THE Gentile Sinner, OR, England's Brave GENTLEMAN: Characterised In a Letter to a Friend, Both As he is, and as he should be.  1 Cor. 1. 26. Not many Noble are called. 
— Sanctus haberi,  
Justitiaeque tenax, factis dictisque mereris?  
Agnosco procerem.  juv: Sat. 8. 
OXFORD, Printed by Henry Hall, for Edward and john Forrest, 1660.   

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL, MY HONOURED FRIENDS Sr▪ PHILIP MUSGRAVE Knight and Baronet, AND Sr GEORGE BENNYON Knight, The Author wishes all Grace, Health, and Honour here, & Happiness hereafter.  
Right Worshipful,  
YOu who have been so long a time sharers both in the same great Virtues, and, for them, in the same great Sufferings: be pleased too, to share in this small tribute, for which I have been long indebted to your Goodness. Your Names, I confess, are either of them too great to stand in the front of so inconsiderable a paper as this, wherewith I here present you; and might make a suitable Frontispiece to some far more excellent Tract. Whatever this be, which begs your Candid acceptance, it may perhaps need, but I fear it deserves not, I am sure it does not now come abroad to seek a Patron. The reason why I address it to you, is an Ambition I have, to bring the world better acquainted with so great a part of it's own Treasure: & to make it know, there be yet (after all these draining times) some such Worthy Persons as yourselves; whom even they, who are (to a Christian Stoicism) enemies to the present World, dare both love & honour. Were it my business to seek out an Instance of the Genuine, or a Pattern whereby to correct the Spurious and degenerate Gentleman, I should despair to fit myself better, than I may in You: in whom after so many kill Afflictions the World may yet behold a true Religion and Loyalty surviving your Fortunes. I might well fear, should the Reader know you as well as I, his expectation by the view of your prefixed Names, would be raised too much above the Contents of the following Letter; and therefore I shall, no less out of Charity to mine own Infirmities, then from a due Reverence to that known Modesty which Crowns your many other Noted Virtues, forbear any further to display your Merits: only this I would have the World to know, and do beg you to believe, that I shall ever be industrious to manifest myself  
Right Worshipful Yours in all Christian Services C. E.   

To the REEDER.  
IT is a Formality very much in Fashion of late amongst Writers, to Compliment the Reader, and give him a view of his following Entertainment, in a large preface to every little Pamphlet. I intent not to usher abroad this rude Letter in so great State; neither will I play the Gentleman so much, as to tire out my Reader with feigned Apologies for that Course fair he is like to have anon. I am not without some of those Common Sanctuaries, wherein many Writers can Fancy themselves so secure from all Censure; but I dare not pretend to those I have not, and those I have I 'Slight. Reader, the plain truth is, this Letter is not now sent● out, to prevent or decry any Surreptitious Copy, neither merely to satisfy the Importunity of my friends: Nor yet am I willing so much to Humour either thy Curiosity, or the Common Vanity, as to tell thee what Inducements I had to this Publication; If what thou shalt here read, either Concern or Content thee not, I am sure those cannot.  
Perhaps thou art one of those, who may read their Names and Characters in the former part of the following Letter; If so, it would be time and pains ill lost to talk with thee now. If thou canst be so much the Master of thy Passion, as to read thyself over therein with Patience, and without either Oath or Curse, for the Paper or its Author; I shall begin to hope there may yet be a Possibility of a return to thy self and to thy God. Till then, what ever cause thou hast to Carp at the Book, or Revile the Author; I am bold to tell thee, I have much more, to 'Slight thy Speeches, and Pity thy Folly. I value as little thy Censure, as I have reason to Envy thy Conversation; I dread as much thine Applause as I scorn thy Derision; and this I do no l●sse than I abhor thy life, or pray for thy Conversion.  
When thou art willing to understand what may do thee Good, it will be seasonable for me to say more; and tell thee, that if thou wouldst be a Gentleman, there is a Book extant, which for that End, well deserves thy Study, and thy Practice. At present it is too noble a Jewel to be thrown to such a Swine. If the Courser and more homely Diet I here offer thee, may beget in thee (though by loathing it) a liking to that far richer Dish; It will be then enough for my Ambition, as it is now too much for my Hopes.  
That most Singular piece of Impartial Truth, and unparallelled Ingenuity; of most Cogent Reason, and jusinuating Rhetoric; of most sage Advice, and Religious Instruction; which abundantly Commends it self to thy serious perusal, and its Author (were not his strange Modesty, as much our Enemy, in Concealing his Name; as his Piety and Ingenuity our friends, in discovering his worth) to thy Intimate acquaintance; bears for its Title, what thou by thy Practice labourest to prove a Contradiction, THE GENTLEMAN'S CALLING. This Book would Certainly teach thee to be, didst thou not think thyself too wife to learn, all that becomes a Christian Gentleman: as another Practical piece which for its Excellency is rationally supposed the work of the same Pious and Ingenious hand, would make thee, if used aright, a Christian Man: I mean that Book, the Title whereof speaks much, yet no more than the Contents do verify THE WHOLE DUTY OF MAN. Read these two soberly, and practise them Constantly; and, though thou burnest this paper, thou shalt never persuade me not to think thee a Man, a Gentleman, and a Christian. But if in some or other of thy Mad Moods: thou shalt rage and foam against what here I send thee, play the Critic upon it amidst thy Potts, or make it thy sport and merriment amongst those who cannot think themselves men except they be Frolic and Jolly: the Paper may suffer, and thou may'st spit in my face; but know, I have a Christian name, thou canst not slain; and a Charitable Intention; thou canst as little vitiate, as thou hast hitherto deserved it.  
But if (Sir) you be one of those brave souls, whose Merits are above their Names; whose Honours are not dumb Idols, neither their Virtue's shadows; and yet vouchsafe to east an Eye, upon this flat and unstudied piece of mere Obedience: Your Candour will save me the Customary Ceremony of a long Apology; seeing I am assured you can sooner pardon an Hundred faults, than the other find one; your Goodness by a constant practice of all virtues being as much augmented, as his Judgement by an Endless succession of most sottish debaucheries is daily Impaired.  
Whosoever you be, who chance to hit upon this paper; let it suffice you to know, that it is but a Letter; and that, an Imperfect birth after a Fortnight's labour. It had never ventured so far abroad, had not better eyes then, the Author's directed it forth. The best on't is, Censures I regard not, Frowns I fear not, Criticisms I smile at, and Derisions I laugh at. The Style ('tis true) is rough; I had rather be told of it, then lose so much time as to smooth it: Many things are Blunt and ●lat, It is my Humour, often to prefer a plain truth, before a Witty Fancy: The Phrase in many places is tart, and provoking; I hope it will appear in all my Actions, that I study not to please, but profit. Reader, Call me what thou wilt, Stoic, or Fool, or Clown, or Madman, I am willing, with all my heart, to seem any or all of these, to reform a Sinner. If in any place thou think'st I deal uncivilly with thee; give me leave to ask thee where? If in the former part, What business hadst thou there. Either thou art indeed the man there described, and then, why art thou angry, that I say the truth? Or else thou art one of the Better st& keep thee then in thine own place, and, I am Confident, I shall do thee right. Art thou the true Gentleman? thou canst not so far mistake thyself, as to think the Character of the false will fit thee: Art thou the False? Thine own Confession quits me of the Scandal: And I hope thou shalt here find thyself so much in thine own Colours, that thou shalt be so far out of love with thyself, as to know the least Commendation of thee could be no less than a flattery. If this little labour of mine may do thee good, it is therefore worthy of thine acceptance, and I bid thee heartily welcome: If thou seest nothing in it worth the reading, use thy freedom, I may lose my labour, neither thou nor I shall ever lose my charity.  
Instead of a longer preface, I commend to thy reading the words of a Reverend Doctor, whose exemplary Piety, Learning, judgement, Moderation are sufficiently known to the greatest part of our English Nation.  

Dr SANDERSON in his Sermon on the 1 Cor. 7. 24.  
As for our (mere or parcel) Gallant, who live in no settled course of life, but spend half the day in Sleeping, half the night in gaming, and the rest of their time in other pleasures and vanities, to as little purpose as they can devise; as if they were born for nothing else but to eat and drink, and snort and sport; who are spruce and trim as the Lilies (Solomon i● all his Royalty was not clothed like one of these:) yet they neither sow, nor reap, nor carry into Barn; they neither labour, nor Spin, nor do any thing else for the good of humane society: Let them know, there is not the poorest Contemptible Creature, that crieth Oysters and Kitchenstuff in the streets, but deserveth his bread better, than they; and his course of life is of better esteem with God, and every sober wise man, than theirs. A Horse, that is neither good for the way, nor the cart, nor the race, nor the Wars, nor any other service; let him be of never so good a breed, never so well marked and shaped; yet he is but a jade: his Master setteth no store by him, thinketh his meat ill-bestowed on him; Every man will say, better knock him on the head then keep him; his skin, though not much worth, is yet better worth than the whole beast besides.  
Consider this, you that are of Noble and Generous birth. Look unto the Rock, whence you were hewn; and to the pit, whence you were digged. Search your Pedigrees; Collect the Scattered Monuments and Histories of your Ancestors: and observe by what steps your worthy Progenitors raised their houses to the height of Gentry and Nobility. Scarce shall you find a man of them, that gave any accession, or brought any noted eminency to his house; but either serving in the Camp, or sweeting at the Bar, or waiting at the Court, or adventuring on the Seas, or trucking in his Shop, or some other way industriously bestirring himself in some settled Calling, and Course of life. You usurp their Arms, if you inherit not their Virtues: and those ensigns of honour and Gentry which they by industry achieved, sit no otherwise upon your shoulders, than as rich trappings upon Asses backs; which serve but to render the poor beast more ridiculous. If you by brutish sensuality, and spending your time in swinish luxury, slain the colours, and embase the metals of those badges of your Gentry and Nobility, which you claim by descent: think, when we worship or honour you, we do but flout you; and know, the titles we in Courtesy give you, we bestow upon their memories, whose degenerate offspring you are, and whose Arms you unworthily bear; and they do no more belong to you, than the reverence the good man did to Isis; belonged to the Ass that carried her Image.    

The CONTENTS.  

SECT. 1.  
THe Gallant. pag. 9  
§. 1. His names. p. 10.  
§. 2. His Nature in General. p. 15.  
§. 3. His Calling or Employment. p. 20.  
§. 4. His Education and Breeding. p. 23.  
§. 5. His Habit and Garb. p. 28.  
§. 6. His Language and discourse. p. 31.  
§. 7. His Religion and Conversation. p. 39  
§. 8. An Apology for this part of the Character. p. 44.   

SECT. 2.  
§. 1. THe Second sort of degenerate Gentlemen. p. 48.  
§. 2. Several sorts of such Gentlemen. p. 50.  
§. 3. The Provident Gentleman. p. 53.  
§. 4. The Prudent Gentleman. p. 60.  
§. 5. The Peaceable Gentleman. p. 69.  
§. 6. The Stately Gentleman. p. 75.  
§. 7. The Conclusion of this part. p. 83.  
§. 8. A more particular Application of this Character. p. 85.  
§. 9 The Winner and loser in these times p. 88  
§. 10. How good●Englishmen these Gentlemen are. p. 94.   

SECT. 3.  
THe true Gentleman.  
§. 1. An Apologetical Introduction. p. 98.  
§. 2. His general Character. p. 100  
§. 3. His chief Honour and dignity. p. 105.  
§. 4. His Outside and Apparel. p. 108.  
§. 5. His Discourse and Language. p. 113.  
§. 6. His Behaviour and Civility. p. 122.  
§. 7. His Inside. p. 126.  
§. 8. His Command over himself. p. 129.  
§. 9 His Magnanimity and Humility. p. 133.  
§. 10. His Charity and Temperance p. 139.  
§. 11. His Valour and Prudence. p. 144.  
§. 12. His Behaviour in both Fortunes. p. 149.  
§. 13. His Respect and Affection for his Country. p. 156.  
§. 14. His Studies and Recreations. p. 162.  
§. 15. His Good-husbandry. p. 170.  
§. 16. His Religion. p. 172.  
§. 17. The Conclusion of this Charactér. p. 178.   

SECT. 4.  
§. 1. HOw few true Gentlemen now in England. p. 182.  
§. 2. An Enquiry into the more Civil sort of our English Gentry. p. 191.  
§. 3. An Appeal to the Gentleman's Conscience. p. 199.  
§. 4. Motives to the Gentleman to be Indeed Religious, and first of Common Civility. p. 204.  
§. 5. A second motive from Shame and Disgrace. p. 212.  
§. 6. A third Motive from Equity. p. 218.  
§. 7. A fourth motive from Honour and Reputation. p. 234.  
§. 8. The Conclusion and sum of all. p. 242.    
THE GENTILE SINNER, OR England's Brave-Gentleman.  

Honoured Sir,  
I Am very much indebted to your most obliging Goodness, for that great and undeserved Freedom, you were pleased to allow me in our last Discourse: And I am so Confident to meet with the same Goodness still, that I shall not fear to express as great a Boldness in these following lines.  
With Gentlemen, I very much love to be talking of Gentlemen; with him that is a Gentleman indeed, that in his language (for in better, I am sure, I cannot) I may learn how to shame his Counterfiet; and with him too, who has no more than the bare Name, that I may thereby gain an opportunity of proposing to him something better than himself, as a fit object of his Love and Imitation. I confess I am often apt, more than well becomes me in the presence of Persons of your Quality, to inveigh somewhat Satirically against such as this wanton Age of the World loves to miscall by so good a name; which might give any man of less Candour and Courtesy than Yourself (Sir) a just occasion of judging me more Bold then Wise. What your resentments were of my last unpondered expressions, I know not; But if in any of them I gave offence, I dare hope you will make your late Commands pass for my Sentence, and let this prosecution of that too Inconsiderate discourse (I beseech you) serve for my penance.  
You were pleased to require a Summary of my thoughts concerning our Present English Gentleman, both as to what he is, and what he should be. I must not tax you of Indiscretion, by telling you how ill you have placed your Commands; and therefore I shall rather choose to show you your Charitable mistake, by my ready Obedience; then by an unseasonable Modesty, seem to question your judgement: The task enjoined me is in itself so odious, that nothing less than that highest respect I have for the worthy Imposer, could make it welcome; and it carries so great a disproportion to my weaker Faculties, that nothing, but too great an affection in you (Sir) could make it appear possible. To tell you, what the Gentleman is, requires an experience; and to say what he should be, must suppose a Breeding far above mine.  
If by the Gentleman, you mean him whose real virtues are such as have indeed merited him the name; I could go a very compendious way to work, and show you him in as fair a piece as Virtue can draw, or the World imitate, by directing your eye to that object which best deserves it▪ You must needs know yourself too well, (Sir) to be Ignorant whom I mean. But for the other, whom we then took the boldness to talk of, you cannot, I hope, imagine, that one so little acquainted with the present Garbs and Modes of the world, as without blushing I dare confess myself to be, should be able to present you with his perfect portraiture.  
To be short, Sir, You are too well acquainted with the true Gentleman, to think you shall ever read him any where better described than you find him at home; and I am too little acquainted with his counterfeit, to presume I may be able to give you an exact Character of him, till I use to go more, than I hope in hast I shall do, abroad. However, I had rather betray my. Ignorance of what I could never yet esteem well worth my knowledge; then the least disrespect to a Person, whose long-experienced Goodness hath abundantly merited the best of my services. Such a prospect therefore as I could have of him, whilst immured up within the narrow compass of a Dark Study, I shall make bold to lay open before your eye; and, in as plain English as I can, tell you what I think both of the Man and his shadow.  
But before I begin to describe him, I find it necessary for me to premise unto you this cautious request— That you would be pleased to believe I do not make nor take pleasure to see those wounds, which you have persuaded me to uncover; for I cannot but foresee too many of them, through Imprudence and Negligence, so altogether festered and Nauseous, that as they will try your patience to behold them, so will they even dare your faith to believe them: And this I shall further beg of you, that seeing to serve you I am forced to take the Liberty of a more open, and sometimes biting expression; you would not debar me of the Privilege of an Impartial, yet friendly, Censurer; one who had much rather lose a friend, then tolerate a fault: Or the beneficial Severity of a Faithful Chirurgeon, who is allowed often to make the smart the forerunner of the Cure, and is excusable, though sometimes he seem so hardhearted as to disregard the lamentable outcries, and most moving groans of his afflicted patient; not sparing his Probe, till he have throughly searched the wound.  
I must in Good Earnest tell the Gentleman, how much my Pity and Commiseration outgo my Reprehensions and reproofs: And that my hearty prayers both now are, and ever shall be much more for him, than my unpleasing Invectives can be against him. The later are only sent out to invite him to take some Knowledge and Compassion of himself; but the former ascend as high as Heaven to Implore God's Mercy and Pity towards him. For I know it (let him entertain as flattering thoughts as he will of himself) the world has not had since the fall of Adam a more miserable Spectacle, than this poor wretched Leper, the Debauched Gentleman: who, doubtless, were he not so Complacently accessary to his own Misery, So obstinately bend upon and solicitously studious of his own overthrow, would be no oftener beheld then pitied.  
But seeing his daily practice persuades me, that his main industry is a Design to ruin himself, his Constant Profession an open Defiance to his Happiness; seeing his chief delight seems to be placed in looking upon his own sores, and his Continual Study is how to increase them: Seeing he esteems nothing so dangerous as real goodness, and every day proclaims open Hostility against whatever shall bring along with it that unwelcome charity of preserving him from Hell: Seeing he labours to express a deadly feud betwixt himself and his own soul, and dreads no torments so much as the joys of Heaven: Seeing the business of his whole life is to spoil a Gentleman: Without all doubt, the safest way now to be his friend is to seem his enemy, the readiest means of making the Christian is to vex the Gentleman, and the hopefullest method of healing his sores, is first to seratch them till they smart. There's no way to deal with a man in a Swoon, but to pinch him by the Nose, and to dash Cold water in his face, when he is thus brought to himself, he may be capable of a Cordial: Thus indeed must we be constrained to deal with the Gentleman, who is not only void of all spiritual life, but even of all common sense: We must handle him a little more roughly than what he will think Civility, that so we may at length force him to open his eyes, to see how much he is mistaken in what he calls so. If after all this he will persist to call me his enemy, I shall only profess my sorrow for this, that he has l●st the benefit intended him by my pains; Not at all that I have missed the reward of his Commendation and thanks; these I shall then first be ambitious of enjoying, when I shall be assured that he is so much become a New man, that I need not fear his Commendations may prove Scandals, or his thanks reproaches. Till when here he has my Confession, I am his utter Enemy: and let him take my Resolution too along with it, so I am resolved to continue till I can see him, more than yet he is, his own friend: Then, I am sure, he will without a prompter acknowledge, that thus to appear his Enemy was the only way he had left me to befriend him.  
With this resolution (Sir) and Confidence, I shall venture, first to give you a short Character of him as it stands legible in his common practice and Conversation; where, that he may not have so much as a pretence to be angry, I shall only write after that Copy himself has set me, and le's lie every where wide open to the view of the world: And having done this, I shall in a very few words characterise the man I would see, and tell you what I suppose, you know, God Expects, and his own Name and profession do witness he ought to be.   

SECT. I.  
The Gallant.  
TO give you My sense of the Gentleman in a word, He is, I know not what. I no sooner cast my eye upon him, but (alas) I see too little to love, enough to Pity, more to abhor, and in all too much to be expressed. 'Tis usual with us to call man a little world, and truly the Gentleman may well be compared to that which is more ancient, the Old Chaos, when the numerous parts of this larger world, lay confusedly therein, intermixed and jumbled together, without Form or Order; Before the Omnipotent Wisdom of the Great God had created any such thing here below as Method or Beauty: Such an undigested Mass and heap of Every thing, have we here met withal, and nothing perfect: Only herein the Similitude fails, for supposing such an unformed heap, yet had there been nothing therein but what were to be confessed the work of God's hands and therefore very good; But here (alas) is almost nothing left that God created, but every thing so altogether evil, that hardly so much of that we call goodness appears, as a bare possibility of becoming so.  

§. 1. His Names.  
If there be such a Sin in the abuse of words as some do think there is; and if it be true, that a great part of this abuse lies in giving names unto things contrary to their Natures, never was there a greater error of this kind committed then here, for never Honest name was more abused, than this of Gentleman; Indeed it is to be feared, that having been so long misapplied, it will at last find the like hard measure, with those other once more Honest Names of Tyrant and Sophister; and from a Title of Honour degenerate into a term of the greatest disgrace and Infamy. It is indeed already made to be of no better a signification then this, to Denote a Person of a Licentious and an unbridled life; for though it be as 'tis used, a word of a very uncertain and equivocal sound, and given at Random to Persons of far different, nay Contrary both Humours, descents, and merits, yet if we look upon him that in this sad age comes first in play, and carries both the Feather and the Bell, as the first Horse in the Team, away from all the rest; a Gentleman must be thought only such a man, as may without Control do what he lists, and sin with applause: One that esteems it base and ungentile, to Fear a God, to own a Law, or Practise a Religion; One who has studied to bring Sin so much into Fashion, and with so much unhappy Success, that he is now accounted a Clown that is not proud to be thought a Sinner; and he as ridiculous as an Antique, who will not, without all Scruple, proclaim himself an Atheist.  
Some of the wisest in the present world, have of a long time, (ashamed, I suppose, to be known by the same name with such a Monster) thought it more fit to call him Spark or Raunter; and indeed the former Name carries so much of the Fire of Hell in the ●ignification, the other so much of the noise of Hell in the sound, as may almost suit with the Gentleman's Actions. But the proudest vice is ashamed to wear it's own face long; Nor dare I believe the Devil to be much in love with his own Name; I am sure neither is willing to be thought such as in truth they are; but wickedness has worn virtue's mask quite threadbare; and Satan hath so often appeared like an Angel of Light, that 'tis now evident, he is not enamoured of his own Form. And thus had the Gentleman too, rather deserve then wear the devil's Livery; though he be willing enough to be the man, yet he abhors the Name. Thus he thinks virtue and vice, like his Honour and Reputation, no more, but the creatures of Popular breath; and that his eternal Happiness (as his Temporal estate) is entailed upon the bare Name alone; and by a little alteration of that, he may (when he pleases) translate his Title from Hell to Heaven: So fond Solicitous he is (that I may use his own Language) to Trapan his own Soul, and by the Lamentable Imposture of a Borrowed Name cheat her out of a most Glorious Inheritance.  
Hence he endeavours a little more to Civilize the Title, and calls himself in a more pleasing language Gallant. In this he is apt to Fancy charm enough to bring even Heaven itself in love with him; and make it as the trees did Orpheus, to follow him whithersoever he goeth; and certainly so it must, and with some speed too, or he shall never see it, seeing he is always running, as fast as he can, the quite Contrary way. But, alas, this is all he is like to gain by the pitiful exchange; that whereas the ungrateful sound of the former names, did so startle the Devil, that he was ready to quit his habitation, either as jealous of a Rival in the very words, or else afraid of a Discovery, hearing his own names become so Common; he is now bribed to stay by the Flattery of this later, and securely Lodges in the Gallant's breast, without the lest fear of Disturbance.  
But seeing the Gallant is so great a lover of New Names, I hope he will not be troubled, If I make bold to add one more, and call him with no less reason, but in more words, The Devil's Ghost. For whilst Satan is put to a large expense of Time and Pains to Haunt and Seduce others, Here he meets with one not half so coy, but such an one as by his unseasonable kindness, seems to be a trouble rather, to the very Fiend, by haunting the Devil. And doubtless, if he go but on half so fast a while longer, as he has done of late years, He will tyre and Puzzle the whole numerous H●ste of Hell to Invent a variety of objects answerable to that of his Humours.  
To speak him out a little more plainly; our English Gentleman, as now a days we commonly meet him, is such a strange kind of thing, that no one name will fit him. Such an Heterogeneous Soul he is, that no less than a Combination of all the vices in the World must be summoned in to make up a Partial Description of him: Of an Essential Definition I dare hardly think him Capable, lest thereby granting him a Complete Essence, I should be forced, at lest in a Metaphysical Notion, to call him Good. Goodman is a title he hath ever much scorned, and it is that which (If yet his pride will afford him any) he very truly thinks the fittest Compellation for the poor honest Labourer. The same he will sometimes vouchsafe to bestow upon those few Tenants his Prodigality has spared him. Such a Complicacy of Evils goes to his Constitution, that ere we shall be able to fit him with a name, we must borrow it from Satan himself and call him Legion. As sin and vanity make up his very Essence; so can nothing but wonder and shame Compose his Character.   

§. 2. His Nature in General.  
You have heard his name, and now take a farther General description of him thus. The Gallant is a Pretty, neat, Fantastical Outside of a man, and if you dare always believe your eye, 'tis not unlikely you may (now and then) be so much deceived, as to think him Something. But a true man you can never Imagine him, he hath too long ago shaked hands with his Reason, and now counts it the greatest degree of Baseness in the world, to live what Nature made him, or to seem beholding for any thing unto aught but his own Humour.  
He is a well-digested bundle of most Costly vanities, and he is evermore tumbling up and down the streets to gather more of that same Chargeable Dirt: as if he should have enough to excuse his sin, when he can at once say, it is both glorious and Costly. You may call him a Volume of Methodical Erratas bound up in a gilt Cover, and his only commendation is this, that his disorders seem to be orderly; and his Errors not Casual but Studied, and he can tell how to sin most Ingeniously. He is a Curiously wrought Cabinet full of Shells and other Trumpery, which were much better quite Empty, then so emptily full. He is a piece of ordinary clay stuck round with Bristol Diamonds, Pretty sparkling things, which for a time might perhaps make a gay show in a fool's Cap, or on a Dunghill, But in a Lapidary's shop amongst true stones, have only so much lustre left as will prove themselves to be but Counterfeit. Such a Silly Glow-worm may look like a little Star in the Dark, but it's Splendour is always sure to be benighted with the Rising Sun. 'Tis no small advantage for this fine Sir to live in this Night of the world, where that very darkness of Ignorance which obscures the great virtues of so many good men, is the only thing that makes his wildfires so visible as to be taken notice of. He is the Rich Scabbard of a Leaden Spirit, and that very dulness of mettle, makes him endure so long in the world, whilst the keener zeal of nobler Souls, soon makes their way for them through the Scabbard into Heaven. I do heartily wish he would give us no reason to call him, the painted Sepulchre of a Soul Dead and Rotten in Trespasses and sins: If this Comparison will ever fit any man that is no Hypocrite, certainly 'tis the Swaggaring Gentleman.  
He is a man's skin full of prophanenesses, a Paradise full of weeds, an Heaven full of Devils, or Satan's Bedchamber too richly hung with Arras of God's Own making: such an Excellency would he fain hold in the basest Iniquity. He can be thought no better than a Promethean Man, at best but a lump of animated dirt kneeded into Humane Shape, and if he have any such thing as a Soul (which he shall hardly be able to persuade any man to believe that sees how little care he takes to save it) it seems to be patched up of vice and Bravery.  
If you would come acquainted with his pedigree, let Sin be your Herald, and it will be sufficient to tell you, he was the Son of an Offender. His very name enough to blast the Nobility of all that went before him, and to breathe a perpetual disgrace upon the sleeping ashes of his worthy Progenitors. There may be some question made, whether he needs fear going to Hell or no at his death; because he has been so well acquainted with it in his life-time; whither if he have not leave every day to take his full Carrier, he think, his Soul bereaved of her Christian Liberty; as if he had no other way left him of Imitating the blessed Saviour of mankind, but by often descending into Hell. O what a piece of Gallantry is it now a days for a man to give his Soul to the Devil in a Frolic! It is the part of a Gentlemen to outbrave Damnation, and not to be daunted with the thoughts of a future judgement: A retreat into Sobriety would betray such an Effeminacy of spirit, as might argue him in love with a Religion; and make the world believe he were such a Coward as might be Frighted into Piety. Every petty sinner can outface an Earthly, he'll do his best to out-vapour an Heavenly Tribunal; and make it appear unto all, that a Gentleman has a Spirit, dares go to Hell, before he will be said to fear it. Indeed he alone seems to have the art of turning Nature upside-down, and will only be a perfect man at the Pap, when he is weaned he gives both his humanity and Innocence to his Nurse for her wages, I am sure he is rarely, if ever, after that time, seen to have either about him. In short, The Gentleman is nothing that he should be: His whole life is a flat Contradiction to his duty; His constant study is to teach his Body how to put affronts upon his soul, and to give him the lie who dares tell him there are any hopes it may be saved; He laughs at him that tells him there is any other Heaven then that of his own creating, any other happiness besides his pleasures, or an Hell divers from that which Christianity has objected to the Coward's Fancy. He has the Courage to be any thing but what he should be, an Honest man or a Good Christian.   

§. 3. His Calling or Employment.  
The Gallant's General Calling and Employment is, to scorn all business, but the Study of the Modes and Vices of the times: and herein he spares not to rack his brains, and rob his soul as much of her Natural as her Spiritual rest, to supply the wanton world with variety of Inventions. He takes an especial care that nothing may ever appear old about him, but the Old Man of Sin, and him he every day exposes to Public view in a several Dress, that (if it be possible) he may persuade the world to believe that all there is New too. Indeed so miserably happy is he in Inventions of this sinful Nature, that any man, who had not a Spiritual eye, to discern the same Proud and Luxurious Devil in all his Actions, would almost think he had a new Nature as well as a New Suit for every day throughout the Year.  
Thus he that thinks it so much below him, to be reckoned amongst the Labourers in God's House or Vineyard; and disdains to receive his Penny, with those he should call his brethren, either as a Reward, or a Gratuity; but seems rather to expect it as a Debt, or Portion due by Inhaeritance: Yet is he Content to sit all day long in Satan's Shop, one of his Slavish Prentices or journeymen, who feeds him with course and Empty Husks here, and will reward him with an Hellfull of torments for his labour hereafter.  
He is all but a Proud and Glistering Mass of Swaggering Idleness: and he makes it his chief Study to Demonstrate to the world, how many several ways Idleness has found out to be busy. He takes this for granted (as well he may) that he is not Idle but Dead that does just Nothing. It is his task ever to be doing, Nothing to a Good but much to a bad or no Purpose. Though he may often seem to sit still, and not to move so much as a little finger, yet even then is his soul close at work, plotting and Contriving how he may for the time to come be most Pausibly Idle. He acts so little for the Public Good, as if he were afraid he should be thought a Member of Mankind; or as if the only business God intended him, were but to take care, that he continue breathing. He lives indeed as if he meant to prove, that God Almighty had made him to no other End but this, to show the world that he could make something whereof he had no need when made; as if whilst he created other men for use and Service, he intended him only, as Artists do some of their neat●st but Slightest pieces of work to stand upon the stall, or hang out for a sign at the Shop-windows, to show passengers with what the Shop is furnished within. Or if you will, you may look upon him as upon the painted sign of a Man hung up in the Air, only to be tossed to and fro, with every wind of Temptation and Vanity. Such a vain shadow or Picture is he, that were there no more but himself I should take the boldness to Affirm there were no such Creature as a Man in the world.  
To me he seems of no more worth than a Piece of Out-cast Iron, lying useless upon the face of the Earth, till his soul be even eaten away with Rust and Sleath. God made him a Man, but to prove himself his own God by a Second Creation, he endeavours to make himself a Bruit, nay a senseless Carcase that only Cumbers the Earth, & is fit for nothing but to dung the ground it lies upon, and Stink in the Nostrils of the most High. If ever he Sweat, it is in pursuit of a feather, at his play and sport, in running away from his Work, and in the chase after his Ease: And yet even in that he can never rest, this indeed being the Natural fruit of Idleness, that it makes the Sluggard weary, not only of whatsoever he doth, but even of Idleness itself.   

§. 4. His Education and Breeding.  
So soon as his age is capable of Instruction and Discipline he is sent to School, or rather by reason of too great an Indulgence in his fond Parents, the School is brought home to him; where if the foolish Mother do not more awe the Schoolmaster, than he his Scholar, the Rod and an empty purse together do for a while preserve him himself: But it shall not be long, ere he find room enough abroad in the world, wherein he may lose himself again. Yet truly it is a great rarity in this age, to see the earliest Morning of Youth, unclouded by the fumes and vapours of lust. It being too usual a thing with the debauched father, to make his child, as we use to say, over early his Father's own Son.  
Most Gentlemen seem to make it a special piece of their fatherly care to stave off their Children as long as they can from Virtue and Religion; lest therein resembling better men than their Fathers, some might take occasion to think them Spurious. To infuse so early into the Young Child the graver Notions of God and Goodness, were to make him Old before his time, and these would look no better than so many wrinkles and furrows in the fresh cheeks of an infant: alas, what were this but an unspiriting of the Child and laying an unseasonable Damp upon the comely sprightfulness of youth? 'Tis fit he should be manned up by bold and daring exercises, and as men use their Hounds, be blooded now▪ when he is young. Divinity & Morality are supposed to much to mollify and emasculate the brave soul of a Young Gentleman, and make it of too soft and facile a temper for Noble and Generous actions. To instruct him how hereafter he should manfully resist his Enemies, he shall first be taught to fight against God and Goodness. It is indeed most lamentable to consider how very few of those we call Gentlemen endeavour to make their Children either Honest men or Good Christians: as if it were their only business to beget them, and when they are come into the world, to teach them by their own example, how they may most unprofitably spend the short leave of their own Luxury. Thus at their death leave they them doubly Miserable in bequeathing them, first, little to live upon, and secondly, many ways to spend it. Indeed the greatest Charity and providence in such Prodigal Parents, were either not to beget Children at all, or to beget them mere beggars, that so they might not give them, with their estates, so many unhappy opportunities of becomeing altogether as bad as themselves.  
But the Hopeful Youth must be a Gentleman, and in all hast he must be sent to see the University or Inns of Court; and that before he well knows what it is to go to School. Whither he comes, not to get Learning or Religion, but for breeding, that is, to enable himself hereafter to talk of the Customs and Fashions of the Place. Here he gets him a Tutor, and keeps him (as he doth all things else) for Fashion's sake. Such an one who may serve at least, as poor Boys do in some Prince's Courts, to sustain the blame of the Young Gentleman's Miscarriages, and whom the father may chide and beat when the Son is found in a fault: Indeed this care is taken for the good Tutor, that if his Scholar chance to return home (as too seldom he does) with either Scholarship or Piety, he shall then have the Credit or Discredit (call it which you will) of making the Scholar, or spoiling the Gentleman; seeing his parents had taken order he should bring neither of the two along with him. Here perhaps he is permitted to continue a year or two, if he have no mother upon whom he must bestow at least three parts of that time in visits, else his Father knows not well where he may with more Credit loose so much good time, or is it may be afraid it will be a greater trouble to keep him at Home. In this time he will, in all probability have learned how to make choice of his boon Companions, how to rail at the Statutes and break all good Orders; How to wear a Gaudy Suit and a Torn Gown; To curse his Tutor by the name of Baal's Priest, and to sell more books in half an Hour than he had bought him in a year; To forget the second year what perhaps for want of acquaintance with the Vices of the place he was forced for a Pastime to learn in the first; and then he thinks he has learning enough for him and his heirs for ever.  
And now that he may be able to maintain his title to so wretched an estate, it is time he should be hastened away to some Inn of Court, there to study the Law as he did the Liberal Arts and Sciences in the College. Here his pretence is to study and follow the Law, but it's his Resolution never to know or obey it; If in any measure he do apply himself to it, it is to this one end, that he may know how to plead for himself when he breaks it: or to attain at last to so much more Law than Honesty, as to Cozen him that has more Honesty then Law. Here indeed he learns to be (in his Notion of the Man) somewhat more a Gentleman then before, having now the Mock-happinesse of a Licentious life, and a Manumission from the Tyranny (as he terms it) of a Schoolmaster and Tutor. This he reckons the happy year of his Enfranchisement, and in Commemoration whereof his whole life-time is to be one continued day of rejoicing. From this time forward he resolves to be a Gentleman indeed, and now begins to clear himself from all Suspicion of Goodness, which Constraint and Fear, made some believe there was a Possibility of before.   

§. 5. His Habit and Garb.  
As his Condition of life seems now to be New, so does he endeavour that all should appear New about him except his vices and his Religion; He is too much in love with those, to change them, and the latter he cannot change, because he never had any. Pride and Wantonness have a very rare and ready invention: here's a New Garb, New clothes, and a New body too, O could he but once get him a New Soul or no Soul he might be thought happy. When you look upon his Apparel, you will be apt to say, he wears his Heaven upon his back; and truly ('tis too much to be feared) there you see as much of it, as he ever shall. He is so tricked up in Gauderies, as if he had resolved to make his Body a Lure for the Devil, and with this Bravery would make a bate, should tempt the Tempter to fall in love with him. He looks as if he had prevented our first Mother in sinning, and wanting patience to stay for the fruit, had plucked the very blossoms, and now wore them about him for Ornaments. His Suit seems to be made of Lace or Ribbon, trimmed with Cloth. By his variety of Fashions he goes nigh to cheat his Creditors, who for this reason dare never swear him to be the same man they formerly had to deal withal. His Mercer may very well be afraid to lose him in a Labyrinth of his own cloth, which yet sits, or hangs (shall I say) for the most part so loosely about him, as if it were ever ready to fly away for fear of the Sergeant. Alas, how often is he proud of a Feather in his hat, which a silly Bird was but a while ago weary of carrying in her tail? Do but take him in that condition wherein you may commonly be sure to find him, he will make a complete walking Tavern. His head and Feather will serve both for sign and Bush.  
If you observe but a little his strange Garb and Behaviour, either that wherein he walks the streets, or that other more set and affected one reserved for his form of Compliment; You would conclude he were going to show Tricks; I am sure he wants nothing but a stage erected for the purpose. He takes as much care and pains to new-mold his Body at the Dancing-School; as if the only shame he feared were the retaining of that Form which God and Nature gave him. Sometimes he walks as if he went in a Frame, again as if both head and every member of him turned upon Hinges. Every step he takes presents you with a perfect Puppit-play. And Rome itself could not in an Age have shown you more Antiques than one of our Gentlemen is able to imitate in Half an hour: whose whole life is indeed no other than one studied imitation of all the vanities Imaginable; and by his daily practice, a man would guess there could be no such ready way invented of becoming a Gentleman, as to degenerate first into that Beast, which now, if ever, is most like a man, an Ape. Such an Honourable creature has he made himself, who accounts it below him to be numbered among the ordinary sort of men.   

§. 6. His Language and Discourse.  
His Language and Discourse are altogether suitable to his Habit and Garb; All affected and Apish, but indeed for the most part much more vile, sinful and Abominable. When it is most Innocent, then is it Idle and Light, and then most acquaint and Rhetorical, when Drolling or profane. Although he make it his whole business whensoever he dares be Bookish (which indeed he dreads as much as any thing but to be Good) to furnish himself with an Elegant and Courtlike expression; yet will all but amount to this at most, that sometimes he may be able to talk well, and show us how much he is a better Speaker than a man: That he shall be able to carve out his Language into some of the most Modish and Dissembling Compliments, and to Interlard an affected discourse, with many an Impertinent Parenthesis. And then amidst all this his Time-observing hand and foot do so point, accent and Adorn all with Curious and Fantastic flourishes, that his words are often as much lost in his Actions, as his sense in his words.  
A piece of noisy Bombast denominates him one of the great Wits, where the Substance of his discourse (if it have any) is dressed up in so rude and Antique a form; that staring (as it were) the hearer in his face, it goes nigh to scare him out of his Wits.  
If Don Quixot or some Romance more in Fashion, can but furnish him with a few New-coyned words, and an Idle tale or two to make up his talk at the next Ordinary▪ In his own fond Conceit and by the votes of his simple Companions, he is carried up to Heaven; a wanton piece of Drollery will send him beyond it.  
To be truly Ingenious is not the way to Humour his Frolic Companions, and therefore he is put to study out something else which must serve for a while instead of wit, and 'tis strange, he can think of nothing will do this so well as flat foolery; for most perfectly such is that Dr●lling vein wherein he is so frequently industrious to show himself a witty fool; What a learned age is this we live in, when he is the best Companion for a Gentleman, who can best act the Rustic, and most facilely Imitate the rudeness and flatness of his language? and when he alone must be esteemed the Wit, who can neatliest play the fool to Humour Madmen? To be sober or serious in the Gentleman's Dictionary, signifies just as much as to be Dull and Bl●ckish. A Fancy which dares not roave about, beyond the limits of Sobriety and Discretion, nor proclaim herself to be most affectedly profane, or as industriously vain and Idle, is a Bird that has no note sweet enough for his Cage. 'tis a wonderful thing to see, how the Apish Ingenuity of this Age, has cut the very throat of all sober Invention, and Genuine wit. A mimical tone, a Fantastic action, a Couchant sense, and a Phrase Rampant, quarter the Coat of our Modern Gentile Wit. Such are the Spongy Ears of most Companions, that they will suck in nothing but froth: And the Gentleman looks upon him as a poor solitary fool, who will not thus make himself on Ass for Company.  
But (alas) all these are but he Innocent recreations of his Tongue, wherein it sport's itself in its Infancy, ere it attain to that nimbleness and volubility of expression which becomes a Gentleman. He is not always delighted in these soft walks; but as he grows more a man, he chooses him rougher paths, and more manly exercises. By degrees he steps up from Idleness, and Emptiness, foolery & Drollery, to Scurrility & obloquy; when at every step he tramples some Good Man's Honour in the Dust; at each word he spits in the face of his Betters, and labours to bespatter with the Dirt of Infamy and Disgrace, every name and reputation, that stands above his own: And you may be sure he will ever throw the blackest dirt upon the fairest face, where it may certainly do the greatest mischief, and be most conspicuous. Like an experienced Archer, he never misses the white; but (as good luck is) such is the Impenitrability of Innocence, when darted at by the poisoned arrows of Envy, he never holes it. If this black breath of his could blow out, or eclipse those lights that shine brightest, we should not have one star left in virtue's Heaven: And those lights which were sent into the world to guide him timely and truly out of it into a better, he first endeavours to extinguish, that so he may without check or shame wander through all the works of darkness into Hell. What so often in his mouth, as that which he never names but with the deepest accent of scorn and disdain, a Paltry Parson? And he does not stick often to tell him to his face, that when he comes to have as much wit as zeal, he will begin to tell him another tale then that of Heaven; that he may do well to keep him to his tub, and tell a precise story once or twice a week, to his Ignorant Auditors in his Countrey-Church, and forbear to read lectures of Godliness to persons whom he should be afraid to look upon but at a Distance. That he brought more learning from school with him, than all the Canonical Cassocks and Girdles in the Nation, with all their tough Logical Notions and knotty Metaphysics shall be ever able to Contain. With a thousand more such like raveings of a wild and Atheistical brain. I shall willingly forbear to personate him any farther in them, lest he might think me able (as I hope I shall never be) to reach the Frantic strain of his loose and profane Railleryes.  
Neither are his Discourses less Beastly than Devilish, less Filthy than Malicious. So foul, obseane, and nauseous for the most part are his words, that some one or other as little acquainted with a God as himself, will be apt to conclude, that nature spoiled him in the making, and set his Mouth at the wrong end of his Body. Certainly there must be a Corrupted and putrified Soul within, whence there daily steames out so much odious and stinking breath. Indeed so strangely is the Gentleman's Palate distempered by this same loathsome Disease, that he can now relish just nothing but the very Excrements of Discourse. He is not only taken with the wanten language and Lascivious Dialect of Love, wherein to accomplish himself, he makes it too much his buesyness to collect what he can out of all the loose pastorals, Beastly Poems, and Bawdy pieces of Drollery, which by their number seem to turn our Booksellers shops into so many jakes: But he takes a great deal of pleasure to lick with his tongue, the Nauseous Botches, and Putrified sores, and the Infectious Leprosies of wit. O how does he delight to dwell upon the sore place of an obscene Poem▪ and he never Commends the Poet for any thing but his Infirmities. He is no Company for the Gallant of late, who will not once at least before the close of every Period Commit Lip-Adultery. As there is not any more filthy vice of the tongue then this; so neither do I ever find the Gentleman more in Love with any other; Except it be that one which I am now to name.  
And that is it, which indeed I tremble to mention, though he esteems it the greatest Grace and Ornament of his Discourse. I mean, Swearing. For as the Gentleman seems Continually to measure out his time by sins instead of Minutes; so his louder Oaths, were they not so very frequent, might well be Compared to the Great Clock, which gives us notice how his hours pass. This is that pleasing part of his language, wherein he so ordinarily bids defiance to his God, and so powerfully Courts the Devil; with whom by this means he has as frequent Converse as if he were his Familiar. And he has so great a variety of these Hellish Compliments, that the Master of that Language Satan himself, may in a little time stand in need of an Interpreter to understand him.  
This is a sin to which there are so few colourable Inducements or provocations, that herein, or not at all, the Gallant shows his Proficiency under that Good Master he serves, and proves how strait he can go to Hell and how fast, without a guide or bait. Here indeed he seems to cry out upon Eve for a Lazy and dull sinner, whilst in Every Oath he loudly swears, that soul not to be worth a damning, which cannot sin without a temptation. 'tis here he expresses his great Charity to the Devil, for as if he were afraid the tempter should have to great a load of other men's sins at the last and great day of acounts, he freely exempts him from putting his helping hand to some of his sins, and openly professes he is able to go far enough out of the way to Heaven without a seducer.  
How many Horrible and hideous Oaths does he daily invent, only to swell up his cheeks, and make his words sound high and big in the Ears of those that tremble not to hear him? with what boldness and pride does he abuse God's most Holy and tremendous Name, by making it a cloak and varnish to set off his most false, loose, and profane speeches. As if indeed he had this desperate design upon Almighty God, to render his sacred Name Odious to the world, by taking it so often into his profane lips.  
Unto this we may here add that other as Common extravagancy of his tongue, which is the abusing and making a Mock of God's Word, as well as his Name. His Rhetoric seems all Low and Flat so long as his Metaphors lie on this side Profaneness; but when he has once got a trick to heave up his cheeks, and set his face against the Heavens, and to embosse his discourse with a Rumbling Oath, than he begins to think himself an Orator with a witness.   

§. 7. His Religion and Conversation.  
I am afraid it is now too late to tell you what is the Gentleman's Religion, seeing he has so very little either of Honesty or Humanity. The sad truth is, he is so far from being indeed Religious, that he is ashamed of nothing so much as that any man should have the charity to think him so, Against this Ignominious brand of a Godly man, he takes the readiest Course he can to vindicate himself, that is, openly to deride all those that own it; Laughing aloud at all such as have more religion than himself. The chief Ceremony of his Religion next to that of Blaspheming his God, is lustily to Curse the Devil: and to declaim both against Heaven and H●ll in a breath. It is below a Gentleman to be a Beggar, though at the Gates of Heaven and the Throne of Grace, and he does as much scorn to say his prayers, as to beg his bread. Nothing but Necessity can persuade him to do either. Devotion and Humility are names wholly inconsistent with Nobility and Gallantry; These become not that Brave Heroic Spirit, which had rather choose to starve even his soul to all eternity, then to receive salvation itself at the expense of a petition. 'tis for such faint hearted creatures as have not the Courage to undergo with Al●●ri●y the torments of Hell-fire, to stoop so low, as to beg an Heaven on their knees, Alas he sees no such lovelynes in the things above, as may oblige him to so submissive a Courtship: And yet he is so Confident to Enjoy them all at last, as if he thought God would be beholding to him for accepting his blessings, or as some foolish lovers take occasion to double their addresses from the unkindness of a Coy Mistress, God would the more Earnestly importune him to be saved, the more disdainfully he looks upon salvation.  
If ever the Gentleman appears at Church, it is but to give you a testimony of his courage, whereby he shows how he dare sometimes venture upon what he most fears. But then he behaves himself so proudly there, as if he would Command the Great God of Heaven and Earth to keep his distance, and he may be sure, so he will, for he will draw nigh unto none but such as will first draw nigh unto him. But some times his appearance in the Holy Assembly argues more Cowardice than Courage, and shows that he fears the Constable more than God; and to be religious more than to appear so. Here if he stay long, he is no less pained in hearing the Sermon, then if both his Ears were fast nailed to the Pillory. To prevent tediousness and to give himself as much Ease as may be; he picks up here and there something from the Preacher to make merry with, at the next meeting; Or else he meditates upon the Ladies as they set in their Sunday's-Beuties; and then he returns from the Church, as most do, who come thither with no better intentions, ten-times more an Atheist than he came.  
But as fast as the Gentleman's Atheism has taught him to jeer and laugh at all those who are so soft-hearted, as to profess a Religion, so well has their Religion taught them to pity and pray for him that has none.  
If the Gallant have no estate (as many who think themselves Gentlemen have none) he makes his vices his trade, and so traffickes first for a living, and then for damnation. The Tavern for the most part is his Exchange, where having prepared the way for one wickedness by another, some drunken cheat is usually the Enriching Bargain; and this, when discovered, must pass by the name of an Ingenious frolic. Here he lies drinking out the Day, except he be forced to sleep out the last night's Intemperance. This is the stage of his Wit and wantonness: where he thinks himself a Champion, when he can kick two down stairs at once, the Drawer & his Bottle, and sound the Alarm to the Skirmish in a Loud peal of New-fashioned Curses. Afterall's done there, he walks the streets as light in his head as his Purse, and much oftener salutes the Pavement than the Passengers.  
He Drinks as stoutly, as if he meant to carry liquor enough with him in his Belly to quench the flames of Hell; or rather as if he meant to drink himself so far into a Beast, as he might thereby become uncapable of Damnation. When he has Drunk his fill, he studies how to make the next young heir he meets with, pay the reckoning. If he chance to meet with some poor Innocent Lady, whom a sweet word or two may make his miserable prey, he makes a shift to screw a ring or two off her finger, and this will both pay the shot, and his Common she for his next night's lodging.  
In a word, this Ranting Gentleman is a Golden or at least a Gilded sinner, a Royal stave, a Prodigal spark; one who hates no name so much as that of Christian; because he is afraid it would make him Melancholy. He travels over the wide world of sin, till he have as little money as Religion, and no more Credit than money. So that he is usually at last constrained either to lie hid, and so become his own Prisoner, or to pawn his Body to his Gaoler for his chamber, or else to become a Citizen of the World, and so at last is every where at home, because he is indeed at home no where.   

§. 8. An Apology for this part of the Character.  
Perhaps you may here expect my apology for making so bold with the Gallant as in the foregoing lines I have done, which I am so far from acknowledging myself obliged to do; that I shall hardly obtain mine own pardon for being no bolder. 'Tis out of no other respect then a tender Compassion to his Person, and a most perfect hatred of his ways, that I here take leave of him. In good earnest (Sir) I have not the patience to follow him any farther, no not in those paths wherein he walks with so much Pride and Complacency. If he think I have used him too unkindly, I shall only answer, that it is not half so ill as he uses himself: who by being so much his own enemy, has found out a very easy way for his b●st friends to be so too, and yet solve the Contradiction by an obvious distinction betwixt his Spiritual and his Carnal self.  
I thank God, I have learned to hate a vice in my best friend, and the more I hate it the better I love my friend, whom I shall ever wish so well, as that he may continue for ever Virtuous, that so I may for ever have his friendship. And I have as well learned to love the soul of my most vicious Enemy, and the rather because I know my Saviour did as much for me.  
I dare not think a Sinner needs my prayers one, jot the less, but much more my Pity, because he pretends to be a Gentleman. I am sure he would say as much himself, if he could but seriously consider what distinction of blood or Degrees there is to be expected in Hell, or what respect will there be shown to the Son of a Prince more than to a Beggar. Which was best rewarded, the Noble Dives, or the poor and so long despised Lazarus? A Captive is still to be looked upon as a Captive, though it be his lot to lie bound in Fetters of Gold, and to have a stately Palace for his Prison; Nor shall I think that Malefactor's torments much the less who has the honour at his execution to have his Fatal Pile made up of all the richest Spices of Arabia. How great an happiness found he in his death, whose sentence it was to be smothered to death in a Bed of Roses? That Prisoner may be in a merry, but in no very good Condition, who, when he should be singing Psalms unto his God, and so with the Captive Apostles set his soul at liberty; when he should on the wings of Devotion send her out with Noah's Dove, to fetch in the Olivebranch of Peace and liberty from Heaven; when he should do all this, can yet in a rough Note, and some wild disjointed Catch, Crown his cups, and Invoke the Cursed Inhabitants of Hell in an Health to the Devil: whatever others better bred and of a more Gentile Education may think of him, I shall never be able to Commend such a man's Courage and Alacrity: But this I shall (I hope) be able to do, with all the due affections of a Charitable Christian, bewail his madness, Lament his Folly, and earnestly pray that God would at length in great mercy, restore him to his lost self and senses. Thus would I hold myself bound to pray for a Madman, and truly no otherwise for our English Gallant: For were it my purpose to show how Easily a man might be, rather than how hard it is for him, not to be Satirical upon so foul a Subject; or did I not more desire with ●yle to heal then with salt and Vinegar to vex his wounds, I could without the least wresting fully apply unto the P●rson we speak of, all the Symptoms and degrees, of the most extreem Madness or Brutish Folly Imaginable. But I leave him here, and for those others which are behind I shall study more Brevity if not less Bitterness.    

SECT. II.  

§. 1. The Second sort of Gentlemen not to be reckoned amongst those which are truly such.  
I Would not have you think (Sir) that I have done with the Spurious Gentleman, when I have done with the Gallant. I should do some violence to the true Gentleman's virtues, should I say all that are not included in the foregoing Character are just such as he, and deal somewhat too severely with him of whom I am now to speak, if I should Conclude all that are none of the Best, to be the very worst. I find myself therefore necessitated to say a little of another, who, though he may be thought by many degrees above the former, yet have I no reason to call him a Saint. If we eye the Common Course of his life, and his Ordinary Conversation; we may perhaps discover in him something more of Modesty and the man, then in the former, yet shall we not find much more than what is to be read in those two names, of Religion or the Christian: At best, he has in him only so much of Christianity as may save him Credit in this world not his soul in the other. And of this sort is (alas, I may too truly say) the far greatest part of our English Gentry; I must include very many of our Nominal Nobilityi and not a few of the Real too, I mean as far as blood alone will make them so, under this Head.  
This indeed is that Gentleman, whether of City of Country, whom his neighbours, as well as himself, do too often, for want of a better, flatter into Somebody. One, who though he has more discretion then to be stark mad; and more sobriety than to dwell in a Tavern, or to transform his own house (as too many choose to do) into a perfect Bedlam; I am sure there wants very little of it in many, but the Correction and Discipline; Though he be not fully arrived at the very height of Vanity, nor can yet take a Pride, by the idle expense both of estate and Honour, to purchase an irremediable Poverty to his heirs, and to himself the Empty title of Spark and Gallant: Yet he can hardly persuade me to believe, the Principles whereby he is kept within these bounds of Modesty and Sobriety, such as may merit him the Name of Gentleman or Christian. Indeed the greatest Difference betwixt him and the Gallant seems to be this, that whereas the Gallant is the very Spume and Froth of Nobility, which ever works upwards, impatient of a Confinement within any limits whatsoever, but always flies out by reason of its extraordinary Levity into Emptyness and Air; this other Gentleman like the Lees or Dregs, by reason of too great a mixture and participation of more Gross and Terrene parts, settles wholly downwards till he come to the very bottom of all Baseness: Such Lees though at present of some more use than the other, yet will they at length prove good for nothing but to be thrown away.   

§ 2. Several sorts of such Gentlemen.  
Such a Gentleman as he who hath a good estate and a full Chest; and these, excepting a Coat of Arms, and a few old Pictures hung up in his Parlour or Gallery to let strangers see who were his Father and Mother, are all he has to show for his Nobility: and yet his too great Care in preserving these, is for the most part, that whereby he forfeits his Honour: For as the Former freely spent his estate to make him a Gallant, so this later as freely parts with all Gallantry to save his estate. If Nature have blessed him with some Good parts and Faculties, and if the care of his Parents have added many more excellent Ornaments and accomplishments of a Gentleman; yet there always appears some abatement or other in his Bearing, which Disgraces all: And there is that base alloy of (I know not what) dross, in his best Gold, which renders it uncurrent, and altogether useless both to himself and all the world besides. In some this is Covetousness, and a love of the world; in others 'tis Cowardice and a Poor-spirit; In a third sort Lazyness and a Love of Ease; and in many others Pride and a vainglorious Humour. Though in favour to the Gentleman, or rather to the world, lest it might seem to be quite void of all such things as true Gentry and Nobility; men are willing very often to bestow upon them too Good-Names; Calling the first Providence and a Natural Care; The second Prudence and a Commendable Policy; The third a Good-Nature and a Peaceable mind; and the last a Noble and brave Spirit, and a piece of Necessary state. I Confess I am as ready as any man to cast into him all the allowances, he can in any reason demand, or I with safety grant him, and all will be little enough to make him full weight for a Gentleman. But he must pardon me, if I love not to hear Good-names thus grossly abused; nor to see the most beloved and plausible vices pass so Currently and unquestioned for Virtues. Call them what we will, and make them as Good as we can, as they are enough to sink the Gentleman as far below his name as Hell is below Heaven; so have they been too effectual and prevalent of late, to the choking up all breathe of true Religion and Piety, and to the bringing a Glorious Church and flourishing Kingdom, to say no worse, into a very low and ruinous Condition. And this I dare be bold to affirm, though I take not myself for a Politician, that let us all pretend and Endeavour too what we can, till we can make these Gilded vices to be known and owned by their own names, we shall have small reason to hope for a settled Church, or peaceable state. I wish I had a salve which applied to the Gentleman's blind Eye might take off the Pearl and make him see this truth.   

§ 3. The Provident Gentleman.  
The Provident Gentleman (as he loves to hear himself miscalled) is one who is ever putting the question with him in job. What profit is there in the Service of the Almighty? If you could once persuade him to believe that every Good gift comes from above, and that Whosoever asks shall indeed receive, you would soon see him grow Religious, and hear him saying his prayers in good Earnest: But alas, so long as he can make a shift to fill up his Coffers by delving in the Dirt, you must give him leave to Continue Infidel in these particulars. He is Content to hear of Glorifying God, till you come to tell him he must do it with his Substance, but than it becomes an hard saying, and he'll hear you of that at a more Convenient time; perhaps he means it upon his deathbed. So little is he in love with, or sensible of what you call Honour, that allow him the gain and profit, let God or any one else (it's all one to him) take the other. This Gentleman has just as much God and Religion as a full Chest will hold, his God and his Gold like Hypocrates his Twins, live and thrive, and are sick and die together: and yet it were much to be wished he were but half so industrious to preserve the one, as he is to keep the other. Instead of laying up his treasure in Heaven, he lays up his Heaven in his Treasury; and, if God will be content with it so, he shall be sure to have his heart there too. Covetousness, I dare say, in such as he, is the greatest Idolatry; I am confident he would fall down and worship the Image of a Nero, nay of a Devil, rather than want the single penny that bears it. You will have much ado to convince him of the truth of the Apostle's Proposition, That Godliness is great gain, except you will grant him that this is a Logical Conversion, and not to be questioned that Great gain is Godliness. If with the Silver-smith he can by his craft get his wealth, then shall Religion become his trade, and the Church his forge: But till then you must give him leave to be a worshipper of his great Goddess Diana. So far is he from putting in practice that good and wholesome advice, to be Careful in nothing, but in every thing to give thanks; that he dares never read the text but backwards, Give thanks for nothing but in every thing be careful, He cannot esteem it a true piece of providence to make the day Content with its own labour, but on the Contrary he gives every day the trouble of caring for many years; and therefore is ready to Fancy himself far from the Rich Fool's Condition in the Gospel, because he never yet could allow his Soul her Requiem, or think that he had enough for many years.  
He takes much more pains to leave his Children Rich then Good, and had rather give them a Portion then a blessing. The main advice he gives them is to be thrifty and Good- husbands, let them make themselves Godly and Good-Christians. All the learning he intends to bestow upon them, is so much Latin as will fit them for understanding a Bond and so much Arithmetic as may secure them from the Dishonesty of an unjust Steward; If he suppose the Book may be made a thrifty diversion to keep them from the greater expense of the Tavern or their Game, he may perhaps allow something towards a study. And (be sure) he will be careful enough, to give them so much Law as may be sufficient to maintain their own rights, and rack their Tenants.  
If he go Constantly to Church, 'tis more to serve himself then his God. Often because he hopes by being his frequent Auditor, he may oblige the Parson to let him his tithes at a low rate, or to believe him a man of Conscience, that so he may defraud him of his deuce without suspicion. For the most part this Gentleman is the Patron or has the Impropriation, and yet, whilst he and his family grow fat by feasting upon the bread of the Altar, he grudges him who dispenses freely of the bread of life the very Crumbs that fall from his table. The Church of God thus often starves for want of food, whilst such Dogs Eat up the Child's bread: Such men's whole Lives are but so many Continued Sacrileges, and all they can allege for themselves comes but to this, that they hold their sin as their land by right of Inheritance, from their Ancestors: Their Coffers grow full by robbing the Sanctuary, and at every meal with their sacrilegious teeth, like so many ravenous wolves or vultures, they tear in pieces the Body of Christ's languishing Spouse: But let her die, the Provident Gentleman had rather see her Carcase then his Chests grow Empty; and if by her death he may peaceably enjoy her revenues, he will hardly mourn, but as such enriched heirs use to do, at her funerals.  
It is long since this Good man turned Charity out of doors, as an unthrifty Housewife, and one that made it her busyness to throw all away. The Poor come and go about his gates, as hungry birds about a painted Vine, at best they meet with an hard Crust and harder language. He loves not thus to lend his money, though it be to the Lord, except he would give him bond to return him Eight in the Hundred here in this world. When our Saviour tells him of an Hundred for one here below, and eternal life hereafter in Heaven, he hath as little faith to believe, as patience to wait for such a reward: Yet he could almost wish upon Condition the former part of the promise might be made good to him, without Persecution; that the later might be reserved for such who can Fancy a God in Heaven better than a thousand pound in hand.  
If this Gentleman can but so far deny himself as to do no open violence or Injury to any man; if he can arrive at that degree of Christianity; which will enable him to reach the Negative part of justice and charity, he is apt to think he has made a fair progress in the way to Heaven. And yet (God knows) he ordinarily mistakes this part too. For to win another's estate by some quillet in the Law, or by bribing a Judge; to overreach his poor neighbour in an hard Bargain; to take advantage of a needy person's present necessity, and accordingly raise the price of his Commodity; to exact first more than he is able to pay, and then make him pay use for his disability; to send a poor naked soul to bridewell instead of an Hospital, to the stocks instead of a Bed, to call him knave and Vagabond, that he may have a pretence not to relieve him: to suffer a languishing Creature to die in the street, whilst he had enough to spare wherewith to feed and clothe him; Or to permit a breach in the walls of jerusalem, when a small sum out of his purse would repair it; These he can by no means reckon amongst the species of Injustice, or as defects in Charity; but therefore counts all good duties as things unnecessary and no way obliging, indeed because chargeable and seemingly Burdensome; and such as contradict that thrifty forecast, and necessary providence he holds himself tied to maintain. He thinks it a greater degree of wisdom to trust God's providence now for some miraculous relief of the present poor, then to rely upon it for the after-enrichment of his posterity.  
Certainly this is the thing that passes so Currently for Providence, even amongst those who are counted the wiser and more religious sort of our English Gentlemen: But if this can belong to Christianity, then must Covetousness and a Worldly mind, be reckoned amongst our Christian virtues. It is (alas) too evident what good friends such virtues and such Gentlemen have been of late to our jerusalem; whilst our richest Gallantry have all along, in these calamitous times, chosen rather, by a kind of Constrained bounty to reward the Demolishers; then voluntarily to part with a farthing to pay the builders of our ruinated Zion. Besides this, it is not a little to be feared that those many Contrary Oaths and Engagements, Vows and protestations, which with the help of this sauce of providence have been so readily swallowed (I fear I may say) by the greatest part of our Gentry, will at last expose their souls within no less to Corruption, than the Contrary Qualities do their Bodies without. O how happy might this poor Nation have been even to this day, had not the Rich Gentleman under a pretence of a Natural affection and a Necessary Providence, set an higher aestimate upon his own Chest, than the Ark of God; upon his own Barn, than the Lord's Temple; Had he not loved his Interest more than his Religion, the safety of his Body more than the Salvation of his Soul, his Natural children more than his Heavenly Father, and his money above them all.   

§. 4. The Prudent Gentleman.  
By this short view I have given you of the Provident Gentleman, I suppose you will grant him to be none of those we may call the best, or such as it might be wished, we had many of in our Nation; And truly the Prudent Gentleman, I mean him who is now adays known by that name, is not of a much Nobler dye: very often you shall find him to be the very same, always very near of kind to the former. Cowardice is as much afraid to be known, and therefore as loath to walk without her mask as Covetousness; and would as gladly arrogate to herself the never more abused names then now of a wise caution, and a Christian Prudence; as that other of a virtuous thrift and necessary Providence.  
Instead of being (as wisdom commanded his Disciples) wise as serpents, Gentlemen are become mere Serpents in wisdom; and have rendered themselves very capable of that Commendable Character, which was long ago given to the Serpent, They are more subtle than all the beasts of the field; and the Prudence they boast of, and under which they veil a Carnal mind, and a Carking Cowardly soul, is nothing else but a worldly Policy, or rather a Devilish Subtlety. They have made one half of the text quarrel with, and justle the other quite out of their Bibles, advancing the wisdom of the serpent to so high and Intense a degree, that it cannot admit the least proportion of the Holy Doves more necessary Innocence. Such a foraminous piece of Network has Christian Prudence been made of late, that these Glib serpentine Politicians can so wind themselves in and out at pleasure, as if they meant neither God nor Man should ever know certainly where to have them.  
It is a very famous piece of the Gentleman's prudence to Endeavour to Out-wit an Alwise God, and to go about to put Fallacies upon him out of his own word, often making even God's most righteous precepts the Topics of his disobedience. How frequently endeavours he to cloak the violation of one law, by a pretended obedience to another, and by setting God's Commands at variance one with another, thinks to steal away his beloved sin, and not be taken notice of? He dares not take up his Cross and follow Christ, lest he should become Felo de se, accessary to his own death; Nor knows he how to forsake Father and Mother for Christ's sake, without a breach of the Fifth Commandment, which binding him to Honour both, he cannot see how he may in any sense forsake either. He dares not part with houses and lands, for fear he might seem to Despise God's good Blessings; nor hazard his estate in the vindication of his Religion and his Loyalty, lest he should be said to have thereby thrown away the opportunities of expressing his bounty and his Charity; He knows how much he is obliged not to deny Christ before men, and to give an account of his faith to such as demand it of him; but then he produces a text which tells him of days wherein the Prudent shall keep silence, and these days he supposes still present, whensoever his person or estate may be endangered by an open heart or an Ingenuous tongue. He will be ready to suffer Persecution for the Gospel of Christ, and, with St Paul, to be bound and to die; but this must only be when his Prudence is at a loss and he can find out no way just or unjust to avoid all this. As long as there are shifts enough left him, such as dissembling language, Covert Engagements, Cunning flatteries, treacherous Compositions, petty Contributions, Underhand Compliances, in things both Civil and Religious, he thinks he wants no honest Evasions, to secure both Life and livelihood, Thus he is Content to set him down in quietness, whilst the Enemies of God's Church advance in troops and Armies against her; and thinks it enough, when he can say he wishes all well, and prays for the Peace of jerusalem. It were no Prudence openly to declare his opinion, or to act on any side; alas, he is but one single man, and one's as good as none against the stream of the multitude, not Considering that where one does not join with one, there can be no multitude. There are other Champions enough in the world to vindicate her quarrel, such as have no estates to look after, No families to provide for, when if all were of his mind there would not be so much as one; and besides who has greater reason to labour than he that has already received so great a share of his wages. What though he freely gives away a large portion of his goods to the Enemies of God? It is but the way to secure the rest for better purposes. What though he be constrained with fair speeches to flatter up the transgressors in their Iniquities? His heart for all this shall be for God, his prayers for the Church, and he is as Good a Christian and as Loyal a Subject within as the best. Alas, 'tis no great matter to Comply a little in outward things, to lay an hand upon a Bible, to invoke the sacred Name of God, and seemingly to Renounce Religion and Loyalty; God knows, he intends no such matter, but only takes this Course to keep his Family from ruin, and to preserve himself safe and whole to do God and his Church more service hereafter.  
It is all one with him to go to Church or Conventicle, so he may by frequenting either be thought to favour the Religion in Fashion, and so not be suspected an Enemy to the God that rules, the man in power with a sword in his hand. He can take a great deal of pains, rise early, and go far, to encourage a seditious Lecture, and when Sermon's done with an Hypocritical face smile upon the preacher, and inviteing him home with him witness his thanks and approbation in a Good dinner; But he holds it imprudence to frequent that true worship and service of God, which the excellency thereof and the Command of his superiors commends to his Conscience, lest he should be thereby thought ill-affected to that Religion, which he would have Good men believe his soul abhors. He dares Countenance Rebellion and Sacrilege both with his tongue and Purse; but aesteems it dangerous, and therefore (without all doubt) Imprudence, to Contribute so much as a Good look to the Encouragement of the truly Religious and virtuous, lest he should be suspected by the prosperous sinner, an Enemy to Treason, and Wickedness.  
Till we can find a way how to cast out this Prudent Devil, which (as the Prophet tells us) is wise to do evil but to do Good has no understanding; we shall ever hear this possessed Gentleman crying out with the Daemoniack in the Gospel, what have we to do with thee jesus thou son of God? Why art thou Come to torment us before our time? Such a perfect Gout is this prudent Cowardice, that the lame Gentleman ever cries out at the very sight of any thing looks like Religion, as if it would come too near him, and touch him upon the sore place. So sad a thing is it to stand in fear of health, lest it should make us sick▪ to tremble at the sight of what would bring us to Heaven, lest we should lose our Earth; and to take so much anxious care to praeserve the Body whole, for fear a Courteous wound should set open the door, and give the soul leave to fly out into Heaven and be at rest.  
If such men be truly prudent, then are all true Christians undoutedly fools: Or if this over-warynesse be no more but a prudent and Religious Caution, then are most of our English Gentlemen (which I have not yet Charity enough to believe) Prudent Christians. But (alas) Neutrality hangs too much betwixt two, ever to come so high as Heaven; and a Cold Indifferency comes so far short of that necessary zeal which is the unfailing Consequent of true Piety; that it is impossible it should ever be Crowned with eternal Happiness. He that is not deeply in love with his God, cannot place his absolute felicity in the fruition of God; and he that is afraid to do any thing, or think's it prudence to suffer nothing for him, is not in Love with him. God has long ago told the Gentleman, and all others, how much of another temper he must be who will live for ever, instructing him what an immediate Contrariety there is betwixt being for God and against him, so that there can be no mean left for such a prudent Indifferency: betwixt fight Under Christ's Banner, and being the devil's Soldiers. Moderation, 'tis true, in things of Indifferency is a Commendation; but the Gentleman needs fear as little that he can be over zealous in a Good matter here upon Earth, as that he may be over happy in Heaven. As there be no Angels but such as are either very good, or very bad, so every Gentleman is either a Saint indeed, or else stark naught. He that sits still shall come as soon to Hell as he that sweats in pursuit of it. But whosoever hopes to Come to Heaven, he must ever run and with his face that way if he will be sure to obtain. I would wish that Gentleman who has not the heart to Confess Christ before men, to Consider, how he can have the Courage to hear Christ denying him before his Father which is in Heaven, or to Endure those torments in H●ll which he shall be sure to undergo for not Confessing him here upon Earth. Such a Lukewarm soul is so Nauseous unto God, that he must at last Spew him out into the Bottomless pit.  
If this be Christian Prudence, to secure an Estate or preserve a Family, or save a life, by being frigid, and so Spiritless in our Profession, as may make us nauseated by God, and set us at such a distance from Heaven; a true Christian shall have as little reason to Envy the Gentleman his Prudence, as the poor Church of England has cause to be proud of his Courage.   

§. 5 The Peaceable Gentleman.  
The Peaceable and Honest-natured Gentleman (as many call him) is one to whom the poor▪ Church of England is not much more indebted for his kindness then to either of the former: this is he that is so far from being Cordially sensible of the Afflictions of joseph, or the dessolations of jerusalem, that he seems to have hardly so much of an humane spirit in him as to understand the meaning of those two words, Happiness and Misery. Three parts of his time at least, he spends in sleep, as if he were resolved to die all his life long; or by this course to keep himself Ignorant of the Concerning affairs of the world, being loath to come acquainted with the truth of those evils which he is resolved not to take any pains to remove. The other quarter of his time he carefully divides betwixt his meals & his sports, and this●e ●e calls, living a Good, honest, quiet, and harmless life, such as hurts no body.  
Sometimes he seems even to Envy the very stones that Constant rest which Nature has indulged them, whereby they are made incapable of any motion but what is occasioned, and that but rarely, by some violence from without them. If he had so much of that Philosophy, which tells us the celestial bodies are in a perpetual motion, as to believe it for a truth, he would for that very cause be unwilling to go to Heaven. When he hears of an eternal Saboth of rest for all those that go thither, he is almost persuaded to become a Christian, yet is he in a great strait betwixt two, for though he love his rest too well, yet he hates the very name of Saboth much more, especially when he hears St▪ john telling him, that, the Angels and Glorified Saints never cease Day nor Night from praising God  
Sometimes again he seems to grudge the poor bruit Animals their Irrationalitie, and to share with them, endeavours by a Sordid sensuality to degrade himself into a Beast▪ or at least, to become as like one as humanity will permit him. That he may be better acquainted with their Natures and dispositions, his Dog and his Horse, or his Hawk, henceforward become his Principal Companions; with these he plays, and with these he discourses, and towards these (if you seriously consider all his terms of Art, you will be ready to say) he has his set forms of Compliment: and indeed his whole study is to learn readily to speak that language wherein he may be understood by the silly animals. When the weather or his health or the like will not befriend him in these exercises abroad; then he sits at home, numbering his minutes by the turns of his die, or the playing of his Cards; or perhaps gets so much liberty abroad, as to measure out his hours by the motions of his bowl. Such a merciless Tyrant is he to that (which he fears he shall never lose or destroy fast enough) his precious time; that he always studies to invent variety of Executions for it. Now he delights to drown it in his Cups, anon he burns it in his Pipe, by and by he tramples it under his horse's hoofs; again he knocks it in the head with his Bowl, tears and devours it with his Hawks and his Hounds; there is nothing he will leave unexperimented, till he have certainly found out a way to prevent its natural, Honest and Commendable departure.  
These Courses he willingly allows himself in, and desires to have all thought no more or worse than his Contempt of the world, and his study of retiredness from those Distracting Cumbrances thereof, which are unworthy of a Christian, or a Gentleman.  
Sometimes he delights to consume a great part of his time in unnecessary visits, but studies withal to make them so unprofitable, as if he were desirous to have it thought men were made only now and then to look upon one another: his discourse (what there is of it) being so idle and impertinent, that it serves to no other end, then to exercise his tongue and keep it by much motion voluble; lest for want of use he should in a short time (as he does by most good things) forget to speak. Sometimes you shall have a Compliment from him, but puffed up with so many hyperbolical expressions of your worth, and of the incredible respects he has for your person, that you cannot choose but suspect he only labours how to be disbelieved; or has learned of his Dogs how to fawn and flatter. And thus when he has made a shift to lose an hour or two, and to trouble his friends with much Impertinent talk, he returns home again to eat and play, and sleep, and spend the remainder of his time as Idly as he can.  
In a word this sort of Gentlemen borders so closely upon him we first described, the Gallant, that I shall not need to say more of him, then only this, that he has some degrees less of Madness than the other; he seems as yet but to hang about the doors, and has not gained an admission into the Society of Raunters: Nor is this because he wants a Genius or Inclination to evil in the General, but rather he is beholding to one vice to keep him from another, and being wedded so much to this, is forced to abstain from its Contrary. Either he is tied to his Chest with a Golden chain, which will not allow him the liberty of ranging into so many costly riots; or else a l●aden dulness so much oppresses his soul, that she cannot Soar so high in the vast Region of Debauchery: So that if you find him free from any one vice, he is to thank the Contrary vice and not the virtue for it; or at best, he owes it to an Infirmity of Nature that he is free from both.  
Indeed for the most part this Gentleman is (as the Philosophers use to say of their first matter) though not perfectly form into all those Noble qualifications (as they are usually miscalled) of the Complete Gallant, yet is he, at lest, in a remote Disposition to all or any of them: As the Polypus is said to be always of the same colour with the neighbouring object; or as the Looking-glass reflects as many different faces as are obviated to its own superficies: So is this Gentleman not properly one, but any Body; of the Religion, and the Humour, and the fashion of his Companions, as near as his own weakness will permit him to Imitate them. And this is it which Commonly purchases him the repute of a Civil, a Courteous, an Affable, a Good-natured and sweet-dispositioned person: Only because he knows as little how to be angry with a vice, as how to be guilty of a virtue. Such a Ductile, soft and Compliant soul he has, that as the Wax to the Seal, he would fain smile upon every man in his own face, and speak with every one in his own language; He Compliments, and Praises, and Flatters, and performs all the offices of a Gentleman, as his shadow in the Glass, only by reflection. For a fair word he will part with his own soul, and with a fair word he does often occasion the ruin of many more: whilst he loves as much to flatter others up in their wickedness, as to be flattered up by others in his own. Say and do what you will (so you injure not his person or estate, nor rob him of his beloved ease) you are sure to have his approbation, and if for this he may have yours, he thinks it a reward and encouragement great enough. But I leave him.   

§. 6. The Stately Gentleman.  
There is yet another that challenges a room in this paper, and truly deserves his place as much as any: If he will not be angry, and in a rage swear to burn the paper, when he finds himself set in the last and lowest place, all's well enough. And this is that Stately and Majestic he, whom I dare hardly name lest he should take it as an affront, for though he hunts after a name and reputation amongst all men, yet he looks upon it as a kind of Disparagement of his virtues, and an undervaluing of his Honour, to hear his name from any mouth but his own. But most of all he esteems it profaned, when mentioned by persons so inconsiderable, as all those of our Colour, unto such as himself have ever appeared.  
This is he who thinks himself as much too good to be a Christian, as he thinks all Christians too mean to be accounted Gentlemen. His only God is his Honour, and to give it something of a Deity, he Fancies it to be singular, and that there is none other besides it; when (alas) this Idol too is just nothing. But such is the strange Omnipotence of Pride and Ambition, this Gentleman can first create to himself a God out of nothing, and then fall down and Worship the Idolized Vanity which his own Ridiculous Fancy has thus set up. That he does indeed more esteem this Shadow then the true God, he too loudly affirms in all his Oaths; for when he intends what he saith shall unquestionably pass for serious and creditable, he swears by his Honour and Reputation: Other Oaths he hath enough, by the Glorious Majesty of Heaven and Earth, which are but too literally the Burden of his discourse; these (as we said of the Gallant) he uses not for Confirmation of the truth, but as the sportive recreations of his tongue, and the graces and Ornaments of Good Language.  
He it is, that (wheresoever he be) will see that all men do their duties, but himself. And he doth something well herein, except, when by a proud mistake he calls an unmerited respect to his own Supposititious virtues, their indispensible Duty. He looks that all men should observe as great a distance from his person, as he is resolved to do from their virtues; or as if already he were (where I wish by the much despised grace of Humility he may at last be found) in heaven. He expects no less observance and reverence from his Tenants, then as if he were not only Lord but Creator of the Manor: as though he would be thought as much Master of the Universe, as he is the slave of his own Ambition. He walks up and down so wantonly and affectedly, as if he intended thereby principally to Demonstrate to the world his great perfections and Excellency, that he must take much pains to do amiss. This Lordly Sir, so long as he can but get a Cap and a knee from his Inferiors, and the chair at every meeting with his betters; he thinks that all the blessings of Heaven (though a Crown of Glory be one of them) can add nothing to his Honour: Were it but for this one reason, he would never make it his business to come thither, because he may justly despair of ever being the best man there. If it may be conferred upon him as an Honorary reward, and upon the meritorious claim of his virtues, he will perhaps be Content to wear the Crown; but as a Gift he scorns it, lest he should draw upon himself an obligation to the Donor by accepting it: And as his wage he scorns no less to acknowledge it, for as he has not by any labour Earned it, so is he afraid to be looked upon to his God in the relation of a servant.  
In short this Gentleman Fancies himself endowed with such a transfigurative excellency, that (as the Philosopher's stone, once found, should turn all things it touched into Gold) he supposes it able to turn all things into Gentile and excellent which he is in love with: All his vices, whatever deformity the dull eye of the world apprehends to be in them, his overweening humour looks upon as no less than the most absolute of all virtues: and he conceits himself so immovably fixed and settled upon the highest Pinnacle of Honour, that Baseness itself shall never have any power to degrade him. Thus ever conceiting himself placed at so great a height, it is no great wonder if he become so giddy at length in all his actions; and beholding others at so great a distance, I marvel not, that he begins to see men like Moles upon the earth, and to think them all so blind, that they cannot discern his vanity. This indeed it is that makes him think neither Church nor State worth his regarding, he can with Dry eyes behold both vessels split at once, and in the mean time flatter himself up with the Devilish hopes of Enriching his Ambition by the miserable wrack.  
This is he, that can think it no Injustice to rob the whole world, and rifle the store-house of Nature, to adorn his Body and humour his Palate; to wear the portions and livelihoods of (I know not how many) Orphans and Widows in a Bandstring; and carry the lives and Fortunes of many languishing Souls upon his Little-finger. I wish that whilst he casts ●o scornful an eye upon these poor naked Beggars, he would but seriously consider how many of their Contemptible rags he hath picked up together, to patch up all that bravery upon his own back; whilst either his oppression occasioned, or his uncharitableness prolonged their lamentable condition. He makes indeed almost the whole creation Club to maintane his Ambition, and returns a derision in requital.  
This Gentleman's chief pastime and sport whereby he makes himself merry, is to laugh at two sorts of men, The Godly and the Po●r, the one as a Praecisian, and he that has unmanned himself by too much Religion; the other as the outcast of Fortune, or a man intended by Nature for nothing else, but by his labour to make him rich, and by his Ignorance to make him merry. The Black-coate or Parson (for by these names he thinks he does sufficiently pay the Divine and Scholar) he ever looks upon with as much superciliousness and disdain, as if the very Colour of his Coat were odious and an Eyesore to him, or as if because shame and fear keep him from Immediate and Direct Blasphemy, He were resolved to express his spleen against God himself, by despighting his servants. He is seldom or never his Auditor but when he has a mind to sleep, or is disposed to be merry, and then he comes to Church and there worships God just as he honours his Ministers out of it: Nay he is unwilling to allow his God that ordinary Civility, which and much more he expects from his own Chaplain, that of a Cap and a knee: Or if his Breeding have taught him more manners, than his Piety has Reverence; then shall all his Religion be penned up into this one poor Ceremony, and so he makes his Worship all one with his Compliment.  
This is he, whose intolerable Pride makes every thing, that is not the very basest kind of Flattery, pass for an Affront, and an high piece of Disrespect unto his Person. For this immediately he studies a revenge, which he has learned to call a necessary vindication of his Honour. What an excellent Chemistry is there in such deluded Nobility, which can extract a Spirit of Honour out of the very Dunghill of Unworthiness; and find so admirable a sweetness, in that which cannot be thought better than the very Ordure and Excrement of Ambition, Malice and Envy, I mean, Revenge! Let but the least Circumstance of that Respect, he supposes due, be omitted, and presently there flies out a Challenge, and for the most part so vauntingly worded as if he meant his breath or his Ink should do more execution than his sword By this means he makes his first thrust at his adversaries very heart, that so he may wound his courage before they meet, and cause his heart to fail him before the Encounter; for this indeed is often the only way his late repent temerity uses to leave him, for the securing of his Reputation. But is so be his courage stand upon the same level with his Ambition, 'tis nothing but the death or disgrace of his Antagonist, will assuage his Fury in the Field therefore he often sends his Body to the Grave, and his own Soul to Hell at a Blow. This is his Gallantry, and this the necessary vindication of that Honour, which is so tender, that every thing except it have in it the unworthy softness of the most servile compliance with his own unconstant Humour, rents, sp●ts, or grieves it: and which nothing can wash clean, or make whole again: but the Heartblood of him who durst give the Affront.  
I hope he will not take it as such, if I make bold here to take my leave of him; I have neither leisure nor patience to trace him through the wild Labyrinth of his Pride, wherein he has long ago with no small complacency lost himself, and all things which look like virtue. I wish all men, whom he studies to provoke into an madnesseequall with his own, may ever have that high charity for this Gentleman, which I have now; then should they answer all his challenges with this prayer, That God would give him more courage, then to suffer himself to be thus basely Affronted and domineered over by so dangerously insulting a Passion, without the least Essay: towards the just vindication of that Name and Honour which alone are Valuable.   

§. 7. The conclusion of this part.  
I should as much tire you (Sir) as myself, should I run (though with never so much haste) over all the particulars of the Gentleman's vanity and madness; which are so inseparably, for the most part, interwov●n one within another, that I fear I may already seem too absurd, by dividing them into so many Sects or Species. The plain truth is, Vice seems to be that very blood which Gentility so much boasts of; that which conveys itself through all the Gentleman's veins, and is dispersed into all the several members of the body, in a measure suitable to the capacity of each. Or rather you may call it the common-soule which informs and actuates the whole body of Gallantry; and which is Communicated to the particular members thereof, not by an extension, or Distribution of parts and degrees, but (to borrow once more the Philosopher's Phrase) it is wholly in the whole, and wholly in every part of the whole. If the great variety and diversity of operations will yet needs plead for a further Distinction, we must say, what we use to say of the various actings of the same soul, This Diversity ariseth not from a Multiplicity of Soul●s or Principals, but from the many powers and faculties of that one soul, and the various dispositions and qualities of the Material Organs.  
Really, Sir, the Gentleman we have hitherto spoken of, is but the more curious and costly instrument of Sin, and would appear such a breathless thing without it, that a man might well question whether or no he would be found an animated being. For aught that I can yet discover, he has no more motion than what vice gives him, excepting that which he expresses when he is asleep, which (setting aside his excess therein) is almost the only thing wherein he looks like a man.  
To give you therefore the Conclusion of this whole character; call him any thing but what he would be called, and you can hardly miscall him; for indeed he is almost any thing but what he would be thought to be. A Gentile thing, made to wear fine clothes, and throw away much money: to eat the best, and drink the best, and do the worst: one that seems to have been sent into the world, to help away with the superfluities of Nature; and by his Intemperance to devour all those temptations which might allure others to the like Sinne. He knows no shame but that which arises from singularity, nor any singularity, but in doing and living well.   

§. 8. A more particular application of this Character to our present English Gentleman.  
It has, alas, been but too true in all Ages, that to be Great, and to be Good, are two: and never was there a more undeniable Demonstration of this truth, then in the present Gentleman of England; to the no less dishonour of the whole Nation, than Disparagement of his own name in particular. Whilst there is nothing more his talk and his boasting, than his blood and his Breeding, and yet nothing less his Care then to Dignify the one, or make a right use of the other, How few of those Gentlemen have we now to show, who dare make it their buesinesse, and their Glory to be serviceable to their God, their Country, or the Church; or that have breasts full of that Heroic Courage and magnanimity, that may embolden them to renounce a sin that is profitable or in Fashion? How rarely are the men to be met with, who indeed have a real sense of any thing, but their Meat, their Drink, their Apparel, and their Game! Except you will Instance in some of their most notorious vices, wherein indeed they do too truly emulate, and labour to outvie each other.  
Heretofore when this shattered Nation was a well cemented Kingdom, and enjoyed those (then slighted, but now much desired) blessings of peace and plenty▪ how by a studied abuse of those great mercies did the Gentleman even Dare Almighty God to punish him or his Nation! And now that a sad and long experience of their Contraries, has made him feel, though he will not yet be truly sensible of, the lamentable Consequents and effects of his former Bold Wickednesses; how does he instead of Confessions, petitions and vows, draw up, as it were, his Remonstrances against his God, and wages an open war with Heaven, endeavouring to force the Almighty unto a Composition and that upon the most unacceptable terms in the world? It is too manifest (alas) to any eye, how little Holiness has been the Product of those judgements which have doubtless, among other sins, been the especial punishments of the Gentleman's Luxury and profaneness. We here him indeed very frequently crying out upon these sad times, but too seldom reflecting upon those much worse men who occasioned them. Like a Churlish Dog, Snarling at him that beats him, but never considering whose the fault was that caused the beating. I know not I confess what should make the Gentleman so Atheistical in all his Actions, as either formerly he has been, or now is; Except God's mercy on the one hand persuaded him he could never be provoked unto judgement; or his judgements on the other that he can never be reconciled in mercy; except he dares think the Benefits he formerly enjoyed greater than a just God could possibly confer upon so unworthy a sinner; or the present judgements he now smarts under, rather the Crossness of an unkind fortune, than the tokens of the Incensed wrath of an Angry God. Whence else should he be either so stupid or unnatural, as neither to live thankfully under the former, nor penitently under the latter?   

§. 9 The Winner and the Loser in these times.  
I find two sorts of such Gentlemen, one is the Winner the other is the Loser in this late game (for indeed we have all along sported ourselves in our own Miseries) which has been played in England.  
The former of these thinks himself much too happy already, to become now Holy. The Fortunate success which he hath had in his sins, makes him only repent that he practised them no sooner; and the taking way of Religious pretences, makes him sorry for nothing but that he was no Earlier an Hypocrite: It is a very sad thing to Consider what foul tricks this Politic Juggler every day plays behind the glorious hangings of these Religious pretences: what deadly poisons he has sent abroad into the world in this perfumed breath. This Gentleman's only Religion is his Art of Dissimulation; the fair gilt which makes his Copper Coin to pass so Currently. O what a Chargeable commodity has this Legerdemain been to our little world! Whilst they who have it, purchased it at no lower rate, then that of all sincerity and honesty; and they that will live safe by them, must become as very knaves as themselves. That Garment of Religion which is now worn and in Fashion with these men, is of a very slight stuff, and indeed by long wearing and often piecing is so very full of diversely coloured patches, that it is hard to say which is that, which belonged at first to the whole: And whence is all this, but from the Gentleman's scorning the good and strong lining of Morality (so much now adays decried by the most) which would have held all much Longer together: he is the only Saint in the world (if you'll believe himself) and the Morall-man is no companion for him. O how many fair Estates and Glorious Churches has this man's furious zeal reduced to ashes? and yet, alas, the long promised Phoenix of Reformation appears not yet. How many Palaces and Temples has his Piety defaced? How many rich treasuries has his self-denial plundered? And whence all this, but because Robbery and Sacrilege are much more profitable appendages of his Religion, than the more castly formalities, and expensive superstitions of the other? To how many Sons of Rebellion has that one plausible pretence of Christian liberty, by this Gentleman, been made the Mother! And yet for all this is our Freedom but still an Idea, and our happiness a Fancy.  
How dearly has the Church paid for the New-coyning of this Language, and refining his profaneness and Ribaldry into Dissimulation and Canting? O what an enriching Commodity is hypocrisy, which has set up so many Broken tradesmen in the world Complete Gentlemen? And extracted our most refined Nobility ' out of the very dross of the People▪ Indeed if to be rich, be to be a Gentleman; if to be Crafty be to be Prudent; if to dissemble be the highway to be Sainted; and to be Fortunate the sole Felicity, which terminates the hopes, and must crown the endeavours of a Christian: If the fears and cowardice of fools and sinners, and the scorn and pity of the wise and good, will make a man truly Honourable, who hath no foundation of his own whereupon to build a Reputation; then is this prosperous and thriving Gentleman, and none but such as he, the true Gentleman of our Nation.  
But the Gentleman on the losing side will, I know, think it too much (and well he may) that another should grow so honourable at his cost and charges, and give him so few thanks for his honour when he has it. He is no less troubled to think how he shall yield him so much Honour now, than he was to part with his estate to him a while ago. But then, alas, what does this Gentleman, who (with no small passion) calls himself a loser, towards the regaining of what he has lost? truly just the same, which at first occasioned the loss itself: as if not being Evil, but Evil to a less degree had been the only cause of all his sufferings; and the way to remove his afflictions were to be ten times more a sinner then before: He so behaves himself under the correcting hand of God, as if he thought, the merciful God did only chastise his children to make them cry and complain of his unkindness, not at all to make them sensible of their errors, or forsake their wickedness. Certainly such a resentment of God's dealings with us is a stubbornness, not a penitence; and such a preposterous improvement of God's deserved judgements, is the way to provoke him unto more and greater, not to persuade him to withdraw the less and lighter. O that the suffering Gentleman would but seriously think of this! who grows daily (as 'tis visible in all his actions) worse by Correction; and only swears at, and Curses his Oppressors, instead of fasting and praying for the pardon of his Offences. He takes it to be an undeniable privilege of Loser's to talk what they list, though never so profanely: and looks upon this time of his sorrows as the chief opportunity of serving himself, and easing his heart by all kinds of merriment: and therefore he makes haste to drink and play away his Cares and the scant relics of his estate together. Neither yet can I believe he would be half so bad as he is, were it not more in opposition to his Enemy, than out of love to his own vices. He often abhors and abstains from the vices of other men, not (as good Christians do) for the sin's sake but for the sinner's; from whom he endeavours to set himself at such a distance, that he never rests till he be gotten into the Contrary extreme, and often into the more Scandalous though not always the more dangerous of the two. As if vice could have no opposite but of it's own name, nor any means were left him to become one way better than his adversaries, but by being another way worse. Was the former an Hypocrite? He, left he should be thought so too, will be Openly profane. If the one will not swear or kiss the book when called to it by a lawful Authority; the other to be Cross will swear a thousand Idle Oaths against God's express Command. Thus betwixt them do they labour to show the world what a Latitude there is in Atheism.  
I might to these very seasonably here add a third person, one that has played his Cards so well, that he is neither Loser nor Winner in this Sad Game. One, who (I am sure) has done as little Good, as he thinks he has done hurt to any body: who still makes a shift to lie lurking in some hole or other till the sport (as he calls it whilst it touches not him) may be over, so he can but sleep in an whole skin, and with a full purse, he takes no thought how the world goes: What my thoughts are of this Quiet Soul, I shall have told you sufficiently by saying thus much, he loves his ease and safety better than his God. If you desire to read him more at large, I must entreat you to cast your eye a little back, and with the Provident, Prudent or Peaceable Gentleman you will be sure to find him.   

§. 9 How Good English men such Gentlemen are.  
And now (Sir) how much reason the poor Church or Kingdom of England has to brag of her Gentry, I think I have abundantly told you. Her richest Sons do not always prove the most affectionate and Natural to their Disconsolate Mother. But indeed daily aggravate her grief and Sorrow, by their prodigal courses and most Barbarous behaviour. What do they less than with the ungrateful Mule, hourly kick at the paps which gave them Suck? And with the bloody Tyrant whose Character it was, to be a lump of dirt kneeded up together in blood, they have torn out the very Bowels of a most Compassionate and Indulgent Mother. Our Church may very well complain of some who would be thought her own Sons, as God of his ungrateful people of old, She has brought up Children and they have rebelled against her, and among all the sons she has nursed up, there is none to pity her or lead her by the hand. When they were full and waxen fat, than they forgot God; and now that some of them are lean enough, nay as the fat kine in Pharaohs vision, even eaten up of the very leanest cattle in the Nation; yet being so many ways smitten they do but revolt more and more. It will be a mercy rather than a judgement, if God vouchsafe to smite them once again.  
Thus, whilst one is Ignorant and can do nothing, another Lazy and will do nothing, a third Cowardly and dare do nothing: whilst one is so Prudent he thinks it not wisdom, another so Covetous he holds it not providence, a third so Lordly he accounts it below him to do any thing but what may foment his own sinful inclinations: Whilst one is too voluptuous, another too worldly, a third too ambitious; whilst one has a Wife, another a Farm, a third a Dog, and the fourth a Pot; It will ever either misbeseem their Dignity, or Cross their Interest, or hinder their Calling, or Injure their Families, or thwart their Humours (and indeed there's the main let of all the rest) to follow Christ or take care of his Spouse. God give them grace betimes to love her better in whose arms alone they can hope to be safe from the roaring Lion; and to abandon those Dal●laes which so long as they Court, they can neither love Her, nor secure themselves! In a word, I shall put up for them a short prayer but a full one, if they would but understand it— God make them all such as Gentlemen should be! And what that is, I shall now endeavour, to the best of my skill, to tell you: though both for want of Age and breeding, I must necessarily come as far short of him I would describe, as I have been all this while above that other, whom our Nation had been more happy never to have known. The Gentleman's virtues are as much above my reach, as the Gallants braveries below his Imitation.    

SECT. III.  
The True Gentleman.  

§. 1. An Apologetical Introduction.  
BEing now (Sir) to give you the True Gentleman's character, you might very justly expect to meet with something truly like the Subject, High and Noble. He is indeed too sacred a thing to be touched by so Common a Pen; every slip whereof can be deemed no less than a Profanation of his worth, who is the liveliest Image which God has left us of himself upon any of his Creatures. However, seeing where there is so venerable an Excellency, as all Encomium's may be thought Folly and Presumption, so can silence be judged no less than a Sacrilege: seeing we use to offer unto Heaven, not so much what we owe as what we may: I think it much better becomes me to say that little I can, then just nothing; and to tell you, if not what the Gentleman is, yet at least so much of his greatness, as falls to my share to understand. I had much rather be censured for committing such a pious error, then be Condemned for the wilful omission of so necessary a duty. I dare not suspect the Gentleman's Goodness to be of a less extent than My Ignorance; and therefore I doubt not but he can pardon as often as I through weakness shall offend. Where I▪ err, let him think it was the brightness of my subject which dazzled my eyes, and occasioned me to stumble. Where my expressions fall low and flat, I do beg of him, that he would impute it to that Reverence which I bear unto his virtues, which Commands my Pen to to keep its Distance.  
I hope you will not blame me for this Apology, for I would gladly keep off as long as I can, when I cannot draugh nigh without a necessity of Erring. Even in this short Preamble you may be pleased to read something of the Gentleman's Character; to wit, such a Greatness as Commands a Distance and reverence, and such a Candour as can pardon a failing; and (which is indeed the sum of all I have to say) such a Man as is truly a Gentleman. Which name speaks all that bears a Contrariety to the thing we lately spoke of, whose very name is such a Complete Summary of all Vices, that there is but one thing lest to Denominate the true Gentleman; I mean, as absolute a Combination of all virtues. All which I can confer to his Character will amount to no more than an Imperfect paraphrase upon his Name; and as much as I understand of this, take as follows.   

§. 2. His General Character.  
The True Gentleman is one, that is as much more, as the false one is less, than what to most he seems to be. One who is always so far from being an hypocrite, that he had rather appear in the eyes of others just nothing, than not be every thing which is indeed truly virtuous and n●ble. He is a man whom that most Wise King, he best resembles, has fitted with a Character— A man of an Excellent Spirit. This is he whose brave and noble Soul sores so high above the Ordinary reach of Mankind, that he seems to be a distinct species of himself. He scorns so much the vices of the world, that he will hardly stoop to a virtue which is not Heroic; or if he do, it is by his good improvement of it, to make it so. He is one to whom all honour seems cheap, which is not the reward of virtue, and he had much rather want a name than not deserve it.  
This Gentleman is indeed a Person truly Great, because truly Good; His Honour is of too excellent a Nature to be supposed the Creature of any thing besides his own virtues; and those virtues too Eminent to be esteemed less than the most refined actions of so great a soul. He is no less the Glory of Mankind than man the Glory of the whole sublunary Creation. One that would every way deservedly be accounted more than what is humane, were not one part of him Mortal; However it is his first care and endeavour to make this mortal part of him such, as may make it apparent to the world, how Great an Excellency may be the Companion of so much frailty.  
Till he may be so happy as to enjoy the Heaven he hopes for, he does what he can to be an Heaven to himself; and by his extraordinary pains, so beutifies his soul with all Celestial accomplishments, that he needs only die to be in Heaven; and seems to want nothing of those Glorious Spirits which dwell there, but only to be without a Body and as high as they.  
He looks upon himself whilst in this world as no more than a Probationer in the School of Honour; and makes it his business so to behave himself at present, that he may be sure of an admission into that true Honour (when the Day comes) which will be as certain and Durable, as true and Great: Well knowing that the only way to be Lord of Many things, is to be faithful in these few wherewith he is now entrusted.  
His Soul is so truly great and Capacious, that nothing but an Heaven and eternity can fill it: So nobly high are all his thoughts, that he is ever aiming at a Crown: So active and mounting his Holy Ambition, that it disdains to perch longer than a Breathing space, upon the most exalted spire of all Sublunary Glories. He is so throughly sensible of the Celestial Nature of his Soul, that (did he not think it one great part of his Happiness, to suffer any kind of Misery in Submission to his God) he could not think his life less than one Continued torment; and so long a detention here upon the Earth, a mere restraint and Confinement from all Comfort and bliss.  
As for the Blessings of this world, he looks upon them, as the Child should do upon his farthings or his Counters, small things indulged him for the recreation not the business of his soul. Yet (such a Good Housewife is Virtue) he reaps no small advantage to himself, from these subordinate enjoyments; which by their frequent Cousennages persuade him the more to be in love with what's both more precious and more useful. Knowing that his Mansion is prepared in Heaven, he can esteem the world no better than the handsome frontispiece to that most Glorious building; where he beholds a great many Fine flattering objects, and pretty Curiosities both of Art and Nature; but all's no more than an Earnest and kind Invitation to him to Enter in and possess those unspeakably excellent Mansions, which these things so dimly shadowed out unto his eye; these well dressed Dainties which he enjoys here, he dares but taste at most, to prepare him an Appetite; he intends to feast himself in Heaven.  
To give you the sum of what I think of him in the General; He is every way so much more than a man, that he is no less in all things than himself. One whose rarest Excellencies are such, as would make us believe his breeding had been amongst the Angels in another world, rather than amongst Gentlemen here in this: and that he were only lent us a while, an universal pattern for Mankind to Imitate; And to let us see how much of Heaven (if we will receive it) may dwell upon Earth. He is so refined from all Mixture of our Courser Elements, as if he were absolutely Spiritualised before his time; If ever he were proud of any thing, it was of being the Conqueror of that, and all other Vices. He scorns and is ashamed of nothing but Sin. He lives in the world as one that intends to shame the world out of love with itself: and he is therefore Singular in all his Actions, not because he affects to be so, but because he cannot meet with Company like himself to make him otherwise. In a word, he is such, that (could we want him) it were pity but that he were in Heaven; and yet I pity not much his Continuance here, because he is already so much an Heaven to himself.   

§. 3. His Chief Honour and Dignity.  
His first Honour in this world, is to be borne the most noble of God's creatures here below; His next is to live one of his most Obedient and laborious servants, like those above: His greatest to Die his beloved Son, that so he may reign with him for ever. It was the Honour of his Infancy only, to have Noble Parents; It is the Honour of his riper years, that he can Imitate their Virtues, and it will be the Crown of his Old-Age to be as good a father as his own. Blood and Birth than stood him instead, when his tender years had not yet rendered him Capable of virtue and Worth. When he comes to Age, He Enters upon his Honour, not as upon his estate, by the will or title of his Ancestors, but by the claim of his merits; looking upon it not as his lot or Inheritance, but as his choice and purchase. He has an Especial care that his Honour and his Person may both live and Grow up, but never die together. He accounts it much below a person of his Quality, to owe all that Respect which is given him when he is a man, to his full Coffers; or all the Reverence which is paid him when an Old-man, to his Gray-hairs: But he so provides for his Honour, that whatever Respect is offered him, may be esteemed a Debt and not a Present; and that his future Goodness may not be thought the Product of the Old, but rather an Obligation to New respects: Such he Civilly accepts when paid him, but seldom challenges when delayed or withheld; so far I mean, as they Concern his person, not his Office. For though it be one Honour to deserve, yet is it another Contentedly to want them. He needs never go abroad to seek himself, and therefore he hearkens with more safety to his own Conscience, than the people's Acclamations; and he had much rather know himself Honourable, then be told that he is so.  
His highest Ambition is to be a Favourite in the Court of Heaven; and to this end his Policy is to become not a Great but a New Man: and to dress up himself in all those Spiritual Ornaments, which may make his Soul truly amiable in the eyes of the Great King. He considers how that he owes himself unto God, as he is his Creature; and he endeavours to discharge that Old debt, by a most earnest and importunate suit for New favours; ever praying that God would make him fit to serve him, by making him first a New-Creature. He Could never yet think the Old-Man fit to make a Courtier of Heaven; and therefore he uses to walk in his white-Robe, and his Wedding-Garment, that so he may be admitted into the King's presence. He furnisheth himself betimes with such Apparel as this, and he fits and settles it to his soul beforehand, knowing that the longer it is worn, the more Splendid it Grows, and the more it is used, the longer it will last; the only way to wear it out, is, not to wear it at all: but having once attired himself in this Habit, now Every day is with him an Holiday, and he is henceforward every where at Court.  
But that which he esteems his great Honour indeed, is this, that he can with Confidence, and truly, call God his father, His Saviour his friend and his brother, the Church his Mother, and the Angels his fellow servants. Such Parents, such kindred, and such Company he may safely boast of; but this he does no other way, then by his Obedience and Gratitude. He behaves himself as a King's son ought to do, that is, he does nothing misbecoming his birth and Dignity.   

§. 4. His Outside and Apparel.  
If we may spare so much time from the Contemplation of those richer Excellencies of his inner man, as to take notice of his Outside, we may there behold the Ingenious Emblem of his better self: so much Good care he takes that there be nothing found about him, but what may speak him indeed a Gentleman; and present you (so far as the Matter will bear it) with the fair picture of a Noble Mind. He would gladly so polish and adorn his body, as becomes the lodging of so great a Soul. He looks upon it as a thing only so far deserving his care and pains, as it is a necessary Instrument of her Operations: and yet he rather could wish himself (might it so be) freed from the Cumbersome Company of his Flesh, because it proves often so great a Clog and hindrance to the more Active and vigorous inclinations of his better part. So long as he is Confined to his Tabernacle of clay, he makes the best that can be made of a Necessary Evil: so feeding his body that it may have strength enough to serve his Soul; and so clothing it, that the other part may be kept from freezing, and fit for more sprightly actings. Indeed he never makes much of his Earthly part, but in subserviency to his Spiritual; that so he may the better, as he is Commanded, Glorify God both with body and Soul, which are his.  
Hence is it, that you may always observe in his Habit, such a Gravity as beseems a Christian; and yet such a Decency as becomes a Gentleman. He chooses rather to have his distinction from other Men founded in his virtues then in his clothes. Herein he shows that he looks more after what's serviceable and useful, then what's pleasing and Fashionable. So much Curiosity he has, as not to be Slovenly; and so little, as it cannot show that he is vain or wanton. He had rather have his Apparel Rich then Gaudy, and yet rather warm then Rich. It is neatness not bravery, a Decent not a Gorgeous attire, which, next unto what's useful, he aims at.  
In every suit he buys he hath as great a regard to the poor man's necessities as to his own humour, and makes choice of that Cloth or Stuff which may please God hereafter upon the Beggar's back, more than what he knows may now flatter the wanton eye of the World upon his own. He has much better thoughts of Virtue, then to hope his fine clothes may gain him a respect where that could not; nay on the other side, he knows that Goodness is enough of itself; to advance the Rag above the Robe, and a Leathern Cap above the Golden Diadem.  
He Pities the unskilful wantonness of the world, which always (as Children and Fools use to do) sets an higher value upon the Varnish and the gilded Frame, then on the lively features and excellent Art in the rich Piece they adorn: and he calls it a blindness, at least, a weak sight, which cannot behold a virtue, but (as we do a dull picture) through the Glistering Glass of Vanity. He esteems his penny in the Poor man's purse a much greater Ornament, than a fair Plume in his own Hat. Neither knows he how he may with a Good Conscience wear that, which might be made many a poor man's livelihood (as too many now love to do) in a Band and a pair of Cuffs. He is more pleased to see his own clothes cover fewer Nakedness, then displaying his lusts: and thinks it more honourable to wear the Charity than the Bravery.  
If his Place or Office challenge an Habit above his desires, by what he is forced to do, he shows what he would choose to do; and most lively expresses his singular humility, in his necessitated Gallantry: showing how he can Condescend even to any thing, so it be Innocent; though by a Conformity contrary to his natural Inclinations. And even herein he takes care to Provide himself such Apparel, that his cast suit (as we call it) may not be quite cast away: and to this end he chooses rather to swaggar it in Gold then Tinsel, in Cloth then Stuffe: that so it may be sullied before it be torn, and unfit for him to wear, before it be worn out; and then most becoming the Poverty and mean Condition of another, when it shall be below the State and Dignity of his Place and Person.  
It is most certain (and the Gentleman knows it as well) that the Temper and Disposition of the Soul, is no way better Discernible, then through the Habit and Garb of the Body: He that longs after New fashions, will not be backwards in embracing New Religions: both proceeding from one and the same dangerous Principle, an unconstancy of mind, and a Desire of Novelty. The True Gentleman knows it by experience, that where there is no levity in the thoughts, there appears no alteration in the Body; where no inconstancy and Pride of Soul, there's no change or flaunting in the clothes. And therefore that the world may know that he has a fixed and resolved soul; he has one Constant Garb and Attire; and he will never yield that to be out of Fashion, which is both Serviceable and Frugal. Alas, the poor Body (he knows) Desires nothing but what may preserve it alive and in health; It is the lascivious Soul which calls for all those other Superfluities; and the Gentleman accounts it below him to gratify his lusts, and to be at so vast an expense to clothe his Humour. He could never, since he was a child, play with a Feather, or think himself happy in the Glistering of a Lace or Ribbon. He leaves these toys to those silly Creatures who are resolved to Continue for ever in their Childhood or Infancy, and dare be so foolish as to think a bread band and a slaunting Cuff, as necessary as Heaven. He can think himself a man without such a vanity; and know himself a Gentleman without any such Mark or bravery: always wearing such clothes, as his Body may in Old-age have good reason to bless the moderation of his soul; and the Needy may have no less cause to pray for the health of of his body.   

§. 5. His Discourse and Language.  
When you hear him speak, you will think that he intends no less, then to give you a taste of his Soul at every word: Nor indeed is it possible you should in any thing plainlier Discover the Nobleness of his Spirit, then in his sweet breath, so Divinely moulded into most excellent discourse. Every word he speaks, speaks him; and gives you a saire Character at once both of his Abilities and his Breeding.  
If you respect the Quality of his Discourse, it is Grave and Noble, Serious and Weighty; and yet always rather what is fit to be spoken, than what he is able to speak. His Words are most Proper and Genuine, but not affected; His Phrase high and lofty, but not Bombastick; His Sentenses close and full, but not obscure or Confused. His Discourse is neither Flashy nor Flat, neither Boyish nor Effaeminate, neither rude nor Pedantic: It is always Sober, yet Ingenious; Virile, strong and Masculine, yet sweet and Winning: He loves a Smooth expression, but not a Soft one: a Smart or Witty saying, but without a Clinch or jingle. His words are those which his Matter will best bear, not such as his Phaney would readily est suggest. No poor half starved jests, no dry Insipid Quibbles can get any room in his Rhetoric: hardly a word in all, but what hath its Emphasis, nor any sentence without its full weight.  
If you would eye the Quantity of his Speech, it is not Long but Full; not Much but Great: He speaks not always, but when he speaks he says All. He as often shows how well he can be silent, as how well he can speak; and others always love more to hear him talk, than he himself. He makes no less use of his Ear in all Companies, then of his Tongue; and by his serious harkening to the more impertinent discourses of his Companions, plainly proves he has no less Patience than Rhetoric. He makes it evident, that he has his tongue (that unruly Beast in most men's Mouths) as much at his Command, as his Wit, and that he is able to make both rest, as well as both move at his pleasure.  
His sayings are never long or tedious, but they always reach Home; and he will very seldom take any thing less than a Necessity, for an Opportunity of speaking. But then usually he delivers all with that facility and perspicuity, as if his words were not the elect and voluntary, but the ready and Natural emanations of his Soul. No Passion shall at any time more Disturb the Order of his words, than it can Cloud the Serenity of his forehead. He cannot make himself merry, much less proud, with his own Inventions; nor does he ever catch at the applause, but aims at the Edification of his Auditers.  
If you will look upon the Matter and Substance of his Discourse; you shall see, 'tis always what he finds, not what he makes: Not what he supposes may afford the fairest field for his Fancy and Invention to roave in; but the Best-Garden of such choice fruits as the Stomaches (Not the Palates only) of his Company shall be best able to bear: Or such as may prove most Medicinal, when seasonably applied to the several Diseases of those that hear him: These he always studies rather to heal than Discover, and yet rather to Discover then Flatter. Hence he often distributes amongst them the Bitter as well as the Sweet: and rather that which may nourish, then what may please.  
And yet here it is, if ever, that he acts the part of the Tempter: for he makes even the Sourest Apple (which he knows to be wholesome) so pleasant to the Eye, that he forces such as need it, by a Pious Fraud, into a real love of what naturally they most hate. Indeed the only way which for the most part in such Company is left him to prevent the loss of his own time, is to make others with whom he Converses gainers by his Society: and he does his utmost endeavour, that every one that hears him, may by what they hear, either gain a virtue, or lose a Vice.  
This is it, which makes him very careful to avoid, whatsoever might rationally be supposed able to vitiate either his own Discourse or the M●nds of his Auditors. And very good reason he has to be more cautious in this respect then other men, seeing the most Odious vice from his Language would gain so great a Loveliness as would probably make it one of the strongest temptations. But his Rhetoric has too sweet a face to be made the Mother or Midwife to any thing that has the Monstrous shape of Sin: he should foully▪ Adulterate so great a Purity, who should go about to match it with any thing less than Piety and Virtue.  
Obloquy and Scurrility are too deformed and wryfaced to gain any place in his Affections; He that is able, when he will, to create to himself a Reputation not inferior to the highest, scorns as much, as he needs little to Rob any other man of his. His fingers are too clean to be fouled by throwing dirt in other men's faces. He is as much afraid to discover a Blemish in another man's eye, as he is to suffer a greater in his own; and will rather charitably condescend to lick out the Mote with his tongue, then deridingly to talk of it. He holds it too much below a man to employ his Nails in vexing an Old Sore, and scratching till he make a New one. He leaves it to Dogs and Ravens to prey upon Carrion. Alas, it is a very hungry wit, which is fain to feed upon such Nauseous Diet. Other Men's Infirmities, especially if Natural or accidental, are much more the objects of his Charity and Pity, then of his Merriment and Derision. He judges it a Cruelty proper to weakness alone to Murder the Sick; no true Ingenuity can be so Barbarous as to sport itself in the Misfortunes of the Miserable. He esteems that (as well he may) a mere Dwarfish wit which cannot tell how to show itself to the world but by trampling (and so advancing itself) upon the Reputation of others. It is a Barren Fancy, or at least has always a very Hard Labour, which can be mother to nothing but to what Misfortune must be the Midwife. The True Gentleman has both more wit, more Honesty, and more Charity, then to permit his tongue to be so foolishly, so unworthily, so Tyrannically busied.  
Nor doth he less abhor to come near that filthy Puddle of obscaenity; 'tis a Sow and no Minerva that can be for such nasty food. He never carried the Goat's tongue in the Gentleman's head, but wishes that all who do so would for ever use it as Goats do, that is, continue always Mute. All his discourses are as chaste as fair, and the sweet Loves in recital whereof he so much pleaseth himself and all those Good men which hear him, are no other than those betwixt God and his own Soul.  
He is too just to himself and his own unusurped Majesty, to suffer his talk to flag into an idle much less a wanton strain of Drollery: that's too Plebeian and Vulgar for a Gentleman, and this no less too foul and Beastly even for a Man: and he must be more than both these in every expression, a Christian. He cannot but with as much wonder and astonishment as pity and Compassion, hear those puny Souls, which can invent no other Method of Gracing their Discourse, and make it taking, but by a Complacent rehearsal of their own and other men's uncleannesses; nor can find matter for an Hour's talk, without being beholding for it to a Mistress or an whore; Or at best by dressing, up some Empty piece of Folly in fine words. Thus can they never be merry, but as Children use to be, with a Baby or a Rattle.  
His Soul presently boyles up in a pious Agony within him, whensoever he hears a vain Oath or any thing that sounds like profaneness: He never mentions the dreadful name of Almighty God, but with that due Reverence both of Soul and Body which suits with its greatness. He is too much the friend of God, and is every way too nearly related unto him, to hear him Dishonoured with patience; or to suffer his Name to be made so vile and cheap, as to be used (as too Commonly it is) only as an Expletive particle to prevent a Chasm, or make up a Gap in the sentence, or to make all run more smoothly.  
He has the like Holy respect for God's Word as his Name. He is too much in love with Scripture to see her prostituted to every licentious Fancy, and by an impudent wresting made the subject of every Atheistical wit. The Gentleman looks with a more reverend eye upon this sacred Fountain: not as set open to be troubled and made Muddy by the Wanton Goats, but to water and wash the tender Lambs. He useth it further as a wholesome Bath for his White Soul, which will preserve her both clean and whole.  
I should Injure the Gentleman, to dwell any longer upon his Negative virtues. Only, this is an Indulgence given to our Ignorance, that we are allowed to speak in the Negative of all Great perfections, and say what they are not, when we cannot, as we should, express what indeed they are. If you will hear what I have to say more of his Discourse in short, then know, that all his words are not only the pretty pleasing, yet Empty bubblings of a restless Fancy, a raging lust, or a wanton and Frolic Humour; But all of them the Grave, weighty, and well proportioned Breathe of his great and Holy Soul.   

§. 6. His Behaviour and Civility.  
His whole Behaviour and Carriage is Masculine and Noble; such as becomes his Heroic spirit; and yet always accompanied with a wonderful Humility and Courtesy. His Body is only made strait, and the more itself, not (as most men's are) New-moulded by Art: He has just so much of the Dancing-School as will teach him how to laugh at those that have too much. He has made more use of the Vaulter and Fencer, than the Dancer; for his desire was more to be a Man, than a Puppet, and to be a servant to his Country rather than his Lady.  
If in things of this Nature he sometimes studies fewer satisfaction more than his own, he will show how much he can be more than a man, not how much less, and how Active he can be, not how Apish. He so behaves himself, that by what he does, you may rather Conclude he can do more if he will, then that he hath done all he can do. In these, as in all things else of the like Indifferency, he manifests his greatest power there where most men have the least, in refusing to do, what he is sure would gain him the empty Applause of the Multitude: Though, so far as he can judge the sport or Recreation Innocent and lawful, he had rather manifest a slighting and a disreguard, than an hatred towards them.  
His Compliments are not (as in others) the wild extravagances of a Luxuriant Language, but the natural breathe of a sincere kindness and Respect; His Civility is always one, with his Duty, his Friendship, or his Charity. A Court-dresse cannot bring him in love with a Lie; nor can he look upon a Fashionable Hypocrisy with a more favourable eye, then upon a Glorious cheat; He judges of all Dissimulation, as in itself it is, for though in Compliment the Practice of it may seem Princely, yet in its own Nature he knows 'tis Devilish, and in the Issue will prove Damnable. He Scorns to be Satan's Scholar, though for so profitable a lesson: for it was He indeed was the first Master of this Ceremony; when he Complemented our first Parents out of their Innocence and Paradise at once; tickling their Ambition with this High strain— Ye shall be like Gods.  
It is his care, that all the Obedience and Honour his Inferiors are obliged to render unto him, may seem no more than an Imitation of that he pays unto his Superiors: And that the Courtesy and Civility of his equals may be thought nothing else but the reflection of his towards them. But if another's kindness chance to get the start in showing itself, he makes it appear that his Backwardness proceeded not from any want of goodwill but Opportunity; and he endeavours to requite the earliness of his friend's Courtesy, by the measure of his own.  
His Inferiors may behold in him how well Humility may consist with Greatness, and how great an Affability, Authority will admit of: By his Practice our licentious world might easily be convinced, that Freedom and subjection may dwell together like friends.  
All his words, and all his Actions are so many Calls to virtue and Goodness, and by what he himself is, he shows others what they ought to be. If Heaven were such a thing as stood in need of an assistant Temptation (which a man would almost believe when he sees how little men love it for it self) certainly it would make choice of the Gentleman as the loveliest bait to draw others thither, were not the Generality of Mankind grown so stupid in their sins, as to fall in love with Hell; were they not infatuated even to a Confidence in those vanities, which are worse than nothing, and besotted into a sensuality below what's Brutish; who would not make haste to Heaven, were there no greater Happiness than the fruition of such a Companion as is the true Gentleman?  
And truly thither with all speed he must resolve to go that intends to enjoy him long; for he makes too much haste to that place of happiness, to stay long by the way. Such Good men indeed are soon taken away, and this is so little laid to heart by us, that we have great reason for our own sakes to fear, that they are taken away from the judgements yet to come upon this sinful and Rebellious Nation. The world grows so thin of such as he, that we may too truly now say he is but one of a thousand; and then 'tis no less than a thousand to one that very shortly whosoever would find him, must go to Heaven to seek him. And indeed it were an high injury to persuade him to a longer stay here, except we would assure him of our Company thither at last.   

§. 7. His Inside.  
It is now time to take a short view of his Inside, and it must indeed be a very short and Imperfect one; for you cannot but imagine what would be the unfortunate event, if such weak eyes as mine are, should gaze too long and intently upon the Glorious body of the Sun. I shall only therefore be so officious to such (if any such there be) as need my help, as to set open the windows for them, the Sun (I am sure) will shine in of itself. And truly his rays dart in so thick and fast upon us, we shall hardly know which to take notice of first: An understanding here we meet withal, so clear and unclouded; a Will so regular and uncorrupted, Affections so well refined, so orderly, and uninterested. that 'tis wholly evident, that as Nature found Materials, and Education built the House and set all in Order; so do Religion and Morality Govern within, and betwixt them keep all clean and handsome.  
His virtues seem to be so much the Necessary and Natural Emanation of his most Active and boundless soul, that he is in danger by being altogether Good to lose the praise and honour due to so eminent a Goodness: If he could Leave off to be virtuous, the world might then seem to have some excuse for being vicious. But his Goodness is too absolute, to grow out of love with itself, and too knowing to lie obnoxious unto such a cheat, as to part with her own face in exchange for the fairest of Vices. I wish the world would forbear to love Vice, till he begin to forsake virtue; and that all our Gentry would endeavour to be like him, till he become like them, or esteem any thing truly Noble, which he cannot prove to be really Good.  
As for his Intellectual Excellencies, so far as he owes them purely and Immediately to God and Nature, I think it not fit so much as to touch any further upon them; lest I should not bear up even in that great variety, wherein they are distributed among the many Individuals; God having proportioned them out unto the severals in so different a measure, as nothing but his own Infinite wisdom can give a particular reason of it. Only this I may safely say, that whatsoever his talon is, the Gentleman Digs not in the Earth to hide it; but so traffics with it, till Art and Industry have Brought in an Increase some way proportionable to the Stock of Nature: at lest to that degree which may entitle him to the Euge of his Lord; and the Glorious welcome of a Good and faithful Servant. He makes use of God's Bounty, not as a Warrant for his sloth or an Indulgence to his Idleness; but as a Spur and motive to a grateful Care and Industry: Not as a treasure to be prodigally spent, but a stock to be thriftily husbanded and Improved: He accounts it a thing most unworthy in a Gentleman, to be an Il husband, especially where the treasure is God's, and he but his Steward; yet such a steward, as has the use, as it were, of his Lord's purse for his Encouragement.  
His acquired Intellectual accomplishments, are too numerous and various to be here characterized, something must be said of them hereafter in his study, though but very little; for I choose rather to insist upon what Denominates him Good and Noble, then Great and knowing: for though the latter be useful and excellent, yet the former are more praise worthy and Necessary.   

§. 8. His Command over himself.  
His Will and Affections he makes the Instruments and servants, not the Guides and Mistresses of his Soul. He subjugates His Will unto Reason, and this to Religion; and and by this means it comes to pass that he never misses of having his own free Choice in all things. He both Doth and Hath what he will, because he never wills but what is according to reason, nor thinks any thing Reasonable but what's honest and Lawful: thus by making God's will his own, he is never Crossed in his desires.  
Thus he exercises the first and main act of his Authority at home; and that he may be more expert in Governing others, he first practices upon himself; and learns to command his Inferior Soul. He will not submit in the least to the Tyranny of a Passion, nor hearkens he further to the most tempting Suggestions of his Sensitive part, than he sees that subject to the grave and sober dictates of its lawful Empress Right Reason. His Affections when prepared and fitted by an unprejudiced judgement for his service, he delays not to put into exercise, but employs them as so many wings, whereon his soul may be Carried up above the reach of Vulgar men. It would be too great an Indulgence in him, to suffer his Passions to be their own carvers, and choosers of their own objects: for these being the Natural Daughters of his untamed sensitive Appetite, have too much of their mother in them, to be discreet in their choice; like wanton and imprudent Girls, they would pitch upon the fairest rather then the best, and more labour to flatter the Sense, then obey the Reason: As their Lord and Sovereign, therefore he appoints, and Reason Cuts them out their work, and assigns every one it's proper task; and by this means at length they become the Beauty, ornament and strength, which otherwise had naturally been, the Blemishes, Disorders, and Infirmities of the Man.  
He desires in all things to be above the world, that's his Ambition; and therefore he sets his Affections on things above, and points them out the way to Heaven, that's his prudence. The soul without them would be lame and unable to go; and they without its eye of Reason, are blind and know not which way to go: but (as the Cripple upon the blind man's back) let but the judgement direct them in the right path, and then they will carry the soul to Heaven. The Gentleman is too much a Man to be without all Passion, but he is not so much a Beast as to be governed by it.  
In this Moderation and Empire over himself, where he gives Law to his Affections, and limits the extravagances of Appetite, and the insatiable cravings of sensuality; the just rule he goes by is not Opinion but knowledge; not that leaden one, which is so easily bend and made Crooked, or melted and dissolved by the heat of Passion, or the arts of Sophistry, into error and Skepticisme; but that other Golden one, which lies as close and firm, as 'tis made strait and even. When he would imprint the true loveliness of any Object upon his affections, he takes it into a true light, and has a care to remove from before his eye all those Cunningly wrought Glasses, or other instruments of Satan and Lust, set so frequently to prejudice and deceive the sight; whatsoever might cause him to mistake a false object for a true, or to see a true one amiss: so endeavours he to be as free from error as from vice: esteeming it as a sin to act against his knowledge, so a shame at least to be deceived in his Opinion.  
He judges of things, as he does of men, not by what they promise, but by what they prove; and so he trusts, and Loves, and fears them, not for what in appearance they seem to be, but for what in the use and trial of them he finds that in truth they are. He accounts not an Ox therefore more terrible than a Lion, because he is greater: nor a Pibble more desirable than a Pearl because 'tis heavier: But he first collects the Excellency of every thing from its usefulness, and tendency unto that end he aims at in the pursuit after or use of it, and then he proportions his affections according to that degree of Excellency, he has thus rationally concluded to be in it. After this manner does he in the first place Lord it over his Passion, till in a long obedience she have served out her apprenticeship to his Reason: then is she deservedly enfranchised into a virtue, and so becomes at length her Lord's Mistress; and 'tis she will get him a reward for his service in Heaven.   

§. 9 His Magnanimity and Humility.  
There is a Brave Heroic Virtue, which is as a second soul unto the true Gentleman, and Enspirits every part of him, with an admirable Gallantry; I mean, Christian Magnanimity and Greatness of Soul. This presently heaves him up to that size that the wide world seems too straight and narrow to contain him, or afford room enough for him to express the activity of his Spirit. This is it which teaches him to laugh at small things, and disdain to go less than his Name. Being carried up on high, upon the wings of this Virtue, he casts down his eye upon those little Happinesses, which seem enough to satisfy the Narrow Souls of other men, with no little Contempt and Scorn: but on those poor starvelings themselves, whose Earthly Appetites can make such trash their Diet, with as much Pity and Compassion. It is this Virtue which so ennobles all his actions that they bear a just proportion to the largeness of his thoughts; and permits him to engage in nothing which is not truly Honourable. And it is this same Virtue which makes his own Bosom his Treasury, and that so rich and self sufficient, that all the external felicities this world has or can cast in to the Bargain, are looked upon by him with as slender a regard, as the Widow's Mite would have been by the great Lord of the Temple, without a large Augmentation from her Piety and Devotion. It is this Virtue which makes him a Calm in his own breast when the whole world besides rages like a troubled Sea round about him. Let the storm and tempest threaten never so loudly a splitting and a wrack to other unballanced souls; he knows not how to fear, whilst his Courage is his Anchor, and Innocence his safe Harbour. This is it which makes him conclude their Labour very ill spent, who for the cherishing of a Childdish humour, use to sweat, and Consume their strength and Spirits in pursuit of a Feather; or strain their backs to take up every straw that Glisters in their way. It ought to be a much Nobler Game than such a silly fly, that this Eagle vouchsafes to Stoop to.  
But as this brave Virtue thus teacheth the Gentleman, to he enough to himself, and rest Content and Satisfied with what he hath at home; so does it likewise teach him to be too much for himself and Commands him not to vindicate all of himself wholly to his own use and service. It were pity so great a Goodness should be thus Confined within one subject, as not to be able to Distribute something of itself to every one of its neighbours. Nay this Christian Magnanimity doth so stretch out his Soul, that even that too seems to be Communicated unto others besides himself: It is a kind of violence and restraint to her to be pinned up within the narrow Province of one Individual Body, and therefore she studies how she may enlarge if nother Empire yet her Charity; and make a number by being the Objects of her bounty, the witnesses of her Greatness. Indeed so Diffusive and spreading is Virtue, when she grows in so rich a soil, that of a little she soon becomes great, and of One a Multitude. This grain of Mustardseed grows up so fast, and so great, that many may reap the benefit of its growth, by partaking of its branches. And such a Cloud, as at first might appear but of an hand breadth, will suddenly make a Nation happy in that refreshing dew, which by its plenty, will argue a strange increase after so small an appearance. Indeed the Gentleman acts as if he intended, that his soul should in a short time animate the Universe, and make it more than ever the poor Philosopher could dream of, One great Gentleman; and the several Individuals therein but the numerous members of his own body. Though the indocile and untractable spirits of the Common sort of men be such as force him against his will to be singular; yet to show us how unwilling he is to remain so, his virtues are too charitable to be long alone: and hence are all his Breathe such, as might well be thought intended by him to inspire his Company with something like himself; and all his Actions so many earnest Essays towards the assimilating of their Natures unto his own. He is Master of so inexhaustible and Miraculous a treasury of Goodness, that he may very well afford every man a little and yet keep all unto himself. He knows not how to be good; and not to do good, and therefore one half of his study is to give himself away. Neither his breast nor his purse are ever shut to such as need him, and (God knows) more need him, then will make use of him.  
The Gentleman may well be Compared unto a Great Book, which always lies wide open to the world; that whosoever wants advice or Counsel, may freely Consult him at pleasure: there they may read, what himself, as opportunity served him, has taken great pains to Copy out fair in all his Actions, whatever is both safe, great, and Good; thus in one and at once they may behold both the rules of a Good life, Precept and Example.  
Nor doth this virtue more manifest itself in a liberal distribution and Instruction, then in as free and Impartial a Correction and reproof, whensoever it is requisite, choosing much rather to cross the humour of his friend, then flatter his vice; and to lose his friendship here, than his Company (if it may be possible for him to have it) in Heaven another day. He is not afraid to call every Man by his own name, or add the Epithet which is due unto it; that so every one that comes into his presence, may be afraid to bring a bad name along with him. He can envy no man because he cannot see any one better than himself; neither yet can he despise any man, because he really desires every one might be as good as himself.  
So that, what's most of all Commendable, this most excellent virtue is accompanied with a most exemplary humility; and there is nothing can more deservedly exalt him in the thoughts of all men, than this, that he is such a Diminutive in his own. Nor does this proceed from an Ignorance of his own excellencies, but rather hence, that he knows whence he had them: Neither does he therefore praeferre every man in Honour before himself, because he knows not what other men are, but because he knows not what they may be. He is really so high that he may with ease reach Heaven, but he makes himself so low that he may go in at the straight gate. When he looks upon his own virtues (which he had rather show than see, and have then show) he will not think them great, because he intends to make them yet much Greater; neither can he tell how to applaud himself when he sees them great, because he knows well how little he either made or deserved them. It is this virtue that makes him much more desire the friendship of a virtuous Beggar, than the favour of a vicious and licentious Prince; because this he must assuredly lose, seeing he knows not how in a Compliance to his humour to become wicked; but that shall never end, but last as long as his Heaven. He chooses his Companions not by the outward habit of their Body, but that internal of the Soul; and sets an higher value on them for their Merits then their Births. He is so little proud of what he is, that he is indeed very humble for what he is not. He will never be persuaded (as most of those we call Gallants do) to pride himself in his Vanity, Beast of his folly, and Glory in his Profaneness.   

§. 10. His Charity and Temperance.  
The Gentleman's Charity, is no other than his Soul drawn out to his finger's ends. Every piece of money he hath, bears as well the Impression and Image of this Virtue, as that of his Prince; and this is it which makes him value the Coin more, and the Silver l●sse. He is indeed that true Briaraeus, which has as many hands, as he meets with receivers: and for this cause he is looked upon as a Monster in these later days, and very rarely to be met with.  
The course he takes to air his Bags, and keep them from moulding, is to distribute freely to all that are in need. If he take some pains to become richer than others, it is only to put a cheat upon that which men miscall Fortune, and to manifest he hath a power as great as here's; that is, to make himself poor again at his pleasure; and to show that Charity can entertain as rich servants as she. Though God hath indulged him the privilege and inheritance of an Elder brother in the world, yet he wisely Considers that the youngest of all may in equity challenge a Child's portion. He esteems it a very high Honour, that God has vouchsafed to make him one of the Stewards in His great Family: and he is nothing ambitious of his Epithet to his Name, or reward of his pains who is recorded in the Gospel for his Injustice.  
When by giving to the poor, he lends to the Lord, the Honour of being the Lord's Creditor is all the Interest he expects; and doubtless this Happiness is not every man's, to have God his Debtor. He accounts it much the safer way, to trust his Charity then his Luxury with the Bag; the former will bring in an even reckoning in Heaven; the latter perhaps a jolly one in the Tavern, but a very sad one in Hell. He delights not to see any thing starve but his Lusts, he lets these crave without an Answer, and die without Compassion. I would to God, there were many in the world such as he, we should then see fewer Beggars, and more Gentlemen. Men's backs and Bellies would not then so frequently rob and undo their souls: Now adays, the Gentleman's clothes wind about his Body, and his Body about his Soul, with no greater kindness, than the twining Ivy about the Oak; the Apparel sucks away the nourishment which is due to the Body, and this that other which we owe to the Soul.  
Where he is not able to make his Estate adequate to his deserts; he takes a better Course, and Levels his desires to his fortune: though he seldom have all that he deserves, yet he always has whatsoever he Covets. He never wants much of that which is needful, because he enjoys all that he is in love with. He makes his life and health not his Estate or ambition the standard, his Reason and not his Humour the judge of his Necessities.  
Such is his Temperance and Sobriety in the use of those Creatures, of which by God's blessing, he is made owner; that he sacrifices very much to his God in the relief of the Indigent, nothing to sin, in satisfying the importunate cravings of his Carnal lusts. Above all, he is ashamed, when Fortune hath used him very hardly and spoiled him of many opportunities of exerciseing his Bounty and his Charity, to permit his lusts to use him yet worse, and leave him nothing at all. He scorns first to swaggar and swill away his estate, and then Curse his fortune for useing him so roughly; first to make himself a Beggar, and then cry out upon his poor Condition; or to Complain he is as poor as job, when every day he fares as Deliciously as Dives. When he has the least, he shows that he is able to live with less; and when he is brought into a low Condition, he tries how he could bear up in a lower; and proves by his cheerfulness in that some would call want and Misery, that Happiness does not Consist in superfluities. He is Content with any thing, and by this means enjoys all things; and is so Charitable of a little, that it is evident in that little he wants not much.  
He chooses rather to be well in the Morning, then drunk over night; and at any time had rather be free from the Sin, then please his Companions with the Frolic. His Money is too little to love, but too much to throw away: and he had much rather give it then lose it; preferring his charity before his Game; and the poor man's life, before his own Wantonness and Riot: Though he had never so much, he could never have more then enough, because he sees so many that want what he has, and pities all he sees in want. He looks upon his estate as that which was given him for use and not for waste; and upon so much of it as he loses at play, as that whereby he has robbed himself of a virtue, and another of a Comfortable livelihood, and he cannot sport himself with such losses.   

§. 11. His Valour and Prudence.  
Having spoken already of the Gentleman's Magnanimity, I shall need to add very little of his Valour; which he exercises more in Obeying his God, then Opposing his Brethren. His highest piece of Fortitude is that whereby he Conquers himself and his sin; and in this he is always practising. He knows that by thus becoming his own Captive, he shall not want the usage of a Gentleman; and thus being made his own Lord too, he is sure to be free from all the world besides. He looks upon it as the basest degree of Cowardice, to yield unto those feeble Passions, which, did not both Reason and Religion step into their Succour, would certainly become the prey of every light and Empty toy. His Christian Fortitude is such, that he fears not to Encounter the Great Goliath of Hell, or an whole Army of such Philistines as have set themselves in array against his Happiness, all at once: not though they be such, as by their Cunning have already got within him: He never gives over Resisting the Devil till he have put him to flight. He hath that greatest Courage which is so rarely found in others, who would be called Gentlemen, he dares be Religious in spite of the World. He sets himself, without betraying the least timidity, against that great Bugbear, which so scares most men not only out of their wits but out of all good actions, Shame, or Derision. These are they which, as the Elephants in King Pyrrhus his Army terrified the Romans with their prodigious Bulk, do so affright the greatest part of our Gentry, that they never leave flying till they tumble into the Bottomless Pit together. The True Gentleman, like the stout Minucius, has by experience proved these Monsters to be of more Bulk than Mettle, and to want nothing but an Adversary, to bring them into Subjection.  
The true Gentleman has so much true valour, as not to fear the brand of a Coward, where his Courage would be his sin, and his Conquest his ruin. He is ever the fugitive in such a chase, and dare boast of nothing but being routed. 'Tis then alone he fears not Death, when he is sure there is no Hell will follow it. His life is more dear to him, then that he should be Content to part with it for any thing less than Heaven. He has an Honour, and that's his Religion, a Mistress too to vindicate and defend from all injuries and affronts, and that's his own Soul: For the sakes of these two he is engaged in many a Duel, with those Heresies and those Sins, which would slain and Corrupt the one, or steal away and deflower the other.  
He thinks that Honour too dear which must be bought with a Murder; and a Name which is never to be worn, but by his Monument, none of the cheapest, when purchased with his life. He has much Honester thoughts of his Mistress, then to think her such a Proserpina, that either he or his Rival must be sent to Hell, before either can enjoy her.  
There is indeed a Beauty, for which the Gentleman thinks it no loss to die; but such an one as is often black, though always lovely: I mean, his own Mother and his Saviour's spouse; the Church of God: and there is an Honour which he holds cheap enough when bought with the high price both of Life and Livelihood, though (if he might have his choice) he had rather preserve both to maintain it, then lose either to purchase it, Loyalty to his Prince, and Fidelity to his Country: For these he does not fear to Embrace a Stake, to make the Scaffold his Bed, and a Block his Pillow; seeing he is assured, that whosoever thus lies down to rest at night, shall without fail rise again to Glory in the Morning. He holds it much more desirable to live a Beggar, then to die a Traitor: And that his Honour and Conscience should expose him to Tyranny and Violence, than his Treachery or Hypocrisy buy out his temporal security. He thinks it no great matter to trust that God with his Person and his Family, who hath trusted him with his spouse and his Children.  
Hence is the Gentleman's Prudence, the Legitimate Daughter of Loyalty and Conscience, not the Bastard of Covetousness and Cowardice; 'tis mixed of Discretion and Wisdom, not Craft and Knavery. He was never yet so blindly zealous, as to worship a Golden Calf for a God, that so he might keep his Chest from being broken open: Nor was he ever so absolute a Statesman, as to call Rebellion Reformation, for fear of Poverty or an Halter. His natural affection to wife and children is such that he would enjoy them for ever in happiness; and therefore his ●are is so to part with them now, that he may meet them again in Heaven, not in Hell, hereafter: His whole Policy is to avoid an eternal, though by incurring a temporal, misery. Such a Politician only he thinks fit for Heaven, that hath prudently managed his Lord's affairs upon Earth; he cannot call him either a prudent or a faithful Ambassador, who prosecutes his own design with more earnestness than his Master's; or acts more vigorously for the advancement of his own particular Interest, than the Public Good, or his Prince's Honour.  
It is his Prudence to secure what's best, by the loss of what's Indifferent, whensoever he is necessitated to part with one of the two; and he chooses rather freely to part with that which he is only sure once to lose, and by that l●sse become eternally happy; then to throw away that which in spite of violence he might for ever have kept, and can never part with, without his utter ruin: If tares must spring up amongst the good Corn in that field. wherein God has intended him a labourer, he had rather show by his activeness that they were not sown whilst he slept; then by a covetous laziness give the Enemy an opportunity of Compassing his designs; or occasion the disheartening of his brethren, by withdrawing his shoulder, and leaving them alone to bear the burden in the heat of the Day. He can think it a greater prudence with the Disciples of his Lord, to leave his Father and his Net, to follow a Saviour through Persecution into Heaven; then with the Carking Fool, to lie modelling out a Barn which may contain his wealth, and in the mean time suffer his Soul to be stolen out of his Body by the sedulous craft of the seducer.   

§. 12. His Behaviour in both Fortunes.  
If Fortune smile upon him, and be indeed such as he dare call her Good, he makes it his business to be altogether as good as she; and will be sure as well to deserve as to wear her Livery. His care is that her good usage of him may be rather deemed the just reward of his own Moderation and Good-Husbandry; then the unmerited Bounty of so blind a Mistress. He makes his Prosperity a motive to his Piety, not (as others) the opportunity of displaying his Vanity. He proves by his example, that he most happily enjoys the World, that Glories lest in the enjoyment of it. He looks upon his present flourishing Condition, rather as that which is not without ingratitude to be refused, then with eagerness to be desired; and upon what he now possesses, as that which he knows not how soon he may lose; and therefore he makes himself now so careless an owner, that (if the wind chance to turn) ●e may prove a cheerful and Contented loser. He dares not Fancy himself one jot the nearer Heaven, for being thus mounted on the Deceitful wings of Fortune, lest when the contrary wind of adversity dismounts him, and his unexpected fall awakes him from his pleasant dream, he should find himself to be really as low, as he was before but seemingly high. If Fortune be content to lodge with him as his guest, she is welcome; But he cannot be so dotingly enamoured of her, as to entertain her, either as his wife, or his Harlot; lest either an untimely divorce should break his heart, or she should bring a Bastard for a Son, and so at length shame and disgrace him. He can neither so far flatter her as to call her Goddess, which he knows of herself to be no more but a name; nor so far Honour her as to ask her blessing, because he knows that whatsoever Goodness men are apt to ascribe unto her, is but one of the meanest blessings of a Greater than she. Laugh she never so heartily, her pleasantness shall never overjoy him, seeing (for aught he knows) she either does or may ere long laugh at him; and if she Frown, he can frown as fast as she, and that for her kindness. He never relies upon her, because he knows she is naturally so unconstant: nor can he see any reason why he should be proud of being her favourite, because he may every where behold many of the most undeserving altogether as much in her Favour as himself.  
To speak the whole, the true Gentleman hath so slight an esteem of Fortune, that he cannot vouchsafe her the Honour of a Being, but leaves that to those poor Heathens who were indeed as blind as they supposed her to be. Whatsoever blessings he enjoys he received them, as indeed they are, as the bounties of an indulgent father, with thanks and love; and he useth them to that end, for which he supposes so Good and Prudent a father would bestow them on a Beloved Son; so that he may make them as much Instruments of his own Good, as they are testimonies of his father's affection. He looks upon his Prosperity, not so much as a reward for doing well, as an encouragement to do more, and an opportunity of doing better: Much less can he think his flourishing condition, as many seem to do, a piece of Heaven's flattering Courtship, where no more is intended, than the affording him an opportunity of pampering up his lusts, and making himself a Glorious sinner. Seeing he has already received so bountiful a reward for doing so little, he accounts it a shame for the future not to make himself a fit object for a greater, by doing both more and better. Such an Ingenuous Spirit hath the Gentleman, that he thinks every reward for what's past, an obligation to future good services; and he had rather wait with patience for all his arrears together, then ever be thought to have received the last payment here.  
If it be his lot to groan out his days under the heavy pressures of affliction: he is not like the Inconsiderate Drunkard, who in the morning after his double Intemperance in drinking and sleeping, complaineth that his head aches, and begins to Curse his Pillow, and his Bed-maker, for his want of ease; forgetting to turn that sin out of doors which occasioned all this the day before: Nor like a Wretched and Impenitent Malefactor, who when he is hurried away to a just Execution, does nothing but cry out upon the hard-heart of his judge, and the Rigour of the Laws; Cursing the Executioner, but forgetting to repent him of the Murder or the Robbery which brought his Body into the hands of this executioner, and will, unrepented of, deliver his Soul into the far less merciful of another hereafter: But like a Natural and hopeful child▪ he seriously Considers his own Errors, which provoked his father thus to Chastise him; and so by stroking the hand, and kissing the Rod, and humbly begging pardon for his offence, he sets his father's affections, which before he had turned aside, not lost, into their own proper Channel again.  
He looks upon his Afflictions with one eye, as Corrections, and so blames himself for the Occasion, but blesseth God for the Charity; with the other, as Trials, and so makes it his care that he come not all Dross out of the Furnace. The same Fire which Consumes others, doth but refine his soul, and separating from it, the more gross and Terrene Mixtures, makes it the fitter for Heaven. He grudges not to undergo the Winnowing, so he may be sure to lose the Chaff, and be made all wheat, such as his Lord may think fit to receive into his Garner. He is ashamed to think that God should lose his pains, and the more he thrashes, find only more straw but less Corn: rather, like good grain from the Mill, he comes forth from the grinding, more in measure, purer in Colour, and readier for use and service. Though a Briar or a Thorn, may scratch or prick his heel a little, in his way to Heaven, and draw a little useless blood; though he may sometimes be so entangled in the Brambles, that he may be forced to part with something of his fleece, and perhaps so much of the skin too, as may make it smart a while; Yet has he too high a soul, to fall so much within the reach of these Creeping brambles, as to receive from them the least Scratch in his face. He always carries an head as erect as his hopes are high; and takes great care that neither his Religion, his Honesty, nor his Honour be made to suffer by it.  
He dares not make either a Base Compliance with the vices of his persecutors, the refuge of his Cowardice; or the wings of the Potent, by bribing their Ambition with Flattery and Dissimulation, his Sanctuary of protection. He will not attempt the lightning of his sufferings by a voluntary casting any part of his estate into the devouring Treasury of the Church's Enemy; nor hope to appease the wrath of a displeased God, by bringing an oblation to the Avarice of his oppressors; neither doth he essay to drown his sorrows in the Bottom of his Cup: But he flies, and takes Sanctuary at the Horns of the Altar: and by a Magnanimity which becomes a Gentleman, shows that true Honour, is a jewel indeed, such as will not break with the Hammer: His Religion, like the Flint, never so much discovers those Holy fires of zeal and devotion, which were not before so apparent, as when it most experiences the violence of the hardest steel: And his Innocence is so perfectly Malleable, that the more you beat it, the broader it grows. In short, the Gentleman carries himself ●o evenly betwixt these Contrary winds, that he is neither shaken by the one, nor puffed up with the other: He is such in prosperity, that he does not fear Adversity; and such in adversity, that he needs not to wish for Prosperity; such indeed in both, that it shall never repent him, that he hath tasted either.   

§. 13. His respect and affection for his Country.  
The true Gentleman is no less Serviceable to his Country, then Honourable in himself. He cannot Fancy himself so great, as to forget that he is but a creature, and so made for something; and till he can persuade himself to be a God (who is his own End and Happiness) he cannot think that he was made only to serve himself. He that made him, made him a Brother to many, and he owes a duty of love unto them all. He is not like a lump of Gold in the Bowels of the Earth, which is neither for sight nor service; but like that which having once received the stamp of the Prince, is ever after Current, and useful to many. Neither resembles he the Glow-worm or a Rotten stick in the Dark, which hath no more light than will show itself to be something; though no body by that light alone knows what; but illuminates nothing else about it: no, he rather emulates the Sun in the Firmament, from which this Inferior World receives all its life and vigour. Thus the Gentleman is continually scattering the rays and Influence of his virtues round about him, quite through all that lies within the Wide Sphere of his Motion. As amongst the Elements, the most Noble and Pure, is always the most active too; and most profitable, as well as most High and Distant: And as the highest of Bodies, to wit, the Celestial cannot naturally rest, but indeed by their Continual and swift motion, do never fail to labour for the Benefit of the whole world besides: So is this Little Heaven and Glory of Mankind, never without some commendable business and Employment, and such as shall assuredly at last tend unto the great good and advantage, of as many as lie within the Compass of his Influence.  
The Gentleman (without doubt) is made for some other end, then to stand, like a fair and goodly Tulip, in a painted Pot, in some window or other Corner of the Chamber, only to grace the room, without either smell or other apparent virtue; He is rather like the sweet and lovely Rose, which perfumes the Air all about it, and is besides, no less Medicinal, then fragrant. If ever the Gentleman seem to be Idle, he does no more but seem so. He only sets himself down a while, as he would do a Bottle of precious Water, which has been troubled by much motion, that so it may by a settling of its heavier parts become clear again: Thus does he order his Soul, that after she hath been violently shaken to and fro, and much troubled with the affairs of the world; he may by this rest, give leave to the more terrene parts therein to draw towards the bottom, that so the Grosser descending, his best and clearest thoughts may again be uppermost and at Liberty. He carries not his fine Body up and down the streets, as men use to do their Dancing-horses in a Fair, only to be seen, and make sport for the Spectators: No, though never so gloriously tricked up, and accoutned, yet does he freely stoop, to take some part of that weighty burden of the Commonwealth upon his back; and never walks with more ease, nor shows more real state, then when thus Loaden.  
He cannot call him a man that is without all calling, knowing that every servant (and every man ought to be God's servant) how proud soever must have his work▪ Seeing God hath so blest him with abundance, that he needs not work for his own bread, he will in gratitude to his God, Work for his country's peace and safety. He scorns to have it thought, that He is the only Cumbersome thing in the Nation, the only Wen in the Body Politic, which grows great only by sucking away that nourishment, which should feed and strengthen the serviceable members; and is good for nothing at length, but to Improve the Surgeon's skill, and the patience of the Diseased. Those parts and members of the man which are uppermost in the Body, and most Honourable, are always most busied too for the Good of the whole: In the Head are placed the Eye and the Ear, and the Organs of sense; there too is the Understanding, Fancy and judgement, to see, to hear, discern, contrive, plot and direct: and as he knows it is his Honour to be made a part of the Head of his Country; so doth he own it his duty, not to refuse the exercise of that Office which belongs unto him. Hence he thinks it an unworthiness in him, not only, to do ill, but to do no Good; and these two he can very hardly distinguish, as some would fain do, seeing undoubtedly that which doth no good, is good for nothing, and this is to be stark naught.  
— He holds it to be (as indeed it is) a crying shame, whilst the Tailor, and the Cobbler are justly reckoned among the Necessary members of a Commonwealth, that the Gentleman, who takes it as an affront not to be thought much better than such Mechanics, should not be so much as useful to the place where he lives: or at most, but as the trimming is to a good suit, or the hair to the head, which may be Cut off and thrown away, and no great hurt done to either. This indeed is the Gentleman's privilege, not to be a servant to any one particular Member, but to the whole body; and that whilst others in their Inferior Condition, are only made capable of serving a few, his fortune is such as will allow him to be truly serviceable unto all. Herein consists his Honour, that he is not put to work as a drudge or journy-man; but is a Freeman indeed, and Master of his trade; and whilst others toil hard, and receive a scant pittance when their work's done; He is able to work gratis, and so oblige a great part of the world by his service. Indeed this must needs be the greatest obligation can be laid upon the Gentleman, to labour harder and do better than other men, because he is beforehand not only furnished with good tools, by an Ingennous education, to work withal; but hath (as was said) received so great a part of his reward already, and yet is assured of an infinitely greater yet behind. How is he ashamed to deceive him by his Idleness, who of his great goodness hath so far already trusted to his honesty?  
As he refuseth no Employment, which may render him according to the measure of his Abilities serviceable to his Country; so is he no way ambitious of that which he knows to be above his strength and reach. As his great love to his Country persuades him not to refuse the higher, so doth his humility Command him to accept the lower: he accounts no burden heavy which he is able to bear; nor any light which is either beyond, or not worth his bearing. He makes not his Ease an excuse, nor the Difficulty an apology for his refusal. He dischargeth his trust with that fidelity, which will be sure to gain him, though perhaps the hatred of the Bad, yet the applause and love of the Good, and the unanimous thanks of his Country.   

§. 14. His Studies and Recreations.  
That he may in good time be fitted for the Calling he intends, he begins to think upon it early in the Morning of his age; and accustomes himself to the yoke whilst he is young, that so he may bear it without galling his neck when he grows old. He makes it now his business to gather the thyme, which he intends shall prove Honey hereafter; and to lay up in the Spring what may stand him in stead when his winter is come. That he may indeed be young in Old-age, he learns to be Old in his youth; and he sucks so much out of every science now, as Experience and years may by degrees hereafter improve into that Prudence which becomes a Gentleman.  
Having in his greener years only so much discretion, as to find the want of what he should have, he is willingly directed by the prudence of another, till he can get enough for himself. He is not Impatient of Subjection now to that wise and grave Instructor, from whose both dictates and example he hopes to gain so much as may make him the Instructor of others hereafter: And he learns so betimes to obey, that the world may never have reason to say he began to Command too soon. It is his choice to live under a severe discipline, rather than to be left to himself as his own Master; lest perhaps failing in his first Command, whereby he should have Governed himself, he might despair of better success in his second of Commanding others.  
His first care therefore now is to be wholly guided by him to whose prudence he is entrusted; lest by rejecting him, he might seem to disparage the judgement of his parents, who made that choice for him. Where the Commands laid upon him seem to him irrational, so long as he knows them not sinful, he had rather distrust his own judgement, then neglect his director's counsel: and he never thinks himself (as very many do) a better man than his guide, till he be sure he knows the way to that he aims at, better than he. He never shows himself more to be his own man, and at his own disposal, then by this unconstrained act of resigning himself up unto another.  
When he is come to that maturity of Age and Discretion, as to be able to benefit himself by his Company, he will be sure to make choice of such Companions as may serve him instead of Books; and of such Books as he intends shall often serve him for Companions: He is not ashamed to be now the worst man in that Company, wherein he may learn from his betters, how to be the best in another: this is much more honourable, then to be the best man there, where he can never learn to be better, but often worse than he was before.  
The Studies whereunto he cheerfully applies himself, are such as will more make the man, then please the Boy. He takes delight in nothing which will send him back again towards his Infancy, but Innocence. As for Poëtry and such like pleasing studies, he does not wholly neglect them, but uses them as good sauces to make others more substantial and nourishing relish the better. He loves not to spend his time in cracking Empty Nuts without a Kernel; nor to break his tender teeth by gnawing upon Sapless bones. Neither Nice Criticisms nor tough Notions, can recompense him for the vast expense of that precious time, he should be at in making himself the Master of either. When he is entered into the fair garden of the Muses it is not his only business to pick up here and there a few leaves to hide the Nakedness of his discourse; or to adorn it with Blossoms and flourishes out of some Poetic figment, or Romantic story; but he gathers, eats and digests, that which is fruit indeed, and such as is truly wholesome and nourishing: Nor doth he, as the Emperor's Army, lie loitering, and picking up Cockleshells upon the shores of good literature, but he boldly launches out into the main Ocean, and there Contemplates the wonders of the deep. It is not his design to be called a Witty Gentleman, and such an one as can talk high, and breath flashes, and thunder out big words, and store himself with so many jests, and so much Bombast, as may tickle some, and stupefy others; he studies more to make himself a man then a Companion; and more how to live and do well, then talk finely. True Histories, and Sound Politics, and grave Moral discourses, are the fruitful Gardens where his Muses do ordinarily recreate themselves: that so by his Pleasures as well as Pains, both the Commonwealth may in due time be happy in him, and he in himself. As for those lighter and more eyrie studies, such as too frequently by their lovely paint and dissembled beauty, steal away the amorous and unfixed youth of most Gentlemen, he makes the same use of them which he does of his Galleries or his Arbours; whither, now and then he comes to take a turn or two for Recreation sake, and as he passes along sometimes casts a careless eye, upon those many pretty blossoms or pictures which he finds there. These may for a moment or two command his eye, but never ●is affection. Of such toys he had rather 〈◊〉 hereafter that he has seen them, then that he knows them. He would be ignorant of nothing, but he would only be acquainted with the b●st. He has a more Masculine stomach, then to f●ed upon that which is all sauce, but if there be a little in the Dish, to make him relish his meat the better, he is not displeased with it, though so long as his meat of itself is good, he doth not greatly desire it.  
Divinity can never lie out of the true Gentleman's way, because he is always going towards Heaven: For notwithstanding she seems so pale-faced, and of so sour a Countenance to those that love her not, because they do not know her; yet is there so much heavenly beauty, and so many noble features discernible in her face, by the Gentleman's undistempered eye, that he soon begins in earnest to love her, and he can never go on far in any other path whatsoever, but he must often cast a longing eye back upon her. Still bearing in mind the happy place whither he is travaling with so good a will, he calls in at other Arts and Sciences as at so many Inns, to take a short repast by the way: or he stands looking upon them a while as upon so many way marks set up at the several turnings and Cross paths, that from them he may receive directions which way to turn: But the knowledge of his God, that's the way he constantly walks in, and that which will certainly bring him at last to that home, where he shall meet with a Welcome, which will abundantly recompense the tediousness of his journey; and an entertainment suitable to the Quality of a Gentleman.  
His way being long, it is not amiss that he allows himself sometimes a recreation and diversion. But then his recreation shall be always such as he dares not make his business, and yet such as he dares safely make his play: It hath always so much of Innocence as to be blameless, and so much Brevity as to be no Hindrance. It has so much youthfulness, as not to be a Business, and yet so much Business as not to be Boyish. It shall bring with it so much real pleasure as may make it a refreshment, and yet so little loveliness, as may spoil the temptation. He may step over the hedge into the pleasant Meadow, and pluck a sweet flower or two to smell to as he goes along, but he dares not lie him down, or roll himself upon the tender grass, lest he should be tempted to too long a stay, and thereby be benighted in his journey.  
He thinks it no prudence to fall in love with any sport, which like a Cunning thief, smiles him in the face, whilst it cuts his purse, steals away his time, and cheats him of a good Conscience. If Agar once begin thus to insinuate herself into those affections, which are only due to her Mistress; out of doors she shall go: He intends not to sell his Charity at so cheap a rate, as the false pleasure of his game; Nor has he so little either thrift or Religion, as to make so foolish an Exchange, and part either with his Soul or his Time for the transitory delight of a dangerous temptation. His usual Recreation therefore is, to make a play of his Study. He makes one study, like a shooing-horn, to draw on another, and makes the variety the recreation. Thus he takes the surest course that may be, for making his Study so much his Delight, he saves himself the labour of studying for a Pastime.   

§. 15. His Good-husbandry at Home.  
When the Gentleman comes to have the managing of his own Estate, he takes pains to instruct the world, how far a man may be Frugal with Honour; and a Good-husband without a suspicion of being worldly or Covetous; and again how freely a man may spend his Estate, and yet be no prodigal. He hath so circumspect and watchful an eye upon all his affairs, that you may see he had much rather give away his estate, then be cheated of it. He would be cozened of nothing, for fear of loseing the opportunity of bestowing much. As he would not allow the unfaithfulness of a servant, to prevent the Bounty of the Master; so neither would he have the Master's negligence to occasion the servants dishonesty.  
His Table is moderate, that so his Charity and Hospitality may exceed: as he studies to be good himself, so endeavours he to make every member of the Family as good as he; and he will have his servants to be his Disciples, no less than his Children. Neither ever does he so wholly vindicate their service to himself, but he allows them time enough to pay what they owe both to God, and their own souls.  
If his condition of life be single, he so behaves himself therein, that no man shall thence be able to conclude, either that he wants a Wife, or his house a Mistress; So much chastity has the one, and so much good order is there in the other. But if he think it fit to change his Condition, he endeavours to choose a second self, that may suit with the former; that so they may be (as near as he can effect it) one Spirit, as well as one flesh. Whom, not long ago, he courted rather as a Virtue than a Mistress, he now uses as a wife and not as a servant; not (as 'tis usual of late) calling her Mistress and Lady before she be his wife, whom he intends to make his drudge all her life time after. Nor does he (as too many) marry only for Money; knowing that such are in danger of Committing Adultery after Marriage, seeing they never Married the Woman, but her Portion. With him Virtue and Love, not Money and parentage, make the Match: and the question he asks, is not— What has she? but— What is she. He makes Prudence and Religion the guides of his Love; and so he becomes as good an Husband and Father, as before he was a man.   

§. 16. His Religion.  
I have told you (Sir) already that the Gentleman is not ashamed to be called a Religious man; although that Epithet be thought no better than a term of debasement, by the degenerate Gentry of our age. He owns a God, and he Worships him, and makes that Honour which he observes others to render unto God, the ground of his respect to them. He looks upon no man as a Gentleman, but him alone, who derives his pedigree higher than from Adam, even from Heaven: and he accounts all those who can brook any Dishonour or Contempt of their God that one Common father of us all, as a Bastard and no Son. It would be no Honour for him to seek an acquaintance here upon Earth, and therefore by his frequent Devotions he often goes to seek out a better in Heaven; where he may be sure to meet with such, as shall be worth his keeping. He dares call every man a Fool to his face who with David's Fool, suffers either his tongue or his heart to say There is no God.  
If you ask him, what Religion he is of, his answer is ready, of his mother's; that is, he is a true Son of the Church: And yet is he only so far her Son, as he sees her willing to continue his Saviour's Spouse. Neither is he content to be still an Infant in Religion, and to be taught only (as mothers use to teach their young children) to say his prayers and his Creed by rote, but he prays and believes and practices all truly by heart: Notwithstanding, he never forgets his Mother, nor neglects to Honour her with his Life and Substance. He is always more ready to take her Directions for the Form and Method of all his duties, then to be Disciplined by all those Chatting Dry-nurses which are so busy about him, such as indeed have talk enough, but (alas) no Milk; whose whole business is indeed to make him undutiful to his own mother, and to set light by all her Counsels and Commands: persuading him to believe that a true Child of God, not subject to a Mother in any thing; And they never show their venomous teeth more plainly, then when they go about to make him forget what this Mother of all Christians by a strict Command from her Dearest Lord has ever been most careful to teach all her children, to say— OUR FATHER.  
He goes not to Church to save his Credit or his Purse, to see his friend or speak with his Tenent, but to meet his Heavenly Father, and Commune with his God, and to take Directions from him how to behave himself the following week or Day. When he is there, he makes his heart accompany his tongue, and his Ear keep time with the Preacher. Every Morning and Evening, like a Dutiful son, he in private Confesseth his faults, and begs his Father's pardon and blessing; and for the better ordering of his following duties, reads over with Care and Humility some part of those Directions, which he had long since Commanded his servants to set down in writing for his use.  
He chooseth his Religion, not by its Commonness but its truth: and often weighs each branch of it in the Balance of the Sanctuary, that he may be sure it is full weight. He takes it not up by votes, nor (as it is most evident too many do) thrusts his hand at all peradventure into an Hat-full of Lots, being content with whatever he hits on first; for should he go the first way to work, he knows, he should be sure to have, not what's Best and Soundest, but the Easiest, and most Gainful; if the later, it is an hundred to one that he shall draw a blank, and be made an Atheist for his labour. Here he dares not by any means follow or embrace what's most in Fashion, for that ('tis clear) is Hipocricy the cunning Sister of Atheism, or Atheism shamed or frighted into conformity; but he professes that which is most Ancient, for that (he may be sure) will at last be found most true.  
His Religion is not such a Young, Light and Wanton Girl, as pleases the vain Fancy of every giddy Interested professor; but such a Grave Matron whose natural Beauty, and Constancy, the Gray-hairs of Prudence and Sobriety, have ever judged to be truly Venerable, and most deserving of the Christian's embraces. This is that worthy Lady, which he daily Courts, to make her the Mistress and Protectress of his Soul, and she it is alone that can give him a breeding fit for Heaven.  
He shows how freely he can go on in the, ways of Godliness without a Spur; and how base a thing it is and unbecoming his Quality to be driven into Heaven by force. By his haste and cheerfulness in his race, he evidences his sense of the Worth of what he aims at; And by his eagerness in the pursuit of another world, endeavours to confute the folly of those, who would linger out an eternity (were it possible) amongst the Onions and Fleshpots of this Egypt. As he was borne a man, so he had his Inheritance upon Earth; but as he is Newborn a Christian, he leaves this trash to the Prodigal younger Brother, expecting a Possession durable in the Heavens.  
He fears as little the names of Precise and zealous, wherewith the Devil in the Mouths of his Disciples, thinks to fright him out of all Holiness; as they understand them, who thus too frequently abuse them. That Boisterous breath which the profane world sends forth to deride and Cross him in his intended voyage, he, like a skilful Pilot so orders by the right Composing of his Sails, that he makes that his greatest advantage and furtherance, which was intended for his ruin. He can go to Heaven with any wind and with any Name, where he is so sure to meet with a title of Honour, a name written in the book of life, even the Honour of all his Saints. He cannot Fancy that to be any debasement of his spirit, which carries him out upon so High and Noble achievements; but thinks it an Happiness to go into Canaan, though it be through a Red sea, and a rude Wilderness; whilst others (alas) feed so greedily upon the Quails, that they never say grace, but in a murmuring, that they have not more and better cheer; He feeds more upon his hopes, than his enjoyments, and blesses his God for both.  
And now this Religion, which he has thus wisely espoused, and entirely loves, he dares not prostitute to Interest or Humour: But as any man accounts the enjoyment of one thing which he principally loves, enough to recompense him for all that he has been constrained to part with in his pursuit after it: so the Religious Gentleman can freely part with both Humour and Interest, with all he enjoys, and all he hopes for here, for his Religion's sake, being sure to find them all again hereafter, in the fruition of Her, whom he so sincerely loves. Like a Prudent lover, he removes all occasions of jealousy from his beloved; His Religion shall never have cause to fear, that either his Pleasure or his Honour, or his Profit, shall gain so much upon his affections, as to become her Rival.   

§. 17. The Conclusion of this Character.  
Thus (Sir) Whilst I go about to give you the Character of a true Gentleman, I am fall'n into that of a Christian; and indeed no wonder, for there is such a necessary Connexion betwixt these two, that they seem to be no more than the Different Names of the same man. If you desire to have his picture in a less Compass here it is.  
The true Gentleman, is one that is God's servant, the World's Master, and his own Man. His Virtue is his Business, his Study his recreation, Contentedness his rest, and Happiness his reward. God is his Father, the Church is his Mother, the Saints his Brethren, all that need him his Friends, and Heaven his Inheritance. Religion is his Mistress, Loyalty and justice her Ladies of Honour; Devotion is his Chaplain, Chastity his Chamberlain, Sobriety his Butler, Temperance his Cook, Hospitality his Houskeeper, Providence his Steward, Charity his Treasurer: Piety is Mistress of the House, and Discretion the Porter, to let in and out as is most fit. Thus is his whole Family made up of Virtues, and he the true Master of his Family. He is necessitated to take the world in his way to Heaven, but he walks through it as fast as he can; and all his business by the way, is to make himself and others happy. Take him all in two words, he is a Man and a Christian.  
And here (Sir) 'tis time that I beg both the Gentleman's pardon and Yours, for thus abusing his name; and presuming to give you his Character, whose excellencies are not to be Comprehended, much less expressed, by any one less than himself. I have an Apology at hand, for giving you this rude and Imperfect draught of his Picture: that I give it you at all, it is my obedience to your Command; that you receive it so misshapen and ill proportioned, besides the little experience and less skill of the Painter, he has this to say for himself; he could hardly tell where, being absent from such as you Sir, to find a true Gentleman to draw it by: But either he was Constrained to take it from the Dead, and then no wonder if his work fall short both of Complexion and life; or by that faint Idea he had in his own mind, and therefore he hopes he is excusable though he sometimes mistake in the Feature. If you meet in any place with too deep a shadow, where there should be more light, he desires, that beside the weakness of his eye, you would consider the Darkness of the Time, and the uncertain light he saw by. For we live so much in the Evening of the world, when the thick and foggy mists of Ignorance darken the air; and that fading light we have is so variously refracted by our Glittering Vices; and so often reflected by the Disfigured glasses of Fancy and Humour; that there is nothing troubles him so much, as that he is unhappily furnished with so many excuses to plead for his Error. But if any will not be satisfied with this, he yet lays claim to a further Privilege of a Painter, that is, to be a little more talkative, and to say something more in vindication of what he has done; and thereby demonstrate, that the excellent Original he would have Coppy'd, is either not at all, or very rarely to be met with, at this day, in England.    

SECT. IV.  

iv. 1. How few of the true Gentlemen are now to be found in England.  
I Need not tell you (Sir) who have paid so dear for the sad changes; that it is our hard hap to live in a reforming Age, wherein most things grow every day new, but very few things better. And I do heartily wish it were as seriously Considered by themselves, as it it well known to most, rejoiced at by some, and sadly lamented by others, what a decrease and waning there has been in the Gentry of England within a few of the last years; and that not only in the number of their Persons, and largeness of their Estates; but even in the Excellencies of their Souls, and the greatness of their Virtues. As if it had been a small thing for them to live so long the Despised vassals of their Hypocritical Adversaries, the good Masters that have so long ruled us; except they had been permitted, by the severest kind of Cruelty to take vengeance of their own virtues, and render themselves ten times more the wretched Captives, and despicable slaves, of their own Tyrannical Lusts, and Atheistical Humours then before. Indeed an Atheist and a Gentleman in the opinion of many, have for a long time been either Synonymous or at▪ lest Convertible terms: I dare not, I confess, have such hard thoughts of all, though I could heartily wish, they would rather take some pains by their lives and Conversations to prove this to be an absurd, then stretch their lungs to cry out upon it, and swear it to be a rash and uncharitable Censure.  
Indeed, if on the oneside, in a feigned show of Religion to exclaim against Drunkenness and Swearing, and other such like loud and Open Prophanenesses, will suffice to Denominate the Saint: Or if on the other side to Cry out upon Hipocricy and Injustice, Rebellion and Sacrilege, Lying and Perjury, may be thought sufficient to constitute a true Son of the Church of England: then have we all enough to say for ourselves, and to prove that most of our Gentlemen are indeed Christians. But, alas, it is too manifest, that on the one hand, all this Canting and superficial sanctity; all these strained sighs and Greanes, and turn'd-up Eyes, are no better than Satan's Sunday's Garb, or the painted Masks and vizards, which Avarice, Ambition and Interest love to be seen in abroad. These are the Enriching Crafts, whereby our Demetriuses get their wealth. Many who have passed for Saints along time (experience has shown it us) have been just such as he, who had rather make Silver shrines for Diana, so they may be sure to be well paid for their work, then build Temples for the Worship of a Crucified jesus in hopes of an Heaven, and meet with his Cross for their pains. And on the other hand all those raveings which we daily hear against Oppression, Hipocricy and Tyranny, I am afraid, they are not so often the seasonable overflowings of a Devout Spirit, a sincere soul, and a Loyal heart; as the wild outrages of a boiling Passion, of a Confined, vice, and a restrained lust, which makes the sufferer like a Mad man to gnaw upon his chains and fetters: or else they are the violent motions of a revengeful Soul, which frets itself at the prosperity of the wicked, and had rather see its enemies miserable, than itself sober and good. This is in truth that which many have thought enough to give either party the title of religious: but how they make good their claim to this title in their Actions, it is but too visible.  
Certainly if the Gentleman's life and ordinary Conversation may be thought (as it ought to be) the best index to point us out to his opinion; we shall have much a do to meet in most of those that own that name, with a Good Opinion either of God or Religion. Most of them (I am sure the younger sort) do grudge either of these the least place in their discourse, and therefore, it is to be feared as little in their thoughts. They would as soon, nay much sooner make choice of a Tinker or a Fiddler, then of a Religious man for their Companion. Alas, such an one would spoil all their Mirth, and make their very lives, by plunging them into a Melancholy Mood, mere torments to them. Any thing that's grave and serious they perfectly loath and utterly reject, as that which cannot at present suit with their more sprightly and flourishing years: Age and scarcity of their juvenile blood, will hereafter (they think) make this a business of Course, and so they had rather have it then make it now a matter of choice: what need they be Religious now, who shall (as they think) whether they will or no, be so before they die?  
If we should but a while take notice how many Riots, the Gentlemen of our times daily commit, all those wanton Frolicks and Revellings they are not only guilty of, but Glory in; especially when they are at the Tavern or some other Good house of expense and Merriment, we should be readier to lose our selves in Admiration of their Madness, then to find out any thing of real Honour and Nobility in them. To behold them there Contending for the Victory over a pot, and taking the measure of their Gallantry by the strength of their Brains, or Capacity of their Bellies: to hear them there drawing up with so much complacency an Inventory and Catalogue of all their sinful extravagances, and in a double proportion intermixing their prophanenesses with their wine: whilst they drink wine with a song and prove themselves mighty to drink strong drink: To hear them roaring themselves out of breath, never taking leave of their wine, but of their senses too: nor forbearing their Oaths till they be able to speak no more; would you believe these men could ever be so sober, as to mention the names of Christian or Gentleman?  
And yet 'tis most certain as well as sad, that you can never be more sure to meet with our Gentry in any place, then at these Academies of sin, and Nurseries of uncleanness, there exercising their abilities, and making themselves expert in all those arts whereby they may most gratify Satan, and as it were, in so many open Bravadoes, challenge the Almighly into the field, and dare him to do the worst he can.  
But (alas) we need not seek so great an advantage over them, as to take them there, where they have so often lost themselves, and it heartily grieves me, as certainly it must do every Charitable Christian, to see them so desperately madded with the fear of being accounted Holy; and so ravenously greedy of eternal destruction, as thus to swallow it down by whole Bowls, and make their Companions Merry at the working out of their own Damnation. Doubtless Satan hath but two much Power over these men when they are most Sober, they need not give him the advantage of finding them so often drunk. Except in a Gallantry they desire to show the world how boldly they dare defy Heaven, and how much they Scorn to owe their ruin to any but themselves.  
At such good places as these, is it, that our Gentlemen make all their Bargains, entertain all their friends, treat all their Ladies: here they Consult about the weightiest affairs of the Commonwealth; Seal and Confirm all their agreements in the very height of their Intemperance; as if they were afraid they should know or remember hereafter what then they did; or as if they were Confident then to be in a Capacity of doing all things best, when they were lest of all themselves: There can be no meeting, at least, no parting without a Cup; as if there could be no surer pledge of friendship, or tie of a Civil Correspondence and Familiarity, then by being thus Drunk together, or at left, next door to it.  
And now all this Madness, must be thought no worse than the Demonstration of that Civility and Courtesy which they owe one another; a necessary kindness or an handsome treatment: And who so refuses either to go along with them, or to do as they do when he is there, he is no better than an uncivil fellow, and no Companion for Gentlemen: what a disgrace is it held for a man to leave a drop in the bottom of his Cup? What an affront is it to the Company, not to pledge every man his wholeone? And not to admit every Health, it is no less than the greatest disrespect and Injury can be offered to the person in remembrance; whosoever refuseth it, especially if it be a Lady or a Minion is remembered, shall be sure to hear of it with an Oath now, and perhaps a Challenge anon.  
More Ceremony is used, and more Reverence by half, to set off their drunken Revels, then to grace the Worship and service of their God: All must be bare, and all upon their knees, and a Catch instead of an Hymn: this is their morning and their Evening Devotion; but whether this be the true service of their God, or the business of Gentlemen, I dare appeal to those Consciences of theirs, which they now endeavour so to silence and Drown both by their Drinking and their Roaring.  
Nay, it seems very evident, that even these Gentlemen themselves make this Sottish pastime the most infallible mark of true Gallantry: and account him a person of worth, and without all exceptions fit for their Company, whosoever can but take off his Cups handsomely, and is versed in all the Methods and Maxims of this Hellish Art. Indeed they have made it a kind of Science, and have given it so many rules and laws of late, that he that will now be expert in it, had need to serve out an Apprenticeship to learn all the Circumstances and terms, though he be never so perfect in the Substance before. Any person how Contemptible soever shall not be thought unworthy of their Company, if he be but the Master of this Art. Even he whom they would almost scorn to own for a man when Sober and in his right wits, when he is Drunk or Mad, though but a Tinker or a Cobbler, he is a Companion for Gentlemen. I do not grudge the poor fellows the Honour of such Society, nor indeed can I think it any: But I am more the Gentleman's friend, and more tender of his reputation than he himself: ●I do therefore make it my prayer, as it is doubtless much the grief and trouble of all good men to see them otherwise at present, that they may at last become more charitable to themselves, than thus to debauch and unman their own souls, and fall as much below the Nature of men, as the Quality of Gentlemen.   

§. 2. An Enquiry into the more Civil sort of our English Gentlemen.  
But let us look upon our Gentlemen in a more sober Posture; though, I am afraid they will take it as an Injury done them, to consider them thus abstractedly from the highest degree of Debauchery: take away their Pot and their Pipe, and you rob the most of them, of the most delightsome method they know, of spending their time, which is such a trouble to them. This is it, which is their burden, and their disease, that as the Stag with the Arrow in his side, they run, and shift, and throw themselves about from place to place, and are always mad to be rid on't; till the sad moment appear wherein they are called out of the world, and then their time and life, both equally desired, vanish together. This wasting of their time, they esteem a thing so innocent in itself, that they seem to apprehend a Goodness in it, great enough to make them a pretence for all their other vices, and sinful employments, shrouding them all under the generally approved names of Necessary Pass-times and diversions. Cards, or Dice, Bowling or Hunting, or Fiddling, or any thing that has but a Motion in it to delude the tediousness of their Hours; shall be welcome to them, and thought to be things not only Harmless and Honest, but as invented to this good end of passing away the time, things desirable by most, and very Commendable in a Gentleman. In these they merrily spend, both their Nights and their Days, their livelihoods and the greatest part of their lives; whilst the poor neglected Soul all this while, cannot be allowed so much as half an hour's time in the Morning, by her Devotions, and viewing her face in the Glass of God's word, to dress herself for Heaven.  
Into how many Gentleman's Families shall you come, where they do not ordinarily by sleeping out all the Morning, make it night till noon? They rise from their Beds just so Early as their Dinners may prevent their Devotions: When they are thus removed from Bed to Board, they feed there their Lusts better than their Bodies, and yet their Bodies more than their Souls. The table is the Altar where they Sacrifice their Healths to their Appetites; and Temperance to Luxury. They choose their meat, by its Cost and rarity, not use and wholesomeness; and it is too true a Proverb, that what's far fetched and dear bought, is meat for Gentlemen. After they have thus satiated for a while their lusts, and gratified the Delicacy of their Palates, they must sit out an hour's Impertinent and Idle tattle to digest their excess: when they have done this, they are ready for another Nap, and that prepares them for another meal, except the Tavern or their Game prevent it.  
If they chance to hear of some Pamphlet, Libel or Pasquil, wherein some honest name is a sufferer, or where Chastity is put to do penance in an obscene sheet; any piece of Drollery, or wanton Ballad upon a Mistress, a New Romance or a Play, presently the News of it is dispatched from one to another, these shall be read and pondered over and over, and be their Discourse and Pastime at every meeting▪ For mine own part it hath very rarely been my Fortune to meet with a Club of Gentlemen, but as often as I have, I have been frighted out of it again, or have had good Cause to repent me afterwards; that I was not so, by that wild kind of behaviour, and looseness of talk I heard or saw amongst them. The best of their talk at any meeting, is but to ask and impart the News then stirring, or to give their judgements of the Ladies and the Fashions of the times; to find fault with their own Tailors, or to commend another's; too Droll out the time, or vie Wits by abusing each other, but every man most of all himself. If any man in the Company can (and there be not many that can do so much) by some slight problem, make a shift to pose his fellows; he thinks he has done wonders, and has sufficiently vindicated his credit from the imputation of Ignorance or Idleness for ever.  
Alas (Sir) what is it that even the Prime of our Gentlemen pride themselves in? even they whom we are prone to esteem highly; and style Civil and Ingeniaus persons● what but a little vain and Glittering Apparel? and he's the Compleatest Gentlem●n for the most part, who wears the best suit, and shines most in a tinsel bravery. Who is thought the man of the highest inward accomplishments, but he that can talk volubly of the Customs▪ and vices of the Court, or that which is most like it now there is none? He that can tell you how much he is courted by the Ladies, and how much he is in favour with our Great Folks. He that can express himself modishly in a Compliment, that can speak much, and dance well; and hand his Lady with the greatest grace along the streets; these are the brave Gentlemen that are every where cried up as they go for Gallant and well accomplished persons. Or if you would go higher yet, than he must be the man, that has laden his Memory with a few broken Ends and Chip of History; or can tell you strange stories of the fashions and Customs of other Nations, and tell you where he has been, and what rarities he has seen; and at once perhaps both discommend and practise their vices. Or if he be yet a more through Scholar, and generally acquainted both with books and men, so far as to applaud and Censure and talk Skeptically: If he be an exquisite Mathematician, or Musician, or the like; We think we have reason enough to suppose him company for the best; and certainly he were so, would he but labour to be one of them, when he is amongst them. But, alas, what's become of his God and his Religion all● this while? If you can find a little of either in his Discourse, 'tis much, though there be just nothing of them in his life: All those other accomplishments were truly commendable, were they thus accompanied, but not being so (alas) they are stark naught.  
Let us pass on to those who are thought by many the most Sober and serious persons of all others, and even amongst these (I fear) we shall find too many, on whom we can only bestow this poor Commendation, that they are more Gravely wicked, more Cautiously sinful, and more Soberly Atheistical. Such are the men, who (as I have told you before) flatter themselves up in a kind of Negative justice; and thereby with those whose persons and estates, they have not actively violated or diminished, are esteemed persons of much worth and Honour; and yet these are no better than the tamer sort of Satan's servants, whom by a long usage he has made somewhat less wanton, and brought up to his hand; and has taught them to Cousin and Dissemble almost as well as himself. I need not tell any affectionate Son of the Distressed Church of England, how good friends and servants, these Good, Honest, Civil, Sober and prudent men have all along been to his poor Mother: How many of them have quietly stood by, and looked on, if with no delight, yet (I am sure) with a great deal of unworthy patience, and base Connivance, whilst she has been mercilessly torn in pieces, by the cruel teeth of those raveneus' beasts, which pretended to watch and defend her: and yet not so much as an Arrow shot out of any other Quiver than their mouths in a Chimney-Corner, against any of them. Whilst the Younger Gentlemen want true Prudence, and the old have too much of that they miscall so, they all prove very bad Soldiers, for such as pretend to fight under Christ's Banner, and on the behalf of his Church; which truly now if ever may be called truly Militant, and that too for want of Good Soldiers. If our English Gentlemen be made to stay for, and expect their Honours till they shall be knighted in the field for that Good service which they have done the Church of which they would be thought Members; It will I fear be a sad and unwelcome sword must Dub them.  
It is too plainly apparent, that very few of them have so much real Honour, as may make them sensible how they lose it. For if they had, could you Imagine it Possible, that so many Horrid Murders and rapines, so many incredible Treasons and Blasphemies, such as their Posterity will not find faith enough to believe, should be thus openly acted and frequently vented even in their faces; and not a man so much as move his hand to revenge what's past, or prevent what's to come? Nay how often have the greatest part of them, by a base Compliance with those men who have always struck at the very root of that Religion, which they so solemnly (some of them more than once) swore to defend, given themselves not only the lie, but t●e perjury? Alas, their Ho●ours are so jaded by drawing after them the Dung-Carts of their estates, that they now brook any rider whatsoever. Had but one ●enth part of all those vast sums of Money, and those many excellent parts, which these supposed Good-husbands, have prodigally lavihed out in the Tavern or at their Game, be●n put to that good use it might have been, The Church might have received her own with usury; England might yet have had the face of England, and they deserved the Name of Gentlemen.   

§. 3. An Appeal to the Gentleman's own Conscience.  
For Confirmation of all this that hath been said, I shall dare to make my appeal to the Gentleman's Conscience, though I dare not think it to be one of the Best, or most impartial in this case. I heartily wish he could in earnest and in truth tell me, that whosoever saith England has now but few true Gentlemen, is guilty of a Scandal. I confess I could almost willingly be guilty of the Sin, upon condition his Innocence would once prove me a liar.  
If he can think it possible to be a tru● Gentleman without any sense of true honour or Religion; or if he dares call him Religious and think him desirous of Heaven, wh● (though his whole life be little enough 〈◊〉 prepare for it, yet) grudges to spend o●e Minute of his time to gain it: If he ha●e the Charity to account him pious, who suffers his Soul to Starve for want of Spiritual food, and yet can feast and pamper up his lusts every hour: if he can have a true sense of Honour, who can Fancy himself Happy in Satan's service, and is oftener upon his knees to him then to his God; who makes his Soul the very drudge of his Body, and his carnal appetite the Mistress of h●s life; and every one of his members the sl●●e of some lust or other: If that man can rationally be thought, to set a just estimate upon an Honest Reputation, who had rather lie dabbling in the Dirt, and Wallowing in the Mirc of Sin, then walk in the pleasant paths of Holiness; the highway to Heaven: If it be a mark of Religion, to drain out a vast estate, by a vain ambition placed in Fine Cl●aths, delicious meats, rich wines, wasting Games, and other such like expensive sins, as are now the mode; and all this while, not one mite cast into God's exhausted treasury, not a Rag designed to cover the poor man's nakedn●sse: If to behold God's own peculiar servants and Ambassadors lie starving in the streets for want of some few morsels or Crumbs of that bread which they grudge not by whole loaves to throw to their Dogs: If to see God's House all on fire, occasioned by the outrages of their own flaming passions; and God's children frying in the midst of the flame, and yet not so much as move a foot to fetch a little water to quench the one or stretch out an arm to save the other: if any man can judge these things to be the tokens of Religion or Honour: If to sit still all the day Idle, and laugh at those who are working in the Vineyard; if to come into a Church with a long train of gaudy attendants, and to shine a while there in a little garish pomp; if to sit in the highest pew, and to make this the chief part of their Devotion (without so much as the Pharisee's Lord I thank thee) that they are better than other men; if to justle a poor neighbour out of their presence, with a stand off, for I am more Honourable than thou; if to scoff at all those who make any show of Piety, or to deride all those who think it necessary to have more than a show, be the infallible characters whereby we may know a Gentleman, then indeed I must of necessity confess we have yet more then enough such Gentlemen in this poor England.  
I had rather mourn in secret, and in sadness of Spirit, si●h out the rest unto my God, then proceed at present any further in so unpleasant a the●e. O that the spilt blood of Christ's poor languishing spouse, cry not too loud in Heaven at the last day, not only against those bloody souls, who have most barbarously thrust their spears into her side, and with inhuman hands torn out her very Bowels; but even against all those too who could have a Calm upon their Spirits, whilst the tempest continued in the Church, and could hold it prudence to sit still, and not come forth to the help of God's spouse and his anointed one against the Mighty; and therefore only because they appeared Mighty. My prayers are, that an Early, and an Active repentance, may seasonably prevent their threatened ruin; and a timely understanding of their own names, may make them before it be too late, truly sensible of their duties, and in earnest endeavour to regain that Honour, which they have been too remiss hitherto in preserving spotless. This is my great Charity to the Gentleman's soul; and the highest respect I can conceive any man owes to his person, is to wish that part of him best, which he seems to regard least. I would to God he could once, though late have so great a Charity and respect for himself, that so he might not one day be found, with weeping, and wailing, and Gnashing of teeth, crying out upon himself with no less reason, than despair and Horror, even as that once-glorious Church, to the untimely ruin whereof his sins have in so large a measure Contributed, cries out upon him now with sorrow and amazement. Had he not shown himself all along so stupidly senseless of, and Bruitishly unconcerned, in the afflictions of joseph; I might have had the Charity, to think him capable of Council and advice, and to wish him one better able than myself to serve him herein. However give me leave to mention one or two of those Considerations, before I conclude this letter, which (doubtless) if he have not quite forgot himself, must needs sink deep into his thoughts, and provoke him, if any thing can do it now he is at such a distance, to return to himself.   

§. 4. Motives to the Gentleman to be indeed Religious, and first of Common Civility.  
To persuade the Gentleman to be good, a man would think were no hard task, seeing he takes it so ill out, that any man should suspect him to be otherwise: and yet notwithstanding, it may well be thought a very difficult and bold undertaking, when it shall be considered how much he is in love with his present self; for as self-love is blind whensoever it should look upon its own faults; so is it altogether as deaf when it should hearken to instruction. Yet because the Difficulty lies not so much in making him understand what he should be, as in making him see how much he is at present what he ought not to be; for that he ought to be good and Religious I know he will readily grant, but that he is not so already we shall have much ado to persuade him to believe: Seeing one half of our work is already done to our hand in his own Conscience, we may have the greater encouragement to proceed in the other yet behind: I am Confident, that by reading what goes before, he cannot choose but behold himself in his own shape, at least in one so like it, that the very sight must of necessity bege● in him an hatred of the old object and a love to the New: and therefore at present I shall confidently suppose, that I have no more to do but this, to let him see in some measure how rational a thing it is for him to be, what he himself so well knows, he should be.  
I intent not here to trouble you or him with any large Encomium of Virtue or Religion, which would swell up this Discourse much above the just proportion of a Letter, neither is it my purpose to call in all those Auxiliaries I might from several Common-places be supplied withal, to complete my conquest over the Gentleman's Affections; I shall only mention one or two of those motives which I hope may be, I am sure in another would infallnbly be prevalent and Effectual.  
The first and slightest which I shall here most humbly offer to his serious Consideration, is an argument which he too often makes use of to a worse purpose, and thereby suffers his sensual to gain the victory over his Spiritual self. And this is taken from that Topick of Common Civility, which naturally obliges him to make suitable returns to those many real kindnesses and respects which the best of his friends have ever had for him. I shall beseech him to remember, how whensoever he is by the swing of his own domineering lusts, no less then by the attractive vices of his acquaintance drawn to a Tavern, or carried on to any other excess or riot, it is to this one pretence be confidently betakes himself for Sanctuary; that he was merely drawn in by the Civility of others, and that he was not able to resist the Importunity of his friends; that Common Courtesy did strongly oblige him, not to show himself regardless of his acquaintance, by forsaking their Company who had expressed themselves so desirous, and had taken so much pains to enjoy his. I wish he would but call to mind what weight this argument hath when pressed upon him by his lewdest companions, and assisted by his own forward Inclinations to that which is evil; and how infinitely more force than it ought to have, when made use of by such as really desire his happiness, and applied to that which in itself is so deservedly Commendable?  
Would the Gentleman but open his ears, how many real friends might he hear, and those such whose Courteous Invitations he cannot either with Civility or Gratitude refuse, every where with no small importunity wooing him into Heaven, and to walk along with them in those paths which will lead him thereunto. I might here tell him how heartily God himself calls and Invites him, and daily sends abroad his Messengers early and late to beg and entreat him to accept of his Invitation; how he has prepared his Oxen and his Fatlings, and made ready his Supper, how he bids him to a Feast of Fat things, and to drink wine and milk without Money and without price: How he stands with his arms of mercy spread wide open, to receive, embrace, and kiss his returning Prodigals, with a new Robe and a Ring, nay with a Crown and a Kingdom to welcome them. Can it now be judged Civility to refuse and slight the Invitation of so Bountiful and Indulgent a father? I might tell him how the Angels in Heaven even long for his Company, and will be overjoyed to see him, and to hear him exercising that voice so long abused in warbling out his lascivious. Lovesongs, or roaring it in his wild Catches, by bearing a part in their Holy Choir, in perpetual hallelujahs to the King of Heaven: And can he think it Civility to make void the Hopes, and prevent the joys of such Heavenly Company. I might further mind him how the poor Church of England his mother, longs to receive him again with joy into her Bosom, and to kiss him with the kisses of her Love, and to uncover to him her breasts of Consolation; whence he needs not draw the Wind of False Doctrine, nor fear to taste the blood of Tyranny and Oppression, but may suck in that sincere milk which is his souls only true nourishment: She whose tender care and wholesome instructions, like an unwise child he hath so long despised, longs yet once again to rejoice in his Love, and would be proud of so Glorious a Son, which might not only cherish and defend, but grace and Credit his mother: And can he call it less than an Incivility, to envy Her this Honour, which wisheth him that happiness? can he choose rather to augment her Sorrows, and provoke her tears, and bite her breasts, and suck out her blood, then cherish her and be nourished by her? All the Good men in the World, all the most Honourable of God's servants, his special Ambassadors, do with all the power of their Rhetoric, and moveingnesse of Passion, cry aloud, calling upon him, and beseeching him to come home, and live happily in his Father's house; these who have had the high charity for him, to take the care and charge of him, and night and day to watch for his soul, and must be accountable for it at the Great and Dreadful Audite: Upon Him they look with a more vigilant and tender eye, as upon the very Best and fairest of the flock, whose straying would be not only the loss of one, and him the fattest and chief of all the rest, but such an one, as by his influence upon the others, may probably occasion the losing of many more: These persuade and entreat him, and that for Christ's sake, for his who loved him so well, that he did not grudge to purchase him with the best treasure in Heaven, his own most precious blood: And now, how can the Gentleman who pretends so highly to all manner of Civility, think it less than an unworthiness in him, to set so light by all this Care, and this kindness? He that would be thought all Courtesy, all Civility, O let him not now only be unkind and discourteous, to his God, and God's Church, God's Angels, and God's Ministers, unto God's Son and his Saviour. He that expressed so remarkable a kindness to a false friend, who is most certainly the greatest and most Dangerous of all enemies, to him who was only set by the Devil in a friend's habit to Decoy him out of the way, and watch his opportunity to murder his soul; let him not now for shame be so unnatural to himself, and unkind to them, as to slight those real and sincere friends, who make it the greatest part of their study to save him from eternal torments: He that would not be bought out of his Civility, though but to a sin, and sinner, by the high price of an Heaven and eternity; shall he now any longer be bribed to offer so many affronts to his God, with an Hell, and it's Endless torments? Certainly, if any Importunity could ever prevail, as alas too often it hath, even to the melting of his Soul into Sin and Vanity; what must it now do? never so great, never backed with so many obligations to Civility as here; for where ever did there appear so much and so earnest wooing, and Entreating, and begging, and watching, and dying?  
Again, In civility to the Nation wherein he lives, and which he should labour both to Serve and Credit; he is her Hopes, and he should be her Honour: She calls him her choice Treasure, her strongest Pillar, her potent Protector; and shall he not think it base to evacuate her hopes, and detect her too charitable Error, by neglecting to deserve and maintain his name? Shall it be to his Honour when he shall hear it said by others, that the Precious stones and jewels of England are all but vile and unprofitable pebbles; that all her purest Gold is full of Dross; her best Pillars quite rotten; and her Guardians her principal underminers and destroyers? that with the least wind that blows, her pillars shake, and the building tumbles?  
The Gentleman is that great and fair White, at which all men aim and direct the Best of their Respects; and on whom they think the greatest of their Honours not misplaced: And is this his Civility to all his Lovers and Admirers; to leave them embracing a shadow for a substance, and to pay home their affection and respects to him, with Neglect, and Disgrace, and too often with misery and Ruin to themselves? Is this his care, to provide that no man shall ever be deceived in him, but he that thinks well of him? If this be the Gentleman's Civility, then what, I pray Sir, is his Unkindness?   

§. 5. A second Motive grounded upon Shame and Disgrace.  
The next thing which I shall propose to his Consideration, is that which usually has too powerful an operation upon him; I mean Shame and Disgrace. The pretence of securing his Name and Reputation from these blurs, being another of those Fig-leaves, wherewith he would fain hide his most foul and deformed Vices: He had rather throw himself headlong into the grossest sin Imaginable, then by chuseing what is best, but out of fashion with the Multitude, expose himself to the laughter of fools and Sinners. O what torment, what affliction is it to him, to be feered and Mocked, and Hooted at by a Company of Madmen, for behaving himself with more sobriety and wisdom than they?  
Here I shall most earnestly beseech the Gentleman to Consider, how miserably he befools himself, and how inconsiderately he runs himself upon those rocks he endeavours so carefully to avoid; whilst nothing can lay him more open to shame, then that which was the first parent of it, his sin: which makes him a mere Laughingstock to all but those that pity him. Let him remember how he daily provokes that God, who is the only Fountain of all true Honour here, as well as Happiness hereafter, to Laugh at him and have him in Derision Will it be no shame for him to be found, at last, one of those wretched and Contemptible Creatures, which shall have the door shut upon them, and be forced to stand knocking at the Gates of Heaven, with sighs and tears, and like so many miserable starving beggars in bitterness of spirit, craving admission, and yet for all their selfe-conceited Greatness, be vouchsafed no more respectful an answer, than a— Depart ye cursed, and— Be gone I know you not. What shame and Disgrace can the Gentleman fear to suffer like this, when he who pranced it up and down with no less security than Pride and vanity, and laughed to see others take so much pains to go to Heaven, shall even then, when he thinks himself so sure of all, meet with a Scornful repulse?  
But if the Gentleman will venture this Disgrace, because he fancies it to be yet at so great a distance; yet I must tell him he is much mistaken to think he shall speed much better here below. Is it no shame, to be justly accounted by all, who understand themselves, a poor, silly, ignorant fool, such an one as can please himself with a toy, a rattle; and can think himself the only wise man in the world, when alas all they who are wise indeed, look upon him and Pity him, as the most silly, despicable wretch under Heaven? It is thus men commonly make trial of the Fool's Genius, they propose at once to his choice, a piece of painted Glass and a Diamond, a Feather and a suit of clothes; that so by preferring the gayer●toy, before the precious or the serviceable substance, he may betray his Ignorance and Simplicity. Alas, Sir, what can we judge the Debauched Gentleman to be better or Wiser, than such a silly Deluded Idiot, or (as we call him) a mere Natural, that sports himself with his own shadow and places his Happiness in Dancing about in his particoloured Coat, his Cap and his Feather? Did the Gentleman but know his friends, or durst he be so much his own, as to entertain fewer Flatterers, who Cover his eyes and stop his Ears, so that he neither sees nor hears of himself, what otherwise he might; how soon would he grow ashamed of his own face! Did he but know how even all they, whose tongues are bridlea either by his power or Prodigality in his presence, talk of him when they are out of it, at their several meetings, doubtless this would bring him out of love with his own Gaiety, and Prettiness. The Stoic talks of him with Contempt and Derision; the Charitable Christian with as much Pity and Compassion; and what a shame is it for the Gentleman who always thinks himself both the Best and Happiest man in the world, either to deserve the one, or need the other?  
If he yet regard nothing of all this, but Contents himself with this Fancy that he can do as much for them, and that he can think others as very fools as they think him; and pity them as much: Alas, how is he to be pitied for these thoughts! whilst like a man in an high Fever, he makes a Felicity of his Distemper, and in the Lightness of his head, Fancies he is amongst Angels, and in as Glorious a Condition as they. Let him consider how great a shame even this is, to say, he can laugh at, or he can pity he knows not what: Others know (alas too well) what in him they pity▪ They have, most of them, some time or other, tasted of his sweets to their sorrow, but found them at last bitter to their present joy and Comfort; Let him then first taste of theirs, and then let him choose, whom he will make the Object of his Pity. I am Confident he would in the first place be thus Charitable to himself.  
But this is not all the reason the Gentleman hath to be ashamed of his present course of life. Is it not a disgrace for a man therein to be cheated wherein he hath ever thought himself to be the wisest of all men; and to have such tricks put upon him, by what he most Confides in, as will cast a damp upon all his jollity at once? There's no man but will confess it an high degree of indiscretion in himself without a very strong temptation indeed, to place his great Confidence, and best Affections upon a mere cheat: and yet that Gentile Sinner we speak of (if ever any) is highly guilty of this Folly. He may assure himself, if he repent not in due time, Satan will put the same cheat upon him, whereby he so sadly beguiled his wise Brother in the Gospel; whom in that very night, when he Lullabyed his soul into a groundless security, by presenting to her eye the abundance of his riches; he suddenly snatches away into the place of Torments, and makes this addition to the rest of his Sorrows, that he derides his former security, and laughs at his present misery. But this is too Common and Copious a Theme to dwell any longer upon; I durst not altogether omit to mention it, because I have not yet met with any thing more frequently prevalent with the Gentleman, to persuade him to sin, than this fear of shame and Disgrace; and if it have been so powerful to hurry him on to his ruin, I hope, rightly apprehended, it may have some efficacy in drawing him to his Felicity.   

§. 6. A third Motive drawn from Equity.  
I shall but propose two Considerations more, and these are such, as much concern the Gentleman to entertain, viz: of Equity and Honour.  
And first, in all equity and justice the Gentleman ought to proportion his Gratitude, to the Bounty which enriched him; and to live a Gentleman is as little as can, with any reason, be thought a just requital of his Goodness who made him more Honourable than others. For it was not he himself by whom he was made better than another man, neither hath he any thing which he hath not received. It cannot therefore be Gratitude in him like a Spongy substance, to suck in all which is proffered it, but to return nothing again without a Squeezing: Or like a black and heavy clod of earth, to receive the most Courteous and enlivening rays of Heaven, and yet requite the Bounty neither by a present cheerful reflection, nor a future seasonable fructification: neither yet to lie like a rotten Dunghill, which repaies all the sweet Influence it participates of, in a stenchy fume, or a generation of Vermine. He should rather labour to resemble the true Crystal, whose property it is either to transmit or reflect those rays it receives, with great advantage of light to the darker objects about it; and of a more visible splendour and Glory to the light itself. A true Diamond will not cease to sparkle in the darkest night, and the true Gentleman too, will take care, that his light so shine before men, that they may behold his works rather than his person (as the Sun gives us a clearer prospect of the other parts of the world, then of its own Body) and teach them much more to Glorify his God in Heaven, then to pay him a Reverence upon Earth. The Gold was not made so excellent a Mettle, that it might lie hid and rust in the Bowels of the Earth, but by a reception of the Prince's Image, administer to the Necessities of Commerce amongst the several members of the world. It would be a poor thing to Imagine God should make the best of Creatures for the worst of uses; or the Noblest of Men to be Satan's Instruments now, his Companions and his prey anon. The Gentleman I know will easily grant himself to be a Vessel created for Honour; but 'tis strange he should go about to prove himself so, by continuing always Empty, or refusing to hold any thing, but the worst of poisons: by standing (as some of those do which cost most pains in the making, most money in procuring, most time in scouring) idle and useless, only to adorn and grace the Cupboard, and shine there, till they become Dusty again. As all Flesh is Grass, so is the Gentleman the Flower of the Grass; but let it not appear in this, that the grass is more useful, though the flower more beautiful; neither let the leaf smell sweeter than the Rose. Though all Mankind be but Dust and Earth, yet certainly we may in reason think the Gentleman a part of the Richest soil, and from which the Husbandman or Gardener may justly expect both the fairest flowers and fullest Crop, as from that ground which in itself is fattest, and in the Cultivating and Manuring whereof, has been spent both the most money and the most sweat. far be it from the Gentleman to be called (as we do sometimes our most fertile fields) only the Proudest ground, such as swaggers it out with Poppy and Cockle, and flatters the eye with many fine Blue and Yellow Flowers, but such as are neither for use themselves, nor will suffer the good Corn to thrive and grow till it may be so. The Gentleman, I am sure, would be troubled to be thus requited for his Care and pains by his field, and shall not God be justly angry for the like bad usage from the Gentleman? Certainly he cannot in equity expect the largest wage, who doth the least work, or think he can▪ merit the most Honourable reward, by standing all the day Idl●; nay for hindering and Deterring others who were going to labour in the Vineyard. Shall the Steward be the greatest loiterer, and most Careless servant in the whole Family? And is it fit the Heir should be the merest Prodigal? I am Confident the Gentleman would think it an injury to be thought so▪ and is it not then as great an injustice to be so? I should not have breath enough to enumerate half those many Honours and Dignities, those several Privileges, and Advantages, Endowments and Possessions which the Gentleman is blest with above his poorer Brethren, and can we think all these, not encouragements to be better, but rewards and Bribes to and for being Idler than others?  
The Gentleman is apt to boast himself much of his Noble Ancestors and Virtuous Progenitors, and is it not therefore equity, that all men should expect from that tree the best fruit, which hath the Noblest root? Men do not of Thistles expect grapes, nor of Brambles Figs; but even of the wild Olive tree when but grafted into the true Olive tree, God expects the Natural fruit. That Noble person who Adopts a Clown his heir, will expect he should henceforward become a Gentleman, and how much more is this to be expected from him who is born the true Son and heir? The Gentleman will pull his Cock's head off, if he degenerate from his kind; and why should his God use him better?  
The Gentleman, again, is apt to talk very much of his good Breeding, and Ingenuous Education; and certainly it is the greatest happiness which can so early betid him, that usually he hath Parents which are as tender of his Honour as of his life, and very often more▪ careful of his soul, then of their own: who howsoever they live themselves, yet will be sure to reprove the least vice in the Child, and it is a very ordinary form of blessing him, to pray he may be a better man than his Father. Now the Gentleman will expect this from his Horse or Spaniel, to behave himself hereafter, as he has been taught when he was young. Alas, how many brave and Generous dispositions are flatted and lost, how many Ingenious spirits are dulled and besotted, how many keen wits are blunted and lose their Edge, by being put to Delve in the Earth, being altogether Cowed and Enslaved, by the Tyranny of Poverty and an Adverse Fortune; whilst they could not be allowed that timely and Noble Nurture and Cultivation, whereby they might have been weeded and improved to a very high degree of Excellency and fruitfulness? How much good and tractable earth has been lost merely for want of a Skilful Potter, or spoiled upon the wheel of one unskilful? Whilst the Gentleman has all the aid and assistance that Prudent Parents or a rich-purse can afford him; and shall he, whom God has thus blessed with that which may procure him as well what's Best as what's Necessary, grow more Barren under all this care and Good-husbandry, which is bestowed upon him? Shall he like a stubborn and unwieldly branch, so soon as ever he is from under the wise hand which would have pruned and straighted him, start back into his Natural rudeness, and Deformity again? Shall he be like the Vial or Watch, one whereof will only continue it's even and Certain motion, so long as the owner forgets not to wind him up; and the other gives us its sweet sound no longer than the Musician's hand provokes and beats it; but so soon as the hand rests, the Motion and the Music ceases, and in a short time, the strings crack, and the Pegs fall, and the Noble Instrument grows mouldy and wormeaten? Is it not most unnatural, that he who has all these great advantages in his youth, which others do often in vain, and he himself too often when it is too late, wish to enjoy, should not do something whereby he might show all that care and cost, not quite thrown away and misspent? And yet much more, that he should only so behave himself, as one that knows how readily to forget, whatever had cost him so much time, and pains, and Money in acquiring; and one that can now make that a part of his glory, which indeed is no small argument of shame, that he once had a little learning, and Might have been a Christian, had he not had wit enough to befool himself, and so become a Gentleman. It troubles me to say that very many of our English Gentlemen do thus Commence (as it were) and take Degrees in Ignorance and Vanity, I wish it troubled him as much to do so.  
Again, it were but just, our Gentlemen should think upon their large portions and fair Inheritances, and so take the Measure of their Duties, by their liberal allowances. To have an estate makes not man Happy, but to use an estate wisely may bring a man very far on his way towards it. O let it never be said of the Gentleman, what is recorded to the perpetual dishonour of the Young Man (he knows [I hope] where) that he departed from Christ because he was very rich. It is certainly a mistake in any man, to think, a man's soul may no way feed and grow fat, upon his wealth: or to say a man may not become a Better man, by having greater possessions. Wisdom's seven Pillars are most readily erected, and firmly grounded upon a Basis of Gold: And Virtue cannot there have the best fair, and thrive most, though she may have a kind welcome, where Poverty keeps the house. Though the treasures of Wisdom and knowledge lie not in the Chest, yet are they for the most part so locked up, that he who would at any time come readily at them, must not sail to carry the Key in his Pocket. Though Virtue and Piety may live Quietly and Contentedly under a thatched roof, and may meet with such entertainment as may preserve life; yet, alas, they are but there as in Prison, and shall hardly obtain the Liberty to walk much abroad except there be something in the purse to purchase their freedom: Without this they may have what fettered Captives may enjoy, their hearts and tongues, but very seldom their hands or feet at liberty. What rare perfections might be attained to, and what wonders wrought, had but either the Rich Gentleman the poor man's soul, or the Poor man the Rich Gentleman's purse? What a shame is it, that he whom God hath blessed with enough to buy the Precious Pearl, should rather choose to lay it out upon an Hobby-Horse; that he should suffer either Himself to be a Fool, or Virtue a Beggar, when it is in his power to prevent both? If his wealth know not what to do with his Virtue, let him give Virtue the key, and she knows how to make use of his wealth. What an ungrateful fool is he, who with what is given him will neither fulfil the Donor's will, nor make use of the gift to his own advantage? How might the Church become truly Glorious, and her raiment literally of wrought Gold, how might the Poor man grow Rich, and the Rich man Good and Happy, did the Gentleman study to make that improvement, which he ought to make of this one talon, and not either with the Raunting Prodigal waste his inheritance by riotous living; or with the other Ill-husband and foolish servant, wrap it up in the Napkin of a lazy, or hide it in the Earth of a Worldly mind?  
There is a third obligation whereby the Gentleman in equity is bound to outgo his Inferiors, no less in Goodness then in Wealth and Pomp. I mean an Immunity from the Drudgeries of the World: Nature and Fortune both seem to consent in granting him a Dispensation from those Brick-kilnes, to which by the Pharaoh-like Cruelty of a Necessitous Condition, many a better Israelite is sentenced. He tugs not at the Oars, nor delves in the Dirt, nor washes his face, and Baths his body in his own sweat; nor lives, as other men are often constrained to do, almost by a wearisomeness of living: But seems to plead an Exemption from that part of Adam's Curse, whereby he was condemned in the sweat, of his Brows to eat his bread. Whilst many others by their continual labour, seem from meal to meal to kneed their own dough; and other men's too; and, like the poor Israelites, when driven out of Egypt, to run up and down with their kneeding-troughs upon their Shoulders. They carry both their Lives and livelihoods to and fro in their hands; and by a toilsome improvement of the Gentleman's vast estate, pick up for themselves a very scant subsistence. He eats the fat, and drinks the sweet, and has one part of him always provided for to his hand; and ought not this to lay a strong obligation upon him, to take more pains about the other? Ought not this to bind him to the ready service of his God, who has made the whole world in a manner to serve him? Certainly he never had a general Dispensation granted him from all labour, but only from the more slavish and drudging part of it; that the less he has to care for besides, the more time he should have to care for his soul and Heaven. It was Adam's growing wanton in Eden, where the Earth freely brought forth all things of itself, and where his task of labouring was but his Recreation not his toil, which sent him first abroad to sweat in the World, and to wage a Constant war with Briars and Thistles. And if the Gentleman will not take some pains to dress the Garden of his Soul, when all the world seems to be so much his own round about him, that one part of it is his Steward, the other his Estate, he can expect no less then to be driven out at last with a flaming sword to seek a Miserable kill livelihood in another.  
Could the Gentleman be truly sensible of his extraordinary privileges he enjoys, more than the rest of his labouring brethren do, in this one particular, doubtless we should see him more thankful, and less Idle; for though leisure be a very great blessing yet is laziness a mere Canker, which will in a short time, if not seasonably cured, eat out both Purse and Soul. Let him not thus turn the Opportunities of doing good, into encouragements to sin, nor the Means of Happiness, into the Instruments of Misery.  
O what an inestimable advantage is this, for any man that would either learn much or do well, to have always a Soul so tranquil and Serene, that all's Smooth and calm within him? What would many a brave Ingenious spirit, which could never yet obtain one smile from fortune, but lies always under the black cloud of Poverty, and tossed upon the tumultuous waves, of much bucsinesse and more sufferings, what would it not give to be blest with such a Sunshine, and to have so long a vacation from the world and its sorrows? None of those distractiois which come from the affairs of the world without him, which with so much eagerness and irresistible Importunity, ●dl and pull, and hail away many a good soul from his Study and devotion, need to be so much as harkened to by the Gentleman; who if he would but understand, the easy distinction, betwixt being careful and being giesy, betwixt Idleness and leisure, we should find him betaking himself to another and more cheerful course of life, having much time to use, but none to lose.  
And suppose you should ask the Gentleman this question, and wish him to answer it according to Conscience-Whether, if he had a servant whom he had designed for some more honourable and extraordinary empoyment; and to this end, had exempted him from all Common business and works proper to an Inferior calling; and not only so, but furnished him also, with whatever he could suppose instrumental to his work; and for his better encouragement had given him a considerable sum of Money beforehand; if after all this, this servant should neglect this business, and throw away all t●e time allotted him, in matters of small concernment, or in mere Idleness, go and spend his allowance, and waste his Master' money in Bad Company, and in pampering up his own humours and lusts; let him tell you in good earnest, whether he would not think himself slighted and abused, and for ● reward, turn that servant out of doors o● into Prison? And why then should th● Gentleman flatter himself up with fair● hopes; his charge I am sure is as great, 〈◊〉 care much less, and therefore his case can 〈◊〉 no better.  
I may here very seasonably add, as another branch of this Motive, the Gentleman's fair opportunity, not only of doing good to himself, but others also: and such an Opportunity it is, as is indeed a Necessity of doing either much good, or much hurt by his Example. For the Gentleman stands upon t●e top of an Hil, and being advanced to that considerable an height, is thereby made 〈◊〉 Conspicuous to the eye of the world, that his actions have an influence upon the Inhabitants of the vales round about him. 〈◊〉 His Tenants must for fear Flatter him, and many others will for his favour humour him, an● there be yet more, who have an Ambition 〈◊〉 be like him. Every sin in him is like an Eclipse in the Sun, whereby not only his own lustre and brightness is obscured and hid, but his rays are withheld from the world below, and a Malignant Influence scattered abroad upon Inferior Bodies. It is a very hard matter for a Gentleman to be bad alone; I dare say, his heart will bear witness, that he owes not a few of his own sins to the powerful Example of his superiors; and that he has very often resisted the more sober and virtuous inclinations of his own soul, and the more rational dictates of his own judgement, only out of an Ambitious humour to make himself Company for great ones; and because he was ashamed to be found less than a Gentleman in any thing, though in Sin itself. Let him therefore consider how much it will Concern him, who is the true Loadstone of the Nation, whose Motion the poor Iron souls of the multitude with trembling expect; and perceiving follow, to turn himself always to the right Pole. I wish the Gentlemen of our Island would remember this, that by their vices they prove not only Bad in themselves, but unjust to their Neighbours: that so they may see how much in equity they are obliged to amend their lives.   

§. 7. A fourth Motive from Honour and Reputation.  
The other mark to which I would gladly persuade the Gentleman to turn his eye, is that which he pretends to aim at most; his Honour or Reputation; things (If you'll believe him) whereof he is more tender than his life; but let us see how he will endeavour to make this good, for I cannot believe he values much, what he takes to pains to preserve.  
The main Character of an Honourable person, is a great care in him, never to do any thing below his Name, or which may reflect upon his Progenitors or his Family with shame and disparagement. He therefore can admit no employment which is base or low, but as his Honour was at first raised, so he studies to maintain it at that height, by some noble and Gallant achievement. But how truly tender is he of his Honour, who thus (as we have said before) is willing to degrade himself into a Beast, and to trample upon his Dignity and humanity at once? He that can bend his proud neck to the most galling Yoke which Satan can put upon him; and patiently kneels him down to receive so many loads of Dirt upon his back? who scorns not to drudge for the Worst and Basest of Masters, and that in his meanest and most Beggarly service, when he sends him out (with the Young Prodigal) into the field of Carnal pleasures, there to feed a few swinish lusts: and all this too, upon hopes of the slenderest reward here, a few deceitful Husks, and in daily fear and expectation of the most dreadful punishment hereafter, that of Endless torments.  
The Gentleman that values his honour, will be sure not to mix with any Company, but such, from whom he may reap both Credit and profit; such as will be no lets to him in his virtuous progress, nor blemish to his desired Reputation. But alas how little do those Gentlemen regard either of these, who indeed care for no Companions but such as have made themselves altogether the Creatures of their vices, and the nearest Panders of their Lusts.  
The truly Honourable Gentleman, is always most faithful and punctual in the performance of his promises, and showeth himself to be as Good as his word, esteeming no disgrace like that of deserving the Lie. Every promise he makes, he pawns his Honour and Reputation, to secure the performance; and looks upon no disrespect as comparable with that, of not being thought a person fit to be trusted. But how little care do our Gentlemen take to maintain this support of their Credit; who swear so frequently to, they know not, or heed not what, that they cannot possibly so much as remember, much less discharge one third part of their Oaths. These upon every slight or no occasion they send out in such Volleys, and with so much Inconsideration and temerity, that they cannot have time to Consider whether one half of what they swear be true or false. Nay there is one solemn Vow, and that the most sacred one that ever they made, and to a person with whom it most Concerns them to be punctual and deal faithfully, I mean that at their Baptism; which, alas, they so well perform, as that they hardly ever call to mind, or can believe there was any such thing done by them: Was it not this that then they promised, to Forsake the Devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the World, with all the Covetous desires of the same, and all the Carnal desires of the flesh, so that they would neither follow nor be lead by them? In which, the engagement of their Honour would not serve the turn, but they brought their sureties and Bondmen, who promised (as much as in them lay) to see all made good; I tremble to think how this vow has been fulfilled by all those persons who would be thought so sensible of Honour, that their bare word might at any time serve for their Bond. What they vowed to forsake, they with all earnestness follow; and that whereby they would not be led, they sweat to Outgo. Hugging and embracing those temptations they promised to abandon, and making the Vain Pomp and Glory of the World the only Gods they dare love and adore. If the Gentleman be thus careless in maintaining his Credit, thus false in his promises to God and his Soul, I hope he will not think it strange, if others be so scrupulous and weak-faithed, as not to believe him to be a Gentleman upon his own bare word.  
Further yet, he that desires to be truly Honourable, and esteemed so; Will so provide for his Honour, that the world may have no just cause to throw the miscarriages and sins of his Country upon his shoulders, or that all the Miseries thereof should be found the Daughters of his Vices. But whether or no we have any reason to blame the English Gentleman for the Calamities of his Nation, I appeal to himself, let his Conscience determine it. To whom shall we impute the Blindness, the Ignorance, the Giddiness of the People, but to him that pretends to be the eye and the head? We know it is the Lightness of the head, which often makes the heels stand uppermost; And when we see a Drunkard reel and staggar, we all know it is the Giddiness of his head which causes his uneven motion. It were happy for us, if all those who would be thought the Heads of this Headless Nation, would daily consider their office; and how much of the craziness and Distemper of this Infatuated people, is to be imputed to the unsettledness of their own Brains, and want of a due Government of themselves. O that the World might no longer have just cause to say (as now many are apt to do) that the sad disease of this poor Kingdom, wherein it has well nigh Coughed out its very heart, proceed from a cold it has taken in the Noblest members of its Body: and that indeed is Atheism.  
If therefore our Gentlemen ever intent to deserve that honour, they so eagerly desire, let them learn to be and Act like themselves, so shall they assure themselves of true Honour both before God and amongst men. Let them pluck up their Courage, and make it appear to the World, that they have yet something of a Noble and Generous Spirit within their breasts; that they dare yet own a God, in despite of Atheism and Blasphemy, and stand up for his Church in opposition to Tyranny and Sacrilege: that they have Spirits above the reach of Swords, and Souls not to be outbraved by the terrors of the Grave; nor blown out of their bodies with the proud and threatening breath of those that can but seem mighty. Let it once be seen that they have espoused a Religion which has a Majesty enough to Daunt a Nebuchadnezar with the hottest furnace in his Mouth: and an Holy zeal, which (as the Brighter Sun beams do upon the fainter light of a Candle) can pray upon, and Consume to nothing, the most scorching flames of Persecution. When they have learned to take the roaring Lion by the jaws, and pull out his teeth; when they can (with the stout Champion of Israel) defend the endangered Church against that great Goliath of Atheism, which now or never appears with the Weaver's Beam in his hand; when they have once got the Courage, to slight and pity all the Cursing Shimeahs and railing Rabshakahs of the land; to scorn the Barkings of reproach; and not to be afraid of the teeth of Poverty; when they dare go with Abraham to sacrifice their less lovely isaack's at the Mountain of the Lord: In a word, when they dare be good without fear of Shame or Want, and Religiously Loyal without dreading either Beggary or Death: Then shall they have Honours without stain or Blemish; and Names venerable in the Mouths of all men: then shall they set their feet upon the Necks of the Mighty, and Tyrants shall bow down under them, and they shall be set up on high with the Rulers of the People: then shall they have the acclamations of the Saints, and the bended knees of the poor at the throne of Grace, for their long life and Happiness; Then shall they be feared by their enemies, and loved by their friends; They shall have the Motherly Blessing of the Church, the joyful welcome and plaudite of Angels, and the Bountiful reward and Euge of their God and Father; a Glorious Robe, an immarcessible Crown, a perpetual kingdom: for indeed this Honour have all his Saints.  
I am really ashamed, and heartily sorry, that either the Gentleman's unnatural Behaviour, that strange Meander of all vices, or the sad and deplorable condition of this poor Church and Nation, to which in all Reason, Honour, and Conscience, he ought to show a more filial respect and Affection, have provoked me to this unusual length of a Letter: But the Copiousness of the Theme, which you first proposed to my thoughts, will I know be my sufficient excuse; though the unpleasantness of it, together with those many other businesses which are never wanting to You, but now incumbent upon me, might afford you an opportunity of being more profitably employed and me more suitably to my present calling, then in reading or writing of what here I send you. I shall therefore in a very few lines more, give you a Breviate of what I have already said, or have more to say concerning the mixed theme of this letter.   

§. 8. The Conclusion and sum of all.  
I shall always with all readiness Confess that I dare not have a low esteem of any of those Worthy Persons, whom the Alwise God by advancing them to the Top of the Pinnacle, seems to Commend both to me and others, as the most fit objects of our Admiration and Reverence: Only I hope the Gentleman will give me leave to make it a part of my Prayers (and too sad experience daily shows us what great reason we have so to pray) that they who stand both so high and so Ticklishly may ever take heed lest they fall. Satan had the Confidence upon as high a place (though at that height he met with the most exemplary Humility that the world ever heard of) to venture a temptation upon the Lord of Life: where certainly his hopes of prevailing must rationally be thought to have been as low, as his attempt was high: It is therefore too much to be feared he hath very often his wished for success in overturning the Bravest Sinner. The Subtle Serpent, though he despair of Heaven, is always crawling upwards, and can as easily twist and wrap himself about the Gilded spire of Honour and Nobility, as once he did about the fairest tree in Eden; and questionless not seldom with as much unhappy success, as malicious Subtlety. Here, I am sure, he hath the same or surer holds to fasten upon, and Climb up by, which there he had; Even the wild protuberances of Pride and Ambition. The first assault he made, was upon an unspotted Innocence but matched with an over facile and flexible Humanity; and meeting there with the Hoped Issue of his temptation, he takes the Boldness to venture on an Infinite Wisdom in the Bosom of Omnipotence: and though there he was foiled, yet being the more madded with the Shameful repulse, 'tis likely he will fall the more desperately, and so with the greater violence, upon that Prudence, which is at best much abated by the base mixture and too excessive alloy of a Beloved Folly. I wish it might be the Gentleman's good Fortune or Courage to ward the stroke, and come of unhurt.  
When I hear this inferior world wherein we are to breathe out our Minority, compared (and not unfitly) to an Inn or Diversory; whereinto Man, whose life is a journey or Pilgrimage, only turns in to take a night's lodging, that so he may fit and dress himself against the Morning for a Better Country; I am ready to take the Boldness to prosecute the Metaphor a little farther, and I would fain say, that those Glittering, spangled souls, are most Noble and Honourable, which Wise Nature treats with the greatest respect and Ceremony; those, for whom, as her Chief Guests she hath reserved her most stately, and fairest rooms: that these, if any, are to be thought the Gentlemen of the world, to whom Nature as well as Fortune seems to pay a reverence.  
These are the Men who enter into the world with that Ceremonious state and Pomp, that would almost persuade us they were sent hither on an Embassy from Heaven. They are indulged an Honour seemingly too great for Mortality. They are admitted into the world by the most beautiful gate of a Renowned Parentage, they are ushered along with all that Pomp and Magnificence, which use to attend our highest hopes and most teeming Expectations; and are most significant of our greatest joys: Their births are congratulated, and they welcomed hither, with a long and Methodically ordered train of solemn and Honourable both Civil and Religious Ceremonies. They are honourably placed in the most richly furnished, and neatly contrived Lodgings, of Comely and wel-featured Bodies; in adorning whereof the Divine Art of Better Nature, hath best shown itself; these are Gloriously set forth by all those most lively Images of Majesty and Honour, which Corrupted Nature can be thought capable of receiving: All these are more sweetened, by a lovely prospect into the world abroad, where an Indulgent fortune, to give the better relish to the gifts of Nature, presents herself in all variety of Dresses, of Riches, Pleasures, Preferments; ever creating such store of New-delights as may soon win upon the sense, and best recreate the soul.  
And now, Sir, would any man seeing all this, think it possible, that after Nature, and Fortune, and the Great God of Both, by so long a Succession of no less truly Delectable then indeed inestimable blessings, have been so industriously Solicitous for the Gentleman's welfare; and with so much Charitable Importunity, have Constantly Courted his soul, to be in love with that fair hand which made it; to invite it to an early sense of its own worth and excellency, and to set a due estimate upon itself; to possess it with the true Apprehensions of that, which is certainly the highest Honour that can befall a mortal here or Crown him hereafter, I mean his near Relation to Heaven, and the God of Heaven his Maker: Would any man believe it possible after all this, that the Gentleman should be either so uncharitable to himself, or so ungrateful to his Creator: either so much a Churl or a Fool, or Both: as neither to yield to those Importunities of a Wooing Heaven: nor Embrace the Courteous Invitations of an endless Felicity? Would you believe, that when he is entrusted by the King of Glories, upon so honourable an Expedition as that of winning a Crown; he should be tired and foot-sore at the very first step; and sit down to rest him upon the first cold stone in his way, there flattering his Childish Humour, in the Empty fruition of some Garish but fading vanity? Could any man with a rational soul in him, Hope to find an Happiness in such toys adequate to the Immense desires of an Heaven-borne substance? Alas, who is ignorant, that these pretty Glories, and little felicities, which so please us here, cannot in any reason be thought more (seldom so much) then the smaller tokens of a Father's Love, or an Earnest penny to a future Inheritance; something for the Child to keep his purse with whilst he is here at school: Nay, they are so often less than this, that they amount not to so much, as those less tokens, which we use to call the Mother's Blessing; but are rather like the deceitful Gifts of a Stepdame, such as a brass shilling, or a Gilded Nutmeg, the slight kindness not of a Fond but a dissembling Fortune: whereby the unwary Child is very often bribed and Flattered out of his due Portion and Inheritance.  
Doubtless, if the Gentleman find himself to be so much Fortune's Darling, or (as he would rather have us think) the Favourite of Heaven: as to be afforded a more tender and delicate Education than his poorer brethren: I dare hardly believe all this an Indulgence to sin, but an encouragement unto Holiness, and to go on with Cheerfulness to see what that Good Father has in store for him in Heaven, who is so liberal to him here upon Earth. The Comfortable warmth of his Prosperous Condition, is indulged him, thereby to preserve his soul, more tender, and pliable, zealously forward to receive both more Generous and more pious impressions: not to scorch or dry it up into a rebellious obstinacy: neither to give him the opportunity of melting it away in the soft embraces of more wanton and lascivious delights: or to Dissolve his happiness into the Aery and shadowy vanity of a Carnal pleasure. The Golden Foundation being laid, God expects, he should not so abuse it, as to erect thereupon any meaner structure than an Heaven. The right use of what he already enjoys, aught to dispose his soul into a Capacity of receiving more and better, even of those spiritual blessings which will set him up above the reach either of an adverse Fortune, or a Malicious Devil.  
If the Gentleman would be persuaded to cast a Religious eye upon the Excellent Symmetry and lovely features of his own Body, wherewith it is no strange thing to find him beautified above other men; certainly he would presently consider with himself, that this fine Outside was not the only or best piece of work intended, but there should be a suitable Inside too, such as may make the man a fit temple of the Holy Ghost to reside in: that this stately and well-wrought Body should be but the external Emblem of a more beautiful and Majestic soul.  
If it be his Good luck to find his way to Paradise strawed all over●with Roses: whilst other poor souls are forced to run Bare footed through Briars and thistles, stints and Pebbles; whereby their feet are often so galled, that their pace proves slow, and so pricked and scratched that you may trace them, as they their Saviour, into Heaven by their blood; he ought wisely to consider, that this entertainment should not retard him in his journey, neither make him Fancy that he is already in the Garden; and therefore may sit down, or roll his soul upon these sweets to a satisfaction; alas, the more he thus tumbles upon them, the sooner will these tender Blossoms fade and wither: They are only scattered in his paths, that by their fragrancy his decaying Spirits may be restored and cherished, that he faint not ere he reach that garden where grows the Tree of life, and never-perishing Flowers of sweetest pleasures, even at God's right-hand for evermore.  
If the Gentleman may boast of his honourable descent, from a virtuous and if so, a deservedly renowned family; how much will it concern him in Honour and Duty, to provide that his Children by his virtues, may be enabled to brag of as much as he? It will certainly be a greater disgrace to him, when his Son shall be constrained to say, he had a Worthy Grandfather, than it can now be his Glory, that he himself can tell the world he had a Deserving father. Can he Imagine it half so Creditable, to swaggar it out with the Old Name and Title of his rotting Ancestors; as to manifest their yet surviving Virtues in himself their Genuine offspring? What a pitiful Credit must it needs be for him, to show a stranger a firm and substantial foundation, laid by his Ancestors many years ago, towards an intended Heroick and sumptuous building, if all this while he have neglected by his own virtues to add a superstructure, proportionable to such a Groundwork?  
I am Confident the Gentleman needs not a remembrancer to mind him of his Name; nor any other Herald to persuade him he has a right unto it, than his own Ambition and Conceit: But how unlikely he is by the means he uses to make the world believe him, he seems not so well to Consider. Is it a matter of such Credit, to show us, how well he can put on his Father's old clothes, or play his Ape in his Silver jerkin? Is this the main Badge of his Gentility, that he has never a Coat but what was given him by the Herald; or that he lives as Beggars do, upon the Charity and Alms of the Parish? Let him say, what other title it is he can pretend to, who by his own personal merits cannot purchase his name? What does he less than Pick up his Crumbs under the Old-man's table: Nobility without Virtue has just so much life, as it can Borrow; and only breathes by the common and Ignoble breath of the People. What does the unworthy Gentleman, but go from door to door for an Alms of Honour? One throws him in a Sir, another a Master, a third a Good-your-Worship; and with these few scraps he makes a shift to preserve alive his meager and raw-boned Reputation.  
A name that thus feeds only upon the fragments of charity, is not like to grow truly great in haste: And a Reputation so long worn already without mending, is too vile and cheap for a true Gentleman to appear abroad withal. The Cloak must needs be very threadbare, that is so old, and has been so ill used; It were more Noble to wear a New one of his own buying, then that of his Great-grandfather which at best he can by his scantling virtues only fill full of patches. His Father's Honour can be his but at Second-hand: and to be proud of an Hereditary title only, is but to rant it in a Dead-man's suit, and like him, whom he too often Imitates, after his father's death, to fright the world by appearing in his likeness; for when we come more narrowly to examine the Reality of what we think we see in him, we find nothing but a cheat and Delusion of the sense; we catch at a bare Apparition for a substance; or at best grasp a senseless clod of cold clay instead of a Man. What is it to be thus Solicitous after an Old Coat of Arms, but to wish the Herald were a Broker, And that he might buy old scutcheons, as he may old Cloaks, because his Merits will not amount to the price of New ones. Whilst he thus opens his Press, and shows it to be welllined with the rich apparel of those who lived before him, he does no more than what often his father's Page or Lackey is able to do: Nay I shall be bold to say it, whatever the Gentleman may therefore think of himself or me, that he who shows his Father's Bearing, without some Honourable Addition, due at lest, if not given, to his own virtues, has but little more reason to boast of his Gentility, than his Father's Fool or Fiddler, whom I have often observed to bear his Master's Coat upon his Livery. O that the Gentleman would in good earnest Consider, how much all Wisemen laugh at him, even in his Finest clothes; and how much more all Good men do pity him, when they see him with all his Borrowed Bravery delight to tumble in the Mire!  
He that will be a Gentleman indeed, must look no less carefully before him, on what yet remains for him to do, to maintain his Honour, then behind him, on what has been already done by his Ancestors to purchase it. Honour has a very delicate palate, and loves to feed upon fresh Diet; and very much Nauseates the Moulded Offals of Antiquity. No broken Dishes come to her table, neither can she subsist by Chewing the Cud after the largest feasting upon the Grandfather's deserts. The sharp teeth of Time will at length enter deep into the Marble Monument under which the Father's Ashes are laid to rest, or at least the Injurious Dust will fill up and hide the fair Characters thereupon in which perhaps alone the Honour of the Son stands legible: It can be no longlived Honour, where the Patent is only a Dead-man's Epitaph. It will therefore highly concern the Gentleman in due time at least to lay a New gilt upon the Old letter, that so he may transmit an Honourable Memory of his name to late Posterity, rather under his own hand, than his father's Zeal.  
The Stateliest Pile, yields and stoops by little and little to the importunities of Age: And 'tis rare to see a building left by the father so firm and weather-proof, but it will require some repairing before the Death of the Son. A Good-husband will therefore make haste even to prevent his fears, and not expect an Invitation from a visible ruin; knowing that it is a Necessity not deserving the name of Providence to underprop the declining wall; Neither will a Prudent person cover a dangerous breach in the wall of his house with a superficial plaster or paint, thereby to Cozen the World into a false Opinion of his Counterfeit thrift and Providence, till a sudden fall of the whole house discover at once his folly and his Policy; In vain shall the Gentleman by the bare shadow of a virtue endeavour to make the world believe he wants not the substance: He must by the real and undissembled excellencies of a Generous soul, sincerely devoted to the service of Religion and Virtue, both add many Solid Pillars to support the Old, and lay a firm Basis for a New structure.  
A Father's good name deserves a reverend memory in after ages, but will never be injured or grow less renowned, by being out-shone in the Son's virtues: It is rather proud thus to grow young again. There can be no perpetual entailment of Honour upon all succeeding posterity; The best Gentleman holds his Nobility but by Lease from Heaven, which is to be renewed once at least in every life; when a good round sum of Heroic Actions are expected as his Fine. God hath his Stewards always ready to receive the Gentleman's rent, the Church and State, and he that pays not at his day, to either of these, forfeits all.  
It is no slight sin to suppose God so vainly Prodigal of his jewels, as to think them well disposed of when placed in Swine's snouts, where they only serve to root up the Earth, and delve in the Dirt. Common, Rustic, and Plebeian spirits fitted by the hardness of their Nature, to Dig and plow the ground, these are the Out-labourers of God's great Household, who by the greatness of their Necessary Drudgery, take off much of the Burden from the more refined sort of Mankind: The Gentleman God has chosen to be as it were the steward of his Family, and Guardian to his Church; and therefore in all Prudence and Gratitude he ought to endeavour a due discharge of so great a trust. No Loiterer, much less, a Spendthrift, can be a member of his Family, we know the certain wages of such unfaithful servants. He than that thinks himself exempted from all that hardship which many others by a leaden soul and an Iron Body, besides the course usage of an unkind Fortune, are Naturally or Casually sentenced to, takes a very preposterous course, when he arrogates to himself a licence to do ill or to do nothing: If the Gentleman would be valued above others, it is but reason if we require him to make it appear, that he is of better Mettle than others which is to be judged of, not by the Colour, but service.  
I would not see the Gentleman's Soul sitting in his beautiful Body, like a Breathless Idol of Gold in a Temple of Silver, there to be worshipped by all, but do good to none: It is not fit it should be thought only such a fine gay thing, as is sometimes by the choicest of Natural endowments and Artificial accomplishments, embellished into something more than ordinary, or burnished over into such a slight superficial gloss, as may make it, as well as his Body, admired and gazed upon by a few Ignorant worldlings; Neither should it be his business to get his Body always New-molded to the varying humours of the Court, and tricked up in all the late invented Gauderies, Gorgeous Accoutrements, and Gingling trappings, wherewith the Levity of Art has made bold to overload and abuse the Modesty of Honest Nature: He that has no Nobler a Soul or Body then these, may still be no more than a mere Carcase, such as, if it express any motion, seems rather to be actuated by the multitude of crawling vermin within it, sprung from its own Corruption, then by a true Rational soul inspired by God Almighty. All the Salt of Wit and Ingenuity which such a person usually so much brags of, will not be enough to preserve so putrid a Lump from stinking above ground.  
In a word, Sir, the true Gentleman will labour so to qualify his soul, that he may be disposed to do a service to his God, in some proportion answerable to those several tokens of favour and Honour, whereby he has so blest and graced him in the eye of the world: Seeing God has been pleased to advance him some degrees above the Multitude, he takes care to raise his soul too to that spiritual height and pitch of true Piety and Holiness, that when thus advanced in outward Dignity, he may not seem a Dwarf on Horseback.  
And because the Common Gifts of the most Bountiful Nature will not put a man into a Capacity of performing his part to the full in such an employment, much less will Idleness and Negligence: It should be every Gentleman's care in his Youth to give and resign himself wholly up with all his pleasures and Interests, to the Care of his Soul; that so by the Prudent Industry of a Learned and Godly Instructor, seconded with his own Indefatigable pains and patience, he may have his Golden parts made truly bright, and be, as it were, midwised afresh unto such a perfection, that he may not, by the low and beggarly condition of a rude and Ignorant Soul, be a Discredit to his Lord, or a Scandal to that calling he professeth. God Delights in Honourable, though not in pr●nd attendants; and although he is many times pleased to fill up his house, and make up the number of his Family, with those who have not been very much befriended either by nature in a Noble birth, or by Fortune in a Plenteous and prosperous life; yet doth he long to see his Religion graced and Credited, with a long train of such as the King hath delighted to Honour.  
And (blessed be God) the Care of our Ancestors has been such, that we want not Nurseries both of Learning and Piety in this Nation; such as may afford a breeding to our Young Gentry not unsuitable to their Quality and intended employment. It is my hearty prayer, that these may never be unstocked with such hopeful and Generous Plants, as may there grow and thrive, till they arrive at that Maturity both of Grace and good Literature, as well as of Years, that they may in due time become, not only strong but also Curiously polished Pillars for the support of those two Glorious Fabrics of Church and State. That, as by the special Indulgence of God they were Honourably borne; so by his special Grace too, they may indeed live, both truly profitable to his Saints here, and as truly Glorious with them hereafter.  
Thus (Sir) have I done my best to obey your Commands; and, as largely and fully, as a little time, less leisure, and yet fewer abilities would give me leave; I have given you my present thoughts and wishes concerning our English Gentleman. I have sent you (I fear) a very little Kernel in a large Shell; but now you have it, you may choose whether you will take the pains to Crack it, or throw it into the Fire. Whatever it be that here you receive, as your Commands gave it birth, and my Confidence of your Goodness, has taught it to speak and go abroad; so does it now submissively expect your sentence, whether of life or death. Do what you will with all the rest, so you do but vouchsafe to read thus much in it, that I am— Sir,  
Your most humble and Obedient Servant.  
The END.    

The ERRATA.  
The reader will frequently meet with a small Errata, which he may be pleased either to mend with his pen, or with less pains to pardon: one or two of the Grosser sort I have here noted to his hand.  
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