CHAP. I.

AFter his first Ramble—] First, and not first—for even before this, I Rambled from the Beginning of the World, if not a great deal sooner. The Essences of things are eternal, as the Learned say, and my first Ramble was indeed out of Essence into Existence, from a Being in my Causes, into actual Being.

But not to mount the Argument above my Readers Head, lest I should crack both that and my own—Let it suffice, that my Soul for ought I know, has been Rambling the best part of this 6000 Years, if those are in the right on't who hold the Praeexistence, and that all Souls were made at once.

However—for my Body, I can make Affi­davit on't—that 't has been Rambling so long and so far before my Soul stumbled upon't, that I lose the Track, and can go no further. All matter is in motion, and therefore perpetu­ally chang'd and alter'd—now in how many shapes that little handful which makes up my Souls Luggage, has been formerly dress'd, I'll promise you, I'll not undertake to tell ye.

As great a Coward as I am, there may have gone I know n't how many perticles of a Lyon into my Composition, and as small as my Body is, my great Grandfather might be made out of a Whale or [Page 28] an Elephant. You remember the Story of the Dog that kill'd the Cat, that eat the Rat,— for I love to Illustrate Philosophical Problems, with com­mon Instances for the use of the less knowing part of the World,—why just so here. To prove, I may have a piece of a Roaring Lyon rambled into me,—How can any man alive prove but as long ago as the Holy War, some or other of my Ancestors waited on K. Richard into Pa­lestine, and was there with him when he killed the Lyon. This Gentleman might have a Dog,—this Dog being hungry, might fall a tearing the Guts of this Lyon, some of whose Body must pass into the Dogs, as well as other only thro' it. This Dog might come home with the Gentle­man agen, and at length coming to some untime­ly end, his Noble Carcass lye rotting in the Fields—which very place being fatned with his corrupted Carcass, might produce some Tuffs of larger Grass than ordinary, wherein undoubtedly wou'd be included some Particles of the poor de­ceased Creature,—which Particles might very easily be devour'd by some fat Ox, or Weather gra­zing there, allured by the length and beauty of the grass, and so become part of this Sheep or Oxe,—and they agen, being brought to the Spacious Table of some of my Worthy Ancestors, might Communicate the same Subtile parts of the Grass, the Sheep, the Oxe, the Dog, the Lyon to their Tre [...]chers, thence to their Mouth, Sto­mach, Blood,—and in two removes more, to their Son and Heir, so from Generation, to Generation, till at last, all center'd in the Lyon—like Evander.— This I say may be, and Graver folks than he have made a huge splutter with such a kind of business;—but I am apt to think (between [Page 29] Friends) if there be any thing in't, that most of the Lyoness Particles rambled somewhere else, to another Branch of the Family; and that more of the Sheep, the gentle Lamb, or such harmless in­nocent Creatures Rambled into my Composition; for though I find enough of the Lyon in my Soul, yet this Treacherous Body will quake and tremble at the approach of Danger: And I find a strong Inclination to bleat for Succour,—tho' still all that know me, know the very Character I give my self, is, (and I shou'd be best acquainted sure with my own self,) That I ne're saw fear, but [...]i [...] the Face of an Enemy. I cou'd as easily prove one Leg of me may have Rambled out of a Whale, and a piece of my left Hip from the Shoulder-blade of an Elephant,—for might not some of my Grandfathers be left in Greenland (we have been Travellers of old) and there forc'd to eat Whale­sritters, or not to go so far; who knows but af­ter the Elephant was burnt in the Booth (I tell no lyes, every body knows this is true) the Dirt and Rubbish might be thrown out in the Fields, where Pease might be afterwards Sown, and so a piece of the Elephant brought home to Evanders Table, in a Dish of Green-Pease. Now all the dif­ficulty here will be, whether or no I use to eat Green-Pease;— but for the Truth of this, I Appeal to Stocks-Market, and all the Neighbours.

And so I'm got home agen,— but must immedi­ately take a Journey to Graffham, my well-be­loved Town of Graffham, and find my self in my Mothers Belly,— just Rambled out of nothing, or next to't, nôthing like what I am now, into a little live thing, hardly as big as a Nit. Should I tell you, as the virtuosi do, that I was shaped at first like a Todpole, and that I remember very [Page 30] well, when my Tail Rambled off, and a pair of little Legs sprung out in the room on't: Nay, shou'd I protest I pulled out my Note-book, and slap-dash'd it down the very minute after it hap­pen'd,—let me see,—so many Days, Hours, and seconds after Conception, yet this Infidel World wou'd hardly believe me; and therefore I'll Advance nothing but what carries Demonstrati­on in the Teeth on't, and will make them believe in spight of their Noses:—I say then, that as soon as my Mother quicken'd, I began to Ramble with a witness,—were she alive she'd swear it,—however, not to trouble the World with a com­pany of not very sweet Depositions, to that pur­pose (for be it known I'm no Prince of Wales) 'tis an infallible mark that I was alive, because I am so—and am ready to enter the Lists with any who shall Dispute to the contrary. But there did I keep such a [...]ossing and tumbling, frisking and Ram­bling, and shifting a-sides, and turning about from one place to t'other, that after nine Months, my Mother cou'd endure it no longer, but out she turns me, and abroad I Rambled into the wide World.

CHAP. II.

NOW here am I most abominably puzled, and if my freedom lay upon't, could not for my Blood resolve what to do. I had, to confess the Truth, prepar'd a great many sparkling notions, plea­sant Fancies, nea [...] Thoughts, and whole Bushels of Flowers to welcom my coming into the World.

I had Collected many a fine passage, and well-turned Period, as concerning Life, and all the Conveniences, Inconveniences, Pleasure and Pain on't, which could not have fail'd of Ministring abundant Diversion and Profit to the well-disposed Reader.— But how to lug it in,—ay, there's all the Craft,—what's a Man the better for having—two Hogsheads at the Door; For look ye now, and do but consider my case,—I could cry I'm so pull'd and tormented—to talk of Life; and all those pretty things that I intended,—how I lookt abroad when I first saw the Light, found the B [...]bby, and all that (but first the Brandy-bottle) by the Light of Nature, and laugh­ed in my Nurses Face: I say, to talk of this when one was Dead-born, looks a little like a Figure in Rhetorick called Nonsence,— and yet where to stick it in, if I [...]lip this Opportunity, I can't [Page 32] for my Life imagin: The Poet 'tis true has done both, and by a pretty Oximoron, expressed my Sence extreamly well:—When he first came to Life, was as dead as a Herring; but then he fastens that too with what goes before,—he was only so—to all outward appearing,—and that we know is fallacious;—but alas we Prose Au­thors are ty'd up more strictly, and must write with greater Gravity, and clearer Consistency, or else Envy will be presently upon our Bones.—Ha, I have found the way,—I have it—I won't take Ten pound for my Thought; Mark—ye me, Mr. Reader, I'll suppose I was born alive—for you know a Man may suppose what he will;—I may suppose my self a Conjurer, or you a Rhi­noceros: And upon that supposal, I can most handsomly and expeditiously drive in all the Ram­bling thoughts I had a mind to,—supposing then, that I liv'd two or three hours after I was Dead-born, and then dy'd agen.

O Life! Life! What a whim thou art? Thou art a perfect Evander,— no body knows what to make of thee;—Thou art one tedious Ramble from nothing to something, tho' that something is next to nothing—Life is a troubled, troublesom, and tempestuous Sea, a meer Irish Ocean, we take Shipping at our Birth, with tears we Sail over it; with Care, Fear, Sorrow, Hope, (some­times worse than all the other three,) the Whirlwinds that blow us thro' it, and at last with Sighs and Groans, we land at the Port of Death. Life is no better than the Drudge of Fate, and seems only sent into the World, to keep Death in Employment, and twist threds for the fatal Sisters, that they many n't want work to cut 'em off agen. That Rattle which Children cry for, and Men despise, which no Man but's fond of (such Children we are) and yet scarce [Page 33] any but has wished to be rid on't. How often have I thought on the Advice of the Indians to their New-born Children: Infant! Thou comest into the World to suffer! Suffer and hold thy peace: How often with a sad Melancholy pleasure have I reflected on that Ingenious Poem, I have somewhere seen on this Subject.

Now the Reader will think me a meer T [...]ravian, thus to Celebrate my own Nativity with Tears.—But I cannot avoid it,—when e're I reflect what a nasty World I then came into, how crowded with Fools and Knaves; how much pain for a lit­tle tast of what we can [...]—How the greatest part on't is an arrant cheat, and a mis­chievous one besides,—how little a while we ge­nerally [Page 35] stay in [...]t, and yet how unfit to go out on't;— all these Reflections are now so strongly imprint­ed on my mind, that indeed I wonder how I could be perswaded to come abroad into Light; and had not the innate Sympathetical Love I had for Rambling even before I know what either that or my self was, toll'd me on; I might possibly have staid as long in my Mother's Lodgings, as the Physitians tell us the Child of a certain French Woman did, who went sixteen years before she was Delivered.

Yet all this Whineing, Whimpering, and hang­ing an,—will do no good,—turn out I must; and abroad I Rambled on the 4th. day of May, A. D. 1659. Then, then was the time, when the good Women brought my Father the joyful News of a Son and Heir, after he had for five years de­spaired of them both.

The Reader won't be so unconscionable sure, to think I should give him an account what plea­sant sparkling Discourse pass'd among the Gossips and Midwi [...]e,— how they read my Fortunes, and gave their Judgments: How the Burnt-Claret Rambled about, and the poor groaning Cheese, Gam­mons of Bacon, and Neats [...]Fongue suffered for't—no,—that I cant, nor won't do, for two Rea­sons.

First, Because [...]were below the gravity of such a Discourse.

Secondly, Because they made such a hideous noise, I could not tell a word they said.

Thirdly, Because I had not my Pen and Ink about me, to take Notes (for I don't find i' the Register, that I was born with one in my Hand; though as you have been cold already, I think I've had one there almost ever since) and I [...]are not [Page 36] burden my Memory with so many passages, or write what I am n't assured of its Truth: But to omit six or seven and twenty Reasons between for Brevities sake; One and thirtiethly, beloved, be­cause I was dead born, and can't remember one word on't to save my Life.

And what hurt would it be, while in this Con­dition, if I entertain the Reader with a doleful Ditty or two on this my sudden departure before ever I came hither.

Humh! this Poetry and Flattery are inseparable, but Reader, there must be grains of allowance,—you must consider if I am called a Cherubim or Seraphim, he only means a mortal one, besides I had then never had the Small-Pox, which, you know, makes a considerable difference both in Beauty of Men and Women; and moreover, Age makes such odds in the same Face, that you'd swear it did not belong to the same person;—for in your thoughts now to compare the little muling Infant of an hour Old, and a span Long, little enough to be put every scrap of me into a Quart-pot, as I really then was: To compare that little Evander, and this great Evander, now the Cares of the World, Travel and Age has alter'd him, and he looks not so Cherubinically as he did then; you'd hardly believe He was he, and I my self am ready to cry out, when I look in the Glass and these Verses together, as Hellen did,—Ego non sum Ego. But there was an Epitaph made more merry, and less partial, only the two last Verses seem added by some latter Hand, or else the Poet had the gift of Prophesie;—they are these.

[Page 38] Well, methinks I have bin dead an unreasonable while,— strike up Fidler, as in Rehearsal, for I can lye no—longer,—away Rambles my Nurse good Woman, Father and all to a certain Quackess in the next Parish.

Yea,—I say in a Coach, for by Mr. Poets leave, a Cart was neither Handy nor Seemly,— I leave that for him, if there's occasion,—and so there's bob for bob,— not but that I honour and love the Gentleman with all my Heart;—but one good turn requires another,—hang him that won't be merry with his Friend, and such as give Joques, must take them:—So—I have Rambled out of the way my self, and almost lost Cart and Coach too.

So ho!—Coachman—stop and take up one of the Company,—well overtaken, now I'm in agen,—and away they carryed me as I was saying to the Learned old Woman at the next Pa­rish, who claps her Bottle to my little muzzle; had I bin alive, I could nere ha' forgot how warm t'was with carrying it in her under-pocket, very near her painful Haunches; but to let that pass, it did the feat. I came peeping into the World agen, as brisk as a little Minew leaps up at a Fly in a Summers Evening; and soon fall a tugging at my Nurses brown Breasts, as hard as the Coun [...]ry fel­lows do the Bell-ropes on a Holy-day▪ Methinks the sweet smack is hardly yet out of my Lips, and I've a great fancy I cou'd suck still. Sure I have seen somewhat extreamly like my greediness at that time,—O! I have it—just, just by the [Page 39] Tail—upon the Tip of my Tongue, between my Teeth—here 'tis: 'Twas like a horrid gree­dy fellow, I have somewhere seen eating Custards, or plum-porridg, I can't possibly tell which,—he had two Spoons, and large ones,—so on he falls, and lays about him like a Dragon, nor would so much as look, speak, or almost breath—ti [...] finding the Spoons too tedious a way, down he throws, and at it with both Hands—down runs the Custard over his Beard into the Dish, and up agen soon after,—Ay—let them laugh that see it; but he empties the platter, and fills his Belly before you could walk round the Room,—just so did I, and this so often and effectually at my Nurses Fair, Sweet, Snowey Bosom (though as I told you, the Snow lookt of a little dunnish Colour, as if t'had bin—trod upon) that I be­gan to burnish apace, and thrive amain,—and had enough to let out as well as to keep there,—painting Maps in my Clouts almost every hour, of all those Worlds I should afterwards Ramble over.

Next I Rambled into my Chair with Wheels, then into my Leading strings, thence into Breeches, to the extravagant Joy of my trembling But­tocks,—for now I thought my Father must say by your leave Son Evander, when he came to clench his Instructions at the wrong end: And what happened after this, you shall know if you will let me take Breath, and meet you agen at the next Chapter.

CHAP. III.

THis Chapter is like to be kin to the Chapter of the Bull and the Vnicorn in Mahomets Alcoran,—a Ramble from the very Contents, which I won't promise ye you shall meet agen after you have once left them, at least I can assure ye, I find it necessary to expatiate, for as the Fellow said in Quixot, who blew up a Dog like a Blad­der, d'ye think 'tis nothing to write a Book?

I might probably have told you the Entertain­ment my Nurse and I made one another, before I left her Tuition, in the last Chapter—but O! my Mother, O! my dearest Muz! why did you leave me? Why did you go so soon, so very soon away,—Nurses are careless, sad careless Creatures; and alas the young Evander may get a knock in his Cradle if you dye and leave him to shift for himself: Your Death leads me to the House of weeping;— it spoils all my Pastimes, dissipates all my Remains, kills all my Maggots— persecutes me, destroys me, makes a Martyr of me, and sets my very Brains a Rambling agen, as much as my Feet have been:—But what does all this avail,—could I get all the Irish Howlers between Carickfergus, and t'other side of Dublin to hoot and hollow over her Grave, they'd ne­ver bring her to Life agen,— for she was dead.—I forgot all this while to tell you that, forgive [Page 41] Reader the Extravagance of my Grief; which leads my Fancy, and that my Memory along with it, and then Iudgment we know has such a depen­dance upon both, that in plain English, I wish. I don't turn a meer Natural:— I tell you agen she's Dead— what wou'd you have, my Mother is Dead, and worse can't happen unless Iris dye,— but alas—she was then but an Egg—or my Fa­ther,—and he too is since departed. Did the Roman Orator with so many Tears bemoan the Death of his Virtuous Dear Mother, and shall not I, though no Roman, make as long an Orati­on on a Mother, full as Dear, and full as Virtu­ous? But alas! Grief is tedious to any besides those who feel it, who take a pleasure even in thus tormenting themselves. Not therefore to acquaint the Reader with her Trances, Exta­sies, and wondrous Visions in the other World, where she took Lodgings for three days, and then out of tenderness, Rambled back again to see me her Dear Evander. (The very thought of which—does yet—well,—but I'm a Man) which is sufficiently known to be true by all those that knew her:

Not, I say to force any thing on a Mans be­lief, which he himself has n't an inclination to Swallow, I'll only tell you in brief, that my Dear Mother Sicken'd and dy'd, and came to Life agen, just as they were putting her into the Coffin to bury her; and Lives a fortnight, and then sicken and dy'd agen, and was bury'd in good earnest, and almost broke my Heart, and my Fathers, tho' little wretch as I was, I hardly then knew my loss, nor does the World yet know it; but it shall if I can, do it.—She was born,—I won't tell you where, for I'm ill-natured with [Page 42] my Sorrows: The Daughter of,—I won't tell you who;—for if I prove otherwise than well, there will be a good Family Disgraced:— If you ask what she was, that I'll tell you,—she was a Woman, yet no Woman, but an Angel. I say an arrant Angel, as ever appeared upon this unwor­thy Earth, only she assumed a real lasting Body; and continued in it some thirty or forty years to teach the World Virtue, while other Angels use to make but little stay among us, and then like Astrea, flew home agen, because she found the World Incorrigible.

She was the paragon of Perfection, and Loadstar of all Eyes and Hearts; and well might my Dear Fa­ther Travel seven years after her Death, before he Marryed agen, for had he don't, not seven, nor seventeen, nor seventy, but seven hundred, he'd ne're have lit upon such another.

She was the pattern of Wives, Queen of Mothers, best of Friends, and indeed, as my Father used to say truly of her, had all the Virtues of her Sex in her little Finger;— what had she then think ye all her Body over? To say more than all, she was a very Iris, only a few years older, and well worthy to be the Mother of Evander, were he but as worthy to be her Son.— Nay—but she shan't think to scape without some Poetry on her Death,—No, all my Relations shall know what 'tis to have a Poet kin to 'em.

There are a great many more of 'em, but I don't love to gorge the Reader, whom I rather chuse always to leave with a Relish for his next Meal: I'll only borrow his Patience, and a Friends Wit for an Epitaph, and then let her rest 'till she and I wake together.

In the last Chapter, I had clean forgot to give you the History of the second Globe, which having such a direct aspect on the Body of all the fol­lowing Relation, and the Epitome of my Life, ought by no means to be omitted.

—There you may see, if you'll take the pains but to turn over to the Frontispiece, my old Crone of a Nurse, ay and such a Nurse as I'd not envy Iupiter his she-goat who suckled him, in a kind of Rapture and Prophecy, presenting the Furniture of my future Life— the Tools I was to set up with in the universal Trade of Rambling; a Hobby-Horse, which you'll see will one of these days cast his Tail, and have four Leggs start out in the room on't: A pair of little Boots— yet a great deal too big for my little Leggs—A Staff— for sometimes I paid it on Ten-toes—tho' that has a stronger twang of Sancho than his Master, and is directly against the most sacred Rules of [Page 44] Knight Errantry, and never to be done, unless in a Pilgrimage, or on a Vow never more to be­stride a Horse agen, 'till that of the flaming Gy­ant, Sir Fundermundando's, won in Mortal Bat­tel—as you may read at large in Don Bellia­nis of Greece, or the seven Champions.

—But I don't well understand what comes after—there seems a little malicious sting i' the Tail on't—A Sword too it may be— Why does he think I'll Ramble without a Sword—or does he make a may be on't, whether I shall ever have one of my own?

Now dare I venture a shoulder of Mutton to a penny Commons, that 'twas some Shcollard or other writ these Verses, who finding at the University they had but one Sword belonging to one Colledge, and a pair of Boots between three more, which they ride out with by turns, while the other stay at home in their own defence, concluded strait that things went at the same rate all the World over;— No, Sir Author, as pert as you are, I tell you I have a Sword of my own, and that those may know too who know me—or you either Sir, I'll as­sure ye Sir, for my Friends Cause is my own—and 'tis at your Service, Sir, whenever you please to make use of it.

Being thus provided and equipp'd Cap-a-pe in a Travellers Garb, Pen and Ink i' one Pocket, and Bread and Cheese i' t'other—not in specie—No—Heroes don't use to be mean— but in a parcel of Gray-Groats and Edward Shillings, ty'd up i' the corner of my Handkerchief, my Daddy and I turn'd one side upon Graffham, the place of my Birth, and away we troopt to ano­ther where we had more business—but I war'nt ye I have Wit enough to keep all close, and not [Page 45] let you know what 'twas; this however I care not if I tell you—that the very hopes of Ram­bling, the Prospect of seeing a new Part of the World, or indeed a New World to me, striking upon the strings of my Soul, before wound to the same pitch, made most charming Musick, and had you seen then the young Evander— who now he sets up for Rambling indeed, does a new thing, and gets a Horse-back, is resolv'd to have a New Name too, and henceforth when he thinks fit be call'd KAINOPHILVS; had you but seen what a brisk Air he then put on, how lively and rosie he lookt—how sweet and how charming— well—but I say no more—being I say about to leave my beloved Graffham, I can't but give you and Posterity some account of it, as my fa­mous Predecessor Coriat did of Odcomb, which indeed does strangely agree with the Place of my Nativity—But the Excellencies of it be­ing too large to be contain'd in a corner, or crowded up in a piece of a Chapter, they shall have a whole one to themselves, that immedi­ately following.

CHAP. IV.
The Description of

FRom henceforward Reader, don't expect I shou'd give every distinct Ramble a distinct Chapter, for truly I can't afford it any longer; for the Chapters being heavy things, and the Rambles brisk little airy Creatures, the last run away so fast, and scamper about at such a mad rate, that the first, do what they can, can't keep pace with 'em, being besides a great ma­ny, one still begetting another, and running all different ways from one another.

—O but Graffham—my dear Graffham—I han't forgot thee—No—sooner shall my Toes forget the use of Rambling, my Fingers of Writing, or my Teeth of eating. I am re­solv'd to write thy Memoirs with all the accu­racy possible, both for thy sake and my own—

First and mainly indeed—that after Ages may know where I was born, and what place was first so happy to claim my Nativity, nor leave Graffham, Aston, Chessham, London, Boston, Col [...]n, Amsterdam, and half a hundred Places more a quarreling for me to fifty Generations hence, as the Cities of Greece do for Homer.

Graffham was the Place—but what was this Graffham? I'll tell you if you have Patience, but have a Care of Envy.

[Page 47] The least I can say in its Praise is this—

Several Excellencies there are from whence any Place uses to be commended by Authors, few or none of which but exactly agree to that of my Nativity—and the first of them is—Air—that Dish we feed on every Minute, and that without surfeiting, unless it gets into the Head or Belly; and this Nature has so oblig'd the Town of Graffham with, that she has no need to send for Bottled Air home, nor send her Na­tives [Page 48] abroad to a healthier place than her own, when out of order.

The second thing that doth even nobilitate our little Parish, is their Wooll—Now you know what a splutter formerly there was about this Subject: An honest Fellow had got him a couple of fat Weathers, and to keep 'em safe, secur'd 'em in a Garden, just o' the outside of 's House—but all wou'd n't do, for the Argonauts, a com­pany of Sheep-stealers as they were, having smelt out where they graz'd, seiz'd upon 'em all, and for what Reason or Cause but the ex­cellency of the Wooll, as well as the sweetness of the Mutton—on both which Accounts they were call'd—The Golden-Fleece.

You have heard of Miletus I'm sure, you I mean my Learned Readers, tho' you can't tell where to find it now,—one of the most fa­mous Cities of Greece, Mother that she was of Eighty Colonies; not was it less renowned for the fineness of her Wooll than for the Stateliness of her Buildings.

They may talk of the Royal Purple, and pre­cious Scarlet, and Tyrtan Dy, and I know n't what Fiddle-faddles—but what colour amongst 'em all can compare with native Innocence? and for that—trust Graffham, show for show, against all the world:—Here's that shall challenge Lemster, Cotswold, and all the Wolds and Downs in England, as white as Honour, Chastity and Vir­tue, and as pure as the Body and Soul of the beauti­ful Iris.

The third is, the tallness, altitude, or Maypo­losity of our Church and Steeple, erected so lofti­ly, (as how can it chuse? being at the top of a Hill,) as that it appears the very Metropolitan [Page 49] of all the little Villages which like Handmaids wait at awfull distance about us. What care I for their Steeple- crown'd Pharos, that lookt a hundred mile round—or the Monumental Mum­glass—that pretty Stripling of 24 Years growth, which, as the Fellow said of the Ship, If it grows at this rate till 'tis a hundred year old, what a Monster will 't be! Let Bow-steeple, and Salis­bury Steeple, and Grantham Steeple run to Seed as far as they will, and give the very Clouds a Glyster, or rather Suppositor,—I say Graffham Steeple is Graffham Steeple still—and there's an end on't.

The Fourth is,—The Excellency of the Soil, which is so fat and lushious that it doth even flow with Milk and Honey, not to mention Curds and Butter-milk, You may think this is a Poetical rant, but 'tis as true as I ever was in Boston; for I remember very well, my Father kept seven Cows in Glebe-field, besides a Red-Cow in the Close behind the Parsonage-house, and a Bull in the Common, and 'tis hard luck if out of all them we had not milk enough without scoring up behind the Door.

And for Honey, we had a whole street of little Thatcht Houses by the side of our Orchard-wall, where, if the Reader won't believe there's Honey, let him go thrust his Head in and taste it, where he 'll find a company of little angry Gentlemen within will abundantly satisfie him of the truth of what I have asserted.

Next for the variety of our sweet and wholsom Springs, distributed by the prudent Artifice of old Dame Nature into sundry convenient places of our Palaces: Some issuing out of an opake Con­cave, as if once the Nymphs kept Court i' th' in­side: [Page 50] Others dribling down daintily from the worn face of an old Rock, whose blubber'd Cheeks were always troubled with a Rheumatism. Some agen just peeping out of ground thro' a compa­ny of Pebbles, you'd think 'em only the sweat of the Earth, and growing still stronger and stronger, at last increase to that Bulk, that by intercepting its chrystal waves, and circumobject­ing Clods of Earth and Hurdles, the Countrey Swains, made thereof a Mathematical Engin cal­led a Sheep-pond, which none has better reason to remember than Kainophilus, who at a certain Sheep-Sheering getting hold of a Sturdy-Ram, was hurried away by the obstreperous Creature, and both together sous'd over head and ears in the imprison'd Waters,—I have good reason too to remember that,—for when I came Home dripping all the way,—my Father gave me a Remembrance which sufficiently warmed my inside though it did not dry that without.

Now the Sixth thing for which our Town of Graffham is remarkably recommentlable, is their famous Breed of Horses. O with what inexpres­sible content and satisfaction have I seen those Cicurable Animals, hearken to the sweet Instru­ctions of his Rustical Curator? Shall I ever forget those ravishing Accents,—Ree—Gee—hoe Ma­ther—and the rest of 'em. Well—these Horses are certainly very docible Creatures, e­specially our Graffhamites, and deserve for ought I know to be placed in the Skies, as well as either Pegasus or Pacolets.—But now we talk of Hor­ses, what think you of that famous Grecian Horse, called Bucephalus the Great, a true Pad to the scarce greater Alexander,—and yet these brave Creatures ben [...]t, always the wisest,— [Page 51] for that silly Animal was frighted at his own sha­dow, and flung, and flounc'd about like a mad thing,—whereas to my knowledg 'tis not a small matter will fright our more generous Graffham-Horses, which are so far from Inclinations to scampering, that I have seen 'em stand as indif­ferent and careless under Whip, Spur, Staff and Wand, as if they were above the brutall methods of Force and Violence, and I'd fain know what Horse is fit for a War-Horse, if not such a one as won't stir an inch though he feels a Lump of Steel in the very Guts of him.

But more than Horses, Wells, Springs, Rivers, Churches, Steeples and all, is that most amiable V­mity, Peace, Amity and Love, which time out of mind has made its Halcion—nest in my fine Town of Graffham. Who ever heard of Armies against Armies there, as in Rome, Ierusalem, Paris, and many greater Cities, that are old and big enough to have more wit. Or to come nearer home,—do we use to quarrel for Shrieves, Lord Mayors, and Common-Council-men, and call Thou Rogue, and thou Fool?—No,—catch us at that and hang us,—Do but see how infectious these foul great places are. There's Branford now, which one wou'd think were a peaceable dusty place enough, and yet every body has heard of the three Kings of Brand­ford at one time.—O abominable,—and them whole Armies Incognito at Knightsbridg, and the Hammersmith Brigade, and I know not what,—whereas the oldest man in Graffham never remem­bers an Army there, either Cognito or Incognito, nor any other of their barbarous wicked ways, nor ever knew above one King at a time since the Creation of the World,—though a parlous pestilent Fellow here, that don't live very [Page 52] many Miles off, wou'd perswade us simple Volk that we have got two Kings now,—one that has good handvast already, and 'tother that must ha't when he can catch it,—but one's enough at one time, and God send we may have n'ere another this hundred year.

One Excellency more it has—of which very briefly—for—for a word to the wise,—that is,—'Tis the birth-place of Evander.—And O that he cou'd but have [...]aid there, and they still been happy in one another!

See Reader what a value I have for it, my Love to my Country even checks my Love to Ram­bling. One tugs one way, 'tother tugs 'tother, as if I was tearing in pieces with wild-Horses. And yet methinks at Graffham, my dear Graffham I was ever Rambling;—'twas always new, 'twas a meer Map of Iris, 'twas, 'twas—nay I can go no further. And indeed all great generous Souls, tho' they like the Sun have a kind aspect for all the World, yet like him too, they favour some beloved place more than others, if they love their particular Parents, their Countrey which is their Common Parent, challenges too their love,—and in both Cases, not only Gratitude and In­terest, but even Nature knits the bond, and it must be a very high injury indeed, if any at all, which ought to dssolve the last, tho the first should cease: for as that witty Rogue Lucian, the very Roger of his Age,— [...]. [Page 53] (Not to venture any further in Greek; lest I should slip in over head and ears before I'm a­ware, and then how shall I get out again:) The very Smoak of our own Countrey is more dear, and looks brighter than the very Fire of another. [There's Sence for ye now, in English, Greek and Latin, or shall be before I've done.]

O Graffham, Graffham! I say still, let all the World say what they will, my Countrey is the best Countrey, the sweetest Countrey, the bravest, rarest, gaudiest Countrey all the World over. Let the Laplander admire his own airy Fields and close Habitation, which none but the Devil and he would dwell in,—I say give me Graffham,—let the French-man say Nature never made a Countrey so happy as his own,—Let him live upon Grapes and Frogs, the Italian praise his Sallats, and the Butter-box his Herring,—O but give me a Surloyn of Graffham Beef,—there's Beef,—there's Fat,—there's—Pig and Pork,—Cut and come again,—well there's n'er a Great Turk of 'em all, neither he at Constantinople, nor t'other at Paris, that lives half so well as our Church-Wardens of Graff­ham,—I know it—never tell me,—it has not its fellow again:—Welsh-Leeks,—Irish-Potatas, Cornish Fumades, Scotch-Cakes,—Rocks, Hills, Mines, Loughs and Bogs,—let 'em all [...]ry their own is best,—I won't much quarrel with 'em for that, so they'll all confess mine is bet­ter,—Ay—let 'em e [...]'e be all Vice-roys still, so I'm but Viceroy over 'em.—So noble was that Speech of a dying Hero,—I have always loved my Countrey much more than my Life. So generous were the brave Old Romans, so Fortunate with­all—they were indeed, as Iuvenals says great­ly [Page 54] of one of 'em, Magni animi prodigi,— Even prodigal of their great Souls, and lavish of their Lives, (perfect Evanders,) when their dear Coun­trey wanted 'em.—One Throwes himself amidst his Enemies, t'other leaps headlong into the midst of a fiery Gulph,—Curtius all arm'd to the black breach did ride—Where alas! ah where shall we find the like now, except at Graff­ham? I can't hold in this Hand-Maid, Muse, (I must get a Curb-bridle for her,) but she will run away with me upon this Subject, and Good-b'uy Rea­der, for you are n't like to set sight on me agen, till the next Chapter.

CHAP. V.

I Say, as well as Thomas Sternhold—Give me the World full wide. For had n't I bin a strange Creature, had I continu'd pen'd up in a Quart­pot ever since I had been born, to peep and Mutter there, like a familiar Spirit shut up in a Bottle; Love my Country I do, even, I think (I'd speak cautiously,) to fighting for't—so far I'm sure I do, but whether farther than about the Edges of that terrible business, I can't be posi­tive,—only I hope, as every good Citizen, Regimented or not, that there will be no occasion for't.—And who but ill-meaning men, wish War so near our Gates that we shou'd go out and meet it? But notwithstanding all that, and more I cou'd say,—Rambling is still a pretty thing, a very pretty thing truly, much improving the knowledg, increasing the Experience, confirming the Judgment, strengthning, polishing and bur­nishing both body and mind; it has made some Cheeks that shall be nameless as bright as the Sun to my knowledg, and much of the same Colour: What says Herbert?

—Or something like it, for I han't the Book by me, I say again,—who (but an Old man) [Page 57] wou'd live like the Old man of Verona?—Come I'll tell you the Story, because 'tis a pretty one, and every body don't know it. Once upon a time there was an Old-man, a very Old-man Sir, that liv'd at Verona (or Millan 'twas, I can't tell which,) and there this Old-man Sir, had never bin out of this City all the days of his Life,—was n't that a very strange thing? but 'twill be stran­ger yet. So Sir it fell out that once upon a time, O! but I shou'd ha' told ye before, that he was three score,—I think 'twas threescore,—ay three-score years old. Now this Old-man Sir, as I was saying, of three-score years old, had ne­ver bin without the Gates of the City in all his Life:—Did you ever hear the like? So Sir upon this the Duke of Millain, if 'twas Millain, hearing of this strange Old-man Sir, was resolv'd to try Experiments, and therefore forbid him as he ho­ped to live, not to stir one foot out of the City upon pain of Death. Now what does this Old-Fool Sir do, but because he cou'd not Ramble a­broad, tho' he'ed n'ere any mind to't before, but now 'twas forbidden Sir, only because 'twas forbidden, had a months mind to go out o' Town, and be­cause he cou'd n't do't, took pet upon't, and broke's heart Sir, and dy'd;—so there is an end of one that like a Snail wou'd keep at home while he might have Rambled, and cou'd not do't when he wou'd have don't. And a fair warning 'tis to all such as are Enemies to Rambling:—now what Fools these great Loobies are that always lie at home in Chimny corners, to observe I say what silly Loobies they are, I say not only Hee-Loobies but Shee-Loobies,—why they have no more wit in 'em than my Grannies Gozlin. I warn't ye one Kainophilus, who has bin improving his parts a­broad, [Page 58] wou'd make Fools of one and thirty of 'em bundled up together. Come I'll tell ye ano­ther Story, that ye may see what Fools they are. There was a Woman liv'd at Taunton-Dean:— ye have heard zhure of Taunton-Dean, 'tis one o [...] the bigst Towns in all Zummerit-Zhire. Zoo Zur, this zame Woman having never avore bin above a stones julk, or a Quoits cast out of her Parish bounds, hapned to have a young Vellow come a Zutering to her, a matter o' zum twenty mile off, at Cheeard 'twas, or thereabout; and zoo Zur at last it came about that a got hurs and her Vathers Conzent, and Married hur, and zoo when a had Married hur, a zet hur behind [...]un, and car­ri'd hur away to Ceeard. Zoo as they were a joalting to joulting along upon the Kings High­way, and still went vnder and vurder, She great Vool, that had never bin haaf zoo vur zuns she wor abore, skream'd out to un, and cryd—Why our Ian! what dozt meean to do, what dozt think to Cart me to the Worlds eeand? Ian he whickered and laugh'd, zoo aded, till he almost bewray'd a'z zel, zoo he ded, but at last a little about an hour by Zun, he got ar hooam—and then toald ar—Why thou great Ooaf, dozt think we be come near the Worlds-cand yet, why man the World is a hundred times zoo long as 'tis twixt Taunton-Dean and Cheeard. Zavetly, za­vetly Ian! keh hur agen toon, and chill tell thee zoo much Ian! wort' my Huzbon, chud zea thou wort as voul great a Lyard as any in all theck World thou taakst o'.

Now at this silly rate shou'd a man talk that had never Travelled any further than on a Proces­sioning day, nor Rambled beyond the Hen-r [...]osts, or robbing Orchards.—But now a man that improves [Page 59] his time and youthfull years as some have done that shall be nameless,—why he's Company for e're a King in Christendom, ay and in Pagandom too—as you'll see when you come to America.

—But being now describing my fuvenile Ram­bles, tho' I'll not trouble the Reader with every Expedition I made a Nutting, or Birds-nesting, nor intend to take any care how to bring my self from the last place I was rambling to, I can by no means omit telling him what I promis'd (and I'm famous for keeping my word,) what I promis'd him in the Contents of this Chapter,—and account of my Rambles to School, and from one to 'tother, and 'tother, to the next, and so on,—nor of my two or three Rambles I was just entring upon into 'tother World. The names of my School-Masters were Mr. A. B. C. D. and almost all the Chriss-cross-row over, but for the most part such Vinegar-fa­ced, Mustard-nosed Fellows,—such heavy han­ded, thick Finger'd, Foot-fisted Rascalls,—ay if I am n't even with 'em,—now 'tis my time,—Ill yerk 'em—back I'll scourge 'em as bad as they e're did me, or the Dr. of Pauls School his Maid Gillian,—Come—down with your Breeches you old Fornicators, you Inquisitors, you musty Batchelers, you Goldfinders, you Men-floggers, you posterior-sweepers,—to Horse brave boys to Horse—so there is one, two, three, twenty; d [...]ye [...]ince?—d'ye caper very well?—remember wh [...]n I did the like, when you made me hate Lilly more than the great Turk, and poor Priscian that never did me any wrong, tho' I did him, as bad as the Devil:—So, are you penitent?—kiss the Rod—all of ye—one after another:—how! stubborn—Ha—Ha, dye Rebell?— up agen—O! are ye come to your selves?—very well—go get you [Page 60] into your places, and as you like this come for more on't. Now Reader! don't you see the very Picture of your self and what you have suffer'd, as I by these unchristian pedagogues? Dos n't every fibre of your Buttocks tremble, as Busby's boys do when they meet him agen, as oft as you reflect how often those filthy Fellows have bin peeping in 'em? well I'm heartily glad I e're learnt to write, if 'twere for no other end than thus to paint these grim Fellows to the World in their own Co­lours, and those as stinking ones as they e're made me paint my Breeches with.

Alas that's not the way to deal with humane Na­ture, there requires a great deal of art to form such tender things as youth. I'm very confident the Rea­son why we speak no more Latin, nor more flu­ently in England, is because these Intendants of School-Masters Dragoon us thus out of our Mother Tongue,—they use us not like rational Creatures.—A Dog that is taught to fetch and carry, has more sweet words, and sewer sowre knocks and blows, than we poor Curs generally meet withall, which before we can come to tast the sweets of Learning and good Authors, sets us against even what ever looks like a Book,—(so that indeed I wonder how I came so much as to trade in 'em.)

Not but that I iustly honour and respect those ingenious men, who little other than devote themselves for their Countreys sake to beat Greek and Latin, as Oldham wittily calls it, and drive Learning, if possible, into such Block-heads as I was—not. Who by mild Arts, and attempring [Page 61] their Methods to the disposition of the Lads they have to deal with, can do more in four years with 'em, than others in seven, ten, or ten hundred. The Happiness of those Youth who fall into such hands, is more than they are sensible of; and 'tis confess'd the Reason why so many Tyrants, Fools and Dunces, who usurp that honourable Employment is because the World has seldom wit enough to give such as are otherwise their due respect and encou­ragement.

However 'tis, happy was I when my Father took me home out of their Purgatory, and taught me himself—But first I must tell you what were my chiefest Rambles while in their Juris­diction.

Two or three I had which were like to be very long ones, I being just upon the Tiptoe to see my great Grandfathers.

One day while at School (at Dungrove, the place where I now boarded) returning home about the time that Sols fiery footed Steeds began to make the Ocean hizz with thrusting their hoofs into't, being attended with all my play-fellows, (for they honoured me) after we had embraced one another, (for we were civil) and taken a kind Farewell, which had like to have been our last: As I was Rambling home by a stragling River, that sneaks through the Town of [Latmus] and gazing sometimes on the lofty Hills and flowry Dales, and sometimes on the state­ly Swans that did now in Triumph ride in the Sedg [...]s of the meandring Streams, (I think those [Page 62] Swans were Geese tho', to tell truth) and by and by listning to those feather'd people that were warbling out their ravishing Ditties in a sull [...]n Grove, and coo and coo unto each others moan,—Owls, Cuckoes, Phoenicopters, Rooks and Phoenixes—why just then, all of a sudden, be­fore I cou'd say what's this, or knew where I was, my Noddle now swimming with a milli­on of Fancies, (as I alwayes had a very working Brain,) and I not minding my way, in tumbled I into the River, hugging the waves so tenderly, you can't imagine—But not to tell you what Discourse the Water-Nymphs and I had toge­ther, how they took me down with 'em to their External Palaces, and Sea-green dining Rooms, all hung with watchet Silk, and deckt with Corall and Mother o' Pearl, I'll warr'nt you the cheapest thing amongst it: Not to puzzle or Gagg your be­lief with such odd Accidents—this I'm sure you'll all credit—that when I was under water, I was in danger of drownding, and had I continued there but one four and twenty hours, I had certainly been dead to this day,—and there had been an end of Kainophilus and all his Rambles:—but as my better Stars wou'd have it, who shou'd lie sleeping just by the water-side, but one Mr. I. R. (not Iames Rex, but another whose Name begins with the same Letters) methinks I have him still before my Eyes,—how he startled when I flounc'd into the Water, thinking belike t'had been some Spaniel Dog or other,—how after I was under Water, he got upon his Breech, rub­bed his Eyes, and lookt about him to see what was the matter, (for he has told me all the story since) and lastly how he saw my Heels capering up, like the Handle of a Milk- [...]ail when carried [Page 63] away by the stream, and catching me hold by the left Leg, pull'd me out in spite of half a Tun of wa­ter both in my Cloaths and Belly, and held me up by the Heels so long till I thought my Guts wou'd have dropt out at my Mouth, or at least I should have gone to Stool at the wrong end. Nor yet cou'd I find 'i' my heart to be angry with him, so grateful is my Nature, for thus saving my Life, when I was within six Gasps precisely of feeding the Fishes:—I say precisely, for sure I shou'd best know the measure of my own Belly, for that must unavoidably have burst with six go-downs more of that uncomfortable Element:—So there's an end o' that Ramble; Fate held its own, and he that is born to dye in his Bed, shall ne're be drown'd.

But alas, alas! how various are the chances that assail us mortal men!—how constant is Fate in Inconstancy (that Flower I had out of English, Parnassus:) Another sad accident show'd I was Bullet-proof as well as water-Proof—for play­ing with a particle of Lead by Liquefaction and Comprehension upon condensation metamor­phiz'd into a globular Form, or as I said before, a Leaden-bullet, not chawing it to shoot any body with, on my honour; the Pontcullis not being shut down close enough in it, rolls at the Gate of my Stomach, and stopt all passage of breath it self—Now while I was snorting and snuf­ling, grunting and groaning—

But think ye this is all—no—Death has n't yet done wi' me, and I was just turning over by an odder whim than either of these:—For as I was expatiating in Dungrove Fields, my Mind and Body rambling alike, neither cared or knew whether, I out of a Childish wantonness gathered a bearded Ear of Grass or Corn, and put it into my Throat, thrusting it down so far, that when I went to pull it up again, being against the grain, there it stuck and might have done till 't had grown agen, for I cou'd n't wag it, any more than a poor Gudgeon get out the Beard of a Hook after he has swallowed the fallacious Bait and that together with it.

While I lay in this condition, sprawling and kicking, and staring and stinking, what do me my kind Angel, but sends by at that time se­veral of my Relations, who accidently were jog­ging that way,—who seeing me make so many faces, but such wry ones, as show'd I was not very merrily dispos'd, alighted to my relief, and with much ado writhed the barbed Arrow, wing'd with so many Deaths, out of my Throat agen.

There's no need o' your warning, Death, nor o' the Dogrel Poet that speaks for you,—take you care of hanging, and I'll warn't I'll slip my Neck out o' the Collar well enough.

But soon after this last disaster, I begun to con­sider that I was now hop, stride and jumpt into the Teens, and 'twas therefore high time to leave the place where I had been so long imprison'd, and Ramble some where else. And indeed I never lov'd constraint from my Infancy: That which I can otherwise naturally and easily do, if it once come to be imposed, tho' by me upon my self, tho' the most necessary Offices, I can hard­ly perswade my Body to it: The very Mem­bers whereof, over which a Man has a particular Power and Jurisdiction, sometimes refuse to obey (ah treacherous faithless Creatures—they deserve to be amputated for their Rebellion—) when I injoyn the most necessary, most pleasing services at a certain hour, for the compulsive ap­pointment baffles and confounds them and me,—and they immediately shrink up and excuse themselves so you'd wonder at it, either thro' [Page 66] Fear, or Spite, or Shame, I cannot tell whether.

This constraint I was now freed from, and set up for a new Ramble with some of my Rela­tions who came to fetch me home; but shou'd I relate all the mournful Stories, and passionate Tears included in my bidding dear Chesham Fare­well; how many Bushel of Tears I wept; how many Seas I and my Friends rain'd in one ano­thers bosom-(for after all the Love to Rambling, 'twas hard to part with 'em,) and how ma­ny Clouds and Hurricanes my sighs form'd them­selves into when they got vent, and Rambled in the open Air; I verily believe t'wou'd swell this Book into as many Folio's, as 'twill now be lesser Volumes.

I'll therefore wave 'em all at present, and only acquaint you that a fine Sun-shine Morning 'twas when I first set out agen a Rambling, the Air was perfumed with the sweet odours which (for that was the place I was now leaving) the Sun exhaled from the bosom of the fertile Earth, oill it smelt as fragrant as the breath of an Iris. The Birds whistled like any Carter, and the [...]e was scarce a Hedge I pass'd, but welcom'd me with new Songs, either from the two winged or [...]-legged Birds that fate upon or under e'm. Never Traveller met me, but most complais [...]ntly wisht me good speed, and good enough I had on't, who must Ramble round the World, before I rest my wearied Carkass. O how daintily were the Medows and Roads crowded every where with Cowslips and Cow-T—s, D [...]sies and Horse-Dung; nay, that's a very wholsome smell—and as well as t'other, is a very good, of a pop [...] ­lous, [Page 67] well-traded, well manag'd Country. Nor did any thing now trouble me, except my leaving my Dear Friends behind me, but that I saw no [...] Travellers enough to gather up those [...] I saw in the way (I mean the sweet ones.) Thus pleasantly Travell'd I and my Country Com­pany, till being arriv'd near the end of our in­tended Journey, we chopt upon a young Spark near the end of a little Village we were passing thro', who seem'd to have been born to better For­tune than he then possoss'd. He had a certain wild gaye [...]y in his Looks, or rather the ruines of it, for 'twas clogg`d and broken with after-misfor­tunes. He had oftentimes it seems in his young­er years, and that not long ago, (for he could scarce be above Twenty) transmuted a House in­to a Hoggs-head, and many a flock of Sheep and drove of fat Oxen into Flasks of Wine, and Bottles of Gla [...]et, till all being gone, he was at last reduced to such extremity as to live on the frozen Charity of those who had known him in his better Fortune. D'ye k [...]ow that Person, quo [...] one of the Company to me? No I answered, how should I, ne'er having seen him before?—Why, says he agen, 'Tis the Prodigal Son of Mr.—of—who as young as he is, has already spent Five hundred a year in drink:—which was not spo­ken so low but the forlorn Pilgrim overheard him, and turning back, briskly replyed agen, Yes, that have I, Sir, and am Aiery still.—Which unex­pected sharp Repartee so pleas'd us, that we took him into a kind of a Crab-Tavern, and giv­ing him share in half a dozen Bottles of Cla­ret, left him as great as a King, and as happy for a few hours, as if he had his Five hundred a year agen:—Well thought I in my little head, [Page 96] this shall be a fair Warning to me, if ever I get five hundred a year, or a thousand either, never to spend it so foolishly as this Fellow has done, and be every Body's Iester, to fill his lean Belly.

Well, at last we are come to Tonsa, and my Fathers house, whose blessing I ask't upon my bended knees, with humility enough to put pride out of Countenance, for I can stoop you must [...]now, when Duty or good manners require it, but I am as stiff as a Stake, and my Hamms as obdurate as a Spaniards, where I meet with a proud Fellow, whom I have no Obligation to flatter or Honour. I did as much to my new Mother, and almost half a hundred Grand-fathers, and great Grand-mothers, saluting likewise in the most compt, and yet ample manner, all those, not a few Well-be­loveds, whom I found there met to congratulate my arrival—but what's this to you, perhaps you may ask me? Ay, but tis a great deal to me, and a very conside­rable part of my Life, for as you'll find the Plot thickens apace, and the hinge of all my future For­tunes is just upon turning—For here my Fa­ther himself taking me to task, and instructing me with a mildness and gravity peculiar to our Fa­mily, both inthe Languages and Arts, had if possible made me a Scholar: For which he had all along designed me, hoping as much from my blooming presages, as from all my Learned Predecessors, who had bin Scholars for ought I know e're since Adam, I'm sure much longer than I can re­member.

[Page 97] He found me soon, if without a Solaecism, in modesty of my self I may say it, as extremely industrious: so not altogether indocil. For, be­ing intirely submissive to his Inclinations, I resol­ved, had he pleased, to have been a Scholar in spite of nature, and accordingly advance I did, but at a very uncomfortable rate, much as fast as a Cart with half a wheel broke off. For the truth is, the sprightfulness and vigour of my Soul, being by the severity of my former Master, either damm'd up, and quite extinguish'd, or else turn'd another way from Learning, towards some more Rambling Entertainment, it could not be expected I should do any great wonders. He try'd me then at the Arts and Sciences, giving me a little smack of all to see whether that would make me more in love with Learning; but alas! all was the same. I only could beat enough of 'em into my head to laugh or rail at 'em a little; which way you'l find by and by I shall exercise (either my Memory, or) my Invention.

My Father at last finding all his Drudgery and mine was in vain, and being rather willing to make a Golden Trades-man than a Woodden Par­son of me, he e'ne at last agreed to my longing desires, and gave the long expected word, That I should be an Apprentice.

But not a little nasty Country Apprentice, in some dingy hole of a Town not half so big as Little-Britain, or Duck-Lane; no, that had been the ready way to have set my great Soul a ram­bling away, and carry my little Body upon the back on't, as soon as e're I came thither; and that too, [Page 96] [...] [Page 97] [...] [Page 98] never to return, never to return, never to return to my place again—but before—cry-mercy, I was stumbled into the purlieus of an old Song, and could n't find the way out again.

'Twas not, I say, in some narrow mean Country Town, but the famous and gallant City of LONDON, where he had designed to plant the Hopes of his Family; nor there neither in any of those dark holes before mention'd, but even in the very Front, the Cream, the Heart, the choicest pickt and cull'd part of the City, Cheapside; nor there to a little sneaking What d'ye lack Trade, but to a glorious, learned, stately—hold there—while 'tis is 'tis my own—you shall even pick't out your self if you'l have it. When things were once brought to this pass, guess you whether I knew what to do with my self for Ioy—alas! I forgot to eat, sh—spit, pick my ears, blow my nose, or wash my face, for almost a fortnight after. I tell you, I did not know where I was no more than a Goose, nor whether I stood upon Land or Water.

You can't imagine what strange notions the poor Country Volk have of this glorrious fine Town o' London. They think the Streets are all pav'd with Gold, the Pillars of Porphy­rian Marble, and Corinthian Brass, the Churches of Sweet-meats, and the Houses of Ginger-bread, that it rains Maccaroons, and hails March-panes, and that Pearls and Diamonds grow there (for they have heard of Seed-Pearl, and what for, if not to sow it?) as plenty as Cresses and Blue-bottles in the Fields and Meadows. A Country-Bumkin is a Cockney standing upon his head—just [Page 99] such a [...] allow thing in the City as t'other in the Coun­try [...] and if Cit asks to see 'em spin M [...]lt, Bum­kin will be as ready to ask where they gather the Gold-Necklaces. Indeed 'tis too big for their Brains, they have ne're seen any thing like it, and therefore can have hardly any notion on't, none at least that's any more like it than a Horse is like a Catterpillar. They can guess 'tis twice or thrice as big as the Town they carry their Corn to Market to; but shou'd you tell 'em, 'twas a hundred times bigger, they'd fall a whistling, and fetch the Whetstone forye. They have a strange fancy too of the sagacity and memory of the good people that live there; sure, think they, if such litterate Vellows as Hob and I know all our Parish, and the next Hamlet too into the bargain, much more must all the vine Volk there know one another. So that he who was so Book-learned to direct a Letter to his loving Brother T. W. living in London, did not in the least doubt but he'd have it by next Post, and much wonder'd he heard no answer. But when they see such a like fine Spark as my self come down from London with a Lac'd Cravat, Fring'd Gloves, and a Sword at my—, a's they mannerly use to stile it, what a flocking of Crows there will be about one poor Owl? Pray Mr. Evander, you ha' been at London lately, did you zee my Zon Harry there? how does he grow? don't he [...]prout finely? I warrant he makes a sprunt Lad by this time, he's seventeen year old come next Grass; you, you comes a fat-chopt Wench plucking you by t'other sleeve, did n't you zee our Tom that went up to be Chamberlain? ay Chamber­lain, [Page 100] 'twas at the great Inn there; I do not know what the Sign is, but you could not miss it after you came into Town, for 'tis just in the way. Well, I take it very unkindly, says ano­ther, that Will sends me ne're a Line, nor Token all this while, to satisfie me if he be alive or dead. These London Flurts, with their Silks and their Top-Knots; well, I say no more, but I see, out o' sight, out o' mind.

And thus shall you be unmercifully worried to death every time you peep abroad, and tell 'em a hundred times you don't know one of them you ask for, they'll cry, 'tis impossible; this London spoils every body, you're grown a proud Fellow, and there's an end on't. But to see what work they make when they come to see't themselves. One wise one indeed I have heard of, who had a great longing that way, but durst not go to London for fear of losing his Labour, for he went to zee the City, that he did, but knowing none o' the Porters, he was afear'd they'd not let him in, and so came back again like what he went. But if they have more Courage, and do once get in, not a King or Lord Mayor moves thro' with half so much sta [...]e, delays and gra­ [...]ity. They think every Street is made of Churches, but then are scandaliz'd again to see all the Churches Ale-housen, and yet the Volk i'th' inside of 'em Iacks of all Trades. He gives every House and Sign a full quarter of an hours contemplation, and if he clears one Street in a day, he makes a good days work on't. All the Body of him stares together; his eyes ben't enough, but he must fill his mouth with strange sights [Page 101] and r [...]ree-shows [...] nay, both his hands which are lifted up with wonderment, and one legg too twisted round his long Oaken Plant, whilst he lolls upon his arms and t'other, till some un­lucky Black-guard Rogue or Apprentice strikes it away, and down souses poor Hob in the ken­nel. Ay, and well if they scape so too, for ten to one but they fall into the clutches of one cheating Rogue or other. who asks 'em if they'll buy a Ring newly found, which, wanting mony, they shall have for half the price; then Tom snickers, and thanks his good fortune, out comes the Leather Bag, and away flie all the two-pences and bowed nine-pences, for a piece of brass little better than a Curtain-Ring; nay, sometimes worse than this too. As happened to a couple of wise Gothams in our Town (for some wise, and some fools all the World over) who having occa­sion to purchase two groats-worth of Law, came one Term to London, and having dispatcht that important affair, resolv'd to spend one day in surveying the Rarities and brave Sights that were to be seen here; upon which having laid out several two-pences to their very great satisfaction, their evil Genius at last led 'em by the Poultrey-Counter, a dreadful place 'tis as any out of Hell, not that I dread it neither. True hearts know no fear; and 'tis well known I beard it every day with an undaunted countenance, when my business calls me that way; but dreadful, I say, to them who fall into their Harpy-hands, as these poor High-shoons found it; for observing that Bunch of Catch-poles at the Counter-Gate, which usually wait there to see if the Devil or his [Page 102] Friends the Usurers have any Employment for 'em, they very innocently enquire, what was there to be seen; to which one of these noto­rious honest Fellows replied, the Lions.

The Lions, quo' Robin! Why we han't zeen them yet, Neighbour Iarvise! Ay the Lions, cry'd another of those Wolves, but you can't get at'em, for they been't to be seen at this time o'day. Now this made the poor Creatures mad to get at'em; they had Money enough; what car'd they if they spent Six pence for such a sight? with seeming much ado, at last they let 'em in; but no sooner there, but they saw and felt Beasts of prey enough with a vengeance all round'em, almost half a hundred Tatter d [...]mali­ons ransacking'em for garnish; nor can they ima­gine what they'd be at, till one of'em on the sudden Felt his Hat vanish'd away, and putting up his Hand to see whether they had not stole Head and all, before he could receive satisfaction in that point, found his Coat taking everlasting leave of his Shoulders. The other compounding for his Head-case freely surrendered his upper Gar­ment, and so with loud Acclamations from all the wild Arabs of the place they marcht away in Querpo, blessing themselves for so fair a rid­dance out of the Lions Den.

This 'tis not to Ramble; would Evander have had so little wit; no, Diamonds cut Dia­monds; trust him with all the Serjeants that Qu [...]vedo ever saw, and I war'nt he comes off clear from 'em all (if he may so say of himself without blushing) and that you'll see when he gets to this dreadful City; but first let him come [Page 103] there, and he's now on the Road with a whole two or three Cart full of Acquaintance and Rela­tions to take their long leave. O what crying and whimpering, and sobbing, and even loud downright yelling and roaring was there amongst 'em! How many Tokens and Remembrances, broad Shillings and little pieces of Gold were clapt into Kainophilus his Golls by he scarce knew who; so that glad would he ha' bin to have taken his leave at this rate, and gone to London every day in the year.

Vpon the Road at last I got, and there had li­berty to consider the happiness I had, as I thought, then obtain'd by being freed from my Step-mother Learning; and thus might I, or did I for ought you know; Mr. Cr [...]ick that will be med­ling reflect on the several parts on't as I was taking my final leave.

Farewel Grammar, thou Bug-bear to tender Striplings and Buttocks; how often hast thou steer'd my penitent Posteriours to a Burchen Wood, and made the Butt-end of my Person weep Carnation Tears; nay, made the poor Pe­dant wear out himself as much as me, in running through Thorns and Briars after some fugitive rugged word or other that wou'd not be hoop't into any of his common Rules.

O happy Golden Age! Sure there grew no Burch in't, or else the cursed use on't was not then found out any more than that of Steel. then when Learning was nothing but common Sense, and all the World spoke the same Mo­ther Tongue, and aim'd at no higher a pitch of [Page 104] Oratory than to be understood, all the World being then one Continent in Language.

Then Grammar get thee about thy business, who hast kept me longer now as well as formerly than all the rest did or are like to do.

Logick, come ye next, and tho' you were hard­ly ever in, I'll quickly kick you out of Doors; thou Intellectual Iangler, thou Learned Cant; thou meer Banter in Mood and Figure, by which a Man may affirm or deny any thing; prove two Eggs three, and that the Moon's made of Green Cheese. Thou hungry, beggarly lean-jaw'd thing, as bad as Poetry. Thou somewhat like Reason, but not the same, no more than a Mon­key a Man; go get thee gone among thy own Thorns and prick out thy Eyes.

Farewel Rhetorick, for thou art only Sawce to no Meat—the Art of Lying well. Thou that dressest up good sense in Bells and Fools caps, and makest it look like Nonsence, and that in Top­knots [Page 105] and fine Cloaths, and makest Fools believe 'tis sence. Get thee about thy business to the Beggars in Moor-fields, teach'em Elocution, and all thy fine Tropes and Figures, and howl out together with 'em, Dearly beloved people of—'tis a sad thing to be Blind.

But pray stay and take your Sister Poetry with you: If I come to be Mad or in Love, I may have occasion for you both again, and perhaps may give you a Meals Meat, or a Nights Lodg­ing for your Company.

—Poetry, Thou Ha, Ha, Ha, of the World! Efflorescence of Wit do they call thee? Yes, just as much as the Froth of Bottled Ale is the best on't. O thou Beggar Incarnate, as Bare­breechd as Evander when from his last Globe he rambles into his Grave.

—Physicks too! Go drown'd your self in your own vacuum, and Build Castles in the Air; and take Metaphysicks along with you, a Witch-catch­ing or Winnowing Entity from unum verum & bonum.

—Go troop all together, I'm for taking my leave and a fair riddance too all at once, and intend to have no more to do with ye, unless taking ye in a Lump without opening the Book, or reading one Syllable more about you.

—But there's more yet to come, and I'm re­solv'd once for all to make clear work.

Farewel Astrology, for once and again I tell ye, Kainophilus was ne're cut out for a Con­jurer.

Farewel Geometry, for I can ramble round the World without thy help, and scorn to measure [Page 104] [...] [Page 105] [...] [Page 106] how many Miles, Pearches, Feet, Inches and Barly-corns I run over.

Or number 'em either, and therefore well thought,

Troop off Arithmetick for Company, for he's an arrand Fool that can't tell twenty, and what canst thou do more? Nay, ten is thy utmost Limits, and even then thou art forc't to vamp out one with a nought; and all the rest of thy fruitless pains with so much more cost than worship, is only telling them nine Figures over and over again till thou hast lost thy self, and yet can'st never get to the end o' thy Iourney.

Chiromancy, Shall I shake Hands with thee too? No, thou'rt such a strolling Gypsie, thou'rt only fit to be whipt, or set in the Cage for a great Cheat as thou art.

And when Mathematicks can tell me how matter is infinitely divisible, and yet not so, and [...]econcile Demonstrations contradicting each other o'both sides, then I'll keep that, tho' all the rest must trudge; but since it never can, let that turn out to, and break its Neck or drown it self over its own Pons Asinorum.

What a Fool am I after all to rail at what I don't understand? Learning has a property much like that which a great man attributes in another sense to Philosophy, as a little of that makes a Man an Atheist, but a great deal a Religious person, so a smattering of Learning makes one despise it, a great deal esteem and admire. Forgive me, O thou thing almost Divine, that I have Blasphem'd thee, without knowing thee, and if possible, let that either excuse or alleviate my Fault and Punishment: [Page 107] Never a wretch wholost and left thee, as I have done, but Repented dearly of it as soon as he came to know the crime he had committed. I believe thou art the very Image of Heaven, and a great part of that hap­piness we lost by our own folly. I inflict the most se­vere voluntary Pennance on my self for having thus abused thee? I'm content all my Life long to bear the wretched Fate of standing at thy Door, and help­ing others in, while I stay without my self, a helpless, [...]bless vagrant, and spend my weary days in sighs, and only thinking what I might have been, had I im­proved by thy auspicious aid and cultivated all those Golden Seeds, Nature so largely sprinkled on her Evanders Breast.

This Justice done to Heaven-born Learning. I now proceed to give you an account of my Iour­ney, which these thoughts so far shorten'd, that I was now arrived at the famous Metropolis of Eng­land, I had almost said the World, for which you must go with me to the following chapter.

CHAP. VI.

NOW does the Reader greedily expect a Description of London, ay, and such a one it shall be when it once comes, that shall put down Stow's Survey, Howel's Londinopolis, De­lawn, R. B. and all that ever writ on't since Lon­don-stone was no bigger than a Cherry-stone, or Iulius Caesar Built the Tower, I question not in the least, no not in the least but 'twill Pit, Box and Gallery with—let me see—with, ay with Iordan's Lord Mayor's show, or his Suc­cessors either, tho' that's bold word that's the truth on't.

By this time I guess the Reader is big up­to the Chin with expectation, as Mrs. Abi gail and her little Master at Bartholome [...] Fair' when they are just a going to begin for two or three hours together, & to satisfie his Curiosity, I tell him now whatever I made him believe in the last Chapter, that he's not like to hear a word more on't this two hours. Thus do I love to elevate and surprize, and sprinkle now and then some of that same in my writings which is so remarkable in my self—that people shou'd miss what they expected, and find what they never lookt for—tho' both still very excel­lent [Page 109]—nor must you think I do this without sound advisement and sage Reason, for my Fa­ther coming here full in my way, and he being nearer akin to me than all the City of London put together; besides, he conveying me thither, and placing me there, all the Reason i' the World I should dispatch him first—that is to say make an end of him—that is to say, in a civil way, finishing and closing altogether his Life and Death, and paying that just Tribute of Tears, Ele­legies, Sighs, Groans and Acrosticks due to his Super-precious memory—for wou'd it not be a preposterous thing for me in the midst of my Apprenticeship, when my Father dy'd to run Ram­bling away from the Shop in the next Book, and leave my Masters Business at six's and se­ven's—no—thank ye for that—Evander had by that time a more staid Head of his own, and was no such passionate admirer of hot Suppings to trot so far after 'em. Besides to have my Fa­thers whole Life together, the great Father of the not greater Evander—why it looks noble and very fine, and sounds as well as any thing in the World—for when the Readers of this Book, one Lord or t'other Earl, this Wit and that Alder­man shall find the marvellous deeds of the Son, they'll be very willing to go a little higher, it being a very natural sort of Conclusion that this Son had a Father, and that Father very probably, not unlike this Son—and then—there needs no more to be said—but that they'd be ex­treamly well pleas'd to see this wondrous Father of this wondrous Son all together in one piece, not Hang—Drawn and Quartered, about thro' [Page 110] all the twenty four Volumes here an Arm, and there a Leg, and there another Member— Gen­tlemen your will shall be done—'tis contrary to Evander's Nature to disoblige such Honoura­ble Persons—here 'tis altogether, nay, I'll say that you'll have a Lump on't; turn to the Index; let's see, run along wi' your Finger—Chapter, Chapter, Chapter, no, 'tis n't here, Chap. 4. Chap. 5. not yet, Chap. 6. there, there ye have it, but then what volume? ay, that shou'd have bin thought of before the Chapter; why Vo­lume the tenth? no, eleventh, twelfth, twenty three, twenty five, no, that can never be it be­cause there been't so many. Is't the first then? Ay, the first be sure, which shou'd it be else sure? The Father ought to go before the Son because he was Born before me. I write no­thing but what's chastest Truth, and all the Neighbours can justifie it: Well then now ye have it; ye can't miss't if ye had ne're so much mind to't. Vol 1. Chap 6. The Life and Death of Evander's immediate Male Progenitor. [All this pains I take now to make the matter clear, and instruct even the meanest capacity how to make the best use of this most useful Book] why then? stand by London, and Room for Fa­ther.

Who was Born— what need ye know where? Is n't enough I have told you my own Birth­place, Graffham; dearest Graffham, hold, hold, I was just going to Ramble away to't agen, and leave my very Father for my Countrey. But as I was saying, what shou'd people be so inquisi­tive for? This prying World wou'd fain know [Page 111] my Father; thank 'em for that, if they know my Father they'll know me, if they know the place of his Birth, that's one way to know him. Is't not sufficient a Conscience that I wear so many Flowers, Feathers, Bells and fine things a­bout me, and turn my self out to the wide World to let 'em laugh their Small-guts out, but I must needs shew my Face too, not that I'm a­sham'd on't neither, I'm no Panther, I don't say 'tis one of the best that Nature ever form'd, but 'tis as 'tis, and there's an end on't, and whose 'tis, do ye Fish out if you can, for if I tell you, hang me at my own Sign-post; but what's all this to my Father? why truly as near as Fa­ther and Son. And so this Father of mine Sir, as I was saying, was Born somewhere or other, you don't know where, nor are n't like to know unless you are good guessers. Thence he went to School, thence to Gambridge, thence to a place as every Body you know must go to one place or another, then from that place to another place, and from another place to another place agen.

And then he had several Children. Oh! but I should have told you first, that he was married to my Mother, and then my Mother fell sick, and dy'd, and was almost bury'd, as I told you be­fore, and then came to life, and dy'd again in good earnest, and was bury'd accordingly, and then my Father, (who had something too of the Ramble in his brain, you may see by this, as well as his Son, whence you may take notice, I'm no degenerate branch, nor does Evander ramble from his virtuous Progenitors, tho' in good ear­nest he almost does from his Sence, pray Rea­der [Page 110] [...] [Page 111] [...] [Page 112] put me right again, whereabouts was I be­fore I stept over the unconscionable Essex stile of this over-grown bursten-gutted Parenthesis—O—then my Father went a Rambling, to shew his Son the way, and so he went, and he went till he came into Ireland, being resolved to en­dure a long seven-years Apprenticeship to grief and sorrow for the loss of his dearest Partner; and by the perswasion of his dearest Friends, or his own Inclination, no great matter which, nor do I find it decided in his Writings; he there studied Physick to divert his Melancholy, and during that time grew perfectly acquainted with the nature and quality of all the venemous Beasts in that Island, Toads, Newts, Vipers, Spi­ders, &c. dissecting as many of 'em as ever he came near, and thereby gaining such unparal­lel'd skill in things of that nature, that never did any person address themselves to him for cure in those forementioned accidents, but he cured 'em one and all as fast as they'd come near him; so that not Greatrix himself that wonder-working Stroker ever groped away the Gout or Kings Evil more infallibly than this dear Father, what you have heard already; who thinking he had Rambled long enough, now came home agen to the great joy of all his neighbours.

And being assured his Wife, his dear Wife, and my dear Mother was dead in good earnest, having waited seven long years to see whether she'd come out of her Trance the second time, and his rambling lost E [...]ridice would return any more, finding all quiet and silent, her grave over­grown [Page 113] with grass, and not the least chink, crevice, motion, whisper, or sign of her Intentions to see the light any more till such a long time hence, that he thought 'twould be a folly to stay for her, he e'ne marry'd agen.

After that he had several hopeful Sons and Daughters still surviving, especially my friend Daphne, &c. but she'd be too proud if she saw her name here in words at length.

I'll not attempt to number all the great and good actions of such a Father, because indeed 'tis impossible; for sooner could I tell you how many Stars there are in Heaven, or Sands on the Sea-shore, or how many virtues Iris has, or how many of her kisses will satisfie her ravish'd, transported, stark staring mad-with-love Evander. Nay, perhaps were this possible to be done, Prudence and Duty would yet strive and tug one way or to'ther whether publish it or not. For the common Proverb Heroum filii noxae, wise Fa­thers generally beget Sons that are otherwise, and the exuberant glories of his Life ecclipsing my own, and rendring me a meer Dock leaf, a Iohn-a-Stiles, a perfect Noddy in comparison of him; truly things being thus, Charity begins at home, and I ought to have some regard to my dearer self, as well as to my dear Father, tho' hardly can I pronounce which is most so. However, all the Interest in the World shall never make me say, a false or a base thing of him; and what I shall write shall be enough to let the World know it never had, nor never will find his Fel­low. For tho' I don't remember he had the gift of Proph [...]cy, whatever may have been pre­tended, [Page 114] yet I can aver he had a quality much more profitable, he was thrifty, and frugal, and careful for his Family, gave his Sisters portions, and left a good Estate, and plentiful Fortunes among his own hopeful Children, which inmy judg­ment is commendation enough for one Father.

And tho' I might add a thousand more, this in a manner would include, as it excels all the rest; and shall I ever be able while I breathe to reflect on such a Father without hugging his memory, and almost idolatrously adoring his ve­ry Ashes? And indeed I don't much wonder Idolatry first crept into the World by the fond­ness of Children to their deceased Parent, for I could hardly ever behold the dear Picture of my dead Father (by the same token it used to hang up behind door in the great Parlour) without almost kneeling to't, washing it with my Tears, and then licking 'em off again.

—But here being a very convenient Loophole, I can't forbear a little Ramble into the fertil common place of Children's Duty and Love to their Parents, both dead and living, and shall present the Reader with several pat, pert, plea­sant stories to that purpose.

How much we are obliged to our Parents can never be enough accounted; that we are so both for our Education and Being is equally cer­tain. Being is no doubt, in it self consider'd, without the appendages of any other good, a great happiness: From our Parents, even the worst of men let 'em be, this we at least re­ceive. But more—they bring us into such a state where every man may have a tolerable degree [Page 115] of happiness if it been't his own fault. Quisque suae fortunae faber— every Man is the Brick-layer of his own [...]ood Fortune—(or Smith, or Car­penter, which you please.) If therefore any ob­ject that Being their Parents gave 'em makes 'em only miserable, and therefore they been't ob­liged to thank 'em for't, they argue very ill, and besides very disingenuously, blaming others for what they brought on themselves, and full as justly may Mankind blame him that made 'em for all the miseries they could not have felt had they not had a Being, whereas all of 'em were chosen and brought on themselves by their own Folly.

If they'll yet object, 'tis n't in a Mans choice to be poor or not, for then none wou'd chuse it; 'tis easily answer'd, that 'tis perhaps much more so than is generally concluded, most persons by carelesness reducing themselves to these circum­stances, and then falling foul both on Heaven and Earth for making 'em so—Has thy Parent given thee Being, and can he do no more?— why he has done very fairly for thee already—he has made thee a Freeman of the World, and thou hast a range of one and twenty thousand Miles to seek thy Fortune in; and how many are there who raise themselves and Families on no larger a stock, nay, at first all did so.

Dost thou say thou art not obliged to Parents for thy Being, because they gave it thee for their own pleasure, or out of Instinct, and al­most necessity of Nature— that's a very false, as well as a most unmannerly way of arguing, for it indeed destroys the nature of all Benefits, and [Page 116] makes no such thing as obligation in the World. The Argument is fairly thus—we are not ob­liged to any Man for any good turn, he does us in which he takes pleasure, or which mounts to the very same thing, which he does for his own pleasure, or which he can't avoid—which he has a necessity for, that is indeed which he cannot without some pain or inconvenience to himself forbear doing. For to be fair it can rise no higher. Now lay this rule to any benefit in the World, and see, by Mr. Seneca's leave, what work 'twill make with it.

I do the most virtuous action, the bravest thing in the World, undoubtedly for my own pleasure or happiness, and that is and ought to be the chief end for which I perform it, for why I'd fain know, do I relieve any that's mise­rable, but for the pleasure I my self feel in doing it? if not yet lower, as some ill-natur'd Persons interpret, for the pain of not doing it, the weakness and kind of Incontinence in my Na­ture, that I can't see a Person unhappy, but I must feel his sore Leg, thin Jaws, or hungry Belly.

Yet more will they own they are obliged to Parents for a good Education, if not for what in the World, and yet what's this but a piece of Na­ture— as great a necessity and pleasure as the giving 'em being. Pleasure is Interest—Honour is the same— both are engaged in handsomly breeding up those whom we brought into the World. What is the Nature of a Benefit or Obligation? If 'tis possible to be known we may fix its Notion to a Being given us. A [Page 117] Persons being obliged to perform a good turn cannot alter the property—if 'tis fair arguing from contraries, and none ever yet deny'd it; why then if the not doing what I'm oblig'd, to deserves disgrace and dispraise, and is an injury, then doing what I ought and am bound to do merits Honour, Praise, and Acknowledgment. 'Tis in vain, as those old towring Philosophers did very often, to sit twisting fine Notions toge­ther, that were too high either for Truth or Practice; and when brought down, and ac­commodated to the Scene of Life, will never square, nor serve for any living thing. The freest thing in the World I may be obliged to by the most indispensible tyes, which yet if per­form'd deserves the clearest and loudest acknow­ledgment the Nature of Man can give. What is freer than a generous Mans raising a brave Vn­fortunate? What's he more obliged to do? What can he take more pleasure in? What can be a greater obligation to the Person so rais'd?

—Well—this 'tis to read Seneca—one No­tion begets another, and so to the end o' the Chapter, while my poor Father's forgot all this while as much as if he never Begot me—so did not Boleslaus— that excellent King of Bo­hemia, who never enter'd upon any Important Action, but out he pulls the Picture of his Fa­ther, and after gazing on't, as if't had been his Mistresses—and serving it as I did mine, he used solemnly to desire he might never do any thing unworthy of so great a Progenitor. Was not he an ugly Rogue of a Fellow? And did he not [Page 118] well deserve such a horrid Death as got hold of him, who when his poor old Father came to his House for a Meals Meat, he having a fat Capon for Dinner, and seeing the old Man about to come in (a greedy-gut Bastard as he was for his pains,) claps me up the Capon Dish, and all under the Table, and persuades his Father they had nothing for Dinner but Rack-staves— on which he shabbing off again to seek a Dinner where he cou'd catch it, or else Dine with Duke Humphrey, this Rascally Son of his pulls out the Dish again, and thought to be at it immedi­ately up to the knuckles and fetch up all the time he had lost—when—O! Lo! Behold wonder! this fat Capon was turn'd, metamorphos'd or transmogriphy'd into a huge over-grown fat Toad— fough upon't! And in half a twinkling shot up like an Arrow, and caught this unnatu­ral Wretch by the Throat, pinching him like a Crab till it made him yell again, then crawling up to his Mouth and Nose, there it sate pissing and spewing, and spitting Venom at him till he dropt down dead, and never spoke word more.

And lest I shou'd have the same ill Fortune (though I confess I did not see the Man after he was dead) I'm resolv'd to make much of my Father, when he is not only old, but dead, and not only dead, but rotten; though his Name smells sweeter than Balsom, sweet as the Breath of my fragrant Aromatical Iris.

Ay and Dead he is sure enough, after he had carefully bound me Prentice, as I told you be­fore, and you shall hear hereafter—he's as [Page 119] dead as Nebuchadnezzar— tho' his Fame shall never die, while either his Son, or his Son's Son shall remain alive. (This Ramble is my Son.)

But when and how did he die? and where? and wherefore? and for what Reason—Quis? quid? ubi? quibus? &c.

To the when, I answer, Nov. 4. 1676. An. Aetat. 48. and that's as much as many an ho­nest Man gets for his Epitaph—but every honest Man is not my Father.

And being dead 'twill be very convenient to give him speedy Burial, tho' not very speedy nei­ther—one may be too hasty in that matter. Duns Scotus, as subtle a Head as my Father for his Life, was fool'd out of this World at that rate, and bury'd alive poor wretch, where he all mawl'd his Face and Hands at such a rate against the Cossin, that 'twou'd have griev'd ones Heart to have seen him. To prevent which inconve­nience, his Relations wisely fearing my Father might have three Lives, because my Mother had two, who was so much weaker than him, kept him above ground five days after his Death, to see whether he intended to come back again; but finding him in earnest, and still remaining in the same sullen Humour, they then wou'd wait no longer, but e'ne heav'd him into his last Tene­ment in the Chancel—

And there let him lye till I come to him—and how sweetly shou'd he and I and Iris lye there toge­ther in one anothers Arms—Lye further Father; you have got all the Bed to your self, and thrust us out upon the very Bedsted, but tho' you had possession [Page 120] first, yet two to one's odds.—However I'll be a dutiful Son dead and living, and rather lye upon the Boards than hurt your Ribs, which by this time may be a little tender.

But well remember'd! I should have told you how he dy'd before how he was Bury'd.—He did it like an honest and brave Man, as he had liv'd, and having lived so well almost fifty years, certainly he cou'd ne're be to learn to die well for one quarter of an hour. He lookt as if he wou'd put Death out of Countenance, as if he rather wish'd it than fear'd it—but not be­cause he was frowardly weary of this life, but rationally assured of a better Not like that Fool of a Philosopher, who after some three or four­score years huffing God and Man, and pretending to teach 'em both more than they knew before, had not learn'd wit enough all that while to know whither he was going, and cou'd leave no wiser saying behind him than that of the poor Heathen—Quae nunc abibis in Loca? He had found a hole to creep out of the World at, and was go­ing to take a long leap in the dark he cou'd not tell whither. He dy'd then if we may properly use that word of one who undoubtedly lives more now than before, he has much the better by this alte­ration, and Deaths Exchange was to him far from being any Robbery.

Next where— whyat—a certain place in England, that shall be uncertain to you till you find his Epitaph.

Last of all wherefore, and for what Reason? Why that's a very [...]rish Question now, tho' 'tis askt in Latin: I scorn to put the World off [Page 121] with that road answer, as trite as Ratcliff-high­way for want of Breath, or because he cou'd live no longer. Every Magpy dies at that rate and for such sage Reasons.—But my Father's Death as well as his Life was all extraordinary.

The Original then of the fatal period of that beloved life more precious than both the Indies, was no other than the incurable putrefaction of some Morbid Iuices in the Renal Concavities—To speak plain (for I write for the vulgar, tho' I protest it's much harder to stoop my Notions to their Capacities, than at first to invent 'em) he dy'd of the Stone in the Kidneys or Bladder, I can't be positive, after the most exquisite Tor­ments, equall'd by nothing but his patience.— There's a Father if you talk of a Father— I must, I may, I shall, I will be proud of him as Alexan­der was of Iove.

Not he, nor ne're a Heroick Killcow of 'em all ever kickt up with half a quarter of that constan­cy and gravity that Kainophilus Father did—who was rackt and grown'd worse with that Milstone of a Stone he carry'd about with him than ever Hercules with his poyson'd Jerkin.

I have heard of a Person yet living, who had a Stone in his Kidneys of such a prodigious mag­nitude, that it fill'd up almost all the concavity of his Carcase, and you might easily feel it thro' his Flesh if you laid your Hand on his Back. I [Page 122] can't say what truth there is in't, nor wou'd the World any sooner believe me should I assure 'em that the Stone in my Fa­thers Body was so immense, that I've wonder'd it did not bunch up behind, and make him have a Hump-back, or at least over­poise him in walking, and drag him backward with its incredi­ble weight.

However he dy'd, dead he is and buried—but not with­out his taking a decent civil leave of the World— he was not in so great haste to be so unmannerly, or rub off without telling any Body.

Some of his last advice to us his beloved Off-spring was to live in P [...]ace, and Love one another, which those who don't, who love others better than they love me their Brother, ay, and their elder Brother, their hope and prop of their Family, their Kainophil— I say no more, [...]ut let 'em look to't, and get off as well as they are able.—And may Kainophilus get over that troublesome Ditch that parts this World and t'other as well as his Father did, when it comes to his turn to leap.

Well—I protest I find a Mans Genius▪ improves with using it—the Reader may well wonder at some great Mas­ter strokes in Poetry among my Works, and then so strangely, like what they have seen in other places—for good wits will [...]ump— and yet so very unlike—for I scorn to Thieve, and dare say no Man will own any of his own Goods upon my Ground—but his wonder will be a little moderated, when I tell him a secret. [...]Tis that I and certain near and dear Friends of mine used a long time to write Epistles in Verse to one another, which so strangely improv'd my Hand at it, that were that Learned and Reverend worthy Author Mr. Iohn Bunyan yet living, I'd not fear to enter the Lifts with him in Poetry, Rapture for Ra [...]our [...], my Pen and Ink to his Budge [...], and let him drop as long as he wou'd, as the Blind B [...]gg [...]r and the Knight did their Gold, I'd not fear keeping pace with him. [Page 123] 'Twas this, I say, which brought me to be as you see, Gentle­men,—I vow there's no cheat in me—be ye but Judges now—take the last Verse.

—Ah [...]ohn! A [...] Nan, and so away!—How soft, how natural and easie—is't not fine—is't to be match't agen? O En­vy, Envy! Thou dumb Beast thou! If thou woot n't speak, hold thy tongue! while I explain to such as better deferve it, the meaning of that Verse whereof thy Ears are not worthy. Ah Iohn! Ah Nan!— You must know my Name—Hold, hold,—I cry ye mercy, Mr. Reader, 'twas out before I was aware on't—you must know a Friend of my Fathers Name was Iohn, and he had a Sister her Name was Nan— so these two he call'd upon the very last words ever he said in this World—and then he dy'd for good and all—and I won't disturb him no more, and cou'd almost resolve not to tell you a word more about him—but, 'tis hard for Friends to part— why spare me a Page or two more, you'll be never the poorer your selves at the years end—and be obliging, complaisant and Civil as I'l [...] be to you when you write a Book, and don't give me the L [...] or call me Flatterer, when I assure you my Father was one of the rarest Men in the World▪ and that I Dream'd of his [...] three Days before I heard on't—Tho' I'm confident [...] have been falser things Chronicled than either of these.

—But I must give you a little more of his Character, [...] fancy he'll ne'r rest in peace—which indeed may [...] he made up of whatever is good in other men, as the [...] Venus was from all the fine Women [...]'the Country.

But I'll give you only some of the most remarkable [...] ▪ and let the rest lye mellowing till a Second Edition.

He was capable of euery thing, and proud of nothing; [...]ay, rather actually Master of all things, of all the Perfections that cou'd be sound or named:—He had a Tongue fit to converse with Angels, and [...] yet better than that Tongue; for 'twas so full of Virtue and [...], that 'twas never to be exhausted. By an unparallel [...]d reach of under­standing, he soar'd above the highest, all other Perfections being so far from matching his, that they deserve not to be mention'd, and the great distance between 'em made 'em appear like a little point scarce to be seen and less to be regarded. In a place of Athens, when one nam'd Plutarch, the Eccho answer'd Philosophy (if he [...] tells the Story don't lie) so shou'd his Nam [...] be mention'd, 'twou'd certainly answer either VIRTUE or EVANDER's FATHER.

For his Body, that rich Cabinet of a richer Iewel—'twas even a fit match for what it contain'd. He had a graceful and a full comely Countenance, in which, as if Nature had made a Mould on purpose for him, we might perceive a duly composed Feature mixt of Gravity and Sweetness Ana—His Meen so becoming, that commanded Awe and Love together from all the Beholders. Hi [...] Stature elevated some­what above the common sort of ordinary tall Men—The habit of his Body spare, far from C [...]rpulency, but exactly proportion'd. His Hair was as black as the blackest Raven, and curiously [...]url'd, as if it [...]rept back ag [...]n, and long'd to kiss so sweet a Face—Evander's true Father. In a word, his very aspect was such, that any man that knew how, might borrow Wit enough from it to serve him an Age—Per­fect Evander still—For I protest, now I think on't, I've sometimes seen ingenious men stand stock still and stare upon my Face, (such as tis) and after some Contemplation, break out into a gentle smile, as who should say they received extream Satisfaction, [...]the very be­holding on't. He cou'd say what he wou'd, and prov [...] what he said, and was so perfect as not to be capable of Improvement.

☜ 'BVY FATHER,— But first, Pray bring me to London, Bind me 'Prentice, and then Ramble to t'other World as [Page 125] fast as you please, (tho' for all my stout heart) seldom cou'd I think of his Death for almost 16 years after, without half-crying my Eyes out.

But as we are jogging if along for London (before he was Dead all this was) what shou'd we light upon in the side of a warm Hedge, but of all the Birds i' the Sky— my Brother Cuc­koo!— Was n't that a very strange thing, Brother Critlck?— No truly, not strange at all—but what follows is stranger—over a­gainst this Hedge was another Hedge, and in that Hedge over against this Hedge was an old Ivy-Bush, and in that Ivy-Bush was an Owl— Now, it being towards Evening, and a fine Summers Evening 'twas as one shou'd see in a Summers Day, what do's the Cuckoo but crys-Cuc-koo? what do's the Owl but fall a [...] and Whittoow-hooing? what do I but stand still, and let my Horse graze between 'em both to hear their melody? If you are any thing learned, I'm sure you have heard of Apollo­nius's understanding the Sparrows Language, and why may not I as well the Owls and Cuckoos— O thought I wi' my self, what a brave Recorder that Cuckoo's Bill wou'd make? and then the Owls wou'd do for a Flagilet, to a wonder—But while I was admiring their Skill and Harmony, I was so ravish'd with their Charming Musick; that cou'd you believe it, That I fell stark asleep under the Tree, and my Mind being full of the Idea's which were in my Head, e're I fell asleep, they seem'd still to continue their Discourse, which now I understood better so than while waking, warbling out between 'em this following Song—in Stylo recitativ [...]— But now I think on't, tho' I under­stood it, you won't, and therefore I'll not be at the pains and charge of having new Characters cast to express their Language; for it neither begins from the left to the right as ours, nor from the right to the left as the Eastern, nor from top to bottom, nor bottom to top, as others—nor any way else that you or I can imagine, because 'twas inarticulate, and no language at all. Don't call this trifling, for 'tis all in order to describe the love­liest Trees, Hedge and Field t'ye that you ever saw or heard of.

Farewel, Reader, till we meet in London— Ask but which way a Man and his Son went, and any body there will tell ye presently.

CHAP. VII.

I Promise the Reader to play at Bob-Cherry with him no more; but being arriv'd now at London in good earnest, will give him such a Description of that famous City, as I'll be bold to say, the World can't parallels

However let Business go before Recreation, and my Trade being a little given to Rambling; I shall more conveniently meet with the City after I'm bound Pr [...]nt [...]ce and run about with a Note iv my hand— as Globe the [...]th.

To dispatch it then as hastily as possible,—THIS IN­DENTURE Witnesseth—That I Kainophilus Vender of the Town of—in the County of,—&c. Not to trouble you with all on't, I was bound to my good Behaviour with that good honest Man, my Master, as well as he to me, before the Cham­berlai [...], to have and to hold from that time forwards, and seven years after, [...]e [...]ring Date from Decemb. 7th. 1674. Now you expect my Masters Name, Sign, Trade, and all that— No thank ye—I han't forgot my Indentures— wherein I swore to keep his Secrets— and this being both his and my own, If you'd rip up my Guts for't, you shou'd not have it.

And what good wou'd it do you if you had it? The Descrip­tion of London will be ten times more to the purpose, which I'll promise you, as being the best Flower in the Book, shall be my Master-Piece— And therefore I'll begin with the Name on't very Methodically.

[Page 127] Whence shou'd that be, but from King Lud, the Son or Fa­ther, 'tis no great matter which, of the famous King Bladud, that flew I known't how many miles an hour, and set the De­vil a boiling his Coppers at Bath, I don't know how many thou­sand year agon.—What wou'd People have more—can there be a clearer Argument, that this is true, than the very Gates call'd Ludgate to this day, after his Name—One can scarce tell what this hard—to—please World will believe—if not that neither, there's a great many score of Freemen-prisoners in Ludgate (some of my acquaintance to my Sorrow) who will take their corporal Oaths to the Truth on't, as freely as they wou'd, that they ben't worth five Farthings apiece, if that wou'd get 'em out again.

But for more weighty Arguments—What an unanswera­ble one is there near this Gate, besides that it self? Is not there a Sign with the three Kings upon't, one of which was the Found­er both of the Gate and City adjoyning—Androg [...]us LVD, and Temautius— I can't imagine what can be plainer. How many millions of men have been contented with this Etymolo­gy before ever we were born? 'Tis therefore in vain to trou­ble you with a rabble of other Derivations, or make you writhe your Mouth five hundred ways with a company of cramp wel [...]h words, whence some will have it composed—you may therefore let alone both L [...]ong Dinan, which signifies Shipton, or a Town, famous for the multitude of it's Ships and Navigati­on—a Llhwindian from Llhwin, a fortified Wood, in which the Brittains made their Towns, or which rather indeed were their very Towns, before the Romans beat 'em into more wit, only plashing the Trees, and setting up Stakes, and Watling or Hurdling the avenues, to keep out wild-Beasts or Men, t [...]ô a better Fence 'twas against the first, then the last—to which perhaps the word Glyn, yet in use for a thick Wood, is Cater—Cozen— but then for the Tail on't—let Diana take care of that—the other end of the Word, as these Cruci­fiers of Language pretend being drawn from her Name, there being formerly a Temple dedicated to that Goddess, as 'tis thought, where Pauls now stands.

Let this be how 'twill, if this won't be believ'd, neither will the queesie chop'd World so much wiser grown all o' th' sud­den, than their Great-Grandfathers, be contented with the t' other Name more ancient then this, and yet Iulius Caesar, who [...] the Tower o' London, and put the Lyons in't as sure as ever [...] Lud built Ludgate, calls it Troynovant— or some­thing [Page 128] so like it, that 'tis altering five or six Letters, and 'twill be the self same word—now those who han't a mind to be counted great, ancient and famous, may e'ne laugh at this as well as the other, but all true Trojans must needs be proud of such worshipful and worthy Fore-fathers— such indefatigable Ramblers— first from Troy to Greece— then to Italy, then hither and thither and no Body knows where, till they landed at Totness and built Troynovant or New-Troy— as I told you before. And if all this ben't enough, read old Ieffery over, and see if he can satisfie you any better.

Methinks we have been a tedious while in London without seeing any of the Rary shows in't—'Twou'd be enough to make my old acquaintance believe I came hither for nothing at all, if I don't tell 'em what I saw with these own Eyes o' mine, at that very time. But shall besides make considerable addi­tions from my Observation of the alterations which happened since I first survey'd it.

Lets begin at Cornhil, and the Royal-Exchange, see how things alter—New-Troy is just the reverse of Old and in­stead of—Nunc seges est ubi Troja fuit— Coru grows where Troy- Town stood—'tis now quite contrary, Troy stands where Corn did grow—or at least was brought thi­ther to Market— where there are now a little more preci­ous Commodities traffick'd for.

But when I first come under the Exchange Gate— bless my Ears what a B [...]z there was—'twas High-change, and such a Notion of Volk, that I concluded it must needs be either a Church or a Fair— and as they humm'd like Bees, so they swarm like 'em—in and out, and out and in again, backward and forward like the Tide at London-bridge— but while poor Evander stood harmlesly staring upon a Weather-glass, Cherry-Tree, and I can't tell what Trinkets they had there to sell, comes the Eddy of a Crowd, and runs me into that Whirl-pool of m [...]n before I knew where I was—But what a Picture of this World did I find there, or rather of that below it. 'Twas one great Humm that stunn'd me as soon as I got thither, and therefore don't expect any exact account on't, for I saw it lit­tle more distinctly then people see things in their sleep.

—Here was a fat Iew strutting, and a [...]ean Christian, Cringing; a thin old Usurer bobbing, and a jolly Ton [...]g H [...]r nibbling, and just fit for sealing. A burly Se [...] Captain swearing and his Coxson, and some of his Crew crowding to come up with him. One Merchant that receives the news of his L [...]sses, [Page 129] biting his Nails, and the innocent paper, another who hears his Ship is safe in the Pool after a good Voyage, Plu [...]ing and Cock­ing, and exalted higher than the Change- steeple—well thought on—we'll step up that way.—

Nay—if this ben't Paradice, why then a London Pren­tice will ne're find it while he lives.

'Tis a meer Spring-Garden within Doors—a Moor-fields walk;—a Sir George Whitmores, a Musick-house, a every thing. 'Tis London turn'd outside in. Here's Streets, and Signs, and Paint, and Rogues, and Illts, and Dogs, and Fops, and Fools, and Wo­men—Here's Ribbons and L [...]ces, and Mony, and Point Crava [...]s, and Top-knots. Lads Ogling, Lasses winking, Maids flickering, Wives plotting, musty Ba [...]chellors moulding, and over-grown Thorn-backs despatring, and just ready to hang themselves in some of their own Inkle.

D'ye see that sign there— The—who wou'd think that modest Creature that makes up her Mouth like a Button-hole, was no longer agon than last Night with Squire—at the—a—a—ay, what business had she there—that's the Que­stion—business? why such business as others there wou'd have been gl [...]d of as well as she—Eating of Oysters, and what hurt's in all that?

—And she next Shop o' the left hand of her—she with the Monumental Top-knots, and cloudy Brow beneath 'em—do's she look as if she carry'd Sir—Linnen [...]ome 't'other Evening. Not but that she came home again her self, never the worse for wearing.—But I must either talk softly, or withdraw as speedily as I can, and run the Ga [...]mtle [...] for my Life—a Friend of mi [...]e, no Enemy to Change appurtenances, for telling scarce so much Truth as this comes to concerning 'em, dares not venture his Head up Stairs any more than thrust it into a Hive of Bees, or Nest of Hornets.

—But why so bitter against the poor Change-Wenches.— The [...]e may be more Reason than every one knows. Perhaps I might have two or three half-Mistresses there, I won't tell ye how the [Page 130] sharp Iades served me—only it vexes a Man of sense and Reading to be—well—no more, let the wound e'ne close if 'twill, and let others either take warning or learn wit as the burnt Child does.

—For I have done with 'em, and rambled next to Lumbard-Street.

But what Hell-fulls of Money were there tumbled over one another—I coudn't have thought Pluto himself had been so rich—but the truth is, he employs a great many FACTORS—I wandered from one end on't to t' other, and in a little Shop among all the rest, saw one that look'd like an honest Man— but not one single Body in his Shop, and he exercising his patient Elbows against the obdurate Counter.

This was many years since, and the City encreasing every day, if there was one honest Man there then, how many must there be by this time?

My thinks the very smell of such rare Provisions revives me, and I begin to fancy the Gingling of so much Money wou'd as soon make one Rich, as the smell of Roast-Meat fill ones Belly.

—Yet avaunt thou foul-Feind! I will not be contaminated! O Mammon I defie thee—dost Sneer! Dost Laugh—dost Glow at me—nay—'tis all one—I'le keep out of thy Clutches if possible—I'le ramble far enough off from thy ravenous Maw,— Nay—don't think to serve Vander as you have done other Fools— I can't believe your Carcass is so sweet to be content to be eat and S—eat out again—No no—while there's room for a Soul like mine to expatiate, I'le ramble I say once more to Amsterdam, Boston, Collen, Prester Iohn, Air, Earth, Purgatory and the World o'th' Moon before I'le have any thing to do with thee, unless in a Civil way—in a—way of Trade— as one dealer with another, according a [...] I find you Tractable and Honest—so far I may be mov'd—but as you'r a Feind, and mere Hobgoblin Incarnate—I say agen, come not near me, nor lay thy polluted Golls upon my trem­bling Carcass.

Gold—Gold— let me see! What Rhimes to Gold—why the Lyons i'th' Tower come next—'tis no matter for Rhime—now Sympathy and Antipathy.

In went I after I had been staying half an hour upon Tower-Hill, not to see the Boys at M [...]rbles or Hustle-Farthing— no, I had more sublime thoughts, and employ'd 'em on better objects, being Nail'd by the Ears to an old Fellows Tongue, who hop'd about on a pair of Stump-Legs, and cryed Godly Books and Bal­lads. But my thinks he did it with such incomparable grace; he did so whine it and turn it, and speak with every part about him, Conjuring his Face into more postures than a Friend at Bull and Mouth; so like one of the Catamountains I saw when I got a little farther, that I expected when they'd have open'd their Mouths and sung a Ballad, and the Lyons themselves cou'd hard­ly hold forth louder, which yet they did to the purpose, for there going in a Woman with Child to see 'em at the same time that I did, they fell a [...]elping as loud as the Guns on a Coronation Day; wou'd you believe (nor I my self without seeing and [...] it) [...] the Foundations of the Gate trembled, the Guns [Page 132] roll'd back on their Carriages, the Portcullis dropt down for fear, and the water in the Thames spouted up as high as the Monument— Till a Beauteous Virgin who came with us, ap­proach'd near the Grates, and immediately down they lay as calm as Lambs, Fawn'd, Grinn'd, wag'd their Tails, not with such a tremendous sweep as before, but as mild and gently as the Poetical Zephyrs stroke, the Velvet leaves, or the branch of a Palm-Tree leans towards its Friend on the other side of the Brook; their furious manes lay as flat as a shock-Dogs. Their Eyes lost their Lightnings as well as their Mouths their Thunder, they pull'd in their Claws, and purr'd like our old Puss at home, and then went to Sleep as gently as a young Kitten.

Who now, to look upon 'em, wou'd think those Creatures had Torn out the Heart and Guts of so many a Flock of harmless Lambs or gentle Faun—who wou'd think—they e're had roar'd in Mauritanian Deserts.

There's a Rise and a Fall—there's two as natural Rambles or Transitions from Low to High, and High to Low agen, as —(I scorn to compare with any but my self) as you'l find agen in all our works.

But now I'll tell you a strange story, and a true one as e're Pliny or Aelian told i' their Lives. Gentlemen that wou'd no more impose upon the World in a thing they were not absolutely cer­tain, or Eye-witnesses of, than Mounsieur le Blank, or Sir Iohn Mandevil.—'Tis about the strange nature, gratitude and ge­nerosity of these Lyons.

A certain Soldier, of one of these Nations, whom the Romans were pleased to call Barbarians, whose name was Androcles, be­ing led by his occasions thro a Huge Forrest; in the most un­frequented part of it, met with a terrible Old Lyon, who as soon as he saw him, ran directly at him [...] The poor Soldier saw no possible way to escape, and gave himself for a Dead Man, fancying he was already groveling under the Lyon, and the fierce Beast holding him down with one Paw, and [...]ing him with the others—But the Lyon as soon as he came near, [Page 133] began to look more mild and gentle, and perfectly fawn'd upon him, making besides a kind of complaint and moan, and holding up his Foot, as if in his [...]umb Language he desired a remedy. This strange Greeting began to imbolden poor Andr [...]cles, who at last took hold of his Paw, (I can't say shook hands with him) and looking a little more narrowly upon it, found a great Thorn run in'ot, which probably he had got a Hunting. And his Foot hugely swoln, and [...]ankling all over; Finding the [...]ll, he soon found what business the Lyon had with him, and knowing he had a very surly Patient, as gently as possible pick'd the Th [...]rn out of his Foot, and then squeez'd the s [...]re, you may think not ever-hard, and got the purulent matter out, which made him so uneasie; on which the Lyon finding himself better, made a kind of Obeysance to his Benefactor, and with the most Royal smile that his grateful brutal majesty cou'd command, took his leave of him, and went into his Thicket again.—Away went Androcles, and was well contented to cure his wounded Pa­tient i [...] forme paeuperis, nor once stopt him to pay the Surgeon.

So it Fortun'd that some years after in an Encounter between the R [...]mans and his Countrymen, poor Androcles was taken Pri­soner, and being a good likely Fellow, as their cruel manner was, destin'd to make his Conquerors sport on their bloody Theatre among the other Gladiators. Others were to Fight with Men, but his chance was to fall into more merciful hands, being with several besides appointed to Fight with the Lyons. A huge over­grown one there was, the door of whose Den was set open, and out he thundred, while Androcles prepared himself to dye like a Man as he had liv'd, and not let the Beast Revel in his Blood, before he had first [...]st some of his own;—But as the Specta­tors judg'd, altogether in vain, for the Beast, who now ap­pear'd in full view, seem'd large enough, not only to kill him, but almost d [...]vour him whole before hand, and save himself the labour.—So on the stalks towards him, roaring for hunger, having been on purpose kept from Food several days; his [...] exect, and rough'd about him, his Eyes all Flaming and Bloody, and lashing his Sides with his Sceptral Tai [...], till the Theatre rung [...]g [...]n, and immediately at two leaps came up with his adver [...]ary—but no sooner was he close to him, when on the sudden, to the amazement of all the Spectators, he s [...]ood stock still, and gazed upon him without touching him, at length fell a [...] and [...]icking his Hand, and at last co [...]ch [...] himself qui [...]tly at his Feet—who by this time had found the [...] an accident, discovering in the carriage [Page 134] of the Beast [...]ed him, the perfect resemblance of what formerly happen'd in the Forrest— and concluded, as indeed it was, that this was his grateful Patient whom he had so long before cu­red of his wound, and who now return'd him his Life in requital. He told the amazed Spectators all the Story, which so extream­ly pleas'd them, that the Romans, who to give 'em their due; wou'd encourage generosity even in Beasts, tho they practised lit­tle mercy themselves, gave both him and the Lyon Life and Li­berty, which quietly went about with him, and wou'd never afterwards forsake him while he lived.

There's a Story— well made and well told—why were there nothing else in all the Book, this by it self wou'd be worth your Eighteen-pence— well—while I can tell Tales at this rate, I'le never more sing a Song, nor t' other Nasty thing, tho I shou'd be in company a hundred year together.

No—I han't done with the Tower yet— the next thing it presents me with is—I think—more Lyons still—but two-Legged ones— a company of Tall Fellows that look stout enough to ea [...] up half a dozen Lyons, if turn'd loose among 'em, (I don't mean Smithfield Lyons neither—the peaceful Evander cou'd make a shift to do that himself.)

By your leave Gentlemen, quo I, and in I shoulderd by 'em—and the most remarkable thing I saw there was Old Hary's Cod-piece— and such a sizeable one that I shall never more won­der there belong'd so many Wives to't. And his Daughters Pocket— Pistol, and she had need wear a whiskin Fardingal to hide that under it.

There I saw Arms enough to frighten all the Citizens in—my Shop—I'll speak for my self, for I kno [...] my own self best. There I saw the Glories of England; the Royal Crown and Scep­ter— which had like to have taken a Ramble as well as I, and to be exiled after their owner was come home—That cunning Rogue Blood having inticed 'em to run away with him—I don't care if I tell you the Story, because 'tis a pretty one— I can't tell well how it fell out (or at least 'tis too long a Ta [...]e now to trouble you with) out so it happen'd that those two mighty Monarchs Col. Blood the First, and K. Cha [...]les the Second fell out, and declared open War agen one another, the Col­lonel, having been outlaw'd, and so no longer under the Kings Protection. He finding his Forces were scarce so many, or so strong as his Adversaries, betakes himself to Stra [...]gem, and disguises himself (ahsly Te [...]d—ah cu [...]ing [...] su [...]tle Rascal) in a Gown of all the things in the Wor [...], and having laid [Page 135] Horses at convenient places, slips into the Tower, and binding the poor Old Man, away whips me up the Top of three Kingdoms in a little Satchel under his upper Habiliment, but wou'd n't [...]o the old Gentleman any more hurt than came to him [...] his binding.—So off he marches with his Conquest— but the Angel that guards the English Monarchy, dreading the Omen if the Scepter and Crown had been lost, sends home the Old mans Son just i' the nick, who finding his Father in such a peaceable posture, quickly unbound him, and out came all the Truth.—'Twas not long, you may believe before a fearful Hubbub was set up for the lost perquisites—Blood had passed one Gate before, at the second the Cry reacht him, and the Warders oppose his pas­sage—He did not say much, but, up with his brawny Paw— sowze down goes one o' one side, and t' other o' t' other, and away marches he between, Cuffing his way through 'em all like a Hercules, and out he gets as far as the Wharf, when up comes one grim Porterly cowardly Rogue or other, sneaks behind him and hi [...]s him one unlucky Remembrance under the Ear, so down goes Crown, Scepter, Gown and Collonel, altogether as flat as a Flounder, up they took him agen, and carried him away to the King—but I happening that day not to be in the Council, can't so well tell you what Discourse these two great Persons had toge­ther, nor what Articles were drawn between 'em—only Blood came off, a Treaty was made, and he lived many a fair year after.—

Now to observe the difference of Men—How often might [...]onest harmless Evander have gone to have seen the Crown with­out ever stealing it at this fellonious rate.—'Tis absolutely against my Nature to knock down Men at a Blow as he did—Nay, so far am I from being harden'd enough for any such Enterprize, that I'm pretty sure, as far as I can guess at my self, could the Crown and Scepter have both been swallow'd and laid close up in my very Belly instead of under my Coat, had but one Souldier of all the Guards, nay, one little Boy no bigger than a Cade-Lamb, lookt upon me, very fear wou'd have made me so far from being able to conceal the Theft, that I should certainly have voided it out into my Breeches.— So innocent is the Soul of Kainophilus, so like fair white Paper, wherein you may presently see the least blot or speck of dirt that happens to fall upon it.

I observ'd nothing else there, except a kind of an Engin [...] like a Scholars Horse, and indeed I shou'd have mistaken it for one, by the ridg [...] of its back, the leanness of its Body and im­mobility [Page 136] of its posture, only I cou'd see no Ribs, which uses to be the largest part in that sort of Creature.

A wooden sort of a dead Animal, quite contrary to Sinon's wooden Horse; for as that carried Soldiers in his Belly, this does on its Back. But what's that to Kainophilus? It shall be a fa [...]r warning to him however, and if he e're turn Souldier for that trick, if that be the Preferme [...]t those poor Creatures must meet with, he'll be content to be mounted there with a whole File of Musquets at his Heels till King Iames comes home agen.

But lest he shou'd be press'd for a Souldier, and made valo­rous against his will, he's resolved to stay in that dangerous place [...] longer—Away then rub'd Evander (but did not hear the [...]nons Discharged to honour his Departure) and because he wou'd be sure to be far enough out of harms way runs down Gracious Street, and then up to the Top of the Monument.

And pity 'tis that pretty Knick-knack don't stand in the Cen­tre of the City, for then 'twou'd look like the Middle-Pin in a pack of Nine-Pins among all the Steeples that gore th [...] Clouds in their passage, and even make rain against their will. And then the Globe of Flames atop, if 't had but three or four thousand weight of Lead melted into it for a Byass, wou'd make the rarest Bowl in Europe.

Here cou'd I easily step over, with the Feet of my Fancy (wi­der then ten thousand Colossus's, though one of them be big enough for a Ship to Sail between its Legs) to all the Spires in London. I cou'd take a Ramble indeed over the tops of the Chimneys, with a handful of Salt in my Pocket, and catch all the Swallows that came near me—But, because I wou`d not Interlope upon my future Design, having resolv'd to discourse di­stinctly of my ae [...]ial Rambles, I'll e'en quietly descend as I went up, not in the outside, though that's the shortest cut, as the Seaman did who broke his Neck from it while 'twas Build­ing, but a little the farthest away about, for the Stairs run winding, which I look upon to be much the nearer way home than the other unless 'twas to my long home— which before I come to, O how many tedious Rambles must I take—how many a four draught of Dolour, and bitter Morsel of Grief must I swallow? Truly 'twere worth the while to consider whether I had not been better made an End all at once.

If a Man has not power over his own Life, over what has he any?—Nay, 'Tis plain, and allow'd by all, that he gives this Power away, which he cou'd never do, if he never had [Page 137] it, when he enters into civil Society, or forms any Government and submits himself thereto—and grant but that, how can it be unjust to throw that away which is better lost than kept? Does any one think it cruel, inhumane or wicked to cut off a Leg or an Arm when 'tis Gangreen'd or Mortify'd, when 'tis painful or dangerous, or useless?— My Body is no better than the Legs, and Arms, or rather Crutches of my Soul— Why shou'd it be a Crime to throw those Crutches away and go alone, especially when they are troublesom or rotten? Can it be a Fault to chuse a better for a worse, and don't all the thinking World agree that this stare we are now in, is but a Slavery to sence, a [...]ndage to dull matter, which tedders us down like our Brother Br [...]tes, where we are not only exposed to want and misery, but to all the Insules and Abuses possible to be inferr'd, and impossible to be avoided. Why then shou'd I not pull up the stake, or get my Lock and Chain off, and scamper away in the intermi [...]able Fields of the invisible World.—That Region of Spirits, Reason, Ease, and Rest—Cleombrotus, Empedocles— O how I e [...]y you—who one rusht through the Fire, t' other through the Water to reach Immortality o' t' other side on't. Those were envious Fools who fault the Sicilian Philosopher for plunging into Ae [...]a, pretending he only did it for vain Glory to be accounted a God—No—'twas not that he might be so accounted, but so be—at least as like one as possible—Imp [...]ssible, immaterial, and wear out endless Durations as those above,

I have often wonder'd what makes us Fools so childishly fond of Life—Life did I call it?— this Death I mean rather, this Twilight-Battish kind of Being we rather are [...]ondemn'd to then properly may be said to Enjoy. KAINOPHILUS tis certain he has some of the best things that make up what even the wisest part of Mankind call Happiness.— He has a lovely Iris in his bosom, in his Arms, in his Heart—('tis Natural for a young Lover to refect first upon that, and we are neither of us old, or were we so, wou'd that ever quench that m [...]tual flame which will last as long as our Souls) If he has not a lubberly Fortune, such a Lumb [...]r of an Estat [...] as lugs him down to ground with carrying it about the world, if he han't all the fancied Conveniences that some pride themselves so much in, and yet want more still when they have 'em, as those especially do who eagerly lan­guis [...] for 'em, e're they are enjoy'd, if he has not a large Palace, a great Coach, nay, not so much as a Colash or Chair [Page 138] to raise the Dust before him, yet he has more Content without 'em, and a many pretty little things which many others want, and fancy they shou'd think themselves very happy in. He's neither rackt with Stone, Gout, nor a worse Disease—he's sel­dom discontent, or uneasie—Envys no Man, hates no man, wishes or does no injury to any other, and as little as possible to himself—Those little inconveniences he meets with here (as a stranger must have some when out of his own Country) he does not much fret at, and yet keeps 'em in as much as possible, without exposing himself and troubling others.—And upon the whole, knows not any person in the World with whom he wou'd change Circumstances for altogether, or whose condition he either Wishes, or Envies— And yet after all this, he wishes himself condemn'd to eternal Exile and Confinement in this earthly Dungeon, if he wou'dn't more chearfully the next moment leap into t' other World, were all things there prepared for his Re­ception, and he for that, then he'd either sleep when drowzy, or rest when he's weary.—

Ware heads below then,— for my Hands are upon the Bali­sters, as Temples on the side of the Boat, and in half a Minute I shall sink down into everlasting repose—But art thou sure of this, Evander?— then indeed 'twou'd be worth the while.—Look over a little what thy warm Ima­gination has thrown in faster than Reason cou'd weigh it.—If a Man gives the Power of his Life away when he submits to any Government, there's a great deal of difference between Power and Act. He only submits to a higher Power than his own, for the Preservation and Protection of his Life, as well as of the whole Community, not the Destruction of it. Per­haps he is born under a Government already (as all the World now are) He does not here chuse Submission, nor so much make as find it. The very Essence of a Man loses nothing by the loss of a sick part, but his very Frame is dissolved when the Essential Vnion of Soul and Body is once ruin'd. The Body is rather fancied incurable in many cases than re­ally so.—'Tis impossible in the deepest pain or misery to pronounce positively we shall ne'r be at Ease, or never be Happy. We often make great Matters of what others do, and we ought to laugh at and despise, and fancy a scratch of a Pin is a Mortal Wound. We are not so tyed to sen­sible Object, but we may whenwe please mount to those that are rational and Divine—not that even those are to be con­temn'd or disused, the Body being an Essential part of the [Page 139] Man, and has therefore suitable Objects provided to enter­tain it, and must always have some way or other, while 'tis not a Carcase. Those who leave a real certain good for one that's uncertain are never reckon'd very wise.—Nay, he that quits his post, when order'd upon pain of Death to maintain it, tho' for what he thinks a more advantagious one, will hardly come off well with his General.— How un­reasonable is't to expect the End without the Means, or the close of a long Iourney without stepping one foot forwards. This Life well spent is so much the way to a better, that there's no other to't, and if any by-way is found, 'twill only after long Wandrings bring you back agen faint and weary where you first set out, or worse, lead you where you lose both that and your self for ever.—Have I so many pretty Conve­niences of Life, and all strong Arguments they are to remain in't the more contentedly, and make me look the more ungrate­ful who despise 'em.

Then Live, Evander! Ay, so I will,—you may trust me—Hands off! Come down Legs— I won't turn such a Turk as to fly from the top of a Tower, where I may civilly walk down Stairs.

Which I did, and saw the Inscription round what I had been a top of—This Protestant City, &c! O how Envy there grinns out of Hell, and another just before her, to see it up agen.—I'll undertake to know a Iesult or a Ia­cobite by bringing 'em to the Monument and pointing up to those words, as easily as the Devil by his Cloven foot— Look how they scowl and fret, and swear 'tis all as loud a Lye as the Gun-Powder Treason.

Let 'em be so kind to fret their Gills out if they think fit, while Evander steps down to Old-Swan, and takes Water— Stay,—but 'tis against Tide— What if the Mills shou'd suck him in—well consider'd—An Elder-Brother's Thrid is generally twisted very tenderly.— I'm off of such a long Ramble— I'll to the Stillyard— The Tide runs strong—'Tis good to be sure—Come the three Cranes is but a little further—or Queen-Hithe— And now I'm here 'tis but edging to Black-Fryers Stairs, and then there's no danger; Ay,—now—let's see—sure now we 're safe— be n't we Waterman— See how the Rogue laughs—but he does not know my value as well as I do, and what a loss the World wou'd have if Evander shou'd feed the Fishes.

[Page 140] —So—'Tis very well—the Boat is trim'd now—d'ye see the Bridge— what a thing 'tis—a Street of Flying Houses— not quite so large, tho' as that Iesuitical-Bridge in China, which Father Kircher tells us of, from one Mountain to another, above a Mile long, and I've forgot how many broad—but however such a Bridge as a Man were better go over than put off his Stockings and Shoes to wade thro' the River [...] tho' in truth 'tis a dangerous place, for there are Pick-Pockets [...]nnu­merable, almost as many as run drops of Water under in a day—Therefore I'd advise every Prudent man, that has any business in Southwark side, if he has any charge of Money about him, to leave it with the first Beggar he meets with at this End of the Street, and call for't as he comes back agen; or, if he be not in haste, any other time when he comes that way.

You Waterman—Hypocrite—Element-Thrasher, hold Water there, and Land me at New-Thames-Street, for I've a mind to go meditate in St. George's Field for a Quarter of an Hour.—and meet me agen at Lambith without fail; for I intend (next Chapter) to go see the Tombs at Westminster.

CHAP. VIII.

A Whisker the last was—longer than e're a one in Mag­na Chart [...]— But then consider too, 'twas as full as an Egg and a great deal was dispatch'd in't—it took up all one End of London—now did not Kainophilus (which signifies by the by, a Lover of News, not any thing of Kain, as if I were a kin to him) did he not passionately love new ways and Paths, were he contented to drudge on at the old Hum-Drum way of describ­ing Cities, begin at one end and go to the other, Why how much easier might he finish all this mighty task—no, he must have something pleasant as well as profitable, and that as well as t'other, and indeed both together—therefore he takes this agreeable Method, and I'm sure very new, to begin at the Change, thence to the Tower, so to the Monument— thence half out of the World, then all in agen, next to the Water-Side— whence any one wou`d have thought hee'd have survey'd all the Palaces along the shore, the Temple, Summers [...]t Savoy, Northumberland, White-Hall, and so to Westminster— no,—this any body might have done—but observe now the surprizing way I have found out—away I walk a meditating, as I told you before and meet the Water-man (without calling in to hear some certain Prayers for some certain person) and then Sowse— in I come upon Westminster before you ever dreamt of me.

This Ancient and Noble City of Westminster, Built near a Plat of Ground formerly called Thorney, from the Brakes and T [...]orns which then cover'd it, but now Illustrious for its Building, Famous for its Inhabitants, and render'd populous and remark­able by its Seats of Law, and Courts of Iustice— Now by this grave period, does the reader think I'm going to transcribe Stow, or some wise Fellow or other in praise of Westminster— That very ugly unhandsome reflection on Kainophil [...]s, who is not a person that uses to Colour Old Books, or new B [...]d 'em, and then put 'em off for New, has turn'd his resolution, and you shan't hear one word more of i [...] Antiquity, Founder, or any thi [...]g [...]se but what I please, for sure I'm the Master of my [Page 142] own Sense— don't let the Reader trouble me with so many impertinent Objections, for that unavoidably leads a Man into Digressions from the main subject, and then these Digressions lead a Man into further Digressions, for Error is infinite, and the longer you wander in a wrong Path, my Shoes to yours, the further you go from the right, if they are opposite one to t'other: Not but that Digressions are so far from being always a fault, that they are indeed often pardonable, and sometimes, a great Beauty to any discourse—but then they must be well turn'd and managed, they must come in naturally and easily, and seem to be almost of a piece with the main Story, tho never so far di­stant from it—I love a Digression, I must confess with all my Heart, because 'tis so like a Ramble— but all this while what's Digression to Westminster— very much, for that it self's but one great Digression from London, as St. Iames's from that, Kenzington, from that, Hammersmith, from that, Brandford, from that, Hounslow. Heath, from that (never fear, I'le find it agen tho you shou'd turn me loose Blindfold in the midst of the Common) Salisbury from that (that Digression's a little the largest) Exeter from that (larger agen) the Mount in Cornwall from that (largest of all)—The Channel, Plymouth, Tor­ [...]ay, Portsmouth, B [...]achy, Deal, Dover, Thames-mouth, Graves-End, Mile End, from the Mount— and so I brought both ends of the City together, and you home agen before a full Pot of good Ale, you can swallow—

But I know when 'tis well, and therefore come in and see the Tombs, and look upon the Clock-work-Fellow that shews 'em—all his Motions are like the two fierce brazen Sparks at St. Dun­stan's Di [...]l, there's such gravity, such extreme Deliberation in the Motion of his Hand and Tongue, that you'd scarce believe him made of any more active M [...]tal than the Monuments he shews you.

—Here li— [...]th—en—terr'd (quo' he) the Bo—dys—of (the Names worn out) Great-Grand-father to Al—bi—on the great, Mo—narch of all these Real—mes, and Cor—de—li—a his—Wife;—Nay,—thought I—this is the way for us to turn Monuments too, if we stay here till all's done, if it begins at this rate; so away Rambled I by my self, to make new Discoveries among the Terri­tories of the Dead, and overlookt heaps of Kings and Lords, and scarce allow'd 'em half-an-eye, so great is—Somebodies Soul) till who shou'd I meet among'st 'em all, but the Immortal Cow­ley—Hold,—Let me step three or four steps back, and rub [Page 143] my Fingers against the Marbles, for indeed they are a little foul, before I presume to touch his sacred Monument.—

—How like is't to that great Man for whom 'twas made—nothing glaring and fantastick, but all Proper, Neat, Natural and Modest, and yet a certain Air t' has in it altogether, that the brightest Monument round him can hardly equal.

I shou'd break out into a little extasie while weeping over his venerable Ashes, and in some passionate Lines or other tell the World what t' has lost, and how little it deserv'd it. But if Phormi [...] dared not talk of War before Hannibal, the very Dust of Cowley has something in't so aweful that I dare not affront it with such Poetry as I shou'd bring in its Praises—However I may, I must agen Sacrifice some Tears at thy incom­parable Vrn— I must almost adore thee, and think that Divine Spirit which ever shone thro' all of thine, still hovers o're thy precious Relicks, and can never Ramble from them.

Live then, Incomparable Man, live both without thy Tomb and in it, or rather that in thee—Thou hast, thou ever wilt have a far bet­ter and a Nobler Monument, a Mausoleum almost worthy Cowley. Heroes shall learn thy Davidis, and with that ever keep thee in their Breasts and Memories. While Love, whil Virtue lives, thy Lambent Flames shall warm the innocent Virgin bosom. A hundred Ages hence shall they read thy Mistress, envying at once, and blaming that unknown Goddess that made thee sigh in vain—Nor shall even that great Name who paid this so well deserv'd honour to thy Ashes be euer forgotten; Nor can Buckingham want a Tomb, while Cowley has one—

—Come let's be e'n going— There's nothing else worth seeing that I know.—Let Thyn lie where he is till those who sent him thither come and weep over his Tomb till they fetc him to life again—And Fairborn o' t'other side, at Tangier, more cover'd with the smoak of Cannons than he of Blunderbusses.—But now we talk of Tangier— Have you heard of the Mole and that barren blind Bargain?—Was n't Trelawney a brave Fellow?—The Alcaide— Sand Hills—Marine [...] Regiments.—Well,—The Rea­der can't imagine what pains I take to curbate all my might this rambling fancy o' mine, to keep him Company, but tho' I lean back to the very Crupper, the Jade starts, and winces about as if she had a Nettle under her Tail—So,—So,—I'll strok [Page 144] her, and see if fair means will do—She begins to be pretty civil, and walks peaceably along toward the Parliament [...] House, and the Hall— but first let's call in at Heaven, (here's a House of Entertainment so call'd) and take a little Soop by the way—That's soon done—Now Enter— But whither are we going? Here's a hole indeed—Evan­der knows what to do with his Life better than to venture upon New-Discoveries— Why it looks like the Entry into Okey Hole, or the Deel's A—of Peak. Let me see—Is't possible to get in without creeping upon Hands and Knees? Mercy o' me, what black things with Green Wings are those that I see wandring up and down within, and appearing thro' the Shades?—Sure they are no better than Incarnate Lawyers, and droves of poor deluded Wretches dragging after them, out of whom they have Suck [...] all their Blood and Substance, till they look like Ghosts indeed, and miserable ones too; for all the shapes of Rage, Fury, Despair, and Revenge appear in their Faces.—Well,—This 'tis to have Land and Money— Well fare Old Diogenes— that happy Snail, that always carried his shell about with him, and nothing else. Who ever heard he had a Law Suit with his Landlord for Di­lapidation, or his Goods [...]elz'd for not Paying Rent, or his Platters and Porridg-Pot for Chimney-Money? But 'tis a known thumb'd sweaty Proverb,—All Trades must live— And so must he who takes Malefactors to task after the Lawyers have done with them.

Will no Spiders live in the Roof of Westminster Hall? Why suppose that, yet the want is pretty well made up with vene­mous Creatures below, that crowd along so thick and numerous there's [...]o antidote against 'em but an empty Purse.

What a Whipster was this Will [...] Rufus, or rather what very Beef-eaters have the Yeomen of the Guard been ever since Adam, when this Hall was built for them to dine in—and wer't full to the Top, both sides, and both ends turn in but half-a-dozen of 'em, and if they did n't eat their way thorow—let 'em lye there. Observe the little Grates, and nooks and cor­ners round about it—sure they were design'd for Butte­ries, or rather Cupboards to this monster of a dining room.

What a Hodg-podg of the World is here? Iudges and Bay­liffs, and Secondaries, and old Women, and Curates, and Serjeants, and Bishops, and Young Heirs, and Sh [...]es, and Stockins, Gloves, Ribbons, Rattles, and Law-books—Felons, Sollicitors, Pick-pock [...]ts, Attourneys, Whores, Sempstresses and honest-women— [Page 145] Hold—why hold—yes I say't and say't again, honest-Women, for I was there once with Iris, a [...]d I'm so charitable at to hope there might be one more besides her.

'Twou'd make one amaz'd now to consider the multitude of Women, and the Paucity of honest Women. The magnitude of Whores, and the par [...]itude, dwidlingness, or exiguity, of truly virtuous Creatures through this nasty stinking World.

O London, London! If thou art not one Sodom and Gomorrha, thou yet com'st pretty near it. Thou art a Turnbul street and Lewk [...]ors Lane from one end of thee even to the other.

W [...]stminster-Hall- Whores. Channel-row- Whores, White-Hall—the Guards, Charing cross- Whores, the Strand Whores, Temple-Bar- Whores. Fleet street- Whores—but none after you come within Ludgate; what—our end of the Town pal­luted—our Civil Laborious Citizens give their Minds to any thing of that Nature—no Fough! alas! the very men­tion on't turns any modest stomack and brings up all the green and yellow ropey stuff, fat eggs, and snottyglib soft substance from his Chin to his Navil.

Not that I speak any ill at all of any place in the World by way of experience— no—all the World knows Kaino­philus better (I mean all that do know me, and that you know's the same thing to me.)—I protest I was so far from any such thing that when ever I walk't through Cheapside it self, that Civil modest place, if 'twere but a little in night, I always kept my hands in my Pocket for fear any of these men catchers shou [...]d truss me up under their Arms, and run away with me, for Evander was a pretty little boy, and how easily might a great Termagent Whore kidnap him at that ra [...]e—carry him away from his careful Master, get him into some blind hole and ravish him, and there he'd be undone for ever.

Westminster Ho! I'm but just in Palace-Yard all this while. Pa ace Yard!

That's the Gate-house— at the sign of the fl [...]ing-shooe there—see what we must all come to—(To wear shooes I mean not to angle with 'em.)

How many Journeys had this poor shooe wanderd, how Inde­satigably had it Rambled, for alas 'tis all worn with labour, be­fore it came to this sad Condition. And yet after all to come to beg it's bread in it's old Age. 'Tis a sad thing to think on.

Well, were I a Privy-Councellor, or a leading Parliament- [...], among many other excellent projects, I shou'd al­ways [Page 146] be hammering out for the good of my Countrey, I wou'd certainly promote some Laws or other to prevent that Inundation of Beggars which overflow this plentiful Country, and plague it as much as the Lice did Egypt, and try if 'twere not possible to free our Countrey from 'em as well as the Dutch do theirs.

Towards so great and excellent a work that Prince of excellent hopes, King Edward the sixth, and this famous City of London, have both proposed a very proper me­thod, and given a glorious Example.

They first sorted the Poor into several distinct R [...]nks and Orders,—The Poor by Impotency, Casualty and Wickedness. For the first sort they provided (besides ma­ny other particular Alms-houses of particular Persons and Companies) Christ-Church Hospital, where so vast a num­ber of Fatherless Children of both Sexes are so handsomely provided for.

For the second— The Hospitals of St. Thomas in Southwark and St. Bartholomews in Smithfield.

For the third—Bridewell, the most necessary of all the three.

But now were I worthy to shoot my Fools bolt, I shou'd think there's yet very much wanting towards regulating this famous City, and after their Example the whole King­dom.

The first and main thing conducive to such a great end, wou'd be a strict and just execution of those excellent Laws we already have against Vagrants and Vagabonds—Gypseys and other, strolling Ramblers who equally impose upon and injure their Countrey. For were all such, us were found young lusty and able to work for their Livings, well [...]hip'd out of their Lazyness, we shou'd n't have so many swarms of those People pestring and exposing our Streets, Church­es, Hedges and Roads as we have at present, and are yet [...]ke to have.

How many hundreds (we might perhaps add another Cy­pher) are there about London, whose whole business and livelihood for themselves and Families is this way brought in— whole Streets and Fraternities of 'em living toge­ther, and nursing up a brood of Beggars, from Generation to Generation.

Were these publick Work-houses provided to employ those sort of People, Men and Women, and Children (for [Page 147] [...]ome sort of work, even the last wou'd be capable of) how much more Honour and Strength and Profit wou'd it be to the City and Nation?

For those who are really impotent, and incapable of wor­king, all the Reason in the World they shou'd be provi­ded for, and it might be worth the while to examine whether the Gains acquired by the work of the others might not be so improv'd as to maintain these without my charge to the State, or at least but an inconsiderable one.

Not that all the publick Houses of this Nature are to be like Bedlam's. In some Cases and Instances g [...]eat Cities are indeed to consult their Grandeur and Honour, but for the most part Co [...]venience far outdoes Magnificence, and the main­tenance of perhaps a thousand wretches more in a com­fortable being much more honourable than having a fine Portal built, or the roof of a Hospital mounted a story or two higher.

But not to forget these miserable wretches who first occasion'd this Discourse—the Prisoners for Debt— with Submission to the Policy of almost all Mankind and all Ages, it seems an odd sort of a Punishment to infl [...]ct the heaviest Pains, next to Death, it self, namely perpetual Imprisonment, on what is very often rather a misfortune than a crime in those who suffer it, and that for no end, not any good to be obtain'd by it.

If a Rogue run away with a great part of my Estate, if another breaks, or another Fire my house and ruines me—why it looks very hard that for these miseries, I must endure others, and be confin'd to a stinking Dungeon all the days of my Life, for what I did not cause, and cannot remedy. And then of those who are imprison'd in this manner, is there one to ten who ever pays any thing the more?—nay don't this generally make 'em despe­rate, and careless whether ever they come out again, or what they spend while they are there?

These as much deserve Pity and Charity, a [...] another sort censure and punishment, who when they have Estates or Trades carelesly lavish all away in leud or riotous living, or else by their fully, heedlesness, and neglect of business and accounts, waste away in­sensibly, while a third more wicked than both, get whatever Goods or Moneys they can possibly scrape together, and ru [...] [Page 148] into Prison as into Garrison with all their Spoil, not careing thereby how many industrious Families they inevitably ruine.

These last are infinitely worse than Robbery upon the High-way, and I think deserve no less punishment.—But the only speedy way to prevent their villany, would be effectually to root out all those Sanctuaries where they lurk—The Mint, White Friars, &c. For would any Forreigner believe, that the wise and excellent Constitution of the English Govern­ment wou'd allow places within its Bosom where it has no power—where its Writs and Officers are no more regarded than they'd be in Iapan or China?

For the lesser sort of Bankrupts, made so either by careles­ness or Riot—It might not be amiss as a good prevention to their poverty, that the prudent Custom of some Nations were Enfranchis'd here—namely—examining how every Person lived at every years end by publick Censors to that end appointed, at least all such as were suspect either of Sloth or Debauchery— For such as offended on the worst side of the two, after admonition, Corporal punishment. For the other a little more labour might in a great measure very much alter Affairs in a few years, nor shou'd we in all likelihood have our Prisons so full, or our Shops and Houses so empty.

Well—if the World laughs and looks a squint at all this grave Council, and painful thoughts which I have laid up together for their advantage not mine, why then—they been't worthy on't, and there's an end, while I Ramble on to somewhat else, af­ter I have dropt four Farthings into the old Shoe I was talking of, and then left it as I found it.

And Ramble on to the Privy-Garden; was n't that Kings Jester a merry Fellow who sold this pretty spot of Ground to Build up­on, and that Countrey Squire a very Countrey Squire who bought it of him?

Let 'em both alone to make up their Bargain as well as they can, for we are now got into Whitehall (nor won't so much as afford the poor desolate Popish Chapel one Ave Mary as we pass by it.)

And what shall we stare upon here? 'Tis scarce worth the while to tell you when 'twas Built, and by whom, and what 'twas first call'd—York Palace— as it might have been afterwards when King Charles the Second liv'd in't as well as before King Henry the Eighth being Burnt out of House [Page 149] and Home at Westminster, remov'd his Lodgings thither.

Every one in's way, Let those who understand Architecture ad­mire the Galleries, the Banquetting-House, or new Lodgings, all which is like the English better than it looks for: Let others admire the pleasant new Whi [...]ligig of a Weather cock, erected before the Prince Landed, on purpose to see when a Protestant Wind blew— There are two things that please me infinitely more than all this, or all the fine Pictures, Arms, Hangings, or any thing besides—And that is—The much Eating, and no Fighting— three hundred and sixty four thousand Bushels of Wheat in a year—very well—Life has a lusty staff, and will hardly fall for want of Bread; seven thou­sand Sheep—very well; fifteen thousand Yoke of Oxen—O Beef Eaters!— Hens, Pullers, and Chickens innu­merable—forty six thousand six hundred and forty pound—a great many years ago—and Butter's n't lov'd now less than 'twas then—all this is very well—but—what shall we do for Drink? Why a Man will ne're choak where there's six hundred Tun of Wine, and seventeen hundred of Beer broach'd in a Twelve-month.

But that delicate, wise, sage Law— that there must be no Fighting there—The very thoughts on't does my Heart good—methinks Kainophilus is so safe when he's in that Blessed Palace— How happy wou'd he count himself if all London, nay, all the World were but like it—well does he deserve to have his Hand cut off that strikes his Inno­cent Neighbour, and I'll willingly hold both mine out for that purpose, if you ever catch 'em Fighting either there or any where else.

What d'ye think of a walk at St. James's Park— agreed—'tis a curious place that's the truth on't—The Canal, the Carriages, the Statue, the Owls, the Walks, the Mall, the Ladies and fine things I saw there, quite dazled my Eyes to look upon 'em.—So I took 'em off again, being quite a­sham'd to see so many painted and patcht Creatures Squint and Ogle at me as if they'd ha' devour'd me—so I made haste and run the Gauntlet thro' 'em all, coming out at the Pallace, resolv'd for the Hay-Market and Charing-Cross—

But i' my way thither, met with the pleasantest Sign that ever Man lookt upon—'Twas a Man I think, or some­what like one, with one Shoulder over his Head, the t'other down at his H [...]l, his Toe turn'd back to his Neck, and his [Page 150] Fore-finger at the top of the Cieling, and Posture-Clark wri [...]under— This Whim's worth seeing—in stept V [...]nder, and found a Bottle of good Wine there, and for the Diversion of Gentlemen saw all the Tricks, and heard the Sto­ries; some of which you shall hear as well as I—once upon a time he was drinking with some Gentlemen in a Room next the [...]treet▪ and saw a very Beavish Fellow pass by, full of [...]ms [...]lf up to the Brim, and as great he look'd as he was able to hold— Come Gentlemen, says—Posture, for a Gu [...]n [...]a I hit that Fellow over the Pa [...]e with a Broom-staff, and he ne're touches me again—art Mad—why he'll certainly whip thee thro' the Lungs, or Nail thee to the Wall—I'll venture it— Down he goes—comes behind the Spark, and takes him a thump in the Pa [...]e that almost fell'd him—round turns he with his Sword half out, and sees nothing, as he thought, but a perfect Natu­ral, the subtle Rogue having so alter'd the very Muscles of his Face, that any one wou'd have Sworn he had been Born a Changeling he slaver'd and dangled his Hands, while his Eyes lookt-like a couple of Stones, and his Broom-staff between his Legs, and he lolling upon't, and staring his Enemy in the Face—who no sooner saw what a sort of a thing he was going to run thro', but he claps up his Sword again, and swore heartily if he had n't been a Fool h [...]'d have ript up the Gu [...] of him.

A [...]other time, either a certain Taylor had angred him, or he was resolv'd to be merry with him—he sends for him to take measure for a Suit of Cloaths, telling him, he was somewhat crooked, as he might see, and having heard he was an ingenious Fellow for rectifying such disorders, had sent for him—I war'nt you Master—quo' Monsieur Le Fisk—I'm the best in England at it—you know the little Person o' Quality, the length of whose Tongue supplies that of his Body— why I have boulster'd him up that he looks as str [...]ght as an Arrow—very well—out come Sciss [...]s and Parchment, he takes measure of one whose Right Shoulder wa [...] out, [...]or Clark has as great a command of all the Ioints of his Body as Muscles of his Face—'Tis done—you shall have it next Saturday without fail—'Tis brought home acsording to order—He try'd it on, you dull Dog, quo' [...]lark—cou'd n't you remember which Shoulder 'twas (for now he had put t'other out) Master I'll Swear I [Page 151] was never so mistaken i' my Life—well—I'll go home and alter' [...] presently—away he goes, brings it again, and finds both Shoulders out—Clark Swore then worse than at the first—why, you shrid of Mankind— did n't you see I was Hump-backt— well—I'll stake my Life on't I please you this bout, home he takes it once more, and when he brings it back, Clark was as strait as an Ar­row. The poor Taylor stares round on his Head, Back, both sides, and finding 'twas the very same Person who he was sure the first time he saw him had one Shoulder out of order, the se­cond the other, the third both, and now all right again—sto [...]d still a little while and said nothing, at length cry'd out, 'Tis the Devil that's certain, threw down the Cloaths, and down [...]tairs he scamper'd as if Satan had really been clapping him upon the Shoulder.

Well, if you laugh at these Stories as much as I did, they'll do you more good than a course of Physick, or a quarter of a years drinking the Waters.

But I can't stay, my time's almost at an end, my Book's al­most done, and I find the Bulk grows upon me, and yet I've almost three quarters of London yet to Survey—therefore away Ramble I to Charing-cross, as fast as if I'd mounted behind his Majesty himself a top of his black Courser— and a little faster, for I've a fancy I can walk better than that Beast, tho' scarce leap so well—for 'twas a terrible way from a deep Cellar, I know not how many yards under-ground to skip up higher than a Balcony. Sir,

I trotted o [...] about a quarter of an hour longer till I came to Sum­merset-House, and being no Justice of Peace nor Knight, it being besides in the middle of the day, ventur'd in among 'em.

'Tis a curious Pile of Buildings, erected by Edward Duke of Sum­merset, Unkle to King Edward the Sixth, in the year 1549. It has a pleasant, tho' small Garden, and some walks between that and the Waters side, on which it's very delectably seated—as you may see if you'll take a pair of Oars and go thither.

By which you'll have the advantage into the Bargain of a view of the Savoy—that Famous School of the Jesuits, to whom some (you may guess how) good Protestants sent their Children to be instructed, no Protestant or Englishman having Learning enough for 'em, by that wonderful Scholar Poult [...], whose wit was so great, and memory so little, that he forgot the Names of his own Popes.

[Page 152] Ah poor Catholicks— what pains they took? (shame to us) how they sweated and tugg'd for their Dagon while they were here (one wou'd think they knew their time was short) how laborious and indefatigable so nimbly to plant what was more nimbly rooted up—How many fine Lo [...]ging partitions, Schools and Galleries— after all to rub off without a stroke— only with some hundreds of thou­sands of Guineas and Curses, to be turn'd out of their new Built Hives (poor Wasps! harmless Hornets! they wou [...]d not I warn't ye have hurt any Protestant for all the World) to be pack'd first out of England, and then in probability out of all the World, for if France falls 'tis very likely their blessed Society may be dissolv'd— this indeed is hard Fortune—did not they deserve it for having been so kind to the Heretick Dogs while they were here, and cutting no more of their Throats, nor Firing their Cities to any purpose above once or twice in an Age.

—Let 'em go— we shall find 'em again at Wild-house—but first step up a top of the May-pole; Alas poor Creature—how art thou humbled— thou who hadst a Spire as high as a Steeple, and wert almost long enough to have made a Walking staff for the Cities Guardian Angel as he Rambled cro [...]s the Clouds. Thou hast worse luck than all the City besides thee—Thus is Age despis'd— for whereas that is risen three or four Stories higher, thou art taken so much lower than when at first Erected.

This shall be a fair warning to Kainophilus to keep where he is, in a moderate heighth, neither low enough for every one to tread upon, nor yet so tall and topping as to make the Neigh­bours cut him down, for fear of tumbling a top of 'em, and breaking their Necks.

I won't say the Worlds-honester, for Evander won't Lie, but I'm confident 'tis Wiser than 'twas formerly, was n't wise work for one Company of hot headed Fools to set up this stripling of a May pole, and make half a wooden God of him, Singing and Dancing, and not rarely, Fighting and Fudling and Whoring [...]n his Honour— and were not another crew very discreet­ly Zealous who made War against May poles (and Bear-bait­ing) with as much earnestness and vigour as they'd have done against Turk and Pope, slashing and hewing the innocent Timber where e're they came near it—whereas now neither are people so mad for or against it, but as the poor Justice said [Page 153] upon the point—They that will have a May­pole shall have a Maypole, and they who won't may let it alone.

'Tis uncertain whether the Fellow I'm about telling you a merry Story of, had been Dancing at a May-pole or no, but sure▪ enough he was got finely Fox'd some where or other i'the Strand, and staid at it till the Watch was set—and then homeward he Rambled as his brutish Carcase cou'd direct him, for his Soul was Imprison'd (as the Dutch Towns when the Sluces were drawn up and the Dykes pierc [...]d) and cou'd do him no farther Service—In this pickle such as 'twas, and 'twou'd ha' bin worse had he hap­pen'd into a Kennel or Common shore, was he sholling thro' the Strand— twas a Moon shiny Night, but the Moon being got behind the Houses, shined only a slant, and sent a lit [...]le stream of light out of one of the small Lanes quite cross the Street—This the I [...]de [...] Inden­ture- maker was now arriv'd at, and being a lit­tle sensible what a condition he was in, and so very careful of any danger, fancy'd he was come somewhere or other, for he had absolutely for­got where he was, to the side of a River—so up the Stream and down he goes to look for a Bridge, but finding none, reel'd back to try if he cou'd leap over— till coming to the side, he fancy [...]d the Brook too wide for him, there­fore put off his Stockings— and Shoes to see whether he cou'd wade it—in he steps very gingerly, but the further he thrust in his Leg, finding the more of the Moon-shine, off go his [Page 154] Breeches too—not enough yet— the rest of his Cloaths follow, Shirt and all, which tying up in a Bundle over he throws, and himself wades after—yet 'twou'd n't do— he finds it up to his Chin—so out he strikes his Hands and Feet, down he falls and mawls his Body against the Pavement, but finding he cou'd make no way out of this Enohanted River, falls a yelping for some good Body to lend him a Rope and save his Life. The Watch who had stood near, and ob­serv'd the Farce all the while with a great deal of Diversion, took up the poor Drownded Crea­ture, half throttled with the conceit on't, and carry'd him to the Round-house, giving him his Cloaths again, where he lay till he was sober, and sufficiently asham'd of that extravagance his Intemperance had thrown him into, tho' much more harmless than many others in that mad condition have been guilty of.

Let [...]s step up a little to Wits Coffee-house, and present our Service to Mr. Laureat— that was—what in the same Religion for a whole three or four years together! indeed Mr. Bays 'tis un­conscionable—The Farce will grow dull if you make no Incidents—why there's no more of Plot in this than in the Rehearsal.—In your Ear— shall we take a walk to Wild-house toge­ther—there's a finer Opera to be shown than a­ny of your own, tho' you take in that you have pillaged from Milton among the rest, tho' 'tis confest there's a Vein runs thro' it all your own, and you make your Grandmother talk very knowingly for one so Innocent.

[Page 155] By this time we are there, enter Prologue—Beads—Whips—Mass-books, dark Lobbies and Ho­ly-water—draw up the Curtain—Act the first, Seene the first— But hold—is there any distinction of Scenes in a Puppet-show?—enter Priest, Scaramouch, Operator, or what you please, with two or three small Harlequins like Tumblers or Rope-dancers to attend his merry—Holiness— so—now it begins— Dye see this small little tiny scrap of Bread Gentlemen—no bigger than a Christning Maccaroon— look upon't all of you—is n't Bread Gentlemen—ay Bread, what shou'd it be—well—mark the end on't—keep your Eyes fix'd—by the virtue of Hocus-Pocus—Hiccius Doctius, [...]ey Presto! but what is't now—why Bread still—nay—then I'll be Burnt for a Heretick, as you de­serve to be for saying so—why 'tis a Man, an Errant Man (ay and more too) with Eyes and Nose, Teeth, Blood, Bones and Fingers, as you and I have—Mr. Bays—did you ever see the like in all your Changes— here's a turn without an alteration, a very pretty Miracle where no­thing at all's effected, but all things exactly in stat [...] quo— ay, but consider a little—softly—your Eyes may be deceiv'd—the Senses often are so—dear Mr. Bays, let me take you a gen­tle tweak by the Nose, and if you can't feel me, you shall perswade me I don't see that—These are Sacred things, and you ought not to make a May-game of 'em—they were Sacred before you had the handling of 'em, but you make 'em what you blame others for doing— [Page 156] your Priests there is as absolute a Merry-Andrew as e're a one in Smithfield— you Burlesque your own Religion so egregiously that a Man must not have one grain of Spleen in his Nature, or else bite his Lips off to see all the Trumpery and not laugh at it—how do all the grave Persons then that are present with such great Devotion— yes—observe how great tis—there's an old Woman at once mumbling her Beads and a piece of Bisket— another with one Hand on his Mass Book, and another on his next Neigh­bours—another with his Eyes turn [...]d up to the top of the Crucifix, and his Mouth whispering to the next patch'd Lady that leans languishingly that way and rests upon his Shoulder. A fourth most devoutly twatling his Ora pro nobis, and at the same time slipping a Billet Deux or Assigna­tion Note into a Religious Creatures Glove that all in Tears beholds the gawdy Idol just be­fore her, but wipes [...]em off to tip a promising wink to her as Idolatrous Enamorato— if all this been't true Mr. Bays, I appeal to your Eyes as well as my own—and sure there's no Transub­stantiation in this case what e're there is in o­thers—well you are a hardn'd insulting Here­tick—get you gone and leave me alone to my Devotion— agreed—for you are not worth Lampooning, having been flogg'd and yerkt so long between Catholick and Heretick, that there's not one sound Inch left in Body, Soul or Repu­tation—now,

Now for the Temple— but I met with all the Lawyers at Westminster— Alas there's nothing [Page 157] here now but a few solitary Whores wandring from one Stair-case to t'other, as a Bird flutters about a Tree when her young ones are ravish'd from her.

Fleet-bridge, I'd rather go over thee than tumble into the Ditch.

'Ware Bridewel, and we are got safe at Pauls. One wou [...]d think 'twere Built for the Vniversal Church to meet in—will't ever be up, or ever down again? when 'tis so any Traveller that comes to see that glorious Structure, let 'em look for Evander's Name, and if they don't find a thousand Guineas subscribed by him towards that noble design, let 'em be so kind to do it for him, and trust to his honesty for pay­ment.

What's next—Pauls-Church-yard— but I dare not stay, my Face may chance to be known, and then Murther comes out immediately.

Cheapside— it grows late, 't has been a pretty long walk— the Sun's down and the Light's up like half a hundred Suns together.

Let's see—Bow-Church—Mercers-Chapel— hold while 'tis well. 'Tis time for ever [...] ho­nest Man to be at Home, and therefore here will I set up my Staff and Ramble no longer, having brought you thro' the City to the Change where I first begun.

And now, that none may say Evander is un­courtly, he'll make a Leg and doff his Hat be­fore he parts, and then you're very welcome Gen­tlemen.

If the World be but so just to the Author, [Page 158] and so kind to its self as kindly to accept this first Essay of his Iuvenile Rambles, which must of necessity be the most barren part of all the rest, Kainophilus promises by all he values in this World, by his own Honour, and by the love of Iris, to have the second Volume out by the latter end of the next Term at furthest, compre­hending an exact and pleasant account of what happen'd to him (and many others) during his seven years Apprentiship—all the hardships some Prentices endure▪ all the ways taken to ruine 'em, and how to avoid them all, lastly, the brave things the London Prentices have done from him that killd the two Lions down to