WIT against WISDOM. OR A PANEGYRIC UPON FOLLY▪  
Penned in Latin by DESIDERIUS ERASMUS, Rendered into English.  
— Saepe jocum vestri mouêre tumultus  
OXFORD. Printed by L Lichfield, Printer to the University, for Anthony Stephens, Bookseller near the Theatre. 1683.   

TO THE READER.  
THat there cannot be two more fortunate properties, than to have a little of the Fool, and not too much of the Knave, was an observation of Him, who (if the Servant's extortion reflect not on the Master's integrity, or judgement) was neither of Both; the learned Lord Bacon. What that collecting Politician did coily remark, is here in a greater advance more positively made good, namely, That not only Fortune, but, what is more comprehensive, Happiness in all respects, does devoutly attend such, as whom either Nature, or Distemper hath first moulded, or afterward corrupted into Fools, and Madmen. And certainly if the Absence of Grief, the Reprieve from Care, the Unrelenting at Disappointments, and such like well esteemed Accidents, do any way pertain to (as perhaps in the Philosophy of bare Nature they wholly make up) the Notion of Happiness, the easy Result of each man's Experience, as well as the Induction of the following Particulars, will abundantly convince, That always Anxiety, and Forecast, and not seldom Discontent, and Regret, being Handmaids to the Wise, while an immovable complacency is a constant Guest to the Fool, this last is as much more happy, as he is less harrass'd, less perplexed, less solicitous, than the other. Beside, if (what was formerly probable, and is of late ingeniously attempted to be improved to an higher degree of credibility) a Reality of Happiness during the Conceit equally results from an Imaginary, as a Real Object, and what's Airy, and Fantastic in the Apprehension, may be firm, and solid in the Fruition; I see no great reason, why a Fool's Bliss should not, without a figure, be a Paradise in the propriety of the word, since it is a State, wherein neither Desire outstrips Enjoyment, nor Fear of Deprivation damps the comfort of a present Possession.  
But after All, there is a wide difference betwixt what is strictly True, and what's finely Plausible; and therefore how smoothly soever it may sound, That the being possessed of all we do but suppose Good, is the commencing all we can imagine Happy, (which by the by were it unconditionately granted, would infer, that the degenerating into Brutes, was an approach to the becoming Gods) yet it is undeniably experienced, that this Happiness of Fools will never be made so much the opinion of Others, as it is the Faith of Themselves. This Paradox therefore, we may well presume, was not the sole aim of the Author, who from principles of Self-interest was obliged not to be in earnest, when he declaims against his own accomplishments of Wit, Learning, and Wisdom, and at the same time attributes the most attainable Perfection to what he himself was at the greatest distance from, Dotage, and Folly. He might perhaps, like the copious Orator, give the world an hint, That if at any time he appeared Patron on the juster side of any controversy, men of Morals and Conscience were beholden to him for his choice of Argument, since he could polish the roughest Paradox with as much ease, and success, as he could illustrate the most received Truth; and with the subtilizing crysippus' should sooner want Opinions to set abroach, than upon the taking up any opinion want arguments to defend it. But otherwise it is apparent, that (like persons of squinting Optics, who role their Eyes one way, and yet direct their Looks another) our Author, Archer like, shoots just contrary from where he pretends to aim, and makes a complete satire against Fools, of what he entitles a Panegyric upon Folly. Under this Covert he levels more securely, wounds more inoffensively, and leaves room for a safer retreat, than if he had fell too bluntly on, and made an open Assault instead of an ambuscading surprise. And indeed the Palate of each man's judgement, being the same with that of his Taste, is clogged, and nauseated with what's sweet, and luscious, and repaired only by the whetting Particles of sharp, and corroding, yet again a too biting Reproof, without some intermixture of Wheedle, seldom making Converts of those it is applied to; Subjects of this nature are certainly then best handled, when the persons to be reflected on are in the same Periods laughed out of their mistakes, and yet flattered into amendment. By this Artifice, in the following Tract, all the Scandals, Corruptions, grosser Absurdities, or more trivial failures of a crazy world, are exposed with as equal a dose of Insinuation, and Sarcasme, as either the oiliness of a Sycophant could on the one hand suggest, or the gall of a Poet on the other express. As he spared no one degree of Age, Sex, or Professions, out of cowardice, or partiality; so, to be most corrosive, where the sore was most cankrous, he is less niggardly of his taunts, and strictures, upon the botches and excrescencies of the Roman Church, whose Marts of Indulgence, Trinkets of Superstition, Blindness of the Laity, Impostures of the Priest, and most other appendages of cheat, and delusion, are so boldly ripped up, and smartly animadverted on, as no confidence could have outbraved, nor any the highest reach of wit can ever go beyond. Upon which account Part of the Subject being so fashionably grateful, I presume the whole Translation may be the more welcome; especially since several Dialogues of the same Author have been acceptably done into English, to represent the LEVITIESES crept into the Church of Rome, by a Person that, maugre the reproach of malice, is no doubt as sincere a Professor of Protestant Religion, as he is a zealous Patriot of Christian Loyalty, and (if Circumstances rendered it more necessary) could as freely expose the impostures of Popery, as he does daily in unanswerable Papers discover the Impudence, and Hypocrisy of a Fanatic Faction: a Faction that has been the scandal of Christianity, and the mere Burlesque of Protestantisme; that has forfeited an Indulgence, out-dared an oblivion, and so long bid defiance to Mercy, as well as Justice, till the Capital Punishments of Treason must discharge the lesser Penalties of Schism.  
But this is certain, the Papal Policy, which demands so straight-laced a submission from all her members, would never have suffered Erasmus to have took so unbridled a range in the reproof and censures of her Extravagancies, if he had not nicked the opportunity of doing it at such a time, and under such circumstances, as when the more professed attaque of Luther, and his Adherents in Germany, imposed on her a prudential necessity of not disobliging her friends, that she might have an undisturbed leisure, and more united strength to oppose the common Enemy; so that under that Juncture she was forced patiently to put up, what at any other season she would have heinously resented: As Princes, engaged in a hazardous war, are obiiged to connive at some little Encroachments from their Subjects, or Provocations from their Allies, which in a more settled posture they would scorn to bear, or comply with. Thus (as the Reasons of each are parallel, though the Cases be as widely different, as the Confidence of speaking Truth, and the Impudence of a Lie) our Government can now find courage enough to sentence, and suppress such treasonable, and seditious Libels, which not so long since perked up with undaunted foreheads, and stared even Majesty itself out of countenance.  
Yet however our Author was not questioned by public Authority, we are sure that he hereby galled, and chafed several, not only of his profession in general, but of his more intimate friends, and acquaintance; among which his beloved Dorpius (with whom he had contracted as near a familiarity, as personal conference, and frequent correspondence, could either occasion, or improve) was so nettled at the first appearance of this Tract, that he sends him a rattling Reproof; to which, though Erasmus subjoined a very reconciling Reply, yet we have good grounds to presume, that they were never afterwards cordially Friends. And Lister, who in Erasmus his life-time republished this Treatise with his own Notes, or Commentaries, undertook this task, not so much out of respect to his friend the Author, or care for the promotion of Learning, as he did to salve and palliate the several reflections upon the then fashionable Religion, as will appear to any indifferent observer, who cannot but see that the obscurities, and difficulties of the Text (which perhaps are too few, and mean, to need any explication) are but slightly touched at, while great pains and caution is employed in either perverting, or at least mollifying those passages, which lay too heavy a hand upon any of their hallowed corruptions. Nay the whole Catholic party were so incensed at his liberty of Reflecting, that though for the fore-hinted inducements they did not by any formal Interdict send him in person to the Devil while alive, yet since his death they have dispatched him half way to Hell in Effigy, and few of their late Historians do any where occasionally mention him without some little wiping character, as it were easy to find materials for instances in several particulars. Yet (what was sure to be the consequence, and indeed was but just) he impaired his esteem with the Romanists at no faster a rate than he advanced his reputation with the Reformed, especially here in England, where a Translation of his Paraphrase on the New Testament was in the first of Edward the Sixth ordered to be placed in all Parish Churches, and in some of them to this day remains: The method whereof is very profitable, and the sttile both easy, and eloquent; yet on some Texts there is imposed but an harsh Interpretation, as I am in one particular more especially engaged to take notice, because the same sense is given of the same passage toward the latter end of this following piece, where animadverting upon the disingenuity of Commentators, he singles out Franciscus de Lyrâ, who treating on that Text of St. Luke, c. 22. v. 36. [He that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one,] had without much impropriety taken the whole literally, though indeed with a very extravagant Inference for the Legitimacy of Private Defence in case of Persecution. Our Author might reasonably arraign this Deduction of a dangerous Influence; but not content with this, he proceeds, and as well ●ere, as in his Paraphrase maintains, That the Sentence is such a sort of Metaphor, as by the Sword must be understood that only of the Spirit. It is true, a great many Commentators interpret the sense Figuratively, yet so, as the word Sword shall be taken for neither Material, nor Spiritual, but only denote the foretelling of Persecution, and caution the providing for Tribulation, and Martyrdom. Yet some other Expositors do with more of Naturalness, and perhaps not less of Truth apprehend the words literally, and conclude, That our Saviour hereby authorised his Disciples to be furnished with weapons for security against the assaults of private Robbers, who at that time josephus observes were very numerous: These same Arms, which might be employed for the preventing private Pillage, or Assassination, were to be laid down on all other the most urging provocations at the feet of Public Authority; of which when there appeared but a bare face, our Lord commands Peter to sheathe his sword, and threatens, that whoever upon any such occasion did hereafter take it, should perish by it. This may perhaps be thought too serious, and (as so) impertinent for the introducing so light and Comical an Argument: But it ought to be supposed proper enough, since it has an immediate relation to a passage in the following Discourse, wherein with submission I presume the Author was a little too bold in his Comment, and in some measure incurs the same guilt himself, which he so smartly upbraided in others. His misunderstanding of which may however be the more meriting an excuse, because it may well be supposed to have been occasioned by an honest design of promoting Unity, Peace, and Charity, in the obviating that pretence, which was by some drawn from this very Text of propagating Christianity by all the most enforcing methods of Torture, War, and Slaughter; as if the teaching of Nations were to be accompanied with the Baptising them in Blood, and Converts must have their own wounds to bleed, before they could become sensible of the benefits of a wounded, and bleeding Saviour.  
There needs no Excuse for any other Failure through the following Discourse; so that to remove the guard to that place, which the enemy may find easiest to attaque, I must divert the Apology for the Author, to one more requisite, for the Translator. Against whom (beside all other piques, and exceptions) there will no question be pointed this thrusting Objection, namely, That this same Piece of Wit's Pageantry has been twice already clothed in our Mother-tongue, so that the Republishing at least of one of these Translations might have superseded the trouble of a new one. It may, I hope, be no scandal to confess, That till after my first Onset, I had neither by Sight, nor Report, gathered any intimation of the fore-stalement herein; of which I were yet the less inquisitive, because the Person, who imposed on me the Undertaking, took the Negative for granted, though he stood in better circumstances of being informed, and was more concerned in the consequence. But allowing the worst, Re-translations of late have been so successively performed, so much to the service of the present times, and justice to the first Authors, that Attempts of like nature can be no longer invidious, if they are grounded on the same Inducements, and do answer the same End, and Design. How far I can square my Apology by this Rule, will in part appear by this following Observation: Originals of one language are differently to be rendered into another, according to their respective Matter, and Subject; In an argument of History, but more especially of Physics, and Mathematics, so much depends on the critical genuine sense of the Author, that there can be no latitude, or deviation allowed, but a harsh cadence is far more preferable, than a bold, though tuneable, variation: whereas on the contrary, in Poesy, Oratory, Panegyric, satire, or such like loser subjects, the excellency resulting rather from the Style, and Fancy in general, than from the strictness of particular Periods: There may, nay there must, be some such judgement of discretion tolerated, as shall within due bounds new marshal the words, and in some measure plaster over the abruptness, and incoherence of sense. Accordingly the design of Translations seems then best answered, when the respective Renderers square their Attempts by the foregoing Rule; the same Liberty being an unpardonable extravagance in the one, which is no worse than a becoming freedom in the other: As the Painter, who is employed to draw a Face to the Life, must confine his Pencil to an exact Transcript of the natural strokes, without any room to Fancy, or Flattery, limning even Venus herself with a blemishing Mole; whereas in the copying after a Landscape, or other flourishing Draught, both Colours, and other Features for the lustre of Prospect may be so far altered, as the Judgement of the Artist shall with Liberty recommend. The Result of This, it is my Interest to have thus understood. Our Language hath been so much polished, and refined, since the first appearance of this Declamation in English, 
* Done by Sir Thomas Chaloner, and printed at London, 1549, in 4 0 , that had it fallen into my hands e'er I entered on this work, the perusal of it would have scarcely discouraged me from pursuing the undertaking: For to have adventured abroad a second Edition of this antiquated Version, would doubtless have been interpreted as a design rather of exercising the Reader in the unpleasant task of laboriously picking out the meaning of obsolete words, and expressions, than of fairly leading him into the true and genuine sense of the Original; although what is here asserted might be easily made out beyond all possibility of exception, yet the learned Author acquitted himself so very well herein, that he comes fully up even to the most commendable way of writing, which obtained in his time. The modern Translator (to whom I intended the rule, but now laid down, to be chiefly applied) tied himself so strictly to a literal observance of the Latin, that to a bare English Reader, unacquainted with allusions to the eloquence of the Latin tongue, his Version is sometimes puzzling, and obscure, at least never so smooth, and voluble, as the gaiety of the Argument would better have dispensed with; whereas in this Rehearsal of mine, I have (more I confess to my own ease, and more gratefully, I question not, to the palate of others) allowed myself such elbow-room of expression, as the humoursomness of the Subject, and the Idiom of each language did invite, if not command. Yet I would not have ●t hereby suspected, that I have taken a straying Frisque, or Jant, beyond the limits of a ●ust decorum; no, I have been so free, I hope, is not to be licentious, so bold, as not to be modest: I considered, that rambling va●iations, as well as verbatim constructions, ●re both the scandalous Tasks of Schoolboys; herefore I so far consulted the avoiding each extreme, that I have this disjunctive Plea to ●ag the men of Teeth with, Wherever the Latin appears to have been seemingly injured, and receded from, there I doubted a too close adherence would have been rough, and jarring: Again, where the English wants any thing of cadence, or coherence, there I checked my range, and was afraid of treading too wide from the footsteps of the Original. For that the same Harangue, completely eloquent in one tongue, would be less winning, and persuasive, when close interpreted in another, is as obvious, as that Travellers, if they adapt not their garb to the mode of the country they reside in, are rather an object to stare, and gaze at, than to bow to, reverence, or be any way respected. The Reason on which this is grounded, being a Propriety in each language to peculiar Tropes, Figures, Phrases, etc. is so known a Topick, that to them who understand the original Latin it is wholly superfluous, and to those that do not, it is altogether as needless.   


To the AUTHOR upon this Translation.  
I've thought, Sir, hitherto without success,  
On the Expedients for Happiness:  
This to desire by nature we're inclined  
Which we in our researches seldom find.  
It doth, like Beauty, in the Fancy lie,  
As 'tis agreeable to the Lover's eye;  
Chameleonlike from all things takes a die.  
One thinks it doth consist in sanguine mirth,  
When the Debauch to Wit must give a birth:  
Another's happy if Corinna's kind,  
The Wise man calls it Indolence of mind:  
The Miser to them all prefers his Wealth,  
The Jolly liver says 'tis florid health:  
But these mistaken wretches go astray,  
Thy Author only hath found out the way;  
Like to fantastic Chemists they presume,  
Till all their Projects break away in sum;  
To search the secret out they vainly try,  
For after all, it doth in Folly lie;  
This, 'cause 'tis innocent, is the best estate,  
Which with resistance blunts the edge of fate;  
Him with a Genius Nature doth inspire,  
Which others by Philosophy acquire;  
All things content a Fool, and nothing cloys,  
Which they define the height of humane joys:  
He drivelling on the Shore secure can be,  
And view unmoved the tempests of the Sea:  
No formidable News doth him alarm,  
He is in peace, tho' all the world doth arm;  
Against all misfortunes hath a sure defence,  
His skull's impregnable with want of sense;  
His passions quiet, and his mind sedate,  
Nothing provokes his Envy, or his Hate:  
He unconcerned can stand with laughing eyes,  
And see Unworthy men to Honour rise;  
Fortune a fordid piece of Earth refines,  
And from a Dunghill drawn the Meteor shines:  
Then none the upstart insolence can endure,  
Whose Soul is narrow, and his Birth obscure;  
Under the mask a Fury's face doth show,  
Tho' for the Consulate He bowed low;  
His Will without his Reason doth command;  
Thunder's too weighty for a vulgar hand:  
Then he is freed from books laborious toil,  
He doth not spend his Time, nor waste his Oil,  
Impair his colour, and consume his strength,  
Then grow too subtle for himself at length;  
Before he hath travelled half the way he's dead,  
The very fineness of it breaks the thread.  
The Turks allow an Idiot a Shrine,  
They think in Folly something is Divine;  
His Actions still an equal tenor keep,  
No frightful Images afflict his sleep;  
His Guardian-Angel then the care doth take,  
His Innocence preserves him when awake;  
This great advantage he is happy in,  
He wants a brisk capacity to sin;  
Sometimes a Vice he blunders on by chance,  
But all his faults are those of ignorance;  
Besides, a Changeling is no Hypocrite,  
For what he is he shows you at first sight;  
Whilst others do their Native selves disguise  
With nauseous pretence of being Wise;  
Of Critics they assume the surly state,  
And censure those they cannot imitate;  
Like bladders only they of wind are full,  
And hide with gravity their being dull;  
Tho' they with scorn the world do Ridicule,  
Yet the Affected Wise one is the Fool.  
But my Digression returns to You,  
To give that character which is your due;  
And it impartially I can bestow,  
The Author by his work I only know;  
So that if what I find I must commend,  
'Tis done without being by assed as his Friend.  
'Tis not your 
* Denham.  Pride, your Folly, or your Fate,  
That makes you choose Erasmus to translate.  
If with such Versions you the world delight,  
You can oblige it equally, and write;  
And here you have as much of judgement shown,  
As if it had entirely been your own.  
This way of writing once was thought a vice,  
But now the touches of it are so nice,  
That who this elegant Province would adorn,  
Not Made, but he on purpose must be Born.  
Some spoil all Subjects that they write upon,  
As Ladies dawb a good complexion:  
So Highway Beggars others children hire,  
With ruddy looks, and all their limbs entire,  
But they industriously are Cripples made,  
For to promote the canting Gypsies trade.  
Things that are delicate foul hands will slain,  
But from yours always they do lustre gain.  
The French have luckily on this subject fell,  
(The only thing they ever yet did well,)  
Ingenuous D'Ablancourt shall lead the Van,  
With his smart Dialogues of Lucian;  
Him copied by a skilful hand we see  
An Ancient Droll in Modern Raillery:  
A double honour to Boyleau is due,  
Who is a Writer, and Translator too;  
He chose the noblest Author of his time,  
Like his Longinus 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is sublime:  
Then Vaugelas did mighty pains bestow  
On Curtius, but He always was too slow;  
His Hero in less time had Asia got,  
He conquered faster than this Frenchman wrote:  
But still their natural vanity is such,  
In this, and all things else they do too much:  
They with superfluous branches kill the root,  
And make their Muse a Suburb Prostitute;  
For what at first was cautiously enclosed.  
Like to the common way is now exposed.  
Every Coquette can now her Author quote,  
And like her Paraquettoe talk by rote:  
Their Wit is like their Conversation, slight,  
The English with a Manly vigour write:  
If they at any time with labour strain,  
The greatness of the birth doth cause the pain;  
With joints robustly knit the Infant grows,  
And so makes compensation for the throws.  
By reading your Translation we can tell,  
How much in their own way we them excel.  
Our Learned Athens lately hath brought forth  
Men hardly to be equalled for their worth.  
Lucretius' first in English did appear,  
(But you, Sir, worship Muses less severe)  
That work is now unto perfection brought,  
Which all men dreaded in the very thought;  
Our fruitful Mother hath herself outdone  
In teeming with so excellent a Son;  
Of ours the admiration doth engage,  
And the applauses of the future Age;  
You with the softness of your Art beguile,  
And teach the rigid Stoic how to smile:  
You hit the humour of the Book so true,  
That Comical Erasmus breathes in You;  
We see the spirit of the Author shine  
In every Page, in every pleasant Line,  
The style's so clear, so Admirably fine.  
What Fruits will not your Age maturely bring,  
So fertile, if so early is your Spring?  
The rising Sunsets forth a previous Ray,  
Engaging to shine brightly all the day.  
Your Talents, Sir, do make you justly fit  
For to translate this noble piece of Wit,  
Who have yourself so great a share of it.  
M. MORGAN.   

To his ingenious Friend on his excellent Translation of MORIAE ENCOMIUM.  
THere's ne'er a Blade of honour in the Town,  
But if you chance to term him Fool, or Clown,  
Strait Satisfaction cries, and then with speed  
The Time, the Place, and Rapier's length's decreed.  
Prodigious Fops, I'll swear, which can't agree  
To be called what's their Happiness to be:  
Blessed Idiots!  
That in an humble sphere securely move,  
And there the sweets of a safe dulness prove,  
Nor envy the proud heights of those who range above,  
Folly, sure Friend of a misguided Will,  
Affords a kind Excuse for doing Ill;  
And to the peaceful breast, wherein she lives,  
A free, and a true gust of pleasure gives:  
Whilst Wisdom's Patron with discreet allay  
Palls his delights, and deadens all his joy:  
Than this nought more does evidence the love,  
Or more ensurs the care of Powers above:  
Heaven still bestows on those it does despise,  
The creditable plague of being Wise:  
And Socrates, that prudent, thinking tool,  
Had the Gods liked him, would have proved a Fool.  
My thinks our Author, when without a flaw,  
The graces of his Mistress he does draw,  
Wishes (if Metempsuchosis be true,  
And souls do change their case, and act anew)  
In his next life he only might aspire  
To the few brains of some soft Country Squire,  
Whose head with such like rudiments is fraught,  
As in his youth his careful Grannum taught.  
And now (dear Friend) how shall we to thy brow  
Pay all those Laurels which we justly owe?  
For thou fresh honours to the Work dost bring,  
And to the Theme: nor seems that pleasing thing,  
Which he so well in Latin has expressed,  
Less Comical in English garments dressed;  
Thy sentences are all so clearly wrought,  
And so exactly placed is ev'ry thought,  
That, which is more obliged, we scarce can see  
The Subject by thine Author, or Himself by Thee.   

In the person of FOLLY.  

Distance I Away, you sullen, sheepish souls,  
Whose broody thoughts sit always hatching  
Rules!  
You Tub-Philosophers, whose croaking brains  
Make Earth as Hellish as the Stygian Plains;  
Your uncouth, louring Grimaces become  
Your moody Muse on yourselves at home.  
But no Infernal visage must be seen,  
Where all are to be jolly by design.  
Veil then, or vanish, die, or disappear,  
And leave us Fools to our Caresles here.   

My thundering Mandates having purged the air  
The Gods consenting, and the passage clear,  
I thus attempt my grandieur to extol,  
Acting my own Encomiast in a Droll:  
I'll make descriptive Glosses on a Straw,  
And cant the world to a Tarantula.   

Thus, long-blessed herd, have I with patience seen  
Minerva's Sceptre taking place of mine;  
That cursed Virago, whose officious Spies  
Have watched you out of all your Libraries:  
Her School-Devotes a base degenerous brood,  
Like waspish Infects swarm, and buzz abroad:  
These with unruly Insolence have made  
Injurious inroads on those Rights I had;  
They fetter Souls with magisterial rage,  
And lecture Freemen into Vassalage;  
Nay, by the circumventions of Dispute  
They'll prove my Chastity a Prostitute.  
Thus overgrown in Sophistry, and Pride,  
They're Kings themselves, but make all Slaves beside.  
And shall these Rebels thus usurp it on?  
No, their dogmatic Tyranny shall down:  
Instead of Problems, Schemes, Compendiums, Rules,  
Those Execution-Engines of the Schools,  
I, with my Pictures, Puppets, Dwarves, and Apes,  
Masques, Mermaids, Interludes, and Antique shapes,  
Will mount the Stage, ridiculously fine,  
In all the colours of an Indian Queen,  
Which Magazine of Rarities presents,  
A Gallimaufry of Divertisements;  
For beautified by Art, or Nature's dress,  
They all enamour by their Prettiness,  
While the admiring crowd with captive eyes  
Do proselyte themselves to Votaries.   

In early days, when men, unused to Rules,  
Commenced by natural Instalment Fools,  
When sacred Ignorance its Umbrage spread,  
And all sat cool, and quiet in the shade,  
So long the Province of my Reign did know  
No other bounds than Earth, and Heaven do.  
But when the world grew light, and hot as Noon,  
And Dog-star wit made all a Torrid Zone;  
Then Questionists arose, men who would know,  
Why things were thus, and thus, and why not so;  
These pert, and restless, started Scruples still,  
Painful to state, but worse to reconcile,  
Yet well resolved by one disdainful smile;  
Which hot-brained tribe, uneasy, and morose,  
Made all the world an Inquisition-house.   

But now my Crown shall be restored anew,  
And false Pretenders shall confess the true,  
Their long usurped Dominion shall decline,  
And die into th' establishment of mine.  
Now let the world keep Haltion, and caress  
In endless circles of unstinted bliss;  
Let universal ravishments increase  
Your Joys beyond Description, or Degrees:  
Don't balk your humours, lest for want of vent  
Your spirits stagnate into sediment;  
But frolic on, without consulting Fate,  
Till your loose shattering souls evaporate.  
Each Individual Votary shall share  
Repeated pledges of my constant care:  
A balmy Mist of Lethe-dews shall fall  
In cool refreshing Opiates on all,  
As Lands of Spices, in a fragrant air,  
Disperse, and scatter their perfumes afar:  
With equal Frankness, and with greater Love,  
Will I shower down my Blessings from above:  
That peaceful days may still my Reign await,  
I'll give the God of War an Opiate.  
Your starched Punctilio Bravoes can't conclude  
A private quarrel, but with loss of blood;  
But my kind Fools are naturally strange  
To all the means, and mischief of Revenge,  
And thus i'll lay all Discords, that arise  
From being really, or reputed Wise.  
Let not the jolly Heir, who revels on,  
Unravelling all his Father's thrift had spun,  
Turn Saint, for fear of some restrictive ties,  
Or, that penurious Project, Legacies,  
I'll keep the Sire so doting, he shall ne'er  
Impoverish this, or chose another Heir.  
Thus with a Princely care will I contrive  
To guard your Rights, and my Prerogative.  
The peevish Cynic, in a whining strain,  
Will strive to preach Tub-learning up again,  
And prove that none but Anchorites are Men.  
But now you'll scorn their Philosophic rants,  
And laugh their Reasonings out of countenance;  
You'll see the fruit, and influence of Books,  
And ne'er desire to b' aggrandized to stocks.  
Admonished thus, and repossessed anew  
Of Freedom, Peace, and my Protection too,  
Career it on with an advancing haste,  
Let one days Joy exceed all Ages past;  
With Frolicks drain your souls of all their Earth,  
Ne'er think but Laugh, and breath no Air but Mirth.  
And now Farewell, I must with speed away,  
The buxom Gods keep Jubilee to day,  
And all their Jollity will soon conclude,  
If I don't come and act an Interlude:  
They vote me still the Prolocutor's chair;  
Besides, I am to make th' Encoenia there,    

Occasioned by the Translation of Erasmus his MORIAE ENCOMIUM.  
SInce awkward Folly is so neatly drawn,  
And all its charms in nakedness are shown,  
Since barren Wisdom unattended sits,  
And no Respect, and few Encomiums meets,  
Too poor to keep an Equipage of Wits;  
Blest is the Senseless man, the thickest skull,  
The grinning, hardened, and undaunted Fool:  
Blessed are the Dutch, who this their Idol prize,  
And wisely fall its humble Votaries.  
Their Worths the Press doth often speak with pain,  
The Press, to all a Pimp, and Bawd for Gain.  
To th' world each strives to show his learned soul▪  
And in great letters writes himself an OWL.  
But though when living they abuses meet,  
By being dead they fame and credit get;  
In Epitaph some hundred Pounds are spent,  
And every Fool hath then a Monument.  
Leyden in Physic Tracts would often please,  
Our only sickness, and the worst disease;  
Hither their vast, dull Commentators sail,  
And show that Gospelers sometimes may fail.  
In waters bred they Inundations drew,  
And load all Nations with a Deluge too.  
Happy, then happy must our Island be,  
With Parsons stocked, and Dutch Divinity:  
Yet these our wise, mistaken crowd desire,  
And all that from beyond Sea come, admire.  
To our fine Ladies Paris thus unlades,  
Its Ribbons, Lackeys, and its Chambermaids.  
The French indeed have often broke the peace,  
But Fashions, and Romance do plague us less:  
For no man now securely lives at home,  
The Turks and Dutch invade our Christendom.  
In'ts native soil their Dulness safe may rest,  
But why should they their Neighbours thus infest?  
To Holland Grotius by mistake was sent,  
Sure that man Nature for our England meant.  
Their worlds in all things still must us obey,  
As Lords, and Sovereigns by Land, and Sea.  
De Wit, Trump, Ruyter, easily were beat,  
Their Ships from ours do naturally retreat,  
Erasmus only does remain unconqnered yet.  
That name alone (worthy the noblest Muse)  
Does from disgrace, and utmost scorn excuse.  
His youthful, neatest style atones for all  
Their Clumsiness, a sin that's National.  
In Comic dress he gravely preaches sense,  
Directs, and jeers, and chides his Audience.  
O'er thoughts profound Mirth dances all the way,  
Like the Sunbeams that on deep waters play.  
Henceforth I'll all laborious trifles slight,  
Thy works can teach to talk, and how to write.  
Cease than ye Sots, that us in spite of Fate  
By damned Buffoonery would imitate.  
You that by Tavern- jests a fame would get,  
And feed upon the excrements of Wit;  
To raise up mirth who basely rob the Crowd,  
Sing nobly out of Tune, and laugh aloud.  
This from Erasmus Ghost much pity drew,  
He comes our Island to inform anew.  
Me thinks his Ship upon the Thames appears,  
Proud of the Weight, and Learning that it bears.  
The multitude on th' banks do shout their joys,  
To greet his Friend and Reverend More does rise:  
The Standard is set up, the Cannons roar,  
And all Erasmus welcome to our English shore.  
OXON. Sept, 20. 1683.   

On the Argument, and Design of the following Oration.  

WHat e'er the modern Satirists o'th' Stage,  
To jirk the failures of a sliding Age,  
Have lavishly exposed to public view,  
For a discharge to all from Envy due,  
Here in as lively colours naked lie,  
With equal Wit, and more of Modesty.  
Those Poets with their free disclosing Arts  
Strip Vice so near to its uncomely parts,  
Their Libels prove but Lessons, and they teach  
Those very Crimes, which they intent t' impeach:  
While here so wholesome all, though sharp to th' taste,  
So briskly free, yet so resolv'dly chaste,  
The Virgin naked as her God of Bows,  
May read or hear when blood at highest flows;  
Nor more expense of Blushes thence arise,  
Than while the lect'ring Matron does advise  
To guard her virtue, and her honour prize.   

satire, and Panegyric, distant be,  
Yet jointly here they both in one agree:  
The wholes a Sacrifice of Salt, and Fire,  
So does the humour of the Age require  
To chafe the Touch, and so foment Desire.  
As Doctrine-dandling Preachers lull asleep  
Their unattentive pent-up fold of Sheep,  
The Opiated milk glews up the brain,  
And th' Babes of Grace are in their Cradles lain;  
While mounted Andrews, bawdy, bold, and loud,  
Like Cocks, alarm all the drowsy Crowd,  
Whose glittering ears are pricked as bolt upright,  
As failing hairs are hoist in a fright:  
So does it fare with croaking spawns o'th' Press,  
The mould o'th' Subject altars the fuccess,  
What's serious, like sleep, grants Writs of Ease,  
satire, and Ridicule can only please,  
As if no other Animals could gape  
But th' biting Badger, or the snickring Ape.   

Folly by Irony's commended here,  
Soothed, that her weakness may the more appear.  
Thus Fools, who tricked in red and yellow shine,  
Are made believe that they are wondrous fine,  
When all's a plot t' expose them by design.  
The Largesses of Folly here are strown  
Like Pebbles, not to Pick, but Trample on.  
Thus Spartans laid their soaking Slaves before  
The Boys to justle, kick, and tumble o'er;  
Not that the dry-lipt Youngsters might combine  
To taste and know the mystery of Wine,  
But wonder thus at men transformed to Swine;  
And, th' Power of such Enchantments to escape,  
Timely renounce the Devil of the Grape.  
So here,  
Though Folly Speaker be, and Argument,  
Wit guides the Tongue, Wisdom's the Lecture meant.     

A Prefatory Epistle from ERASMUS to Sr. THO: MOOR.  
IN my late Travels from Italy into England, that I might not trifle away my time in the rehearsal of old wives fables, I thought it more pertinènt to employ my thoughts in reflecting upon some past studies, or calling to remembrance several of those highly learned, as well as smartly ingenious Friends I had here left behind: Among whom you (Dear SIR) were represented as the chief, You whose memory, while absent at this distance, I respect with no less a complacency, than I was wont while present to enjoy your more intimate conversation; which last afforded me the greatest satisfaction I could possibly hope for. Having therefore resolved to be a doing, and deeming that time improper for any serious concerns, I thought good to divert myself with drawing up a Panegyric upon Folly. How! What maggot (say you) put this in your head? Why, the First hint (Sir) was your own Surname of Moor, which comes as near the literal sound of the 
* Mwelae  word, as you yourself are distant from the signification of it, and That in all men's judgements is vastly wide. In the next place I supposed that this kind of sporting Wit would be by you more especially accepted of, by You (Sir) that are wont with this sort of jocose raillery (such as, if I mistake not, is neither dull, nor impertinent) to be mightily pleased, and in your ordinary converse to approve yourself a Democritus junior: For truly as you do from a singular vein of wit very much dissent from the common herd of mankind, so by an incredible affability and pliableness of temper you have the art of suiting your hum our with all sorts of companies. I hope therefore you will not only readily accept of this rude Essay as a token from your friend, but take it under your more immediate protection, as being dedicated to you, and by that title adopted for yours, rather than to be fathered as my own. And it is a chance if there be wanting some quarrelsome persons, that will show their teeth, and pretend these Fooleries are either too Buffoon-like for a grave Divine, or too Satirical for a meek Christian, and so will exclaim against me as if I were vamping up some old Farce, or acted anew the Lucian again with a peevish snarling at all things. But those who are offended at the Lightness and Pedantry of this Subject, I would have them consider, that I do not set myself for the first example in this kind, but that the same has been oft done by many considerable Authors. For thus several Ages since Homer wrote of no more weighty a subject than of a war between the Frogs and Mice: Virgil of a Gnatt and a Puddingcake, and Ovid of a Nut. Polycrates commended the cruelty of Busiris; and Isocrates, that corrects him for this, did as much for the injustice of Glaucus. Favorinus extol d Thersites, and wrote in praise of a Quartane Ague. Synecius pleaded in behalf of Baldness, and Lucian defended a Sipping-fly. Seneca drollingly related the Deifying of Claudius, Plutarch the Dialogue betwixt Gryllus and Ulysses, Lucian and Apuleius the story of an Ass, and some body else records the last Will of a Hog, of which St. Hierom makes mention. So that if they please, let themselves think the worst of me, and fancy to themselves, that I were all this while a playing at push-pin, or riding a stride on a Hobby-horse. For how unjust is it, if, when we allow different recreations to each particular course of life, we afford no diversion to Studies? especially when Trifles may be a whet to more serious thoughts, and Comical matters may be so treated of, as that a Reader of ordinary sense may possibly thence reap more advantage than from some more big and stately Argument: As while one in a long-winded Oration descants in commendation of Rhetoric or Philosophy, another in a fulsome harangue sets forth the praise of his Nation, a third makes a zealous invitation to a Holy War with the Turks, another confidently sets up for a Fortune teller, and a fifth states questions upon mere impertinencies. But as nothing is more childish than to handle a serious subject in a loose wanton stile, so is there nothing more pleasant than so to treat of Trifles, as to make them seem nothing less than what their name imports. As to what relates to myself, I must be forced to submit to the judgement of Others: yet except I am too partial to be judge in my own case, I am apt to believe I have praised Folly in such a manner as not to have deserved the name of a Fool for my pains. To reply now to the objection of Satyricalness, Wits have been always allowed this Privilege, that they might be smart upon any transactions of life, if so be their liberty did not extend to railing: which makes me wonder at the tender-eared humour of this Age, which will admit of no address without the prefatory repetition of all formal titles, nay you may find some so preposterously devout, that they will sooner wink at the greatest affronts against our Saviour, than be content that a Prince or a Pope should be nettled with the least joque or gird, especially in what relates to their ordinary customs. But he who so blames men's irregularities, as to lash at no one particular person by name, does he (I say) seem to carp so properly as to teach and instruct? And if so, how am I concerned to make any farther excuse? Beside, he who in his strictures points indifferently at all, he seems not angry at one man, but at all vices.  
Therefore if any singly complain they are particularly reflected upon, they do but betray their own Gild, at least their Cowardice. St. Hierom dealt in the same argument at a much freer and sharper rate, nay and he did not sometime refrain from naming the persons: whereas I have not only stifled the mentioning any one person, but have so tempered my stile, as the ingenious Reader will easily perceive I aimed at Diversions rather than satire. Neither did I so far imitate Juvenal, as to rake into the sink of Vices to procure a Laughter, rather than create a hearty Abhorrence. If there be any one that after all remains yet unsatisfied, let him at least consider, that there may be good use made of being reprehended by Folly, which since we have feigned as speaking, we must keep up that character which is suitable to the person introduced.  
But why do I trouble you (Sir) with this needless Apology, You that are so peculiar a Patron, as though the cause itself be none of the best, you can at the least give it the best Protection.  
Farewell.   

A PANEGYRIC UPON FOLLY Declamation-wise.  FOLLY speaks. 
HOW slightly soever I am esteemed in the common vogue of the world, (for I well know how disingenuously Folly is decried even by those who are themselves the greatest fools) yet it is from my influence alone that the whole Universe receives her ferment of mirth and jollity: Of which This may be urged as a convincing argument, in that as soon as I appeared to speak before this numerous Assembly, all their countenances were guilded o'er with a lively sparkling pleasantness: You soon welcomed me with so encouraging a look you spurred me on with so cheerful a Hum, that truly in all appearance you seem now flushed with a good dose of reviving Nectar, when as just before you sat drowsy and melancholy, as if you were lately come out of some Hermit's cell. But as it is usual, that as soon as the Sun peeps from her Eastern bed, and draws back the curtains of the darksome night, or as when after a hard winter the restorative Spring breathes a more enlivening air, Nature forthwith changes her apparel, and all things seem to renew their age; so at the first sight of me, you all unmasque, and appear in more lively colours. That therefore which expert Orators can scarce effect by all their little artifice of Eloquence, to wit, a raising the attentions of their auditors to a composedness of thought, This a bare look from me has commanded. The reason why I appear in this odd kind of garb you shall soon be informed of, if for so short a while you will but have the patience to lend me an ear; yet not such an one as you are wont to hearken with to your reverend Preachers, but as you listen withal to Mountebanks, Buffoons, and Merry- Andrews; in short, such as formerly were fastened to Midas, as a punishment for his affront to the God Pan. For I am now in a humour to act a while the Sophist, yet not of that sort who undertake the drudgery of tyrannising over Schoolboys, and teach a more than womanish knack of brawling; but in imitation of those ancient ones, who to avoid the scandalous Epithet of Wise, preferred this title of Sophists; the task of these was to celebrate the worth of Gods and Heroes. Prepare therefore to be entertained with a Panegyric, yet not upon Hercules, Solon, or any other Grandee, but on myself, that is, upon Folly.  
And here I value not their censure that pretend it is foppish and affected for any person to praise himself: yet let it be as silly as they please, if they will but allow it needful: And indeed what is more befitting than that Folly should be the trumpet of her own praise, and dance after her own pipe? For who can set me forth better than myself, or who can pretend to be so well acquainted with my condition?  
And yet farther I may safely urge, that all this is no more than the same with what is done by several seemingly great and wise men, who with a new fashioned modesty employ some paltry Orator or scribbling Poet, whom they bribe to flatter them with some highflown character, that shall consist of mere lies and shams: and yet the persons thus extolled shall briste up, and Peacock-like bespread their plumes, while the impudent Parasite magnifies the poor wretch to the skies, and proposes him as a complete pattern of all virtues, from each of which he is yet as far distant as Heaven itself from Hell: What's all this in the mean while, but the tricking up a Daw in stolen feathers, a labouring to change the Blackamoors hue, and the drawing on a Pigmie's frock over the shoulders of a Giant.  
Lastly, I verify the old observation, that allows him a right of praising himself, who has no body else to do it for him: For really I cannot but admire at that ingratitude shall I term it, or blockishness of mankind, who when they all-willingly pay to me their utmost devoir, and freely acknowledge their respective obligations; that notwithstanding this there should have been none so grateful or complaisant as to have bestowed on me a commendatory Oration, especially when there have not been wanting such as at a great expense of sweat and loss of sleep, have in elaborate speeches given high Encomiums to Tyrants, Agues, Flies, Baldness, and such like trumperies.  
I shall entertain you with a hasty and unpremeditated, but so much the more natural discourse; my venting it ex tempore I would not have you think proceeds from any principles of vainglory, by which ordinary Orators square their attempts, who (as it is easy to observe) when they are delivered of a Speech that has been thirty years a conceiving, nay perhaps at last none of their own, yet they'll swear they wrote it in a great hurry, and upon very short warning: whereas the reason of my not being provided before hand, is only because it was always my humour constantly to speak that which lies uppermost. Next, let no one be so fond as to imagine that I should so far stint my invention to the method of other Pleaders, as first to define, and then divide my subject, i. e. myself. For it is equally hazardous to attempt the crowding her within the narrow limits of a Definition whose nature is of so diffusive an extent, or to mangle and disjoin That, to the adoration whereof all Nations unitedly concur. Beside, to what purpose is it to lay down a Definition for a faint resemblance and mere shadow of me, while appearing here personaily you may view me at a more certain light? And if your eyesight fail not, you may at first blush discern me to be her whom the Greeks term 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Latins Stultitia.  
But why need I have been so impertinent as to have told you This, as if my very Looks did not sufficiently betray what I am, or supposing any be so credulous as to take me for some sage Matron or Goddess of Wisdom, as if a single glance from me would not immediately correct their mistake, while my Visage, the exact reflex of my Soul, would supply and supersede the trouble of any other confessions: For I appear always in my natural colours, and an unartificial dress, and never let my face pretend one thing, and my heart conceal another: Nay, and in all things I am so true to my Principles, that I cannot be so much as counterfeited even by those who challenge the name of Wits, yet indeed are no better than Jackanapes tricked up in gaudy clothes, and Ass' strutting in Lion's skins; and how cunningly so ere they carry it, their long ears appear, and betray what they are. These in troth are very rude, and disingenuous, for while they apparently belong to my party, yet among the vulgar they are so ashamed of my relation, as to cast it in others dish for a shame and reproach: Wherefore since they are so eager to be accounted wise, when in truth they are extremely silly, what if to give them their due I dubb them with the title of wise fools: And herein they copy after the example of some modern Orators, who swell to that proportion of conceitedness, as to vaunt themselves for so many Giants of Eloquence, if with a double tongued fluency they can plead indifferently for either side, and deem it a very doughty exploit, if they can but enterlard a Latin sentence with some Greek word, which for seeming garnish they crowd in at a venture; and rather than be at a stand for some cramp words, they'll furbish up a long scroul of old obsolete terms out of some musty author, and foist them in to amuse the Reader with, that those who understand them may be tickled with the happiness of being acquainted with them, and those who understand them not, the less they know, the more they may admire: Whereas it has been always a custom to those of our side to contemn and undervalue whatever is strange and unusual, while those that are better conceited of themselves will nod, and smile, and prick up their ears, that they may be thought easily to apprehend that, of which perhaps they do not understand one word. And so much for This, pardon the Digression, now I return.  
Of my Name I have informed you, Sirs, what additional Epithet to give you I know not, except you'll be content with that of Most Foolish; for under what more proper appellation can the Goddess Folly greet her Devotees▪ But since there are few acquainted with my family, and original, He now give you some account of my Extraction.  
First then, my Father was neither the Chaos, nor Hell, nor Saturn, nor jupiter, nor any of those old, worn out, Grandfire Gods, but Plutus, the very same that, maugre Homer, Hesiod nay inspite of jove himself, was the primary Father of the Universe: at whose alone beck for all age's Religion and Civil Policy have been successively undermined and reestablished: by whose powerful influence War, Peace, Empire, Debates, Justice, Magistracy, Marriage Leagues, Compacts, Laws, Arts, (I've almost run myself out of breath, but) in a word all affairs of Church and State, and business of private concern are severally ordered and administered: without whose assistance all the Poet's gang of Deitics, nay I may be so bold as to say, the very Major-domo's of Heaven, would either dwindle into nothing, or at least be confined to their respective homes, without any ceremonies of devotional address: whomever he combats with as an enemy, nothing can be armour-proof against his assaults; and whosoever he sides with as a friend, may grapple at even hand with jove, and all his bolts. Of such a Father I may well brag: And he begot me, not of his brain as jupiter did the Hag Pallas, but of a pretty young Nymph, famed f or wit no less than beauty: and this feat was not done amidst the embraces of dull nauseous Wedlock, but what gave a greater gust to the pleasure it was done at a stolen bout, as we may modestly phrase it. But to prevent your mistaking me, I would have you understand, that my Father was not that Plutus in Aristophanes, old, dry, withered, sapless, and blind; but the same in his younger and brisker days, and when his veins were more impregnated, and the heat of his youth somewhat higher inflamed by a chirping cup of Nectar, which for a whet to his lust he had just before drank very freely of at a merry-meeting of the Gods. And now presuming you may be inquisitive after my Birth-place, (the quality of the place we are born in being now looked upon as a main ingredient of Gentility) I were born neither in the floating Delos, nor on the frothy Sea, nor in any of these privacies, where too forward Mothers are wont to retire for an undiscovered delivery, but in the Fortunate Islands, where all things grow without the toil of husbandry, wherein there is no drudgery, no distempers, no old age, where in the fields grow no Daffodils, Mallows, Onions, Pease, Beans, or such kind of trash; but there give equal divertisement to our sight and smelling, Rue, All-heal, Bugloss, Margerum. Herb of Life, Roses, Violets, Hyacinth, and such like fragrancies as perfume the gardens of Adonis. And being born amongst these delights I did not like other infants come crying into the world, but perked up and laughed immediately in my Mother's face. And there is no reason I should envy jove for having a She-goat to his Nurse, since I were more creditably suckled by two jolly Nymphs; the name of the first Drunkenness, one of Bacchus' offspring, the other Ignorance the daughter of Pan, both which you may here behold among several others of my Train and Attendants, whose particular names if you would fain know, I'll give you in short. This who goes with a mincing gate, and holds up her head so high, is Self-love. She that looks so spruce, and makes such a noise and bustle, is Flattery. That other, which sits hum drum, as if she were half asleep, is called Forgetfulness. She that leans on her elbow, and sometime yawningly stretches out her arms, is Laziness. This that wears a plighted garland of flowers, and smells so perfumed, is Pleasure. The other, which appears in so smooth a skin, and pampered up flesh, is Sensuality. She that stairs so wildly, and rolls about her eyes, is Madness. As to those two Gods whom you see playing among the Lasses, the name of the one is Intemperance, the other Sound sleep. By the help and service of this retinue I bring all things under the verge of my power, lording it over the greatest Kings and Potentates.  
You have now heard of my Descent, my Education, and my Attendance. That I may not be taxed as presumptuous in borrowing the title of a Goddess, I come now in the next place to acquaint you what obliging favours I every where bestow, and how largely my jurisdiction extends: For if, as one has ingenuously noted, to be a God is no other than to be a Benefactor to mankind, and if they have been thought deservedly deified who have invented the use of Wine, Corn, or any other Convenience for the well being of Mortals; why may not I justly bear the Van among the whole troop of Gods, who in all, and toward all exert an unparallelled bounty and beneficence?.  
For instance, in the first place what can be more dear and precious than Life itself? and yet for this are none beholden save to Me alone. For it is neither the Spear of throughlybegotten Pallas, nor the Buckler of cloud-gathering jove, that multiplies and propagates Mankind: but that prime Father of the Universe, who at a displeasing nod makes heaven itself to tremble, He (I say) must lay aside his frightful Ensigns of Majesty, and put away that grim aspect wherewith he makes the other Gods to quake, and Stageplayer-like must alter his usual character, if he would do that, the doing whereof he cannot refrain from, i.e. getting of children. The next place to the Gods is challenged by the Stoics; but give me one as Stoical as ill nature can make him, and if I do not prevail on him to part with his Beard, that bush of wisdom, (though no other ornament than what Nature in more ample manner has given to Goats) yet at least he shall lay by his gravity, smooth up his brow, relinquish his rigid Tenets, and in despite of prejudice become sensible of some passion in wanton sport and dallying; in a word, this Dictator of wisdom shall be glad to take Folly for his diversion, if ever he would arrive to the honour of a Father. And why should I not tell my story out? To proceed then, Is it the head, the face, the breasts, the hands, the ears, or other more comely parts that serve for instruments of generation, I trow not, but it is that member of our body which is so odd and uncouth, as can scarce be mentioned without a smile: This part I say is that fountain of life, from which originally spring all things in a truer sense than from the Elemental Seminary. Add to this, what man would be so silly, as to run his head into the collar of a matrimonial noose, if (as wise men are wont to do) he had beforehand duly considered the inconveniences of a wedded life? or indeed what woman would open her arms to receive the embraces of a husband, if she did but forecast the pangs of childbirth, and the plague of being a Nurse? Since than you owe your Birth to the Bridebed, and (what was preparatory to that) the solemnising of Marriage to my waiting-woman Madness, you cannot but acknowledge how much you are indebted to me. Beside, those who had once dearly bought the experience of their folly, would never reengage themselves in the same intanglement by a second match, if it were not occasioned by the forgetfulness of past dangers. And Venus herself (whatever Lucretius pretends to the contrary) cannot deny, but that without my assistance her procreative power would prove weak and ineffectual. It was from my sportive and tickling recreation that proceeded the old crabbed Philosophers, and those who now supply their stead, the mortified Monks and Friars, as also Kings, Priests, and Popes, nay the whole tribe of Poetic Gods, who are at last grown so numerous, as in the camp of Heaven (though ne'er so spacious) to justle for elbow room. But it is not sufficient to have made it appear that I am the source and original of all Life, except I likewise show, that all the benefits of Life are equally at my disposal. And what are such? Why, can any one be said properly to live, to whom Pleasure is denied? You'll give me your assent, for there is none I know among you, so wise shall I say, or so silly, as to be of a contrary opinion. The Stoics indeed contemn, and pretend to banish Pleasure, but this is only a dissembling trick, and a putting the vulgar out of conceit with it, that they may more quietly engross it to themselves: But I dare them now to confess what one stage of Life is not melancholy, dull, tiresome, tedious, and uneasy, unless we spice it with Pleasure, that haut goust of Folly. Of the truth whereof the never enough to be commended Sophocles is sufficient authority, who gives me the highest character in that sentence of his, To know nothing is the sweetest life.  
Yet abating from this, let us examine the case more narrowly: Who knows not that the first scene of Infancy is far the most pleasant and delightsome? what then is it in children, that makes us so kiss, hug, and play with them, and that the bloodiest enemy can scarce have the heart to hurt them, but their Ingredients of Innocence and Folly, of which Nature out of providence did purposely compound and blend their tender Infancy, that by a frank return of Pleasure they might make some sort of amends for their Parents trouble, and give in caution as it were for the discharge of a future education? The next advance from Childhood is Youth, and how favourably is this dealt with, how kind courteous, and respectful are all to it, and how ready to become serviceable upon all occasions? And whence reaps it this happiness, whence indeed but from me only, by whose procurement it is furnished with little of wisdom, and so with the less of disquiet? And when once Lads begin to grow up, and attempt to write Man, their prettiness does then soon decay, their briskness flags, their humours stagnate, their jollity ceases, and their blood grows cold: and the farther they proceed in years, the more they go backward in the enjoyment of themselves, till waspish old age comes on, a burden to itself as well as others, and that so heavy and oppressive, as none would bear the weight of, unless out of pity to their sufferings I again intervene, and lend a helping hand, assisting them at a dead lift, in the same method the Poets feign their Gods to succour dying men, by transforming them into new creatures, which I do by bringing them back, after they have one foot in the grave, to their Infancy again; so as there is a great deal of truth couched in that old Proverb, Once an old man, and twice a child. Now if any one be curious to understand what course I take to effect this alteration, my method is this: I bring them to my Well of Forgetfulness, (the fountain whereof is in the Fortunate Islands, and the river Lethe in hell but a small stream of it) and when they have there filled their bellies full, and washed down care, by the virtue and operation whereof they become young again. Ay, but (say you) they merely dote, and play the fool: why yes, This is what I mean by growing young again: For what else is it to be a Child, than to be a Fool and an Idiot? It is the being such that makes that age so acceptable: For who does not esteem it somewhat ominous to see a Boy endowed with the discretion of a Man, and therefore for the curbing of too forward parts we have a disparaging Proverb, soon ripe, soon rotten? And farther, who would keep company, or have any thing to do with such an old blade, as after the wear and harrowing of so many years, should yet continue of as clear a head, and found a judgement, as he had at any time been in his middle age; and therefore it is a great kindness of me that old men grow fools, since it is hereby only that they are freed from such vexations, as would torment them, if they were more wise: They can drink briskly, bear up stoutly, and light pass over such infirmities, as a far stronger constitution could scarce master. Sometime with the old fellow in Plautus they are brought back to their hornbook again, to learn to spell their fortune in love: Most wretched would they needs be, if they had but wit enough to be sensible of their hard condition, but by my assistance they carry off all well, and to their respective friends approve themselves good sociable jolly companions. Thus Homer makes aged Nestor famed for a smooth oylytounged Orator, while the delivery of Achilles was but rough, harsh, and haesitant; and the same Poet elsewhere tells us of old men that sat on the walls, and spoke with a great deal of flourish and elegance. And in this point indeed they surpass and out go children, who are pretty forward in a softly, innocent prattle, but otherwise are too much toung-tied, and want the others most acceptable embellishment of a perpetual talkativeness. Add to this, that old men love to be playing with children, and children delight as much in them to verify the Proverb, that Birds of a feather stock together. And indeed what difference can be discerned between them, but that the one is more furrowed with wrinkies, and has seen a little more of the world than the other? for otherwise their whitish hair, their want of teeth, their smallness of stature, their milk diet, their bald crowns, their prattling, their p'aying, their short memory, their heedlessness, and all their other endowments exactly agree; and the more they advance in years, the nearer they come back to their cradle, till like children indeed at last they depart the world without any remorse at the loss of life, or sense of the pangs of death.  
And now let any one compare the excellency of my metamorphosing power to that which Ovid attributes to the Gods, their strange seats in some drunken passions we will omit for their credit sake, and instance only in such persons as they pretended great kindnesses for; These they transformed into Trees, Birds, Infects, and sometimes Serpents: but alas, their very change into somewhat else, argues the destruction of what they were before, Whereas I can restore the same numerical man to his pristine state of youth, health, and strength: yea, what is more, if men would but so far consult their own interest, as to discard all thoughts of wisdom, and entirely resign themselves to my guidance and conduct, Old age should be a Paradox, and each man's years a perpetual Spring. For look how your hard plodding Students, by a close sedentary confinement to their books, grow mopish, pale, and meager, as if by a continual wrack of brains and torture of invention their veins were pumped dry, and their whole body squeezed sapless; whereas my followers are smooth, plump, and buxom, and altogether as lusty as so many Bacon-hogs, or sucking Calves, never in their career of pleasure to be arrested with old age, if they could but keep themselves untainted from the contagiousness of Wisdom, with the leprosy whereof if at any time they are infected, it is only for prevention, lest they should otherwise have been too happy.  
For a more ample confirmation of the truth of what foregoes, it is on all sides confessed that Folly is the best preservative of Youth and the most effectual antidote against Age. And it is a never failing observation made of the people of Brabant, that contrary to the Proverb of Older and wiser, the more ancient they grow, the more fools they are, and there is not any one Country whose inhabitants enjoy themselves better, and rub through the world with more ease and quiet. To these are nearly related, as well by affinity of customs, as of neighbourhood, my friends the Hollanders, Mine I may well call them, for they stick so close and lovingly to me, that they are styled Fools to a Proverb, and yet scorn to be ashamed of their name. Well, let fond mortals go now in a needless quest of some Medea, Circe▪ Venus; or some enchanted fountain for a Restorative of age, whereas the accurate performance of this feat lies only within the ability of my art and s kill.  
It is I only who have the Receipt of making that liquor, wherewith Memnon's daughter lengthened out her grandfather's declining days: It is I that am that Venus, who so far restored the languishing Phaon, as to make Sappho, fall deeply in love with his beauty. Mine are those herbs, mine those charms, that not only jure back swift Time, when past and gone, but (what is more to be admired) clip its wings, and prevent all farther flight. So than if you will all agree to my verdict, that nothing is more desirable than the being young, nor any thing more loathed than contemptible old age, you must needs acknowledge it as an unrequitable obligation from me for fencing off the one, and perpetuating the other.  
But why should I confine my discourse to the narrow subject of mankind only? View the whole Heaven itself, and there tell me what one of that Divine tribe would not be mean and despicable, if my name did not lend him some respect and authority. Why is Bacchus always painted as a young man, but only because he is freakish, drunk, and mad, and spending his time in toping, dancing, masking, and revelling, seems to have nothing in the least to do with Wisdom? nay so far is he from the affectation of being accounted wise, that he is content all the rites of devotion which are paid unto him, should consist of apishness and drollery. Farther, what scoffs and jeers did not the old Comedians throw upon him? O swinish paunch-gut God, (say they) that smells rank of the thigh he was sowed up in, and so on. But prithee, who in his case, always merry, youthful, soaked in wine, and drowned in pleasures? who (I say) in such a case would change conditions either with the lofty menace-looking jove, the grave, yet timorous Pan, the stately Pallas, or indeed any one other of heaven's Land lords? Why is Cupid feigned as a boy, but only because he is an under-witted whipster, that neither acts nor thinks any thing with discretion? Why is Venus adored for the mirror of beauty, but only because she and I claim kindred, she being of the same complexion with my father Plutus, and therefore called by Homer the golden Goddess? beside, she imitates me in being always a laughing, if either we believe the Poets, or their near kinsmen the Painters, the first mentioning, the other drawing her constantly in that posture. Add farther, to what Deity did the Romans pay a more ceremonial respect than to Flora, that bawd of Obscenity? And if any one search the Poets for an historical account of the Gods, he shall find them all famous for lewd pranks and debaucheries. It is needless to insist upon the miscarriages of others, when the lecherous intrigues of jove himself are so notorious, and when the pretendedly chaste Diana so oft uncloaked her modesty to run a hunting after her beloved Endymion. But I'll say no more, for I had rather They should be told of their faults by Momus, who was wont formerly to sting them with some close reflections, till nettled by his abusive raillery, they kicked him out of heaven for his sauciness of daring to reprove such as were beyond correction: and now in his banishment from heaven he finds but cold entertainment here on earth, nay is denied all admittance into the Court of Princes, where notwithstanding my handmaid Flattery finds a most encouraging welcome: But this petulant Monitor being thrust out of doors, the Gods can now more freely rant and revel, and take their whole swinge of pleasure: Now the beastly Priapus may recreate himself without contradiction in lust and filthiness, now the sly Mercury may without discovery go on in his thieveries, and nimble-fingered juggles; the sooty Vulcan may now renew his wont custom of making the other Gods laugh by his hopping so limpingly, and coming off with so many dry joques and biting Repartees. Silenus' the old doting Lover, to show his activity, may now dance a frisking Jig, and the Nymphs be at the same sport naked. The goatish Satyrs may make up a merry Ball, and Pan the blind-harper may put up his Bagpipes, and sing bawdy catches, to which the Gods especially, when they are almost drunk, shall give a most profound attention. But why should I any farther rip open and expose the weakness of the Gods, a weakness so childish and absurd, that no man can at the same time keep his countenance, and make a relation of it? Now therefore, like Homer's wand'ring Muse, I'll take my leave of Heaven, and come down again here below, where we shall find nothing happy, nay nothing tolerable without my presence and assistance. And in the first place consider, how providently Nature has took care that in all her works there should be some piquant smack and relish of Folly: for since the Stoics define Wisdom to be a conduct by Reason, and Folly nothing else but the being hurried by Passion; left our life should otherwise have been too dull and unactive, That creator, who out of Clay first tempered and made us up, put into the composition of our humanity more than a pound of Passions to an ounce of Reason, and Reason he confined within the narrow cells of the Brain, whereas he left Passions the whole body to range in. Farther, he set up two sturdy champions to stand perpetually on the guard, that Reason might make no assault, surprise, nor inroad; Anger, which keeps its station in the fortress of the heart, and Lust, which like the Signs Virgo and Scorpio, rules the belly and secret members. Against the forces of these two warriors how unable is Reason to bear up, and withstand, every days experience does abundantly witness; while let Reason be never so importunate in urging and reinforcing her admonitions to virtue, yet the Passions bear all before them, and by the least offer of curb or restraint grow but more imperious, till Reason itself for quietness sake is forced to desist from all farther remonstrance. But because it seemed expedient that Man, who was born for the transaction of buisiness, should have so much wisdom as should fit and capacitate him for the discharge of his duty herein, and yet lest such a measure as is requisite for this purpose might prove too dangerous and fatal, I were advised with for an Antidote, who prescribed this infallible receipt of taking a wife, a creature so harmless, and silly, and yet so useful, and convenient, as might mollify, and make pliable the stifness and morose humour of Man. Now that which made Plato doubt under what Genus to rank Woman, whether among Brutes or Rational creatures, was only meant to denote the extreme stupidness and folly of that sex; a sex so unalterably simple, that for any of them to thrust forward and reach at the name of wise, is but to make themselves the more remarkable fools, such an endeavour being but a swimming against the stream, nay a turning the course of nature, the bare attempting whereof is as extravagant as the effecting of it is impossible: for as it is a trite Proverb, that an Ape will be an Ape though clad in purple, so a woman will be a woman, i. e. a fool whatever disguise she takes up. And yet there is no reason Women should take it amiss to be thus charged, for if they do but rightly consider, they'll find that it is to folly they are beholden for those endowments, wherein they so far surpass and excel man; as first for their unparallelled beauty, by the charm whereof they tyrannize over the greatest Tyrants: for what is it but too great a smatch of wisdom that makes menso tawny and thick-skinned, so rough and prickly-bearded, like an Emblem of winter or old age, while women have such dainty smooth cheeks, such a low gentle voice, and so pure a complexion, as if Nature had drawn them for a standing pattern of all symmetry and comeliness? Beside, what greater or juster aim and ambition have they than to please their husbands? in order whereunto they garnish themselves with Paint, Washes, Curls, Perfumes, and all other mysteries of ornament; yet after all, they become acceptable to them only for their folly. Wives are always allowed their humour, yet it is only in exchange for titillation and pleasure, which indeed are but other names for Folly; as none can deny, who considers, how a man must hug, and dandle, and kittle and play a hundred little tricks with his bedfellow, when he is disposed to make that use of her, that Nature designed her for. Well then, you see whence that greatest pleasure (to which modesty scarce allows a name) springs and proceeds.  
But now some blood-chilled old men, that are more for wine than wenching, will pretend that in their opinion the greatest happiness consists in feasting, and drinking. Grant it be so, yet certainly in the most luxurious entertainments it is Folly must give the sauce and relish to the daintiest cates and delicacies; so that if there be no one of the guests naturally Fool enough to be played upon by the rest, they must procure some comical Buffoon, that by his joques, and slouts, and blunders, shall make the whole company split themselves with laughing: for to what purpose were it to be stuffed, and crammed with so many dainty bits, savoury dishes, and toothsome rarities, if after all this Epicurism of the belly, the eyes, ears, and whole mind of man, were not as well fostered, and relieved with laughing, jesting, and such like divertisements, which like second courses serve for the promoting of digestion? And as to all those Shooing-horns of drunkenness, the keeping every one his man, the throwing Hey-jinks, the filling of bumpers, the drinking two in a hand, the beginning of Mistress' healths; and then the roaring out of drunken catches, the calling in a Fiddler, the leading out every one his Lady to dance, and such like riotous pastimes, These were not taught or dictated by any of the wise men of Greece, but of Goatham rather, being my invention, and by me prescribed as the best preservative of health: each of which, the more ridiculous it is, the more welcome it finds. And indeed to jog sleepingly through the world in a dumpish, melancholy posture, cannot properly be said to Live, but to be wound up as it were in a Winding-sheet before we are dead, and so to be shuffled quick into a grave, and buried alive.  
But there are yet others perhaps that have no gust in this sort of pleasure, but place their greatest content in the enjoyment of friends, telling us that true friendship is to be preferred before all other acquirements; that it is a thing so useful, and necessary, as the very Elements could not long subsist without a natural combination; so pleasant, that it affords as warm an influence as the Sun itself; so honest, (if honesty in this case deserve any consideration) that the very Philosophers have not stuck to place This as one among the rest of their different sentiments of the chiefest Good. But what if I make it appear, that I also am the main spring and original of this endearment? yes, I can easily demonstrate it, and that not by crabbed Syllogisms, or a crooked, and unintelligible way of arguing, but can make it (as the Proverb goes) as plain as the nose on your face. Well then, to scratch, and curry one another, to wink at a friends faults, nay to cry up some sailings for virtuous, and commendable, is not this the next door to the being a Fool? when one looking steadfastly in his Mistress' face admires a Mole, as much as a Beauty spot, when another swears his Lady's stinking breath is a most redolent Perfume; and at another time the fond Parent hugs the squint eyed child, and pretends it is rather a becoming glance, and winning aspect, than any blemish of the eyesight: What is all this, but the very height of Folly? Folly (I say) that both makes friends, and keeps them so. I speak of Mortal men only, among whom there are none, but have some small faults, he is most happy that has fewest. If we pass to the Gods, we shall find that they have so much of Wisdom, as they have very little of Friendship, nay nothing of that, which is true, and hearty. The reason why Men make a greater improvement in this virtue, is only because they are more credulous, and easie-natured: For friends must be of the same humour, and inclinations too, or else the league of Amity, though made with never so many protestations, will be soon broke. Thus grave, and morose men seldom prove fast friends, they are too captious, and censorious, and will not bear with one another's infirmities; they are as Eagle-sighted as may be in the espial of others faults, while they wink upon themselves, and never mind the beam in their own eyes. In short, Man being by nature so prone to frailties, so humoursom, and cross-grained, and guilty of so many slips, and miscarriages, there could be no firm friendship contracted, except there be such an allowance made for each others defaults, which the Greeks term 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and we may construe Good Nature, which is but another word for Folly. And what? Is not Cupid, that first father of all relation, is not he stark blind, that as he cannot himself distinguish of colours, so he would make us as mop-eyed in judging falsely of all love concerns, and wheedle us into a thinking, that we are always in the right? Thus every Jack sticks to his own Jill, every Tinker esteems his own Trull, and the hob-nailed nailed Suitor prefers joan the Milkmaid before any of my Lady's daughters. These things are true, and are ordinarily laughed at, and yet however ridiculous they seem, it is hence only that all Societies receive their cement, and consolidation.  
The same which has been said of Friendship is much more applicable to a state of Marriage, which is but the highest advance and improvement of friendship in the closest bond of union. Good God What frequent divorces, or worse mischief, would oft sadly happen, except man, and wife were so discreet as to pass over light occasions of quarrel with laughing, jesting, dissembling, and such like playing the fool? Nay, how few matches would go forward, if the hasty lover did but first know how many little tricks of lust, and wantonness (and perhaps more gross failings) his coy, and seemingly bashful Mistress had oft before been guilty of? and how fewer marriages, when consummated, would continue happy, ●f the husband were not either sottishly insensible of, or did not purposely wink at, and pass over the lightness and forwardness of his good-natured wife? This peace and quietness is owing to my management, for there would otherwise be continual jars, and broils, and mad doings, if want of wit only did not at the same time make a contented cuckold, and a still house; if the Cuckoo sing at the back door, the unthinking Cornute takes no notice of the unlucky omen of others eggs being laid in his own nest, but laughs it over, kisses his dear spouse, and all his well. And indeed it is much better patiently to be such a hen-peckt frigate, than always to be wracked and tortured with the grating surmises of suspicion and jealousy. In fine, there is no one society, no one relation men stand in, would be comfortable, or indeed tolerable without my assistance; there could be no right understanding betwixt Prince and people, Lord and servant, Tutor and pupil, friend and friend, man and wife, buyer and seller, or any persons however otherwise related, if they did not cowardly put up small abuses, sneakingly chringe and submit, or after all fawningly scratch and flatter each other. This you'll say is much, but you shall yet hear what is more: Tell me then, can any one love another, that first hates himself? is it likely any one should agree with a friend, that is first fallen out with his own Judgement? or is it probable he should be any way pleasing to another, who is a perpetual plague and trouble to himself? This is such a Paradox that none can be so mad, as to maintain. Well, but if I am excluded and barred out, every man would be so far from being able to bear with others, that he would be burdensome to himself, and consequently uncapable of any ease or satisfaction. Nature, that toward some of her products plays the Stepmother rather than the indulgent Parent, has endowed some men with that unhappy peevishness of disposition, as to nauseate and dislike whatever is their own, and much admire what belongs to other persons, so as they cannot in any wife enjoy whatever their Birth or Fortune has bestowed upon them: for what grace is there in the greatest beauty, if it be always clouded with frowns, and fulliness? or what vigour in youth, if it be harrassed with a pettish, dogged, waspish ill humour? none, sure: Nor indeed can there be any creditable acquitment of ourselves in any one station of life, but we should sink without rescue into misery and despair, if we were not buoyed up and supported by Self love, which is but the eldest sister (as it were) of Folly, and her own constant friend and assistant. For what is, or can be more silly, than to be lovers, and admirers of ourselves? and yet if we were not so, there will be no relish to any of our words, or actions. Take away this one property of a fool, and the Orator shall become as dumb and silent as the Pulpit he stands in; the Musician shall hang up his untouched Instruments on the wall, the compleatest Actors shall be hissed off the Stage, the Poet shall be burlesqued upon with his own doggrel rythms, the Painter shall himself vanish into an imaginary Landscape, and the Rhysician shall want Food more than his Patients do Physic. In short, without Self-love, instead of beautiful, you shall think yourself an old Bedlam of fourscore; instead of youthful, you shall seem just dropping into the grave, instead of eloquent, a mere stammerer; and in lieu of gentile, and complaisant, you shall appear like a downright Country clown, it being so necessary, that every one should think well of himself, before be can expect the good opinion of others. Finally, when it is the main and essential part of happiness to desire to be no other than what we already are, this expedient is again wholly owing to Self-love, which so flushes men with a good conceit of their own, that no one reputes of his shape, of his wit, of his education, or of his country; so as the dirty half drowned Hollander would not remove into the pleasant Plains of Italy, the rude Thracian would not change his boggy soil for the best seat in Athens, nor the brutish Soythian quit his thorny deserts to become an inhabitant of the Fortunate Islands. And O the incomparable contrivance of Nature, who has ordered all things in so even a method, that where ever she has been less bountiful in her gifts, there she makes it up with a larger dose of Self-love, which supplies the former defects, and makes all even. To enlarge farther, I may well presume to aver, that there are no considerable exploits performed, no useful arts invented, but what I am the respective author, and manager of As rst, what is more lofty and heroical than War, and yet what is more foolish than for some petty, trivial affront to take such a revenge, as both sides shall be sure to be loser's, and where the quarrel must be decided at the price of so many limbs, and lives? And when they come to an engagement, what service can be done by such pale-faced Students, as, by drudging at the oars of Wisdom, have spent all their strength and activity? No, the only use is of blunt sturdy fellows, that have little of wit, and so the more of resolution; except you would make a soldier of such another Demosthenes, as threw down his arms as soon as he came within sight of the Enemy, and lost that credit in the Camp, which he gained in the Pulpit: But Counsel, Deliberation, and Advice (say you) are very necessary for the management of War: very true, but not such counsel as shall be prescribed by the strict rules of Wisdom, and Justice; for a Battle shall be more successively sought by Servingmen, Porters, Bailiffs, Padders, Rogues, Jail-birds, and such like tag-rags of mankind, than by the most accomplished Philosophers. Which last, how unhappy they are in the management of such concerns, Socrates (by the Oracle adjudged to be the wisest of mortals) is a notable example; who, when he appeared in the attempt of some public performance before the people, he faltered in the first onset, and could never recover himself, but was houted and hissed home again: Yet this Philosopher was the less a Fool for refusing the appellation of Wise, and not accepting the Oracles compliment; as also for advising, that no Philosophers should have any hand in the Government of the Commonwealth; he should have likewise at the same time added, that they should be banished all humane Society. And what made this Great man poison himself to prevent the malice of his Accusers, what made him the instrument of his own death, but only his excessiveness of Wisdom? whereby, while he was searching into the nature of Clouds, while he was plodding and contemplating upon Ideas, while he was exercising his Geometry upon the measure of a Flea, and diving into the recesses of Nature, for an account how little Infects, when they were so small, could make so great a buzz, and hum, while he was intent upon these fooleries, he minded nothing of the world, or its ordinary concerns.  
Next to Socrates comes his Scholar Plato, a famous Orator indeed, that could be so dashed out of countenance by an illiterate rabble, as to demur, and hawk, and haesitate, before he could get to the end of one short sentence. Theophrastus' was such another coward, who beginning to make an Oration, was presently struck down with fear, as if he had seen some Ghost, or Hobgoblin. Isocrates was so bashful, and timorous, that though he taught Rhetoric, yet he could never have the confidence to speak in public. Cicero, that Master of Roman Eloquence, was wont to begin his Speeches with a low quivering voice, just like a Schoolboy, afraid of not saying his Lesson perfect enough to escape whipping: And yet Fabius commends this property of Tully, as an argument of a considerate Orator, sensible of the difficulty of acquitting himself with credit: but what hereby does he do more, than plainly confess that Wisdom is but a rub, and impediment to the well management of any Affair? How would these Heroes crouch, and shrink into nothing at the sight of drawn swords, that are thus quashed and stunned at the delivery of bare words?.  
Now then let Plato's fine sentence be cried up, that Happy are those Commonwealths where either Philosophers are elected Kings, or Kings turn Philosophers. Alas, This is so far from being true, that if we consult all Historians for an account of past Ages, we shall find no Princes more weak, nor any People more slavish, and wretched, than where the Administration of Affairs fell on the shoulders of some Learned Bookish Governor. Of the truth whereof the two Cato's are exemplary Instances: the first of which embroiled the City, and tired out the Senate by his tedious Harangues of defending himself, and accusing others; the younger was an unhappy occasion of the loss of the People's liberty, while by improper methods he pretended to maintain it. To these may be added Brutus, Cassius, the two Gracchis, and Cicero himself, who was no less fatal to Rome, than his Parallel Demosthenes was to Athens: As likewise Marcus Antoninus, whom we may allow to have been a Good Emperor, yet the less such for his being a Philosopher; and certainly he did not do half that kindness to his Empire by his own prudent management of Affairs, as he did mischief by leaving such a degenerate Successor, as his Son Commodus proved to be. But it is a common Observation, that A wise Father has many times a foolish Son, Nature so contriving it, lest the taint of Wisdom, like Hereditary distempers, should otherwise descend by Propagation. Thus Tully's Son Marcus, though bred at Athens, proved but a dull insipid Soul; and Socrates his children had (as one ingeniously expresses it) more of the Mother, than the Father, a phrase for their being Fools. However it were the more excusable, though wise men were so awkward, and unhandy in the ordering of public affairs, if they were not as bad, or worse in the management of their ordinary, and domestic concerns; but alas here they are much to seek: For place a formal Wise man at a feast, and he shall either by his morose silence put the whole Table out of humour, or by his frivolous questions disoblige, and tyre out all that sit near him. Call him out to dance, and he shall move no more nimbly than a Camel: Invite him to any public performance, and by his very looks he shall damp the mirth of all the Spectators, and at last be forced like Cato to leave the Theatre, because he cannot unstarch his gravity, nor put on a more pleasant countenance. If he be engaged in any discourse, he either breaks off abruptly, or tires out the patience of the whole company if he goes on: If he have any Contract, Sale, or Purchase to make, or any other worldly business to transact, he behaves himself more like a senseless Stock than a Rational man; so as he can be of no use, nor advantage to himself, to his friends, or to his country, because he knows nothing how the world goes, and is wholly unacquainted with the humour of the Vulgar, who cannot but hate a person so disagreeing in temper from themselves.  
And indeed the whole proceedings of the world are nothing but one continued Scene of Folly, all the Actors being equally fools, and madmen; and therefore if any be so pragmatically wise as to be singular, he must even turn a second Timon, or Man-hater, and by retiring into some unfrequented desert become a Recluse from all mankind.  
But, to return to what I first proposed, What was it in the infancy of the world that made men, naturally savage, unite into Civil societies, but only Flattery, one of my chiefest virtues? For there is nothing else meant by the fables of Amphion, and Orpheus with their Harps; the first making the stones jump into a well-built wall, the other inducing the trees to pull their legs out of the ground, and dance the Morris after him. What was it that quieted and appeased the Roman people, when they broke out into a riot for the redress of Grievances, was it any sinewy, starched Oration? No alas, it was only a silly ridiculous story, told by Menenius Agrippa, how the other members of the body quarrelled with the belly, resolving no longer to continue her drudging caterers, till by the penance they thought thus in revenge to impose, they soon found their own strength so far diminished, that paving the cost of experiencing a mistake, they willingly returned to their respective duties. Thus when the Rabble of Athens murmured at the exaction of the Magistrates, Themistocles satisfied them with such another tale of the Fox, and the Hedge hog; the first whereof being stuck fast in a miry bog, the Flies came swarming about him, and almost sucked out all his blood; the latter officiously offers his service to drive them away; no, says the Fox, if these which are almost glutted be frighted off, there will come a new hungry Sett, that will be ten times more greedy, and devouring: The Moral of this he meant applicable to the people, who if they had such Magistrates removed as they complained of for extortion, yet their Successors would certainly be worse.  
With what highest advances of Policy could Sertorius have kept the Barbarians so well in awe as by a white Hart, which he pretended was presented to him by Diana, and brought him intelligence of all his Enemy's designs? What was Lycurgus his grand argument for demonstrating the force of Education, but only the bringing out two whelps of the same Bitch, differently brought up, and placing before them a Dish, and a live Hare; the one, that had been bred to hunting, ran after the game; while the other, whose Kennel had been a Kitchen, presently fell a licking the Platter. Thus the beforementioned Sertorius made his Soldiers sensible; that Wit, and Contrivance would do more than bare Strength, by setting a couple of men to the plucking of two horses tails; the first pulling at all in one handful, tugged in vain, while the other, though much the weaker, snatching off one by one, soon performed his appointed task.  
Instances of like nature are Minos, and King Numa, both which fooled the people into obedience by a mere cheat, and juggle; the first by pretending he was advised by jupiter, the latter by making the vulgar believe he had the Goddess Aegeria assistant to him in all debates, and transactions. And indeed it is by such wheedles that the common people are best gulled, and imposed upon.  
For farther, what City would ever submit to the rigorous Laws of Plato, to the severe injunctions of Aristotle, or the more unpracticable Tenets of Socrates? No, these would have been too straight, and galling, there not being allowance enough made for the infirmities of the people.  
To pass to another head, what was it made the Decii so forward to offer themselves up as a sacrifice, for an atonement to the angry Gods, to rescue, and stipulate for, their indebted country?.  
What made Curtius, on a like occasion, so desperately to throw away his life, but only Vainglory, that is condemned, and unanimously voted for a main branch of Folly by all wise men? What is more unreasonable, and foppish, (say they) than for any man, out of ambition to some Office, to bow, and scrape, and cringe to the gaping Rabble, to purchase their favour by bribes, and donatives, to have their names cried up in the streets, to be carried about as it were for a fine sight upon the shoulders of the crowd, to have their effigies carved in brass, and put up in the Market place for a Monument of their Popularity? Add to this the affectation of new Titles, and distinctive badges of Honour, nay the very Deifying of such as were the most bloody Tyrants. These are so extremely ridiculous, that there is need of more than one Democritus to laugh at them. And y●● hence only have been occasioned those memorable achievements of Heroes, that have so much employed the pens of many laborious Writers.  
It is Folly, that in a several dress governs Cities, appoints Magistrates, and supports Judicatures; and in short, makes the whole course of man's life a mere children's play, and a worse than Push-pin diversion. The invention of all Arts and Sciences are likewise owing to the same cause: For what sedentary, thoughtful men would have beat their brains in the search of new, and unheard of Mysteries, if not egged on by the bubbling hopes of credit, and reputation? They think a little glittering flash of vainglory is a sufficient reward for all their sweat, and toil, and tedious drudgery; while they that are supposedly more foolish, reap advantage of the others labours.  
And now, since I have made good my title to Valour, and Industry, what if I challenge an equal share of Wisdom? How! This (you'll say) is absurd, and contradictory; the East, and West may as soon shake hands, as Folly, and Wisdom be reconciled. Well, but have a little patience, and I'll warrant you I'll make out my claim. First then, if Wisdom (as must be confessed) is no more than a readiness of doing good, and an expedite method of becoming serviceable to the world; to whom does this virtue more properly belong? to the Wiseman, who partly out of modesty, partly out of cowardice, can proceed resolutely in no attempt; or to the Fool, that goes hand over head, leaps before he looks, and so ventures through the most hazardous undertaking without any sense, or prospect of danger. In the undertaking any enterprise the Wise man shall run to consult with his books, and dose himself with poring upon musty Authors; while the dispatchful Fool shall rush bluntly on, and have done the business, while the other is hinking of it. For the two greatest lets, and impediments to the issue of an● performance, are Modesty, which casts a mist before men's eyes, and Fear, which makes them shrink back, and recede from any proposal: Both these are banished, and cashiered by Folly, and in their stead such a habit of fool-hardiness introduced, as mightily contributes to the success of all Enterprises.  
Farther, if you will have Wisdom taken in the other sense, of being A right judgement of things, you shall see how short Wise men fall of it in this acceptation.  
First than it is certain, that all things, like so many Ianus', carry a double face, or rather bear a false aspect, most things being really in themselves far different from what they are in appearance to others: so as that, which at first blush seems alive, is in truth dead; and that again, which appears as dead, at a nearer review proves to be alive: beautiful seems ugly; wealthy poor; scandalous is thought creditable, prosperous passes for unlucky; friendly, for what is most opposite, and innocent for what is hurtful, and pernicious. In short, if we change the tables, all things are found placed in a quite different posture from what just before they appeared to stand in.  
If this seem too darkly, and unintelligibly expressed, I'll explain it by the familiar instance of some great King, or Prince, whom every one shall suppose to swim in the luxury of wealth, and to be a powerful Lord, and Master; when alas, on the one hand he has poverty of spirit enough to make him a mere beggar, and on the other side he is worse than a Galley slave to his own lusts, and passions.  
If I had a mind farther to expatiate, I could enlarge upon several Instances of like nature, but this one may at present suffice.  
Well, but what's the meaning (will some say) of all this? Why, observe the application. If any one in a Playhouse be so impertinent, and rude, as to rifle the Actors of their borrowed clothes, make them lay down the character assumed, and force them to return to their naked selves; would not such a one wholly discompose, and spoil the Entertainment, and would he not deserve to be hissed, and thrown stones at, till the pragmatical fool should learn better manners? For by such a disturbance the whole Scene will be altered such as acted the men, will perhaps appear to be women; he that was dressed up for a young brisk Lover, will be found a rough old fellow; and he that represented a King, will remain but a mean ordinary Serving man: the laying things thus open, is a marring all the sport, which consists only in counterfeit, and disguise. Now the world is nothing else but such another Comedy, where every one in the Tire-room is first habited, suitably to the part he is to act; and as it is successively their turn, out they come on the Stage; where he that now personates a Prince, shall in another part of the same Play alter his dress, and become a Beggar, all things being in a mask, and particular disguise, or otherwise the Play could never be presented. Now if there should arise any starched formal Don that would point at the several Actors, and tell how This, that seems a petty God, is in truth worse than a Brute, being made captive to the tyranny of passion; that the other, who bears the character of a King, is indeed the most slavish of Servingmen, in being subject to the mastership of Lust, and Sensuality; that a third, who vaunts so much of his Pedigree, is no better than a Bastard for degenerating from Virtue, which ought to be of greatest consideration in Heraldry; and so shall go on in exposing all the rest: would not any one think such a person quite frantic, and ripe for Bedlam? For as nothing is more silly, than preposterous Wisdom, so is there nothing more indiscreet than an unseasonable Reproof: And therefore he is to be houted out of all society, that will not be pliable, conformable, and willing to suit his humour with other men's, remembering the law of Clubs, and Meetings, That he who will not do as the rest, must get him out of the company. And it is certainly one great degree of wisdom, for every one to consider, that he is but a Man, that therefore he should not pitch his soaring thoughts beyond the level of Mortality, but imp the wings of his towering ambition, and obligingly submit, and condescend to the weakness of others, it being man● times a piece of complaisance, to go out of the Road for companies sake. No, (say you) this is a grand piece of Folly: True, but yet all our Living is no more than such kind of Fooling: Which thought it may seem harsh to assert, yet it is not so strange as true.  
For the better making it out, it might perhaps be requisite to invoke the aid of the Muses, to whom the Poets devoutly apply themselves upon far more slender occasions. Come then, and assist ye Heliconian Lasses, while I attempt to prove, that there is no method for an arrival to Wisdom, and consequently no tract to the goal of Happiness, without the instructions, and directions of Folly.  
And here, in the first place, it has been already acknowledged, that all the Passions are listed under my Regiment, since This is resolved to be the only distinction betwixt a Wise man, and a Fool, that this latter is governed by Passion, the other guided by Reason: And therefore the Stoics look upon Passions no other, than as the infection, and malady of the Soul, that disorders the constitution of the whole man, and by putting the spirits into a feverish ferment many time's occasion some mortal distemper: And yet these, however decried, are not only our Tutors to instruct us toward the attainment of Wisdom, but even bolden us likewise, and spur us on to a quicker dispatch of all our undertake. This I suppose will be stomached by the Stoical Seneca, who pretends, that the only Emblem of Wisdom is, the man without Passion; whereas the supposing any person to be so, is perfectly to unman him, or else transforming him into some fabulous Deity, that never was, nor ever will be; nay, to speak more plain, it is but the making him a mere Statue, immovable, senseless, and altogethet unactive. And if This be their Wise man, let them take him to themselves, and remove him into Plato's commonwealth, the new Atlantis, or some other like Fairy-land. For who would not hate, and avoid such a person, as should be deaf to all the dictates of common Sense? that should have no more of love, or pity, than a block, or stone, that remains heedless of all dangers? that thinks he can never mistake, but can foresee all contingencies, at the greatest distance, and make provision for the worst presages? that feeds upon himself, and his own thoughts; that monopolizes health, wealth, power, dignity, and all to himself; that loves no man, nor is beloved of any; that has the impudence to tax even Divine Providence of ill contrivance, and proudly grudges, nay tramples under foot all other men's reputation. And This is He, that is the Stoics complete Wise man. But prithee, what City would choose such a Magistrate? What Army would be willing to serve under such a Commander? Or what Woman would be content with such a doo-little Husband? Who would invite such a Guest? or what Servant would be retained by such a Master? The most illiterate Mechanic would in all respects be a more acceptable man, who would be froliksome with his wife, free with his friends, jovial at a feast, pliable in converse, and obliging to all company. But I am tired out with this part of my subject, and so must pass to some other Topics.  
And now were any one placed on that tower, from whence jove is fancied by the Poets to survey the world, he would all around discern how many grievances and calamities our whole life is on every side encompassed with: How unclean our birth, how troublesome our tendance in the cradle, how liable our childhood is to a thousand misfortunes? How toilsome, and full of drudgery our riper years? how heavy, and uncomfortable our old age? and lastly, how unwelcome the unavoidableness of Death? Farther, in every course of life how many wracks there may be of torturing diseases, how many unhappy accidents may casually occur, how many unexpected disasters may arise, and what strange alterations may one moment produce? Not to mention such miseries, as men are mutually the cause of, as Poverty, Imprisonment, Slander, Reproach, Revenge, Treachery, Malice, Cozenage, Deceit; and so many more, as to reckon them all would be as puzzling Arithmetic as the numbering of the Sands.  
How Mankind became environed with such hard circumtances, or what Deity imposed these Plagues, as a Penance on rebellious Mortals, I am not now at leisure to inquire: but whoever seriously takes them into consideration, he must needs commend the valour of the Milesian virgins, who voluntarily killed themselves, to get rid of a troublesome world: And how many wise men have took the same course of becoming their own Executioners? Among whom, not to mention Diogenes, Xenocrates, Cato, Cassius, Brutus, and other Heroes, the selfdenying Chiron is never enough to be commended; who, when he was offered by Apollo the privilege of being exempted from Death, and living on to the world's end, he refused the enticing proposal as deservedly, thinking it a punishment, rather than reward.  
But if all were thus wise, you see how soon the world would be unpeopled, and what need there would be of a second Prometheus, toplaister up the decayed image of Mankind. I therefore come, and stand in this gap of danger, and prevent farther mischief; partly by ignorance, partly by inadvertence; by the oblivion of whatever would be grating to remember, and the hopes of whatever may be grateful to expect, together palliating all griefs with an intermixture of pleasure; whereby I make men so far from being weary of their lives, that when their thread is spun to its full length, they are yet unwilling to die, and mighty hardly brought to take their last Farewell of their friends. Thus some decrepit old fellows, that look as hollow as the grave, into which they are falling, that rattle in the throat at every word they speak, that can eat no meat, but what is tender enough to suck, that have more hair on their beard than they have on their head, and go stooping toward the dust, they must shortly return to, whose skin seems already dressed into parchment, and their bones ready dried to a Skeleton; these shadows of men shall be wonderful ambitious of living longer, and therefore fence off the attaques of Death with all imaginable slights, and impostures: one shall new die his grey hairs, for fear their Colour should betray his Age; another shall spruce himself up in a light Periwig; a third shall repair the loss of his teeth with an Ivory set; and a fourth perhaps shall fall deeply in love with a young Girl and accordingly court her with as much of gaiety, and briskness, as the liveliest Spark in the whole town: and we can't but know, that for an Old man to marry a Young wife without a portion, to be a cooler to other men's lust, is grown so common, that it is become the Ala mode of the times. And, what's yet more Comical, you shall have some wrinkled old women, whose very looks are a sufficient antidote to lechery, that shall be canting out, Ah life is a sweet thing, and so run a Caterwauling, and hire some strong-backed Stallions to recover their almost lost sense of feeling; and to set themselves off the better, they shall paint, and dawb their faces, always stand a tricking up themselves at their Looking-glass, go naked necked, bare breasted, be tickled at a sinutty Jest, dance among the young Girls, write Love-letters, and do all the other little knacks of decoying hot-blooded Suitors; and in the mean while, however they are laughed at, they enjoy themselves to the full, live up to their hearts desire, and want for nothing that may complete their happiness. As for those that think them herein so ridiculous, I would have them give an ingenuous answer to this one Query, Whether, if Folly, or Hanging were left to their choice, they had not much rather live like fools, than die like dogs? But what matter is it, if these things are resented by the vulgar? their ill word is no injury to Fools, who are either altogether insensible of any affront, or at least lay it not much to heart. If they were knocked on the head, or had their brains dashed out, they would have some cause to complain; but alas, slander, calumny, and disgrace, are no other way injurious, than as they are interpreted; nor otherwise evil, than as they are thought to be so: What harm is it then, if all persons deride, and scoff you, if you bear but up in your own thoughts, and be yourself throughly conceited of your deserts? And prithee, why should it be thought my scandal to be a Fool, since the being so is one part of our nature, and essence; and as so, our not being wise can no more reasonably be imputed as a fault, than it would be proper to laugh at a man, because he cannot fly in the air, like Birds, and Fowls; because he goes not on all four, as beasts of the field; because he does not wear a pair of visible horns, as a crest on his forehead, like Bulls, or Staggs: by the same figure we may call a Horse unhappy, because he was never taught his Grammar; and an Ox miserable, for that he never learned to fence: but sure as a Horse, for not knowing a letter, is never the less valuable; so a Man, for being a Fool, is never the more unfortunate, it being by Nature and Providence so ordained for each.  
Ay, but (say our Patrons of Wisdom) the knowledge of Arts and Sciences is purposely attainable by men, that the defect of natural parts may be supplied by the help of acquired: as if it were probable, that Nature, which had been so exact, and curious in the mechanism of Flowers, Herbs, and Flies, should have bungled most in her masterpiece, and made Man as it were by halves, to be afterward polished, and refined by his own industry, in the attainment of such Sciences as the Egyptians feigned were invented by their God Theuth as a plague sure, and punishment to mankind, being so far from augmenting their happiness, that they do not answer that end they were first designed for, which was, the improvement of memory, as Plato in his Phaedrus does wittily observe.  
In the first Golden Age of the world there was no need of these perplexities; there was then no other sort of learning, but what was naturally collected from every man's common sense, improved by an easy experience. What use could there have been of Grammar, when all men spoke the same Mother-tongue, and aimed at no higher pitch of Oratory, than barely to be understood by each other? What need of Logic, when they were too wise to enter into any dispute? Or what occasion for Rhetoric, where no difference arose to require any laborious decision? And as little reason had they to be tied up by any laws, since the dictates of Nature, and common Morality were restraint, and obligation sufficient: And as to all the mysteries of Providence, they made them rather the object of their wonder, than of their curiosity; and therefore were not so presumptuous as to dive into the depths of Nature, to labour for the solving all phaenomena's in Astronomy, or to wrack their brain in the splitting of Entities and unfolding the nicest speculations, judging it a crime for any man to aim at what is put beyond the reach of his shallow apprehension.  
Thus was Ignorance, in the infancy of the world, as much the parent of Happiness as it has been since of Devotion: but as soon as the Golden Age began by degrees to degenerate into more drossy metals, than were Arts likewise invented; yet, at first, but few in number, and those rarely understood, till in farther process of time the superstition of the Chaldeans, and the curiosity of the Grecians, spawned so many subtleties, that now it is scarce the work of an age to be throughly acquainted with all the criticisms in Grammar only. And among all the several Arts those are proportionably most esteemed of, that come nearest to Weakness, and Folly. For thus Divines may bite their nails, and Naturalists may blow their fingers, Astrologers may know their own fortune is to be poor, and the Logician may shut his fist, and grasp the wind. 
Solus 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
While all these hard-named fellows cannot make  
So great a figure as a single Quack.  And in this profession, those that have most confidence, though least skill, shall be sure of the greatest custom; and indeed this whole Art, as it is now practised, is but one incorporated compound of Craft, and Imposture.  
Next to the Physician comes (He, who perhaps will commence a Suit with me, for not being placed before him, I mean) the Lawyer, who is so silly as to be Ignoramus to a Proverb, and yet by such are all difficulties resolved, all controversies determined, and all affairs managed, so much to their own advantage, that they get those Estates to themselves, which they are employed to recover for their Clients: while the poor Divine in the mean time shall have the lice crawl upon his threadbare gown, before, by all his sweat and drudgery, he can get money enough to purchase a new one. As those Arts therefore are most advantageous to their respective professors, which are farthest distant from Wisdom, so are those persons incomparably most happy, that have least to do with any at all, but jog on in the common road of Nature, which will never misled us, except we voluntarily leap over those boundaries, which she has cautiously set to our finite beings. Nature glitters most in her own plain homely garb, and then gives the greatest lustre, when she is unsullied from all artificial garnish.  
Thus if we inquire into the state of all dumb creatures, we shall find those fare best, that are left to Nature's conduct: As to instance in Bees, what is more to be admired, than the industry and contrivance of these little Animals? What Architect could ever form so curious a structure, as they give a model of in their unimitable Combs? what kingdom can be governed with better discipline, than they exactly observe in their respective hives? While the Horse, by turning a Rebel to Nature, and becoming a Slave to Man, undergoes the worst of tyranny: he is sometimes spurred on to battle, so long till he draw his guts after him for trapping, and at last falls down, and bites the ground instead of Grass; not to mention the penalty of his jaws being kerbed, his tail docked, his back wrung, his sides spurr-galled, his close imprisonment in a Stable, his rapshin, and fetters when he runs a grass, and a great many other plagues; which he might have avoided, if he had kept to that first station of freedom, which Nature placed him in. How much more desirable is the unconfined range of Flies, and Birds, who living by instinct, would want nothing to complete their happiness, if some well-imployed Domitian would not persecute the former, nor the fly Fowler lay snares, and 'gins for the intrapping of the other? And if young Birds, before their unfledged wings can carry them from their nests, are caught, and penned up in a Cage, for the being taught to sing, or whistle; all their new tunes make not half so sweet Music, as their wild notes, and natural melody: so much does that, which is but rough-drawn by Nature, surpass, and excel all the additional paint, and varnish of Art. And we cannot sure but commend, and admire that Pythagorean Cock, which (as Lucian relates) had been successively a man, a woman, a Prince, a subject, a fish, a horse, and a frog; after all his experience he summed up his judgement in this censure, That Man was the most wretched, and deplorable of all creatures, all other patiently grazing within the enclosures of Nature, while Man only broke out, and strayed beyond those safer limits, which he was justly confined to. And Gryllus is to be adjudged wiser than the much counselling Ulysses, in as much as when by the enchantment of Circe he had been turned into a Hog, he would not lay down his swinishness, nor forsake his beloved Sty, to run the peril of a hazardous voyage. For a farther confirmation whereof I have the authority of Homer, that Captain of all Poetry, who, as he gives to mankind in general the Epithet of wretched, and unhappy; so he bestows in particular upon Ulysses the title of miserable, which he never attributes to Paris, Ajax, Achilles, or any other of the Commanders, and that for this reason, because Ulysses was more crafty, cautious, and wise, than any of the rest.  
As those therefore fall shortest of happiness, that reach highest at Wisdom, meeting with the greater repulse for soaring beyond the boundaries of their nature, and without remembering themselves to be but men, like the fallen Angels daring to vie with Omnipotence, and Giantlike scale Heaven with the Engines of their own Brain; so are those most exalted in the road of bliss, that degenerate nearest into Brutes, and quietly divest themselves of all use, and exercise of Reason.  
And this we can prove by a familiar instance. As namely, can there be any one sort of men, that enjoy themselves better, than those which we call Idiots, Changelings, Fools, and Naturals? It may perhaps sound harsh, but upon due consideration it will be found abundantly true, that these persons in all circumstances fare best, and live most comfortably: As first, they are void of all fear, which is a very great privilege to be exempted from; they are troubled with no remorse, nor pricks of conscience; they are not frighted with any bugbear stories of another world; they startle not at the fancied appearance of Ghosts, or apparitions; they are not wracked with the dread of impending mischiefs, nor bandied with the hopes of any expected enjoyments: In short, they are unassaulted by all those legions of cares, that war against the quiet of Rational souls; they are ashamed of nothing, fear no man, banish the uneasiness of ambition, envy, and love; and to add the reversion of a future happiness to the enjoyment of a present one, they have no sin neither to answer for, Divines unanimously maintaining, that a gross, and unavoidable ignorance does not only extenuate, and abate from the aggravation, but wholly expiate the guilt of any immorality.  
Come now then as many of you, as challenge the respect of being accounted wise, ingenuously confess, how many insurrections of rebellious thoughts, and pangs of a labouring mind, ye are perpetually thrown, and tortured with; reckon up all those inconveniences that you are avoidable subject to, and then tell me, whether fools, by being exempted from all these embroilments, are not infinitely more free, and happy, than yourselves? Add to this, that Fools do not barely laugh, and sing, and play the good fellow alone to themselves; but as it is the nature of good to be communicative, so they impart their mirth to others, by making sport for the whole company, they are at any time engaged in, as if Providence purposely designed them for an Antidote to Melancholy: whereby they make all persons so fond of their society, that they are welcomed to all places, hugged, caressed, and defended; a liberty given them of saying, or doing any thing; so well beloved, that none dares to offer them the least injury, nay, the most ravenous beasts of prey will pass them by untouched, as if by instinct they were warned, that such innocence ought to receive no hurt. Farther, their converse is so acceptable in the Court of Princes, that few Kings will banquet, walk, or take any other diversion, without their attendance; nay, and had much rather have their company, than that of their gravest Counsellors, whom they maintain more for fashion sake, than good will; nor is it so strange, that these fools should be preferred before graver Politicians, since these last, by their harsh, sour advice, and ill timing the truth, are fit only to put a Prince out of the humour, while the other laugh, and talk, and joque, without any danger of disobliging.  
It is one farther very commendable property of Fools, that they always speak the truth, than which there is nothing more noble, and Heroical. For so, though Plato relate it as a sentence of Alcibiades, That in the Sea of Drunkenness Truth swims uppermost, and so Wine is the only teller of Truth; yet this character may more justly be assumed by me, as I can make good from the authority of Euripides, who lays down this as an Axiom, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Children and Fools always speak the truth. Whatever the fool has in his heart, he betrays it in his face, or, what is more notifying, discovers it by his words: while the wise man, as Euripides observes, carries a double tongue; the one to speak what may be said, the other what ought to be; the one what truth, the other what the time requires: whereby he can in a trice so alter his judgement, as to prove that to be now white, which he had just before swore to be black, like the satire at his Porridge, blowing hot and cold at the same breath; in his lips professing one thing, when in his heart he means another.  
Farthermore, Princes in their greatest splendour seem upon this account unhappy, in that they miss the advantage of being told the truth, and are shamm'd off by a parcel of insinuating Courtiers, that acquit themselves as Flatterers more than as Friends. But some will perchance object, that Princes do not love to hear the truth, and therefore wise men must be very cautious, how they behave themselves before them, lest they should take too great a liberty in speaking what is true, rather than what is acceptable. This must be confessed, Truth indeed is seldom palatable to the ears of Kings, yet Fools have so great a privilege as to have free leave, not only to speak bare truths, but the most bitter ones too: so as the same reproof, which had it come from the mouth of a Wise man, would have cost him his head; being blurted out by a Fool, is not only pardoned, but well taken, and rewarded. For Truth has naturally a mixture of pleasure, if it carry with it nothing of offence to the person whom it is applied to; and the happy knack of ordering it so, is bestowed only on Fools. 'tis for the same reason that this sort of men are more fond beloved by women, who like their tumbling them about, and playing with them, though never so boisterously, pretending to take that only in jest, which they would have to be meant in earnest, as that Sex is very ingenious in palliating, and dissembling the bent of their wanton inclinations.  
But to return. An additional happiness of these Fools appears farther in this, That when they have run merrily on to their last stage of life, they neither find any fear, nor feel any pain to die, but march contentedly to the other world, where their company sure must be as acceptable, as it was here upon earth.  
Let us draw now a comparison between the condition of a Fool, and that of a Wise man, and see how infinitely the one outweighs the other.  
Give me any instance then of a man as wise as you can fancy him possible to be, that has spent all his younger years in poring upon books, and trudging after learning; in the pursuit whereof he squanders away the pleasantest time of his life in watching, sweat, and fasting, and in his latter days he never tastes one mouthful of delight, but is always stingy, poor, dejected, melancholy, burdensome to himself, and unwelcome to others, pale, lean, thin-jawed, sickly, contracting by his sedentariness such hurtful distempers, as bring him to an untimely death, like Roses plucked before they shatter. Thus have you the draught of a Wise man's happiness, more the object of a commiserating Pity, than of an ambitioning Envy.  
But now again come the croaking Stoics, and tell me in mood, and figure, That nothing is more miserable, than the being mad: but the being a Fool, is the being mad, therefore there is nothing more miserable than the being a Fool. Alas, this is but a Fallacy, the discovery whereof solves the force of the whole Syllogism. Well then, they argue subtly, 'tis true, but as Socrates in Plato makes two Venus', and two Cupids, and shows how their actions and properties ought not to be confounded; so these Disputants, if they had not been mad themselves, should have distinguished between a double Madness in others: and there is certainly a great difference in the nature, as well as in the degrees of them, and they are not both equally scandalous: for Horace seems to take delight in one sort, when he says, 

— An me ludit amabilis  
Insania?—   

Does welcome Frenzy make me thus mistake?   And Plato in his Phaedron ranks the madness of Poets, of Prophets, and of Lovers, among those properties which conduce to a happy life. And Virgil, in his sixth Aenead, gives this Epithet to the industrious Aeneas, 

Quod si—  
— Insano juvat indulgere labori:   

If you'll proceed to these your mad attempts.   And indeed there is a twofold sort of Madness: The one, that which the Furies bring from Hell; those that are herewith possessed, are hurried on to wars, and contentions, by an inexhaustible thirst of power, and riches, inflamed to some infamous, and unlawful lust, enraged to act the Parricide, seduced to become guilty of incest, sacrilege, or some other of those crimson-died crimes; or finally, to be so pricked in conscience, as to be lashed, and stung with the whips, and snakes of grief, and remorse. But there is another sort of Madness, that proceeds from Folly; so far from being any way injurious, or distasteful, that it is throughly good, and desirable: And this happens, when by a harmless mistake in the judgement of things, the mind is freed from those cares, which would otherwise gratingly afflict it; and smoothed over with a content, and satisfaction, it could not under other circumstances so happily enjoy. And this is that comfortable Apathy, or insensibleness, which Cicero, in an Epistle to his friend Atticus, wishes himself master of, that he might the less take to heart those insufferable outrages committed by the tyrannising Triumvirate, Lepidus, Antonius, and Augustus. That Grecian likewise had a happy time of it, who was so frantic, as to sit a whole day in the empty Theatre laughing, shouting, and clapping his hands, as if he had really seen some pathetic Tragedy acted to the life, when indeed all was no more than the strength of imagination, and the efforts of delusion, while in all other respects the same person behaved himself very discreetly, was 

— jucundus amicis,  
Comis in uxorem, possetque ignoscere ser●is,  
Et signo laesae non insanire lagenae.   

Sweet to his friends, to's wife obliging, kind,  
And so averse from a revengeful mind,  
That had his servants unsealed his bottled wine,  
He would not fret, nor doggedly repine.   And when by a course of Physic he was recovered from this frenzy, he looked upon his cure so far from a kindness, that he thus reasons the case with his friends: 

— Pol me occidistis amici,  
Non seruâstis,— cui sic extorta voluptaes,  
Et dempt us per vim mentis gratissimus error.   

This Remedy, my friends, is worse i'th' main  
Than the Disease, the Cure augments the pain  
My only hopes is a relapse again.   And certainly they were the more mad of the two, who endeavoured to bereave him of so pleasing a delirium, and recall all the aches of his head by dispelling the mists of his brain.  
I have not yet determined, whether it be proper to include all the defects of sense and understanding under the common genus of Madness. For if any one be so unbiased, as to take a Mule for an Ass, or so shallowpated, as to admire a paltry Ballad for an elegant Poem, he is not thereupon immediately censured as mad: but if any one let not only his Senses, but his Judgement be imposed upon in the most ordinary common concerns, he shall come under the scandal of being thought next door to a madman: as suppose any one should hear an Ass bray, and should take it for ravishing Music; or if any one, born a beggar, should fancy himself as great as a Prince, or the like. But this sort of Madness, if (as is most usual) it be accompanied with pleasure, brings a great satisfaction, both to those who are possessed with it themselves, and those who deride it in others, though they are not both equally frantic. And this species of Madness is of larger extent than the world commonly imagines. Thus the whole tribe of Madmen make sport among themselves, while one laughs at another; under that is more mad, man● times jeering him that is less so. But indeed the greater each man's Madness is, the greater is his happiness, if it be but such a sort as proceeds from an excess of Folly, which is so Epidemical a distemper, that it is hard to find any one man so uninfected, as not to have sometimes a fit or two of some sort of Frenzy. There is only this difference between the several Patients: He that shall take a Broom-stick for a streight-bodied woman, is without more ado sentenced for a Madman, because this is so strange a blunder as very seldom happens; whereas he whose wife is a common Jilt, that keeps a warehouse free for all customers, and yet swears she is as chaste as an untouched Virgin, and hugs himself in his contented mistake, is scarce taken notice of, because he fares no worse than a great many more of his good-natured neighbours. Among these are to be ranked such as take an immoderate delight in Hunting, and think no Music comparable to the sounding of Horns, and the yelping of Beagles; and were they to take Physic, would no question think the most sovereign virtues to be in the Album Graecum of a dogs-turd: when they have run down their Game, what strange pleasure they take in cutting of it up! Cows, and Sheep may be slaughtered by common Butchers, but what is killed in hunting must be broke up by none under a Gentleman, who shall throw down his Hat, fall devoutly on his knees, and drawing out a slashing Hanger, (for a common knife is not good enough) after several ceremonies shall dissect all the parts as artificially, as the best skilled Anatomist; while all that stand round, shall look very intently, and seem to be mightily surprised with the novelty, though they have seen the same an hundred times before; and he that can but dip his finger, and taste of the blood, shall think his own bettered by it; and though the constant feeding on such diet, does but assimilate them to the nature of those Beasts they eat of, yet they'll swear that Venison is meat for Princes, and that their living upon it makes them as great as Emperors.  
Near a kin to these, are such as take a great fancy for Building: They raise up, pull down, begin a new, alter the model, and never rest, till they run themselves out of their whole Estate, taking up such a compass for Buildings, till they leave themselves not one foot of land to live upon, nor one poor Cottage to shelter themselves from cold, and hunger: and yet all the while are mighty proud of their contrivances, and sing a sweet requiem to their own happiness.  
To these are to be added those plodding Vertuoso s, that plunder the most inward recesses of Nature, for the pillage of a new Invention, and rake over Sea and Land for the turning up some hitherto latent mystery, and are so continually tickled with the hopes of success, that they spare for no cost, nor pains, but trudge on, and upon a defeat in one attempt courageously tack about to another, and fall upon new experiments, never giving over, till they have calcined their whole Estate to ashes, and have not money enough left unmelted to purchase one Crucible, or Limbeck: And yet after all, they are not so much discouraged, but that they dream fine things still, and animate others what they can to the like undertake; nay, when their hopes come to the last gasp, after all their disappointments they have yet one Salvo for their credit, that 

In Magnis voluisse sat est.   

In Great Exploits our bare attempts suffice,   And so inveigh against the shortness of their life, which allows them not time enough to bring their designs to a maturity, and perfection.  
Whether Dice players may be so favourably dealt with, as to be admitted among the rest is scarce yet resolved upon: but sure it is hugely vain, and ridiculous, when we see some persons so devoutly addicted to this diversion, that at the first rattle of the Box their heart shakes within them, and keeps comfort with the motion of the Dice: They are egged on so long with the hopes of always winning, till at last in a literal sense they have thrown away their whole Estate, and made shipwreck of all they have, scarce escaping to shore with their own clothes to their backs, thinking it in the mean while a great piece of religion to be just in the payment of their stakes, and will cheat any Creditor sooner than him who trusts them in play: And that poring old men, that cannot tell their Cast without the help of Spectacles, should be sweeting at the same sport, nay that such decrepit blades, as by the Gout have lost the use of their fingers, should look over, and hire others to throw for them, This indeed is prodigiously extravagant, but the consequence of it ends so oft in right down Madness, that it seems rather to belong to the Furies, than to Folly.  
The next to be placed among the regiment of Fools, are such as make a trade of telling, or enquiring after incredible stories of Miracles, and Prodigies: never doubting that a lie will choke them, they'll muster up a thousand several strange relations of Spirits, Ghosts, Apparitions, Raising of the Devil, and such like Bug bears of Superstition, which the farther they are from being probably true, the more greedily they are swallowed, and the more devoutly believed. And these absurdities do not only bring an empty pleasure, and cheap divertisement, but they are a good trade, and procure a comfortable income to such Priests, and Friars, as by this craft get their gain. To these again are nearly related such others, as attribute strange virtues to the Shrines, and Images of Saints, and Martyrs, and so would make their credulous Proselytes believe, that if they pay their Devotion to St. Christopher in the morning, they shall be guarded, and secured the day following from all dangers, and misfortunes: If Soldiers, when they first take arms, shall come, and mumble over such a sett-prayer before the picture of St. Barbara, they shall return safe from all Engagements; or if any pray to Erasmus on such particular holy days, with the ceremony of Wax candles, and other fopperies, he shall in a short time be rewarded with a plentiful increase of wealth, and riches. The Christians have now their Gigantic St. George, as well as the Pagans had their Hercules; they paint this Saint on horseback, and drawing the horse in splendid trappings, very gloriously accoutred, they scarce refrain in a literal sense from worshipping the very Beast.  
What shall I say of such as cry up, and maintain the cheat of Pardons, and Indulgences? that by these compute the time of each Soul's residence in Purgatory, and assign them a longer or shorter continuance, according as they purchase more, of sewer of these paltry Pardons, and saleable Exemptions? Or what can be said bad enough of such others, as pretend, that by the force of such Magical charms, or by the fumbling over their beads in the rehearsal of such and such Petitions, (which some Religious Impostors invented, either for Diversion, or, what is more likely, for Advantage) they shall procure Riches, Honour, Pleasure, Health, Long life, a lust● old Age, nay after death, a sitting at the right hand of our Saviour in his Kingdom; though as to this last part of their happiness, they care not how long it be deferred, having scarce any appetite toward a tasting the joys of Heaven, till they are forfeited, glutted with, and can no longer relish, their enjoyments on Earth. By this easy way of purchasing Pardons any notorious. High way-man, any plundering Soldier, or any Bribe-taking Judge, shall disburse some part of their unjust gains, and so think all their grossest impieties sufficiently atoned for; so many perjuries, lusts, drunkenness, quarrels, bloudsheds, cheats, treacheries, and all forts of debaucheries, shall all be, as it were, struck a bargain for, and such a contract made, as if they had paid off all arrears, and might now begin upon a new score.  
And what can be more ridiculous, than for someothers to be confident of going to Heaven, by repeating daily those seven verses out of the Psalms, which the Devil taught St. Bernard, thinking thereby to have put a trick upon him, but that he was overreacht in his cunning?.  
Several of these fooleries, which are so gross, and absurd, as I myself am even ashamed to own, are practised, and admired, not only by the vulgar, but by such proficients in Religion, as one might well expect should have more wit.  
From the same principles of Folly proceeds the custom of each country's challenging their particular Guardian-Saint, nay, each Saint has his distinct office allotted to him, and is accordingly addressed to upon the respective occasions: As one for the Toothache, another to grant an easy Delivery in childbirth, a third to help persons to lost goods, another to protect Seamen in a long Voyage, a fifth to guard the Farmer's cows, and sheep, and so on; for to rehearse all instances, would be extremely tedious.  
There are some more Catholic Saints petitioned to upon all occasions, as more especially the Virgin Mary, whose blind devoties think it manners now to place the Mother before the Son.  
And of all the Prayers, and Intercessions, that are made to these respective Saints, the substance of them is no more than right-down Folly. Among all the trophies, that for tokens of gratitude are hung upon the walls, and ceiling of Churches, you shall find no Relics presented as a Memorandum of any that were ever cured of Folly, or had been made one dram the wiser. One perhaps, after a Shipwreck, got safe to Shore; another recovered, when he had been run through by an enemy; one, when all his fellow-soldiers were killed upon the spot, as cunningly perhaps, as cowardly made his escape from the field; another, while he was a hanging, the rope broke, and so he saved his neck, and renewed his Licence for practising his old trade of thieving. Another broke Jail, and got loose; a Patient, against his physician's will, recovered of a dangerous Fever; another drank poison, which putting him into a violent looseness, did his body more good, than hurt, to the great grief of his wife, who hoped upon this occasion to have become a joyful widow: Another had his waggon overturned, and yet none of his horses lamed: Another had caught a grievous fall, and yet recovered from the bruise: Another had been tampering with his neighbour's wife, and escaped very narrowly from being catcht by the enraged Cuckold in the very act. After all these acknowledgements of Escapes from such singular dangers, there is none (as I have before intimated) that returns thanks for being freed from Folly; Folly being so sweet, and luscious, that it is rather sued for, as a happiness, than deprecated as a punishment. But why should I launch out into so wide a sea of superstitions? 

Non mihi si linguae centum sint, oraque centum,  
Ferrea vox, omnes fatuorum evolvere formas,  
Omnia stultitiae percurrere nomina possim.   

Had I as many tongues as Argus' eyes,  
Briareus hands, they all would not suffice  
Folly in all her shapes t' epitomise.   Almost all Christians being wretchedly enslaved to blindness, and ignorance, which the Priests are so far from preventing, or removing, that they blacken the darkness, and promote the delusion; wisely foreseeing, that the people (like cows, which never give down their milk so well, as when they are gently stroked) would part with less, if they knew more, their bounty proceeding only from a mistake of charity. Now if any grave, wife man should stand up, and unseasonably speak the truth, telling every one, That a pious Life is the only way of securing a happy Death; that the best title to a Pardon of our Sins, is purchased by a hearty Abhorrence of our Gild, and sincere resolutions of Amendment; that the best devotion, which can be paid to any Saints, is to imitate them in their exemplary life: if he should proceed thus to inform them of their several mistakes, there would be quite another estimate put upon Tears, Watchings, Masses, Fast, and other severities, which before were so much prized, as persons will now be vexed to lose that satisfaction, they formerly found in them.  
In the same predicament of Fools are to be ranked such, as while they are yet living, and in good health, take so great care how they shall be buried when they die, that they solemnly appoint how many Torches, how many Scutcheons, how many Gloves to be given, and how many Mourners they will have at their Funeral; as if they thought They themselves in their Coffins could be sensible of what respect was paid to their Corpse, or as if they doubted they should rest a whit the less quiet in the Grave, if they were with less state, and pomp interred.  
Now, though I am in so great haste, as I would not willingly be stopped, or detained, yet I cannot pass by without bestowing some remarks upon another sort of Fools; who, though their first Descent was perhaps no better than from a Tapster, or Tinker, yet highly value themselves upon their Birth, and Parentage. One fetches his pedigree from Aeneas, another from Brute, a third from King Arthur: They hang up their Ancestors wormeaten pictures as Records of Antiquity, and keep a long list of their Predecessors, with an account of all their Offices, and Titles, while they themselves are but Transcripts of their Forefathers dumb Statues, and degenerate even into those very Beasts, which they carry in their Coat of Arms, as Ensigns of their Nobility: And yet by a strong presumption of their Birth, and Quality, they live not only the most pleasant, and unconcerned themselves, but there are not wanting others too, who cry up these Brutes almost equal to the Gods. But why should I dwell upon one or two instances of Folly, when there are so many of like nature? Conceitedness, and Self-love, making many by strength of fancy believe themselves happy, when otherwise they are really wretched, and despicable. Thus the most Ape-faced, ugliest fellow in the whole town, shall think himself a mirror of Beauty: Another shall be so proud of his parts, that if he can but mark out a Triangle with a pair of Compasses, he thinks he has mastered all the difficulties of Geometry, and could outdo Euclid himself. A third shall admire himself for a ravishing Musician, though he have no more skill in the handling of any Instrument, than a Pig playing on the Organs: And another, that rattles in the throat, as hoarse as a Cock crows, shall be proud of his voice, and think he sings like any Nightingale.  
There is another very pleasant sort of Madness, whereby persons assume to themselves, whatever of accomplishment they discern in others. Thus the happy rich Churl in Seneca, who had so short a memory, as he could not tell the least story without a servants standing by to prompt him, and was at the same time so weak, as he could scarce go upright; yet he thought he might adventure to accept a challenge to a Duel, because he kept at home some lusty sturdy fellows, whose strength he relied upon instead of his own.  
It is almost needless to insist upon the several Professors of Arts, and Sciences, who are all so egregiously conceited, that they would sooner give up their Title to an estate in Lands, than part with the Reversion of their Wits: Among These, more especially Stage players, Musicians, Orators, and Poets, each of which; the more of Duncery they have, the more of Pride, and the less their Deserts be, the greater is their Ambition: And how notoriously soever dull they be, they meet ●et with their Admirers; nay, the more silly they are, the higher they are extolled: Folly (as we have before intimated) never failing of respect, and esteem. If therefore every one, the more ignorant he is, the greater satisfaction he is to himself, and the more commended by others, to what purpose is it to sweat, and toil in the pursuit of true Learning, which shall cost so many gripes, and pangs of the Brain to acquire; and when obtained, shall only make the laborious Student more uneasy to himself, and less acceptable to others?.  
As Nature in her dispensations of Conceitedness has dealt with private persons, so has she given a particular smatch of Self-love to each Country, and Nation. Upon this account it is, that the English challenge the prerogative of having the most handsome Women, of the being most accomplished in the skill of Music, and of keeping the best Tables: The Scotch brag of their Gentility, and pretend the Genius of their native Soil inclines them to be good Disputants. The French think themselves remarkable for Complaisance, and good Breeding: The Sorbonists of Paris pretend before any others to have made the greatest proficiency in Polemic Divinity: The Italians value Themselves for Learning, and Eloquence, and like the Grecians of old, account all the world Barbarians in respect of themselves; to which piece of vanity the inhabitants of Rome are more especially addicted, pretending themselves to be owners of all those Heroic virtues, which their City so many ages since was deservedly famous for. The Venetians stand upon their Birth, and Pedigree. The Grecians pride themselves in having been the first inventors of most Arts, and in their Country being famed for the product of so many eminent Philosophers. The Turks, and all the other Refuse of Mahometism, pretend they profess the only true Religion, and laugh at all Christians for superstitious, narrow-souled fools. The jews to this day expect their Messias, as devoutly, as they believe in their first Prophet Moses. The Spaniards challenge the repute of being accounted good Soldiers: and the Germans are noted for their tall, proper stature, and for their skill in Magic. But not to mention any more, I suppose you are already convinced, how great an improvement, and addition to the happiness of humane Life is occasioned by Self-love: Next step to which is Flattery; for as Self-love is nothing but the coquesing up of ourselves, so the same currying and humouring of others, is termed Flattery.  
Flattery, it is true, is now looked upon as a scandalous name, but it is by such only, as mind words more than things. They are prejudiced against it upon this account, because they suppose it justles out all Truth, and Sincerity: whereas indeed its property is quite contrary, as appears from the examples of several brute creatures: What is more fawning than a Spaniel, and yet what is more faithful to his Master? what is more fond, and loving than a tame Squirrel, and yet what is more sporting, and inoffensive? This little frisquing creature is kept up in a cage to play withal, while Lions, Tigers, Leopards, and such other savage Emblems of rapine, and cruelty, are shown only for state, and rarity, and otherwise yield no pleasure to their respective keepers.  
There is indeed a pernicious destructive sort of Flattery, wherewith Rookers, and Sharks work their several ends upon such as they can make a prey of, by decoying them into traps, and snares, beyond recovery: But that which is the effect of Folly, is of a much different nature; It proceeds from a softness of spirit, and a flexibleness of good humour, and comes far nearer to virtue, than that other extreme of Friendship, namely a stiff, sour, dogged moroseness: It refreshes our minds when tired, enlivens them when melancholy, reinforces them when languishing, invigorates them when heavy, recovers them when sick, and pacifies them when rebellious: It puts us in a method how to procure Friends, and how to keep them; It entices children to swallow the bitter rudiments of Learning; It gives a new ferment to the almost stagnated souls of old men; It both reproves, and instructs Princes without offence, under the mask of commendation: In short, it makes every man fond, and indulgent of himself, which is indeed no small part of each man's happiness, and at the same time renders him obliging, and complaisant in all company, where it is pleasant to see how the Asses rub, and scratch one another. This again is a great accomplishment to an Orator, a greater to a Physician, and the only one to a Poet: In fine, it is the best sweetner to all afflictions, and gives a true relish to the otherwise insipid enjoyments of our whole life. Ay but (say you) to Flatter, is to Deceive; and to Deceive, is very harsh, and hurtful: No, rather just contrary; nothing is more welcome, and bewitching, than the being deceived. They are much to be blamed for an undistinguishing head, that make a judgement of things according to what they are in themselves, when their whole nature consists barely in the opinions that are had of them. For all sublunary matters are enveloped in such a cloud of obscurity, that the short-sightedness of humane understanding cannot pry through, and arrive to any comprehensive knowledge of them: Hence the Sect of Academic Philosophers have modestly resolved, that All things being no more than Probable, Nothing can be known as Certain; or if the●e could, yet would it but interrupt, and abate from the pleasure of a more happy Ignorance. Finally, our souls are so fashioned and moulded, that they are sooner captivated by Appearances, than by Real Truths; of which, if any one would demand an example, he may find a very familiar one in Churches, where, if what is delivered from the Pulpit be a grave, solid, rational discourse, all the congregation grow weary, and fall asleep, till their patience be released; whereas if the Preacher (pardon the impropriety of the word, the Prater I would have said) be zealous in his thumps of the cushion, and antic gestures, and spend his Glass in the telling of pleasant stories, his Beloved shall then stand up, tuck their hair behind their ears, and be very devoutly attentive. So among the Saints, Those are most resorted to, who are most Romantic, and fabulous: As for instance, a Poetic St. George, a St. Christopher, or a St. Barbara, shall be oftener prayed to, than St. Peter, St. Paul, nay perhaps than Christ himself: But This, it is possible, may more properly be referred to another place.  
In the mean while observe, what a cheap purchase of happiness is made by the strength of fancy. For whereas many things, even of inconsiderable value, would cost a great deal of pains, and perhaps pelf, to procure; Opinion spares charges, and yet gives us them in as ample a manner by conceit, as if we possessed them in reality. Thus he who feeds on such a stinking dish of Fish, as another must hold his nose at a yards distance from; yet if he feed heartily, and relish them palatably, they are to him as good, as if they were fresh caught: whereas on the other hand, if any one be invited to never so dainty a Joul of Sturgeon, if it go against his stomach to eat any, he may sit a hungry, and bite his nails with greater appetite, than his victuals. If a woman be never so ugly, and nauseous, yet if her husband can but think her handsome, it is all one to him, as if she really were so: If any man have never so ordinary and smutty a draught, yet if he admires the excellency of it, and can suppose it to have been drawn by some old Apelles, or modern Vandike, he is as proud of it, as if it had really been done by one of their hands. I knew a friend of mine, that presented his Bride with several false, and counterfeit Stones, making her believe, that they were right Jewels, and cost him so many hundred thousand crowns: under this mistake the poor woman was as choice of Pebbles, and painted glass, as if they had been so many natural Rubies, and Diamonds, while the subtle husband saved a great deal in his pocket, and yet made his wife as well pleased, as if he had been at ten hundred times the cost. What difference is there between Them, that in the darkest dungeon can with a Platonic brain survey the whole world in Idea, and Him that stands in the open air, and takes a less deluding prospect of the Universe? If the Beggar in Lucian, that dreamt he was a Prince, had never waked, his imaginary Kingdom had been as great, as a real one. Between him therefore that truly is Happy, and him that thinks himself so, there is no perceivable distinction; or if any, the Fool has the better of it: First, because his happiness costs him less, standing him only in the price of a single thought; and then, secondly, because he has more fellow-companions, and partakers of his good fortune: for no enjoyment is comfortable, where the benefit is not imparted to others; nor is any one station of life desirable, where we can have no converse with persons of the same condition with ourselves: and yet This is the hard fate of Wise men, who are grown so scarce, that like Phenixes, they appear but one in an Age. The Grecian s, it is true, reckoned up seven within the narrow precincts of their own country; yet I believe, were they to cast up their accounts anew, they would not find a half, nay not a third part of one in a far larger extent.  
Farther, when among the several good properties of Bacchus, This is looked upon as the chief, namely, that he drowns the cares, and anxieties of the mind, though it be indeed but for a short while; for after a small knap, when our brains are a little settled, they all return to their former corrodings: How much greater is the more durable advantage which I bring? while by one uninterrupted sit of being drunk in conceed, I perpetually cajole the mind with riots, revels, and all the excess, and energy of Joy.  
Add to this, that I am so communicative, and bountiful, as to let no one particular person pass without some token of my favour: whereas other Deities bestow their gifts sparingly to their Elect only. Bacchus has not thought fit, that every Soil should bear the same Juice-yielding grape: Venus has not given to all a like portion of beauty: Mercury endows but few with the knack of an accomplished Eloquence: Hercules gives not to all the same measure of Wealth, and Riches: jupiter has ordained but a few to be born to a Kingdom: Mars in battle gives the complete victory but to one party, nay he often makes them both loser's: Apollo does not answer the expectation of all that consult his Oracles: jove oft thunders: Phoebus sometimes shoots the plague, or some other infection, at the point of his Darts: and Neptune swallows down more, than he bears up: Not to mention their Ve-iupiters', their Pluto's, their Ate Goddess of Loss, their evil Genius's, and such other Monsters of Divinity, as had more of the Hangman than the God in them, and were worshipped only to deprecate that hurt, which used to be inflicted by them: I say, not to mention These, I am that high, and mighty Goddess, whose liberality is of as large an extent, as her omnipotence: I give to all that ask; I never appear sullen, nor out of humour, nor ever demand any atonement, or satisfaction for the omission of any ceremonious punctilio in my Worship: I do not storm, or rage, if Mortals, in their addresses to the other Gods, pass me by unregarded, without the acknowledgement of any respect, or application: Whereas all the other Gods are so scrupulous, and exact, that it often proves less dangerous manfully to despise them, than sneakingly to attempt the difficulty of pleasing them. Thus some men are of that captious, froward humour, that a man had better be wholly strangers to them, than never so intimate friends.  
Well, but there are none (say you) build any Altars, or dedicate any Temple to Folly. I admire (as I have before intimated) that the world should be so wretchedly ungrateful. But I am so good-natured, as to pass by, and pardon this seeming affront, though indeed the charge thereof, as unnecessary, may well be saved, For to what purpose should I demand the sacrifice of Frankincense, Cakes, Goats, and Swine, since all persons every where pay me that more acceptable service, which all Divines agree to be more effectual, and meritorious, namely, an imitation of my communicable Attributes? I do not therefore any way envy Diana, for having her Altars bedewed with humane blood: I think myself then most religiously adored, when my respective devoties (as is their usual custom) conform themselves to my practice, transcribe my pattern, and so live the copy of Me their Original. And truly this pious Devotion is not so much in use among Christians, as is much to be wished it were: For how many zealous Votaries are there, that pay so profound a respect to the Virgin Mary, as to place lighted Tapers even at Noonday upon her Altars? And yet how few of them copy after her untouched chastity, her modesty, and her other commendable virtues, in the imitation whereof consists the truest esteem of Divine worship? Farther, why should I desire a Temple, since the whole world is but one ample continued Choir, entirely dedicated to my use, and service? Nor do I want Worshippers at any place, where the Earth wants not Inhabitants. And as to the manner of my Worship, I am not yet so irrecoverably foolish, as to be prayed to by proxy, and to have my honour intermediately bestowed upon senseless images, and pictures, which quite subvert the true end of Religion; while the unwary Supplicants seldom distinguish betwixt the things themselves, and the objects they represent. The same respect in the mean while is paid to me in a more legitimate manner; for to Me there are as many Statues erected, as there are moving Fabrics of Mortality; every person, even against his own will, carrying the image of Me, i.e. the signal of Folly instamped on his countenance. I have not therefore the least tempting inducement to envy the more seeming state, and splendour of the other Gods, who are worshipped at fett times, and places; as Phoebus at Rhodes, Venus in her Cyprian Isle, juno in the City Argos, Minerva at Athens, jupiter on the hill Olympus, Neptune at Tarentum, and Priapus in the town of Lampsacum; while, my Worship extending as far as my Influence, the whole World is my One Altar, whereon the most valuable Incense, and Sacrifice is perpetually offered up.  
But lest I should seem to speak this with more of confidence than truth, let us take a nearer view of the mode of men's Lives, whereby it will be rendered more apparently evident, what Largesses I every where bestow, and how much I am respected, and esteemed of persons, from the highest to the basest quality. For the proof whereof, it being too tedious to insist upon each particular, I shall only mention such in general, as are most worthy the remark, from which by analogy we may easily judge of the remainder. And indeed to what purpose would it be singly to recount the commonalty, and rabble of mankind, who beyond all question are entirely on my side? And for a token of their vassalage do wear my livery in so many older shapes, and more newly invented modes of Folly, that the lungs of a thousand Democritus' would never hold out to such a laughter, as this subject would excite; and to these thousand must be superadded one more, to laugh at them, as much as They do at the other.  
It is indeed almost incredible to relate, what mirth, what sport, what diversion, the grovelling inhabitants here on Earth give to the above-seated Gods in Heaven: For these exalted Deities spend their fasting sober hours in listening to those Petitions that are offered up, and in succouring such as they are appealed to for redress; but when they are a little entered at a glass of Nectar, they then throw off all serious concerns, and go, and place themselves on the ascent of some Promontory in Heaven, and from thence survey the little molehill of Earth. And trust me, there cannot be a more delightsome prospect, than to view such a Theatre so stuffed, and crammed with swarms of Fools. One falls desperately in Love, and the more he is slighted, the more does his Spaniel-like passion increase: Another is wedded to Wealth, rather than to a Wife: A third pimps for his own Spouse, and is content to be a Cuckold, so he may wear his horns guilt: A fourth is haunted with a jealousy of his visiting Neighbous: Another sobs, and roars, and plays the child for the death of a Friend, or Relation; and lest his own tears should not rise high enough to express the torrent of his grief, he hires other mourners to accompany the Corpse to the grave, and sing its Requiem in sighs, and lamentations: Another hypocritically weeps at the funeral of one, whose death at heart he rejoices for: Here a gluttonous Cormorant, whatever he can scrape up, thrusts all into his guts, to pacify the cry of hungry stomach: There a lazy wretch sits yawning, and stretching, and thinks nothing so desirable as sleep, and idleness: Some are extremely industrious in other men's business, and sottishly neglectful of their own: Some think themselves rich, because their credit is great, though they can never pay till they break, and compound for their debts. One is so covetous, that he lives Poor to die Rich. One for a little uncertain gain will venture cross the roughest Seas, and expose his life for the purchase of a livelihood: Another will depend on the plunders of War, rather than on the honest gains of Peace. Some will close with, and humour such warm old Blades as have a good Estate, and no children of their own to bestow it upon: Others practise the same art of wheedling upon good old women, that have hoarded, and coffered up more bags, than they know how to dispose of; both of these sly Flatterers make fine sport for the Gods, when they are beat at their own weapons, and (as oft happens) are gulled by those very persons they intended to make a prey of. There is another sort of base Scoundrels in Gentility, such scraping merchants, who although for the better vent of their commodities they lie, swear, cheat, and practise all the intrigues of dishonesty; yet think themselves no way inferior to persons of the highest quality, only because they have raked together a plentiful Estate; and there are not wanting such insinuating hangers on, as shall caress, and compliment them with the greatest respect, in hopes to go snacks in some of their dishonest Gains. There are others so infected with the Philosophical Paradox of banishing Propriety, and having all things in common, that they make no conscience of fastening on, and purloining whatever they can get, and converting it to their own use, and possession. There are some, who are rich only in wishes; and yet, while they barely dream of vast mountains of wealth, they are as happy, as if their imaginary fancies commenced real truths. Some put on the best side outermost, and starve themselves at home, to appear gay, and splendid abroad. One, with an openhanded freedom, spends all he lays his fingers on; another, with a Logick-fisted gripingness, catches at, and grasps all he can come within the reach of. One apes it about in the streets, to court popularity; another consults his ease, and sticks to the confinement of a Chimney-corner. Many others are tugging hard at Law for a trifle, and drive on an endless Suit, only to enrich a deferring Judge, or a knavish Advocate. One is for new-modelling a settled Government; another is for some notable Heroical attempt; and a third by all means must travail a Pilgrim to Rome, jerusalem, or some Shrine of a Saint elsewhere, though he have no other business than the paying of a formal impertinent Visit, leaving his wife, and children to fast, while he himself forsooth is gone to pray. In short if (as Lucian fancies Menippus to have done heretofore) any man could now again look down from the Orb of the Moon, he would see thick swarms, as it were, of Flies, and Gnats, that were quarrelling with each other, justling fight, fluttring, skipping, playing, just new produced, soon after decaying, and then immediately vanishing: And it can scarce be thought how many tumults, and tragedies, so inconsiderate a creature as Man does give occasion to, and that in so short a space, as the small Span of Life; subject to so many casualties, that the Sword, Pestilence, and other Epidemic accidents, shall many times sweep away whole thousands at a brush.  
But hold, I should but expose myself too far, and incur the guilt of being roundly laughed at, if I proceed to enumerate the several kinds of the folly of the vulgar: I shall confine therefore my following discourse only to such as challenge the repute of Wisdom, and seemingly pass for men of the soundest intellectuals. Among whom the Grammarians present themselves in the front; a sort of men, who would be the most miserable, the most slavish, and the most hateful of all persons, if I did not some way alleviate the pressures, and miseries of their Profession, by blessing them with a bewitching sort of Madness: For they are not only liable to those five Curses, which they so oft recite from the first five verses of Homer, but to five hundred more of a worse nature: As always damned to thirst, and hunger, to be choked with dust in their unsweeped Schools, (Schools shall I term them, or rather Elaboratories, nay Bridewells, and houses of Correction) to wear out themselves in fret, and drudgery; to be deafened with the noise of gaping Boys, and in short, to be stifled with heat, and stench: And yet they cheerfully dispense with all these inconveniences, and by the help of a fond conceit, think themselves as happy as any then living; taking a great pride, and delight in frowning, and looking big upon the trembling Urchins, in boxing, slashing, striking with the ferula, and in the exercise of all their other methods of tyranny, while thus lording it over a parcel of young, weak chitts, they imitate the Cuman Ass, and think themselves as stately as a Lion, that domineers over all the inferior herd: Elevated with this conceit, they can hold filth, and nastiness, to be an ornament; can reconcile their nose to the most intolerable smells; and finally, think their wretched slavery the most arbitrary Kingdom, which they would not exchange for the Jurisdiction of the most Sovereign Potentate: And they are yet more happy by a strong persuasion of their own parts, and abilities; for thus, when their employment is only to rehearse silly stories, and Poetical fictions, they'll yet think themselves wiser than the best experienced Philosopher; nay, they have an art of making ordinary people, such as their Schoolboys fond parents, to think them as considerable as their own Pride has made them: Add hereunto this other sort of ravishing pleasure; when any of them has found out who was the mother of Anthises, or has lighted upon some old unusual word, such as Bubsequa, Bovinator, Manticulator, or other like obsolete cramp terms, or can, after a great deal of poring, spell out the Inscription of some battered Monument. Lord▪ What joy, what triumph, what congratulating their success? as if they had conquered Africa, or taken Babylon the Great. When they recite some of their frothy, bombast Verses, if any happen to admire them, they are presently flushed with the least hint of commendation, and devoutly thank Pythagoras for his grateful Hypothesis, whereby they are now become actuated with a descent of Virgil's Poetic Soul. Nor is any divertisement more pleasant, than when they meet to flatter, and curty one another; yet they are so critical, that if any one hap to be guilty of the least slip, or seeming blunder, another shall presently correct him for it, and then to't they go in a tongue-combat, with all the fervour, spleen, and eagerness imaginable. May Priscian himself be my enemy, if what I am now going to say, be not exactly true. I knew an old Sophister, that was a Grecian, a Latinist, a Mathematician, a Philosopher, a Musician, and all to the utmost perfection, who after threescore years' experience in the world had spent the last twenty of them only in drudging to conquer the Criticisms of Grammar, and made it the chief part of his prayers, that his life might be so long spared, till he had learned how rightly to distinguish betwixt the Eight parts of Speech, which no Grammarian, whether Greek, or Latin, had yet accurately done. If any chance to have placed that as a Conjunction, which ought to have been used as an Adverb, it is a sufficient alarm to raise a war, for the doing justice to the injured word. And since there have been as many several Grammars, as particular Grammarians, (nay more, for Aldus alone wrote five distinct Grammars for his own share) the Schoolmaster must be obliged to consult them all, sparing for no time, nor trouble, though never so great lest he should be otherwise posed in any unobserved Criticism, and so by an irreparable disgraced lose the reward of all his toil. It is indifferent to me, whither you call this Folly, or Madness, since you must needs confess, that it is by my influence these School-tyrants, though in never so despicable a condition, are so happy in their own thoughts, that they would not change fortunes with the most illustrious Sophy of Persia.  
The Poets, however somewhat less beholde● to me, own a professed dependence on me, being a sort of lawless blades, that by prescription claim a Licence to a Proverb; while the whole intent of their profession is only to smooth up, and tickle the ears of fools, and that by mere toys, and fabulous shamms, with which (however ridiculous) they are so bolstered up in an airy imagination, as to promise themselves an everlasting name, and promise by their balderdash at the same time to celebrate the never dying memory of others. To these rapturous wit's Self-love, and Flattery are never-failing Attendants, nor do any prove more zealous, or constant devoties to Folly.  
The Rhetoricians likewise, though they are ambitious of being ranked among the Philosophers, yet are apparently of my Faction, as appears among other arguments by this more especially; In that among their several Topics of completing the art of Oratory, they all particularly insist upon the knack of jesting, which is one species of Folly; as is evident from the books of Oratory wrote to Herennius, put among Cicero's works, but done by some other unknown Author; and in Quintilian that great Master of Eloquence, there is one large Chapter spent in prescribing the methods of raising Laughter; In short, they may well attribute a great efficacy to Folly, since on any argument they can many times by a slight laugh over what they could never seriously confute.  
Of the same gang are those scribbling Fops, who think to eternize their memory by setting up for Authors: Among which, though they are All some way indebted to me, yet are those more especially so, who spoil paper in blotting it with mere trifles, and impertinences. For as to those graver Drudgers to the Press, that write learnedly beyond the reach of an ordinary Reader, who durst submit their labours to the review of the most severe Critic, These are not so liable to be envied for their honour, as to be pitied for their sweat, and slavery; they make additions, alterations, blot out, write anew, amend, interline, turn it upside down, and yet can never please their fickle judgement, but that they shall dislike the next hour what they penned the former; and all this to purchase the airy commendations of a few understanding Readers, which at most is but a poor reward for all their fastings, watchings, confinements, and brain-breaking tortures of Invention: add to this the impairing of their health, the weakening of their constitution, their contracting sore eyes, or perhaps turning stark blind; their poverty, their envy, their debarment from all pleasures, their hastening on old age, their untimely death, and what other inconveniences of a like, or worse nature can be thought upon: And yet the recompense for all this severe penance is at best no more, than a mouthful or two of frothy Praise. These, as they are more laborious, so are they less happy than those other Hackney-scriblers, which I first mentioned, who never stand much to consider, but write what comes next at a venture; knowing, that the more silly their composures are, the more they will be bought up by the greater number of Readers, who are Fools, and Blockheads: And if they hap to be condemned by some few judicious persons, it is an easy matter by clamour to drown their censure, and to silence them by urging the more numerous commendations of others. They are yet the wisest, who transcribe whole discourses from others, and then reprint them as their own; by doing so they make a cheap, and easy seizure to themselves of that reputation, which cost the first Author so much time, and trouble to procure: If they are at any time pricked a little in conscience, for fear of discovery, they feed themselves however with this hope, that if they be at last found Plagiaries, yet at least for some time they shall have the credit of passing for the genuine Authors. It is pleasant to see how all these several Writers are puffed up with the least blast of applause, especially if they come to the honour of being pointed at, as they walk along the streets, when their several Pieces are laid open upon every Book seller's Stall, when their Names are embossed in a different character upon the Title-page, sometime only with the two first Letters, and sometime with fictitious cramp terms, which few shall understand the meaning of; and of those that do, All shall not agree in their verdict of the performance; some censuring, others approving it, men's judgements being as different as their palates, That being toothsome to one, which is unsavoury, and nauseous to another: though it is a sneaking piece of cowardice for Authors to put feigned names to their works, as if like Bastards of their Brain they were afraid to own them. Thus one styles himself Telemachus, another Stelenus, a third Polycrates, another Thrasymachus, and so on: by the same liberty we may ransack the whole Alphabet, and jumble together any Letters that come next to hand. It is farther very pleasant, when these Coxcombs employ their pens in writing congratulatory Epistles, Poems, and Panegyrics upon each other, wherein one shall be complemented with the Title of Alcaeus, another shall be charactered for the incomparable Callimachus, This shall be commended for a completer Orator than Tully himself; a fourth shall be told by his fellow-fool, that the Divine Plato comes short of him for a Philosophic soul. Sometime again they take up the cudgels, and challenge out an Antagonist, and so get a name by a combat at dispute, and controversy, while the unwary Readers draw sides according to their different judgements; the longer the quarrel holds, the more irreconcilable it grows; and when both parties are weary, they each pretend themselves the conquerors, and both lay claim to the credit of coming off with victory. These Fooleries make sport for Wise men, as being highly absurd, ridiculous, and extravagant. True, but yet these Paper-combatants by my assistance are so flushed with a conceit of their own greatness, that they prefer the solving of a Syllogism before the sacking of Carthage; and upon the defeat of a poor objection carry themselves more triumphant, than the most victorious Scipio.  
Nay, even the Learned, and more judicious, that have wit enough to laugh at the others Folly, are very much beholden to my goodness, which (except ingratitude have drowned their ingenuity) they must be ready upon all occasions to confess. Among these I suppose the Lawyers will shuffle in for precedence, and they of all men have the greatest conceit of their own abilities. They'll argue as confidently, as if they spoke Gospel instead of Law: They'll cite you six hundred several Precedents, though not one of them come near to the case in hand: They'll muster up the authority of judgements, Deeds, Glosses, and Reports, and tumble over so many musty Records, that they make their employ, though in itself easy, the greatest slavery imaginable; always accounting that the best Plea, which they have took most pains for.  
To these, as bearing great resemblance to them, may be added Logicians, and Sophisters, fellows that talk as much by rote as a Parrot; who shall run down a whole Gossipping of Old women, nay silence the very noise of a Belfry with louder clappers, than those in the Steeple: And if their unappeasable clamourousness were their only fault, it would admit of some excuse; but they are at the same time so fierce, and quarrelsome, that they'll wrangle bloodily for the least trifle, and be so over-intent, and eager, that they many times lose their game in the chase, and fright away that truth they are hunting for. Yet Self-conceit makes these nimble Disputants such doughty Champions, that armed with three or four closelinked Syllogisms, they shall enter the lists with the greatest Masters of Reason, and not question the foiling of them in an irresistible Baffle: nay, their obstinacy makes them so confident of their being in the right, that all the arguments in the world shall never convince them to the contrary.  
Next to These come the Philosophers in their long Beards, and short Cloaks, who esteem themselves the only favourites of Wisdom, and look upon the rest of Mankind as the dirt, and rubbish of the Creation: yet These men's happiness is only a frantic crasiness of Brain; they build Castles in the Air, and infinite worlds in a vacuum: They'll give you to a hairs breadth the dimensions of the Sun, Moon, and Stars, as easily as they would do that of a Flagon, or Pipkin: They'll give a punctual account of the rise of Thunder, of the Origin of Winds, of the nature of Eclipses, and of all the other abstrusest difficulties in Physics, without the least demur, or haesitation, as if they had been admitted into the Cabinet Council of Nature, or had been Eye witnesses to all the accurate methods of Creation: Though, alas, Nature does but laugh at all their puny conjectures; for they never yet made one considerable discovery, as appears, in that they are unanimously agreed in no one point of the smallest moment; nothing so plain, or evident, but what by some or other is opposed, and contradicted, But though they are ignorant of the artificial contexture of the least Insect, they vaunt however, and brag, that they know all things, when indeed they are unable to construe the mechanism of their own Body: nay, when they are so purblind, as not to be able to see a stones-cast before them, yet they shall be as sharp-sighted as possible in spying out Ideas, Universals, separate Forms, first Matters, Quiddities, Formalities, and a hundred such like niceties, so diminutively small, that were not their eyes extremely magnifying, all the art of Optics could never make them discernible. But they then most despise the low grovelling Vulgar, when they bring out their Parallels, Triangles, Circles, and other Mathematical figures, drawn up in Battalia like so many Spells, and Charms of Conjuration in Muster, with letters to refer to the explication of the several Problems; hereby raising Devils as it were, only to have the credit of laying them, and amusing the ordinary Spectators into wonder, because they have not wit enough to understand the juggle. Of These, some undertake to profess themselves. judicial Astrologers, pretending to keep correspondence with the Stars, and so from their information can resolve any Query; and though it is all but a Presumptuous Imposture, yet some to be sure will be so great fools as to believe them.  
The Divines present themselves next; but it may perhaps be most safe to pass them by, and not at all to touch upon so harsh a string, as this subject would afford. Beside, the Undertaking may be very hazardous; for they are a sort of men generally very hot, and passionate; and should I provoke them, I doubt would set upon me with a full cry, and force me with shame to recant: which if I stubbornly refuse to do, they'll presently brand me for an Heretic, and thunder out an Excommunication, which is their Spiritual weapon, to wound such as lift up a hand against them. It is true, no men own a less dependence on me, yet have they reason to confess themselves indebted for no small obligations. For it is by one of my Properties, Self-love, that they fancy themselves, with their elder Brother Paul, caught up into the third Heaven, from whence like Shepherds indeed they look down upon their Flock, the Laity grazing, as it were, in the Vales of the world below. They sense themselves in with so many surrounders of Magisterial Definitions, Conclusions, Corollaries, Propositions explicit, and implicit, that there is no falling in with them; or if they do chance to be urged to a seeming Nonplus, yet they find out so many evasions, that all the art of Man can never bind them so fast, but that an easy distinction shall give them a starting hole, to escape the scandal of being baffled. They'll cut asunder the toughest argument with as much ease, as Alexander did the Gordian knot: they'll thunder out so many rattling Terms as shall fright an adversary into conviction. They are tightly dexterous in unfolding the most intricate Mysteries: They'll tell you to a tittle all the successive proceedings of Omnipotence in the Creation of the Universe; they'll explain the precise manner of Original sin being derived from our first Parents; they'll satisfy you in what manner, by what degrees, and in how long a time our Saviour was conceived in the Virgin's womb, and demonstrate in the consecrated Wafer how Accidents may subsist without a Subject. Nay, these are accounted trivial, easy questions; they have yet far greater difficulties behind, which notwithstanding they solve with as much expedition as the former: as namely, whether Supernatural generation requires any instant of time for its acting? Whether Christ, as a Son, bears a double specifically distinct Relation to God the Father, and his Virgin Mother? Whether This Proposition is possible to be true; The first person of the Trinity hated the second? Whether God, who took our nature upon him in the form of a Man, could as well have become a Woman, a Devil, a Beast, an Herb, or a Stone; and were it so possible, that the Godhead had appeared in the shape of an inanimate substance, how he should then have preached his Gospel, or how have been nailed to the Cross? Whether, if St. Peter had celebrated the Eucharist at the same time our Saviour was hanging on the Cross, the consecrated bread would have been transubstantiated into the same body that remained on the Tree? Whether in Christ's Corporal Presence in the Sacramental Wafer, his Humanity be not abstracted from his Godhead? Whether after the Resurrection we shall carnally eat, and drink, as we do in this life? There are a thousand other more sublimated, and refined niceties of Notions, Relations, Quantities, Formalities, Quiddities, Haecceities, and such like Abstrusities, as one would think no one could pry into, except he had, not only such Cats-eyes as to see best in the dark, but even such a piercing faculty, as to see through an Inch-board, and spy out what really never had any being. Add to these some of their Tenets, and Opinions, which are so absurd, and extravagant, that the wildest fancies of the Stoics, which they so much disdain, and decry as Paradoxes, seem in comparison just, and rational; as their maintaining, That it is a less aggravating fault to kill a hundred men, than for a poor Cobbler to set a stitch on the Sabbath day; or, That it is more justifiable to do the greatest injury imaginable to others, than to tell the least Lie ourselves. And these Subtleties are Alchymized to a more refined Sublimate, by the abstracting brains of their several Schoolmen; the Realists, the Nominalists, the Thomists, the Albertists, the Occamists, the Scotists; these are not all, but the rehearsal of a few only, as a Specimen of their divided Sects: In each of which there is so much of deep learning, so much of unfathomable difficulty, that I believe the Apostles themselves would stand in need of a new illuminating spirit, if they were to engage in any controversy with these new Divines. St. Paul no question had a full measure of faith, yet when he lays down Faith to be the substance of things not seen, these men carp at it for an imperfect Definition, and would undertake to teach the Apostles better Logic. Thus the same holy Author wanted for nothing of the Grace of Charity, yet (say they) he describes, and defines it but very unaccurately, when he treats of it in the thirteeenth Chapter of his first Epistle to the Corinthians. The primitive Disciples were very frequent in administering the Holy Sacrament, breaking bread from house to house; yet should they be asked of the Terminus à quo, and the Terminus ad quem, the nature of Transubstantiation, the manner how one Body can be in several places at the same time; the difference betwixt the several Attributes of Christ in Heaven, on the Cross, and in the consecrated Bread; what time is required for the Transubstantiating the Bread into Flesh; how it can be done by a short sentence pronounced by the Priest, which sentence is a Species of discrete Quantity, that has no permanent punctum? Were they asked (I say) these, and several other confused Queries, I don't believe they could answer so readily, as our mincing Schoolmen now adays take a pride to do. They were well acquainted with the Virgin Mary, yet none of them undertook to prove, that she was preserved immaculate from Original sin, as some of our Divines very hotly contend for. St. Peter had the Keys given to him, and that by our Saviour himself, who had never entrusted him, except he had known him capable of their manage, and custody; and yet it is much to be questioned, whether Peter was sensible of that subtlety broached by Scotus, That he may have the Key of Knowledge effectually for others, who has no Knowledge actually in himself. Again, They baptised all Nations, and yet never taught what was the Formal, Material, Efficient, and Final Cause of Baptism, and certainly never dreamt of distinguishing between a Delible, and an Indelible Character in this Sacrament. They worshipped in the Spirit, following their Master's injunction, God is a Spirit, and they which worship him, must worship him in Spirit, and in Truth; yet it don't appear, that it was ever revealed to them, How Divine Adoration should be paid at the same time to our blessed Saviour in Heaven, and to his Picture here below on a wall, drawn with two fingers held out, a bald crown, and a circle round his head. To reconcile these intricacies to an appearance of Reason, requires threescore years' experience in Metaphysics.  
Farther, the Apostles often mention Grace, yet never distinguish betwixt gratia gratis data, and gratia gratificans. They earnestly exhort us likewise to good works, yet never explain the difference between Opus operans, and Opus operatum. They very frequently press and invite us to seek after Charity, without dividing it into Infused, and Acquired, or determining whether it be a Substance, or an Accident, a Created, or an Uncreated being. They detested Sin themselves, and warned others from the commission of it; and yet I'm sure, they could never have defined so dogmatically, as the Scotists have since done. St. Paul, who in others judgement is no less the chief of the Apostles, than he was in his own, the chief of Sinners, who being bred at the feet of Gamaliel was certainly more eminently a Scholar, than any of the rest; yet he often exclaims against vain Philosophy, warns us from doting about questions, and strifes of words, and charges us to avoid profane, and vain Babble, and oppositions of Science falsely so called; which he would not have done, if he had thought it worth his while to have become acquainted with them, which he might soon have been, the Disputes of that Age being but small, and more intelligible Sophisms, in reference to the vastly greater intricacies they are now improved to. But yet however our Scholastic Divines are so modest, that if they meet with any passage in St Paul, or any other Penman of Holy writ, which is not so well modelled, or critically disposed of as they could wish, they will not roughly condemn it, but bend it rather to a favourable interpretation, out of reverence to Antiquity, and respect to the Holy Scriptures; though indeed it were unreasonable to expect any thing of this nature from the Apostles, whose Lord and Master had given unto them to know the mysteries of God, but not those of Philosophy. If the same Divines meet with any thing of like nature unpalatable in St. Chrysostom, St. Basil, St. Hierom, or others of the Fathers, they will not stick to appeal from their Authority, and very fairly resolve, that They lay under a mistake: yet These ancient. Fathers were they, who confuted both th' e Jews, and Heathens, though they both obstinately adhered to their respective prejudices; they confuted them (I say,) yet by their Lives, and Miracles, rather than by Words, and Syllogisms; and the persons they thus proselyted were right down honest, wellmeaning people, such as understood plain sense, better than an artificial pomp of Reasoning: Whereas if our Divines should now set about the gaining Converts from Paganism by their Metaphysical subtleties, they would find, that most of the persons they applied themselves to, were either so ignorant, as not at all to apprehend them, or so impudent, as to scoff, and deride them, or finally, so well skilled at the same weapons, that they would be able to keep their Pass, and sense off all assault of Conviction: and this last way, the victory would be altogether as hopeless, as if two persons were engaged of so equal strength, that it were impossible any one should overpower the other.  
If my judgement might be taken, I would advise Christians, in their next expedition to a Holy war, instead of those many unsuccessful Legions, which they have hitherto sent to encounter the Turks, and Saracens, that they would furnish out their clamorous Scotists, their obstinate Occamists, their invincible Albertists, and all their forces of tough, crabbed, and profound Disputants: the Engagement, I fancy, would be mighty pleasant, and the victory we may imagine on our side, not to be questioned. For which of the Enemies would not veil their Turbans at so solemn an appearance? Which of the fiercest janissaries would not throw away his Scimitar, and all the Halfmoons be eclipsed by the interposition of so glorious an Army?  
I suppose you mistrust I speak all this by way of Jeer, and Irony: And well I may, since among Divines themselves there are some so ingenuous, as to despise these captious and frivolous impertinencies; they look upon it as a kind of profane sacrilege, and a little less than blasphemous impiety, to determine of such niceties in Religion, as aught rather to be the subject of an humble, and uncontradicting Faith, than of a scrupulous, and inquisitive Reason; they abhor a defiling the mysteries of Christianity with an intermixture of Heathenish Philosophy, and judge it very improper to reduce Divinity to an obscure speculative Science, whose end is such a happiness, as can be gained only by the means of Practice. But alas those Notional Divines, however condemned by the soberer judgement of others, are yet mightily pleased with themselves, and are so laboriously intent upon prosecuting their crabbed Studies, that they cannot afford so much time as to read a single Chapter in any one Book of the whole Bible. And while they thus trifle away their misspent hours in trash, and babble, they think that they support the Catholic Church with the props and pillars of Propositions, and Syllogisms, no less effectually, than Atlas is feigned by the Poets to sustain on his shoulders the burden of a tottering world. Their Privileges too, and Authority are very considerable: They can deal with any Text of Scripture as with a Nose of wax, knead it into what shape best suits their interest; and whatever Conclusions they have dogmatically resolved upon, they would have them as irrepealably ratified, as Solon's Laws, and in as great force as the very Decrees of the Papal Chair. If any be so bold as to remonstrate to their Decisions, they'll bring him on his knees to a Recantation of his Impudence. They shall pronounce as irrevocably as an Oracle; This Proposition is Scandalous, That Irreverent; This has a smack of Heresy, and That is Bald, and Improper: So that it is not the being Baptised into the Church, the Believing of the Scriptures, the giving credit to St. Peter, St. Paul, St. Hierom, St. Augustin, nay, or St. Thomas Aquinas himself, that shall make a man a Christian, except he have the joint suffrage of these Novices in learning, who have blessed the world no doubt with a great many discoveries; which had never come to light, if they had not struck the Fire of Subtlety out of the Flint of Obscurity. These Fooleries sure must be a happy employ.  
Farther, they make as many partitions, and divisions in Hell and Purgatory and describe as many different sorts and degrees of punishment, as if they were very well acquainted with the soil, and situation of those Infernal Regions. And, to prepare a Seat for the Blessed above, they invent new Orbs, and a stately Empyraen Heaven, so wide, and spacious, as if they had purposely contriv d it, that the Glorified Saints might have room enough to walk, to feast, or to take any recreation.  
With these, and a thousand more such like toys their heads are more stuffed, and swelled, than jove, when he went big of Pallas in his brain, and was forced to use the Midwivery of Vulcan's Axe, to ease him of his teeming burden. Do not wonder therefore, that at public Disputations they bind their heads with so many Caps one over another; for This is to prevent the loss of their brains, which would otherwise break out from their uneasy confinement. It affords likewise a pleasant scene of laughter, to listen to these Divines in their hotly managed Disputations; to see how proud they are of talking such hard gibberish, and stammering out such blundring distinctions, as the Auditors perhaps may sometimes gape at, but selsdom apprehend: And they take such a liberty in their speaking of Latin, that they scorn to stick at the exactness of Syntax, or Concord, pretending it is below the majesty of a Divine to talk like a Pedagogue, and be tied to the slavish observance of the Rules of Grammar. Finally, they take a vast pride, among other citations, to allege the authority of their respective Master, which word they bear as profound a respect to, as the jews did to their ineffable Tetragrammaton, and therefore they'll be sure never to write it any otherwise, than in great Letters, MAGISTER NOSTER; and if any happen to invert the order of the words, and say, Noster Magister, instead of Magister Noster, they'll presently exclaim against him, as a pestilent Heretic, and underminer of the Catholic Faith.  
The next to these are another sort of brainsick Fools, who stile themselves Monks, and of Religious Orders, though they assume both Titles very unjustly: For as to the last, they have very little of Religion in them; and as to the former, the Etymology of the word, Monk, implies a solitariness, or being alone, whereas they are so thick abroad, that we cannot pass any street, or ally, without meeting them. Now I cannot imagine, what one degree of men would be more hopelessly wretched, if I did not stand their friend, and buoy them up in that lake of misery, which by the engagements of a Holy Vow they have voluntarily immerged themselves in. But when these sort of men are so unwelcome to others, as that the very sight of them is thought ominous; I yet make them highly in love with themselves, and fond admirers of their own happiness. The first step whereunto, they esteem a profound Ignorance, thinking Carnal knowledge a great enemy to their Spiritual welfare, and seem confident of becoming greater Proficients in Divine mysteries, the less they are poisoned with any Humane Learning. They imagine, that they bear a sweet c●nsert with the Heavenly Choir, when they tone out their daily Tally of Psalms, which they rehearse only by rote, without permitting their understanding or affections to go along with their voice. Among these, some make a good profitable trade of Beggary, going about from house to house, not like the Apostles, to Break, but to Beg their Bread; nay, thrust into all public houses, come aboard the Passage-boats, get into the travailing Wagons, and omit no opportunity of time, or place for the craving people's charity; doing a great deal of injury to common highway beggars, by interloping in their traffic of Alms. And when they are thus voluntarily poor, destitute, not provided with two coats, nor with any money in their purse, they have the impudence to pretend, that they imitate the first Disciples, whom their Master expressly sent out in such an equipage. It is pretty to observe, how they regulate all their actions, as it were by weight, and measure, to so exact a proportion, as if the whole loss of their religion depended upon the omission of the least Punctilio. Thus they must be very critical in the precise number of Knots to the tying on of their sandals; what distinct colours their respective habits and what stuff made of; how broad, and long their girdles; how big, and in what fashion their hoods; whether their bald crowns be to a hairs breadth of the right cut; how many hours they must sleep, at what minute rise to Prayers, etc. And these several customs are altered according to the humours of different persons, and places. While they are sworn to the superstitious observance of these trifles, they do not only despise all others, but are very inclinable to fall out among themselves; for though they make profession of an Apostolic charity, yet they'll pick a quarrel, and be implacably passionate for such poor provocations, as the girding on a coat the wrong way, for the wearing of clothes a little too darkish coloured, or any such nicety, not worth the speaking of. Some are so obstinately superstitious, that they'll wear their upper garment of some course dogs-hair stuff, and that next their skin as soft as silk: But others on the contrary will have linen frocks outermost, and their shirts of wool, or hair. Some again will not touch a piece of money, though they make no scruple of the sin of drunkenness, and the lust of the flesh. All their several Orders are mindful of nothing more than of their being distinguished each from other by their different customs, and habits. They seem indeed not so careful of becoming like Christ, and of being known to be his Disciples, as the being unlike to one another, and distinguishable for followers of their several Founders. A great part of their Religion consists in their Title: Some will be called Cordeliers, and these subdivided into Capuchins, Minors, Minims, and Mendicants: Some again are styled Benedictines, others of the Order of St. Bernard, others of that of St. Bridget; some are Augustin Monks, some Willielmites, and other jacobists, as if the common name of Christian were too mean, and vulgar. Most of them place their greatest stress for salvation on a strict conformity to their foppish ceremonies, and a belief of their Legendary Traditions; wherein they fancy to have acquitted themselves with so much of Supererogation, that one Heaven can never be a condign reward for their meritorious life; little thinking, that the Judge of all the Earth, at the last day, shall put them off with a who hath required These things at your hands? and call them to an account only for the Stewardship of his Legacy, which was the Precept of Love, and Charity. It will be pretty to hear their several Pleas before the great Tribunal: One will brag how he mortified his carnal appetite, by feeding only upon Fish: Another will urge, that he spent most of his time on earth in the Divine exercise of singing Psalms: A third will tell, how many days he fasted and what severe Penance he imposed on himself, for the bringing his body into subjection: Another shall produce in his own behalf as many Ceremonies, as would load a Fleet of Merchantmen: A fifth shall plead, that in threescore years he never so much as touched a piece of Money, except he fingered it through a thick pair of Gloves: A sixth, to testify his former Humility, shall bring along with him his Sacred Hood, so old, and nasty, that any Seaman had rather stand bareheaded on the Deck, than put it on, to defend his ears from the sharpest storms: The next that comes to answer for himself, shall plead, that for fifty years together he had lived like a Sponge upon the same place, and was content never to change his homely Habitation: Another shall whisper softly, and tell the Judge, he has lost his voice by a continual singing of holy Hymns, and Anthems: The next shall confess, how he fell into a Lethargy by a strict, reserved, and sedentary life: And the last shall intimate, that he has forgot to speak, by having always kept silence, in obedience to the Injunction, of taking heed, lest he should have offended with his Tongue. But amidst all their fine excuses our Saviour shall interrupt them with this answer, Woe unto you Scribes, and Pharisees, Hypocrites, verily I know you not; I left you but one Precept of loving one another, which I do not hear any one plead he has faithfully discharged: I told you plainly in my Gospel, without any Parable, that my Father's Kingdom was prepared, not for such as should lay claim to it by Austerities, Prayers, or Fast, but for those who should render themselves worthy of it, by the exercise of Faith, and the offices of Charity: I cannot own such as depend on their own Merits, without a reliance on my Mercy: As many of you therefore, as trust to the broken reeds of your own Deserts, may even go search out a new Heaven, for you shall never enter into That, which from the foundations of the world was prepared only for such as are true of heart. When these Monks and Friars shall meet with such a shameful repulse, and see that Ploughman, and Mechanics are admitted into that Kingdom, from which They themselves are shut out; how sneakingly will they look, and how pitifully slink away? Yet till this last Trial they had more comfort of a future happiness, because more hopes of it than any other men. And These persons are not only great in their own eyes, but highly esteemed, and respected by others, especially Those of the Order of Mendicants, whom none dare to offer any affront to, because as Confessors they are entrusted with all the secrets of particular Intrigues, which they are bound by Oath not to discover; yet many times, when they are almost drunk, they cannot keep their tongue so far within their head, as not to be babbling out some hints, and showing themselves so full, that they are in pain to be delivered. If any person give them the least provocation, they'll be sure to be revenged of him, and in their next public harangue give him such shrewd wipes, and reflections, that the whole congregation must needs take notice at whom they are levelled; nor will they ever desist from this way of declaiming, till their mouth be stopped with a Bribe to hold their tongue. All their Preaching is mere Stage-playing, and their Delivery the very transports of Ridicule, and Drollery. Good Lord! How mimical are their Gestures? What heights, and falls in their Voice? What toning, what bawling, what singing, what squeaking, what grimaces, making of mouths, Apes faces, and distorting of their countenance? And this Art of Oratory, as a choice mystery, they convey down by tradition to one another. The manner of it I may adventure thus farther to enlarge upon. First, in a kind of mockery they implore the Divine assistance, which they borrowed from the solemn custom of the Poets: Then, if their Text, suppose, be of Charity, they shall take their Exordium as far off, as from a description of the River Nile in Egypt; Or, if they are to discourse of the mystery of the Cross, they shall begin with a story of Bel, and the Dragon; Or, perchance if their subject be of Fasting, for an entrance to their Sermon, they shall pass through the twelve Signs of the Zodiac; Or, lastly, if they are to preach of Faith, they shall address themselves in a long Mathematical account of the Quadrature of the Circle. I myself once heard a great Fool, (a great Scholar I would have said) undertaking in a laborious discourse to explain the mystery of the Holy Trinity; in the unfolding whereof, that he might show his wit, and reading, and together satisfy itching Ears, he proceeded in a new method, as by insisting on the Letters, Syllables, and Proposition, on the Concord of Noun, and Verb, and that of Noun Substantive, and Noun Adjective; the Auditors all wondered, and some mumbled to themselves that Hemistich of Horace, 
— Quorsum haec tam putrida tendunt?  
Why all this needless Trash?  But at last he brought it thus far, That he could demonstrate the whole Trinity to be represented by these first rudiments of Grammar, as clearly, and plainly, as it was possible for a Mathematician to draw a Triangle in the Sand: And for the making of this grand discovery, this subtle Divine had plodded so hard for eight months together, that he studied himself as blind as a beetle, the intenseness of the Eye of his understanding over-shadowing, and extinguishing that of his body; and yet he did not at all repent him of his blindness, but thinks the loss of his sight an easy purchase for the gain of glory, and credit.  
I heard at another time a grave Divine, of fourscore years of age at least, so sour, and hard-favoured, that one would be apt to mistrust that it was Scotus Redivivus; he taking upon him to treat of the mysterious Name, jesus, did very subtilely pretend, that in the very letters was contained whatever could be said of it: for, first, its being declined only with three Cases, did expressly point out the Trinity of Persons; then, that the Nominative case ended in S, the Accusative in M, and the Ablative in V, did imply some unspeakable mystery, namely, that in words of those Initial Letters, Christ was the Summus, or Beginning, the Medius, or Middle, and the Ultimus, or End of All things. There was yet a more abstruse riddle to be explained, which was by dividing the word JESUS into two parts, and separating the S in the middle from the two extreme syllables, making it a kind of Pentameter, the word consisting of five letters: and this intermedial S being in the Hebrew Alphabet called Sin, which in the English language signifies what the Latins term Peccatum, was urged to imply, that the Holy jesus should purify us from all sin, and wickedness. Thus did the Pulpiteer cant, while all the Congregation, especially the Brotherhood of Divines, were so surprised at this odd way of Preaching, that Wonder served them, as Grief did Niobe, almost turned them into Stones; I among the rest (as Horace describes Priapus, viewing the Enchantments of the two Sorceresses, Canidia, and Sagane,) could no longer contain, but let fly a cracking report of the operation it had upon me. These impertinent Introductions are not without reason condemned; for of old, whenever Demosthenes among the Greeks, or Tully among the Latins, began their Orations with so great a digression from the matter in hand, it was always looked upon as improper, and unelegant: And indeed, were such a long-fetcht Exordium any token of a good invention, Shepherds, and Ploughman might lay claim to the title of men of greatest parts, since upon any argument it is easiest for them to talk what is least to the purpose. These Preachers think their Preamble (as we may well term it) to be the most fashionable, when it is farthest from the subject they propose to treat of, while each Auditor sits, and wonders what they drive at, and many times mutter out the complaint of Virgil, 
— Quò nunc se proripit ille?  
Whither does all this Jargon tend?  In the third place, when they come to the Division of their Text, they shall give only a very short touch at the interpretation of the words, when the fuller explication of their sense ought to have been their only Province. Fourthly, after they are a little entered, they shall start some Theological Queries, far enough off from the matter in hand, and bandy it about Pro and Con, till they lose it in the heat of scuffle. And here they shall cite their Doctors Invincible, Subtle, Seraphic, Chembick, Holy, Irrefragable, and such like great Names, to confirm their several Assertions. Then out they bring their Syllogisms, their Majors, their Minors, Conclusions, Corollaries, Suppositions, and Distinctions, that will sooner terrify the Congregation into an Amazement, than persuade them into a Conviction, Now comes the fifth Act, in which they must exert their utmost skill to come off with applause. Here therefore they fall a telling some sad lamentable story out of their Legend, or some other fabulous History; and this they descant upon Allegorically, Tropologically, and Analogically: and so they draw to a Conclusion of their Discourse, which is a more brainsick Chimaera, than ever Horace could describe in his De Arte Poetica, when he began, 
Humano Capiti, etc.  Their Praying is altogether as ridiculous, as their Preaching; for imagining, that in their addresses to Heaven they should set out in a low, and tremulous voice, as a token of dread, and reverence; they begin therefore with such a soft whispering, as if they were afraid any one should overhear what they said, but when they are gone a little way, they clear up their pipes by degrees, and at last bawl out so loud, as if with Baal's Priests they were resolved to awake a sleeping God, And then again being told by Rhetoricians, that Heights, and Falls, and a different Cadency in Pronunciation is a great advantage to the setting off any thing that is spoke, they'll sometimes as it were mutter their words inwardly, and then of a sudden hollow them out, and be sure at last in such a flat saltring tone, as if their spirits were spent, and they had run themselves out of breath. Lastly, they have read, that most Systems of Rhetoric treat of the Art of exciting Laughter: therefore for the effecting of This, they'll sprinkle some Jests, and Puns, that must pass for ingenuity, though they are only the froth of Folly, and Affectedness. Sometime they'll nibble at the wit of being Satirical, though their utmost spleen is so toothless, that they suck rather than bite, tickle rather than scratch, or wound: Nor do they ever flatter more, than at such times as they pretend to speak with greatest freedom.  
Finally, all their Actions are so buffoonish, and mimical, that any would judge they had learned all their tricks of Mountebanks, and Stage players, who in Action it is true may perhaps outdo them, but in Oratory there is so little odds between both, that it is hard to determine which seems of longest standing in the Schools of Eloquence. Yet These Preachers, however ridiculous, meet with such hearers, who admire them as much as the people of Athens did Demosthenes, or the Citizens of Rome could do Cicero: Among which Admirers are chiefly Shopkeepers, and Women, whose approbation and good opinion They only court; because the first, if they are humoured, give them some snacks out of unjust gain; and the last come, and ease their grief to them upon all pinching occasions, especially when their husbands are any ways cross, or unkind.  
Thus much, I suppose, may suffice to make you sensible, how much these Cell-hermites', and Recluses, are indebted to my bounty; who, when they tyrannize over the consciences of the deluded Laity with fopperies, juggles, and impostures, yet think themselves as eminently pious, as St. Paul, St. Anthony, or any other of the Saints: But these Stage-Divines, not less ungrateful disowners' of their obligations to Folly, than they are impudent pretenders to the profession of piety, I willingly take my leave of, and pass now to Kings, Princes, and Courtiers, who paying me a devout acknowledgement, may justly challenge back the respect of being mentioned, and taken notice of by me. And first, had they wisdom enough to make a true judgement of things, they would find their own condition to be more despicable, and slavish, than that of the most menial Subjects. For certainly none can esteem Perjury, or Parricide a cheap purchase for a Crown, if he does but seriously reflect on that weight of cares a Princely Diadem is loaded with. He that sits at the Helm of Government acts in a public capacity, and so must sacrifice all private interest to the attainment of the common good: He must himself be conformable to those Laws his Prerogative enacts, or else he can expect no obedience paid them from others; He must have a strict eye over all his inferior Magistrates, and Officers, or otherwise it is to be doubted they will but carelessly discharge their respective Duties. Every King, within his own Territories, is placed for a shining Example, as it were in the Firmament of his wide-spread Dominions, to prove either a glorious Star of benign influence, if his behaviour be remarkably just, and innocent, or else to impend as a threatening Comet, if his blazing power be pestilent, and hurtful. Subjects move in a darker Sphere, and so their wander and failings are less discernible; whereas Princes, being fixed in a more exalted Orb, and encompassed with a brighter dazzling lustre, their spots are more apparently visible, and their Eclipses, or other defects, influential on all that is inferior to them. King's are baited with so many temptations, and opportunities to vice, and immorality, such as are High Feeding, Liberty, Flattery, Luxury, and the like, that they must stand perpetually on their guard, to fence off those assaults, that are always ready to be made upon them. In fine, abating from Treachery, Hatred, Dangers, Fear, and a thousand other mischiefs impending on crowned heads, however uncontrollable they are on this side Heaven, yet after their Reign here, they must appear before a supremer judge, and there be called to an exact account for the discharge of that great Stewardship which was committed to their trust. If Princes did but seriously consider (and consider they would, if they were but wise) these many hardships of a Royal life, they would be so perplexed in the result of their thoughts hereupon, as scarce to eat, or sleep in quiet. But now by my assistance they leave all these cares to the Gods, and mind only their own ease, and pleasure, and therefore will admit none to their attendance, but who will divert them with sport, and mirth, left they should otherwise be seized, and damped with the surprisal of sober thoughts: They think they have sufficiently acquitted themselves in the duty of governing, if they do but ride constantly a hunting, breed up good Race-horses, sell Places, and Offices to those of the Courtiers that will give most for them, and find out new ways for invading of their people's Property, and hooking in a larger Revenue to their own Exchequer; for the procurement whereof they'll always have some pretended claim, and title; that though it be manifest extortion, yet it may bear the show of Law, and Justice: And then they dawb over their oppression with a submissive, flattering carriage, that they may so far insinuate into the affections of the vulgar, as they may not tumult, nor rebel, but patiently crouch to burdens, and exactions. Let us feign now a Person ignorant of the Laws, and Constitutions of that Realm he lives in, an enemy to the public good, studious only of his own private interest, addicted wholly to pleasures, and delights; a hater of learning, a professed enemy to Liberty, and Truth; careless, and unmindful of the common concerns, taking all the measures of Justice and Honesty from the false beam of Self-interest, and Advantage. After this, hang about his neck a gold-chain, for an intimation, that he ought to have all virtues linked together; then set a Crown of Gold, and Jewels on his head, for a token, that he ought to overtop, and outshine others in all commendable qualifications. Next, put into his hand a Royal Sceptre, for a symbol of Justice, and Integrity. Lastly, cloth him with Purple, for an Hieroglyphic of a tender love, and affection to the Commonwealth. If a Prince should look upon this Pourtraicture, and draw a comparison between That, and Himself, certainly he would be ashamed of his Ensigns of Majesty, and be afraid of being laughed out of them.  
Next to Kings themselves may come their Courtiers, who, though they are for the most part a base, servile, cringing, low-spirited sort of Flatterers, yet they look big, swell great, and have high thoughts of their honour, and grandeur. Their confidence appears upon all occasions, yet in this one thing they are very modest, in that they are content to adorn their bodies with Gold, Jewels, Purple, and other glorious Ensigns of Virtue, and Wisdom, but leave their minds empty, and unfraught; and taking the resemblance of Goodness to themselves, turn over the truth and reality of it to others. They think themselves mighty happy, in that they can call the King Master, and be allowed the familiarity of talking with him; that they can volubly rehearse his several Titles of August Highness, Supereminent Excellence, and Most Serene Majesty; that they can boldly usher in any discourse, and that they have the complete knack of Insinuation, and Flattery; for these are the Arts, that make them truly Gentile, and Noble. If you make a stricter enquiry after their other endowments, you shall find them mere Sots, and Dolts. They'll sleep generally till Noon, and then their mercenary Chaplains shall come to their bedside, and entertain them perhaps with a short Morning Prayer: As soon as they are dressed, they must go to Breakfast, and when That is done, immediately to Dinner: When the Cloth is taken away, then to Cards, Dice, Tables, or some such like diversion. After this, they must have one or two Afternoon Banquets, and so in the Evening to Supper. When they have supped, then begins the game of Drinking; the Bottles are marshaled, the Glasses ranked, and round go the Healths, and Bumpers, till they are carried up to Bed. And this is the constant method of passing away their hours, days, months, years, and ages. I have many times took great satisfaction by standing in the Court, and seeing how the tawdry Butterflies vie upon one another: The Ladies shall measure the height of their Honours by the length of their Trails, which must be boar up by a Page behind. The Nobles justle one another to get nearest to the King's elbow, and wear Gold chains of that weight, and bigness, as require no less strength to carry, than they do wealth to purchase.  
And now for some reflections upon Popes, Cardinals, and Bishops, who in pomp an splendour have almost equalled, if not outgone secular Princes. Now if any one consider, that their upper Crotchet of white Linen is to signify their unspotted purity, and innocence; That their forked Mitres, with both divisions tied together by the same knot, are to denote the joint knowledge of the Old, and New Testament; That their always wearing Gloves, represents the keeping their hands clean, and undefiled from lucre, and covetousness; That their Pastoral staff implies the care of a Flock committed to their charge; That the Cross carried before them, expresses their victory over all carnal affections: He (I say) that considers this, and much more of like nature, must needs conclude. They are entrusted with a very weighty, and difficult office But alas, They think it sufficient, if they can but feed themselves, and as to their Flock, either commend them to the care of Christ himself, or commit them to the guidance of some inferior Vicars, and Curates; not so much as remmembring, what their name of Bishop imports, to wit, Labour, Pains, and Diligence, but by base Simoniacal contracts They are in a profane sense Episcopi, i.e. Overseers of their own Gain, and Income.  
So Cardinals in like manner, if they did but consider, that the Church supposes them to succeed in the room of the Apostles; That therefore they must behave themselves as their Predecessors, and so not be Lords, but Dispenser's of Spiritual gifts, of the disposal whereof they must one day render a strict account: or if they would but reflect a little on their Habit, and thus reason with themselves: what means this white upper garment, but only an unspotted innocence? What signifies my inner Purple, but only an ardent love, and zeal to God? What imports my outermost Pall, so wide, and long, that it covers the whole Mule when I ride, nay would be big enough to cover a Camel, but only a Diffusive Charity. that should spread itself for a succour, and protection to all, by Teaching, Exhorting, Comforting, Reproving, Admonishing, Composing of differences, Courageously withstanding wicked Princes, and Sacrificing for the safety of our stock our Life, and Blood, as well as our Wealth, and Riches; though indeed Riches ought not to be at all possessed by such, as boast themselves Successors to the Apostles, who were poor, needy, and destitute: I say, if they did but lay these considerations to heart, they would never be so ambitious of being created to this Honour; they would willingly resign it when conferred upon them, or at least would be as industrious, watchful, and laborious, as the primitive Apostles were.  
Now as to the Popes of Rome, who pretend themselves Christ's Vicars, if They would but imitate his Exemplary Life, in the being employed in an unintermitted course of Preaching; in the being attended with Poverty, Nakedness, Hunger, and a Contempt of this world; if they did but consider the import of the word Pope, which signifies a Father; or if they did but practise their Surname of Most Holy, What order, or degrees of men would be in a worse condition? There would be then no such vigorous making of parties, and buying of Votes in the Conclave upon a vacancy of that See; And those who by Bribery, or other indirect courses, should get themselves elected, would never secure their sitting firm in the Chair by pistol, poison, force, and violence. How much of their pleasure would be abated, if they were but endowed with one dram of Wisdom? Wisdom did I say? nay, with one grain of that Salt, which our Saviour bid them not lose the savour of: All their Riches, all their Honour, their Jurisdictions, their Peter's Patrimony, their Offices, their Dispensations, their Licenses, their Indulgences, their long Train, and Attendants, (see in how short a compass I have abbreviated all their marketing of Religion,) in a word, all their Perquisites will be forfeited, and lost; and in their room would succeed Watchings, Fast, Tears, Prayers, Sermons, hard Studies, Repenting Sighs, and a thousand such like severe Penalties: Nay, what's yet more deplorable, it would then follow, that all their Clerks, amanuensis, Notaries, Advocates, Proctors, Secretaries, the offices of Grooms, Ostlers, Servingmen, Pimps, (and somewhat else, which for modesty sake I shall not mention,) In short, all those troops of Attendants, which depend on his Holiness, would all lose their several Employments. This indeed would be hard, but what yet remains, would be more dreadful: The very Head of the Church, the Spiritual Prince, would then be brought from all his splendour to the poor equipage of a Scrip, and Staff. But all this is upon the Supposition only, that they understood what circumstances they are placed in, whereas now, by a wholesome neglect of thinking, they live as well as heart can wish: Whatever of toil, and drudgery belongs to their office, That they assign over to St. Peter, or St. Paul, who have time enough to mind it; but if there be any thing of pleasure, and grandeur, That they assume to themselves, as being here unto called: So that by my influence no sort of people live more to their own ease, and content. They think to satisfy that Master they pretend to serve, our Lord and Saviour, with their great state, and magnificence, with the ceremonies of Instalments, with the titles of Reverence, and Holiness, and with exercising their Episcopal function only in blessing, and cursing: The working of Miracles is old, and out dated: to teach the people, is too laborious; to interpret Scripture, is to invade the Prerogative of the Schoolmen; to pray, is too idle; to shed tears, is cowardish, and unmanly; to fast, is too mean, and sordid; to be easy, and familiar, is beneath the grandeur of him, who without being sued to, and entreated, will scarce give Princes the honour of kissing his Toe; finally, to die for Religion, is too selfdenying; and to be crucified as their Lord of Life, is base, and ignominious. Their only weapons ought to be those of the Spirit; and of these indeed they are mighty liberal, as of their Interdicts, their Suspensions, their Denuntiations, their Aggravations, their greater, and lesser Excommunications, and their roaring Bulls, that fright whomever they are thundered against; and these most Holy Fathers never issue them out more frequently, than against those, who at the instigation of the Devil, and not having the fear of God before their eyes, do feloniously, and maliciously attempt to lessen, and impair St. Peter's patrimony: And though that Apostle tells our Saviour in the Gospel, i'th' name of all the other Disciples, We have left all, and followed you; yet they challenge, as His inheritance, Fields, Towns, Treasures, and large Dominions; for the defending whereof, inflamed with a holy zeal, they fight with fire, and sword, to the great loss and effusion of Christian blood; thinking they are Apostolical maintainers of Christ's Spouse, the Church, when they have murdered all such as they call her enemies: though indeed the Church has no Enemies more bloody, and tyrannical, than such impious Popes, who give Dispensations for the not preaching of Christ; evacuate the main design, and effect of our Redemption, by their pecunlary bribes, and sales; adulterate the Gospel, by their forced interpretations, and undermining Traditions; and lastly, by their lusts, and wickedness grieve the Holy Spirit, and make their Saviour's wounds to bleed anew. Farther, when the Christian Church has been all along first planted, then confirmed, and since established by the blood of her Martyrs; as if Christ her head would be wanting in the same methods still of protecting her, they invert the order, and propagate their Religion now by arms, and violence, which was wont formerly to be done only with patience, and sufferings. And though war be so brutish, as that it becomes Beasts, rather than Men; so extravagant, that the Poets feigned it an effect of the Furies; so licentious, that it stops the course of all justice, and honesty; so desperate, that it is best waged by Ruffians, and Banditti; and so unchristian, that it is contrary to the express commands of the Gospel; yet maugre All this, Peace is too quiet, too unactive, and they must be engaged in the boisterousness of War. Among which undertaking Popes, you shall have some so old, that they can scarce creep, and yet they'll put on a young brisk resolution, will resolve to stick at no pains, to spare no cost, nor to wave any inconvenience, so they may involve Laws, Religion, Peace, and all other concerns, whether sacred, or civil, in unappeasable tumults, and distractions. And yet some of their learned fawning Courtiers will interpret this notorious madness for zeal, and piety, and fortitude, having found out the way how a man may draw his sword, and sheathe it in his Brother's bowels, and yet not offend against the duty of the second Table, whereby we are obliged to love our Neighbours as ourselves. It is yet uncertain, whether these Romish Fathers have taken Example from, or given Precedent to such other Germane Bishops, who omitting their Ecclestical Habit, and other ceremonies, appear openly armed Cap a pe, like so many Champions, and Warriors, thinking no doubt that they come short of the duty of their Function, is they die in any other place than the open field, fight the Battles of the Lord. The inferior Clergy deeming it unmannerly not to conform to their Patrons, and Diocesans, devoutly tug, and fight for their Tithes with Syllogisms, and Arguments, as fiercely as with swords, sticks, stones, or any thing that came next to hand. When they read the Rabbis, Fathers, or other ancient writings, how quicksighted are they in spying out any Sentences, that they may fright the people with, and make them believe, that more than the Tenth is due, passing by whatever they meet with in the same Authors, that minds them of the Duty, and Difficulty of their own Office. They never consider, that their shaved crown is a token, that they should pair off, and cut away all the superstuous lusts of this world, and give themselves wholly to Divine Meditation; but instead of this our bald-pated Priests think they have done enough, if they do but mumble over such a fardel of Prayers: which it is a wonder if God should hear, or understand, when they whisper them so softly and in so unknown a language, which they can scarce hear, or understand themselves. This they have in common with other Mechanics, that they are most subtle in the craft of getting Money, and wonderfully skilled in their respective deuce of Tithes, Offerings, Perquisites, etc. Thus they are All content to reap the profit, but as to the burden, That they toss as a ball from one hand to another, and assign it over to any they can get or hire: For as Secular Princes have their Judges, and subordinate Ministers, to act in their name, and supply their stead; so Ecclesiastical Governors have their Deputies, Vicars, and Curates, nay many times turn over the whole care of Religion to the Laity. The Laity, supposing they have nothing to do with the Church (as if their Baptismal Vow did not initiate them members of it) make it over to the Priests; of the Priests again, Those that are Secular, thinking their Title implies them to be a little too profane, assign this Task over to the Regulars; the Regulars to the Monks; the Monks bandy it from one Order to another, till it light upon the Mendicants; They lay it upon the Carthusians, which Order alone keeps Honestly and Piety among them, but really keep them so close, that no body ever yet could see them. Thus the Popes, thrusting only their Sickle into the harvest of Profit, leave all the other toil of Spiritual Husbandry to the Bishops, the Bishops bestow it upon the Pastors, the Pastors on their Curates, and their Curates commit it to the Mendicants, who return it again to such, as well know how to make good advantage of the Flock by the benefit of their Fleece.  
But I would not be thought purposely to expose the weaknesses of Popes, and Priests, lest I should seem to recede from my Title, and make a satire instead of a Panegyric: Nor let any one imagine, that I reflect on good Princes, by commending of bad ones: I did This only in brief to show, That there is no one particular person can lead a comfortable life, except he be entered of my Society, and retain me for his Friend. Nor indeed can it be otherwise, since Fortune, that Empress of the world, is so much in league, and amity with Me, that to Wise men she is always stingy, and sparing of her gifts, but is profusely liberal, and lavish to Fools. Thus Timotheus, the Athenian Commander, in all his Expeditions was a mirror of good luck, because he was a little underwitted; from him was occasioned the Grecian Proverb, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Net fills, though the Fisherman sleeps: There is also another favourable Proverb, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Owl flies, an Omen of success. But against Wise men are pointed these ill-aboding Proverbs, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Born under a bad Planet; Equum habet Sejanum, He cannot ride the Fore-horse; Aurum Tholosanum, Ill-gotten goods will never prosper, and more to the same purpose. But I forbear from any farther Proverbializing, lest I should be thought to have rifled my Erasmu's Adages. To return therefore, Fortune we find still favouring the blunt, and flushing the forward; strokes, and smooths up Fools, crowning all their undertake with success: But Wisdom makes her followers bashful, sneaking, and timorous, and therefore you commonly see, that they are reduced to hard shifts, must grapple with poverty, cold, and hunger, must lie recluse, despised, and unregarded; while Fool's role in money, are advanced to dignities, and offices, and in a word have the whole world at command. If any one think it happy to be a Favourite at Court, and to manage the disposal of Places, and Preferments; alas This happiness is so far from being attainable by Wisdom, that the very suspicion of it would put a stop to all advancement. Has any man a mind to raise himself a good Estate? Alas, what dealer in the world would ever get a farthing, if he be so wise as to scruple at Perjury, blush at a Lie, or stick at any fraud, and overreaching.  
Farther, does any one appear a Candidate for any Ecclesiastical Dignity? Why, an Ass, or a Plough-Jobber, shall sooner gain it than a Wise man. Again, are you in love with any handsome Lady? Alas, womenkind are so addicted to Folly, that they will not at all listen to the Courtship of a wise Suitor. Finally, wherever there is any preparation made for mirth, and jollity, all Wise men are sure to be excluded the company, lest they should stint the joy, and damp the frolic. In a word, to what side soever we turn ourselves, to Popes, Princes, Judges, Magistrates, Friends, Enemies, Rich, or Poor, all their concerns are managed by money, which because it is undervalved by wise men, therefore, in revenge to be sure, it never comes at Them.  
But now, though my Praise, and commendation might well be endless, yet it is requisite I should put some period to my Speech. I'll therefore draw toward an end, when I have first confirmed what I have said by the authority of several Authors. Which way of farther proof I shall insist upon, partly that I may not be thought to have said more in my own behalf, than what will be justified by others; and partly, that the Lawyers may not check me for citing no Precedents, nor Allegations. To imitate them therefore, I will produce some Reports ', and Authorities, though perhaps, like Theirs too, they are nothing to the purpose.  
First then, it is confessed almost to a Proverb, that the Art of Dissembling is a very necessary accomplishment; and therefore it is a common Verse among Schoolboys, 

Stultitiam simulare loco sapientia summa est   

To feign the Fool, when fit occasions rise,  
Argues the being more completely wise.   It is easy therefore to collect, how great a value ought to be put upon real Folly, when the very shadow, and bare imitation of it, is so much estemmed. Horace, who in his Epistles thus styles himself, 

Me pinguem & nitidum—  
— Epicuri de grege Porcum,   

My sleek-skinned corpse as smooth, as if I lie  
'Mong th' fatted Swine of Epicurus Sty:   This Poet (I say) gives this advice in one of his Odes, 

Misce Stultitiam consiliis brevem:   

Short Folly with your counsels mix.   The Epithet of short, it is true, is a little improper. The same Poet again has this passage elsewhere, 

Dulce est desipere in loco,   

Well-timed Folly has a sweet relish   And in another place, 

— Mallem delirus inersque videri,  
Quam sapere & ringi.—   

I'd rather much be censured for a fool,  
Than feel the lash and smart of Wisdoms school.   Homer praises Telemachus as much as any one of his Heroes, and yet he gives him the Epithet of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Silly: and the Grecians generally use the same word to express Children, as a token of their Innocence. And what is the Argument of all Homer's Iliads, but only as Horace observes, 

Stultorum Regum, & Populorum continet astus,   

They Kings, and Subjects dotages contain?   How positive also is Tully's Commendation, That all places are filled with Fools? now every Excellence being to be measured by its Extent, the goodness of Folly must be of as large compass, as those universal places she reaches to. But perhaps Christians may slight the authority of a Heathen, I could therefore, if I pleased, back and confirm the truth hereof by the citations of several Texts of Scripture; though herein it were perhaps my duty to beg leave of the Divines, that I might so far entrench upon their Prerogative. Supposing a grant, the task seems so difficult, as to require the invocation of some aid, and assistance: yet, because it is unreasonable to put the Muses to the trouble and expense of so tedious a journey, especially since the business is out of their sphere; I shall choose rather (while I am acting the Divine, and venturing in their Polemic difficulties) to wish myself for such time animated with Scotus his bristling and prickly soul, which I would not care, how afterwards it returned to his body, though for refinement it were stopped at a Purgatory by the way. I cannot but wish, that I might wholly change my character, or at least that some grave Divine in my stead might rehearse this part of the subject for me: for truly I suspect, that some body will accuse me for plundering the Closets of those Reverend men, while I pretend to so much of Divinity, as must appear in my following discourse. Yet however it may not seem strange, that after so long and frequent a converse, I have gleaned some scraps from the Divines; since Horace his wooden God, by hearing his Master read Homer, learned some words of Greek; and Lucian's Cock, by long attention, could readily understand what any man spoke. But now to the purpose, wishing myself success.  
Ecclesiastes doth somewhere confess, that there are an infinite number of Fools; now when he speaks of an infinite number, what does he else but imply, that herein is included the whole race of Mankind, except some very few, which I know not whether ever any one had yet the happiness to see?.  
The Prophet jeremy speaks yet more plainly in his tenth Chapter, where he saith, That every man is brutish in his knowledge. He just before attributes Wisdom to God alone, saying, That the wise men of the Nations are altogether brutish, and foolish. And in the preceding Chapter he gives this seasonable caution, Let not the Wise man glory in his wisdom: the reason is obvious, bacause no man hath truly any, whereof to glory. But to return to Ecclesiastes, when he saith, vanity of vanities, all is vanity, what else can we imagine his meaning to be, than that our whole Life is nothing but one continued interlude of Folly? This confirms that assertion of Tully, which is delivered in that noted passage we but just now mentioned, namely, That all places swarm with Fools. Farther, what does the Son of Sirach mean, when he saith in Ecclesiasticus, that the Fool is changed as the Moon, while the Wise man is fixed as the Sun, than only to hint out the folly of all Mankind, and that the name of Wise is due to no other but the Alwise God? For all Interpreters by Moon understand Mankind, and by Sun, that fountain of all Light, the Almighty. The same sense is implied in that saying of our Saviour in the Gospel, There is none Good but One, that is God: for if whoever is not Wise be consequently a Fool, and if, according to the Stoics, every man be Wise, so far only as he is Good, the meaning of the Text must be, All mortals are avoidable Fools, and there is none Wise but One, that is God, Solomon also, in the fifteenth Chapter of his Proverbs, hath this expression, Folly is joy to him that is destitute of Wisdom; plainly intimating, that the Wise man is attended with grief, and vaxation, while the Foolish only role in delight, and pleasure. To the same purpose is that saying of his, in the first Chapter of Ecclesiastes: In much wisdom is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow. Again, it is confessed by the same Preacher, in the seventh Chapter of the same Book, That the heart of the Wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of Fools is in the house of mirth. This Author himself had never attained to such a portion of Wisdom if he had not applied himself to a searching out the frailties, and infirmities of Humane nature; as, if you believe not me, may appear from his own words, in his first Chapter I gave my heart to know Wisdom, and to know Madness and Folly: where it is worthy to be observed, that, as to the order of words, Folly, for its advantage, is put in the last place. Thus Ecclesiastes wrote, and thus indeed did an Ecclesiastical method require, namely, that what has the precedence in dignity, should come hindmost in rank, and order, according to the tenor of that Evangelical Precept, The Last shall be First, and the First shall be Last. And in Ecclesiasticus likewise, (whoever was Author of the holy Book which bears that name) in the forty fourth chapter, the excellency of Folly above Wisdom is positively acknowledged: The very words I shall not cite, till I have the advantage of an answer to a question I am proposing, this way of interrogating being frequently made use of by Plato, in his Dialogues between Socrates, and other Disputants. I ask you then, What is it we usually hoard, and lock up, Things of greater esteem, and value, or those which are more common, trite, and despicable? Why are you so backward in an answer? Since you are so shy, and reserved, i'll take the Greek Proverb for a satisfactory Reply, namely, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 foul water is thrown down the Sink: which Saying that no person may slight it, may be convenient to adverstise, That it comes from no meaner an Author thor than, that Oracle of Truth, Aristotle himself. And indeed there is no one on this side Bedlam so mad, as to throw out upon the dunghill his Gold, and Jewels, but rather all persons have a close Repository to preserve them in, and secure them under all the locks, bolts, and bars, that either Art can contrive, or Fears suggest: whereas the Dirt, Pebbles, and Oyster-shels, that lie scattered in the streets, ye trample upon, pass by, and take no notice of. If then what is more valuable be coffered up, and what less so, lies unregarded; it follows, that accordingly Folly should meet with a greater esteem than Wisdom, because that wise Author advises us to the keeping close, and concealing the first, and exposing, or laying open the other: As, take him now in his own words, Better is he that hideth his Folly, than him that hideth his Wisdom. Beside, the Sacred Text does oft ascribe Innocence, and Sincerity to Fools, while the Wise man is apt to be a haughty scorner of all such, as he thinks, or censures to have less wit than himself: For so I understand that passage in the tenth Chapter of Ecclesiastes, When he that is a Fool walketh by the way, his Wisdom faileth him, and he saith to every one that He is a Fool. Now what greater argument of candour or ingenuity can there be, than to demean yourself equal with all others, and not think their desserts any way inferior to his own. Folly is no such scandalous Attribute, but that the wise Agur was, not ashamed to confess it in the thirtieth Chapter of Proverbs: Surely (saith he) I am more brutish than any man, and have not the understanding of a man. Nay, St. Paul himself, that great Doctor of the Gentiles, writing to his Corinthians, readily owns the name, saying. If any man speak as a Fool, I more; as if to have been less so, had been a reproach, and disgrace. But perhaps I may be censured for misinterpreting this Text by some modern Annotators, who like Crows pecking at one another's eyes, find fault, and correct all that went before them, and pretend each their own Glosses to contain the only, true, and genuine explication; among whom my Erasmus (whom I cannot but mention with respect) may challenge the second place, if not the precedency. This citation (say they) is purely impertinent; the meaning of the Apostle is far different from what you dream of: he would not have these words to understood, as if he desired to be thought a greater Fool than the rest, but only when he had before said, Are they Ministers of Christ, so am I: As if the equalling himself herein to others had been too little, he adds, I am more, thinking a bare equality not enough, unless he were even superior to those he compares himself with. This he would have to be believed as true; yet left it might be thought offensive, as bordering too much on arrogance, and conceit, he tempers, and alleviates it by the covert of Folly. I speak (says he) as a Fool, knowing it to be the peculiar privilege of Fools to speak the truth without giving offence. But what St. Paul's thoughts were when he wrote this, I leave for them to determine. In my own judgement at least, I prefer the opinion of the good old tun-bellied Divines, with whom its safer, and more creditable to err, than to be in the right with smattering, raw Novices.  
Nor indeed should any one mind the late Critics any more, than the senseless chattering of a Daw: especially since one of the most eminent of them (whose name I advisedly conceal, left some of our Wits should be taunting him with the Greek Proverb, 
Nic, Lyra.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Ad Lyram Asinus) magisterially, and dogmatically descanting upon this Text, [Are they the Ministers of Christ, (I speak as a Fool) I am more] makes a distinct Chapter, and (which without good store of Logic he could never have done) adds a new Section, and then gives this Paraphrase, which I shall verbatim recite, that you may have his words, Materially, as well as Formally, his sense, (for that's one of their babbling distinctions.) [I speak as a Fool] that is, If the equalling myself to those false Apostles would have been construed as the vaunt of a Fool, I will willingly be accounted a greater-Fool, by taking place of them, and openly pleading, That as to their Ministry I not only come up even with them, but outstrip, and go beyond them: Though this same Commentator a little after, as it were forgetting what he had just before delivered, tacks about and shifts to another interpretation.  
But why do I insist upon any one particular Example, when in general it is the public charter of all Divines to mould, and bend the sacred Oracles, till they comply with their own fancy, spreading them (as Heaven by its Creator) like a Curtain, closing together, or drawing them back, as they please? Thus indeed St. Paul himself minces, and mangles some citations he makes use of, and seems to wrest them to a different sense, from what they were first intended for, as is confessed by the great Linguist St. Hierom. Thus when that Apostle saw at Athens the Inscription of an Altar, he draws from it an argument for the proof of the Christian Religion; but leaving out great part of the sentence, which perhaps, is fully recited, might have prejudiced his cause, he mentions only the two last words, viz. To the unknown God; and this too not without alteration, for the whole Inscription runs thus: To the Gods of Asia, Europe, and Africa, To all foreign, and unknown Gods..  
'tis in imitation of the same pattern, I'll warrant you, that our young Divines, by leaving out four or five words in a place, and putting a false construction on the rest, can make any passage Terviceable to their own purpose; though from the coherence of what went before, or follows after, the genuine meaning appears to be either wide enough, or perhaps quite contradictory to what they would thrust, and impose upon it. In which knack the Divines are grown now so expert, that the Lawyers themselves begin to be jealous of an encroachment on what was formally their sole privilege, and practice. And indeed, what can they despair of proving, since the forementioned Commentator (I had almost blundred out his name, but that I am restrained by fear of the same Greek Proverbial Sarcasm) did upon a Text of St. Luke put an interpretation, no more agreeable to the meaning of the place, than one contrary quality is to another? The Passage is This; when Iudas' treachery was preparing to be executed, and accordingly it seemed requisite, that all the Disciples should be provided to guard, and secure their assaulted Master, our Saviour, that he might piously caution them against reliance for his delivery on any worldly strength, asks them, whether in all their Embassy they lacked any thing, when he had sent them out so unfurnished for the performance of a long journey, that they had not so much as Shoes to defend their feet from the injuries of slints, and thorns, or a Scrip, to carry a meals meat in; and when they had answered, that they lacked nothing, He adds, But now he that hath a purse let him take it, and likewise a scrip, and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one: Now when the whole doctrine of our Saviour inculcates nothing more frequently than Meekness, Patience, and a contempt of this world, is it not plain, what the meaning of the place is? Namely, that he might now dismiss his Ambassadors in a more naked, defensless condition, he does not only advise them to take no thought for shoes, or scrip, but even commands them to part with the very clothes from their back, that so they might have the less encumbrance, and entanglement, in the going through their office, and function. He cautions them, it is true, to be furnished with a Sword, yet not such a carnal one, as Rogues, and Highway men make use of for murder, and bloodshed, but with the sword of the Spirit, which pierces through the heart, and searches out the innermost retirements of the soul, lopping off all our lust, and corrupt affections, and leaving nothing in possession of our breast but piety, zeal, and devotion: This (I say) in my opinion is the most natural interpretation. But see how that Divine misunderstands the place: By Sword (says he) is meant Defence against Persecution; by Scrip, or Purse, a sufficient quantity of Provision; as is Christ had, by considering better of it, changed his mind, in reference to that mean equipage, which he had before sent his Disciples in, and therefore came now to a recantation of what he had formerly instituted: Or, as if he had forgot what in time passed he had told them, Blessed are you when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and say all manner of evil against you for my sake. Render not evil for evil, for blessed are the Meek, not the Cruel: As if he had forgot that he encouraged them by the examples of Sparrows, and Lilies, to take no thought for the Morrow, he gives them now another Lesson, and charges them, rather than go without a sword, to sell their garment, and buy one; as if the going cold, and naked, were more excusable than the marching unarmed. And as this Author thinks all means, which are requisite for the prevention, or retaliation of injuries, to be implied under the name of Sword, so under that of Scrip, he would have every thing to be comprehended, which either the necessity, or conveniency of Life requires.  
Thus does this provident Commentator furnish out the Disciples with Halberds; Spears, and Guns, for the enterprise of preaching Christ crucified; He supplies them at the same time with Pockets, Bags, and Portmanteaus, that they might carry their Cupboards as well as their Bellies always about them: He takes no notice, how our Saviour afterwards rebukes Peter for drawing that sword, which he had just before so strictly charged him to buy; nor that it is ever recorded, that the Primitive Christians did by no ways withstand their Heathen Persecutors otherwise than with tears, and prayers, which they would have exchanged more effectually for swords, and bucklers, if they had thought this Text would have boar them out.  
There is Another, and he of no mean credit, whom for respect to his person I shall forbear to name, who commenting upon that verse in the Prophet Habakkuk, [I saw the tents of Cushan in affliction, and the Curtains of the land of Midian did tremble,] because Tents were sometimes made of Skins, he pretended, that the word Tents did here signify the skin of St. Bartholemew, who was flayed for a Martyr.  
I myself was lately at a Divinity Disputation, (where I very often pay my attendance) where one of the Opponents demanded a reason, Why it should be thought more proper to silence all Heretics by Sword, and Faggot, rather than convert them by moderate, and sober arguments? A certain Cynical, old Blade, who bore the character of a Divine, legible in the frowns, and wrinkles of his face, not without a great deal of disdain, answered; That it was the express Injunction of St. Paul himself, in those Directions to Titus, [A man that is an Heretic, after the first and second Admonition, Reject,] quoting it in Latin, where the word Reject, is Devita, while all the Auditory wondered at this Citation, and deemed it no way applicable to his purpose. He at last explained himself, saying, That Devita signified, De vitâ tollendum Hereticum, A Heretic must be slain. Some smiled at his ignorance, but others approved of it, as an Orthodox Comment. And however some disliked, that such violence should be done to so easy a Text, our hair-slitting, and irrefragable Doctor went on in triumph: To prove it yet (says he) more undeniably, it is commanded in the old Law, [Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live;] Now then, Every Maleficus, or Witch is to be killed, but an Heretic is Maleficus, which in the Latin Translation is put for a Witch, Ergo etc. All that were present wondered at the ingenuity of the person, and very devoutly embraced his Opinion; never dreaming, that the Law was restrained only to Magicians, Sorcerers, and Enchanters: for otherwise, if the word Malesicus signified what it most naturally implies, every Evil doer, than Drunkenness, and Whoredom, were to meet with the same capital punishment as Witchcraft. But why should I squander away my time in a too tedious prosecuting of this Topick, which, if drove on to the utmost, would afford talk to eternity? I aim herein at no more than this, namely, That since those grave Doctors take such a swinging range, and latitude, I, who am but a smattering Novice in Divinity, may have the larger allowance for any slips, or mistakes.  
Now therefore I return to St. Paul, who uses these expressions, [Ye suffer fools gladly,] applying it to himself; and again, [As a fool receive me,] and [That which I speak, I speak not after the Lord, but as it were Foolishly; and in another place, [We are Fools for Christ's sake:] See how these commendations of Folly are equal to the Author of them, both great, and sacred. The same holy person does yet enjoin, and command the being a Fool as a virtue, of all other most requisite, and necessary: for says he, [If any man seem to be wise in this world, let him become a Fool, that he may be wise.] Thus St. Luke records, how our Saviour, after his resurrection, joining himself with two of his Disciples travelling to Emmaus, at his first salutation he calls them Fools, saying, [O Fools, and slow of heart to believe.] Nor may this seem strange in comparison to what is yet farther delivered by St. Paul, who adventures to attribute something of Folly even to the Alwise God himself, [The Foolishness of God (says he) is wiser than Men: In which Text St. Origen would not have the word Foolishness any way referred to men, or applicable to the same sense, wherein is to be understood that other passage of St. Paul, [The preaching of the Cross to them that perish, foolishness.] But why do I put myself to the trouble of citing so many proofs, since this one may suffice for all, namely, That in those mystical Psalms, wherein David represents the Type of Christ, it is there acknowledged by our Saviour, in way of confession, that even He himself was guilty of Folly, Thou (says he) O God knowst my foolishness? Nor is it without some reason, that Fools for their plainness, and sincerity of heart, have always been most acceptable to God Almighty. For as the Princes of this world have shrewdly suspected, and carried a jealous eye over such of their Subjects as were the most observant, and deepest Politicians, (for thus Caesar was afraid of the plodding Cassius, and Brutus, thinking himself secure enough from the careless drinking Anthony; Nero likewise mistrusted Seneca, and Dionysuis would have been willingly rid of Plato) whereas they can all put greater confidence in such as are of loss subtlety, and contrivance. So our Saviour in like manner dislikes and condemns the wise, and crafty, as St. Paul does expressly declare in these words, God hath chosen the foolish Things of the world; and again, It pleased God by Foolishness to save the world, implying, that by Wisdom it could never have been saved. Nay God himself testifies as much, when he speaks by the mouth of his Prophet, I will destroy the wisdom of the Wise, and bring to nought the understanding of the Learned. Again, our Saviour does solemnly return his Father thanks, for that he had hidden the mysteries of salvation from the Wise, and revealed them to Bahes, i, e. to Fools; for the original word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 being opposed to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 if one signify Wise, the other must Foolish. To the same purpose did our blessed Lord frequently condemn and upbraid the Scribes, Pharisees, and Lawyers, while he carries himself kind and obliging to the unlearned multitude: For what other can be the meaning of that tart Denunciation, Woe unto you Scribes, and Pharisees, than, Woe unto you Wise men, whereas he seems chiefly delighted with children, women, and illiterate Fishermen?.  
We may farther take notice, that among all the several kinds of Brute creatures, he shows greatest liking to such as are farthest distant from the subtlety of the Fox. Thus in his progress to jerusalem he chose to ride sitting upon an Ass, though, if he pleased, he might have mounted the back of a Lion with more of State, and as little of danger. The Holy Spirit chose rather likewise to descend from Heaven in the shape of a simple gall-less Dove, than in that of an Eagle, Kite, or other more lofty Fowl..  
Thus all along in the Holy Scriptures there are frequent Metaphors, and Similitudes of the most inoffensive creatures, such as Stags, Hinds, Lambs, and the like. Nay those blessed Souls, that in the day of Judgement are to be placed at our Saviour's right hand; are called Sheep, which are the most senseless, and stupid of all cattle, as is evidenced by Aristotle's Greek Proverb, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 a sheepishness of temper, i. e. a dull, blockish, sleepy, unmanly humour. Yet of such a Flock Christ is not ashamed to profess himself the Shepherd: nay, he would not only have all his Proselytes termed Sheep, but even He himself would be called a Lamb; as when john the Baptist seeth jesus coming unto him, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God; which same title is very often given to our Saviour in the Apocalypse.  
All this amounts to no less, than that all mortal men are Fools, even the righteous, and godly, as well as sinners; nay, in some sense our blessed Lord himself, who although he was the wisdom of the Father, yet to repair the infirmities of fallen Man, he became in some measure a Partaker of humane folly, when he took our nature upon him, and was found in fashion as a Man, or when God made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in him. Nor would he heal those breaches our sins had made by any other method, than by the foolishness of the Cross, published by the ignorant, and unlearned Apostles, to whom he frequently recommends the excellence of Folly, cautioning them against the infectiousness of Wisdom, by the several examples he proposes them to imitate, such as Children, Lilies, Sparrows, Mustard, and such like being, which are either wholly inanimate, or at least devoid of reason, and ingeny, guided by no other conduct than that of Instinct, without care, trouble, or contrivance. To the same intent the Disciples were warned by their Lord and Master, that when they should be brought unto the Synagogues; and unto Magistrates, and Powers, they should take no thought how, or what thing they should answer, nor what they should say: They were again strictly forbid to inquire into the times, and seasons, or to place any confidence in their own abilities, but to depend wholly upon Divine assistance.  
At the first peopling of Paradise, the Almighty had never laid so strict a charge on our Father Adam, to refrain from eating of the tree of Knowledge, except he had thereby sore warned, that the taste of Knowledge would be the bane of all Happiness. St. Paul says expressly, that Knowledge puffeth up, i.e. it is fatal, and poisonous: In pursuance whereunto St. Bernard interprets that exceeding high Mountain, whereon the Devil had erected his seat, to have been the mountain of Knowledge. And perhaps this may be another argument which ought not to be omitted, namely, That Folly is acceptable, at least excusable with the Gods, in as much as they easily pass by the heedless failures of Fools, while the miscarriages of such, as are known to have more wit, shall very hardly obtain a pardon; nay, when a wise man comes to sue for an acquitment from any guilt, he must shroud himself under the patronage, and pretext of Folly. For thus in the Twelfth of Numbers, Aaron entreats Moses to stay the Leprosy of his Sister Miriam, saying, Alas, my Lord, I beseech thee, lay not the sin upon us, wherein we have done foolishly. Thus when David spared Saul's life, when he found him sleeping in a Tent of H●chilah, not willing to stretch forth his hand against the Lord's Anointed, Saul excuses his former severity by confessing, Behold I have played the Fool, and have erred exceedingly. David also himself, in much the same form, begs the remission of his Sin from God Almighty with this prayer, Lord, I pray thee, take away the iniquity of thy Servant, for I have done very foolishly; as if he could not have hoped otherwise to have his pardon granted, except he petitioned for it under the covert, and mitigation of Folly. The agreeable practice of our Saviour is yet more convincing, who, when he hung upon the Cross, prayed for his Enemies, saying, Father, forgive them, urging no other plea in their behalf than that of their Ignorance, for they know not what they do. To the same effect St. Paul, in his first Epistle to Timothy, acknowledges he had been a Blasphemer, and a Persecuter, But (faith he) I obtained mercy, because I did it ignorantly in unbelief. Now what's the meaning of the phrase, [I did it ignorantly] but only This? My fault was occasioned from a misinformed Folly, not from a deliberate Malice. What signifies [I obtained mercy,] but only that I should not otherwise have obtained it, had not Folly, and Ignorance been my vindication? To the same purpose is that other passage in the mysterious Psalmist, which I forgot to mention in its proper place, namely, Oh remember not the sins and offences of my Youth! The word which we render Offences, is in Latin, Ignorantias, Ignorances': Observe, the two things he alleges in his excuse, are first his rawness of Age, to which Folly, and want of Experience are constant attendants; and secondly, his Ignorances', expressed in the Plural number, for an enhancement, and aggravation of his Foolishness.  
But that I may not wear out this Subject too far, to draw now toward a Conclusion, it is observable, That the Christian Religion seems to have some relation to Folly, and no alliance at all with Wisdom. Of the truth whereof, if you desire farther proof than my bare word, you may please, first, to consider, that Children, Women, Old men, and Fools, led as it were by a secret impulse of Nature, are always most constant in repairing to Church, and most zealous, devout, and attentive in the performance of the several parts of Divine Service: Nay, the first Promulgers of the Gospel, and the first Converts to Christianity, were men of Plainness, and Simplicity, wholly unacquainted with Secular Policy, or Learning.  
Farther, there are none more silly, or nearer their wits end, than those who are too superstitiously Religious: They are profusely lavish in their Charity, They invite fresh Affronts by an Easy forgiveness of past Injuries; They suffer themselves to be cheated, and imposed upon, by laying claim to the Innocence of the Dove; They make it the interest of no persons to oblige them, because they'll love, and do good to their Enemies, as much as to the most endearing Friends; They banish all Pleasure, feeding upon the Penance of Watching, Fasting, Weeping, Sorrow, and Reproach; They value not their lives, but with St. Paul wish to be dissolved, and covet the fiery trial of Martyrdom: In a word, They seem altogether so destitute of common sense, that their Soul seems already separated from their dead, and unactive Body. And what else can we imagine all this to be than downright Madness? It is the less strange therefore, that at the Feast of Pentecost, the Apostles should be thought drunk with new wine, or that St. Paul was censured by Festus, to have been beside himself.  
And since I have had the confidence to go thus far, I shall venture yet a little forwarder, and be so bold as to say thus much more: All that final happiness, which Christians, through so many rubs, and briers of difficulties, contend for, is at last no better than a fort of Folly, and Madness. This no question will be thought extravagantly spoke; but consider a while, and deliberately state the case.  
First then, the Christians so far agree with the Platonists as to believe, that the Body is no better than a Prison, or Dungeon, for the confinement of the Soul. That therefore, while the Soul is shackled to the walls of Flesh, her soaring wings are imped, and all her enlivening faculties clogged, and fettered by the gross particles of Matter, so that she can neither freely range after, nor, when haply overtook, can quietly contemplate, her proper Object of Truth.  
Farther, Plato defines Philosophy to be the meditation of Death, because the one performs the same office with the other, namely, withdraws the mind from all visible, and corporeal objects; therefore while the Soul does patiently actuate the several organs, and members of the Body, so long is a man accounted of a good, and sound disposition: but when the Soul, weary of her confinement, struggles to break Jail, and fly beyond her cage of flesh, and blood, than a man is censured at least for being maggoty, and crack-braind; nay, if there be any defect in the external organs, it is then termed downright madness. And yet many times persons thus affected shall have Prophetic Ecstasies of foretelling things to come, shall in a Rapture talk languages they never before learned, and seem in all things actuated by somewhat Divine, and Extraordinary: And all This no doubt is only the effect of the Soul's being more released from its engagement to the Body, whereby it can with less impediment exert the energy of Life, and Motion. From hence no question has sprung an observation of like nature, confirmed now into a settled Opinion, That some long experienced Souls in the world, before their dislodging, arrive to the height of Prophetic spirits.  
If this disorder arise from an intemperance in Religion, and too high a strain of Devotion, though it be of a somewhat differing sort, yet it is so near a kin to the former, that a great part of mankind apprehend it as a mere Madness; especially when persons of that superstitious humour are so pragmatical, and singular, as to separate, and live apart as it were from all the world beside: So as they seem to have experienced what Plato dreams to have happened between some, who enclosed in a dark cave, did only ruminate on the Ideas, and Abstracted speculations of Entities; and one other of their company, who had got abroad into the open light, and at his return tells them, what a blind mistake they had lain under; that he had seen the substance of what their dotage of imagination reached only in shadow; that therefore he could not but pity, and condole their deluding dreams, while they on the other side no less bewail his frenzy, and turn him out of their society for a Lunatic, and Madman.  
Thus the vulgar are wholly taken up with those objects that are most familiar to their senses, beyond which they are apt to think All is but Fairy-land; while those that are devoutly Religious, scorn to set their thoughts, or affections on any things below, but mount their soul to the pursuit of incorporeal, and invisible Being's: The former, in their marshalling the requisites of Happiness, place Riches in the front, the endowments of the Body in the next rank, and leave the accomplishments of the Soul to bring up the rear; nay, some will scarce believe there is any such thing at all as the Soul, because they cannot literally see a reason of their faith; while the other pay their first-fruits of service to that most simple, and imcomprehensible Being, God, employ themselves next in providing for the happiness of that which comes nearest to their immortal Soul, being not at all mindful of their corrupt bodily carcases, and slighting money as the dirt, and rubbage of the world; Or if at any time some urging occasions require them to become entangled in secular affairs, they do it with regret, and a kind of ill will, observing what St. Paul advises his Corinthians, Having wives, and yet being as though they had none, Buying, and yet remaining as though they possessed not.  
There are between these two sorts of persons many differences in several other respects. As first, though all the Senses have the same mutual relation to the Body, yet some are more gross than others, as those five corporeal ones of Touching, Hearing, Smelling, Seeing, Tasting; whereas some again are more refined, and less adulterated with Matter, such are the Memory, the Understanding, and the Will: Now the Mind will be always most ready, and expedite at that, to which it is naturally most inclined. Hence is it, that a pious soul, employing all its power and abilities in the pressing after such things, as are farthest removed from Sense, is perfectly stupid, and brutish in the management of any worldly affairs; while on the other side the vulgar are so intent upon their business, and employment, that they have not time to bestow one poor thought upon a future Eternity. From such ardour of Divine meditation was it that St. Bernard in his study drank Oil instead of Wine, and yet his thoughts were so taken up, that he never observed the Mistake.  
Farther, among the Passions of the Soul, some have a greater communication with the Body than others, as Lust, the desire of meat and sleep, Anger, Pride, and Envy; with these the Pious man is in continual war, and irreconcilable enmity, while the Vulgar cherish, and foment them, as the best comforts of Life.  
There are other affections of a middle nature, common, and innate to every man; such are Love to ones Country, Duty to Parents, Love to Children, Kindness to Friends, and such like; to these the Vulgar pay some respect, but the Religious endeavour to supplant, and eradicate from their Soul, except they can raise, and sublimate them to the most refined pitch of Virtue; so as to love, or honour their Parents, not barely under that character, (for what did they do more than generate a Body, nay even for that we are primarily beholden to God, the first Parent of all Mankind?) but as Good men only, upon whom is imprinted the lively image of that Divine nature, which they esteem as the chief, and only Good, beyond whom nothing deserves to be beloved, nothing desired.  
By the same Rule they measure all the other offices, or Duties of Life; in each of which, whatever is earthly, and corporeal, shall, if not wholly rejected, yet at least be put behind what Faith makes the substance of things not seen. Thus in the Sacraments, and all other Acts of Religion, they make a difference between the outward appearance, or body of them, and the more inward Soul, or Spirit. As to instance, in Fasting, they think it very ineffectual to abstain from flesh, or debar themselves of a meals meat, (which yet is all the vulgar understand by this duty) unless they likewise restrain their passions, subdue their anger, and mortify their pride; that the Soul being thus disengaged from the intanglement of the body, may have a better relish to Spiritual Objects, and take an Antepast of Heaven. Thus (say they) in the holy Eucharist, though the outward Form and Ceremonies are not wholly to be despised, yet are these prejudicial, at least unprofitable, if as bare Signs only they are not accompanied with the thing signified, which is the body, and blood of Christ, whose death, till his second coming, we are hereby to represent by the vanquishing, and burying our vile affections, that they may arise to a newness of Life, and be united first each to other, than all to Christ.  
These are the actions, and meditations of the truly pious person; while the Vulgar place all their Religion in crowding up close to the Altar, in listening to the words of the Priest, and in being very circumspect at the observance of each trifling Ceremony. Nor is it in such cases only as we have here given for Instances, but through his whole course of Life, that the Pious man, without any regard to the base materials of the body, spends himself wholly in a fixed intentness upon Spiritual, invisible, and eternal objects.  
Now since these persons stand off, and keep at so wide a distance between themselves, it is customary for them both to think each other mad: And were I to give my opinion to which of the two the name does most properly belong, I should, I confess, adjudge it to the Religious; of the reasonableness whereof you may be farther convinced, if I proceed to demonstrate what I formerly hinted at, namely, that That ultimate happiness, which Religion proposes, is no other than some sort of Madness.  
First therefore, Plato dreamt somewhat of this nature, when he tells us, that the Madness of Lovers was of all other dispositions of the body most desirable; for he who is once throughly smitten with this Passion, lives no longer within himself, but has removed his soul to the same place, where he has settled his affections, and loses himself to find the object he so much dotes upon: This straying now, and wand'ring of a soul from its own mansion, what is it better than a plain transport of Madness? What else can be the meaning of those Proverbial phrases, Non est apud se, He is not Himself; Add te redi, Recover yourself, and Sibi redditus est, He is come again to Himself? And accordingly, as Love is more hot, and eager, so is the Madness thence ensuing more incurable, and yet more happy. Now what shall be that future happiness of glorified Saints, which pious Souls here on Earth so earnestly groan for, but only that the Spirit, as the more potent, and prevalent victor, shall overmaster, and swallow up the body; and that the more easily, because, while here below, the several members, by being mortified, and kept in subjection, were the better prepared for this saparating change: and afterward the Spirit itself shall be lost, and drowned in the abyss of Beatisick Vision, so as the whole Man will be then perfectly beyond all its own bounds, and be no otherwise happy than as transported into Ecstasy, and wonder it feels some unspeakable influence from that Omnipotent Being, which makes all things completely blessed by assimilating them to its own likeness? Now although this happiness be then only consummated, when Souls at the general Resurrection shall be reunited to their Bodies, and both be clothed with Immortality. Yet because a Religious life is but a continued meditation upon, and as it were a Transcript of the Joys of Heaven; therefore to such persons there is allowed some relish and foretaste of that pleasure here, which is to be their reward hereafter. And although This indeed be but a small pittance of satisfaction, compared with that future, inexhaustible fountain of Blessedness; yet does it abundantly overbalance all world lie delights, were they all in conjunction set off to their best advantage, so great is the precedency of Spiritual things before Corporeal, of Invisible before Material and Visible. This is what the Apostle gives an eloquent description of, where he says by way of encouragement, That Eye hath not seen, nor Ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive those things, which God hath prepared for them that love him. This likewise is that better part which Mary chose, which shall not be taken from her, but perfected, and completed by her mortal putting on immortality.  
Now those who are thus devoutly affected, (though few there are so) undergo somewhat of strange alteration, which very nearly approaches to Madness: They speak many things at an abrupt, and incoherent rate, as if they were actuated by some possessing Daemon; they make an inarticulate noise, without any distinguishable sense, or meaning; they sometimes screw, and distort their faces to uncouth, and antic looks; at one time beyond measure cheerful, then as immoderately sullen; now sobbing, then laughing, and soon after sighing, as if they were perfectly distracted, and out of their senses. If they have any sober intervals of coming to themselves again, like St. Paul they then confess, that they were caught up they know not where, whether in the body, or out of the body, they cannot tell; as if they had been in a dead sleep, or trance, they remember nothing of what they have heard, seen, said, or done: This they only know, that their past delusion was a most desirable happiness; that therefore they bewail nothing more than the loss of it, nor wish for any greater joy than the quick return of it, and more durable abode for ever: and this (as I have said) is the foretaste, or anticipation of future Blessedness.  
But, I doubt, I have forgot myself, and have already transgressed the bounds of modesty. However, if I have said any thing too confidently, or impertinently, be pleased to consider, that it was spoke by Folly, and that under the person of a Woman; yet at the same time remember the applicableness of that Greek Proverb, 

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,   

A Fool oft speaks a seasonable Truth:   Unless you will be so witty as to object, that this makes no Apology for Me, because the word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 signifies a Man, not a Woman, and consequently my Sex debars me from the benefit of that observation.  
I perceive now, that, for a concluding Treat, you expect a formal Epilogue, and the summing up of all in a brief recitation; but I'll assure you, you are grossly mistaken, if you suppose, that after such a Hodg-podg medley of Speech, I should be able to recollect any thing I have delivered. Beside, as it is an old Proverb, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I hate a Pot-companion with a good memory, so indeed I may as truly say, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I hate a hearer, that will carry any thing away with him. Wherefore, in short, Farewell; Be Jolly, Live long, Drink deep, ye most Illustrious Votaries of FOLLY.  
FINIS.