BY Anonymus In Praise of the ensuing Design.  

IF you'd know what thing is Wit,  
Open the Book, and read in it,  
〈◊〉 every Line you'll find it writ.   

●Tis all but one substantial Jest,  
●ach part agrees so with the rest,  
●hat none can say this Line's the best.   

●hus in Man the Parts agree,  
〈◊〉 such a different Unity  
〈◊〉 make up one en●●●e Diversity.    

A Voyage Round the World: OR, A Pocket-Library▪  
Divided into several Volumes.  
The First of which contains the Rare Adventures OF DON KAINOPHILUS, From his Cradle to his 15 th'. Year.  
The like DISCOVERIES in such a Method never made by any Rambler before.  
The whole WORK intermixed with ESSAYS, HISTORICAL, MORAL and DIVINE; and all other kinds of Learning.  
Done into English by a Lover of Travels.  
Recommended by the WITS of both Universities.  
— All may have  
(If they dare try) a glorious Life or Grave. Herb. Ch. Por.  
LONDON, Printed for Richard Newcome. Price Bound 1 s. 6 d.   

A Poetical Explanation OF THE FRONTISPIECE.  

AFter his first Rambles, which I need not to tell ye,  
And his kicking and sprawling in his own Mother's Belly.   

1.  
First mark how the Bantling to all outward appearing  
When he first came to Life was as dead as a Herring,  
Then he's born in a Coach, (for a Cart was not handy)  
Where an old Woman fetched him again wi'good Brandy   

2.  
Here with Cockhorse and Boots his Nurse is forthcoming,  
Of his future Achievements the prosperous Omen;  
The prophetical Shipton presenting the Baby  
With a Staff that's his own, and a Sword too it may be.   

3.  
From the fine Town of Grafham, the best in the Shire on't,  
Thrice famous and glorious if you ever did hear on't;  
Here he Rambles to London, where his Father's intent is  
(He might ask his Sons leave tho') to chain him a Apprentice.   

4.  
Here he flies for the same, (what would come on't I told him)  
Nor the Man nor the Master together could 〈◊〉 him:  
Here observe the wise Child in his Iuvent●e Rambles,  
Addressing himself for Bread and Cheese to the Brambles.   

5.  
Here finding the Commons were unkind to a Stranger,  
He like Whittington turned, and took wit in his Anger;  
Where he vamps about Town for Caesar, and Strada,  
The Hornbook, Morocco, john Bunnyan Granada.,   

6.  
But now for the Ramble of Rambles contriving,  
For he's out of his Time, and he Rambles a Wiveing:  
Nine Lasses run squeaking, though there nothing to fear is,  
Let 'em go where they will now he had caught his dear Iris   

7.  
Here he's for New-England departing, half-dying,  
From his t'other self Iris, all sobbing and crying,  
He taketh his fair leave, nor did sneakingly dodge her,  
With a dear Wellbeloved Surnamed Mr. Roger.   

8.  
Behold here at Deal how boisterous the Sea is,  
But he comforts the Rower with Caesarem vehis.  
Hold up thy Head john! though with danger surrounded!  
Who e'er heard of a King or a Bookseller drounded?   

9  
Here he kecks for't, but O! how the Seamen did it tickle,  
While he all overflows the Cabin and Biticle:  
Whilst Tritons and Dolphins swum dancingly by 'em,  
Who by his sweet quavering mistake him for Arion.   

10.  
Next behold the poor Ship how 'tis tossed in a Blanket,  
Tho' afraid more than hurt, good Fortune be thanked!  
Where the Author assures ye, if his Notes don't deceive him,  
The Seamen were at Prayers, have ●e Faith to believe him   

11.  
Here the t'other Ship's lost, and a fatal Embargo,  
Is laid by ●ing Neptun on the Bookseller's Cargo.  
Here he's 〈◊〉 out of's Wits by a Vessel of Sally. O!  
What had poor Iris done, had he gone to th' Serallio?   

12.  
Lo! here in his Dream he lies sleeping and snoreing,  
Like his Namesake the Tinker, that rambled before him,  
Surrounding the World in spite of the Journal,  
As the Sun has two Motions, th' annual and diurnal.   

13.  
From the Deck now he's vanished, whom but just now you saw there,  
There he stands on the Globe, the self same Mr. Author.  
Tother whispers him Tales you may know for the buying,  
But where there's such whispering, for ever ' ware Lying!   

14.  
When long the wide Ocean he had been tumbled and tossed on,  
Here he comes to the peaceable Haven of Boston;  
Where his Lice run away, and what more you'd admire, is  
He got clean without help of his housewifely Iris.   

15.  
Here he Rambles to the Wigwams a horseback, d'ye mind him,  
So goodly with the Flower of Boston behind him;  
But his Honesty guards him from amorous Treason,  
And if Iris be jealous, I'm sure she has no Reason.   

16.  
His Compliments here with a King are exceeding,  
You must know that both of 'em stood much on their breeding.  
Here he kissed the fair Queen with a sober affection,  
Each of 'em admiring each others Complexion.   

17.  
Here the best of the Parish are treating the Author  
With so glorious a Dinner, 'twould make your mouth water;  
Where he handles his Arms as well as the sternest,  
And made 'em to know that his Guts were in earnest.   

18.  
Here all his American Rambles completing,  
Upon Governours-Island a whole Hog he is eating;  
And a lusty Hog 'twas, though perhaps 'twould not show so  
To the 13 Hands high of our learned Virtuouso 
* In the History of Oxford-shire, by Dr. Plot. .   

19  
Here he walks on the Ice with the Gang to the Seaside,  
By his side joggs the Boatswain, and the Whistle by his side  
Nor think this dull Ramble does the Frontispiece cumber,  
For it needs must come in too, to make up the number.   

20.  
Merry Boston adieu! part you must, though 'tis pity,  
But he's made for mankind, and all the World is his City!  
See how on the Shore they hoop and they hollow,  
Not for joy that he's gone, but for Grief they can't follow.   

21.  
For Rotterdam Hoa! if with Wind and with Wether  
It beened washed away before he get thither:  
Here he Rambles with Firkins, and Doublets, and Trousers  
And Kettles and Pots to the tops of the Houses.   

22.  
Here to Cullen he comes, as at Cullen the Trade is,  
Saluring the Kings, and the Princess and 
* St. Ursula and the eleven thousand Virgins.  Ladies;  
But among the three Kings of the fair one he's a follower,  
For like will to like— quoth the Devil to the Collier.   

23.  
Here he brings home a Ship full of Kindness and Kisses,  
Penelope take thine own faithful Ulysses;  
And behold him, which the Cream of his hope and desire is,  
Casting Anchor i'th' arms of his beautiful Iris.   

24.  
When the Earth he had viewed, and described to a wonder,  
When he'd Rambled all over't, here at last he creeps under;  
Lie still where thou art john! for the quiet o'th' Nation,  
Nor canst thou speak more without flat Conjuration.    

Panegyric Verses, By the WITS of both Universities.  

A POEM In Praise of Rambling,  By J. H. Master of Arts, Fellow of Exeter-Colledge in Oxford 
ONe Night when sums of charming Bottle  
Had fermentation raised in Noddle;  
When various troops of airy Notions  
Danced in my Brain Morisco-motions;  
judgement that used to guide the rudder,  
Was quite amazed i'th' horrid pother;  
So that the Ship was steered by chance  
As Chaos was by Atom's dance;  
My Soul (as all wise Men aver)  
Was Here and There and every Where;  
A Shuttlecock which you might then see  
Tossed by the Battledore of Fancy,  
— And spinning wildly her ' and there '  
Danced Jigs and Galliards in the Air.  
Thus while my thoughts were on the Ramble,  
I scribbled down this long preamble;  
And sustian fancy easily ambling,  
Did thus descant in Praise of Rambling:  
" Nothing i'th' World is steady found, [Cowley.  
" But an eternal Dance goes round.  
And jarring seeds of Nature be  
Still constant in inconstancy,  
The Sun (as all Men know his course is)  
Rides round the World with Coach and Horses,  
And like a wicked Fornicator,  
leaves his true Bed the warm Aequator,  
And let old jove say what he can Sir,  
Rambles to Capricorn and 〈◊〉.  
The fixed Stars too (tho' Erra Pater)  
Swears they ne'er moved, nor will hereafter,  
Yet ha' been found by Optic Engines  
To've rambled backward a whole Sign since.  
Then for the Planets (heavens save 'em!)  
No mortal Man knows where to have 'em;  
They move by ' Excentric's Epicicles,  
And outchange threescore Madam Fickles.  
Nay more, the rambling roguey Gypsies  
Amaze the World by dire Eclipses,  
'Cause Battles, Famines, Death, Diseases,  
And what e'er Mischief Gadbury pleases:  
But tho' these rove and live at random,  
Ye're Comets still go much beyond 'em.  
A Comet is a rambling Blade  
That scours through Heaven in Masquerade▪  
Sometimes in antic dress he appears,  
And frights the Angels from their Spheres;  
Sometimes stuck round with Links and Torches  
To sublunary Worlds he marches,  
And slyly entering of a sudden,  
Scares silly Boors from eating Pudden;  
Then before Flamstead with his Glasses  
Can tell ye where ' about'ts his place is,  
Whip, Sir, he's gone! to th' Anti-poles,  
Where deeper Heads 
* Some o'th' Roy all Society  think his abode is▪  
Within the bound of Heavens high Wall  
Is kept a constant Carnival,  
And there e'er since the World's Creation  
Rambling has been the Recreation:  
Thus what's the Harmony o'th' Spheres,  
(Which deafesn every Mortals Ears)  
But Music made in Serenading,  
And thrummed Guittors in Masquerading.  
Then as for Thunder, pray what is't else,  
But noise of Rival Angels Pistols?  
When one in dark doth t' other justle,  
And shakes the Welkin in the Bustle?  
So when the Stars (that serve for Torches  
To guide the Gods in rambling Marches)  
Grow dim and twinkle (as you know  
Our earthly Flambeau's often do)  
The cunning Linkboy whirls it round him  
To make the Light be more abounding,  
Or knocks it full against some Planet,  
For want of Post or Porter's Bannet;  
Hence a vast Sphere of fiery drops,  
Fly all about as thick as Hops;  
And some o' these which downward go  
Do pass for Meteor's here below;  
Cheat Rustics ignorant and fearful,  
And make 'em think they see a Star fall:  
Thus far for Heaven, pray, now let's see  
What Rambles in this World there be:  
And first, our Modern Virtuosos,  
Who with new Problems daily pose ye;  
Say, that this very earthly Ball,  
Towns, Cities, Rivers, Men and all,  
Runs round the World with all us in it,  
And rambles sixty Miles a minute.  
The Elements their places change,  
And into Foreign Regions range,  
They ramble so confusedly round,  
They're no where Simple to be found:  
Fire does from highest Concave go,  
And lurks in Flints and Stones below;  
Air enters Earth's vast hollow Caverns,  
And there like Bullies drunk in Taverns,  
Roars, Swaggers, Scours,—  
 
And here the Author was most graciously pleased to Ramble to somewhat else.   

Another POEM In Praise of Rambling.  By R. G. Master of Arts, late of Trinity-college in Cambridge. 

O! That some Rambling Muse would now assist,  
And with her powerful Rage inflame my Breast,  
That my loose Lines, like uncurbed streams might flow  
In Commendation of your Book and You;  
Your Book and You which shall together run  
Like coupled Beagles, or the Light and Sun;  
Your Book that noble part of you which shall  
In Age to come survive your Funeral,  
And be preserved with pleasure and renown  
Whilst there's a Rambling Pedlar in the 〈◊〉  
Gypsies shall cant the Glories of your Pe●,  
And sing your Praises in the Bouzing-Ke●  
Fig for those lazy sedentary Men  
Who never stir beyond their notsome De●,  
Who ne'er drew other Air into their Nose  
Than what the Wind from their own Chimney blows;  
Who by dull Reading think they Knowledge gain,  
And know no more than what their Maps explain,  
Thence they presume in Coffee-house they're able  
To paint the Siege▪ of Buda on a Table,  
There stands the Town, and there the brave Bassaw,  
His Janissaries to the breach does draw;  
Here the Imperial Forces lie, and there  
Valiant Lorraine and Saxony appear:  
Here 'twas the English fought so wondrous well,  
And there the Cities brave Commander fell;  
And so exactly will they state the Case,  
As if they'd seen the Action and the Place.  
When (God knows) all that they of either know  
Is merely what they to the Gazet owe.  
Give me the MAN that without let or stay  
O'er all the World eternally does stray,  
Terra del Fogo or Incognita.  
Who without fear or wit his journey takes,  
Through Fens and Bogs, rough Seas and burning Lakes,  
Mountains and Deserts, frigid, torrid Zones,  
Heaven, Earth, and Hell, like famous Captain Jones;  
Leaving unsearched no corner, nook or crevise,  
Out-acts, out-rambles Quixote, Guy or Bevis;  
And by his own Authority can tell  
Tales far more strange and more incredible,  
And has the Knack, when all his Labour's done,  
To cram 'em in a Book and make 'em known;  
Fearless Assays to show himself in Print,  
For a stupendious bold Itinerant.  
Wherefore did Nature first create Mankind?  
Or for what other task were we designed,  
If not to Ramble up and down to view  
Her mighty Works, and wonder at 'em too?  
Hence 'twas when Adam like a stupid drone  
Thought to inhabit Paradise alone,  
An Angel straight a flaming Whip applied,  
to lash the Lazy Humour from his Hide;  
From his loved Ease the idle Wight he drove,  
And forced him wildly round the World to rove;  
His strapping Bride and he abroad did trudge it,  
Like stroling TINKER with his Dog and Budget;  
And his renowned SON who bravely durst  
Sin on when he had seen his Father Cursed,  
(An everlasting Vagabond was grown)  
And Rambled up and down to make it known;  
Published his Deeds in every place he came,  
As you my FRIEND are doing now the same.  
What were those celebrated Names of old,  
Of which loud Fame has such strange Stories told?  
Nay, what is Madam Fame her very self  
But a mere Gipsy, and a Rambling Elf?  
Caesar and Pompey, Alexander too,  
What were they all but Rambling Sparks like you?  
The first whereof has the same Measures took,  
And of his gallic Rambles made a Book;  
Nay, what was the stern Thunderer on high  
But an Erratic, Rambling Deity?  
Through each Celestial Chamber did he strole,  
And Ransacked every Corner, every Hole,  
Rambling to quench his Flames from place to place,  
And stocked his Heaven with a Bastard-race,  
Rumaged Alcoves, and all their Beds defiled,  
Till all th' immortal Females were with Child.  
What was his SON the great Alcides too,  
But a mere Rambler, like the wand'ring jew?  
About the World the mighty Lubbard stroled,  
In dull compliance to the heavenly Scold,  
Till Rambling in the dark his way he lost,  
And almost knocked his Brains out against a Post:  
Which now to make amends and raise his Fame,  
Posterity has honoured with his Name.  
Nothing in Nature's fixed and steadfast found,  
But all things run an endless Circuit round.  
Heaven and Earth, the Sun, and Moon, and Stars,  
What are they else but Rambling Travellers?  
And that bright Cup which does so gaily shine,  
Did use to Ramble at their Feasts divine;  
Till Jove did it in that high place bestow,  
To light poor drunken Ramblers here below.   

Then On brave 
* This POEM was directed to me in a Letter whilst I was Rambling through Holland in the Year 1686.  John, to end thy great intents,  
Encouraged by such glorious Precedents;  
That Unborn Ages may thy Works applaud,  
And spread thy Praises like thy Books abroad;  
Till all Mankind by thy Example won,  
(Like Staring-kines, when with the Gad-fly stung▪)  
Around the World from Post to Pillar run,  
And by this strange Fantastic Reformation,  
RAMBLING become the only thing in Fashion.     

A RAMBLER. Anagram  (by the Author.) RARE BLAMe. 

THy stubborn Anagram, Friend! scorns to submit  
To all the little Rules of Sense and Wit:  
●pregnable while to itself 'tis true,  
●e must divide before we can subdue.  
nonsense in Gobbets will the Reader choke,  
●hich easily slips down when chawed and broke;  
●or let false Critics thy false spelling Blame,  
●ut know 'tis all for th' sake of thy Rare Anagram.   

Rare is thy Fortune, Rare shall be thy Fame,  
tho' nibbling Envy thee unjustly Blame;  
●et them that Blame thee, mend thee if they dare;  
〈◊〉 not— ingeniously confess— 'tis Rare.   

But if some Faults the rest seem to disgrace,  
●As there's a Mole we know, in Venus ' Face,)  
●l Flesh must own, that even those faults are Rare,  
●or any Flesh alive can Blame 'em there.   

Those of thy Trade who now employ themselves  
●h' honest, noble Art of Dusting Shelves;  
tho' they mock thee 
* Ay Right Mr. Poet: (Let him Laugh that Wins.)  and flout thee, not a Pin for their Blame do thou care,  
●r thou gerst Money by't,— and sure that's wondrous Rare.    

TO My much Esteemed Friend, john Evander, AUTHOR of this BOOK, ENTITLED, A Voyage round the WORLD  

WElcome! dear Friend to me and England too  
Welcome! as ever I have been to you!  

* It is said of Ulysses, Quo● mores hominum multorum vid● & urbes, Horat. de Arte Po●tica.  Ulysses like at last returned again;  
Tho' more than he, thou Manners know'st and Men,  
Although but Two-Years thou, he rambled Ten.  
What's the small Mediterranean he was tossed on,  
To the main Sea? what's Ithaca to Boston?  
There needs 'tis true no Bush for such rare Wine,  
There needs no Band for a good Face, (like thine)  
Yet will I throw my little Venture in,  
My Drop into thy goodly Kilderkin;  
And if my Verse Eternity can give,  
(As sure old Songs make Robin Hood to live)  
〈◊〉 strain my Muse and Conscience ere we part;  
〈◊〉 let thy Rambles have their due desert.  
Ca'ndish and Drake, rub off! avavat! be gone!  
● greater Traveller now's approaching on:  
〈◊〉 for one way at once did well 'tis true,  
〈◊〉 his Inventions far more strange and new,  
〈◊〉 once he forward goes and backwards too!  
whilst his dull Body's for New-England bound,  
●is Soul (in Dreams) tro●s all the World around;  
〈◊〉 Cunning Men and Conjurers use this Trade,  
●ho still as Stocks have Sea and Land surveyed;  
●or think he writes more than he saw, though he  
●se Authors to refresh his Memory;  
〈◊〉 Trav'llers have you know Authority.  
〈◊〉 Fame and thee as who dares doubt, speak true,  
●o mortal Wight could ever him out do;  
●o wand'ring Christian; No, nor wand'ring Jew,  
●esputius, Madoc, Cortes, Captain Smith,  
●ithgow, or whom Achates travelled with,  
whoever round the Earth's vast Circle ran,  
●oryat or Cabot, Hanno or Magellan;  
●y Horse or Foot, or Ship, how e'er they've gone,  
●hether Dutch Ʋander, or Castilian Don,  
●one sure, none over-went thee yet, Friend John!  
And see how on the Black'nd shore attends  
●hy looseing Bark a shoal of weeping Friends:  
Weeping, or what's far worse, the sad surprise,  
And Grief for thy Departure froze their Eyes.  
He that can cry or roar finds some relief,  
But nothing kills like the dry silent grief.   

But who can tell the mutual Sighs and Tears!  
Husbandly, manly Groans, and gentle Wifely Fears,  
'twixt thee and Iris at that fatal Tide  
Which did th● Knot of Heaven itself divide?  
Oh! that I were an Husband (for an hour)  
●or who can else describe Loves mighty power:  
How sweet his Moment's flow! how free from strife,  
When blessed like thee Evander in a Wife.  
But yet if dearer still, Friends still must part,  
They go— but leave behind each others Heart.  
No● all the Love that Rambling could inspire,  
Not all his vigorous warmth and youthful Fire,  
Cou●d thaw Evander's Soul when she was gone,  
How should the Wax but freeze without the Sun?  
So Orpheus when his Lady downward fell,  
When his sweet Spouse was left behind (not well,)  
So screecht and on his Harp he played by turns,  
So Orpheus then, so now Evander mourns.   

Now Neptune's foaming surges rave and boil,  
While thou great Friend forsakest our greater Isle;  
Here may it stand, (just in the selfsame place)  
Here may it stand 'till thou hast run thy race;  
With Blessings you forsakeed, althô it be  
Ungrateful Isle! unkind, untrue to thee.   

A Place there is where vast Sea-monsters keep,  
In the blue Bosom of the dreadful Deep;  
Where watery Waves and boisterous Billows fight,  
Till they (almost) strike fire in a Tempestuous Night;  
Where surly Nereus scowls and Neptune frowns,  
In Sailors English and plain Prose The Downs.  
Here did the Furies and the Fates combine  
To ruin all our Hopes, dear Friend, and thine;  
For hadst thou perished there without strange Grace,  
America had never seen thy Face.  
Now Tempests terrible around thee roll,  
And would have daunted any's but thy Soul.  
The boisterous surges toss thy Bark on high,  
And with another Argo mawl the Sky.  
Eternal Rambler! whither art thou driven?  
Since Earth's not wide enough, thou'lt travel Heaven.  
●f thou below so many Lands explore,  
Sure thou'lt above discover many more,  
Secrets to all but one unknown before:  
Surveyed at first by Mahomet on the back  
Of his good trusty Palfrey— Alborack.  
And when Dear Friend! so near to bliss you be,  
Remember Iris! and Remember me!  
Some hope—  
Their earthly Learning they in Heaven shall share,  
But sure Friendship and Love will ●nter there.  
But ah! thou empty teazing Name! Farewell,  
That charms the Ship, and down it sinks to Hell:  
And wilt thou then thy third last Ramble make,  
To the dark confines of the Stygean Lake?  
Bened Earth and Heaven enough, that thou must go  
To view the Kingdoms of the World below;  
Both of thy Pockets and thyself take care,  
For shoals of Booksellers will scrape acquaint ancel there;  
And who dares think this Ramble thy disgrace,  
Since good Aeneas first surveyed the place;  
But 'twas the Bough of Gold by which he fell,  
Gold which now opens Heaven, as than it opened Hell.  
'Tis true, for 'twas a Poet writ his Life,  
And called him honest too, and said he loved his Wife.   

Come up for shame! sure thou so long dost stay,  
Thou call'st at Purgatory by the way;  
Where for some little Lie in way of Trade,  
There's an Embargo on thy Vessel laid.  
He hears! He hears! the shortest cut he came,  
For see! the Mast peeps up at Amsterdam:  
The Keys with crowds of Jews and Dutchmen swell,  
And all together ask, What News from Hell?  
Ah boorish Land! our Rambler thou hast crossed,  
And by his Absence who knows what thou'st lost.  
Fixed on thy unfixt shores he might have deigned to stand,  
Nor needed Rambling from a Rambling Land.  
He's gone! He's gone! all thy entreaties fail,  
Nor can thy Tears, nor can thy Prayers prevail.   

To Collen next and the three Kings he comes,  
To kiss their Hands, or Arms, or Nails, or Thumbs.  
These Eastern Monarches ever will be brave,  
For see what vast Serallio's here they have!  
Where Vrsula reigns with her miraculous aids,  
The Eleven (would you think it?) thousand Maids.  
But Britain sure was rude and savage then,  
And Maid; (as Stags from Hunters) run from men.  
Through Woods, through Brakes, through Fields they took their way,  
Nor even for good Company would they stay.   

Nor think, Dear Friend, I ramble now from you,  
My Subject Rambles, and I but pursue.  
And here where all the World invoke the aids  
Of the three Rambling Kings and Rambling Maids,  
I doubt Evander with the rest did stray,  
And beg a little help as well as they,  
Beg a small Miracle his Letters to convey:   

For in my Dream I saw methought  
A nimble Virgin spring aloft,  
And with gay expanded Wings,  
Dressed in all her Trav'ling Things,  
Riding-hood of Beaten-gold,  
Muff of Cloud to keep out cold;  
On Cowl-staff of a Falling-star,  
I saw him mount and shine from far;  
Like Robin-red-breast claps her Wings,  
Then coughs, than crows, than thus she sings:  
But what she said, I dare not tell,  
Because the World's an Infidel.   

Forgive, Dear Friend, this little Ecstasy!  
Ah! who can be composed that thinks of thee?  
Who can Pindaric's lofty flights refuse,  
When thou dost lash the fiery someing Muse;  
I'll rein her in, and try if we can be  
As grave, as sober, and as wise as thee.  
Go on! and into what e'er Country hurled,  
My Muse shall lackey after round the World.   

We'll chase the All-surrounding Sun about,  
And mend the Maps, where Bleau and Janson's out.  
Terra Incognita shall fly before us,  
And all the Savages behind adore us.  
On Hills of Ice, as high as Tenariff,  
Wintering, we'll moor our Weatherbeaten Skiff;  
Through Nassau's straits we'll row unknown of old,  
And Nova Zembla (in Prose-Authors) cold,  
There find the Passages, and through 'em trade,  
For sure for common things nor thee nor I were made;  
We'lt cross the back of Jesso (if we can)  
And third and sound the straits of Anian,  
And Ramble round, and round, and round, & then,  
Ramble like Drake, till we come home again.   
L. L. Student in Oxford.   

THE AUTHOR'S NAME When Anagramatized is Hid unto None.  
The Explanation.  

LEt other Ramblers hide their Heads in holes,  
And stock Alsatia with still spawning shoals;  
Room for the Man that still his Face has shown:  
Owls love the Night! The Sun's hid unto none.   

What though the Clouds appear, and Winds are huffing,  
What though the Apollo's Candle wants some snuffing;  
Yet soon in greater splendour he'll be shown,  
Tho' Veiled to some, He's quite hid unto none.   

Can he be said to fly, who but retires  
To warm the Under-world with equal Fires;  
Our Sun must to the Antipodes be shown,  
Or else were not indeed Hid unto none.   

Come then bright Sun! quick let thy Moment's pass,  
And twist thy Glories in a Burning-Glass,  
I say Print it John! let thy Works be shown,  
And all will say thy worths— Hid unto none.   
A. Y. Bachelor of Arts.   

AN EPITAPH, Made upon a (New) Report that DON KAINOPHILUS was not cast away at Sea, (as was confidently affirmed) but was still on his RAMBLES.  

HEre Lies— (Inly, for he still stands and goes)  
A Traveller, Reader! once like thee  
With Eyes and Nose,  
Ten Fingers and ten Toes;  
And as he is, so must thou be.   

In Love up to the Ears  
He Rambled hence away;  
But O Prophetic Fears!  
ere this Time hundred Years,  
In spite of all our Smiles and Tears,  
He'll be as high in Clay.   
E. L. Student in Oxford.   

The melodious HUMBLEBEE, to the ingenious and laborious Author of these Mellifluous Rambles.  
A PINDARIC.  

FRom the soft Elysian Groves,  
The stingless Hive of deathless Loves;  
Where rich Hony-Fountains flow,  
And everlasting Roses grow;  
Where amidst the Jessmine Trees,  
With a whispering gentle Breeze  
Zephyr strokes the Velvet Leaves,  
Softly he strokes, nor of one sweet bereaves:  
I come, drawn by thy Fame's melodious sound,  
Which like the Brass-pan Music rattles all around,  
Above, and under ground.  
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! in thy Ear I will go,  
Like Nakir and Damilca● I'll whisk about thy Head:  
I'll Watch thee and Ward thee from Friend and from Foe  
And fly the Rounds about thy Truckle-bed.  
Nor ask of me  
Dear Brother Be  
Whence all this kindness comes?  
'Tis Sympathy! 'tis Sympathy!  
In gathering Honey both agree,  
And both pick up whatever sweets we see,  
I with my Trunk, and thou with thy laborious Thumbs.    

The MAYOR and ALDERMEN of EUTAXIA, (A Place lately discovered, in the same Latitude with New-Atlantis and Utopia,)  
To the Ingenious Author.  

IF all the World thou girdled haste about,  
Amongst 'em all, why, Friend! were we left out?  
Is't— cause thy Conscience nothing lets thee write,  
But th' Observations of thy proper sight?  
No— for had all but these been thrown aside,  
Sure half thy fragrant Flowers had hung their Heads and died.  
Or did the envious Man upon the Ball,  
Neglecting us, pretend he had told thee all?  
Had Fame forgot our just Rewards to tell,  
For such as have, like Thee, deserved so well?  
What! not one Syllable of us didst here?  
Nor of the towering Castle in the Air?  
Nor of the Schools, nor of the Stadt-house there?  
Didst thou not hear, or didst thou not approve  
Our wise, our natural way of making Love?  
— Nor yet, 〈◊〉! shall even thy slights prevail!  
We'll do our Duty, though in thine thou ●ail:  
We'll dedicate thee in our Vatican,  
And own thy Merit makes thee more than Man.    

An EPITAPH designed for the Tombstone of Don Kainophilus in Tonsa Chancel, the Place allotted for his last Ramble 
* According as 'tis described in the Frontispiece, where you'll find his last Ramble a Grave, and the Author creeping into't. .  

HEre Reader! weep as if the Case were thine!  
Here Reader lies a second Saladine:  
More than one Shirt 'tis true some Mortals have,  
But few or none possess more than one Grave.  
Of all the Earth his rambling Footsteps pressed,  
Whether awake or in his Dreams unrest,  
He has now but just enough to cover o'er his breast.   

Weep then his Kindred and his Wife by turns!  
Weep till you've filled a hundred thousand Urns▪  
For here another Alexander lies,  
When no more Worlds could see! he rambled here, and dies.   
V. S. Bachelor of Arts.   

To the READER.  
Instead of the ERRATA.  

The Author hath his Faults, the Prin●er too,  
All Men whilst here do err, and so do You.    

Introduction.  
D'Ye laugh Mr. Reader? why e'en much good may't do ye; I know what you are going to say, as well as if I were i' the Belly of ye: but don't think I'll humour ye so much as to name your Objections, for I intent to answer 'em without ever troubling the World with knowing what they are.  
Be it therefore known to all men by these presents, that I Don john Hard-name (you'll hear more on't if you have patience to read further) Citizen and, etc. of London, being now arrived to the precise 30th. Year of my Life, that time when the gaities of Fancy being worked off, the judgement begins to Burnish, and a Man comes to years of Discretion, if ever he will be so:— Wand'ring one Evening through a Cypress Grove— (I won't be positive, it might be Hazle, but t'other sounds better) revolving in my rambling Brain the Varieties of Human Affairs, happened i' the Drove of Thoughts, that swarmed up and down my Noddle to reflect on my own self (Sir, Your Humble Servant) and what strange chequered Fortunes had filled the Lines of my Horoscope; I followed myself in my busy Imagination from my Cradle to my Grave, in all my Rises and Falls, my Ups and Downs, and heres and there's and every where's, and upon the 〈◊〉 sincerely protest unto thee, O judicious, gentle, courteous Reader, that after the severest Investigation both of History and Experience, I c●n no where find my Parallel, and am apt now to believe what I thought too much my Friends have sometimes been pleased to Compliment me with, that I was indeed an Original.  
My Name is (or shall be) KAINOPHILUS, my Birth-place of Abode and Fortunes,— you are ned like to know, unless you'll read this Book and almost a dozen more, for 'tis impossible to comprise such great things in a little compass, and tho' the World has heard of Homer in a Nutshell, yet no Man alive ever saw Tostatus on a Silver penny. But in short, if ever Fernand, Mendez, ●nto, had strange luck, who actually Rambled over 999 Kingdoms, 50 Empires, 66 Commonwealths, was 100 times Cast away, 40 times Stripped, 50 times Whipped, 21 times sold for a Slave▪ 50 time's Condemned to Death, and a 1000 times Killed, Murdered, and stark cold and dead— in the Imagination I say of his Enemies; I say again, if he deserved Recommendation and Admiration, making the World stare again with his Super-gorgonick wonders, if Modesty would give me leave, I could say— much more, do I so. Who have,—  
But again I won't forestall ye, tho' really the matter presses, and my pregnant Brain labours with so many painful pangs to be obstetricated, that I verily fear I shall burst before I come to disgorge it through my fruitful Quill, to avoid which I'll Ramble on as fast as I can scamper through this Porch, which yet I must tell ye, if 'twere a Mile long, wond'ned be bigger than the House at the endoned.  
To the point— from this Cypress Grove I was telling you of, I Rambled into my Life, from my Life into a brown Study. What, thought I wi' myself very soberly, if I should oblige this World now, this ungrateful World with a History of this strange Life of mine:— Hang't— it does ned deserve it. Yet I may do it for my own sake, not theirs: But then they'll envy me, virtue must expect no other: But they'll Laugh at me, why can't I laugh at them again? But they'll frown and scowl, and look ugly, Pish, pish,— I'll fit them for that, if I don't,— may I be posted in stead of my Book:— Besides there may be some certain Perquisites, Considerations, and so forth, sometimes the World has been just to things of Value, Coriats' works, Tom Thumb, seven Champions, Pilgrim's Progress,— some good, some bad, some take, some not, and mine has a chance for't.  
It is Decreed, nor shall thy Frowns O Critic  
Prevent my Work—  
So to't I went Hammer and Tongues, as the Vulgar say, and after long and laborious licking, out came this Beautiful Birth, that's just a hop, stride and jump before you, none I'lle assure ye of the short-lived, unlaboured pieces, which like the Ephemeris (Ah poor Ephemeris) is got in Morning, born at Noon, and dead by Night; but a thing, ay, and such a thing as has a quod nec jovis ira nec ignis writ in the Forehead on't:— As neither shall be destroyed by Lightning, Tobacco-pipes, nor Thundered at with Sulphurous blasts beneath; But laboured and polished the works of sweeting thoughts, and many a drudging hour, tho' 'tis confessed a pleasant Drudgery.  
Comprehending or inveloping within its Spacious Circumference, no less than all the visible and intellectual World. All parts of this little Universe, Rambled over in a Moment: Reader, even by thee, if thou hast a Soul like mine.  
Do but look on the Title-page, here's that will challenge all Little Britain and Ducklane: Nay, take in the Toppers of Pauls-Church-Yard too, one and all, tho' they were as high as the Steeple, and as big as the Cupilo,— I'll be tried by themselves, tho' they seldom commend Copies or Authors none of their own,— I say again, I'll be tried by themselves, and their own Confession (so bold and Conscious of itself, true Merit is as well as Innocence) whether ere a one of 'em all ever Printed such a Book in their Lives.  
Indeed I cannot better or fuller describe it, than telling you in two words, 'tis every thing. For as the Lives and Actions of great Princes contain one way or other, the greatest part of the History of the times and Ages they live in, so the Reader will find in the Life of one Traveller, my individual self, Don Kaino●hilus, alias Evander, the whole Description of, I scorn to say one Country, one Age, or one World; but of all the Habitable and Uninhabitable Creation; Terra incognita described as plain as Ireland in Petty's Surrey, ●very Foot, Perch and Inch on't; Virtue and Vice, Wit and Folly, all the Humours, Religions, Customs, Whims and Connundrums of Mankind: Directions how to ●ear himself in every part and Stage of Life, from the Sucking-Bottle and Clouts, to the last hot suppings and burying in Woollen. And whereas it has been the fatal unhappiness, or ra●her Crime of most other Ramblers, Real or Feigned, who have committed their Observations and Adventures to Writing, to encourage Vice by their Examples, even while they pretend to reprove it in their words, or ore tenus, as the Learned, this incomparable Author (whom for decorum's sake I nominate in the third Person) is conscious to himself of nothing through these whole 24 Orbs of his Life; but a most Milky purity, and Babe-like Innocence.  
You, that after the vile Customs of the Age, behave not yourselves as you ought towards the Spouses of your Youth, who render not what they ought to have, all that Respect, Tenderness, Complaisance and Kindness— Look ye what here is? Look and learn, see the pattern of Conjugal Affection, and the very Warming-pan of Duty and Love: Evander, the Faithful Evander, frying and burning for his wellbeloved Iris in the midst of boisterous billows of the surging Waves, as high as Tenariffa's cloudy Hill, all covered with Eternal Snow and Winter, and then (O catch me, gentle Reader, or I shall break my Neck, as well as thou thy sides if I fall on thee) then sowcing down like a voracious Hawk upon his trembling Partridge, Tearing, Worrying, Devouring her for Love; but I say no more.  
And then for Discretion, to avoid Dangers, and all that, but 'twere endless to run through all, let it suffice thou hast here little less than an exact pattern of Heroic Virtue in all Circumstances, and on all occasions, Apprentice, Master, Traveller, Courtier, Sailor, in a Shop, out on't, and in again, Author, Bookseller, Printer, and what not, in all Offices and places, from Scavenger up to High-Constable, and so onwards. And if this been't a Treasure, let the World show a better.  
As for the pretty little Virtues of Comity and Urbanity, this furnishes you to a miracle, for have you a mind to divert either yourself or Friend with the most pleasant and agreeable entertainment, a Man's jaws must be made of Iron, and fastened as close to one another, as if 'twere done with the Pins of a Shop-window, if what's here enclosed, done't now and then wrench 'em asunder, and discover not only the Teeth in his Head, but the very grin of his Soul; and such an Intellectual Tehe, as will force the very Heart to be— it self for Joy, and the Blood flow out at such an immoderate rate, as 't would be almost impossible to hold fast any thing else. Tho' o' the other side he will meet with passages, that tho' they mayn't spoil, will yet temper his Mirth, and as the Egyptians had (and they were cunning old Fellows) a Deaths-head in the midst of his Dainties.  
In a Word, here is for all Capacities, as well as all Sexes and Ages: Here's a help to Discourse, the like never known, Witty Songs, Riddles, Posies and Anagrams: Here's o' t'other side, Heroic, Pindaric, and all the Highflyers that can be named. Here's Hieroglyphics and Cabalistical Treasures, as Unintelligible, as inestimable, such unheard of Curiosities as gaffarel and Paracelsus never dreamt of nor would have done't (tho' sometimes good Wits jump) they are so rare and extraordinary, tho' they had lived this thousand years: I protest Gentlemen, I blush like a Bathsheba in this unwelcome Employment, and am villainously put to't thus, to commend the work of my own proper fist and knuckles. But 'tis for your sakes, not my own, Modesty is injurious where it makes Merit rest in silent unobserved shades, and cheats the Public. Who would buy Mackarel if no body cried it, tho' 't were as sweet as a Nut: Could you know all the good things in this Book, without my telling it you, and so buy it, and be happy, I'd die before I'd give it all this Commendation, tho' not a dram too much, upon my Honour.  
One thing more, and then we'll go and drink a dish of Coffee together. I would not have you think that all this is but a Story, a Whimwham, or a what d' ye call 'em? 'Tis no Tale of a Budget in the Air, and a strolling Christian Tinker; No, the Author values his Reputation more, and so he tells you, 'tis as true real matter of Fact: in brief; There's more truth in't than you think of, or are like to know.  
I had forgot one Word, stay a little longer, and then some may snotter and snuffle at the many Collections they'll find in these my Labours, they'll call me Owl, jay, Cuckoo, Magpie, and a hundred Beasts of Birds besides, for borrowing so many Feathers and gaudy plumes;— but they might, I'll tell them, learn more Civility from an ingenious Person, who has prefixed an ingenious Poem to these my Works; and styleth me rather a Bee, nay, a mellifluous Bee, or Brother to one who gathers Sweets and Dainties wherever he comes, without ever hurting the pretty Pinks, or tarnishing the fragrant Roses, and how ungrateful were that rustic Boor, and foolish withal, who would refuse the delicate present this his little industrious Tenant would make him forsooth, because he had stolen it from other folk's Gardens, and not gathered it only out of his own, or as the Spider spins his Thread drawn from his own Bowels:— No, the Author thanks ye for that kindness, this were the way to write his Guts out, before he has Rambled to the end of his four and twenty Globes.  
It has been said of Accomplished Persons, that they have Read Men as well as Books; and why is there not as great a Commendation belongs to those who have Travelled Books as well as Men, and brought thence the Gold and precious Jewels, leaving 'em still, as the Bee the Flower, to return turn to the Metaphor already used, not a jot the worse for wearing. For the gay Feathers I have taken, they may as well call one of the Indian Princes Atabalipa and Montezuma, an Owl, Jay, or Magpie, who borrow Feathers indeed from the Birds to Adorn themselves in their most Royal Robes.— But alas, the Art is all— materiam superabat opus— 'Tis the placing 'em, and ordering 'em in such delicate Lights and Shades, that only makes 'em so inimitably Beautiful and Lovely, even so— but I'll spare the t'other Leg o' the Comparison— and let the Reader never trust me more if I desire him to go with me any further than to this next Style, and then we'll part, for I scorn to use him like a Quaker, with his false-bottomed Sermons, who Concludes 40 times over, but will never have done. I say I've but one little tiney savour to beg, and then— and that is— that he'd maturely Weigh, Swallow, Chew the Cud, and sound digest this following first Book, before he throw it out again, for should he make too much haste, and too greedily read it over, as 'tis to be feared the pleasantness and rarity on't, will tempt him to be Ravenous, why then 'twill only cause Crudities in the Maw of his Soul, and the next Volume coming upon him before he has concocted this, and turned it into Life, Blood, and Nourishment, they'll only one confound another, and either nauseate or choke him.  
Not a Syllable more, but READER, Your ever Devoted, Obsequious, Obliged, Rambling Humble Servant: Yours to the Antipodes, and back again, KAINOPHILUS.   

The Impartial Character OF A Rambler.  By the Author of the BOOK. 
HE's a thing wholly consisting of Extremes— A Head, Fingers and Toes; for what his industrious Toes do tread, his ready Fingers do write, his running Head dictating. But to describe him more exactly, He is is made up of a large Head and Ears, some Brains, and most immoderate Tongue, Toes and Fingers; a very Carrier or Foot-post will draw him from any Company that has not been abroad, (excepting always his dear Iris, for she is ever new) merely because he's a sort of a Traveller: But a Dutch Post ravishes him, and the mere Superscription of a Letter (though there's ne'er a Bill in't) from Boston, Italy, or France, sets him up like a Top, Colen or Germany makes him spin— (and without Whipping too, there's the wonder) and at seeing the word Universe, America, Flanders, or the Holy Land, though but on the Title of a Book, he's ready to break Doublet, let fall Breeches, (in a civil way) and overflow the room with all those Wonderments have surprised him in these flourishing Countries. If he has no Latin or Greek, he makes it up with abundant scraps of Italian, Spanish, French and Dutch, and though he has little more knowledge in any of 'em than Comestato? Parlez vous? or How vare ye Minheer? and can hardly buy a Salad in one Language, or a Herring in tother; yet when he comes home, he passes with himself and other like him, for a monstrous learned Creature, a Native of every Country under Heaven, whereas indeed he's a mere Babylonian, he confounds all Languages, but speaks none, and is so careful to jumble together the Gibberish of other Countries, that he almost forgets his own Mother Tongue, as the Roman Orator did his Name, only the Writing the History of his Travels makes him remember it again. All his Discourse is shaped into a Travelling Garb, and is the same with his Manners and Behaviour, looking as if 'twas contrived to make Mourners merry. He's all the strange shapes round the Maps put together— one Legg a Hungarian, t'other a Pole; one piece of him a Turk, and the next a Tartar or Moscov●●e; but if you look▪ on his Face, you'd swear he's a Laplander— so much has Travelling, Wind, Sun and Rain discoloured it and altered it: However chaste his Body may be, his Mind is extremely prolific; his thoughts are a perfect Seraglio, and he, like a great Turk, begets thousands of little Infants— Remarks, Fancies, Fantastics, Crotchets and Whirligigs, on his wand'ring Intellect, and when once begot, they must be bred— so out he turns 'em into the wide World to shift for themselves, after he has put a few black and white Rags about 'em to cover their Nakedness: But to look upon 'em when they once get abroad— to see how hugely they favour their Father: Do but view 'em all over, and— Here's that will cure your Corns, Gout, Colic, and what you please; or as the most excellent Saffold— 'Twill cure every curable Disease: (You have heard of the Monkey that cured the Cardinal:) Und●● the College, and break Apothecaries ●Hall, as easily as one of their Glasses. There● no Man who for his sake would ned neglect any thing but Business, that is to say, would not be glad of his Company, when he has nothing else to do:— He'll as● you how you do; where you have been; what News; how is't; if you have Traveled; and above all, (when Published) How you like his Rambles; han't they a fine Frontispiece— Ay, a very fine one; there's Art— there's Thought— well— and then for the Verses before it, I say Coriat's Book was but a Hornbook to't— they no more deserve to be compared together than Pilgrim's Progress and Burton's Wonderments; and so he would Ramble on to the End of the Chapter, did not you out of Civility give him a gentle tweak by the Nose, or kick on the Shins, and ask him whether he knew what he was talking of? Yet as good let him alone, for if you get him out of this Impertinency, he'll ramble into a thousand more, rather than want the Humanity of vexing you— but then such courteous ones they'll be (for he's the very Pink of Courtesy) that ye can't for your Teeth find in your Heart to be angry with him. If he chances to be Shipwrecked, he can't be angry with the Sea or Winds; Nay, is rather pleased with 'em, for giving him opportunity to describe a Storm more lively, and tell the World what direful Dangers he escaped, when he swum ashore like a Caesar, with his Sword in one hand, and his Commentaries in t'other. He's averse to nothing that has Motion in't, and for a Louse, he dearly loves such a painful Fellow-Traveller, who Rambles over his Microcosm, or lesser World, as he the greater— nibbling and sucking here and there, whenever he finds any thing agreeable to his Palate. He's generally for Foot- service, and thinks that much more brave than the Horse, scorning to ride upon four Hoofs, when Nature has given him ten Toes to support him. But if he should be forced into such Circumstances, by the surbating his Feet, he envies those happier Criminals who have their Legs tied under their Horse's belly, and thinks the most commodious way of riding is with his Face toward the Ta●l, for than he can't see any danger till he's passed it. Other People are for walking with a Horse in their Hands, he's o' the contrary, for riding with his Staff in his Hand, or rather Walking with a Horse between his Legs, for his Feet still move at the same rate as if they touched the ground, and were employed in their own natural motion.  
What's other men's Recreation is his business, and yet he makes rather a pleasure of a Toil, than a Toil of a pleasure; for tho' he Ramble with all his might, (as when he rides every part of him works) yet the more pain, the more content; and the Fatigues he meets with in all, give such an odd sort of a pleasure, as a Boar has when scrubbing his brawny Back against a Tree, or an Irish man scratching where it itches. I told you he Rambles with all his might, and 'tis true enough, for he sets his Heart upon't, and there's not one particle of his Body, nor immaterial Snip of his Soul, but Rambles as fast as his Legs, nay, some much faster.  
To begin with his Brains, (for he has Brains) some think they rambled from him in his Infancy, and dropping then out of his Nose, his Nurse, good Woman, being feeding him with Pap, opportunely caught 'em in the Spoon, and because the little Bantling should ned be upbraided for want of 'em, when he came to age, put 'em in again, with the addition of a little of the gravy of her old gums, tho' in the wrong place; which he, poor Innocent being ignorant of, as how should he be otherwise, swallowed down amongst the Pap, and ever since has worn his Brains in his Guts, instead of Guts in his Brains:— But this is but the effect of Envy, that speaks well of no Body— any more than another foul Calumny of the same Batch, that they Rambled to t'other End of the World upon new Discoveries, where being surprised by the Cannibals, they got 'em out of his Ears with a Skewer, as folks pick Marrowbones, and eat 'em as a rare Dainty with Pepper and Vinegar— others that being close pursued, and conscious they were the most precious things he had about him; he ' even sneezed 'em out of his Nose, (as the Beaver bites off his more valuable Movables when in the same circumstances) and left 'em for a Bait to catch the Gudgeons with, upon a fair Cabbidge-leaf, just in the High● way— But 'tis certain from his own Mouth, 'twas another sort of substance, tho' much of the same consistence, which fell from him in his flight from these Obstreperous and Carnivorous Anthropophagis; and the Truth is, the only Ramble his Brains ever made, were into his Pen, as he was nibbling it to get out these excellent works.  
For his Eyes, if they they did not ramble in his Mother's Belly, because there perhaps the modest Fool might keep 'em shut, 'tis certain they fell a gadding as soon as 'ere they came abroad, and will never lie still more till many a fair Year after he's buried, if they do then. Let those who have no further to Ramble than the Playhouse, admire the fair full Eye, the tip, the twinkle, the ogle, or what you please to call it, but he gives you his Honour upon't, (which will pass for a Pot of Ale at any blind Alehouse in Christendom) that of all the Eyes in the World he envies those that squint, because they can look nine ways at once, and he heartily wishes his Eyes were Diametrically retrograde to each other, for he had much rather look all round about than just before him: The truth is, his own Eyes, as they are, do him no inconsiderable Service, of which you'll know more when I tell you what Rambles they and their Fellow-Travellers his Fingers have had together.  
His Nose Rambles— not to an Hospital, but a Kitchen, which smokes in every Country, and his Table is covered in every Hamlet from hence to the Antipodes; so generous is his Stomach that he scorns the queasy morose temper of those who never eat unless they are sure they are Welcome, and the Meat clean dressed; whereas he'd not refuse a Dinner, though with an old Usurer, who gave him as many Curses for every bit he eat, as there have been drops of Water in the Thames running by Greenwich this 700 Years; nor stand out at an Invitation, though made by the Hottomtots on the Cape of Good-Hope to one of their T— d-Puddings, and no other Claret to make it go down, but the Indians Delight, the gravy of half a dozen fat Toads, mellowing in a Jar for half a Year before the Feast.  
To let alone therefore the Rambling of his Tongue, (which all the World knows has such a way with it) his Teeth and palate are of all Nations and Religions as well as that. He can Feast very conformably on a good decent Mince Pie, or Canonical Pot of Plumb-Porridge; he can edify on a brotherly Capon, and think Sack-posset a very comfortable and enlarging Dispensation; he can Fast and Mortify on Sturgeon, Turbet, Mullet, or Shellfish with e'er a portly Friar of 'em all; ay, and munch Locusts with the poor Maronites in Mount Libanus; rather than let his Guts cling together— while he eats Pudding and Salad with the Bramin when he can get no better Food: He is not such a Hog as not to eat Flesh of a jews dressing, because 'twas cut with its Throat towards jerusalem, nor is not such a jew as to refuse a good sliver of a Hog, if he meets it handsomely upon Governours-Island; or any other place on this or t'other side on't.  
I promised to tell you what Rambling Hands he has— O they are a pair of little Wanderers as ever went where they had no business— not that they ever dived into any Pockets besides his own, which they seldom take any Money from, much less from another,— he scorns it.— Sir,— you don't know him— or else— he has a Sword and Pistol— at your service; for be it known t'ye, he'll ne'er make use on't, unless to present at the Bushes, and furiously throw 'em over the Hedge— But they strole in conjunction with his Eyes, over all the Learned World, as his Feet over the natural one, cropping here and there, nay, one may venture to say, every where, such delicate choice Flowers as present themselves to his Inquisitive Peepers.  
His Feet are of the same Humour with all the rest of his Body, and they so infect his Legs, that he has much ado to keep up the Confederacy between 'em, they have such a huge mind to be running away from one another, (so that 'tis feared he'll in time grow splay-footed) and from their Body too, as sweet a one as 'tis, as Dr. Faustus' did from him, when the Countryman pulled to wake him.  
What should I tell you of his Soul, since his Body is the very Picture on't, and if you know one, you can't miss o' t'other among a thousand: 'Tis like Gresham-Colledge, or the Anatomy-School at Leyden, hung round with a thousand Knick-knacks that rambled thither, some of 'em half the World over— But what pains he takes to show 'em all, and does it with as much Decorum and gravity as the old Fellow used to show the Tombs at Westminster; so that in his own words, his ill Luck lies not so much in being a Fool, as in being put to such Pain to express it to the World— But should the Frolic go round, and all the World write a Book of their Lives and Rambles, as he has done, he'll ask one civil Question— Who would be Fool then? To sum up all his Character in two Words, He is—  
 
Inquire within, and you may know further.   

Evanders' CHARACTER. THE Author of these Rambles, Review'd by himself.  
Modesty may justice claim,  
Truth and I may do the same.  
EVander is a Person without Flattery, endued with all Accomplishments that Nature ever crammed into a Jelly of Stars to make a Cheesecake of. Like the rising Sun round the Head of his Apollo, he is always employed in circumnavigating the Sphincter of some Myoptical Primogenity; and sure I am, that should Diogenes his Tub come to Life again, he would be the first Man chosen by the States of the Moon, to craok Chestnuts with a pair of Butter-firkins. But to be less Ciceronian:  
He is one of an indifferent Stature, neither so high as the Monumental Irish ma● nor full out so humble as that Modicum 〈◊〉 Mortality that crawls about with him— whence you may safely conclude he's 〈◊〉 middlesized Man.  
His Eyes are as black as a Coal— (which when alive is red, when stark dead, white) with a little dash of yellow in 'em, or else grey, blue, or a lovely Hazle; for an impartial Historian must set down all probable Opinions, that the Reader may the better know how to Judge. His Nose like Majesty, for 'tis in the middle of his Face— but more than that, 'tis either very high, or a little rising, if not flat to a Fault.  
His Complexion, like the Offspring of the black King of Aethiopia— (who had once a Daughter as white as Snow.) His Mouth of the widest, when gaping with big Lips— when he swells 'em with blowing his Nose, and as red as a Scarlet-thread— after he has been eating Mulberries.  
His Teeth are as even as those of a Comb, though sometimes they are broken— and as pure Ivory— though both may want brushing. He speaks somewhat thick when his Mouth is full, or he is angry— but writes much better— when he draws you a Bill upon his Banker. He winks very often— when he sleeps, and stumbles a little in his Walk— if you lay your Leg before him. He Dresses so remarkably, you can't but know him, if you had no other part of his Character— either in a plain, modest, genteel suit of Stuff, Cloth, Serge, Ratteen, Silk or Velvet, or in Red or Blue, with a Sword, inlaid Silver-handle, or Til●●ry Basket-Hilt, long black Wigg— and ●ot rarely a short pretty light-coloured Bob, or middlesized, with a Spanish lock behind. He has a kind of Shuffling in his Gate, and yet very Majestic too when he pleases, the other only being when one side of the Heel of his shoe is worn away, or Ten-toes have lately suffered Dilapidations. That which makes him most remarkable, is, that no Person alive, not Iris herself, ever saw him without a Goose-quill in his Mouth, or between his Fingers, unless when it rambles into his Standish; and yet more wonderful, he has certainly ten Fingers on his left hand— when he lays his right a top of it.  
This is his Description, his very Impression, and so much to the Life, that 'tis well the Gazett has no business with him; for were all these Ear-marks published in't, he'd ne'er be able to peep out o' doors, but all the whole Street would be in an uproar, and cry— That's he!  
This for the Notification of such as are ignorant of his Accomplishments; for such as have the Happiness to know him, 〈◊〉 this touch suffice:  
HE's a Citizen of London and all the World,— Loves Rambling, does ned love Fight— loves Iris, does ned love Scolding; loves his Friend— does ned fear nor hate his Enemy; loves Fair-dealing; had rather be called Fool than Knave; le's People laugh while he wins,— can be secret if trusted; is Owed more than he Owes, and can Pay more than that; makes his Word as good as his Bond; won't do a foul thing, and Bids the World go whistle.  
Here ends Evander's Character. Enter his LIFE.   

A VOYAGE Round the WORLD: OR A Pocket-Library.  
ROom for a Rambler— (or else I'll run over ye) that ever was, is, and will be so. My Life is a continued Ramble, from my Cradle to my Grave; was so before I was born, and will be so after I am dead and rotten— the History of which I have been sweeting at the best part of this seven Years; and having now with great Pains and Industry, charge and care rendered complete, and ready for the Press, I first send out this First Volume by way of Postilion, to slap-dash, and spatter all about him, (if the Critics come in his way) in order to make Elbow-room for all the rest of his little Brethren that are to come after.  
My Name is EVANDER, alias KAINOPHILUS — aliar— Your Humble Servant— 'Twas just upon my Tongue's end, if 'thad been out, I'd ha' bit it off.  
Thus you see I am a Rambling Name as well as Thing, that all may be of a piece that belongs to me.  
And if ever there was a Rambler since the wand'ring Jow, I am the Man— was the Boy, the Infant— the— the— the Chicken— the tread of a Cock-chicken— the Eye of a Needle— the Point— the nothing at all— yet something— and still a Rambler— as you may find in the Frontispiece Hieroglyphic Account of all my Life, Globe the first, Verse 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. The Text containing the very cream, flower, heart and marrow of my Rambles— my Explanations and Comments whereon shall be the stuffing of this Book, and all that are quarrelling who shall first Ramble out after it.— Thus then that super-ingenious Author—  
After his first Rambles, which I need not to tell ye,  
And his kicking and sprawling in his own Mother's Belly:  
First mark how the Bantling to all outward appearing.  
When he first came to Life was us dead 〈◊〉 a Herring  
Then he's born in a Coach— for a Cart was not handy,  
Where an old Woman fetched him again wl ' good Brandy.  

CHAP. I.  
Of my Rambles before I came into my Mother's Belly, and while I was there.  
AFter his first Ramble—] First, and not first— for even before this, I Rambled from the Beginning of the World, if not a great deal sooner. The Essences of things are eternal, as the Learned say, and my first Ramble was indeed out of Essence into Existence, from a Being in my Causes, into actual Being.  
But not to mount the Argument above my Readers Head, lest I should crack both that and my own— Let it suffice, that my Soul for aught I know, has been Rambling the best part of this 6000 Years, if those are in the right on't who hold the Praeexistence, and that all Souls were made at once.  
However— for my Body, I can make Affidavit on't— that 't has been Rambling so long and so far before my Soul stumbled upon't, that I lose the Track, and can go no further. All matter is in motion, and therefore perpetually changed and altered— now in how many shapes that little handful which makes up my Soul's Luggage, has been formerly dressed, I'll promise you, I'll not undertake to tell ye.  
As great a Coward as I am, there may have gone I know ned how many perticles of a Lion into my Composition, and as small as my Body is, my great Grandfather might be made out of a Whale or an Elephant. You remember the Story of the Dog that killed the Cat, that eat the Rat,— for I love to Illustrate Philosophical Problems, with common Instances for the use of the less knowing part of the World,— why just so here. To prove, I may have a piece of a Roaring Lion rambled into me,— How can any man alive prove but as long ago as the Holy War, some or other of my Ancestors waited on K. Richard into Palestine, and was there with him when he killed the Lyon. This Gentleman might have a Dog,— this Dog being hungry, might fall a tearing the Guts of this Lion, some of whose Body must pass into the Dogs, as well as other only through it. This Dog might come home with the Gentleman again, and at length coming to some untimely end, his Noble Carcase lie rotting in the Fields— which very place being fattened with his corrupted Carcase, might produce some Tuffs of larger Grass than ordinary, wherein undoubtedly would be included some Particles of the poor deceased Creature,— which Particles might very easily be devoured by some fat Ox, or Wether grazing there, alured by the length and beauty of the grass, and so become part of this Sheep or Ox,— and they again, being brought to the Spacious Table of some of my Worthy Ancestors, might Communicate the same Subtle parts of the Grass, the Sheep, the Ox, the Dog, the Lion to their Tre●chers, thence to their Mouth, Stomach, Blood,— and in two removes more, to their Son and Heir, so from Generation, to Generation, till at last, all centred in the Lion— like Evander.— This I say may be, and Graver folks than he have made a huge splutter with such a kind of business;— but I am apt to think (between Friends) if there be any thing in't, that most of the Lioness Particles rambled somewhere else, to another Branch of the Family; and that more of the Sheep, the gentle Lamb, or such harmless innocent Creatures Rambled into my Composition; for though I find enough of the Lion in my Soul, yet this Treacherous Body will quake and tremble at the approach of Danger: And I find a strong Inclination to bleat for Succour,— tho' still all that know me, know the very Character I give myself, is, (and I should be best acquainted sure with my own self,) That I ne'er saw fear, but●i● the Face of an Enemy. I could as easily prove one Leg of me may have Rambled out of a Whale, and a piece of my left Hip from the Shoulderblade of an Elephant,— for might not some of my Grandfathers be left in Greenland (we have been Travellers of old) and there forced to eat Whalesritters, or not to go so far; who knows but after the Elephant was burnt in the Booth (I tell no lies, every body knows this is true) the Dirt and Rubbish might be thrown out in the Fields, where Pease might be afterwards Sown, and so a piece of the Elephant brought home to Evanders' Table, in a Dish of Green-Pease. Now all the difficulty here will be, whether or no I use to eat Green-Pease;— but for the Truth of this, I Appeal to Stock-market, and all the Neighbours.  
And so I'm got home again,— but must immediately take a Journey to Graffham, my wellbeloved Town of Graffham, and find myself in my Mother's Belly,— just Rambled out of nothing, or next to't, nôthing like what I am now, into a little live thing, hardly as big as a Nit. Should I tell you, as the virtuosos do, that I was shaped at first like a Todpole, and that I remember very well, when my Tail Rambled off, and a pair of little Legs sprung out in the room on't: Nay, should I protest I pulled out my Notebook, and slap-dashed it down the very minute after it happened,— let me see,— so many Days, Hours, and seconds after Conception, yet this Infidel World would hardly believe me; and therefore I'll Advance nothing but what carries Demonstration in the Teeth on't, and will make them believe in spite of their Noses:— I say then, that as soon as my Mother quickened, I began to Ramble with a witness,— were she alive she'd swear it,— however, not to trouble the World with a company of not very sweet Depositions, to that purpose (for be it known I'm no Prince of Wales) 'tis an infallible mark that I was alive, because I am so— and am ready to enter the Lists with any who shall Dispute to the contrary. But there did I keep such a ●ossing and tumbling, frisking and Rambling, and shifting a-sides, and turning about from one place to t'other, that after nine Months, my Mother could endure it no longer, but out she turns me, and abroad I Rambled into the wide World.   

CHAP. II.  
My second Ramble into the World, and out on't, and in again, etc.  
First mark how the Ban●ling to all outward appearing,  
When he first came to Life was as dead as a Herring.  
NOW here am I most abominably puzzled, and if my freedom lay upon't, could not for my Blood resolve what to do. I had, to confess the Truth, prepared a great many sparkling notions, pleasant Fancies, nea● Thoughts, and whole Bushels of Flowers to welcome my coming into the World.  
I had Collected many a fine passage, and well-turned Period, as concerning Life, and all the Conveniences, Inconveniences, Pleasure and Pain on't, which could not have failed of Ministering abundant Diversion and Profit to the well-disposed Reader.— But how to lug it in,— ay, there's all the Craft,— what's a Man the better for having— two Hogsheads at the Door; For look ye now, and do but consider my case,— I could cry I'm so pulled and tormented— to talk of Life; and all those pretty things that I intended,— how I looked abroad when I first saw the Light, found the B●bby, and all that (but first the Brandy-bottle) by the Light of Nature, and laughed in my Nurse's Face: I say, to talk of this when one was Dead-born, looks a little like a Figure in Rhetoric called Nonsense,— and yet where to stick it in, if I ●lip this Opportunity, I can't for my Life imagine: The Poet 'tis true has done both, and by a pretty Oximoron, expressed my Sense extremely well: — When he first came to Life, was as dead as a Herring; but then he fastens that too with what goes before,— he was only so— to all outward appearing,— and that we know is fallacious;— but alas we Prose Authors are tied up more strictly, and must write with greater Gravity, and clearer Consistency, or else Envy will be presently upon our Bones.— Ha, I have found the way,— I have it— I won't take Ten pound for my Thought; Mark— ye me, Mr. Reader, I'll suppose I was born alive— for you know a Man may suppose what he will;— I may suppose myself a Conjurer, or you a Rhinoceros: And upon that supposal, I can most handsomely and expeditiously drive in all the Rambling thoughts I had a mind to,— supposing then, that I lived two or three hours after I was Dead-born, and then died again.  
O Life! Life! What a whim thou art? Thou art a perfect Evander,— no body knows what to make of thee;— Thou art one tedious Ramble from nothing to something, tho' that something is next to nothing— Life is a troubled, troublesome, and tempestuous Sea, a mere Irish Ocean, we take Shipping at our Birth, with tears we Sail over it; with Care, Fear, Sorrow, Hope, (sometimes worse than all the other three,) the Whirlwinds that blow us through it, and at last with Sighs and Groans, we land at the Port of Death. Life is no better than the Drudge of Fate, and seems only sent into the World, to keep Death in Employment, and twist threads for the fatal Sisters, that they many ned want work to cut 'em off again. That Rattle which Children cry for, and Men despise, which no Man but's fond of (such Children we are) and yet scarce any but has wished to be rid on't. How often have I thought on the Advice of the Indians to their Newborn Children: Infant! Thou comest into the World to suffer! Suffer and hold thy peace: How often with a sad Melancholy pleasure have I reflected on that Ingenious Poem, I have somewhere seen on this Subject.  

I.  
How soon doth Man decay!  
When clothes are taken from a Chest of sweets  
To Swaddle Infants whose young Breath  
Scarce knows the way,  
Those Clouts are little Winding-Sheets,  
Which do consign and spurt them on to Death.   

II.  
When Boys go first to Bed,  
They step into their voluntary Graves,  
Sleep binds them fast, only their Breath,  
Makes them not Dead.  
Successive Nights, like rolling Waves,  
Convey them quickly, who are bound for Death.   

III.  
When Youth is frank and free,  
And calls for Music while his veins do swell,  
All day exchanging Mirth and Breath,  
In Company,  
That Music Summon● to the Knell,  
That tolls his passage to the House of Death.   

IV.  
When Man grows Stayed and Wise,  
Getting a House and Home, where he may move  
Within the Circle of his Bre●●h,  
Schooling his Eyes  
That dumb enclosure maketh Love  
Unto the Coffin that attends his Death.   

V.  
When Age grows low and weak,  
Marking his Grave, and th●●ing every year,  
Till all do melt and drown his Breath  
When he would speak;  
A Chair or Litter, shows the Beer  
On which he'll Travel to the House of Death.   

VI  
Man e'er he is aware,  
Hath wandered quite through a Solemnity,  
And dressed his H●rse, wh●●e he hath Breath  
As yet to spare.  
— Then, now so may we learn to die,  
That all these die may be Life in Death.   
Now the Reader will think me a mere T●ravian, thus to Celebrate my own Nativity with Tears.— But I cannot avoid it,— when e'er I reflect what a nasty World I then came into, how crowded with Fools and Knaves; how much pain for a little taste of what we can 〈◊〉— How the greatest part on't is an arrant cheat, and a mischievous one besides,— how little a while we generally stay in ●t, and yet how unfit to go out on't;— all these Reflections are now so strongly imprinted on my mind, that indeed I wonder how I could be persuaded to come abroad into Light; and had not the innate Sympathetical Love I had for Rambling even before I know what either that or myself was, tolled me on; I might possibly have stayed as long in my Mother's Lodgings, as the Physicians tell us the Child of a certain French Woman did, who went sixteen years before she was Delivered.  
Yet all this Whining, Whimpering, and hanging an,— will do no good,— turn out I must; and abroad I Rambled on the 4th. day of May, A. D. 1659. Then, then was the time, when the good Women brought my Father the joyful News of a Son and Heir, after he had for five years despaired of them both.  
The Reader won't be so unconscionable sure, to think I should give him an account what pleasant sparkling Discourse passed among the Gossips and Midwi●e,— how they read my Fortunes, and gave their Judgements: How the Burnt-Claret Rambled about, and the poor groaning Cheese, Gammons of Bacon, and Neats●Fongue suffered for't— no,— that I cant, nor won't do, for two Reasons.  
First, Because ●●were below the gravity of such a Discourse.  
Secondly, Because they made such a hideous noise, I could not tell a word they said.  
Thirdly, Because I had not my Pen and Ink about me, to take Notes (for I don't find i' the Register, that I was born with one in my Hand; though as you have been cold already, I think I've had one there almost ever since) and I ●are not burden my Memory with so many passages, or write what I am ned assured of its Truth: But to omit six or seven and twenty Reasons between for Brevity's sake; One and thirtiethly, beloved, because I was dead born, and can't remember one word on't to save my Life.  
And what hurt would it be, while in this Condition, if I entertain the Reader with a doleful Ditty or two on this my sudden departure before ever I came hither.  

1.  
So the Infant Day does rise,  
Guilding Hills, and painting Skies;  
Till some envious pregnant Cloud,  
Does its blooming Glories shroud.   

2.  
So a short-lived Winter's Sun,  
Sets almost as soons begun:  
Weeping Heaven laments its fall,  
Mourning Earth its Funeral.   

3.  
So a Rose-bud does prepare,  
To Salute the calmer Air:  
Till some Envious Northern Gust,  
Rents and spreads it in the Dust.   

4.  
Such, bright Infant, was thy Birth!  
Such thy Parents joy and Mirth;  
Roses, Suns, and Days can be  
But a Meiosis of thee.   

5.  
Such fair being! if so fair,  
All thy Guardian Angels were.  
Hide their Wings, and they'll be styled,  
Brothers to the lovely Child:  
Whilst if he had Wingedbin,  
All would think him Seraphim.   
Humh! this Poetry and Flattery are inseparable, but Reader, there must be grains of allowance,— you must consider if I am called a Cherubin or Seraphim, he only means a mortal one, besides I had then never had the Smallpox, which, you know, makes a considerable difference both in Beauty of Men and Women; and moreover, Age makes such odds in the same Face, that you'd swear it did not belong to the same person;— for in your thoughts now to compare the little muling Infant of an hour Old, and a span Long, little enough to be put every scrap of me into a Quartpot, as I really then was: To compare that little Evander, and this great Evander, now the Cares of the World, Travel and Age has altered him, and he looks not so Cherubinically as he did then; you'd hardly believe He was he, and I myself am ready to cry out, when I look in the Glass and these Verses together, as Helen did,— Ego non sum Ego. But there was an Epitaph made more merry, and less partial, only the two last Verses seem added by some latter Hand, or else the Poet had the gift of Prophecy;— they are these.  

Here lies a pretty little Knave,  
In's Cradle dressing room and Grave;  
Tho' over-small, not overhot,  
For 'tis a Quort-pot.   

He winks, while he buried lies,  
Lest dusty Dust fly into his Eyes:  
Which makes him ever since to wink,  
When he goes to drink.   
Well, methinks I have been dead an unreasonable while,— strike up Fidler, as in Rehearsal, for I can lie no— longer,— away Rambles my Nurse good Woman, Father and all to a certain Quackess in the next Parish.  
Where he's Born in a Coach, for a Cart was not handy,  
And an old Woman fetched him again with good Brandy.  
Yea,— I say in a Coach, for by Mr. Poet's leave, a Cart was neither Handy nor Seemly,— I leave that for him, if there's occasion,— and so there's bob for bob,— not but that I honour and love the Gentleman with all my Heart;— but one good turn requires another,— hang him that won't be merry with his Friend, and such as give Joques, must take them:— So— I have Rambled out of the way myself, and almost lost Cart and Coach too.  
So ho!— Coachman— stop and take up one of the Company,— well overtaken, now I'm in again,— and away they carried me as I was saying to the Learned old Woman at the next Parish, who claps her Bottle to my little muzzle; had I been alive, I could ne'er ha' forgot how warm 'twas with carrying it in her under-pocket, very near her painful Haunches; but to let that pass, it did the feat. I came peeping into the World again, as brisk as a little Minew leaps up at a Fly in a Summer's Evening; and soon fall a tugging at my Nurse's brown Breasts, as hard as the Country fellows do the Bell-ropes on a Holiday▪ Methinks the sweet smack is hardly yet out of my Lips, and I've a great fancy I could suck still. Sure I have seen somewhat extremely like my greediness at that time,— O! I have it— just, just by the Tail— upon the Tip of my Tongue, between my Teeth— here 'tis: 'Twas like a horrid greedy fellow, I have somewhere seen eating Custards, or plum-porridg, I can't possibly tell which,— he had two Spoons, and large ones,— so on he falls, and lays about him like a Dragon, nor would so much as look, speak, or almost breath— ti●● finding the Spoons too tedious a way, down he throws, and at it with both Hands— down runs the Custard over his Beard into the Dish, and up again soon after,— Ay— let them laugh that see it; but he empties the platter, and fills his Belly before you could walk round the Room,— just so did I, and this so often and effectually at my Nurse's Fair, Sweet, Snowy Bosom (though as I told you, the Snow looked of a little dunnish Colour, as if 't'had been— trod upon) that I began to burnish apace, and thrive amain,— and had enough to let out as well as to keep there,— painting Maps in my Clouts almost every hour, of all those Worlds I should afterwards Ramble over.  
Next I Rambled into my Chair with Wheels, then into my Leading strings, thence into Breeches, to the extravagant Joy of my trembling Buttocks,— for now I thought my Father must say by your leave Son Evander, when he came to clench his Instructions at the wrong end: And what happened after this, you shall know if you will let me take Breath, and meet you again at the next Chapter.   

CHAP. III.  
Here with Cockhorse and Boots his Nurse is forthcoming,  
Of his future Achievements the prosperous Omen;  
The prophetical Shipton presenting the Baby  
With a Staff that's his own, and a Sword too it may be.  
THis Chapter is like to be kin to the Chapter of the Bull and the Unicorn in Mahomet's Alcoran,— a Ramble from the very Contents, which I won't promise ye you shall meet again after you have once left them, at least I can assure ye, I find it necessary to expatiate, for as the Fellow said in Quixot, who blew up a Dog like a Bladder, d'ye think 'tis nothing to write a Book?  
I might probably have told you the Entertainment my Nurse and I made one another, before I left her Tuition, in the last Chapter— but O! my Mother, O! my dearest Muz! why did you leave me? Why did you go so soon, so very soon away,— Nurses are careless, sad careless Creatures; and alas the young Evander may get a knock in his Cradle if you die and leave him to shift for himself: Your Death leads me to the House of weeping;— it spoils all my Pastimes, dissipates all my Remains, kills all my Maggots— persecutes me, destroys me, makes a Martyr of me, and sets my very Brains a Rambling again, as much as my Feet have been:— But what does all this avail,— could I get all the Irish Howlers between Carickfergus, and t'other side of Dublin to hoot and hollow over her Grave, they'd never bring her to Life again,— for she was dead.— I forgot all this while to tell you that, forgive Reader the Extravagance of my Grief; which leads my Fancy, and that my Memory along with it, and then judgement we know has such a dependence upon both, that in plain English, I wish. I don't turn a mere Natural:— I tell you again she's Dead— what would you have, my Mother is Dead, and worse can't happen unless Iris die,— but alas— she was then but an Egg— or my Father,— and he too is since departed. Did the Roman Orator with so many Tears bemoan the Death of his Virtuous Dear Mother, and shall not I, though no Roman, make as long an Oration on a Mother, full as Dear, and full as Virtuous? But alas! Grief is tedious to any besides those who feel it, who take a pleasure even in thus tormenting themselves. Not therefore to acquaint the Reader with her Trances, Ecstasies, and wondrous Visions in the other World, where she took Lodgings for three days, and then out of tenderness, Rambled back again to see me her Dear Evander. (The very thought of which— does yet— well,— but I'm a Man) which is sufficiently known to be true by all those that knew her:  
Not, I say to force any thing on a Man's belief, which he himself has ned an inclination to Swallow, I'll only tell you in brief, that my Dear Mother Sickened and died, and came to Life again, just as they were putting her into the Coffin to bury her; and Lives a fortnight, and then sicken and died again, and was buried in good earnest, and almost broke my Heart, and my Fathers, tho' little wretch as I was, I hardly then knew my loss, nor does the World yet know it; but it shall if I can, do it.— She was born,— I won't tell you where, for I'm illnatured with my Sorrows: The Daughter of,— I won't tell you who;— for if I prove otherwise than well, there will be a good Family Disgraced:— If you ask what she was, that I'll tell you,— she was a Woman, yet no Woman, but an Angel. I say an arrant Angel, as ever appeared upon this unworthy Earth, only she assumed a real lasting Body; and continued in it some thirty or forty years to teach the World Virtue, while other Angels use to make but little stay among us, and then like Astrea, flew home again, because she found the World Incorrigible.  
She was the paragon of Perfection, and Lodestar of all Eyes and Hearts; and well might my Dear Father Travel seven years after her Death, before he Married again, for had he done't, not seven, nor seventeen, nor seventy, but seven hundred, he'd ne'er have lit upon such another.  
She was the pattern of Wives, Queen of Mothers, best of Friends, and indeed, as my Father used to say truly of her, had all the Virtues of her Sex in her little Finger;— what had she then think ye all her Body over? To say more than all, she was a very Iris, only a few years older, and well worthy to be the Mother of Evander, were he but as worthy to be her Son.— Nay— but she shan't think to scape without some Poetry on her Death,— No, all my Relations shall know what 'tis to have a Poet kin to 'em.  
— She did— she did— I saw her mount the Sky,  
And with new Whiteness paint the Galaxy;  
Heaven her methought with all its Eyes did view,  
And yet acknow'edged all its Eyes too few.  
Methought I saw in crowds blessed Spirits meet,  
And with loud Welcomes her arrival greet;  
Which could they grieve, had gone with grief away,  
To see a Soul more white, more pure than th●y.  
Earth was unworthy such a prize as this,  
Only a while Heaven let us share the bliss.— etc.  
There are a great many more of 'em, but I don't love to gorge the Reader, whom I rather choose always to leave with a Relish for his next Meal: I'll only borrow his Patience, and a Friends Wit for an Epitaph, and then let her rest till she and I wake together.  
Here lies Don Evander's Mother;  
Death— e'er thou killest such another,  
Fair and good, and wise as she,  
Time shall throw a Dart at thee.  
In the last Chapter, I had clean forgot to give you the History of the second Globe, which having such a direct aspect on the Body of all the following Relation, and the Epitome of my Life, aught by no means to be omitted.  
— There you may see, if you'll take the pains but to turn over to the Frontispiece, my old Crone of a Nurse, ay and such a Nurse as I'd not envy jupiter his she-goat who suckled him, in a kind of Rapture and Prophecy, presenting the Furniture of my future Life— the Tools I was to set up with in the universal Trade of Rambling; a Hobby- Horse, which you'll see will one of these days cast his Tail, and have four Legs start out in the room on't: A pair of little Boots— yet a great deal too big for my little Legs— A Staff— for sometimes I paid it on Ten-toes— tho' that has a stronger twang of Sancho than his Master, and is directly against the most sacred Rules of Knight Errantry, and never to be done, unless in a Pilgrimage, or on a Vow never more to bestride a Horse again, till that of the flaming Giant, Sir Fundermundando's, won in Mortal Battle— as you may read at large in Don Bellianis of Greece, or the seven Champions.  
— But I don't well understand what comes after— there seems a little malicious sting i' the Tail on't— A Sword too it may be— Why does he think I'll Ramble without a Sword— or does he make a may be on't, whether I shall ever have one of my own?  
Now dare I venture a shoulder of Mutton to a penny Commons, that 'twas some Shcollard or other writ these Verses, who finding at the University they had but one Sword belonging to one College, and a pair of Boots between three more, which they ride out with by turns, while the other stay at home in their own defence, concluded straight that things went at the same rate all the World over;— No, Sir Author, as pert as you are, I tell you I have a Sword of my own, and that those may know too who know me— or you either Sir, I'll assure ye Sir, for my Friends 'Cause is my own— and 'tis at your Service, Sir, whenever you please to make use of it.  
Being thus provided and equipped Cap-a-pe in a Traveller's Garb, Pen and Ink i' one Pocket, and Bread and Cheese i' t'other— not in specie— No— Heroes don't use to be mean— but in a parcel of Gray-Groats and Edward Shillings, tied up i' the corner of my Handkerchief, my Daddy and I turned one side upon Graffham, the place of my Birth, and away we trooped to another where we had more business— but I war'nt ye I have Wit enough to keep all close, and not let you know what 'twas; this however I care not if I tell you— that the very hopes of Rambling, the Prospect of seeing a new Part of the World, or indeed a New World to me, striking upon the strings of my Soul, before wound to the same pitch, made most charming Music, and had you seen then the young Evander— who now he sets up for Rambling indeed, does a new thing, and gets a Horseback, is resolved to have a New Name too, and henceforth when he thinks fit be called KAINOPHILUS; had you but seen what a brisk Air he then put on, how lively and rosy he looked— how sweet and how charming— well— but I say no more— being I say about to leave my beloved Graffham, I can't but give you and Posterity some account of it, as my famous Predecessor Coriat did of Odcomb, which indeed does strangely agree with the Place of my Nativity— But the Excellencies of it being too large to be contained in a corner, or crowded up in a piece of a Chapter, they shall have a whole one to themselves, that immediately following.   

CHAP. IU.  
The Description of  
— The fine Town of Graffham— the best i' the Shire on't,  
And a famous Town 'tis, if you ever did hear on't—  
FRom henceforward Reader, don't expect I should give every distinct Ramble a distinct Chapter, for truly I can't afford it any longer; for the Chapters being heavy things, and the Rambles brisk little airy Creatures, the last run away so fast, and scamper about at such a mad rate, that the first, do what they can, can't keep pace with 'em, being besides a great many, one still begetting another, and running all different ways from one another.  
— O but Graffham— my dear Graffham— I han't forgot thee— No— sooner shall my Toes forget the use of Rambling, my Fingers of Writing, or my Teeth of eating. I am resolved to write thy Memoirs with all the accuracy possible, both for thy sake and my own—  
First and mainly indeed— that after Ages may know where I was born, and what place was first so happy to claim my Nativity, nor leave Graffham, Aston, Chessham, London, Boston, Col●n, Amsterdam, and half a hundred Places more a quarrelling for me to fifty Generations hence, as the Cities of Greece do for Homer.  
Graffham was the Place— but what was this Graffham? I'll tell you if you have Patience, but have a Care of Envy.  
The lest I can say in its Praise is this—  

If wholesome Air, Earth, Woods, and pleasant Springs,  
Are Elements whereby a Town is graced,  
If strong and stately Bowers Contentment brings,  
Such is the Town of Graffham, and so placed:  
There Nature Art, Art Nature hath embraced,  
Without, within, below, aloft, complete;  
Delight and State are there both interlaced,  
And Forrune smiles to make all fair and great.  
There Houses are with Histories replete,  
Divine, Humane, all mutual Pleasures giving,  
With work so lively,— exquisite and neat,  
As if Man's Art made Mortal Creatures living.  
Pleasure itself doth here in triumph ride,  
To make the Place the ground of all her Pride.  
When Brass did on the Golden Age intrude,  
A happy Fate sure did this place seclude;  
Where every Look doth feast the curious Eye,  
And bids the Soul gaze on eternally.  
The naked Rocks are not unfruitful here,  
But at some certain seasons every year,  
Their barren tops with luscious Food abound,  
And with the Eggs of various Fowls are crowned.  
So sweet the Air, so moderate the Clime,  
None sickly live, or die before their time.   
Several Excellencies there are from whence any Place uses to be commended by Authors, few or none of which but exactly agree to that of my Nativity— and the first of them is— Air— that Dish we feed on every Minute, and that without surfeiting, unless it gets into the Head or Belly; and this Nature has so obliged the Town of Graffham with, that she has no need to send for Bottled Air home, nor send her Natives abroad to a healthier place than her own, when out of order.  
The second thing that doth even nobilitate our little Parish, is their Wool— Now you know what a splutter formerly there was about this Subject: An honest Fellow had got him a couple of fat Wethers, and to keep 'em safe, secured 'em in a Garden, just o' the outside of is House— but all would ned do, for the Argonauts, a company of Sheep-stealers as they were, having smelled out where they grazed, seized upon 'em all, and for what Reason or Cause but the excellency of the Wool, as well as the sweetness of the Mutton— on both which Accounts they were called— The Golden-Fleece.  
You have heard of Miletus I'm sure, you I mean my Learned Readers, tho' you can't tell where to find it now,— one of the most famous Cities of Greece, Mother that she was of Eighty Colonies; not was it less renowned for the fineness of her Wool than for the Stateliness of her Buildings.  
They may talk of the Royal Purple, and precious Scarlet, and Tyrtan Die, and I know ned what Fiddle-faddles— but what colour amongst 'em all can compare with native Innocence? and for that— trust Graffham, show for show, against all the world:— Here's that shall challenge Lemster, Cotsall, and all the Wolds and Downs in England, as white as Honour, Chastity and Virtue, and as pure as the Body and Soul of the beautiful Iris.  
The third is, the tallness, altitude, or Maypolosity of our Church and Steeple, erected so loftily, (as how can it choose? being at the top of a Hill,) as that it appears the very Metropolitan of all the little Villages which like Handmaids wait at awful distance about us. What care I for their Steeple- crowned Pharos, that looked a hundred mile round— or the Monumental Mum-glass— that pretty Stripling of 24 Years growth, which, as the Fellow said of the Ship, If it grows at this rate till 'tis a hundred year old, what a Monster will 't be! Let Bow-steeple, and Salisbury Steeple, and Grantham Steeple run to Seed as far as they will, and give the very Clouds a clyster, or rather Suppositor,— I say Graffham Steeple is Graffham Steeple still— and there's an end on't.  
The Fourth is,— The Excellency of the Soil, which is so fat and luscious that it doth even flow with Milk and Honey, not to mention Curds and Buttermilk, You may think this is a Poetical rant, but 'tis as true as I ever was in Boston; for I remember very well, my Father kept seven Cows in Glebe-field, besides a Red-Cow in the Close behind the Parsonage-house, and a Bull in the Common, and 'tis hard luck if out of all them we had not milk enough without scoring up behind the Door.  
And for Honey, we had a whole street of little Thatched Houses by the side of our Orchard-wall, where, if the Reader won't believe there's Honey, let him go thrust his Head in and taste it, where he will find a company of little angry Gentlemen within will abundantly satisfy him of the truth of what I have asserted.  
Next for the variety of our sweet and wholesome Springs, distributed by the prudent Artifice of old Dame Nature into sundry convenient places of our Palaces: Some issuing out of an opake Concave, as if once the Nymphs kept Court i' th' inside: Others dribbling down daintily from the worn face of an old Rock, whose blubbered Cheeks were always troubled with a Rheumatism. Some again just peeping out of ground through a company of Pebbles, you'd think 'em only the sweat of the Earth, and growing still stronger and stronger, at last increase to that Bulk, that by intercepting its crystal waves, and circumobjecting Clods of Earth and Hurdles, the Country Swains, made thereof a Mathematical Engine called a Sheep-pond, which none has better reason to remember than Kainophilus, who at a certain Sheep-Sheering getting hold of a Sturdy-Ram, was hurried away by the obstreperous Creature, and both together soused over head and ears in the imprisoned Waters,— I have good reason too to remember that,— for when I came Home dripping all the way,— my Father gave me a Remembrance which sufficiently warmed my inside though it did not dry that without.  
Now the Sixth thing for which our Town of Graffham is remarkably recommentlable, is their famous Breed of Horses. O with what inexpressible content and satisfaction have I seen those Cicurable Animals, harken to the sweet Instructions of his Rustical Curator? Shall I ever forget those ravishing Accents,— Ree— Give— ho Mather— and the rest of 'em. Well— these Horses are certainly very docible Creatures, especially our Graffhamites, and deserve for aught I know to be placed in the Skies, as well as either Pegasus or Pacolets.— But now we talk of Horses, what think you of that famous Grecian Horse, called Bucephalus the Great, a true Pad to the scarce greater Alexander,— and yet these brave Creatures ben●t, always the wisest,— for that silly Animal was frighted at his own shadow, and flung, and flounced about like a mad thing,— whereas to my knowledge 'tis not a small matter will fright our more generous Graffham-Horses, which are so far from Inclinations to scampering, that I have seen 'em stand as indifferent and careless under Whip, Spur, Staff and Wand, as if they were above the brutal methods of Force and Violence, and I'd fain know what Horse is fit for a War-Horse, if not such a one as won't stir an inch though he feels a Lump of Steel in the very Guts of him.  
But more than Horses, Wells, Springs, Rivers, Churches, Steeples and all, is that most amiable Vmity, Peace, Amity and Love, which time out of mind has made its Haltion— nest in my fine Town of Graffham. Who ever heard of Armies against Armies there, as in Rome, jerusalem, Paris, and many greater Cities, that are old and big enough to have more wit. Or to come nearer home,— do we use to quarrel for Shrieves, Lord Mayor, and Common-Council-men, and call Thou Rogue, and thou Fool?— No,— catch us at that and hang us,— Do but see how infectious these foul great places are. There's Branford now, which one would think were a peaceable dusty place enough, and yet every body has heard of the three Kings of Brandford at one time.— O abominable,— and them whole Armies Incognito at Knightsbridg, and the Hammersmith Brigade, and I know not what,— whereas the oldest man in Graffham never remembers an Army there, either Cognito or Incognito, nor any other of their barbarous wicked ways, nor ever knew above one King at a time since the Creation of the World,— though a perilous pestilent Fellow here, that don't live very many Miles off, would persuade us simple Volk that we have got two Kings now,— one that has good handvast already, and another's that must have't when he can catch it,— but one's enough at one time, and God send we may have ne'er another this hundred year.  
One Excellency more it has— of which very briefly— for— for a word to the wise,— that is,— 'Tis the birthplace of Evander.— And O that he could but have ●●aid there, and they still been happy in one another!  
Oh if kind Heaven had been so much my Friend,  
To make my Fate upon my Choice depend,  
All my Ambition I would here confine  
And only this Elysium should be mine,  
See Reader what a value I have for it, my Love to my Country even checks my Love to Rambling. One tugs one way, another's tugs another's, as if I was tearing in pieces with wild-Horses. And yet methinks at Graffham, my dear Graffham I was ever Rambling;— 'twas always new, 'twas a mere Map of Iris, 'twas, 'twas— nay I can go no further. And indeed all great generous Souls, tho' they like the Sun have a kind aspect for all the World, yet like him too, they favour some beloved place more than others, if they love their particular Parents, their Country which is their Common Parent, challenges too their love,— and in both Cases, not only Gratitude and Interest, but even Nature knits the bond, and it must be a very high injury indeed, if any at all, which ought to dssolve the last, though the first should cease: for as that witty Rogue Lucian, the very Roger of his Age,— 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. (Not to venture any further in Greek; lest I should slip in over head and ears before I'm aware, and then how shall I get out again:) The very Smoke of our own Country is more dear, and looks brighter than the very Fire of another. [There's Sense for ye now, in English, Greek and Latin, or shall be before I've done.]  
O Graffham, Graffham! I say still, let all the World say what they will, my Country is the best Country, the sweetest Country, the bravest, rarest, gaudiest Country all the World over. Let the Laplander admire his own airy Fields and close Habitation, which none but the Devil and he would dwell in,— I say give me Graffham,— let the Frenchman say Nature never made a Country so happy as his own,— Let him live upon Grapes and Frogs, the Italian praise his Salads, and the Butterbox his Herring,— O but give me a Sirloin of Graffham Beef,— there's Beef,— there's Fat,— there's— Pig and Pork,— Cut and come again,— well there's ne'er a Great Turk of 'em all, neither he at Constantinople, nor t'other at Paris, that lives half so well as our Churchwardens of Graffham,— I know it— never tell me,— it has not its fellow again:— Welsh-Leeks,— Irish-Potatas, Cornish Fumades, Scotch-Cakes,— Rocks, Hills, Mines, Loughs and Bogs,— let 'em all ●ry their own is best,— I won't much quarrel with 'em for that, so they'll all confess mine is better,— Ay— let 'em e●'e be all Viceroys still, so I'm but Viceroy over 'em.— So noble was that Speech of a dying Hero,— I have always loved my Country much more than my Life. So generous were the brave Old Romans, so Fortunate withal— they were indeed, as juvenal's says greatly of one of 'em, Magni animi prodigi,— Even prodigal of their great Souls, and lavish of their Lives, (perfect Evanders,) when their dear Country wanted 'em.— One Throws himself amidst his Enemies, t'other leaps headlong into the midst of a fiery Gulf,— Curtius all armed to the black breach did ride— Where alas! ah where shall we find the like now, except at Graffham? I can't hold in this Handmaid, Muse, (I must get a Curb-bridle for her,) but she will run away with me upon this Subject, and Good-b'uy Reader, for you are ned like to set sight on me again, till the next Chapter.  
Where are you all, you mighty Sons of Fame,  
Whose Deathless deeds secured your Deathless name?  
Whose Memory, spite of time and age survives,  
Who when your Country asked 'em, scorned your lives;  
Lived you alone in Monkish Tale and Fable,  
At good K. Arthur's Court, and famed round Fable?  
Or will not Agincou●t and Cresny tell,  
What grovelling Conquered France than knew too well  
When a small Troop of English Hero's stood,  
Half drowned both in their own and Enemy's blood;  
Whilst the thick slain Carcases that floated there,  
Like Bridges them to Victory did bear.  
O Courey! Talbot! England's pride and Love,  
Could you look down from your blessed Seats above,  
Whose Looks, whose Names, when them they saw and feared,  
Their Armies and their very Champions scared;  
Could you look down from that calm blissful place,  
On a degenerate cursed apostate race;  
Who would for an old rotten Idol sell  
To France their Bodies, and their Souls to Hell?  
How would you blush lest it should there be known,  
And hardly now your once-loved Country own!  
— But then a far more pleasing Glance bestow  
Upon your fellow-Conquerors below.  
There Fate draws near— and now he lands, and now  
Knelt on the Shore, and pays his second vow.  
There, there he charged and shook the trembling ground  
With sweat and dust and blood encompassed round.  
See Courey see,— to well known Bogs they run,  
The Birds abscond before the rising Sun.  
See Talbot, see thy Countrymen advance  
Their conquering Standards on the Shores of France,  
Now a fit match for England, strong and proved,  
While Europe's groans for vengeance call aloud,  
O happy he who their cursed Fields shall burn,  
Shall blo●d for blood, and fire for fire return!  
The God-like-man, shall crush that hellish crew,  
Shall raise th' oppressed, the oppressors shall subdue;  
He happy too who there with crowds oppressed,  
Shall lay his honourable Bones to rest;  
Or he who o'er a Breach or Bulwark flies,  
Shoots Death amongst 'em all, and conquering Dies.   

CHAP. V.  
A little more of Rambling in general. School-Rambles, and my being in danger two or three times of Rambling out of the World.  
I Say, as well as Thomas Sternhold— Give me the World full wide. For had ned I been a strange Creature, had I continued penned up in a Quartpot ever since I had been born, to peep and Mutter there, like a familiar Spirit shut up in a Bottle; Love my Country I do, even, I think (I'd speak cautiously,) to fight for't— so far I'm sure I do, but whether farther than about the Edges of that terrible business, I can't be positive,— only I hope, as every good Citizen, Regimented or not, that there will be no occasion for't.— And who but ill-meaning men, wish War so near our Gates that we should go out and meet it? But notwithstanding all that, and more I could say,— Rambling is still a pretty thing, a very pretty thing truly, much improving the knowledge, increasing the Experience, confirming the Judgement, strengthening, polishing and burnishing both body and mind; it has made some Cheeks that shall be nameless as bright as the Sun to my knowledge, and much of the same Colour: What says Herbert? 
Active and Rambling Spirits live alone,  
Write on the other— Here lies such an one.   
— Or something like it, for I han't the Book by me, I say again,— who (but an Old man) would live like the Old man of Verona?— Come I'll tell you the Story, because 'tis a pretty one, and every body don't know it. Once upon a time there was an Old-man, a very Old-man Sir, that lived at Verona (or Milan 'twas, I can't tell which,) and there this Old-man Sir, had never been out of this City all the days of his Life,— was ned that a very strange thing? but 'twill be stranger yet. So Sir it fell out that once upon a time, O! but I should ha' told ye before, that he was three score,— I think 'twas threescore,— ay threescore years old. Now this Old-man Sir, as I was saying, of threescore years old, had never been without the Gates of the City in all his Life:— Did you ever hear the like? So Sir upon this the Duke of Milan, if 'twas Milan, hearing of this strange Old-man Sir, was resolved to try Experiments, and therefore forbid him as he hoped to live, not to stir one foot out of the City upon pain of Death. Now what does this Old-Fool Sir do, but because he could not Ramble abroad, tho' he'd ne'er any mind to't before, but now 'twas forbidden Sir, only because 'twas forbidden, had a month's mind to go out o' Town, and because he could ned do't, took pet upon't, and broke's heart Sir, and died;— so there is an end of one that like a Snail would keep at home while he might have Rambled, and could not do't when he would have done't. And a fair warning 'tis to all such as are Enemies to Rambling:— now what Fools these great Loobies are that always lie at home in Chimney corners, to observe I say what silly Loobies they are, I say not only Hee-Loobies but Shee-Loobies,— why they have no more wit in 'em than my Grannies Gozlin. I warn't ye one Kainophilus, who has been improving his parts abroad, would make Fools of one and thirty of 'em bundled up together. Come I'll tell ye another Story, that ye may see what Fools they are. There was a Woman lived at Taunton-Dean:— ye have heard zhure of Taunton-Dean, 'tis one o● the bigst Towns in all Zummerit-Zhire. Zoo Zur, this same Woman having never avore been above a stones julk, or a Quoits cast out of her Parish bounds, happened to have a young Vellow come a Zutering to her, a matter o zum twenty mile off, at Cheeard 'twas, or thereabout; and zoo Zur at last it came about that a got hurs and her Vathers Conzent, and Married her, and zoo when a had Married her, a zet her behind●un, and carried her away to Ceeard. Zoo as they were a joalting to jolting along upon the King's Highway, and still went under and vurder, She great Vool, that had never been haaf zoo vur zuns she wor abore, skreamed out to un, and cried— Why our jan! what dozt meean to do, what dozt think to Cart me to the World's eeand? jan he whickered and laughed, zoo aded, till he almost bewrayed a'z zel, zoo he ded, but at last a little about an hour by Zun, he got are hooam— and then towed are— Why thou great Ooaf, dozt think we be come near the Worlds-cand yet, why man the World is a hundred times zoo long as 'tis 'twixt Taunton-Dean and Cheeard. Zavetly, zavetly jan! keh her again toon, and I'll tell thee zoo much jan! wort ' my Huzbon, chud zoea thou wert as voul great a Lyard as any in all theck World thou taakst o'.  
Now at this silly rate should a man talk that had never Traveled any further than on a Processioning day, nor Rambled beyond the Hen-r●osts, or robbing Orchards.— But now a man that improves his time and youthful years as some have done that shall be nameless,— why he's Company for e'er a King in Christendom, ay and in Pagandom too— as you'll see when you come to America.  
— But being now describing my fuvenile Rambles, tho' I'll not trouble the Reader with every Expedition I made a Nutting, or Birds-nesting, nor intent to take any care how to bring myself from the last place I was rambling to, I can by no means omit telling him what I promised (and I'm famous for keeping my word,) what I promised him in the Contents of this Chapter,— and account of my Rambles to School, and from one to tother, and tother, to the next, and so on,— nor of my two or three Rambles I was just entering upon into another's World. The names of my Schoolmasters were Mr. A. B. C. D. and almost all the Chriss-cross-row over, but for the most part such Vinegar-faced, Mustard-nosed Fellows,— such heavy handed, thick Fingered, Foot-fisted Rascals,— ay if I am ned even with 'em,— now 'tis my time,— Ill yerk 'em— back I'll scourge 'em as bad as they e'er did me, or the Dr. of Paul's School his Maid Gillian,— Come— down with your Breeches you old Fornicators, you Inquisitors, you musty Bachelors, you Goldfinders, you Men-floggers, you posterior-sweepers,— to Horse brave boys to Horse— so there is one, two, three, twenty; d●ye ●●ince?— d'ye caper very well?— remember wh●n I did the like, when you made me hate Lily more than the great Turk, and poor Priscian that never did me any wrong, tho' I did him, as bad as the Devil:— So, are you penitent?— kiss the Rod— all of ye— one after another:— how! stubborn— Ha— Ha, die Rebel?— up again— O! are ye come to yourselves?— very well— go get you into your places, and as you like this come for more on't. Now Reader! done't you see the very Picture of yourself and what you have suffered, as I by these unchristian pedagogues? Does ned every fiber of your Buttocks tremble, as Busby's boys do when they meet him again, as oft as you reflect how often those filthy Fellows have been peeping in 'em? well I'm heartily glad I e'er learned to write, if 'twere for no other end than thus to paint these grim Fellows to the World in their own Colours, and those as stinking ones as they e'er made me paint my Breeches with.  
Thus will I them whip, strip and quarter,  
Who my poor Buttocks once did martyr.  
Alas that's not the way to deal with humane Nature, there requires a great deal of art to form such tender things as youth. I'm very confident the Reason why we speak no more Latin, nor more fluently in England, is because these Intendants of Schoolmasters Dragoon us thus out of our Mother Tongue,— they use us not like rational Creatures.— A Dog that is taught to fetch and carry, has more sweet words, and sewer sour knocks and blows, than we poor Curs generally meet withal, which before we can come to taste the sweets of Learning and good Authors, sets us against even what ever looks like a Book,— (so that indeed I wonder how I came so much as to trade in 'em.)  
Not but that I justly honour and respect those ingenious men, who little other than devote themselves for their Country's sake to beat Greek and Latin, as Oldham wittily calls it, and drive Learning, if possible, into such Blockheads as I was— not. Who by mild Arts, and attempring their Methods to the disposition of the Lads they have to deal with, can do more in four years with 'em, than others in seven, ten, or ten hundred. The Happiness of those Youth who fall into such hands, is more than they are sensible of; and 'tis confessed the Reason why so many Tyrants, Fools and Dunces, who usurp that honourable Employment is because the World has seldom wit enough to give such as are otherwise their due respect and encouragement.  
However 'tis, happy was I when my Father took me home out of their Purgatory, and taught me himself— But first I must tell you what were my chiefest Rambles while in their Jurisdiction.  
Two or three I had which were like to be very long ones, I being just upon the Tiptoe to see my great Grandfathers.  
One day while at School (at Dungrove, the place where I now boarded) returning home about the time that Sols fiery footed Steeds began to make the Ocean hizz with thrusting their hoofs into't, being attended with all my play-fellows, (for they honoured me) after we had embraced one another, (for we were civil) and taken a kind Farewell, which had like to have been our last: As I was Rambling home by a straggling River, that sneaks through the Town of [Latmus] and gazing sometimes on the lofty Hills and flowery Dales, and sometimes on the stately Swans that did now in Triumph ride in the Sedges of the meandring Streams, (I think those Swans were Geese tho', to tell truth) and by and by listening to those feathered people that were warbling out their ravishing Ditties in a sullen Grove, and coo and coo unto each others moan,— Owls, Cuckoos, Phoenicopters, Rooks and Phoenixes— why just then, all of a sudden, before I could say what's this, or knew where I was, my Noddle now swimming with a million of Fancies, (as I always had a very working Brain,) and I not minding my way, in tumbled I into the River, hugging the waves so tenderly, you can't imagine— But not to tell you what Discourse the Water-Nymphs and I had together, how they took me down with 'em to their External Palaces, and Sea-green dining Rooms, all hung with watchet Silk, and decked with Coral and Mother o' Pearl, I'll warrant you the cheapest thing amongst it: Not to puzzle or Gag your belief with such odd Accidents— this I'm sure you'll all credit— that when I was under water, I was in danger of drownding, and had I continued there but one four and twenty hours, I had certainly been dead to this day,— and there had been an end of Kainophilus and all his Rambles:— but as my better Stars would have it, who should lie sleeping just by the waterside, but one Mr. I. R. (not james Rex, but another whose Name begins with the same Letters) methinks I have him still before my Eyes,— how he startled when I flounced into the Water, thinking belike 't'had been some Spaniel Dog or other,— how after I was under Water, he got upon his Breech, rubbed his Eyes, and looked about him to see what was the matter, (for he has told me all the story since) and last how he saw my Heels capering up, like the Handle of a Milk-●ail when carried away by the stream, and catching me hold by the left Leg, pulled me out in spite of half a Tun of water both in my clothes and Belly, and held me up by the Heels so long till I thought my Guts would have dropped out at my Mouth, or at least I should have gone to Stool at the wrong end. Nor yet could I find find i' my heart to be angry with him, so grateful is my Nature, for thus saving my Life, when I was within six Gasps precisely of feeding the Fishes:— I say precisely, for sure I should best know the measure of my own Belly, for that must unavoidably have burst with six go-downs more of that uncomfortable Element:— So there's an end o' that Ramble; Fate held its own, and he that is born to die in his Bed, shall ne'er be drowned.  
But alas, alas! how various are the chances that assail us mortal men!— how constant is Fate in Inconstancy (that Flower I had out of English, Parnassus:) Another sad accident showed I was Bullet-proof as well as water-Proof— for playing with a particle of Lead by Liquefaction and Comprehension upon condensation metamorphized into a globular Form, or as I said before, a Leaden-bullet, not chawing it to shoot any body with, on my honour; the Pontcullis not being shut down close enough in it, rolls at the Gate of my Stomach, and stopped all passage of breath itself— Now while I was snorting and snuffling, grunting and groaning—  
When Death in Leaden slumbers hovered o'er,  
My strength decayed, and I could strive no more,  
Then lo agentle 
* M. G.  Maid from Heaven sent,  
Thr●st down up▪ Throat a natural Instrument  
Called her forefinger, and with many a thump  
Against my groaning back, and sounding rump,  
To her much joy, and my no little pain,  
Up with a jerk the Bullet leapt again.  
But think ye this is all— no— Death has ned yet done wi' me, and I was just turning over by an odder whim than either of these:— For as I was expatiating in Dungrove Fields, my Mind and Body rambling alike, neither cared or knew whether, I out of a Childish wantonness gathered a bearded Ear of Grass or Corn, and put it into my Throat, thrusting it down so far, that when I went to pull it up again, being against the grain, there it stuck and might have done till 't had grown again, for I could ned wag it, any more than a poor Gudgeon get out the Beard of a Hook after he has swallowed the fallacious Bait and that together with it.  
While I lay in this condition, sprawling and kicking, and staring and stinking, what do me my kind Angel, but sends by at that time several of my Relations, who accidently were jogging that way,— who seeing me make so many faces, but such wry ones, as showed I was not very merrily disposed, alighted to my relief, and with much ado writhed the barbed Arrow, winged with so many Deaths, out of my Throat again.  
Anacreon died, O hone, O hone!  
By the blunt Dart of a Grapestone,  
Adrian our Countryman the Pope,  
Was choked with Fly— sad! not with Rope:  
Stronger than both Evander's Fate,  
By bearded Wheat sent to Death's Gate;  
And when he knocked at Gate o'th' Dead,  
Death out o'th' wicket thrust her head,  
And opening boney jaws thus said,  
'Tis the third time, bold Youth! ●beware,  
No more I catch you Rambling here!  
Fate nibbling at thy Throat has been  
Now thrice at lest— but still within.  
I warn thee well— look sharp about,  
Lest next time it should come without.  
There's no need o' your warning, Death, nor o' the Doggerel Poet that speaks for you,— take you care of hanging, and I'll warn't I'll slip my Neck out o' the Collar well enough.  
But soon after this last disaster, I begun to consider that I was now hop, stride and jumped into the Teens, and 'twas therefore high time to leave the place where I had been so long imprisoned, and Ramble some where else. And indeed I never loved constraint from my Infancy: That which I can otherwise naturally and easily do, if it once come to be imposed, tho' by me upon myself, tho' the most necessary Offices, I can hardly persuade my Body to it: The very Members whereof, over which a Man has a particular Power and Jurisdiction, sometimes refuse to obey (ah treacherous faithless Creatures— they deserve to be amputated for their Rebellion—) when I enjoin the most necessary, most pleasing services at a certain hour, for the compulsive appointment baffles and confounds them and me,— and they immediately shrink up and excuse themselves so you'd wonder at it, either through Fear, or Spite, or Shame, I cannot tell whether.  
This constraint I was now freed from, and set up for a new Ramble with some of my Relations who came to fetch me home; but should I relate all the mournful Stories, and passionate Tears included in my bidding dear Chesham Farewell; how many Bushel of Tears I wept; how many Seas I and my Friends reigned in one another's bosom- (for after all the Love to Rambling, 'twas hard to part with 'em,) and how many Clouds and Hurricanes my sighs formed themselves into when they got vent, and Rambled in the open Air; I verily believe 'twouldwou'd swell this Book into as many Folio's, as 'twill now be lesser Volumes.  
I'll therefore wave 'em all at present, and only acquaint you that a fine Sunshine Morning 'twas when I first set out again a Rambling, the Air was perfumed with the sweet odours which (for that was the place I was now leaving) the Sun exhaled from the bosom of the fertile Earth, oill it smelled as fragrant as the breath of an Iris. The Birds whistled like any Carter, and the●e was scarce a Hedge I passed, but welcomed me with new Songs, either from the two winged or 〈◊〉- legged Birds that fate upon or under 'em. Never Traveller met me, but most complaisantly wished me good speed, and good enough I had on't, who must Ramble round the World, before I rest my wearied Carcase. O how daintily were the Meadows and Roads crowded every where with Cowslips and Cowt— s, Daisies and Horse-Dung; nay, that's a very wholesome smell— and as well as tother, is a very good, of a populous, well-traded, well managed Country. Nor did any thing now trouble me, except my leaving my Dear Friends behind me, but that I saw no● Travellers enough to gather up those 〈…〉 I saw in the way (I mean the sweet ones.) Thus pleasantly Travelled I and my Country Company, till being arrived near the end of our intended Journey, we chopped upon a young Spark near the end of a little Village we were passing through, who seemed to have been born to better Fortune than he then possossed. He had a certain wild gaiety in his Looks, or rather the ruins of it, for 'twas clogg`d and broken with after-misfortunes. He had oftentimes it seems in his younger years, and that not long ago, (for he could scarce be above Twenty) transmuted a House into a Hogshead, and many a flock of Sheep and drove of fat Oxen into Flasks of Wine, and Bottles of Gla●et, till all being gone, he was at last reduced to such extremity as to live on the frozen Charity of those who had known him in his better Fortune. D'ye know that Person, quo● one of the Company to me? No I answered, how should I, ne'er having seen him before?— Why, says he again, 'Tis the Prodigal Son of Mr.— of— who as young as he is, has already spent Five hundred a year in drink:— which was not spoken so low but the forlorn Pilgrim overheard him, and turning back, briskly replied again, Yes, that have I, Sir, and am Airy still.— Which unexpected sharp Repartee so pleased us, that we took him into a kind of a Crab-Tavern, and giving him share in half a dozen Bottles of Claret, left him as great as a King, and as happy for a few hours, as if he had his Five hundred a year again:— Well thought I in my little head, this shall be a fair Warning to me, if ever I get five hundred a year, or a thousand either, never to spend it so foolishly as this Fellow has done, and be every Body's jester, to fill his lean Belly.  
Well, at last we are come to Tonsa, and my Father's house, whose blessing I asked upon my bended knees, with humility enough to put pride out of Countenance, for I can stoop you must ●now, when Duty or good manners require it, but I am as stiff as a Stake, and my hams as obdurate as a Spaniards, where I meet with a proud Fellow, whom I have no Obligation to flatter or Honour. I did as much to my new Mother, and almost half a hundred Grandfathers, and great Grandmothers, saluting likewise in the most count, and yet ample manner, all those, not a few Well_beloved's, whom I found there met to congratulate my arrival— but what's this to you, perhaps you may ask me? Ay, but 'tis a great deal to me, and a very considerable part of my Life, for as you'll find the Plot thickens apace, and the hinge of all my future Fortunes is just upon turning— For here my Father himself taking me to task, and instructing me with a mildness and gravity peculiar to our Family, both inthe Languages and Arts, had if possible made me a Scholar: For which he had all along designed me, hoping as much from my blooming presages, as from all my Learned Predecessors, who had been Scholars for aught I know e'er since Adam, I'm sure much longer than I can remember.  
He found me soon, if without a Solaecism, in modesty of myself I may say it, as extremely industrious: so not altogether indocil. For, being entirely submissive to his Inclinations, I resolved, had he pleased, to have been a Scholar in spite of nature, and accordingly advance I did, but at a very uncomfortable rate, much as fast as a Cart with half a wheel broke off. For the truth is, the sprightfulness and vigour of my Soul, being by the severity of my former Master, either damned up, and quite extinguished, or else turned another way from Learning, towards some more Rambling Entertainment, it could not be expected I should do any great wonders. He tried me then at the Arts and Sciences, giving me a little smack of all to see whether that would make me more in love with Learning; but alas! all was the same. I only could beat enough of 'em into my head to laugh or rail at 'em a little; which way you'll find by and by I shall exercise (either my Memory, or) my Invention.  
My Father at last finding all his Drudgery and mine was in vain, and being rather willing to make a Golden Tradesman than a Wooden Parson of me, he e'en at last agreed to my longing desires, and gave the long expected word, That I should be an Apprentice.  
But not a little nasty Country Apprentice, in some dingy hole of a Town not half so big as Little-Britain, or Ducklane; no, that had been the ready way to have set my great Soul a rambling away, and carry my little Body upon the back on't, as soon as e'er I came thither; and that too, never to return, never to return, never to return to my place again— but before— cry-mercy, I was stumbled into the purlieus of an old Song, and could ned find the way out again.  
'Twas not, I say, in some narrow mean Country Town, but the famous and gallant City of LONDON, where he had designed to plant the Hopes of his Family; nor there neither in any of those dark holes before mentioned, but even in the very Front, the Cream, the Heart, the choicest picked and culled part of the City, Cheapside; nor there to a little sneaking What d'ye lack Trade, but to a glorious, learned, stately— hold there— while 'tis is 'tis my own— you shall even picked out yourself if you'll have it. When things were once brought to this pass, guess you whether I knew what to do with myself for joy— alas! I forgot to eat, should— spit, pick my ears, blow my nose, or wash my face, for almost a fortnight after. I tell you, I did not know where I was no more than a Goose, nor whether I stood upon Land or Water.  
You can't imagine what strange notions the poor Country Volk have of this glorrious fine Town o' London. They think the Streets are all paved with Gold, the Pillars of Porphyrian Marble, and Corinthian Brass, the Churches of Sweetmeats, and the Houses of Gingerbread, that it reins Maccaroons, and hails Marchpanes, and that Pearls and Diamonds grow there (for they have heard of Seed-Pearl, and what for, if not to sow it?) as plenty as Cresses and Blue-bottles in the Fields and Meadows. A Country-Bumkin is a Cockney standing upon his head— just such a● allow thing in the City as t'other in the Country● and if Cit asks to see 'em spin M●lt, Bumkin will be as ready to ask where they gather the Gold-Necklaces. Indeed 'tis too big for their Brains, they have ne'er seen any thing like it, and therefore can have hardly any notion on't, none at lest that's any more like it than a Horse is like a Catterpillar. They can guests 'tis twice or thrice as big as the Town they carry their Corn to Market to; but should you tell 'em, 'twas a hundred times bigger, they'd fall a whistling, and fetch the Whetstone forye. They have a strange fancy too of the sagacity and memory of the good people that live there; sure, think they, if such litterate Vellows as Hob and I know all our Parish, and the next Hamlet too into the bargain, much more must all the vine Volk there know one another. So that he who was so Book-learned to direct a Letter to his loving Brother T. W. living in London, did not in the least doubt but he'd have it by next Post, and much wondered he heard no answer. But when they see such a like fine Spark as myself come down from London with a Laced Cravat, Fringed Gloves, and a Sword at my—, a's they mannerly use to style it, what a flocking of Crows there will be about one poor Owl? Pray Mr. Evander, you ha' been at London lately, did you see my Zon Harry there? how does he grow? done't he sprout finely? I warrant he makes a sprunt Lad by this time, he's seventeen year old come next Grass; you, you comes a fat-chopped Wench plucking you by t'other sleeve, did ned you see our Tom that went up to be Chamberlain? ay Chamberlain, 'twas at the great Inn there; I do not know what the Sign is, but you could not miss it after you came into Town, for 'tis just in the way. Well, I take it very unkindly, says another, that Will sends me ne'er a Line, nor Token all this while, to satisfy me if he be alive or dead. These London Flurts, with their Silks and their Topknots; well, I say no more, but I see, out o' sight, out o' mind.  
And thus shall you be unmercifully worried to death every time you peep abroad, and tell 'em a hundred times you don't know one of them you ask for, they'll cry, 'tis impossible; this London spoils every body, you're grown a proud Fellow, and there's an end on't. But to see what work they make when they come to see't themselves. One wise one indeed I have heard of, who had a great longing that way, but durst not go to London for fear of losing his Labour, for he went to see the City, that he did, but knowing none o' the Porters, he was afeared they'd not let him in, and so came back again like what he went. But if they have more Courage, and do once get in, not a King or Lord Mayor moves through with half so much sta●e, delays and gravity. They think every Street is made of Churches, but then are scandalised again to see all the Church's Ale-housens, and yet the Volk i'th' inside of 'em jacks of all Trades. He gives every House and Sign a full quarter of an hours contemplation, and if he clears one Street in a day, he makes a good days work on't. All the Body of him stairs together; his eyes bened enough, but he must fill his mouth with strange sights and r●ree-shows● nay, both his hands which are lifted up with wonderment, and one leg too twisted round his long Oaken Plant, whilst he lolls upon his arms and tother, till some unlucky Blackguard Rogue or Apprentice strikes it away, and down souses poor Hob in the kennel. Ay, and well if they scape so too, for ten to one but they fall into the clutches of one cheating Rogue or other. who asks 'em if they'll buy a Ring newly found, which, wanting money, they shall have for half the price; then Tom snickers, and thanks his good fortune, out comes the Leather Bag, and away fly all the twopences and bowed nine-pences, for a piece of brass little better than a Curtain-Ring; nay, sometimes worse than this too. As happened to a couple of wise Gothams in our Town (for some wise, and some fools all the World over) who having occasion to purchase two groatsworth of Law, came one Term to London, and having dispatched that important affair, resolved to spend one day in surveying the Rarities and brave Sights that were to be seen here; upon which having laid out several twopences to their very great satisfaction, their evil Genius at last led 'em by the Poultrey-Counter, a dreadful place 'tis as any out of Hell, not that I dread it neither. True hearts know no fear; and 'tis well known I beard it every day with an undaunted countenance, when my business calls me that way; but dreadful, I say, to them who fall into their Harpy-hands, as these poor High-shoons found it; for observing that Bunch of Catchpoles at the Counter-Gate, which usually wait there to see if the Devil or his Friends the Usurers have any Employment for 'em, they very innocently inquire, what was there to be seen; to which one of these notorious honest Fellows replied, the Lions.  
The Lions, quo ' Robin! Why we han't zeen them yet, Neighbour jarvise! Ay the Lions, cried another of those Wolves, but you can't get at'em, for they beened to be seen at this time o'day. Now this made the poor Creatures mad to get at'em; they had Money enough; what cared they if they spent Six pence for such a sight? with seeming much ado, at last they let 'em in; but no sooner there, but they saw and felt Beasts of prey enough with a vengeance all round'em, almost half a hundred Tatter d●malions ransacking'em for garnish; nor can they imagine what they'd be at, till one of'em on the sudden Felt his Hat vanished away, and putting up his Hand to see whether they had not stole Head and all, before he could receive satisfaction in that point, found his Coat taking everlasting leave of his Shoulders. The other compounding for his Head-case freely surrendered his upper Garment, and so with loud Acclamations from all the wild Arabs of the place they marched away in Querpo, blessing themselves for so fair a riddance out of the Lions Den.  
This 'tis not to Ramble; would Evander have had so little wit; no, Diamonds cut Diamonds; trust him with all the Sergeants that Qu●vedo ever saw, and I war'nt he comes off clear from 'em all (if he may so say of himself without blushing) and that you'll see when he gets to this dreadful City; but first let him come there, and he's now on the Road with a whole two or three Cart full of Acquaintance and Relations to take their long leave. O what crying and whimpering, and sobbing, and even loud downright yelling and roaring was there amongst amongst! How many Tokens and Remembrances, broad Shillings and little pieces of Gold were clapped into Kainophilus his Golls by he scarce knew who; so that glad would he ha' been to have taken his leave at this rate, and gone to London every day in the year.  
Upon the Road at last I got, and there had liberty to consider the happiness I had, as I thought, then obtained by being freed from my Stepmother Learning; and thus might I, or did I for aught you know; Mr. Cr●●ick that will be meddling reflect on the several parts on't as I was taking my final leave.  
Farewell Grammar, thou bugbear to tender Striplings and Buttocks; how often hast thou steered my penitent Posteriours to a Burchen Wood, and made the Butt-end of my Person weep Carnation Tears; nay, made the poor Pedant wear out himself as much as me, in running through Thorns and Briars after some fugitive rugged word or other that would not be hooped into any of his common Rules.  
O happy Golden Age! Sure there grew no Burch in't, or else the cursed use on't was not then found out any more than that of Steel. then when Learning was nothing but common Sense, and all the World spoke the same Mother Tongue, and aimed at no higher a pitch of Oratory than to be understood, all the World being then one Continent in Language.  
All people then one Language spoke alone,  
Interpreters the World then needed none.  
There lived then no learned deep Grammarians,  
There were no French, no Dutchmen, nor Tartarians,  
Then all was one, and one was only all  
The Language of this Universal Ball.  
Then if a Traveller had gone as far  
As from the Arctic to th' Antarctic Star:  
If he from Boreas unto Auster went,  
Or from the Orient to the Occident:  
Which way soever he did turn or wind,  
He had been sure his Countrymen to find.  
Then Grammar get thee about thy business, who hast kept me longer now as well as formerly than all the rest did or are like to do.  
Logic, come ye next, and tho' you were hardly ever in, I'll quickly kick you out of Doors; thou Intellectual jangler, thou Learned Cant; thou mere Banter in Mood and Figure, by which a Man may affirm or deny any thing; prove two Eggs three, and that the Moon's made of Green Cheese. Thou hungry, beggarly lean-jawed thing, as bad as Poetry. Thou somewhat like Reason, but not the same, no more than a Monkey a Man; go get thee gone among thy own Thorns and prick out thy Eyes.  
Farewell Rhetoric, for thou art only Sauce to no Meat— the Art of Lying well. Thou that dressest up good sense in Bells and Fools caps, and makest it look like Nonsense, and that in Topknots and fine clothes, and makest Fools believe 'tis sense. Get thee about thy business to the Beggars in moorfield's, teach'em Elocution, and all thy fine Tropes and Figures, and howl out together with 'em, Dear beloved people of— 'tis a sad thing to be Blind.  
But pray stay and take your Sister Poetry with you: If I come to be Mad or in Love, I may have occasion for you both again, and perhaps may give you a Meals Meat, or a Night's Lodging for your Company.  
— Poetry, Thou Ha, Ha, Ha, of the World! Efflorescence of Wit do they call thee? Yes, just as much as the Froth of Bottled Ale is the best on't. O thou Beggar Incarnate, as Barebreechd as Evander when from his last Globe he rambles into his Grave.  
— Physics too! Go drowned yourself in your own vacuum, and Build Castles in the Air; and take Metaphysics along with you, a Witch-catching or Winnowing Entity from unum verum & bonum.  
— Go troop all together, I'm for taking my leave and a fair riddance too all at once, and intent to have no more to do with ye, unless taking ye in a Lump without opening the Book, or reading one Syllable more about you.  
— But there's more yet to come, and I'm resolved once for all to make clear work.  
Farewell Astrology, for once and again I tell ye, Kainophilus was ne'er cut out for a Conjurer.  
Farewell Geometry, for I can ramble round the World without thy help, and scorn to measure how many Miles, Perches, Feet, Inches and Barly-corns I run over.  
Or number 'em either, and therefore well thought,  
Troop off Arithmetic for Company, for he's an errand Fool that can't tell twenty, and what canst thou do more? Nay, ten is thy utmost Limits, and even then thou art forced to vamp out one with a nought; and all the rest of thy fruitless pains with so much more cost than worship, is only telling them nine Figures over and over again till thou hast lost thyself, and yet canst never get to the end o' thy journey.  
Chiromancy, Shall I shake Hands with thee too? No, thou'rt such a strolling Gipsy, thou'rt only fit to be whipped, or set in the Cage for a great Cheat as thou art.  
And when Mathematics can tell me how matter is infinitely divisible, and yet not so, and reconcile Demonstrations contradicting each other o'both sides, then I'll keep that, tho' all the rest must trudge; but since it never can, let that turn out to, and break its Neck or drown itself over its own Pons Asinorum.  
What a Fool am I after all to rail at what I don't understand? Learning has a property much like that which a great man attributes in another sense to Philosophy, as a little of that makes a Man an Atheist, but a great deal a Religious person, so a smattering of Learning makes one despise it, a great deal esteem and admire. Forgive me, O thou thing almost Divine, that I have Blasphemed thee, without knowing thee, and if possible, let that either excuse or alleviate my Fault and Punishment: Never a wretch wholost and left thee, as I have done, but Repent dearly of it as soon as he came to know the crime he had committed. I believe thou art the very Image of Heaven, and a great part of that happiness we lost by our own folly. I inflict the most severe voluntary Penance on myself for having thus abused thee? I'm content all my Life long to bear the wretched Fate of standing at thy Door, and helping others in, while I stay without myself, a helpless, ●●●●bless vagrant, and spend my weary days in sighs, and only thinking what I might have been, had I improved by thy auspicious aid and cultivated all those Golden Seeds, Nature so largely sprinkled on her Evanders' Breast.  
This Justice done to Heavenborn Learning. I now proceed to give you an account of my journey, which these thoughts so far shortened, that I was now arrived at the famous Metropolis of England, I had almost said the World, for which you must go with me to the following chapter.   

CHAP. VI  
Next he Rambles to London, where his Father's intent is (He might ask his Son's leave tho') to Chain him a Apprentice.  
NOW does the Reader greedily expect a Description of London, ay, and such a one it shall be when it once comes, that shall put down Stow's Survey, Howel's Londinopolis, Delawn, R. B. and all that ever writ on't since London-stone was no bigger than a Cherry-stone, or julius Caesar Built the Tower, I question not in the least, no not in the least but 'twill Pit, Box and Gallery with— let me see— with, ay with Iordan's Lord Mayor's show, or his Successors either, tho' that's bold word that's the truth on't.  
By this time I guess the Reader is big upto the Chin with expectation, as Mrs. Abi gail and her little Master at Bartholome● Fair ' when they are just a going to begin for two or three hours together, & to satisfy his Curiosity, I tell him now whatever I made him believe in the last Chapter, that he's not like to hear a word more on't this two hours. Thus do I love to elevate and surprise, and sprinkle now and then some of that same in my writings which is so remarkable in myself— that people should miss what they expected, and find what they never looked for— tho' both still very excellent — nor must you think I do this without sound advisement and sage Reason, for my Father coming here full in my way, and he being nearer akin to me than all the City of London put together; besides, he conveying me thither, and placing me there, all the Reason i' the World I should dispatch him first— that is to say make an end of him— that is to say, in a civil way, finishing and closing altogether his Life and Death, and paying that just Tribute of Tears, Elelegies, Sighs, Groans and Acrostics due to his Super-precious memory— for would it not be a preposterous thing for me in the midst of my Apprenticeship, when my Father died to run Rambling away from the Shop in the next Book, and leave my Master's Business at sixes and seven's— no— thank ye for that— Evander had by that time a more stayed Head of his own, and was no such passionate admirer of hot Suppings to troth so far after 'em. Besides to have my Father's whole Life together, the great Father of the not greater Evander— why it looks noble and very fine, and sounds as well as any thing in the World— for when the Readers of this Book, one Lord or t'other Earl, this Wit and that Alderman shall find the marvellous deeds of the Son, they'll be very willing to go a little higher, it being a very natural sort of Conclusion that this Son had a Father, and that Father very probably, not unlike this Son— and then— there needs no more to be said— but that they'd be extremely well pleased to see this wondrous Father of this wondrous Son all together in one piece, not Hang— Drawn and Quartered, about through all the twenty four Volumes here an Arm, and there a Leg, and there another Member— gentlemans your will shall be done— 'tis contrary to Evander's Nature to disoblige such Honourable Persons— here 'tis altogether, nay, I'll say that you'll have a Lump on't; turn to the Index; let's see, run along wi' your Finger— Chapter, Chapter, Chapter, no, 'tis ned here, Chap. 4. Chap. 5. not yet, Chap. 6. there, there ye have it, but than what volume? ay, that should have been thought of before the Chapter; why Volume the tenth? no, eleventh, twelfth, twenty three, twenty five, no, that can never be it because there beened so many. Is't the first then? Ay, the first be sure, which should it be else sure? The Father ought to go before the Son because he was Born before me. I write nothing but what's chastest Truth, and all the Neighbours can justify it: Well than now ye have it; ye can't miss if ye had ne'er so much mind to't. Vol 1. Chap 6. The Life and Death of Evander's immediate Male Progenitor. [All this pains I take now to make the matter clear, and instruct even the meanest capacity how to make the best use of this most useful Book] why then? stand by London, and Room for Father.  
Who was Born— what need ye know where? Is ned enough I have told you my own Birth-place, Graffham; dearest Graffham, hold, hold, I was just going to Ramble away to't again, and leave my very Father for my Country. But as I was saying, what should people be so inquisitive for? This prying World would fain know my Father; thank 'em for that, if they know my Father they'll know me, if they know the place of his Birth, that's one way to know him. Is't not sufficient a Conscience that I wear so many Flowers, Feathers, Bells and fine things about me, and turn myself out to the wide World to let 'em laugh their Small-guts out, but I must needs show my Face too, not that I'm ashamed on't neither, I'm no Panther, I don't say 'tis one of the best that Nature ever formed, but 'tis as 'tis, and there's an end on't, and whose 'tis, do ye Fish out if you can, for if I tell you, hang me at my own Signpost; but what's all this to my Father? why truly as near as Father and Son. And so this Father of mine Sir, as I was saying, was Born somewhere or other, you don't know where, nor are ned like to know unless you are good guessers. Thence he went to School, thence to Gambridge, thence to a place as every Body you know must go to one place or another, then from that place to another place, and from another place to another place again.  
And then he had several Children. Oh! but I should have told you first, that he was married to my Mother, and then my Mother fell sick, and died, and was almost buried, as I told you before, and then came to life, and died again in good earnest, and was buried accordingly, and then my Father, (who had something too of the Ramble in his brain, you may see by this, as well as his Son, whence you may take notice, I'm no degenerate branch, nor does Evander ramble from his virtuous Progenitors, tho' in good earnest he almost does from his Sense, pray Reader put me right again, whereabouts was I before I stepped over the unconscionable Essex stile of this overgrown bursten-gutted Parenthesis— O— then my Father went a Rambling, to show his Son the way, and so he went, and he went till he came into Ireland, being resolved to endure a long sevenyears Apprenticeship to grief and sorrow for the loss of his dearest Partner; and by the persuasion of his dearest Friends, or his own Inclination, no great matter which, nor do I find it decided in his Writings; he there studied Physic to divert his Melancholy, and during that time grew perfectly acquainted with the nature and quality of all the venomous Beasts in that Island, Toads, Newts, Vipers, Spiders, etc. dissecting as many of 'em as ever he came near, and thereby gaining such unparallelled skill in things of that nature, that never did any person address themselves to him for cure in those forementioned accidents, but he cured 'em one and all as fast as they'd come near him; so that not Greatrix himself that wonderworking Stroker ever groped away the Gout or Kings Evil more infallibly than this dear Father, what you have heard already; who thinking he had Rambled long enough, now came home again to the great joy of all his neighbours.  
And being assured his Wife, his dear Wife, and my dear Mother was dead in good earnest, having waited seven long years to see whether she'd come out of her Trance the second time, and his rambling lost E●ridice would return any more, finding all quiet and silent, her grave overgrown with grass, and not the least chink, crevice, motion, whisper, or sign of her Intentions to see the light any more till such a long time hence, that he thought 'twould be a folly to stay for her, he e'en married again.  
After that he had several hopeful Sons and Daughters still surviving, especially my friend Daphne, etc. but she'd be too proud if she saw her name here in words at length.  
I'll not attempt to number all the great and good actions of such a Father, because indeed 'tis impossible; for sooner could I tell you how many Stars there are in Heaven, or Sands on the Seashore, or how many virtues Iris has, or how many of her kisses will satisfy her ravished, transported, stark staring mad-with-love Evander. Nay, perhaps were this possible to be done, Prudence and Duty would yet strive and tug one way or tother whether publish it or not. For the common Proverb Heroum filii noxae, wise Fathers generally beget Sons that are otherwise, and the exuberant glories of his Life eclipsing my own, and rendering me a mere Dock leaf, a john-a-stiles, a perfect Noddy in comparison of him; truly things being thus, Charity begins at home, and I ought to have some regard to my dearer self, as well as to my dear Father, tho' hardly can I pronounce which is most so. However, all the Interest in the World shall never make me say, a false or a base thing of him; and what I shall write shall be enough to let the World know it never had, nor never will find his Fellow. For tho' I don't remember he had the gift of Prophesy, whatever may have been pretended, yet I can aver he had a quality much more profitable, he was thrifty, and frugal, and careful for his Family, gave his Sister's portions, and left a good Estate, and plentiful Fortunes among his own hopeful Children, which inmy judgement is commendation enough for one Father.  
And tho' I might add a thousand more, this in a manner would include, as it excels all the rest; and shall I ever be able while I breathe to reflect on such a Father without hugging his memory, and almost idolatrously adoring his very Ashes? And indeed I don't much wonder Idolatry first crept into the World by the fondness of Children to their deceased Parent, for I could hardly ever behold the dear Picture of my dead Father (by the same token it used to hang up behind door in the great Parlour) without almost kneeling to't, washing it with my Tears, and then licking 'em off again.  
— But here being a very convenient Loophole, I can't forbear a little Ramble into the fertile common place of Child's Duty and Love to their Parents, both dead and living, and shall present the Reader with several pat, pert, pleasant stories to that purpose.  
How much we are obliged to our Parents can never be enough accounted; that we are so both for our Education and Being is equally certain. Being is no doubt, in itself considered, without the appendages of any other good, a great happiness: From our Parents, even the worst of men let 'em be, this we at least receive. But more— they bring us into such a state where every man may have a tolerable degree of happiness if it beened his own fault. Quisque suae fortunae faber— every Man is the Bricklayer of his own ●ood Fortune— (or Smith, or Carpenter, which you please.) If therefore any object that Being their Parents gave 'em makes 'em only miserable, and therefore they beened obliged to thank 'em for't, they argue very ill, and besides very disingenuously, blaming others for what they brought on themselves, and full as justly may Mankind blame him that made 'em for all the miseries they could not have felt had they not had a Being, whereas all of 'em were chosen and brought on themselves by their own Folly.  
If they'll yet object, 'tis ned in a Man's choice to be poor or not, for than none would choose it; 'tis easily answered, that 'tis perhaps much more so than is generally concluded, most persons by carelessness reducing themselves to these circumstances, and then falling foul both on Heaven and Earth for making 'em so— Has thy Parent given thee Being, and can he do no more?— why he has done very fairly for thee already— he has made thee a Freeman of the World, and thou hast a range of one and twenty thousand Miles to seek thy Fortune in; and how many are there who raise themselves and Families on no larger a stock, nay, at first all did so.  
Dost thou say thou art not obliged to Parents for thy Being, because they gave it thee for their own pleasure, or out of Instinct, and almost necessity of Nature— that's a very false, as well as a most unmannerly way of arguing, for it indeed destroys the nature of all Benefits, and makes no such thing as obligation in the World. The Argument is fairly thus— we are not obliged to any Man for any good turn, he does us in which he takes pleasure, or which mounts to the very same thing, which he does for his own pleasure, or which he can't avoid— which he has a necessity for, that is indeed which he cannot without some pain or inconvenience to himself forbear doing. For to be fair it can rise no higher. Now lay this rule to any benefit in the World, and see, by Mr. Seneca's leave, what work 'twill make with it.  
I do the most virtuous action, the bravest thing in the World, undoubtedly for my own pleasure or happiness, and that is and aught to be the chief end for which I perform it, for why I'd fain know, do I relieve any that's miserable, but for the pleasure I myself feel in doing it? if not yet lower, as some ill-natured Persons interpret, for the pain of not doing it, the weakness and kind of Incontinence in my Nature, that I can't see a Person unhappy, but I must feel his sore Leg, thin Jaws, or hungry Belly.  
Yet more will they own they are obliged to Parents for a good Education, if not for what in the World, and yet what's this but a piece of Nature— as great a necessity and pleasure as the giving 'em being. Pleasure is Interest— Honour is the same— both are engaged in handsomely breeding up those whom we brought into the World. What is the Nature of a Benefit or Obligation? If 'tis possible to be known we may fix its Notion to a Being given us. A Persons being obliged to perform a good turn cannot alter the property— if 'tis fair arguing from contraries, and none ever yet denied it; why then if the not doing what I'm obliged, to deserves disgrace and dispraise, and is an injury, then doing what I ought and am bound to do merits Honour, Praise, and Acknowledgement. 'Tis in vain, as those old towering Philosophers did very often, to sit twisting fine Notions together, that were too high either for Truth or Practice; and when brought down, and accommodated to the Scene of Life, will never square, nor serve for any living thing. The freest thing in the World I may be obliged to by the most indispensible ties, which yet if performed deserves the clearest and loudest acknowledgement the Nature of Man can give. What is freer than a generous Man's raising a brave Unfortunate? What's he more obliged to do? What can he take more pleasure in? What can be a greater obligation to the Person so raised?  
— Well— this 'tis to read Seneca— one Notion begets another, and so to the end o' the Chapter, while my poor Father's forgot all this while as much as if he never Begot me— so did not Boleslaus— that excellent King of Bohemia, who never entered upon any Important Action, but out he pulls the Picture of his Father, and after gazing on't, as if't had been his Mistresses— and serving it as I did mine, he used solemnly to desire he might never do any thing unworthy of so great a Progenitor. Was not he an ugly Rogue of a Fellow? And did he not well deserve such a horrid Death as got hold of him, who when his poor old Father came to his House for a Meals Meat, he having a fat Capon for Dinner, and seeing the old Man about to come in (a greedy-gut Bastard as he was for his pains,) claps me up the Capon Dish, and all under the Table, and persuades his Father they had nothing for Dinner but Rack-staves— on which he shabbing off again to seek a Dinner where he could catch it, or else Dine with Duke Humphrey, this Rascally Son of his pulls out the Dish again, and thought to be at it immediately up to the knuckles and fetch up all the time he had lost— when— O! Lo! Behold wonder! this fat Capon was turned, metamorphosed or transmogriphyed into a huge overgrown fat Toad— fough upon't! And in half a twinkling shot up like an Arrow, and caught this unnatural Wretch by the Throat, pinching him like a Crab till it made him yell again, then crawling up to his Mouth and Nose, there it sat pissing and spewing, and spitting Venom at him till he dropped down dead, and never spoke word more.  
And lest I should have the same ill Fortune (though I confess I did not see the Man after he was dead) I'm resolved to make much of my Father, when he is not only old, but dead, and not only dead, but rotten; though his Name smells sweeter than Balsam, sweet as the Breath of my fragrant Aromatical Iris.  
Ay and Dead he is sure enough, after he had carefully bound me Apprentice, as I told you before, and you shall hear hereafter— he's as dead as Nabuchadnezzar— tho' his Fame shall never die, while either his Son, or his Son's Son shall remain alive. (This Ramble is my Son.)  
But when and how did he die? and where? and wherefore? and for what Reason— Quis? quid? ubi? quibus? etc.  
To the when, I answer, Nou. 4. 1676. An. Aetat. 48. and that's as much as many an honest Man gets for his Epitaph— but every honest Man is not my Father.  
And being dead 'twill be very convenient to give him speedy Burial, tho' not very speedy neither— one may be too hasty in that matter. Duns Scotus, as subtle a Head as my Father for his Life, was fooled out of this World at that rate, and buried alive poor wretch, where he all mawled his Face and Hands at such a rate against the Cousin, that 'twould have grieved ones Heart to have seen him. To prevent which inconvenience, his Relations wisely fearing my Father might have three Lives, because my Mother had two, who was so much weaker than him, kept him above ground five days after his Death, to see whether he intended to come back again; but finding him in earnest, and still remaining in the same sullen Humour, they then would wait no longer, but e'en heaved him into his last Tenement in the Chancel—  
And there let him lie till I come to him— and how sweetly should he and I and Iris lie there together in one another's Arms— Lie further Father; you have got all the Bed to yourself, and thrust us out upon the very Bedstead, but tho' you had possession first, yet two to one's odds.— However I'll be a dutiful Son dead and living, and rather lie upon the Board's than hurt your Ribs, which by this time may be a little tender.  
But well remembered! I should have told you how he died before how he was Buried.— He did it like an honest and brave Man, as he had lived, and having lived so well almost fifty years, certainly he could ne'er be to learn to die well for one quarter of an hour. He looked as if he would put Death out of Countenance, as if he rather wished it than feared it— but not because he was frowardly weary of this life, but rationally assured of a better Not like that Fool of a Philosopher, who after some three or fourscore years huffing God and Man, and pretending to teach 'em both more than they knew before, had not learned wit enough all that while to know whither he was going, and could leave no wiser saying behind him than that of the poor Heathen— Quae nunc abibis in Loca? He had found a hole to creep out of the World at, and was going to take a long leap in the dark he could not tell whither. He died then if we may properly use that word of one who undoubtedly lives more now than before, he has much the better by this alteration, and Death's Exchange was to him far from being any Robbery.  
Next where— whyat— a certain place in England, that shall be uncertain to you till you find his Epitaph.  
Last of all wherefore, and for what Reason? Why that's a very ●rish Question now, tho' 'tis asked in Latin: I scorn to put the World off with that road answer, as trite as Ratcliff-high-way for want of Breath, or because he could live no longer. Every Magpie dies at that rate and for such sage Reasons.— But my Father's Death as well as his Life was all extraordinary.  
The Original then of the fatal period of that beloved life more precious than both the Indies, was no other than the incurable putrefaction of some Morbid juices in the Renal Concavities— To speak plain (for I write for the vulgar, tho' I protest it's much harder to stoop my Notions to their Capacities, than at first to invent 'em) he died of the Stone in the Kidneys or Bladder, I can't be positive, after the most exquisite Torments, equalled by nothing but his patience.— There's a Father if you talk of a Father— I must, I may, I shall, I will be proud of him as Alexander was of jove. 
Not Great Alcides' famed Tyrinthian Hero,  
Who slew the Sevenheaded Lerna feigned,  
And dread Nemaean Thunder.   
Not he, nor ne'er a Heroic Killcow of 'em all ever kicked up with half a quarter of that constancy and gravity that Kainophilus Father did— who was racked and growned worse with that Millstone of a Stone he carried about with him than ever Hercules with his poisoned Jerkin.  
I have heard of a Person yet living, who had a Stone in his Kidneys of such a prodigious magnitude, that it filled up almost all the concavity of his Carcase, and you might easily feel it through his Flesh if you laid your Hand on his Back. I can't say what truth there is in't, nor would the World any sooner believe me should I assure 'em that the Stone in my Father's Body was so immense, that I've wondered it did not bunch up behind, and make him have a Hump-back, or at least overpoise him in walking, and drag him backward with its incredible weight.  
However he died, dead he is and buried— but not without his taking a decent civil leave of the World— he was not in so great haste to be so unmannerly, or rub off without telling any Body.  
Some of his last advice to us his beloved Offspring was to live in P●ace, and Love one another, which those who don't, who love others better than they love me their Brother, ay, and their elder Brother, their hope and prop of their Family, their Kainophil— I say no more, ●ut let 'em look to't, and get off as well as they are able.— And may Kainophilus get over that troublesome Ditch that parts this World and tother as well as his Father did, when it comes to his turn to leap.  
Those shapes of Torture which to view in Paint  
Would make another faint.  
He did endure in true reality,  
And feel what they could hardly bear to see.  
— His Soul so willing from his Body went,  
As if both parted by consent.  
No murmur, no complaining, no delay,  
Only a sigh— Ah john! Ah Nan! and so away.  
Well— I protest I find a Man's Genius▪ improves with using it— the Reader may well wonder at some great Master strokes in Poetry among my Works, and then so strangely, like what they have seen in other places— for good wits will ●ump— and yet so very unlike— for I scorn to Thieve, and dare say no Man will own any of his own Goods upon my Ground— but his wonder will be a little moderated, when I tell him a secret. ●Tis that I and certain near and dear Friends of mine used a long time to write Epistles in Verse to one another, which so strangely improved my Hand at it, that were that Learned and Reverend worthy Author Mr. john Bunyan yet living, I'd not fear to enter the Lifts with him in Poetry, Rapture for Ra●our●, my Pen and Ink to his Budge●, and let him drop as long as he would, as the Blind B●gg●r and the Knight did their Gold, I'd not fear keeping pace with him. 'Twas this, I say, which brought me to be as you see, Gentlemen,— I vow there's no cheat in me— be ye but Judges now— take the last Verse.  
— Ah ●ohn! A● Nan, and so away!— How soft, how natural and easy— is't not fine— is't to be matched again? O Envy, Envy! Thou dumb Beast thou! If thou wilt ned speak, hold thy tongue! while I explain to such as better deferve it, the meaning of that Verse whereof thy Ears are not worthy. Ah john! Ah Nan!— You must know my Name— Hold, hold,— I cry ye mercy, Mr. Reader, 'twas out before I was aware on't— you must know a Friend of my Father's Name was john, and he had a Sister her Name was Nan— so these two he called upon the very last words ever he said in this World— and then he died for good and all— and I won't disturb him no more, and could almost resolve not to tell you a word more about him— but, 'tis hard for Friends to part— why spare me a Page or two more, you'll be never the poorer yourselves at the years end— and be obliging, complaisant and Civil as I'l● be to you when you write a Book, and done't give me the L●● or call me Flatterer, when I assure you my Father was one of the rarest Men in the World▪ and that I Dreamed of his 〈◊〉 three Days before I heard on't— Tho' I'm confident 〈◊〉 have been falser things Chronicled than either of these.  
— But I must give you a little more of his Character, 〈◊〉 fancy he'll ne'er rest in peace— which indeed may 〈◊〉 he made up of whatever is good in other men, as the 〈◊〉 Venus was from all the fine Women ●'the Country.  
But I'll give you only some of the most remarkable 〈◊〉▪ and let the rest lie mellowing till a Second Edition.  
He was capable of every thing, and proud of nothing; ●ay, rather actually Master of all things, of all the Perfections that could be sound or named:— He had a Tongue fit to converse with Angels, and 〈◊〉 yet better than that Tongue; for 'twas so full of Virtue and 〈◊〉, that 'twas never to be exhausted. By an unparallelled reach of understanding, he soared above the highest, all other Perfections being so far from matching his, that they deserve not to be mentioned, and the great distance between 'em made 'em appear like a little point scarce to be seen and less to be regarded. In a place of Athens, when one named Plutarch, the Echo answered Philosophy (if he 〈◊〉 tells the Story don't lie) so should his Nam● be mentioned, 'twould certainly answer either VIRTUE or EVANDER's FATHER.  
His Breast was a brave Palace, a broad Street  
Where all Heroic ample Thoughts did meet,  
Where Nature such a large Survey had ta'en,  
As other Souls to his dwelled in a Lane:  
So look tall Hills on some small sneaking Valley,  
So great Cheapside, on little Scalding-Alley.  
For his Body, that rich Cabinet of a richer jewel— 'twas even a fit match for what it contained. He had a graceful and a full comely Countenance, in which, as if Nature had made a Mould on purpose for him, we might perceive a duly composed Feature mixed of Gravity and Sweetness Ana— His Mien so becoming, that commanded Awe and Love together from all the Beholders. Hi● Stature elevated somewhat above the common sort of ordinary tall Men— The habit of his Body spare, far from Corpulency, but exactly proportioned. His Hair was as black as the blackest Raven, and curiously ●url'd, as if it ●rept back ag●n, and longed to kiss so sweet a Face— Evander's true Father. In a word, his very aspect was such, that any man that knew how, might borrow Wit enough from it to serve him an Age— Perfect Evander still— For I protest, now I think on't, I've sometimes seen ingenious men stand stock still and stare upon my Face, (such as tis) and after some Contemplation, break out into a gentle smile, as who should say they received extreme Satisfaction, ●the very beholding on't. He could say what he would, and prov● what he said, and was so perfect as not to be capable of Improvement.  
As many Virtues joined in him, as we  
Can scarce pick here and there in History  
Though ne'er so careful our Collections be.  
Flower of all Flowers, a perfect living Book,  
In which whoever had but chanced to look,  
Would soon confess, unless small Understanders,  
It did belong to some of the Evanders.  
A Posy of Translations and Collections,  
A very Rambling Chaos of Perfections;  
Each pinned upon the Back so close of the other,  
No passage by to read this for the other,  
More than old Writers Practise e'er could reach,  
Tho' them I've read) or Bunyan's self could teach;  
Down with fair Innocence, each Night he lay  
As I with Iris, Sol with Th●ti● gay  
When all the World we've rambled round through all the livelong-Day.  
☜ ‛ BVY FATHER,— But first, Pray bring me to London, Bind me Apprentice, and then Ramble to t'other World as fast as you please, (tho' for all my stout heart) seldom could I think of his Death for almost 16 years after, without half-crying my Eyes out.  
But as we are jogging if along for London (before he was Dead all this was) what should we light upon in the side of a warm Hedge, but of all the Birds i' the Sky— my Brother Cuckoo!— Was ned that a very strange thing, Brother Critlck?— No truly, not strange at all— but what follows is stranger— over against this Hedge was another Hedge, and in that Hedge over against this Hedge was an old Ivy-Bush, and in that Ivy-Bush was an Owl— Now, it being towards Evening, and a fine Summer's Evening 'twas as one should see in a Summer's Day, what does the Cuckoo but cries- Cuc-koo? what does the Owl but fall a 〈◊〉 and Whittoow-hooing? what do I but stand still, and let my Horse graze between 'em both to hear their melody? If you are any thing learned, I'm sure you have heard of Apollonius' understanding the Sparrows Language, and why may not I as well the Owls and Cuckoos— O thought I wi' myself, what a brave Recorder that Cuckoos Bill would make? and then the Owls would do for a Flagilet, to a wonder— But while I was admiring their Skill and Harmony, I was so ravished with their Charming Music; that could you believe it, That I fell stark asleep under the Tree, and my Mind being full of the Ideas which were in my Head, ere I fell asleep, they seemed still to continue their Discourse, which now I understood better so than while waking, warbling out between 'em this following Song— in Stylo recitativ●— But now I think on't, tho' I understood it, you won't, and therefore I'll not be at the pains and charge of having new Characters cast to express their Language; for it neither begins from the left to the right as ours, nor from the right to the left as the Eastern, nor from top to bottom, nor bottom to top, as others— nor any way else that you or I can imagine, because 'twas inarticulate, and no language at all. Don't call this trifling, for 'tis all in order to describe the loveliest Trees, Hedge and Field t'ye that you ever saw or heard of.  
The Trees were not with Leaves of Gold,  
Of such have I heard teil,  
I can't tell where in days of old  
Kept by a Dragon fell:  
The Hedge was not of Eglantine,  
Where Nightingales do sing,  
Nor yet of lovely jessamine,  
(Which is a pretty thing)  
The Fields were not like Tempe bright,  
Where Amaranthus grows,  
And heavenly Moly, Jove's delight  
And Cure of mortal woes.  
The Trees of Crab, the Hedge of Thorn,  
Which Brakes and Lods did mend;  
The Field it was of Barleycorn,  
Come Kiss— and there's an end.  
Farewell, Reader, till we meet in London— Ask but which way a Man and his Son went, and any body there will tell ye presently.   

CHAP. VII.  
Next he Rambles to London—  
I Promise the Reader to play at Bob-Cherry with him no more; but being arrived now at London in good earnest, will give him such a Description of that famous City, as I'll be bold to say, the World can't parallels  
However let Business go before Recreation, and my Trade being a little given to Rambling; I shall more conveniently meet with the City after I'm bound Prentice and run about with a Note iv my hand— as Globe the ●th.  
To dispatch it then as hastily as possible,— THIS INDENTURE Witnesseth— That I Kainophilus Vender of the Town of— in the County of,— etc. Not to trouble you with all on't, I was bound to my good Behaviour with that good honest Man, my Master, as well as he to me, before the Chamberlain, to have and to hold from that time forwards, and seven years after, ●e●ring Date from Decemb. 7th. 1674. Now you expect my Master's Name, Sign, Trade, and all that— No thank ye— I han't forgot my Indentures— wherein I swore to keep his Secrets— and this being both his and my own, If you'd rip up my Guts for't, you should not have it.  
And what good would it do you if you had it? The Description of London will be ten times more to the purpose, which I'll promise you, as being the best Flower in the Book, shall be my Masterpiece— And therefore I'll begin with the Name on't very Methodically.  
Whence should that be, but from King Lud, the Son or Father, 'tis no great matter which, of the famous King Bladud, that flew I known't how many miles an hour, and set the Devil a boiling his Coppers at Bath, I don't know how many thousand year agone.— What would People have more— can there be a clearer Argument, that this is true, than the very Gates called Ludgate to this day, after his Name— One can scarce tell what this hard— to— please World will believe— if not that neither, there's a great many score of Freemen-prisoners in Ludgate (some of my acquaintance to my Sorrow) who will take their corporal Oaths to the Truth on't, as freely as they would, that they bened worth five Farthings apiece, if that would get 'em out again.  
But for more weighty Arguments— What an unanswerable one is there near this Gate, besides that itself? Is not there a Sign with the three Kings upon't, one of which was the Founder both of the Gate and City adjoining— Androg●us LORD, and Temautius— I can't imagine what can be plainer. How many millions of men have been contented with this Etymology before ever we were born? 'Tis therefore in vain to trouble you with a rabble of other Derivations, or make you writhe your Mouth five hundred ways with a company of cramp wel●h words, whence some will have it composed— you may therefore let alone both L●ong Dinan, which signifies Shipton, or a Town, famous for the multitude of its Ships and Navigation— a Llhwindian from Llhwin, a fortified Wood, in which the Britain's made their Towns, or which rather indeed were their very Towns, before the Romans beat 'em into more wit, only plashing the Trees, and setting up Stakes, and Watling or Hurdling the avenues, to keep out wild-Beasts or Men, tho' a better Fence 'twas against the first, than the last— to which perhaps the word Glyn, yet in use for a thick Wood, is Cater— Cousin— but then for the Tail on't— let Diana take care of that— the other end of the Word, as these Crucifiers of Language pretend being drawn from her Name, there being formerly a Temple dedicated to that Goddess, as 'tis thought, where Paul's now stands.  
Let this be how 'twill, if this won't be believed, neither will the queesie chopped World so much wiser grown all o' th' sudden, than their Great-Grandfathers, be contented with the t' other Name more ancient than this, and yet julius Caesar, who 〈◊〉 the Tower o' London, and put the Lions in't as sure as ever 〈◊〉 Lud built Ludgate, calls it Troynovant— or something so like it, that 'tis altering five or six Letters, and 'twill be the self same word— now those who han't a mind to be counted great, ancient and famous, may e'en laugh at this as well as the other, but all true Trojans must needs be proud of such worshipful and worthy Forefathers— such indefatigable Ramblers— first from Troy to Greece— then to Italy, then hither and thither and no Body knows where, till they landed at Totness and built Troynovant or New-Troy— as I told you before. And if all this bened enough, read old jeffery over, and see if he can satisfy you any better.  
Methinks we have been a tedious while in London without seeing any of the Rary shows in't— 'Twould be enough to make my old acquaintance believe I came hither for nothing at all, if I don't tell 'em what I saw with these own Eyes o' mine, at that very time. But shall besides make considerable additions from my Observation of the alterations which happened since I first surveyed it.  
Le's begin at Cornhill, and the Royal-Exchange, see how things alter— New-Troy is just the reverse of Old and instead of— Nunc seges est ubi Troja fuit— Coru grows where Troy- Town stood— 'tis now quite contrary, Troy stands where Corn did grow— or at least was brought thither to Market— where there are now a little more precious Commodities trafficked for.  
But when I first come under the Exchange Gate— bless my Ears what a B●z there was— 'twas High-change, and such a Notion of Volk, that I concluded it must needs be either a Church or a Fair— and as they hummed like Bees, so they swarm like 'em— in and out, and out and in again, backward and forward like the Tide at London-bridge— but while poor Evander stood harmlessly staring upon a Weatherglass, Cherrytree, and I can't tell what Trinkets they had there to sell, comes the Eddy of a Crowd, and runs me into that Whirl-pool of m●n before I knew where I was— But what a Picture of this World did I find there, or rather of that below it. 'Twas one great Humm that stunned me as soon as I got thither, and therefore don't expect any exact account on't, for I saw it little more distinctly than people see things in their sleep.  
— Here was a fat jew strutting, and a ●ean Christian, Cringing; a thin old Usurer bobbing, and a jolly Ton●g H●●r nibbling, and just fit for sealing. A burly Se● Captain swearing and his Coxson, and some of his Crew crowding to come up with him. One Merchant that receives the news of his L●sses, biting his Nails, and the innocent paper, another who hears his Ship is safe in the Pool after a good Voyage, Pluming and Cocking, and exalted higher than the Change- steeple— well thought on— we'll step up that way.—  
Nay— if this bened Paradise, why then a London Prentice will ne'er find it while he lives.  
'Tis a mere Spring-Garden within Doors— a moorfield's walk;— a Sir George Whitmores, a Music-house, a every thing. 'Tis London turned outside in. Here's Streets, and Signs, and Paint, and Rogues, and Illts, and Dogs, and Fops, and Fools, and Women— Here's Ribbons and L●ces, and Money, and Point Crava●s, and Topknots. Lads Ogling, Lasses winking, Maid's flickering, Wives plotting, musty Bachelors moulding, and overgrown Thorn-backs despatring, and just ready to hang themselves in some of their own Inkle.  
D'ye see that sign there— The— who would think that modest Creature that makes up her Mouth like a Button-hole, was no longer agone than last Night with Squire— at the— a— a— ay, what business had she there— that's the Question— business? why such business as others there would have been gl●d of as well as she— Eating of Oysters, and what hurt's in all that?  
— And she next Shop o' the left hand of her— she with the Monumental Topknots, and cloudy Brow beneath 'em— does she look as if she carried Sir— Linen ●ome ' t'other Evening. Not but that she came home again herself, never the worse for wearing.— But I must either talk softly, or withdraw as speedily as I can, and run the Ga●mtle● for my Life— a Friend of mi●e, no Enemy to Change appurtenances, for telling scarce so much Truth as this comes to concerning 'em, dares not venture his Head up Stairs any more than thrust it into a Hive of Bees, or Nest of Hornets.  
Eternal what d'ye lacks adieu?  
When I want Brass I'll come to you.  
Or should a little Country sinner  
In Broadcloth Waistcoat and Laced Pinner,  
Inquire if any one could tell  
The most frequented Road to Hell;  
They need not hither walk and thither,  
'Tis but to send 'em— you know whither.  
— But why so bitter against the poor Change-Wenches.— The●e may be more Reason than every one knows. Perhaps I might have two or three half-Mistresses there, I won't tell ye how the sharp jades served me— only it vexes a Man of sense and Reading to be— well— no more, let the wound e'en close if 'twill, and let others either take warning or learn wit as the burnt Child does.  
— For I have done with 'em, and rambled next to Lumbard-Street.  
But what Hellfulls of Money were there tumbled over one another— I coudned have thought Pluto himself had been so rich— but the truth is, he employs a great many FACTORS— I wandered from one end on't to the other, and in a little Shop among all the rest, saw one that looked like an honest Man— but not one single Body in his Shop, and he exercising his patient Elbows against the obdurate Counter.  
This was many years since, and the City increasing every day, if there was one honest Man there then, how many must there be by this time?  
My thinks the very smell of such rare Provisions revives me, and I begin to fancy the Gingling of so much Money would as soon make one Rich, as the smell of Roast-Meat fill ones Belly.  
— Yet avaunt thou foul-Feind! I will not be contaminated! O Mammon I defy thee— dost Sneer! Dost Laugh— dost Glow at me— nay— 'tis all one— I'll keep out of thy Clutches if possible— I'll ramble far enough off from thy ravenous Maw,— Nay— don't think to serve Ʋander as you have done other Fools— I can't believe your Carcase is so sweet to be content to be eat and S—eat out again— No no— while there's room for a Soul like mine to expatiate, I'll ramble I say once more to Amsterdam, Boston, Collen, Prester john, Air, Earth, Purgatory and the World o'th' Moon before I'll have any thing to do with thee, unless in a Civil way— in a— way of Trade— as one dealer with another, according a● I find you Tractable and Honest— so far I may be moved— but as you're a Fiend, and mere Hobgoblin Incarnate— I say again, come not near me, nor lay thy polluted Golls upon my trembling Carcase.  
O Gold, O Gold!  
I cannot hold,  
But must go scold  
At such a Monster.  
Thou who dost dwell  
In Caverns fell  
Of deepest Hell;  
But done't misconstrue  
What I have said  
By fury led,  
At those who did  
Monopolise thee.  
Not of my own,  
For I'll depone  
My Fob has none,  
How e'er I prise thee.  
O you Rich wretches,  
Whose Conscience stretches  
As Hog with vetches  
Rammed up to''th' Muzzle.  
So much you carry  
Of Philip and Mary 
* A pretty Figure whereby one species is put for all the rest.   
That how to bear ye  
Old-Nick 'twill puzzle.  
Then throw your Dirt away  
And get you gone to play  
Be merry while you may  
And wise too.  
That all the World may know  
You're more their Friend than Foe,  
And no black thing below  
Surprise you.  
Gold— Gold— let me see! What Rhimes to Gold— why the Lions i'th' Tower come next— 'tis no matter for Rhyme— now Sympathy and Antipathy.  
In went I after I had been staying half an hour upon Tower-Hill, not to see the Boys at M●rbles or Hustle-Farthing— no, I had more sublime thoughts, and employed 'em on better objects, being Nailed by the Ears to an old Fellows Tongue, who hoped about on a pair of Stump-Legs, and cried Godly Books and Ballads. But my thinks he did it with such incomparable grace; he did so whine it and turn it, and speak with every part about him, Conjuring his Face into more postures than a Friend at Bull and Mouth; so like one of the Catamountains I saw when I got a little farther, that I expected when they'd have opened their Mouths and sung a Ballad, and the Lions themselves could hardly hold forth louder, which yet they did to the purpose, for there going in a Woman with Child to see 'em at the same time that I did, they fell a ●elping as loud as the Guns on a Coronation Day; would you believe (nor I myself without seeing and 〈◊〉 it) 〈◊〉 the Foundations of the Gate trembled, the Guns rolled back on their Carriages, the Portcullis dropped down for fear, and the water in the Thames spouted up as high as the Monument— Till a Beauteous Virgin who came with us, approached near the Grates, and immediately down they lay as calm as Lambs, Fawned, Grinned, waged their Tails, not with such a tremendous sweep as before, but as mild and gently as the Poetical Zephyrs stroke, the Velvet leaves, or the branch of a Palmtree leans towards its Friend on the other side of the Brook; their furious manes lay as flat as a shock-Dogs. Their Eyes lost their Lightnings as well as their Mouths their Thunder, they pulled in their Claws, and purred like our old Puss at home, and then went to Sleep as gently as a young Kitten.  
Who now, to look upon 'em, would think those Creatures had Torn out the Heart and Guts of so many a Flock of harmless Lambs or gentle Faun— who would think— they e'er had roared in Mauritanian Deserts.  
Where swift Numidians on the Sunburnt Shore,  
With Clouds of Darts and Javelins urged their fate:  
While with a generous rage, the Kingly Captives,  
Leap o'er the Toils, and scatter Man, Woman, and  
Sucking Child, Horse, Ass, Dog, Cat, King and Keisar  
All's one that came near 'em—  
There's a Rise and a Fall— there's two as natural Rambles or Transitions from Low to High, and High to Low again, as — (I scorn to compare with any but myself) as you'll find again in all our works.  
But now I'll tell you a strange story, and a true one as e'er Pliny or Aelian told i' their Lives. Gentlemen that would no more impose upon the World in a thing they were not absolutely certain, or Eye-witnesses of, than Mounsieur le Blank, or Sir john Mandevil.— 'Tis about the strange nature, gratitude and generosity of these Lions.  
A certain Soldier, of one of these Nations, whom the Romans were pleased to call Barbarians, whose name was Androcles, being led by his occasions thro' a Huge Forest; in the most unfrequented part of it, met with a terrible Old Lion, who as soon as he saw him, ran directly at him● The poor Soldier saw no possible way to escape, and gave himself for a Dead Man, fancying he was already grovelling under the Lion, and the fierce Beast holding him down with one Paw, and ●●●●ing him with the others— But the Lion as soon as he came near, began to look more mild and gentle, and perfectly fawned upon him, making besides a kind of complaint and moan, and holding up his Foot, as if in his ●umb Language he desired a remedy. This strange Greeting began to embolden poor Andr●cles, who at last took hold of his Paw, (I can't say shaken hands with him) and looking a little more narrowly upon it, found a great Thorn run in'ot, which probably he had got a Hunting. And his Foot hugely swollen, and ●ankling all over; Finding the ●ll, he soon found what business the Lion had with him, and knowing he had a very surly Patient, as gently as possible picked the Th●rn out of his Foot, and then squeezed the s●re, you may think not ever-hard, and got the purulent matter out, which made him so uneasy; on which the Lion finding himself better, made a kind of Obeisance to his Benefactor, and with the most Royal smile that his grateful brutal majesty could command, took his leave of him, and went into his Thicket again.— Away went Androcles, and was well contented to cure his wounded Patient i● form paeuperis, nor once stopped him to pay the Surgeon.  
So it Fortuned that some years after in an Encounter between the Romans and his Countrymen, poor Androcles was taken Prisoner, and being a good likely Fellow, as their cruel manner was, destined to make his Conqueror's sport on their bloody Theatre among the other Gladiators. Others were to Fight with Men, but his chance was to fall into more merciful hands, being with several besides appointed to Fight with the Lions. A huge overgrown one there was, the door of whose Den was set open, and out he thundered, while Androcles prepared himself to die like a Man as he had lived, and not let the Beast Revel in his Blood, before he had first ●●st some of his own;— But as the Spectators judged, altogether in vain, for the Beast, who now appeared in full view, seemed large enough, not only to kill him, but almost d●vour him whole before hand, and save himself the labour.— So on the stalks towards him, roaring for hunger, having been on purpose kept from Food several days; his 〈◊〉 exect, and roughed about him, his Eyes all Flaming and Bloody, and lashing his Sides with his Sceptral Tai●, till the Theatre rung ●g●n, and immediately at two leaps came up with his adversary— but no sooner was he close to him, when on the sudden, to the amazement of all the Spectators, he s●ood stock still, and gazed upon him without touching him, at length fell a 〈◊〉 and ●icking his Hand, and at last co●ch● himself quietly at his Feet— who by this time had found the 〈…〉 an accident, discovering in the carriage of the Beast●ed him, the perfect resemblance of what formerly happened in the Forest— and concluded, as indeed it was, that this was his grateful Patient whom he had so long before cured of his wound, and who now returned him his Life in requital. He told the amazed Spectators all the Story, which so extremely pleased them, that the Romans, who to give 'em their due; would encourage generosity even in Beasts, though they practised little mercy themselves, gave both him and the Lion Life and Liberty, which quietly went about with him, and would never afterwards forsake him while he lived.  
There's a Story— well made and well told— why were there nothing else in all the Book, this by itself would be worth your Eighteen-pences— well— while I can tell Tales at this rate, I'll never more sing a Song, nor t' other Nasty thing, though I should be in company a hundred year together.  
No— I han't done with the Tower yet— the next thing it presents me with is— I think— more Lions still— but two-Legged ones— a company of Tall Fellows that look stout enough to ea● up half a dozen Lions, if turned loose among 'em, (I don't mean Smithfield Lions neither— the peaceful Evander could make a shift to do that himself.)  
By your leave Gentlemen, quo I, and in I shouldered by 'em— and the most remarkable thing I saw there was Old Hary's Codpiece— and such a sizeable one that I shall never more wonder there belonged so many Wives to't. And his Daughter's Pocket— Pistol, and she had need wear a whiskin Fardingal to hide that under it.  
There I saw Arms enough to frighten all the Citizens in— my Shop— I'll speak for myself, for I kno● my own self best. There I saw the Glories of England; the Royal Crown and Sceptre— which had like to have taken a Ramble as well as I, and to be exiled after their owner was come home— That cunning Rogue Blood having enticed 'em to run away with him— I don't care if I tell you the Story, because 'tis a pretty one— I can't tell well how it fell out (or at least 'tis too long a Ta●e now to trouble you with) out so it happened that those two mighty Monarches Col. Blood the First, and K. Cha●les the Second fell out, and declared open War again one another, the Colonel, having been outlawed, and so no longer under the King's Protection. He finding his Forces were scarce so many, or so strong as his Adversaries, betakes himself to Stratagem, and disguises himself (ahsly Te●d— ah cu●●ing 〈◊〉 su●tle Rascal) in a Gown of all the things in the Wor●●, and having laid Horses at convenient places, slips into the Tower, and binding the poor Old Man, away whips me up the Top of three Kingdoms in a little Satchel under his upper Habiliment, but would ned ●o the old Gentleman any more hurt than came to him 〈◊〉 his binding.— So off he marches with his Conquest— but the Angel that guards the English Monarchy, dreading the Omen if the Sceptre and Crown had been lost, sends home the Old man's Son just i' the nick, who finding his Father in such a peaceable posture, quickly unbound him, and out came all the Truth.— 'Twas not long, you may believe before a fearful Hubbub was set up for the lost perquisites— Blood had passed one Gate before, at the second the Cry reached him, and the Warders oppose his passage— He did not say much, but, up with his brawny Paw— sowze down goes one o' one side, and t' other o' the other, and away marches he between, Cuffing his way through 'em all like a Hercules, and out he gets as far as the Wharf, when up comes one grim Porterly cowardly Rogue or other, sneaks behind him and hi●s him one unlucky Remembrance under the Ear, so down goes Crown, Sceptre, Gown and Colonel, altogether as flat as a Flounder, up they took him again, and carried him away to the King— but I happening that day not to be in the Council, can't so well tell you what Discourse these two great Persons had together, nor what Articles were drawn between 'em— only Blood came off, a Treaty was made, and he lived many a fair year after.—  
Now to observe the difference of Men— How often might ●onest harmless Evander have gone to have seen the Crown without ever stealing it at this felonious rate.— 'Tis absolutely against my Nature to knock down Men at a Blow as he did— Nay, so far am I from being hardened enough for any such Enterprise, that I'm pretty sure, as far as I can guests at myself, could the Crown and Sceptre have both been swallowed and laid close up in my very Belly instead of under my Coat, had but one Soldier of all the Guards, nay, one little Boy no bigger than a Cade-Lamb, looked upon me, very fear would have made me so far from being able to conceal the Theft, that I should certainly have voided it out into my Breeches.— So innocent is the Soul of Kainophilus, so like fair white Paper, wherein you may presently see the least blot or speck of dirt that happens to fall upon it.  
I observed nothing else there, except a kind of an Engine like a Scholar's Horse, and indeed I should have mistaken it for one, by the ridg● of its back, the leanness of its Body and immobility of its posture, only I could see no Ribs, which uses to be the largest part in that sort of Creature.  
A wooden sort of a dead Animal, quite contrary to Sinon's wooden Horse; for as that carried Soldiers in his Belly, this does on its Back. But what's that to Kainophilus? It shall be a fa●r warning to him however, and if he ere turn Soldier for that trick, if that be the Preferment those poor Creatures must meet with, he'll be content to be mounted there with a whole File of Muskets at his Heels till King james comes home again.  
But lest he should be pressed for a Soldier, and made valorous against his will, he's resolved to stay in that dangerous place 〈◊〉 longer— Away then rubbed Evander (but did not hear the ●●●nons Discharged to honour his Departure) and because he would be sure to be far enough out of harms way runs down Gracious Street, and then up to the Top of the Monument.  
And pity 'tis that pretty Knick-knack don't stand in the Centre of the City, for than 'twould look like the Middle-Pin in a pack of Nine-Pins among all the Steeples that gore th● Clouds in their passage, and even make rain against their will. And then the Globe of Flames atop, if 't had but three or four thousand weight of Lead melted into it for a Bias, would make the rarest Bowl in Europe.  
Here could I easily step over, with the Feet of my Fancy (wider than ten thousand Colossus', though one of them be big enough for a Ship to Sail between its Legs) to all the Spires in London. I could take a Ramble indeed over the tops of the Chimneys, with a handful of Salt in my Pocket, and catch all the Swallows that came near me— But, because I wou`d not Interlope upon my future Design, having resolved to discourse distinctly of my aerial Rambles, I'll even quietly descend as I went up, not in the outside, though that's the shortest cut, as the Seaman did who broke his Neck from it while 'twas Building, but a little the farthest away about, for the Stairs run winding, which I look upon to be much the nearer way home than the other unless 'twas to my long home— which before I come to, O how many tedious Rambles must I take— how many a four draught of Dolour, and bitter Morsel of Grief must I swallow? Truly 'twere worth the while to consider whether I had not been better made an End all at once.  
If a Man has not power over his own Life, over what has he any?— Nay, 'Tis plain, and allowed by all, that he gives this Power away, which he could never do, if he never had it, when he enters into civil Society, or forms any Government and submits himself thereto— and grant but that, how can it be unjust to throw that away which is better lost than kept? Does any one think it cruel, inhuman or wicked to cut off a Leg or an Arm when 'tis Gangrened or Mortified, when 'tis painful or dangerous, or useless?— My Body is no better than the Legs, and Arms, or rather Crutches of my Soul— Why should it be a Crime to throw those Crutches away and go alone, especially when they are troublesome or rotten? Can it be a Fault to choose a better for a worse, and done't all the thinking World agree that this stare we are now in, is but a Slavery to sense, a ●●ndage to dull matter, which tedders us down like our Brother Br●tes, where we are not only exposed to want and misery, but to all the Insules and Abuses possible to be inferred, and impossible to be avoided. Why then should I not pull up the stake, or get my Lock and Chain off, and scamper away in the interminable Fields of the invisible World.— That Region of Spirits, Reason, Ease, and Rest— Cleombrotus, Empedocles— O how I e●●y you— who one rushed through the Fire, t' other through the Water to reach Immortality o' the other side on't. Those were envious Fools who fault the Sicilian Philosopher for plunging into Ae●●a, pretending he only did it for vain Glory to be accounted a God— No— 'twas not that he might be so accounted, but so be— at least as like one as possible— Imp●ssible, immaterial, and wear out endless Durations as those above,  
In undisturbed and Everlasting Ease.  
I have often wondered what makes us Fools so childishly fond of Life— Life did I call it?— this Death I mean rather, this Twilight-Battish kind of Being we rather are condemned to then properly may be said to Enjoy. KAINOPHILUS 'tis certain he has some of the best things that make up what even the wisest part of Mankind call Happiness.— He has a lovely Iris in his bosom, in his Arms, in his Heart— ('tis Natural for a young Lover to refect first upon that, and we are neither of us old, or were we so, would that ever quench that mutual flame which will last as long as our Souls) If he has not a lubberly Fortune, such a Lumb●r of an Estate as lugs him down to ground with carrying it about the world, if he han't all the fancied Conveniences that some pride themselves so much in, and yet want more still when they have 'em, as those especially do who eagerly languish for 'em, ere they are enjoyed, if he has not a large Palace, a great Coach, nay, not so much as a Colash or Chair to raise the Dust before him, yet he has more Content without 'em, and a many pretty little things which many others want, and fancy they should think themselves very happy in. He's neither racked with Stone, Gout, nor a worse Disease— he's seldom discontent, or uneasy— Envys no Man, hates no man, wishes or does no injury to any other, and as little as possible to himself— Those little inconveniences he meets with here (as a stranger must have some when out of his own Country) he does not much fret at, and yet keeps 'em in as much as possible, without exposing himself and troubling others.— And upon the whole, knows not any person in the World with whom he would change Circumstances for altogether, or whose condition he either Wishes, or Envies— And yet after all this, he wishes himself condemned to eternal Exile and Confinement in this earthly Dungeon, if he would'nt more cheerfully the next moment leap into the other World, were all things there prepared for his Reception, and he for that, then he'd either sleep when drowsy, or rest when he's weary.—  
Beware heads below then,— for my Hands are upon the Balisters, as Temples on the side of the Boat, and in half a Minute I shall sink down into everlasting repose— But art thou sure of this, Evander?— then indeed 'twould be worth the while.— Look over a little what thy warm Imagination has thrown in faster than Reason could weigh it.— If a Man gives the Power of his Life away when he submits to any Government, there's a great deal of difference between Power and Act. He only submits to a higher Power than his own, for the Preservation and Protection of his Life, as well as of the whole Community, not the Destruction of it. Perhaps he is born under a Government already (as all the World now are) He does not here choose Submission, nor so much make as find it. The very Essence of a Man loses nothing by the loss of a sick part, but his very Frame is dissolved when the Essential Union of Soul and Body is once ruined. The Body is rather fancied incurable in many cases than really so.— 'Tis impossible in the deepest pain or misery to pronounce positively we shall ne'er be at Ease, or never be Happy. We often make great Matters of what others do, and we ought to laugh at and despise, and fancy a scratch of a Pin is a Mortal Wound. We are not so tied to sensible Object, but we may whenwe please mount to those that are rational and Divine— not that even those are to be contemned or disused, the Body being an Essential part of the Man, and has therefore suitable Objects provided to entertain it, and must always have some way or other, while 'tis not a Carcase. Those who leave a real certain good for one that's uncertain are never reckoned very wise.— Nay, he that quits his post, when ordered upon pain of Death to maintain it, tho' for what he thinks a more advantageous one, will hardly come off well with his General.— How unreasonable is't to expect the End without the Means, or the close of a long journey without stepping one foot forwards. This Life well spent is so much the way to a better, that there's no other to't, and if any by-way is found, 'twill only after long Wander bring you back again faint and weary where you first set out, or worse, lead you where you lose both that and yourself for ever.— Have I so many pretty Conveniences of Life, and all strong Arguments they are to remain in't the more contentedly, and make me look the more ungrateful who despise 'em.  
Then Live, Evander! Ay, so I will,— you may trust me— Hands off! Come down Legs— I won't turn such a Turk as to fly from the top of a Tower, where I may civilly walk down Stairs.  
Which I did, and saw the Inscription round what I had been a top of— This Protestant City, & c! O how Envy there grinns out of Hell, and another just before her, to see it up again.— I'll undertake to know a jesult or a jacobite by bringing 'em to the Monument and pointing up to those words, as easily as the Devil by his Cloven foot— Look how they scowl and fret, and swear 'tis all as loud a Lie as the Gunpowder Treason.  
Let 'em be so kind to fret their Gills out if they think fit, while Evander steps down to Old-Swan, and takes Water— Stay,— but 'tis against Tide— What if the Mills should suck him in— well considered— An Elder-Brother's third is generally twisted very tenderly.— I'm off of such a long Ramble— I'll to the Stillyard— The Tide runs strong— 'Tis good to be sure— Come the three Cranes is but a little further— or Queen-Hithe— And now I'm here 'tis but edging to Blackfriars Stairs, and then there's no danger; Ay,— now— let's see— sure now we be safe— be ned we Waterman— See how the Rogue laughs— but he does not know my value as well as I do, and what a loss the World would have if Evander should feed the Fishes.  
— So— 'Tis very well— the Boat is trimmed now— d'ye see the Bridge— what a thing 'tis— a Street of Flying Houses— not quite so large, tho' as that jesuitical-bridge in China, which Father Kircher tells us of, from one Mountain to another, above a Mile long, and I've forgot how many broad— but however such a Bridge as a Man were better go over than put off his Stockings and Shoes to wade through the River● tho' in truth 'tis a dangerous place, for there are Pick-Pockets ●nnumerable, almost as many as run drops of Water under in a day— Therefore I'd advise every Prudent man, that has any business in Southwark side, if he has any charge of Money about him, to leave it with the first Beggar he meets with at this End of the Street, and call for't as he comes back again; or, if he be not in haste, any other time when he comes that way.  
You Waterman— Hypocrite— Element-Thrasher, hold Water there, and Land me at New-Thames-Street, for I've a mind to go meditate in St. George's Field for a Quarter of an Hour.— and meet me again at Lambeth without fail; for I intent (next Chapter) to go see the Tombs at Westminster.   

CHAP. VIII.  
A Whisker the last was— longer than e'er a one in Magna Chart●— But then consider too, 'twas as full as an Egg and a great deal was dispatched in't— it took up all one End of London— now did not Kainophilus (which signifies by the by, a Lover of News, not any thing of Kain, as if I were a kin to him) did he not passionately love new ways and Paths, were he contented to drudge on at the old Humdrum way of describing Cities, begin at one end and go to the other, Why how much easier might he finish all this mighty task— no, he must have something pleasant as well as profitable, and that as well as tother, and indeed both together— therefore he takes this agreeable Method, and I'm sure very new, to begin at the Change, thence to the Tower, so to the Monument— thence half out of the World, than all in again, next to the Waterside— whence any one wou`d have thought he'd have surveyed all the Palaces along the shore, the Temple, Summers●t Savoy, Northumberland, White-Hall, and so to Westminster— no,— this any body might have done— but observe now the surprising way I have found out— away I walk a meditating, as I told you before and meet the Waterman (without calling in to hear some certain Prayers for some certain person) and then Souse— in I come upon Westminster before you ever dreamt of me.  
This Ancient and Noble City of Westminster, Built near a Plate of Ground formerly called Thorney, from the Brakes and Thorns which then covered it, but now Illustrious for its Building, Famous for its Inhabitants, and rendered populous and remarkable by its Seats of Law, and Courts of justice— Now by this grave period, does the reader think I'm going to transcribe Stow, or some wise Fellow or other in praise of Westminster— That very ugly unhandsome reflection on Kainophil●s, who is not a person that uses to Colour Old Books, or new B●●d 'em, and then put 'em off for New, has turned his resolution, and you shan't hear one word more of i● Antiquity, Founder, or any thing ●●se but what I please, for sure I'm the Master of my own Sense— don't let the Reader trouble me with so many impertinent Objections, for that unavoidably leads a Man into Digressions from the main subject, and then these Digressions lead a Man into further Digressions, for Error is infinite, and the longer you wander in a wrong Path, my Shoes to yours, the further you go from the right, if they are opposite one to tother: Not but that Digressions are so far from being always a fault, that they are indeed often pardonable, and sometimes, a great Beauty to any discourse— but then they must be well turned and managed, they must come in naturally and easily, and seem to be almost of a piece with the main Story, though never so far distant from it— I love a Digression, I must confess with all my Heart, because 'tis so like a Ramble— but all this while what's Digression to Westminster— very much, for that itself's but one great Digression from London, as St. James' from that, Kensington, from that, Hammersmith, from that, Brandford, from that, Hounslow. Heath, from that (never fear, I'll find it again though you should turn me lose Blindfold in the midst of the Common) Salisbury from that (that Digression's a little the largest) Exeter from that (larger again) the Mount in Cornwall from that (largest of all)— The Channel, Plymouth, Tornay, Portsmouth, Beachy, Deal, Dover, Thames-mouth, Graves-End, Mile End, from the Mount— and so I brought both ends of the City together, and you home again before a full Pot of good Ale, you can swallow—  
The Cock-Ramble of all my Four and Twenty Volumes.  
But I know when 'tis well, and therefore come in and see the Tombs, and look upon the Clock-work-Fellow that shows 'em— all his Motions are like the two fierce brazen Sparks at St. Dunstan's Di●l, there's such gravity, such extreme Deliberation in the Motion of his Hand and Tongue, that you'd scarce believe him made of any more active M●tal than the Monuments he shows you.  
— Here li— ●th— en— terred (quo' he) the Bornwell— dies— of (the Names worn out) Great-Grand-father to Al— by— on the great, More— narch of all these Real— mes, and Cor— de— li— a his— Wife;— Nay,— thought I— this is the way for us to turn Monuments too, if we stay here till all's done, if it begins at this rate; so away Rambled I by myself, to make new Discoveries among the Territories of the Dead, and overlookt heaps of Kings and Lords, and scarce allowed 'em half-an-eye, so great is— somebody's Soul) till who should I meet amongst 'em all, but the Immortal Cowley— Hold,— Let me step three or four steps back, and rub my Fingers against the Marbles, for indeed they are a little foul, before I presume to touch his sacred Monument.—  
— How like is't to that great Man for whom 'twas made— nothing glaring and fantastic, but all Proper, Neat, Natural and Modest, and yet a certain Air t' has in it altogether, that the brightest Monument round him can hardly equal.  
I should break out into a little ecstasy while weeping over his venerable Ashes, and in some passionate Lines or other tell the World what it has lost, and how little it deserved it. But if Phormi● dared not talk of War before Hannibal, the very Dust of Cowley has something in't so awful that I dare not affront it with such Poetry as I should bring in its Praises— However I may, I must again Sacrifice some Tears at thy incomparable Urn— I must almost adore thee, and think that Divine Spirit which ever shone through all of thine, still hovers o'er thy precious Relics, and can never Ramble from them.  
Live then, Incomparable Man, live both without thy Tomb and in it, or rather that in thee— Thou hast, thou ever wilt have a far better and a Nobler Monument, a Mausoleum almost worthy Cowley. Hero's shall learn thy Davidis, and with that ever keep thee in their Breasts and Memories. While Love, whil Virtue lives, thy Lambent Flames shall warm the innocent Virgin bosom. A hundred Ages hence shall they read thy Mistress, envying at once, and blaming that unknown Goddess that made thee sigh in vain— Nor shall even that great Name who paid this so well deserved honour to thy Ashes be ever forgotten; Nor can Buckingham want a Tomb, while Cowley has one—  
— And while they both live in the Works of Evander.  
— Come let's be e'en going— There's nothing else worth seeing that I know.— Let Thine lie where he is till those who sent him thither come and weep over his Tomb till they fetc him to life again— And Fairborn o' t'other side, at Tangier, more covered with the smoke of Cannons than he of Blunderbusses.— But now we talk of Tangier— Have you heard of the Mole and that barren blind Bargain?— Was ned Trelawney a brave Fellow?— The Alcaide— Sand Hills— Marine● Regiments.— Well,— The Reader can't imagine what pains I take to curbate all my might this rambling fancy o' mine, to keep him Company, but tho' I lean back to the very Crupper, the Jade starts, and winces about as if she had a Nettle under her Tail— So,— So,— I'll struck her, and see if fair means will do— She begins to be pretty civil, and walks peaceably along toward the Parliaments House, and the Hall— but first let's call in at Heaven, (here's a House of Entertainment so called) and take a little Soop by the way— That's soon done— Now Enter— But whither are we going? Here's a hole indeed— Evander knows what to do with his Life better than to venture upon New-Discoveries— Why it looks like the Entry into Okey Hole, or the Deels A— of Peak. Let me see— Is't possible to get in without creeping upon Hands and Knees? Mercy o' me, what black things with Green Wings are those that I see wand'ring up and down within, and appearing through the Shades?— Sure they are no better than Incarnate Lawyers, and droves of poor deluded Wretches dragging after them, out of whom they have Sucks all their Blood and Substance, till they look like Ghosts indeed, and miserable ones too; for all the shapes of Rage, Fury, Despair, and Revenge appear in their Faces.— Well,— This 'tis to have Land and Money— Well fare Old Diogenes— that happy Snail, that always carried his shell about with him, and nothing else. Who ever heard he had a Law Suit with his Landlord for Dilapidation, or his Goods ●elz'd for not Paying Rent, or his Platters and Porridg-Pot for Chimney-Money? But 'tis a known thumbed sweaty Proverb,— All Trades must live— And so must he who takes Malefactors to task after the Lawyers have done with them.  
Will no Spiders live in the Roof of Westminster Hall? Why suppose that, yet the want is pretty well made up with venomous Creatures below, that crowd along so thick and numerous there's ●o antidote against 'em but an empty Purse.  
What a Whipster was this Will● Rufus, or rather what very Beef-eaters have the Yeomen of the Guard been ever since Adam, when this Hall was built for them to dine in— and were't full to the Top, both sides, and both ends turn in but half-a-dozen of 'em, and if they did ned eat their way thorough— let 'em lie there. Observe the little Grates, and nooks and corners round about it— sure they were designed for Butteries, or rather Cupboards to this monster of a dining room.  
What a Hodg-podg of the World is here? judges and Bailiffs, and Secondaries, and old Women, and Curates, and Sergeants, and Bishops, and Young Heirs, and Sh●●es, and Stockings, Gloves, Ribbons, Rattles, and Law-books— Felons, Solicitors, Pickpockets, Attorneys, Whores, Sempstresses and honest-women— Hold— why hold— yes I say't and say't again, honest-Women, for I was there once with Iris, a●d I'm so charitable at to hope there might be one more besides her.  
'Twou'd make one amazed now to consider the multitude of Women, and the Paucity of honest Women. The magnitude of Whores, and the parvitude, dwidlingness, or exiguity, of truly virtuous Creatures through this nasty stinking World.  
O London, London! If thou art not one Sodom and Gomorrha, thou yet comest pretty near it. Thou art a Turnbul street and Lewk●ors Lane from one end of thee even to the other.  
Westminster-hall- Whores. Channel-row- Whores, White-Hall— the Guards, Charing cross- Whores, the Strand Whores, Temple-Bar- Whores. Fleet street- Whores— but none after you come within Ludgate; what— our end of the Town palluted— our Civil Laborious Citizens give their Minds to any thing of that Nature— no Fough! alas! the very mention on't turns any modest stomach and brings up all the green and yellow ropey stuff, fat eggs, and snottyglib soft substance from his Chin to his Navel.  
Not that I speak any ill at all of any place in the World by way of experience— no— all the World knows Kainophilus better (I mean all that do know me, and that you knows the same thing to me.)— I protest I was so far from any such thing that when ever I walked through Cheapside itself, that Civil modest place, if 'twere but a little in night, I always kept my hands in my Pocket for fear any of these men catchers should truss me up under their Arms, and run away with me, for Evander was a pretty little boy, and how easily might a great Termagent Whore kidnap him at that ra●e— carry him away from his careful Master, get him into some blind hole and ravish him, and there he'd be undone for ever.  
Westminster Ho! I'm but just in Palace-Yard all this while. Pa ace Yard!  
That's the Gatehouse— at the sign of the fl●ing-shooe there— see what we must all come to— (To wear shoes I mean not to angle with 'em.)  
How many Journeys had this poor shoe wandered, how Indesatigably had it Rambled, for alas 'tis all worn with labour, before it came to this sad Condition. And yet after all to come to beg its bread in its old Age. 'Tis a sad thing to think on.  
Well, were I a Privy-councillor, or a leading Parliament- 〈◊〉, among many other excellent projects, I should always be hammering out for the good of my Country, I would certainly promote some Laws or other to prevent that Inundation of Beggars which overflow this plentiful Country, and plague it as much as the Lice did Egypt, and try if 'twere not possible to free our Country from 'em as well as the Dutch do theirs.  
Towards so great and excellent a work that Prince of excellent hopes, King Edward the sixth, and this famous City of London, have both proposed a very proper method, and given a glorious Example.  
They first sorted the Poor into several distinct R●nks and Orders,— The Poor by Impotency, Casualty and Wickedness. For the first sort they provided (besides many other particular Almshouses of particular Persons and Companies) Christ-Church Hospital, where so vast a number of Fatherless Children of both Sexes are so handsomely provided for.  
For the second— The Hospitals of St. Thomas in Southwark and St. bartholomew's in Smithfield.  
For the third— Bridewell, the most necessary of all the three.  
But now were I worthy to shoot my Fool's bolt, I should think there's yet very much wanting towards regulating this famous City, and after their Example the whole Kingdom.  
The first and main thing conducive to such a great end, would be a strict and just execution of those excellent Laws we already have against Vagrants and Vagabonds— Gypseys and other, strolling Ramblers who equally impose upon and injure their Country. For were all such, us were found young lusty and able to work for their Livings, well ●hip'd out of their Lazyness, we should ned have so many swarms of those People pestering and exposing our Streets, Churches, Hedges and Roads as we have at present, and are yet ●●ke to have.  
How many hundreds (we might perhaps add another cipher) are there about London, whose whole business and livelihood for themselves and Families is this way brought in— whole Streets and Fraternities of 'em living together, and nursing up a brood of Beggars, from Generation to Generation.  
Were these public Work-houses provided to employ those sort of People, Men and Women, and Children (for ●ome sort of work, even the last would be capable of) how much more Honour and Strength and Profit would it be to the City and Nation?  
For those who are really impotent, and incapable of working, all the Reason in the World they should be provided for, and it might be worth the while to examine whether the Gains acquired by the work of the others might not be so improved as to maintain these without my charge to the State, or at least but an inconsiderable one.  
Not that all the public Houses of this Nature are to be like Bedlam's. In some Cases and Instances great Cities are indeed to consult their Grandeur and Honour, but for the most part Convenience far outdoes Magnificence, and the maintenance of perhaps a thousand wretches more in a comfortable being much more honourable than having a fine Portal built, or the roof of a Hospital mounted a story or two higher.  
But not to forget these miserable wretches who first occasioned this Discourse— the Prisoners for Debt— with Submission to the Policy of almost all Mankind and all Ages, it seems an odd sort of a Punishment to infl●ct the heaviest Pains, next to Death, itself, namely perpetual Imprisonment, on what is very often rather a misfortune than a crime in those who suffer it, and that for no end, not any good to be obtained by it.  
If a Rogue run away with a great part of my Estate, if another breaks, or another Fire my house and ruins me— why it looks very hard that for these miseries, I must endure others, and be confined to a stinking Dungeon all the days of my Life, for what I did not cause, and cannot remedy. And then of those who are imprisoned in this manner, is there one to ten who ever pays any thing the more?— nay done't this generally make 'em desperate, and careless whether ever they come out again, or what they spend while they are there?  
These as much deserve Pity and Charity, a● another sort censure and punishment, who when they have Estates or Trades carelessly lavish all away in lewd or riotous living, or else by their fully, heedlessness, and neglect of business and accounts, waste away insensibly, while a third more wicked than both, get whatever Goods or Moneys they can possibly scrape together, and ru● into Prison as into Garrison with all their Spoil, not caring thereby how many industrious Families they inevitably ruin.  
These last are infinitely worse than Robbery upon the Highway, and I think deserve no less punishment.— But the only speedy way to prevent their villainy, would be effectually to root out all those Sanctuaries where they lurk— The Mint, White Friars, etc. For would any Foreigner believe, that the wise and excellent Constitution of the English Government would allow places within its Bosom where it has no power— where its Writs and Officers are no more regarded than they'd be in japan or China?  
For the lesser sort of Bankrupts, made so either by carelessness or Riot— It might not be amiss as a good prevention to their poverty, that the prudent Custom of some Nations were Enfranchised here— namely— examining how every Person lived at every years end by public Censors to that end appointed, at least all such as were suspect either of Sloth or Debauchery— For such as offended on the worst side of the two, after admonition, Corporal punishment. For the other a little more labour might in a great measure very much alter Affairs in a few years, nor should we in all likelihood have our Prisons so full, or our Shops and Houses so empty.  
Well— if the World laughs and looks a squint at all this grave Council, and painful thoughts which I have laid up together for their advantage not mine, why then— they beened worthy on't, and there's an end, while I Ramble on to somewhat else, after I have dropped four Farthings into the old Shoe I was talking of, and then left it as I found it.  
And Ramble on to the Privy-Garden; was ned that King's Jester a merry Fellow who sold this pretty spot of Ground to Build upon, and that Country Squire a very Country Squire who bought it of him?  
Let 'em both alone to make up their Bargain as well as they can, for we are now got into Whitehall (nor won't so much as afford the poor desolate Popish Chapel one Ave Mary as we pass by it.)  
And what shall we stare upon here? 'Tis scarce worth the while to tell you when 'twas Built, and by whom, and what 'twas first called— York Palace— as it might have been afterwards when King Charles the Second lived in't as well as before King Henry the Eighth being Burnt out of House and Home at Westminster, removed his Lodgings thither.  
Every one in's way, Let those who understand Architecture admire the Galleries, the Banqueting-house, or new Lodgings, all which is like the English better than it looks for: Let others admire the pleasant new Whirligig of a Wether cock, erected before the Prince Landed, on purpose to see when a Protestant Wind blew— There are two things that please me infinitely more than all this, or all the fine Pictures, Arms, Hangings, or any thing besides— And that is— The much Eating, and no Fight— three hundred and sixty four thousand Bushels of Wheat in a year— very well— Life has a lusty staff, and will hardly fall for want of Bread; seven thousand Sheep— very well; fifteen thousand Yoke of Oxen— O Beef Eaters!— Hens, Pullers, and Chickens innumerable— forty six thousand six hundred and forty pound— a great many years ago— and Butter's ned loved now less than 'twas then— all this is very well— but— what shall we do for Drink? Why a Man will ne'er choke where there's six hundred Tun of Wine, and seventeen hundred of Beer broached in a Twelvemonth.  
But that delicate, wise, sage Law— that there must be no Fight there— The very thoughts on't does my Heart good— methinks Kainophilus is so safe when he's in that Blessed Palace— How happy would he count himself if all London, nay, all the World were but like it— well does he deserve to have his Hand cut off that strikes his Innocent Neighbour, and I'll willingly hold both mine out for that purpose, if you ever catch 'em Fight either there or any where else.  
What d'ye think of a walk at St. James' Park— agreed— 'tis a curious place that's the truth on't— The Canal, the Carriages, the Statue, the Owls, the Walks, the Mall, the Ladies and fine things I saw there, quite dazzled my Eyes to look upon 'em.— So I took 'em off again, being quite ashamed to see so many painted and patched Creatures Squint and Ogle at me as if they'd ha' devoured me— so I made haste and run the Gauntlet through 'em all, coming out at the Palace, resolved for the Hay-Market and Charing-Cross—  
But i' my way thither, met with the pleasantest Sign that ever Man looked upon— 'Twas a Man I think, or somewhat like one, with one Shoulder over his Head, the tother down at his H●●l, his Toe turned back to his Neck, and his Forefinger at the top of the Ceiling, and Posture-Clark wri●under— This Whim's worth seeing— in stepped V●nder, and found a Bottle of good Wine there, and for the Diversion of Gentlemen saw all the Tricks, and heard the Stories; some of which you shall hear as well as I— once upon a time he was drinking with some Gentlemen in a Room next the street▪ and saw a very Beavish Fellow pass by, full of ●●ms●lf up to the Brim, and as great he looked as he was able to hold— Come Gentlemen, says— Posture, for a Gu●n●a I hit that Fellow over the Pa●e with a Broom-staff, and he ne'er touches me again— art Mad— why he'll certainly whip thee through the Lungs, or Nail thee to the Wall— I'll venture it— Down he goes— comes behind the Spark, and takes him a thump in the Pa●e that almost felled him— round turns he with his Sword half out, and sees nothing, as he thought, but a perfect Natural, the subtle Rogue having so altered the very Muscles of his Face, that any one would have Sworn he had been Born a Changeling he slavered and dangled his Hands, while his Eyes lookt-like a couple of Stones, and his Broom-staff between his Legs, and he lolling upon't, and staring his Enemy in the Face— who no sooner saw what a sort of a thing he was going to run through, but he claps up his Sword again, and swore heartily if he had ned been a Fool h●●'d have ripped up the Gu●● of him.  
Another time, either a certain Tailor had angered him, or he was resolved to be merry with him— he sends for him to take measure for a Suit of clothes, telling him, he was somewhat crooked, as he might see, and having heard he was an ingenious Fellow for rectifying such disorders, had sent for him— I war'nt you Master— quo ' Monsieur Le Fisk— I'm the best in England at it— you know the little Person o' Quality, the length of whose Tongue supplies that of his Body— why I have boulstered him up that he looks as str●●ght as an Arrow— very well— out come Scissors and Parchment, he takes measure of one whose Right Shoulder wa● out, ●or Clark has as great a command of all the joints of his Body as Muscles of his Face— 'Tis done— you shall have it next Saturday without fail— 'Tis brought home acsording to order— He tried it on, you dull Dog, quo' ●lark— could ned you remember which Shoulder 'twas (for now he had put t'other out) Master I'll Swear I was never so mistaken i' my Life— well— I'll go home and altered presently— away he goes, brings it again, and finds both Shoulders out— Clark Swore then worse than at the first— why, you shrid of Mankind— did ned you see I was Hump-backt— well— I'll stake my Life on't I please you this bout, home he takes it once more, and when he brings it back, Clark was as straight as an Arrow. The poor Tailor stairs round on his Head, Back, both sides, and finding 'twas the very same Person who he was sure the first time he saw him had one Shoulder out of order, the second the other, the third both, and now all right again— sto●d still a little while and said nothing, at length cried out, 'Tis the Devil that's certain, threw down the clothes, and downstairs he scampered as if Satan had really been clapping him upon the Shoulder.  
Well, if you laugh at these Stories as much as I did, they'll do you more good than a course of Physic, or a quarter of a years drinking the Waters.  
But I can't stay, my time's almost at an end, my Book's almost done, and I find the Bulk grows upon me, and yet I've almost three quarters of London yet to Survey— therefore away Ramble I to Charing-cross, as fast as if I'd mounted behind his Majesty himself a top of his black Courser— and a little faster, for I've a fancy I can walk better than that Beast, tho' scarce leap so well— for 'twas a terrible way from a deep Cellar, I know not how many yards underground to skip up higher than a Balcony. Sir,  
I trotted o● about a quarter of an hour longer till I came to Summerset-House, and being no Justice of Peace nor Knight, it being besides in the middle of the day, ventured in among 'em.  
'Tis a curious Pile of Buildings, erected by Edward Duke of Summerset, Uncle to King Edward the Sixth, in the year 1549. It has a pleasant, tho' small Garden, and some walks between that and the Water's side, on which it's very delectably seated— as you may see if you'll take a pair of Oars and go thither.  
By which you'll have the advantage into the Bargain of a view of the Savoy— that Famous School of the Jesuits, to whom some (you may guests how) good Protestants sent their Children to be instructed, no Protestant or Englishman having Learning enough for 'em, by that wonderful Scholar Poult●●, whose wit was so great, and memory so little, that he forgot the Names of his own Popes.  
Ah poor Catholics— what pains they took? (shame to us) how they sweated and tugged for their Dagon while they were here (one would think they knew their time was short) how laborious and indefatigable so nimbly to plant what was more nimbly rooted up— How many fine Lo●ging partitions, Schools and Galleries— after all to rub off without a stroke— only with some hundreds of thousands of Guineas and Curses, to be turned out of their new Built Hives (poor Wasps! harmless Hornets! they wou●d not I warn't ye have hurt any Protestant for all the World) to be packed first out of England, and then in probability out of all the World, for if France falls 'tis very likely their blessed Society may be dissolved— this indeed is hard Fortune— did not they deserve it for having been so kind to the Heretic Dogs while they were here, and cutting no more of their Throats, nor Firing their Cities to any purpose above once or twice in an Age.  
— Let 'em go— we shall find 'em again at Wild-house— but first step up a top of the Maypole; Alas poor Creature— how art thou humbled— thou who hadst a Spire as high as a Steeple, and wert almost long enough to have made a Walking staff for the City's Guardian Angel as he Rambled cro●s the Clouds. Thou hast worse luck than all the City besides thee— Thus is Age despised— for whereas that is risen three or four Stories higher, thou art taken so much lower than when at first Erected.  
This shall be a fair warning to Kainophilus to keep where he is, in a moderate height, neither low enough for every one to tread upon, nor yet so tall and topping as to make the Neighbours cut him down, for fear of tumbling a top of 'em, and breaking their Necks.  
I won't say the Worlds-honester, for Evander won't Lie, but I'm confident 'tis Wiser than 'twas formerly, was ned wise work for one Company of hot headed Fools to set up this stripling of a May pole, and make half a wooden God of him, Singing and Dancing, and not rarely, Fight and Fuddling and Whoring ●n his Honour— and were not another crew very discreetly Zealous who made War against May poles (and Bear-baiting) with as much earnestness and vigour as they'd have done against Turk and Pope, slashing and hewing the innocent Timber where ere they came near it— whereas now neither are people so mad for or against it, but as the poor Justice said upon the point— They that will have a Maypole shall have a Maypole, and they who won't may let it alone.  
'Tis uncertain whether the Fellow I'm about telling you a merry Story of, had been Dancing at a Maypole or no, but sure▪ enough he was got finely Foxed some where or other i'the Strand, and stayed at it till the Watch was set— and then homeward he Rambled as his brutish Carcase could direct him, for his Soul was Imprisoned (as the Dutch Towns when the Sluices were drawn up and the Dykes pierced) and could do him no farther Service— In this pickle such as 'twas, and 'twould ha' been worse had he happened into a Kennel or Common shore, was he sholling through the Strand— 'twas a Moon shiny Night, but the Moon being got behind the Houses, shined only a slant, and sent a little stream of light out of one of the small Lanes quite cross the Street— This the I●●de●● Indenture- maker was now arrived at, and being a little sensible what a condition he was in, and so very careful of any danger, fancied he was come somewhere or other, for he had absolutely forgot where he was, to the side of a River— so up the Stream and down he goes to look for a Bridge, but finding none, reeled back to try if he could leap over— till coming to the side, he fancy●d the Brook too wide for him, therefore put off his Stockings— and Shoes to see whether he could wade it— in he steps very gingerly, but the further he thrust in his Leg, finding the more of the Moonshine, off go his Breeches too— not enough yet— the rest of his clothes follow, Shirt and all, which tying up in a Bundle over he throws, and himself wades after— yet 'twould ned do— he finds it up to his Chin— so out he strikes his Hands and Feet, down he falls and mawls his Body against the Pavement, but finding he could make no way out of this Enohanted River, falls a yelping for some good Body to lend him a Rope and save his Life. The Watch who had stood near, and observed the Farce all the while with a great deal of Diversion, took up the poor Drowned Creature, half throttled with the conceit on't, and carried him to the Round-house, giving him his clothes again, where he lay till he was sober, and sufficiently ashamed of that extravagance his Intemperance had thrown him into, tho' much more harmless than many others in that mad condition have been guilty of.  
Let●s step up a little to Wits Coffee-house, and present our Service to Mr. Laureate— that was— what in the same Religion for a whole three or four years together! indeed Mr. Bays 'tis unconscionable— The Farce will grow dull if you make no Incidents— why there's no more of Plot in this than in the Rehearsal.— In your Ear— shall we take a walk to Wild-house together— there's a finer Opera to be shown than any of your own, tho' you take in that you have pillaged from Milton among the rest, tho' 'tis confessed there's a Vein runs through it all your own, and you make your Grandmother talk very knowingly for one so Innocent.  
By this time we are there, enter Prologue— Beads— Whips— Mass-books, dark Lobbies and Holy-water— draw up the Curtain— Act the first, Seen the first— But hold— is there any distinction of Scenes in a Puppet-show?— enter Priest, Scaramouch, Operator, or what you please, with two or three small Harlequins like Tumblers or Rope-dancers to attend his merry— Holiness— so— now it begins— Die see this small little tiny scrap of Bread Gentlemen— no bigger than a Christening Maccaroon— look upon't all of you— is ned Bread Gentlemen— ay Bread, what should it be— well— mark the end on't— keep your Eyes fixed— by the virtue of Hocuspocus— Hiccius Doctius, ●ey Presto! but what is't now— why Bread still— nay— then I'll be Burnt for a Heretic, as you deserve to be for saying so— why 'tis a Man, an Errand Man (ay and more too) with Eyes and Nose, Teeth, Blood, Bones and Fingers, as you and I have— Mr. Bays— did you ever see the like in all your Changes— here's a turn without an alteration, a very pretty Miracle where nothing at all's effected, but all things exactly in stat● quo— ay, but consider a little— softly— your Eyes may be deceived— the Senses often are so— dear Mr. Bays, let me take you a gentle tweak by the Nose, and if you can't feel me, you shall persuade me I don't see that— These are Sacred things, and you ought not to make a May-game of 'em— they were Sacred before you had the handling of 'em, but you make 'em what you blame others for doing— your Priests there is as absolute a Merry-Andrew as e'er a one in Smithfield— you Burlesque your own Religion so egregiously that a Man must not have one grain of Spleen in his Nature, or else bite his Lips off to see all the Trumpery and not laugh at it— how do all the grave Persons then that are present with such great Devotion— yes— observe how great 'tis— there's an old Woman at once mumbling her Beads and a piece of Biscuit— another with one Hand on his Mass Book, and another on his next Neighbours— another with his Eyes turned up to the top of the Crucifix, and his Mouth whispering to the next patched Lady that leans languishingly that way and rests upon his Shoulder. A fourth most devoutly twattling his Ora pro nobis, and at the same time slipping a Billet Deux or Assignation Note into a Religious Creatures Glove that all in Tears beholds the gaudy Idol just before her, but wipes ●em off to tip a promising wink to her as Idolatrous Enamorato— if all this been't true Mr. Bays, I appeal to your Eyes as well as my own— and sure there's no Transubstantiation in this case what e'er there is in others— well you are a hardened insulting Heretic— get you gone and leave me alone to my Devotion— agreed— for you are not worth Lampooning, having been flogged and yerked so long between Catholic and Heretic, that there's not one sound Inch left in Body, Soul or Reputation— now,  
Now for the Temple— but I met with all the Lawyers at Westminster— Alas there's nothing here now but a few solitary Whores wand'ring from one Staircase to t'other, as a Bird flutters about a Tree when her young ones are ravished from her.  
Fleet-bridge, I'd rather go over thee than tumble into the Ditch.  
‛ Ware Bridewell, and we are got safe at Paul's. One wou●d think 'twere Built for the Universal Church to meet in— will't ever be up, or ever down again? when 'tis so any Traveller that comes to see that glorious Structure, let 'em look for Evander's Name, and if they don't find a thousand Guineas subscribed by him towards that noble design, let 'em be so kind to do it for him, and trust to his honesty for payment.  
What's next— Pauls-Church-yard— but I dare not stay, my Face may chance to be known, and then Murder comes out immediately.  
Cheapside— it grows late, 't has been a pretty long walk— the Sun's down and the Light's up like half a hundred Suns together.  
Let's see— Bow-Church— Mercers-Chapel— hold while 'tis well. 'Tis time for ever● honest Man to be at Home, and therefore here will I set up my Staff and Ramble no longer, having brought you through the City to the Change where I first begun.  
And now, that none may say Evander is uncourtly, he'll make a Leg and doff his Hat before he parts, and then you're very welcome Gentlemen.  
If the World be but so just to the Author, and so kind to its self as kindly to accept this first Essay of his juvenile Rambles, which must of necessity be the most barren part of all the rest, Kainophilus promises by all he values in this World, by his own Honour, and by the love of Iris, to have the second Volume out by the latter end of the next Term at furthest, comprehending an exact and pleasant account of what happened to him (and many others) during his seven years' Apprenticeship— all the hardships some Prentices endure▪ all the ways taken to ruin 'em, and how to avoid them all, lastly, the brave things the London Prentices have done from him that killed the two Lions down to  Your Obsequious Pedestal and Humillimous Servants Servant Kainophilus Evander. 
The End of the First Volume.    

Books Newly Published.  
A New Martyrology, or the Bloody Assizes, now exactly methodised in one Volume, comprehending a complete History of the Lives, Trials, Sufferings, Death and Characters of Sir Edmondbury Codfrey, Justice Arnold, Mr. College, Arthur Earl of Essex, William Lord Russel, Coll. Sidney, Capt. Walcot, Mr. Rouse, Mr. Holloway, Sir Thomas Armstrong, Alderman Cornish, Mr. Bateman, Mr. Noyce, Dr. Oats, Mr. johnson, Mr. Dangerfield, the late Duke of Monmouth, with the impartial History of his whole Expedition in the West; the Earl of Argyle, Coll. Rumbald, Mr. Benjamin and Mr. William Hewling, Mr. William jenkin's, Mr. Batiscomb, the Lady Lisle, Mrs. Gaunt, Mr. Nelthrop, Mr. Charles Speak, Coll. Holmes, Mr. Hicks, Mr. Lark, Mr. Madders, Capt. Kid, Dr. Temple, Mr. Parrot, Capt. Annesly, and Capt. Matthews. Together with the Dying Speeches, Letters and Prayers, etc. of all the rest of those Eminent Protestants who fell in the West of England and elsewhere, from the Year 1679, to 1689▪ with the Pictures of several of the chief of them in Copper Plates. To this Treatise is added the Life, Death, and Character of George Lord jefferies', with the History of his Western Cruelties. Price 2 s. 6 d.  
The Abdicated Prince, or the Adventures of Four Years; a Tragicomedy, as it was lately Acted at the Court at Alba Regalis, by several Persons of Great Quality. The second Edition. Price 1 s.  
The Bloody Duke, or the Adventures for a Crown; a Tragicomedy, as it was Acted at the Court at Alba Regalis, by several Persons of ●reat Quality. Written by the Author of the Abdicated Prince. Price 1 s.  
The late Revolution, or the Happy Change; a Tragicomedy, as it was Acted throughout the English Dominions in the Year 1688. Written by a Person of Quality. Price 1 s.  
The Royal Uoyage, or the Irish Expedition; a Tragic Comedy, as it was Acted, and is now Acting in Ireland by the Chief Officers in his Majesty's Army. Price 1 s.  
These four new Plays contain a full Account of the Private Intrigues of the Two last Reigns, and of all the most Remarkable Transactions that have happened since.  
FINIS.   

A Voyage Round the World: OR, A Pocket-Library, VOL. II.  
Containing the Rare Adventures OF DON KAINOPHILUS, During his Seven Years Prenticeship.  
The whole WORK intermixed with Instructions for the Management of a Man's whole Life.  
As also with particular Remarks on the most noted BOOKSELLERS, AUTHORS and POETS, In the City of London.  
I wear my Pen as others do their Sword,  
To each affronting Sot I meet, the Word  
Is satisfaction; strait to thrusts I go,  
And pointed satire runs him through and through.  Oldham. 
LONDON, Printed for Richard Newcome, 1691. Price Bound 1 s. 6 d.   

Advertisement.  
THere is newly Published, The present State of Europe: Or, the Hist●●cal and Political Mercury: Giving an Account of all the public and private Occurrences that are most considerable in every Co●●t for the Month of September, 1690. with Reflections ●pon every State; to be continued Monthly from the Original published at the Hague by the Authority of the States of Holland and West-Friezland.  
The Mercury for the Month of August last is likewise done; they are both Sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster.   

PREFACE TO THE Booksellers OF LONDON.  
GENTLEMEN,  
IHope I need not assure you that 'twould be the farthest thing in the World from my Intentions, should any Passage in these Papers be thought a reflection on your honourable Employment, so liberal and ingenuous, that it indeed seems an ART rather than a TRADE: The very attempting any such thing would be the worst defiling my own Nest, and would make me ashamed to look on myself as well as you. That there are some ill Men 〈◊〉 us, Spite of the Proverb, 〈…〉 to 〈◊〉 denied, nor needs it any Excuse, any more than the exposing those Persons to the just Censures of present and future 〈◊〉. The proper End of 〈◊〉 is to 〈◊〉 Vice, the abuse on't to expose Virtue under that Name and Dress; (for in its own 'tis so amiable, that all the Wit and Malice of its Enemies can neither render it ridiculous nor odious.) Thus wa● the Old Comedy grown so licentious as not only to expose but ruin the best of Men, bringing their very Names openly on the Stage.  
Were there any such thing in this Book. I'd be myself one of the first should burn it, without putting the World to the trouble. But on the contrary, I appeal to any not concerned, whether most of those here exposed are not such as highly deserve it, and that by Things, not Names: For is there not all the Reason 〈◊〉 the World that a PROUD DON, 〈◊〉 a designing Hypocrite, a conceited blockhead or a whimsical Author, a 〈◊〉 old Spendthrift or a young debauched Fop, should be set out in their ●wn Colours? that both others may be de●rr'd from following their Examples, and ●hey themselves possibly grow ashamed of ●heir own Folly. Cervantes among the spaniards was the first who wrote in this ●rolling sort of Prose-Satyr— and being 〈◊〉 neat Wit, and a vast Genius, did it to admiration, sufficiently exposing the empty ●ons of his Nation, so full of their own ●ighty selves, supercilious to all Mankind ●esides. Quevedo was another Attempt of 〈◊〉 same kind, though not on the same Sub●ect, his Walk being something lower, and ●ore among that sort of People which 〈◊〉 have here to deal with. But all this ●ou know already, and I can't tell why I shoved repeat any more on't, unless to show 〈◊〉 READING— therefore I'll let the City-Romance alone, which perhaps is nearer the Design here intended than 〈◊〉 before mentioned. I have only to 〈◊〉 you know, that besides the satire her● and there scattered in these Books, the●● are many things which want a Key, 〈◊〉 are like to do so, for they were not wri●● for every Body, though there's enough intelligible to entertain the World with a grea● deal of Diversion.— And now.  
GENTLEMEN, I'm your Humble Servant, Kainophilus   

Panegyric Verses.  

To the Memory of my endeared Friend, Don Kainophilus, Author of this Book of Rambles.  
ISing the Man who Ropes and Cables bore  
On that Right-hand which lifted Books before:  
He, shaken by Storms, and tossed by Tempests blast,  
Now Anchors in his Iris Arms at last.  
Dundee and Durina! Gluckstadt and Oran!  
Vsbeck and Ulster! Rome and Ispahan!  
Novogrod! Boston! Famagosta-Fair!  
T●vestock renowned, and more renowned Tangier!  
Open your Stony jaws! Huzza and Bellow!  
Nor stick to own you never saw his Fellow!  
U. E. Student in Oxford.   

The headless Giant in Sir J. Mandevil's Travels, to the Author of this second Volume of Rambles.  

I Who am Porter grim within this Place,  
And guard the Entry with my manly Face;  
Who, thank my gentle Nurses! can defy  
The Axe, the Gibbet, and the Pillory:  
Who was by strong Enchantment teddered here  
For (let me see!) some fifty-thousand Year;  
Like a poor Monkey by the Loins confined,  
Unless some stronger Charms my Chains unbind;  
Left in this hopeful pickle out of spite  
By Mandevile, that harsh uncourteous Knight:  
To whom but you, Sir Author! should I flee,  
To you, who've seen far rarier shows than He?  
Who Mandevil himself out- Mandevil as far  
As I beyond a Dwarf can throw the Bar:  
Him Foreign Shores, tho' valued here no higher,  
Whom his ungrateful Country scorns, admire:  
Yet, what's contained in all his boasted store  
Which your fair Volume has not all and more?  
Learnings advanced since he his Work begun,  
But had he e'er seen thine, 't had ne'er been done.  
His famous Works of Cocks in Woollen tell,  
Thou'st seen 'em dressed in Down, and that's as well:  
He of a horrible Land-Meermaid writes;  
But thou at Sea hast seen far stranger Sights:  
Thou saw'st a score at once— or wouldst ha'doned, no doubt,  
Had they but been so civil to peep out.   

And since that one good turn requires another,  
Since I on you your due applause bestow:  
O let one traveler aid against the tother!  
O speak the word, Sir Knight! and let me go!     

A Bookseller. ANAGRAM. O. B. seek all o'er.  

DEar Friend! how did I seek all o'er?  
And doubt I ne'er should find thee more?  
— Well! since thou'rt come, let thee and I  
Each other kindly edify!  
Begin! I'll follow Lie for Lie!  
— Sto— ho— hop! or all our Brags are vain,  
For Pegasus upon his Neck has got the Rein,  
And aways he flies thundering over the Plain,  
— But all o'th' sudden stops again;  
(There's a fine turn!) and softlier goes  
Than Zephyr breathes or Lethe flows:  
Than Spices brought from Western Isles,  
Or than Valeria when she smiles:  
Let's to the Rack-staves tie him fast,  
And then return to what is past.   

O! B—! for Blockhead, whose dry Pate  
Yet never yeaned at such a rate,  
Who nought beyond thy Stall dost know,  
Nor e'er didst to New-England go.  
If thou wouldst gain the World's Esteem,  
Seek here all o'er, and learn from Him.   

He's not o'th' third dull seeking kind,  
Of those who neither seek nor find.  
Through all the World he seeks all o'er,  
Seeks close and findeth all and more,  
For what he round the World does roam,  
In's Mouth or Book he brings all home:  
He claps it down before 'tis gone,  
Slap-dash-he hast— 'tis all his own.   

So have I seen a Spaniel mild,  
With Ears full large and long,  
As Innocent as Chrysom Child,  
As Garagantua strong:  
When e'er his Master cries, Seek out!  
Forth he'll like Lightning move,  
He seeks all o'er, and all about,  
To find the Staff or Glove:  
His Master smiles, and will not chide,  
If he returns when sent,  
And spits in's Mouth and claps his side,  
And Tray is well content.   

O! B—!— for Buzzard! who so loudly sings  
As far as Tyber's distant Springs,  
Who stretching out thy saily Wings,  
Doth seek all o'er in search of Fame,  
Almost as far as th' Author came:  
ere thou comest home, take one Voy'ge more,  
(thou'rt not in haste) and seek all o'er:  
O seek all o'er that various pack,  
Thou bearest upon thy brawny Back!  
Seek o'er those long Gazettes which oft  
Thy Claws from distant Fields have brought.  
Put on thy Spectacles and proceed,  
(Though 'tis not every Bird can read!)  
Confess the Truth and be sincere!  
In all the Libraries which are  
Well stuffed with Books, thou seekest all o'er;  
Say— Buzzard! didst ere see the like before?   

O! B—! for Critic 
† B. for C. a small Mistake, 'twas but the very next Letter. , who with envious Eye  
On what thou canst not mend dost pry!  
Find one Errata if you can,  
In all this pretty Map of Man:  
Ʋander in Minature for this  
Is the true Microcosm of his.  
Seek— seek all o'er, from Heel to Chin,  
If thou canst find a fault therein.   

O! B—! for Bookseller discreet!  
The Hawkers all thy coming greet!  
See how they gape in every Street!  
Waiting the last, the happy Sheet:  
See how they crowd about the Door!  
See how they seek, and seek all o'er!  
What Advertisement needs there more?  
See how they're all prepared to roar—  
— And cry thy Book as heretofore;  
Their Throats the Scholar's Maggots tore,  
Whose Face to th'Life is drawn before,  
With so much Beauty— thine has hardly more.   

So have I seen in Summer Eve  
(Greats we'll with Smalls compare)  
A Tripewife washing her fair Tripes,  
Though not so fair as her:  
She scrubs, and scrubbs, and turns 'em round,  
And seeks, and seeks all o'er,  
And though she has whole Cartloads found,  
Still seeks, and seeks for more:  
Whilst all the little Silver Fry,  
Which in the Water play,  
Caper and Dance, and frisk on high  
To catch the golden prey.  
Then with it to some hole they fly,  
Shake hands and part like you and I,  
Kindly each other bid Good b'w'y ',  
Make a Leg and a Bow and away!   

Well may the World go seek all o'er,  
And thus lament in vain:  
Two such wise Folks ne'er met before,  
Nor e'er shall meet again.    

A Poetical DIALOGUE between the Author of these Rambles and the discourteous Reader.  Reader. 
JOhn Ʋander! john Ʋander! O where hast thou been?  
O! Ʋander john! Ʋander john! what hast thou seen?  Author. 
Heaven and Earth, Sea and Land, all the World I've been tossed on,  
Nor lain still a wink from Graffham to Boston.  Reader. 
Declare it, nor spare it, for a traveler may do't;  
Upon such Authority none can dispute.  Author. 
Not— I—Sir! for why Sir! my Book it will spoil,  
Take Counsel and buy Sir! if your Cares you'd beguile.  Reader. 
O—No— Sir! for so Sir I shall never ha' done w'ye,  
Nor is any so dangerous as a Surfeit on Honey.   

St. Brandon, A Famous traveler of whom the Golden Legend treats, to the Author.  
A Pindaric.  
FRom the dark abode of Hell:  
From Purgatory Frying-pan, and Limbo-Fire:  
From every a Kettle deep,  
Where many a greasy Fire:  
Grim Pitch-fork Feens in their own Gravy steep,  
I Come strange News to tell.  
O'er Hedge and Ditch of old I ran,  
Through Earth, and Air, and Sea, and Shore,  
Further than either Devil or Man  
Since, or before.  
In Witches, and  
In Faery-Land,  
Where ere my lying Monk was pleased to Willo'the-wisp me round,  
Poor judas I saw in a pitiful case:  
His Lodging was on the cold ground,  
But I did not envy his place,  
Tho' he sat on a Stone to cool his Face.  
(O hone! O hone!  
Sure 'twas a Whetstone!)  
Then a Shipboard I went to my cost,  
Where I, tho' a Saint, like a Dog in a Blanket was tossed:  
She strikes! She strikes! six foot water in hold!  
Pray! Pray! while you may, for your Mouths will quickly be cold:  
She's lost; She's lost  
For want of a Passion-miraculous Nail.  
But I got up a Horseback a top of a Whale;  
I reined him in strong,  
And still kept my Seat, tho' the Stirups were a little too long.  
Nor could his curvetting prevail:  
All this and more did me betid,  
Or else my Monk has foully lied,  
Yet so much worth does in thy Labours shine,  
My Legend, Great Don john! must yield to thine.   

My Lady of Loretto's Chapel to the Author.  
WOnder not that you hear my Tongue,  
Although I have not used it long!  
Why should you think't a greater Lie  
That I can Talk, than that I fly!  
May Thunder my Foundations strike,  
If both of 'em beened true alike!  
My Rambles well enough are known,  
And what fine Slight-of-hand I've shown.  
Where Grazings done I ne'er would stay;  
Like Tartar Carts, bait and away.  
Some Hocus Angel whips me thence;  
Prasto! I'm gone like Latten-pences.  
They've used me kindly where I am,  
Or else long since I'd gi'n 'em the shame,  
And fled to th'place from whence I came.  
Long I upon my Honour stood,  
Knowing I was of Rambling wood;  
Nay, durst have undertook a Course  
With Pacolet's, or Astolfo's Horse;  
Since at three standing Jumps, (D'ye smile?)  
I reached at least Three thousand Mile:  
Which (burn me if I say not true!)  
Is more than every House can do.  
But thou, alas! hast me outdone,  
And all my ancient Trophies won:  
Thy Heel and Head which much more rare is,  
From Pole to Pole danced the Canaries:  
Thy Rambles, worn in every Pocket,  
Will put my Nose quite out of socket;  
And whilst poor Fame is out of breath,  
Will make me blush myself to death.   

The simple Cobbler of Agawam to the Author of these Rambles.  

There is a certain traveler acomming yet behind,  
Will ride the Reader off his Legs, and break his Wind.   

WEre not my Friendship most sincere,  
To please you I'd not write so far;  
Tho' I retain an earnest Passion  
For the good Authors of my Nation:  
Who, I presage, shall never want one,  
While they deal well with young Vander's Son.  
Since Letters then, with the discerning,  
Are held the Li●e and Soul of Learning:  
Since yours must needs be most delighting,  
Who'd still a pretty knack at Writing;  
Whose easy Periods never hobbled,  
Sometimes Translated, but ne'er Cobbled.  
Here le's begin, and one help t'other,  
As oft has many a better Author.  
'Tis done— how strong, how blessed are we?  
Beaumond and Fletcher, Bays and Lee:  
I'll the Chance-Customers attend,  
And cry, Old Songs and Books to mend!  
You, most the Chamber-practice plying,  
Shall only mind Transmogriphying.    

A VOYAGE Round the WORLD: OR, A Pocket-Library.  

VOL. II.  

CHAP. I.  
The Explanation of the First Book of these Rambles, and the Design of the whole. Some foolish Objections Answered.  
THough the World has been pretty just to the First Volume of Evander's Rambles, the Sale thereof not coming beneath his Expectations, or its own Deserts, all such as have a true taste of Wit and Humour justly hugging and admiring it; yet some Objections there are and have been made against it, either by the Envy or Folly of some Persons in the World, the most of 'em, 'tis true, below our notice; which therefore we shall answer as great Persons use to do, by saying ne'er a word, nor so much as vouchsafing 'em mention in these Immortal Writings.  
One only thing there is, which more for the sake of peace and Quietness, for Decency, Profit, and such prudential Considerations, lest it should obstruct the rolling forward of the other Two and twenty Globes yet behind in the Frontispiece, and spoil the Sale of this, and what comes after, thereby cheating the World of a most inestimable Treasure now just ready to pop into their Libraries: I say, for such like Causes as these, rather than any Necessity in the nature of the thing, Evander, Kainophilus and the Author laying their Heads together, have resolved to give a sound and formal Answer, that all the little snarful Critics may for ever after hold their peace, or have their Dog's Teeth broke out by the dint of ponderous Argument.  
The main Objection then against this First Book last passed, as well as the whole Design, is thus proposed by some wise ones; namely, That they don't know what to make on't? They can neither find beginning nor ending, head nor tail, nor can't for their Lives tell what the Author would be at, what he drives at or intends in part or whole. What use, what profit, what account it turns to, what 'tis good for; how it answers the Name; how to reconcile Book and Title, and make 'em kin to one another.  
A Pocket-Library; a Trapstick 'tis; why 'tisn't so much as a Catalogue, and my Pocket is already sufficiently furnished (quoth one Spark) with a Manuscript-Library of my own or Mistresses, or Letters from Kainophil, eternally to supply some certain Uses which only this new Library is like to be employed in. However Paper is'ned yet so dear, a Man must give Eighteen pence for a Weeks wiping.— (Out you filthy Fellow, you offend the nice Evander, and deserve to remain as long imprisoned in the nasty place you prate of, as the jew who would not come out on his own Sabbath: But we shall have them anon, and my Author has a Pen will firk ye, if he setteth about it.)  
A Voyage round the World this (quoth another) Umph! but what Page shall we find it in? The Author has quite forgot it, shattered the business out of his thin Skull, and as the Panegyrist before him, been graciously pleased to ramble to somewhat else. Here's indeed a parcel of odd nonsensical Tales of Graffham and Dungrove, and a Country Bumkin coming to London, and flying in the Air, and I know not what; but what's all this all this while to a Voyage about the World? Why this is ten times worse than a Battle in Stylo recitativo.— The Man writes Shorthand (quoth another witty Rogue) and abbreviates Books into Pages, them into Sentences, and them into Words, and between his Doggrel-Philosophy, Prose and Poetry has shoveled up such a Hodg-potch of stuff here, as would make a Hermit tear his Beard to hear it.  
Very well— when ye are out of breath, 'tis hoped a Man may get room to speak for himself.  
The first grave Complaint against this useful, profitable, ingenious, admirable Book (with modesty be it spoken) is, That People don't know what to make on't.— And what if they don't, Evander supposes 'twould puzzle a good Logician to Analogyze all the famous History of the renowned Knight of the Mancha, especially now P—s has made nonscence on't by shifting the Scene, (one Page in Spain, and the next in England.) Perhaps I had never any mind you should know that I mean, nor what to make on't— there lies all the Jest sometimes; and why might not I intent my Book after the Tune of, I lent my Money to my Friend? Or, Riddle me, Riddle me? If Evander had obliged the World with the Second Edition of the Hornbook, a primer in Folio, or a new Protestant Tutor in Twenty four Volumes, than 't had been enough to let the World have known what to make on't. Who knows not that those things are most admired, which are least understood? Unless the Infallible Church herself be foully out, Ignorance is the Mother of Devotion; nay it may be as much policy for me to have my Book unintelligible, as for them to have their Prayers, and all the rest of their Religion.— (Not that I'm a Papist for all that,— No,— I abominate both Flogging and Fasting as against the Light of Nature, and as bad as Transubstantiation,— one of 'em as great an enemy to my Back, as another's to my Belly;— but for Illustration or so now and then, 'tis lawful to pick a Flower, if one can find it, from e'er a Dunghill in Christendom.)  
This, supposing they could not understand it, as another great Person said in a like case some years past, I amed bound to find Sense both for my Book and my Readers. 'Twould be enough if I myself understood it, whether others do so or no. And that I do, I am myself the properest Judge.  
But that the World mayn't think me morose or envious, and to evidence the goodness of my Nature by its being so communicative, I'll e'en for once make others as happy as myself.— Kainophilus will tweak the World's great Nose, open its Basin-Eyes, lug its stubborn Ears, and lead it into the most intimate meaning of all those precious things laid up in the sacred Archieves of those his admirable Works, past, present, and to come.  
He undertakes so clearly to demonstrate the pleasure, profit, and excellent advantage of the Premises, as to persuade any thing but an Usurer to purchase 'em, and lay 'em under the Pillow every night, as Alexander did Homer.  
He'll prove as much, beyond contradiction, That 'tis a true actual Voyage round the World, every Word and Paragraph therein as Authentic as the renowned Mandevil, and as Moral as the famous History of Reynard the Fox; or the last Edition of the same Book disguised under the Title of the Hind and Panther. And that in all these Heads, the Design is carried on constantly, the Method not confused, though somewhat Cryptical, and requiring a little study to crack the Shell, and get out the Kernel.  
The Frontispiece, the Explanation, the Title-page and Introduction make all this appear without any trouble of telling it. The intent of the whole, as therein appears, being to give a journal of Life, and a Description of the wide World, and some Memoirs relating to the Actions of one particular Person from his Cradle to his Grave, into which all the rest is most subtly woven. But who that Person is, let none be so hasty to affirm. Those who dare be so presumptuous, we shall meet with 'em in the next Chapter, and perhaps more severely in other places, if they don't mend their Manners, and mind their own Business.  
Now this single Life, whose soever 'tis, is Hieroglyphically delineated in the Twenty four Globes of the Frontispiece, none but his own actual Rambles having the honour to be insculpt thereon; wherein you see he is carried through all the Scenes of Life, from his coming bare-b —'d into the World, to his going in like manner out on't, (which you may see most pleasantly described in the Twenty fourth and last Globe.)  
Through all which and every part of it, you'll find Directions for management of yourself in any state of Life, Schoolboy, Apprentice, Traveller, Soldier (not too much tho' of that) Lover, Trades-man, and what not; with many pleasant and useful Digressions with or without Occasion, some of which will cure the Melancholy, if not as deep as any in Bedlam.  
That ever any Man in his Senses (but all are not Evanders) should question the Usefulness of this Design, and the past or following Volumes! That in the first place 'twas highly useful to Me, which none need doubt I think the principal Verb, I can assure 'em by my own Experience, t'has turned a penny these hard times; and the Thing, Design and Method being all new and diverting, has taken so well, I have no reason to be sorry of having obliged the World, since that has done as much by me again; an Evidence of which, as well as of my Gratitude for it, is this Second Volume.  
Nor let any be so unjust to think the Usefulness of this Work is confined to the Author alone (though Charity begins at home) his design being more generous and communicative, and tending to the profit of others as well as himself, upon more accounts than two or three.  
The first is, because 'tis so pleasant, so diverting, so tickling, and all that to those who do but understand the whim on't. To see a Man described and not described, playing Bopeep with the World, and hiding himself behind his Fingers; like Merry Andrew, clapping his Conjuring-Cap on, and then crying, Who sees me now?— thrusting his Head into a Bush, and like a cunning sort of a Bird that comes from the Moon (whither he is to take a Voyage in one of these odd Books) and then defying all the World (as Pembroke did) to know him by his t'other end. I say, to see this ingenious Author as close under the name of Kainophilus, as Achates and Aeneas in the Cloak of Venus, seeing every Body, and hearing what Folks say and censure of him, and none seeing or hearing him. What in the World can be a more pleasant Spectacle, or better deserving the Motto over the door where this monstrous sight is to be seen, — Spectatum admissi risum teneatis amici?  
But alas, Evander's Person, though diverting enough, is far from being all the pleasant Humours of this Book. Here are not only wise Ones, but Fools of all sorts and sizes, — Cit Fools and Bumkin Fools, Prodigal Fools and Flint-fisted Fools, Old, Young, and Middle-aged, Quarto's, Folio's, and Decimo-Sexto's, enough to furnish all the Shops from Temple-Bar to the Poultrey-Counter; and if all this choice won't please ye, your Stomaches must be too queasy ever to eat Porridge with Evander.  
How many Comical Remarks, and Merry Fancies are stuck all over the Book, like an Orange with Cloves, a Lover with Flowers, or a Madman with Straws or Feathers,— not to add a Traveller with Rambling Tales and Romances? What think ye else of Evander's Character written by himself, at the beginning of the Book, an inimitable Piece, and a Design hardly ever before attempted, and that with as much Justice to himself, as Diversion to the Reader? What say ye, Mr. Critic, to all the Poetry which shines through every part of it as thick as the Stars in the milky way, or the Virtues and Graces of the incomparable Iris? Of the admirable and surprising Novelty of both Matter and Method; representing a Book made, as it were, out of nothing, and yet containing every thing; the sweetness of the Groves, the pleasantness of the Country, the purling of Streams, and harmony of the Birds, and whistling of the Winds, and singing of the Cuckoos, and Meditations of Evander. Then o' t'other side, the Grandeur of the City described in a method wholly new (of which more anon) and all the Rarities therein described; the Stateliness of its Palaces, the Magnificence of its Churches, and the Honesty of its Booksellers, which singular Subject richly merits a Volume as big as all Tostatus together: But alas! is here for want of room, wedged up into one or two single Chapters, though neither the last Book, nor this, nor their own, nor all the Shops nor Walls in London or the World (that's a bold word) are either strong enough, or large enough or weighty enough to contain it.  
But all this while, how will I make profit of what's only pleasant? Why as easily as I make this Book, and that before it. If Pleasure be the chief Good, as some Philosophers perhaps defensively and innocently enough, if rightly taken, have asserted, than whatever is pleasant, must undoubtedly contain all other goods under them, and among them the profitable ones.  
But not to mount the Argument above the vulgar Readers heads, and perhaps my own too, 'tis plain enough that what's so pleasant as this, must needs be profitable too another way to the Body, by cheering the Spirits, sweetening the Blood, dispelling black melancholy Fumes, and making it as brisk as a Apprentice just out of his Time, a Cracked Tradesman newly Setup again, a jolly young Bridegroom on the Wedding-night, or a fair Bride the next morning.  
Then to the Mind, what more innocently diverting, keeping from a hundred worse Employments, at once delighting and profiting, and mingling utile dulci so exactly, that there shan't be a scruple over or under on either side, though weighed in Apollo's own Balance.  
Thus ye see how profitable the Book had been, though 't'had been only pleasant.— But perhaps the grum sort of Readers will find fault with't for that very cause; they must have somewhat sowerer and stiffer to humour their jackboot-iudgments;— something that will bear reading a hundred times over without ever growing threadbare;— that may exalt the Judgement, improve the Mind, and all that.— This they only call profit, and without this it's beneath their supercilious Worship's leisure so much as to cast a glance upon't.— Well, all this they shall have to please the grave Sirs, whom by the leave of their Beards we must quarrel with for not acting like themselves, condemning what they have never read, or not sufficiently reflected on. For which reason Kainophilus must be again forced to do violence on his modesty, and point to the particular choice Jewels enshrined in this rich Cabinet; by which may be easily guessed how gravely and sagely he could have discoursed from one end to t'other, would the World have born it, as easily as all Hercules is measured by his Foot, or the former Fruitfulness of the Holy Land by some precious snips here and there to be found at this day.  
I won't pretend to enumerate here all the sound pieces of good Philosophy, Sense and Reason, as strong as Love or Mustard, which are scattered here and there all throughout the forementioned Work; though some such places I'll direct you to for my own Credit, as well as your Edification.  
What an abstruse piece of Philosophy have ye there in cap. 1. pag. 27, 28, 29. of the Transmutation of Matter, and the different almost infinite Forms it passes through (which some of bigger Names have made so much work with) and with what strength of Argument and pleasantness of Invention is it there proved at least probable, that Ʋander is made of a roaring Lion, or mighty Elephant?  
Turn over to chap. 2. and see but what a sound and useful Discourse of Life presents itself to your Observation. Nay, so well inclined is Kainophilus, that he lugs in this grave Meditation nolens volens, and talks of Life though he came dead-born into the World.  
Chap. 3. pag. 42. How dutifully and handsomely does he speak of his dear Virtuous Mother, in those just Praises he gives that Paragon of Perfection, both proposing a Pattern for the rest of Women to imitate in her, and Children in him, whose Respect and tender natural Affection both to her and his Father will never be forgotten till Virtue and Gratitude perish from the Earth.  
The next Chapter is as famous for his Love to his Country, for which he'd do any think but fight, as that before to his Mother. Clinking in the close with a Prophetical touch of the Reduction of Ireland.  
I begin now to fear I have a small touch of the Conjurer, though I have so often disclaimed it in the former Book. For those Verses being writ before His Majesty Landed in Ireland, contain in a few lines as exact an Account of all the Expedition, as if 't'had been taken out of the Gazet after 'twas over. Let the Reader be Witness else—  
Their Fate draws near, and now he lands, and now  
Knelt on the shore, and pays his second Vow.  
There there he charged, and shook the trembling ground,  
With Sweat, and Dust, and Blood encompassed round.  
See Courcy! See! to well-known Bogs they run,  
As Birds obscene before the Rising-Sun.  
So far Kainophilus has proved an errand Prophet, and does not much doubt but a few Globes hence will bring the Completion of the two following Lines:  
See Talbot! See! thy Countrymen advance  
Their Conquering Standards on the shores of France.  
I can't imagine what the World would have, if all this don't take; nor know any reason why Evander's Prophecies should not sell as well as Grebner's Emblems, or Catastrophe Mundi.  
Chap. 5. pag. 60. has an equally pleasant and profitable Discourse of Schoolmasters, with some well deserved Strictures on that severity and cruelty practised by some of 'em, and just acknowledgement to those of more temper and goodness.  
Towards the end of which Chapter Evander confesses his Wit has a little run away with him; so ungovernable a thing is towering Fancy, when not hand-cufft by powerful Reason, flying out against Learning, beloved Learning, at so Satirical a rate as almost makes his heart bleed to read it, when he thinks he has been so unkind to that which has been so kind to him.— But after he has thus broken its Head, he gives so clever and kind a Plaster, that any one would be glad to be so wittily abused, to have so good amends made him.— See pag. 107.  
In the Sixth Chapter there's such clear Arguments for children's Duty to their Parents, so deeply laid, and strongly urged, that they are able to Convert a Tartarian, and make him as dutiful a Bantling as any thing but Evander.  
The Seventh describes the glorious Town of London twice as big as Graffham, with all the Humours and Remarkables the Bumkin stairs his Eyes and Teeth out upon; and some of the most common Tricks put upon those poor Travellers; which makes the Book useful for all Meridian's, and may indifferently serve either for Taunton-Dean or London.  
Where after an ingenious and remarkable Story or two about Androcles and Blood, the next we present you with is a noble Paradox so much agitated concerning Self-murder; the rise of which is very suprizing; for who but an Evander would have entertained such a sage discourse with himself at the top of the Monument, whether he should throw himself down in the outside and break his neck, or civilly walk down Stairs as he came; which last he wisely chooses for a great many Reasons, though one of the weightiest unluckily forgotten,— Lest the jury finding him Felo-de-se, his Estate should be lost, and not descend to his Posterity; or in plain terms, not to be longer Enigmatical, lest these Rambles, which as ye have often heard, he esteems the very Sons and Heirs of his Brains and Body, should perish with him, or only creep out like a helpless Abortive into the cold uncharitable World.  
Then how grave, just, ingenious and tender is his Sacrifice to the Manes of the Immortal Mr. Cowley in Westminster-Abbey, cap. 8. pag. 143. and how Citizen, nay Alderman-like his Discourse upon Creditors and Debtors, the Interest of Trade, Sanctuary, Prisons, etc. in the same Chapter, pag. 146, 147, 148. and onwards 155, and 156. as through a Confutation of Transubstantiation as it deserves, and Wild-house, Priests, Laureate and all thrown flat upon their backs.  
Now I appeal to you, O grave judges, the Authors, Printers, Booksellers and Readers of this Famous City: To thee, O H—st, the very Genius of Smithfield, and grand Encourager and Patron of all the godly Books and Ballads in all the Fairs of Kent and Christendom: To the most famous Conscience-splitter in Cornhill, the famous Squire at the Harrow, or the indefatigable Author at the Black Raven: To you, O Shirley, Philips, Wesley, the Vexers of Mankind, and Translators of all Languages: And to thy great Ghost, O incomparable Bunyan, whether from the Premises it does not appear as bright as a Brass Pan, and as clear as a Crystal Drop at the end of Evander's Nose in the middle of Winter, that this Book is as full of Profit, as an Egg of Meat, as my Pen with Ink (I just dipped it over head and ears) as my Skull with Brains, or a Bookseller with Honesty.  
Another silly Objection started out of Envy's lean Jaws, is against that part of the Title wherein this Book is called, A Voyage round the World. Ay, and so 'tis and 'twill be, and a whisker of a Voyage too before 'tis done.— But 'tis only a pitiful Ramble from Post to Pillar, from Graffam to Tonsa and back again, and to London and out again, and so to the place whence we came.—  
Again, Impertinent! Will ye never be answered? Was there ever a Journey in the World which did not begin at one place or another? The famous Predecessor and Prototype of Kainophilus, the scarce greater Coryate (quem honoris causâ nomino) i. e. whose Breeches and Shoes are to this day honourably hung up in his own Parish-Church.— He himself begins his Rambles some where, namely, just where I do, at his own Birth-place, Odcomb, in the County of Somerset, whence that sounding Title of Odcombian Tom, though I think Graffambian john comes not an Ace behind it. And what do me I but precisely follow so good and laudable Authority and Example, taking my rise at Graffam, in order to this Hop-stride-and-Iump round the World.  
This Description of all the World I begin early, and intent to prosecute farther than ever any did before me.  
I Begin my Rambles at nothing, which I soon make something of, and by that time I have done, poor Ʋander will be nothing again.  
And yet that nothing, something too; for I'm no Atheist, but yet such a something as is between something and nothing.  
What if I observe some minute passages in the prosecution of my Rambles, the more exact still and perfect will the journal be; and why mayn't I make as great a splutter with my Dialogue with Owls and Cuckoos, as grave Authors do of Apollonius' Confabulation with the Sparrows and Oxen, since I dare venture one of these Books to a Brass-Farthing one is as true as another?  
Then for the gravity of some passages, I would make the same Excuse Osborn does, and Cabbage his very words ('tis ned the first time perhaps, nor would either he or you be ever the wiser) in a case of like nature, but not having the Book by me at present, you must be content with the Quintessence on't.  
Some People (quoth he) may very gravely blame me for inserting some such slight Circumstances as these in my History (I think that he then mentioned was the colour of Queen Ann's Hair) Ay, but let 'em consider,— He goes on— so far— till he's out of sight; and were Kainophilus to be made a Viscount, he can't remember what's next. But will tell you what's more to the purpose, as he was saying before, this Work is a fair and lawful Description of A Ramble round the World. 'Tis true, here's yet but a small part on't described, nor I'll assure ye have ye any more yet than a small part of this Ramble; and yet that small one great enough too, if considered in itself, though but little in regard of the whole World, nay all the Universe; which, as appears from the Frontispiece and Verses before the First Book, he threatens to ramble all round every nook and crook on't before he has done with't.  
Once more, Mr. Kainophilus! How comes this to be a Voyage round the World, when we never yet met ye so much as in a Sculler crossing the Water. You have been indeed, as ye told us before, sailing, and rowing and tugging by Land, when ye ●ot a Horseback, where ye make tempestuous work on't, and your Vessel Reels terribly.— But all this is nothing to Sea-service, and we never heard of a Voyage by Land since we were Christened, till ye were pleased to bring the word into the World.  
How, — Evander not understand true English, who has been an Author these three and twenty years, and could almost read his Criss crossrow in his Mother's Belly! Who has so many English Dictionaries in his Study, and another in his Head bigger than all together (and yet there's still room to spare both for Brains and Projects) Does not he?— nay— now you ruffle his smooth Soul, alter his fair Body, and discompose him all over.— If ye go on at this rate, with making Objections, a Man does not know how to answer (for their number, I mean not their weight) ye shall e'en write yourself, and let the World laugh at ye, for Evander will be your Fool no longer.— But not to overrule this Plea, we'll for once join issue, and give't a fair Answer.  
This Voyage round the World was made in the Ship of Fancy, which every one knows, like the Cossaks Boats, sails as well by Land as Water.— And now I hope you are satisfied.  
One Objection more I ingeniously raise myself, not to put others to the trouble. I have pretty frequently mentioned the Famous Bunyan in the past, and may perhaps in this present and future Rambles; but can assure the World, notwithstanding a flirt of Fancy now and then, intended it with all the Reverence he deserves. But if o't'other side, any malicious Person should be displeased with me for quoting such a Tinker of an Author, let 'em know I have a topping Example for the same, which to vindicate both myself and him, shall be here inserted, and therewith I intent to close this Chapter. [See New Observator, Vol. 2. Numb. 27.]  

ADVERTISEMENT.  
MR. John Bunyan, Author of the Pilgrim's Progress, and many other excellent Book● that have found great acceptance, hath left behind him ten Manuscripts prepared by himself for th● Press before his Death: His Widow is desired to Print them (with some other of his Works which have been already printed, but are 〈◊〉 present not to be had) which will make together a Book of Ten Shillings in Sheets, in Folio. 〈◊〉 Persons who desire so great and good a Wor● should be performed with speed, are desired to send 〈◊〉 Five Shillings for their first Payment to the Undertaker, who is empowered to give Receipts for the same.    

CHAP. II.  
A word of Reproof to all such as pretend they know the Author of these Rambles.  
SO great a Glory do I esteem it to be the Author of these Works, that I cannot without great injury to myself and Justice, endure that any should own 'em who have nothing to do with 'em, like the Fellow at Rome, who pretended to Virgil's Verses. But I need take no other way to confute these Plagiaries than Virgil himself did, requiring the Tally to his Vos non vobis.— Let any Man write on at the rate this is already written, and I'll grant he is the Author of this Book, that before, and all the rest to the end of the Chapter.— No, there is such a sort of a whim in the style, something so like myself, so Incomprehensible (not because 'tis Nonsense) that whoever throws but half an Eye on that and me together, will swear 'twas spit out of the moth of Kainophilus.— This by the buy.  
But 'tis not the main business of this Chapter to assert what few will be so impudent to deny, and what I could give Demonstration of by letting 'em see me write these very words which they read here, and subscribing under it,— Yours, Yours, Yours,— in ten thousand Obligations of Love and Service, Kainophilus Vander.  
The main work in hand is, what the Contents explains in Shorthand. To rebuke those, at least overbold Persons, who pretend to know who this Kainophilus is, and that better than I myself do, which seems a very hard case in my simple Judgement.  
Comes ye one grave and good Man to me,— I beg your Pardon,— 'twas but a slip to a Friend of mine, and thus accosts him—  
Are ned you ashamed Mr.— thus to expose yourself and your Friends to all the World?— Why have you no sense of Honour in ye, to write such a confounded silly Book as this of yourself— ay— of yourself,— there's the Jest on't, I protest I've hardly patience to think on't,— to make yourself the perfect Maygame of the Town?— Why at this rate you'll be shortly pointed and laughed at as you pass the streets, and the very little Boys will cry, — There goes the Black-Swan, or White-Raven.  
Will they so, quo ' I (quo' he I mean still) I protest I'm heartily glad on't, and think it extreme good News. Why have the little Gentlemen so great an esteem for me?— Well, they honour me very much, and if a Pocket full of Sugar-plumbs as long as the Monument will gratify 'em, they shan't want it. Does the World take notice of me, point at me, smile for Complaisance and Joy when I pass by,— 'tis the very thing I'd be at, and I'm a made Man,— I shall get Money by't, besides Fame, Renown and Honour in abundance into the bargain.  
Was Demosthenes so proud, when one poor Tankard-woman cried, There goes Demosthenes? And shan't I be infinitely more proud, and with better reason, when not one, but the whole Society of Tankard-bearers, Men, Women and Sucking-childrens (which I find by the foresaid Story are a Corporation very ancient) nay not only they, but all the Posse of Broom-men, Porters, Link-boys, Kennel-rakers, C●rd-match-sellers and Booksellers, the very Mouth, Feet and Hands of London, shall never see me stir out of Shop, but they'll lift up their wondering Month, and Eyes, and Hands, and cry out in Ecstasies, There goes the Immortal Evander! For so they will call me, so they will be apt, grave Sir, to think me, alas only out of their goodness; whereas I'm no more he, I protest Sir, than I am Kainophilus; nor are they able to prove a word of what they say, any more than that I am the Man in the Moon.— People, Sir, you know will say their pleasure, and many things may by chance be extremely likely, which yet for all that are as far from true, as Chalk's from Cheese. I have been, I must confess, mistaken more than once for that worthy Author, whom some have flattered me that I a little resemble: But alas, strong fancy often makes Likeness where it never finds any; and I believe, on my honesty, I'm no more really like him, than Garnet's Beard in the Barley-Straw is like a Man.  
Nay now, cries he, ye make me ten times madder at ye than before. Why are not all these passages here that could belong to none but you; and that I know as well as you, and scarce any beside us, — persuade me I can't feel my own Nose.  
Whether you can or no, Sir, is no business of mine, Sir, any more, Sir, than this of yours! That ever appearances should thus deceive a Man of Sense and Years as you are, and make him so positive too,— ay— that's the vexation on't, else the humour would pass well enough. Sir, you have often been upon a City-Iury, remember a Man is never hanged for Circumstances.— What are all these Suspicions, and a hundred more, without positive Evidence?— Ay— there's the clinch of the Cause, the very top point and pinch of the Argument.— Grant I am so like Evander (though that's an argument I can't be he, because no like is the same) that I should have all the marks of him about me, a very fair, proper, well made Person, in the Flower of my Age, Discreet and Prudent, Magnificent and Generous, and Valiant to a Miracle, well dressed: And— (hold, if I go a little farther, I shall let every body know me indeed) I say, supposing I had all these shrewd Ear-marks about me, it might I confess be enough to have me stopped by a Hue-and-cry if met by 'em, and they ordered to apprehend him. But yet no Judge in England, not a George Lord jefferies, whose Life you may have at Mr. Dunton's in the Poultry, would be such a cruel bloody Dog to hang me by the Neck till I were dead, without any other Proofs than this seeming Similitude.  
Just thus did these two judicious Persons discourse on that weighty Subject, which the graver of the two pressed on with further and heavier Arguments. Whose Objections to that purpose, with several other on the same Head, I Kainophilus, the very and real Author of these Rambles, now take upon me to Answer for my own Honour, and the Satisfaction of the World, and prove notwithstanding all the fruitless Allegations to the contrary, and some seeming appearances, that neither john-a-nokes, nor jack-a-styles, nor Will-wi-the-wisp, nor any other Person yet named or suspected, are the real Authors of this Book, or the real Evander, but that I, and I only am he; and who I am, is yet, and ever shall be a Secret as long as I please, since the World neither does, nor for all its fleering perhaps ever shall or can know me.  
Whoop (comes in an old Hawker-woman) what— done't I know Ʋander?— I that have served him with Gazettes and Pamphlets almost these ten years— I'll take my swear upon an Observator this is he,— the very errand he, or else may I be Spayed by the next Sowgelder. Why let's see— he has the very leer of him,— walk him— there's his perfect shuffle,— look— he winks too,— and is twirling a Pen between his Fingers. Never tell me,— I know him as well as my own Mercury, or Dick Baldwin's Printing-house. If 'twas Evander writ this Book, I'm sure I know him, for there's ne'er another of the name in the World, he's a Phoenix, and this certainly must be he.  
Go cry your Votes, ye old Bawd,— sure this is a fine World,— and they'll persuade me anon they know me better than I do myself.— You know one Evander,— so did I too,— but he must needs be the same in the Book, because there's but one of the Name forsooth;— and are you sure of that Goody Strong-Lungs! See what 'tis to want reading, at least to be acquainted with none but the Moderns. What has been, may be; and if there have been more Evanders than one, why mayn't there be so still? and if two, as well for aught I see two hundred, (though two will do my business as well as half a thousand.) Now all the World that ever read Virgil so much as in the incomparable Ogylby's splendid Version, knows there was a very grave old Gentleman of his acquaintance called Evander, who had a Beard down to his Girdlestead before ever I was begotten; from the resemblance to his whole humour, not his Person, the unwonted Gravity of my Temper, and Wisdom of my Actions, even in my younger years, together with my delight in a sedentary Life, and dwelling a long time up in a Garret (as this fine old Man did at his Country Farm a top of a Hill) some were pleased many years since to give me the Title of Evander: But alas no more the same Evander this silly Woman talks of, than a Man is the same with a little Boy.— I knew that same Evander as well as she for her days earnings;— alas— I'm a stayed Man, now turned of .... score, and he was a little nimble Fellow, always Rambling and capering about like Quicksilver in a hot Pudding-pie.— But here are the same Looks,— a mere Chance, and Gate and Shuffle, because I'm a Man of business, and go for the most part in haste, as he did when he was Courting his Mistresses.  
(An old jade,— she made me sweat, I'm glad I'm got clear on her.—) But next for Kainophilus, the same wise Argument with that before.  
There was once a silly Fellow who pretended a Design a little like this we are about, to Ramble round the World; he began I think with Kent, and so intended to run through all Christendom, and the rest of the World; but the pitiful abortive Project, which could never pretend to that height of Thought, and profundity of Invention with ours, for that cause never lived above two or three days, and then was justly condemned to the stinking darkness of some ignoble Boghouse. 'Tis not denied but that hence we may have taken the Name, the only thing worth living in it, and have Examples enough for our practice. Did not the ingenious Ariosto borrow several of his Names, particularly his beautiful Angelica, from some dull forgotten Rhimer that went before him? Nay, did not Virgil rake in Ennius his Dung, like a Gold-finder as he was, for that very reason, that he might deserve the Name? And why mayn't we as lawfully pull this single Name out of its nasty Oblivion, powder it, and dry it, and sweeten it, and wash it, and make use of it for our own proper Cognomen, or otherwise, as we see occasion.  
Besides, I question whether he understood Greek, or could construe 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; which till he does, all the World must grant he and the learned Kainophilus here so often named, are two quite different Persons, and no more the same than I and the Queen of Sheba.  
You may rave and fret all this while, and cry all this is Banter, which I confess is the readiest way of answering it; but I appeal to all sober Judges, whether it beened almost as bad as Kidnapping a Man away, to go about to persuade him he is what he is not; to make Trincalo a Duke; or as a good modest Gentleman was some time since served by the Barbarian Africans, beat him into Nobility, and make him stand in bodily fear of being at last thrashed into the Royal Family.  
To avoid which unsufferable Inconveniencies, and others of the like pernicious nature, I take all these pains with those who done't know what to make of me, to show both what I am, and what I am not.  
The third and last Name from which this peeping, peering, Eavesdropping World pretends to know me, is I confess the least Heroical of all the three, namely john, which they most subtly deduce from that line in the Explanation,— Hold up fie Head John!  
Ay, and so I can for all I have heard yet, or am like to hear. 'Tis true, the Author of those Verses has been a little bold now and then, speaking something too diminitively, not to add familiarly, of the Subject and Person he handles.— This fault I could wish he had here especially avoided: Had he used but the mighty Hebrew word jehochanam, instead of that pitiful sneaking john-english, I should e'en have gloried in the Name, and defied the World to say its worst upon't of that or me.  
See but how they reason: The Author's Name was JOHN; They know one whose Name is john;— nay that they are sure of, they'll prove it by the Register, by his Bills and Bonds, and own Handwriting scrawled at the bottom of at least (in a modest computation) One million and five hundred thousand Epistles and familiar Letters.— Well, pray go on, and done't waste him thus, why therefore he must be the Author. In answer,— we don't deny there's a certain Person in the World known by the Name of john, nay two or there hundred; but if the Argument be good enough, all the rest must be the Authors on't, as well as john-a-nokes or john-a-styles.  
But this john is a Bookseller.— Come prove that if ye can.— I do it from the foresaid Verses,— Who e'er heard of a King or a Bookseller drowned? Worshipful reasoning.— Well, how all this World is overrun with Fallacies!— How few can discourse clearly and handsomely?— And how few are Evanders?  
Granting he must be one of these two, does it follow he's the other, or both together? He's to choose which he'll be, a King or a Bookseller, and assures ye he has Wit enough to choose the best? To be short, Does not every body know there have been King john's, as well as Bookseller johns (john King of Naples, King of jerusalem, King of England, besides a hundred and fifty little johnny-kings not worth taking notice of.) This the World knows, but I know something more, and could name 'em a King john of my own acquaintance; nay, and perhaps a Bookseller too, as well as the Party suspected; and then where's all their arguing?  
But this john Bookseller went to New-England;— Ay, there's the home-stroke;— now they think they have me as fast as the sage Gentlemen Aldermen had their worshipful Brother the Cuckoo, when the Hedge was finished to keep in the noble Bird for their own use; or the poor Bumkin when he pricks in a Leather.— But trust Ʋander for wriggling out again in spite of all their craftiness. Grant the Frontispiece has New-England, Boston, the Wigwams, and all that; nay, and a Bookseller too for once, ay, and a john Bookseller, yet all this won't nor shan't do to prove the Author of these Works is known to the World. For if there were more johns and more Booksellers that went to New-England, than the case is clear, that from all has been said they can never prove who 'tis, since it may be one as well as tother. But the Premises I assert upon my Honour, and am sure that my honest Fellow-Traveller john (how d'ye like it Sir?) will never deny it.— Therefore the Conclusion stands as firm as a Rock of Adamant, that ye don't know me, nor shan't know me, or (as I have it in my Memorial-Book word for word) it is not at all proved that the Author of this Work should be the Person whom the World believes it to be.  
Once more whispering.— Speak all at once, for I'll hear no more.— Why, quo ' Mr. Critic, though these Evidences taken singly by themselves, mayn't be able to conclude against the Person accused, yet all together they may; for we often see, as in the Fable, one Stick Broken, when twenty such together, though of equal force, separately would require a Hercules to snap 'em asunder.  
Come— never talk,— is't not impossible that all these Characters should meet in one Man, agreeing to the Author of these Works, and yet that Person not be the Author. The Names Kainophilus, Evander, john. The Occupation a Booksellr. Lastly, the Vbi, or wheresomness (as well as the Quis or Quid,— the Whoiety or the Whatchicallity) namely New-England.— Look upon the Evidence now 'tis summed up together, and if he bened the Man, he's no Man at all, but as perfect a Spirit as Posture-Clark in the t'other Book.  
Thus is a modest Man oppressed with noise, and endeavours used to press him to Death with Weights, when Strength can't do't. All I say, is, Circumstances are but Circumstances still, though you pile 'em as high as the Monument. I deny it, do you prove it, which you han't done, yet by all you have said. Till when, you must give me leave to subscribe myself what I was before, and am still like to be,  
Your humble Servant, Johannes in Nubibus, alias, Cloudy John.   

CHAP. III.  
Containing something full as useful as the two formet.  
SOhoe the House! Knock at his Breast or Backdoor, and ask if Evander be at home; for the eternal Rambler seems to have forgot his main business, that famous Life of his, which in the last Book he had so happily brought through the first Stage, that of Childhood, which he ended with the beginning of his Prenticeship.  
I'll assure ye 'tis a great mistake,— he's so far from having forgot what he's about, that he thinks on't so much, he can mind nothing else; nay scarce that neither, for he's in so brown a Study, or such deep far-fetched Reflection concerning the great Task he's now to go through, his Seven Years Service; mingled with a little spark perhaps of displeasure at the World for forcing him here to spend two Chapters in his own Vindication, that like a poor lean tired Jade in a dark Road, stuck fast in Mire and Clay, he hardly knows how to wag an Inch forward or backward.  
Yet after a little pause he takes heart-a-grace, and gives you his own Description in those most fresh springing Years of his tender Juvenility.  
Do but step in there, Sir, in the Frontispiece, Globe 5. standing, or rather growing in the inside of his Counter, like a Creeper against the side of an House,— with all the mortal Tokens of a Apprentice appearing in his very Phisnomy.— Behold but the vastness of his Ears (if like their Picture) not only large enough, as Oldham's Country Parson's, to make Nightcaps for himself, and roll up over his Head every night to keep him from the injury of the Wether; but like an excellent Instrument serving at once for several uses:— spacious enough for Towels wherein the Cookmaid (beshrew all her Kitchenstuff for't) would too often for his repose wipe her greasy Golls, and cleanse her collyed Fingers,— nay had they been Leather, and of the same length they are here described, ten to one but the Jade would have made use of 'em instead of Straps to whet her Knives upon. But alas all this is merely as pleases the Painter (or Graver, 'tis no great difference) for Evander's Ears, as well as all his other parts, were very proportionable, and as the Verses before the Book, — Thus in Man the parts agree, etc.  
However leaving his Ears at present, which are at his Country's Service as well as all the rest of his Body, I, he, and we, Kind, Courteous, and Gentle Reader! are now to settle in our Jeers, mind our Business, learn our Trade, and do what an honest Apprentice knows to be his Duty. What I have with a great deal of tugging formerly proved, is just now to be rendered past all doubt, namely the excellent profit and use, as well as Rarity, Novelty and Diversion of this Book.  
For here am I Kainophilus resolved to leave all Apprentices, both present and future, such a Copy, as I doubt few of 'em will write after, none I am certain ever excel.  
Evander himself is that Copy, and if they'll but take care to imitate him, and follow such a high Example as he has set 'em, they'll all in time stand as fair for Aldermen as he himself does. Nor is what he writes confined to his own single Experience, and more narrow Sphere, he having with the greatest pains and accuracy, as his Custom is, cropped and culled the very choicest Flowers to be found in other Writings, giving them the same liberty in his own, if they think fit to make use on't.  
The first and choicest care of young Evander, as to this World, was how to please his Master, whom he was now married to, for better for worse, for seven long years together, a great part of his life, and upon which all the rest depended. And so acceptable was this care, so tender a regard had he to this his industrious, though unworthy Servant, that he shall ever retain grateful resentments of the same till he's all Dust and Wormsmeat, And how deeply his Character is imprinted in my heart, shall be seen by this Impression wrought off from it, showing what he was, is, and none else ever shall be.  
My Master was a grave good Man,— a substantial honest Citizen of London. Devout and Religious, without making a Trade on't, or as some of his Neighbours in a too literal sense, making a Gain of Godliness. Nor thought this enough, without being Just and Honest towards his Neighbour. Willing to do any Man a good turn if he might without injury to himself; and as Charitable as Just, whatever his own Opinions were of smaller Matters, thinking well of all whom he knew not to deserve the contrary, though they differed from him; and well of none for being of his Party, unless they had other Merits to recommend 'em. He was never overfond of public Honours and Employments, neither unwilling to undergo 'em, if placed on him by the suffrages of Fellow-Citizens, or Laws of the Land, thinking nothing too mean or heavy for him to stoop to, or stand up under. He was so far from glorying in betraying his Country, and building his own Fortues on its ruin, that he thought nothing but his Soul either of more value, or more meriting his utmost care and concern. Accordingly he ever gave his Hand, and as freely his Heart for such Persons as his Representatives in Parliament, who were properly such really like him, and therefore fit to be so; Gentlemen of honest Integrity, Prudence and Courage, versed in the Interests both of City and Nation. His Religion was not confined to the Church any more than the Shop; His behaviour in his Family being grave and exemplary, his Devotion constant, his Care over his Household tender and impartial. To his Servants he seemed indeed a Father rather than a Master, but like a wise Father avoided the two dangerous extremes of Severity and Fondness, that Scylla and Charybdis, one of which, by their endeavouring to avoid the other, either sucks in or dashes in pieces the most of Mankind. He indeed, if ever any Master, kept this golden mean, steering exactly betwixt the Rock of one side, and Gulf on tother. A sweeter Severity, or better tempered Gravity I never saw; he, like a true wise Man, ordering his carriage towards his Servants as occasion required. If sweet tempered and ingenious (like Evander) he used the softest and gentlest methods with 'em; if rough and haggard, or abusing his goodness, he as well knew how to be severe, and use that Authority he was invested with, though not over-strain it, and so render 'em desperate.  
In a word, he knew that he was their Master, not Patroon; that they were his Servants, not his Slaves; neither were they his Masters. Accordingly, though he would hardly strain his Authority so far as to command things unreasonable, having much rather the equity of whatever he required should of themselves at the first notice of his pleasure, oblige them to a ready compliance, yet in any thing not irreligious, he would hold the Reins steady, not enduring to have his Will disputed, but obeyed, commanding nothing unhandsome for them to do.  
He knew the Infirmities of Youth, and made allowances for 'em, if not vicious or scandalous; and by his dexterity and facility in managing 'em accordingly, would work what he pleased upon 'em, and not rarely saved 'em from ruin, whenas had he used rougher methods, they had only flown out into desperate courses, and broke the hearts of their careful Parents.  
There's a Master!— the very Standard of Cheapside, and High Water-mark of the City of London. What's said of England in another sense, would in a sense something like it, be soon true of him. 'T has been said, were there a Bridge over the narrow Seas, all the Women in Europe would run over hither;— so had they but Liberty, all the Servants in England would run to him, and he'd have more Turn-overs than e'er a Trader in Christendom.  
But I can't part with my dear Master so abruptly,— I have a great deal more of his due Laud and Praise yet behind,— and should any pretend they have somewhere else met with some of these Notions which now follow in his Praise, let 'em know, that as long as 'tis all true of him, 'tis no matter where I had it;— and in good truth all Masterly Perfections seem to be so concentred in him, that no Man alive can speak a good thing of a Master, but mine must deserve it. The Painter when he drew a Venus, took an Eye from one Beauty, and a Lip from another, a Leg from this, and a Hand from that;— so alas am I forced to do in this case, or else I should never be able to let the World see my most excellent Master, the very best of Men, as Iris of Women; or in a word, a perfect— He-Iris— whose very Footsteps I could kiss, with I think as much gust as her dear Lips, those silken Cherries I should have called 'em:  
Soft Cherries, which even Angels would entice,  
Fruit only for the Bird of Paradise.—  
That's no Raven, cries one;— And who ever said 'twas, Mr. Owl?— What have you to do thus to interrupt me in my Story? Rather hearken and learn what my Master was, and you ought to be, if ever you come to fill so honourable a Station.  
He was, ay that he was, (perhaps I could say he is still) The Heart in the midst of his Household, Primum vivens & ultimum moriens, (though I took my leave of Grammar, you see I kept a little Latin, though not long enough for a Neck-Verse, but the English on't is)— First up, and last a bed, if not in his Person, yet in his Providence. In his carriage he aims both at his own and his Servants good, and makes it his principal endeavour to advance both. He very wisely and narrowly oversees their Work, knowing that the Master's Eye makes the Horse fat; and as one wittily said, The Dust that falls from the Master's Shoes, is the best Comp●st to manure any Ground. The Lion out of state want run if any looks upon him.— Quite contrary, many Servants won't run unless they are looked upon,— and spurred too, sometimes, though not hagridden, or quite jaded off their Legs by their Tantivy-Masters. Such was not mine, and yet sufficiently careful and exact to take his Servants Reckonings, without which they'd reckon but little of him; and if he takes no account of them, they'll make no account of him, (there was Wit for ye forty year agone, and is still at Sturbridge-Fair, and at that end of the Country) not caring what they spend, who are never brought to an Audit.  
He provided them Victuals wholesome, sufficient and seasonable; nor so allayed his Servants Bread, as to make that Servants Meat which was not Mans-Meat.— [O, I shall never forget what a brave house the good Man kept, and how many a sturdy Sirloin of Beef I have made groan under the vengeance of my hunger while I lived in his Territories.] And though the Proverb says,— When Belly is full, Bones be at rest; yet after Meat came Mustard, or at lest what was the proper condiment, and cause of Digestion, a cheerful sprightly Temper, pleasant Entertainments, and lawful Recreations, Stoolball, Football, (by a sad token,— I had my Nose broke at one, and my Head at tother) Barley-break, Hot●cockles, Questons' and Commands, or any thing else, nothing could come amiss to Evander in those days, though no● ●●agon grows old. He remembered the good Saxon Law of old King Ina.— If a Villain works on a Sunday by his Lord's Command, Let him be free: Never observing that Working on Sundays made People better Artists, whatever Playing then may do. He never would threaten his Servant, but rather immediately correct him, that is, not absolutely threaten, but conditionally only, with promise of Pardon upon amendment:— which was never wanting in me where there was real occasion, being at least very sorry when I had offended so kind a Master. He knew that a sour, harsh, unplacable humour was as unsupportable as unpleasant and unprofitable to both sides of the Relation, tormeting instead of reforming, and only tending to make Servants keep their Faults, and leave their Masters.— Wherefore in case of Threatening, and on any necessity of just Punishment, he seldom or never passed his word, but made present payment, lest the Creditor should run away from the Debtor.  
In correcting a Servant, he never used to be a Slave to his own Passions, common Justice, Reason, Pity and Humanity, as well as the Chamberlain, hindering him from making new Indentures on the Flesh of his Apprentice, though he might happen in some light instances to break the old. And indeed how many good Servants are that way eternally ruined, and for ever unfit to serve their Country after they get out of their time, or their Master before, as certainly Evander himself had been, had his Master gone to work with him as some wicked Wretches in this City have done with their Prentices, ripping up their Guts, beating out their Brains, or whipping 'em to Death, and so undoing 'em for ever. For this reason my good Master would never strike me in the height of his Passion, lest my Brains should fly about my Ears, and the stroke rebound upon himself. But when he did find any Servant unlike me, and altogether incorrigible, so that he found it impossible to wash the Blackamoor white, and whom he could never induce by Confession or Amendment to scour out the Spots of his Soul, he'd e'en fairly wash his hands of him, and turn him a grazing among his Fellow-cattles.  
Tender he was to a miracle of his poor Servant in Sickness, or any other such ill accident, making his House his Hospital. This by a good token Kainophilus remembers, who had been underground ten years agone, had he been otherwise. So like was his temper to that great Man Judge Hales, who would not let his sick Dogs, or old Horses be hanged or knocked on the head, but gave 'em clean Straw, and good Lodging; and for what they had done when well and lusty, kept 'em like Gentlemen all their lives, as Prince Henry did the sick and old English Mastiff who had made a Lion run away.— Not that my Master, being neither a Prince nor a Lord Chief justice, I mean in his Estate or Birth, for he was both in his Soul and Family, did use to keep his Prentices like Galleyslaves, chained to the Oar for Life; only I would be understood he had both a Fatherly care of us, in our short state of Matrimony, both in Sickness and in Health, and all our Lives after a distinguishing Aspect on those whom he had brought into the World, manifesting all the Care, though none of the Severity of a Master towards 'em as long as e'er they lived.— And how much good, sage and kind Advice has he given Kainophilus since he came abroad into the World; which had he but made use of, would have made him, if possible, greater and happier than he is already!  
— Keep your Shop, and your Shop will keep you.  
— Even Reckonings make long Friends.  
— A Penny saved is a Penny got.  
And a whole sack full of Proverbs as long as Sancho's, to the same purpose, which I still remember, and are as it were the Beams and Rafters of my Discretion and Reputation to this day.  
Nor after he had turned us out into the wide World, did he leave us there to bawl and cry, and kick our hearts out without any more regard what became of us, as those ill or miserable Women who expose their Children in the Street or Highway, and then run away from 'em. No,— he'd always listen and hearken what became of us. No man ever went farther towards making an Apprentice than he did, as if his care was not over at seven years' end, but was to last all life long. So great, so good a Character would he be sure to give of us, where any thing of moment depended, that for my part I blush abominably I no better deserve it, and if I reflect on what he has said of me, and what my modesty tells me I really am, I profess I don't know myself, but sometimes fear he is talking of some other. My Man Evander (quo' he) well, if I had a Daughter of Gold I should not think her too good for him;— so faithful, so honest, so virtuous, (nay I must say for myself, as Nan Behn does, I am very innocent, unless it be as to— The Faults of gentle Love—) so careful, and obliging, and industrious, and ingenious,— well— I expect to see him Master of the Company at least, if not a Gold Chain about his Neck before he dies.— Besides truly he's well to pass,— his Father left him ...... and he has since made a better Penny on't.— He has the intimate acquaintance of several excellent Pens, and therefore can never want Copies, and trust him for managing and improving 'em. He has the Printers at his beck already, and orders those Irregular Things as well as they their own heaps of Letters.— He'll make a Book vanish into the World, as quick as Spirits out on't, and bring it abroad as easily as Leeson draws a Tooth, or as nimbly as a Flash of Lightning.  
Besides, under the Rose, he's a pretty Author himself, has done several curious things that I could name, and which I'll assure you have taken very well, and by that trick he saves Copy-money, and gets himself immortal Fame and Honour.  
Nay— I profess I can bear no longer. Dear Master hold your hand a little, or I shall die of no other Death than a Surfeit of Praises. The best things corrupted, are the worst and most dangerous,— even a Man's own breath kills him, if he holds it in but too long.— Thus my modesty will choke me, if I don't get vent for't; and when I'm out of hearing, praise me as long and as much as you please, but I'm resolved I'll be even wi' you.— I'll tell all your faults at once, and the only one I know, is in this matter,— If ever the World can say you speak what's not true, 'tis when ye launch out in the Praises of Evander.  
However I shall ne'er forget this unexampled Kindness till I forget myself, and more, my Iris; and so great and real a value and honour have I, and ever will have for my Master, that even my Fellow-Prentices are no less dear than Brethren, and his very Dog and Cat I esteem as much as if they weré my own little Cousins.   

CHAP. IU.  
As concerning the Small Pox. A Lesson for Prentices, and other things very much to the purpose.  
SO much for the Master— Let his Servant be good or bad— now for the Servant, whatever be his Master.  
If he has a good one, like mine, I'm sure he can ne'er be too careful to please him; and the way to do it, is to get fast hold of me, and follow me step by step (unless I should happen to run clear away, or get into the Kennel) and then he'll scarce fail to attain perfection.  
For as Philosophers have advised to have always the Picture of some Great Person either before the Eyes, or instamped firmly on the Memory, that we may never do any thing one would not be willing they should see, or unworthy such noble Examples; so I can't imagine any better way to instruct or reform the ill habits too generally, alas, contracted among the Apprentices of London, than by setting so exact a Pattern before 'em— that when any difficult case happens, they may only for their Satisfaction run thither, consult the Oracle, and cry thus or thus did Evander.  
And what he did, I am just going to tell ye. But many things fall out between the Cup and the Lip— so both you must be abridged from the Pleasure of hearing, and I of telling it, till this ill Job is over— For just as I had stripped to my Doublet, and was preparing to thrash Instructions into your Ears, and make you edify abundantly, comes that ugly, nasty, envious Disease, the SMALL POX, that inveterate Enemy of good Faces, and mauled poor Evander at such an unmerciful rate, that you would'nt know one snip of him again, so unlike did he soon grow to what he was before. Hardly one twelve Months had been worn away in those Golden Chains of his Apprenticeship, but he concluded Death was come to set him free, for which he conned its lean Jaws no more thanks than the Old Man did, who called it to ease him of his Bundle of Sticks.  
No sooner I began to make Remarks and Observations, and to know how good a Master I had, but I thought I had lost him again.  
Instead of those sage and grave Notions that used to fill my Head, 'twas crammed top full of Whimsies and Whirligigs, by the vehement agitation of my distempered Fancy, as ever a Carkaseshell with Instruments of Death and Murder. I was nothing but all Flame and Fire, and the red-hot Thoughts glared about my Brains at such a rate, and if visible, would, I fancy, have made just such a dreadful Appearance as the Window of a Glass-house discovers in a dark Night— viz. a parcel of straggling fiery Globes marching about and hizzing, appearing and vanishing high and low, transverse, and every where— which at length in a few days blew up my Head like a Bottle, and I had a Fire as uninterrupted, and I think as hot as thnt we talk of, rolling all over me, boiling my very Bowels into Tripes, and frying my poor Heart in its own Water, till I fancy it looked like the broiled Soul of a Goose, or a piece of Cheese toasted over the Candle. When poor Evander drunk, as my Nurse knows that was not often, 'twas like the slaking of Iron in Water, or rather the tailor's spitting upon his Goose, where the little drops of moisture only stink and sputter, and fly off again; and I can hardly persuade myself but if any Virtuoso had out of curiosity listened at my Backdoor, they might have easily heard the small Beer and Posset-drink hizz within me, as it came down into my Bowels.  
What a multitude of Visions, Raptures and Revelations did I then see and enjoy! and could I but have managed my Pen then as well as now, I might have clapped down Matter enough for a Book four and twenty times as long as all these Rambles— But they're lost to the World, and there's an end on't; tho' neither Rice Evans, who foresaw the blessed holy Christian Court of K. Ch. the II. nor Mrs. james, who prophecies as fine things from his Brother's, could ever have pretended to higher flights than the young Evander.  
I foresaw Things that never was, are, or will be— The Restauration of K. james, and the Religion of his Friends, and the Courage of the Irish— with twenty thousand things more too tedious and strange to instance in.  
— But O my Face! my Face— Had my Brains been only ●●rn'd topsy-turvy, or my Wits lost by this Disease— had my Eyes only been weakened, obliging me on some occasions to wink ever after— why all this might have been born by a Man that had read Seneca (as a Fellow said in Cheapside, when another took him a kick in the Br—) but to lose a good Face— ay— and such a Face as I lost— 'tis intolerable— and I could have found in my heart not to have lived afterward— O that I had but Cowleys Verses on Madam Philip's by me! I remember he laments her hard Fate, and the cruel ravage that scurvy lustful Disease made in her beauteous Frame, that I can hardly forbear thinking 'twas writ for Evander; and were I little less a man, should think he had mistaken the Names, and writ Orinda instead of me.— — Cowley— well-minded— we have had no Poetry all this whole livelong Book: sure the World will think we are turned Quakers, to wear all this Linen (as what else is Paper) without any Lace upon't. Let's tune up then with all speed, and ●ncouple the biting iambics against this foul Disease, the Small (I mean) Pox, which has so transmogriphyed Evander from Evander.  
PAndora's Box  
Let lose the 
* [Small subintelligitur.]  Pox  
To mawl us,  
And with foul scratches,  
Poor ugly wretches,  
Bescrawl us:  
An Envious Jade,  
Thus to invade  
Fair Bodies,  
And make 'em look  
Like Crow, or Rook  
(Which odd is.) 
[So's that— but the Rhyme required it.]   
Kainophilus  
All o re does blush  
To see it,  
His Soul 'twould grate,  
Did not hard Fate  
Decree it.  
So fair a Face,  
So sweet a Grace  
To lose thus,  
Makes me myself,  
Unhappy Elf,  
Abuse thus.  
With Tooth and Nail,  
And Tongue I rail,  
At Fortune;  
Revenge from jove,  
For Peace or Love,  
Importune.  
To make her dote,  
Or cut her Throat  
Like Dido:  
To make the jade  
Wear Masquerade,  
As I do.  
But Wishes nought avail— and seeing 'tis no better, 'tis well 'tis no worse— ay might have turned Fool as many others, (and then what would have become of these Rambles?) But to be graver,  
Is not that Man or Woman very near Dotage, who either admire their own Fine Faces, or a●e tormented at the loss of 'em? Were the men all Evanders, the Women all Iris', time m●ll come when they'd look as ugly as Mother Shipton, or a half-skinned Chapfaln Scull in a Charnel-house. 'Tis but a few days perhaps, at least years sooner, that this alteration must be made if Sickness had not done it before, and saved Death the labour.  
Supposing Beauty something real, 'tis b●t skindeep, and may be all scratched away in a moment. If Proportion an ● Harmony 〈◊〉 a ●art of Beauty, better have all the parts of the Face agree and be like one another than otherwise. If 'tis a Beauty to have some part of the Face black, why not yet more to have it patched all over? Truth is, that Beauty is Fancy, at least the most part on't; and as a person may well be angry, and full as justly, that they have lost a Lapful of Guineas they dreamt of, and imagined they were telling over, or hugging the dear Bags that held 'em, as to have lost that which is little more real than the other.  
How common is't, that what pleases one, displeases another. The most celebrated Beauties suit not all, tho' as celebrated judges, and Presbyter john thinks himself as happy with his black arm-ful of Joy, as the greatest Prince of the white World in the Embraces of the most snowy Ladies.  
Is it so? Why then Evander value not Beauty no more than that does thee. If it does not like its old Habitation, let it find a better, and even stroll off about its business like a Gypsy Quean as 'tis: (O that thou were't but as well rid of others as now of thy own) while thou marchest about thine, being well recovered by the exquisite, and never-sufficiently acknowledg`d kindness of the best of Masters, and after tallowing thy Face, and licking thy Lips, scrubbing thy Thighs, and clawing thy Haunches, as is usual in those Cases, art returned behind the Counter again as brisk as old Aeson when he had cast his Skin, and grew as fresh as a Chrysom Child, tho' past fourscore and seventeen last Midsummer.  
On a double account I now came into a new World, being little acquainted with the old one before, and what small acquaintance I had, in so fair a way of leaving it.  
When I once came abroad again, and was employed in the Town about my Master's business more frequently than formerly, being now Head-prentice, and delivered from that worst part of my doom, nothing in the World being a greater Curse to a man of (my) Spirit, than to be a Servant of Servants, I fell into acquaintance about Town, saw the Humours on't, and found enough to make me hate some things, and be cautious of others. This added to what I formerly knew, and would ha' told you before, had not Sickness chopped in between; I have here left for the benefit of the World, and of you in particular, my dear Well_beloved's, the hopeful London Prentices from Temple-bar to Aldgate, as you'll find in the following Chapters.   

CHAP. V.  
Of Atheists, and other Fools or Knaves of that nature.  
NO sooner one Monday Morning, had my Master sent me out with a Note into Duck-lane, but who should I meet with at the turning down Shoemakers-Row, but a young Spark of my Acquaintance, formerly my School-fe●low, some years before me advanced to London, and placed by his careful Father, Apprentice to one Mr. — A— at the Sign of the— not far from the sound of Bow-Bell. He appeared extremely brisk and gay, professed himself heartily glad he had lit so luckily on his old Acquaintance, and invited me to a Glass of Wine at the Queens-Arms and Fountain; which being then in haste, and my Master expecting me back again, having business himself abroad, I durst not accept, but promised soon to steal an Opportunity to enjoy his good Company.—  
We went chatting along together for two or three streets, talking of old Stories and Acquaintance, several of whom he named to me, and where they lived,— withal adding, they and much other excellent Company were to meet at such a Tavern (as well as I can remember at such a distance, 'twas the Nag's-Head in Cheapside,) that very Evening, whither if I could possibly steal time from my business, he'd engage I should be very welcome, pressing me very earnestly, this being the first time he had the happiness to meet me in Town, not to refuse his Invitation.  
Being not unwilling I must confess to see the humours of the Town, as well as my old Acquaintance, and not willing to disoblige this Person with whom I had formerly contracted a great intimacy, I promised him, if I could possibly get leave of my Master, I'd not fail meeting him at the time and place appointed. I perceived indeed he smiled something scornfully when I mentioned ask leave, and from that time began a little to suspect him, tho' his way lying different from mive, we then immediately parted.  
In the Evening, according to our assignation, I told my Master I had met some of my Acquaintance whom I h●d not seen for several years, and requested his leave to give them a visit for an ●our or two, it being in the long Winter nights, ●nd Shops shut early.  
This he did not refuse, but withal obliged ●e to have a care of ill Company, the ruin of ●hree quarters of the World, and to be sure not to ●●ay out late, which he'd by no means endure.  
— Modestly thanking him for his good Ad●ice, and promising to regard that, and keep within the compass as to time, away I went to ●he place I told ye of.  
But Heavens,— what a Hell did I see and hearas ●oon as I entered.— 'Twas not now more than Se●en a Clock, and yet one good half of the Company whither my Acquaintance, whom I asked for ●at the Bar, conducted me, were as Drunk as Brandy or Claret could make 'em; and the other half employing that little sense they had ●in Volleys of Curses and Oaths.— Stepping back ●gen over the Threshold, as one who treads on a Snake,— Is this (said I to him who was introducing me) the good Company you promised to bring me to—? Why they seem fit Company for none but themselves or Devils.— As I was going forwards and backwards at once, he stopped me in both motions, and half by force, half by persuasion, got me in among 'em, laughing aloud at my ignorance and squeamishness, and telling me I should shortly be one of them, and as merry and wicked as the best.  
Just such a tenderhearted Fool was I (cries he who brought me thither) when I first came to Town, nay continued in the same fine precise humour till I was almost pointed at as I passed the streets, till honest jack here took pains with me, ●nd with the help of some of this good Company, soon made me as brave a Fellow as the be●● of 'em.  
What, I warrant you (says another) this poo● freshwater Soldier is afraid of enquiring into the Till, and cheating his Master, and durst not swear or whore though you'd make him an Alder. man.— But we must bear with him, and remember what we once were ourselves.— I could hold no longer to hear 'em talk at tha● lewd rate, my blood boiled, my heart trembled, and I hardly had the courage or patience to answer 'em, doubting whether I was fallen among a crew of Devils or mortal Creatures.— You were once Men (said I) but now I question of what Species I ought to name ye; for there are oth●● Beasts go upright as well as you, which yet is more than I see most of the Company here can do.  
They'd let me go on no further, but instead of being angry, as I expected, fell all into a loud and most profuse laughter, reiterating the same i● several volleys, and not permitting me to insert a word between. Till at last, when they were weary, he who introduced me looked wistly in my Face, and asked me very seriously,— But Evander, are you really of this mind? Is not the taste of Mothers-milk yet off your tongue, and d'ye think it such a heinous thing to be Drunk, as you pretend you believe it? What a deal of sour Religion and Virtue you yet pretend to carry about you, as if there were any real Evil in being merry with a Friend, giving Nature a Fillip, as you see we do here, and enjoying ourselves as well as our Masters do theirs. What hurt did that charming Bottle there ever do, that you should so severely hold forth against it? And why mayn't we forget our Troubles, and make the tedious seven Years roll as glibly on as possible, since as the Poet,  
The Wheel of Life no less will stay  
In a smooth than rugged way.  
And why should ned we drink as well as all Nature? the Sea, the Air, the Sun, the Earth, the Birds and very Beasts themselves, to whom your grave side of the World so often compare us.— And a Beast I'd be with all my heart, were I to choose what sort; for what a heavenly Creature is an Elephant, that can suck in a whole Tun at a Gulp?  
He would have gone on I believe at the same rate, if I had not interrupted him, and in the next place wished himself a Whale, that he might drink whole Seas, and spout 'em out again. I confess, said I, I expected not any thing that looked like Reason from ye, and 'tis merely your goodness, since 'tis more than a Beast is bound to give for his Actions, and such it seems you think or wish yourself to be. You ask whether there's any evil in being merry with a Friend? I readily answer, No, but there is in being mad with 'em. Look but what wonderful mirth there is among ye: Is not he very merry there that lies with his Heels upwards against the Frame of the Table, or that other pair so well matched, excellent Company (for themselves and the Hogs) who in their drunken kindness kissed and slabbered one another so long till they did the last indeed.— See else where they wallow half drowned in the nasty eruptions of their own Stomaches?— Or that Spark in the other corner, a very pleasant Companion, who has been quarrelling and fight all round, till the Liquor (and some of his Fellow-Drunkards together) has knocked him down across one of his Brethren in the same condition?— And for those that still make shift to keep upon their Legs (or Stools) are they not extremely merry and divertive, who sit nodding one against another like the stinking Snuff of a Candle, when 'tis just going out in the overheated Socket?  
But alas, you design only to heighten Nature, to exalt and cheer it, not quite sink and drown it at the rate that these have done: And how often pray have they seen you in the same fine Circumstances that you do them? When you are once got beyond the Barrieres of Temperance and Modesty, you can no more stop yourself, than after you are fallen from the top of a Tower, you can stay betwixt that and the ground. 'Tis lawful to be cheerful, no body denies it, and sometimes necessary too, but can't a Man be so without beating the Watch, and alarming all the Tenement? Or is there no difference (as an ingenious Man asks you, between going up to your Chamber, and riding upon the ridge of your house? All nature teaches us Sobriety, not Intemperance; nothing in the World has too much moisture but it suffers for't, and quickly rots if it bened dried again. The very Rivers and Sea, the greatest Topers in the Universe, drink no more than suffices 'em; nay, and that not so much for their own sakes as others, the Rivers only suck in moisture for the Sea, and the Sea again for the Rivers, unless we'll say this is not like Liquors in the Stomach, something preternatural, but like that in the Veins, in a regular circulation to preserve the whole. An Elephant drinks a great deal, and need enough there is of a large swallow which has so large a Body, but what only slakes his thirst, would burst a Horse to pieces, or any smaller Animal, none drinking beyond their proportion, there being no Beasts in the World that will be drunk, as Naturalists report, but a Swine and a Man, who are then fit company for one another, and worthy no place but a Hogsty. On which account you well enough give your Bottle the Epithet of Charming; for its Operation is just the same with what the Enchantress Circe's Bowls produced, charming Men into Hogs.  
Your calling your Bottle Charming, puts me in mind of a pretty Criticism I have some where or other met with. 'Tis that the old jewish Conjurers used to make use of a Bottle (called in their language Ob) either to keep the Devil in, or which is much the same, to receive or give Oracles out on't, which were muttered in a deep hollow Voice. Nor has the Devil yet left that way of enchanting the World.  
There's a strange odd passage in that well attested Relation of the Daemon of Mascon: One of the Spectators of his Pranks seeing a Bottle dance about the room, and hearing a Voice come from thence, got hold of it, when immediately the ●oise was transferred to another part of the room, and the Devil fell a laughing very merrily, and speaking to the Person who took up the Bottle, asked him if he thought him such a Fool to stay there, since if he had but clapped his Finger in, and stopped the mouth on't, he'd have held him imprisoned there, and he could by no means have got out again. Whether the old ●yar kept to his trade, and told a Lie here or no, is not much material; but this is certain, there's something like it true in the case we are talking of. While this charming Bottle o● yours is close stopped, the Devil can do no feats with't; but if once 'tis opened, he dances about the room to some purpose.  
The young Divine (cries one of the Company) he talks as peremptorily of the Devil here, a● if he were one of his familiar Acquaintance. First prove there's a God, before you tell us all these Tales of the Devil; for we believe one no more than tother. Don't come to us with your antiquated Tales of Virtue and Vice, and Heave● and Hell, and Good and Evil, we have been past believing any such old Wives Tales for many a fair year; Our Pleasure is our Religion, our Body all of of us, this Life our Heaven, and when that's done, there's an end of us.  
That would be rare News to you, I confess, if you could prove it (replied Evander) as easily as I can what you have now blasphemously, but according to your own practice, politicly enough denied; for I'm sure he's a greater Contradiction to himself than any pretended ones he e'er found out in Religion, who believes those things you have now talked of, and yet live as you do.  
Tell me, ye Atheists, who sounded the firs● march and retreat to the Tide, Hither shalt thou come, and no further? When the Winds are not only wild in a Storm, but even stark mad in an Hurricane, who is it that restores them again to their wits, and brings them a-sleep in a Calm? Who made the mighty Whales, who swim in a Sea of Water, and have a Sea of Oil swimming in them? Who first taught the Water to imitate the Creatures on Land, so that the Sea is the Stable of Horse- Fishes, the Stall of Kine- Fishes, the Sty of Hog- Fishes, and the Kennel of Dog- Fishes, and in all things the Sea the Ape of the Land—? Was not God the first Shipwright, and are not all Vessels on the Water descended from the Loins or Ribs rather of Noah's Ark, or else who durst be so bold with a few crooked Board's nailed together, a Stick standing upright, and a Rag tied to it, to adventure into the boundless Ocean? Whence came the Salt in the Sea, and who first boiled it which made so much Brine? What Loadstone first touched the Loadstone, or how first fell it in love with the North, rather affecting that cold Climate, than the pleasant East, or fruitful South or West? How comes that Stone to know more than Men, and find the way to the Land in a Mist? In most of these Men take Sanctuary at Occulta Qualitas, and complain that the Room is dark, when their Eyes are blind, for indeed they are God's Wonders.  
That there is a Supreme First Being, is as plain as that there's any Being at all; for wherever there's order, there must be one First, as surely as there must be an uppermost Round in the Ladder if there's an undermost. I need no fairer Evidence to convince you of this, than yourselves and all the World.— Some certain qualms which sometimes won't let you believe what you fain would, and that excellent order and harmony without you in all other parts of the Creation which you endeavour to destroy in yourselves, and which openly and loudly confess something infinitely wise and perfect as their Father and Author.  
But if you deny the Fountain, 'tis no wonder that you won't grant the Streams, Virtue and Goodness, concluding just at that wise rate in this case, as ye do in others. Because you know none of these, nor ever experienced 'em, therefore there's no such thing; as because they never converse with honest Women, they believe there are none in the World; and because they never saw a Spirit, there's no such thing in being. 'Tis well you keep your Opinions from the knowledge of the People, and disguise 'em as cunningly as you are able, for the very Mo● would be ready to bring you to the Pump, if they knew the only reason that kept you from turning Pickpockets was not from the wickedness of the thing, but lest the Law should catch hold of you, that's in plain English, not for fear of Conscience, but the Hangman; whence 'tis more than suspicious, could you have a cleanly conveyance, you'd be as ready to dive into your Neighbor's Pocket, as into your own. And you do well to think there's nothing after this Life, at the same time you think there's no Good or Evil. For were there Evil, you know you have been sufficiently guilty on't, and accordingly deserve punishment; and if these are all your joys, as I understand they are some of the chiefest of 'em, Drunkenness and Rottenness, rivalling each other in your Affections and Courtship.  
Thus might I have e'en gone on to Doomsday without their minding a word I said, for by this time the Fumes of the Liquor, which it seems they had been tunning in all that day, conquered that little Reason they had left, and threw 'em all into a brutish sleep; where I e'en lest 'em to snore and stink together, while I full glad of my happy Gaol-delivery, Bow-bell now ringing, got quietly home to my Masters, having had enough of their Company and Discourse, which made my Hair stand an end when I thought on't; and being sufficiently warned from ever coming amongst 'em afterwards.  
Those who think these Discourses perhaps too grave, and set, to have happened in common Conversation, as before that I have described my Master above the life, may yet remember that the divine Plato as well as the virtuous Kainophilus, makes a very Angel of his old Master Socrates, and talks ten times more gravely and formally in his Phaeda and other Dialogues, than I have done in this.  
The Intent whereof may be discovered with half an Eye, namely, to show the Danger Youth is in, when it first arrives here, of lewd Company, and atheistical, immoral Acquaintance, which the honest Apprentice, who intends to come to any thing, must take a special care to avoid, as I did ever after, as he would the Plague, Fire, or any other desperate Mischief— Their intention being to strike at all, and cut up Religion by the Roots; and that once done, neither moral Honesty, nor civil Felicity use to stay long after— nor needs there any more to warn any thinking Person against 'em, than of one side exposing their Practices, and of tother answering their thin Pretence to argument; both which I have here endeavoured to perform.   

CHAP. VI  
Being a Cage full of Cheats, Theives, Pickpockets, Whores and Rogues.  
'TIS generous to strike at the highest first, conquer once but the Grand Vices, and be truly honest, and all the puny Sinners will fly before you— Tho this must be more than in pretence, or else Hypocrisy only makes an Addition to the Sum which was high enough before. Too many there are who want that chief Virtue of a Servant, F●delity, who yet pretend as highly to hate the beforementioned Crew as Evander's self could do. To avoid whose dangerous paths, Evander first took care to consider there was one always saw him, though his Master did not; and then most religiously abstained from the least Touch or Fingering of what was not at his own dispose; a little inconsiderable business generally making way for a greater, and the robbing of the Till, preparing for the Portmanteau, as the Shop does for the Road. Believe it, you who are not yet past Advice, 'tis much easier to abstain from a little than a great deal; and if you once covet the forbidden Wedge, twenty to one but you are one way or other found out and lost for ever; for the Devil hath a kind of Method and Colour of Modesty in his Temptations.  
At the first he tempts us to small Sins, to remit something of our wont Vigour, to indulge a little unto our corrupt desires, to unbend our Thoughts, and to slacken our pace in prosecution of good Courses, that by cooling ourselves, we may be able to hold out the better. But when he hath drawn us thus far, he hath gotten the Advantage of us, and having a Door open, le's in his more ugly and horrid Temptations.  
Sin hath its several Ages and Growths, first it is but conceived and shaped in the Womb of Concupiscence, than it is nourished and given suck by the Embraces and Delights of the Will as of a Nurse; then,  
Lastly, It grows into a strong Man, and doth of itself run up and down our Little World, invade all the Faculties of Soul and Body, which are at last made the Instruments of Satan to act and fulfil it.  
Satan at the first leads us downward towards Hell as it were by Steps and Stairs, which though they go lower and lower, yet we seem still to have firm footing, and be able to go back at pleasure: But at last we find as the way is more and more slippery, so the Enemy ready at hand to push us down into a Dungeon of unrecoverable Misery, did not God's Mercy pluck us as a Brand out of the fire. Thus, young Men, you see There is no Faith in Sin.  
Peter first sleeps only, that seemed the Exigence of his Nature; then he followed afar off, that happily was pretended to be only the drowsiness of his sleeping; then he sits down at the Fire, and that was but the coldness of the Air; but then comes denying, swearing, cursing, and had not Christ in time looked back upon him, the next step and regress, would have reached unto the Jaws of Hell. The Devil tempts judas first to betray his Master, and then to hang himself.  
Reader, if thou art under any Temptation to drive a Trade in Sin, though never so small, and hast made some Ventures already, and perhaps hast received some return of Profit or Pleasure, yet timely remember, what a horrible Wrack and Devastation it will bring upon thee at last! Sin will one time or other find thee out; delude not thyself with these vain Thoughts and Argumentations, I will only go so far in Sin, to such a Stage in Wickedness, and no farther. By these Stairs the unhappy 
* Mr. Robert Foulks late Minister of Stanton-Lacy.  Foulks came up to that dreadful height, that (as he himself expresses it) it amazed his Thoughts to look down the fearful Precipice he stood upon. But suppose (which was never known) you should itch but once to try how pleasing Sin will be, yet at Adam 's price you buy this painted Apple, and thereby lose that Paradise of Innocence, and sweet Serenity of Mind, which before you enjoyed.  
Then resist the first beginnings, venture not upon a known Sin, though never so little, or neglect a known Duty, though never so much against the Interest of flesh and blood. Crush the Cockatrice; every Step thou makest in Sin, brings thee in greater danger: Repentance may be denied, or come too late; and it is ill venturing Eternity upon our last breath; he that fights the Battles of the Hellish Commander, he'll soon find him courageous enough to lead him into a more bloody Field.  
When the forementioned Foulks first entered upon an irregular amour, if any body would have suggested to him where it would have ended, he would certainly have answered with the Assyrian, Am I a Dog that I should do this? yet he was the Dog that did it.  
Sin in its minority is easily opposed, at first to resist it requires not so much labour, but there is no withstanding when it has attained to maturity.  
The heights of Wickedness appear so monstrous at a distance to one that is but newly entering upon it, that he flatters himself he shall never come thither; but after long continuance in it, and suppressing many Convictions, violating many Vows and Resolutions, after many Evasions to shift off the Imputation, Apologies to excuse or lessen it, Lyes and Protestations to deny it, he becomes strangely altered, he is not what he was, but is insensibly brought more and more into the Snare of the Devil, who leads him captive at his pleasure, and one sin draws on another, and each of a more deformed Production than another, like the Serpents of Africa, who by their promiscuous Copulations, have engendered such strange and ugly Monsters as Nature never intended.  
He that boldly ventures to break one Commandment, will in a little time as boldly venture to make a breach on all.  
Whosoever allows and licen●es himself in the Practice of any one Sin, though he think it never so small, that man involves himself in a fatal kind of necessity to admit of a Train to attend and support it: Try not thyself, but trust my words.  
For we had no farther off than next door a sad and remarkable Instance of this nature, which I believe I shall never forget while my Name is Vander. 'Twas at the Cane-shop he lived, at the Sign of the— over against the famous— Tavern. His Father an honest Country Minister, who strained hard to put his Son to so comfortable a Trade, being his eldest, and the hope of his Family, and expected to have been a Comfort to all the rest, though he unhappily proved quite contrary; beginning first with small puny Thefts now and then from his unsuspecting Master, but carrying himself all the while like an Angel, as he verily thought him. From selling now and then, or embezelling his Master's Goods to his own use, he came to mount higher, and by the Advice of wicked Company, and Instigation of the Devil, grew at last acquainted with his Till, and getting a false Key made by the Impression of the other taken in Wax, proved such a Cashkeeper for him, as he neither suspected, nor desired.  
One great Incentive to his thus purloining from his Master, were some ill Women, with whom he was acquainted; and who living at t'other end o'th' Town, tho' as common as the Road thither, pretended to be Persons of Quality, and must be treated, forsooth, and caressed acaccordingly. This Trade held so long, till by his continual finding Moneys in the Till mistold, his Master at length suspected him, and to try him one day, left there a parcel of Money, every piece of which he had both told and marked, to prevent any mistake in the discovery; and the Bait laid, bids his Man be careful of the Shop, and went out as about business; nor did he disobey his Commands, not only looking narrowly to the Shop, but to the Till itself, taking out four or five pieces of the Money left on purpose for him, resolving to have t'other pull at it the next Morning, tho' he feared to take a greater Sum at one time, lest it should be missed and suspected.  
In short, home comes the Master late in the Evening, to bed they all went, and when he was asleep, his Breeches on Examination confessed the fault, and discovered all the Thievery by the marked Pieces which he had taken. Nothing was said that Night, but the next Morning his Master having also discovered his lewd Company; and ill Haunts, fairly took him to takes, proved against him the Thievery and other Villainy, and not willing to expose his Father, for whom he had a just respect, writ an Account of all to him, desiring him to fetch his Son home, or take some other care of him, else he must be obliged to make him serve the rest of his time in Bridewell.  
This sudden Thunderclap threw the young Spark into such a Consternation, that like the man who hanged himself in the Prison, lest he should be found guilty of Felony; or the old Woman who cut her Hog's Throat to save his life; away he run for fear of being turned away— and hies him to t'other end of Town among his great Acquaintance, who finding the sheep fleeced, kept'on the Mask no longer, but owned themselves downright jilts, Thiefs, and Pickpockets, as alas! a Whore's but a starving Trade of itself, unless they have some other such way to eak out an honest Livelihood. And indeed their Hands are generally as nimble as their Tongues, angling for Watches, Letters, or whatever their good Fate presents 'em.  
'tis strange! that even these forlorn Wretches should not be able to subsist without a sort of Order and Government among 'em. They are indeed as perfect a Corporation, as any Company in England, and use as much Method in the sending out Parties; this scouring one Street, and the other another; none interloping on the Province, or Walk, as they call it, that does not belong to 'em. So that the Thief-catchers, either the Marshal's Man or others, whose business 'tis, has 'em at what Command he pleases, sends for the Heads of 'em, and for a Sum of Money recovers your Watch, Sword, or Guinea as oft as you please to lose'em.  
To this degree of Wickedness was this unhappy undone young Man now risen, and had, as was thought, but one step now between that and the Gallows; but by good Fortune for him, he came to a more honourable end, and Justice overtook him without the help of the Hangman; for it chancing that two Gentlemen quarrelled in Fleetstreet, and drew upon one another, he coming by officiously pretended to part the Fray, and running between the fierce Combatants, seized one of 'em in his Arms while another of his Companions prepared to pick his Pocket: But the other Gentleman whether out of rage that he could not come at his Adversary, so resolving to reach him thro' the other, or by a mistake, made a fatal pass and ran poor Pickpocket thro' the Back, that he fell down dead with an Oath in his Mouth, and never spoke word after.   

CHAP. VII.  
The Chapter of the Booksellers.  
STAND! not a Foot further at the hazard of your Ears— and well if you come off so, Evander! make yourself ridiculous as long as you please, but let us alone you were best— 〈◊〉—  
Or, What Sir— What mean you, Sir— What would you be at, Sir— done't you know as well as I, and every body else that has seen or ●heard of me, that Evander ne'er saw fear but in the face of an Enemy?  
Or, Sir, steps in a desperate Hyper-Gorgonick Mortal, who lives not above one Semidiameter of the Earth from Westminster-Hall— Or— I'll cut your Throat, I'll shoot ye in the Head, I'll pash out your Brains with the heel of my Shoe (hold there) I'll rip out your great and small Guts, and make Tripes and Fiddle-strings of 'em; and after I have done all this, Beat ye till you're as black as a Raven.  
Umph! truly that's very hard to a man that endeavours to get an honest Livelihood in the way of his Trade, and hurts no body— What is't this young Man has done— certainly he has been truanting a little, or has been formerly  
Petticoatized—  
that he's so desperately afraid of the Lash. Had he been one of the naughty Youths of the Town, that sit all the Day between the Comb and the Glass, that dress, as it were, in Print, only to have the Ladies say, Look what a delicate Shape and Foot that Gentleman has! had he not been a careful, industrious, studious, sober, honest Man, who makes it his business to keep his Shop, oblige his Customers; nay, rather than be idle or gad abroad, turning his Books, and dusting his Shelves; then there might have been some reason for his Apprehension. But alas! all the World knows him a great Trader both in London and the Country; a grave, stayed, facetious Person, never out of temper or humour, discreet to a Miracle, uncapable of being affronted, or scandalised, so fair is his Name, and so sweet his Disposition. And this Character he had had, if he could have stayed for't, without all this trouble; but has by this strange and unwonted fit of passion (ten to one but he had been in Company before, and no man alive is always the same) so discomposed my Thoughts as well as his own, that all the designed Method is overturned; and instead of a formal orderly Visit intended to the principal Booksellers, the Glory of Trade, and of London, must now be forced to take 'em higgledy-piggledy, and so lose a great many of 'em that Fame and Immortality designed 'em; for which irreparable Loss they may blame this young Man's intempestive rashness, not our unjust Partiality.  
'Twas the intention of Kainophilus, as he has before recommended to the raw, unexperienced Apprentice, the necessary Accomplishments of Religion, Temperance, and Fidelity, by showing the Mischiefs and Dangers of the contrary Vices, so to have proceeded on the next Virtue, as necessary very near to the happiness of a young Man as any of the other— namely Industry. And as he had recommended the past Virtues by showing the ill face of their contraries, he would hav● endeavoured to have demonstrated this by its own Light, and that with no disadvantage in the Example of Evander.  
The Scene I had laid to reduce this into action, was the City of London, the Dress and Form in which I appeared thereon, most convenient for Expedition, accoutered like the Boys that run with the Gazet my Hat under my Arm, my Note in my Hand, and I almost breathless, tripping it through the Streets like a Roebuck, and calling in at all the Booksellers, and giving you a little touch of their virtuous Qualities, for the Proverb is sufficient Evidence, tho' there's Knavery in all Trades else, we have none in ours, tho' there may perhaps be a little Foolery now and then, of which some may think these Books an Instance; but some wiser than some, and those think otherwise.  
However, whether they do or no, I must mind my business, and what it is, squint back to the Frontispiece, and there you'll find it,  
Globe the V.  
Where he vamps about Town for Caesar and Strada,  
The Hornbook, Morocco, john Bunyan, Granada.  
I ask your Pardon once more, dear Reader, I feel I have Rambled away from the Booksellers, and fallen among the Books again, but they're so near kin, you'll easily pardon it— and I make no question the Booksellers would entirely forgive me, should I forget 'em altogether.  
However, I take 'em all to witness against this Dogrel-writer in ordinary, who insinuates in his roguy Rhymes, as if I was employed in nothing but Godly Books, Plays, and Horn-Books; whereas I appeal to all you that know me, whether I han't very often been at your Shops both for Quarto's and Folio's, and sometimes lugged home some reverend Commentator that was like to break my Back before I got thither.  
Not but that, as I told you before, I profess as deep a Respect and Veneration for the worthy Mr. Bunyan, as the very Man that prints him.— and the truth is, that devout Author has always had the good Fortune to fall into the hands of as religious Booksellers.  
The lewd World, 'tis true, will scoff and jeer, but who can help it, if we are safe in our own Integrity, and can so easily despise 'em? Thus were my dear Friend and Namesake john yet living, should I hear any ugly Stories or Rhymes of him— as one very scandalous one I with detestation remember,  
In Cases of Conscience so far he has gone  
Resolving of others, he has quite lost his own—  
Abominable— but I say in such a Case thus would I endeavour to comfort him, were there any need on't— Truly dear Brother— The World has thought Evander is a Man endowed with some Sense, yea, and that above his Neighbours, but if I am a proper Judge in this Case— I protest on the word of a Rambler, I had many fine things more to hold forth on this Subject, but I know not how it comes to pass, on the sudden they are all lost again, like Friends in a Crowd; I am just in the same Condition with that forecited Great Person, when he could ned tell what was next in his Sermon; my Head, is as it were, in a Pudding-bag, and I han't a word more to say though 'twere to get it out again.  
What a noise here has been about one poor Author— what shall we then do when we meet with 'em in the next Chapter all together? Sure all Bedlam would scarce hold 'em.  
And now I am about Godly Books, commend me to Dunton's Blessed Martyrs, which I remember, among other things, I had once upon my Note.  
I shall never forget that Remarkable Person, though I were to live as long as his Raven— I had the Honour that time to see, and discourse with him; and I confess the World is in the right, that he's something like that Evander which makes such a splutter in't— but I'am still of the same mind I was before— they can never prove I am he—  
So much, however, I'll acknowledge, That there is a great Intimacy and Acquaintance between us offered, I must own, first on his part, though mine the Advantage and Honour; the Reason I can't guests, unless that by his Skill in Physiognomy he knew I should live to be a famed Author, and therefore was willing to oblige me, that he might afterwards have some good Copies from me.  
However, I must give him such a Character as he deserves, and indeed as a near and dear Friend of his gave me under his own Handwriting.  
He is a Man so and so, thus and thus, neither full so high as the monumental Irishman, nor quite as humble as that Modicum of Mortality that walks about with him (whom they who know no better, think his next Neighbour.)  
I am to give him no Character that shall make him blush,— nor believe I can— (so punctual is he in all his Dealings) however to avoid it, will say not one Word more besides what I find in my Notes of that day's Transactions— He's famous for one thing— That he's generous to a Miracle, has a swinging Soul of his own, and would part with all he has to serve a Friend— and that's enough for one Bookseller.  
Tempora mutantur— that's no News, but that Things should change at such an odd rate, would be very wonderful, did not we see a thousand Examples on't every day— and one of the strangest I know, is in the Sign, and other Appurtenances of this said Shop.  
That ever a beautiful Angel (with a delicate gilt Turkey-leather Bible into the bargain) should in a few years be thus changed, translated, and transmogriphyed into a thing as black as a Bugbear, an illboding, ill-sounding, ill-looking Raven.  
I have often wondered why the Party aforesaid, should choose this Sign above all the rest, and can imagine none but this following, which lies somewhat out of the way of common Reading and Observation: The Banner of the Danes, or rather their Standard Royal, had a Raven curiously wrought in't (as the Romans an Eagle.) The reason, probably, by the jetty Blackness thereof, as a sort of a Foil to set off the natural whiteness of their own Skins; the Danes being generally, as all men know, very fair-haired, Fair-complexioned Men? And who knows but this Author, having some where or other met with this Story, hung up the Raven for his Sign upon the same reason.  
But to come from the Sign to the Shop,— What difference?— There was formerly a very Spark lived in't,— the young, the wild, the witty, the gay, and all that, who was forced to march off for the famous Sham-Riot at Guild-Hall, being actually concerned in looking down from a Balcony, and bewitching the poor Loyal Party at such a rate, that hundreds of 'em could ned speak a word for a week after.— See but what a Rambling Fate some Men have;— then he turned a Man of War, so did not his peaceable Successor, nor the as peaceful Evander, both of which I am confident had rather have their Bodies quietly eaten by Worms, than torn to pieces in Foreign Nations by howling Wolves, or rapacious Vultures.  
Well, now my hands in, I'll on a little further, and would fain call a little o' t'other side o' the way, at one, whose Conscience is straighter than his Sign, but he's so up to the Ears among great Persons and Business (perhaps engaging for a 3d. Volume) that I'll not venture on him, only your humble Servant Mr.— (a curious Shop this, well built, lightsome, high, well furnished,— well if ever he quits it, I'll step in after him,— as— has been done by others a hundred times over.  
I'd Ramble on as far as Cornhill, were't not for fear of being gored by one of Four Creeds; but Oldham's dead, and so there's the less danger.  
Among other April- Errands, the wise Author of the Poem sent me a Play-catching, instancing in the Empress of Morocco, and the Conquest of Granada. A most abominable work,— that ever he should offer to desile my Fingers with meddling with a Play.— 'Tis a Monkey-trick, let me tell him, to make use of poor Puss' Paw to scratch out the Chessnuts which he himself eats. He never heard I warn't ye of the Devil that carried away a whole shoulder of a Playhouse on his Back, as easily as a Fox trusses a Goose. The sage Evander in vain rebuked him, and asked the meaning on't.— All I could get out of him was his Judgement of Plays in general, which word for word I'll insert as follows.  
Moral Representations in themselves can never be unlawful, may be very useful. To see Vice represented like itself, deformed and odious, though high and prosperous, and at last thrown down and trampled by those who envied and admired it. To see Virtue, in its own Face, all charming and lovely, brave tho' unfortunate, pressed all round, and wading through all, and at last enthroned, prosperous and triumphant,— What can more tend to the advancement of one, and depression of the other, with those especially who are led by Sense more than Reason, though this admits both?  
The many of the present Plays, 'tis acknowledged generally, take the quite contrary course; especially the Comedies, the best of which that I have seen, take more care to express the Humours of the Country, Vices and all, than to amend 'em; and these they dress in the loveliest colours of Wit and Fancy, for not only Priests, but as far as I see,  
Laureates of all Religions are the same.  
And thus for One that's mended by Plays, such as they are now, Ten thousand may be injured or ruined. For the truth of which I appeal to any ingenious Debauchee, if any such be to be found. Nor are yet the Plays so much perhads chargeable herewith (though bad enough) as the Company which come there. 'Tis as common a receptacle for W— and R— as Bridewell itself (though that the more proper of the two.) There are perhaps almost as many Jilts as Women, so much more dangerous than Pickpockets, as they search deeper, and pilfer what's more precious than that they aim at, Reputation and Virtue.  
Yet all this is clearly accidental to Plays; these inconveniences may be removed, and only Virtue and Vice shown as they ought to be; or if Humour, such as are diverting, and yet innocent; and it argues want of depth, if not plain dulness, not to be able to fill up a Comedy without the help of a Bawd or a Whore.  
On the whole, my Judgement is (if any body valued it) that in this case as well as many others, the contending Parties share the Truth betwixt 'em. One side, and that I believe the honester, knowing the notorious Debauchery and Lewdness of those Sinks of Sin, out of a little overboiling Zeal, over-shoot the Mark, and call all Plays and Dramatic Poetry the Devil's Books, as much as Cards themselves are (in which they may be much in the right,) for the evil, but separable Appendages thereof condemning the thing in itself, though not only innocent, but useful and profitable in its own nature.  
The other defend Plays in general, and so far are in the right, but strain the point too far on one side, as the first on the other; defending the modern Plays from the Notion of Plays in general, and thus easily overlooking, if not taking in, all those cursed, little less than Incentives to Lewdness and Villainy, which from the Company, the Subject represented, and the softness of the Music, are sucked in by the Eye and Ears of the Spectators.— So much for his Judgement, for further he saith not, nor would I for all the World add mine, for a reason that I'll keep to myself.—  
But though he has done with Plays, I han't, but must step into George-yard, and ask at a Gentleman's Shop, called Infortunatus, for a Play he lately printed, which 'tis thought will make him an Alderman (by that time all the Impression is sold off.) Some of the Flowers on't I remember to this day, which ye shall have immediately, if ye won't trouble me with a hard word called Antichronismes, and tell me I clap present, past and future together, talking of what happened ten years agone and but last week in the same breath, which agrees not with the dignity and accuracy of an Historian.  
I could blow away this Objection with only in one word owning myself a Prophet, some hints of which you have heard already, for I'm sure you have read Homer, and what he talks of Calchas, or one old Conjuring Rogue or another of 'em, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. — A cunning Man, who knew whatever was, is, or ne'er shall be. Just so might—  
But not to insist on that Argument, know ye, that what Evander writes, is rather Poetry, than naked insipid History, and that you know confounds time as it pleases, and makes nothing of a hundred years' difference if a good Thought depends upon't.  
But now for the Flowers.— How nobly does Patrick, with his Irish sense, keep up the Character of a King and Queen?— How sweet, majestic and delicate a turn is that, when he makes the Queen throw aside her Gown, and discover a pair of Velvet Breeches on, pag. 5. with a sharp Innuendo, that she wore the Breeches.— And then how Heroically does he make the King complain of this sore grief, pag. 6.— 
Was ever King Infortunate like me,  
Who married one below his Pedi— gree,  
That now insults and hectors— as you see.   
But he soon makes all up in the Characters of his Heroes; for after the poor King of Poland was raised from the dead to tell his Tale, he loo's the young Hero at him, as if he were the erranter Spirit o' the two. At first indeed he makes him very civil, and drinks to the Spirit with as much complaisance as Don-Iohn himself in the Temple; but the mischief is, he makes all his Heroes (like himself I suppose) very quarrelsome in their Drink, for without any affront in the world he falls a hussing him, draws his Whiniard, and tells him not in Prose, but downright Heroick—  

But that I know thou art already dead,  
I would cut off thy old Politic Head.   
But then for Tropes and Figures;  

What People's those who boldly do intrude  
Within the limits of my Latitude.   
Then how easy and free the little Folks talk;  

Then let us know what is your sacred Will,  
I am the City's Mayor, He Consta— bill.   
Then o' t'other side, the sweet Cadency, and all that—  
Did we come here to Hector, Scold and Dance,  
Or talk of things of greater Impor— tance?  
But the Reader is by this time as weary as Evander; for this Spark of an Author, 'tis e'en pity to dash ● well-meaning modest Creature at first setting out, and therefore I'll say no more but that if his Motto be true at the beginning of his Book (which by the way he Cabbidged from the Playhouse) Vivitur ingenio, etc. and he has really nothing but his Wit to live upon, it must needs be worse Diet than Rack-staves, and the poor Wretch must needs be very Skeleton already, and can never live a Quarter-of-an-year to an end.  
Farewell Tom.— Spare my Shoulder, as ever thou expectest the Sergeants should yours, and I'll e'en steal round by Lombardstreet.  
Here once lived a Bookseller, that had he still been of our Trade, I question whether the Proverb would have kept us safe, unless that old escape— There's no general Rule without an Exception, might have saved us.— such a Pirate, such a Cormorant,— Copies, Books, Men, Shops, all was one; he held no Propriety, right or wrong, good or bad, till at last he began to be known, and our Trade not enduring so ill a Man among 'em to disgrace 'em, spewed him out, and off he marched I neither know nor care not whither.  
And now ye talk of Cormorants, what kind of a Fish is a  
Conger?—  
Why 'tis an overgrown Eel, that devours all the Food from the weaker Grigs, and when he wants other Food, swallows them too into the bargain. A poor Fly can't stir upon the water, but— pop, he's at him; nor so much as a Tripewife cleanse her rich Comoditieses, but he'll gobble up as greedily as a Duck, whatever falls from 'em.  
Now there are of these conger's divers and sundry Countries and Nations: Some of 'em as far outshine (and outbid) the rest, as a Rose the rest of the Flowers in the Garden. These are of a North-Country race, much about the Tweed mouth, and 'tis thought sometimes ramble even to the Firth of Dunbritton, or the Isles of Mull and the Orcadeses. Look but how lofty and stately they bear themselves,— you'd think 'em all Leviathans, and there's no coming near 'em unless you'd slip into their Gills. Venus' orta Mari is a good old Observation: For some of these same Fish are very waggish prolific— but there's room enough in the wide Sea to turn out as much Spawn as Nature has given 'em.  
But Scotland being a barren Country, others are rather for the Shannon or Boine; or not yet content, ramble further, all the four Seas, nay all the World over, and observe the Rises and Falls of the Dutch, Germane, Italian, and all the great Rivers in the World.— They'll swim with or against Tide, live in any Stream, Pool, Lake, Pond or River, and so slippery withal, that no Hook can catch 'em, no Hand detain 'em, no Spear strike 'em, no Wear hold 'em. Nor will they ever be quiet, and leave plaguing all the little fry in this (watery) World, till they tumble down through some Vortex or other into the grand Abyss.  
There's Sauce enough for one Fish, or else 'tis very hard,—  
I could return again to Booksellers, and give ye Epithets and Characters suitable for 'em all, and take in the Auctioneers too into the bargain.  
I could begin with Mr. M—, who commenced and continued Auctions upon the Authority of Herodatus, who commends that way of Sale for the disposal of the most exquisite and finest Beauties to their Amoroso's; and further informs the World, that the sum so raised was laid out for the Portions of those to whom Nature had been less kind, that he'll never be forgot while his Name is N—, or he a Man of remarkable Elocution, Wit, Sense and Modesty, Characters so eminently his, that he'd be known by them among a thousand.  
'T would be tedious and unconscionable to go through all Cheapside, Paul's Churchyard, Little-Britain and Duck-lane, to describe every Man, Woman and Sucking-Child, Stationer, Bookseller, Hinder, Stitcher and Hawker. This is general may suffice for an impartial Character of that honourable and honest Employment, as fas as my own Observations give me,—  
That they are generally Men that make a Conscience, Just and Kind to one another, endeavouring with all their power to promote each the Interest and Copies of his Neighbour;— and above all, Civil and Generous to their particular Authors; of which more in the next Chapter.  
If there's any Person who takes it amiss that he's not so honoured as to find his Name mentioned in this Chapter, he need do no more than speak his mind freely of this Book, and then he shall certainly see himself inserted in the next Ramble. For these present Characters (both of the Booksellers and Authors have been both read and approved by a Club of 'em) and are as much applicable to one as 
† I say they are as much designed for this Man as that Man, and that Man as this Man, and disprove it if you can.  another. But if any by winceing shall prove himself guilty, I resolve to run Kingdoms or Reams of Paper out of breath in the Satyrizing such a Fop, that did not know when he was well, and upon  
The Word of a Bookseller,  
(and that you'll say is a proud Expression) will meet with him in every Ramble to the end of the Twenty four Globes. For (as Oldham says) 
I wear my Pen as others do their Sword,  
To each affronting Sot I meet, the word  
Is Satisfaction, strait to Thrusts I go,  
And pointed satire runs him through & through.    

CHAP. VIII.  
Of Love, and all That.  
TOwards the end of the last Chapter I hung out a red Flag of Defiance, and told the Corporation of Authors, they were best make ready, for I intended to fire a whole Broadside among 'em, and they were to expect a sharp Engagement. But 'tis not the first time things have been in this posture, and yet no harm done— accordingly having great Examples before me, I'm resolved at present to retreat from the Enemies— but yet with a resolution to swinge 'em off the next time I get among 'em.  
In the mean time must dispatch a little necessary business in my own memorable Life, and therein recommend to others (as I have all along done) what I myself found both practicable and easy.  
I don't intend to run thro' all Oeconomics to find the whole Duty of a Servant— my main Work is to describe some of the main Pillars and Rafters on which he must lay both his present Happiness, and future Fortunes; most of which have been already discoursed of, though one or two more remains, which ought not to be forgotten.  
And the first of 'em is Veracity— Dare to be true— has Sense as well as Wit 〈◊〉 Poetry in't: I am confident 'tis Cowardice is the ●arent of most vices; men dare not be singular or virtuous, that is in effect, are afraid both of themselves and others, lest they should be fatigued and laughed at— But as this holds in most ●ther Cases, so particularly in this, in reference ●o a Master— I have done some fault or other, which I dare not own, and the next Re●uge is 〈◊〉 Lie to get rid on't; where to be sure the Re●●dy is worse than the Disease. And this the Truth is, some ill-natured Masters almost force their Servants into, by being so implacable and unmerciful, so furious, and more like distracted 〈◊〉 than that grave sober thing— a Citizen, that their Servants think it better to run into the Devil's Paws than theirs.  
My Advice in this case is— if you light into the Hands of Evander's, after ●●y Fault, deal ingeniously with him, and frank●y acknowledge it with modest assurances of your utmost care to prevent the like for the future; this won't fail to work upon any thing that has ●ut a spark of Goodness or Generosity in their Composition.  
But if they are of the Rank abovementioned, there's yet no wild Beast so fierce, but there's some way or other to deal with 'em. Do in this Case as if you met a mad Bull in the Fields, clap yourself behind a Tree, and by that time he turns his long, heavy Carcase, you are either out of danger, or got further off from him— The meaning is, slip out of the way, and avoid the first Onset, which is always the most furious— Or still there's another slipping aside, even tho' in his presence. No doubt it may be lawful in some cases to deceive, though 'tis not to ●ye. Stratagems in War, are Instances of one without the other, and that too without any mental Re●servation. 'Tis mere Cowardice to excuse you● self by a Lie, and mere dulness not to be abl● to do it without one. Those who are so thick headed, they can't find the mean, have this com●fort, that Nature has generally made 'em bette● able to bear a Kick or two, than others; and however they are provided within, been bounti●ful to 'em without, and kindly endued them with such natural Helmets, as 'tis no easy matter for 'em to have their Heads broken— which if it does now and then happen, they may as patiently endure (and not with much more Sense) as a Pile those ponderous knocks that beat him into the Earth; or those Stones which the P●viers thump into the Streets to mend the Highways.  
So much for you, now for myself again, and yet still for you. O my kind Fellow-prentices, that either as a Buoy, or Landmark, by avoiding me, or sailing by me, you may safely guide yourselves thro' this seven years' Voyage in the good Ship, the Apprentice of London.  
Hitherto I hope I have led you right, by myself keeping the right path; now I'll do it by going in the wrong— which may as easily be done as a true Conclusion drawn from Premises as false as Transubstantiation.  
And the first, the last, the great, the main Rock that poor Evander split himself against, and hardly swum ashore with his Life, was Love, Fatal Love, poisonous Love, bewitching Love, cheating, jilting, treacherous Love— Diabolical Love— if there's a Devil in the World, that's it— sweet, charming, cordial, faithful, divine, celestial Love— ay, if there be an Angel upon Earth (I mean an Angel in Petticoats) certainly my Love was that very Angel.  
An Angel, a Goddess,— a Sun, a Moon, an— all the Seven Stars together— nay, she was the milky way, she had hundreds of thousands of little Virtues and Graces, and Beauties and Charms, that none could distinctly see, unless he looked thro' the Telescope of Love, though all the World perceived 'em in a Lump lightning and glaring quite cross the Horizon whenever she appeared abroad unclouded— Pray Mr. Critic don't be trouble some— I know you'll tell me Love is blind; and how should he see what other People can't, when he does not so much as see what they can— I'll answer this by an easy Experiment: Don't Children see a hundred fine, gaudy things in the dark, which they could never discover, unless they were without Light: And do but try a trick I'll tell ye, and then you'll trouble me no more with such frivolous Objections, wink as hard as you can, and let me take you a good swinging close tweak by the Nose, and if I don't make you see as many Stars in nothing at all, as we Lovers do in our Mistresses, why then I'll throw away my Pen, and never write Ramble more.  
— Just at the same rate does that arch Wag Cupid lead us poor silly Captives as we are, lead us by the patient Nose, from Post to Pillar, and from Pillar to Post again, hither and thither, and no body knows where; after no body knows who, and when the Show is over, we ourselves can't tell for what. Thus did he once lead me like a loving Ass as I was for my pains, seven long Miles to see the happy place, (an old Stump of a Tree, where my Mistress had sat seven years before, and afterwards got upon my Shoulders, like the black Cat, when Men are going to hang themselves, weighed me down whether I would or no, and made me most ingloriously kiss the very place which had been beautified with the closer Appropinquation to her amiable Posterioristica; like those whom the Lancashire Witches made kiss the mere's backside who drew 'em to the Gallows.  
I know the grave Philosophers with long Beards, won't fail to bestow a Sardonick Smile upon me for these, as they'll call 'em, youthful Extravagancies, and perhaps too, they may justly enough blame me; but yet I can as justly appeal from their Sentence, as not capable Judges: They never knew what 'twas to love, or if they might possibly in days of yore have been enamoured on the beautiful Perfections, and perfect Beauties of one of Queen Bess' Maids of Honour, 'twas yet so long since, they may easily have forgotten it.  
I must therefore tell 'em what Love is, before they can be competent Deciders in this business, or know whether I am more unblamable or praiseworthy in admitting it a Guest into my tender Heart. Love is a natural Distemper, a kind of small Pox most have either had it, or is to expect it, and the sooner the better; surely I was never well cured on't in my Prenticeship, or I had never fallen into a Relapse when I was out of my Time; but want of Knowledge misguided me then, and so I fell into a Quagmire. But in my last Amour (as you'd find in my Rambles a wiving, which are to make a distinct Volume, containing New Observations concerning Love and Women, with my own experimental Reflections,) I was so discreet as not to advance a step without a Demonstration.  
Love is all Mystery and Maze— says one that had reason to know; but what's that to the purpose? 'Tis no better nor worse than one of Aristotle's occult Qualities, a Cover-slut for Ignorance, and only confessing in other words, that I can't tell what ' 'tis.  
However, I'm confident I know what 'tis not, though perhaps I can't so well tell what ' 'tis. Love is not Desire any more than the Hangman is the Lord Chief-Iustice: What Desire is there (in that Sense wherein 'tis here taken) when distance and absence part the Lover from his Object— Nay, to venture nearer, how easy and common is it even in the presence of what is most passionately and dearly loved, to abstract really as well as mentally, from any thing of that Nature. Even the Spark himself may be appealed to, whether he always desires his Mistress, and yet he'll swear heartily that he always loves her. Desire is the Flame of Love, and there is to be sure Fire without Flame, though hardly Flame without Fire; a little of one, and a little o' t'other does very well.  
After all, for the Platonick-tale is either a Whim, or a Cover, or Friendship, or nothing at all. It's true enough, nor can it modestly be denied, that the same sort of Love I have for a man, I may have for a Woman; but then for the most part the Sex will steal in, and quickly make a difference.  
That Wag Boccaline has a pleasant Story enough (among a great many others) in his Advertisements from Parnassus to this purpose— The Virtuosos there having fallen into the Acquaintance of some famous She-wits and Poetesses, and thought themselves for a long time extremely happy in a Platonic Conversation with 'em— But 'twas not long before Apollo discovered some such certain Familiarities and Intimacies betwixt his Virtuosos and the Ladies, that being afraid Parnassus would be overstockt if they continued there much longer, he immediately expelled all those dangerous Creatures, and ordained by a perpetual Edict they should never be admitted after.  
I could give a nearer and truer Instance to the same purpose— 'Twas not many years since, that there lived in Loudon a Sect of persons pretending to perfection— and perpetual Virginity— all their Love being Angelic, without the least mixture of Matter, though betwixt different Sexes every one having their particular Friend.  
Thus things continued for some Months, they admiring their own Purity and Sanctity above all Mankind— when behold— unluckily several of the Virgins began to burnish and thrive amain, and at the usual time, to the amazement of all the Society, this their pure Friendsh, sent several living Babes into the World— After which they were forced to drop their Principles, and be content with matrimonial Purity instead of that virginal one to which they at first pretended.  
Love is the Green-sickness in men— it makes 'em stark mad for Toys and Trifles, as Women are for Plaster and Oatmeal.  
Now you know what Love is, I'll tell you what 'twas I loved—  
She was— indeed— a Non-parel— a She-Phoenix, a half-Iris, a Match for Evander.  
Admired Mrs. Rachel!— thou Paragon of Beauty and Virtue— Roses, Stars, galleys, Pinks, Rubies, Pearls and Violets— nay, more (to make use of Similes at that time nearer to the purpose, and more upon my Heart)— Rost-beef, Mine'd-pies, Gammon of Bacon, Bottl'd-ale, Football, and Cricket-play. For thy dear sake I could neither eat Rost-beef, mawl Minc'd-pies, guzzle Plumb-porridge, take the Ball a Hand-kick as high as Bow-steeple Balcony, nor play at Cricket any more than a Trapstick— I looked like a Mome, a mere Ninnie, as I may say in Modesty, and dared not so much as squint in the classes as I went by the Cabinet-makers in Cheapside, lest I should discover a pair of Ears starting out of my Head two or three handfuls beyond the Standard— and then out of indignation fall a breaking the Glasses, and have ten pounds to pay for my Afternoons Ramble.  
The truth is, most of her Rubies and Pearls, were those of her Teeth and Lips; and she wore more sparkling Diamonds in her Eyes, than either on her Fingers, or in her Cabinet.  
Her Estate, I must confess, was somewhat like a Molehill on the Globe of the Earth, like Great Britain in the Map, when the Grand-Signior clapped his Thumb upon't, or all that Grecian's vast Estate, and spacious Demeans, which filled not so much as one single Line in the Description of the Globe.  
In a word; had she much, or had she little, I admired her, I adored her, I raved, stamped, stormed, fretted, fumed, foamed, and wanted nothing but a Chain, a Grate, and a Truss of Straw, to have made me as mad as any in Bedlam.  
Ah! thought I with myself, would this dear Creature but love me, I should be as good a man as my Master— a happier person than King Caesar, and as magnificent as Heliogabalus— no— I should never cease loving her, or love her less— 'tis impossible, had I her, I should not be content though I went a begging with a wooden Dish and Leg, and not feast, though I eat nothing but Sparibles and Pebble-stones— Then would I fall a rhyming (for that's the infallible Token of a true Staunch Fallback-fall-edge-Lover.) I robbed all Sternhold and Hopkins of their Flowers, and made Posies like any Firz-bushes (not for their roughness, but sweetness and largeness) some of which here follow.  
O Rachel dear— attend and hear  
The words that I do say,  
My plaints eke heed— so mayst thou speed  
For ever and for ay.  
My Heart is broke— by Love's fell stroke,  
My head also likewise,  
I will maintain— that I am slain  
By thy dead-doing Eyes.  
Then put thy fist— if that thou list  
Out of thy poke so kind,  
And when I'm dead— pull off my Head,  
Or I will look thee blind.  
Now you steer and snicker, Mr. Reader, because to show the Sweepingness of my Genius, I condescend to this humble sort of Poetry— I'll have you to know this was one of my first Essays, but like one truly inspired, as if I had undoubtedly washed my Lips in the Caballine Fount, I immediately mounted to the very top of Parnassus, grew a mere Adept in a twinkling, and was most intimately acquainted with all the Sylphs and Gnomes (called by the Ancients, Nymphs and Demigods, and Muses, who taught me the true galloping Pindaric, in which, as if Pindars Soul had crept into Evander (not Horace) he thus fell a courting his Mistress, though in their way forgetting what he's about, rambles to a Tale of a Cock and a Bull, and scarce says one word of her.  

In imitation of Horace— Book 2. Ode 20.  

NON usitatâ, nec temui ferar Penna—]   

No Sternholds or Hopkinsian strain  
My buskined Muse  
Henceforth will use,  
We such low thoughts disdain.   

[Biformis per liquidum aethera Vates—]   

A Bookseller and Poet too,  
Nor Earth nor Heaven such wonders saw before,  
Nor, shall do more,  
(Tho strange 'tis true.)   

[Neque in terris morabor  
Longius, invidiaque major  
Vrbes relinquam]   

What shall I longer stay below?  
Ungrateful London! what wilt thou prepare?  
What offers to detain me there?  
(If that e'nt fair, hang fair!)  
ere I from thee and Envy go.   

[Non ego pauperum  
Sanguis parentum— non ego quem vocas  
Dilecte, Maecenas, Obibo,  
Nec Stygiâ cohibebor undâ.]   

Mistake me not, I'm now no more  
That Rambling poor Foot-post I was before;  
Not that dark Wight, that nameless Man  
His Father called dear John, with his dear Nan:  
Nor think I'll still keep trotting here,  
To Paul's Churchyard or th' Auctioneer:  
Nor will I wade the Kennels through,  
And spoil new Hose and handsome Shoe.   

[Jamjam residunt cruribus asperae  
Pelles, & album mutor in alitem  
Superne, nascunturque leves  
Per digitos humerosque Plumae.]   

Tentoes farewel,— I'm changed into a Fowl  
Some call a Goose, but most an Owl:  
I feel, I rising feel from Rump to Crown  
My harsh black Hair melt to soft snowy Down;  
And I have Goose-quills of my own.  
[Then I rambled from Horace]  
My Body a pick-pack on my Soul,  
Rambles to view the spangled Pole,  
Rambles around to search my Dear,  
Unwearied Walks from Sphere to Sphere,  
Knocks at each door, and asks— Is Rachel here?  
With Legs for Oars th' aetherial Waves I plough,  
My Wings spread wide, the Sails unfurled  
Now, now,— just now—  
I scamper away through the Fields of the Air to the  
— End of the World.    
There's Flame,— there's Salt,— Air and Spirits, and all the four Elements together.— Show me such another Translation, Application, Improvement, and all that, and I'll sell you my Skull to make a Close-stool of, and use it as the King of the Lombard's did, for a Cawdle-Cup, after you have done with'●.  
And then for Prose-Love— I believe I went as far as any Man,— stabbing, dying, groaning, hanging I made nothing of 'twas my daily Employment and Recreation, and I could at last eat Knives or Rat's bane as fast as a Juggler. I grew careless toward any thing else; I could neither see, hear, taste, smell, nor understand any thing in the world but what related to my charming Rachelia (as I called her) with a little more Heroic turn than plain Rachel. And should an Evangelist, with an Angel at his Elbow, have told me that Goddess of my Soul had so much as one speck of Deformity, one single Mole, either in Body or Mind, I should have said— By your leave, Mr. Evangelist,— I must suspend my Faith.— Thus much would I have said to his Face out of civility, but behind his back no more have valued his Testimony than the Alcoran.— No— my purest pure had such a Soul, it shined through her Body, and such a Body, you might see her Soul through't. Which some may think much at one, but however there's a different conception in't, and it makes one line more to fill out the Book.  
You may perhaps think this History of my Love looks a little Rambling.— I'm glad on't, for it humours my design rarely, Love is besides of itself a very Rambling Passion.— Evander is sure he found it so for more Reasons than one, but especially because it made him Ramble so abominably from his Master's Shop and Business, and right or wrong make her Lodgings in the road to the place whither I was going, as commonly as could be taking Al●gate in the way to Temple-Bar; and on●e I remember, the Spring-Garden at Fox-Hall was my nearest road out of Cheapside into Paul's Churchyard.  
Neither is the Charms of Wapping Wapping Frolic any more to be forgotten than Prince Rupert, Squire Geeree, Madam T—lis, or the Green-Dragon.  
Ah the folly of green years!  
To be short, thus I continued Loving upon the stretch without fear or wit, so long till I had forgot myself and every thing else, till I found my Mind as much disfigured with that feverish disease, as my Face with the Smallpox,— and to lose— such a Face, and such a Mind—  
Il'l say no more, but it makes me still Lightheaded to think on't, since here only, from this unlucky period, may I date all the unhappinesses of my future Life,— as most Young Men may theirs; for to speak truth, I doubt it turned my Brains, and they hardly have ever been right since.  
However I had sense enough at last left to discover 
* Dr— ke and— i'll for that.  others were favoured more than me. But than was I ten times madder than ever Love had made me.— Raging I tore my Hair (pity!) and cried,— and almost died,— and wanted nothing but—  
— A Dale with Cypress surrounded—  
Either to have killed my Rival or hanged myself.  
This hanging brings to my mind a pretty Story, which though not much to the purpose, I'll tell the World, because but few of 'em have ever heard it; and after that let me alone to tack it to the present Story.  
A cunning Spark there was towards the end of our unhappy Civil Wars, during Cromwel's Usurpation, who had by practice arrived to an admirable dexterity in throttling Men, and hanging 'em whether they would or no, without the Formality of a Sheriff, a Psalm and a Ladder. He having admittance into Oliver's Embassador's Lodgings in Holland, pretends to present him a Petition, and while he was eagerly talking, out comes the Noose, ana whip— over Mr. Embassador's Head, and had certainly dismissed him before his time, had not one of the Retinue ran in to his assistance, while in the tumult made about it, the Hangman as well as Ambassador, slipped his Neck out of Collar, and got away in the Crowd.  
— A neat way 'twas,— well— at that rate dared I have fought with e'er a Rival in Christendom: For whatever happens, there's no Blood in this case, and till that comes, Evander's as Valiant a Lyon. Besides, Antipathy and Honesty would have secured me from letting the Rope ever touch my Shoulders; and I had no more feared they could have done me any hurt by making a Hempen Pass at me, than hang up a wet Eel by the Tail with a four penny Halter.  
However, lose I am from the Gallow-Tree of Love, but know no more how I got clear, than a Dog does when the Halter breaks and he runs away,— though methinks I look back upon't much at the same unpleasant rate, that the poor Cur leers over his Shoulder at the unlucky Branch which he has just escaped.  
And as the dying Wretches use to faith in those Circumstances (as you may see in Dunton's new Book)— I hope good People you'll all take warning by my sad Example, who alas as little thought once of coming to this place, as any of you here present to behold and bewail my unfortunate end. But just at the end of the Speech comes a gracious Reprieve, and instead of plain hanging, I am only to be transported— with joy I mean (that's a fancy) at my unexpected deliverance. But if e'er I ●all in Love again, unless by the grave way of Matrimony, or so, (for what's past was only Platonic) let me be turned over in good earnest, or what's worse— let me Love on till my Ears grow as long as Midas'. In the mean while, to carry on the Metaphor, as some Robbers when pardoned have discovered all the methods of the Road, and done their Country excellent Service, even so will I clear my Gizzard immediately, and declare all I know, that the incautelous Apprentice may avoid the danger I had been so near split upon.  
Fly Love as a Viper, and you'll easily outrun him.— You are invulnerable behind, (as Achilles in his Heel) but if you look but over your Shoulder, you're a dead Man. He's a double Basilisk, and whoever sees first, kills the Spectator as dead as a Log.  
When you perceive him bending his Bow at you (that's the Lasses pretty pinking Eyes) be sure you never stand him, and think to look him out of Countenance, for 'tis an impudent young Rogue as ever lived by Marchpane and Sugar-plumbs. Remember here Cowardice is the truest Valour, and Evander is an Alexander. Wink when you fight with Love, if you ever hope to conquer.— Ha!— now he levels all his Ordnance at ye, — whole Broadsides,— upper and lower Teer,— you sink to the deep if you lie there any longer. The Portholes are all up,— the Tombkins out, Primed, Match ready,— the little Fireship of a Woman opens her Lips, and discovers two Rows of Teeth enough to charm an Angel,— so smooth, so white, so even, and so pretty. There's no remedy, unless you get out of Gun-shot (a Ducal coil of Cables will hardly do) but she has ye between Wind and Water, ●akes ye fore and aft, and down you go to the deep.  
If you would'nt be in Love, never be idle, nor worse employed than if you were. Do ned read Romances or Amorous Tales, at least till your Mind is formed, and you have seen something of the World: Otherwise you'll be immediately for Christening yourself with one barbarous heathen Name or other, unless you light upon the Seven Champions, and then— whip— you are St. George and the Kitchenmaid perhaps, or next tawdry Sempstress, the beautiful Sabra, only Daughter to the Black King of Morocco.  
Keep sober, have a care of Claret, use Phlebotomy, and I warn't you'll fly t'other thing in the Almanac. To sum up all, do ned play the Fool, and you ne'er need fear falling in Love,  
Probatum est, Kainophilus Vander.   

CHAP. IX.  
Of the Authors.  
GVardeuz vous Gentlemen! Look all to your hits, for here's a silly sarcastical Fellow whispers me in the Ear, and tells me, if I'll take his Advice, we shall be very witty upon ye, if ye know how. There let him e'en scold by himself if he please, for I'll have nothing to do with't, nor am ned such a Fool to run my Pen, as the Smith did his red-hot Gad, among a whole Nest of Hornets, lest I should both ●ire my own Hatches, and bring all about my Ears into the bargain.  
However, since he's so importunate, I'll step in, and ask the Advice of my old Friends P— and— G— that perfect Pylades and Orestes to one another; f●r G— loves P— as well as C—rs, and P— loves G— as well as K. james, and I'll willingly be at the charge to have 'em both erect a Scheme for that very purpose, and tell me whether the Enterprise will be dangerous or no—  
— So 'tis done,— What's all this Conjuring? — Saturn, Mars, Trigon, Dragon's-Head—,- Tail,— ay, for this I am much the wiser, I hope they'll be pleased to construe it, for I see 'tis all Heathen-Greek to Evander. I see 'tis done to my hand, and in Verse too, as excellent as their own monthly Doggrel.  
For Reasons not so proper to be shown,  
But to the Stars, and our own selves best known:  
'Tis our infallible Prognostication,  
Thy greatest danger will be— Fustigation.  
Now must I be forced to go to another Conjurer to know the meaning of that last ugly hard word, which I do ned like the Looks of— Fustigation— methinks the very word smells of Crabtree, and I dare lay a broken Pate there's something of a Cudgel in't. Let me consider therefore very gravely how my Ribs stand affected that way.— There was I remember a Namesake of mine in New-England, who on the Report of the French's Resolution to attack those Parts, not knowing how fight would agree with him, gave a Fellow Half a Crown to thrash him with discretion, and rise by degrees both in weight and number of the blows as he found he liked it. I am ned willing to repeat this Trial, for perhaps that would be a double drubbing, when perhaps one would do. Hang all these Prognosticating Wizzards, they know no more than I do. Was not one of 'em a shrewd cunning Fellow, to Prophesy of the than Prince's landing in England, when he heard it talked of in Holland by every Herring-woman? And then was't not a very shrewd and lucky hit, and deep discovery, that whenever he landed, the Priests would run away?— And there's the Marrow of a whole Twelvemonths Conjuration.  
But then for t'other of 'em, that blessed Saint, who deserves to have his Name inserted in the room of the Gunpowder-Treason, which he left out in his Almanac. He must certainly have a great many Familiars at his back, who lived once so nigh Hell, when a Tailor working up in a Garret, and almost the same advantage to view the Stars, with the Eastern Nations, who were the first Astronomers, from the tops of their Houses.  
Riddle me, riddle me, Mr. G. & eris mihi magnus Apollo,— and I'll make a Pope of thee,— Whether will the Prince of Wales be a Boy or a Girl? Is this same here a likely Fellow to kill a King? Will I. D. of M. be routed? Who shall have the best on't at Salisbury? When comes King Arthur home again? — Alas! alas! the Idols are chap-fall'n, and the Oracles dumb,— not a word to save a Kingdom.  
But is Madam C—rs silent too? Nay then either the World or She won't last much longer. That Pythonissa to the Catholic Oracle, who received her Inspirations the same way the Priestesses did of old. She heaves— poor Wretch, the fits just on her,— how strong she is!— she swells strangely, and at last out comes the bloody Bladder, and there's an end on't.  
Modest Creature,— the very naming her in public, will make her go near to blush herself to death. Young, pretty, innocence,— how it looks!— She appears in Court in such Confusion as a poor Wench at Fisteen that come● to swear a Rape upon a Man.  
An Author too? Was not a Midwife, and al● the appurtenances of that honourable Calling, enough for one B— d to live upon? Must she Midwife Pamphlets as well as Bastards into the World?— Ay, and that of her own Handwriting, and Conceiving (without help of Man) as sure as ever the young Royal Babe was his who owned him.  
Will you murder a poor Old Woman? a Compassionable Creature,— have a little pity, Ʋander,— if not— there's one stands behind, that efack will tickle you off as bad as you have her.  
— Who— my old Friend Nobbs!— poor tame thing, his Sting is gone, and he han't been able to Fiddle any Tune worth hearing this many a fair day.  
'Tis true, he makes a shift, like an old Musician thrown out of the Playhouse, to stroll up and down to Alehouses and Booths, and Wakes and Fairs, and Whitson-Ales, or the like, to pick up a few Pence now and then, tho' scarce enough to pay for Rozin.  
I should make him too proud, I'm certain, if I should tell him his Writings were very much like Evander's, and just such a Rambling Air may be found in one as in 't other. Nay perhaps I took the hint from him of this very way, which has since been so acceptable to the World.  
He played the Fool, made People laugh, writ ●on to the end of the Chapter, without thinking one minute, and got Money by't, and just so does Evander.  
Hark ye, Sir Kainophil! comes a little piece 〈◊〉 Crape buzzing in my Ears.— Consider what you say and do,— there's respect due to the ●●fortunate, especially those who have been Great, and are still Men of Sense and Ingenuity. That Person you speak of so scurrilously, has perhaps done as much Honour to the English Language, as most others you can name. There's something so pleasant and bewitching in the worst of his Writings, that they Charm even where they Wound; and his Fallacies are so neat, they'd almost tempt one to shut one's Eyes and believe they're all sound Reason. There's something very Masterly in all he writes, and what you'll hardly meet in any other. And besides you know what he has done of undoubted value; he only has had the rare happiness of bettering some of the best Authors in a Translation, and his Seneca and Offices will live as long as the World.  
All this I knew before, but what's this to Honesty? there's the Jewel.— Wit is no more commendable in a Knave, than Courage in a Highwayman.— A Man that betrays his Religion and Country in pretending to defend it, and writes round to all the Points of the Compass,— that's not only for breaking down the Walls, and dismounting the Cannon when the Enemy is at the Gate, but for opening that too to let● 'em in; and can't plead ignorance, as other Me● perhaps might in the same Circumstances. One that's ungrateful for Benefits and Bread▪ and snaps at the hand that gives it, that's notoriously immoral, and by his Conversations manifests no more respect to the Laws of God than Men; but thinks a Gentleman may dispense with one, as well as a King with the other. Such a Man, let him be what he will for Wit or Sense, can never yet be esteemed basely enough, or rendered more contemptible than he deserves.  
(As for young Nobbs, I have nothing to say to him at present, but only wish he may take care not to follow the Example of his Predecessor.)  
'Tis pity Towzer's old Worrier, Harry Care, is ned now alive; but instead of him, we could ●end him a poor Namesake of his with a Discourse of Uncleanness, were not Threescore and ten a better Antidote against it than all the Books i' the World.  
Would one ever think it possible that a Person of the Sagacity and Experience of some Persons, should go to such a Person as S— the Conjurer to know whether he were best run away, when he was like to be hanged if he stayed any longer?  
O S— thou Shame of all Authors, Astrologers, Physicians and Rhimers, as much as Kainophilus of Booksellers! The Shame, because the Glory; for thou out-shinest and dazzlest 'em all in every one of those noblest Professions, as much as Tho. Sternhold would thee in Poetry, were he yet alive. So true was the Character the Western Hangman 
* jefferies.  gave thee,— Whatever thou may'st be for a Conjurer, thou art certainly the Devil of a Poet.— And if there's any thing in the Stories of Inchantation, thy Verses have as much virtue in 'em as any Abracadabra in the World; for it must be a very stubborn malady indeed, that would not out to hear thy Poetry. 'Tis true, there's a small mistake in some of 'em, unless taken with a Grain,— thy Medicines as thy Bills tell the World—  
Will cure any curable Diseases  
If by Medicines are meant Verses, the Bill is certainly in the right; for if so long since as Virgil's time, 'twas notorious that— Cantando rumpitur anguis, Now Art and Poetry are so much improved, 'twould split a very Dragon to hear thee charm over him.  
However, what's more to the purpose, thou dost certainly charm abundance of little white and yellow Angels into thy own Pocket, and all the while look in the Faces of the choosed Wretches, whence they are conjured as innocently and sincerely as if every Lie thou tell'st 'em were Gospel: and all the Infallible Q●ack-Medicines thou sell'st 'em, were nothing under Bezoar-stone, or Aurum Potabilt.  
Among all the wise Droves attending for Responses at this Oracle, who ever thought to have found my Friend Democritus, & c? What Female-Devil is't he'd be acquainted with? A Wag I warn't him, — there's Nose, there's Eyes, there's Complexion.— Well— if all this fails, I'll ne'er trust Physiognomy again. An Author too as sure as Infallibility.— See but how he bites his Nails, and scratches his Head, and twirls his Fingers, all mortal symptoms of the plague of Writing.  
O the virtue of Broom-Ale, certainly there's no other Helicon.— But an Author and an honest Fellow, love his Friend, hum a merry Song, pay every one his own, not run in debt, not ask for his Money till the Copy is finished, have no cares, sing and dance away a thoughtless Life,— why these are all Miracles, and there's not such another Precedent (unless in Kainophilus perhaps) throughout the whole Corporation.  
Well— if I do get a sound dry basting, I am fated into't as much as ever the Author of that word himself was; for I no more intended to fall a-board my good Friends the Authors, than to mawl my own Face, as you may see at the beginning of this Chapter, but ha'been drilled along from G G —y to C—rs, and so on, till now I was as good plunge quite through, for I'm fairly got Half-Seas over without knowing where I was.  
And the next I intent to Ramble to, is a certain famous Doctor and no Doctor, who has been an inveterate Press-mauler for above this twenty year. He has printed at least a hundred Bound Books, and some two hundred Sermons,— but the cheapest pretty pat things all of 'em,— pence a piece as long as they'll run, which, if you'll step into Smithfield or Moorfields, you may hear some Ballad-Singer or other tuneing to the sad and doleful Ditty that he sung just before.  
I was reading one of 'em with a great deal of application and care, when all o'th' sudden I was frighted out of my sober Thoughts with a whole volley of Oaths, fired like a Blunderbuss up the Garret-Stairs where this Author and I were confabulating,— and at length the thing appeared that made all the noise. I at first could not imagine what 'twas,— it looked like a Wood-Coal half out, red in the middle, and covered with white Ashes o' both sides on't. Away the thing rolled to t'other side of the room, then between tumbled and sat down upon a decrepit Joynt-stool (some of the best Furniture Authors Houses use to be provided with) and after having breathed a little while longer, which I could compare to nothing but the twinkling of a Coal just before it goes out, fell a Swearing again so loud, I began to fear he'd untile the House, or blow us all out at the Window.  
I have heard of a famous piece, called, A satire against—; but how much soever that was cried up, dare aver this Person was himself a greater and sharper satire against Debauchery, than ever that was against—  
He began after disimboguing some mouthfuls more of Oaths, to speak a few words without 'em, and now and then something witty enough would drop from him, but so lewd, so fulsomly, nauseously wicked, such a nuisance to Mankind as well as Christianity, that I wonder our Authors don't expel him from among 'em.  
'Twas about Change-time I remember when we saw him, and he never comes out of his Hole till Noon; so that I find he had improved his time well, and in a modest computation was got most entirely Drunk in about an hour.— But never did poor Wretch pay more dearly for his Debauchery than he does. No sooner gets he home, and falls down dead-drunk as Brandy can make him, (as he never is, not to wrong him, above once a day) but old Kate, his Shee-Familiar of a Wife, takes him to task, and with a powerful Wand that she has atop of the Bed, does so, so lace him, till she's so weary of the Exercise she can hardly stand any more than he, and then lugs him to Bed, as the Butchers carry Hogs by the hind Leg. But the next day, when the poor penitent Creature wakes,— O Kate! O what's the matter wi' me! — my Bowels, my Ribs!— O Kate— my old Bones are all turned to Jelley in my Body!— for pity, — one Gill of Brandy!— one Noggin—! one Comfort! or— O, a little warm Ale to put me in a Sweat, and if ever I recover this bout, I'll be the best Husband in the World! I'll Translate like a Packhorse, and Compose like a Dragon,— and bring home a whole Peck full of Money every Saturday night.  
But then to hear her answer in a Note above all those in the Greek Musicians.  
O thou old sinful Fornicator— see what you bring yourself to— here you ha' been among your drunken Companions— quarrel and fight, and are sound basted among 'em, then make a bad shift to reel home; and I must have the mending on ye again, must I— no— lie and rot where you are, for I am ne'er a doit the better for ye.  
Nay, now Kate— you're obdurate— will nothing mollitie— ●Tis too long to tell you all the Dialogue, so we'll leave that, and take up one of Lucian's.  
Why, F— d! I looked for a Book, and here is nothing but a Preface, or at least the Porch hinders one from seeing the House— But why of all Loves is this devout Christian so wondrous angry with the Fathers for pilfering poor Lucian to fill up some gaps in their Sermons? Is there no medium but the reverend old Gentleman must needs be guilty of flat Felony (I hope though not beyond benefit of Clergy,) is there no remedy? And why may ned good Wits j●mp, the Fathers and Lucian, as well as you and Dablancour?  
And now we talk of Fathers, commend me to Daniel in the Den— there he is fast enough, but how he'll get out again, is all the question. He's no more likely to stir then his— Angels locked in direful Chains— well— 'tis even a very Tragical business, and there's an end on't— or at least both sides wish there was, and with equal reason.  
I protest there's more lewdness among us Authors, than I could ever have imagined. I slept in (among my other Rambles) and called to see a certain little Poetical Friend and Acquaintance, but I found he had taken up my Employment, and Rambled himself to Bartholomew-Fair with Mrs. Isabel— Let 'em alone unless they were better, and make Room for some of a fairer Character— and room must be made, for here comes Brother K— mounted upon some Apocalyptical Beast or other, with Babylon before him, and Zion behind him, and a hundred thousand Bulls, and Bears, and furious Beasts of Prey, roaring, and ramping, and bellowing at him so hideously, that unless some kind Angel drop from the Clouds and hacks and hews very plentifully among 'em, he must certainly be torn as small as a Love-Letter, and then chawed and devoured— and worse than all, perhaps turned out again a little less sweet than he went in.  
Then will he make such lamentable Dittys, that 'twould be almost worth the while to try the Experiment upon him to hear 'em. Yea, he would be wounded as much as his own Zion, and take some of the Doggrel out of her Mouth, to make his sad and doleful Complaint.  
To the best of Vander's Memory, he has dressed one of the aforesaid Ladies great Persecutors in Crape, with a little Band and a Rose in his Hat— sure this is he— that brings up the Rear of the Authors.  
But who is't has been persecuting him of late— What else is the meaning of that Patch over half his Face, and his Hand over the rest on't? I dare venture the price of the next Copy, he has no Money in his Pocket, and that he's now railing in's Heart at all the World— But there's no Love lost between 'em; and because he's my Friend, I'll tell him what they say of him to be even with him.  
He's a silly, empty, conceited, morose, maggoty Fellow (cry they, for I'd not say so for a World, what— disoblige an Author! no, catch me at that— but thus still they say, and I can bring witness on't if there was any occasion) of no Principles, and as little Honour or Honesty.  
A small poetical Insect, like Bays in every thing but writing well— an odd mixture of Lead and Mercury— as heavy and dull as an old Usurer, and yet as unfixt and whimsical as Evander. Still changing, displeased, unquiet, uneasy, a perfect Contradiction to himself and all the World?  
Culprit— By whom will ye be tried?  
Cheer up Mr. Author, Evander's your Council, and all's well enough.  
Not by his Country, unless he liked 'em better— By myself, and the other part of the Answer. Perhaps all this Indictment is true, but I believe 'tis not; and my reason is, because he would then thrive better; for such as you talk of, I can only see respected and valued. If to be no Bigott of one side, or to defile ones own Nest, or contradict one's Judgement o' tother, be having no Principles; I acknowledge he has no more than those that make the Objection. If he is angry with the World, and scorns it into the bargain, he now both treats and esteems it as it deserves, too hard a Task for those whom it flatters, or perhaps for himself, should it ever change its Humour, and grin upon him.  
In the mean time, who is not restless that's uneasy— bid a sick man lie still, or preach Patience to one that is pinched and pricked with Needles, and you may chance to make him laughed at ye in the midst of his Torment.  
In spite of his present Quarrel with the World, he loves the brave, and never envies Virtue when he sees it fortunate, but rather feels such a pleasure, as nothing else here gives him. If he's angry when a Knave grows great, while an honest Fellow starves by him; wiser folks than he have played the fool in the same manner, and fretted at what can't be avoided.  
But we must not have a Sermon as long as one and thirtiethly Beloved— take Vander's Counsel, Let the World alone, and that will do the same by you— But while you pester 'em thus with your troublesome Objections and Answers, waste so many Reams of Paper when 'tis so dear, and might be better employed at the Bakehouse, or House of Office, and print as many weak, ridiculous things as Kainophilus himself; they must even, in their own defence, rail at ye; and if you have any Friends left, you'll as certainly lose them as you have the other— Thus impartial I love to be— Stay Ʋander— quoth he for himself, I defy all the World to make me have one Friend less than I have already— while you and I hold together a Fig for Fortune— Those who complain I write silly Things, are very much in the right, but one of these two they must grant, either that I can do better, or cannot; if the last, why do they blame me? if the first, let the World thank itself for finding me no better Employment— which till it does, I'll pester it, I'll rail at it, I'll have no mercy upon that, or myself; in the mean time let it even pity me, or scorn me as it thinks fit, for I shall be just as much the better for one, as the worse for t'other— and so— have amongst 'em again.  


To the Poets.  
TO you who lived by Drink, not Eating,  
Your Brother Rhymer sendeth greeting,   

Abdicated.  
A Fumbler past fifty,  
ungodly, unthrifty,  
Who lost Wit and Pension together.  
So greedy, so needy,  
So wild, and so giddy.  
He'd turn Turk should the Mufti come hither.   

Laureate.  
A Rhymer so famed,  
Need ne'er be ashamed  
Of his Faiths or his Works imperfection.  
The Players all fear  
He'll turn Priest the next year,  
And leave 'em to another Election.   

— A poor Lunatic—  
Leave Bro●m, or thouart mad,  
And drink Helebore, Natt:  
Nor disgrace the Poetic Profession!  
If thou'rt madder than they,  
They'll all run away,  
And leave thee whole Bedlam's possession.   

Prince Prettyman.  
And is it not pity  
That an Author so pretty,  
With a second Translation should cheat us!  
Persuades if you can,  
That this 
* Vid. Frontis. of Creeches Horace.  Goose is a Swan,  
Or Horace akin to Lucretius.   

Lock and Key.  
Is the Narrative done.  
Or how goes it on,  
Speak E●kanah! out of thy Garret.  
Such a Picture and Tale  
Like his Play could ned fail,  
When he hoped the brave Irish would carry't.   

Sol fa.  
Thou canst play, thou canst sing  
To a Mayor, or a King,  
Tho thy luck on the Stage is so scurvy.  
Such a Beau, such a Face,  
Such a Voice to disgrace  
Such a mine, 'tis the De'el Mr. D—   

The humble Address, etc.  
Of Critics the best  
Why dost thou contest  
To make such a Whelp of an Author?  
While thou lashest the School,  
Thy own Works are more dull  
Than any man living e'er saw there.   

Jack Gentleman  
Since Jordan is dead,  
Why's his Successor fled,  
When the Pageants so dearly did need him?  
Death of late made a Feast  
Both of HERO and PRIEST,  
And he went o'er the Sea to succeed 'em.    
The rest will keep cold. Now would I fain see the Faces of all those Gentlemen who find their own here— but I can't guests at 'em without Book — D— swells, S— swears, L— raves, T— smiles, E— struts, and so on— I hope they'll fall upon the Author. Lampoon him to some purpose, and then my Book's made— it runs like Lightning; and I don't fear two Impressions, no more than it (in days of yore) 'twas got into the Observator.  
Don't be so brisk, cries another wise, grum Fellow that sees me pluming and cocking— Those Gentlemen have all more Wit— they'll no more mind you, than the Gallant in t'other Book, did Clark, but let you, your Author, and your Doggrel sink in that Obscurity and Oblivion they deserve.  
To let the Reader see I han't forgot myself all this while, any more than a Spaniel loses his way when he runs over Hedge and Ditch; I'l● now return to my main business, the Life of young Kainophilus— who by this time had run thr●● his seven years pleasant Slavery, and was now ready to shake off those golden Chains, for such were his made by so good a Master; of which he'll take his leave with one notable Occurren●● more, which ought not to be forgotten— The● day before his Time was out, he received the● 199th Letter from his Father, which he sent during his Prenticeship, and that very day another, which made up the precise Sum of 200; all which he yet preserves thro' all his Travels, Rambles, Uppings and Downing, and Forthgoing and Incoming of his Life, and will no more part with 'em than with his Freedom when he has it, but resolves to have 'em buried under his Head (as the old Woman her Bag of Nuts) when he creeps into the dark hole in the 24th. Globe of the Frontispiece.  
However, the Thoughts of that did ned spoil his Mirth, but abroad he ranged like a young Swallow in the Spring, with so much sprightliness and joy, that he could hardly feel himself, or the Air he breathed in.— H● (or I, 'tis much the same) had the good fortune to be courted and esteemed by all that knew him; and was a Lad of singular Expectations, and extraordinary Hope. Honours met him wherever he walked, and his ways were strowed with Compliments and How●d'y's.  
The greatest Sphere in which he acted at his first stepping over the Threshold into the World, was that of an Addresser— He had the honour to be one of the brisk London Prentices (a matter of some 30000 in all) who presented the famous Petition to Sir P. W. nay, so great was his Reputation, he was chosen the Treasurer to that honourable Society (though the Secretary's place might have done as well) and he it was who had the happiness of their Company at a magnificent Feast made at his Freedom— And happy too happy had it been for Evander had Fortune still thus smiled upon him, and he been happy still— Yes, and he was so for some fair years after— but how happy then, and how unhappy afterwards, how he fell in Love with Iris, and dispatched the grand Affair of Matrimony, how he turned Author and then Rambler— he'll tell you immediately— but first must step to the Printers to get this Book worked off, and you shall have the Third  
— Before a pot of good Ale you can swallow,  
and further saith not—  Yours ever Evander. 
The End of the Second Volume.     

Books lately Printed.  
PRactical Discourses on Sickness and Recovery, in several Sermons, as they were lately preached in a Congregation in London, by Timothy Rogers, M. A. after his Recovery from a Sickness of near two years' continuance.  
Mr. Roger's Sermon, preached upon the Death of a young Gentleman, entitled, Early Religion; or, the way for a Young Man to remember his Creator. Mr. Shower's Sermon at Madam Ann Barnardistans Funeral.  
A Voyage round the World, or a Pocket-Library; divided into several Volumes: The first of which contains the rare Adventures of Don KAINOPHILUS, from his Cradle, to his Fifteenth Year; the like Discoveries (in such a method) never made by any Rambler before; the whole Work intermixed with Essays, Historical, Moral and Divine, and all other kinds of Learning. Written by a Lover of Travels, and recommended by the Wits of both Universities. Price Bound 1 s. 6d.  
The Second Volume of the Pocket-Library, intermixed with wholesome Instructions for the management of a Man's whole Life. As also with particular Remarks on the most noted Booksellers, Authors and Poets in the City of London. Price Bound 1 s. 6 d.  
The Vaniety and Impiety of Judicial Astrology, whereby Men undertake to foretell Future Contingencies, especially the particular Fates of Mankind by the Knowledge of the Stars. By Francis Crow, M. A.  
The Character of a Williamite, being the Reverse of a late unlicensed Treatise, entitled, The Character of a jacobite, by what Name or Title soever dignified or distinguished. Written by a Person of Quality.  
A true and impartial Narrative of the Dissenters New Plot; together with an Account of the chief Conspirators Names and principal Consults, as well as of several Persons of Quality who have abetted and encouraged them. By one who was deeply concerned therein. This Book has made a great noise in the World, by being misunderstood. Price 6.  
A Discovery of the horrid Association and Conspiracy of the Papists in Lancashire, to raise War and Rebellion in the Kingdom of England, during the absence of King William in Ireland; In a Letter of Instruction from a Roman Catholic of great Quality in London, to a Papist Mutineer in Lancashire. Price 6 d.  
An Antidote against Lust: Or, a Discourse of Uncleanness; showing its various Kind's, great Evil, the Temptations to it, and most effectual C●re. By Robert Carr, Minister of the Gospel.  
Casuistical Morning Exercises, the Fourth Volume, by several Ministers in and about London, preached in October, 1689.  
A New Martyrology: Or the Bloody Assizes, now exactly methodised in one Volume, comprehending a complete History of the Lives, Actions, Trials, Sufferings, Dying Speeches, Letters and Prayers of all those eminent Protestants who f●ll in the West of England, and elsewhere, from the Year 1878. to 1689. The Third Edition with large Additions.  
Mr. Oak's Funeral Sermon.  
Mr. Kent's Funeral Sermon: Both preached by Mr. Samuel Slater.  
A complete History of the Life and Military Actions of the General of all the Irish Rebels now in Arms; wherein you have an Account of his Birth and Education, his Advancement and Honours, his treacherous Disarming the Protestants, and Cruelties towards them; The Progress of his Arms; the Towns he has taken and demolished, the Families he has ruined; together with a Relation of the Skirmishes, Battles, Sieges, and remarkable Transactions which have happened in Ireland; with the particulars of the bloody Fight in the North, the manner of the late King's Landing at Kingsail, with what remarkable has happened since; as also a brief Description of the Kingdom of Ireland in its Provinces, Principal Towns, Fortresses, Situation, and present deplorable State. Dedicated to the Gentlemen-Soldiers now in Their Majesty's Army in Ireland. Price 1 s.  
Early Piety, exemplified in the Life and Death of Mr. Nathaniel Mather, who having become at the age of Nineteen an Instance of more than common Learning and Virtue, changed Earth for Heaven, Octob. 17. 1688. The Second Edition, with a prefatory Epistle by Mr. Matthew Mead.  
The Tragedies of Sin, together with Remarks upon the Life of the Great Abraham. By Stephen jay, Rector of Chinner in Oxfordshire.  
— Daniel in the Den, by the same Author.  
Poetical Fragments, by Richard Baxter. Published for the use of the Afflicted. The Second Edition.  
Mr. Lee's Joy of Faith.  
Dr. Robert's Key to the whole Bible. In Folio.  
Observations on several remarkable Passages throughout the Old and New Testament.  
The Progress of Sin: Or, The Travels of Ungodliness. The Second Edition. By B. Keach. Price 1 s.  
A Search after Honesty and plain Dealing: Written by Dr. Shirley. Price bound, 1 s.  
Poems on several Subjects never handled before. Written by an Oxford Scholar.  
The Complete Tradesman: Or, The Exact Dealers daily Companion, instructing him in the whole Art and Mystery of Trade and Traffic. Price Bound 1 s.  
The Travels of True Godliness, from the beginning of the World to this present day, in an apt and pleasant Allegory. The Seventh Edition. By. B. Keach. Price 1 s.  
The Abdicated Prince: Or, The Adventures of four years. The Second Edition. Price 1 s.  
The Bloody Duke: Or, The Adventures for a Crown. Price 1 s.  
The Late Revolution: Or, The Happy Change. Written by a Person of Quality. Price 1 s.  
The Royal Voyage: Or the Irish Expedition. Price 1 s.  
These Four last Books contain a full Account of the Private Intrigues of the two last Reigns, and of all the most Remarkable Transactions that have happened since.  

Now in the Press, and going to it, viz.  
A Treatise of Fornication occasioned by the late Birth of several Illegitimates in the Parish of C—To which is added a Penitentiary Sermon preached before the Guilty Persons in the public Congregation, upon john 8. 11.— Go and sin no more.  
The Third Volume of the Pocket-Library, etc. Reformed Religion, or Right Christianity described in its Excellency and Usefulness in the whole Life of Man: By M. Barker, Minister of the Gospel. The Second Edition, with Additions.  
The Pilgrim's Guide: To which is added the Sick-man's Passing-bell. The Second Edition.   

Newly Published.  
THE Wonders of Free Grace: Or, A Complete History of all the Remarkable Penitents that have been Executed at Tyburn, and elsewhere, for these last thirty years; containing Bishop Atherton's Life and Death, who was executed for B— r●. Bringhurst's Life and Death. Bottler's Life and Death. Nathaniel Butler's Life and Death. Charles Butler's Life and Death. Clark, her Life and Death. Evans, her Life and Death. Parson Foulk's Life and Death. Hobry, her Life and Death. Holland's Life and Death. Kirk's Life and Death. Marketman's Life and Death. Morgan's Penitent Death. Parker's Life and Death. Savage's Life and Death. Short's Life and Death. Stern's Life and Death.  
To which is added, a Sermon preached in the Hearing of a Condemned Malefactor immediately before his Execution.    

THE Pocket-Library.  
VOL. III.  
Containing a further Account OF THE JUVENILE RAMBLES OF DON KAINOPHILUS, With his first Project of Girdling the World, etc.  
The whole WORK intermixed with Essays Historical, Moral and Divine.  This Ramble is my Son: Randolph. 
LONDON, Printed for Richard Newcome. 1691. Price Bound 1 s. 6 d.   

ADVERTISEMENTS.  
1. THere is just now published, The Present State of 〈◊〉 Or, The Historical and Political Mercury; giving an Account of all the Public and Private Occurrences that are most considerable in every Court, for the Month of November, 1690. Sold at the Rav●n in the Portray, where are to be had every Month (to this time) beginning from july, 1690.  
2. A Voyage Round the World, or a Pocket Library, Vol. II. containing the rare Adventures of Don Kai●●philus during his Seven years ‛ Prenticeship: The whole work intermixed with Instructions for the management of a 〈…〉 As also with particular remarks on the 〈…〉 Booksellers Authors and Poets in the City of London. Price bound 1 s. 6 d.  
3. The Wonders of Freegrace: Or, A Comple●t History of all the Remarkable Penitents that have been Executed at Tyburn and elsewhere, for these last Thirty years; containing Bishop Atherton's Life and Death, who was Executed afore B—ry. Bringhurft's Li●e and Death. Bottler's Life and Death. 〈…〉 Life and Death. 〈…〉 's Life and Death. Clark, her Life and Death. Evans, her Life and Death. Parson Foulk's Life and Death. Hobry, her Life and Death. Holland's Life and Death. Kirk's Life and Death. Marketman's Life and Death. Morgan's Penitent Death. P●rker's Life and Death. Savage's Life and Death. Short`s' Life and Death. Stern's Life and Death. To which is added, a Sermon preach`d in the Hearing of a Condemned Malefactor immediately before his 〈◊〉 by 〈◊〉 Price ●ound 1 s.  
4. The Vanity and Impiety of Judicial Astrology, whereby men undertake to Foretell future Contingencies, especially the particular Fates of Mankind, by the Knowledge of the Stars. By Francis Crow, M. A.  
All Four Sold at the Raven in the Poultry.   

TO His Honoured Friend, JOHN KING, Esq (my late Fellow-Traveller through part of America, Germany, Holland, and other Countries,) and now going again to Ramble.  
GReat Travel (saith the Holy Text) is ordained for the Sons of Adam, and none of his Posterity has been found without his share, since our Life is but a Pilgrimage, and all of us in a way-faring condition on this side Eternity. No sooner do we leave the little Closers where we were framed, than we begin our Ramble to those more spacious Chambers in the bowels of the Earth. Every breath we draw, is a step towards it; and whilst you are reading this, you pass one of the Stages on the Road. And therefore, most dear Sir, I do not at all discommend your present design, that is laid upon so just and ancient Foundations; but seeing you are going again to launch yourself into an Ocean in which lie many Rocks, whereon some for want of skill, or inadvertency, have suffered Shipwreck, it will not be amiss to take a Map along with you; wherein you may discover those Gulfs on which many before you have been ruined, and so avoid those Misfortunes which their Destruction has rendered more signal.  
By Travel a Man may be said to reduce into Practice that which before he only had the Theory of, without being deluded by the often erroneous Assertions of others; and how fatal unto Truth the dependence upon the Tradition and Authority of Men has been, Truth itself can best discover. Not that by this I would seem to impose a necessity of Travelling upon all Mankind, for I know all are not equally qualified for it; nor is it absolutely necessary to our well-being. But seeing Novelty is a thing so agreeable to our nature, besides the delight which the mighty Variety will afford you, you will be thereby rendered more amiable unto all your Acquaintance, when it shall please God to return you unto them again.  
Every body will find something in you that will be pleasing to himself; one will be ravished with the Spices of Arabia, and another with the gaudy Plumes of the Indians, whilst you yourself shall be able to make more advantageous Collections (out of the great Book of Nature,) and observe how the Image of the Creator, as in several sorts of shapes, is represented in every Nation, as well as in every Man.  
The Gluttony of the Dutch, and the Drunkenness of the Germane; the morose 〈◊〉 of the Spaniard, and the fantastical Airiness of the French; the revengeful Subtlety of the Italian, and the stable Fidelity of the English, will be no unpleasing Diversion; when in the enjoyment of the latter, you may recollect the dangers and inconveniences of the others: The Barbarity of the Heathen, will make you bless the Fate which has placed you in another Society; and some good Men which you may find among them, (for Pearls are of●en in the Sands) will make you admire the Excellency of Morality, and perhaps laugh at the idle O●tentations of those who after all their pretences to more direct Rules, take more oblique Courses.  
These will be the noblest Objects of your regard.  
And thus you may give a better Account of your time than that unfortunate Traveller, who being demanded by some Friends, What kind of place Venice was? made answer, That haste and approaching night made him gallop through it without taking any notice of it, and too many may be found of that humour, who to conceal their Ignorance, often 〈◊〉 it with worse Circumstances, as is said of the Woman who with her clothes to save the misfortune which from a window fell on her head, exposed those other parts which Decency and Nature obliged her to conc●al.  
I will no longer trouble you with the Advantages of Travel, because you cannot be without a prospect of them, by which you are chiefly induced to undertake it. And I question not but those which you will make, will give you a view of more to be acquired; of which when you are Master, they will represent others unto you, and so by a long Concatenation of what at once doth profit and delight, ●●ad you to such things as in their fruition will make you capable of greater Achievements.  
Perhaps the following Observations will not be altogether unwornhy your perusal, and a place in your Palmers-scrip. They have been the Reflections of my Retirements when in them, as from some distant height I took a little View of the World, and if you shall find them either profitable or delightful, my endeavours can receive no greater Compensation, than to arrive at so desirable a Goal.  
And I hope you'll find 'em both, seeing Man is naturally an Inquisitive Creature, continually hankering after Novelties; and though for the most part a mere Stranger at home, regardless of the Geography of his own Breast, (as I shall show in a Treatise entitled, A Map of Man: Or, wander in Minature, which will contain my Rambles round the Little World;) the worst and most deplorable Ignorance, would yet seem acquainted with all the World beside.  
How solicitous are we about the Affairs of Germany! How curious to understand the Rarities of Egypt! the Situation of Jerusalem, the Magnificence of Versailles, and uncertain Tales of Prester John! Nay so far is this Itch of Curiosity indulged, 〈…〉 a little) but I am continually stopped by one or other, to know what News from New-England, Holland, Flanders, and those other Countries I have seen, and what Rarities I have found there. Where e'er I come, I am looked upon as one arose from the dead, (having been two Years absent from my Native Country) and rec●●ved with as many Queries of what I have both seen and heard, as would possibly be put to such an one.  
First Daphne takes me, and holds me fast by the Fist half an hour, to know what fashioned Topknots the Dutch Froes wear, and will 〈◊〉 be torturing some News out of me from the East-Indies; for she hearing I have crossed the Seas, concludes (do you judge how rationally) that I have been there.  
But I am no sooner eased of her, but Mutius catches me by the Golls, demanding of me whether Boston be a great Town or a little one? How John. V— r does? How Books sell there? And whether Ben. H—s be your living? Or John H— arrived when I left the place?  
His mouth being stopped, a third examines me boldly, what News from Cullen? Where the Emperor's Army is? How the Duke of Lorraine died? Of what Form is the Grand Visier's Tent? How fares it with the Pope? Of what Age is the Mogul? What's become of Teckely? How fares all the Englishmen in those Parts? Where lies Prince Waldeck's Forces? Of what Colour is the Great Cham's Beard? What Tidings of Tyrconnel? And such a Tempest of Inquisition, that it almost shakes my patience in pieces. To ●ase myself of all which, I am forced to set Pen to Paper, and let the several Volumes of my Rambles talk, whilst I take my ease with silence; which though they prove like a prattling Goss●p, full of many words to small purpose, yet this I'll faith for this Third Volume,  
That it is my Son 
† 〈…〉 .  
(Then should I not be an hardhearted Brute of a Father, if I could be so cruel as to send him into the wide World, without speaking so much as one good word for him,) and contains, A Continuation of several rare Adventures relating to my Seven Years Prenticeship; Philaret's Friendship; A Countey-Life; and my Project of Girdling the World, etc. able to make you smile away an hour or two under the greatest pressures either of Body or Mind; and will, as the learned S— d has it,  
Cure every curable Disease.  
Now if this Volume alone will do such Wonders, what think ye will the whole Work perform when finished; secing `twill contain  
A Little Library:  
Or Complete Help to Discourse, upon all Occasions. By the help whereof you may cross Rivers without Boat or Bridge, boundless Seas without Ships, and climb up Mountains without pains, and go down without danger; reconcile the Future and the Present Tense: see Asia in England, Travel the Holy-Land, and go to the Holy War with Mr. Fuller: see the brave Baker defending Derry● the valiant Grafton beating the Irish; the Electoral Princes storming Mentz and Bonner▪ see the Grand Signior in the Seraglio: Infallibility in his Grandeur, and C— bussing his Toe; and with the wand'ring Knight, Sir Francis 
* Drake took his Voyage about the World, Decemb. 13. 1577.  Drake, put a Girdle round the World: On which daring Adven●ure● Wit thus pleasantly de●●ants.  
Drake, who th`encompassed Earth so fully knew,  
And whom at once both Poles of Heaven did view:  
Should Men foget thee, Sol c●uld not forbear  
To Chronscle his Fellow-Traveller.  
Would you see the Wars and Actions of the Roman Emperors, you may here see them trend the Sing again, with less cost and hazard than at first. You may by the study of these Rambles, live in all Ages; see Adam in Eden, sail with Noah in the Ark, sit and consult with Julius Caesar, converse with S●nec●, Plutarch and Horace, confer with all the wise Philosopher's, go to School at Athens, and with a free access hear all Disputes.  
Thus Friend, you see I make bold to imitate one Alexander of Greece, who still as he went Dragooning about the World, de scribed the Wander and as it were the 
† Tom ●oriat was a ●●lly Traveller, who in King james his time beat upon the Hoo●● about two or three thousand Miles, and returned home as very a Coxcomb as he went out. See his Travels, called his Crudities.  Tom Coriatilm of his Expeditions.  
But what need I go so far as Macedonia for a Pattern, seeing we have so many Precedents at home? One tells us in Octavo, That he has been in Turkey; another, That he has been at Rome; a third, that he has been in France: (And doubtless you my Friend, will e`re long be telling the World (〈◊〉 Folio of your Travels to Hambrough 
a The place you first designed, when we parted at●, amsterdam, in 1●86. , Ve●ice, Japan and Greenland.);;  
When a Fellew (as the Wallagrophist further observes in his Britton delcrib`d) hath a Maggot in his Fate, or a Breeze in his Tail, that he cannot fix long in a place: Or perhaps when he hath entitled himself by some Misdemeanours either to the Pillory or Gibbet, to disinherit himself of his deserved right, he ●●irts into Holland, or is transported into some Foreign Country; where conversing a little while, he thrusts into the World, The History of his Adventures; he varnisheth over his Banishment with the name of Travel, and styles that his Recreation, which was indeed his Punishment, and so dignifies a Ramble by the name of a Journey. He tells what Wonderments have surprised him, what fragments of Antiquity have amazed him, what Structures have ravished him, what Hills have tired him. In a word, he is big with Descriptions, and obliges you with the Narrative of all his Observations and Notices. Seeing every one almost that hath but untrussed in a Foreign Country, will have his Voyage recorded; and every Letter-Carrier beyond Sea, would be thought a Drake or a Candish.;  
I thought with myself, why may not I have the liberty of relating my Rambles, and of communicating my Observations to Mankind.  
It is s●id, that Onme tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci: If that be not done here, yet it is an Essay of that kind; being a mixture wherein with great variety things highly and daily useful a●e interwoven with delghtful Observations. Now Friend, if you by reaping in few Minutes the fruits of many Hours Travel, shall receive any content, I shall not only be satisfied for this, but encouraged for a Fourth Volume; and for ever to remain,  
Your obliged Friend and Fellow-Traveller. KAINOPHILUS.   

A VOYAGE Round the World: OR, A Pocket-Library,  

VOL. III.  

CHAP. I.  
Being a Continuation of several rare Adventures (relating to ' Vander's Prenticeship) impossible to be left out.  
— But first to the purpose.— Here Page, bring me a Brimmer.— So, so,— now I can write Rambles again!  
I'M here to tell the Reader, That the greedy World being in Post haste for the Second Volume of my Life, I had not time to finish the Adventures of my Seven Years Prenticeship. I shall therefore add what was wanting upon that Subject, in this Third Volume; as also several other things impossible to be left out, and so reserve my Rambles a Wiving (and the other things promised in the last Volume) for the Sub●ect Matter of another Book.  
The continued History of my Life needs no preambulatory Discourses to render it Charming. For 'tis supposed the French, Dutch, Italians, and in a word, almost all Nations will welcome me into their Language.  
The nicest Critics allow me to be a pleasant Fellow, and judge my Adventures may be read with as much Edification as my Country men's [Nobs] or the celebrated Dreamer of Bedford.  
I am no such Fool to fight with a Windmill, or take a Flock of Sheep for a mighty Army. All my Conflicts (in Youth) were with my hard Fortune, against which it becomes every wise Man to combat.  
If a Man wants diversion, and be out of humour, he need only read my Dialogues with Philaret and Iris, to put him into a fit of laughter.  
But whither do I Ramble from my Subject of ' Prenticeship? But Reader, I hope you'll excuse it in me, seeing when at any time I go out of my way, 'tis rather upon the account of Licence than Oversight. For, as I told you at first, my Subject is Rambling, and therefore is it that I suffer the least sudden Thought or extravagant Fancy to lead me ten, twenty, nay sometimes ●n hundred Pages out of my way.  
And to confess the truth, I have got such a trick of making Digressions, that I find it is hardly possible for me to hold long to a Point.  
There is something in Travelling, I fancy, that makes a Man's Thoughts reel, and that leads his Pen to wander as much about as his Person does.  
I have strangely faggotted up divers Pieces, or made an odd Composition; but let them go ramble if they will into the World as they rise, for I have a mind to represent the Progress of my Humour, that every one may see every Piece as it came from the Forge.  
My Rambling Fancies follow one another, but sometimes at a great distance, and look toward one another, but 'tis with an oblique glance. I have read a Dialogue in Plato of such a motley and fantastic Composition, as had the beginning of Love, and all the rest of Rhetoric. I love a Poetical march by leaps and skips: There are pieces in Plutarch where he forgets his Theme; yet how beautiful are his Variations and Digressions! and then most of all when they seem to be fortuitous, and introduced for want of heed. 'Tis the indiligent Reader that loses my Subject, and not I; there will always be found some words or other in a corner to make good my Title-Page, though they lie very close.  
I Ramble indiscreetly and tumultuously, my Style and my Wit wander at the same rate: And now if this be an Error, I humbly conceive it is an Error on the right-hand, wherein I am but better than my Word. Constanoy is not so absolutely necessary in Authors as in Husbands; and for my own part, when I have my Pen in my Hand● and Subject in my Head, I look 〈◊〉 myself as mounted my 〈…〉; wherein although I design to reach such a ●own by night, yet will I not deny myself the Satisfaction of going a Mile or two out of the way to gratify my Senses with some new and diverting Prospect. Now he that is of this Rambling Humour will certainly be pleased with my frequent Digressions: However in this● have the honour to imitate the Great Montaigne, whose Umbrage is sufficient to protect me against any one age of Critics. But I'll Ramble no further now from my main Design; for should I not stop here, I should launch into an Ocean, in which I should lose myself and your patience, and despair to ken ashore in less than an hours sailing. So that now being returned again to my Prenticeship Rambles, I shall lead you on to  

GLOBE IU.  
Where I fly from my Trade (what would come on't one told me)  
But the Man nor the Master together could hold me:  
So that here you see Ʋander in his Juvenile Rambles,  
Addressing himself for Bread and Cheese to the Brambles.   

But in GLOBE V.  
There you'll find that the Commons were unkind to a Stranger,  
So Ʋander returns, and taketh Wit in his Anger.   
Not that I was without my Faults neither● No, alas 'tis a frailty that attends 
* See Scotch Votes, Numb. 59  〈…〉 to be mistaken and grow irregular; yet to be guilty of Errors, and acknowledge and redress 'em on better Information, is all the advance one can make towards the attaining of that Perfection which Humane Nature is capable of.  
I shall therefore spend some following Pages in acknowledging and retracting my Errors and Mistakes whilst an Apprentice.  
It is no shame to confess our Crimes. Shame! It is a shame for to recite it; there is no deformity, no blemish in the exercise of any Virtue. Zacheus his Restitution was not his Brand, but his Renown; not his Stain, but his Ornament: It was the Robe of a sacred Convert, the Perfume of a penitent Publican, the Fragrancy of exemplary Equity for all succeeding Ages.  
When a lascivious Youngster, slinking out of an unreputable House, started back, being espied by Diogenes, the Philosopher advertised him, That his recess, his withdrawing thence, need not put him to the blush or damp, but his entrance thither.  
A Confession of a Crime doth not breed an Ulcer, but cure it. If it be objected, That it doth light a Torch to manifest the festered sore, which before was concealed: I answer, This discovery is the Lustre of Repentance, the Honour, the Trophy of it; at the worst it is but the Scar of a healed Wound, after the Victory of a Battle. However, if it be interpreted an Infamy, it is only by depraved Men suggested by damned Spirits. It is a dignity in the estimate of the blessed Saints and Angels, and all good Men. Photion apprehended the Praise of a vile Person to be a Reproach, a 
* See more of this in the Bishop of Worcester's late Sermon.  Scandal.  
He that reputes is well near innocent. Nay sometimes a failing and return is a prompter to a s●rer hold. S. Ambrose observes, that S. Peter's Faith was stronger after his Fall than before, so as he doubts not to say, That by his Fall he found more Grace than he lost. A Man shall beware the steps he once hath stumbled on. And thus we see often that the Devil cousins himself, by plunging Man into deep offences. How base a part then is it to twit any with their former juvenile Crimes, i● they themselves are reformed; for my own part, I must confess I find enough in my own breast to damp my censuring others, and he that does not, let him fling the first stone.  
And therefore now in hopes of a candid Construction from my honest Readers, I will here record the Follies that attended the servile part of my Life.  
And if by divulging my defects (for I have not so little Man in me as to want my Faults, nor so much Fool in me as to think it) I fairly bring thine to remembrance, it will not only compensate my labour in writing, but thine in reading.  
I (here) make the whole World my Confessor, and many things that I could not confess to any one in particular, I here deliver to the Public; and send my best Friends to the Black Raven, there to inform themselves concerning my most secret Thoughts. What I have done I have done; nor shalt thou behold my penitence until thine Eyes arrive to the end of my Rambles. If thou findest any misfortunate steps (if any of my Juvenile Follies may deserve so hard a Phrase) in the morning of my days, before the blossom of my Youth was fully blown (my Humour and Will being now forced to be curbed by a Masters Looks) let my penitent Tears (Sorrws fittest Livery) seek out my Excuse in thine own guilt, and then blush for us both, and at length gloss over all with a charitable Construction, without which thou art an Object (I had almost said) not clean enough to spit on; the slandering and uncharitable Tongue being the Abstract and Venom of all Baseness. 'Twas said of St. chrysostom, Nunquam ulli maledixit, That he never spoke ill of any Man.  
If People must be talking of me, I would have it to be justly and truly. I would come again with all my heart from the other World, to give any one the Lie, that should report me other than I was, though he did it to honour me. Plautus' said, By his good will he would have Tale-bearers and Tale-hearers punished, the one hanging by the Tongue, the other by the Ears. Were his Will a Law in England, many a tattling Fop would have his Vowels turned to Mutes.  
Certainly 'tis an ignoble thing to publish that to all, that we dare not own to any. 'Tis a pitiful Cowardice that strikes a Man in the dark, and like a Serpent bites him by the heel, and then creeps into his hole for want of Courage to abet his Actions. To invenome any Man's Name by Aspersions, that freely tells us his Crime (and with the Pelican dissects himself before us, that so by ripping up his own Bowels, we might see where the defects of Humanity reside) is to add stripes with an Iron Rod to him who before hath fleyed himself with his own whipping; and is always by a Noble Mind looked upon with great disdain. 'Tis below the gallantry of Man to tyrannize over the weak: The brave Soul scorns Advantages. Is it noble in Arms to fight against the naked? To meet my Enemy without a Weapon, is his Protection if I be provided.  
But alas there is no Man that blames another, but himself comes under the lash in some other kind, it being as natural for Men to err, as to be: And the purest Gold of upright Men that ever we read extant, had yet something of an Alloy. No Man living is so circumspect, so considerate, or so fearful of offending, but he has much to answer for: The difference is, that we do not all transgress in the same way: He only may tax others by privilege, that hath not in himself what others may tax. He that cleanses a Blot with blotted Fingers, makes a greater Blurr. And therefore it is that a good Man sets a guard upon his Lips, and examines all his Language ere it passes. The Scripture says, Speak evil of no man; then sure their hands cannot be clean, that throw so much dirt in other men's faces. A good Name is like the Apple of our Eye, of which we are always tender; and the reason may be, because it is of great use in serving God and our Generation; therefore whosoever it be that goes to lessen our Credit, labours in what he can to prevent the good we might do to the end of our Lives. To cut the throat of a fair Reputation with Hums— and Haws,— and with an— O but (which but— generally proves more prejudicial than the Criminals Mark of T— R— F at an Arraignment.) you know him not so well as I, is to act a Villainy that wants a name.  
The Tongue is connexed by Veins to the Brain and Heart, by which Nature teacheth us, that it is to be governed by the Intellect, whose seat is in the head, so that it may agree with the Heart. Every honest Man will use both his Ears and his Heart, before he whets his Tongue: But some Readers (that shall be nameless here, for we design to firk 'em in our Twentieth Volume) have Souls good for little but to salt their Bodies, and exercise the Graces of others.  
But that I may return to my promise, I am here to tell you, That I own nothing but Defects and Infirmities throughout all my Apprenticeship: That my manner of Life then (my sole Interest!) was a deep sense of my impiety, a constant acknowledgement of a constant guilt, with the Prophet David, My sin is ever before me: And that of Tertullian is my Motto, Born to drive on no design, to expedite no task but Repentance. Not an Action I did, but upbraided me with folly and nonsense; and the reason was, because as yet I saw but the outside of the World and Men, and conceived them according to their appearing glister. I pursued all vanities for happiness, and enjoyed them best in this fancy. My Reason served (now) not to curb but to understand my Appetite, and prosecute the motions thereof with the greater earnestness. I thought it might be proper to leave Repentance for grey hairs (a bold adventure, seeing I had no Lease of my Life, and was not sure of the next hour) and therefore sinned to better my understanding; and because I would not lose my Time, I spent it. I was apt to distaste Religion (that's the swetetest of Pleasures) as a melancholy thing, and thought myself ten years elder for a thought of Heaven. I scorned and feared, and yet hoped for old Age, but durst not imagine it with Wrinkles. I did (but I suffered) much for my Knowledge, and a great deal of 
† Rachel for that!  Folly (did or should have) made me a wise Man. [My self was my own Temptation,] for my Temperament now giving Sense pre-eminence above Reason, it added fuel to the fire of Youth▪ and was the Mother of all my irregular Actions.  
In these green 
* St. Austin himself had occasion enough to repent the Follies of his Youth; for we read, that in his tender years he robbed Orchards, kept Concubines, fell in Love, haunted Stage-Plays, and went to Astrologers. See his Confessions, pag: 76.  years 'twas my practice to have my Thoughts search no farther than my Eyes: I never now did any thing that I wished not to do again; and was never wise, but after Misfortunes; untamed blood did goad me into folly, until Experience reined me in, I rid unbitted, wild, and in a wanton fling.  
But my good Master considering, that the way to amendment was never out of date, was resolved to try to the utmost how he could curb my Rambling Humour; and he did it so well, that under his charge I lived full 
† I was Bound on the 7th of December, 1674. both by my Father's Consent, and also to his Satisfaction.  Seven Years; which being expired, he made me;  
First, Free of the Company of Stationers;  
And then A Freeman of the City of London.  
How I performed my part as an Apprentice in all respects, I am not able to declare, it being nothing pertinent to that grave stuff wherewith I intent to line my Book: For what passages can such green years afford worthy thy Knowledge, or my Description.  
But Reader, wherein I have erred upon any account, 'tis from Heaven and my Master, and not from thee, that I (heartily) ask forgiveness. I confess 'twas a noble saying of the Great 
* See his Essays, lib. 3. pag. 48.  Montaigne, after he had finished his Rambles, That were he to live over his life again, he would live exactly as he had done: I neither (says he) complain of the past, nor do I fear the future; and if I am not much deceived, I am the same within that I am without. I cannot say so; for though I am but just peeped into the Thirtieth year of my age, and have always industriously devoted my Time and Rambles to the knowledge of Country's, Books and Men; yet were I to correct the Erratas of my short Life, I would quite alter the Press: Not an Action have I done in which the Eagle-eyed may not easily perceive many unhappy steps (excepting one, I mean, the Choice of my better and dearer self; which could not have been better made, had I had a thousand Advisers, or as many Worlds to have ranged in to have pleased my Eye and Fancy; I verily think, that had all the married Sons of my Grandfather Adam met with so good a Wife, they would have thought they had been still in Paradise, or at least that they had met with this Life but as an Earnest of the happier to come. Certainly she never read of a Virtue which she did not forthwith put into act.  

No greater Blessing could to Mortal fall,  
I now methinks am Caesar, Croesus, all  
That we can happy or delightful call.   

Had the Great conqueror reached the British shore,  
And his victorious Arms had triumphed o'er  
This World of 
* Iris.  Bliss,— he ne'er had wept for more.   
A minute in her company entertains me with an age of Pleasure: When I have it (which is ●sually eight hours a day) it puzzles my Soul to find subject for another Wish, or to think of a Happiness that I do not enjoy:  
'Tis all the Sweets of Life!  
I have the Universal Globe in having Iris, and in her company can sit and scorn the Splendour of a Crown. And therefore my Body shall be hers, and so entirely hers, that never any but herself shall have part therein. She shall not need to watch over my Fidelity, because I shall be more jealous thereof than she can; and if I should chance to offend therein, my hand shall prevent both the Laws of God and Man in the revenge of so great a wrong. And if Death permits me to survive her, be assured, that even to 〈◊〉 very Ashes I will keep a Body pure, and 〈◊〉 inviolable; for Separation shall never 〈◊〉 place in our Union, which is too great to 〈◊〉 exampled.  
Iris. Hold Ʋander, or you'll make me blush myself to death: But know (if you're real) I am resolved, that Winter's chilling Storms, nor Summer's scorching ●eat, attended with the sharp contests of Poverty, shall never part us; Death itself, in all its dismal 〈◊〉, is not of force to shake my fixed determination. Were all the Floods, the Rivers and Seas, that with their crooked arms embrace the Earth, betwixt us, I'd ●ade through all and meet thee. Were all the Alps heaped on each others head; were Pelion joined to O●●a, and they both thrown on Olympa's top, they 〈◊〉 not make so high a Wall, but I would scale 〈◊〉 find thee.  
Vander. Iris, thy singular kindness puts me in mind of Queen Elinor, who accompanied her Husband (Edward I.) to the Holy-Land; in which Voyage he being stabbed by a Saracen with a poisoned Dagger, when no Medicine could extract the Poison, she did it with her Tongue, licking daily, while her Husband slept, his rankling Wounds, whereby they perfectly closed, and yet herself received no harm! So sovereign a Medicine (said Speed) is a Woman's Tongue, anointed with the virtue of lovely Affection. Pity it is (faith Mr. Fuller) such a pretty Story should not be true, because than we might hear of one Woman's Tongue that hath done good. But Iris, you yet are young, and have not struggled with Misfortunes, nor contended with the World, and therefore know not of what force they are; consider how the tender Iris, i● she Ramble with me (as she says she will) must be often forced to make the Ground her Bed▪ and underneath some spreading Tree lie stretched▪ exposed to all the injuries of Wether, wh●●● soft sleep flies from her careful Breast, and she with sighs and groans is forced to wound the murmuring Air.  
Iris. If upon some bleak Mountain's top, whose covering is Snow, and Globes of solid Ice, where Winter's lasting Tyranny still reigns, you should be forced to make your Bed, I'd there repose: This Arm should be your Pillow, whilst your Iris, your obedient Iris froze to your side; witness the two hundred Garden Walks, which surely you han't forgot.  
Vander. Could you do this— Yet think again, and well consider, that many sad Accidents may attend me in Travelling, which you think not of, and I may soon be summoned to the Grave; and should you be left alone in a strange Land, and far from your Relations, meet with much contempt and scorn abroad; then will be the time of your repentance, than you'll blame that ill-starred day you left your Country and Friends for the company of Vander.  
Iris. Let not that trouble my Dear at all; for when unfriendly Death, with his cold Icy hand, shall grasp your Life, I'll mourn much like a Widow-Turtle, till in floods of swelling Grief I'm wasted to Eternity; and then our Bodies shall not be disjoined, but in one Grave we'll lie, till our returning Souls shall wake the drowsy courses, and hand in hand we take our way to Heaven.  
Vander. Can there be such constant Faith in Woman? O thou Glory of your Sex! let me revenge of so great a wrong. And if Death permits me to survive her, be assured, that even to her very Ashes I will keep a Body pure, and Troth inviolable; for Separation shall never have place in our U●●●on, which is too great to be exampled. I am re●●lved, that Winter's chilling Storms, nor Summer's scorching heat, attended with the sharp contests of Poverty, shall never part us; Death itself, in all its dismal shapes, is not of force to shake my fixed determination. Were all the Floods, the Rivers and Seas, that with their Crooked arms embrace the Earth, betwixt us, I'd wade through all and meet her. Were all the Alps heaped on each others head; were Pelion joined to Ossa, and they both thrown on Olympa's top, they should not make so high a Wall, but I would scale and find her. If upon some Mountain's top, whose covering is Snow, and Globes of solid Ice, she should be forced to make her Bed, I'd there repose; this Arm should be her Pillow, whilst Ʋander, shivering Ʋander, froze to her side. And when unfriendly Death, with his cold Icy hand, shall grasp her Life, I'll mourn much like a Widow-Turtle, till in floods of swelling Grief I'm wa●ted to Eternity; and then our Bodies shall not be disjoined, but in one Grave we'll lie, till our returning Souls shall wake the drowsy Courses, and hand in hand we take our way to Heaven.)  
But so much for a Parenthesis of about three Pages: Return we now to my Life again; wherein not a line have I written but has need of Correction, or at least an Ocean of penitent Tears.  
And therefore how glad should I be, could Time unweave my Age again to the first thread, that so once more being made an Infant, I might be a better Husband of those golden hours that (like a Bird from the Hand of the Owner) are now vanished out of sight.  
I am thus free in accusing myself, believing (what 
* See his Enchiridion.  Quarles says) He that Confesses his Sin, begins his journey towards Heaven; he that is Sorry for it, mends his pace; he that Forsakes it, is at his journeys end, 
But alas,—  
— Semel insanivimus omnes!  And we daily see the Life of the most precise amongst us is but one continued Blot, we may see folly attending the wisest of Men, and perhaps even at that very instant too when they would eagerly persuade us to follow their dictates, at the same time they grow Cinical and morose, and the Tub of a Diogenes is but the Derision of an Alexander.  
Should I speak of those Noble 
† Caesar, Pompey, Hannibal and Alexander.  Heroes, who knew no work so full of ease as to Conquer whole Regions at once, we shall find folly and rashness always mixed with their Erterprises. Should I speak of Alexander (whose Fame was as universal as the Sun) he flew Parmenio; should I mention the more than pious Marcus Antonius, he lost the World for a Cleopatra, a Woman, a thing in Petticoats.  
All o●r Actions are marked with the Character of Weakness; our Humanity supposeth us Frail and Inconstant; and the decaying Nature of what we enjoy, tells us every day, there is no solid Happiness in Life. 
a This was a Saying of good Bishop Vsher.  The best Man living does enough in the day, to bring him upon his Knees at night.  

How vain a thing is Man, whom Toys delight, And Shadows fright!  
Variety of Impertinence  
Might give our dotage some pretence;  
But to a circle bound  
We sin in a dull round.  
We sit, move, eat and drink;  
We dress, undress, discourse and think:  
By the same Passions hurried on,  
Imposing or Imposed upon:  
We pass the time in Sport or Toil,  
We plow the Seas or safer Soil.  
Thus all that we project or do,  
We did it many a year ago;  
We travel still a beaten way,  
And yet how eager rise we to pursue  
The Sins of each returning day,  
As if its Entertainments were all new!   
I now expect to be snarled at by the sour Fops of the Town for this free way of writing, but surely (as Friend Seneca has it) our Philosophy might carry us up to the bravery of a generous Mastiff, that can hear the barking of a thousand Curs, without taking any notice of them.  
It was well answered of an old Courtier, that was asked how he kept so long in favour, Why (says he) by receiving Injuries, and crying, Your humble Servant for them. Will any but a Madman quarrel with a Cur for barking, when he may pacify him with a Crust? What have we to do but to get further off and laugh at him? 'Tis true, Fidus Cornelius fell down right a crying in the Senate-house at Corbulos, saying, That he looked like an Ostrich. But now ever remember this, no Man was ever ridiculous to others, that laughed at himself first. It prevents mischief, and 'tis a spiteful disappointment of those that take pleasure in such Abuses. There are none more abusive to others, than they that lie most open to it themselves; but the humour goes round, and he that laughs at my Rambles to day, will have some Person or other fleering at his Maggots to morrow, and revenge my quarrel.  
He that is listening after private discourse, and what People say of him, shall never be at peace. How many things that are innocent in themselves, are made injurious yet by misconstruction; wherefore some things we are to pause upon, others to laugh at, and others again to pardon. 'Tis the part of a Christian not to believe any thing till he is very certain of it; for many probable things prove false; we are prone to believe many things which we are unwilling to hear, and so we conclude and take up a Prejudice before we can judge.  
I never condemn any Man unheard, or without letting him know his Accuser or his Crime. 'Tis a common thing for your Pickthanks to say, Do not you tell that you had it from me; for if you do, I'll deny it, and never tell you any thing again. By which means Friends are set together by the Ears, and the Informer slips his Neck out of the Collar. Admit no Stories upon these terms; for 'tis an unjust thing to believe in private, and to be angry openly; for without the making the best of every thing, there is no living in society with Mankind. Let us never be too credulous; some make it their sport to do ill Offices, others do them only to pick a thank; there are some that would part the dearest Friends in the World.  
If it be a small matter (says Seneca) I would have Witnesses; but if it be a greater, I would have it upon Oath, and allow time to the Accused, and Council too, and hear it over and over.  
I know not which is worse, the Bearer of Tales, or the Receiver; for the one makes the other. The generous Man, where he cannot stop others Mouths, he will stop his own Ears: The Receiver is as bad as the Thief.  
Reader, while I speak this to you, I prescribe to myself, what I write I read, and desire to reduce all my Meditations to the ordering of my own Manners.  
Well, but some one will say, this design of making a Man's self the Subject of his Writing, were indeed excusable in Rare-and-Famous-Men, who by their Reputation had given others a curiosity to be fully informed of them; who have Qualities worthy of Imitation; whose Life and Opinions may serve for Example.  
To which I answer, If the World find fault that I speak of myself, I find fault that they do not so much as think of themselves. Socrates that taught, Nosce Teipsum; learned likewise to know himself; and by that study was arrived to the Perfection of setting himself at naught. And the old Philosopher 
* Heraclitus.  never wanted occasion for his Tears, whilst he considered himself.  
I have this to say (as an Apology for treating of myself) that never any Man treated of a Subject he better understood and knew, and therefore in this Subject I am the most understanding Man alive.  
Sir William Cornwallis saith of Montaigne's Essays, That it was the likeliest Book to advance Wisdom; because the Author's own Experience is the chiefest Argument in it. And indeed, should every Man write an exact Narrative of the various Experiences and Circumstances of his Life, comprehending as well his Vices as Virtues, and have them with simplicity related, how useful would this prove to the Public! But this so impartial Account may rather be wished for than expected, since Men have ever preferred their own private Reputation before the real Good of themselves or others. Alas, every Man is not an Evander!  
But now if contrary to the mode of such Travellers as lose their Thoughts in the open Air where they were conceived, I have with more diligence registered mine: It was out of no Opinion they deserve a longer life, but to prevent Idleness. 'Twas my leisure hours at Sea that first put into my Head this fancy of Writing; wherein when I found myself totally unprovided of other Matter, I present myself to myself for Argument and Subject. All I seek, is by my Pen to find Employment for a Spirit that would break the Vessel, had it nothing to work upon.  
Alas, Reader, Writing is as natural to me as Eating; I was born Studying, as you find by my early Rambles.  
And indeed no Man cometh into the World to be idle. Adam in the state of Innocency (when Emperor of the World) must dress the Garden; and after it was denounced against him, Solomon's Princess eats not the bread of idleness. St. Paul laboured. The High-Priests among the jews had, and the Great Mogul at this time hath a Trade, at which (as I heard in Leiden) he is to labour every day. And you may take notice, that she is set out to us as skilled in Cookery, whose Brother was Solomon in all his glory. Shall we eat, and not work? Shall we yawn away our precious hours? Shall we think with the Lilies (which neither spin nor labour) our clothes will grow upon us.  
Alas, Idleness is the Mother of all Mischief. St. Austin says, That he that is employed, is tempted with one Devil; but he that is Idle, with a thousand.  
I heard, whilst I was in Holland of so great a Sluggard, that (as 'twas said) he never saw the Sun rising or setting in his whole life, but would usually tell it for News at Noon, that the Sun was up.  
I remember I have read in an Italian History of one so Idle, that he was fain to have one to help him to stir his Chaps when he should eat his Meat.  
Such is the vileness of the Age we live in, that Idleness is counted an Ornament, and the greatest gentility, is to do nothing; whereas 'tis Action only that is noble; and not only the Celestial Bodies are in continual motion, but he that is most high, is Purissimus actus; and besides the Contemplation of his own Goodness, is ever at work in Acts of Providence, and government of his Creatures.  
'Tis Action that does keep the Soul both sweet and sound. There is a kind of good Angel waiting upon diligence, that ever carries a Laurel in his Hand to Crown her. The bosomed Fist beckons the approach of Poverty; but the lifted Arm does frighten Want. How unworthy was that Man to live in the World, of whom it was said, He ne'er did aught, but only lived and died.  
Diligence and Moderation doubtless are the best steps to mount up to Preferment 
* Think no Labour Slavery, That brings in Penny savourly. says old Tusser. And there's a great deal of gravy in those musty old Proverbs.  A Man is neither good, nor wise, nor rich at once; yet softly creeping up those hills, he shall every day better his Prospect, till at last he gains the Top. A poor Man in Boston once found the Tag of a Point, and put it in the lap of his Shirt: One asked him what he could do with it? He answers, What I find all the year (though it be never so little) I lay it up at home till the years end, and with all together I every New-years-day add a Dish to my Cupboard. He that has the Patience to attend small Profits, usually grows a great Man. Polemon ready to die, would needs be laid in his Grave alive; and seeing the Sun shine, he calls his Friends in haste to hide him, lest (as he said) it should see him lying.  
Seneca would have a Man do something, though it be to no purpose. The Turks enjoin all Men, of what degree soever, to be of some Trade: The Grand Signior himself is not excused. Mahomet the Turk (he that Conquered Greece) at the very time when he heard Ambassadors, did either Carve or Cut wooden Spoons, or Frame something upon a Table. This present Sultan makes Notches for Bows. Cunus the Noble Roman was sound by the Fireside seething of Turnips when the Samnite Ambassador came for Audience. julian the Emperor was ashamed any Man should see him Spit or Sweat, because he thought continual labour should have concocted and dried up all such Superfluities. Artaxerxes made Hafts for Knives, Bias made Lanterns, Homer sung Ballads, Aristotle was a Corn-cutter, and Domitian the Emperor (having no Rambles to write) spent his time in kill Flies with a Bodkin. Nicias the Painter was often so intent on his Trade, as to forget Food, and omit the reception of Nature's support. Alexander never slept save with his Arm stretched out of the Bed, holding in his Hand a Silver Ball, having a Silver Basin by his Bedside, that lest he slept too securely, the falling of the Ball might awake him to Battle.  
But why should I multiply Examples of this kind, seeing here are enough to convince the Lazy how glorious a Virtue Diligence is; and to authorise my Practice in writing my own Life and Travels, seeing Emperors, Kings and Nobles have employed their time on as trivial Subjects.  
Montaigne says, That nothing can be so absurdly said, that has not been said before by some of the Philosophers. And I am the more willing to expose my Whimsies to the Public, forasmuch as though they are spun out of myself, and without any Pattern I know they will be found related to some ancient humour; and some will not stick to say, See whence he took it! 'Tis true, I cannot deny but in this Book there are many things that may perhaps one day have been made known to me by other Writers; but if they have, I have utterly forgot by whom. But say, they were all Collections: Is the Honey the worse because the Bee sucks it out of many Flowers? Or is the Spider's Web the more to be praised, because it is extracted out of her own Bowels? Wilt thou say, the Tailor did not make the Garment, because the Cloth it was made of was weaved by the Weaver?  
Therefore let no body insist upon the Matter I write, but my Method in writing. If I have borrowed any thing, let them observe in what I borrow; if I have known how to choose what is proper to raise or relieve the Invention, which is always my own,; for if I steal from others, 'tis that they may say for me, what either for want of Language or want of Sense I cannot myself express.  
'Tis true, I have always an Idea in my Soul which presents me a better form than what I have in this Book made use of, but I cannot catch it, nor fit it to my purpose. I can neither please nor delight myself, much less ravish any one. The best Story in the World would be spoiled by my handling. If therefore I transplant any of others Notions into my own soil, and confound them among my own, I purposely conceal the Author, to awe the temerity of those precipitous Censures that fall upon all sorts of Writings: I will have my Reader wound Plutarch through my sides, and rail against Seneca, when they think they rail at me; I must shelter my own weakness under these great Reputations.  
But though there is nothing in this Book I have cudgeled my Brains about, yet I must confess, during my ' Prenticeship, I was a kind of Persecutor of Nature, and would fain then have changed the dull Lead of my Brain into finer Metal. And to speak the tru●h, I have ever had a strange hankering after Learning; but to achieve it, Nature was too kind to me, she hope me to nothing but Patience and a Body; yet what I have, I usually have perfect; for I read it so long before I can understand it, that I get it without book. 'Tis confessed I am a great Nomenclator of Authors, which I have read in general in the Catalogue, and in particular in the Title (for I seldom go so far as the Dedication.) But as for Poetry (except in the case of Rachel) I never ventured upon it, thinking it impregnable: But as for Astronomy and Logic, etc. I ventured twice in my ' Prenticeship to make a breach into it; for you must note I have an Invention, though it extends itself no further than the patching together a few Chamber-Collections, and you'll find my disposition of them to be as methodical as the Bookbinders, when he places (X) in the place of (A): I wear my Wit in my Belly, and my Guts in my Head, a very Natural might bob my Brains, my Pia-mater is not worth the ninth part of a Sparrow. I cannot in circumvention deliver a Fly from a Spider, without drawing the massy Irons, and cutting the Web. O how often has my Brain turned at Philosophy? How often have I made I— L— fear studying, judging it, by observing me, to be a kind of Duncery? How often in my Gown & Nightcap have I sat up till midnight in my Master's Back-Shop, to the vanquishing of some six lines in Homer or the minor Poets, being unwilling to forget all my Greek; but alas, I could never yet (after a 7 years biting my Nails, & as long scratching that which goes for my Noddle) get acquaintance with above a Muse and a half, nor never drink above siz— q. of Helicon. And therefore Reader, expect here neither Squibs nor Fireworks, Stars nor Glories; for to be yet more inward with thee, the cursed Carrier lost my best Book of Phrases, and the malicious Mice or Rats ate up all my Pearls and Golden Sentences. I was never yet so well accomplished as to study the jingling and cadences of words; have not learned to say, Yes forsooth and No forsooth, to call a Straw a Strew forsooth; nor had I ever the modishness to search in the Looking-glass, which words gave the most grceful motion to the Lips: And indeed fine Language would as ill become me, as a Poet does fine clothes; but it may be some may understand my plain talk better than them whose Pen drops Nectar or Life-Honey, choice and refined Conceits; not but thou shalt now and then have a similitude from the Sun, or the Moon, or so; or if they be not at leisure, from the grey-eyed Morn, a shady Grove, or a purling Stream: But I'll engage this shan't fall out often enough to choke thee. For what canst thou expect from one, the chief burden of whose Brain is the carriage of his Body, and the setting his Face in a good frame: From one that weighs his Breath between his Teeth, and dares not smile beyond a point, for fear t'unstarch his Look: From a Puppy-Snout, so utterly nothing, that he knows not what he would be or write: From one who is just such a Man (to a tittle) as his Tailor pleaseth to make him.  
And to speak the truth, I find my Bodily qualities are very well fitted to those of my Soul. I have not put on the acquaint garb of the Age, which is now become a Man's total; nor humbled my Meditations to the industry of Compliment, nor afflicted my Brain by an claborate Leg; but my Scrape is homely, and my Nod worse. I cannot kiss my Hand, and cry, Madam your humble Servant, nor talk idly enough to bear her company; my Bussing a Lady is somewhat too savoury, and the reason may be, because I usually mistake her Nose for her Lip. Avery Woodcock would puzzle me in carving, for I want the Logic of a Capon, (yet this I must say for myself, that when I am at a Feast, the perplexity of Mannerliness will not let me feed.) As for my Hat, it is commonly nailed to my Head, except at a Christening, and then all my Behaviours are printed. But it were enough to make a Stoic forget his gravity, and an Heraclitus to burst into laughter, to hear me discourse the Gossips. My Tongue is the Gentleman-Usher to my Wit, and still goes before it; yet is my Head (which looks as if 't'had worn out three or four Bodies, and was legacyed to me by my Great-Grandfather) always so busy about Matters of Learning, that I can seldom find time to comb my Hair, wash my Hands, or to consider whether that which I take for a Band be not a Dishclout, or whether it it do not stand towards the Alehouse. I seldom cut my Nails till they are long enough to scratch my Grannum out of her Grave; and as seldom wipe my Nose, which is still my Limbeck, and my Mouth is the Receiver. So that I am just like one of the old Philosophers, the length of whose Beards did assure the World that they had not time from their deep Contemplations to cut them. So that I fancy it would hugely accommodate me to dwell as Diogenes did, in a Tub, for there my Nose might drop at pleasure. I am one that am not guilty of making Legs (as thinking that they are made already) but I choose rather to make Faces, such as were never made before, and are usually more lowering than the last day of january.  
In a word, I have seen a handsomer Mortal carved in monumental Gingerbread. If you have ever viewed that wooden Gentleman that peeps out of a Country Barber's Window, you may fancy some resemblance of me. But tho' I have little to boast on above the gross and common work of Nature, and am not acquainted with the modish styles in writing; yet for all that I am a plain-spoken Lad, I'll call a Spade a Spade, and will not bid you deosculate your Posteriors; but when I would speak to that purpose, I speak the plainest English.  
As to my Chin, I'd compare it to the Gnomon of a Dial, but that it is not fringed with Hair enough to stand for the twelve hours. My Eyes are heavy, and naturally require the light. My Cheeks resemble Famine painted on a clean Trencher. I am the very Ape of a Man, a jack-of-lent, a very Top, that's of no use but when 'tis whipped and lashed  
My shortest things are my Hair, which is usually cut to the Figure of Three. Two high cliffs run up my Temples, and a cape of shorn hair shoots down my Forchead with Creeks indented, where my Ears ride at anchor.  
When I have got any piece of News, 'tis easier to make Stones speak, than me to hold my peace. And therefore 'tis I hate all places where there is an Echo, because it robs me of my dear Repetition, and confounds the Company as well as me.  
But of all Mortals I admire the Shorthand Men, who have the patience to write from my Mouth; for had they the Art to shorten it into Sense, they might write what I can say in a continued discourse of six hours long on the back of their Nail; for my Invention consists in finding a way to speak nothing upon any thing, and were I in the Grand Signior's power, he would lodge me with his Mutes; for nothing and nothing to purpose are all one.  
My very Brains (as Manichaeus' Skin) are stuffed with Chaff. I am ever sick of a Diabete; nor do I read but weed Authors, picking up cheap, and refuse Notes, and then with Domitian, retire into my Study to catch Flies.;  
Were there any Metempsychosis, my Soul would want a Lodging, no single Beast could fit me; for I should out of pure love to novelty change more Lodgings than ever Pythagoras' Soul did. Twice every day a thousand Fancies and Fegaries crowd into my Noddle so thick as if my Brain kept open-house for all the Maggots in nature.  
If you would know how I dispose of my Hands, you must note, one is commonly pinching my Snuffers (which have made 'em swell to a Proverb) but Reader, where I use to keep the other, is not fit to tell thee; only thus much I must acquaint thee, that considering how nasty they commonly are, it is a great wonder that they do not poison me. Poison me, did I say? alas! why should I think so? Seeing Cleanliness is but a new Invention, Sluttery was the mode of the Grandmothers, of our Great Great Grandmothers, when Romulus' Wife wore a Flannel Smock a whole Twelvemonth together, and Aeneas wiped his Fingers upon his Doublet instead of a Napkin. Sluttery is an Emblem of the simplicity of the old World before Pomp and Luxury came in fashion. The Victuals for a Sloven costs little; for a T— d's as good for a Sow as a Pancake.  
Why then should Sluttery poison any Man's Stomach, seeing Venus herself was born out of the Scum of the Sea? And it hath been observed how for the most part the rarest and most excellent Men for Learning, Wit and Sense have been most negligent and careless in their Apparel; and as we say Slovens: Erasmus saith of Sir Thomas Moor, Quod à puero semper in vestitu fuit negligen●iss●mus; That from a Child he was ever most careless and slovenly in his Apparel. Paracelsus, and Master Butler of Cambridge, we read have been the like: And the ingenious Fuller was so great a Sloven, that he was noted for it throughout all Europe, and thence arose this Proverbial Speech, You're as great a Sloven as Doctor Fuller.  
Dr. Fuller once ask a witty Cousin of his (that is still living) how he should go disguised, for that he had in every street so many Hats, that 'twas troublesome to him to walk along. To which she replied, O Uncle! Uncle! do but every morning wash your Face and Hands, and once a week put on a clean Band, and I'll engage no body will know you.  
And then for his Virtues, a Sloven is a Man of Constancy: I prove it by this sturdy Argument,— I ever was, am, and what I am, ever shall be, a Sloven, without any alteration or change.  
But Reader, I'll stop here, for should I draw my Picture at large, it were enough to defile my Pen; my Ink is too cleanly for a further Description, only thus much I shall say at parting, That were I pictured in all my various humours, and self-disguising, I know nothing in the world that would look more like a Fool, that were not one indeed; my most deliberate Actions are all beyond the degree of ridiculous!  
So that, Reader, you see my Soul is a proper Tenant for the House it lives in; both which were naturally ill Matched, to show, that a generous Spirit may be lodged under any shape.  
It may be now some will admire that I fall so foul on my own Intellectuals. Why Reader know, that I do it in hopes that the novelty of the Humour will sell my Book. I believe Kainophilus is the first Author that ever cried stinking Fish, and therefore I hope that my Extravagancy in this Affair, will serve as a Bait to catch a few silly Gudgeons: And indeed (as Scaliger observes) nothing more invites a Reader, than an Argument unlooked for.  
By these Features of my Confession, Men may imagine others to my prejudice; but whatever I deliver myself to be, provided it be such as I really am, I have my end; neither will I make any excuse for committing to Paper such mean and frivolous things as these, the meanness of the Subject I write of compels me to it.  
Some time is no doubt allowable for mere Recreation: This is certainly harmless. I hope nothing will be found here that may either make me justly blush to own, or another to read. And I hope all will grant this kind of Diversion a little more excusable than every day setting my Brains afloat, (No! No! the little Glasses are my Favourites, I ever hated an Excess at Drinking!) or fooling away two or three years, and it may be a many Reams of Paper in doleful Ditties of Philander and Phillis.  
But if the Character I have here drawn of myself be thought by some to be a little too frolicsome, they that think so will do well to remember, that a little good Humour must be forgiven to a Traveller, whose Spirits are too much in motion, to be so settled and so grave as they ought to be.  
But whither do I gallop again? 'Tis high time for me now to relate whether or no an Indenture could curb my rambling humour, or kill those restless Maggots that had so often wriggled themselves into my active Pate?  
And in answer to this, I do affirm, That if any thing could be mingled with Servitude to make it sweet! if any thing could reconcile Apprenticeship to Nature! if any thing could beget an acquiescence in such a state, I did not, I could not want it.  
But for all this, methoughts Apprenticeship had in it something of I knew not what, that I could not brook: Fetters of Gold do not lose their nanure, they are Fetters still! Had Bajazet's Cage been made of Diamonds as 'twas of Iron, yet it was a Cage, (and that was provocation enough to that rambling Spark to make him beat out his Brains against its Bars.) And I now thought being confined to Europe (that is to say, to my Master's Shop) every corner of it was a Prison till I was in America, or in some other part of the World.  
But being Bound, I must Obey. So that now poor Ʋander sat him down, like Patience smiling at Grief: For alas, I had ne'er before danced to the Music of Fetters! understood not the Rhetoric of a Flap in the Face, and could not well digest the easiest Chapter in Fisty-cuff-Logick, nor know how to be confined, after so much Rambling to the narrow limits of a Bookseller's Shop.  
But at last considering, that the whole World was a Purchase too little for a fair Reputation! That Rambling (though the darling joy of my heart) had emptied my Purse faster than Fortune could fill it: And that it was the practice of Youth (who like the Sun oft rises clear and dancing, though he sets in a Cloud) to look upon distant Prospects with a magnifying Fancy, laying these weighty Matters together, I resolved now to ride at Anchor one seven years within the sound of Bow-Bell.  
But alas, I had not been sixty minutes Alphabetizing and sorting of Books before my old Rambling Maggot began to crawl and bite afresh; upon which I immediately grew as fickle and wavering as if I had drank Liquor distilled from a Woman's Brains; and nothing would satisfy me now till I saw the Situation of my Father's House again. 'Tis true, my Master did advise me (for which I'll pay and ever owe him as many Thanks as Arithmetic can count) to beg my Father's Consent before I rambled again; but my runagate Mind being set on a galloping Frolic, he might with as much ease have found out the Quadrature of a Circle, or the tailor's Name that works to the Man in the Moon, as have parted me from another Ramble; for beginning now to imagine that a Trade was troublesome, and that the toil of keeping Accounts would be a labour too tedious for my Mercurial Brains, I was impatient till I was on another Ramble. And no sooner had the Night began to draw its Curtains, but Evander draws his.  
And after taking leave of my Master, I cast a longing look towards my Father's House (with whom I left my Heart but as a Pledge till I returned) and put myself on my way thither.  
[And now farewell London, till we meet again!]  
Being mounted on Bayard-a-ten-toes, and expecting no Whittington 
* His Bells Chimed thus (as he thought) Turn again Whittington, Lord-Mayor of London.  Bells to Chime me back, forward I rambled apace; and though I set out from London with the early Sun, yet I had his company but a little while; for just as I got within sight of Tyburn (that three-legged Horse, on whose fatal back many a Man has rambled to the other World) he withdrew into an Apartment behind a Cloud: At whose absence the Heavens frowning, I began to suspect 'twas an ill Omen of my Father's displeasure for my so speedy leaving my Master's House. But however, now to repent of my Rambling Project was irksome, and to fear was a Passion that I ever thought below me, (the Valiant Heart knows no trembling;) Cowards wink when they sight, but the truly Valiant dare face their danger! your Noble hearts dare leap into Flame! Caesar spoke like Caesar, when he bid the Mariners fear nothing in a Storm, for they carried Him and his Fortunes. Calamities astonish only Men of ordinary Spirits; he must be ignorant of the condition of Human Life, who fears or flies the miseries that attend it.  
When a Man has once gotten a habit of Virtue, all his Actions are equal; he is constantly one and the same Man, and he does well not only upon counsel, but out of custom too. Shall I tell you now in a word, The sum of Human Duty is Patience where we are to suffer, and Prudence in the things we do. And shall not a Man venture the crossing of an intemperate Lust, for the conquest of himself? It is a great encouragement to well-doing, that when we are once in the possession of Virtue, it is our own for ever.  
'Tis a f●ight that shrinks the Soul into a corner, out of which it dares not peep to look for help; but he that prepares for a mischief, meets nothing new to amaze him. To avoid occasions, and to be above Accidents, is one of the greatest masteries of Man.  
In a danger, I do not, nor never did, so much consider how I shall escape it, as of how little importance it is whether I escape it or no. Should I be left dead upon the place, what matter? Not being able to govern Events, I endeavour to govern myself, (as knowing a Man never taken in Passion is a Mark of the sublimest reach of Wit, seeing thereby he puts himself above all vulgar Impressions. It is the greatest of Dominions to rule one's self and Passions. This is indeed the Triumph of freewill! Few Passions break my sleep; but of Deliberations, the least will do it. I love misfortunes that are purely so, that do not torment and tease me with the incertainty of their growing better. 

* Seneca Agamemnon.  Dubia plus torquent mala:  
Doubtful Ills do plague us worst.   
The fear of a Fall astonishes me more than the very Fall itself. Ill-luck (quoth the Frenchman) is good for something. French Proverb. Were I as deep in the Book of Fame as Caesar, I would not care if I were stabbed to morrow; for than I hope I should be at the end of my toil, and only have the pleasure to look down from some Star of the first magnitude (for such are the Celestial Palaces of honest Pilgrims) and see with delight the Trophies and Statues every where set up in memory of my Herick Actions, from the Picture shining with Izinglass and Golden Leather to the Marble Effigies and Pyramid of Brass.  
I was therefore now resolved (being on the Road) to Hope the best, and to outbrave all fears of my Father's displeasure. 'Tis true, there were in my way no shady Woods for Nightingales to ●ull me into soft slumbers, no murmuring Rills to which I might make my sorrowful Complaints, no kind Hermits to invite me to their Cells; all my comfort was in HOPE, and the Compassion of my Guardian-Angel.  
(When Alexander Rambled through Asia, he gave large Donatives to his Captains, insomuch as Parmenio asked him, Sir, what do you keep for yourself? He answered [HOPE]:) So on I rambled like a very Alexander, and by that time I had trudged it as far as Action, I began to examine my little Fob, to see what Pennies I had to carry me home.  
(And Reader, you must know in those Juvenile days—  
Good Coin was unto me a precious thing,  
Because it bore the Picture of my King.)  
And indeed, when all is done, there is no Friend like the Penny.  
But my Gold (that Female Charm) which in days of yore was wont to be as sweet a Cordial to my Purse, as Drams to my Stomach, having Wings, was gone; the knowledge of which was as welcome to my rambling Thoughts, as the unexpected sound of a Passing-Bell usually is to the scraping Usurer (who like a Dog in a Wheel toils to roast Meat for others eating) when it tolls him away from his Bags to his Grave. But now calling to mind, that Fortune was ne'er more kind than when she had emptied my Pockets, I briskt up my Spirits with that golden Verse out of Horace— Cantabit vacuus coram latrone Via●or. And on I went still with a merry heart (a Dish brave enough to feast a Prince!) but before I got to Uxbridge (which was the next Town in my way home) I found my Guts in an uproar, and a Civil War commenct between my Mouth and my Somach; but now having no Money left, I knew not how to salve up the difference, neither would my Stomach hearken to any thing but a Bill of Fare in its grumbling manner of speaking. But tho' my Hunger was of a Folio size, yet I knew not where to have a Dinner in Decimo-sexto, and therefore was constrained now—  
To feast my lean Corpse with swallowing empty Fare,  
And for heart-chearing Food, devour the Air.  
It seems my Tutoress Fortune had a mind to keep me fasting, on purpose to put me upon Trials of Skill.  
Reader, you know, an empty Belly makes a witful Brain. She knew Necessity, and the the lowliness of my Pocket, would soon constrain me to summon my Wits to a Consultation for Replenishment. Every Fool can put the Sweat of his Tenants in his Pocket: He's the darling of Fortune, that carries his Estate in his Brains; She never forsakes the bold and daring!  
With these thoughts I hushed my whimpering Stomach into a-kind-of-Truce. But mark the sequel, before I could ramble as far as Chalfont (which was the next Village in my way) my Belly, which had no 
* Venture non habet Aures, says learned Nimshag, an ancient Utopian Philosopher, in his Treatise of the Antiquity of Gingerbread, lib. 7. pag. 300000000.  Ears, rung Noon again; and my Appetite (the most infallible sort of Clock) chimed out, Dinner, Dinner, Dinner, at least a dozen times.  
So that now I was forced to screw up Invention a Note above Ela, to find out some speedy relief, for I could no longer suppress the Insurrection of my twelve little Guts, or quiet the murmurings of the grand Rebel Colon, who was now every minute confuting the Philosophical Maxim of non datu● vacuum.  
But give a Man Luck, and cast him into the Sea; and rather than he shall sink, the 
* In spite of Goodman Lilly, who says, That Mars in the 8th. House with the Head of the Dragon, betokens that the Child then born shall be drowned, and not die of a Roap.  Gallows will bail him out. For much further now I had not Rambled—  
Before instead of cutthroat slaughtering Shambles,  
Each Hedge allowed me Berries from the Brambles.  
The Bullis, Hazle-Nut-Tree, Hopps and slows,  
Attend my Stomach wheresoever it goes:  
And for good Sauce I seldom were at charges,  
For every Crabtree did afford me Verjuice.  
My Banquet sometimes was green Beans and Peason,  
Nuts, Pears, Plumbs, Apples, which were now in season.  
My Music waits on me in every Bush,  
Which was my Brother Cuckoo and the Thrush:  
The mounting Lark sang in the lofty Sky,  
And Robbin-Read-breast made me melody.  
Moreover to accomplish my content,  
Here were all things to please my Eye and Scent:  
The Earth embroidered with the various hue  
Of green, red, yellow, purple, spangling blue,  
Carnation, crimson, damask, spotless white,  
And every colour that might please the sight.  
My Drink I now did not go far to look,  
Each Spring's my Tap, my Barrel is each Brook,  
Where I did quaff, and to't again by fits,  
Yet never stood in fear to hurt my Wits:  
For why? 'twas Ale of Grandam Nature's brewing,  
And very seldom sets her Guests a spewing.  
To all which I was kindly welcome still,  
Good Entertainment, though the Cheer was ill.  
Long I had not been thus Epicurizing on Nature's Cheer and Bounty, before I observed at some little distance, a plain Country-Fellow, in a grey homespun Coat; his Girdle near as big as a Horse-Collar about his Waste; his Doublet seemed to be but one great patch in Quarto, and his Hat exactly of the fashion of 
* The place of Evander's Nativity.  Graffhamsteeple, sitting under a large Beech-tree listening to the pretty Music which the Birds made in the neighbouring Plains, (who seemed as merry in the Woods as Lovers at a junket) and sometimes whistling himself to bear them company in their melodies. A long time methoughts I saw him thus sweetly entertain himself, and at last he pulled out of his Breeches (or Leathern-Cupboard) a piece of Bread and Cheese, which with Eyes lifted up to Heaven he seemed to acknowledge a liberal Dinner. I was much taken with the innocence of his Looks, and the rich contentment which I thought I read in his Face; which bred a great desire in me to know him better, and see something more of a Virtue hid under Rags; and so approaching nearer to him, I asked him how he came to lead so merry a life, when to outward appearance he looked like a Man in great distress.  
Alas Sir, said he, as Fortune is not my Landlady, so I fear not her displeasure; and having Contentment (that Heaven of the other World and this) tho' I have nothing but a Crust to live on, I can feast upon it. He is the happy Man that can calmly wish and want, and so can I: I can sing, My mind to me a Kingdom is! I was never yet dejected under the most biting frowns of Poverty, except it was in my sleep, which has been often broke with laughing! The Blow and Dairy are the very mound of my Meditation; I expostulate with my Oxen very Understandingly, and speak Gee and Who better than English: my Mind is not much distracted with Objects, but if a good Cow come in my way, I stand dumb and astonished, and though my haste be never so great, will fix here half an hour's contemplation: my Habitation is a poor thatched Roof, distinguished from my Barn by the loopholes that let out the Smoke, which the Rain had long since wash't through but for the double Ceiling of Bacon on the inside, which has hung there from my Grandsire's time, and is yet to make Rashers for Posterity: My Religion is part of my Copyhold which I take from my Landlord, and refer it wholly to his Discretion: My Compliment with my Neighbour is usually a good thump on the Back, and my Salvation commonly some blunt Curse. As to my Feet, they never stink so unbecommingly as when I troth after a Lawyer in Westminster-hall, and even cleave the ground with hard scraping, in beseeching of his Worship to take his Money.  

But should both Indies spread their Laps to me!  
And court my Eyes to wish their Treasury,  
My better Will they neither could entice,  
Nor this with Gold, nor that with all her Spice:  
For what poor things had these Possessions shown,  
When all were mine, but I were not mine own?  
Others in pompous Wealth their thoughts may please,  
And I am rich in wishing none of these:  
For Youth, which happiness would you beg first,  
Still to have Drink, or never to have Thirst?  
No Servants on my beck attendant stand,  
Yet are my Passions all at my command;  
Reason within me shall sole Ruler be,  
And every Sense shall wear her Livery:  
Lord of myself in Chief; when they that have  
More Wealth, make that their Lord which is my Slave▪   

Yet I as well as they with more content,  
Have in myself a Houshold-Government;  
My Intellectual Soul hath there possessed  
The Steward's Place, to govern all the rest.  
When I go forth, my Eyes two Ushers are,  
And dutifully walk before me bare:  
My Legs run Footman by me, go or stand;  
My ready Arms wait close on either hand:  
My Lips are Porters to the dangerous door,  
And either Ear a trusty Auditor:  
And when abroad I go, Fancy shall be  
My skilful Coachman, and shall hurry me  
Through Heaven and Earth, and Neptune's watery Plain,   

And in a moment drive me back again:  
The Charge of all my Cellar, Thirst, is thine;  
Thou Butler art, and Yeoman of my Wine:  
Stomach the Cook, whose Dishes best delight,  
Because their only Sauce is Appetite:  
My other Cook Digestion; where to me  
Teeth Carve, and palate will the Taster be;  
And the two Eyelids when I go to sleep,  
Like careful Grooms my silent Chamber keep;  
Where lest a Cold oppress my vital part,  
A gentle fire is kindled by the Heart;  
And lest too great a heat procure my pain,  
The Lungs fan Wind to cool those parts again.  
Within the inner Closet of my Brain  
Attend the nobler Members of my Train;  
Invention, Master of my Mint, grows there,  
And Memory, my faithful Treasurer.  
And tho' in others 'tis a treacherous part,  
My Tongue is SECRETARY to my Heart:  
And then the PAGE of my Soul and Sense,  
Love, Anger, Pleasure, Grief, Concupiscence,  
And all Affections else are taught t'obey  
Like Subjects, not like Favourites, to sway:  
This is my MANOR-HOUSE; Then Lad you see,  
I live Great-Master of a Family.  
My Wishes are but few, all easy to fulfil,  
I make the Limits of my Power the Bounds unto my Will.  
But should I leave or mind my 
* It seems he was a Shepherd by Profession.  Crook no more,  
I might perchance get RICHES and be POOR.  
Oh Humane Blindness! had you Eyes to see,  
There is no Wealth to scorned Poverty!   
Prithee observe (adds he) yonder Birds (in the Meadows through which we are passing) how merry, pleasant and jovial they be, who neither sow nor reap, nor have any Barns wherein to lay up their Food; and I think myself at least as rich and happy as those silly Creatures. The whole Creation is be spangled with the Blessings of God, which is as free for my use as theirs, and at present my Wants are all supplied, and I have no reason to doubt but they will be so for the time to come.  
Oh than Contentment! the Minds that travel to thy Indies, how rich they be? For they always return laden with that True Philosophers-stone, that turns the most rugged circumstance of Life into Gold.  
'Tis Contentment alone that can Alchemy the allay or Misfortunes of Life, and by a certain Celestial Superfoetation, turn all the Brass of this World into Gold.  
He having ended his charming Talk (with which I could have feasted my Ears till the declining Sun had once more rounded the World) we travelled on apace, till at last we came to a stately Mountain, beautified with lovely Prospects, on whose towering brow—  
He showed me more than e'er I saw o'th'Cliff  
Of Lofty, and of Heaven-daring Tenariff.  
But Solemnising his speedy journey would not stay,  
And posting Time did call me thence away.  
So on we rambled further, till we came to a Little Town 
* Little Missenden. , at the furthermost end of which, upon the Common, stood his Dwellinghouse (or Dunghill rather) modelled into the shape of a Cottage; which Reader, to draw thy Lips to the height of a smile (by the help of 
† Wallograph. p 17.  Wallography and my own Invention) I'll hear describe.  
A poor old ruinous Fabric it was, the Windows whereof were vanished. It's outward surface was so all-to-be-negroed with such swarthy plaster, that it appeared not unlike a great blot of Cow-turd: This Structure stradled over about eight els of ground, above the surface whereof the Eves were advanced about two Yards, and the Chimney peeped out about a Foot above the Eves; the light flowed in through the old circumference of a bottomless Peck; which being stuck in the Thatch, supplied the place of an Orbicular Casement. The Door-way was a breach in the Wall toward one end; which being of a dwarfish size, i. e. two Foot lower in stature than an ordinary Man, we were forced to abridge our Dimensions, and to creep in. The Parlour, Hall, Kitchen, i. e. one Room within was prettily adorned with the Poetry of Ballads; a crippled Pipkin with a broken shin, near allied to a Dish of the same matter; a vocal Spoon with a Whistle at the end; and a Tipsy Cradle reeling in the corner, (methoughts) were a pretty sort of Goods, and not unhandsome Furniture. A whole Litter of Children was strewed upon the Floor; only one Mop-headed Boy was Triposed on a Cricket, and blew the Fire. The carved Mantletree seemed to be defended by a little wooden Fellow furiously strutting in an Oaken Cloak; and I perceived the Window was endorsed with the Picture of a Fly. I observed that the bulky Cupboard was a Nuisance to the whole Family of Householdstuff, which it had mightily disobliged by entrenching on their Liberties, they grudging it so much room; and indeed the Table, Bed, and other Utensils, have not suffered a little detriment by its injurious Contiguity.;;  
He having treated my Eyes with his Domestic Bravery, he pulls out of his 
* The Lapper of his Shirt.  Flaxen-Pantry the Reversions of that 
† Which he called his Afternoon's-Luncheon.  Bread and Cheese which he was nibbling when I first saw him, and with words of a Crown a dozen, cries,  
Come, merry be thy Heart, dear Lad!  
Fellow-Traveller, eat and spare not!  
My Pockets lying speechless, I looked for small Entreaty, but most laboriously with my Teeth I wrought as if I had designed to have ballasted my Guts for an East-India Voyage.  
Thus did I feast on Scraps, (the poor Man's Cheer)  
And paying nothing, I found nothing dear;  
But 'twas because my Purse was Fortune trod,  
That he referred the payment unto God.  
But now the day growing old, I thought it would not be long e'er silent Night would put him to Bed; so up I started, and after three or four Scrapes, and twice bussing the Hand, we parted.  
By that time I had Rambled a Mile further, who should I overtake but my Fellow-Traveller's Shee-Clog, or the good Huswife of this little Tenement (that I had left behind me) with her Tippet bristling, her Mouth mumping, and her Hands knitting; she had a cade Lamb at her rear attending upon her, and a Kitten in the van, conducting her home.  
Upon my first glimpse of this Country Dame, I saw so much gaiety and pleasure rendevonzed in her Looks, I could not forbear ask the reason thereof. To which she replied (interlining each word with a Smile)  
My Husband's Mind and mine are one so fixed,  
That Argus Eyes can see no odds betwixt;  
And all our Strife (if ever Strife was meant)  
Is who o'th' two shall live the most content.  
'Tis this (adds she) is the cause of my mirth and jollity. 'Tis true (continued she) when I eye the Nobles of the Earth in their Royalty and dazzling Glory, when I think of Nero in his Rambles to Rome with his thousand Silver Chariots, and his Mules all shod with Gold: When I hear (as I do sometimes) by the honest Lungunners of those gaudy Sparks that glitter in the Courts of Kings: When I see the sedulous Merchant crossing the Seas to the remotest 
*— Extremos currit mercator an Indos.  Indies; or look on the wealthy Usurer (who as the Devil sits laughing in his Conscience) measures his Time by the counting of his Bags: I fall down on my knees, and cry,  
Blessed Lord! What a poor Atom am I, if compared with these Glorious Piles of State!  
But then again, when I sit down and consider that—  
Safe from all Wethers I contented dwell  
In my poor House, (though 'tis a homely Cell)  
And that without a Sigh or golden Wish  
I can look on my Beechen Bowl and Dish:  
Methinks then in my heart such Riches be,  
That Persian Kings aere Slaves compared with me.  
And prithee Boy, tell me, Did not beggarly Crates show a braver Spirit when he danced and laughed in his Threadbare Coat, and his Wallet at his back, which was all his Wealth, than Alexander when he wept because there were no more Worlds to conquer?  
He contemned what this other did cry for!  
What was great Caesar also but the same,  
A crack-brained Huff that set the World in flame:  
Who Lord of the whole Globe, yet not content,  
Lacked Elbow-room, and seemed too closely penned;  
What madness was't, that born to a fair Throne,  
Where he might Rule with Justice and Renown,  
Like a wild Robber he should choose to roam  
A pitied Wretch with neither house nor home!  
No Man can be Poor, that has enough; nor Rich, that covets more than he has.  
Content is all we aim at with our Store,  
And having that with Little, what needs more?  
Alexander, after all his Conquests, complained that he wanted more Worlds: He desired something more even when he had gotten all.  
Whether is it better to have much, or enrugh? He that has much, desires more, which shows that he has not yet enough; but he that has enough, is at rest. The richest Man that ever lived is poor in my opinion, but he that keeps himself to the stint of Nature, nor does neither feel Poverty nor fear it. Nay, even in Poverty itself there are some things superfluous: Those which the World calls Happy, that felicity is a small splendour that dazzles the Eyes of the Vulgar, but our rich Man is glorious and happy. Within there's no Ambition in Hunger or Thirst. Let there be Food, and no matter for the Table, the Dish, and the Servants. 'Tis not for us to say, this is not handsome, that's common, t'other offends my Eye. Nature provides for health, not delicacy. When the Trumpet sounds a Charge, the poor Man knows that he's not aimed at; when they cry out, Fire, Fire, his Body is all he has to look after: If he be to take a Journey, there's no blocking up of Streets, and thronging of Passages for a parting Compliment. No Man finds Poverty a trouble to him, but he that thinks it so; and he that thinks it so, makes it so. He that is not content in Poverty, would not be so neither in Plenty; for the fault is not in the Thing, but the Mind; if that be sickly, remove him from a Kennel to a Palace, he's at the same pass. If there were nothing else in Poverty but the certain knowledge of our Friends, it were yet a most desirable Blessing when every Man leaves us but those that love us.  
In a word, Let the Mind be great and glorious, and all other things are despicable in comparison; the future is uncertain, and I had rather beg of myself not to desire any thing, than of Fortune to bestow it.  
As soon as she had ended her pretty Chat, she drops me two or three Curtsies (as low as the ground) as a Token of Farewell; which I soon repaid with as many Bows as I thought so virtuous a Mind had a right in any Habit to exact.  
And on I rambled again (admiring still at these loving Tur●●s whenever they came in my thoughts) in hopes that some B●rn or Enchanted Castle would present itself to my sight.— And here, kind Reader, stand and admire at the Good-luck of a Pennyless Rambler: For behold! no sooner had the Sun ●●llaby'd the Day, but I espied, about a Mile off, a happy Prospect of glimmering Thatch; which the nearer I approached, the more visibly it appeared in the shape of a House.  
It was called by way of Irony, a Castle, whose Governor was a decayed Tailor.  
This Crosslegged Knight was (as I afterwards heard) ●mble of Foot, though a Dwarf in bulk, so that Nine such might well Club to the Elementing of a MAN.  
When I came up to his House, peeping in at the Windows, I beheld a whole Company of Spanish Pike-men, alias Pedicula●●n Limb-dressers, sitting in rank and file upon a long Table exercising their Small-Arms, to the endangering of the life of many a six-footed Animal.  
Then turning my Eyes towards the Cupboard (where methoughts I could with a million of thanks have squeezed in my ●aded Corpse for a nap or two) I beheld the Master and Mistress of these Shreds of Humanity with a whole 
* Every Man to his Trade.  Library of their little selves (printed in several Volumes) tripping up a Ladder to the Apartments of their several Cabins.  
Seeing such a brood of Cormorants at my first look, I thought it would be to no purpose to beg for a Lodging here; I therefore now purely entrusted my Condition to the Protection of Heaven,—  

And stayed not here, although mp Toes were sore,  
But made a shi●t to Ramble two Miles more  
To Wendover; a Hedge doth there enclose  
Grounds on the right-hand, there I did repose;  
There with my Mother-Earth I thought it fit  
To lodge, and yet no Incest did commit;  
My Bed was sweetened with good wholesome Airs,  
And being weary, I went up no Stairs;  
Heaven was the Roof that canopyed my Head,  
The Clouds my Curtai●, and the Earth my Bed;  
The Moon my Torch, the Stars my Candle-light,  
The Grass the Cap that bound my Head this night.  
T●us in great Pomp I laid me down to sleep,  
Whilst that the Owls my Lifeguard were, to keep  
My drowsy Ears ●rom CRIES of bleating Sheep.  
Here my Bedfellows and Companions were  
My Staff, one Coat, a Bull, four Cows, two Steer;  
But yet for all this most confused Rout,  
We had no Bed-sticks, yet we fell not out.   

" Thus NATURE, like an Aucient Free Upholster,  
" Did furnish me with Bedstead, Bed and Bolster;  
" And the wide Skies, for which high Heaven be thanked,  
" Allowed me a large Covering and BLANKET.  
" The Lark also, when it was time for waking,  
" Did sing me up, and all my ready making  
" Was gaping, stretching, and a little shaking:  
" And finding my Host this Night both free and kind,  
" I like a Trueman left my Sheets behind:  
But now my Muse herself craves some repose,  
And while she sleeps, I'll spout a little Prose.   
No sooner had Day's wakeful Porter stepped o'er the Eastern Threshold, to bring the welcome News of approaching Day, but up I started from my Grassy-Bed, and after a shrug or two away I rambled again towards my Father's House; and by that time I got as far as 
* A Town two Miles on this side my Father's House.  Halton, my last Night's Supper, which was as much as nothing, began to rise in my Thoughts; upon which I began a second time to address myself to the Brambles for relief to my barking Stomach.  
And having treated my Guts with a plentiful Breakfast of Hips and Haws, on I went, contemplating the Summer's pride, and the Earth's bravery, and from them both concluded the great felicity of a Country-life, as if the one would never fade, and the other always endure, resolving in my thoughts never to see London again, being ravished with the delights of the verdant Fields, and enamoured on the beauties of the Spring, accounting none truly happy, but he who enjoyed the felicities of a Country life: Is he addicted to study, Heaven is the Library, the Sun, Moon and Stars his Books to teach him Astronomy, that great Volume his Ephemerideses, out of which he may calculate Predictions of times to follow; yea in the very Clouds are written Lessons of Divinity for him, to instruct him in wisdom; the turning over their leaves teach him the variation of Seasons, and how to dispose his business for all Wethers. Who therefore would not consume his youth in such delightful studies, that have power in them to keep off old age longer than it would? or when old age doth come, is able to give it the livelihood and vigour of youth? Who would no● rather sit at the foot of a hill, tending a ●lock of Sheep, than at the helm of Authority, controlling the stubborn and unruly Multitude? Better it is in the solitary Woods, and the wild Fields, to be a Man among Beasts, than in the midst of a peopled City to be be a Beast among Men.  
As I was thus strucken into admiration of these beauties, and wholly taken up in a contemplation of the felicities of a retired life, being already in my thoughts an absolute country Man, I being now some miles distant from London, the Metropolitan City of our fruitful Albion, on a sudden the Welkin began to roar, and send forth terrible peals of thunder, the serene Sky was over-shadowed, and Phoe●us hid his head behind a Cloud, the Heavens began first to weep small tears, afterwards to pour them in full Rivulets upon the thirsty Earth; I had then no Penthouse to walk under to keep me from the Rain, nor was there a red Lattice at every nook and corner (as at London) to give me entertainment; the spreading Boughs of the sturdy Oak were too feeble to defend me from being wet; I looked like a drenched Mous●, having never a dry thread on me; what to do I knew not, Money I ●●d none, Friends none, a Stranger both to the Place and People, unexperienced in the World, as in the way where I travelled; the consideration of those things made me add more moisture to the earth by the salt ●ears that trickled from my eyes, to stand still I thought was in vain.  
So forwards I went, wet without, and dry within, (sorrow they say causeth drought) at length I spied by the corner of a Wood a little thatched Cottage; thither I went, and found by an old rotten Stick that darted out of it in imitation of a Signpost, that it was an Alehouse; this something revived my drooping Spirits, so in I went, to dry my outside and wet my inside; where I found a good fire, and sto●e of company of both Sexes merrily trolling the Bowl about, singing of Catches, and smoking Tobacco; no sooner was I enured, but one of them drank to me a full cup; so down I sat amongst them, being all alike free Citizens of the wide World, the Strong Ale soon washed away all sorrow from my heart, and now that I had a warm fire to sit by, and a house over my head, I bid a ●ig for all foul weather.  
The great store of Rain that now fell, made the Highways like Hafty-Pudding, by which means though I rid in Shoes and Stockings, (for being now tired, I hired me a little Palfry) yet I was sufficiently be-booted with dirt. I rid over the Common melancholy alone, but coming to Chesham Thicket, there was company enough, such as I liked not by any means; and now Gramercy Horse, for had not he looked as scurvily as I rid bootlesly scandalous, I had undoubtedly been robbed; for I had no other Arms about me than those of the Primitive Christians, Tears and Prayers; but say I had, to what purpose had it been, seeing I made it a Case of Conscience to kill a Man, though it were in my own defence▪ 'Tis true, I seem furnished sometimes with two defensive Weapons, an old rusty Sword, and a liberal Hand; not to strike, but to give away my Purse; which is my politic device to preveut robbing. But now if I had Valour in me, I was afraid to show it: Besides, it dwelled at least a furlong from my face; for the cowardly form of that could not but encourage an Enemy. Never was poor Horse and beastly Man so surveyed before, by Devils I think, for their Faces by their Vizard 〈◊〉 seemed every whit as black.  
Escaping that danger, I got the fourth days journey to Wendover, alighting, I fell all along, for I had kicked away my Legs in riding thither. Never did I find the difference till now of riding on a Yard-arm & on the sharp ridged back of a surfeited Jade; I had not so much skin left upon my breech as would make a white Patch for an Ethiopian Lady of Pleasure. Here I lay three days to recover the damage my Posteriors had sustained by riding my wooden Horse. In which time I observed but little remarkable, but a Tapster's playing with a Fellow of the Town for Money in a little by Alehouse, where was sold incomperable Ale, which I found out by the information of a Cobbler, the reflection of whose face would have afforded light enough to an Alehouse at midnight.  
This Cobbler having been drinking till his Brains were shipwrecked in a deluge of Canary, yet unable with all that Liquor ●o quench his Nose, which appeared so flaming, that when he was smoking, it could not be discerned by the most critical Eye, at which end his Pipe burned with the more red-hot fire; staggering towards his Lodging about the Suburbs of the Morning, without any other light than was reflected from his Stellified Countenance, chanced to encounter a certain Hydrogogical Engine, by the Students in the Mathematics called a Pump, which he taking for some cross-grained Fellow, that would not give the way, made so furiously at it, that with the terrible shock himself was beat backwards, and fell down just under the Spout, which a Maid having made use of just before for water to wash her house, it still continued to drisle softly; whereupon the sprawling Gentleman being much more enraged, (●or you know no Injuries are so picquantly resisted by generous Spirits as those that come attended with contempt,) cries out, You Dog! cannot you be content to bea● and abuse me, but you must piss upon me too, and thereupon draws his Knife, & like a dying Hero, from the ground made several passes at his Adversary, till the Watch going their Rounds interrupted the ridiculous Combat; but perceiving the Gentleman Cobbler had got a considerable Wound in his Skull, took care for his safe conveyance to his Lodging, left the excess of his Prowess might engage him in more such perilous Adventures.  
Leaving this Town, I found that I had more Money going out of it, than I brought into it, and so I merrily road on ●o Weston. Here my jaded Beast gave up the Ghost, it was time for us to part, for we were both weary of one the other. The moneys that I had here borrowed was just enough to procure me the sight of another, but exceeding different from the former; as the one was exceeding dull and heavy, this was all air and fiery. However, that I might not be laughed at, I adventured to cross his back; but I was scarce settled in the Saddle, when this understanding Beast knowing by my sitting him, that he had a foolish and unskilful Governor to deal withal, grew headstrong, flew away with me like Lightning; for my part I thought I had got the Devil between my legs, and that I was riding Post upon some bellish Design. I knew quickly whom I had to deal withal, a thing that would have his will, and therefore thought it a piece of imprudence to curb his extravagant running, knowing well that that pace would not last always.  
I gave him his head, let him go which way, and as fast as he pleased; in truth he was 〈◊〉 acquainted with the Road than his Master, and would not be persuaded out on't by any such ignorant Hawl-bowling as myself.  
That night my Horse and I (for I must give his Horseship the pre-eminence) came to Resbrow (seven miles distant from my Journeys end) entering the Town, he went directly to his Inn, and was known to the Ostler, calling him by some familiar term, I know not what now, and asked me whether the Horse was mine? I replied that he was so, and why should not I own him, since he entitled me by running away with m●, not I with him; and since by an unexpected chance I had a benefit thrown into my hands, I was resolved to make use of it; and so I did, for the next day, very early, I road away with him for Tonsa (where my Father lived:) his heat and fury by this time were pretty well qualified, and I could ride him then my own pace, whereas before I would willingly have condescended to have had a Leg or an arm brok●, to have secured the Bone of my Neck. And certainly I shall never forget with what a complimental fear I embraced my Horse's Neck, committing the protection of all my Limbs to several Supporters, but my Legs wholly to my Stirrups.  
I went on now in my Progress, as the day before: Then began a shower of Tears to fall from my Eyes, considering how I had left my Master, lamenting my Loss, and fearing what fatal courses I might take. It was no less trouble to me to think that I had nothing still but Hazel and Brambles to address myself to, for the appeasing of an hungry Stomach.  
Now methoughts I began to loathe my afore-named Manna, Blackberries, Nuts, Crabs, Bullice, etc. and longed to taste of the fleshpots again; but not a bit could I yet get but what the Hedges afforded me.  
All day I thus wandered about, not daring to come near any Town, having had such bad success hitherto.  
And now Night came on again, which put me in mind of procuring a Lodging somewhat warmer than the last.  
A Barn presently offered itself to my ●ight, which I accosted, and without delay or fear entered into the Enchanted Castle, where I found Accommodations for the most faithful and valiant Spa●k that ever strode Saddle for Lady's sake.  
Here might I take my choice of variety of fresh Straw, but my weariness would not permit me to compliment my good fortune one jot, and so I tumbled over head and ears.  
By that time the Morning was two hours old, I was again on another Ramble, travelling now with a speed that showed I rather used Wings than Legs!  
All things in Nature, the nearer they come to the Centre, the quicker they are in their Motion; so much as a Hackney-Iade (whose Ribs would be dear at Threepences a side) if he have any dormant mettle left, when he comes near to his home, he will both prick up his ears, and mend his pace.  
And now Heavens keep me moderate, lest, excess of joy should ●ak● my Virtue less!  
Reader, you are now to suppose me within sight of my Father's House: which as soon as e'er I saw, Oh how did my Blood frisk and caper in every Vein! Oh the Oceans of Delight that now flowed within me! I seemed even ruined with Transport, and undone with Pleasure! my Breast was too narrow to contain my joys!  
And doubtless the weary Seaman, who after a tedious Voyage descries the Land at last—  
(For whose glad sight he gets the Hatches under,  
And to the Ocean tells his joys in thunder.)  
never eyed the first glimpse of shore (on the top of his trembling Mast) with half that pleasure I enjoyed upon a fresh sight of my former home.  
Being come into the 
† Tonsa.  Town where my Father lived, how nimbly did I pass the streets, while yet my Affections lackey before me! as being eager to hear what kind of Comment he would make upon this new Adventure.  
Delays in great Expectations are killing! 'Tis perfect Hell that puts off for ever.  
And now that I might outbrave all fears of a kind Reception, as I rambled through the Garden leading to his House, thus I argued with myself:  
Why should I so much as dream of my Father's anger, when I know he is subject and obnoxious to no body; Who shall blame him if he receive me kindly, or set limits to his Mercy? Nay, who can tell the measure of a Father's Bowels. FATHER! the very word has a tenderness in it, and is full of all Pity and Love.— It may be there is irresistible Eloquence in the word Peccavi, and the Spectacle but of one extravagant Action surely will have Rhetoric enough in it to carry a Cause where a Father is judge! But admit he be so much provoked by my Childish Humours, in leaving so good a Master, that it should extinguish in him the peculiar Affections of a Father, yet surely it can ne'er destroy the common Passions of Humanity, Mercy and Pity! in which he ever delighted. But say he should prove inexorable, 'tis because he loves me: And surely that's an obliging Quarrel, whose only End is Friendship!  
These discursive Thoughts were no sooner vanished, but my next step brought me to my Father's door; where being arrived (resolving now to have an end of my Fears or my Hopes, for delay is a cruel wrack, and kills by peacemeals,) I knocked with a courage, that loudly declared there was one at the door that was not afraid of being heard.  
My Father by a wonderful accident hearing the noise, sends no less Person than himself to see who was in such monstrous haste; and opening the door (his Heart not believing what his Eyes saw) he startles back like one amazed! And surely had I been a Messenger from the Man in the Moon (or, which is more frightful, the pale Ghost of some merciless Usurer) he could not have been more surprised.  
But at length, after viewing and circumviewing my Face, as if he had designed to have drawn my Picture, or to have surveyed something through me, to this purpose he expressed himself.  Father. 
Bless me! Son John, is it you or your Ghost?  Son. 
Sir, possibly 'twould be more to your satisfaction if I were a thing of Air, but I am a substantial Mortal, even your very Son Kainophilus.  Father. 
Why how now, Son John, what have you served your Seven Years already?  
To these words of my Father's (after I had put Finger in Eye) I returned the following Answer.  Son. 
Truly Sir I cannot deny but that the thoughts of being an Apprentice in the City of London, whilst I gazed on it at a distance with the Eyes of Expectation and Desire, had something gay and lovely in it! But now having made a trial, (Yes, adds my Father, and a short one too,) its former lustre vanishes, and I see it a quite different thing from what it was represented to me. But Sir, if my returning home has occasioned your anger against me, I humbly beg Pardon from Heaven, and Forgiveness from you. Be pleased therefore to mitigate my offence, by revolving in your mind the fewness of my years, which makes me (as it doth many others) prone to Rambling Fancies. And for once (I entreat you Sir) look on this youthful, and my first Elapse, but as a thing which maturity of years may rectify; and if you can forgive my Follies, I will study to forget them, and daily endeavour by a dutiful Carriage to declare to the World how much I will be your obedient Son, Kalnophilus.  
To which he replied, Son John, you say well, b●t alas! what's become of your lost hours? have they made you any promise of returning again when you have need of them? or can you show me which way they went? No, alas my Child! they are gone without recovery, and in their flight methinks Time seems to turn his head and laugh over his shoulder in derision of you that made no better use of him when you had him, than to leave so good a Master, of whose good nature and worth I was so well assured by my London Friends.  
My Father had no sooner read me a Lecture upon this extempore Frolic (and refolved upon sending me back to my Master) but he calls for Pen, Ink and Paper, and bids me write down his Dying Counsel, which he gave me in the following words.  

An Exact Copy of my Father's Dying Counsel which he gave me Decemb. 25. 1675. at the Parsonage-house in Tonsa.  

Concerning your Soul.  
1. AS you have been a Son of many Prayers and Tears, ●eing a long time earneftly begged of God, and against all human Hope being brought forth into the World by God's special Hand of Providence, and being wonderfully restored to life again after some hours seeming death, which immediately ensued after your birth; and being likewise as signally delivered from the nearest hazard and likelihood of death, when you had the Smallpox; I do therefore exhort and charge you, in the presence of the Allseeing God, and as you will answer it before Jesus Christ, the Judge of the Quick and Dead, that you make it your primary and principal care and endeavour to know, fear, love, obey and serve God, your Creator and Deliverer, as he hath revealed himself through his Son by his Spirit, in his Holy Word.  
2. I do likewise counsel you to read Gods Holy Word, both in the Latin and English Bible, as often as you have opportunity: And I also counsel you to read over Wollebius' Compendium of Theology, in Latin and English, till you well understand both, at such seasons as you may most conveniently do it.  
3. I do likewise counsel you, constantly every Morning and Evening to pray unto God for his Direction, Protection and Benediction in all that you do, and that with an audible Voice when you may conveniently do it; or at least mentally, expressing all possible reverence, affection, joy and thankfulness to God through Christ therein.  
4. I counsel you likewise manfully to resist all Extremes, sinful sadness and despondency of Spirit, and to exercise Faith, Cheerfulness and Delight in the remembrance of all God's Mercies and Deliverances.  
5. I do likewise counsel you, carefully to shun all evil Company, with all temptations to, or occasions of evil.  
6. I do likewise counsel you to be dutiful to your Mother, loving to your Brothers and Sisters, obedient to your Master, diligently and faithfully to serve the Lord in all relations and conditions as he requireth.   

Concerning your Body.  
1. I counsel you to use moderate Exercise and lawful Recreations for the necessary health of your Body; being always moderate in your eating, drinking and sleeping: Never spend too much time or cost in any Exercise or Recreation.   

Concerning your Estate.  
1. I do counsel you never to desert your Trade or Calling, which you have by God's special Providence been called unto.  
2. I do counsel you ro serve out your full time with cheerfulness and delight, endeavouring to acquaint yourself with all the Mysteries and Improvements of your Trade; and if you find not convincing Reasons to the contrary, to serve as journeyman for one year (because I judge you may by that means gain more Acquaintance and Interest, and a further insight into your Trade.)  
3. I do counsel you not to Marry before you be twenty five years of age, unless some remarkable Providence shall induce you thereunto.  
4. I do likewise counsel you to use all possible prudence in your Choice of a Wife; that she be truly Religious, and at least eminently Virtuous, that is born of honest Parents, and who is of Age and Estate suitable unto yourself.  
5. I do likewise counsel you, not to sell any part of your Estate in Land, if either your Wife's Portion, or your borrowing of Money upon Interest, may convenintly serve to set up your Trade.  
6. I do likewise counsel you to have a convenient Shop, in a convenient place, at your own charge, (which will very much facilitate and make way for your suitable and comfortable Marriage;) yet if you shall by some remarkable Providence meet with a Wife of a considerable Estate, you may by her Portion set up your Trade, without mortgaging of your Land.  
7. Lastly, I likewise counsel you in all things, and in all times, so to think, and speak, and act, as you may be willing to appear before God at Death and Judgement.  
Tonsa, Decemb. 25. Ann. Dom. 1675.    
No sooner had my Father ended his Dying Counsel, but my courteous Friends who heard it with a wonderment equal to their ignorance, invite me to a Surloin of Beef, by the help of which and a little of the Decoction of Barley, I got strength enough to ramble to bed; where being refreshed with a twelve hours' nap, up I mounted, and repairing to my Father's Chamber (after begging his Blessing) I presented him with a shower of T●●rs, and so we parted, but alas! alas! never to see each other again till we meet in the other 
* For this was the last time I saw him alive.  World.  
My Father, at this solemn parting, gave me several Letters (all written by my own Mother 
† Lydiah C— r. ) wishing me to read them often, and keep 'em in memory of her to my dying day; which that I may the better do, I'll here print 'em word for word, and are as followeth.  

My own Mother's Letters (which she sent to her several Relations) given me by my Father at our last parting.  

Mrs. Lydiah C— ●'s Letter to her Brother B— n.  
Loving Brother,  
WHen you consider how Priscilla expounded the way of God perfectly unto Apollo's, I hope you will take in good part the sincere and cordial Wishes of a weaker Vessel. Providence hath set our Bodies at a great distance, yet how near and dear you are unto my Soul the Lord knows, whose eternal Welfare I as vehemently desire as mine own; and should be unspeakably glad, if (as we have lain in one Mother's Belly and Bosom together) we might also lie down in the same divine Embraces of infinite Love.  
Brother, I know not whether I shall ever see your Face any more; not that I speak in respect of present Sickness, but in regard of the uncertain brevity of Life. Man giveth up the Ghost, and where is he? Oh that same Expression, And where is he? hath often put my Soul into a wondering frame; because the Scripture ●aith, after Death cometh judgement.  
Brother, I humbly and ingenuously confess that I am less than the least of all those who look Heaven ward, yet that I am a bruised Reed, or as smoking Flax, I cannot deny: But, O Brother! I would have you a tall Cedar in Religion, a Pillar in the Church of God, a valiant Champion for the Truth, one that may attain unto the full stature of a perfect Man in Christ:  
Brother, believe me, I blush at these Scribble of mine, yet how fain would I write unto you, (seeing I cannot speak with you) that I might put you in mind of Eternity, of Eternity, that little word of the greatest concernment. But when this Thought first entered into my Heart, I bewailed, oh I bewailed my own ignorance, unbelief, inconsideration, and want of zeal; and I thought you might justly smile at my forwardness in exhorting you (who am so unable myself) and might say, Who is this that darkneth Counsel with words without knowledge? Yet because the Widow's Mite was kindly accepted of by Christ, Brother, do you vouchsafe a benign aspect upon this weak attempt, otherwise you will discourage a young Writer quite. Indeed I want skill to write my words, and words to express my Mind. What shall I say? O would to God the grave and gracious Counsels of that Holy Man (now in Heaven) might always sound in both our ears. Shall I wish he were alive again, that we might be blessed with his Fatherly Admonitions and Instructions, concerning that one thing necessary? Or may nor we be known to be the Spiritual Children of our Father Abraham, if we walk in the steps of his Faith, though he knows us not, being dead? Alas, alas, I am sure (I may speak it of myself) though one should 〈◊〉 from the dead, it would be nothing available, unless God did bring my unsensible and un●eachable heart under the powerful convincements of his Word, which is a more sure word of Prophecy than a ghostly Relation, unto which we are all bound to take good heed.  
Brother, search the Scriptures, for in them you shall find 〈◊〉 life, and they testify of Christ. I profess unto you I know nothing in all this World worth the knowing, but a crucified Christ, and to be fully persuaded upon unquestionable grounds of a saving Interest in him. Undoubtedly the pale Horse is prancing up & down in the World, upon which Death rides; and we know not how soon he may have us under his feet; but that we may escape out of the hands of that Horseman's Page, (Rev. 6. 8.) that we may so live in Christ, that Death may be an advantage to us; that we may so walk in the Faith, that we may have this testimony in our own Conscience, that all our ways and paths are wellpleasing to the Lord our great Sovereign; that we may so, even so run as to obtain an Immortal Crown at last, (though the Righteous shall scarcely be saved;) and that we might be found upon Mount Zion with the Lamb, among the sealed one's of God, is the earnest and daily Prayer of  
Your loving Sister, Lydiah C— r.   

Mrs. Lydiah C—rs Letter to her Brother I— h.  
Loving Brother,  
YOU are a young Man, and you read of the young Man in the Gospel, concerning whom it is said, Christ looking upon him, loved him. I think that was but a common love, because of some hopefulness of more good, or of less discovery of more evil in him than in many others. The Lord knows, that I do most tenderly love you as a Brother in the flesh; but oh how much more should I love you as a Brother in Christ. Now that you may have a share in the Soulsaving love of Christ, that you may be more intimately acquainted with the deep Mystery of the Gospel, that you may consecrate the flower of your Youth to God, that you may fly all Sins incident to your present state, that you may be sensible of continued Mercies, that you may improve all opportunities and abilities which you have received from God for God, that you may earnestly contend for the Faith once delivered to the Saints, that you may follow the Lord fully in your Generation, and that you and I, with all our Relations, may one day sit down in heavenly places together with Jesus Christ, is the uncessant Prayer of  
Your very loving Sister, Lydia C— r.   

Mrs. Lydia C— r's Letter to her Sister C— d.  
Loving Sister C— d,  
YOu are a Mother, 'tis a Blessing, yet but an earthly Blessing. Children are certain Cares, uncertain Comforts. Now that you may bear Christ in your Spirit, as you have born Children in your Body, that you may have further experience of the preserving Love of God, which passeth the tenderness of maternal Affection (Isa. 49. 14. 15.) that you may always enjoy the light of God's countenance, that ye may be strengthened with all might, according to the glorious power of God in your inward Man, unto all patience and long-suffering with joyfulness; that you may by your heavenly conversation adorn the Gospel of Jesus Christ, that you may be counselled and comfotted by the sweet influences of the Spirit of G●ace, and that you may be one of those who shall be caught up in the Clouds, together with all the Saints, to meet the Lord in the Air, and be for ever with him, is the fervent Prayer of  
Your very loving Sister, Lydia C— r.   

Mrs. Lydia C— r's Letter to her Aunt C— d.  
Most endeared Aunt,  
WHen I love in the Truth; and not I only, but also all they that have known the Truth. Grace be with you, Mercy and Peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God, and of jesus our Lord. I wish above all things that you may prosper and be in health, even as your 〈◊〉 prospereth. I have no greater joy than to hear that all the Lord's People walk in the power of Godliness, showing forth the Praises of him who hath called us out of darkness into his marvellous light. It is true, I have need to be more fully instructed of those who have attained unto a full age, and by reason of use have their Senses exercised to discern both good and evil; yet as one who hath obtained this grace of the Lord, as to be faithful in a few things, I shall not be negligent to put you in remembrance of these things, though you know them, and are established in the present truth. That which the Lord expects at our hands, is, that we should walk worthy of him who hath called us unto a Kingdom; that we should live unto the praise of his rich Grace, who hath so freely poured out his Soul unto death for us. Dying Love justly merits an humble, lowly, thankful and fruitful Conversation. Truly we live in a crooked and perverse Generation; Satan hath his Seat in every place; great is the subtlety of Sin, the deceitfulness of our own Hearts, the power and malice of our spiritual Adversary: It nearly concerns us therefore to give all diligence to make our calling and election sure, before we go away from hence, and be no more.  
Aunt, my continual and ●ervent desire is, that we may be every day more and more enlightened into the depths of special and distinguishing love, and that I may be helped forward in my Faith a●d joy in the Holy Ghost by your Experiences, is the Prayer of  
Your affectionate Cousin, Lydia C— r.  
My love unto all my Cousins, praying that they may be blessed with all spiritual Blessings in the common Saviour.   

Mrs. Lydia C— r's Letter to her Sister D— w.  
Loving Sister D— w,  
THat we should exhort one another daily, consider one another, and provoke one another unto Love and good Works, is the Exhortation of the Scripture, and such Counsel as I desire might be written upon your heart and mine.  
Sister, you are now entered into the World with me; but that an abundant entrance may be administered into the Kingdom of God unto us both; that we may with Mary, choose the better part, which shall never be taken from us; that we may grow in Grace, and in the Knowledge of Jesus Christ; that we may not be weary of well-doing; that we may approve our hearts unto God in all manner of holiness; that we may be filled with Spiritual Graces suitable to our Relations and Conditions; that we may persevere unto the end; that we may have the sense of God's love kept alive and warm upon our hearts; that we may bring forth much fruit proportionable to the precious enjoyments of Divine Mercy; that we may make it our business to praise, exalt and glorify him, who hath abundantly loved us in his Son; that we may have a continual eye upon him, who is the Authir and Finisher of our Faith; that we may earnestly strive to attain unto the Resurrection of the Dead; and that we may learn Christ, love Christ, and live Christ, is the restless desire of  
Your very loving Sister, Lydia C— r.  
Your Husband and you shall not be forgotten by me, in my plead at the Throne of Grace. Farewell.    
I had no sooner received these five Letters of my Mother's, and promised my Father to observe his Orders about ●em, but on I went in my Rambles again for London: But verily Reader, had you seen me before I was gotten fix yards on my way thither, you'd have thought I had mortgaged some of my Garments, or that my clothes were some where in Trouble, that I might still keep up the port of Travelling by Coach. For the Petticoateers falling upon me, and snatching one my Hat, another my Cloak, a third my Cane, a fourth my Belt, but not my Sword (for to speak truth I had none) and a fifth my Wig, (and 'twas a favour, believe it, my Head escaped) they had almost reduced me to Primitive Innocence.  
But at length getting clear of the Gypsies, away I rambled again for London; and getting into the Road, I applied myself (Citizen like) to the outside of my Beast, a meager and idolatrous Animal, that did homage almost to every Stone he met with.  
When I came to my Master's, he received me with a sweetness peculiar to himself. 'Tis true, he might have refus`d me for one inconsiderate Act, and yet have been highly just; but he (being unwilling to screw up justice to the pitch of an Injury, 
* As Friend Seneca hath it.  a temper proper to Brutes) acts the part of a generous Man, and welcomes his returning Prodigal.  
How well I pleased him the remaining part of my Time, may be guessed at by my Father's Letter which he sent me two years after I was Bound; which I'll add here, and with that conclude my Prenticeship Rambles.  

My Father's Letter sent me two Years after I was Bound, being the last I received from him.  
Dear Child,  
THY Master's Letter to me last Week, gives me great encouragement to think, that (if please God I live) I shall receive a great deal of comfort from thee: He writes so fully (that I profess I never read more written concerning any one in my life) of thy Cheerfulness, Tractableness, Industriousness, willing to learn and obey, of thy Truth and Honestly, and especially of thy desire and endeavour to know and serve the Lord. Oh, Child! this good Character of the● is the most comfortable and reviving 〈◊〉 that I have taken all the time of my late and long 〈◊〉 I pray God continue thy good R●so●●tions, of 〈…〉, Masters' 〈◊〉 Commendations of thee. Now, dear Child, if thy deserts answer these Praises, I shall not fear but I shall meet thee in Heaven hereafter, (though through my Corpora●● Indisposition I fear I shall see thy face no more on Earth;) and in the new jerusalem (if thou diest in the Arms of Divine Embraces;) I shall see thee not disfigur`d with Pockholes, but dignified with Celestial Glory: And there wilt thou see thy own Mother's face, who killed herself with excessive love to thee, and who died, praying so earnestly for thy Everlasting Salvation. But I must subscribe in haste (being much indisposed through a Cold I caught last Lord's-day in Preaching)  
Your real loving Father, Still praying for the Welfare of your Soul and Body, AMATUS.   

ERRATA.  
For Chap. IX, X, XI. (being those which next follow) read Chap. TWO, III, IU    

CHAP. IX.  
An Account of Kainophilus' early love to Rambling. The Reasons why he first surveyed England. His Remarks upon it. An Account of his Adventures into Buckingham Shire, with what passed there. His accidental meeting with Philaret on the Road. A Description of their Friendship. Their pleasant Frolic of Rambling Round the World.  
THat I have been a Rambler both before, when, and ever since I was born, you have heard already by another Hand; 'tis my Province to add here, that the Passion of Voyaging did so fortify itself in me with Age, that I had hardly attained twenty Years, but my Mind was set on A Ramble round the World— 
Mens generosa ultra polos!   
And now (being freed from a Master's beck) I resolved to have one glimpse of another Country, though Death himself should set the Ladder. The truly Valiant fears nothing but the duing an Injury: He that never fears is desperate, and he that fears always is a Coward. He is the truly valiant Man that dares nothing but what he may, and fears nothing but what he ought: Certainly then that Spectacle which Ʋander dares not look in the Face, is very affrighting.  
But because I was in love with the old Proverb, Do nothing rashly, I was resolved to see some of the Rooms of my Native Country, before I ventured over the Threshold thereof Methinks  
thinks 'tis a burning shame, to see that most English Men can give a better account of Fountainbleau than Hampton-Court; of the Stadt-house in A●sterdam, or the Indian Wigwams than they can of the Royal Exchange, Oxford, Cambridge, or mo●e renowned Graffham.  
'Tis true, he that would see much in a little, must Travel the Low Countries: Holland is all Europe in an Amsterdam- print, for Learning, War, and Traffic.  
But 'tis England! England! alone, that is a little World within itself, a Paradise for Women, and the very Queen of Isles. 'Tis the Darling of Ceres and Bacchus, the Air sweet and cherishing; the Glorious Sun that sets and goes down in other Countries, seems only to pass by the English Coasts. Nature as her Darling hath embraced England with a River and large Moat, intending still as she made, to lay up her Principals and Originals in this her Cabinet. The Natives have Faces like Angels, Wits like Muses, Charms like Graces, and are cast in a Mould between the Earthly Spaniard, and the trifling French.  
In a word, It's Excellencies are too big for Description, and therefore well might the Greek Poet cry out; 
— 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉:  and that English- man be justly censured, who embarks for another Country before he has viewed his own.  
These Considerations made me first resolve for a Ramble round my Native Country; and though I very well knew there was great Dangers attending such an Adventure; yet I thought it below a Man for the Love of Life to lose the Reason of Living, seeing 

— All may have Herb. Ch. Porch  
(If they dare try) a glorious Life or Grave.    
And therefore now I began to grow weary of the Life I led, and believed it was high time to think of departing. And no wonder! I was so soon on another Frolic, for a wand'ring Humour found me out as I say Capering in the Winding-Chambers of Nature, even there I lay forming Ideas of long Voyages, and New Worlds; and perhaps too grunting out, (for 'tis pure Charity to lend a Crutch to a lame Conceit.)  
Bout-Ship, Steady! Steady! Hard-up! Hard-a-weather! How wind ye my Hearts of Gold? East? or West, and by Nor●?  
Some say I was no sooner born but my Eyes had Language, and my Looks were offering at Discoveries.  
Of all my Members, the last that Rambled was my Tongue, (that Mother of Speech that shapes our Breath into Words,) as if I were loath to use so deceitful an Organ; and certainly I was best Company with it when I could but just Mutter and Lisp.  
I am apt to think, could I have seen and spoke in my Mother's Belly, I had always been pointing to some far Country, and crying,  
Cheer up my Mates, the Wind does fairly blow,  
Clap on more sail, and never spare,  
Farewell all Lands, for now we are  
I'th' Narrow, Narrow Sea●●, and merrily we go.  
Bless me, 'tis hot, another Bowl of Wine,  
And I shall cut the Burning-line:  
Ho Boys she scuds away,  
I round the World am sailing now!  
And verily, Sirs, there is no resisting of Fate; He that is born under a Rambling Planet, all that he doth to ●ix him at home doth but hasten his Travels abroad. Myself experienc●● the truth of this, for though at this juncture I had many Friends and Servants too, and all things else about me that could render Life gay and sweet, yet on a sudden  
(Being born a Rambler,)  

* 

Naturam expel as furca licet usque recurret.  Horace,   Nature returns, and now though Business had fettered my Legs, and my whole Life seemed bu● as one Marriage-day, (such crouching was there now to the Rising Sun;) yet all this could not fix my little Carcase, or limit my roving Mind to a narrower Circuit than the whole Creation.  
And therefore when I had as carefully evened with all Men, (for as to my Morals I am or should be an Honest Man,) as if I had been upon my last leave with the World, and had given a solemn Adieu to my Summer-Friends,  
I was soon on the March, not caring whither 〈◊〉 Rambled, to meet the Sun at his Rising, or at 〈◊〉 going down, provided only that I but Ramble; ●elieving now, that though my whole Life should be a daily Invention, and each Meal a New Stratagem, yet that the Pleasures of Travelling would sweeten all: And according to my Expectation every day rose upon me with a fresh Delight, and still where e'er I came, I was treated with all the Delicacies of Nature and Art; the Air was kind and soft, the Fields were Trim and Neat, the Sun benign and cherishing,— Nature each day dressed all the World anew!— and in a word, the whole Creation was free and obliliging, and from every thing I met I received a Civility.  
So that my whole Travels were performed with great Satisfaction, and I was so well pleased with every thing that I saw or heard as I went along, that I never thought myself at home, till now I had no home to go to.  
'Twas now! (as if the whole World had been my proper Birthright and Dwelling) that I had a Kitchen smoking in every Country, a Table covered in every Shire, and a Lodging (●●ias Barn) for a Scrape, or a How d●ye in every Village I came at: But if at any time Fortune withdrew her Smiles, (for she is constant in nothing but Inconstancy,) then all I met with I embraced for Brethren, (proving our Kin in a long series from Adam,) and so improved this far-fetched Relation into a passionate Hugg, and that for Money. Hunger will caper over stone Walls, I might add, over Hills set upon Hills, and therefore did I choose in Affliction rather to make my Brains my Exchequer, than (like a Modest Gentleman) to groan under the Slavery of a Blushing Temper.  
I was never when in Trouble, for Drink and be Rich, for I well knew I could not live 〈◊〉 Tempore, fe●st my Guts in a Dream; or like a Mouse in a Cheese, enlarge my Houseroom by Eating.  
But whither do I Ramble again? 'Tis time now to return to the History of my English Adventures, which were begun on the 10th of March, 1681. just as the Sun had newly shaken off the Scales of Pisces, and brushed himself with the Tail of Aries, and was beginning afresh his Yearly Ramble through the Zodiac. 'Twas now that I as it were by Sympathy, being weary of a fixed Life, took a Resolution to walk to the Globe in Cornhill, where meeting with a knot of loving Neighbours, in the height of our caressing Endearments, one was for making a visit to the East-Indies, and another to the West; If you'll go, I'll go, says one; and I'll go if you'll go, says another, till at last they concluded upon it to go all together.  
The next Question, was, whither we should March, and after a long Debate, they were all for France excepting myself.  
So after three or four Scrapes, and twice Bussing the Hand we parted— But by that time I had Rambled a Mile or two from London, who should I meet but Philaret, (an Old Acquaintance,) and thus I began to salute him.  
Kainophilus. Well met Dear Friend! What say you to a Ramble now, as far as Earth, and Seas, and Love can carry us?  
Philaret.— Agreed! I never was out at a Mad Frolic, though this is the Maddest I ever undertook: Sir, I take you at your Word, and if you are for a Merry Jaunt, I'll try for once who can foot it farthest; there are Hedges in Summer, and Barns in Winter to be found: I with my Knapsack, and you with your Bottle at your Back. we'll leave Honour to Madmen, and Riches to Knaves and Fools, and Travel till we come to the ridge of the World, and then drop together into the next.— Hang Pinching!— we'll Ramble till we can see both Poles knock; till we leave the Moon and Stars, and Light behind us; till we find Mountains of Gold without a Fiction, (and seeing Novelty is a thing so agreeable to our Natures) we'll wander still on, till we view the Cradle of the Infant-Morn, observe the Chambers of the Rising Sun— see him take Coach, Man! and be able to distinguish the Colour of his Horses, and their several Kind's: — Nor rest yet, till by our own Hazard we have discovered New Worlds, and brought one Hemisphere to some Acquaintance with another; nay, Ramble till— But here's enough in Conscience for a taste of a Frolic, I'll therefore now (with your Worships Leave) sit down and rest me, for I am at the End of the World already.—  
Philaret and I being thus agreed on a Rambling Project, you shall now seldom see us two asunder: We dwell together like Soul and Body: Had one been a Boy and the other a Girl, sure enough we had been Man and Wife. If one of us had been Castor, and the other Pollux, it had been well for Mariners, for we should always have appeared together. Why had we not both one Mother? Why were we not Twins? for never were two better pleased with one another's Company; part us and ye kill us, for when Soul and Body part 'tis Death.  
So that now pursuing my first Resolutions of viewing my Native Country, my Fellow Traveller and I like two Sons of Priam, Per varios casus, per tot discrimina Rerum, took half a dozen Guinea's in our Pockets to fortify ourselves against the Attacks of Hunger, Thirst, and other Enemies of Men upon a Ramble; and much about Noon we walked out of Town, and took the Road to Cholsbury in Buckinghamshire, designing to make that the first Stage of our Ramble.  
When we had walked about half way thither, invited by a Consort of Birds, which sung very sweetly in a Neighbouring Hedge, we by mutual Consent, sat down on a Bank, partly to observe the Harmony these pretty winged Choristers made, and partly to feed our Eyes with the variety of Detectable Objects, which seemed to outvie each other, and strive which should most engage the Beholder's Attention. Bless me, says Philaret (let my Fellow-Traveller pass by this Name.) Who would be buried alive in a Tavern, and soberly fuddle himself to Death, with the perpetual steams of a Wine-Cellar, when he may be thus healthily inebriated with the Natural Pleasures of Liberty, and an unconfined Life: From henceforth I resolve to live  
Lord of myself, accountable to none  
But to my Conscience, and my God alone:  
Let others who such meannesses can brook,  
Strike Countenance to every great Man's look.  
I rate my Freedom higher, nor will I  
For Food and Raiment truck my Liberty.  
But if I must to my last shifts be put,  
To fill a Bladder, and twelve yards of Gut,  
Rather with counterfeited wooden Legg,  
And my right Arm tied up, I'll choose to beg:  
I'll rather choose to starve 
† Q●i mori didicit, servire didicit, (saith Seneca,) He that hath learned to die, hath forgot to serve.  at large, than be  
The Gaudiest Vassal to dependency.  
For what greater Grief can there be to an ingenuous and free Spirit, who sitting at a spurious Table, to be placed at the lowest, to be carved unto of the worst and first cut, as of boiled Beef, Brawn, and the like? and if the Lady, or loose-bodyed Mistress presents unto him the Meat from her Trencher, then assuredly it was burnt too much! If he ●e carved out of a Pastry of Venison, it was some Part that was bruised in the Carriage, and began to s●ink: Yet for all this, (if he be a Servant) he must be obsequious, endure any Jeer, whisper for his drink, and rise at the coming in of the Basin or Ewer: And as Oldham says to his Friend, as soon as e'er the Tarts appear, he must hastily retire, (for Dainties are no more for a Servile, than they are for a Spiritual Maw) to do the which, any Generous an truly Noble Spirit had rather (I am persuaded) dine with my Lord Mayor's Hounds in Finsbu●y Fields.  
I think it hard for a Soul that doth not love Liberty, ever to raise itself to another World, I take it to be the Foundation of all Virtue, and the only seasoning that giveth a relish to Life: And though the laziness of a slavish subjection, hath its Charms for the more gross and Earthly part of Mankind; yet to Men made of a better sort of Clay, all that the World ca● give without Liberty hath no taste. It's true, nothing is sold so cheap by unthinking Men; but that doth no more lessen the real value of it, than a Country Fellows Ignorance doth that of a Diamond, in selling it for a Pot of Ale: Liberty is the Mistress of Mankind; she hath powerful Charms that do so dazzle, that we find Beauties in her, which perhaps are not there, as we do in other Mistresses, yet if she was not a Beauty, the World would not run Mad for her.  
Who, than (adds he) dear Kainophilus, would not exchange the Stench and Fogs of London for this open Balmy Air? Or the noisy din of Coaches, Cars, etc. for the delicious Whispers of Zephyrs; the charming ruffle of the Leaves; the agreeable murmur of Fountains, and the matchless Harmony of the Birds? Can any thing be more transporting? Can any thing be more desirable, than the free Enjoyment of these Felicities? Listen to these Feathered Quires. Their Music is nothing else but a perpetual Triumph in their Liberty. Their various Tunes, but so many joyful Echoes to their airy Rambles; recording to each other the happy Flights they take! Their Throats act o'er and o'er the Rambles of their Wings; rambling through all the Notes with exquisite Dexterity. Now Dorian sleepy Airs, than Phrygian Martial Tunes: Mind but that Treble which sounds so high and clear! Then mark the deep-stretched Base! How well they mix their Flats and Sharps! Hear how they Sing apart the high Counter and Mean! And then together Sing three Parts, or a Trio of two Trebles, one Concordant, and a Bourdon; and after all, every one Sings alone the Four Parts. Oh jolly Ramblers! Oh Frolic Vagabonds! Who would not emulate your Mirth, your Joy, your Happiness? Who would not be a Rambler, since 'tis a Life so full of Bliss?  
Thus did the ravished Philaret express himself, and just as I was about to Reply, there fell a sudden Shower of Rain mixed with large Hail, which occasioned us to rise in haste from our Seats, and Ramble to seek for some shelter. After a little scampering in the Shower, we came at last to an old hollow Oak, into the sides of which Time had eaten a Door; so that finding open House kept there, we entered the Tenement, judging it to be Rentfree. It's Hollow was very capacious and large, sufficient to contain four Men together, standing upright. It was closely Arched at the top by part of the solid Trunk, so that not the least drop of Rain or any other Moisture could find a Cranny to distil through. We were both extremely pleased at our New Mansion, and took it as a good Omen of our Ramble, since Nature has in every Corner such a Sanctuary for the distressed Pilgrim. But the Wether clearing up again, we addressed ourselves to our Journey, and in less than an Hour we arrived at Cholsbury, where having housed ourselves, and taken some Re●res●ment, we took a walk about the Town, of which I will relate to you what I found remarkable, and worthy Observation in the next Chapter.   

CHAP. X.  
An Account of Kainophilus' Rambles through Cholsbury. His pleasant Description of it. A Relation of his further Adventures in company with Philaret in the prosecution of their Ramble Round the World. With several other Remarkable Occurrences.  
ACcording to my promise in the last Chapter, I am obliged to give some Account of the most observable Occurrencs in our Survey of Cholsbury. After my Companion and I had honestly paid our Stomaches their usual Bill of Fare, and bribed our Noses with a Pipe or two of Tobacco, we called for our Landlord, and told him we had a great Inclination to see the Town. He being a brisk jolly Fellow, presently offered us his Company and Service; so we hoist up our Bums, and made to the Streetward.  
But we had not got clear of the Sands that were strewed on the Floor of the Room where we were at Anchor, when there was an Embargo suddenly laid on our Ears by a strange confused noise in our Chamber over our heads, which mightily surprised us.  
Our Host hastened up Stairs, and desired us to follow him; which we readily did, being greedy of the Novelty. The Chamber-door was open, and gave us an opportunity of beholding a very pleasant Spectacle.  
Some young Seafaring Sparks were got together a fuddling in this Chamber, and having drank themselves into Land Calentures, fancied the Room to be a Pinnace, floating on the Sea in a Storm (for the Wind indeed was high, and made the Windows clatter) attributing their Reeling to the rocking of the Vessel, and being strongly possessed with this conceit, and the danger they were in, every one begins to act his part, and consult the common safety; there was a noise of Haul Cat, Starboard, and the rest of the Marine Cant, Fly (saith one) up to the Mair-Top, and discover: He climbs by the Bedpost to the Tester, there reports a turbulent Sea and Tempest towards, and wills them, if they'll save their Ship and Lives, to cast their Lading Overboard. At this, all to work, and hoist into the Street, as to the Sea, what next comes to their hands, Stools, Tables, Trestles, Trenchers, Bedsteds, Cups, Pots, Plate and Glasses. Here a Fellow swaggering, they take him for the Boatswain; one lies struggling upon the floor, as if he swom for Life; a third takes the Bass-Viol for the Cockboat, sits in the Belly on't, labours, sweats, and rows, his Oar the Stick with which the Fiddler played: A fourth bestrides his Fellows, thinking to escape that way: In the Chimney lies one whistling, another gaping, another swearing and cursing, and all of them in such a Tempest of Imagination, that had not the Master of the House interposed his Authority, and seasonably assumed the Office of Master of the supposed Pinnace, commanding all hands down in the Hold; they were upon the point of casting all the Lading Overboard, and hoisting all his Goods out of the Window into the Street. But at his Command they all ran down Stairs helter skelter, with a hideous outcry of, All hands to the Pump, imagining a Leak was sprung in the Hold. When they were come down into the Entry, the Air began to work upon their floating Stomaches, and there was a mighty wambling within them; one springs a Leak in his Forecastle and Cook-Room, another in the Stern, till having unladed their drunken Carcases, they began to awake out of their Dreams, and shaking their Ears, tumbled out of doors as fast as they could. What became of them afterwards I know not, for I hilaret and I taking our Landlord along with us, entered now upon viewing the Town, and the Rarities in it: Which when we beheld, we were so far from being over-ravished with joy at the Sight, that we took it for some enchanted Castle, in regard we could not see so much as one Stone of all that magnificent Pile, which our Landlord had been building in our fancy; rather we were more than usually surprised at the humility of the Structures, and the lowliness of the Owners.  
Rambling into the middle of the Town, we entered a House, the Master of which, had he not been a Scot, you would have sworn him a Turk, regardless of his Habitation in this World, in expectation of Fools-Paradise in the next.  
It was a Hovel, or rather Sty, in length about six and thirty Foot, not covered Cathedral like with Lead, nor yet with a glittering Copper, after the Sweedish manner, but according to the Scotch custom, very meanly thatched with Oaten Reeds; not such as the Arcadian Shepherds piped withal, but plain downright illiterate Straw. The Fire was made near the Bedside, at one end, which for want of a Chimney, wrapped the whole Family, Guests and all, like so many Ixion's in a continual Cloud of Eye-tormenting Smoke: Near to the Bedside lay the Corn and Hay, which you may be sure was not worth its weight in Gold; and at the other end, without the distinction of Partitions, stood two Sheep, a Cow, and an old Horse. So that it may may be verily believed, that Virtue herself, in all her Exiles and Persection, never lived in such a homely Hermitage; and Marius, when he lay hid among the Bulrushes in the Fens of Minturnus, might be thought to have lodged in a Palace to this ill-favoured resemblance of Noah's Ark.  
But indeed the Tenements all o'er the Town, are suitable to the Guests that possess them; for as these seem to be Dirt moulded into Men, so those are the same matter kneaded into Houses; they are all very humble Cottages, and low in stature, so that a Man may ride upon the Ridge, and yet have his Legs hang in the Dirt; those that are so magnificent as to be crested with a Chimney, are mightily valued, as most Cocking Fabrics.  
Philaret and I were not so vain as to expect very splendid Furniture in such contemptible Huts; but we soon perceived what Utensils were most necessary; a Dishclout and a Besom, and such cleansing Implements, are very proper to correct the filthiness of their Mansions; we found no Apartments in these their Habitations, every Edifice where ere we came being a Noah's Ark, where a Promiscuous Family, a Miscellaneous Heap of all kind of Creatures did converse together in one Room; the Pigs and the Pullen, and other Brutes either truckling under, or lying at the Beds-feet of the little more refined, yet their Brother Animals. They are much addicted to the Sin of Nastiness, wallowing in filthiness like so many Swine; so that the whole Town seems to be but a general Sty.  
You may swear they are made of Earth, without a Metaphor, appearing like so many Dirt-Images or like that of Prome●heus made of Clay. The meaner sort of Women are generally such Draggle-Tails, that the Cattle in their Bosoms are quag-mired in the filth of their well-glebed Attire; so that the frisking Fleas are so far from Levaltoes that we are verily persuaded they can scarce pull out Proboscis, and their Feet from the Bogs.  
We could not perceive that they were guilty of much Learning; of which the lowest degree is several notches above their most exalted capacity. We met with one pretty proband in the Alphabet; but for the most part the knowledge of the least jota is rare and unusual.  
A Man skilled in Orthography is admired as a Sophy, and a Writer of his Name is termed a Rabbi. The Top-gallant of the Parish possibly may be so wise in Hieroglyphic, as to scrawl the Character of a Mystic Mark, though such deep Literature is not frequent among them. Some of their Ancestry have smelled rank of Astrology, one whereof, Pretty by name, was very notable at the Stars, and most intimate with the Planets, insomuch that sometimes he would fling at a Futurity, and venture at a Prognoshick concerning the Wether.  
To the Wisdom and Philosophy of this Sophy, his little Boy Bardus added Poetry; a Lad (it seems) notably inspired with Flames and Firebrands, with Heats and Raptures, and such kind of Tackle that are used by Poets.  
The Disciples of this Laureate were termed Bards, the great Embalmers of Heroic Actions; who (I warrant you) will wrap up an Achievement so securely in a Monument of single Verse, that all the nibblings in the World shall never be able to devour the Immortality of a Name. They ballad-sung the Praises of Renowned Heroes, and in lofty strains wire-drawed their fame, and stretched their Glory to after Ages.  
The most Famous of these Meter-mongers were Robin Hadwood, my Gaffer Glaskirion, and of late years old Farmer Davy, and our Neighbour Blunderbus.  
As for the Loves of these Villagers, the Intrigues of their Amours are not a little remarkable, they being very pretty Animals when disguised with that Passion: They are Tinder to such Flames, being quickly set on fire, even by the least spark, which when it hath catched the Match of their Souls (for they have Brimstone in them as well as in their Bodies) they are presently kindled into Transport and Ecstasy; and these model them into the shapes of a thousand Antics, and make them show more tricks than Banks his Horse.  
Sometimes they are shaking the Globules of their Noddles, and sometimes dancing some Geometry with the Figures of their Feet; now they smite with clapper of Fist their troubled Breasts, and anon sound out some Knells of dismal Groans, being variously affected according as the weather is in their Dorinda's Faces; if Aspect be clear, then is Hobnail Serene; if Brow be cloudy, then is he very Showry.  
He commonly oreflows in his prattle about the Princum prancumness of his Mistress, and is witty even to a Jest on the Fineries of their Habiliments; in describing of which he is pretty lucky at Similitude, and is happy in his Comparisons about her Person. One in this Town (as our Landlord told us) having a glimpse through the Keyhole of her Saffron Body, burst out into a Panegyric of the Bees-waxness (as he phrased it) of her Tawny Complexion; and seeing her Tipp●t to bristle into the ereetness of a Turban, he fell a laughing at the Coxcomb (as he termed it) of her Coif and Headgear.  
He seldom troubles his Madam with the Salutation of a Letter, but usually accosts her with the Missive (as I may say) of his noun Person, which being broken up in her presence, outfly the Contents full of flame and rapture.  
We heard of one that went a wooing with a Gun upon his Shoulder, being resolved (it seems) if Love be a warfare, not to enter unarmed into the Camp of Venus; still as his coy Aminta shifted from his presence, he marched Musketeering about the Room, and most fiercely pursued her, till at last in the brisk Encounter of a close Embrace, this warlike Instrument took an occasion, somewhat unmannerly, to go off, and Blunderbussed the Mistress on her Breech on one side of the house, and poor Booby on his Nose on the other; so that being much dismayed at this unhappy Accident, one scrabled one way, and the other another, to the total separation of a pair of Lovers, and to the utter spilling of a Mess of Love.  
These Cholsburians are pretty devout in their Worship, though the Exercise of Religion is somewhat scarce, and have a pretty glowing zeal, though their Church is at a great distance from their Town. 'Tis almost incredible how far they are fain to trudge for a little Homily, which when they have expected, have been mumped with a Sermon ten times worse. For on such Rawbone Li●ings there cannot be expected very plump Parts.  
The ordinary Revenue of this Spiritual Preferment may possibly be about Ten Marks per An●um; a Bay of Watling for a dwelling, endowed with no more Glebe than just what it stands upon, only perhaps it may be home-stalled with as much ground as may hold a Sty for the Pig, and a ●oost for the Pullen.  
This Divine Cottage is situated some Leagues from the Temple; so that the Holy Man with crabtree Truncheon sets out with the Sun, and ●tretcheth his Legs with a good handsome walk, before he arrives to Pulpit to stretch his Lungs, and wears out much of his Soles before he can teach his Stall to mend their Souls.  
Their Church is a Thatched Tabernacle, which being steepled (as it were) with a Lover-hole, seems to be really that what the Temple resembled when profaned by the jews, I mean, rather the Picture of a Pidgeon-house, than a holy Sanctuary. It was I perceived (for our Landlord carried Philaret and I●on purpose to see it) Wainscoted towards the East with little Desks like Pounds, where Levite imprisoned for about half an hour, fodders the poor gazing Dunces with some melancholy Tear-fetching Story about a Grim Fellow called Death, who ambles Folks on his back into another World.  
Their Recreations are various; In the whity-brown Evening, or in the Twilight, they ru● hooling about their Common with Kites at their heels, certain Comets of Paper, which they tow● along with a tall string, and make themselves merry with the length of their Tails, which are a large Series of jagged Tossels, raged with a Candle, as with the twinkling of a Star. Happy is the Man amoug them that can most descreetly manage this Artificial Planet; and he is presently dubbed the very Phaeton of their Country, that can most swiftly career it with this little lanthorned Phoebus. The Scrubs want Candle on Earth, and yet they must needs be sticking up Lights in the Socket of Heaven; there's scarce half a pound in the whole Lordship either to scare away darkness, or to work by, and yet these Rascals (forsooth) will be studding the Sky with Luminaries to play by.—  
As for true and real Hunting, there is no such thing among them, only they have (as it were) the Picture and some kind of resemblance of that Pastime; for their Principality affording them but few Hares, they course a Lock of Hay in lieu thereof, and halloo the Puss of a good nimble wisp.  
The whim of it is this; when they have a mind to refresh themselves with somewhat that is a kin to, or with an Idea of Hunting, they make diligent search for a Furlong or two of smooth and champion ground, which at last being found, they purchase a Bundle of the swiftest Hay; this they expose to the Fans of Aeolus, which being presently started by force of puff, it 'zounds away, and the Dogs pursue it with mighty speed.  
In rainy Wether they have also their In-door ●ivertisements as well as other Nations, such 〈◊〉 Question and Command, Rump-pressing, Hod-Cockles, Chap-smutting, Snap-applt, and the like. Some are cunning at the Cockall, not so much for picking off the meat (though they are good 〈◊〉 that too) as at throwing it with accuracy, and chequering the Sport with variety of Tumble.  
As far as we could perceive, they love Holiday Fingers, and care not much for encumbring them with that Inconventency, called Work. We could not in all our Rambles about this Town wind very many Feasts among them, the shabbiness of their Soil being not able to nourish and pamper Luxury; so that a Cook, unless he exercise on himself, and dress his own Fingers, he is immediately starved here for want of an Employment. They make some little Invitations perhaps to a Sheehead or so; and will junket with Hop-tops with brisk alacrity. Such plain, mean (and as I may say) Burrough Food was even their Festival Entertainments; but as for any Embroidered▪ and (as it were) Metropolitan Mess, such as Plumb-porridge, and Venison Pastry, we never so much as heard of them in their Territories.  
Their Mart for Law is a Corporation Town called Ailsbury, which Philaret and I visited afterwards (as you'll hear avon,) where there is a Court of Judicature decked with a Judge, Counsellors, Attorneys, Solicitors, and other Furniture which embellish the Law: Hither they trudge for Decision of Cases, and here Red-Coat Integrity dispenses Equity.  
Most of their Indictments are generally the Tragical effects of some dismal Counter-scuffle, where a Bloody Nose and a broken ' Shin is ample matter for the Commencement of a Suit; for they being of a fiery Temper, sometimes choler is kindled by an Antiperistasis with a Pot of of Ale; and then they fall to biting and scratching as hard as they can drive, and the wounds of this Caterwauling and Bickering affords stuff for an Action the next day; which being once got into the Pounces of a Ailsbury Attorney, is dandled into a Business of no small Aggravation.  
Oh! How these Pettifogger's will hug a Buffeting, and improve a Squabble.  
They are the very Bellows of Contention, and will soon blow a Spark into a great Combustion. They are a kind of Tinkers in the Law, who usually make holes on Purpose that they may mend them; nay, sometimes they will play at Loggerhead themselves to set others together by the Ears, and so (as if fight was contagious) will infect the silly Varlets into Quarrels and Blows.  
One marching along the Streets, advanced the Scolding of two Women into an huge Tumult, as Duels into great Wars; and made the snarling of two Dogs thrive into an Action, and the fight of two Mastiffs to end in the Court of the Common-Pleas: But perhaps the Spoils from the Skirmishes of such Clients are as Pillage from a Scotch Army 
† See more of this Description in the Treatise called Wallagrophy, for the Character there given exactly answers to these Cholsburians. .  
These are some of the choicest Observations Philaret and I made during our stay at Cholsbury; we might easily have added more, (the whole Town indeed being but one grand Remark,) but being pretty well satisfied with what we had seen already, we both resolved to prosecute our Ramble: But if it should be our chance to have our Lot to set our Feet on that Soil a second time, we shall venture to present another Show of it, for 'tis pity such a rare Sight as Cholsbury should want a Trumpet; nay, and a Fool too to proclaim and expose it to the World.  
After we had crammed our Budget with these few Notices, longing now for change of Air, we bid advieu to our Host, and fairly trooped out of the Town next way our Fancy led us, and soon came in the Fields; in one of which there were three different Paths, and we having as yet formed no Design, but only pure Ramble, took the old Adage for our Guide, Medio tutissimus ibis: The middle Path, brought us into a fair Meadow, which we had no sooner entered, but our Ears were arrested by a Voice far surpassing the utmost flight of Panegyric: For though it was not governed with Skill, yet it did so repay the Defect of it with its native Sweetness, that Art was absent without being missed, and I could not but have some Curiosity to see who was the Possessor of so much power to please. Directing therefore our Rambling Steps toward that part of the Field whence the Voice came, my Eyes quickly ceased to envy my ears, for they discovered kneeling by a Cow, and singing to her (whilst she Milked her,) a Person who in the habit of a Milkmaid, seemed to disguise, and yet make good the Character of one of those Nymphs the Poets are wont to describe: I need not tell you this fair Creature had the Blushes of the Morning in her Cheek, the Splendour of the Sun in her Eyes, the grateful freshenss of the Fields in her Looks, the whitenss of the Milk (she had before her) in her Skin; lest you should think I spent too much time in gazing on her: But I may perhaps without much Hyperbole, give you this Account of her, that though her clothes were suited to her Condition, yet they were very ill suited to her Beauty, which as if Nature intended a Triumph over Fortune, did without any assistance of Ornament, more distress my Liberty than others have been able to do with all their most curious Dresses. In a word, she looked at once so Innocent and Pretty, that she seemed like to do Mischief, without at all intending it. Whilst my Eyes were fixed on her as attentively as dazzled ones could be, the lovely Milkmaid took up her Pail to carry it homewards. As she passed by me, upon the last glimpse, she vouchsafed me a Smile; which I then thought would have made me very happy, if it had proceeded from Kindness, not bare Civility. And she went away with a look so Serene as well as taking, that she seemed to carry home with her far more quiet than she left me possessed of. And to confess the Truth,  
Of all the loveliest things, and noblest too,  
That Art or Nature have produced to view,  
Woman alone doth most affect my Mind,  
When from her Sex's foul defects refined;  
Who if she be with these few Virtues stored,  
Hath all that the Creation can afford:  
Beauty enough to raise a frozen Love,  
Yet not so great as should our wonder move.  
Fair without Scorn, and Witty without Pride,  
A Bliss too often to that Sex denied;  
Chaste as Diana when her Rape's designed,  
And where she loves as billing Turtles kind:  
Constant to one, and only so far coy,  
As mayn't create his pain, but raise his joy;  
Modest but not Reserved, though free not vain,  
Her Garb becoming, neither gay nor plain,  
Quiet tho bold, Religious not precise,  
With more Devotion in her Heart than Eyes:  
Tho saving yet not covetous; and still,  
Yet not for want of words, but want of will:  
And when she doth her kind Affections place,  
Makes Love, not Money Umpire in the Case.  
If such a one, yea, Gods on Earth there be,  
I'll die if this Fair Milkmaid was not she.  
Which made me as I rambled along so to dote upon her, that at length I forgot myself.  
And indeed this Fair Milkmads Eyes, Mouth, Teeth, and Hands, seemed to have been made only to furnish the God of Love which darts. When she opened her Mouth, methoughts I saw the three Graces sporting in her Countenance, when she Smiles there needs no day! And her Body was so exactly proportioned in all its parts, that had she lived in the Time of Phideas', he had certainly taken her for the Model of his Venus, which was the Admiration of all the World: And my Respect to her was (for a while) equal to her Charms.  
But being now engaged in a Rambling Frolic, with my Dearer Philaret, who by Travelling thus far together with me, was become more precious to me than Eyesight, Space, and Liberty, beyond what can be valued rich or rare! I was constrained to have recourse to Philosophy, which could supply me with no other Remedies but Patience.  
Nay, I find the Philosophers themselves have been vanquished by Female Charms; Diogenes and Aristotle, became they not Fools hereby? And Seneca, whose Morals are the Rules of the Wisest, was not he driven out of Rome for his Amorous Practices?  
Nay, Reader, I tell thee plainly, the Precepts of Philosophy influenced me not a whit; I derided them, though I was now but in my Twenty third year, and was resolved to love on, and that more excessively than all the Philosophers put together.  
'Tis Women that have always won the greatest  
Victories: 'Tis their trade to Conquer.  
'Tis certainly a Misfortune and a Miracle at once, to confess at what a tender age I was first subjected to Love; it was indeed by chance, for it was long before the years of Choice of Discretion. I do not remember myself so long ago; and my Fortune may very well be coupled to that of Quartilla, who could not remember since she was a Maid; yet canno● I tax myself from my Birth till now, with one single Thought that ever exceeded the Rules of Modesty.  
But Love, in my Opinion, is not properly and naturally in its season, but in the age next to Childhood. For, 
Amor ordinem nescit.  Diu. Hieron.  
Love knows no order, miscarriages and ill successes give him Appetite and Grace: You put Love in the Stocks, when you guide it by Art and Wisdom.  

Discreet 
* Cow. ? What means this word Discreet?  
A Curse on all Discretion;  
This barbarous term you will not meet  
In all Loves Lexicon.   

jointure, Portion, Gold, Estate,  
Houses, Housholstuff, or Land,  
(The low Conveniences of Fate)  
Are Greek no Lovers understand.   

Believe me, Reader, when once Love  
Enters into a Breast,  
The two first things it does remove,  
Are Friends and Interest.   
Moreover, one would think Cupid were not only blind but dumb, since he renders every Member of the Body vocal, except the Tongue. Hence it is that Lovers with more Eloquence communicate Sighs than Words, as so many internunctany Particles of Vital Air, and like Doves of Venus mourn forth animated Letters. Hence 'tis that they keep a silent intercourse with their Fingers, now Eloquent without a Pen, and wove Dialogues in little Posies. They hear one another's mutual Wishes, and read one another's visible Souls by those vocal Messengers of the Affections, affable Nods, and darting Smiles. Sometimes their significant Gestures, composed (as it were) of so many Rhetorical Figures, court in a various and mist ous Dialect. Sometimes their ranging Aspects are earnestly fixed on one another as on Strangers, and while they seem to disown all acquaintance, grow familiar by ●ealth. Sometimes their Souls interchangeably gliding from their Eyes, take a cursory taste of Bride-Kisses at a distance, and bring home their stolen Sweets with Triumph. 'Tis at once their greatest boast and pleasure to remain undiscovered. Their wand'ring and Extatick Souls freely pass too and fro (as 'twere) within the same Body, and converse as softly, as if in a Soliloquy.  
But more of this hereafter in my Rambles a Wiving (which are to make a distinct Volume) seeing here's enough at present to show, That Love, to whose friendly influence the orderly System of the Universe owes its composure, has left itself in Confusion, and is all perfect Riddle.  
Observe again, how greedily their Souls, keeping Sentinel in their Ears, lie and catch for words; and how their Souls, in a perpetual emanation gliding from their Eyes, waste themselves in passionate Glances, and suffer many a faint Swoon with gazing.  
So impatient is the whole Man of departure, that sometimes he shifts himself into the Eye, sometimes into the Ear, and lives only in that part where he enjoys his Consort.  
Thus Love teaches Men a more compendious knack of living, and makes them content, like some Infects, with one only Sense.  
Yet this is not to maim the Man, but to render him more Divine by the fewness of Organs required to the function of Life.  
And indeed the Heart of Man really in love with a fine Woman, does nothing but what is reasonable, (I say with a fine Woman, for whoever makes a Napkin of a Dishclout, will certainly find it an imperious Rag; Set a Beggar on Horseback, and he'll ride to the Devil) all its soft and tenderest Motions, its innocent Tremble, 
Mutius.  harmless Fears, melting Sighs, lambent Fires, are as highly rational as the gruff and churlish Schoolmen most regular demonstration.  

Love, when discreet and rational, is,   

A pleasing Sweetness, harmless Fire,  
A tender, melting, gay Desire:  
A something more than Wealth or Fame,  
A tender something wants a name.   
Such Thoughts and Remarks upon Love as these, all which were occasioned by the sight of this pretty Milkmaid, deceived the tediousness of the way, and the Night now beginning to overtake us, Philaret was clearly for going toward some House of Entertainment, and endeavoured to rouse me out of the brown study this Encounter had put me in. How we disposed ourselves that Evening, I will relate in the next Chapter.   

CHAP. XI.  
Kainophilus in his Ramble to Buckingham, is accosted with three very great Hogs, Swine of profound intriegue. His peculiar Remarks upon an Assembly of Ducks. Kainophilus and Philaret are trepaned by half a dozen Press-Masters. Their fortunate Escape. An Account of some Observables in Buckinghamshire. A Philosophical Description of Time. With a Digression concerning the Pleasures of a Country-Life. Together with several other pleasant Adventures.  
MY Fellow-Traveller fearing left I should grow Phlegmatic with gulping too much of the Milk of Love, thought it convenient to make a Posset of my Humour, and therefore did very zealously hasten me to put forward, that so we might arrive before it was dark at some House of Entertainment, where he was in hopes to curdle and sour my Inclinations to the Milkmaid we lately saw, with a Bottle or two of good Wine. So we agreed to walk to Buckingham; and just as we were advancing on the Highway, we encountered a Congregation of Ducks, very seriously wadling along, and I suppose some important Affair was in Agitation among them, for they were occupied in earnest, cackling one to another: What was the Subject Matter of their Discourse, I thought not good Manners to ask, but by the gravity of their Gate, the Sageness of their Countenances, and the Politic nodding of their Heads, I guessed that all the Worms in their way would incur a praemunire, or that they were going to serve a quo-warranto upon the Spiders. Philaret conceited, by their peeping into every hole they espied in the Bands as they went along, that they were like the Churchwardens, hunting the Alehouses for Company on a Sunday Night: Whether the Comparison will hold or not, I leave the Learned to judge; but this I can make Affidavit of, That this platfooted Deta●chment were very scrutinous and busy in their Rounds, scarce a Pismire could escape without taking a Note of her Abode. I saw one of these cackling Inquisitors Kidnap a poor silly Worm before it had sipped, being just crept into the little blind housing-ken of a neighbouring Puddle. Another Spirited a Fly; a third snaps a Spider which she found within the Confines of a certain Diminutive Lough in the Wheel-Tracks. I must confess I had the least Compassion for the fate of the Spider, because I humbly conceived she was but served in her kind; her whole Life being spent in trepanning and murdering of Flies; a Creature I cannot but sympathise withal, not only for her rambling Humour, but also for another laudable faculty, common to us both, which is, breeding of Maggots. But though I did not much condole the Death of the Spider, yet methought the Comportment of the Duck towards her Snipper-snapper-ship, was an Emblem of the common course of this World, where the greater Vices generally devour the lesser, and both of them join to destroy the Virtues.  
Philaret and I leaving this Assembly of Ducks to their Emblematical Game, jogged on toward Buckingham: We had not gone a Bow-Shot ere we were accosted by three very great Hogs, who seemed to be Swine of profound Intreigue by their plodding Aspect, and we could evidently discern the Signatures of a deep forecast on their very Snouts, so that by this and the other outward circumstances of their Skins, we guessed they had been making no ordinary or shallow Experiments in a Quagmire. They saluted us en passant with two or three Complimental Gruntles, and proceeded in their Peripatetic Speculations, whilst we pursued our Journey.  
We arrived at Buckingham just as the Sun was taking the Bath, and the Earth was putting on her black Pyramidical Nightcap. The place we designed to have taken up our Quarters in that Night, was the Ship-Tavern; but before we got thither, we were (as it were) constrained by the extreme courtesy of half a dozen lusty Press-Masters to turn aside into another Lodging. These Land-Pirates jumped upon us out of their Cabin, a little Alehouse as we went along, and coming up with full Stern of us, quickly grappled, and towed us back again to their Den, seeming to discover much good Manners to Strangers, for they gave us the Right-Hand of Fellowship, and placed us at the upper end of a close Box where they were drinking, seating themselves by us on each side; and to make us as easy as they could, they took from us our Canes. By their Converse they seemed to be Men of lofty Notions, for every Word they spoke was Laced with an Oath of the First Rate, lo●d as Thunder! and high as Heaven! I offering to run, one of 'em breaks my Pate● 〈◊〉▪ I took patiently; saying, What's all this to 〈◊〉 Man that has read Seneca? But Philaret by his Natural Eloquence so charmed 'em both, that they let him go untouched. And indeed to resent like him when it is proper, is the Action of a complete Man. Good Humour makes a Good Tongue: It's a great Art in Life to know how to sell Air: Words answer almost every thing, and nothing is impossible for them. The Mouth should always be full of Sugar to sweeten the words; for Enemies themselves can then relish them: Courtesy does not give but engage, and the gallant way of it renders the Obligation the greater. Nothing inslaveth a grateful Nature like a free Benefit, he that conferrs it on me, steals me from myself; Favours though imparted, are not gifts, but purchases, that buy Men out of their own Liberty. I know not that I am ever sadder than when I am forced to accept Courtesies that I cannot requite. If ever I should affect injustice, it should be in this, that I might do Courtesies and receive none.  
And indeed Philaret by the Art of Complaisance e'en made 'em good Humoured whether they would or no; yet my Companion and I found no great Temptation to tarry in their Company: And therefore sending for a Friend or two, that were Housekeepers in Buckingham, to avouch our Quality, we were dismissed.  
From hence we adjourned to the Ship Tavern, where we caress our Minds, and as I may say, cully ourselves out of our more watchful and importunate Thoughts, with the wheadli●●● 〈…〉 sinuations of Sparkling Canary. Our 〈…〉  
 
snatched us from the Jaws of the Sea-bums, obliged us with their Company, and with an Account of some Observables in the Town of Buckingham, (where we now were) and also with a Description of the whole County, of which this is the chief Town.  
Buckingham is the shire Town of this County, fruitfully seated upon the River Ouse, and was fortified formerly with Rampires, and a strong Castle mounted on a high Hill, whereof nothing now remains but some small signs of such a place. The Shire itself is divided into eight Hundreds, wherein are fifteen Market Towns, a hundred eighty five Parish Churches, and is in the Diocese of Lincoln; out of it are Elected fourteen Parliament Men; For the County 2. Buckingham. 2. Chippin-Wincomb. 2. Alisbury. 2. Agmondisham. 2. Wendover 2. and Marlowe 2. It gives Titles to George Villiers Duke of Buckingham, and Robert Bruce Earl of Ailsbury.  
BUCKINGHAM-SHIRE hath on the East Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire, on the West Oxfordshire, on the North Northamptonshire and Huntingdonshire, and on the South Hertfordshire; it hath its name from the plenty of Beech-trees, which the Saxons call Bucken, with which the Country was formerly so overrun, that it was altogether impassable, and became a Refuge for Thiefs and Robbers, and occasioned that Proverb in this Country, Here a Bush, and there a Thief, for which cause they were cut down.  
The Country generally is of a rich plentiful Soil, and passing full of Inhabitants, who chiefly ●mploy themselves in grazing of Cattle, and 〈◊〉 laud and praise of the Shire be it spoken, here is in it great plenty of Mutton 
* Evanders so much admired Food.  The Chilteen, (a Place so called in this Country) got that Name according to the very Nature of the Soil of Chalky Chilt.  
In 1665. jan. 20. about six a Clock at Night there was an Earthquake in some parts of Buckinghamshire, which was attended with a unusual kind of noise in the Air, but was quickly over; it much affrighted some People on the sudden, to hear their Chairs and Stools quake under them, and to hear Tables and such things to clatter in the Rooms, and the whole House to shake.  
King Will. the Conqueror gave a Manor, and certain Yard-lands in Buckinghamshire to a Person upon this Condition, That the Possessor or Owner thereof should find Straw or Litter for the King's Bed whensoever he came that way; which shows what an alteration there is as to matter of Grandeur since that time. The best and biggest bodied Sheep in England, are in the Vale of Ailsbury in this County, where it is nothing to give Ten pound or more for a Breed Ram; so that should a Foreigner hear the price thereof, he would guests that Ram to be rather some Roman Engine of Battery, than the Creature commonly so called.  
Foreigners much admire at our English Sheep, because they do not (as those in other Countries) follow their Shepherds like a pack of Dogs, but wander all abroad; and the Popish Priests tell their ignorant Folks, That this disobedience of our Sheep happened to us, because we have left their great Shepherd the Pope, (a very profound Reason.)  
Roger Wendover was born at a Market Town of that Name in this County, and was bred a Benedictine in St. Alban, where he became the King's Historian; and it is observable, that our English Kings had always a Monk, generally of St. Alban (as being near London, the Staple of News and Books) to write the most remarkable passages of their Reigns, and some add, that their Chronicles were locked up in the King's Library, and were never suffered to be opened in that Kings, nor his Son's life; if so, they had a great encouragement to be impartial, not fearing a blow on their Teeth, though coming near to the heels of Truth; as being hereby in some kind tied up from doing them any hurt; this Roger began his Chronicle at the Conquest, and continued it to 1235. which Matthew Paris and others carried down further after his Death.  
The Lady Hester Temple, Wife to Sir Thomas Temple, was born at latimer's in this County, she had four Sons and nine Daughters, who lived to be Married, and so exceedingly multiplied, that this Lady saw seven hundred extracted from her own Body; Vives tells of a Village in Spain of about an 100 Houses, whereof all the Inhabitants issued out of one certain old Man who then lived, and says, the Spanish Language did not afford a Name whereby the Youngest should call the Elder, since they could not go above the Great Grandfather's Father; but had the Offspring of this Lady been contracted into one place, they were enough to have peopled a City of a competent proportion, though her issue was 〈◊〉 so long in succession as broad in extent: this Lady died in 1656.  
Sir Edward Cook, that Famous Commentator of the Law was born in this Shire. This great Man at length growing weary of a public Employment, retires into the 
* To a little Village called Waterstock, in Oxfordshire.  Country; where falling in love with a private Life, he ended his days, A●tat. 82. An. Dom. 1641. Like him,  

† Evander's Choice.  Grant me, indulgent Heaven, a Rural Seat,  
Rather contemptible than great;  
Where though I taste Life's sweets, still I may be  
A thirst for Immortality.  
I would have Business, but exempt from strife,  
A private, but an active Life.  
A Conscience bold, and punctual to his charge,  
My stock of Health, or Patience large.  
Some Books I'd have: and some Acquaintance too,  
But very good, and very few:  
Then, if one Mortal two such Grants may have,  
From silent Life I'd steal into my Grave:  
I'd live unthought of, and unheard of die,  
And grudge Mankind my very Memory.  
Oh the Blessings of Privacy and Freedom! the Wish of the greatest, but Privilege only of mean ones. It was Augustus' Prayer, That he might live to retire, and deliver himself prom public Business.  
To think a Man shall be safe and quiet when he is great, it's Statute Madness: For my own share I do declare, That when I retire into my little Grotta, in the midst of a fine Wood, near a Crystal Stream, there I find happiness and content beyond an Imperial Crown: Here I observe the Lady Flora to clothe our Grandam Earth with a new Livery, diapered with pleasant Flowers, and chequered with delightful Objects; there the pretty Songsters of the Spring, with their various Music, seem to welcome me as I pass along; the Earth putteth forth her Primroses and pretty Dayses to behold me; the Air blows with gentle Zephyrs to refresh me; here I find such pleasure, with a Gusto relevante, that I could bid adieu to Alcinous, Adonis, and Lucullus Gardens, and would not envy the Thessalians for their Tempe: If I were Epicurus (the Master of Pleasures) I should wish to be all Nose to smell, or else all Eyes to delight my sight.  
If I lie under the protection of Heaven, a poor Cottage for retreat is more worth than the most magnificent Place: Here I can enjoy the riches of content in the midst of an honest poverty; here undisturbed sleeps, and undissembled joys do dwell; here I spend my days without cares, and my nights without groans; my innocency is my security and protection.  
Here are no Beds of State, no Garments of Pearl or Embroidery, no materials for luxury and excess; the Heavens are my Canopy, and the glories of them my Spectacle; the motion of the Orbs, the courses of the Stars, and the wonderful order of Providence are my contemplation.  
My Grotta is safe, though narrow, no Porter at the door, nor any business for Fortune; for she hath nothing to do, where she hath nothing to look after.  
Here I am delivered from the tumults of the World, free from the drudgery of business, which makes us troublesome to others, and unquiet to ourselves; for the end of one appetite or design is the beginning of another.  
I value Epicurus' 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, live closely, beyond a Diadem; and must say with Crates, That Men know not how much a Wallet and security of Mind is worth. A Beggar may be as magnanimous as a King; for what can be greater or braverthan for a poor Man to live in contempt of the World?  
This is the Way to Heaven which Nature hath chalked out, and its both secure and pleasant; there needs no train of Servants, no pomp or equipage to make good our passage, no money or letters of credit for expenses upon the voyage; but the graces of an honest mind will secure us upon the way, and make us happy at our journey's end.  
Similis, Captain of the Guard to Adrian the Emperor, having passed a most toilsome life, retired himself, and lived privately in the Country for seven years, acknowledging that he had lived only seven years, and caused on his Monument to be engraven, Hic jacet Similis, cujus aetas multorum annorum fuit, ipse septem duntaxat annos vixit.  
You perhaps (Readers) have more Friends at Court than Kainophilus has, a larger Train, a fairer Estate, and more illustrious Title; but what do I care to be outdone by Men, in some cases, so long as Fortune is overcome by me in all.  
Zeno hearing Theophrastus commended above any of the Philosophers, for his number of Scholars, It's true (said Zeno) his Choir is larger than mine, but mine hath the sweeter Voices; so others may have more Lordships, ample Possessions, and larger Territories; but I have the sweetest life, because more retired.  
Nothing comes amiss to me, but all things succeed to my very wish; there is here no wrangling with Fortune, no being out of humour for Accidents; whatsoever befalls me, it's God's pleasure, and it's my duty to bear it: In this state I feel no want; I am abundantly pleased with what I have; and what I have not, I do not regard; so that every thing is great, because it is sufficient.  
What is all the Glory and Grandeur of the World, or the great Territories in it, to that happiness which I do now possess and enjoy?  
The whole compass of the Earth to me seems but a Point, and yet Men will be dividing into Kingdoms and Dominions.  
King Philip receiving a fall, in a place of wrestling, when he turned himself in rising, and saw the print of his Body (in the Dust) Good God (said he) what a small portion of Earth hath Nature assigned us, and yet we covet the whole World!  
For a Man to spend his life in pursuit of a Title, that serves only when he dies to furnish out an Epitaph, is below a wise Man's business. To Seneca the whole compass of the Earth seemed but a Point, and all the greatness thereof only matter of sport. If you look upon the brave Palaces, renowned Cities, large Kingdoms, you may compare them to those little Houses of Sand, or Dirt made by Children for their Entertainment, which Men stand by and laugh at. How ridiculous then are the Titles as well as the Contests of Mortals! Such a Prince must not pass such a River, nor another Prince those Mountains; and why do not the very Pismires canton out their Posts and Jurisdictions too? For what does the bustle of Troops and Armies amount too, more than the business of a swarm of Ants upon a Molehill. Alas, where is Xerxes' Army now? Can they now walk in Battle array? or thunder about their Tombs?  
Walking another's day through Fleetstreet, I will have the Wall, cried one. Yea (said I) take the House too, if you can agree with the Landlord. I confess I had a month's mind to draw, but upon kinder thoughts to myself, and out of mere compassion to a tender Carcase, I began to remember, that Honour would not fetch me to life again; (Alas, Reader, I would not be killed, to be Lord Mayor of the City of London!) and that the punctilios of Birth were not worth a Duel; I therefore recommended the Safety of my Body to the Protection of my Feet, and fairly left Mr. Huff to enjoy his humour. And to speak the truth, the Scene of all the most important Actions here below, where both at Sea and Land we tug and scuffle for Dominion and Wealth, is but a very Trifle. My good Friend, the King of France enquiring where Holland was in the Map, was desired to remove his Thumb, that hid it; which made him break forth into wonder at its narrow extent, and large bustle it kept in the World. Holland is scarce a Thumbs breadth, and the Universe little more; then what a poor Ambition is it to be the Greatest Man in a City? What's a City to a Shire? What a Shire to the whole Island? What this Island to the Continent of Europe? What Europe to the whole Earth? What that Earth to a Star (the least of which (if I may be believed) is Eighteen times bigger than it?) What that Star to Heaven? and that to the Heaven of● Heavens? And so by a Retrogradation, how little, how nothing is the poor Glory of the Greatest Monarch? For within the hollow Crown that rowds the mortal Temples of a King, Death keeps his Court, and there the Antique sits scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pomp, allowing him a breath, a little Scene to Monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks, infusing into him with self and vain conceit, as if the Flesh which walls about his life were Brass impregnable; but being a little while humoured thus,  
Comes Death at last, and with a little Pin  
Boars through his Castle Walls, and farewel King.  

* To use the very words of a late Poet.  What though it does appear,  
We came in with the Conqueror?  
Impartial Death will no Excuses hear.  
Valour and Wit, Magnificence and State,  
Are sorry Pleas to unrelenting Fate.  
Which quickly will this fatal truth evince,  
How little less a Beggar's than a Prince.  
One way or other all must die,  
The Peasant and the Crowned Head,  
The same dark Path must tread,  
And in the same cold Earth both undistinguished lie;  
(Whilst the sad Soul her Voyage takes  
Through gloomy Fens, and Stygtan Lakes,  
Unable to procure a longer stay,  
Into Eternal Exile sails away.)  
Now he that seeks satisfaction in the highest enjoyments in the World, as in Honours and Grandeur of Condition, how soon does his mind nauseate the Pleasures of it, and how quickly does he feel the thinness of a popular breath. Those that are so fond of Applause while they pursue it, how little do they taste it when they have it; like Lightning it flashes on the Face, and is quickly gone, and 'tis a wonder if it leaves not a blast behind it.  
'Tis true, it is fit and necessary that some Persons in the World should be in love with a splendid Servitude; yet certainly they must be much beholding to their own fancy, that they can be pleased at it. For he that rises up early, and goes to Bed late, only to receive Addresses, to read and answer Petitions, is really as much tied and abridged in his freedom, as he that waits all that time to present one.  
In a word, if it is a pleasure to be envied and shot at, to be maligned standing, and to be despised falling, and to endeavour that which is impossible, which is to please all, and to suffer for not doing it, then is it a pleasure to be Great. These are Truths verified by the best of Demonstration, which is the woeful Experience of the highest Favourites of Fortune in all Ages. Let Seneca speak for all in his incomparable Ode on this Subject: In truth, (says he) to see our Kings sit all alone at Table, environed with so many Servants prating about them, and so many Strangers staring upon them, as they always are, I have often been moved rather to pity than to envy their Condition. It would never sink into my fancy, that it could be of any great benefit to the Life of a Man of sense, to have twenty People prating about him when he is at Stool. So that in truth, the advantages of Sovereignty, are, upon the matter, little more than imaginary.  
Well, I have thought on't, and I find  
This busy World is nonsense all:  
I here despair to please my mind,  
Her sweetest Honey is so mixed with Gall.  
Well then, I'll try how 'tis to be alone,  
Live to myself a while, and be my own.  
Here, in this shady lovely Grove,  
I sweetly Think my hours away;  
Neither with Business vexed, nor Love,  
Which in the World bear such tyrannic sway.  
Let Plots and News embroil the State,  
Pray what's that to my Books and me?  
What ever be the Kingdom's fate,  
Here I'm sure to enjoy a Monarchy;  
Lord of myself, accontable to none,  
Like the first Man in Paradise alone.  
Th' uneasy Pageantry of State,  
And all the plagues to thought and sense  
Are far removed, I'm placed by fate  
Out of the Road of all Impertinence:  
Thus though my fleeting Life run swiftly on,  
'Twill not be short, because 'tis all my own.  
Then let us go and talk of Wills, and not of Births and Grandeur. And yet not so, for what can we bequeath save our dull Bodies to the ground; our Lands and Lives (if we are Loyal) are the King's, and nothing can we call our own but Death, and that small model of the barren Earth, which serves as Paste and Cover to our Bones.  
And thus Reader you see many Liberties may be taken in a private condition, that are dangerous in a public.  
I can walk alone where I please, without a Sword, without Fear, without Company; I can go and come, eat and drink, without being taken notice of.  
What with our open and secret Enemies, we are never secure, but these are the Infelicities and Miseries of Courts, not of Cottages: Servitude is the Fate of Palaces.  
What are Crowns and Sceptres, but Golden Fetters and Splendid Miseries, which if Men did but truly understand, there would be more Kingdoms than Kings to govern them.  
A great Fortune is a great Slavery, and Thrones are but uneasy Seats.  
If Heaven shall vouchsafe me such a Blessing, that I may enjoy my Grotta with content, I can look upon all the great Kingdoms of the Earth a so many little Birds-Nests.  
And I can in such a Territory prude myself as much as Alexander did, when he fancied the whole World to be one great City, and his Camp the Castle of it.  
If I were advanced to the Zenith of Honour, I am at the best but a Porter, constellated to carry up and down the World a vile Carcase; I confess my Mind (the nobler part of me) now and then takes a walk in the large Campaign of Heaven, and there I contemplate the Universe, the Mysterious Concatenation of Causes, and the stupendious Efforts of the Almighty, in consideration whereof I can cheerfully bid 〈◊〉 to the World. Depone hoc apud te, nunquam plus agere Sapientem, quam cum in conspectu ejus, Divina atque Humana venerunt.  
You will find by Experience (which is the best Looking-glass of Wisdom) that a private Life is not only more pleasant, but more happy than any Princely State. Then  
Happy the Man who his whole time doth bound 
* Cow.   
With th' enclosure of his little ground:  
Happy the Man whom the same humble place,  
(Th' Hereditary Cottage of his Race)  
From his first rising Infancy has known,  
And by degrees sees gently bending down  
With natural propension to that Earth  
Which both preserved his Life, and gave him Birth.  
Him no false distant Lights by Fortune set,  
Could ever into foolish Wander get:  
He never Danger either saw or feared,  
The dreadful Storms at Sea he never heard:  
He never heard the shrill Alarms of War,  
Or the worse Noises of the Lawyer's Bar:  
No change of Consul's marks to him the Year,  
The change of Seasons is his Calendar:  
The Cold and Heat Winter and Summer shows,  
Autumn by Fruits, and Spring by Flowers he knows:  
He measures Time by Landmarks, and has found  
For the whole Day the Dial of his Ground.  
This Man the Day by his own Orb doth prize,  
In the same Field his Sun doth set and rise.  
He knows an Oak, a Twig, and walking thither,  
Beholds a Wood and he grown up together:  
A neighbouring Elm born with himself he sees,  
And loves his old contemporary Trees:  
The very House that did him erst behold  
A little Infant, sees him now grown Old;  
And with his Staff walks where he crawled before,  
Counts the age of one poor Cottage and no more.  
Thus Health and Strength he t'a third Age enjoys,  
And sees a long Posterity of Boys.  
About the spacious World let others roam,  
The Voyage Life is longest made at home.  
I can easily believe that Dioclesian, after his retreat from the Empire, took more content in exercising the Trade of a Gardener in Salona, than in being Emperor of Rome; for when Maximianus Herculeus writ to him to resume the Empire (which he had with much felicity governed for twenty years) he returned this Answer, That if he would come unto Salona, and observe the rare Productions of Nature, and see how the Coleworts, which he had planted with his own hands, did thrive and prosper, he would never trouble his Head with Crowns, nor his Hands with Sceptres.  
This made Scipio, after he had raised Rome to be the Metropolis of almost the whole World, by a voluntary Exile to retire himself from it, and at a private House in the middle of a Wood, near Linternum, to pass the remainder of his glorious Life no less gloriously.  
There is no Safety, no Security, no Comfort, no Content in Greatness: This made a Great Man say, Requiem quaesivi & non inveni, nisi in Angulo cum Libello: I have sought for rest and quiet, but could not find it but in a little corner with a Book. Vive tibi, & lon●e no●●na magna fuge.  
O the Sweetness and Pleasure of those blessed Hours that I spend apart from the Noise and Business of the World! How calm, how gentle, not so much as a Cloud or breath of Wind to disturb the Serenity of my Mind! The World to me is a Prison, and Solitude a Paradise.  
Give me then, with Sir Edward Cook, a retired Life, a peaceful Conscience, honest Thoughts, and virtuous Actions, and I can pity Caesar.  
But whither do I ramble again? 'Tis time now to return to Philaret.  
Come, Philaret, let's be jogging! for if we stay thus long in a place, we shall never get Round the World.  
Then farewell Buckingham till we meet again. After an hours travel in Dust and Sun, Philaret and I fancied we saw a little Cottage; and indeed all the following Rambles are little more than a History of what might be;  
Yet whatsoever of Fiction I bring in,  
'Tis so like Truth, it seems at least a Kin.  
This little Cottage (as we found at our arrival thither) was inhabited only by those peaceful Animals called Hogs. And now the liquid Silver gushing from the Welkin, we here begged for shelter: And a great deal of Compliments we had about the introducing us into their Enchanted Castle, which will run much better in Pindarick-Doggerel, than plain Verse.  Kainophilus. 
By your 
* Civil and complaisant.  leave Mr. Hog!  
If one may be so bold to presume,  
For your Betters make room.  Hog. 
You unmannerly 
† A rude ill bred Swine.  Dog,  
To wheedle one out of one's place;  
When the Wind and the Rain drive so fast in ones face.  Kainoph. 
In vain all the Herd to your succour you call,  
For in spite of the Proverb the strongest now goes to the wall.  Hog to his Herd. 
Come then my dearest dirty Loves,  
(My choice Seraglio large as joves')  
Let's away to Chesnut Groves  
And there secure our Droves.  
And 
* They all retire with their whole Crew, for other lodging.  ramble and gruntle and ramble again,  
Till Heaven take pity and dry up the Rain.  
Philaret and I being indifferently refreshed by virtue of this shelter, we went forward very courageously, and after a little time, we saluted a good handsome Town, called Ailesbury.  
This Ailesbury is a fair Market Town, compassed about with many most pleasant green Meadows and Pastures, of which the whole Vale is termed the Vale of Ailesbury.  
How many Alehouses there were in this Town, Philaret and I had not time to number, only we saw the signs of some horned Beasts, as the Bull, the Ram, etc. But what the People are that dwelled therein we know not, but guess you may have good Liquor there for your money. As for the Cage and Stocks there, let those that have been in them, give you a description of them.  
During our stay in Ailesbury was solemnised a Westminster-Wedding, (as the Learned have it) a Couple so fit for one another and no body else, that Bridewell in conjunction with Newgate could not have afforded so suitable a match, they were pleased, honourably attended with a Regiment of Broom-men, Kitchinstuff Merchants and Pickpockets, etc. to repair to Ailesbury- Church, where having tied the unslipping knot in their return home-wards, the wind began to rise between Mr. Bridegroom and Mrs. Bride, which in short time increased to so dreadful a storm, that their Vessels fell foul on each other.  
Mr: Bridegroom in this extremity took his dearest Spouse into his Arms with such a passionate Embrace, that she almost resigned her last breath in those Endearments; but having recovered herself from the amorous Trance, she in requital gave him a Kiss so close, that it fetched off above half of one of his Ears; he still prosecuting his Fondness gave her a back salute with his Foot, which she answered by stroking his lovely Eyes so long with her double Fists, till he could hardly see: And by these pleasant Love-Toys, endeavouring to outvie each other in affectionate Expressions, they were so transported in the open fields for above half an hour, till the Company fearing a surfeit of delight from such excess of dalliance, interrupted their intwined Arms: so that Mr. Bridegroom gathering up the ruins of his Peruke, and she decently resitting her Tresses, and so much as she could find of her Head-geer, at a famous fountain hard by, repaired the Beauty of her battered Physiognomy; and so both lovingly retired hand in hand to their poor Habitations, and are like to live as kindly and as happily as most Couples now adays about Town.  
These were the most Remarkable Passages I could learn concerning Ailesbury, though Philaret and I discoursed of divers other Matters; but amongst all the Subjects of our Chat, we handled none so often, and so feelingly, as the Bottle and the Glass, which were of Momentous Importance to us, because we could not for ever enjoy them. Strange Infatuation! Preposterous Greediness! To monopolise that which every Tavern can surfeit us with, and be prodigal of that which once elapsed, can never be obtained again. Nature is bountiful in every thing but Time; of that she is a Niggard, and gives it us drop by drop, Minute by Minute, so that we can never possess two Minutes at once, nor regain one of them when it is lost: And yet we spend our Time by wholesale, and in the Lump, as if the Retail Care of Hours and Minutes were below us. 'Tis said that in the Globe there is no certain stated first Miridian from whence to derive Longitude. I am sure in the Extent of Time, there is no Aequator to be found from whence to begin a Latitude. Time runs in a direct Line forward: It is a rectilinear Series of Moment's, and allows no Digression. He that can discover the least Step toward a Latitude in Time, may claim Letters Patents from Nature to serve the whole World with new-fashioned Dial's, Watches and Clocks, and to live by this Sideway of duration till Time be stretched as broad as 'twill be long. But yet notwithstanding this narrow Minuteness of Time, we squander it away at random, as if we had an inexhaustible Treasure of Ages to dispose of.  
Such Thoughts as these, I remember, seasoned our more Insipid Chat; and how crude and raw soever our Evenings Conversation had been, these Reflections like a desert of Condited Fruits, gave a good Farewell, and at length closed up our Banquet. So Philaret and I, after this short view of the Town, betook ourselves to Bed, where I desire you to let us rest an hour or two; and then I shall awake in a Humour more diverting than hitherto.  
Phoebus' had no sooner cried Gee ho unto his Team, but Philaret and I were both booted and spurred for a New Ramble.  
And believe it Reader! He is truly a Scholar who is versed in the volume of the Universe, who does not so much read of Nature, as study and contemplate Nature herself.  
After nine hours riding, we arrived at Marlowe, twenty miles distant from Ailesbury, where was an Inn preferred to my acceptance by Philaret's Commendations, who knew the Servants Names as well as if he had been their Godfather, though the House never owned his Company but one night.  
The Money which I had about me I conveye● under my Bed, and so to Supper we went: T●●e House was full of Guests, which made our ●●ost limit his person to a quarter of an Hours tarriance with each Company. Every Room did 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 him of one another, which shows ●●●ough no Man's particular Command had interest in his service yet) he had least interest in himself.  
His Wife supplied his absence to all Companies, for he could do nothing else but talk to them, and her Tongue was heard every where.  
She it is, whose Beauty eclipse the Wings of a Traveller's swift desire, and begets the ease of his plodding Breast; for her House appears his Journeys end; but her Company multiplies the Reackoning above the reach of Arithmetic. Philaret had the Discourse at Table, which consisted (for the most part) of the antiquity of his Company, he being a Woollen-Draper. Sometimes he described the Humours of the Greenwich Usurers, who, as he expressed it, had Hearts of Marble and Entrails of Brass. All his own proceedings (in Eight years' Apprenticeship) he related to me, and how long he fetched up Coals for the Maid, scrapped Trenchers, and made clean Shoes.  
But now my Host and his Wife came both up to stay and talk with us. Surely he was the very Maidenhead of his Mother, begot, his Father being asleep, or but Practitioner in that Art, as appeared by the Workmaship of his Face and Body, so ill favoured and deformed was he. Her shape proclaimed Nature prodigal of her riches, and vainglorious of her cunning, so generally handsome was she; yet seemed to dote upon his Feature; 'tis wondrous strange, but Love is blind; which made my Muse (though dulled with a gross Supper) sing thus:  
Let ●one hereafter dare to blame  
The Gods, for making Cupid blind.  
Lest his offence be plagued with shame,  
And all men's hate, besiege his mind.  
For by this Couple we do plainly prove,  
That without blindness, there could be no Love.  
Our Hostess fell fast asleep as she sat by the fire side; her Husband waked her with saying, She was always sleeping or talking. This stirred up a strange frivolous question; Why a Woman is more drowsy and talkative than a Man?  
I made answer thus; Because she was made of Adam's Flesh when he was asleep; secondly, she was made of his Rib, the Rib lies near to the Heart, the Heart is Master of Thoughts, and Thoughts beget Words. This liked our Landlord so well, that he desired to be farther acquainted with me: But it now growing late, Philaret and I went to Bed.  
Morpheus destroy these vigilant Carriers, these unquiet disturbers of Rest, that bawling (like Demy Cannons) rend the Porches of my Ears. Were my Eyelids cut off, I could not be wider awake than I am now, though it be just three a Clock; the time when Spirits, Ghosts and Fairs visit Tombs and Churchyards, whose unsubstantial Shapes steal away our Motion, scare our Reason from us. Yet durst I go round the World, unarmed with Beads, or blessed with a Crucifix; wear my Soul within my Scabbard, my Life tied to my Heel, as careless of success; with such an angry Valour was I inspired at that time, because deprived of Sleep.  
But by and by, the modest Morn blushed in the East; and the Sun (to recompense those Tears shed by weeping Plants) showed forth his Head, gild the Tops of lofty Trees, placed there by unequal Nature to intercept that Comfort which Shrubs lose by their low humility.  
The elevated Lark leaves his dewy Bed to welcome him, and drops down tired, by striving to climb higher than his Voice. I bid farewell to sleep' and called up the Chamberlain, who brought me word, Philaret (being very sick) desired my Company. To his Chamber I went, found him groaning in the Bed, encompassed with Tokens of his Wives careful Love; three Nightcaps, two Waistcoats, a large Tiffany to keep his Neck warm, two pair of Italian-Drawers, and a little Down-Cusheon: which being thrust into his Codpiss makes his Br— (forsooth) unsensible of a hard Saddle or a trotting Horse. His Sighs kindled great pity both in myself and the Hostess, whose Experience was his Physician, and brought him a Posset cleared with the juice of sundry Herbs.  
But Art now proves a Bungler! All her Culinary Medicines could not tune Nature into Harmony again, or make Philaret fit for another Ramble.  
For alas! No sooner had he swallowed the Posset, but he falls into a deep Trance.  
Upon this my Hostess and I (who sat by his Bedside like the very pictures of Sorrow) thinking his Soul had taken an irrecoverable step into the other World, fall to work, strip him naked, and laid him out in a Winding-sheet as a suitable banquet to entertain the expecting Worms.  
But just as we were putting the black Cloth of Death over his Eyes, we perceived him breath, upon which we fell to chaffing and ●ubbing his Head and Feet till we had reduced his wand'ring Senses to their former office and vigour.  
Having thus dragged back his rambling Soul (that had been all this while clambering up the Celestial Battlements for a glimpse of the promised Land) Don-Iohn-Kainophilus (who was almost ready to burst with joy to see so dear a part of himself risen from the dead) being curious to know what strange Sights he had seen in his Trance, he gave me the following account, as near as I can remember it, from his own mouth.  
My dear Kainophilus;  
In the midst of the silent night as you and my Landlord were sitting by my Bedside, I fancied that a blue mist came o'er my Eyes and dozed my Senses; when methoughts a lovely Youth clad in a glorious garb stood by me, and with beaming Eyes so dazzled me with Rays of Light, that I was much amazed; but long he paused not, ere he snatched me from you both, and with expanded Wings flew swift, as I thought, through many Regions paved with Stars and shining with glittering Fires; where I beheld strange Shapes and heard amazing Voices, and mounting still higher and higher, at last he brought me within sight of a most Glorious Palace, whose outside shined with such exceeding Brightness, that I was obliged sometimes to shut mine Eyes as not capable of steady gazing: At the Gate stood Throngs of glorious forms in Robes of purest white, with Crowns of Gold upon their Heads, Palms of Victory in their Hands, and golden Harps in their Mouths, whereon they played melodiously, ravishing all my Senses with their charming Voices; and methougts, they seeming in their Songs to express much Joy at my approach, I was about to enter this Celestial Mansion; but on a sudden hearing a Voice as loud as Thunder crying, Return, return, for you cannot enter here till you fling off your clothes of Flesh: I sunk down like lightning and just now starting at the supposed Fall, I waked.;;;;;  
And thus to the Admiration of all the World, he lived in Person, as it were to learn to die by his own Funeral, and to see it celebrated before his Eyes; and after he had with abundance of Pleasure viewed his Coffin, Winding-sheet and Deathbed Shrouds (having a great curiosity to see himself buried in Effigy) he walked with Kainophilus ten days after to Marlowe Chancel to see his Tomb, that so he might (as he courageously said) Look Death full in the face, and learn to die generously.  
Oh Noble Courage! that can triumph at the sight of a Tomb!  
Oh glorious Action! where Garlands of Cypress dispute the Pre-eminence with Laurel and Palm!  
Oh gallant Self-Victory! that so bravely puts a gloss on the Face of Death!  
And indeed no one can say he is resolved for Death, that cannot undergo it with his Eyes open, or meet it the boldest way. Cowards wink when they fight, but the truly valiant dare face their danger.  
One saying to Damidas that the Lacedæmonians w●●e likely very much to suffer, if they did not in time reconeile themselves to Prince Philip's favour: Why, you pitiful Fellow, replied he, what can they suffer that do not fear to die? It being demanded of Agis, which way a man might live free? Why, said he, by despising Death. Then who would be a Slave to his fears that is so near the reach of Liberty? The most voluntary Death is the most brave: Was not Philaret' s viewing his Grave with pleasure an act of Courage beyond all that we read of Caesar? And the truth on't is, Living is Slavery if the Liberty of dying were taken away: The most obliging Present Nature has made us, and which takes from us all colour of complaint of our condition, is to have delivered into our custody the keys of Life; she has only ordered one door into Life, but a thousand ways out. 'Tis true, we may be straightened for Earth to live upon, but Earth sufficient to die upon can never be wanting.  
Caesar being asked what Death he thought to be the most desired, made answer, The least premeditated and the shortest: If Caesar dared to say it, it is no cowardice in Philaret to believe it; however believe it or not, 'tis all one to Mounsieur Death, who seeing him recovered of his long Trance, falls now to twisting his Guts till he died in earnest, so that,  
His new Life and his Exit seemed to meet  
His swaddling Bands, almost his winding Sheet,  
And from his Deathbed he does but arise  
To see his Grave; returns again and dies.  
Ah Philaret! Must we part then? First let me close thy Eyes, bedew thy Cheeks a little, compose thy body for the Grave, follow thee thither; and then farewell till we meet in th' other World!  
Poor miserable Man! If Fate happen to gild ●o're one Inch of thy unhappy Span, and lend a glimpse of Heaven in a Friend; how soon does the beauteous Vision vanish out of sight?  
But why do I sigh and groan— seeing  
'Twon't be long before it will be said  
Of me, as 'tis of Phil. Alas! he's dead.  
So that now leaving Marlowe behind me, and Philaret fast asleep in his Grave, at least I suppose so, for I could not stay to see him buried. I was resolved to return for London, and fix there till I had wore out the thoughts of him.  
And now going to take leave of my Hostess, I perceived all the House in an uproar, the Nurse weeping, the Maid howling, Daphne, Molly and Tiddy crying, the Cat wring her hands; and all the House in a great perplexity, except old Towzer, who like a cruel-hearted Cur shed not so much as one single Tear.  
Having given 'em the last because of Farewell, on I trooped the pace of a Butter Woman's old Mare, leaving it to the discretion of my Horse to go which way to London he pleased; so he would but bring me there at night 'twas all I desired, believing assuredly that it was only in that wherein the very Essence and Being of all Adventures consisted.  
After eight hours Travel in Dust and Sun, safely arrived at London, just as the Sun (having run his 〈◊〉) was prancing down his Western-Hill 〈…〉.  
Before the Windows of the Day were quite shut i● I got to my Quarters, where (being weary) ●●sie Sleep soon drew the fringed Curtains of my Eyes.  
By that time, 8 hours repose, like a good Clothworker, had set a refreshing Nap upon my tired and threadbare Limbs, the Sun again like an unwearied Rambler came dancing o'er the drowsy Hills to unbar the doors of Night, and to signify to the Skies that they might now, if they please, play the good Housewife, and put out their Candles.  
This made my Heart dance the Canaries in my Breast without the help of a Violin. For my Patience (you may well imagine) was now on the tenterhooks till I was on my Rambles again.  
So jumping out of my nitty Couch, with a courteous design to free my tender Br— from the persecution of the lousy Blankets (for my Pockets could not reach to the gentility of Sheets) I fell to dressing my little dapper self, as trim, as neat, and as Gay, as if I had set all night between the Comb and the Glass, or had robbed some Petty-Milliner of all his Nick Nacks; tho' ('tis a folly to lie for't) some of my Linen seemed to be of an old or dusty translation. Then running to the Barbers for a new Face; for you must note, though my Beard as yet was but of the third Edition or Cut, (and consequently one downy hair hardly stood within call of another) yet some supersluous branches there were which Mr. Snipper-Snapper soon lopped off.  
So that now being dressed as it were in print, and sparklishly equipped in Mode and Figure, I took my Pilgrim's-Staff in one hand, and two (I cannot say a Pair of) Gloves in the other, and marched very methodically into the City; where I had not rambled the length of the Royal Exchange, till on every side I was surrounded with variety of dazzling Objects, the meanest of which was no less than a Legion of Wonderments to my stupefied Eyes; upon which gaping and staring as Country Clowns usually do, I soon gazed myself into an Ecstasy.  
But scarce had the crimson Blushes of Aurora given the World an intimation of that glorious Luminarie's approach which was to enlighten it; when there appeared coming from a stately and magnificent House in Cornhill, so lovely a Troop of Ladies, that had there yet wanted any thing of day, the Stars might in modesty have retired from a new Sphere of brighter Constellations; among whom the Lady Rachelias' Beauty had lustre enough to intimate the little want there was of a rising Sun. She advanced at the head of this charming Company towards the Black Raven i'th' Poultry; from whence I went in company with them to a little Island, which composed a Garden, wherein Art and Nature had equally contributed to captivate the Senses. But soon after our Arrival here, that our pleasures might be the more undisturbed, we all withdrew to a shady Grotto wat●●ed with many artificial Springs, which l●y ●n the most retired part of the Garden. Where after feasting ourselves with Cherries ●●d all sorts of curious Fruits; the Night coming on we parted.  
But after three days Rambling about the City and Suburbs, and after as long feasting my Eyes with Novelties, I began at last to be even tired with Pleasures, and glutted with City Charms. So that here by a dear-bought Experience, I found, that the wandering Fancy of Man (nay, that even Life itself) is a it were but a mere Ramble or Fegary after the drag of something that doth itchifie our Senses, which when we have hunted home, we find nothing but a mere delusion.  
This is the Nature and common Condition of even the most pleasing, sensible Objects: They first tempt, then please a little, then disappoint, and lastly vex. The Eye that beholds them blasts them quickly, riffles and destroys their Glory, and views them with no more delight at first; than disdain afterwards. Hence, there must be frequent diversions; other Pleasures must be sought out; and are chosen, not because they are better, but because they are new. So that like Bees in a Garden we hum and rove about from Flower to Flower, and as soon as we have tasted one and exhausted ' its sweetness, we lave it and fly away to another, seeking in vain to eternize our Pleasures by a continued circle of Varieties.  
And therefore, Reader, if tempted by an impatient Affection to any thing not without danger or difficulty attained, catechise yourself with this Question, What Wish, Fortune or Labour ever presented you with, that after a full fruition did not soon grow tedious; or at best came not far short of what creaking Expectatlon, had undertaken it should perform?  

* Randolph.  Fruition with Fruition's burst.  
The very Honey of all  
Earthly Joy  
Doth soon Cloy.  
And this I the rather mention, 
† Cowley.  because I do not remember that I have ever had in all my Life the same thoughts of any good (my Nuptial Tie excepted) in the very time of the enjoying it as I had before. I have known when I have promised myself vast satisfactions; and indeed where could I expect more than in London, where in every Street fine and dainty things lie even trodden under feet, becoming almost vile through their abundant plenty and my Imagination has presented me at a distance with a fair Landscape of Delights, yet when I drew nigh to grasp the alluring Happiness like the 
† In Zion Garden.  Sensitive-Plant, it contracted itself at the touch, and shrunk almost to nothing in the fruition. And tho' after the Enjoyment is passed it seems ●s great again upon Reflection as it did before in expectation, yet should a Platonical Revolution make the Circumstances recur, I should not think so. I found 'twas ever with me as with the Traveller, to whom the ground which is before him, and that which he has left behind, seems always more curiously embroidered and delightsome than that which he stands upon; so that my Happiness (like the time wherein I thought to enjoy it) was always either passed or to come, never present. Methought, I could often say upon a recollection, how happy was I at such a Time? or when I was in expectation, how happy shall I be if I compass such a design? but scarce ever I am so, I was highly well pleased, Methoughts whilst I expected, whilst I hoped for a new sight of London, till fruition jogged me out of my pleasing Slumber, and I knew it was but a Dream. And this single observation has often made me even in the very pursuit after Happiness, and full Career of my Passions, to stop short on this side Fruition, and to choose rather with Moses upon Mount Nebo, to entertain my Fancy with a remote Prospect of the happy Land, than to go in and possess it, and then repine. How then shall Man be happy, when (setting aside all the crosses of Fortune) he will complain even of Success, and Fruition itself shall disappoint him?  
Fruition adds no new Wealth, but destroys;  
And while it pleaseth much, yet still it cloys,  
As in Prospects we are there pleased most,  
Where something keeps the Eye from being lost,  
A●d leaves us room to guests; so here restraint  
Holds up delight, that with excess would saint.  
And the reason, I humbly conceive, may be this: In all earthly matters Expectation takes up more Joy on Trust, than the Fruition of the thing is able to discharge. Most Men in their own Fancies extract the Pleasures of things from troubles annexed to them, which when enjoyed must go together; surely a Good unlooked for is a Virgin 
* Fuller.  Happiness; whereas those who obtained what long they have gazed on in Expectation, only marry what themselves have deflowered before. No Matters are so fair as the Pencil of the Expectant limbs them out in his Hopes. The first taste of pleasure indeed is commonly very grateful to us; but after we have often repeated it, it grows flat, and after that loathsome.  
Farewell Fruition, thou grand cruel Cheat,  
Which first our hopes dost raise, and then defeat:  
Farewell thou Midwife to abortive Bliss,  
Thou Mystery of Fallacies.  
Distance presents the Object fair,  
With charming Features, and a graceful Air;  
But when we come to seize th'inviting Prey,  
Like a shy Ghost it vanishes away.  
So to th' unthinking Clown the distant Sky  
Seems on some Mountain's Surface to rely:  
He with ambitious haste climbs the Ascent,  
Curious to touch the Firmament.  
But when with an unwearied pace  
Arrived he is at the long wished for place,  
With sighs the sad defeat he does deplore,  
His Heaven is still as distant as before.  
And yet 'twas long ere I could see,  
This grand Impostor's frequent Treachery,  
Tho often fooled, yet I should still dream on  
Of Pleasure in Reversion.  
Tho still he did my Hopes deceive,  
His fair Pretensions I would still believe:  
Such was my Charity, that though I knew,  
And found him false, yet I would think him true.  
Thrasonides, a young Man of Greece, having gained a Lady's Consent for Marriage, refused to enjoy her, that he might not, (as he said) by Fruition quench and stupefy the unquiet Ardour with which he so pleased himself.  
But whether do I ramble? How many Miles (alias Pages) am I again out of my way? Surely my Readers will think that I have forgotten myself, or my End of coming to London: But let them if they will, for I'll not trust myself here to the Heat that so noble a Subject inspires, and shall therefore reserve it for the next Volume. So that now Exit Bookseller, and enter Author to act all the ●●r Parts.  
FINIS