Wit and Wealth Contending for PRE-EMINENCE: IN A different Dialogue Between Wat Witty-pole and Davy Rich. You who have wit, or wealth (or both) to look, Are wished (impartially) upon this book. LONDON, Printed for T. B. at the Sign of the Maidenhead, near Holborn Conduit. 1647. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN Wit and Wealth. Wat. CAre I for thy worldly trash? not a rush: tell not me of thy millions, thousands, and hundreds: I praise my (bountiful) stars I have an inbred treasury, not valuable in respect of that which thou countest good. Davy, I, I, talk on, talk on; it seems thou art neither acquainted with wealth, nor (what thou brag'st of most) wit; for thou art quite beside thy Arithmetic, putting the cart before the horses millions first, and hundreds last: a preposterous Argument suitable to thy disposition. Wat: Why? I tell thee (fool) I am so wearied from the very conception of any thought concerning Riches, that 'tis no wonder, if all words spoken by me on that hateful subject prove to be abortive. Da. How dost thou live then, I prithee? Wat. By my wit, I tell thee, and hold it a fare richer Patrimony than all thy gold can make thee so much as capable of. Da. Marry I tell thee in my conceit thou'st but a very bad trade on't now. What canst thou expect to get by thy wit, in an age which regards neither wit, honesty, conscience, humanity. Noble-Ancestrey, nor indeed (to be brief) any thing; but what I am Master of, (and by which I can accomplish whatsoever my thoughts would acquire) and that is money, the darling of the time, the conqueror of Conquerors, the coiner of Honesty, and the Muzzle of Eloquence? Wat. O brave Davy, why now I perceive the case is much altered since I saw thee last, I do not think but thou haste bought (and read) Green's Groats worth of Wit, or (rather) Wits Commonwealth; why thy phrase and manners is quite changed from what was wont to been, or I now expected, I do not think but thou art become one of the wits of the times, all thy usual Dialect was Opus & usus, or Noverint universi, etc. but now let me see what is't the Darling of the Time, Conqueror of Conquerors, Muzzle of Eloquence; O rare stile I but tell me Davy, is all this Rhetoric proper to Pelf? Davy. This quotha? why I'd have thee to know Wat, that these golden phrases, and thousands more daily in use are the very children of dross (as thou callest it) Subjects of silver, Servants and slaves of gold: why man didst never hear talk of golden Boys, Girls worth gold, and penny white, brown bread Lasses? I'm sure thou hast Wat. Wat. I marry have I, what then? are all these Epethits equivalent with an admirable wit, a acquaint conceit, a curious delivery, an exquisite device, an elaborate stile, and a gallant humour? Davy, Tush, what of all this? why, I say again and again, and as many times again as thou wilt, that all this, and as much as thou canst sum up between Shrovetide and Easter, are but L●nt by the benevolence of industrious gold and silver, does not money buy Learning? and (I prithee) does not learning make Divines, Lawyers Physicians, Philosophers, Poets, and what not? Ergo, no money no Master, no Master no Scholar; for it is an old Proverb, No penny, no Paternoster; therefore Wat leave off thy bragging of wit, lest thou prove thyself a fool, in preferring it before wealth, which is (as it were) a creator of Wit. Wat. I protest Davy, though indeed I never held thee to been very wise, yet I tell thee, I never expected such a vacuity of discretion, as now thou hast bewrayed in thy last discourse, out upon thee, hold thy tongue for shame, till thou learn how to use it better: I vow I'm ashamed of thee. Davy. Why Sirrah? tell me patiently, I believe in truth this is but a flourish of wit, a mere whimfie to daunt me, and make me leave off, but in faith thou art a younger brother in that, all thy witty flashes cannot beat me off from my ground, I say still, that wealth is to be preferred before wit, as being (in a manner) the very nurse and foster father of it, all these thy bravadoes shall never beat me off, while I can speak my mind to maintain it. Wat. I marry, thou hast spun a fine thread indeed, thy argument is even as strong as a Spider's web, which thou shalt see me presently blow away, and dissolve with a blast from my mouth; thou hast spoken like a mere Dodypole as thou art, in seeking to prove that Wealth buys Learning, and Learning creates wit, when it is apparently seen to the contrary; only this I confess that Literature is a most necessary handmaid to the Muses, without which (indeed) they cannot be well dressed, but Poëta nasci●ur non fit, a Poet is so born, not so made, for unless a man have an inbred and natural proclivity, what boots all his Learning? nay rather, doth it not render him more odious to his auditors, who expecting the Nut of Learning, find nothing but the shell of guilded ignorance, like a jay decked in Peacock's feathers, a Sow with a gold ring in her snout, and a Miller's Ass, garnished with the rich saddle and trappings of Beucephelus, doth not the experience of all ages ratify this? speak men. Davy. Thou wouldst enforce me to believe so, but I neither can nor will, without particulars to confirm thy words more than a general saying that it is so, therefore I absolutely deny the Argument to be good unless thou canst instance some pregnant proof to justify thy assertion. Wat. That I can very readily do, not néeding to trouble thee with precedent men & times, but even turning to those now living in this present age, and of them one most eminent may serve to dignify a multitude of others more obscure: what thinkest thou of that notable (only) English Poet John Taylor, how many sublime and (truly) witty Poems hath been published in Print? raising a Pyramids to his never dying memory, of an ingenuous fertile brain without any addition of learning worth mention: but what his own industrious (and inbred) capacity hath possessed him of; what currycombs hath he taken out of the Iron-mongers own shop to dress the (ill conditioned) jade withal? how artificially hath he roasted and broiled him upon his own spits, and grid-irons, how hath he fried and tossed him in his own frying-pan, basted him with his own ladle, and boiled him like a Calves-head and Bacon in his own pottage-pot? Now I prithee judge impartially of this; the one vaunts much of great learning (which thou sayest is bought with money) the other professeth himself to be guilty of very little (if any) and yet how different their writings are, having (with all possible acerbity pressed the Press against each other, the world hath censured already, and so do thou now. Davy. Why, is not the Iron-monger counted for a pregnant witty fellow? I think he is, he hath published (and doth weekly) a number of Pamphlets, which some like exceeding well Wat. Why, I tell thee he hath no wit, but a●● kind of railing invention; was ever any ag●● guilty of producing such a firebrand of mischief? what pestiferous incentives hath he written and published, to stir up sedition betwixt the King and his people, while it is to be feared he is really true to neither. Davy. Well then, leaving this discourse, let us proceed to something (in my conceit) more pertinent to our purpose, which shall be this: whether Wit or Wealth (as I touched in the beginning) will best feed and a man? answer me to that briefly and plainly; here's the case, thou hast Wit enough, and I have Wealth enough; now which of them affords the best maintenance, there lies the state of the question, I hold my principle still, Wealth is to be preferred before Wit? Wat. And I will confidently defend the precedency of Wit before Wealth, as being a divine and supernatural gift, which money can never purchase. Davy. That's confessed but nevertheless thou canst not deny but Wealth is a Divine gift, as well as Wit, is it not? doth not holy writ mention many godly men, very rich? Wat. I prithee Davy let holy Writ alone in our quarrel, for I love not to mix holy and profane matters together, but if thou shouldest hedge in them to make thy fence the stronger, the examples are so few, in comparison of others, that have abandoned riches to embrace contemplation in poverty; that the difference would easily appear; to what end thinkest thou did my Cousin Crates that witty Philosopher, throw all his wealth (which was abundance) into the Sea; was it not because it was an impediment to his study, and our Poets in imitation of him, if they be possessed with any worldly trash (as loathing to keep it) do they not drown it in Sack, as he drowned his in the Sea? what should he do with wealth, who hates it in comparison of his study? the Muses children ne'er turn Usurers, nor care they for coin, but for necessity, all besides is superfluous. Davy. This is all true (I confess) but tell me one thing Wat, how if thou shouldst come to be sick, lame, cast in prison, or feel any such kind of affliction, can thy wit ease or release thee, will the Physicians, or Gaolers, take learned Epistles, or witty Poems, in lieu of their fees, canst thou in rhyme show them a reason why they should deliver thee without money? nay, I'll go 〈◊〉 nearer and easier way with thee, canst thou by such means procure any palliation or mitigation to (or of) thy mis●●y, will they be mollified with Madrigals, softened with Sonnets, entreated with Epigrams overcome with Odes? tell me seriously, Wat, what thinkest thou? whether will Wit or Wealth (in such sad exigents) stand thee in the most stead? Wat. This touches home I protest, thou never graveld'st me till now, yet I'll bear up still; and suppose that relief may be gained by Art; for if Orpheus had power with his dulced harmony to convert savage beasts from their natural (and customary) truculency, can it be imagined that men (such as are Physicians or Gaolers) should be more barbarous than bruit beasts, more savage than Satyrs, more cruel than Cannibals, and more inhuman than Incubuses, have I clenched the nail Davy, what sayest thou? Davy. Very slightly, Wat, nay, now I perceive thou beginnest to yield, I have beat thee out of thy pay run thee off o'thy legs, put thee besides thy Text, turned thee out of time, and whipped thee to confession of thy folly, yield up the 〈◊〉 Wat for in truth thou art utterly foiled in thy argument, art thou not? Wat. ne'er the sooner for a hasty word, Davy, I confess that I doubt some of this is to● true, but howsoever, Davy, let me have trial by thy own Law, thou didst put me to particular proofs in a general plain race, the like I claim of thee. Davy. Very willingly, Wat, but let one include many as thou servedst me (about john Tailor) there is an honest man, a very good friend of mine, and one whom thou knowest very well (but he shall now go nameless) he is (by many) accounted to have an indifferent portion of wit, but in this sad predicament being a close prisoner in Aulum justitia, belonging to Nova Porta) he is altogether destitute of money, and consequently of friends; all shunning him (as a man utterly forlorn and forsaken;) nay, which is most (and worst) of all: Some to whom the key of his wit (when he was at liberty) did, in a manner, open the door to their earthly happiness (I think they expect no heavenly) now in his distressed captivity, do utterly abandon his sight not vouchsafing to visit him with money due to him, nor giving him former employment, what sayest thou to this, Wat, wilt thou yet grant me the Victory? Wat. Truly I am hearty sorry, that thou givest me such (a failing) occasion; especially considering that he is an intimate acquaintance of mine (as thou sayest he is) tush, I am not absolutely induced to believe it; yet indeed this present age hath gotten the start of all precedent times for ingratitude, hypocrisy, hardness of heart, neglect of laudable Arts (and Customs,) and indeed want of common honesty; but let me see, I was about to ask thee how the Gaolers use him (for that was our argument before) but 'tis needless discourse for if his professed and obliged friends, are so ingratefully cruel, a man may almost conclude it as an Article that his wit or honesty will but little prevail with the Keepers without that which makes the Mare to go. Davy. Why so I said before, and ye introth, Wat, I must needs (in his case) vary something from my first principle: for his particular he: hath found unexpected favour from his Keepers (whether won by his wit, honesty, or both, I question not) for were not their hearts softened in consideration of his condition which is without parallel): he had been cast into the common Gaol before this time, there to have perished without any remedy. Wat. Well, Davy, me thinks yet I smell the victory as hot in my nostrils as a Bear does honey in a marrowbone: hast not thou confessed it thyself? dost not thou (with pitying his case, withal) conclude that his wit and honesty procure him favour without money? what can be more clear? a ●● Davy? have I taken you tardy ath' last? come yield, yield. Dau. Well Wat: I perceive that if I give thee an Inch thou'lt take an Ell: but I prithee don't vaunt before the victory: suppose I have granted that the Keepers are kind to him beyond customary use? wilt thou therefore run away with the argument, as though the poor man might not be better used for money, if he had it? away with thee, thou a Witypole, thou a Dady-pole, (as thou call'st me) thou hast absolutely brought thyself into a Meander of folly; from which all thy pretended Wit cannot deliver thee. What O brave Davy, I protest I think the rich fool will carry't when all is done. Davy. Rich fool quotha, marry, Wat, as the world goes now adays, he's most wise (or witty, or what thou wilt call it) that can keep a penny for a rainy day (as the Proverb says) come, come Wat, have thou wit to save thy money when thou hast it, thou'lt brook thy name the better by't, do not stand upon a vain opinion of living by thy wit, I tell thee thou mayest as well turn Chameleon and live by the a●re, consider with thyself, the condition of people, though they speak fair in prosperity, while the golden sun or the silver Moon of thy fortunes, reflect upon them, what will they do, or what will they say when those refulgent Luminaries are set or eclipsed, Faith, if thou want'st either meat, drink, or apparel, so thou mayst, till new Lights be recovered, if thou own money, wit will not pay it, that's certain. Wat, Well though this age my humour will not fit, The time hath been, when I lived by my wit. And bravely too, my mind unto myself, Yielding content; exceeded all thy pelf. A rich man ne'er content, still wishes more, Ith' midst of's wealth, he's miserably poor, The poor man pleased with what rich heaven hath sent, Is rich in mind, being with his state content. Hang pelf (say I) I'll ne'er be slave to it. I'll rather make't a slave to me and wit. Davy. Then, Wat, it seems all these reasons don't move thee to retract thy say. Wat. No, Davy no, I will not yield a whit, Nor say that cursed Wealth shall reign o'er Wit: Wit is a branch of Wisdoms sacred tree, Whose root's in heaven, but on the contrary, Gold grows i'th' earth, and causeth so much evil, That many men to gain it, serve the devil. For my part, what is needful, I respect, The rest I (as superfluous chaff) reject, Can food and raiment bought with rushes be, Take gold and silver then who list for m●●. Davy. Well Wat, thou hast got two strings to thy bow, what thou canst not get with reason thou'lt have in rhyme, well, I'll yield on one condition. Wat. What's that, a request that is reasonable, or rimeable, speak? Davy. Both, I desire a Song before we part, that shall end our controversy. Wat. Wilt thou not be angry? may I sing what comes at my tongue's end. Davy, I, I, what comes next let's have it, I prithee honest Wat. Wat. Then have at it, it shall been extempore, a trial of Wit. A Song. To the tune of, See the building, etc. I. FIE on fond riches, That earthly minds bewitches, to grief and Smart: Woe worth that treasure, Which doth beyond all measure, ensnare the heart. Welfare those spirits that ascend. the forked Mountain. and taste that Fountain, Whose dulced streams no tongue can right commend: Such is the matchless pleasure, that doth on Wit attend. 2. Observe the sorrows, Which the rich Miser borrows, who lends for gain: Note well the passions And sleeps preocupations, which vex his brain. Take notice also of the joy, which he's possessed off who makes a jest off This momentary trash, which as a toy, we wits throw down before us, the drawers to Employ. 3. Give me that nectar, Which is my hearts director: my Muse's guide, No earthly metle. Hath power my thoughts to settle, my fancies ride. Through Heaven, Hell, Sea, Land, and Sky, all in a moment, and I can comment. On all events, and judge both low and high, so's he that's an affecter, of heavenly Poetry. Davy. Gramercy What this song deserves my praise, Were it for nothing else, thou winnest the Bays. Adeiu honest Wat witypole. Wat. Davy farewell; anon I'll drink a health, To him who rates my wit above his wealth. Exit ambo. FINIS.