THE YOUNG GALLANT'S Academy.  
OR, Directions how he should behave himself in all Places and Company.  
As, 

1. In an Ordinary.  
2. In a Playhouse.  
3. In a Tavern.  
4. As he passes along the Street all hours of the Night.  
5. And how to avoid Constable's Interrogatories.    
To which is added, The Character of a Town-HUFF.  
TOGETHER WITH The CHARACTER of a right Generous and well-bred GENTLEMAN.  
By Sam. Overcome.  
LONDON, Printed by J. C. for R. Mills, at the Pestle and Mortar without Temple-Bar. 167●▪   

TO The truly virtuous Lover and Incourager of Learning and Ingenuity George Doddington Esq.  
FLattery and Ingratitude I have always esteemed so much unbecoming a Person that hath that Noble Faculty of the Soul Reason, that he that should be guilty of either of them, is not fit for, or aught to be admitted into humane Society. For what can we do with, or know we how to deal with these deformed Animals; the one wheadles Gentlemen out of their Estates, with their Protestations and fair pretences; the other laughs at us when he hath got his ends: and though you have but immediately before relieved him with money out of your purse, the same person shall be glad to see you in a Goal. But give me leave to testify to the world, that you have neither been an Admirer or Cherisher o● these foul (but now too-much-adored) Monsters. And I myself have been so fa● from doting on them, that having served under the Colours of that excellent, but now despised Lady, Good Nature, I am not in so good an Equipage as when I first entered myself into her Service. But now lest I myself, whilst I am railing upon this sort of Creatures, should be thought to be a Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, and a Lion under a Lamb's skin: Be not angry with me if I tell you, the former Obligations and Favours you conferred upon me, emboldened me thus to attempt: and I should be ingrateful indeed, should I not endeavour some small Retaliations. I have therefore put into your hands a homely piece of Work, neither so good as you deserve, nor so rich as I do wish it: I must entreat you to blame the vanity of our Age and Times, which are so fantastical grown, that they covet Stuffs rather slight to feed the eye with show, than substantial for enduring: let the Fashion be Frencb, 'tis no matter what the Cloth be. I have therefore not (with the Sturgeon) swum against the Stream, but followed the humorous Tides of this Age, & like Democritus have fallen a laughing at all the world, seeing it doth nothing but mock itself. Sir, you have here the behaviour and Character of a Fop composed, to show the Apish Fashions, and ridiculous Humours and Conversations of some of our Towngallants, of whose Actions you are so far from being an Admirer and Imitator, that while they are swallowing down the sweet morsels of Sin, and in the midst of Revelling, courting their Mistresses (as their Gentile word is) and inventing New Oaths for to be able to keep Company with only such as themselves; and whilst they study the very height of Debauchery, and account him a boon Companion that is most vicious, You are taken up in a far more Noble Exercise, and spend your spare hours in reading History; and for the laying out a little money, receive a larger interest than the greatest Usurers do for their money: by looking on those Prospective-glasses, you behold Kingdoms and People afar off, come acquainted with their Manners, their Policies, their Government, their Rise and their Downfals: You are present at their Battles without danger to yourself, unless it is in grieving to see States so overthrown by the mutability of Fortune: you see those Empires utterly brought to subversion, which had been Terrors and Triumphers over all Nations upon Earth. Oh Histories! You Sovereign Balms to the Bodies of the Dead, that preserve them more fresh than if they were alive, keep the Fames of Princes from perishing, when Marble Monuments cannot save their bones from being rotten; you faithful Intelligencers between Kingdoms, you truest Counsellors to Kings, even in greatest dangers, be not angry with me if I am something tedious in setting forth the excellency of your delight (History) Happy you are by Birth, happy by your bringing up; but most happy, in that the Muses too have been your Darling. The Path which true Nobleness had wont and aught to tread, lies directly before you; you have been ever, and are now in the way, which emboldens me to presume, that as our greatest Commanders will not disdain to instruct even a fresh-watered Soldier in the School. points of War; so out of your generous disposition, you will vouchsafe to view the labour of so dull a Pen, and not censure me for consecrating so idle a Pamphlet to you. And say not that the world will take you to be of that number that desire to have your Name in print only to get a vain Reputation, and that by the superfluities of so idle a brain as mine; No Sir, 'tis a piece of Drollery, I confess, but not designed nor writ to droll upon you, but only to let the world see that you are of so sedentary and retired a Nature and Conversation, that it is requisite for your divertisement to view the Fopperies of this Age. If you give entertainment to this in your best affection, you will bind me (one day) to heighten your Name, when by some more worthy. Column I shall Consecrate that and yourself to an Everlasting and Sacred Memory, most affectionately desirous to be  
Yours, SAM. VINCENT.   

TO THE READER.  
TO come to the press, is more than to be pressed to death: for the pain of those Tortures last but a few minutes; but he that lies upon the Rack in Print, hath his flesh torn off by the Teeth of Envy and Calumny, though he means no Person any harm. I think therefore 'twere better to make ten Challenges at all manner of Weapons, than to play a Scholars Prise upon a Booksellers Stall: for the one araws but Blood, by the other a man is drawn and quartered. Take heed of Critics, they by't like Fish at any thing, especially at Books; nay, the Stationers themselves are turned Demi-Criticks. Go to one and offer a Copy; if it be merry, the man likes no light stuff; if it be sad, it will not sell: another meddles with nothing but what fits the times. I would have his Shop filled with nothing but Gazettes and Proclamations. Since therefore that neither hot nor cold can please, neither strait nor crooked can serve as a measure to some mouths; what a miserable and endless labour does he undertake, that in a few scribbled Sheets hopes to wrap up the Loves of all men? Better it were for him in my Judgement to turn his Leaves into such Paper-Kites as Boys run after whilst they fly in the Air, than to publish his Wits in Print, and yet be counted but a Fool for his Labour. Yet notwithstanding with such a tickling Itch is this Printed Ambition troubled, that some are never at better ease than when they are scratching upon Paper. Of those sharp-toothed Dogs you shall find me none. I hold no whip in my hand, but rather a soft Feather; and there drops rather Water than Gall out of my Quill. I have only Drawn the Pictures of some Ignorant Young Gallants, and Younger Brothers, alias Gulls: If you bid them Welcome, I am glad; if not, I cannot be much sorry, because the Cook knew not your Diet; so that his Error was Ignorance, and Ignorance is a venial Sin to be Pardoned.  Nam veniam pro laude peto: laudatus abunde, Non fastiditus si tibi (Lector) ero.  

THE CONTENTS.  

THe Introduction. Pag. 1.  
CHAP. I. The Old World and this New, weighed together. The Tailors of those times and these compared. The Apparel of our first Fathers. 13  
CHAP. II. How a Gallant shall not only keep his  (which many of them can hardly do for Brokers) but also save the Charges of taking Physic: With other Rules for the Morning. The praise of Sleep, and of going Naked. Page 20  
CHAP. III. How a young Gallant should accost to and warm himself by the Fire: How attire himself. The Descriptition of a Man's Head. The praise of long Hair. 32  
CHAP. IV. Instructions how a young Gallant should behave himself at an Ordinary. 42  
CHAP. V Instructions for a young Gallant how to behave himself in the Playhouse. 55  
CHAP. VI Instructions how a young Gallant should behave himself in a Tavern. 61  
CHAP. VII. Instructions for a young Gallant how to behave himself passing through the City at all hours of the night, and how to pass by any Watch. 66.  
The Character of a Proud, Huffing, Selfconceited, Foppish and Lascivious youn● Gallant. Page 7●  
The Character of a True, Noble, Liberal, and Stayed Gentleman. 87    


THE INTRODUCTION.  
I Sing (like the Cuckoo in June) to be laughed at; if therefore I make a scurvy Noise, and that my Tunes sound un-Musically (they being altogether lame in respect of the bad Feet, and unhandsome in respect of the wormeaten Fashion:) You that have Authority under the Broad Seal of Mouldy Custom, to be called, The Gentle Audience, set your hands to my Pardon; or else, because I scorn to be upbraided that I profess to Instruct others, in an Art whereof I myself am Ignorant; Do your worst, choose whether you will let my Notes have you by the Ears or no: Hiss, or give Plandites, I care not a Nutshell which of either: You can neither shake our Comic Theatre with your stinking breath of Hisses, nor raise it with the Thunderclaps of your Hands; up i● goes in despetto del fato: a Coat with four Elbows (for any one that will wear it) is put to making in defiance of the Seven Wise Mistresses. For I have smelled out o● the musty sheets of an old Almonack, that (at one time or other) even he that talks all Adagy; eve● he that will not have a wrinkl● in his new Suit, though his Min● be uglier than his Face, and hi● Face so illfavouredly made, that he looks at all times as if a Tooth drawer were fumbling about hi● Gums, with a thousand lame Het● roclites more that cousin the World with a Flaxen Peruke and a pair of Pantaloons, will be glad to step in, and be driven (like a Flemish Hoy in soul weather) to slip into our School, and take out a Lesson. Tush, Caelum petimus Stultiti●; all that are chosen Constables for their Wit; go not to Hea●en. A Fig therefore for the newfound College of Critics, that do nothing but sing forth the Gam●●●h. Air of Complimental Courtesy, and at the Rustical Behaviour of our Country- Muso, will screw forth worse Faces, than those which God & the Painter hath bestowed upon You. I defy your perfumed Scor●●, and vow to poison your Musk-Cats, if ever their eivet-Excrement do but once play with my Nose. You ordinary Gulls, that through a poor and silly Ambition to be thought that you inherit the Bevinues: of an extra ordinary Wit; will spend your sballow Censure upon the most elaborate Writings so lavishly, that all about you take you to be Heirs- apparent to Rich Myd-●ss, that had more Skill in Alchemy; than Kelly with the Philosophers-Stone; (for all that he could, lay his Fingers on, turned into beaten. Gold.) Dry Yobacco with my Leaves (you Good dry-brained Polypragmonists) till your Pipe-Offices smoke with your stinking bisses shot out against me. I Conjure You (as you come of the right Goose-Caps) slain not your House, but when at a New Play you take up your Seat in the Pit, or one of the Boxes (because the Lords and you may seem Hail Fellows well-met:) There draw forth this Book, Read aloud, Langh aloud, Play the Antics, that all the whole House may take notice of You. As for there Zoilus, Go hang thyself; and for thee Momus, Chew nothing but Hemlock, and spit nothing but the Syrup of Aloes upon my Papers, till thy very rotten Lungs come forth for Anger. I am Snake-proof, and though with Hannibal you bring whole Hogsheads of Vinegar-rayling, it is impossible for you to quench; or come over my Alpine-Resolution. I'll Sail boldly and desperately along the Shore of the Isle of Gulls; and in defiance of those terrible Blockhouses, their Logger-beads, will make a true Discovery of their wild, yet habitable Country.  
Sound an Alarm therefore (Oh my Courageous Muse!) and like a Common Crier, make Proclamation with thy Drum; the effect of Thine O Yes being, That if any Man, Woman, or Child, be he Lord, be he Clown; be he Courtier, be he Carter; of the Inns of Court, hating from the bottom of his heart all Good Manners, and Generous Education, is really in love, or rather dotes on that Excellent Country-Lady, Innocent-Simplicity, being the First, Fairest, and Chiefest Chambermaid that our Great Grandam Eve entertained into Service: Or if any Person aforesaid, longing to make a Voyage in the Ship of Fools, would venture all the Wit that his Mother left him, to live in the Country of Gulls, Cockneys, and Coxcombs; to the intent, that haunting the Two theatres, he may only Learn PLAY-SPEECHES, which afterwards may furnish the necessity of his bare Knowledge, to maintain Table-Talk; or else frequenting Taverns, desires to take the Bacchanalian Degrees, and to write himself into Arte Bibendi Magister: Let all such (and I hope the World hath not left her old Fashions, but there are ten thousand such) repair hither: never knock, but with your Feet spurn open the Door, and enter into our School. You shall not need to buy Books; No, scorn to distinguish a B from a Battle-door; only look that your Ears be long enough to reach our Rudiments, and you are made for ever.  
It is by Heart that I would have you to con my Lessons; and therefore be sure to have most devouring Stomaches; nor be you terrisied with an Opinion, that our Rules be hard and indigestable, and that you shall never be good Gradtiates in those rare Sciences of Barbarism and Idiotism. Oh! Fie upon any Man that carries that ungodly mind. Tush, tush, the greatest Fool that ever was, never Played the Clown more naturally, than the arrantest Sot of you all shall, if he will but boil my Instructions in his Brainpan.  
And lest I myself, like some Pedantical Vicar, stammering out a most false and cracked Latin Oraration to Mr. Major of the Town and his Brethren, should cough and hem in my Deliveries; by which means, You, my Auditors, should be in danger to departed more like Woodcooks, than when you came to me: Oh! Thou Venerable Father of ancient & therefore hoary) Customs Sylvanus! I invoke thy Assistance Thou that first taughtest Carters to wear Hobnails, and Clowns to play Christ-mass-Gambols, Oh do thou! Or, If thou art not at leisure, let thy Mountebank, Goat-footed Fauni, inspire me with the knowledge of all those silly and ridiculous Fashions, which the Old dunstical world wore, even out at Elbows. Draw for me the Pictures of the most simple Fellows then living, that by their Patterns I may pained the like. Awake! Thou noblest Drunkard, Bacchus, Thou must likewise stand to me (if at least thou canst for reeling) teach me how to take the Germans Open sijn Freeze, the Danish Rowsa, the Swissers Stoop of Rhenish, the Italians Parmasant, the Englishmans Healths and Frolicks. Hid not a drop of thy moist Mystery from me, thou plumpest Swill-bowl. Thirdly, (Because I will have more than two Strings to my Bow) Come thou Clerk of Gluttonies' Kithin; Do thou also bid me Pro-face; and let me not arise from Table, till I am perfect in all the general Rules of Epicures and Cormorants: fatten thou my Brains, that I may feed others, and teach them both how to squat down to their meat, and how to munch so like Loobies, that the wisest Solon in the world shall not be able to take them for any others. If there be any strength in thee, thou beggarly Monarch of Indians, and setter-up of rotten-lunged Chimney. Sweeper's (Tobacco!) I beg it at thy smoky hands; make me thy adopted Heir, that inheriting the virtues of thy whiffs, I may distribute them amongst all Nations: after thy Pipe shall ten thousand be taught to Dance, if thou wilt but discover to me the sweetness of thy Snuffs, with the manner of spawling, spitting and driveling● in all places, and before all persons. Oh! what Songs will I charm forth in praise of those valiantly-strong stinking-breaths, which are easily purchased at thy hands, if I can but get thee to travel through my Nose. All the foughs in the faire● Ladies mouths that ever kissed Lord, shall not fright me from thy Brown presence; for thou art humble, and from the Courts of Princes hast ●●chsafed to be acquainted and ●runk for Company with Watermen, Carmen, and Colliers; where is before, and so still, Knights and wise Gentlemen, were, and are, thy Companions. Last of all, Thou La●●y of Clowns and Carters! Schoolmistress of Fools and Wiseacres! Thou homely (but harmless) Ru●●icity! Oh breath thy dull and ●●unstical Spirit into our Gander● Quill. Crown me thy Poet, not with a Garland of Bays (Oh! no, the number of those that steal Laurel, is too monstrous already.) But swaddle thou my brows with those unhandsome Boughs, which (like Autumn's rotten-hair) hang dangling over thy dusty Eyelids. Help me (thou Midwise of unmannerlyness) to be delivered this Embryon which lies tumbling in my Brain. Direct me in t●● hard and dangerous Voyage, th●● being safely arrived on the desir●● Shore, I may build up Altars 〈◊〉 thy unmatchable rudeness. 〈…〉 Herculean a labour is this that I ●●dertake, that I am enforced to 〈◊〉 out for all your Succours; to t●● intent I may aptly furnish this Fe●●● of Fools, unto which I solemn●● invite all the world: for at it sha●● sit, not only those whom Fortu●● favours, but even those whose W●●● are naturally their own. Yet b●cause your artificial Fools bear 〈◊〉 way the Bell, all our best Workmanship at this time shall be spe●● to fashion such a Creature.   

CHAP. 1.  
The Old World and this New, weighed together. The Tailors of those times and these compared. The Apparel of our first Fathers.  
GOod  are the embroidered Trappings of Pride; ●nd Good Cheer the very Eringo●●●t of Gluttony. Did Man, think you, come wrangling into the World about no better matters, than all his life-time to make privy searches for Fashions, or for Pies of Nigh●●ingals tongues in Heliogabalus his Kitchen? Oh! no: The first Suit of Apparel that ever mortal Man put on, came neither from the Mercer's shops, nor the Merchan Warehouse. Adam's Bill would have been sooner taken, than. Knight's Bond now. Yet was great in no bodies Books for T●● fety or Velvet: the Silkworm had something else to do in th●● days, than to set up Looms, and free of the Weavers. His Breech were not so much worth as Ki●● Stephens, that cost but a poor N●ble: for Adam's Holiday-Suit was ●● better Stuff than plain Fig-leaves and Eves best Gown of the sa●● Piece; there went but a pair shears betwixt them. An Ant●● quary in this Town has yet so●● of the Powder of those Leaves di●●ed, to show. Tailor's then wer●● none of the Twelve Companies Their Hall, that now is larger the some Dorps among the Nethe●● lands, was then no bigger than a ordinary Tradesman's Shop: the durst not strike down their Customers with their large Bills. Adam cared not an Apple-paring for all their lousy Hems. Fashions than was counted a Disease, and Horses died of it; but now (thanks to folly) it is held the only rare Physic, and the purest golden Asses live upon it.  
As for the Diet of that Saturni●● Age, it was like their Attire, homely: A Salad and a Mess of Leek-porridge was a Dinner for a for greater Man than ever the Turk was: Potato-pies and Custards, stood like the sinful Suburbs of Cookery, and had not a wall (so much as a handful high) built ●ound about them. Oh, golden World! the suspicious Venetian carved not his Meat with a silver Pitch-fork, neither did the sweet-toothed Englishman stuff a dozen of Plates at one Meal. Piers Ploughman laid the Cloth, and Simpllcity brought in the Voider. Ho●● wonderfully is the world altered and no marvel: For it hath lai● sick above five thousand years So that it is now no more like the Old Theatre du Monde, than the Bear-Garden St. James his Par● What an excellent Workman there fore were he, that could cast the Globe of it into a new Mould And not to make it look like the ordinary Globe, with a round Fac●● sleekt, and washed over with th● Whites of Eggs, but to have it ●● Plano, as it was at first, with all th● ancient Circles, Lines, Parallels and Figures, representing indeed, a●● the Wrinkles, Cracks, Crevise and Flaws that stuck upon it a●● the first Creation, and made ●● look most lovely. But now those Furrows are filled up with Cerus●● and Vermilion; yet all will no● do, it appears more ugly. Come, come, it would be a bald World, but that it wears a Peruke: The Body of it is fowl (like a Birding-piece) by being too much heated: the breath of it stinks like the breath of Chambermaids, by feeding on so many Sweetmeats; and though to purge it will be a sorer labour. than the cleansing of Augeas his Stable, yet Ille ego qui quondam, I am he that will do 〈◊〉.  
Draw near therefore, all you that love to walk upon single and simple Souls, and that wish to keep Company with none but Innocents', and the Sons of civil Citirens; out with your Tables, and nail your Ears (as it were to the Pillory) to the Music of our Instructions: nor let the Titles of Gullery and Bublery fright you from our School; for mark what an excellent Ladder you are to climb by. How many worthy and Men of famous Memory have flourished in London of that ancient Family the Wiseacres, bein● now no better esteemed than Foo● or Younger Brothers? This gea● must be looked into, lest in time (oh lamentable time! when that hourglass is turned up) a Rich man's Son shall no sooner peep out of the shell of his Minority, but he shall be straight-ways begge●● for a concealment, or set upon (a●● it were by Freebooters) and ta'n●● in his own Pursenets by Fence●● and Coney-catches: to drive which pestilent Infection from hi● heart, here is a Medicine more po●●tent and more precious than eve●● was that mingle-mangle of Drugs which Mithridates boiled together; fear not then to taste it ●● Caudle will not go down half ●● sweetly as this will: You need not call the honest name of it in Question; for Antiquity puts off his Gap, and makes a bare Oration in praise of the virtues of it: the Receipt hath been subscribed unto by all those that have had to do with Simples, with this Moth●●ten Motto, Probatum est. You therefore whose Bodies are either overflowing with the corrupt humour of this Age, Phantastickness; or else being burnt up with the inflammation of upstart Fashions, would fain be purged, and to truly show that you truly loathe this polluted and mangie-fisted world, turn Pinionists, not caring either for Men or their Manners; do you pledge me; spare not to take a deep draught of our ●●mely Counsel: the Cup is full, ●nd so large, that I boldly drink a ●●alth unto all Comers.   

CHAP. II.  
How a Gallant shall not only keep his  (whi●● many of them can hardly do for Brokers) but all save the Charges of taking Physic: With other Rule●● for the Morning. The praise of Sleep, and of goin● Naked.  
YOu have heard all this while nothing but the Prologue and seen no more than a Dum●● Show: Our Virtue Comedia step● out now.  
The fittest stay upon which you (that study to be an Actor there are first to represent yourself, ●● (in my Judgement) the softest and largest Downe-bed; from whence, if you will but take sound Counsel on your Pillow, you shall never arise until you hear it ring noon at least. Sleep, in the Name of Morpheus, your bellyful, or (rather) sleep till your. Belly grumbles and waxeth empty. Care not for those course-painted Cloth-lines made by the University of Salern, that come over you with.  
Sit brevis aut nullus tibi samnus Meridianus.  
Short let thy Sleep at Noon be Or rather let it none be  
Sweet candid Counsel! but there is Rat's bane under it. Trust never a Bachelor of Art of them all for he speaks your health fair, but only to steal away the Maidenhead of it. Salern stands in the luxurious Country of Naples; and who knows not but the Neapolitan will, like the Jesuits, embrace you with one hand, and rip your Gut● with the other? protest love, you hate mortally? There is not a ha● in his Mustacho, but if he kiss you will stab you through the Chec● like a Poniard. The Slave, to b● avenged on his Enemy, will dri●● off a pint of Poison himself, ●● that he may be sure but to have the other pledge him half so much And it may be, upon some secret grudge to work the general destruction of all Men-kind. Physicians (I know) and none else, too● up the Bucklers in their defence railing bitterly upon that Venerable and Princely Custom of ●on●lying a-bed. Yet how I remember me, I cannot blame them; ●● they which want sleep (which is Man natural rest) become either me Naturals, or else fall into the Doctor's hands, and so consequently into the Lords: Whereas he that Snorts profoundly scorns to let Hypocrates himself stand giving his Judgement on his Urinal, and thereby saves the charges of a Groats worth of Physic; and happy is that man saves it: for Physic is Non minus venifica quam benefica; it hath an ounce of Gall in it, for every dram of Honey. Ten tyburn's cannot turn Men over the Perch so fast as one of these Brewers of Purgations; the very nerves of their Practice being nothing but Ars homici●●●orum; an Art to make poor Souls kick up their heels. Insomuch that even their sick grunting Patients stand in more danger of Mr. Doctor and his Drugs, than of all the Canon ●●ots which the desperate Disease itself can discharge against them. Send them packing therefore to wal● like Italian, Mount●bancks; beat not your Brains to understand their parcel Greek, parcel Latin Gib. brish: Let not all their Sophistical buzzing in your Ears, nor then Satirical canvasing of Feather. beds, and tossing Men out of the● warm Blankets, awake you till the Hour that is here prescribed. For do but consider what an excellent thing Sleep is; it is so inestimable a Jewel, that if a Tyrant would give his Crown for an hours slumber, it cannot be bought; of so beautiful a shape is it, that though a Man lie with an Empress, his Heart cannot be at quiet till he leaves her Embracements to be at rest with the other: Yea, so greatly are we indebted to this Kinsman●●f Death, that we own the better Tributary half of our, Life to him● and there is good Cause why we should do so; for Sleep is that Golden Chain that ties Health and our Bodies together. Who complains of Wants, of Wounds, of Cares, of Great men's Oppressions, Captivity, whilst he sleepeth? Beggars in their Beds take as much pleasure as Kings; Can we therefore surbet on this delicate Ambrosia? Can we drink of that too much, whereof to taste a little tumbles us into a Churchyard, and to use it but indifferently, throws us into Bedlam? No, no, look upon Endymion the Moon's Minion, who slept threescore and fifteen years, and was not a hair the worse for it. Can lying a-bed till Noon then (being not the threescore and fifteenth part of his nap) be hurtful?  
Besides, By the Opinion of all Philosophers and Physicians, 'tis not good to trust the Air with our Bodies till the Sun with his flame-coloured wings hath fanned away the misty smoke of the Morn, and refined that thick Tobacco-breath which the rheumatic Night throws abroad on purpose to put out the Eye of the Element: which work Questionless cannot be perfectly finished, till the Sun's Car-horses stand prancing on the very top of highest Noon: so that then (& not till then) is thy healthfullest hourto be stirring. Do you require Examples to persuade you? At what time do Lords and Lady's rise, but at that time? Your simpering Merchants Wives are the fairest liars in the world; and is not eleven a Clock their common hour? they find (no doubt) unspeakable sweetness in such lying, or else they would not day by day put it into practice. In a word, Midday-slumbers are Golden; they make the body fat, the skin fair, the flesh plump, delicate and tender; they set a crimson Colour on the cheeks of young Women, and make Courage to rise up in Men; they make us thirsty, both in sparing Victuals (for Breakfasts thereby are saved from the Hell-mouth of the Belly) and in preserving Apparel; for whilst we warm us in our Beds, our  are not worn. The Casements of thine Eyes being then at this commendable time of Day newly set open, choose rather to have thy windpipe cut in pieces than so Salute any man: Bid not Good Morrow so much as to thy Father, though he be an Emperor: an idle Ceremony it is, and can do him little good; to thyself it may bring much harm. For if he be a wise man, that knows how to hold his peace, of necessity he must be counted a fool that cannot keep his tongue.  
Among all the wild men that run up and down in this wide Forest of Fools (the World) none are more superstitious than those notable Ebritians, the Jews; yet a Jew never wears his Cap threadbare with putting it off; never bends in the Hams with casting away a Leg; never cries God save you, though he see the Devil at your Elbow. Play the Jews therefore in this, and save thy Lips that labour; only to remember, that so soon as thy Eyelids be unglued, thy first exercise must be (either sitting upright on thy Pillow, or lying at thy Body's length) to yawn and stretch, and gape wider than an Oyster-Weuch.  
This Lesson being played, turn over a new leaf, and (unless that Frizeland-Cur, cold Winter, offer to by't thee) walk up and down a while in thy Chamber, either in thy thin shirt only, or strip thyself stark naked: Are we not born so, and shall a foolish Custom make us to break the Laws of our Creation? Our first Parents, so long as they went naked, were suffered to dwell in Paradise; but after they got Coats to their backs, they were turned out of Doors. Put on therefore no Apparel at all, or put it on carelessly; for look how much more delicate Liberty is than Bondage, so much is the looseness in wearing of our Attire, above the imprisonment of being nea●ly and Taylor-like dressed up. To be ready in our , is to be ready for nothing else: A man looks as if he hung in Chains, or like a Scarecrow: and as those excellent Birds (whom Pliny could never have the wit to catch in all his Springs) commonly called Woodcocks (whereof there is great store in England) having all their Feathers plucked from their backs, and being turned out as naked as Plato's Cock was before all Diogenes his Scholars; even so stands the case with man. Truth (because the baldpate her Father Time hath no Hair to cover his Head) goes stark naked; but Falsehood hath ever a Cloak for the Rain. You see likewise that the Lion, being the King of Beasts; the Horse, being the lustiest Creature; the Unicorn, whose Horn is worth half a City; all these go with no more clothes on their backs than what Nature hath bestowed upon them: but your Jackanapes (being the scum and rascality of all the hedge-creepers) they go in Jerkins: Marry how? They are put into these rags only in mockery.  
Oh! Beware therefore what you wear, and how you wear it; and let this heavenly Reason move you never to be handsome: for when the Sun is arising out of his Bed, doth not the Element seem more glorious than (being only in grey) at Noon, when he is in all his Bravery? it were madness to deny it: What man would not willingly see a beautiful woman naked, or at least with nothing but a Lawn or some lose thing over her? Shall we then abhor that in ourselves, which we admire and hold to be so excellent in others? Absit.   

CHAP. III.  
How a young Gallant should accost to and warm himself by the Fire: How attire himself. The Descriptition of a Man's Head. The praise of long Hair.  
BUt if (as it often happens, unless the Year catch the Sweating-Sickness) the Morning like Charity waxing cold, thrust his frosty fingers into thy bosom, pinching thee black and blue (with her nails made of Ice) like an invincible Goblin, so that thy Teeth (as if thou wert singing a Pricksong) stand coldly quavering in thy Head, and leap up and down like the nimble Jacks of a pair of Virginals; be then as swift as a Whirlwind, and as boisterous in tossing all thy  in a rude heap together; with which bundle filling thine Arms, step bravely forth, crying, Room, What a coil keep you about the Fire? The more are set round about it, the more is thy commendation, if thou either bluntly ride over their shoulders, or tumblest aside their Stools, to creep into the Chimney-corner: there toast thy body till thy scorched shins be speckled all over, being stained with more Colours than are to be seen on the right side of the Rainbow.  
Neither shall it be fit for the state of thy health to put on thy Apparel, till by fitting in that hothouse of the Chimney, thou feelest the fat Dew of thy body (like bisting) run trickling down thy sides; for by that means thou may'st lawfully boast, That thou livest by the sweat of thy brows.  
As for thy stockings and shoes, so wear them, that all men may point at thee, and make thee famous by that glorious name of Malcontent.  
Having thus apparelled thee from Top to Toe, according to that simple Fashion which the greatest Coxcombs in Europe strive to imitate; it is now high time for me to have a blow at thy head; which I will not cut off with sharp Documents, but rather set it on faster, bestowing upon it such excellent carving, that if all the Wisemen of Gotham should lay their Heads together, their Jobber-nowls would not be able to compare with thine.  
To maintain therefore that Sconce of thine strongly guarded and in good reparation, let never any Comb fasten his. Teeth there: Let thy Hair grow thick and bushy like a Forest, or some Wilderness, lest those six-footed Creatures that breed in it, and are Tenants to that Crown-Land of thine, be hunted to death by every base, barbarous Barber, and so that delicate and tickling pleasure of scratching be utterly taken from thee; for thy Head is a House built for Reason to dwell in; and thus is the Tenement framed. The two Eyes are the Glass-windows, at which Light disperses itself into every Room; having goodly Penthouses of Hair to overshade them. As for the Nose, though some (injuriously and most improperly) make it serve for an Indian-Chimney, yet surely 'tis rightly a Bridge, two Arches under which are neat Passages to convey as well Perfumes to air and sweeten every Chamber, as to carry away all noisome Filth that is swept out of unclean Corners. The Cherry-lips open like the new-painted Gates of a Lord Majors House, to take in Provision. The tongue is a Bell hanging just under the middle of the Roof; and lest it should be rung out too deep (as sometimes it is when women have a Peal) whereas it was cast by the first Founder only to toll softly; there are two Rows of Ivory Pegs (like Pales) to keep it in. The Ears are two Musick-rooms, into which, as well good sounds as bad descend down two narrow pair of Stairs, that for all the world have crooked wind like those that did lead to the top of Paul's-steeple, when standing before that General Conflagration: And because when the Tunes are once got in, they should not too quickly slip out, all the walls of both places are plastered with yellow Wax round about them. Now as the fairest Lodging, though it be furnished with Walls, Chimneys, Chambers, and all other parts of Architecture; yet if the Sieling be wanting, it stands subject to Rain, and so consequently to Ruin: So would this goodly Palace which we have modelled out unto you, be but a cold and bald habitation, were not the top of it rarely covered. Nature therefore hath played the Tiler, and given it a most curious Covering, or (to speak more properly) she hath thatched it all over, and that thatching is Hiir: if then thou desirest to reserve that Fee-simple of Wit (thy Head) for Thee and the lawful Heirs of thy Body, let thy Hair receive his full growth, that thou may ' saint safely and wisely brag 'tis thine own Bush natural. And withal consider, that as those snowy Fleeces which the naked Briar steals from the innocent nibbling sheep, to make him a warm Winter-livery, is to it an excellent Ornament; so make thou account that to have Feathers sticking here and there on thy Head will embellish and set thy Crown out rarely. None dare upbraid thee, that like a Beggar thou hast lain on the Straw, or like a travelling Pedlar on musty flocks: for those Feathers will rise up as. Witnesses to choke him that says so, and to prove that thy Bed was of the softest Down. When your Noblest Gallants consecrate their Hours to their Mistresses, and to Revelling, they wear Feathers then chief in their Hats, being one of the fairest Ensigns of their Bravery: But be thou a Reveller or Mistress-server all the Year long, by wearing Feathers in thy Hair, whose length before the rigorous edge of any Puritanical pair of scizzars should shorten the breadth of a finger, let the three Huswively Spinsters of Destiny rather curtal the thread of thy life. Oh no! Long Hair is the only Net that Women spread abroad to entrap men in: And why should not men be as far above Women in that Commodity, as they go beyond men in others? The Merry Greeks were called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Longhaired. Lose not thou (being an honest Trojan) that Honour, seeing it will more fairly become thee. Grass is the Hair of the earth, which so long as it is suffered to grow, it carries a most excellent Colour; but when the Sunburnt Clown makes his Mows at it, and (like a Barber) shaves it off to the stumps, it withers, and is good for nothing, but to be trust, up and thrown among the Jades. How ugly is a blad-Pate? it looks like a Face wanting a Nose, or like ground eaten bare with the Arrows of Archers, Whereas a Head all hid in Hair gives even to the most deformed Face a sweet Complexion, and looks like a Meadow newly married to the Spring: which beauty in Christians the Turks envying, they no sooner lay hold on one, but the first Mark they set upon him to make him know that he is a Slave, is to shave off all his Hair close to his Skull. A Mahumetical cruelty therefore it is, to stuff Balls with that which when it is once lost, all the hare-shooters in the world may sweat their Hearts out, and yet hardly catch it again. Long Hair will make thee look dreadfully to thine Enemies, and manly ●o thy Friends: It is in Peace an Ornament, in War a strong Helmet; it blunts the edge of a Sword, and deads' the leaden thump of a Bullet. In Winter it is a warm Nightcap, in Summer a cooling Fan of Feathers.   

CHAP. IU.  
Instructions how a young Gallant should behave, himself at an Ordinary.  
FIrst, Diligently having enquired out an Ordinary of th● the largest reckoning, whither mo●● of your Gallants do resort; let 〈◊〉 be your use to repair thither about half an hour after Eleven, for than you shall find most of your Fashion-Mongers planted in the Room waiting for Meat.  
Being arrived in the Room, Salute not any but those of your own Acquaintance: walk up and down as scornfully and as carelessly as a Gentleman-Usher. Select some friend, having first thrown off your Cloak, to walk up and down the Room with you; let him be Suited, if you can, worse by far than yourself; for by this means he will publish you better than a Tennis-Court or a Playhouse. Discourse as much as you can, no matter to how little purpose: if you but make a noise, and laugh in Fashion, and have a good ●●im Face to promise quarrelling, you shall be much observed.  
If you be a Soldier, and have had any Command, talk how often you have been in such an Action● as in all the Three Last Dutch-●ights; and that you fought so stoutly, that you were fain to shift your Ship twice; and that when the Captain of your Ship was killed (being then but Lieutenant) you fought three hours with Trump, and forced him to take his old course when worsted, to swim like a Water-rat; and that His His Grace the Duke of Monmou●● having heard of your Service in th● Fleet (than cry, But no matter Sirs, a man ought not to speak for't his own praise; upon which the Company will conclude you spea● truth) he begged of the Prince that he might have you with him at the taking of Maestricht, and that the next man that entered after his good Grace, was you self; and though you say it and should not say it, you were he that countermined all their Mines; and that for ought you know, had you not been there, the business had never been effected. And if you perceive that the untravelled Company take this down well, ply them with more such Stuff; as how you, as simple a Fellow as you seem to be, have Interpreted between the French King and the Emperor; and that will be an excellent way to publish your Language's, if you have them; if not, ●et some fragments of French, or ●hall parcels of Italian to fling a●out the Table: but beware how ●ou speak any Latin there; your Ordinaries most commonly have no more to do with Latin, than a desperate Town or Garrison hath.  
If you be a Courtier, discourse of the obtaining Suits, of your Mistress' favours: Make inquiry if any Gentleman at the Board have any Suit to get, which he would use the good means of a Great Man's interest with the King; and withal (if you have not so much Grace left in you as to ●lush) that you are (thanks to your Stars) in mighty Credit, though in your own Conscience you know that you dare not (but only upon the Privilege of handsome ) presume to peep within the Court-gates; yea, a●● rather than your tongue should n●● be heard in the room, discourse ho● often this Lady hath sent h●● Coach for you, and how often yo● have sweat in the Tennis-Court with that Great Lord or Duke.  
If you be a Poet, and come into the Ordinary (though it can be no great Glory to be an ordinary Poet) Order yourself thus: Observe no man, though the Poet Laureate should be there himself. Put not off your Hat to that Gentleman to day at Dinner, to whom not two Nights ago you were beholden for a Supper; but after a turn or two in the Room, take occasion (pulling out your Gloves) to have some Epigram or satire fastened in one of them, that may (as it were against your consent) offer itself to the Gentlemen: they will presently desire it; but without mighty Conjuration from them do not read it: Marry, if you chance to get into your hands any witty thing of another man's that is something better, I would counsel you then, if demand be made who composed it; you may say a very Learned Gentleman, and a worthy Friend; and this seeming to lay it on another man, will be counted modesty in you, or a sign that you are not ambitious of praise, or else that you dare not take it upon you for fear of the sharpness it carries with it: besides it will add much to your Fame, to let your Tongue walk faster than your Teeth, though you be never so hungry; and rather than you should sit like a dumb Coxcomb, to repeat by heart either some Verses of your own, or any other man's, stretching even very good Lines upon the rack of Censure, though it be against Law, Honesty or Conscience, it may chance save you the price of your Ordinary. Marry, I would further entreat our Poet to be in League with the Mistress of the Ordinary; because from her, upon condition that he will but Rhyme Knights and Gentlemen to her House, he may easily make up his Mouth at her cost gratis.  
Thus much for particular men: but in general, let all that are in Ordinary-pay, march after the sound of these Directions. Before the meat come smoking to the Board, our Gallant must draw out his Tobacco-Pox, the Ladle for the cold Snuff into the Nostril, the Tongues and Stopper: all which Artillery, may be of Gold or Silver (if he can reach to the price of it) it will be a reasonable useful Pawn at all times, when the Current of his Money falls out to run low.  
When you are set down to Dinner, you must eat as impudently as can be. When your Knight is upon the stewed Mutton, be you presently in the bosom of the Goose; when your Justice of Peace is Inuckle-deep in the Goose, you may without disparagement fall very manfully to your Woodeocks. You may rise in Dinnertime to ask for a Close-stool, protesting to all the Gentlemen, that it costs you an hundred pounds per Annum for Physic, besides the Annual Pension which your wife allows her Doctor. And if you please, you may invite some special Friend of yours from the Table, to hold Discourse with you as you fit in that withdrawing Chamber; from whence being returned again to the Board, you shall sharpen the wits of all the eating Gallants about you, and do them great pleasure, to ask what Pamphlets or Poems a man might think fittest to wipe his Tail with: And in propounding this Question, you may abuse the Works of any man, deprave his Writings that you cannot equal, and purchase to yourself in time the name of a severe Critic.  
After Dinner, every man as his business leads him, some to Dice, some to Plays, some to take up Friends in the Court, some to take up money in the City. And thus as the People is said to be a Beast of many heads (yet all those heads like Hydra's) overgrowing as various in their horns, as wondrous in their budding and branching; so in an Ordinary you shall find the variety of a whole Kingdom in a few Apes of the Nation  
You must not swear in your Dicing, for that argues a violent impatience to departed from your money, and in time will betray a man's need; take heed of it. No, if you be at Hazard or Put, you shall sit as patiently (though you lose half a years exhibition) as a disarmed Gentleman does when he is in the unmerciful hands of Sergeants. Yet I will allow you to swear privately, and tear six or seven score pair of Cards, be the damnation of some dozen bail of vice, and forswear Play a thousand times in an hour, but not swear.  
At your Twelve Penny Ordinary you may give any young Knight (if he be but one degree towards the Equinoctial of the saltcellar) leave to pay for the wine; ●nd he shall not refuse it, though it ●e but a week before the receiving of his Quarter's Rent, which is a time albeit of good hope, yet of present necessity.  
There is another Ordinary, to which your London-Vsurer, your stolen Bachelor, and your thrifty Attorney do resort; the price three pence: the Rooms as full as a Goal, and indeed divided into several Wards, like the beds of an Hospital. The Compliment between these is not much, the● words few; for the Belly hath 〈◊〉 Ears: every man's eye here is upon the other man's Trencher, to not● whether his fellow lurch him o● no. If they chance to Discourse 'tis of nothing but of Statutes Bonds, Recognizances, Fines, Recoveries, Rents, Subsidies, Enclosures, Indictments, Outlaries Feoffments, Judgements, Commissions, Bankrupts, Amercements and such like horrible matter. can find nothing in this Ordinary worthy the sitting down for; therefore the Cloth shall be taken away; and those that are thought good enough to be Guests here, shall be too base to be waiters at our Grand Ordinary, at which your Gallant tastes these Commodities; he shall far well, enjoy good Company, receive all the News  the Post can deliver his Packet, Proclaim his good , know this man to drink well, that to ●●ed stoutly; he shall, if he be minded to Travel, put out money upon his Return, and have hands enough to receive it upon any terms of repayment: and no Question, if he be poor, he shall now and then light upon some Gull or other, whom he may bubble (after the Gentile Fashion) of money. By this time the parings of Fruit and Cheese are in the Voider, Cards and Dice lie stinking in the fire; some are gone to one Theatre, some to the other. Let us take a pair of Oars for Dorset-stairs, and so in to the Theatre after them as fast as we can.   

CHAP. V.  
Instructions for a young Gallant how to behave himself in the Playhouse.  
THe Theatre is your Poets Royal Exchange, upon which their Muses (that are now turned to Merchants) meeting, barter away that light Commodity of words, for a fighter ware than words, Plandities, and the breath of the great Beast, which (like the threaten of two Cowards) vanish into Air.  
The Playhouse is free for entertainment, allowing Room as well to the Farmer's Son as to a Templar; yet it is not fit that he whom the most Tailor's bills make room for when he comes should be basely like a Viol, cased up in a corner: Therefore, I say, let our Gallant (having paid his half Crown, and given the Doorkeeper his Ticket) presently advance himself into the middle of the Pit, where having made his Honour to the rest of the Company, but especially to the Vizard-Masks, let him pull out his Comb, and manage his flaxen Wig with all the Grace he can. Having so done, the next step is to give a hum to the China-Orange-wench, and give her her own rate for her Oranges (for 'tis below a Gentleman to stand haggling like a Citizen's wife) and then to present the fairest to the next Vizard-mask. And that I may encourage our Gallant not like the Tradesman to save a shilling, and so sit but in the Middle-Gallery, let him but consider what large comings-in are pursed up sitting in the Pit.  
1. First, A conspicuous Eminence is gotten, by which means the best and most essential parts of a Gentleman, as his fine  and Peruke, are perfectly revealed.  
2. By sitting in the Pit, if you be a Knight, you may happily get you a Mistress; which if you would, I advise you never to be absent when Epsome Wells is played: for, We see the Wells have 
Empress of Moracco in the Protegue.  stolen the Vizard-masks away.  
But if you be but a mere Fleetstreet Gentleman, a Wife: but assure yourself, by your continual residence there, you are the first and principal man in election to begin the number of We three.  
It shall Crown you with rich Commendation, to laugh aloud in the midst of the most serious and sudden Scene of the terriblest Tragedy, and to let the Clapper (your Tongue) be tossed so high, that all the House may ring of it: for by talking and laughing, you heap Pelion upon Ossa, Glory upon Glory: as first, all the eyes in the Galleries will leave walking after th● Players, and only follow you: th● most Pedantic Person in the House snatches up your name; an● when he meets you in the Streets, he'll say, He is such a Gallant; and the people admire you.  
Secondly, You publish your temperance to the world, in that you seem not to resort thither to taste vain Pleasures with an hungry Appetite; but only as a Gentleman to spend a foolish hour or two, because you can do nothing else.  
Now Sir, if the Poet be a fellow that hath Lampooned or libelled you, or hath had a flirt at your Mistress, you shall disgrace him worse than tossing him in a Blanket, or giving him the Bastinado in a Tavern, if in the middle of the Play you arise with a skrew'd and discontented face (as if you ●ad the griping in the Guts) and ●e gone; and further to vex ●im, mew at passionate Speeches, ●lare at merry, find fault with the Music, whistle at the Songs, and above all, curse the Sharers, that whereas the very same day you had bestowed five pounds for an embroidered Belt, you encounter with the very same on the Stage, when the Beltmaker swore the impression was new but that morning.  
To conclude, hoard up the finest Play-scraps you can get, upon which your lean Wit may most savourly feed for want of other stuff; for this is only Furniture for a Courtier that is but a new Beginner, and is but in his A B C of Compliment. The next places that are filled after the Playhouses be emptied, are Taverns. Into a Tavern let us then march, where the Brains of one Hogshead must be beaten out to make up another.   

CHAP. VI  
Instructions how a young Gallant should behave himself in a Tavern.  
WHosoever desires to be accounted a wellwisher to the Public, whether he be a Country-Gentleman that brings his wife up to learn the Fashions, see the Tombs at Westminster, the Lions in the Tower, or take Physic; or else is some young Farmer, who many times makes his wife (in the Country) believe he hath Suits in Law, because he will come up to his Lechery; be he of what stamp he will that hath money in his Purse, and a good Conscience to spend it, my counsel is, that he take his continual Diet at a Tavern, which is the only Rendezvouz of boon Company, and the Drawers the most nimble, the most bold, and most sudden Proclaimers of your largest Bounty.  
Having put yourself into an Equipage, your office is to inquire out those Taverns which are best customed, whose Masters are oftenest drunk; and such as stand farthest from the Counters; where landing yourself and your followers, your first Compliment shall be, to grow most inwardly acquainted with the Drawers, to learn their names, as Jack and Will, and Tom; to dive into their Inclinations, as, whether this fellow useth the Fencing-School, this the Dancing-School; whether that young Conjurer (in Hogsheads) at Midnight keeps a Gelding now and then to visit his Cockatrice; or whether he loves Dogs, or be adacted to any other eminent and Gentlemanlike quality; and pro●est yourself to be extremely in ●ove, and that you spend much ●ony in a year upon any of those exercises, which you perceive is ●●llowed by them. The use which ●ou should make of this familiarity, is this; if you want money five 〈◊〉 six days together, you may still ●ay the Reckoning with this most Gentlemanlike Language, Boy ●●ch me money from the Bar. Be●●des, you shall be sure (if there be ●ne Faucet that can betray neat ●une to the Bar) to have that arraigned before you sooner than better and a worthier Person.  
For your Drink, let not your Physician confine you to any one particular Liquor: for as it is very equisite that a Gentleman should ●ot always be plodding in one Art, but rather be a general Scholar (that is, to have a lick at all sorts of Learning, and away) so 'tis not fitting a man should trouble his head with sucking at one Grape.  
Your Discourse at the Table must be such, as that which you utter at an Ordinary; your Behaviour the same, but somewhat more carelessly: for where your Expense is great, let your modesty beless; and though you should he mad in a Tavern, the largeness of the Items will bear with your incivility; you may without prick to your Conscience set the want of your Wit against the superfluity of their Reckon. Again, inquire what Gallants sup in the next Room; and if there be any of your Acquaintance, do not you (after the City-fashion) send them in a Bottle of Wine, and your name sweetened in two pitiful papers of Sugar, with some simple Apology crammed in the mouth of a Drawer: No, no, that's below a Gentleman; nor when the terrible Reckoning (like an Indictment) bids you hold up your hand, and that you must answer it at the Bar, you must not abate one penny in any particular, but only cast your eye upon the Totalis, and no further: for to traverse the Bill, would letray you to be acquainted with the rates of the Market; nay more, it would make the Vintner believe you were Familias, and kept a House, which I will assure you is ●ot now in fashion.  
At your departure forth of the House, to kiss mine Hostess over the Bar, or to accept of the courtesy of the Cellar, or to bid any of the Vintner's good night, is as commendable as for a Barber after ming to lave your face with Rosewatet, etc.   

CHAP. VII.  
Instructions for a young Gallant how to behave himself passing through the City at all hours of the night, and how to pass by any Watch.  
AFter the sound of Bottles is out of your Ears, and that the spirit of Wine and Tobacco walks in your Brain, the Tavern-door being shut upon your back, pass through the wide and high streets in the City; and if your means cannot reach to the keeping of a Boy, hire one of the Drawers to be as a Lantern unto your feet, and to light you home; and still as you approach near any Nightwalker, that is up as late as yourself, curse and swear (like one that speaks High-Dutch) in a lofty voice, because your man hath used you so like a Rascal in not waiting upon you; and vow the next morning to pull his blue Livery over his ears; though if your Chamber were well searched, you give only 6 d. a week to some old woman to make your Bed, and that she is all the Servant that you give wages to. If you smell a Watch (and that you may easily do, for commonly they eat Onions to keep themselves in sleeping, which they account a Medicine against the cold) and you come within danger of their brown Bills, let him that is your Candlestick, let Ignis fatuus, I say, being within reach of the Constables-staff, ask aloud, Sir Giles, or Sir Abram, will you turn this way, or down that Street? And if the Centinel and his Court of Guard stand strictly upon his Martial Law, and cry Stand, commanding you to give the Word, and to show reason why your Ghost walks so late; do it in some jest: or if you read a Mittimus in the Constable's Book, sergeant yourself to be a Frenchman, a Dutchman, or any other Nation whose Country is at peace with your own; and you may pass: for being not able to understand you, they cannot by the Custom of the City take your examination, and so by consequence they have nothing to say to you.  
All the way as you pass (especially being approached near some of the Gates) talk of none but Lords or such Ladies with whom you have played at Cribbage and Post and Pair, the very same day: and being arrived at your Lodging-door, which I would counsel you to choose in some rich Citizen's house, salute no man at parting but by the name of Sir (as though you had supped with Knights) although you had none in your company but Footboys.  
Happily it will be blown abroad that you and your shoal of Gallants swum through such an Ocean of Wine, that you danced so much money out at heels, and that in wildfowl there flew away so much; and have your Bill of your Reckoning lost on purpose, so that it may be published, will make you to be held in dear estimation: only the danger is, if that your revelling gets your Creditors by the ears, for then look to have a peal of Ordnance thundering at your Chamber-door the next morning: but if either your Tailor, Mercer, Haberdasher, Silkman, Linen-draper, or Sempster, stand like a Guard of Swissers about your Lodging, waiting your uprising; or if they miss of that, your downlying in one of the Counters, you have no means to avoid the galling of their small shot, but by sending out a Light-Horse-man, to call your Apothecary to your aid, who encountering this desperate band of your Creditors, only with two or three Glasses in his hands, as though that day you purged, is able to drive them all to their holes like so many Foxes: for the name of taking Physic is a sufficient Quietus est to any endangered Gentleman.  
I could now breathe you in a Fencing-School, and out of that Cudgel you into a Dancing-School; and to close up this Feast, I could make Cockneys whose Fathers have left them well, acknowledge themselves infinitely beholding to me, to teaching them by familiar demonstration how to spend their Patrimony, and to get themselves names when their Fathers are dead: But lest too many Dishes should cast you into a surfeit, I will now take away; yet so, that if I perceive you to relish this well, the rest shall be in time prepared for you. Farewell.   

THE CHARACTER OF A Proud, Huffing, Selfconceited, Foppish and Lascivious YOUNG GALLANT.  
TO take him ab origine, he was born and shaped for his ; and had Adam not fallen, he had lived to no purpose: he gratulates therefore the first sin, and fig-leaves that were an occasion of bravery. His first care is his Dress, the next his Body; and in the uniting these two, lies his Soul and its Faculties. If he be qualified in Gaming notably and extraordinarily, he is so much the more gentile and complete, and he learns the best Oaths for the same purpose; these are some part of his Discourse, and he is as curious in their newness, as the Fashion. He knows no man, that is not generally known: his Wit, like the Marigold, openeth with the Sun; and therefore he arises not afore ten of the Clock. He put more confidence in his words than meaning, and more in his pronunciation than his words. Occasion is his Cupid, and he hath but one receipt of making love. He follows nothing but Inconstancy, admires nothing but Beauty, and honours nothing but Fortune. He is a great News-monger; and his censure, like a shot, depends upon the Charging. You shall never see him serious, but with his Tailor, when he is in conspiracy for the ●ext devise. He is furnished with ●is Jests as some wanderer with sermons, some three for all Con●regations; one especially against ●he Scholar, a man to him much ridiculous, whom he knows by no other definition, than silly fellow ●● black. He is a kind of a walking Mercers-shop, and shows you ●●e stuff to day, and another to ●orrow; an Ornament to the ●ooms he comes in, as the fair bed ●●d hang be, and is merely ratable accordingly, fifty or one ●undred pounds, as his Suit is. He is ignorant of nothing, no not ●f those things where ignorance is ●he lesser shame. He gets the ●ames of good Wits, and utters them for his Companions. He confesseth Vices that he is guilty of, if they be in fashion; and dares not salute a man in old , or out of fashion. There is not a public Assembly without him, and h●● will take any pains for an acquaintance there. He alloweth of no Judge but the eye. He is some what like the Salamander, and lives in the flame of love; which pains he expresseth; and nothing grieves him so much, as the want of a Poet to make an issue in his love: yet he sighs sweetly, and speaks lamentably; for his breath is perfumed, and his words a●● wind. He laughs at every people whose Peruke sits not well, or tha● hath not a pair of Pantaloons. His very essence he placeth in his outside; and his chiefest prayers and wishes are, that his revenues may hold out so as to be able to keep his Miss, and keep himself in a good Equipage. You shall never see him melancholy, but when he wants a new Suit, or fears a Sergeant. Again, he is Mountains inky, that climbing a Tree, and epping from bough to bough, ●ves you back his face; but com●g once to the top, he holds his ●ose up into the wind, and shows ●ou his Tayl. All his gay-glitter ●ews on him as if the Sun shone in puddle: for he is a small Wine at will not last; and when he is ●lling, he goes of himself faster ●an misery can drive him. You ●ay observe, if you do but ob●rve him well, that his whole life ●● but a counterfeit Patent, which evertheless makes many a Coun●●y-Justice of Peace tremble. He theats young Gulls that are newly come to Town; and when the ●eeper of the Ordinary blames him for it, he answers him in his own Profession, That the Woodcock must be plucked ere he be dressed. He accounts bashfulness the wickedest thing in the world, and therefore studies Impudence: if all men were of his mind, all honesty would be out of fashion. He much frequents the two Theatres: picks up a Miss, and pinches her fingers, and cries, Dam, Madam, if you were but sensible of the passion that I have for you, and the mortal wounds that your beauty hath given me, you would— and it may be he never saw her afore in his life: and if he cannot prevail with he● for— and he finds her honest, than he cries, Damye for a precise whore, What make you in the Pit here? the Twelve-penny Gallery and Footboys are good enough for you: and so leaves attacking her. And if he lights of no other game, when the Play is done, if you mark his rising, 'tis with a kind of walking Epilogue; mounts the Stage from the Pit, and walks to and fro the Stage, and ●mongst the Scenes, to see if his ●uite may pass for currant. Scho●●r he pretends himself, and says he has sweat for it; but the truth is, he knows Cornelius' better far than Tacitus: his ordinary and most usual Sports (though not all) are Cock-fights, but most frequent Horse-races; from whence he comes home dry-foundered; and when his Purse hath cast her Calf, ●e goes down into the Country ●or a recruit; and if he cannot ●ave as much as he demands, presently huffs the goodnatured man his Father, or the provident woman his Mother: but at last, having wheadled somebody of a sum of money, up again he comes for London, the Playhouse, the Ordinary, and the Tavern, where it is nothing with him, if any of the Drawers give him but a cross word, nay, if they do not accent their Syllables aright when they speak to him, he presently makes them measure their lenghts on the ground, and cracks their crowns with a Quart-Bottle, a Candlestick, or any thing that comes next his hands; and if they do but offer to vindicate themselves, Damye, are you not satisfied? away he goes, and it may be upon pretence of the Drawers abusing him, builds a Sconce on the House. The next house he comes into, if it be to Dinner or any Treat, he is so proud, that if he be not placed in the highest Seat, he eats nothing, he professeth to keep his Stomach for the Pheasant or the Quail; and when they come in, he can eat nothing he hath been so cloyed with them that year, although they be the first he saw: he rises up in a huff from Table, and it may be tick his reckoning, that he may keep half a Crown in his Pocket to sit ●n the Pit in the Playhouse. He ●ow and then, it may be, will go ●o hear a Sermon, only to show his gay  and his flaxen Wig. In the speculation of his good parts, his eyes, like a Drunkard's, ●ee all double; and his fancy, like ●n old man's Spectacles, make a ●reat letter in a small print. He magines every place where he ●omes his Theatre, and not a look stirring but his Spectator; and conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that is, only busy about him. His walk is still in the fashion of a March, and like his Opinion, unaccompanied with his eyes; most fixed upon his own person, or on others with reflection to himself. If he hath done any thing that hath passed with applause, he is always reacting it alone, and conceits the ecstasy his Hearers were in at every period. Another part of his Discourse is Positions, and definitive Decrees, with thus it must be, and thus it is; and he will not humble himself to prove it. Methinks Virgi● well expresses him in those well-behaved Ghosts that Aeneas met with, that were friends to tal● with, and men to look on; but if he grasped them, but air: so he ●● one that lies kindly to you, an● for good fashion-sake; and 'tis discourtesy in you to believe him 〈◊〉 his words are but so many fine and delicate Phrases set together which serve equally for all men and are equally to no purpose: each fresh encounter with a man, puts him to the same pa●● again; and he goes over to you, what he said to him was last wi●● him: he kisses your hand as h● kissed his before, & is your humble ●●rvant to be commanded; but ●ou shall entreat of him nothing; ●●s proffers are universal and general, with exceptions as against all particulars: he will do any thing ●or you; but if you urge him to his, he cannot; or to that, he is ●●gaged; but he will do any ●●ing (observe how complimental ●●d obliging he is.) Promises he accounts but a kind of unmanner●● words, and in the expectation ●● your Manners not to exact ●●em; if you do, he wonders at our ill-breeding, that you cannot ●●stinguish betwixt what is spoken ●●d what is meant. No man gives ●●tter satisfaction at the first, and ●●mes off more with the Elegy of fine Gentleman, until you know ●●m better, and then you know ●●m for nothing. Again, he is one ●●at loves to gratify the old man; ●nd thus he boasts himself the Servant of many Mistresses, but a●● are but his Lust, to which only ●● is faithful, and none besides, and spends his best Blood and Spirit● in the Service. His Soul is the bound to his Body; and those that assist him in this nature, the nearest to it. No man abuses more the name of Love, or those whom he applies this name to: for his Love is like his Stomach, to feed on what he loves, and in the end to surfeit and loath, till a fresh Appetite rekindle him; and it kindles o● any one sooner, than who deserv● best of him. No man laughs ●● his sin more than he, or is so extremely tickled with the remembrance of it; and he is more violent to a modest ear, than to her ●● deflowered. A bawdy Jest enter deep into him, and whatsoever you speak, he will draw to Bawdry; and his Wit is seldom or e●er so quick as here. There is ●othing more hard to his Perswa●ion, than a chaste man, no Eunuch; and makes a scoffing and inheard-of Wonder and Miracle, if you tell him but of a pure Virgin or a Maid. He hath many fine quips at the folly of plaindealing; but his lash is greatest, and most of all, at Religion; yet he uses this too, ●nd virtue and good words, but ●s less dangerously a Devil than a Saint. He ascribes all honesty to an unpractis'dness in the humours and conversations of his Fellowtown-Gallants; and Conscience he adjudges and deems a thing fit only for Children. He scorns all that are so silly to trust him; and only not scorns his Enemy, especially if as bad as himself, he fears him as a man well armed and provided; and sets boldly on good natures; as the most facile and easy to be vanquished. To conclude, he is generally and universally o● so bad a nature and disposition, that no civilised person will either keep Company, or hold Correspondence with him; & he dislikes them as bad, if not worse, than they him, and delights in no Company but such as are like himself; which is evident by that common Proverb, Birds of a Feather flock together: for his and his Companions design is nothing but to cheat the world with a fair outshew, build Sconces in public Houses, cheat young innocent Gentlemen of their Estates, and be revenged upon those inanimalia commonly called Glass-windows, as they pass the streets all hours of the night, and so to their Lodgings, or some Bawdy-house, where they get claps, die, and are buried no body knows how, or cares where.   

THE CHARACTER OF A True, Noble, Liberal, AND STAYED GENTLEMAN.  
THere is as great a distance between him and our huffing and selfconceited Gallant, as there is between us and the Antipodes. The former's delights and pleasures consist in fine , gentile Oaths, as he calls them; and except you are as well versed in those as himself, he will neither keep Company, or have any thing to do with you; unless he finds you of no great reach or understanding, and thereby he is raised in his expectation to bubble you out of a sum of money, of a Watch, or a Diamond-Ring; then he will be most complaisant with you. And there is no man puts his brain to more use than he; for his whole life is a daily Invention, and each meal a new Stratagem. But now our true and noble-spirited Gentleman is one that hath taken order with himself, and sets a rule to all his pleasures and delights; not too precise or too lavish, but keeps a just medium and decorum in every thing. He will keep company with none but ingenious persons, and hates a Fop, and avoids him as much, as a Mariner doth Scylla or Charybdis; and hath as great kindness for him as a Puritan hath for a Bishop or Surplice. His whole life is as it were distinct in Method, and his Actions cast up before; not loosed into the World's vanities, but gathered and contracted up in his station; not scattered into many pieces of businesses, but that one course he takes goes through with: one that is firm and standing in his designs and purposes, not heaved off with each wind and passion; that squares▪ his Expense to his Coffers, and makes the total first, and then the Items; one that thinks what he does, and does what he saith, & foresees what he may do before he purposes: one whose [If I can] is more than another's assurance, and his doubtful Tale before some men's Protestations; that is confident of nothing in futurity, yet his Conjectures oft true Prophecies; that makes a pause still betwixt his ear and belief, and is not at all forward or hasty to say after others: one whose Tongue is strung up like a Clock till the time, and then strikes, and says much when he talks little; that can see the truth betwixt two wranglers, and sees them agree in that they fall out upon; that speaks no Rebellion in a bravery, or talks big from the spirit of Sack: a man temperate and cool in his passions, not easily betrayed by his Choler; that vies not Oath with Oath, nor heat with heat, but replies calmly to an angry man, and is too hard for him too. duelist he is none, nor like our Huff, that is commonly most insulting and courageous if he hath a Coward to deal with; labouring to take off this suspicion from himself: For the Opinion of Valour is a good Protection to those that dare not use it. No man is valianter than our Huff in civil Company, and where he thinks no danger may come of it; and he is the most ready to fall upon a Drawer or Tapster, and those that must not strike again. Wonderful exceptious and choleric when he sees men are unwilling and loath to give him occasion; and you cannot pacify him better, than by quarrelling with him; the hotter you grow, the more temperate man he is; he protests he always honoured you; and the more you rail upon him, the more he honours you; and you threaten him at last into a very quiet and modest man. The sight of a Sword wounds him more sensibly than the stroke; for before that come, he is dead already. Every man is his Master that dare beat him. For his friend he cares not for, as a man that carries no such terror as his Enemy, which for this cause is the more potent with him of the two; and men fall out with him on purpose to get courtesies from him, and be bribed again to a reconcilement. A man in whom no secret can be bound up: for the apprehension of each danger frightens him, and makes him bewray the Room and it. He is a Christian merely for fear of Hell-fire; and if any Religion could fright him more, he would be of that. Now it is quite contrary between this our Huff and our discreet and Noble-spirited Gentleman: for he on the other side, though he sometimes seems to be haughty and proud, yet in reality he is not: you may forgive him his looks for his worth's sake; for they are too proud to be base: one whom no rate can buy off from the least piece of his freedom, and make him digest an unworthy thought an hour. He cannot crouch to a Great man to possess him, nor fall to the earth to rebound never so high again; he stands taller on his own bottom, than others on the advantage-ground of Fortune, as having solidly that Honour of which Title is but the pomp; he does homage to no man for his great Style sake, but is strictly just in the exaction of respect again; and will not bate you a Compliment, though he doth not value them: he is more sensible of a neglect than an undoing, and scorns no man so much as his surly threatener: a man though he hath been abused, and taken an affront, yet is quickly laid down with satisfaction, and remits an injury upon the acknowledgement and confession of it; one that stands not upon trifling punctilios of honour, as taking the wall, the right hand; but laughs at the ridiculousness of such persons that do stand upon it. Only to himself he is irreconcilable, whom he never forgives a disgrace, but is still stabbing himself with the thought of it; and no disease that he dies of sooner. He is one that strives more to be quit with his Friend than his Enemy. Fortune may kill him, but not deject him; not make him fall into an humbler key than before, but he is now loftier than ever in his own defence; you shall hear him talk still after thousands, and he becomes it better than those that have it: he is one that is above the world and its drudgery; one that will do nothing upon Command, though he would do it otherwise; and if ever he do evil, 'tis when he is dared to it: one who is not deep in Drapers, Mercers, or Silkmens' Books, but pay, when he hath his Commodities delivered: one whom ●o ill hunting sends home discontented, and makes him swear ●t his Dogs and Family: one who keeps his Servants long, and altars not his Lodgings every week; not hasty to pursue every new Fashion, nor yet over-precise, but gravely handsome, and to his place, which suits him better than his Tailor; active in the world without disquiet, and careful without misery; yet neither engulfed in his pleasures, nor a seeker of business, but hath his hour for both. His pleasures and pastimes are sometimes Reading History, sometimes Hunting, Hawking, Fowling and Fishing, & sometimes to see a Play; but not to appoint Assignations, or seek for Adventures; nor is his humour much allied to the Romance; that he can neither act without the distressed Lady; nor is it to meet his Friends there, nor to join himself in a Squadron for some notable and gallant exploit, as the other Gallant (Huff) doth, who after the Play is done, is next for a House of Pleasure, and then the French House, where having repeated their former Gallantry, and heightened their courage with Eloquence and Wine, they are fit for any thing except Civility. In these brave humours hath many a Watchman been forced to measure his length upon the ground, the poor Constable been put beside the gravity of his Interrogatories;— many a timorous female hath been forced to fill the Air with shrieks and bewailings, whilst during this close engagement the thundering Cannon of their Oaths have with horror filled the Neighbourhood. But the truebred Gentleman sits the Play out patiently, without flinging his eyes abroad to ken the Vizard-Masks, and so board them; where if he observes any thing that is good or ingenious, he turns it into practice; and after the Play is done, home he goes to his Lodging, and can there laugh at the Fopperies of some Persons that were presented: he can pick good out of the worst evil; and you shall never know him live above his Estate, which too too many now adays do, who are of Horace' ● Opinion, Fugere cras quaerere. He is a man that seldom laughs violently, but his mirth is a cheerful look: he affects nothing so wholly, that he must be a miserable man when he loses it: one that loves his Credit, not this word Reputation; yet can save both without a Duel; whose Entertainments to those of a higher rank are respectful, not only flash and mere Compliment. A man he is well poized in all humours, in whom Nature shown most Geometry. At your first acquaintance with him, he is exceeding kind, obliging, and friendly, and at your twentieth meeting after friendly still: he relieves the poor at his door, and the sick with his estate: he can listen to a foolish discourse with an applausive attention, and conceals his laughter at Nonsense. Silly men much honour and esteem him, because by his fair reasoning with them, as men of understanding, he puts them into an erroneous Opinion of themselves, and makes them forwarder hereafter to their own discovery. He is the Steersman of his own Destiny, Truth is the Goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like her: he knows the condition of the world, that he must act one thing like another, and then another; to these he carries his desires and not his desires him; and sticks not fast by the way (for that Contentment is Repentance) but knowing the Circle of all Courses, of all intents, of all things, to have but one Centre or Period, without all distraction. Unto the Society of men he is a Sun, whose clearness directs their steps in a regular Motion; when he is more particular, he is the poor, needy, and wise man's Friend, the Example of the indifferent, the Medicine of the vicious: his Bounty is limited by Reason, not Ostentation; and to make it last, he deals it discreetly, as we sow the furrow, not by the sack, but by the handful: his word and his meaning are quadrate, and never shake hands and part, but always go together: he can survey good, and love it; and loves to do it himself, for its own sake, not for thanks: Nobility lightens in his eyes, and in his face and gesture is painted the God of Hospitality: his heart never grows old, no more than his Memory: he passeth his time so well, that a man cannot say that any of it is lost by him: nor hath he only years to approve he hath lived till he be old, but Virtues.  
And thus I have given you the Character of the Fop, and a true well-bread Gentleman; the Life and Conversation of the former, being by all persons that have any Reason left to be shunned; the Actions, and Life of the later to be embraced and cherished.   
FINIS.