dancing, to what's to come.  An. 
And yet I have e'en a Belly full on't already. It gives me such a Trembling, that methinks I'm in the Storm myself upon the very Hearing of it.  Ad. 
But yet when the Danger's over, a man's well enough content to think on't. There was One Passage, I remember, that put the pilot almost to his Wit's end.  An. 
What was that I pray?  Ad. 
The night was not very Dark, and one of the Mariners was gotten into the Scuttle, (I think that's the name on't) at the Main-mast-Top, to see if he could Make any Land: there drew near him a certain Ball of Fire; which is the worst Sign in the World at Sea, if it be Single; but if Double, 'tis the contrary. These two Fires, were called by the Ancients, Castor and Pollux.  An. 
What had they to do a Shipboard I wonder, when the one was a Horseman, and the other a Wrestler?  Ad. 
That's as it pleased the Poets. But the Steersman calls out to him; Mate, says he, (the Sea-term) done't you see what a Companion you have gotten beside you there? I do, says he, God send us good luck after't. By and by, the Ball glides down the Ropes, and rowls over and over, close to the Pilate.  An. 
And was he not frighted out of his Wits almost?  Ad. 
Sailors are used to terrible Sights. It stopped a little there, and then passed on by the side of the Vessel, till at last it slipped through the Hatches, and so vanished. Toward Noon, the Tempest increased. Did you ever see the Alps?  An. 
Yes, I have.  Ad. 
These Mountains are no more than Warts to the Billows of a Raging Sea. One while we were tossed up, that a man might have touched the Moon with his Finger; and, than down again, that it looked as if the Earth had opened to take us directly into Hell.  An. 
What a madness is it for a man to expose himself to these hazards?  Ad. 
When they saw that there was no contending with the Storm, In comes the pilot, as Pale as Death.  An. 
There was no Good towards then, I fear.  Ad. 
Gentlemen, says he, I am no longer Master of my Ship, the Wind has got the better of me, and all we have now to do is to call upon God, and fit ourselves for Death.  An. 
Marry, a cold Comfort!  Ad. 
But first, says he, we must lighten the Ship, for there's no struggling with Necessity; we had better try if we can save ourselves with the loss of our Goods, than loose both together. The Proposition was found Reasonable, and a great deal of Rich Merchandise was cast overboard.  An. 
This was casting away according to the Letter.  Ad. 
There was in the Company a certain Italian, that had been upon am Embassy to the King of Gotland, and had abundance of Plate, Rings, Diapers, and rich wearing clothes aboard.  An. 
And he, I warrant you, was loath to come to a Composition with the Sea.  Ad. 
No, not altogether so neither; but he declared that he would never part with his beloved Goods, and that they would either Sink or Swim together.  An. 
And what said the pilot to this?  Ad. 
If you and your Trinkets were to Drown by yourselves, says he, here's no body would hinder you; but never imagine that we'll endanger our lives for your Boxes; If you are resolved not to part, ye shall e'en overboard together.  An. 
Spoken like a true Terpawlin.  Ad. 
So the Italian submitted at length, but with many a bitter Curse, upward and downward, for committing his life to so boisterous an Element.  An. 
I am no Stranger to the Italian humonr.  Ad. 
The Winds were not one jot the better for the Presents we had made them, but soon after they tore our Cordage, threw down our Sails.  An. 
Oh Lamentable!  Ad. 
And then the Man comes to us again.  An. 
With another Preachment, I hope.  Ad. 
He gives us a Salute, and bids us fall to our Prayers, and prepare ourselves for another World, for our time, says he, is at hand. One of the Passengers asked him how many hours he thought the Vessel might be kept above Water. His Answer was, that he could promise nothing at all, but that three hours was the utmost.  An. 
This was yet a harder Chapter than the other.  Ad. 
Upon these words he Baules out immediately, Cut the Shrowds; down with the Mast by the board, and away with them Sails and all into the Sea.  An. 
But why so?  Ad. 
Because now they were only a Cumber to the Ship, and of no use at all; for we had nothing to trust to but the Helm.  An. 
What became of the Passengers in the mean time?  Ad. 
Never so wretched a face of things! The Seamen they were at their Salve Regina; Imploring the Virgin-Mother; calling her the Star of the Sea; the Lady of the World; the Haven of Health; with abundance of other fine Titles that we hear no News of in the Scripture.  An. 
What has she to do with the Sea, that never was upon it?  Ad. 
In times past, the Pagans gave Venus, that was born of the Sea, the Charge of Seafaring-men: and since she looked no better after them, the Christians will have a Virgin-President, to succeed her that was None.  An. 
You're Merry.  Ad. 
Some were lying at their length upon the B●rds, Adoring the Sea, throwing Oil into it, and flattering it, as if it had been some Incensed Prince.  An. 
Why what did they say?  Ad. 
O most Merciful, Generous, Opulent, and most Beautiful Sea; Save us; be Gracious to us; and a deal of such stuff did they offer to the deaf Ocean.  An. 
Most ridiculous Superstition! But what did the rest?  Ad. 
Some were Spewing, Some were Praying; I remember there was an English man there, What Golden Mountains did he promise to our Lady of Walsingham, if ever he got safe ashore again! One made a Vow to a Relic of the Cross in one place; a second, to a Relic of it in another; and so they did to all the Virgin Maries up and down; and they think it goes for nothing if they do not name the Place too.  An. 
Childish! as if the Saints did not all dwell in Heaven?  Ad. 
And some promise to turn Carthusians. There was one among the rest that Vowed a Pilgrimage, barefoot and barehead to St. james of Compostella in a Coat of Male, and begging his Bread all the way.  An. 
Did no body think of St. Christopher?  Ad. 
I could not but laugh at one Fellow there, that Vowed to St. Christopher in the great Church at Paris, as loud as ever he could bellow, (that he might be sure to be heard) a Wax Candle as big as himself. (Now you must know that the Paris-St. Christopher is rather a Mountain than a Statue) He was so loud, and went over and over with it so often, that a Friend of his gave him a touch upon the Elbow. Have a care what you Promise, says he, for if you should sell yourself to your Shirt, you are not able to purchase such a Candle. Hold your tongue you fool, (says tother, softly, for fear St. Christopher should hear him;) These are but words of course; Let me set foot a Land once, and he has good luck if he get so much as a Tallow-Candle of me.  An. 
I fancy this Blockhead was a Hollander.  Ad. 
No, no, he was a Zealander.  An. 
I wonder no body thought of St. Paul; for he has been at Sea you know, and suffered Shipwreck, and then leapt ashore; and he understood better than other people what it was to be in that Condition.  Ad. 
He was not so much as named.  An. 
But did they Pray all this while?  Ad. 
As if it had been for a Wager. One was at his Hail Queen; another at his I Believe in God; and some had their particular Prayers against Dangers, like Charms for Agues.  An. 
How Religious does Affliction make a man! In Prosperity we think of neither God, nor Saint. But which of the Saints did you Pray to yourself?  Ad. 
None of 'em all, I assure you.  An. 
Why so, I beseech ye?  Ad. 
I done't like your way of Conditioning, and Contracting with the Saints. Do this, and I'll do that: Here's one for tother; Save me, and I'll give you a Taper, or go a Pilgrimage.  An. 
But did you call upon none of the Saints for Help?  Ad. 
No, not so much as that neither.  An. 
And why did you not?  Ad. 
Because Heaven is large ye know: As put the Case, I should recommend myself to St. Peter; as he is likeliest to hear, because he stands at the Door. Before he can come to God Almighty, and tell him my Condition, I may be fifty Fathom under Water.  An. 
What did you do then?  Ad. 
I even went the next way to God himself, and said my Pater Noster; the Saints neither Hear so readily, nor Give so willingly.  An. 
But did not your Conscience check you? Were you not afraid to call him Father, whom you had so often offended?  Ad. 
To deal freely with you, I was a little fearful at first; but upon recollection, I thought thus with myself. Let a Father be never so angry with a Son, yet if he sees him falling into a River, he will take him up, though't be by the hair of the Head, and lay him upon the Bank. The quietest Creature in the whole Company, was a Woman there, with a Child at her Breast.  An. 
Why, what of her?  Ad. 
She neither Clamoured nor Cried, nor Promised, but hugging of the poor Infant, prayed softly to herself. By this time the Ship struck, and they were fain to bind her fore and aft with Cables, for fear she should fall to pieces.  An. 
That was even a sad shift.  Ad. 
Upon this, up starts an old Priest, of about threescore (his name was Adam) strips himself to his Shirt, throws away his Boots, and Shoes, and bids us provide to Swim; and so standing in the middle of the Ship, he Preached to us out of Gerson, upon the Five Truths of the Benefits of Confession, and so exhorts every man to prepare himself, either for Life, or Death. There was a Dominican there too; and they Confessed, that had a mind to't.  An. 
And what did you?  Ad. 
I saw every thing was in a hurry, and so I confessed myself privately to God, Condemning my own Iniquity, and Imploring his Mercy.  An. 
And whither had you gone do you think if you had miscarried?  Ad. 
I even left that to God; for he is to judge me, and not I myself: and yet I was not without comfortable hopes neither. While this past, the Steersman comes to us again, all in Tears; prepare yourselves good people, says he, for ye have not one quarter of an hour to live; the Ship leaks from one end to t'other. Presently after this, he tells us that he has Made a high Tower, and urges us by all means to call for help, to what Saint soever it was, that had the Protection of that Temple, and so they all fell down and worshipped that unknown Power.  An. 
If you had known the Saints name, 'tis forty to one your Prayers would have been heard.  Ad. 
But that we did not know. The pilot however Steers his torn and leaky Vessel toward that place, as well as he could, and if the Ship had not been well Girt, she had without more ado, fallen directly one piece from another.  An. 
A miserable Case!  Ad. 
We were now come so near the Shore, that the Inhabitants took notice of our distress, and came down in throngs to the Seaside, making Signs, by spreading their Cloaks, and holding up their Hats upon Poles, that they would have us put in there; giving us likewise to understand by casting their Arms into the Air, how much they pitted our Misfortune.  An. 
I would fain know what followed.  Ad. 
The Vessel was now come to that pass, that we had almost as good have been in the Sea, as in the Ship.  An. 
You were hard put to't, I perceive.  Ad. 
Wretchedly. They empty the Ship-Boat, and into the Sea with it: every body presses to get in, and the Mariners cry out they'll sink the Vessel, and that they had better every one shift for himself, and Swim for't. There was no time now for Consultation; one takes an Oar, another a Pole, a Plank, a Tub, or what was next hand, and so they committed themselves to the Billows.  An. 
But what became now of the patient Woman?  Ad. 
She was the first that got ashore.  An. 
How could that be?  Ad. 
We set her upon a Rib of the Ship, and then tied her to't, so that she could hardly be washed off, with a Board in her hand that served her for an Oar; we cleared her of the Vessel, which was the greatest danger, and so setting her afloat, we gave her our Blessing. She had her Child in her left hand, and Rowed with her Right.  An. 
What a Virago was that?  Ad. 
When there was nothing else left, one of the Company tore away a Wooden-Image of the Mother-Virgin (an old rat-eaten Piece) he took it in his Arms, and tried to Swim upon't.  An. 
But did the Boat get safe to Land?  Ad. 
No, that was lost at first with thirty men in't.  An. 
How came that about?  Ad. 
The wallowing of the great Ship overturned it, before it could put off.  An. 
What pity' 'twas! and how then?  Ad. 
Truly I took so much care for other people, that I was near drowning myself.  An. 
How came that?  Ad. 
Because I stayed till I could find nothing to help myself withal.  An. 
A good Provision of Cork would have been worth money then.  Ad. 
I had rather have had it, than a better thing. But looking about me, I bethought myself in good time of the Stump of the Mast; and because I could not get it off alone, I took a Partner to assist me; we both placed ourselves upon it, and put to Sea, I held the right corner, and my Companion the left. While we lay tumbling and tossing, the Sea-Priest I told you off, squabs himself down directly upon our Shoulders; it was a fat heavy Fellow, and we both of us cried ●ut what have we here, this third man will drown us all; but the Priest on the other side, very temperately bade us pluck up our hearts, for by the Grace of God we had room enough.  An. 
How came he to be so late?  Ad. 
Nay he was to have been in the Boat with the Dominican; for they all had a great respect for him: but though they had confessed themselves in the Ship, yet leaving out I know not what Circumstances, they Confess over again, and one lays his hand upon the other; in which interim, the Boat is overturned; and this I had from Adam himself.  An. 
Pray what became of the Dominican?  Ad. 
Adam told me further of him, that having called upon his Saints, and stripped himself naked, he leapt into the Water.  An. 
What Saints did he call upon?  Ad. 
Dominicus, Thomas, Vincentius, and one of the Peter, but I know not which: his great Confident was Catharina Senensis?  An. 
Did he say nothing of Christ?  Ad. 
Not a word as the Priest told me.  An. 
He might have done better if he had not thrown off his Coul; for when that was gone, how should St. Catherine know him? But go forward with your own Story.  Ad. 
While we were yet rolling, and beating near the Ship, and at the Mercy of the Waves, by great misfortune the Thigh of my Left-hand-man was broken with a Nail, that made him lose his Hold; the Priest gave him his Benediction, and came into his place, encouraging me to maintain my Post resolutely, and to keep my legs still going. In the mean while we had our Bellies full of Salt-water, for Neptune had provided us a Potion, as well as a Bath, though the Priest showed him a Trick for't.  An. 
What was that I prithee?  Ad. 
Why he turned his head upon every Billow, and stopped his Mouth.  An. 
It was a brave old Fellow it seems.  Ad. 
When we had been a while adrift, and made some advance, Cheer up, says the Priest, (who was a very tall man) for I feel ground. No, no, said I, we are too far off yet from the Shoar, (and I durst not so much as hope for such a Blessing) I tell you again, says he, my feet are at the Ground, and I would needs persuade him that it was rather some part of the Wreck that was driven on by the Current. I tell you once again, says he, that I am just now scratching the bottom with my Toes. When we had floated a little longer, and that he felt ground again, Do you what you please, says he, but for my part, I'll leave you the whole Mast, and wade for't; and so he took his opportunity, still to follow the Wave, and as another Billow came on, he would catch hold of his knees, and set himself firm against it, one while up and another while down, like a Didapper. Finding that this succeeded so well with him, I followed his example. There stood upon the Shoar several men with long Pikes, which were handed from one to another, and kept them firm against the force of the Waves; they were strong bodied men, and used to the Sea; and he that was last, held out his Pike to the next comer; he lays hold of it, and so they retire and draw him ashore; There were some preserved this way.  An. 
How many?  Ad. 
Seven; but two of them died when they were brought to the Fire.  An. 
How many were there of them in the Ship?  Ad. 
Eight and fifty.  An. 
Methinks the Tithe might have served the Sea as well as it does the Priest. So few to scape out of so great a number!  Ad. 
The People, however, we found to be of wonderful Humanity; for they supplied us with Lodging, Fire, Meat, clothes, Money, with exceeding cheerfulness.  An. 
What are the People?  Ad. 
Hollanders.  An. 
Oh they are much more humane and charitable than their Neighbours. But what do you think now of another Adventure at Sea?  Ad. 
No more, I do assure you, so long as I keep in my right Wits.  An. 
And truly I myself had rather Hear these Stories, than Feel them.   

THE RELIGIOUS PILGRIMAGE.  
COL. II.  
The Vanity of Pretended Religious Pilgrimages. The Virgin-mothers' Epistle to Glaucoplutus, complaining of the Decay of Devotion toward the Saints. The History of the Canterbury Monastries; and the Inestimable Riches of the Church: With a Reproof of the Superstition, Magnificence, and Excesses of the Times. The Temple of Thomas Becket; his Monument, Relics, and Miracles: With a pleasant Story of a Purchase of our Lady's Milk at Constantinople; notably setting forth the Practices and Corruptions of that Age.  MENEDEMUS, OGYGIUS. Me. 
WHat have we here? The Resurrection of a Body that has been six months in the Grave? 'Tis the very man. Welcome Ogygius.  Og. 
And well met Menedemus.  Me. 
From what quarter of the World art thou come? For we have all given thee for dead here, this many a day.  Og. 
And God be thanked I have been as well since I saw thee last, as ever I was in my life.  Me. 
And may'st thou long live to confute such Stories. But what's the meaning of this Dress I prithee? these Shells, Images, Straw-works, Snakes Eggs for Bracelets.  Og. 
O! you must know that I have been upon a Visit to St. james of Compostella; and after that, to the famous Lady t'other side the Water, in England, (which in truth was a Re-visit, for I had seen her three years before.)  Me. 
For Curiosity, I suppose.  Og. 
Nay upon the very score of Religion.  Me. 
You're beholding to the Greeks I presume, for that Religion.  Og. 
My Wife's Mother, let me tell you, bound herself with a Vow, that if her Daughter should be delivered of a live Male Child, her Son in Law should go to St. james in Person, and thank him for't.  Me. 
And did you salute the Saint, only in your own, and your Mothers-in-law Name?  Og. 
No, Pardon me, in the Name of the whole Family.  Me. 
Truly I am persuaded, that your Family would have done every jot as well if you had saved your Compliment. But pray tell me what Answer had you?  Og. 
Not a syllable; but upon the Tendering of my Present, he seemed to smile, and gave me a gentle Nod; with this same Scallop-Shell.  Me. 
But why that Shell rather than any thing else?  Og. 
Because there's great Plenty of these Shells upon that Coast.  Me. 
A most gracious Saint, in the way both of Midwifery and Hospitality! But this is a strange way of Vowing; for one that does nothing himself, to make a Vow that another man shall work. Put the Case, that you should tie up yourself by a Vow to your Saint, that if you succeeded in such or such an Affair, I should Fast twice a week for so many Months. Would I pinch my Guts do ye think, to make good your Vow?  Og. 
No. I do not believe you would: No, not if you had made the Vow in your own Name; for you would have found some Trick or other to have drolled it off. But you must consider that there was a Mother-in-Law, and somewhat of Duty in the Case; and Women are Passionate you know; and I had an Interest at stake.  Me. 
But what if you had not performed this▪ Vow now? What Risque had you run?  Og. 
There would have lain no Action of the Case; but yet the Saint I must confess might have stopped his ears some other time, or brought some sly mischief into my Family; (as people in power, you know, are Revengeful.)  Me. 
Prithee tell me, How is the good man in Health? honest james, What does he do?  Og. 
Why truly, matters are come to an ill pass with him, to what they were formerly.  Me. 
He's grown Old.  Og. 
Leave your Fooling: as if you did not know that Saints never grow old. No, no, 'tis long of this new Opinion that is come to be so rife now in the World, that he is so little Visited; and those that do come, give him only a bare Salute, and little or nothing else; they can bestow their Money to better purpose (they say) upon those that want it.  Me. 
An impious Opinion!  Og. 
And this is the reason that this great Apostle, that was wont to be covered with Gold, and Jewels, is now brought to the very block he was made of; and hardly so much as a Tallow Candle to do him Honour.  Me. 
If this be true, who knows but in time, people may run down the rest of the Saints too?  Og. 
Nay, I can assure you, there goes a strange Letter about from the Virgin-Mary herself, that looks untowardly that way.  Me. 
Which Mary do you mean?  Og. 
She that is called Maria ● Lapide.  Me. 
Up toward Basil, if I be not mistaken.  Og. 
The very same.  Me. 
A very Stony Saint! But to whom did she write it?  Og. 
The Letter tells you the Name too.  Me. 
By whom was it sent?  Og. 
By an Angel undoubtedly; and found in the Pulpit where he Preached to whom it was written. And to put the matter out of all Doubt, I could show you the very Original.  Me. 
But how do you know the Hand of the Angel that is the Virgin's Secretary?  Og. 
Well enough.  Me. 
But how will you be able to prove it?  Og. 
I have compared it with Bede's Epitaph, that was Engraven by the same Angel, and I find them to be perfectly one and the same Writing: And I have read the Angels Discharge to St. Aegidius for Charles the Great; they agree to a Tittle 
* The Story goes that Charles the Great, being in a Fit of Desperation, St. Giles obtained from an Angel a Pardon for him in these Words. Aegidii merito Caroli Peccata remitto. . And is not this a sufficient Proof?  Me. 
May a body see't a little?  Og. 
You may, if you'll damn yourself to the Pit of Hell that you'll never speak on't.  Me. 
'Tis as safe as if you discovered it to a Stone.  Og. 
But there are some Stones that a body would not trust.  Me. 
Speak it to a Mute then.  Og. 
Upon that Condition I'll tell you; but prick up both your Ears.  Me. 
Begin then.  
MARY, the Mother of Jesus, to Glaucoplutus, Greeting. These are to give you to understand, that we take in good part your strenuous Endeavours (as a True Disciple of Luther) to Convince the World of the Vanity and Needlesness of Invocating Saints: For I was even wearied out of my Life with Importunities, Petitions, and Complaints: Every body comes to me; as if my Son were to be always a Child, because he is Painted so; And because they see him at my Breast still, they take for granted, that he dares deny me nothing that I ask him, for fear that, when he has a mind to't, I should deny him the Bubby. Nay, and their requests are sometimes so extravagant, that I am ashamed to mention them; and that which a young Fellow (not wholly abandoned to his Lusts) would hardly ask of a Bawd, they have the face to desire from a Virgin. The Merchant when he is to make a long Voyage, desires me to take Care of his Concubine. The Professed Nun, when she is to make her Escape, recommends to me the Care of her Reputation, when at the same time she's resolved to turn Prostitute. The Soldier marches to a Butchery, and Slaughter, with these Words in his mouth, Blessed Virgin, put into my hands a Fat Prisoner, or a Rich Plunder. The Gamester Prays to me for a good Hand at Dice, and Promises me a Snip with him in the Profit of the Cheat: and if he has but an Ill Run, how am I Cursed, and Railled at? because I would not be a Confederate in his Wickedness. The Usurer Prays for Ten in the Hundred; and I am no longer the Mother of Mercy, if I deny it him. And there is another sort of People, whose Prayers are not so properly Wicked, as Foolish. The Maids, they Pray for Rich and Handsome Husbands; the Wives for Fair Children; the Big Bellied, for Easy Labour; the Old Trot, for Good Lungs, and that I would keep her from Coughs and Catarrhs. He that is Moped and Decrepit, would be Young again. The Philosopher Prays for the Faculty of starting Difficulties never to be Resolved: The Priest for a Plump Benefice; the Bishop for the Preservation of his own Diocese; the Mariner for a Prosperous Voyage; the Magistrate, that I would show him my Son before he dies; the Courtier, that he may make an Effectual Confession upon the Point of Death (as the last thing that he intends to do;) the Husbandman for Seasonable Wether; and his Wife for her Pigs and Poultry. If I deny them any thing, I am presently hardhearted. If I send 'em to my Son, their Answer is, if you'll but say the word, I'm sure he'll do't. How is it possible now for me, that am a loan Body, and a Virgin, to attend Sailors, Soldiers, Merchants, Gamesters, Princes, Plowmen, Marriages, Great Bellies? and all this is nothing yet, to what I suffer. And this trouble is almost over too, (make me thankful for't) if the Riddance were not accompanied with a greater Inconvenience; for the Money and the Reputation that I have lost by't, is worth a great deal more than the leisure that I have gotten; for instead of the Queen of the Heavens, and the Lady of the World, not one of a thousand treats me now so much as with a single Ave Mary. Oh! the Presents of God, and Precious Stones, that were made me formerly; the rich Embroideries, and the Choice I had of Gowns and Petticoats! whereas, I am now fain to content myself with one half of a Vest, and that mouse-eaten too; and a years. Revenue will hardly keep Life and Soul together of the poor Wretch that lights me Candles. And all this might be born yet, if you would stop here, which they say you will not, till you have stripped the Altars, as well as the Saints. Let me advise you, over and over, to have a care what you do; for you will find the Saints better provided for a Revenge, than you are aware of. What will you get by throwing Peter out of the Church, when he comes to keep you out of Heaven? Paul has a Sword; Bartholomew has a Knife; the Monk William has a Privy Coat under his Habit, and a Lance to boot. What will you do when you come to encounter George on Horseback in his Curiasse Arms, with his Spear and his Whinyard? and Anthony himself has his Holy Fire. Nor is there any of them all, that one way or other, cannot do mischief enough if he pleases. Nay, weak as I am, you'll have much 〈◊〉 to compass your en●s, upon me. For I have my Son in my 〈◊〉, and I'm resolved you shall have both or none. If you'll set up a Church without Christ, you may. This I give you to understand, and you shall do well to consider of an Answer, for I have laid the thing to heart.  
From our Stone-house, the Kalends of August, 1524.  Men. 
This is a terrible menacing Letter, and Glaucoplutus, I suppose, will have a care what he does.  Og. 
So he will, if he be wise.  Me. 
I wonder why honest james wrote nothing to him about it.  Og. 
'Tis a great way off, and Letters are liable to be intercepted.  Me. 
But what Providence carried you again into England?  Og. 
Why truly I had the invitation of a fair Wind; and beside, I was half engaged, within two or three years after my last Visit, to give that beyond-Sea-Saint another.  Me. 
Well? and what had you to beg of her?  Og. 
Nothing but ordinary Matters; the Health of my Family, the Increase of my Fortune, a long and happy Life in this World, and everlasting Felicity in the World to come.  Me. 
But could not our Virgin-Mother have done as much for you there? She has a Church at Antwerp, much more glorious than that beyond the Seas.  Og. 
It may be our Lady here might have done't; but she dispenses her Bounties, and her Graces, where, and in what manner she pleases; and accommodates herself to our Affections.  Me. 
I have often heard of james; but give me some Account I prithee of the Reputation and Authority of that beyond-Sea-Lady.  Og. 
You shall have it in as few words as possible. Her name is so famous all over England, that you shall hardly find any man there, that believes he can prosper in the World, without making a yearly Present, more, or less, to this Lady.  Me. 
Where does she keep her Residence?  Og. 
Near the Coast, upon the furthest part, Eastward, of the Island, in a Town that supports itself chiefly upon the resort of Strangers. There is a College of Canons, to which the Latins have added the name of Regulars: and they are betwixt Monks and Canons, which they call Seculars.  Me. 
You make them Amphibious, as if they were beaver's or Otters.  Og. 
Yes, and you may take in Crocodiles too: But trifling apart, you shall hear in three words what they are; in Odious Cases they are Canons; in Favourable, they are Monks.  Me. 
I'm in the dark still.  Og. 
Why then you shall have a Mathematical Illustration. If there should come a Thunderbolt from Rome, against all Monks, then they'll be all Canons. Or if his Holiness should allow all Monks to take Wives, then they'll be all Monks.  Me. 
These are wonderful Favours; I would they would take mine for one.  Og. 
But to the Point: This College has little else to maintain it than the Liberality of the Virgin; for all Presents of Value are laid up; but for small Money, and things of little Moment, it goes to the feeding of the Flock, and the Head of it, whom they call the Prior.  Me. 
What are they? Men of good Lives?  Og. 
Not much amiss, for their Piety is more worth than their Revenue. The Church is Neat, and Artificial; but the Virgin does not live in it herself; for upon the Point of Honour, she has given it to her Son; but she has her Place however upon his Right Hand.  Me. 
Upon his Right Hand? which way looks her Son then?  Og. 
That's well thought of. When he looks toward the West, he has his Mother on his Right hand; and when to the East on his Left; and she does not dwell here neither; for the Building is not finished; the Doors and Windows lie all open, and the Wind blows through it; and that's a bleak Wind you'll say, that comes from the Sea.  Me. 
This is somewhat hard methinks; but where does she dwell then?  Og. 
In that unfinished Church I told you of, there's a small boarded Chapel, with a little Door on each side to receive Visitors. There's scarce any light at all to't, more than what comes from the Tapers, but a most delicious Perfume.  Me. 
These things cannot but conduce strangely to Religion.  Og. 
You would say something, Menedemus, if you saw it within, how it glitters with Gold, Silver, Diamonds Rubies, etc.  Me. 
You have set me agog to go thither too.  Og. 
Take my word for't, if you do, you shall never repent your Journey.  Me. 
Is there no Holy Oil there?  Og. 
Well said, Simpleton. That Oil is only the Sweat of Saints in their Sepulchers; as of Andrew, Katherine, etc. Marry, you know, was never buried.  Me. 
That was my Mistake; but I pray go on with your Story.  Og. 
For the better propagation of Religion, they show some things at one place, and some at another.  Me. 
And perhaps it turns to their Profit too, as we say, Many a little, makes a Mickle.  Og. 
And you never fail of some body at hand to show you what you have a mind to see.  Me. 
One of the Canons it may be.  Og. 
No, by no means; they are not made use of; for fear that under colour of Religion, they should prove Irreligious, and lose their own Virginity in the very service of the Virgin. In the Inward Chapel, there stands a Regular at the Altar.  Me. 
And what's his business?  Og. 
Only to receive and keep that which is given.  Me. 
But may not a man choose whether he will give any thing or no?  Og. 
Yes, he may; but there is a certain Religious Modesty in some People; they will give bountifully if any body looks on; but not one farthing perhaps without a Witness; or at least not so much as otherwise.  Me. 
This is right flesh and blood, and I find it myself.  Og. 
Nay, there are some so strangely devote to the Holy Virgin, that while they pretend to lay one Gift upon the Altar, by a marvellous flight of hand they'll steal away another.  Me. 
But what if no body were by? Would not the Virgin call them to account?  Og. 
Why should she take any more notice of them, than God himself does, when People break into his Temple, Rob his Altars, and Commit Sacrilege?  Me. 
The impious Confidence of these Wretches, and the Patience of Almighty God, are both of them admirable.  Og. 
Upon the North side, there is a certain Gate (I do not mean of the Church) but of the Wall that encloses the Churchyard; it has a very little Door, like the Wicket that you see in some great Gates of Nobleman's Houses. A man must venture the breaking of his Shins, and stoop too, or there's no getting in.  Me. 
An Enemy would be hard put to't to enter a Town at such a Passage.  Og. 
So a man would think; and yet the Verger told me for certain, that a Knight a Horseback, with an Enemy at his heels, made his Escape through this Door, and saved himself. When he was at the last pinch, he bethought himself of a sudden, and recommended himself to the Blessed Virgin, there at hand, resolving to take Sanctuary at her Altar, if he could come at it: when all in an instant (a thing almost incredible) he and his Horse were conveyed safe into the Churchyard, and his Adversary stark mad on the other side for his disappointment.  Me. 
And did you really believe what he told you?  Og. 
Beyond all dispute.  Me. 
One would hardly have expected it from a man of your Philosophy.  Og. 
Nay, which is more, he showed me the very image of this Knight in a Copper Plate that was nailed to the Door, in the very clothes that were then in fashion, and are to be seen yet in sever●● old English Pictures: which if they be right drawn, the Barbers and Clothiers in those days had but an Ill time on't.  Me. 
How so?  Og. 
He had perfectly the Beard of a Goat, and not one Wrinkle in his Doublet and Hose; but they were made so straight, as if he had been rather stitched up in them, than they cut out for him. In another Plate there was an exact Description of the Chapel, the Figure and the Size of it.  Me. 
So that now there was no further doubt to be made upon the matter.  Og. 
Under this little Gate, there's an iron Grate, that was made only for one to pass a foot; for it would not have been decent that any Horse should afterward trample upon the Ground that the former Horsman had consecrated to the Virgin.  Me. 
You have Reason.  Og. 
Eastward from thence, there's another Chapel, full of Wonders, to the degree of Prodigies. Thither I went, and another Officer received me. When we had Prayed a little, he shows the middle Joint of a Man's Finger. First I kissed it, and then I asked to whom that Relic formerly belonged? He told me to St. Peter. What, said I, the Apostle? he told me yes. Now the Joint was large enough to have answered the Bulk of a Giant; upon which Reflection, St. Peter, said I, was a very proper Fellow then. Which set some of the Company a laughing, truly to my trouble; for if they had kept their Countenance, we should have had the whole History of the Relics. But however we dropped the man some small money, and pieced up the matter as well as we could. Just before this Chapel, stood a little House, which the Officer told us, was conveyed thither through the Air, after a wonderful manner, in a terrible Winter, when there was nothing to be seen but Ice and Snow. Within this House there were two Pits brim full, that sprang (as he told us) from a Fountain consecrated to the Holy Virgin. The Water is strangely cold, and the best remedy in the World for Pains in the Head or the Stomach.  Me. 
Just as proper as Oil would be to quench a Fire.  Og. 
You must consider my Friend, this is a Miracle. Now it would be no Miracle for Water to quench Thirst.  Me. 
That shift goes a great way in the Story.  Og. 
It was positively affirmed that this Spring burst out in an instant, at the command of the Holy Virgin. Upon a strict Observation of every thing I saw, I asked the Officer how many years it might be since that little House was brought thither. He told me that it had been there for some ages; and yet (said I) methinks the Walls do not seem to be of that Antiquity; and he did not much deny it. Nor these Pillars (said I.) No Sir, says he, they are but of late standing, (and the thing discovered itself.) And then, said I, methinks that Straw, those Reeds, and the whole Thatch of it look as if they had not been so long laid. 'Tis very right, Sir, says he; and what do you think, said I, of those Cross Beams and Rafters? they cannot be near so old. He confessed they were not. At last, when I had questioned him to every part of this poor Cottage; How do you know, said I, that this is the House that was brought so far in the Air so many Ages ago?  Me. 
Prithee how did he come off there?  Og. 
Without any more to do, he showed us an old Bear-skin that was tacked there to a piece of Timber, and almost laughed at us to our very teeth, as people under an invincible Ignorance. Upon seeming better satisfied, and excusing our heaviness of apprehension, we came then to the Virgins Milk.  Me. 
It is with the Virgin's Milk as with her Son's Blood; they have both of them 〈◊〉 more behind them than ever they had in their Bodies.  Og. 
And so they tell us of the Cross, which is showed up and down both in public and in private, in so many Relics, that if all the Fragments were laid together, they would load an East-India-ship: and yet our Saviour carried the whole Cross upon his Shoulders.  Me. 
And is not this a wonderful thing too?  Og. 
It is extraordinary I must confess; but nothing is wonderful to an Almighty Power; that can increase every thing according to his own pleasure.  Me. 
'Tis well done however to make the best on't: but I'm afraid that we have many a Trick put upon us, under the Masque of Piety, and Religion.  Og. 
I cannot think that God himself would suffer such Mockeries to pass unpunished.  Me. 
And yet what's more common than for the Sacrilegious themselves (such is the Tenderness of God) to scape in this World without so much as the least Check for their Impieties?  Og. 
This is all true, but hear me on: The Milk that I was speaking of, is kept upon the High Altar; Christ in the Middle, and his Mother, for respects sake, at his Right hand. The Milk, you must know, represents his Mother.  Me. 
Can you see it then?  Og. 
Yes, for 'tis preserved in a Crystal Glass.  Me. 
And is it liquid too?  Og. 
What do you talk to me of Liquid; when 'twas drawn above Fifteen hundred year ago. It is now come to a Concretion, and looks just like pounded Chalk with the White of an Egg.  Me. 
But will they not let a man see it open?  Og. 
Not upon any terms. Men would be kissing of it, and profane it.  Me. 
You say very well; for all Lips are not fit to approach it.  Og. 
So soon as the Officer sees us, he runs presently, and puts on his Surplice, and a Stole about his Neck, falls down, and Worships; and by and by gives us the Holy Milk to kiss; and we prostrated ourselves too, in the first place, bowing to Christ, and then, applying to the Virgin, in the following prayer, which I had in readiness for this purpose.  
VIrgin Mother! That hast deservedly given suck to the Lord of Heaven and Earth, thy Son Jesus at thy Virgin's Breasts; We pray thee, that we, being purified by his Blood, may ourselves arrive at the Happy Infant State of the Simplicity and Innocence of Doves; and that being Void of Malice, Fraud, and Deceit, we may daily thirst after the Milk of Evangelical Doctrine, until it grows up to be perfect Man, and to the Measure of the Fullness of Christ, whose blessed Society thou shalt enjoy for ever and ever, with the Father and the Holy Ghost, Amen.  Me. 
Truly a very devout Prayer: but what Return?  Og. 
If my eyes did not deceive me, they were both pleased, for the Holy Milk seemed to leap and sparkle; and the Eucharist, of a sudden looked brighter than usual. In the mean while, the Verger came to us, and without a word speaking, held out such a kind of Table as they use in Germany upon their Bridges, when they take Toll.  Me. 
I remember those Tables very well, and have cursed them many a time in my Travels that way.  Og. 
We laid down some pieces of Money, which he presented to the Virgin. After this, by our Interpreter, one Robert Aldridge, (as I remember) a well spoken young man, and a great Master of the English Tongue, I asked as civilly as I could, what assurance they had that this was the Milk of the Virgin: which I did, with a pious intention that I might stop the Mouths of all Scoffers and Gainsayers. The Officer, at first, contracted his Brow, without a word speaking; and thereupon I pressed the Interpreter to put the same question to him again, but in the fairest manner imaginable; which he did in so obliging a fashion, that if the Address had been to the Mother herself, when she had been newly laid, it could not have been taken amiss. But the Officer, as if he had been inspired with some Enthusiasm, expressing in his Countenance the horror and detestation he had for so blasphemous a question; What need is there, says he, of these Inquiries, when you have so Authentic a Record for the truth of the matter? And we had undoubtedly been turned out for Heretics, if we had not sweetened the angry Man with a few Pence.  Me. 
But how did you behave yourselves in the interim?  Og. 
Just as if we had been stunded with a Cudgel, or struck with Thunder. We did most humbly beg his Pardon (as in holy matters a man ought to do) and so went our way from thence to the little Chapel, which is the peculiar Receptacle of the Holy Virgin. In our way thither, comes one of the under Officers to us, staring us in the face as if he knew us; and after him a second, and a third, all gaping upon us after the same manner.  Me. 
Who knows but they might have a mind to draw your Picture?  Og. 
But my thoughts looked quite another way.  Me. 
Why, what did you imagine then?  Og. 
That some body had robbed the Virgin's Chapel, and that I had been suspected for the Sacrilege; and therefore I entered the Holy place with this Prayer to the Virgin-Mother in my Mouth.  
OH! Thou alone, who among Women art a Mother, and a Virgin; the Happiest of Mothers, and the Purest of Virgins: We that are impure, do now present ourselves before thee that art Pure; humbly saluting and paying reverence unto thee, with our small Offerings, such as they are. O that thy Son would enable us to imitate thy most holy Life, and that we might deserve, by the Grace of the Holy Spirit, spiritually to conceive the Lord Jesus in our Souls, and having once received him, never to lose him. Amen.  
And so I kissed the Altar, laid down my Offering, and departed?  Me. 
What did the Virgin here? Did she give you no token that your Prayer was heard?  Og. 
It was (as I told you) but an uncertain Light, and she stood in the dark upon the Right hand of the Altar: but in fine, my courage was so taken down by the Cheque the former Officer gave me, that I durst not so much as lift up my eyes again.  Me. 
So that this Adventure, I perceive did not succeed so well.  Og. 
Oh best of all.  Me. 
You have put me in courage again, for, as your Author has it, my heart was even sunk into my Breeches.  Og. 
After dinner we go to Church again.  Me. 
How durst you do that, under a suspicion of Sacrilege?  Og. 
It may be I was, but so long as I did not suspect myself, all was well: a good Conscience fears nothing: I had a great Mind to see the Record that the Verger referred us too; and after a long search, at last we found it: but the Table was hung so high, that a man must have good eyes to read it. Now mine are none of the best, nor yet the worst: but as Aldridge read, I went along with him: for I had not faith enough wholly to rely upon him in so important an Affair.  Me. 
But were you satisfied in the point at last?  Og. 
So fully, that I was ashamed that ever I had doubted of it: every thing was made so clear; the Name, the Place, the very Order of the Proceeding; and in one word, there was nothing more to be desired.  
There was one William (born at Paris) a man of general Piety, but most particularly industrious in gathering together all the Relics of Saints that were to be gotten over the whole World. This person, after he had travelled several Countries, and taken a View of all Monasteries, and Temples, wherever he passed, came at last to Constantinople, where a Brother of his was at that time a Bishop; who gave him notice, when he was preparing for his Return, that there was a certain Nun that had a quantity of the Mother Virgin's Milk; and that if any of it were to be gotten, either by Art, or for Love, or Money, it would make him the happiest Man in Nature; and that all the Relics which he had hitherto collected, were nothing to't. This same William never rested till he had obtained the one half of this Holy Milk; which he valued above the Treasure of an Empire.  Me. 
No question of it; and a thing so unexpected too.  Og. 
He goes straight homeward, and falls sick upon the way.  Me. 
As there's no trust to human Felicity, either that it shall be perfect or long lived!  Og. 
Finding himself in danger, he calls a Frenchman to him; (his friend and fellow Traveller) makes him swear Secrecy, and then delivers him this Milk, upon Condition that if he gets home safe, he should deposit that Treasure, upon the Altar of the Holy Virgin in the famous Church of Paris; that Church that has the Seine on each side of it; as if the River itself gave place, in reverence to the Divinity of the Saint. To be short, William is dead and buried, the other takes Post, and he dies too; but finding himself in extremity, he delivers the Milk to an English Nobleman, but under the strictest obligation imaginable, that the Count should so dispose of it as he himself would have done; the one dies, the other receives it, and puts it upon the Altar in the presence of the Canons of the place, who in those days were still called Regulars (as they are yet at St. Genoveve.) Upon his Request, these Regulars were prevailed upon to divide the Milk with him, one Moiety whereof was carried into England; and by him afterward deposited upon the Altar I told you of, as moved thereunto by a divine Impulse.  Me. 
Why this is a Story now that hangs handsomely together.  Og. 
And to put all out of doubt, the very Bishop's names are set down, that were authorized to grant releaseth, and Indulgencies to those that should come to see it, according to the power to them given; but not without some obligation or other in token of their Veneration.  Me. 
Very good; and how far did that power extend?  Og. 
To forty days.  Me. 
But are there days in Purgatory?  Og. 
There is Time there.  Me. 
But when the stock of forty days is gone, have they no more to bestow?  Og. 
Oh you mistake the business! for 'tis not here, as in the Tub of the Danaides, which is always filling, and always empty; but here, take out as long as you will, there's never the less in the Vessel.  Me. 
But what if they should now give a Remission for forty days, to 100000 men? has every one of them his proportion?  Og. 
All alike.  Me. 
And suppose a man should have forty days granted him in the morning; have they wherewithal to give him forty days more at night?  Og. 
Yes, yes, if it were ten times over every hour.  Me. 
If I had but such a device at home, I should not ask much to set up withal.  Og. 
You might e'en as well wish to be turned into a Golden Statue, and as soon have your ask. But to return to my History. There was one Argument added, which methought was of great Pity and Candour, which was, that tho' the Virgin's Milk in many other places, might challenge due Veneration, yet this was to be the most esteemed, because it was saved as it fell from the Virgin's Breasts, without touching the ground; whereas the other was scraped off from Rocks and Stones.  Me. 
But how does that appear?  Og. 
From the very mouth of the Nun at Constantinople, that gave it.  Me. 
And it may be she had it from St. Bernard.  Og. 
I believe she had.  Me. 
For he had the Happiness to taste the Milk of the same Breast that sucked out Saviour: so that I wonder he was not rather called Lactifluous than Mellifluous. But how is that the Virgin's Milk that did not flow from her Breasts?  Og. 
It did flow from her Breasts; but dropping upon the Rock she sat upon, it was there concreted; and afterward, by Providence, multiplied and increased.  Me. 
You say well, go forward now.  Og. 
We were now upon the point of marching off; but still walking and looking about us to see if there were any thing else worth taking notice of; and there were the Chapel Officers again, learing at us, pointing, nodding, running up and down back and forward, as if they would fain have spoken to us, but had not the face to do't.  Me. 
And did not your heart go pity apat upon't?  Og. 
No, not at all; but on the contrary I looked them cheerfully in the very eyes; as who should say, speak and welcome. At length one of them comes to me, and asks me my name. I tell it him. Are not you the man, says he, that a matter of two years since, set up a Votive-Table here in Hebrew Letters? I told him I was that person.  Me. 
Do you write Hebrew then?  Og. 
No, but let me tell you, they take every thing to be Hebrew they do not understand. By and by, cometh, (upon calling I suppose) the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, of the College.  Me. 
What Dignity is that? have they no Abbot? No.  Me. 
Why so?  Og. 
Because they don't understand Hebrew.  Me. 
Have they no Bishop?  Og. 
Neither.  Me. 
What's the reason on't?  Og. 
The Virgin is so poor, that she is not able to be at the charge of a Staff and Mitre; for you must know the Price is extremely raised.  Me. 
But methinks at least they should have a Precedent.  Og. 
No, nor that neither.  Me. 
What hinders it?  Og. 
Because a Precedent is a name of Dignity; not of Holiness. And therefore the Colleges of Canons will have no Abbots.  Me. 
But this same 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is a thing I never heard of before.  Og. 
You are but an easy Grammarian, I perceive.  Me. 
I have heard of it indeed in Rhetoric.  Og. 
Observe me now. He that is next to the Prior, is the Posterior Prior.  Me. 
Yes the Subprior.  Og. 
That man saluted me with great Courtesy, and then fell to tell me what pains had been taken to read those Verses; what wiping of Spectacles there had been to no purpose; how often such a Doctor of Law, and another Doctor of Divinity, had been brought thither to expound the Table. One would have the Character to be Arabic, another looked upon't as a Shame, and to signify nothing at all; but in conclusion, there was one found out that made a shift to read the Title, which was written in Latin and Roman Capitals. The Greek Verses, in Greek Capitals; which at first sight looked like Roman. Upon their request, I turned them word for word into Latin, and they would have paid me for my pains; but I excused myself with a Protestation, that for the Holy Virgin's sake, I would do any thing in the World; and that if she had any Letters to send, even to jerusalem, I would not stick to go upon the Errand.  Me. 
As if she could want Carriers, that has so many Angels perpetually waiting about her.  Og. 
He took out of his Purse a little piece of Wood, that was cut off from the Beam the Virgin Mother stood upon, and made me a Present of it. I found by the wonderful fragrancy of it, that the thing was sacred, and could not do less than kiss it twenty times over; and in the lowest posture of humility (bareheaded, and with the highest degree of Reverence) I put it up in my Pocket.  Me. 
Mayn't a man see it?  Og. 
I'm not against it; but if you have either eat or drunk to day, or had to do with your Wife last night, I would not advise you to look upon't.  Me. 
Show me't however, and I'll stand the venture.  Og. 
Why there 'tis then.  Me. 
How happy a man art thou now to have such a Present?  Og. 
Such a one as it is, I would have you know, that I would not change it for the Wealth of the Indies. I'll set it in Gold, and put it in a Crystal Case. Hysteroprotos, when he saw me so overjoyed at the favour I had already received, began to think me worthy of greater; and asked me if I had seen the Virgin's secrets? The expression startled me, and yet I durst not so much as desire him to expound himself, for a body's Tongue may slip in Holy matters as well as in Profane. However, I told him that I had not as yet seen 'em, and that I much desired to see them. I am carried in now, as one in an Ecstasy; two Tapers presently lighted, and an Image produced; of no great value for the bigness, matter or Workmanship; but of wonderful Virtue.  Me. 
It is not the bulk that does the Miracle; yonder's Christopher at Paris; there's a Wagon load of him, a very Colossus, nay, I might have said a Mountain, and yet I never heard of any Miracles that he wrought.  Og. 
There's a Gemm at the feet of the Virgin, which the Latins and Greeks have not yet found a name for; the French call it a Toadstoane, from the resemblance of a Toad in it: beyond any thing that ever was done to the Life: and to make it the greater Miracle, it is but a little Stone neither; and the Image does not stand on't, but 'tis formed in the very body of the Stone.  Me. 
Perhaps people may fancy the likeness of a Toad in the Stone, as they do that of an Eagle, in the stalk of a Brake or Fern; or as Boys do burning Mountains, Battles, and terrible Dragons in the Clouds.  Og. 
Nay, for your satisfaction, one living Toad is not liker another.  Me. 
Come, come, I have had enough of your Stories, you had best go with your Toad to some body else.  Og. 
This humour of yours Menedemus does not at all surprise me; for if I myself had not seen it with these eyes, (mark me, with these very eyes) if the whole Tribe of Schoolmen had sworn it to me, I should never have believed 'em. But you are not curious enough, methinks, upon these Rarities of Nature.  Me. 
And why not curious enough? because I cannot be persuaded that Asses fly?  Og. 
But do you not see how Nature entertains herself in the colours and shapes of all things; and especially of precious Stones? what admirable Virtues she has emplanted in them; and incredible too, if experience had not forced us to an acknowledgement of them? Tell me, would you ever have believed that Steel could have either been drawn by the Loadstone, or driven away, without touching it, if you had not seen it with your own eyes?  Me. 
Truly I think I should not, though ten Aristotle's had sworn the truth of it.  Og. 
Do not pronounce all things to be fabulous then, that you have not found so by experiment. Do we not find the figure of the Bolt in the Thunder-Stone: Fire in the Carbuncle; the Figure of Hail, and the invincible coldness of it, (even as if it were cast into the Fire) in the Hail-Stone: The waves of the Sea in the Emerald; the Figure of a Sea-Crab in the Carcinias; of a Viper in the Echites; of a Gilt-head in the Scarites; of a Hawk in the Hieraclites; of a Crane's Neck in the Geranites? In one Stone, you have the eye of a Goat; in another, of a Hog; in another, three human eyes together: in the Licophthalmus you will find the Eye of a Wolf, with four colours in't; fiery, bloody; and black in the middle, encompassed with white. One Stone has the figure of a Bean in the middle; another the Trunk of a Tree; and it burns like wood too; the Resemblance of Ivy in another. One shows you the Beams of Lightning, another looks as if there were a Flame in't; and in some Stones you shall find Sparkles; the colour of Saffron, of a Rose, Brass, the figure of an Eagle, a Peacock, an Asp, a Pismire, a Bittle or Scorpion. It would be endless to pursue this subject; for there is not any Element, living Creature or Plant, which Nature (as it were to sport herself) has not given us some resemblance of in Stones. Why should you wonder then at this Story I have told you, of the Toad?  Me. 
I did not think Nature had had so much spare time, as to divert herself in drawing Pictures.  Og. 
'Tis rather to exercise our Curiosity, and keep us from Idleness, or worse Diversions, as running mad after Buffoons, Dice, Fortune-tellers, and Hocus', etc.  Me. 
All this is too true.  Og. 
I have heard that if you put this Toadstone into Vinegar, it shall move the Legs and Swim.  Me. 
But why is it dedicated to the Virgin?  Og. 
'Tis laid at her feet, to show that she has overcome, trampled upon, and extinguished all Uncleanness, Malice, Pride, Avarice, and Earthly Desires.  Me. 
Woe be to us then that have so much of the Toad still in our hearts.  Og. 
But if we worship the Virgin, as we ought, we shall be pure.  Me. 
How would she have us Worship her?  Og. 
By the Imitation of her.  Me. 
That's soon said, but not so easily performed.  Og. 
'Tis hard, I confess, but well worth the pains.  Me. 
Proceed now, and finish what you have begun.  Og. 
The man showed us next, certain Gold, and Silver Statues. This (says he) is solid Gold, this only silver gilt, and he tells us the Weight, the Price, and the Presenter of every piece. The Man then taking notice of the satisfaction I found to see the Virgin endowed with so rich a Treasure, you are so good a man, says he, that I cannot honestly conceal any thing from you, and will show you now the greatest Privacies the Virgin has; and at that word, he takes out of a Drawer from under the Altar, a World of things of great value; it would be a days work to tell you the particulars; so that thus far my Journey succeeded to my wish; I satisfied my Curiosity abundantly, and brought away this Inestimable Present with me, as a Token of the Virgin's love.  Me. 
Did you ever make any Trial of the Virtues of this Token?  Og. 
Yes, I have; I was three or four days ago in a Treating-house, and there was a Fellow so stark staring mad, that they were just about to lay him in Chains; I only laid this piece of wood under his Pillow (without his Privity) he fell into a sound sleep; and in the morning, rose as sober as ever he was in his life.  Me. 
But art sure he was not drunk? for fleep is the best remedy in the World for that disease.  Og. 
This is not a subject Menedemus for Raillery. 'Tis neither honest, nor safe to make sport with the Saints: Nay, the Man himself told me, that there was a Woman appeared to him in his Sleep, of an incomparable Beauty, that brought him a Cup to drink.  Me. 
Of Hellebore it may be.  Og. 
That's uncertain, but of a certainty, this man is in his Wits again.  Me. 
Did you take no notice of Thomas the Archbishop of Canterbury?  Og. 
Yes sure I hope I did. 'Tis one of the famousest Pilgrimages in the World.  Me. 
If it were not a trouble to you, I would fain hear something of it.  Og. 
Nay, 'tis so far from that, that you'll oblige me in the hearing of it.  
THat part of England that looks toward France and Flanders, is called Kent; there are two Monasteries in't, that are almost contiguous, and they are both Benedictins. That which bears the name of St. Augustine seems to me to be the Ancienter, and that of St. Thomas I judge to have been the Seat of the Archbishop, where he passed his time with a few Monks that he made choice of for his Companions. As the Prelates at this day have their Palaces near the Church, tho' apart from the Houses of other Canons: for in times past, both Bishops, and Canons were commonly Monks, as appears upon the Record. But St. Thomas' Church is so eminent, that it puts Religion into a man's thoughts as far as he can see it: and indeed it over-shadows the Neighbourhood, and keeps the light from other Religious Places. It has two famous Turrets, that seem in a manner to bid Visitants welcome from afar off; and a Ring of Bells that are admired far and near. In the South Porch stand the Statues of three Armed Men that murdered the Holy man, with their Names and Families.  Me. 
Why had the Wretches so much honour done them?  Og. 
It is the same honour that is done to judas, Pilate, and Caiaphas, and the band of wicked Soldiers, whose Images and Pictures, are commonly seen upon the most magnificent Altars. Their names, I suppose, are there expressed, for fear some body else hereafter should have the glory of the Fact that had no title to't; and besides they stand there for a warning to Courtiers that they meddle no more with Bishops or Possessions of the Church; for those three Ruffians ran mad upon the horror of the Act, and had never come to themselves again, ●f St. Thomas had not been moved on their behalf.  Me. 
Oh! the infinite Clemency of Martyrs!  Og. 
The first prosspect upon entering the Church, is only the largeness, and the Majesty of the Body of it; which is free to every one.  Me. 
Is there nothing there to be seen then?  Og. 
Only the Bulk of the Structure, and the Gospel of Nicodemus; with some other Books that are hung up to the Pillars; and here and there a Monument.  Me. 
And what more?  Og. 
The Choir is shut up with iron Gates, so that there's no entrance; but the View is still open from one end of the Church to the other. There's an Ascent to the Choir, of many steps, under which, there is a certain Vault, that opens a Passage, to the North-side; where we saw a wooden Altar that's dedicated to the Holy Virgin; a very little one, and only remarkable as a Monument of Antiquity, that still reproaches the Luxury of following Ages. There it was that the good man upon the point of death is said to have taken his last leave of the Virgin. Upon the Altar, there's a piece of the Blade with which that Reverend Prelate was killed; and part of his Brains, which the Assassins' dashed together, and confounded, to make sure work on't. We did with a most Religious solemnity kiss the sacred Rust of this Weapon, for the Martyr's sake. From hence, we passed down into a Vault under ground, which had its Officers too. They showed us first the Martyr's Skull, as it was bored through; the Top of it we could come at with our Lips, but the rest was covered with Silver. They showed us also a Leaden Plate inscribed, Thomas Acrensis, and there are hung up in the dark, Shirts, Girdles, and Breeches of Haircloth, which he used for Mortification; it would make a man shrug to look upon 'em: nor would the Effeminacy of this age endure them.  Me. 
No, nor the Monks neither perhaps.  Og. 
I can say little to that point, nor does it concern me.  Me. 
But this is all Truth however.  Og. 
From hence we returned to the Choir; upon the Northside they unlock a private place; it is incredible what a world of Bones they brought us out of it, Skulls, Shins, Teeth, Hands, Fingers, whole Arms, which with great Adoration we beheld and kissed; and there would have been no end, if it had not been for one of our Fellow-travellers, who indiscreetly enough, interrupted the Officer in his business.  Me. 
What was he?  Og. 
An English man, one Gratian Pull: (as I remember) a Learned and a Religious man, but not so well affected this way as I could have wished him.  Me. 
Some Wicklifist, perhaps.  Og. 
No, I think not, but I found by him that he had read his Books; how he came by 'em I know not.  Me. 
And did not your Officer take Offence at him?  Og. 
He brought us out an Arm with 〈◊〉 flesh upon't, that was still bloody; and he was so squeamish forsooth, that he made a mouth at it when he should have kissed it. Whereupon the Officer shut up all again. From hence we went to see the Table, and the Ornaments of the Altar; and after that, the Treasure that was hidden under it. If you had seen the Gold, and Silver that we saw, you would have looked upon Midas and Croesus as little better than Baggars.  Me. 
And was there no kissing here?  Og. 
No; but methought I began to change my Prayer.  Me. 
Why what was the matter?  Og. 
I was e'en upon wishing that I had but such Relics as I saw there, at home in my own Coffers.  Me. 
A most Sacrilegious wish!  Og. 
I do confess it; and I do assure you I asked the Saint forgiveness for't before I went out of the Church. Our next Remove was into the Vestry. Good God What a Pomp of rich Vestments? What a Provission of golden Candlesticks did we see there? and there was St. Thomas Crook; it looked just like a Reed covered over with a Silver Plate; it had neither Weight nor Art, and about some three foot and half high.  Me. 
Was there never a Cross?  Og. 
Not that I saw. There was a silk Gown, but it was course and plain, without either Pearl, or Embroidery; and there was a Handkerchief of the Saints, which was still sweaty and bloody. These Monuments of ancient Thrift we kissed most willingly.  Me. 
But do they show these Rarities to every body?  Og. 
Oh bless me! no such matter I warrant ye.  Me. 
How came you then to have such credit with them?  Og. 
I had some acquaintance, let me tell ye, with Archbishop Warren; and passed under his recommendation.  Me. 
A man of great Humanity, they say.  Og. 
You would take him for Humanity itself, if you knew him. A Person of that exquisite Learning, that Candour of Manners, and Piety of Life, that there is nothing wanting in him to make him a most accomplished Prelate. From hence, we are carried yet farther; for beyond the High Altar, there is still another Ascent, as if it were into a new Church. We were shown in a certain Chapel there, the whole face of the Good man, all gilt, and set out with Jewels; where, by an unexpected mischance, we had like to have spoiled the whole business.  Me. 
And how was that as you love me?  Og. 
My friend Gratian lost himself here extremely. After a short Prayer, Good Father, (says he to the Assistant of him that showed us the Relics) I have heard that Thomas, while he lived, was very Charitable to the Poor; is it true or not? For certain, says he, so he was; and began to instance in several Charitable Works that he had done. And he has undoubtedly the same good Inclination still (says Gratian) unless Perhaps they may be altered for the better. The other agreed to't. Now (says he again) if this Holy man was so charitable when he was Poor, and wanted for his own Necessities himself; I cannot but think now he is Rich, and wants nothing, that he would take it well if some poor Women, with Children ready to Starve, or in danger to prostitue themselves for Bread; or with a Husband, Agonizing, and void of all Comfort; if such a miserable Woman, I say, should ask him leave to make bold with some small proportion of his vast Treasure, for the Relief of her wretched Family. The Assistant of the Golden head making no Reply; I am fully persuaded says Gratian (as he is sudden) that the Good man would be glad at's heart (tho' in the other World) that the Poor in this should be still the better for him. The Officer, upon this, fell to frowning, pouting, and looking at us as if he would have eaten us: and I am confident, if it had not been for the Archbishop's Recommendation, we had been railled at, spit upon, and thrown out of the Church: but I did however what I could, to pacify the man; we told him Gratian was a Droll, and all this was but his way of fooling. So that with good words, and a little Silver, I made up the quarrel.  Me. 
I cannot but exceedingly approve of your Piety, and yet when I consider the infinite Expense upon Building, Beautifying, and Enriching of Churches, I cannot in cold thoughts but condemn the unmeasurable excess. Not but that I would have magnificent Temples; and such Vestments, and Vessels, as may support the Dignity of a solemn Worship; but to have so many Golden Fonts, Candlesticks, and Statues; such a Profusion upon Organs, and Church Music, while our Brethren, and the Living Temples of Christ, are ready to perish for want of Meat and Lodging; this is a thing I cannot allow of by any means.  Og. 
There is no man either of Brain●, or Piety, but is pleased with a Moderation in these Cases; but an excess of Piety is an Error on the Right hand, and deserves favour: especially considering the Cross humour of those people that Rob Churches instead of building them: and beside the large Donatives come from Princes, and great Persons, and the Money would be worse employed either upon Gaming or War. And moreover, to take any thing away from the Church, is accounted Sacrilege. It is a discouragement to the Charity of those that are inclined to give; and after all, it is a Temptation to Rapine. Now the Churchmen are rather Guardians of these Treasures, than Masters; and it is much a better sight, a Church that is gloriously Endowed and Beautified, than a Church that is sordid, beggarly, naked, and liker to a Stable, than a Temple.  Me. 
And yet we read of Bishops of old, that were commended for selling their Plate, to relieve the Poor.  Og. 
And so they are commended at this day; but the commendation is all, for I suppose they have neither the Power, nor the Will, to follow the Precedent.  Me. 
But I hinder your Relation; and I am now expecting the Catastrophe of your Story.  Og. 
And you shall have it in a few words. Upon this, out comes the head of the College.  Me. 
Whom do you mean, the Abbot of the Place?  Og. 
He wears a Mitre, and has the Revenue of an Abbot, only he wants the Name, and they call him the Prior, the Archbishop himself supplying the Place of the Abbot: for of old, every Archbishop there was a Monk.  Me. 
If I had the Revenue of an Abbot, I would not care' tho they called me a Camel.  Og. 
He seemed to me to be a godly and a prudent man; and to be in some measure a Scotist. He opened us the Box, in which the remainder of the Holy man's Body is said to be deposited.  Me. 
Did you see it?  Og. 
That's not permitted; nor was it to be done without a Ladder. There stood a wooden Box upon a golden one; and upon the Craning up of that with Ropes, bless me, what a Treasure was there discovered!  Me. 
What is't you say?  Og. 
The basest part of it was Gold; every thing sparkled, and flamed, with vast and inestimable Gems; some of them as big, or bigger than a Goose Egg; There stood about with great Veneration, some of the Monks: upon the taking off the Cover, we all worshipped; the Prior, with a white Wand, touched every Stone, one by one, telling us the name of it, the Price, and the Benefactor. The richest of them were given by Princes.  Me. 
He had need have a good memory methinks.  Og. 
You're in the right; and yet Practice goes a great way, and this is a Lesson that he says often over. From hence, we were carried back into a Vault. It is somewhat dark, and there it is that the Virgin-Mother has her Residence. It is double railled in, and encompassed with iron Bars.  Me. 
Why what does she fear?  Og. 
Nothing I suppose but Thiefs, and in my life I never saw a fairer Temptation or Booty.  Me. 
What do you tell me of Riches in the dark?  Og. 
But we had light enough brought us to see the Wealth of the richest Empire.  Me. 
Is it beyond that of the Parathalassian Virgin?  Og. 
Very much in appearance, but for what's concealled, she herself knows best. And take this along with ye, that these precious things are only showed to persons of eminent quality, and to particular friends. In the end, we were conducted back to the Vestry, where was a Box with a black Leather Cover upon it. This Box was set upon a Table, and upon the opening of it they all fell down upon their knees, and worshipped.  Me. 
What was in't?  Og. 
Rags of old Handkerchiefs in abundance, that carried still about them the marquess of the use they had been put to. These, as they told us, were some Relics of the Linen the good Man had made use of about his nose, his Body, and other homely purposes. Upon this, my friend Gratian forfeited his credit once more; for the gentle Prior offering him one of these Rags for a Present, as the highest obligation he could lay upon him, he only took it squeamishly betwixt his Finger and his Thumb, and with a wry Mouth laid it down again, (a trick that he had got, when he would express his contempt of any thing.) This rudeness made me both ashamed and afraid; but yet the Prior was so good, (though sensible enough of the Affront) as to put it off very dexterously; and after the Civility of a glass of Wine, we were fairly dismissed, and returned to London.  Me. 
What needed that when you were nearer your own shore before?  Og. 
'Tis true, but it is a Coast so infamous for Cheats, and Piracies, that I had rather run the hazard of the worst of Rocks, or Flats, than of that people. I'll tell you what I saw in my last passage that way; There was a great many people at Calis that took a Chaloup to put them aboard a great Ship, and among the rest, a poor, beggarly French man, and they would have two Sols for his passage; (for that they'll have if they carry one but a Boats length) the fellow pleads poverty; and they in a frolick would needs search him. Upon the examining of his Shoes, they find ten or twelve pieces of Silver that were there concealed; they made no more ado, but kept the Money, and laughed and railled at the Frenchman for his pains.  Me. 
What did the young man?  Og. 
What should he do, but lament his misfortune?  Me. 
Had they any Authority for what they did?  Og. 
The same Commission that an Innkeeper has to rob his Guest, or a Highwayman to take a Purse.  Me. 
'Tis a strange Confidence to do such a Villainy before so many Witnesses.  Og. 
They are so used to't, that they think they do well in't; There were divers in the great Ship that looked on, and several English Merchants in the Boat that grumbled at it, but to no purpose; they take a pride in't, as if it were the outwitting of a Man, and made their boasts that they had catched the French man in his Roguery.  Me. 
I would, without any more to do, hang up these Coast-thieves, and make sport with them at the very Gallows.  Og. 
Nay they are both Shores alike; and hence we may gather, if the little Thiefs be thus bold, what will not the great ones do? and it holds betwixt Masters and Servants. So that I am resolved for the future rather to go five hundred Leagues about than to take the advantage of this accursed Compendium. Nay, in some respects this passage is worse than that to Hell itself; for there the descent is easy, tho' there is no getting out again; but here 'tis bad at one end, and yet worse at tother. There were at that time some Antwerp Merchants at London, and so I propounded to take my passage with them.  Me. 
Are the Skippers of that Country than any better than their fellows?  Og. 
An Ape will be always an Ape, and a Skipper a Skipper; but yet compared to those that live upon the Catch, these men are Angels.  Me. 
I shall remember this if ever it comes in my head to go for England; but I have led you out of your way.  Og. 
Very good. In our Journey to London, not far from Canterbury, there's a narrow hollow, steep way, and a great bank on each side, so that there's no scaping or avoiding; upon the left hand of that way, there stands a little Cottage or Receptacle for Mendicants. Upon the noise of any Horsemen, comes an old man out into the way. He first sprinkles you with Holy Water, and then offers you the upper Leather of a Shoe with a Brass Ring to't; and in it, a Glass, as if it were some Gem: this you are to kiss, and give the poor fellow some small piece of Mony.  Me. 
I had rather meet a company of old Beggars in such a way, than a Troop of lusty Rogues upon the Pad.  Og. 
Gratian road upon my left hand, next to this Cottage, where he had his share of Holy Water, and bore it well enough; but upon presenting him the Shoe, he asked the manner of it. This, says the poor man, is the Shoe of St. Thomas. Gratian was in choler upon't, and turning to me, What a Devil, said he, would these Brutes have? If we submit to kiss their Shoes, by the same reason we may be brought in time to kiss their Arses too. I pitied the poor Wretch, and gave him a small Charity to comfort him.  Me. 
In my opinion Gratian was not angry without a cause; I should not dislike the preserving old Shoes, and Garments, as an instance of the Moderation of our Forefathers, but I am absolutely against the forcing of people to kiss 'em. He that is so zealous as to do it upon that account may be left to his liberty.  Og. 
Not to dissemble the matter I think it were better let alone, than done; but in case of what cannot be mended on a sudden, it is my custom to make the best on't. How much have I been pleased with this Contemplation, that a good man is like a sheep, and a wicked like a harmful Creature! The Viper, tho' it cannot bite when 'tis dead, yet the very corruption, and the smell of it is mischievous; whereas a Sheep, while it lives, feeds us with its Milk; clothes us with its Wool; and fattens our ground with its very Ordure, and when 'tis dead, it serves us still with Mutton and with Leather. In like manner, men that are furious, and given to their Lusts, while they live, they are troublesome to all, and when they are dead, what with the noise of Bells, and the pomp of their Funerals, they are still a Vexation to the Living, and sometimes to their Successors, by causing new Exactions; but the good man makes himself Profitable in all respects to the whole World. As this Saint by his Precedent, his Learning, and his good Counsel, invited all men to Piety; he comforted the friendless; assisted the needy, and if it were possible, he does more good now he is dead, than he did living: He built this magnificient Church, and advanced the Authority of the Priesthood all over England; nay, and with this very fragment of his Shoe he maintains a Conventicle of poor men.  Me. 
This is certainly a pious Contemplation; but seeing you are of this mind, I wonder you should never go to see St. Patrick's Den, of which the World tells so many wonders, which I must confess are no Articles of my Faith.  Og. 
Take my word for't, friend, all the Prodigious things that ever you heard of it, fall short of the Truth.  Me. 
Why, were you ever in't then?  Og. 
Yes, and I had as good have past the Stygian Lake, or descended into the Jaws of Avernus. I was where I could see all that's done in Hell.  Me. 
Do but bless me with the Story of it.  Og. 
We have made this Dialogue long enough already; let that rather serve for the beginning of another. 'Tis time for me to go home and bespeak Supper, for I have not dined to day.  Me. 
You do not fast out of Conscience, I hope.  Og. 
No, but out of spite.  Me. 
What to your Belly?  Og. 
No, no; but to the unconscionable Victuallers; that set high Rates upon ill Meat; and this is my way of revenge. When I am in hope of a good Supper, my Stomach wambles at dinner; and when I find a dinner to my mind, my Stomach is out of order toward Supper.  Me. 
And are not you ashamed to show yourself so narrow and penurious?  Og. 
Believe me, Menedemus, in such a case as this, shame is very ill employed, and I have learned to keep mine for better uses.  Me. 
I do even long for the remainder of your Story, wherefore expect me at Supper, and let me hear it out.  Og. 
In troth I am beholden to you for offering yourself uninvited, when others, though never so earnestly invited will not come. But if you will have me thank you over and over, let me persuade you to Sup at home to night: for I have time little enough for the business of my Family: and yet, now I think on't, I'll tell you what will be better for us both; you shall invite me and my Wife to dinner to morrow; and than if you please we'll talk it out till Supper; or rather than fail, we will not part then neither, till you confess you have your Belly full. Never fcratch your head for the matter; do but you provide and depend upon't, we'll keep touch with ye.  Me. 
If I can't have your company cheaper, so let it be; I'll find Meat, and do you find Sauce, for your Discourse must be the best part of your Dinner.  Og. 
But do you hear? have not I set you agog now upon Travelling?  Me. 
I do not know what you may do by that time you have finished your Relation; but at present I find work enough to do to maintain my Post.  Og. 
What's your meaning for that?  Me. 
I walk about my house, go to my Study, take care of my Girls and then again into my Shop; I look after my Servants, and so into my Kitchen, to see if any thing be amiss there, and then up and down, observing how my Wife, and how my Children behave themselves, for I am very solicitous to have every thing as it should be; this is my Post.  Og. 
Prithee ease thyself, and leave that to St. james.  Me. 
I have Divine Authority for looking after my Family myself, but I do not find any Text for leaving it to the Saints.   

OF RASH VOWS.  
COL. III.  
The Vanity and Misery of Rambling Voyages. The Folly of Inconsiderate Vows: With some Pleasant Reflections upon pretended Indulgencies, or Pardons.  ARNOLDUS, CORNELIUS. Ar. 
WELL met once again, my dear Cornelius. 'Tis a thousand year methinks since I saw thee.  Cor. 
What? my old Acquaintance, Arnoldus? the man of the whole World I longed to see.  Ar. 
We all gave thee for lost. But prithee where hast been Rambling all this while?  Cor. 
In the other World.  Ar. 
Why truly, by thy slovingly Dress, and this lean ghastly Carcase, a body would e'en judge as much.  Cor. 
Well! but I han't been with Old Nick yet, for all that. I am come from jerusalem.  Ar. 
And what Wind blew thee thither.  Cor. 
The very same Wind that blows other people to the same place.  Ar. 
Some whimsy, I suppose.  Cor. 
There are more Fools than one however.  Ar. 
What did ye hunt for there? Co. Misery.  Ar. 
Methinks you might have found that nearer home. But did you meet with any thing there worth seeing?  Cor. 
Why truly little or nothing. They showed us certain Monuments of Antiquity, which I look upon to be mostly Counterfeit; and mere Contrivances to gull the Credulous, and simple People. Nay, I am not yet satisfied that they can so much as tell ye the precise place where jerusalem stood.  Ar. 
What did ye see then?  Cor. 
Only Barbarity, and Desolation.  Ar. 
But the Holy Land (I hope) has made ye a Holy Man.  Cor. 
No, nothing like it; for I am come back ten times worse than I went out.  Ar. 
You have filled your Pockets perhaps.  Cor. 
So far from it, that a Snake that has cast her Skin is not so bare as I am.  Ar. 
Do you not repent ye then of so long a Journey, to so little purpose?  Cor. 
As if that repentance would not be to as little purpose as the Journey. Nay, I cannot so much as be ashamed on't, there are so many other Fools to keep me in Countenance.  Ar. 
What's the fruit then of this dangerous Voyage?  Cor. 
Oh! very much.  Ar. 
Let's know it then? I shall live the more at my ease hereafter for't.  Ar. 
You'll have the pleasure of telling old Stories when the dangers over.  Cor. 
That's something; but not all.  Ar. 
Is there any advantage in it else then?  Cor. 
Yes, there is.  Ar. 
pray what may that be?  Cor. 
It furnishes a man with Table-talk, and discourse upon all occasions; the History of such an Adventure. 'Tis a strange delight that one Coxcomb takes in telling of Lies, and another in the Hearing of them.  Ar. 
Truly that goes a great way.  Cor. 
Nay I am well enough pleased myself to hear other Travellers amplify upon matters that they never saw nor heard; and they do it with so much Confidence too, that in things, even the most ridiculous, and impossible, they believe themselves.  Ar. 
A perverse kind of satisfaction! But there's something however for your Mony.  Cor. 
This is a more tolerable Course yet, than that of a Mercenary Soldier. An Army is the very Nursery of all Wickedness.  Ar. 
But Lying is a mean and ungentleman-like humour.  Cor. 
And yet a Lie is more Pardonable than a Calumny, or than either doing the Office of a Pickthank, or encouraging it; or lavishing away a man's Time, and fortune, in Gaming.  Ar. 
I'm of your opinion.  Cor. 
But then there's another Benefit I reap by my Travels.  Ar. 
What's that?  Cor. 
If I should find any friend of mine teinted with this Frenzy, I should advise him to stay at home: as a Mariner that has been Wrecked himself, bids another have a care of the place where he miscarried.  Ar. 
This Caution would have done well if it had come in time.  Cor. 
Why? Are you sick of the same disease too?  Ar. 
Yes. I have been at Rome myself, and at Compostella.  Cor. 
Bless me! How proud I am to play the fool in such Company? But what Angel put this into thy Head?  Ar. 
What Devil rather? especially to leave a handsome young Wife, several Children, and a Family at home, and nothing in the World to maintain them but my daily industry.  Cor. 
It must be some mighty matter sure, that could carry ye away from all these Obligations: What was't I prithee?  Ar. 
I'm ashamed on't.  Cor. 
What, to Me? thy friend and thy fellow-sufferer.  Ar. 
There was a knot of neighbourly good-fellows of us drinking together; and when we were high Flown, one was for making a Visit to St. james; another, to St. Peter: If you'll go, I'll go, says one; and I'll go, if you'll go, says another; till at last, we concluded upon it to go altogether. I was willing, I confess, to keep up the Reputation of a fair Drinker; and rather than break Company, I even past my Promise: The next question was, whether we should march for Rome, or Compostella; and upon the debate, it was determined that (God willing) we should begin our Journey the very next morning, and visit Both.  Cor. 
A Learned Sentence, and fitter to be Recorded in Wine, than upon Copper.  Ar. 
After this, a swinging Glass was put about, to the Bon Voyage; and when every man in his Course had done reason to't, the Vow was sealed, and became inviolable.  Cor. 
A new Religion! But did ye all come safe back again?  Ar. 
All but Three. One died upon the way; but gave us in charge to remember his humble service to Peter and james; another, at Rome; who bade us commend him (when we returned) to his Wife and Children: the third we left desperately sick at Florence; and I believe he is in Heaven, long ere this.  Cor. 
Was he a very good man?  Ar. 
The best Droll in Nature.  Ar. 
Why should ye think he's in Heaven then?  Ar. 
Because he had a whole Satchel full of large Indulgences.  Cor. 
I hear ye. But 'tis a huge way to Heaven, and a dangerous one, as I am told: There are such a World of Thiefs in the middle Region of the Air.  Ar. 
That's true; but he was so fortified with Bulls.  Cor. 
In what Language?  Ar. 
In Latin.  Cor. 
Well! and does that secure him?  Ar. 
Yes, unless he should fall upon some Spirit that does not understand Latin: and in that case, he must back to Rome, and get a new Instrument.  Cor. 
Do they sell any Bulls there to the Dead?  Ar. 
Yes, yes, as thick as Hopps.  Cor. 
Have a care what ye say, for there are Spies abroad.  Ar. 
I don't speak against Indulgences; though I cannot but laugh at the freak of my fuddling Companion. He was otherwise the vainest trifler that ever was born; and yet chose rather to venture his Salvation upon a Skin of Parchment, than upon the Amendment of his Life. But when shall we have the Trial of Skill ye told us of?  Cor. 
We'll set a time for a little Drinking 'Bout; give notice of it to our Comrades, and then meet and tell Lies in our turns Helter-skelter.  Ar. 
So let it be then.   

THE SOLDIER'S CONFESSION.  
COL. IV.  
The Hardship and Iniquity of a Military Life; With the Mockery of a Formal Confession.  HANNO, THRASYMACHUS. Han. 
WHy how now Soldier? what's the matter? A Mercury turned into a Vulcan?  Th. 
What do you talk to Me of your Mercuries and Vulcan's?  Ha. 
Why you went out upon the Wing, and are come back Limping.  Th. 
I'm come back like a Soldier then.  Han. 
A Soldier, sayest? In my Conscience, thou'dst outrun a Deer, if thou hadst but an enemy at thy heels.  Th. 
The hope of Booty makes many a man Valiant.  Han. 
Then 'tis to be hoped you have made your Fortune; What Spoils have ye brought off?  Th. 
Empty Pockets.  Han. 
That's light Carriage however.  Th. 
But then I have a huge burden of Sins.  Han. 
Sin is a terrible weight indeed. The Prophet calls it Led.  Th. 
In my whole life I never saw so much Villainy: and I had my part in't too.  Han. 
How do ye like a Military Life then?  Th. 
It is undoubtedly, of all Courses, the most wicked, and the most miserable.  Han. 
And yet some people ye see, whether for Money, or for Curiosity, make as much haste to a Battle, as to a Banquet: What do they ●il I wonder?  Th. 
I look upon 'em to be absolutely possessed; for if the Devil were not in them, they would never anticipate their Fate.  Han. 
So one would think; for put them upon honest Business they'll scarce stir a foot in't for any money. But how went the Battle? who got the better on't?  Th. 
What with the noise and clamour of Drums and Trumpets, Horses, and Arms, I was so far from knowing what became of others, that I could hardly tell where I was myself.  Han. 
But I have seen those, that after a fought Field, would paint ye every Circumstance so to the life, as if they had only looked on. Such an Officer Said this, and t'other Did that; and every Word, and Action to a tittle.  Th. 
I am of opinion that these men lied most confoundedly. In short; if you would know what was done in my Tent, I can tell ye; but for the History of the Battle, I can say nothing to't.  Han. 
What not so much as how ye came lame?  Th. 
Scarce that upon my Honour. But I suppose it might be some Stone, the Heel of a Horse, or so.  Han. 
Well, but shall I tell you now how it came?  Th. 
Why, who should tell you?  Han. 
No body, but I fancy it.  Th. 
Guess then.  Han. 
You were even running away, and got a strain with a stumble.  Th. 
Let me die if you have not hit the nail on the head.  Han. 
Go get ye home; and tell your Wife of your Exploits.  Th. 
I shall be rattled to some tune, when she sees what a trim I am come back in.  Han. 
I do not doubt but you have robbed, and stolen sufficiently; What Restitution now?  Th. 
'Tis made already.  Han. 
To whom?  Th. 
To Wenches, Sutler's, Gamesters.  Han. 
Done like a Man of War; it is but reasonable that what's Ill got should be Worse spent. But have you kept your fingers all this while from Sacrilege?  Th. 
We have made bold indeed with Churches, as well as private Houses; but in Hostility ye know, there's nothing Sacred.  Han. 
But what satisfaction?  Th. 
In a state of War there needs none; for all things are then lawful.  Han. 
By the Law of Arms ye mean.  Th. 
Right.  Han. 
But that Law is the highest degree of Iniquity; nor was it Piety, but the hope of a Booty made you a Soldier.  Th. 
'Tis true; I took up Arms upon the common Principle of other Swordmen.  Han. 
'Tis some excuse yet to be mad with the major part.  Th. 
I have heard a Parson in the Pulpit say, that War was Lawful.  Han. 
Pulpits are commonly the Oracles of Truth: But War may be Lawful in a Prince, and yet not so with You.  Th. 
The Rabbies hold that every man may live by his Calling.  Han. 
Burning of Houses, spoiling of Temples; ravishing of Nuns; robbing the miserable, and killing the Innocent. An admirable Calling!  Th. 
Why may not we as well be hired to kill Men, as Butchers are to kill Beasts?  Han. 
But did you never think what would become of your Soul if ye should be knocked on the head?  Th. 
Truly not much; but I had a lively Faith; for I commended myself once for all to St. Barbara.  Han. 
And did she take ye into her protection?  Th. 
I fancied so; for methought she gave me a little Nod.  Han. 
At what time was't? in the morning?  Th. 
No, no, 'twas after Supper.  Han. 
And by that time I suppose the Trees walked, as well as the Saint nodded.  Th. 
This man's a Witch. But Christopher was the Saint I most depended upon; for I had his Picture always in my eye.  Han. 
What, in your Tent? How should a Saint come there?  Th. 
We had it drawn with a Coal upon the Canvas.  Han. 
So that you prayed to Christopher the Collier: a sure Chard to trust to, no doubt! But without fooling, you can never expect to be forgiven all this, unless you go to Rome.  Th. 
Yes, yes, I know a shorter way.  Han. 
How's that?  Th. 
I'll away to the Dominicans, and I can do my business there with the Commissaries for a Trifle.  Han. 
What for Sacrilege?  Th. 
Why, if I had robbed Christ himself, and cut off his Head over and above; they have Pardons would reach it, and Commissions large enough to Compound for't.  Han. 
That's well. But what if God himself should not pass the Composition?  Th. 
Oh! he's merciful. I'm more afraid of the Devil's not letting go his hold.  Han. 
What Confessor do you intent to make use of?  Th. 
Some Priest that has neither shame in him nor Conscience.  Han. 
Like to like; And when that's over, you'll go strait away, like a good Christian to the Communion.  Th. 
Why not? for when I have once discharged my Iniquities into his Cowl, and cast off my Burden, let him that absolves me, look to the rest.  Han. 
But hark ye. How can you be sure that he does absolve ye, when you think he does?  Th. 
Oh, very well.  Han. 
But ye do not tell me how yet.  Th. 
He lays his hand upon my head, and then mumbles something to himself; I don't know what it is.  Han. 
What if he should give you all your Sins again, when he lays his hand upon your Head; and that these following, should be the words he mumbles to himself? I absolve thee from all the good that is in thee, which I find to be little or none at all: I restore thee to thyself, and I leave thee just as I found thee.  Th. 
Let him take a care what he says: 'tis enough for me that I believe I am absolved.  Han. 
But that Belief may be dangerous: and what now if he should not absolve ye at all?  Han. 
'Tis an unlucky thing to meet a troublesome man that will be waking a body's Conscience when 'tis fast asleep.  Han. 
But a blessed encounter, to meet a friend that gives good advice, when a body needs it.  Th. 
How good I know not; but I'm sure 'tis not very Pleasant.   

THE INNS.  
COL. V.  
The Civility of the People at Lions, to Strangers and Travellers; and the sweetness of the Place. The Churlishness of a Germane Host, with a lively description of their Entertainment in their Stoves.  BERTULPHUS, GULIELMUS. Be. 
WHat's the reason, I wonder, that people will never be gotten out of Lions under two or three days stay there? for when I am once upon the way myself, I can never be quiet till I come to my journey's end.  Gu. 
Now do I rather wonder that people can be gotten from thence at all.  Be. 
Why so?  Gu. 
Because 'tis the very place where the Sirens charmed Ulysses and his Mates; or 'tis at lest the Moral of that Fable. When a man is there at his Inn, he's as well as if he were at his own house.  Be. 
Why what's the way on't then?  Gu. 
The women are very handsome there, and the Table never without one of 'em to season the Entertainment; and with ingenious, and innocent Raillery to keep the Guests in good humour. First came the Mistress of the House, and bade us welcome; and then her Daughter, a very fine woman, and of so pretty a Kind of Wit and Fashion, that it was impossible to be sad while she was in the Company: And you are not received there like strangers neither; but as if you were familiar Friends and old acquaintances the first minute you see one another.  Be. 
Oh I know the French way of Civility very well.  Gu. 
Now because they could not be always with us, (what with business, and what out of respect to their other Lodgers) when the Daughter left us, we had to supply her place till she could return, a Lass that was so well instructed in the Knack of Repartees, she had a word for every body, and no Conceit came amiss to her, (the Mother you must know was somewhat in years.)  Be. 
Well but how were you Treated all this while; for Stories fill no Bellies?  Gu. 
Truly so splendidly, and so cheap that I was amazed at it. And then after Dinner, we chatted away the time so merrily, that I was still at home methought.  Be. 
And how went matters in your Chambers?  Gu. 
Why there we had the Girls about us again, giggling and toying, with a thousand Ape-tricks; and their main business was to know what Linen we had to wash: In one word, they were all Females that we saw there, save only in the Stable; and we had 'em there too some times. Upon our coming away, they could not have showed more Affection and Tenderness at parting if we had been their own Brothers.  Be. 
This Mode may do well enough in France; but the manly way of the Germans methinks pleases me better.  Gu. 
I never was in Germany, wherefore pray let's know how 'tis there.  Be. 
I can tell you for as much on't as I saw; but how 'tis in other parts of Germany, I can say little. Mine Host never salutes his Guest, for fear he should be thought to have some Design upon him, which is looked upon as below the Dignity and Gravity of a Germane. When ye have called a good while at the gate, the Master of the Inn puts his head out of the Stove-window, like a Tortoise from under his shell (for till the Summer Solstice they live commonly in Stoves.) Then does he expect that you should ask him if there be any lodging there: If he makes you no answer, you may take it for granted there is; and if you inquire for the Stable, without a word speaking, he points you to't, and there you may go and Curry your own Horse as you please yourself, for there are no Servants there to do that office, unless it be in an Inn of extraordinary note; and than you have one to show you the Stable, and a standing for your Horse, but incommodious enough, for they keep the best places for Noblemen, as they pretend, that are yet to come. If you fault any thing, they tell you at next word, ●'ad best look out another Inn. In their great Towns there's hardly any Hay to be got, and 'tis almost as dear too as Oats. When you have dressed your Horse, you come whole into the Stove, Boots, Luggage, Dirt and all; for that's a common Room for all comers,  Gu. 
Now in France you have your Chamber presently appointed you; where you may change your Linen; Clean, Warm, or rest yourself, as you please.  Be. 
There's nothing of that here; for in this Stove you put off your Boots, Don your Shoes, change your Shirt, if you will; hang up your clothes, or set yourself a drying. If you have a mind to wash, the water's ready; but than you must have more water to fetch off the Dirt of that.  Gu. 
I am clearly for these manly people (as you call 'em.)  Be. 
if you come in at four Afternoon, you must not expect to Sup before Nine or Ten.  Gu. 
What's the reason of that?  Be. 
They never make any thing ready till they see their whole Company, that they may have but one work on't.  Gu. 
For brevity sake.  Be. 
Right: So that you shall have betwixt fourscore and an hundred persons sometimes in the same Stove: Horse and Foot, Merchants, Mariners, Wagoners, Husbandmen, Women and Children, Sick and Sound.  Gu. 
Why here is the true Convent (or Coenobium) then.  Be. 
One's combing of his Head, another wiping off his Sweat, a third cleansing of his Boots, or Hob-nail-Shoes; others belching of Garlic: Without more ado, the Confusion of Babel, for Men and Languages, was nothing to this. If they see any Stranger, that by his Train and Habit looks like a man of Quality, they stand gaping at him as if he were an African Monster: nay when they are set at the Table, and he behind 'em, they'll be still looking back at him, and staring him in the face till they forget their Suppers.  Gu. 
There's none of this gazing at Rome, Paris, or Venice. etc.  Be. 
Take notice now, that 'tis a mortal sin to call for any thing. When 'tis so late that there's no hope of any more Guests, Out comes ye an old gray-bearded Servant, close cropped, with a sour crabbed look, and in a sordid Habit.  Gu. 
He would make a good Cupbearer to a Cardinal.  Be. 
He overlooks the place; and counts to himself the number of the Guests; and the more Company, the more fire he puts in the Stove, though they were half smothered before: For 'tis a token of respect to stew the people into a sweat. If any man that's ready to choke with the Fume, does but open the Window never so little, mine Host bids him shut it again. If he says he's not able to bear it, get ye another Inn then, cries the Master.  Gu. 
'Tis a dangerous thing, methinks, when men's Bodies are opened with the heat, to draw in the Vapour of so many Folks together, to eat in the same place, and stay there so many hours: To say nothing of their Belching, Farting, and corrupt breaths, some of 'em teinted with secret Diseases, and every man contributing to the Contagion: Nay, they have most of 'em the French Itch too; (and yet why the French? when 'tis common to all Nations) so that a man might be as safe among so many Lepers. Tell me now, what is this short of a Pestilence?  Be. 
They are strong stout men, and laugh at these Niceties.  Gu. 
But in the mean time they are bold at other men's Perils.  Be. 
Why what's to be done? 'Tis a thing they are used to, and 'tis a point of Resolution not to depart from a Custom.  Gu. 
And yet till within these five and twenty years, nothing was more common in Brabant than hot Baths. But we have no more of 'em now, since they are found to be ill f●● the Scabbado.  Be. 
Now let me go on; By and by, comes your bearded Ganymede in again, and lays ye his just number of Napkins upon the Table; no Damask (with a pox to 'em) but the remnants rather of an old Sail. There are Eight Guests at least allotted to every Table; and every man that knows the fashion of the Country places himself where he likes. Rich and Poor, Master and Servant, 'tis all one.  Gu. 
This was the primitive Equality which is now driven out of the world by Tyranny: They very life (as I suppose) of the holy Disciples with their Master.  Be. 
When they are all seated, out comes the Dog looking Graybeard again; counts his company once more over, and by and by brings every man his wooden Dish, with a Spoon of the same mettle, and then a Glass; a while after, comes the Bread, which the Guests may Chip at leisure while the Porridge are a boiling; for there they sit waiting perhaps some half an hour.  Gu. 
Do none of 'em call for Meat in the mean time?  Be. 
Not if they know the Country. At last, in comes the Wine, and Wine that for the sharpness and subtlety of it, is fitter for a Schoolman than for a Traveller; none of your heady fuming Drink, I warrant ye. But if a body should privately offer a piece of money to get a Can of better Wine, somewhere else, they'll give ye a look, without speaking a word, as if they would murder ye. If you press it further, they'll tell you presently, here have been such and such Counts and Marquises, that found no fault with this Wine: If you done't like it, you'd best mend yourself elsewhere. You must observe now, that they only reckon upon their own Noblemen, in effect, to be Men; and wherever ye come, they are showing you their Arms. By this time, comes in a Morsel to pacify a barking Stomach; and after that, in great Pomp, follow the Dishes. The first, with Sippets of Bread in Flesh Porridge; or if it be a Fish-day; in a Soupe of Pulse. After that, comes in another Soupe; and then a Service of Butcher's Meat, that has been twice boiled, or of Salt meats twice heat; and then Pulse again, or perhaps some more substantial Dish: When ye have taken off the edge of your Appetite, they bring ye either Roast Meat, or Stewed Fish, (which is not amiss) but they are sparing on't, and 'tis quickly taken away again. This is the method of their Eating, which they order as Commedians do their Scenes, into so many Courses, of Chaps, and Soups; still taking care that the last Act may be best.  Gu. 
The Poet's method too.  Be. 
Now 'tis death for any man to say, Take away this Dish; here's no body Eats: For you are bound to sit out your time; which (as I take it) they measure by an Hourglass. And at length, out comes your old Servant again, or mine Host himself (who is no better Clad) and asks ye, What cheer Gentlemen? By and by comes a Can of more Generous Wine. They are men of Conscience ye must know; and love those most that Drink most; for (say they) you are all upon the Club; and he that Drinks most, pays no more than he that drinks least.  Gu. 
Why these people are Wits.  Be. 
There are many of 'em that spend twice as much for their Wine, as they pay for their Ordinary. But before I leave this Entertainment, what a horrible noise and confusion of Tongues is there, when they come once to be warm in their Drink! without more wore words, it deafens a man; and than you shall many times have a mixture of Mimiques and Buffoons in among them: a most detestable sort of men, and yet you would not think how these people delight in 'em. There's such a Singing, Bawling, Gaggling, Leaping, and Thundering up and down, that there's no hearing one another, and you'd think the Stove would fall upon your heads; and yet this is it they take to be a pleasant life; and there you are condemned to sit in spite of your heart, till toward midnight.  Gu. 
Come make an end of your Meal, for I'm even sick on't too.  Be. 
Presently. At length, when the Cheese is taken away (which must be rotten and full of Maggots, or they'll have none on't.) In comes your Ganymede once again; with a wooden Trencher, and so many Circles, and Semicircles drawn in Chalk upon't. This he lays upon the Table, with a grim countenance, and without speaking, by his Look, and by his Dish you would take him for a Charon. They that understand the meaning of all this, lay down their money, one after another, till the Trencher's covered. The Servant takes notice who lays down, and then reckons it to himself. If all be paid, he gives you a Nod.  Gu. 
But what if there should be too much?  Be. 
Perhaps he'll give ye it again; for I have seen it done,  Gu. 
Does no body find fault with the Reckoning?  Be. 
Not if he be Wise, for he shall quickly hear on't then. What are you for a Man? (says he) you are to pay no more than other People?  Gu. 
'Tis a Frank Nation this.  Be. 
If you are weary with your Journey, and would go to Bed; they'll bid you stay, till the rest go too.  Gu. 
Plato's Commonwealth!  Be. 
And then every Man has his Nest showed him, and in truth it is very properly called a Bed Chamber; for there's nothing in't but a Bed, that a Man can either carry away, or steal.  Gu. 
Every thing is clean however.  Be. 
Just as it was at the Table. Your Sheets are washed perhaps once in six Months.  Gu. 
But what becomes of your Horses?  Be. 
They are treated much at the same Rate with the Men.  Gu. 
And is it alike all over Germany?  Be. 
No, 'tis better in some places and worse in others; but in general 'tis thus.  Gu. 
What if I should tell you now how Travellers are Treated in Lombardy, Spain, England, Wales? For the English partake of the Manners both of the French and Germans, as a Mixture of both Nations; but the Welsh boast themselves to be Originals, and of the Ancient Britain's.  Be. 
pray tell me how 'tis; for I was never there.  Gu. 
'Tis too late now, for my Baggage is aboard; and if I fail of being at my Boat by three a Clock, I shall lose my Passage; but some other time ye shall have the rest at large.   

THE RELIGIOUS TREAT.  
COL. VI  
Table-Discourse for Christians. All the Works of Nature yield Matter for Contemplation. A Description of a pleasant Garden, with all the Beauties of it. The Reading of Scripture recommended even at Meals. Several Texts expounded. The Force of the Light of Nature, in Pagan Philosophers and Poets: With Reflections upon the Excellencies of Socrates and Cicero. Charity is better bestowed upon Necessities than Superfluities; with Directions how to apply it.  EUSEBIUS, TIMOTHEUS, THEOPHILUS, CHRYSOGLOTTUS, URANIUS. Eu. 
I Wonder how any body can endure to live in a smoky Town, when every thing's so fresh and pleasant in the Country; such delicious Flowers, Meadows, Rivers, Fountains, etc.  Ti. 
Several Men, several Humours; and besides, a Man may like the Country well, and yet like something else better. For 'tis with Pleasures as 'tis with Nails, one drives out another.  Eu. 
You speak of Usurers perhaps, or of covetous Traders, which in truth are all one.  Ti. 
not of them alone, I assure you, but of a thousand other sorts of People; to the very Priests and Monks, that make choice still of the most populous Cities for their Habitations. It is not Plato or Pythagoras that they follow in this Practice, but the Blind Beggar rather, who loves to be where he's crowded: For, says he, the more People, the more Profit.  Eu. 
Prithee let's leave the Blind Beggar then, and behave ourselves like Philosophers.  Ti. 
Was not Socrates a Philosopher? And yet he was for a Town-life; where a man might learn what he had a mind to know. In the Country, 'tis true, ye have Woods, Gardens, Springs and Brooks, that may entertain the Eye; but these are all mute; and there's no Edification without Discourse.  Eu. 
Socrates puts the Case, I know, of a Man's walking alone in the Fields; not as if any of the Works of the Creation wanted a Tongue, for every part of it speaks to the Instruction of any Man, that has but a good Will, and a Capacity to learn. Do but consider the native Glories of the Spring; how they set forth and proclaim the equal Wisdom and Goodness of the Creator! How many excellent things did Socrates, in his Retirement, both teach Phaedrus, and learn from him?  Ti. 
A Country Life, I must confess, in such Company, were a Paradise.  Eu. 
If you have a mind to make Trial of it, take a Dinner with me to morrow, a step here out o'th' Town, I have a plain little House there; but I'll promise you a cleanly and a hearty Welcome.  Ti. 
We are enough to eat ye up.  Eu. 
Never fear that, so long as the Melons, the Figgs, Pears, Apples, and Nuts last: And 'tis but gaping neither, to have the Fruit fall into your Mouths. In one Word; you are to expect only a Garden Treat, unless perhaps we should search the Hen-roost for a Pullet; the very Wine grows on the place too, so that there's not one penny of money in the case.  Ti. 
Upon these Terms we'el be your Guests.  Eu. 
Let every man bring his Friend too, and then we are the just number of the Muses.  Ti. 
A Match  Eu. 
And take notice that though I find Meat, you are to bring Sauce.  Ti. 
What do you mean! Pepper and Sugar?  Eu. 
No no; a thing that's both more savoury and cheaper.  Ti. 
What may that be?  Eu. 
A good Stomach. A light Supper to night, and a Walk to morrow morning does it. (for the Walk you may thank me;) But what hour will you eat at?  Ti. 
About Ten; before the heat of the Day.  Eu. 
I'll give order for't.  Servant. 
Sir, the Gentlemen are come.  Eu. 
You're welcome, my Masters, for coming according to your words; but you're twice as welcome, for coming so Early, and bringing the best Cmpany in the World along with ye. It is a kind of unmannerly Civility, methinks, in some people, to make their Host wait.  Ti. 
We came so much the sooner, that we might have time enough to look over all your Curiosities; for they say you live like a Prince here; and that the very contrivances about your House, tell who's the Master of it.  Eu. 
And you will find it a Palace (I can assure ye) worthy of such a Prince: This Nest is, to me, more than an Imperial Court; and if Liberty be a Kingdom, here do I Reign. But what if we should take the Cool of the morning now, to see the Gardens, while the Wench in the Kitchen provides us a Salad?  Ti. 
Never was any thing in better order. The very Design of this Garden bids a man welcome to't. Have you any more than this?  Eu. 
Here are Flowers, and Greene's, that will serve to put by a worse Scent. Let every man take freely what he likes; for this place lies (in a manner) in Common; I never shut it up but a nights.  Ti. 
St Peter Keeps the Gate, I perceive.  Eu. 
A Porter that pleases me much better than the Mercuries, Centauris, and fictious Monsters that I see in other places.  Ti. 
And more suitable to Christianity too.  Eu. 
And he's no Mute neither, for he accosts you in three Languages.  Ti. 
What does he say?  Eu. 
You may read it yourself.  Ti. 
'Tis too far off for my eyes.  Eu. 
Here's a Glass then will make ye see through an Inch-board.  Ti. 
I have the Latin. Si vis ad vitam ingredi, serva Mandata. Mat. 19 17. If thou wilt enter into Life, keep the Commandments.  Eu. 
Now read the Greek.  Ti. 
I see the Greek, but that does not see me. Let Theophilus speak to that point; for he's never without Greek in's mouth.  Th. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Repent and be converted. Acts 3. 19  Ch. 
Now leave the Hebrew to me. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 in Truth and Righteousness.  Eu. 
You'll take him perchance for an unmannerly Porter, that at first dash bids ye turn from your Iniquities, and apply yourself to Godliness: And then tells ye that Salvation comes not from the works of the Law, but from Faith in the Gospel; and the observance of the Evangelical precepts,  Ti. 
And see the Chapel there on the right hand that he directs us to; it is a very fine one: There's jesus Christ upon an Altar, pointing up to Heaven, with his Right hand towards God the Father, and the Holy Ghost; and with his Left, he seems to Court and Invite all Comers.  Eu. 
And he Greets you in three Languages too, Ego sum Via, Veritas, et Vita. I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. I am the Alpha and Omega. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Come ye Children unto me; I will teach ye the fear of the Lord.  Ti. 
This Greeting looks like a good Omen.  Eu. 
And it is but just and devout to pay back an Acknowledgement with Supplications to our blessed Saviour, that he will vouchsafe (since we can do nothing of ourselves) by his infinite Goodness, to keep us in the right Way, and bring us by the Truth of the Gospel to everlasting Life, drawing us by himself, to himself, all superstitious Vanities and Delusions apart.  Ti. 
It is most reasonable that we should pray, and the very Place invites us to't.  Eu. 
Strangers are generally pleased with this Garden; and hardly a Man that passes by this place without an Ejaculation. Instead of the Infamous Priapus, I have committed, not only my Gardens, but all my Possessions, both of Body and Mind, to the Protection of my Saviour. This bubbling Fountain of Living Waters represents that only Fountain of Life that refreshes all that are weary, and oppressed, with its divine Streams: the Fountain, which the languishing Soul longs for, as the Hart, in the Psalmist, does for the Brooks: The Fountain which whoever Thirsts for may have his fill gratis. Some that come hither, make it a matter of Religion to sprinkle themselves with it, and others to drink of it. You are loath, I perceive, to leave this place: But let's go on and I'll show you a square walled Garden here beyond, that's better worth your seeing. After Dinner we'll view what's with●n doors, for till towards Evening 'twill be so hot, there's no looking out of our shells.  Ti. 
Bless me, what a delicious Prospect is here!  Eu. 
And so it ought to be, for this Garden was designed for Pleasure, but for Honest Pleasure; the Entertainment of the Sight, the Smell, and the Refreshment of the very Mind. You have nothing here but sweet herbs, and those only choice ones too; and every Kind has its bed by itself.  Ti. 
I am now convinced that the Plants are not Mute, as you were saying even now.  Eu. 
Y'are in the Right: My house was never made for Magnificence, but for Discourse. So that I can never be alone in't, as you yourself shall confess when you have seen it through. As I have ranged my several Plants into several Troops, so every Troop has its Standard to itself, with a peculiar Motto. The Marjorams word is Abstine Sus, non tibi spiro: My Perfume was never made for the Snout of a Sow; being a Fragrancy to which the Sow has a natural Aversion. And so every other herb has something in the Title, to denote the particular Virtue of the Plant.  Ti. 
I have seen nothing yet that pleases me better than this Fountain. It is the Ornament, the Relief, and Security of the whole Garden. But for this Cistern here that with so much satisfaction to the Eye, waters the whole Ground in Channels at such equal distances, that it shows all the Flowers over again, as in a Looking-glass; this Cistern, I say, is it of Marble?  Eu. 
Not a word of that, I prithee. How should Marble come hither? 'Tis only a Paste that's covered over with an Artificial Counterfeit.  Ti. 
And where does this deliciate Rivulet discharge itself at last?  Eu. 
Just at the rate of human Obligations, when we have served our own Turns; so is it with this delicate Brook: when we have had the Pleasure, and the Benefit of it in the Garden, it washes the Kitchen, and then passes through the Sink into the Common shore.  Ti. 
A most inhuman Cruelty, as I am a Christian!  Eu. 
And I should think it so too, if the Bounty of Providence had not appointed it in Common for all these Uses. If you call this a Cruelty, what shall we say of those that with their Lusts, and Appetites, Pollute the Fountain of Divine Truth, which was given us for the Composing, and purging of our minds; and abuse the unspeakable Goodness of the Almighty?  Ti. 
You speak Reason. But how comes it that all your Made-Hedges are green too?  Eu. 
Because I would have every thing green here. Some are for a mixture of Red to set off the other. But I am still for Green; as every man has his Fancy, though it be but in a Garden.  Ti. 
The Garden is very fine of itself, but these three Walks, methinks, take off very much from the Lightsomness and Pleasure of it.  Eu. 
There do I either study or walk or talk with a Friend, or eat a Dish of Meat, according as the humour takes me.  Ti. 
Those speckled particoloured Pillars there, are not they Marble?  Eu. 
Out of the same Quarry with the Cistern.  Ti. 
'Tis a pretty Cheat; I should have sworn they had been Marble.  Eu. 
Take it for a Warning then that you swear nothing rashly, for you see how a man may be mistaken. What I want in my Purse, I am fain to supply with Invention.  Ti. 
And could ye not content yourself with so neat and well-finished a Garden in Substance, without more Gardens in Picture, over and above?  Eu. 
First, one piece of Ground will not hold all Sorts of Plants. Secondly; 'Tis a double pleasure to compare painted Flowers with the Life. In the one we Contemplate the admirable work of Nature: In the other, the Skill of the Artist; and in both, the Goodness of God, who gives us all things for our use, and shows himself to be Wonderful and Amiable together. And lastly the painting holds fresh and green all the Winter when the Flowers are dead, and withered.  Ti. 
But what sweetness is there in a Picture?  Eu. 
Consider on the other side that it requires no dressing.  Ti. 
It only delights the Eye.  Eu. 
But then 'tis beautiful in all Seasons.  Ti. 
Pictures themselves grow old.  Eu. 
They do so, but yet they'll outlive us; beside, that whereas we are the worse for Age, they are the better for't.  Ti. 
That's too true, if it could be otherwise.  Eu. 
These walks serve me to many purposes. In one of them I take the benefit of the Morning-Sun. In another, I take Sanctuary against the Heats of the Meridian, and refresh myself in the cool of the shade. And in the Third I sit airing myself sometimes. But if you please, we'll take a view of 'em nearer hand. See how green 'tis under foot; and ye have the beauty of painted Flowers in the very Chequerings of the Pavement. Here's a Wood now in Fresco; there's a strange variety of matter in't; so many Trees, and but one of a sort; and all expressed to the Life: And so for the Birds too, especially if any way remarkable: As for Geese, Hens and Ducks, they are not worth the drawing. Underneath, are fourfooted Creatures, or such Birds as live upon the ground, and keep them company.  Ti. 
The Variety indeed is wonderful, and every thing in Action; either doing, or imitating something. There's an Owl sits peeping through the Leaves, with a Label in her mouth. What says she?  Eu. 
She's an Athenian herself, and so speaks Greek: 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, says she, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Be wise, I do not fly to all. She bids us do nothing rashly. There's an Eagle Quarrying upon a Hare, and a Bittle interceding, but to no purpose. The Wren, that mortally hates the Eagle, seconding the Bittle.  Ti. 
That Swallow, what has she got in her mouth?  Eu. 
A Leaf of Celandine; (done't you know the Plant) she cures the Eyes of her young ones with it.  Ti. 
What an odd kind of Lizard is there?  Eu. 
You're mistaken, 'tis a Chamaeleon.  Ti. 
Not the Chamaeleon there's so much talk of. I took that for a beast twice as big as a Lion, The name on't is twice as long too.  Eu. 
This Chamaeleon is always hungry and gaping; especially near a wild Figtree, for that's his Aversion. He's otherwise harmless, and yet the little Creature has Poison in him.  Ti. 
I do not find that he changes his Colour.  Eu. 
But if you saw him change his place you would see him change his Colour too.  Ti. 
What's the meaning of that Piper?  Eu. 
Don't you see a Camel dancing there hard by?  Ti. 
A very pleasant Fancy truly, the Ape whistles and the Camel dances.  Eu. 
It would ask at least three days to run through the particulars one by one. So that we had better take some other time for that, and content ourselves with what we have had for the present. You have here all sorts of famous Plants, described according to Nature, and (to increase the wonder) the strongest Poisons in the World, which ye may both look upon and handle without any danger.  Ti. 
Here's a Scorpion: they are common in Italy, and very mischievous, but rarely seen here. Has the Painter given it the true Colour?  Eu. 
Why do ye ask?  Ti. 
This is too pale methinks; for those in Italy are blacker.  Eu. 
Do you know the Plant it's fallen upon?  Ti. 
Not very well.  Eu. 
That's no wonder, for we have none of it in these Parts. They call it Wolveses bane, so deadly a Poison, that upon the very touch of it, a Scorpion presently turns pale, is stupefied and overcome. But then when he is wounded with one Poison he finds his remedy in another; and if he can but get to the White hellebore, he recovers. Those Plants there, are the two sorts of Helebore.  Ti. 
This Scorpion is undone then, for he is never like to remove from the place where he is. But do your Scorpions speak here?  Eu. 
Yes, and they speak Greek too.  Ti. 
What does he say?  Eu. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. God hath found out the Guilty. Now here in the Grass, you have all kinds of Serpents. Here's the Basilisk, that's not only terrible for his poison, but the very Flash of his Eye is Mortal.  Ti. 
And does not he say something too?  Eu. 
Yes; and his word is Oderint, dum Metuant. Let them hate me, so they fear me.  Ti. 
Spoken like an Emperor.  Eu. 
Like a Tyrant you mean. Now for a Combat betwixt a Lizard and a Viper: and there again lies a Snake, (the Dipsas) upon the Catch, under an Ostrich Eggshell. You come now to the whole Polity of the Ants (that industrious Creature, which we are called upon to imitate, by Authors both Sacred and Profane.) And here are your Indian Ants that both Carry Gold, and Hoard it up.  Ti. 
Good God, how is't possible for any man to be weary of this Entertainment!  Eu. 
And yet some other time you shall see I'll give you your Belly full on't. Now before ye, at a good distance, there's a third wall, where you have Lakes, Seas, Rivers, and all sorts of choice Fishes. Here's the Nile, and a Dolphin grappling with a Croeadile. The natural Friend of Mankind with our greatest Enemy. Upon the Banks and Shores, ye see several Amphibia, as Crabs, Seals, beaver's; Here's a Polypus catcht in an Oyster  Ti. 
And what is't that he says? 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The Taker taken.  Ti. 
This water is rarely done.  Eu. 
If it were not we should have needed other Eyes. Look ye; there's another Polypus, see how he cuts it away above water like a wherry; and there lies a Torpedo upon the sand (both of a colour) you may touch 'em here without any sort of danger. But let's too something else; for this feeds the Eye, but not the Belly.  Ti. 
Is there any more to be seen then?  Eu. 
we'll look into the Backside by and by. Here's an indifferent fair Garden cut into two. The one's for the Kitchen, and that's my Wives, the other is a physic Garden. Upon the left hand, you have an open Grean Meadow enclosed with a Quickset Hedge. There do I take the Air sometimes, and divert myself with good Company. Upon the Right-hand there's a Nursery of Foreign Plants, which I have brought by degrees to endure this Climate. But these things you shall see at better leisure.  Ti. 
The King himself has nothing like ye.  Eu. 
At the end of the upper Walk, there's an Aviary, which I'll show you after Dinner. And among the Birds you'll see as great a Diversity of Humours as of Plumes and Notes: For they have their Kindnesses and their Feuds as well as we. And then they're so tame and familiar, that when I'm at Supper, they'll come flying in at the Window to me at the very Table, and eat for Company. When they see me there upon the Draw-bridge (talking perhaps with a Friend, or so) they'll sit some of them observing and harkening, others fluttering about me, and lighting upon my Head or my Shoulders, without any sort of Fear, for they find that no body hurts 'em. At the further end of the Orchard, I have my Bees, which is a Sight worth your Curiosity. But I'll keep that in reserve for ye till by and by.  Servant. 
My Mistress bids me tell you, Sir, that Dinner will be spoiled.  Eu. 
A little Patience, tell her, and we come. Let's wash first, my Masters, that we may bring clean hands to the Table, as well as clean Hearts: the very Pagans used a kind of Reverence in this Case; how much more than should Christians do it; if it were but in Imitation of that sacred Solemnity of our Saviour with his Disciples at his last Supper? The washing of the Hands is but an Emblem of purging the Mind. And so long as there is any Uncleanness in the one, or any Envy or Rancour in the other, we ought not to usurp upon the Blessings of the Table: The very Body is the sounder, the Meet the wholesomer for a purified Mind.  Ti. 
Most undoubtedly.  Eu. 
It is evident from several Instances in the Scriptures, that it was the Practice of our Saviour to bless the Table, both before and after Meat. Wherefore, if you please, I'll say you a Grace that St. chrysostom, in one of his Homilies, commends to the Skies, and he himself was the Interpreter of it.  Ti. 
pray do.  
Blessed be thou, O God, who hast sustained us from our Youth, and providest Food for all Flesh: Fill our Hearts with joy and Comfort, that partaking abundantly of thy Bounties, we may likewise abound in all good Works, through Jesus Christ our Lord; to whom with thee and the Holy Ghost, be Glory Honour and Power, World without end.  Ti. 
Amen.  Eu. 
Sat down now, and let every man take his Friend next him. The first Place is yours, Timothy, in the Right of your Grey Hairs.  Ti. 
The only thing in the World that gives me a Title to't.  Eu. 
We can judge but of what we see, and must leave the rest to God. Sophronius, keep you close to your Principal. There's the right side of the Table for Theophilus and Eulalius; and the left for Chrysoglottus and Theodidactus. Euranius and Nephalius must make a shift with what's left, and I'll stick here to my old Corner.  Ti. 
This must not be; the Master of the House sure shall take the first place.  Eu. 
The House is as much yours as mine, Gentlemen; or however, if I may govern within my own Jurisdiction, I'll sit where I please, and I have made my Choice. Now Christ be with us and among us; without whom there can be no true joy and Com●ort.  Ti. 
Amen. But where shall He sit? for the places are all taken up.  Eu. 
I would have him in every Drop, and Morsel that we Eat, or Drink; but principally in our minds. And the better to fit us for the reception of so Divine a Guest, if you please, we'll have some piece of Scripture read in the Interim, which will not at all hinder us in the business of our Dinner.  Ti. 
With all my Soul.  Eu. 
This Entertainment pleases me so much the better, because it puts off Vain and frivolous discourse, and brings profit beside. I am none of those that think no Society diverting, unless it be seasoned with the foppery of wanton Stories, and Bawdy Songs. There's no true joy but in a clear and open Conscience; and those are the happy Conversations, where only such things are spoken and heard, as we can reflect upon afterward with Satisfaction, and without any Mixture either of Shame, or Repentance.  Ti. 
It were well if we were as Careful in this point, as we are sure of the truth on't.  Eu. 
And 'tis not all neither, that the Benefit is valuable and Certain; but one Months using of it would make it pleasant too.  Ti. 
And therefore 'tis the best Course we can take to wont ourselves to that which is good.  Eu. 
Read us something, Boy, and speak out and distinctly.  Boy. 
Prov. 21. The King's heart is in the hand of the Lord as the Rivers of Water: he turneth it whithersoever he will. Every way of man is right in his own Eyes, but the Lord pondereth the hearts. To do justice and judgement, is more acceptable to the Lord, than Sacrifice, v. 1, 2, 3.  Eu. 
Hold there; 'tis enough; for 'tis better to take down a little with an Appetite, then to devour more than a man can digest.  Ti. 
'Tis better I must confess in many cases. Pliny would have Tully's Offices never out of your hand: and I'm so far of his Mind, that I could wish the whole World, especially Statesmen, had him by heart: and for this little Book of the Proverbs, I have always looked upon as the best of Manuals.  Eu. 
'Tis a good Sauce however to a flat Dinner.  Ti. 
That Compliment might have been spared, where every thing is excellent. But if you had given us this Lecture to a Dish of Beets only, without either Pepper, Wine, or Vinegar, it had been a most delicious Treat.  Eu. 
I could commend it however with a better Grace, if I did but perfectly understand that which I have heard: And I would we had but some able Divine among us, that might fully expound it: But I do not know how far a Layman may be allowed to descant upon such a Subject.  Ti. 
I see no hurt in't, even for the meanest Skipper to do it, bating the Rashness of passing Sentence in the Case. And who knows but that Christ himself (who has promised his Grace and Favour even to two or three that are gathered together in his Name) may vouchsafe his Assistance also unto us who are somewhat a large Congregation.  Eu. 
What if we should take these three Verses then, and divide them among us Nine Guests.  Ti. 
We are all content, provided that our Patron lead the Way.  Eu. 
I should not scruple it, but that I am loath to use ye worse in my Exposition, than I have done in my Dinner. But Ceremony apart, and waving all other Interpretations, I take this to be the Moral of the first Verse. That Private Men may be wrought upon by Admonition, Reproof, Laws and Menaces; but Kings that are above Fear, the more they are opposed, the fiercer their Displeasure. And therefore Princes in their Passions should be left to themselves; not in respect of any Confidence in the goodness of their Inclinations, but they are many times the Instruments of Providence for the Punishment of the Wicked, tho' by their own Cruelties, and Errors: was not Nebuccadnezzar a Scourge to his People? And yet God commanded that Obedience should be paid him. And that of Job, Cap. 34. of the Hyppocrites Reigning, paradventure looks this way. And so that of the Prophet David, lamenting his Sins, Psal. 51. 4. Against Thee only have I sinned and done this Evil in thy sight. Not as if the Iniquity of Princes were not also fatal to the People: but they are only accountable still to Almighty God; from whose judgement there lies no Appeal.  Ti. 
It goes well thus far. But what's meant by the Rivers of Waters?  Eu. 
The very Comparison explains it. The Wrath of a Prince is Impetuous, and Impotent; not to be led This way or That; or to be managed: but it presses forward with a Restless Fury. There's no stopping, or diverting of a Sea-breach; but the interposing of Banks and Walls only makes it the more Outrageous. Let it but alone, and it will at last sink of itself; as it falls out in many great Rivers. There is, in one word, less hazard in yielding, then in striving.  Ti. 
Is there no remedy then against the extravagancies of unruly Governors.  Eu. 
The first Expedient is, not to receive a Lion into the City. The second, so to hamper him with Laws, and Restrictions, as to keep him within bounds, but the best of all would be to train him up from his Childhood, in the Love and Exercise of Piety, and Virtue; and to form his Will before he comes to understand his Power. Good Counsel, and Persuasion goes a great way; provided it be seasonable and Gentle: but the last resort must be to Almighty God, for the moving of his heart toward things becoming his Dignity and Profession.  Ti. 
And do you excuse yourself because you are a Layman? Where's the Graduate in Divinity, that will take upon him to mend this Comment?  Eu. 
Whether it be Right or wrong I cannot tell; but if it be not Heretical, or Impious, I'm satisfied. But whatever it be, I have done as ye bade me; and now, according to the Rules of Conversation, do you take your turns too.  Ti. 
The Compliment you passed upon my grey Hairs, gives me some kind of Title to speak my sense next: which is, that the Text will bear yet a more mysterious meaning.  Eu. 
I believe it may: and I should be glad to hear it.  Ti. 
By the word King, may be signified a man so perfected, that he has wholly subdued his Lusts; and is only led by the guidance of a Divine Impulse. Now it may not be proper, perhaps to tie up such a Person to the Conditions of Humane Laws; but rather to remit him to his Master, by whose Spirit he is governed. Neither is he to be judged according to the Measures by which frail and imperfect Men advance themselves toward true Holiness: but if he steer another Course, we must say with St. Paul, Rom. 14. God hath received him, and to his own Master he standeth, or falleth. And so 1 Cor. 2. 15. He that is Spiritual, judgeth of all things, yet he himself is judged of no man. To such therefore, let none prescribe; for the Lord, who hath appointed bounds to the Seas, and the Rivers, hath the Heart of the King in his Hand, and inclines it which way soever pleases him. Now to what End should we prescribe to him, that does better things of himself than Humane Laws oblige him to? And how great a rashness were it, to restrain that Person to Political Constitution, who is manifestly directed by the Inspirations of the Holy Ghost?  Eu. 
You have not only the pretences of Wisdom (Tymothy) in your Grey hairs, but the substance of it in your Reasoning. And I would to God that we had more such Kings as this of yours among Christians, for in truth, they ought all of them to be such. But we have Dwelled long enough upon our Herbs and Eggs, let them be taken away and something else set in the Room.  Ti. 
We have done so well already, there's no need of more.  Eu. 
Now since by God's help, our success has been so good upon the first Verse; I should be glad to hear your Shadow (for so the Latin calls your Guest) explain himself upon the next; which I take to be the darker of the Two.  Soph. 
If you'll pardon me at a venture, or if a Shadow may pretend to give Light to any thing, you shall have my thoughts upon't.  Eu. 
You will lay an Obligation upon the whole Company: And I dare assure ye, that such a Shadow casts as much light as our Eyes will well bear.  Soph. 
St. Paul tells us, that there are several ways of life that lead to Holiness. One's Genius lies to the Church; another is for a Married State; a Third for a single Life; Others for Privacy, and some again are pleased with public Administrations in the Government; according to the various dispositions of Bodies and Minds. To one Man, all Meats are indifferent: Another distinguishes betwixt this Meat and that; and betwixt one day and another; and some again pass a judgement upon every day. In these things, St. Paul would have every Man enjoy his own Freedom, without reproaching another. Neither should we Censure any Man in these Cases; but leave him to be judged by him that weight the Heart. It falls out many times that he that Eats may be more acceptable to God than he that forbears; he that breaks a Holiday, than another that seems to Observe it; he that Weds, than another that lives single. I have done.  Eu. 
You have hit the Nail o'th' head: And so long as I may converse with such Shadows, I shall never desire other Company. But here comes one that has lived single, and an Eunuch; not upon the score of Religion, but to gratify our Palates; It is a Capon from my own Barn door. I am a great Lover of boiled meats. Take where ye like. Methinks this Soup, with Lettuce, favours very well. But we'll have something from the Spit; and after that, some small Desert; and there's an End.  Ti. 
But where's your Lady all this while?  Eu. 
When you bring your own Wives, mine shall keep 'em Company. But she's more at liberty among the Women; and so are we too, by ourselves: And if she were here she must sit like a Mute. Socrates, ye know, with some Philosophers at his Table, that loved their Discourse better than their Meat, had all thrown on the floor by his Wife, for the Companies talking more (as she thought) then came to their share. I should be loath that my Xanthippe should show us such another Trick.  Ti. 
What your Wife? She's certainly one of the best Women in the World; and you're in no danger of such an Exploit.  Eu. 
Truly such as she is, I should be loath to change her if I might; and 'tis my great happiness that she proves so. There are several People that are apt to say, such or such a man is happy; for he never had a Wife: But I say rather (with the wise Man) he that has a good wife, has a good Lot.  Ti. 
'Tis Commonly our own●fault if we have ill Wives; either for loving those that are Bad, or for making 'em so; or else for want of instructing them better.  Eu. 
You say right. But all this while who shall expound the Third Verse? Methinks the Divine Theophilus looks as if he had a mind to do it.  Th. 
Truly my mind was upon my Belly. But I'll do my best however, if I may venture upon't without Offence.  Eu. 
Nay it will be a favour to us, if, even by a Mistake you should give us occasion of finding the Truth.  Th. 
It seems to me, that the Prophet Hosea 6. 6. expounds that Verse very well. I desire Mercy and not Sacrifice, and the Knowledge of God more than Burnt Offerings. This is fully explained, and to the life, by our Saviour in St. Matthew; Chap. 9 When being at the Table of a Publican, with several others of the same Stamp and Profession; the Pharasees that valued themselves upon their external Observance of the Law, without any regard to the Prcepts of it, whereupon depend the Law and the Prophets: the Pharasees, I say, asked the Disciples (to alienate their Affections from him) what their Master meant, to Eat with Publicans and Sinners. This is a Point, of which the Jews made a Conscience to so high a Degree, that if the stricter sort had but met any of 'em by chance, they would presently go home, and wash themselves. This Question put the Disciples to a Loss, till their Master made Answer, both for himself and them. They (says he) that are whole need not a Physician, but they that are sick: But go you and learn what that meaneth; I will have Mercy and not Sacrifice; for I came not to call the Righteous, but Sinners.  Eu. 
This way of comparing Texts is the surest Rule of Expounding the Scriptures. But I would fain know what is't he calls Sacrifice, and what, Mercy; For how should we reconcile it, that God who has appointed and required so many Sacrifices should be against them?  Th. 
How far God is against Sacrifices, he himself teaches us in the Prophet Isaiah, Chap. 1. There were certain Legal Obligations among the Jews, that were rather Significations of Holiness, then of the Essence of it: and there were certain other Obligations of Perpetual Force, being Good in their own Natures, without any Respect to the Command. Now God was not displeased with the Jews for Observing the Rites and Ceremonies of the Law; but for placing all their Holiness upon that outward performance; to the neglect of Necessary and more Important Duties: As if they had Merited Heaven by keeping their Holy Days; offering up of Sacrifices, abstaining from Meats forbidden, and by their frequent Fast: whereas all this while they lay wallowing in their Sins; as Avarice, Pride, Rapine, Hatred, Envy, and other Iniquities; embracing only the Shadow of Religion, without minding the Substance. But where he says, I will have and Mercy and not Sacrifice, I take it to be an Hebraism; that is to say, Mercy rather than Sacrifice; after the Interpretation of Solomon in this Text. And again the Scripture expresses all Charitable Offices to our Neighbour under the term of Mercy and El●emosinary Tenderness, which derives its very Name from Pity. By Sacrifices, I suppose, is intended whatsoever respects corporal Ceremonies, under any Affinity with Judaisme. As the choice of Meats, appointed Garments, Fasts, Sacrifices, Resting upon Holy Days; and the saying over Prayers as a boy says his Lesson. These things as they are not to be neglected in their due season, so if a man relies too much upon these Observances, and sees his Brother in Distress, without Relieving him; these bare Formalities are very unpleasing to God. It has some appearance of Holiness, to have nothing to do with wicked men. But this Caution ceases, wheresoever there is place for the exercise of our Charity. It is a point of just Obedience to rest on Holy Days; but it were most Impious to make such a Conscience of the Day, as not to make a greater of saving his Brother upon that Day, if he were in Danger. Wherefore to keep the Lords day is a kind of Sacrifice, but to be Reconciled to my Brother is a Point of Mercy. And then for the judgement of things, though the Weak are commonly oppressed by the more Powerful, who are to pass the Sentence; yet it seems to me reasonable enough, that the Poor Man should mind him of that in Hosea, and the Knowledge of God more than Burnt-Offerings. No Man can be said to keep the Law but he that observes the Will in it of the Law Maker. The Jews co●ld take up an Ass upon their Sabbath that was fallen into a Pit; and yet they calumniated our Saviour for preserving a Man upon that day. This was a preposterous judgement, and not according to the Knowledge of God, for they never considered that these provisions were made for Man, and not Man for them. But I should think myself Impudent in saying thus much, if you had not commanded it; and I had rather learn of others.  Eu. 
This Discourse is so far from Impudent, that it looks rather like an Inspiration: But while we are feeding of our Souls, we must not forget our Companions.  Th. 
Who are those?  Eu. 
Our Bodies; and I had rather call them Companions, than Instruments, Habitations, or Sepulchers.  Ti. 
This is a sure way of Satisfaction, when the whole man's relieved.  Eu. 
We are long a coming to't methinks; wherefore if you please, we'll call for a roasted Bit, without staying any longer for a little. And now ye see your Ordinary. Here's a good shoulder of Mutton, a Capon, and two brace of Patridges. These Patridges came from the Market; and I'm beholden to my Farm for the rest.  Ti. 
Here's a Dinner for a Prince.  Eu. 
For a Carmelite, you would say; but such as it is you're welcome to't; and that must supply your Entertainment.  Ti. 
This is the talkingst place that ever I set my Foot in. Not only the Walls, but the very Cup speaks.  Eu. 
And what does it say?  Ti. 
No man is hurt, but by himself.  Eu. 
The Cup pleads for the Wine; for if a man get a Fever, or a pain in the Head with over-drinking, we are subject to curse the wine, when we should rather impute it to ourselves for the Excess.  Soph. 
Mine speaks Greek here. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. In Wine there's Truth.  Eu. 
This gives to understand, that 'tis not safe for Priests, or Courtiers to drink deep; for fear of throwing their hearts out at their mouths.  Soph. 
The Egyptians would not allow their Priests to Drink any Wine at all: and yet in those Days, there was no Auricular Confession. 'Tis become lawful now for all people to drink Wine; how convenient, I know not. What Book is that, Eulalius, you take out of your Pocket? It must needs be a good one sure, there's so much cost bestowed upon it.  Eula. 
It has a Glorious outside, I must confess, and yet 'tis infinitely more precious within. Here are the Epistles of St. Paul, which I still carry about me, as my beloved Entertainment, and I take 'em out now upon something you said, that minds me of a place which I have beat my head about a long time, and I am not yet resolved in. It is in the 6th Chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians. All things are Lawful unto me, but all things are not Expedient: all things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the Power of any. First, (if we may trust the Stoiques) Nothing can be profitable to us which is not Honest. Therefore how comes St. Paul to distinguish betwixt Lawful and Expedient? It is not Lawful sure to Whore or to drink drunk. How is it said then that All things are Lawful? But if St. Paul speaks of some particular things only, which he would have to be Lawful; how shall I divine from the Tenor of the place, which those particular things are? From that which follows, it may be gathered that he there speaks of the Choice of Meats. For some abstain from things offered to Idols, others, from Meats that were forbidden by Moses' Law. In the Eighth Chapter, he Treats of the former, and then in the Tenth, unfolds the Intention of this place; saying, All things are Lawful for me; but all things are not expedient: All things are Lawful for me, but all things Edify not. Let no man seek his own but every Man another's Wealth. Whatsoever is sold in the Shambles, Eat, And that which St. Paul subjoins, agrees with what he said before. Meat for the Belly, and the Belly for Meats: God shall destroy both It and Them, Now that this was spoken of the judaical choice of Meats, appears by the close of the Tenth Chapter, Give none Offence neither to the Jews nor to the Gentiles; nor to the Church of God, even as I please all Men in all Things; not seeking my own Profit, but the Profit of many that they may be saved: Where he speaks of the Gentiles, he seems to reflect upon things offered to Idols, and in naming the jews, he refers to the Choice of Meats: Under the Church of God comprehending the weak that are collected out of both sorts. It was Lawful, it seems, to eat of all Meats whatsoever, and all things are clean to the clean: But the remaining question is, whether or no it be Expedient. The Liberty of the Gospel makes all things Lawful; But for the avoiding of scandal, Charity has a regard to the Conscience of my Neighbour. Upon that score, I would forbear, even things the most Lawful: rather choosing to gratify the scruples of Another, than to insist upon the Exercise of my own freedom. But now here arises a double difficulty. First, That there's nothing in the Context to warrant this Construction either before, or after. For his charge against the Corinthians was, that they were Seditious, Fornicators, Adulterous, Incestuous and given to Contention, before Wicked judges. Now what coherence is there after all this, to say, all things are Lawful for me, but all things are not expedient? After this Passage, he returns to the point of Incontinence, which he had also repeated before, only leaving out the Charge of Contention: But the Body, says he, is not for Fornication, but for the Lord, and the Lord is for the Body. But this may be Salved too, because a little before in the Catalogue of Sins, there was mention made of Idolatry. Be not deceived; neither Fornicators, Idolaters, nor Adulterers; and then the Eating of things offered to Idols, is a spice of Idolatry. Wherefore he follows it with this expression, Meat is for the Belly, and the Belly for Meat. ● Intimating, that in Case of Necessity, and for a Season, a man may Eat any thing, as far as Charity will permit; but that uncleanness, is in all persons, and at all times, to be detested. It is matter of Necessity, that we Eat: But that Necessity shall be taken away at the last day. If we be lustful, it is voluntary and malicious. There is yet another scruple which I cannot either dissolve, or reconcile to that passage: but I will not be brought under the Power of any: For he says, that he has the Power of all things, and yet he will not be brought under any one's Power. If he may be said to be in another man's Power, that abstains for fear of offending; it is no more than what in the ninth Chapter he speaks of himself: For tho' I be free from all men yet have I made myself Servant unto all, that I might gain the more. St. Ambrose stumbling, as I suppose, at this scruple, takes this to be the Genuine sense of the Apostle, for the better understanding of him in another Place, where he claims to himself the Power of doing as the rest of the Apostles, (either true or false) the Liberty of receiving Maintenance from those to whom he Preached the Gospel. But yet he forbore this, tho' he might have done it, as a thing expedient among the Corinthians, whom he charged with so many, and so Enormous Iniquities. And moreover, he that receives is in some degree in the Power of him that gives; and suffers some kind of Abatement in his Authority: For he that takes, cannot so freely reprove his Benefactor: and he that gives, will not easily take a reprehension from him that he has obliged. Therefore did St. Paul abstain from many things that were Lawful, for the Crdit of his Apostolical Liberty, which he chose rather to support at the height, that he might maintain the Dignity of his Commission, for the Reprehension of their Sins. This Explication of St. Ambrose, I am well enough pleased with: and yet if any body had rather apply this passage to Meats. St. Paul's saying, but I will not be brought under the Power of any, may in my opinion, bear this Explanation. Although I may some time abstain from Meats offered to Idols, or forbidden by the Mosaical Law, out of a Tenderness to the scruples of a weak Brother; my mind is never the less Free: Well knowing that Necessity makes all Meats Lawful: But there were some false Apostles, that would persuade the World that some Meats were in themselves impure; and that not only upon Occasion, but in all Extremities, they were to be forborn, as Adultery, or Murder. Now those that were thus misled, fell from their Gospel-Liberty under a foreign Power. Only Theophilact, as I remember, has an Opinion by himself. It is Lawful, says he, to Eat of all Meats, but it is not expedient to eat to Excess; for from Luxury comes Lust. There's no Impiety now in this sense, but I take it to be forced. I have now showed you my soruples, and it will become your Charity to set me at Ease.  Eu. 
Your Discourse is certainly answerable to your Name. And the Questions you have propounded, cannot be better resolved, then by your self: For your manner of Doubting has put me out of all doubt. Although St. Paul, proposing to do many things together, passes so often from one thing to another, repeating what he had intermitted, and going over with the same thing again, in the same Epistle, that it is a hard matter to disentangle in▪ Chrysoglottus. If I were not afraid of talking ye out of your Dinners; and if I did not make a Conscience of mingling things profane, with sacred, there is something that I would venture to propound to you: I read it this day with singular delight.  Eu. 
Whatsoever is pious, and conducing to good Manners, should not be called profane. The first place must be granted to the Authority of the Holy Scriptures; and yet, after That, I find among the Ancients, nay the Ethniques, and, which is yet more, among the Poets, certain Precepts, and Sentences, so clean, so sincere, so divine, that I cannot persuade myself but they wrote them by Holy Inspiration. And perhaps the Spirit of Christ diffuses itself further than we imagine. There are more Saints than we find in our Catalogue. To confess myself now among my Friends, I cannot read Tully, Of old Age; of Friendship; his Offices; or his Tusc●lane Questions, without kissing the Book; without a Veneration for the Soul of that Divine Heathen; and then on the contrary, when I read some of our Modern Authors, their Politics, O●conomies, and Ethiques; Good God how Jejune, and Cold they are? And so insensible, compared with the other, that I had rather lose all Scotus, and twenty more such as he, than one Cicero, or Plutarch. Not that I am wholly against them neither; but from the reading of the One, I find myself to become Honester, and Better; whereas I rise from the other extremely dull, and indifferent in the point of Virtue; but most violently bend upon Cavil, and Contention. Wherefore never fear to make your Proposition, whatever it is.  Ch. 
Tho' all Tully's Philosophy carries upon it the stamp of something that is Divine, yet that Treatise of Old Age, which in his Old Age he wrote; that Piece, I say, do I look upon, according to the Greek Proverb, to be the Song of the dying Swan. I read it this day; and these words I remember in it, that pleased me above the rest. Should God now put it into my Power to begin my life again from my very Cradle, and once more to run the course over of the years I have lived, I should not upon any Terms agree to't. For what's the Benefit of Life; or rather how great is the Pain? Or if there were none of this, there would be yet undoubtedly in it Society, and Trouble. There are many (I know) and Learned men, that have taken up the humour of deploring their past Lives. This is a thing which I can never Consent to; or to be troubled that my Life is spent, because▪ I have so lived as to persuade myself that I was not born in vain. And when I leave this Body, 'tis but as an Inn, not as a place of Abode. For Nature has given us our Bodies only to Lodge in, not to dwell in. Oh! How glorious will That day be, when I shall leave the Rabble, and the Trash of this World behind me, to join in Counsel, and Society with those Illustrious Spirits that are gone before. Thus far Cato. What could a Christian have said more? The Dialogue of this Aged Pagan, with the Youth of his times, will rise up in Judgement against many of our Monks, with their Holy Virgins.  Eu. 
It will be objected, that this Colloquy of Tully's was but a Fiction.  Ch. 
'Tis all one to me, whether the honour be Cato's, for the sense and expression of this Rapture, or Cicero's, for the Divinity of the Contemplation, and the Excellency of representing his thoughts in words answerable to the Matter. Tho' I'm apt to think, that although these very Syllables were not Cato's, yet that his familiar Conversations were not far from this purpose. Neither had Tully the Confidence to draw a Cato fairer than he was; especially in a time, when his Character was yet fresh in the Memories of all men. Beside that such an Unlikeness in a Dialogue, would have been a great indecorum, and enough to have blasted the Credit of the Discourse.  Th. 
That which you say, is very likely; but let me tell you what came into my head upon your Recital. I have often wondered with myself, considering that long Life is the Wish, and Death the Terror of all Mortals, that there is scarce any man so happy (I do not speak of Old, but of middle-ag'd-men) but if it should be offered him to be young again, if he would; upon Condition of running the same Fortune over again of Good and Ill, he would make the same Answer that Cato did: especially passing a true reflection upon the mixture of his past Life. For the remembrance, even of the pleasantest part of it, is commonly attended with shame and sting of Conscience; insomuch, that the Memory of past delights, is more painful to us, then that of past misfortunes. Wherefore it was wisely done of the Ancient Poets, in the Fable of Lethe, to make the Dead drink the Water of Forgetfulness, before their Souls were affected with any desire of the Bodies they had left behind 'em.  Vr. 
It is a thing that I myself have observed in some Cases, and well worthy of our Admiration. But That in Cato, which takes me the most, is his Declaration, that he did not repent himself of his past Life. Where's the Christian that lives to his Age, and can say as much? 'Tis a common thing for men that have scraped Estates together, by hook or by crcok, to value themselves at their death, upon the Industry and Success of their Lives. But Cato's saying that he had not lived in vain, was grounded upon the Conscience of having discharged all the Parts of an honest, and a resolute Citizen, and Patriot, and untainted Magistrate; and that he should transmit to Posterity the Monuments of his Integrity, and Virtue. I depart (says he) as out of a Lodging, not a dwelling▪ Place. What could be more Divine? I am here upon sufferance, till the Master of the house says ●e gone. A man will not easily be forced from his own Home; but the fall of a Chimney, the spark of a Coal, and a thousand petty Accidents drive us out of this World, or at the best, the Structure of our Bodies falls to pieces with Old Age, and moulders to Dust; every moment admonishing us that we are to change our Quarters. Nephalius. That expression of Socrates in Plato, is rather methinks the more significant of the Two. The Soul of a man (says he) is in the Body as in a Garrison. There's no quitting of it; without the leave of the Captain; nor any longer staying in't, then during the pleasure of him that placed it there. The Allusion of a Garrison is much more Emphatical, than that of a House. For in the One, is only employed an Abode, (and that perhaps an Idle one too) whereas in the Other, we are put upon Duty by our Governor; And much to this purpose it is, that the Life of M●n in Holy Writ is one while called a Warfare, and another while, a Race.  Vr. 
But Cato's Speech methinks has some affinity with that of St. Paul, 2 Cor. chap. 5. where he calls that Heavenly station which we look for after this Life, in one place a House, in another, a Mansion; and the Body he calls 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or a Tabernacle. For we also (says he) in this Tabernacle groan, being burdened.  Neph. 
So St. Peter 2. 1. And I think it meet (says he) as long as I am in this Tabernacle to stir ye up, by putting you in mind; being assured that I shall shortly put off this my Tabernacle. And what says Christ himself Mat. 24. Mar. 13. and Luke 21. That we should so live, and Watch, as if we were presently to Die; and so apply ourselves to honest things, as if we were to live for ever. Now who can hear these words of Cato, Oh that glorious Day! without thinking of St. Paul's, I desire to be dissolved, and to be with Christ?  Ch. 
How happy are they that wait for Death in in such a state of mind? But yet in Cato's Speech, tho' it be great, there is more boldness, and Arrogance in it methinks, than would become a Christian. No certainly, never any Ethnique came nearer up to us, than Socrates to Crito, before he took his Poison. Whether I shall be approved, or not, in the sight of God, I c●●not tell; but this I am certain of, that I have most affectionately en leavoured to please him. And I am in good hope that he will accept the Will for the Deed. This great man's diffidence in himself, was yet so comforted by the Conscience of Pious Inclinations, and an absolute Resignation of himself to the Divine Will, that he delivered up himself, in a dependence upon God's Mercy and Goodness, even for the Honesty of his Intentions.  Neph. 
What a wonderful Elevation of Mind was this in a man that only Acted by the light of Nature! I can hardly read the Story of this Worthy without a Sancte Socrates Ora pro nobis, Saint Socrates pray for us, and I have as much ado sometime, to keep myself from wishing well to the Souls of Virgil and Horace. But how distracted and fearful have I seen many Christians upon the last Extremity! Some put their Trust in things not to be Confided in; others breathe out their Souls in desperation; either out of a Conscience of their lewd Lives, or some scruples perhaps injected into their thoughts; by meddling, with indiscreet men, at their dying hours.  Ch. 
And 'tis no wonder to find those disordered at their Deaths, who have spent their whole Lives in the Formality of Philosophising about Ceremonies.  Neph. 
What do you mean by Ceremonies?  Ch. 
I'll tell ye; but with this Protestation over and over, before hand; that I am so far from Condemning the Sacraments, and Rites of the Church, that I have them in high Veneration. But there are a wicked, and superstitious sort of People, (or, in good Manners, I shall call them only Simple, and unlearned Men) that cry up these things as if they were Foundations of our F●ith, and the only Duties that make us truly Christians. These, I must Confess, I cannot but infinitely blame.  Neph. 
All this is not yet enough to make me understand what it is you would be at.  Ch. 
I'll be plainer then. If ye look into the ordinary sort of Christians, you will find they live as if the whole Sum of Religion rested in Ceremonies. With how much Pomp are the Ancient Rites of the Church set forth in Baptism? The Infant waits without the Church-door; the Exorcism, the Catechism, is dispatched; the Vow is past; the Devil with all his Pomps and Pleasures is abjured; and then the Child is Anointed, Signed, Seasoned with Salt, Dipped, a Charge given to his Sureties to see him well brought up, and then follows their Oblation; and by this time the Child passes for a Christian, as in some sense it is. After this, it comes to be Anointed again; and in time learns to Confess, take the Eucharist, Rest on holidays, to observe Fasts, and Public Prayers, and to abstain from Flesh, and observing all these things, it goes for an absolute Christian. The Boy grows up then, and marries, which draws on another Sacrament; he enters into Holy Orders, is Anointed again, and Consecrated, his habit changed, and so to Prayers. Now the doing of all this, I like well enough; but the doing of it more out of Custom than Conscience, I do not like; as if this were all that is needful to the making up of a Christian. There are but too many in the World, that so long as they acquit themselves in these outward Forms, think 'tis no matter what they do else: but Rob, Pillage, Cheat, Quarrel, Whore, Slander, Oppress and Usurp upon their Neighbours, without control. And when they are brought through this Course of Life, to their last Prayers, than there follow more Ceremonies; Confession upon Confession, more Unction still, the Eucharist, Tapers, the Cross, Holy Water, Indulgences and Pardons; if they be to be had for Love or Money: Order is then given for a Magnificent Funeral; and then comes another solemn Contract. When the man is come to agonizing, there's one bawls in his Ear, and dispatches him now and then before his time, if he chance to be a little in drink, or to have better Lungs than ordinary. Now though these things may be well enough, so far as they are done in Conformity to Ecclesiastical Customs; there are yet some Inward, and Spiritual Impressions that do more fortify us against the Assaults of Death, even to the degree of filling our hearts with Joy, and Confidence at our least Breath.  Eu. 
All this is pious, and true: but in the mean time, here's no body Eats. I told you at first what you were to trust to: and if you look for any thing more now, than a Dish of Nuts, and Apples, you'll find yourselves mistaken. Come take away this, Boy, and set the rest on. Take what ye like, and thank my Gardener for't.  Ti. 
There's so much Choice, and they're so well disposed, it does a man good to look upon't.  Eu. 
'Tis no despicable piece of Thrift I'll assure ye. This Dish would have cheered up the heart of the old Evangelical Monk Hilarian, with a hundred more of his fellows at's heels: But Paul and Anthony would have lived a whole Month upon't.  Ti. 
Yes, and Prince Peter, I fancy, would have leapt at it too, when he lodged at Simon the Tanners.  Eu. 
Yes, and Paul too, I believe, when he sat up a nights to make Tents.  Ti. 
How much do we owe to the Goodness of God But yet I had rather fast with Peter, and Paul, upon Condition that what I wanted for my Carcase, might be supplied in the satisfaction of my Mind.  Eu. 
Let us learn of St. Paul to abound, and to suffer want. When we have it not, God be praised, that we have still a Subject for Frugality, and Patience: when we abound, let us be thankful for that munificence, and Liberality, by which we are both invited, and obliged to Love him. And let us still use his Blessings and Bounties with Moderation, and Temperance; and remember the Poor. For God has given to some, too little for their Convenience, and to others, more than they need; that neither side might want an occasion for their Virtue. He bestows upon us sufficient for the Relief of our Brethren; that we may obtain his Mercy, and the Poor, on the other side, when they are refreshed by our Liberality, give God thanks for putting it into our hairs, and recommend us to him in their Prayers. And now I think on't. Come hither, Boy. Bid my Wife send Gudula some of the Meat that's left? 'Tis a very good poor Woman in the Neighbourhood; her Husband's lately dead (a Profuse Lazy fellow) and has left his Wife nothing but a number of Children.  Ti. 
'Tis Christ's Command that we should give to every one that asks. But yet if I should follow that rule; within one month, I should go a begging myself.  Eu. 
This is said, I suppose, of those that Ask only Necessaries. For 'tis Charity to deny to many what they ask. There are, that not only beg, but importune, or rather extort great Sums from people to furnish voluptuous Entertainments, or which is worse, to nourish Luxury, and Lust. It is a kind of Rapine, to bestow that which we owe to the present Necessities of our Neighbours, upon those that will abuse it. Upon this Consideration it is, that I can hardly excuse those from a Mortal Sin, who, at prodigious Expense, either build, or beautify Monasteries, or Churches; when so many living Temples of Christ are ready to starve for want of Food, Clothing, and other Necessaries. When I was i● England, I saw St. Thomas' Tomb; so prodigiously Rich, in Plate, and Jewels, that the Value was almost inestimable. Now had it not be better if these superfluities had been rather applied to Charitable Uses, for the Relief of the Poor, than reserved for those Ambitious Princes, who shall have the Fortune one day to make a Booty of it. The Holy Man, I am Confident, would have been very well content with Leaves, and Flowers, instead of them. In Lombardy I saw a Cloister of Carthusians; (not far from Pavia) the Chapel, within, and without, is white Marble, from the top to the bottom, the Altars, Pillars, Tombs in it (and almost every thing else) are all Marble. To what end was this vast expense upon a Marble Temple for a few solitary Monks to Sing in? And 'tis of more Burden than Use too. For they are perpetually troubled with Strangers that come only out of mere Curiosity to see it. And which is yet more ridiculous, I was told there, that they are endowed with Three thousand Ducats a year, for Building and Maintenance of the Monastery. It passes for little better than Sacrilege, to bestow one penny of that Money upon Pious Uses; beside the Intention of the Testator. And they had rather pull down that they may rebuild, than not to go on with Building. We have a World of Instances up and down in our Churches of this kind; but I shall content myself with these, as being somewhat more remarkable than Ordinary. This is rather Ambition, than Charity. Great men now adays will have their own Monuments in Churches, whereas in times past they could hardly get room for the Saints. They must have their Pictures there, and their Images, forsooth; with their Names at length, their Titles, and their Benefits: And this takes up a considerable part of the Temple. Who knows (if they may have their Wills) but their own Carcases may come hereafter to be laid upon the Altars? But this Munificence of Great men, you'll say, must not upon any Terms ●e discouraged. And I say so too; If that which they offer to the Temple of God, be worthy of it. But if I were a Priest, or a Bishop, I would hammer it into the heads of those thick skulled Courtiers, and Merchants; that if they would atone themselves to Almighty God, they should privately bestow their Liberality upon the Relief of the Poor. But they reckon all as good as lost, that goes out so by Parcels, and is so secretly distributed toward the succour of the Needy, that the next Age shall have no Memorial of the Bounty. But can any Money be better bestowed then that which makes Christ himself a Debtor?  Ti. 
Do not you take that Bounty to be well placed then, that's bestowed upon Monasteries?  Eu. 
Yes, and I would be a Benefactor myself, if I had a fortune for't; but it should be such a Provision for their Necessities, as should not reach to Luxury. And I would give something too, wheresoever I found a Religious man that wanted it.  Ti. 
I have heard many find fault with giving to public Beggars.  Eu. 
I would do something that way too, but with Caution and Choice. It were well if every City were to maintain its own Poor, without suffering Vagabonds, and sturdy Beggars, which want Work rather than Mony.  Ti. 
To whom is it then that you would give? How much? And to what Purposes?  Ti. 
'Tis hard to answer all these Points exactly. There should be First, an Inclination to oblige all; and then the Proportion must be according to a man's Ability, as often as he has occasion. And for the Choice of the men, I would be satisfied that they are Poor, and Honest; and where my Purse fails me, I would Preach Charity to others.  Ti. 
But will you give us leave now to discourse at Liberty in your Dominion?  Eu. 
You are not so free in your own Houses.  Ti. 
You do not like Prodigious Excesses, it seems upon Churches; and they might have been built Cheaper, you say.  Eu. 
Truly I take this house of mine to be within the Compass of Cleanly and Convenient; far from any pretence of Luxury, or I am mistaken. I have seen many a more chargeable Building that has been erected by a Beggar; and yet out of these Gardens of mine (such as they are) I pay a kind of Tribute to the Poor, and daily lessen my own expense, that I may contribute the more plentifully to them.  Ti. 
If all men were of your mind, it would be better with many that are now in extreme Want; and on the other side many of those pampered Carcases would be brought down, whom nothing but Penury can ever teach to be either modest, or sober.  Eu. 
This may very well be. But shall I mend your Entertainment now with the best bit at last?  Ti. 
We have had more then enough already.  Eu. 
But that which I am now to give ye, I'll undertake for't shall never charge your Stomaches.  Ti. 
What is it?  Eu. 
The four Evangelists, which I have reserved to Crown your Treat. Read, Boy, from that place where ye left off last.  Boy: 
No man can serve two Masters; for either he ●●ll hate the One, and love the Other, or else he will hold to the One, and despise the Other. You cannot serve God and Mammon. Therefore I say unto you, take no thought for your Life, what you shall Eat, or what you shall Drink; nor yet for your Body, what you shall put on. Is not the Life more than Meat, and the Body than Raiment;  Eu. 
Give me the Book. In this place our Saviour seems to me to have said the same thing twice. In one place 'tis said, he will Hate, and in the other, he will Despise. And for the word he will Love, it is afterward turned, he will hold to the other. The sense is the same, tho' the persons be changed.  Ti. 
I do not very well apprehend you.  Eu. 
Let us go mathematically to work then. Let A, in the first part, stand for one, and B, for the other: And in the latter part, put B, for one, and A, for the other. inverting the Order. For either A will Hate, and B, Love, or B will hold to, and A will Despise. Is it not clear now that A is twice Hated, and B twice beloved.  Ti. 
'Tis very Clear.  Eu. 
This Conjunction, Or, especially repeated, has the Emphasis of a Contrary, or at least of a different meaning. Would it not be otherwise, absurd to say, Either Peter shall overcome me, and I'll yield, or I'll yield, and Peter shall overcome me.  Ti. 
A pleasant Crotchet, as I'm an honest man.  Eu. 
I shall think it so, when you have unridl'd it.  Th. 
I have something in my head, I know not what; it may be a Dream, but I am big till 'tis out: but whatever it is, if you'll have it, you shall.  Eu. 
'Tis ill Luck, they say, to talk of Dreams at the Table; and if ye're big, this is no place neither for Midwifery. But let it be what it will, we should be glad to have it.  Th. 
In my Judgement, it is rather the Thing that is changed in this Text, than the Person; and the words One, and One, do not refer to A, and B. but either part, to which of the other you please. So that choose which you will, it must be opposed to that which is signified by the other. As if you should say, either you shall exclude A, and admit B, or you shall admit A, and exclude B. Here's the thing changed, and the Person the same. And it is so spoken of A, that 'tis all a Case, if you should say the same thing of B. As thus; either you shall exclude B, and admit A, or admit B, and exclude A.  Eu. 
A Problem so artificially solved, that Euclid himself could not have done it better.  Soph. 
The greatest difficulty to me is this; That we are forbidden to take thought for to morrow, when yet Paul wrought with his hands for his Bread; and falls bitterly upon Lazy people, and those that live upon other men's Labour; exhorting them to take pains, and get their livings with their fingers, that they may have wherewithal to relieve others in necessity. Are not these, holy, and warrantable Labours, by which a Husband provides for his Wife and Children?  Ti. 
This is a question, which in my opinion, may be resolved several ways. First, This Text had a particular regard to those times; when the Apostles, being dispersed far and wide for the Promulgation of the Gospel, they were to cast themselves upon Providence for their support, without being solicitous for it themselves; having neither leisure to get their living by their labour, nor any thing to trust to for it, beside Fishing. But the World is now at another pass: and we are all for Ease. Another way of expounding it, may be this. Christ has not forbid Industry, but Anxiety of thought; such as commonly possesses those men that are hard put to't for a Livelihood; and set all other things apart only to attend this. This is intimated by our Saviour himself, when he says that one man cannot serve two Masters. For he that wholly delivers himself up to any thing, is a Servant to't. Now tho' the Propagation of the Gospel ought to be our Chief, yet it is not our only Care. For he says, First, (not Only) seek the Kingdom of Heaven, and these things shall be added unto you. The word, To morrow, I take to be Hyperbolical, and to signify a time to come Uncertain; it being the Custom of the World to be scraping and solicitous for Posterity.  Eu. 
Your Interpretation we allow of. But what is his meaning when he says, Nè solliciti sitis Animae vestrae, quid Edalis. The Body is Clothed, but the Soul does not Eat.  Ti. 
By Anima, is meant Life, which cannot subsist without Meat: This does not hold in our Garments which are more for Modesty than Necessity. For a Body may live without clothes, but without Meat it is certain Death.  Eu. 
I do not well understand how to reconcile this Passage, with that which follows. Is not the Life more than Meat, and the Body more than Raiment? For if Life be so precious, we should take the more Care of it.  Ti. 
This Argument does rather increase our trouble then lessen it.  Eu. 
But this is none of our Saviour's meaning. Who by this Argument creates in us a stronger Confidence in the Father; for if a bountiful Father hath given us. gratis, that which is more valuable, he will, by a stronger reason, confer upon us, that which is Cheaper. He that has give us Life, will certainly give us Food. He that has given us Bodies, will not deny us clothes. So that upon the experience of his Divine Bounty, there is no reason why we should afflict ourselves with any Anxiety, of Thought, for things below. What remains then but that using this World as if we used it not, we transfer our whole study and application to the love of Heavenly things▪ and rejecting the World, and the Devil, with all their Vanities, and Impostures, we cheerfully serve God alone, who will never forsake his Children. But here's no body takes any Fruit! 'Tis a Scripture Dinner you have had; for there was little care beforehand to provide it.  Ti. 
We have sufficiently pampered our Carcases.  Eu. 
I should be glad that ye had satisfied your Souls.  Ti. 
That's done I assure ye in a larger measure.  Eu. 
Take away Boy, and bring some Water; Now if you please we'll wash; and conclude with a Hymn out of chrysostom. And pray let me be your Chaplain. Glory be to thee O God, O Holy, O King; as thou hast given us Meat for our Bodies, so replenish our Souls with joy and Gladness in thy Holy Spirit, that we may be found acceptable in thy sight, and not be confounded when thou shalt come to render unto every man according to his Works. Boy, Amen.  Ti. 
A Pious, and a most pertinenent Hymn.  Eu. 
Of St. Chrysostoms' Translation too.  Ti. 
Where is it to be found?  Eu. 
In his Fifty sixth Homily upon St. Matthew.  Ti. 
God willing I'll read it before I sleep. But tell me one thing; why these three Atributes of Lord, Holy, and King?  Eu. 
Because all honour is due to our Master, and principally in these three respects. We call him Lord, as the Redeemer of us from the Tyranny of the Devil, with his Holy Blood, and taking us to himself. We style him Holy as the Sanctifier of all men, and not only forgiving us all our sins gratis, but by the Holy Spirit clothing us with his Righteousness; that we might follow Holiness. And then King, as heirs to a Heavenly Kingdom from him who sits, and reigns himself at the Right hand of God the Father. And all this we owe to his gratuitous Bounty, that we have jesus Christ for our Lord, and not Satan; that we have Innocence, and Sanctity, instead of the Filth and Uncleanness of our Sins; and for the Torments of Hell, the Joys of Life everlasting.  Ti. 
'Tis a very Godly discourse.  Eu. 
This is your first Visit, Gentlemen, and I must not dismiss ye without Presents, but plain ones, and suitable to your Entertainment. Bring 'em out here Boy; These are all of a Price, that is to say, they are of no value. 'Tis all one to me now whether you will draw Lots, or choose. You will not find it Heliogabulus' Lottery, for one to draw 100 Horses, and another as many Flies. Here are four little Books, two Clocks, a Lamp and a Standish; which I suppose you will like better than either Balsams, Dentifrices, or Looking-glasses.  Ti. 
They are all so good that there's no place for a Preference; but rather distribute them yourself. They'll come the welcomer where they fall.  Eu. 
In this little Book are the Proverbs of Solomon in Parchment. It teaches Wisdom; and the Gilding is a Symbold of it. This must be yours, Timotheus; that according to the Doctrine of the Gospel, to him that has Wisdom, shall Wisdom be given.  Ti. 
I will make it my study to stand in less need of it.  Eu. 
This Clock must be yours, Sophronius, for I know you count your hours, and husband your time. It came out of the farther part of Dalmatia, and that's all the Commendation I'll give it.  Soph. 
'Tis a good way of advising a Sluggard to be diligent.  Eu. 
You have in this Book, the Gospel of St. Matthew. I would recommend it to be set with Diamonds, if a sincere and candid Breast were not more precious. Lay it up there, Theophilus, and be still more and more suitable to your name.  Th. 
I will endeavour to make such use of it, that you may not think it ill bestowed.  Eu. 
St. Paul's Epistles (your constant Companions Eulalius) are in this Book. You have them often in your mouth, which would not be if they were not also in your heart. Hereafter keep 'em in your hand, and in your eye.  Eu. 
This is a Gift with good Counsel over and above; which is of all Gifts the most precious.  Eu. 
This Lamp must be for Chrysoglottus, a Reader as insatiable as Tully's devourer of Books.  Ch. 
This is a double obligation. First, for the Choice of the Present itself, and next for the means of keeping a Dreamer waking.  Eu. 
The Standish belongs to Theodidactes, who writes much, and to excellent purpose; and I dare pronounce these Pens to be happy, that shall be employed to the honour of our Saviour, by so great a Master.  The. 
I would ye could as well have supplied me with Abilities, as ye have with Instruments.  Eu. 
This is a Collection of some of Plutarch's choicest Morals; and written in a very fair Character. They have in them so much Purity of thought, that it is my Amazement how such Evangelical Notions could come into the heart of an Ethnique. This I shall present to young Euranius. (a Lover and a Master of the Language) This Clock I have reserved for Nephalius, as a thrifty dispenser of his Time.  Neph. 
We are all of us to thank you, not only for your Gifts, but for your Compliments.  Eu. 
But I must return you double thanks. First, for taking these small things in so good part: And Secondly, for the Comfort I have received from your learned and pi●us Discourses. What Effect this meeting may have upon you, I know not, but I shall certainly find myself both the wiser, and the better for't, You take no pleasure I'm sure, in Fiddles, Fools, and Dice; (after the common Mode) wherefore if you please, we'll pass away an hour in seeing the rest of our little Palace.  Ti. 
The very thing we were about to beg of you.  Eu. 
To a man of his word, there's no need of entreating. This Sommer-hall, I suppose, you have had enough of. It looks three ways you see, and which way soever you turn your Eye, you have a most delicate Green before you. If either the Wind or the Sun be troublesome, here are both Shutters and Chassies to keep them out. Here do I eat in my House, as if I were in my Garden; for the very walls have their Greene's, and their Flowers intermixed, and 'tis no ill Painting. Here's our Saviour at his last Supper; and here you have Herod's bloody Banquet. Here's Dives in the height of his Luxury; little thinking how soon he's to be torn from his delicates, and cast into Hell: And here's Lazarus beaten away from the Door, and soon after to be received into Abraham's Bosom.  Ti. 
We do not well know this Story.  Eu. 
'Tis Cleopatra in a Contention with Anthony, which should be most luxurious. She has drunk the first Pearl, and now reaches out her hand for the other. Here's the Battle of the Centauris; and here Alexander the Great, with his Lance through the Body of Clitus. These Examples do as good as Preach Sobriety to us at the Table, and give a man a loathing for Gluttony and Excess. You shall now see my Library: 'Tis no large one, but furnished with very good Books.  Ti. 
You have brought us into a little Heaven, every thing shines so.  Eu. 
You have now before you, my chiefest Treasure. You saw nothing but Glass and Tin at the Table, and I have in my whole house but one piece of Plate, and that is a Gild Cup, which I preserve, most religiously for his sake that gave me it. This hanging Sphere gives you a prospect of the whole World; and this wall shows you the Situation of the several parts of it, more at large. In those other walls, you have the Images of all Eminent Authors; The rest are numberless. In the first place, here's Christ upon the Mount, stretching forth his hand: Over his head, comes a a Voice from Heaven, saying, Hear him. The Holy Ghost, with out-stretch'd-wings, and in a Glory, embracing him.  Ti. 
A work worthy of Apelles, as God shall bless me!  Eu. 
Near the Library, there's a little Study, but a very pretty one, and 'tis but removing a Picture in cold weather, and there's a Chimney behind it. In Summer it passes for a part of the solid wall.  Ti. 
Every thing's as clear here as Crystal; and what a Perfume's here!  Eu. 
Above all things I love to have my house neat and sweet, and this may be done with little Cost. To my Library, there belongs a Gallery that looks into the Garden; and adjoining to it, I have a Chapel.  Ti. 
The place itself deserves a Deity!  Eu▪ 
Let's go to those three Walks now, above the other, that I told you looked into the Kitchin-Garden. These upper walks have a prospect into both Gardens, but only through windows with shutters; especially in the walls that have no view into the Inner Garden, for the safety of the house. Upon this wall, on the left hand; (having fewer Windows in't, and a better light.) There is painted the whole Life of jesus, out of the Story of the four Evangelists, to the Mission of the Hely Ghost, and the first Preaching of the Apostles out of the Acts, with such notes upon the places, that the Spectator may see, near what Lake, or upon what Mountain, such or such a thing was done. There are also Titles to every Story, with an Abstract of the Contents; as that of our Saviour, I will, be thou clean. Over against it, you have the Tips and Prophecies of the Old Testament, especially out of the Prophets and Psalms, which are little other than the Story of Christ and his Apostles, told another way. Here do I sometimes walk, discoursing and Meditating with myself upon the unspeakable Counsel of God, in giving his Son for the Redemption of Mankind: My wife, or some friend at my Elbow perhaps, that takes delight in Holy things.  Ti. 
'Tis impossible for a man to be weary in this House.  Eu. 
Provided it be one that has learned to live with himself. Upon the upper Border, are all the Pope's heads with their Titles; and against them, the heads of the Caesars, as Memorials of the History. At each corner, there's a lodging Chamber, where I can repose myself, within sight of my Orchard, and my little Birds. There's an Outhouse, you see in the furthest nook of the Meadow: there in Summer do I Sup sometimes, and make use of it upon occasion of any contagious sickness in the Family.  Ti. 
Some are of opinion that those Diseases are not to be avoided.  Eu. 
Why do men ●shun a Ditch then or Poison? Do they fear this the less because they do not see it? Neither does a Basilisk see the Venom that he shoots from his own Eyes. In a good cause, I would not stick to venture my Life; but to do it without a cause, is madness; as it is Cruelty to bring others into danger. There are yet other things worth the seeing here, but my wife shall show you them. Entertain your Eyes and your Minds as long as you will; and be in this house, as if you were at home. There's some business calls me away here into the Neighbourhood, so that I must take my Nag and be gone.  Ti. 
Money perhaps.  Eu. 
I should be loath to leave such Friends for Money.  Ti. 
Perhaps you are called a Hunting.  Eu. 
A kind of Hunting indeed, but not for Boars or Stags.  Ti. 
What then?  Eu. 
I'll tell ye. I have a Friend in a Village hard by, that lies dangerously sick; The Physician fears his Life, but I'm in more fear of his Soul; for he is not so well composed for his end as a Christian should be. I'll go give him some Counsel, that he may be the better for, live or die. In another Village, there are two men bitterly at Odds, and no ill men neither, but obstinate to the highest degree. If the difference be exasperated, I'm afraid it may run into a Feud; they're both my Kinsmen, and I'll do all I can in the world to reconcile 'em. This is my Hunting, and if I succeed in't, we'll drink their Healths.  Ti. 
A Christian Employment! Heaven prosper ye in it.  Eu. 
I had rather have them Friends than two thousand Ducats.  Ti. 
We shall see you again by and by.  Eu. 
Not till I have made all Trials; so that I cannot set an hour. In the Interim, enjoy one another, and be Happy.  Ti. 
God be with you, forward and backward.   

THE MARRIAGE HATER.  
COL. VII.  
A Girl takes a Fancy to a Cloister; Her Parents Violently against it; and she herself in great Affliction for want of their Consent. A Friend Dissuades her; and lays before her the Snare and Danger of that Course of Life; the Cheats, Artifices, and Abuses of the Monks; Preaches Obedience to her Parents, and advises her rather to Work out her Salvation in her Father's House, then in a Convent.  EUBULUS, CATHARINA. Eu. 
I Am even so glad Supper's over, that we may go walk; 'tis so delicate an Evening.  Ca 
And I was so Dog-weary of sitting too.  Eu. 
How Heaven and Earth smile upon one another! The Spring of the year makes the World look young again.  Ca 
So it does.  Eu. 
●ut why is it not Spring with you too?  Ca 
What's your meaning?  Eu. 
Because methinks you are a little off the hooks.  Ca 
Why sure I look as I use to do.  Eu. 
Shall I tell ye now how 'tis with ye?  Ca 
With all my Heart.  Eu. 
Do ye see this Rose, how it droops; and contracts itself now towards night?  Ca 
Well, I se●'t; and what then? 'Tis your very Picture.  Ca 
A gay Resemblance.  Eu. 
If you will not believe me, look only into this Fountain. What was the matter with you to sit Sighing, and Thinking all Supper?  Ca 
pray let's have no more Questions, for the thing does not at all concern you.  Eu. 
But, by your favour, I am very much concerned, when I cannot be merry myself, unless you be so too. What a Sigh was there now; enough to break your heart▪  Ca 
Nay, there is somewhat that presses me, but 'tis not a thing to be told.  Eu. 
Out with it I prithee, and what ever it be, upon my Soul, thou'rt safe: My own Sister is not so dear to me as thou art.  Ca 
Nay, I dare swear you would not betray me; but the mischief of it is, you can do me no good.  Eu. 
That's more than you know. As to the Thing itself, perhaps I cannot, but in the matter of Advice, or Consolation, 'tis possible I may serve ye.  Ca 
It will not come out.  Eu. 
What should this be? Dost thou not hate me?  Ca 
Less than I do my own dear Brother: And yet my heart will not serve me to speak it.  Eu. 
Shall I guests at it? And will you tell me if I'm right? Nay, give me your word, or you shall never be quiet; and we'll have no shifting neither.  Ca 
Agreed then: I do promise it.  Eu. 
Upon the whole matter, I cannot so much as imagine why you should not be perfectly happy.  Ca 
I would I were so.  Eu. 
Not above seventeen years of Age, as I take it; the very Flower of your Life!  Ca 
That's true.  Eu. 
So that the fear of Old Age can be no part of your Trouble  Ca 
Nothing less, I assure ye.  Eu. 
Every way lovely, which is a singular Gift of Heaven!  Ca 
Of my Person (such as it is) I can neither Glory, nor Complain.  Eu. 
And then the very habit of your Body, and your complexion, speak ye in perfect health. So that your grief must certainly be some trouble of mind.  Ca 
I have my health very well, I thank God.  Eu. 
And then your Credits fair.  Ca 
I should be sorry else.  Eu. 
Your Understanding suitable to the Perfections of your Body; and as capable of the Blessings of Wisdom, as any mortal can wish.  Ca 
Whatever it be, it is still the Gift of God▪  Eu. 
And again; for the Graces of your Manners, and Conversation (a thing rarely met with) they are all answerable to the Beauties of your Person.  Ca 
I could wish they were what you are pleased to term them.  Eu. 
Many people are troubled for the meaness of their Extraction; but your Parents, are both of them well Descended, and Virtuous, of Plentiful Fortunes, and infinitely kind to you.  Ca 
And I have no ground of Affliction here neither.  Eu. 
In one word, you are the Woman of the World (if I were in a condition to pretend to't) that I would wish to make my Wife.  Ca 
And if I would marry any man, you are he that I would make my Husband.  Eu. 
This Anxiety of Mind must have some extraordinary Foundation.  Ca 
No slight one, believe it.  Eu▪ 
Will you not take it ill if I guess at it?  Ca 
You have my word that I will not.  Eu. 
I know by Experiment, the Torments of Love. Confess now, is That it?  Ca 
There is Love in the Case, but not of that sort you imagine.  Eu. 
What kind is it then?  Ca 
Can't you Divine?  Eu. 
I have spent all my Divining Faculties: But yet I'll never let go this hand till I have drawn it from ye.  Ca 
You are too Violent.  Eu. 
Lay it up in my Breast, whatever' 'tis.  Ca 
Since there's no denying of ye, I will,  
From my very Infancy, I have had a strange kind of Inclination.  Eu. 
To what, I beseech ye?  Ca 
To put myself into a Cloister.  Eu. 
And turn Nun?  Ca 
That's the very thing.  Eu. 
'Tis well: I have digged for Silver, and I have found Coals.  Ca 
What's that ye say?  Eu. 
Nothing, nothing, my dear Moll; My Cough troubles me.  Ca 
This was my Inclination, and my Parents most desperately against it.  Eu. 
I hear ye.  Ca 
On the other side I strove as passionately, by Entreaties, fair Words, and Tears to overcome that Pious Aversion.  Eu. 
Most wonderful!  Ca 
At length, when they saw that I would take no Denial, they were prevailed upon, by Importunities, Submissions, and Lamentations, to promise, if I continued in the same mind till I were seventeen years of age, they would leave me to myself. The time is now come; I continue still in the same mind, and they go from their words. This is the Sum of my Misfortune; and now I have told ye my Disease, be you my Physician, and help me if ye can.  Eu. 
My advice must be, (my sweet Creature) to moderate your Affections; and if ye cannot do all that ye would, to do however as much as ye can.  Ca 
It will certainly be my Death if I be disappointed.  Eu. 
What was it that gave the first Rise to this fatal Resolution?  Ca 
When I was a little Girl, they carried me into one of these Cloisters, and showed me the whole College; the Chapels were so neat, and the Gardens so clean, so delicate, and so well ordered, that I fell in love with 'em: and then they themselves were so pure, and glorious, they looked like Angels: so that (in short) which way soever I turned my eye, there was comfort, and pleasure; and then I had the prettiest discourses with the Nuns! I found Two there, that had been my Playfellows, when I was a Child; but I have always had a strange passion for that kind of Life.  Eu. 
I have no quarrel to the Rules and Orders of Cloisters; tho' the same thing can never agree with all Persons. If I were to speak my opinion, I should think it more suitable to your Genius and Manners, to take a Convenient Husband, and set up a College in your own House, where He should be the Father of it, and You the Mother.  Ca 
I'll rather Die, then quit my Resolution of Virginity.  Eu. 
Nay, 'tis an Admirable thing to be a pure Maid. But cannot you keep yourself so, without running yourself into a Prison, never to come out again? Cannot you keep your Maidenhead, I say, at home with your Parents, as well as in a Cloister?  Ca 
Yes, I may, but 'tis, not so safe tho':  Eu. 
Much safer truly in my Judgement, than with these Brawny swill-bellyed Monks. They are no Capons, I'll assure ye, whatever you may think of 'em; but may very probably be called Fathers; for they commonly make good their Calling to the very Letter. In times past, Maids lived no where honester than at home; when the only Metaphorical Father they had, was the Bishop. But I prithee tell me, what Cloister has thou made choice of to be a Slave in?  Ca 
Chrysertium.  Eu. 
Oh! I know it: It is a little way from your Father's House.  Ca 
Ye're in the right.  Eu. 
I'm very well acquainted with the whole Gang. You'll have a sweet Catch on't to renounce you Father, Mother, Friends, and a worthy Family, for that precious Fellowship! The Patriarch there; What with Age, Wine, and a certain natural drowziness, has been moped this many a day. He poor man, tastes nothing now but Florence Wine: and he has two Companions there (john and jodocus) that match him to a hair. And yet I cannot say that john is an Ill man, for he has nothing at all of a man about him but his Beard: Not a grain of Learning in him, and about the same Proportion of common Prudence. Now for jodocus, he's so errand a Sot, that if he were not tied up to the Habit of his Order, he would walk the Streets in a Fool's Cap, with Ears and Bells at it.  Ca 
Truly they seem to me, to be very good men, these.  Eu. 
But you must give me leave (Kitty) to know 'em better than you. They'll do good Offices perhaps betwixt you and your Father, to gain a Proselyte.  Ca 
jodocus is very Civil to me.  Eu. 
A Transcendent favour! But suppose 'em good, and learned men to day, you'll find 'em the contrary perhaps to morrow: And yet then be what they will, you must still bear with 'em.  Ca 
You would not think how I'm troubled at my Father's House, to see so many entertainments there; and then the Married Women are so given to talk Smutty: And besides, I'm so put to't sometimes, when People come to Salute me, and ye know no Body can tell how to deny 'em a Kissing.  Eu. 
He that would avoid every thing that offends him, must go out of the World. There's no hurt in using ourselves to hear all things, so we take nothing into the Mind, but what's good. I suppose you have a Chamber to yourself at home.  Ca 
Yes, I have.  Eu. 
You may withdraw then, if you find the Company grow Troublesome; and while they are chanting and triflng, you may entertian yourself with (Christ) your Spouse, Praying, Singing, and giving Thanks; your Father's House will not defile ye, and your Goodness on the other hand will turn it into a Chapel.  Ca 
But 'tis easier yet to be in a Cloister.  Eu. 
I do not disallow of a modest Society; but yet I would not have you delude yourself with false Imaginations. When ye come once to be wont there; and see things nearer hand, you'll tell me another Story. There are more Vails than Virgins, believe me.  Ca 
Good words, I beseech ye.  Eu. 
Those are good words that are true words; and I never read of any more Virgins than One, that was a Mother.  Ca 
I abhor the Thought on't.  Eu. 
Nay, and more than That, the Maids you speak of (let me assure you) do more than Maids business.  Ca 
Why so? if you please.  Eu. 
Because there are more Sappho among 'em for their Bodies, then for their Brains.  Ca 
I do not Understand ye.  Eu. 
And I talk in Cipher (my dear Kitty) because I would not have thee understand me.  Ca 
My head runs strangely upon this Course of Life tho'; and my passion for it grows every day stronger and stronger. Now if it were not inspired into me from above, this Disposition (I am persuaded) would have gone off long ago.  Eu. 
Nay but the Obstinacy of it makes me the rather to suspect it, considering that your Parents are so fiercely bend against it. If it were good, Heaven would as well have inclined your Parents to favour the Motion, as you to entertain it. But the Gay things you saw when you were a Child; the Tittle-tattles of the Nuns, and the hanckering you have after your Old Acquaintances: the External Pomp of their Worship, the Importunities of their Senseless Monks, that only hunt for Proselytes, that they may cram their own Paunches; here's the Ground of your Affection. They know your Father to be Frank, and Bountiful; and that this is the way to make sure of their Tipple: For either they drink with him, or else they invite him, and he brings as much Wine with him as ten lusty Sokers can Swallow. Do nothing therefore without your Parent's consent (whom God has set over you as your Guardians)  Ca 
But what's a Father or a Mother, in respect of Christ?  Eu. 
This holds, I grant ye, in some Cases; but suppose a Christian Son has a Pagan Father, who has nothing but a Son's Charity to support him; It were an Impiety in him to leave even That Father, to starve. If you were at this day Unchristened, and your Parents should forbid your Baptism, you were undoubtedly to prefer Christ, before a Wicked Father: Or if your Parents should offer to force ye upon some Impious thing, their Authority in that point were to be contemned. But what's this to the Case of a Convent. Have you not Christ at home? the Dictate of Nature, the Approbation of Heaven, the Exhortation of St. Paul, and the Obligation of Human Laws, for your Obedience to Parents? And will ye now withdraw yourself from the Authority of Good and natural Parents, in exchange for figurative ones? Will ye take an Imaginary Mother for a True one? And deliver up yourself a Slave to severe Masters, and Mistresses, rather than live happily under the Wing of Tender and Indulgent Parents? So long as you are at home, as you are Bound in some things, so in many things you are wholly Free; as the word Liberi (or Children) denotes; in contra-distinction, to the Quality of Servants. You are now, of a Free Woman, about to make yourself a Voluntary Slave. A Condition Christianity has long since cast out of the World; saving only some obscure footsteps of it, and in some few places. But there is now found out (under pretence of Religion) a new sort of Servitute, which I find practised in the Monasteries. You must do nothing but by a Rule; and then all that you Lose, they Get. Set but one step out of the Way, and ye're lugged back again, like a Criminal that would have Poisoned his Father: And to make the Slavery yet more evident, ye change the Habit that your Parents gave ye; and (after the Old Example of Slaves, bought and sold in the Market) ye change the very Name that was given you in Baptism. Peter is called Francis, and (john for the purpose) is called Dominicus, or Thomas. Peter gives his Name first up to Christ; and when he gives up his name to Dom●nicus, he's called Thomas. If a Servant taken in War do but so much as cast off the Garment that his Master gave him, it is looked as a Renouncing of his Master; and yet we applaud him that lays down the Body of Christ (who is the Master of us all) and takes up another Habit that Christ never gave him. And if he should after That, presume to change the Other, his Punishment is a Thousand times heavier than for throwing away the Livery of his Heavenly Master, which is the Innocency of his mind.  Ca 
But they say 'tis a Meritorious Work for a Body to enter into this Voluntary Confinement,  Eu. 
That's a Pharisaical Doctrine: St. Paul teaches us otherwise; and will not have him that's called Free, to make himself a Servant, but rather endeavour that he may be more Free. And that which makes the Servitude yet More Unhappy, is, that you must serve many Masters; and those most commonly Fools too, and Debauche's: Besides that they are both New, and uncertain. But say (I beseech ye) by what Law are you discharged from the Power of your Parents?  Ca 
Why truly by none at all.  Eu. 
What if you should buy, or sell your Father's Estate?  Ca 
I do not hold it Lawful.  Eu. 
What Right have ye then to dispose of your Parent's Child, to I know not whom? His Child; which is the Dearest, and most appropriate part of his possession.  Ca 
The Laws of Nature may be dispensed withal, (I suppose) in the Business of Religion.  Eu. 
The great Point of Religion lies in our Baptism: But the matter in question Here, is only the changing of a Garment; or of such a Course of Life; which, in itself, is neither good nor evil. And now consider how many valuable Privileges ye lose, together with your Liberty: If ye have a mind to Read, Pray, or Sing; you may go into your Chamber when you will, and take as much, or as little on't as you please. When ye have enough of Privacy, you may go to Church, and hear Prayers, Sermons, Anthems; you may pick your Company among grave Matrons, and sober Virgins; and such as you may be the better for. And you may learn from Men too, where ye find any that are endowed with Excellent Qualities; and you are at Liberty to place a more Particular Esteem upon such as affectionately, and conscientiously Preach the Gospel. But there's none of this Freedom when ye come once into a Cloister.  Ca 
In the mean time I shall be no Nun.  Eu. 
Away with this Nicety of Names; and weigh the Thing itself. They make their boast of Obedience; and why should not You value yourself too upon Obeying your Parents, your Bishop, and your Pastor, whom God commands ye to Obey? do they Profess Poverty? And so may you too; so long as all is in your Parents hands. 'Tis true, the Virgins of former times were commended by holy Men for their Liberality toward the Poor: But they could never have given any thing, if they had possessed nothing; Nor is the Reputation of your Chastity ever the less, for living with your Parents. And what is there more now Here? A Veil, a Linen Stole, and certain Coremonies that serve but little to the Advancement of Piety; and make us never the more acceptable in the sight of God; who only regards the Purity of the Mind.  Ca 
All this is News to me.  Eu. 
But Truth too. If you cannot dispose of so much as a Rag, or an Inch of Ground, so long as you are under the Government of your Parents; what Right can you pretend to, for the Disposing of yourself into the Service of Another?  Ca 
The Authority of a Parent cannot interpose betwixt the Child, and a Religious Life.  Eu. 
Did you not profess yourself a Christian in your Baptism?  Ca 
I did so.  Eu. 
And are not they Religious that conform to the Precepts of Christ?  Ca 
They are so.  Eu. 
What new Religion is that then; which pretends to frustrate what the Law of Nature has Established? What the Old Law taught, what the Evangelical Law has approved, and what the Apostles Doctrine hath confirmed? This is a Device that never Descended from Heaven, but was hatched by a Monk in his Cell. And at This rate, some of them undertake to justify a Marriage betwixt a Boy, and a Girl, tho' without the Privity, and against the consent of their Parents; If the contract be (as they Phrase it) in Words of the Present Tense. And yet that Position is neither according to the Dictate of Nature, the Law of Moses, or the Doctrine of Christ, and his Apostles.  Ca 
But may not I espouse myself to Christ, without the goodwill of my Parents?  Eu. 
You have already espoused him; and so we have All. Where's the Woman (I pray) that Marries the same Man Twice? The Question here is only concerning Place, Garments, and Ceremonies; which are not things to Leave Christ for.  Ca 
But I am told that in this Case 'tis Sanctity, even to Contemn our Parents.  Eu. 
Your Doctors should do w●ll to show you a Text for't; but if they cannot do this, give'em a Beer-Glass of Burgundy, and they'll show their Parts upon it. It is Piety indeed to flee from Wicked Parents, to Christ; but from Honest Parents to Monkery, that is (as it proves too often) from Good to Ill; That's but a perverse kind of Holiness. In ancient times he that was converted from Paganism to Christianity, paid yet as great a Reverence, even to his Idolatrous Parents, (matter of Religion apart) as was possible.  Ca 
You are then against the main Institution of a Monastical Life.  Eu. 
No, by no means: but as I will not persuade any body against it, that is already engaged in this Condition of Life; so I would most undoubtedly caution all young Women, (especially those of Generous Natures) not to precipitate themselves into this Gulf, from whence there is no returning. And the rather, because their Modesty is more in danger in a Cloister, than out of it: beside that they may discharge their Duties of Devotion, as well at home, as there.  Ca 
You have said all (I believe) that can be said upon this Point, and my Affections, and Resolutions stand Firm.  Eu. 
If I cannot succeed to my Wish, remember however, what Eubulus told ye beforehand. In the mean time, out of the Love I bear ye, I wish Your Inclinations may succeed better than My Counsels.   

THE PENITENT VIRGIN.  
COL. VIII.  
A Virgin Seduced into a Cloister, finds her Error; Reputes of it; and in twelve days gets off again.  EUBULUS, CATHARINA. Eu. 
HEAVEN grant I may never have a worse Porter to let me in.  Ca 
Nor I a worse Guest to open the Door to.  Eu. 
But fare ye well.  Ca 
What's the matter? Do ye take Leave before ye Salute?  Eu. 
I did not come hither to see you Blubber. What should make this Woman fall a Crying as soon as ever she sees me?  Ca 
Why in such haste? Stay a little. pray stay. I'll put on my best looks, and we'll be merry together.  Eu. 
What sort of Cattle have we got here?  Ca 
That's the Patriarch of the College: Rest yourself a while; you must not go away. They have taken their Doses of Fuddle; and when he's gone, we'll discourse as we use to do.  Eu. 
Well, I'll be good natured; and hearken to You, tho' you would not to me.  
Now we are alone, you must tell me the whole History, for I would fain have it from your own Mouth.  Ca 
I find now by experience, that of all my Friends, (which I took for Wise Men too) your advice, (tho' the youngest of all) was the best.  Eu. 
How came you to get your Parents consent at last?  Ca 
Betwixt the restless Solicitations of the Monks and Nuns, and my Own Importunities, and Tears, my Mother at length relented, and gave way; but my Father was not yet to be wrought upon. In the End, being plied with several Engines, he was prevailed upon to yield, as a Man absolutely oppressed, and overcome. The Resolution was taken in their Cups, and they Preached no less than Damnation to him, if he refused Christ his Spouse.  Eu. 
A Pack of Flagitious Fools! But what then?  Ca 
I was kept close at home for three days, and several of the Convent (which they call Convertites) were constantly with me; mightily encouraging me to persist in my holy purpose, and as narrowly watching me, lest any of my Friends or Kindred should come at me, and make me change my Mind. In the Interim, my Habits were making ready, and other Necessaries for the Solemnity.  Eu. 
And did not your Mind misgive you yet?  Ca 
No, not at all. And yet I had so horrid a Fright, that I had rather die Ten times over, than be in that Condition again.  Eu. 
What might that be?  Ca 
It is not to be uttered.  Eu. 
Come, Tell me frankly; I am your Friend.  Ca 
Will ye keep Counsel?  Eu. 
Yes, yes; without Conditions: and I hope you know me better than to doubt it.  Ca 
I had a most dreadful Apparition.  Eu. 
Your Evil Genius (it may be) that pushed ye forward into Disobedience.  Ca 
Nay, I am fully persuaded that it was no other.  Eu. 
In the shape I suppose that we use to paint it? With a crooked Beak, long Horns, Harpies Claws, and a swinging Tail.  Ca 
You may laugh as you will, but I had rather sink into the Earth than see the Fellow on't.  Eu. 
And were your Women-Sollicitresses then with you?  Ca 
No. And I would not so much as open my Mouth to 'em of it, tho' they sifted me most particulary; for you must know, they found me almost dead with the surprise.  Eu. 
Shall I tell you now what it was?  Ca 
Do, if you can.  Eu. 
These Women had absolutely bewitched you; or rather conjured your Brains out of your Noddle. But did you hold out for all this?  Ca 
Yes, yes; for they told me, that many were thus troubled upon the First Consecration of themselves to Christ; but that if they got the better of the Devil that bout, he'd let 'em alone for ever after,  Eu. 
You were conducted with great Pomp, and State, (I presume) were you not?  Ca 
Yes, yes; they put on all my Fineries, let down my Hair, and dressed me, just as if't had been for my Wedding.  Eu. 
To a Loggerheaded Monk. Him! Him! This Villainous Cough—  Ca 
I was brought by fair Daylight from my Father's House to the College, and a world of people gaping at me.  Eu. 
These Hoarson Jack-puddings, how they Coakes, and Wheadle the little people! How many days did you continue in that holy College forsooth?  Ca 
Part of the Twelfth-day.  Eu. 
But what was it that brought ye off again?  Ca 
It was something very considerable, but I must not tell ye what. When I had been there six days, I got my Mother to me; I begged, and besought her as she loved my Life, to help me out again: but she would not hear on't; and bade me hold to my Resolution: Upon this, I sent to my Father, and he chid me too. He told me, That I had made him master his affection, and that he would now make me overcome mine. When I saw that this would do no good, I told them both, that I would submit to Die, to please 'em, which would certainly be my Fate, if I stayed there any longer; and hereupon they took me home.  Eu. 
'Twas well you bethought yourself before you were in for good and all. But still ye say nothing of what it was that brought ye about so on the sudden.  Ca 
I never told it any Mortal yet, nor will I tell it you.  Eu. 
What if I should Guess?  Ca 
You'll never hit it, I'm sure? Or if ye should, y'are never the nearer: for I'll not own it to ye.  Eu. 
Leave me then to my Conjectures: But in the mean time, what a Charge have you been at?  Ca 
Above 400 Crowns.  Eu. 
Oh! These Guttling Nuptials! But since the Money's gone, 'tis well that you yourself are safe: hereafter harken to good Advice.  Ca 
So I will. The burnt Child dreads the Fire.   

THE RICH BEGGARS.  
COL. IX.  
A Pleasant and Profitable Colloquy, betwixt a Germane Host, and Two Franciscans: The true Character of an Ignorant Country-Pastor; with an Excellent Discourse concerning Religious Habits; The Original, the Intent, and Use of them.  CONRADUS, BERNARDINUS, PASTOR, PANDOCHEUS, UXOR. Co. 
BUT still I say a Pastor should be Hospitable.  Pas. 
I am a Pastor of Sheep, not of Wolves.  Co. 
And yet though you hate a Wolf, 'tis possible you may love a Wench;— they begin with a Letter.  pas. 
Pastor sum Ovium; Non amo * Lupos.  Co. 
At non perindè fotassis odisti * Lupos. But why so cross, (if a body may ask ye) as not to admit a poor Franciscan so much as under your Roof? and we shall not trouble you neither for a Supper.  Pas. 
Because I'll have no Spies upon me; for if you see but a Hen or a Chick, stirring in a body's House, (you know my meaning) the whole Town is sure to hear on't to morrow in the Pulpit.  Co. 
We are not all such Blabs.  Pas. 
Be what you will; if St. Peter himself should come to me in that Habit, I would not believe him.  Co. 
If that be your Resolution, do but tell us where we may be else.  Pas. 
There's a Public Inn here in the Town.  Co. 
What's the Sign?  Pas. 
The Dogshead in the Porridge-pot. You'll see't to the life, in the Kitchen, and a Wolf at the Bar.  Co. 
'Tis an Ill-boding Sign.  Pas. 
You may even make your best on't.  Be. 
If we were at this Pastor's allowance, he would starve us.  Co. 
If he feeds his Sheep no better, he'll have but hungry Mutton.  Be. 
Well, we must make the best of a bad Game. What shall's do?  Co. 
What should we do? set a good face on't.  Be. 
There's little to be gotten by modesty in a case of Necessity.  Co. 
Very right. Come, we have St. Francis to befriend us.  Be. 
Let's take our Fortune then.  Co. 
And never stay for Mine Host's Answer at the door, but press directly into the Stove, and when we are once in, let him get us out again if he can.  Be. 
Would you have us so Impudent?  Co. 
'Tis better however then to lie abroad and freeze in the Street. In the Interim put your Scruple in your Pocket to day, and take't out again to morrow.  Be. 
In truth the Case requires it.  Pan. 
What Animals have we here?  Co. 
We are the Servants of the Lord (my good Friend) and the Sons of St. Francis.  Pan. 
I don't know what delight the Lord may take in such Servants, but I should take none, I assure ye, in having any of them about Me,  Be. 
What's your Reason for't?  Pan. 
Because your are such Termagants at eating and drinking; but when you should do any work; you can find neither hands, nor feet. Hear me a word; you Sons of Saint Francis. You use to tell us in the Pulpit, that St Francis was a Virgin; How comes he by so many Children then?  Co. 
We are the Children of his Spirit, not of his Flesh.  Pan. 
He's a very unlucky Father then; for your Minds are even the worst part of ye▪ and to say the truth on't, your Bodies are better than is convenient; especially for us that have Wives and Children.  Co. 
You may suspect us perhaps to be of those that degenerate from their Founder's Institutions; but we, on the contrary, are strict observers of them.  Pan. 
And I'll observe you too, for fear of the worst; for it is a mortal Aversion I have for that sort of Cattle.  Co. 
What's your quarrel to us?  Pan. 
Because you're sure to carry your Teeth in your Heads, and the Devil a Penny of Money in your Pockets. Oh! how I abominate such Guests!  Co. 
But still we take pains for you.  Pan. 
Shall I show ye now the pains ye take?  Co. 
Do so.  Pan. 
See the hithermost Picture there, on your left Hand. There's a Fox preaching, and a Goose behind him with his neck under a Cowl; and there again; there's a Wolf giving absolution with a piece of a Sheep's skin hanging out under his Gown; And once again, there's an Ape in a Franciscans habit, ministering to a Sick man, with the Cross in one hand, and his Patient's Purse, in the Other.  Co. 
We cannot deny but that sometimes Wolves, Foxes, and Apes, nay Hogs, Dogs, Horses, Lions. and Bafilisks, may lurk under a Franciscans Garment; and you cannot deny neither, but that it covers many a Good man. A Gown neither makes a man better, nor worse; nor is it reasonable to judge of a man by his clothes; for by that rule a body might pick a quarrel with the Coat you sometimes wear, because it covers Thiefs, Murderers, Conjurers, and Whoremasters.  Pan. 
If you'd but pay your Reckonings, I could dispense with your Habits.  Co. 
We'll pray for you.  Pan. 
And so will I for you; and there's one for tother.  Co. 
But there are some people that you must not take Money of.  Pan. 
How comes it that you make a Conscience of touching any?  Co. 
Because it does not stand with our Profession.  Pan. 
And it stands as little with mine to give you your Dinner for Nothing.  Co. 
But we are tied up by a Rule.  Pan. 
So am I by the clean contrary.  Co. 
Where shall a Body find your Rule?  Pan. 
In these two Verses. 
Hospes, in hac Mensâ, fuerint cum Viscera Tensa,  
Surgere ne properes, ni prius annumeres.  
'Tis the Rule of this Table; Eat as long as y'are able;  
But then pay your Score: There's no stirring before.   Co. 
We'll be no charge to you.  Pan. 
Then you'll be no profit neither.  Co. 
Your Charity upon Earth will be rewarded in Heaven.  Pan. 
Those words, Butter no Parsnips.  Co. 
Any Corner of your Stove will content us, and we'll trouble no body.  Pan. 
My Stove will hold no such company.  Co. 
Must we be thrown out thus? What if we should be worried this night by Wolves?  Pan. 
Neither Wolves, nor Dogs, prey upon their own kind.  Co. 
This were barbarous, even to Turks. Consider us as you please, we are still Men.  Pan. 
I have lost my hearing.  Co. 
You can indulge yourself, and go from your Stove to a warm Bed; how can you have the heart to expose us to be killed with Cold, even if the Beasts should spare us?  Pan. 
Did not Adam live so in Paradise?  Co. 
He did so; but Innocent.  Pan. 
And so am I Innocent.  Co. 
Within a Syllable of it. But have a Care you be not excluded a better place hereafter, for shutting us out here.  Pan. 
Good words I beseech ye.  Vx. 
Prithee, my dear, make 'em some amends for thy severity, and let 'em stay here to night; they are Good men, and thou'lt thrive the better for't.  Pan. 
Here's your Reconciler! I'm afraid you're agreed upon the Matter; Oh! how I hate to hear a Woman call any body a Good man (especially in French.)  Vx. 
Well, well, you know there's nothing of That. But think with yourself how often you have offended God, by Dicing, Drinking, Brawling, Quarrelling? This Charity may perhaps make your Peace: and do not drive those out of your House, now you're well, whose assistance you would be glad of upon your Deathbed. Never let it be said that you harbour Buffoons, and shut your doors upon such men as these.  Pan. 
pray be gone into the Kitchen about your business, and let's have no more Preaching here.  Vx. 
It shall be done.  Be. 
The man sweetens methinks; see, he takes his Shirt; and I hope all will be well yet,  Co. 
And they're laying the Cloth for the Children: 'Tis happy for us there came no other Guests; for we should have been sent packing else.  Be. 
'Tis well we brought Wine, and Lamb with us from the next Village; for if a lock of Hay would have saved a man's life, 'tis not here to be had.  Co. 
Now the Children are placed, let's take part of the Table with 'em, there's room enough.  Pan. 
'Tis long of you, my Masters, that I have never a Guest to day, but those that I had better be without.  Co. 
If it be a thing that rarely happens, impute it to us.  Pan. 
Nay it falls out oftener than I wish it did.  Co. 
Never trouble yourself, Christ lives, and will not forsake those that serve him.  Pan. 
You pass in the World for Evangelical men. The Gospel, ye know, forbids carrying about Bread and Satchels. But your Sleeves, I perceive, serve for Wallets: and you do not only carry Bread about ye, but Wine and Flesh, the best that is to be gotten too.  Co. 
Take part with us if you please.  Pan. 
My Wine is Hogwash to't.  Co. 
Take some of the Flesh too, there's enough for us.  Pan. 
O blessed Beggars! my Wife provided me nothing to day but Collworts and a little rusty Bacon.  Co. 
If you please let's join our stocks, for 'tis all one to us what we Eat.  Pan. 
Why don't you carry Cabbage-Stalks about with you then, and Dead Drink?  Co. 
They would needs force this upon us at a place where we dined to day.  Pan. 
Did your Dinner cost you nothing?  Co. 
No, not any thing; nay we had thanks both for what we had there, and for what we brought away.  Pan. 
Whence come ye?  Co. 
From Basil.  Pan. 
What, so far?  Co. 
'Tis as we tell you.  Pan. 
You're a strange kind of people sure, that can travel thus without Horse, Money, Servants, Arms, or Provisions.  Co. 
You see in us some footsteps of the Evangelical life.  Pan. 
Or the life of Rogues rather; that wander up and down with their Budgets.  Co. 
Such as We are, the Apostles were, and (with Reverence) our Saviour himself.  Pan. 
Can you tell Fortunes?  Co. 
Nothing less.  Pan. 
Why, how do you live then?  Co. 
By his Bounty that has promised to provide for us.  Pan. 
And who is that?  Co. 
He that has said, Take you no care, but all things shall be added to you.  Pan. 
But that Promise extends only to those that seek the Kingdom of Heaven.  Co. 
And that do we, with all our might.  Pan. 
The Apostles were famous for Miracles: they cured the Sick; and 'tis no wonder then how they lived any where; but you can do no such thing.  Co. 
We could, if we were like the Apostles, and if the matter required a Miracle. But the power of Miracles was only temporary to convince Unbelievers. There's nothing needful now but a Holy Life: Beside, that it is many times better to be sick, then to be well; to die, then to live.  Pan. 
What do you do then?  Co. 
The best we can; every man according to the Talent that God has given him. We comfort, exhort, admonish, reprove, as we see Occasion: Nay, sometimes we preach too, where we find Pastors that are Dumb; and where we can do no good, we make it our Care to do no hurt, either by our Words, or Examples.  Pan. 
To morrow is a Holiday; I would you would give us a Sermon here.  Co. 
What Holiday?  Pan. 
St. Antony' s.  Co. 
He was a good man; but how came he to have a Holy day?  Pan. 
I'll tell ye; we have a world of Swineherds hereabouts (for there's a huge Wood hard by here, for Acorns) and the people have an opinion that St. Antony takes charge of the Hogs; and therefore they worship him, for fear he should hurt 'em.  Co. 
I would they would worship him affectionately as they should do.  Pan. 
In what manner?  Co. 
Whosoever follows his example, does his Duty.  Pan. 
We shall have such Drinking, Dancing, Playing, Scolding, and Boxing here to morrow!  Co. 
Like the Pagan's Bacchanals. But these people are more sottish than the Hogs they keep; and I wonder that Antony does not punish 'em for it. What kind of Pastor have ye? Neither a Mute I hope, nor a Wicked one.  Pan. 
Let every one speak as he finds, he's a good Pastor to me; for here he topes it the whole livelong day; and no man brings me either more, or better Customers. 'Twas ten to one he would have been here now.  Co. 
He's not a man for our turn.  Pan. 
What's that? Do you know him then?  Co. 
We would fain have taken up a Lodging with him, but he bade us begun, and chased us away like so many Wolves.  Pan. 
Very, very good. Now I understand the business; 'Tis You that kept him away, because he knew you would be here.  Co. 
Is he not Mute?  Pan. 
Mute do you say? he's free enough of his Tongue in the Stove; and he has a Voice that makes the Church ring again, but I never heard him in a Pulpit. In short, I presume he has made you sensible that he wants no Tongue.  Co. 
Is he a learned Divine?  Pan. 
So he tells the World himself; but he's under an Oath perhaps never to make any other discovery of it. In one word, the People and the Pastor are well agreed; and the Dish (as we say) wears its own cover.  Co. 
Do you think he would give a man leave to preach in his Place?  Pan. 
I dare undertake he shall, provided that there be no flirting at him, as 'tis a common practice to do.  Co. 
'Tis an ill custom. If I dislike any thing, I tell the Pastor of it privately; the rest belongs to the Bishop.  Pan. 
We have but few of those Birds in our Country, tho' truly you seem to be good men enough yourselves.  
Pray'● what's the meaning of such Variety of Habits? for some people judge amiss of you for your clothes.  Co. 
What reason for that?  Pan. 
I cannot tell you the reason, but I know the thing to be true.  Pan. 
Some think the better of us for our Habits, and some the worse. Now though they both do amiss, the former is the more generous Mistake.  Pan. 
So let it be; but where's the benefit of all those distinctions?  Co. 
What's your opinion of them?  Pan. 
Truly I see no advantage at all; but in War, and Procession; for in the latter there are personated Saints, jews, Ethniques, that must be discriminated in their diversity of Dress. And in War the variety is good for the ranging of several Troops under several Colours, to avoid Confusion.  Co. 
You speak to the point; and so is this a Military Garment; some under one Leader, some under another; but we are all under one General, that is Christ. But there are three things to be considered in a Garmen.  Pan. 
What are those?  Co. 
Necessity, Use, and Decency. Why do we Eat?  Pan. 
To keep ourselves from Starving.  Co. 
Why do we cover our Bodies, but to keep us warm?  Pan. 
It cannot be denied.  Co. 
And in that point, my Garment is better than yours; for it covers the Head, the Neck, and the Shoulders, where we are most in danger. Now for our Use, we must have Variety of Fashions, and of Stuffs; A short Coat for a Horseman, a longer when we lie still: We are Thin Clad in Summer, Thick in Winter. There are those at Rome that change their clothes twice a day. They take a fur'd Coat in the morning, a single one at noon, and toward night one that's a little warmer. But every man is not furnished with this Variety: Nor is there any fashion that better answers several purposes than this of ours.  Pan. 
Make that out.  Co. 
If the Wind, or the Sun trouble us, we put on our Cowle. In hot weather out of the Sun we throw it behrnd us; when we sit still we let the Gown fall about our Heels; if we walk we hold, or tuck it up.  Pan. 
He was no Fool, I perceive, that invented it.  Co. 
Beside that, it goes a great way in a happy Life, the wonting of ourselves to be Content with a Little: For if we once lash out into sensuality and pleasure, there will be no end. But can you show me any other Garment that is so commodious in so many Respects?  Pan. 
Truly I cannot.  Co. 
Consider now the Decency of it. Tell me honestly, if you should put on your Wife's clothes, would not every body say you were Fantastical?  Pan. 
Nay, Mad perhaps.  Co. 
And what if your Wife should put on yours; what would you say to't?  Pan. 
I should not say much perhaps, but I should bang her handsomely.  Co. 
What does it signify now what Garment a body uses?  Pan. 
Oh! yes; in this case it is very material.  Co. 
Beyond Controversy; for the very Pagans will not allow a man to wear a Woman's clothes, or a Woman a Mans.  Pan. 
And they are in the right for't,  Co. 
'Tis well. Put the Case now that a man of fourscore should dress himself like a boy of fifteen, or a boy of fifteen like a man of fourscore; would not all the World condemn it? Or the same thing in a Woman and a Girl.  Pan. 
No question of it.  Co. 
Or if a Layman should go like a Priest, or a Priest like a Layman?  Pan. 
It were a great Indecorum on both sides.  Co. 
Or if a Private man should put on the Habit of a Prince, or a particular Priest that of a Bishop?  Pan. 
It were a great Indecency.  Co. 
What if a Citizen should sit in his Shop with his Sword, Buff Coat, and a Feather in's Cap?  Pan. 
He would be pointed at.  Co. 
What if an English Ensign should put a white Cross in's Colours; a Swiss a Red one; or a French man, a Black one?  Pan. 
'Twould be very foolishly done.  Co. 
Why do you wonder so much then at our Habit?  Pan. 
I am not now to learn the difference betwixt a private Man and a Prince, or a Man and a Woman: But as to the difference betwixt a Monk and no Monk I am utterly Ignorant.  Co. 
What difference is there betwixt a Rich man and a Poor?  Pan. 
Fortune.  Co. 
And yet it would be very odd if a Beggar should clothe himself like a Lord.  Pan. 
True, as Lords go now adays.  Co. 
What's the difference betwixt a Fool and a Wise man?  Pan. 
A little more than betwixt a Rich man and a Beggar?  Co. 
Fools, you see, are dressed up after another manner then Wise men.  Pan. 
How well it becomes you, I know, not; but your Habit wants very little more of a Fools-Coat; than Ears and Bells to't.  Co. 
That's the difference; and we are no other than the World's Fools, if we be what we profess.  Pan. 
I cannot say what you are: but this I know, that there are of these Idiots with their Ears and Bells, that have more Brains in their heads than many of our square Caps with their Furs, Hoods, and other Ensigns of Authority. Wherefore it seems a madness to me, to think any man the Wiser for his Habit. I saw once an Errand Tony, with a Gown to his Heels, a Doctor's Cap, and the Countenance of a very Grave School Divine; he disputed Publicly; several Princes made much of him; and he took the Right hand of all other Fools, himself being the most eminent of the King.  Co. 
What would you be at now? Would you have a Prince that makes sport with a Fool change clothes with him?  Pan. 
If your Proposition be true, that the mind of a man may be judged by his Habit; perhaps it might do well enough.  Co. 
You press this upon me, but I am still of opinion that there is very good reason for allowing of Fools Distinct Habits.  Pan. 
And what may that reason be?  Co. 
For fear any body should hurt 'em, if they mis-behave themselves.  Pan. 
What if I should say on the contrary, that their Habit does rather provoke people to do 'em mischief; insomuch that of Fools they come to be mad men; and why shall not a Bull, or a Dog, or a Boar, that kills a man or a Child, escape unpunished; as well as a Fool? But the thing that I ask you, is, the reason of your distinct Habits from others? Why should not a Baker as well be distinguished from a Fisherman, a Shoemaker from a Tailor, an a Apothecary, from a Vintner, a Coachman from a Waterman? You that are Priests, why should you not be Clothed like other Priests? If you are Layiks, why do you differ from us?  Co. 
In ancient time, Monks were only the purer Sort of the Laity; and there was no other difference betwixt a Monk and another Layik, then betwixt an honest, frugal man, that maintains his Family by his Industry, and a Ruffling Hector, that lives upon the High way. In time, the Bishop of Rome bestowed honour upon us; and we gave some Reputation to the Habit ourselves; which is not simply either Layik or Sacerdotal; but such as it is, I could name you some Cardinals, and Popes, that have not been ashamed of it.  Pan. 
But as to the Decorum of it, whence comes That?  Co. 
Some time from the very Nature of the thing; other while, from custom, and opinions. If a man should wear a Buffles-skin with the Horns upon his Head, and the Tail dragging after him, would not all the World laugh at him?  Pan. 
I believe they would.  Co. 
And again, if a man should cover himself to the middle, and all the rest naked?  Pan. 
Most absurd.  Co. 
The very Pagans Censure men for wearing their clothes so thin, that it were an Indecency even in a Woman. It is modester to be stark naked, as we found you in the St●ve, then to be only covered with a Transparent Garment.  Pan. 
The whole business of Habits, I fancy, depends upon Custom and Opinion.  Co. 
Why so?  Pan. 
I had some Travellers at my house t'other day, that had been up and down the World, as they told me, in places that we have no account of in the very Maps; and particularly upon an Island of a very Temperate Air, where it was accounted dishonourable to cover their Nakedness.  Co. 
They lived like Beasts perhaps.  Pan. 
No, but on the contrary, they were a people of great Humanity. Their Government was Monarchical; and they went out with their Prince every morning to work, for about an hour a day.  Co. 
What was their work?  Pan. 
The plucking up of Roots, which they use instead of Wheat, and find it much more pleasant and wholesome. After one hour, every man goes about his own business, or does what he has a mind to. They bring up their Children with great Piety; punishing all Crimes severely, but especially Adultery.  Co. 
What's the Punishment?  Pan. 
The Women, you must know, they spare, for 'tis permitted to the Sex; but if a Man be taken in't, they expose him in public, with the part offending covered.  Co. 
A sad punishment indeed!  Pan. 
And so it is to them, as custom has made it.  Co. 
When I consider the force of persuasion, I could half believe it: for if a man would make a Thief, or a Murderer exemplary, would it not be a sufficient Punishment to cut of the hind Lappet of his Shirt, clap a Wholfs' skin upon his Buttocks, put him on particoloured Stockings, cut the forepart of his Doublet into the fashion of a Net, leave his breast and his Shoulders bare, turn up one part of his Beard, leave another part at length, and shave the rest; cut off his hair, clap a Cap upon his Crown with a hundred holes in't, and a huge Plume of Feathers, and then bring him in this Dress, into public? Would not this be a greater reproach, than a fools Cap to him with long ears, and gingling baubles? And yet we find those that account this an Ornament, tho' nothing can be a greater Madness; nay, we see Soldiers every day in this Trim, that are well enough pleased with themselves.  Pan. 
Yes; and there are some honest Citizens, would strain hard to get into this Mode.  Co. 
But now if a Man should dress himself up with Birds Feathers, like an Indian, would not the very Children think him Mad?  Pan. 
Directly Mad.  Co. 
And yet that which we admire, does still savour of a greater Madness. Now as it is true, that nothing is so ridiculous, but Custom may bear it out; so it must be allowed, that there is a Certain decorum which all Wisemen will approve of: And somewhat again in Garments, that is Mis-becoming, and agreed by all the World, to be so. What can be more ridiculous than a Burdensome Gown with a Long Train; as if the Quality of the Woman were to be measured by the Length of her Tail? Nay, and some Cardinals are not ashamed to imitate it: And yet so prevalent a thing is Custom, that there's no changing of a Fashion so received.  Pan. 
So much for Custom. But tell me now, whether you think it better for Monks to wear different Habits, or not?  Co. 
I take it to be more agreeable to Christian Simplicity, not to pronounce upon any Man for's Habit, provided it be sober, and descent.  Pan. 
Why do not you cast away your C●wls then?  Co. 
Why did not the Apostles presently eat of all sorts of Meats?  Pan. 
I know not; and do you tell me.  Co. 
Because an Invincible Custom hindreed it. For whatsoever is deep rooted in the Minds of Men, and by long use confirmed, and turned as it were into Nature, can never be taken away on the sudden, without the hazard of the Public Peace: but it must be removed by Degrees, as the Horse Tail was plucked off by single Hairs.  Pan. 
I could bear this, if the Monks were but all Habited alike: But so many diversities will never down with me.  Co. 
You must impute this evil to Custom, as well as all others. St. Benedict's Habit is no new one, but the same that he used with his Disciples, that were plain, and honest men. No more is St. Francis', but it was the Fashion of poor Country F●llows. Now some of their Successors, have, by New additions, made the matter a little Superstitious. How many old Women have we at this day that stick to the mode they were brought up in, which is every jot as different from what is used now, as your Habit is from mine?  Pan. 
There are indeed many such Women.  Co. 
Therefore when you see this Habit, you see but the Relics of Past times.  Pan. 
But has your Habit no Holiness in it?  Co. 
None at all.  Pan. 
There are some of you make their boasts that they were of Divine Direction from the Holy Virgin.  Co. 
Those Stories were but Dreams.  Pan. 
One Man has a Fancy that he shall never recover a Fit of Sickness, unless he Cloth himself in a Dominicans Habit; Another will not be Buried, but in a Franciscans.  Co. 
They that tell you these things, are either Cheats, or Fools, and they that believe 'em, are Superstitious. God Almighty knows a Knave as well in a Franciscans Habit, as in a Buffcoat.  Pan. 
The Birds of the Air have not that Variety of Feathers which you have of Habits.  Co. 
What can be better than to imitate Nature, unless to outdo it?  Pan. 
I would you had as many sorts of Books too.  Co. 
But there's much to be said for the Variety also. Has not the Spaniard, one Fashion, the Italian, another, the French, Germans, Greeks, Turks, Saracens, their several Fashions also?  Pan. 
They have so.  Co. 
And then in the same Country again, what Variety of Garments, among Persons of the same Sex, Age, and Degree? How different is that of the Venetian from the Florentine; and of Both, from the Roman: And this in Italy alone?  Pan. 
I'm convinced of it.  Co. 
And from whom comes our Variety? Dominicus took ●is Habit f●om the Honest Husbandmen in that part of Spain where he lived. Benedictus, his, from that part of Italy where he lived. Franciscus from the Husbandmen of several places; and so for the rest.  Pan. 
So that for aught I find, you are never the holier for your Cowls, if you be not so for your Lives.  Co. 
Nay, we have more to answer for than you have, if by our lewd Lives we give Scandal to the Simple.  Pan. 
But is there any hope of Us then, that have neither Patron, nor Habit, nor Rule nor Profession?  Co. 
Yes; You have Hope, but have a care you do not lose it. Go ask your Godfathers, what Profession you made in Baptism; and what Order you were initiated 〈◊〉. What signifies a 〈…〉, to him that's under the Rule of the Gospel? Or any other Patron, to him whose Patron is jesus Christ? Did you profess nothing when you were Married? Bethink yourself, what you owe to yourself, to your Children, your Family, and you will find a heavier Charge upon you as a Christian, than as a Disciple of Saint Francis.  Pan. 
Do you believe that any Innkeepers go to Heaven?  Co. 
Why not?  Pan. 
There are many things said and done in this House, that are not according to the Gospel.  Co. 
As what?  Pan. 
One Fuddles, another talks Bawdy, a third Brawls, a fourth Detracts, and I know not what beside.  Co. 
These things must be avoided as much as may be: And however, you are not for your Profits sake to Countenance, or to draw on this Wickedness.  Pan. 
And sometimes I do not deal fairly with my Guests.  Co. 
How's That?  Pan. 
When I find them grow hot, I give them a good deal of Water with their Wine.  Co. 
That's more Pardonable yet, then stumming of it.  Pan 
Tell me truly, how many days have you been now upon your Journey?  Co. 
Almost a Month.  Pan 
Who looks to ye in the mean time?  Co. 
Are not they well looked to, that have a Wife, Children, Parents, and Kindred?  Pan. 
Abundantly.  Co. 
You have but one Wife, one Fatber, one House; We have a hundred: You, but a few Children▪ a few Kindred; We Innumerable.  Pan. 
How comes that about?  Co. 
Because the Alliances of the Spirit are more Numerous than those of the Flesh; Christ has promised it, and all his Promises are made good.  Pan. 
I have not met with better Company: Let me die, if I had not rather Talk with The●, than Drink with our Pastor. Le's hear you Preach to morrow; and when you come this way next, let this be your Lodging.  Co. 
But what if you have other Guests?  Pan. 
They shall be welcome too, if they be like you.  Co. 
Better, I hope.  Pan. 
But among so many Wicked Men, how shall I know a Good One?  Co. 
One word in your Ear, I'll tell you.  Pan. 
Say then.  Co. 
— Pan. I'll remember it, and do't.   

THE Soldier and the Carthusian.  
COL. X.  
The Life of a Soldier of Fortune; and of a Pious Carthusian: With a Discourse upon Habits.  The Soldier and the Carthusian. So. 
MOrrow, Brother.  Ca 
My dear Cousin, God have ye in his keeping.  So. 
Troth, I had much ado to know you.  Ca 
What? such an Alteration in two years?  So. 
No. But your New Dress, and that bald Crown, make you look like quite another sort of Creature.  Ca 
You'd hardly know your Own Wife, perhaps, in a New Gown.  So. 
In such a one as yours, truly, I think I should not.  Ca 
And yet I remember you perfectly well still; though you have changed Habit, Face, Body, and all. How come you to be so set out with Colours? Never had any Bird such a Variety of Feathers. You have nothing about you that's either Natural, or in Fashion. Was ever any Man's Hair Cut so Fantastically? Half a Beard, and the Crop of your Upper Lip grown so straggling, as if one Hair were afraid of another: A Man would think ye had changed Whiskers with a Cat. Your Face so covered with S●ars too, that a Body would swear the Common Hangman had set his Mark upon ye.  So. 
No, no, Father, these are the Marks of Honour: but pray tell me, are there no Surgeons or Physicians in this Quarter?  Ca 
Why do you ask?  So. 
Because your brains should have been taken out, and washed, before you plunged yourself into this Slavery.  Ca 
You take me for a Mad Man then.  So. 
As any thing in Bedlam; you would never have leapt into your Grave before your time else; when you might have lived handsomely in a better World.  Ca 
So that I'm no longer a Man of your World.  So. 
By jove, I take it so.  Ca 
And what's your Reason for't?  So. 
Because you are Cooped up, and cannot go where you will. Nay, your very Habit is prodigious: Your Shaving, as Extravagant; and then perpetually to Eat nothing but Fish, makes ye all stink like Otters: Your very Flesh is Fish too.  Ca 
If men were turned into what they Eat, your Bacon-Eating Chaps would have been Swines-Flesh many a fair day ago.  So. 
But you have enough of your Bargain, I suppose, by this; for I meet very few in your Condition, that are not sick on't sooner.  Ca 
'Tis one thing for a Man to cast himself into a Retreat, as if it were into a Well; and another thing to do it considerately, and by Degrees, as I have done; upon a thorough search of my Own Heart, and a due Contemplation of Humane Life: For at the Age of Eight and Twenty a Man may be supposed wise enough to know his Own Mind. As to the Place; what is the Place of any Man's abode, compared with the World? And any Place is large enough, so long as it wants nothing for the Commodity of Life. How many are there that never stirred out of the City where they were born; and yet rest well enough contented within that Compass? But yet you'll say, If they were confined to't, it would give'em a longing to go out. This is a common Fancy, which I am clear of. This Place is the whole World to me; and this Map here, shows me the Globe of the Earth; which I can travel over in a Thought, with more Security and Delight, than he that sails to the Indies for Spice, and Pearl.  So. 
That ye say comes near the matter.  Ca 
Why should not I shave my Head, as well as you clip yours? If you do the One for Commodity's sake, if there were nothing else in't, I would do the Other, for my Health. How many Noble Venetians shave their Heads all over? And then for our Habit, where's the Prodigy of it? Our Garments are for two Ends; Either to Defend us from Heat and Cold, or to cover our Nakedness: And does not this Garment now answer both these Ends? If the Colour offend you; why should not that become all Christians, which is given to us in Baptism? It is said also, Take a White Garment; so that this Colour does but mind me of what I promised in that Sacrament, the perpetual study of Innocency: And then if by Solitude you mean only a withdrawing from the Crowd; you may reproach with This Solitude the Ancient Prophets, the Ethnic Philosophers, and many other Persons that have applied themselves to the Gaining of a good Mind, as well as Us. Nay, Poets, Astrologers, and other Eminent Artists, whensoever they have any thing in hand that is extraordinary, do commonly betake themselves to a Retreat. But why should this kind of Life be called a Solitude, when one single Friend is a most delightful Contradiction to it? I have here almost twenty Companions, to all Sociable, and Honest Purposes; Visits more than I desire; and indeed more than are expedient.  So. 
But you cannot have these always to talk with.  Ca 
Nor would I, if I could: For Conversation is the Pleasanter for being sometime interrupted.  So. 
I fancy so too; for I never relish Flesh so well, as I do after a Strict Lent.  Ca 
Neither am I without Companions, when you take me most to be alone; and for Delight and Entertainment, worth a Thousand of your Drolls, and Buffoons.  So. 
Where are they?  Ca 
Look you; here are the four Evangelists. In this Book, I can confer with him that accompanied the two Disciples in their way to Emaus, and with his Heavenly Discourse, made them forget the trouble of their Journey: With Him that made their Hearts burn within them, and inflamed them with a Divine Ardour of receeiving his blessed Words. In this little Study I converse with Paul, Isaiah, and the rest of the Prophets: chrysostom, Basil, Austin, Jerome, Cyprian, with a World of other Learned, and Eloquent Doctors. Where have you such Company Abroad as this? Or what do you talk of Solitude, to a Man that has always This Society?  So. 
But these People will signify nothing to me, that do not understand 'em.  Ca 
Now for our Diet; As to the Quantity, Nature contents herself with a little; and for the Quality of it, a Belly full's a Belly full; no matter what it is. Your Palate calls for Partridge, Pheasant, Capon; and a piece of Stockfish satisfies mine: and yet I am persuaded my Body is as good Flesh and Blood as yours.  So. 
If you had a Wife, as I have, perhaps 'twould take off some of your Mettle.  Ca 
But however, we are at Ease, let our Meat be never so Plain, or never so little.  So. 
In the mean time, ye live like jews.  Ca 
You are too quick; if we cannot come up to Christianity, we do at least aim at it.  So. 
You place too much Holiness in Meats, Formularies, and other Ceremonies, neglecting the more weighty Duties of the Gospel.  Ca 
Let others answer for themselves; but for my own part, I place no sort of Confidence in those things; but only in Christ, and in the Sanctity of the Mind.  So. 
Why do ye observe these things then?  Ca 
For the preserving of Peace, and the avoiding of Scandal. There's little trouble in such a Conformity; and I would not offend my Brother for so small a matter. Let the Garment be what it will, Men are yet so Nice, that agreement, or disagreement even in the smallest Matters, has a strange Influence upon the Public Peace. The shaving of the Head, or the colour of the Habit, gives me no Title (of itself) to God's Favour, and Protection: And yet if I should let my Hair grow, or change my Gown for a Buffcoat, would not the People take me for a Fantastical Coxcomb? I have now told you My sense; and pray let me have Yours, in requital. You asked me even now, If there were no Physicians in this Quarter, when I put myself into a Cloister: Where were they, I beseech you, when you left your young Wife, and pretty Children at Home, to Enrol yourself a Soldier? A Mercenary Bravo, to cut the Throats of your Fellow Christians for Wages? And your business did not lie among Poppyes, and Rushes neither, but with Pikes and Gun-shot; where, over and above the miserable Trade of Cutting their Throats for Money that never did you Hurt, you expose yourself, Body, and Soul, to Eternal Damnation. But here's none of this in a Cloister.  So. 
Is it not Lawful then to Kill an Enemy?  Ca 
Yes, and Pious too, if it be in the defence of your Country, your Wife, and Children, your Parents and Friends, your Religion, Liberties, and the Public Peace. But what is This to a Soldier of Fortune? If you had been knocked on the Head in this service, I would not have given a Nutshell to redeem the very Soul of you.  So. 
No?  Ca 
As I am honest I would not. Speak your Conscience: Is it not better to be under the Command of a Good Man, whom we call our Prior; one that summons us to Prayers, Holy Lectures, the hearing of saving Doctrine, and the Glorifying of God, than to be subject to some Barbarous Officer, that Posts you away upon Marches at Midnight, sends you at his Pleasure hither and thither, backward and forward; exposes you to Shot, great and small, and assigns you your Station, where upon Necessity you must either Kill or be Killed?  So. 
And all this is short yet.  Ca 
In case of any Transgression, here, upon the Point of Discipline, the Punishment is only Admonition, or some such slight Business. But in War, you must either hang for't, (if you cannot compound for Beheading) or run the Gantlope.  So. 
All this is too true.  Ca 
And what have ye got now by all your great Adventures? Not much, if a Man may judge by your Patched Breeches.  So. 
Nay, my own Stock is gone long since, and a good deal of other People's Money too: So that my business here is only to entreat you for a Viaticum.  Ca 
I would you had come hither before you embarked yourself in this Lewd Employment. But how come you to be so Bare?  So. 
So Bare, do ye say? Why all's gone in Wenches, Dice, and Tipple. My Pay, my Plunders, and all the Advantages I made by Rapine, Theft, and Sacrilege.  Ca 
Miserable Creature! And all this while, your Wife, and your poor Children left to the wide World, to grieve themselves to Death; the Woman, that you promised to forsake Father and Mother for. And still you call this Living, which was but wallowing in your Iniquities.  So. 
The thing that Egged me on was, that I sinned in so much Company.  Ca 
Will your Wife know you again, do you think?  So. 
Why not?  Ca 
Your Scars have made you the Picture of quite another Man. What a Trench have you got here in your Forehead, as if you had had a Horn cut out?  So. 
But if you knew the business, you'd say I came off well with a Scar.  Ca 
What was the matter?  So. 
There was an Engine broke, and a Splinter of it struck me there.  Ca 
And that long Scar upon your Cheek?  So. 
This I received in a Battle.  Ca 
What Battle? In the Field?  So. 
No, It was a Battle at Di●e, upon a quarrel about the Cast  Ca 
Your Chin too looks as if 'twere stuck with Rubies.  So. 
That's a small matter.  Ca 
Some Blow with a French Faggot-stick, (as they say.)  So. 
Right: It was my Third Clap, and it had like to have been my Last.  Ca 
But you walk too, as if your Back were broke, like a Man of a hundred years old; what makes you go double so, as if you were a Mowing?  So. 
'Tis a kind of a Convulsive Distemper.  Ca 
A Wonderful Metamorphosis! From a Horseman, to a Centaur, and from a Centaur, to an Insect; a Kind of Creeper.  So. 
The Fortune of the War.  Ca 
Or the Madness of your Mind. But what Spoils have you brought home for your Wife and Children? The Leprosy, I see; for that Scab is only a Spice on't, and only privileged from the Pest-House, because 'tis a Disease in Fashion: For, which very reason, it should be the rather avoided. This is now to be rubbed upon the Face of your Poor Wife; to whom, instead of an Industrious Husband, you have only brought back Innumerable Diseases, and a Living Carcase.  So. 
pray give over Chiding of me; for I'm miserable enough without it.  Ca 
Nay, This is the least part of your Calamity, for your Soul is yet fouler than your Body; more Putrid and Ulcered; and yet more dangerously wounded.  So. 
It is more Unclean, I do confess, than a Public jakes.  Ca 
But to God and his Angels it is still more Offensive.  So. 
If you have done wrangling, pray think of some Relief to help me on in my Journey.  Ca 
I have nothing myself to give you, but I'll speak to the Prior.  So. 
But if any thing should be allowed me, will you receive it for me? There are so many rubs in the way in Cases of this Nature.  Ca 
Others may do as they please, but I have no Hands, either to give Money, or to take it. We'll talk more on't after Dinner, for 'tis now time to sit down.   

THE Apotheosis of CAPNIO; OR, The Franciscan's Vision.  
COL. XI.  
A Pleasant Relation of John Reuchlin's Ghost appearing to a Franciscan in a Dream; and St. Jerome's coming to him, and Clothing him, to take him up into Heaven: With several Comical Circumstances that past upon the Way, betwixt his Death, and his Canonization or Ascension.  POMPILIUS, BRASSICANUS. Po. 
WHERE have you been, with your Spatter-Lashes?  Br. 
At Tubingua.  Po. 
Have ye any News there?  Br. 
'Tis a wonderful thing that the World should run so strangely a madding after News. I heard a Camel in a Pulpit at Louvain, charge his Auditory upon their Salvation, to have nothing to do with any thing that was New.  Po. 
Thou meanest a Carmelite; but it was a Conceit indeed fit for a Camel: Or if it were a Man, by my Consent, he should never change his Shoes, his Linen, or his Breeches; and I would have him dieted with Souse, Musty Drink, and Rotten Eggs.  Br. 
But yet for all this, you must know that the Good Man had rather have his Porridge Fresh, than Stale.  Po. 
Prithee come to the Point; and tell me what News.  Br. 
Nay, I have News in my Budget too; but News, he says, is a wicked thing.  Po. 
Well; but that which is New, will come to be Old. Now if all Old things be Good, and all New things Bad; that which is Good at present, will hereafter be Bad; and that which is now Bad, will hereafter be Good.  Br. 
According to the Doctrine of the Camel, it must be so; and a young wicked Fool, will come to be an old good One.  Po. 
But prithee let's have the News whatever it is.  Br. 
The famous Triple-Tongued Phoenix of Erudition, john Reuchlin, is departed this Life.  Po. 
For certain?  Br. 
Nay, it is too certain.  Po. 
And where's the hurt on't, for a Man to leave an Immortal Memory of his Name, and Reputation behind him, and so pass from this miserable World, to the Seats of the Blessed?  Br. 
How do you know that to be the Case?  Po. 
It cannot be otherwise, if his Death was answerable to his Life.  Br. 
And you'd be more and more of that Opinion, if you knew as much as I  Po. 
What's that, I pray?  Br. 
No, no; I must not tell ye.  Po. 
Why not?  Br. 
Because he that told me the thing, made me promise Secrecy.  Po. 
Trust me, upon the same Condition; and upon my honest Word, I'll keep your Counsel.  Br. 
That same Honest Word has so oft deceived me. But yet I'll venture't; especially, being a matter of such a quality, that it is fit all good Men should know it. There is a certain Franciscan at Tubinga, (a Man of singular Holiness, in every Body's Opinion but his own.)  Po. 
The greatest Argument in the World of true Piety!  Br. 
If I should tell you his Name, you'd say as much; for you know the Man.  Po. 
Shall I guests at him?  Br. 
Do so.  Po. 
Hold your Ear then.  Br. 
Why? Here's no Body within hearing.  Po. 
But however for fashion sake.  Br. 
The very Man.  Po. 
Nay, ye may swear it; for if he says it, 'tis a true as Gospel.  Br. 
Mind me then, and I'll give ye the naked Truth of the Story. My Friend Reuchlin had a dangerous Fit of Sickness; but not without some hope of Recovery neither. What Pity 'tis that so admirable a Man should ever grow Old, Sicken, or Dye! One Morning I made my Franciscan a Visit, to put off some trouble of thoughts, by diverting myself in his Company; for when my Friend was Sick, (do ye see?) I was Sick; and I loved him as my own Father.  Po. 
As if ever any honest Man would have done otherwise!  Br. 
My Franciscan bade me cheer up; for Reuchlin (says he) is well. What? (said I) Is he well again so soon? For but two days ago the Doctors despaired of him. Then satisfy yourself, says he, for he's so well, that he shall never be Sick again. The Tears stood in my Eyes, and my Franciscan taking notice of it, pray be patient, (says he) till I have told you all. I have not seen the Man this week, but I pray for him every day that goes over my head. This very Morning, after Matins, I threw myself upon my Bed, and fell into a gentle, pleasant Slumber.  Po. 
My mind gives me already there will come some good on't.  Br. 
And yours is no ill Genius. Methought I was standing by a little Bridge that led into a Meadow, so wonderfully Fine, what with the Emerald Verdure, and freshness of the Trees and Grass; the Infinite Beauty, and variety of Flowers, and the Fragrancy of all together, that all the Fields on this side the River looked dead, blasted and withered, in Comparison. In the Interim, while I was wholly taken up with this Prospect, who should come by (in a lucky hour) but Reuchlin? And as he passed, he gave me (in Hebrew) his Blessing. He was gotten above half over the Bridge, before I was aware; and as I was about to run up to him, he looked back, and bade me stand off. Your time (says he) is not yet come; but five Years hence you are to follow me. In the mean while, be you a Witness, and a Spectator of what's done. I put in a word here, and asked him, if Reuchlin was Clothed or Naked; Alone, or in Company. He had nothing upon him (says he) but one Garment, and that was White, and Shining, like Damask; and a very pretty Boy behind him, with Wings, which I took for his good Genius.  Po. 
Then he had no evil Genius with him?  Br. 
Yes; the Franciscan told me, he thought he had; for there followed him a good way off, certain Birds that were Black all over, saving, that when they spread their Wings, they seemed to have a mixture of Feathers that were betwixt White and Carnation. By their Colour and Cry, one might have taken them for Pies; but that they were sixteen times as big; and about the Size of Vultures. They had Combs upon their Heads, and a kind of Gorbellyed Kites, with Crooked Beaks, and Talons. If there had been but three of them, I should have taken them for Harpies.  Po. 
And what did these Devils do?  Br. 
They kept their distance, Chattering, and Squalling at the Heroic Reuchlin, and would certainly have set upon him if they durst.  Po. 
Why, what hindered 'em?  Br. 
Reuchlin's turning upon 'em, and making the Sign of the Cross at 'em. Be gone, says he, ye cursed Fiends, to a place that's fitter for you. You have work enough to do among Mortals, but you have no Commission to meddle with me, that am now listed in the Roll of Immortality. The words were no sooner out of his Mouth, says my Franciscan, but these filthy Birds took their Flight, and left such a Stink behind them, that a Close-stool would have been Orange-flower-water to it; and he swore, that he would rather go to Hell, than even snuff up such a Perfume again.  Po. 
A Curse upon these Pests!  Br. 
But hear what the Franciscan told me more. While I was musing upon this, St. Jerome (says he) was gotten close to the Bridge; and saluted Reuchlin, in these very Words, God save thee my most Holy Companion. I am commanded to conduct thee to the blessed Souls above, as a Reward from the Divine Bounty, of thy most pious Labours. With that, he took out a Garment, and put it upon Reuchlin. Tell me then, (said I) in what Habit or Shape St. Jerome appeared? Was he so old as they Paint him? Did he wear a Cowl, or a Hat; and the Dress of a Cardinal? Or had he a Lion for his Companion? Nothing of all this (said he) but his Person was Comely, and his Age was only such, as carried Dignity with it, without the Offence of any sort of Sluttery: But what need had he there of a Lion by his side, as he is commonly Painted? His Gown came down to his Heels, as Transparent as Crystal, and of the same Fashion with that he gave to Reuchlin. It was painted over with Tongues of three several Colours; in imitation of the Ruby, the Emerald, and the Sapphire. And beside the clearness of it, the Order made it exceeding graceful.  Po. 
An intimation, I suppose, of the three Tongues that they professed.  Br. 
No doubt on't; for upon the very Borders of his Garments, were the Characters of these three Languages, in many Colours.  Po. 
Had Jerome no Company with him?  Br. 
No Company, do ye say? The whole Field swarmed with Myriad of Angels, that flew in the Air as thick as Atoms: (Pardon the meanness of the Comparison) If they had not been as clear as the Glass, there would have been no Heaven nor Earth to be seen.  Po. 
How glad am I now for poor Reuchlin! But what followed?  Br. 
Jerome, says he, for Respects sake, giving Reuchlin the Right hand, and embracing him; carried him into the Meadow, and so up to the top of a Hill that was in the middle of it, where they kissed and hugged one another again. And now the Heavens opened to a prodigious wideness, and there appeared a Glory so unutterable, as made every thing else that passed for wonderful before, to look Mean and Sordid.  Po. 
Cannot you give us some Representation of it?  Br. 
No, How should I without seeing it? But he that did see it, assures me, that the Tongue of Man is not able to express the very Dream of it. And further, that he would die a thousand Deaths to see it over again, though it were but for one moment.  Po. 
Very good. And how then?  Br. 
Out of this Overture, there was let down a great Pillar of Fire, which was both Transparent, and very agreeable. By the means of this Pillar, Two Holy Souls embraced one another, ascended to Heaven; a Choir of Angels all the while accompanying them, with so charming a Melody, that the Franciscan says, he is not able to think of the Delight of it, without weeping. And after this, there followed an incomparable Perfume. His Sleep (or rather the Vision) was no sooner over, but he started up like a Madman, and called for his Bridge, and his Meadow, without either speaking or thinking of any thing else; and there was no persuading of him to believe that he was any longer in his Cell. The Seniors of the Convent, when they found the Story, to be no Fable (for 'tis clear, that Reuchlin died at the very instant of this appearance to the Holy Man) they unanimously gave Thanks to God, that abundantly rewards good Men for their good Deeds.  Po. 
What have we more to do then, but to enter this Holy Man's Name in the Calendar of our Saints?  Br. 
I should have taken care for that, though the Franciscan had seen nothing of all this: And in Golden Letters too, I'll assure ye, next to St. Jerome himself.  Po. 
And let me die, if I don't put him in my Book so too.  Br. 
And then I'll set him in Gold, in my little Chapel, among the choicest of my Saints.  Po. 
If I had a Fortune to my Mind, I'd have him in Diamonds.  Br. 
He shall ●stand in my Library the very next to St. Jerome.  Po. 
And I'll have him so in mine too.  Br. 
We live in an ungrateful World, or else all People would do the same thing too, that love Learning and Languages; especially, the Holy Tongues.  Po. 
Truly it is no more than he deserves. But does it not a little stick in your Stomach, that he's not yet Canonised by the Authority of the Bishop of Rome?  Br. 
I pray who Canonised (for that's the word) who Canonised St. Jerome, Paul, the Virgin Mother? Tell me, whose Memory is more Sacred among all good Men, those that by their eminent Piety, and the Monuments of their Learning, and good Life, have entitled themselves to the Veneration of Posterity; or Catherina Senensis (for the purpose) that was Sainted by Pius 2. in favour of the Order and City?  Po. 
You say true; That's the right Worship that's paid voluntarily to the Merits of the Dead; whose benefits will never be forgotten.  Br. 
And can you then deplore the Death of this Man? If long Life be a Blessing, he enjoyed it; he left immortal Monuments of his Virtue: and by his good Works, consecrated himself to Eternity. He's now in Heaven, above the reach of misfortune, and conversing with St. Jerome.  Po. 
But he suffered a great deal, though in this Life.  Br. 
And yet St. Jerome suffered more? 'Tis a Blessing to be persecuted by wicked Men, for being Good.  Po. 
I confess it; and St. Jerome suffered many Indignities from wicked Men for his Virtues.  Br. 
That which Satan did formerly, by the Scribes and Pharisees against our Saviour, he continues still to do by Pharisees against Good Men, that have deserved well from the World by their Studies. He does now reap the Fruit of the Seed that was Sowed. In the mean time it will be our part to preserve his memory Sacred, to glorify him, and to address to him in some such manner as follows. Holy Soul! be Propitious to Languages, and to those that Cultivate and Refine them. Favour Holy Tongues, and destroy Evil Tongues, that are infected with the Poison of Hell.  Po. 
I'll do't myself, and persuade all my Friends to do't. I make no question, but we shall find those that will employ their interest to get some little Form of Prayer, according to Custom; to perpetuate the Honour and Memory of this blessed Hero.  Br. 
Do you mean that which they call a Collect?  Po. 
Yes.  Br. 
I have one ready, that I provided before his Death.  Po. 
I pray let's hear it.  Br. 
O God that art the Lover of Mankind, and by thy chosen Servant John Reuchlin, hast renewed to Mankind the Gift of Tongues, by which thy Holy Spirit from above, did formerly enable the Apostles for the Preaching of the Gospel: Grant that all People may in all Tongues, Preach the Glory of thy Son, to the confounding of the Tongues of the false Apostles, who being in Confederacy, to uphold the wicked Tower of Babel, endeavour to obscure thy Glory, by advancing their own; when to thee alone is due all Glory, etc.  Po. 
A most Elegant and Holy Prayer! And it shall be my daily one. How happy was this Occasion to me, that brought me to the knowledge of so Edifying, and so Delightful a Story?  Br. 
May that Joy last long too; and so Farewell.   

THE FUNERAL.  
COL. XII.  
In the differing Ends of Belearicus and Montius, here is set forth the Vanity, Pomp and Superstition of the Funerals of some Rich and Worldly Men: With the Practices of too many of the Monks upon them in their Extremities. As also, how a Good Christian ought to demean himself when he comes to Die.  MARCOLPHUS, PHAEDRUS. Ma. 
WHY, 〈◊〉 go Matters, Phaedrus? Thou look'st methinks, as if thou hadst been eaten, and spewed up again.  Ph. 
Why so, I beseech ye?  Ma. 
So sad, so sour, so ghastly, so forlorn a Wight: Thou hast not one bit of Phaedrus about thee. Phaed. What can you expect better, from one that has been so many days among the Sick, the Dying, and the Dead? You, might as well wonder to see a Blacksmith, or a Chimney-Sweeper with a dirty Face. Well, Marcolphus! Two such Losses are enough to put any Man out of Humour.  Ma. 
Have you buried any of your Friends then?  Ph. 
You knew George Balearicus.  Ma. 
Only his Name, but I never saw his Face.  Ph. 
He's one, and Cornelius Montius the other; (my very particular Friend) but he, I suppose, was wholly a Stranger to you.  Ma. 
It was never my Fortune yet to see any Man breathe his last.  Ph. 
But it has been mine too often, if I might have had my wish.  Ma. 
pray tell me, is Death so Terrible as they make it?  Ph. 
The Way to't, is worse than the Thing itself; for the Apprehension is the greatest part of the Evil. Beside, that our Resignation to the Will of God makes all the Bitterness, as well of Sickness, as of Death, casy to us. There can be no great Sense of any thing in the Instant of the Souls leaving the Body. For before it comes to that point, the Faculty itself is become Dull and Stupid; and commonly laid asleep.  Ma. 
What do we feel when we're Born?  Ph. 
The Mother feels something however, if we do not.  Ma. 
Why would not Providence let us go out of the World as smoothly as we came into't?  Ph. 
Our Birth is made painful to the Mother, to make the Child dearer to her; and Death is made formidable to Mankind, to deter us from laying violent Hands upon ourselves; for if so many make away themselves as the case stands already, what would they do, if the dread of Death were taken away? If a Servant, or a Child were but corrected; a Family-quarrel started, a Sum of Money lost, or any thing else went Cross, Men would presently repair to Halters, Swords, Rivers, Preciplces, Poisons, for their Relief. It is the Terror of Death, that makes us set the greater value upon Life; especially, considering that there's no Redemption; for the Dead are out of the reach of the Doctor. Now so it is, that we do not all either come into the World, or go out of it alike. Some dye sooner, others later; some one way, some another: A Lethargy takes a Man away without any Sense of Death; as if he were Stung with an Asp, he goes off in's Sleep. Or be it as it will, There is no Death so Tormenting, but that a Man may overcome it with Resolution.  Ma. 
pray tell me, which of your two Friends bore his Fate the most like a Christian?  Ph. 
Why truly, in my Opinion, George died the more like a Man of Honour.  Ma. 
Is there any Sense of Ambition then, when we come to that Point?  Ph. 
I never saw two People make such different Ends. If you'll give it the Hearing, I'll tell you the Story, and leave you to judge which was likest a Christian.  Ma. 
Let's have it, I beseech ye, for I have the greatest mind in the World to hear't.  Ph. 
I'll begin with my Friend George.  
So soon as ever it could be certainly known that his Hour was drawing on; the Physicians that had attended him throughout his Sickness, gave to understand the Pains they had taken, and that there was matter of Money in the Case; but not a Word of the Despair they had of his Life.  Ma. 
How many Physicians might there be?  Ph. 
Sometimes Ten; sometimes Twelve; but never under Six.  Ma. 
Enough in all Conscience to have done the Business of a Man in perfect Health.  Ph. 
Their Money was no sooner paid, but they privately hinted to some of his near Relations, that his Death was at hand, and advised them to take the best Care they could for the good of his Soul, for his Body was past hope. This was handsomely intimated by some of his particular Friends to George himself, desiring him, that he would remit the Business of his Life to Providence, and turn his Thoughts now toward the Comforts of another World. Upon this News, George cast many a sour Look at the Physicians, taking it very heinously, that they should now leave him in his distress. They told him, that Physicians were but Men, not Gods; and that they had done as much as Art could do to save him; but there was no remedy against Fate; and so they went into the next Chamber.  Ma. 
What did they stay for after they were paid?  Ph. 
They were not yet agreed upon the Disease. One would have it to be a Dropsy; another, an Apostheme in the Guts; Every Man of them would needs have it a several Disease; and this dispute they were very hot upon, throughout his whole Sickness.  Ma. 
The Patient had a blessed time on't all this while!  Ph. 
For the deciding of this Controversy, First, They desired by his Wife that the Body might be opened; which would be for his Honour, a thing usual among Persons of Quality. Secondly, they suggested how beneficial it might be to others, which he would have the Comfort of, by increasing the Bulk of his Merits, and then they promised him Thirty Masses at their own Charge, for the good of his Soul. There was much ado to bring him to't; but at last, by Importunities and fair Words, the thing was obtained; and so the whole Consultation was dissolved; for Physicians, whose Business it is to preserve Life, do not think it convenient to be present, either at their Patient's Death, or Funeral. By and by, Benardinus was sent for to take his Confession: a Reverend Man, ye know, and Warden of the Franciscans. His Confession was no sooner over, but there was a whole House-full of the four Orders of Begging Friars.  Ma. 
What, so many Vultures to one Carcase?  Ph. 
And now, the Parish-Priest was called to give him Extreme Unction, and the Sacrament of the Eucharist.  Ma. 
Religious People!  Ph. 
But there had like to have been a bloody Fray, betwixt the Priest, and the Monks.  Ma. 
What? At the Patient's Bedside!  Ph. 
Nay, and Christ himself looking on too.  Ma. 
Upon what occasion?  Ph. 
The Parish-Priest, so soon as ever he found that George had Confessed to a Franciscan, did Point-blank refuse to give him, either the Sacrament of Unction, or the Eucharist; or so much as the Common Rights of Burial; unless he heard his Confession with his own Ears. He was to be accountable for his Flock himself, he said; And how could he answer for any Man, without knowing the Secrets of his Conscience?  Ma. 
And don't you think he was in the right?  Ph. 
They did not think so, for they all fell upon him, especially, Bernardinus, and Vincentius the Dominican.  Ma. 
What did they urge?  Ph. 
They told the Curate, he was an Ass, and fitter for a Hogdriver, than a Pastor, and rattled him to some tune. I am a Bachelor of Divinity, (says Vincentius) and shortly to be Licenced, and take my Degree of Doctor; and shall such a Dunce as thou art, that can hardly read a Letter in the Book, be peeping into the Secrets of a Man's Conscience? If you have such an Itch of Curiosity, you had best inquire into the Privacies of your Concubine, and your Bastards at Home. I could say more, but I am ashamed of the Story.  Ma. 
And did he say nothing to all this?  Ph. 
Nothing, do ye say? Never was any Man so nettled. I'll make a Better Bachelor than you are, says he, of a Bean-Stalk. I pray, what were your Masters, Dominicus and Franciscus? Where did they ever learn Aristotle's Philosophy; the Arguments of Thomas, or the Speculations of Scotus? Where did they take their Degree of Bachelors? Ye crept into a Believing World, a Company of poor, humble Wretches of ye, (though some, I must confess, were Devout and Learned.) Ye nestled at first, in Fields and Villages, and so by Degrees, transplanted yourselves into Opulent Cities, and none but the best part of them neither, would content ye. Your business lay then only in Places that could not maintain a Pastor; but now, forsooth, none but great men's Houses will serve your turn. You value yourselves much upon the Title of Priests, but all your Privileges are not worth a Rush, unless in the Absence of the Bishop, Pastor, or his Curate. Not a Man of you shall come into my Pulpit, I assure ye, so long as I am Pastor. 'Tis true, I am no Bachelor; no more was St. Martin, and yet he discharged the Office of a Bishop. If I have not so much Learning as I should, I'll never come a begging to you for't. The World is grown Wiser now adays, than to think that the Holiness of Dominicus and Franciscus, is entailed upon the Habit. You're much concerned what I do in my own House: 'Tis the common talk of the People what you do in your Cells; and at what rate you behave yourselves, with your Holy Virgins; and how many Illustrious Palaces ye have turned into direct Bawdy-Houses. Marcolphus, you must excuse me for the rest, for it is too foul to be told: But in truth, he handled the Reverend Fathers without Mittens: And there would have been no end on't, if George had nor held up his hand, in token that he had something to say. With much ado, the Storm was laid at last, and they gave the Patient the Hearing. Peace (says he) be among ye: I'll Confess myself over again to my Parish-Priest: and see all the Charge of Ringing, of my Funeral Rites, Burial and Monument, paid ye before ye go out of the House; and take such Order, that ye shall have no Cause to Complain.  Ma. 
I hope the Parish-Priest was pleased with this.  Ph. 
He was pacified in some measure; only something he muttered about Confession; but he remitted it at last, and told them that there was no need of troubling either the Priest, or the Patient, with the same things again; but if he had Confessed to me in time (says he) he would have made his Will perhaps upon better Considerations. But now we must even take it as it is; and if it be not as it should be, it must be at your door. This Equity of the Sick Man's galled the Monks to the very Heart, to think that any part of the Booty should go to the Priest of the Parish. But upon my Intercession Matters were Composed; and the Parish-Priest gave the Sick Man the Unction and the Eucharist, received his Money, and so went his way.  Ma. 
And now all was well again, was it not?  Ph. 
So far from it, that this Tempest was no s●oner Laid, but a worse followed.  Ma. 
Upon what Ground, I pray thee?  Ph. 
To the four Orders of Beggars, that were gotten into the House, there was now joined with them a Fifth one, of Cross-bearers, which put the other Mendicants into a direct Tumult against the Fifth Order, as Illegitimate and Spurious. Where did you ever see (says one of them) a Wagon with Five Wheels? Or with what Face will any Man pretend to reckon more Mendicant Orders, than there were Evangelists? At this rate, you may even as well call in All the Beggars to ye from the Bridge's and Cross-ways.  Ma. 
What said the Cross-bearers to this?  Ph. 
They asked how the Wagon of the Church went, before there was any Order of Mendients at all? And so after that, when there was but One Order; and then again, when there were Three: For the Number of the Evangelists (say they) has no more Affinity with our Order, than with the die, for having four Angles. Who brought the Augustine's, or the Carmelites into That Order? Or when did Augustine, or Elias Beg? (whom they make to be the Principals of their Order.) This, and a great deal more, they thundered out; but being overpowered with Numbers, they were forced to give way; but not without Threatening a Revenge.  Ma. 
I hope all was quiet now.  Ph. 
No, no; for This Confederacy against the Fifth Order, was come almost to Daggers drawing; The Franciscan, and Dominican would not allow the Augustine's and Carmelites to be True Mendicants; but only Bastard, and Suppositious. The Brawl went so High, that every Body expected it would have come to Blows.  Ma. 
And was the Sick Man forced to suffer all This?  Ph. 
They were not in his Bedchamber, now, ye must know; but in a Court that joined to't: Which was all one, for he heard every word that was spoken; there was no whispering, believe me, but they very fairly exercised their Lungs: beside, that in a Fit of Sickness, Men are commonly Quicker of Hearing than Ordinary.  Ma. 
But what was the End of This Dispute?  Ph. 
The Patient sent them word by his Wife, that if they would but be quiet a little, and hold their Tongues, all things should be set right: and therefore desired, that for the present, the Augustine's, and Carmelites would Depart, and they should be no Losers by it: for they should have the same Proportion of Meat sent them home, which the rest had that stayed. He gave direction, to have all the Five Orders assist at his Funeral; and for an Equal Dividend of Money, to every one of them: But to have taken them all to a Common Table, would have endangered a Tumult.  Ma. 
The Man understood Oeconomy, I perceive, that had the Skill, even at his Death, to atone so many Differences.  Ph. 
Alas! he had been an Officer a long time in the Army, where he was used to Mutinies.  Ma. 
Had he any Great Estate?  Ph. 
A very Great one.  Ma. 
But Ill gotten, as commonly, by Rapine, Sacrilege, and Extortions.  Ph. 
After the Soldiers Method; and I will not swear for Him neither, that he was one jot better than his Neighbours. But still, if I do not mistake the Man, he made his Fortune, rather by his Wit, than by Downright Violence.  Ma. 
How so?  Ph. 
He had very great Skill in Arithmetic.  Ma. 
And what of that?  Ph. 
Why he would reckon 30000 Soldiers, when there were but 7000: and Those not paid neither.  Ma. 
Truly a Compendious way of Arithmetic!  Ph. 
And then he was a Great Master of his Trade; for he had a way of getting Monthly Contributions on Both Sides: from his Enemies, that he might spare them; and from his Friends, as an Allowance for them to deal with the Enemy.  Ma. 
Well, well, I know the Common way of Soldiers; but make an end of your Story.  Ph. 
Bernardinus, and Vincentius, with some of their Fellows, continued with the Sick Man; and the Rest had their Provisions sent them.  Ma. 
But how did they agree among Themselves that stayed upon Duty?  Ph. 
Not perfectly well: For I heard some Grumbling among 'em about the Prerogative of their Bulls; but they were fain to dissemble the Matter, that they might go the better on with their Work.  
The Will is now produced; and Covenants entered into before Witnesses, according to what they had agreed upon between Themselves.  Ma. 
I should be glad to hear what That was.  Ph. 
I'll tell ye in short: For the Whole Business would be a Long History. He leaves a Widow of Thirty Eight Years of Age; a Sincere and a Virtuous Woman. He leaves Two Sons, the one of Eighteen, the other of Fifteen; and Two Daughters, both under Age. He provided by his Testament, that since his Wife would not confine herself to a Cloister, she should put on the Habit of a Beghin, (which is a middle Order, betwixt Layick and Religous.) The Elder Son, because he could not be prevailed upon to turn Monk—  Ma. 
There's no catching Old Birds with Chaff.  Ph. 
He was immediately after his Father's Funeral, to ride Post to Rome; where being made a Priest, before his time, by the Pope's Dispensation, he should for One Year say Mass every day in the Lateran Church, for his Father's Soul; and every Friday creep upon his Knees, up the Holy Steps there.  Ma. 
And did he take this Task upon himself, willingly?  Ph. 
With as much Submission as an Ass bears his Burden. His Younger Son was Dedicated to St. Francis; His Elder Daughter to St. Clare; and the Younger to Catharina Senensis. This was all could be obtained: For it was George's Purpose (to lay the Greater Obligation upon God Almighty) to dispose of the Five Survivors into the Five Orders of Mendicants; and it was hard pressed too: but his Wife, and his Eldest Son were not to be wrought upon by any Terms, fair or foul.  Ma. 
Why, this is a kind of Disinheriting.  Ph. 
The Whole Estate was so Divided, that the Funeral Charges being First taken out, One Twelfth part of it was to go to his Wife: One Half of That for her Maintenance, and the Other to the Stock of the place where she disposed of herself. Another Twelfth Part to go to the Elder Son: with a Viaticum and as much Money as would purchase him a Dispensation and Maintain him at 〈◊〉: Provided always, that 〈◊〉 he should change his Mind, and refuse to be Initiated into Holy Orders; his Portion to be divided betwixt the Franciscans, and Dominicans. And That, I fear, will be the End on't: for he had a strange Abhorrence to That Course of Life. Two Twelfth Parts are to go to the Monastery that receives his Younger Son; and Two more, to Those that should entertain his Daughters; but upon Condition, that if They refuse to Profess Themselves, All the Money should go Whole, to the Cloister. Another Twelfth Part, to Bernardinus, and as much to Vincentius. Half a Share to the Carthusians; for the Good Works of the Whole Order; One Remaining Part and Half, to be divided among such Poor as Bernardinus, and Vincentius should judge worthy of the Charity.  Ma. 
It would have been more Lawyerlike to have said Quos, vel Quas, instead of Quos only, as I find.  Ph. 
The Testament was read; and the Stipulation ran in These Words: George Balearicus; Now whilst thou art in Life, and sound Sense, dost thou approve of This Testament, which has been made Long since by thy Direction and Appointment? I approve it. Is this Thy Last, and Unchangeable Will? It is. And Dost thou Constitute Me, and this Bachelor Vincentius, the Exceutors of This thy Last Will? I do so. And then he was Commanded to Subscribe.  Ma. 
How could he Write when he was Dying?  Ph. 
Bernardinus Guided his Hand.  Ma. 
What did he Subscribe?  Ph. 
Whosoever shall presume to Violate This Testament, may St. Francis and St. Dominick Confound him.  Ma. 
But what if they had brought an Action, Testamenti ●noff●ciosi?  Ph. 
That Action will not hold, in things Dedicated to God; Nor will any Man run the hazard of a Suit with him. When This was Over, the Wife, and Children give the Sick Man their Right Hands, and swear Observance to his Directions.  
After This, they fell to treat about the Funeral Pomp; and there was a Squabble There too; but it was carried at last, that there should be present, Nine, out of every one of the Five Orders, for the Honour of the Five Volumes of Moses, and the Nine Choir of Angels; Every Order to carry its proper Cross, and sing the Funeral Songs. To these, beside the Kindred, there should be Thirty Torchbearers, all in Mourning, and in Memory of the Thirty Pieces of Silver that our Saviour was sold for; and for Respect sake, Twelve Mourners to accompany Them; as a Number Sacred to the Apostolical Order. Behind the Bier followed George's Horse, all in Mourning; with his Head tied down to his Knee, as if he were Looking upon the Ground for his Master. The Pall being hung round with Escutcheons, and so were the Garments both of the Bearers, and Mourners. The Body itself was to be laid at the Right Hand of the High Altar, in a Marble-Tomb, some Four Foot from the Ground; and He himself at his Length, upon the Top on't. His Image cut in the Purest Marble, and in Armour from Head to Foot: To His Helmet, a Crest; which was the Neck of an Onocrotalus; a Shield upon his Left Arm, charged with Three Boar's Heads, Or, in a Field Argent; a Sword by his side, with a Golden Hilt, and a Belt Embroidered with Gold, and Pearl: Golden Spurs, and All, Gold, for he was Eques Auratus. He had a Leopard at his Feet, and an Inscription worthy of so great a Man. His Heart was to be laid in the Chapel of St. Francis, and his Bowels bequeathed to the Parish, to be Honourably Interred in our Lady's Chapel.  Ma. 
This was a Noble Funeral, but a Dear one. Now at Venice a Cobbler should have as much Honour done him, and with little or no charge at all. The Company gives him a handsome Coffin; and they have Six hundred Monks, all in their Habits, many times, to attend One Body.  Ph. 
I have seen it myself, and cannot but laugh at the Vanity of those poor People. The Fuller's and Tanner's march in the Van, the Cobblers bring up the Rear, and the Monks march in the Body. This Mixture made it look like a Chimaera; and George had This Caution too, that the Franciseans, and Dominicans should draw Lots, who should go First; and after Them, the Rest, for fear of a Tumult, or Quarrelling for Place. The Parish-Priest and his Clerks went Last: for the Monks would never endure it otherwise.  Ma. 
George had Skill, I find, in Marshalling of a Ceremony, as well as of an Army.  Ph. 
And it was provided, that the Funeral Service, which was to be performed by the Parish-Priest, should proceed in Music, for the Greater Honour of the Defunct. While these things were a doing, the Patient was seized with a Convulsion, which was a Certain Token that his Dissolution was at hand: So that they were now come to the Last Act.  Ma. 
Why, is not all done yet?  Ph. 
No; For now the Pope's Bull is to be read, wherein he is promised a Total Pardon of All his Sins, and an Exemption from the Fear of Purgatory; with a justification, over and above, of his Whole Estate.  Ma. 
What? Of an Estate gotten by Violence?  Ph. 
Got by the Law, and Fortune of the War: But it happened that a Brother of his Wives, one Philip, a Civilian, was by at the reading of the Bull; and took notice of One Passage in it, that was not as it should be, which made him Jealous of Foul Play.  Ma. 
This came very Unseasonable; Or if there had been any Error, it might have been dissembled, and the Sick Man never the worse for't.  Ph. 
You say very well; and I assure ye it wrought upon George so, that it had like to have cast him into an Absolute Despair. And here, Vincentius showed himself a Man indeed; Courage, George, (says he) for I have an Authority to Correct, or to supply all Errors, or Omissions in this Case: so that if this Bull should deceive thee, my Soul shall stand engaged for thine, that thine shall go to Heaven, or mine be Damned.  Ma. 
But will God accept of This way now of Changing Souls? Or if he does, is the Pawn of Vincentius' Soul a sufficient Security? What if Vincentius' Soul should go to the Devil, whether he Changes it, or no?  Ph. 
I only tell ye Matter of Fact. Vincentius Entered formally into This Obligation, and George seemed to be much Comforted with it. By and by the Covenants are read, by which, the Whole Society promise to Transfer to George the Benefits of the Works of All the Five Orders.  Ma. 
I should be afraid that such a weight should sink me to Hell.  Ph. 
I speak of their Good Works only; for they help a Soul in mounting to Heaven, as Feathers help a Bird.  Ma. 
But who shall have their Evil Works then?  Ph. 
The Dutch Soldiers of Fortune.  Ma. 
By what Right?  Ph. 
By Gospel-Right; for To him that Has, shall be Given. And then they read over, how many Masses and Psalms were to accompany the Soul of the Deceased; which indeed were Innumerable. His Confession was Repeated, after This; and they gave him their Benediction.  Ma. 
And so he Died.  Ph. 
Not yet. They laid a Mat upon the Ground, which was Rolled up at One End into the Form of a Pillow.  Ma. 
And what was This to do?  Ph. 
They threw Ashes upon it; but thin spread; and There they laid the Sick Man's Body; and then they Consecrated a Franciscans Coat, with Certain Prayers, and Holy Water, and Cast That over him; they laid his Coul under his Head, (for there was no putting of it on) and his Pardon with it.  Ma. 
A New way of leaving the World.  Ph. 
But they affirm, that the Devil has no Power over Those that Die in This manner; for they do but follow St. Martin, St. Francis, and Others, that have gone This way before.  Ma. 
But Their Lives were Religious, as well as their Ends. But go on.  Ph. 
They then presented the Sick Man with a Crucifix, and a Wax Candle. Upon holding Out the Crucifix; I thought myself safe, says George, under the Protection of my Buckler, in War; and now This is the Buckler that I shall appose to my Enemies: so he kissed it, and laid it to his Left Side; and for the Holy Taper, I was ever held to be a good Pikeman in the Field, and now I shall make use of This Lance against the Enemy of Souls.  Ma. 
Spoken like a Man of War.  Ph. 
These were the last Words he spoke: for Death presently Tied up his Tongue, and he fell into an Agony. Bernardinus kept close to him, in his Extremity, upon the Right Hand, and Vincentius upon the Left; and they had both of the● their Pipes open: the One showed him the Image of St. Francis, the Other that of St. Dominick, while the rest were up and down in the Bedchamber, mumbling over certain Psalms to a most Lamentable Tune; Bernardinus, Bawling in his Right Ear, and Vincentius, in his Left.  Ma. 
What did they say?  Ph. 
Bernardinus spoke to this Purpose: George Balearicus, If thou dost now approve of all that is here done, lean thy Head toward thy Right Shoulder. And so he did. Vincentius, on the other side, Have a good Heart, George, (says he) thou hast St. Francis and St. Dominick for thy Defenders; fear nothing, but think of the Merits that are bestowed upon thee; The Validity of thy Pardon, and that I have engaged My Soul for Thine, if there should be any Danger. If thou Understandest all This, and approvest of it, lean thy head toward Thy Left Shoulder; and so he did. After this, they cried out as loud as before, If thou art sensible of All This, squeeze my Hand; and he did so: So that betwixt the turning of his Head, and the squeezing of his Hand, there past almost Three Hours. When George began to Yawn, Bernardinus stood up, and pronounced his Absolution; but he could not go through with it, before George's Soul was out of his Body. This was about Midnight; and in the Morning, they went about the Anatomy.  Ma. 
What did he Die of?  Ph. 
Well remembered, for I had like to have forgot it. There was a piece of Lead that stuck to the Diaphragma.  Ma. 
How came That?  Ph. 
With a Musket Shot, as his Wife told me; and the Physicians conjectured that some part of the Melted Lead was yet in his Body. By and by, they put the Dissected Corpse, as well as they could, into a Franciscans Habit; and after Dinner they Buried him in Pomp, as it was Ordered.  Ma. 
I never heard of more Bustle about a Man's Dying, or of a more Pompous Funeral: But I suppose you would not have This publicly to be known.  Ph. 
Why not?  Ma. 
'Tis not good to provoke a Nest of Hornets.  Ph. 
There's no danger; for if This be Well done, the more Public, the Better: But if it be Ill, All good Men will thank me for the discovery of it; and for making the Impostors Themselves, perhaps, ashamed of what they have done; and Cautious how they do the same thing again. Beside that it may possibly preserve the Simple from falling any more into the like mistakes. For I have been told by several Learned and Pious Men, that the Superstition, and Wickedness of some few, brings a Scandal upon the Whole Order.  M●. 
This is well and bravely said.  
But I would fain know what became of Cornelius.  Ph. 
Why Truly he Died, as he Lived, without troubling any Body: He had an Anniversary Fever that took him every Year at such a Certain time; but being Worse now than Ordinary, either by reason of his Age, (for he was above Threescore) or some other Infirmity, finding that his Fatal Day was drawing on; he went to Church, upon a Sunday some four days before his Death, and there Confessed himself to his Parish-Priest; heard Public Service, and Sermon; received the Eucharist; and so returned to his Own House.  Ma. 
Had he no Physicians?  Ph. 
Only One, who was an Excellent Man, both in his Morals, and in his Profession, (one james Castrutius.)  Ma. 
I know the Man; a very worthy Person.  Ph. 
He told him, that he should be ready to serve him in any thing as a Friend; but that his business lay rather with God, than with the Doctors. Cornelius took This Sentence as Cheerfully, as if he had assured him of his Recovery. Wherefore, though he had always been very Charitable, according to his Power, yet he then enlarged himself, and bestowed upon the Needy all that he could possibly spare from the Necessities of his Wife and Children: And not upon Those that take a Pride in a seeming Poverty; (those are an Ambitious sort of Beggars, that are every where to be met withal:) But upon those good Men, that oppose a Laborious Industry to an Innocent Poverty. I desired him, that he would rest himself, and rather take a Priest to entertain him▪ than spend his Wasted Body with more Labour than it would bear. His Answer was, That it had been His Practice, rather to Ease his Friends where he could, by Doing good Offices, than make himself Toublesome by Receiving them; and that he would now Die as he had Lived. He would not lie down till the Last Day, and part of the Last Night of his Life. In the Interim, he was forced to support his Weak Body with a Stick; Or else he would sit in a Chair, but very rarely came into his Naked Bed: Only he kept himself in his Clothes, with his Head rupright. In This time, either he was giving Orders for the Relief of the Poor, and of the Neighbourhood, (especially such as were known to him) or else he would be Reading of those Scriptures that might fortify him in his Faith toward God; and show the Infinite Love of God to Mankind. When he was not able to Read himself, he had some Friend to Read to him; and he would frequently, and with wonderful Affection encourage his Family to Mutual Love, and Concord, and to the Exercise of True Piety; comforting his Friends with great Tenderness, and persuading them not to be over-solicitous for his Death. He gave it often in Charge to his Family, to see all his Debts paid.  Ma. 
Had he made no Will?  Ph. 
Yes, long since; he had dispatched That Affair in his best Health: for he was used to say, That what a Man does at his Last Gasp, is rather a Dotage, than a Testament.  Ma. 
Did he give any thing to Religious Houses, or Poor People?  Ph. 
No, not a Cross. I have given already (says he) in my Life-time what I was able to give; and now, as I leave the Possession of what I have to my Family, they shall even have the Disposing of it too; and I trust that they will yet employ it better than I myself have done.  Ma. 
Did he send for no Holy Man about him, as George did?  Ph. 
Not a Man of 'em. There was only his own Family, and two Intimate Friends about him.  Ma. 
What did he mean by That?  Ph. 
He was not willing, he said, to trouble more People when he went out of the World, than he did when he came in to't.  Ma. 
When comes the End of This Story?  Ph. 
You shall hear presently: Thursday came, and finding himself extremely weak, he kept his Bed. The Parish-Priest was then called, gave him Extreme Unction, and the Holy Communion; but he made no Confession, for he had no Scruple, he said, that stuck upon him. The Priest began then to discourse of the Pomp, Place, and Manner of his Burial. Bury me (says he) as you would bury the meanest Christian: Nor do I concern myself where ye lay my Body; for the Last judgement will find it out in One place, as well as in Another; and for the Pomp of my Funeral, I heed it not. When he came to mention the Ringing of Bells, the saying of Masses, the Business of Pardons, and Purchasing a Communion of Merits; My good Pastor (says he) I shall find myself never the worse, if never a Bell be rung; and One Funeral Office will abundantly content me: but if there be any thing else, which the public Custom of the Church has made necessary, and that cannot well be Omitted, without giving a scandal to the Weak; In that case, I remit myself to your Pleasure: Nor am I at all desirous, either to buy any Man's Prayers, or to rob any Man of his Merits; Those of Christ I take to be sufficient, and I wish only, that I myself may be the better for the Prayers, and Merits of the Whole Church, if I Live, and Die, but a true Member of it. All my hope is in these two Assurances. The One is, That my Sins are abolished, and nailed to the Cross by my Blessed Savio●e, who is our Chief Shepherd. The Other is, that which Christ bath signed, and sealed with his Holy Blood; By which we are made sure of Eternal Salvation, if we place all our Trust in Him. Farneze be it from me to insist upon Merits, and Pardons; as if I would provoke my God to enter into judgement with his Servant, in whose sight no Flesh living shall be Justified. His Mercy is boundless, and unspeakable, and thither it is that I must appeal, from his justice.. The Parish-Priest, upon these words, Departed; and Cornelius, with great joy and Cheerfulness, (as one Transported with the hope of a better Life) caused some Texts to be read, to confirm him in the hope of a Resurrection; and set before him the Rewards of Immortality. As That out of the Prophet Isa●a●, concerning the deferring of the Death of Hezekias, together with the Hymn; and then the 1 Cor. 15 The Death of Lazarus, out of St. john; but especially, the History of Christ's Passion, out of the Gospels. With what affection did he take in all these Scriptures! Sighing at some Passages; Closing his Hands, as in Thankfulness, at Others: One while rapt, and Overjoyed at some Passages, and at Others sending up his Soul in short Ejaculations. After Dinner, when he had slept a little, he caused to be read the Twelfth of St. john, to the End of the Story. And here the Man seemed to be Transfigured, and possessed with a New-Spirit. Toward Evening, he called his Wife and Children; and raising himself as well as he could, he thus bespoke them.  
My dearest Wife, the same God that joined us, doth now part us; but only in our Bodies, and That too, but for a short time. That Care, Kindness, and Piety, that thou hast hitherto divided betwixt myself, and the tender Pledges of our Mutual Love, thou art now to transfer wholly to Them: Nor canst thou do any thing more acceptable to God, or to me, than to Educate, Cherish, and Instruct those whom Providence has bestowed upon us, as the Fruit of our Conjunction, that they may be found worthy of Christ. Double thy Piety towards them, and reckon upon my share too, as translated unto Thee. If thou dost This, (as I am confident thou wilt) thy Children are not to be accounted Orphans.  
If ever thou shouldst Marry again— With that his Wife gushed out into Tears, and as she was about to forswear the thing, Cornelius thus interposed: My dearest Sister in Christ; If our Lord Jesus shall vouchsafe to thee such a Resolution, and strength of Spirit, be not wanting to thyself in the Cherishing of so Divine a Grace; for it will be more Commodious, as well to thyself, as to thy Children; but if thy Infirmity shall move thee another way, know, that My Death has freed thee from the Bond of Wedlock, but not from That Trust, which in both our Names, thou owest in Common to the Care of our Children. As to the Point of Marriage, make use of the Freedom which God has given thee. This only let me entreat, and admonish thee, make such a Choice of a Husband, and so discharge thyself towards him, in the Condition of a Wife, that either by his Own Goodness, or for Thy Convenience, he may be kind to our Children. Have a Care then of Tying up thyself by any Vow: Keep thyself free to God, and to our Issue; and bring them up in such a frame of Piety and Virtue, and take such care of them, that they may not fix upon any Course of Life, till by Age, and the use of things, they shall come to understand what is fittest for them.  
Turning then to his Children, he exhorted them to the Study of Virtue; Obedience to their Mother; and Mutual Friendship and Affection among themselves. He then kissed his Wife, prayed for his Children; and making the Sign of the Cross, recommended them to the Mercy of Christ. After This, looking upon all that were present; Yet before to Morrow-morning, (says he) the Lord that sanctified the Morning, by Reviving upon it, will descend, out of his Infinite Mercy, to call this poor Soul of mine out of the Sepulchre of my Body, and the Darkness of This Mortality, into his Heavenly Light. I will not have ye tyre yourselves in your Tender Age with Unprofitable Watching; only let One wake with me, to read to me, and let the rest sleep by Turns. When he had past the Night; about Four in the Morning, the whole Family being present, he caused that Psalm to be read, which our Saviour, praying, recited upon the Cross. When That was done, he called for a Taper, and a Cross; and taking the Taper, The Lord (says he) is my Light, and my Salvation, whom shall I fear? And then, kissing the Cross; The Lord (says he) is the Defender of my Life, of whom then shall I be afraid? By and by, with his hands upon his breast, and the Gesture of One Praying, and with his Eyes lifted up to Heaven, Lord jesus (says he) receive my Spirit. And immediately he closed his Eyes, as if he were only about to sleep; and so, with a Gentle Breath, he delivered up his Spirit, as if he had only slumbered, and not expired.  Ma. 
The least painful Death that ever I heard of.  Ph. 
His Life was as Calm as his Death. These two Men were both of 'em My Friends; and perhaps I am not so good a Judge which of them Died the likest a Christian: But you that are Unbyased, may perhaps make a better Judgement.  Ma. 
I'll think of it; and give you my Opinion at Leisure.   

THE EXORCISM: OR, The APPARRITION.  
COL. XIII.  
A Dragon in the Air; with the Relation of an Artificial and Famous Imposture.  THOMAS, ANSELMUS. Th. 
YOU have found a Purchase sure, that ye Laugh to yourself thus: What's the best News?  Ans. 
Nay, you are not far from the Marque.  Th. 
If there be any thing that's Good, let your Friend take part with ye.  Ans. 
And welcome too; for I have been wishing a good while for some Body that would be Merry with me for Company.  Th. 
Let's have it then.  Ans. 
I was told even now the pleasantest Story; and if I did not know the Place, the Persons, and every Circumstance, as well as I know you, I shall Swear 'twere a Shame:  Th. 
You have set me a longing to hear it.  Ans. 
Do not you know Pool, Fawn's Son-in-Law?  Th. 
Perfectly well.  Ans. 
He's both the Contriver of it, and the Chief Actor in the Play.  Th. 
I am apt enough to believe that; for he's a Man to do any Part to the Life.  Ans. 
'Tis Right: Do you not know a Farm that he has a little way from London?  Th. 
Oh! Very well. He and I have cracked many a Bottle together there.  Ans. 
There's a way, you know, betwixt two straight Rows of Trees.  Th. 
A matter of Two Flight shot from the House, upon the left Hand.  Ans. 
That's it. One side of the way has a dry Ditch, that's overgrown with Brambles; and then there's a little Bridge, that leads into an open Field.  Th. 
I remember it.  Ans. 
There went a Report among the Country People, of a Spirit that walked there; and of hideous Howl that were heard about that Bridge, which made them conclude it to be the Soul of some Body that was miserably Tormented.  Th. 
Who was't that raised this Report?  Ans. 
Who but Pool; that made this the Prologue to his Comedy?  Th. 
What put it in his Head, I wonder, to invent such a Flame?  Ans. 
I know nothing more than the Humour of the Man; for he loves to make himself Sport with silly People. I'll tell you a late Whimsy of his, of the same kind. We were a good many of us, Riding to Richmond, and some in the Company that you would allow to be no Fools. The Day was so Clear, that there was not a Cloud to be seen. Pool, looking wishly up into the Air, fell on the sudden to Crossing of himself, and with a strange Amazement in his Countenance; Lord (says he to himself) what do I see! They that rod next him, ask him what it was that he 〈◊〉; he Crossed himself, more and more. In Mercy (says he) deliver us from this Prodigy. They still pressing him more earnestly, to say what was the matter. Then Pool fixing his Eyes, and pointing toward such a Quarter of the Heaven, That Monstrous Dragon (says he) with Fiery Horns; (Don't you see him?) and look how his Tail is turned up into a kind of a Circle. Upon their denial, that they saw any thing; and his urging them to look steadily just where he pointed; one of them, at last, for the Credit of his Eyes, yielded that he saw it too; and so one after another, they all saw it; for they were ashamed not to see any thing that was so plain to be seen. In short, the Rumour of this Portentous Apparition was in three days all over England; and it is wonderful, how they had amplified the Story; and some were making Expositions upon the meaning of this horrid Portent. But in the mean time, the Inventor of it had the Satisfaction of seeing the Success of his Project.  Th. 
I know the humour of the Man to a hair. But to the Ghost again.  Ans. 
While that Story was a foot, there comes very opportunely to Pool, one Fawn, a Priest; (one of those which they call in Latin, Regulars) a Parish-Priest of a Village there in the Neighbourhood.) This Man took upon him to understand more than his Fellows in Holy Matters.  Th. 
Oh! I guess where abouts ye are. Pool has found out one now to bear a part in the Play.  Ans. 
They were a Talking at Supper of this Report of the Spectrum, at the Table; and when Pool found that Fawn had not only heard of it, but believed it, he fell to entreating the Man, that as he was a Holy, and a Learned Person, he would do his best toward the Relieving of a poor Soul out of that terrible Affliction. And if you make any doubt of the Truth on't, says he, sift out the Matter; and do but walk about Ten a Clock, towards that little Bridge, and there you shall hear such Cries and Groan, as would grieve your Heart; but I would advise ye, however, for your own Security, to take some Company that you like, along with you.  Th. 
Well, and what then?  Ans. 
After Supper, out goes Pool, a Hunting, or about his usual Sports; and when it grew Duskish, out went Fawn, and was at last, a Witness of those grievous Lamentations. Pool had hid himself thereabouts in a Bramble-Bush, and performed his part incomparably well. His Instrument was an Earthen Pot, that through the Hollow of it, gave a most mournful Sound.  Th. 
This Story, for aught I see, outdoes Menander's Phasma.  Ans. 
You'll say more when you have heard it out. Away goes Fawn home in great Impatience, to tell what he heard; while Pool, by a shorter Cut, gets home before him. There does Fawn tell Pool all that past, with something of his own too, to make the matter more wonderful.  Th. 
Well, but could Pool hold his Countenance all this while?  Ans. 
He hold his Countenance? Why, he carries his Heart in his Hand; and you would have sworn that the whole Action had been in earnest. In the End, Fawn, upon the pressing Importunity of Pool, resolved to venture upon an Exorcism; and Slept not one wink that Night, his Thoughts were so taken up with the Consideration of his own Safety; for he was most wretchedly afraid. In the first place, he got together the most powerful Exorcisms that he could find; to which, he added some new ones, as by the Bowels of such a Saint, the Bones of St. Winnifrede; and after this, he makes choice of a Place in the Fie●d, near the Thicket of Bushes, whence the Noise came. He draws ye a Circle, a very large one, with several Crosses in it, and a fantastical Variety of Characters; and all this was performed in a set Form of Words. He had there also, a great Vessel, full of Holy Water, and the Holy Stole (as they call it) about his Neck; upon which hung the beginning of the Gospel of St. john. He had in his Pockets, a little Piece of Wax, which the Bishop of Rome used to Consecrate once a Year, commonly called an Agnus Die. With these Arms in time past, they defended themselves against Evil Spirits, till the Cowl of St. Francis was found to be more Formidable. All these things were provided, for fear the Fiend should fall foul upon the Exorcist. And all this was not enough neither to make him trust himself alone in the Circle; but he concluded to take some other Priest along with him, to keep him Company. This gave Pool an Apprehension; that by the joining of some Cunning Fellow with him, the whole Plot might come to be discovered. So that he took a Parish-Priest thereabouts, whom he acquainted beforehand with the whole Design; (and it behoved him so to do) Besides, that he was as fit as any Man for such an Adventure. The next day, when every thing was ready, and in order; about Ten a Clock, Fawn and the Parish-Priest enter the Circle. Pool, that was gone before, Yels and Howls in the Brambles. Fawn gives a God-speed to the Exorcism. In the mean time, Pool steals away in the Dark to the next Village, and from thence, brings another Person to Act his Part; for there went a great many of them to the Play.  Th. 
Well, and what are they to do?  Ans. 
They mount themselves upon Black Horses, and privately carry Fire along with them. When they came near, they showed the Fire to fright Fawn out of the Circle.  Th. 
Pool took a great deal of Pains, I see, to carry on the Work.  Ans. 
His Fancy lies that way; but there fell out an accident that had like to have spoiled the Jest.  Th. 
How so?  Ans. 
The sudden Flashing of the Fire, so startled the Horses, that the Riders could hardly keep the Jades upon their Legs, or themselves in the Saddle. And here's an end of the first Act.  
Upon Fawns Return, Pool asked him very Innocently what he had done, as knowing nothing at all of the Matter; and then Fawn up with his Story, and tells him of two dreadful Cacodemons' that appeared to him upon Black Horses, their Eyes Sparkling with Fire, and Flames coming out of their Nostrils; and what attempts they made to pass the Circle, but that by the Power and Efficacy of his Words, they were driven away with a Vengeance. This Encounter put Fawn into Courage; so that the next day, with great Solemnity, he returned to his Circle. And when he had a long time, with much Vehemence, provoked the Spirit; Pool with his Companion, showed himself again upon their Black Horses, and pressed on with a most Outrageous Outcry, as if they were fully determined to Storm the Circle.  Th. 
Had they no Fire?  Ans. 
None at all; for that did not succeed well: But you shall now hear of another Device. They had a long Rope, which they drew gently over the Ground; and then hurrying from one place to another, as if they had been frighted away by Fawn's Exorcisms, up went the Heels by and by of both the Priests, and down come they upon the Ground, with a great Vessel of Holy Water; the Priests and their Holy Water, both together.  Th. 
And this was t'other Priest's Reward, for playing of his Part.  Ans. 
It was so; and yet he would have endured a great deal more, rather than quit the Design.  
After this Encounter, Fawn upon his Return, makes a mighty Business to Pool, of the Danger he had been in, and how valiantly he had defeated both the Devils with his Charms: And he was by this time, absolutely persuaded, that all the Devils in Hell had not the Power to force his Circle, or the Confidence so much as to attempt it.  Th. 
This same Fawn, I perceive, is next door to a Fool.  Ans. 
Oh! you have heard nothing yet, to speak of. When the Comedy was thus far advanced, in very good time came Pool's Son in Law. He's a pleasant Droll, ye know; the Youngman that married Pool's Eldest Daughter.  Th. 
I know him very well, and no man fitter for such an Exploit.  Ans. 
Fitter sayest thou? Why, I will undertake he shall leave his Dinner at any time, for such a Comedy. His Father in Law acquaints him with the whole Business, and who but he to Act a Ghost. He undertakes his Part; has every thing provided, and wraps up himself in a Sheet, like a Corpse, with a live Coal in a Shell that showed through the Linen, as if something were a burning. About Night he goes to the Place where the Scene of the Story lay. There were heard most doleful Moans, and Fawn in the mean time, le's fly all his Exorcisms. By and by, a good way off in the Bushes appears the Ghost, showing Fire by Fits, and Groaning most ruefully. While Fawn was beseeching him to say, who he was, immediately out leaps Pool, in his Devil's Habit, from the Thicket; and Roaring and Raging, This Soul, says he, is mine, and you have no Power over it; and with that, he runs up presently to the very Edge of the Circle, as if he were about to fall violently upon the Exorcist. After which, he loses Ground, and Retreats, as if he had been either beaten off by the Words of the Exorcism, or by the Virtue of the Holy Water, which was thrown upon him in great abundance. At last, when the Spirit's Protector was driven away, Fawn enters into a Dialogue with the Ghost; which, after much Entreaty and Importunity, confessed itself to be the Soul of a Christian; and being asked the Name; my Name (says the Ghost) is Fawn. Why, then (says Fawn) we are both of a Name; and the very Thought of delivering his Namesake, made him lay the Matter more to heart. Fawn put so many Questions, that the Ghost began to fear, that a longer Discourse might make some Discovery, and so withdrew himself, upon Pretence that his Hour was come, that he was not permitted to Talk any longer, and that he was now compelled to go away, whither it pleased the Devil to carry him; but yet promised to return again the next day, at some lawful Hour. They meet again at Pool's House, who was the Master of the Show; and there the Exorcist talks of his Achievement; and though in many ny things he helped the Matter, he believed himself yet in all he said; so heartily was he affected to the Business in hand. It was now manifest that it was the Soul of a Christian that was fallen under the Power of some unmerciful Devil; and in the most cruel Torments; so that their Endeavour is now wholly bend that way. There happened one pleasant kind of a Ridiculous Passage in this Exorcism.  Th. 
I prithee what was that?  Ans. 
When Fawn had called up the Ghost; Pool, that acted the Devil, leaped directly at him, as if without any more ado, he would break into the Circle. Fawn fought with him a great while with Exorcisms, and whole Tubs of Holy Water; and at last, the Devil cried out, He did not value all that, any more than the Dirt under his Feet; You, Sirrah, (says he) have had to do with a Wench, and you are my own. Many a true Word has been spoken in jest: For so it proved, for the Exorcist finding himself touched with that Word, retired presently to the very Centre of the Circle, and mumbled something, I know not what, in the other Priests' Ear. Pool finding that, withdrew, that he might not hear more than did belong to him.  Th. 
A very Modest and Religious Devil.  Ans. 
Very right. Now the Action, you know, might have been blamed, if he had not observed a Decorum. But yet he overheard the Priest appointing him Satisfaction.  Th. 
And what was the Satisfaction?  Ans. 
That he should say the Lords Prayer three times over; from whence he gathered, that he had transgressed thrice that Night.  Th. 
A most Irregular Regular.  Ans. 
Alas, they are but Men, and this is but Humane Frailty.  Th. 
But what followed next?  Ans. 
Fawn advances now, with more Courage and Fierceness, up to the very Line of the Circle, and provoked the Devil of his own accord: But the Devil's heart now failed him, and he fled Back. You have deceived me, says he; what a Fool was I, for giving you that Caution! Many are of Opinion, that what you once Confess to a Priest, is immediately struck out of the Devil's memory, so that he shall never twit you in the Teeth for't.  Th. 
A very Ridiculous Conceit!  Ans. 
But to draw toward a Conclusion. This way of Colloquy with the Ghost, continued for some days; and it came to this at last, that the Exorcist ask if there were any way to deliver the Soul from Torment? The Ghost answered him, That it might be done, by restoring the Ill-gotten-Money, which he had left behind him. What (says Fawn) if it were put into the Hands of your People, to dispose of for Pious Uses? His Reply was, That it might do very well that way; which was a great Consolation ●o the Exorcist, and made him very diligently inquire to what Value it might amount. The Ghost told him, that it was a mighty Sum, and a thing that might prove very Good and Commodious. He told him the very place too (but a huge way off) where this Treasure was buried under Ground.  Th. 
Well, and to what Uses?  Ans. 
Three Persons were to undertake a Pilgrimage: One of them to the Threshold of St. Peter; another, to james of Compostella; and the Third, to Kiss the Comb of our Saviour, which is at Tryers: And then a great number of Services and Masses were to be performed by several Monasteries; and for the rest, he should dispose of them as he pleased. Now Fawn's heart was wholly fixed upon the Treasure; which he had in a manner swallowed already.  Th. 
That's a Common Disease, though perpetually cast in the Priest's Dish, upon all Occasions.  Ans. 
There was nothing omitted, that concerned the business of Money; and when that was done, the Exorcist (being put upon't by Pool) fell to question the Ghost, about Curious Arts, Chemistry and Magic. But the Ghost put him off for the present, with some slight Answer; only giving him the hopes of large Discoveries, so soon as ever he should get clear of the Devils Clutches. And here's the end of the Third Act.  
In the Fourth. Fawn began every where to talk high, and promise strange things, and to brag at the Table, and in all Companies, what a Glorious Work he had in Hand, for the Good of the Monasteries, and he was elevated now into another manner of Style and Behaviour. He went to the place where the Treasure was hid, and found the Marks, but durst not venture to dig for't; for the Ghost had put into his Head, that it would be extreme dangerous to touch the Money, before the Masses were said. By this time, there were a great many Cunning Snaps that had the Plot in the Wind; but yet he was still making Proclamation every where of his Folly, though divers of his Friends, and his Abbot, particularly, cautioned him against it: and advised him, That having a long time had the Reputation of a Sober Man, he should not take so much Pains now to Convince the World of the contrary. But his Mind was so possessed with the Fancy of the thing, that all the Counsel in Nature could not lessen his Belief of it. All his Discourses, nay, his very Dreams, were of Spectres and Devils: The very Habit of his Soul was got into his Face; so Pale, Shriuled, and Dejected, that he was rather a Spirit, than a Man. In one Word, he had certainly run stark Mad, if it had not been seasonably prevented.  Th. 
Now this is to be the last Act of the Comedy.  Ans. 
It shall be so.  
Pool and his Son-in-Law, hammered out this Piece betwixt them. They Counterfeited an Epistle, written in a Strange Antic Character, and upon such a sort of Paper, as your Guilders use for their Leaf Gold; a kind of a Saffron-coloured Paper you know. The Form of the Epistle was This.  
FAwn, That has been long a Captive, now Free; To Fawn his Gracious Deliverer; Greeting. It is not needful, (my Dear Fawn) that thou shouldst Macerate thyself any longer upon this Affair; Heaven has regarded the Pious Intentions of thy Mind; and in Reward of thy Merit, I am delivered from my Punishment, and live now happily among the Angels. Thou hast a Place provided for thee with St. Augustin, which is the next Range to the Choir of the Apostles. When thou comest hither, I'll give thee public Thanks; in the mean time, Live as Merrily as thou canst.  
From the Empyreal Heaven, the Ides of September, 1498. under the Seal of my own Ring.  
This Epistle was laid privately under the Altar, where Fawn was to Officiate; and there was one laboured, upon the Conclusion of the Office, to advertise him of the thing, as found by Chance▪ And the good Man carries the Letter now about him; shows it, as a Holy Thing, and makes if an Article of his Faith, that it was brought from Heaven by an Angel.  Th. 
This is no Freeing the Man of his Madness, but only Changing the Sort of it.  Ans. 
Why, truly so it is; for it is only a more Agreeable Frenzy.  Th. 
I never was very Credulous in the Common Tales of Apparitions, but I shall be less hereafter than ever I was; for I am afraid that many of those Relations that we hear of, were only Artifice and Imposture, delivered over to the World for Truths by easy Believers, like our Fawn.  An. 
And I am very much inclined to think as you do, of the greater Part of them.   

THE HORSE-COURSER.  
COL. XIV.  
A Horse-Courser puts a jade upon a Gentleman; and the Gentleman Cousens the Horse-Courser again with his own jade.  AULUS, PHAEDRUS. Aul. 
GOodly, goodly! The Gravity of Phaedrus! How he stands gaping into the Air? I'll put him out of his Dumps. What's the News with you to day?  Ph. 
And why that Question always?  Aul. 
Because that sour Look of yours has more of Cato in it, than of Phaedrus.  Ph. 
Never wonder at that, Friend, for I am just now come from Confession.  Aul. 
My Wonder's over, then. But tell me now upon your Honest Word; have you confessed all your Sins?  Ph. 
All that I thought of, but One, upon my Honesty.  Aul. 
And what made ye reserve that One?  Ph. 
Because it is a Sin that I am loath to part with.  Aul. 
Some pleasant Sin, I suppose.  Ph. 
Nay, I am not sure that it is a Sin neither. But if you will, I'll tell you what it is.  Aul. 
With all my Heart.  Ph. 
Our Horse-Coursers, you know, are Devilish Cheats.  Aul. 
Yes, yes. I know more of them, than I wish I did; for they have fetched me over many, and many a time.  Ph. 
I had an Occasion lately, that put me upon a long Journey; and I was in great Haste; so I went to one of the Honestest, as I thought, of the whole Gang; and one for whom I had formerly done some good Offices. I told him, that I was called away upon urgent Business, and that I wanted a strong, able Gelding for my Journey. And I desired him, as ever he would do any thing for me, to furnish me with a Horse for my Turn. Depend upon me, says he, and I will use you, as if you were my own Brother.  Aul. 
Perhaps he would have Cozened him too.  Ph. 
He leads me into the Stable, and bids me take my Choice. At last I pitched upon one that I liked better than the rest. Well, Sir, (says he) I see you understand a Horse; I know not how many People have been at me for this Nag; but I resolved to keep him rather for a Particular Friend, than to put him off to a Chance-Customer. All this he Swore too; and so we agreed upon the Price; the Money was paid; and up got I into the Saddle. Upon the first s●tting out, my Steed falls a Prancing, and shows all his Tricks; he was Fat and Fair, and there was no Ground would hold him. But by that ti●e I had been some half an hour upon the way, he tired with me, so downright, that neither Switches nor Spur could get him one Step further. I had heard sufficiently of the Tricks of these Merchants, and how common a thing it was for them to make a Jade look Fair to the Eye, and not be worth one Penny yet, for Service. So soon as I found that I was caught: Come (said I to myself) if I live to come back again, I may chance to show this Fellow yet a Trick for his Trick.  Aul. 
But what became of you in the mean time? A Horseman Unhorsed?  Ph. 
I consulted with Necessity, and turned into the next Village, where I left my Horse privately with an Acquaintance I had there, and hired another in his Stead. I pursued my Journey; returned, delivered up my hired Horse, and finding my own Jade in as good Case as I left him, I mounted him again, and so back to my Horse-Courser; desiring that he might stand in his Stable till I called for him. He asked me how he performed his Journey; and I swore as solenmly to him, as he had done, to me, that I never came upon the Back of a better Nag; and so easy too, that me thought he carried me in the Air; beside, that he was not one bit the Leaner for his Journey. The Man was so far persuaded of the Truth of what I said, that he began to think within himself, that this Horse was better than he took him for. Before we parted, he asked me if I would put him off again; which I refused at first; for in case of any occasion for such another Journey, I could never expect to get the fellow of him. Not that I would not Sell my very self, or any thing else, for Money, if I could but have enough for't.  Aul. 
This was playing with a Man at his own Weapon.  Ph. 
Briefly, he would not let me go, till I had set a Price upon him. I rated him at a great deal more than he cost me, and so I went my way. By and by, I gave an Acquaintance of mine some Instructions how to behave himself, and made him a Confident of my Design. Away he goes to the House, calls for the Horse-Courser; and tells him he wants a Nag, but it must be a hardy one, for he was upon a long Journey, and earnest Business. The Ostler shows him the Stables, and still commended the Worst, but said nothing at all of the Horse he had sold to me, upon an Opinion that he was as good as I reported him. I had given my Friend a Description of that Horse, and told him his very Standing; and so he enquired, if that Horse (pointing to mine) were to be sold. The Horse-Courser went on commending Other Nags in the Stable; without any Answer to That Question. But when he found that the Gentleman would have That Horse or none, the Horse-Courser fell to reasoning the matter with himself. I was clearly mistaken (says he) in this Horse; but this Gentleman understands him better than I did: So that upon the Gentleman's Pressing, whether he would sell him or no; Well, says the Man, he may be sold, but 'tis at a Swinging Price; and so he made his Demand. Why this, says the Other, is no great Price, in a Case of Importance; and so they came at last to an Agreement, the Gentleman giving a Dueate, Earnest, to bind the Bargain. (The Horse-Courser set his Price much higher than I had rated him, to make sure of a Considerable Profit.) The Purchaser gives the Ostler a Groat, and bids him feed his Horse well, till he came back by and by to fetch him. So soon as ever I heard that the Bargain was struck, away go I immediately, Booted and Spurred, to the Horse-Courser, and call myself out of Breath for my Horse. Out comes the Master, and asks what I would have? I bade him presently make ready my Horse, for I must be gone immediately upon Extraordinary Business. But (says he) you bade me take Care of your Horse for some few days. That's true, said I, but I'm surprised with an Occasion wherein the King is concerned, and there must be no delay. You may take your Choice, says the Other, out of my Stables; but your Own is not to be had. How so, said I? He tells me that he is sold. Heaven forbid, said I; pretending to be in a great Passion; for as the Case stands, I would not part with him to any Man for four times his Price. And so fell to wrangling about him, as if he had undone me; and in the Conclusion, he grew a little Testy too. There's no need (says he) of Ill Language, you set a price upon your Horse, and I sold him; and if I pay you your Money, you can do nothing to me: We are Governed here by Law; and you can't compel me to bring your Horse again. When I had clamoured a good while, that he should either produce the Horse, or the Man that bought him, the Man at last, in a rage, throws down the Money: The Horse cost me Fifteen Crowns, and I sold him for Twenty, he himself valued him at Two and Thirty; and so computed with himself that he had better make That Profit of him, than restore him. Away go I, like one in sorrow, and not at all pacified with the receipt of the Money; The Man desiring me not to take it Ill, and he would make me an amends some other way. This was the Cheater Cheated. His Horse is an Errand Jade; he looks for the Man to fetch the Horse, that gave him the Earnest, but that will never be.  Au. 
But in the Interim, did he never Expostulate the Matter with you?  Ph. 
With what Face, or Colour, could he do That? I have met him over and over since. He only complained that the Buyer never came to take him away: but I have often reasoned the Matter with him, and told him 'twas a Just Judgement upon him for selling away my Horse. This was a Fraud so well placed, in my Opinion, that I could not so much as confess it for a Fault.  Au. 
If it had been my Case, I should have been so far from Confessing it, as a Sin, that I should have challenged a Statue for it.  Ph. 
Whether you speak as you think, or no, I know not; but it set me agog however, to be paying more of these Fellows in their Own Quoyn.   

THE ALCHEMIST.  
COL. XV.  
A Priest turns Quack, and engages an Eminent Gentleman (who was otherwise a Prudent Man) in the Project of the Philosopher's Stone. He drills him on, to the Expense of a great deal of Money: And when he has artificially countenanced the Cheat, through several disappointments; The Gentleman parts fairly with him, and gives him a Sum of Money to keep Counsel.  PHILECOUS, LALUS. Ph. 
LAlus should have some pleasant Crotchet in his head, by his Giggling thus to himself. Bless me, how the Man is Tickled; and what a Stir he makes with the Sign of the Cross! I'll venture to spoil his sport. How is it, my best Friend Lalus? Methinks I read Happiness in thy very Countenance.  La. 
But I shall be much happier if I may tell thee what it is that pleases me.  Ph. 
Prithee make me Happy too then as soon as thou canst.  La. 
Dost thou know Balbinus?  Ph. 
What? the Honest Learned Old Man?  La. 
Nay, he is all That; but it is not for any Mortal to be wise at all times, and to all purposes. And this Excellent Person, after all his Eminent Qualities, has his weak Side, as well as his Neighbours: His Beauty is not without a Mole; The Man runs raving-mad, upon the Art of Chemistry.  Ph. 
Believe me that which Thou call'st a Mole, is a dangerous Disease.  La. 
Whatever it is, he has been of late strangely wrought upon by Flatteries, and Fair Words, tho' he has been sufficiently bitten formerly, by that sort of people.  Ph. 
In what manner?  La. 
There was a Certain Priest that went to him, saluted him with great respect, and in this fashion accosted him: You will wonder, perhaps, most learned Balbinus, at the Confidence of a Stranger, to interrupt your thoughts in the middle of your most Holy Studies. Balbinus, according to his Custom, Nods to him, being, you know, a Man of Few Words.  Ph. 
An Argument of Prudence.  La. 
But the Other, as the wiser of the two, proceeds: You will forgive this my Importunity, says he, when I tell you what it was that brought me hither. Tell me in short then, says Balbinus. I will, says the Other, be as brief as possible. You know, most Excellent of Men, that the Fates of Mortals are various; and I cannot say whether I should reckon myself among the Happy, or the Miserable; for looking upon myself one way, I account myself most Happy; and if I look Another way, I am of all Men the most Miserable. Balbinus pressing him to contract his Business; I shall have done Immediately, says he, most Learned Balbinus; and I may the better shorten my discourse, because no Man knows more of the Affair I am about to speak of, than yourself.  Ph. 
You are drawing of an Orator, rather than of a Chemist.  La. 
We'll come to the Alchemist, by and by. I have been so happy, you must know, from a very Child, as always to have had a Passion for this Divine Study, I mean the Chemical Study; which is indeed, the Marrow of all Philosophy. At the Name of Chemistry, Balbinus a little raised himself, that is to say, in Gesture; but then fetching a hearty sigh, he bade him go on; and so he did. Miserable Man that I am! (says he) for not falling into the right way. Balbinus demanded of him what way he spoke of: You know (says he) Incomparable, as you are, (for what is there, my Learned Sir, that you do not know) You know (I say) that there are two ways in this Art; the One is called Longation, and the Other, Curtation. Now it has been my hard Lot to fall upon Longation. Balbinus ask him about the difference of the ways: Impudent that I am, says he, to speak all this to a person that knows all these things, no Man Better. And therefore it is, that I have with all Humility addressed to you, that you would take pity upon me, and vouchsafe to instruct me in the Blessed Way of Curtation. The more knowing you are, the less will be your trouble of Communicating your Help to me. And therefore do not conceal so great a Gift of God, from your poor Brother, that is ready to Die with Grief. Heaven every ye with higher Endowments, as you assist me in this. When Balbinus saw no End of this Solemnity of Obtestations, he told him flat and plain, that he understood nothing at all of the Business of Longation, and Curtation, from one end to the other; and therefore desired him to explain the meaning of those Two Words. Well, Sir, says he, though I know I am now speaking to my Master; Since it is your Pleasure to Command me, it shall be done. They that have spent their whole Life in This Divine Art, turn the Species of things, two ways, the One is shorter, but somewhat more Hazardous; the Other is longer, but safer. I account myself very Unhappy, that have hitherto laboured in that which does not so well agree with My Genius; and cannot yet find out any Man to teach me the Other, which I am so passionately in Love withal. But at length, Providence has put it into my Mind to apply myself to You, as a Person Conspicuous both for Piety and Learning. Your Knowledge instructs Ye to grant what I desire, and Your Piety will dispose You to aid a Christian Brother, whose Life is in Your Hand. To make short with you, when this Juggler, with this Simplicity of Discourse, had cleared himself from all suspicion of a Design; and gained Credit for finding out one way, which was so Certain; Balbinus began to have an Itch to be Meddling; and at last, when he could hold no longer, away with you Methods (says he) of Curtation; for so far am I from Understanding, that I never so much as heard the Name of it. But tell me ingenuously, Do you perfectly understand the way of Longation? Fie, fie, says he, the Length of it makes it so Irksome; but for the Knack of it, I have it at my Fingers Ends. Balbinus asked him what time it would take? Too much, says he, little less than a Year: but then 'tis infallible. Never trouble yourself for That, says Balbinus; though it should take up two Years, if you can depend upon your Art To shorten the Story. They came to an Agreement, and presently fell to work privately, in the House of Balbinus. Upon these Conditions, That the One should do the Work, the Other be at the Charge, and the Profit to be equally divided; though the Modest Impostor, of his own accord, gave Balbinus the Benefit that came of it. There was interchanged an Oath of Privacy, after the manner of those that are initiated into Mysterious Secrets. And now the Money is immediately laid down for Pots, Glasses, Coals, and other Provisions for the furnishing of a Laboratory; and there our Chemist has his Wenches, his Gamesters, and his Bottles, where he very fairly consumes his Allowance.  Ph. 
This is one way however of changing the Species of things.  Ph. 
Balbinus pressing him to fall on upon the Main Business: Do not you understand (says he) that what's Well begun, is half done? 'Tis a great Work to get a good Preparation of Materials. After a time, he set himself upon the Building of a Furnace; and Here there must be more Gold again; which was given, only as a Bait for more to come; As One Fish is taken with Another, so the Chemist must cast Gold In, before he gets Gold Out. In the mean while, Balbinus keeps Close to his Arithmetic. If Four Ounces (says he) brings Fifteen, what will be the Product of Two Thousand? When This Money was gone, and two Months spent, the Philosopher pretended to be wonderfully taken up about the Bellows, and the Coals. And when Balbinus asked him how the Work went forward, he stood directly Mute: But upon Redoubling the Question; Why, says he, as all great Works do, the main difficulty is the Entrance upon them. And then he picks a Quarrel with the Coal; Here they have brought Oak (says he) instead of Beech, or Hazle. And there was a Hundred Crowns lost, that supplied him with more Dicing-Money. Upon giving him New Cash, he provided New Coals; and then fell to't again harder than before. As a Soldier that has had a Disaster by Mischance, repairs it by his Virtue. When the Laboratory had been kept warm for some Months, and that they expected the Golden Fruit; and that there was not so much as one grain of Gold in the Vessels (for the Chemist had wasted all that too) there was another obstruction found out. The Glasses they made use of were not of the Right Temper; for as every Block will not make a Mercury, so every Glass will not make Gold. The further he was In, the loather he was to give it off.  Ph. 
That's the right humour of Gamesters, as if they had not better lose some than all.  La. 
'Tis just so. The Chemist, he swears that he was never cheated since he was born before, but now he has found out the mistake, he'll see to the securing of all for the future; and to the making good of this miscarriage with Interest. The Glasses are changed, and the Shop now a third time new furnished. The Philosopher told him, that the Oblation of some Crowns to the Virgin Mother might probably draw a Blessing upon the Work; for the Art being sacred, it needed the favour of the Saints, to carry it on with success. This advice exceedingly pleased Balbinus, being a Man of great Piety, and one that never passed a day without performing his Devotions. The Alchemist undertook the Religious Office; but went no further than the next Town, where the Virgin's Money went away in Tipple. Upon his Return, he seemed to have great hope that all would be well, for the Virgin, he said, was wonderfully Delighted with the Offering. After a long time spent upon the Project, and not one Crumb of Gold appearing, Balbinus Reasoning the Matter with him, he protested that in all his days he was never thus disappointed. That for his Method, it was impossible That should deceive him; and that he could not so much as imagine what should be the reason of this Failing. After they had beat their heads a long time about it, Balbinus be thought himself, & asked him if he had never missed Chapel some day or other? since this undertaking; or missed saying of the Horary Prayers (as they call them) which might be sufficient, perhaps, to defeat the whole Work. You have hit the Bird in the Eye (says the Quack) Wretch that I am: for I do now call to mind that I have once or twice forgotten myself; and that lately, rising from Dinner, I went may way without saying the salutation of the Virgin. Why then, says Balbinus, 'tis no wonder that this great Affair succeeds no better. Whereupon the Chemist engages himself to hear Twelve Services for the Two that he had omitted; and for that one Salutation, to become answerable for Ten. This lavish Aichymist came to want money again; and when he had no pretext left him for the ask of more, he bethought himself of this Project; he went home, like a man distracted; and crying out with a lamentable Voice, Oh! Balbinus, I am undone, utterly undone; My Life's at stake. This amazed Balbinus; and made him extremely impatient to know what was the matter. Oh! says the Chemist, our design has taken Air, they have gotten an Inkling of it at Court, and I expect every hour to be carried away to Prison. This put Balbinus into a fit too. He turned as Pale as ashes (for you know, 'tis Capital with us, for any man to practice Chemistry without the Prince's Licence) Not (says he) that I apprehend my being put to death; for I should be glad it were no worse; but there is a greater Cruelty that I fear, which is (says he, upon Balbinus' ask him the Question) I shall be carried away into some remote Prison, and be forced there to spend my Life in working for those People I have no mind to serve. Is there any Death now, that a man would not rather choose, than such a Life? The matter was then debated; and Balbinus, that was a man well skilled in Rhetoric cast his thoughts every way, to see if it were possible to avoid this Mischief. Can't ye deny the Crime? (says he). Not possibly; (says the other) for the thing is known at Court, and they have Infallible Proof on't; and there's no defending of the Fact, for the Law is point blank against it. When they had turned it every way, without finding any shift that would hold water, at last; We apply ourselves (says the Alchemist that wanted present money) to slow Counsels, Balbinus, when the matter requires an immediate remedy. It will not be long, before I am seized, and carried away; and seeing Balbinus at a stand; I am as much at a loss (says he) as you, for we have nothing now to Trust to, but to fall like men of Honour: unless we should make Trial of this one Experiment, which in truth is rather Profitable than Honest; but Necessity is a hard Chapter. Your Pursuivants, you know, and Messengers (says he) are a sort of People greedy of money, and so much the easier to be bribed to secrecy. 'Tis against the statute, I must confess to give Rascals money to throw away; but yet as the Case stands I see no other retreat. Balbinus was of that Opinion too; and laid down Thirty Crowns to be offered them for a Gratuity.  Ph. 
This let me tell you was a wonderful Liberality in Balbinus.  La. 
In an Honest Cause you should sooner have gotten so many of his Teeth. This Provision did the Chemist some service; for the danger he was in was the want of Money for his Wench.  Ph. 
'Tis a wonder, Balbinus should smoak nothing all this while.  La. 
He's as quick, as any man, in all other Cases, but stark blind in This. The Furnace goes up again with New Money, and only the promise of a Prayer to the Virgin Mother in favour of the Project; a whole year was now run out, and still some Rub or other in the way, so that all the Expense and Labour was lost. In the Interim there fell out one most Ridiculous Chance.  Ph. 
What was That?  La. 
The Chemist held a private Conversation with a Courtier's Lady. The Husband grew jealous, and watched him; and in conclusion having intelligence that the Priest was in his Bedchamber, he went home unexpected, and knocked at the door.  Ph. 
Why what would he do to the man?  La. 
Do? Why perhaps he would do him the favour to cut his Throat, or Geld him. The Husband threatened his Wife to force the door, unless she opened it. They quaked within, you may imagine, but considering of some present Resolution, and the Case bearing no better, they pitched upon This. The man put off his Coat, and not without both danger and mischief, Crept out at a narrow Window, and so went his way. Such stories as these, you know, are soon spread; and it quickly came to Balbinus himself, the Chemist foreseeing as much.  Ph. 
There was no scaping for him, now.  La. 
Yes he got better off here, than out at the Window: And observe his Invention now. Balbinus made no words on't, but it might be read in his very Countenance that he was no stranger to the talk of the Town. The Chemist knew Balbinus to be a Man, at least Pious, if not Superstitious; and People of that way are easy enough to pardon any thing that submits, let the Crime be never so great. Wherefore when he had done his endeavour, he fell to talk of the success of his business, Complaining that it did not prosper as usual, or according to his wish: Adding withal, that he did infinitely admire what should be the reason of it. Upon this discourse Balbinus, who otherwise seemed bend upon silence, was a little moved (as he was easy enough so to be) It is no hard matter (says he) to guests why we succeed no better. Our sins, our sins lie in the way, for pure Works should only pass through pure Hands. At this word, the Projector threw himself upon his Knees; and beating his Breast, It is True, Balbinus,' 'tis True (says he with a dejected Countenance and Tone) our sins hinder us, but they are my sins, not yours; for I am not ashamed to confess my Uncleanness before you, as I would before my Father Confessor. The frailty of my Flesh overcame me, Satan drew me into the Toil, and (Miserable Creature that I am!) of a Priest I am become an Adulterer; and yet the Offering that you presented to the Virgin Mother is not wholly lost neither; for I had perished inevitably, if she had not protected me; for the Husband broke open the door upon me, and the Window was too little to get out at. In the Pinch of this danger, I bethought myself of the Blessed Virgin; I fell upon my Knees, and besought her, that in token of her acceptance of the Gift she would now assist me in my distress. So without any delay, I went to the Window again, my Necessity lying hard upon me, and I found it by Miracle, so enlarged, that I got through it, and made my escape.  Ph. 
Did Balbinus believe all this?  La. 
Believe say you? Why he pardened it, and most religiously admonished the Impostor not to be Ingrateful to the Blessed Virgin; nay there was more money laid down upon this Jugglers Promise that he would not profane the Operation, for the time to come, with any further Impurity.  Ph. 
But how did all End at last?  La. 
'Tis a long History, but I'll dispatch it now in a word. When he had made sport Enough with these Inventions, and wheedled Balbinus out of a Considerable sum of Money; there came a person in the Conclusion, that had known this Knave from a Child: And he, easily imagining that he was now upon the same lock with Balbinus, as he had been elsewhere, goes privately to Balbinus, shows him what a Snake he had taken into his Bosom, and advises vises him to get quit of him as soon as he could; unless he had rather stay the Rifling of all his Boxes.  Ph. 
And did not Balbinus presently order the fellow to be laid by the Heels?  La. 
By the Heels? No, he gave him money to bear his Charges away, and Conjured him by all that was Sacred to make no words of what had passed betwixt them; and truly in my Opinion, it was wisely done, rather to suppress the Story, than to make himself a Common Laughingstock, and Table-talk; and to run the Risque of a Confiscation besides; for the Chemist had no more skill than an Ass, so that he was in no danger, and in such a Case the Law would have favoured him. If he had been charged with Theft, his Character would have saved him from Hanging, and no body would have been at the Charge of maintaining him in Prison.  Ph. 
I should pity Balbinus, but that he took pleasure to be gulled.  La. 
I must now away to the Hall, and keep my other Foolish stories to another time.  Ph. 
At your better Leisure I should be glad to hear 'em, and give you one for tother.   

THE Abbot, and the Learned WOMAN.  
COL. XVI.  
An Abbot gives a Lady a Visit; and finding Latin and Greek Books in her Chamber, gives his Reasons against women's meddling with Learning. He professes himself to be a greater lover of Pleasure, than Wisdom: and makes the Ignorance of Monks, to be the most powerful reason of their Obedience.  ANTRONIUS, MAGDALIA. An. 
THis House methinks is strangely Furnished.  Ma. 
Why? Is't not well?  An. 
I don't know what you call Well; but 'tis not so proper, methinks, for a Woman.  Ma. 
And why not ● pray ye?  An. 
Why what should a Woman do with so many Books?  Ma. 
As if you that are an Abbot, and a Courtier, and have lived so long in the world, had never seen Books in a Lady's Chamber before.  An. 
Yes, French ones I have; but here are Greek and Latin.  Ma. 
Is there no Wisdom then, but in French?  An. 
But they are well enough however for Court-Ladies, that have nothing else to do, to pass away their time withal.  Ma. 
So that you would have only your Court-Ladies to be women of Understanding, and of Pleasure.  An. 
That's your mistake now, to couple Understanding with Pleasure: for the One is not for a Woman at all; and the Other is only for a Woman of Quality.  Ma. 
But is it not every Body's business to Live well?  An. 
Beyond all question.  Ma. 
How shall any man live Comfortably, that does not live Well?  An. 
Nay rather how shall any man live Comfortably that does?  Ma. 
That is to say, you are for a Life that's Easy, let it be never so Wicked.  An. 
I am of Opinion, I must confess, that a Pleasant Life is a Good Life.  Ma. 
But what is it that makes one's Life Pleasant? Is it Sense, or Conscience?  An. 
It is the Sense of Outward Enjoyments.  Ma. 
Spoken like a Learned Abbot, tho' but a Dull Philosopher. But tell me now, what are those Enjoyments you speak of?  An. 
Money, Honour, Eating, Drinking, Sleeping; and the Liberty of doing what a man has a mind to do.  Ma. 
But what if God should give you Wisdom, over and above all the rest? Would your life be ever the Worse for't?  An. 
Let me know first, what it is that you call Wisdom.  Ma. 
Wisdom is a Knowledge that places the Felicity of Reasonable Nature in the Goods of the Mind; and tells us that a man is neither the Happier, nor the Better, for the External Advantages of Blood, Honour, or Estate.  An. 
If That be it, pray make the best of your Wisdom.  Ma. 
But what if I take more delight in a Good Book, than you do in a Fox-Chase, a Fudling-bout, or in the shaking of your Elbow? Will you not allow me then to have a Pleasant Life on't?  An. 
Every one as they like, but it would not be so to me.  Ma. 
The question is not what Does, but what Ought to Please you.  An. 
I should be loath, I do assure you, to have my Monks over Bookish.  Ma. 
And yet my Husband is never better pleased than at his Study. Nor do I see any Hurt in't, if your Monks would be so too.  An. 
Marry hang 'em up as soon; It teaches 'em to Chop Logic, and makes 'em Undutiful. You shall have them expostulating presently, appealing to Peter, and Paul, and Prating out of the Canons and Decretals.  Ma. 
But I hope you would not have them do any thing that Clashes with Peter and Paul tho'?  An. 
Clash or not Clash; I do not much trouble my head about their Doctrine. But I do naturally hate a Fellow that will have the last Word, and Reply upon his Superior. And betwixt Friends, I do not much care neither to have any of my People wiser than their Master.  Ma. 
'Tis but your being wise yourself, and then there's no fear on't.  An. 
Alas! I have no time for't.  Ma. 
How so, I beseech you?  An. 
I'm so full of Business.  Ma. 
Have you no time, do you say, to apply yourself to Wisdom?  An. 
No, not a single minute.  Ma. 
pray, what hinders you; if a body may ask the question.  An. 
Why, you must know, we have devilish long Prayers; and by that time I have looked over my Charge, my Horses, my Dogs, and made my Court, I have not a Moment left me to spare.  Ma. 
Is this the mighty Business then that keeps you from looking after Wisdom?  An. 
We have got a Habit of it; and Custom you know, is a great matter?  Ma. 
Put the Case now that it were in your power to transform yourself, and all your Monks into any other Animals; and that a body should desire you to turn yourself into to a Hunting-Nag, and your whole Flock into a Herd of Swine, would you do't?  An. 
No, not upon any terms.  Ma. 
And yet this would secure you from having any of your Disciples wiser than yourself.  An. 
As for my People; I should not much stand upon it what sort of Brutes they were, provided that I might still be a Man myself.  Ma. 
But can you account him for a Man, that neither is Wise, nor has any Inclination so to be?  An. 
But so long as I have wit enough for my own Business—  Ma. 
Why so have the Hogs.  An. 
You talk like a Philosopher in a Petticoat, methinks.  Ma. 
And you, methinks, like something that's far from it. But what's your quarrel all this while to the Furniture of this House?  An. 
A Spinning-wheel, or some Instrument for Good Housewifery were more suitable to your Sex.  Ma. 
Is it not the Duty then of a Housekeeper to keep her Family in Order, and look to the Education of her Children?  An. 
'Tis so.  Ma. 
And is this office to be discharged without Understanding?  An. 
I suppose not.  Ma. 
This Understanding do I gather from my Books.  An. 
But yet I have above Threescore Monks under my Care, and not so much as one Book in my Lodgings.  Ma. 
They are well Tutored the mean while.  An. 
Not but that I could endure Books too, provided they be not Latin.  Ma. 
And why not Latin? 'Tis not a Tongue for a Woman.  Ma. 
Why, what's your Exception to't?  An. 
'Tis not a Language to keep a Woman Honest.  Ma. 
Your French Romances, I must confess, are great Provocatives to Modesty.  An. 
Well, but there's something else in't too.  Ma. 
Out with it then.  An. 
If the Women do not understand Latin, they are in less danger of the Priests.  Ma. 
But so long as you take ●are that the Priests themselves shall not understand Latin; where's the Danger?  An. 
'Tis the Opinion of the Common People however, because it is so Rare a thing for a Woman to understand Latin.  Ma. 
Why, what do you talk to me of the People? that never did any thing well? Or of Custom? that gives Authority to all Wickedness. We should apply ourselves to that which is good, and turn that which was unusual, unpleasant, and perhaps scandalous before, into the Contrary.  An. 
I hear you.  Ma. 
Is it not a laudable Quality for a Germane Lady to speak French?  An. 
It is so.  Ma. 
And to what end?  An. 
That she may be conversation for those that speak French.  Ma. 
And why may not I as well learn Latin? to fit myself for the Company of so many Wise, and Learned Authors; so many Faithful Counsellors and Friends.  An. 
But 'tis not so well for Women to spend their Brains upon Books, unless they had more to spare.  Ma. 
What you have to spare I know not; but for my small Stock, I had much rather employ it upon honest Studies, than in the Mumbling over of so many Prayers, like a Parrot, by Rote; or the Emptying of so many Dishes, and Beer-Glasses till Morning.  An. 
But much Learning makes a man mad.  Ma. 
Your Topers, Drolls, and Buffoons are an Entertainment no doubt to make a body Sober.  An. 
They make the time pass merrily away.  Ma. 
But why should so pleasant Company as the Authors I converse with make me Mad then?  An. 
'Tis a common saying.  Ma. 
But yet the Fact itself tells ye otherwise; and that Intemperate Feasting, Drinking, Whoring, and Inordinate Watching, is the ready way to Bedlam.  An. 
For the whole World I would not have a Learned Wife.  Ma. 
Nor I an Unlearned Husband. Knowledge is such a Blessing, that we are both of us the Dearer one to another for't.  An. 
But then there's so much Trouble in the getting of it; and we must Die at last too.  Ma. 
Tell me now, by your Favour, if you were to march off to morrow, whether had you rather die a Fool, or a Wise Man?  An. 
Ay; if I could be a Wise Man without Trouble.  Ma. 
Why? there's nothing in this World to be gotten without it; and when we have gotten what we can, (though with never so much difficulty) we must leave it behind us in the Conclusion: Wisdom only, and Virtue excepted, which we shall carry the Fruit of into another World.  An. 
I have often heard that One wise Woman is two Fools.  Ma. 
Some Fools are of that Opinion. The Woman that is truly wise does not think herself so; but she that is not so, and yet Thinks herself so, is Twice a Fool.  An. 
I know not how it is; but to my Fancy, a Packsaddle does as well upon an Ox, as Learning upon a Woman.  Ma. 
And why not as well as a Mitre upon an Ass? But what do you think of the Virgin Mary?  An. 
As well as is possible.  Ma. 
Do you not think that she read Books?  An. 
Yes; but not such Books as yours.  Ma. 
What did she read then?  An. 
The Canonical Hours.  Ma. 
To what purpose?  An. 
For the service of the Benedictines.  Ma. 
Well, and do you not find others that spent their time upon Godly Books?  An. 
Yes; but That way is quite out of Fashion.  Ma. 
And so are Learned Abbots too. For 'tis as hard a matter now a days to find a Scholar amongst them, as it was formerly to ●ind a Blockhead: nay, Princes themselves in times past were as Eminent for their Erudition, as for their Authority. But 'tis not yet so rare a thing neither, as you Imagine, to find Learned Women; for I could give you out of Spain, Italy, England, Germany, etc. so many Eminent Instances of our Sex, as if you do not mend your Manners, may come to take Possession of your very Schools, your Pulpits, and your Mitres.  An. 
God forbid it should ever come to That.  Ma. 
Nay, do you forbid it? for if you go on at the rate you begin, the People will sooner endure Preaching Geese, than Dumb Pastors. The World is come about ye see, and you must either take off the Vizour, or expect that every Man shall put in for his part.  An. 
How came I to stumble upon this Woman! If you'll find a time to give me a Visit, you may promise yourself a better Entertainment.  Ma. 
And what shall That be?  An. 
we'll Dance, Drink, Hunt, Play, Laugh.  Ma. 
You have put me upon a laughing Pin already.   

THE Beggar's Dialogue.  
COL. XVII.  
The Practices, and Cheats, and Impostures of Crafty Beggars: with the Advantages and Privileges of That Condition of Life.  IRIDES, MISOPONUS. Ir. 
WHat new thing have we got Here? I know the Face; but the Clothes methinks do not suit it. I am much mistaken if This be not Misoponus. I'll venture to speak to him, as tattered as I am. Save thee, Misoponus  Mi. 
That must be Irides.  Ir. 
Save thee, Misoponus once again.  Mi. 
Hold your Tongue, I say.  Ir. 
Why, what's the matter? May not a Man salute ye?  Mi. 
Not by that Name.  Ir. 
Your Reason for't. You have not changed your Name, I hope, with your Clothes.  Mi. 
No; but I have taken up my Old Name again.  Ir. 
What's That?  Mi. 
Apicius.  Ir. 
Never be ashamed of your Old Acquaintance; it may be you have mended your Fortune since I saw you, but 'tis not long however, since you and I were Both of an Order.  Mi. 
Do but comply with me in This, and I'll tell thee what thou'lt ask me. I am not ashamed of Your Order, but of the Order that I was first of myself.  Ir. 
What Order do ye mean? That of that Franciscans?  Mi. 
No, by no means my good Friend; but the Order of the Spendthrifts.  Ir. 
You have a great many Companions sure of that Order.  Mi. 
I had a good Fortune, and laid it on to some tune as long as it lasted; but when that failed, there was no body would know Apicius. And then I ran away for shame, and betook myself to your College; which I looked upon to be much better than Digging.  Ir. 
'Twas wisely done. But how comes your Carcase to be in so good case of late? Your Change of Clothes, I do not so much wonder at.  Mi. 
How so?  Ir. 
Because Laverna, (the Goddess of Thiefs) makes many of her Servants Rich of a sudden.  Mi. 
You do not think I got an Estate by stealing, I hope.  Ir. 
Nay by Rapine perhaps, which is worse.  Mi. 
No; neither by Stealing, nor by Rapine. And this I swear by the Goddess you adore; (That's Penia, or Poverty) But I'll first satisfy ye as to my Constitution of Body, that seems to you so wonderful.  Ir. 
While you were with us you were perpetually Scabby.  Mi. 
But I have had the kindest Physician since.  Ir. 
Who was That?  Mi. 
Even mine own self; and I hope no body loves me Better.  Ir. 
The first time that ever I took you for a Doctor.  Mi. 
Why all that Dress was nothing but a Cheat; daubed on with Frankincense, Sulphur, Rosin, Bird-lime, and bloud-Clouts; and when I had a mind to't, I could take it off again.  Ir. 
Oh! Impostor! And I took thee for the very Picture of job upon the Dunghill.  Mi. 
This was only a Compliance with my Necessities, tho' Fortune sometimes may change the very skin too.  Ir. 
But now you speak on't, tell me a little of your Fortune: Have you found ever a Pot of Money?  Mi. 
No; but I have found out a Trade that's somewhat better than Yours yet.  Ir. 
What Trade could you set up, that had nothing to Being upon?  Mi. 
An Artist will live any where.  Ir. 
I understand ye. Picking of Pockets, I suppose; the Cutpurse's Trade.  Mi. 
A little Patience, I pray; I am turned Chemist.  Ir. 
A very apt Scholar, to get That in a Fortnight, (for 'tis thereabouts since we parted) that another Man cannot learn in an Age.  Mi. 
But I have found out a nearer way to't.  Ir. 
What may that be?  Mi. 
When I had gotten up a stock of about Four Crowns, by Begging; by great luck, I met with an Old Companion of mine, of about my Estate; we drank together, and (as 'tis usual) he up and told me the History of his Adventures, and of an Art he had got. And we came at last to an Agreement, that if I paid the Reckoning, he should teach me his Art, which he very honestly performed, and That Art now is my Revenue.  Ir. 
Might not I learn it too?  Mi. 
I'll teach thee it gratis; if it were but for old Acquaintance sake.  
The World, ye know, is full of People that run a madding after the Philosopher's Stone.  Ir. 
I have heard as much, and I believe it.  Mi. 
I hunt for all Occasions of Insinuating myself into such Company. I talk Big; and wherever I find an Hungry Buzzard, I throw him out a Bait.  Ir. 
And how's that?  Mi. 
I give him Caution, of my own accord, to have a Care how he trusts Men of That Profession; for they are most of them Cheats, and Impostors; and very little better than Pickpockets to those that do not understand them.  Ir. 
This Prologue, methinks, should never do your business.  Mi. 
Nay I tell him plainly that I would not be trusted myself neither, any further, than a man would Trust his Own Eyes, and Fingers.  Ir. 
'Tis a strange Confidence you have in your Art  Mi. 
Nay, I will have him to look on, while the Metamorphosis is a Working, and to be attentive to't: and then to take away all doubt, I bid him do the whole Work himself, While I'm at a distance; and not so much as a little finger in't. When the matter is dissolved, I bid him purge it himself; or set some Goldsmith to do it: I tell him the Quantity it will afford; and then let him put it to as many Tests as he pleases. He shall find the precise weight; the Gold, or the Silver, Pure; (for Gold, or Silver, 'tis the same thing to me: Only the Latter Experiment is the less dangerous.)  Ir. 
But is there no Cozenage in all this?  Mi. 
An Absolute Cheat form one end to the other.  Ir. 
I cannot find where it lies.  Mi. 
I'll show ye then. First we agree upon the Price, but I touch no Money, till I have given proof of the thing itself. I deliver him a certain Powder, as if That did the whole business. I never part with the Receipt of it, but at an Excessive Rate: and then I make him swear most horridly too, that for six Months he shall not impart the Secret to any thing that lives.  Ir. 
But where's the Cheat yet?  Mi. 
The whole mystery lies in a Coal that I have Fitted, and Hollowed for the purpose; and into That do I put as much Silver, as I say shall come out again. After the Infusion of the Powder I set the Pot in such a manner, that it shall be, in effect, covered with Coals; as well as Coals Under, and about it; which I tell them is a Method of Art Among the Coals that lie a Top I put in one or more that has the Gold, or the Silver, in't. When that comes to be dissolved, it runs to the rest, whether it be Tin, or Copper, and upon the Separation 'tis found, and taken out.  Ir. 
A Ready way. But how will you deceive him that does the whole Business himself?  Mi. 
When all things are done according to my Prescription, before we begin the Operation, I come and look about to see that every thing be right, and then I find a Coal or two wanting upon the Top; and under pretence of fetching it from the Coal-heap, I privately Convey one of my own; or else I have it ready laid there before hand, which I can take, and no body the Wiser.  Ir. 
But what will you do, when the Trial is made of This without ye?  Mi. 
I'm out of danger, when I have the Money in my Pocket: Or I can pretend that the Pot was cracked, the Coals naught, they did not know how to Temper the Fire; and than it is one Mystery in our Profession never to stay long in a place.  Ir. 
But will the Profit of This give a Man a Livelihood?  Mi. 
Yes, and a very brave one: And if you are wise, you'll leave your wretched Trade of Begging, and turn Quack too.  Ir. 
Now should I rather hope to bring You back again to Us.  Mi. 
What, to take up a Trade again, that I was weary of before? And to quit a Good one, that I have found Profitable?  Ir. 
But This profession of ours is made pleasant by Custom. How many are there that fall off from St. Francis, and St. Benedict? But ours is an Order of Mendicants, that never any man forsook, that was acquainted with it. Alas! You were but a few Months with us; and not come yet to Taste the Comforts of This kind of Life.  Mi. 
But I tasted enough on't tho' to know the misery of it.  Ir. 
How comes it then that our People never leave us?  Mi. 
Because they are naturally Wretched.  Ir. 
And yet for all this Wretchedness, I had rather be a Beggar, than a Prince: and there are many Princes I doubt not, that Envy the Freedom of us Beggars. Whether it be War, or Peace, we are still safe. We are neither Pressed for Soldiers, nor Taxed, nor put upon Parish Duties. The Inquisition never concerns itself with us. There's no secutiny into our Manners; and if we do any thing that's Unlawful, who'll sue a Beggar? If we assault any man, 'tis a shame to contend with a Beggar: whereas neither in Peace, nor in War, are Kings at Ease. And the Greater they are, the more have they to Fear. Men pay a Reverence to Beggars, as if they were Consecrated to God: and make a Conscience of it not to abuse us.  Mi. 
But then how nasty are ye in your Rags, and Kennels?  Ir. 
Those things are without us, and signify nothing at all to True Happiness: and for our Rags 'tis to them we Owe our Felicity.  Mi. 
If That be your Happiness, I'm afraid ye will not enjoy it long.  Ir. 
Why so?  Mi. 
Because they say we shall have a Law for every City to maintain its own Poor; and for the forcing of those to Work, that are Able to do it, without wand'ring up and down as they did formerly.  Ir. 
How comes that?  Mi. 
Because they find great Rogueries committed under pretence of Begging, and great Inconveniences to the Public from your Order,  Ir. 
Oh! they have been talking of This a long time; and when the Devil's Blind, it may be they'll bring it to pass.  Mi. 
Too soon perchance for your Quiet.   

CYCLOPS, OR, The Gospel Carrier.  
COL. XVIII.  
An Invective against Hypocrites; and such as have the Gospel continually in their Hands or Discourses, and do not Practise it in their Lives.  POLYPHEMUS, CANNIUS. Ca 
WHY how now, Polyphemus, what are You Hunting for?  Po. 
Do you call Him a Huntsman, that has neither Dogs nor Lance?  Ca 
Upon the Chase perhaps of some Lady of the Wood here.  Po. 
Shrewdly guessed, believe me; and here's the Device I have to catch Herald  Ca 
What's the Meaning of This? Polyphemus with a Book in's hand? A Hog in Armour? They agree as well as Puss and my Lady [〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 a Cat in a Laced Petticoat.]  Po. 
Nay I assure ye here's Vermilion, and Azure upon my Book, as well as (Crocus) or Saffron.  Ca 
I do not speak of Crocus (which is Saffron) but you mistake Crocoton (which is a Greek word) for Crocus. Is it a Military Book that same? For by the Bosses and Plates upon't, it seems to be Armed.  Po. 
Look into't.  Ca 
I see what 'tis; and 'tis very fine, but not so fine as it might be tho.  Po. 
Why, what wants it?  Ca 
You should do well to put your Arms upon't.  Po. 
What Arms?  Ca 
An Ass' head looking out of a Hogshead. What's the subject of it, the Art of Drinking?  Po. 
You'll speak Blasphemy before you're aware.  Ca 
Why so? Is there any thing in't that's Sacred?  Po. 
If the Holy Gospel be not sacred, I pray what is?  Ca 
The Lord deliver us; what has Polyphemus to do with the Gospel?  Po. 
And pray let me ask you, what a Christian has to do with Christ?  Ca 
Truly methinks a Halberd would become you a great deal better: For if any Man that did now know ye, should meet ye at Sea, he would certainly take ye for a Pirate; Or in a Wood, for a Highwayman.  Po. 
But the Gospel teaches us not to judge of men by Outward Appearances. For tho' 'tis true, that many a Knaves Head lies under a Cowl, yet it falls out sometime, that a Modish Wigg, a Pair of Spanish Whiskers, a Stern Brow, a Buffcoat and a Feather in the Cap, accompany an Evangelical Mind.  Ca 
And why not; as well as a Sheep sometimes in the Skin of a Wolf? And if we believe Emblems, many an Ass lurks under the Coat of a Lion.  Po. 
Nay I know a man myself that looks as Innocent as a sheep, and yet's a Fox in's Heart. I could wish he had as Candid Friends as he has black Eyes; and that he had as well the Value of Gold, as he had the Colour of it.  Ca 
If he that wears a Woollen Hat, must consequently wear a Sheep's Head; what a Burden do You march under, that carry an Ostrich in your Cap, over and above? But he is more Monstrous yet, that's a Bird in his Head, and an Ass in his Breast.  Po. 
That's too sharp.  Ca 
But it were well if you were as much the better for your Book, as That's the Gayer for You: And that in exchange for Colours, it might furnish you with Good Manners.  Po. 
I'll make it my Care.  Ca 
After the Old way.  Po. 
But Bitterness aside, Is it a Crime, do you think, for a man to carry the Gospel about with him?  Ca 
Not in the least (minimè Gentium)  Po. 
Will you say that I am the least in the World, that am by an Ass' head Taller than yourself.  Ca 
That's a little too much, even tho' the Ass should prick up his Ears.  Po. 
By an Ox-head I dare say.  Ca 
That Comparison does well enough: But I said minimè the Adverb, not minime the Vocative Case of the Adjective.  Po. 
pray what's the Difference betwixt an Egg, and an Egg?  Ca 
And what's the Difference (say you) betwixt the Middle-Finger and the Little-Finger?  Po. 
the Middle is the Longer.  Ca 
Most acute. And what's the Difference betwixt the Ears of an Ass, and those a Wolf?  Po. 
A Wolf's Ears are shorter.  Ca 
Why, there's the point.  Po. 
But I am used to measure Long, and short by the Span, and by the Yard, not by the Ears.  Ca 
Well said. He that carried Christ was called Christopher: so that instead of Polyphemus, I shall call you the Gospel-Bearer.  Po. 
Do not you account it a Holy thing then to carry the Gospel?  Ca 
No, not at all; unless you'll allow me that Asses are the greatest Saints.  Po. 
What do you mean by That?  Ca 
Because one Ass will carry at least Three thousand such Books: and I am persuaded if you were but well hampered, that you would be able to carry as many yourself.  Po. 
In That sense I think there's no Absurdity to say an Ass may be Holy.  Ca 
And I shall never envy you That Holiness. If ye have a mind to't, I'll give ye some of the Relics to Kiss, of the very Ass that our Saviour road upon.  Po. 
You cannot oblige me More; For That Ass could not but be Consecrated by the very Contact.  Ca 
But there was Contact too in those that smote our Saviour.  Po. 
But tell me seriously, is it not a Pious thing for a Man to carry the New Testament about him?  Ca 
If it be done out of Affection, and without Hypocrisy, it is Piously done.  Po. 
Tell the Monks of your Hypocrisy; what has a Soldier to do with it?  Ca 
But tell me First, what is the meaning of Hypocrisy?  Po. 
When a man seems to be One thing, and is really Another.  Ca 
But what signifies the carrying of the Gospel about you? Does it not intimate a Holy Life?  Po. 
I suppose it does.  Ca 
Now where a man's Life is not suitable to his Books, is not That Hypocrisy?  Po. 
It may be so. But what is that you will allow to be carrying the Gospel as we ought?  Ca 
Some carry it about in their Hands, as the Franciscans do the Rule of St. Francis; and at That Rate, a Porter, an Ass, or a Gelding may carry it as well as a Christian. There are Others that carry it in their Mouths; and only Talk of Christ and the Gospel; and those are Pharisees. And there are Others that carry it in their Hearts: But those are the True Gospel-Bearers, that have it in all Three; their Hands, their Mouth, and their Hearts.  Po. 
But where are those?  Ca 
What do you think of those that Minister in the Churches; that both Carry the Book, Read it to the People, and Meditate upon it?  Po. 
As if any Man could carry the Gospel in his Heart, and not be a Holy Man.  Ca 
Let us have no Sophistry. No Man carries the Gospel in his Heart, that does not love it with all his Soul; and no Man loves it as he ought to do, that does not Conform to it in his Life.  Po. 
These are subtleties out of my Reach.  Ca 
I'll be plainer then: For a Man to carry a Flagon of Wine upon his shoulders, it's a Burden.  Po. 
No doubt of it.  Ca 
What if a Man swills a soup of Wine in his Mouth, and throws it out again?  Po. 
He's never the better for't: Thou that's none of my way.  Ca 
But to come to your way then: what if he Gulps it down?  Po. 
There's nothing more Divine.  Ca 
It warms his Body, brings his Blood into his Cheeks, and gives him a merry Countenance.  Po. 
Most Certain.  Ca 
And so it is with the Gospel. He that takes it affectionately into his Soul, finds himself presently a New Man after it.  Po. 
And you think perhaps, that I do not lead my Life according to my Book.  Ca 
That's a Question only to be Resolved by yourself.  Po. 
I understand none but Military Divisions.  Ca 
Suppose any Man should give ye the Lie to your Face, or call you Buffle-Head; what would you do?  Po. 
What would I do? Why I'd give him a Box o'th' Ear.  Ca 
And what if he should give You another?  Po. 
Why then I'd cut his Throat for't.  Ca 
And yet your Book teaches you another Lesson, and bids you Return Good for Evil: and that if any body strikes you on the Right Cheek, you should offer him the Left also.  Po. 
I have read some such thing, but I had forgot it.  Ca 
I suppose you Pray often.  Po. 
That's too Pharisaical.  Ca 
Long Prayers are Pharisaical indeed, if they be accompanied with Ostentation. Now your Book tells you that you should Pray always, but with Intention.  Po. 
Well, but for all this I do Pray sometimes.  Ca 
At what times?  Po. 
Sometimes when I think on't: It may be once or twice a Week.  Ca 
And what's your Prayer?  Po. 
The Lord's Prayers.  Ca 
How often?  Po. 
Only once: For the Gospel forbids Repetitions.  Ca 
Can you go through the Lord's Prayer without thinking of any thing else?  Po. 
I never tried That: Is it not enough that I pronounce it?  Ca 
I cannot tell that God takes Notice of any thing in Prayer, but the Voice of the Heart. Do ye Fast often?  Po. 
No, never.  Ca 
And yet your Book recommends Fasting, and Prayer.  Po. 
And I should approve on't too, but my Stomach will not bear it.  Ca 
But St. Paul tells us that he's no Servant of jesus Christ, that serves his Belly. Do you Eat Flesh every day?  Po. 
Yes, when I have it.  Ca 
And yet you have a Robust Constitution that would live upon Hay with a Horse, or the Barks of Trees.  Po. 
But the Gospel says that those things that go into a man, do not defile him.  Ca 
Neither do they, if they be taken Moderately, and without giving Scandal. But St. Paul that was a Disciple of our Saviour's, would rather starve than offend a Weak Brother: and he exhorts us to follow his Example of becoming all things to all men.  Po. 
Paul is Paul, and Polyhemus is Polyphemus.  Ca 
But it is Aegon's Duty to Feed Goats.  Po. 
But I had rather Eat them (malim esse.)  Ca 
Had you rather BE a Goat, say ye? That's a Pleasant Wish.  Po. 
But I meant Esse, pro Edere.  Ca 
Very pretty. Do you give Liberally to the Poor?  Po. 
I have nothing to give.  Ca 
But if you'd live soberly, and take pains, you might have something to give.  Po. 
It's a pleasant thing for a Man to take his Ease.  Ca 
Do ye keep the Commandments?  Po. 
That's a hard Task.  Ca 
Do you repent yourself of your Sins?  Po. 
Christ has made Satisfaction for us.  Ca 
How can you say now that you love the Gospel?  Po. 
I'll tell ye, we had a certain Franciscan that was perpetually thundering out of the Pulpit, against Erasmus' New Testament: I caught the Fellow once by himself took him by the hair with my left hand, and with my right I buffetted him so well favouredly that ye could see no Eyes he had: and was not this done now like a man that loves the Gospel? After this, I gave him Absolution, and knocking him over the Coxcomb three times with this Book, I made three Bunches upon his Crown, and so absolved him in Form.  Ca 
This was Evangelically done, without Question; and a way of Defending one Gospel with another.  Po. 
I met with another of his Fellows that was still raging too against Erasmus, without either end, or Measure. My Gospel-Zeal moved me once again, I brought him on his Knees, to this Confession, that what he said, was by the Instigation of the Devil: I looked upon him, like the Picture of Mars, in a Battle, with my Partisan over him, to cut off his head if he had not done it in point; and this was acted in the Presence of a great many Witnesses.  Ca 
I wonder the man was not frighted out of his wits. But to proceed; Do ye keep your Body chaste?  Po. 
When I come to be Old, it may be I shall. But shall I tell ye the Truth, Cannius?  Ca 
I'm no Priest: And if you have a mind to Confess yourself, you may seek some body else.  Po. 
I use to Confess to God, but for once, I'll do't to You. I am as yet (no perfect but) a very Ordinary Christian. We have four Gospels, and we, military-Gospellers, propound chiefly to ourselves these four Things. First, to take Care for our Bellies; Secondly, that nothing be wanting Below; Thirdly, to put money in our Pockets; and Lastly, to do what we list. When we have gained these four Points, we drink and sing as if the Town were our own: And this is to us the Reign of Christ, and the life of the Gospel.  Ca 
This is the Life of an Epicure, not of a Christian,  Po. 
I cannot much deny it; but the Lord is Almighty ye know, and can make us Other men in an Instant, if he pleases.  Ca 
Yes, and he may make us Swine too; with more likelihood perhaps than Good men.  Po. 
I would there were no worse things in the World than Hogs, Oxen, Asses, and Camels. You shall find a great many People that are Fiercer than Lions, more Ravenous than Wolves, more Lustful than Sparrows, that will bite worse than Dogs, and sting worse than Vipers.  Ca 
But it is time for you now to turn from a Brute-animal to a Man.  Po. 
Ye say well; for I find in the Prophecies of these times, that the World's near an end.  Ca 
There's so much the more reason to Repent betimes.  Po. 
I hope Christ will give me his Helping hand.  Ca 
But it is your part to make yourself fit matter to work upon. But how does it appear that the world is so near an end?  Po. 
Because People, they say, are now doing just as they did in the days before the Flood; they are Eating and Drinking, Marrying and giving in Marriage; they Whore, they Buy, they Sell, they take to use, they put to use, they Build; Kings make War; Priests study to increase their Revenues; Schoolmen make Syllogisms; Munks run up and down the World, the Rabble Tumult, Erasmus writes Colloquies: In fine, all's naught; Hunger and Thirst, Robberies, Hostilities, Plagues, Seditions, and a scarcity of all things that are Good. And does not all this argue now that the world is near an End?  Ca 
Now of all this Mass of Mischief, which is your greatest Trouble?  Po. 
Guess.  Ca 
That the Spiders perhaps make Cobwebs in your empty Bags.  Po. 
The very Point, or let me Perish! I have been drinking hard to day, but some other time when I'm sober, we'll have another Touch at the Gospel.  Ca 
And when shall I see ye sober?  Po. 
When I am so.  Ca 
And when will ye be so?  Po. 
when you see me so: In the Interim, my dear Cannikin, be Happy.  Ca 
In requital, may'st thou long be what thou'rt called.  Po. 
And that I may not be outdone in Courtesy; may the Can never fail Cannius, whence he has borrowed his Name.   

THE FALSE KNIGHT.  
COL. XIX.  
The Insolences of men in Power; And the Impostures that are put upon the World, by Ignorance, and Impudence, instead of Wisdom and Honour.  HARPALUS, NESTORIUS. Ha. 
IF you could help me Out now, I am not a man to forget a Courtesy.  Ne. 
It shall be your Own Fault if I do not make ye what you would be.  Ha. 
But it is not in our Power to be born Noble.  Ne. 
What you want in Blood, you must supply with Virtue, and lay the Foundation of your own Nobility.  Ha. 
That's such a Devilish way about.  Ne. 
Away, away, you may have it at Court for a Trifle.  Ha. 
But the People are so apt to laugh at a man that buys his Honour.  Ne. 
Well! And if it be so Ridiculous, why would you so fain be a Knight?  Ha. 
Oh! I could show ye Twenty reasons for That; if you could but put me in a way to make myself Honourable in the Opinion of the World.  Ne. 
What would the Name signify, without the Thing?  Ha. 
But still if a Man has not the Thing itself, 'tis something however to have the Reputation of it. But give me your Advice at a Venture; and when ye know my Reasons, you'll say it was worth my while.  Ne. 
Why then I'll tell ye. You must, First, remove yourself to some place where you are not known.  Ha. 
Right.  Ne. 
And then get yourself into the Company of Men of Quality.  Ha. 
I understand ye.  Ne. 
People will be apt to judge of you by the Company ye keep.  Ha. 
They will so.  Ne. 
But than you must be sure to have nothing about ye that's Vulgar.  Ha. 
As how?  Ne. 
I speak of your clothes, If they were Silk 'twere better; but if ye cannot go to the price of Silk, I would rather have them Canvas, than Cloth.  Ha. 
Y'are in the Right.  Ne. 
And rather than wear any thing that is whole, you shall cut your very Hat too, your Doublet, Breeches, Shoes; and rather than fail, if it could be handsomely done, you very Fingers Ends. If you meet with any Traveller that comes from Vienna, ask him what he thinks of the Peace with France? How your Cousin of Furstenberg had his Health there? And you must inquire after all the jolly Officers of your Old Acquaintance.  Ha. 
It shall be done.  Ne. 
And you must be sure to have a Seal King upon your Finger.  Ha. 
Good; if my Purse would reach to't.  Ne. 
You may have a Brass Ring, Gilt, with a Doublet, for a small matter. But than you must Charge a Sc●cheon with your Coat of Arms.  Ha. 
And what Bearing?  Ne. 
Two Milking Pails, and a Pot of Ale.  Ha. 
Come leave your Fooling.  Ne. 
Were ye ever in a Battle?  Ha. 
Alas! I never saw a Naked Sword in my whole Life.  Ne. 
Did you ever cut off the Head of a Goose, or a Capon?  Ha. 
Many a time, and with the Resolution of a man of Honour too.  Ne. 
Why what do ye think then of Three Goose-caps, Or, and a Whinyard, Argent?  Ha. 
And what would you have the Field?  Ne. 
What should it be but Gules? in token of the Bloodshed.  Ha. 
'Tis not amiss, for the Blood of a Goose is as Red as that of a man: But go forward.  Ne. 
Wherever ye pass, let your Coat be hung up over the Gate of the Inn.  Ha. 
And how the Helmet?  Ne. 
That's well thought of; A mouth gaping from Ear to Ear.  Ha. 
Your reason for That?  Ne. 
First to give you Air; and then 'tis more suitable to your Dress. But what Crest?  Ha. 
What say you to That?  Ne. 
A Dog's head with a pair of bangling Ears.  Ha. 
That's Common.  Ne. 
Why then let him have two Horns; and That's Extraordinary.  Ha. 
That will do well: But what Supporters?  Ne. 
Why, for Stags, Talbots, Dragons, Griffins, they are all taken up already by Kings and Princes: what do ye think of Two Harpies?  Ha. 
Nothing can mend it.  Ne. 
But now for your Title; you must have a Care, that you do not call yourself Harpalus Comensis; but Harpalus à Como; not Norfolk-Booby (for the Purpose) but Booby of Norfolk. The One's Noble, the Other Pedantic.  Ha. 
'Tis so.  Ne. 
Is there any thing now that you can call yourself the Lord of?  Ha. 
No; not so much as a Pig-s●y.  Ne. 
Were ye born in any Eminent City?  Ha. 
To make ye my Confessor, I was born in a Pitiful obscure Village: There must be no lying in the Case, when a man asks Counsel.  Ne. 
Come, all's well enough. But is there ever a famous mountain near ye?  Ha. 
Yes, there is.  Ne. 
And is there ever a Rock near That?  Ha. 
A very steep one.  Ne. 
Why then you shall be Harpalus of the Golden Rock.  Ha. 
But most great men I observe have their peculiar Motto. As Maximilian, Keep within Compass; Philip; He that will; Charles, Further yet, etc.  Ne. 
Why then Yours shall be Turn every Stone.  Ha. 
Nothing more Pertinent.  Ne. 
Now to confirm the World in their Esteem of you, you must have Counterfeit Letters from such and such Illustrious Persons, and there you must be treated in a Style of Honour, and with business of Estates, Castles, Huge Revenues, Commands, Rich Matches, etc. These Letters you must either leave behind ye, or drop them some where by chance, that they may be found, and taken notice of.  Ha. 
I can do that as Easily as Drink; for I'll Imitate any man's hand alive so exactly, that he shall not know it from his Own.  Ne. 
Or you may leave them in your Pockets, when you send your Breeches to the Tailors, and when he finds them, you may be sure 'twill be no secret. But than you must be extremely troubled that you should be so Careless.  Ha. 
Let me alone for Ordering my Countenance without a Visor.  Ne. 
The great Skill is, to have the Matter published so, that no body smell it out.  Ha. 
For that matter, I'll warrant ye.  Ne. 
You must then furnish yourself with Companions, (Or 'twil do as well, if they be Servants) that shall stand Cap in hand to ye, and make Legs to your Worship at every Turn. And never be Discouraged at the Charge, for you'll find young Fellows enough that will bear This part in the Comedy, if it were but for the Humours sake, and for God o' mercy. And then you must know that there are a great many Scribbling Blades here, that are strangely infected with the Itch, (I had like to have said the Scab) of Writing; And a Company of Hungry Printers, that will Venture upon Any thing for Money. You must engage these People to make Honourable Mention of your Quality, and Fortune in your Own Country, in their Pamphlets; and your Name to be still set in CAPITALS. This is a Course that will give ye Honour, even if the Scene were laid in japan; and One Book spreads more than a hundred Talkative Tongues.  Ha. 
I am not against this way, but there must be Servants yet maintained.  Ne. 
Servants must be had, but there's no need of your Feeding 'em. They have finger's, and when they are sent up and down, something or other will be found. There are divers Opportunities, ye know, in such Cases.  Ha. 
A word to the Wise; I understand ye.  Ne. 
And then there are Other Inventions.  Ha. 
pray let's hear 'um.  Ne. 
If you do not understand Cards, and Dice, Whoring, Drinking, and Squandring, the Art of Borrowing and Bubbling, and the French Pox to boot, there's no body will take ye for a Person of Condition.  Ha. 
These are Exercises I have been trained up to: but where's the Money that must carry me through?  Ne. 
Hold a little, I was just coming to That Point. Have ye any Estate?  Ha. 
Truly a very small one.  Ne. 
Well but when ye are once settled in the Reputation of a great man, you can never fail of finding Fools to Trust ye. Some will be afraid, and others will be ashamed to deny you: And there are Tricks for a man to delude his Creditors.  Ha. 
I know something of that too. But they are apt to be Troublesome yet, when they find that there comes nothing but Words.  Ne. 
Nay on the Contrary, no man has his Creditors more at Command, than he that owes Money to a great many.  Ha. 
How so?  Ne. 
Your Creditor pays ye that Observance, as if he himself were the Person Obliged; for fear ye should take any thing Ill, and Cousin him of his Money. No man has his Servants in such awe, as a Debtor has his Creditors: And if you pay 'em never so little, 'tis as kindly taken as if you Gave it.  Ha. 
I have found it so.  Ne. 
But than you must have a care how you engage yourself to Little people: For they care not what Tragedies they raise, for Peddling Sums; whereas men of Competent Fortunes are more Tractable: They are either restrained by Good nature, led on by Hope, or kept in order by Fear, for they know the danger of meddling with men of Power: Or in conclusion, When ye are no longer able to stand the shock, 'tis but changing of your Quarter, and still upon earnest business removing from one place to Another: And where's the shame of all this? for a Knight to be in the same Estate with his Imperial Majesty. If you find yourself pressed by a Fellow of mean Condition, you are to bless yourself at his Confidence: And yet 'tis good to be paying of something; but neither the whole Sum, nor to all your Creditors. But whatever ye do, set a good Face on't, as if ye had Money in your Pocket still, tho' the Devil a Cross.  Ha. 
But what shall a man brag of that has Nothing?  Ne. 
If you have laid up any thing for a Friend, let it pass for your own. But it must be taken notice of only as by Chance. And in this Case, 'tis good to borrow Money, and show it, tho' ye pay it again the next hour. You may put Counters in your Pocket; and 'tis but taking a Right Crown or two out, and making the rest Chink: You may imagine—  Ha. 
I understand ye. But yet at last I must necessarily sink under my Debt.  Ne. 
But Knights ye know, will handle us as they please.  Ha. 
'Tis very true; and there's no Remedy.  Ne. 
I would advise you to have diligent Servants about ye; or no matter if it were some of your poor Kindred: such as must be Kept however. They'll stumble now and then upon some Merchant upon the way; or find something perhaps in the Inn, in the House, or in the Boat, that wants a Keeper. Do ye conceive me? Let 'em Consider that men have not Fingers for Nothing.  Ha. 
If this could be done with safety.  Ne. 
You must be sure to keep them in handsome Liveries, and be still sending of 'em with Counterfeit Letters to This Prince, or That Count Who shall dare to suspect Them, if any thing be missing; or if they should suspect them, who shall dare to own it, for fear of the Knight their Master? If they chance to take a Booty by force, 'tis as good as a Prize in War; for This Exercise is but a Prelude to war itself.  Ha. 
A Blessed Counsellor!  Ne. 
Now this Statute of Knighthood must be ever observed, that it is Lawful for a Knight upon the Road to ease a Common Traveller of his Money. For what can be more Dishonourable than for a Pitiful Fellow of Commerce to have Money at Will, and a Knight want it to supply him with Necessaries for Whores, and Dice? Be seen as much as possible in the Company of Great men, though you pin yourself upon them. You must put on a Brazen face; and especially to your Host; and let nothing put ye out of Countenance. And therefore ye should do well to pass your time in some Public Place, as at the Baths, or Waters, and in the most frequented Inns.  Ha. 
I was thinking of That.  Ne. 
In such places you will meet with many fair Opportunities.  Ha. 
As how I beseech ye?  Ne. 
You'll find now and then a Purse dropped, or the Key left in the door, or so; you Comprehend me.  Ha. 
But—  Ne. 
What are ye afraid of? A Person that lives and Talks at your rate; The Knight of the Golden Rock, who shall presume to suspect Him, or however to open his Mouth against him, at the worst? They'll rather cast it upon some Body that went away the day before. You'll find the Family in disorder about it, but do You behave yourself as a person wholly unconcerned. If This Accident befalls a man that has either Modesty, or Brains, he'll even pass it over without making any words on't; and not cast away his Credit after his Money, for looking no better to't.  Ha. 
'Tis very well said; For I suppose you know the Count of the White Vulture.  Ne. 
Yes, yes; why not?  Ha. 
I have heard of a certain Spaniard, a Handsome Gentile Fellow that lodged at his house; he carried away a matter of threescore Pounds Sterling, and the Count had such a Reverence for his Person, that he did not so much as open his Mouth for the matter.  Ne. 
So that there's a Precedent. You may send out a Servant now and then for a Soldier, as ye see Occasion, and he falls in upon the Rifling of a Church, or a Monastery; and there's a Fortune made by the Law of Arms.  Ha. 
This is the safest expedient we have had yet.  Ne. 
Well, and there's another way now of raising Money.  Ha. 
And let's have that too, I prithee.  Ne. 
When ye find People that have Money in their Pockets, 'tis but picking a quarrel with 'em, especially if they be Churchmen, for they are strangely Hated, now a-days: One broke a jest upon ye; another fell foul upon your Family; this man spoke, or t'other man wrote something to your Dishonour; and here's a ground for the denouncing of a War without Quarter, but than you must breathe nothing but destruction, fire, and Sword; and That Naturally brings the Matter to a Composition. Be sure then that ye do not sink below your Dignity, and you must ask out of Reason, to bring them up to't. If you demand Three thousand Crowns, the Devil's in 'em if they o●●er ye less than Two hundred.  Ha. 
ay, and I can threaten Others with the Law.  Ne. 
That is not so Generous though; but yet it may help in some degree. But hark ye, Harpalus, we have forgotten the Main point; Some Young Wench or Other, with a Good Fortune, might be handsomely drawn, methinks, into the Noose of Matrimony; and you carry a Philtre about with ye; a Young, Spruce, Drolling, Grinning Rascal! Let it be given out that you're called away to some great Office in the Emperor's Court; the Girls are mad upon Coupling with the Nobility.  Ha. 
ay▪ know some that have made their Fortunes this way: But what if all this Roguery should come out now; my Creditors fall upon the Back of me; and your Imaginary Knight come to have Rotten Eggs thrown at him? For a man had better be taken Robbing of a Church, tha●● in the Course of such a Cheat.  Ne. 
In this Case, you must put on the Brazen face I told ye of. And I'll tell ye This for your Comfort, that Impudence never passed so current for Wisdom, since the Creation of the World, as it does at This Day. You must betake yourself to your Invention, and tell your Tale as well as ye can; ye shall find some Fools or other that will favour it: Nay and some, that out of pure Candour, and Civility, tho' they understand the Abuse, will yet make the best on't: But for your Last Refuge, show a Fair Pair of Heels for't; thrust yourself into a Battle, or a Tumult; for as the Sea covers all Mischiefs, so War covers all Sins: And the Truth of it is, he that has not been trained up in This School, is not fit to be a Commander. Here's your Sanctuary when all fails; and yet let me advise ye to turn every Stone before you come to't. Many a Man is Undone by Security. Wherefore have a Care of Little damned Towns, that a man cannot let a Fart in, but the people presently take the Alarm. In Great and Populous Cities a body is more at Liberty, unless it be in such a place as Marseilles. Make it your business to know what the People say of ye. If ye hear that they come to talk at This rate; what does This man Here so long? Why does not he go Home again; and look after his Castles, with a Pox? What does he talk to us of his Pedigree? I wonder how the Devil he Lives? These are Bugg-words; and if you find this humour once to grow upon the People, up with your Baggage and be jogging, before it be too late. But you must make your Retreat, like a Lion, not like a Hare. You are called away by the Emperor to take Possession of a great Charge, and it will not be long perhaps before they see you again at the Head of an Army. Those that have any thing to lose will be quiet enough▪ when y'are gone; but of all People have a care of your Peevish, Malicious Poets: They throw their Venom upon their Paper, and what they write is as Public as the Air.  Ha. 
Let me die if I be not strangely pleased with thy Counsel: and you shall never Repent ye, either of your Scholar, or of your Obligation. The first good Horse that I take up upon my Patent of Knighthood, shall be yours:  Ne. 
Be as good as your word now: But what is the Reason that you should so strangely dote upon a false Opinion of Nobility?  Ha. 
Only because they are in a manner Lawless, and do what they please; And is not This a Considerable Inducement?  Ne. 
When all comes to all, you owe a Death to Nature, tho' you lived a Carthusian; and he that dies of the Stone, the Gout, or the Palsy had better have been broken upon the Wheel. 'Tis an Article of a Soldier's Faith, that after Death there remains Nothing of a Man, but his Carcase.  Ha. 
And That's my Opinion.   

THE Seraphic Funeral.  
COL. XX.  
A Bitter Discourse upon the Habit, Life, Opinions, and Practices of the Franciscans: Their Institution, and the Blasphemous Fundamentals of Their Order.  THEOTIMUS, PHILECOUS. Ph. 
WHy, where have you been, Theotimus, that ye look so wonderfully Grave and Devout?  Th. 
How so?  Ph. 
You look so severe, methinks, with your Eyes upon the Ground, your Head upon your left shoulder, and your Beads in your hand.  Th. 
My Friend, if you have a mind to know a thing that does not belong to ye; I have been at a Show.  Ph. 
jacob Hall perhaps, or the juggler; Or some such business, it may be.  Th. 
'Tis somewhat thereabouts.  Ph. 
you're the first Man sure that ever brought such an Humour back from a Public Spectacle.  Th. 
But This was such a Spectacle, let me tell ye, that if you yourself had been a Spectator, you would have been more out of Order perchance than I am.  Ph. 
But why so extremely Religious, I prithee, on a sudden?  Th. 
I have been at the Funeral of a Seraphim.  Ph. 
Nay, pray tell me, do the Angels die?  Th. 
No, but Angels Fellows do. But to put ye out of your pain, you know Eusebius, I suppose; a famous, and a Learned Man.  Ph. 
What do you mean? Eusebius, the Pelusian; he that was First degraded from his Authority, to the state of a Private man, and of a Private man made an Exile, and of an Exile, within a little of a Beggar? (I had like to have said worse.)  Th. 
That's the Man.  Ph. 
But what's come to him?  Th. 
He's This day Buried, and I am just now come from his Funeral.  Ph. 
It must needs be a doleful Business sure, to put you into this dismal mood.  Th. 
I shall never be able to tell ye the Story without weeping.  Th. 
Nor I to hear it without Laughing. But let's have it however.  Th. 
You know that Eusebius hath been a long time Infirm.  Ph. 
Yes, yes, he has not been a Man this many a year.  Th. 
In these Slow, and Consumptive Diseases, 'tis a Common thing for a Physician to foretell a man how long he shall live, to a precise day.  Ph. 
It is so.  Th. 
They told their Patient that all that the Art of man could do, towards his preservation, had been done already; and that God might preserve him, by a Miracle; but that he was absolutely past all Relief of Physic; and according to humane Conjecture, he had not above three days to Live.  Ph. 
And what followed.  Th. 
The Wasted Body of the Excellent Eusebius, was presently dressed up in a Franciscans Habit, his Head Shave, his Ash-coloured Cowl, and Gown, his Knotted Hempen Girdle, and his Franciscan Shoes; all put on.  Ph. 
As departing this Life?  Th. 
Even so: and with a Dying Voice, declaring, that if it should please God to restore him to the Health that his Physicians despaired of, he would serve under Christ, according to the Rule of St. Francis; and there were several Holy Men called in, to bear witness to his Profession. In this Habit died this Famous Man; at the very point of time that had been foretold by his Physicians. There came abundance of the Fraternity, to assist at his Funeral Solemnity.  Ph. 
I would I had been one of the Number myself.  Th. 
It would have gone to the Heart of ye, to see with what Tenderness the Seraphic Sodality washed the Body, fitted the Holy Habit to him, laid his Arms one over another, in the form of a Cross, uncovered, and kissed his Naked Feet; and according to the Precept of the Gospel, cheered up his Countenance with Ointment.  Ph. 
What a Prodigious Humility was this, for the Seraphic Brethren to take upon them the Parish Offices of Bearers and Washers?  Th. 
After this, they laid the Body upon the Bier; and according to the direction of St. Paul (bear ye one another's Burden) Gal. 6. The Brethren took their Brother upon their Shoulders, and carried him along the Highway to the Monastery, where they Interred him with the Usual Songs and Ceremonies. As this Venerable Pomp was passing upon the way, I Observed a great many People that could not forbear Weeping; to see a Man that used to go in his Silk, and Scarlet, wrapped now in a Fra●●●iscan's Habit, girt with a Ropes End, and the whole Body disposed in such a posture, as could not choose but move Devotion. For his Head, as I said, was laid upon his Shoulder, his Arms, a Cross; and every thing else too carried a wonderful appearance of Holiness. But then the March of the Seraphic Troop itself, Hanging down their Heads, with their Eyes fixed upon the Earth, and their mournful Dirges: (so mournful; that in Hell itself there can be nothing beyond it.) All this, I say, drew Sighs, and Tears in abundance from the Beholders.  Ph. 
But had he the five wounds too of St. Francis?  Th. 
I dare not affirm that for a Certain; but I saw some Bluish Scars on his Hands, and Feet; and he had a hole in his left side of his Gown; but I durst not look too narrowly, for many People have been undone, they say, by being too curious into these Matters.  Ph. 
But did ye not take notice of some that laughed too?  Th. 
Yes, I did observe it; But they were Heretics, I suppose; there are even too many of them in the World.  Ph. 
To Deal honestly with thee, in my Conscience, if I had been there myself, I should have laughed too for Company.  Th. 
I pray God thou hast not a spice of the same Leaven.  Ph. 
There's no danger of That, Good Theotimus! For I have had a Veneration for St. Francis, even from a Child; He was one that was much more acceptable both to God and Man, for the strict Mortification of his Affections, than for any Worldly Learning, or Wisdom; and those are His True Disciples, that so live in the Flesh, as if they were Dead to it, and Lived only in Christ: But for the Habit itself, I value it not; and I would fain know what is a Dead Man the Better for a Garment?  Ph. 
It is the Lord's Precept, ye know, not to give Holy things to Dogs, or to cast Pearls before Swine▪ And beside, if ye ask Ques●●ons to make yourself Merry with them, I'll tell ye nothing at all. But if ye have an honest desire to be informed, I am content to tell ye as much as I know.  Ph. 
My Business is to learn, and you shall find me a diligent, a Docile, and a Thankful Disciple.  Th. 
You know, first, that some People are so possessed with Pride and Vanity, that their Ambition accompanies them to the very Grave; and they are not content, unless they be Buried with as much Pomp as they Lived. It is not that the Dead feel any thing; but yet by the force of Imagination they take some Pleasure in their Lives, to think of the Solemnity, and Magnificence of their Funerals. Now ye will not deny it, I suppose, to be some degree of Piety to renounce this weakness.  Ph. 
I'll confess it, if there be no other way to avoid the Vanity of This Expense. But I should think it much more Humane, and Modest, even for a Prince to recommend his Body to a Course Winding Sheet, and to be laid in the Common Burying-place by the Ordinary Bearers. For to be carried to the Grave, as Eusebius was, is rather the Change of a Vanity, than the Avoidance of it.  Th. 
It is the Intention that God accepts, and it is God alone that can judge of the Heart. But This that I have told ye is a small matter, there are greater things behind.  Ph. 
What are They?  Th. 
They profess themselves of the Order of St. Francis, upon the point of Death.  Ph. 
And he is to be their Protector in the Elysian Fie●ds.  Th. 
No, but in This world, if they happen to recover: and it pleases God many times, that when the Physicians have given a man for Lost, so soon as ever he has put on This Holy Robe he Recovers.  Th. 
And so he would have done, whether he had put it on or no.  Th. 
We should walk with Simplicity in the Faith, but if there were not somewhat Extraordinary in the Case, why should so many Eminent and Learned men, especially among the Italians, make such a business to be buried in This holy habit? But these you'll say are Strangers to ye. What do you think then of the famous Rodolphus Agricoba; (one that I'm sure you have an Esteem for) and then of Christopher Longolius, who were Both buried so?  Ph. 
I give no heed to what men do when they are under the Amusements of Death. pray tell me now, what does it signify to a man, the Professing, or the Clothing of him, when he comes to be assaulted with the Terrors, and distractions of his approaching Fate? Vows should be made in sound sense, and sobriety; they are frivolous else; there should be mature Deliberation, without either Force, Fear, or Guile: Nay they are Void, even without all this, before the Year of Probation be out: at which time, and not before, they are commanded to wear the Coat and Hood; (for so say the Seraphiques) so that if they recover, they are at Liberty in two respects. For neither does That Vow bind, that is made by a man under an Astonishment, betwixt the Hope of Life and the Fear of Death, nor does the Profession oblige any man, before the wearing of the Hood.  Th. 
Whether it be an Obligation, or not, 'tis enough, that They think it one; and God Almighty accepts of the Good will; and This is the Reason that the Good works of Monks (caeteris Paribus) are more acceptable to God, than those of Other People; because they spring from that Root.  Ph. 
We shall not make it a question in This place, the Merit of a man's Dedicating himself wholly to God, when he is no longer in his own Power. Every Christian, as I take it, delivers himself up wholly to God in his Baptism; when he Renounces the Devil and all his Works, the Pomp's and Vanities of the Wicked World, and all the Sinful Lusts of the Flesh, and lists himself a Soldier to fight under Christ's Banner, to his Lives End. And St. Paul speaking of those that Die with Christ, that they may live no longer to Themselves, but to Him that is Dead for them, does not mean This of Monks only, but of all Christians.  Th. 
You have minded me seasonably of our Baptism, but in times past, if they were but Sprinkled at the last Gasp, there was hope yet promised them of Salvation.  Ph. 
'Tis no great matter what the Bishop's promise, but it is a matter of great uncertainty, what God will vouchsafe to Do: For if there went no more to Salvation, than the Sprinkling of a little Water, what a Gap were there opened to all sorts of Carnal Appetites, and Licence? When men had spent their lives, and their strength in Wickedness, till they could sin no longer, two or three drops of Water would set all Right again. Now if the same Rule holds in your Profession, and This Baptism, it would make well for the Security of the Wicked, if they might Live to Satan and Die to Christ.  Th. 
Nay, if a man may speak what he hears, of the Seraphic Mystery, the professing of a Franciscan is more Efficacious than his Baptism.  Ph. 
What is't ye say?  Th. 
Only our Sins are washed away in Baptism; but the Soul, tho' it be purged, is left naked: But he that is invested with This Profession, is presently endowed with the Merits and Sanctimony of the whole Order, as being Grafted into the Body of the most Holy Sodality.  Ph. 
And what do ye think of him that is by Baptism engrafted into the Body of Christ? Is he never the better; neither for the Head, nor for the Body?  Th. 
He's nothing at all the better for this Seraphic Body; unless he entitle himself to it by some special Bounty, or Favour.  Ph. 
From what Angel, I beseech ye, had they this Revelation?  Th. 
From what Angel, do ye say? Why St. Francis had This, and a great deal more, Face to Face, from Christ himself.  Ph. 
Now as thou hast any kindness for me in the World, tell me, for the Love of God, what were those Discourses?  Th. 
Alas! those Holy and Profound Secrets are not for Profane Ears.  Ph. 
Why Profane, I prithee? For I have ever been a Friend to this Seraphic Order, as much as to any other.  Th. 
But for all That, you give 'em shrewd Wipes sometimes.  Ph. 
That's a sign of Love Theotimus; The great Enemies of the Order are the Professors of it Themselves, that by Ill Lives bring a scandal upon the Habit. And That man does not love it, that is not offended with the Corruptors of it.  Th. 
But I'm afraid St Francis will take it ill, if I should blab any of his Secrets.  Ph. 
And why should ye fear That from so Innocent a Person?  Th. 
Well, well! But what if I should lose my Eyes, or run Mad upon't? As I am told m●ny have done, only for denying the Print of the Five Wounds.  Ph. 
Why then the Saints are worse natured in Heaven, than they were upon Earth. We are told that St. Francis was of so meek a Disposition, that when the Boys in the streets would be playing the Rogues with his Cowl, as it hung down at his Back, and throwing Milk, Cheese, Dirt, Stones at it, the Saint walked on Cheerful, and Pleasant without any Concern at all. And shall we believe him Now then to be Chollerique, and Revengeful? One of his Companions once called him Thief, Sacrilegious, a Murderer, an Incestuous Sot, and all the Villains in the world. His Reply was only, that he gave him thanks, and confessed himself Guilty. But one of the Company wondering at such an Acknowledgement; I had done worse than all this, says St. Francis, if God's Grace had not Restrained me. How comes St Francis now then to be Vindictive?  Th. 
So it is, for tho' the Saints will bear any thing upon Earth, they'll take no Affronts in Heaven. Was ever any man Gentler than Cornelius, Milder than Anthony, or more Patient than john the Baptist, when they lived upon Earth? but now they are in Heaven, if we do not worship them as we ought, what Diseases do they send among us?  Ph. 
For my own Part, I am of Opinion, that they rather Cure our Diseases than Cause them. But however, assure yourself that what ye say to me is spoken to a man that's neither Profane, nor a Blab.  Th. 
Go to then. I will tell ye in Confidence, what I have heard as to this Matter: Be it spoken without offence to St. Francis, or the Society. St. Paul, ye know, was endued with a Profound and Hidden Wisdom, which he never published; but only whispered it in Private to those Christians that were perfected. So have these Seraphiques certain Mysteries also that they do not make Common; but only communicate them in private to Rich Widows, and other Choice and Godly People, that are well-willers to the Society.  Ph. 
How do I long for the Opening of this Holy Revelation!  Ph. 
It was at first, foretold by the Lord to the Seraphic Patriarch, that the more the Society increased, the more Provision he would make for them.  Ph. 
So that at first dash Here's that Complaint answered, that their Growing so Numerous, is a Grievance of the People.  Th. 
And then he revealed this further too; that upon his Anniversary Festival, all the Souls of That Fraternity, and not only Those that were of the Clothing, but the Souls of their Friends also should be delivered from the Fire of Purgatory.  Ph. 
But was Christ so familiar with St. Francis?  Th▪ 
He was as Free with him as one Friend or Companion is with another. As God the Father in former times, Communed with Moses. Moses received the Law first, from God himself, and then delivered it to the People. Our Saviour published the Gospel, and St. Francis had two Copies of his Peculiar Law under the Hands of an Angel; which he delivered to That Seraphic Fraternity.  Ph. 
Now do I look for a Third Revelation.  Th. 
That famous Patriarch, fearing now, that when the Good Seed was sown, the Enemy should come, while men slept, and sowing Tares among the Wheat, they should both be plucked up together. St. Francis was eased of This Scruple, by a Promise from the Lord, that he would take Care that this Tribe of Half-shodd and Rope-girt People should never fail, so long as the World endured.  Ph. 
Why, what a Merciful Providence was This now? for God would have had no Church else. But proceed.  Th. 
It was Revealed, in the Fourth place; that no Lewd Liver could long persevere in that Order.  Ph. 
But is it not taken for a Defection from the Order, if a Man live Wickedly?  Th. 
No; no more than it is for Renouncing of Christ; tho' in some Respect, it may be so taken, when a Man denies in his Actions, what he professes in his Words. But whosoever casts off this Holy Habit, that Man is irrecoverably lost to the Society.  Ph. 
What shall we say then of so many Convents that hoard up Money, Drink, Play, Whore, keep their Concubines public, and more than I'll speak of?  Th. 
Those People neither wear St. Francis' Gown, nor his Girdle. And when they come to knock at the Door, the Answer will be, I know ye not; for ye have not on the Wedding-Garment.  Ph. 
Is there any more?  Th. 
Why, ye have heard Nothing yet. The Fifth Revelation was This: That the Enemies of this Seraphic Order (as they have but too many, the more's the Pity) should never arrive at half the Age that God had otherwise appointed them, without making away themselves; but that they should all die miserable, before their Times.  Ph. 
Oh! we have seen many Instances of This; as in the Cardinal Matthaeus, who had a very Ill Opinion of this Society, and spoke as hardly of them; he was taken away, as I remember, before he was Fifty years of Age.  Th. 
'Tis very true; but then he was an Enemy to the Cherubique Order, as well as to the Seraphic; for he was the Cause, they say, of burning the four Dominicans at Berne; when the matter might otherwise have been Compounded with the Pope, for a Sum of Money.  Ph. 
But these Dominicans, they say, had set up most Horrible Opinions, which they laboured to support by False Visions, and Miracles; as that the Blessed Virgin was tainted with Original Sin; nay that St. Francis' Prints of the Five Wounds were Counterfeited: They gave out that St. Catharin's were more Authentic. But the Perfectest of all, they promised to a Layick Proselyte they had got, whom they made use of for this Action; abusing the Lord's Body in the Government of this Imposture, even with Clubbs, and with Poison. And they say further, that this was not the Contrivance of one Monastery alone, but of the Principals of the Whole Order.  Th. 
Let it be which way it will, that divine Caution holds good However, Touch not mine Anointed.  Ph. 
Is there any thing more to Come?  Th. 
Yes, you shall have the Sixth Apocalypse; wherein the Lord bound himself by an Oath to St. Francis, that all the Favourers of This Seraphic Order, let them live never so wickedly, should find Mercy in the Conclusion, and end their days in peace.  Ph. 
Why what if they should be taken away in the act of Adultery?  Th. 
That which the Lord hath promised, he will Certainly make good.  Ph. 
But what must a man do, to entitle himself to a Right of being called Their Friend?  Th. 
What? Do ye question That? He that presents them, he that clothes them, He that makes the Pot boil, That man gives Evidences of his Love.  Ph. 
But does not he love, that Teaches, or Admonishes them?  Th. 
That's water into the Sea; they have a great deal of This at home: And it is their Profession to bestow it upon Others, not to receive it from them.  Ph. 
Our Saviour promised more, I perceive, to St. Francis' Disciples, than ever he did to his Own. He takes That as done unto himself, which for his sake one Christian does to Another; But I do not find where he promises Eternal Salvation to Vnrepenting Sinners.  Th. 
That's no wonder, my Friend, for the Transcendent Power of the Gospel is reserved to This Order. But ye shall now hear the Seventh, and Last Revelation.  Ph. 
Let's have it then.  Th. 
Our Saviour swore further, to St. Francis, that Franciscan's habit.  Ph. 
But what is it that you call an Ill end?  Th. 
When the Soul goes directly out of the Body, into Hell; from whence there is no Redemption.  Ph. 
So that the Habit does not free a Man from Purgatory.  Th. 
No, not unless he dies upon St. Francis' day. But is it not a great matter, do ye think, to be secured from Hell?  Ph. 
The greatest of all, no doubt. But what becomes of Those that are put into the Habit when they are Dead already? for They cannot be said to die in't.  Th. 
If they desire it in their Life-time, the Will is taken for the Deed.  Ph. 
But I remember once in Antwerp, I was in the Chamber with some Relations of a Woman that was just giving up the Ghost. There was a Franciscan by, (a very Reverend man) who observing the Woman to Yawn, and just upon her last Stretches, he put one of her Arms into his sleeve, and so recovered that Arm, and part of the shoulder. There was a dispute raised upon't, whether the whole Body should be safe for't, or only That part which he had touched.  Th. 
There is no doubt, but the whole Woman was secured; as the Water upon the Forehead of a Child makes the whole Child a Christian.  Ph. 
'Tis a strange thing, the dread that the Devils have of This Habit.  Th. 
Oh! they dread it more than the sign of the Cross. When the Body of Eusebius was carried to the Grave, there were Swarms of Black Devils in the Air, as thick as Flies; that would be buzzing about the Body, and striking at it, but yet durst not touch it: I saw This myself, and so did many others.  Ph. 
But methinks his face, his hands, and his Feet should have been in Danger, because (ye know) They were Naked.  Th. 
A Snake will not come near the shadow of an Ash, let it spread never so far: Nor the Devil, within smell of That Holy Garment; 'tis a kind of Poison to them.  Ph. 
But do not these Bodies putrify? For if they do, the Worms have more Courage than the Devils.  Th. 
What you say, is not improbable.  Ph. 
How happy is the very Louse that takes up his abode in that Holy Garment! But while the Robe is going to the Grave, what is it that protects the Soul?  Th. 
The Soul carries away with it the Influence of the Garment, which preserves it to such a degree, that many People will not allow any of that Order to go so much as into Purgatory.  Ph. 
If this be true, I would not give this part of the Revelation, for the Apocalypse of St. john: For here's an easy, and a ready way cut out, without Labour, Trouble, or Repentance; to live Merrily in This world, and secure ourselves of Heaven Hereafter.  Th. 
And so it is.  Ph. 
So that My wonder is over, at the great Esteem that is paid by the World to this Seraphic Order. But I am in great Admiration on the Other side, that any Man should dare to open his Mouth against them.  Th. 
You may observe wherever ye see them, that they are Men given over to a Reprobate sense, and blinded in their Wickedness.  Ph. 
I shall be Wiser for the future than I have been, and take Care to die in a Franciscan Habit. But there are some in this Age that will have Mankind to be justified only by Faith, without the help of Good Works: But what a Privilege is it to be saved by a Garment, without Faith?  Th. 
Nay, not too fast, Philecous. It is not said, Simply without Faith; but it is sufficient for us to Believe, that the things I have now told ye were promised by our Saviour to the Patriarch of the Order.  Ph. 
But will this Garment save a Turk too?  Th. 
It would save Lucifer himself; if he had the Patience to put it on, and could but believe this Revelation.  Ph. 
Well, thou hast won me for ever. But there's a Scruple or two yet, that I would fain have cleared.  Th. 
Say then.  Ph. 
I have been told that St. Francis' Order is of Evangelical Institution.  Th. 
True.  Ph. 
Now I had thought that all Christians had professed the Rule of the Gospel. But if the Franciscans be a Gospel Order, it looks as if all Christians were bound to be Franciscans; and Christ with his Apostles, and the Virgin Mother, at the Head of them.  Th. 
It would be so indeed; but that St. Francis (ye must know) has added several things to the Gospel.  Ph. 
What are those?  Th. 
An Ash-coloured Garment, a Hempen Girdle, naked Feet.  Ph. 
And by those Marquis we may know an Evangelical Christian from a Franciscan.  Th. 
But they differ too upon the Point of Touching money.  Ph. 
But I am told that St. Francis forbids the Receiving of it, not the Touching of it. But the Owner, the Proctor, Creditor, the Heir, or a Proxy, does commonly Receive it; and tho' he draws it over, in his Glove, so that he does not Touch it, he does ye● Receive it. Now I would fain know whence this Interpretation came, that not Receiving should be expounded to be not touching?  Th. 
This was the Interpretation of Pope Benedict.  Ph. 
Not, as a Pope; but only as a Franciscan. And again, the strictest of the Order, do they not take Money in a Clout, when it is given them, in all their Pilgrimages?  Th. 
In a case of Necessity, they do.  Ph. 
But a man would rather die, than violate so super-Evangelical a Rule: And then do they not receive money every where by their Officers?  Th. 
Yes, that they do; Thousands and Thousands many times; and why not?  Ph. 
But the Rule says, that they must not Receive Money, either by Themselves or by Others.  Th. 
Well, but they don't touch it.  Ph. 
Ridiculous. If the Touch itself be Impious, they Touch it by Others.  Th. 
But That's the Act and Deed of their Proctors, not their own.  Ph. 
Is it not so? Let him try it that has a mind to't.  Th. 
Do we ever read, that Christ touched Money?  Ph. 
Suppose it. It is yet probable, that when he was a Youth, he might buy Oil and Vinegar, and Salads for his Father: But Peter and Paul, beyond all Controversy, Touched Money. The Virtue consists in the Contempt of Money, and no● in the Not Touching of it; There is much more danger, I'll assure ye, in touching of Wine, than of Money. And why are ye not as scrupulous, in This Case, as in the Other?  Th. 
Because St. Francis did not forbid it.  Ph. 
They can frankly enough offer their hands, (which they keep fair, and soft, with Care, and Idleness) to a pretty Wench; But if there be any Touching of Money in the Case, bless me! how they start, and Cross themselves as if they had seen the Devil? And is not this an Evangelical Nicety? I cannot believe that St. Francis (though never so Illiterate) could be so silly, as absolutely to interdict all Touching of Money whatsoever: Or if that were his Opinion, to how great a Danger did he expose all his Followers, in commanding them to go Barefoot? For money might ●ie upon the Ground, and They Tread upon it at Unawares.  Th. 
But they do not Touch it with their Fingers.  Ph. 
As if the Sense of Touching were not Common to the whole Body.  Th. 
But in case any such thing should fall out, they dare not Officiate after it, till they have been at Confession.  Ph. 
'Tis conscientiously done.  Th. 
But Cavilling apart; I'll tell ye plainly how it is. Money ever was, and ever will be, an Occasion to the World of Great Evils.  Ph. 
'Tis confessed. But than it is an Enablement of as much good to some as Ill to Others. The Inordinate Love of Money I find to be condemned, but not the Money itself.  Th. 
You say well. But to keep us the further from an Avaricious Desire of Money, we are forbidden the very Touching of it: As the Gospel forbids Swearing at all, to keep us from Perjury.  Ph. 
Are we forbidden the sight of Money?  Th. 
No, we are not; for it is easier to Govern our Hands, than our Eyes.  Ph. 
And yet Death itself entered into the World, at Those Windows.  Th. 
And therefore your true Franciscan draws his Cowl over his Eyebrows, and walks with his Eye● covered, and so intent upon the Ground, that he sees nothing but his way: As we do our Waggon-horses, that have a Leather on Each side of their Heads to keep them from seeing any thing but what's at their Feet.  Ph. 
But tell me now; are they forbidden by their Order, to receive any Indulgences from the Pope?  Th. 
They are so.  Ph. 
And yet I am informed that no men living have more; insomuch that they are allowed either to Poison, or to Bury alive, such as they themselves have Condemned, without any danger of being called to account for't.  Th. 
There is something I must confess in the story; for I was told once by a Polander, (and a man of Credit too) that he was got drunk, and fast asleep in the Franciscans Church, in the Corner where the Women sit to make their Confessions; Upon the singing of their usual Nocturns he awaked, but durst not discover himself. And when the Office was over, the whole Fraternity went down into a place, where there was a large deep Grave ready made; and there stood two young men, with their hands tied behind them: They had a Sermon there, in praise of Obedience; and a promise of Gods Pardon for all their sins; and not without some hope of Mercy from the Brotherhood, upon condition, that they should voluntarily go down into the Pit, and lay themselves upon their Backs there. So soon as they were down, the Ladders were drawn up, and the Earth presently thrown upon them by the Brethren, where they buried them alive.  Ph. 
But did the Polander say nothing all this while?  Th. 
Not one syllable; for fear he himself should have made the Third.  Ph. 
But can they justify This?  Th. 
Yes, they may; when the Honour of the Order is in question: For see what came on't. This Man, when he had made his Escape, told what he had seen, in all Companies where he came; which brought a great Odium upon the Seraphic Order: And had it not been better now, that this man had been Buried alive?  Ph. 
It may be it had. But these Niceties apart: How comes it that when their Principal has ordered them to go barefoot, they go now commonly half-shod?  Th. 
This Injunction was moderated, for two Reasons The One for fear they should tread upon Money at Unawares: The Other, for fear they should catch cold, or take any harm by Thorns, Snakes, sharp Stones, and the like: For these people are fain to beat it upon the Hoof, all the world over. But however, for the Dignity of the Injunction, the Rule is saved by a Synecdoche: For ye may see Part of the Foot naked through the Shoe, which, by That figure stands for the Whole.  Ph. 
They value themselves much upon their Profession of Evangelical Perfection, which (they say) consists in Gospel Precepts: But about those Precepts, the Learned themselves are in a manner at Daggers-drawing. Now among those Gospel Precepts, which do you reckon to be the most Perfect?  Th. 
That of the Fifth of St. Matthew, where ye have This Passage. Love your Enemies, Do good to them that Hate, and Pray for them that Persecute and Revile ye, that ye may be the Children of your Father which is in Heaven, who maketh his Sun to shine upon the Good, and upon the Evil, and sendeth Rain upon the Just, and upon the unjust. Therefore be ye Perfect, as your Heavenly Father is Perfect.  Ph. 
That's well said. But then our Heavenly Father is Rich, and Munificent to all People; Ask nothing of Any man.  Th. 
And These, our Earthly Fathers, are Bountiful too; but it is of Spiritual Things, as of Prayers; and Good Works, of which they have enough for themselves, and to spare.  Th. 
I would we had more Examples among them, of That Evangelical Charity, that returns Blessings for Cursings, and Good for Evil. What is the meaning of That Celebrated saying of Pope Alexander, There's less danger in affronting the most powerful Prince or Emperor, than a single Franciscan or Dominican.  Th. 
It is Lawful to vindicate the Honour of the Order; and what's done to the least of them, is done to the whole Order.  Ph. 
And why not t'other way rather? The Good that is done to One, Extends to all. And why shall not in Injury to One Christian, as well engage all Christendom in a Revenge? Why did not St. Paul, when he was beaten, and stoned, call for secure against the Enemies of his Apostolical Character? Now if, according to the saying of our Saviour, it be better to Give, than to Receive; certainly he that lives and teaches well, and gives out of his Own to those that want, is much Perfecter, than he that is only upon the Receiving hand▪ Or else St. Paul's Boasts of Preaching the Gospel Gratis, is Vain, and Idle. It seems to me, to be the best Proof of an Evangelical Disposition, for a man not to be moved with malicious Reproaches, and to preserve a Christian Charity, even for those that least deserve it. What does it signify, for a man to Relinquish something of his Own, and then to live better upon another bodies; if when he has laid down his Avarice, he still reserves to himself a Desire of Revenge? The world is full every where of this Half-shod sort of People, with their Hempen Girdles; but there's not one of a Thousand of them, that lives according to the Precepts of our Saviour, and the Practice of his Apostles.  Th. 
I am no stranger to the Tales that pass in the world for Current, among the Wicked, concerning That sort of People; But for my own part, wherever I see the Sacred Habit, I reckon myself in the presence of the Angels of God; and That to be the Happiest House, where the Threshold is most worn by the Feet of These men.  Ph. 
And I am of Opinion too, that women are in no place so Fruitful, as where These Holy men have most to do. St. Francis forgive me, Theotimus, for my great Mistakes, but really I took Their Garment to be no more than my Own; not one jot the Better, than the Habit of a Skipper, or a Shoemaker; setting aside the Holiness of the Person that wears it: As the Touch of our Saviour's Garment, we see cured the Woman of her Bloody Issue: And then I could not satisfy myself, supposing such Virtue in a Garment, whether I was to thank the Weaver, or the Tailor for it.  Th. 
Beyond doubt, he that gives the Form, gives the Virtue.  Ph. 
Well, so it is, I'll make my Life Easier hereafter, than it has been; and never trouble myself any more with the Fear of Hell, the Wearisome Tediousness of Confession, or the Torment of Repentance.   

HELL BROKE LOOSE.  
COL. XXI.  
The Divisions of Christian Princes are the Scandal of their Profession. The Furies Strike the Fire, and the Monks blow the Coal.  CHARON, ALASTOR. Ch. 
WHy so Brisk Alastor, and whither so fast, I prithee?  Al. 
Why now I have met with You, Charon, I'm at my Journeys end.  Ch. 
Well! And what News d'ye bring?  Al. 
That which you and your Mistress Proserpina will be glad to hear.  Ch. 
Be Quick then, and out with it.  Al. 
In short the Furies have bestirred themselves, and gained their Point. That is to say; what with Seditions, Wars, Robberies, and all manner of Plagues, there's not one spot left upon the Face of the Earth, that does not look like Hell Aboveground. They have spent their Snakes and their Poison, till they are fain to Hunt for more. Their Skulls are as Bald as so many Eggs: Not a Hair upon their Heads; not one drop of Venom more in their Bodies. Wherefore be ready with your Boat, and your Oars, for you'll have more work e'er long than you can turn your Hand to.  Ch. 
I could have told you as much as this comes to myself.  Al. 
Well, and how came you by't?  Ch. 
I had it from Fame, some two days ago now.  Al. 
Nay Fame's a Nimble Gossip. But what make you here without your Boat?  Ch. 
Why I can neither Will no● Choose: For mine is so Rotten a Leaky Old Piece, that 'tis impossible, if Fame speak Truth, it should ever hold out for such a job: And I am now looking out for a Titer Vessel. But true or false, I must get me another Bark however; for I have suffered a Wrack already.  Al. 
YE are all Drooping Wet, I perceive; but I thought you might have been new come out of a Bath.  Ch. 
Neither better nor worse, Alastor, then from Swimming out of the Stygian Lake.  Al. 
And where did you leave your Fare?  Ch. 
Even Paddling among the Frogs.  Al. 
But what says Fame, upon the whole matter?  Ch. 
She speaks of Three great Potentates, that are Mortally bend upon the Ruin of One Another, insomuch, that they have possessed every Part of Christendom, with this Fury of Rage, and Ambition. These Three are sufficient to Engage all the Lesser Princes and States in their Quarrel; and so Wilful, that they'll rather Perish then Yield. The Dane, the Pole, the Scot, nay, and the Turk Himself, are Dipped in the Broil, and the Design. The Contagion is got into Spain, Brittany, Italy, and France: Nay, besides these Feuds of Hostility, and Arms, there's a worse matter yet behind: That is to say; there is a Malignity that takes its Rise from a Diversity of Opinions; which has Debauched men's minds, and manners, to so Unnatural, and Insociable a Degree, that it has left neither Faith, nor Friendship in the World. It has broken all Confidence betwixt Brother and Brother; Husband and Wife: And it is to be hoped that this Distraction will one day produce a glorious Confusion, to the very Desolation of Mankind: For these Controversies of the Tongue, and of the Pen, will come at last to be tried by the Swords Point.  Al. 
And Fame has said no more in All this, than what these very Ears and Eyes have heard and seen. For I have been a constant Companion, and Assistant to These Furies; and can speak upon Knowledge, that they have approved themselves worthy of their Name, and Office.  Ch. 
Right, but men's minds are Variable; and what if some Devil should star● up now to Negotiate a peace? There goes a Rumour▪ I can assure ye, of a certain Scribbling Fellow, (one Erasmus they say) that has entered upon that Province.  Al. 
Ay, Ay: But He talks to the Deaf. There's no Body heeds Him, now a days. He W●it a kind of a Hue and Cry after Peace, that he Phansyed to be either Fled or Banished: And after that an Epitaph upon Peace Defunct, and all to no purpose. But then we have those on the other hand, that advance our cause as heartily as the very Furies Themselves.  Ch. 
And what are they, I prithee?  Al. 
You may observe, up and down, in the Courts of Princes, certain Animals; some of them Tricked up with Feathers: Others, in White, Russet, Ash Coloured Frocks▪ Gowns, Habits: Or call 'em what you will, These are the Instruments, you must know, that are still Irritating Kings to the Thirst of War, and Blood, under the splendid Notion of Empire, and Glory: And with the same Art, and Industry, they inflame the Spirits of the Nobility likewise, and of the Common-People. Their Sermons are only Harangues, in honour of the outrages of Fire and Sword, under the Character of a Just, a Religious, or a Holy War. And, which is yet more Wonderful; they make it to be God's Cause, on Both sides. God Fights for us, is the cry of the French Pulpits: And (what have they to fear, that have the Lord of Hosts for their Protector?) Acquit yourselves like Men say the English, and the Spaniard, and the Victory is Certain: For (This is God Cause, not Caesar's.) As for those that fall in the Battle, their Souls mount as directly to Heaven, as if they had Wings to carry 'em thither. (Arms and all.)  Ch. 
But do their Disciples believe all this?  Al. 
You cannot imagine the Power of a Well dissembled Religion; where there's Youth, Ignorance, Ambition, and a natural Animosity, to work upon. 'Tis an easy matter to Impose, where there is a Previous Propension to be Deceived!  Ch. 
Oh, that it did but lie in my Power to do these People a good Office!  Al. 
Give 'em a Magnificent Treat then; there's nothing they'll take better.  Ch. 
It must be of Mallows, Lupins, and Leeks, then, for we have nothing else you know.  Al. 
Pray let it be Partridge, Capons, Pheasant, they'll never think they're welcome else.  Ch. 
But to the point, what should set these People so much a Gog upon Sedition, and Broils? What can they get by't?  Al. 
Do not you know then, that they get more by the Dead, then by the Living? Why, there are Testaments, Funerals, Bulls, and Twenty other pretty Perquisites that are worth the looking after: Besides that a Camp-Life agrees much better with their Humour, then to lie droneing in their Cells. War breeds Bishops, and a very Blockhead, in a Time of Peace, comes many times to make an Excellent Military Prelate.  Ch. 
Well! They understand their business.  Al. 
Stay: But to the matter of a Boat; what necessity of having another?  Ch. 
Nay, 'tis but Swimming once again, instead of Rowing.  Al. 
Well, but now I think on't; how came the Boat to sink?  Ch. 
Under the Weight of the Passengers  Al. 
I thought you had carried Shadows only, not Bodies. What may be the Weight, I prithee, of a Cargo of Ghosts?  Ch. 
Why, let 'em be as Light as Water-Spiders, there may be enough of them to do a bodies Work. But then my Vessel is a kind of a Phantom too.  Al. 
I have seen the time, when you had as many Ghosts as you could Stow aboard; and Three or Four Thousand more hanging at the Stern, and your Bark me thought never so much as felt on't.  Ch. 
That is all according as the Ghosts are: For your Hectical, phthisical Souls, that go-off in a Consumption, weigh little or nothing. But those that are Torn out of Bodies, in a Habit of Foul Humours; as in Apoplexyes, Quinzies, Fevers, and the like: But most of all, in the Chance of War: These, I must tell ye, carry a great deal of Corpulent, and gross matter, along with them.  Al. 
As for the Spaniards, and the French, methinks they should not be very Heavy.  Ch. 
No nor comparatively with Others: And yet I do not find them altogether so Light as Feathers, neither. But for the Britain's, and the Germans, that are rank Feeders, I had only Ten of 'em aboard once, and if I had not Lightened my Boat of part of my Lading, we had all gone to the Bottom.  Al. 
You were hard put to't I find.  Ch. 
Ay, but what do ye think, when we are Pestered with Great Lords, Hector's and Bullies?  Al. 
You were speaking of a Just War, even now. You have nothing to do, I presume with those that fall in such a War: These go to rights, all to Heaven, they say.  Ch. 
Whither they go, I know not; but this I'm sure of; Let the War be what it will, it sends us such shoals of Cripples, that a body would think there were not one Soul more left above ground; and they come overcharged, not only with Gut, and Surfeits, but with Patents, Pardons, Commissions, and I know not how much Lumber besides.  Al. 
Do they not come Naked to the Ferry then?  Ch. 
Yes, yes; but at their first coming they are strangely haunted with the Dreams of all these things.  Al. 
Are Dreams so Heavy then?  Ch. 
Heavy, d'ye say? Why they have Drowned my Boat already: And then there's the Weight of so many Halfpences, over and above.  Al. 
That's somewhat I must confess, if they be Brass.  Ch. 
Well, well! It behoves me at a venture to get a stout Vessel.  Al. 
Without many Words; upon the main, thou'rt a happy Man.  Ch. 
Wherein, as thou lov'st me?  Al. 
Thou't get thee an Alderman's Estate, in the turning of a Hand.  Ch. 
There must be a World of Fares, at a Halfpenny a Ghost, for a man to thrive upon't.  Al. 
You'll have enough I warrant ye, to do your business.  Ch. 
Ay, ay, 'Twould mount to somewhat indeed, if they'd bring their Wealth along with them. But they come to me, Weeping and Wailing, for the Kingdoms, the Dignities, the Abbeys, and the Treasure that they have left behind 'em; pay their bare Passage and that's all. So that what I have been these three Thousand years a scraping together, must go all away at a swoop, upon one Boat.  Al. 
He that would Get Money, must Venture Mony.  Ch. 
Ay; but the People in the World have better Trading they say: Where a Man in three Years time shall make himself a Fortune.  Al. 
Yes, yes, and Squandered away again, perhaps in half the time. Your gain 'tis true, is less, but then 'tis steady and surer.  Ch. 
Not so steady neither, perchance. For what if some Providence should dispose the Hearts of Princes to a General Peace: My Work's at an end.  Al. 
My life for yours, there's no fear of that, for One-half-Score Year. The Pope is Labouring it, I know: But he had as good keep his Breath to Cool● his Porridg. Not but that there is Notable Muttering and Grumbling every where? 'Tis an unreasonable thing they cry, that Christendom should be Torn to pieces thus, to gratify a particular Picque, or the Ambition of two or three Swaggering pretenders. People, in fine, are grown Sick of these Hurly-Burlies: But when Men are bewitched once, there's no place left for better Counsels. Now to the business of the Boat. We have Workmen among ourselves, without need to look any further. As Vulcan, for the purpose.  Ch. 
Right: If it were for an Iron, or a Brazen Vessel.  Al. 
Or 'twill Cost but a small matter, to send for a Carpenter.  Ch. 
Well! And where shall we have Materials?  Al. 
Why, certainly you have Timber enough.  Ch. 
The woods that were in Elysium, are all destroyed: Not so much as a stick left.  Al. 
How so, I beseech ye!  Ch. 
With burning Heretics Ghosts. And now, for want of other Fuel, we are fain to Dig for Cole.  Al. 
But these Ghosts methinks might have been punished cheaper.  Ch. 
Rhadamanthus (the Judge) would have it so.  Al. 
And what will you do now, for your Wherry and Oars?  Ch. 
I'll look to the Helm myself, and if the Ghosts will not row, let 'em even stay behind.  Al. 
And what shall They do, that ne'er served to the Trade?  Ch. 
Serve or not serve: 'Tis all a case to me; For I make Monarch's Row, and Cardinals Row, as well as Porters, and Carmen. They all take their Turns, without any Privilege or Exception.  Al. 
Well! I wish you a Boat to your mind, and so I'll away to Hell with my good News, and leave ye. But Hark ye first.  Ch. 
Speak then.  Al. 
Make wha● hast you can, or you'll be Smothered in the Crowed.  Ch. 
Nay, you will find at least two Hundred Thousand upon the Bank already, besides those that are Plunged into the Lake. I'll make all the dispatch I can, and pray let them know I'm coming.   

THE OLD MAN'S DIALOGUE.  
COL. XXII.  
A Short View of Humane Life; in a Colloquy betwixt Four Old Men of several Humours. The first a Man of Sobriety, and Government. The second a Debauchèe. The third, a Rambling Bigott. The fourth, a Man truly Religious.  EUSEBIUS, PAMPYRUS, POLYGAMUS, GLYTION; HUGONITIO, HENRICUS, WAGONERS. Eu. 
WHat new Faces have we here? Stay a little. Either my Memory, and my Spectacles abuse me, or that must be Pampyrus; Tother Polygamus; and the third, Glytion; my Old acquaintances and Companions. They are certainly the very same.  Pa. 
Friend, what dost thou stand staring at with thy Glass-Eyes, as if thou wouldst bewitch People: Pray come nearer a little.  Po. 
In good time, honest Eusebius; how glad am I to see thee!  Gl. 
All Health and Happiness be to the best of Men.  Et. 
One blessing upon you altogether, my dear Friends. What providence; or at lest what providential chance has brought us together now! 'Tis Forty Year, I believe, since we Four saw one another. Why 'tis as if some Mercurial Rod had brought us into a Circle with a Charm. But what are ye doing here?  Pa. 
We are sitting.  Eu. 
I know you are. But what for, I beseech ye?  Po. 
We wait for the Antwerp-Wagon.  Eu. 
You are going to the Fair, perhaps.  Po. 
We are so: But rather upon Curiosity, than business. Though some go for one, some for tother.  Eu. 
Well! and I am going thither myself too: But what do ye stay for?  Po. 
Only to Bargain for our Passage.  Eu. 
These Waggoners are a Dogged sort of People. But what if we should put a Shame upon 'em?  Po. 
With all my Heart, if it might be fairly done.  Eu. 
If they will not come to reasonable Terms, I'm for telling them, that we'll even Trudge it away a Foot?  Po. 
You may as well tell 'em that you'll fly thither, as that you'll walk it; and they'll believe it as soon.  Gl. 
Shall I advise you for the best now?  Po. 
Ay, by all means.  Gl. 
You may be sure they are at their Brandy; and the longer they Fuddle, the more danger of Overturning.  Po. 
You must rise betimes to find a Foreman Sober.  Gl. 
I fancy it would be worth the while, for us Four to take a Wagon to ourselves, 'tis but a little more charge, and we shall get the sooner thither: We shall have the more Room, and the greater Freedom of Conversation.  Po. 
Glytion is much in the Right on't. For good Company upon the way does the Office of a Coach, and makes the Journey both Easie and Pleasant, besides the liberty of Discourse.  Gl. 
Come good People, I have taken the Wagon; Let's up and be Jogging. So. And now I begin to live methinks, in the sight of so many of my Ancient Friends, and Camarades; and after so long a separation.  Eu. 
And I, to grow young again.  Po. 
How long may't be, since we Four were in Pension together at Paris?  Eu. 
I take it to be a matter of Two and Forty Years.  Pa. 
And were not we Four much of an Age? Then.  Eu. 
Very near the matter.  Pa. 
And what a difference does there seem to be at present! Here's Glytion, has nothing of an Old Man about him: And for Polygamus, there; a Body would take him for his Grandfather.  Eu. 
The thing is manifestly true. But what should be the reason on't?  Pa. 
Why either the One stopped in his Course, or the Other made more haste then Good speed.  Eu. 
No, no. Men may Slacken their Pace, but Time Rolls on without respect.  Po. 
Come Glytion, deal frankly with us, and say; How many Years hast thou upon thy Back?  Gl. 
More than Ducats in my Pocket.  Pa. 
But the Number, I prithee.  Gl. 
Just Sixty Six.  Eu. 
Why thou'lt never be Old.  Po. 
Well; But by what Secret Arts hast thou preserved thyself in Health and Youth, so long; without either Grey Hairs, or Wrinkles? There's Fire and Spirit in your Eyes: Your Teeth are White and Even, a fresh Colour, and a smooth Plump Habit of Body.  Gl. 
Upon condition that you tell me, how you came to be Old so soon, I'll tell you how I kept myself Young so long.  Po. 
I'll do't with all my Heart; and therefore begin the History, at your leaving of Paris.  GLYTION. 
I went directly into my own Country; and by that time I had been there about a year, I began to bethink myself, what Course of Life to choose, as a matter of great importance toward my future Peace. And so I cast my thoughts upon several Examples, good and bad; some that succeeded, others that miscarried.  Po. 
This was a point of Prudence more than I expected; for you had none of these sober Considerations about ye, when I knew you at Paris.  Gl. 
That was before I had sowed my wild Oats, as we say. But you must know, my good Friend, that I did not do all this neither, purely by my own Mother Wit.  Po. 
I was indeed a little surprised at it.  Gl. 
The Course I took, was, in short this. The first thing I did was to find out a Person of the most general Reputation, for Gravity, Wisdom, and long Experience in the whole Neighbourhood: and one that in my own Opinion was the happiest of Men.  Eu. 
Very discreetly done.  Gl. 
This Man I made my Friend and my Councillor; and by his Advice, I Married a Wife.  Po. 
With a fair Portion, I hope.  Gl. 
So so: But in a competent Proportion to my own Fortune; and just enough to do my business.  Po. 
What was your Age then?  Gl. 
Toward Two and Twenty.  Po. 
A happy Creature!  Gl. 
You must not take this yet to be wholly the Work of Fortune.  Po. 
How so?  Gl. 
I'll show ye now. 'Tis the Practice of the World, to Love before they judge, but I Judged before I Loved. Not but that I took this Woman more for Posterity sake, then for any Carnal satisfaction: And never a happier Couple under the Sun, for the eight years, that we lived together, but then I lost her.  Po. 
Had you no Children by her?  Gl. 
Yes, Four; that, God be praised for't, are yet alive: two Boys, and two Girls.  Po. 
And what's your Condition at present? Private, or Public?  Gl. 
Why I have a public Commission. It might have been better, but there's Credit enough in't to secure me from Contempt, and then 'tis free from vexatious Attendances: which is as much as I ask; so long as I have sufficient for myself, and somewhat upon occasion, to spare for my Friend; which is the very height of my Ambition. And then I have taken care to give more Reputation to my Office, than I have received from it. I hope I have done well in't.  P●. 
Without all Controversy.  Gl. 
At this rate of Government my Life has been long and easy to me, and I am grown old in the Arms and good esteem of all my Companions, and Friends.  Eu. 
But there's a hard saying methinks, though very much to the Purpose: He that has no Enemies, has no Friends. Envy never fails to tread upon the Heel of Happiness.  Gl. 
Right, if it be a splendid, pompous Felicity: But in a state of Mediocrity, a Man's quiet and safe. I have made it my perpetual Care and study, never to raise any advantage to myself, from the Miseries, or misfortunes of other people. I have kept as much as possible▪ from the cumber of business, especially from invidious Employments, that could not be discharged without making many Enemies. Nay, as near as I can, I would not disoblige one man to help another. In case of any misunderstanding, I do what I can, either to excuse and soften it, or to let it fall, without taking notice of it; or else, with good Offices to set all Right again. I never loved Squabbling and Contention; but where there's no avoiding it, I choose rather to lose my Money then my Friend, upon the whole, I am for Mitio's Character in the Comedy. I affront no man; I carry a cheerful Countenance to all. I salute, or resalute, with Heart and goodwill: I cross no man's Inclination: I censure no man's purposes or doings; I am not so Self-conceited, as to despise other people, and it never moves me, when I see men over-value themselves. That which I would have kept secret, I tell to no Mortal. I never was curious into the Privacies of other Men; and if any thing of that Nature came to my knowledge, I never blabbed it. 'Tis my constant Practice, either to say nothing at all of the Absent, or to speak of them with kindness and respect: For half the Quarrels in the World take their Rise from the intemperance of the Tongue. I have made it my Rule, never to provoke Differences, or to heed them: but on the contrary, so much as in me lay, either to moderate, or to extinguish them. By these means I have kept clear of Envy, and secured myself of the Affection and Esteem of my Countrymen.  Pa. 
Did not you find a single Life Irksome to you?  Gl. 
The sharpest Affliction that ever befell me, was the death of my Wife, I could not but passionately wish that we might have grown Old together, and have continued happy in the enjoyment of the common Blessing of our Children: but since Providence had otherwise determined, Duty and Religion told me, that God's way was best for both, and that it would be both foolish, and wicked to torment myself in vain, without any advantage either to the Dead, or to the Living.  Po. 
You were so happy in one Wife, methinks it should have tempted you to venture upon another.  Gl. 
I had some thoughts that way: but as I Married one for the hopes of Children, so for these children's sakes, I resolved never to Marry again.  Po. 
But were not the Night's tedious to ye without a Bed-fellow?  Gl. 
Nothing is hard to a willing mind. And then do but consider the benefits of a single Life. There are a sort of people in the World, that will be still making the worst of every thing, and taking it by the wrong Handle. As Crates, (or some body else, in an Epigram under his Name) has summed up the Evils or Inconveniences of humane Life. And the Resolution is this: That it is best not to be born. Now that Humour of Metrodorus pleases me a great deal better, in his Abstract of the Blessings of Life. 'Tis a more comfortable Prospect, and it sweetens the Disgusts, and weaknesses of Flesh and Blood. For my own part, I have brought myself to such a Temper of indifference, as never to be transported with any violent Inclinations or Aversions: and this secures me, whether my Fortune be good or bad, from either Insolence in one Case, or Abjection or despondence in the other.  Pa. 
Make this good, and you are a greater Philosopher then either Thales, or Metrodorus themselves.  Gl. 
So soon as ever I find but the first Motion of any disorder in my mind, (as these Touches are not to be avoided) whether it be from the sense of an Indignity or Affront, I cast it immediately out of my thoughts.  Po. 
Well! but there are some Family-Provocations, and Offences for the purpose, that would anger a Saint.  Gl. 
They never stay long enough with me, to make an Impression. If I can quiet things, I do't: If I cannot, I say thus to myself: Why should I gall myself, to no manner of purpose? In a word, my Reason does that for me at first, which after a little while, time itself would do: briefly, If any thing troubles me, I never carry the thought on't to Bed with me.  Eu. 
'Tis no wonder to see so vigorous a Body, under the Government of so virtuous a mind.  Gl. 
Come, come Gentlemen; in the Freedom of Friendship. I have kept this Guard upon myself: not to do any thing that might reflect upon my own Honour, or my Families. There's no Misery like that of a Guilty Conscience: and I never lay my Head upon my Pillow at night, till I have by Repentance reconciled myself to God, for the Transgressions of the day past. He that's well with his Maker, can never be uneasy within himself: for the Love and Protection of the Almighty supports him against all the Malice of wicked Men,  Eu. 
Have you never any anxious thoughts upon the apprehension of Death?  Gl. 
No more than I have for looking back upon the Day of my Birth. I know I must die, and to live in fear on't, may possibly shorten my Life, it can never lengthen it, so that my only Care is to live honestly and comfortably, and leave the rest to Providence. No man can live Happily, that does not live Well.  Pa. 
But to live so long in the same Place, though 'twere in Rome itself: I should grow Grey, I Fancy, with so much of the same thing over again.  Gl. 
There's Pleasure no doubt on't, in Variety; but then for long Travels, though experience and observation may make men Wise, they run the Risk of a thousand Dangers, to balance that Prudence. Now I am for the safer way of Compassing the World in a Map, and I can find out more in Printed Travels, than ever Ulysses saw in all his twenty years Ramble. I have myself a Villa, some two miles out of Town: when I'm There, I'm a Countryman; and when I come back again, I am welcomed, as if I had been upon the discovery of the North-West passage.  Eu. 
You keep your Body in order, I presume with Physic.  Gl. 
No, no, I have nothing to do with the Doctors, I was never Let-blood in my Life yet: and never meddled with either Pill or Potion. When I feel myself any way indisposed; change of Air, or a spare Diet, sets me right again.  Eu. 
Don't you Study sometime?  Gl. 
Oh by all means, 'Tis the most agreeable Entertainment of my Life. But not so, as to make a Toil of a Pleasure. And I do it not for Ostentation, but for the Love and Delight of it, or for the informing of my Life and Manners● After Dinner I have a Collation of edifying Discourse or Stories, or else somebody to Read to me; and I never Plod at my Book above an hour at a time. When that's over, I take my Lute perhaps, and a walk in my Chamber, either Groping it or Singing to't; or ruminating it may be, upon what I have heard or read. If I have a good Companion with me, I give him part on't: and after a while, to my Book again.  Eu. 
But tell me now, upon the word of an honest Man; do you find none of those infirmities about ye, that are so common to Old Age?  Gl. 
Why truly, my Sleeps are not so Sound, neither is my Memory so firm as it has been. I have now acquitted myself of my Promise, to a Syllable; and told you the whole secret that has kept me Young so long. And pray let Polygamus deal as faithfully with us in the Relation of what has made him Old, so much Sooner.  Po. 
You are so much my Friends, that you shall have it without any Disguise or Reserve.  Eu. 
pray let it be so then, and it shall never go further.  POLYGAMUS, 
I need not tell you, how much I indulged my Appetite, when I was at Paris.  Eu. 
We remember it very well: but hoped, that upon quitting the place, you had left your Hot blood, and your loose Manners behind ye.  Po. 
I had Variety of Mistresses there; and one of them that was Bagged, I took home with me.  Eu. 
What to your Father's house?  Po. 
Directly thither: But she passed for the Wise of a certain Friend of mine, that in a short time was to follow her.  Gl. 
And did your Father swallow this?  Po. 
Yes at first, but in a matter of four days he smelled out the Cheat: and then there was heavy work made on't. In this interim however I spent my time, and my Money in Taverns, Treating Houses, Gaming Ordinaries, and other extravagant Diversions of the like kind. In short; my ●athers Rage was so implacable, He'd have no such Cackling Gossips he said under his Roof: He'd not own such a Rebellious wretch any longer for his Son, etc.) that in Conclusion, I was even fain to march off with my Pullet, and so Nestle in another place: Where she brought me a brood by the way.  Pa. 
But where had you Money all this while?  Po. 
Why, my Mother helped me now and then by stealth: besides considerable Sums that I borrowed.  Eu. 
And were there any such Fools as would give you Credit?  Po. 
Why, there are those that will trust a Spendthrift sooner than an honester Man.  Pa. 
Well! and what next?  Po. 
When my Friends saw my Father at last, upon the very point of Disinheriting me, they brought him to this Composition, that I should renounce the French Woman, and Mary one of our own Country.  Eu. 
Was she not your Wife?  Po. 
There had past some words in the Future Tense (as I will Marry ye, for the purpose) but then, to say the Truth, there followed Carnal Copulation, in the Present Tense, or so.  Eu. 
And how could you dissolve that Contract then?  Po. 
Why, it came out afterwards, that my French Woman had a French Husband, only she was gone away from him.  Eu. 
So that you have a Wife, it seems.  Po. 
Yes, yes, I am now Married to my Eighth Wife.  Eu. 
The Eighth, do ye say? Why then he that gave you the Name of Polygamus, was a Prophet. But they were all Barren perhaps.  Po. 
No, no, I have a Litter at Home, by every one of them.  Eu. 
So many Hens with Eggs, in the stead of them, would be a happy Change. But you have enough of Wiving sure by this time.  Po. 
So much, that if my Eighth Wife should die to day, I'd take a ninth to morrow. Nay, 'tis hard, in my opinion, that a Man may not be allowed as many Wives, as a Cock has Hens.  Eu. 
'Tis no wonder, at your rate of Whoreing and Drinking, to see you brought to a Skeleton, and an Old man before your Time. But who maintains your Family all this while?  Po. 
Why, betwixt a small Estate that my Father left me, and my own hard Labour, I make a shift to keep Life and Soul together.  Eu. 
You have given over your Study then.  Po. 
I have even brought a N●ble to Ninepences; and all I have to trust to, is to make the best of a bad Game.  Eu. 
I wonder how thou hast been able to bear so many Mournings, and the loss of so many Wives.  Po. 
I never lived a Widower above ten days, and the next Wife still blotted out the Memory of the last. I have given you here a very honest, and a true Abstract of my Life. I wish Pampirus hear would but tell his Story as frankly as I have done mine. He bears his Age well enough, I perceive, and yet I take him to be two or three years my Senior.  Pa. 
I shall make no difficulty of that, if you can have Patience for so wild and Fantastical a Romance.  Eu. 
Never talk of Patience to hear, what we have a Mind to hear.  PAMPIRUS, 
I was no sooner returned from Paris, but the good Old man my Father pressed me earnestly to enter into some Course of Life, that might probably advance my Fortune; and upon a full Consideration of the matter, it was concluded, I should betake myself to the business of a Merchant.  Po. 
I cannot but wonder, Why, that choice rather than any other.  Pa. 
Why, I was naturally curious to know New things; to see several Countries, and famous Cities; to learn Languages, and to inform myself in the Customs, and Manners of Men. Now thought I, this is no way better to be compassed, then by Negotiation, and Commerce: besides a general understanding of things, that goes along with it.  Po. 
Well! But Gold itself may be bought too dear.  Pa. 
It may so, but to be short. My Father put a good Sum of Money into my hand to begin the World withal: Wished me good Luck with it, and gave me his Blessing. At the same time, he laid out for a Rich Wife for me, and pitched upon so Virtuous, and so Amiable a Creature; that she would have been a Fortune in her very Smock to any honest Man.  Eu. 
Well! But was it a Match at last?  Pa. 
No, for before ever I could get back again, Use and Principal was all lost.  Eu. 
Wracked, I suppose.  Pa. 
Yes, yes, Wracked, we struck upon the what d'ye call the Rock?  Eu. 
The Malta perchance; for that's a desperate Passage.  Pa. 
No, no; this is forty times worse. But it is somewhat like it however.  Eu. 
Do ye remember the Name of the Sea?  Pa. 
No, but it is a place infamous for a thousand Miscarriages. Pray, by your Leave: Is there a dangerous Rock they call ALEA? I don't know your Greek name fort't.  Eu. 
Mad Fool that thou wert!  Pa. 
So, and what was my Father I prithee; to trust a young Fop with such a gobb of Money! But it was in fine, the Rock ALEA Anglicé, The Devil's Bones, that I was split upon.  Gl. 
And what did you do next?  Pa. 
Why, I began Providently to consider of a convenient Beam and Halter to hang myself.  Gl. 
Was your Father so implacable then? For such a loss might be made up again: and the first fault must be very foul, not to be Pardonable.  Pa. 
Why you have Reason, perhaps. But in the mean while, the poor Man lost his pretty Mistress; for so soon as ever her Relations came to understand what they were to trust to, they resolved to have nothing more to do with me. Now I was in Love, you must know, over Head and Ears.  Gl. 
In troth, I Pity thee with all my heart. But what did you propose to yourself after this?  Pa. 
Only to do as other people do in desperate Cases. My Father had cast me off; my Fortune was irrecoverably lost, and consequently my Wife: and the best Treatment I could get in the World, was to be pointed at, for a debauch, squandring Sot. Without more words, it was even come to Cross or Pile, whether I should take up in a Cloister or hang myself.  Eu. 
You were cruelly put to't. But I presume you had the Wit to pitch upon the easier Death of the two.  Pa. 
Or rather, the more painful; so Sick was I, even of Life itself.  Gl. 
And yet many people cast themselves into Monasteries, as the most comfortable State of living.  Pa. 
Well! The first thing I did, was to put a little Money in my Pocket, and fly my Country.  Gl. 
Whether went ye!  Pa. 
Into Ireland, and there was I made a Regular of that Order, that wears Linen above, and Woollen to the Skin-ward.  Gl. 
Did you spend your Winter there?  Pa. 
No, no, two Months only, and then for Scotland.  Gl. 
How came it you stayed no longer? Did you take Check at any thing?  Pa. 
The Discipline was not severe enough methought, for a Wretch that hanging itself would have been too good for.  Eu. 
And how went Matters with you in Scotland?  Pa. 
I even changed my Linen Habit for a Leathern one, among the Carthusians.  Eu. 
These are the Men that are in strictness of Profession, dead to the World.  Pa. 
So methought, by their Singing.  Gl. 
Are the dead so merry then? But how many Months were you there?  Pa. 
Betwixt five and six.  Gl. 
A strange Constancy, to hold so long in a mind!  Eu. 
You took no offence at any thing among the Carthusians, did ye?  Pa. 
I could not like so Lazy, a froward sort of Life. And then, what with Fumes, and Solitude, I phancy'd several of 'em to be hotheaded: and for my part; having but little Sense already, I durst not stay, for fear of losing the rest.  Po. 
Whither did you take your next flight?  Pa. 
Into France: among those that give to understand by the Colour of their Habits, that they are Mourners in this World. I speak of the Benedictines: and of those particularly, that wear a kind of a Netted Haircloth for their upper Garment.  Gl. 
A terrible Mortification of the Flesh, I must Confess.  Pa. 
I was among them, eleven Months.  Eu. 
And how came you to leave 'em at last?  Pa. 
Why, I found they laid more stress upon Ceremonies, then True Piety. And then I was told that the Bernardines were a much more conscientious Order, and under a severer Discipline: Those I mean that are Habited in White, instead of Black. I went and lived a matter of Ten Months among These too.  Eu. 
And what Dusgusted you here now?  Pa. 
I disliked nothing at all: For I found them very good Company. But I had an Old saying in my head: That such a Thing must either be done, or it must not be done: So that I was even Resolved, either to be a Monk in Perfection, or no Monk at all. I was told after this, that the Holiest Men upon the Face of the Earth, were those of the Order of St. Bridget. And these were the People that I thought to live and die withal.  Eu. 
And how many Months were you with them, I beseech ye?  Pa. 
Neither Months nor Weeks; but in Truth almost Two Days.  Gl. 
You were mightily fond sure of this kind of Life, to stay so long in't.  Po. 
They take no body in, you must know, but those that are presently professed, and I was not so mad yet, as to put my Neck into such a Noose, that it could never be got out again. And then the Singing of the Nuns, put me out of my Wits almost, with reminding me of my last Mistress.  Gl. 
Well! And what after this?  Pa. 
My Heart was wholly set upon Religion, but yet upon this Ramble from one thing to another, I could not meet with any thing to my mind. But walking up and down afterwards, I fell into a Troop of Cross-Bearers. Some carried White Crosses; Others Red, Green, Party Coloured, some Single, some Double, some Quadruple; and some again, several Sorts, and Forms of Crosses. I had a Reverence for the Christianity of the Memorial, but I was confounded, which Form, or Colour, to make choice of, before another. So that for fear of the worst, I carried some of every sort. But upon the whole matter, I found there was a great difference betwixt the Figure of a Cross upon a Garment, and a Cross in the Heart. When I had Hunted myself weary, and never the nearer my Journeys end; it came into my Head that a Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, would do my Work. For let a Man go to jerusalem a very Devil he comes back a Saint.  Po. 
And thither you went then.  Pa. 
Yes.  Po. 
Upon whose charge I prithee?  Pa. 
That should have been your first Question. But you know the Old Proverb. A Man of Art will Live any where.  Gl. 
And, what's your Art, I beseech you?  Pa. 
Palmistry.  Gl. 
Where did you serve your time to't?  Pa. 
What's that to the business?  Gl. 
Under what Master?  Pa. 
The great Master of all Sciences; the Belly. In little; I setup for a Fortune-Teller: And there did I lay about me, upon the Topique of things Past, Present, and to Come.  Gl. 
Upon good grounds, I hope.  Pa. 
The Devil a bit that I knew of the matter: But I set a good Face on't, and ran no Risque neither: For I was paid still before hand.  Po. 
That ever so senseless an Imposture, should find a Man Bread.  Pa. 
And yet so it is, that I maintained myself, and a Brace of Lackeys, very decently upon the Credit of it. Why, how should Knaves live, without a World of Fools of both Sexes to work upon? So soon as I got to jerusalem, I put myself into the Train of a Rich Nobleman, of about Seventy Years of Age, that could never have Died in Peace, he said, if he had not blest his Eyes with the sight of that Holy Place.  Eu. 
He had no Wife, I hope to leave behind him.  Pa. 
Yes, and six Children into the bargain.  Eu. 
A most Impious, Religious Old Man! But you came back I suppose, a Man of another World.  Pa. 
No, but to deal plainly with you, somewhat worse than I went.  Eu. 
So that your Zeal for Religion was cooled, I perceive.  Pa. 
Nay, on the contrary, hotter than e'er it was. And therefore, I returned into Italy, and applied myself to a Military Life.  Eu. 
You sought for Religion in the Camp it seems: the most unlikely place under the Heavens, to find it in.  Pa. 
Ay, but it was a Holy War.  Eu. 
Against the Turks, perchance.  Pa. 
Nay, a Holier War than that; or the Doctors were besides the Cushion.  Eu. 
How so?  Pa. 
It was the War betwixt julius the Second, and the French. And then I had a fancy to a Soldier's Life, for the knowledge it gives a Man of the World.  Eu. 
It brings a man to the knowledge of many things, that he had better be Ignorant of.  Pa. 
I found it so afterwards, And yet I suffered more hardship in the Field, then in the Cloister.  Eu. 
Well and where were you next now?  Pa. 
Why, I was thinking with myself, whether I should back again to the business of a Merchant, that I had laid aside; or press forward in the pursuit of Religion, that fled before me. While my thoughts were in this Balance, it came into my mind, that I might do both under one.  Eu. 
What? And set up for a Merchant, and a Monk▪ both together?  Pa. 
Well! And why not; What are your 〈◊〉, but a kind of Religious Traders? They fly over Sea and Land. They see, they hear every thing that passes: They enter into all Privacies; and the Doors of Kings, Noblemen, and Commoners, are all open to them.  Eu. 
Ay, but they do not deal for gain.  Pa. 
Yes, and with better success many times than we do.  Eu. 
Which of these Orders did you make choice of?  Pa. 
I tried 'em all.  Eu. 
And did none of 'em please you?  Pa. 
I liked them all well enough if I might but presently have entered upon Practice, and Commerce. But when I found, that I was to be slaved a long time to my Offices in the Choir, before I could be qualified for the trust; I began then to cast about, how I might get to be made an Abbot. But said I to myself, Kissing goes by favour, and 'twill be a tedious Work; and so I quitted that thought too▪ After some Eight Years trifled away, in shifting from one thing to another thus, comes the News of my Father's Death: So home I went; took my Mother's advice, Married a Wife, and so to my first course of Traffic again.  Gl. 
Well! And how did you behave yourself, in your several shapes; for every New Habit, made you look like a New Creature.  Pa. 
Why 'twas all no more to me, than the same Players Acting several parts in the same Comedy.  Eu. 
But be so Honest now, as to tell me, only which is the condition, in this Variety of Adventures, that is most to your liking?  Pa. 
So many Men, so many minds. But to be free with you, that of a Merchant is most agreeable to my inclination.  Eu. 
But yet there are great Hazards and Inconveniencies that attend it.  Pa. 
There are so; and 'tis the same Case in any other State of Life. But since this is my Lot, I'll make the best on't. Eusebius his turn is yet to come, and I hope he will not think much of obliging his Friends, in requital with some part of his History.  Eu. 
Nay, if you please, the whole Course of it is at your service.  Gl. 
We shall most gladly hear it.  EUSEBIUS. 
When I left Paris, It took me a Years time at Home to consider, what course of Life to settle in: And not without a strict Examination of myself, to what Study or Profession I stood most inclined. I was offered a good handsome Prebendary, as they call it: And I accepted it.  Gl. 
That sort of Life has no great Reputation among the People.  Eu. 
But, as the World went, it was to me very welcome. It was no small Providence, to have so many advantages fall into a Man's Mouth upon the sudden, as if they had been dropped from Heaven; as Dignity, Handsome Houses well furnished, a competent Revenue, a Worthy, and a Learned Society: And a Church at hand, to serve God in, when he pleases.  Pa. 
I was Scandalised at the Luxury of the Place; the Infamy of their Concubines; and the strange Aversion those People had for Letters.  Eu. 
'Tis nothing to me, what others do, but what I do myself: And if I cannot mend the Bad, I choose the best Company however, that I can get.  Po. 
And is this the condition that you have spent your whole time in?  Eu. 
All but some Four Years, a long while ago, at Milan.  Po. 
And what did you there?  Eu. 
I Studied Physic, a Year and half; and Divinity the rest.  Po. 
Why so?  Eu. 
For the sake both of my Soul and Body; and that in both Cases I might be helpful to my Friends. I Preached upon occasion too, according to my Talon. Under these circumstances, I have led a Life, easy and quiet enough: So well satisfied with one Benefice, that I did not so much as wish for any thing beyond it; and if another were offered me, I should refuse it.  Pa. 
I wonder what's become of the rest of our Old Acquaintance, & Fellow Pensioners.  Eu. 
I could say somewhat of Them too, but we are just at the Towns End here: And if you please, we may be together in the same Inn, and talk o'er the rest at leisure.  
(Hugh a Wagoner,) How now Blinks. Where did you take up this Rubbish? (Harry a Wagoner.) And whither are you going with that Harlottry there?  Hugh: 
You would do well to tumble the Old Fornicators into a Nettle-Bush, to bring 'em to an Itch again.  Harry. 
And your Cattle want Cooling,  Hugh. 
What do ye think of a Fair Toss into that Pool there, to lay their Concupiscence.  Hugh▪ 
I'm not used to those Gambols.  Harry. 
But 'tis not so long Sirrah, since I saw you throw half a Dozen Carthusians in the Dirt tho': And you like a Schellam, stood Grinning, and making sport at it when you had done, to see them Rise Black Carthusians, instead of White Ones.  Hugh. 
And they were well enough served too: For they lay Snorting all the way like a Dead weight upon the Wagon.  Harry. 
Well, and my People have been so good Company, that my Horses went the better for their Carriage. I would never desire a better Fare.  Hugh. 
And yet these are a sort of Men, that you do not Naturally care for.  Harry. 
They are the best Old Men that ever I met withal.  Hugh. 
How do you know that?  Harry: 
Because they made me Drink Lustily upon the way.  Hugh. 
An Excellent Recommendation to a Dutch Foreman.  
FINIS.