ΠΟΙΚΙΛΟΦΡΟΝΙΣΙΣ▪ OR, THE Different Humours OF MEN: Represented in an INTERLUDE At A Country-SCHOOL.  
Dec. 15. 1691.  
LONDON, Printed, for Tho. Parkhurst at the Bible and Three Crowns in Cheapside near Mercer's Chapel. 1692.   

The Epistle Dedicatory. To the much HONOURED 

Sir John Shaw Baronet.  
Sir John More Knight.  
Christopher Pack Esquire.    
Worthy Sirs,  
WHen the Reflections of the Censorious bad Extorted from me, what the Importunity of the Friendly and Candid could not Eli●i●● 〈◊〉 A Consent to make this Scholostick Interlude public; I thought there was a great deal of Justice, that it should be humbly presented to the Principal Erectors of those Walls, wherein it was contrived; as a Monument. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and my Own Gratitude. May the public Acknowledgement of the kind Assistance, that I received from you, and your generous Parents in Reviving a Free School out of its Ruins, 〈◊〉 Encouragement to the Ingenious and Wealthy Gentlemen of the Age, to favour Learning and the good Education of Youth, and it will Effectually serve the Design of  
Ashby De-la-zouch Leicestershire, Jun. penult. 1692. Your much Obliged and most humble Servant Sam. Shaw.   

The Names of the Speakers  

Sir. Francis Freeman, a good Landlord  
Dr. Cas●e, a casuistical Divine  
Dr. Helye, a Physician.  
Mr. Speed, Sir Francis his Clark.  
Simon Shorthose. a scrupulous Man.  
Lawrence Large, a broad conscienced Man.  
Benjamin Brag, a confident ●●uff.  
Harry Hart, a pusillanimous Man.  
Mr. Spruce, a finnical Gentle man.  
Goodman Grace, ●●clownish Countryman.  
Anthony, Angier, a pettish testy Man.  
Lawrence ●amb, a meek sheepish Man.  
Will, Wake, a hen-peckt Man.  
Charles Catchit, a covetous Man.  
Peter Peace, a contented Man.  
Mr. Medler, a News-monger.  
Mr. Slack, an Epicure.  
Mr. Grindon, a snarling Carpet.  
Frank Fawns, a Flatterer.  
Stephen Sad, a Melancholist.  
Moses Merry, a castaway Care.  
Kester Killagrew, a vapouring Soldier.    

Προλογος.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉   

Prologus.  
QUousque tandem, Auditores, Senescentis & caduci ora●●ris facetias audire & videre flagitatis. Satis est, plus quàm satis est, quod praeceptor noster jam seniculus & repuerascens geniis vestris hactenus indulserit, ●uum ipsius defraudaverit. Bene vertat quod multis ab▪ hinc annis vobis donaveri●: vestrum est consulere ne quid mali de futuro illi struatis, pudet equidem, pudet illum,— capiti non posse pericula cano pellere: multo magis pudeat vos exigere, quae non est genii ejus vel aetatis praestare. Quod ad nos balbutientes (ne dicam vagientes) histriones, non est quod veniam vestram oremus, quod ipsi promptius impertiemini: Candidi enim hoc est ingenii, quod non potest laudare, saltem tolerare. Sinite ergo, sinite, quaesumus, in haec aetate ludicrâ, quae in aetate adolescentiori forsitan f●rent non tam ridenda quàm corrigenda. Queri●ur, & non injuriâ queritur Magister noster de quorundam (vel quarundam dicam?) malevolentia victum, vitam & v●●ae viam sibi invidentium. Sed incassum queritur; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: sibi ipsi sapit, sibi ipsi placet; & rumpatur quisquis rumpitur invidiâ. Male agitur cum m●seris paedagogis, si ad libitum & nutum cujus cujus homunculi vani & sibi male temperantis, os eorum obstruatur, & constringantur manus. Sed ●d vos redeo, benevoli auditores; Convenistis huc ho●lie specta●um, & ut spectemini. Nihil nost●a interest, an vigiletis, an dormia●is; an audiatis▪ an solum spectetis; an intelligatis quid volumus, an approbetis quod intelligitis. Silete vel plaudite, laeti sitis, vel sitis tetrici, candidi vel ●ynici, eodemres redit. Sciatis vero veli●●, hodierni colloquii finem esse & propositum vos sapientiores magis quàm hilariores efficere: Cavete vobis de aegritudinibus animi, quas nos proponimus solum ut sanemus. Boni consulite seniles lucubrationes & gesticulationes pueriles. His legibus salvete omnes.   

Prologue,  
Welcome kind Auditors, and all ye who are either so curious as to come to see, or so fine or so pretty, as to come to be seen. The truth is, it is not worth your while to attend upon either what old age caninvent, or childhood can represent. Nay, possibly you will say, — Meritò suspecta libido est, quae venerem affectat sine viribus.  

— He's a Fool that would make sport,  
And has not Wit sufficient for't.   
To which I might subjoin,  

And he's a Clown that looks for Wit;  
Nor Age nor Time affording it.   
Gentlemen, If you find nothing to entertain your more exalted fancies, I will administer this consolation to you, that if you be set on gigg, you may still laugh at your own simplicity, when you find your selve● disappointed. I know no body that is indebted to you a treat, nor that has promised you any thing, but yourselves. Therefore if you cannot laugh that we have made ourselves fools for you, yet finding yourselves disappointed, you cannot but laugh to see how we have made fools of you. But indeed, good people, we are in good earnest, a little to represent to you the extremes, that men commonly run into, that ye may avoid 'em, and the enormity of other men's passions, that you may the better suppress your own. We will not purposely reflect upon any person in the World: And yet we would have every person that hears us, make application too. To mingle good sense with well devised fables, facetious expressions or comical actions, was of old esteemed a good way of recommending virtue and exposing vice: And if we could possibly both delight you and edify you, we would dare to call it an entertainment. But (alas) we cannot pretend to the one or the other: The one we cannot do, the other perhaps you will not suffer. For I must tell you, there are but few people in the world so ingenuous or good natured, as to suffer themselves to be edified. Man is a male-pert creature, and will much sooner fall out and swagger, than either fall down ro stagger at any reprehension. However Gentlemen, put on your holiday humour, and be as good natured as you can: And if it be above us to receive your thanks, or below you to give 'em, yet at least let us have your pardon: which if we cannot obtain, we will take heed not to offend another year. But we are not solicitous about either the one or the other, knowing that when we have said all we can,—  

Plays must run their different fates,  
According to the hearer's Pates.    

Enter Sr. Francis Freeman, with Father Casye a Scholastical Divine, and Dr. Hely a Physician accompanying him, and Mr. Speed his man waiting on him. They Compliment each other, and take their places. Freem. 
MY worthy Friends, your Visit is very seasonable, and I am right glad to see you. I know your Accomplishments are very great in your respective Professions, so great, as that nothing can match them, except it be that Singular Humanity, which instructs you to communicate them for the Edifying and Healing of all Neighbouring Mankind. And I dare say, if your Sphere were as large as the Sun's, your Influences would be as diffusive as his: You are rather straitened for room to Act in, than for Benignity or Ingenuity to Act with. It is pity, that such large Souls should be penned up within such narrow Bounds of Mortality.  Cas. 
Good Sr. Francis, do not trouble yourself (not to say us,) with such high strains, which do more express your own Eloquence, than our Accomplishments. They only show what you are able to speak, tho' it be such things which we blush to hear.  Hel. 
I pray, Sr. Francis, rather make Trial, than Proclamation of our Skill and Aptitude to serve you. Bestow upon us your Commands, rather than your Encomiums, except you would have us to think, you have brought us h●ther, rather to Shame us, than Entertain us. For my own part, I assure you (and I think, I speak the Sense of this Reverend Father) I had rather do a thousand good Acts, than hear of one. The greatest Ingenuity imaginable is imperfect, however, it is not illustrious, without a proportionable Modesty. Tell us therefore, I pray Sir, wherein we may possibly serve you, or any of your Dependants, by our respective Faculties, and then, if we cannot approve ourselves able, yet you shall be obliged to confess us willing.  Free. 
Sir, I am well satisfied already, both of the one, and the other. In short therefore, I will tell you, what I would consult you about. I am not only a Landlord of Estates, but I take myself also to be a kind of a Landlord of Tempers and Conversations, and that my Tenants do in a great measure, hold their Minds and Manners of me, as well as their Lands. I have a plentiful Estate, which I never laboured for, never swate for, never fought for, never studied for, never purchased. But it was devolved upon me from my Ancestors, without any Care or Charge of mine; So that I take it with all its Encumbrances, and whatever I find upon it, I take to be my own. All the Inhabitants of it, are my Family: The poor that I found there, and their Posterity, I reckon, have as much Right to live upon it, as I. The Land was charged with them, as much as any Land is charged with an Annuity; which cannot be discharged, till the Persons cease to be, or at least cease to be there's.  Cas. 
Really Sr. Francis, I do admire your curious Notion, I wish it were imbibed by all the Landlords upon Earth.  Free. 
In the Application of this Notion (for that you know, Father, is the life of all) I take myself to be concerned, to be almost paternally kind, charitable, and hospitable to 'em; to make much of those that do pay their Rents, to forbear those that do not, and to forgive those that cannot. And not only so, but I take myself also concerned to look after the Health of their Bodies, and the peaceful, agreeable Tempers of their Minds. I would not see them injurious to one another, nor so much as uneasy to themselves. The Principal of my Tenants, are now in my House, they are come together to pay their Mich. Rent, and I have made them an Entertainment. But I know your good Counsel, and grave Advice will much excel my Meat and Drink, if you will please to vouchsafe it.  Cas. 
Sir, you express a Nature so good, and a Design so generous, that you may assure yourself, of what I can contribute to the healing of their Tempers, and the reconciling of their Differences: And that without respect to any Party or Sect whatsoever. The very words, Sect, Fashion, Schis●, I verily believe, have created more Divisions, and more Enmity amongst Men, than the things themselves about they which differ. Every party, as they are more potent or more numerous than other, take it to be their privilege, to call all the rest that are not of their mind, Factious, or Schismatical. And why should one party be called a Sect more than another, merely because it is less, or perhaps less favoured in the World?— mutato nemine de te Fabula narretur. Do but turn the Tables, altar the Scene, change the Scales, and then they that branded the other for Sectaries, will themselves be ●ound to be but a Sect. A Sect is but a part in proper speaking, and there is no Party in the world can pretend to be any more. Let any party in the world swell itself by Numbers, by Power, by Preferments and Privileges, or (which is more) in Pride and Self-conceitedness; yet it will never be able to get to be the whole, no more than the Frog in the Fable, could get to match the Ox. The Aristotelian Philosophers had once almost engrossed to themselves the name of Philosophers; and yet they were but a Sect of Philosophers, for all that. For my part, Sr. Francis, I look upon every man to be a Sect, or Particle of the Universe, and as such I love him, as such I would serve him.  Free. 
Sir, I do admire the Amplitude and Benignity of your Mind; I wish all the Fathers of the Church, would respect all men as their Children.  Hel. 
I can promise nothing for myself, Sr. Francis, but to be faithful and friendly in my Advice. Faithful in giving the best, and friendly in giving it for nothing; that so, if I cannot mend the man, yet I may not spend his money. There are many Phrases, whereby our Employment is expressed amongst men; but I like none of 'em so well as that of Givin Physic.  Free. 
I had thought Dr▪ all your Giving, had been Receiving; they go all by the name of Recipes.  Hel. 
Yes, Sr. Francis, to the Patient it is a receiving, but from us, i● is a giving. For my part, as Father Casye looks upon all men to be Sects of the Universe, so I look upon them all to be Members of it, Fellow-members with myself. And▪ shall one Member hire another to be helpful to it, or relieve it? will any Member that has Life and Sense in it, suffer a Fellow-member to languish merely for lack of a Fee?  Free. 
But if you should have this Sympathy, Dr. towards all, you yourself might in time languish for lack of food.  Hel. 
No danger of that, Sr. Francis, let this Sympathy be, as it ought to be, reciprocal, and all men will be as forward to administer to my Necessities, as I to their Infirmities; and so Kindness and Charity will circulate through the Universe, as naturally as the Blood through the Veins  Free. 
Well, I thankfully accept your generous Offer, Dr. But I hope we shall not have occasion to give you much trouble; my Neighbours being generally more troubled with vicious Passions, than morbific Humours, Aegrotani animo magis quam corpore.— Speed, Call in hither my Neighbour Simon Sho●those, and Laurence Large. Speed. I doubt Sr. they will not agree to come together, they are of so different Humours.  Free. 
I warrant thee, they can agree to eat and drink together, sure they can agree to appear together——  Exit Speed. 
This Shorthose, Gentlemen, is a wonderful scrupulous man, and exceptious almost against every thing. But my Neighbour Large, is not troubled with that fault, he is rather in a contrary Extreme, he swallows all that comes, and sticks at nothing▪  
Enter Speed, with Shorthose and Large.  
Come Mr. Shorthose, you're welcome into our Company.  Short. 
Nay, pray Landlord, do not master me, you know I am no Gentleman.  Hell▪ 
Why, you are a Man, and you are Gentle; ergo, you are a Gentleman.  Short. 
Sir, whosoever you are, your Ergo sounds like the Language of the Beast; and your Logic runs Arseward; for if I be a man Gentle, it will not follow, that I am a Gentleman.  Hel. 
I perceive you are very scrupulous or very captious.  Short. 
Whatever you call me Sr. my name is Shorthose.  Cas. 
But what, Friend, have you no Christian name?  Short. 
Sr. I do not like Christians in name; Those Christians in name, have quite spoiled the name of Christian▪ Give me a Christian in Deed.  Free. 
Nay, pray goodman Shorthose, be not so very exceptious, these Gentlemen are Friends of mine, and I am sure design you no hurt.  Short. 
Goodman? Sir, I do not pretend to be a good man; I am full bad enough: If I be but a good Tenant, I hope it will serve your turn.  Free. 
Yes, yes Simon, I own you to be a good Tenant: you do not scruple to pay your Rent, and that's enough to recommend you to me; but I could wish you were more easy to yourself, than your scrupulous Temper does suffer you to be.  Short. 
Why, you would no● have me to digest Iron Sr. would you?  Cas. 
Iron? I perceive you cannot digest so much as a Feather.  Short. 
A Feather! Sr. Feathers, as light as they are, are as hard to be digested as Iron, for aught I know. I'm sure I had a good Cow choked with one of them the other day. I guess ●r. by the length of your Raiment, tha● you are of the breed of the Pharisees, and by the Complexion of it, that you are allied to the Priesthood. Now I hear it is a great piece of Priest-craft at Rome, fro● whence perhaps you are come, to prescribe things as hard to be digested as Iron● and yet at the same time▪ to call 'em light things, and make the World to believe, they are but Feathers. A Rapier is but a smathing, but it will run a man through; and even Feathers themselves will choke.  Hel. 
I perceive Sr. Francis, that this man will prove my Patient. I suppose he is troubled with a narrow Throat, I have an Instrument that will boar it wider.  Cas. 
Nay Doctor, I rather think he is troubled with a short-hosed Conscience, I will endeavour to cut it longer.  Short. 
I thought what a Doctor you was Sir; rather than make the Blous less, you will make the Throat wider. And this you say you would do by boring it; I wish you do not mean cutting it, many men's Throats have been ●ut, for no other fault that I know of, but because they could not swallow well. And as for your cutting a Conscience longer, Sr. neither I, nor never a Tailor in the Town, I think, can understand that Notion. Many one I believe you have set upon the Tenters, and stretched 'em till they gashed again; But cutting of Consciences longer, I never heard of before. Sure, you rather belong to the Company of Clothworkers, than Tailors. Certainly most men act by a public Conscience: For if they acted by a private Conscience, it would inform 'em, that they ought not to impose upon other men's ●elief, any more than themselves would be content to be imposed upon by others.  Large. 
A public Conscience, Neighbour Simon? why, what can be more safe or easy, or indeed reasonable, than to act by a public Conscience? Safe I'm sure it is; for then a man shall meet with no Disturbances, nor Persecutions in the World. Let my Conscience be of the currant national stamp, and a fig for all Informers. Easie I'm sure it is, it prevents a great deal of thoughtfulness, supersedes many Disputes and Controversies, saves a great Labour of running up and down to consult Divines and Casuists, and frees a man's M●nd from the perplexing Thoughts of another world, when he knows that the King and Parliament must answer for him. And to me it seems very reasonable to.  Short. 
Reasonable? I believe nothing seems unreasonable to a man of your Dimensions. If a man had a Mo●th wide enough, he might swallow Millstones.  Large. 
Nay, Neighbour Simon he must have a Throat proportionable, or it will not go down. But as to the Reasonableness of acting by a public Conscience, I pray hear what I have to say. You know we Countrymen are Idiots, homespun, of no ingenuous Education, in no public Employment, we are not ourselves learned, we know not what their Hebrew, and Greek and Latin means: Is it not fit then, that we should be ruled by them that are Book-learned?  Short. 
Book-learned? Away with this Letter-learning. If we cannot read English, we are Fools; and if the Learned Linguists have falsely translated the Original, they are Knaves. If they have dealt faithfully, we are as wise as they: if they have not, there is no reason to trust them any more.  Large. 
But I pray, Neighbour Simon, do we not trust Physicians with our Bodies, and Parliaments with our Estates? And is it not as equal, that we should trust the Church with our Consciences?  Short. 
For my part, Neighbour Laurence, I never trusted Physicians with my Body, nor never will. If Temperance and Exercise will not keep me alive, I will be content to die. As for Parliaments, they are not a thing distinct from us, they are an Assembly of ourselves, what they do, we do: I myself sit in Parliament at this hour, tho' I stand here prating with you. But I pray, who ever made such bargain with, or gave such Power to any number of Spiritual Men (as they love to be called) as to tax their understandings, or excise their Consciences?  Large. 
I do not know who did it; but your Conscience is basely exc●s'd or precised or some cised or other to my thinking; for it is not of the same size with other folks.  Short. 
That's because yours and theirs is of too large a size.  Large. 
I know not what you call largeness of Conscience. For my part I reckon it a piece of liberty and generosity not to stand in awe of any punctilios; and a piece of humility and self-denial to resign up my judgement to my betters, and to believe as the Church believes.  Short. 
I thought it would come to that at last. But if it be so, how can one choose but wonder for what Man was made with a Mind and Conscience? Can one imagine that Man was made with a Conscience, that like a silly Animal he might be pack-sadled by every Driver, and ridden by every Jockey. He needed not to have a Conscience put into him to qualify him for such servitude, sure. In my opinion Conscience is that to Men which chastity is to Women; lose that, and lose all; Farewell all Virtue, and all respect to things Divine or Humane. And who can deny but that it is prudent and safe to suspect? Trust not, and you will not be betrayed.  Cas. 
I confess, friend Shorthose, you have spoke a great deal of good sense in what you have said. It is a great virtue for a Man to be Prudent, Cautious and Inquisitive: to believe by authority rather than by argument, is the Religion of an Ox, or the Conscience of a Horse, that obey their Drivers and their Riders. But yet sure there is a mean; extreme scrupulosity renders a Man uneasy to himself, unconversable to his neighbour. Besides, it argues weakness of apprehension, and an unmanly Cowardice.  Short. 
I pray Sir, do not judge me. If scrupulosity be a fault, I'm sure censoriousness is a greater. It is more tolerable to judge ourselves than other men, though we should happen to be too severe. But I doubt I have spent too many words and too much time to little purpose. I hope my Landlord will not be offended; and as for you strangers, I do not scruple at your displeasure at all.  — Exit Shorthose. Large. 
Farewell Neighbour Shorthose.  Short. 
— Turns again, I do not make so much of myself as you do.  Large. 
I'm glad he's gone. I abhor this Puritanical squeamishness. It is not for us Country people to distinguish nicely, to know the causes and reasons of things, to rack our Consciences about every thing, nor indeed about any thing. I think it is enough for me to follow my guide, and to ride in company with my Neighbours; and in such case, I wonder who ever troubled himself to inquire the way.  Cas. 
It is very good indeed, friend, and an argument of an obedient, humble, peaceable, and selfdenying Mind, to have a great respect to our Superiors, and to have a deference to authority: for want of which some selfconceited humours and pragmatical Spirits have strangely inflamed the World, and unhinged the Governments that they ought to have lived peaceably under. But yet I hope you are not so profligate, nor your Conscience so prostituted, that you would pin your Faith upon any Man's sleeve whatsoever.  Large. 
Really Sir if it were a Lawn Sleeve, I do not much care if I did.  Cas. 
You do well to have a veneration for that Consecrated kind of Linen; but yet pray remember it is but Linen, it is tender, and possibly may not bear so great a stress as you lay upon it. Obedience is good and laudable, but than it must not be blind. An easy, ductile, and tractable temper is commendable; but the tractableness of a Horse, or of a Spaniel, are not commendable in a Man. Reason is our distinguishing character indeed, but than it must be our own and not another's.  Large. 
I do not well understand your Learned say, Sir, but yet I thank you for them; for I believe you mean well to me. And as to the main point, I fancy my Landlord's Worship is much of my Mind, that a poor Tenant need not trouble his head about any thing, but getting his Rent ready at Lady day and Michaelmas. I beg your leave to go to my Neighbours. Your humble servant Sir.  — Exit Large. Free. 
Make much of yourself Laurence: but take heed my Ale do not do that by you, which I perceive never any Case of Conscience could yet do▪ I mean, trouble your head.  Large 
— Returns. My Head, Sir? I doubt your Hogshead will suffer more than my Head.  Free. 
They are resolved to be merry I perceive at the parting with their Money. I hope, Gentlemen, you will not be offended with their rustical and unpolisht behaviour.  Hel. 
Oh no, Sir Francis. I pray let us see some more of them.  Free. 
Speed, Call in hither Benjamin Brag, and Harry Hart.  Speed. 
Your Worship knows that these two Men can never agree.  Free. 
I pray thee hold thy Tongue: they will not fall out with us.  Speed. 
I doubt they will fall out in your Worship's presence, and I should be loath to see that disturbance.  Free. 
Go thy way. I doubt not but that these worthy Gentlemen will either keep 'em from falling out, or soon make 'em fall in again. Nay I my se●f have so much authority, that if they should happen to fall asunder, I can make them fall together again presently.  Speed. 
Together Sir? Ay together by th' Ears it may be▪  Free. 
Thou knowst Hart is of those principles that he will not fight; and Brag I am sure dare not. Take this for a Maxim, Vaporers are never good fighters. Go fetch 'em hither.  — Exit Speed. Free. 
Gentlemen, these two Neighbours are also of a very different temper, but I think both in extremes. Ben. Brag is of a bold, conceited, overweening temper, highly opinionated of his own abilities and undertake. ●arry Hart is mean Spirited, Cowardly, Pusillanimous, easily run down by any confident Huff; he has scarce the courage of a Worm, to turn at him that treads upon him. But they are both good sufficient Tenants. I would their tempers could be rectified.  Hel. 
It seems to me, Sir Francis, as if these Men would be put into my hands. For these different tempers of Mind do mainly spring from different and diseased temperaments of body. An undue mixture and dyscracy of humour● in the organised Body do necessarily taint the disposition and operations of the Mind.  Free. 
But I fear for all tha●, Doctor, we shall have much ado to persuade 'em to take Physic.— Enter Speed with Brag and Hart. They bow.  
Come Mr. Brag. I have desired your company a little out of pure kindness.  Brag. 
I thank your Worship, Sir Francis, tho' I assure you it is not the first time that many worthy Knights and Gentlemen have taken it for a kindness to have my company.  Free. 
Not unlike Mr. Brag. But indeed I meant kindness to you, not kindness from you. If any thing ●il you in Mind or Body, here are worthy Gentlemen, that I believe can relieve you.  Brag. 
Nay I thank my good Stars, Sir Francis, I am not brought to that pass as to need to be relieved; tho' I myself relieve many at my Gates daily.  Hart. 
He means the Gates that lead into his fold-yard; for other Gates he has none, to my knowledge. And the poor that he relieves there, are nothing but his poor Pigs, and a few Crow▪ trodden Hens.  Brag. 
Harry, Thou art a Mouse of a Man. I tell thee, my Mind to me a Kingdom is. If I please to cal● my entry a Porch, my Porch a Court, my Court a Square▪ my House a Hall, or my Door Gates, they are all this to me▪ and the satisfaction I take in them will justify the appellation, and warrant the highest phrase I can use. For the content of my Mind is such as admits of no hyperbole.  Hel. 
You are the happiest Man that ever I met with, Sir, sure your name is Nihil. For I never met with any thing that was ex omni parte beatum, but one Mr. Nihil.  Brag. 
I know not what you mean by Nichils'; I am no Latin Scholar. And I think it is well for all you Learned men that I am not: For if my Education had equalled my ingenuity,—  Free. 
What then, Mr. Brag?  Brag. 
Why then Sir, perhaps I had been Sir Francis Freeman, and your worship Benjamin Brag.  Free. 
Methinks you are as free, yea as prodigal in your own commendation, as if you had had all the Education in the World.  Brag. 
And indeed Sr. Francis, bating the name, (which is but a poor thing) I think I am as much a Freeman as your worship, and as happy as any Man that dwells under the shadow of a Sceptre, I have a Body of Brass, and a Mind of Gold; my Constitution is healthful, my Disposition harmless, and my Reputation spotless. I can work as industriously as an Ox; when that's over, I can play as wantonly as a Calf. In the night I sleep like a Top, in the morning I fly abroad like a Gigg I can eat like a Horse, and drink like an Ox, and yet not make a Beast of myself by either eating or drinking. My Mind is virtuously disposed: I hate no man, I despise no man, I envy no man, I admire not man. I have no Enemies that I know of; If I have, I wish they were my friends. I have a chaste and loyal wife, dutiful and obedient children, diligent and faithful servants, peaceable and kind Neighbours. And now, Sir Francis, give me but leave to add to all these such a Landlord as I desire, and what flesh upon Earth happier than Ben.  Free. 
You mean a Landlord that would look for no Rent, I warrant.  Brag. 
Nay for looking, if that were the worst, let him look his Eyes out if he will: but this straining; oh this straining puts the poor Tenant to the greatest distress of any thing. I would the King would call a Parliament of Tenants, we would soon redress this grievance.  Hart. 
Nay pray, Mr. Brag, let Tenants be content to be Tenants still. He that is Mr. Brag whilst he is a Tenant what would he be if he were a Landlord?  Brag. 
Why what would he be, dost thou think man?  Hart. 
I doubt he would add soraewhat, and lengthen himself out to Braggadochio.  Brag. 
I believe thou wast hatched under an Hen, Harry, and carest not to be trodden by every Crow.  Hart. 
Nay, But I think it is good to know my own breed, and herd with my own kind▪ It is a dangerous thing for Asses to associate themselves with ●orses, much more with Lions. It is not for every back to bear the great burdens of Worship and Lordships. Me●n men would bow down, yea be quite broken under them.  Brag. 
Ay such mean-spirited fellows as thou art. But I would my Landlord would try me with his Worship and his Lordships, he should soon see how I could cudge away with'em.  Cas. 
But what, Sir, is there ●o insirmity of Body or Mind, no inconvenience in your life, that you would have remedied.  Brag. 
Sir, if any thing ailed me d I would not complain of it; especially ● would not whine to strangers. I have if occasion be, counsel in myself, both for Body and Mind, I need no Physician nor Divine. But if you will needs be meddling, or that you are so charitably disposed, there's a poor Sheepish Neighbour whom you will do well to relieve. I believe he'll die of the rot shortly, if he be not relieved.  Hart. 
Yes indeed, Gentlemen: I am a poor Snake, a silly sheep, a vermin, as much less than a Man, as a man is than a Mouse, my Body is diseased, my Mind discomposed, strangers despise me, Neighbours oppress me,. Neighbours oppress me, I cannot be at peace with myself, I dare not fall out with other folk. My days are wearisome, my nights are wakeful, my Wife indeed smiles, but I think it is at my folly, and when my Children laugh, I think they laugh me to scorn, my Landlord, I thank his noble Worship, is very kind to me, but I am troubled to think it will not last long.  Free. 
Why Harry, you are a good Tenant, you pay punctually, you keep good repairs, you have a good stock, you are a good Husband with it, and it prospers well under your hands. Why are you so discontent and timorous? you want nothing.  Hart. 
Ah Sir, but I shall want. The worst is to come yet. I shall want in my old age, when I shall not be able to relieve myself, and I know of nobody that will relieve me.  Cas. 
Let not that trouble you friend, perhaps you may never live to be old.  Hart. 
Ah Sir, that troubles me too. For if I should die young, what would become of my Wife and Children?  Hel. 
I never met with such a cowardly fellow in my life, that dare neither live nor die, that dare neither live long nor die young. Here▪ s no room for Physical Prescriptions. If he had a deire to live, I could help him; if he had a mind to die, I could hasten him. But I know not what to say or to do to such a Coward as this.  Free. 
But I pray Doctor, is there no help for the case of these Neighbour's.  Hel. 
Indeed, Sr. Francis, your Neighbour Brag's Humours are so stubborn, that I doubt no Physic will work upon them: And your Neighbour Hart▪ s so thin, that I doubt there is no filling 'em. or bringing them to a Consistency.  Free. 
That's strange. Cannot one take the ones wild Oats, and the others Vetches? and sow 'em together, and make good pullymugs of 'em.  Hel. 
I do not understand that rural kind of Physic, Sr. Francis. But I will tell you what I can do, I can make a Transfusion of some of Mr. Brag's fiery Blood, into Mr. Heart's Veins, and some of Mr. Heart's weak watery Blood, into Mr. Brag's Veins, and so make a Temperament.  Brag 
Say you so, Sir? But I will have no such sheepish blood run in my Veins.  Har. 
I thank you Sir, but I desire no Man's Blood; neither can I endure to see my own.  Cas. 
I pray Gentlemen, take some moral Advice then; and you Man, remember that you are but a Worm; and you Worm, remember that you are a Man.  Brag. 
As if I should say, you Father, remember you are but a Child, and you Child, remember that you are a Father of Children. Come, come Harry, let them talk of Transfusion as long as they will, Go with me into my Landlord's Cellar, and I will infuse some better Blood into thee.  — He takes him by the Hand— Exeunt. Free. 
● doubt he will make a worse Beast of him than a Worm; if the company do not overrule him, he'll make him that he cannot crawl, and then he will lose his worm-hood as well as his manhood.  Speed. 
There▪ s no danger of that, if it please your Worship. The Butler has a strict Charge to see that they drink no health but their own.  Free. 
That's very well. I pray thee, Speed, then go and invite Mr. Spruce and Goodman Grace hither.  Speed. 
Your Worship does match 'em so strangely, that I doubt you will make them fall together by the ●ars. For those two men cannot set up their Horses together.  Free. 
But I'll keep 'em from fight, or I'll set 'em by the heels together. Have not I taught thee this piece of Logic, Opposita juxta se posita magis elacescunt?  Speed. 
Your Worship has many wise Say in the year, which I am little the wiser for; but I will go fetch 'em before your Worship— Exit.  Free. 
Gentlemen, you will find these men in Extremes too. The one of 'em is so finnical and complimental, that a Hair must not grow upon his Head, nor a Word come out of his Mouth awry. The other, so plain and home-span, that you will not believe him ever to have been at the Barber's shop, nor at the School till now.— Enter Speed with Spruce and Grace. You▪ re welcome Mr. Spruce, and you also goodman Grace, I do not wish any thing to all you; But if any thing do, I hope here are Gentlemen that will heal you.  Spr. 
Your humble Servant, Sr. Francis● It is your more than Humanity, to invite us to the Acquaintance of these worthy Persons. And if they will help us in any thing, it is more their Goodness than our Desert.  Gr. 
I pray Mr. Spruce, speak for yourself. I think I have deserved at the hands of any man living, as much as he has deserv▪ d at mine, Bless the King and my Landlord.  Spr. 
I think you'll never cease to be a Clown, till you cease to be—  Gr. 
That was wittily spoken indeed; I shall never cease to be, till I cease to be—  Free. 
He means, till you cease to have a Being.  Gr. 
He means? It is your Worship's Wit to gather Means. For my part, I am a poor man, and know no● what folk meanen but by what they speaken. But I pray, Landlord▪ what ha' these fine Gentlemen to say to us? They are none of those folk they call Parliament-men I hope: they say they are in Power now.  Cas. 
No, no, Friend, we are no Tax-makers, nor Tax gatherers. But if any thing be amiss with you in Body or Mind, we are ready to serve you to the utmost of our power, freely.  Spr. 
Oh blessed thing! That this last and degenerate Age of the World should turn out any such generous Souls!  Gr. 
Turn out? I think Mr. Spruce, never any Age turned out more generous Souls, than this has done. I'm sure those that were turned out, did a great deal more good, than they that were put in.  Spr. 
I hope, noble Gentlemen, you will not be offended with the plain Talk and course Wit of my Neighbour Grace. He does not pretend to fine-spinning.  Gr. 
I think Mr. Spruce, you was spun so fine, that you had like to have been twittered.  Spr. 
Neighbour Gregory, I am fine and true spun. Every Thread of my Life, every Line of my Language, is as even as any Hair of my Head.  Gr. 
As for your Language, Mr. Spruce, I think if you do but speak truly and kindly, it's fine enough of all Conscience. As for the Threads of your Life, my Neighbours, Isaac and Eph●aim the Weavers, can judge better than I; for they know your Warp, as well as your Woof. But indeed, I think either of 'em may soon be as even as the Hairs of your Head; for I do not know any you have.  Spr. 
Why, what are you Gray-eyed too? do not you see I have Hairs on my Head?  Gr. 
I see you have Hairs upon your Head, but I much question, whether you have a Hair of your Head, I doubt they are all borrowed.  Spr. 
Borrowed! I scorn your words, I bought 'em all.  Gr. 
Yea, so I think. But for all that, I doubt they are all borrowed. And if every Where and Jade on which they once grew, could come and challenge their own, I doubt you would be laughed at as bad as the Crow in the Story.  Spr. 
I doubt goodman Grace, you have read the English Esop's Fabies. But I pray, what have you to say against Periwigs? for I know you reflect upon them.  Gr. 
Indeed Mr. Spruce, I do not use to trouble my Brains about other folk's Heads, nor my Head about other folk's Hairs. But to tell you plainly, as the man said of the Wooden Deity, I do not like 'em. I think they smellen of Popery: for if it were not for ●haven Crowns, I think we should have no false Locks.  Spr. 
Popery, man? Bless me from Popery 4. And pray Gregory, what if the Popish Priests be shavelings, will it thence follow, that either the English Priests or People are Popish because they are shavelings?  Gr. 
No Sir, but I think they that throw away their own Hair, and then are forced to buy other folks, to cover their Nakedness, are very prodigal. And if they do it for no other cause, but Modishness, it is apish and odious Vanity.  Spr. 
Apish? Ha', Apish? why I pray Gregory, whom do they imitate?  Gr. 
I think Sir, they imitate the French Catamites, whom this present Age does so foppishly dote upon in all things, that to me it bodes very ill. And what can one expect better, than that all frenchifyed Heads, should be subject to the French Crown? Besides, Sr. the Prodigality of this Trick is as odious as the Vanity of it. I believe, for your part, your Hair costs more in the year, than your Head's worth. A Barber that adorns the Head with Hair, is a better Trade than a Schoolmaster, that furnishes it with Brains. I would I were Mr. Parliament for one Session Instead of a Poll-Bill, I would make a Perwig-Bill: And if I should lay it but low, I believe it would furnish the King with Money enough for the next Campaign.  Spr. 
And do not you think, that my Curled-Locks, are more decent than your unfashionable Bristles?  Gr. 
In such Bristles as these I have heard, that the great Julius Caesar marched before his Army over the cold Mountains: And thus bristled, did all the Roman Dictator's and General's perform all their Great and Hardy Exploits. Oh rare Improvement! Grecian Helmets turned into French Periwigs. and do not they agree bravely? tiled Houses and thatched Heads.  Spr. 
I know Gregory, you are an old fashioned Fool, and 'tis to no purpose to talk to you.  Gr. 
I know Mr. Spruce, you are a new fashioned Fop, and 'tis in vain to answer you. You are so fi●nical forsooth, and so complimental, that one scarce knows whether he is Inlander or Outlander, English or French; nay, scarce whether you be Monsieur or Madam. This I am sure of, you have not so much as an Hair of any honest Man, growing either upon your Head or Face.  Spr. 
This I am sure of, that you are a fordid Clown. I was born under the auspicious Planet of Jupiter.  Gr. 
They say he was the greatest Whoremaster in the World.  Spr. 
And under the auspicious Aspect of the ingenious Mercury.  Gr. 
The Errandest Knave and Thief in nature.  Spr. 
What will this blasphemous Fellow make of my Stars by and by? I was bred up in the most Advantageous Circumstances of Education: that what by Nature, and what by Art, I may be very well called double-refined.  Gr. 
I fancy Mr. Spruce, you were cut out for a Sugar-loaf.  Spr. 
And what I pray, what was you cut out for, Gregory?  Gr. 
A lump of brown Sugar-Candy, if it please you Sr.  Spr. 
A lump of dirt rather. You are Grey by Name, Nature, Manners, Apparel, all over Grace, Grace, Grace, Grace. Your Coat homespun, your Behaviour course, and Temper coursest of all.  Cas. 
Gentlemen, you talk of fine spinning, and course spinning, but me thinks I have seen Linen and Woollen agree better in one piece of Cloth, than you two agree in Conversation.  Gr. 
Ay Sir, Linsye-woolsy is a good sort of Cloth: my old Joan has Aprons of it, that wear very well. But I doubt it would pass the skill of any Weaver or Barber in Town, to make up a Periwig of Whore's Hair and Swine's Bristles; or to make Velvet of a Sows Ear.  Cas. 
But yet friend, me thinks if Mr. Spruce were a little more Grey, and Goodman Grace a little more Spruce, you might make up one good even Thread between you.  Spr. 
Sir, I tell you, I would not be a Clown, for all my Landlord's Estate.  Gr. 
Sir, I tell you, I would not be so Spruce as Monsieur, to be as great as he, if I were sure to be made Universal Monarch.  Free 
I see Father Casye, that Spruce will be Spruce, and Grace will be Grace still in spite of all the Tailors, Barbers and Manner-mongers in the World▪ If you please, we will leave these men, the one to his old Mumpsimus, the other to his new Sumpsimus, and I will send for some others in, of whose Cure there may be more hopes. I pray Sirs, go in, and make much of yourselves, drink together and be friends.  Spr. 
I thank your Worship Sr. that uses to make men friends, but doubt it will make us fall out the more; he drinks so old fashionedly and slovenly, that he will slabber in the Glass.  Gr. 
You had more need to wipe your Mouth after your Slander, than I after my Slabber. I will never be reconciled to Pride whilst I live. I'll see all their Periwigs made into fishing Lines, and their Cravats into Halters before—— Exeunt.  Free. 
My worthy friends, I'm sorry that you have only Exercise for patience, and none for skill. Speed, call in hither Anth. Angier and Laurence Lamb.  Free. 
— And Laurence Lamb.  Speed. 
I doubt your Worship will not mend the matter, by that pair. I doubt your Worship's Ale, has had some influence upon Anthony already; for I heard him quarrelling and snarling when I was last in the House.  Free. 
You cannot tell, but he may be a little mellowed by this time: And then if Lamb be but a little sharpened, as sometimes it comes to pass, they may meet in a Temper. Go your way, we will try 'em.  — Exit Speed. Hely. 
Sir Francis, you suggest a great Notion, and I think I may say, a strange Phaenomenon in Nature. For really, I think there is nothing more unaccountable in the nature of man than that wonderful Metamorphosis, which is made by intoxicating Liquors. One would verily think, it were an Enchantment. It makes the Coward bold and quarrelsome without provocation; the Modest, Obscene and Rampant, without any temptation; the Covetous, and Penurious, Prodigal without reason; the faithful Counsellor sliftery and impertinent out of season, and many other such strange pieces of Witchcraft it does perform. Sometimes it shuts the Mouth, that men cannot speak at all; sometimes it opens the Heart, that they speak all, and more than all. It makes the merry Melancholic, the Melancholic mad: It makes the meanest Subject as good as a King, and the greatest King, as mean as a Beast.  Cas. 
It is true, what you say Doctor; and I believe with you, as well as amongst us, it is unaccountable. But it is a ruled case amongst us, that though strong Drink does discover Tempers, it does not make 'em, and that men had in 'em before, what they then bring forth: according to the old Maxim, Nihil dat quod non habet.— Enter Speed, with Angier and Lamb.  Free. 
Come Anthony, you are apt to complain, when it may be nothing ails you; or at least, when there is no body to relieve you. But now here are Gentlemen, that if you have any fault to find, I believe will remedy it.  Ang. 
What a goodly Harangue have you made Landlord? If I should bring such a parcel of words instead of my Mich. Rent, I doubt I should be reckoned to be in Arrear still. I am apt to complain, you say, when nothing ails ●ce. Why this ails me, ay, and vexes me too, that I am poor Anthony the Tenant, and you are Sir Francis the Landlord; and I work hard, and you do nothing for it. When there is no body to relieve me, you say. I hope I do not yet need to be relieved by the Parish: there are enough that do; so many, that I fear shortly, the Parish itself will fall to some other Parish to be relieved. But here are Gentlemen, you say, that if I have any fault to find, you believe will remedy it. Even let 'em be gone then: for this is the fault that I find, that there are any more Gentlemen here, we have too much of you. These are pitiful Gen-men sure, that offer to remedy people that have no disease.  Lamb. 
Something ails you Anthony, I doubt; what makes you so angry at every body else?  Ang. 
Every body? Ha! you three or four are every body, I warrant, nay, you Neighbour Lamb pretend to be some body too, do you?  Lamb. 
Yes Anthony, I am some body sure, though I am but a mean Person.  Ang. 
I know not what you call a Person: I take you to be a Sheep.  Lamb. 
I may be in time; for I am Lamb already.  Ang. 
Away with you; Lambs are out of season: They are Lamb-hegs now.  Lamb. 
It may be I partake of both, Anthony.  Ang. 
Not unlike Laurence, i. e. the filliness of a Sheep, and the sordidness of a Swine.  Lamb. 
My silliness any body may see: But as for sordidness, I do not acknowledge it: me thinks I am pretty neat.  Ang. 
Ay, if thou wert well tanned, I think thy skin would be Neat's Leather.  Lamb. 
I doubt you call me Calf too by craft, but I pray good Neighbour, what reason have you to be so angry?  Ang. 
Thou silly Sheep! Reason to be angry? Do folk use to be angry by Reason, or Rules of Art? He is a silly Sheep, or a foolish Neat like thee, that cannot be angry without Reason. I tell thee I am angry, and that's enough. But if thou wilt needs have a Reason, I tell thee, I am angry at thee, for not being angry.  Lamb. 
Angry? Alas! I see nothing to be angry at.  Aug. 
See nothing to be angry at? Why then thou canst not see at all, put on my Spectacles, and thou wilt see nothing, but what thou oughtest to be angry at.  Lamb. 
I pray, Neighbour Angier, consider, we have a Puissant King, a Prudent Parliament, a Pious Clergy, both pro and con, a gentle Landlord, good Pennyworths, Convenient Houses, Comfortable Relations, peaceable Neighbours, and what should fret us?  Ang. 
— Stamps. Oh! these peaceable Neighbours are enough to vex any body, who can endure to live, and mould? To lie and rust, for want of a little whetting and sharpening. And do but see how your silly sheepish Fancy can digest any thing. If you had any Concern for the World, as we brisker men have, you would say, we have a King (its true) that's no Child; but he's childless. We have a Parliament that are no fools; but they may make fools of us. We have a Pious Clergy (especially about Christmas time) what you mean by your pro and con, I cannot well tell; but according to my little Latin, it should be pro mundo, and contra Christum. We have a gentle Landlord, but he calls for his Rent for all that. We have good pennyworths, but we pay dear for 'em. We have convenient Houses; but they cost a great deal to keep in repair. We have comfortable relations too forsooth; but I'm sure they are very costly, if yours be like mine.  Lamb. 
I see, Neighbour, you have a mind to pick a quarrel with every Man and every thing. But I pray how can you say, we have good pennyworths, and yet pay dear for 'em?  Ang. 
Dear? we pay the sweat of our brows, and I know not what our Landlord would have of us more, except he would have the blood in our Veins.  Cas. 
I perceive Sir Francis you have called this man in at a wrong time of day, or on a wrong day, the one. He has been newly paying his Rent and that puts him out of humour: He does as good as tell you, he parts with his Money like drops of his Blood.  Free. 
That need not trouble him: He'll get new blood by Lady d●y.  Ang. 
Ay, and then that Horseleech of a Landlord will suck him again.  Free. 
I had hoped that a Glass of Ale would have digested the Payment of your Rent, before now. They say Ale heats the Stomach and so helps digestion.  Hell, 
I doubt Sir Francis, yours had heated more than his Stomach.  Ang. 
You are some sorry kind of Doctor I warrant, that differs but little from Dog-turd.  Free. 
Fie, Fie Anthony, if you must needs be angry, yet be not nasty.  Ang. 
Nasty? I doubt your Worship will not give the Countryman leave to call his Spade a Spade? Nasty? Ha! I warrant to gratify your worship's squeamishness, I must call the Gentleman Album Graecum.  Cas. 
Friend, However Sir Francis is squeamish, I'msure you are sc●rilous.  Ang. 
How is that Sir Reverence? Currilous? I pray what's that Currilous? I doubt you mean Curr●h. But if you do, I matter not. A snappish Cur is as good as a Lazy one; a crusty Cur as good as a Cur that will be bribed with a craft. But I believe you can Bark too, when you are minded. You are one of those that can Bark at the Sheep, and be silent at the Wolves.  Hel. 
I doubt Sir Francis, you must be at some charges with this man in Bedlam.  Ang. 
I need not go far to seek that, if a Company of Madmen will make a Bedlam.  — Exit Angier in a Passion. Free. 
Farewell Frenzy. As for your part Laurence, I am glad to find that you are so easy and all nothing. Here is no practice for either of these Gentlemen upon you.  Cas. 
Nay good Sir Francis, It is sometimes Virtuous to be angry, upon occasion: And I doubt no man lives but sometimes finds occasion.  Hel. 
Yea and it is healthful too; so it be not raging. Winds, yea brisk Winds are good for purging t●e Air; and so are passions for discussing ill humours in the body, and patting it into a right ferment; so they do not amount to tempests.  Lamb. 
I pray Gentleman, do not go about to disturb me with your Divinity or Philosophy. I value an even and easy temper above all the vertuousness and healthfulness that you spea●en of; or rather indeed, I esteem it to be the only temper virtuous and healthful. If I could be angry at any man or thing, it would be at that man that Counsels me to anger, and at his Counsel. Therefore I humbly bid you all farewell.  — Exit Lamb. Free. 
They are so cross-grained, that I see there is no calling 'em in by pairs. I beg your pardon Gentlemen, and I will endeavour to prevent this disturbance for the future. Speed. Call in hither Wit Wake; It is very likely something or other ails him.  Speed. 
I doubt so Sir, for I saw him yonder with his Head leapt.  — Exit Speed. Free. 
This poor Man is in miserable subjection to a domineering Wife, that Hector's him like a Male-pert baggage, or a Fury rather. And I know not what to do to relieve him.  — Enter Speed with Wake. 
Why how now Wit? Hast thou drunk Ale 〈◊〉 ●ead aches?  Wake. 
Alas Sir, It is the Ladle, and not the Liquor that makes it ache. My Tormenter has been with me when I thought no hurt, and because I did not come away as soon as I had paid my Rent, has paid me with a sore rend in my Pate.  Free. 
Alas poor Wit! I promise thee, if I had been there, I would have clapped her in the Cage, and cooled her Toes.  Wake. 
Ah Sir, She's a Bird not worthy of a Cage. But if you had put her in the Cage, she would have s●ng you a lesson there, that should have made all the Town to ring of you. And as for cooling her Toes, her Toes are cold enough already. But her hands, oh her hands! she is so hot-singered that I am not able to live with her.  Free. 
It's wonder thy Horns did not save thy Head.  Wake. 
I doubt not Sir, but she has made more Horns on my Head, than Knobs. For when she beats me out of Bed, and out of Doors a Nights, I question not but it is to make room for other company.  Cas. 
I have heard of a disease in Men, called Henpeckt; but I never thought the Hens had pecked so deep, as to send their Husbands to the Surgeons.  Wake. 
Ah Sir, peck deep? M●ne pecks so deep that I believe she will peck out my Brains shortly.  Cas. 
But what, friend, cannot you pull up your Heart out of your ●ose, and put on courage?  Wake. 
Indeed Sir, I cannot find in my Heart to hurt her, neither is it in the power of my Hands to keep her from hurting me. She got the mastery at the first, and she's resolved to keep it.  Cas. 
Nay friend, if it be so, and that you cannot put on the Buckler of courage, you must resolve to put on the Helmet of Patience.  Wa. 
Ah Sir, any Helmet, to keep my Head from being broke.  Cas. 
I mean friend, if you have not the prowess of a Man, you must take unto yourself the Patience of an Ox.  Wa. 
If't please you Sir, I have the Patience of an Ox, and I fancy my Horns are as large and wide as most Oxens are, but all this will not save my Head from breaking.  Cas. 
You do not make use of 'em then, nor sense with 'em as you should do.  Wa. 
Alas Sir, they lie inwardly, and are no defence at all to me. She knows I cannot push with▪ 'em. She has made me an Ox long ago, and now ●he makes an Ass of me▪ a mere Ass ●he beats me black and blue, and all colours, but especially as yellow as Saffron. If I can lie quietly under the Table, and but keep my manly looks, I▪ think myself very happy. In short Sir, she's a Devil Incarnate, and Aproned fury, and the French King and all his Luxenburghs and Catinats are tame Fools to her.  Hel. 
I have heard of many men that have been Hectored but I never heard of a poor Man so Andromacheed before.  Wa. 
Hector Sir? I have heard of that Hector, and what a cruel fellow he was; but I dare say, be he who he will, he was a mere Sheep to this tormentor of mine.  Hel. 
What can be prescribed for the relief of this poor, cowardly, coxcombly Cuckold?  Free. 
Nay Doctor do not call him Coxcombly: He has nothing of the Cock left in him, not so much as the Comb or the Crow.  Cas. 
What a sad Family must he needs have then?  

Ill fares that Family that shows.  
A Cock that's silent, and a Hen that Crows▪   
But I pray Doctor, (since my advice avails nothing in this case) be pleased to bethink yourself to prescribe something proper for him.  Hel. 
Alas Father, It is not the man, but the Woman that should take Physic. If you will fetch your Wise hither, I will give her something that shall do you good.  Wa. 
Fetch her hither Sir? why it is as much as my life's worth, if she should know I were here.  Hel. 
Why then I can only prescribe you something for your broken head, till it be broken again. Clip off the Hair, wash the wound clean with warm Milk and Water, put into it two or three drops of Lucatella's Balsam, and clap a Plaster of Diapalma upon it, and it will be well presently.  Wa. 
I doubt Sir, I shall forget these hard words.  Hel. 
Stay in the House a little, and when I come in I will write it down  Wa. 
Your humble Servant, good Dr. And this I hope will keep my head from ever being broke again.  Hel. 
Nay I dare not promise that Friend. But when I come in, I will prescribe you also a corroborating Oil for your Nerves, and some unguentum bacill●num to apply to your Wife.  Wa. 
Ah Sir, if you can but do any good of her, you will be the best man that ever came to our town, and I shall be bound to pray for you all the days of my Life. Your humble servant Sir.  — Exit Wake. Free. 
Gentlemen, I am sorry the distempers of my Tenants are such as do not fall under your cure. But I will recommend one to you, whom I know if his distemper be not grown obstinate, you may cure.  Hel. 
I doubt Sir Francis▪ all your Neighbours are troubled with Chronical distempers, for there is little hopes of any of 'em that I can yet see.  Free. 
Speed, Call in hither Charles Catohit, I'm sure he needs cure▪ but whether his humour be obstinate or no I know not.  Speed. 
I doubt Sir, there is no more hopes of him, than of my Neighbour Angier. However at your Worship's command I will call him in.  — Exit Speed. Free. 
This Catchit and I have the greatest antipathy of any of my Neighbours. And therefore I think the controversy will mainly lie between him and me; and that before you Father Casye.  Cas. 
I shall be glad to serve the rectifying of mistakes, and the accommodating of tempers to the utmost of my power, Sr. Francis.  — Enter Speed with Catchit. Speed. 
What's the matter? Have you lost any thing Charles?  Catchit. 
I know not, Mr. Speed; I thought I heard something jingle under my Feet, as if some Money had dropped from me.  Speed. 
Come, come Charles, it is nothing but a covetous conceit.  Catch. 
It may be so indeed, Sir, for I am fuller of conceit than I am of Money.  Free. 
Why Charles, do you conceit you have more Money than you have?  Catch. 
Money Sir? Alas your Worship has got all the Money; and more than all. I was fain to borrow some part of your Worship's Rent.  Free. 
Come, come Charles, I know your tricks well enough, you have two Bags; the one you call Catchit, the other you call Holdit; and no body but Catchit can borrow of Holdit.  Catch. 
I have no bags, if't please your Worship, but a Batch Bag, and a Malt Bag. As for Catchit and Holdit, I ken not what your Worship means, it's true, my name is Catchit, but it might as well have been Catch-itch: for I'm sure I'm▪ likelier to catch that, than any thing else. The times are too hard to catch any thing, except one should chance to sue a Beggar; and than you know one might chance to catch, (saving your Worship's presence) a Louse.  Free. 
But what do you catch Charles, when you sue the richer sort of Men? Then I hope the penalty of the Bond, besides the ordinary Usury, brings in procuration, continuation, and dismission; Besides, it involves many a good gratification.  Catch. 
Your Worship speaks many hard words, which I do not understand. I was never snappish with any Man in my Life.  Free. 
Not snappish? Why they say you are a Cur of a Usurer.  Catch. 
I know not well, what your Worship means. But I confess if I have ten Groats or five Shilling to le●d a sufficient Neighbour for a Week or a Fortnight, I had rather have interest for it than not. And yet I think the Attorney that has a Groat for the Bill, gets more by it than I do.  Free. 
Ay, but they say, Charles, you shave your Eggs, and sell the shave to the Apothecaries for twelve pence the Ounce, to make Medicines for the Stone.  Catch. 
That's the better for them that buy 'em; for than they will ask the less boiling.  Free. 
I pray Charles how many Acres of Land have you manured in your time, with the clippings of your Hair, the shave of your Beard and the pairing of your Nails? for they say, you save them all. Besides, they say you abhor the prodigality of an House of Office, and will never untruss twice in a place.  Catch. 
Your Worship has a mind to make yourself merry. As for the clippings of my Hair, they are but few; and they must fall into the floor, and go amongst the dust, and be swept to the Muck-hill: tho' I confess I think it is no good husbandry to sweep the House every Week that comes, for it wea●s up the Floor. As for my Nails, I never pair 'em close, that would spoil my catching: But that which is paired, the Barber has for his pains. As for a House of Office, I confess I think it is an unnecessary building; and I do untruss where I think there is most need; and so, by my good will, I would have my Cows do too.  Free. 
Well, well, Charles; But they'll untruss where they please for ●ll you. But now you talk of Cows, I know you keep a good Dairy, I pray how do you order that?  Catch. 
If't like your Worship I am no Qua●: But I will tell your Worship what my Maid says. She first washes her Hands and Milks the Cows: of the Cream she makes Butter, of the old Milk she makes Cheese; of the Whey of that Cheese she makes Curds; and the Whey of that Whey she se●ls to a Chemist in Town, and he exalts it into Sack, or something like it; and this Sack we use instead of Aqua-vita, when any qualm comes over our Stomaches.  Free. 
On my Word, Charles, you Spin it out to the utmost length. But you are a Sheep-master too; I pray how do you order your Sheep?  Catch. 
Sheep Sir? Alas Sir, I have but an end of Sheep; and I think those are almost at an end too; they are half of 'em rotten I fear. But when I had a Flock and a Fold of Sheep, I used to order 'em thus. I make my Eldest Son my Shepherd, till he be fit to go to service; and so the next, and ●he next. For this I take to be the best way of Education: if you would have your Son to be a Gentleman, make him a Shepherd first well, he has his Scrip containing a good Cantil of Bread▪ and Cheese, for himself and his Dog Trusty. They abide in the Field, the Boy Knitting, and the Dog sleeping and farting, Early and Late, Wet and Dry. Now I instruct this Boy ingeniously, that if he sees an other Man's Sheep to have a better walk than ours▪ if he can catch up a new fallen Lamb of any bodies, and father it (if I may so say) upon a Dam of ours, or if he can light of any Sheep that wants a Mark, not to lose the opportunity. I always keep 'em clean ●elted, and tie a Bag under their Tails all da●, and so I have all their Muck in the Fold at Night, your Worship little thinks what good Sauce Sheep Muck-hill is for Land; it is as good as Currans for roast Pig.  Cas. 
But I pray Friend, amongst all your Arts of good Husbandry, how do you deal with the Parson and the Schoolmaster of the Town.  Catch. 
Truly Sir, as for the Schoolmaster, neither I nor any of ●ine ever trouble him. I prefer Lowing of my Cows, and bleating of my Lambs, before any Language he can speak or teach.  Cas. 
But I hope you make use of the Writing-master.  Catch. 
Oh no, Sir, They are ●he worst of Men. It was never good World, since that trick of scratling came into it. Many a poor Man, ay and rich too, has been undone by writing his name, or setting his mark, which is all long of them. As for the Parson, he prates and keeps a pother, and pretends to have much to say to me, but indeed I have little to say to him. I cheat him of all, if I can; if I cannot, I pay him the Tithe, I mean the Tithe of what he demands. And I pray Sir, what reason is there that a Man should pay good substantial Lamb and Wool for Words, that are but Wind, Hay for Stubble, or Corn for Chaff?  Cas. 
Fie, fie, you profane ●ellow, do you value your trash before their treasure, your Barley Corns before their Jewels? What a Dunghill Soul, what a Muck-worm of a Man are you?  Catch. 
You may call me what you please Sir, but I think, and you shall never make me think otherwise▪ that if I do not get more by keeping Sheep, than by being a Sheep of theirs; if I do not profit more by my own good bargains, than by their grave barlings, I shall die poor Charles Catchit. And so Gentlemen far ye well, for I see there is nothing to be got amongst you. Your humble Servant Landlord— Exit▪  Cas. 
What a wretched Mortal is this? Man was made of Earth at first, we acknowledge; but this man continues mere Earth to this day; nay he's made mere Muck. Are all your Tenants, Sir Francis, of this stubborn ill humour? I wonder how a person of your sublimation does to converse with 'em.  Free. 
Truly Father Casye, I am sorry for their bad breeding, and gross humour: But they have all of 'em one good humour; they pay their Rent punctually at Lady-day and Michaelmas. And it is only when they are in that good humour, that I converse with 'em. But go, Speed, find me out a better, if there be one in the bunch.  Speed. 
Would your Worship have one that ails nothing?  Free. 
No, no, what should he do here then? But some one that's willing to be cured of what he ails. Call in Peter Peace.  — Exit Speed. 
This Neighbour is a quiet contented Soul as lives. I doubt you will find he ails nothing; but I call him to let you know all my Neighbours are not made up of ill and obstinate humours.  Hel. 
It's well if▪ we find him such as you represent him, Sir Francis we will try him.  — Enter Speed with Peace. Peace. 
Your humble servant Landlord, I pray what's your Worship's pleasure with me?  Free. 
I have invited you in hi●her Peter before these Gentlemen, that can cure all Diseases of Bodies and Minds, to show 'em at least in one example, that I have Neighbours that stand in no need of their skill.  Peace. 
I know not whether you have Neighbours or no, Sir Francis; but you may say, you have one poor Tenant, that never complained of any thing since you knew him. I am always pleased with what I have, and I never covet what I have not. If I want any thing, I am content to want it: though indeed, to speak properly, I want nothing, however I am without many things. I look upon the World as a Wilderness; wherein I expect no great entertainment, if I can escape being worried of Wild Beasts, whilst I pass through it▪ I think it is very well. I love my Neighbours and Relations very well; but if they die, I bury them out of my sight, and out of my memory too, as I hope they will do by me. If I have a plentiful crop, I reap it, and am charitable; if I have a poor one, still I reap it, and am sparing. If my Wife smile and be pleasant upon me, I do not dote upon her, because I know that Sex is subtle and variable; If she scold or cry, I do not divorce her; because I know all the Sex is frail and fretful. If my Children be dutiful, I love 'em and bless 'em, if they be otherwise, I think, why they are but Children, or at least they are my Children. If my Landlord call for his Rent at the very day, I pay it cheerfully, because I know it is due; if he never call for it, still I am content. In short, I live as I list, because I list to live as I do.  Hel. 
This is a fine Temper Mr. Peace. But what, are you never sick?  Pea. 
Yes Sir, I am sometimes sick in Body; I am sometimes visited with the Headache, but never with the Heart-ake: I was never so sick, as to send for a Physician, whom I take to be the worst of Diseases. And I pray Sir, is Sickness such a Business? I should ill be content to die, as I know I must, if I cannot be content to be sick  Cas. 
But what, does nothing in Church or State trouble you?  Pea. 
No Sir, the State may command me to be what it will; and I can make the Church to be what I will.  Cas. 
You make the Church to be what you will? How can that be?  Pea. 
How can it be otherwise Sir? For I choose my Church, the Church does not choose me.  Case 
Your Contentedness, I warrant, or rather Bruitishness is such, that you would choose a Barn, as soon as a Church.  Pea. 
Sir, I am no Humorist nor Fanatic: Yet I am content you should call me a Bruit; and I think it as good to be a Bruit in a Barn, as a Thief or a Murderer in the Temple: Neither do I account it any more dishonourable, for any one to be served in a Barn, than to be born in a Stable.  Cas. 
And as for the Government of the State; I suppose you are content that men should seize upon it at a venture, by right or wrong.  Pea. 
I am not skilled in right and wrong, Sir, I am content the Government should go as it will go. Let it go by house-row, as Constables do, it shall not trouble me: It may come to my turn at length. However, since the taking of Limbrick, I am well satisfied that King William has a Right to the Crown: at least, till some body can take it from him.  Cas. 
Come to thy turn, thou silly Ass? Thou art not fit to make bum-fodder for a Gentleman.  Pea. 
I am content to be an Ass too, so your Reverence will vouchsafe to carry the Packsaddle. Yea, I shall be content to be Bum-fodder to your Reverence, by that time you have wiped your Breech with your Nose, till you have worn it to the stumps, as some Gentlemen have done. But I perceive, Gentlemen, you are offended with my peaceable Disposition, therefore how ambitious soever I am of your worshipful Company, I will be content to leave you.  — Exit Peace. Cas. 
Sir Francis, how do you do to live amongst such a parcel of Fellows. I never met with a company of such cross-grained Tikes, in my life.  Free. 
Oh Father, I do not live amongst 'em, I live above 'em. I told you before, they are good natured twice a year, and that's as often as I have occasion to converse with 'em. But now I think on't, I have a Tenant, of a genteelish kind of Humour▪ that possibly may prove pretty agreeable: but I dare not promise that he ails nothing. You will soon find his Disease, and the one or other of you easily prescribe to him. Wish Mr. Medler to come in hither, Speed.  — Exit Speed. Cas. 
I know not what the man may prove; but his Name imports as bad a Humour, as any we have met with yet: I ever hated the pragmatical breed. I had rather my fingers were cut off, than have'em in every man's Pye.  — Enter Speed with Medler Med. 
Your humble Servant Landlord, and yours also Gentlemen; you both seem to be Lords of Land. And that's the Character that the great Men of the World do most thirst after, now adays. I hope these Strangers have brought you some news from abroad, Sr. Francis, which you are minded to communicate.  Cas. 
News Sir? why, I hope you do not take us us to be Mercuries or Observators, or Penny-book-pedlers, that you thus speak.  Med. 
Oh no Sir; But I take you to be intelligent Persons.  Cas. 
And what, do you take all intelligent Persons to be Intelligencers?  Mèd. 
Truly Sir I think, he that knows no news, cannot well be called a knowing Man, as the World goes.  Cas. 
Why, there's nothing new, Sr.  Med. 
Nothing new? you're an old fashioned Gentleman sure, that would have all the World, and all the Affairs of it, always to remain in the same fashion. Is it not news [here he repeats the Heads of the Thursaays and Saturdays and Mondays news.]  Cas. 
But suppose all this to be news, and all this news to be true too, how will this justify the Folly of Curiosity?  Med. 
I know not what you call Curiosity, Sr. I take it to be a solicitous prying into things either secret or impertinent, things that are either not to be known, or that it does not concern me to know.  Cas. 
Why, I pray Sir, how it does concern you to know the things done in Spain, Germany, Italy?  Med. 
Oh Sir, 'tis a generous humour to desire to be acquainted with all the World. It is true, I live here, I rend my House and Land of Sr. Francis, but my mind is a Member of the Universe, and in that, I am as good a Freeholder as he.  Free. 
Ay, ay, Mr. Medler, Be as good a Freeholder as you can, so you do but pay me Rent.  Med. 
I do not envy you, S●. Francis, what is yours? But when I hear what scrabling there is in the World, for Countries and Kingdoms, and how other men at home, add Town to Town, and Lordship to Lordship, me thinks my Pittance is very small.  Cas. 
This Sir, is the fruit of your unnecessary Knowledge; you would think your Condition very good, if you knew no better. I warrant the news of the French King's Conquests, puts you into a humour to be a Knight Errand.  Med. 
No Sir but I take it to be ungenerous, and snailish, always to live at home, and to carry one's House on ones back. What Sympathy can one have with the Happiness or Misery of the rest of mankind, that knows it not? How can a Stranger to the World, direct or order h●s Affairs rightly in it? How can I pay my Tithes conscientiously, except I know how the Parson comes by his Sermons? or my Taxes cheerfully, except I know what the King will do with the Money?  Cas. 
I doubt you want to know who is King too.  Med. 
No, Doctor; I am satisfied as well as any of you, since the taking of Limbrick, that William is King. My Landlord knows what a noble Bonfire I made for him the other night, and how prettily the Boys and Girls hoped and grinned about it.  Hel. 
Father Casye, you mis●ake this man: he's my Patient. The man is troubled with a Disease called Scotonia, or the Giddy. He thinks all the World turns round, and he's resolved to turn with it. It proceeds from a certain Ventosity, in the Ventricles of the Cerebell. But I can cut him, and cure him.  Med. 
Your Worship is some Cow-Doctor I warrant. And I think you are a couple of dry hasty, narrow-spirited Gentlemen, and so far you well— Exit Medler in a pe●t.  Free. 
Gentlemen, you complain of my Tenants, that they are cross grained; I doubt it's long of the cross Questions you put to 'em. I pray thee Speed, call in Mr. Slack; it may be he will fit Father Casy's humour better.  — Exit Speed. 
This man rends a good Farm of me, but he has a good Yeoman's Estate of his own, and, I believe, lives as easily and unconcernedly, as any Lord in the Land.  — Enter Speed with Slack. Speed. 
I beg your Worship's pardon, that I have been so long. But Mr Slack was so deeply engaged in company that he knew, and Liquor that he liked, that I could not easily persuade him to leave 'em.  Slack. 
I know your Worship has nothing to say to me: For I have but one Concern in the whole World, that is, to pay my Rent; and that your Worship knows I have. And as for these Gentlemen Strangers, I suppose they have no more to say to me, than I have to them; and that's just nothing.  Hel. 
But what, Sir, does nothing all you in any respect?  Slack. 
Not now I have paid my Rent Sir.  Hel. 
And have no Distemper upon you at no time?  Slack. 
None but what I cure myself. Sometimes I am hungry, sometimes thirsty, sometimes sleepy; but I have a Remedy at hand for all these; and such a Remedy too, as is pleasant to take.  Hel. 
But what, are you never weary?  Sl. 
Never, except it be with doing nothing, or with hearing impertinent Talk, or long stories of news.  Free. 
Or a long Sermon  Sl. 
You are i'th' right, Landlord, I had forgot that. But yet I go to Church too sometimes, to take a Nap. I love the Collects too, only there's so many of them; and Sermon too, if it be not too loud to waken me, or too long, to keep me from my Dinner.  Cas. 
I doubt you are Atheistically given, Mr. Slack.  S. 
I know not what you mean by Atheistically. I confess I am no great admirer of Orators and Observators, nor do I love to have my head troubled with Sermons or Gazettes. I cannot endure to be concerned: Let things go which way they will; for they will go which way they will. What if the Earth quake; must my Heart needs ache? what if the Heaven's crack, does it follow, that my Brains must crow? What care I, whether the Pope be a Papish or a Protestant, whether he be a Man or a Woman, whether he be a Woman or a Devil. What is it to me, whether the King of Germany, and the King of Turkey fall out or fall in. It does not concern me so much, whether the French King gets Flanders or loses it, as whether my Flanders Mare in the stable be with Foal or no? They have made a great deal of stir about reducing of Ireland, as they call it; they might even have let it ha' gone for me: If it were all of a Bog, it would not trouble me; I have never a foot of Land there.  Cas. 
But what, have you no mind to know how things go abroad?  Sl. 
To know Sir? Why I'll tell you, I think it is the wisest way to know nothing: for the more one knows, the more he's vexed: It is an easier and sweeter life to be ignorant, than to be a knowing Man.  Cas. 
But if he knows nothing, he's not a Man, he's a Beast.  Sl. 
Beast, Sir? The life of a Beast is not so contemptible as you make fair of. I believe there's never a Beast I have, would change lives with you. The life of a Beast? what life can be easier sweeter, freer? He leads the life of knowing nothing, of caring for nothing: he eats, and drinks, and sleeps, and desires nothing, wants nothing, fears nothing. Oh Sir, if men were but as free from Passions, and Apprehensions as the Beasts are, how happily might they live? We forsooth, fret at what we have, and vex for want of what we have not. We cannot enjoy ourselves, because any body else enjoys any thing as good, or better. We cannot digest ●n Injury, till we have requited it; nor be reconciled then neither. There is worse found in the Nature of Men, than in the nature of Beasts; and all because men can think, and know, and argue, and have the ill luck to be concerned; which these silly Beasts are free from. If you did but know Sir, how sweet and pleasant it is to approach as near as may be to the life of a Beast, and yet not to be one, you would almost be tempted to doff your Periwig and Coloshes, and put on Horns and Hooves.  Cas. 
But what, would you die like a Beast too.  Sl. 
Their way of dying? ●s all one with yours; they leave breathing, and so do you. And their way of burying, much nobler than yours: They are buried in you, whereas you are buried in the Bowels of Fishes, of Crows, or at best of Worms. My Ox, or my Hog, when he's dead and eaten, comes to be a part of myself; you being dead, turn to Dust and Eilthiness. And if you inquire any further, for the Credit of the Beast be it spoken, he has nothing to answer for; which you Divines and Doctors have.  Cas. 
I think, Sr. Francis, you would do well, to make this man your chief Herdsman.  Sl. 
Content Sir, if you will be Chaplain to the Herd.  Hel. 
Nay rather, Sir Francis, be at some Charges with him, to lengthen his Ears, and so he will be one sort of Beast presently.  Sl. 
Gentlemen, I wish you no worse, than that you may always be kept in your Senses; and then I'm sure you will never want something to vex you.  — Exit Slack. Free. 
Gentlemen, you do so disturb my Neighbours, that they know not what they say. They are a ●ittle shattered, and you make 'em s●ark mad. It is to be hoped, if I call in a pair of men that are mad already, you will make 'em sober. I pray thee, Speed, go and call in hither Mr. Grindon and Frank Fawns. I believe we shall have no great trouble with them, except it be to reconcile 'em: and that I hope Father you may do.  — Exit Speed. Cas. 
Alas, Sir Francis, your people do not understand my Divinity-trade; but I will do what I can for 'em. My work lies in Cases of Conscience, and I perceive your people have no Conscience, that a man can come at.  Hel. 
Oh, it lies deep, Father; but by the Lancet of Inquisition, or the Horseleech of thorough Examination, you may possibly come to it and let out some bad Blood.  — Enter Speed, with Grindon and Fawns. Free. 
You're welcome, Mr. Grindon, I have invited you in, to know whether here be any thing, wherein these Learned Gentlemen can pleasure you.  Grin. 
Sir, you think sure, I am a man much given to Pleasure. If you Knights and Gentlemen loved your Pleasure no more than I do, there would not be so much Hunting and Hawking, and breaking of men's Hedges, as there is.  Faw. 
I believe, Mr. Grindon, his Worship did not mean as you interpret him.  Grind. 
Interpret him? I wonder how I came to be an Interpreter, I think all the World has a mind to abuse me. I can scarce read the Text, and yet I must be an Interpreter forsooth.  Faw. 
I mean Sir, (I pray pardon me) as you understand him.  Grin. 
What, I am become an understanding Man; that to my own Knowledge, was but a Fool when I came in. Ay, and the most understanding of men too, a●● Pope forsooth, that can pardon. I warrant I am infallible too, am I not?  Faw. 
Sir, if I be not deceived, you are infallible, you are a Pope.  Grin. 
I a Pope, you Dotterel? how can I be a Pope?  Faw. 
You carry a Pope in your Belly, and that's all one.  Grin. 
I pray thee Fawns, explain thyself.  Faw. 
I am plain enough Mr. Grindon, I need no great Explanation. But my meaning is this: The conceit that you have of your own Understanding, is apt to make you snarl at the different Sentiments of all other men. Now whoever, (being himself satisfied in a thing) does thereupon declare, that he will never alter his Opinion, or the Conduct of his Affairs, must needs be infallible; at least, he does assume an Infallibility to himself, as well as the Pope. The Pope says, I cannot err; you say you will never alter, and I pray then, which is the more infallible?  Cas. 
I pray, Sir Francis, rebuke this man, he nibbles at the Church.  Grin. 
It's well Sir, he does but nibble at you; he bites me. He says I am a Pope, I would he could make his words good. He says I snarl, as if I were a Dog: but if he could make me a Pope, I would make Bulls▪ that should push this Dog out of the Church.  Faw. 
It's well Sir, the cured Cow has short Horns.  Grin. 
Now I'm come, from a Bull to a Cow or a Cuckold. Thou wilt make an Ass of me, I believe by and by.  Faugh 
Oh no Sir, no man is an Ass, but of his own making. You may do that for yourself, that no body can do For you▪ Your Neighbours may help you to Horns possibly, but they can never help you to Ears.  Grin. 
To Ears Sirrah? why, I never was upon the Pillory, I have ●●ars of a natural length.  Faw. 
You mean I believe Sir, of the length of a natural.  Grin. 
A natural▪ ha' a natural? what dost make a Bastard of me too?  Faw. 
Oh no Sir▪ for though many men have the ill luck to be Bastards, yet none of them are naturals, but the By-blows of Princes. You are a● honest Gentleman, and so was your Mother before you.  Grin. 
Thou nonsensical Owl, my Mother before me a Gentleman?  Faw. 
And why not I pray Sir, as well as the Grey Mare be the better Horse, Your Father was plain George Grindon, but your Mother was Mrs Betty Courtney.  Grin. 
Well, and what am I then?  Faw. 
Sir, you are Mr. Grindon at every word.  Grin. 
what, do I grin at every word? Just now he would make me to snarl at every man; now I grin at every word. This pitiful fellow will make a Dog of me by and by.  Faw. 
Oh no Sir, far be it f●om me; you are the meekest Spaniel upon Earth.  Grin. 
Upon Earth? It's well I am not a Water-Spaniel too.  Faw. 
I'm sorry Sir, that you should so misapply all my words.  Grin 
Misapply? ha misapply? He made me a Conjurer just now, in saying I could interpret; and now he will make a Parson of me, which is next to it. For none can misapply, out those that apply; and that you know is the Parson's Trade.  Faw. 
You speak wittily Mr. Grindon; but under Correction, that's not the Parson's Trade, but yours and mine.  Grin. 
I never heard a man speak sacrilege till now. A Parson, and yet not apply to himself, the things that he teaches us?  Faw. 
Sir, he is left to his liberty, as Physicians are, who forbidden their Patients many things, that are found upon their own Trenchers.  Hel. 
What have you to do with Physicians, friend?  Faw. 
Not much Sir, I thank my good Stars. But this Gentleman, my good Neighbour may possibly nee● Relief from you.  Grin. 
Relief? He'll make a beggar of me too, I think.  Faw. 
I mean Sir, you may be beholden to him for his Directions.  Grin. 
Thou Idiot, I scorn to be beholden to any man: My Landlord here has good Money of me for bad Land.  Free. 
No, no, Mr. Grindon, you are not beholden to me; I am rather beholden to you.  Grin. 
Nay, if I thought so, ● would throw up all my Land: For I will never keep a Farm merely to gratify my Landlord.  Faw. 
Me thinks, though you be Mr. Grindon, and my very good Neighbour, you are very humorous Sir.  Grin. 
Humorous? Now I warrant he will make me sick too, and put me into the hands of this Doctor.  Hel. 
I doubt indeed Sir, you do abound with Humours. But I perceive they are not very gross and feculent, but serous and fine Humours.  Grin. 
For all your fine words Mr. Doctor, I do not so abound with Humours, as to humour you with a Fee to purge 'em.  Faw. 
I pray Sir, do not fall into a peevish Humour, of all others.  Grin. 
Peevish? Now he makes a Child of me. I pray good folk, keep the Child from being peevish. Must I not have a Nurse, and a Pa● too?  Faw. 
Oh Sir, we know you have a good Nurse at home, and it is a sign you are not at home now, if you were, she would not suffer this Feather to stick upon your Coat.— He takes it off.  Grin. 
Thou envious Fellow, why wouldst thou hinder the world from knowing that I lie upon a featherbed?  Fawn. 
This is not not a Feather ●oo I hope— he brushes off some dust from his Shoulder with his hand.— This is dust Sir.  Grin. 
Thou saucy Fellow: I carry it on purpose to be a Monitor of my Mortality; and dost thou brush it off? Give me my dust again.  Faw. 
— Stoops, and takes up a handful, and lays it upon his shoulders  Grin. 
This is not dustying ●●e, Sirrah, this is daubing me. It were a good deed to reduce thee to the dust and a shadow  Faw. 
Sir, I am meaner than a shadow; for I honour your shadow, yea, the shadow of your shoe-ties.  Grin 
They are Buckles Sirrah.  Faw. 
Still Sir, will be meeker than they, and buckle to your very Buckle.  Grin. 
Thou art a dissembling Knave, Fawns.  Faw. 
Some men are so professedly, without dissembling, it's well your Worship scaped.  Free. 
Nay, now he Worships you, Mr. Grindon, you must be reconciled: I pray walk in and drink a Glass of the best, and be friends.  Grin. 
A Glass, ha' a Glass? a poor modicum. But come Frank, if it must be but a Glass, it shall be as big as a looking Glass.  — Exeunt Grindon and Fawns. Free. 
Call in Stephen Sad.  Speed. 
He'll make you all Melancholic, I doubt Sir.  Free. 
Poor man, possibly we may make him merry,— Exit Speed. A very honest fellow: But he's always laying one thing or other to Heart, present or future. If he feels nothing to trouble him, yet he fears something.— Enter Speed with Sad and Merry skipping after them.  Mer. 

Oh Derry, derry, my Rent is paid my Rent is paid,  
Oh Derry, derry, my Rent is paid, is paid,  
And fie upon all Fools  
That are such very Tools,  
That their Rent is unpaid, unpaid.   Free. 
Why how now, Moses? who sent for you?  Mer. 
If't please your Worship, I'm like ill Wether, I come without sending for.  

And as the fair Fountain springs, and springs,  
Which by no Mud is stayed  
E'en so poor Merry sings, and sings,  
Because his Rent is paid.   — He claps sad on the back. 
Come have a good Heart Stephen; thy Rent's paid too, lad.  Sad. 
Ay Moses; but Lady-day will come after Michaelmas.  Mer. 
Ay and Michaelmas▪ after that again.  

— And so the year goes round.  
But let's be merry whilst we may.  
Till we be under ground.   Sad. 
Sure Moses you draw a light Harrow. You are always full of mirth I know; but what makes you so full of Rhymes?  Mer. 
Why should not the Heart sympathise with the Purse, and be both light together?  

Who can sing so merry a Note,  
As he that cannot change a Groat?   

And as for rhyming, lad, thou knowst,  
Alum stalum non est malum.   

Poet and Pot differ but in a Letter.  
The Pot, oh th' Pot, does make me rhyme the better.   Sad. 
But how many poor People of the same make with ourselves are now crying for Bread, and lamenting in Prose?  Mer. 
And who can help it Lad? they must e'en put their Tears into Tune, and then they will be as merry as Moses.  Sad. 
Oh but can you think of this great Tax that is coming, and be so merry?  Mer. 
Tax, Stephen? I am thinking, further than so. I am thinking how merry we shall be, when we have conquered France, and drink nothing but Cla●●●.  Sad. 
Ah Moses, I wish I may never want good small beer till then. In the mean time, whilst the Grass grows, the Steed starves. I doubt we shall want Whey before we get Clarett.  Mer. 
Why Lad; we'll make the Pigs drink Water, before we'll want Whey. Have a good heart Stephen.  

Come cast away Care,  
For sure we are,  
The Parish is bound to find us;  
Thou must die,  
And so must I,  
And leave this World behind us.   Sad. 
Ah Moses, Moses, if we come to the Parishes finding, I doubt we shall go with many a short Meal.  Mer. 
Nay Stephen, so they be but many, I care not how short they are: a little, and often is the best feeding.  Sad. 
But what if the Turks or French come in upon us, and cut our Throats?  Mer. 
Why then our Breath will go out of the Gap: And is no● that as good as if it went out at our Nostrils?  Sad. 
What if the Sea should overflow this Island?  Mer. 
Then we should have plenty of Fish; and that's very good Victuals.  Sad. 
But what if the Sky should fall?  Mer. 
Then we should catch plenty of Larks, which are now worth six pence a dozen.  Sad. 
I pray thee now, Moses, be not so madheaded. Who can be merry, that lives in an Age of Fools and Knaves and Beggars and Mad men▪ as we do?  Mer. 
And I pray thee Stephen, who can help it? There will be Fools and Knaves as long as you and I ●ive; and Beggars too, as long as my Landlord lives.  Free. 
Why Merry, do I make any Beggars?  Mer. 
I beg your Worship's pardon; I mean, whilst there are any rich, ●ere will be some poor to bestow their Estutes upon: else what should they be rich for?  Cas. 
Gentlemen, I do advise you to beware of Extremes. Stephen, it is good to be thoughtful, but not frightful; to be cautious, but not jealous; to be ●●using, but not misdeeming. Take heed your grave Seriousness do not ●urn into Sadness; or however, be sure it be sober sadness. And you Moses▪ in all your Merriment, remember to be merry and wise.  Mer. 
I thank your grave Advi●e, Reverend Father. I will be sure to remember the first; and as for the latter, I leave it amongst you Book-learned Men, make the best you can of it. But they say, one cannot be wise and merry too. If it can be, than I cry you Wise Men, rest ye merry.  — Exeunt Merry and Sad. — Enter Kester Killag●ew. Kill. 
Your Worship's most humble servant, Sir Francis.  Free. 
What Kester? Art thou come again? I'm glad to see thee, thou art welcome into England again. Thou hast 'scaped many a scouring, I warrant thee amongst the Teagues.  Kill. 
'Scaped many a scouring? Ay Sir, and so must every body that comes there. I believe they are the greatest fluts in Nature? They made no washing, till I came to wash 'em in ●●eir own Blood.  Free. 
In their own Urine rather.  Kill. 
Why has any body told your Worship what havoc I have made there? Besides the many hundreds tha● I have killed, I have made thousands bepiss 'em.  Free. 
I warrant thou canst show me many a fair wound, Kester.  Kill. 
Ay▪ Sir Francis, and these in fair places too. But it is no matter for troubling your Worship with such a sad sight: Besides, it may be these strangers are squeamish or cowardly, and cannot or dare not look upon Wounds. But good Sir Francis, how do my Wife and Children amongst you. I have not been at home yet. I made my first visit to your Worship.  Free. 
They are all well at home Kester, as you left 'em.  Kill. 

Blessed Heavens do favour William's Friends,  
And all that to their welfare tends.  
Lily bo●aro, etc.   
I hope I am come in good time Landlord, to pay my Michaelmas Rent.  Free. 
In the very nick of time Kester; that is, if thou hast brought any Money with thee.  Kest. 
Money, Landlord? Hold your Hand, my half years Rent is ten pound; here's nine Guinneys, and six and six pence in Silver. I pray enter it into your book.  Free. 
Oh brave Kester! I did not think the whole Teague-land could have turned out so much Gold. Thou hast stripped some Captain or Colonel, whom some body else had killed.  Kill. 
Some body else Sir? with these Hands.  Free. 
What with these Hands I pray you?  Kill. 
I killed that Rogue St. Ruth.  Free. 
St. Ruth? why he was killed with a Cannon Bullet.  Kill. 
Ay, ay Sir Francis, he had a thump o'th' breast with a sixteen pounder, and was mask'rd, but this Sword ended his wretched days. And Sarsfields too.  Free. 
Sarsfields? Why Sarsfield is gone into France.  Kill. 
Well, but I had certainly killed him, if he had not gone; so that indeed the taking of Limbrick is owing to me.  Hel. 
Why, was you at the Siege of Limbrick?  Kill. 
Of Limbrick Sir? I was as at the Siege of Limbrick; and not only of that, but of Carrickfergus, Tredagh, Dublin, Wicklow, Water-ford, Killkenny, Kingsail, Cork, Athlone, Galloway, and what not?  Hel. 
I perceive Sir, you speak comprehensively. For some of these places were ne'er besieged at all.  Kill. 
It is no matter for that Sir, for if they had been besieged, I'm sure I should have been sent for one.  Hel. 
But I pray Sir, have you been all that Kingdom over?  Kill. 
Over Sir? Ay and over again; from St. Patrick's Purgatory in the County of Tyrone, to the Devil's Hole in the County of Kerry.  Hel. 
I wonder how you ever got out of those dismal places.  Kill. 
Oh Sir, there is no way ●●passable to an English Heart, and a Germane Blade. This Sword with this Hand will cut its way through any Rock, better than any aquafortis.  Hel. 
But I pray Mr. Killagrew.  Kill. 
Sir, my name is Killacrew: and a Crew I have killed of the veriest Vermin that ever the Earth bore.  Hel. 
Well then Mr. Killacrew, how did your Sword make way for you through the Bogs?  Kill. 
The Bogs Sir? I needed not Sword. I was grown so expert, that I made no more of running over the Bogs, than one of you grave sirs would do of walking along the streets. Did your Gazzette never tell you of my chase a party of Rapparees over the Bog of alain, and killing nine of 'em?  Hel. 
Now you speak of it, I do remember something of a certain stout Soldier that killed eight or nine Rapparees upon the bog of alain, who afterwards, like Cowardly Rogues, ran away to their Garrison of Mullingar. But I little thought you had been that Champion.  Kill. 
I am the Man Sir, I ●eft my▪ Horse and my Jack-boots at the side of a Wood, and these Feet carried me to that exploit, and brought me off again.  Hel. 
I perceive Sir, you have been a zealous servant of the Kings: how chance you forsake him now?  Kill. 
I forsake him Sir? No; his Enemies forsake him. His Enemies cease, not his Friends.  Free. 
Come, come, Kester, tell truly. Are you not come away in some disgust?  Kill. 
Disgust, Sir? I tell you, if every Hair on my Head, were a Head, I would adventure it for his sake, and if every Finger on my Hand were a Hand, I would employ it in his Service. But having conquered, I am willing to sit down in peace, which few Soldiers are. For they that draw the Sword, commonly love to live by it.  Free. 
Well said, Kester: For it is no less a Virtue to leave off fight, than it is to fight. Fight is an honest recreation, but a bad Trade: and so is talking as we do. Wherefore if it please you Gentlemen to walk in, we will entertain honest Kester with the best the House will afford, and drink a health to his Master.  Kill. — Flings up his Hat, 
Huzzah! Long live, King William and Queen Mary.  — Exeunt Omnes.  

Epilogus.  
Gentlemen,  
MY Master Sir Francis, giveth his service to you all, and commands me to tell you, that if his House were as large as his Heart, you should all lodge all night in the former, as we●l as you are sure to do in the latter. Though the entertainment was intended for his two great friends the Doctors, and the benefit to redound to his Tenants, yet he thanks you all for the honour you do him in this visit, and wishes himself capable (can you blame him?) of entertaining you all like Princes. He is a person of a Mind and Temper ample and generous: He gives me leave, that am but his Butler, at any time to entertain as many as the Buttery will hold, with as much Ale as their Bellies will hold. But, alas, he wants room for so great a Company; as indeed you may easily perceive: For if he had had other room convenient, he would not have desecrated his Chapel, as you see he has done to cay, for your sakes. But his Worship has commanded me to direct you to certain ●nns for accommodation and lodging at his charges. As for present accommodation, there is scarce a public House in Town, but can furnish you. If you intent to lodge, they can also furnish you: only you are to be you lodge at any Man's House that has Horns, you leave no more behind you than you found. As for particular choice. I need give you no directions, they are all good; nay they are all best. The Bull has the best Mouth, the Bell is the best Me●●le, the Stag and the Heart are the best Venison, The Lamb is the best natured, the George is the best mounted, the Dog has the best heels, the Lion has the best Heart, the Bear has the best back, but the Keys if they be St. Peter's, have the best authority. The Peacock has the best Feathers, the Swan has the best Neck, the Royal Pate has the best Brains, but the Vine, (oh the Vine!) affords the best Liquor. But, if after all, you would know my opinion, the Eagle that carries away the Child is our best Emblem, she wil● mount all the pretty Lads into the Skies upon the Wings of Fame, and so every Boy shall be a Ganymedes. And I assure you to be a Butler to Jupiter is no small preferment.  
And now Gentlemen, as we met lovers, I hope we shall part friends.  
Far ye well.   
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 3. l. 9 r. sweat, l. 24. r. there, P. 5. l. 9 r. nomine, p. 6. l. 15. r. giving, P. 10. l. 1. r. small, p. 15. l. penult. r. humourous, P. 25. l. 10. r. fixing, l. 12. for one r. we, p. 32. l. penult, for he is r. you be, p. 34. l. 3. after talk add much, p. 35. blot out line the 24. p. 39 l. 2. r. Hogs, p. 42. l. 6. after heated add his head, l. 16. r. Crust, p. 43. l. penult, r. speak, p. 44. l. 12. and 23. p. 45. l. 12. r. Will, p. 47. l. 5. r. an, p. 61. l. 7. after fodder add too, p. 65. l. 15. r. Scotomia, p. 68 l. 4. r. Papist, p. 14. l. 3. r. cursed, p. 78. l. 17. deal the.