THE FIRST DAYS Entertainment AT Rutland-House, By Declamations and music: After the manner of the ANCIENTS. By sir W. D. LONDON, Printed by J. M. for H. Herringman, and sold at his Shop at the Anchor, in the New-Exchange, in the Lower Walk. 1655. After a Flourish of music, the Curtains are Drawn, and the PROLOGUE enters. PROLOGUE. ME-thinks, as if assured of some disgrace, I should step back, ere scarce I show my face: 'Tis not through terror, that I know not how To fashion my approaches, veil, and bow, But that displeasure in your looks I spy, Which seem to turn aside and stand awry. Ere yet we can offend, are we disgraced? Or are our Benches, not your looks misplaced? We wish we could have found this Roof so high, That each might be allowed a Canopy, And could the walls to such a wideness draw, That all might sit at ease in Chaise a brass. But though you cannot front our Cup-board-Scene, Nor sit so easily as to stretch and lean; Yet you are so divided and so placed, That half are freely by the other faced; And we are shrewdly jealous that you come Not merely to hear us, or see the Room; But rather meet here to be met, I mean, Each would see all, and would of all be seen. Which we but guess, respectfully, to show You worthy of yourselves, not we of you. Think this your passage, and the narrow way To our elysian Field, the Opera: towards which some say we have gone far about, Because it seems so long since we set out. Think now the way grown short, and that you light At this small Inn, to bait, not stay all night: Where you shall find, what you will much despise; The Host grown old, and worse then old, half wise. Still former times applauds, the present blames; And talks so long, that he( indeed) Declaims. From Declamations of a long hours length, Made strong to last, by some dead Authors strength, Not powerful to persuade, but to provoke; Long, grave, and sullen as a mourning Cloak; I wish, if possible, you could scape free; But, plainly, and in brief, it cannot be. These you must please to hear, and have no way To give the anguish of your Ears alloy, But by our Rostra's, to remember Rome; Then hope, such mighty minds in time may come As think it equal glory to take care To speak wise things, as to do great in war: declaiming well on what they well have done; Being best guides where they the race have run: quickening by influence of their Noble deeds Glory in others, till it virtue breeds: What do I mean? Sure there is something here Has such infection as I ought to fear! Here I a short and bashful Prologue came; But straight grow long and bold; that is, declaim. What patience can endure speech bold and long, Where sense is weak too, when the Lungs are strong? Yet this will rare abridgement seem in me, When four shall come and talk a History. Well, I have now devised, for your relief, How you shall make these long Declaimers, brief; When you perceive their voices fall with fear, ( As not accustomed to the Publike-Ear) And that they pause, grow pale, and look about; Laugh but aloud, and you will put them out. The Curtains are closed again. A Consort of Instrumental music, adapted to the sullen Disposition of Diogenes, being heard a while, the Curtains are suddenly opened, and in two guilded Rostras appear sitting, Diogenes the cynic, and Aristophanes the Poet, in Habits agreeable to their Country and Professions: who Declaim Against, and For public Entertainment by Moral Representations. Diogenes. I Would you were all old, that having more experience, I might take less pains to make you wise. Or I would you were all poor, that not being diverted by the gaudy emulations of your wealth, you might mind Diogenes; who, you know, has nothing, unless( most thrifty Athenians) you allow me that, which I wish you could spare, Understanding. But why should I desire your attention? For considering that when you are asleep, you neither hurt your friends, nor provoke your enemies, I think 'tis scarce discretion to keep you awake. Yet presuming I am now in the public Rostra, as securely fortified as in my private Tub; I will venture to bid you observe, that you are met to hear what your cynic Diogenes, and the Poet Aristophanes can say, against and for, public Entertainment by Moral Representations. Can any Entertainment divert you from the mischief to which you are excellently inclined when you meet in public? Are not the Winds your Orators, and you their manyheaded Waves that meet not but in foam and rage? Have you not yet distinguished the modesty and wariness of solitude from the impudence and rashness of Assemblies? Do you not, when alone, design wreaths to the virtue of those, whom, when you are assembled, you reward with ostracism? As if the mingled breath of multitude were so contagious, that it infected reason as well as blood. Beasts of Athens, Are you not made gentle, when bread single, and continue wild whilst you are in Herds? When you are alone, perhaps some of you have judgement to consider, that the wisdom of Governours is increased by their long continuance in power, therefore they ought seldom to be changed, but when you meet in the Agora, to make up the Body-Politique, 'tis like the meeting of humours in the Natural Body, all tending to commotion, change and dissolution. There is your annual Feast, where you devour your Governours, or shift them nimbly, as your Trenchers, before they are foul. Most mischievous Athenians! Meet not at all. Man, when alone, is perhaps not wholly a Beast; but Man meeting Man till he grows to a Multitude, is certainly more then a Monster. O Number, Number! when it consists of men, how accursed are those who trust to it? If for Wisdom, who will rely upon determination, where the difference of opinions doth often equal the variety of faces? If for strength, call XERXES, and bid him, if he dares, come back again with his half of mankind into Greece. In numerous Councils you give countenance to each other, to dare to do injustice; where you each take anger as you catch yawning, merely by seeing it in another. In Armies, the number doth often tend more to famine then to strength. Fear( which is in Armies as infectious, as Opinion in councils) is quickly dispersed, whilst all depending on their multitude, are defeated, because each trusted to others, and none to themselves. But Athenians, I am old, I want memory, and have displaced my thoughts; for I intended not to declaim against Assemblies, in Civil Councils, or in Military attempts; but against such as meet for Recreation: In defence of which the Poet Aristophanes is arrogantly resolved to pled. What need you public Recreations? If you are old, you are past the days of mirth, and are come to the Evenings of contemplation; and contemplation requires solitude. If you are young, 'tis your time to grow solemn, which is, to become old betimes, that you may more willingly entertain Age when you are forced to feel it. If you had Philosophy enough to make you humble; you would avoid such public Assemblies as tempt you to that cost in Vests and Ornaments, which occasions the emulations of pride. If you have so little Philosophy as to desire to be very rich, you would prevent that vain expense. If you would live in peace and power, why by such excesses, do you enrich retailers and mechanics, whose sudden acquisition of wealth makes them too proud to be obedient, and too fantastical to be quiet? If you have business, what do you here? If you have none, what do you in Athens? where wealth is not to be got with idleness, nor the Wars maintained without wealth. But you would meet to receive entertainment from such as represent the virtuous actions of the Heroes. Is not virtue esteemed in Athens but as the particular humour of Philosophers? And though it may please some few who study it, yet, because 'tis singular, it doth offend the generality; and 'tis safe in popular Governments, to content the people too, though to their own prejudice, who perhaps too can hardly be said to be prejudiced, when they have no sense of their harm. If virtue should be dressed in such a fashion as all should be provoked to like her, you might open the Gates of Athens to her spiritual Tire-women, the Muses, and let them work freely to her. But since many have very vainly endeavoured to make her amiable to all, let the Lady virtue shrink up her white shoulders, put on her black Hood, and retire to her Closet. But you would meet to behold virtue in the bright Images of the Heroes. Gentlemen of Athens! Be not at charge to pay for glasses, which shall render you the reflection of better faces then your own, lest you give yourselves an uncomfortable occasion to blushy. 'Tis discretion, if you have any imperfection, to keep at distance from that excellence to which others may compare you. Be you contented without seeing the Heroes; and let them be satisfied with the reward of their virtues. Are they not made Stars and Statues? Let them shine in the Firmament, and rest in our Temples: But what need they be personated, and intrude into our theatres, to disgrace us? If you are exceedingly inclined to think that you may draw a benefit from great examples, and are resolved to raise the heroic Ghosts, in hope they will led you to the hidden treasures of virtue; pursue the experiment, and the next day, after you have paid your money in theatres, cast up your account, and see what you have got by your Dream. I suspect that your remembrance of the Worthies will vanish, and be as short as the Vision. The Ghost of Hercules raised by a Poet, can no more make you laborious and patient, then a Rose or lettuce, raised in a Glass by a chemist, can make you sweet, or serve you for a salade. Aristophanes will perhaps make you a small present of another pretext in behalf of the Opera; which is, That it will introduce Civility. But because there are some Beasts in Athens, does he take us all for Bears? We eat not raw flesh, nor live without distinctions of alliance. What means he by Civility? Would he make an Art of external behaviour, and have it red in the Schools? Would he prescribe you a certain comely posture in your sleep, and not to wake without a long compliment to your Chamber-Grooms? Would he not have you cough but when alone, or if in public, then with a musical concordance to the rest that have taken could? Would he have you at Table carve with your arm a little extended, as if you were nicely to finish a touch in painting; or more at stretch, as if you were to fence for your meat? Would he make a Science of salvation, and draw it out to such a length, as if when you met you were always treating to reconcile Empires; or when you take leave, you were concerned as Kings that depart from their Daughters when they are married by Proxy, and embarking for another Climate? Where will be the end of excesses in civility? Is not extraordinary Civility imputed to Courts as dissimulation? Subtle Athenians! If you will learn to be very civil, which is, to dissemble with a good grace, yet know, that dissimulation is a kind of black Art, which you must study in private. Let the people be rude still, for if, by suffering it to be taught in public, we refine their craftiness with Civility, you must ere long fling away your Night-caps, and sleep in your Helmets. Would you meet to enjoy the pleasure of music? 'tis a deceitful Art, whose operations led to the evil of extremes, making the Melancholy to become mad, and the merry to grow fantastical. Our Cities ancient stamp, the Owl( which bears no part in the merry Quires of the Woods) denotes the Wisdom, not the mirth of Athens. I would have the people of Athens, from the Mason to the Merchant, look as grave and thoughtful as rich Mourners. They should all seem Priests in the Temples, Philosophers in their Houses, and States-men in the streets. Then we should not need to be at expense of public Magistrates; but every man would be freely forward to rule another, and in time grow to such a height and ability in Government, as we should by degrees banish the whole City; and that Ostracism were happy preferment; for the rest of the world would soon invite us to rule them. Does not the ecstasy of music transport us beyond the Regions of Reason? Changing the sober designs of discretion into the very wildeness of dreams; urging softer minds to aim at the impossible successses of Love; and enkindling in the active the destructive ambitions of War? Does it not turn the heads of the young till they grow so giddy, as if they walked on pinnacles; and often divert the feet of the aged from a Funeral to a wedding? And consider( my malicious friends of Athens) how you would look, if you should see me, at the mere provocation of a Fiddle, led out a Matron to dance at the marriage of an old Philosophers widow. Would you meet to be delighted with Scaenes? which is, to be entertained with the deception of motion, and transposition of Lights; where, whilst you think you see a great battle, you are sure to get nothing by the Victory. You gaze on imaginary Woods and meadows, where you can neither fell nor mow. On Seas, where you have no Ships, and on Rivers, where you catch no Fish. But, you may find it more profitable to retire to your Houses, and there study how to gain by deceiving others, then to meet in theatres, where you must pay for suffering yourselves to be deceived. This, Athenians! concerns your profit; which is a word you understand better then all the Grammarians in Greece. And though the ways towards profit are somewhat dark, yet you need no light from me, which made me presume to leave my lantern at home. virtue, in those Images of the Heroes, adorned with that music, and these Sceans, is to be enlivened with Poetry. Poetry is the subtle Engine by which the wonderful Body of the Opera must move. I wish, Athenians! you were all Poets, for then, if you should meet, and with the pleasant vapours of Lesbian wine, fall into profound sleep, and concur in a long Dream, you would ere morning, enamel your Houses, tile them with Gold, and pave them with Aggots. This is the way by which the Poets would make you all exorbitantly rich. Yet I doubt you are so malicious as to think, if Homer, Hesiod, and six more of the Ancient( I dare not suspect the Modern) were harnast in a Teem, they would prove too weak to draw the weight of a single Talent out of Athens. I allow that in a City where divers are more then somewhat guilty, you may suppose Satyrs a profitable commodity for the public; but am confident a whole Ream of Odes and Epigrams will not be held, by any man here, a sufficient pawn for a Drachma. I conceive you have now heard me as frowardly as you use to hear the Ambassadors of Sparta, from whom you seldom like any thing but their brevity. I shall leave the advantage on your side; for if my advice be bad, 'tis too late for me to recall it; if good, you have time enough to follow it. Go home, and consider; but I fear your Houses are so spacious, and so fine, as they will divert your Understanding. Though you are willing to perceive that you have no necessity to consider me: Yet I am sure I shall have continual occasion to study you; therefore am resolved to contract myself, and retire to my Tub. A Consort of music, befiting the pleasant Disposition of Aristophanes, being heard, he thus answers. Aristophanes. renowned Athenians! how vainly were you assembled here, if you met to be made wise by Diogenes? and how much more vainly should I ascend the Rostra, if I sought to inform your Understanding concerning him, or reform his concerning himself? Diogenes came to persuade you to suspect the good effects of Assemblies, and I come to accuse him of the evils of Solitude. In which I am prevented by his own behaviour; for you have found him, like a Man sure to be condemned, reviling even you his Judges; as pitifully froward as children suddenly waked, and as weakly malicious as Witches when they are mocked. He will quarrel with the wind, merely for playing with his Beard, and in his Age, studies revenge on the posterity of his dead Pedant, for chastisements received in his youth. 'Tis well that Nature hath inclined mischievous men, as well as Beasts of Prey, to live alone; for if the one should be conversable, and the other walk in Herds, mankind might by the first be persuaded from the true use of Natural Reason, and, by the second, be forced from the original inheritance of Natural Power. But as sullen Diogenes is by Nature secretly urged to live alone, so those who are not misgovern'd by passion, have an instinct to communication, that by virtuous emulations each may endeavour to become the best example to the rest; for men meet not to see themselves, but to be seen by others, and probably he who doth expose himself to be a public object, will strive to excel before he appears. Other creatures of the most pacific species incline to society, that they may delight in each others safety, whilst they are protected by their conjunction of strength. 'Tis not my theme to declaim of the abuse or use of Number in Civil Councils, or Military attempts: And since Diogenes was constrained to excuse his digression by accusing his memory, I shall learn to avoid such presumption as must shamefully require your pardon; and will not treat of bufie, but pleasant Assemblies; and particularly of such as meet for recreation by Moral Representations. But Diogenes is implacably offended at Recreation. He would have you all housed like himself, and every man stay at home in his Tub. He thinks your dwellings so large as they divert your contemplation; and perhaps imagines that the Creation hath provided too much room; that the Air is too spacious for Birds, the Woods for Beasts, and the Seas for Fish; especially, if their various motion in enjoying their large Elements contribute to what he esteems vain idleness, Recreation. This discontented cynic would turn all time into midnight, and all learning into melancholy magic. He is so offended at Mirth, as if he would accuse even Nature her self to want gravity, for bringing in the Spring so merrily with the music of Birds. When you are young, he would have you all seem old, and formal as simplo men in authority. When you are old, he would bring you back to the crying condition of children, as if you were always breeding Teeth. Nor hath he forgot to dispose of middle age, when the ripeness of mind and body makes you most sufficient for the difficult toils of affairs: for in this season of laborious life, he would use you worse then Beasts; who are allowed Bells with their heavy packs, and entertained with whistling, when they are driven with Goads. Gentlemen of Athens! If you would admit the deformed disposition of Diogenes under the pleasant shape of humour; or rather, if you would vouchsafe to give him authority and let him have time and countenance to breed and enlarge a Melancholy Sect; you would find the people so apt to nourish the seed of small evil, till it multiply to extremes, that you should not need to be at expense of Executioners, nor Executioners be at cost to buy the juice of Hemlock to dispatch offenders; for we should all grow most courageously sad, and very bountifully hang and drown ourselves at our own charge. He would have you abstain from such public Assemblies, that you might avoid the costs of Vests and Ornaments, which he traduces, as occasioning the emulations of pride. Can large Dominions be continued without distinction of qualities? And can the people distinguish more immediately then by their eyes; which are always sooner satisfied with shape then substance? And are they not safer entertained with what they instantly admire, then with that which bufies their judgement? If external glory and gaudery be pride, we learn it there where there is no sin; for Nature, who cannot err, ordained the patterns, even in the various and gaudy ornaments of Birds and Flowers; or if excelling ornament offend him, why looks he upward to the Stars; since of the greatest part of their infinite number, it is hard to find any other use then that of beautifying and adorning the world? Whilst he scorns pride, he is ignorant that 'tis commonly but by a kind of pride more refined that men disdain the proud. Most just Athenians! I cannot forfeit your esteem, if I convince not Diogenes; who will not be instructed by the work of Nature, nor could be corrected by the rebuk of Plato. He conjures you, if you would preserve your peace and power, to refrain from those Assemblies which occasion such emulation of expense as may enrich retailers and mechanics: as if the wealth of the people did not make them cautious of innovation, and slow to Insurrection; who rebel to get that from others, which makes them obedient when it becomes their own The wealth of the eminent, contracted and retained, offends the people; but being dispersed and apparently spent, prevents their jealousy that 'tis more then is suspected; and takes away their envy, by giving them evidence that it will grow less: and none will believe expense superfluous, who think it necessary to gain by what is spent. When the Laws enjoin frugality to the Rich, they provide well for particular Families, but ill for the public. He next takes care you should not assemble, especially at Representations of the actions of the Heroes. And in the progress of his discourse, meets the Lady virtue and takes her aside, as if he were to examine a mere stranger; as if, because she was not of his acquaintance, therefore she had never been in Athens; or at least was so austere in her garments and behaviour, that she seemed only fit for the company of old Philosophers. Noble Athenians! You all know that her delightful maids, the Muses, have given her a pleasant and familiar Dress; and, I know, you will provide her such a Palace, as Diogenes shall not need to straighten himself by inviting her to his Tub. He again forewarns you from beholding her in the shining shapes of the Heroes; as if, because his own eyes are weak, he may therefore think yours so sore, as it would hurt them to behold the light. Or, as if the heroic Ghosts were insolently raised by the Poets in such angry shapes, as rather serve to upbraid your defects, then to encourage your endeavours for perfection. Or, as if active examples are revived in vain, and seem not more prevalent then written precepts; yet the first invite imitation by showing experienced possibility in the utmost attempts of virtue; and the latter, but presumptuously draw a Map of an unsteer'd Course to an imagined cost. heroic virtue, when 'tis busy in the open World is more deserving( because more laborious, and less safe) then when she lazily retires to the Cells of contemplative Cowards; who securely sit and writ against those dangers of temptation from which, out of fear, they have hastily and meanly fled. He would likewise infer, that the great examples of Elder Times are vainly presented, because, being so remote, they are less credible. But he forgets to observe that envy will more patiently behold great actions in the Ancients, who cannot hinder our pretences, then in those of our own Times, who perhaps are our Competitors for the rewards of virtue as well as Rivals to her person. He next grows angry, not at the pretence which public Entertainments make to introduce Civility; but at Civility itself; loving so barbarously the uncleanly case of his own life, that he cares not how much inconvenience it gives to the lives of others. If the Ephori and Kings of Sparta invited him to their Mess, he would for indecencies sake eat their Broth without a Spoon. He often commends the ancient use of Fingers, that by tearing his meat, he may save the labour of whetting his knife. Never washes any thing but his Beard, and that too in the Bowl where he drinks to his betters. He lets his Nails grow to the length of Talons, seizing and snatching his meat at anothers Table, as if it were his Prey. And is against the Civility of making a Stranger enter a House before the Owner, because the Cooper built not his to contain more then himself. He terms it brevity, and saving of time, to salute a Magistrate with no more then a Nod; and; only for laziness, avoids common. Salutation. Judge you( most civil Athenians!) whether cleanness be inconvenient, because he imputes it as a troublesone part of Civility. Or whether Salutation should be prohibited, because sometimes, where the dignities are equal, it draws respect into length. Or whether length of respect is not necessary, to show the distinctions of quality? Or rather, whether distinctions of quality tend not to the conservation of Government? without which, Governours would soon grow weary for want of obedience, and Age retire to the Grave for want of reverence. He proceeds next against the Ornaments of a public Opera, music and Scenes. But how can he avoid the traducing of music, who hath always a Discord within himself, and which seems so loud too, as if it would, a mile off, untune the harmonious soul of Plato. music doth not heighten Melancholy into Madness, but rather unites and recollects a broken and scattered mind; giving it sudden strength to resist the evils it hath long and strongly bread. Neither doth it make the merry seem fantastical, but only to such as are enviously sad at the pleasure of others. If it doth warm the ambitious when they are young, 'tis but as cordials warm the blood, to make it evaporate the evil humour. If it awake hope in the Aged( where hope is fallen asleep, and would take rest) we may therefore say( since hope is the vital heat of the mind) that it prolongs life where it would slothfully expire. Nor need Diogenes suspect that it may make his bones ache, by seducing him to a dance; for he can only lift up his feet to a dismal discord, or dance to a consort of groaners and gnashers of Teeth. He is offended at Scenes in the Opera, as at the useless Visions of Imagination. Is it not the safest and shortest way to understanding, when you are brought to see vast Seas and Provinces, Fleets, Armies, and Forts, without the hazards of a Voyage, or pains of a long March? Nor is that deception where we are prepared and consent to be deceived. Nor is there much loss in that deceit, where we gain some variety of experience by a short journey of the sight. When he gives you advice not to lay out time in prospect of Woods and meadows, which you can never possess, he may as well shut up his own little Window( which is the Bung-hole of his Tub) and still remain in the dark, because the light can only show him that which he can neither purchase nor beg. This worst Athenian( whom you have long contemned as your Suburb-dog) hath all this while but barked at the Muses. In the end of his discourse he offers to bite and worry Poetry; yet, 'tis only with his Gums, for his Teeth are lost; why should a cynic, who applauds poverty in himself, disdain it in others? He pretends to make it his business to seek out Poverty, and to Court her in public; but the Poets, having more wit then the cynics, only entertain her when she finds out them, and then but in private. Or perhaps Poets, the busy Secretaries of Nature, are so intentively employed in providing for the general happiness of human kind, that they have no leisure to make provisions for themselves. He upbraids that Art which may be said to be the only Art of Nature; which elevates the harmony of Reason, and makes even the severities of Wisdom pleasant. But, excellent Athenians! It were an unpardonable want of judgement in me, to tyre you with defending that which you already know needs no defence. And my presumption is less to be forgiven in having dared to rescue that from the rage of Diogenes, which you have long taken into your own protection: therefore, instead of defending Poetry( whose several beauties make up the shape of the Opera) I will conclude in excuse and defence of her Enemy; who hath much reason to dissuade you from Moral Representations, because he is himself the worst representation of Morality; and is justly afraid to be represented in the theatre. The Curtains are suddenly closed, and the Company entertained by Instrumental and Vocal music with this Song. Song. 1. DId ever War so cease That all might Olive wear? All sleepy grow with Peace, And none be waked with fear? 2. Does Time want Wings to fly, Or Death ere make a stand? Men must grow old and die: Storms drive us from Sea to Tempests at Land. Chorus. This through his Tub the cynic saw; Where vainly with Time he did strive, And in vain from Death did withdraw By bury'ng himself alive. 1. The Poets they are wise All evils they expect, And so prevent surprise, Whilst troubles they neglect. 2. Can Age ere do them harm Who cheerfully grow old? Mirth keeps their hearts stil warm Fools think themselves safe in sorrow and could. Chorus. Then let the sour cynic live cooped; Let him quake in his thrid-bare cloak Till he find his old Tub unhoopt, His Staff and his lantern broken. The Song being ended, A Consort of Instrumental music, after the French Composition, being heard a while, the Curtains are suddenly opened, and in the Rostras appear sitting a Parisian and a Londoner in the Livery Robes of both Cities, who Declaim concerning the prae-eminence of Paris and London. The Parisian. YOu of this Noble City, are yet to become more noble by your candour to the Plea, between me a Bourgois of Paris, and my opponent of London: being concerned in honour to lend your attention as favourably to a stranger as to your Native orator: since 'tis the greatest sign of narrow education to permit the borders of Rivers, or strands of Seas, to separate the general consanguinity of mankind: though the unquiet nature of man( still hoping to shake off distant power, and the incapacity of any one to sway universal Empire) hath made them the bounds to divide Government. But already I think it necessary to cease persuading you, who will ever deserve to be my Judges, and therefore mean to apply myself in admonishing him who is pleased to be a while my adversary. My most opiniater'd Antagonist( for a Londoners opinion of himself is no less noted then his opinion of his Beef before the Veal of Italy) you should know that the merit of Cities consists not in their fair and fruitful situation, but in the manners of the Inhabitants: for where the situation excels it but upbraids their minds if they be not proportionable to it. And, because we should more except against the constancy of minds then their mutability, when they incline to error; I will first take a survey of yours in the long continued deformity of the shape of your City, which is, of your Buildings. Sure your Ancestors contrived your narrow streets in the days of Wheel-barrows, before those greater Engines, Carts, were invented. Is your Climate so hot, that as you walk, you need Umbrella's of Tiles to intercept the Sun? Or are your shambles so empty, that you are afraid to take in fresh air, lest it should sharpen your stomacks? Oh the goodly landscape of old Fish-street! which, had it not had the ill luck to be crooked, was narrow enough to have been your Founders Perspective: and where the Garrets( perhaps not for want of Architecture, but through abundance of amity) are so made, that opposite Neighbours may shake hands without stirring from home. Is unanimity of Inhabitants in wise Cities better expressed then by their coherence and uniformity of Building? Where Streets, begin, continue, and end in a like stature and shape: but yours( as if they were raised in a general insurrection, where every man hath a several design) differ in all things that can make distinction. Here stands one that aims to be a Palace, and, next it, another that professes to be a Hovel. Here a Giant, there a Dwarf, here slender, there broad; and all most admirably different in their faces as well as in their height and bulk. I was about to defy any Londoner, who dares pretend there is so much ingenious correspondence in this City, as that he can show me one House like another. Yet your old Houses seem to be reverend and formal, being compared to the fantastical looks of the Modern; which have more Ovals, Nieches, and Angles, then are in your Custards; and are enclosed with Pasteboard walls, like those of malicious Turks, who because themselves are not immortal, and cannot ever dwell where they build, therefore will not be at charge to provide such lastingness as may entertain their children out of the Rain; so slight, and so prettily gaudy, that if they could move, they would pass for Pageants. 'Tis your custom, where men vary often the mode of their habits, to term the Nation fantastical; but where streets continually change fashion, you should make hast to chain up the City; for 'tis certainly mad. You would think me a malicious Traveller, if I should still gaze on your misshapen streets, and take no notice of the beauty of your River; therefore I will pass the importunate noise of your watermen( who snatch at Fares as if they were to catch Prisoners, plying the Gentry so uncivilly, as if they never had rowed any other passengers but Bear wards) and now step into one of your pescod-boats; whose Tilts are not so sumptuous as the roofs of Gundaloes, nor, when you are within, are you at the ease of Chaise a brass. The commodity and trade of your River belongs to yourselves; but give a stranger leave to share in the pleasure of it, which will hardly be in the prospect or freedom of air; unless prospect, consisting of variety, be made up with here a Palace, there a Wood-yard, here a Garden, there a Brew-house: Here dwells a Lord, there a Dyer, and between both Duomo Comune. If freedom of air be inferred in the liberty of the Subject, where every private man hath authority, for his own profit, to smoke up a Magistrate; then the air of your Thames is open enough, because 'tis equally free. I will forbear to visit your Courtly Neighbours at Wapping, not that it will make me giddy to shoot your Bridge, but that I am loth to disturb the civil silence of Billings-gate, which is so great, as if the Mariners were always landing to storm the Harbour, therefore for brevities sake, I will put to shore again, though I should be constrained, even without my Galoshoes, to land at Puddle-Dock. I am now return'd to visit your Houses, where the Roofs are so low, that I presume your Ancestors were very mannerly, and stood bare to their wives; for I cannot discern how they could wear their high crowned Hats; yet I will enter, and therein oblige you much when you know my aversion to the odour of a certain weed that governs amongst your courser acquaintance as much as Lavender amongst your courser linen: to which, in my apprehension, your Sea-coal smoke seems a very Portugal perfume. I should here hasten to a period, for fear of suffocation, if I thought you so ungracious as to use it in public Assemblies: and yet I see it grow so much in fashion, that me-thinks, your children begin to play with broken Pipes, instead of Corals, to make way for their Teeth. You will find my visit short, I cannot stay to eat with you, because your bread is too heavy, and you disdain the light sustenance of Herbs. Your drink is too thick, and yet you are seldom over-curious in washing your glasses. Nor will I lodge with you, because your beds seem, to our Alcovaes, no bigger then Coffins; and your Curtains so short, as they will hardly serve to enclose your Carriers in Summer; and may be held, if Taffata, to have lined your Grandsires skirts. But though your Houses are thin, yet your kitchens are well lined with Beef; and the plentiful exercise of your attorneys makes up that canopy of smoke which covers your City; whilst those in the Continent are well contented with a clear sky, entertain flesh as a Regalio; and we, your poor French Frogs, are fain to sing to a Salade. You boast that your servants feed better then Masters at Paris; and we are satisfied when ours are better taught then fed. You allow yours idleness and high nourishment, to raise their mettal; which is, to make them rude for the honour of old England. We enure ours to labour and temperance, that we may alloy them; which is, to make them civil for the quiet of France. Yours drink Wine, and the strong broth of Malt, which makes them bold, hot, and adventurous to be soon in command. Ours are cooled with weak water, which doth quench their arrogance, and make them fit to obey long. We plant the vineyard, and you drink the Wine; by which you beget good spirits, and we get good money. You keep open houses for all that bring you in mirth, till your Estates run out of doors and find new Landlords. We shut our Gates to all but such whose conversation brings in profit, and so by the help of what you call ill nature and parsimony, have the good luck to keep our inheritances for our Issue. Before I leave you in your Houses( where your Estates are managed by your servants, and your persons educated by your Wives) I will take a short survey of your children; to whom you are so terrible, that you seem to make use of authority whilst they are young, as if you knew it would not continue till their manhood. You begin to them with such rough discipline, as if they were born mad, and you meant to fright them into their wits again before they had any to lose. When they increase in years, you make them strangers; keeping them at such distance, out of jealousy they should presume to be your companions, that when they reach manhood, they use you as if they were none of your acquaintance. But we submit to be familiar with ours, that we may beget their affection before 'tis too late to expect it. If you take pains to teach them any thing, 'tis only what they should not learn, Bashfulness; which you interpret to be their respect towards you, but it rather shows they are in trouble, and afraid of you; and not only of you, but of all that are elder then themselves; as if youth were a crime, or, as if you had a greater quarrel to Nature then to the devil; you seem to teach them to be ashamed of their persons, even then when you are willing to excuse their faults. Me-thinks when ours are grave they are but dull; and we are content not to have them demure and tame whilst they are youths, lest restraint( which always inclines to extremes when it is changed to liberty) should make them rude and wild when they are men. This education you give them at home; but though you have frequently the pride to disdain the behaviour of other Nations, yet you have sometimes the discretion to sand your sons abroad to learn it. To Paris they come; the School of Europe; where is taught the approaches and demeanours towards Power: where they may learn honour; which is the generous honesty, and confidence, which is the civil boldness of Courts. But there they arrive not to converse with us, but with themselves; to see the Gates of the Court, not to enter and frequent it; or to take a hasty survey of Greatness, as far as envy, but not to study it, as far as imitation. At last return home, despising those necessary virtues which they took not pains to acquire; and are only ill altered in their dress and mind, by making that a deformity in seeming over careful and forced, which we make graceful in being negligent and easy. I have now left your Houses, and am passing through your streets; but not in a Coach, for they are uneasily hung, and so narrow, that I took them for Sedans upon wheels: Nor is it safe for a stranger to use them till the quarrel be decided, whether Six of your Nobles, sitting together, shall stop, and give place to as many Barrels of Beer. Your City is the only Metropolis of Europe where there is a wonderful dignity belonging to Carts. Master Londoner! be not so hot against Coaches: take advice from one that eats much sorrel in his broth. Can you be too civil to such a singular Gentry as bravely scorn to be provident? who, when they have no business here to employ them, nor public pleasures to divert them, yet even then kindly invent occasions to bring them hither, that, at your own rates, they may change their Land for your wears; and have purposely avoided the course study of arithmetic, lest they should be able to affront you with examining your accounts. I wonder at your Riches when I see you drink in the morning; but more at your confidence, when I see gray Beards come out of a Tavern and stay at the door to make the last debate of their business; and I am yet more amazed at your health when I taste your wine; but most of all at your politics, in permitting such a public poisoning under the style of free mystery to encourage Trade and Diligence. I would now make a safe retreat, but that me-thinks I am stopped by one of your heroic Games, called Foot-ball; which I conceive( under your favour) not very conveniently civil in the streets; especially in such irregular and narrow Roads as Crooked Lane. Yet it argues your Courage much like your other Military pastime of throwing at Cocks. But your mettal would be more magnified( since you have long allowed those two valiant exercises in the streets) to draw your Archers from Finsbury, and during high Market, let them shoot at Butts in Cheapside. I have now no more to say but what refers to a few private Notes which I shall give you in a whisper when we meet in Moor-fields; from whence( because the place was meant for public pleasure, and to show the munificence of your City) I shall desire you to banish the Landeresses and Blechers, whose acres of old linen make a show like the Fields of Carthagena, when the five moneths shifts of the whole Fleet are washed and spread: ot else you will give me leave to conclude in behalf of Luxemberg and the Tuilleries, as no ill accommodations for the Citizens of Paris. After a Consort of music, imitating the waits of London, the Londoner rises, and thus answers. The Londoner. EVer Noble and most sufficient Judges; I am so little angry with my adversary, that I am ready to entitle him, as a stranger, to protection from you and civility from myself. You find, in his survey of this renowned City, he has undertaken to be pleasant, and to make you so too: but men who are pleased themselves, cannot when they list disperse their gay humour amongst others: it being much more easy to incite to anger then to mirth. I presume I am so far from needing the advantage, or from growing insolent with the honour, of having you my Judges, that I refer myself to him; whilst I present him Paris in the same Glass where he reflected London: and he is not a little obliged in being made capable of reforming his judgement by the helps of comparison. Give me leave ( Monsieur de Paris) to be conducted from deep by one of your messengers,( who are as Magisterial on the Road as old Rangers in a forest) and on my Norman Nag( which though it has not as many legs as a Caterpillar, yet by the advantage of being well spurred, makes shift to travail as fast) I enter your City at port St Martin; and ere I light, would be glad, by leaving a limb, to compound for the rest of my body; so furious are you in your hospitality when you call aloud and take in strangers, spite of their Teeth, into your Houses, and lodge them for more then enough of their money. But such importunity, and even for mean profit, should rather be interpnted as the vehemence of a witty People, that have hot brains, then as the signs of general Poverty: Whilst we, phlegmatic Islanders, are too dull to be so troublesone for a little money as may show we want it. Before I enter your Houses, I cannot choose but take notice of your streets; by which I discern, though you are now unanimously glorious, yet your Ancestors and you had different minds; for though lae Rue St. Antoine, St Honoré, and St. Denis are large enough for the Vista; yet lae Rue Tirechape, la Tannerie, and la Huchette stand so much in the shade, that there your beautiful Wives need neither Vails nor Fans; you being fain to lay traps at your windows to catch the Sun-beams. But this, you will say, was the defect of our Ancestors, not of yours; who, in a wandring humour, made bold to across the Channel, march up to Paris, and build your Houses after their own fashion. As I pass along, I bow before every Palace; but 'tis to the Giant Swiz that stands in carbonaded breeches at the Gate; who coming a long journey, merely to keep your Natives in awe, has reason to expect reverence from a stranger. Now me-thinks you wish the Gout in my Finger, because I point not with great wonder at the Louvre; which I confess has a very singular way of being wonderful; the famed of the Palace consisting more in the vast design of what it was meant to be, then in the largeness of what it is: the structure being likewise a little remarkable for what is old, but more even for the antiquity of what is new; having been begun some Ages past, and is to be finished many Ages hence; which( I take it) may be a sign of the glory, but not of the wealth of your Founders. I will pass into your Fauxbourgs by Pont Rouge; a Bridge not built to be useful to you in the strength of it, but rather to show the strength of your River to strangers, when, maugre your Guards of Switz, it often carries an Arch out of your City. Already( me-thinks) passing over this Bridge, I stop at a broken Arch; and finding myself a heavy Londoner, who wants the French vivacity to frisk over so wide a gap to the Fauxbourgs, I am willing to return, that I may afford you the civility of taking more notice of the ornaments of your River. I find your Boats much after the pleasant shape of those at common Ferries; where your Bastelier is not so turbulently active as our Watermen, but rather( his Fare being two brass-Liards) stands as sullen as an old Dutch Skipper after shipwreck, and will have me attend till the rest of the Herd make up his freight; passing in droves like cattle; the embroidered and perfumed with Carters and Crocheteurs; all standing during the voyage as if we were ready to land as soon as we put from shore; and with his long pole gives us a tedious waft, as if he were all the while poching for Eels. We neither descend by stairs when we come in, nor ascend when we go out, but crawl through the mud like Cray-fish, or Anglers in a new Plantation. I could wish you had the adornments of walled banks; but in this witty Region of Civility, as well as in our dull rude Town, I perceive there is not a perfect coherence in all the parts of magnificence. I will now visit your houses; which I confess transcendent as Towers, compared to the stature of those in our City; but as they ate as high roost as our Belfries; so have they in them more then the noise of our Bells; lodging distressed Families in a Room; and where there is no plenty, there is seldom quietness. This Chorus of clamour from several apartments will be sooner acknowledged, when you consider that your Nation affects not such brevity of speech as was practised by the Spartans, nor that Majestical silence which is used by the Turks. But I accuse you of that of which you may take occasion to boast; because the stuffing of Rooms with whole Families, denotes a populous City. But farewell the happiness of the Nation when the populousness of the City argues the litigiousness of the Country; where, with a multitude of Procez you lose your wits, and afterwards come up to live by them at Paris. Though you are shie to eat at our Entertainments, yet I would accept of yours, if you were not hindered from giving any by the great expense of your Habits and superfluous Trains. And I would drink with you, if you were as posed and grave in your Wine as we dull Trafiquers, who use it to sharpen our Wits when we conclude Bargains. But I have a mind to suppose( under your favour) that your heads are bottles, and your brains the Cork; for the one, being a little stirred, the other fly out, and fill the Room with froth. I would lodge with you, but that your large Beds are taken up with Punezes; which our skins( being tender, and not so much condensed by the could as you imagine) can ill endure, and worse permit the ubiquitary attacks of those dext'rous little persecutors, which svit more with the nimble disposition of men of your Climate, then those other slow enemies which were bread in Italy. Noise in your habitations of sleep is not so improper as your dead silence in the very Regions of noise, your kitchens; where your Cooks( though by education choleric and loud) are ever in profound contemplation; that is, they are considering how to reform the mistakes of Nature in the original compositions of Flesh and Fish; she having not known, it seems, the sufficient mystery of Hautgouts: and the production of their deep studies are sometimes so full of delicious fancy, and witty seasoning, that at your Feasts when I uncover a Dish, I think I feed on a very Epigram. Who can comprehend the diversity of your Pottages, Carbonnades, Grillades, Ragouts, Haches, Saupiquets, Demi-Bisques, Bisques, Capilotades, and Entre-mets? But above all, I admire at the vast generation of your Embroiderers of meat, your Larders; their larding being likewise diversifi'd from Bacon of Mayence to Porpoise of St Malo; which, though it may be some cause of obliging and calling in the Jews, yet your perpetual persecution of that poor fish will so drive away the species from your Coasts, as you will never be able to foretell a storm. These are your Feasts, which are but Fasts to your servants; who being confined within the narrow bounds of Pension, are accountable for all the Orts by weight; for which your sufficient reason is, because such as are ordained to service, should be continually allayed by Temperance, lest they might lose obedience. Your sons you dignific betimes with a taste of pleasure and liberty; which perhaps breeds in them( that they may maintain the vast expenses of high pleasure) too hasty and violent an appetite to such Power as makes them, when they are men, soon turbulent to supreme Authority. When they provoke a Province to rise against the Court, 'tis excused as high Gallantry, and in fashion whilst they are young and strongly attended; but 'tis called Treason when they grow old and deserted. Here I expect your rebuk; for why should I censure the education of your children, since we sand ours to learn the honour and deportment of Manhood at Paris? Yet I will recommend one consideration to your City as well as to our own; whether the ancient jurisdiction of Parents and Masters, when it was severe, did not make all degrees of human life more quiet and delightful then we have found it since that privilege hath been ignorantly and negligently lost. You are disordered with the rudeness in our streets; but have more reason to be terrified with the frequent insurrections in your own. In ours, a few disturb the quiet of Coaches; but in yours, whole Armies of lackeys invade the peace of public Justice; whose Image( were the Tumult drawn by a Poetical Painter) you would imagine fencing with a broad sword, like an old grave Switz against the Tucks of fantastical Pages; who strive to rescue the condemned, as if the noblesse were concerned in honour not to suffer malefactors to be affronted by a base Executioner on the Scaffold for so generous an exercise as killing. But when I observed your Twelfe-Nights, with the universal shout of le Roy boit, I could not but think that the whole Vintage of France was in the heads of the servants of Paris. I will now suppose it late, and that I am retiring to my countrymen at the good Hostel de Venise; but shall make hast; for you must needs aclowledge the famous dangers of Pont Neuf; where Robbing is as constant and as hereditary a Trade as amongst the Arubs; where old Grandfathers-Filous, in beards fit to be reverenced by all that scape their clutches, set the watch( which confists wholly of their grandchidren) carefully at nine at night, and take it as want of respect in such who are so indecent as to pass that way in their old Cloaks. When I consider both our Cities, I conclude they were built and are inhabited by mortal men; therefore am resolved to burn some private Notes which I intended to impart in answer of those that you referred to our next meeting, If I could reach your hand, I would endeavour to kiss it; for I should account myself worse bread then in a forest if I had not learned a little from the abundant Civility of Paris; where I have heard of two aged Crocheteurs, heavy loaden with billets, who were so equally concerned in the punctilios of Salutation, and of giving the way, that with the length of Ceremony, ( Monsieur cest a vous, Monsieur vous vous moquès de vostre Serviteur) they both sunk under their burdens, and so died, dividing the eternal honour of Genty Education. The Curtains are suddenly closed, and the Company entertained by Instrumental and Vocal music with this Song. Song. 1. LOndon is smothered with sulphurous fires; Still she wears a black Hood and Cloak, Of sea-coal smoke, As if she mourned for Brewers and Dyers. Chorus. But she is cooled and clens'd by streams Of flowing and of ebbing Thames. 2. Though Paris may boast a clearer Shy, Yet wanting flows and ebbs of Sene, To keep her clean, She ever seems choked when she is dry. Chorus. And though a Ship her Scutcheon be, Yet Paris hath no Ship at Sea. The Song ended the Curtains are drawn open again, and the Epilogue enters. Epilogue. TOo late we told you, some two Hours ago, The ills which you were sure, too soon to know. Had we forewarned you but the day before, By half so much, said at our outward door, We had been civil, but had weakly shown More care to watch your profit then our own. We have your Money, true; if you can call That ours, of which we make no use at all. The Poets never mind such toys as these— shows money in his hand. But keep them to be sent for when you please. At worst( if you may credit, in frail times, Bankers, who turn and wind a world of rhymes) They are but bowed, laid in a Trunk above, And kept, as simplo Tokens of your love. If this were raillery, it could not please, After a tedious dull Diogenes: A Poet a mile longer, then, two more, To vex you, having heard too much before. Perhaps, some were so cozened as to come, To see us wove in the dramatic Loom: To trace the winding Scenes, like subtle Spies, bread in the Muses Camp, safe from surprise: Where you by Art learn joy, and when to mourn; To watch the Plots swift change, and counterturn: When Time moves swifter then by Nature taught; And by a Chorus miracles are wrought; Making an Infant instantly a Man: These were your Plays, but get them if you can. After a Flourish of loud music, the Curtain is closed, and the Entertainment ended. The Vocal and Instrumental music was composed by Doctor Charles Coleman, Capt. Henry Cook, Mr Henry laws, and Mr George Hudson.