ESSAYS OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE: Being LETTERS written by two Gentlemen; One dissuading from LOVE, the other an Answer thereunto. With some CHARACTERS and other Passages of Wit.

—Si quando gravabere curis,
Haec lege, pro moestae medicamine mentis habete.

London, Printed for H. Brome at the Gun in S. Paul's Church-yard. 1673.


The Right Hon.ble Scroop Eger­ton Earl of Bridgwater V [...]scount Brackley Baron of Elsmere 1703

THE Book-seller to the Reader.

'TIs Expectation that makes the best wel­come, and therefore I question not what acceptance this Second Edition of the Essays of Love and Marriage may find. I was very seasonably presented with a short Discourse, conteining what is remarkable in the late Piece called, Reflections on Marriage, before the commit­ting of this to the Press. Which being suitable as well in the Sub­ject as in its Bulk to the former Essays, I have linked them toge­ther. [Page]It matters not whether I praise it with a commendatory Frontispiece. Good Wine wants no Bush. But not being in this an indifferent Judge, I might not in my Attempt be much re­garded. Laudat venales qui vult extru­dere merces. However, I hope the same Fate will not attend this as does the Subject now adays to remain un­courted, but to find Acceptance with all, which will answer my Design to please you, and pro­fit my self.

Yours, Hen. Brome.

To his Honoured Friend, being in Love.

True Friend,

BUt that I know heresie is fa­shionable, and madness the time-Livery, thou wouldst force me to no little wonder, which way possible thou shouldst stumble into Love, be sick and sottish in Love, lost as well to reason as good company, lock d up from all the world but thy own thoughts, and only conversant with thy self; yet formerly pleasant and affable, desi­rous and desired of Society, and one that I know has lived no An­choret upon Earth, nor yet hast had [Page 2]thine eyes tied up to any one face, but hast both view'd and discourst with variety of Beauties; nay, I dare say, not guilty of the Ignorance of more: yet that after so many An­tidotes, thou shouldst be so far fal­len from thy primitive goodness, as to lose thy self in dotage, and that dotage on one creature, and that creature a woman, and call it Love too, really next to a miracle, is my only Admiration. Prethee do not miscall thy disease, and be sick of lust, and complain of Love: I can never believe that that noble Passion can be the ruine of its sub­ject; neither will I so much dis­parage it, as to make a woman its object. If there be Love, 'tis to Heaven, Virtue, thy Country, Pa­rents, Kinred, Friends, or what is of worth: but to the Female Sex, and in thy sense where Sensuality [Page 3]cannot but have an interest, though licenc'd by an Ordinance, 'tis only Love scandal'd, it being (to the pity of the poor Passion I speak it) but concupiscence handsomly bur­nisht, or a carnal appetite speci­ously intitled. And therefore could I never win my judgment to affirm, that the most eager of sinners were in love with sin, but only tempt­ingly seduced to a vicious doting; they did rather erroneously affect, than truly love. But let me en­quire into thy Passion: what, is it from the paint of Nature, those beautiful flowers of red and white? Methinks thou shouldst as well be enamour'd with thy Mistris' Pi­cture as her Body; for even that too is not excusable from Art, and may be the worst drawn. Frank, he that marries for a face, marries for a year; 'tis not a Summer since [Page 4]thy desires wrought as strongly upon Mistris M.R. as now on this, and may be on as good a cause; yet how soon did a little disease wither both her Beauty and thy Love? and I hope thou hast not indented either with Sickness or Time for this. Canst thou be so prodigal of thy Affection as to waste it on such incertainties? bind up thy self to love for an Age, when the cause of that love may perish in a Moneth? But I tell thee, Frank, beauty is a Chimera, and has no being in nature: Every man makes his own Mistris, and just so much lustre do's he find in her, as first his fansie gives her. For I dare challenge thee to shew me but one Face in the whole world, that all opinions will give in for beautiful; so that Lovers, as thou call'st them, are but in the [Page 5]number of Pagans, they but wor­ship that Idol which themselves have made. May be thou wilt tell me of manners, carriage and virtue, I am very glad to hear of it; but let not thy Passion hang in thy eyes when thou lookest on them; for many of them, their Gestures are but School-postures, and seem ra­ther like a Motion than a Carriage. Consider that in the presence of their Servants they are on the Stage, and 'tis rather Action than Behaviour: it may be wert thou a peeper on them in thier with­drawing rooms, thou wouldst as much wish thine eyes closed then, as now open. For their virtues, as I will not disallow the judgment of that Reverend Doctor, That 'tis possible to find some virtue in some women: so I cannot believe there is such a grand stock of it in [Page 6]any of them, as to command any man out of his senses for the love of it; but I suppose, as we more wonder to find a Diamond on the shore than on the rock: so but a spark of virtue in a woman gets greater reverence than a bodied lustre in the nobler Sex; for 'tis our humour to admire the more where we expect the less. The cause then of thy Love is either from Beauty or Virtue; if from Beauty, how wilt thou love her when she is old? If from Virtue, why dost thou covet to lie with her? there needs not that low act of Ge­neration to the high Communion of Virtues; and I should scarce take thee for a Platonic Lover, to warm a bed with her. But shall I tell thee the cause? don't be afraid of truth then; thou first lov'st her to satisfie thy Lust; and if thou after [Page 7]continue to lie with her, 'tis either for want of a better, or 'cause thou canst not be rid of her. For I look on all the Perfections in females but as so many Encouragements to desire; and that the best of wo­men like the best of Sallads, procure the strongest appetite; and in truth 'tis the woman is affected, not this, the Sex being the substance, and the Mistris but the shadow; or that the Rule of thy affection, and this the Instance. But then thou wilt be goring of me with that common goad of objection, thy so much curiosity in choice, and rather my Lady than Jone. Prethee tell me, be thy appetite never so good, do's thy meat relish the worse for being the cleanlier drest? I never knew that good cookery did turn the edge of a good stomach; and espe­cially if thou limitest thy fansie to [Page 8]one dish, thou hadst need to be both long in chusing and neat in dressing, as well to avoid nausea­ting, as to continue provocation. Remember that July holds not all the year, nor youth all thy life, there is a December and Winter of age that attends on both; and that Passion that in its Spring will take fire at any face, will in its Autumn be frost at all; a bed-ridden palat is scarce sensible of sauce, much less meat; not the best of weapons, how brisk and keen soever at the first, but after long using grows dull, and requires a whetting: so that this studious culling of bed-fellows, argues but the serious contemplations of mortality, and is no more than a wise provision for futurity. Where, Frank, is your Love then? Call'st thou that Love that ebbs and flows with the [Page 9]bloud? that is the brat of a goatish humor, merely servient to the bo­dy, and often dead before it? No, the Essence of that Passion is as pure and lasting as the Soul it waits on; a sacred Vestal flame, perpe­tually torrid and unextinguishable; 'tis thy under-girdle Love that's mortal, of flames gross and transi­tory, which moving in a region lower than thy heart, prove rather flashes than steady fires. I know thou art no stranger to multitude of examples that have been hotter than Italians in the chase of their games, and more frozen than Scy­thians after the taking it, that in the same year have been ready to die of contraries, both Love and Hate; and with the same eager­ness studied both a Marriage and Divorce; that have not more long­ed to obtein than having obteined, [Page 10]to desert their hopes, and their Loves perish'd together, the frui­tion of one the expiration of the other. But may be thou wilt add to thy other motive, that of Wealth, she's rich. Nay now I hear thee, and do so far allow thee to court the Lady for her Fortune, as I would the Chamber-maid for her Mistris; but have a care of loving in earnest, or letting in of Love farther than thy Tongue; a sigh or two in the presence if thou wilt, but no ejaculations in private; re­member a difference betwixt acting and suffering a Passion; be nothing the sadder, though nothing the richer; like a good Soldier rise not so repulst from one Leaguer, but to retein strength enough presently for another, that in a while thy soul will become face-proof, the later beauty the pellet of the former, [Page 11]till variety give the mastery to thy judgment, and make thee a Catho­lic Servant, but no particular Lo­ver. But thou wilt justifie yet far­ther; thou hast a fortune of thine own, and the weightiness of that requires a partner in the managing it. I don't gainsay it; nay I am so much of thy side, that I think a wife in no case more allowable, than either for the getting or pre­servation of an Estate. As for thy Love-marrying, I reckon it both the paradise and purgatory of fools. But yet this, Frank, is only an A­pology for a wife, not love, and think me no enemy to marriage, but to the fondness of thy desire; I would have thee get a wife, but not to lose thy self; to serve thy occasions, but to master thy passi­ons; so to love with reason, as not to woe without sense. Credit me, [Page 12]I do not at all think it to savour of impossibility, seriously to court and marry too, and yet unsing'd by any spark of Love, though I cannot but acknowledge the temptations of the other Sex; for I reckon them amongst their Studies: yet that Reason, or the Soul and Gal­lantry of Man should be basely pro­stituted to them, I should as soon believe an Eagle to stoop at Flies, or Divinity at Toys. I conceive, Frank, the necessity of thy marry­ing streightens not thy judgment to this one Lady; I would have thee to look on her as not without companions, and then if thou ma­kest an unlucky cast of it, thy for­tune will have this comfort, thou art no loser, though no winner. Prethee why should not a Woman be view'd with as little ardour as an handsom Statue? or what is the [Page 13]influence of Flesh, as to the eye, above that of Marble? If thou comest into a spacious Gallery va­riously behung, thou canst walk it round, look on this Picture and like it, then turn thy face and for­get it in the beauty of another; there needing no more to the aspect of a face than of imagery, but only the complacency of the Beholder, and the commendation of the Au­thor. Women are a kind of Traf­fique too: If thou comest to a shop, seest a commodity and likest it, thou cheapen'st it; if thou bargainest, thou takest it; if not, to the next standing, the Market's full and free. I tell thee tis an Injury no less to Nature than Reason, to im­pale all perfection within the cir­cuit of one creature. Now after all this, do I expect thou shouldst bid me turn the Tables and play [Page 14]my self the question, Was I never in Love? Troth, Frank, I cannot excuse my self from the vanities of youth, may be I have; but let me remember thee, I have had Rattles and Hobbi-horses too in my days, but I have left them, and now look on them and thy thoughts with the same disdain. That Mariner that hath scaped a rock, may be a Pilot to the next Passenger. 'Tis my faith now, that 'tis as possible to be sick of the Plague a year, as of Love a day; and I doubt not, when time shall ripen both thy judgment and age, but thou wilt then sit a most strict judge upon thy self, and think no censure too severe to thy present follies, or charity too boun­tiful to the true advice of

Thy true Friend, J.H.


PRethee, dear Friend, do not burn Diana's Temple only to be talked of: Modern wits (like spirits of the lower Region) once conjured up, must be set on work, though of mischief. I must confess thou venturest hard on the parado­xology of thy brain, that darest en­ter the Lists Athanasius-like, contra mundum; disputing that with thy pen, which the world from Adam, and thy self by thy practice provest undeniable. What is said in case of Religion, a little Philosophy makes men Atheists, but enough confirms them in the truth, is true of thee in point of love; of which and its objects thou art no more a compe­tent Judge, than a Red-coat is of a [Page 16]Moot-case. Did I not know that all wonder proceeded of ignorance, and that people most admire what they least understand, I should wonder at thy wonder, that a man of thy parts and complexion, and born of a Mother, should call that stumbling, which is so graceful and natural a motion; fall out with love and women, yet by thy own con­fession, understand neither. Thou turn'st Andabate and fightest blind­fold, not knowing against whom or for what. I prethee, Friend, what Countrey-Girl has slighted thy Madrigals, and disentertained thy affections, that thou quarrel'st and fall'st at defiance with the whole Sex? He that said all Cre­tians were liers, was himself a Cre­tian: and thou condemnest all Lo­vers as mad, yet art thy self a Lo­ver, and consequently mad, or else [Page 17]more mad that thou art not a Lo­ver. I never yet knew any despise Monarchy, but those that could not be Monarchs. Every man in this is a Huntsman, who coming short of the Hare, cries, Hang her, 'tis dry meat. Among the rest of thy wonders, thou mayst put this for one, that I who am unconcerned, should at this distance take up the cudgels in defence of a friend, whom thou hast laught into silence; but the Proverb excuses me, He whom sorrow makes dumb, deserves double pity. For my part, I must confess I love to sleep in a whole skin, and not to engage in anothers quarrel, unless he will lend me his skull to bear the blows: but this being the common cause, 'tis pity truth should be out-worded, and her innocence be suspected to want clearness, merely for want of clearing There [Page 18]is no man more unfit for this work than I, having been ever as athei­stical in Love as thy self; and so far from being an Opponent to thy Thesis, that I have ever been a no­ted Assertor of thy Doctrine, till ex­perience reformed my judgment, and makes me look on my former error with regret and disdain. 'Tis so far from being a wonder to me, that one pleasant, affable and so­ciable, one that has view'd variety of beauties, should fall in love with one woman, that I wonder how it could be otherwise; none being fitter for Love than one so qualifi­ed, nor can any find a best, that have not view'd all. That Love per se is the ruine of its subject, I deny; yet I allow it may be accidentally true, and be a passion not the less noble. And as I would not have it only restrained to woman for its [Page 19]object: so I would not have them totally excluded. And truly I am so far from believing that Sex not an object of love, that I can hard­ly admit of any besides. That Love has several objects, as Heaven, Vir­tue, and the rest which you reckon up, with many more, I deny not. But all they, as oblique objects, are so far from being adequate, that they draw Love in several denomi­nations, as piety, duty, friendship, &c. And but that seriousness would be thrown away on thee, and any thing here but sophistry useless, I could tell thee from the learned, that Love is only an expansion of the soul to its object; which is, what­ever is attractive: and that natural­ly man loves himself best and first, and all other things in subordination to himself; and that whatever is most like man in nature and habit, [Page 20]is the properest object of his Love. Then 'twill follow (whether you will or no) that no object is so pro­per as woman. But thou'lt laugh at these old-fashion'd grounds, and ac­count them like Harry's codpieces. To abstract Love from sensuality in a natural sense, is both impossible and needless, it deriving a greater influence from the sensitive soul, and being a Passion from which Brutes are not exempt. Nay that very thing which you call sensuali­ty, and will allow it to derive its legitimation only from an Ordi­nance, may shew an antienter coat than Ordinances, it being the only way chalked out by nature for pro­pagation and preservation of every species. So that your Epithetes and Synonyma's of concupiscence and carnal appetite, &c. I attribute to the luxuriance of your fansie; and [Page 21]must tell you, we can easily give you & your ways the like terms without the help of a Sylva. But your main hesitancy is, What are your causes of Love? 'Tis not bare red and white, that are either causes of, or colours for it, but the situation and contexture of both. I never loved my Mistris face, because fair, but because I liked it, and thereby thought it so, and I therefore thought it so, because hers: so that should time or accident (from which no face has a Protection) al­ter the complexion in the eye, I'd re­tein the same Idea still in mine. Next, for the Gentlemans change (with which you upbraid him) much may be pleaded in excuse: for besides the great delight in va­riety, I know no reason why, if a man find himself in an errour, he may not repent and take a new course. Nor may you call it prodi­gality [Page 22]of affection; he that grounds his Love right is above uncertain­ties, in regard the true cause of Love, which is sympathy, cannot perish before its object. And be­cause you say, Beauty is a Chymaera, and every man a Pygmalion that carves to himself a Mistris; will you from thence infer, that because all men do not think one face beauti­ful, no man should think any so? And I appeal to the Synod of Di­vines, whether for a Lover to chuse his own Mistris, and love her, or court her be a piece of ignorance or paganism. Nor can you deny that manners, carriage and virtue are in­centives to Love; and that these things are really visible in that Sex by any that look not through spe­ctacles of prejudice. But he that has an ill sight dislikes all objects. Thou hast an humour in thine eyes, [Page 23]whereby thou canst not discern action from behaviour; I like it not the worse if acquired; no more than I do a good Scholar that speaks Latine by the Grammar. That there are arcana imperii among them, as well as us, is undeniable; for if all were as they appear, they would be rather angels than women. 'Tis true much action and deceptio visus is in both sexes in point of Courtship, whereby they recipro­cally draw their expectations to an height unobteinable, and succeeding enjoyments convince both Sexes of a handsom (but commonly an equal) cheat. I shall not only allow of that Doctors charity, that held, That 'tis possible some virtue may be found in some women: but also shall experimentally add, That much vir­tue may be found in many. 'Tis not for nothing that all virtues are de­clined [Page 24]by Grammarians with haec, and fansied by Painters in female shadows. Virtues are like Dia­monds rare and small; nor should we esteem them were they to be bought by the pound. I take virtue and beauty to be causes of affection; but I mean not by beauty the mere superficies of a visage, but the sym­metry of parts; and he that grounds his affection rightly on that, finds a becoming beauty even in old Age. Virtue also I conceive a cause of love, and love a motive of copulation. Nor is generation for the commu­nion of virtues, but propagation of issue; since 'tis an undoubted law of nature, that all creatures desire and endeavour perpetuation. You call lust the cause of love; 'tis true, if you take all altitudes by your own Jacob's staff, 'tis so to you: so the Wolf conceives all creatures to [Page 25]eat raw flesh, because he does. I cannot imagin such a Stocial apathy in men, unless in Eutopia, but that we do and may make that which you call lust a part of love. Nor is that Passion itself blameable, but circumstances may make it so: for the Stoies themselves got children, and did not deny the being of de­sires in men, but their domineering over Reason. Nor is it the work of a wise man to be without passions, but above them. Consider man as with a soul compounded of Will and Reason, the conquest of the will in this life can be but by synec­doche; which being considered, it will follow, That men abstracted from desires of this nature, are ra­ther to be looked for, than found. And for your erratical Love, that is so planetary and unfixed, it shews its own weakness, but not your [Page 26]strength; though it be peripareti­cal, it makes not you a Philoso­pher; since Love, like Sun-beams, being diffused, are but faint: but contracted to one object, are fer­vent and calefactory. Wives are not Quelque choses, in whom only variety breeds delight, but are solid food which never nauseate sound stomachs. For a man to love Vir­tue abstracted from its subject, is to fansie a Chymaera; but Virtue in a woman is an undoubted motive. As to your similitude of Joan and my Lady; take the whole Proverb, put in (in the dark) and you are answered. 'Tis not want of diffe­rence, but due discerning; nor is she as good, but seems so. The Cuckow once sang better than the Nightingal; but remember who was Judge. Times swift motion and youths transitoriness are com­mon [Page 27]places in the beaten roads, where ever travelling wit baits and refreshes himself in his pilgrimage. But yet desires being part of the soul, and so immortal, do not decay in age, but only alter their motives and object. Nor is the world bar­ren of examples of aged men, ea­gerly desiring and performing rites of conjuncture with women. As for those changeable and quick silver minds which love and loath in a moment, 'tis their Vice, and may give you this notion, That as their love can so soon and easily change into disdain: so your present scorn may turn to a dotage on the like ground. And though perhaps you have not yet been in love, 'tis commune ma­lum (since you will call it so) like the Small-pox, every one hath been or must be troubled with it; and bo­dies unacquainted with lesser dis­cases, [Page 28]are irrecoverably swallowed up of greater. Your wary advice to your friend, to love with discre­tion, I allow and commend; and for my part were I to love again, would not go a foot further than my counter-part should meet me; but where I found real love, I would scorn to be out-vied, being of Ale­xander his resolution, No creature should conquer me with love or hatred. 'Tis not good to play the Butcher with that naked Sex that have no Arms but to embrace with, nor Empiric-like, kill them by whole­sale. I never yet met any of either Sex good at the sport, but at last they met with a requital. 'Tis within the memory of man since a pregnant Spark furnished with two of your Cardinal Virtues, wit and disdain, flung his fire-balls of con­tempt on the whole Sex, courted [Page 29]some into dotage, and then jeer'd 'um; who at last fell foul on a Kitchin-wench, and doted, who repaid him with the same devices; and which was worst, at last in despight married him. Homicida is of both Genders, and belongs to both Sexes. Your other points of marrying for wealth and yoke-fel­lowship, I shall agree to with si­lence. But I would not make wealth my Mistris's Master, while woman stands by like the Chamber­maid with a broom to attend her. Let my Mistris be a figure, and her portion the cyphers, which added to her, advance her much, but of themselves signifie nothing. Pas­sionate Courtship should, but cannot be avoided by all; every one is not Hercules: but dissimulation may and must be shun'd by all. There is no Soldier beleaguers a Garison, [Page 30]but with hopes to come off untouch­ed: no Lover attempts a Mistris, but hopes for fruition without bloudshed; yet the Soldier may re­ceive a shot, and the Woer a repulse; and that which he intends for a sin, oft proves a punishment. He that lives a Catholic Woer, may at last come to the Purgatory of a general contempt. But methinks, Friend, you wheel about and approve that which at first you decried; there might be some hopes of agreement and band shaking between us. Al­low love and marriage, and I will join with thee against dotage; and would have Love sequestred from dotage, as much as thy mind from this obstinacy. But I see the Devil has always a cloven foot; you would now allow of Marriage without Love, and confound love and dotage as if the same. To wed [Page 31]without Love, is to be tied by the loins like a Monkey to a bed-post, neither is it possible to court or marry without love, as you write, for that want of love turns court­ship to flattery, and marriage to a bargain. That Women are Natures Errata, with Aristotle I acknow­ledge; and that they study tempta­tions, is undoubtedly true; but yet that they do it not alone, your own example proves; who by this fan­sie of Anti-womanism tempt the sex so much, that I could wish my self one to dote on thee. Do not call the lawful and necessary intermix­ture of both Sexes to be a base pro­stitution of the Reason, Soul and Gallantry of a Man; 'tis so false and groundless, it deserves no an­swer but the lie. Let thy friend alone with his choice, and if he think her so, she is peerless; only [Page 32]I admit your caution, While he seeks to win her, let him not lose himself; nor shoot away all his shot at one volley, but keep a reserve for a fresh encoun­ter; tis but discretion. And now to answer your similitudinary Que­stion, Why a woman cannot be viewed with as little ardour as a Statute? it is because a Statue is not a Woman, nor directly like a Woman; if it could be, Pygmalion will tell you there may be like affection, nor is the influence different as to the eye, but the power that actuates it; if a man view a thousand Pi­ctures, he generally likes one best, and having perused all, returns to that; and though the Market be free, and Wares various, a good Chapman sticks to what he best fansies, and deals in it. Neither is all perfection thereby impaled in one Creature; but there may be [Page 33]enough supposed in one, to con­tent one. That your self hath ever loved, I question; but that you have fansied and mist, may be true; but you cannot thereby go out a com­petent Tutor. Nor should I ever take that Mariner for my Pilot, who hath no other experience than splitting his own Ship: first guide your own Vessel to the Port, before you take another to your manage­ment and steerage. What it is to be sick of Love or the Plague, you know much alike, and so shall be believed, having studied both but in shape; for my part, I have known many sick of Love, and yet reco­vered; but the Plague I have no skill in. My desire is, that you participate of your own counsel; suspend your severe censure to your friend, and sit first a strict Judge on your self, till time and experience [Page 34]ripen your judgment and change your mind. Which I hope I shall not longer expect, than until you have seriously perused and weigh­ed the experimental directions and wholsom advice of,

Thine, and thy Friends Friend, A.B.


IT is said concerning Diogenes, that he enjoyned his friends, that should be concerned about the manner of his interment, to bury him in a prone posture, that when the world should be turned upside down, he might remain in a more decent and the usual situation, with his face upwards. One would think that this conversion is either now adays approaching, or has lately suffered it, if we consider how much we are overgrown with a new Generation of men, (the Wits of the Age) who by their ge­stures and humours not only de­sign to oppose and deride the pri­mitive manners and well digested Principles of their Ancestors; but [Page 36]have of late planted their squirting and airy Wits to bedash the sacred state of Wedlock, that if possible they might unpeople the world, and usher in its expiration with their own decease, as if conscious to themselves of the vitiousness of those principles they have imbibed and the public miscarriages they are guilty of, endeavour to obstruct a surviving posterity, that would pity their ignorance and explode their examples.

It is now the Opinion of those who pretend to understand most, that the world has been fool'd in nothing more than in an idle and tame submitting to the Fetters of Marriage; that some one unknown to them did most injuriously in­slave so many Generations with this dull institution, which did upon that account lose the freedom [Page 37]and vigour of generous actions, and miscarried in those Essays that would have shewn a greater Bra­very and Glory of mind, but when we shall find that the world has not received greater Benefits by the Idolaters of Liberty, than from the Votaries of Wedlock, we shall be able to return so criminable a charge.

The highest wisdom took the prospect of all the species, and esta­blished what was the benefit and good of all, and not what might please the humour of some, who starting up in particular generati­ons, and making a noise amongst those whom they lived, could yet with no justice reproach the pru­dence that governed their fathers; with which they are displeased through the capriciousness of their own folly, and not the defect of [Page 38]precept, which like Beds and Couches are not to be accused, be­cause they are uneasie to the sick and distempered. This institution like power ows its glory to the re­spect is paid it, whilst every thing that is neglected, is by that scorn rendred cheap and contemptible: and any disesteem Marriage lies under, is not from the inconveni­ences are found in it, but only ari­seth from the incivility of those times that forbear to respect it. If persons would study to do it justice, we should find it again with the same Votaries about it; and not like dethron'd Monarchs without its state and unattended. Marriage laid the foundation and first principle of civil society, it was a yoak for which the neck of In­nocence was not too soft and deli­cate, and a condition governed by [Page 39]unerring virtue had yet need of these Allotments, as to the advan­tages and improvements of society, and that which Marriage appropri­ated was the first proclaming of Mine and Thine The earth was common, and the enjoyments of it had an undistinguish'd right, whilst the concernments of the bed were sacred and separate; in all things else, we can allow a sharer but in the Interests of our Love. To oblige Mankind by an obliga­tion sacred and unaltered to the affairs and interests of one Love, was an act of that prudence and wisdom against which none can dispute. We can with no equity raise a title to more, since the Law of Nature proclames that loving of one should be for enough, and that sex must have been left in a con­dition wholly base and mercenary, [Page 40]to have took the pay of every A­mour. There would have been set up a Tyranny in Love, which must have been the most cruel and in­supportable of others, because ex­ercis'd on the best interests of life. The force of conquest had been a sufficient title to the objects we had coveted: But Marriage puts the world into Discipline and a happy Government, inclosing the com­mon injoyment that none might lay claim to the portion of another. Had beauty and the possession of that Sex been left a prey to the Conqueror, and subject to be born away by the most forcible Court­ships: Mankind must have ever dwelt jealous of each other, pro­claming an enmity against all the world, and have judged their pow­er alone a sufficient defence; But by the force of Matrimonial Laws [Page 41]and the Allotments made us from above, we live in quiet and securi­ty with each other, who must else have stood perpetually on our guard, and secured what we had loved from the wandring lusts of others. The world must have been perpetually involved in quarrels, since Love is more restless and more impatient than Ambition, and whilst a charming object had many claimers, she must at last have yielded to the conqueror, and not have gratified the Passion of the most deserving, but the most happy, being without the exercise of that Empire which Halcyon laws had gave her, that must have been wholly lost amidst the animo­sities of Rivals. But since Love is preserved in these bounds, its ex­cellencies and advantages remain to the world, its childish and [Page 42]troublesom qualities are cut off by Laws, its made tame and gentle, which would else have devoured the fairest concernments of the Universe, since the Love it cuts off and regulates, it could not have born, and the Love it manages it cannot spare.

But why this condition is deem­ed so contemptible, and dreaded by the Libertines of our times, is by reason of that severe censure they harbour of it, to be as full of Plagues as Pandora's Box, no soon­er shall we admit of it, but pre­sently find our selves to be fettered with cares and perplexities; and therefore celebrate a single life for its freedom and repose. But let me ask them, who found in a mor­tal state that tranquillity they have pretended to admire; what condi­tion of Life is there that is always [Page 43]serene, quiet and undisturb'd? and although cares may attend that e­state more than other conditions; yet those Advantages and Blessings, those sweet societies which pro­ceed from it, are able to sweeten its crosses, ease its burdens, and retrieve whatever is deemed tedi­ous. And although they can shew us the life of some rude and melan­choly Philosopher, who in his re­tirements lockt up from the world, and Vatia-like lies buried in a drea­ming Idleness, boasteth of quiet and repose. We can shew them many examples of virtuous men, living not only contentedly, but admired in the eyes of Matrimony, spreading their useful qualities as well as issues, whilst the Stoic has permitted his virtue to droop and wither in the shade of his own humor. An excellent person may [Page 44]do much for the world with his own sufficiency, but he doubly ob­liges it, who in a Seminary of He­ro's is continually propitious to it, and by the force of embraces causes lives to those Generations which stand next the worlds last calenture and burning fit. Pompey did not only fight himself for the Liberty of Rome, till he was its greatest and mightiest sacrifice, but left also those gallant sons who bravely en­deavoured to revive it when faint and dying. We shine with a soli­tary virtue without the irradiations of an Off-spring, and beside it lo­seth its lustre and strength, when it is obliged to wander in various enterteinments. How had the world suffered, if a person who by many generous actions became the dar­ling of Mankind, neglecting to transinit a copy from so beloved [Page 45]and glorious an Original, had set at once in his being and his race. In antient wars infants have been carried to encourage battels, there­by with their unactive bloud strangely animating the veins of others, and it hath moreover been found to work much upon the dis­position of human nature, a kind of gallant affection for the memo­ry of some glorious person left to the guidance of a tender hand. Such efforts served the race of the African and the Gothic Hero, pro­curing to the world this belief and benefit together, that he which leaves his virtue an orphan, may have erected for it the Hospitals of stately tombs and the Panegyrics of history; but he that would have it lasting and useful, as well as ad­mired, must leave it to his Issue, where in the active torrent of ge­nerous [Page 46]performances, it may accu­mulate the same glory and esteem it found in the days of an ancestor. To be only admired is a barren ad­vantage; to be useful and to be be­loved, is what the truly noble ra­ther covet, which is found in the virtues and good offices of our race. Neither shall we find any men of a more noble gallantry as amongst those duo fulmina belli, I mean Pompey and Brutus, men not only religiously prizing the married state, but such as were blessed with the society of those women, that for the returns of love and kindness were famous in every generation. We chuse friendship as a field for virtue to reap advantages in; and none but retired and treacherous natures will be without the bles­sings of that. But without all que­stion that friendship is the noblest [Page 47]bound in the surest Ligaments that is commenced in Marriage, than any took up on other scores. No nation could have flourished nor have been successful in its affairs, if a wanton flame had consum'd the manly temper and vigour of youth, or if their Passions had not trans­ported them to such violent acti­ons, yet the gentlest concernments of those flames, incensing the ani­mosities and jealousies of rivalship, the prodigality of amorous addres­ses, had dislodged all Braveries of mind, and baffled all those advan­tages with which they should have served their Generations. And therefore all wise and prudent Go­vernments knew they should have but little order and less of industry, where the affairs of an idle passion possessed the hearts and heads of their Subjects. Marriage gives the [Page 48]thoughts a home, and hereby be­times the inconstant and flitting fansie is directed to an aim, and kept stedfast by a peculiar authori­ty, that would else be captivated by the wandring lusts of stews and concubines: And who does not (that is bias'd by reason) take more pleasure in managing the interests of a family, and a lasting name by an happy issue, than in cherishing a short-liv'd inclination? The want of a just interest to manage has brought in those Inconveniences that are found in the world; and that pleasantness and gayness, which is childishly called, good humor, so much idolized in the single life, what is it but a trifling and strange impertinence, a thing without all conduct and prudence; and after the follies of youth are over, even insupportable to those [Page 49]who have the most admired it. What Judgment can we pass on this, any otherwise than that they lavishly spend the prudent stock of nature, which becoming bankrupt by excessive practices, they are after forced to yield to those humors, which speak the wants and pover­ties of nature, which designed no man to that vanity, as to be taken up with the contemplation of his own endowments, like the fanta­stic Youth, who made Love to, and died for it himself. He that gathers the stock of his own en­dowments, into his own breast and keeps them there like roses that grow in deserts, he dies uncom­mended and unenjoy'd. Virtue is diffusive and loves occasions to exercise its vivacy and vigor, what we carry about us sufficiently de­clares, that we were not designed [Page 50]to be happy alone, whilst both the solace of the mind, and an endear­ed life consist in an union with something different.

A Letter to a Friend, delivering an Opinion of the Scotch Rising.


THat you may receive an Ac­count of the Scotch business, and that there hath been such irre­solute alteration about the Treaties lately, 'tis fit you know this Nor­thern storm, like a new disease hath so far posed the Doctors of State, that as yet they have not given it a name; though perchance they all firmly believe it to be rebellion; and therefore, Sir, it is no won­der if these do here as the learned [Page 51]in Physic, who when they know not certainly the grief [...], prescribe Medicines sometimes too strong, sometimes too weak. The truth is, we here judge concerning the Scotch affairs much after the rate as Mortals do of the Moon; the sim­ple think it no bigger than a bushel, and some likewise think it a vast world with strange things undisco­vered in it; two ill ways of cast­ing it up; sure the first will make us too secure, the other too fearful. I confess I know not how to write in the middle, and set it right; nor do I think you know; since I should believe the question rather to be, A King or no King? then A Bishop or no Bishop? In great mutinies and insurrections of this nature, preten­ces speciously conscionable were never wanting, and indeed they are necessary; for rebellion is of itself so [Page 52]ugly, that did it not put on the vi­sor of Religion, it would affright ra­ther than draw people unto it; and being drawn, could not hold them without it. Imaginary cords that seem to fasten man to heaven, have tied things here below faster than any other obligation. If it be liberty of conscience they ask; it is a foolish request, seeing they have it already, and must have in despite of power. For as Theodoret saith to the Jews, Nemo cogitur credere invitus. If they exercise that liberty, 'tis dangerous; for not three men are of the same opinion in all; and then each family must have a war within itself. Look upon the long preparations, and consider withal that Prophesies are ceased, and therefore they could not foretell this Book should be sent to them, & you will conclude they ra­ther imploy'd conscience, than consci­ence [Page 53]them. Inquire after the leaders, and you'l hardly find them Apostles, or men of so high sanctity, that they should order Religion; Lesley him­self if his sore were searcht, would certainly be found one, who because he could not live well there, took up a trade of killing men abroad; and now is return'd to kill men at home. If you will have my opinion, I think their quarrel to the King is the same they have to the Sun, that he doth not warm them so much, nor visit them so oft as he doth others. God and nature plac'd 'um in the shade, and they are angry with the King for it. To conclude, this is the case; the great and wise Husband-man hath plac'd these beasts in out-fields, and they would needs break hedges to come into the Garden. This is the belief of

Yours J.S.


A Whore

IS one of Sampson's Foxes that carries fire in the tail, to destroy the standing corn. She goes un­der the name of a decayed Gentle­woman; and indeed she is gen­tle enough, a Half-Crown will make her come to hand. The Devil and she are co partners in undoing, for one spoils the body, the other the soul. Turn-up she affects above all roots in the Gar­den. She cares not for the Bride­well, having lain often at the com­mon Ward. Her walk is Covent-Garden; and her Exchange a Ta­vern. He that goes to salute her, [Page 55]is deceived, for she is very coy of her lips, and therefore bulwarks them about with paint. Her breath stinks worse than a Bear-garden; her furniture consists of a Plaister­box, a Periwig, and a Looking­glass; besides a Pimp, which she accounts one of her necessary im­plements. She is a she-Bias, and can say, Omnia mea mecum porto. She is a preservative against a hard frost; and a Regiment of them will beggar Newcastle, for they car­ry fire about them. Her children, if any, are like wind-falls, and found in the Kings high-way. She is not ambitious, but delights in fallings; yet by her falling her Stallions rise. She is a hackney Jade, and lets every fool ride her; a Barbers chair, as soon as one is out, another is in. She is a very Butcher, and sells her flesh by the [Page 56]stone; one may buy her awhole at the price of damnation. She is like a Medlar, never ripe till rot­ten; like Camomile, she thrives the better the more she is trod. A­bout thirty she is in her Zenith, and then from thence she declines; for the pox or rotten teeth, &c. will write her stale or ugly, and trading will decay; and then her only preferment is the degree of a Baud, where three Strong-water Bottles, an ounce of Tobacco, and two Countrey-Wenches sets her up; and she drives a trade till Shrove-Tuesday; and a Cart and a bunch of Turnips are the reward of her labours; and the Bridewell the limbo of both body and bones.

A Patentee

WAs sometimes a Gentleman of Fortunes, but being cast over-board by his own riot or fol­ly, lays hold of the next thing he meets with. He is begot like a Mule, between a Courtier and a Citizen, but turns Parricide to both. No air nips him so much as a West-wind coming from the Parliament-House, for that brings him to the Falling-sickness; the Re-public and his Re-private never are in conjunction; but like Castor and Pollux, when one sets the other riseth. He is an excellent Alchymist and can draw Gold out of Sope, Candles, Marrow bones, and what-not? Nothing angers him so much as the sound of a Reformation; [Page 58]for then he is projecting to pro­cure a Patent to hang himself. Like a Louse, he shrowds on the shoulders of Greatness; for that is his main protection. All honest men shun his company, and he theirs; in which regard you may call him a Separatist. His walk is Westminster hall, or the Court, with his hand-full of Papers, because he would be taken for a man of note. The Monopolist and he like Hippo­crates twins, both live and die to­gether. In his chamber his Glass and he are in a deep consultation, how to set his face that it may go even with the times; like a Watch, whereof his tongue is the Alarm. His pretences are fair for the bene­fit and ease of the Subject; To reform some grievance (meaning his own poverty,) to increase Trade (meaning of Patentees,) and to pre­vent [Page 59]disorders; to which he rather adds a sail than a ballast. He has little skill in the Law, but only in the penal Statutes, and that in a defensive way to play the knave in a circle, and yet keep out of their bounds to prevent hanging; and less in the Gospel, unless to fish by Peter's example, for such fish as have money in their mouths. His Religion is commonly but skin­deep, it may appear in his counte­nance, but it never comes near his heart; 'tis writ upon changeable Taffata, for good and lawful con­siderations; his Religion and his Practice make him like the new in­vented Pictures, one way an Angel, another way a Devil. All his life is a continued Cataline's Conspira­cy; he and the Common-wealth are like two feet, if one rise, the other falls; if both chance to rise [Page 60]together, 'tis but a leap, that the fall may be the greater. He feeds upon new Projects; his drink is the tears of the poor Labourers; and commonly his Livery is the ruine of some Corporation. His disease lies in his ears, for he is commonly infected with a Pillory, which at last comes into his neck, and Tiburn ends him; where his only glory is, that he died for the Commonwealths good.

A Politic

IS one that makes Heaven bow to Earth; he placeth his sum­mum bonum in Earths felicity, and depends on no other Providence but the reach of his own brain. His Religion is but the visor of his policy; and whatever virtue he has, craft is the keeper of it. His looks are candid, and hypo­crisie is the only Saint he adores. All his discourses are obscure and ambiguous; like the Devils in the Delphic Oracle; you may under­stand the words, but not the mean­ing. He is like an Aspen-Tree, every wind of greatness blows him and he bends. Is his Prince va­lorous? he is daring; covetous? he is sparing; lascivious? he is [Page 62]wanton; religious? he pretends much; his heart is a Theatre, wherein all humors are presented, and his face pantomimical. He is of that mans Religion, with whom he talks; a Caesarean, a Pompeian, which soever prevails; he'l cry, Ʋp with them, and Down with them all in a breath. Like a Waterman he looks one way and rows ano­ther; or like a Lapwing, keeps most noise when she is farthest from her nest; or a cunning Fen­cer, that seldom makes a blow without a falsifie; fuller of Questi­ons than Answers, rather desiring to know anothers secrets, than bewray his own. Pleasures he is not much delighted in, but only like the Dog at Nilus, laps as he runs, for fear of the Crocodile. Every one that he deals with, he supposeth hath the Master-reach [Page 63]in cunning; and therefore still car­ries both eyes open. His sight is strong enough to apprehend dan­gers in Embrio, and so quells them before shape or form make them terrible. If a Contract blow fa­vourably, he hoiseth sails, and with it steers his Voyage; if a cross gale comes to his main under-ground Design, he thrusts out the Oars of fair Pretences through the Port­holes of his conscience. He would be accounted every mans friend, that he might know his secrets. All his actions are tipped with fair Pretences, yet are directed to himself, and therefore looks no higher. Whatever his Theme be, his Application is his own ends: yet he is often contented to do any cheap courtesies; and makes him­self very joyful and happy in an opportunity, so as he be sure to [Page 64]be no loser by it. His cap and knee, his smiles and good words aee all at a minutes warning, to be dealt about on all occasions. In a word, he is one that loves no man, but with a reservation, nor will trust any; nor indeed any wise man him, farther than he sees him.

A Clubber

IS a Hogs-head set on two stumps fit for no use but to hold Li­quor; the Tavern only is his ubi and the proper place of his resi­dence; any other where he is like a Fish out of the water, who doth nothing but gape. He thinks Na­ture gave him a mouth, not to speak, but to drink off his Liquor, for that is the main use he puts it [Page 65]to; he drinks not to live (as Na­ture commands) but lives to drink. Of all the Miracles that ever Christ did, he thinks none so merito­rious for the salvation of his soul, as the turning water into Wine; and he in imitation can work a mi­racle too; for he can turn a whole Shop of Wares into a Pint-pot. His only enquiry is, where dwells the best Sack or Claret? You shall find him and his Tribe about the declining part of the day, at rendezvous, like a Constellation fix'd in the lower Region of a known Tavern; where their no­ses appear like Comets, and por­tend drought; there they are ac­commodated with a private Room, a half-Pint, some clean Pipes, and a Jordan. Their first Discourse is a general Vote about the goodness of the Wine; the next pair of half-Pints [Page 66]Pints produces News; where each puffs over the inside of a Diurnal; but for want of that, the main Scene is, who were drunk the night before, and how they reel'd home. They are internally Pha­risees, and very exact in making clean the inside of the Glass; their strictest Criticism is, Drink off your Cup. At last, when it strikes twelve, they make a liquor'd Reckoning, drink their Wives Health, in whose defence they are dutifully drunk, till they lose their own; and then they stagger home to bed, and find it in small beer in the mor­ning.

A Politic Citizen

IS a lump of combustible ignorance, whom the least spark of news fires into a blaze of unlikely con­jectures; he measures all the de­signs of forein News by the line of Stow's Chronicle; which he ne­ver hears read, but out flies a piece of non-sense, which he mis-calls State-Policy, able to confound Machiavel. He much haunts the Post-House to note into what forms men concoct their Faces at the reading of Letters; he frequents the Exchange in the post-meridian hours, because then men empty themselves of intelligence; his on­ly factorage is news, viewing a Bill of Exchange, he swears 'tis a Libel. Tell him of a Curranto and [Page 68]he's in heaven; he takes an Alma­nack of foul weather for one of Merlin's Prophesies. Upon hear­ing of a Victory or loss of a Sconce, he is enraged, and blames the State that he was not a General; he ex­tols the Low-Countrey's Govern­ment above any Monarchy, because the fat Citizens rule the rost; he holds it impossible for the State ever to be ruined, because it swims in Butter. His face is a piece of Stenography, where all Richelieu's designs are writ in short-hand. He keeps a common place book of hard State-words, which though he nor his English Dictionary understand, he after an Aldermans Plumb-broth Feast spues out among the learned Fraternity; and is therefore slan­der'd with the name of a Politi­cian, and he turns Heretic and be­lieves it; for they had rather ig­norantly [Page 69]admire his speeches, than go to the price of understanding them. All the passages he hears are Stratagems; if he hear but a Ballad, he sinells Treason in it; he cannot endure Plays, because there are Plots in them, ask him a question, you undermine him; answer him with silence, he takes you for a State-Informer; he tells news by tale, not by weight. There is no way to strike him dumb but drawing out your Table-Book; e­very man is a fool that is not of his opinion: but he takes him for an undoubted wise man that ap­plauds his conjectures; he seldom approves any thing that he under­stands, and yet he approves most things; he meditates on an old Manuscript more than the Penta­teuch; he wonders why the Apo­calyps is put in the end of the Bible, [Page 70]and thinks it a disgrace; he takes Brightman for a better Interpreter than Daniel; he cuts the Apocry­pha out of his Bible, for fear of in­fection; yet cannot tell why he hates it, but because 'tis Apocrypha; and thinks Solomon but a fool in suffering his wisdom to be put there. Monarchy he cannot abide, but says 'tis against Christian Liberty; but thinks Anarchy is as old as the Chaos. He takes Malchus's Servant to be a Saint, because he had his ear cut; yet thinks him not right of his opinion, because he had one left. He takes Peter for a Popish Bishop, because he cut off that ear. Where 'ere the Scripture says strive, he takes it for fighting; that makes him so in love with Civil War. A­mong his Superiors he is dumb; to his inferiors deaf; the one he offends by silence, the other by pra­ting; [Page 71]to both he is ridiculous. In a word, he is the State Incendi­ary, the Cities bane, and Kings evil.

A Schismatic

IS one of those rash Servants that will not let the Wheat and the Tares grow together; but crops off his hair, or rather weeds it up, lest it should hinder the growth of his ears, that when the harvest of tribulation comes, they may be reaped by handfuls for good considerations. He thinks it im­possible to be saved if ones hair transcends his teeth in longitude. He is in the head an Hermaphrodite, between a Frier and a Turc, the one shaves round the head, the other the crown, he both; he hopes [Page 72]to be pulled up to Heaven by the ears like a pitcher. He is a Papist turn'd the wrong side outwards, and so strongly denies their tenets, that he grants their maxims; his Religion and theirs run round in a circle till they meet. He is fallen out with Learning so, that he thinks ignorance his main saving grace; and would be content to speak no Language but sanctified Bulls, but that the Pope useth them; he stands much for Christian Liber­ty, yet will tie all men from the use of ceremonies; Free-will he cries down in a Papist, yet mainteins that a Protestant may do what he please. All his Discourse is the sand of zeal bound together with­out the lime of reason; for he calls that human Traditions, and protests the Brethren do not use it. You can­not vex him more than to tell him, his soul is Gods Image, for he hates [Page 73] idolatry. To speak languages, he says, is to glory in the confusion of Babel; and to talk sense is to advance carnal reason above the spirit. He wears his soul, as a Gallant that has put on his Periwig the back part formost; for whereas his will should be judicious, his judgment is wilful. He flies human learning as a Serpent; three words of Latin will give him nine stools. His knowledg, how small soever, never sinks into his heart, but only swims in his brain; standing bare at a Sermon makes his zeal catch cold, and that brings snuffling in the nose. He is one of the Attor­neys of Dovers Court; and can with more patience talk five hours, than hear one. In company he is excellent Physic; for he will either purge your gall with anger, or your spleen with laughter. Against every new meeting, he takes in store [Page 74]of new arguments to maintein some new-fangled opinion; which when he vents, his proselytes are ravish'd with admiration, and think him inspired with strange revelations, that he can speak English and they not understand him. He will cross the Kings High-way rather than view a Cross there. Aristotle was never so corrupted with Dutch Comments, as the Scripture is with his; his brain is like the pud­dle at Oxford, into which Aristotle's Well dischanels itself, and becomes stinking water. When he takes a Bishop in his mouth, 'tis in that sense as a Wolf takes a Lamb; not [...] but simpliciter. Tell him of a High Commission, and he holds his ears, and says there is a mystery in that Posture. Set but his zeal on fire, and it will flame, though it smother a Kingdom; the only [Page 75]way to confute him is silence or laughter. He is all for Independent Church-Government, yet wishes all the Orthodox Clergy hang'd. He holds a Stable as holy as a Church; but holds a Chamber holier than both, if it be well furnished; that is, with a Bed and a Sister; and then he cares not how long he stands. He that would draw the character of his Religion, had need have a Map of all the Earth and of Hell too, where his Principles are deeply rooted. He will not believe that Christ ever descended into Hell, but intends to take a Journey thither himself to dispute with the Devil. There let him go for me.


A Gallant

IS one that Nature made while the World was in a Chaos, and therefore detests order ab origine. He dares use his tongue against Hea­ven; but scarce his hands against a Butter-fly. Is he sober? his care is how to be drunk, is he drunk? his next task is how to shift the rec­koning. All his discourses are but­ter'd with Oaths, which he uses Euphoniae gratia. He has worn out all his friends, but the Hangman; and all his Apparel, but his Sword; which he hacks sometimes against a Mantle-post, and swears he has been in a desperate encounter; co­ming from a Baudy-house, he swears he has been in hot service, though his courage be soon taken down. Two French postures he has natu­rally, [Page 77] viz. to have his Flanks and his hair fall off, which last defect he supplies with the mercenary Auxiliaries, a Periwig. His face speaks him no true Subject, be­cause of its frequent risings; to which Rebels his nose is Standard­bearer, and carries the colours. His common Notion or Title-page is a Low-country Soldier; under which visor he boasts of Victories and Adventures which he heard dis­coursed of at the last Tavern. He sets his faith to sale, and cries, Who will give most? His Loyalty lasts no longer than his Money. His Threats are like Thunder-claps, or the moti­ons of Mountains; and if a blow be brought forth 'tis like a mouse; in the midst of his fury, if you care not for his menaces, nor fear his blows, he will shake hands with you. 'Twere fearful if his valour were as great [Page 78]as his wickedness, or if his power echoed his will. Though he be an Infidel himself, he would have others believe his Oaths when he promiseth payment. You cannot do him a greater discourtesie, than to make his Chirurgeon drunk, for then he bewrays his secrets. He keeps good quarter with his Laun­dress, lest she should discover the spots of his conversation. The first thing he does in the morning, is to bid a Pox take those Fleas that bit him at night, which is sure to be granted; and the last thing he doth at night, is to curse the Gen­ileman that cudgel'd him that day. In the morning, imitating the Sun immediately after his rise, he pas­ses into an Alehouse; or if he can get one to spend for him, to a Tavern; so passes from sign to sign, through a whole Zodiac in a day, [Page 79]till he comes to Aquarius; and then goes by water to a Baudy-house, and comes out by fire. He believes there is no Sign of Virgo left in the World. In the end you shall find him kick'd by his Com­panions for having no Money a­bout him, which he swears is in his other pockets, whenas he has but only one Suit, and that is thread-bare before the Tailor is paid. Thus when he has gone his round, and been abused by his Companions for abusing them, he reels into the mouths of the Watch, and from thence is rowled into the Counter; where to his credit, many great Actions are imputed to him.

A Ballad-maker

IS a Volume of Rime composed by the hand of nonsense; or a musical Instrument, not yet tun'd. An Ale-house he accounts the only Helicon; and the Ale-drapers Wife one of the nine Muses. His wit runs thick or clear, like the Ale-barrel. He is a second Charon; for none are wafted over by the way of Tiburn, but he receives money for their passage. He ex­ceedingly longs for blazing Stars, Earthquakes, Dearths, or strange accidents. The Brethren keep con­stant correspondence with him, that he may compose their Libels into Metre; and being whipt or Pillory'd for it, he rejoiceth, say­ing that he suffers for the truth. [Page 81]His Companions call him Poet at every word, but 'tis in a jeer; and being patient to bear all slan­ders, believes it and bears it. Call him Goose or Woodcock, he is en­raged; but yet had rather eat your words than you should. He is sen­sible of no Argument but beating; and that alone drives him out of your company. He is in pay by the Countrey Wenches, to write Love-Stories to lamentable Tunes; which they sing to the Cows, and make them weep milky tears to hear them. His common Vaticans where his Books are preserved, are the windows and walls of an Ale-House in the Countrey. He like the Emblematists is beholden to an Engraver; but only his Wood-carver hath certain com­mon Places; a man and a woman serve like Panpharmacons, for all [Page 82]occasions. He is a dutiful Son of the Church, and loves no innova­tions in Musics; but they go like Hopkins and Wisdom, to the Tune of the same. He is in no better cue to write a lamentable Story, than when he's Maudlin-drunk; his brain is the common-sewer of Poetry; the streams which he sucks from Poets, he defiles with the muddy stinking puddles of his Additions. There is many a man is made a Martyr by his Elegies; wherein his Encomi­astics persecute the very ashes, and hypocritically tear the dead body of Hercules with a smiling counte­nance. In a word, he is the Sub­urbs of a Poet; whose sepulchre is the Stocks, and his monument a Pillory.

The CHARACTER of a self-conceited Fellow.

HE is, I dare not say a Man, nor Boy; but in the Paren­thesis of both; yet he thinks only a beard is wanting to proclame his manhood; because he has taken up Womens Smocks, he writes sumptâ virili togâ, when indeed his wit is hardly out of the clouts. He is an Ape, that imitates both, but wanting the wit of the one, acts naturally the folly of the other. He thinks himself of deep judg­ment, yet has nothing deep about him, but the pits of his nose; which makes him boast of hills and dales in his own possession. He affects two contraries; for he will be a laughing-stock to good [Page 84]company, where his highest ambi­tion is to be told he talks like an Apothecary; or else is the Bell-wea­ther of children, fools, or French­men; who have neither English enough to reprove his nonsense, nor to approve his no-wit; but pass it over for jests by ignorant laughter. He is an ignis fatuus to mis-lead fools by a shining no­thing that is in him, or a blazing Star placed in the lower Regions of a Tavern; and a Cup in his brain, portends the birth of some prodigious conceit. To ingratiate himself into good company, he keeps constantly in pay a Regiment of jests and hard words, to salute their ears with a volley of non­sense; which if they be not grac'd with laughter, he is nonsuited. But being dis-robed of this store, he whispers them of a Wench; [Page 85]and rather than want employment, will turn Pimp. You cannot please him unless you praise him; nor praise him, unless you flatter him. It is his summum bonum to move laughter; and if his jests will not do it, his gesture must; if neither, you may laugh at the Jestor. He most commonly procures friend­ship with some wit, whom he en­joins to be the foreman in the peal of laughter; who both to his face and behind his back, laughs at him. Much he affects to speak some fo­rein Language, because in all his Discourse he would over-reach the capacity of an English-man. He whispers How d' you, as if 'twere Treason, in the ears of any new acquaintance, to make others think he is privy to their secrets. He always detracts from other mens worth behind their backs, as if he [Page 86]knew by instinct others dispraised him; and it goes hard if a man wears any clothes, but he will pick a hole in his coat. He hath not exchanged two words with Na­ture in love (I had almost said since he was of understanding) because she made him so low, that he can­not over-look other mens actions; but to help this defect, he hath gotten the faculty of taking the wall of his betters; having nothing in himself worth his knowledge, he scorns noscere seipsum. The thing is sometimes Poetical wherein he casts up his ignorance, to make it seem of high account; he writes like the Egyptian darkness, where­in he shews cunning; for when men laugh at his Verses, he may say, they laugh at they know not what; and can boast of more than any Modern Poet, that he writes [Page 87]above human apprehension. He carries such a deep conceit of his own conceits, that he thinks no man worthy to understand them; nay he is such a niggard, that he grudgeth himself the benefit. The Subject of his Fansie is himself; wherein he truly shews himself poetical, if Fictions can do. He mislikes every man after the first acquaintance; nay, grows weary of his native Countrey, and will travel; and his actions and carri­age therein, no tongue can express but his own, for he may lie by Au­thority. Himself is gone beyond the limits of my Paper, where my Pen nor can nor will follow him.

The Character of a City-Wit.

HE is a gaudy Vacuum, gilded over with a few hard words, which he imagins to have a deep meaning, because his dull sense cannot dive into it; which with much pains he has weeded from Authors, and placed in Garrison in a Common place-book, that he may draw out a Regiment of Re­cruits when his wit is routed. His Discourse is a Line of Sand, or a composition of so many foot and half-words, which being put to­gether, spell non sense. He admits not a word into his Society, under the degree of a Tetrasyllable; and takes all Discourse by measure, not weight. He were the only man to be Minshew's Son, and com­pose [Page 89]another Dictionary of hard words, had he but wit enough to spell them, or learning to tell their signification. Yet he thinks his nose a Jacob's Staff, able to calculate the height of any mans fansie. By his tedious Discourses of Heraldry, he would make you believe he were a Gentleman. And to gain Honour, he dares be a Soldier; and hath taken up Arms on his Signet, for defence of his little finger; but intends only to fight by the Heralds Book, where his valour will be seen by the mise­rable hanging, drawing, and quar­tering of his innocent Coat. He had been preferred to a Trumpet­ers place, but that he could sound no Alarm, but his own praise. Had he but Poetry, he would out-vaper Ben; but he 'l not speak a Verse, lest they should be taken for chil­dren [Page 90]of his own begetting, and known by their long legs. Besides his speeches are so masterless, they think it against the Liberty of the Subject to be chained in a Verse. In his Arguments his So­lutions are more intricate than the Question; and that man needs a deep reach that would define his definition. After many Pleonasms and Circumlocutions, he is deliver­ed at length of a non sequitur; yet makes no Conclusion, for his Dis­course is endless. You may be sick of a Consumption and cured, before he hath finished a Comple­ment; and 'tis a wonder if the Palsie in his tongue procure not the Frensie in his head. Shews he prefers before substance; and e­steems an Alcoran in folio before a pocket-Bible. He useth much to discommend himself; which we [Page 63]must interpret as a praise, the clean contrary way; yet rather than lose a drop of his praise, he will lick it up with his own tongue. The way to gain his fa­vour, is neither to understand him, nor be understood by him; he will then applaud the depth of your judgment; for it is his pro­perty to think nothing deep, un­less it be muddy. He accounts no man rich in wit, that does not gingle with it in every fools com­pany; he thinks not that a mans Ware-house may be full, whose Shop is empty; and a Fountain of Learning in that head, where there is no chanel in the tongue. He would fain be a Philosopher, for he is very peripatetical; and because his wit is bald, he periwigs it with stoln combings, which he calls his own, because he bought them, and [Page 92]saith he studied hard for them; but it was only to remember them; and if by chance any word do put out his head in company, and is not conceived, he'l swear 'tis an admirable conceit. Because he is tall, he thinks his fansie is predo­minant, and therefore is apt to insult over any short man, though he hath more understanding. He thinks every man barren of worth, that has not his tongue tipped with self-praise; and those unacquain­ted with wit, that have not their fansies writ in their faces, perspi­cuous to every Reader. He is mighty glad if he be in company with a fool, and thinks him his foil, though indeed he be his look­ing-glass. From the ruins of good Buildings he erects the Babels of his own conceit, and enriches his brain, which indeed is no other [Page 93]but a Confusion of Languages, where scarce one syllable under­stands another. In the Church we must look for him in the highest Pew, but I am loth to stay his coming out, lest he offend my sto­mach with some tedious Para­phrase upon the Sermon; but there I leave him praying against a handsom Wife, lest he be made a Cuckold; and against a witty Companion, lest he be made a Cox­comb.

J. B.

The Character of a Humourist.

HIs principal humour shall be my excuse, that is, inconstan­cy; 'tis hard to draw his Picture, that will not settle his countenance; therefore expect it rather in a Landskip than Statua. He is un­setled both in his actions and opi­nions; which shews his fansie to predominate in him, rather than judgment; yet can it not be deni­ed, but that he is master of a sound judgment, but he makes others, not himself the subject of it; being better able to inform others, than reform his life; and more able to declame against others vices, than reclame his own. His anger is more active than hot, rather scor­ching than burning; soon kindled, [Page 95]and as soon quencht. And though that man must needs make a strange combustion in the State of his soul, that upon the landing of every Cock-boat sets the Beacons on fire; yet because his Reason stands Cen­tinel, 'tis rather a disorder than a mutiny. Virtue he more gazeth after than follows; or if he do fol­low, it is rather with his tongue than feet; chusing to talk with her sooner than walk after her, and prefers a dram of Theorics before a pound of Practics. At the Game of unlawful Pleasures he had ra­ther be an Actor than a Spectator; seldom forsaking them till teeth­like he be forced to drop off through too much satiety. Me­lancholy he will be in the midst of mirth; certainly when he and his serious thoughts meet together (for they are strangers) they are ex­cellent [Page 96]company. Venus he esteems above all the seven Planets; but had rather worship her in a Baudy­house than in any of the twelve Celestial Signs. In his Materials he is a Gentleman; but Fortune hath cast him in the City Mould. No doubt but age will reclame his unstaidness; 'tis no great fault in a young Horse to use unreasonable mounting. To his friends he is rather formal than real, apt to trust them with his person, not secrets. In a falling out of two friends, he will rather side with one, than bring both agreed; which is an Index of some indiscretion; thereby he being sure, of two friends to make one his enemy. He is no stranger to Poetry, which is Music in words, nor to Music, which is Poetry in sound; yet ra­ther makes them his Sauce than [Page 97]Meat. For Logic, which gives speech substance; or Rhetoric, which gives it beauty; or Grammar, which gives a tongue to speech itself; he has only ta'n a cursory view of the first of the three; but has rumi­nated on the two last. But lest I make my Garment too big for the Body which I took measure of; and being something in haste, I conclude with his own Proverb, By — I cannot stay.


The Character of a Fudler.

WE will only take a cursory view of him as he is in com­pany, being not yet so unhappy to know him farther; but we may ghess at the bulk of Hercules by his foot. He is a confused lump [Page 98]moulded when Nature did all things in the dark; a Cub of the Chaos not lickt into form, rowled from Tavern to Tavern only to be drunk & laught at; where he grunts out words as ill-shap'd and gross as his person; and if his speeches do chance to quarrel, you must take 'um as they fall out. His body is built like Babel, but never with an in­tent to reach Heaven; the Work­men were confounded, and put Mortar where Gold should be. His ordinary Discourse is only scurri­lity and profaneness in a miscella­ny, boiled together in huge quan­tities of Sack, which he carves to his friends as prime Dainties. Ra­ther than his Jests shall want fire, he will light them at Gods Altar; and though a Conceit grow on the Banks of Hell, he will adventure to fetch it; not caring to gain his [Page 99]conceit, though he lose his soul. In company he monopolizeth all the Discourse to himself; not re­garding if his tongue keep on a gal­lop before, how far his understand­ing loiters behind. Sometimes his Wit stumbles on a Jest, as he that shoots thick, sometimes may his; and then you will do him a great discourtesie, if you do not laugh; but the main body of his discourse is a Wild-goose chase after some prin­ted Wit, which he cannot catch. When he speaks, 'tis not the mo­tion of his tongue, but the ratling of his brains; and 'tis worth our wonder, that his belly should be so full, and head so empty; but the fulness of the one is the empti­ness of the other. His belly, like the great Fish, eats up all the rest of his limbs, yet his wit is as fat as that. He has spent much time [Page 100]in travel to learn to be an Ass, all that he has seen is the Tun at Hei­dleburgh, which he studies to imi­tate; and all that he hath brought away, is the exact managing of his Fork at Table. He walks in the streets like a Rundlet of Sack on two posts; and where'ere he goes, he carries a fool with him. His study is old Jests and Tales; his recreation, Drinking; and his main occupation is Wenching. But I fear I have been too long in his company; by this time he is drunk, 'tis time to leave him lest he spue in our faces.

A Solicitor

IS one of the blades of Corn that springs from the Ilian ruines, whose ears grow up for the Har­vest of a Pillory. His Profession is originally like a Cuckow, from the Nest of another Trade; where he has learned wrangling and knave­ry enough in his own Causes to spoil another mans. With the sweetned Ingredients of City-fraud he compounds himself (though simple enough) for any villany. He is truly said to follow a Cause; but a small Bribe will lame him so, that he will never come near it. He is one of Sampson's Foxes, that fires all about him; but that his fire is generally in his nose, as well as his tail. His ambition is so [Page 102]low, not to have his Chamber in an Inns-of-Court, but in an Ale­house of the City; a Tavern is his form, and licking of Pots his Law. Most of his Actions are Assaults or Slanders; which are broacht where his Ale is, in a Cellar; and after a long circumstance, center them­selves where they begun; where his foolish Client, being weary of his fruitless endless Suit, and re­penting the idle expence of his Money for an imaginary vacuum, called getting the day; like the Chy­mist, that blows away his Silver and Lungs, for that Fools (rather than Philosophers) Stone; do's by his wholsom advice, when his Money is spent, refer his Suit to Arbitrators and Ʋmpires; whose Verdict is after a long debate, A Supper for themselves at the equal charge of both Parties; That both [Page 103]must be sorry for what they have done (as they have good cause) and sit down by their losses. He seldom gets any considerable preferment, but among Fish-wives or Watermen, or in a Countrey Village, where all stand in awe of him, and slander him with the Title of Master Law­yer. Ignorance and beggery makes him resolute that he dares thrust his head into any employment. At last, having run through the Zodiac of all Courts, if he scape the preferment of the Gallows, he casts Anchor in a Gaol, or a Bride­wel; and there we leave him.


This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. Searching, reading, printing, or downloading EEBO-TCP texts is reserved for the authorized users of these project partner institutions. Permission must be granted for subsequent distribution, in print or electronically, of this EEBO-TCP Phase II text, in whole or in part.