The young gallant's academy, or, Directions how he should behave himself in all places and company as in an ordinary, in a play-house, in a tavern, as he passes along the street all hours of the night, and how to avoid constables interrogatories : to which is added, the character of a town-huff : together with the character of a right generous and well-bred gentleman / by Sam. Overcome.

THE INTRODUCTION.

I Sing (like the Cuckoe in June) to be laught at; if therefore I make a ſcurvy Noiſe, and that my Tunes ſound un-Muſically (they being altogether lame in reſpect of the bad Feet, and unhandſome in reſpect of the wormeaten Faſhion:) You that have Authority under the Broad Seal of Mouldy Cuſtome, to be called, The Gentle Audience, ſet your hands to my Pardon; or elſe, becauſe I ſcorn to be upbraided that I profeſs to Inſtruct others, in an Art whereof I my ſelf am Ignorant; Do your worſt, chuſe whether you will let my Notes have you by the Ears or no: Hiſs, or give Plandites, I care not a Nutſhel which of either: You can neither ſhake our Comick Theatre with your ſtinking breath of Hiſſes, nor raiſe it with the Thunder-claps of your Hands; up i • goes in deſpetto del fato: a Coat with four Elbows (for any one that will wear it) is put to making in defiance of the Seven Wiſe Miſtreſſes. For I have ſmelt out o • the muſty ſheets of an old Almonack, that (at one time or other) even he that talks all Adagie; eve • he that will not have a wrinkl • in his new Suite, though his Min • be uglier than his Face, and hi • Face ſo ill-favouredly made, that he looks at all times as if a Tooth drawer were fumbling about hi • Gums, with a thouſand lame Het • roclites more that cozen the World with a Flaxen Perruke and a pair of Pantaloons, will be glad to ſtep in, and be driven (like a Flemiſh Hoy in ſoul weather) to ſlip into our School, and take out a Leſſon. Tuſh, Caelum petimus Stultiti • ; all that are choſen Conſtables for their Wit; go not to Hea • en. A Fig therefore for the newfound Colledge of Criticks, that do nothing but ſing forth the Gam ••• h. Air of Complemental Courteſie, and at the Ruſtical Behaviour of our Country-Muſo, will skrew forth worſe Faces, than thoſe wch God & the Painter hath beſtowed upon You. I deſie your perfumed Scor •• , and vow to poyſon your Musk-Cats, if ever their eivet-Excrement do but once play with my Noſe. You ordinary Gulls, that through a poor and ſilly Ambition to be thought that you inherit the Bevinues: of an extra ordinary Wit; will ſpend your ſballow Cenſure upon the moſt elaborate Writings ſo laviſhly, that all about you take you to be Heirs- apparent to Rich Myd- • ſs, that had more Skill in Alchymy; than Kelly with the Philoſophers-Stone; (for all that he could, lay his Fingers on, turned into beaten. Gold.) Dry Yobacco with my Leaves (you Good drybrain'd Polypragmoniſts) till your Pipe-Offices ſmoak with your ſtinking biſſes ſhot out againſt me. I Conjure You (as you come of the right Gooſe-Caps) ſtain not your Houſe, but when at a New Play you take up your Seat in the Pit, or one of the Boxes (becauſe the Lords and you may ſeem Hayl Fellows wellmet:) There draw forth this Book, Read aloud, Langh aloud, Play the Anticks, that all the whole Houſe may take notice of You. As for there Zoilus, Go hang thy ſelf; and for thee Momus, Chew nothing but Hemlock, and ſpit nothing but the Syrup of Aloes upon my Papers, till thy very rotten Lungs come forth for Anger. I am Snake-proof, and though with Hannibal you bring whole Hogſheads of Vinegar-Raylings, it is impoſſible for you to quench; or come over my Alpine-Reſolution. I'll Sail boldly and deſperately along the Shore of the Iſle of Gulls; and in defiance of thoſe terrible Block-Houſes, their Logger-beads, will make a true Diſcovery of their wild, yet habitable Country.

Sound an Alarm therefore (Oh my Courageous Muſe!) and like a Common Cryer, make Proclamation with thy Drum; the effect of Thine O Yes being, That if any Man, Woman, or Child, be he Lord, be he Clown; be he Courtier, be he Carter; of the Inns of Court, hating from the bottom of his heart all Good Manners, and Generous Education, is really in love, or rather doats on that Excellent Country-Lady, Innocent-Simplicity, being the First, Faireſt, and Chiefeſt Chamber-maid that our Great Grandame Eve entertaind into Service: Or if any Perſon aforeſaid, longing to make a Voyage in the Ship of Fools, would venture all the Wit that his Mother left him, to live in the Country of Gulls, Cockneys, and Coxcombs; to the intent, that haunting the Two THEATERS, he may onely Learn PLAY-SPEECHES, which afterwards may furniſh the neceſſity of his bare Knowledge, to maintain Table-Talk; or elſe frequenting Taverns, deſires to take the Bacchanalian Degrees, and to write himſelf into Arte Bibendi Magiſter: Let all ſuch (and I hope the World hath not left her old Faſhions, but there are ten thouſand ſuch) repair hither: never knock, but with your Feet ſpurn open the Door, and enter into our School. You ſhall not need to buy Books; No, ſcorn to diſtinguiſh a B from a Battle-door; only look that your Ears be long enough to reach our Rudiments, and you are made for ever.

It is by Heart that I would have you to con my Leſſons; and therefore be ſure to have moſt devouring Stomachs; nor be you terriſied with an Opinion, that our Rules be hard and indigeſtable, and that you ſhall never be good Gradtiates in thoſe rare Sciences of Barbariſm and Idiotiſm. Oh! Fie upon any Man that carries that ungodly mind. Tuſh, tuſh, the greateſt Fool that ever was, never Plaid the Clown more naturally, than the arranteſt Sot of you all ſhall, if he will but boyl my Inſtructions in his Brainpan.

And leſt I my ſelf, like ſome Pedantical Vicar, ſtammering out a moſt falſe and crackt Latine Oraration to Mr. Major of the Town and his Brethren, ſhould cough and hem in my Deliveries; by which means, You, my Auditors, ſhould be in danger to depart more like Woodcooks, than when you came to me: Oh! Thou Venerable Father of antient & therefore hoary) Cuſtoms Sylvanus! I invoke thy Aſſiſtance Thou that firſt taughteſt Carters to wear Hob-nails, and Clowns to play Chriſt-maſs-Gambols, Oh do thou! Or, If thou art not at leiſure, let thy Mountebank, Goatfooted Fauni, inſpire me with the knowledge of all thoſe ſilly and ridiculous Faſhions, which the Old dunſtical world wore, even out at Elbows. Draw for me the Pictures of the moſt ſimple Fellows then living, that by their Paterns I may pain't the like. Awake! Thou nobleſt Drunkard, Bacchus, Thou muſt likewiſe ſtand to me (if at leaſt thou canſt for reeling) teach me how to take the Germans Op ſijn Frize, the Daniſh Rowſa, the Switzers Stoop of Rheniſh, the Italians Parmaſant, the Engliſhmans Healths and Frolicks. Hide not a drop of thy moiſt Myſtery from me, thou plumpeſt Swillbowl. Thirdly, (Becauſe I will have more than two Strings to my Bow) Come thou Clerk of Gluttonies Kithin; Do thou alſo bid me Pro-face; and let me not ariſe from Table, till I am perfect in all the general Rules of Epicures and Cormorants: fatten thou my Brains, that I may feed others, and teach them both how to ſquat down to their meat, and how to munch ſo like Loobies, that the wiſeſt Solon in the world ſhall not be able to take them for any others. If there be any ſtrength in thee, thou beggarly Monarch of Indians, and ſetter-up of rotten-lung'd Chimney. Sweepers (Tobacco!) I beg it at thy ſmoaky hands; make me thy adopted Heir, that inheriting the virtues of thy whiffs, I may diſtribute them amongſt all Nations: after thy Pipe ſhall ten thouſand be taught to Dance, if thou wilt but diſcover to me the ſweetneſs of thy Snuffs, with the manner of ſpawling, ſpitting and driveling • in all places, and before all perſons. Oh! what Songs will I charm forth in praiſe of thoſe valiantly-ſtrong ſtinking-breaths, which are eaſily purchaſed at thy hands, if I can but get thee to travel through my Noſe. All the foughs in the faire • Ladies mouths that ever kiſt Lord, ſhall not fright me from thy Brown preſence; for thou art humble, and from the Courts of Princes haſt •• chſafed to be acquainted and • runk for Company with Watermen, Carmen, and Colliers; whereis before, and ſo ſtill, Knights and wiſe Gentlemen, were, and are, thy Companions. Laſt of all, Thou La •• y of Clowns and Carters! School •• ſtreſs of Fools and Wiſe-acres! Thou homely (but harmleſs) Ru •• icity! Oh breath thy dull and •• unſtical Spirit into our Gander • Quill. Crown me thy Poet, not with a Garland of Bays (Oh! no, the number of thoſe that ſteal Lau • el, is too monſtrous already.) But ſwaddle thou my brows with thoſe unhandſome Boughs, which (like Autumn's rotten-hair) hang dangling over thy duſty Eye-lids. Help me (thou Midwiſe of unmannerlyneſs) to be delivered this Embryon which lies tumbli •• in my Brain. Direct me in t •• hard and dangerous Voyage, th •• being ſafely arrived on the deſir •• Shore, I may build up Altars 〈◊〉 thy unmatchable rudeneſs. 〈…〉 Herculean a labour is this that I •• dertake, that I am inforced to 〈◊〉 out for all your Succours; to t •• intent I may aptly furniſh this Fe ••• of Fools, unto which I ſolemn •• invite all the world: for at it ſha •• ſit, not only thoſe whom Fortu •• favours, but even thoſe whoſe W ••• are naturally their own. Yet b • cauſe your artificial Fools bear 〈◊〉 way the Bell, all our beſt Wor • manſhip at this time ſhall be ſpe •• to faſhion ſuch a Creature.

CHAP. 1.

The Old World and this New, weighed together. The Taylors of thoſe times and theſe compared. The Apparel of our firſt Fathers.

GOod Cloaths are the embroidered Trappings of Pride; • nd Good Chear the very Eringo ••• t of Gluttony. Did Man, think you, come wrangling into the World about no better matters, than all his life-time to make privy ſearches for Faſhions, or for Pies of Nigh •• ingals tongues in Heliogabalus his Kitchin? Oh! no: The firſt Suit of Apparel that ever mortal Man put on, came neither from the Mercers ſhops, nor the Merchan Ware-houſe. Adam's Bill would have been ſooner taken, than. Knights Bond now. Yet was great in no bodies Books for T •• fety or Velvet: the Silk-wor • had ſomething elſe to do in th •• days, than to ſet up Looms, and free of the Weavers. His Breech were not ſo much worth as Ki •• Stephens, that coſt but a poor N • ble: for Adams Holiday-Suit was •• better Stuff than plain Fig-leaves and Eves beſt Gown of the ſa •• Piece; there went but a pair ſhears betwixt them. An Ant •• quary in this Town has yet ſo •• of the Powder of thoſe Leaves di •• ed, to ſhew. Taylors then wer •• none of the Twelve Companies Their Hall, that now is larger the ſome Dorps among the Nethe •• lands, was then no bigger than a ordinary Trades-mans Shop: the durſt not ſtrike down their Cuſtomers with their large Bills. Adam car'd not an Apple-paring for all their lowzy Hems. Faſhions then was counted a Diſeaſe, and Horſes died of it; but now (thanks to folly) it is held the only rare Phyſick, and the pureſt golden Aſſes live upon it.

As for the Diet of that Saturni •• Age, it was like their Attire, homely: A Sallad and a Meſs of Leek-porridge was a Dinner for a for greater Man than ever the Turk was: Potato-pies and Cuſtards, ſtood like the ſinful Suburbs of Cookery, and had not a wall (ſo much as a handful high) built • ound about them. Oh, golden World! the ſuſpitious Venetian carved not his Meat with a ſilver Pitch-fork, neither did the ſweettooth'd Engliſhman ſtuff a dozen of Plates at one Meal. Piers Plowman lay'd the Cloth, and Simpllcity brought in the Voyder. Ho •• wonderfully is the world altered and no marvel: For it hath lai • ſick above five thouſand years So that it is now no more like the Old Theatre du Monde, than the Bear-Garden St. James his Par • What an excellent Workman there fore were he, that could caſt the Globe of it into a new Mould And not to make it look like the ordinary Globe, with a round Fac •• ſleekt, and waſhed over with th • Whites of Eggs, but to have it •• Plano, as it was at firſt, with all th • antient Circles, Lines, Parallels and Figures, repreſenting indeed, a •• the Wrinkles, Cracks, Creviſe and Flaws that ſtuck upon it a •• the firſt Creation, and made •• look moſt lovely. But now thoſe Furrows are filled up with Ceruſ •• and Vermilion; yet all will no • do, it appears more ugly. Come, come, it would be a bald World, but that it wears a Perruke: The Body of it is fowl (like a Birdingpiece) by being too much heated: the breath of it ſtinks like the breath of Chamber-maids, by feeding on ſo many Sweet-meats; and though to purge it will be a ſorer labour. than the cleanſing of Augeas his Stable, yet Ille ego qui quondam, I am he that will do 〈◊〉 .

Draw near therefore, all you that love to walk upon ſingle and ſimple Souls, and that wiſh to keep Company with none but Innocents, and the Sons of civil Citirens; out with your Tables, and nail your Ears (as it were to the Pillory) to the Muſick of our Inſtructions: nor let the Titles of Gullery and Bublery fright you from our School; for mark what an excellent Ladder you are to climbe by. How many worthy and Men of famous Memory have flouriſhed in London of that antient Family the Wiſe-acres, bein • now no better eſteemed than Foo • or Younger Brothers? This gea • muſt be looked into, leſt in time (oh lamentable time! when that hour-glaſs is turned up) a Rich mans Son ſhall no ſooner peep out of the ſhell of his Minority, but he ſhall be ſtraight-ways begge •• for a concealment, or ſet upon (a •• it were by Free-booters) and ta'n •• in his own Purſe-nets by Fence •• and Coney-catchers: to drive which peſtilent Infection from hi • heart, here is a Medicine more po •• tent and more pretious than eve •• was that mingle-mangle of Drug • which Mithridates boyled together; fear not then to taſte it •• Caudle will not go down half •• ſweetly as this will: You need not call the honeſt name of it in Queſtion; for Antiquity puts off his Gap, and makes a bare Oration in praiſe of the virtues of it: the Receipt hath been ſubſcribed unto by all thoſe that have had to do with Simples, with this Moth •• ten Motto, Probatum eſt. You therefore whoſe Bodies are either over-flowing with the corrupt humour of this Age, Phantaſtickneſs; or elſe being burnt up with the inflammation of upſtart Faſhions, would fain be purged, and to truly ſhew that you truly loath this polluted and mangie-fiſted world, turn Pinioniſts, not caring either for Men or their Manners; do you pledge me; ſpare not to take a deep draught of our •• mely Counſel: the Cup is full, • nd ſo large, that I boldly drink a •• alth unto all Comers.

CHAP. II.

How a Gallant ſhall not only keep his Cloaths (whi •• many of them can hardl • do for Brokers) but all ſave the Charges of taking Phyſick: With other Rule •• for the Morning. The praiſe of Sleep, and of goin • Naked.

YOu have heard all this while nothing but the Prologue and ſeen no more than a Dum •• Show: Our Vetu • Comedia ſtep • out now.

The fitteſt ſtay upon which you (that ſtudy to be an Actor there are firſt to repreſent your ſelf, •• (in my Judgment) the ſofteſt and largeſt Down-bed; from whence, if you will but take ſound Counſel on your Pillow, you ſhall never ariſe until you hear it ring noon at leaſt. Sleep, in the Name of Morpheus, your belly-full, or (rather) ſleep till your. Belly grumbles and waxeth empty. Care not for thoſe courſe-painted Cloth-lines made by the Univerſity of Salern, that come over you with.

Sit brevis aut nullus tibi ſamnus Meridianus.

Short let thy Sleep at Noon be Or rather let it none be

Sweet candid Counſel! but there is Rats bane under it. Truſt never a Batchelor of Art of them all for he ſpeaks your health fair, but only to ſteal away the Maydenhead of it. Salern ſtands in the luxurious Country of Naples; and who knows not but the Neapolita • will, like the Jeſuites, embrace you with one hand, and rip your Gut • with the other? proteſt love, you hate mortally? There is not a ha • in his Muſtacho, but if he kiſs you will ſtab you through the Chec • like a Ponyard. The Slave, to b • avenged on his Enemy, will dri •• off a pint of Poyſon himſelf, •• that he may be ſure but to have the other pledge him half ſo much And it may be, upon ſome ſecre • grudge to work the general deſtruction of all Men-kind. Phyſitian • (I know) and none elſe, too • up the Bucklers in their defence rayling bitterly upon that Venerable and Princely Cuſtome of • on • lying abed. Yet how I remember me, I cannot blame them; •• they which want ſleep (which is Man natural reſt) become either mee Naturals, or elſe fall into the Doctors hands, and ſo conſequently into the Lords: Whereas he that Snorts profoundly ſcorns to let Hippocrates himſelf ſtand giving his Judgment on his Urinal, and thereby ſaves the charges of a Groats worth of Phyſick; and happy is that man ſaves it: for Phyſick is Non minus venifica quam benefica; it hath an ounce of Gall in it, for every dram of Honey. Ten Tyburns cannot turn Men over the Pearch ſo faſt as one of theſe Brewers of Purgations; the very nerves of their Practice being nothing but Ars homici ••• orum; an Art to make poor Souls kick up their heels. Inſomuch that even their ſick grunting Patients ſtand in more danger of Mr. Doctor and his Drugs, than of all the Canon •• ots which the deſperate Diſeaſe it ſelf can diſcharge againſt them. Send them packing therefore to wal • like Italian, Mount • bancks; beat not your Brains to underſtand their parcel Greek, parcel Latin Gib. briſh: Let not all their Sophiſtical buzzing in your Ears, nor then Satyrical canvaſing of Feather. beds, and toſſing Men out of the • warm Blankets, awake you till the Hour that is here preſcribed. For do but conſider what an excellent thing Sleep is; it is ſo ineſtimable a Jewel, that if a Tyrant would give his Crown for an hours ſlumber, it cannot be bought; of ſo beautiful a ſhape is it, that though a Man lie with an Empreſs, his Heart cannot be at quiet till he leaves her Embracements to be at reſt with the other: Yea, ſo greatly are we indebted to this Kinſman •• f Death, that we owe the better Tributary half of our, Life to him • and there is good Cauſe why we ſhould do ſo; for Sleep is that Golden Chain that ties Health and our Bodies together. Who complains of Wants, of Wounds, of Cares, of Great Mens Oppreſſions, Captivity, whilſt he ſleepeth? Beggars in their Beds take as much pleaſure as Kings; Can we therefore ſur • et on this delicate Ambroſia? Can we drink of that too much, whereof to taſte a little tumbles us into a Church-yard, and to uſe it but indifferently, throws us into Bedlam? No, no, look upon Endymion the Moons Minion, who ſlept threeſcore and fifteen years, and was not a hair the worſe for it. Can lying abed till Noon then (being not the threeſcore and fifteenth part of his nap) be hurtful?

Beſides, By the Opinion of all Philoſophers and Phyſitians, 'tis not good to truſt the Air with our Bodies till the Sun with his flame-coloured wings hath fanned away the miſty ſmoak of the Morn, and refined that thick Tobacco-breath which the rheumatick Night throws abroad on purpoſe to put out the Eye of the Element: which work Queſtionleſs cannot be perfectly finiſhed, till the Suns Car-horſes ſtand prancing on the very top of higheſt Noon: ſo that then (& not till then) is thy healthfulleſt hourto be ſtirring. Do you require Examples to perſwade you? At what time do Lords and L • dies riſe, but at that time? Your ſimpering Merchants Wives are the faireſt liers in the world; and is not eleven a Clock their common hour? they find (no doubt) unſpeakable ſweetneſs in ſuch lying, or elſe they would not day by day put it into practice. In a word, Midday-ſlumbers are Golden; they make the body fat, the skin fair, the fleſh plump, delicate and tender; they ſet a crimſon Colour on the cheeks of young Women, and make Courage to riſe up in Men; they make us thriſty, both in ſparing Victuals (for Break-faſts thereby are ſaved from the Hell-mouth of the Belly) and in preſerving Apparel; for whileſt we warm us in our Beds, our Cloaths are not worn. The Caſements of thine Eyes being then at this commendable time of Day newly ſet open, chuſe rather to have thy wind-pipe cut in pieces than ſo Salute any man: Bid not Good Morrow ſo much as to thy Father, though he be an Emperor: an idle Ceremony it is, and can do him little good; to thy ſelf it may bring much harm. For if he be a wiſe man, that knows how to hold his peace, of neceſſity he muſt be counted a fool that cannot keep his tongue.

Among all the wild men that run up and down in this wide Foreſt of Fools (the World) none are more ſuperſtitious than thoſe notable Ebritians, the Jews; yet a Jew never wears his Cap thredbare with putting it off; never bends in the Hams with caſting away a Leg; never cries God ſave you, though he ſee the Devil at your Elbow. Play the Jews therefore in this, and ſave thy Lips that labour; only to remember, that ſo ſoon as thy Eye-lids be unglued, thy firſt exerciſe muſt be (either ſitting upright on thy Pillow, or lying at thy Bodies length) to yawn and ſtretch, and gape wider than an Oyſter-Weuch.

This Leſſon being played, turn over a new leaf, and (unleſs that Frizeland-Cur, cold Winter, offer to bite thee) walk up and down a while in thy Chamber, either in thy thin ſhirt only, or ſtrip thy ſelf ſtark naked: Are we not born ſo, and ſhall a fooliſh Cuſtome make us to break the Laws of our Creation? Our firſt Parents, ſo long as they went naked, were ſuffered to dwell in Paradiſe; but after they got Coats to their backs, they were turned out of Doors. Put on therefore no Apparel at all, or put it on careleſly; for look how much more delicate Liberty is than Bondage, ſo much is the looſneſs in wearing of our Attire, above the impriſonment of being nea • ly and Taylor-like dreſt up. To be ready in our Cloaths, is to be ready for nothing elſe: A man looks as if he hung in Chains, or like a Scar-crow: and as thoſe excellent Birds (whom Pliny could never have the wit to catch in all his Springes) commonly called Woodcocks (whereof there is great ſtore in England) having all their Feathers pluckt from their backs, and being turned out as naked as Plato's Cock was before all Diogenes his Scholars; even ſo ſtands the caſe with man. Truth (becauſe the bald-Pate her Father Time hath no Hair to cover his Head) goes ſtark naked; but Falſhood hath ever a Cloak for the Rain. You ſee likewiſe that the Lyon, being the King of Beaſts; the Horſe, being the luſtieſt Creature; the Ʋnicorn, whoſe Horn is worth half a City; all theſe go with no more clothes on their backs than what Nature hath beſtowed upon them: but your Jackanapes (being the ſcum and raſcallity of all the hedge-creepers) they go in Jerkins: Marry how? They are put into theſe rags only in mockery.

Oh! Beware therefore what you wear, and how you wear it; and let this heavenly Reaſon move you never to be handſome: for when the Sun is ariſing out of his Bed, doth not the Element ſeem more glorious than (being only in gray) at Noon, when he is in all his Bravery? it were madneſs to deny it: What man would not willingly ſee a beautiful woman naked, or at leaſt with nothing but a Lawn or ſome looſe thing over her? Shall we then abhor that in our ſelves, which we admire and hold to be ſo excellent in others? Abſit.

CHAP. III.

How a young Gallant ſhould accoſt to and warm himſelf by the Fire: How attire himſelf. The Deſcriptition of a Mans Head. The praiſe of long Hair.

BUt if (as it often happens, unleſs the Year catch the Sweating-Sickneſs) the Morning like Charity waxing cold, thruſt his froſty fingers into thy boſome, pinching thee black and blew (with her nails made of Ice) like an invincible Goblin, ſo that thy Teeth (as if thou wert ſinging a Prick-ſong) ſtand coldly quavering in thy Head, and leap up and down like the nimble Jacks of a pair of Virginals; be then as ſwift as a Whirlwind, and as boyſtrous in toſſing all thy cloaths in a rude heap together; with which bundle filling thine Arms, ſtep bravely forth, crying, Room, What a coyl keep you about the Fire? The more are ſet round about it, the more is thy commendation, if thou either bluntly rideſt over their ſhoulders, or tumbleſt aſide their Stools, to creep into the Chimney-corner: there toaſt thy body till thy ſchorched ſhins be ſpeckled all over, being ſtained with more Colours than are to be ſeen on the right ſide of the Rainbow.

Neither ſhall it be fit for the ſtate of thy health to put on thy Apparel, till by fitting in that hothouſe of the Chimney, thou feeleſt the fat Dew of thy body (like biſting) run trickling down thy ſides; for by that means thou may'ſt lawfully boaſt, That thou liveſt by the ſweat of thy brows.

As for thy ſtockings and ſhooes, ſo wear them, that all men may point at thee, and make thee famous by that glorious name of Male-content.

Having thus apparelled thee from Top to Toe, according to that ſimple Faſhion which the greateſt Coxcombs in Europe ſtrive to imitate; it is now high time for me to have a blow at thy head; wch I will not cut off with ſharp Documents, but rather ſet it on faſter, beſtowing upon it ſuch excellent carving, that if all the Wiſemen of Gotham ſhould lay their Heads together, their Jobber-nowls would not be able to compare with thine.

To maintain therefore that Sconce of thine ſtrongly guarded and in good reparation, let never any Combe faſten his. Teeth there: Let thy Hair grow thick and buſhy like a Foreſt, or ſome Wilderneſs, leſt thoſe ſix-footed Creatures that breed in it, and are Tenants to that Crown-Land of thine, be hunted to death by every baſe, barbarous Barber, and ſo that delicate and tickling pleaſure of ſcratching be utterly taken from thee; for thy Head is a Houſe built for Reaſon to dwell in; and thus is the Tenement framed. The two Eyes are the Glaſs-windows, at which Light diſperſes it ſelf into every Room; having goodly Penthouſes of Hair to overſhade them. As for the Noſe, though ſome (injuriouſly and moſt improperly) make it ſerve for an Indian-Chimney, yet ſurely 'tis rightly a Bridge, two Arches under which are neat Paſſages to convey as well Perfumes to air and ſweeten every Chamber, as to carry away all noiſome Filth that is ſwept out of unclean Corners. The Cherry-lips open like the new-painted Gates of a Lord Majors Houſe, to take in Proviſion. The tongue is a Bell hanging juſt under the middle of the Roof; and leſt it ſhould be rung out too deep (as ſometimes it is when women have a Peal) whereas it was caſt by the firſt Founder only to tole ſoftly; there are two Rows of Ivory Pegs (like Pales) to keep it in. The Ears are two Muſick-rooms, into which, as well good ſounds as bad deſcend down two narrow pair of Stairs, that for all the world have crooked windings like thoſe that did lead to the top of Pauls-Steeple, when ſtanding before that General Conflagration: And becauſe when the Tunes are once got in, they ſhould not too quickly ſlip out, all the walls of both places are plaiſtered with yellow Wax round about them. Now as the faireſt Lodging, though it be furniſhed with Walls, Chimneys, Chambers, and all other parts of Architecture; yet if the Sieling be wanting, it ſtands ſubject to Rain, and ſo conſequently to Ruine: So would this goodly Palace which we have modelled out unto you, be but a cold and bald habitation, were not the top of it rarely covered. Nature therefore hath plaid the Tyler, and given it a moſt curious Covering, or (to ſpeak more properly) ſhe hath thatched it all over, and that thatching is Hiir: if then thou deſireſt to reſerve that Fee-ſimple of Wit (thy Head) for Thee and the lawful Heirs of thy Body, let thy Hair receive his full growth, that thou may 'ſt ſafely and wiſely brag 'tis thine own Buſh natural. And withal conſider, that as thoſe ſnowy Fleeces which the naked Bryar ſteals from the innocent nibbling ſheep, to make him a warm Winter-livery, is to it an excellent Ornament; ſo make thou account that to have Feathers ſticking here and there on thy Head will embelliſh and ſet thy Crown out rarely. None dare upbraid thee, that like a Beggar thou haſt lain on the Straw, or like a travelling Pedler on muſty flocks: for thoſe Feathers will riſe up as. Witneſſes to choak him that ſays ſo, and to prove that thy Bed was of the ſofteſt Down. When your Nobleſt Gallants conſecrate their Hours to their Miſtreſſes, and to Revelling, they wear Feathers then chiefly in their Hats, being one of the faireſt Enſignes of their Bravery: But be thou a Reveller or Miſtreſs-ſerver all the Year long, by wearing Feathers in thy Hair, whoſe length before the rigorous edge of any Puritanical pair of scizzars ſhould ſhorten the bredth of a finger, let the three Huſwively Spinſters of Deſtiny rather curtal the thred of thy life. Oh no! Long Hair is the only Net that Women ſpread abroad to entrap men in: And why ſhould not men be as far above Women in that Commodity, as they go beyond men in others? The Merry Greeks were called 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 , Longhaired. Looſe not thou (being an honeſt Trojan) that Honor, ſeeing it will more fairly become thee. Graſs is the Hair of the earth, which ſo long as it is ſuffered to grow, it carries a moſt excellent Colour; but when the Sun-burnt Clown makes his Mowes at it, and (like a Barber) ſhaves it off to the ſtumps, it withers, and is good for nothing, but to be truſt, up and thrown among the Jades. How ugly is a blad-Pate? it looks like a Face wanting a Noſe, or like ground eaten bare with the Arrows of Archers, Whereas a Head all hid in Hair gives even to the moſt deformed Face a ſweet Complexion, and looks like a Meadow newly married to the Spring: which beauty in Chriſtians the Turks envying, they no ſooner lay hold on one, but the firſt Mark they ſet upon him to make him know that he is a Slave, is to ſhave off all his Hair cloſe to his Skull. A Mahumetical cruelty therefore it is, to ſtuff Balls with that which when it is once loſt, all the hare-ſhooters in the world may ſweat their Hearts out, and yet hardly catch it again. Long Hair will make thee look dreadfully to thine Enemies, and manly • o thy Friends: It is in Peace an Ornament, in War a ſtrong Helmet; it blunts the edge of a Sword, and deads the leaden thump of a Bullet. In Winter it is a warm Night-cap, in Summer a cooling Fan of Feathers.

CHAP. IV.

Inſtructions how a young Gallant ſhould behave, himſelf at an Ordinary.

FIrſt, Diligently having enquired out an Ordinary of th • the largeſt reckoning, whither mo •• of your Gallants do reſort; let 〈◊〉 be your uſe to repair thither about half an hour after Eleven, for then you ſhall find moſt of your Faſhion-Mongers planted in the Room waiting for Meat.

Being arrived in the Room, Salute not any but thoſe of your own Acquaintance: walk up and down as ſcornfully and as careleſly as a Gentleman-Uſher. Select ſome friend, having firſt thrown off your Cloak, to walk up and down the Room with you; let him be Suited, if you can, worſe by far than your ſelf; for by this means he will publiſh you better than a Tennis-Court or a Play • ouſe. Diſcourſe as much as you can, no matter to how little purpoſe: if you but make a noiſe, and laugh in Faſhion, and have a good •• im Face to promiſe quarrelling, you ſhall be much obſerved.

If you be a Souldier, and have had any Command, talk how often you have been in ſuch an Action • as in all the Three Laſt Dutch- • ights; and that you fought ſo ſtoutly, that you were fain to ſhift your Ship twice; and that when the Captain of your Ship was killed (being then but Lieutenant) you fought three hours with Trump, and forced him to take his old courſe when worſted, to ſwim like a Water-rat; and that His His Grace the Duke of Monmou •• having heard of your Service in th • Fleet (then cry, But no matter Sirs, a man ought not to ſpeak fort his own praiſe; upon which the Company will conclude you ſpea • truth) he begged of the Prince that he might have you with him at the taking of Maeſtricht, and that the next man that entered after his good Grace, was you ſelf; and though you ſay it and ſhould not ſay it, you were he that countermined all their Mines; and that for ought you know, had you not been there, the buſine •• had never been effected. And if you perceive that the untravelled Company take this down well, ply them with more ſuch Stuff; as how you, as ſimple a Fellow as you ſeem to be, have In ••• preted between the French King and the Emperour; and that will be an •• cellent way to publiſh your Lan • uages, if you have them; if not, • et ſome fragments of French, or • hall parcels of Italian to fling a • out the Table: but beware how • ou ſpeak any Latin there; your Ordinaries moſt commonly have no more to do with Latin, than a deſperate Town or Garriſon hath.

If you be a Courtier, diſcourſe of the obtaining Suits, of your Miſtreſſes favours: Make inquiry if any Gentleman at the Board have any Suit to get, which he would uſe the good means of a Great Mans intereſt with the King; and withal (if you have not ſo much Grace left in you as to • luſh) that you are (thanks to your Stars) in mighty Credit, though in your own Conſcience you know that you dare not (but only upon the Priviledge of handſome Cloaths) preſume to peep within the Court-gates; yea, a •• rather than your tongue ſhould n •• be heard in the room, diſcourſe ho • often this Lady hath ſent h •• Coach for you, and how often yo • have ſweat in the Tennis-Court with that Great Lord or Duke.

If you be a Poet, and come into the Ordinary (though it can be no great Glory to be an ordinary Poet) Order your ſelf thus: Obſerve no man, though the Poet Laureat ſhould be there himſelf. Put not off your Hat to that Gentleman to day at Dinner, to whom not two Nights ago you were beholden for a Supper; but after a turn or two in the Room, take occaſion (pulling out your Gloves) to have ſome Epigram or Satyr faſtened in one of them, that may (as it were againſt your conſent) offer it ſelf to the Gentlemen: they will preſently deſire it; but without mighty Conjuration from them do not read it: Marry, if you chance to get into your hands any witty thing of another mans that is ſomething better, I would counſel you then, if demand be made who compoſed it; you may ſay a very Learned Gentleman, and a worthy Friend; and this ſeeming to lay it on another man, will be counted modeſty in you, or a ſigne that you are not ambitious of praiſe, or elſe that you dare not take it upon you for fear of the ſharpneſs it carries with it: beſides it will add much to your Fame, to let your Tongue walk faſter than your Teeth, though you be never ſo hungry; and rather than you ſhould ſit like a dumb Coxcomb, to repeat by heart either ſome Verſes of your own, or any other mans, ſtretching even very good Lines upon the rack of Cenſure, though it be againſt Law, Honeſty or Conſcience, it may chance ſave you the price of your Ordinary. Marry, I would further intreat our Poet to be in League with the Miſtreſs of the Ordinary; becauſe from her, upon condition that he will but Rime Knights and Gentlemen to her Houſe, he may eaſily make up his Mouth at her coſt gratis.

Thus much for particular men: but in general, let all that are in Ordinary-pay, march after the ſound of theſe Directions. Before the meat come ſmoaking to the Board, our Gallant muſt draw out his Tobacco-Pox, the Ladle for the cold Snuff into the Noſtril, the Tongues and Stopper: all which Artillery, may be of Gold or Silver (if he can reach to the price of it) it will be a reaſonable uſeful Pawn at all times, when the Current of his Money falls out to run low.

When you are ſet down to Dinner, you muſt eat as impudently as can be. When your Knight is upon the ſtewed Mutton, be you preſently in the boſom of the Gooſe; when your Juſtice of Peace is Inuckle-deep in the Gooſe, you may without diſparagement fall very manfully to your Woodeocks. You may riſe in Dinner-time to aſk for a Cloſe-ſtool, proteſting to all the Gentlemen, that it coſts you an hundred pounds per Annum for Phyſick, beſides the Annual Penſion which your wife allows her Doctor. And if you pleaſe, you may invite ſome ſpecial Friend of yours from the Table, to hold Diſcourſe with you as you fit in that withdrawing Chamber; from whence being returned again to the Board, you ſhall ſharpen the wits of all the eating Gallants about you, and do them great pleaſure, to aſk what Pamphlets or Poems a man might think fitteſt to wipe his Tail with: And in propounding this Queſtion, you may abuſe the Works of any man, deprave his Writings that you cannot equal, and purchaſe to your ſelf in time the name of a ſevere Critick.

After Dinner, every man as his buſineſs leads him, ſome to Dice, ſome to Plays, ſome to take up Friends in the Court, ſome to take up mony in the City. And thus as the People is ſaid to be a Beaſt of many heads (yet all thoſe heads like Hydra's) overgrowing as various in their horns, as wondrous in their budding and branching; ſo in an Ordinary you ſhall find the variety of a whole Kingdom in a few Apes of the Nation

You muſt not ſwear in your Dicing, for that argues a violent impatience to depart from your money, and in time will betray a mans need; take heed of it. No, if you be at Hazard or Put, you ſhall ſit as patiently (though you loſe half a years exhibition) as a diſarmed Gentleman does when he is in the unmerciful hands of Serjeants. Yet I will allow you to ſwear privately, and tear ſix or ſeven ſcore pair of Cards, be the damnation of ſome dozen bail of vice, and forſwear Play a thouſand times in an hour, but not ſwear.

At your Twelve Penny Ordinary you may give any young Knight (if he be but one degree towards the Equinoctial of the ſalt • ellar) leave to pay for the wine; • nd he ſhall not refuſe it, though it • e but a week before the receiving of his Quarters Rent, which is a time albeit of good hope, yet of preſent neceſſity.

There is another Ordinary, to which your London-Ʋſurer, your ſtale Batchelor, and your thrifty Attorney do reſort; the price three pence: the Rooms as full as a Goal, and indeed divided into ſeveral Wards, like the beds of an Hoſpital. The Complement between theſe is not much, the • words few; for the Belly hath 〈◊〉 Ears: every mans eye here is upon the other mans Trencher, to not • whether his fellow lurch him o • no. If they chance to Diſcourſe 'tis of nothing but of Statutes Bonds, Recognizances, Fines, Recoveries, Rents, Subſidies, Incloſures, Indictments, Outlaries Feoffments, Judgments, Commiſſions, Banckrouts, Amercements and ſuch like horrible matter. can finde nothing in this Ordinary worthy the ſitting down for; therefore the Cloth ſhall be taken away; and thoſe that are thought good enough to be Gueſts here, ſhall be too baſe to be waiters at our Grand Ordinary, at which your Gallant taſtes theſe Commodities; he ſhall fare well, enjoy good Company, receive all the News e're the Poſt can deliver his Packet, Proclaim his good Cloaths, know this man to drink well, that to •• ed ſtoutly; he ſhall, if he be minded to Travel, put out mony upon his Return, and have hands enough to receive it upon any terms of repayment: and no Queſtion, if he be poor, he ſhall now and then light upon ſome Gull or other, whom he may bubble (after the Gentile Faſhion) of money. By this time the parings of Fruit and Cheeſe are in the Voyder, Cards and Dice lie ſtinking in the fire; ſome are gone to one Theatre, ſome to the other. Let us take a pair of Oars for Dorſet-ſtairs, and ſo in to the Theatre after them as faſt as we can.

CHAP. V.

Inſtructions for a young Gallant how to behave himſelf in the Play-houſe.

THe Theatre is your Poets Royal Exchange, upon which their Muſes (that are now turned to Merchants) meeting, barter away that light Commodity of words, for a fighter ware than words, Plandities, and the breath of the great Beaſt, which (like the threatnings of two Cowards) vaniſh into Air.

The Play-houſe is free for entertainment, allowing Room as well to the Farmers Son as to a Templer; yet it is not fit that he whom the moſt Taylors bills make room for when he comes ſhould be baſely like a Viol, caſed up in a corner: Therefore, I ſay, let our Gallant (having paid his half Crown, and given the Door-keeper his Ticket) preſently advance himſelf into the middle of the Pit, where having made his Honor to the reſt of the Company, but eſpecially to the Vizard-Maſks, let him pull out his Comb, and manage his flaxen Wig with all the Grace he can. Having ſo done, the next ſtep is to give a hum to the China-Orange-wench, and give her her own rate for her Oranges (for 'tis below a Gentleman to ſtand haggling like a Citizens wife) and then to preſent the faireſt to the next Vizard-mask. And that I may incourage our Gallant not like the Trades-man to ſave a ſhilling, and ſo ſit but in the Middle-Gallery, let him but conſider what large comings-in are purſed up ſitting in the Pit.

1. Firſt, A conſpicuous Emi • ence is gotten, by which means the beſt and moſt eſſential parts of a Gentleman, as his fine Cloaths and Perruke, are perfectly revealed.

2. By ſitting in the Pit, if you be a Knight, you may happily get you a Miſtreſs; which if you would, I adviſe you never to be abſent when Epſome Wells is plaid: for, We ſee the Wells have Empreſs of Moracco in the Protegue. ſtoln the Vizardmasks away.

But if you be but a meer Fleetſtreet Gentleman, a Wife: but aſſure your ſelf, by your continual reſidence there, you are the firſt and principal man in election to begin the number of We three.

It ſhall Crown you with rich Commendation, to laugh aloud in the midſt of the moſt ſerious and ſudden Scene of the terribleſt Tragedy, and to let the Clapper (your Tongue) be toſſed ſo high, that all the Houſe may ring of it: for by talking and laughing, you heap Pelion upon Oſſa, Glory upon Glory: as firſt, all the eyes in the Galleries will leave walking after th • Players, and only follow you: th • moſt Pedantick Perſon in the Houſe ſnatches up your name; an • when he meets you in the Streets, he'l ſay, He is ſuch a Gallant; and the people admire you.

Secondly, You publiſh your temperance to the world, in that you ſeem not to reſort thither to taſte vain Pleaſures with an hungry Appetite; but only as a Gentleman to ſpend a fooliſh hour or two, becauſe you can do nothing elſe.

Now Sir, if the Poet be a fellow that hath Lampoon'd or libelled you, or hath had a flirt at your Miſtreſs, you ſhall diſgrace him worſe than toſſing him in a Blanket, or giving him the Baſtinado in a Tavern, if in the middle of the Play you ariſe with a ſkrew'd and diſcontented face (as if you • ad the griping in the Guts) and • e gone; and further to vex • im, mew at paſſionate Speeches, • lare at merry, find fault with the Muſick, whiſtle at the Songs, and above all, curſe the Sharers, that whereas the very ſame day you had beſtowed five pounds for an embroidered Belt, you encounter with the very ſame on the Stage, when the Belt-maker ſwore the impreſſion was new but that morning.

To conclude, hoard up the fineſt Play-ſcraps you can get, upon which your lean Wit may moſt ſavourly feed for want of other ſtuff; for this is only Furniture for a Courtier that is but a new Beginner, and is but in his A B C of Complement. The next places that are filled after the Playhouſes be emptied, are Taverns. Into a Tavern let us then march, where the Brains of one Hogſhead muſt be beaten out to make up another.

CHAP. VI.

Inſtructions how a young Gallant ſhould behave himſelf in a Tavern.

WHoſoever deſires to be accounted a well-wiſher to the Publike, whether he be a Country-Gentleman that brings his wife up to learn the Faſhions, ſee the Tombs at Weſtminſter, the Lyons in the Tower, or take Phyſick; or elſe is ſome young Farmer, who many times makes his wife (in the Country) believe he hath Suites in Law, becauſe he will come up to his Letchery; be he of what ſtamp he will that hath mony in his Purſe, and a good Conſcience to ſpend it, my counſel is, that he take his continual Diet at a Tavern, which is the only Rendezvouz of boon Company, and the Drawers the moſt nimble, the moſt bold, and moſt ſudden Proclaimers of your largeſt Bounty.

Having put your ſelf into an Equipage, your office is to enquire out thoſe Taverns which are beſt cuſtomed, whoſe Maſters are oftneſt drunk; and ſuch as ſtand fartheſt from the Counters; where landing your ſelf and your followers, your firſt Complement ſhall be, to grow moſt inwardly acquainted with the Drawers, to learn their names, as Jack and Will, and Tom; to dive into their Inclinations, as, whether this fellow uſeth the Fencing-School, this the Dancing-School; whether that young Conjurer (in Hogſheads) at Midnight keeps a Gelding now and then to viſit his Cockatrice; or whether he loves Dogs, or be ad • cted to any other eminent and Gentleman-like quality; and pro • eſt your ſelf to be extremely in • ove, and that you ſpend much • ony in a year upon any of thoſe • xerciſes, which you perceive is •• llowed by them. The uſe which • ou ſhould make of this familiari • y, is this; if you want mony five 〈◊〉 ſix days together, you may ſtill • ay the Reckoning with this moſt Gentleman-like Language, Boy •• ch me mony from the Bar. Be •• des, you ſhall be ſure (if there be • ne Fawcet that can betray neat • une to the Bar) to have that ar • igned before you ſooner than better and a worthier Perſon.

For your Drink, let not your Phyſitian confine you to any one particular Liquor: for as it is very equiſite that a Gentleman ſhould • ot always be plodding in one Art, but rather be a general Scholar (that is, to have a lick at all ſorts of Learning, and away) ſo 'tis not fitting a man ſhould trouble his head with ſucking at one Grape.

Your Diſcourſe at the Table muſt be ſuch, as that which you utter at an Ordinary; your Behaviour the ſame, but ſomewhat more careleſly: for where your Expence is great, let your modeſty beleſs; and though you ſhould he mad in a Tavern, the largeneſs of the Items will bear with your incivility; you may without prick to your Conſcience ſet the want of your Wit againſt the ſuperfluity of their Reckonings. Again, inquire what Gallants ſup in the next Room; and if there be any of your Acquaintance, do not you (after the City-faſhion) ſend them in a Bottle of Wine, and your name ſweetned in two pitiful papers of Sugar, with ſome ſimple Apology cram'd in the mouth of a Drawer: No, no, that's below a Gentleman; nor when the terrible Reckoning (like an Indictment) bids you hold up your hand, and that you muſt anſwer it at the Bar, you muſt not abate one penny in any particular, but only caſt your eye upon the Totalis, and no further: for to traverſe the Bill, would letray you to be acquainted with the rates of the Market; nay more, it would make the Vintner believe you were Familias, and kept a Houſe, which I will aſſure you is • ot now in faſhion.

At your departure forth of the Houſe, to kiſs mine Hoſteſs over the Bar, or to accept of the courteſie of the Cellar, or to bid any of the Vintners good night, is as commendable as for a Barber after ming to lave your face with Roſewatet, &c.

CHAP. VII.

Inſtructions for a young Gallant how to behave himſelf paſſing through the City at all hours of the night, and how to paſs by any Watch.

AFter the ſound of Bottles is out of your Ears, and that the ſpirit of Wine and Tobacco walks in your Brain, the Taverndoor being ſhut upon your back, paſs through the wide and high ſtreets in the City; and if your means cannot reach to the keeping of a Boy, hire one of the Drawers to be as a Lanthorn unto your feet, and to light you home; and ſtill as you approach near any Night-walker, that is up as late as your ſelf, curſe and ſwear (like one that ſpeaks High-Dutch) in a lofty voice, becauſe your man hath uſed you ſo like a Raskal in not waiting upon you; and vow the next morning to pull his blew Livery over his ears; though if your Chamber were well ſearched, you give only 6 d. a week to ſome old woman to make your Bed, and that ſhe is all the Servant that you give wages to. If you ſmell a Watch (and that you may eaſily do, for commonly they eat Onions to keep themſelves in ſleeping, which they account a Medicine againſt the cold) and you come within danger of their brown Bills, let him that is your Candleſtick, let Ignis fatuus, I ſay, being within reach of the Conſtablesſtaff, ask aloud, Sir Giles, or Sir Abram, will you turn this way, or down that Street? And if the Centinel and his Court of Guard ſtand ſtrictly upon his Martial Law, and cry Stand, commanding you to give the Word, and to ſhew reaſon why your Ghoſt walks ſo late; do it in ſome jeſt: or if you read a Mittimus in the Conſtables Book, counterfeit your ſelf to be a French-man, a Dutchman, or any other Nation whoſe Country is at peace with your own; and you may paſs: for being not able to underſtand you, they cannot by the Cuſtom of the City take your examination, and ſo by conſequence they have nothing to ſay to you.

All the way as you paſs (eſpecially being approacht near ſome of the Gates) talk of none but Lords or ſuch Ladies with whom you have plaid at Cribbidge and Poſt and Pair, the very ſame day: and being arrived at your Lodgingdoor, which I would counſel you to chooſe in ſome rich Citizens houſe, ſalute no man at parting but by the name of Sir (as though you had ſupped with Knights) although you had none in your company but Foot-boys.

Happily it will be blown abroad that you and your ſhole of Gallants ſwam through ſuch an Ocean of Wine, that you danced ſo much money out at heels, and that in wild-fowl there flew away ſo much; and have your Bill of your Reckoning loſt on purpoſe, ſo that it may be publiſhed, will make you to be held in dear eſtimation: only the danger is, if that your revelling gets your Creditors by the ears, for then look to have a peal of Ordnance thundering at your Chamber-door the next morning: but if either your Taylor, Mercer, Habberdaſher, Silk-man, Linnendraper, or Sempſter, ſtand like a Guard of Switzers about your Lodging, waiting your up-riſing; or if they miſs of that, your downlying in one of the Counters, you have no means to avoid the galling of their ſmall ſhot, but by ſending out a Light-Horſe-man, to call your Apothecary to your aid, who encountring this deſperate band of your Creditors, only with two or three Glaſſes in his hands, as though that day you purged, is able to drive them all to their holes like ſo many Foxes: for the name of taking Phyſick is a ſufficient Quietus eſt to any endangered Gentleman.

I could now breath you in a Fencing-School, and out of that Cudgel you into a Dancing-School; and to cloſe up this Feaſt, I could make Cockneys whoſe Fathers have left them well, acknowledge themſelves infinitely beholding to me, to teaching them by familiar demonſtration how to ſpend their Patrimony, and to get themſelves names when their Fathers are dead: But leſt too many Diſhes ſhould caſt you into a ſurfet, I will now take away; yet ſo, that if I perceive you to reliſh this well, the reſt ſhall be in time prepared for you. Farewel.

THE CHARACTER OF A Proud, Huffing, Self-conceited, Foppiſh and Laſcivious YOUNG GALLANT.

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

THE CHARACTER OF A True, Noble, Liberal, AND STAYED GENTLEMAN.

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

And thus I have given you the Character of the Fop, and a true well-bread Gentleman; the Life and Converſation of the former, being by all perſons that have any Reaſon left to be ſhunned; the Actions, and Life of the later to be embraced and cheriſhed.

FINIS.